Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I can’t do this with you anymore,” Louis cries out, his legs falling open on the couch, head bowing under the weight of his misery, “I can’t keep explaining when you won’t listen.”

“So leave then!” Duncan roars, hands on hips where he stands, blocking the television with his stocky build.

Louis remembers walking into a bar with Taylor when he’d been just a lowly uni student, still thinking he was going to teach drama to kids. He recalls looking across the bar and meeting the slightly more than curious eye of a tall, heavily built guy with short, dirty blonde hair and piercing green eyes. Louis can admit to himself that even then, he wasn’t all that attracted to him. He hadn’t felt certain lust pool in his stomach and when Taylor had spotted the guy Louis was gazing at, she herself had raised her finely waxed, blonde eyebrows as if to say, “him? Really?” Louis was well known by that point for being more interested in brunettes than blondes and for hooking up with mostly younger guys who wouldn’t mind being fucked by someone a bit smaller than them.

Duncan was not his type. He was five years older than Louis, working in a corporate office doing some type of five to nine corporate job that Louis still truly doesn’t understand the specifics of. He had a body that was, while reasonably maintained, by no means toned. However he’d approached with a confident smile that wasn’t all too displeasing and a sway in his hips that made Louis wonder if it wouldn’t be so bad to be the one fucked and not the one doing the fucking for once. What can he say? He’d always been open to new experiences.

“Drink?” Duncan had asked with a raised eyebrow while he clicked his fingers to attract the attention of the bartender.

Louis had been impressed when the usually grumpy, snob of a man had crossed to their side of the bar immediately and had asked for Duncan’s order.

“Um, the usual,” Louis directed the bartender, caught slightly off guard.

Once Duncan and Louis both had drinks and Louis had given Taylor his assent after she asked him (non-verbally of course) if he wanted her to vacate the premises, they leaned against the bar, appraising each other openly. Louis had been going through a bit of a phase where he favoured cardigans. He shudders to think of it now, three years on and much more mature in his fashion sense. However, he had been wearing some characteristically tight jeans and his hair was reasonably styled. Duncan’s style hasn’t changed much since then. In fact Louis’ quite sure he’s wearing the same baggy blue jeans now as he was that day. He also had been wearing a slightly ratty looking, oversized hoodie which made Louis cringe a little. I mean, they were in a bar and though Louis’ cardigan was far from sophisticated, it was also two steps further from casual than what Duncan wore.

“Nice jeans,” Duncan had complimented him, his eyes roving up and down Louis’ legs with intensity.

“Nice…uh…”

Louis’ brain completely failed him in that moment. However it was the moments that followed that changed everything. He forgot his former judgements and let himself be charmed. It was the moment Duncan Bishop morphed from a daggy lad trying to hit on him, to a good laugh and possibly more.

“It’s okay because if I were you, I’d have hightailed it out of here by now. Would have told you I had a boyfriend suffering from a severe case of something or other and then ducked down the street to a different bar with my mate to complain about the badly dressed tosser trying to hit on me.”

Duncan said it all with a twinkle circling around his pupils, the green of his eyes lit up with amusement. He wasn’t at all bothered by Louis’ lukewarm assessment of him and that’s what turned Louis. That’s why he set all his previously conceived notions of sexual attractiveness aside and looked up at the guy from beneath his lashes with a hint of flirtation on his lips.

“And that badly dressed tosser trying to hit on me…would he happen to have a name?”

……

Staring down the barrel of a figurative gun in his living room, Louis can’t understand how they got here. It seems like just yesterday he’d swirled his tongue around Duncan’s mouth outside that bar and Duncan had groped his arse possessively. It seems like just yesterday that Duncan asked to see him again and Louis winked and said if the fates aligned, it just might happen. Louis remembers the curl of a smile on his face as he slid down the back of his door that night, feeling struck with wonder.  Duncan was so different from all his former casual hook ups. Louis thought maybe that would be the difference. This one didn’t seem naïve or easy to derail. He seemed like a man with a plan. Maybe Louis would actually feel something for once.

Feel something he had and a year later he’d found himself snuggled up on the couch in Duncan’s arms, watching some kind of golf tournament in their new flat. He supposes even then there had been issues; what with Duncan being seemingly unfamiliar with the concept of compromise. It was golf over footie, The Wanted over The Script and Louis always driving while Duncan got to drink. Louis wasn’t the type to be pushed around and he had never thought he would enter into a relationship where he wasn’t the domineering figure. Yet there he was, two years down the track, being told that he could go out dancing with Taylor but not Liam, his new friend from the gym. There he was just months ago being yelled at for being too friendly with the pizza delivery guy. Here he is now in his new flat that they moved into because Duncan refused to watch Louis “flirt” with Adam, the barista at their local coffee shop. Louis fears that he’ll soon be able to say he’s lived in more places around London than places he hasn’t.

Louis doesn’t really remember the exact point the crazy jealousy started, the exact point at which Duncan morphed from a loving boyfriend into a controlling prison guard. Nor does he remember the first time he cried. It feels like he hasn’t stopped since and with every outburst, with every fight, it seems as though Duncan strips away more of the person Louis used to be. He gets weaker with every insult; every accusation. Louis doesn’t remember what it feels like to be empowered by your own strength or to love yourself more than somebody else.

Three years seemed like such an insignificant amount of time for a relationship before he’d lived it. Now three years holds a myriad of memories that hold him captive in every sense of the word. Stealing kisses between tangled blankets, tongues meeting in a frantic rhythm when they had only the shortest amount of time to spare before work. Days spent cuddling up on the couch listening to the rain pattering against the windows, luxuriating in each other’s warmth. Those times that Louis walked into the room and Duncan looked up from his paperwork in bed, threw it clear across the room and tugged Louis onto the bed, pawing at his body. It’s laughter spilled into each other’s necks and smiles pressed into each other’s palms as they tried not to laugh in places where they shouldn’t. It’s Duncan holding Louis as he talked about his job and the interesting people he met that day, recounting the stories they told him that stayed with him. It’s the tattoo they both bear on their wrist that cites the day they met because Louis had been that sure. Louis had sworn never to get something silly and sappy like a couples tattoo but then he had never thought he would feel that way either. He had been in love. For the first time and what felt at the time, like the last.

It feels as though they’ve lived a life in these three years and even as those small green eyes narrow with vehemence directed his way, Louis can’t help but fall prey to his biggest weakness. It’s not any one feature that Duncan has and maybe it’s not even that the good outweighs the bad. It’s simply a history that’s wrapped itself so tight around Louis’ heart that he just can’t fight free. He doesn’t have the energy. Even as Duncan challenges him, a spiteful sneer on his face as he waits for Louis’ response, Louis knows that Duncan doesn’t want him to leave. Duncan is just as done for as he is. The only problem is; it seems that Louis is always the one hurt and Duncan is always the one doing the hurting.

“You know I won’t,” Louis says quietly, his eyebrows bunching together in a plea, “don’t make this so hard on me. I’m not saying I don’t love you, I’m just saying I can’t be with you like this. I need you to change-“

“Change?! Me change?!” Duncan shouts, throwing his head back and laughing uproariously and inappropriately loud, sending a chill down Louis’ spine as he flips his head back up, his eyes cold with malice, “I’m not the one bloody smirking and winking at the cashier like some kind of sl-“

Louis whimpers, his eyes scrunching tightly closed as shame floods his body. Shame for his weakness, shame for the way Duncan can get to him like this. He fists his grey jumper in his hand as he begs. Begs like a hungry puppy waiting for food. He’s hit rock bottom.

“Please,” he gasps out, pain pricking at the corners of his eyes as the tears he holds in burn his vision, “please don’t call me that.”

“I will call you that babe,” Duncan says, his voice still raised but a bitter, sarcastic edge to it now that would have made the man Louis used to be truly livid, “because that’s what you are. A disgusting, cock hungry slut.”

Louis pushes his fists against his eyes but it’s no good. His eyes burn too much and they’re forced open as the tears protrude out the sides, streaming down his face without pause. It’s such a silly, meaningless term. He never thought something so archaic would get inside his chest like this. He supposes though that he never thought the man he loved would be hurling abuse at him because he deigned to joke around with a cashier. He never thought this would be his life.

Louis knows how this fight ends. It ends with Duncan storming away and keeping away for hours as Louis tries to collect himself. It ends with Duncan slipping into their bed that night and sliding his arms around Louis, whispering that he ‘understands’, that it’s ‘okay’ and that he knows Louis didn’t mean it. It ends with lips pressed to his pulse point and a hand shoved down the front of his pants, working him over until he’s hard and panting for it. It ends with Duncan pushing inside him roughly and crying out that he loves him as he strokes the sides of Louis’ hair and looks down at him with reverence. It ends with Louis wondering how this gentle, loving creature that he fell in love with, could possibly be the man who screams at him until he feels truly small inside. Until all he wants to do is to melt away into a puddle of self-loathing. F

“P..p..please,” Louis stutters out another sob, his whole body shaking as he balls his fists against his jeans, digging his nails into his palms to try and distract himself from the pain flooding through his chest, “I’m not, you know I’m not. I love you baby.”

“If I hear one more fucking pathetic plea out of your disgusting mouth, I’m going to make you regret it,” Duncan says, the threat implicit as he leans forward so that the whites of his eyes are on full display.

The angry curl of his lip is evident as he bounces a little on the balls of his feet like he’s about to take to the ring. No, Duncan has never hit him. He’s never touched him like that but Louis cowers against the couch anyway, trembling all over. He’s watched Duncan take out guys more than half his size with one well aimed punch in the boxing arena. He picked up the sport in his spare time. It had been a real turn on for Louis in the early days, accompanying Duncan to the fights and cheering him on as he took out opponent after opponent.

That is, until the violent edge in Duncan’s eyes started to come home with him and the insults transitioned to threats. Louis’ body is wracked with sobs and he barely hears the hand beating angrily and aggressively on the door outside. It isn’t until he watches Duncan stalk towards the door, ripping it open and almost off his hinges that he gets to his feet.

“You’re making a hell of a racket,” a deep, melodic voice says with annoyance, “If you would kindly keep it down, I would-“

Louis appears behind Duncan’s shoulder, rising up on the balls of his feet to get a look at the guy, presumably their neighbour, who is currently berating them. The guy looks to be in his early twenties but he could be twenty going on sixteen as he has a head of loose brown curls that finish at the base of his neck, framing his face and contrasting with the ivory pallor of his skin. Or at least, it was ivory. Now as his luminous green eyes fasten on Louis over Duncan’s shoulder, they widen and he flushes, a deep pink colour creeping up his neck to fill his cheeks. His full bottom lip turns down in a frown as his speech halts.

“Oh,” he says, his voice an octave higher. His eyes run from Louis’ messy hair, to his obvious tear trails down to the oversized hoodie that covers his hands entirely, “oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry to interrupt, I-“

“You done fucking wasting my time?” Duncan demands viciously, “I’m not going to fucking apologise for having a conversation with my boyfriend.”

It’s unlike Duncan to be so aggressive to just anyone. He usually reserves that for the boxing ring, Louis and guys that hit on Louis but Louis supposes their curly haired neighbour caught him at a bad time. Right in the throes of a Louis bashing. Plus, this guy is the kind of guy that Duncan hates. He’s got on no shoes, deep blue jeans that look so tight and form fitting they must be women’s jeans and a flannel shirt that’s unbuttoned halfway, revealing what looks like a tattoo of two birds and more than a few necklaces that sway against his chest. He’s wearing an assortment of gaudy looking rings on his fingers and he’s even got on a toe ring. He’s also got the body of a boxer minus the stocky upper body and mean looking face. He’s everything Duncan despises, partly because he’s everything Duncan will never be.

“Right, um…well I’m, I should go-“The guy stammers, looking truly lost as his jade eyes dart to Louis’ and away and he begins to turn on his heel.

“Oi, curly,” Louis shouts…or tries to shout anyway. It comes out more as a weak croak.

The twenty going on sixteen year old looks back at him, confused and still flushing all over. It’s a rather nice colour on him, Louis thinks, in a distant corner of his mind.

“Sorry for the noise pollution,” he says tentatively, biting at the edge of his sleeve.

Curly’s mouth twitches but he still looks much like a stunned rabbit, his eyes roving all across Louis’ face like it’s the first time he’s ever seen anybody cry. He doesn’t get a chance to respond though because as soon as he opens his mouth to do so, Duncan slams the door in his face.

……

“Hi love,” Louis opens the door with a wide, exposed grin on his face and holds out his arms expectantly.

As he feared, he’s soon got a mouthful of blonde, straightened hair and is feeling rather dwarfed because of course, she couldn’t wear flats. It had to be heels. It always has to be heels.

“Lou!” Taylor says against his hair, squeezing his waist, “I’ve missed you like crazy!”

Louis tugs her onto the couch with a roll of his clear blue eyes.

“It’s been a week since we had lunch.”

“Exactly!” She says, exaggerating an offended sniff.

“You look like a sunflower,” is Louis’ blunt response.

The girl’s got on a bright yellow crop top that shows off her stomach and a matching skirt. Not to mention the heels in the same sickly bright colour. All of it clashing quite deplorably with her ruby lips. That’s not to say she’s got bad taste. Usually Louis would be happy to have her on his arm.  In fact, he loves to claim her as his most fashionable friend but she does have this pesky habit of sometimes dressing for her mood instead of everybody else’s vision. It’s endearing in a “maybe we should just stay in today,” kind of way. Taylor points an accusing finger his way and flips her hair slightly.

“And this is why you were naughty and I was nice for that themed party we went to a few months back.”

Louis narrows his eyes.

“No, you were nice because you refused to wear the outfit I picked for you!”

“I would have been naked!” She protests, in outrage.

Louis scoffs.

“Semi naked. It’s all the rage these days love. No matter, I think I looked pretty hot with eyeliner and leather,” Louis says with a smirk, tossing his head around dramatically.

Taylor giggles and reaches across to touch his arm as she smiles approvingly his way.

“You did…” she pauses, eyes roving over his body, “a hell of a lot better than you do today, Mr. “what shall I wear to see Taylor…oh how ‘bout the same ‘skate tough’ singlet that I wore last time and…hmm let me see…. Oh yes, my 20th pair of identically tight, black jeans.”

Louis shakes his head at her but he’s grinning, reluctantly amused.

“I don’t have twenty pairs…I’ve twenty five,” he says, earning a lovely burst of laughter from Taylor’s lips, “and what’s wrong with this? My bum looks good and you’ve always said I’ve got nice arms.”

Taylor inclines her head, focusing her blue eyes intently on his bulging biceps.

“That is true,” she agrees, her eyes darting up to his and then back to his arms for effect.

He pushes her lightly in the arm.

“Oh stop! You know you can’t creep me out that way. Just because I don’t bat for your team love, doesn’t mean I have any issue with you checking me out.”

“I’d rather Calvin if we’re being honest,” Taylor counters, her mouth curving at the side.

Louis leans away, placing a hand to his chest as he widens his blue eyes theatrically.

“Not my Calvin? Why didn’t you tell me? And to think, I thought he was so happy with-“

This time it’s Taylor who pushes him but she’s laughing, her cheeks almost swallowing the whites of her eyes as they press upward.

“Don’t be such an idiot!”

“Oh but it’s so much fun!”

They look at each other for a moment and then dissolve into laughter again, Louis hanging his head over the back of the couch as the humour finally fades.

“I’m actually really happy with him. Calvin, that is.”

Louis looks up at her and feels deep envy flood his veins as he watches her eyes turn dreamy, a light blush colouring her cheeks. She’s got that look in her eye, that ‘I’m about to fall headfirst in love’ look that she always gets right before it all goes wrong. Only this time it feels slightly less juvenile, slightly less wishy-washy and every time Louis sees her, she only looks happier. The smile on her mouth is one Louis recognises from his own relationships. It’s that slight curvature of the lips that says “I’m holding a secret” and the secret is those moments with that special person that no one else is privy to. Those moments where their skin glides along yours or their laughter fills the spaces in your chest. You simply can’t describe it because no one will ever know how sweet it is. Maybe you don’t want them to know. The secretive smile goes well with the gleam of pure satisfaction in her eyes.

“I know love,” Louis says, rubbing her shoulder with a soft smile, “and I know that when you two start having perfect little blonde babies with superior musical abilities, you will name at least one of them Louis.”

“How about…” Taylor purses her lips, looking speculative, “Loula? You know, for a girl.”

Louis stares at her in disbelief.

“You’re not serious.”

“What’s wrong with Loula?”

“Hmm let me think. Let us journey back to the last time we had this discussion. What was the baby name you said you liked again?”

“Dachshund.”

Louis bursts into laughter, slapping his knee as he remembers.

“It’s a breed of dog,” he says, between spurts of laughter, “you want to name your child after a dog. If you’re going to do that, you might as well name it Shih Tzu. Awehhh,” Louis claps his hands together, “look at little Shih Tzu sucking on a dummy. Beautiful little Shih Tzu.”

Taylor crosses her arms.

“Louis William Tomlinson, I did not come here to have you mock my taste in baby names.”

“If you’d prefer, I can mock your-“

“Louis,” she groans.

He relents with a grin.

“Okay, okay. What’s up? Was it presumptuous of me to assume you just wanted to see my lovely face?”

He frames his cheeks with his palms and bats his eyelashes at her in what he assumes is a charming manner. However her eyebrows are still tilted down and she doesn’t laugh.

“Tay, are you okay?” He asks, passing a hand over hers.

“I’m fine,” she says but her hand tightens on his and she looks fucking terrified.

“Taylor Alison Swift, what is going on?!”

“I,” she pauses, her face scrunching up further as she peruses his face, looking for something in his expression, “I didn’t want to have to bring this up again…”

Louis takes a deep, unsteady breath as he realises exactly why she’s come. It’s been at least a month since their last talk and he knows she must have had to work up the courage to come here and try it again. He wonders what triggered it. She can’t have known about the fight they had last night. That’s between him, Duncan and their curly haired neighbour. No, she must have just got an inkling that things were bad again.

Then again, it does seem that this past year, things are always fifty shades of fucked up. Even the sweetest moments with Duncan feel precarious and too momentary to trust. As if the minute Louis gives way to happiness, Duncan will snap and it will be ripped violently from his clutches once again. Louis feels like he’s crossing a tightrope every day of his god damn life. Walking on egg shells. So he knows. He knows why his loved ones feel the need to talk to him about this. However it’s just like that contented gleam in Taylor’s eye. It’s not something that can be understood from the outside looking in.

“So don’t,” Louis sighs, feeling wearied as he knocks his head against the back of the brown, leathery couch.

Just because he understands her concern, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother him.

“Lou,” she says solemnly, squeezing his bicep, “I’m just trying to help. You’re better than this. You’re so much better than him.”

“How can you say that?” Louis snaps his head up to look at her, eyes dipped in pain, “he’s the one working nine to five. I’m a fucking tattoo artist. He’s got plans for us and I-I’m just taking things day by day. He cooks and cleans and I-“Louis grips her arm tightly, “he does so much for me.”

Taylor tilts her head, studying him. Her eyes are bleeding such sadness that Louis almost moves to wrap his arms around her. If only that sadness weren’t for him.

“Everything except make you happy. God Lou, what has he done to you? How can you think those things about yourself? There’s nothing wrong with living for the now nor is there anything wrong with your job. You love your job.  I mean…the cooking and cleaning, maybe you could work on that,” Louis rolls his eyes, “but he’s not the perfect man and he’s far from the perfect boyfriend. I bet you he comes back tonight and demands to know who you were with today and what clients you saw. And if you mention a man that made you laugh, if you mention even swapping numbers with a friend, I bet you he calls you a slut.”

Louis’ expression twists painfully.

“You make me regret sharing things with you.”

“It’s abuse,” Taylor says, a viciousness on her face that rarely comes out except for when someone threatens Louis in any way, shape or form.

“He’s never touched me!” Louis protests, hating the way this conversation is making him feel.

He just wanted to catch up with his best friend to talk about how much Calvin is packing and whether Taylor’s going to see him DJ in Ibiza. He just wanted to forget for a few hours that his relationship isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and that the longer it goes on, the more broken he feels inside.

Taylor taps the side of his head.

“Mental abuse. Verbal abuse. God, if he ever touched you…” Taylor shakes her head, her lips sucked in toward each other in a severe expression that makes Louis glad he hasn’t mentioned the threats to her.

“He wouldn’t,” Louis says definitively.

“Look,” Taylor pushes her hands out in a placating gesture, “the point is…you can’t stay with him Louis. You’re not a slut, you know that…you’re not any of the things he makes you feel like so why are you with someone who knows you so little and who sees so little in you? You’re starting to let it affect how you see yourself. I remember a time when nobody could tell you how to feel about yourself.”

Her tone is impassioned and she looks just about ready to grip him by the arms and shake him. Louis himself is about ready to crawl into bed and close his eyes to the realities he doesn’t want to deal with.

“I get it,” Louis says in a whisper, refusing to raise his voice, lest it reveal the emotion pulsing in his chest, “I’m not the same person as I used to be and neither is he. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt but, it’s like…it’s like you’ll never be able to see the other side. To see what it’s like when he’s sweet and dutiful. You’ll only ever witness the hurt, never the love.  I get to see both. Only I can feel the push of his lips and his hands in my hair. Only I can see his eyes soften the way they do for me. That belongs to me and you’ll never know what it feels like. I can’t explain, I just…”

Louis looks up at her with saddened eyes, pain beating inside them at the pace of a heartbeat. Pulsing the same way blood pulses beneath a bruise. Underneath the love that he can’t shake, there’s a vacuum of hurt swallowing him whole.

“I can’t not want to be with him.”

“Oh Lou.”

Taylor reaches up and pats the side of his hair and he turns into her palm. He always has enjoyed it when people touch his hair. It soothes him and Taylor knows it.

“Do you want some tea?” She murmurs, “I was just going to make myself some.”

Louis nods his head, eyes still closed. As Taylor gets up, he leans his head against the couch and snuggles into the sandy coloured throw hanging over the side. He listens to her footsteps trailing away into the kitchen, feeling comforted. Louis’ letting her look after him because this is what he needs. This is what best friends do. He doesn’t need lectures and admonishments. He needs her caring touch. It doesn’t make it better but it doesn’t hurt so much when she’s here with him, making him feel precious and loved.

“Oh Lou, you’ve got no sugar!” She calls out, her voice echoing around the kitchen.

Louis eyes flutter open reluctantly and he raises himself up, walking into the kitchen to find her leaning against the silver bench, frowning into the sugar jar.

“Oh well, you will just have to go without.”

“Or,” Taylor says with a dangerous tone, “we could ask your neighbour that I just saw pop into his flat when I came in. He looked friendly enough. I’m sure he’d give us some sugar.”

Usually Louis would make an innuendo but he’s too consumed with protesting this turn of events, horror filling his widened blue eyes as he thinks back to the annoyance on the curly haired lad’s face when he’d showed up at their door last night. Sure, he’d seemed slightly taken aback and apologetic when he’d noticed Louis standing there, having obviously just been crying but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still pissed off about the noise. Louis just feels weird about the whole thing.

When he’d closed his eyes last night, all he’d been able to picture was a cross necklace tapping against a dark tattoo of two swallows, surrounded by creamy skin. All he’d been able to hear was the echo of a deep timbre; a voice which was so unlike any he’d heard before. Musical in its cadences but so slow in its delivery and so very, very deep. It reminded him of sticky syrup being poured onto pancakes, trickling down the side of the jug and congealing thickly on the pancake itself. It resonated somewhere in Louis’ chest and he wasn’t sure why.

“No, no absolutely not. You can’t do that,” Louis hurries to say, blocking the exit to the kitchen as Taylor moves to leave.

She raises an eyebrow.

“And why not?”

“Because,” Louis huffs, “he came over last night to complain about-“Louis cuts himself off, realising he was just about to slip up and mention the fight he had with Duncan, “about how loud we were playing the TV,” Taylor narrows her eyes, clearly disbelieving but Louis ploughs ahead, rushing his words to distract her, “and seemed proper pissed off about it. I doubt he likes us. I can’t just go ask him for sugar.”

Taylor’s eyes asses him for a moment, dropping down his head, to his shoulders and then all the way down to his feet. One side of her upper lip quirks. Louis notices but it’s much too late.

“Maybe you can’t but I can,” she quips, ducking under his arm and running for the door.

Of course she’s faster than Louis with her giraffe legs. Even in heels. She slams the door just as he’s about to grasp it and it takes him too long to open it. She’s already rapped on the door next to theirs. Number 16. The flat belonging to the curly haired hipster. Fuck.

“I fucking hate you,” Louis hisses, glaring at her as he stalks over to her, standing behind and just slightly left of her shoulder.

If she’s going to ask the guy for sugar for his flat, he’s going to be there. Even if Curly does think he’s a pathetic, noise polluting twat.

“Well that’s not nice,” Taylor complains but she’s grinning as the door swings open in front of them.

Louis finds holding his breath quite necessary in this instant. He releases it in a whoosh when his neighbour appears in the open doorway wearing grey slacks and grey slacks only. His hair is softly tousled, less curly than last time as it’s jelled back in some kind of quiff, exposing more of his soft looking face. The guy has dimples and Louis feels hot under the collar. Dimples do something stupid to his stomach and it feels like he’s freefalling right now because his neighbour has a sculpted chest and indents in his hips that look like they’d perfectly fit a pair of hands; perhaps a pair of thumbs.

The swallows stand out against his skin like last time but he’s wearing a different necklace, a metal paper plane that sways between his pecs making Louis dizzy. His slacks ride low on his curvaceous hips and fit snugly to his long legs. He’s not wearing socks again. Although given his half-dressed state, it doesn’t mean much. Louis takes it all in, in a flash and all he can think about is the heat clawing its way up his throat, sucking away all the moisture and making him feel utterly dried out.

“Hi!” Taylor says cheerfully.

Louis slips behind her just as his neighbour’s eyes flicker sideways to the spot where he’d been standing.

“Hello,” He greets Taylor, a self-assuredness in his voice that had been mysteriously absent last night.

He sounds remarkably less caught off guard. Perhaps because there isn’t a tear stained mess before him.

“I’m Taylor,” Taylor volunteers and Louis can tell even from the back of her head that her lipstick stained mouth is stretched wide in a pearly white smile, the kind that gets people on side, “we were just wondering if you could spare some sugar.”

“We?”

Taylor glances behind her and sighs, obviously having missed the fact that Louis had hidden himself from view. She reaches backs and hooks her fingers around his arm, pulling him roughly in front of her. God it bugs him how strong she is. When Louis looks up, the top of his head reaches just to his neighbour’s eyes and he’s far too close. Close enough to smell the Tom Ford cologne and the scent of soap on his clean, shaven skin that glistens slightly in the fluorescent light.

“Oh,” Harry’s eyes widen infinitesimally and he looks off balance again. Then his mouth twists slightly into an amused shape and that enchanting musical note re-enters his tone, “hello.”

“Hi,” Louis responds, his voice strangely mute and shy sounding.

Louis is not shy. He does not do shy. Why is his throat constricting around his speech?

“I’m Harry,” the curly haired lad holds his hand out to Louis, his sea green eyes sparking playfully as if they’ve just shared an inside joke, “nice to meet you…?”

Louis’ just staring at him with wide eyes, unable to form words in English. He starts as Taylor squeezes his shoulder from behind.

“This is Louis,” she volunteers for him.

“Nice to meet you Louis,” Harry says softly, his eyes dropping down Louis’ face and making his skin tingle and itch. After an extended beat of staring, he raises his eyes to Taylor, “and you Taylor, of course.”

“We’ve already met,” Louis blurts out and then blanches at his own idiocy.

What kind of remark is that?

Harry tilts his head and raises his eyebrows and Louis’ eyes are immediately drawn to the swinging necklace and the chest muscles that protrude outward, so very close to him.

“I meant, it’s nice to meet you properly,” Harry corrects with a smile that dimples at the corners.

“Right…”

Taylor laughs none too subtly behind Louis’ head and he turns his head a fraction to glare at her.

“I’d love to invite you in,” Harry says wistfully as Louis turns back around to find him staring again, eyes tracking over the tight jeans and muscles around his arms, “but I’ve got a charity gala to get to. Hence the get up,” he sweeps the air next to his slacks, “…not my usual style.”

“Didn’t think so,” Louis says with arched eyebrows, fighting the urge to add the word ‘hipster.’

“Louis!” Taylor scolds but Louis pays no mind.

Taylor gets a kick out of his honesty even when she pretends she doesn’t and Harry himself, well his cheeks are practically convulsing as they twitch with a grin.

“No it’s okay,” Harry reaches over Louis to pat Taylor’s shoulder before lowering his amused jade eyes to Louis’, a pleased smile shaping his lips, “I’m definitely not this kind of guy. However, I do support charity and my mum is kind of at the helm of a lot of these things which means I have to go. Can’t say I enjoy talking to the people who attend them though. Even the people who donate are usually quite stuffy. “Oh Margaret, we must have lunch next Tuesday but we mustn’t go back to that god awful restaurant we went to last time. Can you believe it Darcy? They served us water that had not even been chilled. Straight from the tap. Unbelievable.””

Harry does a perfect imitation of the posh, upper clash society. He’s definitely got the right accent for it. That, paired with his thick lips arching around the words, his nose pulled up with disdain and his evergreen eyes dancing across Louis’ with pure mischief, makes for true brilliance. Louis’ smoky laugh is surprised out of him as he looks Harry over with approval. Amusing little hipster. Louis’ eyes fly to his thick biceps and the hard lines of his chest. Well, maybe not so little. Harry’s lips arch higher with a smile as he watches Louis right back.

“I don’t blame you,” Louis remarks, still chuckling, “sounds like a barrel of laughs.”

“Oh you have no idea.”

Louis and Harry grin at each other, lips notching higher until Taylor taps Louis on the back of his shoulder.

“Ah, Lou…the sugar?”

Louis starts. Harry’s eyes widen comically as he opens his full mouth.

“Oh, goodness,” Louis’ lips quirk, his eyebrows rising towards his hair in response to Harry’s posh form of swearing, “I mean…shit, the sugar. I’ll just pop into the kitchen and get it for you.”

Louis smiles kindly at him, his eyes creasing at the sides and Harry stares for a moment before stumbling away. Louis tries to pretend that the dip in his lower back and the tension lines across the backs of his shoulders aren’t all that mesmerising. Taylor, on the other hand, wheels him around with a frenzied kind of excitement in her glowing blue eyes.

“What was that?” She squeaks, squeezing the side of his arm.

His gaze flickers down to her fingers, his eyebrows slanted low with confusion.

“What was what?”

“You were flirting with him!”

“I was not,” Louis splutters, “I have a boyfriend.”

“Who’s a real arse-“

“Taylor,” Louis says threateningly.

She rolls her eyes but then grins, her enthusiasm clearly undiminished.

“I’m just saying,” her eyes fix on something over his shoulder, presumably Harry, “he’s got a seriously hot body. And well…he was flirting with you too.”

Louis’ eyebrows jump, his heart knocking against his ribs. The corners of Taylor’s lips twitch as she watches his response. He’s just about to tell her to stop smiling at him like that when a hand grasps him from behind, long, lean fingers pressing into the soft skin as a thumb brushes over the back of his shoulder blade.

“Here,” Harry says softly, handing the sugar to Louis as he turns around, surprise at the touch still flickering over his features.

“Thank you.”

Louis’ voice is far too breathy for a casual conversation in the hallway and his cheeks are starting to feel hot.

“We should um…” he jabs his thumb sideways to his flat and Harry nods, looking slightly disheartened, “enjoy your charity gala.”

“Enjoy your…” Harry’s eyes flit down to the sugar and then back up to Louis’ face, a smile pulling at one side of his mouth, “sugar.”

“Oh I would never ruin tea that way. It’s for Taylor,” Louis says, raising his eyes to the heavens to indicate his disapproval.

Harry hacks a laugh and its chesty, rough sound fills Louis’ ears so pleasantly, he finds himself breaking into a toothy smile all of his own, seeking more of the sound.

“You know what Americans are like…can’t have anything without some form of sweetness or grease,” Louis adds, leaning forward just slightly to wink at his half-dressed neighbour.

“Hey!” Taylor says from behind him, only slightly outraged.

Then she squeezes his hip and leans over him to talk directly to Harry.

“This is coming from the guy who thinks ‘salad’ is a dirty word.”

Harry’s lips are just about touching his ears at this point, inching higher every second as his eyes fly back and forth between Taylor and Louis.

“I see,” Harry nods quite seriously but his eyes are still all aglow, lit up like two green lanterns that Louis finds himself inexplicably drawn to.

He shrugs, unashamed.

“It is what it is.”

Harry’s eyes trail across his chest and he skates a finger across Louis’ tattoo, clearly unbothered by physical contact with mere strangers. Louis can’t say he minds all that much. Harry’s touch is feather light and Louis leans forward just slightly so that the pad of his finger presses more firmly against his skin.

“I see,” Harry repeats, mouth upturned once more.

Louis is disturbed by the fluttering in his chest.

“We should really…”

“Right, right,” Harry’s hand drops awkwardly to his side, his eyes jumping nervously from Louis’ to Taylor, “I should finish getting ready. It was…lovely meeting you,” Louis’ mouth opens but Harry rushes to say, “Properly” before Louis can call him on it.

“It was lovely meeting you too,” Taylor says.

Harry nods, a quiet smile on his face but his eyes fasten on Louis’ and it seems as if he’s waiting for Louis to say the last words.

“Well um…au revoir”        

It sounds ridiculous in his Northerner accent and he’s not sure where the hell it came from. Harry looks thoroughly amused as with one last dimpled smile, he silently shuts the door. Louis takes a deep, unsteady breath and then turns to face Taylor who is shaking with silent laughter.

“au revoir?!” She exclaims, holding her stomach as she begins to laugh aloud, “au revoir?! Since when do you say au revoir?”

Louis’ whole being fills with despair. What was that?

“I don’t know,” he moans, moving past Harry’s door to get back to his own.

Taylor’s still laughing as she follows.

“Orevwa! I can’t believe you just said orevwa!”

Louis rolls his eyes as he pushes the door to his flat open.

“Can we move on please?”

“Of course,” Taylor agrees, “let’s discuss how the size of Calvin’s hands is not at all misleading…if you catch my drift.”

Finally. This is the kind of conversation that Louis can get on board with.

……

“Oh goodness, here he comes.”

“You like to pretend you’re not posh but it’s not at all believable.”

“Harry…posh?!” Niall calls from a metre away, a toothy grin spreading over his mouth, “what are you talking about Zayn? Harold is as unsophisticated as they come.”

Niall’s dressed in a light grey suit with a black tie and pointed black shoes. He looks like a kid playing dress up with his dad’s clothes. His blonde hair is standing up in some kind of messy arrangement that makes him look like a high school kid and his blue eyes are alight with humour. He

draws close and Harry quite covertly elbows him in the ribs.

“I do not appreciate your sarcasm.”

“As if you weren’t just about to complain to Zayn,” Niall’s cheeks lift, “Hey that rhymes,” Harry and Zayn roll their eyes, “…complain to Zayn that I’m a threat to this gala and all because I like to have a good time.”

“I honestly don’t know why they let you into these things,” Zayn says, raising his champagne glass along with his eyebrows.

Zayn is admittedly much more suited to these black tie events. He’s dressed in a navy suit that sucks in at the waist with a prim white shirt that’s buttoned higher than anything Harry’s ever buttoned in his life. Tonight being the exception. His hair is slicked back in a fold over quiff and his dark eyes glow like jewels alongside his almond toned skin. The points of his defined cheekbones and the sharp cut of his jaw scream “male model” as does the way he looks down at Niall’s clearly rented suit with a hint of distaste. Just like Harry, he was born into an upper class family, his parents having known Harry’s since they started at boarding school together when they were quite young. Niall, on the other hand, was the ball of sunshine Harry met when he used to spend his weekends photographing buskers on the street.

“Because I’m Harry’s best friend-“

Zayn bristles at this and Niall flashes a grin.

“His other best friend,” he corrects but he looks unapologetic, “and Harry pays ‘em off, don’t you Haz?”

Niall nudges him much too hard and he stumbles a little, the top layer of his champagne lifting up out of his glass and splashing onto the sleeve of his dark coat.

“Oops.”

Niall’s grin is stretched wide across his face and Harry just sighs and tosses the rest of his drink back.

“I don’t know why you bother coming. It’s not as if you contribute anything to charity,” Harry says with slanted down eyebrows.

“Well, I eat all the food and drink half their alcohol, don’t I?”

Harry’s eyebrows draw more tightly together.

“Niall,” he says, looking at the younger boy with confusion, “you don’t pay for any of that.”

“No,” Niall’s lips pull back even more and his teeth are so white, they sometimes remind Harry of one of those sharks from Finding Nemo, “but the more I consume, the less there is for everybody else. Less liver disease and heart attacks all round. I think that’s quite charitable, don’t you?”

Zayn lets out a rare chuckle as Harry shakes his head, a reluctant grin on his face.

“You’ve gotta give it to him,” Zayn says, “He sure knows how to sell himself.”

“If I didn’t have so much dignity, I’d be a prostitute,” Niall contends with a puffed up chest.

“You?!” Harry guffaws, “Dignity?!”

Zayn smiles close lipped and points at Niall’s mock offended expression.

“The first time we met you had a sausage hanging out your mouth and the first thing you said to me was, ‘don’t mind a bit a’ premium sausage.’”

Harry’s laugh fills the air as he recalls the first exchange between Niall and Zayn. Niall looks equally amused, turning to grab a champagne flute from a nearby waiter.

“It’s not my fault you’ve a dirty mind Zayn Malik,” he says.

Then he knocks back the whole glass of champagne and wipes away resulting debris with his sleeve.

Zayn blanches while Harry finds himself unintentionally endeared. The first time he’d invited Niall to one of these events, it had been an affront to his parents. After that, it just became about having someone there who could make him laugh and who didn’t feel the need to act like a pretentious git half the time. Despite the fact that Niall sometimes puts him on edge with his loud, brash Irishness and his ability to quickly offend half the room with his eating habits, he’s also the reason Harry stays sane. As much as he loves Zayn and thinks of him as a best mate, it’s not the same as having someone who grew up away from it all. Someone who doesn’t have gilt framed family portraits in their home (his family home, not his flat) and a chef who they call “cook” because they never bothered to ask the lovely woman her name (it’s Cheryl).

“You interrupted us,” Zayn complains, changing the topic, “Harry was just about to tell me about his new neighbour.”

Niall turns to him with curiosity sparking in his blue eyes. There’s nothing he loves more than new people to latch onto.

“Do continue,” he says encouragingly, sounding remarkably posh for someone who is anything but.

“Okay well, his name is Louis,” Zayn and Niall make an exaggerated “ooh” noise that Harry ignores, “and he looks around the same age as me….23, maybe 24. He’s um…gorgeous.”

“Someone’s got a crush,” Niall teases, nudging Zayn who stumbles just as Harry had and throws Niall a belligerent look.

Niall’s completely oblivious.

“He has a boyfriend,” Harry says gruffly, “who he shares the flat with. I went over to complain about the noise…I know, not like me at all…but I could hear them yelling through the walls,” he pauses then, his forehead creasing, “although come to think of it, it was more one sided than anything. Anyway, I was trying to fix my camera because it’s been playing up lately. I couldn’t concentrate. So I go over there to complain and this guy who looks like a total butt munch-

“Butt munch?”

Zayn raises an eyebrow.

“Okay total tosspot,” Zayn just shakes his head at Harry’s weird insult, “…this total tosspot chews me out, tries to turn it around like I was the unreasonable one. Then behind him is this guy who’s like swamped in this massive grey jumper and his face is just all wrung out and wrong. Like I could tell he’d just been crying. He looked so vulnerable and heartbroken and I-“

“And you fell in love with him right then and there?” Niall provides, lips twitching.

Harry glares at him until the smile falls.

“No, I felt so guilty. Just terrible. His boyfriend ended up shutting the door in my face before I could say much to make up for it…but then, miracle of all miracles, I was getting ready for tonight and who should stop by but Louis, the messy crier and his friend Taylor, hoping to borrow some sugar-“

“Hoping to borrow some sugar or hoping for you to give him some sugar?” Niall says, humour breaking over his features.

“And I’m the dirty minded one…” Zayn complains and rightfully so.

“Anyway,” Harry says, ignoring them both, “we talked and it was like-he was really nice and like, funny. He seemed much happier today and I was just thinking that I’d like to-“

“Wrap him up in a blanket and take him home?” Zayn suggests, winking at Niall which makes Niall’s cheesy grin return.

“Don’t bring Hugh Grant into this,” Harry says threateningly, Zayn and Niall sniggering in response.

“As I was saying, I just think his boyfriend’s probably a real twat and maybe he just needs a friend or like…” Zayn mouths ‘Hugh Grant’ at Niall who dissolves into laughter, champagne spraying out his nose, “or like,” Harry says more sternly, “just someone in the building to look out for him. So I was thinking of maybe asking him to like hang out with us tomorrow night at my place. What do you guys think?”

“I think…” Zayn says contemplatively before pointing at Harry, a malicious kind of curl to his smile, “You’re going to need a much bigger litter box if you plan on adopting him.”

They attract half a roomful of stares when Niall’s gigantic, raucous laugh booms out over the room. Harry’s smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he shakes his head at his friends and grabs another drink off a passing waiter.

…..

Harry shakes his hands out and takes a deep calming breath, running his sweaty palms down over his blue jeans that hug his thighs while he tries to assess whether his fashion choices are too hipster-y or not. He’s got on a grey pullover with a black and white striped coat over the top. His necklace is matching in its colour profile; a dark, pupil like bead encircled by a white ring and he’s stuffed his abnormally large feet into some dark brown boots with a slight heel. His curls are pulled back by a black headband dotted with tiny yellow bananas (it was a gift from Niall). Harry shrugs and figures if Louis doesn’t accept his sometimes, admittedly odd fashion choices, then maybe they’re just not meant to be friends. He raps on the door and prays to god that Louis’ arsehole of a boyfriend doesn’t answer this time.

Thankfully luck is on his side…or kind of. Louis opens the door but his attire makes Harry gasp. He tries to turn into a breezy, breathy, “hello” but It’s still embarrassingly off balance. Louis looks amused by this as he crosses his arms over his chest and looks Harry up and down in a similar fashion, a hint of teeth showing as his smile lengthens. Harry feels like he definitely should have just worn jeans and a white t-shirt. Louis is dressed in dark black shorts that show off a pair of short but undeniably toned legs and a long sleeved white shirt that presses tightly against his chest and stomach, revealing his indecently tiny form. Harry stares for what is an inappropriately long amount of time.

 “Harold, what’s up?” Louis asks, interrupting Harry’s reverie.

His head jolts up and he meets the sparkling blue eyes with a nervous smile.

“Ah, it’s Harry actually. Harry Styles rather-“

“Rather?” Louis snorts and even that is a wonderful look on him, the sharpness of his response sending a zap of some sort throughout Harry’s body, “you are beyond posh.”

Harry is about to argue the point when Louis’ boyfriend appears behind him, lugging a huge black suitcase and looking seriously vexed by Harry’s presence. Suspicious even.

“What are you doing back here? What are you talking to him for?” He demands, shoving Louis roughly to the side so he can glare at Harry more effectively.

Louis’ eyes cloud over with something that looks a lot like hurt, his cheeks blushing with shame as he holds tight to the side of the door frame. Suddenly he’s the same heartbroken face Harry saw two days ago. Suddenly he’s not all lit up with humour and wit. He looks so embarrassed by his boyfriend’s show of possessiveness, his eyelashes fluttering along his cheeks as he stares determinedly at the ground. He’s breaking Harry’s heart. Not Hugh Grant, Harry tries to tell himself but he still wants to save him. He can’t help himself. He opens his mouth to respond but Louis beats him to the punch, grabbing his boyfriend’s bicep and looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“Duncan…babe, he was just here to talk about getting a tattoo. It’s work related,” Louis says, his voice coloured with fear.

Then he turns his desperate, cerulean blue eyes on Harry and Harry’s heart knocks back and forth between the front and back of his rib cage. Harry thinks the intense vulnerability in those eyes must have left puncture marks upon entering his soul.

“Weren’t you?” He says to Harry and his eyes scream ‘please.’

Duncan’s eyes flash between Harry and Louis, assessing the situation and Harry’s head bobs, only slightly jerkily.

“Yes…of course,” he says, watching Louis’ expression visibly unclench, “no harm done mate?”

Harry holds out a hand to Duncan who shakes it, squeezing it much too tight. Harry doesn’t flinch. Duncan’s acting more like Louis’ over protective father than his boyfriend and it’s confusing Harry to no end.

“Right,” Duncan huffs, releasing his hand, “I should be going.”

“See you Monday?” Louis questions, his voice betraying his need.

It’s such a stark contrast to his confident demeanour with Harry that it’s startling. How can Louis want this boyfriend, who yells at him and makes him cry, to come running back home to see him? Is he actually happy in this relationship? The thought of it makes Harry feel sick.

“We’ll see,” Duncan says sternly, speaking to Louis as though he were a greedy child.

Then he kisses Louis on his head and Harry blanches at the sheer platonic way Duncan treats him. He’s obviously going away for the weekend but he’s not even going to kiss his boyfriend goodbye. He’s not going to give his entirely too gorgeous boyfriend a proper kiss to see him through the next couple of days. Harry thinks it has to be a joke but Louis’ eyes are two pits of despair as he pulls on Duncan’s hoodie.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?” he says, his voice so small, his expression tinged with fear.

Duncan sighs, rolls his eyes and then leans down and meets Louis halfway with a chaste kiss. Harry feels torn between relief and annoyance and that can’t be good. He shoves the thought aside as Duncan slips past him and then hurries away down the hallway and out the building. Harry’s still staring when Louis coughs exaggeratedly to get his attention. He jumps.

“You wanted something?” Louis asks but his voice is much more subdued now.

It sounds rough and choked up like he might be swallowing back tears. His eyes keep flying away from Harry’s and landing on his necklace so Harry gathers he might be ashamed. Not that he has any reason to be. It’s not his fault his boyfriend is an utter asshat.

Harry feels like the best strategy is to get Louis talking. He doesn’t know the lad from atom but from what he’s seen so far, Louis’ at his best when he’s bantering. He’s at his best when he’s stirring or perhaps even being stirred. At least Harry hopes.

“You’re a tattoo artist?” Harry asks, ignoring his question for now as he lets his mouth twist with amusement, “a gay tattoo artist. Guess I know why you opted to grow the facial hair.”

It’s a ridiculous comment really. The facial hair is barely a light dusting that covers the small curve of his chin. It’s an intriguing reddish-brown colour that’s slightly at odds with the dark hair atop his head and is really quite attractive. Also there’s a chance that a decent proportion of the gay population and perhaps the tattoo artist population, would be offended by his comment/generalisation. However Louis is not one of them.

His cheeks lift along with the corners of his mouth and he leans forward. He inhales exaggeratedly, the mischief in his sparkling blue eyes doing nothing to stem the strange activity going on in the pit of Harry’s stomach.

“And I suppose you wear such masculine cologne for a similar reason. To offset your whole,” Louis waves a hand in the air, to indicate Harry’s body, “flamboyant fashion sense.”

Harry’s green eyes are swallowing Louis’, his body leaning forward as his lips flutter upward. He’s caught in the moment, barely conscious of his movements.

“Who says I’m gay?” he enquires.

Louis wets his bottom lip, a seemingly unconscious gesture but it draws Harry’s gaze instantly. Louis points at Harry’s legs.

“The women’s jeans you’re wearing.”

Harry chuckles and Louis looks quite pleased, his contented eyes barely revealing a slit of blue as the skin at the corners folds in on itself, creasing up. Harry’s never quite seen a smile like it. It crawls inside his chest and takes residence in his lungs, stealing half his oxygen supply.

“We probably offended a great deal of people with this conversation,” Harry says, still warm all over.

Louis grips the door frame as he leans out his flat and looks either side of the hallway. When he pulls back in, he raises his eyebrows, that smug, devilish smile starting to liven up his features now.

“I don’t see any people Harry.”

Harry rolls his eyes and pushes Louis’ shoulder lightly who stumbles but upon regaining his balance, returns the gesture, barely managing to make Harry sway on his feet. Harry beams at him, Louis crossing his arms and flicking his feathered fringe away from his forehead, petulance written all over his expression. It’s adorable really. Hugh Grant wears a similar look whenever he rediscovers the fruitlessness of trying to steal chicken from Harry’s plate.

“What was it you came to see me for?” Louis asks, arms still crossed.

Harry is nervous and sweaty all over again.

“Oh. I um…I’m having some mates over tonight for movies and stuff at my place. I was just wondering if…maybe you’d want to come,” Louis’ face registers surprise and Harry panics, rushing on with the rest of his verbal diarrhoea, “you don’t have to come of course. It’s just, I thought it might be nice if we got to know each other a bit and like maybe you could bring a friend yourself, Taylor or someone else, it’s up to you but really-“

“Harry,” Louis interrupts, curling his hand over Harry’s wrist. Harry covers his flushing neck and tries not to flush further at Louis’ soft touch, “I’d love to come.”

“You would?”

Harry inwardly curses his stupidly hopeful, stupidly insecure tone.

“Course,” Louis’ smile stretches wide, “got the perfect person in mind to bring too.”

…….

“You want me to come where?” huffs Liam as he raises an obscene amount of weight up over his chest, Louis spotting him from above.

If Louis was into fitness freaks like Liam, he’d probably have asked him out by now. They met when Louis had enlisted his help as a personal trainer after Duncan had remarked that the extra weight around his tummy was unattractive. He’d wanted to protest that he didn’t mind the extra weight and that he was still healthy and surely that’s all that mattered but Duncan had been giving him looks. Looks that said, “I’m not as attracted to you as I used to be.” It got under his skin. It burrowed deep into his heart and amassed into such a pile of hurt and self-abhorrence that he simply couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Liam had been the man with a plan but now he’s simply one of Louis’ only male best mates. Duncan’s still under the impression that they only train together but Louis spends more time yakking on about their relationship and trying to coerce him into asking guys out than he does doing any form of physical maintenance. However he always ensures he does enough to keep the extra weight off, lest he be looked at with distaste again.

Anyway, Liam is quite the stud muffin in a white, transparent singlet that exposes his bulging arms and reveals his seriously impressive pecs to anyone who’s looking. He’s got a buzz cut to match and black workout pants that ride low over his hips. He’s also got big, brown eyes that resemble that of a puppy. All of it is a lethal combination and if Liam had any confidence within himself, he’d be an absolute hit with guys and girls alike. He’s really only interested in the tush but either way, he’s built like the hulk and has an absolute heart of gold to match.

Louis’ tried to boost his confidence in more ways than one, giving guys his number without his permission (he hadn’t heard the end of that for a week), pushing him into one of the many guys checking him out in the wash room and various other methods. Yet Liam’s never quite been able to conquer the art of flirting or even, semi-fluent conversation. He turns into an absolute mess and suddenly the fit body and cute smile isn’t enough to save him. He turns beet red and Louis’ left having to act as saviour, making an excuse for Liam and dragging him away with a disappointed shake of his head, then feeling bad about it when Liam bows his head with shame.

“To my neighbour’s flat tonight,” Louis repeats, a hint of agitation in his voice.

Liam rests the weight lifting bar in Louis’ hands who drops it back into the stand. He slides out from underneath and Louis passes him his towel which he uses to rub away the traces of sweat collected on his face and in the palms of his hands. He follows this with a long pull of water from the bottle beside his feet and then douses himself with it. He turns to Louis with crossed arms and raised eyebrows.

“What did he do this time?” He sighs, referring to Louis’ irritated tone.

“Nothing,” says Louis, scowling in the direction of the floor.

Liam crosses the space between them and grips his shoulder, rocking him slightly with his unconscious strength.

“Lou, what’s going on mate?”

Louis hates it when Liam does this. He prefers their water fights in the wash room and their constant bickering that is their special form of affection. He hates it when Liam sees through his bullshit and then touches or looks at Louis like he has a “handle with care” sticker stuck to his forehead.

“Nothing…I just,” Louis rubs the palms of his hands into his eyes, “he’s gone away for work again. You know how I get when he goes away…”

Liam pulls his hands away and lowers his head to look Louis more directly in the eyes, a reprimand in his expression.

“No, I know how he gets. He fucks you till you’re too sore to move and then refuses to give you any form of loving affection so that you’ll be left wanting more while he’s away. All because the stupid git thinks it’ll prevent you from straying. As if you would anyway,” Liam scoffs.

“It’s not his fault,” Louis bristles, even as he recalls the hard and not at all enjoyable fuck he’d endured hours earlier, “he just loves me that much. He gets scared about other guys.”

“Louis, wake up,” Liam rolls his eyes, “scared is telling your boyfriend not to find anyone else when you’re gone and checking in every day to see what he’s up to. Scared is not hurting him and leaving him in a mess so that you can feel secure.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Louis says with gritted teeth, thinking that he really has to stop complaining to his friends.

“Fine,” Liam releases his shoulder, “but stop being a grumpy bum. You’re small enough to be a child and when you pout like that, it only enhances the effect.”

Liam smirks at him and waits for the inevitable thwack as Louis snatches his towel away and whips him with it.

“Tosser,” Louis hisses with narrowed eyes.

“Prat.”

“Arsehole.”

“Cockhead.”

“Butt munch.”

Liam’s torso hunches over as he laughs deeply.

“Butt munch? Where did you learn that?”

Louis smirks, his bad mood evaporating quickly.

“Friends. Looked it up on urban dictionary though. It means a friend who is being a jackass. Perfect description for you really,” Louis says, a cheeky smile perched on his lips as his blue eyes peel with the laughter.

Liam just rolls his eyes.

“What was it you were asking me before?”

“Oh right. I wanted to know if you’d come to my neighbour’s flat tonight,” Louis watches Liam’s eyebrows creep inward and hurries to say, “not that you have any say in the matter.”

Liam looks pleading now as he grabs both of Louis’ shoulders and shakes him.

“Please no. You know what I’m like around new people. Took me forever to warm up to you and don’t tell me…this neighbour of yours…is he male?”

“Well…”

“Is he good looking?”

Louis bites his lip. Liam groans.

“Louis, please don’t make me come. Why are you even going anyway? Does Duncan know?”

“Well, no,” Louis admits, a hint of trepidation on his face, “but I told him Harry wants a tattoo.”

Liam cocks his head to the side, expression sceptical.

“And does this Harry, I’m assuming that’s your neighbour,” Louis nods, “want a tattoo?”

“Err…”

“Louis,” Liam complains in a gust of breath, “why do you do this? If you didn’t have such a prat for a boyfriend,” Louis’ face clenches up, his stomach twisting painfully, “you wouldn’t have to lie…about me or poor Harry.”

“Poor Harry?”

“He’s single right?”

“Yeah…” Louis says, voice wavering with confusion, “I mean I don’t know…but he’s not living with anyone. So?”

“And is he straight or-“

“Gay.”

“So he’s probably interested.”

“What?” Louis barks out a laugh, wrapping his arm around his stomach as it erupts out of him, “that’s ridiculous.”

Liam’s whole face is like a caricature of a cumbersome teacher disciplining a student as he puts on his most stern, fatherly voice. Yes, Louis much prefers their banter to this.

“It’s not ridiculous. Most gay…” A contemplative light fills Liam’s brown eyes, “and probably even some straight guys, are attracted to you,” Louis opens his mouth to protest but Liam takes it upon himself to close it for him, “and don’t argue, I see them checking you out. I’m just saying, if Duncan weren’t in your life…it wouldn’t be an issue.”

Liam shrugs as if he hasn’t just suggested Louis end a three year relationship with the man he loves.

“I’m not interested in Harry,” Louis says with only the barest hint of something swirling in his stomach, “and he’s not interested in me. This was SO not the point of this conversation. You are coming tonight and that’s final. It’ll be you, me and a couple of his mates…nothing major. You need to get over this silly fear or you’re never going to land a boyfriend.”

Liam rolls his eyes but Louis knows him well enough to see beyond it to the insecurities within.

“’s not all life’s about Lou,” Liam says, his mournful expression indicating that even he doesn’t buy what he’s selling.

This is when Louis starts to feel bad as the huge, muscled lad before him turns inward and starts persecuting himself for his lack of social skills with potential mates.

“Hey,” Louis says more gently, “maybe you just haven’t met the right guy yet. The love of your life could be…ah, Harry,” the thing swirling in his stomach brightens up exponentially at the alternative that slips out his mouth next, “or… one of Harry’s friends.”

There’s a trace of a smile as Liam shakes his head, not at all convinced.

“Yeah right. Pigs will fly before that happens.”

Louis taps his finger against his bottom lip, raising his eyes to the roof as if deep in thought.

“Where to get a cannon and some thrill-seeking pigs…” he says, smiling triumphantly at Liam’s easily won chuckle.

Louis’ earlier consternation concerning Duncan is all but forgotten.

…..

That bastard changed. Harry now suspects Louis must have been on his way to the gym or something, given his earlier attire but…that bastard changed. Harry’s still wearing the same grey pullover, minus the striped coat, with blue jeans. He’d left the head scarf in too, preferring to be seen as an oddity rather than a curly mess. He’d spritzed some fresh cologne and maybe swiped his thumb across his bottom lip with a dash of lip gloss. It wasn’t remotely shiny or obvious. Harry just liked how it coloured his mouth a slightly darker shade of pink.

But Louis. Harry opens the door to Louis dressed in tight, black jeans rolled just above his tiny, honey toned ankles and a deep red, collared shirt that’s cut just reveals his entirely too stellar collar bones and a portion of his dark tattoo. He’s got a black beanie over his head that offsets the slightly formal attire of his shirt, as if he weren’t quite sure how to dress. It forces his fringe down so that it falls across his eyes in folds of soft, chestnut brown. The blue that pokes through the dark strands between is all lit up like the flame beneath a Bunsen burner. Harry pulls Louis in to a hug, trying not to interpret the quiet gasp below him as anything negative.

“Louis,” he chirps, unable to contain how positively enthralled he is that the other lad showed.

Louis’ hair smells fruity and fresh, like watermelon or something and the rest of him has some clean, soapy scent too. Harry notes that the ends of his hair are still slightly damp.

“Hipster,” Louis replies, stepping past Harry and into his flat.

Harry chuckles then watches as Louis stands in his living room, twisting this way and that to peruse everything in sight. His eyes fall on the collection of camera equipment piled high in the corner and then carry across the walls to the small number of paintings he has, most of them abstract explosions of colour. Finally they take in the mauve toned couches and the antique looking coffee table that houses a wide selection of snacks and as of yet empty glasses. There’s a furry, grey bundle curled up beneath. Louis’ lips curve as he points at the bundle.

“Of course you have a kitten.”

Harry shrugs, grinning unapologetically.

“Something wrong with that?” He asks.

Louis swivels in his direction, eyes still spiking with some form of unusual energy. Harry notices how very tiny his nose is. It’s a button nose. In fact most of his features are pretty tiny except for his thick biceps and the arse that Harry had tried not to ogle as Louis assessed his flat.

“No,” Louis says with a laugh, “it’s just that cats are on the same level as cockroaches for me.”

Harry’s brow furrows and he makes a “harrumph” sound which makes Louis laugh again. He crosses the space between them and places his hand against Harry’s shoulder blade, curling his fingers across the top slightly and elevating Harry’s heart rate in the process.

“Sorry love,” he says, his long, feminine-like eyelashes fluttering, “but I just don’t do fur.”

Harry cocks his head, expression speculative. He tries not to let the flirtatious challenge in his eye treacle down to his mouth but it’s twitching before he can do much about it. He pulls on the end of Louis’ fringe.

“What do you call this?” he murmurs.

“Hair,” Louis says with a chuckle.

Yet the light in his eyes dims slightly as he steps backward. Harry warns himself then and there that he best keep himself in check. Louis is attractive. Louis is amusing. It’s quite easy to get lost in the flow of words between them and maybe Louis feels that too but Louis is not his to charm and Harry is not looking for messy. Thankfully it’s then that a knock sounds on the door, distracting them both from the sudden onset of tension.

“I’ll just…get that,” Harry says, slightly stilted and more than slightly awkward.

Louis purses his mouth in a contained smile that suggests he knows exactly what Harry is thinking. Harry doesn’t like the thought of that. He shakes it off as he turns and strides toward the door, opening it up to both Niall and Zayn who look like they’ve already had some minor disagreement, Zayn’s nose pinched with distaste while Niall looks all huffy and slightly red in the face.

“What happened now?” Harry sighs.

Zayn looks stunning, in dark jeans, a loose black singlet and a charcoal leather jacket that finishes at his forearms. His hair is standing up on his head, the strong scent of gel and product rolling off it in waves. Harry can’t deny it always looks good, somehow still soft, despite the force that must have been used to get it to stay that way. Niall is as always, his antithesis, in light blue jeans that are torn at the knees and a baggy white jumper which has a faded yellow stain at the edge.

“Niall…” Zayn tosses his head, looking positively disgusted. “Niall…”

“I farted,” Niall fills in for him, “and the electric windows in his merc are still broken.”

There’s a loud cackle behind Harry’s head and he turns with a quizzical expression to find Louis in stitches. Louis comes up behind him, wraps a warm hand around his hip and moves him sideways, lighting him on fire while he so casually leans forward and offers a hand.

“Louis Tomlinson,” he says, with a swoon-worthy smile, “I’m Harry’s new neighbour. Very impressed with your work.”

Niall grins as he grabs Louis’ hand and yanks him into a hug, thumping him over the back despite the fact that they’ve only just met.

“Louis mate, nice to meet ya. I’m Niall, Harry’s best mate.” he says, voice echoing out into the hallway.

Louis doesn’t seem too put off when he pulls away, winking at Niall, before offering the same hand to Zayn.

“Hello,” he says, a touch more formality in his tone as if he already recognises the difference between the two.

However Zayn’s been glancing between Louis and Niall with a concentrated little frown on his face and it seems that his innate competitiveness is enough to chase away the posh superiority…at least for now. He breaks into a winning smile and pulls Louis into a hug too.

“I’m Zayn,” he says quietly, “Harry’s fittest mate.”

Is he flirting? Harry glares at him over Louis’ shoulder, praying his eyes scream “he has a boyfriend” and not “get your filthy paws off him before I make you.” Louis pulls away from him with a breathy, rough sounding laugh that sends a tingle down Harry’s spine.

“I see,” Louis lets his eyes rove over Zayn’s form and Harry’s stomach muscles tighten, “model?”

Zayn nods, his dark eyes glowing with pride.

“Are you two going to come in?” Harry says impatiently, “or are you just going to stand there gawking at him and smiling like you’ve just met Father Christmas?”

Louis raises an eyebrow at him but Harry pretends he doesn’t see, leading Louis and the rest to the couches where they arrange themselves, Louis and Zayn on one couch (much to Harry’s annoyance) and Niall on the other beside Harry. Just as he starts handing out glasses, there’s another slightly more hesitant tap on the door.

“That’ll be Liam,” Louis supplies, “my mate.”

Harry stands to go get the door but Louis presses him back down with a hand to his knee.

“No, I’ll get it,” he says with crinkled eyes, “as long as...you don’t mind?”

Niall laughs unnecessarily loud and leans across Harry to communicate with Louis.

“Mate, the first time I came over, I got a pizza delivered here without asking.”

Harry chortles at the memory and inclines his head in Niall’s direction.

“It’s true. He’s kind of a terror.”

Louis grins and then stands, walking across the room to swing open the door. Harry hears a slightly panicked voice on the other side of it.

“Louis I’m so sorry I’m late but I couldn’t figure out what to wear and then I started worrying that I-“

“Shh,” Louis soothes and Harry watches his arm extend outward, presumably to calm his frazzled friend, “it’s all good Li. Just come on in. You can meet everybody, okay?”

Harry’s not sure he understands the message in Louis’ tone. The plea, command and encouragement all mixed up in one. That is until Louis steps into the room with the guy and things start to deteriorate. The lad himself is seriously beefed up and he looks dangerously close to Zayn’s type with his militaristic buzz cut, the angular jaw and a decent ensemble of blue jeans, a tight white shirt and a denim jacket that cuts off halfway down his arms just as Zayn’s does. Zayn practically falls over himself…and very nearly Louis, as he gets up to introduce himself. His hand shoots out like rapid fire and from his place on the couch, Harry can see the flirtatious glint in his eye, the Zayn Malik determination that he truly admires.

“Hello gorgeous, I’m Zayn.”

That’s the moment things start to fall apart. Louis looks at Zayn like he wants to shake him and vulnerable brown eyes fall to Zayn’s shoes. He looks about two seconds away from bolting and he’s completely silent. He doesn’t return the greeting or shake Zayn’s hand and Harry’s eyes are drawn to Louis, who cups Liam’s shoulder, a downward tilt to his mouth as he looks up at Zayn.

“This is Liam,” Louis says, as if he hadn’t mentioned it in front of Zayn just before, “he’s a personal trainer. Li…Zayn’s a model.”

“I know,” Liam mumbles.

Zayn’s hand falls and his eyebrows shoot up towards his hair.

“You do?” Zayn and Louis say at the same time.

Liam does lift his head now but his cocoa coloured eyes barely trace Zayn’s before they fly back to a place of comfort; Louis.

“I’ve seen him…at the gym and I-“Liam’s mouth twists indecisively and then he leans closer to Louis, talking just a fraction quieter as if it will somehow prevent the rest of them from hearing, “remember when I told you about that guy that I saw...in a magazine…and then he came to my gym and I, well you know-“

“Ohhh,” Louis’ eyes light up and he turns to Zayn with curled lips, “Liam is actually a big fan.”

Apparently this is enough to bring Liam out of his shell because he clamps down on Louis’ shoulder and glares at him with all the rage of someone who’s just had their crush outed by their best mate.

“Louis,” he says sternly.

“Don’t ‘Louis’ me,” Louis defends himself and Harry gets the inkling that he says that a lot, “I’m doing you a favour.”

“Fan, are you?” Zayn interrupts their squabbling, a softness in his voice that Harry is unused to hearing, even when he’s chatting someone up.

Liam flushes but meets Zayn’s look anyway as he attempts to push his sleeves up. They don’t budge at all.

“Well I-I guess, I mean…yeah.”

Louis’ teeth are showing and he looks about ready to kiss Liam, unable to keep still. Liam speaking to guys like Zayn with any degree of coherency must be a rarity.

“You never approached me,” Zayn accuses, disappointment in his tone, “why?

“I- I was afraid to-“

“Can I have your number?” Zayn interrupts, his voice still that weird shade of silky that Harry half enjoys and half finds unsettling.

Liam blanches and then looks at Louis in panic. Louis just raises his eyebrows and smiles tight lipped, as if to say, “go for it mate.” Liam does.

“Ah yeah,” he says nervously.

After the two have traded numbers, Liam blushing furiously while Zayn gazes at his face, studying him intensely, Liam takes Louis’ spot on the couch and Louis looks around for another place to sit. Niall shoves over on the couch (Harry might have pushed him) and Louis hesitates for a moment before planting himself in between them. Closer to Harry really. Not that he’s bothered.

“So,” Zayn says, cutting his hands through the air in that dramatic way he so loves to do, “you’ll never guess what the arse of a photographer said to me today.”

Harry leans forward and pours a drink for himself and Louis, passing it into Louis’ hand. Their fingers brush ever so casually when Harry pulls away. Niall knocks him on the side of his arm and when he turns to look at him, there’s an expectant, angry look on his face that says “where’s mine?” Harry just motions to the drinks on the table with a simpering smile. He’s not a waiter. He just wants Louis to feel looked after. It’s quite clear his boyfriend doesn’t do enough of that.

“Are you listening?” Zayn complains, piercing Harry with his glare.

Harry nods obediently and Zayn rolls his eyes.

“So he told me, he said,” Zayn tilts his chin up slightly and waves his hand in the air as he puts on his ‘photographer’ voice, “babe you’re absolutely stunning, just gorgeous but could you try looking less…angsty? I think it’s the cut of your jaw, if you could just…I dunno, I mean it’s just a bit angular…if you could fix that please love?”

Fix your jaw?!” Liam exclaims, flushing again as he realises he’s spoken without deliberation. It’s a touch endearing.

His voice is much quieter when he speaks again.

“How could you possibly make your jaw less angular?”

“Exactly,” Zayn says, his eyes hanging on Liam.

Harry doesn’t tend to be a very willing participant in Zayn’s photographer bashing. For obvious reasons. However, he will admit that this one sounds like a prat.

“I think it’s just these people,” Zayn sniffs, as though personally offended by the thought, “you know…photographers. They’re only in it to make themselves look good, not you.”

Liam nods with wide brown eyes as though this is a useful and poignant revelation. Harry coughs exaggeratedly. Louis raises an eyebrow and Zayn rolls his eyes again.

“Not you Harry. That’s different. Your photo shoots are all happy families and celebrations. You take mostly candids. Anyone can tell you’ve got heart.” Harry’s expression softens, “What you do…it’s not cutthroat like the modelling world.”

Louis’ hand brushes the side of Harry’s arm as he pulls his knees up and wraps an arm around them, tilting his head up at Harry, all curious. He looks a lot younger like this; his tattoo hidden from view and his eyes all soft and leaden.

“You’re a photographer Harry?”

Harry smiles at him and returns the arm touch. It’s only fair.

“Did the camera equipment in the corner say otherwise?”

Louis grins and then relaxes his legs slightly, tracing the line of his chest tattoo with a finger.

“Tattoos don’t make me a tattoo artist and a camera doesn’t make you a cameraman.”

Harry’s caught up in the light flashing in Louis’ eyes. It’s like one of those signalling lights they have in lighthouses that rotate in a circle, lighting up a different portion of the deep blue with every rotation. Harry leans forward, his hand sneaking out to rest on Louis’ jean clad knee. It feels rough under his fingers but the touch is weirdly satisfying so he splays his fingers and grips tighter.

“What makes you a tattoo artist then?” Harry cocks his head, “what makes me a,” Harry pauses using his free hand to form air quotes, “’cameraman?’”

“Passion,” Louis breathes, a huskiness to his voice that makes every other surrounding noise die in Harry’s ears, “the will to draw a tattoo or take a photo. You can get your body inked and you can use a camera to snap a selfie without having it be an integral part of your life. I mean, everybody has that one thing that sets them alight inside, that one thing that they can’t share with anybody else because it’s just theirs. It’s their keepsake. Whether that’s drawing on someone’s skin or snapping a shot of a couple at their wedding reception…I mean, that’s sort of our private sense of pleasure. No one can get inside it, no one can feel it quite like we can…yeah?”

Harry’s eyes are glued to Louis’ face. He gulps, trying to gather his thoughts which are in complete disarray. Louis is NOT just a pretty face.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees but he sounds breathless and embarrassingly high pitched.

 “About that,” Niall interrupts and Harry is suddenly aware that there are other people in the room, “about your passion…how did you get into that Louis?”

Niall leans around Harry to look at Louis, whose lips purse around a mouthful of his drink. Harry watches its journey down his rather lovely throat. He draws a finger round the rim of his glass as he answers the question, eyes squinted with concentration.

“When I got out of school, I studied to be a drama teacher,” Harry’s eyebrows are up near his hair and Louis notices, chuckling before continuing, “yes I know, most would be drama teachers don’t become tattoo artists but I never actually got to the teaching part. Drama was just the only thing I could think of really. Back in school I did a lot of productions so I thought, why not?” Louis shrugs, tossing his head a little and disturbing his soft fringe, a brilliantly carefree smile on his face as he continues. Harry thinks Louis might just be the only truly beautiful person he knows who DOESN’T know he’s beautiful. “So yeah, I went straight into a course I had no real desire to do for a job that I wasn’t at all invested in and two years in, I thought fuck it, this is not what I want. I hadn’t yet met Duncan and I didn’t have much keeping me here. So I travelled for a year or so with money I’d saved from a vast array of jobs I had in me younger years.”

“You travelled?” Zayn says, a note of admiration in his voice, “I’ve always wanted to but my parents think I should wait until I’ve earned more money. Wait until I’ve made a reputation for myself, you know. ‘Modelling is a fickle thing son.’”

Harry’s heard Zayn bitterly quote his father this way more times than he can count. Louis turns in Zayn’s direction, shaking his head, a fantastical gleam in his eye that tells Harry this is a subject he feels strongly about.

“Nah mate, you gotta go now. Go while you’re still young. That’s when it’s best. I went all over the place…spent a few months in Aus, went across Europe. Even by myself, I learnt so much. I started sketching stuff when I was in France. They have such great art…and Rome too, the history there. The ancient structures, they held this, this…” Louis rubs his fingers together, searching for a word he can’t locate.

“Authenticity,” Harry leans in to whisper.

Louis looks back over his shoulder with a slow forming smile that’s just for Harry.

“Authenticity…that I wanted to capture,” he gushes, turning back to Zayn. “And I’d never much been into art before or anything but I would just do these sketches at night when I got back to the place where I was staying or like, even at the landmarks if I could. And then, when my trip came to an end, there I was in an art class for beginners when I met this guy Art,” Niall’s laugh is loud and harsh in contrast with Louis’ velvety soft voice, “no really,” Louis turns to smirk at Niall, “his name was Art. I suspect it was short for something, Artie perhaps…but anyway, he was into tattoo design. He inked this,” Louis pulls the edge of his shirt down to expose his tattoo and his skin is so soft and smooth looking, Harry continues to gaze it even after Louis lets his shirt back up, “and basically taught me everything I know.”

“Cool!” Niall says enthusiastically, pushing Harry in the back of the shoulder, “H, isn’t that cool?”

Harry gives him a warning glare. A warning that says “you’re not a matchmaker and even if you were, Louis is taken.” Taken, Harry reminds himself as Louis sweeps his fringe to the side slightly and looks up at him as if he really were waiting for his approval.

“Yes,” Harry murmurs, “very…cool.”

He hopes Louis can glimpse the weight of all he’d really like to say stirring beneath the surface. Louis’ smile inches higher, his small, puffy cheeks inching higher too so Harry figures he does. Then he turns back to Zayn.

“Anyway man, you really should get a few friends together or just go on your own. Your choice of course but I discovered a career and it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life.”

Zayn looks mildly convinced which is exceptional since Zayn never looks even remotely convinced by anything Niall and Harry have to say on the matter. Harry supposes Louis is just that kind of person, unconsciously persuasive and hard to resist. Whatever, Harry is totally immune. Taken, he intones.

“I’ll think about it,” Zayn agrees with a relaxed smile.

Then he looks over at Liam and engages him in conversation. Liam blushes furiously as Zayn lavishes attention on him, touching his thigh and letting his teeth break his lips, his eyelashes dancing lower and lower along the lines of his cheekbones. He’s a vision. Harry can’t say he blames Liam for looking half like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him and half like he wants to puke.

“H, I’m just going to go for a bit of a walk,” Niall announces suddenly, slapping his thighs and standing up with a determined light in his eye.

Harry spots the calculated plan immediately. Leave him alone with Louis while Zayn is too busy talking to Liam to interrupt. Arse. Harry narrows his eyes but keeps his tone perfunctory.

“A walk Niall? Now? It’s quite brisk outside. You might get cold.”

And die, Harry’s fiery green eyes say. Die by my hand. Niall just chuckles and pats him on the head.

“Aww Harry, such a good mate. Always worrying about me. I’ll be fine though.”

He disappears out the door too quickly to argue and Harry is left with Louis, their bodies closer than they need to be now that Niall’s gone. Neither of them moves away. At least until Harry’s nerves get the better of him.

“I’ll just get Hugh Grant,” he announces.

Louis’ expression freezes and his blue eyes go wide.

“Hugh grant?”

“My kitten,” Harry provides with a smirk, “you know…the furry cockroach.”

Louis throws his head back as a laugh springs from his chest, his eyes closing softly with mirth. So beautiful. Harry unfreezes his glazed over eyes and gets down on his hands and knees, reaching under the table to pull the small grey kitten with the huge brown eyes into his chest and up onto the couch. He holds the kitten up for Louis to see.

“Louis, meet Hugh Grant. Hugh, meet Louis.”

Louis eyes Hugh Grant with all the warmth of a freezer and looks quite clearly uncomfortable. It amuses Harry. He settles the cat in his own lap, stroking his fur as he looks up at Louis with a dimpled grin.

“You don’t think he’s cute?”

Louis’ eyes follow Harry’s hand on Hugh’s fur and then take in the little pink collar and bell. Harry refused to buy him a blue collar just because he’s a boy. These ridiculous societal expectations won’t confine his cat and Harry’s fairly sure Hugh prefers curling up on his pink button up than his blue one.

“I think you’re cute,” Louis says, a soft smile in his eyes but as Harry’s face freezes, Louis’ does. He keeps talking, his words blurring together with speed as his eyes form unhappy creases, “I mean…please don’t think I meant…I just meant that it’s cute the way you obviously-“

Harry squeezes his ankle and Louis’ eyes seize a little, his speech cutting off when Harry interrupts.

“It’s okay Lou,” he soothes, the nickname slipping off his tongue without much thought, “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

Louis exhales and his scrunched up face springs back to it’s formerly peaceful state.

“So you named your cat Hugh Grant?” He asks with a raised eyebrow, “What was it? Bridget Jones’ Diary? Four weddings and a funeral? Notting hill? Or all three?”

Harry squeezes Louis’ ankle, his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as he stares at Louis with complete horror. It makes Louis giggle and his hand slides over his mouth to contain the sound. It’s cute, adorable even, but Harry is still horrified.

“You. Forgot. The. Most. Important. One.”

Louis’ mouth twists as he tries to place the all-important movie but he shrugs, clearly lacking the all-important knowledge. Harry sighs, completely despairing.

“Love actually.”

“I haven’t seen it,” Louis confesses, flicking his fringe, unbothered, as if he hasn’t just admitted to the worst crime imaginable.

“Oh dear god,” Harry raises his palms to his face, “you’ve not lived. You’re what…24?” Louis nods, looking a touch surprised at the accuracy, “and you’ve not lived. This will not do.”

Louis giggles once more and this time Harry makes sure to appreciate the sound, his dimples lifting into place in response.

“Well hipster, enlighten me,” Louis lifts his hand into the air, as if weighing things in his hands, “I’m a love actually virgin.”

It’s too tempting. Too, too tempting. Harry cocks an eyebrow, a coy smile on his lips as his green eyes turn playful.

“Are you asking me to take your virginity?”

Despite the whole ‘cute’ incident, Louis looks unfazed. Perhaps because Harry initiated it. Anyhow, Louis’ grin stretches obscenely.

“I’m asking you to rock my world…with love actually.”

They both stare at each other for a moment, Harry’s stomach in knots and then collapse into laughter.

“Louis Tomlinson, you’re quite funny for a tattoo artist,” Harry says, still glowing.

Louis cracks another smile that sends a rush of exhilaration through Harry’s system and offers his own barb.

“Harry Styles, you’re quite clichéd for a hipster. Didn’t know you guys were allowed to like cheesy movies,” Louis teases.

Harry plucks the beanie off Louis’ head and drops it down onto the couch, reaching over to ruffle (and mess up) Louis’ hair. It’s soft beneath his hand and the ends slide through his fingers like silk. Louis beats his hand away and replaces his beanie with a glare.

“It’s not like a club,” Harry explains, “it’s not like there’s rules. If I wear something less eccentric, there’s nobody there to be like, “you can’t sit with us!””

“Mean girls?” Louis says with a laugh, “Harold, you’re pathetic.”

“You’ve clearly seen it though.”

“Four sisters,” Louis explains with a grin.

“Ah,” Harry nods, “pity you aren’t straight. You must be great with women.”

“No matter,” Louis shrugs, taking a long sip of his drink before resting his eyes somewhere deep in Harry’s, “I’m great with men too.”

Harry can’t help the flutter in his chest but he resist the urge to say, “I can see that.”  Louis seems to regret his comment anyway. His eyes darken and he leans awayfrom Harry, slouching slightly as he rests against the back of the couch.

“I mean… I’ve kept Duncan interested,” he says awkwardly, his tone completely off.

Harry looks down at his kitten and then shrugs to himself, lifting Hugh up off his lap and placing him down into Louis’. Louis sits up with wide eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I have to go find the movie don’t I?”

Louis huffs, his forehead creasing up but when Harry returns with the DVD in hand, he finds both Louis and Hugh sizing each other up with the same curiosity in their entirely too luminous eyes. It’s a start. He slides the disk into the DVD player just as Niall re-enters the flat and launches himself across the table and into his former spot. The movie starts to play and Louis leans in to whisper in his ear as it does.

“Thank you.”

Harry’s expression is confused. Louis’ eyes flicker quite purposely across to the other couch where Zayn and Liam sit close, Liam’s eyes flying to Zayn’s face and away every few moments while Zayn gazes at him, uninterrupted, a serene smile playing over his lips. Then Louis’ eyes flick over to Niall stuffing popcorn in his mouth and looking totally enraptured. He does love a good chick flick. Finally Louis squeezes his bicep. Louis’ glad he was invited. He seems glad to be hanging out with them. It’s okay that Harry feels like there’s a warm cloth pressed to his skin even once Louis retracts his hand…right? Louis is…magnetising. To say the least. Harry spends much of the time watching him instead of the movie. However, Harry’s still got Louis’ boyfriend’s ticked off expression in his mind and he’s not about to get all caught up in whatever it is they’ve got going on. Louis Tomlinson is NOT going to be his undoing.

Chapter Text

Harry walks down the hall to the GQ office with an overly made up blonde resting her manicured, red fingernails on his lower back and fluttering her mascara laden eyelashes in his direction.

“Mr Tellman was just so impressed with your profile Harry…I mean” the blonde pauses, giggling as she presses a hand to her cleavage which is pushed up to her neck and shimmering with glittery bronzer, “Mr Styles.  Please forgive me for being so unprofessional.”

Harry fights the urge to roll his eyes or better yet, remove her hand from his back with a patronising, “I’m gay sweetheart.” He wants to make a good impression and he has no idea how this world works but there’s every chance that Mr Tellman will ask this annoyingly flirtatious receptionist for her opinion of him. He can’t risk being perceived as rude. With a forced cordiality in his tone and a dimpled, pearly white smile, he reigns in his irritation and meets her predatory gaze.

“Of course. Just between you and me,” he tells her, winking slyly and hating himself for it instantly.

She runs a hand down the back of her platinum blonde hair in response and her fingers press more insistently against his back.

“Maybe after your meeting with Mr Tellman, you could take me out on my lunch break?” She offers, just as they reach the formidable black door at the end of the hall.

Harry pauses with his hand on the doorknob, his smile slipping from his face at her forwardness. He supposes she’s just like any other single girl looking for a way out of the single life but the excess of sticky lip gloss and the heels that narrow to a near miniscule point, suggest that even if he were straight, she’s the type of woman who would swallow him whole. The type of woman who would probably ensnare him any way she could if she knew his affluent background.

“Sorry love,” he says, squeezing her elbow gently to ease the blow, “but I’ve got somewhere I have to be.”

“No matter,” she smiles too wide, “you’ll just have to take me out next time you’re here.”

“Course,” Harry lies and then pushes the dark door open.

The man seated at the huge oak desk is not what Harry would have expected from the editor of a men’s fashion magazine. He’s large and stout with patchy red cheeks and entirely too round glasses. His hair is dark and sprinkled with grey and he looks like he’s spent entirely too many years sitting here at this desk. However when he raises his eyes up, the directness of his cool, blue gaze proves to Harry that he’s got enough back bone to have earned his stellar reputation. He also scales Harry’s jeans, pale blue fitted shirt and navy trench coat with a sharp eye and what Harry likes to refer to as the ‘elevator’ look. 

“Styles?” He asks in a sharp, gruff tone.

Harry draws close to the desk and extends his hand to Mr Tellman, who he’s starting to gather is the type of man who looks eternally unimpressed. Even when the opposite may in fact be true. Mr Tellman grasps the hand offered to him and there’s a microscopic twitch of his mouth that might be his approximation of a smile.

“Miles Tellman,” he says, gesturing for Harry to take a seat on the other side of the desk, “editor of GQ.”

Harry nods. He’s well aware. He’s sent the man a summary of his pitch, along with his portfolio, more times than he could count over the past year. Or tried to send, is probably more accurate. There’s a process in which the people that work for him weed out the serious proposals from those that are destined to fail or are unworthy of a closer look. If Harry knew who finally let his pitch through, he’d buy them a bunch of flowers. Unless of course, it was the vulture-like receptionist out front, who’d probably construe that as a form of romantic proposal. He shudders to think.

“It’s an honour to meet you sir,” Harry confesses.

He’s not sucking up. He’s been reading GQ for years and to finally have a meeting with the man at the helm of things is certainly awe-inspiring. Had he expected someone a little more sophisticated who looked a little less like his great uncle Hester? Sure. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get an excited little buzz tingling down the back of his spine when he looks around the room and finds the walls covered with framed covers of GQ. He wonders if his idea might be up there at some point.

“Your portfolio is very different from the others,” Mr Tellman says, leaning across the desk to stare more directly at Harry, “and your CV is not what I usually look for.”

Harry expected this. He’s never sent his portfolio to a magazine before and it doesn’t speak to his professional abilities as such. Simply because he’s never done a professional shoot. He’s never wanted to in fact. Like Zayn had said, there’s heart in the way he does things and he’s never thought of professional photography as his forte.

His forte is pictures of family and extended family celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of the grandparents’ marriage, their arms wrapped around each other, eyes slightly off focus from too much drink but watery with a languid kind of happiness, Harry instructing them to move in closer to fit everybody in. His forte is close up shots of a husband’s expression when he first glimpses his soon-to-be wife entering the chapel. That look on his face of complete disbelief mingling with bliss that Harry captures every time. That look that says, “I’m at a loss to understand why you’ve chosen me but I am so glad that you have.” Candids of children laughing and playing together at birthday parties, their chubby legs captured mid stride as they run from the friend chasing them. Pictures that capture the midway point of a laugh, where the teeth are exposed, the irises bulging with liquid blue or green and someone’s thrown their head back and completely given themselves over to humour; to the weightlessness of joy. That’s his forte.

Harry’s been content to capture these intimate moments in a semi-casual setting without any barking of orders, with no touch ups of make-up and hair (or at least not by a stylist) and no pressure to get the perfect shot. It’s all about capturing memories. It’s all about capturing life. He’s been satisfied with his career since he forged a path for it and hadn’t thought twice about it for the past few years.

Then, a year ago he’d been talking to someone at a wedding, the best man in fact, who had confessed he used to be a professional photographer but quit because he was tired of capturing images that were, if not unnatural to begin with, edited beyond recognition later. He said he’d spent enough time in that world to know it wasn’t giving way to revolutionary change any time soon, despite the growing demand for untouched pictures and plus sized models.

Harry happened to agree. It just wasn’t happening quickly enough to stop the current generation from growing up with body image issues and a false, unrealistic idea of beauty. Thus, Harry didn’t set himself the challenge of changing the way things were done completely but he did wonder if he couldn’t perhaps even briefly, influence his own demographic. If he could get his message across to just one guy, maybe that was significant enough in itself. That thought lead him here, to the office of one Miles Tellman, the editor of GQ, with an idea in his back pocket that he hopes will impress.

“I’m aware of that Sir,” Harry acknowledges, inclining his head to show respect, “but with all due respect, this shoot wouldn’t be like anything your other photographers have ever done.”

Mr Tellman’s eyebrows open up into sharp diagonals that look more like curious grey caterpillars than anything.

“So pitch it to me. I’ve had a brief look at the idea but I’d like to hear it straight from you.”

Harry takes a deep breath and tries to recall the speech he wrote just last night in hopes that he would be able to recite it eloquently and win Mr Tellman over at the offset. However now, in his moment of need, he can recall approximately none of it and is left only with his ability to improvise. He has to express this idea the only way he knows how; with his mouth delivering the words that originate from somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

“It would be sort of be like a before and after…but backwards.” Mr Tellman’s eyebrows open up even further, his blue eyes seeking more and it fills Harry with hope, “Like when you see those shots in magazines of celebrities before they lost the weight and then after. Or when someone gets a makeover and the shot where they’re all done up is always the after shot. I’d love to do a spread where we got a whole selection of ordinary guys with different weight ranges, ethnicities, hair colours…everything really…and shoot them as they are. Then, we’d get them all doled up in the latest fashions with perfect hair and make-up and we’d shoot them that way. The before shots would be the candids where they looked really happy, you know…really alive. The after shots…they’d look really well styled and done up…but their expressions. They’d be frozen in these rigid wax, figure expressions. No smiles, no natural emotion. Maybe we could even do them grayscale,” Harry gushes, passion flowing out through his mouth.

Mr Tellman is silent for a moment as he smooths a hand across the documents open on his desk.

“I picked you Mr. Styles because your pitch seemed the most genuine. It seems a lot more relatable than anything we’ve ever done but do tell me, what makes this so different from every other magazine shoot claiming untouched pictures and ‘real women’?”

Harry’s mouth lifts at the corner.

“Well we’re talking about real men for starters, not women. Society has taken to trying to show women that they don’t need to change their bodies or their faces to be beautiful. That maybe they don’t need to hide their flaws…. but what about men? I mean, I’m not telling you how to run your magazine Sir but I think GQ could stand to show a less airbrushed side of itself. I think a shoot with a little more character would be the best thing for this magazine at this point.”

Mr Tellman strokes his chin with his thumb and forefinger, a contemplative light in his eye.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Harry baulks. He’d wanted to believe he could succeed in this setting but the reality of it is startling.

“I’d like a prototype…a practice shot. Shoot a model and-“

“Sir,” Harry interrupts, “the whole point of the shoot is that the men have to be everyday lads. Not models.”

Mr Tellman inclines his head.

“Fine. Have it your way but I expect a number of test shots on my desk by Tuesday.”

Harry nods and then reaches across to shake the pudgy man’s slightly wrinkled hand.

“Thank you Mr Tellman,” the older man’s expression darkens and Harry rushes to correct himself, “I mean…sir. Thank you for this opportunity. I promise I won’t let you down.”

Mr Tellman simply nods, looking as stern as he had to begin with. So Harry releases his hand and makes to leave. Just as he’s about to reach the door, the deep, gravelly voice rises up once more.

“I like you Mr Styles.”

Harry permits himself a small, gratified smile and then quietly slips out of the office. He gets about five feet away from the building before it suddenly occurs to him that he actually has to plan the whole shoot now. He needs someone to model for him. Someone natural. Someone who’s beautiful but doesn’t quite know that they-Harry stops walking. It could work, he thinks. It would be masterful. If he could just get him to agree to it. Harry sets a new determined pace on the sidewalk to match the resounding determination in his mind. He will get him to agree. This is going to be the best damn test shot Mr Tellman has ever seen.

…..

Louis eyes the hot pink lacquer with a doubtful look.

“It doesn’t look like it comes right off,” he says, hitching his shoulder up higher to stop the phone from sliding out.

He’s holding a bottle of bright pink nail polish up to the light in one hand, twisting it this way and that as he pulls his shoes off with the other. He glares at the bottle as though if he stares at it hard enough, it may just crack under the pressure and reveal its secrets. Taylor’s trying to tell him that all it takes is a bit of nail polish remover and a light scrub to get it off but Louis’ seen the remnants of this shit remain on girls’ nails for months.

“Trust me Lou, if you want to get it off, it will come off.”

“I don’t want to put it on!” Louis insists.

It might be a slightly tall tale. He had enjoyed his experience with eyeliner for that dress up party and truth be told, he is slightly curious about what the pink shade might look like alongside his tanned skin. It’s not that he conforms to any stereotype. He’s currently rocking a slightly black t-shirt and dark skinnies, his tattoos on full display. Nor does he think it’s wrong TO conform to a stereotype per se but the point is, his slight curiosity is not a GAY thing. It’s a Louis thing. He’s always been keen to try new things. If someone says, “I bet you no one will drink this cocktail I’ve just mixed….it’s tequila, chocolate milk and juice,” Louis is there with a slightly devilish grin and a sense of adventure promising that he will. He’s just that guy. So he leans over, resting his foot on the coffee table while he positions the white cotton buds in between his toes.

“I swear, if you tell anyone about this…” Louis says threateningly.

He can practically hear Taylor’s eyes rolling in her head down the line.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“No it’s not but if one of the lads that I tattoo, caught wind of the fact that I was wearing pink nail polish, I’m quite certain I’d lose their business.”

“You don’t need the business of close minded idiots,” Taylor contends, quite matter of fact.

Louis’ mouth twists. She might have a point. He unscrews the lid and then pulls the brush, coated in pink polish, from the bottle. He eyes it with caution one more time for good measure.

“Why do I have such a bad feeling about this?”

He’s certain she’s just rolled her eyes again.

“Perhaps because you’re a pessimist with trust issues?” Taylor offers.

Simply to prove her wrong, he leans down and swipes the brush across the nail of his big toe, employing gentle downward strokes until the whole thing is covered in a fantastic shade of pink. It really does look rather nice next to the dark of his skin.

