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Chapter Text

It starts with a particularly wearying Christmas party and his mother shoving him up the stairs by the behind. No thought for the fact that his socks had gone mushy from trudging through snow or that he’d strained his neck trying to park his Mini in between two gigantic, intimidating looking cars. No hugs and kisses or a compliment about his recently grown out hair. Just a horrified shriek of “is that what you’re wearing?!” and a glob of spit that she proceeded to rub into the creases around his eyes.

“I heard it on BBC Breakfast, I did.” His mother nodded at him, her blue eyes widening insistently. She did that a lot, his mother, widening her eyes and nodding to herself like some kind of demented bobble head. Perhaps it was a natural trait for someone who grew up hosting legitimate tea parties, someone who had mini gherkins and mini quiches coming out their ears. “There’s something in saliva that decreases the appearance of wrinkles.”

Louis would like it widely known that he does not house a set of wrinkles by his eyes. Neither is he greying at the temples or suffering from chronic joint pain like his mother fears. He’s thirty two, not sixty. There’s a vast difference between crinkly eyes and wrinkly ones, if you ask Louis. Not that Beatrix Tomlinson would. She has a habit of disappearing whenever Louis would most like to throttle her, deferring to Louis’ father to dole out platitudes in her absence.

Don’t get him wrong, Louis appreciates his father’s loving touch. Their bond has survived more than just Louis’ coming out over the years and an understanding of sorts has been reached between them. They share something that Louis and Beatrix don’t. A semi-likeness of sorts. His father is a little bit hefty and a strange mix of worryingly oblivious and charmingly insecure. Louis inherited much of it, he’s sure, although perhaps with a little less charm.

Standing in his kid bedroom Louis looks down at the outfit laid out on his old plaid bedcovers, cleanly pressed and folded at the hems. One of Dad’s old jumpers, it would seem. It’s not a big leap given the hideousness of the design. It is a pretty blue colour that might go well with Louis’ eyes but there’s a huge, gaudy Christmas tree pictured in the centre, ruining the effect completely. No thirty year old man in their right mind would be caught dead wearing this. But Louis supposes it isn’t so much of an issue when it’s just his family and a few friends. The wool might be warmer than the thin cashmere top he’s got on anyway.

Louis tugs the jeans on and finds that they’re loose around his bottom and tight around his knees. Somehow his mother always manages to find the worst fit, as though she purposely tries to humiliate him. The jumper goes sailing over his head next, Louis forced to roll the hems back up to their former position lest he drown in the soft material. Looking in the mirror, he resigns himself to the fact that his hair has gone completely flat. Not to mention that the cold that has effectively seeped into his skin giving it a nice blueish appearance instead of its usual golden hue. It’s highly unflattering. More’s the pity, when Louis makes his way down their rickety old stairs, “Uncle” Jeffrey intercepts him, grabbing his arse and steering him closer to the hubbub of people.

“My little Louis, how’s the job going? Made yourself partner yet?”

Louis’ ‘uncle’ Jeffrey has been labouring under the false impression that Louis is an up and coming lawyer for years now. Louis stopped correcting him about three years back when he realised it sounded so much better than, “a poorly paid press agent who works at a mildly successful publishing house.”  

“No, not yet Uncle Jeffrey,” Louis says with a good natured chuckle. “Still working hard.”

“That’s my boy,” ‘uncle’ Jeffrey bellows, reaching down to get a good grip on his arse. “No time for a boyfriend, I hear. Still as single as ever?”

Why is it that at every family gathering, it’s inevitable that your so called loved ones will do their best to point out your general failings?

“No man in your life? Oh, how tragic!”

“Don’t worry dear, there’s still time. In fact just the other day I was listening to the radio and they were saying men needn’t marry so young. Or have children. Isn’t that right Beatrix?”

“No Edith, that was lesbians. They were saying lesbians needn’t marry at all because they can’t have children.”

“I take offence to that mum.”

“Why dear? You’re not a lesbian, are you?”

Louis honestly feels like pulling out his hair sometimes. He’s been growing it for the past few months though and it’s finally reached a suitable length, dusting the base of his neck and covering the tops of his ears with woody toned softness. He’s not about to tear it out and start again.

But really, Louis’ family would have you thinking that humiliating him is some kind of Olympic sport. Who can tear Louis down the fastest? It’s not as if there aren’t a plethora of topics to choose from; his stagnant love life, his career flat line, the small pudge around his belly or the many awful habits he’s picked up in middle age; drinking life a fish, smoking like a chimney and generally taking very little care of himself. Ah well, what is it Louis’ dad is always saying? ‘You can’t win ‘em all son. And if you’re anything like me, you’ll lose most of ‘em by the time you’re fifty.’ What a lovely thought.

“Yes Jeffrey, still as single as ever. But I’m really quite happy,” Louis chirps with an entirely fabricated smile.

No one has to know how many worn out dildos he threw out last month. Or how a TGIF celebration has come to mean sucking at a bottle of wine while he guzzles a packet of hobnobs and listens to love song dedications. It not as sombre as it sounds. Every now and then when he wakes up with biscuits crumbs scattered all across his chest and his hair resembling a haystack upon his head, he reaches down into the side of the couch and closes his fingers around one last, slightly dusty looking biscuit. Isn’t that just the peak of happiness in your thirties? At least when you’re as single as Louis. When you’re single the most awful things suddenly become appealing. Like watching back to back episodes of Geordie Shore or jerking off to vanilla porn.

Louis doesn’t know whether to be relieved or filled with dread when his mother intercepts the conversation and steers him away toward a much quieter corner. At least there’s the promise of the long trestle table beside him that’s filled with different assortments of meat and roasted vegetables. Louis can smell chicken from almost a mile away and he’s quite bewildered as to how he missed it before. Now his nose has cottoned on to what’s within reach and his stomach won’t stop rumbling. He’s itching just to shovel as much food into his mouth as possible.

Don’t judge him. He’s just finished his paleo diet okay? Fat lot of good that did, pardon the pun. But it’s not as if Louis’ figure has completely wasted away to fat. He’s still got reasonably toned arms and his bum looks rather nice with a bit of extra weight on it. Perhaps his stomach could use some definition and his face is looking slightly less angular than this time last year but Louis wouldn’t call himself completely unattractive. It’s not his problem that so many men are consumed with dating the perfect abdominals rather than the perfect man and thus are forced to pretend that they find their dull, Ken doll boyfriends as scintillating as the gym. No thank you. The rest of the world can keep their fitness fanatic attitude and their NutriBullet smoothies. Louis is fine just the way he is.

“Louis,” his mum clasps his hands in hers, not a single hair out of place in her bouncy, grey bob. The effect is slightly ruined by the line of mauve toned lipstick circling the curve of her chin. “Harry Styles is here.”

Which, okay. There’s a name Louis hasn’t heard in a while. Not since—

“He’s just recently divorced his husband. He was in the peace core.” His mother says, suddenly flapping her hands about as if he said something obtuse. “No, not Harry! His husband. Anyway he’s very single and very lovely. A top barrister in London. Isn’t that just—“

“Divine,” Louis finishes.

In the last year his mother has set him up with more middle aged, empty headed buffoons than Louis has dated in his entire life. Its’ impressive really because Louis’ dated a whole platoon of them.

“Right,” his mother looks slightly unnerved now, given the interruption. But then her wits return and she’s tugging him over to window by his sleeve.

There’s a man standing there, back to Louis as he ponders the scene outside. Louis will admit that the back of his head is reasonably enticing. He’s got darling little curls that one might find more likely on a school-aged child than a full grown man. His shoulders are broad, his arms muscular and his legs extend for miles, tucked into fitted, navy trousers that cling to a very cute, very pert behind. Maybe Louis’ mother hasn’t totally failed him this time. He only wishes he knew people outside of his family would be here because people with cute butts and large, turned in feet should not see him looking like this. Maybe he should have stuck with the cashmere.

“Harry dear, this is Louis. You remember Louis? He used to swim naked in your pool when you were younger.”

Harry looks particularly perturbed about having his staring competition with the window interrupted. His face is all sharp angles and angry little furrows. He looks Louis over with a severe frown.

“I can’t say I do, no.”

Okay. That’s a little bit embarrassing because upon glimpsing his face, Louis is having vague recollections of his youth and the part that Harry played in it. Harry seems a touch abrasive now but maybe he’s one of those onions. Not like an actual onion. Onions are smelly and Harry really smells quite sweet but like an onion type. Sometimes you have to peel a person’s layers back to get to the good stuff beneath. Louis is more than up to the task, especially if it means getting inside trousers as tight as those. Louis’ mum pats his back and then scurries away under the guise of making gravy, eyeing Louis meaningfully from across the room. Harry seems to notice, following Louis’ eye line and then dropping his gaze back down to Louis’ face with considerably more frown lines than before.

“Sorry about that, she’s the worst kind of nutter at Christmas.”

Louis leans into Harry’s space to share a playful wink but Harry’s expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t banter back or provide Louis with any hope of maintaining a decent conversation. Think of the onion, Louis reminds himself, peel the layers.

“So, are you as desperate for a fag as I am? I’ve been dying for one ever since I got ‘ere. I’m not sure what’s worse, my mother’s stuffed olives or her stuffy friends.”

Louis pulls a ciggie out of the packet in his pocket and brings his lighter to the tip, watching for the orange glow before he sucks in a decent lungful of smoke. For a moment Harry appears to be fixated on Louis’ mouth. Granted, he could just as easily be staring at the naked penis pictured on the side of Louis’ lighter. That might explain the curling of his lip and the growing distaste in his expression. Louis has to remind himself that not everybody is as easily amused by a glowing pink penis as he is.

“I don’t smoke, no.” Harry finally rumbles, his voice deep and melodic.  “It’ll kill you.”

Louis’ laugh is a honk of a thing and he nudges Harry’s side roughly. Harry stumbles and shoots him a rather vicious look but Louis ignores it. He refuses to believe that anyone is that miserably uptight.  

“So will being stuck in a room with your drunken relatives but here I am. I think I might need a few bottles of wine to get through the day, mind you. Tell me, have you ever woken up with your hair completely submerged in toilet water? Bastard of a hangover, that was. Drinking is really quite awful sometimes.”

Harry runs a hand through his tousled hair, lips pursed. It’s a strange sight; someone looking so miserably prim while wearing such a dorky Christmas jumper and in the same ridiculous style as Louis’, no less. The only difference between them is that Harry’s is green, incidentally matching the forest-like emerald of his own eyes. It also features a cute reindeer instead of a dull Christmas tree.

“Quite,” Harry agrees with a stiff nod, “now if you’ll excuse me?”

Harry doesn’t wait for an answer before he slides past him, backing away with no signs of an apologetic smile or even a hint of kindness. Louis swallows the rising bubble of hurt and quietly threads his way through the crowd to the bathroom. Just a quick dab at the corner of his eyes and a few stern words to himself in the mirror and then he’s back out there, headed straight for the buffet. Louis always feels better after a good feed.

He’s humming away to himself while he joins the end of the queue and starts heaping mashed potatoes on to his paper plate. He stops abruptly at the mention of his own surname. Harry and his mother, Jean are two people down from him, making quite the spectacle of themselves without any awareness of it whatsoever.

“But he's very attractive, Louis Tomlinson and really quite likeable once you get to know him! His mother's told me.”

What a glowing review. Cheers mum.

 “But I don't need to be set up Mother!” He’s one of those people who capitalises words with his tone. “And certainly not with the likes of some socially inept, alcoholic loser who clearly has no taste whatsoever and certainly no manners. It’s repugnant. He’s freakishly tiny, exceedingly obnoxious and for christ sake, he’s dressed like some kind of drunken, Christmas elf!”

It’s the most eloquent set of insults Louis’ ever received and yet put in such bizarre terms. Freakishly tiny? Christmas elf? He’s a perfectly acceptable size, thank you very much and does a slightly daggy Christmas jumper really qualify him for elf duties? If so, Harry should be right there with him. His abnormally large feet would fit better in a pair of those turned up elf shoes than Louis’ anyway. Twat.

Louis refuses to let the heated kernel of humiliation flower inside his stomach or rush upwards to his cheeks. He certainly refuses to retreat to the bathroom again and dab at his moist eyes. It’s too late for him to flee anyway because Harry turns at that exact moment and catches his eye. The stiff grumbly frown melts away to nothing, replaced by a blank faced stare that’s entirely too indicative of how Harry has treated him thus far. Well, no bother. Louis might be obnoxious but he knows how to use his words. Even when confronted with a total swine.

“Mm, mashed potato,” he digs his spoon into the pile of goo on his plate and then stuffs it into his mouth. “My favourite.”

It’s no one’s business but his own that he tries to elongate his spine a little, pushing up onto the balls of his feet to make himself appear taller. Harry eyes flit briefly down to his toes and then he’s turning on his heel and marching away unencumbered. Guiltless, gutless and clearly without gall. Louis’ certain he’s never detested anyone more.

But that is the moment right there, standing in a sea of nosey relatives having been completely and utterly snubbed by the only attractive man there that Louis realises his life is a shambles. And so is he. He’s thirty two and the worst kind of single you can be. The kind where your prospects are clearly diminished by your own lack of appeal. His body, his brain and his bank account have all seen better days. He’s starting to wonder whether someone hid the “reset” button for his life. There’s only one thing for it; to get spectacularly sloshed and drink himself into an early death.

*-*-*-*-*

Louis waits for New Years Eve, just to be on the safe side. He can’t have his friends turning up at his flat at some not-so-ungodly hour to find him well and truly legless and spread eagled over his own kitchen table. He turns down all the invitations to parties he would have jumped at the chance to attend in his twenties, content with carrying out his own special itinerary for the evening. Mind you, there were only a total of three invitations and none of them from people outside of his immediate social circle. Fuck ‘em all, as Niall would say, fuck the lot of them.

With just one hour to spare before the calendar ticks over, Louis settles down into his couch with a bottle of wine and a pair of Betty Boop slippers. He stares morosely out the window while Celine Dion’s greatest hits play out on his CD player because apparently he still has one of those. He also still has the same pair of sailor themed pyjama bottoms that he used to wear when he first moved out of home. Surprisingly enough, they still fit. Admittedly that might just be because he no longer has to roll up the hems or hoist them up over his waist to get them to stay put. Their condition is deteriorating quickly. They’ve got more stretched out holes in them than a bathhouse and they’ve faded from dark blue to a rather unsightly shade of grey. Somehow they’re still his sole comfort. These pyjama bottoms come out whenever he’s feeling particularly wronged or mistreated by the world around him.

He’s paired them with an ironic black tee that bears the phrase “I always come out on top.” Louis can’t say for certain that it was meant to be ironic but he definitely received it as an ironic gift. His emotionally stunted ex-boyfriend gave it to him the first night he fucked Louis. At the time something about it had been charming. Louis’ not exactly sure what  because the tangible ache in his thighs from having been bent over his rickety kitchen table was more than enough of a souvenir. In spite of that, Louis had very enthusiastically reciprocated with a bumper sticker that read, “Rear end me if you please but beg for mercy on your knees.” The designer of that one might have had slightly more amorous intentions.

So what if Louis’s gloomy little flat provides the backdrop for a particularly spectacular pity party? On the precipice of the New Year, all bets are off. Louis doesn’t owe anyone a thing. It’s the only holiday celebration in the calendar year which remains a selfish excuse to drink yourself into a stupor while simultaneously ignoring everyone else around you. Your social interactions for the evening are limited to obnoxiously proclaiming your new year’s resolutions in other people’s ears, none of which you intend to keep.

It’s true though, isn’t it? Christmas is a loved up event necessitating gift-giving and the arduous ritual of kissing your wrinkly relatives on both cheeks. You break bread, drown your mother’s dry turkey in watery gravy and then pretend for a few hours that you’re the actual epitome of a functional, Brady Bunch like family. All the while ignoring the blaring truth that you can’t stand half the people seated across from you and that you’d rather keep the whole affair to an hour long lunch with your parents and the few cousins that don’t look like they just stepped off the runway. Easter is a similar affair but the prevalence of chocolate earns it a slightly higher rating on Louis’ scale.

Then there’s things like Valentine’s Day where by definition, it’s all about pleasing someone else. That ‘special’ someone. The person who will gladly accept your cuddly bear and a box of expensive chocolates but will surely run for the hills at the first sign of a sentimental confession. If you don’t have that someone, it’s all about perfecting those vague, non-descript answers to give your colleagues the impression that you have actual Valentine’s Day plans without telling an outright lie. Plausible deniability. “Well I won’t give too much away but I think a glass of bubbly and a few sweets are definitely in my future.” It’s never a complete fabrication of events. Last year Louis did kick off his V Day evening with just a ‘glass’ of bubbly and a ‘few’ sweets. He just got a little carried away and happened to wake up the next morning clutching an empty bottle of wine, his torso littered with chocolate wrappers and his nipples sporting little chocolate borders. Apparently Louis has a penchant for taking his clothes off when he’s inebriated.

And yes, let’s not forget birthdays. The worst holiday of them all masquerading as something “special.” “Your special day”, they say. “All about you.” When was the last time your birthday was actually about you? “You just want to get drunk? Louis, what kind of heathen have I raised for a son? You can’t do that, no. We’ll have a quiet dinner at Lisbon’s with the family and make sure you shave beforehand, your auntie Marjorie will be there and you know how she feels about your ‘scruff.’” Poor Aunt Marjorie. Always copping the blame for all the snide comments his mother would rather not make to his face.  “Louis, I was just talking to Aunt Marjorie the other day and she said that you’re looking a little bit round around the middle. Is everything okay, love?” “That’s funny mum, last I heard Aunt Marjorie had sworn off all technology.” “Oh she dropped round, you know how she is.” “Oh she popped in for a cuppa and then flew all the way back to Sydney, did she?” His mother made a noise like she was being strangled and then mysteriously ‘dropped’ the phone. He didn’t bother ringing her back.

But it’s funny, isn’t it? The suggestion of a day where everybody’s supposed to make you feel important and put your desires before their own. People really aren’t that selfless. If you hate surprises, they’ll throw you a huge birthday bash and unbeknownst to your knowledge, invite everyone from your high school sweetheart to your former accountant. If you’d love a big ordeal, they’ll let the day peter out to nothing without making any suitable fuss. Birthday presents have to be a “surprise” and consequently always more accurately reflect the likes and dislikes of the person giving them to you rather than your own. Plus if you don’t smile brightly enough on the day or make suitable references to your age, people think you must have lost the will to live. Which, obviously. Doesn’t everybody lose the will to live once they turn thirty?

Therefore New Year’s Eve is the only holiday on which you’re not obliged to please anybody but yourself and that includes your liver, which, for the duration of the evening can be said to belong to the Vodka gods themselves. You’re still surrounded with people you love and depending on the venue, some that you cannot stand but it’s more likely that it’s the friends you choose rather than the family you got stuck with. It’s less about being together than it is ringing in the New Year with enough alcohol in your veins to melt the icecaps and a ridiculous list of things that you’ll “change” come the morning of January first.

Louis stands up on the couch with a hairbrush in hand, dramatically swinging his arms out across the space in front of him while he murders another Celine Dion classic. Don’t trouble yourself though, these aren’t tears of a man without hope. Louis has the most fervent hope. He fervently hopes he doesn’t wake up tomorrow with a hangover the size of Great Britain or a new unexplained bruise formed as a result of walking into one of his kitchen appliances.

“All by myseeeelf. Don’t want to be all by myseeeelf anymooooore!”

Fuck Harry Styles. Fuck Beatrice Tomlinson. Fuck the lot of ‘em.

*-*-*-*-*

It’s a new day. THE day. January 1^st. A day when high flyers and bottom feeders alike are united by one common goal. A goal to make many goals and miraculously achieve them by year’s end. You may have guessed that Louis’ not much for the whole resolution business, given that he’s not managed to keep even one in his entire lifetime. But as the New Year rears its ugly head, as usual Louis finds himself pondering the things he’d most like to change. There is one minor difference. This year Louis will keep a diary. Low and behold his first and most important resolution. This is how he will hold himself accountable for his actions. The rest of his resolutions are a mirror image of those he made the year before (and the year before that) but let’s keep the past in the past.

1. Will lose excess baggage (at least 10 pounds)

Louis considers chucking out his emergency supply of junk food, he does but then he realises that in the event of an emergency, he might desperately need it.  How is he supposed to survive a zombie apocalypse without his emergency supply of Twiglets?

2. Will quit smoking, effective immediately

Louis writes as he flicks open his lighter and digs his open pack out from between the cushions.

3. Will stop drinking half my weight in alcohol

Considering how much Louis weighs, drinking half his body mass is quite the achievement. Or it was when he was ten years younger and capable of drinking the whole night away before heading in to work for an early meeting.

4. Will STOP dating egomaniacs, emotionally stunted assholes, narcissistic pricks, needy no-hopers and energy sucking douchebags….

Louis has a justifiably bad track record. Liam calls it The D List of Dating. The D stands for douche bag, apparently.

5. Will definitely stop having steamy sex dreams about a prime candidate for the D List of Dating, Mr Nick Grimshaw, Editor-in-chief

Weight: I don’t know you well enough yet !

Height :  5’7  5’9 !!!  

Cigarettes : 42

Alcohol units: 50

Louis’ well thought out hypothesis is that Nick Grimshaw could do wonders for his arse. That is if he’s half as good in bed as he is in Louis’ dreams but Nick is his boss and he is after all, a massive d-bag.

*-*-*-*-*

There he is, sweeping into the office block with a superior air of sophistication that Louis could only ever hope to achieve in his dreams. His dark hair is perfectly coiffed atop his head, his swoon-worthy smile almost broader than the strong set of shoulders that sit beneath his expertly tailored, charcoal coloured suit. That kind of attractiveness should be illegal. If Louis were wearing panties, they would definitely be dropping every single morning at 9 am when Nick Grimshaw glides through that door.

It doesn’t help that his glass panelled office sits perpendicular to Louis’ desk, providing a perfect view of Mr Editor-in-chief at all times. Nor is it conducive to Louis’ waning concentration that he’s constantly bombarded by images of Nick reaching over to grab a stray document, his shirt stretching taut along the muscled planes of his back or Nick bending over his personal coffee machine, his bum pushed outward at a jaunty angle. It’s as if he knows just how to taunt Louis. It certainly doesn’t help that he’s of a similar age to Louis and out and proud, or that he’s been rumoured to favour curvy brunettes over pencil thin blondes. Surely that’s a sign?

But fuck!!! No steamy sex dreams. No fantasising in the workplace. Louis promised himself and he intends to keep that promise. Eleanor is already busy giving him a surly look from the desk across from his, her grumbly frown unwavering in the face of one of Louis’ toothy smiles. Batty and bitter at best, that one. She’s slightly senior to Louis, having worked at Syco Publishing even longer than Nick. This means she thinks she’s in charge of Louis and therefore tries at every opportunity to make this apparent. Louis drops his head back down and pretends to type something on his computer, mind wandering elsewhere.

Nick Grimshaw: Tomlinson, I need to speak with you about a very urgent matter. I’m sorry to inform you but…

It’s a notification on Louis’ phone. A Facebook message from Nick? The whole publishing house has been transitioning to a more modern method of communication of late and while Louis respects Simon’s decision, he thinks it completely negates the whole purpose of having Facebook in the first place. Facebook is supposed to be a safe place for bitching about your lazy co-workers (of which Louis is not one, thank you very much) and complaining tirelessly about how much you hate your job. Now Louis’ friends list consists of everybody from his floor, including Nick and Simon. He can no longer publically beseech the taste of vodka and beg for newly founded hangover cures. He can’t spend his time at work sharing funny cat videos instead of writing press releases like he should be doing. Yet in all honesty he didn’t consider how awful the whole transition could be until just now when he received a preview of that message.

What if Nick’s about to fire him? Or call him out on his lack of productivity? Worse, what if he’s clued in to Louis’ insane crush on him and wants to report him to the human rights department? Louis casts a surreptitious glance up at the glass panelled office. Nick’s feet are kicked up on the desk, his legs crossed at the ankles while he lazily nurses his phone between his shoulder and his ear. He doesn’t appear to be paying any attention to Louis and yet the time of his message sent reads one minute ago. Louis curls his toes in his shoes and reluctantly clicks on the message.

Nick Grimshaw: Tomlinson, I need to speak with you about a very urgent matter. I’m sorry to inform you but your trousers are entirely inappropriate for this workplace. Please provide an explanation for this blatant attempt to distract me.

Louis’ jaw falls open in a quiet gasp. His eyes snap reflexively to Nick’s office only to find that not much has changed. Not much, except for the fact that Nick’s sparkling hazel eyes are now boring into his own. There’s a hint of expectation there, perhaps a subtle note of a challenge and what might just be the beginnings of a smirk lurking around the corners of his lips. Smug bastard.

Louis Tomlinson: Mr Grimshaw, I can assure you that today’s choice of trousers had nothing to do with your apparent inability to stick to the task at hand. If management has a problem with said trousers, I’d suggest that management is inappropriate, NOT trousers.

Louis watches with bated breath as Nick clicks a few keys on his computer and then follows the lines of Louis’ response with his eyes. His expression twitches with palpable amusement and when he raises his eyes to Louis’, the smirk is even more pronounced. He’s quite noticeably impressed. Can we have a minute of silence for all the times that Louis’ failed to impress Nick Grimshaw in the past? For instance, just yesterday morning…

When Louis picked up the phone he was instantly bombarded by the sound of an ambulance wailing directly into the speaker.

“Liam,” Louis sighed, readying himself for the barrage of complaints about to follow. “What’s he gone and done this time?”

The daily call from Liam Payne, Louis’ best mate from university was standard. Liam spends more time bawling his eyes out in the men’s than he does at his desk. He works as head of investment at HSBC Holdings and has been dating an unfeeling monster for about five years now, unable to shake the belief that they’re meant to be together.

“You’re not meant to be with anyone who makes you feel like shit,” Louis had tried to tell him but Liam was beyond any form of comprehension.

When Liam was upset he became a giant wall of high pitched sound. With huge brown eyes that dripped ashen need, he broke your heart. Therefore he rarely had to ask Louis for cuddles, or anyone else for that matter. Zayn would volunteer in a heartbeat.

“I just asked him if he wanted me to make him a protein shake,” Liam wailed, the sounds of him loudly blowing his nose echoing down the line.

Louis rolled his eyes. That fuckwit. No prizes for guessing how he handled Liam’s gentle offer. Liam had begun to resemble some kind of wounded puppy over the last few years. He needed someone to scoop him up into their lap and stroke him relentlessly. He’d had his head bitten off way too many times and on way too many occasions and yet still he stuck around, claiming their relationship was worth working on. From what Louis could tell, the only person who seemed to do any work was Liam and that goes for their flat too. It’d be a complete disaster zone without him. The stupid tosser would starve if Louis’ lad wasn’t there to cater to him. To be fair, Louis has on occasion accepted the home cooked meals that Liam drops off for him. The difference is that Louis’ only ever filled with gratitude for it and he makes damn sure that Liam knows it.

“Payno, he's a total fuckwit. His dick dropped off when he reached sexual maturity and he's been trying to compensate ever since."

Nick rarely stopped to engage Louis in conversation so Louis was taken completely off guard when Ncik chose that moment to come and perch on the wall of Louis’ cubicle. This was just as Louis finished cussing out Fuckwit Boyfriend. Shit. Louis’ cheeks felt far too warm and his heart was racing as he spoke calmly into the receiver, cutting into Liam’s wobbly response.

“ ….is what some might say about the author behind Cycling My Way Through Cancer but I think that's categorically unfair. What an inspiration he is. A working man's hero. And aren't we all better off for having read this enviable piece of literature? I think in the process of reading you become embroiled in this man’s struggle. You feel you’re right down in the trenches with him, ravaged by unrelenting hunger and surviving the same set of torpedoing bullets. Isn't it enlightening? A modern day masterpiece. Thank you for calling, Professor Lupin.”

“Professor Lupin? Tommo, what the f—“

Louis disconnected the phone call, vowing to call Liam back later and explain. Although it would have to wait for a moment when his job wasn’t in immediate peril. Feeling only slight flustered, Louis raised his head and met Nick’s enquiring gaze head on.

“Hello Louis,” Nick said in a lilting tone, his winning smile sending Louis’ stomach into knots.

“H-hello,” Louis managed, avoiding direct eye contact.

He felt very flammable inside.

“I need the guest list for the Cycling My Way Through Cancer launch by eleven.”

How embarrassing. Of course it was work related. What did Louis think? That Nick wanted to offer him a sip of his caramel spice latte and perhaps a nice pity fuck in the toilets downstairs? Pigs would fly first.  

“Of course. I’ll get right on that.”

Nick’s eyes twinkled. He nodded, turning on his heel and then approaching the set of steps leading up to his office. Before Louis could heave a sigh of relief, Nick turned right back around and cocked his head to one side, eyes scrunched up at the sides.

“Professor Lupin?”

Oh shit. Fuck. Fuckity Fuck.

“Yes.”

“THE professor Lupin?”

“Mmhm,” Louis hummed, a little uncertain now.

Nick looked thoroughly impressed. He held one finger up and shifted his weight to his other foot.

"As in, THE Professor Lupin who wrote the epic mystery series By the Light of The Moon?”

"Yep.”

Louis felt like he was glowing from the inside out.

"So not Professor Lupin from JK Rowling’s Harry Potter?"

“Um.”

Luckily, Nick didn’t fire him on the spot but he did leave Louis in complete silence, striding confidently up the stairs to his office without looking back once. Louis briefly considered jumping out the ten story window to the traffic below or spiking his tea with hemlock. Unfortunately for him he had a guest list to compile and it wouldn’t write itself.

But that’s yesterday’s news. Today’s news? That Louis could easily report his boss for sexual harassment in the workplace. He won’t though because he can’t believe it. Nick Grimshaw, editor-in-chief actually thinks he’s fit.

Shit.

*-*-*-*-*

“Fuck it. Fuck him for being a pervy, smarmy bastard. Fuck the publishing industry and you know what, fuck you for not having fucked him yet. Fuck, why haven’t you? You said he was fucking fit.”

Niall Horan, everybody. Louis’ ballsy journalist friend who likes to say fuck a lot.

“Because Niall, I am not going to sleep with him!”

Zayn and Liam roll their eyes in a coordinated move. Zayn’s arm is perched high over the back of Liam’s shoulders and Louis doesn’t need to see Liam’s hand to know it’s situated somewhere on Zayn’s thigh. Probably reasonably close to his groin too. Apparently that doesn’t mean they’re anything more than friends. Whenever Louis raises the subject, Liam blushes beet red and starts yammering about his boyfriend while Zayn gets all slant eyed and crabby. Louis finds that most of the time it’s best just to leave the subject well enough alone. Tonight isn’t the night for those kind of tense conversations anyway. Niall had dragged the three of them out to the pub with the promise that he’d cover the first two rounds…

“What are we celebrating?” Liam had asked, reaching out to ruffle Niall’s hair.

Niall’s the only of them currently involved in a functional relationship (dating the quirky but lovely little Perrie, who’s ever so fond of Louis.) Yet he’s become quite accustomed to being babied by the rest of them. It’s warranted given that when Perrie was on tour with her band Little Mix, Niall ate nothing but Nando’s for a solid month. To be fair, this happened just after his brief and embarrassing stint as a sports presenter but they don’t talk about that.

“Celebrating?” Niall had snorted. “I don’t need a fucking reason to go out for a drink.”

“Sure you won’t sleep with him.”

Zayn rolls his eyes again, as if once wasn’t enough and flicks the ash from his cigarette towards the ground.

He looks flawless in his long sweeping coat, a smartly buttoned white shirt and a pair of dark, tailored trousers. He’s one of those people who exudes effortless cool and Louis’ done a pretty piss poor job of pretending he’s not in a constant state of envy.

Zayn is what some people might call a “one hit wonder” and what Zayn might call a “2000’s pop icon.” He’s only ever released one single but you wouldn’t think that to hear him talk about it. It must be said that that Zayn achieved exactly what he set out to do. He says there was no point in releasing any more music when he’d already garnered enough attention to get him laid for the rest of his life. Louis sometimes wonders if there mightn’t be more to the story but Zayn’s not the kind of person to divulge that kind of personal information. Louis’ tried it with other less daunting subjects and all he received was a smirk, a flutter of Zayn’s artful eyelashes and a persistent silence that rolled off of him in waves.

It doesn’t matter whether Zayn Malik, 2000’s pop icon, believes him or not. Louis is not the type to renege on promises made to himself.

*-*-*-*-*

Nick Grimshaw: If today’s trousers were an attempt at improving my focus then I hate to inform you, you have failed miserably.

Louis Tomlinson: I don’t plan my wardrobe with you in mind.

Lies, lies, lies.

Nick Grimshaw: Distractions, distractions.

P.s your arse looks fantastic in those trousers.

Louis Tomlinson: Quit harassing me, I’m busy brainstorming taglines.

Nick Grimshaw: Bollocks. You’re doodling my name in your little spiral notebook and picturing my naked body.

Louis’ not doodling Nick’s name. He’s just innocently investigating what their names might look like side by side on a wedding cake, with two little groomsmen on top and a bunch of edible flowers bordering each tier. He’s thirty two, so what? It doesn’t mean he can’t twirl a particularly long strand of hair around his finger and bite down on his lip while staring dazedly at his workplace crush. Especially when said crush winks back at him and adjusts himself below the desk.

