Work Text:
“Next up is the news at 5, right after this ad break.” The presenter drones from a pre-recorded message. Louis should probably get to work, you know, doing his job.
But this couch is so much comfier than his at home. It’s bigger, an L shape, and actually has comfortable cushions, not the stiff type you’d expect from a millionaire. And. Well. It doesn’t have a burnt hole in one side of it from a forgotten blunt.
Small things like that.
Hesitantly, Louis manages to drag himself up. From his slouching position and actually pick up his cleaning supplies.
For such a well-paying job, no one is ever around to tell him to actually do anything.
Before he can get to work, he turns the tv onto Heart Radio, so he can have some background noise while he works ever so hard. An overly annoying, overplayed, over-autotuned Christmas song starts playing and Louis rolls his eyes. Better than nothing.
He gets started with spraying a couple surfaces, and lazily swiping a cloth over the residual dust from the week he’s not been here. Not even bothering to move most of the ornaments, he gets the main counters done as quick as always.
Celebrities are weird. They get so many awards, and have so much money, yet rarely ever display anything. Their houses are all white, with glistening kitchens, shiny appliances, but no decorations. One word, two syllables: bor-ring.
The house he’s currently in is one of the better ones, and it doesn’t even have any pictures out, so that’s saying a lot.
His favourite house is his Thursday house. Which means he gets to lounge about in there all day tomorrow.
For right now, he just needs to vacuum quickly, clean a couple windows, and that’ll be him done. Thankfully, none of his clients aren’t expected home for at least a month, so he doesn’t need to do any deep cleans until the new year.
It’s just hit six o’clock when he puts the vacuum cleaner away. Another day lounging about in some rich pricks house and getting paid handsomely for it.
**
He doesn’t actually know who owns any of the houses he cleans. They could be a-list actors, or worldwide sensational singers. All he knows is their address and a list of polite requests (also known as demands).
The person he needs to thank for getting into this business is his mother. She found out about it through a friend of a friend of a cousin of a third divorcee brother in law’s friend.
The line of business where Louis is given an address, a spare key, and cleaning supplies, to go ‘clean’ a rich person’s house. He’s living the life.
Realistically, he could probably figure out who owned some of the houses he cleans. He could sit in his free (or paid) time and research celebrities and their houses to know whose lifeless lounge he’s laying in.
He could do that. But honestly, he can’t be arsed, and he doesn’t really care.
Louis has never been one to give a shit about any celebrities, even less about their lives enough to know what their houses look like. They’ve all got so many, and they all look so similar, so what’s the point?
Except his Thursday house.
The best house by far is the house Louis gets to sit around in on a Thursday. He’s got no clue who owns it, because everything in there is so personal and private, that Louis would have to deeply know the person to even hazard a guess.
There are artsy pictures everywhere, beautiful paintings of landscapes, colourful rooms, with colourful decorations. Not a single room in that house could be replicated. No person could mimic the pure love that person has for their home.
Like, listen yeah. Louis loves his house. He genuinely adores his home. But if he could pick absolutely anywhere else to live, it would be his Thursday house.
Every Wednesday evening is spent waiting for the night to be over so Louis can wake up and go to work.
How insane is that? Five years ago, Louis would have laughed in someone’s face if they ever said he’d wake up with the dying need to be at work.
Louis doesn’t even need a cup of coffee on Thursday’s, he’s so wide awake. He just dumps a cuppa into a flask and heads to the Underground. Sits impatiently on the dirty seats, sipping his tea, and jumps off at his station.
Obviously, he’s going to a celebrity’s house. So, they aren’t exactly close to any tube lines. He gets off his Northern Line train at Hampstead and prepares himself for the trek to the house.
Just seeing it come into view gets Louis a little giddy. If Louis cared more, he’d worry about how sad that makes him.
He gets through all the security sections, and finally walks through the front door. Without fail, this house always smells like home cooked food, even though he’s usually the only one here in the week, aside from the owner. Who, to Louis’ knowledge, isn’t here for Christmas or New Year’s, or Valentine’s day.
He waste’s exactly zero seconds when dumping his cleaning supplies on the floor, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his puffer coat and beanie, before heading to the sitting room.
It’s warm in here, because big millionaires can actually afford to keep their heating on even if they’re not home for months at a time. But Louis runs cold, and he’s not paying the bills, so he chucks some logs into the log burner and sticks his feet up on the coffee table to warm up even more.
He rummages around for the remote, knowing he left it on the couch the last time he was here, and clicks the tv on. It’s only ten in the morning now, so Louis has a good two hours of shit tv to kill time with before he’ll plan for lunch.
**
He manages to find a rerun of an old football match, and wastes his two hours on that, before lifting himself up to order lunch.
Another reason why his Thursday house is his absolute favourite, is because the owner lets him spend money on food. They leave their card on two food companies and says Louis is allowed to spend as much as he wants on whatever food they have available.
This person doesn’t even know Louis, yet is so willing, so trusting, to let a stranger use their money. Millionaires are weird.
Contrary to popular belief from some of Louis’ ex-boyfriends, he is a good person. So, he never spends more than he should on food, unwilling to take advantage of his client.
He decides on a local chinese place, and orders enough to keep himself sated for lunch, and fed at dinner. While he waits, he snoops around a couple drawers in the kitchen, then flicks through all the channels on the tv in hopes for a good movie on.
He’s just found and re-started Home Alone 2 when the doorbell rings.
Louis jumps up and races to the door, swinging it open and running down to the main entrance to collect his food. He tips the girl graciously and heads back into the house.
It takes him ten minutes to demolish his full plate of food and bottle of Corona. Louis taps his belly and sighs with deep satisfaction. He should get up and think about cleaning, but he also needs to let his food settle, and the comfort of the couch keeps him down.
He doesn’t know how it happens, but one second he’s blinking at young Macaulay Culkin pissing off some burglars, and the next he’s asleep.
**
“What the fuck?”
Louis bolts upright, his lunch and beer sloshing in his stomach, and turns to the sound of a voice at the door.
There, stood in front of him in the laziest looking clothes possible, is Harry Styles.
Multi award winning music artist, Harry Styles.
Louis wishes he had something to say, but all he does is stare.
Harry Styles twiddles his thumbs, looking around at the state of his living room, before settling his eyes back on Louis.
As in, Harry Styles is looking at Louis, sitting on his couch, with chinese food strewn around him, adamantly not cleaning.
“So uh, sorry but, who are you?” Harry Styles asks, dropping his hands from in front of his belly, to swing around to his back. If Louis could form any thoughts, he’d hone in on Harry Styles actually bouncing on his toes. As if he’s anxious.
Louis blinks a couple times, does his best to swallow the burp on its way up, and looks around. “I clean house.” Louis mutters stupidly, his mind clearly not working quick enough.
Harry Styles snorts, two dimples carving into his face when he smiles.
“Or shit uhm, I clean houses. I clean your house. Every week I uh, come in here, keep your house clean, ‘n all that.” Inwardly, Louis bashes his head into a wall hard enough that he passes out.
Harry Styles’ face comes over with realisation and his mouth forms a small ‘o’. It’s sort of cute. “Ohh so you’re Louis Tomlinson?” Louis tries his best not to die at the idea of Harry Styles knowing his name.
Somehow, Louis’ brain picks up speed enough to get his sarcasm going. “And you are?” He asks, delicately sprinkling sarcasm into his tone, so he sounds mainly serious.