“Well?” Says Taylor, “how does it look? Send me a picture.”

Louis is about to do just that when a soft knock sounds on the door. Louis freaks for a moment but then calms himself, realising it’s probably just Taylor. She finds it far too amusing to turn up at his door while still on the phone to him. Louis grins to himself and carefully stands, waddling over to the door and pulling it open with a loud and theatrical shout of, “welcome to Louis’ nail salon.”

Only it’s not Taylor. It’s Harry. Harry, his disturbingly attractive neighbour, dressed in a light blue fitted shirt that presses against his bulky arms, rocking deep blue jeans that look brand new and a matching denim head scarf. It takes Louis a moment to comprehend the true humiliation of the moment. Here he is brandishing his pink toe nail at his tall, curly haired neighbour with the perfect dimples and the soft looking, tremulous smile. His neighbour who he’s only recently become acquainted with. Louis pulls his foot back and drops his phone at the same time, flushing as he does so. Harry’s head falls back slightly, exposing his indecently large Adam’s apple that somehow seems to vibrate slightly as he laughs, clutching the side of Louis’ door for support.

“Louis?” Taylor’s voice rises up from the ground, “Lou, are you there? How did the nail polish go? Does it look good?”

Damn phone. It has this pesky habit of switching to loud speaker without Louis’ permission. This only seems to make Harry laugh more deeply and Louis’ trying to glare but it’s awfully difficult when he’s got this dope in front of him whose laugh is ridiculously infectious and who has dimples that twitch along with his mouth, for crying out loud.

Harry stops laughing and Louis is relieved but the relief fades when Harry bends down and plucks the phone up off the ground, switching off speaker and putting it up to his ear. Louis glares at him for real now, arms crossed as he mouths “give me back the phone or else” with what he hopes is a deadly threat bursting from his eyes. Harry’s mouth does that annoyingly charming twitch again and he mouths back “no chance” as he leans against the outside of the door jamb, his arm folded over his stomach.

“Hello,” he says, a rhythmic note to his deep tone, “Taylor? It’s Harry.”

There’s a slight buzzing sound as Taylor responds.

“Where’s Lou?” Harry scales Louis’ stiff posture with laughing green eyes, his mouth pulling up higher at the side, “oh he’s right here. I just wasn’t sure he’d be able to form words. He seemed a little,” Harry cocks his head, his impeccably white teeth breaking through his smile, “flustered.”

Louis wishes he could glare harder. Harry must understand because he chuckles at Louis’ expression and his balled up fists.

“What am I doing here?” Harry echoes Taylor, presumably for Louis’ benefit, who is still fuming in front of him, “I have something to ask Louis.”

Louis can’t help it. He raises a curious eyebrow at this, his fists unclenching slightly. Harry looks far too amused.

“Does it look good? Hmm, let me see.”

Harry drops down to the ground and then grabs Louis’ foot making Louis stumble with surprise. He keeps him in place by wrapping a hand around the top of his thigh, Louis’ breath halting noticeably as Harry’s eyes fly up to his, startled. Louis commences breathing and then Harry’s eyes trail back down to his foot. He grips the phone between his neck and shoulder as he keeps his hand around Louis’ thigh, using his other one to grab Louis’ foot, tugging it closer. His fingers are cold against Louis’ skin but they’re incredibly soft and when he squeezes the top of Louis’ foot, it feels…nice. It’s been so long since Duncan gave him a massage.

“It looks really good,” Harry says quietly, staring up into Louis’ eyes as his thumb skates over the top of Louis’ foot, “it’s a beautiful colour. Did you pick it for him?”

Harry and Taylor proceed to discuss nail polish for the next ten minutes. Harry doesn’t move from his spot on the floor, kneeling before Louis as he softly massages his foot. Louis doesn’t protest. In fact he very nearly cries out when Harry finally hangs up his phone and releases his foot, looking slightly sheepish. He tilts his head in the direction of Louis’ foot as he stands, brushing some dust from his denim clad knees.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs and his cheeks go a little pink.

He reminds Louis too much of a little puppy that needs to be petted and told that it’s all okay. Louis does exactly that.

“It’s fine Harry,” he smiles, “I mean…the laughter wasn’t so fine but-“

“I’m sorry,” Harry interrupts, suddenly sounding entirely unapologetic, “but if you had knocked on my door and I opened it, shaking my toe at you and welcoming you to my nail salon….you can’t tell me you wouldn’t find that amusing.”

Louis’ mouth shakes with his rising humour.

“Well I can’t say I’d be surprised if you did. However I think pink’s too mainstream a shade for you, perhaps something patterned?”

Harry rolls his eyes.

“I’m not THAT much of a hipster. I’m wearing a fitted shirt, aren’t I?”

“You’re also wearing an anklet, an owl necklace,” Louis taps the owl with his forefinger so it swings from side to side, “and boots that look like you purposely beat them against a wall to make them look all scuffed up and over used.”

Harry flushes.

“Knew it.”

Harry crosses his arms now.

“Ah, the tables have turned,” Louis says, with delight.

“Ha ha. Can I ask you now?” Harry says impatiently.

Louis is nonplussed.

“Ask me what?”

“The thing I came here to ask you. Remember?”

“Oh,” Louis gulps, suddenly nervous, “sure. Ask away hipster.”

“I was wondering if you would model for me,” Harry says with a completely straight face.

Louis can see the growing tension around his bright green irises as silence ensues.

“Excuse me?”

“I was wondering-“

“I heard you,” Louis snaps.

“But you said-“

“I heard you, I just-“ Louis reaches out and clutches Harry’s shoulder as he shakes his head, an indulgent, breathy laugh spilling out, “that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Harry frowns, his whole face pinching together until he looks entirely too displeased for Louis’ liking.

“Sorry Harold,” Louis continues to chuckle, “but you can’t actually be serious. I mean…you are aware that your best mate is a model right? You know, the one with the perfect bone structure.”

Harry’s voice is tiny when he speaks, his head just barely lifted so that his pleading green eyes meet Louis’ directly, making his tummy squirm. Seriously, what is that? He might need to see a doctor about it.

“You have nice bone structure,” Harry says quietly.

Louis’ lips push up into a smile and he sighs, annoyed at Harry for being so charming.

“Why do you need a model anyway?” He asks, “I thought you did events, not professional photography.”

“Well,” Harry says and a bud of excitement starts to flower in his insanely green eyes, a contagious bout of energy bursting forth, “I don’t usually but I had this idea so I got a meeting with Miles Tellman from GQ and-“

Louis grabs Harry’s shoulders, his features frozen in shock.

“GQ?! You got a meeting with the editor of GQ? Harry, that’s fucking brilliant,” he exclaims.

Harry grins and Louis releases him, feeling frightfully endeared when Harry rocks back a little on his feet, unsteady.

“It kind of is, isn’t it?” Harry agrees, still glowing.

Cautious pride is a good look on him, Louis has to admit. His cheeks surely couldn’t lift any higher.

“Are you kidding?” Louis pushes his shoulder lightly, “mate, that’s seriously amazing. If I’d known you had such connections, maybe I would have pretended to like the cockroach.”

Louis winks at him and Harry’s mouth must be about to split in two.

“Hugh Grant,” he corrects, in a deliberately slow tone, as if Louis were incapable of understanding English.

“Cockroach,” Louis says, mimicking his tone.

Harry shakes his head but his grin is still huge so Louis pays no mind.

“So are you going to explain this further or do I have to beg?” Louis prompts.

Harry knocks his shoulder against his cheek with a mischievous grin.

“You could beg.”

Louis thwacks his arm and Harry throws his hands up in defence.

“Okay, okay. Well I had this idea. You know how like, every time they do a before and after shot, they always do the after shot with a load…I mean, a shit tonne,” Harry’s face creases and Louis rolls his eyes, “of make-up and the woman is always dressed to the nines. She looks beautiful but never really…alive, you know?”

Louis nods, getting lost in the impassioned light inside Harry’s eyes.

“Well I just thought it would be cool to like…reverse it,” Louis raises an eyebrow, “and do a photoshoot where the before shot was someone really dressed up and done up but doing those stiff looking faces that models do. You know, no smiles. Not because I have anything against models,” Harry rushes to add, “obviously…but because I want to show what the industry could morph into if we let it. An industry that parents don’t have to guide their children away from. I mean, I figure I can’t change it all with one spread in a magazine, even one like GQ but if I can change one person’s mind, just one, that could still make a difference. So yeah, I would shoot the before shots without any vitality, maybe edit out the colour. Because you know, usually it’s the opposite. They enhance the after shot to make it look miles better than how the person looked before.

“Then the after shots would be completely natural. No make-up, no flashy clothing. Just candids of men laughing and having a good time. Maybe with interviews with each one if Mr. Tellman likes that idea and then that’s the other key difference; that I chose to take it to a men’s magazine. I think men have just as many body issues as women but no one pays attention to it. No one wants to talk about it. I mean, I don’t know if it’s like ‘inspired’ or anything but-“

“Harry,” Louis’ voice has quieted considerably and it sounds much deeper as he tries to fathom this boy/man who has such hope and such idealistic passion bursting forth from his emerald eyes, “it’s a wonderful idea.”

Harry’s eyes softly stroke Louis’ face with a kind of contented gratitude that makes him feel sleepy. Like he could bask in that gaze for eternity. The thought is chilling. He coughs loudly to cover his discomfort.

“But I still don’t…I still don’t get why you’d need me for that.”

Harry smiles down at him, still looking all fond and appreciative.

“Because I want real men. With real beauty,” Louis jumps at this and Harry sees it, his eyebrows pulling together, “and Mr. Tellman asked me to do a test shot for the spread. You wouldn’t have to be in the actual spread. It would be just between the three of us. I’d pay you for it of course and-“

“I’ll do it,” Louis finds himself saying, his hand reaching out to wrap around Harry’s wrist, “and you won’t pay me Harold. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’ll do it, really?”

Harry’s boyish surprise is adorable. Louis grins as he reaches up and pinches Harry’s cheek.

“Next question mate,” he coos.

Harry raises an eyebrow and Louis’ hand falls away.

“That’s all I wanted to ask?” He says, with a question in his tone. “…I figured I was going to have to start threatening to tell people about the whole nail polish incident. You know, because now that we’re friends, I figured blackmail was okay.”

Harry winks and Louis finds himself chuckling, shaking his head at the oddly endearing enigma that is Harry Styles.

“Friends, are we?”

“I’ll be there for youuuuuu,” Harry sings.

Louis’ squirming stomach pipes up again hearing the huskiness of Harry’s voice. He ignores it.

“When the rain starts to pour,” Louis sings back and Harry’s eyes light up.

He throws his head back and laughs long and loud. Louis finds it devastatingly attractive and assumes he must have a boyfriend, even if he’s not a live-in one as such.

“I’ll be there for youuuuu,” Harry repeats, nodding at Louis as though worried he won’t play along.

“Like I’ve never been there before.”

“I’ll be there for youuuuuuuuuu.”

“Cause you’re there for me tooooooo.”

They both crack up laughing after Louis sings the last line. Just as their laughter begins to ebb, Harry looks down at Louis’ pink toe nail and it sets them both off again. When they do finally compose themselves, Louis’ throat aches from laughing so hard but it’s a pleasant kind of ache that he hasn’t felt in a long time. Harry looks rather pleased with himself too, eyes roving over Louis’ face carefully.

“So friend,” Louis pulls at the edge of Harry’s collar, “when do I start my modelling career?”

He bats his eyelashes up at Harry and is surprised when Harry’s bottle green eyes fly from the hand on his collar to Louis’ eyes and he steps back, looking slightly alarmed.

“I’ll um, text you,” he says, his voice rough, his eyes darting sideways to his flat as though he wants to bolt.

Louis feels only slightly offended but more than slightly curious as to what Harry’s problem is.

“Ah Harold, you don’t have my number.”

Harry blushes and his eyelashes flutter downward as he stares directly at his feet. Where is this shyness coming from? Louis wants to soothe the poor man-child so he steps toward him, outside his flat and proffers his phone.

“Pop your number in here mate,” he says gently, “and I’ll text you so then you have mine.”

Harry doesn’t say a word but he takes the phone and starts tapping away. He hands it back to Louis without looking up.

“Harry…are you okay? Did I do something-“

“No,” Harry’s eyes fly up to his, surprise flitting over his features, “no, of course not. I’m fine. I just-it’s nothing. Look, I’ll text you tomorrow but um, just pick two outfits to wear. Whatever you want. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Okay…” Louis agrees, still feeling bothered, “are you sure I didn’t do anything wrong?”

Harry’s hand lands on his shoulder and he cups it softly.

“Very sure. Have a nice day Lou.”

He smiles, dimples deeply set in his cheeks and Louis feels remarkably better.

“Have a nice day yourself.”

Louis backs away into his apartment and Harry begins to back away too. They beam at each other right up until Louis gently closes the door. His phone buzzes in his pocket just as he does. He pulls it out and there’s five texts from Taylor. Louis groans as he realises Harry must have seen all but the last of them.

Your fit neighbour is at your flat?!

And answering your phone?!?

Louis, I need details.

Was he flirting? It sounded like flirting.

CALL ME

....

Louis checks his appearance in the mirror for the fiftieth time and sends a quick snap to Taylor who responds with a thumbs up. He’s decked out in some black jeans that are frayed at the ends and a black Henley covered by a denim vest. He’s wrapped a grey scarf around his neck and has on a matching beanie tugged down over his messy fringe. He wasn’t sure how casual to go but he figures what he’s got planned for the ‘before’ shot will blow what he’s wearing now out of the water. He hopes. He still feels fucking terrified to dress himself up in front of Harry and have the lad take modelling shots of him but he attempts to calm himself down with a deep breath, reminding himself that even though the editor of GQ is going to review these shots and even though his ability to model might make or break Harry’s proposal, he’s going to be okay. He’s got this.

Louis tries to remember the guy he used to be. The guy he still is, somewhere deep inside. The one who wouldn’t think twice about a photo op or anything that meant being in the limelight. He was never conceited but he knew his strengths and he always flaunted them to the best of his ability. Then Duncan came along and suddenly the only thing Louis was sure of was that he was in love with someone who was as predictable as an episode of Game of Thrones, that show where everybody dies. Not that Louis has seen it but Taylor calls to complain that her favourite characters have died often enough that Louis thinks he now understands the gist of it. The point is, Louis’ lost his mojo so to speak.

He makes it to Harry’s door but he can’t quite find the courage to knock yet. He does a little jump and blows on his hands like he’s about to run an Olympic race and then pulls his cologne from his bag, spraying one last time before he gently taps on the door. Harry opens up with a huge smile on his face (of course), a black shirt with what looks like yellow and orange shooting stars covering its expanse and some dark jeans. Louis looks beyond the couches and the TV to the dining area where he glimpses a greyish-blue toned, square backdrop that stretches up the wall and across the floor of Harry’s living room. It’s in place of the long, wooden dining table that had stood there last time Louis was here. There’s a chair sitting in the middle which Louis presumes is for him and a chunky, black piece of camera equipment set up facing the same spot. Louis also notes the wide assortment of hair and make-up products that are spread across the dining table which is pushed up against the wall on the other side of the room.

“Hi,” Harry says with enthusiasm, “you look great.”

Louis shrugs, his eyelashes feathering out across his cheekbones slightly as he suddenly finds Harry’s shoes a lot more interesting than his face.

“Oh…well, I didn’t know how casual I should dress so I just picked something that I sometimes wear to work,” Louis pats the overnight bag that he’d used to pack his change of clothes, “but I’ve brought something for the before shots too. Just figured it makes sense to do the natural looking ones first.”

“Course,” Harry agrees and when Louis finally raises his eyes back up, he finds Harry trying to bite down on his curvaceous grin.

“Louis, are you nervous?”

“No,” Louis denies hotly, “what would I have to be nervous about,” he runs a hand down his hair to the base of his neck which is betraying him by flushing, “I’m beautiful.”

“You are,” Harry agrees but he’s no longer grinning and he tugs on the ends of Louis’ scarf, pulling him inside, “the beautiful boy next door.”

Louis raises an eyebrow at him and Harry starts, avoiding his eyes as he turns and walks through his flat.

“Welcome back to my humble abode,” he says, sounding slightly off.

Louis might be enjoying it a bit. He walks up behind Harry and stretches up on his toes, tucking his head over the other lad’s shoulder and looking sideways at him. He finds Harry’s green eyes caught in a state of wide-eyed shock, his mouth having fallen open slightly.

“Thanks for having me love.”

Louis’ voice is slightly rougher than he intended. He didn’t quite think this one through. Their faces are very close together and Louis can see every individual eyelash, every crease on Harry’s seductive, plush looking mouth. He notes the intriguing contrast between the rose colour fanning over Harry’s cheeks and the pale, milky colour of his throat and then sets himself back down, laughing absurdly loud.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he says, just for something to say, “If Duncan knew…”

Harry turns around to look at him, a curious light in his eye.

“If Duncan knew…?” he prompts.

Suddenly Louis feels self-conscious. He pulls one hand through the other and rocks back and forth on his heels, his beanie slipping a little. Harry reaches down and tugs it back into place, a small smile on his lips.

“If Duncan knew…” Louis tries to gauge how Harry might respond but it’s impossible to tell, those glowing green orbs showing nothing but a kind of keen interest as Louis lets the rest out in a gust of breath, “he probably wouldn’t let me do this. Or see you. He wouldn’t want me to see you.”

Harry’s breath hitches and Louis tries not to take it personally. He knows his relationship with Duncan is a very difficult thing for other people to understand.

“He wouldn’t even let you see me?” Harry asks, disbelief written all over his expression, “I mean, why? Because I complained about the noise?”

“No,” Louis swallows noisily, “because I’m not allowed to have male friends he doesn’t approve of. All of my male friends are his friends.”

There’s another quiet gasp that Harry tries to disguise. Louis’ knocking his foot against his other foot now, trying to stop the shame that’s rising up to his face and filling it with colour. He’s not sure why he’s ashamed. For being the kind of boyfriend that Duncan feels he can’t trust perhaps. His eyes flutter closed for a moment as he feels Duncan’s words tearing at his soul once more. If you hadn’t been with so many men, maybe I could trust you. If you weren’t such a slut, I wouldn’t have to be the bad guy all the time.

“What about Liam?” Harry questions, interrupting Louis’ bout of self-loathing.

“I-“Louis pauses, “Duncan doesn’t really know. He thinks Liam is just my trainer. He only allows it because I need to keep fit...because he hates it when I put on-“

Louis cuts himself off. He’s not ready to share the ins and outs of his relationship with Harry yet. Harry looks like he knows the end of that sentence anyway because he doesn’t say a word. He just pulls Louis into his chest and winds a pair of long, gangly arms around his body.

“What are you doing?”

Harry sounds quite amused when he responds.

“Hugging you.”

“I-don’t pity me Harry,” Louis says sternly, “there’s no reason to. I don’t need that from you because-“

“Hey,” Harry interrupts, voice like velvet as he pulls back slightly to look at Louis’ disgruntled expression, “I don’t pity you Lou. You just looked very huggable. Is that okay?”

Louis’ smile is trying to lift his mouth while he works against it, trying to tamper it down. The smile wins out.

“Yes, that’s okay.”

They smile warmly at each for a moment and then Louis pushes Harry lightly in the chest until he retracts his arms.

“So are we gonna get this show on the road or what?”

Harry nods and then points at one of the couches.

“If you’d just sit over there for me.”

“On the couch?”

“Yeah, I’m going to set the camera up to shoot candids while I interview you. I want you to relax. We’re just having a conversation…I don’t want you to think of it as a photoshoot,” Harry advises him.

Louis strides over to the couch and pulls his legs up underneath his bum while Harry fiddles with the camera, bringing it over and placing it in front of the TV.

“You know….saying don’t think of it as a photoshoot is a lot like saying, don’t think of the purple elephant.”

Harry chuckles as he presses a button on the camera and then turns it in Louis’ direction.

“Either way, the camera loves you baby,” Harry says, winking at Louis with a quirk in his mouth.

Louis tries to ignore the spike of activity in his digestive region and instead concentrates on relaxing his expression, pretending that there isn’t a camera going off across from him. Harry seats himself down across from Louis and pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans. He shakes it from side to side.

“Just going to record your answers if that’s okay?”

Louis nods his consent and Harry lays his phone down on the coffee table.

“Full name?”

“Louis William Tomlinson.”

“William,” there’s a ghost of a smile dancing over Harry’s plump lips, “I like it.”

“And your middle name?” Louis enquires, leaning forward slightly.

Harry’s expression is bewildered.

“This is your interview, not mine.”

Louis bats his eyelashes at him, his lips firmly pressed together in his most charming smile.

“So I’m not allowed to ask you any questions?”

“If I knew this was going to be this difficult, I’d have asked Niall.”

“Why didn’t you?” Louis presses.

Harry looks slightly caught off guard.

“I-I wanted someone who…who wasn’t really aware of it.”

Louis is truly curious now, cocking his head to one side as he studies Harry’s slightly nervous expression.

“Aware of what?”

Harry finally meets his gaze head on. Louis watches him swallow, his adam’s apple jumping and his eyelashes fluttering quickly for a moment before his calm appears renewed. His emerald eyes sweep Louis’ body slowly, hanging on each and every feature for a moment before descending lower. It’s like he’s reached into Louis’ torso, grabbed his heart, lungs and stomach in one hand and pulled, yanking them forward in his direction.

 No one’s ever looked at Louis this way before. With such intention; like there’s a desire to know every inch of him. Yet equally with no intention at all; no desire to plunder or ruin. No judgement. Only something that feels a lot like amazement or reverence or something that Louis feels he surely can’t be worthy of. Not from anybody but especially not from someone as stunning as Harry. Yet it’s happening. Harry’s eyelids finally draw back, his eyelashes rise and his opal shaped, lush green eyes meet Louis’. Louis’ lungs are caught mid-breath, unable to expand or move around this thing blocking up his chest.

“Someone who’s not aware of how captivating they can be. How breathtaking they are.”

Louis is at a loss for words. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Harry is confessing a certain appreciation for beauty, that’s all….but it’s Louis he’s talking about. Louis wants to laugh at the ridiculous notion that he’s captivating but deep down, he also wants to believe. Maybe, when those intense mossy green eyes implore him to do so, he does.

Louis leans forward and squeezes Harry’s hand.

“Thank you.”                                        

Harry’s smile is small and a touch self-conscious as he glances down at their hands touching.

“You’re welcome Lou.”

“So hipster, are you going to tell me your middle name or not?”

Louis breaks the serene atmosphere with that one sentence, leaning back and kicking one leg up over the other as he waits for Harry’s response. Harry chuckles and nods.

“Edward.”

“Like Edward Cullen?”

“I vant to suck your blooood.”

Louis lets out a long peal of laughter and then knocks Harry’s hand off the arm rest, a teasing light filling his eye.

“He’s not Dracula you dork.”

Harry just shrugs, his wide grin lighting up his eyes brilliantly.

“Tell me…where did you grow up, Louis William Tomlinson?” he asks, curiosity burning in his expression.

“Doncaster,” Louis says with a nostalgic smile, a pang of homesickness hitting him as he thinks of his mum, “had the best childhood anybody could ask for.”

Harry’s still smiling but his eyes are a little less bright, the dimples are little less pronounced and Louis feels like his own proclamation may have struck a nerve. Before he can ask, Harry himself is asking another question.

“So you get along with your family then?”

Louis bobs his head.

“Yeah. My mum is like the best woman I think I’ll ever meet,” Harry’s dimples return, “…she’s just so brave. You know, because dad left pretty soon after I was born but that didn’t stop her. She met Dan when she was pregnant with Lottie and then they had Fizzy and the twins, Daisy and Phoebe, together. And Dan is such a good dad to all of us. Never discriminated between me and Lottie and the rest. We were all his kids. He loved us all a bunch.”

“Sounds like a pretty tight brood,” Harry surmises, a hint of sadness in his eyes again.

“Yeah we are. Mum’s even pregnant again with another set of twins. I’ve been sending her lists of names since she found out but she just didn’t seem to take to the idea of naming the boy baby Louis junior and the girl baby Taylor junior. Can’t imagine why.”

Harry chuckles at this and Louis feels marginally better about drawing out that sadness.

“And your family always supported you?”

Louis feels like this is a weighted question and his mouth twists as he tries to find an answer that won’t upset the seemingly delicate man before him. He ends up settling for the truth. He never has been too fond of bullshit.

“Yes. Unequivocally.” Harry’s expression tightens, “My mum was ecstatic when I finally chose a career path and Dan was actually my first real customer. I’ve never known anything but unconditional love. I can’t imagine what it would be like without that. I mean, doing it on your own…that takes even more courage. You’d have to be your own support base in some respects but see, I don’t think a good home necessarily means a good life or that an empty home will land you with an empty life.”

“You don’t?”

Harry looks eager now as he rests his forearms on his knees and leans close to Louis. Louis smiles at him, resisting the urge to pat a spiky curl back into place.

“No. I think you make your own luck. I think people who are cherished their whole childhood are just as capable of doing terrible things and finding themselves unhappy. People who have lived in broken homes and the like are just as capable of being brilliant. It’s not really about where you come from Harold. I think it’s about where you go, how far you take it. It’s determined by what’s beating in your chest. Your own will. That force pushing you to do better. It’s not about what you’re born into. If you’re a good person and you want to do good,” Louis says meaningfully, “you will. Regardless of where you came from.”

Harry’s eyes are partially glazed over but then he blinks and a brilliant smile fills his features. Louis pretends he doesn’t see the hint of water shimmering in his green irises.

“Wow,” Harry breathes, “you could do like…motivational speaking or something.”

Louis throws his head back and lets out another high peal of laughter.

“Oh Haz,” he says, humour mingling with fondness. Harry’s eyes hang on him, so intense…so gently admiring, “you must have gone and knocked your head.”

Harry chuckles.

“Perhaps. Okay so um, tell me about your hobbies?”

“Um, tattooing-“

“Louis.”

“What? It is my hobby. Okay no need to roll your eyes at me. Hmm let me think. I used to like going out a lot and dancing, drinking you know. I mean I still do…but only when Duncan’s away. I really shouldn’t. He hates it when I do and I really shouldn’t keep it from him….but I don’t do anything with other guys, I really don’t,” Louis says earnestly.

“I know.”

“How could you? You don’t even really know me,” Louis says sceptically.

Harry grabs Louis’ hand and counts on his fingers, squeezing each one as he talks.

“For starters, I know you love Duncan. I also know you’re good to the people you love, I see that in your eyes and lastly, I hear the fear in your voice.”

Louis snatches his hand away.

“Fear?”

Harry looks like he might regret his words. He bites his lip, looking tense but then lets the truth bubble up over his lips anyway. Louis might respect him all the more for it.

“When you talk about him, I feel it. You’re scared of doing anything that might upset him.”

“But I-“

“Lou,” Harry catches Louis’ hand that’s risen up in protest, “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing…or a good thing. I’m just telling you what I see; what I sense. That’s how I know you would never cheat. I’m sorry you don’t get to go out much. I think you’d be a lot of fun on the dance floor.”

It’s the first time someone’s made an honest comment on Louis’ relationship with Duncan without forcing the issue, without making it clear that Louis’ making a mess of his life by staying with him. It unfreezes Louis from his tense state and suddenly he’s holding Harry’s hand and squeezing as he responds.

“Oh I am. I’m a dancing queen…in every sense of the term,” Louis promises with a smirk.

Harry squeezes his hand back.

“Only seventeeeen,” he sings.

“Well, 24 going on 17,” Louis corrects with a laugh.

“Of course. But seriously…your hobbies?”

“Okay okay,” Louis claps his hands against his thighs, “I’m really into footie. Manchester united of course,” Harry flashes him a thumbs up and Louis grins, “and ah, I don’t know…I don’t have too many hobbies. I spend a lot of time with Duncan I guess. I’m okay doing what he wants to do as long as I’m with him you know. I used to play a bit of piano. I like sketching new designs. Oh and I don’t mind the occasional friends marathon when Duncan’s away. He hates friends.”

“And you’re still with him?” Harry says with a wink.

Louis freezes and Harry presses his thumb into Louis’ tiny palm which reminds Louis that they’re still holding hands. He retracts his hand.

“It was a joke Lou,” Harry says with sorrow.

Louis feels like an idiot. He rolls his eyes…at himself.

“Forgive me. I’ve heard that more times than you know. It’s tiring,” he explains.

“I’ll bet.”

They gaze at each other for a moment, a current of understanding, or something slightly deeper, flowing between.

“I think we’re done,” Harry says abruptly, jumping up.

“Done with what?”

Harry raises a dark eyebrow and reaches up to adjust his head scarf.

“The interview. The candids. Remember?”

Louis’ like a deer caught in headlights as he realises that in the short time they’d been speaking, he’d forgotten all about the camera and the whole reason for him being here. It’s a strange feeling.

“Right. Course.”

Harry looks thoroughly amused.

“Um so should I go get changed now?”

Harry nods as he fiddles with the camera, detaching it from the stand.

“Take whatever from the dining table. Make up. Hair stuff. I got it all for you. I’d help you with it but I need to set up my camera so-“

“It’s fine,” Louis cuts him off, standing up with his stuff and making his way over to the dining table, “I’m happy to do it myself.”

“Excellent. The hallway is just through the door in the kitchen and the bathroom is the second door on the left.”

Louis smiles his gratitude, gathers his collection of beauty products in his arms and then strides through the kitchen, opening the door to a short hallway housing four doors, two either side. It’s slightly different to his flat but not so much so that if he squinted his eyes, he couldn’t be fooled into thinking it was his own.

The bathroom is in impeccable shape, utterly pristine with no major interruption to the pearly white colour scheme other than Harry’s orange set of towels. Harry’s hair products, his razer and a few moisturisers are neatly lined up in his cabinet which Louis snoops in, of course. He pretends not to be curious about who Harry uses the condoms with and tries quite unsuccessfully not to notice the size printed on the box. Harry’s hot pink toothbrush lies on it’s lonesome in a little clear jar under the mirror and Louis takes that as further indication that he doesn’t have a serious boyfriend.

Finally Louis decides he better get to work so he pulls his outfit from his bag and arranges his chosen products next to the sink. He feels a slight hint of uncertainty about this but it’s too late now. He can’t let Harry down and he’s got no other alternative to what he dreamt up in his bed last night when he was mentally filing through his wardrobe. So he pulls the scarf and the beanie off quickly and with a quick nod at himself gets to work.

……

Harry has just finished setting up the camera in front of the backdrop when he hears the sound of Louis’ bare feet emerging from the kitchen into the living room. When he looks up, he feels like he should have been given more warning.

“Fuck,” he breathes and he can feel how wide his eyes are, zooming in on the inhumanly beautiful man stood in his flat, looking up at him with a creased brow.

“You just swore,” Louis says, looking panicked, “you’re not the swearing type. It takes concentrated effort for you to say shit. Is it that bad? I can go change…”

Louis starts to move back but Harry rushes forward to stop him, wrapping a hand around his delicate wrist, and pressing a thumb to his pulse which he can feel is completely erratic. Same as Harry’s really. Although he suspects his heart is beating too quickly for an entirely different reason.

Louis is flawless. He’s got on a black button up with the sleeves pushed up and a stiff collar that glides against the tan of his throat when he moves, bowing his head to look down at his clothes. He’s wearing a dark black belt that separates his shirt from a pair of markedly tight leather pants that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, accentuating the perfect shape of his thighs which narrow down into muscled calves. However the worst part by far, or the best part depending on how much you value your sanity, is Louis’ face.

He’s wearing only light make-up over most of his face, just enough to distinguish these shots from the natural ones but around the bottom of his eyes, he’s used felt tip eyeliner and it makes the sparkling blue of his eyes pop. He looks completely bad ass but his blue eyes are as intolerably vulnerable as ever, the juxtaposition too immense. Harry’s never been attracted to a guy wearing eyeliner before but he feels himself twitch slightly looking at his sexy, tattooed, leather-wearing neighbour whose hair is piled into a perfect, soft looking quiff and who still looks completely oblivious to his own appeal. Harry predicts it might be extraordinarily difficult to make these shots look lifeless. Louis is equally beautiful without make-up and nice clothes and Harry would rather his men without frills any day of the week but he can’t deny that Louis is electrifying like this. He feels like Danny fawning over Sandy at the end of Grease. He kind of just wants to drop to the ground in complete worship.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Harry says, coughing a little as he tries to cover the tremulous note to his voice, “you look perfect. Overly made up perhaps, like I meant for you to be but really…I don’t mean to offend…”

“What is it? You can tell me if it’s too much. Is it the eyeliner? I know it’s quite feminine but I-“

Harry pushes on the seam of Louis’ mouth with his thumb, finding that the slight hint of moisture upon Louis’ tiny mouth does weird things to his already jumbled nerves.

“You look very sexy,” Louis’ eyes are like saucers in his face as Harry pulls his finger from Louis’ mouth, “I’m sorry if that’s out of line. I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just…true.”

Louis smiles now and it’s tiny, just a tug at the corners of his lips but he may as well be yanking on Harry’s heart. His decadent blue eyes are overflowing with wonder and a wistfulness that makes Harry think Duncan doesn’t say things like that too often. He doesn’t make Louis feel like the masterpiece he is. It bothers Harry more than he’d like it to.

“Thank you,” Louis says, voice all scratchy and muted. “I’m not offended.”

Harry tries to brush off his own concern as he grabs Louis hand and winks at him, letting a cheeky grin push his cheeks up toward his eyes.

“Twirl for me.”

Louis lets out a surprised laugh.

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not twirling for you.”

“I would so love to know what Niall and Zayn would say about that nail salon-“

“Okay,” Louis throws his free hand up in defence, “no need for threats.”

Louis grasps Harry’s hand and raises their hands up as he spins slowly, catching Harry’s eye as he does. Harry’s rather breathless, copping an eyeful of Louis’ voluptuous bum as he spins. Said bum presses so keenly and provocatively up against the tight leather, that Harry’s about to have a problem pressing up against the front of his own trousers.

“Now that we’re done with the twirling,” Louis says, facing Harry again, “can we get the whole serious photoshoot out of the way?”

“Wait,” Harry says, pressing a hand to Louis’ collar bone and reaching up to undo the first two buttons on Louis’ shirt.

He pulls on the sides of the shirt to open it up so that it exposes more of Louis’ smooth, silky looking skin. Louis’ eyes are awfully close when he looks up at Harry.

“Was that necessary?”

Harry’s mouth quirks.

“Absolutely.”

Louis shakes his head at him but doesn’t argue as he makes his way over to the backdrop and seats himself on the chair. Harry strides confidently over to the camera and surveys him for a moment, trying to think of how best to instruct him.

“Okay…um, what I want you to do first is to um-“

“Very eloquent Mr. Photographer,” Louis interjects with a smirk, the dark ink beneath his eyes curving up at the sides.

Harry stares him down.

“Some respect would be nice.”

Louis just snorts.

“Okay, I know. I want you to turn the chair around and sit on it backwards with your arms atop the back of the chair.”

Louis follows Harry’s instruction but it still doesn’t have enough formality to it. Harry wants these shots to look more rigid than anything. It’s a challenge, given the natural expressiveness of Louis’ face.

“Okay Lou,” Louis’ lips quiver with a smile at the use of the endearment that’s slipping off Harry’s tongue with increasing regularity now. Harry’s heart melts a little in his chest, “I want you to stretch your legs out to the sides and try to like, point your toes. I also want you to smoulder at me. No smiling. No crinkly eyes.”

“Smoulder?”

Louis looks very confused.

“Yeah. You know… like I’m a cute guy at a bar…no wait, say I’m Duncan and you’re trying to get my attention. It’s sort of like an angry look but more sexy than angry. Like you want to dominate me.”

Louis eyebrows jump up and he splutters on air. Harry barks out a laugh.

“Not actually dominate me. I’m just saying it because I’m behind the camera. Can you smoulder for me Lou?” Harry trills.

Louis extends his legs outward and they look much longer like this, the leather stretching taut across his muscles. Harry feels slightly dizzy looking at them. Louis’ face transforms as he pulls his mouth into a thin line and narrows his eyes slightly. It’s not as magnificent as his smile, which is what Harry intended. Still, as he presses the button on his camera and takes a number of shots, he feels attracted to the piercing look in the slitted blue of those eyes.

“Okay, next I want you to move the chair off to the side,” Louis complies and Harry nods his approval, “and then, turn around and press one hand up against the backdrop and then twist your body slightly to look at me over your shoulder.”

Louis doesn’t move and Harry gestures with his hand for Louis to get to it. Louis crosses his arms.

“It’s just so....poser-ish,” Louis complains and Harry rolls his eyes, “yes I know that’s the point but Harry I…I feel ridiculous. I’m not a model. What if I screw it up?”

“You won’t. I promise you. You might feel ridiculous but you look the polar opposite, I swear to you. How’s this? I’ll come show you all the shots before I take them to my meeting and if you don’t like them, I won’t use them. I promise,” Harry vows.

Louis nods, still looking slightly hesitant but when Harry smiles at him, he matches it with a warm smile of his own and then follows Harry’s instruction. Harry’s cock jolts as the sight of Louis pushing his bum outward fills his vision. He might not have thought this through.

“Splay your fingers Lou,” Harry calls and Louis does just that.

Something about it is still slightly off. Louis’ other arm is hanging limp by his side and his legs don’t look quite right either. Harry chews on his lip for a moment and then stalks purposely over to Louis. Louis jumps when Harry reaches down and catches his hand.

“This,” Harry says, “needs to go here.”

He slots his fingers through Louis’ and then brings Louis’ hand up to rest where the curve of his hip gives way to the curve of his arse. Harry pulls his fingers away quickly to ensure he doesn’t end up groping his very much taken neighbour.

“Really?” Louis sighs with pained eyes, his head falling back on the space between his shoulders with defeat.

Harry grins at his upside down face.

“Really.”

Then he drops down to his knees and grips the sides of Louis’ thighs. There’s a choked noise from above but Harry barely hears it as he concentrates on widening Louis’ stance and not thinking about the fact that it’s been so long since he was on his knees for a guy that he was genuinely attracted to.

“You done?” Louis asks, sounding thoroughly deprived of oxygen.

Harry stands and skates a hand across Louis’ shoulder.

“Done.”

When he returns to the camera however, he still finds that one last adjustment is in order.

“Okay this is good but um, can you do me a favour?”

“What?”

“Can you lean forward and just ah…push your bum out a little bit more?”

Louis’ eyes are baleful and Harry might be blushing.

“Is this for GQ or a porno magazine Harold?”

“I’m sorry…if you’re not comfortable with me, I-“

Louis slides his hand higher up the wall and pushes his behind further out. Taken, Harry chants. Taken by a complete arse who probably doesn’t appreciate his fine arse but taken nonetheless.

“Great. Thank you,” Harry says stiffly…professionally.

Louis raises an eyebrow but then smooths his expression out as Harry presses the shutter button and tries to remember that time he broke his arm and the nurse asked him to breathe through the pain. This feels a lot like that. Only the pain stems from too much pleasure. Too much pleasure that he should NOT be feeling about someone with a boyfriend.

……

“Which one of these designs would you like love? I know you said originally you wanted the heart but you were worried about the pain. If you just get the name…it might hurt a little less.”

The perky blonde waitress tilts her head, looking at the sketches he’d done for her last time she was here. She hadn’t been able to decide then and had told him she’d be back with a decision. He’d been happy enough to wait. Louis is known for his patience and compassion as a tattoo artist and it is, perhaps, one of the reasons he’s had a steady stream of business ever since he first set up his shop.

Despite the number of times he and Duncan have moved, his shop has stayed in the same busy London Street that he’d chosen in the beginning. Simply because Duncan’s workplace is quite close to his own and Duncan had never wanted to move too far from his work.

Louis’ tattoo parlour is a small little shop tucked between a bakery and a used clothing store with slightly muted lighting and a sign that Louis himself made which simply says ‘Louis’ Tattoo Parlour’ in thick black, block letters. The neighbouring shopkeepers had been up in arms when he’d first opened years ago, thinking he would attract a legion of thugs to their upstanding, morally superior businesses. However they retired their artillery for good when they realised he just didn’t accept those kinds of customers.

Sure, he’d tattooed plenty of beefed up blokes who had crooked looking noses and faded scars upon their skin but a lot of them weren’t as tough as they looked and Louis always used his right to refuse service at the first sign of trouble. Some of the rough looking ones were actually sweeter than the regular-looking customers. In fact, Basil, one of the most scary-looking ones, who wears a red and white checked bandana, has bulging muscles and is constantly sporting a black eye or a fat lip, had asked Louis out after Louis completed his third tattoo. He’d also accepted it quite calmly when Louis politely declined and told him he had a boyfriend. Louis hadn’t mentioned it to Duncan.

Louis’ mind flashes back to the present as Aishling, the petite blonde, sits up on the black, dentist-like chair, her eyes narrowed with concentration. Her bright blue eyes dart between the two images. Suddenly she looks up at him with a dazzling smile.

“Do the heart Lou. It’s what mum would have wanted. Worth the extra time…and the pain.”

A tender smile graces Louis’ face as he rubs her shoulder and takes his sketch book from her hands.

“You’re really brave love. I promise I’ll stop whenever you need me to. Your mum would be so proud of you.”

Aisling’s eyes tear up and Louis’ heart pounds a little in his chest as thinks of his own mum and how lost he’d be if anything ever happened to her.

“Thanks. Now let’s get this show on the road so you can tell me about your big night out,” Aisling says, pointing at the shadows beneath Louis’ eyes that are partly due to his inability to scrub the last of the eyeliner off and partly due to the fact that after hearing Harry call him “sexy,” he had found himself tossing and turning in bed all night, wondering why his neighbour can see something in him that it often seems Duncan can’t.

……

It’s late afternoon and Louis’ finished with the last of his clientele for the day. He’s curled up on the couch at home, nursing a mug of tea between his jean clad thighs, wrapped in his favourite over-sized black jumper as he dials the number on his phone.

“Hey,” comes the slightly brash tone.

“Hi baby,” Louis says, excitement lighting up his face as he thinks of being wrapped up in Duncan’s arms tonight when he gets home, “just calling to check what time you’re coming home? Can’t wait to see you.”

“Oh, um. I’m not going to be home tonight Lou,” Duncan says, lowering his voice to a whisper, “the boss wants me to stay an extra day. I’m sorry.”

Louis’ throat feels tight and his heart pangs. He feels so cold and lonely sleeping alone in their king sized bed. He’s truly lost without a kiss goodbye in the mornings.

“It’s okay,” he says but his voice sounds thick, “I’m just chilling out at home anyway.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow babe. I love you.” Duncan says, his voice rather soft and gentle, making Louis long for him even more and reminding him just why he ignores everybody who tries to tell him Duncan’s no good.

“I love you too,” Louis murmurs.

“I gotta go Lou but be good for me.”

“I will. I love you,” Louis repeats, feeling disheartened.

“Yeah I know, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

Louis is about to respond but Duncan’s already hung up. So he rests his head against the couch, letting his phone slide down into his lap as tears melt down his face. It’s not a big deal. He shouldn’t be crying about this. Duncan has to work, there’s no shame in that. There’s nothing to feel so hurt over. Only, it’s just that in the past year, Duncan’s spent more weekends working than usual and Louis has spent the entirety of that time missing him and wondering why it’s always him that has to call. He wonders why Duncan looks so much more relaxed every time he returns while Louis feels more tense and unhappy than ever. He knows it’s irrational but he lets the sadness bleed out of him anyway because fuck it, no one’s here to see him and here on his lonesome, he can admit that even if it shouldn’t, even if he has to pretend it doesn’t, the way Duncan gets by so fine without him physically pains him.

……

“Thanks so much for doing a rush order for me. My meeting is not until tomorrow but I need to go over them with the guy featured first.”

Pete hands him the manila envelope containing the file with a relaxed grin on his face. Harry guesses this is why everyone calls him “laidback Pete.”

“No problem. That guy um…”

“What about him?” Harry says, wondering why there’s suddenly a scarily protective note colouring his tone.

Pete looks only slightly awkward as he taps his boot against the ground and tugs on his belt loops to pull his jeans up.

“Is he single?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Of course Pete is interested in Louis. Harry can only guess which set of images piqued his interest.

“No,” Harry growls.

Pete steps away from Harry and behind the counter of his shop with another slack grin stretching across his face.

“Okay Haz…no need to get stroppy. I wasn’t aware you were dating again. I mean, you knocked me back enough times for me to get the point.”

“I’m not dating again.”

Pete throws his head back a little as he laughs.

“Oh. Okay. I get it.”

“Get what?!” Harry demands.

“He’s got a boyfriend but you’re a smitten kitten anyway. Understandably.”

Pete’s smile is smug and Harry’s blood is pumping twice as hard.

“I am not. He’s my neighbour, maybe a friend…that’s all.”

“Okay mate,” Pete nods his head but he’s still smirking, “whatever you say.”

Harry doesn’t bother to respond, just turns and storms out the shop, the yellow folder containing Louis’ pictures tucked under his arm as he marches down the sidewalk with angry energy powering his long strides. He’s not interested in Louis. He’s not. Louis Tomlinson is exactly the kind of guy he’d be more than content to roll around in the sheets with but Harry thinks he’s much like one of those sinfully delicious desserts that they serve at fancy restaurants.

They’re always called things like “death by chocolate” and they always look so impressive and irresistible that you find yourself falling for it, thinking; “death by chocolate, puh-lease… how could anything that tastes this good kill you?” An hour later, you find yourself lounging on the couch at home, popping the button on your jeans and sinking so far into the furniture that you’re convinced you’ll never rise again. Nor do you want to. In that moment, you understand the moniker, ‘death by chocolate’ and swear you’ll never touch a sickly sweet dessert again. Of course you end up ordering it next time you go there anyway. Well Harry is not going to be naïve about this. Louis might be a lot like rich, velvety chocolate cake melting in your mouth, in fact probably much better but Harry is not going to find out. He refuses to let himself feel even the desire to find out.

…..

A whole bottle of wine consumed and Harry still doesn’t feel soothed. He meant to take the pictures over to Louis’ hours ago but instead he’s been sitting here, staring at them spread over his dining table and groaning as he consumes drink after drink. Harry is not the type to get drunk…alone….on a Monday afternoon but then he’s also not used to photographing such raw sex appeal squeezed into tight leather. Not to mention being confronted with the unfairly arousing finished product.

Although it’s not the after shots that have caused him the most pain. It’s the candids that he hadn’t given much thought to after he’d taken them. It’s Louis’ head lolling back against his shoulders slightly as he laughs, his eyelashes gently brushing his cheeks that curve up like peaches, a slight blush at the apexes of each. It’s his blue eyes twinkling with humour and enjoyment as he engaged with Harry, sometimes softening with what just might be concern. It’s that smile that paints his lips, the corners fluttering up while the middle section of his mouth stays stationery. It’s a flash of white teeth and his fringe all soft looking and slightly fuzzy, covering his eyes slightly when he looks down. Harry’s own personal ‘death by chocolate’ is spread all across the dining room table and all Harry can do is moan, drink himself stupid and then leave whiny messages on his friend’s answering machines.

“Niallerrrrrr! Niall. Niall James Horan, why eren’t you responding to meh?....Oh, cause it’s a message.” Harry giggles for what feels like a lifetime but might only be a minute. “Sorry Niallerrr. I’m just calling cause I got em photos back erf Lou. He’s like…he’s like chocolate cake Ni and I’m gonna gobble him all up. Gobble gobble. Do I sound like a chicken? Or is that turkeys? Niallerrrr, I’m in lurve with his bum. And his face. I want to kiss him all over his face,” Harry brings the mouthpiece to his lips and makes kissey noises down the line. “I’d kiss you too Niallerr but NO tongues.”

Harry giggles once more and then ends the call. Then he picks up the whiteboard marker from the table and starts labelling the laminated pictures with absurd things, giggling uncontrollably as he slurps the last of his wine from his glass. When his head starts to feel real fuzzy, he drops it to the table and lets his heavy eyes fall closed.

……

Harry awakens to an aggressive knock sounding at the door. He stumbles tiredly over to it, feeling a lot more sober and groaning slightly as he vaguely remembers calling Niall and leaving a weird message on his machine. His purple shirt is rumpled and crinkled all over and he has the sudden desire to shed his jeans. The button must have been pressing hard into his stomach while he slept, bent over the table as he was. He wrenches open the door, squinting as the light from the hall floods his flat, temporarily blinding his sensitive eyes.

“Hello,” Harry says, shielding his eyes, unable to see the person standing there.

“Jeez Harold, I just came over to ask about the pictures…now I know why it took you so damn long to answer. You’re a mess. Afternoon nap?” Louis guesses.

Harry lets his hand fall away so he can get a clear look at Louis who’s rather dressed down in a comfortable looking dark jumper and faded jeans. He looks so foldable and small, his hair slightly messier than usual. Then Harry notes the slight pinkish colour around the whites of his eyes. He’s been crying again.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, ignoring Louis’ own question.

“Fine,” Louis says too quickly and Harry can see he’s trying too hard to be casual. Then his teeth break his lips, “I’m okay….but are you?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow.

“What do you mean?”

Louis covers his mouth with the sleeve of his jumper but his adorable giggle is only slightly muffled.

“You might want to go look at yourself in the mirror Haz.”

Harry’s still super confused but he follows Louis’ suggestion and walks back through the living room, to the kitchen and then into the bathroom. When he lifts his head to inspect his reflection, he moans loudly. There, printed on his forehead, in black whiteboard marker are the words “sexy beast.”

Thank god, there’s no indication that Harry was referencing Louis that way. Harry’s not entirely sure it’s any better that Louis might just think that it’s how he refers to himself. He raises his palms to his face and screams into his hands until he feels a small hand, clothed in the softness of a thick jumper, come to rest across his shoulder. He releases his face and spies Louis standing behind him in the mirror, amusement in the set of his features. It only makes Harry smile because it’s obvious Louis’ not had the best day.

“It’s okay hipster,” Louis teases, “you got a face washer?”

Harry ducks down to his bathroom cabinet and grabs a dark green face washer, popping back up and covering the cloth with water from the tap. Louis turns the tap off for him and takes it from his hands.

“You don’t have to-“

“Just lean back against the sink for me love.”

Louis doesn’t seem to notice his suddenly nurturing tone and his casual endearment but Harry sure does. It might not be the first time Louis’ said it but Harry still has to bite down on a smile as he leans back against the sink. Perhaps because it’s the way he says it. Like even though he’s clearly been upset, probably by Duncan and is feeling weighed down by sadness, he still wants to be the one taking care of others and attending to their needs. He’s incredible. Harry says so.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs as Louis brings the face washer up to his face and begins to gently wipe away the script.

Louis shakes his head at Harry’s compliment, his lips pursing slightly, more and more lines appearing upon his tightly sewn mouth as he tries to fight a smile.

“Why such idiocy Harold?”

“You’re obviously upset and-“

“I’m not upset,” Louis protests, his eyes flying to Harry’s in panic.

Harry touches his wrist and flashes him what he hopes is a compassionate but not intrusive look.

“I can tell something’s upset you. You don’t have to tell me. It’s fine.”

Louis pulls the face washer away with a sigh and Harry twists to look in the mirror, finding a faint black smudge but no writing. Louis rests against the bench next to Harry and looks up at him with a smile that won’t stay put. His mouth keeps dropping down, unable to portray an emotion he doesn’t really feel.

“Duncan has to work one more day. He won’t be home until tomorrow. It’s no big deal. I shouldn’t even be upset. It’s just that it’s become a lot more common, these trips away and I just miss him, you know? The bed feels too cold even when I pile blankets on and the flat is so empty and I just…even when it’s hard, even when he-even when I screw up, I still would rather be with him….”

Louis’ voice trails off and he’s chewing on the edge of his sleeve, looking down at the bathroom floor with the wrong kind of creases all over his face. Harry hates it.

“Come with me,” he says quietly.

Louis doesn’t respond but when Harry grabs his hand and rubs a thumb across his palm, a whisper of a smile bends his mouth and he lets Harry lead him out to the dining room.

“You want to know why I had sexy beast written across my forehead?”

Louis nods eagerly, biting his sleeve again. He looks like a little kid who’s just been asked if they’d like to watch a Disney movie after a nasty fall. So cautiously hopeful and still so subdued and sad that Harry’s heart near tears in two. Adorable just isn’t enough to describe the look on Louis’ face.

“Well…I got your pictures,” Harry blushes slightly and his heart races. He can’t believe he’s about to own up to this but he finds he’ll do just about anything to see Louis’ eyes light up again. “I must have…lost track of how much I was drinking. I became slightly intoxicated and I-I labelled them with some slightly obscene things. Here.”

Harry gestures toward the table and Louis leans over it, his eyes running across the messy, drunken scrawl spread across the pictures with a certain amount of fascination. It only takes a few moments but when he looks up at Harry, Harry’s heart convulses. He put his heartbreakingly sad neighbour back together. Louis doubles over laughing, repeating some of the phrases to himself as he slaps his thigh. Harry’s own mouth curls up into a wide grin and the blush fades purely because he enjoys the sight of Louis laughing. Louis finally relents and when he does, Harry grabs his hand and pulls him close, wrapping him in a hug and rocking them from side to side.

“Um,” Louis mumbles against his shirt.

“It’s nice when you laugh,” Harry says by way of explanation, “and it’s okay. It’s okay that you miss him. You’re allowed to be hurt or feel like he’s not making enough time for you.”

Harry feels Louis’ lips trying to move against his chest which is an interesting sensation to say the least but Harry cuts off his protests.

“No, Lou. Don’t fight me on that. I’m not asking you to say it but if you feel it, that’s okay. Your feelings aren’t wrong. They can’t be wrong. Okay?”

Harry pulls back to look at Louis who looks rather muddled. His jumper clothed hand is suddenly curving around Harry’s cheek.

“Thank you.”

Harry smiles and tries to ignore the voice that tells him he likes this more than he should. He tries to ignore the flutter in his chest at Louis’ gentle touch.

“You’re welcome.”

They pull away from each other and Louis goes back to inspecting the pictures but Harry can see him looking at himself now, rather than the labels. He’s drawn to the candids just as Harry was, running his fingers across them with a special kind of awe making his eyes glow.

“I can’t believe-“

“How wonderful you look?” Harry fills in for him.

Louis’ expression is wry as he corrects Harry.

“How wonderful you are at photography.”

Harry snorts.

“A photographer is only ever as good as his subject.”

Louis snorts back at him, stepping into his space only to press his hands up against Harry’s stomach and push.

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Harry maintains, “I once had the worst session of my life with this one particularly troublesome subject. I mean he was a real diva. Wouldn’t stop moving, kept asking to break for food. He even bit me.”

“You’re talking about your cockroach again aren’t you?” Louis asks dryly.

Harry grins, unashamed.

“He’s a pretty big cockroach. I don’t think bug spray would do the job,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of the living area where Hugh Grant lies curled up on the couch.

Louis rolls his eyes at Harry’s terrible sense of humour.

“I think you should come out,” Harry says suddenly, rubbing his hands together as he crafts a plan in his head.

He doesn’t usually go out on a Monday night but he and Louis are both freelance artists in a sense so they’re not bound to strict working schedules. Louis had said he only got the chance to go out when Duncan was away and while Louis’ smiling now, Harry can’t bear the thought that he might be waiting until he’s alone to cry again.

“Come out?” Louis looks at him like he’s crazy, “on a Monday? Why?”

“Because you could use it and I think it would be fun. C’mon I want to see you dancing, dancing queen,” Harry says with an exaggerated wink.

Louis shakes his head but there’s a flash of white teeth as he grins.

“Fine,” He sighs and Harry claps his hands together excitedly, “but if I can convince her, Taylor is coming with.”

Harry nods his agreement.

“I just need to um,” Harry gestures at his rumpled shirt, “get changed…obviously. You probably want to do so also.”

Louis nods and they part ways to go get ready.

…...

“He’s watching you,” Taylor whispers in Louis’ ear as he clutches her hands, swinging his hips from side to side.

Louis looks back at the bar and finds Harry leaning across it to chat with the bartender, an incandescent smile on his face, his necklaces swinging back and forth as he tilts his head, a playful quality to his expression. There’s no head scarf containing his luscious looking curls tonight and his transparent black shirt is open at the neck exposing his tattoo. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if the obviously gay bartender wanted to go home with him. Louis’ insides scrunch a little at the thought but he’s not too worried. He has had quite a few drinks after all. It’s probably that.

“He’s not,” Louis gestures at Harry whose smile notches higher as the bartender slides the girlish looking cocktail his way, “he’s flirting with the bartender.”

“Now he is,” Taylor says, squeezing his hands to get him to look at her, “but he was staring at you just a minute ago. I really think he’s into you.”

Louis shakes off the crazy thought.

“No he’s not. He doesn’t really know me and besides, he knows I have a boyfriend.”

Taylor shrugs, her aqua crop top rising up her stomach.

“I’m just saying. His eyes stuck to your bum like glue when we got out of the taxi.”

“Well…I have a rather nice behind,” Louis smirks, his arrogance returning in spades as alcohol flows through his veins and the music runs through his system, “can’t blame the guy for noticing, can you?”

Taylor laughs and bends her knees a little, twisting her feet as she shakes her hips.

“If Duncan could see you now.”

The mention of Duncan sobers Louis a little, in more ways than one and he gulps as he thinks of how much shit he’d be in if Duncan found out. However then his eyes find Harry’s who’s ignoring the bartender trying to chat him up in favour of watching Taylor and Louis dance. In that moment, Louis can’t find the will to care about the consequences.

…....

Louis throws the contents of his wallet to the taxi driver who grumbles at him as he collects the notes from the dashboard.

“Lou,” Harry scolds him, “that’s more than it costs.”

Louis just shrugs, a lazy smile marking his face. He’s pleasantly intoxicated. Still in control of all his extremities but with enough of a buzz that his empty apartment no longer bothers him and Harry’s bouncy curls make his smile spread wider across his face. He scoots across the seat and opens the door, stumbling slightly as he gets out. Harry is there instantly, curling an arm around his waist and half carrying him to the door of their building as Louis looks up at him with a manic grin.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Harry asks him, his mouth near touching his ears.

“Because you’re curly,” Louis sings as they mount the staircase, “and I like curly people.”

Harry chuckles at this and Louis enjoys the sound. He turns around and pushes Harry up against the wall. Harry’s eyes are caught wide and staring, his laugh dying in his throat as Louis pushes his curls away from his face.

“Curly,” he sighs and then grabs Harry’s hand, dragging him up the stairs.

“You are drunk, aren’t you?” Harry says with an awkward laugh.

“Tipsy,” Louis corrects, “tipsy like a gypsy.”

By the time they make it to their floor, Harry is half carrying Louis again and Louis’ eyes feel like they might be closed. He hears the creak of a door and suddenly he’s being pulled roughly into someone’s body.

“What the fuck did you do to him? Drug him?”

Louis’ eyes fly open and he’s in Duncan’s arms, outside his flat. Duncan’s nostrils are flaring and his arm is squeezing Louis’ stomach too tight as he yells at Harry over his head. Harry. Oh god Harry, Louis thinks. Harry had his arm around him and Duncan had seen. Duncan knows he went out with Harry and he doesn’t even know Taylor was there. Oh god, no. Louis feels his breath quicken and the alcohol flee to some distant corner of his body as soberness returns.

“Of course I didn’t drug him,” Harry says, sounding wearied.

His eyes are on Louis’ face, assessing and he looks so concerned, his eyes filled with so much remorse that Louis feels a compulsion to touch him. To soothe. He ignores it. He’s not going to do anything to antagonise Duncan when he’s in this state.

“He didn’t,” Louis says, reaching up to touch Duncan’s cheek which quivers with rage, “…I just had a bit to drink. Taylor came.”

Duncan looks down at him now and Louis can see that he’s far worse off than Harry. Duncan might feel suspicion and distrust for Harry but there’s genuine abhorrence in his eyes when he looks at Louis. A dangerous, dark rage that makes Louis’ bottom lip tremble slightly and his eyes prickle.

“You should go mate,” Duncan hisses at Harry, “before I fucking show you what happens to people who touch my boyfriend without my permission.”

Harry doesn’t move, his eyes on Louis’ face. His mouth is dragging so low, it looks like it’s about to drip off his face while his green eyes are coloured with such unhappiness it makes Louis ache. Louis feels for him but he tells himself he can’t worry about his friend right now. He’s got a furious boyfriend to deal with and that’s all he can take right now.

“Go,” Duncan says and Louis can hear him clenching his teeth together, “go now.”

Harry opens his mouth but then glimpsing the look in both Duncan and Louis’ eyes, he rapidly shuts it and enters his flat. Louis feels both a rolling wave of relief and fear now that he’s alone with Duncan.  Duncan wraps a hand around his bicep and drags him into their flat, squeezing so hard that Louis’ almost definite that he’s completely cut off the blood flow. When he lets go, pushing Louis slightly, Louis rubs at the sore spot before turning to face him.

“I’m s-“

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” Duncan roars, stabbing his finger in Louis’ direction.

“But-“

“I go away for the weekend to work. To make money for our future and this is what you’re doing? Going out dancing with our neighbour. Probably rubbing up against him like a filthy slut, weren’t you?”

“No,” Louis rasps, “I didn’t dance with him. He was at the bar most of the night. It was just me and Taylor. Baby please.”

“Don’t you dare beg,” Duncan hisses, “don’t beg for my forgiveness. Probably spent your night begging him to suck your cock, didn’t you? You disgust me. I came home early to see you. I drive home in the dark just so you can have me here like you wanted and of course, you’re out getting drunk with another man like the fucking leech of a boyfriend you are. Do we have to move again? Did you fuck this up again? We’ve not been here two weeks yet and you’re already scoping out fresh cock.”

“Baby no,” Louis whines, stepping close to Duncan and reaching up to touch his face, “you know I’ve never-“

Duncan knocks his hand away, a sneer twisting his features, his green eyes cold and brittle as ice. One second away from shattering completely.

“Not yet,” he snarls, “but it’s just a matter of time, isn’t it? You’re just desperate for it.”

The words lodge themselves in Louis’ heart and his head feels woollen as he focuses on not crying.

“How can I trust you? Knowing he’s next door just waiting for you to come sit on his cock as soon as I leave. We’ll have to move. Again.”

Louis can scarcely breathe and there’s true panic accelerating around his body. He doesn’t want to move again. He likes this flat. He just wants things to be okay. The words rip from his throat like they belong to somebody else.

“He’s not gay!”

Duncan’s expression only tightens.

“How do you know?”

“He has a girlfriend,” Louis says desperately, “he’s-he’s completely straight. I swear. Baby, I’d never have gone out with him otherwise. I promise.”

Duncan’s breath is still coming quick and fast but his fists unclench and his shoulders roll back slightly.

“I’m still angry at you,” he spits, “and if I see you with him again… I don’t care if he’s with some girl. I don’t like him, I don’t trust him and if you ever talk to him again…if you so much as look his way, I swear to god Louis, you’ll never look at another man again. You won’t be able to get it up for anyone but me when I’m done with you.”

“I won’t see him again, I promise,” Louis whispers, clutching Duncan’s face, his eyes tearing up, “I don’t want anyone else. I love you.”

Duncan pulls his hand away and then turns around and marches over to the couch, planting himself in the corner and reaching forward to pick up the remote.

“You can go to bed now. We’re done,” he says with cold displacement, his eyes glued to the TV as Louis stands in the centre of the flat, hurt flaring in his chest.

He doesn’t protest. He’s used to it. It still burns every single time… but he’s used to it. He drags himself to their bedroom and sheds his clothes, holding in his sobs knowing that if Duncan hears him, he’ll get angry at him for being so weak. Once he’s curled in the doona, one shaky, quiet sob breaks through and he trembles, the whole night flashing through his head like the worst kind of nightmare.

Hours later, Louis’ still not slept a wink, just waiting for Duncan to come in and finish with him. When he hears the heavy footsteps he quivers, knowing what’s about to unfold. He hears Duncan’s soft clothes fall to the floor and then his heavy body lands on the bed. He doesn’t turn Louis to face him nor speak to him at first and Louis knows just how it goes. Duncan’s arm comes around him and a hand drifts between his legs, fisting Louis’ cock until his breath starts to hitch and the head of his dick starts to drip pre come. Then, Duncan pulls on the shortest, most sensitive hairs at the base of his neck, tilting his head back and making pain shoot through his whole system. Louis tenses when Duncan whispers in his ear.

“You’re a fucking slut and I’m going to use you like one. You’re all worked up, aren’t you? But you don’t get to come. Not tonight.”

Duncan lifts him slightly off the bed, holding tight to his hip with a bruising grip, his tip brushing Louis’ hole. Louis cringes as he waits for it, his whole body taut with tension and then he gasps as Duncan thrusts his cock in deep, pushing past Louis’ tightness with no prep, no lubricant and certainly no tenderness. No, this is not making love. This is Louis’ punishment. Duncan pulls back only slightly before rocking into Louis again, Louis’ whole body shuddering at the force being applied to his rim. He brings his hand to his mouth, biting down hard to keep from screaming. He’s made noise enough times to know that it only makes things worse.

“How does that feel?” Duncan pants in his ear, pausing to bite down hard on Louis’ shoulder, “You’re so tight. Bet it fucking hurts. You love my cock fucking you deep, don’t you? Tell me you love it.”

Louis releases his hand.

“I love it,” he chokes out, “I love you fucking me deep.”

Duncan grunts in his ear as he continues to fuck him roughly, his fingers digging into Louis’ hip deeply. In any other situation, maybe it would be a turn on but not like this. Not when he’s being ripped open from the inside out. Tears roll down his face as he swallows down each sob and they form a kind of bubble in his throat. He feels so worthless and weak. How can he be in love with someone who makes him feel like this? Someone who seems to get such a thrill out of it? Yet love him he does so he takes the pounding, not bothering to wipe away the tears or dry his snotty nose. He can’t give any sign of his displeasure.

Finally Duncan comes inside him with a guttural moan and he pulls his softening cock away and rolls on to his side and away from Louis without a word. His snores quickly fill the silence and Louis’ only relieved that it’s over. He’s not even bothered that he doesn’t get to come because his cock has gone completely soft.

He quietly slips out of bed and grabs a soft jumper and some pyjama bottoms. Once dressed, he slides back into bed and uses his sleeve to wipe away the last of the tears and his snot. He opens his top drawer and reaches for the salve but then thinks better of it. This time he feels too raw to even touch himself down there. Maybe he’ll apply some tomorrow after his shower.

A few more tears roll down his face, marring his vision as he reaches for his phone on the bedside table. They drip down onto the screen, obscuring his view but he assumes it makes enough sense. There’s a new pain in his chest now but there’s nothing he can do about it. He drops his phone back to the bedside table and curls himself up in a ball, closing his eyes and trying to remember what Harry said to him about his feelings not being wrong. Somehow it doesn’t seem to make as much sense after what he’s just been through. He’s only been rightfully punished for betraying the man he loves.

…..

Harry’s been pacing for the last few hours, ever since he made the stupid mistake of walking away and leaving Louis with his lunatic of a boyfriend against his better instincts. He hadn’t wanted to. He hadn’t wanted to at all. The way those cruel green eyes flared at him was reason enough but when Duncan looked at Louis, there was something truly dangerous working over his expression. Only Louis’ face had pleaded with him, those vulnerable blue eyes just begging him to do as he asked. So Harry had turned and left him in the arms of a man who looked crazed with irrational anger.

He’s known Louis a few days. A few days only. Already he feels like it’s been much longer. Already he feels like Louis’ wellbeing is inexplicably tied to his own. He’d tried to flirt with the bartender tonight and leave Louis be. Taking him out wasn’t supposed to be about checking him out. He’d just wanted to show Louis a good time and see his face light up with genuine joy. He’d wanted to make him forget that his tosser of a boyfriend wouldn’t be home for another day and how hurt it made him feel. Yet he hadn’t been able to keep up the sham because Louis had been shaking his hips all over the place, his bum the worst kind temptation Harry had ever faced. If he didn’t know better, he’d think those jeans were custom made. Either that or the impeccable fit was down to a designer who specialised in bubble butt denim. Louis looked so beautiful when he laughed, his Adam’s apple bulging as his whole face scrunched up and his eyes filled with that luminescent, sparkly kind of happiness that made Harry feel sea sick. The ocean was really just Louis’ expressive blue eyes. Harry hadn’t been able to resist watching him. He’d tried to tell himself it was okay but then they got back here and everything blew up and now Harry has been pacing for hours, stopping to rest against the couch every now and then, biting his nails nervously.

It’s his fault. It’s all his fault that Louis’ suffering. He heard the slightly muffled roaring noise that Duncan makes when he yells but it died quickly and now there’s only silence. An awful, foreboding silence that fills Harry with dread. He wants to barge over there and pound on the door, demanding to know if Louis’ okay….but it’s not his place. Louis wouldn’t want that and Harry swore to himself that he wouldn’t get embroiled in Louis’ toxic relationship. Finally after what feels like the longest stretch of time Harry’s ever waited in his whole life, his phone buzzes against his hip.

Louis: I told Duncan you have a girlfriend so please go along with it. I can’t see you or talk to you anymore but you can still use the pictures for your meeting. I hope it goes well. Thank you for everything.

Harry’s head is pounding. He should have expected this but truly he hadn’t seen it coming. He’d expected Duncan to berate Louis, maybe even to try dissuade him from seeing Harry but he’d thought maybe Louis wouldn’t listen. He’d thought maybe they were friendly enough that Louis would still want to see him.

Then it occurs to him that maybe Duncan’s wrath is just that bad that it’s not worth risking it. The thought pains him. He knows it should weaken his cause but he can’t keep his distance. Not now that he knows Louis. If anything, it only makes him more certain that Louis needs somebody in his life who will protect him. He might have his best friends and his family but they don’t live next door and something tells Harry that he has something they might not have. Like maybe his friends and family have spent too much time trying to tell Louis what he’s doing wrong, making him feel like an idiot for being in love with Duncan and not seeing that they’re worsening the problem.

Harry feels Louis’ intense shame about the state of his relationship. Louis’ not oblivious. He’s remarkably intelligent so he has to know that it can’t be good for him but in some sense it’s a lot like death by chocolate. Louis’ drawn to something that has the potential to make him feel pleasure, something that has in the past proved enjoyable and despite the fact that it always ends in sickness, he can’t walk away. He can’t stop himself from picking up the spoon.

He’s been so deeply shamed by Duncan for being hurt and so shamed by everybody else for not leaving him that he has no real belief in himself, no self-worth. He can barely raise his head, let alone find the strength to leave. Harry doesn’t want to get himself mixed up in this situation but being a friend can’t be so bad, can it? That is, if he can stop Louis from pushing him away entirely.

Harry: I’ll go along with it, course I will. But Lou please. We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m sorry about tonight but don’t throw in the towel yet. I hope you’re okay. I’m sorry if you’re not.

Harry waits two full hours for a response and then finally retires to his bed, his mind already dreaming up ways to get Louis to talk to him.

Chapter Text

“You’d kiss me too but no tongues?” Niall asks as he lounges on Harry’s couch, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh shut up,” Harry grumbles, rearranging his camera supplies to fit into his bag.

Niall is smirking now but he doesn’t say anything as Harry stares determinedly down at his bag on the dining table and fights the blush blooming across his cheeks. A soft hand curls over his shoulder and he jumps slightly but then Zayn appears beside him, nudging a steaming mug of tea against his hand.

“I don’t have time. I’m going to be late to this party.”

“It’s not your party.”

“Even worse. It’s a party that I’m being paid to take pictures at. If I’m not there to take the pictures, I’m not going to get paid, now am I?”

“It’s not as if you need their money,” Zayn says with a roll of his dark eyes.

Harry’s eyes narrow and he scales Zayn’s t-shirt and jeans with suspicion.

“Didn’t you say you had a shoot today?”

“He’s not going,” Niall calls out, not bothering to look up from the sports section of the paper that he’s now currently perusing.

Harry raises his eyebrows at Zayn who suddenly looks agitated.

“That’s not like you. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Zayn shakes his head. Then he bites his lip and Harry can feel the words about to spring forth, “….Liam said he’d come with me to the travel agent today.”

Harry’s eyes bug out and Zayn’s own widen with panic.

“Just to look. I haven’t decided anything. Please don’t say anything…don’t mention it to your parents.”

Harry’s smile is soft as he pats Zayn’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Zayn, I wouldn’t tell my parents if you moved halfway across the planet to like…Australia or something. Don’t stress…but are you really thinking of traveling? I wasn’t sure how much money you’d been able to save…”

“I’ve saved enough,” Zayn says defensively but he looks unsure as he shakes his gelled fringe so a strand falls loosely across his eyes, “it’s not money that’s the problem.”

“It’s his parents. Snob one and snob two,” Niall pipes up again, a quirk in his mouth as he continues to pretend to read.

“I told you not to call them that,” Zayn snaps.

Niall just chuckles at the way Zayn bats his hair away from his nose where it must be tickling him.

With Zayn and Niall, the problem has always been that they come from such vastly different backgrounds. Zayn grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth and Niall grew up with well, a plastic spoon in his mouth, which he used to catapult mountains of food onto his parents’ walls. Although that being said, Niall has informed him that the catapult was more of a protest than anything. He ate a hell of a lot of the food given to him and then some but when the ‘then some’ wasn’t on offer, his dinner had a habit of ending up splattered across the walls. Then he’d get even grumpier because he had even less food to satisfy him.  

Still, that was about as rebellious as Niall had ever been or needed to be. Niall the bad boy? Niall the church boy, more like. His parents barely restricted his comings and goings and though the concept of trust and unconditional support between a child and their parents is foreign to Harry, he understands it. Or at least he understands that it’s got a lot to do with Niall’s laidback, happy go lucky personality.

Harry admires Niall’s ability to be completely honest with himself about what he wants from life and to go about attaining it in his own Niall-esque way. He has always wanted to sell out stadiums and have his own headlining tour and he decided to skip uni and start busking, learning his craft from other street musicians and playing in bars every weekend to rouse up interest. He’s always said that when he earns enough to keep his own flat, he’ll finally try out for x factor.

 It’s slow going and the kid spends his time crashing at other people’s places every night but not one of them minds because Niall is always happy to spare what money he can, offer his Jamie Oliver inspired cooking experience and basically just keep the mood of the household up. Niall wouldn’t give up back when he barely had two pennies to rub together and he still hasn’t. Harry’s convinced he’ll keep at it until he makes it and truly, Harry’s proud to know someone like that. Someone who can associate with people like himself and Zayn and not see it as his ticket to a better life nor be bitter with envy.

Harry thinks that might be why Zayn finds it so hard to be on his level. He’s never understood people who don’t crave materialistic pleasure. It’s hard to blame him really, having grown up the way he did. He was taught the opposite of what Niall had been. He was taught that your inner needs didn’t matter and that if something didn’t earn you the dime you needed, it wasn’t worth it.

Zayn rebelled in his own way, chasing a career in modelling when his parents, particularly his father, had begged him to reconsider but he’d never strayed too far from the vision they wanted for him. He’d been discrete with his sexuality in public and had only ever taken girlfriends to meet them. He’d paved a way for himself in his career and had featured in enough national campaigns that his parents could still pull the, “look how well our Zayn’s done for himself…” card, despite Zayn not heeding their initial career advice. He’d ignored his true desire to see the world and to experience all it had to offer beyond the limits of dreary, old London.

Zayn’s biggest problem with Niall is that he’s so much of what Zayn would like to be and so much of what he feels he can’t. Harry suspects that more and more, Zayn’s finding himself unsatisfied with his life. He’ll never really rid himself of that hint of vanity or his reverence for the customs of the world they grew up in. Yet there’s an inner conflict in his eyes and Harry can sense it flaring up now in response to Niall’s blatant challenge and his ability to joke about what must feel to Zayn like the worst kind of inner turmoil.

“Hey,” Harry says gently, bowing his head slightly to catch Zayn’s eye, “I think it’s great that you’re looking into it and I think…I think you should do what makes you happy, regardless of what snob-“Zayn’s expression turns murderous. Niall cackles as Harry regrets his faux pas, “I mean…your parents, think.”

Zayn’s expression is unreadable as he chews on the side of his mouth, lifting the mug in front of him and taking a sip of the tea Harry’s not going to drink. Watching Zayn drink tea always makes Harry smile. When he wraps his hands around the mug, interlocking his fingers as the warm, amber liquid hits his tongue, he looks ever the contented, dark haired prince. The bitterness in his expression clears completely and when he finishes, he always lets out this tiny, relieved ‘ah’ nose and nods his approval despite the fact that he’s usually the one who’s made the tea.

It’s entirely too endearing and it reminds Harry of when they were little and they’d sneak two mugs of tea into Zayn’s parents’ room and hide in his mum’s walk in wardrobe  behind her dresses. It was the only place Zayn’s dictator-like au pair wouldn’t find them and they’d sit there for hours, giggling as she called their names and ran up and the down stairs, shouting threats and getting increasingly frustrated.

 She’d never located their hiding spot and they’d never shared it with anybody. Zayn had hid there after he told his dad he was gay and had called Harry in tears from that very wardrobe. Zayn’s father hadn’t spoken to him for a month and when he finally did, all he’d said was, “you’re not to embarrass us with this. Don’t taint this family with that.” After that, Harry had still hid with his best friend, just not in the way they were used to. They’d had to hide who they really were to fit in to the world they came from. There was no more giggling or tea parties in Zayn’s mum’s wardrobe.

“So Liam…” Harry says, trying to change the subject.

“What about him?”

“He’s taking you to the travel agent?” Harry asks, eyeing Zayn carefully, “have you two even been out on a date yet?”

“Yes.”

Zayn glowers at Niall.

“If you’d stop interjecting-“

“You took him out?! Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry demands, “Why didn’t Louis tell me?”

“Louis didn’t know,” Zayn sighs. “Liam and Louis barely text cause of Duncan and Louis hasn’t been to the gym since before Liam and I were introduced. It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. Li just said that he’d come with me so I wouldn’t back out. Moral support.”

“Not a big deal?! My best friend went on a date with a super fit guy? Big deal. A super fit guy who also happens to be Louis’ best friend and seemed terminally shy when I met him? Big deal. You’re going on another date with him? Big d-“

“Actually it’s kind of our third-“

“You’ve been on two dates already. Jesus Christ. I tell you everything,” Harry whines.

“Yeah too much,” Zayn says with a grimace, “there is such a thing as too much sharing between best friends Haz. You’d like to lick the eyeliner off his skin? That’s just fucking gross.”

Harry groans morosely and Niall chuckles.

“Yep H, you left Zayn a similarly special message detailing the many ways you’d like to ruin Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry’s eyes crease beneath his hands. His fingers slide away as an apple sized lump bobs up and down in his throat.

“That’s the thing,” he says quietly, his voice so paper thin that Niall looks genuinely alarmed, “I’m not the one ruining him…am I?”

…….

“Louis, you haven’t done a sit up in ten minutes. Get your arse off the floor.”

“I thought my arse was supposed to stay on the floor.”

“Louis.”

“I’m taking a breather,” Louis placates, tapping away at his phone with sweaty fingers.

“You’re texting your prat boyfriend,” Liam accuses, a knowing look in his disapproving brown eyes.

Louis flips him the bird and pushes his damp fringe back out of his eyes.

“As if your thigh’s not currently buzzing with a text from your new boyfriend,” Louis challenges, lifting his head just enough to arch his eyebrows at Liam whose innocent brown eyes do not fool Louis.

“He’s not my-we’re not-you’re a fucking arse. I’m just…I’m meant to take him to the travel agent and he said he’d let me know what time to pick him up from H-“Liam cuts off and then stares determinedly at Louis’ knees.

Louis chucks his phone onto the blue mat and then wrenches himself up, his abdominals burning as he lifts himself up to his knees until he’s eye to eye with Liam.

“Lima,” Louis scolds, caressing Liam’s wrist who snarls at the wretched nickname, “You can say his name. It’s not a dirty word. You’re picking him up from Harry’s. For your third date. I don’t think I’ve ever been this proud.”

“Yeah, well,” Liam holds Louis’ feet down as he completes another painful sit up, “who knows. I’ll probably screw it up. It’s like…it’s like he thinks I’m this knowledgeable-shut your mouth you twat-lad who like, can show him the way. He wants me to you know, help him get his own life. Break free of his parents and all that but Lou, I’m just, I’m-I’m not like a role model or anything.”

Louis hangs his arms over his bent knees and tilts his head just so. The arch of his eyebrow along with the reproach in his sharp, blue eyes is enough to convey his thoughts on the matter.

“Liam James Payne, stop acting like an insufferable git. If he wants your advice, there’s a reason. God knows what it is-“Liam smacks him across the side of the head and Louis squirts him with his water bottle, “but,” he says meaningfully, “He must see in you something he aspires to be. Sure, you have a weirdly intense fear of an inanimate object, a utensil for crying out loud, like what is the deal with that? Afraid someone’s going to spoon you to death or is it just the sight of your reflection. Because you know that great big shiny thing called a mirror-ouch, okay, okay, not the point, I know. Look yes you have a few chinks in your armour Lima but that doesn’t mean you’re not worth it or that someone shouldn’t look up to you. You’re a better role model than you’d think.”

Liam pinches his cheek hard, a smug grin curving his lips.

“Awweh, Lewis. Did you just tell me you look up to me?” He coos.

Louis slaps his hand away.

“Ass wipe.”

“Dipshit.”

“Hobbledehoy.”

“What the fuck is a hobbledehoy?”

Louis’ teeth break his lips.

“An awkward, gawky young man.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Love you too Lima.”

Liam hauls Louis to his feet and looks him over with concern. Louis rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he insists.

“You’re not fine. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Liam asks, with a half frown.

“We already talked. I told you, it’s all good now. I dealt with it.”

Liam rolls his eyes this time.

“No, you talked about it. You wouldn’t let me say what I thought and what I think is-“

Louis holds Liam’s lips between his thumb and forefinger, pinching them closed with a superior expression.

“I don’t care to hear what you think. You can say his name, you can mention him in passing, you can fucking write him a song for all I care but I don’t want to hear your verdict on my relationship with Duncan, which is just fine thank you and certainly not my relationship with Harry styles which is simply non-existent.”

Louis only lets go when Liam’s expression loosens in defeat.

“Fine,” he agrees, “but for the record, Duncan is like….a Christmas pudding,” both Liam and Louis grimace at the thought of the dessert they so despise, “and Harry is…well he seemed…I mean I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to him but… Harry is double choc fudge brownies melting in your mouth.”

Louis stares him down with his arms folded stiffly over his suddenly rumbling stomach.

“Now not only have you given your unwanted opinion but you’ve also given me quite a problem. I’m now quite in the mood for-“

“I’m not blowing you Louis,” Liam’s smile curls up into a devious smirk, “and don’t tell me you have needs.”

“Payne,” Louis says through gritted teeth as he steps closer, “remember when I gave you that super tight wedgie and you couldn’t stick anything up there for weeks?”

Liam starts backing away, his hands raised in defence.

“I’ve actually got to go now because Zayn will be waiting but ah-good session Lou,” Liam says quickly, somehow leaning in and smacking a kiss to Louis’ fringe and darting away before Louis can have any say in the manner.

Once Liam has vacated the gym premises, Louis scouts out two massive double choc brownies at the adjoining café (it doesn’t mean anything thank you, he’s just craving delicious, undo-all-your-hard-work, sugary treats.) He thinks the café might be the worst idea hatched by the gym owner yet but then again, the fatter people get, the more they need to work out. Thinking about his own need to work out and how many calories are in the chocolate treat he’s currently consuming makes Louis pale.

He might slack off at the gym and treat himself to a sneaky cheeseburger on the way home from work every now and then but he usually tries not to overdose on sugar. He knows he’s got a sweet tooth and if he’s not careful, he’ll end up with that heavy figure that he used to possess. The body that Duncan couldn’t desire. Louis licks the last of the chocolate off his pinkie and then dumps the remaining brownie in the waste basket beside him with a resigned sigh. No more Harry. No more chocolatey treats. No more giving in to temptation.

……

“Can I touch it? Please. I promise my hands are clean love. Come here, come on darling. I’ll pay you if it helps.”

“Ah-“

“Or,” the long legged ginger tips her head toward her chest, “you could forget her and come lay your head right here. I’ll give you a pat.”

Harry feels like there soon might be a Harry shaped hole in the back door of the garage. It is, after all, the fastest way to exit the backyard and this house entirely. This god forsaken party that he wished he had turned down. He usually doesn’t deal with middle aged women on their own because it has a habit of coming back to bite him in the arse. Literally. A married fifty three year old woman once bit his bum as he leaned over the refreshments table at a cocktail party and said quite unapologetically, “your tush is a lot firmer than my Basil’s.” Harry supposes it was probably true. People with names like Basil don’t usually have firm arses but hey, that didn’t mean Harry was looking to replace the guy.

There’s something about Harry that drives these women crazy. Perhaps it’s the combination of a man who seems rather fashion forward and well-spoken with a liberating lifestyle that lies outside the bounds of most normal, nine to five jobs. The kinds of jobs these women’s husbands have. Something about it makes them crazy. Lewd. Verging on predatory. It seems that as soon as Harry is done taking shots of them laughing and downing too many glasses of chardonnay, they’re happy to stop thinking of him as the hired photographer. From that point on, they treat him much like a stripper or a form of live entertainment.

As a general rule, he avoids these events. Harry is not into women and certainly not middle aged women. He remembers one of the first few gigs he’d done as a photographer and Zayn had come with him for moral support. After half the women there hit on Harry, Zayn had found it amusing to casually mention to half the guests there that Harry had a thing for older women and perhaps even a fetish. How obtuse.

Harry had spent the rest of the night warding off the advances of women twice his age who kept trying to lock him in the loo with them for a quick snog. No thank you, he’d politely say while grinding his teeth together and planning his retribution for Zayn. He’d never brought Zayn on the job again and he’d avoided gatherings where these women were not accompanied by their husbands or where they had unlimited access to alcohol. It was much too effective in draining away their inhibitions. Yet Harry couldn’t be too picky because if he wanted to be truly independent, he had to score a certain amount of gigs/events per week. Thus, he’d had to say yes to this party. Now he’s half regretting his bold stab at independence.

“Ladies, I’m actually…you know, I’m here to take photos,” Harry says with an apologetic shrug, “not to have my curls petted.”

“Oh Pearl won’t mind,” says the ginger, “she might even give you a big, fat bonus, especially if you uh,” ginger smirks, “give her a big, fat bonus too.”

Her eyes fall to the large bulge in his tight jeans, her long tongue darting out to wet her ruby lips. Harry feels nauseous and is tempted to jump up on the table and announce to the whole garden party that he could think of nothing worse than getting down and dirty with anyone possessing anything but dick in their pants. “Sorry ladies,” he imagines saying, with a sorrowful look on his face, “but vagina is to me what veal is to a vegetarian.”

“You know,” Harry glances at his watch and is delighted to note the time, “I think I’ve got enough shots of you gorgeous women and I’ve actually got an important meeting to get to so I better head off. Maybe another time.”

His smile feels painfully insincere but ginger and her friend just bat their eyelashes at him, their eyes half lidded with lust, so Harry figures he isn’t as transparent as he originally thought. He makes his way down the long sloping garden, his footfalls slowing slightly as he gazes at the stunning white flowers that look like they’ve been dip dyed in a rosy pink colour. The pink colour reminds Harry of the blush upon Louis’ cheeks and his stomach dips slightly in response, butterflies mixed in with regret and longing. Finally he reaches the slim, willowy woman with sleek black hair and sharp green eyes.

“Pearl,” he greets her, lightly squeezing her elbow.

“Excuse me,” she murmurs to her counterparts in conversation and then turns toward Harry.

Unlike the other women, her interest in him is less invasive. It’s a cool flick of her eyes across his own, measuring his response to her. She’s a high profile businesswoman whose conquests are more like business deals than anything. Harry noticed it quite quickly. She won’t throw herself at him and may not even ask at all if she correctly gauges his disinterest.

“Can I help you with something Harry?”

He holds up his camera slung around his neck with a relaxed smile, feeling remarkably relieved to be away from the women who don’t so easily take no as an answer.

“Yeah, I’ve got quite a few good shots and you remember I said I couldn’t stay the whole day, right? I’ve got that meeting. I was just hoping-“

“For payment,” Pearl cuts him off and Harry is glad as he’s always hated this part.

Pearl pulls a cheque book from the pocket of her cream coloured pantsuit and rips away the first piece of paper which is already filled out. Harry briefly checks the amount and then flashes her a small, thankful smile.

“I’ll just be off then. Thank you for hiring me.”

“My pleasure Harry,” Pearl says lowly, her voice only just verging on seductive as she wraps a hand around his forearm, “are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay a little longer? Perhaps until my guests retire to their own homes for the evening? I’m sure we could find something to do to entertain ourselves.”

Her instincts aren’t as good as Harry thought. Either that, or his sexuality isn’t plain as day like he had begun to think. He’s got on a pair of dark brown chinos paired with a navy blue t-shirt and a light brown, weathered jacket with white fur around the edge of the collar that tickles his neck when he moves. He’d sourced the jacket from a used clothing store close to where he lives. He’s rolled the chinos up just enough to display a couple of his favourite anklets that he made himself and he’s got a half-moon necklace hanging round his neck, his curls restrained by a long head scarf that matches the navy of his shirt. He supposes that most people wouldn’t construe his outfit as typically “gay” but then, he’s not wearing women’s jeans today.

“I actually really need to go,” Harry says, dragging the words out as if pained by the notion, “but it was lovely meeting you.”

“You’ll have to do the photos for my next gathering,” she says, not at all flustered, her eyes dropping to his mouth for a fraction of a second.

“I’d love that.”

His voice is hoarse with desire. To escape. He bows his head in an attempt to bid her adieu but she pulls him into an unexpected hug, reaching up to scrunch a hand in his curls. God he hates it when people he hasn’t warmed to touch his curls.

“Goodbye,” he says tightly and then edges out of her grip.

It takes him all of two minutes to leg his way back up the garden, through the house and out the door. When he climbs into his car, his phone dings with a text from Zayn.

Zayn: Louis didn’t talk about you to Liam. Much. He’s not interested in being your friend basically. Sorry H x

Harry sighs his disappointment and sits there in his car for a moment, feeling defeated before twisting the key in the ignition and starting the car. If this meeting doesn’t go well, he might consider setting fire to his whole jewellery collection just to spite the world. Or not. The thought of giving up his ever growing array of necklaces gives him a full body shudder.

…….

“Mr Styles,” Mr Tellman says with that weird twitch of his weathered cheeks, “good to see you again.”

Their hands meet in a firm handshake and Harry slides into the chair opposite the older man’s desk, feeling his heartbeat escalate slightly with nerves.

“You too sir. I’ve brought the pictures in.”

Harry retrieves the images, scrubbed clean of his drunken labels, from his black messenger bag and splays them out across the desk.

Mr Tellman studies them silently for so long that Harry’s fingernails gravitate towards his lips and he begins to jiggle his left leg, his eyes glued to the esteemed editor’s face as he waits for the verdict.

Harry thinks Louis is beautiful of course. His every shot is beautiful, even the ones that are supposed to lack life and vigour. However Harry can’t be sure that his own angles and editing skills are up to GQ standards nor that Mr Tellman will still feel the same interest in the project as he had initially.

Harry’s surprised to find how seriously invested he is in this project. He’s determined to show even a portion of the population that beauty is most prominent when it’s not being flaunted or manipulated. He wants people to know that beauty is something that shines through from within when someone is caught unawares. It’s when happiness and intimacy get the best of someone and their face can no longer contain the emotion that moves within, it’s contained in the way it rolls across their expression in waves.

It’s subtle curves of their lips, twitches in their cheeks and flashes in their eyes. It’s this luminescence that brightens and liquefies the colours that swirl around their pupils, the genuine emotions they feel that create vibrancy and animation in their appearance. It’s a kind of brilliance that fills the lens of a camera with a raw humanity, an honesty that Harry is forever drawn to. Compelled to capture.

Harry finds himself sucking in a breath as Mr Tellman raises his eyes, his round glasses perched on his nose, his blue opal like eyes filled with a decision that Harry can’t yet decipher.

“I’d like this young man to be the front cover.”

Harry’s smile almost breaks his face as his breath stops and he finds himself triumphant in a way he fails to conceal. Miles Tellman is not only expressing his desire for Harry to do the spread but he’s impressed with Louis. He’s drawn to Louis just as Harry had been from the first. Although perhaps not quite in the same way.

Harry’s excitement dims only slightly when he realises that Louis wants nothing more to do with him and that, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Louis isn’t going to want these pictures in a magazine when Duncan could easily find out nor is he going to believe that he’s the right man for it, that he possesses enough appeal. However Harry believes enough for the both of them.

“I’ll talk to him,” Harry vows, knowing he has to first convince Louis to give him a chance as friends before he can even think about doing so.