In the week following, Louis takes great pleasure in strutting past the glass panelled conference room, clad in the tightest pairs of trousers he owns. He watches Nick’s eyes zone in on his thighs and his arse, feeling almost giddy with pleasure when Nick’s eyes flit between his exposed collar bones and the pinch of his waist as if he can’t decide which arouses him more. Louis feels the sizzling heat of Nick’s stare every time he walks away, hazel eyes scorching his back while they follow the exaggerated sway of his hips.

One night, Louis’ just clicked to go down in the elevator when he spots Nick running to catch up with him…or the elevator. Either way, Nick’s eyes are glued to his behind and when he steps into the elevator behind Louis, he squeezes in between him and the older gentleman standing beside him. The three of them awkwardly ride the lift until it opens two floors down and their bespectacled colleague steps out. Mr. Cowell steps in to take his place.

“Nick,” Simon says heartily and claps Nick over the shoulder. He turns to inspect Louis with a belated nod. “Lewis.”

One of these days Louis will correct him. Today is not that day. Not when Nick steps back against the wall of elevator and reaches behind Mr. Cowell to grab at Louis’ arse, squeezing roughly. Louis squeaks and lurches forward. Mr Cowell gives him a strange look.

“Bit of a cough,” Louis says, coughing exaggeratedly into his fist.

He punctuates each cough with a mouse-like squeak that mimics the squeak of surprise. One of these days someone is going to commit him and with good reason. Nick buries a guffaw behind his own fake cough while Mr Cowell furrows his eyebrows and takes a tiny step away from Louis. Fantastic. Nick winks at him and the three of them exit the elevator at the ground floor. Louis doesn’t give an inch.

“Oh Lewis?”

Simon reaches out to touch his arm.

“Yes, Mr Cowell?”

“I was thinking it might be fun if you introduced me before I introduce David at the launch party,” he says, glasses falling to the edge of his nose.

Louis beams at him.

“I’d be honoured, Sir.”

Mr Cowell pats him on the shoulder and then waddles his way out the building. There’s no one else there barring the security staff and no sooner has Mr Cowell left than Nick is pressing himself up behind Louis and whispering in his ear.

“I’d be honoured, Sir.” He purrs, blowing warm air along the side of Louis’ neck.

Louis spins around, heart pounding wildly in his chest. Fuck, Nick looks good today. His scarf matches the sparkle in his eye and his tight black shirt stands out against the charcoal of his suit and the silky blue of his tie. Wonders never cease though because Nick’s looking at Louis like he might like to eat him.

“Don’t tease,” Louis sniffs, stubbornly crossing his arms. “I’ll have your job if you’re not careful, Grimshaw.”

Nick gasps dramatically and clutches at his chest.

“Please don’t take it from me!” He falls to his knee, grabbing at Louis’ hand, “please, Louis Tomlinson.”

If Louis squints just right, he can imagine Nick holding a little square box in his hand.

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis huffs.

“Why are you squinting at me?”

Louis blushes and steps back. Nick follows, moving into his space. His whole face is swooped up in an arrogant smile. Louis decides he could stand to be taken down a peg or two.

"Lewis, what are you doing tonight?"

Louis gives Nick a sympathetic arm squeeze and blinks back at him slowly. Nick looks slightly entranced by the length of his eyelashes.

“Actually I'm busy tonight,” he informs him, cocking his hip.

Nick looks surprised and even a little bit miffed.

“Oh. I just thought it might be nice of me to take you out for dinner and make sure you don't get yourself stuck in those tight trousers of yours.” Nick leans into his space, smile dripping charm. Louis’ composure is hanging by a thread. “What about tomorrow?”

 “Tomorrow is the launch, silly.”

 “Ah yes. The night after that?”

Louis presses his lips together to keep from smiling.

“Mmm,” Louis traces the outside of his mouth with the tip of his finger, “I’ll have to check my planner. I’m sure I've another fit date booked but let's see if you can't convince me otherwise, shall we?”

Louis doesn’t wait for Nick’s jaw to reattach. He’s sure he’s one of few people that have had the gall to speak to Nick Grimshaw like that. He saunters away with a backwards wave and a swing in his step.

“Goodnight Nick!” He calls out.

He winks at his favourite security guard as he pushes through the doors to exit the building.

*-*-*-*-*

Louis did not agree to dinner just to end up third wheeling with Niall. If he knew they were going to be like this, he might have reconsidered Nick’s proposition. Yes, they’re cute but so are baby hedgehogs and Louis stays well and clear of those.

“Are these new babe? They look good on you,” Zayn coos.

He roams his hand across Liam’s thigh, randomly squeezing the soft flesh at different intervals. Liam giggles and pushes half-heartedly at Zayn’s shoulder.

“No um, he got them for me ages ago,” he explains with pink cheeks, lowering his snapback over his heated face.

It’s unnecessary, really because Zayn wouldn’t notice if someone came along and smacked Liam in the face right now. He’s too busy glowering at the jeans like he might be able to burn them up with his gaze alone. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if Zayn just happened to knock his coke over and “accidentally” spilled it all over said jeans. It wouldn’t be the first time. As is, he just palms Liam’s cheek, rubbing his thumb around the base of Liam’s ear in a soft circle. As if that isn’t at all inappropriate. More importantly, as if that isn’t just the highest degree of couple-y-ness. They’re both so hopeless sometimes. Like school boys with their first crushes.

“They look good on you, yeah? He ever tell you that? That you look good in them?”

Zayn ducks his head to meet Liam’s lowered eyes and maybe there is something kind of painfully adorable about it. About the way he noses at Liam's snapback, forcing him to lift his head while his nose gently traces the inside of Liam’s.

“Sometimes,” Liam whispers, his innocent brown eyes blown wide like gum balls.

Zayn cups Liam’s waist, stroking over his ribcage with his thumb while he hauls Liam along the booth beside him until he’s tucked into Zayn’s side and almost falling over into his lap. Zayn starts whispering to him in an enchantingly low, rhythmic tone that entrances Louis almost as much as it does Liam. Niall tugs on his shirt then, muttering in his ear and dragging his attention away from the two lovebirds.

“Can you fucking believe them,” he says, “fucking adorable but dumb as doornails, I swear.”

Louis ruffles Niall’s bleach blonde hair and sniggers at the result. It looks like a half sucked lemon now, sticking up in wispy blonde strands all over his scalp. Niall doesn’t notice. He’s too busy inhaling his food while sending Perrie a snapchat of it all mushed up in his mouth. Lucky girl, that one. Or woman, he should say. She is carrying twins.

Niall’s even more baby-crazy than Perrie, which is ridiculous given that Perrie’s already bought a matching set of almost every baby outfit known to man. But Perrie keeps sending Louis pictures of Niall slumped over her body on the couch, hugging her belly, having fallen asleep listening to his daughters kick. Louis’ tear ducts got a workout the first time it happened but he’s been totally fine ever since. More than fine, really. He didn’t shed a tear when they named him godfather and he didn’t crawl into Niall’s lap when he promised Louis first kisses and cuddles. He doesn’t currently have a copy of their first ultrasound stuck to his fridge with a countdown calendar hung just beside it. He’s fine. Uncle Louis is totally fine.

“Are you two done?” Louis lets out a harried sigh, burying a fond smile in his open palm while he watches them both startle at the interruption.

Zayn squeezes Liam’s waist to comfort him.

 “Finito,” Zayn grins at Louis, slinging an arm up around Liam’s neck and pressing their cheeks together. “We’re all good babes, aren’t we?”

“All good,” Liam agrees, beaming widely.

Liam seems unable to tear his eyes away from Zayn’s syrupy smile for even a second. Although who could fucking blame him? The guy looks like an Arabian prince half the time and even in this unflattering light, he’s beautiful.

“Great,” Louis rolls his eyes, “so can we talk about me now? The launch party is tomorrow and I haven’t the slightest clue what to do about it!”

Zayn looks as unimpressed with Louis as always.

“What do you mean ‘what to do?’”

“He’s talking about the lovely Nick Grimshaw,” Liam chimes in, thank god. “If he doesn’t make a good impression tomorrow then the progress he’s made will all amount to nothing. Nick won’t want to take him out anymore and Louis will go right back to being a sad, bitter head case.”

“Excuse me!” Louis cries out, enraged.

“Well. You know what I mean.”

Of course Zayn jumps in then, chomping at the bit to defend his boyfriend-who’s-not-his-boyfriend.

“What do you expect Lou? You joined a Cats Appreciation Society. You don’t even have a cat.”

Zayn’s really very good at that whole superior exhale. It’s as if the whole world is some tiresome affair and he’s just barely got the energy tolerate it. He’s obviously the only one with the wisdom to save it too. It mightn’t be so far from the truth. Louis’ read his “thought journal” once or twice and found himself in knots every time.

“Zayn, what if my perception of yellow isn’t the same as your perception of yellow?! What if nobody’s perception of yellow is the same and we’re all just walking around thinking a banana looks like a banana but really, we all see it differently? What if we all see it wrong?!”

“That’s what I’m saying Boo, you can’t trust shit. Maybe reality is just a social construct and it doesn’t really exist.”

“Z, I’m scared. Cuddle me?”

“Will you put socks on?”

“Will you admit you’ve wanked to the thought of Liam working out?”

“I fucking hate you.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Can I just ask….in your fantasies, who bottoms and who top—ouch, you shit!”

“Well,” Louis casts a defensive glance around the table, “I could have a cat. Someday. If things don’t pan out with Nick.”

“Christ Louis, you’re such a pessimist someti—“

“Excuse me gentleman.”

There’s a wobbly old couple peering down at them with identical glasses and fluffy white hair. This is the kind of old that Louis would like to be. All cuddly and kind looking. The grandparents you favour because you know their pockets are lined with sweets and that they won’t hesitate to spoil you in any way they can. The man looms over Zayn or hangs more like, staring earnestly into his eyes as if waiting for something.

“Let me help you out,” Zayn reaches out to clasp the man’s limp wrist, his white teeth reflecting off the spoon below him. “Yes it was me. I released the popular single Going Inzane from the self-titled EP, Gotta Zayn. Yes it really has been ten years. I can’t believe it, can you?”

At which point the old man’s double chin starts to wobble and he starts vigorously shaking his head, pointing down at Zayn’s lap.

“Actually, I just wanted to let you know that your fly is open. My wife thinks your monkey underpants are very flattering but I thought you might want to do that up.”

Louis will never enjoy anything as much as the sight of Zayn being completely humiliated. Probably because it doesn’t happen very often, if at all.

“Oh. Oh yes, of course,” Zayn blusters, jerking his hips up in the air as he viciously rips the zip up through its teeth. “I’m so sorry.”

The couple hobble away to the front counter and Zayn collapses into pained moans. The rest of them dissolve into cackles. Even Liam. When they’ve finally calmed down enough to resume communications, Liam knocks Louis’ foot beneath the table.

“You ready for my advice, Lou? Here’s what you gotta do….”

*-*-*-*-*

“First, you look fit as fuck,” Louis recites, almost completely out of breath as he rolls around his bed, gripping the waistline of his trousers and pulling tight to no avail.

Louis had gone out and spent a shitload of money on a new form fitting outfit for tonight and now he’s slightly regretting it. Although admittedly it’s only because these trousers are cutting off his circulation and not because they don’t look fabulous on him. He’s dressed himself in all black with a fitted shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck and a matching vest over the top. The hero of the outfit? A sequined blazer that Liam assured him only brought out the deepest blue of his eyes. It hems in at his waist too, emphasising one of his best assets.

These trousers really are criminally tight. It probably doesn’t help that Louis moisturised all over his body just in case he should wind up in a potentially intimate situation. His clothes are sticking to him like glue and he wonders if perhaps he should have air dried first. Perrie had kindly offered to do his hair and she’s arranged it in small, ocean-like peaks. It looks artful and soft, two things Louis can never quite seem to accomplish on his own.

Unfortunately when he gets to the venue, his hair is considerably flatter due to the rain drizzling down outside. To make matters worse, he’s having trouble climbing the stairs to the building because everything is so god damn tight and poised to tear if he makes one wrong move. He’s hopelessly out of breath when he finally makes it to the top and pushes through the golden arch of the doors. He strides into the room, still panting and definitely flushing a most unflattering shade of red. He’s momentarily overwhelmed by the size of the sparkling chandelier above him and the jewel studded walls of the building which reflect light at strange and mesmerising angles.

Louis catches Nick’s eye where he stands by a wall cutting off the area with the stage from the rest of the room. He looks almost regal in his posture, caught up in conversation with a bunch of balding men whose pockets are most probably lined with gold. Despite this, his gaze follows every step Louis takes, the heat of it rolling over Louis’ body in waves and making him feel unsteady on his feet. He’s bursting with an urge to prove himself but he has to recollect himself, focusing on the advice his friends gave him. He can’t just go bounding over to Nick’s side like some kind of bitch in heat. He has to play him hot and cold, to snag his attention but not give his own away too easily. When did casual dating become such a minefield?

What had Liam said again? “Completely ignore Nick and flirt with famous authors. Authors are like actors Louis, half of them are gay." Louis moves through as many circles as possible, touching arms and playfully pushing at people’s chests but it’s not really getting the kind of reception he’d hoped. Nick’s eyes are on him but he looks more puzzled than jealous. Plus Louis’ been getting a lot of strange looks. Not to mention having been completely humiliated when the wife of the author he was flirting with showed up and grabbed her husband’s arm to drag him away. All while Louis squeezed his other arm and complimented him on working out. After that he made an executive decision to tone it down completely.

Zayn’s advice had been so Zayn-like. Yet in spite of that or perhaps because of it, it’s strangely brilliant. “Don’t listen to Liam, boo. His tongue’s already gone fluoro. Just be sure to circulate, oozing intelligence.”

Louis joins a circle of writers on the periphery of the room and makes sure to laugh when everybody else laughs. He contributes only as much as he needs to, an encouraging nod or a shake of his head here and there. After a few semi-successful interactions, Louis’ feeling a little drunk on confidence. With Nick’s eyes roving hungrily over his body every few minutes, Louis decides it’s time for the big guns. He joins a group of high profile authors situated just beneath the chandelier and immediately finds himself immersed in the topic at hand.

“Yes I agree with you,” one man bellows, rocking forward onto the balls of his feet. He’s pink all over, from the top of his balding head to the tips of his chubby fingers. “But I think it’s a classic, don’t you? Timeless. Vampiric stories begin and end with her efforts. The whole genre was woefully bare before her.”

“Oh I agree.”

The six or so men turn to face Louis. There’s a hint of challenge in their expressions but perhaps a grudging note of approval too. Louis’ got this.

“Oh really?” one of them asks. He’s perfectly rotund and wearing horn rimmed spectacles which circle his cloudy blue eyes with rose gold detailing. “And what would you happen to agree with, young man?”

“That it’s a classic, of course!” Louis gushes. “She did do great things for the genre. Despite what critics say, that god awful movie franchise was not her fault. I really think Stephanie Meyer—

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Jowls is laughing now, his counterparts also hiding snide smirks behind their champagne glasses. “Did you say Stephanie Meyer? As in the proponent of literary filth? No, we were talking about Anne Rice! Interview with a Vampire. Haven’t you ever heard of it?”

“Of course I’ve heard of it,” Louis insists, his chin raised with stubborn defiance.

And he has heard of it, he just hasn’t read it. So what if his literary taste is a little less Charlotte Bronte and a little more Charlie Brown? The fact that he skips to the peanuts cartoon in the newspaper and would prefer a thick trashy romance novel to almost anything else doesn’t make him any less intelligent than these men.

“Really?” Mr Jowls taps his wobbly chin and then points at him accusingly, “do tell us what your favourite part was?”

The silence is eerie, menacing even. Louis’ mouth gapes open and he’s unable to form any kind of coherent response. He can’t even find the audacity to lie. The other men erupt into bellowing laughs, Mr Jowls leading them in the mocking cacophony while Louis scampers away with his tail between his legs and a high blush blooming over his cheekbones. Fuck, this is not going according to plan.

“Can’t. Get. Any. Worse.”

Then he turns and walks smack bang into someone’s firm but unusually soft textured chest. Muscled But Soft’s hand lands on Louis’ shoulder while the other one grips the gentle curve of his waist. Long fingers curl around the side of his body and into the depths of his blazer, scrunching in the material at the small of his back. It feels surprisingly nice for a stranger’s intrusive touch but Louis steps back, shaking his head at his own insanity. It seems that Mr Big Hands hasn’t given up holding him though, almost as if he sensed the strange tingle in Louis’ spine and felt it too.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt—“

The deep rumbly voice plunges into abrupt silence as Harry Styles’ hands grow limp around his body. Fucking Harry Styles.  The oxford shirt that he’s wearing is buttoned high over his neck and he’s chosen a light blue sports coat to wear over the top. It stretches taut over his chest and fits rather snugly around the womanly shape of his love handles. The jacket is unexpectedly gorgeous but he’s also chosen ostensibly tight brown chinos and a pretentiously patterned bow tie to hang around his neck. It’s awful. Louis won’t revise his opinion just because his fringe has been styled to sweep across his head in contained ringlets or because his eyes look awfully wide and Disney-like as he notices that it’s Louis standing before him.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Louis says with a weary sigh.

At the same time, he spots a group of distinguished guests hovering just by the display table to his left. He really should go over there and introduce himself. He’s supposed to be introducing the author to as many prospective buyers as possible. What was it Niall said—

“Introduce people with thoughtful details. For example, Nick this is Oli. Oli likes ginger ale and trips to the snow. Oli, Nick is our editor-in-chief, he enjoys a spot of golf and works hard at achieving--"

"Employee satisfaction.”

For a moment of pause, Louis was faced with three very unimpressed looks and then all at once, his friends burst into loud, honking laughter.

*-*-*-*-*

“Believe me, I wish I knew. A colleague of mine thought it would be in my best interests to come,” Harry says in a monotone, his mouth twisted down at the corners.

He’s such a tiresome bore. How anyone could remain even remotely happy in his presence is a complete mystery.

"And is it?" Louis peers up at him suspiciously. For what reason, he doesn’t know. Perhaps because Harry’s irises are glazed over with intensity and his dilated pupils are yet to finish their thorough examination of Louis’ form. Judgy prick. "In your best interests?"

Harry's mouth might just twitch at the side. Louis might be imagining it all the same.

"I haven't yet decided,” Harry says softly, rubbing a soft looking hand over his baby smooth chin. “How are you Louis?"

Louis' a little relieved. As much as he'd like to not give a shit, he can’t pretend that he’s not inwardly satisfied that Douche #1 (he's bumped Nick from the top spot) at least knows he's name. That's something isn't it? Louis might be a complete embarrassment to men in their thirties everywhere but at least he’s memorable. If Harry’s words are to be believed then it’s only because he’s intolerably obnoxious and freakishly tiny but still. Anyway. Louis’ convinced that Harry only thinks that he’s so small because his own head looms so large he doesn’t have a hope of seeing past it. Louis might be fractionally obnoxious but he's NOT tiny, Mr-tucked-in-shirt-with-the-dorky-looking-bowtie.

"Well enough, I suppose,” Louis tells him, locking his feet in a wide legged stance. “I’m introducing Mr Cowell tonight, did you know?”

“No, I hadn’t heard,” a whisper of a smile graces Harry’s lips. “That must be quite the accolade. You’re very fortunate. ”

Louis doesn’t take kindly to mockery. Not from smug, sneering bastards like Harry Styles.

“Actually, it’s not fortunate at all Harold,” Louis flicks the side of Harry’s criss-cross bow tie, making it go wonky. “I work very hard at my job. Not all of us grew up in the mansion at the top of the hill looking down upon everybody else. Some of us actually have to toil for our supper.”

Louis hasn’t much toiled for his supper in the past five years. However unlike Harry-snob-Styles, he never had the luxury of private school or holidays to the Bahamas every Christmas. Louis never saw it as such but Harry probably had his own chauffeur driven town car and a sparsely paid cleaning lady. All the while, Louis never got the piano lessons he begged for, for his sixteenth birthday or the Man U jersey that his mum promised him if he passed his A Levels. He did pass them, by the way and with flying colours too. Or… levitating colours. Colours that had sprouted wings but hadn’t yet discovered the key to flying.

Harry’s eyes narrow almost infinitesimally but with annoyance or curiosity, Louis cannot tell. There’s a softness to the dimple in his cheek but it’s a gentleness his mouth won’t betray. His eyes flit down to his own lopsided bowtie but he doesn’t fix it, instead leaning into Louis’ space and trailing his thumb over the edge of Louis’ blazer.

“Harry is not short for Harold,” he corrects, his voice as thick as molasses. He lowers his eyes to Louis’ sequined lapels, rubbing one between two fingers. “Is this small or extra small? It looks lovely.”

Louis breaks away from his grip with a petulant huff and pushes him back with two fingers.

“You’re mocking me. Again.”

Harry smiles, a real honest swoop of his lips this time and Louis’ stomach swoops with it. Harry leans down, resting his head just above Louis’ shoulder while he whispers in his ear. His fingers curl deep into Louis’ lower back, keeping him close with his grip.

“You’re mad Louis Tomlinson, positively certifiable. But no great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness,” he says, exhaling minty fresh air across the shell of Louis’ ear. Louis shivers. “Aristotle said that. Either way…” his fingernails skate across the knobs of Louis’ spine. “I seem to recall that you never much minded showing up to the big mansion at the top of the hill and getting your kit off in front of me, Lou.”

Louis gulps, his stomach jumping. Blood rushes down to his groin and then immediately races back up to his fill his heated cheeks. The man makes it sound as though Louis put on some kind of show for him. It wasn’t like that at all. He was very young and Harry had been much less of a conceited arse back then. Louis would have done anything to make him laugh, to see the rosy hue of his cheeks while he framed his face with chubby hands and giggled at Louis’ antics. At some point this involved getting naked in Harry’s pool, watching his expression shift between terror and admiration, between pink cheeked embarrassment and warm amusement. It hadn’t been entirely innocent, not with Louis rapidly discovering things about himself while also remaining on the brittle edge of a puberty driven revelation. Yet it certainly hadn’t been some kind of striptease. Louis hadn’t actually expected Harry to react the way he did. It caught him off guard and made him dangerously brave…

Louis pushed his bather bottoms down with a salacious smirk, riding the high of Harry’s blotchy pink cheeks that seemed to fill with heat whenever Louis did anything particularly unexpected. He swung them around on the tip of his finger and sent them sailing over Harry’s head. Harry sat at the edge of the pool, jeans rolled up above his knees while his feet dangled down into the shimmery blue water. He always looked so overwhelmed by Louis, his lips forever turned up in this impish smile that made it seem as though he were embarrassed by the extent of his own amusement. He had a young looking face, having not yet faced puberty and there was a layer of persistent baby fat concealing his best features from the world. It didn’t mean Louis found him displeasing to look at. Far from it. There were always those sweet crater-like dimples, or his wide, flat nose with a pair of nostrils that always flared out dangerously whenever he laughed or chucked a particularly energetic tantrum. Louis wasn’t sure what made Harry beautiful, per se or why he found another boy beautiful at all. All he knew was that Harry’s pupils sometimes looked like they were drowning in a mystic green ocean and swimming in liquid illumination. Louis wanted to drown with them. He knew that Harry’s lips often looked like soft, rosy pink petals and that he constantly smelled of fruity body lotion and strawberry shampoo, no matter the time of the day. So when he looked at Louis all awestruck like that, Louis had a hard time resisting a similar form of wonder.

“You’re—are you actually naked?”

Harry’s eyes refused to fall lower than Louis’ neck but his Adam’s apple jumped and Louis could see the tension in his knuckles where he gripped the side of the pool.

Louis enjoyed the age old game of cat and mouse far more than he should. Harry was always his favourite mouse though, the boy with such a will to impress that it always proved triumphant over his nerves. Louis admired him for it. He had big balls putting himself out there like that all the time and Louis suspected that one day he’d grow up and they’d turn to balls of steel. There’d be no more impish, insecure Harry left. Louis suspected growing up could do that to you, harden you in places where you’d once been unusually soft. Louis just hoped that the trembling boy in front of him didn’t disappear completely. He quite liked him. He quite liked the way that Harry’s wide, glossy eyes jumped chaotically around his face as Louis stalked down the centre of the pool towards him. He quite liked the little kick in his tummy when Harry’s eyes finally drifted lower, his breathing audible even from halfway across the pool. By the time Louis reached Harry, there was an unexpected tension in his balls and a strange current running across the surface of his skin. He didn’t let it shake him, sauntering into the gap between Harry’s open legs and placing his hands either side of Harry’s hips.

“What does it look like?”

Louis’ voice was raspy and low. Harry looked like he might pass out at the sound of it. He gulped again and then reached out and grabbed Louis’ shoulder. Louis wasn’t expecting it. He didn’t think Harry would have the nerve to touch. Lord, he didn’t think Harry would do anything but laugh when he pushed his bathers down. He hadn’t. Not once. Instead Louis got this blushing, beautiful boy reaching out to touch him and stroking along the curve of his shoulder with his thumb, looking mighty hypnotised by the softness of Louis’ skin.

“You’re so—“

Louis clutched him around the waist and yanked him down into the water, effectively cutting off whatever compliment he’d been about to pay. Louis wasn’t ready for it, whatever it was. They really didn’t know each other that well and Louis—Louis wasn’t ready to admit how he sometimes felt about Harry. Not to himself and least of all to the object of his perhaps-sometimes-maybe affections.

Harry surfaced a beat later, spluttering and gasping wildly while he shook his hair around like a wet dog. His white shirt had gone completely transparent, showcasing a pair of wide flat nipples and the slightly pudgy tummy that Louis liked to tease him about but secretly revered. There was a sheen of wetness over his face, his lips glossy and pink like freshly washed berries. His dark eyelashes were all clumped together around his eyes and Louis’ heart went wild inside his chest. He forced it to the back of his mind and cackled at Harry’s petulant pout. Then he swam over to the edge, not a thought for the consequences of that action. He was already out of the pool and bent over retrieving his bottoms before it occurred to him that he was still starkers and putting on quite the show. He shoved his legs through his board shorts and desperately snapped them into place before turning to meet Harry’s scorching look.

Harry sat in a relaxed, loose limbed position in the pool, kicking his feet around to stay afloat while his eyes zoned in on Louis’ bottom half. When he met Louis’ gaze, it was with a sheepish grin and a slightly more daring shrug. He kicked onto his back, spread eagling himself out over the water like a starfish.

“Sue me,” he called out and Louis could almost sense the depth of his dimples.

*-*-*-*-*

It feels like a life time ago now that they were friends. Best friends, really. This was before Harry left to study law and Louis to try his hand at just about everything else. This was before he found his niche in publishing. It was before Harry’s mum moved on from Louis’ family to the next pitiful charity case and before someone shoved a nasty big stick up Harry Styles’ arse. Probably Harry himself, come to think of it.

Harry releases his hold on Louis but not his gaze, obviously waiting for Louis to fire back with one of his razor sharp barbs. Just give him a minute, it’ll come to him.

“So….” Louis whistles, “I hear you’re a very successful barrister. What must that be like? I bet you wear tweed trousers and call everyone you work with ‘my esteemed peers.’”

Louis lowers his voice and looks down his nose at Harry to complete the effect. Harry looks the slightest bit twitchy, a sombre frown marring his expression. Success.

“What’s wrong with tweed?”

Louis gives a short, derisive laugh and throws his head back a little as he does. Harry’s eyes trace the curve of his neck.

“I bet you have suede elbow patches too. You probably have your own initials embroidered on your briefcase.”

Harry huffs, frowning deeper. Louis peels with laughter.

“I’ve never felt so alive!”

Harry scoffs.

“Now who’s looking down on people?”

Louis shrugs and then without thinking, reaches across to squeeze Harry’s forearm. He’s not used to having to be on his guard so intensely and it’s throwing him off. He’s usually very tactile. Harry’s eyes briefly flit down to his hand, his expression stuck somewhere been baffled and shocked. Unfortunately for Louis, he’s gone too far now to turn around and pretend it didn’t happen.

“I don’t mean anything by it, love. I’m sure you do very important work.”

Harry’s expression clears. He coughs and takes half a step closer, even though there’s no need. Their lapels brush and Louis has to look up his nose just to meet Harry’s eyes.

“I do,” he agrees, voice more gravelly than usual. “Or so I hope. It wouldn’t be very honourable to work as a human rights lawyer without the aim of achieving some kind of good.”

Louis tries to subtly take a step back but Harry catches him, wrapping a firm hand around his elbow to still his movement. Louis tries not to read too much into it but halts anyway, lips pursed in thought.

“And honour is important to you,” Louis concludes. “More so, integrity. You’re a dolphin swimming in a sea of sharks, aren’t you?”

Louis’ not giving a compliment per se, just an accurate summation of Harry’s character. Harry’s conceited and superior but not without scruples. Louis can sense a principled man from a mile away and Harry Styles is definitely one of them. Harry himself looks surprised by the revelation but not altogether displeased. His eyes track the movement of Louis’ facial muscles, trying to locate something in his expression that Louis secretly hopes he won’t be able to find. He doesn’t like the intrusiveness of it and he squeezes Harry’s bicep, his voice turning soft.

“Am I wrong?”                 

Harry’s reading him again, Louis can tell but this time he seems more content with what he finds.

“No,” he says, almost inaudibly, “you’ve hit the nail right on the head.”

There’s a heavy kind of gratitude in his gaze which wreaks havoc with Louis’ sense of time and place.

“Although,” Harry chimes in again, nabbing two straws from a passing waiter, “I think I identify much more closely with a walrus.”

He stuffs the straws between his upper lip and the front row of his teeth and then pulls his lips in tight to keep them there. He looks like an impossible idiot, standing there with his walrus smile and a lopsided bow tie circling his neck. Louis is surprised by Harry’s light heartedness and his woeful attempt at humour. Something about it completely disarms him and a breathless giggle escapes his lips before he can swallow it back down. Louis can’t bring himself to take it back either because he watches as Harry’s eyes light up like pure, unadulterated sunshine, entirely too reminiscent of when they were kids.

“You laughed,” he breathes, pulling the straws out from between his teeth, “you giggled.”

The rough, raspy tone of ‘you’ is noticeably more important than the rest of it.

“I did.” Louis shrugs, giving nothing away. “Better save that one to your highlights reel.”

Harry rolls his eyes but they’re still glowing like fireflies at the corners. He seems so human right now. It’s a strange assessment but Louis really had begun to think that someone must have replaced the boy he knew with a robotic substitute.

“So, you didn’t tell me. What is it like being a human rights lawyer? Is it all saving people’s lives and working late night hours?”

Harry screws up his face, obviously displeased and then shakes his head at Louis. Disgruntled kitten.

“I’m a lawyer, not a doctor. The hours are serious, yes but the work is rewarding and worthwhile. Do I save lives? No. Do I change them?” Harry’s throat bobs and he tilts his head to one side, exposing a sinful neck. “I’d like to think so.”

“You care,” Louis surmises, a little more breathless than surprised. “You really are a dolphin, aren’t you?”

Harry’s stiffness is still there in his face but his eyes have this way of betraying him. Louis can see the burning passion streak across them even when it’s only fleeting.

“Obviously.”

“But what do you do? You must specialise in something?“

“I specialise in all kinds of things. Human rights isn’t an area in and of itself so I’ve worked in all kinds of fields. Prisoner rights and mistreatment, discrimination in the workplace, environmental crime. Those are just my top three. I’ve dealt with foreign officials and consulted with billion dollar companies. I’ve handled some of the more recent high profile cases against the state too.”

Louis’ mind is trapped in a repetitious cycle of shocked swear words. His mouth hangs open, catching flies. Harry looks irritatingly smug.

“So. You’re the one who petitions the court to award our violent prisoners better living conditions and argues for early release?”

Louis keeps his eyebrows raised in challenge while he crosses his arms and leans forward. Harry doesn’t look at all perturbed, barring a quick flash of annoyance that’s gone as quickly as it arrives.

“I don’t petition for early release, that’s not my area. Although even if it was, I wouldn’t find it at all problematic.” Louis’ chest puffs out with annoyance. He startles when Harry pushes him back down onto his heels, mouth twitching. Louis hadn’t any idea that he’d been unconsciously trying to make himself appear taller. “There’s a solid and near irrefutable case to be made for the fact that jail time proves enormously ineffective in addressing crime. In essence, it’s a representation of all our ill-informed opinions about criminality and it is failing. I’ve seen it, trust me. As for campaigning for violent prisoners, Louis, our prisons aren’t holding cells for the most violent members of society. Most of them walk the streets and those that don’t are in a small minority. Even so, most of them are just like us; human and therefore flawed by definition. Dangerously so, maybe but they’re in need of proper assistance, not brutality. More importantly, the majority of prisoners are completely tame. They’re in for petty crimes and minor breaches of the law.”

“I’m not saying they’re not human,” Louis grumbles, “I’m just saying they’re not like us. They’ve done shit I’d never do and yet we’re the ones who are supposed to pay for their sins. Literally.”

Harry’s face tenses up with disbelief and he laughs, dry and mocking. Louis detests the sound.

“’Pay for their sins,’” he mimics, “really, Louis? Are you honestly that barbaric?”

Louis’ mouth parts with surprise and his breath gusts out of him, heat accelerating up his spine at a rapid speed.