Harry Styles’ expression drops, and he flicks his eyes away for a moment, as if he’s looking at a camera. “I’m Harry.” Is all he says.
No full name, no disbelief that Louis apparently doesn’t know who he is, no ignorance. Just a simple first name as if he doesn’t pay Louis to sit in his house for seven hours a week.
“Like the prince?” Louis adds, screwing his face up in mock confusion.
Harry doesn’t miss a beat before answering. “I’ve been told I look like one when my hair is longer, but no. Not Royal Prince Harry, I’m afraid.”
Louis likes him.
“Ah, this is better, Prince Harry isn’t really my type.” Louis can definitely flirt, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take every possible opportunity.
Harry seems to go a bit pink over that, like he’s not used to attention, and looks away. He coughs under his breath and darts his eyes around the room. “So,” He rocks on his feet. “You don’t seem to be doing a lot of cleaning.”
Louis practically feels his face drain of colour. As much fun as it is to flirt with an extremely attractive man, he also is meant to be getting paid to clean this house, not have a fucking nap in it.
“Right, uhm yes, you’re right. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have been sleeping on your couch,” Louis senses his mistake immediately. “I shouldn’t have been sleeping at all! So, I apologise for that, I’ll understand if you don’t want me cleaning your place anymore.”
Louis starts grappling for his things; His empty plate, his empty bottle of beer, his phone, the leftover Chinese boxes, one of his socks that must have fallen off while he was sleeping.
It’s slightly humiliating. Like being kicked out mid hook-up because the guy he’s with didn’t realise sleeping with another guy does sort of imply you’re not straight, mate.
“I didn’t mean it in a malicious way,” Harry starts, holding out his, very large might he add, hands. “I just meant, uhm. Well, I suppose I don’t really know what I meant.” He gives Louis a shy smile, a slight breadth away from biting his full lip.
Louis doesn’t really know how to answer that, so just stands there awkwardly.
Harry starts fish mouthing, as if he’s struggling for words that make sense. “I guess I mean like, I obviously have enough money, god not obviously, that makes me sound stuck up, sorry. What I mean by that is I have more than enough, I’m happy to keep you on, and keep paying you. Christ I’m making you sound like a prostitute,” Harry rambles.
If Louis wasn’t thoroughly enjoying watching a superstar stutter all over himself in his presence, he’d muster up some good faith and stop him. But. Well Harry Styles is royally fucking up an explanation, and Louis sort of loves it.
“Let me start over,” Harry says, before taking a heaving deep breath and steadying himself. “As long as you do a quick dust around, I’m not too bothered by what else you do in here. Obviously don’t steal anything, but other than that, I’ll pay you for a full day even if you only spend ten minutes doing a quick whizz ‘round.”
When Harry seems satisfied, he puts his hands behind his back and stands up straight. He’s got a beaming smile on his face as if his final explanation made a lick of sense.
Louis does everything in his power not to snort at him.
Eventually, he decides to give him a break. “Right. Uhm thank you? Yeah, I’ll actually get to my job now,” Louis starts, heading towards the kitchen to dump his dirty things in either the bin or the sink to wash later. “You can do whatever, of course you can it’s your house, but you know what I mean. I’ll be done soon enough.”
Louis rinses his hands before setting about with opening the dishwasher and packing it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he feels eyes watching him.
When he turns around, he finds Harry staring at him. “Can I help you with anything?” Louis asks, shaking his hands over the open dishwasher.
Harry looks startled at being spoken to and looks around his kitchen. “Oh, sorry uh no, well actually,” Harry pulls his right hand up to his mouth and picks at his middle fingernail with his teeth. “I suppose I just,”
“Out with-it mate, I’m just your cleaner.” Louis jokes, adding a small laugh to try ease Harry.
It feels strange when he is the one meeting a millionaire celebrity, but the actual famous one is stumbling over his words.
With his pink cheeks, Harry smiles and his dimples appear. “I guess I want to know how you’re acting so calm right now? I mean if my sort-of boss walked in on me sleeping on the job, and was moderately famous, I’d be freaking out. So, how are you just so normal about this,” Harry rambles, picking at his finger with his other hand now. “God maybe I am stuck up.” He whispers to himself.
Louis grins, enjoying the stress he’s put this popstar under by just… being himself. “You’re not the only famous person I clean for. Granted I’ve not met any of my other clients, don’t actually know who any of them are. But I’ve just never been the type to get all hot and bothered over a celebrity.”
Harry's eyes are sort of sparkling.
“You’re just another person. Sure, more people know you, you have a couple ferry’s worth of money more than me, but you’re still just a person. Why should I treat you any differently than I would some other bloke on the street, or my friend.”
Louis stops himself before he can go on an entire rant about his opinions on Hollywood, or the music industry, and instead dries his hands.
All Harry does is nod his head slowly. He looks around a few times, before settling his eyes back on Louis. He’s sort of intense, with the deep look in his eyes when he stares at Louis.
“Right.” Harry says, bobbing back and forth on his feet. Louis gets back to work. “You don’t have to keep cleaning; I don’t mind doing it now that I’m home.” Harry offers, taking a few steps closer to Louis.
“Oh, but I’m paid to be here until 5?”
“That’s okay, you can head home, I’ll still pay you for a full day don’t worry,” Harry seems to figure something out in his head, and then his face brightens. “Or you could stay here, but like, only if you want.”
Louis chuckles. With Harry’s big doe eyes and pretty smile, it’s sort of hard to say no to him. He also seems somewhat lonely.
“Sure, but how about we clean together? That way it’ll get done quicker, and I won’t feel so bad for being paid to actually do nothing.” Louis offers, stepping closer to hold out his hand. “Deal?”
Harry takes Louis’ hand in his much larger one and shakes them. “Deal.”
**
It takes them an hour to get mostly everything done. Louis is about to recommend they get started on the one of three guest bedrooms when Harry collapses on the nearest soft surface. Which happens to be the ottoman at the end of his king size bed.
“I’m too tired and my back hurts, I don’t need clean guest rooms, I have no guests coming over.” Harry mumbles, his eyes closed and his cheeks smooshed together.
“Give me a massage instead.” Harry jokes, in a worryingly serious tone.
Louis hesitantly laughs, not knowing whether Harry is being serious or not. “I’m sure you obviously have enough money to pay for an actual masseuse,” Louis mocks, grinning at himself for bringing up Harry’s earlier embarrassment. He earns himself a groan from Harry. “You don’t need me to give you a shit massage when you can get a professional one, now come on.” Louis reaches out and grabs Harry’s arms. “Up you get.”
Harry lets himself be dragged, surprisingly tactile with someone he only met 90 minutes ago. Using most of his strength, Louis heaves Harry up until they’re standing, uncomfortably close.
The room suddenly feels hot, until Louis takes a step back and pulls in a deep breath. “Well, it’s not even two pm yet, and your house is mostly clean, so I suppose I’ll be heading off.”
Harry nods his head, huffing out a breath and fixing his hair. Louis maybe wants to know what his hair feels like under his fingertips.
He also knows he really shouldn’t be having those thoughts about an untouchable celebrity. Especially one who he works for.
Louis turns on his heels and heads for the door to Harry's room. The staircase is in view from Harry’s room, so he doesn’t waste any time in heading there. With Harry hot on his heels, Louis tries to pick up the pace, for some reason.