“Good,” Mr Tellman nods decisively and gathers the images in his hands before handing them back to Harry, “because I think this could be one of our most successful shoots yet,” Harry blinks back at him, shock colouring his jade eyes, “and if you pull it off Mr Styles, your career will benefit enormously. You can do things your way,” Mr Tellman tilts his head in the direction of the pictures of Louis, “and earn plenty of money doing it.”

“Wow, I-“ Harry’s eyes feel wide with budding dreams and he finds himself flawed, unable to express his gratitude with any eloquence, “I-thank you.”

It seems that Mr Tellman isn’t as incapable of smiling as Harry thought. His cheeks do that twitch again but this time, the hint of wrinkles around his eyes scrunch together and his teeth are visible as his mouth parts.

“I will choose the men to be featured Mr Styles,” Harry starts to frown but Mr Tellman cautions him with a hand, “but no models of course. I will contact you when I wish you to photograph them and then again when I wish to publish. In the meantime, you talk to your friend,” Harry’s stomach scrunches because if he could only call Louis that, a friend, “and get him to sign a contract giving us the rights to the images.”

“Of course,” Harry nods, “thank you again sir.”

Mr Tellman’s smile makes another appearance.

“I’ll speak to you soon Mr Styles. Just leave your details at the front desk.”

Harry smiles back and then jumps up, feeling the glow of success settle over his shoulders as he makes his way down the corridor. He decides then and there that he will make use of his good fortune and winning streak while it’s still viable. He slides his phone out of his pocket and texts Zayn back.

Harry: Never mind. I’m going to take care of it .xx

……

No one answers the door when Harry knocks on Louis’ flat but when he decides to go out for a coffee, he walks past the laundry room of the complex and spots a chestnut fringe and a baby blue jumper that hems in at the waist. Louis. Harry doesn’t call out or open the door. Instead he quietly makes his way back to the flat and grabs a couple of armfuls of clean clothing and drops them in his washing basket. He grabs the envelope he’d filled out earlier and tucks it into the back pocket of his pants.

When he makes it back to the laundry room and quietly opens the door, Louis, the only one in there, stills completely. His baby blue eyes go wide like a startled rabbit and he looks awfully tiny as he brings his hand, swallowed up by his jumper, to his forehead and sweeps his fringe aside.

Harry literally saw him last night but it somehow feels like it’s been much longer. Louis looks just as beautiful as he had with eyeliner and leather pants. Just as beautiful as he had poised on Harry’s couch, getting lost in their conversation. Harry’s relieved to note there’s no sign of physical abuse but the fear in Louis’ eyes sobers him instantly. Whatever happened with Duncan was enough to chase away any connection they had briefly formed the past few days and replace it with hesitance and anxiety. All because Louis went out and had himself a good time.

“Hi Lou,” Harry says tentatively, holding his washing basket under his arm as he walks along the white laminate floor to the nearest washing machine.

He can feel Louis’ eyes burning a hole in the side of his head but for now, he doesn’t meet his gaze, simply loading his clothes into the washing machine with a vacant expression. Only when he’s emptied his sachet of power into the machine and switched it on, does he swivel in Louis’ direction. He finds something unexpected. Louis doesn’t look scared as much as…embarrassed. His ears are tinged in pink and he’s biting down on the sleeve of his jumper and rocking back and forth.

“Look,” Harry pleads with a tilt of his head, “I promise I won’t be long. I just need to wash my clothes. That’s okay right?”

Louis glances at his machine and then back up at Harry with that same panic that had been in his eyes before. He chews on the side of his mouth and then nods, starting forward in hopes of leaving Harry here alone. Harry snakes his arm around Louis’ waist just as Louis reaches his side. Louis starts at his touch but he tries not to take offence. When Harry looks down at him, his thin brown eyebrows are slanted low and he looks torn between annoyance and confusion.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Harry asks.

Louis extricates himself from Harry’s hold and turns, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the hallway.

“I’m going back to my flat. Until my wash is done.”

Harry chuckles and Louis looks more annoyed than confused now.

“Why on earth is that funny?”

Harry turns slightly and pats the lid of his machine.

“You know Lou, these things work best when you turn them on first,” he explains, his dimples lifting into place as he winks and adds, “kind of like people really.”

Louis opens his mouth to protest but nothing comes out and he stands there catching flies as Harry’s grin grows. Eventually he takes a step in his direction and presses his finger into Harry’s shoulder in what Harry supposes is supposed to be a stab. All it does is send a ripple of pleasure through Harry’s upper body.

“You’re absurd,” Louis announces.

Harry reaches up to clasp his wrist, intrigued by the way Louis’ eyelashes halt mid blink as Harry’s thumb skates down over his pulse point and glides across his palm. He pulls Louis’ hand away from his chest and returns it to its former position by his side with a quirk in his smile.

“And you were about to walk out without putting your machine on. Lucky you have me really.”

Harry’s aware he can’t keep this up. The jokes. The banter. The light hearted teasing that doesn’t really address the fact that Louis’ determined not to have anything to do with him. It’s just that being this close to Louis sends some weird rush through his veins that stops him from being able to think straight.

“I-“Louis swallows and his face heats up, “I…I-“

Harry’s smile fades and his hand is suddenly sliding over Louis’ hip and squeezing, his eyebrows drawing together with concern.

“What’s wrong? Is it Duncan?”

Harry regrets the words the moment they spill from his mouth. The shutters come down in those luminous blue eyes and Louis pushes his hand away, shaking his fringe out angrily.

“It’s not Duncan. It’s you,” Louis say venomously, “I need to-“he looks around the laundry room as if studying its contents in hopes of finding an answer, “yes, I need to go.”

Louis turns on his heel but Harry’s not ready to lose this battle yet. He yanks on Louis’ hand and as Louis wheels back around, he brings his hand up to steady him, cupping the back of his neck gently. The skin is warm and tense beneath his hand. As he squeezes slightly, Louis lets out a tiny puff of air.

“Please don’t. Tell me what it is.”

“Take your hands off me Harry,” Louis says steadily but there’s an inherent warning in his tone and Harry curses himself.

His need is showing. He removes his hands but his eyes continue to trace the face of the vulnerable looking man before him who is pink all over and who scrubs a hand over the back of his soft looking hair. When he pulls it away, that patch of hair is left all spiked up and fuzzy like a hedgehog. It’s adorable and Harry tries very hard not to give away the game but his top lip is wobbling with the effort.

“I-I don’t know how to do it,” Louis mumbles.

Harry studies his downtrodden look with confusion.

“Don’t know how to what Lou?”

Earnestness and a genuinely lost look purses those narrow lips and forms concentrated creases on his brow. It’s enough to melt the inside of Harry’s brain.

“To wash,” Louis half whimpers, clearly shamed.

Harry can’t help it. A soft chuckle slips through his defences as he regards this man-child who looked like total debauchery in his photo shoot but somehow in this moment, looks just like the kind of wounded animal you’d like to wrap in your arms. Louis crosses his arms, his expression turning rigid.

“Of course you’d laugh at me. Arrogant hipster,” Louis accuses.

Harry laughs again but then pulls on Louis’ hands to uncross his arms.

“Hey, come on,” he drawls slowly, one side of his mouth soaring high, “let me help. I just-I can’t believe you don’t know how to wash.”

Louis doesn’t pull away as Harry tugs him across the floor to his washing machine but he does rip his hands pretty swiftly from Harry’s when Harry squeezes them. By accident of course.

“Well I don’t,” Louis says defensively, “and I’ve been standing here for about twenty minutes because I don’t want to put it on if I haven’t done it right. It’s Duncan’s stuff. He usually takes care of both of our washing but I thought it would be nice if I did it for once. You know to make up for-“

“Me,” Harry finishes, tone firm.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, sounding genuinely bothered.

Harry chooses to ignore that for now. Instead he opens up the lid and looks down at the pile of clothes inside.

“Well?” Louis asks.

Harry pulls a couple of pairs of white socks and a white t-shirt from the machine and dumps them in the washing machine next to Louis’.

“You’re going to want to wash these separately,” he explains.

Louis nods his acquiescence and Harry is relieved to note that there’s no challenge in his expression.

“And um…”

Harry coughs and it barely hides his laugh.

Louis has a petulant pout pushing his lips together, his eyes flick up at Harry from beneath his lashes with annoyance. Harry batters down a fond smile in response to the unfairly cute but harmless pout.

“And um what?”

“Ah, you’re gonna need a little more powder,” Harry says, gesturing at the machine, “I can barely see it. It looks like you just sprinkled it on top.”

Louis’ eyebrows furrow.

“I did,” he says, confusion seeping into his tone.

Harry reaches down to the box of powder Louis’ brought with him and digs the blue plastic spoon in there until it’s full. He dumps three quarters of it in the machine closest to him and the rest in the machine with the whites.

“I see.”

Louis cocks his head to the side, watching as Harry gently closes each lid and adjusts the settings.

“Okay,” he says, turning toward Louis, “now come here.”

Harry holds out his hand for Louis to take but Louis ignores it and steps close himself. Harry tries not to feel hurt by that but there’s a small stab of something somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

“Now you just need to turn the dial to ‘normal machine wash.’”

Louis reaches out and twists the dial on the first machine but Harry covers his hand and twists it one notch further.

“You just fell short love,” he says, cursing the way his voice gets rough as Louis’ hand clenches beneath his own.

“Okay,” Louis says, sounding awfully like he’s trying to ground himself, “okay, thanks.”

Once both machines are whirring away, he turns to Harry and shoves his small hands in his front pockets, flicking his fringe away as he hesitantly meets Harry’s probing gaze.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Harry enquires.

He watches Louis’ Adam’s apple bob in his throat and then notices him drumming his fingers against his thighs.

“Nothing to talk about Harry,” he says in a tiny voice.

It sounds like the in-person version of his goodbye and Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the solemn frown on Louis’ lips nor the beaten, crestfallen look in his eyes as they skate across his own. He doesn’t look like he wants this but he’s afraid. Harry might understand it but he can’t bring himself to accept it. He can’t accept Louis’ dismissal. Not when it’s so clear to him that Louis needs someone in his life to show him the value of his existence. To remind him that he deserves to be looked after and cherished just as much as the next guy.

“I’m going to go,” Louis says and is Harry imagining the croaky, thick sound of his voice? “It’ll just be a few hours right?”

Louis tilts his head at the two washing machines as he starts to back away and Harry’s first instinct is to follow his movements. To trap him against the wall and plead for his acknowledgement but he can’t. Louis is afraid and making him feel like a cornered animal certainly isn’t going to alleviate the pressure in his life. Harry doesn’t want to be a cumbersome presence looming over Louis, forcing him into situations that make him uneasy. He’d like to convince Louis that no matter how Duncan’s wrath manifests, it isn’t worth this life of constant restriction. It isn’t worth the tiptoeing around Duncan’s feelings and thinking he doesn’t have the right to his own. He’d like Louis to willingly accept his offer of friendship because he knows instinctively that his own needs are just as important as his boyfriend’s, if not more. Louis’ first duty should be to himself.

“Right,” Harry lies, knowing a cycle will take just 60 minutes.

He smiles softly at Louis but Louis simply averts his eyes, turning and disappearing quickly from the room without looking back. It hurts Harry in a way he doesn’t like to concede. It worries him that maybe the problem is that he isn’t worth it. It hurts that while being friends with Liam seems to be something Louis is willing to risk, being friends with Harry is not. There just might be another block to Harry becoming part of Louis’ life and he’s not sure that he’s strong enough to break down whatever it is that’s standing between them. He just has to make his peace with it for now. Until he can start working at those defences again.

An hour later, he pulls his own wet clothes from his machine and then tends to Louis’ machines. After he’s dried each set of clothing, he folds all three sets and lays Louis’ and Duncan’s clothes (despite the fact that it grinds his gears to be folding that prat’s clothes) neatly in Louis’ washing basket. He slips the envelope out the back of his jeans and rests it atop the clothes before placing the basket on top of the empty washing machine. He gathers his own clothes in his arms and heads back to his flat, only pausing to gaze briefly at Louis’ closed door.

……

It’s getting towards late afternoon when Louis finally makes his way back to the laundry room with a slight headache and an ache in his joints that he can’t explain. There’s a bigger ache in his chest. Why does he feel like such an arse for turning Harry away? It’s not like he has any choice. He can’t have anything to do with him after what happened. There’s no question of choice. He’s not choosing his boyfriend over a friend. It’s just the way it is. He can’t make everyone happy and he can’t keep disappointing Duncan. He can’t keep being the only thing that stands in the way of their happiness together.

When Louis opens the door of the laundry room and sees the clothes sitting atop the machine, the ache pulses and grows, leeching into the surrounding tissues. His throat clogs up with this funny feeling and he’s not sure why this tiny act of kindness makes him feel so clogged up with hurt and perhaps a little longing. Yet he can’t deny that when he spies the envelope resting on top of one of Duncan’s jumpers, his heart leaps into his throat and he tears at the seal desperately.

A small, rectangular piece of paper flutters to the floor and it’s face down but Louis can see traces of blank print through the back. He picks it up with deft fingers but drops it again when his eyes take in what’s been written in Harry’s cursive script. For a moment, there’s that thing stretching itself inside his chest, stealing his breath and making him tingle all over but then he remembers that life isn’t fairy dust and miracles. He doesn’t believe in that shit anymore and he sure as hell doesn’t need Harry-hipster-Styles making fun of him. He storms up the corridor to his own flat and drops the basket onto the couch. Then he marches back out, the piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand. He pounds on Harry’s door until his hand starts to feel numb.

When Harry wrenches it open, he’s standing there without the dark brown jacket he’d worn earlier and his dark top is unbuttoned halfway to reveal his swallows and a creamy expanse of skin that shimmers slightly as if he’s just rubbed moisturiser into it. In fact, Louis can smell a hint of vanilla mingling with peach and there’s the scent of a familiar brand of strawberry shampoo to add to the mix. Harry’s hair looks damp at the ends so that explains that. His fringe is untamed, sweeping across his forehead in a messy array of curls and his emerald eyes are shimmering; completely incandescent, as though he’s just been laughing. He’s stunning and it’s awfully hard to deny it but Louis won’t fall prey to the thing clamping down on his insides, making them clench.

“What the hell is this Harry?” He demands, holding the paper up for Harry to see.

That flowing green river freezes over as Harry takes in Louis’ angry expression.

“Lou, I-“He reaches out to touch Louis’ shoulder but Louis pulls it away.

“No, Harry. What the fuck. This is a cheque for ten thousand pounds. Do you think that’s funny? That you can give me some phony cheque and we’ll have a bit of a laugh about it and somehow that will make us friends. Harry, we’re not friends,” Louis sighs, his anger dissipating some, “we can’t be.”

Louis hears Harry swallow noisily and he tries not to flinch under that intense, soul searching stare that flows down his body like hot molten lava. The clamp around his insides feels tighter.

“It’s not a phony cheque,” Harry says calmly, leaning against the side of door, one lean leg tucked behind the other.

Louis fish mouths.

“Remember when I said my mum handled a lot of charity events? Well that’s because she’s Lady Eliza Styles which means she’s married to Sir Edward Styles, the third. He owns like half of London,” Harry says and if Louis’ not mistaken there’s a bitter, twisted edge to his tone.

Suddenly Louis recalls the look on Harry’s face when Louis had waxed poetic about his loving, close knit family. He had thought Harry might have come from some kind of broken, empty home or something like that but he’d never considered this.

“Half of London,” Louis repeats with awe.

“That’s more accurate than you’d think too. So no, it’s not a phony check. It’s payment for the shoot. I told you I’d pay you.”

Louis shoves the cheque into Harry’s chest but Harry doesn’t lift his hands to take it.

“That’s ridiculous. I told you not to pay me and this is-this is not payment for a shoot. This is payment for I dunno, a year’s worth of shoots. You might be able to throw your money or your parent’s money around for kicks but I’m certainly not going to take it. Have some respect for your parents.”

Louis regrets the words the moment they’re out. Harry’s face clouds over with hurt and something broken and bruised fills his eyes. They’re teeming with a lifetime of pain and Louis knows he’s really stepped in it. He knows nothing about Harry’s family and yet here he is doing the one thing he gets so frustrated about people doing with him; assuming. He assumed he knew best despite the fact that the tension lines in Harry’s face and the drop of his bottom lip tell a completely different story to the one Louis constructed in his head. The one where Harry is a pampered, ungrateful rich kid who wastes his parents’ money just to spite them.

Louis reaches across and squeezes Harry’s elbow to get the other lad’s hazy green eyes to stop filtering through pain ridden memories. They flit back down to his face obediently.

“I’m sorry,” Louis sighs softly, feeling like a proper arse, “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not like it’s any of my business.”

“It could be,” Harry mumbles, his eyes chasing Louis’.

Louis eyes fall to the ink spanning the top of his chest, wondering whether the moisturiser that makes the swallows sparkle tastes anywhere near as good as it smells.

“Harry-“Louis tries to warn him.

“I don’t use it,” Harry cuts him off.

Louis is nonplussed and distracted by the way Harry sweeps his fringe up and over his head so it forms a loose, messy quiff.

“Use what?”

“Their money. It sits in a trust fund that I scarcely touch unless I really need it. Sometimes when I have a few less clients than usual, I do need it for rent but I get by the best I can. They send it every month, just a small amount, hoping that I’ll come to them begging for more and happy to return home. To that life. To a prison world. But I don’t use it. I’m saving it. I just thought this was some good I could do. To give it to someone who actually deserves it. You deserve it Lou,” Harry says with blazing intensity as he guides a hand across Louis’ jaw and then lets it fall to his side, looking like he expects the world’s worst rebuff.

“You don’t know me Harry,” Louis retorts, looking up at him with this breathless, warm feeling expanding within, “you don’t know what I deserve. And I-what are you saving it for?”

“I know you deserve good things Louis. Everybody does but especially you. You don’t have enough good in your life.”

There’s so much compassion in the way that Harry looks him over. A gentle probing look that makes Louis’ insides clench in a completely different way. It scares him how very much Harry sees. How much of Louis’ hurt has he cottoned onto and why does it matter to him so much anyway?

“You ignored my question. What are you saving it for?”

Harry’s blush crawls up his neck and spreads across his cheeks. He itches at the side of his hip, looking bothered.

“Harry, tell me.”

Louis shouldn’t be asking because he shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t be standing here in Harry’s doorway and arguing about money or asking about cheques. He should be in his flat waiting for Duncan’s return but something keeps him rooted to the spot. Something like the nervous flicker of light in Harry’s bottle green eyes. Perhaps it’s the way he bites the centre of his bottom lip until it turns white from the pressure or the way he hunches slightly, unconsciously making himself smaller as he reveals something that makes him feel truly vulnerable.

“I’m saving it for my baby,” he sighs.

So that’s a palpitation, Louis thinks, his heart clenching and then missing a beat completely. A baby. Babies are Louis’ kryptonite and he feels like the blue of his eyes might be melting down his face onto his shoes as he gazes at Harry.

The last time Louis had mentioned babies to Duncan had been when they were watching a nappy commercial and Louis had giggled at the baby crawling around with its nappy on its head. He’d told Duncan that when they had a baby, he would probably need proper lessons from his mum on how to put on a nappy. Duncan had frozen completely and then barely spoken to him for the rest of the night. When Louis woke the next day, there had been a note from Duncan to say he’d been called away for work again. Louis hasn’t mentioned babies since.

Now here is Harry-hipster-styles with a rose tinted blush fanning over his smooth, alabaster skin that smells of vanilla and just faintly of peaches, admitting that he already has a trust fund for a child he’s yet to have. Louis’ not naïve enough to completely miss the fact that he and Harry share this particular dream while he and Duncan clearly do not but he’s also not naïve enough to think that it negates his past with the man he loves. Harry is a fittie, a sweetheart and everything in between but Louis’ content. He’s got a boyfriend he’s not prepared to give up. He’s not interested in skimming his nose along Harry’s neck line and lapping up that delicious scent with his tongue. Not at all.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a baby daddy,” Louis teases, a trembling smile rolling across his mouth.

Harry’s eyes are on the floor and he doesn’t hear the lilting tone. His panic is clear as he looks up with wide, frenzied eyes.

“Oh no, I’m not-I don’t have a baby yet or anything but-“

Louis doubles over with laughter and wheezes slightly as Harry’s eyebrows climb.

“What?”

“I was joking Styles.”

Harry’s mouth forms an ‘o’ and then he’s laughing too, shaking his head at himself as Louis tucks the cheque into his own jeans, reminding himself that he will most definitely be giving it back later.

“Will you come somewhere with me?” Harry says suddenly and he’s biting that damn lip again, a precious plea filling his eyes.

“Where?”

“Just-please,” Harry’s eyes flicker sideways to Louis’ flat, “if you can I mean.”

Duncan won’t be home for another few hours and Louis’ done with work today. He can’t be Harry’s friend, can’t even entertain the thought of spending any real time getting to know the guy but the clamps around his organs are apparently speaking for him now.

“Lead the way hipster.”`

……

Harry pulls a laminated card from his glove box and flashes it at a camera and the black steel gate before them opens to admit their car. Harry pulls up the long driveway and drives around a tall water fountain to park alongside a garden that looks like it extends for miles. It’s a picturesque, lush green colour dotted with more than a few park benches and sprinklers that spray the flowers with water every few moments. Louis can even see a gardener tending to some of the hedges, the last dregs of afternoon sun falling across his hunched back. The fountain is surrounded by a smooth concrete pathway that flows into a tall set of stairs leading up to a gigantic six story house that looks like something out of a fairy-tale.

It’s a greyish-lilac colour with a greyish-blue roof and it looks aged and historic, in the most appealing way. Like a timeless antique rather than the dilapidated, rundown building you’d expect of something that looks this old. There’s tamed but furry green creepers crawling all up the front and the windows are large and set deep in the house with criss-cross iron bars across them. The huge dark oak front doors have shiny gold handles with brass knockers, the small balcony like area surrounding the doors filled with a vast array of colourful plant life that looks like it would be a pain to keep alive in the bitter winter that pervades London. Louis is transfixed.

“Harry.”

Harry doesn’t look at him as the car comes to a stop. He simply stares up at the house with something dark brewing in his eyes and perhaps a hint of fear poking out from underneath. Louis unbuckles his seat belt and reaches across to touch Harry’s hand. His fingers sink in between Harry’s on his thigh and suddenly he’s squeezing and their hands are locked together. He knows it shouldn’t be happening and his brow creases at the very thought of Duncan but Harry turns to meet his gaze then and his smile is so deep in his face, so genuinely appreciative that Louis pull away.

“Yeah?” Harry finally says.

Louis swallows down his original thought; your house is like a palace. Harry needs so much more than cheap sentiments like that and in this moment Louis wholly intends to give it to him.

“You don’t have to go inside. You don’t have to take me in there. I understand. I can see enough of it in your eyes. You told me the second time we met that this wasn’t you and I believe you. You don’t have to prove a god damn thing Harry,” Louis informs him, voice fierce.

Harry releases his hand but his eyes don’t release him just yet. They slice through his exterior to whatever’s bubbling underneath and Louis sinks a little in the car seat, shying away from the attention.

“Please,” Harry says simply, “I think…it might show you that I get it. That I wouldn’t ask you to risk being friends with me if I didn’t think it was worth it because god knows I understand that you can’t choose who you love. The same way you can’t choose your family. I know that these things aren’t black and white Lou. I don’t want to go in there,” Harry admits, “but I want you to see. I want you to know.”

“Harry-“

“Please Louis. I promise I’ll take you straight home. I’ll never breathe a word about this,” Harry promises, his expression grim.

Louis sighs and then pushes his car door open, waiting as Harry gets out the car and then comes round to his side. He guides Louis forward with a hand on the small of his back and it’s as reassuring as it is terrifying. Harry’s huge hand covers almost the whole width of his back and Louis’ skin feels hot beneath it. It’s as if someone poured gasoline down his shirt and Harry’s hand is the match, igniting his skin so it bursts into flames beneath his touch.

“You know this isn’t going to change anything right?” Louis asks just as Harry bangs on the door using the brass knocker.

Harry doesn’t respond but his fingers are still pressed into the curve of Louis’ back and he splays them out further, till the tips of his fingers curve around the edge of Louis’ hip. Louis jolts forward and there’s confusion in Harry’s look as the door creaks open to reveal a tall, smiling faced girl with hair that’s dark around the top but that flows down into a whitish-blonde colour. The girl’s mouth is wide and pouty like Harry’s and she’s got the same shaped nose too. Louis finds the contrast between her make-up and her clothing curious. Her brown eyes are rimmed with dark eyeliner and her lashes stand perfectly curled and printed black but she’s dressed in a rather plain, conservative lilac blouse with similarly unflattering grey trousers.

“Harry,” she squeaks and hauls Harry into a tight hug, her hand reaching up to sift through his curls.

Harry chuckles and presses a kiss to the side of her hair. Louis’ heart contracts a little in his chest. It’s kind of adorable.

“Hey Gem,” Harry’s voice rumbles as he pulls back next to Louis, “I can see our lovely parents have dressed you most flatteringly today. Like their little doll.”

Ah, that explains it. Gemma snorts and rolls her eyes, her smile still brilliant. It shows off her perfectly white, straight teeth.

“Yeah, they made me change. I swear to god Haz, if I don’t get a job soon, I’m just going to live on the fucking street. I can’t stay here,” she complains, her smile dimming.

“If you’d just let me help-“

Gemma cuts him off immediately, directing her gaze Louis’ way and nodding appreciatively. It makes Louis’ skin warm.

“Well done H. He’s gorgeous,” she gushes before extending a hand his way, “hello Harry’s new boyfriend that he’s never mentioned. I’m the scary older sister that would like to know your intentions with my brother before I let you inside. It has been a while since he’s dated anybody so I might be a bit out of practice with the whole “if you even think about hurting my brother…” speech but I’m sure you can cut me some slack.”

She smirks at him openly and then winks at Harry. Louis is too overwhelmed with being labelled Harry’s boyfriend and being called gorgeous to do anything other than offer his hand. Gemma uses it to tug him into his own tight hug. She reaches up and pats his hair softly like she’d done with Harry and something swells beneath Louis’ ribcage. Something like his heart. He also wonders just how long it’s been since Harry’s dated anybody and why it’s been so long. He can’t imagine Harry wouldn’t have had plenty of offers. It must be by choice.

“Gem, let him go. He’s not my boyfriend. This is Louis, my neighbour and fr-“Harry cuts himself off and when Louis draws away from Gemma, he knows he’s responsible for those frown lines marring Harry’s beautiful skin.

“Nice to meet you,” Louis interjects, trying to banish any awkwardness as he smiles warmly at Gemma, “Harry’s told me so much about you.”

He says this because a friend would know everything about Harry’s sister who he obviously cares for very much. He says it because he wants Gemma to think they’re closer than they really are, if only to stop Harry from frowning about the fact that they really have no relationship to speak of at all.

It’s the right thing to say. Harry’s dimples reappear and Gemma smiles at her younger brother with an adorably fond look in her eyes.

“I hope you’ve been talking me up,” she says to him, one side of her mouth lifting high.

“Nope,” Harry says, “I just told him about how you used to throw your my little ponies out the window into the fountain and make mum and dad buy you new ones because you were so desperate for me not to play.”

Gemma laughs and buffets his shoulder. Harry turns into Louis, dimples twitching, as he tries to protect himself.

“You little shit. You know I was only a kid. A spoilt kid who didn’t know better!”

Harry’s still turned his way and Louis tilts his head back slightly to look him in the eye, his tongue dancing across the seam of his mouth as he bites back a laugh.

“My little pony Harold? Oh dear.”

Harry pouts, his forehead filling with creases all over again. His eyes are bright still and they drop down Louis’ face slowly, like he’s enjoying the shape of humour in Louis’ expression.

“Shut up,” he says quietly, his eyes still trekking a path down Louis’ face to his mouth, “don’t tell me you never wanted to plait the hair on one of those things.”

Louis snorts and Gemma is chuckling too. They share a congenial smile.

“Your brother is absurd,” Louis tells her.

Gemma cackles, her brown eyes filled with sparkling amusement as she sizes him up again.

“I’ve been trying to tell his friends that for years but apparently you’re the only one with any sense.”

“Clearly,” Louis agrees with a smirk.

“Hey!” Harry whines.

Gemma and Louis hi-5 each other and Harry’s arms cross as he looks between them with narrowed eyes.

“I hate you both.”

Louis’ got too much of a thrill running through his veins from bonding with Gemma. His hand darts up to trace the side of Harry’s cheek and he presses his thumb in the spot where Harry’s dimple would usually sit. Harry’s eyes widen and then near cross with confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to coax your dimple back out,” Louis says with a straight face.

There’s a snort from Gemma but Louis is lost in the hazy green eyes that swallow him whole.

“C’mon little fella,” Louis coos, rubbing more insistently at Harry’s cheek, “I know you’re in there.”

Harry’s laugh is choked and surprised as his mouth twitches and the dimple presents itself beneath Louis’ thumb.

“Were you really just talking to my dimple?” Harry says between loud, childlike laughs that sound like they’re being squeezed out of his chest.

Louis just grins at him, his eyes drawn to the hint of moisture on Harry’s lips. It rather reminds him of a succulent, freshly washed apple.

“Good god,” Gemma groans, “you two are as absurd as each other.”

“Gemma, what’s all the carrying on for? You’re disturbing your father,” comes a smooth yet severe voice.

A woman appears behind Gemma, peering out at Harry and Louis with initial curiosity which quickly morphs into disapproval. The woman is short and stout with small, birdlike hazel eyes and hair that’s as dark as Harry’s pulled back in a tight bun. Most of her features are quite narrow and sharp looking. There’s much less softness in her than in Harry and Gemma. She’s wearing a silver necklace around her neck with a huge, heavy looking blue jewel and a pale blue silk kimono that’s drawn tightly around her waist.

“Hi mum,” Harry says, his voice suddenly quieter and an awful lot less Harry-esque.

“Harry,” Eliza nods at her son but doesn’t acknowledge Louis’ presence.

“Just thought I’d come by and see you. It’s been…a while. This is Louis,” Harry says, running his hand across the top of Louis’ shoulder blade.

Eliza’s narrowed eyes settle on Harry’s hand and there’s so much coldness in that look. So much contained ferocity. As if she could rip Harry’s hand away with the burn of her hateful eyes alone. Ah, she’s like that then, Louis realises. Harry’s not just a rich boy who’d rather not be rich. Louis feels like a fool.

Harry’s hand starts to fall away as he takes in his mother’s critical look but something fiercely protective bursts in Louis’ chest. He reaches up and catches Harry’s hand, pinning it there. He doesn’t look at Harry but he can feel those large fingers tremble slightly beneath his own. Gemma is watching Louis with deep glowing approval and perhaps a hint of knowledge Louis’ not sure he wants to understand. Eliza looks like she’s about to shoot fire from her eyes and burn him where he stands.

“Harry,” she says calmly but Louis can hear the discontent and growing annoyance beneath her perfunctory tone. “Your father is in a very important meeting with the ambassador from China. It’s important I be there to support him. I’m sorry but you and your ‘friend’” she directs her gaze to Louis, her eyes glacial, “will have to come back another time.”

Harry forcibly pulls his hand from Louis’ shoulder and Louis’ mouth frowns of its own accord.

“He’s not…I’m not dati-he really is just a friend.”

Eliza’s eyes slide between the two of them, calculating and then she nods and steps to the side, gesturing for them to enter.

“Very well. I suppose I can fit you in before your father and Mr Chen are ready to adjourn for lunch. A quick meeting of sorts,” she says, tone brusque and businesslike.

A meeting? A fucking meeting? Louis can feel his eyes are wide in his head. Harry is her son but he might as well be a fucking stranger, the way she’s talking to him. Like he’s a client. Like he’s an inconvenience and a burden.  As Harry bows his head and ducks inside, Louis follows. Eliza’s eyes narrow and her mouth curls as she spies Harry’s unbuttoned shirt. Louis finds himself glaring balefully at the woman who dares to call herself Harry’s mother. She clearly has no concept of what that really means.

Gemma squeezes Louis’ arm from behind as Harry’s mum leads them down a long corridor to a large sitting room with plush olive green seats that have sparkling, shiny silver frames around them. There’s a grand piano sitting in the corner and a bookcase that spans the width of an entire wall, filled with thick volumes of books that look dusty and unused. There’s even a fire roaring in the grate yet something about the room seems very stiff, frosty even. As if the absence of love and laughter in the Styles’ home might have seeped into its orifices and coloured everything with a kind of lifelessness and frigidity.

“Welcome to hell,” Gemma whispers.

Louis looks back at her with mournful eyes. He can’t imagine living with this woman all his life. This cold creature with no soft looks and no intimate touches to spare. She’s yet to hug Harry or show any sign of affection. Louis can’t remember the last time he saw his mum and she didn’t throw her arms around him the moment he came into view. It makes him undeniably grateful to have had the family he did.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, unable to help himself.

Gemma’s smile is kind, if not slightly defeated. She tugs him down onto the couch with her and Harry seats himself down beside Eliza.

“So,” Eliza starts, “how is your job going?”

It sounds like a polite enquiry. It sounds like an entirely innocent confession of interest in her son’s life but Louis feels Gemma stiffen beside him and he sees the fear leap up Harry’s throat and into his eyes. He hears the air quotes around the word ‘job.’ Fond of those air quotes, she is.

“Good, thank you,” Harry responds, only a slight trace of discomfort in his tone as he talks to his mum like he might a stranger passing him on the street, “I’ve booked a lot of events lately.”

“Making enough to pay your rent yet?” She enquires, ducking her chin a little to pierce Harry’s skin with a sceptical, patronising look.

“Harry’s actually doing a shoot for GQ. He should be paid quite a lot for that actually. Right, Haz?”

Eliza and Harry’s heads both snap his way and Louis’ heart races a little as he wonders at his own inability to hold himself back. He’d seen the flicker of self-doubt making its way across Harry’s face and it had disturbed him so. Harry has such passion for capturing photos and he obviously explored that passion against his parent’s wishes. Anybody with that much conviction has Louis’ not so easily gained respect and unwavering support. He couldn’t stand to see Harry’s own mother making him feel like he couldn’t be proud of himself. Yet Harry’s looking at him like he just grew another head, as if he can’t possibly understand why Louis would dare to say such a thing.

“Harry, is that true?” Eliza asks, her voice softening only slightly as she reaches across and lays a hand on his knee.

It irks Louis that what it takes for Harry’s mother to show him any kind of kindness is him attaining the kind of achievement that she approves of. It’s not right that she can’t love him for the way he is, making out as though Harry were defective simply because his passions do not match hers.

A parent is supposed to love their child irrespective of their differences and Harry’s happiness should be Eliza’s happiness. Clearly that is not the case. There are worse things than homosexuality and photography. Much worse things. Yet Eliza regards Harry with distaste and a genuine lack of maternal warmth. It bothers Louis deeply that Harry looks up at her with slightly misty eyes as if it’s the gentlest she’s ever been with him.

“Yes,” he admits, a weak smile forming, “they’re going to use my photoshoot. I’m not sure when.”

Instantly Eliza retracts her hand and that singular note of leniency disappears from her tone.

“So nothing is set in stone? There’s no contract? They could quite easily decide to go a different way Harry, couldn’t they? There are much more talented photographers out there after all. It’s not like you’ve had any training.”

Louis can tell each word is cutting Harry deeply. His smile freezes, fluttering there for a moment at the corners of his fleshy lips before falling away. He starts to look more like a wax figure than a living, breathing human. Frozen in a state of despair. For a moment, Harry had thought he had earned her approval.

“Harry, we’re leaving,” Louis says abruptly, bouncing up from the couch.

Harry’s head had fallen down but it snaps up now, his sad green eyes meeting Louis’ with bewilderment.

“I-“

Louis marches over to him and grabs his hand, squeezing tightly and pulling on his hand a little to get him to stand. Harry follows his lead but he’s not moving. He’s just standing there, staring down at Louis with incredulity as if Louis has done something so remarkable that he cannot fathom it.

“C’mon,” Louis pleads, “let’s just go.”

Harry nods then and squeezes Louis’ hand back. Louis leads them away from the couches and towards the door of the sitting room. Just as they reach the doors, he turns back to offer a stunned Gemma a brilliant smile.

“Lovely meeting you Gem,” he says, with genuine affection.

“You too,” she chokes out, raising her eyebrows at Harry and communicating silently with him in a way that Louis doesn’t even try to understand.

“So you’re leaving? Harry dear, aren’t you going to scream and stamp your feet like you usually do?” Eliza asks, an air of cool disinterest in her tone.

Louis’ not fooled, he can see the embers glowing in her catlike eyes. Harry’s obviously stood up to her before but perhaps nobody’s ever come into her house and done it for him. She’s perhaps always been able to push Harry around if she really wants to. She couldn’t stop him living his life the way he desired but if she couldn’t do that, she was determined to make him feel like absolute shit for doing so. She wanted to get under Harry’s skin and it’s clear from the way Harry’s hand hangs limply in Louis’ that she often does.

“Yes, we’re leaving,” Louis answers for them both, tightening his hand in Harry’s as he continues, his voice taut with tension, “because we have better things to do with our time.”

Louis turns toward Harry with the sole intent of pissing Eliza Styles off. He uses his hands to smooth out Harry’s collar, stretching his shirt open wider as he runs his hands across the sides of Harry’s chest to land on his shoulders.

“I love it when you wear your shirts unbuttoned,” Louis says, forcing a silky, seductive tone.

Harry’s breaths come in short gasps as Louis leans down and plants two soft, wet kisses on his exposed chest. His tongue darts out to trace Harry’s tattoo and he lingers for a moment, hanging there for an uncomfortably long amount of time. However when he hears Harry’s breath stop, he remembers himself, clearing his throat awkwardly as he pulls away. His tongue was supposed to stay firmly ensconced in his mouth. No matter. Louis turns his head back to Eliza, delighting in the shocked gasp that bursts from her mouth as her face contorts with displeasure.

“Your son is a wonderful ‘friend’”, Louis assures her, winking as he reaches his hand out and smooths it across Harry’s smooth, pale chest.

He trusts that she knows what he means by friend. A naked friend.

“Bye love,” he calls to her, tugging on Harry’s hand and pulling him through the open doors.

Once outside the room, he begins to run down the hall and Harry runs too, messy laughter spilling from their open mouths as they drag each other along, eyes slotting together like two bent out of shape puzzle pieces that are bent just right for each other. It’s a ridiculous thought and Louis shakes it away as thoroughly as he tries to shake away the taste of Harry’s skin. Peaches and cream. It was absolutely decadent. Louis is not flustered.

…..

“Thank you.”

Harry’s eyes are trained on their complex that towers over the street where he’s just parked, his red mini cooper coming to an abrupt stop just moments ago. Then again, perhaps Louis had just been too lost in thought to notice it slowing.

“You said that already Harold.”

Harry turns to him and Louis follows suit. Harry’s eyes are glistening and his hand lifts up to touch, to do…something but when he sees the warning in Louis’ eyes, he lets it fall.

“I just-“

“Look I shouldn’t have um,” Louis pauses as the various options fill his mind, tested my hypothesis that you taste exactly like you smell….pressed my lips against your skin and wondered what it would be like to press my mouth against your pulse….tried to lick away the taste of you and take it with me, “kissed you like that. Or um, licked you.”

“You licked me?” Harry says, his eyebrows climbing high.

Mother fucking shit fuck. Of course. Louis’ tongue is like a tiny lizard tongue and Harry had been standing there in front of his fucking family for god sakes. Of course he hadn’t felt it. Louis is a stupid git.

“Um no,” he says, warning his skin to cool it.

It doesn’t. Harry’s smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he leans forward to inspect Louis’ heated face.

“You’re blushing,” he concludes with glee.

“’m not,” Louis mumbles, tucking his chin into his neck, “’s just hot in here.”

Harry chuckles for a moment but then tucks a finger underneath Louis’ chin and lifts it. When he does, his jade green eyes are full of soft gratitude and something deep and heavy that balloons inside Louis’ chest.

“Thank you. I mean that,” Harry says, “and I know why you did that for me. It didn’t mean anything. Of course it didn’t. The look on my mother’s face, it was brilliant. I fight with her, I stand up to her even but not like that. That was…you are…”

“It was nothing,” Louis mutters, pulling his chin away.

“Lou, you wanted to help me. To protect me. To be my friend when I needed you. Can’t you see that’s all I want to do for you? To be there,” Harry pleads.

Louis snaps.

“It’s not the same Harry! Your mother is like a fucking ice woman and I don’t imagine your father is any better. You-you needed someone to show you that it’s okay to be proud of yourself even if they aren’t. She was making you question that. You’re brilliant Harry. I needed you to see that,” he blurts, his volume climbing higher.

Harry’s smile is sad. Wearied perhaps. His voice is a breathy whisper when he responds.

“You don’t see how much we have in common Lou. How much you need the exact same things I do. How much I want to be there to give them to you.”

“I don’t even know you,” Louis says angrily but he thinks Harry can probably hear the fear in his voice.

“And you still came with me. Did that for me. Why?”

Louis pulls the envelope from his pocket.

“I have to go,” he says simply, “Duncan’s probably home.”

Harry nods, his dimples completely absent. Louis leans over him and manoeuvres the envelope into the tight front pocket of his trousers, his fingers pressing into Harry’s thighs for just a second before he withdraws them. Louis’ hand is on the handle and he’s about to get out when Harry’s voice rises again.

“Louis-“

Louis turns back to him and presses his thumb against the missing dimple.

“Baby hipster deserves that money so much more than me love.”

…….

Duncan’s pressing kisses to the side of his hair as he lifts their empty plates off the table and lingers, balancing them against his hip.

“I love you Louis Tomlinson,” he crows, his mouth working its way down Louis’ hair to his neck and then to the crook of his shoulder which always makes him giggle, “yes I do, I love you.”

Louis turns his head and meets Duncan’s mouth and wonders how long the sweetness will last. He knows the answer. It will last until he screws it all up again. He mustn’t do that. He has to stay away from Harry. He has to be the kind of boyfriend Duncan deserves.

“If you love me so much, where’s my dessert?” Louis asks with crinkled eyes and a pursed smile.

“Coming right up baby,” Duncan sighs, pressing one last kiss to his lips before carrying the plates away.

When he returns, carrying two plates and a couple of spoons, Louis almost chokes on his sip of wine.

“Is that-“

“Peach cobbler,” Duncan finishes, grinning broadly as he places Louis’ dessert before him, “why yes dear, it is. Bit unhealthy. You’ll have to work twice as hard in the gym to keep your body toned for me but we haven’t had it in ages. I even put an extra dollop of cream. I know much you love the taste of-“

Peaches and cream.

“Yes, thank you,” Louis interrupts desperately, “thank you babe.”

He rises up out of his chair and leans across the table to kiss Duncan. His heart is rabbiting in his chest as he heaps his spoon with cobbler and a hint of cream and slides it inside his mouth. His eyelashes flutter as two swallows rise up before him and by the time he’s done eating, he’s not sure he’s even seeing the cobbler before him.  His brain is fuzzy and he damns the hipster next door and his unfairly sweet tasting skin to the fiery pits of hell.

Chapter Text

“Hi there.”

“Hello gorgeous.”

“How’s your day been?”

“Average but it’s looking up.”

“That was disgusting.”

“I know.”

“Is that my batman t-shirt?”

“You left it on my floor babe.”

“Looks good on you.”

“You look good on me.”

“Ahem,” Harry coughs exaggeratedly, hitting the back of Zayn’s shoulder with his open palm, “guys I’m right here.”

“Oomph,” Zayn huffs as he stumbles forward under the pressure of Harry’s hand.

Liam comes around from the back of the front counter to inspect Zayn’s shoulder while Zayn whines like a pitiful, injured animal. Harry’s honestly never seen him so pathetic. Liam starts massaging his shoulder and Zayn starts talking in that fast, hushed whisper that he does where he assumes no one can hear him, even when someone’s standing right next to him.

“Guys,” Harry interjects, “still right here.”

Zayn looks back at him with annoyance but Harry just raises his eyebrows as if to say, “Remember why we’re here.” Zayn rolls his eyes and turns back to Liam with a scowl. He hadn’t wanted to take part in this but Harry had sat in his lap and looked up at him with the saddest, green eyed puppy dog look he could manage, until Zayn started absentmindedly petting his curls and finally agreed.

He’d then spent an hour painstakingly gelling his hair into the perfect artful position and had then tried on seven different pairs of skinnies that all flattered his toned legs equally. Now Harry understands the way Zayn’s mouth had twisted up to the side as he’d picked up the batman t-shirt lying by the foot of his bed and why it had stayed that way the whole way to the gym, as if someone had placed a hanger in the side of his mouth.

“Sorry love but I’m not just here to see you,” Zayn says with considerable effort, “I need to ask you a favour.”

Liam’s hand is on Zayn’s shapely hip, his thumb smoothing over the crease in his t-shirt that remains just a little bit loose on Zayn. Harry’s not sure the poor sod even realises he’s doing it. He’s too preoccupied with gazing at Zayn’s face like a love-struck dope.

It’s a little bit cute. If it were any other occasion, Harry might have ran back home for some popcorn and a box of tissues to mop up his tears….but he’s been thinking about this idea ever since he took Louis to meet his family two days ago and he’s anxious to put his plan into action.

“What is it?”

“It’s about Louis…”

Liam’s eyes finally break away from Zayn’s face and flit toward Harry, a crease forming between his furry eyebrows. Now that Liam has found a rhythm with Zayn, it seems that his shyness has vanished from sight and Harry is happy to see it go. Liam’s the kind of guy who’s got the least numbers of reasons to feel insecure but is still somehow the most insecure guy in the room. He’s in a pair of high waisted grey drawstring pants with a black shirt that sports the gym logo. It’s obvious how much he works out and how very little effort he has to put into his appearance to look as attractive as he does.

“What about Lou?” Liam asks with a shrewd look in Harry’s direction, his arms crossing over each other.

He looks rather like an over protective dad, as though Harry were a slimy prom date trying to deflower his daughter and steal her innocence. Harry’s quite sure that if anybody’s going to be ruined, it will be him.

“Look Liam, I’m not about to ask you to betray your best-“

“Funny,” Liam grumbles, interrupting Harry’s pitch, “because that seems like something people say right before they ask for exactly that.”

“Hey, Li,” Zayn says, cupping Liam’s jaw and turning his head back, “Harry’s just looking to join the gym okay? That’s all. We also thought maybe you could…if you could just let him know…”

“When Louis will be here,” Harry finishes, “please.”

Liam’s hand is back to squeezing Zayn’s side but he still looks wary as he glances between the two of them.

“So you can ambush him? Look, I’m not saying I agree with him shutting you out, mate…because you seem like a really decent human being, especially from everything Zayn’s said but if he really doesn’t want anything to do with you, who am I to force him into that? If Duncan found out…” Liam’s face is pained, “you know I’d never forgive myself. Not if he hurt Louis.”

Harry takes a step in Liam’s direction, a wave of softness working over his face as he realises just how lucky Louis is to have someone like Liam in his life. Someone who has Louis’ needs in mind and won’t do anything to jeopardise his welfare. Louis needs that, someone who is always on his side, no matter what.

“Hey,” Harry says gently, “I’m not asking for you to get him in trouble. I don’t want that but how is it any different from you hanging out with him here? That’s a risk too. I just thought…I mean, how can he say no if it’s no different from him seeing you here? If he really wants me to leave him alone, I promise I will but I can tell that you don’t want me to give up on him. You think I could do him some good.”

“Maybe,” Liam agrees with a tilt of his head.

“So will you help me?” 

Liam taps his foot as he stands there fixing Harry with a speculative look, as though trying to decide whether Harry’s good enough for his princess. Harry’s mind fills with images of Louis perched on the edge of his bed in a tiara and nothing else. Death by chocolate, he reminds himself. Sickly sweet. Not arousing, he chants, not arousing at all. If only his cock understood his chants.

“Zayn,” Harry says meaningfully, hitting the other lad’s shoulder to try and remind him of what they’d spoken about.

Liam’s hand gravitates up to knead at Zayn’s shoulder again and Zayn’s hand is on Liam’s hip now, pressing against his hip bone.

“Oh…right,” Zayn’s memory clicks and he leans forward, turning his head just slightly so his breath brushes against Liam’s ear as he whispers the promise Harry had advised him to make, this time so Harry doesn’t have to hear the intimate longing in his voice.

Liam’s hand stills on Zayn’s shoulder and he chokes on nothing. It’s quite amusing. When Zayn pulls away, Liam’s cocoa coloured eyes are wide and he nods in Harry’s direction.

“Okay,” he agrees and Harry punches his fist into the air, “but I’ll hold you to that,” he says to Zayn.

He points at Zayn as he says it but Zayn doesn’t look at all bothered. When Harry had explained it to him, he’d leapt off the bed with a squeak and then had stood there for a better part of a minute with glazed eyes and a vacant expression, fantasising like a sex crazed school boy. Ugh. Harry had to do it though. It is what it is.

……

“I’m really nervous Tay.”

“Why are you nervous?” Taylor says with incredulity, tugging him down the street by his hand.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” Louis moans.

He’d spent half an hour trying to figure out what kind of outfit would most impress a chilled out DJ who’s apparently some kind of Scottish Adonis. Not to mention he’s tall, blonde and muscled. The trifecta. He’ll probably think Louis is some kind of odd, elfin creature with his tiny shell shaped ears and casual ensemble of a hoodie and jeans.

Then again, Louis supposes that the guy is dating Taylor, his fashion forward best friend whose fashion forward choices are, every now and again, admittedly awful. Today however, she’s sporting some cute, black mini shorts and a black and white striped, long sleeved shirt, her hair pulled into a perky high ponytail and her classic red lipstick painted over her lips like airbrushed perfection. Louis is always telling her she should do lipstick commercials.

“Of course he’ll like you,” Taylor assures him, “and besides, it’s his job to impress you. Not the other way round.”

Louis cocks his head to the side, confused.

“Why?”

“Because you’re like my dad and you have to approve of him so I can continue dating him. “

“Gross” Louis complains, “I am not your dad. Never say that again.’

“Older brother?”

“Better,” Louis concedes, “but I’m pretty sure you’ve never utilised one iota of the dating advice I’ve given you. Remember John? I told you not to get involved with him so you slept with him just to spite me and let’s not forget Taylor, the only one of your ex boyfriends that I ever liked but noooo, you had to go and dump his poor, extremely firm arse.”

Taylor snorts a laugh.

“You only liked him cause you said he reminds you of that werewolf guy off twilight. Besides, can you imagine our wedding? Taylor, do you take Taylor to be your lawfully wedded wife for as long as you both shall live? Not to mention I’d be Taylor Lautner too, if I took his name. No one would take us seriously!”

“Still,” Louis says, just to be difficult.

Taylor arches her eyebrows at him, her thin lips pressed together letting him know she thinks he’s utterly pathetic.

“As if you have anything to complain about anyway. I’ve been telling you the same thing for three years now and you’re still stuck up Duncan’s arse,” Taylor says accusingly.

“Let’s not fight babes,” Louis sighs, “your man might think I can’t beat him up if he hears you beating up on me like this.”

Taylor trills a laugh.

“Oh honey, you couldn’t beat him up if you sat on your lovely neighbour’s shoulders and used his arms to swing the punches.”

Louis shakes his head to clear away the mental image.

“Oh shut up,” he tells her just as they push through the doors of the coffee house.

Inside, there’s a laidback atmosphere because it’s mid-morning and most of the businessman have headed off to their respective jobs. The school kids have also cleared out, rushing off to attend their own personal hellish institutes. There’s two overly made up blondes peering at an iPhone with identical looks of distaste on their faces and a pregnant woman reading a magazine to her belly on while rubbing it tenderly. It makes Louis smile.

In the very back corner, there’s a tall brute of a man who stands when he sees Taylor threading her way through the tables towards him. He’s got an angular jaw with a fair amount of light coloured stubble and Louis notes with abject horror that the man’s almost twice his size. The guy’s jeans look like they must have been custom made to fit his legs that stretch for miles and on top he’s wearing a white silk button down that presses against his muscled pectorals.

Taylor reaches him first and he enfolds her in a tight hug, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. Taylor pulls back to look at him, her face showing confusion as she ducks in for a proper kiss. Calvin’s eyes fasten on Louis over her shoulder while he kisses Taylor and it would be creepy if not for the genuine note of fear in his eyes. Louis can’t help but chuckle aloud when he realises that not only is Calvin scared to kiss Taylor in front of him but he’s clearly just as anxious about this meeting. When Taylor pulls back, Louis immediately offers a hand and a toothy smile.

“I’m the best friend… Louis,” he introduces himself, “nice to finally meet you mate.”

Calvin’s huge bear-like hand swallows Louis’ and squeezes tight, only releasing it when he sees Louis’ face twitch with pain.

“You too,” Calvin says swiftly as he pulls Taylor into his side and they slide into one side of the booth, “I was starting to think she didn’t want us to meet.”    

“Me too,” Louis says, smirking as Taylor rolls her eyes. Obviously she knows him too well to not know what’s coming, “she was probably just worried you’d fall in love with me though.”

It’s a risk to make a joke like that when you’re gay and in the company of someone you’ve never met before but Louis knows enough about the guy from Taylor and he’s not disappointed when Calvin settles an arm around Taylor’s shoulders and winks at him.

“I can see why,” he says, pretending to check Louis out.

Louis’ head falls back as a delighted laugh spills from his chest. Taylor buffets Calvin’s side who just presses a kiss to the side of her face, instantly disarming her annoyance. Sucker, Louis thinks.

“So kiddies,” he says with gusto, rubbing his hands together as he smirks at Taylor, “what are your intentions with each other? Calvin, am I going to have to pick up the pieces of your broken heart when she inevitably writes an album about the demise of your relationship? Or am I going to have to break your long giraffe legs for screwing with her?”

“Louis!” Taylor scolds him.

He just pokes his tongue out at her. She knows what he’s like and she’d still brought him here. Her fault really. He frowns as he realises this might be the reason she hasn’t introduced them before now.

“Well,” Calvin’s eyes flicker sideways to Taylor and there’s that look in his eye, that ‘you’re the only person who exists for me’ look that makes Louis ache inside, “I think we’ll be okay. I hope she writes an album about me really. Just hope it’s a happy one.”

Louis is just about to make fun of this muscle man for being so sappy when once again, Calvin proves worthy of his respect.

“I expect at least one song devoted to our naked exploits.”

Taylor hits him again, earning her another gentle kiss that puts the stars in her eyes. Louis tries not to sigh aloud or go green with envy. He has this after all. He has somebody to love and somebody who is in love with him. Somebody who kisses him just like that. So why does it suddenly feel like Taylor is living the kind of life he’s always wanted but never had? Why does he feel his chest contracting with a disturbing sense of unfulfilled need?

……

“I was wondering if maybe we could watch the brits tonight or you know, maybe just the red carpet because-“

“My team is playing tonight babe. Sorry,” Duncan says, as he reclines back on the couch and cracks open another beer.

“It’s okay,” Louis says as he wraps an arm around Duncan’s waist and snuggles into his chest.

Duncan’s hand goes to his hair but he’s shouting obscenities at the TV, his green eyes practically shooting angry sparks. Every now and then he pulls tightly, albeit unconsciously, on the ends of Louis’ hair and Louis winces but says nothing. The only time Duncan deigns to tear his eyes from the screen is when his phone goes off halfway through the game with a text from “Sasha.”

He snatches it up straight away and then announces that he “needs the john”, taking his phone with him as he walks quickly away. Louis is left with a slight sickness in his gut. When Duncan returns, Louis snuggles into him again but raises his head up to inspect Duncan’s expression. His eyes are wide and excited and there’s a hint of pink creeping across his skin. He looks blissful. Louis’ quite sure that no one’s ever had a shit that good.

“Duncan,” he says, quietly waiting until Duncan reluctantly tilts his head down and meets his eyes, “baby, who’s Sasha?”

There’s no hesitation or averting of eyes. No sign that he might be lying. Duncan strokes the back of Louis’ head with a calm look on his face and contentment in his eyes.

“A girl from my work. You remember…you know that dark haired woman you spent so much time talking to at the Christmas party a few years back? Her.”

Louis’ usually a stickler for details like people’s names and his memory is conflicting with what Duncan’s telling him. He had been slightly intoxicated but surely he would remember…

“I thought her name was Laura…”

Duncan’s expression goes rigid and then sour, his green eyes narrowing as he scrunches Louis’ hair in his fist, pulling more tightly. Louis’ breath halts.

“Are you accusing me of something Louis? I’m gay babe, it’s not as if I’m going to fuck a woman,” he says with considerable venom.

Louis feels like a complete tosser. An idiot. His accusation makes no sense. Duncan’s never even so much as checked a woman out, let alone slept with one and yet here Louis is worrying that he might have something going on with one on the wayside. If anyone should feel guilty, it’s Louis. He’s the one who saw Harry behind his boyfriend’s back.

“I’m sorry,” he says with sorrow, “I’m sorry I’m such an idiot. I love you…I’m sorry.”

Duncan releases his hair but he doesn’t respond as he turns back to the television and resumes his aggressive yelling. It’s just as well, Louis thinks, I don’t deserve his forgiveness. His love. Then there’s a knock at the door and Louis’ breath stutters as he thinks about who might be there. There’s no reason to think it would be Harry. There’s no reason for Harry to approach him anymore and certainly not with Duncan around but still his stomach stops digesting his food and his brain starts whirring. When Duncan trudges over to the door, he follows with bitten lips and an erratic heartbeat.

“Oops,” Harry curses as he drops a pile of papers at Duncan’s feet.

He looks gorgeous in ripped jeans and a low cut, midnight blue t-shirt that has some illegible script written across it. His curls are untamed, brushing the edges of his ears and Louis kind of aches to reach out and touch them. He doesn’t. Instead, he steps around Duncan and drops to his feet, gathering half the papers in his hands to give back to a blushing Harry. Except when he looks up, Harry’s head is too close, looking down upon him. Their mouths part with surprise at the same time and Louis feels like those huge green eyes take up the entirety of his vision.

“Hi,” he says stupidly, trying not to feel hypnotised by the smell of cologne and the smell of Harry really, which fills his nose and makes his extremities go numb.

“Hello,” Harry says and his smile just glimmers at the edges of his mouth, like he’s holding a secret somewhere in the middle.

The secret might be that hears how disturbingly uneven Louis’ heartbeat is in this moment.

“Excuse me,” Duncan says with a low, menacing tone and Louis shoots up into a standing positon as he remembers himself, “but I thought I made it clear that you should stay the hell away from me and my boyfriend. Or else.”

He sounds like some god awful movie villain and Louis finds himself wanting to snort or roll his eyes. Harry looks a little bit nervous and he sways on his feet slightly. Louis fights the urge to grip his elbow and steady him.

“Yes, yes of course. I’m very sorry,” Harry says, his eyes on Duncan’s as he shuffles his papers into a much neater pile, “but I thought I’d…I thought it would be rude not to-“

“Spit it out,” Duncan cuts him off.

“I’m having a party in my flat tomorrow night and I’m having the whole building over. I thought you guys might want to come,” Harry says swiftly and Louis’ shock must have frozen his expression because when Harry’s eyes flick his way, there’s some kind of reassurance within them.

“No way in-“Duncan starts to object with a growl.

“I thought you could meet my girlfriend,” Harry interrupts, waving his hand about as he continues, “you know, to clear whatever this thing is between us. So you’d know I’m not interested in your boyfriend in the slightest.”

Please say no, please say no, Louis chants to himself, looking up at Duncan who isn’t shutting Harry down immediately, much to Louis’ horror. Louis cannot have them in the same room. His boyfriend and his…his Harry. Well not his Harry….just…oh fuck, why is he trying to define Harry to his own mind? It doesn’t matter.

“Of course we’ll come,” Duncan says and there’s that challenge in his voice, that ‘I’m determined to beat you at your own game’ tone. It’s the last thing Louis wants to be hearing right now, “we’d love to meet this girlfriend you must be so fond of.”

“Fantastic,” Harry says, clapping his hands together and beaming like a child who’s just been given one of those rainbow swirl lollipops, “I’ll see you both tomorrow night.”

He’s a child. A fucking curly haired, pink cheeked child. Why is he so angelic?

Duncan doesn’t even say bye, just slams the door in Harry’s face like the people person he truly is. Louis’ face scrunches with a scowl as he regards Duncan.

“Why did you say yes? I don’t want to go.”

Duncan looks extremely pleased by Louis’ reluctance and Louis feels another air bubble of guilt clogging up his throat because it’s not because he doesn’t want to see Harry.

“Well, we won’t stay long,” Duncan promises, pulling Louis into his chest and pressing a cheek against his hair, “just long enough for me to suss out this girlfriend and laugh at his probably kooky looking flat.”

“It’s not kooky,” Louis mumbles into his chest without thinking.

Duncan pulls back to look at him.

“What?”

“I said I love you.”

Duncan doesn’t say anything back but he pulls Louis to him and kisses him slowly, dipping his tongue in and out of Louis’ mouth until Louis’ head starts to feel fuzzy with lust and he forgets all about his hipster problems. Then, Duncan’s team gets a goal and he detaches Louis from his mouth and launches himself onto the couch, extending his feet out sideways so that Louis can’t even sit next to him anymore. Louis just sighs and tells himself that he doesn’t want to watch a stupid basketball game anyway.

……

“Louis,” Harry says, his eyes clinging to the insanely beautiful boy for a beat too long, before quickly jumping to the brick shaped body by his side, “Duncan. I’m so glad you guys came.”

Louis doesn’t look glad they came. He looks panicked as all hell, his eyelashes fluttering at rapid speed and his hands fisting by his sides. Harry doesn’t think Louis is even aware of it but suddenly he himself is distracted. Distracted by how exceptionally tiny Louis’ hands are. They’re infant-like fists, baby fists, if you will. Harry tries not to swoon. He might be staring when Louis arches his perfectly shaped eyebrows at him. Harry wonders if he plucks them. Christ.

He should really have already invited them inside by now but Louis is all trussed up in a tight grey t-shirt that scoops low to reveal his enticing collar bones and a black dinner jacket that pulls in at his tiny waist. Harry is distracted, to say the least. He can’t help but think how wonderful it would feel to fit his hands to that waist. He’s only human and Louis is seriously delectable. His trousers are too bloody tight and his hair is piled on his head in a messy looking quiff that looks entirely soft, despite not moving an inch.

Louis draws a sharp contrast with his thick bodied boyfriend who’s wearing a crumpled grey hoodie and an unflattering pair of maroon jeans. The guy’s only saving grace is the way his spiked hair has been left un-spiked tonight so that his blonde fringe sweeps across his face and highlights the green of his eyes. Harry doesn’t want to toot his own horn but he’d like to think his own are a much prettier green.

“Come in,” he says with a broad smile, as Louis simply continues to clench his fists and Duncan persists with his baleful glare.

Harry takes their hands with a wink at Louis and a plastic, insincere smile for Duncan. Duncan squeezes Harry’s hand until his own rings dig into the sides of his fingers and he has to concentrate for all his worth not to wince or show any sign of weakness. He will not be bested by this arsehole. Not in front of Louis.

“So this is my flat,” Harry says, walking backwards into the living space with arms spread.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Duncan grunts, cutting straight to the chase as he looks around Harry’s flat with an air of disgust.

Harry can’t imagine what Duncan takes issue with because he doesn’t think his flat is all that different from theirs. Then again, Duncan seems like the kind of guy who will construct a problem in his own head if he can’t find one in the environment that surrounds him. In other words, an absolute killjoy.

“I’ll just go get her, she’s in the kitchen mixing drinks. She’s a bartender,” Harry explains, making sure to beam like an undeniably proud boyfriend, “aren’t I the luckiest man in the world?”

Louis’ eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes scream obscenities. Things like, what the fuck are you doing and why are you doing it to me? The messages are really just variations of the text Harry had received late last night, questioning his motives and asking why he was determined to ruin Louis’ life. Bit dramatic really but Harry suspects that’s part and parcel of knowing someone like Louis.

He had tried to clear things up, explaining that he merely thought it was a good idea for him to substantiate the claim that he wasn’t interested in Louis with real life proof. This had for some reason, earned him even more ire and Louis had stated quite categorically that this wouldn’t fix anything. Harry ignored him.

He’s not about to give up on being the best thing Louis never knew he needed and so he’d waited anxiously to see if he would still turn up. Harry should have known that even if Louis didn’t want to go, if Duncan did, there would be no escaping it. Louis always comes second when the choice is between him and Duncan’s desires. Harry doesn’t know if he can ever change that but he’s not done with Louis, that’s for sure.

“Oh indeed,” Duncan agrees but there’s a sneer on his face like he thinks he’s too good for a lowly bartender.

Harry’s not too sure what Duncan does but from what Louis has said and the superior look on Duncan’s face, it’s got to be something corporate. Something that involves two tonnes of paperwork and a lot of meetings in suits with filthy rich men. He can imagine Duncan sitting around discussing the economy and throwing around words like “budget projections” and “gross income.” Okay, so maybe Harry doesn’t know the specifics but from the perpetually sour look on Duncan’s face, he can guess that it’s about as dry and dull as a job can be.

Harry disappears into the kitchen and walks up behind the small blonde haired woman messing with his blender. He presses a kiss to the top of her head and she turns and rests her body against the bench, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Oh hi babe,” she says with a pouty smile, her pale pink lip gloss glistening under the overhead lights.

She looks stunning in a black singlet that curves low around her impress cleavage and a pair of mid-length black shorts that fit her lithe body perfectly. They show off the shape of her perfectly curved hips that give way to a fantastic arse and a stellar pair of legs. She’s an absolute fittie and Harry couldn’t have asked for a better partner in crime.

“How’s the mixing going, sexy?” He asks her, smile notching up higher at the edges.

She flutters her eyelashes and then presses a finger to her chin dimple, tilting her blonde head only very slightly as she plays the part of the dumb blonde.

“Um…okay, I think…but maybe you could show me how to really get it going.”

Harry’s smile expands until he’s grinding his teeth together just to keep a lid on it. Lou presses up on her toes and settles a quick kiss on his mouth and he loses it completely, a deep rumble forming in his chest as he presses his curls against the back of her shoulder and laughs into her neck. She pats his bum lightly and laughs just as deeply.

“Oh god, that was horrific,” Harry says with a grin, “I could not keep that up.”

“Agreed,” Lou says with bright eyes and a matching look of mirth, “kissing you is like kissing my baby brother. If my baby brother wore cherry lip gloss.”

Harry spreads his palms out in the air and shrugs, unabashed.

“Well my love,” he says, “the time has come for you to meet them so you better channel everything you learnt from your brief stint in acting school so we don’t look like brother and sister,” Harry advises her, with a measured look.

She presses a kiss to his cheek which is much more regular and comfortable for them both and then tucks her arm around his waist. He slings his over her shoulder.

“It’ll be great,” she promises, excitement dancing in her eyes.

He knows why too. When he’d finally finished explaining on the phone, she’d cacked herself for five straight minutes before announcing, “You’re finally hooked on someone.” Harry had denied it vehemently to her…and perhaps to himself, until he was blue in the face. This of course had only made her surer that he was in fact, crushing on the boy next door. It’s preposterous but yet here she is moving towards the living room with that investigative glint in her eye like she’s a little bloodhound on the hunt and Louis is her prey. Jesus Christ.

“Louis, Duncan…this is my girlfriend, Lou,” Harry says with a boisterous sweep of his arm through the air to indicate said woman.

It’s accompanied by a dazzling smile that he sends Louis’ way.

Louis’ eyebrows jump and he looks rather confused for a minute before he rearranges his features into a smile and his hands jolts out to shake Lou’s. Lou, who is looking him up and down with absolutely no shame. Apparently she likes what she sees as she smiles hugely and winks provocatively at him. Louis blushes, it’s kind of gorgeous.

Then it’s Duncan’s turn and Harry imagines he can feel the rest of them holding their breaths as Duncan clutches Lou’s hand and leans subtly closer to peer at her more directly. His gaze shifts across her face as if looking for signs that she is in fact some kind of robotic, human lookalike. Harry holds in a snort.

“Good to meet you,” Duncan is the first to say and Harry and Louis breathe a sigh of relief, their eyes catching and holding for a moment.

Then Louis turns away, sliding his hand in Duncan’s back pocket. Harry forces a smile.

“You too and you and your boyfriend, together are just…” Lou waves her hand between them, her face all twisted up like she’s just sucked on a sour lemon, “the sweetest.”

It’s clear that she thinks anything but and Harry shouldn’t take so much pleasure from it, seeing as it’s probably because she’s got some crazy idea that Louis should be with Harry instead. Still, he can’t help the slight quiver of his smile that comes with her lukewarm assessment.

“Well we really should be going,” Duncan says with a loud, exaggerated yawn, “because I’m actually knackered. Just thought we’d duck in and meet the girlfriend.”

Harry snorts without thinking and then tries to cover it with a cough. Duncan is still sussing out Lou and doesn’t seem to notice but Louis’ pale blue eyes are like razers as he glares at Harry. It’s obvious that Louis is just as desperate to leave in order to get away from Harry, to escape the possibility that they might actually become friends.

It’s that additional barrier. It has to be. It’s not just the fear of Duncan. It’s almost like Louis has a fear of him...but that’s ridiculous. What reason has Louis got to fear him? Harry is sick of being headed off at every pass. If he can’t bend Louis’ will with subtle persuasion, he’ll railroad him any way he can and it starts now. It starts by showing Louis that they can be in the same place at the same time and the whole world will not implode.

“No, don’t do that,” Harry says, thinking on his feet, “because Lou really wants to show you her mixing skills, don’t you Lou?”

Lou looks up at him with a sly look on her face and then turns and wraps a hand around Duncan’s wrist.

“Yes, come with. Harry will look after your boyfriend,” Lou chirps.

If only, Harry thinks with a wistful, inward sigh. Duncan looks ready to fight her on it but then Louis presses up along his back and kisses the side of his face.

“I’m actually just going to go to the loo love. I’ll come find you when I’m done. Promise,” he vows.

Harry wants to roll his eyes but then Lou is tugging Duncan toward the kitchen and Harry’s too busy trying to catch Louis’ hand as he darts through the hordes of people to the kitchen and beyond. Damn.

…..

Louis has been hiding from him. Harry might have set up a blockade (a game of tenpin bowling with empty beer bottles as pins and an orange as the bowling ball) so Louis and Duncan couldn’t leave. However, that hasn’t stopped Louis from avoiding Harry at all costs.

Every time Harry finds him again, he pulls Duncan into a disgustingly intimate kiss that makes Harry’s chest feel strangely tight or runs off to the toilet again. Nothing is going to plan and Harry is quickly getting less sober as Lou plies him with alcohol and tries to get him to dance.

After a while Harry is so downtrodden that he gives up on engaging Louis, settling for curling up on his couch and staring at him like a semi-intoxicated creep. He watches Louis feel up his boyfriend and get felt up, looking for all intents and purposes like a man who is in fact, happily in love. Only, Harry knows better. Only, Harry’s seen Louis cry over his boyfriend and because of his boyfriend and he’s seen the reasons for it firsthand. He’s heard Duncan yell through the walls and he’s seen the manic edge to that anger flare in his eyes. It chilled Harry to his very bones.

Harry knows how these things go. The sadistic boyfriend is a total sweetheart when he wants to be. That is, just often enough to keep his lover around and chasing after him. Yet as soon as that switch is flipped inside, there’s no sign of that loving person. There’s only crazed eyes and a person who is no longer worthy of the one they’re yelling at.

It makes Harry feel truly ill watching Louis touch him like that and not because he’s jealous. It’s not because of the burn in his chest that he’s not thinking about. It’s because Duncan doesn’t deserve those beautiful, made-for-piano fingers, on his chest, in his back pocket or sifting through his hair. He doesn’t deserve the soft press of those thin lips inside of his own or those eyelashes brushing against his face as he pulls Louis in closer and sways them slightly from side to side. He doesn’t deserve any of it. It god damn hurts Harry to see Louis handing it over without a second thought. As if none of it is worth very much at all.

“You need another drink,” Lou whispers in his ear as she settles herself in his lap and slings her arms around his neck.

“No, I’m good,” Harry mumbles, knowing he sounds truly dejected but just inebriated enough not to care.

His patterned shirt suddenly becomes very fascinating as he refuses to meet the probing look in Lou’s eyes.

“Harry.”

“Shh Lou,” Harry whines, “please don’t say anything.”

“Babe,” she says and suddenly her voice has a glimmer in it that Harry doesn’t understand.

“Yeah?”

“Do you trust me?” She asks, combing a hand through the curls around his ear.

It feels nice. He reclines his head and hums his consent.

“Good,” she says, “because I really hope this goes better than the last time.”

Harry’s eyes fly open just as Lou presses her mouth against his. He goes completely rigid for a moment, his bum lifting up off the couch, his hands going to Lou’s shoulders to push her away. Yet she just pushes him back down and sinks her fingers into his curls. Though the pressure of her lips is still unwelcome and entirely too sticky, he can’t help but purr at the touch. Her mouth breaks away from his for a moment as she whispers in his ear.

“We can make him jealous too kid.”

Harry’s breath comes hot and heavy as he looks up and finds Louis staring at him over Duncan’s shoulder with something hot, metallic and near violent flaming in his eyes. Like a car that’s just burst into flames and is leaking gasoline all over the place. Louis’ mouth is pursed and his hands are fisting again as Duncan pulls back to ask him what’s wrong. Louis whispers something quickly, his eyes flitting back to Harry’s for a moment before he disappears into the kitchen. Harry is on his feet in an instant. Louis’ not getting away this time.

…….

Louis is banging his head against the mirror in the bathroom, trying not to think about hands in curls and stupid slutty blondes kissing equally stupid, curly haired hipsters, when he hears a quiet knock and then the door creaks open. Harry. Fuck.

Louis whirls around to face him and then tries to storm past him and back out to the party. Harry is too determined. One hand shoots out backward to close the door behind him and the other pushes Louis against the bench surrounding the sink. Those swirling green eyes are entirely too hypnotic, staring him down like they know entirely too much about his little freak out. Louis finds himself breathing far too quickly. He places a hand to his head as he starts to feel light headed.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, stretching a hand out to touch Louis’ head and then letting it fall just as quickly.

“Fine,” Louis snaps, turning around to look at himself in the mirror.

He doesn’t look fine. His eyes suddenly look all red, like maybe half the blood vessels inside them popped when he spied Lou kissing Harry. His skin looks all pinched and tight like someone gave him a bad face lift and Harry’s eyeing him curiously from behind, tilting his head so that the loosest curls fall across his eyes, shrouding them slightly. He looks a lot like a sullen, albeit perpetually curious child and Louis wants to soothe him. Kind of.

“Sorry,” he sighs, “I didn’t mean to snap.”

Harry shrugs like it’s okay but his eyes are still doing that weepy thing that makes Louis want to weep too. The hipster has him by the heart and is pulling tight on the cord.

“That was very realistic,” Louis eventually says, his voice giving nothing away, as he turns on the tap and begins washing his hands, for no other reason than that it gives him an excuse not to look Harry in the eye.

Harry chuckles and Louis shuts off the tap, looking up at him in the mirror with surprise.

“Well it was a real kiss,” Harry says, eyes still light.

Louis should feel better now that he’s not confronted with the doe eyed, weepy child but he still feels strangely ill. More so even.

“Thought you were gay.”

Why does Louis sound like he’s accusing the poor guy?

“I am…”

Harry looks and sounds confused; his eyebrows pinched together and his eyes searching Louis’ for a clue as to what his thoughts are. Louis turns around again and fights the urge to trail his eyes down to Harry’s jeans. Louis’ not sure how Harry managed to fit his giraffe legs into them but it seems that they’ve only gotten tighter as the night has progressed.

“So you didn’t like it then?”

Now why does that sound like relief?

“It was okay,” Harry shrugs, something working around the corners of his mouth, “I happen to like kisses.”

Louis ignores this.

“Lou? Really Harry? You couldn’t have come up with anything else?”

Apparently this is the best joke of them all because Harry loses it, slapping his knee and knocking his curly head against the bathroom door. His eyes are shut, his eyelids crinkled and his whole face has lifted beyond measure.  Louis finds himself wanting to smile at the dopey childlike way Harry laughs; the way his whole body shakes with it…but he resists, settling for crossed arms an expectant expression. Harry chuckles again when he opens his eyes and spies Louis’ consternation.

“That really is her name,” Harry says with emphasis, “Her name is Louise Teasdale. Lou. Get it?”

Fuck. Louis’ made a complete arse out of himself. His arms uncross slowly and then he turns and resumes banging his head against the mirror. Harry giggles and it sounds like Morgan Freeman on helium. All deep and throaty but with that high pitched noise that every giggle has attached to it, simply by definition. It’s ridiculous sounding and of course the corners of Louis’ mouth are attracted to it like a moth to a flame. They push up against his own accord.

When Harry pulls Louis from his head butting, fingers curled around his shoulder, he spies the beginning of Louis’ smile. His liquid green positively melts and his fingers press more deeply into Louis’ jacket. He’s just standing there smiling at Louis, all dopey and beautiful. 

“I have to go,” Louis blurts out, wrenching himself away and darting out the door before Harry can stop him.

He only has to whisper one dirty promise in Duncan’s ear to tear him away from the bowling game he’d picked up in Louis’ absence. Louis is so desperate to leave that he scarcely apologises for kicking the beer bottles out of the way of the door so they can make it out. His phone is buzzing in his pocket and he hears Harry’s door creak just as he and Duncan enter his flat but there’s no use. He’s so done with Harry and the stupid, charming expressions on his stupid, alluring face.

…..

“Hey.”

Louis almost jumps out of his skin. He’s just come from the gym toilet and was just about to have a go on the cross trainer. Except standing in his way is one Harry Styles dressed in a green bro tank and tight, elastic type, black shorts. His biceps ripple a little as he leans forward and rests his hands on the sides of the door, trapping Louis there.

Louis suddenly wishes he’d opted for better workout clothes than a pair of grey sweats and his t-shirt he got from doing grease in high school. When Harry’s eyes slip down to his chest and spot the words “Grease: The Musical” and “Louis Tomlinson – Danny Zuko,” his eyes light up and his mouth gets all twitchy with the weight of his smile.

“Go on, laugh at me,” Louis sighs in defeat, leaning back against the toilet door.

Harry just looks confused.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what the hell I’m doing here and tell me to get the hell away from you?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Aren’t you going to ignore whatever I say and just do whatever the hell you’d like?” Louis hedges, raising his own eyebrows.

Harry doesn’t laugh or look bothered. He nods with a speculative expression, like Louis’ just provided an interesting insight into his character.

“Besides,” Louis adds, “I assume you’re stalking me. You’re as persistent as my sisters when they want to put make up on me.”

“I assume you don’t fight them quite as hard though,” Harry says, leaning ever so subtly forward, so that Louis’ suddenly dealing with a whiff of moisturiser mingling with cologne. There’s also the barest hint of perspiration, “because you don’t mind make up, really.”

“Yeah, well.”

It’s a pointless and stupid thing to say and Harry knows it too. He chuckles and tucks his finger under Louis’ chin, knocking it higher. Louis tries thinking of cold things. Fridge. Ice cream. The North Pole. It’s no use. He can feel his skin heating up but he refuses to look away as Harry’s eyes roam across his face, studying it for the answer to a question he hasn’t yet voiced aloud. It feels intrusive and vaguely frightening.

“W-what are you doing,” Louis stammers slightly and fuck everything, he’s not playing this cool at all.

“Trying to figure out why every time you look at me, it’s like there’s two forces coming together and clashing in your eyes. Like part of you wants to let me in and be my friend and the other part…the other part of you is completely terrified.”

Louis rips his chin away, a different kind of heat rising to his face.

“I’m not ‘completely terrified,’” Louis argues, enacting what he feels is a rather perfect imitation of Harry’s slow, deep drawl.

“No need to get so defensive Lou.”

Harry’s smirk is highly irritating. Louis is just about to tell him so when the door opens behind him and he starts to fall backward. Thankfully Harry’s hand stretches out and wraps around his wrist, yanking him forward and into his chest.

“Sorry mate,” says a deep, northern accent that rather resembles his own and then the man moves past them.

Harry’s body is curled over his slightly and his face is against Harry’s neck. He can smell the peaches and vanilla. He can almost taste the sweetness of Harry’s cologne. His lips brush against Harry’s collar bone and Harry’s hands press tightly against his arms for a moment.

“Sorry,” Louis says, as he pulls away sounding truly constipated, “accident.”

Harry’s eyes are wide but he shrugs and releases a half crooked smile that Louis grasps with desperate fingers, willing it to mean that Harry doesn’t think anything of the fact that Louis just fucking kissed his chest. Again. He needs to get out of here.

“I need to go,” he says and then he watches Harry’s mouth droop and his body hunch.

It’s the exact same thing he’d said at Harry’s party. Harry turns around, as if meaning to walk away but then pauses.

“Oh wow,” he says, his body elongating as he stretches up a little, a precious smile returning to his mouth.

“Oh wow, what?” Louis asks, watching as Harry’s eyes hook into something he can’t see.

Harry’s hand curls around his bicep and then he’s pulling Louis behind him and threading his way through the exercise equipment. Suddenly he yanks Louis down behind a shelf that houses a collection of weights.

“Harry, what-“

“Shh!” Harry whispers, pushing his fingers against Louis’ lips.

Louis’ eyes are on those fingers as Harry pushes at the seam of his mouth. His stomach dips and his lizard tongue escapes his mouth to lick the edge of Harry’s finger. It tastes like watermelon. He’s not sure why and he’s not sure what the fuck his tongue is doing. Harry looks like he’s been zapped as he rips his finger away and Louis feels like such an arse for making him uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” he murmurs again, “accident.”

Harry’s eyes are questioning for a moment and his mouth parts like he’s about to call Louis on his shit but then something snatches his attention and his head whips back to the front. He tugs on Louis’ hand to get Louis to look too. It’s Liam and Zayn. Locked in a passionate embrace. Zayn is kneading Liam’s ass and Liam’s fingers are gripping the sides of Zayn’s face like if he just holds him tight enough, their mouths will never have to part.

“Um they know they’re in public right? This is like the start of a really bad porno. It’d be called something like “naughty PT works up a sweat fucking favourite client,” Louis whispers, leaning into Harry as he does.

Harry looks down at him with a quiet giggle. Louis feels like it travels down his oesophagus and into his stomach, messing around with his digestion for a moment. Harry is so pretty. Why is he so pretty? Harry leans into Louis’ side as he responds, his curls tickling Louis’ cheeks and making Louis smile unwittingly.

“You really think Liam tops?”

Louis discretely points at Liam’s muscled physique.

“Look at those arms…and those legs…and his, everything really. I bet you he wouldn’t even let Zayn ride him. Probably likes to do all the work.”

Harry looks half amused, half irritated.

“Thought about what Liam’s like in the bedroom a lot have you?”

Louis shrugs.

“Not really. I’m just good at sexual math.”

Harry shakes his head at Louis with a grin etched into his features, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“Um Haz,” Louis says softly and then regrets the nickname. That is until he sees the lift in Harry’s smile, “why are we spying on them exactly?”

Harry shrugs but then turns to Louis with a more serious expression.

“I’m worried about Liam,” he admits.

“What? Why?”

Harry sighs and his eyes suddenly drop down to Louis’ shoes.

“Zayn’s not--he doesn’t do this with guys. He’s had relationships yeah but I mean…relationships is a strong word. I’m scared he’s going to break poor Liam’s heart.”

Louis’ watching the action as he listens to Harry and finally, Liam and Zayn break their steamy kiss. Louis hits Harry’s shoulder to get him to look up.

“Hey,” Zayn is saying, a sweet smile pinned to his mouth and a seriously soft look in his eyes as he drags his thumbs down the sides of Liam’s cheeks, “I really want you to. I really like you.”

Liam’s looking at him with stars practically exploding out of his eyes, showering the floor beneath with blissful stardust. He blushes a little but then nips at Zayn’s mouth, his eyelashes beating down against his cheeks as he pulls away, hands squeezing Zayn’s hips.

“I really like you too,” he sighs happily, “and of course. I’d love to meet your parents. Even if they hate me for being a boy.”

Louis is not prepared for the loud gasp that erupts from Harry’s chest so he has no opportunity to clamp a hand down over his mouth or scout out somewhere new to hide. Harry doesn’t even care. He drags Louis to his feet and Liam and Zayn look like stunned rabbits as they stare at their respective best friends and share a look that says, “What the fuck is going on?”

Finally Zayn splutters, “were you two spying on us…together?!”

“No,” Louis says swiftly.

“Yes.”

Louis glares at Harry but Harry doesn’t notice. He’s staring at Zayn like Zayn is Jesus Christ disguised. Or something.

“You’re really taking him to meet them?” He asks.

Zayn takes Liam’s hand and kisses it slowly, his eyes flickering with the ignition of a light that bursts forth from within, lighting up the whole damn room in the process. It’s that sickly sweet. The way he looks at Liam is like all he wants to do is feed him grapes and fan his blushing cheeks. It’s beautiful. It hurts. Has Duncan ever looked at him like that? Zayn and Liam have known each other for a few weeks. How are they so gone for each other?

“I’ve never taken anybody else before…I know,” Zayn says and Liam must know this because he simply nods, his eyes sticking to Zayn like it would be pure torture to look at anything else, “but this is the first time I’ve…” Zayn pauses and then squeezes Liam’s hand, “I’ve felt like I really had someone to show off.”

Liam looks like he melt right there. Louis doesn’t blame him.

“I-“Harry cuts off, seemingly speechless and then launches himself at Zayn.

They stumble backward a few steps and Zayn is laughing as Harry squeezes him and starts gushing about how proud he is, how happy he feels for them both. Louis opens his arms up for Liam with a smirk.

“Come here Lima. Let me tell you how much I love you sweetie.”

“Sod off,” Liam snorts, “you’re an arse.”

“You love me.”

“I do not.”

“C’mere you sickly sweet bastard.”

Liam wraps his arms around Louis, burying his face in his shoulder and pressing a gentle kiss there.

“I hate you,” he mumbles.

Louis pats the back of his head as he meets Harry’s eyes overhead. Harry’s still locked in a hug with Zayn but he’s turned them around now so he’s facing Louis. His eyes are fond as all hell where they land on Louis’ hand stroking Liam’s hair. Louis should perhaps be ashamed but he’s not. He loves his Lima.

“Hate you too Li.”

……                      

“Hey Lou.”

Louis’ head shoots up like a pop rocket.

“Harry.”

Harry’s standing in the doorway of the tattooing room looking like something out of the pages of GQ. Fitting really. He’s wearing form fitting black trousers and a heavy looking white shirt with black and white striped buttons. He’s rolled the sleeves up halfway and has got on so many bracelets, Louis can scarcely spot the strips of skin in between. His necklace of the day looks like a bigger cat wrapped around a smaller one and his bright pink head scarf also has white kittens printed all over it. He looks ridiculous.

"Did you let your cockroach choose your outfit Harold? You look ridiculous."

"Ridiculously cute?" Harry asks, a cheesy grin on his face as he tilts his head, knocking it against the side of the door and making his curls bunch up against his head scarf.

Yes, thinks Louis, yes you’re ridiculously cute. Fuck.

"No," he shakes his head with exaggerated vehemence, "you look like a six year old. Who else would wear kitten accessories and cheap bangles?"

Harry points at Louis’ getup, his teeth showing. His eyes trail down over Louis' bright purple jeans and the white Henley tucked into his jeans that pulls tight across his biceps and stomach when he moves.

“Well you look very...soft. Soft and small," Harry teases, stepping close to Louis and poking him in the stomach.

Louis frowns and pushes his finger away.

"I'm not fucking soft and small," he argues, "and forget that, what the hell are you doing here? How did you know where my tattoo parlour was?"

He pushes Harry lightly in the stomach but it has no effect and his fingertips stay pushed up against Harry’s abdominals as Harry’s hands encircle his wrists.

“I want to get a new tattoo,” Harry says, all charmingly flippant as he rubs his thumbs against Louis’ wrists and Louis tries to quieten his disobedient pulse.

Louis pulls himself away and turns to the recliner chair, straightening up the small pillow attached to the headrest. Harry slips his arms around Louis’ waist and drops his head over his shoulder so that his face is inevitably too close, his eyes looming large in his face like two bright green balls of bubble-gum.

“C’mon Lou,” Harry says, his bottom lip dropping as he squeezes Louis and rubs his cheek up against his shoulder, “my tattoo guy is out of town. I need you.”

Louis grits his teeth to stop himself from leaning back into Harry or meeting his intense gaze.

“What are you doing Harold?”

Louis eyes Harry’s fists that are bunched up and resting against his hips, holding him tight.

“I’m super tactile with my friends,” Harry mumbles, rubbing his face up and down on Louis as if to emphasise his point, “and you look soft Lou.”

Harry’s skin is so soft on Louis’ shoulder, those damn springy curls gently brushing Louis’ neck with each movement. Louis shucks him off and turns to face him, leaning back against the chair.

“Harry, how many fucking times do I have to tell you that we can’t be friends? That it’s not feasible for us? How are you not hearing me?”

Harry looks a little hurt as he steps back and knocks over a tub of Louis’ supplies in the process. Louis sighs his annoyance as Harry drops to his hands and knees, gathering things in his arms and quickly dropping them back in the tub as if his life depends on getting them back in. Louis joins him but when he sees Harry’s reddened face, he stills completely and reaches across to touch his wrist.

“Harry, are you crying?” he asks gently.

Harry drops the rest of the supplies in the tub and then stands, shoving it back onto the stand before turning and trying to hurry away without a word. He gets to the door before Louis catches his hand, spinning him around and pushing him up against the wall. Louis presses his body up against Harry’s to keep him from moving away. Their foreheads brush and their feet line up, toe to toe and Harry’s green eyes still look wet with tears but they’re so wide and wholly focused on Louis now as Louis’ hands cup his jaw.

“Don’t run away,” Louis breathes, just the slightest bit affected by Harry’s proximity, “just tell me I’m an arse love. I know I am.”

“No,” Harry murmurs but his whole body is rigid, his eyelashes still wet, “no you’re not an arse. I just…I came by a few days ago. I mean, I was walking Hugh Grant,” Louis’ eyebrows furrow and Harry giggles, which inevitably makes Louis’ mouth twitch with fondness, “yeah, I walk him sometimes. He growls at me but I keep telling him he’s in the best shape of his life.”

Louis giggles this time and Harry looks positively delighted, his eyes tracing the curve of Louis’ lips like he can’t believe the noise that just spilled out from between them.

“Anyway…I was walking him up here and I, I saw you in here,” Harry admits.

Louis’ forehead wrinkles and his thumbs press into Harry’s jaw line.

“And you didn’t come in?”

Harry looks lost again.

“I knew you didn’t want to see me. I just-today…Jamie, my tattoo artist, is actually out of town and I thought-“

Louis is stroking the boy’s locked jaw. He wants that wounded look in Harry’s eyes to disappear. This hipster was made for sweet smiles and strangely deep giggles.

“I’ll do it,” he says swiftly, “I’ll do your tattoo.”

Harry’s dimples reappear and his eyes melt all over the place like Louis’ just confessed to secretly adoring his kitten head scarf. Louis steps away from him with upraised hands.

“Now, now,” he warns, “stop with the goofy smiling. We’re not friends…this is just a favour. I took pity on you and your sad, little face Haz.”

Harry doesn’t look in the least bit discouraged and he doesn’t give up the goofy smile. Louis’ getting a complex just from looking at someone so effortlessly beautiful. He turns away and walks back to the recliner, starting to arrange his needles on the surgeon-like tray beside it.

When he looks back at the seat, Harry is standing in front of it watching him with a slightly less turned up smile. He doesn’t look any less joyful. His smile is lazier and less twitchy…like he’s been laying in the sun for too long and has gone all high and happy from too much exposure. Louis’ hands are on Harry’s love handles before he really even contemplates what he’s doing.

“Need you to move for me love. Just need to fix up the recliner for you,” he says without looking at Harry, simply shifting him to the side when Harry remains motionless.

He fixes up the bed a little, dusting off the recliner and lowering it slightly but then Harry’s hand is on his shoulder.

“Lou.”

Louis turns to find Harry looking awfully tormented with a bitten lip and dark eyes.

“Are you sure? Because if Ducan-I mean I can go-I don’t want to-“

Louis’ hands have gone totally haywire. They reach out and squeeze Harry’s shoulders.

“I am going to give you a tattoo hipster so shut it. Now, what are we doing for you today?” Louis asks, a twist of a smile on his mouth as his thumbs skate over the ridges atop Harry’s shoulder.