“How dare you—“

“You say I look down on other people Louis, that I’ve never ‘toiled’ for my supper but what about the rest of the world? What about the people that are beneath even you, that don’t toil for their supper because they’re unemployed and homeless? Do you care about them? They’re not intellectually inferior nor innately cruel and yet they’ll never be your equal. They’re beneath you and not because they deserve to be but because they’re poor, because they don’t have access to any of the services that we take for granted. Life dealt them a bad hand and somehow that means they deserve to suffer? Do you know the statistics, Louis? Because I do. They can’t find a direct causal link between homelessness and criminality but it’s a near thing. These people might have done ‘shit’ you wouldn’t do but maybe they’ve also suffered shit you haven’t suffered.

“They had to make tough choices and perhaps sometimes they chose wrong, I’ll give you that. Yet instead of considering what lead them down that path or more importantly, helping them to find their way out, we lock them away. We shove them in dingy cells with no emotional support where they live alongside that small minority of violent criminals that have the potential to negatively influence them. We imprint upon them the idea that they don’t matter and that society won’t help them and then they learn anew that they’ve got to take care of themselves because nobody else will. Then after all that, we send them back out into the same awful situation with a negative attitude to boot and expect them to have some kind of magic turn around! A slight increase in tax for a system that’s not working? You’re right, that’s ridiculous but to suggest that these people don’t need our money or our help? Louis, I thought you were better than that.”

No one has ever ranted at Louis with such poise. Harry’s breathing is a little quicker than normal and his cheeks are pink and patchy with exuberant passion but he’s maintained his aggravating composure. At the height of justifiable rage, he was cool as a cucumber. Louis finds himself bewildered. It’s obvious to him now that Harry’s outward stiffness is incomparable to the emotion-fuelled hurricane swirling around inside. There’s something like searing hot fire coating his insides, just licking at the underside of his skin and waiting to be released but something tells Louis that Harry keeps it contained as much as possible. The problem is, he can’t understand why.  Louis’ practically throbbing in his pants now, his heart beating doubly fast and for all that Harry declares himself a dolphin, he’s clearly not without a set of razor sharp teeth. It’s a strange mix of erotic and endearing.

“No one’s ever put it like that before. I guess I never thought about what it’s like for them, the prisoners. I read the paper every day and there’s always someone arguing for harsher penalties or tougher prisons. Maybe somewhere along the way I got a little brainwashed by it all.” Louis shrugs, a little sheepish now that he thinks about it. “I’m not as bright as you.”

Harry’s hand encircles his arm in a spot just below his elbow. He brings his hand all the way down to Louis wrist, squeezing gently. His touch is soft but his tone is adamant.

“That’s not true.”

Louis blinks up at him, a little dazed.

“I—“

At that moment Eleanor comes bustling over, a drink in hand and invasive interest written all over her face. Louis remembers Niall’s advice…“thoughtful details.” He imagines introducing them with any degree of honesty….

"Eleanor, this is Harry. Harry's a pompous thirty-something barrister, recently divorced and with a penchant for belittling anyone who bothers him.”

Louis frowns, thinking maybe he might be off base with that last part…

“Harry, Eleanor's a long retired model whose miserable existence consists of bitching about our entire clientele. She enjoys tweeting pithy remarks that are more offensive than they are pithy and retouching her make up every hour, on the hour."

Unfortunately that probably wouldn’t go down too well. Instead Louis gestures at Harry with the tip of his champagne glass.

“Eleanor, this is Harry Styles, one of London's top barristers. He's an old friend of mine from Doncaster."

Harry looks a bit surprised at the endearment and maybe even a little contrite. Regretting his verbal bashing from the Christmas party perhaps?

I am completely above him, Louis reminds himself while shaking off the otherworldly feeling of the last ten minutes. It felt a bit too much like a topsy-turvy dream anyway.

"Harry, this is Eleanor. She’s a colleague of mine and one of my closest friends from work."

Louis and Eleanor are about as close as Anne Hathaway and James Franco at The Oscars.

Eleanor immediately starts yammering away about her job, pestering Harry about his case load. Harry gives Louis a wide eyed look of panic but Louis pretends not to see it. Not long after that they’re interrupted again by a tall, lean man with short, dirty blonde hair. Harry gives the stranger an unusually warm smile and Louis’ square nails press tightly against the side of his glass.

"Louis, this is my colleague Luke. He's a top attorney who specialises in sexual harassment."

Luke flicks his eyelashes about at every corner of the room. Louis considers calling an ambulance because the man looks to be having some kind of minor seizure.

“Not something I’d want to specialise in,” Louis jokes, elbowing Eleanor a bit too roughly.

The three of them look at him like he’s positively lost his marbles. It is possible. When Harry introduces him, he reaches out to brush his fingertips across Louis’ shoulder and Louis falters, exhaling a nervous laugh.

"Luke, this is Louis. Louis works in publishing and used to swim naked in my pool."

Was that a wink? And a rare smile? Is it inappropriate to applaud? Louis wasn't aware that Harry was capable of such joviality! Or that he had such impeccably white teeth. Luke lowers his eyebrows at Louis.

"How common."

Louis knows full well that he means vulgar and not commonplace. He can feel his cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Of course Harry just stands there, a little furrow settling between his eyebrows but other than that, no indication that he might jump in and defend Louis.

Aaaaand Mr Styles retains his title as the prickliest prick of the evening.

If Louis weren't so dignified, he'd step on Harry Styles’ big, clown sized shoes. As is, he only half listens while Harry rambles on and on about some difficult case he's advising on. Thankfully it’s not long after that that Louis is summoned to the stage by Simon. On his way there, he stops to catch the tail end of a whispered conversation had between Eleanor and Luke.

“That Harry is such a catch, absolutely divine!” Eleanor gushes.

“Believe me, I've noticed,” Luke says, grinning softly. “I've already been out with him twice this past week.”

Eleanor giggles and raises her pitch in a sing-song question.

“I can hear the wedding bells, can’t you?”

For some reason their rapturous laughter disgusts Louis so he turns away from them and is just in time to catch Harry glaring at Nick from across the room. More mysteries to unravel.

Louis tries climbing over the edge of the stage but the security guard ends up hoisting him up by the waist instead and depositing him down onto the stage like a toddler. It’s not because of his height, okay? He just had trouble climbing over the lip of the stage while worrying that the back of his trousers might split right down the middle. Unfortunately when the security guard releases him and he turns around to face the audience, Harry is watching him with a bitten down smirk. Prat. It’s only confirmed when Harry points at him, holding his thumb and forefinger close together to indicate a poor approximation of Louis’ size. Louis slyly flips him the bird and then refuses to look back at him again.

When Louis tries the microphone, he finds that it’s not working and everybody in there is talking far too loud for him to get their attention. He tries but to no avail, calling things out like, “hello!” “Ladies and gents!” “Hello, we’re about to get started.” Eventually he starts to feel like an idiot.

"PLEASE," he shrieks, "PLEASE SHUT UP!"

At least he said please. If he gets on with the introduction, maybe Simon will forget that he just screamed bloody murder at a bunch of important clients.

"Sorry the ah, microphone doesn’t appear to be working.” Not so smooth Tomlinson but it’s not over yet. “Welcome ladies and distinguished gents. Oh shit! I mean. Ladies, you’re just as distinguished as the rest of us of course.” Louis’ fingertips are shaking. Fuck this. “I'd like to welcome you to tonight’s event and encourage you to raise your glass in honour of David’s piece of resistance, Cycling Through Cancer."

Piece de resistance!!! Shitttttt.

It's too late. Louis’ eyes find Harry’s face in the sea of people and Harry’s nose is pinched in that awful furrow. God, Louis is socially inept. Not the kind of person that Harry Styles would ever be impressed with. Louis doesn't even give the audience time to raise a glass before steamrolling ahead with an audible shake in his voice. "So-without-further-ado-here-is-the-man-you've-all-been-waiting-for. I mean--" Louis wrinkles his eyes shut and shakes his head. When he opens them Harry's head is cocked ever so slightly to the left and he’s studying Louis. "--not the man you've all been waiting for but a man nonetheless! My boss, Mr Simon Cowell!"

Louis practically falls off the stage. The buff security guard catches him around the waist again and Louis quietly thanks him, scurrying off to the toilet to empty the entire contents of his stomach.

*-*-*-*-*

It’s been an interesting event. Not the mood killer that Harry had pegged it for when Luke first mentioned going. Harry was aware at the time that the invitation was extended only with a presupposed expectation that they would attend together. He just took it upon himself to hire a separate car and ignore Luke’s incoming texts concerning his ETA. For all that Harry appreciates Luke’s interest, he doesn’t reciprocate in the slightest. He doesn’t like the way Luke treats him like a sure thing, as if it’s only a matter of time before Harry caves to his advances.

Besides that, there’s something so lacking between them. A certain chemical element. Perhaps chemistry? Electricity. Something very nearly flammable. Ever since Harry embarked on the path of law he’s found himself intensely attracted to only that which provides a near insurmountable challenge. He hasn’t yet found that in a man he’d like to be with. Not even the one he was married to. He’s still searching for someone who challenges him to think on his feet and who isn’t easily impressed by expensive suits and flashy cars.

It sounds like nonsense; Harry’s desire to find someone who tests the strength of his will. He’d never breathe a word of it aloud but it doesn’t make any of it any less true. He’s not really looking for someone to devote themselves to him. He could have that fairly easily and most likely with someone like Luke but it’s not right for him. Harry once wrote it down on a spare bit of fax paper in his office, the importance of finding someone whose persona would challenge his own. He scrunched it up and threw it away almost immediately afterwards but the sentiment still stuck.

I loathe those who adore me instantly and adore those who loathe me honestly. I fall deeply in love with you only; he who loathes me intensely but is passionately attracted to my intolerable nature.

Harry knows only this; he isn’t waiting to be overtaken by want. He’s waiting to be consumed.

Seeing Louis tonight has inspired some kind of nostalgia that he hadn’t felt upon seeing him at the Christmas party. To be fair, Harry wasn’t in the most sociable of moods at Christmas considering the abusive message his ex-husband had just left on his answering machine. He’d recognised Louis as someone from his past but hadn’t remembered their exact history together.

 Harry thinks he can’t have seen him since they were stupidly young, maybe twelve or thirteen at most. They didn’t see each other often because their parents moved in different circles and they attended different schools. Harry never knew much about Louis or his family but for a time Harry’s mum had invited Louis’ mum over for tea every Wednesday afternoon. Louis always came with her and yet it can’t have been more than a year or two that they spent in each other’s pockets. When Harry did see him, he barely got a word in edgewise but that didn’t seem to matter. Not when it came to Louis, who was loud and boisterous but kind of adorably shy when he thought he’d said something silly. He had high cheekbones, pretty, gleaming blue eyes and apparently he liked to swim naked in Harry’s pool.

Harry doesn’t remember much about the pool incident. What he does remember is his mother screaming at him the morning after when she caught him scrubbing at his sheets in the laundry sink. Harry had been mortified; his first wet dream and it was about a boy. About Louis Tomlinson, to be exact. It was terrifying. Harry denied the root of his feelings for years after that but he can’t deny now that it was one of the many turning points in his coming to terms with the fact that he was gay. He hasn’t traced it back to Louis in a long time but he remembers it now, the curling of his toes in his sheets and the icky wet feeling spreading through his pants when he awoke, post orgasm.

He remembers meeting Louis for the first time though and how initially he’d been quiet and withdrawn, his beautiful blue eyes peering out from behind his mum’s body with a curious, Tinkerbelle-like sparkle. Harry failed quite spectacularly to contain his awe. Louis had the tiniest, daintiest hands Harry had ever seen on a boy and this short, fuzzy haircut that reminded Harry a lot of the ducklings he fed down by the pond. Harry thought of Louis as a duckling for longer than he’s brave enough to admit, especially considering what happened when he accidentally let it slip to Louis…

Louis was being difficult, which though not altogether surprising, still rubbed Harry the wrong way. He kept arguing for Grease while Harry had stubbornly insisted that they watch Love Actually. There was a slight possibility that Harry was being just as difficult as Louis but it really wasn’t relevant seeing as they were at Harry’s house, not Louis’. Louis had demanded that he get to choose the film based on the fact that he was the guest but the lovable idiot insisted the exact opposite when they were at his house just last week. Nobody could have it both ways. Only Louis would see no issue with this kind of hypocrisy.

“Louis, we’ve watched Grease the last two times I’ve seen you. It’s a waste of time,” Harry moaned, dragging his hands down along his face.

Louis pushed him over so he fell backwards against the arm rest and then punched him in the stomach, winding him severely.

“Ow. Why?” Harry gasped, a slight whine to his voice. “Are you really so petty?”

Louis widened his eyes at him and Harry knew he’d cocked everything up completely. Louis’ lower lip started to tremble and his baby blue eyes filled with hot, layered tears. A quiet whimper escaped his lips and Harry’s heart lurched inside his chest. He was aching to scrabble across the couch and attach himself to the smaller boy’s chest.

“Oh no Louuuuu, I didn’t mean it like that!” Harry keened, launching himself at Louis and completely enveloping Louis’ trembling body with his own. He gathered Louis’ wobbling cheeks in his palms and smoothed his thumbs across the tops of his cheekbones. “Don’t cry! I know how much you love Grease, Lou. I wasn’t insulting it! We can watch it. Really. Just please don’t cry, duckling.”

Louis made a choked off, gurgling sound and pushed Harry away from him, forcing him back to the other side of the couch. His eyes were suddenly very dry and gone was the whimpering mess he’d been just before.

“What did you just call me Hazza? And don’t even think about lying.”

Harry shook his head, bewildered.

“Weren’t you just crying?”

Louis shrugged and a small smirk lifted his mouth.

“I’m a good actor when I need to be.” Harry’s jaw dropped and his eyebrows scrunched tight together. Louis chuckled. “Well you shouldn’t insult grease in front of me! Don’t dodge my question, what did you call me?”

Harry picked at a loose thread on the cushion beside him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You called me…” Louis was gritting his teeth, “duckling.”

Harry sighed in defeat, rolling his eyes.

“Okay yes, I called you duckling. Baby duck. Little fuzzy Louis. I’ve thought of you as all of them at least once.” Louis looked enraged, his mouth a tiny little pucker at the bottom of his face. “It’s just that your hair—it reminds me of, well you know. A duckling. Don’t be self-conscious about it! I like it. It just….”

“Reminds you of a fluffy baby animal?” Louis deadpanned.

Harry giggled, reaching up to trail his fingers through the ends of Louis’ soft hair.

“Yeah,” he grinned, “a little.”

Louis bit his lip like he was considering something, then reached sideways and grabbed the Grease DVD off the table. He pushed it into Harry’s lap with a bitten smile. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“If you watch this with me…” Louis bit his lip harder as if his life depended on this very negotiation.  It was extraordinarily endearing. “I’ll let you call me duck. No ‘ duckling,’ ‘baby duck’ or ‘little fuzzy Louis,’” he added quickly, “Just duck. Deal?”

Harry’s stupid smile spread from ear to ear. He popped open the DVD case in his lap and Louis started to bounce on the cushion, adorably fidgety in his excitement.

“On one condition.”

“I already gave you your condition!” Louis whined. “Please Hazza!”

Harry squeezed Louis’ wriggling toes, heart bursting with fondness for the excited boy beside him.

“All I want is...cuddles?” Harry blinked steadily at him and then pouted for good measure. “please.”

Louis gave a disbelieving laugh and then took the DVD from Harry’s hand. He slid it into the laptop in front of them and turned back to Harry with a snort.

“When have you ever had to ask for cuddles?”

Harry’s mouth opened wider in a grin, it was probably encroaching on scary. Louis laughed at him, crawling into his lap while Harry turned and pressed play. Harry’s hand fell down over his lower back and Louis rested his head on Harry’s collarbone, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist.

“What about…ducky?” Harry whispered, nosing around the middle of Louis’ hair.

Louis shivered and pressed closer to him like Harry knew he would. Then he moved up to whisper in Harry’s ear.

“Okay….kitten.”

Harry groaned, Louis sniggering into the hollow of neck as the beach scene played out beside them. It was the start of a plethora of sickening nicknames that they shared and all because Harry couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut around him.

It’s strange to think now how close they were for that short period of time, how Harry had been certain he’d never meet anyone quite as intriguing as Louis. It might still be true. Harry’s just not convinced. You don’t meet the people who are going to change your life when you’re twelve or thirteen years old.

It hadn’t seemed like such a big deal at the time when Harry’s mum stopped inviting Louis’ mum around for tea every Wednesday. They would see each other elsewhere and their friendship would survive. Except somewhere along the line, they drifted into unknown territory. They forgot they were still dependent on their parents to get them to places or to organise the details of each sleepover. The fact that they didn’t go to the same school made it even harder, as did the fact that their friends openly despised each other. Aside from that when you’re thirteen and making new friends every week, it doesn’t feel so catastrophic to fall out of touch with just one.

Louis was a different kind of friend for Harry, the kind of friend he could spend 24 hours with and not even notice the time passing. That was rare for him. Somehow it didn’t stop him from getting distracted and forgetting how much he genuinely enjoyed Louis’ company as opposed to the rest of his friends.

Besides, Louis seemed to be similarly content. One afternoon when Harry hadn’t seen Louis in months, he ran into Beatrice on his way home from piano lessons and she asked him how he’d been. When he asked after Louis, she told him that she hadn’t really seen him much since he started at his new school. Apparently Louis was an absolute hit with the kids there. Harry wasn’t the least bit surprised. He felt a bit wistful upon hearing the news that Louis was doing just fine without him but it only confirmed for him what he already suspected, that they were destined for different pathways.  Harry was more than happy with his own school and his own circle of friends. It seemed to him at the time that Louis was just like any of the other fleeting friendships he’d had in his youth. Worthwhile at the time but certainly not irreplaceable.

It wasn’t until a very many years later that Harry even began to understand the caste divisions in their society and how Louis’ caste differed from his. The caste system didn’t necessarily exist the way it had in the 1800’s but the core of what it was remained active, even if it was unspoken. Despite the way his parents talked, Harry never thought himself above the Tomlinson’s or others like them. He was however, increasingly aware of how he was expected to act. Harry knew he had a role to play in the sham of social connectedness. You were supposed to treat everybody as your equal but only ever enough to placate those beneath you and not enough to ever make them feel like they were at your level. Harry got good at it, too good perhaps but he always insured his deeper sense of morality remained untouched.  

It’s what surprised him and perhaps even enraged him about his mother suggesting Louis as a potential partner. It revealed her quiet desperation for him to find anyone to settle down with, successfully this time. Truthfully speaking, Harry’s rage had nothing to do with Louis himself who would make a fine partner, if not necessarily for Harry. No, Harry was outraged that his mother clearly only rekindled her friendship with Beatrice in the hope that Harry would make Louis his. Harry supposes he should be glad his mother supports his ‘lifestyle’ but not when it comes at the cost of another family’s pride.

It’s ridiculous how entranced Harry finds himself when it comes to Louis. He’s never met someone with so little composure and yet with this entirely too mesmerising quality about him. As if every time Louis walks into a room, a spotlight shines down from above and half the oxygen in the room is suddenly sucked away with his presence. That would explain why Harry feels so light headed with him near.

Louis looks decadent tonight in his sparkly blazer with the dark ensemble. It flatters his colouring perfectly, not to mention the contrast between his outfit and the ethereal glow of his eyes. He doesn’t seem like someone with no taste whatsoever, as Harry had so rudely commented. On the contrary, Harry’s fuzzy duckling has re-emerged as a fully formed dark swan. Fortunately, everything about him is still woefully tiny. His chest, his waist, all of it in miniature. Yet it never seems to diminish his inner glow. Then again while his fashion statement is bold, there’s something less than poised about Louis tonight.

Perhaps Harry should have expected it. Louis doesn’t seem to have any proper composure to boast of but watching him on that stage had been even more painful than expected, like watching what happens to a piece of paper after you throw it into the fire. Watching how it curls in on itself and then blackens, quickly falling away to nothing.

Harry caught the tentative flutter of Louis’ fingers and the wiggling of his toes inside his shoes. He took one step in his direction and then two more when he watched the security guard handle him roughly by the waist. But then Louis was running off towards the toilets and even though Harry’s first instinct had been to give chase, he realised quickly that making a scene was out of the question. He decided instead to wait for Louis to re-emerge. He’d busy himself in conversation and when Louis returned, Harry would finally apologise for acting like such a monstrous arse. He’d let Louis know that he hadn’t spoken as awfully as he seemed to think and that he was welcome to hide his blush in Harry’s chest if he felt so inclined. It was about time Harry learned how to phrase a compliment so it didn’t sound like an insult. It was about time he learned how to offer kindness without superiority. Yes, he would do exactly that.

Unfortunately Harry got dragged into a conversation by Luke about five minutes ago. It was making him antsy and frustrated, having to focus on something else apart from Louis but then they got to talking about war in the Middle East and now Harry’s lost in a discussion of ethics and political power. His awareness returns when he twists around to grab a drink from a nearby waiter and is confronted with the soul crushing sight of Louis standing all by himself, looking heart wrenchingly downtrodden.

He looks washed out and shaky, his eyes reddened at the corners. There’s a visible slump to his shoulders and he self-consciously runs his hands down the sides of his blazer before taking a rather disconcertingly long pull of his drink. Harry’s heart leaps into his throat and his whole body thrums with the urgent need to go over there and haul Louis into the tightest hug of his life. He has a feeling Louis wouldn’t fight him on it now, that he might actually collapse into him and hold on for dear life. Perhaps Harry would lead him from the venue and take him outside. Maybe he’d finally be able to say what he should have at that god awful Christmas party. Harry would tell him that he has more courage and conviction in his little finger than Harry does in his whole entire body….and he’s a lawyer, for god sakes. Harry wants Louis to know that he didn’t once look down upon him, even if it would have been remarkably easy given his height. Harry takes a step in his direction, intent on seeking him out.

“Please excuse me. I think I might--"

His words fall away to nothing. He halts in place. Nick-bloody-Grimshaw sweeps in from behind Louis and squeezes his arse, gently wrapping his arms around him while he whispers intimately in his ear. Harry’s heart falls straight through his chest to his stomach where it becomes encased in acid, swirling around with the remains of deadened butterflies. Butterflies born with the rise of that shaky, off centre feeling that he’d gotten when he looked down earlier and found Louis plastered to his chest. Now he’s questioning Louis’ taste and perhaps even his sanity.

Not Nick-fucking-Grimshaw, it can’t be. Louis cannot be dating that twat. Not Louis. But alas Louis’ small hand finds its way inside Nick’s and Nick leads him from the room with a hand pressed to his lower back, edging down towards his arse. Fucking Grimshaw.

Perhaps he’s not all to blame. It’s not as if Harry has treated Louis properly. Not the way an admirer might, anyway. Harry wonders if he hasn’t just made the most wretched mistake of his lifetime. Only that seems extreme and Harry’s not prone to dramatics. Unexpectedly it seems he is prone to strange attractions for elfin-like men with abominable social skills and frankly heartbreaking frowns. How soft and enticing Louis had looked, all sad and foldable where he stood clutching his drink and blinking back tears. With all that brash, defensive humour cleared away and only the signs of soft self-reflection flitting over his face, he seemed more reachable than ever. Harry had wanted to reach for him, almost painfully so.

How could Harry have spoken so savagely at that disaster of a Christmas party when his only real excuse for his behaviour was that he’d been bitter from his divorce? His only excuse, that he was bitter in general. Worst of all, how could he have let such an odd but lovely creature slip through his fingers like sand through a sieve? Unforgivable.

Chapter Text

Louis’ night isn’t shaping up to be so awful after all. Nick wouldn’t take no for an answer so here they are dining at an expensive Italian restaurant with two brimming glasses of wine between them and not even one stilted pause in the conversation. Unsurprisingly they’re both big talkers, both highly competent when it comes to banter and more than willing to take the piss out of each other at every opportunity. Louis has absolutely no issue with Nick initiating a game of footsie beneath the table, sliding his leg up Louis’ calf muscle one too many times for it to be entirely platonic, and yet he can’t help himself. His curiosity has been bubbling away for hours and he has many questions, questions about a certain curly headed lawyer with an abominable bowtie and a probable preference for caviar. 

“So…” Louis says, swirling the wine around his glass. He’s really not sure how it affects the flavour but he’s quite positive that it’s something sophisticated people do. “What’s the story with you and Harry Styles?”

Nick’s expression freezes in place and the crooked grin melts away to be replaced by tepid uncertainty. Unfortunately it’s gone before Louis can question it, too preoccupied with the droopy frown marring Nick’s expression to give it much thought.

“It’s not really polite dinner conversation.”

“It’s okay,” Louis reaches across and squeezes his hand gently. Nick looks up at him with wide, endearing innocence. “You don’t have to protect me. He’s hardly my favourite person.”

“Well…” Nick lowers his voice and grips Louis’ hand a bit more tightly. “Forgive me if I get a bit emotional talking about it. It’s just that--I’ve known Harry a long time. Since Cambridge, actually.”

“You went to Cambridge with Harry?” Louis tilts his head at an angle, licking out across his bottom lip. Nick’s eyes follow the illicit path of his tongue. “What was he like back then?”

“Intolerable,” Nick groans. “A real arse kisser. He thought he was a cut above the rest. Naturally, we were best friends, both kicking goals in our respective studies but then, Styles never really had ‘friends’ as such. Not at Cambridge, anyway.”

Now Louis’ spidey senses are positively tingling.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s not exactly the most agreeable of men, if you hadn’t noticed.” Louis giggles, and then feels strangely guilt for it but Nick looks pleased, smiling at him gently while he rubs at Louis’ shin with the tip of his foot. “But it was mainly his study habits. I don’t know if he’d forgotten the rest of the world existed but he never did come out of his hidey hole of a study spot, did he? The man is as dull as drywall.”

Louis isn’t so sure. Surprisingly, he thinks there might be more to Harry than meets the eye, even if he does act like a most spectacular arse every time Louis sees him.

“But if you were so close at Cambridge then why was he looking at you like he wanted to tear your throat out tonight?”

Nick chuckles and then snorts attractively because apparently that’s a thing, an attractive snort.

“Was he? Brilliant.” Nick’s lazy grin is practically porn. “Bet you he was just thrilled to see me. He’s always been jealous of my success, Styles.”

Again, Louis has his doubts. It’s not as if Harry’s slumming it on the streets. He’s probably making a hell of a lot more money than Nick, to be quite honest and doing a hell of a lot more good to earn it. Not that making money is anything particularly impressive. Besides, publishing needn’t be considered inferior to law just because it creates less noticeable change.

“He was supposed to be the best man at my wedding actually.” Louis chokes and sputters, tiny droplets of red wine sprinkling the white table cloth in front of him. “Yes, I was married. Or engaged to be married, rather. Styles took it upon himself to ruin that the night before the wedding. I walked in on him fucking my fiancé in our bedroom, on my side of the bed, no less. He couldn’t even look at me, the coward.”

Louis gasps and shakes his head in disbelief.

“I can’t…I can’t believe it.” He really can’t. Is he really such a bad judge of character as to think a set of dimples actually suggests anything about the person who owns them? He must have imagined Harry taking a step in his direction earlier, must have completed fabricated the compassion in his expression. “That’s fucking awful, Nick. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Nick shrugs, strangely offhanded. “These things happen. You move on, don’t you?”

Louis doesn’t know that he could.

“I suppose so.”

He smiles softly at Nick over their glasses and nudges his foot beneath the table. It takes a really brave man to open up about something as personal as his broken heart. Louis hardly thinks that Harry Styles would be so bold.

*-*-*-*-*

"Thank you for dinner. And you know…” Louis wrinkles his nose, rounding the front of his building, “telling me about Styles.”

"It was a pleasure, Tomlinson."

Nick’s eyes stay rooted to his lips, the tips of his shoes pressing gently against the fronts of Louis’ as he moves closer. Louis flashes a coy smile and then pushes up onto his toes, sealing their mouths together with a quiet hum. He tries to leave it at a quick peck but Nick guides him back, palming Louis’ hip while he licks his way inside his mouth. There’s not enough oxygen in the air but Louis’ heart is pounding double time in his chest and soon he’s stumbling up the stairs to his flat with Nick following closely behind, his mouth securely attached to the back of Louis’ neck. They push through the door with muffled groans and wandering hands, still snogging heavily as they land with a quiet thump on the lounge.

“Nick,” Louis sighs, lips parting for breath. Nick’s mouth makes hot tracks on his jaw while he pushes Louis down into the couch, tightly circling his hips over his groin. “Are we really doing this?”

Nick eases the blazer off Louis’ shoulders, the hazel of his eyes eclipsed by the dark of his pupils. He beckons to Louis with a single finger. His hand frames Louis’ jaw and his lips press firmly against Louis’, sucking greedily at his tongue.

“Fuck yes.”

Louis desperately wrangles his blazer off his body. His breath escapes him in short, hot gasps as Nick nibbles at his belly button through his shirt, pushing it up to expose Louis’ tummy. He smooths his hands across Louis’ rounded belly and then looks up at him with a cheeky smirk.

“Isn’t this just the prettiest stomach I’ve ever seen? You’ve been working out, Tomlinson.”

“Shut up,” Louis moans, burying his flaming cheeks inside his hands, “the gym is hell on earth, okay? The last time I went there, I fell off the treadmill and some complete dufus tried to give me mouth to mouth. Stupid git thought I’d had a heart attack.”

“Did he now?” Nick pushes Louis’ top all the way up to his neck while his mouth settles hot and heavy over one of Louis’ nipples. He sucks hard, tweaking the other one with his fingers. “I don’t believe that.”

Louis gapes at him, shivering with arousal. Nick snickers at his reaction, flicking his tongue out at Louis’ other nipple and then closing his lips around it in a tight embrace. Louis whines and arches his back, his fingers interlocking around the back of Nick’s head to hold him there securely. With the skill of a practised lothario, Nick reaches down and unzips Louis’ trousers without looking.  His lips stay suctioned tight to Louis’ chest, Louis twitching and cursing beneath him. Louis helps by wriggling out of his trousers and then his boxer briefs too. Together, they rip Nick’s clothes from his body.

Once Nick is completely naked, Louis has to stop and ponder it all. He’s completely mesmerised by the utter accuracy of his fantasies. Nick’s body should be considered a lethal weapon because damn, if the size of his flushed and heavy cock is anything to go by, Louis’ impending death is inevitable. But what a way to go. Louis reluctantly raises his eyes from Nick’s groin and finds an aesthetically pleasing combination of muscled pecs and soft arms. His nipples are stiff peaks upon his chest and there’s a soft, furry snail trail that’s just screaming out for somebody’s tongue. The hair atop his head is endearingly fuzzy, his mouth ripe and wet and those soft hazel eyes, so criminally aroused. Looking at him in all his naked glory is almost physically painful so Louis reverses their positions, forcing Nick down against the cushions with his weight. He grabs Nick’s legs and wraps them around his waist, Nick’s expression fluttering excitedly while he bucks his hips up impatiently.

“Please,” he says in a strained whisper, complete with jittery blinks and sweat soaked temples.

Louis’ never been so turned on. He laughs at Nick’s misfortune.

“So as it turns out, Nick Grimshaw isn’t too proud to beg…” Louis taps his chin and then digs his fingers into Nick’s meaty thighs, bending down to suckle gently on the head of his cock. “Who would have thought?”

He says it with a mouthful of cock. Nick’s answering gurgle is very encouraging. Louis fists the base of his cock and squeezes the wet tip with his mouth, sucking down towards the base in tiny increments. It earns him a strangled groan from above and a couple of muffled pleas. Louis draws back from the base, breathing hot and heavy along Nick’s wet foreskin as he mouths around the sides of his cock, lips coated in precome.

“Fuck my mouth,” Louis rasps, looking up at Nick from beneath heavy eyelids.

Nick practically swallows his own fist and then rocks up against Louis’ chin, brushing his flushed cock over Louis’ lips and shuddering as soon as it makes contact with his tongue. Louis’ both surprised and wildly aroused by this shocking turn of events. He never would have expected Nick to be so sensitive and strangely vulnerable. Nick’s hips stutter upwards, forcing his cock further into Louis’ mouth while Louis tightens his lips and drags his nails up the outsides of Nick’s thighs. Nick pulls back and thrusts in even more roughly, nudging the base of Louis’ throat while his thighs just about cut off Louis’ circulation around his waist. He lets Nick thrust in hard for a bit, keeping him at the edge by twisting his nipples and reaching down to gently fondle his balls. When he feels Nick start to tense, he unwinds his legs from around his own waist and sits up, beaming proudly.

“You were about to come in my mouth.”

“Fuck you,” Nick snaps but his whole body is held as taunt as a wire and he’s quaking with the effort of holding back, “your mouth is brilliant.”

“Mm,” Louis bounces on the cushion, smiling softly. “I’d love it if you’d fuck me.”

Nick flips them around quickly, laying Louis out face down on the cushions while he goes in search of lube and condoms, aided by Louis’ instructions. When he returns Louis twists back to look at him, finding bewilderment in his expression.

“What is it?”

“You have a boyfriend pillow on your bed?”

Louis moans and buries his face in the couch beneath him. Nick saddles himself over the backs of his thighs though and swipes his tongue over the crevice of Louis’ arse so Louis can’t remember his name, let alone his humiliation. Nick’s tongue is flexible and soft textured but more importantly, he knows how to use it. He swirls it teasingly around Louis’ tight rim just twice before pushing it in inside alongside one of his fingers. Louis cries out and bounces back against him, forcing the pressure closer to where he wants it the most. Where he needs it most.

“Fuck,” Nick swears softly, pushing two fingers in at once. “you’re so much tighter than I expected.”  

