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Harry and Louis have been best friends as long as Harry can remember. In the deepest, darkest depths of his memory, Louis is there, making funny faces at him or cheering him up when he's sad. Nobody in their town thought it was weird that Louis was always taking care of him, but Harry did. Like when they were in Year 9 and Louis got a girlfriend and would not stop talking about her, and Harry, who had kissed girls before and decided it really wasn't for him, wondered why Louis yapped his ear off about his bird — while spending all of his free time with Harry. (They broke up after a few months. Harry is pretty sure she still hates him.) Sometime during the summer afterwards, Harry realized what he felt for Louis was not what he felt for his other friends. It was deeper. More intense. He constantly wanted to be around him, wanted to kiss him, wanted to touch him.
He kept it quiet, though. He heard what boys around them were saying — yelling "that's so gay" anytime someone did something they didn't like, using slurs like everyday nouns, making "jokes" about pink shirts and hair length. Louis never participated in this, but Harry never got the feeling he was incredibly affected by it. Not like Harry himself.
There was that time in Year 11 when he'd finally felt good about growing out his curls, only to have some asshole tease him for looking like a Disney princess. Louis stepped in right away to defend his honor, but the damage was done. Louis just barely managed to convince Harry not to take a pair of scissors to his locks. Harry just felt like Louis didn't get it.
Barely a couple of years removed from that incident, Harry has pretty much accepted that Louis will never feel the same way about him. Never mind that he's been the perpetually single one in their group, other than Harry himself. If he was gay, Harry would've noticed. Right?
"Harold, hold still," Louis is saying, laughing behind the lens of Harry's camera as he attempts to take a picture of him. Since he got the camera for his birthday several months ago, Harry hasn't been able to put it down; Louis jokes that it's surgically attached around his neck. There might be some truth to that, though. Harry can't help that he loves taking pictures of pretty things. (Okay, pictures of Louis.) It only stands to reason that one day it would become too much and Louis would steal the camera from him, demanding a picture of Harry in recompense.
Harry is trying to be good and pose for him, but he keeps getting distracted. First it was the way Louis sticks his tongue out a little bit when he's really focused. Then it was the strand of hair that kept falling in Louis' eyes. Then it was the new tattoo on his arm, peeking out from under his T-shirt. Then—
"Harry!"
"Sorry, sorry!" Harry says, vowing to get himself under control. He looks off to the side, knowing this angle will show off his jawline, and tries to settle his face in a neutral expression like the models he dreams of maybe one day photographing. His eyes focus on a bit of graffiti on a nearby wall.
Yes, this is a sign.
Harry gasps. See, he's kind of, sort of, maybe a little bit superstitious. You could say he looks for signs from the universe. This feels like a big, flashing, obvious sign. It even says so. But a sign for...what exactly?
"Harry, come on," Louis groans, lowering the camera to move closer and arrange Harry himself. He steps between Harry's legs where he's sitting on a small half-wall and settles his hands over Harry's on either side of him. "I need you to stay still."
His face is so close. It would be so easy to just lean forward and eliminate the distance between them. But he can't. It would ruin everything. But then—
Harry glances back over Louis' shoulder at the sign. And he thinks, fuck it.
Louis' lips are soft. That's the first thing Harry thinks when he kisses him. The second thing he thinks is he's just made the biggest mistake of his life, and his best friend will never forgive him. He pulls away quickly, wishing he could run, but he's still stuck on top of the wall, his hands trapped under Louis'.
"Harry, what—"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, it's just—you look so good today, and, like, always, and I can't—god, I can't do this anymore."
"What? What can't you do?"
Harry risks meeting Louis' eyes and finds nothing but curiosity and wonder. Hmm. Maybe his best friend isn't so straight after all. "I can't pretend I don't love you."
It's the cheesiest thing ever. It shouldn't work. It shouldn't make Louis slide his hands around to settle on Harry's lower back and shift his body forward. It shouldn't make Louis lean in and kiss him back, eagerly, tenderly. But it does.
"I love you too," Louis whispers as he pulls back, and then he starts laughing. "God, Harry, you couldn't have done this earlier, when we're not both off to uni in a month?"
"Sorry, I—" Harry starts, but the rest of his apology gets lost in Louis' mouth.
Yes, it was a sign after all.