Harry looks a little dazed but he pulls a printed image from the pocket of his extraordinarily tight trousers and hands it over. Louis gets distracted just smiling at the huge black butterfly, thinking it’s just like Harry to want a bloody butterfly printed on his body. He’s more like a six year old than any full grown man Louis’ ever met. Louis has a strange fluttering in his chest and the slight inclination to plant tiny pink bows in those angelic curls, maybe buy Harry as many damn furry cockroaches as his heart desires.

“You’re-“

Louis looks up and there Harry is with his shirt on the floor beside him and his thumbs tucked in his belt loops. He looks slightly shy despite the fact that Louis’ seen him without a shirt before. Louis can’t imagine why. Then again, why is he himself so affected? He’s just as, if not more hypnotised, by the sight of Harry’s milky skin this time. His eyes are drawn back to that indecent V line that looks like it was bloody chiselled from stone and the pale pink nipples upon Harry’s chest that are just begging to be worked over by the tip of somebody’s tongue.

Louis breathes out through his nose. He’s tattooed attractive guys before. He’s not once felt this winded but hey, if he can tattoo the arse of a man who’d confessed he was a butt double for the stars, he can handle Harry Styles without a damn shirt on.

“Absurd,” he finishes, his voice having lost all its power.

“Um,” Harry’s voice is thick and slow as ever as he runs his hand over his six pack. Louis wonders whether he can stop the saliva rapidly filling his mouth from dribbling down his chin. “I want it here. Just on my stomach I guess.”

“Gright,” Louis says with forced cheer.

Harry raises an eyebrow, lifting himself up onto the recliner and lying back against it. His smile curls his lips as his eyes follow Louis.

“I meant to say great…but then I went to say right. So it came out as gright,” Louis sighs, accepting the fact that he’s a complete embarrassment.

“Gright,” Harry repeats with a chuckle, “gright is my new favourite word.”

Louis leans over Harry and pushes his shirt up slowly. With a wash cloth dipped in rubbing alcohol, he gently starts wiping it across Harry’s stomach to cleanse the area. He looks up at Harry as he does, shaking his head even as his mouth defies him.

“You are so lame Harold.”

“Bet you say that to all the boys,” Harry says, fluttering his pretty eyelashes.

Louis snorts.

He spends the next few minutes preparing the stencil and then soaping up Harry’s skin before transferring the stencil to Harry’s stomach.

“Okay babe,” Louis says, messing around with the materials on his stand, “I just need to get my ink and the needle set up.”

When he’s finishes doing that, he looks back to find Harry has raised himself up, having lifted his head and shoulders off the recliner to settle Louis with an amused but openly curious look.

“What?”

“You called me babe,” Harry announces and then drops back down.

Louis can see Harry’s mouth jumping. It’s no big deal. Louis calls most of his clients by one pet name or another. It puts them at ease. Still, he feels a need to deny it.

“I did not!”

“Whatever you say Lou,” Harry sings.

“I’m going to put the ointment on,” Louis says, steel in his voice.

His tone says, “Don’t fucking tease me.” Harry does anyway. Of course.

“Sure babe.”

Louis is sure to squirt the cold liquid straight onto Harry’s stomach. He grins evilly as Harry’s stomach muscles jump. He’s not at all physically affected by that sight. When he lays his palms down on Harry’s stomach and begins to rub the liquid in, preparing Harry’s skin for the needle, the muscles jump beneath his hands again and Harry’s eyelids droop a little.

“You have soft hands,” he says quietly, “tiny and soft.”

He sounds kind of mesmerised by it. It makes Louis’ tummy feel tight so he flicks Harry’s right nipple as punishment. Only Harry sucks in a loud breath as his nipple pebbles and goes completely hard. Oh fuck. Louis pretends he doesn’t notice.

“They’re not tiny. They’re probably the same size as yours.”

Harry snorts and holds his hand up.

“C’mere.”

Louis rolls his eyes but he leans forward and touches his hand against Harry’s. Harry’s hand is much larger than Louis’ and he folds his fingers over Louis’, trapping his hand there, to emphasise his point. He chuckles when Louis lets out an agitated breath and wriggles his fingers until Harry releases him.

“Whatever. You’re hands are like huge monster hands. It doesn’t mean mine are tiny.”

Harry snickers. Louis ignores him. He gets the needle ready and then pauses before touching it to Harry’s skin. He reaches his hand up and buries it in Harry’s hair.

“You ready for this kitten prince? Or do you need me to call Niall to come hold your hand?”

Louis means it to be vaguely insulting but Harry is too lost in the sensation of a hand in his hair. He makes a noise low in his throat and lifts his head up, chasing Louis’ fingers. Louis hesitates but then his fingers move on their own, massaging Harry’s scalp quite rigorously.

Louis smiles, struck dumb by the way Harry’s eyelashes flutter even when his eyes are closed, his throat making these soft sounds that are halfway between a moan and a growl. Louis should stop. He shouldn’t have started. He swallows loudly and pulls away, forgetting to give Harry any warning before he’s pressing the needle against his skin. However Harry’s hiss is short lived. When Louis starts to trace the next line, Harry merely gazes at him. Louis can feel his eyes but he focuses on his job, talking slowly and steadily so he doesn’t let himself lose focus.

“Can you tell me why you picked this particular tattoo?”

“You really want to know?”

Harry sounds pleased.

“I ask everybody,” Louis says truthfully, glad he’s not witnessing Harry’s reaction to that titbit, “I like to collect people’s stories.”

“So do I,” Harry says thoughtfully, “I just do it with a camera instead of a needle.”

Louis nods his agreement.

“I suppose that’s true.”

“The butterfly is me,” Harry says without hesitation.

Louis’ face creases a little as he tries to figure out this new puzzle.

“Because of your parents?” he guesses, “because you want to fly away from that life?”

Harry chuckles.

“I didn’t know you were so clichéd Lou. No, it’s not about them. Not really. It’s-have you ever seen a butterfly take off from a plant?”

Louis shakes his head, pressing one hand against Harry’s sternum as he presses the needle into Harry’s skin again.

“Well…it’s majestic. They beat their wings against the petals so hard for those few moments they’re not airborne until they finally muster enough strength to launch themselves up and away. They’ve lead this limited, lacklustre life as a caterpillar, capable of so little and then…then they evolve and suddenly they’re vibrant and colourful. Suddenly they can free themselves and go places. They have choices. These butterflies… every moment of their short lived lives is hard. Like I said, lifting off is no cake walk…but once they’re free, they’re free for good and even if it doesn’t last, even if they get snapped up by some hungry animal, for those few moments that they’re airborne, they feel their true calling. They are….at home, in a way they couldn’t be before.”

Louis’ heart has slowed as he listened and now he’s left trying to find the right words. He’s never wanted to study someone quite like this. To know what makes them tick. He wants to know the man beneath the curls, the man behind the heartbreaker smile. It frightens him half to death.

“That ah, that sounds like it might have a little to do with your parents?” Louis suggests, “I mean, the life they forced you into anyway. Sounds to me like you’re saying you could only ever be a caterpillar in that world. You could never achieve lift off.”

Louis’ hand is brushing Harry’s sternum, rubbing back and forth to heat the slightly chilled skin as he works on the tattoo site below. Harry reaches down, clasping his fingers. He squeezes them.

“I don’t think it’s about them anymore though. That’s my point. They’re on the fringes of my mind, the fringes of my life. I want this to be a symbol of what I’m doing now. Building my own life that they someday won’t have any part of and no say in. I mean…if the GQ thing goes well, I could do more shoots like that. Earn more money but without entering into this world of falseness and fabrication that it so typical of fashion photography. I could still be me. I guess I wanted the butterfly as a reminder.”

 “A reminder of what Haz?”

Louis’ voice holds all of his curiosity but none of the awe and admiration blooming inside his chest.

“That if I beat my wings hard enough, I can muster up enough power to lift myself up and away. That I can live a full life even if it’s just for one moment, even if it’s taken from me as soon as I grasp it. Lou,” Harry’s voice is rough and dry sounding like he’s trying not to get too emotional. Louis’ just petting the patch of skin between his pecs and stomach to soothe him now, “I just want to be-“

“Infinite?” Louis interjects.

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice sounds like it’s scraping at the back of his throat, “exactly.”

Louis’ needle is still where he’s stopped at the base of the wing.

“You are Harry. I promise you love,” Louis looks up into shining green eyes and he knows it’s true, that this persistent boy with a heart of molten gold has no barriers but those he creates in his own mind, “you’re the most infinite person I’ve ever met.”

Louis doesn’t think it makes much sense and he feels idiotic the moment the words leave his mouth. He doesn’t know Harry…but yet…somehow he does. He knows Harry’s fragility when confronted with his mother. He knows Harry’s softness, his pleas and his genuine compassion for Louis and for others. He knows that Harry has a passion for what he sees inside the lens and beyond it, like no one Louis has ever known. If Harry really wants something, he’ll have it. Louis knows that much.

Harry doesn’t think it’s stupid. His green eyes well up with tears and he hiccups slightly.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Louis coughs, trying to sound casual even though his heart has expanded to fill the entirety of his rib cage, pressing between the gaps like the only thing keeping it inside is those very bones.

They don’t talk for a while as Louis continues filling in detail but then he remembers what he’d been thinking about. The one burning question he’s had about Harry since he met his god awful mother and truly lovely sister.

“Haz…can I ask you something? You can say no if it’s too personal because really, it’s none of my business and I’m sorry to like-“

“Course you can.”

“Oh. Okay. Um…I was just curious. Gem…I mean Gemma,” Louis blushes, “she said-I mean, why you haven’t dated anyone in a while? It’s just strange you know…I mean not strange but I, I can’t imagine you’re not spoiled for choice. Like, there must be guys lining up at your door just to take you out.”

There’s silence for a moment but then Harry’s voice oozes out of him, all deep and husky.

“I never really wanted anyone. Not after I left home.”

“How long ago was that?”

“I was 20 when I left. I’d been with guys. A lot of guys actually but it was all hushed up of course. My mum pretended not to see them but if my dad ever caught me, there’s no doubt in my mind that he would have kicked them and me out. He knew I was gay… my mum told him but he liked to pretend too. If he’d known it was going on in his house, he wouldn’t have been able to keep up the sham. He liked to pretend I was straight and I let him. I played by the rules.”

“Oh, Harry.”

“Don’t sound so sad on my behalf. I appreciate it but it’s not like I’m still stuck there. I’m infinite, remember? Said so yourself. Anyway, when I left, I thought how nice it would be to date someone and not have it be a secret. To kiss them whenever I wanted and more importantly wherever I wanted. To not have loving another man be some shameful thing that I needed to hide just in case someone’s sensibilities might be offended.”

“But?“

“But then I realised I didn’t want to depend on somebody. I didn’t want to tie myself to just anyone and feel stuck like I had with my parents. I was afraid that getting involved with someone would be like having my wings clipped and I didn’t want to become so tied up with someone else, that I didn’t have anything of my own. I was content. I didn’t want to become embroiled in a relationship just to lose all my strength in the process. I didn’t want to end up like-“

“Like me,” Louis finishes, his tone hard.

Harry lifts half his body up suddenly and moves all of his limbs and his stomach in the process. Louis pushes him back down with a glare.

“Could have really fucked your tat up, you insufferable git.”

“I didn’t mean you,” is all Harry says, his tone completely forlorn, “I just meant…that I didn’t want to risk winding up trapped. If I was going to hand over any part of myself or my life, it was going to be with someone I trusted not to keep me bound. I knew I couldn’t date anybody unless they were really…well unless I truly wanted them.”

Louis is cynical and disbelieving.

“And you never wanted anybody these past few years? Not one?”

“Well not like that, no. I’m not abstaining from sex or anything,” Harry says, sounding like the suggestion alone is preposterous.

“I can’t imagine you would,” Louis agrees.

What a waste it would be if you were, he intones in his head.

…….

Louis presses against the corners of the gauze bandage and then gently pats the whole thing down with his fingers.

“I can’t thank you enough Louis,” Harry says, hand reaching out to brush Louis’ fringe away from where it’s fallen in his eyes.

He’s sitting up on Louis’ bench that runs around the sides of the tattooing room with Louis standing between his legs. Louis stares at him for a beat too long and then bends down until his eyes are level with his new tattoo.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks.

Louis presses on the corners of the bandage again and then gently presses his open mouth against the centre in a soft kiss. The wetness of his mouth seeps through a little and he hears Harry’s breath hitch.

“There,” he murmurs.

Harry’s breath is shaky as he stares at Louis with all the intensity of a serial killer and yet all the softness of a new mum looking down at her newborn baby.

“What was that?” Harry asks.

“I kissed it better,” Louis says with a whimsical smile and a shrug that he hopes enhances his casual stance, “my mum used to do it. Every time she had to patch me up, she’d kiss the plaster.”

Harry grabs him by the side of the face, his fingers melting into the sides his hair. Louis’ heart hammers in his chest and he feels like he’s seasick. For a moment, there’s such a charge in the air that all the hairs on his body stand on end. Harry just drags his thumb down the centre of Louis cheek with a serene kind of smile. Louis steps away.

“You should get going,” he says.

Harry nods, looking cheerful enough despite the fact that nothing’s changed between him and Louis. Or has it? He gives Louis one last lingering look and then stalks out the room.

“Bye Lou,” he calls as the door chimes announcing his exit, “thanks for a gright afternoon.”

Louis can’t stop his mouth from twisting up and soaring higher and higher as he drives home from work half an hour later.

…….

“Hey babe, how was work?” Duncan asks, opening his arms up for Louis.

Louis settles into his lap and buries his face in Duncan’s neck to avoid looking in his eyes. He feels like a shit boyfriend. What kind of man goes around kissing other men on their stomachs when he’s got a boyfriend? Well…really it was just one man and technically Louis’ mouth didn’t even touch Harry’s skin but still, he’s got to own up to his mistakes. While he can’t tell Duncan, he knows his error and he accepts that there can be no more time spent with the absurd hipster he might just be the slightest bit fond of. While guilt flares in his chest, he knows his heart belongs to Duncan as it has for the last three years.

He’s never been unfaithful, even when his tears formed a small puddle in the crevice of his pillow and he wondered if Duncan really loved him at all, he’s never even considered it. This might have been a setback, a slight lapse in judgement on his part but it’s got nothing to do with the way he feels. Duncan need not know how much of an absolute idiot his boyfriend is.

“Uneventful,” Louis mumbles into the curve of his shoulder, kissing slowly along the blade.

Duncan sighs and tightens his grip on Louis’ waist.

“Bedroom?” Louis asks hopefully.

“Yes,” Duncan agrees, “bedroom.”

…..

When Duncan comes past an hour or so later, Louis is in his sweats curled up on the couch, admiring his finished product. There’s some open canisters of paint on the coffee table with newspaper beneath in case of spillages and a vast array of brushes that Louis had sourced from various European stores.

Back then, he’d had just a seed of idea, one that he hadn’t allowed to fully bloom because it was so fragile. Yet even then, the draw of the paint brush and artistry itself had been so strong. He’d spent so much time poring over his sketches of each tourist attraction, trying to find the faults in order to better himself constantly. Now painting is more of a pastime than anything but swirling a brush through those paints and swiping it across the page in gentle strokes still gives him an alleviating sense of peace like nothing else.

“What are you doing?” Duncan asks, bending down to drop a kiss to Louis’ head.

Louis tilts his head back to look at him and frowns his confusion. Duncan’s hair is all gelled up and he’s got tighter jeans on than usual. He’s swapped a hoodie for a too tight leather jacket and he smells like too much cologne. Louis coughs.

“I’m just admiring my work. I didn’t know how well it’d turn out. It’s for the twins’ room. Mum asked me to do some kind of painting for it and this is what I decided on. This is the girl baby,” Louis informs him, pointing at a little duckling with long eyelashes and a lilac bow on its head, “and this is the boy baby,” he directs Duncan’s attention to the larger duck who’s wrapped himself around his sister, a fierce look on his face that’s belied only by his big, beautiful, blue eyes. “I had to go all the way out to the edge of London to get the paint for it. Mum wanted a specific kind of lilac for the bow and they only had the one canister left so it was really lucky. I used nearly the whole thing up just doing test patches.”

“It looks beautiful,” Duncan says, kissing Louis’ mouth upside down.

His green eyes are barely there with Louis and Louis hates that he can feel the words about to fall from Duncan’s mouth. More so, he hates the fact that he feels so uneasy about it.

“I’ve actually got to go in to work for a bit. Won’t be long. I’ll be back for dinner, promise.”

Louis tries to keep the strain out of his voice when he tugs on the side of Duncan’s jeans.

“And you need your good jeans for that?”

Duncan’s whole face shows consternation as his eyes narrow and he looks at Louis with something sharp marring his expression. 

“You’re accusing me again,” he concludes with ire, “because I’m the one who can’t fucking be trusted. I’m not the one who wants to fuck every man who will have me. I’m not the one who fucking begs for it.”

Louis feels hot all over as the humiliation and the hurt swallows him whole. His eyes feel glassy and sore but he denies himself release, his voice so tiny in the silence of the room.

“I don’t beg-“

“You may as well,’ Duncan cuts him off, expression livid.

Louis curls in on himself on the couch, placing the picture of the ducklings on the couch next to him and closing his eyes softly. He tries to be anywhere but here. He tries to transport himself somewhere else where he feels safe and calm. He wants only to escape the look of constant disappointment in Duncan’s eyes. The only place that comes to mind is….not a place. It’s a person. Shit fuck. When Louis open his eyes again, Duncan grips his jaw and sucks his mouth into a savage kiss, fucking his tongue into Louis’ mouth and pressing his nails into the side of Louis’ face.

“I’m going,” he announces, “and you can have your dinner without me. No dessert,” Duncan’s eyes rest on his stomach, “it’s not like you need it.”

Louis sucks in his stomach automatically, his breath halting as he tries to find a way to expel the pain rapidly making a crater inside his chest. Then he figures, why should he expel it? If he continues to feel this way, maybe he’ll finally stop screwing up and find a way to be the person Duncan wants him to be.

…..

Hours later, Louis has just emerged from the bedroom after a lengthy nap and as he strolls into the living room, he finds Duncan stretched out on the couch, beer in hand.

“Hi,” Louis greets him tentatively.

“Hi,” Duncan grunts back, his eyes glued to the TV.

Louis will take what he can get.

“Would you like some leftover dinner?”

“Sure.”

Louis trudges into the kitchen and starts fixing Duncan a plate of the pasta that he had defrosted from the freezer earlier, Duncan having made it a few days before.  It’s not like Louis could make it himself. It’s rotating in the microwave as Louis deposits the container that he’d discovered had a crack in it, in the bin. He returns to the microwave to take the steaming plate out and is just about to deliver it to Duncan when something clicks. He pauses, his mouth ajar and then rests the burning plate on the counter.

He walks quickly back to the bin, sliding it out from its spot inside the cupboard and sure enough, his eyes weren’t deceiving him. There, resting just beneath the broken, sauce stained, container is his artwork for the twins, crumpled and torn with a discoloured beer stain spanning the entirety of the duck’s faces. The lilac bow is a distasteful dark brown colour. Louis’ stomach twists painfully. He grabs a fork and the plate from the bench and marches into the living room. It clatters loudly when he places it on the coffee table.

“Did you-did you put my painting for the twins in the bin?” Louis asks, faltering just slightly, “It has beer all over it.”

Duncan is already tucking into his dinner. He barely glances at Louis.

“Oh yeah. I would have told you but you were asleep.”

Louis works to keep himself in check.

“How did that…how did that happen?”

Duncan’s eyes finally meet his and he looks completely bewildered by the pain in Louis’ expression.

“I spilled some beer. It’s no big deal right? It’s not like you can’t make another one.”

“I can’t,” Louis says, his voice rasping, “Because I don’t have any more of that lilac paint, remember? Mum picked it out special because when she had me, the nursery was that colour. She said that when she and Dad painted it a different colour, I used to scream bloody murder at night. I can’t…that store is the only place that sells that particular kind.”

Duncan is barely listening. His eyes are glossy and completely vacant.

“It’s fine,” Louis croaks because Duncan’s turned back to the TV and is shoving forkfuls of pasta in his mouth, “I’ll just tell mum it was me and that it was an accident.”

Louis walks through the flat to the bathroom and sheds his clothes, tears starting to mar his vision as the wound in his chest gapes open. He flicks the fan on and then steps into the shower, twisting the taps until the water is scalding hot against his skin.

He puts the shampoo in his hand and stars to massage it into his hair. That's when it gets too much. He suddenly wishes Duncan were the type of boyfriend who would come in here and say sorry, washing Louis' hair for him and mouthing at that sensitive spot on his neck. He wishes he had someone to take care of him when he's falling apart. 

It's not that Duncan wrecked his painting for his baby brother and sister. It's not that he chucked it in the bin. It's not even the fact that he didn't have the sense to tell Louis when it happened. It's how oblivious he was about the way it would upset Louis. It was the way he couldn't give Louis his full attention for two minutes and simply say sorry. 

Louis knows he's pathetic, that it's stupid to get upset over something so simple. Still before he knows it, he's curled up in the corner of the shower, letting the sobs wrack his body, his breath hitching in between as the stream of hot water runs down between his shoulder blades. He feels stupid but a voice in his head that sounds an awful lot like Harry says that the way he feels can't be wrong and that it's okay to hurt. It's okay to be hurt. Yet right now now Louis' alone, without Harry and he can't afford to hurt because there's nobody here to make it okay or kiss it better. 

So when Louis gets out of the shower, he pulls on his hugest jumper, his comfiest pyjama pants and a soft beanie and hugs his own chest before walking back out to the living area. He settles himself in Duncan’s lap and Duncan’s arms go around him, holding him there. It’s not enough. Duncan’s so close right now, his lips pressed to Louis’ hair and his distinct smell filling Louis’ nose but his eyes are only on the TV and he doesn’t register the sadness in Louis. Maybe he just doesn’t really care.

Louis thinks of Harry. His heavy gaze with eyes that seem to see every inch of Louis’ skin and the emotions stirring beneath. It’s uncomfortable to realise that his next door neighbour, this person he’s known little more than a few weeks, knows him more deeply. While Duncan’s been there for three years of ups and downs, Harry knows his soul. He awakens it. Louis shudders at that thought which finally draws Duncan’s attention away from the TV. He hugs Louis closer, thinking he must be cold. It’s not enough. It’s all Duncan knows how to give.

Louis hears the sounds of some soft music through the wall and he aches to know what song Harry is playing. What kind of music does Harry like? Hipster music most probably but Louis needs to know. He wipes a curled hand across the hollow of his eye to wipe away the wetness and then kisses Duncan’s jaw before standing and retreating to his room.

……

Harry’s smile is one of contentment as he turns up the music on his TV, dancing around his living room as he pretends that he’s not replaying the last couple of hours in his head. Well…one in particular. He has a brand spanking new tattoo and he and Louis are…not friends but, they’d had a moment, or several. Harry has hope for them yet. His phone buzzes against his hip and his lips are dancing in time with the music flowing through the room as he reads the message on his screen.

Louis: What are you listening to?

Harry: You’re texting me ….

Louis: And ?

Harry: Nothing….it’s Barbie girl by aqua.

Louis: Honestly you are absurd. Also, the worst hipster I know.

Harry: I wanted a Barbie camper van instead of a monster truck when I was little. My parents bought me the biggest, manliest monster truck they could find.

Louis: Course you did. And stop, you’re breaking my heart. You should have had all the camper vans you wanted Haz.

Harry: It is what it is

Louis: You’re not funny Harold

Harry: I’m charming though right ? .xx

Louis doesn’t reply so Harry chooses to take that as agreement, slipping his fingers up the underside of his top and stroking across the bandage in the spot where Louis had kissed him, a small but stunning smile playing over the set of his lips.

Chapter Text

Harry: Come to karaoke tonight ? .xx

Louis: Are you out of your mind Harold? I shouldn’t even be texting you.

Harold: Pleeeeease Lou :(

Louis: Not possible Haz x

Harold: Zayn’s bringing Liam. You could bring Duncan too. Surely that’s not too much to ask of him?

Harold: I’m not trying to insult him or you. Please don’t ignore me. Just…what if you asked him to come and then like, ran into us there? Like, a coincidence ;)

Harold: Lou?

……

“Why?” Duncan asks as he loosens his silk blue tie from around his neck and lets it sink to the floor, “you hate singing in public. Remember that cruise? I asked you to do a duet with me and you were practically cowering on the floor.”

“I was not. I was half drunk and had been speaking at twice my usual volume all night. If I was going to sing, I wanted to do it right,” Louis crows indignantly from his spot on the end of the bed.

“Why? Because you’d be such a hit?”

Duncan sneers at him in the mirror and Louis feels a frown form around the corners of his lips. When Duncan asked him to move in with him, he had said he wanted to wake up to Louis singing try a little tenderness every single morning.

Back then, it had seemed like every new part of Louis was a pleasant surprise and just more to love. When did it all turn so sour? Louis hates to admit that things aren’t tinted in a rosy hue as they once were but he knows that things have changed. Duncan has. He’s not in love with Louis’ quirks, not the slightest bit tickled by his passions, so much so that it begs the question; is he even in love with Louis? Why does it always seem to be Louis who has to pay for the way Duncan’s life has progressed? As though he were at fault for the fact that Duncan’s stuck in a stationery, stagnant job with no immediate prospects on the horizon.

The possessiveness had started after the onset of the black moods and aggressive tendencies. The first time Duncan backed Louis into a corner of a room and yelled obscenities at him, Louis had stayed with his mum for two weeks. He hadn’t given her any explanation. As much as Jay had begged and pleaded, he’d told her squat, knowing exactly what kind of response she’d have if she knew. He was certain she’d never let her baby be treated that way.

Things are different now. Louis’ mum has always been like a best friend and after one of the worst fights Duncan and he had ever had, Louis had broken down and confessed to her on the phone. Like everybody else, she’d reacted with horror, anger and had persisted in constantly asking Louis when he was going to decide that enough was enough. She had wanted to talk to Duncan of course. “I just want to ask him something boo bear. Please put him on the phone.”

 Louis knew better and has limited all contact between the two to the best of his ability. Birthdays and Christmases really. Sometimes not even that. Duncan didn’t seem to mind and still doesn’t because the more time went on, the more he begrudged the fact that Louis is so dedicated to his family; so attached to his home and his life that he has waiting there every time he returns.

Louis has been forced to keep the two spheres separate to protect his boyfriend from feeling threatened and to prevent his mum from seeing the true extent of Duncan’s behaviour. He’s managed to convince her that much of it has abated but mothers are renowned for their killer instincts and when she’s near, Louis can feel the concern emanating off her skin. She doesn’t believe he’s happy and sometimes he’s hard pressed to convince her that, that isn’t exactly the truth.

When Louis came back home from his mum’s that first time he truly fought with Duncan, Duncan’s sweetness had returned. Yet for only for so long could Duncan seem to maintain it before something inside gave way and Louis became his verbal punching bag again. After a few more trips to Doncaster and an aura of silence around their flat, Duncan started with the possessive, jealous demands. He was perhaps afraid of losing Louis and everything they had together. The problem was that he only seemed capable of holding on with a vice-like grip that didn’t allow Louis any wiggle room.

The ironic thing was that the rarer Duncan’s gentleness became and the more vicious he acted, the more entrapped Louis felt and the less inclined he was to leave. He had a kind of idealistic hope inside that he couldn’t relinquish and when he saw those flashes of something tender in Duncan, that troublesome hope flared up and lit up everything so brightly it blocked out everything else. The memories of those solar flare moments kept Louis from confronting the hurt that Duncan had caused. He was desperate to hang onto what remained of the person he used to know.

“Because I didn’t want to make a fool of myself,” Louis corrects him in a tiny voice.

Duncan turns around and kneels before the bed, cupping Louis’ cheeks with his palms.

“Karaoke? Really?”

Louis works not to show his eagerness. It’s been a long time since Duncan’s even thought about asking what Louis would like to do or where he’d like to go. It must have been a slow day at work or something. Duncan had looked significantly more relaxed when he walked in the door, the first two buttons loose on his shirt and a lethargic kind of grin on his face, as though the mere thought of a Friday night with Louis had mollified his bad mood. It’s a sappy thought but Louis has subscribed to it anyway because he wants to believe that there’s still a part of Duncan that’s head over heels for him. It’s showing itself now… isn’t it?

“Really. If you’ll come with me. I wouldn’t go without you obviously.”

Louis’ Adam’s apple bobs nervously in his throat as he waits for the verdict. Duncan’s green eyes shift across his face like laser beams and Louis feels like his lie by omission must be written on his forehead in dark red marker.

I’ve been texting Harry and I gave him a tattoo and he’ll be there tonight with three other lads that I’m also friends with

“Okay,” Duncan says and Louis’ chest falls in relief, “but cover up.”

Duncan pulls on the side of Louis’ open singlet to emphasise his point. Like a scandalised parent. Louis shakes away the thought, pressing his hands against Duncan’s neck and touching their lips together.

“I will. Thank you.”

……

“Holy fuck. No way,” Liam swears, his mouth hanging open as his eyes hook into something over Harry’s shoulder.

“What?” Zayn and Harry ask at the same time.

Zayn’s eyes flicker to the same spot a beat later and his mouth falls open slightly too.

“Huh,” is all he says before chuckling at Liam’s expression.

“Are either of you going to tell us what’s going on or…” Harry leads.

Niall has already turned fully around to appreciate whatever it is. A smirk stretches over his face as he squeezes Harry’s shoulder.

“You’re a fucking miracle worker H.”

Harry’s had it. He lets out an agitated sigh before swivelling on his stool to look back at the entrance to the karaoke bar. Illuminated by the glowing red sign, standing with his small hand tucked into Duncan’s, is Louis. Louis.

He’s draped in a blue flannel shirt that’s miles too big and is buttoned right to the very top. Harry knows it must be Duncan’s and he has to swallow down the lump in his throat that threatens to cut off his air supply. Thankfully his brain provides him with a slightly less torturous image. Louis wearing a different flannel top, unbuttoned and gaping open to reveal his chest and the flawless expanse of tanned skin leading down to his navel.

Harry wouldn’t dress Louis as Duncan has. Like a doll. Like Louis has no say in the matter. He wouldn’t button him up all the way, too possessive to handle another man’s eyes on his skin. Not when it so clearly conflicts with what Louis wants. He’d be proud to have a boyfriend so beautiful who would perhaps volunteer to wear his shirt. Like a badge of honour rather than as an act of loyalty or sacrifice, a bid for a heart that Louis hasn’t yet lost but has never quite won either.

Harry suspects that a heart like Duncan’s doesn’t truly beat for anybody but himself. He loves Louis in much the same way that small children love their first soft toy. At first they could not think of anything more precious but they soon tire of it, perhaps encountering something they covet even more or simply losing interest. Yet try to take it from them, try to pass it onto another sibling and they only hold it tighter against their chest. They hold on for the sake of ownership and for the sake of something being theirs and only theirs.

Harry’s cumbersome thoughts cannot take away from the fact that Louis is here, at karaoke, despite the fact that he’d made it seem like quite an impossible, preposterous proposition on Harry’s part. Sure, Harry had pleaded with Louis, hoping some latent urge to get out and about would spark a revolution in his mind but truly, he’d never predicted this. He hadn’t thought Louis would find a way to ask for something he wanted and more so, that Duncan would entertain the thought of giving it to him.

 Harry supposes that this must be why Louis’ still on board a train that’s clearly derailed. Duncan isn’t all monstrous cruelty and aggression. He’s capable of gestures that spell kindness and make Louis think there’s hope for them yet. Never mind that the kindness seems to be a fleeting part of their relationship which Louis never quite has time to grasp before it slips away again.

Harry can’t imagine that Louis would ever knowingly enter into a toxic, domineering partnership. No, it must have gone south at some point and Louis had already fallen too far down the rabbit hole to climb back out again. Every flash of compassion must have reignited his hope that maybe someday things would return to the way they were. The lump is back in Harry’s throat as Louis and Duncan work their way through the tables and Louis’ eyes meet his, blinking slowly back at him as if he were caught in the tailspin of Harry’s inner reflections.

Harry wants to tell him how rare it is for somebody like that to remember the person they used to, to want that again and then find the will to change. He wants to tell Louis that waiting around for that is a waste of what could be the most magnificent life. It’s not his place. It’s not his life. Louis isn’t looking to him for guidance and Harry is loath to provide it when the most likely outcome is that he’ll simply push Louis further away. Harry is yet to prove the kind of friend he could be. He can’t risk endangering this precarious sense of trust that he feels he might have garnered from Louis of late. Enough trust that Louis hasn’t stopped texting him since they’d swapped texts after the application of Harry’s tattoo.

Just then, Duncan’s head snaps up as if he can sense their presence. His eyes lock with Harry’s and then flit down to his transparent black shirt. There’s a challenge in his expression that makes Harry’s muscles tighten. His body is preparing to leap into action, his eyes are glued to the way Duncan’s hand is tightening around Louis’, the veins popping out obscenely because of how tightly he’s clutching the little hand inside his. Louis’ letting himself be dragged along, his eyes on Duncan’s face as fear registers and he winces just slightly from the pressure. Harry’s never felt such a strong urge to get between two people before.

He’s never been in a bar fight before because despite having a penchant for keeping the peace, he tends to leave the resolution of violent outbreaks to bouncers; people who aren’t repulsed by the idea of enacting violence on others. Harry truly is. Repulsed by it, that is. When he was five, he pushed a kid in the sand pit at school because the kid was making fun of Gemma’s haircut. Then he cried more than the kid he pushed and ended up having to go home early. He hasn’t changed much since then. Only, he feels his hand tighten around his cocktail glass and the veins in his forehead pulse as he fights back the urge to forcibly remove Duncan’s hand from Louis’. Tiny Louis whose fingers are inevitably being crushed.

Harry assumes Louis must have some kind of explanation or plan if he decided to ask Duncan to accompany him here. He wouldn’t go into this without a way of excusing himself. Harry can’t help but worry as the not-so-happy couple come to a stop before them and Louis briefly looks at him with terror shaping his eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Good, Harry affirms, blame me. Just please don't take it out on Louis.

"Here for the circus obviously," Harry says with a quirk in his mouth.

Niall snorts a laugh but Louis' glare is sharp, a reprimand bursting forth. Harry can't help himself. If Louis is not going to sass his boyfriend for being a jerk, Harry will do it for him. Like an unconventional kind of white knight.

"Hilarious," Duncan snaps, his lips pushing against each other, perhaps in an attempt to keep from snarling, "do you know anything about this?"

He's looking at Louis now and Louis looks panicked for a moment, his chest rising in time with his quick, shallow breaths. Harry's lungs seem to syncopate his breathing to Louis', as if he were the one in peril. If only.

Then, Louis gathers himself. He smiles and though the skin around his eyes is left un-scrunched, his mouth is hooked up around his ears. He knits his fingers in the hair around the base of Duncan's neck and pulls him into a long kiss. Harry can't see the point of contact but he imagines their tongues sliding together and rolling around one another in a messy tangle. It makes him feel quite sick.

 He doesn't realise how deeply he's frowning until he feels Niall squeeze his elbow in comfort. He wants to protest, wants so very much to tell Niall that he doesn't need such pity. He's perfectly okay with the fact that the pale pink lips that had gently pressed against his bandage are now pressed against another pair. A pair of lips that belong to an absolute arse.

That's all it is. It has to be. Harry's instincts to protect. There's not all that much he can do here if Louis won't let him be part of his life. Harry’s sole reason for being frustrated lies in the fact that he’s watching Louis try to atone for the simple truth that he has a life outside of Duncan. That sick feeling, the one with a twinge of an ache that feels a lot like hurt? It can't be what Niall thinks it is.

Harry is not falling for somebody else's boyfriend. He's not falling for eyes that watch him with this hint of fond surprise, as if everything he does is somehow entirely unexpected and yet wholly predictable because it's in his nature. Eyes that seem to sigh his name with equal amounts of exasperation and endearment. Harry. He's not falling for a smile that's tampered down and bitten back, the pressure of holding it in always filling his face with such concentrated crinkles. He's not falling for tinkling laughter and the soft pressure of lips against his chest tattoo. He's not.

When Louis breaks away from the kiss, he pushes a flannel clothed hand against the side of Duncan’s neck and looks up at him in earnest. Harry’s heart is keening at the sight. Louis looks so damn vulnerable but in the worst way possible. Vulnerable because he can’t expose the strength inside him and can’t seem to locate it at all in this moment. Not when he’s faced with someone who thinks so little of him. Someone that he loves, literally beyond all reason.

“Baby, do you really think I would do that? I had no idea. It’s not a problem, is it?”

“How does Liam know him?” Duncan growls, flinging his hand out in Harry’s direction.

Louis’ eyes widen but thankfully Liam cuts in.

“Good to see you Duncan,” Liam says with a perfunctory tone, his usually kind brown eyes turning sharp as he surveys Louis’ good for nothing boyfriend, “I just happen to know Harry and the other lads from the gym. Louis had no idea, honestly. Niall, Zayn, this is Louis Tomlinson.”

Liam gestures to the two boys. Harry presumes he uses Louis’ full name to distance himself from the lad. It’s a bit much, the fact that he has to emphasise that his relationship with Louis is strictly professional.

Zayn apparently, thinks it’s entirely ridiculous. He rolls his eyes when Duncan’s eyes shift away from him and on to Niall, assessing his value as a threat. Harry warns Zayn against it with a pointed look.

Apparently Duncan doesn’t have much in the way of instinct because he finally accepts the fabricated explanation, submitting with a subtle nod in Liam’s direction before he turns back to Louis.

“We should find a table,” he says, his meaning implicit.

A table away from these men I don’t trust near you, it says. Louis looks purely relieved and Harry finds himself breathing more easily because of it. He’s indecently excited to hear what Louis might sing and to hear just how he might sing it. Harry has a feeling that it will be a lot like the photo shoot, that he might just come alive beneath the stage light.

“It was nice meeting you guys,” Louis says, his eyes resting on Zayn and Niall for a moment as he takes Duncan’s hand, “and good to see you Liam.”

Duncan’s expression tightens a little at this and now Harry has to bite down hard on his tongue just to keep from rolling his eyes as Zayn had. Finally, Louis looks back to him and Harry’s head spins wildly at the soft smile on his baby pink lips.

“Bye.”

It’s a quiet murmur that crawls from the edge of his lips, down his chin and across the space between them both, inching its way up Harry’s body to nestle itself in the confines of his chest.

“Bye,” he rasps embarrassingly.

Duncan’s eyes flick back to him again, so calculated. Judging him once more. They drop down to his transparent shirt and then stick there, glued to his stomach. Harry’s stomach muscles tighten with unease in response and when he looks up at Louis, there’s that reprimand again.

Louis had texted him and told him that the bandage was fine to come off days ago but Harry had kept it on, insisting he felt like he needed the extra protection. Truth be told, he was rather reluctant to part with it after Louis had kissed him so. He’d taken it off for showers off course and cleaned the skin beneath, inspecting the intricate and impressive detail of the tattoo that Louis had done for him.

Still, every time he’d gone to dispose of the bandage, he’d thought of that moment when Louis’ thumbs had pushed against him, making indents in his skin and sending a zap through his system in the process. He’d thought of how Louis had offered the tranquil wetness of his mouth and how it had felt to experience the light push of those lips against his abdominals. Harry remembered how it had set his brain spinning out of control and sent some kind of reactive electric current racing across the surface of his skin.

Now, Harry feels like idiocy defined. Duncan’s eyes fly back up to his and he takes a step forward, looking murderous. Louis cautions him with a hand to his wrist but he may as well not even be there for all that Duncan cares. His sole focus is Harry and man if looks could kill. Duncan’s mouth is twitching with it, his eyes sparking with fury. He stands with his fists balled against his hips, his thick arms standing out in rolls of muscle. Harry can tell he’s trying to make himself look bigger but he really doesn’t need to because he’s quite enormous. Harry still doesn’t cower.

“Problem?” He asks with a smile.

“You’ve got a bandage. Tattoo. He gave you a tattoo didn’t he?” Duncan demands, quite visibly seething.

“I don’t think-“

Duncan silences Zayn’s calm protest with a malevolent glare.

“Show me,” Duncan orders, some measure of control in his expression even though Harry can see the veins standing out on his tightly balled fists.

“You don’t have to do that,” Louis says, his hand still resting against Duncan’s wrist.

When Duncan twists his head to look at Louis, his expression effectively kills any resistance. Louis’ hand comes up to pull his fringe from his eyes and Harry spots the tiny tremor in it. He also spies the apology before it spills from Louis’ lips. Duncan ignores it and turns back to Harry, gesturing for him to do as he was told.

Harry figures the quickest way for this to be over is just to act as if this isn’t completely ludicrous. He pulls his shirt up quickly and then peels away the soft, slightly worn bandage. Although not before trailing his thumb down the centre as though caressing it. His eyes flick very briefly to Louis’ as he does and he spies the startled jump of Louis’ Adam’s apple in his throat.

Harry reveals his tattoo, bringing his thumb down across the butterfly’s midsection with a certain reverence in the curve of his smile. Louis gave him a butterfly on his stomach. Fitting really. Harry hadn’t thought of it previously. Not until he looked up just now and found Louis’ eyes following the path of his thumb as it slowly trailed down from his navel to the start of his trousers. Harry’s stomach swirls. Louis isn’t concerned with studying Duncan’s response. In this moment, filled with angry tension that rolls off his boyfriend in waves, Louis’ concerned with studying Harry.

“It wasn’t Louis,” Harry says with a half-smile, meeting Duncan’s suspicion head on, “I mean, do you really think your boyfriend would do such a shoddy job?”

There’s a slight quirk in Louis’ smile and Harry knows it’s only a small success but it feels like honey sliding down his sore throat, soothing that dissatisfied part of him that just wishes Louis would make a run for it. The part of him that longs to hold Louis’ hand and whisper encouragements to him as he flees.

“Who did it?” Duncan questions, his eyes giving nothing away.

“Jamie Spencer. Edmond Street. It’s a small little shop right on the edge of an alleyway. You’ve probably driven past it at some point, I’m sure. If you like, I’ll give you Jamie’s number and you can check with him,” Harry says with complete seriousness, hoping Duncan won’t call his bluff.

He can practically feel the other lads shaking with laughter and Louis shaking with fear. He ignores it all, focusing on the challenge within Duncan’s eyes that slowly starts to fade. There’s still that measure of caution and that special aura of distrust reserved for anyone that so much as looks at Louis for a beat too long but there’s no fight left. Duncan doesn’t like to be made to look like an idiot and he knows that if he continues, there’s every chance that he’ll only come out looking the fool. More so than he already has.

“No,” Duncan’s sharp jaw juts out defensively, “I’m fine thank you.”

Harry grins and then sticks the bandage back on, pulling his shirt down gently over the top of it. When he looks up, Louis’ eyes shift purposely down to his stomach and he rolls them, a hint of exasperation in the tiny smile that drifts around the ends of his mouth.

The moment is ruined when Louis turns to Duncan and pushes up onto his toes, whispering something in Duncan’s ear that makes the prat’s eyes glow. Neither of them says anything more as Duncan tows Louis to the toilets, their hands intertwined and feet moving at rapid speed. It’s only when they reach the brick wall that extends just enough to cover the entrance of the toilet door that Louis’ eyes stretch back across the room and meet Harry’s.

Louis doesn’t want to. Harry knows that much. He can see that Louis doesn’t want to use his body this way but he clearly feels he has no choice. Perhaps he doesn’t.  At least not when he’s still so unwilling to leave. He’s in love with a monster of a person who doesn’t respond to affection or feel the need to dole out any himself. He’s in love with someone who can only respond to sex and the absolute assurance that Louis belongs to him and only him. For Louis there is no other way because he can’t imagine loving anybody else.

There’s a cool kind of sadness in Louis’ eyes as he hangs there for a moment before finally being tugged around the corner by Duncan. It’s the kind of sadness that people seem to have in their expression when they’ve dealt with so much of the same hurt that it’s no longer able to evoke the same level of response. They continue to hurt but in a semi-detached way, as if the things that used to torture them are happening to somebody else and are outside of their control. When people get to that point, they let the hurt tear at them until all that exists of them are the tiny, shredded up pieces of who they used to be. Pieces that aren’t so easily put back together.

….

“On your knees.”

Louis’ knees are already aching at the mere thought of the cold, hard tiled floor.

“Can’t I just sit on the seat? Please,” he asks, holding his breath as he waits for retaliation.

Duncan doesn’t respond, just pushes him down to the ground with narrowed green eyes. Heavy pants emanate from his mouth as he wets his lips and lets his gaze drop to Louis’ mouth. Louis’ knees hit the floor and he looks up at Duncan with a plea in his expression. He knows what he has to do of course. He whispered the words in Duncan’s ear just to get him away from Harry and the other guys.

Still now he’s here on his knees, his eyes are watering and his throat is straining as he remembers other occasions like this. Times when any compassion still living inside Duncan seems to evaporate into thin air and this lustful, animalistic like rage replaces it. In these moments, Louis doesn’t feel like Duncan perceives him as human, someone with their own needs and capacity to hurt. Someone worth looking after. In these moments, he only exists as a mechanism for fulfilling someone’s desire. Nothing more.

Slowly it has begun to degrade him. Louis has never felt as worthless as he does when Duncan uses him this way. It doesn’t feel like Duncan really wants him. Not in the way he needs to be wanted. It isn’t love for Louis that simmers in the heat of a burning orgasm. It’s the lust associated with control. It’s the precision and adept use of his mouth only.

That isn’t to say that sex between them never feels powered by love but these days, there are more of these quick, violent sessions than there are the other kind. Duncan is always working out a kink and maybe Louis should feel honoured that he is the answer to that unspoken question of how to make things right. Maybe he should feel honoured that Duncan has this burning need to make Louis his, over and over and over again. Sometimes he does. A little. When he puts every effort into it, he can sense something beyond that aggression. Something real and perhaps softer. However it’s only becoming harder to see through the pain to glimpse what may lay beyond. Sometimes Louis does wonder if there is anything left there besides a desire to own him and wreck his body.

Duncan tilts his hips slightly toward Louis’ face, his breath coming even faster as the bulge of his hardening cock pushes against the zipper.

“Well,” he says with impatience.

Louis gets to it, his fingers flying up to pull down the zip followed by Duncan’s trousers and briefs. Once free of its constraints, his hardening cock bobs up and knocks against Louis’ cheek, demanding attention. Louis’ still fiddling with Duncan’s briefs, three quarters of the way down his legs when Duncan pulls on the shortest hairs around the side of his face to tilt his head up. Louis’ eyes prick with pain.

“Forget the fucking pants.”

Louis tries not to pull his hair from Duncan’s grip. He knows how much Duncan hates it when he tries to take control. Instead he grips Duncan’s cock around the base and then leans forward to take the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip as he tries to ignore the way Duncan’s squeezing the back of his neck and constricting his throat.

“Hurry up,” he instructs and Louis immediately envelops the rest of his cock in his mouth, tightening his lips as he tries to draw back up from the base.

Duncan’s not impressed. He growls and squeezes Louis’ neck tighter to hold him there, fucking his hips against Louis’ chin and forcing his dick further down Louis’ throat. Louis whines around it as his vision blurs with involuntary tears and his lungs protest the lack of oxygen. With every thrust, Duncan’s cock nudges the back of Louis’ throat, triggering his gag reflex. This only seems to elevate Duncan’s arousal, spurring him on. He doesn’t pull out.

“Don’t you ever fucking look at that twat,” Duncan thrusts so deep that he cuts off Louis’ airway completely for a moment, “like you fucking want to,” thrust, “suck his cock,” thrust, “again.”

Louis hadn’t looked at him like that. Harry is…Harry. He’s fit and kind. He does something intense with his eyes that makes Louis’ head feel light and fluffy but Louis had never planned on being unfaithful. Had never even considered it. He didn’t look at Harry that way… like he wanted to do that. He knows he didn’t…but Duncan is pounding away at his throat and all he can feel is weak. Pathetic.

If he could just prove himself in one way or another, maybe his knees wouldn’t be aching, his throat wouldn’t be straining and his eyes wouldn’t be stinging for all their worth. Maybe Duncan wouldn’t be looking at him with lust edged in darkness as his hips stutter and he finally spills down Louis’ throat with a guttural moan. Louis pulls off with a cough, a new layer of tears coating his face as oxygen fills his lungs and he feels the weight of what just happened. He was practically suffocating and Duncan couldn’t have cared less.

“I need to clean up. Go get us some drinks,” Duncan orders him, already turning toward the roll of toilet paper and away from Louis, without so much as an appreciative kiss.

Louis feels broken and empty inside, like pieces of him are slowly shattering and the jagged remains are piercing the inside of his skin. All he can do is nod mutely and quietly leave the stall, being sure to brush away the last of his tears as he makes his way out to the bar.

He’s just ordered two pints of beer when Harry comes up beside him, leaning back against the edge of the bar and peering at Louis with far too much knowledge in his eyes. It almost makes Louis wonder whether his tear trails are etched into the curves of his face. Perhaps the burn of his throat is somehow visible from the outside.

“Hi,” is all Harry says but in the gentlest, softest tone Louis’ heard him use yet.

Harry knows. He knows exactly what happened. Louis realises belatedly that it’s not like he’d done much to cover what they’d been about to go do. Perhaps Harry thinks less of him now, the same way Louis thinks less of himself. Now Harry knows there’s only one way he can get through to Duncan.

“Hi,” Louis repeats back, caution in his eyes as his voice scrapes painfully.

Harry’s eyes widen and suddenly his fingers are cupping Louis’ shoulder and squeezing, swapping out Louis’ momentary discomfort for a new sensation. One that eases the burn. One that’s like a salve being rubbed into the sore spot at the base of his throat. It’s just a touch. Why does it feel so revolutionary?

“Lou, jeez…are you-“

“I’m fine,” Louis says, silencing Harry with a firm look as the bartender slides the drinks across to him.

Harry frowns and then tilts his head down at the drinks.

“You should have some warm water and a bit of lemon,” he advises, rubbing a thumb down the slope of Louis’ shoulder.

“Don’t patronise me,” Louis says cuttingly, trying not to let his eyes linger on Harry’s pecs pressing up against the transparent, completely indecent shirt, “I don’t need you to help me look after my voice, thanks. It’s a karaoke bar, not fucking Madison Square Garden.”

Harry looks a little taken aback at first, his mouth caught half open and his eyes widening until they start to look like green saucers in his face. He looks so childlike and confused. Confused and…hurt. Louis’ tongue darts over his lips nervously. He hadn’t meant to be a total arse.

Harry appears to catch on because his look softens. He moves past Louis to get back to his table but pauses just briefly by his side. He brings his hand across, cupping Louis’ hip on the opposite side and pulling him in at the waist.

“Not trying to look after the voice,” Harry whispers, “just trying to look after you.”

As soon as Harry’s hand leaves Louis’ body, the door to the toilet flies open and Louis jumps as Duncan emerges. When Duncan reaches him, he scarcely seems to notice the flush crawling its way up Louis’ neck as he chugs half his beer without a single glance in Louis’ direction.

“I’m going to sing next,” Louis chokes out without thinking.

Duncan burps and then flutters his fingers in Louis’ direction as if to say, “Do what you like.” Louis’ heart shrinks in his chest and when he marches his way up to the band, he finds himself requesting the relevant song without really thinking too much about the consequences. In this moment, he just wants to be heard by the one person who never seems to be able to do just that. To listen.

“You’ll watch right?” Louis asks Duncan just before he leaves for the stage.

Duncan’s eyes settle on something over his shoulder. Harry’s table. Harry himself probably.

“Yes,” he vows, suddenly looking extraordinarily interested in everything Louis has to say.

He grips Louis by the shoulder, digging his fingers into the spot where Harry had stroked him earlier and pulls him into a savage kiss, his tongue thrusting deep into Louis’ mouth. Louis’ mouth opens up instinctively and he presses into the kiss, matching Duncan stroke for stroke until Duncan pushes him away with a smirk.

“Good luck babe,” he says, patting Louis’ bum.

Louis flashes him a small grin and turns toward the stage, ignoring the trail of fire he can feel burning its way across to him from the other side of the room. That damn stare. His skin heats like a furnace beneath it.

Once up on the stage, Louis’ fingers shake a little around the microphone as he grips it, feeling awfully exposed. His eyes rest briefly on Harry, whose long legs are spread open on the stool, his large hands splayed over his knees. There’s one particularly spiky curl that flicks up against his cheek and Louis widens his stance, planting his feet firmly on the ground in response. He has to resist the out of place and uncomfortable desire to jump off the stage, walk over there and stand in the gap between Harry’s knees, fixing the rebellious strand of hair and maybe even winding it around his fingers a little. Fuck.

Louis lets his eyes fix on Duncan instead. His boyfriend Duncan. The love of his life….who is currently glancing back and forth between the lit up screen of his phone and Louis with distraction. Louis closes his eyes against the image and starts to sing, vowing not to open them until he feels slightly surer of himself.

When he opens his mouth, his voice rasps and his throat burns but he delights in it a little. It matches the burn in his chest. The one caused by careless face fucking and a distracted boyfriend who seems none too interested in the way Louis feels. It aligns with the ache that lingers in his bones because Harry, his seemingly innocuous neighbour, is something of an extraordinary person who somehow knows just what Louis needs. Somehow he sees more of Louis and relaxes Louis more than Duncan ever seems to do.

Are you a man who loves and cherishes
and cares for me?
Is that true? Is that true?
Is that true?

Are you a guard in a prison, maximum security?
Is that true? Is that true?
Is that true?

Do we stay home all the time cause you want me to yourself?
Is that true? Is that true?
Is that true?

Or am I locked away
had a feeling that I'd find someone else
Is that true? Is that true?
Is that true?

When Louis opens his eyes for the chorus, Duncan’s eyes are directed solely at his phone and there’s a mischievous quirk in his smile that makes Louis feel slightly nauseous. He knows that quirk. That hint of flirtation. It used to belong to him. Louis’ eyes tingle at the edges but he refocuses, allowing his eyes to trail across the room to one spot where they’re met with total attention and no wavering of any sort.

Harry’s eyes suck the words from his soul. The pain, the longing and every single night Louis’ spent crying himself to sleep and wishing things could be different. All Harry does is gaze at him but Louis feels it in the soles of his feet. He feels it in the thrum of his heart. Harry’s fingers may as well be threaded through his hair, his lips pressed to the curve of his ear while he whispers sweet, soft words of comfort and encouragement. That’s how contradictorily penetrative and soothing those evergreen eyes are. The rasp in Louis’ voice is more emotion than soreness.

Well, I don't like
Living under your spotlight
Just because you think
I might, find somebody worthy
Well, I don't like
Living under your spotlight
Baby, if you treat me right
You won't have to worry

Is this a relationship
Fulfilling your needs
As well as mine?
Is that true? Is that true?
Is that true?

Or is this just my sentence
Am I doing time?
Is that true? Is that true?
Is that true?

If this is love
Real, real love
Then I'm staying no doubt
But if I'm just love’s prisoner

Then I’m busting out

Louis’ eyes flick over to Duncan whose phone is pressed to his ear. His eyes find Louis’ and he points at his phone and then jabs his thumb at the exit. Louis’ eyes flutter closed once more so he doesn’t have to watch Duncan leave. Duncan, who really hasn’t heard a word Louis’ singing. Louis tries to bite down on the disappointment but he’s never felt so insignificant. He’s never felt so resigned to being unhappy.

Is that true? Is that true?
Is that true?

Well, I don't like
Living under your spotlight
Just because you think
I might, find somebody worthy
Well, I don't like
Living under your spotlight
Baby, if you treat me right
You won't have to worry

Louis’ hands are by his side, trembling slightly as he hangs his head over the microphone and sings his heart out. He reconnects his eyes with Harry’s. Harry, who makes him feel calm. Harry, who alleviates that troubling sense of unease in his stomach and then messes Louis’ insides up in his own special way. Harry, who just might be the best thing to have happened to Louis of late. Harry, whose eyes look a little watery and whose mouth turns down at the corners because he saw Duncan leave and knows how much Louis must be hurting. His lips move in time with Louis’, singing the words with him. Louis can feel his chest breaking open because here is this man who barely knows him but somehow seems to feel Louis’ pain as his own. Duncan’s not even here to witness his pain.

Oh, you oughta be ashamed of yourself
What the hell do you think you're doing
Loving me, loving me so wrong?
Baby, all I do is try to show you
That you're my one and only guy
No matter who may come along
Open your eyes
Cause baby, I don't like-

Louis’ voice breaks over the word ‘like’ and he watches as Harry’s hand lifts off his knee, reaching out slightly. It’s that instant inclination to comfort that sees Louis’ tears come bubbling over and his voice cut off. Suddenly he’s shaking like a leaf and Harry is on his feet, crossing the room and jumping up onto the stage in ten seconds flat. He pulls Louis away from the microphone and into his arms and Louis is too far gone to protest. He loses himself in Harry’s chest, clinging on to the silky shirt for dear life as Harry winds his long arms around him and squeezes him tight.

“You were brilliant Lou,” he whispers and my god, is he stroking Louis’ hair? “So good love. I’m so sorry. He should be so sorry. C’mere.”

Harry leads him down off the stage and over to the other lads. He cups Louis’ hips, his thumbs stroking across the back of Louis’ rib cage as he gently pushes Louis down onto his stool.

“Lou, mate…are you okay?” Liam asks, his face all twisted up with a frown.

Louis tries to smile through his tears but he feels it’s rather ineffective as he’s still hiccupping slightly. Harry’s hand is on his lower back, moving in soft, soothing circles as he stands just behind. Louis wants to tell him to stop because Duncan could come back at any moment and completely get the wrong idea. He wants to tell him to stop because his insides are getting all jangled up, his heart caught in a state of chaos as he tries extraordinarily hard not to absorb his sweet sincerity or at least not to feel it filling up the empty spaces of his chest. Yet Louis’ tears are slowing slightly and every time Harry stretches his thumb out to stroke the dip in his back, his eyelids lower a little and he gets a little pulse of warmth that radiates out from his navel to his extremities. His toes curl inside his TOMS.

“I’ll be fine,” Louis says which is as honest as he can be in his current state.

Niall edges his drink over to Louis, lifting Louis’ hand up for him and wrapping it around the glass with a sympathetic smile.

“Drink up mate,” he advises.

Louis humours him with a soft, grateful smile and then ends up choking on the strong taste of the liqueur which scalds his burning throat. As he coughs it up, Harry’s hand gravitates up to squeeze the side of his waist and he leans over, inspecting Louis’ face from close up.

“Are you okay love?” He asks, brushing away the stray droplets of liqueur that have dripped down from the corner of Louis’ mouth.

Harry blushes along with Louis, as though regretting using such an intimate and soft tone while touching Louis the way he is. Perhaps, more so, regretting doing it in front of the other lads. Louis nods silently and wills the heat to fade from his cheeks. Harry does his own awkward cough but drops his hand back to Louis’, turning to scold Niall.

“What the hell did you give him? He’s got a sore throat.”

Niall’s eyes bug out and Louis can only assume it’s something strong. He is Irish.

“Sorry mate,” Niall says, pulling the drink back to his chest and cuddling it close like somehow it might have been offended by Louis’ coughing it up.

“Idiot,” Zayn comments with a shake of his head.

He rolls his eyes at Niall but reaches out to ruffle the blonde scruff atop his head anyway.

“It’s alright, really,” Louis assures him, kind of soothed by the way this co-dependent group of boys are all touching each other in some small way.

Liam’s head has dropped to Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn’s combing his fingers through Niall’s hair with a concentrated frown, evidently trying to untangle the mess of knots that have amassed there. Niall’s foot is nudging Louis’ under the table and Harry’s hand is still squeezing his side. For a moment, Louis’ sadness beings to ebb and he feels a great serenity wash over him. Like if he just stays here with this group of boys, everything else will sort itself out around him. He feels safe with them. They’re the calm centre, the eye of the storm that’s brewing around him.

Then Harry’s hand falls away and he leans over to whisper in Louis’ ear.

“Just go with me on this please.”

Louis doesn’t have time to question what he means. Duncan’s shouldering his way in front of Harry to get to Louis’ side and he’s looking at Louis with all the rage and betrayal that Louis has come to expect in moments like these. Only this time Louis’ heart doesn’t beat slower with guilt and his eyes refuse to well up with solemn tears because fuck it, for once maybe he can admit that he didn’t do anything wrong. He wanted one night with Duncan and his friends in the same room and he couldn’t even have that. Duncan couldn’t even give him his attention span for the entirety of one damn song.

“Why are you sitting with them?”

Duncan’s voice is dark and menacing and he speaks as though the other lads weren’t sitting right there listening in.

“You were busy,” Louis snaps, only a slight quaver in his voice.

Harry’s eyes are burning an intense shade of jade green over Duncan’s shoulder and Louis gets so lost in the messages they’re trying to send that he doesn’t even think to intervene when Harry grips Duncan’s shoulder and spins him around. Louis knows just how much strength it takes to move Duncan’s thick body but Harry is still so much ganglier than Duncan. Louis’ horrified because Duncan has snapped for much less.

“You right mate?” Duncan bellows and Louis can’t see his expression but he can hear the angry snarl in his tone.

“I think you should leave,” Harry says quietly, his tone resolute.

Louis’ quiet gasp catches Harry’s attention and his eyes drift across, holding Louis with their determined glint. Then they they stutter back to Duncan who spits his response.

“You’re not fucking telling me what to do, are you?”

Duncan takes a step closer to Harry, their shoulders brushing and he’s only slightly taller than Harry but his whole body is wider and poised to fight. Ready to destroy. Duncan has never been one to hesitate or hold back and Louis doesn’t fancy Harry’s chances. Fear and a sickening sense of foreboding bubbles beneath Louis’ skin at the thought of a bloodied Harry Styles lying at his feet. No.

“Please.”

Louis’ voice is needling and breathless as he squeezes Duncan’s shoulder for emphasis.

Duncan turns to face him with incredulity.

“Please what?”

Louis looks to Harry who’s eyeing him with such feeling and open admiration that the words fall out of Louis’ mouth despite having not made his mind up. They trickle out despite the fact that he’s scared shitless about what might happen.

“Please leave. I’m not coming home tonight.”

For a second, Louis thinks Duncan will take a swing at him. His skin tightens over the sharp bones jutting out of his face and his nostrils flare menacingly. Yet all he does is blink slowly and deliberately at Louis, responding with gritted teeth.

“Why? Cause I had to take a fucking phone call? Are you that pathetic?”

Louis watches Harry’s face morph into that of an angry kitten about to scratch the shit out of someone. He’s all dark eyebrows pulled down low over swirling, stormy green eyes, pouty lips that still look soft even in what Louis can only assume is his form of ferocity. He doesn’t say a word in Louis’ defence but he doesn’t look far from it. In fact Louis can see his chest rising and falling quickly as though he’s so worked up he can scarcely breathe around his own anger.

That alone keeps Louis from apologising. It keeps him from giving in and helps him recall the kind of person he used to be. The kind of person who wouldn’t be made to feel a certain way. The kind of person who wouldn’t stand down from a challenge. Back then, nobody could get inside his head. Once upon a time, Louis had been too strong for even the most worthy of adversaries.

“I’ll stay with mum,” Louis tells Duncan, ignoring his question and trying to calm the panicked fluttering of his heart, “and I’ll-I’ll be back tomorrow I think.”

“You think?” Duncan echoes, mockery in his pale green eyes, as if the whole conversation is a giant joke.

Louis wonders if he’s making a fool out of himself by trying to assert his own feelings.

“I really think it’s time you leave,” Harry advises.

Louis watches Duncan’s jaw lock into place and decides it’s time to intervene but it’s too late. Duncan spins around and twists Harry’s arm up behind his back, pushing him down onto the table hard, somehow without knocking over any of the various drinks around him. The table shudders slightly with the force of the impact and Harry’s surprised, doe-like eyes stare up at Louis from the centre.

Duncan pulls Harry’s arm higher up his back and Harry grunts his displeasure. Then just as Louis and the other boys instinctively lean forward, Duncan releases him with a loud, awful sounding laugh before taking his leave. Louis barely waits for the door of the bar to smack shut behind him before he’s wrenching Harry up and pushing him down into his chair, hands fluttering up over his arm.

“Oh my god, are you okay? Harry, I’m so sorry. Your arm-“

Harry smacks a hand over Louis’ mouth in an attempt to cut him off. Louis’ lips brush against his palm as he continues with the apology vomit but Harry just inclines his head, eyes expectant. Louis gives in with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, cutting off his own speech.

“Stop it Louis. I’m fine,” Harry says assuredly, guiding his hand across Louis face to press his thumb to the point just below Louis’ eye, the other four fingers cupping his cheek.

Harry’s hand is so soft and Louis doesn’t realise he’s leaning into it until he notices the raised eyebrows of the other three lads. He pulls back slightly and leans sideways against the table, his elbow missing the surface as he tries to plant his arm there.

Harry cackles. His whole body shakes slightly as his eyes turn translucent and he flashes his pearly white teeth. His nose scrunches up and he rocks on his chair and it’s so damn cute that Louis can’t be blamed for the fact that his hand automatically reaches across and finally fixes that spiky, wayward curl.

“Wasn’t that funny hipster,” Louis teases with a small smile.

Harry is still laughing but he catches the edge of his thumb between his teeth, shrugging slightly to excuse himself. His cheeks are flushed with humour and he looks like pure, delightful innocence. Nothing like the man who almost got clobbered on Louis’ behalf.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says with solemnity, looking at each of the boys before returning to Harry, “I’m sorry he did that. I’m just sorry he’s…like that. I just-“

“You don’t have to explain mate,” Zayn says with complete calm, totally unfazed by the whole show of violence.

“Or apologise,” Niall adds.

“But I-“

“Tommo, mate,” Liam pats his hand where it lies palm down on the table, “just listen for once. It’s not your fucking fault. He was the tosser. Not you and certainly not Harry and look, don’t you dare try to tell me that it was a one off cause I know better. Really Louis, I think you need to leave-“

“Liam,” Harry cuts in smoothly, pressing a hand into Louis’ back as he leans across the table towards the brown eyed lad, “I don’t think now is the time and I think…Lou knows what he’s doing.”

Louis hopes the gratitude shows in his eyes when he turns his gaze toward Harry. Liam sighs his defeat and then pulls Zayn to his feet.

“Take me home,” he murmurs, squeezing Zayn around the waist.

Zayn looks utterly besotted with him as he quickly shucks off his leather jacket and drapes it around Liam’s thin shirt, planting a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.

“My pleasure.”

“Gross,” Louis moans.

“I want you to name your first baby Harry and the second, Louis,” Harry pipes up.

Zayn rolls his eyes and Louis allows himself a slightly muted laugh as he slides into Liam’s vacated seat. Harry’s head rolls to the side a bit as he regards Louis with softness, a smile slowly working its way from the centre of his mouth to the very edges.

“They owe us,” he stage whispers, a hand covering the side of his mouth.

Louis nods and turns his attention to Zayn and Liam who scarcely seem aware of the rest of the world. Zayn’s hand is cupping Liam’s elbow and Liam’s fingers are curled around Zayn’s hip, holding him close.

“We intend to collect,” Louis confirms.

“We’re leaving now,” Zayn sighs, feigning irritation.

Louis barely knows the guy but he can clearly see he’s blissed out, his fingers dancing over Liam’s leather clad arm.  Louis cannot even imagine how much Liam must be internally freaking out about this turn of events. He actually has a leather wearing, literally model perfect boyfriend who clearly adores him after no more than a few weeks. Turns out Liam’s complete lack of verbal skills around attractive men wasn’t incurable after all. Sappy as it seems to Louis, it’s evident that all Liam really needed was to meet the right guy. The guy who would be able to alleviate that imagined pressure in his mind. Louis can tell that Zayn is doing exactly that. He’s the right guy in every sense of that term.

“Bye love birds,” Louis and Harry say at the same time, their voices blending together seamlessly.

Louis chuckles and ducks his head, burying the tail end of his laugh in his palm.  When he looks up, Zayn and Liam are long gone and Harry’s eyes are searching his face. No, not searching. Discovering. They stick to certain places. The lines around Louis’ eyes. The corners of his lips. The fine dusting of hair along his chin. Louis’ breaths get shorter and shallower and neither of them breaks the silence. Neither of them disturbs the moment.

“That’d be my cue,” Niall announces, drawing his stool back loudly.

Harry’s and Louis’ shoulders jump at the same time.

“Night Nialler,” Harry says, sounding endearingly peaceful.

As though gazing at Louis is somehow akin to curling up beside a warm fire. Louis tries to ignore the sucker punch of emotion that comes with noticing Harry’s obvious reluctance to shift his eyes away from him.

“Good night,” Louis says stiffly, forcibly removing own eyes to smile dazedly at Niall.

Bad mistake. Niall is openly smirking at him, his eyebrows raised in high, amused arches. There’s a touch of knowing in his emboldened blue eyes that has Louis wanting to defend himself against an implication that hasn’t even been made aloud.

“Night,” Niall sing-songs, his grin lifting higher, his eyes drifting to Harry who is still staring.

Then he quite quickly and quietly disappears. Damn presumptuous leprechaun.

“So,” Harry says and Louis’ eyes snap back to him with intrigue, “Do you want to hear me sing Louis?”

Louis feels like a little child as he claps his hands together excitedly and nods his enthusiasm, bouncing on the stool just a little. It releases Harry’s unnervingly attractive dimples so Louis doesn’t feel too embarrassed. Harry nods back at him and then reaches across to grab his hand as he gets up. He squeezes that hand, his eyes burrowing under the surface of Louis’ skin to everything brewing underneath for just a moment. When he releases Louis’ hand, Louis’ fingers stretch out slightly as though straining to relocate that connection.

“Don’t move,” Harry says in a low tone, as though he were telling Louis one of his most precious secrets, the quiet heaviness of his gaze moving Louis more than he’d care to admit.

Louis bites down on a stupidly bright smile as Harry skips his way over to the band. Literally skips. This guy cannot be real. No way. He must be a figment of Louis’ imagination.

“Okay,” Harry says into the mic, “this song is one of my favourites but it’s also um, pretty pertinent tonight.”

His eyes find Louis’ in the crowd and Louis’ chest tightens. He looks even more beautiful with a spotlight shining down on him, illuminating the milky colour of his skin and the brilliant shine of his chocolate brown curls.

“Sometimes you just have to let people know that you’ll be there when they’re hurting. If they let you. Because you know, when you’ve never had that or you’ve never let yourself have that, it might be uncomfortable at first. When you’ve spent such a time denying yourself the compassion that people offer you, it can throw you off to even think about letting someone in, to even think about letting someone take care of you. But when you do, when you find it in yourself to forgive your inadequacies and to accept them for what they are, that person offering you a hand can be welcome.  And sometimes,” Harry directs a bashful smile down at his shiny silver boots, “letting them take care of you…it does as much for them as it does for you. This is I won’t let you go by James Morrison.”

When it's black,
Take a little time to hold yourself,
Take a little time to feel around,
Before it's gone.

You won't let go, but you still keep on falling down.
Remember how you saved me now,
from all of my wrongs.

And if there's love just feel it,
and if there's life we'll see it.
This is no time to be alone, alone, yeah
I won't let you go.

Say those words, say those words like there's nothing left.
Close your eyes and you might believe that there is some way out.
Open up, open up your heart to me now.
Let it all come pouring out,
there’s nothing I can't take.

And if there's love just feel it,
And if there's life we'll see it.
This is no time to be alone, alone, yeah
I won't let you go.

Won't let you go, won't let you go

and if your sky is falling,
Just take my hand and hold it.
You don't have to be alone, alone, yeah
I won't let you go.

Won't let you go, won't let you go

and if you feel the fading of the light.
And you're too weak to carry on the fight.
And all your friends that you count on have disappeared.
I'll be here, not gone, forever, holding on.

And if there's love just feel it,
And if there's life we'll see it.
This is no time to be alone, alone, yeah
I won't let you go.

Won't let you go, won't let you go
Woah no

And if your sky is falling,
Just take my hand and hold it.
You don't have to be alone, alone, yeah
I won't let you go.

Won't let you go, won't let you go
Woah no, yeah

I won't let you go, no I wont let,
I won't let you go, no I wont let,
I won't let you go, no I wont let you go.

..

“That was disgusting, you sappy little hipster.”

“Why are you hugging me then, you snarky, little tattoo artist?”

Louis can feel Harry’s smug grin against his shoulder and he won’t stand for it. He pushes Harry away with a purposeful glare.

“Pity hug,” he informs him.

Harry chuckles and opens his arms up, his eyes shining. It’s as though rivulets of green in every single shade have been woven together and then solidified just to create his particular eye colour. It’s a work of great artistry and Harry truly is the picture of endearing; standing there with his toes pointed slightly inward and this dopey grin fading in and out, so huge he can’t seem to maintain it.

“Pity me some more?” He asks with a wink.

Louis’ laughter rushes to the surface at the sight of this gigantic child. This muscled, long legged man-child who doesn’t wait for Louis’ consent before pulling him into a hug. He buries his face in Louis’ hair, messing it up completely and nuzzling his face up against it with a girlish giggle.

“Have I ever told you you’re absurd?”

Louis’ hand is curved around Harry’s jaw as he pulls away to inspect his expression. Harry’s eyes lower to his own and there’s still that twinkle in his eye; that mirth playing around the corners of his lips. He’s so beautiful like this and Louis has to remind himself just to breathe.

“Once or twice,” Harry admits.

Louis chuckles along with him.

“Lou,” Harry says suddenly, a pleading note in his tone.

Louis steps out of his arms with wariness in his look.

“What?”

“Would you please come home with me tonight?”

Louis’ breath gets stuck in his throat as panic turns his heartbeat erratic. Is this-?

“Oh no,” Harry clutches Louis’ shoulders, “not like that. Of course I didn’t mean-I just meant, what if you stayed the night with me….on the couch. Because like, I don’t think you should be driving to Doncaster so late. I’m sure your mum would agree with me.”

Louis hangs his head a little.

“You’re actually spot on.”

Harry laughs.

“So…”

“I,” Louis pauses looking up at Harry with a hint of a frown, “I-okay but just…we can’t-“

“Mention it. I know. Do you snore though? Because if you snore really loud and Duncan hears you-“

Louis hits him across the arm and Harry over exaggerates a wince, pretending to rub at the spot as he laughs outrageously loud at Louis’ disgruntled look.

“C’mon Lou, let’s get you home.”

…….

Harry is setting up a blanket and some pillows on the couch when he hears the soft sounds of Louis’ feet padding across the kitchen floor. When he turns around, Louis is standing in the entrance to the living room, fiddling with the buttons on his flannel shirt, his damp hair falling across his eyes and leaking droplets of water down his neck. The ends of the shirt gape away to reveal a tantalising triangle of soft looking, tanned skin that shimmers slightly with moisture left over from the shower.

Harry lets out a tiny gust of air as he imagines laying Louis out on his bed and having his way with that beautiful stomach. He imagines lining his thumbs up with the indents in Louis’ v lines and dropping kisses to his happy trail, swirling his tongue around his tiny, little belly button as Louis cups his hands over his mouth to contain a giggle. Harry has to shake away that particular train of thought.

“Lou, can you c’mere please,” Harry asks, tucking his hands behind his back like a waiter at a restaurant.

Louis’ eyebrow crooks up but he abandons his task in favour of walking toward Harry and seating himself atop the doona on the couch. Harry sits down beside him and grabs the towel that’s slung over his shoulder.

“You’re not very good at that,” Harry says, pointing his finger at Louis’ shirt.

Louis is even more confused now but when he looks down, he sighs, letting his shoulders drop in defeat. He rolls his eyes at himself. Harry chuckles.

“While most kids were learning to button their shirts, I was throwing tantrums over wearing socks.”

Harry chortles.

“Wearing socks is a problem for you, is it?” he raises an eyebrow, directing a meaningful look down at Louis’ sock clad feet.

Louis shrugs, a worn smile gracing his face.

“Duncan hates it when I go without socks. Says it’s unhygienic.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums and Louis looks rather nervous, eyes falling to his poorly buttoned shirt, as he sits there with his hands tucked in his lap and his feet crossed beneath him, “I see his point but you know,” Harry reaches out to tug on Louis’ big toe with an amused quirk of his lips, “I quite like the thought of you running around your mum’s house in Donny with your tiny feet slapping against the floorboards.”

Louis’ smile is quietly hopeful as he looks up at Harry from beneath his lashes, a sudden shyness to his look that makes him seem all the more softer; all the more irresistible.

“We had carpet actually,” he says quietly, his teeth just slipping out towards the end.

Harry’s laugh is a whisper of a sound. He’s unwilling to disturb this precarious peaceful moment unfolding between them.

“Here,” Harry says quietly, quickly undoing the entirety of Louis’ work on his shirt, “let me match the buttons up for you.”

He can feel Louis’ defiant, “don’t patronise me” glare, as he begins doing the buttons. However he’s focused on resisting the urge to slip his hands inside Louis’ shirt and lay his palms over Louis’ bare chest just to feel the heartbeat beneath.

“I don’t like you,” Louis says determinedly.

Only Harry’s seen enough by now to know that’s not true. Far from it. Louis is exactly the kind of person who has to be hit over the head several times before he’ll even think about admitting defeat. He’s not the type to give in to somebody. Not really. It’s why Harry finds it hard to fathom how he got to this point with Duncan. It must be destroying him completely to have to give up that side of himself. The side of himself that won’t so easily be victimised or bullied.

Duncan somehow got him where it hurts. Perhaps because Duncan was the first person Louis ever really let occupy a space inside his heart? To have the first person you ever loved and the first person you ever trusted hurt you that way, it would change you. It would explain why Louis clearly doesn’t believe in anything outside of his relationship and why he can’t see beyond his hurt to a better life. He’s never had so much as a taste of what a loving relationship could really be like.

“Good,” Harry nods his head, playing along, “because I need the pity hugs.”

Louis snorts. When Harry’s done buttoning the shirt, he starts on Louis’ sleeves, rolling them up to the crease inside his elbow. Louis’ watching him curiously but Harry refuses to meet his eyes, lest he be distracted by the way they change from one moment to the next. Unlike Harry’s, they don’t have one defunct setting, that is, scarily intense. Instead they evolve momentarily, reacting to Harry and the things he says with different variations of intensity. Sometimes they’re distant and evasive but just when Harry’s losing hope, the swirling blue stops moving for a moment and latches itself on to him. Like in that moment he’s the only thing that exists for Louis. It’s startling and stunning in equal measure and Harry has no clue what it means.

“What are you doing hipster?”

“This is Duncan’s right? It’s huge on you and I know your tiny hands probably get real cold,” Harry runs his hands back down Louis’ arms to clutch his fingers from beneath for a moment, “so you like them swathed in material…but when I make you eggs and bacon tomorrow, you won’t want your sleeves getting grease on them.”

When Harry is done rolling, he looks up and sees wonder in the small swell of Louis’ smile. It grows beneath his gaze.

“You really like looking after people that much, don’t you? Like some kind of curly haired fairy godmother.”

Harry shrugs, a laidback grin stretching his mouth. It might be true. He’s not totally opposed to a pair of sparkly wings and his own shiny wand.

“I like looking after people who can’t look after themselves. Or just people who….” Harry bites his lip, “just don’t know how to anymore.”

Louis is quiet. His eyes drop to his lap and he plays with his fingers, a thoughtful look crossing over his face as his downcast eyelids tighten slightly. Harry wants to know what’s going on in that turbulent mind of his but he doesn’t ask. Better to let Louis volunteer those things himself. 

Instead Harry picks up the towel and leans forward on his haunches so he towers over Louis a little while. He applies the towel to his hair and moves it back across his head, massaging a little while he dries. He looks down to find that Louis’ eyes have slipped closed and he’s rolling his head around to meet Harry’s hand, kind of like Hugh Grant does when he wants Harry to scratch a particular spot.

“All dry,” Harry says with a fair amount of tightness in his voice

Louis looks up at him with a question as Harry reluctantly pulls the towel away. Harry pretends not to see it.

“I should really get to bed,” he announces, standing up and throwing the towel over his own shoulder.

“Okay.”

Louis’ smile is sadness mixed in with wistfulness and suddenly those blue spheres of light are so transparent that Harry can see the lost little boy hiding just inside. It’s like watching a little version of Louis bursting into tears in the supermarket because he can’t find his mummy. It makes Harry’s heart muscle contract painfully in his chest. How can he leave him here like this? Looking so much like someone who needs to be cuddled but can’t bring himself to ask for it.

“Are you going to be-will you be alright….out here?” Harry tacks on at the end, losing his nerve when Louis’ eyebrows furrow.

Louis reaches out and knits their fingers together, swaying them slightly. His smile is whimsical, as though he’s lost in some kind of alternate reality where he doesn’t have to be averse to touching Harry. An alternate universe where touching Harry feels as natural as breathing.

“I’ll be fine. Just,” Louis’ head tilts up and his eyes reconnect with Harry’s, that rare intensity filling his expression with seriousness, “thank you Harold.”

Harry smiles and then swings their hands in the direction of the TV.

“If you want, you can watch TV for a bit. I’ve-I know you said you didn’t get a chance to watch the Brits. I recorded it. Red carpet too. You could watch that and there’s like, tea and chocolate biscuits in the kitchen if you want.”

Louis’ teeth split his smile.

“I should stay with you more often.”

Please.

“Yeah.”

Harry’s voice sounds scratchy and weird so he slowly backs away, pausing just inside the entry to the kitchen.

“I mean it you know.”

Louis looks nonplussed.

“Mean what?”

“I won’t let you go.”

Louis’ smile dims a little and his hand freezes on the remote.

“Harry-“

“Night,” Harry says quickly.

He hightails it out of there before Louis can go and shatter his hopes and dreams by telling him that they’re still not friends.

……

Harry wakes sometime in the middle of the night needing to piss. When he gets up to do so, he hears the muted sounds of the television still going in the living room. After visiting the loo, he wanders out to check on Louis. Harry finds him tucked up against the side of the couch, with his head nudging the head rest and cookie crumbs all around his lips. There’s an empty mug on the coffee table and he’s watching the episode of friends where Rachel decides not to go to France because she doesn’t want to leave Ross.

Louis doesn’t hear Harry and when Harry walks into his line of vision, he squeaks. Harry grins and then bends down over him, using the edge of his sleeve to wipe away the debris around Louis’ mouth. Louis watches him with a considerable amount of childlike innocence, like Harry is this mysterious creature performing some kind of magic on him that he’s never encountered before. It saddens Harry deeply. Louis is obviously left straining for this kind of attention when he’s with Duncan. He should be looked after 24/7. If Harry was Louis’---if Harry had the chance, he’d spend his days cooking for Louis and soaping his skin up in the bath.  He’d give him massages and play with his hair whenever he had a hand to spare. He’d worship Louis the way he deserves.

“Thanks,” Louis murmurs, his hand tracing his clean mouth.

“Welcome.”

Harry plants himself down next to Louis and Louis offers him a share of his blanket.

“If Rachel and Ross can make it work….”

Louis doesn’t even finish the sentence but Harry hears it anyway. Why can’t we? Louis just hangs his head against the back of the couch and looks at Harry with defeat in his eyes. Harry can see that for Louis, losing Duncan feels akin to losing himself. He’s not ready for it. He’s so used to being defined by this relationship that he simply can’t define himself without it.

“It took them ten years,” Harry says knowledgeably, “and that’s not even counting all those years that Ross spent pining for her when they were young. Relationships are difficult, especially when you’ve been with someone for a long time. It’s hard to know whether it’s worth it. I mean, Ross really hurt Rachel when he cheated on her and then there was all that time in between, the other women and the mixed signals. It was never going to be easy for her to trust him again but I guess…I guess in their case…Ross was willing to work for it all those years and to work on it in the future. He made mistakes but he-he truly loved her. Her happiness was so important to him.”

Louis’ forehead forms folds as his eyebrows draw together and his bottom lip falls. He looks on the edge of despair. Harry wants to comb his fingers through his hair but he vows to keep his hands to himself, at least in this moment.

“You don’t think he really loves me, do you?” Louis asks with dismay.

Harry wonders if Louis has ever discussed Duncan like this with anybody else. The way Louis is gripping the blanket so tightly in his fist tells Harry he probably hasn’t and Harry knows he has to tread carefully.

“I think,” he clears his throat, watching Louis’ eyes grow misty, “that it’s so hard for somebody else to say. I only know so much about what goes on. I know-I know he hurts you and I know you think it’s okay and that there has to be a reason for that, a reason that you think that I mean. There has to be some reason you haven’t given up. I think love is complicated. I think somebody can love you and still destroy you…because people are flawed. I think,” Harry exhales loudly and meets Louis’ gaze, head on, “I think somebody can love you so intensely but not know what that means. They can break you with their own fear of losing you. I guess….somebody can love you incredibly fiercely and still not be the best thing for you.”

There’s a shuddery tone to Louis’ breath.

“I like that you do that. You’re honest, so honest but not like you…like you don’t try and tell me things are one way or the other.”

“Because I don’t believe in that,” Harry plants his hand on Louis’ knee, “I think that everybody’s capable of finding their own truths. Especially you. Do I like to see you hurt the way you were tonight? No, not at all but if all you’ll allow me to do is this,” Harry squeezes Louis’ blanket clad knee, “then I’m happy with that.”

They smile at each other for a moment and Harry squeezes his knee once more for good measure.

“Lou,” he says with exaggerated horror, “you’ve got a tiny knee.”

Louis’ look turns sour.

“Shut it hipster.”

Harry chuckles deeply and grips the other knee too, leaning in and dropping his mouth open in exaggerated shock.

“Oh. This one’s tiny too!” He exclaims

Louis is still glaring but there’s a hint of humour in his curved cheeks. Like he can’t help but respond. Harry runs his hands up to Louis’ waist and nods, his head tilted slightly to one side, like a scientist conducting an experiment.

“Yes, miniscule here also.”

Louis’ cheeks are filling with pink as he attempts to batter down his amusement, biting down on the centre of his mouth to contain it. Harry is determined. He digs his fingers into Louis’ sides without warning and Louis’ laughter bubbles over. These high pitched giggles and squeals turn Harry’s insides to mush. He tickles the wriggling boy beneath him who half-heartedly pushes him away, too weak with laughter to do much about it. Harry claps a hand over his mouth to silence him and though Harry’s done tickling, Louis is still giggling, his body heaving with it. His warm breath ghosts over Harry’s palm and his lips brush over Harry’s hand with every breath.

“Shh love. You’ll give away the game,” Harry warns with a huge grin.

Harry is leaning over Louis now and Louis grabs his hand, tugging so that Harry falls down atop him. Louis’ arms wind around him and his legs hook around the backs of Harry’s own. Harry can hear his heartbeat in his ears.

“What are you doing?” He asks against Louis’ throat.

Louis squeezes him slightly when he answers.

“Pity hug.”

When Harry finally draws away, they watch each other with bated breath and half bitten smiles, eyes shimmering in the half-light provided by the TV.

“Are we friends Lou?” Harry asks hopefully.

Louis points at him with a cute head tilt and a devious smirk.

“I’ll think about it.”

Harry just steals some of the blanket back and smiles to himself as he directs his attention toward the TV. Half an hour later, he looks over to find Louis fast asleep, the blanket slipping down the side of the couch and his hair fanning out over his forehead. Harry stands and turns off the TV. Then he stretches Louis’ legs out into his spot and readjusts the blanket. Before he can even tell himself it’s a bad idea, Harry finds himself leaning down and pushing Louis’ fringe back as he brushes his lips across the smoothness of his forehead. He almost goes into cardiac arrest when Louis’ eyelids tense and his hand hooks itself in Harry’s shirt.

“Hippie,” Louis mumbles.

A fond grin settles over Harry’s mouth as he realises Louis is still quite unconscious.

“What Lou?” Harry prompts.

Louis tosses his head a little, his fringe falling across his eyes and making him twitch.

“Hippo,” he whines.

Harry’s hand brushes Louis’ hair back from his face.

“What hippo Lou?”

Louis pulls on his shirt insistently and then releases it. He turns over onto his stomach and buries the side of his face more comfortably into his pillow.

“Hipster,” he sighs with relief, as though the word had been very hard to retrieve, “be my hipster.”

Harry doesn’t know what Louis’ dreaming about or whether it even has anything to do with him at all but there’s no one else here to see him or to hear his thoughts and he can let himself hope. He squeezes Louis’ hip.

“I am your hipster.”

…..

When Harry stumbles out into the living room, he finds the doona folded up with the pillow placed upon it. He frowns and then looks at the time on the DVD player. 11 am. So, a little later than he intended to sleep. He had intended to make Louis breakfast though he supposes Louis wanted to get back to Duncan sooner rather than later, before Duncan discovered where he spent the night.

Harry doesn’t notice the box until after he’s returned the doona and pillow to the linen closet. When he comes back, he sees it lying on the opposite couch. It’s a huge white box with a pink ribbon tied around it. There’s a white note card lying beneath the ribbon that says “hipsters only” in slightly messy handwriting. Harry wonders what time Louis woke up because he clearly left and came back. He’s also wildly curious to see what’s inside. When Harry turns the note card over, there’s more writing.

You should have had one of these. Now you do. Thank you for the hospitality fairy godmother x

When Harry lifts the lid on the box, his mouth cracks open into a huge smile and he doubles over with laughter. It’s a Barbie camper van. The exact kind he’d wanted when he was little but hadn’t been allowed to have. It’s ridiculous and yet still the sweetest, most heartfelt gift anybody has ever given Harry. He returns to his room and hunts for his phone in his sheets. When he finds it, he quickly taps out a text, grinning all the while.

Harry: Hi Barbie

Louis: I am NOT Barbie

Harry: Louuuu

Louis: I hate you

Louis: Hi Ken!

Harry: You want to go for a ride?

Lou: Sure Ken !!

Harry: Jump in

Louis: I’m a Barbie girl

Harry: are you now?

Louis: I hate you. I hate myself.

Harry:  You passed my test…you can come play with the van any time ;) .xx

Chapter Text

"Are you going to talk to me at all?"

Duncan looks up from where he's quietly pulling clothes from the washing basket and folding them to be put away.

"What were you expecting me to say?"

Louis was expecting one of Duncan's extremes. Ferocious, unpredictable anger or tooth rotting sweetness. He was expecting some kind of response to the fact that Louis had not only stayed in the bar with Harry but also decided not to come home. He hasn't had the nerve to take a stand like that since the fighting first began and even then, it was nothing like last night.

There was never a...Harry. There was never someone there to pick up the pieces and assure Louis that he did the right thing. It felt like such a monumental moment for him that he was expecting much the same level of drama once he returned home. This silence is almost worse. Louis' hope was always the fact that Duncan seemed afraid to lose him, that though he sometimes screwed up royally and took it too far, he would always be willing to make up for it in his own way.

Now Duncan has spent half their Saturday together doing odd jobs around the house while Louis watched him out of the corner of his eye and waited for the fallout, one way or another. It hadn't come and Louis is currently going out of his mind. So much so that he's dared to ask, with just the slightest hint of attitude, for an explanation.

"I thought we'd talk-" about last night, Louis finishes in his head but then he realises how ridiculous that is. Whatever the fallout is, it's not usually a conversation. No, you need two people for that. "I thought we'd maybe spend some time together today," he corrects, "because you know I probably have to go and buy some new ink tomorrow."

"We've spent time together. You followed me around all day like a little lap dog," Duncan says, his mouth pulling up into that cruel, smug smile that makes Louis feel hollow inside, "trying to make up for your little tantrum last night."

"I wasn't-"

It's on the tip of his tongue. I wasn't trying to make up for anything. There's nothing to make up for. Duncan's hands have stilled and he's watching Louis with an expectation, eyebrows raised in insistent crescents that convey exactly what will precede any form of defiance. Louis inhales deeply and when he lets the unsteady breath go, he lets any irritation go with it.

“I just wanted to be with you. Properly.” Louis sighs and runs his hands across the duvet in front of him.

“Maybe you should have come home with me then,” Duncan says dismissively.

When Louis looks up, Duncan is tugging his black suitcase out from beneath the bed. Louis sits bolt upright, certain that his hair looks like it’s suffered the effects of an electric shock but not having it in him to care.

“Are you going somewhere?”

Duncan doesn’t even glance up as he lifts the entire pile of folded clothes from the bed covers and places them neatly in his suitcase.

“Conference.”

“But you didn’t say…you only just went away,” Louis swallows noisily, fear making his voice come out thin and strained, “surely they would have told you earlier.”

Duncan zips the suitcase up and then rests his hands upon it, leaning over it to look Louis dead in the eye, a cold indifference in his expression that wounds Louis deeply.

“I’m not going to explain myself to you.”

“I-“

Duncan’s mouth forms a grimace as he rakes his eyes over Louis’ body and cuts him off without a second thought.

“You need a shower.”

Louis’ mouth is hanging open but he shuts it, nodding his submission. His vocal chords feel too swollen with sadness to form words and what difference does it make when the person you’re talking to doesn’t see things the way you do? Louis ducks his head as shame heats his skin past boiling point. He walks down the hall to the bathroom, his heart contracting in his chest.