Louis arches his back and digs his fingers into the couch cushion, his skin burning. Nick’s fingers ignite inside him as they knead the inside of his arse. His rim feels stretched and slick, Nick’s tongue flicking out across the sides and lathing over his tight entrance.

“Nick please,” he chokes out, turning back to beseech him with his eyes.

“Fuck, okay,” Nick agrees, pulling his fingers out and settling them over Louis’ waist. “put your hands on the armrest.”

Louis holds on for dear life, curling his fingers over the edge so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Nick reaches under him to grab a soft cushion and uses it to prop his hips up. His hands drop down to squeeze Louis’ arse, fingernails tracing the base of his hipbones and then he slaps Louis’ arse hard. Louis whimpers, desperate arousal curling around the base of his spine.

“Okay, okay,” Nick mutters.

Louis hears the sounds of him slicking himself up and then Nick’s curling his fingers over Louis’ shoulder while he lines his cock up with Louis’ wet rim. His cock nudges Louis’ hole lightly at first, catching on his rim but then it’s sliding up between his cheeks instead of going in. Louis’ chest rumbles with a deep purr. Nick’s fingernails press into his shoulder, his other hand braced on the armrest beside him. Then he’s pushing in hard, just the way Louis likes it.

Louis’ toes curl in the comforter beneath them and his rim sucks Nick’s cock in with a greedy, squelching sound, gripping the whole of his length tightly. Nick’s shaky sighs reach his ears just as Louis melts into the couch beneath him, muscles quivering. Nick spreads Louis’ arse cheeks with his thumbs, his thighs braced over the back of Louis’ as he rides Louis’ arse from behind, fucking into him with total abandon. His sighs morph into guttural growls as Louis clenches rhythmically around him. He praises Louis’ arse with every thrust.

“Feels so good baby,” he gasps, the force of his thrusts pushing Louis way up towards the arm rest. “Your arse is so fucking amazing.”

When his thrusts start to ease a little, Louis pushes his hips up against him with soft undulating motions that increase the pressure on his prostate. Nick lays his chest down against Louis’ back, panting softly against his neck while he grinds lazily inside his arse.

“P-please,” Louis finally stutters, “need m--more.”

“Course you do. Need my cock so badly, don’t you baby?”

Nick sits back up and cups Louis’ hips, renewing his frantic pace as he pistons into Louis with wildly circulating hips. Louis whimpers in agreement, not sure he can manage a coherent response when he’s currently seeing all kinds of colourful miracles behind his eyelids. He throws his head back on a howl when Nick starts relentlessly hitting his prostate. At the same time, a clammy hand reaches around the front of his body to grip his cock in hand.

Nick’s thighs slap loudly against his with every slam of his cock inside Louis’ body and they’re both soaked in sweat, Nick’s hands turning sticky on his skin while a bead of sweat eases down the centre of his own chest. It’s inevitable that Louis seizes up first, the exquisite prostate bashing sending him hurtling over the edge of his own orgasm with a bitten down scream.

Nick follows shortly behind, desperately circling his hips against Louis’ while fucking into him deep. He lets out a harsh expletive when he comes, leaving half-moon imprints in Louis’ hips. They collapse against each other afterwards, limbs tangled and their heartbeats racing alongside each other as if trying to beat one another to the finish line. Louis turns in the circle of Nick’s arms, Nick stroking the damp hair away from his face while whispering breathy compliments in his ear. It’s bliss. Uninterrupted bliss. Louis nuzzles in between Nick’s pecs and dozes off, millions of small butterflies streaming through his tummy.

*-*-*-*-*

The wind is blowing Louis’ hair completely haywire, making it stick up at weird angles and flop down between his eyes like a perfect imitation of a dead squirrel. His scarf definitely doesn’t match his outfit and everything about him is indecently dishevelled. The kind of dishevelled that people judge you for because they know exactly where you’ve been and exactly what you’ve been doing. Or who you’ve been doing, actually. Louis couldn’t care less. He’s all fucked out and so fucking happy about it, he could cry. Nick’s his…something. Nick’s whatever it means when someone fucks you for three nights straight and can’t keep their hands off of you whenever you’re together. Screw labels, they’re dating. Louis’ life is looking up. He’s a dating disaster no more.

Weight: Irrelevant. Have replaced food with sex.

Heigh t: As tall as a mother fucking skyscraper.

Alcohol units: Puh-lease.

Cigarettes: Post-coital fags don't count, do they?

*-*-*-*-*

“Pancake mix, check.”

Louis nods to himself as he moves down the aisle, proud of his wildly successful grocery shopping trip. He usually sticks to the absolute essentials; grog, junk food, milk and tea, knowing that if he ventured any further than that, he might feel inspired to google ‘easy’ recipes. From there things could easily go pear shaped.  Louis’ never been all that proficient at cooking. His lacklustre repertoire consists of a basic cheese toasty and a half decent pot noodle. It certainly doesn’t include edible pancakes, which is why he’s very grateful that he doesn’t have to go near a frying pan anytime soon and he’ll still wind up with decently cooked pancakes in his belly.

Nick promised him; “if you run down to Sainsbury’s and get me the mix and some vanilla ice cream, I’ll treat you just this once.” Louis’ still hopeful he can inspire a repeat performance and perhaps have Nick indulging him again and again over the course of their relationship. Either that or they could indulge each other. Licking ice cream off Nick’s chest sounds like a fine way to spend his evening.

Louis drifts toward the freezer aisle, shivering a little as the frigid air hits his chest and seeps through the thin material of his clothing. He suddenly wishes he’d thought to drape a coat over his cardigan and pale grey joggers. He reaches down into the freezer to grab a tub of vanilla and as he shuts the door behind him, a voice calls out to him from the other side.

"Louis? Is that you?"

Louis turns his head a fraction, just enough to get a glimpse of ringlet-like curls and full, pink lips approaching him from a couple of aisles over. Shit. Why must Harry turn up at the most inopportune moments, as if somehow he receives a notification every time Louis’ starting to feel good about himself and enjoy his life again. Granted, he wasn’t enjoying his life at the launch but Harry certainly didn’t make that task any easier. He never does. Louis’ half convinced that he must go around looking for chances to step on Louis’ toes and make him feel small, regardless of the ridiculously unfounded height argument.

Louis refuses to be verbally squashed again so he drops down behind the chest freezer, crouching low against the ground. Thirty-two year old men can still hide from their adversaries, right? It doesn’t have to be juvenile.

"Um, no."

Harry chuckles and Louis wonders if his cheeks bunch up around his dimples like they do in Louis’ imagination. He’s too afraid to look though. Instead he flattens himself out further and prays for Nick to spontaneously appear beside him and save the day.
 
"You're small Louis but you're not that small,” Harry says, voice laced with amusement. “I'd like to talk to you please."

He addresses Louis as though he were a particularly troublesome pupil in need of some one on one tutelage. Which really sounds quite dirty. The image of Harry bending him over a desk is the last thing he needs. Now he’s half hard and having a meltdown in the middle of Sainsbury’s. Not to mention failing spectacularly at concealing himself behind this freezer.

"Really?” Louis hedges, tone crisp. He’s decidedly not thinking about his cock right now. “Perhaps you’d be sufficiently dissuaded if I were wearing a ghastly jumper and stomping around the whole of Sainsbury’s in an obnoxious huff."

Louis pokes just the top of his head out from behind the freezer. Just so he can settle Harry with one final icy glare and be done with it. Harry has other ideas. He marches around to Louis' side of the freezer and drops down in front of him, crossing his gangly legs beneath himself.

Louis can’t help but stare at his ensemble. The perfect Windsor knot and black suit jacket are too smart to ignore, the white pocket square also unfairly compelling. Much nicer than the tweed and elbow patches Louis was expecting. Although he doesn’t doubt that Harry owns them, as well as a vast collection of ghoulish looking bowties.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?"

Harry’s eyes run from the top of Louis’ beanie to the bottoms of his feet, clad only in a pair of red and white striped bed socks. Louis had slipped his shoes off as soon as he parked, loathing the very feel of them. Shoes, he feels, are often like sweaty prisons. The bottoms of his feet are slightly damp from the pavement now but there’s still something mildly wonderful about walking around Sainsbury’s in fluffy socks and no shoes. Harry might not be so convinced. His upper lip trembles with amusement while his fingers curl curiously against the white linoleum floor.

"Talking to you, it would seem."

Harry’s eyebrows are half raised now like particularly furry caterpillars climbing up his brow. They're just slightly darker than the delicate curls sweeping down the sides of his face and framing his eyes with silky chocolate curtains. Louis never noticed how impossibly green his eyes were until now. Perhaps it’s because Harry's never leaned so far into his space before, fingers splayed on the ground beside him.

"I'd like to point out that you are very obnoxious."

Is there steam coming from Louis' ears yet? There must be. He's afraid he might melt the very ice cream he planned on purchasing in a minute.

"Well,” Louis says through gritted teeth. “I'd like to point out that you’re an arse. A big arse, actually. You wore a ghastly Christmas jumper that day too, I seem to recall. At least mine emphasised the dip in me waist!"

In reality, it emphasised a whole lot more than that, such as the bulge around his belly and the muffin top formed by his hips, but now is not the time to be insecure.

"This dip?"

Harry actually reaches across with a large, gloved hard and moulds his fingers to Louis' side. Regrettably Louis' first instinct is to purr. It’s only that Harry's palm first perfectly between his ribcage and his hip, firm but soft against his side. His thumb presses at the base of Louis’ ribcage and gentle spirals of warmth unfurl inside his stomach. Spirals that curl tighter with every breath. However it only takes a Nano second to remember how positively vile Harry is. What kind of man thinks he can insult Louis at will and then grope him in public?  Not to mention what he did to poor Nick. This man is a boyfriend thieving scoundrel. Louis would be insane to lower his guard around him any more than he already has.

"If you’d kindly unhand me…"

Harry’s expression doesn’t waver but he does shove his hand back in his pocket, running the other through his wind ruffled curls. There's a hint of a pout on his lips and is Louis supposed to take that to mean he's sorry? Harry doesn't breathe a word of it aloud, choosing instead to look anywhere but Louis' eyes.

"What did you want to talk to me about? Before you so very publicly groped me, I mean.”

Harry flinches back.

"I wanted to tell you. Your speech. At the launch party." He starts, speaking in strange staccato sentences that differ vastly from the smooth, assembled speech Louis’ used to. Or perhaps it's just the pace that's changed; now slightly off beat like a woman in heels walking faster than she ought to. "It wasn’t. You really weren't as awful as you thought you were. A bit brash perhaps. Not a natural public speaker."

"Was that supposed to a compliment? Or some kind of reassurance?" Louis rolls his eyes. "Because you really knocked that one out of the park, Styles.”

Harry giggles. Like a schoolboy sat in front of a cheesy cartoon. Like a toddler blowing out his birthday candles with spit dribbling down the bottom of his chin. Believe it or not, Harry accidentally blows a spit bubble himself and his dimples form crater like holes inside his cheeks. He's a thirty something human rights lawyer and he's sat on the floor of a freezer aisle, giggling like a loon because of Louis. There’s no reason to be so enchanted by it or by the way Harry flips his long fringe back over his head and then ducks his chin down, all bashful.

"I'm sorry," he giggles again, "but you're very difficult to compliment."

Louis' mouth falls open. He cannot possibly be serious. No one is this inept, not even Louis himself.

"Did someone drop you on your head as a baby? Perhaps your mother rolled you down the driveway and you forgot which way was up," Louis suggests with a menacing glare.

"Perhaps," Harry’s eyes glow like green paper lanterns. “All I meant was that you're very hard to speak to---” He startles at his own words, as if someone else had said them and then claps a hand over his mouth in abject horror. It’s so endearing. “Oh bother, I just mean....” he coughs loudly, widening his eyes at the roof. “I don't always say what I mean when I’m speaking with you."

"Okay..." Louis eyes him with a little bit more curiosity than before, noting the guitar shaped cuff links adorning his wrists. "So you didn't mean it when you called me tiny?"

Harry throws his head back on a surprisingly loud cackle, exposing a very long, pale looking neck. It’s the kind of neck you Photoshop into advertisements when models have spots or a washed out complexion. Harry doesn’t have either. His skin is snowy white in tone but not translucent. It’s a smooth toned white that would obviously look sinfully delicious if decorated with a set of purplish-pink love bites. Louis really doesn’t need that mental image though. This man ruined Nick's life as he knew it and he can't afford to contemplate such fantasises. Harry can giggle and sit cross legged on the floor with the best of them, so what? He's still as slimy and smug as before and he’s not yet had a conversation with Louis without insulting him at least once. The only difference now is Louis knows there’s two sides to him, a classic case of Dr.Jekyll and Mr.Hyde.

“Do you remember…” Harry’s expression turns coy and he looks up at Louis from beneath lowered eyelashes, “my favourite nickname for you?

Louis shivers. Not because he’s overwhelmed by the horrifying memory of that nickname but because it’s bloody freezing in here and his ribs feel like their chattering worse than his teeth. Harry watches him try and rub warmth back into his arms with a persistent frown that settles between his eyebrows.

“You’re shivering! What were you thinking wearing just that?” He gestures harshly at Louis’ cardigan. “We live in London, if you hadn’t noticed. Here, take this.”

Louis stares him down with an acidic look.

“I’m not going to wear your jacket. This isn’t sixth form Styles, we’re not ‘going steady.’”

Harry just ignores him and wraps the jacket around his shoulders anyway, squeezing his waist gently.

“There you go ducky,” he murmurs, a foreign but welcome kind of playfulness entering his expression.

 “It’s duck, not ducky!” Louis cries out, outrage written plain across his face.

Harry bursts into instantaneous laughter, squeezing Louis’ waist while he hunches over, giggling.

Louis groans.

“That’s not what I—“ he runs a ragged hand down his face. It seems like an appropriate time to face palm. “Oh fuck off, you know I hated that name.”

“Mm,” Harry’s smile is far too wide for his face, “seems that way.”

Louis tilts his chin down at his waist and then glares at Harry.

“If you could please unhand me again…”

Harry takes his hands away but he doesn’t look particularly perturbed this time, his lips turned up into a subtle, mocking grin.

“So.” Harry ventures, grin weakening. “Nick Grimshaw.”

His throat looks thicker than usual, if that’s at all possible and the tips of his ears are visibly warm. It’s incomprehensible. Surely a man who betrays his best friend the way Harry did doesn’t possess any kind of shame?

“What about him?”

Louis is instantly defensive of his…boyfriend? Yes, definitely boyfriend. Harry has no right to mention his name considering what happened, let alone enquire about him. Yet the poor sod looks like his dog just died. The drop of his bottom lip might even rival Louis’ for Most Pitiful of All Time.

“You know him well then?” Harry asks and there’s the strangest hint of wistful sadness in his expression.

It’s a stupid question really, Louis implied no such thing. Perhaps Harry saw them standing together at the launch though. Or leaving hand in hand. Not that it’s any of his business.

“I work for him, of course I know him well.”

Upon seeing Harry’s frustrated expression, he thinks better of leaving it at just that. Harry’s got no right to ask and Nick would probably have his balls for humouring him like this but something about it feels mysteriously important, like lying would do more harm than good.

“But if you’re asking me what I think you are? Then yes. I do.”

Harry gulps, his eyes slowly tracing a gentle path over Louis’ features. His gaze eventually trails back up to Louis’ eyes where Louis knows he finds only patience. There’s something about Harry’s whole demeanour right now that’s bringing out the compassionate side in Louis. He doesn’t look like the traitorous, conniving type. He looks like a wounded puppy. Louis probably draws way too many comparisons between real people and Disney characters but he can’t help comparing Harry to Scar. From Nick’s perspective, Harry is the brother who betrayed him and pushed him off the ledge, but Louis can’t help feeling that something’s inconsistent, like there might be more to the story. Perhaps Harry is more Simba than he is Scar. A runaway prince with a shaky past.

“Please be careful, duck.” Harry squeezes Louis’ elbow through the borrowed jacket, his eyes steeped in anxiety.

The nickname sends a little shiver throughout Louis’ body. Hearing that endearment is like being transported back in time to a time when they were pubescent boys whose friendship came as naturally as breathing. So much has changed since then for them both. Louis is a shadow of his formerly arrogant self and Harry? He’s less the open book he’d been as a kid. Now there’s something distant about him, a kind of hardened shell. Yet sitting here crouched in this freezer aisle with him is like being trapped in a time vacuum. Louis feels light headed.

“I don’t understand how you could possibly—“ Louis shakes his head, disbelieving. “Nick’s dating life is none of your business, Harry.”

Harry grabs him by both arms now, sliding his hands down to Louis’ wrists and shaking them for full emphasis.

“I’m not worried about Nick,” He says emphatically. “I’m worried about you. I’m asking you to be careful. You will, won’t you?”

Harry’s gaze is unflinching and it isn’t giving him any room to think.

“Y—yes Haz, I’ll be careful.”

Harry starts at the nickname and then drops Louis’ wrists as though burned. The shutters come down in his eyes and Louis watches him retreat back into cold remoteness.

"I must be going now," Louis informs him, beating him to the punch. "I'm making Nick a midnight snack." He holds up the pancake mix, "pancakes and ice cream."

Harry doesn’t have to know that he’ll probably be opening himself up with his fingers while Nick makes him a midnight snack.

"Right," Harry says, averting his eyes to the floor while his expression remains rigid.

Finally Harry’s actions make sense. When you steal someone else's girlfriend, and your best friend's, no less, you probably don't want to hear their name brought up in casual conversation. Too much of a reminder of your betrayal. Although Harry did bring it up himself…

"Yeah," Louis stands up and then divests himself of Harry’s jacket, holding it out for him to take. “Here, take this back, I’ve just got to walk to the car.”

“But…” Harry almost goes cross eyed when he frowns down at Louis’ outstretched hand. “What if… you catch a cold?”

Louis chokes on the innocent but intense concern wafting through the air between them.

“Harry, if I catch a cold I’ll take cold and flu medicine. I’ll eat chicken noodle soup and drown my body in bed covers. I could use a day off,” Louis says with a shrug.

Harry tucks the jacket back under his arm but his expression remains sceptical.

“You can cook chicken noodle soup?”

If only Louis hadn’t tested his first cooking disasters out on Harry when they were younger.

“I should go. Nick’ll be waiting.” Louis raises the ice cream up in an awkward wave, “cya.”

Harry raises his hand in an insincere wave and doesn’t move an inch while Louis passes him by.

“Bye duck,” he murmurs.

When Louis’ a safe distance away, he turns and finds Harry frozen to the spot, staring dejectedly down into the freezer.

Louis shakes off the weird clenching in his chest and then busies himself with retrieving his wallet.

*-*-*-*-*

"What happens at work?"

Louis’ perched on his stomach beside Nick, his feet kicked up in the air and his skin still thrumming from their last round. Nick had worked on him for what felt like hours, licking up the base of his balls and then plunging his tongue inside his arse, making him tense spasmodically. He damn near cried at how wet and exposed he felt throughout. Nick had held Louis open and licked him out for what felt like hours, finally giving in and lazily fisting his throbbing cock while dipping his fingers inside Louis’ wet opening whenever Louis got weak enough to beg. After staving off Louis’ orgasm for an eternity, he hitched his legs up over his shoulders and fucked into him raw.

"Well it's funny, isn't it?” Nick rolls onto one side, resting his dishevelled hair in the palm of his hand. “We all head into this huge silver building with a big, ugly S on the front and carry around these mundane manuscripts that we rightfully despise. Then somewhere between hourly coffees and illegal ciggie breaks, these awful things called books get made."

Louis’ never met someone who works in publishing and yet hates books with such a passionate fury. It’s perplexing.

"Ha. Ha. You know what I mean, Nick. You don't think people will talk? That they'll know we've been sleeping together?"

"We've slept together a total of six times, Tomlinson and in just three positions I might add. I can't exactly see people smelling it on us, can you? Post coital showers are a must."

Louis giggles and rolls over on top of Nick, pressing his groin down against Nick's hips while he kisses him, close mouthed. He takes his time in opening his up mouth to Nick’s, smiling triumphantly at Nick's grunt of frustration and eventually rewarding him with a warm, firm hand around his cock. He's already half hard again in Louis’ hand and Louis can't help but to compose a thank you speech inside his head.

"I'd like to thank God for this divine man between my thighs. My friends, for teaching me the value of a huge cock and Cowell Publishing, for serving up my soul mate on a silver platter. Oh and of course my lovely boyfriend Nick, for having the stamina of a well bred horse."

Louis would love to win an Oscar.

“And the Oscar goes to...” he whispers incoherently.

Nick unlatches his mouth from the side of Louis’ neck.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing,” Louis giggles and then kisses Nick’s protests into silence.

*-*-*-*-*

“Lou!” Liam keens down the line, “Lou, what are you doing right now?!”

Louis looks down at the scarf draped over his lap and the plastic knitting needles lying either side. No one has to know.

“Just working out.”

“Really?” Liam says between sobs, “you don’t sound very puffed?”

Louis rolls his eyes. Only Liam would be this upset and still concerned with getting to the bottom of Louis’ story.

“I was doing yoga.”

“In your shoebox of a flat? Liam says sceptically.

 Louis huffs.

“What’s going on Liam? What’s he done now?”

“Oh. Oh, nothing. Actually it’s…me,” he gasps, clearly distraught.

“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not you mate, it’s Pricky Von Prick with the fucking short dick.”

Liam giggles, hiccupping loudly. Louis’ eyebrows jump towards his hairline and he clutches the phone to his ear.

“Liam. Did you just….giggle? You’ve never—you heard what I said right? I called the wanker a prick. I mean—“

“I just think it’s funny,” Liam cuts in, “that you’ve never called him by his name. Do you even know his name?”

“Course I do, it’s…does it start with a C?”

Liam snorts.

“No, you’re thinking of Cock Face. You called him that yonks ago, remember? And so much so that I started referring to him as CF whenever I wanted to bitch about him while he was in the room.”

“Right,” Louis cackles. “Sorry, is it T?”

“Nope, that’d be Tyrannosaurus Twat.”

“Of course,” Louis stares at the striped scarf, willing it to come to him. “F?”

“No, that was after he took me on that trip to Majorca, remember? We were planning on joining the mile high club but he--”

Louis slaps his knee, sending the scarf flying.

“Oh I remember,” he shouts, eyes tearing up with mirth. “He couldn’t get it up! I called him Frequent Fuck-Up. You threatened to unfriend me several times.”

“Do you want to know my favourite?” Liam asks.

“You have a favourite?”

“I do now. Do you remember that weekend he was supposed to take me away for my birthday? He wouldn’t stop lording it over me, remember? He kept telling me how generous he’d been to think of it. Then of course he didn’t show up so I ended up taking you instead and it was just as we were putting our bags in the taxi, you said—“

“Fuck him Payno. That Selfish Shitbag isn’t worth it.” Louis quotes. “That’s your favourite? I thought you already knew he was a selfish shitbag.”

“I did. But I finally realise that you were right about the rest of it too, that he isn’t worth it. He never was. I broke up with him, Lou. I was making dinner and running around trying to fold laundry at the same time. He asked me to rub his feet. His stinky, unwashed feet! I just snapped. I told him I’d had enough and that if he wanted his precious feet rubbed then he’d have to call his mother because I wasn’t going to mollycoddle him anymore. I called him the c word, Lou.” Louis squawks his surprise. “Well actually, I said he’s a cock-less c word and he looked at me all shocked, like he couldn’t believe I’d have the audacity to tell him off. Then he started ripping into me. You know how he gets—“

“I know, of course I know! Shit mate, you really did it? You finally cut him loose?”

“I did,” Liam laughs but it sounds teary, “he’s not my problem anymore.”

Louis grins to himself. Finally.

“And Zayn?”

“What about Zayn?” Liam asks, sounding plenty defensive.

“You know what Payno. Have you spoken to him or not? Have you thought about—“

Liam cuts him off at the pass.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re implying but I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t, okay? Not now. Please.”

Louis only lets him off the hook because of the noticeable tremble in his voice.

“Fine. So what’s up? You asked me—“

“Can we get a pint at the pub? Just you and me. Not Niall, not…”

Liam trails off but Louis gets the message.  Zayn is a no go zone.   

“Meet you there in ten.”

*-*-*-*-*

Louis hadn’t bothered to comb his hair or put his contacts in before he left home. He fears he looks rather like a harried professor stumbling into the bar with tendrils of hair falling down in between his glasses and curling gently around the edges of his temple.  Fortunately the rest of him offsets the whole professor look. Underneath his coat, he’s wearing a thin, lilac jumper that hugs his collarbones tightly and a pair of unwashed skinnies that he’s rolled to just above his ankles. Unfortunately he’s much too busy tucking his thumbs through the ripped holes in his sleeves to notice what awaits him.

When he gets to his and Liam’s usual table, he slides onto one of the stools and then gestures at his favourite bartender, PK. Louis’ known him for years now and he’s used to listening to him natter on about his boyfriend Mike and how disgustingly in love they are. To be fair Louis’ seen them together and they really should be the envy of every couple, gay or straight. He’s never seen two people so eerily perfect for each other.

Louis and PK fell in friendship-love pretty quickly when they met late one Saturday night at the pub. Louis was completely heartbroken over his latest fuck-up of a boyfriend and PK was working the bar, throwing him furtive, anxious looks over his shoulder, while looking like he wanted to come over and say something. Eventually he did (after about five minutes) and they didn’t stop talking until PK’s boss came over and yelled at him, reminding him that he was actually being paid to serve the whole pub, not just one poor, lonely sod. The rest, as they say is history. Now Louis and Liam get their drinks hand delivered every time they come in.

Louis fiddles with his phone as he waits, shooting Liam a text to ask where he is and not bothering to look up until he hears PK’s light footsteps trailing towards him.

“Lou, babe! Who’s this cutie you’ve brought with you?”

“Wh—“ Louis looks up from his phone and is met with a pair of huge, glittering green eyes.

He shrieks and falls off the side of the stool, limbs flailing. He hits the ground with a dull thud, bruising his tailbone badly.

“Lou!” PK squeaks, bending over the table to peer at him. “You okay babe?”

Louis’ fine. He just wants to throttle Harry for scaring the living daylights out of him. Unfortunately Harry has to make a rare show of compassion then, crouching down in front of him and pulling him up until they’re both sitting cross legged on the floor. He starts inspecting Louis closely for injuries, his eyes narrowed.

“Are you okay, duck?” He finally asks, brushing the dirt off Louis’ coat. He sounds genuinely concerned. “That was quite a nasty fall.”

Louis’ face feels like a furnace and he can’t seem to drag his eyes past Harry’s knees. That blasted nickname! It makes him feel awfully wriggly inside.

“I’m fine but my bum bloody hurts now, doesn’t it?” Louis mumbles sullenly. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t of scared me!”

Harry chuckles, the sound of it rough and breathless, like he’s surprised by his own amusement. He’s laughing at Louis, not with him.

“What’s so funny Harold?” Louis demands, glowering at him.

Harry eyes him with barely concealed disappointment, like he knows ‘Harold’ was a cheap shot and expected something more from Louis. Louis feels a sharp and unexpected stab of disappointment himself.

“Harry,” Harry corrects but there’s humour forming at the edges of his smile now. “Let me get this straight, you’re blaming me for hurting your bum, even though you were too lost in your phone to look up at your surroundings?”

Louis jumps to his feet in annoyance. Harry follows him, raising his eyebrows in obvious joviality.

“I was texting Liam to ask where he is!”

“He’s in the men’s,” Harry shrugs, “just went to dry his eyes a bit.”

“I—“ Louis looks between PK who seems fascinated by their exchange and Harry, whose laidback stance is throwing him off completely. “How the fuck do you know Liam?”

“I don’t,” Harry explains, “I just met him. I was sitting here going over a deposition and he turned up in tears, warning me in garbled English that this table belonged to him and his best mate.”

“And you decided to stay and wait for me?” Louis plants both hands on his hips. “That’s quite rude Styles, even for you. My best mate is clearly upset right now and he needs me. I can’t afford to sit here and argue with you just because you’re lonely.

Harry looks like he might laugh again but he turns to PK instead and grabs Louis’ drink from his hand.

“Hey mate, I’m Harry. I’ll just put this down for you so you don’t have to stand here and wait for us to finish. It might take a while, you see.” Harry rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and tilts his head at Louis. “If you’ve had anything to do with him, I’m sure you know what I mean.”

PK seems to be sizing Harry up and trying to decide if he’s an honest threat to Louis’ health and happiness. After a moment of this, his face lights up and he winks (winks!) at Louis’ sworn enemy.

“Of course I do. Lou and I can talk about mindless shit for hours! He’s unstoppable. Nice to meet you Harry, I’m PK. Of PK and Mike. And don’t take this the wrong way but I don’t mind waiting for you to finish, I’m quite enjoying this”

He flutters his eyelashes and leans his forearm against the table, eyes flicking between them both while he waits for them to continue. Harry snorts and turns back to Louis with a huge grin overtaking his features. Louis can’t decide if it’s too unnatural to be alluring. He does have very white teeth and those dimples only seem to get deeper every time he smiles. Granted, those smiles are usually few and far between and Louis doesn’t know if he should report the appearance of one. Harry’s smile is surely on the endangered species list somewhere.

“Actually, duck--” Harry starts and PK’s laugh bursts out his nostrils. Louis grumbles to himself. “I wasn’t waiting for you. My apologies, Your Highness but Liam seemed to be in quite the state about his ex and since I didn’t know when you’d be here, I figured I’d better stay with him. He seemed like he could use a hug.”

Louis’ eyes must be as wide as saucers. Men who dress in pinstriped suits and wear watches like Harry’s, (it could be as expensive as a year’s worth of Louis’ rent) do not stick around in grungy pubs like this to help mere strangers deal with their recent breakups.

“You give out hugs?” Louis scoffs, “I’m half convinced it’d be like hugging Voldemort, only worse.”

“Why don’t you…” PK wiggles his fingers in the space between them, eyes laughing into Louis’. “…test it out, babes?”

Louis flashes him a look of honest betrayal but PK ignores him, lips quirked up with mischief. Dammit, PK. Louis hates it when he meddles. He can feel the panic taking up his expression, even though it really shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not like he’s afraid of getting cooties. It’s just that it feels completely contradictory to the way they’ve treated each other since they (re)met. You don’t hug someone you despise…do you?

“I’m game if you are.”

Harry lowers his eyes to meet Louis’, his lips arcing higher with every passing moment.

Louis senses the challenge in every word. Fuck that. He takes two quick steps forward and slams into Harry’s chest, nuzzling his head in between his thick pecs and wrapping his arms tight around his waist. There’s a short gust of air blown across his scalp, a surprised oomph at the impact and then Harry wraps his arms around him in return, pressing his cheek to Louis’ hair. He squeezes around Louis’ waist and Louis can feel him nosing along his hairline like a bloody sniffer dog.

“Well.” Louis steps back, unable to tear his eyes from Harry’s. His cheeks feel hot again. “That wasn’t the worst hug I’ve ever received.”

Harry inclines his head, lowering his eyelashes again. He looks princely with his small, soft smile and the glowing pallor of his white skin. His hair is loosely brushed, resting a bit below his shoulders and it curls around the nape of his neck, forming open ended shapes around the arch.

“You’re welcome, duck.”

Louis stamps his foot.

“Quit calling me that!”

Harry chuckles quietly and scoops Louis’ drink up off the table. He takes a decent sip while Louis watches with building fury.

“Mm, you have decent taste. Is this your usual?”

“Yes,” PK leans toward Harry, biting down on a smirk.  “But he usually asks for an umbrella too.”

Harry giggles. Again. Again with the girlish giggling. This man should stick to things he can convincingly pull off, like a well-timed grimace or a harshly delivered insult.

“Me too, Lou.” Harry hangs his head to one side, a dopey smile spreading over his cheeks. “Isn’t that lovely? How much we have in common!”

Louis scoffs and then takes a seat at the table, ignoring them both while he knocks back his drink.

“PK, I’ll have what he’s having but with an umbrella if I could.”

PK giggles and then disappears back to the bar. Louis has his phone in his hand already. He’s working on studiously ignoring Harry when said inconvenience interrupts his reverie.

“You’re not actually going to stare at that thing all night, are you?”

Louis can see Harry’s huge, age roughened hands at the bottom of his vision. He wonders how he got them because he hardly seems like the type to engage in a spot of gardening or home improvement. Harry’s leaning across the table to look at Louis now but Louis doesn’t look up.

“That line’s from a movie. I’ll have what he’s having.” Louis notes idly, unconsciously mouthing around the edges of the glass until he locates the straw inside. Harry chuckles lowly. “You’re not actually planning on sticking around, are you?”

Harry gently takes the phone from his hands and turns it face down on the table. Louis looks up at him with annoyance but Harry’s look is fond and his smile, genuine. When did that happen and why? God, why is Harry looking at him like that? It’s unnerving and unnatural.

“I know it’s a line from a movie. It’s from when Harry met Sally. And it’s, ‘I’ll have what she’s having,’ actually.”  Harry winks at him. Louis’ mouth betrays him with a smile. “Tell me, why does it bother you so much if I stick around?”

“So you like romantic comedies? I assumed your Netflix contained only the highest tier documentaries and perhaps the occasional Suits episode.” Louis mocks him, eyebrows raised. Harry wrinkles his nose at the mention of Suits. “And it bothers me, because you take such pleasure in watching me make a fool out of myself. This is about Liam, not us.”

