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“Where do you want this last one? Kitchen? Bedroom?”
Harry finally catches up to his sister in his new flat, peering through the stems and leaves of the ficus tree he is carrying to figure out which moving box his sister is referring to.
“Er- Kitchen,” he pants in the threshold wondering how the hell Gemma and her shorter legs managed to scale four flights of stairs so much faster than him. He continues inside while his sister places the box of dishes on the kitchen counter. Harry goes the opposite direction, carefully placing his ficus next to his guitar resting in the corner of what will be his bedroom slash writing studio. As soon as he unpacks it.
“Is that everything?” his sister asks once he makes it back to the living room. She gestures at all the boxes now stuffed inside of Harry’s place rather than hers like it was when Harry was staying with her for the past two weeks.
“I think that’s it. I am officially moved in,” Harry says, followed by a relieved sigh. The fact that he is finally in a flat of his own slowly sinks in, pulling his lips into a proud little grin. He is just thinking how nice it’ll be not having to share a space with his ex anymore when his sister’s hand gently claps his shoulder.
“Well, little brother,” she yawns after taking in the early morning view from his window. “I hate to skip out just as you’re about to start the fun part, but.”
“I think I can take it from here,” Harry chuckles at his sister who has already done more than her fair share by consoling him after the breakup, letting him crash on her sofa, and then helping him find this amazing place for him to start over. Waking up early on a Saturday no less to help him carry dozens of boxes up four long flights of stairs just solidified her as the best sister on the planet. “Thank you. For everything.”
“No thanks needed,” she grins as he’s pulled into a half-hug, half-headlock. “You’re going to like it being on your own again. You’re gonna be alright. I can feel it,” Gemma assures him as she backs her way toward the threshold. She offers him a wave goodbye before exiting the flat and closing the door behind her, leaving Harry totally and completely alone for the first time in ages.
The realization becomes more and more thrilling the longer he stands in his new flat where he can do anything he wants; literally whatever his heart desires. He hardly even glances at the stacks of boxes that will take him at least a day to unpack and organize before he hears his big, beautiful new shower practically calling his name.
Harry sighs as the steamy water falls from his shower head like rain. For several seconds he just stands there letting the heat soothe his taut shoulders from weeks of sleeping on Gemma’s sofa after weeks of sleeping on his ex’s sofa once they finally called it quits. He is very much looking forward to tonight when he gets to sleep in a real bed again, though having an uninterrupted shower is feeling just as luxurious as he lathers himself in his favorite soap; lavender, eucalyptus, and mint - a scent combination that his ex wasn’t a fan of. There was a lot about Harry that he wasn’t a fan of towards the end and vice versa, but none of that matters anymore. It certainly doesn’t matter here where Harry is free to do whatever he chooses.
He takes full advantage of this revelation as he lathers shampoo into his hair, tunelessly humming to himself until the random notes and even a few words fit themselves into the nebulous melody he has been working on the last month or so. The new additions to his song come so easily today in his new place that he thinks he might actually have something to add to his set list after he’s settled enough to start doing shows again. After another minute or so, he notices much more familiar lyrics bleeding into his half-formed ones. Now, instead of crafting his new song, he’s belting out Shania Twain. There’s no one to get annoyed by his singing or tell him to keep it down, so he sings a bit of Stevie Wonder next, then some Beatles, and anything else that comes to mind simply because he can, and it’s marvelous. It’s just the energy boost he needed to unpack his things and to get his new place sorted.
The next day, Harry wakes up early again to buy some groceries and to pick up a few more things for his flat. After a bit of exploring around his new neighborhood, he heads back home and makes the precarious four-flight journey up to his flat with everything he just bought in tow. He avoids putting down his bags by expertly digging his key from his front pocket, only getting as far getting the key in the lock before he notices a folded piece of paper taped to his door.
He forgoes turning the lock and holding onto his bags to grab the paper instead, his brow furrowing at the handwritten note that someone obviously wanted him to find.
Hello and welcome to the building! Really lovely singing yesterday. It was quite the wake-up call, but I work pretty late most nights, so if it’s not too much trouble, maybe the free concerts can start after 9am?
Not sure if you’re open to requests, but how do you feel about Oasis?
Harry looks left and right down the corridor for the author of the note, internally wincing at the very polite request for him not wake the entire fucking building.