Once inside, his eyes well up and he feels the same kind of vehemence toward himself that he always seems to feel when Duncan reminds him of how little he factors in to every decision. He feels so meaningless every time that Duncan reinforces the fact that he isn’t worth an explanation. It’s not Louis’ place to ask because he’s constantly letting Duncan down. How had he thought his resistance, his night at Harry’s or even his consideration of the fact that maybe he deserved more…how had he thought any of that could change things?

….

When Louis emerges from the shower, he’s all cried out, feeling boneless and weary. He trudges into the living area to find Duncan sitting on the arm of the couch, bouncing his knee and looking agitated. His hand is curled around the handle of his suitcase and he looks to be gritting his teeth as he jumps up to face Louis.

“Finally,” he snaps, “I thought you were never going to get out. Opening yourself up weren’t you? Couldn’t resist. You’re so fucking desperate.”

Louis’ skin burns with whiplash. As if he could even think about touching himself in the state he’s in.

“Is something the matter?” Louis asks, walking toward him.

Duncan’s got on a white polo shirt and black jeans that cling to the angular shape of his thighs. Louis can see the traces of carefully applied gel and he smells like three different kinds of cologne. It makes Louis’ eyes water. He ignores the fact that Duncan never used to give two shits about how he looked or smelled for work.

For a single moment, Louis lets himself hope. Duncan waited for him to get out of the shower so he could say goodbye. Maybe even kiss him goodbye. They’ll kiss and make up and then Duncan will leave and Louis will….maybe Louis will see Harry. Maybe. A weird sense of relief at Duncan’s soon-to-be absence sets in at that thought but Louis refuses to confront the reason for that emotion.

The point is, Duncan waited for him. Duncan will pull him close in a moment and make it all okay. He’ll remind Louis why they’re still doing this. He’ll remind Louis why they have to be Rachel and Ross, destined to be together and not Ross and Emily, too messed up to ever make it work. Only ever destined for different paths with different people.

“Yes. Your mother called,” Duncan says with a wave of his hand.

“My mum?” Louis echoes, warmth flooding through his body.

He doesn’t even have to look in a mirror to know his expression has just lightened tenfold. He knows exactly how much he loves the woman who raised him. She knows him better than anybody on this earth and just thinking of talking to her alleviates half of the hurt he’s been feeling today.

“Yeah. She’s gone into labour.”

Louis’ tongue almost drops through the bottom of his mouth. His mum. In Labour. The Twins. Louis is going to be a big brother to two new little babies. His fingertips tingle as he imagines holding them and pressing kisses to their tiny faces. Then it occurs to him that he’s a long way off that. It occurs to him that he’s not where he needs to be.

“No,” Louis shakes his head in denial, his fringe shaking out over his eyes, “no, she can’t be. It’s not for a few weeks…not for-it can’t be,” Louis whines, realising even as he says it that he’s been far too distracted, distracted by….Harry, “I’m supposed to be with her. I was supposed to go down there and be there to take her to the hospital if Dan was at work. I can’t-“

Louis’ voice chokes off as panic rises in his throat and his whole body starts to tremble. Duncan doesn’t touch him. He doesn’t move to comfort Louis and instead tightens his hold on his suitcase standing up and lifting it into the air while he gets ready to leave. Louis has never felt so alone.

“You’re not going to—“Louis sucks in a huge breath to stop the tremble in his lips from trickling into his voice, “You’re not going to leave now, are you?”

Except Louis can see the answer right before his eyes. He can see it in the way Duncan’s light green eyes dart to the door, the way his feet tap itching to move and worse still, the way he avoids Louis’ hurt expression with little discomfort in his own.

“I-“Louis tries to take control.

Duncan finally reaches out and grasps his shoulder, squeezing gently but his expression is still entirely too blank.

“I had to take my car to the mechanic…it was playing up. I’m going to have to take yours,” he says without a hint of apology.

Louis loses it.

“You can’t,” he rasps, his mouth quivering at the corners, “my m...m…mum. She needs me. I need to get to her.”

“You can take a taxi. I can’t miss this conference and I need to leave now. I can’t afford to wait for a taxi,” Duncan argues, taking his hand away and edging towards the door.

“And I can?” Louis shouts, “my mum is having a baby. Two babies. My mum, Duncan. You know how much this means to me. It’ll take me forever to get there if I don’t drive. Surely you could just explain to your boss. I’m sure he’d understand because-“

“No,” Duncan shuts him down, “Louis, I can’t. I’m sorry, I really am but you’re just going to have to make other arrangements. It’s just a birth Louis, worst comes to worst, you’ll miss the painful part.”

“Other arrangements?” Louis is irate, “I can’t…do you have any idea…Duncan, please. I want to be there for the painful part, she wanted me there for it. I-“Louis’ tears leak out the sides of his eyes, “I was going to hold her hand. I was going to keep the girls updated.”

The fact that Louis’ now speaking in past tense is a strong indication of how resigned he already is to the fact that Duncan is going to leave and take the car with him. Louis knows how these things go. He had thought this might be different, that for once, Duncan might understand the emotional significance of Louis’ relationship with his family and just be there to support him. He had, for a moment, foolishly hoped that Duncan would give up his stupid conference to be by Louis’ side. He had thought maybe Duncan loved him enough to sacrifice something of himself for a change. No such luck.

“I’m sorry,” Duncan repeats, moving forward to kiss the side of Louis’ forehead, “but I have to go. Give my best to your mum. Tell the babes I said hi.”

Louis’ sobs are starting to overtake, his chest pushing out further and further with every weighted breath. His wet eyelashes brush his skin as he stares at Duncan’s feet, caught in despair.

“I will,” he says with a sniff.

Duncan’s hand moves across the top of his hair and Louis stupidly moves into the touch expecting more. Expecting something that never comes. Louis’ heart constricts as he thinks of the way Harry had so softly and leisurely towel dried his hair last night, like his heart depended on making Louis feel comforted and cared for. Duncan’s polar opposite. 

As soon as the door clicks closed behind Duncan, Louis pulls his phone from his pocket and dials Liam’s number.

“C’mon Lima pick up,” Louis mutters, his heart rabbiting in his chest as the dial tone continues.

“Hi, this is Liam’s phone. I’m not available at the moment but if you’d like to-“

Louis barely listens to the rest of the abnormally long voicemail message, too antsy and impatient to record his own.

“Hi Payno, it’s Lou. Please call me back. Please. It’s mum. She’s gone into labour and I’m supposed to be there, I’m supposed to be by her side and I—“Louis chokes back a fresh round of tears, “anyway, Duncan has the car and I just need somebody to get me there now. She needs me Li. Please call me. Please.”

Louis waits for approximately two minutes before he’s up and pacing again, tears melting down his face as he tries to magically come up with a quicker way to get there than waiting for a taxi and having the driver take the longest possible route to get there. He needs help. There’s no way around that. Yet thanks to Duncan’s possessiveness, his list of friends amounts to two. Liam and Taylor. Liam, who’s not picking up and Taylor who’s in Ibiza with Calvin. Two friends. Just two fucking-

Harry.

By the time Harry opens his door after a furious round of knocking from Louis, Louis is at his wits end. He’s wasted so much time. Now he’s wasting more of it standing in Harry’s doorway ogling the baby Tarzan that stands before him.

Harry’s usually spiky curls are slick with water and it elongates them, transforming them into long, dark strands of shiny hair plastered to the sides of his face like bits of silky seaweed. Others are forming loops on the top of his head, as if upon emerging from his bath Harry had swung his momentous brunette mane up and out of his face and into a quiff. Some are wound around his neck in a watery embrace, dripping fat droplets of water down his collar bones and drawing Louis’ attention to the very serious problem that is Harry Styles’ dripping wet, bare chest. There’s traces of suds around his wide nipples and he smells like Louis’ favourite raspberry lollies.

To make matter worse, Harry is wrapped in some kind of fluffy pink dressing gown that is adorably feminine and only makes the reddish pink of his soft lips more apparent. Never mind the fact that the robe is quite loosely tied at the waist and Harry is clearly wearing nothing underneath. It’s enough to make Louis’ explanation come bubbling to his lips without so much as a “Hi Harry, sorry to disrupt your bath.”

“My mum, my mum is in labour and the twins are going to be born and Duncan took the car. He just took it and Liam won’t pick up the god damn phone or call me back and I can’t—if I take a taxi, I won’t—I need to get there. I need to get there now, god dammit. I need to be there for her. I promised her, I promised.”

Louis’ tears overflow once more and before he can even think about batting them away, he’s being yanked into a tight hug and Harry is stroking over his hair and cooing to him. He’s acting like he wasn’t just standing there looking like a cross between an ad for topless waiters and a real life example of how males can ‘get in touch with their feminine side.’ He reminds Louis in part of a rock star turned heart throb; danger in the very swell of his lips but then in part of a curly haired baby prince whose whole personality could easily be summed up as; bubbles, rubber duckies and raspberry bath bombs.

“Lou, slow down,” Harry says to him, gripping the sides of his biceps as he pulls back to look at him, “what’s going on? Your mum’s in labour and Duncan has the car. Is that it?”

Louis nods, too nervous to speak when he feels like he just might blubber all over the pretty, undeniably handsome man before him. Harry wipes the soft fleece of his sleeve across both of Louis’ cheeks, drying the tears and giving him a soft smile.

“Just a bit hard to understand between the tears love. Between that and the habit you have of talking a mile a minute.”

Louis narrows his eyes.

“Well baby Tarzan, at least I get more than one word out every five minutes.”

"Baby Tarzan?"

A bemused smile graces Harry's lips and Louis only just manages not to blush fiery red. As is, he can feel two buds of warmth blooming at the tips of his ears and his eyes drop to Harry's swallows, still dripping soap suds.

"Louis?"

When Louis looks up, it hits him that he's suddenly a lot closer than before and his hands, his damn disrespectful hands, are stroking over Harry's moist skin, clearing away the remnants of his bath. Harry looks horrified, terrified or some combination of the two and Louis would quite like to swap his hands out for two new, completely obedient ones, thank you very much.

"God I'm so sorry," he whispers, pulling his hands away.

Harry catches his wrists and there's that smile again, that liquid green melting into fond.

"No, no it's okay," Harry assures him, "it's just....your mum?"

Louis slams his palm against his forehead.

"Fuck. Jesus Christ, I've got to—I mean I need..." Louis trails off, unsure.

He'd been so worked up before that he'd convinced himself he'd do just about anything to get to his mum before she had the babies but this is his family, this is his mum and Dan. The girls. The babies. If Harry meets them, it's almost like there's no going back. They'll be friends whether Louis admits it to himself or not and that's disconcerting. Why? Louis can't quite pinpoint why. It's just something about him. Something so...Harry. There’s this quality he has that gives Louis this jittery feeling inside and makes him doubt everything he's ever known.

"What do you need Lou?" Harry asks.

It’s with so much eager kindness and charm that Louis almost says "you."

"I-"

"I can drive you to Donny," Harry says with certainty.

"Um…”

Harry doesn’t seem offended. He just massages Louis’ shoulder like he knows exactly how much inner turmoil Louis is currently experiencing. Why is he such a sweetheart? It’s distracting.

“Hey, if you want, I’ll just drop you and go,” Harry says with sincerity burning in his kind green eyes, “or if like, you need a lift back…I can just go check out your old haunts. I mean, that would require you telling me what they are of course but hey, you can tell me on the way!”

Harry looks far too excited at the thought of unearthing Louis’ past. Not that Louis has anything to hide. It just makes him uncomfortable considering how unenthused Duncan had been the first time Louis took him home. He’d been so very uninterested standing outside the theatre in Louis’ school hearing about the first time Louis took to the stage.

Sure, back then Duncan had the heart to feign his interest but Louis had seen the blank look in his eyes that meant he wasn’t listening. Louis had felt his own enthusiasm and pride wane quickly in the face of that rejection. Like a flower that closes up its petals with the onset of winter and the imminent absence of sunlight.

“Harry, I couldn’t ask you to just wait for me like some kind of chauffeur,” Louis insists.

“I know,” Harry agrees, “I know you couldn’t ask. That’s why I’m saying you have no choice. Now are we going to leave or what? Those babies aren’t going to wait for you to get your shit together Lou.”

“My shit together?”

Louis’ eyebrows are somewhere up around his fringe, his lips rising too. Harry turns his nose up in a remarkable impression of his snobby mother.

“I can swear too Lewis. Now c’mon sir, your chariot awaits.”

He sweeps his arm out in front of him in a broad stroke and it’s the most ridiculous thing Louis’ seen all day. Here’s this twenty something man in a fluffy pink dressing gown acting like the driver of the pumpkin-turned-chariot in Cinderella, when it’s so obvious that Harry is really prince charming. Not that Louis is Cinderella….even if her dress would look fantastic with his eyes.

“Harry,” Louis shakes his head, his teeth poking through his lips, “you might want to get changed first.”

He tugs on the end of Harry’s dressing gown ties and Harry’s eyebrows furrow for a moment before he realises. He chuckles to himself and then dances away from Louis.

“Be back in a minute kind Sir. Please be seated,” Harry instructs him, sweeping his arm out toward the couch.

Louis rolls his eyes at the theatrics but he’s smiling like a crazy person so the whole charade’s probably a bit pointless. Harry emerges from the kitchen minutes later in a cute little grey blazer with a pink handkerchief poking out the pocket, grey slacks and a white, loose t-shirt. He looks dashing. However there’s no necklaces or patterns in sight and Louis doesn’t even realise he’s pouting until Harry pulls on his bottom lip.

“Why?” he asks.

Louis pushes his hand away but then places his own palm across the hollow in Harry’s neck, keeping his eyes at chest level so he doesn’t have to look at the rebuke in Harry’s eyes. He shouldn’t touch Harry this way. Not when it feels this right. So right it must be wrong. He does it anyway.

“You’re missing something Harold,” he says huskily.

“What?”

Harry’s voice sounds close. Louis looks up to find Harry has ducked his head. It brings their eyes into a direct line of contact. They’re closer than they’ve ever been but Louis has to ignore it. He has no choice.

“Necklace. Where’s your jewellery? You look too preppy,” Louis comments distractedly, circling Harry’s wrist and drawing his hand up across the tight fitting blazer.

“I—just in case,” Harry sounds awkward and Louis raises his eyebrows, “you know in case your family happened to see me, I didn’t want them to think I was like all…because you think I’m like—and I just wanted-“

Louis swipes his thumb over Harry’s mouth to seal the words in.

“Go get changed hipster. Patterned shirt, the moon necklace and hmm,” Louis points his fingers at the slacks, his mouth pulling up at the side, “leave those on.”

Harry’s smile is a little wobbly with confusion but he doesn’t protest and when he returns, he looks just hipster-y enough for Louis’ liking. Louis tells him so as soon as they’re on the road. Harry turns and runs a hand down the back of Louis’ hair, casual as anything, while he smiles and remains mute. As if that’s all he needed to say. Somehow it wreaks havoc on Louis insides.

“Tell me more about your family,” Harry says, eyes flitting to the left as he smoothly changes lanes, “you’ve only really told me the background. Mostly about your mum and Dan. What about the girls? How old are they? What are they like?”

Louis settles into his chair more, resting a foot on the dashboard and then quickly pulling it back when he realises himself. Duncan’s always telling him what a bad habit it is, how inconceivably rude it is to mark someone’s furniture with his shoes. Harry apparently has no such qualms. Without even turning his head away from the road, his hand extends out to still Louis’ thigh.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, “I don’t mind.”

Louis throat is rapidly swelling up with affection that he’s forced to bite back in order to continue talking like a normal person.

“Right, the girls. The girls are basically…my favourite people in this world. I mean in some ways I feel like they’re my kids because of the age difference. I used to help mum put them to bed and get them into their pyjamas. I spent years reading them all their bedtime stories and then being forbidden from leaving their beds because they always wanted Louis cuddles.”

Harry glances at him for a moment, a dimple making itself apparent.

“Louis cuddles?”

Louis laughs into his hand, using it as an excuse to hide his face from the intense side eye glances Harry’s giving him. He’s incredibly embarrassed but Harry just reaches out a hand and pats his thigh.

“I’m just teasing. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Louis nods and takes his hand from his face with a sigh.

“Mum used to call them Louis cuddles. It was like a form of bribery in my house. If the girls promised to get in their pyjamas and brush their teeth before mum or I had to intervene then they’d get an extra story and cuddles with me. For some unknown reason, it worked like magic,” Louis explains with a bemused shake of his head.

Harry’s smile is luminous, the sun reflecting off the berry flavoured lip smacker that gives his mouth just the right amount of reddish tint.

“They love you. You’re their amazing big brother, of course it worked.”

Louis buries his smile in his palm again. This time, more touched than embarrassed.

“Yeah…well, I mean…Lottie is the oldest, 16 and even she kind of looked to me for guidance. Recently she rang me up and asked me what to wear on her first, first date. I told her a turtle neck and the loosest trousers she owns and no bloody push up bra,” Louis recalls with a smirk.

“You did not!” Harry exclaims, looking at Louis in open mouthed horror.

Louis giggles and Harry’s mouth loosens a little, his eyes glazing over slightly. All the tendons in his throat tighten and he grips the wheel convulsively while he turns back to the road. Louis puts it down to the fact that a 24 year old tattoo artist who giggles and likes eyeliner is not something you see every day.

“I did,” he confirms with a chuckle, “and she told me where to go. Then she handed me off to mum and we both had a bit of a cry about it. I still remember when mum took her to get her first bra. I was disgusted at the time… and even more disgusted when she came home and announced to the whole household her bra size but then I guess there never really were any boundaries there. I took to being the gay big brother like a duck to water. I might not have been ridiculously feminine but Lots did give me my first eyeliner lesson and I felt honoured when she asked me to go shopping with her. Still do. So I just…you know. Like it’s scary that every time I visit, her hair’s a little longer and her make up’s a little bolder. Like she’s started talking about doing make up tutorials on youtube and I’m just scared. I’m scared of how quickly time flies and how I’m missing all of it.”

“Lou,” Harry whines and it sounds like a strange kind of plea.

Louis whips his head to the side. They’re stopped at a traffic light and Harry’s looking at him with a pained expression.

“What?” Louis asks defensively.

“You’re just— “Harry breaks off, biting his lip like the moment’s too much for him, “you’re not….you’re not her parent you know. You’re amazing but you’re not— like it sounds like you’ve been there for so much already. The fact that she would call you and ask what to wear on her first date…you know how sensitive that topic is for a young girl? She obviously trusts you and more than that, depends on you, knows she can depend on you always. There’s nothing wrong with you living your own life. Just as long as it’s the life you really want and I— “

Harry breaks off, chewing on his mouth furiously.

“You?”

“I cannot understand how anybody with as much heart as you, would let themselves be…unhappy. You have so much to give,” Harry says with zeal.

Louis’ skin feels tighter against his face as his mind fights against that particular presumption.

“I’m not…you know, I’m not this great hero or anything. I’m not some kind of…I just love my sisters. It’s not like it means I deserve…Harry, you can’t just…look, do we have to talk about this?” Louis says helplessly.

“No, I’m sorry. Please tell me more. Tell me about the others.”

Louis sighs and then shakes off the feeling of discomfort in his stomach.

“Fizzy is 13 and an absolute master of sass. I mean she’s me before I grew up and toned it down a notch. You’ll scarcely see her without her hip cocked and her hair flipping around the place. I’m actually a bit scared she’s got a whole queen bee thing going on with her friends but,” Louis chuckles as he remembers the conversation, “she assures me she’s a fair ruler over her people.”

Harry chortles too as he overtakes a remarkably slow car in front of them.

“A little version of you, hey?” He remarks, turning to wink at Louis, “sounds like trouble.”

Louis laughs delightedly.

"You could say that. Even the twins have their own wild streak though. More so Phoebe then Dais. Dais just echoes whatever Phoebe says really, even when she's not as into the idea. I know they're supposed to be like carbon copies of each other but I think Dais is really the more timid of the two. She gets her strength from Phoebe."

Harry's doing that "I've got a secret between my lips" smile again that makes Louis' mouth turn up too.

"Sounds like you've got a soft spot for Daisy. Playing favourites Lou?" he teases.

"How could you accuse me of such a thing?!" Louis feigns indignation, grinning along with Harry, "And with a new set of twins on the way?! Treason. Off with his head!"

Harry's shirt forms creases around his abs as he hunches over, giggling into his bicep like the child he is. Never mind the fact that Louis has been giggling a hell of lot more than usual of late.

"Anyway, you're right on the money. I love them both to pieces but Dais and I really have always had a special bond…which was weird considering I was never a quiet child. I was much more like Phoebe but Dais is just…” Louis runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he searches for a way to explain it, “I almost feel like I'm mentoring her sometimes. Like letting her know it's okay to stand up for herself. She's not got a whole lot of self-awareness. They're eleven now, the girls and she's just in this stage where she worries so much about how she looks or what she says that she doesn't enjoy herself as much as she should. Sometimes I just want to shake her and say "you're brilliant Dais" just so maybe she'd see what we all see."

Harry turns his eyes from the road to gaze at Louis, a contemplative expression replacing his amusement as he gathers Louis' soul with his eyes and weighs it in the palm of his hand. Louis can feel it at the base of his spine, the way Harry inspects every piece of him, identifying the tears in his soul and the scars that never healed, never turning away at even the rawest of wounds.

"I know the feeling," he says, finally letting his eyes fall back to the road.

Louis breathes a sigh of relief when Harry’s eyes release him but his words are still lodged in Louis’ throat, bothering him more than they should.

"Yes I mean you," Harry confirms, "you're completely oblivious."

"Harry," Louis warns him, trying to shake off the pleasant tinge of warmth that spreads from his toes to his cranium as he considers how much Harry seems to think of him.

"Louis," Harry echoes in the same tone, "just think about it. Surely it's possible that you have the exact same problem as Daisy. Maybe that's why you feel so connected with her."

Louis grumbles incoherently. It only makes Harry grin.

......

"I'm really nervous," Louis says, sitting there with his hands wedged between his thighs, bouncing up and down to the erratic beat of his heart.

Harry stills him with a large hand pressed to his thigh. It makes Louis jolt an inch forward in his seat as he hadn't seen it coming.

"Why?"

"This is the first time I've been there at a birth. For my siblings' birth. I thought it might be weird but mum was all "as long as you stay near my head, we'll be right. Please boo." But like, what if I'm no good at comforting her? And what if...what if the babies hate me?!"

Harry snorts at this which makes Louis glare.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I just...how could they hate you? Nobody could hate you."

Harry reaches out and runs his thumb across the side of Louis' strained temple without hesitation. None of Louis' friends have ever been so quick to touch…not like this. Maybe it doesn't mean the same thing to Harry. Maybe he's like this with everybody. He's different in every other way so it would make sense.

"Thank you," Louis' smile is off centre, "but I'm still nervous."

"You'll be fine. C'mon get up there, I'm sure your mum could use you."

Louis smiles his gratitude and then puts his hand on the door. Only, he doesn't move. Harry's hand brushes over the back of his shoulder.

"Louis, are you okay?"

Louis turns his head and then grabs Harry's hand, squeezing it gently and watching as Harry's expression freezes.

"Come with me."

Harry squeezes his hand back.

"Are you sure? I don't want to intrude or make you feel...I don't want to like...really?"

Harry looks nervous and endearingly flattered. Louis releases his hand and then opens the car door.

"Really Harold."

....

“Hi. Hello, yes, you…nurse lady. I’m looking for Johannah. Deakin, my mum. I don’t know how long she’s been in labour…no one would pick up their damn—like I don’t know if she’s gone to delivery….but twins—my mum.”

Harry squeezes Louis’ shoulder.

“Love, you’re not making any sense.”

Louis glares at him. Not as hard as the wrinkled old woman at reception is glaring at Louis though. Harry clutches Louis’ waist and lifts him up off the floor, turning and plopping him down behind himself so he’s free to step forward into Louis’ place. He ignores Louis swearing behind him.

“Hello,” Harry says in a deep rumble, letting his laziest, only half there smile wobble across his lips, “my name’s Harry and ah, this is Louis Tomlinson. He’s looking for his mother, Johannah Deakin. She’s having twins.”

The old nurse’s look of consternation melts away into buttery soft blue eyes and an abashed smile. She flutters her eyelashes at him as she gestures to the hallway on the right.

“Straight down that corridor, then turn left. At the end of that corridor is the delivery room. Mrs Deakin was relocated there.”

“Thank you,” Harry clasps his hands together and bows his head in a prayer-like gesture, “thank you so much.”

When Harry turns around, Louis grabs his hand, suctioning their palms together as he intertwines their fingers and drags Harry along the path the nurse set for them. Harry tries to crystallise the moment in his mind because it feels like one of the most transient, beautiful sensations of his life. He revels in the softness of Louis’ skin on his and the way their hands fit together so perfectly, Harry’s big paw forming a protective cover for Louis’ smaller hand. Harry’s stomach dips with emotion. Louis’ need is plain as day, evident in the way he holds on so tight, squeezing their fingers together.

“I don’t know how you do that,” Louis remarks, shaking his head as though confused.

Harry is equally confused and Louis’ not helping matters, dragging him along without so much as a glance behind to reveal his expression.

“Do what?”

“Make me feel like a useless idiot and then sweep in and save the day, all helpful and heroic.”

“Heroic?”

Harry’s smirking at Louis’ back, imagining himself astride a white stallion and racing to save Louis from grave peril. Although if this is fantasy world, he might as well go for broke and imagine a unicorn with braids that match his own and a propensity to meow like a kitten. As for Louis, his clothes have been stolen by a pickpocket and he needs retrieving from quicksand. Harry will of course, pull him free.

Suddenly Louis comes to an abrupt stop and Harry looks up to find a young girl with dark chocolate brown hair and pretty greyish blue eyes, standing with her hip cocked to one side and her arms crossed as she stares them down. Harry can only assume that this is Little Louis. Fizzy.

“Hey Fizz.”

Fizzy shakes her head, her expression hard and unflinching.

“You’re not going in there,” she says, tilting her head up so her hair falls away from her face before shifting her gaze to Harry, “and he certainly isn’t going in there.”

Harry tries not to feel offended. It’s much easier to achieve when Louis snorts and opens his arms for his sister. She launches herself at him and he plants kisses in her hair while she giggles and bats her hands at him. When Louis pulls back, Harry sees the crinkles around his pale blue eyes and the word ‘home’ in the warm set of his smile. He’s beautiful.

“Can I see her now?” Louis asks with an arrogant smirk.

Harry chortles when Fizzy shakes her head. At the sound of his laugh, Louis’ sister turns her eyes his way and raises her eyebrows, the picture of attitude and the spitting image of, well, Louis.

“Amused, curly?”

Dear god. This Louis miniature is starting to weird him out. Louis giggles which softens Harry’s unease, so much so that he smiles down at Fizzy and offers a hand.

“Yes. I’m Harry, Louis’…neighbour.”

Fizzy looks unsure for a second, sizing him up with a diagonal tilt to her thin mouth but then she smiles too and throws her arms around his waist. A teddy bear disguised as a pit-bull. Louis. Harry dares to guide a hand down her glossy hair and she doesn’t protest. Louis squeezes his shoulder and Harry’s met with turbulent blue eyes that contain a mixture of chaos and certainty swirling around the magnificent blue.

“Neighbour and friend,” he corrects softly and Harry’s heart trips over itself as Louis’ hand gravitates up to massage the back of his neck.

“Fizzy, is that my brother I hear?” a light, tinkling voice calls.

A blonde haired, blue eyed girl rounds the corner towing two slightly smaller girls, dressed identically in leggings and loose white shirts with their hair done in matching braids.

“Our brother,” Fizzy corrects as she steps to the side, rolling her eyes at Harry as if to say “can you believe this chick?”

It makes Harry’s cheeks dimple with an amused grin. The grin dims somewhat when the three girls stop just short of him, ignoring their brother completely in favouring of staring straight at Harry. They take in the 70’s style pattern of his shirt, his necklace and the fact that Louis’ hand is now resting lightly in the spot between his shoulder blades. Louis draws away and then rolls his eyes just as Fizzy had.

“You can stop with the staring, I know he’s beautiful.”

Harry’s head snaps to the left. Louis’ thinks-

“But he’s really not your type nor age appropriate and let me tell you, there’s not much beneath the curls and the pretty lips.”

Pretty lips? Harry feels he may have just died on the spot but-

“Heyyyy,” he complains, pouting at Louis.

Louis turns to him and squeezes his side, a wink and a playful smile sending Harry’s stomach into knots.

“Hello, I’m Harry. Louis’…friend,” Harry tells them, slightly unsure but Louis bobs his head, encouraging, “you must be Lottie?”

Harry rests his eyes on the blonde girl whose smile is kind and peaceable as she enfolds him in a hug.

“I know you’re falling for my brother,” she whispers in his ear.

Harry’s breath gets stuck in his throat and he tries to pull away but she holds him tighter.

“He thinks I need looking after but he does too. Look after him Harry.”

When she pulls back, Harry now sees something more than kindness in her eyes. Eyes that bear a startling resemblance to Louis’. There’s knowledge inside those eyes and real wisdom. She might only be sixteen but she knows enough of Louis’ life to know it’s incomplete. She knows enough of attraction and intimacy to know that Harry’s eyes aren’t saying “platonic pal.”

It terrifies Harry to admit it…to think about the way Louis’ name is painted on the backs of his eyelids, his every smile shivering down Harry’s spine and exploding into fire like some kind of reverse chill. Yet for now, all he knows is that something is happening inside. Something that involves the complicated man beside him who doesn’t know his own strength. Something Harry’s probably not prepared for. Lottie sees it. Louis’ sister sees it. Does Louis?

Harry nods his head just barely. Just enough for Lottie to know he got the message and that he will. He can take care of Louis platonically after all. He doesn’t have to be Louis’…Louis’….it doesn’t bode well for Harry that he can’t even finish the thought without getting a small rush of adrenaline. Not to mention that there’s now a running catalogue of increasingly sappy and delusional images filling his mind. As Lottie walks over to Louis, enclosing him in a close hug, Harry turns his attention to the twins.

“You’re-“Harry points his finger at the girl with the messy braids and a mild form of mischief in her mouth, “Phoebe.”

Phoebe nods then hugs him tightly.

“You’re much better looking than Duncan.”

Harry glances to his side to see whether Louis heard but Louis is caught up with Lottie, holding on to her shoulders and whispering to her quietly, an unusually unguarded look in his eyes as he runs a hand down the side of her hair and she answers with a watery smile. Harry doesn’t realise how long he’s been staring, entirely too mesmerised, until he feels someone tug on the side of his shirt. When he starts and turns back, it’s to find the other eleven year old, Daisy, smiling up at him.

“I’m Daisy,” she says quietly and offers him her hand.

Not a hug like the others. It’s not as personal but Harry can see that it isn’t a lack of kindness or warmth holding her back. She truly is just shy. There’s little pink ovals heating up her cheeks as she looks up at him, the mere prospect of shaking his hand obviously quite anxiety inducing for her. Harry’s heart melts for her instantly. He can see why Daisy holds a special place in Louis’ heart and he takes her hand, shaking it as gently as he can manage, smiling at her all the while.

“Nice to meet you Daisy,” he says, running a thumb over the back of her hand before glancing back at Phoebe who’s looking suitably miffed, “and you too Phoebe. Of course.”

“Harry,” Louis intercedes, grabbing him by the bicep and pulling him away, “we need to go now. Apparently mum’s real close but she won’t even let Dan in the room.”

Harry raises his eyebrows and allows Louis to drag him around the corner to a room with a white door and a silver plate titled “delivery.” There’s a sweaty, harassed man leaning up against it, knocking his head against the door as he runs his hands through his sandy blonde hair. From inside, Harry can hear some screaming and what sounds like a pretty intense argument. When the man hears their footsteps, he takes one gigantic step closer to them and pulls Louis from Harry, yanking him into a hug. He’s such a tall guy that the only part of Louis that Harry can still spot is the ends of his brunette hair.

“Louis,” the man sighs with relief, finally releasing him from his grasp.

“Dan,” Louis echoes, “this is Harry.”

He gestures at Harry but Dan only offers Harry the barest hint of a distracted smile before he’s grabbing Louis’ shoulders and pleading with wide, crazed eyes.

“Louis, you have to get her to let me in. She’s ready to push for real and I’m going to miss it. I’m going to miss the birth of my own children. Louis, please do something.”

Louis’ eyes have gone a bit wide and Harry can tell he’s feeling the pressure so he runs his hand down the back of Louis’ hair, squeezing his neck as Louis had done for him before. Louis’ neck unclenches beneath his hand and he takes a deep breath and then turns and approaches the door.

“Mum,” he calls out, pausing as he listens for any response, “mum, it’s me. Louis. I’m here. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner but I’m here now. Please let me in.”

Louis’ whole face drops as his plea goes unanswered and the screaming simply continues. Yet just when Louis turns back to Harry, looking for all the world, like somebody just knocked over his sand castle, the door creaks open behind him and an ebony toned nurse with frizzy bleach blonde hair and a wearied look on her face, pokes her head out.

“Louis?” She asks and Louis spins around, nodding his head excitedly, “Johannah told me to tell you you can come in but…” her sorrowful eyes shift to Dan’s hopeful face, “only you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dan swears and kicks out at the plastic bin beside the door.

Louis pats the side of his arm with sympathetic eyes.

“I’ll get her to let you in. I will,” he vows.

Harry gives Louis a comforting smile, just to let him know that he’ll be here and Louis’ eyes seem to capture the smile in a close embrace for a moment before letting it flutter away. When the door closes behind Louis, Harry notes that the screaming is now interspersed with some urgent chatter, some more yelling and then what might even be sobbing. After a couple more minutes in which Dan paces the length of the corridor and kneads his forehead with worry, Louis emerges again looking pinched and stressed. Harry moves to meet him halfway and his hand goes to Louis’ cheek, stroking the worry lines that bleed into his temples.

“Are you okay?”

Louis nods but looks undeniably touched by Harry’s concern. He pulls Harry’s hand away but links their fingers and pulls him over to Dan. Louis’ hand curls over Dan’s shoulder and when Dan looks down at him, his eyes fill up with tears.

“Is she-“

“She’s ready for you mate.”

Dan scoops Louis up in a hug, burying his face in Louis shoulder and crying unashamedly. Harry only just manages to save his hand from being squished.

“Thank you thank you thank you,” Dan chants, wiping his eyes distractedly as he pulls away.

“Mum said just you,” Louis tells him, “I’m okay with it, promise. Just go.”

Dan smiles at him and then kisses the top of his head before turning to Harry and offering a hand. Harry shakes it quickly and firmly, earning a smile and a casual hair ruffle. When Dan disappears inside the room, the screaming picks up, escalating into one long, loud uninterrupted scream.

Louis’ sisters appear from behind the corner and Harry somehow ends up holding Daisy’s and Phoebe’s hands while Louis tries to deal with the conflicting needs of his other two sisters who are both trying to have separate conversations with him. After what seems like forever, the screaming stops and the door flies open, banging against the wall. All six of them, including Harry, appear to be holding their breath and Harry can feel Daisy’s hand shaking in his. He squeezes it gently.

It’s Dan who appears in the doorway with bloodshot eyes and a manic grin on his face that stretches it wide.

“We’ve got two healthy babies,” he shouts and throws his arms wide, beckoning to his family which all hurtle towards him, knocking him back through the doorway with the force of their hug.

Harry stays where he is, toeing awkwardly at the floor, unsure as to what he’s supposed to do. This is a family moment. A Tomlinson family moment. He’s not a Tomlinson. He hears the sounds of the girls cooing and asking Jay questions as they crowd around the bedside but he doesn’t look up until he feels two hands tugging at his curls, forcing his head up.

“Haz,” Louis says, confusion and softness colouring his tone, “what are you doing out here?”

“I— “Harry’s Adam’s apple swells and he shifts his gaze past Louis to the doorway, “I’m not one of you. It’s not my…your mum doesn’t even know me.”

“Harry.”

There’s a weird kind of disbelief in Louis’ tone. Like Harry’s just said something truly heartbreaking when all he’s stated is the truth. Louis takes his hand and clutches it, their fingers bending into each other like they were never meant to be kept apart.

“Come with me,” Louis pleads.

Harry looks down at him and wishes he hadn’t. The last rays of sunlight are filtering through the window and coating Louis’ tanned skin in a warm glow that makes him shimmer and shine. His hair is all messy and soft looking and the blue of his eyes is like a melted down crystal, bleeding fondness, as he smiles at Harry. The edges of his jumper sleeve tickle Harry’s hand where their fingers meet. Harry just nods mutely because he’s not capable of speaking to Louis when he’s busy not falling into the spiralling colours inside his eyes. Louis tugs him inside the hospital room.

“Mum, this is Harry. My close friend,” Louis says and Harry’s legs turn to jelly.

He’s not even looking at Louis’ mum because Louis says close with a rough, wafer thin tone and he doesn’t take his hand away. He actually squeezes tighter. It’s only when Louis squeezes his hand a second time and tilts his head toward the bed that Harry is finally able to break his gaze. However the image he sees when he does so ruins his composure all over again.

A worn out but elated looking Jay is leaning against the head rest with two babies wrapped in identical green knitted blankets lying in her lap, one occupying each arm. She smiles up at him like he’s just the sweetest surprise she’s had all day and then quietly orders the rest of the family to give them a minute. Once alone, Jay beckons them both closer and then motions for them to lean down and look at the babies. Jay’s hand roves across Harry’s curls and he looks up to find her doing the same to Louis.

“Lovely to meet you Harry,” she whispers, sounding absolutely exhausted, “these are the newest editions to our brood. Doris and Ernest.”

Harry’s in love with the perfect bow of Doris’ lips who’s tucked in the blanket with the D stitched in white. Her mouth is small and rather sharp at the ends, just like Louis’ and Harry can see the perfect white colour of her skin and the dusting of fine blonde hair across her head.

Ernest has thick dark eyelashes that flutter as he sleeps and huge, chubby fists that look so adorable, crossed over each other and tucked tightly against his chest. They’re both tiny Tomlinson’s. They remind Harry of his favourite tiny Tomlinson who’s currently gazing down at them with wonderstruck, heart shaped blue eyes, his fringe falling across his face and obscuring his view slightly. Harry pushes it away for him without thinking about it, scratching Louis’ scalp a bit before pulling away. When his eyes drop back down, Jay’s looking at him with hope and wonder.

“They’re perfect,” Louis sighs and kisses his mum’s cheek.

Louis tries to pull back but Jay holds tight, keeping him in her embrace, just above the babies and murmuring things into his shoulder.

“I love you,” Jay says when they pull back.

Harry steps back slightly and neither mother nor son notice. He feels like he’s intruding again so he stands by the door, watching them like the creep he is. He can see the tears shining in Jay’s eyes and he knows it’s more than exhaustion. It’s her beautiful family and the realisation that they’re so undeniably blessed to have each other. It’s the two new little lives that she has to care for. Just two more children to love. Harry can see in her expression that this is what she was made to do. She’s a natural born mother and it makes Harry’s throat close over with hurt and longing. Why couldn’t he have somebody like this in his life? Why doesn’t his mother ever tell him she loves him? Maybe she doesn’t.

“I love you too,” Louis says and then presses kisses to each baby’s cheeks, “and I love my new baby brother and sister. You did so well mum. I don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s worth it,” Jay sighs, gazing lovingly down at Doris and Ernest.

Louis nods his agreement. When he reaches out to stroke Ernest’s tiny plum sized cheek, Harry can see the tremble of his finger. He can see the emotion building in his expression and the love in the curve of his muted smile. He’s overwhelmed in the best way and Harry is overwhelmed just looking at him. This captivating man with a disaster zone of a life who has this convoluted but incredible family behind him who want so very much for him to be happy.

It’s too much. Harry is so selfish. He shuffles out of the room, praying Louis doesn’t notice and ignoring the curious looks of his family as he sweeps down the corridor, gathering more speed because of the emotions that rise up, blurring his vision and blocking his throat. He’s so happy for Louis. So happy for Jay. There’s just a gaping wound inside him and he’s never felt it as poignantly as he does now, surrounded by a family that supports each other through thick and thin. A family bound together through intimacy and love rather than money or obligation. A family that made Harry feel welcome and wanted with hugs and kindness. He was only stuck on the outer because he’d been completely unprepared to meet a family like them; a family with so much heart. He hadn’t been able to let himself be completely enveloped by their warmth, too accustomed to the aura of iciness in his own home.

Harry’s eyes are closed, his head tilted back against his car in the carpark of the hospital. He doesn’t bother to stop the tears easing down the slopes of his cheeks. He feels like a prat for walking out with an explanation but it would be far worse if he had broken down in there trying to explain. He couldn’t imagine trying to tell Louis why watching him with Jay was both miraculous and torturous.

How could Harry explain that seeing someone look at Louis with gentle affection and touch him with such evident love gave Harry hope that maybe not all the corners of Louis’ life were filled with cobwebs and haunted memories? That seeing Louis with his family only made Harry more certain that Duncan did not deserve him. More importantly, how could Harry tell him the other side? That he wasn’t strong enough to ignore his own yearning for just a hint of that familial closeness he’d never had.

He has it with Gemma of course but Louis has so much. He has Lottie, the child who’s not a child, who just wants so much good for him. He has Fizzy, the brat who’s not a brat who so clearly idolises her brother. Phoebe, the outspoken sweetheart and Daisy, the gentle spirit who looks as though a brisk wind would blow her over. Not to mention Dan and Jay who need Louis almost as much as Louis needs them and the new set of twins who Harry thinks will fall under Louis’ spell just as quickly as everybody else. He fears they’ll never recover, although he might be projecting…

“Harry?” Louis calls and then sighs, relieved, as he obviously spots Harry leaning back against the car, “Harry… I just came down to—oh my god, Harry…you’re crying. Are you okay?”

Harry opens his eyes and Louis is rushing towards him across the car park. Harry catches him by the arms, steadying him. He wipes at his tears but they continue to run down his face, defying his wishes. Louis doesn’t say a word for a moment and neither does Harry, Louis chewing on his mouth as he brings his hand up to pet Harry’s curls. It makes Harry hiccup gratefully so Louis scrunches his hand in deeper.

“Harry, please,” Louis’ voice is rough, “tell me what’s wrong. I can’t bear this.”

Harry’s words come tumbling out.

“I’m,” hiccup, “okay. I just…you. Y…you’re…you’re like superman to your family and I’m, I’m so happy for you,” Harry reaches a hand out to cup Louis’ cheek and feels wonder flood through to his toes because Louis’ eyes are shining much too bright, shimmering in the fluorescent light of the carpark with emotion summoned only by him, “because you need that. You need to know that you are that…t…t…to somebody…to everybody really but I’m,” hiccup, “I’m just thinking…because your mum loves you so much. She loves all of you so much and I, I just wondered if my mum or my dad ever wanted me like that.” Harry takes a deep breath, “or if they ever even wanted me at all.”

Louis’ eyes widen and then his eyebrows tilt down, crinkling along with his brow. He looks like he just swallowed a sour lemon and he steps closer, their hips lining up as Louis pushes up on his toes and grabs Harry’s face, stroking along his cheekbones. He’s pressing his body against Harry so insistently that Harry’s back winds up flush against the car. He’s losing the will to fight the instincts shooting through his veins like sparks of electricity. Louis doesn’t stop there though. Suddenly he’s massaging Harry’s temples as he leans close and brushes soft, wet kisses across Harry’s forehead and the sides of his face, rushed and seemingly without forethought.

“Harry no,” he whispers intensely, pushing his lips against Harry’s absent dimple. “Don’t you think,” he kisses Harry’s other cheek and then the top of his nose, “don’t you ever dare think,” his lips are trailing down the side of Harry’s face and it’s incredible hard for Harry to remain stationery or to remember to breathe, “that you’re not meant to be here.”

“Louis,” Harry sighs, pushing him away forcibly, his tears having stopped the moment Louis’ lips came into contact with his skin,

“Oh god Harry,” Louis’ fingers are pressed to his own lips in shock and Harry really wishes he’d stop drawing attention to his mouth, “god Haz, I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Harry encircles Louis’ waist with his arms and lifts him slightly, bringing their bodies back into full frontal contact, looking down at Louis through a haze of emotion as he pushes his fringe from his eyes, “it’s okay but I-“

“It’s not appropriate,” Louis interrupts with miserable blue eyes, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why but I...I just…”

Louis appears to lose his train of thought as Harry’s hand comes to rest on his lower back. Harry scrunches Louis’ hoodie in his fist just to ground himself.

“You just…”

“When I’m with you, I forget,” Louis says quickly, eyes darting away from Harry’s the moment Harry tries to get a read on them.

Harry grips the material tighter in his fist, tugging slightly to get Louis’ attention.

“Forget what Lou?”

Louis’ panicked blue eyes meet his.

“Forget everything. Everything but you.”

In a romantic comedy, this would be the moment that Harry would crush Louis against him and kiss him into oblivion. This isn’t a romantic comedy and Louis isn’t his happy ending. Louis is a one way road to “it’s complicated, do not enter” and Harry is not looking for complicated. He’s not even looking for love for Christ’s sake. He’s always said that if it finds him, so be it but it would have to be with someone who wouldn’t change him. Someone who wouldn’t destroy the life he’s slowly carving out for himself. Louis is a one way ticket to the destruction of everything Harry’s ever known.

“I don’t know…”

“Harry,” Louis tilts his head, just gazing at him for a while before finally continuing, “I don’t know that your parents really wanted you. I don’t know if you being born was the best moment of their lives. I can be honest about that but you know what I do know? I know that there’s so many people that are happy you exist. Zayn, Niall, Liam, Gem and…me. You’re so wanted Haz, I promise and I want you to promise me something in return.”

Harry nods his head obediently and Louis bends his feet, stretching up to get his eyes level with Harry’s. Harry wraps an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

“I want you to promise me you’ll never wonder too much about how they feel about you because honestly love, it doesn’t matter. It’s of no consequence. They don’t love you in the way you deserve and that’s enough of a crime. They don’t get to take away your self-worth too. Don’t let them. My family loves you Harry. My sisters would all happily walk down the aisle with you tomorrow, much to my horror and I saw how mum looked at you. She probably wants to marry me off to you,” Louis huffs and Harry’s lips twitch. Louis misses it, thank god, “so from now on, if you need that unconditional love or whatever, if you want to be a part of it, you are. You’re an honorary Tomlinson.”

He squeezes Harry’s waist, a crinkly eyed smile spreading over his lips as Harry’s dimples reappear. Harry just tries not to melt into a puddle.

“Harry Tomlinson,” Louis says with a wink.

Oh god, is he doing that on purpose? Does he know what he’s doing to Harry’s insides?

“You’re not funny,” Harry says, tapping Louis on the nose.

It scrunches adorably beneath his finger. Harry doesn’t realise he’s echoed one of Louis’ previous texts. Not until Louis frames his chin with his hands and bats his eyelashes up at him like a complete menace.

“I’m charming though… right?”

Harry wastes no time in rugby tackling him, closing his arms around Louis’ waist and throwing the smaller lad over his shoulder. He tickles Louis’ side as he walks toward the corner of the car park, Louis’ legs swaying in the air.

“What are you doing?” Louis squeals between helpless giggles.

“Taking you to that wheelie bin over there. Gonna dump you in it to punish you for being so pretty.”

There’s an awkward beat of silence so Harry lightly slaps his bum to garner some kind of response. Louis giggles again.

“Harry, no!” Louis squeals.

“Harry, yes.”

By the time they get to the bin, Louis’ laughing so hard  that his breaths are coming out in these action movie like gasps that people tend to do after a particularly strenuous chase through the woods.

“You ready?” Harry asks, turning to lower Louis into the bin.

“No, Harry!” Louis whines.

“Yes, Harry!” Harry mimics, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Then he lets Louis down into the near empty bin and Louis groans.

“I’ve got yoghurt in my hair. Yoghurt Harold. Get me the fuck out!”

Harry’s peal of laughter is long and loud but he pulls Louis from the bin and plants him on his feet. His laughter only gains momentum because of the look on Louis’ face and the smell of the strawberry yoghurt that’s stretching between the ends of his hair, lumps of raw strawberry dotted in between. There’s one tiny droplet of the stuff on his lip. Louis glares at him balefully until Harry pulls him close by the arm and brings his thumb to Louis’ mouth.

“What are you-“

Harry puts his pointer finger just inside Louis’ mouth to prevent him from moving his lips and Louis’ whole body stiffens.

“Just don’t move your lips or else you’ll end up with it in your mouth,” Harry advises and then brushes away the droplet, his finger memorising every dip and moisture filled line in Louis’ bottom lip.

“Thank you,” Louis says and then collects half of the yoghurt from his hair and wipes it down Harry’s cheek, “you prat.”

Harry’s not even bothered. He just grins stupidly at Louis and makes a funny face. Louis chuckles and then crosses his eyes, poking his cute little tongue out too.

“You have a cute tongue,” Harry mumbles.

He claps a hand over his mouth instantly as he realises his mistake. Louis stares at him for a moment and then erupts into raucous laughter.

“You’re a weird guy. You have a cute…” Louis’ eyes trail up and down his body for a few times before he pushes his pointer finger into Harry’s cheek, “dimple.”

The dimple deepens.

“Shall we go back?” Harry gestures towards the hospital.

Louis shakes his head, still smiling and looking fairly content.

“Nah. I’m going to come back tomorrow. Once I noticed you were gone, I figured it was time to leave anyway because mum was absolutely knackered. Got to bring the new art work that I did for the babies’ room tomorrow. I forgot it in the rush.”

Harry tampers down his smile by 50% but he knows it’s still disturbingly fond.

“Okay big brother, let’s get you home,” he says, tugging Louis back towards the car by the hand.

“So you can make me dinner?”

Louis’ mouth is quirked in a mischievous smile and his eyes sparkle with humour. Harry just runs his thumb along Louis’ knuckles and lets sincerity colour his tone, enjoying the way Louis’ pupils change size in response.

“So I can make you dinner,” he confirms.

…….

“Sit.”

Harry pushes him down into a chair at the dining room table and Louis just as quickly rebounds out of it.

“Sit,” Harry repeats, this time with a disturbing amount of emphasis.

Louis jumps up again.

“Do you ever do anything people tell you to do?” Harry huffs.

Then his expression freezes in place and Louis is confused for a moment before…Duncan. He does what Duncan tells him to do.

“Nope,” Louis says, beaming up at Harry and feigning ignorance.

“C’mon then.”

Harry pulls him into the kitchen and then before Louis can even think about snacking on whatever organic, hipster food Harry probably has in his kitchen, he’s being hoisted up onto the counter by the waist. He ignores the way his body thrills to the touch, too much affected by the way Harry manhandles him.

“You enjoy picking me up, don’t you?” Louis accuses.

Harry points to the exact point where Louis’ lips have betrayed him, lifting up at the sides.

“You enjoy being picked up, don’t you?”

“You drive me crazy Styles.”

“You drive me craaaaaazy,” Harry sings in a deep rumble, placing his heavy palms on Louis’ thighs and squeezing gently.

Louis’ inner thighs burn, wanting for Harry to spread his fingers. They have a mind of their own. It’s got nothing to do with Louis.

“Don’t sing Britney,” Louis discourages, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“But,” Harry pouts and leans closer, finally spreading his fingers out and dissolving Louis’ nerve endings in the process, “baby…one more time?”

There’s someone kicking a football around Louis’ insides. That’s the only logical explanation for this topsy-turvy feeling that makes him feel as though his stomach is being launched up and over a series of waves, rising and dipping and making Louis’ head feel fuzzy. Baby. It’s a song, no need to read anything into it.

“You’re hilarious,” Louis says with no inflection.

Harry takes this as permission to get closer, wrapping his hands around the sides of Louis’ thighs now and squeezing the backs of them. Then he lifts Louis off the counter and suddenly his palms are covering Louis’ bum as he pulls Louis against his stomach and Louis is left with no choice but to wrap his legs around Harry’s waist. This is wrong, so wrong but he feels small in the best way and Harry is spinning him around, throwing his head back to expose his creamy throat and singing at the top of his lungs.

“I’m not a girrrrrrl, not yet a woman!”

Louis buries his embarrassingly feminine giggle in Harry’s shoulder but Harry’s hand finds the back of his hair. He can feel Harry’s fond smile even though he can’t see it so he lets his laughter burst free for a moment. He follows it by beating Harry’s chest and begging to be let down. Harry places him back on the counter and then leans in, placing his palms on either side of Louis’ waist, biting his lip and looking somehow sexy and self-conscious at the same time. Christ.

“Problem hipster?”

“Are you having fun? Am I,” Harry coughs, “you know…good company?”

Louis’ cheesy smile is entirely the fault of those weepy green eyes that just beg to be reassured. Louis likes this side of Harry. So soft and pliable. So…needy.

“Just fine,” Louis promises, pushing Harry’s curls back so he looks less like a crestfallen poodle.

“You touched my curls a lot today,” Harry says with a head tilt, his hair flopping over his cheeks.

“You touched my hair a lot today,” Louis counters.

Harry’s fingers slide across his cheek and into the side of his hair, massaging his head.

“I like touching your hair.”

Harry looks nervous when his eyes jump to Louis’. There’s a chaotic beat to the fluttering of eyelashes and a patchy pink colour stealing over the creaminess of his cheeks. That’s not to mention the way he leans ever so subtly away, expecting rejection. Louis doesn’t pull him back even if his skin is begging for just that.

“I like touching yours too,” Louis admits with a swollen heart.

Their eyes pass over and through each other’s for a beat too long and Louis just wishes he could tell his entire body to settle but it won’t. It’s just Harry, he tells it but suddenly the name Harry has this heavy, meaningful connotation that it never had before now. Harry Styles is messing him up royally and for no reason that Louis can hope to decipher.

“Right, food,” Harry announces, slapping his hands against his thighs.

He’d changed into a loose pair of jeans as soon as they’d got back while Louis had disappeared into his flat to shower away the sticky yoghurt in his hair. The looseness of the jeans does nothing for the killer pair of legs Harry has but when Harry turns to root through his cupboard, they fall just slightly to expose the top of his briefs and the start of the precious curve that belongs to his tiny, pert bum.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Louis panics.

“What? I wasn’t-“

“You’re thinking I’m probably going to make you some organic, freakishly healthy dish that tastes like bird food.”

Louis breathes an inward sigh of relief.

“Well-“

“I’m just going to do pasta,” Harry holds up a packet of noodles and shakes a jar of ready-made sauce, “but be warned, I am going to cook for you proper at some point.”

“And what does that involve?”

“A tiny tattoo artist for an assistant.”

Harry is now smirking at him from the bench beside him. He’s fiddling with the knobs on the hot plate and filling a saucepan with a splash of oil. Louis pretends to look around the kitchen, lifting up the tea towel beside him and inspecting the space beneath it.

“Sorry, don’t see any tiny tattoo artists anywhere.”

“You’re tiny Lou. I could fit you in my little pocket,” Harry says with a wink.

Louis rolls his eyes.

“You top don’t you?”

Harry’s smile dims and he turns to the fridge, foraging through it for a few moments before reappearing with a packet of beef mince.

“I-is this appropriate?” Harry asks, a confused set of wrinkles spanning the space of his brow.

Louis shrugs. Maybe his defences have receded too much. Maybe it’s the babies and his mum making him go all soft. Or maybe it’s just Harry. Maybe it’s just that he really does forget that there’s a whole world outside of this one when he’s staring into the never ending green of Harry’s eyes.

“I top…yes,” Harry admits, “I’ve bottomed before but it was…”

Harry flips his hand from side to side in a gesture that Louis takes to mean ‘so and so.’

“Knew it,” Louis says, “you like smaller boys, don’t you?”

Harry looks a little put off by the conversation and Louis wonders if he might have taken it too far but Harry just dumps the mince in the pot and then moves to lift Louis off the counter. He pauses just before doing so.

“May I?” He asks, his eyelashes beating down against his cheeks fast.

His eyelids drop, the small crescents of green that lie beneath focused intently on Louis. Louis nods. Harry lifts him off the counter and places him on the floor but doesn’t take his hands away like Louis expects. Instead he runs his hands down Louis’ waist to his hips and then back up, almost to his armpits, lifting him back up onto the counter immediately after.

“I like that,” he exhales, breaking up the meat with a wooden spoon while avoiding Louis’ eyes.

 Louis’ own are glued to his face, analysing his locked jaw and the stuttering jump of his pupils.

“What?”

“I like…” Harry looks up at the far corner of the ceiling as he answers, “small waists…small chests. My palms could probably span the entire width of your chest.”

Harry says it like it’s an intellectual fact. Like it’s something interesting that just occurred to him. Louis must be insane. His heart races and his nipples pebble beneath the softness of his jumper because he can’t help imagining Harry’s hands on him.

You drive me crazy, Styles

……

“You’ve got a bit of…just here. The side of your mouth. Here, let me get it.”

Harry rubs at the corner of his lip, wiping away the sauce spatter before sucking his thumb into his mouth. Louis’ stomach jumps.

“You’re disgusting.”

Harry grins.

“Perhaps but you have to admit, it tastes good.”

Me or the sauce?

Not you, you dickhead.

“It’s mediocre at best,” Louis lies, drawing his tongue in a full circle around his mouth to get anything else he might have missed.

It makes Harry laugh but not boisterously. Not that chesty, hacking cough-laugh. Instead it’s low and weirdly seductive, like he took a class in sexy laughter. Lesson one, tilt your head back just enough to expose a throat that’s begging to be kissed. Lesson two, let your eyes slip closed and a quiet, breathy chuckle slip out. Lesson three, you will have surely ruined everybody else in the room by this point so your work is done.

Louis hates people like that. People who are so effortlessly attractive that it hurts him just to look at them. Harry’s long legs are folded beneath him on the couch and his curls fall in soft waves around his face as he watches Louis watching him, seemingly content. As though the whole moment isn’t bursting with this weird tension. Maybe that’s just Louis.

“I should probably go.”

Harry nods but he’s smiling, his full lips twitching with humour. He gets up and then drops down into a crossed legged position on the floor, fiddling with the DVD player. He flaps his knees like a child as his other hand reaches out to scratch Hugh Grant whose head is nudging his knee.

When Hugh Grant gets more insistent and starts mewling, Harry leans down and rubs his face all across the kitten’s. He whispers something indecipherable to Louis and then plants a soft kiss on the top of the cockroach’s head. This only makes said cockroach purr louder, seeking more attention from his beloved father. Louis wants to cry. Nobody can be that adorable by accident. Not that he’s thinking about Harry. He meant the furry cockroach with the fishy breath and sandpaper tongue. Truly, so…adorable.

“What are you going to do?” Louis asks against his better judgement.

Harry twists his body to face him, a smirk running over his lips, like he expected Louis to ask exactly that. Louis hates himself.

“Watch friends. Maybe make myself a hot chocolate or,” Harry bites his lip and Louis spots the growing glimmer of humour in his eye, “maybe some tea.”

Louis’ voice comes out pathetically whiny.

“With biscuits?”

Harry nods and his whole body is trembling with laughter. Louis pretends it isn’t happening.

“What season of friends?”

“The one where Ross and Rachel…you know,” Harry answers with a grin as he waggles his eyebrows.

Louis’ eyes light up.

“That’s the name of the episode!”

“I know,” Harry says, looking impressed with himself.

“Good god,” Louis mutters to himself before raising his voice, “Styles, I’m staying okay. That a problem?”

Harry shakes his head and then turns on the television, swapping it over to the DVD channel and pressing play on the remote. He then hurries off into the kitchen to prepare a hot chocolate for himself and tea for Louis. When he comes back and pushes the tea into Louis’ hand, Louis pouts up at him with puppy dog eyes.

“Biscuits? You said biscuits.”

Harry rolls his eyes but his expression tells Louis there’s nothing he’d rather be doing than looking after him. He’s Mr-Fix-It and if he thinks he can fix everything that’s wrong with Louis’ life with a night like this, well Louis’ not going to tell him he can’t just yet. Besides which, being around Harry is rather like taking a sedative. When Louis’ with him, the background noise and the chaos of his situation; all the associated anxiety, hurt and anger just fades away. Louis feels at peace.

“Thank you,” Louis sings when Harry dumps the sweet biscuits in his lap.

Harry pulls the throw blanket off the back off the couch and offers it to Louis who takes it and then tries to spread it over them both. However it’s rather short.

“C’mere,” Louis beckons to Harry, “it won’t reach.”

So Harry scoots over on the couch and Louis takes the opportunity to throw his legs over Harry’s lap, covering them both with the blanket before leaning his head back against the head rest.

“Tired?” Harry asks, ignoring the TV completely.

Louis nods and Harry responds by running his fingers through the front of Louis’ hair, drawing a low whine from his throat.

“Can I ask…something?” Harry says, pulling his hand away but placing it on Louis’ ankle instead.

Louis’ feeling rather relaxed so he nods.

“Why wasn’t Duncan with you today? You said he took the car? I thought you had your own car.”

Louis’ whole face tightens at the mention of his boyfriend. He doesn’t like to think about him when he’s with Harry. Harry’s presence just alleviates that pressure in Louis’ mind, that voice that’s constantly criticising him and urging him to be better for Duncan. When Harry looks at him, he ceases to feel that same worthlessness.

“I…we do. Have separate cars I mean…but Duncan had to take his to the mechanic and he had to go away for his…job and-“

“You don’t sound too sure about that?” Harry asks with raised eyebrows.

There’s no presumption there. There’s no assumption that something untoward must be going on and that Louis must leave Duncan. There’s just a question and whatever answer Louis feels comfortable giving.

“It’s just,” Louis struggles to compose himself for a moment, “he goes away so much,” his voice breaks a little, “and I don’t know. I just—never mind. I can’t, I can’t talk to you about this.”

Harry rubs Louis’ shoulder beneath the blanket, his eyes boring into Louis’ with such strength that Louis wonders if Harry’s afraid of anything at all. Then he quickly recalls Harry’s breakdown from earlier that night. Harry’s afraid that his parents are right about him and that people won’t want him. He’s afraid they’ll regret him just like his parents seem to.

“You can Lou. You can tell me anything.”

Louis pulls Harry’s hand off his shoulder but squeezes it to soften the blow. He really needs to start establishing a strict no-inappropriate-touching policy. Perhaps no touching at all. The problem is that the more Harry touches him, the more Louis wants Harry to touch him.

“I can’t Haz. It’s not…it’s between me and Duncan.”

Harry looks wounded and he turns his head to the TV, sighing quietly. Louis doesn’t think Harry even realises he’s done so. He just looks…crestfallen. Perhaps because of how far they’ve come in just one day. They were so intimate with each other, the barriers that existed before today falling away in the midst of the emotional atmosphere. Now those barriers are back in place and Harry’s face is all scrunched up with displeasure or deep thought. Perhaps both.

“Harry.”

Harry turns his head instantly when he hears the soft tone of Louis’ voice.

“I’m sorry we can’t—I’m sorry that I can’t be close to you.”

Louis’ not sure what he’s even saying with that, whether he’s letting Harry know that they can’t be friends or whether he’s simply letting him know that they can’t be friends the way they’d both perhaps like to. Harry seems to deduce something from it though because he nods, smiling a touch wistfully before turning back to the TV.

Louis watches him for ten minutes, waiting for a comment or a smile. Any sign that they’re still connected somehow. Louis needs it. He’s not sure why but he needs Harry’s warmth. The idea that he needs Harry himself is terrifying, especially when Harry looks so determined to respect Louis’ wishes and keep his distance.

Louis turns on his side to watch the TV, curling his legs up slightly and bringing his fists up to rest beneath his chin, kind of like Ernest had today at the hospital. Louis feels Harry’s hand on his thigh and he can’t help the small pulse of relief. They’re still something. Maybe not what it felt like they were becoming all day long but…something, something that makes Louis’ lips arc higher as Harry begins to run his hand up and down Louis’ thigh, comforting him without any intent to do so.

……

Harry wakes up to something tickling his nose and his mouth. Hugh Grant must be sleeping on his face again. He really wishes he’d stop doing that. A face full of cat bum is not the ideal way to wake up in the morning. He shudders to think what he must be breathing in. Except when he opens his eyes, it’s to brown fur instead of grey. Brown hair. Oh.

Harry’s lips and nose are buried in the top of Louis’ messy brown hair where it rests against the head rest. As wakefulness washes over him, he becomes distinctly aware of just how perilous the current situation is. His arm is slung over Louis’ waist and his hand stretches up towards Louis’ chest, his palm lying flat in the centre of his pectorals. Louis’ tiny fingers are clinging to Harry’s palm, holding it there.

Harry’s other arm is resting just beneath Louis’ head and Louis’ body is bent slightly. It curves into Harry’s, meaning that his plump, deliciously ample bum is pushed right up against Harry’s crotch. Right up against his morning wood to be exact. If Harry moves one inch, his dick will most certainly rub against the seam of Louis’ bum and Harry’s not sure he can handle that. He’s not sure he won’t cream his briefs like a randy teenage boy if that happens.

Louis’ breaths are too deep for him to be awake but it doesn’t lesson Harry’s anxiety that he will wake up at any moment and feel Harry’s thickness pushing up against his arse, most definitely coming to the wrong conclusion. Well, partly wrong. Harry can’t deny that his semi is now fully hard and that he’s having to concentrate really hard on not thrusting.

The only distraction from his thoughts comes when Louis sighs in his sleep and squeezes Harry’s hand where it lies on his chest. Harry’s whole body tingles with contentment. It’s like the feeling you get when you slip into a hot spa or a bubble bath and that warmth seeps into your bones, stealing over your skin as you shudder with pleasure.

Harry doesn’t know how they wound up like this. He remembers turning off the TV when Louis had fallen asleep but he’d been going to wake him or at least depart to his own bed, really he had. He’d just hesitated, resting his head back against the couch and watching Louis’ eyelids tense and then smooth out. Watching him as he fisted the blanket and rolled onto his side, rubbing his head against the pillow Harry retrieved.

Next thing he knew, he woke up like this, wrapped around Louis, seemingly sheltering him from the rest of the world with his body. The fact of the matter is that it feels good. It feels right to have his legs tangled up in Louis’ with Louis holding onto his hand like his life depends on it. Harry’s not able to deny the fact that this is the best thing he’s ever woken up to but…Louis.

Louis has a Duncan and a fear of getting too close to Harry for god knows what reason. Louis apologised to him for not being able to be close to him and Harry had thought he knew what that meant. Louis can’t have the kind of friendship where there are no barriers in terms of touching. He can’t give himself to Harry in a way that resembles the way he gives himself to Duncan. But what if what he’d really meant was that they can’t be friends at all?

When he touched Louis’ thigh, Louis hadn’t protested and when he moved his hand up and down, he thought he’d seen Louis’ lips curl upward. Maybe he’d been wrong. What if Louis wakes up to them tangled up like this and never wants to see him again? The thought makes Harry squeeze Louis’ shirt, fisting it needily with his palm.

He can feel Louis’ rapid heartbeat beneath it and he wonders if everything about Louis is like that. Tortured and turbulent. His mind, his heart, his relationship. All of it seems to have this common theme. It’s like Louis keeps himself spinning because if he stops he might have to take stock of how off balance his world really is. If he just keeps moving, he never has to look around at his surroundings. He can keep blaming himself.

Just then, Louis moves, stretching his legs out and rubbing his bum down along Harry’s cock in the process. Harry’s gasp transitions into a hiss as Louis continues to squirm and wriggle and it’s so damn torturous, Harry’s beginning to think Louis must be doing it on purpose. Then he hears Louis’ quiet whimpers.

“No, no. Please. I love you….please,” he whines, low in his throat.

Harry’s heart is halfway up his throat as he carefully plies his hand from Louis’ grasp and then winds his arm securely around Louis’ waist, tugging the both of them up together so that Louis’ sitting in his lap. Louis still doesn’t wake, his head hanging back against Harry’s shoulder as he twitches, his face clenching with what looks like pain. Harry doesn’t know he’s dreaming about Duncan for sure but he can guess that it’s the case. It horrifies him that this might be some reflection of real life.

“Baby, please,” Louis rasps, bouncing his bum in Harry’s lap like he’s trying to get away from something.

Harry’s looking down on Louis whose head is lolling back against his shoulder and all he wants to do is to comfort.

“Louis,” he says insistently, “Louis, wake up.”

Louis’ eyes fly open and he doesn’t even jump or appear startled. He’s trembling all over but he simply blinks up at Harry, with trusting, wide eyes.

“Harry?”

“Are you okay? You had a bad dream. We fell asleep together and I…I was trying to rouse you but even when I sat us up, you just-“

“It wasn’t real,” Louis says quickly, scooting sideways off Harry’s lap, “it wasn’t real Harry. He never…I never. I don’t,” Louis’ eyes fall to his lap, “I don’t ask him to stop.”

“But he’s rough with you? He knows it hurts,” Harry states without question.

Louis doesn’t respond. He brings his sleeve to his mouth and chews on it for a moment, frowning at his feet.

“Can I—can we have pancakes? I don’t know how to make them but-“

Harry would do anything to smooth the pain from Louis’ features. Including ignoring the issue. For now. He takes Louis’ hand from his mouth and encloses it in his own, pulling Louis up from the couch.

“C’mon, I’ll make you smiley pancakes,” Harry promises.

Louis looks up at him with a hint of a lopsided smile and his hair is sticking out in a million different directions, making the image a hell of a lot cuter. He looks like a tentative, sleepy hedgehog.

“Smiley pancakes?”

“The highest form of culinary art,” Harry explains with a wink.

Louis tries to bury a giggle in his hand, forgetting that his hand is joined to Harry’s. Harry’s own laugh booms out of his chest at Louis’ sleep addled disgruntlement.

…….

“Thank you for your hospitality….again,” Louis says.

Harry can’t help himself. He slides his arms around Louis’ waist, squeezing his sides as he pulls him up onto his toes and into a huge hug.

“Thank you for letting me meet your family.”

“We should….hang out again.”

Harry lets Louis go with surprise.

“Really?”

Louis pats his shoulder.

“Really.”

“Okay,” Harry says, suddenly feeling shy.

Louis watches him with a half-smile, hanging off the side of Harry’s door and looking like a whimsical little pixie about to flit away as soon as Harry turns his back.

“Okay,” Louis echoes.

“Bye,” Harry says slowly, not wanting to close the door.

Louis steps back and winks, a sinful smirk on his lips that makes Harry’s heart stutter.

“Bye.”

Harry reluctantly pushes the door closed but just before it clicks into the lock, Louis’ hand slides in between to stop it from doing so. Harry throws the door open wide and looks at Louis with horror.

“I could have squished your hand,” he squeaks in surprise.

Louis laughs at him and then pushes his stomach playfully.

“Calm yourself hipster. I was just thinking…” Louis’ smirk turns into a more natural smile and his eyes skip over Harry’s nervously, “what if we hung out again…today?”

“Okay,” Harry agrees eagerly which makes Louis’ whole face light up with delight.

“What will we do?” Harry asks him.

Louis shrugs.

“You tell me.”

An intriguing idea forms in Harry’s head and he runs back through his flat, ignoring Louis’ shout of, “where the hell are you going Harold?” When he returns, he has one helmet under his arm and he hands the other to Louis.

“What the hell is this?” Louis asks none too politely.

Harry rolls his eyes.

“What do you think it is?”

“You don’t have a motorbike,” Louis says with narrowed eyes.

“No but Zayn does and he lets me borrow it whenever I want. Now go get changed into something more sturdy.”

Harry’s thrown a leather jacket over his shirt and has on some less feminine looking boots than usual. He’s wearing the black motorcycle boots that Zayn had bought him after he’d watched Harry ride off on the bike in bright purple boots that did nothing for his control of the thing.

“Okay,” Louis agrees.

He looks rather thrilled at the prospect of riding the motorbike so Harry counts his idea as a success.

…….

“Okay, give me the helmet.”

“Why would I give you my helmet?”

“So I can put it on you. Stop being so petulant.”

“Someone swallowed a dictionary.”

“Louis.”

“Okay just get on with it then Harold.”

Harry smiles and then steps closer to Louis. They’re standing outside Zayn’s building with the shiny black and silver motorcycle beside them and the last remaining dregs of sunlight warming their faces. They’d decided to go for lunch first and had ended up talking for far too long and nearly forgetting that the whole idea of going out in the first place was to go for a ride. Harry takes the helmet from Louis’ hands and places it down over his head, tightening the strap to ensure it fits Louis’ tiny head better. Louis glares at him the whole time. When Harry steps back, he smirks at Louis who crosses his arms and cocks his hip to the side.

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You look adorable.”

Louis blushes at this and snorts half-heartedly like the compliment means nothing. Harry knows differently. There’s something missing though. Louis’ got on a black Sabbath shirt and tight grey jeans with a pair of too big motorcycle boots that he’s obviously pinched from Duncan. He rubs at the tops of his arms with his fingers and looks out into the setting sun, the pinkish-orange colour of the sky setting off the clear blue colour of his eyes.

“You’re cold. Here,” Harry says as shucks off his leather jacket and hands it to Louis, knowing that it’s exactly what was missing.

Louis considers it for a moment with an indecipherable expression and then takes the jacket, shoving his arms through the sleeves and sighing irritably at the way they cover his hands. It makes Harry’s heart beat faster just to look at him. Louis in leather. Louis wearing his leather jacket and his motorcycle helmet.

“One last thing.”

Harry steps into Louis and squeezes his shoulder as he draws the zipper on the jacket up, stopping just before the jacket can close up over Louis’ collar bones because Harry isn’t going to deny himself the simple pleasures of existence. Or the simple pleasures of Louis’ existence.

“Can we go now?” Louis asks impatiently.

Harry chuckles and gestures at the bike as if to say, “go on.”

“I don’t know how good you are on one of these things though so I’m going to….help.”

Louis rolls his eyes and then throws his leg over the bike, putting it in neutral as Harry jumps on behind him, trying not to think too hard about how dominant and sexy Louis looks straddling the bike in leather and tight denim. Harry turns the petcock on and then the choke. He settles himself against Louis, scooting forward until his chest is pressed flush against Louis’ back. Then he tucks his head over Louis’ shoulder so he can see exactly what he’s doing. His hands come down next to Louis’ on the handlebars as Louis pulls out the kick starter and pushes down quickly, revving the bike a couple of times to get it going.

“You ready Styles?” He whispers.

Harry decides to trust Louis. He keeps his head in the crook of his shoulder but draws his hands back, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist instead. It’s much better this way anyway, feeling how tiny Louis is inside his arms and getting to hold him close. Harry squeezes his waist and nuzzles his chin against Louis’ shoulder, for purely logistical reasons of course. The closer he is to Louis, the less likely he is to go flying off the back.

“Ready Lou.”

Harry sees a dangerous glint enter Louis’ eye and his smile is devilish as he speeds out into the traffic and just narrowly avoids an oncoming car.

“LOUIS.”

Louis reaches behind him and pats Harry’s thigh, laughing raucously as he speeds down the road, darting in between cars and generally driving like some kind of lunatic. When they pass a sign with the speed limit, Louis’ smile twists up at the side and Harry squeezes him in protest.

“Louis, no!

“Louis yes!” Louis shouts.

They get pulled over twice by two different cop cars and Harry is quite sure that the only reason they’re not booked is because the first woman could barely think straight after Louis looked up at her from beneath his lashes and the man that pulled them over next was definitely a fan of tattooed twinks in leather.

“He was flirting with you,” Harry whispers in Louis’ ear as they come to a stop at a traffic light.

Louis tilts his head back against Harry’s chest to look at him upside down and Harry’s arms shoot out to grab the handlebars to keep the bike balanced.

“Was he?” Louis asks, grinning.

Harry’s mouth smiles too because it suddenly occurs to him how wondrously carefree Louis is about it. He’s not worrying about some crazy, possessive boyfriend who might find out. He’s genuinely having a good time. When they shoot off into traffic, Harry whispers in his ear again.

“You’re happy.”

Louis nods, a huge smile spreading his mouth wide. Then he turns and presses his soft lips against Harry’s cheek.

“Thank you,” he sighs as he turns back to the road.

Harry presses his own kiss to the space just below Louis’ ear, forgetting all about their unspoken agreement to keep their distance.

“You’re welcome.”

……

Harry’s standing just outside Louis’ door, leaning over the smaller lad as Louis hands him back his jacket and the helmet.

“Thank you,” he says again and then pinches Harry’s hip.

Harry squeaks and returns the gesture, making Louis jump back. Louis mashes his face into the side of the door, giggling ridiculously. Are they flirting?

God, we’re flirting.

“Is Duncan back?” Harry asks, noticing the resounding silence in the flat.

Louis twists his body back and then calls out.

“Duncan? Babe? You home?”

He turns back to Harry with less of a spark in his eye and a noticeable sense of resignation in the smile that’s quickly receding. He looks like a wilted flower.

“Nope.”

“Has he…has he called? I mean surely he’s called you.”

Louis’ face creases with pain and Harry knows immediately that he’s said the wrong thing. Surely he’s called you. Idiot. Why did you say that?

“Surely you can keep from asking about him,” Louis snaps, his eyes spelling hurt, “because surely it’s none of your business whether he’s called or not.”

“Louis, I didn’t mean to-“

“I know exactly what you meant Harry. You think he’s broken me and you’ll swoop in and fix me and then we can all ride off into the sunset together. You, me, Zayn, Liam and Niall. You think you can be the “best friend” I never had,” Louis says, making air quotes as his bottom lip curls with anger, “and make up for everything…that maybe if you give me tea and a ride on Zayn’s bike, I won’t have problems anymore…that I won’t want him anymore. You think I’m pathetic and blind to it just like everybody else.”

“No, Louis,” Harry pleads, his eyes bleeding sadness, “that’s not—I promise you I don’t…just please don’t…I just want to help-“

“You can’t fix this Harry. Stop trying,” Louis interrupts, his voice coming out too quiet, too calm.

He unexpectedly launches himself at Harry then, wrapping his arms around him even though he’s limited by the fact that there’s a helmet in Harry’s hands preventing their bodies from coming together. Louis’ head is on Harry’s shoulder, his hands buried in Harry’s curls and Harry thinks it’s alright. It must be alright.

“Bye,” Louis sighs in Harry’s ear, completely defeated and before Harry can think to pull him back, Louis is stepping back and shutting the door in his face.

Not again. Louis can’t do this to him again. Not when he’s given him so much the past few days, so much of himself. How is Harry supposed to recover from that when all he wants is more? How is he supposed to accept that there can be no more? He doesn’t beat on the door or text Louis. He doesn’t do anything but return to his flat and sink down into the couch, remembering the way he’d woken up that morning, so intertwined with Louis he didn’t think he’d ever get free. Why had he wanted to? Harry can think of nothing worse than being free from the vulnerable tattoo artist next door. He can think of nothing more disturbing than knowing and then losing Louis Tomlinson.

Chapter Text

"Louis...babe? I'm home."

Louis is currently tangled in the doona with one leg in and the other folded in half atop it. His head is buried in the pillow created by his arms. He'd just been dreaming but he couldn't quite catch the tail end of it. Something about rubber ducks and someone thrashing about in the bubbles. Louis remembers then. He was the one thrashing and Harry had been there in that stupid dressing gown, trying to pull him from the water with that stupidly pitiful look in his eyes. Louis had shoved him.

He could do it on his own. He wasn't going to drown. Water had filled his lungs and Harry's face had morphed into a blurry, undefined shape. His curls were smudged together and the green of his eyes was blurred but glittering still, as always. His mouth and his hands and the dressing gown all meshed into one, like someone had swirled a wet paintbrush around Harry and taken away all the sharpness of the image. The last thing Louis saw before he woke up was Harry's pink blur of a mouth which for a moment, came into sharper focus, shaping itself around a grief stricken "Louis, please."

Louis hated his subconscious. Hated it for trying to make him feel guilty about slamming the door in Harry's face last night. Harry is the epitome of a helpless helper. He’s helpless against his own hero complex. He just had to try and do something about the state of Louis' life. Yes, Louis had been content to let Harry fuss over him with tea and biscuits and had even enjoyed the thrill of the motorbike ride and the way Harry had perhaps touched him a little too often in the time they'd spent together over the past two days. Yet that was different to what had happened last night. It was different because before then Louis had assumed Harry had been trying to make him happy.

He'd thought naively enough that Harry didn't see his life as some kind of mess that needed cleaning up, that he recognised that Louis just needed some time off and a reason to smile. He really had needed time. Time to forget the growing ball of distrust and unease forming in his stomach. Time to forget how much it hurt to see Duncan walk out the door without a second glance or a trace of regret.

Harry may have appreciated Louis’ smile and the happiness he'd been able to drawn out but Louis was still his project. Louis was still the guy with a broken, fucked up relationship that needed to be saved because he didn't know any better. He wasn't strong enough on his own, or so Harry assumed.

Surely he would have called you, Harry had said. As if Louis was simply stupid for not expecting more and not needing it. Louis didn't need it...did he? Duncan had taken his time away and so had Louis. Now they could come back together and forget, couldn't they? They could forget that Duncan wasn't there when Louis needed him. They could forget that Louis has been more insolent lately and more resistant. They would forget. They had to.

Harry doesn't understand. Harry hasn't dated anyone in years. How could he understand that inexorable pull that Louis feels toward Duncan? Whenever Louis gets too far, it's like a chain wrapped around his neck, bringing him back. That's what it has been like for them ever since Louis first fell in love with Duncan. Yet it was never more apparent than when their love became this fragile, turbulent whirlwind of a relationship that requires constant vigilance.

It’s like one of those games Louis used to have in his backyard when he was young...the metal pole with the ball hanging off a string that you'd hit around for fun. Louis is that ball. No matter how much he gets battered and smacked around, every time he flies out towards the sky and away from the racquet and the pole, he simply comes springing back. He’s connected to the pole. The pole holds him so close that he can’t possibly extend past a certain distance. Sometimes the pole is just an extension of him and he can’t separate the two. Duncan's needs are Louis' needs, Duncan's desires are his desires and Harry can preach all he'd like about it being okay for Louis to feel as he does but he doesn’t understand this.

He doesn’t understand that the hurt never stands alone. It’s coupled with years of belonging to someone and being afraid to only belong to yourself. It’s entangled with the kind of memories that you're constantly unfolding and retracing, depositing yourself in the past so you can remember the last time he kissed you, sweet and soft. It’s the memory of how he said he loved you for the first time. It’s the memory of how he opened you up in a way no one had done before and how he made you what you are. Harry can’t comprehend any of that and Louis knows it. Harry was wrong. Harry is wrong. Louis' subconscious can go fuck itself.

“’M in bed still,” Louis shouts, as loud as he can manage when he’s parched from sleeping too long.

He hears Duncan’s heavy footfalls and then the sound of the suitcase being unceremoniously dumped on the floor by the bed. Then Duncan is on him, covering Louis’ body with his own and pressing lingering kisses to Louis’ exposed and sensitive neck. He presses one just below Louis’ ear and Louis giggles in response.

Duncan pulls back and Louis’ eyes flutter open to find Duncan looking at him confusion.

“Did you just giggle?”

Louis doesn’t giggle. Not if he can help it. Damn Harry. He’s awakened a giggly child inside of Louis and Louis will not stand for it.

“It was more of a…chuckle,” Louis argues, voice muffled with sleep as he reaches up and knits his hand in the back of Duncan’s hair.

Duncan just shrugs and collapses his arms, taking Louis by the mouth and pushing his tongue in slow and soft. Louis moans and meets his exploratory stroke, savouring the way Duncan’s hands trail down the sides of his face, to his neck and then to his shoulders, softly squeezing and rubbing. This is Duncan. Louis despises kissing with his morning breath but this is them. This is how they come back to each other.

“You’re back,” Louis sighs with contentment as they pull away, noses brushing, “I thought you’d stay longer. It’s only been two days.”

“I missed you so I begged the boss to let me come back. Even got today off just so we can go see the bubs.”

Louis pulls back from where he’d been nuzzling the side of Duncan’s neck with a surprised and dramatic gasp. He recovers quickly and pulls Duncan into a slightly more feverish kiss, wrapping his exposed leg around Duncan’s waist and rutting up against him slowly.

“I love you,” Louis whispers, brushing his lips along Duncan’s, “I knew you’d come through.”

“I always do babe,” Duncan smiles fondly at him and then presses another kiss to his lips, “so are you going to get up my sleepy little bug?”

Duncan hasn’t called him that since they first started dating and began sleeping at each other’s flats. It had become regular enough that Duncan had noticed Louis’ rather sedentary lifestyle. Louis had become accustomed to sleeping late in his line of work because his clientele knew him well enough not to expect regular working hours and thus he took to not providing them. His business mainly worked off of a “call me when you need me” mantra that he’d actually hung on the door at one point. That was only after he’d got a few too many angry customers complaining about the empty shop. Now they knew better.

“Nope,” Louis sighs his pleasure, “never.”

“In that case,” Duncan squeezes Louis’ torso through the coverlet, “I might just have to join you.”

Louis giggles again when Duncan pulls the doona away and rolls him over onto his stomach, leaning over him to nibble at his neck. Louis buries the sound in the pillow and curses Harry hipster Styles all over again. Harry. Duncan’s hands are smoothing over his arse and he’s thinking of Harry damn Styles. Mr-Fix-it.

Just then Duncan pulls his briefs away and darts down to lick over his hole, swirling his tongue around the entrance before plunging it straight inside. Louis’ back arches and everything around him fades to nothing as he pushes his bum back onto Duncan’s tongue, chasing the sensation. He lets out a high chorus of muffled moans, burying his eyes in his arm as he tries to hold onto the feeling. He wants to cherish the feeling of being fucked with love instead of anger.

After a few more breathless gasps, Duncan turns him over again and then motions for Louis to do away with his top. Louis remembers distantly when Duncan used to undress every part of his body, pressing kisses from the top of his head to the tiny bones that jut out of his ankles, just to show him how beautiful he was. Then, Louis had believed it. Now when Louis sheds his top, Duncan’s eyes are not on him. He’s busy getting himself naked and after he’s disrobed, he simply presses their chests together as he slides his fingers through the top of Louis’ hair and kisses him deeply.

This, Louis thinks in some distant corner of his mind as Duncan turns him over and palms his arse, tonguing at his hole that flutters beneath his ministrations. This is why I haven’t given up, Harry. Duncan pulls his hips up so that his bum is forced upward, his head still buried in the pillow as Duncan’s hands slide across his stomach. They hold him in place as Duncan slowly enters him and groans at the tightness of his hole. Louis’ breath hitches and then falls as Duncan begins to move, thrusting slow and deep before falling into a more regular cadence, rotating his hips in quick, regular circles and nudging Louis’ spot every time. It makes Louis’ balls tighten and he pushes his arse back onto Duncan’s cock. Duncan comes with a shout, burying his mouth in Louis’ neck and sliding his tongue across Louis’ shoulder as he pierces Louis’ stomach with his nails.

“Please,” Louis gasps, “please can I…”

Duncan’s hand drifts down to wrap around his cock, sliding down across his length to rub across the tip, smearing precome around his slit and making him moan.

“You can come baby,” Duncan permits, kissing his bare shoulder as Louis grunts and spills a load all over his hand, his whole body shuddering with the aftermath of the sensation.

“Fuck,” Louis swears, his body dropping down against the sheet as Duncan rolls off to the side.

“Thoroughly fucked aren’t you babe?” Duncan says with a chuckle, swatting his bare arse, “gonna feel me inside you all day. Not going to look at anybody else.”

Louis fights the disappointment filling his chest. It’s fine. Duncan is possessive and Louis knows that. They had more intimate sex than they’ve had in a long while but it doesn’t mean Duncan’s character is going to completely change. Nor does Louis want it to. He’s fine with Duncan just the way he is. Fine. Louis is in love. He’s nobody’s project. He’s not drowning. He’s fine.

…….

“Hello?”

“Hello Mr Styles, this is Miles Tellman from GQ. It’s about the shoot-“

“Oh…oh my god. Hello. I mean hi Sir.”

“Yes, hello. Mr Styles, I’m pleased to inform you that we have both a studio and the male subjects lined up for you today if you could make yourself available-“

“Of course! I’m so excited…I mean, honoured. Gosh, I’m so sorry Sir, I’ve just woken up and I’ve clearly not got a whole lot of control over my mouth at this point in time.”

There’s a rough chuckle and then the sound of paper being shuffled.

“That’s quite alright Harry. You’re quite likeable so I’m positive you’ll work well with the team...stylists and the like. Now have you got a pen Mr Styles? I’m going to give you the address and the time now...”

When Harry drops his phone onto the bedside table afterwards, his head hits the pillow with a soft flop and an elated smile spreads over his face. Today is the start of what could be a defining moment in his career. Today he’s going to revolutionise magazine photography and shoot a bunch of beautiful men who probably never dreamed that they were good looking enough to end up in GQ. Harry’s going to prove to them that they are good enough and if he has a stretch of golden skin and pale blue eyes dancing across the backs of his eyelids as he considers that notion, well that’s just his business and his business only.

Harry hadn’t expected to have a reason to smile this morning considering he’d gone to bed after a few too many glasses of wine. That’s not to mention the fact that he’d also spent a considerable amount of time leaning against the kitchen bench, toying with a mug and thinking about the last lips that touched it. Small, pointy pink ones that give way to small, pearly white teeth. Lips that can purse in an effort to contain emotion or break open in uncontrollable humour. Lips that felt so soft beneath Harry’s fingers.

Harry had expected to wake up with at least a minor headache courtesy of the wine and perhaps a few cold tear tracks because he’d been taken over by melancholy while looking out at the stars through his window. He’d lay down in his bed after, knowing Louis’ room was probably just on the other side of the wall and that he was probably fast asleep, his hair mussed up like a baby lion or some kind of hedgehog with his dark eyelashes sweeping along his small and defined cheekbones. The image had haunted Harry and spread itself over his skin on the cusp of sleep, so thick with meaning that he could not muster a breath beneath its weight.

He had wondered if Duncan had returned yet or called and whether Louis would fall over himself just to get to the phone or open the door when he did. Harry had wondered if Louis would ever forgive him and that question had somehow pushed him over the edge.

It couldn’t have been more than a month since the guy had moved in and yet Harry was a mess at the thought of losing Louis’ particular glow. He was at a loss to understand how breathless he seemed to feel without Louis. Louis could steal his breath, no doubt about it but he always gave it back. He breathed new life into Harry’s lungs and a kind of new substance that felt lighter than air and was infinitely more precious. Harry wanted to breathe Louis in for the rest of his life and that thought right there scared him into a restless sleep.

He had shut his eyes and thought of plaiting his imaginary unicorn’s hair until it lulled him into fitful dreams of Louis, sitting naked astride a unicorn, his thick thighs spread wide as he sang out for Harry at the top of his lungs. Harry’s subconscious can go fuc-well it can go to a rather nasty place like...hell.

The noise Harry overhears which interrupts his thoughts isn’t a whole collection of noises rising to a crescendo. It’s just one. One broken, high-pitched moan that pierces the silence. It’s a muffled, slightly muted sound that raises the hairs on Harry’s body and gets his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wonders belatedly why this has never happened before.

He supposes he’s usually listening to music of some sort or falling asleep on the couch watching friends. Now he’s lying here recovering from what he just heard. The sound of Louis in the throes of what sounded like a pretty orgasm. Louis’...moan. Harry’s trying to breathe around the solid weight in his chest but it feels like someone’s kicked him in the gut and then bashed the side of his head into a wall.

Louis is all around him, making that noise and sounding absolutely unhinged in the best and worst possible way. Sounding like he wanted it. Sounding…in love. Harry knows without a doubt that this mustn’t have been like the other times. This wasn’t what caused that nightmare. Duncan was making love to Louis. The thought makes Harry want to retch.

You idiot. You curly, pigeon toed idiot. How could you let this happen?

Death by chocolate. Death by Louis. No different really. The latter may be sweeter than chocolate but the resulting pain? More sickening than any dessert Harry’s ever had the burden of enduring. At least death by chocolate has a good aftertaste. At least death by chocolate doesn’t moan like all it wants in life is to be fucked into oblivion by its cold, undeserving boyfriend.

Harry has to get out of here. He doesn’t care if he gets to the shoot hours early. He has to leave and he has to leave now. Before he hears anything else. Before he punches a hole through the wall into their room. Before he storms over there and drags Louis from that bed and explains that he’s not allowed to make noises like that. Not where Harry can hear. He’s not allowed to hurt and arouse with one noise. He’s not.

…….

“Hi boo,” Louis’ mum murmurs, kissing all around his hair before looking over at Duncan with annoyance, “no Har-“

Louis shoots his mum a warning look. Or a glare. It might have been a glare. Don’t you dare say Harry, he tells her with his eyes.

“No Harrison?” She asks with an innocent look, tilting her head down to coo at the sleeping baby (Doris) in her arms.

She then turns to place a hand on Ernest in the cot that stands right next to the couch.