They’re having two conversations at once apparently and it’s starting to get confusing. Where is Liam? Did he drown in the toilet?

“Of course I like romantic comedies.” Harry presses an insulted hand to his chest, looking genuinely offended by Louis’ doubt. “My Netflix has a vast array of shows and films. I never have much time to watch any of it during the week but on the weekends I indulge.” Harry pauses. “You don’t feel the same while watching me make a fool of myself?”

“That’s different,” Louis claims.

Harry looks confused, leaning closer to inspect Louis’ expression.

“How so?”

“You don’t do it as often,” Louis confesses, “you’re not the butt of everyone’s jokes.”

Harry grabs his hand and arcs his head low, his eyes holding Louis’ as he ever so gingerly presses his lips to one of Louis’ knuckles. Louis’ stomach jumps wildly.

“You’re not a joke to me, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Shit—I mean, I--“

Louis doesn’t manage to stammer out whatever incoherent response his lips were forming before PK is sidling up to them again, followed closely by a weepy eyed Liam.

“Harry, your drink.” PK settles the cocktail down in front of him, then leans in and kisses Louis’ forehead. “Louis, your kiss.”

Louis swats at him, eyes scrunched in equal parts fondness and irritation. Harry eyes him over the rim of his glass, his eyes reflecting the same disconcerting warmth as before.

“Okay, I’m leaving!”

PK plants an obnoxiously loud kiss on Liam’s cheek and then marches back to the bar, hips swaying like the proper attention whore he is. Granted, Louis can’t pretend he doesn’t use his own ample behind to his advantage. Harry watches him go.

“He has a boyfriend,” Louis hisses, “quit it!”

Harry’s brow is furrowed and he looks to Liam, hoping he might be able to explain the reason for Louis’ consternation.

“Quit what?”

Liam shrugs. Louis sighs. If Harry doesn’t want to own up to ogling PK’s arse, that’s fine. It’s not worth it, although neither is ogling PK. His bum isn’t really anything to write home about, is it?

“Never mind.”

Liam’s look says “what the hell?” but Louis looks away from him, pretending not to see it. Liam takes a seat at the table.

“So.” Louis claps him on the shoulder, squeezing a little. “How you feeling mate?”

“I’m—I’m okay,” Liam’s bottom lip wobbles tellingly as he glares down at the table. “I just needed a minute.”

Harry clutches his shoulder from the other side, cutting in just when Louis had been about to speak.

“I think you might need more than a minute, Liam. You were with this guy for how long? A couple of years? That doesn’t go away overnight. Speaking of going away, is it…is it okay if I join you guys? I know you said you wanted me to, but—“

“Course. I said I want Harry to stay Lou. You two knew each other when you were younger, right? You must have some great stories.”

Liam looks excited by the prospect of a distraction and that makes Louis feel like complete manure. He doesn’t fancy delving into his and Harry’s shared past, not when he can’t remember half of it. Especially not when the thought of it makes him feel uncomfortably tight around the chest.

“Well, Louis did used to—“

“Nothing,” Louis sends Harry a venomous look, “Louis used to nothing. Sorry Payno but memory lane is currently undergoing roadworks. It’s not open to public use.”

Harry giggles at that, dribbling a bit of his cocktail back into the glass. It’s awfully boyish and painfully endearing. Louis finds himself smiling shyly at him, his eyelashes beating low against his cheeks. He did laugh at Louis’ joke, that’s always an easy way to charm the pants off of Louis. Not that any pants will be coming off in Harry’s presence. Liam looks between them like they’ve completely lost their heads.

“That was a shit joke but…okay. If it’s all the same to you guys, I really don’t fancy talking about him right now. I just wanted to drown my sorrows. Speaking of, Lou would you mind grabbing me a drink? I think PK’s too busy to be our waiter tonight.”

Louis nods and shoots off toward the bar. It takes PK a while to finish chatting with his regulars and gossiping with the newbies but eventually he notices Louis hanging over by the bar. He lopes over with a bright smile.

“Liam’s usual, thanks PK.”

“Mmhm,” PK nods and starts filling a glass. “Anything for lovely Harry?”

“Harry isn’t lovely,” Louis says with a cutting tone. “He’s painful. He’s arrogant. He’s intolerably rude! Plus, did you see what he’s wearing? A god damn pinstriped suit. Have you ever seen anything so awful?”

PK cocks an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed.

“I think he looks fit, actually. Mike too.” Louis throws him a questioning look and PK laughs, unabashed, planting Liam’s beer down in front of him. “He wanted to see a photo of the mysterious man you’ve been courting.”

PK flutters his eyelashes again.

“I’m not ‘courting’ him!” Louis protests, clenching his fists. “I’ve got a boyfriend! And he’s a lot nicer than Harry Pretentious Prat Styles. He’s also better dressed! Not that that’s particularly hard.”

“Sheesh babe, you’re being a bit harsh don’t you think?” PK shakes his head, “I can’t believe you don’t see it.”

“See what?” Louis snaps.

PK widens his eyes at the bench below him. When he looks back up, he’s smirking.

“That you and Harry are just a premature version of Mike and myself.”

“What?!” Louis’ laugh is more saliva heavy than usual on account of his mouth drying up almost completely. “That’s crazy! Harry and I can’t stand each other. You and Mike are like—like planets orbiting each other, or something. Did I mention I have a boyfriend?!”

“Mmhm,” PK looks miraculously unconvinced, “but I don’t see him here tonight. Nor have I met him yet and given how close we are, I find that a bit strange. It’s never taken you more than sixty seconds to mention a new shitty boyfriend. It took you more than ten minutes this time.”

“I—“ Louis is dumbfounded. “I was distracted.”

“I know,” PK sings, shaking his hips from side to side, “by Harry.”

“I’m leaving now!”

PK chuckles and then grabs at his arm.

“Hey, wait! Babe, I’m just saying that you and Harry aren’t so different from Mike and I. Maybe you didn’t instantly click like we did but all I know is there’s a whole lot of clicking going on in your eyes right now. In your eyes and his.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever.”

PK exhales a dreamy sigh.

“Love rarely does, Louis. Love rarely does.”

Louis just rolls his eyes and walks away, back to the table where Liam is hunched over crying.

“Here mate, have a drink.” Louis slides the drink in front of him and rubs his shoulder tenderly, nuzzling into the side of his neck. “Listen here love, it’s all going to be okay. I promise that you’ll only miss him for a little bit. Just until you start to realise how much better off you are without him. You’re so lovely Li, you’re going to marry someone just as lovely as you, I promise.”

Liam hiccups and pulls him in by the waist, burying his wracking sobs in Louis’ chest.

“Louis’ right,” Harry agrees, petting Liam’s shoulder weakly. Louis meets his eyes over Liam’s head. “I don’t know you that well yet but I’d like to. That’s miraculous. I’m sure Louis will attest to the fact that I’m not much of a people person.”

“I will,” Louis agrees.

It’s so automatic and instinctive that they all burst into laughter, even Liam.

“So. Do you want some real advice, Liam?”

Louis frowns at him.

“So mine wasn’t real advice? Just horse manure compared to the superior insight you could offer him?”

“No,” Harry says crossly, “I just meant that I might have experienced things you haven’t.”

“Oh really? Do tell, wise one, what have you experienced that I, naïve little Louis, haven’t?”

“Divorce,” Harry says simply.

Louis feels like a right bastard.

“Louis,” Liam whines, clearly embarrassed.

“Oh,” Louis breathes out quietly, schooling his expression into one of open friendliness. “You’re right then. Please tell us about it?”

“My divorce?” Harry looks a bit overwhelmed, eyes jumping from Louis’ face to Liam’s, then back to Louis’ again. “I wasn’t really planning on—“

“Please,” Liam murmurs, head drooping down towards the table. “I think I need to hear it.”

To his surprise, Louis doesn’t even have to silently beg Harry. Harry takes one look at Liam’s sad little face and caves.

“Yeah, okay.” He agrees. “Well, I guess it all went south when—“

“No, no no.” Louis shakes his head, pointing at Harry accusingly. “You have to start at the beginning. Where did you meet him? What’s he like? What did you like about him?”

Harry’s eyelashes flutter like he’s distracted by the depth of his own memory. He looks tempted to protest but Louis jerks his head toward Liam and his face falls. He gives in again.

“Of course, my apologies. Well, the first thing you should know is that this wasn’t the first time I was engaged. I never—I never ended up going through it with the first time.” Harry looks down at the table, his fringe shrouding his eyes from Louis’ intrusive stare. “It didn’t really work out. So I guess when I met Xander, I should have been more cautious. I should have been less easily swayed.”

“Xander?” Harry raises his head and Louis grins at him, teasingly. “Not Edward or Augustus or—or Clarence! I could really see you marrying a Clarence.”

“Clarence, really?” Harry tilts his head to the side like he’s fascinated with Louis’ perspective. “That’s awfully off putting.”

Louis grins wider, his canines poking out.

“How judgemental of you. Poor Clarence.”

Harry chuckles and knocks back the last of his drink, steadily holding Louis’ gaze. Liam coughs exaggeratedly and they both jump.

“Anyway… I think in hindsight I should have seen another broken heart coming. Xander was magnificent in almost every way but he was too much so.”

“How can anybody be too magnificent?”

Liam sounds as sceptical as Louis feels. Harry looks content with the question, as though he’s thought about this particular part of it a lot.   

“How much do you know about sociopaths?”

“What?” Louis spits half his drink back out into his glass. “What the hell are you asking that for?”

Harry settles him with an exasperated but fond look.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Duck.”

Louis growls.

“You really have to tell me the story behind that nickname later,” Liam laughs. Louis flashes him an insistent glare but Liam rudely ignores it, turning to answer Harry instead. “Not much, why?”

“Well sociopaths are usually very charming. They have magnetic personalities. They’re often the hardest criminals to profile because people don’t typically associate those kinds of characteristics with the crimes they commit. They can be the most unfeeling and inhuman of deviants but when dealing with everyday situations, they know just how to be the kind of person everybody likes.”

“So your boyfriend was a sociopath?” Louis arches his eyebrows at him. “Is that how you know so much about them?”

Harry looks slightly irritated by the interruption but not altogether surprised.

“Husband, not boyfriend. And no of course not, do you know how likely that is? Statistically, the chances are miniscule. I know so much because I’ve met a couple in the prisons I’ve visited. They really seem like nice people. You almost forget who you’re dealing with but they’ve done some of the most unimaginably horrible things.”

Louis finds himself leaning in, tracing the intense line of Harry’s brow with his eyes. It’s an interesting subject. Sociopaths, that is. Not Harry’s brow.

“But if your husband wasn’t a sociopath then what does that have to do with anything?” Liam asks, clearly bewildered.

“I was just making a point that people are often layered. Like onions.” Isn’t that Louis—that’s Louis’ metaphor. It’s not that strange, is it? “And sometimes you have to peel the layers back to find out what’s underneath. Sometimes the first couple are all charm and wit, everything you’d want in a potential lover but beneath that, there’s something less than sweet.”

“So Xander wasn’t as perfect as he seemed?” Liam prompts.

Harry shakes his head, his eyes distant and hurt. Louis nudges his foot beneath the table in an effort to bring him back to the current setting. Harry’s eyes track across to his and he smiles gently into Louis’ as he talks.

“No that’s just it, he was. The first few layers were genuine. He was everything I thought I wanted in somebody I wanted to share my life with. That’s how we ended up together and that’s why I proposed. I loved everything about him and he treated me so, so well. But underneath the first few layers, there was nothing. There were no mysteries to be had, no kooky little quirks. And I—have either of you ever heard the song, The Way I Loved You by Taylor Swift?”

“You listen to Taylor Swift?!” Louis shrieks, laughter bubbling its way to the surface. Harry’s cheeks darken, his eyes straying from Louis’. It only makes Louis laugh harder. “Permission to make fun of that, please.”

Harry narrows his eyes and leans far across the table towards Louis.

“You stole that line off Chandler Bing!”

Louis pulls him in by the lapels of his suit jacket, grinning madly and then pushes him back against the stool with a dramatic shove.

“Baby, I’m Chandler reincarnated”

Harry looks slightly out of it, his eyes glazed. Perhaps caught off guard by Louis’ theatrics?

“He’s not dead?” Harry comments with a burgeoning smile.

“He could be. Have you seen Matthew Perry lately? He looks like he’s halfway to the grave.”

Harry acknowledges him with a shrug.

“Personally I’m not so judgemental. Everybody ages, duck.”

“You know…” Louis plucks the umbrella out of Harry’s drink and then tucks it behind his own ear. He doesn’t care how ridiculous he looks. It’s worth it to see the disappointed pout on Harry’s lips. “If you call me that one more time, I’m going to have to throw my drink in your face and stain that ghastly pinstriped suit of yours.”

Harry looks horrified by the prospect. Liam chooses to butt in then, waving his hands in front of Harry’s and Louis’ faces to get them to stop grinning at each other.

“Are we going to talk about Xander now? Cause guys when I decided I wanted to come for a drink tonight, I didn’t really plan on being a third wheel.”

Louis kicks Harry’s shin under the table. It’s his fault, after all. He should have left as soon as Louis arrived.

“Ouch,” Harry winces, reaching down to rub at his leg. He shoots Louis a volatile look. “Sorry Liam, we’re both,” he emphasises that part, “…very sorry for not tending to your needs. Let me continue with what I was saying. There’s a Taylor Swift song I heard once that stuck with me. There was this one line in particular that perfectly described what went wrong with me and Xander. Ah, let me think of it…yes it’s… ‘and my heart’s not breaking cause I’m not feeling anything at all.’”

“So you were numb?” Liam suggests, studying Harry’s expression carefully.

Harry nods eagerly and leans in. Louis kicks him again for good measure. His vulnerable best friend is extremely off limits, thank you very much. Harry just shakes his head and doesn’t bother acknowledging him.

“Exactly. It was like being suffocated by how little I wanted to be there, by how much nothing there was between us. I think when we met it was exciting because we had so much in common. We could talk for hours about almost anything. But we fell into a rut. He always loved me better than I deserved but not in the way I wanted to be loved. I wanted to argue a little, to fight. I want to have angry sex, make-up sex, just sex that doesn’t happen the same way every time. I don’t always want to know what will happen, or whether I’ll be able to handle it. I want to be pushed to my very limits.”

Louis really doesn’t want to think about slamming into walls with Harry and tearing at each other’s clothes, mouthing hungrily over each other’s bodies while searching for every sensitive spot that could possibly induce pleasure. Edging each other, almost painfully, just to punish each other for their latest spat, their most recent pointless squabble. It’s just not that easy to ignore the potential fantasy when the object of that fantasy sucks at his straw exactly how Louis imagines he might suck dick.

“You want to argue?” Louis scoffs. Distraction techniques 101. “To fight? What kind of person wants a relationship like that? You actually broke up with your boyfriend because he didn’t fight with you?”

“He was my husband, Louis.” Harry says sternly. “We didn’t break up, we divorced. And he divorced me, not the other way round.”

Louis’ mouth falls open and he’s about to apologise for acting like such a tit but Liam gets in before him.

“Wow, sorry mate. That’s awful. But…I mean, why? If you felt like you weren’t in love with him anymore then why didn’t you say anything? How come he was the one who ended it?”

“Because,” Harry’s voice is thick and low, his eyelashes brushing the bottoms of his eyes while he fiddles with the bottom of his glass. “I did love him. I loved the kind of person he was and the way he fit into my life so seamlessly. He believed in all the same things and we had the same sense of humour, the same shampoo preferences…we were made for each other. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me, why it didn’t feel right anymore. So I stayed with him. I tried my hardest to subdue the feeling that we were wasting the best years of our lives in a relationship that had long dried up. We were married six years and after the first two, I had doubts. Maybe it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise then when he told me he’d met someone new.”

“He cheated on you?” Louis asks, completely flabbergasted. “This was why you were so sad at the Christmas party, wasn’t it?”

“I was awful, you can say it.”

Harry wears a rueful but gloomy smile. In this moment, with the orange glow from the setting sun lighting up one side of his face and the melted emerald of his eyes roaming gently across the room, he looks authentically beautiful. Tragically so, but beautiful all the same. His eyes have this transparent warmth to them, like melted candle wax that forms a pool at the bottom of the jar. His hurt and heartbreak are blatant but the fact that he’s sharing it with them is oddly touching. He looks moved by it too and almost relieved, as though he needed to talk about it almost as much as they wanted to hear it. Louis reaches across and squeezes his hand.

“You were awful. But you had been through something awful too.”

Harry’s lips purse inwards like he can’t bear to breathe in this moment. His eyes trail across Louis’ features with surprise, as if he’s searching for the punch line. Has Louis really been that difficult? Shit, maybe he’s as bad as Harry.

“I had. Yes, he cheated on me. The two of them hadn’t consummated their relationship properly but they had everything planned out. He told me on a Tuesday that he met someone else and then he was moved into his new boyfriend’s apartment by the following day. Divorce proceedings began just two weeks later, right in the lead up to Christmas. It was finalised the day before the party.”

“Oh Harry, I’m so sorry.” Liam frowns at him, clearly bogged down by Harry’s issues just as much as his own. It’s the way he’s always been, so empathetic. “But I’m still a bit confused by the whole, ‘I want to argue’ thing.”

“Me too,” Louis agrees, “and what I don’t get is…you don’t seem angry? Your husband cheated on you. Aren’t you furious?”

“Well, I was. I shouted, I threw things, I lost my shit in a way I never had ever before.” Harry pauses just in time for Louis to mutter, “did Harry Styles say ‘I lost my shit?’ Harry rolls his eyes and continues on. “But I guess I understood why it happened that way. How I played a role.”

“Oh hell no,” Louis shakes his head, gearing up for a rant.  “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those people who actually thinks the blame is shared. Having a difficult relationship with someone is not a justification for cheating.”

“Lou,” Liam keens, eyes wide and pleading.

“No Liam, it’s okay. I understand Louis’ point. I’m not saying Xander was justified in cheating, not at all. He made bad choices and he hurt me because of them. It still hurts, the way he treated me. The way it ended was…bitter.” Louis’ look softens and he reforms his features into an apologetic smile. Harry’s foot nudges his this time. “But what kind of man would I be if I didn’t look back at what happened and take responsibility for staying silent? We were unhappy but neither us had the gall to do anything about it up until that point. I don’t want to be angry at him, it takes too much energy. I don’t want to stay friends with him, don’t get me wrong but I’m not going to hold it against him forever either. Not if I can help it.”

“That’s very…noble of you.”

“I know what you mean by that,” Harry counters, “you think I’m well-intentioned but misguided.”

“No,” Louis assures him, “I don’t, really. I just think you’re dangerously close to blaming yourself and I don’t want that. I won’t allow that.”

“Oh,” Harry smirks at Liam, “did you hear that? Louis Tomlinson is worried about me. He thinks I’m a naïve little lamb who needs his Mother Duck.”

Liam sniggers at Louis’ pink cheeked embarrassment.

“Oh shut up, you’re both bastards!”

“Anyway,” Harry continues, still annoyingly smug. “The whole arguing thing is….I know it sounds weird. It’s not like I want someone who I’m going to argue with about every little thing. I just think sometimes the people that make you feel the craziest are the ones you have the most to learn from because perhaps you don’t understand them, or they you and that makes everything more intense. I don’t want to be with anybody that isn’t going to give me a hard time when I deserve it. I met Xander at a Harvard Law function and I instantly felt drawn towards him. It was like every word that came out of his mouth had been circling my mind right before he said it. Two peas in a pod, really. But he never surprised me. He never challenged me. I always knew what he was thinking and how every day with him would turn out. I was safe with him, but I was too safe.”

“Wait, rewind,” Louis mimics PK’s signature move, “You didn’t go to Harvard Law so what were you doing at a Harvard Law function?”

“I didn’t have to have attended Harvard, it’s not as exclusive as you think. I have a really good reputation, many of the professors there are close friends of mine so when I moved to L.A I made the trip to—“

“You moved to L.A?!”

Liam elbows him in the side. Louis rubs at the tender spot.

“Ouch, what was that for?”

“Quit interrupting! Can’t you just sit and listen for once in your life?”

Louis sticks his tongue out at him. Liam pushes his face away, unimpressed.

“Yes, I lived in L.A,” Harry leans back on the stool and folds his arms across his chest. He has nice arms. Really thick and muscular but not too bulky. “I moved there when I was twenty four and two years later, I met Xander. We lived there for four years and then moved back to England. I was a bit in love with L.A in my twenties.”

“I find that hard to imagine. You’re so…”

“Uptight?” Harry grins crookedly at him. Louis’ heart smacks hard against his ribcage. “I’m not as posh as you think I am, Louis. I eat mozzarella dippers and play Fifa too.”

“You do?” Louis shakes his head to clear it. “But you’re a lawyer. How do you have the time? What do you when you get melted cheese on your suit?”

Harry laughs boisterously. Liam beckons to PK, turning to shake his head at Louis immediately after.

“He probably gets it dry-cleaned, don’t be such a drama queen.”

 “How very dare you!” Louis gasps and pretends to faint.

Harry giggles and steals the umbrella back from behind Louis’ ear, tucking it behind his own. Louis’ smile gets a little more pointed.

“Actually, I wear sweats. Like a proper holey hoodie and baggy joggers. Can you believe it, Lou? Sometimes I don’t even wear trousers!” He cups his hands around his cheeks in a remarkable impression of Louis’ shocked face. “It’s crazy!”

PK arrives with new drinks for each of them. He points at Harry’s pose, eyes gleaming.

“You’re imitating Lou, aren’t you?”

Louis sighs in despair while the three of them laugh at him. PK ruffles his hair and disappears back into the drunken crowd with an enigmatic grin.

“So Harry, let me just get this straight.” Liam folds his hands together in front of him and stares Harry down like he’s interviewing him for a position at some big corporate job. And Louis’ supposedly the dramatic one? “You want to fall in love with someone you don’t want to fall in love with?”

“Yes,” Harry shouts excitedly, pulling Liam into a rough hug, “you understand exactly.”

Liam looks quite pleased with himself, his tawny brown eyes glowing dimly as he knocks his drink against Harry’s. Louis feels a bit like the third wheel now.

“But how do you fall in love with someone if you don’t want to?” Louis presses. “How do you even get to know them if you can’t stand them? This isn’t Pride and Prejudice, Harold.”

Harry seems to consider Louis’ questions seriously, tilting his head as he passes a hand over his jaw. Such a clean cut jaw. Louis’ mouth could glide down that slope so easily and he wouldn’t even get beard burn. He could nuzzle that spot below Harry’s ear, the one with soft, dimpled skin which sports the tiniest little freckle Louis’ ever seen. Louis blames the cocktail for this errant train of thought. He’s always been a lightweight.

“I guess I believe you don’t have a choice,” Harry’s saying, “you find yourself wanting to be around them whether they drive you up the wall or not.” Harry’s smile is shy now and twitching at the corners. He puts his drink back down and looks up into Louis’ eyes with a quiet calm seeping from his expression. “And maybe it’s not love at first sight, maybe it’s not even love at second sight but there’s something there that keeps you coming back for more. You get to know them because you can’t resist. You fall in love completely when you realise you no longer want to.”

“That’s…um…” Louis blinks back at him in awe.

“Beautiful, Harry. It is. But I…how is this relevant to my situation?” Liam looks a little dubious, like he might be doubting Harry’s supreme wisdom. “My boyfriend was never too perfect for me and I didn’t feel nothing when I was with him. He was just a complete jerk 99% of the time.”

“A jerk you were with because, why?” Harry insists.

Louis moves his chair in closer and cups his chin in hand. He wants to see where Harry’s going with this.

“Because I loved him?”

“Nope, that’s not it. People don’t love their partners who treat them like shit. They love the idealised version of them. They love the person they imagine their significant other to be, not the person that they actually are.”

Interesting. Louis watches Liam digest the information, nodding his head like it’s something he’s never thought of before. It probably isn’t. Louis’ certainly never thought of it that way.

“So you’re saying I’m not in love with him? That I just fell in love with who I wanted him to be …who I thought he was?”

“Yes,” Harry’s smile is encouraging, “and I think it’s much the same when it comes to myself. We both had plans worked out in our heads, you and I. We were looking for a certain type of person. When we thought we’d found what we wanted, we settled. We decided the dream was more important than the reality of the relationships we were in. What I’m saying is you can’t fall in love with an illusion. That’s why I’ve stopped paying attention to what I’m looking for. Because what I want is the kind of love that seizes me and turns my head in his direction. When you can’t look away, when you can’t fathom walking away, that’s real.”

“You took poetry classes when you were younger, didn’t you?” Louis accuses, trying not to let it show that he’s completely endeared.

“Louis, stop sassing him. Harry, I…I don’t know what to say. My relationship has never made sense like that before; why it didn’t work, why I needed it to, why I can’t be happy with someone I just decided was perfect for me. I don’t know about the whole sparring partner, I think maybe you have a kink,” Louis snickers and Harry hits him lightly across the arm. “But I like the idea that when it’s genuine you don’t go chasing after it. It chases you, right?”

“Right.”

Harry beams at him like a proud dad. It’s a little bit cute.

“Okay, okay,” Louis waves his hands around, “enough of the serious talk. Payno, we came here to get you plastered and I’m not leaving until we’ve accomplished just that. It’s shots time!”

Liam cracks a grin.

“Now we’re talking.”   

“PK!” Louis shouts, “bring on the shots!”

When PK appears, it’s with Mike attached to his body. Mike’s arms are slung around his waist and his head hangs down over PK’s shoulder.

“Michael!” Louis squeals.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Lou? It’s just Mike.”

Mike shakes his head at Louis and then nuzzles the side of PK’s face. PK giggles and swats half-heartedly at his nose.

“Are you going to let us spin the wheel or not?” Louis demands.

“Spin the wheel?” Harry defers to PK and Mike, expression troubled. “What wheel?”

“Oh, it’s great! So one time Louis comes in after his most recent break up and let me tell you, this guy was a total dweeb.” Louis makes an aborted motion but PK’s totally oblivious, gesturing excitedly as Mike rocks his body from side to side. “Anyway, I’m doing everything to cheer him up and get his mind off that arse wipe. I showed him pictures of Mike and I on our camping trip and re-told him the story of how we met, I even called Mike and put him on speakerphone so he could sing Louis our song.”

“Mystifying. I can’t fathom why hearing about your fairy-tale love didn’t ease my heartbreak,” Louis deadpans.

PK tilts his head on the side and frowns at him, confused. Mike laughs at his bewilderment and kisses both sides of his neck.

“C’mon baby, how could you possibly think that would help?”

PK turns his head up against Mike’s chest and pecks his lips sweetly.

“It’s not my fault everybody else is jealous of us.”

“Can we get on with the story, please?” Liam interjects. “I’d like to be a lot drunker than I currently feel.”

“Alright babe, keep your panties on.” PK says, still smiling dopily at Mike. “So anyway, none of it worked. Louis was still a miserable, lonely sod who needed to be cheered up. Then I came up with this brill idea of just how to do it! I called Mike and told him to make me a pinwheel out of cardboard.  Then Lou called Liam and I started compiling a list of shots and texting them to Mike. When Mike and Liam got there, we all played what I lovingly refer to as ‘you already know.’”

“Why ‘you already know?’” Harry questions.

“It’s his catchphrase,” Liam swiftly informs him.

Louis rolls his eyes.

“He thinks he’s cute.”

“He is cute. He’s an ittby bitty muffin with cuteness baked in,” Mike coos, engaging PK in a soft Eskimo kiss. “Isn’t that right babe?”

PK wrinkles his nose.

“Actually babe, that was kind of disgusting. Even for us.”

“I guess I’ll explain the game, shall I?” Louis huffs and turns his body in Harry’s direction. “Okay, here’s the deal. Each team of two has to answer questions about each other. Each member answers one question about the other member per round, then we switch. If you get the question right, no one takes a shot but if you get it wrong, you have to spin the wheel and your partner has to take whatever shot it lands on. The first team to drink ten shots collectively, loses. I’ll give you an example. If I were to answer the first question and get it wrong, I’d spin the wheel and you’d have to take whatever shot it lands on. Then you’d answer one about me and if you got it right, I’d get off scot free. Then it would be PK and Mike’s turn. Get it?”

Louis scoots around until he’s seated beside him, they’ll obviously be a team. Harry looks strangely troubled by the notion of the game.

“I—“

“Hang on, what am I doing? I’m always your partner Lou.” Liam whines. “Do I really have to sit out? I’m the one who’s supposed to be getting drunk.”

“Oh you can take my place Liam.” Harry says politely. “I don’t think it’s my kind of game anyway.”

Louis scoffs and then leers at Harry, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Why not, Styles? Too low brow, is it?”

“No,” Harry denies vehemently, “don’t be a prat. I just…don’t do shots.”

PK leans down into Harry’s face, grinning evilly. Now we’re talking.

“I’m sure Louis could show you some that you’d like. There’s the blow job,” PK starts listing them on his fingers, “the flaming asshole, the body shot. Louis goes absolutely weak for a body shot,” PK confides, “from anybody.”

“You. Let People. Drink.” Harry starts spluttering, staring at Louis like a frightened rabbit. His eyes jump around from place to place like he doesn’t quite know where to look. “You let people drink. Off your body.”

Louis doesn’t point out that none of that makes sense. Instead he downs the rest of Liam’s drink and runs his hands through his hair, messing it up with the tips of his fingers. Harry watches with a subtly wrapt expression.

“It’s called a body shot for a reason, innit? Why?” Louis leans into Harry’s space. “Does my body make you uncomfortable? Repulse you, perhaps?”

It started as a joke, he was enjoying riling Harry up but seeing the plain terror in Harry’s expression makes Louis think Harry might actually be that turned off by him.

“What? No!” Harry looks appalled. “But you have a boyfriend. Don’t you think Nick would be up in arms if he knew?”

Yes, actually. But only because it’s Harry. Is it so awful that Louis’ considering letting the man who betrayed his boyfriend take a shot off his body? It doesn’t mean anything to Louis, really. PK wasn’t lying when he said Louis goes weak for body shots. It’s never been tied to any kind of emotional response before. He’s had PK, Mike and Liam take shots off his body and all of them are (or were, in Liam’s case) taken. Why should it be any different with Harry? Nick may have a personal vendetta against him and understandably so but Harry hasn’t been all that easy to loathe tonight. The opposite really. Louis’ not going to fight his boyfriend’s battles for him. He’s not going to take a drinking game too seriously either.

“Didn’t know you cared,” Louis rolls his shoulder back, smiling. “But it’s not a marriage certificate, Harry. It’s not even a kiss. We play this game all the time. I played it long before Nick and I started dating and I’m not about to stop now. So are you going to chicken out and let Liam take your place or are you going to loosen up that stupidly tight collar of yours and finally let yourself have some fun?”

“I—“ Harry looks flabbergasted and his eyes flash to Liam’s face. “Liam—“

“Liam can go with PK,” Mike offers, smacking a wet kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, “I should head home anyway. Lots of laundry to do. Bit unfair anyway, us playing together. You guys seem less familiar with each other,” he says, pointing two fingers at Harry and Louis, “and Liam and PK only know so much about each other. It’s a fair fight.”

“Listen to my boy. Such a martyr,” PK kisses him again, this time with a bit more sloppy tongue, “I’ll see you later, love.”

Mike pats his arse and then blows him a kiss.

 “Bye baby.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Harry says once he’s gone, looking over at PK. “I don’t think I even believed it existed.”

PK looks chuffed, as always. Louis knocks his shoulder against Harry’s.

“You better believe it baby,” he whispers.

Harry laughs at him and then to Louis’ surprise, reaches up to undo the buttons at the top of his collar. He pulls the stiff material out towards his collarbones, revealing two rounded bird tattoos that meet in the middle of his chest. They look like they’re entangled in some form of almost-kiss.

“Shit,” Louis breathes in a reverent whisper. His fingers hover over the point where the two birds meet and he looks up at Harry with eyed wide with hope. “May I?”

Harry’s eyes loom large in his face and he nods, mouth parted. Louis doesn’t know why he needs to touch so very badly but he does. He hears Liam and PK chatting quietly to each other across the table but it fades into white noise as he skims his fingers across the birds from end to end. Harry’s skin is icy but breathtakingly soft. He feels more than hears Harry’s sigh and it spurs him on, encouraging him to pull the collar out wider so he can slip his hands beneath Harry’s shirt and fully cover the birds with his palms. Harry’s skin suddenly feels much warmer beneath his hands, like silk sheets fresh from the dryer.

“They’re lovely,” Louis says in a hushed breath, palming Harry’s collar bones. “So lovely but—out of character. When did you get them?”

Harry takes Louis’ hands out of his shirt and guides them back to the table. He pats them gently, smiling at Louis as if to console him.

“Just after my divorce,” he says lowly, “when I needed them most.”

“You needed them?”

Harry nods and then turns to face Liam and PK. PK’s pulled up a stool across from Louis and Liam’s scooted around so he’s sitting opposite Harry. Louis’ a bit miffed, considering he wasn’t done questioning Harry but he supposes they should get on with it.

“Okay lads, this is how it’s going to work. Haz and I will devise a set of questions for you two to answer about each other while you devise a set for us. Nothing too simple but obviously nothing that might be completely impossible either. If you don’t know the answers, we probably don’t either.”

“But Tommo, we don’t really know Harry,” Liam says reasonably.

“Ah, right.” Louis turns to Harry with a plea. “Got any ideas, Green Eyes?”