“You- uh,” Harry starts, before fumbling a little on the last step. “You don’t have to go.” He mutters, fluffing the back of his hair with one hand, the other by his mouth so he can chew on his middle fingernail again.
Louis stares at him. “Why wouldn’t I go?” He asks, subtly looking around for anything he might have forgotten.
It’s sort of achingly adorable, the way Harry physically grasps for words. As the seconds pass, Harry’s face gets redder and his hands flutter around more erratically. “I don’t really know,” He settles with. “I just mean, like if you wanted to stay you could. I don’t mind.”
Louis chuckles, looking down with a small smile on his lips. “Thank you, but I do actually have a home, and I do like it there, so.”
“I didn’t mean it like that!”
“I know you didn’t, popstar, don’t worry about it.” Louis resists the urge to reach out and pat Harry’s shoulder or something. “I just mean, I don’t want to intrude on you, so I’ll go home.”
Harry visibly deflates, his shoulders hunching into his chest in a way that is certainly bad for his back. “Yeah, no that makes sense.”
Louis shuffles around, grabbing his shoes and shoving his feet into them as quickly as possible. Why is putting shoes on in front of someone else so awkward?
When he’s ready, he stands at his full height and looks to Harry. “Sorry, again, about me sleeping on the job.”
Harry shakes his head. “Seriously, it’s no worry, already forgotten.” Harry grins, his dimples on display, but not as brightly as before.
Louis nods his head once, then turns, opens the door, and heads to the front of the property.
**
The rest of Louis’ week, and the beginning of his next one, is normal. Everything goes back to normal as if he didn’t meet, and clean alongside someone as famous as Harry. It doesn’t feel weird.
It doesn’t.
When Thursday rolls around again, Louis actually sort of dreads it. He’s got no way to contact Harry, so he doesn’t know if he’s expected to turn up. Usually, if a client is home and needs to reschedule or doesn’t require Louis over, he gets told a week in advance.
But considering it was a week since he actually spoke to Harry, he doesn’t really know what to do.
He stresses himself into enough of a tiff that he downs a cup of coffee when he wakes up, picks up a Greggs breakfast on the way to the tube and falls asleep, making him miss his stop by two others.
With a huff, he gets off at the next stop and takes the southbound train to get back to Hamstead. He’s late now. Not by much, but he is late.
When he reaches his Thursday house, Harry’s house, he supposes, he sighs. It doesn’t look like anyone is home, not that you can tell from outside. So, Louis goes ahead with his normal routine, bypassing all the security and getting to the main door.
Just as he starts putting in the first few digits, so the security system is aware no one is breaking in, the door swings open.
And, well.
There Harry Styles is. In all of his shirtless, sweaty glory. He has on tiny little skintight shorts, and patterned socks, with his hair pushed back by a headband. He is panting slightly, his tattooed chest heaving up and down.
In the back of his mind, Louis registers the urge to lick him.
“Oh, hi!” Harry beams, opening the door wider to let Louis in.
Louis huffs a breath. “Hi.” He answers, stepping into the entryway. Usually he’d toe his shoes off, but he doesn’t just in case Harry doesn’t need him and sends him home.
Harry pulls out an earbud that is so small Louis is surprised it didn’t get lost in his ear. “What are you doing here?” Harry asks, his smile wide enough to reassure Louis that he doesn’t mean it in a go away I don’t need my cleaner today way.
Louis lifts his box of cleaning supplies and shakes it a little. “My job?” Louis says, a questioning tone drenching his couple of words.
Harry giggles, legitimately giggles, his eyes and nose scrunching up. “Right, obviously, but I assumed you wouldn’t come today, because I’m home.” Harry walks back towards the lounge, wordlessly encouraging Louis to follow.
He feels odd not taking his shoes off and entering someone else’s home, so he kicks them off, before following Harry. “I can go if you don’t need me, but,” Louis knocks into the side of the couch, grunting under his breath. “I usually get told a week before if I’m not needed so I didn’t want to not turn up without notice.”
Without answering him, or even acknowledging that Louis has spoken, Harry bends forward, completely in half, and wraps his hands around his ankles.
It takes many seconds longer than it should for Louis to understand that Harry is doing yoga, not just presenting himself for some odd reason. Like a cat in heat, or- anyway.
While still in his… um… position, Harry answers, “I see, well you’re welcome to stay, or go, whatever you want, but I’d like if you stayed.”
If it were anyone else, Louis would take it as flirting. But with Harry, he sort of picks up on a loneliness that surrounds the boy. While his house is very homey, and clearly loved, there isn’t much evidence of anyone else here.
With the offer, Louis doesn’t really know what to do. He’s in his usual ‘cleaning’ clothes, loose fitting black joggers, and a ratty old grey shirt covered in his favourite comfy navy hoodie.
“Uh, okay.” Louis mumbles, gently placing his supplies on the arm of the couch. Harry stands up from his yoga and turns to face Louis.
His smile is blinding, and he stinks, but Louis can’t look away. “You can join me for yoga if you want?”
“I can think of a much more fun way to find out if I’m bendy.”
Harry’s eyes go wide, and his mouth opens, his cheeks colouring pink.
Louis rolls his lips in and shuts his eyes. If the ground would very kindly open underneath him, that’d be great. “I am so sorry, that was so inappropriate,” Louis reaches for his box. “I’ll go, I’ll-“
Before Louis can carry on, Harry bursts out in laughter.
It makes him feel awkward enough that Louis hesitantly laughs along with him.
“Oh my god that was so funny,” Harry says, barely containing himself. Slowly, his laughter dwindles down to giggles, as he rubs his sweaty forehead. “Well, my offer still stands.”
Louis bounces up on his toes and licks his lips. “Thank you, but I’ll pass. I can get started on cleaning or-“
“Oh, you don’t have to, we can clean together, once I’ve finished up my workout. You’re welcome to just chill on the couch, turn on the telly if you want.”
Louis actually can’t believe what he’s hearing. It’s enough that he spent his last day here, not doing anything, but to do that all again? Unfathomable.
Harry takes his other earbud out, putting them back in their case and setting it down on the coffee table. “I’ll try not get in your way.” He says, turning with his back to the massive floor to ceiling windows so he’s facing Louis.
With a snort, Louis gently sits down on the couch. “It’s your house mate, if anyone is getting in someone’s way, it’s me.”
Harry contorts his body into another position. “You’re fine, make yourself at home,” He seems to hesitate, his legs shaking before he adds; “I don’t get many guests, I don’t really know what to do when someone who isn’t my family is here.”
God. Louis wants to cry for this boy. This boy with his quiet loneliness and aching smiles.
“Well, as a guest, I’m very comfortable here.”
Harry chortles, bringing his body up to a normal stance. “You’re rigid on that couch, relax Lou,”
Louis’ heart jumps at the nickname, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’m almost done, then we can properly chat.”
Chat? Why on earth does Harry want to chat with him? What would they even chat about? Oh, the state of the housing market, I know, it’s awful!
Right.
Harry squats down before thumping on his bum on the ground. It’s potentially the worst way someone could reach the floor, and Louis just barely holds in his laughter. He looks like a surprised bunny when he lands, before his face shifts into something resembling concentration.
Louis just watches on, slowly sinking into the couch, as Harry lays on his back. Without warning, he shoots his legs up to the ceiling and holds the base of his spine.