Damn it woman. Louis knows what she’s playing at. The arch of her eyebrows and pursed lips say, “If you’re going to play games, I’m going to play games too. Come up with your own story well I obsess over my new babies and continue being disappointed in you, wayward son.”

“Who’s Harrison?” Duncan asks, pulling Louis around by the shoulder with a rough tug.

Louis can feel his mum’s eyes on them and he’s silently begging Duncan not to be too rough lest she notice that things aren’t better than they were when they first started fighting. They are, in fact, worse. She can’t know. She’s already unhappy with his choice to stay with Duncan as is.

“Oh um,” Louis tries for casual, smirking a little and wrinkling his nose as if about to laugh, “my taxi driver. I thought it would be funny if he came up to meet the babies with me. Paid him extra.”

Duncan’s eyebrows furrow and his nails dig into Louis’ shoulder blade but Louis remains motionless, desperate not to give anything away to the hawk eyes he can feel piercing his back.

“Why would you do that? Did you like him that much?”

“Because he tends to do anything to make people laugh,” Louis’ mum says with cold hostility before Louis can even open his mouth, “because he’s a beautiful, wonderful boy.”

Duncan’s eyes shift to the right of Louis to meet his mum’s and Louis’ heart is beating so fast as he waits for an inevitable conflict to break out. There’s no way that Duncan will sit back and take the accusation that he doesn’t appreciate Louis. No way. Louis’ hands are trembling.

“Of course he is,” Duncan says stiffly, much to Louis’ surprise.

He’s afraid of her, Louis realises with a shock.

“I’m just going to go...” Duncan pulls a box of cigarettes from his pocket and jabs his thumb towards the front door.

“Since when do you smoke?” Louis asks before he can help himself.

Duncan’s eyes are cold like the blade of a steel knife gutting a fish but he doesn’t say a word to rebuke Louis, not with Jay there. Instead he doles out a self-conscious smile that Louis hasn’t seen in years. It’s not real. His eyes are glacial even as his mouth moves.

“Since I started joining colleagues on their smoko breaks and got hooked. Sorry babe.”

“It’s okay,” Louis says, voice tight with fear, rather than anger.

He knows instantly that Duncan will jerk him off in the car on the way home. Jerk him until he’s bursting to come and then pull away every time. Then once they’re home, Duncan will fuck him the opposite of how he had this morning. Duncan will fuck him with his glacial eyes and his hatred of Louis’ questions. Duncan will fuck him like he doesn’t ever remember making love with tenderness. It makes Louis’ eyes prickle painfully.

As soon as Duncan disappears out the front door, Louis’ mum pulls him down onto the couch next to her and places Doris in his arms.

“Big brother duty starts now,” she tells him, jumping up with only a slight wobble, “because I have to pee.”

“Fine by me,” Louis sighs, already leaning down to press his cheek against his baby sister’s forehead, feeling her softness and warmth and the tiny breaths that ghost over his ear.

Jay’s hand reaches out to stroke his hair and Louis tilts his head back up to look at her. She’s all teary eyed and the sinews of Louis’ heart stretch out towards her. God he loves her so much. He forgets sometimes when he’s busy with work or in the midst of being berated by Duncan but then he comes down here and he’s home. He’s just boo bear here. Sometimes it hurts to think about his childhood and how untouched he was by life. It hurts Louis to think about a time when he didn’t hurt. Louis holds out a hand and knits his fingers and his mum’s together.

“I’m okay, I just-“

“What’s wrong mum?” Louis says with a frown, rocking Doris slightly as she hiccups in her sleep.

“I’m just---you’re going to make such a good father,” she tells him and Louis’ frown transforms into a watery smile, his heart beating triple time in his chest at the thought of babies of his own, “but you deserve better baby. You deserve someone who will really love you and your babies, with all their heart, the same way you love them.”

“I have that,” Louis says defensively, his protest sounding weak even to his own ears, “mum, I have that.”

Jay brushes a few tears from the bottoms of her eyelids and then shakes her head at him, a sad smile gracing her lips.

“I made a mistake with you.”

Now Louis’ eyes are welling up too. Has his mum finally seen what Duncan sees?  Has she noticed the extra layer of flab around his tummy, his inability to keep his flirty personality in check or his ridiculously high expectations? Does she think it’s her fault that he’s not good enough for anybody?

“Mum---“ he croaks.

“I made a mistake,” she sighs, “because if I had done my job, Louis William Tomlinson, you’d know exactly how much you deserve. You’d know that the man out there,” she stabs her finger towards the door, “doesn’t even come close.”

She doesn’t wait for his response, just swivels and strides away in the direction of the bathroom. Louis’ tears drip down on his face but he catches them before they can land on Doris.

“It’s not her fault,” he whispers, brushing his fingers over the gentle protrusion of Doris’ rounded forehead before planting a wet kiss on her tiny nose, “she’s a brilliant mother. You’ll love her more than anybody you’ll ever meet, just like I do. Just don’t...don’t let her down. You and your brother, you have to be for her what I can’t be. You two and the girls. She thinks I’m all twisted up inside, she thinks she’s part of it but it’s not like that. I’ve never been so loved in all my life as I am by our mother and I don’t think I ever will be. I’m just...not worthy. Of her, of Duncan, god…of Harry.

“God I’m not worthy of Harry. He’ll…he’ll blame himself too,” Louis sighs, “when he realises I can’t be fixed because it’s not Duncan, it’s me. Doris,” Louis guides his shaking hand over her forehead again, “I want you to promise you’ll be nothing like me. I want you to promise that you’ll never be the mess people want to clean up. You’re so perfect little sister…don’t let the world ruin you sweetheart.”

…….

Harry couldn’t be happier with the last of his shots. The last guy he’d had the privilege of photographing was Olly Murs, a pub singer from central London who seemed like a surprisingly accurate mixture of himself and Niall. He exuded bucket loads of charm while maintaining a playful, laidback kind of persona. He winked so much at Harry that Harry had almost thought it was a twitch at first.

Harry felt he captured the essence of Olly while he was being interviewed, snapping shots of the tilt of his head when he laughed and the mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes as he flirted shamelessly with the female journalist. He wasn’t sleazy with her and Harry had admired his fedora paired with a semi-tight, white long sleeved shirt and faded red braces that clashed with the mustard yellow of his jeans. Olly was just authentic, in every sense of the word and there was nothing Harry wanted more for this shoot than that.

Clicking through the photos, Harry nods to himself, admiring his own choice to ban Olly from smiling, winking or basically any facial movement in the overly made up shots. The contrast between the two sets of pictures is stark, the natural animation of Olly’s face emphasising the lifelessness of the model-like shots. It sets a brilliant tone for the whole spread and if not for Louis, Harry would bet his bottom dollar that Olly would be cover boy material. As it is, he’s a close and quite attractive second. Just as Harry’s pondering this, thinking that everybody else has already departed, he feels a hand on the side of his waist, which slips downward to grip the slight plumpness of his love handle.

“Harry.”

Harry jumps and then swivels in the stranger’s direction, finding Olly looking back at him with a grin and a strange kind of intensity in the flicker of his pupils across Harry’s lips.

“Olly,” Harry greets him with a huge smile, “didn’t know anyone was still here. You know you can go mate? Was a pleasure photographing you though.”

“Harry,” Olly says again and this time it sounds endeared as he shakes his head, an amused curve settling over his lips, “I’m not sticking around just to be told I was a very good boy…. unless of course, that’s your thing.”

Olly’s eyes trail up his body slowly from his feet, to the curves of his hips to his pectorals and then finally to his eyes. His smile isn’t predatory but there’s a heat in his gaze that Harry hadn’t felt before now. There’s a certain amount of interest in the way Olly’s eyes flit from Harry’s own to his mouth and then back up, all in quick succession.

“Um,” Harry says awkwardly, shuffling his feet and playing with the strap on his camera bag slung over his shoulder.

He hadn’t really thought of the possibility of being hit on today and he is less prepared for it than he’s ever been in his life. Perhaps because he can’t remember the last time he engaged in any kind of flirtatious interaction. He certainly can’t count his mess of a friendship with Louis, especially since it seems to be over before it’s even begun. The thought of what he may have lost winds Harry completely but he feels that somehow, if he doesn’t let it fester in his mind or let his feelings take root, they’ll soon shrivel and die. He might be fooling himself just slightly.

“I would like to go to dinner with you tonight,” Olly says reaching out and pulling Harry in by the belt loop. He wraps his palm around Harry’s hip so that the insides of his fingers are pressed against Harry’s bum, “…if I’m right about you. You’re into this right?”

Olly’s blue eyes flicker slightly with doubt and a hint of nervousness and Harry feels for the guy. It’s never easy coming onto somebody when you don’t know for sure if they swing the same way as you. Harry tends to stick to the open and shut cases himself. Not that he’s slept with anybody of late.

God, how long has it even been? He shudders to think and now he has to answer a question that could mean one of two things. Is he into guys? Yes. Is he into cute guys touching his arse and staring at his mouth? Yes. Is he into guys without long, pretty eyelashes, pointed cheekbones and the kind of laughter that fills the spaces in his chest? That remains to be seen.

“Um,” Harry repeats himself, avoiding bringing his body into more contact with Olly while simultaneously avoiding extricating himself.

He can’t make his mind up. It’s been far too long since he spent the night with someone and his sexual frustration has reached an all time high. He spent an inordinate amount of time in the shower this morning trying very hard not to think about the way Louis moaned. He’d tried not to think about how it had gotten under his skin in more ways than one. He hadn’t wanted to feel aroused. He was still disgusted and frankly forlorn over the person who was able to make Louis make noises like that. He was still a little cut up and jangled up inside over how deeply it affected him.

Yet the more Harry replayed it in his mind, the more he started to feel the intensity of his other response escalate. His breathing picked up and his cock started to fill up and suddenly he was stroking himself to orgasm on the back of Louis’ Duncan-induced moan. He felt terrible and repulsed by his own desire but in that moment of bliss, his mind hadn’t connected the two. His mind hadn’t placed Louis in Duncan’s arms when he’d moaned. No, instead his mind had given him Louis on his own, writhing on the bed as he opened himself up with his fingers and lost himself in the sensation. It was enough to send Harry over the edge.

It didn’t make any of the real tension subside. Not the tension that he’s felt throbbing in his balls and tingling in his thighs ever since Louis walked into the room with eyeliner and leather and pushed his arse out towards him. Not the tension he’s felt every single time they’ve touched in the last month. Only it’s worse than that because the hunger for relief is mixed in with a hunger for something else. It’s a hunger for something much more intimate and substantial, something far more dangerous.

The point is, Harry is a livewire ever since Louis invaded his building, his mind and his life and now here’s an attractive guy with a killer personality who wants to take him out and potentially fuck Louis out of his brain. Harry can think of a million reasons why he should go.

He should entertain the possibility of perhaps finding the person who he doesn’t have to change for, or at the very least, he should at least temporarily alleviate the blue balls situation he’s had going on for what feels like an eternity. He should forget about his next-door neighbour and the prat who pushes him around because he might go mad otherwise. He should stop entertaining fantasises of said next door neighbour when that next door neighbour is able to get his rocks off with somebody who clearly doesn’t respect him or love him the way he deserves.

Harry can think of a million reasons why he should go and topping the list is that he’ll probably never get to see Louis again. He can think of all the reasons for and just one against. Just one. Somehow that one minor point feels like it’s taking up all the space inside his chest. It’s not just his unsteady heart or the swirling of his stomach that feels less like deep attraction and more like doubt. It’s that know-it-all voice in his mind that whispers that Harry doesn’t date, not just anybody. He only fucks and maybe Olly is kind, funny and quite the looker but the voice in Harry’s mind won’t rest. Waiting for more than a checklist, aren’t you? It presses. You’re waiting for Him.

Harry doesn’t want to think about the fact that “him” used to have a double timbre or a slight echo because that “him” was some elusive, mysterious guy he hadn’t yet encountered. It was an idea that hadn’t yet taken any kind of shape. The solidness of the way it resounds in his head now startles Harry because somehow it feels like there’s a specificity that wasn’t there before. Harry’s subconscious has an idea of what shape his future will take and Harry knows only too well that it’s only coming from one source.

“Um?” Olly prompts and Harry wonders how long he’s been staring into space, feeling panic rise in his chest, “can I take you out, lovely boy?”

Harry’s smile inevitably lifts at the sweet endearment and he drops a light kiss to Olly’s cheek. It’s cooler than Louis’ and the swell of his cheekbones when he smiles is larger. His cheeks are like oranges compared to Louis’ peach sized ones. Harry tries not to let it bother him.

“That would be lovely,” he says with just the right amount of roughness, quickly getting back into the swing of flirting.

He swallows down any nausea or regret and proffers a swoon worthy half smile.

…....

“Babe, I need a smoke. Please.”

“I already threw the rest of the pack out. Now do a few more reps please.”

“You’re lucky that I want to ruin you right now or else I’d actually ruin you.”

Liam chuckles and then kneels down just to kiss Zayn where he lies beneath the weight lifting bar. Louis can practically see Zayn’s tongue swirling around Liam’s mouth and it’s disgusting but thankfully Zayn can’t multitask and Liam’s forced to break the kiss just to lower the barbell, trembling in Zayn’s hands, back to it’s stand.

“I don’t know if I’m happy Payno met you...because now he finally knows how to act half human around an attractive male that he has the hots for,” Liam throws Zayn’s sweaty towel at him but Louis catches it and smirks, “or if I regret it ever happening... because now I have to be subjected to these awful displays of indecency.”

“Don’t mind him,” Niall calls out from the cross trainer, “he’s in a mood because of H. You miss him don’t you?”

Louis slows the pace on his treadmill, partly so he can glare at Niall more effectively and partly because he’s got a nice sheen of sweat on his face and his legs are starting to feel like rubber beneath him.

“Miss him? I saw the guy yesterday.” Louis crows defensively, “How do you even know about...you know?”

Louis has a certain childish way of referencing things he doesn’t want to talk about. His argument with Harry is definitely on that list. Niall grins and flicks his head in Liam’s direction. Louis had texted him late last night because he’d needed someone to vent to. He’d needed to go off his head about the fact that Harry thought so little of him and his life choices. This is despite the fact that Liam is no different. In fact, Liam is usually a lot more forceful but something about the way Harry had said it got under Louis’ skin.

There’s something about Harry even mentioning Duncan that seems twisted and grotesque. Louis doesn’t like the quiet sadness in Harry’s demeanour when it comes to Duncan. Harry doesn’t seem to instinctively and rashly react to the realities of Louis’ life with Duncan. He seems to take them in, marvel at them and reproduce them with his own wisdom meshed in, as if Louis can’t see clearly without him. It’s unnerving and makes Louis feel truly useless.

The look in Harry’s eyes when he’d woken Louis from his nightmare had been sorrowful and so damn concentrated, as if he’d thought that if his gaze just crossed every square inch of Louis’ face, he’d know the depth of Louis’ hurt. It was as though he thought that if his eyes just fell deep enough into Louis’, he’d be able to extract all the darkness swirling within. It didn’t fit with Louis’ conception of the world and how people worked. Louis’ happiness couldn’t really mean so much to Harry after such a short time. Harry couldn’t possibly have that much heart, could he?

“I hate that you two are friends,” Louis moans, hanging his body over the machine as he allows his walk to drop to a snail pace.

“Sorry Tommo,” Liam says with an unapologetic grin and a shrug as Zayn encircles his waist from behind, rocking his hugely muscled body from side to side, “but Niall already knew something was up. Harry was sending him blunt replies all night.”

Louis’ mouth shifts into a frown and he tries unsuccessfully not to duck his head with shame. He didn’t do anything wrong. Harry is the one who got all up in his grill thinking he knows better than Louis. Harry’s the one who thinks that just like everybody else, he has some special insight into Duncan that Louis doesn’t have. Just like everybody else. That was the kicker really because the last two days, Louis had felt like he’d never met anyone as special as Harry.

Harry had looked after Louis and Louis had done the same when Harry bared his soul and somewhere in between they’d gone from neighbours to friends to whatever it means when you kiss someone’s cheek just to thank them for making you happy. Harry had shattered that though. “Surely he’s called you.” Louis hasn’t stopped replaying that moment since; going over the way Harry had said it and the incredulity in his expression. He hasn’t focused much on the aftermath.

Yet now he’s forced to confront how breathless with shock and regret Harry had been. He’s forced to think about how he had felt Harry’s exhalation as Louis had embraced him. He’s forced to think about the look on Harry’s face as he literally shut him out, the look of Hansel and Gretel when they discovered the realities of the candy house.

Maybe Louis was Harry’s candy house, sugary and decadent on the outside but rotten to the core within. Harry had expected submission perhaps? Or maybe he had expected a thank you? Instead, Louis had been defiant and defensive and Harry’s image of him as a vulnerable damsel in distress just waiting to be saved had most likely been shattered. Louis can’t help but think that Harry must finally see him for the broken mess of limbs and heartache that he really is.

“I don’t miss him,” Louis is adamant, “and I’m not in a mood. Or if I am it’s only because I’ve been on this fucking thing for a lifetime. Liam, can I stop?”

Liam’s too busy snogging his boyfriend to pay attention to Louis’ request so Louis just sighs and presses off. He stands there wiping down his exposed and sweaty skin and then chucks the towel at the puke-worthy couple before ambling over to sit cross-legged on the floor by Niall who has also abandoned his workout.

“You know it’s okay to miss him right?” Niall asks, nudging Louis with his shoulder, “H is one in a million. Even when I’m angry at him which is...okay, I don’t think I’ve ever been angry with him but even when he’s acting like a bit of a pretentious twat, I still want to be by his side. Harry is just...good for you.”

Niall’s wearing a contented, lazy smile and Louis finds himself morphing into the antithesis as his faces scrunches up and he splutters his response.

“Good for me? What the hell does that fucking mean? He’s not-we’re not.... god, Niall he’s-“

Niall’s devious cackle is enough to shut Louis up quick smart as Niall pulls his white and red snapback down over Louis’ hair and rocks sideways with laughter. He crosses his arms over his stomach and squeezes the sides of his lilac polo to reign himself in.

“Not you personally,” Niall says with another loud laugh, “but good to know where you’re head’s at.”

Louis grumbles at him and then sighs because truthfully, he doesn’t really mind. Not with Niall. He’s completely harmless and Louis uses that as an excuse not to take any of Niall’s summations about him and Harry seriously. He leans his head into Niall’s shoulder because the boy looks like the cuddly koala type and Louis feels like cuddles. He feels like there’s a boulder sitting on his chest, weighing him down. It just might be Harry Styles and the stupid look of disbelief on his face when Louis cut all ties with him.

Sure enough, Niall winds his arms around Louis and then reaches up under his own snapback to brush out the sweaty strands of Louis’ hair. They scarcely know each other and Louis shouldn’t be touching another man like this. He shouldn’t be this tangled with somebody who isn’t his boyfriend but Louis doesn’t care. Not in this moment. There’s a tugging in his chest that he needs to be distracted from thinking about.

Then Louis spots the phone that Niall’s nursing in his lap and the background picture of Zayn and Harry holding each other in tiny suits. They must be four or five. Harry’s curls are spiky and untamed; his smile, a huge white curve on his face and his suit jacket, much too long for his gangly arms. The huge green expanse of his eyes takes up half of his face and he looks like innocence clothed in happiness.

Zayn is just as brilliant by his side with messy, un-gelled hair and a slightly weaker version of Harry’s smile, his eyes directed towards Harry’s in a way that makes it clear he’d die for the boy he’s hugging. It makes Louis feel awful lonely and he traces their faces with his finger before he can even think about the fact that Niall’s right there watching.

“Zayn’s phone,” Nially says, snapping Louis out of his reverie, “want me to unlock it for ya? Zayn has like two whole albums featuring young Harry.”

Louis bites his lip for all of ten seconds before giving away the game.

“Baby curly?” he needles, “please tell me Zayn has infant photos.”

There’s a much more subtle glow about Niall as he unlocks the phone and selects an album, handing it over to Louis for him to peruse at his own leisure. Louis can feel that the two curious blue eyes that are on him the whole time he’s flipping through photos are making judgements and coming to conclusions that are entirely deluded.  Niall’s pleasure at Louis’ eagerness is visceral, circling around him as he loses himself in pictures of tiny Harry.

There’s pictures of tiny harry in an extravagant kind of playpen that looks more like a jail than anything and pictures of tiny Harry consuming every type of vegetable and fruit that Louis could possibly name. The best picture is one of tiny Harry with tiny Zayn in his lap, his arms wrapped around Zayn’s middle as he leans sideways to poke his head out from behind and grin wolfishly at the camera. When Louis finally returns the phone to Niall, Niall taps the watch on his wrist and serves Louis up a smug smile and a wink.

“Just over 40 minutes.”

Louis’ skin feels patchy and warm as he realises just how lost he’d gotten in Harry’s past. He wasn’t able to tear his eyes away from the miniature version of Harry and the way his facial features were packed closer together, his lips slightly less obscene and each and every one of his curls, a tight corkscrew upon his head. Louis feels weak all over and the hitch in his breathing tells him it’s not the workout. It’s a little boy with perpetual pink cheeks and the biggest hands Louis’ ever seen on a child. Harry must have grown into them. 

“I...I was...I didn’t-“ Louis stumbles over his words, trying to find a way to explain.

Niall cuts him off with bright eyes and a suspicious looking twist at the side of his mouth.

“It’s okay Louis, I get it. Zayn was a real pretty kid. I mean I don’t know if Liam would appreciate you---“

“I wasn’t looking at him,” Louis protests, indignant.

Sure, Zayn was pretty, is still stunning in fact but Louis doesn’t think the dark, thick eyelashes and pointed bone structure measures up to the glorious strawberries and cream pattern upon Harry’s skin or his illustrious hair that’s like something out of a Disney film. Harry wasn’t just a pretty child; he was gorgeous.

“Oh?”

Niall’s eyebrows are raised and he looks surprised, if not a little confused by Louis’ response as though he hadn’t ever expected anyone to notice Harry before Zayn. The thought makes Louis very nearly reach over and slap Niall around the head but instead he lets his face form its familiar “bitch don’t mess with me” glare.

“I was looking at Harry, your best friend,” Louis says, with emphasis, “the one with the cute dimples and huge green eyes. You know, The Pretty One. Not Zayn, Harry.”

Niall stares at him for a moment, unblinking and then bursts into rapturous applause accompanied by a few chuckles. Louis stares back at him open mouthed and very much confused.

“Funny how protective you are of each other, innit it?”

“You did that on-you’re an arse Niall. But wait, what do you mean? Harry’s protective over me?”

Niall snorts and then rolls his eyes, still grinning. Louis just raises his eyebrows and waits for an explanation.

“Understatement of the century. Last night when H was texting me, I asked him if you might have done something,” Louis frowns and Niall rushes to continue, “just cause I knew he’d spent the last few days with you. Anyway, he almost bit my head off just for implying you’d ever do something to hurt him.

“I wouldn’t, you know,” Louis says quickly, “do anything to hurt him.”

Niall’s eyes drift away from his and he looks out at Liam and Zayn as he responds. There are no signs of humour on his face.

“Sometimes people get caught in the crossfire though, don’t they?”

“What crossfire?” Louis asks with a furrowed brow.

Niall sighs.

“I don’t know if I’m rooting for you or not. I am on Harry’s side though, always have been and always will be and I just have to know that he’s not going to end up broken...even if that’s not your intention. He hasn’t...this hasn’t happened to him in awhile. Maybe ever.”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re on about but I’m not interested in screwing him over. He’s a friend...or, or he’s not. I did slam the door in his face. Either way I’m not-how could I break him?”

“Lou, you don’t have any idea what’s going on, do you? With him or yourself.”

Niall seems a touch exasperated but also fond as he hangs his head and smiles dopily at Louis.

“Has Harry ever thought about taking you to therapy?”

Niall pouts and pushes Louis’ side.

“Harry’s not my dad. He doesn’t look after me.”

“Oh so he doesn’t let you stay on his couch and feed you every last thing you ask for?” Louis says with a smug grin.

“You’re one to talk,” Niall grumbles, sounding a touch petulant, “I hear he even cuddled you while you slept. Never cuddled me. Not like that.”

Louis jumps at the mention of Harry spooning him. Did Harry have to tell Niall everything? That should have been private. When had he even spoken to Niall?

“It wasn’t on purpose you git and I thought he was barely responding to you last night,” Louis accuses.

“Oh he told me about your weekend. He just got all cagey and blunt when I wanted to know why he sounded so cut up.”

Louis almost bites through his bottom lip just wondering how “cut up” Harry was over him. Suddenly he’s just itching to make it okay. Why is he punishing Harry for being compassionate? More so than anybody else who has tried to tell him what to do about Duncan. Louis gulps. Harry hadn’t even given Louis any kind of order. He’d expressed shock and perhaps some form of disappointment but maybe Louis was wrong. Maybe Harry wasn’t disappointed with him.

“I think I’ve-I think I should maybe talk to Harry.”

“About fucking time,” Niall breathes out.

Louis raises an eyebrow.

“I literally spoke to him last night.”

“I know but you haven’t dealt with Harry when he’s moody. It’s like seeing Ronald McDonald cry.”

“It’s like seeing you cry,” Zayn interjects, pressing a hand to Niall’s shoulder as he sits down beside him, Liam practically in his lap.

Niall reaches out to pinch Zayn’s cheek who scowls but lets it happen.

“Aww Zaynie. Are you saying you care about me?” he teases.

Liam squeezes Zayn’s middle with his forearms. Adorable. Sickening.

“I think he’s just saying that it goes against nature. You’re like happiness defined.”

“That I am,” Niall agrees whole-heartedly, pretending to strum a guitar as if to convey exactly this.

Louis chuckles and shakes his head. Does he really belong to this motley crew now? Zayn reaches across Niall to squeeze Louis’ knee, jostling Liam slightly.

“Aren’t you going to go talk to Haz?”

Louis smiles softly and ruffles Zayn’s hair in return.

“Yes,” he agrees, “if only to get away from you three. You two,” Louis shakes his hand at Liam and Zayn, “are so sweet that it’s foul and you,” Louis rolls his eyes at Niall, “you speak in gibberish and have some kind of heterosexual man crush on Harry.”

“Bother you, does it Lou?”

“Leaving. Leaving right now.”

Louis ignores the trail of laughter that follows his exit.

......

Louis hadn’t even prepared himself for it. He’d been steadily gathering speed as he climbed the stairs, feeling a strange sense of urgency in his race to talk to Harry. He just wanted to make it okay. He wanted to stop feeling like a fool for going off at the guy for nothing.

He hadn’t been prepared to run literally smack back into Harry as he reached their floor, his head slamming into Harry’s chest as his legs partially slipped out from beneath him and he almost tumbled back down the stairs he’d just mounted. He hadn’t actually realised it was Harry until that huge hand closed over his, yanking him forward and away from the immediate peril that the stairs presented.

“Careful,” Harry says quietly, not meeting his gaze as he slowly takes a step backward.

“Thank you,” Louis replies, rough voiced and cringing at his own idiocy.

Harry isn’t looking at him though. Won’t even meet his eyes. Does he feel he shouldn’t? Louis, you fuckwit. He probably thinks you’re a monster. Harry doesn’t say anything more but his whole face is rosy pink and he looks truly pained as he tries to skirt around Louis, head still ducked as he makes to travel down the stairs. Louis stops him with a hand pressed to the centre of his chest. This is precisely the moment he finally takes in Harry’s appearance.

“Fuck, Harry,” he swears without thinking, his fingers splaying out across the sides of Harry’s pecs, “what are you wearing?”

Harry’s chest is visible through a loose, semi-transparent, short-sleeved white shirt that’s tucked into deep burgundy-purplish jeans with a chunky black belt looped around his waist to hold them in place. Although Louis can see just how unnecessary that is because Harry’s tight, tight, trousers fit his long legs and shapely thighs like a glove. It’s a very distracting glove. The bulge around Harry’s groin is large and sharply defined and Louis has to concentrate really hard on pushing his gaze upward to Harry’s bare arms that are unquestionably toned as all hell. His upper arms are meaty and thick with hard muscle but they narrow down to noticeably finer wrists and the contrast is dizzying.

Louis can’t help but think of the way Harry’s muscles must have tensed and rippled slightly when he lifted Louis up onto the counter the other night. The thought is unusually erotic, all that muscle tension flowing from Harry’s arms through to his hands that closed around Louis’ small waist, lifting him as though he weighed no more than a feather. Louis shakes away the image.

Harry’s wrapped a bright green scarf around his neck that matches the luscious greenery that surrounds his pupils. His eyes. Harry’s eyes are rimmed by dark eyeliner that makes the whites of his eyes shine and his eyelashes are curled and painted black. It makes his gaze even more direct and the watery colour of his irises even more mesmerising. Louis is transfixed.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Harry asks, meeting Louis’ gaze as he frowns and blushes deeper.

Louis shakes his head at the ridiculousness of Harry not knowing. How could he not know how thoroughly he’s just disarmed Louis? Still The Pretty One, Louis thinks absently.

“Nothing,” Louis breathes, tugging on the edges of Harry’s scarf as Harry’s eyes fall to trace the movements of Louis’ fingers in the material, “you just surprised me. I mean...you’re wearing eyeliner.”

Just when Louis thinks Harry’s skin is as pink as it can possibly get, Harry proves him wrong. It must be on fire. Louis wonders where all this shyness and embarrassment is coming from and equally why he wants to tattoo that perfect blush onto his own skin somewhere.

“I...I mean, do you mind?” Harry asks, gently pulling the scarf away from Louis to get his attention, “It just looked so good on you and I thought maybe, maybe it would look alright on me too. Do I look ridiculous?”

“Of course I don’t mind. Didn’t invent eyeliner, did I love? You don’t look ridiculous,” Louis takes a huge breath, “you look wonderful Haz.”

Louis’ voice is soft and light but he doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes because he can’t have him knowing all the varying ways he means that. It’s more than the clothes and the make up. It’s Harry’s expressive eyes and his flawless body. It’s his raw strength and the fact that he could pick Louis up or move him in any which way he wanted and Louis wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. It’s that perfect, self conscious flush of his skin and the way his rings all sit at different points along his fingers instead of sitting in a single horizontal line. Only Harry. It’s not an insult. Only Harry is gorgeous in these ways.

Harry doesn’t respond. He smiles but only the corners of his lips flip up while the centre of his mouth seems to tremble as though Louis telling him he looks wonderful is more painful than pleasurable.

Well you fucking yelled at him, you twat. Why would he want to hear nice things from you? He wouldn’t, not when you could snap and bite his head off at any moment.

“Harry,” Louis says, his desperation renewed as his vocal cords pull tight and taut in his throat, “we need to talk.”

Doubt and perhaps confusion forms frowns on Harry’s forehead but he literally shakes the emotion away, planting his hands on Louis’ shoulders and squeezing them as he moves him aside.

“I’m sorry Louis but I’ve really gotta go. ‘M running late cause I spent too long getting ready.”

“Getting ready for what?” Louis asks.

“Ah, got a date,” Harry says, nonchalantly combing a hand through the side of his curls while he tilts his head back slightly as if he genuinely doesn’t know how seductive he looks.

Louis’ stomach jumps at Harry’s response. A date. But-

“You don’t date,” he says with gritted teeth.

“Yeah, but ah, this guy Olly,” Louis holds back a snort. Olly. Is he a puppy or a full-grown man? “That I met at the shoot for GQ...well he asked me and I thought, why not?”

Harry shrugs as if his decision to date for the first time in three years is no big deal. Louis has to ask.

“So it’s not just...sex. You actually like this guy?”

“Not just sex, no but I don’t know yet,” Harry says with a secretive, dreamy smile that Louis hates, “I don’t know if I like him.”

“Well,” Louis swallows noisily and reaches out to squeeze Harry’s firm bicep, smiling weakly, “have fun gorgeous.”

Louis hears Harry’s breath cut short and his eyes bore into Louis’ as his face slowly crumples into the worst kind of grimace. Why can’t Louis keep his mouth shut? He needs to, at least until he’s apologised properly. He needs to because Duncan is waiting for him. He can’t go around swooning over Harry like this. He has to control himself better.

“Louis,” Harry says, his voice strained and slightly off key, his eyes still wide and slightly off focus.

Louis’ eyes trail to Harry’s arms again and he shrugs out of his denim jacket, thrusting it at Harry who jumps and then clutches it in his fingers.

“You’ll be cold otherwise. I don’t want you to freeze.”

Louis tries for blasé with a well-timed shrug and a flick of his eyelashes but he can see that Harry is still stuck on the whole “gorgeous” comment. He threads the jacket’s collar through his thumbs and bites his lip hard.

“Thanks,” he finally says, sticking his arms through the sleeves and pulling the jacket on without looking up.

It looks a touch ridiculous. The sleeves are way too short on him but they frame his muscles a little too perfectly, the material plastered tightly to his skin. Louis hadn’t thought of that. Olly should thank him. The prospect of that makes Louis’ whole body seize up with tension. This guy better be fucking special. If he’s going to date Harry, he has to be special.

“I should ah, go,” Harry says awkwardly, edging back towards the stairs.

Louis nods silently and tries his best to deny the lump in his throat that’s starting to throb painfully in time with his dull thud of a heartbeat. He watches as Harry descends, feeling downright sick to his stomach. He takes a huge weighted breath before entering his flat.

.....

“So sorry I’m late,” Harry apologises as Olly grabs his elbow and steers him to their table.

The restaurant is a little expensive and just the wrong side of pretentious for Harry’s taste. The waiters are wearing fitted waistcoats and all speaking in the same soft, dulcet tones as they pander to their guests, bowing and addressing them only as “Madame” or “Sir.” It reminds Harry far too much of dinners in his own home with different officials, ambassadors and governor generals from different countries all being served food like caviar and salmon en croute. There were these kinds of wait staff there too but worse. They’d scarcely meet his eyes for fear of being reprimanded by Harry’s father.

Harry had tried on more than one occasion to rouse some conversation out of one or two of them but they had always kept their heads down and their eyes lowered as they politely informed him that it was not proper conduct for Harry to engage them.

Harry had felt like he was living in nineteenth century London with slave-like servants. Servants that were more than likely worked to the bone but too afraid to do anything about it because they needed the income. It had turned Harry’s stomach to think of the pitiful wages his father probably paid them. These wait staff who were mostly immigrants from poorer countries who didn’t know how to ask for more even if they needed it. Harry had tried to offer each of them some of his allowance to no avail. It was always “No thank you Sir. If Master Styles ever found out, we would lose our jobs. We need our jobs Sir.” As such, Harry doesn’t like to be reminded of that kind of time. Not when he has a choice.

He does resolve not to make any snap judgements. Olly is clearly trying to impress him and it’s sweet. He’s wearing a light blue fitted shirt and dark trousers and as they slide into their seats, he winks at Harry and flashes a wide smile. He’s attractive, there’s no doubt about it. A month ago, Harry would have had him between the sheets as soon as the shoot had finished but things have changed and Harry has to be ready for more than that. Louis walked into his life and reminded him just how much he wants more than that and how it feels like he’s been waiting for the right person for a rather long time. Yet despite the fact that Louis might have been the signpost, he’s not the destination so Harry lets his own lopsided smile fill his cheeks and continues to hold Olly’s gaze as their waiter pours them each a drink.

“Harry, you must tell me how on earth you are single?” Olly asks, swirling his wine in his glass before taking a sip, “you’re rather stunning.”

A pleasant flush crawls up Harry’s neck and he smiles bashfully down at the table.

“Thank you. I um, I guess I wanted to wait a bit because I wasn’t really sure what I was looking for.”

Harry’s not sure why that answer comes out when it’s lacking a certain component of truth. Perhaps he hadn’t known what shape the right person would take but he’d always had some confidence in what he wanted from them and what he expected to feel. Harry’s not sure why he didn’t just tell Olly what he’d told Louis, that he hadn’t wanted to be with someone who would curb his enthusiasm for his new life or restrict him in any way. Harry doesn’t want to think about why he felt so free to confess his reasons to Louis but sitting here with Olly, he feels like that part of himself is much too private.

“And what are you looking for?” Olly prompts, tilting his head to the side so that a strand of his gelled back hair falls across his head.

Biscuit crumbs and eyeliner. Harry almost chokes on his huge mouthful of wine. He slows his racing heart with a deep breath and then shoves the horrifying suggestion aside.

“Just someone who’s...nice, I guess.”

Olly chuckles.

“That’s a rather long list you’ve got there Harry,” he says with raised eyebrows.

Harry’s grin splits his mouth open and he scrubs a hand over his face with embarrassment.

“Um, excuse that poor excuse for an answer, my mind is off with the fairies,” Harry apologises, banishing the fairy-like, elfin man with disturbingly blue eyes from his thoughts. Have fun gorgeous, “what about you?”

Olly smiles softly at him and then slides a menu over to him.

“How about we order first love?”

Harry nods obediently and smiles to himself when Olly’s foot nudges his beneath the table.

“Recommend the spaghetti Bolognese. It’s to die for.”

Harry decides on the Caesar salad instead.

....

“So we climbed down the rock face as quickly as we could and the whole time, my brother’s screaming at me to go faster because he thought he was going to wee himself. Then, we get back down and he announces that the feeling’s passed and asks us if we want to go have lunch. The lazy bugger was putting it on the whole time!”

Harry chortles and collects the last of the chicken and lettuce on his fork, placing it on his tongue and then chewing slowly. Olly’s eyes flicker down to his mouth and Harry knows instantly where this is headed. Olly’s foot has been rubbing his ankle for the last twenty minutes and his pupils have gotten increasingly larger as his eyes drifted to Harry’s lips and then to his tongue as he swiped it along his bottom lip to retrieve the crumbs from the croutons. Harry could easily sleep with him, he realises and in fact would be happy enough to see him again and perhaps even date him.

Olly is amusing, if not a little too laidback for Harry. Harry tends to prefer a certain level of intensity in men because he likes to feel unsteady with attraction. He likes not knowing whether the guy he’s with might suddenly pull him in for a dirty kiss or slide his hand down the back of his pants while they ride the elevator. While Olly’s an outrageous flirt, there’s a certain level headedness to it that doesn’t feel unpredictable. He can’t imagine Olly ever experiencing random lapses of control and going insane with a need to touch.

Yet Olly ticks many of the right boxes with his kindness, his bright smile and the way he seems to take a deep interest in Harry’s stories, his eyes tracking the play of emotions over Harry’s face so attentively. There would be little reason NOT to go home with him. So Harry feels like a proper arse for looking at Olly’s perfectly styled hair that remains motionless on his head and wishing for it to be a little softer and a touch messy. He feels like a dick for looking at Olly’s much too sizeable hands and the blue of his eyes that’s much too dark. He feels completely insane when he imagines the words falling from his mouth. “Sorry Olly but your hands are too large and you don’t look like a baby hedgehog.” Harry has had it up to here with his disobedient mind and all it’s shenanigans.

"Cheque?" Harry asks Olly, determination flowing through his veins as he moves his own foot up Olly's leg.

Olly winks and then signals the waiter who glances between the two of them and sighs at the obvious sexual tension. There's a buzzing noise emanating from Olly's side of the table which interrupts Harry's thoughts of whose place they should go to.

Olly sighs, irritated and plucks his phone from the pocket of his jeans but when he sees the caller ID, his expression shifts into something softer and his lips quirk at the sides.

"Hello," he says, his innate musicality filling his tone as he reaches down to fiddle with his cutlery, ignoring Harry's gaze.

Harry shrugs and busies himself with the cheque as he tries to pretend he's not listening in to every word.

"No, I'm just out with Harry at the moment," Olly explains and is Harry going crazy or does Olly sound a touch disappointed?

There are a few moments of silence as the person on the other end responds and then Olly chuckles and rolls his eyes.

"The photographer at that shoot I got asked to do." Olly pauses as the buzzing of the other person's voice increases in volume, "yes, that one. No, we haven't. I mean, we might-"

Olly looks back up at Harry, his eyes zoning in on Harry's lips as he bites down on the center of his own. Harry hands the bill off to the waiter, having paid for both their meals and then rubs his foot up and down Olly's calf. Yet Olly's not paying attention anymore. He's frowning, his mouth slightly parted as he seemingly looks for an opportunity to interrupt the person chattering at him on the other end.

"Look I'm sorry I didn't tell you but I didn't think you'd care so...no, of course you are. No I'm not coming over, I'll...I'll speak to you tomorrow."

Olly presses end on the call abruptly and without saying goodbye and then stands up, offering a hand to Harry.

"Who was that?" Harry asks with wide eyes as Olly tows him backward through the restaurant with a sultry smile.

"My best friend. She's a nightmare."

Harry laughs and squeezes Olly's fingers. He has soft hands at least, even if his fingers are much bigger than Louis'. Harry rolls his eyes at himself and then drags Olly to his own car, pushing him up against the side window with a rough shove. Olly looks up at him with heated blue eyes, already breathing more quickly.

"Kiss me," he blurts out, wrapping his palm around Harry's waist to draw him in closer.

Their bodies are joined from shoulder to hip as Harry tilts his head and connects their mouths. Olly open his lips up and sucks Harry's tongue in, the outsides of their mouths suctioned together as their bodies push close together and Olly winds his fingers around the backs of Harry's curls. It feels good.

It's no different from a month beforehand when Harry would do exactly this with some guy from a club. He’d get off with him quick and dirty or if he felt like it, take him home for something more sustained. Olly's tongue is efficient and not too demanding, just teasing his own in that perfect way that always drives Harry's mad. Plus the way Olly grips his hips tight, digging his nails into his bum makes his cock twitch with interest.

Yet there's a problem and the problem is that as much as Harry's body responds, his mind isn't. A month ago, Harry's head would be filled with a montage of increasingly filthy images of him and Olly fucking on the hood of the car. A month ago he would have been completely blissful and ecstatic at this turn of events.

The truth is that Harry's cock is a lot more into this than he is and it's never been that way before. Something feels wrong about the way they're touching and it colours the whole night with that same tone of dizzying regret. Harry can't do this. He shouldn't be doing this just to satisfy that burdensome part of him that wants his neighbor; the burdensome part of him that doesn't want anyone but his neighbour. I can't do this, he thinks, his tongue work getting increasingly sloppy as doubt inches its way down his spine. I need to stop.

"I'm sorry," Olly blurts out, ripping his mouth away and stepping back "but I can't do this."

His blue eyes are wild and panicked, his mouth slightly swollen as he wipes away the excess saliva on his shirt and runs a trembling hand through his hair.

"What?"

Harry is shocked to say the least. He hadn't seen that coming. Despite the fact that he was just about to pull away himself, he finds himself asking why he's not good enough for Olly.

"Oh god," Olly groans into his palms, rubbing them desperately over his eyes, "you're so sexy Harry. So sexy. Believe me. And if it weren't for-" Olly takes his palms from his face and reaches out to cradle Harry's cheek, "I would follow you home and I would sleep with you. I would take you out again just to see that dimple when you smile. Honestly, it's lovely."

Harry's whole body softens and he smiles calmly at Olly, this compassionate guy who could have been just the right guy if Harry weren't embroiled in a fucking mess of a situation with the wrong guy. That and if Olly weren't-

"Wait, you would sleep with me if what? Why did you pull away?"

Olly sighs and then chuckles, sounding bitter. He swings around to Harry's side and knocks his head against the top of the car, not saying a word. Harry shrugs and then throws an arm over his shoulder, pulling Olly into his side.

"Want to know my reason then? The reason I'm not at all bothered?" He asks, side eyeing Olly's frown.

Olly's eyes stutter back to his face, surprised and he nods.

"I'm...I'm rather fond of my neighbour. Like ridiculously fond. And he's...he's unavailable. So I came on this date thinking that maybe-because you know, you're hot," Harry smirks and Olly tilts his head back as he laughs, long and low,” and kind and stuff but..."

"But it didn't help, did it?" Olly asks, "because I'm not him."

“That’s pathetic,” Harry says sulkily, rolling his head down to the side of his shoulder.

Olly’s lip has a fond quirk at the side.

“But it’s true isn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” Harry grumbles.

Olly chuckles.

“Your turn,” Harry whines.

Olly’s laughter dies and he frowns all over.

“It’s Caroline,” he sighs, closing his eyes and sliding down the car a little.

Harry squeezes his shoulder.

“Who’s Caroline?”

“My best friend.”

“The one who called before?”

Olly nods and then groans.

“I’m in love with her.”

“You’re bi?” Harry asks with eyebrows raised.

Olly nods again and then ducks his head.

“It’s only her. She’s the only woman I’ve ever been attracted to.”

Harry laughs which makes Olly glare. Harry pats his shoulder.

“You poor sod. You’re gone for her, aren’t you?”

“Yes and I think it’s about time I tell the woman. It’s just...what if-“

“She doesn’t feel the same?” Harry finishes and Olly nods, anxiety flickering across his features, “mate, she asked you to come over while you were on a date with me. Pretty sure she’s jealous.”

Olly’s head bobs and he looks encouraged by Harry’s words, smiling with only a trace of anxiety around his dark blue eyes.

“Yeah, maybe and like, if she tells me to go jump, well then I can sleep with cute boys like you and not wonder if I’m missing out on something,” he says, the words blurring together as he gets increasingly more antsy.

Suddenly Harry realizes that there is an intense, unpredictable side to Olly. It just happens to be reserved for one woman and one woman only. Harry truly hopes it works out between them.

“You can go,” Harry says with a chuckle.

Olly pulls him into a tight hug, reaching up to pet his curls.

“We should hang out,” he calls as he backs away, “you’re a gem Harry. A very fuckable gem.”

Harry’s loud chesty laugh fills the night air as Olly grins, winks one more time and then quickly hurries away to his own car. Harry watches with awe as Olly jumps in and floors it down the street, on the way to get the woman of his dreams and most probably, his soul mate.

Harry sighs as he jumps in his own car and inadvertently inhales the sweet scent of Louis’ cologne on the borrowed jacket. If only. If only things were that easy. Harry doesn’t floor it home. There’s nobody to speed towards, only someone who Harry should most probably speed away from.

.......

“Why are you so jumpy tonight?” Duncan questions Louis who’s currently drumming his fingers against his thigh as he pretends to watch the TV.

“I’m not,” he says defensively, trying to relax the tension in his muscles that Duncan can probably feel all along his side.

Louis is tucked up under Duncan’s arm on the couch, watching some boring as fuck basketball game and trying not to have a brain aneurysm every time he hears a noise. It’s getting later and later and from what Louis has surmised, Harry is yet to return home. What is he doing? Are they still out somewhere? Are they getting off in Harry’s car? Or did Olly, the fucking puppy dog, take Harry back to his place? Louis’ chest hurts. Have fun gorgeous. Why had he said that? He made a fucking fool of himself.

“You are,” Duncan snaps, shocking Louis back to reality, “you jump every single time there’s a noise in the building. It’s fucking irritating. I’m going to go to bed because I can’t stand to be around you when you’re like this.”

Louis fights the urge he has to roll his eyes. Yeah, he thinks, because I’ve been in this state so many times before. His sarcasm fades at the thought of Harry altering him and making him feel things he can’t say he’s ever experienced prior to meeting him.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, pressing a kiss to Duncan’s jaw, “you go to bed and I’ll be in soon. I love you.”

Duncan kisses him slowly for a moment and it’s heavenly. Yet when he stands and makes his way through the kitchen and into the hall, shutting the door behind him, Louis is only relieved. He switches the TV off and grabs his reading glasses from the coffee table, sliding them onto his face as he pulls his sketchbook and a pencil from beneath the couch. Louis doesn’t ordinarily need glasses for much but when it’s nighttime and all he’s got to help him is the low light emanating from the lamp in the corner of the room, they are of considerable use.

Louis has been sketching a paper airplane crossing just in front of a swallow, mid-flight, for twenty minutes without interruption. He’s barely been paying attention to the goings on outside, instead focusing on the soft angles of the swallow’s torso and the intensity in its gaze. However when he hears the quiet thump of footsteps mounting the staircase, he jumps up like someone shoved a firecracker up his bum, opens the door and then quickly shuts it behind him without thinking.

He wasn’t thinking about the fact that he’s dressed in Duncan’s huge navy blue tracksuit pants and a tattered, charcoal grey shirt that dwarfs his hands and makes him look far too vulnerable for his own liking. He wasn’t thinking about the fact that he still has his glasses on and his hair is probably a mess from having it pressed up against Duncan for half of the night. He wasn’t thinking about the fact that Harry might be accompanied by his date and he was certainly not thinking about the fact that he doesn’t even have an excuse as to why he’s standing on the landing, watching the staircase like a creep.

He breathes a short sigh of relief when he realizes there’s only one set of footsteps but it’s cut short when Harry reaches the top of the stairs and his whole gut clenches. He’s completely winded. It’s been only a few hours but Louis had stupidly forgotten how beautiful Harry is, especially in his jacket with his hair windswept and soft rather than spiky at the ends. The darling green scarf is loosely tied now and there’s a lovely spot of colour in Harry’s cheeks that brings out the green of his eyes. The effect is devastating.

Harry jumps when he spies Louis standing there, which is the point at which Louis realizes he’s got no reasonable explanation for waiting here like an expectant oaf. He decides to pretend nothing is amiss.

“How did the date go?”

Louis forces the words out with a plastic smile as he rests his bum against his own door and watches Harry move toward him slowly.

“Um,” Harry coughs awkwardly and Louis wonders at the way Harry’s eyes flitter away from his own even as he comes to a stop just an inch from Louis’ door, “okay but ah.... not my type, I don’t think.”

There’s a wave of relief breaking over Louis’ body. There’s an urge to dance around the whole landing or something equally ridiculous, like find Olly and kiss him all over. What the fuck is going on?

“What is your type?” Louis questions, cocking his head to the side and smiling sweetly.

Am I being coy? Fucking tell me I’m not being coy.

Harry moves a little closer and then swallows loud enough for Louis to hear. He reaches up and rubs his thumbs across the arms of Louis’ glasses, holding Louis’ gaze. Louis’ bum slides down the door a little and he pulls himself away from Harry’s gentle touch.

“You’re wearing glasses,” Harry says throatily, “they make you look a lot younger.”

Louis cringes and reaches up to remove them but Harry grabs his wrist and then gently pulls his hand down, folding it over his stomach.

“Don’t,” he says quietly, “I like you like this.”

Louis’ breath hitches but he ignores it, that and the fluttering inside his stomach.

“What’s your type?” He repeats himself.

“Someone...nice,” Harry settles on, his lips flipping up at the corners as if he’s quite proud of that answer.

Louis scoffs and doesn’t bother to hide it which makes Harry’s expression harden.

“Well you’re not going to go out with a dickhead are you?”

Harry’s eyes pop as soon as the sentence is out and he claps one of his huge hands over his mouth before reaching out to touch Louis. Louis shrinks away and Harry’s face only crumples further.

“Oh god Louis, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that...I mean not like that. I wasn’t calling Duncan a dickhead!” He blusters.

Louis has to clamp both his hands over his mouth but then his eyes begin to fill with humour. Harry spots it immediately, pouting unhappily at Louis in response.

“You arse. You’re not even insulted!”

Louis’ giggles stream through the gaps between his fingers and Harry’s bottom lip ripples, a wave of humour rolling across it from one side to the other.

“Stop that,” he complains, prying Louis’ fingers from his mouth and squeezing them, “stop giggling like that. Into your fingers.”

“Why?” Louis asks, still laughing and unable to stop, as the high of being around Harry rolls over his body.

“Because,” Harry’s mouth is fully turned up now but he maintains the furrowed brow that makes him look completely ridiculous and utterly adorable, “you look like a mischievous school boy or some kind of fairy child or something. You’re all sleepy and soft looking and I’m trying to be mad at you.”

Louis stretches up and grabs Harry’s cheeks, his giggles falling silent as Harry’s hands find his waist.

“Don’t be mad at me Harreh,” he coos, “I’m just a wee little tattoo artist.”

Harry rolls his eyes and grins, squeezing Louis to force him back down to the ground.

“You admit you’re little?” He teases and snatches up Louis’ hands with a smirk.

Louis tries to pull back but Harry holds tight.

“Have I ever told you how small these are?”

Louis glares at him and tugs on his hands, trying to get them back. This only serves to make Harry stumble and fall against him, his body curved over Louis’. Now Louis’ hands are being held up over his head, clenched around Harry’s and Harry’s staring down at him with mischief and flirtation. His green eyes are swirling and sparking, setting off a similar response in Louis’ stomach.

“They’re like bear cub paws. Or smaller,” Harry’s eyes light up as he squeezes their conjoined fingers, “like Hugh Grant’s paws. So little and soft.”

Louis wants to growl but he somehow senses that won’t help his case. Instead he changes the topic.

“I need to apologise to you,” he says gruffly.

Harry drops his hands immediately but continues to lean over him, watching him with bated breath and unyielding intensity.

“What for?” He asks, dropping his voice to a whisper as if scared to disturb the moment.

Louis gulps and reaches up to touch Harry’s shoulder. He falters at the last moment and lets his fingers trickle down the side of Harry’s arm lightly.

“I’m...I’m sorry for cracking it at you. For what you said...about Duncan calling. I know you didn’t mean to upset me and maybe you weren’t passing judgment like I presumed you were. I’m sorry Haz, I’m just real sorry that I got angry at you for saying something that’s been said many times. I don’t know why it hurt more when you said it. I’m just...I mean,” Louis’ hand doesn’t falter this time as he knits it in Harry’s hair and watches Harry’s eyelids drop until they’re half closed, “you can tell me what to do. You can...pass judgment. I can’t promise I’ll listen because I never have but maybe it’s not so bad to have someone like you tell me. Someone who doesn’t expect anything of me.”

“Lou,” Harry presses his thumb to the soft spot just below Louis’ shoulder blade as he cups it. Louis can feel the warm softness of Harry’s hand through the thin material and his own eyelids droop, “I really wasn’t insulting you...or him. I really only want this,” Harry strokes his skin through the shirt, “to be able to be your friend and to...to comfort you. I want to be the best neighbor you never had.”

Harry smiles softly at this and Louis returns it, melting beneath the soft press of Harry’s fingers and massaging Harry’s scalp deeper in response.

“I should um...go,” Louis says trying to appease that voice in his head telling him that this is not safe, that it’s not okay to enjoy Harry’s touch this much, “I came out here to um, put the rubbish out.”

Harry draws back but he quirks an eyebrow and one side of his mouth.

“Ah Lou...”

“What?”

Harry’s soft smile shifts into a grin.

“You don’t have any rubbish with you.”

“Shit,” Louis swears, smacking his head back against the door.

Harry’s chuckle sounds like silk and dark chocolate. He steps forward and cups almost the entirety of the back of Louis’ head with his palm, stroking over the sore spot with his thumb.

“Are you okay?” He asks, sincerity belied by the humour curving his mouth.

Louis pushes him away.

“Fine,” he groans, “I’m just going to go get the rubbish.”

“Okay,” Harry says with a chuckle and then does a half wave as he steps away to his own door.

“Harry,” Louis says just as Harry’s about to close the door behind him.

His head pops out around it and he looks at Louis with confusion.

“Yeah?”

“Keep the jacket.”

Harry’s eyes go wide and he looks down at himself like he forgot the rest of his body existed. He runs a hand up over one side of the jacket, pressing his palm to his chest bone as he looks up at Louis with doubt. Something about Harry touching his clothing so reverently makes Louis’ stomach muscles clench and his heart miss a couple of beats.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, biting his plump mouth and making Louis’ palms feel sweaty in the process.

“Yes,” Louis confirms, bobbing his head, “see you round Harold.”

Harry is still blinking sleepily back at him when Louis shuts the door, moaning to himself as he eyes the sketch he’d been doing. Louis violently shoves the sketchbook back under the couch and then hightails it to the bedroom, climbing in beside a snoring Duncan who farts loudly in his sleep and then rolls over, rocking the whole bed. Louis’ phone sounds on the bedside table, buzzing briefly to indicate a text.

Harry: I take it back. Hugh Grant’s paws are much bigger than yours. .xx

Louis just stares at the screen, a ridiculously happy smile fluttering across his lips even though Harry is teasing him mercilessly. When did Louis fall under this gorgeous hipster’s spell? What does it mean that he falls asleep with the strange and seriously inappropriate hope that Harry falls asleep in his jacket?

Chapter Text

“I don’t have to repeat the aftercare instructions to you do I?” Louis asks the weathered man before him.

Basil is half sitting, half lying down in the recliner, his arm extending over the arm rest as Louis gently presses the corners of the bandage down over Basil’s newest tattoo. The tattoo is a rather dark image of a dragon being slain, which, according to Basil, represents the last opponent he defeated in one of his underground fights. Louis had merely shook his head, an unwittingly amused smile gracing his lips in response to the starry look that filled Basil’s eyes as he lay back in the chair describing the moment his fist first made contact with the other guy’s nose. The wonderful thing about Basil is that for all the bravado and beefiness, there’s softness at the core.

The guy’s got on his trademark checkered bandana and his singular hoop earring that always has Louis fighting back the urge to say, “aye, aye captain”. Yet despite this and the fact that he’s covered from head to toe in tattoos, he’s still wearing a lumpy jumper and soft pants, smiling kindly up at Louis as he shakes his head.

“Course not Lou, what do you think I am, some kind of amateur?”

Basil’s deep voice rumbles out of his chest but it’s belied by the soft look on his face as he grins at Louis and then reaches down beside the recliner to his bag, flourishing a bouquet of flowers like some kind of magician. The action is so dramatic and absurd that Louis finds another one of those pesky little giggles slipping out from between his fingers as he presses them to his mouth.

“You like them then?” Basil prompts; still grinning as he gently pushes the long stemmed red roses into Louis’ hands.

“They’re for me?”

Louis’ skin heats unexpectedly and he feels a small pulse of warmth in his chest. It’s not because he has any kind or romantic feelings for the tattooed street fighter before him. No, it’s simply the fact that this man, with such a reverence for violence and ink, is actually a great big softie and especially so when it comes to Louis. This is the type of man who people would shy away from on the street and perhaps glare at if he were to enter their high-class, posh establishment but Basil is a lot like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, hard as nails on the outside but sweet and vulnerable beneath. Louis just hopes Basil doesn’t think he’s Richard Gere.

Louis is still remarkably touched by the gesture and for a moment he wonders when someone last did something so simple and kind for him. That train of thought leads him to Harry. Harry, who Louis hasn’t seen in a week but who has been texting Louis like his life depended on it since Louis accosted him in the hallway after his failed date. Louis can’t bring himself to regret it and nor does he regret swapping numbers with Harry when they did the photo shoot weeks ago because Harry’s texts are there for Louis when his boyfriend isn’t. Harry’s stupid jokes and his charmingly awful comebacks are there to read when Duncan disappears for a “late night drink with the boss” or when he spends an hour outside on the phone.

Louis remembers their conversation from just the other night which had inspired the soft blush of his cheeks and the sleepy, warm curl of his lips while he lay alone in bed, waiting for Duncan to get home...

Harry:  Hey Lou, why did the baboon ask the giraffe, “why the long face?”

Louis: Harry love, please don’t embarrass yourself

Harry: He thought his neck was his face !! .xx

Louis: I can hear you laughing through the wall. Harold, you disgust me.

Harry: I can feel you smiling through the wall .xx

Louis: That is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. I am in fact glaring. x

Harry: Is that a kiss ? I think you’re fond of me and you hate it.

Louis: That’s a typo. An x, not a kiss. I think you’re absurd...now go to sleep

Harry: Just a funny coincidence that it fell at the end of your text then? Night bear cub .xx

Louis: Night monster hands !

“Yes, for you,” Basil murmurs, breaking Louis’ trance, “please tell me you’re single now.”

Louis chuckles and shakes his head as he places the flowers down on the metal tray beside him.

“Nope, still involved,” Louis says with an exaggerated sigh, “but you know my heart belongs to you, you big sweetheart.”

He winks at Basil and silences the nagging voice inside his head that loves to remind him just how much trouble he’d be in if Duncan saw him joking around like this. Basil sighs too but his sigh sounds genuinely disappointed and it tugs on Louis’ heartstrings. Louis tugs on the end of Basil’s bandana.

“You know you could do a lot better than me right?”

Basil’s huge hand lands on his shoulder and shakes him semi-roughly. His disappointment is framed by indignation as Louis shakes under his grip.

“That boyfriend of yours has got to have no fucking clue if that’s what you think. Doesn’t he tell you how wonderful you are?”

Louis’ throat thickens as Basil’s words join the legion of similar sentiments that have already been rattling around Louis’ head a lot of late.  Doesn’t he tell you how wonderful you are? You’re better than this. Louis, wake up. Surely he’s called you. Louis is wound tighter than a spring at this point and Basil’s rhetorical question is only adding to his inner torment.

“I don’t need him to tell me,” Louis says with a falsely bright smile as he flutters his eyelashes “I only ever need to look in the mirror.”

Basil doesn’t know Louis well enough to spot the difference between a good mood and a good cover so he expels a gruff chuckle and pats Louis’ shoulder.

“Too right,” he agrees with a grin, “you got a bright future behind you.”

“Quoting song lyrics about my bum? Basil, you’re an outrageous flirt.”

Basil just shrugs and then cups his crutch, moving his hips from side to side on the seat.

“My anaconda don’t want none unless-“

“I know you could beat the shit out of me if you wanted but if you finish that sentence, I’m going to have to go Feral Louis on your arse,” a light shines in Basil’s eyes and Louis smacks his forehead in horror, “oh fuck, I mean-“

To make matters worse, while Basil is going blue in the face with laughter, Louis gets a new text from Harry.

Harry: My buns are perfect :) You can come try them later if you want ? .xx

Louis stares wide eyed at the screen. His heart is rabbiting in his chest and the rest of the world melts away as his mind automatically fills with images of Harry spread eagled on a four poster bed with a soft tongue between his cheeks...Louis’ soft tongue, to be exact. His phone vibrates in his hand again and he almost drops the stupid thing, his fingers trembling as he unlocks it. Louis’ heart slows as he reads the follow up text but the semi in his pants is still pressing right up against his zipper and making him squirm uncomfortably. Fuck everything.

Harry: Just took them out of the oven. Pink icing or red? You said your favourite colour is red didn’t you? .xx

......

“Hey babe, I’ve gotta meet with Hunter tonight for drinks. We have to discuss that meeting we’ve got tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“I won’t be home till late.”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

“Maybe I should just stay at Hunter’s because I don’t want to wake you up at some ungodly hour when I come home?”

“Yes, let’s do that.”

“Are you even listening to me Louis?” Duncan snaps.

Harry: Are you coming or not? Duncan home? .xx

Harry: I take it you’re ignoring me

Harry: Put some buns in a container for you just in case you drop by.

Louis reluctantly tears his eyes from the screen to look into Duncan’s suspicious and narrowed green eyes. He’s standing by the door, his arms folded over his stomach with a stormy expression on his face as he looks down at Louis. Louis feels a column of heat rising up his spine in response to that unnerving stare. He really hadn’t heard a word.

“I-“

“Who are you even texting?” Duncan demands, jerking his chin outward in the direction of Louis’ phone.

Louis locks his phone and shoves it into his pocket, keeping his eyes lowered as he responds.

“No one. I wasn’t texting anyone. I was just checking the football scores.”

“Well did you hear me? I’m going out. I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

Louis’ pulse jumps with anxiety and when he looks up at Duncan, there’s a similar form of tension mirrored in his expression. It’s in the creases between Duncan’s eyebrows and the jittery movements of his pupils across Louis’ face.

“Are you-“ Louis swallows down the bile rising in his throat as unwelcome thoughts flood his brain, “are you sure you don’t want to come home?”

Duncan sighs, seemingly annoyed but there’s still something intrinsically nervous about him, with his stiff posture and the way his cheek is hollowed in slightly on one side, as if he might be biting the inside of his mouth. There’s something about his composure, or rather, lack thereof that makes Louis uneasy.

“I told you, I don’t want to wake you up babe.”

The exasperation and obvious irritation in Duncan’s tone doesn’t match his sentiment. On the surface, it’s considerate and sweet but beneath that it feels like Duncan’s rushing towards some kind of prize and Louis is the only obstacle left in his way.

“I don’t mind,” Louis says in a tiny voice, fisting his jacket in his fingers as he stares determinedly at his lap, “I just want you here with me.”

Louis can admit to himself that Harry has become his friend and has recently filled some spaces left in his life left by Duncan. Harry has been the person Louis texts when he doesn’t want to hear one of Liam’s tough love lectures or a similar derivative from Taylor, albeit mixed in with some sugary sweet stories about Calvin treating her like a princess that are frankly worthy of a cavity. Louis couldn’t be happier that his two best friends have attractive, dutiful boyfriends who think the world of them but there’s a part of him that isn’t able to fully appreciate how wonderful that is, when he’s stuck in his own special merry-go-round of misery. It’s difficult for Louis to hear about how special Taylor is to Calvin and to know that deep down, he’s not even near the same for his boyfriend of three years. Louis knows he’s not good enough and he wonders when that became true because once upon a time, he had been.

Yes, Harry has provided Louis with a few too many fond smiles and girlish giggles this past week. He’s occupied Louis’ thoughts more than Louis would care to admit...but that’s where it ends. Harry is an enigma; a beautiful, angelic soul with more than a few quirks that Louis would like to study further...but he won’t. He won’t venture next door unless asked. He won’t allow his most illicit, erotic fantasies to morph into anything but passing thoughts. It’s okay, he tells himself, to have an itsy bitsy crush on the guy next door. It’s okay because Harry has legs that look like they could wind around Louis’ waist more than once and solid, meaty thighs that would look fucking fantastic trembling with orgasm. It’s okay that Louis got the breath knocked of him when he ran into Harry on the stairs last week, looking like a page out of a catalogue and yet somehow even more beautiful. It’s okay because while Harry is the first guy he’s looked at in three years that wasn’t Duncan, Duncan is still the one with his heart.

Duncan is still the one he wants to come home to. He only wonders if it’s the Duncan of old he’s really in love with and whether that person still exists in some corner of Duncan’s mind. He wonders whether he might be dead and gone forever...

Duncan doesn’t say anything but he approaches the couch and then leans down, grasping the back of Louis’ neck to pull him into a soft kiss where their lips slip and slide against each other and their sighs melt into one. When Duncan pulls back, Louis hums his contentment. Duncan plants a kiss in the top of his hair and then straightens up, any softness quickly fading from his expression.

“I can’t do that to you love,” he murmurs, “you’re so beautiful when you sleep.”

The words sit dark and twisted inside Louis’ body as they flow from his ear canals to his stomach, sitting there like a huge leaden weight that won’t budge. The murmur is so quiet, the words so tender but there is nothing but blankness in Duncan’s look and Louis’ skin is crawling with the urge to shake Duncan and bring whatever it is they once had back to life. If I’m so beautiful, he wants to ask, why don’t you want to hold me? Why don’t you want to lie with me?  He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t truly want to know. He doesn’t want to know what part of his body repulses Duncan the most or why Duncan is so determined to spend the night elsewhere.

“I hope you have a good time,” Louis says with strain.

Duncan grins at him and his eyes brighten instantly. He’s shining with victory and triumph while Louis’ stomach is churning unhappily.

“I just need to get my watch from your car. Can I have the keys?”

Louis pulls them from his jeans and chucks them to Duncan who swings them around his pinkie and runs his other hand through his hair.

“You should have Liam round or something,” Duncan says with a sparkling smile, “have a guys night or something.”

Louis can feel how wide his eyes are in his face. A guys night? Is Duncan actually encouraging him to have another man over to their flat while he’s not there? Duncan’s not okay with this, he can’t be.  This feels scarily like the time Duncan let him go out with Taylor because he’d broken Louis’ new tattoo gun. He hadn’t had the guts to tell Louis until Louis came across it in the rubbish and confronted him about it. Is that what this is? Is he trying to make up for something in advance?

“Yeah um, great idea,” Louis agrees, feeling completely off balance.

Duncan winks at him and then disappears out the door. Louis’ head is thumping. He rests it in his hands and focuses on deep breathing. This isn’t happening. Stop being so fucking paranoid. He loves you; he’s always loved you. Stop.

Louis’ head jerks up from his phone at the slamming of the front door, announcing Duncan’s return. His eyes widen as Duncan straddles him, grabbing the back of his hair and pulling tight. He forces Louis’ head back against the head rest.

“Thought you could get away with it, did you?” He asks, voice low and menacing.

His eyes flare with that dangerous combination of fury and excitement; the excitement he seems to get from exerting control over Louis.

“Get away with what?” Louis asks, the nerves at the base of his neck prickling from how hard his hair is being pulled.

Duncan grips the base of his hair even tighter; jerking his head to the side so Louis is left with an unobstructed view of the item that Duncan had slammed down on the table behind them. There’s a bouquet of crumpled red roses lying sideways on the edge, a few dilapidated petals floating down to the carpet as the torn card rests in tatters by its side. Louis’ whole world starts to tremble and he can feel every noise but his breathing fall quiet in his ears. He’d forgotten the bouquet. He’d forgotten to dispose of it before he got home. Fuck.

“Thanks for everything Lou. Until next time, Basil. Kiss, kiss,” Duncan quotes in a falsely cheerful tone, scrunching Louis’ hair in his fist and pulling until with a satisfied sneer, he spots tears in Louis’ eyes.

“It’s not, he’s not-he’s just a client,” Louis urges, “I swear. He just wanted to thank me for doing his tattoo.”

“His tattoo or him?” Duncan presses, pushing down on Louis’ chest hard as he pulls himself into a standing position, “he wanted to thank you for sucking his cock like the filthy little whore you are, didn’t he? You thought if you just hid them in your car, I wouldn’t find them.”

“No,” Louis rasps, pressing his wrists against his eyes to stem the flow of tears, “no, nothing happened.”

Louis listens to the click of Duncan’s belt and the slide of the leather as Duncan pulls the strap from the belt loops and deposits it on the floor. Louis’ body starts to tremble at the sound of the zipper and he flinches when Duncan picks him up, pulling his body around like a rag doll until he’s lying sideways on the couch, head tilted up against the arm rest. Louis doesn’t open his eyes as he feels Duncan settle himself on his chest, arms either side of his head. The weight is too much and Louis’ breath feels constricted but then Duncan slides forward and rests his cock in Louis’ open mouth and there are other things to think about.

“Suck,” Duncan commands, thrusting forward until his cock blocks off the entirety of Louis’ throat, “suck me like you sucked him, you piece of shit. Show me how filthy you are.”

Louis’ eyes tear and his head starts to pound with the lack of oxygen getting to his brain but he merely tightens his mouth like a suction and pulls himself up and down, gasping around Duncan’s cock and dribbling salvia down over his chin. Duncan’s hip thrusts get increasingly erratic and then he lifts Louis’ head up from the arm rest so that his cock automatically slips further down Louis’ throat, bearing down on his chest at the same time. His balls slap against Louis’ chin as he violently thrusts, grunting and piercing Louis’ biceps with his nails. Louis chokes around him and Duncan picks up his pace, slamming into Louis’ throat with his head thrown back and his eyelashes beating down against his cheeks at a frenetic pace.

“Yeah, fuck,” Duncan growls as he grips the back of Louis’ neck and holds him in place, Louis’ access to oxygen completely cut off as Duncan rocks his hips a few more times and then comes straight down Louis’ throat. “Fucking swallow it. Don’t you dare fucking pull off.”

Spots appear in Louis’ vision and Duncan’s grunts get quieter in his ears as he drifts, his lungs too empty to function. Duncan finally pulls out, dribbling come over Louis’ lips and chin as he allows his softening cock to flop down onto Louis’ neck. Louis gasps, a sharp pain reverberating through his chest as his lungs protest the sudden rush of oxygen and the fact that Duncan’s weight is still pressing down upon him.

Duncan removes himself from Louis’ chest and motions for Louis to stand. It’s not over, oh god it’s not over. Duncan slumps down into the couch cushions and looks Louis over with deliberate speculation, as if deciding how best to punish him. Louis’ knees are week and his throat feels like sandpaper. He can’t remember ever being this terrified of Duncan.

“Take your clothes off,” Duncan finally says, motioning lazily at Louis’ black jeans and dark blue parka.

Louis sheds his clothes in an instant, feeling none too comfortable with Duncan’s unemotional, cynical gaze as he shivers in the frosty air of the room. Louis knows Duncan’s gaze will pick up all the imperfections that he hasn’t yet been able to perfect. It will pick up all the things Duncan wanted him to fix that Louis hasn’t, like the extra layer of fat around his stomach and hips and the lack of muscle definition in his chest.

“Touch yourself,” Duncan orders him, eyes cold and cruel.

Louis couldn’t be any more soft.

“I can’t-“

“Touch yourself,” Duncan says, his volume and the severity of his tone climbing higher as he settles Louis with a look that tells him that this is not up for discussion.

Louis guides his hand to his dick and slides his fist over the tip; his skin crawling with how wrong this feels. He can still taste Duncan in his mouth and his lungs haven’t yet stopped sparking pain through his body every time he breathes too deeply. He has no choice though. No choice but to submit. Louis closes his eyes and tightens his grip, trying to think of anything that will get him off quickly so that this can just be over already, so that he can slink away with shame and deal with his inadequacies on his own. That is, if that’s what Duncan wants. There’s every chance that Duncan only wants to bring him to the edge of orgasm so he can keep him there for as long as it takes Louis to break down.

“You’re disgusting,” Duncan says quietly and Louis’ fingers still on his cock, his breath faltering at the sound of Duncan’s serpent like hiss.

“Continue,” Duncan says, like a scientist urging a lab rat to run faster up the wheel.

He’s like a conductor whipping his orchestra into shape and urging them on faster until the musicians start to tire and the discordant sounds of overworked instruments start to clash and turn shrill.

The familiar trembling rolls over Louis’ body now and he digs his toes into the carpet to stop his hand from shaking where it moves across his length. He strokes across the tip, trying to coax out the expected response. Doesn’t he tell you how wonderful you are? Louis has never felt as small beneath someone’s gaze as he does in this moment, naked and exposed with all his flaws on display. The weakness of his heart betrays him as tears coat the ends of his eyelashes, preparing to fall if he so much as moves a finger.

“Nobody wants you for more than your mouth and your arse. Nothing more Louis. All those boys you must have sucked and none of them actually want you but me. What are you going to do when I don’t want you anymore? You’ll have nothing, you’ll be nothing.”

Louis’ eyes fly open and tears drip down his face unheeded as he stares unseeingly into Duncan’s face. Something snaps inside and he knows what he has to do. He can’t get through this in any other way. So in his mind, he travels somewhere else, to be with somebody else and finally, some level of heat floods his body. He feels the phantom sensation of gentle hands between his cheeks and a finger swirling around his hole. A husky, deep voice whispers to only him, “you look very sexy.”

He feels thick lips prying his open and huge thumbs stroking the curves of his face as he wraps his legs around his imaginary companion, effectively burying their throbbing cock deeper inside himself. He rocks to the conjoined beat of their hearts and presses his lips to his fantasy’s jugular, urged on by the cut off, shaky breaths that are exhaled into his hair. Louis moans and tightens his grip on himself as he returns to a more lucid state, Duncan’s bitter scowl filling his vision once more.

Louis is desperate to prove himself. He’s desperate to prove that he’s not as weak as the tears sliding down his chin to the curve of his neck. He thumbs over the beads of pre come on his tip and rocks into his fist, hearing that deep rumbling voice sigh his name. Louis. God, Lou. It’s a contented, ecstatic sigh that resounds in his ears long after his cock stops spurting come into his fist.

“Now you can get out,” Duncan says, bringing him back to earth with a heavy impact.

Louis’ legs nearly collapse beneath him. As it is, they wobble tellingly and he folds in on himself protectively, his arms coming across his stomach as he crosses one leg over the other to hide his still pulsing cock.

“Please-“

Duncan’s sharp green eyes look him over from head to toe with a simple purpose, the intent to destroy any and all dignity. His mouth curls downward with disapproval and he shakes his head, so clearly disgusted. He’s so disgusted with me.

“I can’t stand to look at you right now. Go stay with your mum for the night. I’m sure mummy will tuck her boo into bed and tell him everything he wants to hear,” Duncan’s smirk is cruel, his eyes dark, “maybe one day she’ll realise what a filthy cocksucker you are.”

Louis doesn’t respond. He can’t, not without sobbing. He reaches down to the ground to retrieve his clothes and pulls them on as hastily as he can, trying to ignore the hateful eyes upon him as he chokes back tears. He hotfoots it to their room and quickly fills a bag with some overnight supplies. When he gets back to the living room, he doesn’t even think to say goodbye. That is until he’s pulled back via the sleeve of his jacket and pushed up against the wall. His head bangs against it so violently that it creates familiar spots in his vision. Louis stares fixedly at a spot on the carpet and tries to think of other things. He thinks of the twins; of Doris’ innocent face and Ernest’s tiny toes. God, he loves them so much already.

“Don’t you fucking act like you’re walking out on me. I’m kicking you out.” Duncan fists his jacket, knocking him into the wall, “fucking look at me when I’m talking to you, you faggot.”

Louis’ eyes fly up to his and a slightly hysterical laugh bubbles to his lips. Duncan glares daggers at him.

“You’re a faggot too,” Louis says calmly.

Duncan wrenches the door open and pushes him out, throwing his bag after him like Louis is some kind of disobedient teenager who needs to be shown the door.

“Disgusting,” Duncan repeats viciously, slamming the door in Louis’ face.

Louis doesn’t want to think ahead or think clearly right now. He just wants to be looked after. His eyes land on Harry’s door and he’s dragging his feet over there before he can even contemplate whether it’s a good decision or not.

....

“I can’t believe she just moved in with you, just like that,” Harry says with wide-eyed disbelief.

Olly grins and ducks his head, almost bashfully, like his happiness is too much and too private to share. It makes Harry yearn just a little. Still, the glow in Olly’s eyes and the way he’d gushed about Caroline when they’d caught up for drinks earlier in the week was inarguably adorable.

.....

Caroline had called in the middle of their chat and Harry listened with a shit-eating grin on his face as Caroline questioned Olly about him.

“No, he’s not interested,” Olly insisted, “really.”

“I love you,” Olly had finally huffed after some more good-natured arguing, “and this curly haired buffoon can’t compete.”

“Heyyyy” Harry protested, gathering his fruity drink close with an offended pout.

Olly just patted the top of his head and winked.

“Here, love. I’ll hand you over.”

Next thing Harry knew, he was on the phone with Caroline while Olly chuckled at his look of surprise.

“Hello?” He said tentatively.

The voice that filled his ear was rather deep for a woman but kind enough all the same.

“Harry,” Caroline said confidently, sounding as if she knew him intimately. As though she’d somehow met Harry without him knowing, “I have a bone to pick with you.”

Harry raised his eyebrows a touch at Olly who just mouthed, “what’s she saying?” Harry waved his hand at him, signaling for him to leave them be and then put on his best business-like tone.

“Yes, miss Flack?”

He was not prepared for the girlish giggle that came down the line. It filled his features with a grin as he raised his drink to his lips.

“Are you at all attracted to my boyfriend?”

Harry hummed a thinking noise and then flicked his eyes up and down Olly’s body for a few moments. Was Olly attractive? Hell yes. Would Harry have slept with him a month ago? No question but was Harry attracted to him still? No. Olly didn’t lick his lips for no apparent reason or close his fingers around a giggle. He didn’t have a bubble butt or this ridiculously cute way of pulling his fringe to the side with a slightly limp flick of his wrist.

“Nope, not one bit. He looks like a monkey’s bum.”

Olly stole the umbrella from his drink and snapped it in half in retaliation. Harry’s bottom lip dropped like a sullen toddler’s and Olly snickered.

“Harry!” Caroline scolded him with that same familiar tone.

“Yes, miss Flack?”

“Never mind,” she sighed, “I think I kind of like you. I want to meet this true love of yours.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Olly who had no clue what was going on but busied himself with chugging his drink anyway.

“I don’t know what Olly’s told you but---“

“Oh Harry, don’t be shy lovely and don’t give up either. Before you know it, you’ll be drowning in nappies and baby clothes with your love sitting right there in your lap!”

Harry let out an involuntary squeak at the mental image and then cursed his lack of chill. It’s just.... the thought of babies and Louis with their babies...those two concepts were bound to make him feel things. It’s not like there was anything to be overly concerned about, right? He felt 100% in control of the situation and himself.

..... 

“She didn’t think there was any reason for us to be apart any longer,” Olly says, settling back against Harry’s couch with his feet tucked beneath his bum, “because we already wasted so much time and hey, I wasn’t going to complain. I’d marry the crap out of her right now if I thought she was ready.”

It shocks a laugh out of Harry. It sounds an awful lot like something Niall would say.

“I hate how cute you two are,” Harry groans, burying his head in his hands, “it makes me sick.”

Olly laughs and reaches across to pat Harry’s shoulder comfortingly.

“It’ll happen for you too love. Just not if you mope around here avoiding him.”

Harry raises his head to pout at Olly, his eyes turning down at the corners.

“I haven’t been avoiding him,” Harry lies.

“You haven’t seen him in a week, you said-“

“I invited him over today,” Harry cuts Olly off with a flourish of his hand, gesturing wildly at the tower of iced buns sitting on the table beside him, “I even baked for him. Asked him if he wanted to try my-“

Harry cuts himself off with the trace of a frown.

“What?” Olly asks, nonplussed.

Harry’s cheeks fill with colour and he slides down off the couch to the floor, leaning forward to knock his head against the coffee table.

“I think I...I asked him to try my buns,” Harry moans.

Olly laughs delightedly and only stops when Harry glares at him pointedly.

“Oh c’mon Harry,” Olly punches his shoulder lightly, “I’m sure that’s not why he didn’t come. You’ve got lovely buns babe.”

Harry’s grin is fond as he swipes his finger through the icing on one of the buns and drags it down the center of Olly’s face.

“Don’t let Caroline hear you saying that,” he teases.

Olly’s face is level for a moment, his grin absent but then he lets out an almighty battle cry and begins raining blows on Harry’s head, chucking the buns at his face as Harry tries, ineffectively to dodge them while simultaneously running away. He squeals girlishly and runs for the door but Olly catches him quickly, arms locked around Harry’s waist as he tries to rub the icing into Harry’s curls. Just then, a hesitant, soft knock sounds at the door and before Harry can tell him no, Olly unlatches the lock and pulls it open, one arm still closed tightly around Harry’s waist.

Harry instantly wishes Olly would blink out of existence for a moment. Louis is standing there with a bag hanging from his hand in a too big navy jacket and with the zipper of his jeans hanging open, clearly unbeknownst to him. There are tears easing down his cheeks and the tendons in his throat pull tight with every hiccup of a breath, as he tries to hold back his sobs. His hair sticks up at weird angles in the back and his whole body appears to be trembling. Harry can’t help it. His first thought is, who hurt my baby like this? Then he remembers that this is the real world and not one of his romantic fantasies. Louis is not his, nor does he want to be.

Still, Harry’s heart aches to pull him close and make it all go away, to part Louis’ hair with his fingers, sliding his hands beneath the soft strands and gently massaging Louis’ scalp. He wants to brush his lips against Louis’ until the hiccups fall silent and worship the soft skin around Louis’ waist, sucking on the soft plump flesh until Louis’ cheeks go pink and his pupils roll. It’s not an option and Harry files the thoughts away for later. He’s not quite able to deny that fantasies about touching Louis seem to occupy the entirety of his wank bank lately.

“Olly,” he says tightly, watching Louis’ eyes sharpen as they briefly flicker to Olly’s arm around him and then trail back up to his face, “please go get me some tissues and don’t come back for at least five minutes.”

“Sure thing,” Olly agrees quickly, giving Harry some kind of meaningful look before disappearing into the kitchen and then past that, to the hallway.

Harry doesn’t think twice about taking the bag from Louis and hurling it on to the couch before yanking him inside. Yet it’s Louis’ arms that close around Harry’s middle and Louis who turns his head so that his cheek rubs up against the skin exposed by Harry’s scoop neck black shirt. Harry feels Louis’ tears slip over his skin and finds his own throat feels closed off and tight with some kind of shared, raw pain. He winds his arms around Louis’ shoulders and then lets one of his hands slip lower to rub at the small of his back.

“Olly, as in...your date?” Louis asks unexpectedly, pulling back to look at Harry from beneath wet eyelashes with eyes that are vulnerable with need.

Harry nods and watches curiously as Louis’ expression freezes over. Louis steps away from him and plants himself on Harry’s couch where Olly had been just a moment before. He looks at the mess of icing and forgotten buns on the floor with a forlorn look that Harry wants to kiss away.

Instead, he follows Louis over to the couch and takes his hand, squeezing it softly over and over until the trembling stops and Louis raises his eyes to Harry’s. A delicate, slightly wobbly smile spreads across his lips as he reaches up to pull some icing from Harry’s curls. Harry turns his head just a little so that Louis’ palm presses flat along his scalp and Louis massages his hair for a moment, drawing a quiet sigh from Harry’s lips.

“Louis, what-“

“Don’t ask me what happened Harry. Please,” Louis begs, eyes in his lap as more tears leak out the sides of his eyes, “please just let it go.”

Harry sighs but doesn’t say another word. He just watches Louis cry quietly and waits for him to ask for something so that he can provide it.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Louis says quietly. He gestures to the mess of icing and buns on the floor as his eyes fall heavily to Harry’s, like it had somehow been such an effort to keep them away before now, “but can I stay with you? Just for tonight. Please.”

Harry’s palm reaches out of its own accord and frames the side of Louis’ face, gently squeezing his small cheek. Harry loves the way Louis’ eyes water in response, his mouth turning up more solidly just because Harry touched him.

“Of course Lou,” Harry assures him and then drops his eyes to Louis’ jeans, “but you might want to do up your fly babe.”

Louis blushes and stands too quickly in his race to fix the problem. He topples down into Harry’s lap, his bum hitting Harry’s crotch and his hands falling down to Harry’s chest.

“Sorry,” Louis whispers but his hands move independent of the rest of his body.

They trace a pathway up to his pecs and then move onwards to his shoulders, squeezing gently before retracing the same path in reverse. There’s regret in the stiffness of Louis’ posture and it’s burning steadily in his eyes but he hasn’t yet taken his hands away. It’s all Harry can do not to return the touch. Just as Louis’ gaze finally lands on Harry’s own, their eyes slotting together like a key into a lock, Olly reappears with a loud shout. Louis slips off his lap onto the couch beside him. He toys with his hands as he pointedly ignores Olly.

“Disney tissues love?” Louis’ eyebrows push inward as Olly teases Harry, “really?”

“Gimme,” Harry says, taking the box from Olly while Olly folds himself up on the couch opposite to Harry and Louis.

He looks like a bit of a heartthrob in tight whitish-blue jeans paired with a white shirt and a dark brown leather jacket that plays up the blue of his eyes. His hair is styled as perfectly as usual and the glow that comes from being in love with someone who loves him back is really working for him.

Harry’s heart picks up in his chest as he notices Louis staring fixedly at Olly with some kind of heat in his expression. Is Louis attracted to Olly? A foul and petty surge of irrational jealousy rises up the column of Harry’s spine, trailing a column of fire up his insides that makes his fingers tighten convulsively around his own thighs. He’s not attracted to him, Harry realises a beat later, he has a boyfriend you fool.

Harry pulls a couple of tissues from the tissue box and holds them out for Louis but Louis is too busy staring and Olly is eyeing him up in a similar fashion. Harry just sighs and gets to work. He grasps the side of Louis’ face, sliding his fingers into his hair like Louis likes and rubbing them in small circles as Louis’ eyes fall closed and he lets out what might be a quiet moan. Louis tilts his head back and Harry takes the opportunity to gently turn his head and wipe his nose. He uses the other tissues to dry around Louis’ eyes. Louis doesn’t open his eyes until Harry catches the last errant tear on his thumb and when he does, he looks tranquil and sleepy. Harry wants to carry him to bed right now.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, ignoring Olly’s presence.

He figures Olly will understand. Louis nods and then suddenly Harry’s got his arms full of him again as Louis climbs on top of him like a sleepy koala scaling a tree. That inspires a heady collection of images concerning other ways that Louis might climb him like a tree. Harry shakes his head at his own perverted thoughts and focuses more readily on the here and now.

Louis’ head burrows into the side of his neck and his toned arms come up under Harry’s to clutch the backs of his shoulders, holding him tight. Louis’ thick biceps are pressed against his own and Harry can feel their warmth even through the jacket. Harry’s hand skates down the back of Louis’ hair to reach the back of his neck but Louis freezes and jolts fearfully when Harry rests his hand there. It makes Harry frown into the back of Louis’ shoulder but when he gently massages the spot and strokes his thumb against the top of Louis’ spine, Louis softens. His back arches like a cat and he snuggles in closer.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Harry whispers and for that moment, it’s just them on that couch, hugging each other close like they’re each other’s saving grace.

Maybe they are.

“I’m sure,” Louis sighs, squeezing Harry one last time before sliding back to his spot.

When Harry looks sideways, Olly’s got his head cocked to the side and a genuine smile on his face. “I hate how cute you two are,” he mouths, parroting Harry’s words back to him with a grin. Harry rolls his eyes and thanks his lucky stars that Louis is too busy actually doing his fly up to notice the exchange.

“So you’re Louis?” Olly asks, finally joining the fray with a kind smile in Louis’ direction, “the troublesome neighbour that Harry has told me so much about?”

Harry reaches his foot across to kick Olly as Louis’ forehead creases with worry. Harry squeezes his shoulder comfortingly, dragging his thumb down the back of Louis’ shoulder blade.

“He’s joking,” he assures him, glaring at Olly once more for good measure, “he thinks he’s funny.”

“I’m really not, he won’t shut up about-“

Harry is just about to gag Olly when Louis does the trick for him, interrupting with quiet precision.

“So you’re Olly, the guy I’ve heard nothing about other than that he was a piss poor date?” Louis contends with a tight-lipped smile.

“Louis,” Harry gasps, shocked.

Louis’ head snaps in Harry’s direction and the sour look fades to sorrow again. He reaches out and squeezes Harry’s thigh, expression entirely contrite.

“I’m so sorry,” he says meaningfully, “can I-would I be able to use your bathroom?”

Harry is struck dumb so he just nods but when he feels Olly kick him, he stutters out a few words.

“Course. Don’t have to ask Lou.”

Louis ruffles his hair on his way past, a smile dancing over his lips that’s off kilter and broken, like he’s not quite sure how to make both sides of his mouth sit upward. As though he could disassemble at any moment. Harry’s back arches and he almost pulls Louis right down into his lap again, longing to hold him and whisper sweet endearments in his ear until the real smile returns.

“Got a mouth on him, your boy,” Olly comments off handedly.

“He’s not my boy,” Harry says, only sounding semi-petulant “and he’s never...I haven’t seen him like that before. I’ve seen him angry but not...it was almost like he was-“

“Jealous,” Olly finishes.

Harry snorts and then rolls his eyes. As if. What god given reason would Louis have to be jealous of anybody Harry spends time with? He’s in love with somebody else. The mere suggestion is ludicrous. Olly rolls his eyes right back and then stands up, gesturing for Harry to do the same.

“Why? I’m not going to talk to him. Give him some time...he just needs time to breathe. I could see it in his eyes,” Harry says softly.

“No,” Olly huffs, “I know that, you pathetic sod. Just follow me. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Harry sighs but jumps up anyway, following Olly as he walks into the kitchen.

“I have no clue what you’re on about.”

Olly just winks at him, of course and then tugs him through the kitchen and into his bedroom. It’s conveniently situated next to the bathroom.

“What are we---”

Olly kicks the door shut behind him and then pushes Harry up against its surface. Harry’s eyes fly open wide and he puts a restraining hand upon Olly’s shoulder.

“What the hell do you think you’re---“

Olly raises his leg and then knees Harry straight in the balls as hard as he can. Harry’s face crumples and a pained moan falls from his lips, climbing higher in volume as the pain really sets in. He hunches over, trying to remember why he thought Olly Murs was a good mate to invite round for a drink. The guy is a psycho. When the pain dulls enough, Harry stands erect and advances on Olly, fury plain in his eyes.

“I’m going to kill--“

“Shh,” Olly hisses, his blue eyes insistent, “just go with me.”

Harry still has no clue what the hell is going on but there’s no time to ask because Olly lines up again and Harry’s just focusing on protecting his junk from Olly’s huge knee. Harry is no good at defense though so when Olly gets a hold of him, he has no hope. Olly quickly pulls his arms away but aims higher this time, elbowing Harry right in the stomach so that’s he’s good and winded, doubling over with pain again.

“Oh Christ,” harry groans, “Olly! You pr--“

“Yeah baby,” Olly yells, raising his voice to an obscene level as he grins at Harry and winks lasciviously. What on earth has gotten into him? “You like that, don’t you? My mouth all around you. Let me hear you.”