Harry smiles softly at him, his mouth curling up around the edges. His gaze sweeps across Louis’ face in concentrated waves that make Louis feel just about as dizzy as Harry looks. Louis has to nudge his thigh just to snap him back to reality.

“Oh.” Harry blinks, awareness slowly returning to his expression. “Right. I ah…I could write my own? You guys could check them after to make sure they’re not too easy.”

PKs shifts his gaze between Harry and Louis, leaning back on his stool.

“But how do Liam and I know what Louis knows about you, Harry?”

“You don’t,” Louis sighs, “but this isn’t the bloody Olympics, it’s a drinking game. Let’s get on with it, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

PK places the pinwheel on top of the table and then hands Harry and Louis a stack of cards.

“Write the question on one side and the answer on the other. Do as many as you can in the next ten minutes so that we don’t run out.”

Harry and Louis set to work writing while Liam and PK do the same. Ten minutes later, Harry hands his cards over to PK and Louis hands Harry half his stack.

“Okay, you boys want to start?” PK asks, clearly holding back a giggle. “Harry looks like he might wet himself if he doesn’t get it over with soon.”

Louis looks over at him. Sure enough, Harry’s cheeks are flaming pink and he looks visibly sweaty. Louis covers one side of mouth with his palm and then leans in to whisper in Harry’s ear.

“Green eyes, if you shit yourself before we start then we’ll definitely lose. Don’t stress, I promise I won’t let them get you too drunk.”

Harry nods and looks a little bit calmer when Louis pulls back. Louis sends a smug look PK’s way.

“Yes, Haz and I will go first.”

“Okay then. Liam, you can ask Harry the first question.”

Harry wipes his clammy hands on his trousers and shoots Louis a wobbly smile that Louis worries might be intended to reassure him.

“Harry, how many pets has Louis killed?”

Louis gasps in offence. He points an accusing finger at Liam’s face.

“You’re horrible, Lima Pin.”

Liam smiles toothily back at him. Louis is glad their banter is cheering him up, even if it is at his own expense.

“That’s a good clue you know,” Harry says, with a sly look in Liam’s direction. “I’m going to aim high. Partly because of Louis’ reaction and partly because I’m quite positive Louis doesn’t even know how to take care of himself.”

PK peels with laughter. Louis gives Harry the finger.

“Fuck you, Green Eyes. Fuck you.”

“You have a vocabulary equivalent to that of a drunken sailor. Or a pirate. One of the two.”

Louis pretends to dab at his eyes, reaching over to squeeze Harry’s forearm.

“Do ye really mean it, Harold Styles? Tell me ye do! I might be a pirate with nowt sense of proper English but me pirate heart beats true north.”

Harry snorts and turns away, his body shaking with silent laughter. Louis considers that a win.

“So what’s your answer?” Liam insists.

Harry chews on his lip for a couple of seconds and then lets it go with a gust of air.

“Six.”

“SIX?!” Louis shouts, pushing angrily at Harry’s side. Unfortunately he has to wrap an arm around his waist just to stop him falling off the stool. “How could you think that, you tosser?! I’m not a bloody sociopath! Christ.”

Harry doesn’t look all that sorry. He chuckles and turns back to Liam.

“How many is it?”

“Four,” Liam guffaws, “he killed his fish, his rabbit and both of my turtles.”

“I did not kill your turtles,” Louis screeches, “how many times do I have to tell you? They committed suicide!”

Everyone but Louis loses it at this, screaming with laughter. Harry bangs his hand on the table repeatedly, doing his best impression of a dying seal.

“I hate this game.” Louis moans. “Let me spin the damn wheel.”

Louis reaches forward and spins the arrow fast while the other lads watch with bated breath. It slows down slightly once it reaches flaming asshole but ends up stopping at a blow job.

“So Louis gets a blow job?” Harry enquires innocently.

Liam snorts.

“He wishes.”

Louis rolls his eyes and stalks off toward the bar. He comes back with a tray of shots, two from each category and downs the first blow job of the night. Harry watches with avid attention as Louis licks the cream from the rim of the glass.

 “Okay, your turn Lou.” PK gathers his first card. “Your first question is…drum roll please, Liam.” Liam diligently bangs his hands against the table, spilling half the shots everywhere. PK clears his throat. “If Harry were a vegetable, which one would he be?”

“What?!” Louis’ eyes shoot to Harry who looks back at him with a blank expression. “You can’t be serious. You actually thought I’d be able to answer that?!”

Harry shrugs and his dimples present themselves alongside a smile.

“I thought it would be fun to see you try.”

“Jesus Christ, we’re going to lose.”

“That’s the spirit,” Harry deadpans.

Louis gives him the stink eye.

“Okay, what vegetable would Harry Styles be?” Louis hums in thought, ignoring Liam and PK’s giggles. “Obviously something standard. Boring. Foul tasting. I’m going to go with…brussel sprouts?”

Harry pouts at him. He actually pouts, and not like a full grown lawyer with contacts at bloody Harvard. Like a disgruntled little kitten who’s just had his ball of yarn confiscated.

“No,” he whines, “I’m broccoli!”

Louis huffs his exasperation and turns to his friends for moral support.

“That actually makes a lot of sense, Lou,” Liam argues.

PK nods.

“What? No it doesn’t!” Louis can hear Harry beaming so he turns to him, unimpressed. “Okay, tell me what makes you so broccoli-like, Harry? I’d love to know.”

“I’m lean like the stalk,” Harry pushes his hands down his sides from the tops of his pecs to his hips “and I have a bushy head.” He says, cupping his curls.

Louis looks on with horror.

“I pity the people that hire you to save their lives.”

“Actually Louis, people don’t—“

“Oh shut up Harold, you know what I mean. You’re ridiculous. My only consolation is that you now have to take a shot.”

Harry visibly pales at that. Louis giggles. Things are about to liven up. Harry reaches forward with a shaking hand and spins the arrow. It lands on plain and simple tequila. Louis hands it to Harry and watches with delight as he knocks it back, grimacing at the taste. PK claps his hands excitedly.

“Our turn, our turn,” he choruses. “Ask away, Louis-ay.”

Louis shakes his head but retrieves a card.

“PK, what is Liam’s top secret fear?”

PK screws up his face.

“If it’s top secret, how am I supposed to know?”

Louis raises his eyebrows imperiously.

“I know. Granted I had to torture it out of him with tickles but still, if you were half as intelligent as me, you would have done the same.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Liam mutters, “I’ll never forgive you.”

Louis blows him a kiss.

“Okay I have no clue. Um, heights?”

PK bites his lip nervously and Louis laughs at Liam’s pained expression.

“Nope, that would be somewhat normal. Actually, it’s spoons.”

“Spoons?” PK rounds on Liam. “You’re afraid of a utensil?”

Harry giggles. Louis likes the sound so much that he turns and digs his fingers into Harry’s middle, inhibitions forgotten. He laps up the squeaky sound that emanates from Harry, laughing at the way he squirms on the stool and gasps, “Loueh n—no, p—please,” in between giggles. Eventually he grabs Louis’ forearms just to halt the tickling.

“What was that for?” Harry whines, but there’s a stupid grin on his face.

“Just winding you up, Green Eyes.”

Louis glances at Liam and PK. Liam’s reaching for a Slippery Nipple. Louis cheers him on while Liam downs the shot. He holds his hand up for Louis to smack.

“Let the quest to achieve drunken enlightenment begin!” Louis shouts, grinning.

He grabs Liam’s hand then, pulling him halfway across the table so they can hug. Harry laughs beside him and then tugs him back down almost as soon as Liam releases him. Louis can’t help the nervous chuckle that falls from his mouth.

“Liam!” Harry beams at him with deep dimple craters. Louis feels a sharp stab of envy. Harry never looks so idyllically pleased to see him. “Your question is this…what is PK’s favourite pet name for Mike?”

“Really?” Liam scoffs, shooting Louis a disbelieving look. “As if I don’t know this. It’s Mikey Boo.”

“Yes!” PK smacks a wet kiss to Liam’s cheek. “good job babe!”

“Next round then,” Louis sighs.

“Okay Lou, you’re up first this time.” Louis nods and zones in on PK’s face. “The second question is, how many kids does Harry want?”

“Five. Three girls, two boys. He also wants a family of kittens and a chocolate Labrador.”

Harry clutches his thigh under the table.  Louis turns to him, his heart stampeding dangerously inside his chest. Harry’s eyes are positively gleaming and his dimples rise and fall in incremental jumps, moving in time with his heavy breathing.

“I—how did you—“

“You told me,” Louis places his hand on Harry’s thigh and squeezes, smiling up at him. “I was scared of storms, remember? It took me so long to get over it. You were over at mine for a sleepover and there was a bad storm. The power went out and I freaked out. You didn’t want to wake my mum so you found a torch and some candles. You told me to focus on the sick fort we were about to make and by the time it was done, the storm was dying down. We laid inside and we were talking. I said something catty and you told me—“

“How I’d always wanted a big family,” Harry continues, voice uneven. “Five children…”

“Three girls, two boys, a family of kittens and a chocolate Labrador,” they chorus together.

“I can’t believe you remember—“ Harry seems choked. “I had forgotten. I remember it now though. You were so frightened. Even when I asked you to gather the pillows, I could hear you whimpering and you kept tugging on my hand. I thought maybe you wanted to hold it but I was so scared I was wrong.”

“You weren’t,” Louis murmurs.

“I think I’m going to cry in a minute,” PK says, “this is some soulmate shit right here.”

“PK!” Louis scolds him. “I have a boyfriend. Harry and I are—“

“Friends.” Harry butts in, expression stiff. “If that.”

Louis’ eyes shoot to his face. If that? Was that necessary? Especially when the memory of that night together is particularly poignant for Louis. In a sense, Harry rescued him and Louis trusted him enough to let him. It hadn’t meant much to him as a kid because he took those kinds of things for granted but now the memory of it feels awfully hazy and warm. It’s one of their memories that hasn’t yet faded from his memory. Perhaps, without meaning to he’s guarded it quite closely…

They were sharing Louis’ single bed. It was a tight squeeze given Harry’s ever expanding limbs and Louis’ tendency to sprawl all over the bed while he slept but Harry suggested that it might be easier if they cuddled into each other rather than sleeping top and tail like they usually did. Louis tripped on the ends of his pyjamas and came very near to braining himself on the corner of his drawers while agreeing that yes, it would be more comfortable.

He was right in the end, it was more comfortable. Harry’s chest was pillowy soft where Louis’s head lay between his pecs, cushioned by their softness. Harry’s hushed breath exhaled warmth over the centre of his scalp. He was hugging Louis tight to him, his fuzzy socks bracketing Louis’ ankles while the scent of his luscious curls drifted up over Louis’ face and made him feel pleasantly dizzy.

Harry was either asleep or very close to it, which was to be expected. They’d talked for hours about his dad and how he’d left Harry and his mother with everything they needed for a comfortable life, barring his actual presence. Harry seemed more resigned to the fact than sad though. He explained how he didn’t have enough memories of his dad to miss specific things about him. He wished he knew what it was like to have a dad but the majority of his sadness was on behalf of his mum. Harry said his mum came to check on him more than twice a night sometimes and he thought it had a lot to do with his dad leaving at the stroke of midnight, disappearing from her bed and from her life without so much as a kiss goodbye.

Louis felt overwhelmed by sadness for Harry so he tried to soothe him, scratching at his scalp and planting soft kisses on his cheeks which always seemed to make Harry him giggly and warm. Harry didn’t seem so receptive this time though. He hummed low in his throat and reached out to run his hand through Louis’ hair but his smile was wobbly and transparent. After a while Louis figured that talking about his dad had upset him more than expected it to, so he dragged Harry up the stairs into his bedroom and told him to get into his pyjamas and brush his teeth. Harry gave him a wry smile like he knew exactly what Louis was doing but complied anyway as Louis pushed him into the bathroom and stuck his own hot pink toothbrush in Harry’s mouth. They shared a lot, it wasn’t a big deal. Harry took the cue and slowly closed the door behind him, his wide eyes shining at Louis the whole way.

When they figured out their sleeping arrangements, Harry slipped into the bed first but Louis dragged him over to the right and crawled in over him so he could sleep next to the wall. Harry rolled his eyes but yanked Louis down into his arms anyway, rolling over onto his back so Louis could settle into his chest.

It was about half an hour and Louis was just starting to drift off when he heard it, the quiet patter of rain and the distant rumbling of thunder. Shit. It’s not that Louis was scared of thunderstorms, per se. He just didn’t like them. Usually he slept with the light on and earplugs in when he heard one approaching but Harry was surely fast asleep by then and Louis’ headphones (and the light switch) were on the other side of the room. Louis took a few deep breaths and nuzzled deeper into Harry’s chest, steeling himself for what was about to come. It didn’t take long for the rain to pick up, lashing against the windows while the wind howled around them. The thunder was intermittent and not sudden enough to shock but it boomed across the sky above them, so loud that the windows begin to rattle. The neighbour’s dog began to bark, whimpering every time the thunder abated. Louis snuggled into Harry, burying his nose in Harry’s soft smelling skin and trying to absorb his sleepiness, but it wasn’t enough to calm him. He started shivering violently, tears welling up in his eyes as he wondered how long this might go on.

It took a while for him to calm himself down enough to sleep but Harry’s steady heartbeat eventually lulled him into a more relaxed state. Before he knew it, his eyes were slipping closed. He awoke suddenly what felt like only a short time later in a silent scream. There was a clap of thunder that sounded like a bomb going off echoing in his ears and the wind had turned into a ferocious whirring, an eerie squealing sound accompanying every gust. Louis felt paralysed with fear. He trembled, clinging onto Harry for dear life as a scream of unconscious whimpers left his mouth. Harry woke up with a gasp, a clap of thunder echoing overhead while Louis whimpered louder than before. Feeling Harry stir beneath him, Louis tugged the doona over his head and buried his face in Harry’s stomach.

“Lou?” Harry’s voice was groggy with sleep but he rubbed at Louis’ shoulder, lifting the doona off his head to peer at him curiously. “What are you hiding under here for?”

“I’m not,” Louis mumbled, refusing to raise his head.

“What’s wrong duck?”

Harry’s hand moved over his hair, flattening it against his scalp while he continued to rub at Louis’ shoulder. An unconscious smile pulled at Louis’ lips but it was quickly erased by the next round of thunder. It was so loud Louis could swear the sky was falling in on them. He tried to stop himself getting worked up but his whole body was quivering without his permission.

“Lou, you’re shaking. What’s wrong? Look at me, please.”

Louis reluctantly raised his head, tears trickling down from the corner of his eyes to the edges of his face as he wiped his snotty nose against the back of his hand. Harry’s whole face dropped, a frown lengthening his boyish features.

“L—Lou,” He stuttered. His hand roamed down from the back of Louis’ head to his neck. He squeezed gently. “Love, you’re upset. Is it the storm?”

“N—no,” Louis’ voice wobbled tellingly and another tear leaked down his cheek. He sighed, annoyed at himself for breaking down but Harry just brushed his tears away and cupped his cheeks with his hands. “I’m just cold. I think I’m getting sick. Go back to sleep, Haz.”

“I’m not leaving you like this. Now tell me, what do you usually do?” Harry whispered, brushing his thumbs along Louis’ cheekbones.

“What do you mean?”

“When there’s a storm, what do you usually do? Should I wake your mum? I don’t want to but—“

“No!” Louis shouted. Harry winced so Louis gave him an apologetic cheek pat. “I mean—no, don’t wake her. Please. She thinks I should have grown out of it by now. She’s right…” Louis sighed, dropping his head back to Harry’s stomach and letting the tears leak sideways down his face.

Harry’s hand sifted through his hair again, drifting down to massage his neck and shoulders every time another whimper escaped.

“Sometimes it takes other people longer than others to get over it. Fear doesn’t always make sense, does it? Do you want to hear my stupid fear, Lou?” Harry asked.

Louis nodded into his belly button, his shaky fingers gently covering Harry’s. He didn’t intertwine their fingers but rested his hand on top of Harry’s instead, hoping Harry would get the idea and join their hands for him. He didn’t.

“Sometimes I’m afraid that people won’t like me.”

“What? That’s ridiculous! You’re Harry.”

“Really? That’s funny, I could have sworn I was somebody else.”

Louis punched him in the balls and Harry yowled, high pitched.

“You know what I meant. Everybody that meets you likes you. How could you possibly be afraid that they won’t?”

“Well….why are you afraid of thunder?” Harry questioned, stroking the sides of his neck.

Louis turned on his side so he could peer at Harry more directly. Thunder exploded around them again and Louis held tight to Harry’s waist until it passed.

“Because….it sounds like bombs going off,” Louis admitted, his eyes wide.

Harry smiled tenderly at him but Louis hadn’t got the fuzziest why.

“But you know it’s not actually bombs going off so why does it scare you? It’s the threat. The possibility, however unlikely.”

“I see,” Louis hummed, crawling up Harry’s body.

He planted a short kiss in the hollow of Harry’s throat. Harry’s smile was soft and amused when he tilted his head to the side and rubbed a hand over the spot.

“Do you, Duck?”

Louis nodded, smiling down into Harry’s shoulder while Harry’s hand pressed into the small of his back.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m—“ Louis’ stomach sunk as he imagined trying to sleep. Harry would fall asleep before him, he always did and Louis would be left to face the storm on his own. “I’m scared, H.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Harry soothed him, sliding his hand inside Louis’ shirt and rubbing soft circles into his skin. “just tell me love, what makes you feel better?”

“I—I usually sleep with the light on and—e—earplugs.”

“Okay, that’s fine.” Harry said, gently pulling Louis off his body.

He strode over to the door and then flicked on the light switch. Nothing happened. Louis whined softly and then started to cry. He loathed himself for it, for acting like such a baby but Harry wasn’t looking at him in disgust. Instead he rushed over to the bed and got down on to his knees, sliding his fingers into the ends of Louis’ hair and then scratching gently at his scalp to get his attention.

“Hey,” he said gently, his tone as soft as the one he uses on small children. Louis should have hated him for it but he needed it too much. Harry’s eyes looked so sincerely soft for Louis. Even in the darkness, he looked heartbroken by Louis’ fear. “Lou, you’re going to be okay. Do you believe me?”

Louis rested his forehead against Harry’s and then let his head sink into Harry’s shoulder, burying his tears in the soft cotton of his top. Harry stroked the back of his head.

“Obviously the power’s gone out but that’s okay. You know what we’re going to do, love? We’re going to grab a torch, we’re going to go downstairs and then we’ll light a bunch of candles. We’re going to make a sick pillow fort and I’m going to talk to you until you fall asleep. How does that sound?”

Harry was younger than him, not by much but Louis shouldn’t let himself be babied by him. Harry had always been his baby. The tables had turned and Louis wasn’t sure how he felt about it but Harry looked so lovely, his eyes glistening with barely concealed hope. Louis needed it. He grabbed Harry’s hand and tugged to bring him to his feet.

“Let’s do this.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, hunting around on Louis’ floor until he found a torch. He handed it to Louis. “You go find some more pillows and another doona, I’ll bring your ones. We’ll meet downstairs. Sound like a plan?”

Louis’ heart sank, his breath hitching inside his chest. He turned to leave but Harry stepped up behind him and wrapped him in a backwards hug, his arms hooked around his armpits.

“We’ll meet at the top of the stairs,” he corrected himself, kissing Louis right next to the eye.

He knew full well it was a sensitive, ticklish spot. Louis giggled and then started towards the linen closet, Harry’s chuckles trailing after him. He planted the torch on one of the dividers inside the closet and then rummaged through the layers of sheets until he found a couple of pillows and another duvet. He carried them both over to the top of the staircase where Harry was watching him a sweet smile and a subtly spellbound look.

“Okay kitten, let’s go.”

Harry flashed him a disparaging look. Louis cackled and ruffles his curls. They crept downstairs undetected but every time a new round of thunder hit or the windows rattled, Louis cried out and grabbed onto Harry, almost tripping over himself in his efforts to get close to him. Once downstairs, Louis took charge of the fort building endeavour, desperate to distract himself from the chaos going on outside.

“We’re doing it the Tommo way,” he declared, cocking his hip out as if daring Harry to challenge him.

Harry didn’t. Although he probably should have given that they wound up in a heap on the floor, the pillows and blankets collapsed in on top of them.

“Maybe we should use something stronger to hold it up?” Harry suggested, sitting up. “Like chairs?”

“Good thinking 99!”

“Have you ever wondered why it’s 99 and not some other number?” Harry asked, as they rounded the kitchen table, pulling the chairs out from beneath. “Like why isn’t it….69?”

Louis smirked at him.

“Actually, there’s a rumour that it was supposed to be 69 but someone thought it was too sexually aggressive.”

Louis threw Harry one of the duvets and they started draping it over the chairs. The thunder claps still made Louis jump and scramble around to Harry’s side of the fortress but they were quieter now and Louis felt relieved to be with Harry. To have someone like Harry with him.

“Sexually aggressive?”

Harry looked so confused. Oh sweet, innocent boy. They threw the pillows and the extra duvet inside the fortress and then crawled in, Louis on the left, Harry on the right like before. Harry stretched his arm overhead, leaving a Louis sized space beneath. He eyed Louis nervously, like he wasn’t so sure Louis would want to cuddle in to him now that they had more room. Louis quickly destroyed that notion, sliding across the fort towards him and snuggling deep into his chest. Harry’s cheek pressed against his head and Louis felt him deeply inhaling the scent of his shampoo.

“You don’t know what 69 means, do you?”

“Of course I do!” Harry protested, predictably indignant.

Louis rolled his eyes and then nibbled on the collar of Harry’s shirt. The hand Harry had around his hip tightened but he didn’t move to stop him

“It’s a sex thing. It’s like when you both do each other a favour.”

“What do you mean?” Harry pressed. “Like when a boy sticks his thing in a boy and then they swap and do it the other way round?”

Louis’ breathing faltered, arousal spiking in his blood and quickening his heartbeat. He ignored the conflicting emotions in his chest and turned his head up, tenting his eyebrows expertly.

“What? No. It’s when a guy gets a blowjob at the same time that he eats a girl out. You form a 69 shape with your bodies.”

“Have you done it then?” Harry breathed, sounding awed.

“No,” Louis guffawed, trying to hide the fact that his cheeks were warm. “I haven’t kissed a girl yet, let alone eaten one out.”

“Oh.” Harry’s smile was a touch too wide for such a disappointing revelation. “That’s too bad.”

“Why?” Louis demanded, digging his finger into Harry’s dimple. “Have you?”

Louis didn’t think he had a girlfriend but maybe Harry was just really secretive. Maybe he’d been lying about it. Maybe—

“No,” Harry giggled, pushing Louis’ finger away, “I don’t—I haven’t done anything yet either. Sometimes I think---I don’t want it as much as I should.”

Louis shuddered. It sounded a lot like what he’d been feeling ever since his best mate, Stan had told him about his first kiss a couple of weeks ago.

“Really? Me too.”

“Yeah?”

Harry’s eyes were bursting with hope, his hand trembling next to Louis’.

“Yeah Haz, it’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You shouldn’t kiss somebody you don’t really like.”

“Yeah…” Harry looked rather concentrated on his thoughts now. “But what if—what if the only person you really like is someone that you really shouldn’t?”

Louis shook his head.

“You’re talking in riddles, babe.”

“Never mind, Lou. It doesn’t matter.”

Harry sounded lost but Louis felt lost too.

“It does, actually. Because I don’t want you to be this upset.”

Louis reached for his hand, squeezing their fingers together. Harry finally smiled at him, his eyes squished shut.

“I’m not upset, not when I’m with you.”

Louis rolled over on top of him and pulled at his chubby cheeks, ignoring Harry’s protests as he leaned down and licked his nose.

“Aww kitten, you’re too kind.”

“You just licked my nose. But I’m the kitten?” Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Louis licked him again. Harry play wrestled him back onto his side of the fortress and then straddled his waist, holding his forearms down above his head.

“I think you’re definitely the kitten, Lou.”

Louis wrinkled his nose with distaste but he was grinning anyway.

“And why’s that?”

“Because….” Harry leaned down and gently bit the skin next to his eye. Louis squealed and tried to wriggle away from him. “you look puuuuuuurr-fect right now.”

Louis rolled his eyes fondly while Harry rolled away from him, cackling.

“You are such a loser Harry Styles. Who’s ever going to marry you? There’ll be no one to carry on the family name.”

Harry rolled over on his side to look at Louis, revealing a sizeable pout.

“But I—I want a big family, Lou.” He said, deep longing colouring his tone. “Always have. I want five children. Three girls, two boys, a family of kittens and a chocolate Labrador.”

“I can imagine that, actually.” Louis said with a surprised chuckle.

Harry seized him by the shoulders, squeezing roughly.

“Really?!”

“Yes, calm down Lenny.” Louis scolded him, flashing a playful wink to show he was teasing. “I think you’d make a great dad to your five little monsters.”

“What about you, Lou?”

Louis smiled serenely and settled down into the pillow with his arms folded beneath his head.

“I feel the same, actually. I don’t want any less than three. Do you think that’s weird, Haz?” Louis mused. “That we already know what kind of families we’re going to have? My dad said he never even thought about getting married when he was younger.”

Harry settled into Louis’ chest instead this time, springy curls nudging Louis’ chin.

“Maybe we’re better off, Lou. We don’t have to wait until we grow up to figure out what we want.”

“I suppose…”

Harry kissed his throat.

“Has anybody ever told you, you worry too much?”

“Shh, sleeping,” Louis mumbled, his mouth dancing.

“Oh, okay. I guess that means I can go to sleep myself now.”

Harry tried to roll away from him but Louis grasped his hand to pull him back.

“No, Please! I’m sorry, Haz. Not until the thunder stops.”

“You want to keep talking?” Harry sounded hopeful.

“Can’t imagine that I’d ever not want to talk to you, Haz.”

“Mm, so what do you want to talk about?”

Louis wrapped an arm around his shoulders and buried his nose in Harry’s curls.

“You. Let’s talk about you, love.”

*-*-*-*-*

“Okaaaay,” PK drags it out, eyes wandering down to the cards, “that one was right so Harry doesn’t have to drink. Harry, your turn to answer.”

“Harry, what is Louis’ biggest fear?” Liam asks.

Louis’ not scared of much (anymore) but the things he is scared of are pretty huge. He thinks he knows what Liam’s written on that card and he can pretty much say for certain that it’s wrong. His biggest fear is something he doesn’t like to talk about very often. It’s also something he’s never made explicitly clear and it might not be the first thing that comes to mind. Harry pauses to look at him, studying his wary expression with varying degrees of intensity. His eyes have migrated back to the softness that filled them before and Louis’ relieved. He doesn’t think he could handle Harry looking at him so coldly again.

“Ending up alone.”

Louis’ heart stops and then starts beating double time inside his chest. There’s no way Harry could know that. No way. Not without having talked to Louis about his past relationships or the utterly depressing state of his life prior to hooking up with Nick. And yet--

“Oh. Um, that’s not what I wrote on the card. Lou—“

“He’s correct,” Louis murmurs and then lightly trails his palm over Harry’s hip. “You’re correct, Green Eyes.”

Harry inclines his head.

“You’re welcome, Duck.”

The game continues but Louis answers everything in a haze of helpless affection. He’s never known Harry like this, perhaps not even when they were younger. Maybe it’s just the alcohol loosening him up but Harry seems markedly less guarded than usual. He’s much more willing to put himself out there and be the centre of attention, even when he looks completely ridiculous, which he often does. Louis laughs more at Harry’s antics than he does at the stupid questions he came up with for Louis to answer. Both teams reach nine drinks total in the same round but Louis’ convinced that he and Harry can win.

“Okay, hit me up. What’s the question?”

“Okay…” PK’s smile is sly and Louis doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like it at all. “What instrument does Harry play?”

“I…I don’t know.” Louis looks to Harry in a panic. “I didn’t even know you liked music?!”

Harry’s expression wrinkles with distaste.

“Who doesn’t like music?”

“Lawyers!”

Harry rolls his eyes and crosses his arms tightly, just waiting for Louis to screw this up.

“Okay, I have no idea. The piano?”

“No,” Harry bursts out exasperatedly, “it’s the kazoo!”

“The kazoo?!” Louis throws his head back and an exasperated laugh escapes. “Harry, that’s not even an instrument!”

“It is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Are you two going to bicker like this all night or are you going to let Liam and I enjoy our triumph over you two losers? Louis, spin the wheel so Harry can do the shot already.”

“Fine,” Louis sulks, spinning the arrow angrily.

It lands on a body shot. Louis gasps and promptly swallows the remaining moisture in his mouth. Harry curls in on himself, his face flushing pleasantly pink while his fingers twitch down by his side.

“Harry,” Louis grips him by the shoulder. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I know it’s not your style.”

Harry slowly raises his head and meets Louis’ gaze head on. His expression is pinched and dangerously annoyed.

“Do you think I’m a prude, Louis?”

“W-what?” Louis stutters, surprised. “No! I think you’re reserved and very…proper. Nothing wrong with that. There’s people like me, people like Nick who thrive on this kind of stuff and then there’s—“

“People like me?” Harry gestures at himself, jaw locked. “Who might as well be dead for all the fun they’re capable of having.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Do me a favour?” Harry says, off handed.

He’s not looking at Louis as he says it, instead shrugging out of his suit jacket and rolling his sleeves up neatly.

“Yes, anything. What is it?”

“Can you please get up on the bar for me? And PK, can you please get me some salt, a lime and another tequila shot?”

Louis’ skin is burning. He feels unnaturally wired.

“Harry,” he rasps, “are you really going to—“

“Do my first ever body shot off your body? Yes. So long as you’re comfortable. Are you comfortable?” Louis nods, in spite of the panic climbing its way up his throat. “Fantastic. Now if you’d please accompany me to the bar?”

Harry offers his elbow and Louis links his arm around it, his eyebrows up somewhere near his hairline. PK and Liam both throw him wide eyed looks, scurrying after them while Harry sets a cracking pace.  Once there, Harry turns around and immediately hoists Louis up onto the bar by his waist. Louis squeaks his surprise.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, suddenly sheepish.

Then he slips right back into lawyer mode, gently but firmly pushing Louis down while Louis looks up at him, terrified but transfixed.

“Okay PK, do you have everything?”

Louis pushes up to look at PK who’s staring at Harry like he’s grown a second head.

“Ah—I’ll be right back.”

“Liam, do you mind if I talk to Louis alone for a sec?”

Louis can’t hear a response but he sees Liam turn and walk away, leaving Louis to whatever fate Harry has in store for him.

“What’s up?”

Louis cringes painfully when he realises he’s practically panting. Harry doesn’t seem to notice. He leans over Louis with an open expression and gently removes his glasses, the sides of his big hands gently brushing Louis’ ears. Harry folds them up and lays them lenses up on the bar beside him.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses. You never wore them when we were younger.”

It seems like he might have wanted to broach a different subject with Louis but Louis’ not about to call him on it.

“I only wore them at school. I still only wear them when I misplace my contacts.”

“That’s a shame,” Harry says distractedly.

“Is it?”

Harry thumbs at his frown line.

“They’re not so awful, you know.”

Louis chuckles.

“Another awe-inspiring compliment from Harry Styles. I’m such a lucky man.”

Harry laughs with him and then starts pushing Louis’ shirt up over his hips. Louis’ laughter cuts off immediately and his hands close around Harry’s.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Harry cocks an eyebrow.

“I was under the impression we were going to do a body shot together.”

“On my neck,” Louis says, completely feverish, “they usually do it on my neck.”

“Why not here?” Harry asks.

His hand roams across Louis’ belly as he says it. Louis shrinks back against the bar, hands trembling.

“Don’t do that, please.”

Harry furrows his brow.

“Touch your stomach?”

“Yes.”

“You really have no reason to be self-conscious, Louis. Stop sucking in, you look constipated.”

Louis lets the air out of his stomach in a sigh and then narrows his eyes at Harry.

“No reason to be self-conscious? Really?” He snaps. “And why is that, Styles? Because my stomach ‘really isn’t all that grotesque?’

“No,” Harry twists his face up like Louis’ gone completely mad. “Because your stomach is beautiful.”

Louis’ bottom lip quivers. He bites down on it to stop the trembling. Harry looks so sincere and truthful, standing there with his hands tucked behind his back and his lush green eyes boring into Louis’ like it’s no small matter that Louis believe him.

“Thank you,” Louis says, shyly picking at the hem of his shirt. “You don’t have to say that.”

Harry catches his fingers and uses them to push Louis’ shirt up to just below his pecs. He gingerly spreads his hands over Louis’ belly and then lightly skims his thumbs over the soft, tanned skin.

“You know I’m not just saying that,” he murmurs, “because I can’t think of any logical reason to flatter you. I’m not interested in pandering to anyone’s desires, I never have been.”

“Harsh but fair?”

Harry nods, grinning softly.

“You know, harsh but fair…” Louis flips Harry’s palm over and runs his index finger down Harry’s career line. “Has anybody ever told you that you’d make a great lawyer?”

Harry chuckles and traces the line of Louis’ hip bone with his thumb.

“That’s an interesting insight, lowly psychic,” he says, then laughs at Louis’ mock offended gasp. “Please tell me more.”

Louis closes his eyes, a serene smile playing over his lips. He starts tracing a wayward, wobbly path up Harry’s palm, but Harry directs his finger to the right place.

“That’s my love line,” he stage whispers.

Louis presses his lips together to keep from smiling any more than he already is. He cracks one eye open and finds Harry grinning down at him too, head tilted down towards one shoulder.