It definitely isn’t the best first impression he could be making. He was so excited to not be living with someone who finds his singing annoying that he didn’t consider how his thin walls may lead to him annoying those living around him. Though he has no idea which of his new neighbors he disturbed since they didn’t leave a name or even a flat number. Harry flips over the note a couple of times just to make sure, but it seems the person who wrote to Harry forgot that small detail. It also seems like maybe Harry didn’t make that horrible of a first impression on them. After all, the person who left the note technically encouraged his singing, just at a slightly more reasonable hour. Harry can certainly do that. But, what he should probably do first is figure out which of his neighbors he owes an apology.
Despite Harry’s attempts later that day, he doesn’t get to give that apology. Both of his neighbors on either side of him are happy to meet the new musician in the building, but neither of them claims the note left on his door. Harry gets a similar answer from everyone else on his floor and also the couple living directly below him. He gets no answer at all from whoever lives in the flat above him on the fifth floor. Through the process of elimination, Harry assumes that the note most likely came from them, however it could’ve also come from one of his other neighbors were was too shy to own up to taping something to his door.
Back in his own flat, Harry starts making lunch, slicing up some of the vegetables he bought to eat with salmon he’s grilling when he hears the tell-tale squeak of a door opening and closing somewhere above him.
The soft creaking of the floorboards that follow could be from any one of his neighbors. But, it could also be the missing neighbor that Harry didn’t get to speak to. There’s still no way to know for sure, but what Harry does know is despite being woken prematurely, someone in this building loves Oasis. The least Harry can do to make it up to them is sing a bit in good faith.
Harry’s musical tastes tend to lean a little more pop, but he always liked Slide Away. He hopes that his mystery neighbor does too as he sings the first lines aloud.
‘Slide away - and give it all you've got. My today - fell in from the top’
Harry pauses when all the movement above him stops. He waits several seconds before deciding it was just a coincidence and then starts again.
‘I dream of you - and all the things you say. I wonder where you are now?’
Harry looks toward the ceiling, hearing no objections to the song he chose, so he keeps going, singing through the verses until he is finished making lunch and, curiously, the soft creaks resume.
*
A few days later finds Harry climbing the stairs to his flat with his guitar case in hand after a very encouraging writing session with his friend. It was a nice change after months of trying to write new music amid a fading relationship when Harry’s heart just wasn’t in it. He is doing leagues better now. The fact that he just co-wrote two new songs in addition to finishing the one he had been working on proves it. His mood is even more improved when he reaches his door and finds it much more colorful than it was when he left.
Instead of just one note taped to his door, Harry has two. One is a post-it from his neighbor Macie requesting him to sing The Scientist. Harry assumes she got the idea after seeing the anonymous, other half of the piece of paper Harry received days ago from his mystery neighbor. Harry hurries to unfold it, grinning at the familiar handwriting.
Slide Away- always a classic! Know any Radiohead?
So, it wasn’t just a coincidence when the footsteps stopped the other day. The person above him was listening.
He takes the stairs again to the fifth floor. He knocks on the door above his own and gets no answer. He knocks again, a bit harder this time in case the first attempt wasn’t loud enough, frowning when the door next to him creaks open instead.
“You’ve just missed him. He left about ten minutes ago,” Mr. Wright reports as he locks up his flat.
“He?”
“Louis,” the old man answers. “That is who you’re looking for, right?”
Until today, Harry had no idea who he was looking for. He hadn’t given his mysterious neighbor many characteristics aside from their rather neat handwriting and a love for indie rock. Having a few more details about him like his name can only help.
“Um- Yes. That’s right,” Harry eventually nods at Mr. Wright.
“Well, he’s not here very often. Works a lot, I think,” he relays as he heads for the stairs. “Might have better luck this evening or tomorrow.”
Harry heads back down the stairs after Mr. Wright does. He is only slightly disappointed to have missed Louis a second time. Louis already told him in his first note that he works late most nights, so Mr. Wright’s suggestion for him to come back this evening would likely result in more of the same. It’s no matter though. Harry can introduce himself some other time. And until then, he’s got some Cold Play to sing and some Radiohead to learn.
In the days that follow, Harry finds more notes stuck to his door than he can keep track of. After walking on eggshells at his old place where he started to shrink in on himself, he never would’ve guessed he’d move to a building where him and his work are not only tolerated, but appreciated.