With his dirty mind, you’d expect Louis to think of all sorts of activities they could be doing with this position. But all Louis takes notice of is the fact that Harry’s patterned socks have little grips on the bottom, as if they’re from a trampoline park.
Even more than that, the pattern on them is a load of cows with top hats and monocles on. When Harry lowers his legs, to form a bloody thrusting position for gods sake, Louis manages to catch the writing on the top of them.
‘WHAT A MOOSTERY’
Harry Styles wears patterned socks, and these ones say, ‘WHAT A MOOSTERY’.
Louis feels like he’s going to fall off the couch. Louis is seconds away from gripping the front of his hoodie in an attempt to pull his heart out of his body. Louis feels endearment for someone who could buy him.
Harry does a few more positions, which Louis watches in near silence. The only sounds between them is a few grunts from Harry as he moves around. After ten excruciating minutes, Harry stands up and starts rolling his mat away.
Thank fuck.
“I’m just gonna have a quick shower, I reek, so uh, yeah! Do whatever you like. I’m sure you know where everything is? If not, give me a shout.” Harry heads toward the doorway to go upstairs.
Louis is already planning on staying exactly where he is.
It takes Harry twenty minutes to shower and dress again, and when he reappears at the lounge doorway, Louis is in the exact same position as he was before. He hasn’t moved in twenty minutes, too scared to.
It’s odd. When last week they broke the ice quite quickly, able to get to work and chat idly in no time. But today, Louis feels terrified, like he’s standing in front of his literal boss. When he’s not.
Sure, Harry is paying for a cleaner, but he’s paying a company. A company that then pays Louis.
Today, Harry seems more relaxed than he does, like a complete opposite of last week.
“So, do you want to clean to get it over with, or relax for a bit?” Harry asks, fluffing the ends of his wet hair.
Louis looks around. He’s asking like they’re working at the same place together. Like they’re going to hang out as if they’re friends afterwards. “You don’t need to help me,” Louis starts, standing up to sort of level the playing field between them. “I get paid to do this.”
Harry grins, his cheeks denting slightly. “I know, but I want to help. I enjoy cleaning.” He answers, stepping forward to reach into Louis’ cleaning supplies and pull out a spray bottle.
He jokingly pretends to push the nozzle down into Louis’ face, and Louis feels his nose scrunch up when he closes his eyes.
When he opens them again to look to Harry, he has a strange look in his eyes.
Christ they’re pretty.
Louis shakes his head, grabbing his own spray bottle. “Okay then, if you’re sure,” Louis reaches for a rag and heads to the other side of the room. “I’ll dust in here and you can start on another room?”
Harry twiddles his thumbs, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Or,,” He drones the word out, following to where Louis is standing in front of his floor to ceiling windows. “We could both clean in here? Chat a little?”
Right. Lonely. Harry seems lonely.
Louis smiles timidly, trying to put Harry at ease, while also doing the same for himself. “Sure. You start that side; we’ll meet in the middle.”
Harry’s cheeks pink as he steps away from Louis to spray the furthermost window on the left.
They work in tranquil silence for a couple minutes, before Harry finishes one window with a flourish and turns to look at Louis. “So,” He starts, spraying the next window from the top to the bottom. “What do you do after you clean people’s houses?”
It feels too close to a first date, or a first day of a new school. Being asked juvenile questions by a celebrity makes Louis feel small. “Uh, well I live alone, but I’ve usually got a mate over, or I’m over at a mates,” Louis explains, trying his best not to sound like he’s bragging.
Christ. As if he could be the one bragging here.
“Either that or I’ll visit my family.” Louis adds, joining Harry in moving onto his next window.
Harry nods his head, stealing a few glances at Louis as he goes. “What do you do with your mates?” He asks then, reaching up to wipe a smudge near the top of the window.
Thanks to the windowsill ledge, Louis doesn’t need to embarrass himself by grabbing a step stool or something to reach the top. It’s still sort of humiliating to watch Harry go on his tippy toes, when Louis needs to do the same, but on the windowsill.
“Just hang out, game a bit, eat crap, chat over some pints. Normal things.” Louis catches it as soon as he says it and sees Harry flinch slightly. Normal things. Harry probably hasn’t done a ‘normal thing’ since he stepped into the industry.
Harry smiles with tight lips then goes quiet for a while.
They both finish two more windows, leaving two more each before the middle one, in silence.
Louis racks his brain for something to say, something to ask, anything. But comes up blank. They reach the middle window, and stare awkwardly at each other.
“I’ll do it.” Louis says at the same time Harry says.
“I can do it.”
They share a small smile, before Harry reaches out his hand. He goes to take the rag out of Louis’ hand, their skin brushing as he does so.
The air between them is so charged, for some reason. Harry barely knows Louis, and Louis doesn’t know anything about Harry past the basics he’s learned from his younger sisters’ obsessive phase of him a few years ago.
When Harry reaches for the spray bottle in Louis’ hand, he doesn’t break eye contact with Louis. Their fingers drag along each other, and Louis drops the bottle, leaving Harry to scramble to catch it.
He doesn’t, so the bottle clatters to the ground and successfully breaks their weird moment.
“Whoops, sorry.” Harry mutters, squatting down to pick it up and put it on the coffee table. “I’ll do it Lou.”
That nickname again.
It’s not new or different to hear, almost everyone Louis knows calls him ‘Lou’. Expect his mum who still hasn’t let up on ‘boobear’.
It just feels different to come out of Harry’s mouth. Like he’s too big to be saying something with such little significance in the grand scheme of things.
When Harry finishes the window, he turns around with a huge beaming smile on his face. “What next?” He asks, handing over full control to Louis.
“Uh,” Louis starts, trying to think of all the things he should be cleaning in Harry’s house. “Well, I usually do base level cleans if my client isn’t home for a few weeks, or months.” Harry wrinkles his nose at the word ‘clients’. “So, it sort of depends on what you think needs cleaning?”
Harry's face comes over with a mischievous grin. “Then there’s nothing to be done! We should do something else instead, maybe cook something exciting for lunch, or watch a movie, or-”
Louis holds up a hand. “Harry, I’m here to clean your house, I can’t take advantage of you paying me to hang out. It’s not right.”
Harry deflates, his face falling for a second, before he perks up again. “Okay,” He starts, strolling past Louis to pick up his supplies. “We’ll clean then! I’ll put some music over the sound system.”
His face is bordering on childish excitement. Over cleaning with Louis.
It’s gonna be a weird day.
--
“Gem, he’s like a little perfect.” Harry swoons on the phone. It’s been ten minutes since Louis left for the day.
They had cleaned for hours. Only taking a break when Harry begged Louis to let him cook them something for lunch. He had made them simple cheese toasties with some tomato and basil soup. But he had revelled in the opportunity to spoil someone.
Harry had asked Louis every question he could think of, desperate to learn more about him. In return, Louis had asked all sorts of questions back, ones not even the strangest of interviewers had come up with.
On the other side of the phone, Gemma sighs. “Harry, you’ve known him for two days,” She says, ever the more logical one between them. “You employ him.”
“I do not! I just pay a cleaning company that he happens to work for. I’m not his boss! Don’t make this creepy.” Harry sighs.
“Yeah, ‘cause you snooping on his Instagram account from your burner one isn’t creepy at all.”