“Mm, very interesting.” Louis trails his eyes up and down Harry’s body and then centres in on the two swallows. “I think you’ll be very happy to hear that like the swollen birds on your chest, you and the love of your life are very near to meeting.”

Harry looks pleasantly amused.

“We are?”

“Mmhm,” Louis hums, smiling broadly,

PK’s head appears above Louis’.

“Are you lads ready to do this? I’ve got everything we need.”

Harry takes the shot of tequila from the tray and quickly downs it, keeping his eyes on Louis.

“Harry—“

“Get me another one,” Harry orders PK. “Please.”

PK shares a loaded look with Liam and then runs back to the bar.

“Are you okay mate?” Liam squeezes Harry’s shoulder, “It’s okay if this is too confronting for you. The boys and I have been doing it for years, it’s different for us.”

Harry shrugs.

“I didn’t really have many big nights out when I was younger, I’m not used to this. But I think I owe it to myself to have at least one.”

Louis grabs at Harry’s forearm, expression earnest.

“But Harry, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You’ve got nothing to prove to us.”

PK reappears then, settling the tray down beside Louis’ head.

“I know that,” Harry tells him, eyes glinting with mischief and building determination. “But I’ve got something to prove to myself.”

“Okay then,” PK claps his hands together, “let’s get this show on the road. Do you know what you’re doing Harry? You pour the salt on Lou’s stomach, lick it up, take the shot and then suck the lime out of Lou’s mouth.”

Louis reaches behind him and grabs the lime wedge, inserting it in between his teeth. Harry swallows his whole bottom lip into his mouth.

“Okay…” Harry’s voice trembles, “I’m going to…okay.”

“Okay,” Louis parrots back, smirking.

Harry breathes out deeply and then grabs the salt from the tray. He circles Louis’ belly button with the shaker and then trails it up the centre of his torso.

“Ready?” He confirms.

Louis snorts.

“Are you?”

Harry does his own poor approximation of a snort and then grabs onto Louis’ hips. Louis looks at him confusedly.

“What are you doing?”

“Steading myself,” Harry says, as though it should be obvious. “I don’t want to nose dive into your belly button.”

“Right.”

Harry’s fingers skate across his waist making Louis’ heartbeat feel light and fluttery, his thoughts evaporating into some kind untraceable mist. He almost misses it when Harry leans over him and applies a concentrated kitten lick to the spot just above his belly button. His body however, doesn’t miss a thing. Goose pimples appear on his skin and the muscles around his torso tense painfully.

“Mate, that’s a lot of salt,” Liam says, eyeing Louis’ stomach. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Harry pauses in his ministrations. Louis’ tempted to let out a whine of complaint.

“He’s right, babe.” PK winks at Louis and then—“you’re going to have to really use your mouth.”

Harry nods, his wide pupils deeply focused on the salt trail to be devoured. Louis’ body completely seizes up as Harry presses the whole flat of his tongue against Louis’ quietly thrumming stomach. His stomach goes into feverish shock as Harry draws his tongue in a tight circle around his belly button. A litany of curse words fill Louis’ head, none of them sufficient enough to describe how intense the delicate sensation of Harry’s tongue sweeping around his skin is.

“You missed a spot,” he croaks weakly, eyeing the trail leading up to his pecs.

Harry swears softly and then licks a fat, wet stripe up Louis’ torso, ending it by sucking Louis’ soft flesh into his mouth. He lets it go with a soft puff of air that gusts across Louis’ skin and ripples through his system.

“That better?”

“Yeah,” Louis’ voice is high and reedy, “much better.”

Harry turns to PK who hands him the shot glass with a knowing smirk. Harry knocks back the shot, wiping the remnants off his mouth with the back of his wrist. Something about it leaves Louis panting, but then Harry is on him, barring Louis in with his forearms while he leans down into his space. Their chests brush, Louis’ exposed stomach quivering at the feel of Harry’s silky shirt sweeping along his skin. Harry ever so gingerly cups Louis’ chin and then leans in and tugs at the lime with his teeth. Louis’ too dazed to let it go though, so Harry has to press in closer just to relieve him of it. The very edges of their mouths brush as Harry retreats. It’s a barely there sensation but Louis’ mouth feels alight.  His back arches up off the bar and his cock twitches expectantly. When Harry straightens up, their eyes meet and Louis notices that the shutters have come down. Louis can’t tell what he’s thinking. How very Harry Styles of him.

*-*-*-*-*

“Liam seemed a lot better after you took him outside for a chat. You seemed very…dedicated to him tonight.”

Louis doesn’t look up from the footpath but a hint of a smile makes itself known. Another insult-free compliment. Harry’s on a roll tonight. Louis hadn’t been too pleased with the way Harry treated him after the whole almost-sort of-accidental kiss debacle. He’d basically ignored Louis for the next half an hour, instead engaging PK in meaningless small talk. Louis tried to tell himself not to give a shit but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t slightly disheartened by it. Harry might have been fine with slurping salt off his skin but an almost kiss? Absolutely out of the question. Deplorable. Worse than being stuck talking to Louis at his mother’s infamous Christmas party.

So Louis had done his best to put it behind him, choosing to focus on his best mate’s woes instead. He dragged Liam out to the smoker’s area and sat with him for a long while, discussing all of his own worst break ups and all the things he did to get over them. It seemed to help Liam greatly or at least make him laugh, which was often the same thing in Louis’ book.

After he’d safely escorted Liam to a taxi, paid for it in advance and sent him home with a drunken, blissed out smile on his face, he returned to the pub. He found Harry waiting with his jacket folded over his arm and a very unexpectedly vulnerable expression on his face.

“Shall I walk you home?” He’d asked, very subtly turning his feet inward.

“You shall,” Louis mocked.

So here they are.

"You seemed very dedicated also. To my friend, I mean. Liam's not your friend. Although after tonight..."

They both share a laugh then, eyes twinkling across at each other on the dimly lit pathway. Louis' stomach does some kind of weird somersault and he notices that Harry's mouth looks particularly lovely in this kind of light. It’s flushed red and succulent, like the crisp skin of an apple that turns sweet inside your mouth. Louis knows that feeling and he's not giving it the time of day. Even if Harry Styles were the last man on earth, (and two men could reproduce) Louis would not be interested. As for the time Harry generously spent with Liam, that can be explained away. Can’t it? They’ve just reached Louis’ building so he halts Harry with a hand to the wrist and turns to him, twitching nervously.

“Why did you really stick around tonight? You don’t even know Liam.”

Harry flutters his eyelashes, possibly unconsciously.

“I’m aware.”

“Harry.”

“Okay,” Harry raises his eyes to the sky and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. “Okay, my number’s up. I’m an informant.”

“A lawyer with a sense of humour? It has potential.” Louis notes, framing an invisible page with his hands, “but a Harry Styles with a sense of humour? Now that’s a front page headline.”

Harry shakes his head, amusement briefly flitting over his features.

“Has it ever occurred to you that you might be entirely preposterous? Your histrionics, alone.”

“My histrionics?” Louis arches his eyebrows. “Tell me Styles, did it hurt on the way down?”

Harry furrows his brow.

“When I fell from heaven? Is that a pick up line, Lou?”

Smug bastard.

“No, idiot. The oxford dictionary. Did it hurt when you swallowed it whole?”

Harry huffs in annoyance and then turns on his heel.

“Where are you going?” Louis giggles.

“To find some real company.”

“Wait,” Louis grabs at his elbow and uses it to spin him around. “Before you go. You didn’t tell me…why did you stick around tonight? I know you’re divorced and you’re clearly...charitably inclined but—but why Liam? You can’t have stopped for every heartbroken fool that you’ve encountered in your lifetime.”

“No I haven’t, but none of the others were best friends with Louis Tomlinson. Curious, innit?”

A helpless grin breaks across Louis’ features.

“Did you just say ‘innit?’”

Harry’s smile spreads across his cheeks like a delicious secret. He runs the backs of his knuckles over Louis’ hip and then slowly backs away, raising his hand up in a dorky wave. Louis’ cheeks feel stretched impossibly wide.

 “Goodbye Louis.”

“Bye,” Louis whispers and then watches him until he’s just a tiny, curly speck, walking in the wind.

Chapter Text

"Zayn, you're a sodding mess. How long have you been sitting here watching this?"

"Not long. Only since ten."

"Ten this morning or ten last night?"

Zayn looks half shaved, half loopy and he’s currently half dressed, lounging around on his couch in just a pair of worn out joggers. This happens sometimes, Louis’ used to it. Every now and then Zayn just completely shuts down and starts having an internal crisis about current the state of his life. 99.9% of the time he’s happy with the way things are but then has one unexpectedly bad day and it all comes crashing down on him. Louis can’t help but wish he didn’t have to pick up the pieces every time. Unlike Louis’ so called ‘histrionics,’ Zayn’s dramatics get old very quickly.

"Christ Louis, does it really matter? My fame's all dried up and what have I got left? This tape. Can you believe it? A fucking tape! Not even a DVD," Zayn gesticulates wildly at the VCR. Louis can guess what’s inside; his awful music video. “I’ve got that, that and a packet of fags that Sir Elton gave me that one time I saw ‘im on the elevator. That's it! I've got no boyfriend and no prospects whatsoever. I've fucked everyone Lou, I mean it. Every slightly bi-curious man or stubbornly insistent 'straight' guy. I'm done Lou, all fucked out…and with nothing to come home to but my damn VCR and a stale packet of crisps."

"Bollocks! If you'd just get off your lazy arse and stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself, you'd realise that the right guy has been right there for years!”

“Mate, have you been day drinking again?” Zayn eyes him carefully. “I told you that if you're going to get plastered before happy hour then at least do us the courtesy of inviting me along. And don't drive!"

Louis rolls his eyes.

"Jesus Christ, I took the tube. But I'm not 'plastered,’ you knob. I'm perfectly sane and sober. I’m talking about Liam, Zayn. Lee-yum."

Louis gives Zayn a meaningful look but he looks nonplussed.

"What about 'im? Is this about his arsehole boyfriend again because if he calls me to complain about that fucker one more time --"

"He didn't tell you?”

Zayn looks halfway between horrified and livid.

"Tell me what?" He demands, lurching up from the couch.

Interesting, very interesting. Louis might just be better than he thought. Liam's a very open person and there's only two possible reasons he wouldn’t have told Zayn. One, he plans on getting back together with Tyrannosaurus Twat (not if Louis has any say in it), or two, he really doesn’t want Zayn to know. Probably because he’s not ready to confront what they mean to each other. Louis’ betting on the latter. He wouldn't have told Louis if the first was true. The only safe conclusion? Louis’ more brilliant than he even realised.

"They broke up a week ago, Z. Liam’s on the market and he’s got a ‘reserved for one Zayn Malik’ sign written all across his butt cheeks.”

"I---" Zayn looks well and truly flabbergasted. "How did you know? About how I felt, I mean. How did you know that?"

"Babe, I’ve got a proper boyfriend now and I’m arse over tits for ‘im.” Louis shrugs.  “I’m practically Cupid."

Zayn looks sceptical about that point but that's okay, so long as he adheres to Louis' plan. Louis knows just how shy he can be when he actually likes someone, (it’s a whole other matter entirely if he’s just looking for a casual dicking) but if they can force Liam to do something about it first then what should it matter?

The plan is as follows; Zayn will accompany Louis and Nick to Louis' uncle’s annual tarts and vicars party, dressed quite ostensibly, yet erotically as a vicar. Louis will also invite Liam, he’ll come as a tart of course, his impressive guns out on full display. After a brief but flirty interaction with Liam, Zayn will excuse himself from the conversation and make himself the prince of the party, flirting with men and women alike and flouncing from conversation to conversation. He’ll demonstrate just how much of a dazzling social butterfly he really is and by day's end, Liam will be consumed with vicious jealousy, forced to admit his deepest, darkest affection for one Zayn Malik.

“You refer to me as ‘one Zayn Malik’ a lot, you know.”

Louis dismisses him with a flutter of his fingers.

“That’s because there can be only one, my dear.”

Zayn pulls him down into his lap, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and flopping his head down over his shoulder.

“Do you really think that’ll work, babes? Seems a bit juvenile if you ask me.”

“Okay, sorry Zayn.” Louis says with an overly perfunctory tone, intertwining their fingers along his tummy. “I guess you’re ready to tell him how you feel, then.”

“So what exactly does a sexy vicar wear?”

Louis presses a kiss to his cheek.

“That’s what I thought.”

*-*-*-*-*

Louis feels ever so glamorous flying through the English countryside with a pair of Dior sunglasses shading his eyes and a new leather jacket donning his body. There’s a whole bunch of fancy zips on it that do absolutely nothing but Louis feels fabulous regardless. It helps that his ridiculously sexy boyfriend sends him a wolfish grin whenever they stop at the lights or whenever Louis starts messing around with the crotch of his tight jeans, wondering if his dick is still attached to his body. By the time they reach the inn, Louis is in the highest of spirts. How could he be anything but? His lothario-turned-committed boyfriend has organised them a whole weekend away at a quiet, relaxing inn that houses a quaint little lake and a whole set of massage rooms in the back. Louis is in heaven.

“Babe, can you help with my bags?” Louis huffs, heaving his shoulder bag up his arm while tugging painfully hard at his suitcase. “They’re so heavy and you’ve only got that little, portable one.”

Nick smirks at him and then starts along the gravel pathway, turning back to laugh as Louis very nearly topples under the weight of his luggage.

“Should have packed lighter, Tomlinson.”

“You’re a real gentleman, Grimshaw.”

Louis drags his suitcase along the gravel behind him, eyes wandering to the pale blue lake that runs alongside the inn. It’s shimmering slightly, reflecting the vague hints of sunlight from above. There’s plant life growing all around its borders, tangible vibrancy in the way the colours blend together before him. Louis feels a tranquil sense of peace watching the tiny airborne bugs zip around the succulent looking leaves and skim across the water, uninhibited. There’s a quietness about the whole scene that sends the usual chaos of Louis’ brain into sudden shock. It’s a nice shock though, like when you accidentally make your shower a few degrees too hot. Your body has to sizzle before it starts to tingle. Louis exhales a slow breath and then continues the rest of his walk with a subdued smile on his face. It falls only when he pushes through the doors of the inn and his eyes trail up the winding, stone staircase in front of him.

Nick’s rooted to the spot too and they both watch as Harry Styles and his well-dressed companion, Luke descend the staircase. The chances of them winding up in the same place together are astronomical and yet here they are. On their very first weekend away together, they’ve just happened to choose the exact same spot as Harry Styles and his...lover? It certainly seems that way. Luke guides Harry down from the final step with a hand hovering between his shoulder blades. Curiously, Harry’s expression tenses and he steps away from the physical contact as soon as he reaches the floor. Perhaps they’ve just recently had a lover’s spat?

“Styles,” Nick is the first to break the silence, addressing Harry with what might just be the faintest hint of amusement. “I see you’ve had the same idea as us. A lovely location for a couple to get away together, isn’t it?”

It’s strangely amicable for Nick and even more so for someone speaking to the person who broke up their engagement. Louis didn’t think Nick was the forgiving type but he’s looking at him through fresh eyes now, wondering if they mightn’t be even more mentally compatible then he first thought. Harry, on the other hand, is exhibiting the kind of emotive response that Louis would expect. He looks particularly alarmed by this sudden turn of events and then abruptly sour as he watches Louis sway closer to Nick.

“Just lovely,” Luke agrees, extending his hand towards Nick with a blinding smile. “Hello, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Luke.”

Nick inclines his head and then bows to kiss Luke’s hand. It makes Louis feels nauseous. There’s still something about this guy that makes him see red. Perhaps it’s the general insincerity that becomes so obviously apparent whenever he so much as blinks, let alone opens his perfectly proportioned mouth. Surprisingly Harry seems to share his feelings on the matter. Their eyes meet and Harry very subtly rolls his, his expression otherwise controlled. One side of Louis’ mouth quirks up.

“Lovely Luke,” Nick’s saying, fawning over Harry’s companion like he’s bloody Prince Harry, or something.

Which, he’s clearly not. Incidentally Harry looks the most prince-like of all of them. His stringy curls are relatively tamed; pulled back behind his peanut shaped ears and showing off the stunning green of his eyes. He’s got his hands crossed neatly behind his back too, his biceps pressing keenly up against his sleeves. Aside from all that, he’s wearing a dark, silky button down with a navy blazer and to complete the effect, there’s a smart grey handkerchief poking out the top of the breast pocket. He looks obscenely over-dressed, but flawless.

“We’re not actually here together. We’re here for a colleague’s wedding,” Harry says brusquely, eyes on Louis.

“We are sharing a sweet though,” Luke sings.

“I booked us separate rooms.”

Luke’s cheeks colour. He looks up at Harry with blatant surprise, as if their sleeping together was a sure thing. Clearly they’re not dating. Louis wants to laugh but that would be awfully ‘common’ of him.

“A wise choice,” he says instead, winking at Harry.

Harry’s eyes fill with liquid humour, his gaze cascading down over Louis’ body in a lingering haze. His eyelashes get caught mid blink as he reaches Louis’ groin, the ardent heat of his look searing right through the tightness of Louis’ jeans. Louis’ blood pressure spikes hyperactively as Harry steps towards him, lining up their toes.

“Your belt buckle, it appears to be undone.”

Louis feels completely moronic and he peers down at it with a forlorn sigh. Before he can even contemplate reaching down to buckle it, there's a nest of soft, tousled curls appearing at the bottom of his vision as Harry moves in closer. Louis looks up into huge, glistening green eyes and finds that they’re stood so close to each other their foreheads almost brush. Harry doesn't look away from his eyes as he takes care of Louis’ belt buckle with quick fingers. It feels decidedly intimate for something so mundane. When Harry steps back, Louis' waist line tingles and he has to avert his eyes from the overwhelming wonder inside Harry’s. Why does this hateful man make him feel so off balance? Why is Harry Styles only ever Prince Charming when the mood strikes him?

"Ah yes, just a little consequence of our pit stop on the way here, I'm afraid."

Louis goes completely still. It's an outright lie from Nick, an intimidation tactic of some sort. He might as well unzip his pants, pull out his cock and measure it alongside Harry’s. Either that or pee all over Louis’ groin to mark his territory. But Harry did have his fingers quite close to Louis’ cock just now, so Louis says nothing to correct him.

Harry's bottom lip falls away from the top, his eyes locked with Nick's. There’s some kind of intense non-verbal communication going on between them but Louis can only read so far as the tone. It's a wonder that Harry can look so furious with someone he treated so poorly. Louis feels a rising sense of injustice.

“That reminds me, we should probably be going to our room now,” Louis suggests with a salacious smirk.

It suddenly seems very pertinent that he take vengeance on Harry on Nick’s behalf. Something about the two of them being together clearly bothers Harry. His theory is only confirmed when Harry starts toeing at the ground with his expensive shoes, his eyes staring unseeingly into Louis’ as he swallows hard.

“Have a lovely evening,” he says stiffly.

Louis giggles and links his fingers with Nick’s, towing him over to reception so that they can check in. There’s no guilt this time. Not when he’s just witnessed Harry purposely riling Nick up by getting intimate with Louis. There’s no contest between them, Harry and Nick. Harry might play the part of the romantic hero but the evidence of his less than stellar personality is everywhere Louis looks. It’s a little disappointing. If someone would have told him all those years ago that this is who his Harry would grow up to be, he would have laughed right in their face.

 *-*-*-*-*

"It's not a big deal. It’s not like I actually need your help Harold." 

Harry had just recently discovered the joys of demonstrating his attitude by moving his eyebrows. He'd yet to stop trialling his unimpressed look out on Louis. Either that or he was naturally as unimpressed with Louis as everybody else. Either way it was highly frustrating. Harry was usually the more meagre of the two…he wasn't supposed to question Louis' stubborn pride as if he knew better than to believe it. Yet there they were on the verge of having another pointless and tiresome argument. It was partly because Harry refused to accept his stubbornness and partly because Louis was loathe to admit that his mother really was spot on about him needing dance lessons.

"It's just a silly party to celebrate graduating from primary. It means nothing. I'll bet you no one actually dances there anyway," Louis insisted, crossing his arms tightly while he settled into his favourite corner of Harry's couch.

Not that it was the sole couch the Styles’ owned. The Styles mansion boasted more couches than it did people to fill them. Louis liked that about it though, the fact that he could run away from Harry in the middle of a sleepover and not have Harry find him for hours. It always made him feel slightly vindicated to hear Harry running from room to room, desperately calling his name and in between failing quite spectacularly at hiding his enraptured giggles.  He always gave Louis the tightest hugs when he found him again, sweeping him up into his arms and ignoring Louis’ vocal protests as he squeezed him half to death.

"Well they danced at my half yearly."

Such a little know it all, already. Louis rolled his eyes.

"Of course they did. Your school is like something out of a storybook. I'd be surprised if they didn't march all of the bad kids down to the dungeon for a lashing while the rest of you mini geniuses were off pretending to enjoy yourselves at some weird, snotty version of a dance."

Harry looked particularly miffed at that, his bottom lip jutting out while he turned his head away.

"It wasn't 'weird' or 'snotty.' You're just jealous because I know how to dance and you don't! That's very immature of you, duck."

Patronisation was never a good idea when it came to Louis. Mostly because Louis was the king of superiority and if you risking making him feel small, (figuratively or otherwise) he’d hit back twice as hard.

"Very immature? Of me?" Louis slung an arm around Harry's shoulders and dragged Harry into his side. "You're the one who won't look at me right now. And all because I insulted your silly school!"

"It's not silly," Harry mumbled into Louis' armpit. 

Louis pinched his side, earning a battle cry and a twist of his nipple from Harry’s nimble fingers. Louis slapped his hand away.

"When are you going to grow up and take my teasing like a real man," Louis whispered in his ear, scrunching the curls at the top of his head. Who said they couldn’t fight dirty? "Real men don't even flinch at the sign of teasing."

There was a glimmer of a cheeky smile on Harry's lips when he turned his head up to look at Louis.

"Do real men stand on their dance partners' shoes because they're too afraid to ask their best friends for help?" 

"Cheeky," Louis pulled at Harry’s chubby cheeks, then leaned away from him to whisper in an invisible confidant’s ear. “He’s a cheeky chappy, my Harold."

Harry loved that kind of cheesy play acting. He was just a little kid wearing big trousers, really.

"Your Harold?"

Harry's cheeks looked like egg whites dipped in floral pink. They were lovely. As was the shyness flickering just beneath his tentative smile. 

"My Hazza," Louis confirmed, bopping him on the nose.

Harry looked a little bit vindicated too. He exposed two rows of rounded white teeth, jumping up from the couch and offering Louis a wriggling hand.

"Well c'mon Lou, your Hazza is going to teach you how to move."

Louis reluctantly slotted his fingers through Harry's, allowing Harry to pull him upright and drag him over to the middle of the floor. There was a greenish rug beneath their feet that stretched the length of the room, bordered on all sides by shelves of thick, dusty books and dark wood panelled walls. The ceiling arced high above their heads, the velvet upholstered furniture sitting off to the sides and leaving a suitable space in the middle for dancing. 

Harry started them off with a silent dance; shyly requesting that Louis' hand be placed on his shoulder while he held the other one tight in his grip. Then he gingerly cupped Louis at the waist and released his hand in order to sweep the hair away from Louis’ eyes. It felt like some kind of cheesy rom com move but Harry’s eyes displayed only sincere, albeit uncertain tenderness, like he hadn’t thought that one all the way through but had gone with his basic instincts anyway. Louis pretended to have a vicious coughing fit just to hide the way it made him feel. 

Unfortunately it only deterred Harry for as long as it took for him to go fetch Louis a cold glass of water and slap him on the back a couple of times. Then it was right back to business. Only instead of recommencing their silent practice, Harry drifted over to the corner of the room until he reached a spot where Louis could see a dusty old record player lying beside a stack of neatly arranged records. Harry pulled a very specific record from the stack, shielding it from Louis' view as he placed it on the turn table and adjusted the needle to the right spot. There was a slight static-y sound to begin with but then the music came in, clear and strong. 

Harry slowly repositioned them as before, this time holding Louis more tightly against his body like he suspected how it turned Louis’ muscles to jelly. Harry’s hair was in Louis' eyes as they began to move and their feet weren’t moving at the same pace or tempo at all but their eyes stayed locked in a world of their own creation. There was something dangerously soft moving between them, like fluffy duck feathers fluttering down around their heads as Harry spun him in a tight circle. Louis didn’t dare point out to Harry that he’d have to lead his dance partner at the dance.

Harry mouthed the words to the song but Louis had never heard it before. He could only fish mouth in awe at the extraordinarily sincere emotions fogging up Harry's eyes. He wondered how he’d possibly enjoy dancing with anybody else but Harry after this. Was that the way it was supposed to be? Surreal to the point of magic, almost unforgettably so? It was always like that with Harry, at every crossroad and in every moment, at every pause and even in the height of chaos. A timeless, static-like intensity existed between them that filled Louis up to brimming. Were you supposed to love your best friend so much that sometimes it felt like your sides might split open with the effort of containing it?

The beautiful little song echoed in Louis' ears long after they stopped dancing…

You can dance every dance with the guy who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight

You can smile every smile for the man who held your hand 'neath the pale moonlight

But don't forget who's taking you home and in whose arms you're gonna be

So darlin', save the last dance for me, mmmm

Oh, I know (oh I know) that the music's fine like sparkling wine, go and have your fun

Laugh and sing but while we're apart, don't give your heart to anyone

But don't forget who's taking you home and in whose arms you're gonna be

So darlin', save the last dance for me, mmmm

Baby don't you know I love you so,

Can't you feel it when we touch?

I will never never let you go

I love you oh so much

You can dance, go and carry on till the night is gone and it's time to go,

If he asks, if you're all alone can he take you home, you must tell him no

'Cause don't forget who's taking you home and in whose arms you're gonna be

So darling, save the last dance for me

'Cause don't forget who's taking you home and in whose arms your gonna be

So darling, save the last dance for me, mmmm

Save the last dance for me, mmmm

Save the last dance for me

*-*-*-*-*

Harry’s concentration is interrupted by the sounds of obnoxious, breathy laughter and Nick bloody Grimshaw making a mockery of Keats. He reluctantly looks up from the thirtieth page of the deposition he’s been studying for the last hour and immediately wishes he hadn’t. It’s a lovely day. There’s been a break in the cloud cover allowing for some tentative sunlight to spill teasingly across the lake where they reside. Luke had rented them a paddle boat earlier, claiming it would be much nicer if they went over the deposition by the water. Harry disagreed. Strongly. He much preferred the muffled quiet of their room over the quiet buzzing of the animated lake. It goes against the grain to say so but Harry’s mind blossoms best when he’s bracketed by four walls. The freedom of being outside in the wilderness and the tangible unpredictability of it has a way of distracting him from his most pertinent thoughts right when he was just about to grasp them.

Luke had paid no mind to his insistence that he be left alone with the deposition as he planned on finishing it before the wedding. Instead he’d ordered various types of sandwiches and packed them into a neat little backpack alongside the deposition. Then he’d forcibly dragged Harry from his room and outside to the lake using only the stolen deposition as an incentive. It was apparent that he thought this counted as their first proper foray into romance. Despite this, Luke hadn’t looked up from his pages once, leaving Harry to handle the paddle work alone. Not that he was complaining. He’d rather be left to his own devices than be expected to engage with Luke.

He feels a weird sense of melancholy inside his chest watching Louis with his nemesis. As if it’s suddenly become apparent to him that he might actually be missing out on something by ignoring what nature has to offer. To be fair the silence isn’t so peaceful when it’s interrupted by Nick’s loud voice, grating on Harry’s nerves as he yells across from his boat to Louis’.

“Seasons of mists and fruitful mellowness…oh fuck me, I love Keats!”

Harry scoffs and angrily flips his page, hoping to hear a similar noise of disgruntlement from Louis. Keats is no laughing matter. Instead Nick peels a breathless giggle from Louis, taunting Harry with how adorably kittenish it sounds; how completely euphoric. Harry detests them both. If Louis’ so enchanted with someone like Nick then he can’t be of much substance…can he? Yes, once Harry was reasonably taken with Nick too but that was long before he realised there was a foulness to Nick that went far beyond his irksome nature.

Nick’s standing upright now and teetering slightly in the boat while he tries to step across into Louis’. Louis looks enraptured, laughing to the point of tears while he screams for Nick to stop.

“I’m king of the world!” Nick bellows, right before he face plants into the water.

Harry hides a cruel snigger behind his fist. Louis’ still beside himself with laughter and even more so now. Nick’s head reappears above the water, his sunglasses resting precariously on the tip of his nose. Louis positively howls.

“You absolute tit!”

“Tomlinson, the water’s balmy. I think you should join me!”

Louis squeals in protest and Harry viciously hits his paddles out against the water, swaying their boat in Louis’ direction. Nick yanks on Louis’ hand and he goes toppling over the side of the boat.

What if he can’t swim?!

Harry panics for a fraction of a second, until he remembers Louis is the boy who swam naked in his pool when they were younger. Louis’ head appears above the water, his fringe plastered to his forehead, water streaming down his front in droves. Far from horrified, he looks thoroughly entertained by this turn of events and he slaps Nick on the arm, still sputtering. Luke’s voice cuts into Harry’s vicious loathing.

“That is so childish, can you believe it?”

Harry turns back to him but Luke’s not even looking at him, having gone back to reading already. Harry shakes his head and turns back to Louis, biting his lip deeply.

“No,” Harry exhales, “I can’t begin to fathom.”

Louis is beautiful. It’s obvious. There’s a vast list of adjectives Harry might have used to describe him before now, they might even have been flattering ones. He’s funny, warm hearted, obscenely sexy and downright oblivious to it too. Harry’s not oblivious….to any of it. Yet despite recognising beautiful parts of Louis, he hadn’t seen the beauty as a whole. Maybe it’s because he hadn’t seen Louis this authentically happy or so…wet.

He’s soaking from head to toe when he stands up in the water and twists his shirt from side to side, trying to wring the excess water out of it. It’s a good look on him, being completely drenched. The white shirt he’s wearing has gone transparent and is sticking to his unusually tanned skin. It’s one of Harry’s favourite things about Louis; how strangely exotic he looks until he opens his mouth and that snappy Northerner accent comes flying out. His tiny jean shorts have been sucked up by his inner thighs, inching up the back of his arse to reveal the under curve of his generous behind. But that’s not what makes Harry feel so shaky and off balance. It’s the way his pointed teeth glimmer in the sunlight when he laughs and the way his mouth and nose scrunch up together so tightly, making his whole face appear smaller. His laugh is contained only by the back of his wrist pressed up against his mouth and even then, he’s still shaking. There’s such mystic contentment in his eyes and a kind of bountiful freedom that Harry’s never known spreading across his cheeks. Somehow when he’s looking into those eyes, Harry feels closer to it than ever before. As if Louis holds the port key to a world of unexplored magic. It’s crazy to think that way and Harry shakes away the thought but he can’t keep Louis from his system completely. His conclusion is resounding; Louis is beautiful. There’s no two ways about it. 

Louis starts wading back to the boat, thick thighs gliding ever so smoothly through the water. It’s as though the water molecules part for his curves alone. He hauls himself up into the paddle boat and looks straight across the lake at Harry. Their eyes meet for a second, perhaps less than a second and then Louis wrestles his t-shirt from his body and dumps it in the boat beside him. Harry’s breath shudders out of him in a gasp. Louis’ not putting on a show, his eyes having long flickered down and away from Harry’s. Harry can’t stop staring anyway.

There’s a softer, crinkly eyed smile painting Louis’ cheeks now and scores of glistening, tanned skin on display. It’s not warm enough out here to boat around shirtless but Louis’ skin looks toasty warm anyway, as does his expression. He adjusts the aviators in his hair and a few fat droplets of water ease down over the slope of his hips, sinking below his shorts at a torturously slow pace. He’s mesmerising to watch and Harry has to drag his eyes away just to focus on his deposition instead. His palms are tingling. He has an absurd desire to shed his clothes and swim over to that boat. Just to prove that he can.

*-*-*-*-*

Nick and Louis walk hand and hand down the promenade to the inn. It’s a breezy night so Louis wrapped a thick scarf around his neck and pulled on a dark navy coat to wear over the top of his t-shirt. Nick pulls him into his side whenever he shivers noticeably, which makes Louis feels more than a little protected. The stars have a mystic shine to them, given the fog and it’s just enough light to illuminate their path and cast beautiful shadows on Nick’s angular jaw.

“Nick…” Louis starts, tightening his grip on his boyfriend’s hand.

Nick looks down at him with a half-smile and then tugs Louis closer so he can wrap his coat around him and hug him at the same time. Louis’ heart contracts and he allows the warmth in his veins to diffuse his remaining anxiety. It’s been a month, maybe a little more since they started dating and Louis has no reason to doubt the depth of Nick’s feelings for him.

"Nick, do you love me?" He muffles inside the folds of Nick’s coat.

“Excuse me?” Nick grips his shoulders and pulls back to look at him.

“I said…do you love me?” Louis repeats, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"How about I show you?" Nick says with a wide smirk.

Louis grumbles but lets Nick tow him back to the quaint looking inn and up the stairs to their room. Once inside, Nick pushes him down against the covers and lowers his own body over Louis’. He begins trailing open mouthed kisses up Louis’ throat, Louis’ breathing accelerating quickly when Nick’s hands roam up the inside of his shirt to cover his pebbled nipples.