He is flooded with so many song and artist requests that he now keeps an ever-growing list on his phone. He gets requests for everything from The Spice Girls to Ed Sheeran to Patsy Cline. He sings everything that is asked of him minus a couple of requests that he politely declines like Blondie and Guns N’ Roses which are a bit out of his range, though he appreciates the optimism. It doesn’t take him long before he is able to recognize his neighbors’ handwriting and their taste in music and match them with their faces. He can’t say the same for Louis whom Harry still hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting. But, Harry is getting to know him in his own way, mostly through the songs he requests.
For Louis, Harry has sung renditions of what he presumes to be every indie rock ballad in existence. Once he has made his way through those, the requests start branching into romantic pop songs that Harry loves and keeps in constant rotation.
Finding one of Louis’ requests in his bold, neat letters quickly becomes one of the favorite and most exciting parts of Harry’s day. He likes trying to guess which songs he’ll be asked to sing and then being completely surprised by song titles from artists like The Righteous Brothers, Amos Lee, and to Harry’s delight and on exactly one occasion, Shania Twain. He loves wondering what made Louis think of them. And if it’s a song he isn’t familiar with, he loves looking up the lyrics and wondering which lines and phrases about past and future loves that Louis is most fond of; if they’re the same ones that resonate with Harry. It becomes a sort of game between them that Harry convinces himself that they’re both playing because Louis’ requests are different somehow. Harry even saves them, unable to part with the small scraps of paper that feel more like secrets passed between friends.
It’s quite early the next Saturday when Harry gives up on trying to sleep in and he decides to go for a run instead. He returns an hour later with his mind settled and his legs protesting the added work of climbing multiple flights of stairs. He is already dreaming of a much-deserved shower by the time he makes it to his floor where the sight of someone rummaging around his door stops him in his tracks.
The disheveled head of brown hair is unfamiliar to Harry as he watches the person quickly search his pockets for a post-it that he eventually finds. He is gently smoothing out all the creases against the wall when its like he can feel Harry’s eyes on him, and suddenly glances over his shoulder.
“Hi,” he offers absently as he continues trying to salvage his post-it and get it to stick to his door. Harry steps closer, a grin tugging at his lips when he catches a flash of the bold, neat writing that he would know anywhere. “Er- Hi again,” he frowns, only now coming to the conclusion that the glue is useless. “Sorry. Did you need something, or?”
“Louis?” Harry asks smiling between the man and the post-it he’s holding. The question seems to take him off guard, but only a little as his furrowed brow gives way to a tentative grin.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he says still with a slight air of suspicion. “How’d you-”
“I’m Harry! I live here!” he beams, forgetting that under normal circumstances, they’d be total strangers. “When I’ve tried introducing myself I’ve run into Mr. Wright who said you weren’t home,” he explains, watching recognition crinkle his blue eyes.
“Same here, only for me, it’s always Macie who gives the bad news.” Louis nods at the door to the right of them. “I guess we keep missing each other. Shame.”
Harry wouldn’t say that. He knew that he and his elusive upstairs neighbor were bound to meet sometime. He just didn’t anticipate him being so gorgeous.
“For you.”
Harry blinks away from Louis’ face at the post-it extended toward him. He accepts it, willing his warm cheeks to not give him away when he reads Elton John - Your Song.
“Unfortunately, I’ve got to run,” Louis winces after a few beats. Unfortunately. “I’m on big brother duty today.” Unfortunately. “I’m definitely already late picking them up because I always am, but, I’ll see you around?”
Harry can only nod, unable to make his brain and mouth connect when Louis speaks up again instead.
“Oh, and, I’m really looking forward to that,” he nods at the post-it hidden in Harry’s grip. “No pressure. It’s just one of my all-time favorites.”
This time, Harry can’t even make himself nod as he watches Louis disappear down the stairs. He grins at the spot long after he’s gone, only realizing he looks insane after a door opens and closes somewhere on his right.
He turns toward the sound and finds Macie watching him with amusement. “I know that look,” she teases, shaking her head as he hands him a post-it of her own. “If you two end up moving in together and have to downsize, I call dibs on the ficus.”
Harry fondly rolls his eyes. He’s in absolutely no rush to fall for someone new, but if the universe saw fit to put him in the flat beneath his hot neighbor who may or may not be flirting with him through songs and post-its, then who is he to ignore it?