Harry’s finger pauses over the touchpad of his laptop. He hadn’t mentioned that to Gemma. “I’m- ugh, I’m not doing that!” Harry seethes, annoyed at how well his sister knows him.
Harry can practically see his sister roll her eyes. “Harry just don’t be a weirdo,” Gemma starts, the muffled sounds of her shuffling around coming through the speakers of Harry’s phone. “Do not follow him from that account.”
With a huff, Harry moves his cursor away from the follow button. “I wasn’t going to.” Harry mumbles, his lips pushed forward in a pout.
“Sure, you weren’t.” Gemma says, before the tell-tale sound of his niece waking up momentarily distracts him.
“Emiliaaaaa,” Harry croons, a grin appearing on his face in full force. “Is that the little Emilia?” On the other side of the country, Emilia squeals at the sound of her uncle’s voice. “I miss you!”
“She misses you too H, when are you coming up for Christmas?” Gemma’s voice sounds like she’s bouncing, which means she’s probably rocking Emilia around. Harry wishes he were the one doing it.
Harry minimises Instagram, and instead pulls up his calendar. “I’ve got my last writing session on the twenty second, so I’ll head up on the twenty third.”
“Shh, shh, shh, hiya love,” Gemma mumbles, her voice muffling as she probably squishes her face into Emilia’s neck. “That’s great! We’re all excited to see you, aren’t we love? Yeah? You want to see uncle frogface?”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Yeah! Uncle frogface is going to pull silly faces at you, and make you laugh! You excited?”
“Okay, going now! Bye Emilia, my now favourite family member, tell your mother she isn’t funny!”
Gemma giggles over the phone, Emilia following suit a few seconds after. “Bye H, see you soon, love you!” She shouts, the sound of her fumbling for her phone sounding out in Harry’s lounge.
Harry grins down at his laptop keyboard and listens to Emilia fuss. “Bye Gem, love you lots.” He hangs up, letting Gemma get back to getting Emilia ready for her dinner.
Once he’s alone, Harry pulls up Instagram again and stares longingly at Louis’ profile picture. He knows its him, because the picture is of him with his arm around a ginger man, both with their tongues out pointing at each other.
The rest of his account is on private. So, Harry can’t see any of the 52 posts he apparently has.
In a moment of severe weakness, Harry presses the follow button, before frantically checking that he is in fact on his burner account. It’s just an account with artsy photography attempts, where not even his family follow him, in order for it to not look like it’s him.
He quickly shuts his laptop, slamming it perhaps a little too harshly, and turns away from it. His house is silent, now that Gemma is gone from the phone. The sun has completely set, it did hours ago, and he hasn’t gotten up to put any other lights on in the house past the one on the table next to him.
It looks lonely.
It is lonely.
With a sigh, Harry heaves himself up and heads to his bedroom. Maybe he’ll read for a few hours before he scrambles something together for dinner.
Something to eat alone at his dinning table that fits twenty people.
**
Three days later, he finds himself in his second to last studio session before his Christmas break. It’s not been a particularly productive day, and it’s straining on everyone.
“Just run it one more time, Harry come on.” His producer says, clearly frustrated.
Harry has done this specific part of his new song more times than he can count. To him it sounds nearly perfect, but Tyler says he’s missing something.
He pulls his headphones over both of his ears and breathes a couple times.
It takes him four more attempts. He knows he’s done it when Tyler and Thomas raise their arms above their heads and slap their hands together.
When he steps out of the recording booth, the three of them huddle into a hug. “Alright, done for today,” Thomas says, rubbing his hand up Harry’s back. “I want to go home and I’m sure you guys do too.”
Usually, Harry would bug anyone available to go out, maybe to a restaurant or back to his place. Just so he doesn’t have to sit at home alone for the rest of the evening. But with-it being Christmas time, Harry knows everyone wants to spend more time with their families.
So, he doesn’t push anything.
Instead, he grabs his things, saying grateful ‘thank you’s to everyone before he steps outside to his car waiting for him. Once he’s buckled up in the backseat and the car has started, he pulls out his phone.
[Photographie_Art]
louist91 has accepted your follow request
[Photographie_Art]
louist91 has requested to follow you
Harry nearly breaks a finger in his haste to press on the first notification.
Instagram opens and the loading screen sits there for three excruciating seconds before his phone lights up with Louis’ account.
But now, his entire screen is full of photos, and four highlight stories underneath his bio. Harry presses on the latest post, a tiny picture of Louis with a beautiful girl wrapped around him growing to fill his screen.
Louis has one of his eyes closed, the one closest to the girl’s head, where her hair must be tickling him. His mouth is pulled into a mid-laugh sort of smile, his nose scrunching slightly. The girl is looking up at Louis, a similar grin on her face. They’re the spitting image of each other.
Harry feels an undeniable pull to his phone, the need to get closer and examine every inch of Louis’ face.
It doesn’t take a genius to see how stunning Louis is. Even from the first second Harry saw him peacefully sleeping on his couch, Harry knew he was a beautiful man. Even dressed in underwhelming cleaning clothes, Harry knew Louis was perfection on legs.
He scrolls down, scans the caption that reads ‘who let this one turn 21?’, before scrolling to the next post.
This one is a simple picture of a mini grand piano. At the bottom, Harry spies Louis’ legs and socked feet. There’s a simple caption of the music note emoji, and if Harry squints, he can see the warped reflection of Louis holding his phone in the shiny piano.
So, he’s gorgeous and he can play piano.
Harry loses the entire journey from the studio to his house in Louis’ Instagram page. Post after post of Louis and his friends or his family or just pictures of his day to day.
He’s nearing the end, the dates reaching the mid 2010’s, when his driver stops the car. “There you go, Harry, home sweet home.” Reginald, or Reggie as Harry fondly calls him, says from the driver’s seat.
Harry beams, unclipping his seatbelt. “Thanks Reggie, have a nice evening, tell your kids I miss em!” Harry calls, stepping out of the car and raising his arm in a goodbye.
He’s not too embarrassed to admit that he runs into his house, far too eager to get back to his examination of Louis’ Instagram.
His shoes fly across his entryway as he bustles to get to his couch in the lounge. Once there, he pulls his phone out again and unlocks it.
Posts of nights out, arms around a plethora of different people; men, women, even one of Louis sat on the bar grinning at the bartender who seems extremely fond of him.
Endless pictures of him with his family, spoiling his seemingly many sisters to days out, playing with his youngest ones on carpeted floor.
Just as Harry is about to start from the most recent post again, and take his time looking at each photo, the app refreshes the account and the colourful circle lights up around Louis’ profile picture.
In his excitement, Harry forgets about looking strange by being the first to view his story and just presses it.
There’s a picture of a hilly view, assumedly from a train window. There’s one emoji in the corner, of a house. In the very middle of the picture, nestled onto the train window, it says ‘Homebound!’
Louis is going home. Louis is clearly leaving London, meaning Harry won’t see him for at least two weeks.
Not that he would have anyway, considering Harry is heading home in two days, on Tuesday. There must be someone else coming in to clean Harry’s house while he’s gone.
Stupidly, Harry feels like he’s cheating.
With a shake of his head, Harry decides to close the app and lock his phone for now. He can’t get wrapped up in a boy he barely knows. He can’t get trapped staring at his social media, it’s creepy.
“Fucking hell.”