Harry thinks he’s cottoned on to the fact that Olly is some kind of madman who gets off on violence. It’s disturbing to say the least. Harry really needs to learn to pick his friends better.... but Olly had seemed like such a stand up, genuine guy? A stand up, genuine guy with a hell of a kink it seems.

“You ready for this?” Olly whispers.

Harry turns and backs himself into the corner of the room, hands raised up in defense as he eyes Olly balefully. Olly follows like a cat stalking its prey and Harry’s heart is racing so fast in his chest, his limbs having gone completely leaden. He’s so distracted by the incoming threat that he doesn’t hear the creak of the bathroom door and the light footsteps on the floorboards outside. Harry knows he’s hopeless to defend himself. All he can do is shut his eyes, cringe and pray to god that Olly doesn’t leave him infertile.

“Yeah baby, c’mon I’m going to make you come so hard.”

Harry braces for impact, lines of confusion running across his face as he puzzles Olly’s words. Before any impact can come, there’s a loud rapping at the door, increasing in speed when nobody responds.

“Harry,” Louis calls out, sounding more than a little unhinged, “Harry, open the door.”

Louis’ voice is higher and more strained than Harry’s ever heard it. It breaks when Louis says his name for the second time. Harry rushes towards the door, instantaneously wanting to soothe Louis’ doubt and to ease any trace of his pain. Whatever it is that’s got him so off balanced, Harry wants to be the one who makes it okay.

He knew it was bad when Louis showed up in tears, shaking all over like a leaf but his voice outside the door is somehow even more broken than before. It cuts Harry to the core. Louis sounds desperate, confused and pained all at once but before Harry can swing the door open and fix it, Olly’s hand clamps down on his wrist and he pulls Harry back. Harry has never wanted to hit someone so much in his life. Duncan might be the only exception.

“Olly, I swear to god--“ Harry says as he settles him with a menacing glare, his lips curled back and teeth clenched.

“Shh,” Olly whispers and then raises his voice to speak to Louis, “can we help you?”

There’s an awkward cough and then Louis’ voice turns pleading and soft. Harry tries to rip his arm away from Olly but Olly is damn strong for someone who’s quite a great deal smaller than Harry.

“Can I please just talk to Harry? Please.”

“Go on then,” Olly sighs, knowing it’s a lost cause.

Perhaps because Harry’s wriggling in his grip like an excitable puppy. He shoots daggers at Olly once more for good measure and then launches himself at the door, swinging it open with relief. He finds Louis pacing the hallway outside, one hand working over his hair, the other shaking at his side.

“Harry,” Louis rasps when he hears the door creak.

He turns Harry’s way and stills, looking Harry over from head to foot carefully while his brow creases with confusion.

“You’re not---“

“Are you okay Lou?” Harry asks, moving toward him.

His hands go to Louis’ shoulders but Louis shakes him off and stalks out through the hallway to the kitchen. He turns and leans back against the fridge, his mouth drawn tight. It’s perfectly aligned with the controlled anger in his flashing blue eyes. Harry chooses to keep a fair amount of space between them, resting his bum up against the edge of the bench on the other side of the room. This seems to be the wrong move because Louis snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Lou?” Harry says tentatively.

“I thought Olly wasn’t your type,” Louis snaps, drumming his fingers impatiently against his bicep, like he’s just itching to throw things, presumably at Harry.

Harry is completely taken aback. This is not what he had expected...not at all. The realisation dawns on him as he watches Louis’ eyes flit back and forth between his face and the hallway from which Olly is yet to emerge. Louis is distinctly bothered and Harry can’t make any kind of assumptions about why but suddenly Olly’s actions seem a lot more like a poorly executed plan to help him than a strange kink. Olly was in his own well-intentioned, albeit misguided way, trying to aid Harry’s cause.

Louis hadn’t heard the impact of Olly’s elbow with Harry’s stomach; all he’d heard was Harry’s obscene groans and Olly’s dirty talk. He thinks we’re dating. The realisation winds Harry all over again because if the fuel to Louis’ fiery outburst was what he heard, what does that mean for them? Is it even possible that Louis could get that worked up over the idea of them having sex?

“He’s not,” Harry says with a purposefully blank look, enjoying this a little more than he should.

Louis clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth with a sigh and crosses his arms. He directs a murderous look past Harry and down the hall.

“That’s not what it sounded like,” he says, tone full of accusation.

Harry chuckles without meaning to and Louis’ eyes snap back to him like a rubber band stretched to breaking point. He sucks in his cheeks like he’s trying to control himself and Harry has a hard time containing his desire to mouth along the angry planes of his face.

“Oh that?” Harry clarifies, pointing back behind himself, “that was just...Olly messing around. Thought it would be funny if we, you know...made some noises.”

“Funny?”

Louis arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

Harry nods and then grins, shrugging sheepishly.

“Boys will be boys.”

Louis huffs and then leans back further against the fridge, one leg bending up so that his foot is tucked beneath his thigh and perched on the clean, white surface. He turns his head away from Harry, his fringe falling across his face. There’s so much childish petulance in the action that Harry can only continue to laugh.

“You’re not dating?” Louis asks gruffly.

Harry shakes his head, only realising after he’s done it that Louis’ not looking at him still. Louis’ head turns back to him when he receives no response and he leans forward, his tongue slipping out to wet his bottom lip. Hs blue eyes pierce Harry’s own with their own special mix of apprehension and steely eyed anger.

“Well?” He demands.

“No,” Harry says, voice suddenly hoarse as his mind’s eye centers on the unintentionally lewd drag of Louis’ small tongue over his soft lips, “no we’re not dating. Just mates. He has a girlfriend now actually...her name’s Caroline.”

Louis points an accusing finger at Harry’s face.

“But you said---“ Louis’ voice rises and Harry knows where this is going.

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry cuts him off, perfectly composed, “you assumed.”

“I did fucking not,” Louis bursts out, kicking his foot against Harry’s fringe with a dark look in Harry’s direction.

“Louis--“

“Well you could have fucking corrected me Harry,” Louis curses, flicking his fringe out of his eyes with an angry hiss.

It falls back to the same position a minute later and Louis goes cross-eyed as he glares at the stubborn strands of his hair. He lets out a mutinous but rather feminine sounding growl and Harry can’t do away with the fond grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He crosses the kitchen in an instant, standing before Louis who looks up at him from between the gaps in his fridge with tempered rage. Harry gently pushes his fringe to the side, his mouth twitching chaotically as he watches Louis’ eyes go momentarily soft. Then Louis determinedly slams his anger back into place.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” Harry says, with a quiet grin.

 He reaches up to trace the angry folds of skin atop Louis’ button nose. Louis looks mutinous.

“Yeah well I’m about to get really fucking adorable.”

He purposefully knocks Harry’s hand away and then stabs Harry’s chest, walking him back across the room with predatory eyes. It’s kind of hot, the way Louis forces him back across the room with such conviction even though he looks like a small, scrunched up elf. Harry has to fight hard not to drop to his knees. When hits bum hits the bench again, Louis stops, finger still pressed to Harry’s chest. His breathing comes thick and fast and his eyes drop to Harry’s mouth.

“Never let me make such a fucking arse out of myself again,” he breathes, hellish blue eyes stuck on Harry’s mouth as his tongue slips out to wet his own.

Yes, anything...of course Louis. Harry is willing to sign over the rights to his soul just so long as Louis will continue looking at him like this, so heated and direct. Louis’ eyes haven’t moved from his lips and Harry wonders what would happen if he pressed their mouths together. Would Louis press back? Would he gasp into Harry’s mouth? Would his tongue move gently against Harry’s the way his body always seems to do when Harry touches him?

“I won’t,” Harry promises quickly, “I’m sorry.”

Louis’ eyes linger on his mouth for what feels like an eternity and Harry just watches, waiting for something...some kind of sign that Louis wants this as much as he does. Harry’s body is thrumming with it. Of course, thanks to the wonders of his choice in mates, that’s when Olly wanders back into the kitchen.

“Right lads,” he yells, too loud.  Harry and Louis jump, Louis springing away from him as though burned, “I think I’ll make a move.”

“Okay,” Harry says, voice thick with emotion. He meets Olly halfway for a bro hug and then whispers in his ear, “you’re crazy but I think you maybe did me a favour.”

Olly smirks at him and then turns to Louis, holding his hand out in a peace offering of sorts.

“No hard feelings...right mate?”

Louis hesitates, his eyes flitting to Harry. Then he clasps Olly’s hand firmly and shakes, a slightly subdued smile opening up his mouth.

“I’m sorry about before,” he says, “don’t know what got into me.”

“I think I do,” Olly says cheerily, waggling his eyebrows, “or rather what hasn’t gotten into you.”

“I thought you were leaving,” Harry says, pushing Olly towards the door as Louis trails a step behind, not saying a word, “time to go Olly.”

Harry opens the door and Olly eyes Louis over Harry’s shoulder, leaning in to peck Harry’s cheek with a whisper of “you’re welcome” before he slips out the door. When Harry turns around, Louis is biting his lip distractingly.

“Bit of a flirt your mate Olly, isn’t he?”

“Bit,” Harry concedes, smiling weakly.

Thankfully Louis just shakes his head with a sigh and then offers Harry a genuine crinkly smile.

“So when do we start dinner?” He asks.

Harry chuckles.

“What is this ‘we’? I don’t think you’re going to be of much use.”

“Sorry Jamie Oliver,” Louis says with a snarky tone and a roll of his eyes, “just because a good pot noodle isn’t up to your superior standards...”

Harry giggles and then pads into the kitchen, listening to the soft sounds of Louis’ feet following. Once there, Harry turns and drops to his knees. Louis’ lips part slightly and he looks a little wonderstruck even as he raises an eyebrow in an attempt at superiority. Harry grins at him and then lifts his foot, slipping his shoe off and then the sock before moving to do the other.

“Can’t have uncomfortable house guests,” he explains with a wink, “it’s bad for my reputation.”

Louis snorts but when Harry squeezes the bottoms of his feet, running his thumbs across the tops of his toes, he lets out a high pitched keen and curls them into Harry’s hands. When Harry stands, Louis leans forward and brushes his lips across his cheekbone and if Harry’s not mistaken, he brushes his mouth right across the spot where Olly had kissed him.

“Thank you,” Louis sighs.

Harry’s returned sigh is just as contented.

“You’re welcome Lou.”

Harry gets started on a simple chicken stir fry while Louis sits up on the counter again, swinging his feet and talking to Hugh Grant who wandered in to nibble at his food and has since planted himself at Louis’ feet. Harry can’t help the swing in his hips or the glow in his smile every time he turns in Louis’ direction and catches his eye. Louis looks like he belongs here, sitting in Harry’s kitchen, acting like the world’s most useless sous chef and chatting to an animal he claims to despise. Harry finds himself humming silly love songs under his breath.

“Your dad is such a dork,” Louis’ saying in a baby voice, the corners of his mouth turning pointy as Hugh Grant mewls his agreement, “I mean, have you seen his fridge magnets?”

Harry may or may not have a collection of fruit and vegetable magnets that he’s sourced online over the years. Zayn usually gets him one or two new ones for his birthday each year.

“They’ll be worth a fortune one day,” Harry argues, stirring the chicken round the pot with an amused quirk in his mouth, “my collection will be part of my children’s inheritance.”

Louis leans across to pinch his cheek and Harry grins, not fighting too hard to pull away.

“I worry about you Styles,” Louis says, despairing, “you and your pretty green eyed, curly haired babies.”

“I think I want to adopt,” Harry blurts out, blushing a little as he goes back to stirring the ingredients around the pan.

Louis’ silent for a moment and Harry feels like he might have made a tit out of himself but then Louis squeezes the side of his arm and Harry looks up to find his expression full of softness and something else, something much deeper.

“I think that’s wonderful Harry,” he says, his tone throaty.

“Thanks,” Harry smiles weakly at him, “I guess once upon a time I did want my own babies more than somebody else’s but then I realised that I could change the course of someone’s entire life by being their adoptive dad. I could make sure that a child knew they were wanted and loved.”

“The way you never did? Louis asks and there’s caution in his voice.

“Yeah,” Harry says brusquely, busying himself with adding more spices.

“Harry.”

Harry continues stirring, not brave enough to look at Louis when his emotions are so visible in his face, when they’re beating in his chest with such fervor and welling up in his eyes. What he wouldn’t give to be able to prevent some poor child from ever feeling the kind of loneliness he felt when he closed his arms around his mum’s waist as a child and she pushed him away, muttering some excuse about having more important things to do.

Harry wasn’t naïve. He knew just how many children had it a lot worse than he ever did, some having never known their parents at all but that that only made his desire to save each and every one of them stronger. He knew he couldn’t, save them all, that is but he didn’t have any qualms about becoming the next Angelina. He has the lips for it, that’s for sure.

“Harry, look at me love.”

Harry slowly raises his head and Louis reaches out and thumbs at the corner of his eye, catching the sole tear there and then massaging the side of his temple.

“You’re so gorgeous Harry. I mean it, the person that you are and what you do with yourself...it’s gorgeous. I mean, maybe that’s why I got so worked up earlier,” a steely resolve fills Louis’ eyes as if he’s just figured out the solution to a difficult math problem, “because I don’t want to see you in the arms of anybody who doesn’t meet your complete goodness with their own.”

It’s ironic, Louis’ words, hypocritical in fact but then, can it be hypocritical? Louis is clearly oblivious to what Harry wants for him. Harry just wants Louis to be met with the same kind of kindness and spirit that he gives out but Louis doesn’t seem to share that sentiment. At least, not when it comes to himself.

Still, beyond all that there’s a more pressing thought taking up space inside Harry’s head and maybe it shouldn’t be as important as the rest of it but somehow it is. It’s the thought that Louis wasn’t jealous at all. He was just...looking out for Harry. It’s a nice thing to do and it should fill Harry with warmth, the idea that Louis is intimately concerned with what he deserves but somehow the sentiment falls flat. Harry wants more than nice and more than platonic kindness. For some god unknown reason, Harry finds himself still hoping that Louis will force him up against the fridge and tell him that he doesn’t want to see Harry with anybody else.

“Thank you,” Harry says, feeling empty.

He can tell that it filters through to his voice because Louis’ brow creases and Harry can feel his gaze, even while he directs his own back to their dinner. Harry ignores the hurt that floods his chest. If Louis is that oblivious to Harry’s feelings for him, then he must not feel anything at all. Not for Harry anyway. Harry is quite sure that even after whatever happened between them tonight that saw Louis kicked out, Louis will still rush back to Duncan tomorrow with his tail between his legs, begging for forgiveness for something he didn’t even do wrong.

.......

“I’ll just sleep out here again,” Louis says, knocking his head against his shoulder in the direction of the couch.

Harry has just turned both the TV and the lights off so that the only light in the room comes from the DVD player and the reflection of the hallway light in the television screen. Harry frowns and shakes his head in response to Louis.

“No, you can sleep in my bed,” Louis eyebrows jump and Harry rests a placating hand on his shoulder, “not with me...obviously. I’ll sleep out here. I think you need a big, fluffy soft bed tonight and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Louis smiles fondly but crosses his arms over his chest, looking up at Harry with a challenge in his coral blue eyes.

“Well I’m not moving Styles.”

Harry could easily toss Louis over his shoulder and carry him off to bed but he actually has a better idea, one that involves far less struggle. So instead he gently pushes Louis into a lying position and then gathers the coverlet placed on the other couch in his arms. He settles it over Louis and then tucks the sides into the bottom of the cushions; all while Louis watches him with a half lidded, concentrated stare that feels too hot on Harry’s skin. He slides a pillow beneath Louis’ head and then before he can catch himself, brushes Louis fringe away from his forehead and kisses the soft skin there.

This is different from the last time. This time Louis is awake and breathing heavily beneath him. This time when Harry pulls away, Louis’ hand darts out from beneath the doona to grip his thigh, squeezing tightly. He doesn’t say a word but his eyes are shining and he looks like he might be about to cry, only this time it seems less tortured and more...enlightened. Harry lets his eyes fall across Louis’ feathered eyelashes, to the curves of his cheeks and then to the small swell of his mouth.

“Night Lou,” he says, all hushed and whispered but with a twinkle in his eye.

Louis still doesn’t speak but he pulls his hand up above the coverlet and wriggles his delicate fingers in an adorably awkward wave. Hi, you’re very small. Harry can’t help wondering just how silky Louis’ tiny digits would feel against his lips or buried in the warm, wet heat of his mouth. That thought makes him finally pull away and walk to his room, although admittedly, he drags his feet the whole way. Once inside, he sets his alarm for an hour later and then pulls his jeans and shirt away, leaving him in just his dark briefs. He slides beneath the covers and waits for his pulse to stop jumping so erratically before he closes his eyes and gives in to the onset of sleep.

.......

Harry awakens to the buzzing of his alarm and slides out of bed with a groan, his eyes still half shut as his lumbered steps carry him to the kitchen and beyond. The only thing that is able to liven him up is the Louis that he’s presented with when he turns the flashlight on his phone on and gazes down at the couch. This Louis is vulnerable and delicate and so very lovely. The coverlet’s been kicked off, exposing Louis’ thick plush red jumper that he’d changed into earlier. Harry had very nearly melted into the cushions when Louis had emerged from the room earlier, scratching at the side of his bare waist, his hair all rumpled from having pulled the jumper over his head. The loose sweats managed to somehow shape his tiny waist and toned thighs perfectly while still emphasising the subtle rise of his plump hips and that perfect soft layer of skin around his stomach.

Now the jumper is pushed up past Louis’ belly button, exposing a band of exotic, softly token skin. Louis’ sockless feet are drawn up behind his thighs and his whole body is bent in half to preserve warmth. The best part by far is the way his arms are curled around Hugh Grant’s sleeping form, completely buried in his fur as if Louis had fallen asleep petting him. He’s effectively spooning his kitten and Harry is going to die of heart failure right here.

Instead, he sets to work, pulling Hugh Grant from Louis’ arms much to their dual displeasure. Hugh Grant mewls sadly so Harry presses a kiss to his fur and plants him on the carpet. Louis huffs in his sleep and his eyelids crinkle with tension. He really does like to cuddle then. Harry sweeps Louis up into his arms, amused by the way Louis flops back against him, totally pliant.

Harry carries him to bed, barely flinching under Louis’ weight. He stands in his room, eyeing the two sides of the bed with indecision but then shrugs and figures Louis will never know the difference anyway. He gently places Louis down on his side of the bed and tucks him in. He sits on the bed beside him for a moment, just gazing at Louis’ features, so open and relaxed with sleep.

“You’re so hurt baby,” he murmurs, “you’re so hurt and you don’t even know. You don’t want to. You don’t want to confront the way he makes you feel or how much damage he’s done in here,” Harry presses the pad of his thumb to Louis’ forehead, “I wish you would. Lou, I just want you to be happy,” Harry’s thumb trails back and forth over the curve of Louis’ forehead, “it’s all I’ve thought about since that first time I saw you...making you smile,” Harry’s thumb drops to press at the corner of Louis’ mouth, “and I don’t know if I can do it...if I can be the one to help you confront your demons but I’ll try darling. I’ll try so hard for you.”

Harry strokes Louis’ cheekbone tenderly and then shifts away from Louis, pulling himself into a standing position. As he takes a step away from the bed, a tiny hand reaches out and grabs his, shocking him into squeaking.

“Stay,” Louis rasps, his voice breaking with traces of sleep, “Harry, stay.”

Harry turns back to Louis to find two bleary blue eyes blinking up at him in the slight chink of light that shines through from the curtains. Louis’ eyes shine even more brightly in the dim light, so artfully compelling. They flicker like tea lights bending in the wind. He looks like some kind of fairy; a nymph-like creature inhabiting Harry’s bed and swallowing him whole with one sweep of his eyelashes and a casually bitten lip.

“Lou--“

“I want you to,” Louis whines, squeezing Harry’s fingers and tugging to pull him closer, “please stay and talk to me.”

Harry’s not made of steel and his will is only really as strong as his memory. Right now he doesn’t want to remember. He doesn’t want to remember that he swore he’d never get in this deep or that the guy that Louis’ in love with is probably asleep on the other side of this wall. He only wants this, this one moment where the rest of it doesn’t matter. He lets go of Louis’ fingers and Louis cries out and stretches his fingers outward. It makes Harry’s heart expand beyond comprehension and he shakes his head at Louis, smiling softly as he gets in the other side of the bed.

“I’m not going anywhere love.”

Louis nods, wide eyed and as soon as Harry slips under the doona, he tangles their fingers together again, rolling onto his side and forcing Harry to do the same. He lays their interlocked hands right next to his own face and then moves his head forward so his cheek rests lightly upon the back of Harry’s hand, sending shivers of warmth all up Harry’s forearm.

Harry simply can’t stop looking at how good their hands look together, milky white against honey toned silk. Louis’ hand is so small in his but his fingers fit perfectly between the gaps in Harry’s own, like they were made for him specially. Harry’s disturbingly sappy thoughts are only interrupted by the sudden realisation that while Louis’ covered in a jumper and soft grey pants, he himself only has on a pair of thin, tight briefs. He cringes and Louis’ other hand comes up to trace the lines around his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his tone anxious and his fingers shaking around Harry’s, “is this...is this not okay?”

“God, no,” Harry says swiftly and then watches in horror as Louis’ skin flushes pink and he tries to pull his hand from Harry’s.

Harry’s so horrified at the thought of having to let go that his arm circles the side of Louis’ waist and holds tight, tugging Louis across the mattress so that there’s no more than a couple of centimeters space between them. Their stomachs are so close that they’re near to grazing. Their noses skim along each other and Louis looks up at him with confusion. Harry’s arm is still around him and he can feel Louis’ bare skin brushing against his arm where Louis’ jumper must have ridden up again. Harry pulls his arm away quickly, lest it burst into flames.

“Sorry,” Harry whispers, bringing his hand up to comb through the side of Louis’ hair, “...I didn’t mean that. It’s fine but I’m...“

“You’re?” Louis prompts, eyebrows arched.

Harry lowers his eyes to his own body, covered by the doona.

“I’m not wearing anything but underwear.”

“Oh,” Louis eyes pop, “right. Um...”

“I can change,” Harry assures him quickly, trying to extricate himself from Louis’ hand, “I’ll put something on so you-“

“No,” Louis squeezes his hand and then his other hand disappears beneath the covers. Harry jumps as he feels the warm, soft press of Louis’ palm against the center of his chest.“I don’t mind. Can I...”

Louis trails off, chewing the corner of his lip as his fingers close in a tight fist. Then they stretch out along the planes of Harry’s chest. He does this a few more times as Harry holds his breath, waiting for the rest of the question, his skin tingling beneath Louis’ touch.

“Can I try something?” He says eventually.

Harry watches his Adam’s apple bob in his throat while he swallows noisily.

“Okay...” he agrees nervously.

Louis’ gaze shifts down away from his and then his hand begins to move beneath the covers. He moves it across Harry’s chest to brush against one of his nipples and then presses his palm down a little firmer like he might be trying to evoke a response. Harry blushes as his nipple presses eagerly against Louis’ palm but Louis’ shy, bitten half smile tells Harry that he might not mind so much.

Then Louis’ hand continues its journey, falling down his chest in stilted movements that easily reveal his nerves. He squeezes Harry’s love handle gently and then his palm moves across to the space just below Harry’s belly button; his scant happy trail. When Louis presses the heel of his palm down against it, Harry can feel him tremble. Then he sighs, like this is all he’s wanted to do since the first time he met Harry. Harry finds himself making a similar noise. Louis’ hand floats back up without touching and then he presses it to the very top of Harry’s chest, rubbing back and forth.

“You’re not as hairy as him,” he says quietly, eyes dead serious.

Harry chortles anyway. It’s the lightest he’s felt at the mention of Duncan.

“That’s what this was about? The fact that I’m like some kind of hairless kitten?” Harry pouts, “I can’t help that I’m not as masculine.”

“No,” Louis’ lips turn up and he spreads his whole hand flat across Harry’s chest, “no I like it. It’s...soft. Like silk. When I kiss Duncan’s chest, I get hair in my mouth...it’s icky.”

Harry shakes off the image as quick as humanly possible and then tucks a finger beneath Louis’ chin, tilting his face up just because he can.

“Icky? What are you...ten?” He teases.

Louis pushes him away slightly but he’s still gripping Harry’s hand tight.

“Sorry, Mr. Superior Vocabulary. Do tell, what is the life of a grammar Nazi like?”

Louis’ smile is sweet and his expression playful so Harry pouts theatrically.

“I’m not a grammar Nazi!”

“Do you or do you not correct people when they use the wrong ‘their’?”

“That doesn’t count,” Harry grumbles, “people who consistently use the wrong ‘their’ are highly irritating.”

“Okay,” Louis grins, “that might be true.”

“Is this what you wanted to talk about?” Harry asks, a beat later, “grammar rules and the lack of hair on my chest?”

Louis shakes his head, looking thoroughly amused.

“What then?” Harry says, tilting his head a little so their eyes line up completely, his tone much softer than he intended.

Up close, Louis’ eyes look like tiny blue planets floating in amongst the space-like darkness of his pupils. Like crystallized, spherical oceans swirling around a dark abyss. It’s captivating.

“Let’s play confessions. You go first.”

Harry rolls his eyes but obeys anyway of course, his thumb stroking the outside of Louis’ hand. Louis clears his throat and squeezes his hand in response.

“The first boy I kissed said my lips were too big. He said he felt like he was being smothered.”

Louis bursts into laughter and presses the sound against Harry’s pillow. Harry wonders if he’ll still be able to smell Louis in his bed when he inevitably leaves tomorrow morning.

“’S not funny,” Harry complains, half hearted, “he wouldn’t kiss me again.”

“What a fucking idiot,” Louis mumbles, face still buried in the pillow, “your lips are plump and kind of perfect Harold. Hadn’t the kid ever heard of a blowjob?”

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh but it comes out more like a giggle. Louis raises his head to bestow him with a gentle, perhaps slightly admiring smile. It makes Harry’s toes tingle.

“Your turn.”

Louis hums for a moment and then chuckles quietly to himself.

“Okay, well...the first guy that I slept with, he was like really into...feet.”

“Feet?” Harry squeaks, dimples nudging the insides of his cheeks.

He laughs to himself as Louis smiles unconsciously at his response.

“Yes, feet. We were getting down to the good stuff and I think he’s about to, you know, enter me,” Harry shivers at the way Louis’ voice drops with those words, “but instead his mouth closes around my toes and he starts suckling on them, like he’s trying to extract the sweat from my skin.”

This time Harry shudders.

“Eugh,” he shakes his head to himself and then stills, zoning in on Louis’ bashful expression, “wait...you said he was the first guy you---you still slept with him!?”

“I was a horny teenager,” Louis says defensively, “and apart from the foot thing, he was good. Experienced. Showed me what to do.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry concedes, “my turn again.”

Louis nods, looking enthusiastic and it’s wonderful that Louis’ so interested in his life. Even if he can’t be interested in Harry himself.

“I feel bad for the vegetables that everybody hates.”

Louis lets out a surprised honk of a laugh and pushes closer, their legs pressed against each other. Then he tucks his cold toes between Harry’s calves. Harry tries not to react but his heart is pumping extra hard in his chest.

“Why Harold? Why?!” Louis questions with amused disbelief.

“It’s just...they need love too,” Harry whines, his own mouth climbing as Louis’ eyes crease at the sides and his teeth poke through his lips, “they never get any attention. So like, if there’s brussel sprouts served at Christmas...I always eat a whole heap.”

“Harry, do you like brussel sprouts?”

“Well, no,” Harry admits reluctantly.

Louis giggles and this time he presses it into the front of Harry’s bare shoulder. His damp lips brush against Harry’s warm skin and Harry never wants to wipe away the moisture that remains as Louis pulls back, eyes alight.

“You’re absurd,” he says, for what just might be the millionth time, “but a bit cute.”

“A bit?” Harry asks, dimples on full display. He shuffles closer and noses at Louis neck, snuffling like a wet nosed puppy, “mm,” he hums, “You smell so good Lou.”

Louis pushes him back with a shaky laugh.

“Stop that. You know you’re adorable, why do you need me to say it?”

Harry shrugs and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Tell me your favourite song,” Harry says quietly.

Louis bites his lip again, looking up at the ceiling as he considers the question.

“The way you look tonight by Tony Bennett.”

“That’s so cheesy Lou,” Harry grins, his knees weak, “I wouldn’t expect that from you.”

Louis pushes the tips of his fingers into Harry’s dimple and then he’s singing, a soft whispered melody that drips from his lips like liquid gold. His eyes roll up and down Harry’s face, as though trying to memorise this exact moment. Harry’s hand tightens on his.

“Someday when I’m awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you and the way you look tonight.”

“Oh but you’re lovely,” Harry sings back, stroking Louis’ temple and then brushing a hand through his hair, “with your smile so warm,” Harry taps his mouth and it bends beneath his touch.

“Tell me yours,” Louis sighs, snuggling down into the pillow, his eye stretched out into a slanted shape.

“My favourite right now?” Harry clarifies, not giving Louis a chance to respond before giving his answer, “Hiding my heart by Adele. This is how the story went, I met someone by accident who blew me away. He blew me away.”

“More,” Louis urges, his eyes slipping closed as he smiles peacefully, listening but not hearing; never hearing, “your voice is lovely Harry.”

“I wish I could lay down beside you

When the day is done,

And wake up to your face against the morning sun

But like everything I’ve ever known

You’ll disappear one day

So I’ll spend my whole life hiding my heart away.”

“Tell me something Lou,” Harry says after a beat of silence, waiting for Louis’ eyelashes to flutter open before he continues, “would you ever leave him?”

Louis blinks back at him for a moment and his breath hitches.

“I don’t know,” he breathes, “I don’t know anymore.”

It’s not “yes, of course I’ll leave him for you Harry” and “I’ll belong in your kitchen and your bed permanently” but it’s not a definitive, “no, what the fuck?” Harry thinks that it might be easier for Louis to be honest with himself and with Harry too under the cover of darkness. The confessions he makes here don’t have to mean anything in the light of day. Maybe Louis knows that or maybe he just wants to get Harry off his back. Then Louis starts talking and Harry’s brain shuts up.

“I love him. I do. I mean...I have to because I have for three years and it can’t mean nothing. He was so good to me Harry. Really. He made me feel so perfect to begin with and somewhere along the line, it just got messed up. Some days I think he honestly hates me and I want to change,” Louis says emphatically, his eyes like two lopsided, sad marbles, “I want to be better. Maybe if I could...could be better somehow, he would remember why we fell in love.”

“Louis,” Harry says, curling his leg over the outside of Louis’, “Christ Lou. You’re not...you’re never going to be perfect for him and you shouldn’t have to be. So what if you have to squeeze into your jeans? So what if you like nail polish or watching friends or being playful with your guy mates? Those little things are just more reasons to fall in love with you,” Louis’ eyes water and Harry catches the drops, “you can’t sort people’s qualities into good and bad if you love them. Because if you love them, everything matters. Even the things that shit you to tears. The crinkles by your eyes, the way you drink your tea, the flick of your wrist...it’s all you and he can’t just order the best parts and hold the rest.”

“It sounds so simple when you say it,” Louis says, voice thick, “like everything I need to know is what you’re saying to me but I don’t feel it when I’m with him. I just want to prove myself. I just want to deserve him.”

“And what about him deserving you, huh? What about what you want in a boyfriend? What do you want Lou?” Harry asks, softening his voice.

Louis swallows and then his hand is falling down Harry’s body to clasp his hip. He keeps his hand there, his eyes on his other hand wrapped around Harry’s as he talks.

“I want somebody who will make me breakfast and wash my clothes because they want to. Because they know I’m hopeless at it and because it makes them feel special to be the one who gets to look after me. Someone who doesn’t hold it over my head, like it’s just another fault in who I am,” Louis swallows loudly, “I want someone who will let me flick between friends, footie and x factor. I want someone who will simply laugh and weakly chastise me for being flirty with the delivery guy and someone who will be proud and only slightly jealous when someone looks at me for a beat too long. I want to be kissed goodbye like distance actually means something and kissed hello like it couldn’t.... like it couldn’t have come sooner. I want to know,” Louis takes a shaky breath and Harry gives up his pretense of letting Louis work the kinks out on his own, reaching a hand around to rub his back comfortingly, “I want to know...” he continues, “that I’m not disgusting to look at. If I could just be sure that the person that I love wants me.”

Harry’s blood boils and his whole body coils up tight with rage.

“Is that what he said to you?” he demands, “that you disgust him?”

Louis doesn’t answer but a few more tears spill down his cheeks and his chest is heaving as he looks at Harry. He looks at Harry like he might be able to solve it all or as though he might have some kind of answer as to why it’s happened to him this way. Harry does. He just wishes Louis were ready to hear it.

“Sweetheart,” Harry coos, watching Louis’ mouth wobble, “you’re not disgusting. Please don’t listen to that. You’re beautiful Lou. So beautiful I couldn’t take my eyes off you in that shoot. I promise you that nobody else thinks you’re disgusting. Even he doesn’t. He’s just trying to hurt you and he knows all your weak spots.”

“B...but-“

“No,” Harry presses his mouth to Louis’ temple, “you’re not what he said you are. You’re not what he makes you feel.”

“Harry,” Louis whines and presses a hand to the back of his neck, keeping him close.

Harry buries his fingers in the back of Louis’ hair and massages his scalp until he feels Louis’ body relax and his muffled sobs turn into quiet breaths. He pulls away and gazes at Louis, so endeared. Then he pulls himself off the bed and quietly pulls the stack of papers from his drawer. He bites his lip for a total of ten minutes, his eyes flicking between the dotted line and Louis’ sleeping form with worry. Eventually Louis makes his mind up for him, letting out a quiet whimper in his sleep.

“Disgusting.”

“You’re not baby,” Harry sighs, saddened by Louis’ lack of belief in himself.

He’s unable to help using what is quickly becoming his secret pet name for Louis. He signs the papers with a quick flourish of his pen and then returns them to the drawer, his mind racing. This could be a stroke of brilliance or a horrible mistake on his part but either way, Harry knows it’s going to change everything for Louis. It’s going to change everything he thought he knew. Harry falls asleep watching Louis’ chest puff in and out and wondering how someone so small could be the single most monumental thing to ever happen to him.

......

“Just think about what we talked about please,” Harry begs, handing Louis’ bag to him as Louis steps backward out the flat.

“I will,” Louis vows but the promise feels empty.

Everything they talked about last night feels frightening and confronting. Had Louis really considered for a moment that he might one day leave Duncan? In the light of the day, it feels like somebody else lay with Harry in his bed. Somebody else touched his soft chest and whispered confessions into their shared space, trading silly stories and favourite songs.

“Okay...” Harry says with a frown, as if he knows exactly what Louis’ thinking.

“Thank you for letting me stay again,” Louis says to distract him.

Harry pulls him into a close, tight hug and Louis has to pat his hip just to be let down. It bothers him that he knows what that bare, thick hip feels like beneath his fingers.

“You’re welcome. Any time Lou. I mean it.”

Louis nods and smiles genuinely at him. Harry mirrors his soft expression before gently closing the door. There’s still a trace of a pleasant smile on Louis’ lips as he turns around and finds himself toe to toe with Duncan, breathing loudly out through his nose. Duncan looks crazed as he digs his fingers into Louis’ bicep and pushes him through the open door of their flat.

“Thought you could fucking fool me all over again? That you could just sleep with that pretentious fucker and then come back to me like nothing even happened?”

“No!” Louis shouts, panic rising as Duncan advances on him, “no I didn’t do anything. I stayed with him...on the couch, that’s all.”

“You fucking liar,” Duncan roars and a second later Louis goes crashing to the floor as Duncan pushes him hard enough to unbalance.

When Louis finally gathers the strength to look up, he finds himself looking into the mad eyes of a possessed monster. Louis waits for the impact and Duncan winds up. I wonder, he thinks in a detached part of his brain, I wonder if I’ll still be able to breathe when he’s done with me. Maybe I won’t want to.

To be continued....

Chapter Text

The hard surface of Duncan’s shoe hits Louis’ side and he cries out, a wounded animal gasping as his body jerks and then slumps forward with shock. Tears smart in his eyes but he pushes up onto his knees, trembling all over.

“Please,” he whimpers, “please don’t do this.”

Duncan snorts, as though this were a normal, everyday conversation about Louis wearing socks or hanging his towel up after a shower. He snorts as if it were ludicrous of Louis to expect any kind of mercy. A lost little boy inside of Louis tells him that it’s warranted, that Duncan’s rage comes from a sense of betrayal, no matter how false. A deeper, darker part of him believes it’s warranted because of the way he’d lain with Harry last night, the walls between them crumbling to smithereens as he’d let himself share intimate touches and whispered confessions.

Louis had felt something wriggling insistently inside of him when he’d woken up to the sight of Harry walking away after having carried him to bed. He hadn’t given a thought for the consequences when he’d pulled Harry back and asked him to stay. Louis had lain there next to him, almost skin to skin and had gazed into incandescent green eyes while a solar flare burst inside. Yet he’d ignored the way his skin blazed with heat; a rush of feeling flowing into his chest and exploding into wildfire. He staunchly denied the way his stomach arced high and swooped low as he swept his hand over Harry’s soft, hairless skin, as he pressed his fingers to the almost non-existent happy trail leading into Harry’s pants.

Now, Louis can’t help but feel that maybe he deserves this. He can’t bear it but maybe he should. He’s gotten too close to Harry, closer than he’s gotten to anybody in the last three years. It’s not right and while Duncan’s accusation of cheating is false, Louis can’t pretend that he didn’t do something he knew Duncan would be uncomfortable with. Louis would never previously have said that a victim of domestic violence deserves it. Yet sitting here on his haunches, staring up at Duncan with vain hope, he doesn’t know if he can even call himself that; a victim. If he’d just gone to his mum’s like Duncan expected, none of this would have happened.

“It’s a bit too late to beg now that you’ve had his cock up your arse, “Duncan snarls. “Did it make you feel better Lou?”

“W...what?” Louis stutters.

Duncan’s expression turns volatile and he draws back, releasing a hard kick into Louis’ gut. It knocks Louis back onto his side, his breath escaping him in short gasps while pain ripples through his body. He meets Duncan’s grim satisfaction with eyes blurred with tears and a breath that comes shuddering to the surface. His throat tightens around that tiny exhalation of air and his chest beings to heave visibly.

“Does it make you feel better...thinking that he might have you when I’m done, that you can just go sit on his cock when I’ve got no more use for you?” Duncan steps around Louis’ body and then sends another forceful kick into his aching torso. Louis winces, his breathless sobs coming thick and fast. Duncan just continues to speak in that genteel, smooth tone which raises the hairs on Louis’ neck, “but he doesn’t really love you, does he Lou? He knows you’re dirty and broken. He doesn’t want any part of that.”

Louis knows somewhere in the back of his mind that it contradicts everything Harry has ever said to him and the gentle, compassionate way he has always treated him, even from the very beginning. Harry has never given him the impression that he didn’t think Louis worthy of his friendship, the opposite really. However under the pressure of Duncan’s cold glare and with bursts of pain rocketing around his body, Louis can’t think beyond the immediacy of his doubt. Hasn’t it always felt like Harry was holding something back from him? Didn’t Harry hesitate when Louis asked him to stay last night?

Harry pities him, no question but compassion isn’t the same thing as respect. It surprises him to realise how much he wants that, that of all the things Duncan could have said, this one hurts the most. It kills him to think that Harry might look at him and see a waste of space...a used up, twisted weakling that he might feel sorry for but never truly care for.

Louis’ breaths get shallower and shallower as panic sets in and he wonders what he really has left. Duncan is going to leave him and Harry...Harry doesn’t think much of him at all. How could he? Louis is lying curled over himself on the floor, getting beaten by the man he loves. He couldn’t be more of a piss-weak excuse for a human if he tried.

“I don’t want Harry,” Louis tries to explain, his voice rasping around Harry’s name, his heart clenching in his chest as he wonders how much it will hurt when Harry inevitably turns his back on him, “I only want you. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Duncan clenches his teeth and then drops to the floor, lightning fast. Louis’ breath stops when Duncan leans over him, gripping his neck and drawing blood with the deep imprints of his fingernails. He forces Louis’ head around so that Louis’ looking straight back at him and then lowers his face to Louis’, mashing his lips down against his mouth.  

Louis’ tears cascade down his cheeks and melt down over Duncan’s lips as his mouth moves roughly against Louis’. Louis gently kisses back, a naïve and previously dormant sense of hope taking shape in his chest. It’s the hope that Duncan will just leave him be and that he will eventually realise how much Louis wants a future with him. Louis doesn’t know if he deserves forgiveness but he longs for it anyway, begging silently for release as his limbs tremble and a throbbing headache presses at his temples.

“Shut your lying mouth,” Duncan whispers in his ear, the malice ever present, “you’re so pathetic thinking that I’m going to buy your innocent virginal act. I know how desperate you are for it Louis. Don’t forget that I’ve seen you in action.”

Louis turns over to face him and Duncan wraps his hands firmly around his neck. He squeezes so tight that Louis forgets everything but the twisted green of the eyes boring into his, a sick sense of glee lighting them up. When Louis starts to gasp, his vision turning splotchy, Duncan lets go. He laughs cruelly at the way Louis scrabbles to breathe and then knees him hard in the stomach. Louis can’t get any sobs out and his throat feels raw, his mind scarily detached. His body shudders continuously as hot tears accelerate down his cheeks, pooling in his collarbones while he waits for the next blow.

Duncan stands up but doesn’t say anything. His eyes trail down over Louis’ grief stricken face and his heaving chest pushing in and out with every stilted breath. Then he drags his gaze lower to where Louis’ arms are curled loosely around his aching stomach.

“You’re not going to fight back are you?” Duncan hisses, “Because you know you deserve everything I’m giving to you, don’t you? Do you think that makes it better?” He roars, “that it makes up for letting him fuck you? Because it doesn’t, it never will. I’m going to keep going,” Duncan says slowly, kicking Louis hard. His foot kicks out so hard that Louis’ arms fall away and the blow lands right beneath his belly button,”I’m going to hurt you like you hurt me. I want you to remember why nobody will ever take pity on you like I do. I want you to see the evidence of shame on your skin for weeks.”

Louis tucks his head into his chin and closes his eyes. He wonders in one corner of his mind what Harry’s doing and why he hasn’t come to see what’s going on but then Louis realises that it’s probably not something Harry wants to involve himself in. Why would Harry want to get mixed up in Louis’ stupid mistake? It’s not his fault that Louis couldn’t control himself and knocked on his door like a sad little puppy begging for shelter. That’s all Louis is to Harry and that’s why he must have felt compelled to say yes. In that moment, Louis was just another patient who needed his gentle care. This, this isn’t like the other times. This is Louis in his weakest hour, broken and beaten and by no means the kind of person that someone like Harry would want to go the extra mile for. Why would Harry risk a brawl with Duncan for him? Even sweet, gorgeous Harry must sense Louis’ worthlessness.

Those words Harry said last night flutter away like pieces of ash being carried on the breeze. Louis can feel their impermanence, can smell the column of smoke rising up from their fiery demise. He should have known he didn’t deserve the things Harry said about him. He should have known that Harry had been misguided or confused when he said those things, momentarily forgetting just how twisted Louis really is.

Duncan’s foot slams into him over and over until Louis starts to feel like there’s a sinkhole forming in the shape of Duncan’s shoe. A burgeoning and persistent ache spreads through to his sides, making him whimper and forget his deep breathing. When Duncan pulls his foot away, Louis doesn’t feel any relief. Somehow he senses Duncan isn’t done with him yet. He’s right. Duncan just changes location, kicking him hard in the chest where there’s no softness and no thick flesh to protect him from the weight of the blows. The worst shock comes when Duncan’s foot slams against Louis’ bowed head, pushing his chin into his neck and forcing his neck down at an unnatural angle. Pain explodes behind his eyes as his body spasms sporadically.

At some point, Louis stops letting himself feel each individual spike of pain. Maybe his body doesn’t want him to feel, that if he could feel every blow that Duncan reins down upon his body he wouldn’t have the will to breathe. It’s difficult as it is. It feels like there’s a metal weight pushing down against his chest and constricting his lungs as they fight for breath.

Louis can’t feel the tears form and he doesn’t feel the moment that each one slips out of the corners of his closed eyelids. Still, he imagines he can hear them dripping off his face and it’s all he concentrates on as his thoughts get less and less clear, a strange fuzzy sensation stealing over his mind as any last trace of pain starts to give way to numbness. Drip, drip, drip. Tears drop down onto his collarbones like rain drops on a tarp while Duncan’s presence fades into the murky background.

.....

Harry feels strangely euphoric when he turns away from the door, Louis having just left but not without having promised Harry that he’d think about what they talked about. Sure, it hadn’t felt as genuine as their conversation from last night. Harry is certain that it’s going to take more than one confession of slight doubt for Louis to realistically contemplate packing his bags. Yet Harry is safe in the knowledge that he planted a seedling in Louis’ mind.

He didn’t manipulate or coerce Louis like dark Harry wanted but instead coaxed out the truth from within. It just happened to be that there was a small bud of doubt already forming in Louis’ mind without any intervention from him. Harry conjured an illustration of Louis’ self-image and he’d been quick to point out the distortions. He nurtured Louis’ remaining sense of self, trying to give him the power to see himself clearly and made a go at showing him the wealth of his heart. He wanted Louis to know that the relationship he desires isn’t the pipe dream he believes it to be. He deserves to have somebody who will love him with equal measure.

Harry slides his phone out of his jeans now and quickly types a song into YouTube. He plugs his headphones in and then turns the volume up all the way, smiling to himself as he sets about cleaning the flat. He sings along to Tony Bennett, hearing the phantom sound of Louis’ voice alongside his own, continually pressing replay each time the song draws to a close. This is the lightest he’s felt all week and there’s no denying that it’s all down to Louis. Harry smiles as he wonders what Louis’ doing right now. He’d like to think that Duncan’s yet to return and Louis’ just doing whatever his heart desires, like walking around in bare feet and watching friends re-runs. Louis deserves a pleasant Saturday morning to himself.

......

Louis can’t tell what’s real from what he imagines anymore. His mind is aimless and unhinged, transitioning from an image of Duncan standing over him surveying his work, to one of Harry’s face looking down at him from above. There’s a chilling kind of distaste in Harry’s expression and he hisses at Louis, “you disgust me,” with a kind of venom that doesn’t match the usual softness of his face. Then Duncan and Harry merge into one and Louis’ silent sobs tear through him as Harry looks down at him with pure hatred. His boot hovers over Louis’ chest, poised to deliver another crushing blow.

“No, no please,” Louis whimpers, a frenzied note to his tone as Harry winds up again, “please don’t hurt me. You were so kind, so lovely. You held me...please.”

Harry’s foot doesn’t land on his body again but instead he grabs a fistful of Louis’ hair and serves a hard punch to his eye, knocking him flat onto his back. The punch sends sharp fissures of pain through Louis’ system that shock him back into awareness. His eyes scrunch tightly and then open a fraction to find Duncan, not Harry, standing over him.

“I’ll be in the New York office,” Duncan spits, arms crossed over his chest, “if I decide to come back, I want you on your knees the moment I walk through that door.”

Louis can’t hold his eyes open any longer. He feels dizzy and he’s aching all over. His eyelids fall shut and he focuses on his breathing as he half listens to the sound of Duncan moving around him, packing some belongings before slamming the door shut on his way out.

Duncan left him. Duncan actually left him like this. There’s no resistance left in Louis. There’s no sassy, defiant voice screaming to be heard above the gloomy, self -loathing one that rules his everyday life. It feels as though the person that existed before Duncan died the moment Louis went crashing to the floor. Louis is all alone inside his mind and all he can hear is the dull thud of his heart in his ears and the same drip, drip, drip of his tears.

If anybody had said five years ago, that he would be lying on his own floor, abandoned, broken and fresh out of any desire to exist, he would have laughed right in their face. He was strong and unreachable back then. He would have told anybody that called him worthless he was worth more than they could afford. Louis never could have foreseen himself winding up here, bruised and beaten by the man he dreamed he’d spend the rest of his life with.

Louis thought he was too strong for that, too unyielding. He thought that while things like this must happen to good people, they only happened to people who were mentally deficient. Surely anyone who wouldn’t fight back, anyone who would stay in this situation, they couldn’t have their wits about them. Louis knew that women often insisted they deserved it, doling out paper thin excuses like “he didn’t mean it” or “he’s not a violent man.” They had to be deluded or at the very least, intellectually inferior. Louis believed that deep down, he was different from them, superior somehow. Yet here he is curled around his own array of bruises, cradling his shattered dreams and lying in a pool of his own gritty tears and he feels it. He knows now. He knows every inch of their suffering in a bone deep way that he hadn’t before. Worse still, he knows now that he’s not superior and perhaps never was. He’s not even a true victim. He’s not the punching bag of some violent alcoholic or the woman who gets beats up on when her husband has a bad day. He’s only suffering the consequences of his own poor decision making.

Louis never thought Duncan could be so brutal and so cold as to leave him bruised and boneless on the floor but then Duncan must have thought that Louis would never go so far as to sleep with the guy next door. He’s shocked this response out of Duncan and there can be no self-pity and no freedom from the awful, visceral pressure on his brain that tells him it’s been a long time coming and that Duncan held off as long as he could. Louis’ last breath before he blacks out is a shuddered gasp. His limbs spasm and everything goes black, the last of his tears dripping down his chin like a solemn promise. Drip drip drip.

.....

When Harry takes his headphones out, he hears the loud slam of the door in the hall and then the sound of a suitcase being rolled down the stairs. His forehead wrinkles with confusion. Where on earth would Louis be travelling to on a Saturday morning, seemingly out of nowhere? Then it dawns on him that it must have been Duncan and that Duncan must have come back and left all over again. Except it can’t have been more than twenty minutes to half an hour that he was there.

It occurs to Harry that Louis is probably an emotional mess, having just been abandoned by his boyfriend for the second time in two days with barely a pause in between. He wonders momentarily whether this will be the water that breaks the camel’s back. Perhaps it will be just another excuse for Louis to devalue himself and cling on a little tighter, thinking nobody else could possibly accept him. It’s a question that Harry intends on investigating later, after he’s checked that Louis is okay.

Harry: I think I heard Duncan leave.... are you okay? .xx

Harry goes about placing his empty mug in the dishwasher and wiping down the bench that he’d used to make a couple of slices of toast in between sorting his laundry. When he returns to his phone, there’s no reply and he frowns, both confused and disappointed. There’s every chance that Louis’ simply in the shower or ignoring him because he’s once again sticking his nose in where it’s probably not wanted but something tells Harry that it’s not that. After all, they’d had such a breakthrough last night. Surely Louis wouldn’t automatically shut him out for expressing some mild concern? Or would he? Harry’s frown deepens as he shoots off another text.

Harry: I’m sorry if you took that the wrong way. Didn’t mean anything by it. We don’t have to talk about it Lou .xx

Harry starts to tap his foot impatiently while he stands there waiting for some kind of reply. Then he pricks his ears, listening for any kind of noise from next door. He listens for the squeal of the pipes that might indicate a shower or any other kind of sound that might tell him what Louis’ doing. There’s nothing. The back of Harry’s neck prickles uncomfortably and a strange shiver runs down his spine. He’s not sure what’s gotten into him and why he suddenly feels so jumpy but he finds himself sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and chewing on it furiously as he dials Louis’ number.

It rings and rings and rings and then goes to voicemail, all while Harry stands there, head pounding furiously as a million different scenarios crop up in his mind. What if Louis fell or had an accident? What if Louis hurt himself on purpose? What if Louis decided that he never wants to hear from Harry again? What if, what if, what if. Harry’s heart is jumping erratically in his chest and he can’t take one more second of this. He bursts from his flat with wild eyes and stumbles his way to Louis’ door.

He pounds on it with his fingers curled in a tight fist and then swears softly when there’s no answer from within. He knocks again but there’s nothing, not even the sound of Louis moving away from the door. Harry’s completely on edge and he can’t explain the sick feeling in his gut that tells him something’s off. He can’t even begin to fathom what possesses him to draw back from the door and kick it open so hard that it rebounds off the wall, reverberating through the eerie silence of the flat and making Harry himself jump. Nor can he fathom the grim and horrific sight that he’s met with as he takes a single step into the flat and his eyes come to rest on the body lying crumpled in the middle of the floor.

Louis’ body looks broken and limp and as Harry staggers towards him, the world narrows to a single point. His shaking fingers come up to flutter over his mouth with shock like he’s some kind of grieving widow in a low budget movie. The world is dreamlike and warped and Harry’s movements are coordinated by some kind of automatic switch in his brain. It always seems so hackneyed and platitudinous in movies, the way people drop to their knees, but Harry’s body moves of it’s own accord. He sinks to his knees beside Louis, completely overcome by emotion.

Harry cries out as he finds one of Louis’ eyes swollen shut with a bulging bruise, the other unmarked but similarly clenched as if Louis had been in considerable pain when it fell closed. His arm is curled loosely around his stomach, the same red jumper that he’d worn last night riding up around his waist.  This time instead of delicious, unblemished flesh, Harry is greeted with the sight of grotesque blackish-blue bruises that span the width of Louis’ stomach and bulge out in certain places. Harry pushes the jumper up, revealing more of the same. A wolfish, broken howl escapes his mouth when he realises that Louis’ tiny, pink nipples are virtually the only parts of Louis’ torso untouched by the horrific dark tones of his bruises.

This is Louis, tiny Louis with the bear cub hands and miniature chest. This is Louis whose miniature hand had curled around Harry’s last night as an intoxicating kind of need filled his cerulean blue eyes. This is Louis who called Harry gorgeous and pressed an innocent giggle against his skin, heating him from within. This is Louis, the guy Harry’s quickly and irrationally been falling for these past five weeks. This is Louis, who lay crumpled and unconscious on the floor of his own flat while Harry danced his morning away, completely oblivious to what was going on just next-door.

“Louis,” Harry rasps desperately, blinking a huge wave of tears from his eyes as he gathers Louis’ limp body in his arms. He maneuvers him around so that Louis’ head rests in his lap, “Louis, wake up.”

Louis doesn’t move and Harry’s whole body shudders with fear. He doesn’t have the right to cry. If he’d just taken his blasted earphones out for one minute, if he’d only convinced Louis to stay a little longer, if he’d just held Louis in his arms and never released him….if he’d done any of these things, this wouldn’t have happened. That wretched animal wouldn’t have touched one god damn hair on Louis’ fine head. If Harry had just been there. God, if he’d only been there when Louis needed him.

Harry’s hands tremble with rage as he pushes Louis’ sweaty fringe from his forehead. He’s never been this violent, has never seen a need for it but this is Louis. This is Louis and if Harry had been here, then there’s every chance that Duncan would be the one lying crumpled on the floor. There’s every chance he’d never get back up again after Harry was done with him.

“Lou,” Harry whimpers, frantically stroking Louis’ face as his own tears drip down onto Louis’ closed eyelids, “Louis, sweetheart, please open your eyes. Please baby, it’s Harry. Why did the baboon ask the giraffe, “why the long face?”” Harry’s met with silence as he continues to cry, his thumb brushing his own tears from Louis’ cold cheeks, “c’mon Lou, don’t let me embarrass myself. Why did the baboon ask the giraffe “why the long face?”?”

There’s still nothing. Harry cups the back of Louis head as he leans down to rest his ear next to Louis’ mouth. He feels the weak puff of air on his ear and sighs, relieved. Then he wizens up to the way the back of Louis’ head feels beneath his fingers, swollen and lumpy, as if someone molded his skull into a new shape. The monster that laid his hands on Louis has effectively kicked his head in and Harry realises that it’s most probably the reason Louis’ unconscious and not responding. He could simply have a concussion but it could be much worse...a bleed in his brain or something equally life threatening. Fear seizes Harry’s throat and clamps down on his heart when he contemplates the mere thought of losing the delicate boy lying in his arms.

“I’m going to get you to the hospital Lou,” he promises, “they’re going to help you darling.”

With shaking fingers, Harry dials an ambulance, stumbling over his words in his rush to get the address out and swearing violently at himself for taking so long. The ambulance is relatively quick to get there but it feels like an eternity that Harry holds Louis in his arms, whispering the worst jokes he can think of and waiting for Louis’ eyes to open so he can tell Harry how truly absurd he is. When they arrive, Harry is already standing up with Louis in his arms and he quickly delivers him to the paramedics who place him on a stretcher and rush him downstairs, Harry following close behind. Two paramedics load Louis into the ambulance and Harry moves to get on behind them but a silver haired man with wide rimmed glasses and a severe mouth stops him with a hand to the chest.

“What the fuck?” Harry exclaims.

The swearing and the abrupt response are completely out of character for him but the last twenty minutes have flown by like a twisted nightmare and Harry’s not coping.

He needs to be by Louis’ side now and he needs Louis to be okay. Nobody is going to get in between them, not today. Not when Louis’ lying unconscious in that ambulance, potentially dying and Harry could be with him, holding his limp hand and encouraging him just to hold on until they get to the hospital. Nothing can come between you and I, Harry thinks, desperation colouring the thought as more tears ease down the sides of his face.

“Are you family or his significant other?” the man asked with raised eyebrows, ignoring the way Harry drags his shaking hands across his cheeks to wipe his tears.

Harry thinks of the violent coward who left Louis to die, the horrible human being who beat him to a pulp and yet would probably still have the audacity to call himself Louis’ lover. Harry thinks of how Louis cried out to him last night as he pulled his hand away and of how he fell asleep to the sensation of Harry’s fingers in his hair. He thinks of how Louis had woken up with Harry’s eyes on him and smiled like the Pope himself had blessed him. Harry thinks of Liam, Louis’ protector and Taylor, his partner in crime. He thinks of Louis’ mum who loves him more than words, Dan who depended on Louis in his hour of need and Louis’ siblings who looked at him like he was the truest source of sunshine in their lives. He thinks of all the special people in Louis’ life and wonders if he counts as one of them. Is he one of them? With a quick nod to himself, he decides that yes, he is. Whether Louis likes it or not, Harry is in for the long haul.

“Yes, I’m his significant other,” he says determinedly.

The man raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t quite believe him but Harry lets out another weighted breath and the guy eyes him for a moment before jumping up into the ambulance and beckoning for Harry to follow. He doesn’t hesitate. He’s by Louis’ side in an instant, ignoring the paramedics’ warning looks as he knits their fingers together and combs gently through Louis’ fringe.

“You’re going to be just fine Lou,” he promises, ignoring the pitying eyes on his back, “I promise you’ll be just fine.”

......

When Louis opens his eyes to an empty hospital room and a sluggish feeling in his head, confusion momentarily swamps him. Then the images come screaming back to him and he whimpers, remembering Duncan’s foot slamming into him over and over until everything shut down. He knows instantly that it would have been Harry who found him but he doesn’t know how to feel about that. He wants for it to mean that Harry cares about him but he knows deep down that Harry would do this for anybody. Harry is special.

“Oh love, you’re awake!” a squeaky voice calls as a buxom blonde nurse comes bustling in with a jug of water.

She places it on his bedside table and then clicks a button overhead. At this point, Louis realises that he’s got a drip attached to his arm and that there’s some kind of liquid dripping down into his bloodstream.

“What’s that?” He asks, slurring his words a little because his head feels so fuzzy.

“Oh just something for the pain,” the bright eyed blonde chirps.

“That why I feel so tired?”

The nurse smiles and pats his shoulder.

“That and the fact that you were under anesthetic. You’re a very lucky man Louis. You have two cerebral contusions but they’re not severe enough to require any corrective surgery. They’ll heal on their own. However, we would like to see the swelling go down a bit before we send you home.”

“Cerebral contusions?” Louis asks, wincing as he raises his head to look at her.

She pushes him back down with a gentle smile.

“Brain bruises,” she informs him and then squeezes his shoulder, her bright smile dimming, “whatever got you, got you good.”

Louis can hear the silent “whoever” in her somber tone and it makes his breath hitch a little. He doesn’t want to think about that whoever right now, not when he’s lucky just to be alive. Thank god for Harry and his hero complex. Truth be told, Louis wasn’t sure he wanted to live. Right before he fell prey to the darkness, this strange sense of relief came over him. Perhaps because he was so exhausted, more exhausted than he’s ever felt in his life. Now, with the pain medication flowing through his system, allowing him a little more drug mediated awareness, he realises that he does want to live. He wants it even if it means fighting through the shit storm that is the current state of his life.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees with a tight-lipped smile, “what kind of idiot falls down the stairs of their own building?”

The nurse narrows her eyes.

“Your boyfriend said he found you in your flat.”

The image of Duncan’s hateful green eyes burns the backs of Louis’ eyelids and his whole body seizes up with fear. Duncan came back for him. Louis doesn’t want to see him. He doesn’t want to go through any more similar ordeals ever again. He doesn’t have the strength and yet a small, childish voice inside him cries out, reminding him that Duncan came back and that Duncan is the one who brought him here. Those two things combined mean that he must care. He must love Louis in order to want to save him. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it. It was all a big misunderstanding. Louis doesn’t realise his thoughts exactly mirror those of the abused women he used to judge so easily.

“Well yeah...I got that far before I collapsed.”

The nurse eyes him carefully.

“He...tended to you, did he? Your boyfriend Harry?” She asks with suspicious blue eyes.

Louis’ heart breaks all over again, his eyes welling up but he denies himself the release of crying. He’s cried enough tears to last a lifetime. Of course Duncan didn’t come back for him. Why would he? What was there even left of Louis to save? Nothing. He’s nothing. Louis has Harry...but Harry rescued him because that’s who he is. It’s got nothing to do with Louis. Only...what had the nurse just called him? Louis’ boyfriend. Louis splutters out a jumbled response.

“Harry?” He asks with nervous panic, “Harry’s not my boyfriend. He’s my neighbour and friend...I think. He’s not. I mean, Harry’s just...Harry.”

The nurse cocks her head at him like a bird intent on studying its prey wriggling around in the dirt.

“He said he was your significant other?”

Oh, he just wanted to ride in the ambulance with me. Why does that make Louis feel choked up all over again? Why is he so grateful for Harry’s compassion and yet so disappointed at the same time?

“Um, yeah,” Louis says lamely, figuring he best go along with it, “I just hate the word boyfriend.”

The nurse shakes her head at him, looking a touch amused and then turns and starts to bustle her way back out of his room.

“Where are you going?” He asks her, strangely terrified to be on his own.

She smiles, thin lipped and raises her eyebrows.

“To retrieve your non-boyfriend. Last I checked he was pacing the halls and harassing reception trying to get them to give him an update. We only brought you back from theatre quite recently,” she explains.

“Oh,” Louis bites his lip, suddenly nervous about confronting Harry, “could you um...could you tell him that I might not be up to speaking?”

“Sure,” the nurse says with a kindly smile, “but I hardly think he’ll need much input from you other than to see you’re alright. When we took you to theatre, he just kept chanting, “He was so still.” Eventually he tired himself out but I’ve never seen someone pace the waiting room that many times in one hour.”

Louis’ heart clenches in his chest and tears smart in his eyes as last night’s events come flooding back. Harry held him while he fell asleep and pulled him close by the waist. Harry is too fucking spectacular for words and Louis is nothing but...but what if Louis wasn’t completely deranged in thinking that Harry actually cares about him? Louis cries silently as the nurse’s footsteps fade away and his fingers come up to gently brush the bulge across his right eye. He can still see out of it but it stings and is pressed half shut.

When Harry appears in the doorway, Louis’ breath stops. He’s never looked as tragic or as lovely as he does standing there in form fitting jeans and a soft flannel, his hair in complete curly disarray. His pale face is a streaked and splotchy mess with patches of rosy pink covering his cheeks. He looks Louis over with the kind of wonder that Louis feels reflected in his own eyes. A whimper escapes his mouth at the same time that a soft sob escapes Harry’s and then Louis is stretching up in his bed, reaching out for him and Harry is crossing the floor just to push him straight back down again.

“Don’t you dare sit up you fool,” he orders with a crooked, off center smile.

Louis lets out a wet little laugh and then dissolves into tears again.

“Fuck,” he curses as the saltiness of his tears stings his bruised eye.

Harry understands, gently swiping his thumb along Louis’ bruised bottom lid and catching the tears before they can seep into his cracked skin. His other hand slips over Louis’ forehead to reach his fringe and he combs his fingers through it, drawing a hum from Louis’ throat.

“I’m so sorry Lou,” Harry sighs, shaking his head. His eyes are somber and tear filled. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

Louis can’t even comprehend that Harry cares this much about him, let alone that he actually thinks he has something to apologise for. If not for Harry, Louis would still be lying unconscious on his floor, helpless and alone. Maybe he deserved that, the fate that Duncan may or may not have intended for him but with Harry’s eyes tracing his face so tenderly, Louis can’t bring himself to want anything other than this. He can’t bring himself to wish for the darkness. He’s only glad Harry was there.

“But you were,” Louis says incredulously, his own tears slowing. He beckons to Harry to get him to lean in closer and then rubs his thumbs across Harry’s cheeks, ridding them of tears. “You got me to the hospital. You were--thank you Harry.”

“No Lou,” Harry shakes his head furiously as he picks Louis’ hands up and kneads lines into his palms, “I wasn’t there to stop him and I should have been. I had music in and I couldn’t---“ Harry’s voice gives out and he lets out a shaky sob that tears at Louis’ heart, “I couldn’t hear you but I should have. And it was me...it was my fault in the first place, wasn’t it? You told him where you stayed and he, oh god,” Harry takes a deep breath to compose himself but it comes out all shaky and unsteady, “he hurt you.”

Louis hesitates, not wanting Harry to blame himself when it’s so clearly Louis’ fault but not wanting to lie either. Somehow despite everything that’s happened as a consequence of this friendship, Louis finds himself not wanting to go backward. He can’t go back to barriers and lines in the sand. Harry just rescued him from god knows what fate and if all Louis can do to repay him is to be honest with him, then that’s what he will do. He’ll do whatever he must in order to show Harry that none of what he did today is meaningless.

“He caught me coming out of your flat,” Louis says with a sigh and it’s shocking how quickly the words come, fluent and uninterrupted, as if the beating happened to somebody else and not him.

Then again, Louis wonders if it’s just Harry and the calming effect of his presence. Harry squeezes his hands and Louis feels truly safe with him.

“He caught me and pushed me into the flat. He shoved me to the floor and he was saying things, things about you and me. He ah, he strangled me a bit at one point,” Harry’s eyes tear up and he squeezes Louis’ hands again “and then he just started kicking me. He hit me and kicked me until I just stopped feeling at all and then he left for New York. I passed out after that and woke up here.”

Harry’s bottom lip is shaking and his troubled green eyes loom large in his face. Louis reaches out and cups his cheeks, thumbs stroking over the soft patches of skin next to Harry’s ears. Harry looks mildly comforted by the touch on the surface but still deeply disturbed by what Louis’ said. Then his expression morphs into a nervous one and he bites down on his lip, gripping Louis’ hands tightly.

“Louis, I have to call the police.”

Louis’ whole system revolts against those words. Nothing could be worse than making a formal complaint and going through the whole ordeal of explaining how he got himself into this mess. That right there is the real clincher. It’s the fact that even if he doesn’t regret his night with Harry, Louis knows that it’s what spurned this whole violent outburst. If he’d just had the foresight to go to his mum’s instead of Harry’s, there would have been no misunderstanding.

He’s not contesting the fact that Duncan kicked the shit out of him and that it’s how he winded up here in hospital. He just knows how crazed Duncan must have been, with jealousy and rage. If he was jealous, he must love Louis and if he loves Louis, then maybe they can work on this.  They can go to some clichéd couples therapist and talk about their “issues.” Maybe Louis can finally restore Duncan’s faith in him. He’s not completely ignorant about what happened, he’s still dealing with the aftermath of it but he’s never seen this side of Duncan before, at least not to this extent. Should he really be expected to do away with his relationship after one awful incident?

“No,” Louis calmly but firmly as he takes his hands from Harry’s, “that’s not what I want. I just want to move on with my life,” he lies, “I don’t want to think about this anymore.”

Harry’s eyes darken and his eyebrows pull down low over his eyes.

“But Louis--“

“No,” Louis says, louder this time, “I’m so grateful Harry, so grateful that you were there but I can’t...” he lets his voice waver and directs his eyes down to his lap, “I can’t go through that...I don’t want to...see him...and to-to hear his voice, I--“

“Shh,” Harry soothes, brushing the stiff lines of Louis’ eyebrows with his thumbs. Louis looks up into his leaden green eyes that are filled with far more sincere concern than he has any right to receive. His guilt has him in a stranglehold. “You don’t ever have to see him again Lou, I promise.”

Louis’ heart hurts too much. It’s cramping up in his chest and he needs some space to think and some time to organise how he’s going to fix his relationship with Duncan and still keep Harry in his life. He can’t imagine giving either them up now, especially now.

“I’m tired,” Louis says truthfully, letting his eyes flutter closed, “mind if I sleep?”

“Course not darling,” Harry murmurs and then coughs awkwardly, “I mean--“

“Haz.”

Louis’ eyes creak open and he finds Harry settling into the chair beside him with a high blush spreading over his cheeks.

“Yes?”

Louis stretches his hand out and Harry obeys his silent request, connecting their fingers with a tremulous smile.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” Louis tells him, eyes on their hands that are somehow the perfect fit for each other, “I’m just...thank you. Thank you so god damn much.”

“Don’t thank me,” Harry says, gently squeezing his fingers, “just promise me you won’t ever let me walk in on that again. I need you to, god Lou...you didn’t even fight back, did you?” Harry’s eyes are tearing up again, “tell me you know he was wrong. Tell me you don’t think you deserved this.”

Harry’s hand is shaking and he looks like he might shatter into a million pieces if Louis confirms his fears. He looks so young suddenly, like a curly haired cherub that would have stolen hearts even in infancy. Louis can see what he needs; someone older and wiser to tell him that everything is going to be okay, someone to reassure him that the world isn’t as dark and as twisted as he fears it might be. Louis has to be that person. He can’t be the reason Harry Styles loses his sparkle or the gorgeous green eyed wonder that makes him so luminescent.

“I don’t,” Louis says, working to make his tone steely as he forces the words out around the huge lump clogging up his throat, “I don’t think I deserve it. He hurt me...and now he’ll never get the chance to hurt me again.”

Harry lets out a tiny relieved breath. Louis closes his eyes and focuses on the drowsy feeling brought on by the pain medication and not the lie he just told Harry. He doesn’t want to sort through his thoughts right now. Not anymore. After the emotional torture of lying to Harry, he only wants to be unconscious again. He wants to exist in a world away from this one...a world where he’s not that guy who got beat up by his boyfriend and loved him anyway. He wants to dream up a world where the kind of happy endings that Harry believes in actually exist.

.....

“I’ll come check on you okay? And I’ll be right here, just on the other side of the wall. Just call me if you need anything, yell out even. If he so much as steps foot back in there, call out Louis. I wish you’d...” Harry sighs, disappointed, “I wish you’d just stay with me.”

“Harry, I’m fine. They didn’t even make me stay overnight.”

Harry releases Louis’ side once they reach his door but there’s a hundred and one frown lines between his eyes and they only deepen when Louis reaches up to fit his key into the lock and winces because his stomach muscles flex.

“Are you sure you’re--“

Louis doesn’t see any other solution, there’s no two ways about it. Harry responds to touch best. Louis clenches his teeth together and ignores the budding pain as he swivels in Harry’s direction and winds his arms around his middle, pulling their torsos together. Harry looks at him with surprise but then his eyes soften and his arms come around Louis, his cheek sliding against the top of his hair.

“I’m okay Harry...I’ll be okay. Stop feeling guilty, you silly hipster. It’s not your fault and I don’t--“ Louis’ body trembles as he realises the truth of the bold statement forming in his head. Harry squeezes him tight, “I don’t regret becoming your friend or staying with you last night.”

Does Louis wish he’d had the will power to ignore Harry’s retreat from the room? Yes. Does he wish he’d been more careful when he left? Definitely...but as the dust settles it’s slowly occurring to him that right now Harry and his big, soft hands are the only thing he can be sure of. Maybe he’ll get things back on track with Duncan and truthfully, he doesn’t know what his life will be if he doesn’t but Harry is right here, right now, worrying about him and yearning to tend to his wounds. Louis is for the first time certain that it’s more than pity that spurns the bond between them. Louis might be the wounded puppy but Harry’s deep gaze has to be more than sympathy.

There’s a seed of an expectation there because Harry wants him to be stronger than what he’s been through and somehow, for some reason, he whole-heartedly believes that Louis is. Louis swallows loudly as he realises that this is the reason Harry bought his act at the hospital, he overestimates the strength of Louis’ will.

A small part of Louis wants to do exactly what Harry expects so he can make him proud. He wants to do what Harry needs him to do just so he can be the reason for that breathtaking smile that would break across Harry’s face like sunshine on a cloudy day. A larger part of Louis knows that even if he did that, it wouldn’t be the act of courage Harry expects because what Harry expects is for Louis to do these things for himself. Harry expects him to change the course of his life because of the consequences he’ll face if he doesn’t. Louis knows that it’s not so easy. It’s not like his happiness is a forgotten treasure that he can unearth from the corner of his backyard, dust off and return to its former place in his chest. Louis’ elusive happiness exists beyond a force field that repels him every single time he tries to pass through.

Harry sounds choked up when he pulls back from Louis and plants a wet kiss right by his eyebrow.

“I’m glad. Me too. I’m sorry he-- if I could turn back time, you know I’d--but I’m not about to regret any of that either.”

Louis smiles weakly and then pushes the door of his flat open.

“I should...”

“Right,” Harry agrees with a nod but his smile is without sparkle, “you should go inside.”

Louis doesn’t have the energy to question it. He returns the smile with a subdued one of his own and then turns to his flat, taking a few light steps into the room before closing the door behind him with a gentle click. Louis flicks the switch next to the door and then cringes at the outpouring of light, wincing again as his two puffy eyelids press tightly against each other.

When he recovers from the sudden rush of light, he looks around at the empty flat for signs of his ordeal. It’s not what Louis would expect a site of abuse to look like. There’s no broken glass, no splatters of blood along the carpet and not even one piece of furniture needs rearranging. Nothing is out of place. Everything is as it was before Duncan’s rough hands forced him to the floor. For all intents and purposes, it’s as though Louis could have it wiped clean from his memory and never have known the difference upon returning. It feels like it must have been a twisted nightmare and Louis is just now awaking. Yet he has the ache in his bones and the pain medication in his pocket to remind him of the reality of it, whether he wants that or not.

He can’t get away from the reality of lying on the floor near dead and just wishing for some kind of uninterrupted peace. There might not be any blood or shattered glass to mark the spot but Louis can still see the outline of his body along the carpet; the place where he’d first gone down and looked up at Duncan with terror seizing his body. He can still hear the faint echo of his tears. Drip, drip, drip.

Louis’ eyes fall shut as the images slam into him at warp speed, bouncing off each other and racing towards to the finish like bumper cars on the warpath. Each one is more brutal than the last and then suddenly there are no more images; only sensations. He lives again the way that his body had seized with each blow and remembers the way his head had felt as if it were cracking open and spilling its entire contents. He feels the sting of Duncan’s nails in his neck and the wet, rough pull of his lips on his mouth. When Louis opens his eyes, the whole flat is a wasteland and Louis is sinking deeper and deeper into the wreckage, flailing his arms as he tries to avoid being swallowed by the horror.

“Fuck no,” he sobs in violent despair, his shoulders heaving up and down as he presses his fists tight against his eyes, trying hopelessly to force back the onslaught of tears, “stop.”

He’s too weak, much too weak for this and suddenly he can’t stand to look at the couch where Duncan had fucked his face or the table where he’d slammed down the ruined roses. He can’t stand to travel into the kitchen and smell the ghost of Duncan’s cooking and then walk down the hall to the bedroom and hear his own desperate moans coming back to him. He can’t bear to hear his own pathetic desire echo in his ears. I know how desperate you are for it Louis. Don’t forget that I’ve seen you in action.

Louis can’t stand one inch of this flat which suddenly feels a lot like a warzone in the aftermath of battle. The only difference between the two is that in this case he’s the only casualty. Every memory he’s made here in the last five weeks is tainted by violence, every moment, every fight they’ve had; a darken omen of what was to come. Suddenly Louis sees all of it in a new light, imagining each fight bringing them closer to this point, snowballing and gathering momentum, all while he obliviously went on with his life, none the wiser. He’d never noticed the avalanche headed straight for him until it was on top of him, crushing him to death.

It’s too much, the pain and the fear and the confusing pulse of anger in the back of his head that rocks through his body and makes his fingers tremble. He can’t be here, not when every inch of this space is a reminder of his own mistakes. Louis switches on autopilot as he ventures into his bedroom and quietly packs a bag, whimpering quietly when he bends over and the ache in his bones worsens. It’s evening outside and darkness has just started to creep across London, streetlights blinking on as the leafy shapes of clouds melt anonymously into the purplish-blue that surrounds. Louis focuses on the darkness outside to avoid confronting the darkness within, ignoring a vision of himself and Duncan stretched out on these very sheets. His feet carry him from his bedroom to the living room and then out the flat.

He looks up at Harry’s door and his heart is beating wildly in his chest because the moment feels momentous. If he just walks away now, he’s certain that he can win Duncan back. If they just talk about what happened and figure out where it all went so wrong, he’s sure that they can eventually get back some semblance of the relationship they once had. It’s not beyond reach and Louis is not beyond redemption...he can’t be.

Yet there’s a stronger force pulling him towards Harry and his tender hands, Harry and his soulful green eyes. There’s a beaten and bloodied heart in Louis’ chest straining instinctively for the one thing it knows will make him feel better. It’s Harry. It’s Harry with his embarrassingly juvenile sense of humor and his stupid attention whore of a kitten that Louis may or may not have grown quite fond of. It’s Harry and every single word he’s said to Louis in the last five weeks that played with his heartstrings and fucked him up so royally inside.

Louis knows that knocking on Harry’s door could be a death sentence. If Duncan comes home at the wrong time and finds him here, nothing that they have will be salvaged. It will all be lost to Louis’ poor choices and weak heart. That future terrifies him…a future where he’s forced to confront a life alone and a life without the person he wanted to share everything with. Somehow he’s more scared of turning away and going back to his flat. He’s more frightened of choosing anything but Harry in his hour of need. So once again, Louis doesn’t focus on what could happen, instead reminding himself that he’s already been through hell and back and survived. Survived he had, because of Harry. He gently taps on Harry’s door with his heart jammed somewhere up in his throat and tears building in his eyes.

......

Once Harry shuts the door, he lets out a huge breath and then the tears begin to fall. They melt down his face and into his flannel shirt as he sits down on the couch and buries his head in his hands, sobbing for all his worth. Maybe the day’s events are finally catching up with him. Louis could have died, he could have died for somebody who doesn’t know the definition of love, let alone how to love someone as complex and captivating as him. It sends a shudder rippling through Harry’s body just to think of Louis lying on that floor getting the shit kicked out of him and not doing anything to save himself, just curling in on his body and waiting for it to be over.

Maybe it wouldn’t have made much of a difference, Louis standing up to Duncan but it’s more than that. Harry wants to shake Louis for not having enough self-interest to want to fight back, to want to do anything to save himself. He knows that submitting wasn’t about what would be safer or whether fighting back would be ineffective. It was about Louis not knowing what he’s worth and trusting someone else to tell him. Someone who’s blatantly wrong. Louis said in the hospital that he knew he didn’t deserve it but Harry’s not ready to accept that so easily. He’s not going to let Louis down ever again and if that means keeping a closer eye on him and being skeptical of his so called truths, Harry is determined to do exactly that. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to save him.

Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he swings it up to his ear with a shaky hand.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Zayn.”

“Oh, h-hey,” Harry says with in a throaty voice, his airways clogged up with sadness, “what’s up?”

“Forget it. What’s up with you Harry? You sound like somebody died.”

Harry’s whole face clenches with pain and he bursts into tears again.

“Harry? Christ, Haz...do you want me to come round? We can watch love actually and eat disgusting organic food. Is it Louis? What happened?”

Harry just cries into the receiver, his sobs quickly fading to quiet whimpers as he hears Zayn whispering something to someone in the background.

“Li wants to know what’s going on.”

Of course he’s with Zayn. Of course Zayn and Liam can be happy together and it can be simple and straightforward. No violent, sadistic boyfriends to compete with or crippling self-doubt. Maybe Liam had struggled for the first five minutes but Zayn had somehow smoothed over all the rough edges and convinced Liam to loosen up, even without words. Harry wishes he had that kind of magnetism.

“Don’t...don’t come over,” he finally manages to say, “I don’t know if I can tell you, Liam especially but he’s...” Harry breathes out slowly, “he’s not good Z. He could have died and I couldn’t do a thing but watch. I thought I was going to lose him. How can I care about him this much? It felt like I was the one on the gurney Z...like my heart was pumping alongside his, just waiting for his to beat so mine could too.”

“Oh Harry,” Zayn sighs and then, “is he okay...Lou? How bad is he?”

“He’s just...like I said, not good.”

“Okay if Liam speaks to you for a mo, Haz?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, still half unsure whether he should have said anything.

“Harry?”

“Hey Liam,” he says slowly, trying for normality, “how are you?”

“I’m worried as fuck,” Liam cusses and Harry thinks he hears Zayn telling him to calm down in the background, “what the hell is going on? Louis almost died?” his voice breaks a little, “that motherfucker, that fucking scum of the earth hurt him, didn’t he?”

“Liam--“

“I’m going to hunt him down and remove his kidneys and his cock too while I’m at it. Where is he? Is he in New York? Bet he fucked off to New York, didn’t he?”

Despite the bulk, Harry hadn’t initially thought of Liam as the violent type. Then again Harry was never the violent type either until he met Louis. It’s just something about him. Harry always wants to protect him, to sweep Louis up into his arms and take him away to some place where the sun never stops shining and the birds sing all day long. Somewhere where the sky is filled with eternal blue and there’s no misery or darkness. You can’t resist wanting to protect Louis from harm. It’s more than his small stature or the dreamy blue eyes, it’s that Louis would never raise his fists to defend himself. It’s something that needs to change and quickly.

Harry knows, after some deep thought, that even if Duncan deserves to have his lights punched out and more, it won’t reverse what happened. It won’t change what Louis went through which is the worst part of this whole ordeal. Then there’s the fact that Louis wouldn’t want anybody to go after Duncan, not even if he accepts that Duncan was the one to blame. He’s just not that kind of person and Harry knows... he doesn’t want to believe it but he knows, there’s some part of Louis that’s still in love with his abuser. Hurting Duncan right now will only hurt Louis and Harry isn’t going to let anybody do that, least of all Louis’ best friend. It would destroy him.

“No,” he lies, “he’s not in New York. He’s at...a different office,” Harry improvises, hoping what he’s saying is compatible with the realities of Duncan’s job, “but Louis doesn’t know which.”

Liam growls at the same time as a knock sounds at Harry’s door.

“Liam I’ve got to go,” Harry says hurriedly, “I think Louis’ at my door.”

“Wait, Harry!”

“Yeah?”

“Is he--is he coping? Are you helping him?” Liam asks, his tone laced with equal amounts of worry and love.

Harry’s heart breaks for him a little, knowing just how hard it must be to feel so disconnected from Louis and not be able to do a thing to help him unless he’s granted permission. Harry can’t help but feel relieved that he’s already in on the situation and that it gives him a more certain assurance that Louis will continue to allow him access to his life.

“He’s doing okay,” Harry says cautiously, “and I’m doing what I can but I’ve got to go.”

Harry throws his phone down onto the coffee table and makes it to the door in two large strides. He opens it up to an image of Louis that’s similar to the day before, the same bag slung over his shoulder as tear tracks mar his face. Only this time, it’s much more terrifying because Harry knows the root of the problem and he’d thought stupidly enough that Louis was perhaps coping. How could he be coping? His whole world came crashing down just this morning.

“C’mere,” Harry says without hesitation and Louis literally falls into his arms, stumbling over his feet in his hurry to get there.

Harry catches him as Louis whimpers and attaches himself to Harry like a baby octopus, winding his calves around the backs of Harry’s legs and slinging his arms around his neck like he just wants to be carried. The bag slips off his arm and falls to the floor with a quiet thump. Harry pays no mind. He wraps his arms around Louis’ waist and uses his grip on the smaller boy to hoist him up and into his arms. They fall to the couch and Harry leans back against the headrest, a weeping Louis lying across his chest, hiding his face in Harry’s shoulder as sobs wrack his body. Harry rubs his palms across Louis’ back to comfort him. Louis’ knees slip either side of his thighs so Harry sits back a little so Louis can rest more comfortably in his lap.

“Louis,” Harry says, after a few minutes of high keening. It’s punctuated by reckless, chesty sobs that tear at Harry’s insides and make his own eyes sting with unshed tears, “Lou, please talk to me.”

Louis whimpers again and grips the side of Harry’s shirt with his fingers, squeezing it tight. Then he pulls back and looks up at Harry with blatant faith in his beautiful blue eyes, as though Harry will pull the answer from a magic hat and obliterate all the nightmarish pain in his path. It’s too much pressure and too much trust but the fact that Louis gives it so quickly makes Harry’s whole heart expand within his chest. He can’t breathe for how hard and how quickly he’s falling.

“Lou, darling,” Harry says gently, reaching up to brush away the tears that still stream down Louis’ cheeks, “I just want to know why you’re here. Did you just want some company love? That’s okay if you did. I’m happy to spend time with you.”

“I couldn’t be in there,” Louis gasps and it’s as if he’d been holding his breath all this time and then forgot that he was supposed to breathe at all.

His eyes are wild and crazed as he rakes his fingers through his hair and then settles his hands on Harry’s shoulders, steadying himself as he blinks back the rest of his tears.

“I just felt suffocated,” he confesses in a whisper, “suffocated by the memories and everything that happened in the last month that lead to the...incident this morning. It was like the walls were closing in and suddenly all the signposts that I missed were there in plain view. It happened out of the blue, that’s how I felt when he pushed me,” Louis admits and Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs in time with Louis’, “but it wasn’t. It wasn’t a random act...it was always going to happen.”

Harry can hear the self-loathing in his voice. Louis thinks he’s naïve. He still thinks that he brought it on himself and that everything that happened, happened because he didn’t change something...because he didn’t change himself. It’s clear that Louis thinks he should have seen this coming and altered his behavior to prevent it. Harry is so frustrated that he could cry all over again.

“Can I stay?” Louis asks in a tiny voice, like for some god unknown reason he expects Harry to say no.

Harry stands up, holding Louis’ thighs to keep him attached to his waist.

“Harry?”

Harry gently lays him down on the couch and then sinks to his knees beside him, cupping his cheeks with his hands.

“You can stay,” he says, watching Louis’ face crease up with confusion, “but I want you to rest Lou. I know you’re still in pain and I want you to stay right here, please.”

“Okay,” Louis agrees and it’s quicker than Harry had expected.

He sighs, relieved and traces the tops of Louis’ cheekbones with his thumbs.

“I’m just going to get you a blanket and a pillow so you can sleep for a bit.”

Louis nods and shuts his eyes, obviously exhausted. Harry had retracted his hands but now he finds himself reaching out again, completely helpless when it comes to Louis’ vulnerability. This time his thumb skates over Louis’ lip and he presses it to the corner of Louis’ mouth which parts with surprise, Louis’ facial muscles tensing up slightly.

“You’re so exhausted sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Louis nods and then sniffs, relaxing back into the couch. Harry smiles dazedly at Louis before retreating to the hall in order to retrieve some bedding supplies. When he returns, Louis is sitting up on the couch and looking around quizzically.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks.

Louis doesn’t respond and instead slides his legs down to the floor and starts to stand, his whole face scrunching up with pain. Harry is at his side in an instant, forcing him back down.

“Lou, please don’t get up. What is it love? What are you looking for?”

Louis sucks the majority of his mouth into one corner and then lets it go with a sigh.

“Where’s the cockroach? Why isn’t he harassing me?”

“Oh,” Harry’s dimples are out in full force as Louis’ skin flushes rosy pink with embarrassment, “you want cuddles. I’ll just go get the cockroach, I mean--“ Louis giggles and Harry’s heart explodes into tiny paper confetti hearts because it’s the first time Louis’ looked genuinely carefree all day, “the kitten.”

Harry tucks Louis in and then fetches Hugh Grant from his own bed, bringing him to Louis who gathers him close and presses a kiss to his fur. Hugh Grant mewls louder than Harry’s ever heard him and tucks his head into Louis’ neck, rubbing up against Louis’ collar bones the way Harry’s often dreamt of doing. Furry bastard. Is Harry really jealous of his own cat? It seems so.

“You two are adorable,” Harry says honestly.

Louis’ skin flushes again and he swallows loud enough for Harry to hear. When he looks up, his eyes are watery all over again and Harry’s gaze is drawn to the purplish bulge of his eye that looks so very painful. He leans over Louis and touches his lips to the very corner. He feels Louis’ soft, wet eyelashes brush his cheek and when he pulls away, Louis tugs on his collar to pull him back.

“Haz,” he says, voice rough.

Harry sinks his fingers into Louis’ hair and gently rubs his fingers across the bulges on his head.

“Lou,” he echoes in an emotive whisper.

This time, Louis’ tears are slower, like the last beads of condensation dripping down a glass on a hot day. Somehow that only makes it worse, the way Louis resists his sadness to the fullest extent, biting his lip as he lets the internal sobs rock his chest but never escape his mouth. He begins to hiccup against his will, letting out quiet uneven breaths punctuated by longer, deeper ones that he uses to control himself. Harry can see the broken shards of cerulean blue glass in his eyes. He can see how much Louis has lost today and how it’s taking everything within him to hold onto any semblance of normality. He’s so strong, so good and brave and Harry just wants him to know. Harry just wants to--

What are you doing?

I kissed it better. My mum used to do it. Every time she had to patch me up, she’d kiss the plaster.

Harry takes Louis’ face in his hands and leans down over his eye. He presses his pudgy lips against the top of Louis’ swollen eye and then continues, pausing to allow for protest before trailing a path of kisses down the side of Louis’ eyelid to the corner of his eye. When he draws back, Louis’ tears are frozen in place and he’s staring at Harry with awe, his body still heaving.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

“Kissing it better,” Harry explains, tracing Louis’ small chin with his little finger, “like your mum used to do.”

Louis’ eyes grow cloudy as new tears form and he shuts his eyes as they slip down over his cheeks. He looks entirely too mesmerizing, even in sadness, dark, ink black eyelashes fanning out over his smooth olive skin and his small, pointed lips pursing around stilted breaths.

“Harry,” he whimpers plaintively, sounding much like a puppy left out in the rain, “Harry, why are you so good to me?”

Harry shakes his head with anger and disbelief and then deposits Hugh Grant on the ground before peeling the coverlet back from Louis’ body. Louis’ eyes fly open and he rises up to look at Harry.

“W-what are you doing?”

Harry presses him back down with a single hand. He holds Louis’ gaze as he pushes his jumper up until it’s scrunched beneath his armpits. Louis looks down at his purplish-blue skin with a wobbly chin, his bottom lip trembling as his breathing loses all rhythm. He obviously hadn’t seen himself properly until now and Harry hates to do this to him...to see him so distraught. He hates to have look at it himself, to see the marks of Duncan’s rage on Louis’ skin and know that there’s nothing he can do to take them away. If he can’t erase them, his only option is to cover them with something sweeter. Perhaps when Louis looks down at his bruises, when they slowly begin to fade, he might remember this moment instead of the more violent ones that came before it. He might remember this moment and feel something other than pain clawing at his chest.

“I’m good to you Lou,” Harry says with conviction, “because you deserve good,” he lowers his lips to Louis’ chest and presses a gentle, closed mouth kiss between Louis’ pecs, “because you are good,” he sighs, listening to Louis’ breath hitch as he opens his mouth around a spot just south of Louis’ nipple, “and because you’re brave.” Harry takes his time, opening and closing his mouth over the bruised and beaten skin as he kisses his way down Louis’ stomach, “and so beautiful.” Louis’ hands find their way into his curls, which makes Harry hum against his torso. He lingers in one spot, just above Louis’ belly button, opening and closing his lips over it as if he were trying to snog Louis’ stomach silly. “I want to marvel at that with you.”

Harry gently holds onto Louis’ slightly plump but shapely hips as instinct takes over and he swirls his tongue around Louis’ belly button, figuring it’s a good indication of Louis’ response when silence reigns above, Louis’ body no longer wracked by sobs. Harry splays his fingers over Louis’ ribcage and presses one last kiss to the skin around the waistline of Louis’ pants. He feels Louis’ stomach contract away from his hands, his obvious tension denoted by a quiet gasp.

“Relax,” Harry soothes, moving his hands up Louis’ sides to his chest, his thumbs sliding across Louis’ nipples which pebble beneath his touch, “I’ve got you sweetheart.”