*
Harry would like to believe that finally meeting his upstairs pen pal had no consequence on him and his life in the weeks that follow. That it was no different than running into Mr. Wright or Macie for the first time, but with Louis, Harry was a goner from the word hi, and the more he tries to convince himself otherwise, the more he and everyone close to him realize just how much of a goner he truly is.
After realizing he has been living below, one of the cutest people Harry has ever seen in his life, it is difficult for him to be casual about it. Like the evening his sister looked at Harry like he was insane because he paused the movie they were watching because he thought he heard the floorboards creak above them. Or the afternoon Niall came over to write and Harry nearly broke his neck trying to get to his door when someone slid a random event flyer under it. He had reason to trip over his own feet though, especially since the notes from Louis haven’t stopped, and especially now that Louis slips his requests under his door since they’re longer than just a couple of scribbled lines. He writes more than just songs he loves and would love to hear Harry interpret. Sometimes, he includes little anecdotes about his favorite songs and artists and even his other interests, to which Harry eagerly responds with little anecdotes of his own that he then slides under Louis’ door.
And sure, at this point they could probably share their music tastes in way more efficient ways, especially after a chance run-in with each other on the stairs finally led to them exchanging numbers. The funny thing is they rarely make use of them. Their initial way of communicating is much more familiar and special than texting. Harry just isn’t sure if its the best method for asking the thing he has been working up the nerve to ask for quite some time.
It’s a Saturday morning just after nine when Harry braves the fifth floor of his building, anxiously milling about for a few seconds until he is able to stand in front of door number five without fidgeting. He digs into his pocket and pulls out the small flyer for his and Niall’s show next week; their first one since before Harry moved here. It’s a big step after everything, which of course means it would be made even more special with the person who has made this new chapter so worth while.
Next, he pulls out the reply note he wrote for Louis earlier. It isn’t filled with a bunch of commentary about songs they like as per usual. Today, it’s just a few hopeful lines inviting Louis to come hear him sing in person rather than through the ceiling, and also, an admission wristband.
He finally forces himself to stop stalling and bends down to push the flyer and note under the door, but he doesn’t get to do it before the door suddenly swings open.
Harry looks up from the spot with an amused grin from Louis catching him in the act this time. Only, the person standing in the threshold isn’t Louis.
“Harry?”
Harry stands and looks past the very handsome and heavily tattooed man taking up the doorway to where Louis is grinning at him. Harry grins back, but it flickers when his gaze involuntarily drifts back to the stranger watching Harry peculiarly and sporting a newish love bite the size of a planet and an old hoodie that must be Louis’ from how tight it fits him.
Louis says something, but Harry misses it in between trying to come up with some other plausible explanation for this unreasonably good-looking person being in Louis’ flat and wearing his clothes besides Harry majorly jumping the gun and somehow missing a entire boyfriend.
“Hmm?”
Louis doesn’t mind his indiscretion, gently wedging the man out of the way to see Harry better. “Harry, Liam. Liam, Harry,” he repeats, waving vaguely at the man now standing behind him. “And, I asked if those are for me,” he says with a knowing smirk aimed at the folded papers in Harry’s hands.
Harry is tempted to pretend like he didn’t hear Louis again, or, preferably gain the gift of time-reversal to stop himself from living this awkward moment. He does neither, pasting on a kind grin as he nods and hands over both.
“Er- It’s just a small show I’m playing soon. You’re both welcome to drop by,” he says to stop Louis from opening the note and reading aloud his offer of buying him a drink after his set, or from revealing that there is only one wristband inside.
Thankfully, Louis takes his word for it, his eyes brightening and crinkling up with a smile as he thanks Harry for the invite. Harry feels his cheeks betray him by going a bit pink from Louis’ attention and his boyfriend’s bewildered grin.
Harry escapes with a lie about needing to get to Niall’s for a writing session. Really, he just needed an excuse to scurry back to his flat. All this time, Harry just assumed the little friendship that he and Louis have forged was just between them. Harry likes Louis so much that he has been hoping Louis might feel the same way, though it’s unlikely given what Harry witnessed.
He only allows himself to be devastated about it for a little while, eventually pouring most of his energy into preparing for his show. However, that is a lot easier said than done with Louis still leaving notes under his door as if nothing has changed. And, he guesses for Louis, nothing has changed. After all, he was never the one secretly hoping that something more was blooming from their note passing and their mutual love of shared music, so he probably didn’t notice Harry taking several steps back with all the flirting.