**
Christmas passes like any other one. He spends endless hours with his family, falls asleep at least six times on the couch with Emilia on his chest, and eats far too much food.
It’s obvious his family has missed him, with the past busy year of his life, and he has missed them just as much. His mother holds his face for almost a minute when he walks through the front door, tears shining in her eyes.
Gemma treats him the same always, like they’re kids again, even though she has one of her own now.
Harry revels in the family time, curling up on every surface with Emilia or any of the four cats in the house.
It’s all over far too soon.
Against his wants, Harry has to head back to London just a few days into the new year. He can’t even stay there long, only two days where he has to unpack his Christmas things and repack a bag to head to Italy.
He won’t ever complain about the opportunities he gets thanks to his job. He will never take for granted the fact that he can get a flight to anywhere in the world whenever he wants.
He will, however, always miss his family. Especially when they are spending time together and he’s not able to be there.
But he has a deadline, and an album to finish.
In the two days he gets off at his place, he tidies up a bit. He reorganises the decorations he has on his shelves, before reluctantly removing the Christmas cheer.
After unpacking and repacking, he does a deep clean of his entire house. Not because it needs it, but because it gives Harry something to do and think about, that isn’t how lonely his house looks.
Even more so now that all the Christmas decorations are gone.
He knows he’ll be having a cleaner in while he’s gone and wants to ease them back in to working.
There also may be a small part of him that wants to give Louis an extended break, if he’s the one there. As well as an even smaller (bigger) part that wants to impress Louis.
The day to leave the country comes far too quickly.
He bustles around his house, grabbing the last few things he’ll need for the next month he’ll be away. His manager messages that he’s outside in a car, and in a last second panic, Harry grabs a piece of paper.
It’s only Tuesday, so it’ll be two days before a cleaner, hopefully Louis, is there. But that doesn’t matter to him.
With a pen he grabs from a table in his lounge, he scrawls out a rushed note and leaves it on the counter in the kitchen.
His manager messages again, and Harry heads outside.
It takes him until they’re at the airport to realise just how creepy, and downright dangerous it was for him to do that.
--
Louis feels like he’s aged fifteen years, rather than just one.
Now with his birthday behind him, Christmas day now another year away, and the new year begun, Louis heads back to his normalcy.
In the two weeks that he’s been gone from London, he’s barely touched his phone. He never does when he’s back home. All he does is send the occasional message to his mates and Google the odd thing when in an argument.
He spends every waking second possible with his family. Crawling around with the littles, being pampered by the older twins, and helping Lottie and Fizzy be adults.
Even though he’s not a cook by any means, he spends countless hours in the kitchen with his mum and stepdad, as the three of them craft his birthday meal, the Christmas day feast, and the picky bits for New Years.
There’s nothing he loves more than being in his childhood home with his entire family.
But he’s back in London now, which means he’s back to work.
It’s only Sunday, so he has three days in other homes before he gets to go back to his Thurs- Harry’s house.
They pass quickly, barely noticeable with his excitement and anxiety to get back to Harry’s.
It would be a lie for Louis to say he hasn’t been thinking about Harry. He practically spent his entire train journey home thinking about him non-stop.
He had been able to tone it down while at home, constantly distracted by his ever-present family. Except for when he crawled into bed at the end of the day. Left alone in the darkness of his childhood bedroom, without anyone to talk to about Harry.
Louis is surprised he’s not gone insane.
So, when Thursday finally rolls around, Louis wakes up with a start, hurries through his morning routine, and has to force himself to sit in his kitchen to wait to leave. Lest he seem desperate by his early arrival after the holidays.
It only hits him when he’s gotten off the Tube and is walking to Harry’s house, that Harry might not even be back from his Christmas break yet. Harry might not have even had a Christmas break.
(Louis will not admit that he knows he did because he stalked Harry’s instagram. He won’t talk about how he spent five minutes stopping drool from dripping down his chin at the sight of Harry, shirtless, cuddled up with two cats in a small twin sized bed.
And he definitely won’t admit to almost following him, only backing out at the last second just in case it would violate some sort of work-code.)
When he reaches Harry’s house, he restrains himself from speeding through the security, so he doesn’t get anything wrong. He has to take a breath before he actually walks in though, only to find the place completely empty.
There isn’t any music playing, there’s no lingering smell of cooking, it doesn’t even smell like there’s been a candle lit recently. It seems, emptier than usual.
Louis doesn’t even bother calling out, he knows Harry isn’t home.
Life is back to normal then.
With a heaved sigh, Louis resigns himself to actually get to work today. Even though the house is actually surprisingly clean, like someone has been home in the past few weeks, to give it an extra clean.
Louis shrugs, not thinking anything further into it. He toes his shoes off, delicately placing them in the spot he’s taken to noticing Harry uses when he’s here.
As he heads into the kitchen, the sight of a piece of paper on the island catches his eye.
For a moment, he just stares at it, not sure if it’s meant for him. He looks around the room, as if some cameras would be watching him, before settling his eyes back on the paper.
“Uhm.” Louis says out loud, albeit quietly. Gently, he picks up the paper and unfolds it, once, then again.
In a messy scrawl, someone- Harry has written.
‘I was only home two days, sorry I’ve not seen you again. I’ll be back in a month, until then, please message me. ***********
- H x’
Louis reads the messy writing three times over before looking up. Then he looks back down at the paper and reads it a couple more times.
Surely this isn’t for him?
Maybe Harry has some lover he’s just started seeing? Someone who doesn’t have his number yet and who he hasn’t caught over Christmas?
But how silly of him to just leave his number out. He wouldn’t have known if it was Louis who would be cleaning his house this week, he could have left this for anyone to find.
Reluctantly, Louis refolds the paper and sets it back on the counter. He’ll ignore it.
It’s the most logical thing to do. The note isn’t for him, and it’s pathetic to think it would be. Louis is just some random person who comes into Harry’s house once a week, who Harry has only met once.
Louis’ arse has spent more time getting to know Harry’s couch, than Louis has spent getting to know Harry.
Christ, they’re not getting to know each other. They’re not dating!
God Louis needs to get a grip on himself.
With that last thought, Louis grabs his cleaning things and starts doing his job. Not that the house needs it, considering it’s pretty much spotless.
It sort of helps to get his mind off the note.
**
Two hours later finds Louis still in the kitchen.
He’s intermittently been cleaning. The oven is even more spotless than it already was, the note has been read fifty eight times, and the counters could be eaten off of.
It’s weird. The note seems to be keeping him here. It’s like it won’t let him leave. Every time he thinks to move on to another room, he’s pulled back by the idea of reading the note again. If nothing else but to see Harry’s writing, to imagine how Harry held the pen as he wrote it.
Good god, get a grip man.
Eventually, (after another hour of mindless cleaning and note reading), Louis manages to get himself into the entryway.
From there on, once he’s successfully pushed the note to the very back of his mind, Louis starts on the rest of the house.
He stops for lunch at around 2:30pm, and washes the dishes immediately afterwards, without reading the note. One point to him.
After lunch, he gets the upstairs done and finishes in the lounge. His day is almost over when he finally flops down on the couch in front of the massive tv.
Strangely, Louis relishes in the ache he feels in his bones, after a full day of hard work. He knows he’ll sleep well tonight. So, for now, he treats himself to a footy match on a big telly.
--
It’s been a month.
An entire month, Harry has been away, working on his album, relaxing in the comfort of an Italian winter.