Harry’s head is throbbing with how focused he is on not getting hard and not taking this further than he intended. However Louis is really testing his will power, shuddering beneath him and bucking his hips up ever so gently. Harry might not have noticed it if not for the fact that Louis’ hips brush along his flank as they move.

Harry looks up at Louis’ face and finds his eyes still closed but tensed now, his eyelids wrinkled and his bruised eye painfully clenched. Louis’ biting the center of his mouth, and looking too damn provocative for someone Harry absolutely can’t have. He looks far too tempting for a guy that’s been violently abused and should, by all rights, look like a complete mess. Harry hates himself for feeling such passion even in the midst of Louis’ misery. Louis’ hesitant arousal isn’t deserving of the same ire because Louis deserves to feel anything that isn’t hurt or fear. Louis’ arousal is systematic and reflexive. The tightly coiled ball of lust inside Harry is linked with feelings and emotions that run much deeper. He can’t allow himself to feel these things. Not today. Today is about Louis and Louis only.

“I’ve got you,” Harry repeats, holding Louis’ hips as he leans down and blows a loud raspberry onto Louis’ stomach, just below his belly button.

Louis gasps and his eyes fly wide open, or as wide as they can when one of them is almost swollen shut.

“Bastard,” he breathes.

Harry’s laugh rings out across the flat. He grips Louis’ hips, wiggling his head from side to side as he blows another one, this one much more loud and obscene. Louis’ lips have cracked a smile and Harry’s on his way to success. He blows another loud raspberry over the side of Louis’ waist and Louis lets out a squeak that melts into a high pitched giggle.

“Found it, didn’t I? Your ticklish spot,” Harry says with mirth.

Louis shakes his head but he’s still squirming under Harry’s fingers, Harry’s favourite close-lipped smile painted over his lips. His blue eyes meet Harry’s in a playful tangle and Harry buries his fingers in his side, Louis’ giggles climbing higher as he folds his body in half to escape Harry’s probing fingers. Louis cringes and then whimpers when his muscles tense, Harry shaking his head as he pushes Louis back down.

Louis gazes up at him with fondness, amazement and a question in his gaze that Harry’s almost certain he won’t voice. So instead of answering whatever it is that’s bothering him, Harry pulls his jumper back down and tucks him again, retrieving Hugh Grant from beneath the table so Louis can hold him close.

“You sleep now Lou,” Harry says peaceably, “I’ll wake you for dinner, okay love?”

Louis nods and smiles at Harry, his fingers buried deep in Hugh Grant’s grey fur. By the time Harry returns from his trip to the bathroom, Louis and Hugh are both fast asleep, their heads resting against each other with Hugh’s soft ear folded gently up against Louis’ bruised eye. Harry’s heart feels devastatingly swollen in his chest.

The first thing Harry does once Louis’ asleep is go through his stuff. He’d like to think of it more as compassionate scavenging.

“Yes,” he cries out, pleased when his hand closes over Louis’ phone.

He claps a hand over his mouth, his eyes blown wide as he remembers the vulnerable man asleep on his couch.

He sits on the couch by Louis and clicks the button to light up the screen, cursing when he finds that Louis has a passcode. He turns the phone over in his hands, chewing on his tongue as he tries to think of another way in. As he does, a small slip of paper falls out from beneath Louis’ phone cover and flutters to the floor. Harry picks it up and finds that it’s a list of different codes. At the bottom is what Harry presumes to be the most recent one. 2021. Harry types it into the phone and it unlocks instantly.

Harry smiles to himself, his eyes trailing across the room to Louis who sleeps, hand curled around his neck with lips that are pouted and perfect every single time they push another soft breath out. Then his wits return and he freezes, glancing between Louis and the phone with shock. 2021. His and Louis’ flat numbers combined. Did Louis do that on purpose? He couldn’t have...could he? Harry feels awfully choked up and he goes to sit by Louis again, running his hand over Louis’ hair as he murmurs softly to him.

“I know I shouldn’t worry about this now. It’s the least of my concerns; truly it is... but do you care about me Lou? Because this,” Harry shakes Louis’ phone, “this tells me you do, perhaps even more than I had hoped but it’s so hard to tell. It’s so hard to know what the right thing to do is. I just...you’re all I want,” Harry clears his throat to rid it of its tightness as he gingerly lifts a strand of Louis’ hair that was covering his eyes, “so much, it’s hurting. I want you to be happy and I wish I could be the one to help you find that again.”

Harry then busies himself with Louis’ phone, scrolling through the contacts until he gets to the right one. The phone only rings twice before it’s picked up.

“Louis! Boo, you haven’t answered any of my calls or texts! Are you okay?” Jay demands, traces of deep anxiety fluttering around the edges of her firm tone.

“Hi Jay,” Harry says, slightly rough voiced. “It’s Harry. I met you the other--“

“I know who you are love,” Jay interrupts, more fear lacing her tone, “what’s wrong? What’s wrong with my baby?”

Harry takes a deep breath and then looks over to Louis to check he’s still sleeping before dropping his voice to a whisper. He keeps a hand on Louis the whole time as he talks to Jay, stroking his hair or tracing his cheek, even squeezing his thigh when Louis randomly kicks out in his sleep. He feels compelled to touch and memorise, to marvel at the brilliance of Louis’ existence when just this morning he thought he would lose all of this for good. Louis is so soft, so warm and he might be beaten and bruised but he’s here, he’s alive and Harry will never let him wind up in that position ever again. Never. 

When Harry finishes explaining, there’s a long pause and then Harry hears the sounds of Jay sniffling quietly.

“Lottie, get me a tissue will you?” She whispers and Harry kind of just wants to hug her and remind her that her beautiful son is stronger than he looks.

“Harry,” Jay says eventually, her voice wavering a little, “are you with him right now?”

“Yes,” Harry answers and he hears Jay’s sigh of relief, “it’s why I’m whispering. He’s asleep and I don’t want to wake him.”

“Why didn’t you just go into another room?” She asks, sounding innocently curious.

Harry blushes and just thanks his lucky stars that she can’t see his face right now.

“I didn’t...I couldn’t leave him,” he says, stammering over his words a little, “not right now.”

“Harry,” Jay says with a rush of breath and it sounds so much like Louis that it paints a fond smile over his lips, “Harry, you’re a beautiful boy. Your parents raised you beautifully. They’re so lucky.”

Tears cloud Harry’s vision as he wonders whether his parents would agree with that statement. “Lucky?” He can imagine his father saying, “that I’ve got a prissy, artsy faggot for a son?” Not that his father would ever willingly discuss his sexuality. Louis is so lucky to have Jay and vice versa. It fills Harry with deep longing and makes him wish he had the same kind of bond with his own parents but he’s so glad for Louis. Besides which, the reverent, wonderful note of gratitude he hears in Jay’s voice goes a long way towards comforting him. In this moment, he’s just what Louis told him he could be; an honorary Tomlinson.

“Thank you,” Harry manages to croak, “Thanks Jay. I promise I’ll look after him. I just wanted you to know and I don’t know whether he’d tell you on his own. I just think...a mother who loves her son the way you love Lou, well you don’t deserve to be kept in the dark. I know he wants to make his own choices and protect you from the truth but somebody has to show him that it’s okay to admit that things aren’t always as perfect as you’d like them to be. That being said, I just think.... maybe let him come to you. Let him think that it was his choice first. I’ll talk to him, okay?”

Jay doesn’t even fight him on it.

“Of course love. I trust you and I have faith in my baby. He’ll come to me in his own time. I just wish I could shake him,” Jay sighs, her tone wobbly, “because I love him so much and I can’t believe he’d let somebody hurt him like that. It’s the worst news I’ve ever received,” she says, her voice breaking slightly, “and if he’d let me, I’d drive down there right now and hold him in my arms like I used to when he was a baby. I’d get hold of a shot gun and I’d go shoot straight through Duncan’s foot like I always threatened to do to some of the scum bags that my boo brought home when he was younger. But I know that you’re right, that I have to wait and that he’ll come when he’s good and ready. He’ll come home when he realises that no matter what mistakes he makes, I’m always going to love him and want what’s best for him. I’m always going to be his mum and he’s always going to be my baby boy. My boo bear.”

Harry sighs with empathy.

“I think he just has a very different idea about what’s best for him.”

“I know Harry but he’ll change. He already is. He was different around you…good different and love, if this were a different country with a different set of rules, I’d have married you two off within minutes.”

Harry doesn’t try to deny the truth of her assumption. He just chuckles quietly, his thumb drifting down to ghost across the seam of Louis’ mouth.

“Jay,” Harry says seriously, a hint of nervousness creeping into his tone.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted you to know that I’ve never felt this way before...about anybody really. The way I feel about your son...it takes my breath away. He takes my breath away.”

There’s only a short pause and then Jay’s voice comes through, clear and strong.

“Mine too love,” she says, “mine too. He never fails to amaze me. He’s done so much for me and the girls and still I... I can’t make him see how wonderful he is. I’m so glad though, so glad he steals your breath because the best ones always do. I just hope he opens up to you love because he’s such a tough nut to crack sometimes and just when you think you’ve got him, he slips away again. Don’t let him slip away Harry.”

“I won’t,” Harry promises, a lump in his throat as he gazes at Louis’ sleeping form, “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Good.”

“There is one more thing Jay...”

“Anything for you, what is it?”

“What does Louis like to eat when he comes home?  Like, what do you make him as his favourite meal?”

Harry locates his keys and his wallet after getting off the phone with Jay and then pens a note to Louis in case he wakes up while he’s gone. He still doesn’t want to leave him, wishes he could just bundle Louis up in the doona and bring him along but he’s not insane and Louis needs his rest. Harry can be away from him for all of half an hour. Of course he can.

The fact that his fingers twitch more than usual around the wheel on the way to the shopping center is of no consequence. The fact that he spends half his time there debating a call to Louis’ phone just to check on him is not at all sad and pathetic. It’s not at all worrying when he receives a few strange looks because he stops to eye the ‘NEW death by chocolate’ flavoured lubricants, talking to himself loudly enough to be overheard.

 “Oh for christ sake, keep walking. Stop finding excuses to think of him.”

Harry is not at all in over his head.

.....

When Louis wakes up, it’s to Harry holding a plate under his nose that smells remarkably like his mum’s sausage casserole.

“Harry, is that--“

“Sausage casserole,” Harry says with a nod and a wide smile, “your mum called. I hope you don’t mind that I picked up,” Louis’ whole body seizes up and he looks up at Harry with horror. “Oh no, I didn’t say anything. She doesn’t know...but I asked her what you liked to eat.”

Louis lets out a short sigh of relief and watches Harry’s face crease up in response.

“I’ll tell her okay,” he lies, “just not now.”

“It’s fine,” Harry soothes, settling the plate down in Louis’ lap, “just tell her when you’re ready.”

Louis uses the spoon Harry hands him, heaping sausage, onion, carrot and the sauce onto it’s surface before planting it in his mouth. It’s too hot and he hisses, half the sauce dribbling out the side of his mouth as Harry watches him. Really fucking cool, why don’t you just smear it all over your face?

“Lou,” Harry shakes his head, exasperated.

Louis glares at him and reaches up to wipe the mess on his face with the softness of his sleeve. Harry gives him a warning look and Louis sighs as Harry tugs his wrist away from his mouth. He replaces it with his own hand, wiping the sauce with his thumb and making Louis slightly hot and bothered when he rises up on his knees, spreading his legs a little in the process. Harry has fantastic thighs and when he leans closer, his tight jeans press against them, emphasising their delectable thickness.

Louis can’t be blamed for what happens when Harry tries to pull his finger away. He grabs Harry’s finger and brings it to his tongue, resisting the urge to suck it greedily into his mouth. Instead, his tongue flicks out and rolls around the tip of his finger, lapping up the sauce as Harry’s jaw goes slack  and his emerald green eyes glaze over. Once done, Harry again tries to pull his hand away but Louis is a man possessed, his cock twitching inside his pants. He’s not done and as a bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck he notices Harry has sauce on the dip of skin between his thumb and forefinger. If that isn’t a sign, then Louis isn’t from Yorkshire.

“Missed some,” he breathes, wishing belatedly that he hadn’t sounded so much like a serial killer closing in on his victim.

Louis’ mouth wraps around Harry’s thumb tight and he pushes his lips down until they close over the soft skin between his fingers. Harry moans, his eyes fluttering closed. When Louis looks down, he notices Harry’s cock pressing eagerly against the line of his jeans and knows that he’s inadvertently caused Harry quite the problem. He doesn’t feel triumphant, proud or anything remotely superior. Perhaps because when he finishes sucking on Harry’s skin and pulls away with a loud wet pop, he can still hear Harry’s moan echoing around his mind like a particularly torturous, erotic symphony. He also feels the persistent pulse of his own cock in his pants. While he ignores it as best he can, there’s no denying that Harry’s response has gotten him hard.

He’s been completely shattered in every way today and somehow his cock is still active and not listening to a word he tries to tell it. Duncan, he reminds his genitals, not Harry...but they don’t care. Harry bites his red as sin lip and rakes a hand through his hair, the other pressed indecently tight to his crotch. It’s not moving but still, it’s just pressed right there, cupping his huge bulge like Harry categorically planned Louis’ destruction with one move.

Louis’ mind doesn’t seem to register any of the “wrong way, go back” messages he’s been sending. It conjures up a crystal clear pornographic image of him shoving his hand down the front of Harry’s jeans and cupping his sizeable package, Harry bucking up into his hand and moaning beneath him. Louis’ dick leaks all over his pants and he can’t...he can’t do this. He can’t be this turned on by Harry-hipster-Styles when he’s still fighting for his relationship. Harry might be the most gorgeous man Louis’ laid eyes on, perhaps ever, with his snoggable, pouty lips, his thighs that are just begging to be fucked and that glistening, doe eyed lust shining in his green eyes but Louis’ a man, not an animal. Harry might have a finger-sucking kink for all he knows, it’s probably got nothing to do with Louis himself and even if it did, Louis is not interested. Not one bit. No siree.

“Sorry,” Louis says, breaking the awkward silence that reigns supreme.

To his surprise, Harry just spreads his long legs along the floor and leans back against his hands, laughing loudly. He looks like some kind of vision with his chocolate curls falling back and brushing the back of his neck, exposing his plump lips parted around a laugh and the strong curve of his jaw. His flannel is now unbuttoned to the chest because he’d gotten warm while cooking and it exposes the shiny black of his tattoos and the dusty pink of what look like two very hard nipples, a sea shell necklace swinging between them.

“Don’t apologise,” Harry continues to laugh, “Christ. I’m the one who should apologise. It’s ah,” Harry’s eyes shoot off to the corner of the room, “been a while since I---you know.”

“How long?” Louis asks curiously, trying to distract himself from his leaking cock and how badly he wants to wrap a hand around himself and get off.

“A month,” Harry says, playing with his necklace.

Louis counts backward in his head. It can’t have been more than five weeks since he moved in with Duncan. It’s not connected, he tells himself, that’s crazy. Why would his presence stop Harry from having sex? Ridiculous.

"That's a long time," he says with difficulty.

Harry drops his head to his shoulder in a lazy shrug, his curls trickling down in front of his eyes. Tt's so endearing that Louis finds another genuine smile working at the edges of his lips. It amazes him how distant this morning's events can feel when he's sitting here with Harry in the evening discussing Harry’s lack of sex life. This morning exists in one corner of his mind while Harry occupies another. Louis knows which corner he’s sticking to. One of Harry's large hands moves up to squeeze his neck while the other slides down between his knees.

"I've got my hand," he jokes weakly, "it does wonders."

Louis might be staring. Stop staring. It's impossible though because Harry's hand is massaging his neck and the other...if he slid it up a little higher, it would be between his gorgeous thighs. Louis feels dizzy. He feels wretched. Surely Harry's doing this on purpose in order to drive him insane because Louis is. Going insane, that is. His mouth is totally dry and his pulse is loud in his ears. You're desperate for it, Duncan whispers inside his mind and Louis feels the phantom sensation of Duncan's shoe in his side. 

He feels dirty, so dirty all of a sudden. He's still in the same clothes as he was this morning, those same clothes that he wore in Harry's bed last night. Suddenly he just wants to rid himself of it all and burn it to ash. He breaks down, a sob tearing through his chest as his mind rushes back to that morning. He remembers the way his jumper creased with each blow and how Duncan had sometimes panted from the effort of keeping himself balanced while he slammed his foot into Louis again and again. He remembers how his fingers had curled and clenched against the floor as Duncan kicked his head and the world spun, wondering if Duncan would continue to beat him until he died.

"Lou," Harry says now, stretching up on his knees to gather Louis' face in his palms, "Lou, are you okay?"

Louis simply turns his face to one side, continuing to cry as he nuzzles his cheek more firmly into the softness of Harry's palm. Harry's emerald green eyes start to leak tears all of their own.

"Of course you're not okay," he says with self-vehemence, "you've been through so much," Harry squeezes his cheek and brushes away each and every tear that forms at the corner of his eye, "you've been so brave all day that I forgot, I forgot how much you must be hurting. I'm so sorry Louis. I'm sorry that this happened to you...that he happened to you. You deserve so much better and I only wish you could see that."

Louis' bottom lip trembles with feeling as he reaches up, his hand quivering with how much he wants to touch. He cards his fingers through the front of Harry's curls and Harry lets out a hiccup and starts to cry more.

"This is so s-s-stupid," he sniffs, "you shouldn't have to comfort me Louis. I'm not the one who's been through hell today."

Louis' tears have dried up because he focuses on Harry instead. Harry, with his football field sized heart.

"But you have Haz," he says, tucking Harry's curls behind his ear and scratching the spot tenderly, "because you were right there with me...and there's nothing I can say," Louis swallows a tight bubble of emotion, "and nothing I can do to thank you for that or to explain how much I feel for you… because I do," Louis eyes flutter closed, the heaviness of his heart weighing him down, “I feel so much."’

So much, it terrifies me.

"Louis.”

Harry sounds so pained, so awed and ever so vulnerable.

"I need to have a shower," Louis announces, trying to break the tension, "okay if I use the bathroom?"

Harry wipes at his eyes, shaking his head at himself as he holds up a lazy hand.

"Course. Go ahead."

Louis smiles at him softly and then lifts his plate and himself up off the couch. Yet when he stands up and takes a step, a huge wave of pain ripples through his side and he doubles over, the plate sliding to the floor with a clatter as he wraps his arms around his middle, trying to breathe through the tight, raw sensation. 

"Louis, jesus," Harry swears, wrapping his arms around Louis' middle to hold him up.

"I'm fine Harry," Louis says through gritted teeth, "I just need to have a shower." 

"Fine, my arse," yes it is, Louis thinks off handedly, too fine for me to have any peace of mind, "I can hear you gritting your teeth."

Harry pulls him back to the couch and Louis submits with an irritated sigh, throwing his hands up in the air with annoyance as Harry looks down on him.

"What am I supposed to do? I'm dirty," Louis whines, "and I need a shower. Haz, please."

Harry runs a hand across the top of Louis' hair as though he can't help it, his eyes two spheres of softness. 

“I’ll help you.”

Louis’ mind draws a blank. Surely he can’t mean...

“Hey, don’t look so panicked,” Harry kneels before him and places both hands on his knees, squeezing gently, “I don’t mean...like you don’t have to...I meant with clothing,” Louis’ brow furrows and Harry shakes his head, a self-indulgent grin spreading across his mouth, “excuse me, I’m flustered,” Flustered? Why? “I meant, you could wear your underwear. It would just be like going to a pool... except in my shower and I’d hold you up. I’m not convinced you haven’t at least cracked a rib and I can’t believe they didn’t x-ray you. More importantly, if you hurt yourself in my shower Jay would have my head.”

“Jay?”

Louis raises an eyebrow and Harry flushes right down to his roots, drawing his knees up to his chest and hiding his head between them.

“We get along, okay?” Harry says defensively and then realises himself, peering up at Louis from between his knees with solemn green eyes looming large in his face. Those and his curls are the only parts of his face that Louis can see. It’s irritatingly adorable. “That okay?”

Louis leans forward, shooting pains flying through his middle as he lifts Harry’s floppy head, sliding his fingers into Harry’s curls and scratching behind his ears. He can’t be blamed for the fact that Harry is some kind of fawn-like, poodle haired, green eyed sweetheart and that his curls feel like silk and smell like strawberries.

“Yes, it’s okay. Honorary Tomlinson remember?”

Harry tilts his head so that Louis’ fingers slide further across his scalp and he shares with Louis a lopsided smile that makes one of his dimples deepen, creating soft happy crinkles that radiate out from his cheekbone.

“I remember,” he says, reaching up to grab Louis’ hands, “Harry Tomlinson.”

Louis’ breath flees his chest. He hadn’t heard it that way when he’d said it to Harry. Harry Tomlinson. At the time he’d been mucking around, trying to ease some more of the somber, miserable tension that had filled the air when Harry fled the hospital in tears. Hearing it repeated back to him now sends an unsanctioned thrill through his veins and he can’t bring himself to ask why. Not now. Not when everything is still up in the air and Harry is offering to shower with him, for Christ’s sake.

“You can help me,” Louis says swiftly, avoiding the topic, “but just...this isn’t, I don’t want this to be like...you can’t tell anybody.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow, his smile retreating and Louis feels like honest to god manure but there’s nothing he can do. He can’t take it back. Showering half naked with your stunning neighbour turned caretaker is not okay, not even when you might have cracked a rib. It’s not okay when you’ve still got hope for the tatters of the relationship that you left waiting for you in the darkness of your flat.

“Okay...” Harry says slowly and stands up, pulling Louis with him.

He keeps an arm wrapped around Louis’ waist as he sweeps Louis up into his arms, bridal style and carries him into the kitchen and beyond.

“I can walk you know. I just need a little...support.”

Harry’s eyes have returned to two sparkling green gems. He looks down and winks at Louis.

“I know. I just like to pretend that I’m the burly fireman saving you from the deadly blaze inside your flat.”

Louis’ stomach is a fucking traitor. Butterflies, really? All it took was one image of Harry donned in one of those silly fire retardant uniforms with a hard hat and a smudge of grease on his face and his stomach is in knots. Pathetic.

“Oh shush you,” Louis scolds as Harry sets him down on the bathroom counter, “you just love to rub it in my face that you’re bigger than me.”

Harry shrugs and grins.

“Perhaps.”

“So...” Louis says awkwardly, afraid to just jump down and start getting his kit off without Harry’s permission.

Thankfully Harry is not so shy. He pushes the door closed and then flicks on the light.  Louis forgot how bright Harry’s bathroom light was, bright enough to illuminate all the places where his skin is less than taut against his body...the places where a layer of fat stands between him and attractiveness.

Harry has no such issues, unbuttoning his dark flannel with deft fingers and a supremely casual air that contrasts starkly with the mess of sensation inside Louis. Fireworks explode in his brain, whiting everything else out as Harry shucks his shirt off and then slides his tight jeans down. He does it so slowly that Louis would think he were teasing if this were anything outside of a friendly favour. After Harry slips his socks off, he stands up in all his muscled, lean glory and Louis doesn’t know whether to sing God’s praises or curse him for the thoughts that run through his head.

Harry moves toward him slowly and Louis watches in slack jawed fascination as the muscles in his arms roll and ripple from the top of his broad shoulders, to his thick, firm biceps, right down to the beginning of his forearms. The creamy coloured skin covering his abdominals tightens with each step, showing off his lovely washboard stomach. Then there are his thighs. Shit, his fuckable, kissable, darling thighs. They’re shaped like those of an ancient artist’s angelic nude statue. They’re like one of those statues that Louis had come across many times on his travels and had t had internally scoffed at because he’d assumed that such manifestations of beauty couldn’t possibly exist. Why remind everybody about what they’ll never be; what they’ll never have?

Now staring fixedly down at Harry’s thighs, Louis knows he wasn’t able to come to any kind of logical conclusion at the time. He hadn’t had all the information. Though Harry might not be perfect, with the light smattering of pimples around the edges of his face or the way his arms hang down, slightly too long for his torso…he is angelically stunning. He’s something that is not of this world and yet somehow exists within it. Louis is surprised to note that he means that in more than just the physical sense. Harry’s compassion is something that cannot be rivaled. Still Louis can’t comprehend anything right now beyond the soft, milky skin of Harry’s thighs swaying with each step. He can’t think about much else apart from how very badly he’d like to bury his face between them. Fuck.

“You ready?” Harry asks as he squeezes Louis’ hips.

It felt like Harry was walking in slow motion for those few, short steps and Louis is shocked back to reality with a sharp snap. He’s shocked back to the reality with the realisation that it’s his turn to shed his clothes. He’s quivering with how afraid he is to be exposed beneath the bright light and Harry’s gaze. He’s afraid to have Harry look down upon him and see nothing but disgusting pockets of fat. Harry must feel his trembling because he slides his hands up underneath Louis’ jumper, warming the cold skin with his palms as his thumbs rub circles into the points of Louis’ hip bones. Louis shivers again but this time, it’s from the shock pleasure.

“May I?” Harry asks from beneath his eyelashes, lightly tugging on Louis’ jumper.

Louis’ barely hanging on to consciousness, so dazed by the dizzying contrast between Harry’s broad, muscled body and the gentleness with which he. He nods his head, struck dumb. Harry smiles a touch nervously and then uses his grip on Louis’ jumper to slowly lift it up over his head. Louis closes his eyes and doesn’t open them even when he hears the soft swish of his jumper against the bathroom floor. He sucks in his stomach just slightly and continues to shake, unable to help himself. This is so different to being on the couch before with Harry’s lips pressed to his stomach. He’s completely illuminated under this light. Harry’s hands fall back to his hips and he responds to Louis’ tension the same way as before, rubbing soft, soothing circles into his skin.

“Lou, stop sucking in,” Harry instructs and he sounds positively wounded by Louis’ low self-esteem, “You’re not fat. This,” Harry’s fingers splay over his pouch. More commonly known as the extra layer of fat around his stomach that he so despises, “is perfect. Please don’t be ashamed darling.”

There’s something about Harry’s insistent sincerity that makes Louis’ heart settle and his eyes open. Harry hadn’t pretended like it wasn’t there. He hadn’t lied and coddled Louis, acting as if Louis had washboard abs and a perfect figure just like him. No, instead he’d acknowledged the same thing Louis sees in the mirror every day. He’d just somehow interpreted it differently. The earnestness in Harry’s voice convinces Louis that it’s no act. Harry likes the curve of his stomach.

It bolsters Louis’ confidence, enough that he’s able to gently lower himself to the floor and ignore the flutters of pain while he divests himself of his trousers. Harry watches the whole time with wide eyes and a chest that rises and falls quickly in tandem with Louis’ own. He curls an arm around Louis as soon as he’s done, pulling their bodies together so that their bare stomachs brush intimately against one another. It leaves a hot kernel of fire burning in Louis’ own.

Harry tugs him towards the shower and then reaches in with one hand to turn on the water, fiddling with the taps and sticking his hand under the spray as he waits for it to get warm. Louis shifts from foot to foot, freezing his arse off until Harry finally steps inside and gently pulls him along. Louis is too relieved to be under the hot, steady stream of water to think too much about their proximity. He tilts his head back, almost forgetting the supportive arm cradling his middle and preventing him from bending too far. A steady stream of water rushes down over his hair and past the crest of his chin, falling down to his neck in perfect waves of heat that make him shudder with pleasure. It’s ridiculous but Louis had forgotten how good this was, how a hot shower could work out his kinks and chase away his misery like nothing else. It makes him feel human again and it’s comforting to know that some things don’t change. Even when his whole world is crumbling around him, he still has this, this small source of momentary pleasure.

When Louis opens his eyes, he remembers where he is and almost chokes on the water that spills into his open mouth. Water dances over Harry’s dark eyelashes and his large, dusty pink nipples shine with the liquid that splashes over them. His dark curls are plastered to his long, lean neck and the cherry coloured, plump swell of his mouth is somehow even more obscene with droplets of water easing down over its berry tinted curve. Harry is a vision and yet he’s staring at Louis with a similar sense of awe, his green eyes looming large in his face as he tightens his fingers around Louis’ waist, squeezing firmly.

Louis reaches for the shampoo and Harry loosens his grip but then takes it from him straight away. Louis pouts at him, disgruntled and Harry chuckles.

“Let me,” he says, still grinning as he squirts some of the sweet, strawberry shampoo into his hands, “I can reach better.”

Louis swats at his chest and Harry flashes a wounded look, pretending to shield his nipples. It makes Louis laugh and Harry’s face seems to flush with pleasure as he brings his hand to Louis’ hair, the other still holding him in place. Louis almost melts down the shower with how pleasurable it is, Harry’s hand working over his scalp and massaging the sore, tender spots with gentle fingers, avoiding the worst ones just in case.

Louis sighs softly when Harry’s hand reaches over to get the base of his hair and then ends up on his neck, massaging firmly. When Harry pulls his hand back, Louis wants to cry out but he ignores the urge and just steps closer, running his fingers up Harry’s chest to land on his shoulder, balancing himself while he washes the shampoo out.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry murmurs and his arm drifts lower, curling around Louis’ lower back.

Louis opens his eyes to Harry’s concentrated gaze sliding up and down his body, lingering on his face and stomach.

“Oh stop,” Louis says, too loud and falsely bright, “you’re like...Mr. GQ. I’m surprised they don’t want you for the front cover.”

A strange expression crosses Harry’s face. Guilt? Doubt? It’s too quick for Louis to catch it but Harry evidently doesn’t want him to as he busies himself with applying conditioner to Louis’ hair and ignoring the compliment. Louis’ too easily distracted. He submits to Harry’s soft touch with weak knees and an even weaker sense of control. His hands slide down to Harry’s hips, incidentally the plumpest part of his body and he pulls and kneads at the skin. Harry’s breath hitches over and over again and his fingers squeeze Louis’ side intermittently.

“Soap,” Harry says huskily and Louis opens his eyes to Harry handing him a bar of vanilla scented soap.

Louis takes it from him and scrubs himself as best he can when Harry is so close and holding him upright. He’s distracted by the pair of eyes that he can feel following the path of the soap on his skin and tracing his face with such laser focus.

“Do you want me to do your back?” Harry asks, that same smokiness still colouring his tone.

Louis hesitates but then nods, handing over the soap as he waits for Harry to direct him. Harry turns him around and then pulls him back against himself, slotting a naked thigh between Louis’ legs to make a kind of seat for him while keeping the same arm around him. It's heaven and hell and Louis wonders why life is determined to fuck him over so many times in one day.

Harry's thigh, his slippery, wet, firm thigh, is pressed between Louis' legs. When Louis relaxes back, it rides up his bum while his hardening length presses along the thick band of muscle in the centre. Louis wonders with encroaching horror if Harry can feel his hard cock pressed along his thigh and whether he thinks Louis is as disgusting as he feels. How could he be hard after everything he's been through? How could he want this so badly?

Harry doesn't say a word and instead lifts his thigh even higher, spreading Louis' bum cheeks and making him fall forward slightly. His cock glides down Harry's thigh in a tantalizing but torturous slide. Harry’s hand soaps up his back first and then he starts washing it off, massaging Louis' shoulders and lower back. He squeezes Louis around the middle every time that his other palm closes around a new expanse of tense flesh.

Louis can't help the off kilter moan that slips from his lips as Harry's curls happen to trail along his neck, his dick slipping down over Harry’s thigh again. Harry ignores the moan, kneading his flesh with expertise, working out the kinks and making Louis so damn hot inside that he starts to squirm. Harry's breath ghosts down over the top of his spine as he reaches around and lays his big, heavy palm over Louis’ naked stomach, feeling the way it rises and falls with each shallow breath. The tight coil of heat in Louis’ stomach snaps.

“Done,” Harry sighs, sounding disappointed.

Louis is most certainly not done. His hips jerk forward, the firmest column of flesh on Harry’s thigh pressing right up against his hole. His painfully hard dick slides along Harry’s thigh, almost right down to his knee. There’s no noise from Harry but his arm curls tighter around Louis and he gently pulls his thigh up every time Louis rocks down with his hips. Louis’ breath hitches continuously and he settles his hands over Harry’s knee, balancing himself while he cants his hips downward.  It’s not enough. His hands slip around to the back of Harry’s thigh, holding it in place as he uses it shamelessly to off. He only wants to be closer, would have Harry’s thigh inside him if he could.  In that moment, there’s nothing but the growing ripples of pleasure in Louis’ groin and the way his heart races, trying to match the rapid swing of his body. There’s nothing but the warm, steady stream of water that pools in his collarbones and cascades down his back making the glide all the more slippery and perfect.

As Louis’ orgasm approaches, his hip thrusts turn frantic and his fingers cling more readily to the bottom of Harry’s thigh. He starts to quietly sob, his lungs straining as pleasure, confusion and a whole range of conflicting emotions rocket through his body. Harry’s lips flutter over the back of his neck, kissing down the first few knobs of his spine in a languid trail. Then he hears Louis’ broken whimper. He pauses and brings his lips to the shell of Louis’ ear.

“You can let go Lou,” he whispers, “I want you to.”

That’s what does it, the fact that Harry isn’t at all opposed to having Louis fuck his thigh until he comes. Louis’ toes curl against the shower floor and his stomach muscles tighten almost painfully. He pulls Harry’s leg up at an unnatural angle and rocks his hips down one last time, coming with a loud shout. He throws his head back as come spurts from his cock and there’s so much of it that it seeps through to the other side of his underwear.

Louis’ cock continues to spill hot come for almost a minute after that as Louis collapses back against Harry’s chest, panting and dizzy. The aftermath of the incredible sensations wash over him, his heartbeat still echoing in his ears as his thighs tremble with the shock of pleasure. The pulse of Louis’ orgasm radiates out from his groin with each aftershock but he’s completely worn out. He can’t remember the last orgasm that felt like this, like he was virtually coming apart at the seams. Louis wonders if he’s ever really had an orgasm like this.

Then it hits him...how truly desperate and filthy he is. Of course he’s risen, or fallen rather, to meet every one of Duncan’s expectations. When Duncan had insulted him in the past, Louis had wept for the fact that Duncan thought of him that way. The person who loved him best thought him so awful and that meant it might be true but now it’s more than that. Now there’s no possibility that Duncan could be wrong. Louis feels completely wretched.

I deserve it, he realises as every other voice in his head falls silent, I deserve every blow. There had been moments today, when Harry had been with him, treating him like fine china and somehow making him smile, that Louis had thought perhaps Harry was right, perhaps it hadn’t all been his fault. He’d still been determined to make things right but a tiny voice in his head had said that it wasn’t entirely up to him, that he shouldn’t have had to lie there and take it. Yet now a high, broken and cut off noise falls from his mouth as thick tears ooze down his cheeks and his heart clamps up with pain.

How could he use Harry this way? How could he betray his love for Duncan like this? He’s dirty and disgusting and Duncan was right, he’s nothing. Nobody could want him but Duncan and there’s a chance that Duncan will never want him again. That thought starts a steady whining noise and then both Harry’s arms curl around him, lifting him from his thigh as the water shuts off. Harry turns him around and then pulls him to his chest, the fingers of one hand massaging his wet hair as the others clamp around his hip and squeeze gently.

“Lou,” Harry coos, “Sweetheart. I’m so sorry...I’m so sorry love,” Harry’s hand drifts down to massage the base of his neck and he can feel Harry’s body trembling against his own, “I shouldn’t have let you...not when you’ve been through so much but I could feel it, I could feel your body vibrating with tension and I just wanted you to let it go. God, Lou...I should have known better. I’m so sorry.”

Louis pulls back from Harry’s chest, Harry’s hand still on his neck and looks up at him with confusion, his next sob falling away to nothing.

“You’re sorry?” he says with tears blurring his vision, “why are you sorry Harry? I used you, I used you shamelessly and all you did was let me. All you did was try and help me because you’re so good. Harry, I’m the one who’s sorry. I can’t believe I--“

“Lou, my god Lou,” Harry’s hands cup his wet cheeks and his jade green eyes are full of disbelief, “you can’t actually think I would have done that for you if I didn’t want to?”

Louis’ eyes blow wide.

“You...you...what?”

Harry massages his cheek with his palm and Louis’ eyelashes flutter, leaving tiny droplets of water along his cheeks.

“You lost yourself in the moment and that’s okay...but you’re not the only one.”

Disappointment expands within Louis’ chest. Fuck. It’s a good thing, he tells himself, it’s good that he just got caught up in the moment and that it wasn’t anything more.

“Oh, well I’m--“

Harry cuts of his speech with the pressure of his hand and Louis glares at him.

“Don’t apologise please. It was nothing to be ashamed of...it was only natural. You’ve been so tense and worked up all day, for good reason but you needed to let some of it go. Louis, you were beautiful. It was beautiful when you...” Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs and then he drops his voice to a whisper, “when you came. It was the most stunning thing I think I’ve ever seen.”

Louis’ limp cock throbs against his thigh but he ignores it. No one has ever called him beautiful in orgasm and the flutter of emotion that rises in his chest in response to that is hard to ignore. Harry Styles, patron saint of Goodness. Still, Louis can’t help the awful vortex of guilt that ravages his heart. He turns away from Harry and steps out the shower, grabbing the first towel he sees. When he turns around, Harry’s eyes seem to snap back up to his face from a point lower down and he pulls Louis into him, wrapping the towel more firmly around Louis’ body. Louis tries to get free but Harry won’t let him, holding him there with steady arms and unflinching eyes.

“Harry--“

“Stop it Louis,” Harry hushes him, “stop beating yourself up for being able to function. This,” Harry’s hand reaches around to gingerly cup one of the bruised spots on his head, “this,” his fingers flutter over Louis’ black eye, “and these,” he presses his palm against the collection of bruises on Louis’ stomach, “are not deserved and you are not deserving of misery. To forget, to be able to forget for the few moments that you have today…that’s a blessing Lou, not a curse and it’s not a shameful thing. Not at all.”

The slow pulse of Louis’ heart and the ache in his chest disagrees but Louis’ compelled to please the angelic statue holding him in place. He smiles weakly and reaches up to brush Harry’s wet curls from his face, his own heart fluttering in response to the contented sigh that falls from Harry’s lips. Surely Louis’ touch cannot be as therapeutic as Harry’s.

“You should dry off,” Louis says with an upward flick of his mouth, “you look like a drowned baby giraffe.”

Harry lets out a surprised bark of a laugh and then unexpectedly presses a kiss to Louis’ wet temple. It kind of makes him go pink all over. Once again he notes that his instinctual responses to Harry are inarguably abhorrent. The after effects of Harry’s touch always involve a unique contrast of emotions. There’s homely comfort and a feeling of intrinsic safety that acts as an anesthetic for his pain. Yet there’s also a torturous kind of tension that expels heat into his blood and raises his temperature slowly, heightening his body’s arousal until he’s near mad with longing. Both sensations are so at odds with everything that’s happened today. How can he feel so safe when everything is still in limbo? How can he feel so uneasy about Harry’s touch when it spurns such a pleasant kind of fire inside?

Suddenly Louis’ exhaustion takes over. Even after having a nap he’s tired because one day has been stretched into what feels like a whole week and in this moment, everything finally catches up with him. He sways on his feet while the whole day zooms past in his mind, an avalanche of misery and regret contrasting with emotions that don’t make any sense. Harry…it’s Harry. If Harry hadn’t have been there, Louis would be in pieces. He honestly doesn’t know whether he’s more grateful or bitter.

“Woah Lou,” Harry exclaims, catching him as he starts to sway, “let’s get you into something warm and then we’ll put you to bed, yeah?”

Will you lie with me and just forget the world? Louis hums the tune in Harry’s ear.

......

Louis’ in one of Harry’s jumpers because he’d forgotten to bring one of his own and had quietly admitted to Harry that he wasn’t ready to go back to his flat yet. It’s a huge, fluffy white thing that falls almost to his knees and Louis can’t help but wonder if Harry didn’t just pick out the biggest one he could find. It seems especially so when Louis emerges from the bathroom in said jumper and some tartan pajama pants. Harry grins at him softly and then tugs him into a close hug. He buries his nose in Louis’ neck and inhales, none too subtly, the sweet scent of his own soap on Louis’ skin. Louis pretends that it doesn’t send a rush of warmth from his cranium to his toes as he gently extricates himself from the hug and then pads into Harry’s room.

“I’ll just um...sleep on the couch,” Harry mumbles, hanging onto the side of the door as he watches Louis get into bed.

Louis gives him a funny look and then raises an eyebrow.

“Why?”

Harry looks tense and unsure of himself.

“I figured you’d want some space.”

“Harry,” Louis sighs, “I don’t want space. I don’t want to be alone. Please, I--“ he sighs again and then drops his eyebrows inward, looking up at Harry with what he hopes is an endearing plea, “I need Harry cuddles.”

To his relief, Harry giggles, biting the sleeve of his shirt that fits tightly across his chest and arms. His hair is still flat across the top from the shower but it flicks up at the sides and the ends, making him look boyish and young. Louis wants Harry in his arms so badly it makes his throat ache. He can’t reconcile the two sides of himself, one wanting what he had before it all fell apart this morning and the other straining for this new version of his life that exists within this flat, being looked after and playing house with Harry.

Harry goes over to the tall, black set of drawers that face his four-poster bed and switches on the TV. He pops a DVD in the side and when the friends theme songs starts playing and the menu pops up on the screen, he turns to look back at Louis with one of his smiles that could melt butter.

“This okay? Just in the background?”

Louis smiles his consent and then Harry hits play and crawls onto the bed and under the covers, pulling Louis into his side immediately as Louis hoped. They watch in silence for a little while, one of Louis’ legs in between Harry’s, one hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder while the other cards through his curls. Harry’s arms are around his middle and their stomachs are lined up again, Louis’ head fitted to Harry’s neck in the spot just below his chin.  Louis’ eyes start to drift closed as Harry’s warmth spreads through his own system but he mumbles an unintelligible plea against Harry’s collarbone.

“What Lou?”

“Story, tell me a story Haz.” Louis says, his voice thick with drowsiness.

Harry chuckles and Louis feels lips in his hair, which makes him sigh and snuggle in closer.

“Okay,” Harry concedes and then slips his hand up under the back of Louis’ jumper, rubbing the soft skin there with the tips of his fingers as if afraid to press his hand down any harder.

“Once I met this guy--“

“Not a real story,” Louis mumbles grumpily, pouting.

Harry chuckles and drums his fingers against the small of Louis’ back.

“Humor me,” he murmurs.

“Fine,” Louis sighs.

Another chuckle.

"I met a guy who was brilliant and beautiful in almost every way you can be brilliant and beautiful. He had bright blue eyes and a wonderful sense of humor and he hated me on sight--"

Louis cracks his eyes open at that and lifts his head off of Harry to glare at him incredulously.

"I did not hate you on sight!"

Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Oh and I thought I was being subtle," Harry says with cheek.

Louis settles back into his spot, closing his eyes and shaking his head while against his better intentions, a fond grin forms on his lips.

"Hmm," Harry hums, palm sliding across Louis' back, "where was I? Oh yes, hated me on sight," Louis licks the hollow of his neck in punishment and Harry giggles, "okay so you...I mean he," Louis snorts softly, "didn't hate me but he certainly didn't want to be my friend," Louis frowns at that, "and yet the more of him I saw, the more I wanted just that," Harry's voice turns rough at the edges, "to be his friend.

"The problem was that once he let me in a little, I didn't like what I saw," Louis' breath hitches but Harry just keeps talking, slow and smooth, like nothing happened, "I didn't like that he didn't know those things about himself. He didn't know how brilliant or beautiful he was and when I looked further, I found that the unhappiness I saw in his eyes stemmed from something worse."

"What?" Louis asks quickly, forgetting for a moment that it's to him who Harry's referring.

"From being bullied by someone he was in love with."

Louis' body shudders and he wants to fight against the proposition but it's right there inside him, settling into his bones and making him think about everything he's been through in the same way Harry seems to.

"He didn't know how much he deserved. He expected only the bare minimum and even thought himself lucky when he got it. I could see it in his eyes. To be touched gently…it felt magical to him. He opened up for his boyfriend after probably being hardened against that kind of thing for much of his life. Yet this man drew it out of him and captured him in his net. He hasn't been able to find his way free since. He hasn't wanted to because he thinks he's privileged. He genuinely believes that he’s unworthy on his own, that he's been given a chance to be anything but."

Louis is tense all over even as the exhaustion clouds his brain and makes his voice come out sluggish and slow.

"What if he's right? What if he doesn't want to be free so never is?"

"This isn't that kind of story."

"What kind of story is it?" Louis questions, rubbing his head against Harry's collarbones because they smell like vanilla and something uniquely Harry, something intoxicatingly sweet.

"The kind where my friend finds his way out because he knows deep down that he has to. The kind where he looks in the mirror every morning and finds the reasons everybody else thinks he's brilliant and beautiful and not the reasons the man he loves doesn't. The kind where the bruises on his skin never stop that beautiful smile from crinkling his eyes because however hard he's been beaten and however hard he's fallen, there's still a bravery within him that’s only waiting to be rediscovered each time."

"Harry," Louis croaks, opening his mouth just enough to press a kiss to Harry's chest.

"Sleep Lou," Harry sighs, "sleep and in the morning, we'll talk. We'll rediscover your bravery together."

Louis nods even as his mind whispers "New York" and his heart cries out "fraud.” He’s pretending to feel what Harry wants him to feel. He's pretending to believe in a better future when all he really believes in is the disjointed one he might have with Duncan if he can just convince him of it. There's no way he can tell Duncan about what happened in the shower with Harry. It was, like Harry said, a moment where they lost themselves. It doesn't mean anything.

Eventually Louis notices his breaths starting to even out and his limbs start to feel heavy so he winds his fingers around Harry's curls and shifts closer, completely enveloping himself in the warmth of Harry's skin. Yet when Louis' consciousness finally slips away, a new one replaces it; a dark nightmare in which he's right back where he was that morning, Duncan's foot slamming into his head and a horrifying nothingness blanketing his mind. Louis' mouth opens in a scream as he sits bolt upright in bed.

Harry awakens and gathers him close, whispering soothing words and calming him by softly petting his hair. Louis just cries until the broken part of his soul tires itself out and he's no longer able to produce sound. They settle back into a similar formation but this time, Harry presses his lips to Louis' temple and they fall asleep just like that, Louis' tears slowly drying on his face while Harry's lips stay poised against his skin, chasing the worst of his demons away.

Chapter Text

When Harry awakens, the doona is mysteriously missing and Louis' body is still tangled up with his own. His soft hair is brushing against the hollow in Harry's neck while his hand lies fisted in Harry's shirt, one bare foot tucked between both of Harry's and consequently encapsulated in warmth. The length of one thigh rests along the top of Harry's and when Harry opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of Louis on his stomach, snuggling up even closer. Louis squeezes a stretch of the material covering Harry's stomach, pulling the neckline of the shirt down and exposing Harry’s pecs to the slightly frost air.
Louis looks completely devoid of hurt like this, his face smoothed out and clear of any tension lines, his limbs all floppy and relaxed. However the blackened eye tells an altogether different story, sitting across from and contrasting with a perfectly smooth, olive toned eyelid that makes the damage to his other eye all the more obvious. Even so, his eyebrows are not furrowed and as Harry skims a finger along them, for a moment he can pretend that the fragile man lying on his chest hasn't been through the worst thing imaginable. He can pretend he's not fallen for somebody who's not altogether whole.

Louis shifts himself so he’s covering even more of Harry's body, the hand that was resting balled up at his side scrunching in the sheets while the other stays knitted in Harry’s shirt. Louis' thigh falls from atop Harry's to in between and suddenly their positions from last night are slightly reversed as Louis' thigh presses down firmly against Harry's morning wood. Despite this, Harry can feel Louis' equally problematic hard on pressing against his thigh. Even in sleep, Louis manages to ruin him. Just then, Louis lets out a kind of startled gurgle and a low pitched whine and begins to rock his hips down, pressing his thigh more insistently into Harry's crotch with every thrust. Harry can't stop the quiet gasps that burst from his lips each time. He feels Louis beginning to leak through his underwear and even through the thickness of his trousers, the wetness seeps through to Harry’s thigh. Harry only just manages to prevent himself from leaking all over Louis.

He's the one who's awake and in control… or at least he should be. Therefore, there's no excuse for him to put his hands on the tempting globes of Louis' bum, framed so perfectly by the tight fit of those ridiculous, adorable tartan pants. There’s no reason to knead the softness there and squeeze in time with the heavy thud of his heart. There's certainly no excuse for him to cup Louis' bum and press, encouraging Louis to ride his thigh faster…harder, increasing the pressure on his own dick until they both cream their briefs like pubescent teenage boys. No reason.

What had he told Louis last night? That they lost themselves to the moment or… in the moment...something about a loss of rationality? That's all it had been for Louis, a build-up of tension that needed release. Harry was happy to give it to him and he had also given Louis the explanation he needed to hear to absolve him of his unnecessary guilt. Harry had pretended that he himself had for some reason lost his grip on his actions. In reality, while he's certainly not been thinking straight, he can't say he would have done things differently given a second chance. He only wishes that it had been him that Louis wanted. Harry wishes only that when Louis rocked down against him, he would have whined Harry’s name and been spurred on by more than just the weight of something firm between his legs. That’s Harry's only regret about last night....that Louis had lost himself in the moment rather than to the feeling of being with Harry.

In the light of day, there is no excuse. There cannot be a satisfactory explanation for Harry getting off without Louis’ express consent and as much the sensation curls his toes and burns in his blood oh so pleasantly, Harry cannot let this continue. He cannot let Louis get off for the second time without his wits about him. Last night was different. It was about more than physical need. It was about healing and taking a weight off of Louis’ shoulders. It was about not being able to resist the way Louis’ fingers gripped his thigh and held him there and the way his breath had hitched continuously, tiny whimpers falling from his mouth that turned into full blown sobs as his pleasure arced over him and seemingly surprised him with its magnitude.

Even amidst Louis’ guilt and Harry’s longing for something a little more personal, those moments of shared connectedness had been genuine. They had, for the briefest moment, as need coloured them both desperate, reached into each other’s chests and grabbed the shaking organs inside. Louis had held Harry’s fluttering heart in his fist as it burst with fondness, deep concern and astonishing awe. By exposing himself in the way he had and going to pieces as he came, Louis had squeezed Harry’s heat until the confines poured out like celebratory confetti. Watching Louis was an emotional experience and a half. It was like all of the hurt rose up in the heat of Louis’ orgasm and threatened to swallow him whole but the rush of sensations covering the surface of his skin had forced it back under. It hadn’t been able to find a way through his defences. Harry’s thigh beneath him had kept him grounded, tied to the physicality of being with Harry rather than the pain that awaited him next door in his flat.

Feeling Louis let go in the shower the way he had, feeing his muscles flexing around the warm weight of Harry’s arm reminded Harry a lot of the first night he spent alone in his flat after having moved out of home. He’d finally moved away from the constant pressure and pain that came from never being the kind of son his parents wanted or knew how to love. He had spent the first night in his new flat with a cheap bottle of red and his chunky camera, taking shots of the night sky through the window in his room. He’d looked down at the lights of London starting to flicker on in the onset of darkness and had felt illuminated himself by the expanse of freedom at his disposal. It was a freedom that existed within and without.

His parent’s house had been dark and dreary; a prison world. Even the windows had been barred to some extent and all his life Harry had felt caged. He’d felt trapped by a life he didn’t sign up for, a house he didn’t belong in and  a lack of warmth that didn’t gel with the kind of warmth and passion he felt blistering inside. It had been so different that first night alone when he had looked out at the city all lit up with potential, purple fading to navy blue and then from blue to ink black as the dark of night crept over London and lights blinked on all over. Everything twinkled and glowed yellowish-white with a few spots of red or green over bars or different buildings.  Harry had heard the soft sounds of an acoustic song being performed at the pub down the street and had savoured the sweet sound of a couple bidding each other goodnight from below, an incorruptible and attractive innocence to the way the woman giggled and the man seemingly kissed the sound off her lips, collecting it in the swell of his own. The night sky had hung over the city’s towers, proud and formidable in its darkness even as it had whispered of a bountiful and erotic form of magic. The swell of its pale faced moon and the wispy streams of starlight that accompanied it had set the stage for romance and debauchery with equal measure. In reality, those stars were worlds away but when Harry had gazed at them through the lens of his camera that night, pressed up as close to the window as the window sill would allow, they had felt unequivocally close. The stars and everything they symbolised.

Watching Louis lose himself to sensation had truly been akin to that first taste of freedom that he’d felt back then. Louis himself is a caged animal scampering away from Duncan’s less than gentle touch. Seeing him let go completely, similar to the way he does when he giggles or smiles, all crinkly eyes and soft lips…it had been an awe inspiring experience. It had filled Harry with a deeper reverence for the beautiful, lost boy in his arms. He had fallen so very deeply when Louis’ body shuddered and twitched as he breathed out all the darkness within, his hot come seeping through to Harry’s leg and making Harry’s own cock twitch actively between his legs. However it had been Louis’ moment. It had been about Louis’ orgasm and Harry only had to force himself to imagine Niall in Louis’ place and his dick had softened immediately. Louis hadn’t even noticed his raging arousal.

By the same token, Harry had gotten a hold of Louis’ heart, cupping the tiny, fractured pieces in his hands and keeping them safe as Louis threw himself into each movement. When the guilt and abhorrence at his own behaviour had overwhelmed him, Harry had convinced Louis that a moment of carelessness wasn’t something to feel shame about. It had worried him that Louis might have felt some sense of betrayal to Duncan, his abuser but Harry had quietened his anxious mind in favour of simply making Louis feel better. He had felt Louis' heart, raw and open in his hand as it quivered with the weight of all the pressure it had yet to shake and all the forces battering it from the outside that it could not yet quite triumph over. Harry smoothed his thumbs over the ripped and tattered edges and leaned close, lips at the crevice that had begun to open with a gaping wound. "You'll make it through, little one," he had whispered, imagining the magnificence of the moment that Louis would start to stitch his heart back together and heal from within. He'd thought of that Ed Sheeran song, the one about fireflies or something or other...."little one, lie with me."

Lie with him, Louis had, even after what happened in the shower and his resounding guilt. He'd begged Harry to stay and it had to have meant something, if only that Louis needed him in a way he hadn't until now. Harry can't ruin it now…not with one quick, wet orgasm released against Louis' thigh. Harry knows that it would run shaking through his system and throw everything into that beautiful state of chaos that you seem to get right before the world either rights itself or implodes. Harry’s just not ready to risk the world imploding. He doesn't want Louis to wake up with come drying on his leg and inside his briefs and be correct in thinking that Harry was too damn far gone to even wait for him to be conscious. No. Harry is not Duncan and will not take what Louis is not ready or does not want to give.

Instead, he cups Louis' hips, pressing his thumbs to the backs of them as he squeezes gently and massages the soft skin there. He pulls Louis off his body and Louis only whines for a moment so Harry considers it success. Never mind the fact that he wants to kiss the needy noise off Louis' lips. Never mind the fact that he’s a fanciful sap that wants to whisper in Louis’ ear, "I'm right here baby. I'm not leaving. I just can't bear to touch you like this when it's not your heart that I'm also brushing up against."

Harry gets up and pulls the doona over Louis, still situated on his stomach, his quiet breaths transitioning into  similarly quiet whistle-like noises that aren’t quite snores. It's adorable. Worse… or better still, is the way Louis' chestnut hair fans out over Harry's pillow, covering his neck completely so that it’s all that's visible above the coverlet.  He looks so at home in Harry's bed, his limbs stretched out in all directions and his cheeks pushed up against Harry's sheets.

 Harry doesn't know when he decided it was okay to fall for the guy next door. In fact, he's pretty sure he never did but looking down at Louis, swaddled in his blankets, at home in his sheets, and adorably splayed out across his bed...Harry knows it's a lost cause. He runs his hand from the crown of Louis head down to his lower back, covered by the softness of doona. He leaves the heavy weight of his hand in the dip of Louis' back as Louis' back arches and he moves into the touch. Is he awake? Louis sighs and it's so breathy, equal parts despairing and contented. Then, he lets out another quiet whistle through his nose and sinks back down into the sheets as Harry smiles gently, his eyelashes dusting his cheeks while he gazes fondly at the back of Louis' head. An adoring idiot if he ever he saw one.

"Sweet dreams little one," he whispers, rubbing Louis' back, "I promise I'll be right here when you wake."

Harry wobbles into the kitchen and starts assembling breakfast for the two of them. His mind, however, is so full of Louis; his soft, sweet scent, his tiny lips pursed in a smile, his head thrown back in ecstasy...that he can't seem to sustain any level of concentration. He smashes the cupboard door into his knee when he opens it to retrieve the frying pan and then bangs his head on the bench on his way up, dropping the fry pan on the tiles with a loud metallic clang that echoes through the flat. Harry can't believe that Louis doesn't wake but alas, Harry stands there for a minute, frozen, with no signs of life from the hall before continuing with his task. When a knock sounds at his door, Harry's already laid the buttered toast out on two plates, fried the eggs and bacon to perfection and is just waiting for the water for Louis’ tea to boil.

"Ouch, dammit," he curses as he slams his foot into the leg of the dining room table on his way to the door.

He really needs to learn to multitask better…to master the art of daydreaming and working at the same time. Why can't he envision drawing silly giggles out of Louis' mouth with a few well-placed kisses without completely losing sight of what he's doing in the real world? Harry shakes his own idiocy off and then unlocks the latch on his door, swinging it open to reveal Liam, Zayn and Niall all wearing varying expressions of worry.

Liam looks the worst of course, his hands bent around his head as if he had gone to scrunch his hair and then forgotten he no longer had any. His watery brown eyes hold so much love for the man in Harry's bed and so much intense anxiety that Harry has to wonder how Liam went from being Louis' personal trainer to his unintended protector and best mate. Why was it so difficult for Louis to let Harry in when for all intents and purposes, it seems like Liam had never had any trouble? Then again, when Louis wanted somewhere to stay he hadn't gone to Liam, he hadn't gone to Taylor and he could have. They would both accept him and have welcomed him with open arms, Harry is sure of that. Yet Louis’ tangled up in his sheets, in his bed, seemingly happier to be there than anywhere else.

Liam looks like Zayn dressed him against his better wishes. He’s wearing a grey turtle neck that’s much too tight for him and looks ridiculous on his muscled physique and has paired it with coal black jeans that are folded up at the hems, obviously meant for Zayn’s ridiculously long, model perfect legs. There’s a bright green lighter tucked into one of the front pockets of his trousers and the button at the top isn’t done up, his fly half zipped. Liam’s eyes look red and puffy from lack of sleep or something a little worse and he looks awfully pale and Zayn’s concern is directed entirely Liam’s way as he lays a heavy palm across the top of Liam’s shoulder blades and then transfers his gaze to Harry. His hazel eyes turn softer with a blatant plea. Then there’s Niall, standing just behind the two of them with a bulging backpack slung over his shoulders and a hesitant, un-Niall like frown that makes Harry frown too.

“What are you guys doing here?” Harry asks them with confusion.

It can’t be more than nine or ten in the morning and yet this trio of despair has rocked up to his flat like Harry had hand delivered hand written invites. It’s not that Harry isn’t used to unexpected drop ins, what with Niall being virtually homeless and Zayn often needing somewhere to take refuge when he inevitably has another pointless, petty argument with his bitch of a roommate. It’s just that Zayn and Niall tend to turn up separately, Zayn with half his wardrobe in an expensive suitcase and his signature cigarettes tucked into his pocket and Niall with his guitar slung over his shoulder carrying some drinks and as much food as he’s managed to pay for with his busking. Harry is not used to Zayn turning up with his puppy eyed, sullen face boyfriend and a downright sombre Niall in tow, with no trace of gel in his hair and a plea in his eyes that seems to say, “if you don’t let us in we’re going to have anarchy right here, right now.”

“Harry,” Liam says and his voice barely reaches a decibel loud enough for Harry to hear it, “I need to see him.”

“Um-“

“H,” Zayn reaches out and grips his shoulder, eyes intent, “he tried to give him space. Knew Louis probably wasn’t up to seeing people but he hasn’t slept. Just let us in yeah?”

“I mean yeah, you can come in…”

Liam barrels right past him, Zayn hot on his tail but Niall stands shyly in the entrance, not moving as he adjusts the straps on his shoulders and his blue eyes flicker with uncertainty. He looks so young suddenly and Harry stops twisting his lip pensively in order to pull Niall inside the flat, tugging him into a forceful hug.

“You okay Nialler?” he whispers.

Niall pulls back with his arms still around Harry’s waist and grins crookedly but he still looks unusually off balance.

“I just can’t believe…is he okay?” Niall swallows hard, “Louis’ just so tiny. When Zayn told me, I kept thinking of this Duncan guy pummelling into him and-“Harry cringes along with Niall, “I just…I’ve never know anybody who was abused before. It makes me sick Haz.”

Harry takes the bag off Niall’s shoulder and puts it down by the back of the couch where Zayn and Liam sit, Liam curled up against Zayn’s side as Zayn pets his hair and soothes him with a soft tone, whispering things that Harry can’t quite hear.

“That’s just some DVD’s, some games, snacks… you know,” Niall gestures half-heartedly at the bag and then shakes his head, eyes on the ground, “probably pretty meaningless, hey? It’s just…I was staying at Ashton’s and I just took whatever he’d let me. I didn’t know what…you know I don’t know Louis from a bar of soap but-“

“Hey,” Harry says, rubbing his palms up and down Niall’s shoulders.

Niall looks up just to raise a curious eyebrow at him. Harry ignores it. They might be touchy feely but not like this. Harry might have gotten a little too used to being around Louis who doesn’t seem to find his intimate touches at all strange. Louis, who seems to welcome his touch.

“Hey,” Harry repeats, squeezing Niall’s shoulders. That’s more like it, a little more platonic. “That was real good of you Ni. He’ll like that. I know it’s hard to think about…and maybe it’s harder for you to know how to deal with it when you know him even less than I do but this is good,” Harry gestures at the bag, “this is the best thing you could have done. No fuss, just good food and entertainment. I think he likes being taken care of…he just doesn’t quite know how to admit it sometimes.”

Niall rolls his eyes and there’s a genuine smirk on his lips now which lifts Harry’s spirits too. Seeing Niall all cut up about Louis was touching but more so unsettling. Harry suspects Niall was laughing and anticipating his fist pint even as a tiny Irish peanut lying about his mum’s stomach. Niall was only ever meant for sunshine and lazy Sunday jams with his muso mates.

“What?” Harry says, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m fairly certain he just likes being taken care of by you,” Niall says with emphasis, “and doesn’t quite know how to admit it. Wonder why that is H.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry says with a reasonably straight face.

Niall chuckles and mutters something that sounds like “forty minutes of fondness” but it makes no sense to Harry so he just shakes his head and then moves to the couch, sitting down across from Liam and Zayn.

“Can I see him?” Liam asks, raising his head from Zayn’s shoulder to look at Harry with bleary brown eyes.

Zayn continues to pet the top of his head, with an arm curled tightly around his shoulders and Liam truly does look ever so vulnerable. His voice is thick and deep with sadness and his throat sounds blocked up with the pressure of holding back his emotions and perhaps even his tears. It’s incomprehensible that Louis could end up with such a tool for a boyfriend but such a sweetheart for a best mate.

“He’s sleeping,” Harry reveals and Liam’s face drops, Zayn glaring at Harry for something that is frankly not one bit his fault, “but I was just about to bring him his breakfast. You could take it in for me.”

Liam covers a tiny, relieved hiccup with an overly deep and exaggerated cough. Zayn smiles sadly down at him and presses a kiss to the side of his face. Harry might be a bit choked up just watching. Niall’s sat down beside him, with Harry’s breakfast in his lap, consuming it at rapid pace but he grins around a mouthful of buttery toast and Harry can’t help but grin back. This is his family, right here in this flat. These boys and Gem, that’s it for him. Zayn has always been like a brother, Niall, his saving grace and now there’s Louis and Liam too. Liam who, let’s face it, was always going to win Harry over with his concern for Louis. Liam, with the heart of gold which now belongs to Zayn, who deserves that kind of love in his life more than anyone Harry knows, the only exception being the bruised and broken man sleeping soundly just down the hall. Louis deserves all the love in the world and it occurs to Harry in this moment that he has an abundance of it sitting right here, between these four walls.

“You’ll be right with him babe,” Zayn soothes, his arm drifting down to squeeze Liam’s waist, “Lou’ll be happy to see your handsome face.”

Liam and Zayn share a nauseatingly, deep kiss that involves a kind of disgusting slurping noise. Harry’s a little ashamed to note he knows exactly how Zayn kisses, sucking guys’ tongues between his teeth like some kind of cannibal. Still, it’s hypnotising the way they melt into each other. It’s like sunlight fading gently into darkness on a warm, summery day or lush green leaves slowly transitioning into that gorgeous golden-brown with the onset of autumn. There’s something about every touch that is decidedly intimate and precious. Harry has the gall to wonder if it looks anything like that when he and Louis touch, as platonic as it remains.

“There’s a tray under the sink,” Harry directs with a patient smile, “and the water’s just boiled so you can do his tea.”

Liam smiles right back and then gets up to leave. Before he does, he leans down and gathers Harry in a close hug, whispering in his ear as he does.

“Thank you,” he says, “I was afraid you wouldn’t let me see him…or worse, he wouldn’t let me.”

Harry nods against Liam’s shoulder.

“Just don’t go in there and like--“

“I know,” Liam cuts him off, voice firm as he pulls away, “trust me…I know.”

Harry nods and then sets about ignoring the longing he has to kick the boys out and go curl up with Louis in bed, sleeping the day away and pretending that the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

…….

“Tommo. Hey, Louis….Lou, you awake?”

Louis’ eyes make a strangely loud clicking noise as he opens them. His right eye burns and feels heavy as he cracks it open. The sensation is confusing at first and his face creases up with uncertainty as he ignores the big brown eyes peering at his face and tries to come to terms with why he feels like something must have slammed into his stomach and dug into his neck. Duncan.

I want you to see the evidence of shame on your skin for weeks

Louis doesn’t whimper or let out any noise but his breath gets shorter for a moment and his eyes prickle with rising hurt. The only thing that stops the tears from brimming over is Liam’s eyes boring into his own as he lifts Louis’ pillow up into a standing position and waits for Louis to pull himself up before nudging a large tray into his lap. There’s a plate housing some lightly buttered toast with crispy bacon and eggs cooked sunny side up, the way he likes them. There’s also a steaming cup of tea poured into a mug that says “TEA ME UP” with a picture of a golf ball printed on the side. It’s dorky, daggy and everything Louis expects of Harry and his terrible sense of humour. It’s somewhat comforting. You’re with Harry, he reminds himself, and you’re safe here.

“Hey,” Liam says, repeating his greeting as Louis brings the mug to his lips.

“Did you-“Louis starts to ask, gesturing to the plate with his chin as he puts the mug down.

“No,’ Liam cuts him off, tilting his head toward the closed door with a gentle smile on his face, “it was Harry. He’s…he’s really something you know.”

“I know,” Louis agrees, his tone thick with contained emotion.

He takes another long sip of his tea and then shoves a forkful of bacon in his mouth. It’s delicious, so delicious he moans aloud and sinks back into the pillow.

“Good?” Liam asks with a soft, amused quirk of his lips.

Louis’ reply is to shove more food in his mouth, making sure to compile toast, egg and bacon on his fork this time before practically inhaling the impeccably cooked mouthful.

“You eat, I’ll talk?” Liam offers.

“Why are you even here?” Louis asks in response, crumbs flying as his face creases up with confusion.

Liam frowns and then his brown eyes flash with rejection and hurt. Louis reaches out to grip his bicep through his shirt, rubbing his thumb over the firm bulge in what he hopes is a soothing manner.

“I’m sorry Li,” he says quietly, “you know I didn’t mean- I was just asking because--“

Liam unexpectedly chuckles and then motions for Louis to continue inhaling his food, which he does, almost without pause. It feels like he hasn’t eaten in years.

“No, don’t apologise. Just me being an oversensitive idiot,” Liam shakes his head, self-deprecating, “and taking everything way too personal as always. I’m only here cause well…I was worried about you Tommo,” Liam’s eyes seemingly deepen with feeling and he watches Louis’ chew slowly with a furrowed brow, “and I know you hate that. I know you don’t want me here telling you…whatever and making a big deal. I know Harry now…I know he’s a lot better with you than me,” Liam takes a laboured breath and he looks so cut up that Louis swallows hard, his eyes tingling, “and I’m just so damn sorry Lou. I’m sorry I’ve been too demanding… too judgemental. I was never there for you enough like you needed and--“

“Liam, god Liam,” Louis swallows another mouthful and then settles the tray down on the bedside table. He reaches out for Liam and tugs the larger man into his arms, “this is not your fault. It’s not Harry’s fault…I wish everybody would just stop fucking blaming themselves for my--for his mistakes. Please Li, please don’t think that just because we have a different friendship to mine and Harry’s…that it’s not good enough or something… that you’re not good enough.”

Liam’s palm is spread across the back of Louis’ hair, squeezing his head gently and as the heel of his hand presses over one of Louis’ sore spots, Louis winces and sucks in his breath. Liam pulls back with wide, worried eyes.

“Lou? Fuck. Louis, I’m so sorry. Did he…did he really hurt you that bad?” Liam’s voice shakes as he reaches up to trace Louis’ bruised eye with the tip of his finger, “he really did get you bad, didn’t he?

Louis avoids Liam’s sorrowful eyes, threading Harry’s doona through his fingers as he traces the outside of the dark bedspread with his eyes. He shrugs sadly because that’s all he can manage. The truth is that Louis didn’t know how much Liam loved him, not until just now when Liam’s eyes zeroed in on his face like he couldn’t bear to catalogue the extent of the damage but had to know just the same. It was like Liam had to know just how bad things had gotten in order to find a way to fix them. Not that Liam could…fix this, that is. There’s only person who can seal the wounds permanently and that person is in a whole other damn country.

“I’m just…” Liam breathes out like he might be trying to steady himself, his tone hardening with determination, “I never thought he’d go this far. I worried but I never really thought--and I never thought of how awful it would be not to know…because I didn’t know,” Louis looks up at Liam whose eyes are locked in a state of unrelenting anguish and nightmarish terror that he can’t escape, “I didn’t know if you were--because Harry…he was with you and he called Zayn but he-- he barely said anything. And Louis… I know how we’ve always been, you know… like two brothers, ribbing each other and teasing, calling each other out on bullshit or a shit workout and the like…but I want you to know…I want you to know that I’m here,” Liam grabs one of his hands and squeezes it, his fingers covering Louis’ smaller ones easily as his voice turns rough and ragged. “I’m always here if you want more than a trainer and a no nonsense best mate. I’m here if you just want to watch chick flicks or paint each other’s nails or have a cuddle-“

“Liam,” Louis interrupts quietly.

Liam sniffs and then uses his free hand to bat away his tears, looking up at Louis with embarrassment clear in the set of his wobbly mouth. Louis has never felt so lucky to have this ripped, puppy eyed PT as his best mate.

“Yeah?”

Liam’s voice wobbles and he looks down to his lap as his breath gets caught in his chest and he accidentally lets out a choked kind of sob.

“I love you yeah?”

Liam’s eyes shoot up to Louis’ and his eyes fill with tears that he doesn’t wipe away.

“I love you too,” he says, “I was so scared.”

“C’mon then,” Louis says softly, patting the spot beside him. “What do I have to do to get some love around here Payno?”

Liam chuckles wetly and then climbs under the doona beside Louis, pulling Louis into his arms instantly. Somehow it’s not awkward, inappropriate or any of the things Louis would have assumed it would be given that they’ve never done anything of the sort before nor scarcely hung out outside of the gym. Eventually they do pull back a bit, falling on their backs beside each other with their hands still tangled in the middle.

“I think I’m in love with Zayn,” Liam groans, his eyes flicking over to Louis to note his response.

Louis smirks at him.

“What was that you were saying to me a few months back Payno? “I’m never going to meet anybody Louis. I’m going to die alone in a pool of my own sweat on this very gym floor,” he mocks.

“Oh shut it,” Liam snaps.

Louis cracks a bigger, toothier smile. This is what he loves about them, that he could be on his death bed and completely overwhelmed by disease and Liam still wouldn’t be able to keep from bickering with him.

“I’m guessing you haven’t told him.”

Liam shakes his head and then sighs despairingly.

“I’m still a coward.”

Louis reaches across with the back of his free hand and lightly smacks his shoulder.

“You’re not a coward,” he says with conviction but then…”however I know just how to solve this problem. He’s in the flat right now, isn’t he?” Liam’s silence confirms his suspicions and so Louis raises his voice to a yodel, “oh Zaaaaayn. Liam--”

Liam rolls onto his side and claps his hand over Louis’ mouth, muffling the rest of Louis’ sentence as Louis chuckles into his skin, his bruised stomach contracting a little painfully as he does. He wouldn’t have actually called it out but it’s amusing enough to fuck with Liam that Louis doesn’t feel the need to reveal his pure intentions. When the door falls open with a loud creak, the two of them are rolling around on the bed with Liam’s hand firmly clamped over Louis’ mouth and Louis using the strength of both of his arms to try to remove it, laughing raucously into Liam’s palm all the while.

“Are you rolling around my best friend’s bed with my boyfriend?” Zayn enquires with a dangerous lilt to his tone.

Liam and Louis halt their movement, Liam hovering over him with his hand still covering Louis’ mouth and his eyes full of almost as much humour as Louis’. Before either Louis or Liam can deny it, Harry jumps in with panicked green eyes that bore into Louis’ face with concern.

“No,” he says hotly, his tone incensed, “your boyfriend is bloody suffocating him. What the hell Liam? Does he look like he’s in a good state to wrestle?”

Liam takes his hand from Louis’ mouth and then rolls to the side, his whole face crumpling with guilt. Louis grabs for his hand and looks back at Harry with anger. He’s just about to give it to him when Niall steps out from behind Harry and Zayn and gives Louis a little wave. He looks just a touch nervous, bitting his bottom lip and shifting from foot to foot. However when he speaks, there’s an authority and cheeriness in his voice that instantly warms the whole room up by several degrees.

“Lads, I suggest we all chill the fuck out. Louis, stop making poor Zayn and Harry sweat with jealousy and worry,” he orders, being noticeably and perhaps intentionally vague about who might be feeling what. Louis catches the faint blush on Harry’s cheeks before Harry ducks his head down letting his curls form a kind of curtain that blocks the patchy pink from view. “Liam, stop feeling guilty because Louis looks as happy as I am when I’m pissed or ‘ave had a good feed. Harry, give the guy a break and Zayn…you just keep doing what you’re doing because you are purr-fect. Possessive looks good on you Z. Adorable really.”

Niall reaches out and  pinches Zayn’s hip which makes Zayn squeak and jump sideways, his perfectly coiffed hair flopping down over one eye as a comical maddened expression fills his features.

“You fucker,” he swears, smacking Niall over the back of the head, his floppy fringe still swaying across his eyes, “you’ve ruined my hair.”

Niall doesn’t respond at first and the other three boys wait for it, watching him with bated breath. After a moment, he shrugs, a full grin taking up half the space on his face.

“Looks better that way.”

Zayn’s mouth falls open and his eyebrows draw together with offense. Liam is the first one to chuckle, Louis following suit a second later. Harry looks between Niall, glowing with triumph and Zayn, pouting grumpily and bursts into laughter too.

“Leeeyum,” Zayn whines, turning and crawling up the bed sheets to his boyfriend, “Leeyum, don’t laugh.”

Liam just drags Zayn up to the spot beside him and runs his fingers through Zayn’s soft fringe.

“Sorry babe,” he says with a chuckle, “but you do look adorable without the quiff.”

Louis squawks amusedly as Zayn starts pin wheeling his fists at Liam and Liam catches them every time, kissing Zayn’s knuckles which only seems to further ignite his rage. Harry catches Louis’ eye, his smiling stretching wide and his twitching dimples set so deep in his face that Louis kind of just wants to press his thumbs to them and feel them shiver.

“I’ll get the movies,” Niall announces loudly.

“Movies?” Louis says with high hopes and a blinding smile.

Niall smiles kindly back at him but Louis wonders at the quick exchange of looks between him and Harry, Harry’s smile slightly smug while Niall’s is just this side of blindingly proud and perhaps a touch chuffed.

“Yeah, I brought some stuff,” he tells Louis, “I say we watch a flick and cuddle in Harry’s bed. How bout it?”

Zayn’s fists fall either side of Liam’s head with defeat and he ducks down to kiss Liam’s lips, before turning his head to grin at Niall.

“Sounds perfect Nialler.”

“I second that notion,” Louis agrees with a grin, “no clients for me today.”

“I agree,” Harry says with a genuine smile and then turns to wink at Louis, “but only on the condition that Zayn and Liam agree not to snog each other senseless in my bed.”

Louis chuckles and Harry beams at him.

“No promises,” Liam calls out from beneath Zayn, pulling him down by the neck for a sloppier sounding kiss.

When Niall returns with the breakfast club, the four of them are already snuggled down in the bed together. Liam and Zayn have switched positions now, Zayn sitting up against the wall with Liam between his legs, their bodies impossibly tangled. Harry and Louis are positioned much the same way but only to make room for Niall of course, Louis settling back against Harry’s chest as he pointedly ignores the other boys’ eyes on them. Niall puts the DVD on and then crawls onto the bed, lying down sideways with his head in Liam’s lap and his feet in Louis’. Louis tickles his toes and Niall laughs deeply and then pushes his smelly feet into Louis’ face.

“Get them away,” Louis whines dramatically, his whole face creased with an amused smile.

Harry reaches around and pushes Niall’s feet away for him and then he moves his hand to cover Louis’ where it rests against his stomach. Louis thanks god that the other boys’ eyes are trained on the TV screen as Harry interlocks their fingers, squeezing Louis’ hand before stretching their hands back out, the pads of his fingers pressing lightly against Louis’ stomach in the spaces between Louis’ own, as his jumper rides up to expose his skin.

“This okay?” Harry whispers in his ear, drumming his fingers against Louis’ bare stomach in order to emphasise his point.

Louis’ heart shivers in his chest and his body breaks out in goose bumps and heat because it’s too okay. All Harry has to do is fit his fingers to the spaces in between Louis’ to destroy him completely and it’s most certainly not okay. It’s all wrong. He’s not supposed to feel so alive with somebody else’s touch…but he can feel Harry’s thighs tense around his waist as he waits for an answer. His legs draw up and away from Louis’ body and the rest of him leans back too, keeping his distance. That’s not what Louis wants. Not one bit. He grips Harry’s thighs, guiding them back to their former position and then slides his hand beneath Harry’s once more. With an unsteady breath, he moves their conjoined hands up and down over his stomach, hating the way it makes his blood sing but loving it almost just as much.

“It’s okay,” he sighs, “don’t fret Haz.”

Harry’s other arm encircles him and pulls him in closer so his back is pressed flush against Harry’s front. Louis’ heartbeat speeds up tenfold.

“I can feel your heartbeat in your tummy,” Harry whispers, splaying their fingers out over Louis’ skin to cover half his hip and his belly button.

Louis doesn’t even know how that’s possible but he suspects that Harry must feel the butterflies streaming through his stomach, singing their own tune and making it impossible for him to think straight or focus on the screen before him. Harry moves Louis’ hands with his own this time, rubbing Louis’ stomach with the tips of his fingers.

“You have the sweetest tummy,” Harry breathes, “sweet, just like you.”

Louis closes his eyes and pretends the words don’t go right to the centre of his chest, screwing with his access to oxygen and making him feel completely boneless with feeling. When he opens them, he focuses on his surroundings instead. Freeing one of his hands from beneath Harry’s, he reaches out for Liam who grabs his fingers and squeezes them, a watery smile on his face as he knocks his head back against Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn looks down in surprise and then his eyes fall to Liam and Louis’ fingers twined together on the bed. It seems his jealousy has taken a backseat because he simply runs his hand across the top of Liam’s shaved head and softly kisses the side of his face, smiling down at him with what Louis thinks is nothing short of love. More amazing still is the smile that he spares for Louis and the compassionate, kind look in his eyes that seems to say, “He loves you and I’m happy for it.”  Niall looks up at Liam and Zayn, somehow sensing the interplay of emotions around him and grins happily enough at the lips pressed to Liam’s temple.

“Thank you,” Louis says out of the blue, his throat extraordinarily dry but his tone still wet with somehow emotion. The other boys look back at him, all wearing varying expressions of love and support, “thank you all.”

None of them say a word but Niall keeps his grin, Zayn, his dopey, contented smile and Harry and Liam both squeeze his hands tightly. Louis’ heart thumps unevenly in his chest. Everything is in tatters but somehow he feels like he just came home. The lump in his throat says that even when he lay gasping for breath on the floor of his flat, certain Duncan would destroy every last vestige of hope and happiness inside, he wasn’t alone. He had felt stranded, trapped and all kinds of lost as his head swam. He hadn’t been able to find enough reasons to cling to consciousness but lying here with these boys, his boys, he hears a resounding, soothing voice in his head reminding him softly fo what he should have already know. You were never on your own, it chides, and the proof is in this bed.

……..

“Harry.”

Louis pushes Harry up against the kitchen bench, the tips of his thumbs pressed to Harry’s hip bones as Harry looks down at him with curious green eyes. The other boys had left around ten minutes ago but Harry hadn’t cuddled Louis close like Louis had expected and perhaps, as much as he hates to admit it, the way he wanted. Instead, Harry had muttered something about doing the dishes and had lifted Louis’ tray up into his arms and hurried off to the kitchen, leaving a stunned and frankly sullen Louis behind him.

“Yeah?”

Harry looks far too cautious as he shifts to the side and away from Louis’ fingers, busying himself with wiping down the counter. Harry regrets it. He regrets ever touching me the way he did. Louis swallows down his original question, the “is there something wrong?” which had been on the edge of his lips when he stumbled into the kitchen moments ago.

“I want to go to New York. I…ah, I need to end it. Properly.”

Harry’s hand stills on the cloth and he whips around to face Louis with a stormy expression flaring in his green eyes, the bridge of his nose scrunched up with tension as he pinches it between his fingers.

“Why?”

Louis’ breath comes quick as Harry leans over him.

“Because…because it’s been three years and I need…I need closure Harry,” Harry’s hands come down on his shoulders and Louis jumps, quivering slightly, “Harry, please…” he says plaintively, his shuddering breath ghosting out over his bottom lip.

Harry’s eyes widen convulsively and then he releases Louis immediately but his hands come up to frame Louis’ cheeks instead.

“Louis?” He says gently, like he’s calling Louis back from the darkest part of the woods and dragging him out of his nightmares, “Louis, you didn’t think I’d-“ he swallows, his eyes wet and glassy, “you weren’t actually afraid of me just now, were you? Please tell me you don’t think I’m like-“

“Like him?” Louis finishes and Harry looks truly horrified. “No, god no,” Louis assures him, “I just…you looked so angry and the last time someone looked at me like that…”

Louis chokes on the truth of his own fear. Harry’s thumbs brush over the frown lines surrounding his eyes and then drift down, his hands tenderly cupping the base of Louis’ neck.

“Tilt your head back.”

Louis raises an eyebrow at him.

“Why?”

Harry’s green eyes bore into his with just the right mix of need and endearing innocence as he pulls his bottom lip back through his teeth.

“Please.”

Louis’ head knocks awkwardly against the space between his shoulders as he tilts it back as far as it will go but Harry’s hands reposition his head at a higher angle so his neck isn’t strained. Then the insides of his fingers press gently against the back of Louis’ neck while his thumbs skate up and across the lines of Louis’ throat to his jaw.

“What are you doing?” Louis’ rough voice asks as Harry’s soft thumbs continue to trail the same lines across the sides of his jaw, whispering against the softness of his skin and making Louis’ eyelashes flutter closed upon his cheeks.

“You have a lovely throat,” Louis’ breath rises and then gets stuck in his chest as Harry’s thumbs slide down the central lines of his neck, “and a lovely jaw,” he presses his thumbs to Louis’ face, just below his ears, “but you’re so tense,” he rubs his thumbs tenderly against the sensitive spot, “I don’t want you to be afraid. Not of me, not of somebody’s anger…and not of him. If you need--” Harry gently squeezes his cheeks, “if you need to see him one last time, then I get that.”

Louis tilts his head back up, his eyes widening with shock as they reopen.

“…but I’m coming with you.”

No. Louis’ heart knocks against the inside of his chest. Harry can’t be there, not when Louis needs to try to pick up the pieces and make things right. Harry can’t be there to see Louis submit. Louis doesn’t know how to make these two worlds fit, his life with Duncan and this safe space with Harry, that is…but he wants to try. He wants so very badly to have both, to have his cake and eat it too. His heart strains at the thought that he can’t.

“Harry-“

“No Louis,” Harry shuts him down, turning sideways to lean back against the bench, “I’m not letting you go alone. No way. It can be me,” Harry sighs and his knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the bench, “or it can be someone else. Liam or Taylor or…someone. Just, please. You can’t go see him alone.”

“Why?” Louis asks, his voice small and sad.

Harry turns to face him once more, this time pushing Louis up against the bench, his wrists angular, frail wrists enclosed in Harry’s hands. Harry’s thumbs brush over his pulse points and then continue on to his palms. He squeezes Louis’ hands tight and then stares at them for a moment, seemingly caught in a daze as his apple green eyes go translucent.

“I thought your hands, your tiny hands…” Louis sighs, only slightly annoyed but Harry doesn’t seem to hear it, sliding his fingers through the gaps in Louis’ and interlocking their hands together in the process, “I thought I’d never feel their warmth like this again.”

Louis' voice sounds ragged at best, a quiet croak that barely makes any sound at all.

"Harry."

"No, Louis listen. You don't know how difficult it was...to walk in and see you-" Harry's breath hitches in a half-sob and his eyebrows push down against the lids of his eyes with shame for his outpouring of emotion, "I thought you were dead."

"You can come with me Haz."

Louis finds himself saying the words without a thought for the repercussions. How can he convince Duncan of his sincerity with Harry in tow? How can they move past what happened with a reminder of it standing right beside them? Somehow all of the potential consequences dissipate completely in light of Harry's expression; so full with pent up anxiety. Harry wants to keep him close and Louis can't find it in himself to want anything but to be kept close.

Harry looks up with watery eyes, wet eyelashes blinking fast against his cheekbones and trailing half-moons of shimmering liquid beneath his eyes in the process. There's a similar sheen of wetness over his full bottom lip, drawing Louis' eye and making him bite down a touch too hard on his own.

"You're sure?" Harry asks, abruptly less demanding in response to Louis’ submission.

Louis smiles gently and tugs on Harry's hands with his own.

"So long as you remember you're my friend… not my guard dog," Louis says with a wink.

Harry's frown returns and he rubs across the backs of Louis' fingers with increasing urgency.

"I just want to protect you."

"I know babe," Louis assures him and Harry grips his hands in response, his eyes shooting up to Louis', "but I'll be okay. You don't need to be so anxious love."

The words feel better in his mouth than they do out of it, half-truths covered by sweet sentiments that he doesn't want to take back. Truthfully, he doesn't want Harry to be afraid for him but when all's said and done, he knows he can't be certain that he'll be okay...not in the way Harry expects him to be.

Harry nods and Louis watches him swallow, the bob of his throat kind of obscene when paired with the way he looks up from beneath his curly eyelashes and smiles, dimples looming.

"Gorgeous," Louis breathes out against his better judgement.

A bemused expression crosses Harry's face as he shakes his head, his nose crinkling. He looks like a confused puppy…a poodle maybe, with the way his curls tickle his ears, so soft looking. Louis' hands reach out and find the ends of them, halting the endearing movement of Harry’s head by scrunching them between his fingers.

"What did you say?" Harry questions with a half-smile.

"Nothing."

Harry opens his mouth to protest but Louis stretches his fingers out, sliding his hands through the soft curls and scratching along Harry’s scalp. Harry's mouth gets stuck, half open and he hums contentedly in his throat. When Louis removes his hands, Harry pouts with closed eyes and makes a snuffling noise like a disgruntled puppy. Louis' fond smile might just light up the entirety of the flat.

"Time to pack babe."

Harry sighs exaggeratedly but his cheeks twitch and the corners of his lips lift as he opens his eyes and gazes at Louis.

"I like it when you call me that," he says softly.

Louis tries not to let his own mouth reflect the swell of Harry's smile but when Harry spots the crinkles by his eyes, his own mouth sky rockets higher and it's a hopeless endeavour for Louis to resist smiling back. They stand there, smiling dopily at each other for all of a minute before Louis coughs and steps backward.

"I should pack go," Harry's eyebrows jump, a smirk covering his mouth as Louis rushes to correct himself, his skin turning rosy pink, "I mean go pack!"

"Okay," Harry says, still smirking.

A beat later as Louis turns away, Harry's concerned voice calls out to him.

"Want me to come with? To your flat?"

Louis' fingers tremble a little as he remembers the day before and the barrage of cumbersome images that threatened to swallow him whole. Today is different, he reminds himself. Today he's had cuddles with four wonderful mates and he's literally on his way to fixing everything with Duncan. His demons don't seem to loom as large and Louis finds himself smiling, wobbly but still certain, as he throws his head back over his shoulder to look at Harry.

"I'm fine. I’ll be fine."

Harry smiles back at him with dazed eyes and then after a moment, he twitches like he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open and someone roused him awake. He shakes his head at himself and then turns away, looking frustrated. Louis doesn't question it. Harry is the definition of a daydreamer .It’s charming really, how he's equal parts self-aware and seemingly lost within his own mind.

Louis gets ten feet into his flat before he even notices he's done so, too preoccupied with wondering if Harry was always a daydreamer the way he is now. Louis had gotten caught up wondering whether Harry used to gaze out classroom windows and dream about being out there in the wilderness, capturing it's beauty with his hipster camera. The thought of young Harry with glazed eyes and a dreamy smile on his face, perhaps with his baby sized chin resting in his too-big-for-a-child hand, was too much. Louis had opened his door and stepped into the flat without stopping to look at the spot where he'd lain or the couch where he'd been face fucked beyond what he could handle. Louis nods his approval of himself, to himself now and then travels toward their room, pulling his suitcase from beneath the bed with a sharp tug. Just as he falls onto his bum with a heavy pant, his phone buzzes in his pocket. His eagerness to retrieve it dulls when he finds it's just Taylor. He accepts the call anyway.

"Hey Tay," Louis greets her.

"Babe!" Taylor says immediately, "what have you been up to? I've not spoken to you since I got back from Ibiza with Calvin. I miss your stupidly pretty face."

"Stupidly pretty?" Louis questions, a chuckle surprised out of his mouth.

"It makes the boys stupid," Taylor explains and Louis can hear the smile in her voice, "girls too actually. When I first met you, I definitely thought we'd hook up."

"Ugh," Louis winces as he stands, pulling his wardrobe open to inspect it, "I'm about to throw up my breakfast and I don’t appreciate that. It was rather lovely so I'd like to retain it thanks."

"What did you have for breakfast? Your usual is dry cereal unless Duncan is around. I assume he isn't though because you sound downright cheerful."

Does he?

"Taylor."

"Yeah, yeah I know. You love him. He's your everything. You'd be nothing without him," she says in a monotone voice that sounds nothing like Louis’, "but I'm allowed to have my opinion. My opinion is …you can do a lot better babe."

"I had eggs and bacon," Louis says quickly, desperate to change the subject, "Harry made it for me."

There's a clanking sound and then a long silence before Louis hears Taylor picking up the phone again.

"Harry?" She squeaks excitedly, "I knew there was something going on! The way he looked at you when we went out," Taylor pauses for a dramatic, dreamy sigh, "it was gorgeous"

He is gorgeous, a voice sighs in the back of Louis' head. Louis gags his own mind.

"Nothing is going on,” Louis says tightly, “…what were you doing just now?"

"Squealing into my pillow," Taylor says without a hint of shame.

Louis rolls his eyes.

"This is not a rom com and even if it were," Louis breathes out slowly, "Harry would not play my romantic counterpart. He's too..."

"Gorgeous? Charming? Kind? Everything your shit of a boyfriend isn't?"

"He was looking after me," Louis bursts out, the buzzing in his head intensifying as his urge to tell the truth rushes to the surface, "that's why he made me breakfast. I stayed over because...Duncan and I had a falling out," Louis' voice grows quiet, "it didn't end well."

Louis starts assembling more of his things and chucking them in the bag as he waits for a response. His cologne, some briefs and his iPhone charger all land in the bag as his heart begins to pound with fear.

"What do you mean, 'it didn't end well?' Taylor questions, her voice low and worried.

“Just…it doesn’t matter,” Louis says distractedly, “he just…it doesn’t matter because I’m going to end it. Today….eh, tonight…when I get to New York.”

Another lie. Why are you lying to the people you care about? Is he really worth all this? Yes, Louis assures himself, of course he’s worth it. He loves me.

“Good,” Taylor exhales down the phone, “now explain to me exactly what you mean by ‘looking after me?’”

…….