The next Saturday arrives much quicker than Harry realizes. One day he is sitting in his room with his guitar, quietly committing his new songs to memory and practicing old ones, the next day, he and Niall are backstage at the club they’re playing, watching their excited audience file in.
Harry doesn’t let himself get his hopes up about Louis coming, even though Harry did eventually slip another wristband under his door along with an apology for not including two wristbands the first time. It is possible that they will show up together. It is also likely that the two of them already have plans with one another so they won’t show at all. Either way, Harry has a show to play that he has worked and waited so long for, so when he finally gets to go on that stage he reminds himself to breathe and, most of all, to just have fun.
As soon as Harry hits the stage, the energy from the crowd courses through him and brings new life into all of his lyrics. It is such a rush playing alongside his mate that it is hard to focus on much else until he scans the crowd and catches a flash of a familiar smile near the back that makes his heart stop mid-song.
His eyes scan the crowd again until he finds Louis and only Louis, his stomach fluttering when he excitedly waves hello. Harry has spent the better part of a week convincing himself that it wouldn’t matter whether Louis came to support him or not, but now that he is here and happily so, Harry is ecstatic to have him here, even if it’s just as a friend.
He tries his best to refocus his attention on finishing the show, but he smiles at the same spot in the crowd so often and for so long that it probably seems like he is only performing for one person. The process of getting to know Louis has inspired so much of Harry’s new music that in many ways, this is a show especially for him.
As soon as the show ends and the crowd disperses or heads to the bar, Harry moves at lightning speed to pack up everything.
“Got another big gig somewhere?” Niall chuckles after Harry closes his guitar case on the tip of his finger in his haste and swears.
“No. There’s just someone I want to talk to before he leaves,” Harry says as he examines his pinched finger and thankfully finds no real injury.
“Who?”
Harry’s eyes answer for him, drifting across the room to where Louis is standing near the bar.
Niall follows his gaze and fondly rolls his eyes. “So that’s why you were being so weird during the last few songs,” he snorts.
Harry was hoping it wasn’t quite so obvious, but then again, he’s never been one for a good poker face.
Harry successfully shuts his guitar case and then moves on to their other equipment until Niall literally snatches the mic cord out of his hand. He is smiling when Harry frowns over at him.
“Don’t keep him waiting forever,” Niall warns. “This could take ages.”
Harry doesn’t have to be told twice before hopping off the stage. “I owe you one!”
“I know!” Niall laughs and then resumes packing up on his own.
When Harry makes it across the room, he is delighted to find Louis sitting at the bar, patiently nursing a cup of water and scrolling on his phone. He taps him on the shoulder when he gets there, his butterflies, returning at full force when Louis turns and his smile is the first thing that greets him. The second thing that he notices is a small bouquet of flowers that Harry hadn't even noticed from the stage.
“You’re here.”
“Of course.”
For a long time, they just smile at each other until the shattering of a glass somewhere behind the bar reminds them that neither of them has yet to say anything else.
“Shit. Sorry,” Louis chuckles at himself. “Um, these are for you. A congratulations for a fantastic show, and also an apology since I was a bit late getting here. My mate Liam has been having car troubles which is why he was staying over at my place last week - he apologizes for not being able to come, by the way - so I ended up helping him out with some stuff before I came. But, I made it! And I’m so glad I did, Harry. You really were amazing. I mean you always sound incredible, obviously,” he nervously snorts, “Everyone knows how talented you are, but seeing you perform in person is even better.”
That was a lot of information and most notably, compliments, that just got thrown Harry’s way and he will have plenty of time to completely obsess over them later tonight. However, right now, the word mate is all that Harry’s brain can process.
“Liam. He- He’s a friend?” Harry asks, watching Louis’ brow raise in confusion.
“Yes?” he responds skeptically with a chuckle. “Is that weird or something?”
“No, of course not,” Harry laughs back. “I saw him at your place and it just seemed like maybe you were something else.”
“Something else like.. brothers? Cousins?”
“I thought he was your boyfriend,” Harry admits to Louis’ absolute dismay from the horrified face he pulls. “Sorry! You just seemed so close, I figured you had to be a couple!” Harry snorts earning more grimaces that eventually turn into Louis fondly shaking his head at him.
“I like you so much that I’m willing to let that heinous accusation slide. Once,” he teases, and again, Harry’s sieve of a brain only holds onto one part of what Louis said.