He’s not heard a single word from Louis.
Thankfully, he’s not heard a word from anyone else either, meaning no one saw that note but whichever cleaner came in, and clearly no one has used it for anything.
Harry chose not to tell his manager about the stupid note, in an attempt to avoid a bollocking at the very beginning of the Italian escapade.
It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, considering no one ever used it, so Harry will take his stupid idea to his grave.
When they touch down in Heathrow, Harry grins at the ceiling of the plane. It’s a Wednesday, and Harry only has the effects of a one-hour time difference, so he’s more than ready for tomorrow.
He’s so excited at the prospect of seeing Louis again, that he doesn’t grumble for a single second while they’re getting through all the necessary airport security, like he usually does.
He climbs into the back of his car and graciously greets Reggie. They chat idly about the holidays, about how Reggie’s kids and wife are, about Harry’s family. The time between Heathrow and Harry’s house passes quickly with the chatter.
When he’s home, he wastes no time in grabbing his things and saying goodbye to Reggie. He almost trips himself up with his haste to get to his house.
It’s evening now, the sun has well been set, and the sky is murky with darkness. Harry is just one sleep away from seeing Louis again.
The night passes in a blur of rushing. Harry orders something to eat, then unpacks his things while he waits for it to arrive. He eats it in his rank travel clothes, in front of a rerun of Bake Off, before hopping in the shower at 10pm.
All he has to do now is fall asleep.
**
It’s sort of embarrassing when Harry’s feels his face come over with the biggest smile at the sound of his phone beeping. The notification to tell him someone is coming into his house because they know the security system.
He manages to stop himself from waiting at the door like an eager puppy, and casually stands in the kitchen. The note he left over a month ago still sits on the counter, neither of them have moved it. He shuffles nervously, even though he doesn’t even know if it’s Louis.
When Louis walks in, he’s quiet. He doesn’t call out, not that he would, and he just silently takes his shoes off.
In a moment of panic, Harry doesn’t know if he should make himself known, or wait for Louis to find him.
“Louis?” He calls eventually, deciding on the least creepy of the options.
There isn’t a verbal answer, but rather an apparent lack of noise. The person, whether it be Louis or not, stays silent for an excruciating five seconds.
Eventually, it is Louis who calls out; “Harry?” In reply.
Harry breathes out a sigh of relief and steps away from the kitchen, trying to calm himself before he gets to the front door. When he rounds the corner, there Louis is, stood in comfy clothes with his cleaning supplies.
“Hi,” He breathes, a massive smile on his face at the sight of Louis. “How was your holidays?” Harry asks, stepping closer.
Louis grins at him, clearly still slightly awkward around him. “Hi, yeah it was alright, just spent time with my family. How was yours?”
The conversation is sort of stinted, but Harry expects that. They don’t know each other all that well, and they haven’t seen each other in a month. “Mine was good thank you, I was also with my family.”
Louis kicks off his shoes before gently placing them neatly by the door. He picks up his cleaning supplies and tentatively starts heading towards the kitchen. “Nice, sounds lovely. I’ll get to work then and try stay out of your way.” Louis says, hopefully out of professionalism more than wanting the conversation to be over.
Harry doesn’t know what it is about Louis, but he can’t seem to stop thinking about him. Now that he’s in front of him again, Harry can’t just have a small conversation of pleasantries, he wants to know more.
When Louis steps past him, Harry reaches out and grabs the bucket of chemicals. “You- uh, you don’t need to get to work right now.” Harry says, smiling in a way he hopes is calming.
Louis’ cheeks colour a pretty pink. “It’s my job.”
That’s always his excuse. “I haven’t seen you since before Christmas, we can catch up?” Harry says, but his tone suggests it’s a question when he doesn’t intend it to be.
Louis makes a confused face, scrunching his nose and eyes, making little crinkles appear on his temples. “Harry, I’m your cleaner.” Louis answers, not breaking away from the intense look they’re sharing.
“I know. Does that mean I’m not allowed to want to also know you?”
Louis’ features smoothen over and his eyes go soft. “Yeah,” He starts, shuffling on the spot. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”
“Great! I’ll make us some tea and we can chat on the couch,” Harry gleams, releasing Louis’ supplies and stepping towards the kitchen. “How do you take it?”
Louis snorts from the hallway, making Harry turn around. He realises the way his question sounded and feels his face get hot. “I mean-“
“I know what you meant mate, don’t worry. Just the one sugar and a bit of milk, whatever you have.” Louis says, his beautiful mouth shaped into a pretty smile.
Harry sort of wants to touch his lips, just to feel how soft they are, before he can kiss them and feel that softness on his own lips.
He cuts himself out of his thoughts with a shake of his head, before nodding and heading to the kitchen.
--
Louis settles on the couch while he waits for Harry. All of the Christmas decorations have been taken down and his house looks back to how it was a couple months ago. He’s been here in the month they’ve not seen each other, but he’s tried to stay distracted by actually cleaning.
The want to snoop around, learn more about this famous boy who blushes in Louis’ presence, is strong. When Harry steps into the lounge a few minutes later, he has his tongue darting out of his mouth in concentration as he carries their cups over.
He holds one of the cups with his furthest fingers and manages to balance the other cup just on top by holding the lip of it with his index finger. His big hands clearly have good use, they seem like they can handle a lot-
Louis shakes his head and blinks a few times to clear those thoughts from his mind. He momentarily distracts himself by watching Harry bend down to grab two coasters from a pile of them at the corner of the table.
When Harry gently places one in front of Louis, he gets a look at the design on them. They have clearly been handmade, with painted pictures and words. He tries to read a few of them, but Harry puts the mug on top of it too soon for him to catch any of them.
He pulls a coaster out for himself, this one with the same pattern, and places his own mug on it. “So,” He starts, pulling his legs up so his body is tangled all on the couch. “What did you do for Christmas?” He asks, all eager eyes and open face.
Louis smiles shyly, thinking about the way he used his family as distractions from thinking of the very boy asking this question. “Just did normal seasonal things, you know?”
Harry smiles warmly and focuses all of his attention on Louis. “What does that entail?”
With a breath of a laugh, Louis dives into what Christmas looks like in his house. “Well, I’ve got five sisters and a brother,” Louis expects a reaction from that like he always gets, but Harry just keeps listening. “And a lot of it is making sure the Christmas spirit is still alive for the littles. I wasn’t there this year to pick the tree up with them, but they left all of our individual decorations out so we could all put them on together. They have our names on and some of them are the ones we picked out when we were kids, so they’re the special ones.”
Louis tries not to ramble, but once he gets started about his family, it’s extremely difficult to stop himself. “We made gingerbread houses, the older girls and me made some candy canes too, which barely worked, but they loved it nonetheless. And on Christmas Eve, my stepdad and me made it look like Santa came for my youngest siblings. They’re twins and only four, so they absolutely loved it.”
Harry seems to have listened to the entire rant, with his eyes shining. “That sounds so lovely, you must be an amazing brother. Are you the oldest?”
Louis grins can’t help but smile at the thought of all of his siblings. “Yeah, I’ve got seven years on my first sister, so I still baby her, and the rest of them.”
“That’s adorable,” Harry breathes, awkwardly shuffling a little closer. When Louis looks down, he notices the socks Harry has on. Another patterned pair, this time with a whole selection of cats, and a quote saying ‘It ain’t easy being purr-fect’.