“I really like you too, Louis,” Harry admits making duck his head to hide his dumb smile and his warm cheeks.
“Well, I should hope so,” Louis teases after he has recovered enough to deliberately and confidently ghost his knuckles over the back of Harry’s hand. “We’ve only been flirting and swapping love songs with each other for over a month.”
So, Harry didn’t read too much into it and Louis was flirting with him. Good to know. Harry literally can’t wipe the stupid grin off his face.
“So, does your friend Liam still need your help?” Harry asks as he returns Louis’ hand brush which just ends in them holding hands.
Louis consults his phone, roguishly grinning back at Harry when he shows Harry there’s nothing there from Liam or from anyone else. “I’m all yours.”
“Then, interested in staying for that drink I mentioned?” Harry can feel his expression fall when Louis gives a shake of his head. “Oh.”
“More than interested, but I think it could be nice having a drink back home where it's a bit quieter. What do you think?”
Harry glances around the venue finding only the bar staff and a few audience members still milling about. Any quieter and Louis would be able to hear Harry’s heart racing and the storm of butterflies raging in his stomach, but maybe that’s the point.
“Okay,” Harry grins. “Your flat or mine?”
“Definitely mine,” Louis laughs. “No offense, mate, but you have the thinest walls in existence.”
He does, but he wouldn’t say that was a bad thing. Not at all.
*
Six Months Later
In the last half a year, Harry has walked up these upstairs more times than he can count. He has spent more time traveling the distance between his flat and Louis’ larger flat that he could probably do it with his eyes closed. That doesn't make it any easier to make the journey over and over again while carrying heavy boxes.
Luckily, after hours of back-and-forth, this is the very last one. Harry drops the box off in the doorway, giving his boyfriend a kiss on the top of his head where he has already started unpacking Harry's record collection which he argues Louis is more excited about moving into his flat than Harry himself.
“I think that's everything. Still got one thing to take care of, but I’ll be right back.”
“Better hurry. Er- On second thought, take your time,” Louis teases just as he pulls out Harry’s prized unopened Bowie.
“That better still be there when I get back,” Harry snorts. “I know where you sleep.”
“It’s where you also sleep and you hate a messy bed, so I’m not that worried about a potential murder,” Louis jokes. Harry rolls his eyes and then takes the time to smother the side of his boyfriend’s face in as many kisses as he can stand before he wiggles free.
Harry heads back down to his flat for what will hopefully be the last time. He does a quick sweep of each room, finding only a few small items left including the ficus tree that no longer belongs to him per the terms of a deal he never imagined he’d get to follow through on.
When Harry moved here he had no idea he’d end up loving and living with the boy upstairs, but his neighbor Macie called it. She called it so early that Harry actually rolled his eyes when she said it, but it seems she gets the last laugh.
He knocks a couple of times at her door, cackling when she opens it and immediately plucks her new ficus from his arms. “Victory is sweet, but I’ll miss you all the way on the fifth floor. Now, I’ll have to stream my favorite songs like a normal person,” she complains.
“You’re welcome over at ours anytime,” Harry assures her. “And I’m so loud you all will almost definitely still hear me down here,” he laughs.
Back upstairs, Harry is elated to finally close the door behind him, and know that he is home once and for all.
For several seconds, he isn't sure his boyfriend is still home, but then he sees Louis come around the corner holding a bottle of champagne and two glass flutes. He pulls Harry over to their sofa and pops the bottle, letting the fizzy contents flow over into the glasses.
“To us.”
“To us,” Harry smiles into the slow kiss Louis presses to his lips.
“May we continue loving each other and being obnoxiously inseparable,” Louis toasts.
“Agreed,” Harry nods.
“And may you be so busy unpacking and setting up your studio in the spare room that you never notice your Bowie is missing,” Louis rushes to say.
“Babe,” Harry says as his boyfriend ignores him and joyfully clinks their glasses together.
“Cheers!”
“Babe,” he warns again, waiting until Louis has set down his glass and Harry has downed his before pouncing in attack.
The bloodcurdling scream of terror and delight that Louis lets out as they wrestle on the sofa was loud enough to be heard not only by everyone in the building, but probably everyone in the galaxy. Harry assumed that by moving to one of the quieter flats he’d finally give his neighbors some peace, but he kind of likes that there’s no chance in hell of that happening with Louis in the mix. He wouldn’t trade it for anything.
The End