Usually, Louis would relentlessly take the piss out of one of his mates for wearing something like that. But with Harry, he only feels endeared.
Harry leans forward and picks up his cup of tea, bringing it to his mouth to blow on it. “What did you do for your birthday?” He asks, tentatively taking a sip.
Louis is just about to answer, then he feels his face screw up. “I never told you when my birthday was.”
It’s sort of comical the way Harry’s eyes go wide. Louis catches the exact second his tea goes down the wrong way and leans in just as Harry starts coughing. He gently pats his back while Harry coughs into his hand.
“Uh, I’m sure you did?” Harry says, his face red, either from embarrassment or from his coughing fit.
Louis shakes his head, wracking his brain for any second that he could have told Harry when his birthday was. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t.” He answers, a feeling of quiet dread creeping up his spine.
Harry stays quiet for a minute, not looking at Louis. He clears his throat and eventually looks up. “Um, so do you remember a photography account following you on Instagram in December?”
Louis thinks back, and vaguely remembers a faceless account following him. “I think so?”
When Harry doesn’t answer, just looks at him sheepishly through his eyelashes, Louis tries to connect the dots. Tries to figure out why that would matter.
Then it hits him. “That’s your account? You followed me?” Louis says, trying to put a bit of a laugh into his tone. He tries not to overanalyse why Harry would follow him from that account.
With a hesitant nod, Harry pulls his bottom lip into his mouth by his teeth. “Yeah, I may have done.”
Louis laughs then, leaning back with the force of it, happy to hear when Harry joins in. “Why did you follow me? And why from that tiny stalker account?”
It must be the word stalker, because the second he says it, Harry’s face drops, and he stops laughing. “I didn’t mean it to come off stalkerish,” He starts, raising his hands to let him explain. “God, it does seem like that doesn’t it?” He sighs, shaking out his hair before readjusting it. “I followed you there because if I used my actual account, all the fans would have found out and followed you too.”
Louis nods, still smiling with leftover laughter. “That makes sense, and don’t worry, I haven’t actually taken it to be stalkerish. Still a bit odd, how did you even find my account?”
Harry looks away then, his cheeks pinking. “I know your full name and your profile picture is of you, it wasn’t really that hard.”
With an accepting face, Louis hums in agreement. “Fair. But I still don’t know why you followed me, I’m just your cleaner.”
Harry’s face seems to go into some sort of state of shock. He fish mouths and blinks several times before he placates himself. It seems like he has something to say, but at the last second decides to say something else. “I just thought you were interesting, have done since I met you.”
It surprises Louis, how open even that is. He knows Harry is lonely in some capacity and tries to gently let him know it’s okay to want a friend. “Well, that’s really sweet, so thank you.”
Harry grins, his dimples popping in his cheeks. They both lean forward and grab their mugs of tea, sipping silently.
When Harry places his back down, Louis leans forward to instead grab his coaster. “Where did you get these,” He says while inspecting the design. “They’re really cool.”
Harry seems to go a bit shy then, retreating into the couch and pulling his hands closer to his face. “A fan actually gifted them to me. His name was Miccah, from an album listening. He made them himself.”
Louis has to physically restrain himself from ‘aw’ing out loud. It’s the cutest thing he could have said. The fact that he remembers the fans name as well, Louis might explode.
He doesn’t say anything, just grins at Harry before putting it back down, hopefully conveying how wonderful the story behind them is. “So, since you know my birthday, I’ll have to know yours.”
With a smile, Harry leans up again, pushing their knees together. “February first, not as exciting as a Christmas Eve baby.”
He’s moving closer, the space between them disappearing by the second. Louis pushes forward to put his mug down, trying to settle this tension between them.
Harry is a famous musician, with thousands, maybe millions, of fans, and he’s sitting here having a cup of tea with some random boy from up north. It feels strange, and it would sound wrong to some tabloids or gossip profiles.
“You wanted to know about my birthday? What I did on that day, yeah?” Louis says, effectively slicing the tension in half to give himself more space to breathe.
Harry pulls back, clearly having gotten the message and smiles. “Yeah, what did you get up to?”
They chat for a long while, the sun trying it’s best to show itself and miserably failing. As the room gets darker with the growing clouds outside, Harry leans over Louis to turn on the lamp that’s sitting on the side table behind him.
It’s a charged moment, and Louis has to hold himself back from leaning in to kiss Harry. He just barely manages keep himself at bay.
--
Harry might just be going insane.
He tries not to think of himself as self-centred, or big headed. He does his best to stay humble and know that not every person has good intentions with him, if any intentions at all.
Harry also considers himself an insightful person, but a hopeful one. So, he can’t really tell if Louis is also into him, or if Harry is just hoping he is.
When their conversation reaches a lull, Harry fiddles with his fingers as he contemplates asking what he wants to know the answer to.
“So,” He starts, eventually reaching the conclusion that he has to know. “You never texted me.” Harry says, looking down at his hands so he doesn’t have to see anything on Louis’ face.
It’s silent for too long, the wait for what Louis is going to say feels agonising. When Harry glances up, Louis looks confused. “How could I have texted you?”
“I left that note on the counter. Did you not see it?” Harry asks, knowing he must have, considering it’s still there.
Louis looks like a child caught with his hand in the biscuit tin then. “I saw there was a note, I did read it, but I didn’t think it was for me.” Louis says, as if it would have been stupid to assume it was for him.
“It was for you; it is for you! Wait,” Harry jumps up, jogging to the kitchen and swiping the note off of the counter. He hurries back and bounces down on the couch, closer to Louis than before. “Here.”
Louis gently takes the note, unfolding it in silence. His eyes scan the words, and he seems to reread the number a couple times. “But why did you want me to text you?”
A small laugh bursts out of Harry, in shock at how Louis isn’t picking up what he’s putting down. “Because I like you Louis, I want to get to know you, I thought I was being obvious.”
Louis eyes go a little wide and he looks down at the paper again. He doesn’t say anything, just reads over the words again. “I thought this was meant for a partner of yours or something, like you just met them and wanted them to stay in contact,” Louis murmurs, quiet as he reads and reads and reads. “I didn’t think it was for me.”
“Lou, it’s for you, I want you to have my number, and I want your number. Or-“ Harry clears his throat. “I would like to have it, if you want to give it to me.”
Louis looks up then, and slowly, his face comes over with a smile. “Sure.” He whispers, putting his hand out for Harry to give him his phone. He puts in his number under his full name.
“Great! Now that I have that, I can ask you out too!” Harry gleams, shuffling around on the couch to properly face Louis. “I would really like to go on a date with you. So, Louis, would you like to come to mine for dinner sometime soon?”
It’s actually slightly painful how adorable Louis’ face is when he hears what Harry says. His cheeks go red, and his nose scrunches up. When he looks down, his eyelashes fan out over his face, and he bites his bottom lip to (hopefully) reign in his smile.
“I’d love to go on a date with you Harry.”
Harry’s grin spreads so wide it hurts his face. He inches his face forward, desperate to know what kissing Louis feels like. “And would it be too forward,” He starts, reaching a hand out to gently touch Louis’ hand resting on his knee. “To ask if I can kiss you?”
They both stare at each other as the seconds pass, sharing bitten back smiles. Louis just minutely nods his head, before he’s leaning in to connect their lips.