"Do you love me?" He insists with a little frown.

"Right, that's it!” Nick growls, twisting Louis’ nipples and sending a sharp spike of pleasure to his groin. “Turn over, I'm going to eat your ass until you can't talk anymore."

Louis giggles and flips over in one flawless movement, kind of like a fish out of water. Nick laughs and blows a raspberry into the small of his back. Louis' laughter cuts off when Nick starts nosing between his arse cheeks and tonguing at his hole.

*-*-*-*-*

It’s about 9 pm when Harry hears the sounds of soft, husky-like like laughter trailing out the open window from above. He’s on his balcony enjoying a glass of scotch while he has one last look over the deposition to be delivered on Monday. Or he was enjoying it. That was before he picked up on the noises from above and the sounds of Louis being teased. He gets up to go inside, gathering his papers in his arms but he’s not quick enough to escape the chorus of breathless moans that pierce the eerie night silence. Harry pauses, hands trembling. The glass of scotch sails gracefully towards the ground, shattering neatly against the concrete. It doesn’t bother the happy couple nor seem to deter their efforts to get each other off as loudly as possible.

The delicate sounds of Louis’ begging reach Harry’s ears and his cock stirs interestedly beneath his trousers. His arousal flags slightly only at the sound of Nick’s guttural growls and he wants to walk away, he does but Louis’ pretty moans sound like they’re being punched out of him and Harry’s throbbing in his pants. The angel in his head whispers that this isn’t fair on Louis, that Harry’s gleaning pleasure from listening to someone without their knowledge and that’s wrong. A helpful little devil acknowledges that if Louis didn’t want people listening in, he probably should have thought about shutting the balcony doors first. 

Harry wriggles a hand inside his tight trousers and squeezes his bulge hard. It doesn’t release the pressure completely but it does send some frighteningly intense fissures of pleasure down his spine. It’s enough to stem the urge to jack off right here, right now. For the moment, that’s all Harry’s concerned with. He leaves the shattered glass on the ground and hurries inside to his room, firmly closing the doors behind him and locking them securely so he’s not tempted to go back out there.

He sheds his trousers and then his shirt, crawling up the four poster bed and arching his back so that his hard on doesn’t brush against the sheets. He doesn’t plan on rubbing one off against them like a hormone riddled teenager. He falls into a restless, fitful sleep half an hour later but with an extraordinarily vivid image burned to the back of his retinas, playing on repeat.

*-*-*-*-*

“I can’t stay,” Nick tells him with gritted teeth. “It’s not that important, is it? I can meet them another time.”

Louis knows he should let it go. He should just tuck his head into his chin and forget about the whole idea…but he can’t. Insecurities are a given with Louis and sometimes it makes him meek but he’s never been docile. He’s never been able to bite his tongue when he should have.

“But—“

Louis’ weak protest has barely slipped off his tongue when Nick starts shouting at him, expression enraged.

“For fuck’s sake, just let it go! You’ve got no idea what goes on in that office. We’re in serious shit, Louis!”

Louis’ mouth drops open and he twitches guiltily.

“I’m sorry Nick, I didn’t know. You could have told me?” Louis tries, attempting a gentle smile.

Nick scoffs and then rolls his eyes.

“Tell you?” His tone is dry and mocking. Louis flinches. “A press agent who swans into my office every day in a pair of tight trousers and yesterday's shirt, literally bending over backwards just to get my attention. You mess about with those silly little press releases and you think what? That I actually give a damn?”

Louis recognises the rising column of heat inside his chest. It’s his natural state of being; humiliation. His lower lip juts out defiantly and he blinks away the tears that pool in his eyes, curling his toes in the softness of the bed and trying to ground himself in the sensation.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry Louis,” Nick sighs, dropping to his knees in front of the bed. He takes Louis’ cheeks in his palms. “I'm being a total prat. I'll arrange a car to pick you up and bring you back to London after the party. How’s that?”

Not good enough, Louis wants to say.

He finds himself nodding woodenly anyway, mumbling a soft, “thank you” as his pride dies a swift death.  Nick looks relieved and resumes packing, ignoring Louis for the time being. A tear trickles down the outside of Louis’ cheek. He stares down at his hands with a morbid expression and wonders if he’ll ever stop falling in love with the most talented of heartbreakers. He thinks not.

*-*-*-*-*

Louis is only three steps into Uncle Jeffrey’s green pastured garden when things start to go awry. He glances around at the vast array of guests and finds them all dressed in dainty frocks and tan trousers instead of the mix of frivolous costumes that he’d expected. Loud, birdlike laughter rises above the crowd, closing in on him as people turn and catch Louis in his tart-like kitten costume. Zayn’s beside him, whispering vicious insults in his ear while tugging at his elbow to get him to move. Louis allows himself to be dragged along by Zayn, stumbling over his long, woollen tail until they finally reach a covert spot behind a wide, leafy tree. It makes a good hiding spot, a great place to collect oneself after receiving another unnecessary reminder of what total humiliation feels like.

“You said it was a costume party Lou! Not a fucking tea party with your posh relatives!”

Zayn looks absolutely livid and rightly so. He’s probably not as used to being laughed at as Louis is. Unfortunately the whole sexy vicar thing was a bit of a bust but Louis managed to persuade Zayn to slip into something a little less comfortable and a lot more revealing. He’s dressed in tight black leather trousers that taper off into pointy leather boots and he’s chosen a see through navy singlet that stretches across his washboard abs. To make matters worse, Louis convinced him to cut a strip off the bottom of the singlet so that it rests just above his hipbones, exposing his lower midriff for all of Louis’ relatives to see.

“I’m sorry Zayn,” Louis squeezes his shoulder with one of the makeshift paws that Niall helped Perrie make for him. They’re really just long black gloves with soft triangular claws sewn on to the fingertips, but Louis quite likes the feel of them cloaking his forearms in softness. Zayn looks down at his paw with a furrowed brow and a shake of his head. “I swear I didn’t know. You know I’d never let you make a fool of yourself on purpose.”

Zayn tosses his head around a bit and lets out a peeved off sigh but when his eyes come to rest on Louis again, he seems less irritated. Perhaps even fond.

“I know babes,” he grabs Louis by the paw and squeezes, reaching up with his other hand to trace the intricate detailing around his eyes. “Did Pez do this?”

Louis nods and then opens his eyes up wider, flashing the feline-like contacts that he’d managed to find online. They make his pupils look slitted and narrow but his irises look a more brilliant blue, outlined by the dark makeup Perrie insisted on doing on him. He’s got a painted black nose, framed by a pair of elegantly curled whiskers and a lot of dark swirls and decorative patterns by his eyes.

“Shit, your eyes are terrifying.” Louis’ smirk loosens at that and Zayn notices. He grins at Louis, reaching up to flick one of the furry black ears on his headband. “But you look marvellous, babe. Look out cat woman, there’s a new sex kitten in town.”

Louis’ mouth wobbles with the weight of his smile. He throws his arms around the taller man’s waist, reaching up to tousle Zayn’s hair with his hands. It was looking a little stiff.

“It’s time to go flirt with the masses, Malik. Liam could already be here somewhere.”

Zayn looks jittery now and hyped up. He shakes his hands out towards the ground and bites down woefully hard on the fleshy part of his bottom lip.

“You really think he’ll be jealous? Everyone here is like…over forty.”

“Not everyone Zayn,” Louis gives him a light push, “I resent that implication.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and pushes Louis right back.

“And you want me to hit on you, do you?”

Louis giggles theatrically, reaching up to fluff one of his ears.

“We can swap numbers if you want.”

Zayn shakes his head, muttering something to the effect of “you prat” but there’s a lazy, helpless curl to his smile.

“I’m leaving you on your lonesome now, kitten. Will you be alright or should I fetch you a ball of yarn and some warm milk?”

Louis bites down on the emerging grin and yells obscenities at Zayn as he marches away across the ginormous garden. Once Zayn’s gone, Louis turns and exhales heavily. Time for him to confront the masses. More importantly, time for him to confront his mother.

Louis slinks out from behind the tree with what he hopes is a contrite expression and a little less colour in his cheeks. His relief at no one noticing him is short lived because his mother has clearly been waiting for him to re-emerge. She’s standing with Louis’ dad over by one of the drinks marquees, fanning herself with a napkin for god knows what reason and casting scathing looks his way. Louis meanders over there, dragging his feet slightly when he draws closer and her sharp disapproval becomes more apparent.

“Mum. Dad.” He greets them separately, kissing them both on the cheek despite the way his mother leans away, nose crinkled. It might be the hairspray. Perrie teased his hair out a bit to make it look more fluffy and to hide his headband from view. “Dad, why is she fanning herself? It’s winter. In London. One would think a breezy outfit would suffice.”

Louis’ mum clicks her tongue with annoyance and turns her nose up at his sarcasm.

“I’ll have you know that the sun is very warm today. Your father and I are both positively melting.”

Louis raises an eyebrow at his father who winks and rolls his eyes. Louis supresses a giggle.

“Your mother’s having a hot flush,” his dad whispers in an aside. “She’s been sweating up a storm all morning.”

“I have not!” Louis’ mum squawks, clearly horrified. “How could you say such a thing…and in public?! Where anyone could hear you?! Honestly, William.”

Louis’ dad flushes beet red and starts yammering away, trying to please her with his overwrought apologies. He should know by now that there’s no pleasing a woman like Beatrice Tomlinson. Disdain is her middle name.

“Honestly mum, you are looking a little flushed,” Louis whispers, imitating his father’s wink and eye roll from before.

Louis’ dad looks quietly pleased but he’s not the type to advertise it. Wise decision, really when he’s standing next to a livewire that could go off at any minute. Louis’ mother doesn’t yell. She shrieks. Somehow that’s much worse.

“I’ve had it with you two,” she says, beseeching the heavens, “insufferable, the both of you.”

Louis just chuckles. His dad reaches across and squeezes the corner of his cat ear, grin stretching his wobbly cheeks wide.

“Cute costume, Lou.”

Louis grins gratefully at his father.

“Thanks Dad but apparently I didn’t get the memo about the costumes being cancelled.” Louis shifts his gaze to his mother who looks physically pained. “I’m sorry mum.”

“Yes, well you should be,” she sniffs, “you’ve made a mockery of the whole event.”

Louis’ dad frowns at her sadly but remains mum on the subject. Louis’ used to it by now. He pats both his parents on the shoulders, sparing a lone smile for his father and then turns and hurries away. It’s always best to meet that level of severity with calm silence, even when he’s seething on the inside.

*-*-*-*-*

Harry just happens to turn around at the same time that someone comes barrelling toward him, head tucked down towards their chest. Harry braces for the impact, eyes squeezed shut but the person barrelling towards him has an unexpectedly soft head and…paws? Harry cautiously opens his eyes to be confronted with an even stranger sight. It’s a small kitten hybrid whose hair looks a lot like a fluffy baby bird.

“Harry?”

Now Baby Bird’s head is up, he’s easily recognisable as Louis. Well…somewhat easily. His pupils are shaped into slit-like discs and his face is covered with a light sheen of white make up. There’s dark markings painted around his eyes, framing his oceanic blue. His face could be a canvas for all that it has to share with the world. Harry’s eyes touch on the rest of him then, the fluffy ears and the tail that wraps around one small ankle. His makeshift paws rest palm open on Harry’s chest. Harry guffaws.

“Are you dressed as a kitten?” he gasps, eyes smarting. “With fluffy ears? And a tail?!”

Louis flushes from head to toe and stamps one foot. His tail drags along the ground as he does.

“I’m a cat, not a kitten!”

Harry’s mouth wobbles with amusement.

“And this distinction is very important to you?”

Louis’ bottom lip juts out defensively.

“Obviously.”

“Why are you dressed so…” Harry trails off, a chuckle escaping the corner of his mouth, “like this?”

“It was supposed to be tarts and vicars.” Louis crosses his arms. “Apparently I didn’t get the memo about the change of theme.”

“Apparently not.”

“You’re actually enjoying this,” Louis jabs an angry finger into Harry’s chest, stretching up on to the tips of his toes. “I can’t believe you!”

Harry grabs Louis by his…paws and pulls him back down onto flat feet. He might fall over otherwise.

“Of course I’m enjoying it, kitten.”

Louis’ positively trembling now, his little black nose all wrinkled up with rage.  Harry feels an unexpected but not unwelcome rush of warmth for him.

“I could just kill y—“

Harry covers Louis’ mouth with his palm, effectively muffling his speech.

“Shh, it’s okay. You know, you look very—cute.”

Louis sinks his teeth into Harry’s hand and Harry jumps.

“Christ,” he swears, “I can’t believe you just—“

“Bit you?” Louis tears Harry’s hand away, his expression rabid. “Now you know how it feels. I’m just one big joke to you, aren’t I Styles?”

Harry deflates like a balloon. He thought they were joking around like they usually do, not—

“Louis—Louis, I didn’t mean to—“

But Louis is already stalking away, his little legs carrying him faster than Harry would have believed they were capable of if he weren’t watching it now. Bloody hell. How does Harry keep doing that? Driving Louis away when all he meant to do was—what had he meant to do? He really can’t remember. Whatever it is, it always seems to go out the window every time he finds himself in Louis’ presence.

If he’d been thinking clearly, he would have said that Louis doesn’t just look cute. He would have bit back a laugh as he told Louis the whole truth; that he’s incontrovertibly gorgeous to look at. Especially all dressed up like a sexy kitten with skin tight leggings and a three quarter length t-shirt that shows off his vast array of tattoos. Harry never even knew he had such a thing for tattoos before now. Apparently he does. He really does. Pity he’s an expert at acting like a total twat.

Luke brushes a hand over the back of Harry’s neck, garnering his attention and drawing him back into the conversation he’d just stepped out of.

“Bizarre, what some men are attracted to, isn’t it?”

He clearly doesn’t realise who he’s talking to. Harry turns to him with a tooth rotting smile.

“Not really, no.”

*-*-*-*-*

Louis’ well tired and it’s only been about an hour that they’ve been here. He’s watched Zayn flirt with way too many people in the same circle of conversation, all of them seeming vaguely frightened. Liam didn’t seem impressed or jealous. In fact just now he came up to Louis to “share his concerns” before trotting off in the direction of the toilets. Zayn was left staring longingly after him and Louis could see why. The man was dressed as Hercules and his costume left little to the imagination as to what he would look like naked and hovering over you in bed, muscles deliciously tensed.

“Mate, have you been watching Zayn? I’m quite worried about him.” Liam had whispered, expression frantic.

Louis would have laughed but it was much too tragic for that.

“Zayn? He’s fine. What do you mean?”

Liam’ expression turned incredulous as he gripped Louis’ forearms and span him in the direction of Zayn. Louis watched in horror as Zayn hit on Mrs Quebec, an old broad of about sixty with a pretty serious moustache and a penchant for adopting cats.

“No, not Mrs Quebec!” Louis gasped, mortified on Zayn’s behalf.

Liam nodded solemnly.

“Yes. The poor woman looks terrified! And your mother has just mentioned to me that she has a dodgy ticker. What if he gives her a heart attack, the poor love. What’s gotten into him Lou? He’s been acting weird all day!”

Louis tried to make his expression as blank as possible. He shrugged and turned away from the cringe worthy scene.

“Well I’m tired of it,” Liam huffed. “He’s been avoiding me all day. Do you…” Liam faltered then, his mouth drooping, “I mean, do you think it’s my costume? Maybe he doesn’t like it?”

There was the Liam Louis knew. The one that once choked on an ice block and shot it clear across the room just because Zayn happened to bend over in front of him with his arse popping out the top of his jeans.

“Of course he likes it, you tit. Just go talk to him.” Louis gave him a hard shove. “I bet you anything that talking to you will help whatever it is that’s going on with him right now.”

“You think?”

Liam remained unconvinced. Louis just rolled his eyes and waited patiently as Liam finally stomped off, head down and shoulders hunched forward. He got within five feet of Zayn and then abruptly changed direction, headed straight for the toilets, most probably to hide. Zayn watched his retreat with round, mournful eyes. Louis felt at that moment that he was close to purposely braining himself on a rock. He felt so lucky to be dating someone who just tells it like it is. He’d never have to become embroiled in this kind of high school shit again.

The smell of barbecued meat wafts over to Louis now and he’s striding towards it before he can even make a conscious decision to do so. There are surprisingly few people gathered around the food as yet and Louis takes advantage. He’s got half a sausage in his mouth when his Aunt Sally saddles up beside him, dressed from head to toe in a thick mink coat with her white fluffy hair perfectly permed atop her head and her lipstick all smeared around the edges. Perms went out of fashion years ago, he wants to tell her. They have these things called curlers now. She probably wouldn’t hear him over the sound of her vanity.

“Louis, is your boyfriend coming?” She asks him, voice shrill.

Harry bleeding Styles chooses that moment to amble right up beside her, a subtle challenge in his eyes.

“Lovely to see you too, Aunt Sally.” Louis says, faux cheerfully, swallowing his sausage in one. It burns the whole way down. “And no actually, he had to work. Very busy, my Nick.”

Louis makes sure to put extra emphasis on the ‘my.’ He delights in the way Harry’s facial muscles clench painfully as if he were trying to hold back some bitter comment.

“Nick Grimshaw?” Aunt Sally’s eyes are gleaming now, the way they do when she catches a certain whiff of gossip. “Well isn’t he a good friend of yours, Harry?”

She turns to sink her long scarlet nails into Harry’s forearm. Louis actually winces in sympathy.

“No, absolutely not,” Harry says coldly.

Aunt Sally giggles, leaning into Harry’s side and sinking her nails in deeper. Harry looks vaguely distressed, although it’s nothing in comparison to the blatant hatred in his eyes at the simple mention of Nick.

“Well I hope he's good enough for our little Louis. Louis’ thirty two, did you know?  Not many people's first choice of date.”

Louis wishes he could melt into the ground, either that or watch other people's words ricochet off the sides of his chest instead of letting them carve out a spot for themselves beside the ghosts of tormenters past. Louis' feels the hurt prickle behind his eyes but he's not about to tear up in public. Not in front of Harry Styles, of all people. Harry speaks then and it's like he's pulling Louis from the depths of his darkest thoughts, the rumbly timbre of his voice catching Louis’ attention and holding it indefinitely.

 "I can guarantee that he’s most certainly not good enough for Louis who is, in my humble opinion, a more than valid choice of date."

It's said with stiff indifference and no movement at all from the famous dimples, but there's something in his eyes. Something ferocious like rage but quiet like affection. Louis must be hallucinating. After all, the man's furrowed brow is reserved solely for Louis and his antics. Louis will never be good enough in the eyes of a man like Harry and yet—wait, how dare he say such awful things about a man he's personally mistreated?

"I'm quite certain he feels the same about you, given your shared past," Louis snaps back.

"I'm sorry?"

There's a sudden rush of bewilderment in Harry's eyes and maybe even a hint of burgeoning hurt, but his whole stance is as cold and unyielding as ever. Louis must have misjudged.

"I think you know what I mean,” he says accusingly, narrowing his eyes at that stiff upper lip.

Harry walks away from him with a tense set to his shoulders, not turning until he's far enough away that Louis might be just a speck to his eye line. How very fitting.

“That was very catty, dear.”

Louis turns back to his Aunt Sally with a baleful glare.

“Lucky I’m dressed this way then, isn’t it?”

*-*-*-*-*

Harry is truly weary. Luke’s been following him around all day and Harry’s only just managed to escape him for the first time in three hours. It feels promising when he pokes his head out from behind the bush and spies Luke’s turned back. He watches him trot towards the toilets, head bowed low and his arms bent stiffly behind his back. He knows Luke’s on his way to check on him. Probably because his only excuse for ditching Luke earlier in the day was that he had an upset stomach and thus needed to use the loo.

Harry pulls his head back behind the bush and then sinks down onto the grass with a defeated sigh. When did his knees start to creak? He’s not yet forty. He’s not even thirty five. It must be all that desk work. All the days he spends bent and cramped over a pile of paperwork, his limbs close to decomposition around him. He does exercise, it shows in his physique but it’s been a long time since he properly stretched his muscles or enjoyed a spot of yoga like he used to. It’s been a long time since he had sex too, and don’t his muscles know it? Their kinks haven’t been worked out in months and now they’re all intent on seeking vengeance.

Harry’s disobedient muscles are the least of his problems today though. He kneads his forehead with his hand, trying to come up with some kind of reasonable explanation for the way Louis treated him earlier. It wasn’t like their usual banter or their inevitable back and forth. It was cruel and even callous for Louis to say such a thing, which is not something Harry knows Louis to be. There’d been some small flash of regret in his eyes following the comment but then it had abruptly disappeared, as if a light had gone on somewhere and his compassion for Harry had been snuffed out. It’s frustrating really because maybe it isn’t so unexpected? Maybe it isn’t so undeserved. Harry hasn’t exactly paved the way for a smooth friendship between them and adding Nick in to the mix just makes things that much more complicated. Maybe Louis is only giving back what Harry has given, retaliating with a pettiness Harry had thought was beyond him but retaliating justly all the same.

The most troubling part of it all is that Harry can’t be sure why it troubles him at all. Is Louis really so bewitching that Harry can forgive him such indecency? Can he really forgive him such total disregard for his suffering? Harry doesn’t have time to contemplate the answer to that because there’s a high, crisp voice cutting into his thoughts. It’s coming from just the other side of the bush and it sounds a lot like Beatrice Tomlinson.

"I'm just saying Louis, that if he hasn't shown up today then how can we say for sure that he's real? And did you really have to dress so....provocative? Flaunting yourself like some kind of tart. Like a fairy.”

"That was the point, mum.” Harry can hear him grinding his teeth together. "Or it was supposed to be. Tarts and vicars, remember?  And that word is offensive, how many times do I have to tell you?"

"Well you've embarrassed me, Louis. I've told you time and time again to check your phone before you leave the house."

Harry can almost feel the steam coming out of Louis’ ears right now.

"Uncle Jeffrey didn't send me anything, I checked." Louis insists weakly, the fight waning from his tone.

It’s as though his anger rose up in a tide of ungovernable rage but in the moment, he chose to let it recede, draining away beneath his feet like his forgotten pride. Harry can hear it in his voice, how afraid he is of losing his own mum to his identity. It’s ludicrous and almost agonising to imagine someone so wonderfully flamboyant giving up that part of themselves in order to please someone whose love should be unconditional.

“It’s not acceptable. Your father might think it’s ‘cute’ but I don’t and neither do my friends. You’re plenty handsome, Louis but tight clothing doesn’t flatter you any more than it does me.”

Harry chokes on a snort. She can’t really believe that, can she? That her and her son sit on the same level of attractiveness? Lord knows Harry wouldn’t want to do half the things to her that he’s been imagining doing to Louis all day. Some of the highlights include forcing Louis up against one of those wide tree trunks and spinning him around so that his arse is pushed out in Harry’s direction. He’d rip a hole in the back of those sinful leggings, just wide enough for his cock and then he’d thrust inside, pinning those ridiculous paws to the tree with one hand. If it wasn’t that, it was the image of Louis splayed out on Harry’s bed with just his kitten make up and his furry ears on. Harry would crawl up that curvy body to his head and then ride his pretty face until he was wet and glistening all over. He’d ride him until he came or until Louis begged him to fuck him, whichever came first.

The injustice of it all ignites Harry’s temper. Louis is brilliant in all regards. He’s smart, beautiful and soft in all the best kinds of ways. Harry knows that much. In spite of today’s events, all he’s capable of feeling for Louis in this moment is a surge of overwhelming protectiveness. It almost bowls him over with its strength. It’s possessive. He feels about Louis the way that older siblings feel when their younger sibling is confronted by a bully. You’re an expert at finding their weaknesses and exploiting them when you need to, but it doesn’t much compare to your overarching affection that inflates like a balloon inside your chest whenever they’re threatened. Perhaps Harry’s had more sexual fantasies about Louis than most siblings would or ever should have about each other but that proprietary feeling is much the same. He’s surprised by how ferocious it makes him feel. Louis is a good son, the kind of man Harry hopes his own little boy might grow up to be and the fact that Beatrice doesn’t see it is maddening. Harry finally recognises the truth of his possessiveness in the way Louis responds to his mother’s ill treatment.

I will sometimes make him feel smaller than I have the right to, smaller than I believe him to be, he realises, but I will never make him feel that he cannot and indeed does not rise above me. He does. He is my skyscraper. I will cut him down to size and he will know it makes him taller. She will cut him down so far that he will forget what it means to grow.

“I—I’m sorry,” Louis stutters, voice feeble. “I didn’t mean to disappoint you. But I—this is who I am.”

Harry does a small, pointless fist pump behind the bush, silently championing Louis’ rebellion.

“This is who you are,” Beatrice agrees and Harry winces, knowing she’s not done yet. “I’ve not got the patience to try and change you.”

Harry doesn’t hear anything much after that but it sounds like she may have walked away. A minute later he hears the quiet sounds of Louis crying. It tears at Harry’s heart. Louis sounds like he’s trying to compose himself, attempting to stifle his sniffles and squeaky hiccups. There’s enough of a hitch in his breath to make Harry’s lungs tighten. His eyes itch at the sound and he wants—he wants all kinds of things that involve touching Louis in ways he’s not supposed to. He wants to march over to Beatrice Tomlinson and her snotty circles of friends and remind her that she’s the recipient of a most precious gift; the gift standing on the other side of this bush making heart wrenching sounds as he goes to pieces over his awful mother.

Harry could walk round there and take Louis in his arms. He could try to explain the difference between a mother’s love and a mother’s inability to love, that it’s complete and unconditional or it’s not really love at all. For once in a blue moon, he could be the startling burst of clarity and kindness that Louis needs, claiming temporary insanity to anyone who dare question his unfounded gentleness. Or perhaps he could even accept that Louis brings it out in him and that maybe that isn’t such a terrible thing. He could. But he won’t. He’s thirty two, too young to stop making an effort to change but too old to do a complete 180.

Instead Harry waits until the worst of the sobbing subsides, ignoring the tender pains in his chest which give way to an intense form of heartburn. His heart urges him to go round there and shower Louis in kisses and kindness, the way he would have when they were kids, to rub his feet and make him dinner while Louis teases him about his chef’s apron. That’s not their dynamic though and it hasn’t been for a long time. It’s clearly not in the cards for them now. Not with Louis dating Nick Grimshaw. Harry doesn’t stand up immediately, lest he be discovered by Louis and berated for eavesdropping. Instead he crawls far enough away that he can get away with circling back to Louis’ side of the bush and approaching him slowly from behind. Louis still jumps when Harry puts a hand on his shoulder.

*-*-*-*-*

Only Harry Styles would find him when he’s all snivelly and weepy. His eye makeup has to be smudged and he’s run his fingers through his hair enough times for it to sticking up worse than if he were electrified. He feels ridiculously pitiful and woefully embarrassed. Worse still, Harry actually looks like he might feel sorry for him, his mouth turned down in deep corner creases. Louis’ only solace is that Harry doesn’t know the reasons behind his obvious distress and he’s not likely to ask. Louis can only imagine how that conversation would go. Even if he didn’t agree with her, Louis’ sure Harry would find a new way to demolish his self-esteem.

Funnily enough, Louis has the strangest urge to apologise for earlier. Perhaps it’s the hint of redness at the corners of Harry’s eyes or the depth to his frown. It makes Louis think there’s more to Harry’s unhappiness than the sight of his own. But Louis didn’t do anything wrong. He need not apologise for the fact that Harry’s emotionally affected by his own vicious regrets. He bites his tongue and waits patiently for whatever Harry has to say.

"Your hair looks lovely. As do you. Very. Fit." And again with the short, staccato sentences. "I do hope you had a good time today."

Louis' heart is thundering away in his chest. He's not sure what possesses him to wrap his arms around Harry's waist and bury his ears somewhere between those muscled pecs but it's too late to take it back now. When he pulls back Harry’s blinking at him, sleepy eyed and slow. His mouth curls up lazily at one side and he looks almost hypnotised by the moment unfolding between them.

Louis’ not sure what comes over him, whether it’s terror or breathless confusion but he stamps his foot on the ground and then scampers away from Harry with a befuddled shake of his head. He spots Zayn staring morosely into the water fountain and surmises that he might be just as done with this whole day as Louis is. He drags Zayn to the car with a hurried explanation, refusing to look behind him or to meet the intensity of the eyes he can feel burning through the back of his shirt. Only when he’s safely seated inside his car and on the road back to London does he think of Harry’s soft lips turned up in a sedated smile. A sedated smile that felt a lot like Yorkshire tea sliding down his throat, warm but slightly bittersweet.

*-*-*-*-*

Louis rubs his frosted hands together on the edge of Nick’s doorstep, shivering in the brisk wind that pervades the London evening. He hears the echo of the doorbell on the other side of the door and then the just barely distinguishable sounds of Nick swearing as he makes his way down the stairs. Louis purses his lips together to keep from smiling, picturing Nick all cozied up in his study with a mug of tea and the reading glasses he doesn’t like to admit he uses.

Nick opens the door in a light threadbare shirt and tight briefs. His hair is oddly ruffled and his face, dotted with patchy pink. He looks surprised by Louis’ appearance, his eyes like hazel dusted opals, opening wider at the slight hint of bare skin poking out from the top of Louis’ trench coat.

“Are you—“

“Naked under here?” Louis smirks at him from beneath lowered eyelashes, coyly fiddling with his coat ties. “Perhaps.”

“I—“ Nick scratches at the back of his head, his face all creased in a wince. “What are you doing here?”

“You—you sent a car for me. I—I thought you meant…” Louis trails off, feeling remarkably stupid now that he’s standing here practically naked on Nick’s doorstep and without the invitation inside like he’d expected.

He’d had quite the vivid fantasy about their reunion on the way here. Nick looks like someone took a needle and stuck it in the end of his finger.

“Right, well I’m actually quite busy. You know—“

“Right, right of course.” Louis nods his head sagely. “I’m so sorry for interrupting. You’re not—“ he pauses, bitting at the edge of his mouth. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Nick’s face falls visibly and he reaches out to grip Louis by the shoulders, hauling him into his chest and winding his arms around Louis tight. Tight enough to hurt. He kisses Louis’ hair and then pulls back to look at him, stroking Louis’ messy fringe away from his temple.

“No of course not, love.”

He looks so soft and dreamy in the half-light that spills cleanly across his face, dipping in between his enviable collarbones. Louis can’t resist smiling up at him. There’s the strangest, floaty feeling occupying all the spaces of his body right now. He shares a soft utterance of a fact that finally feels undoubtedly true.

“Nick, I—I love you.”

Nick doesn’t react but to cup Louis’ cheek in his palm and plant a soft, wet kiss on his frozen lips.

“I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

Right. There’s traces of embarrassment crawling up Louis’ spine and curling around the base of his neck. The instinctual urge to flee rises just as quickly as Nick clicks the door shut in his face.

Fuck. Fucking Fuck. Louis is a bigger embarrassment to the human race than Donald Trump.

With a hunch to his shoulders and a slight hitch in his breath, Louis turns away. He’s fully prepared to journey down these steps and walk himself home. Perhaps the late hour of night will increase his chances of being mugged and murdered. Isn’t that what happens to lonely old spinsters who prematurely tell their boyfriends that they’re in love with them? And what is the male equivalent of a spinster anyway? A bachelor? That doesn’t sound right. Why should men be heralded for their eternal singledom while women are subjugated and humiliated for the exact same lifestyle? Louis can’t recognise any significant difference between the two. Louis would make a perfect spinster. He certainly feels he’s earned the right to purchase a cat and start a button collection.

He’s ready to walk away and resign himself to a life of bitterness and complete isolation but something stops him in his tracks. Hope. A dangerous thing, hope but Louis’ nothing if not irrationally optimistic. Perhaps they could still spend the evening together. Louis could curl up beside Nick in bed while he does his work. He could lay quiet and maybe steal a kiss or two before his eyes eventually fall shut. Surely Nick wouldn’t mind his declaration so much if Louis woke him up with a blow job and his best attempt at bacon. They could head into work together and have a sloppy snogging session in the car before going their separate ways (keeping up appearances is important). Nick might even get a thrill out of it. He might realise that he loves Louis after all.

Louis knocks on the door with bated breath. It escapes him completely when he hears a hushed exchange and what sounds like quiet bickering. He listens closely as Nick trots down the stairs again. Then the door’s being swung open in his face with unnecessary force. Nick’s shirtless this time and his glasses are noticeably crooked.

“Lou?”

He raises his eyebrows, half impatient, half confused.

“Is there someone up there?” Louis demands, eyes flitting over to the staircase and then back to Nick’s reddened face.

“You’re ridiculous,” Nick chuckles, stepping into his space and fitting his hands to Louis’ waist. “You actually think I’ve got someone hidden up there?”

Louis falters, his terror draining away at the look of honest disbelief on Nick’s face.

“Well—no. I….you know I didn’t mean it. Before.” Louis can feel the heat pluming in his cheeks. “When I said I loved you.”

Nick’s lips pull back in a goofy grin and he snorts.

“Oh fuck, obviously.”

Right. Well that’s that then.

“I should be going. You must be so busy.”

Louis flutters his fingers over Nick’s bare chest, his brow furrowing slightly when he remembers the threadbare shirt from before. His eyes briefly dart past Nick to the coat hooks on the wall and draped over the nearest one is a flashy leather jacket that looks like it came right off the pages of a style magazine. It’s too small to be Nick’s and it’s definitely not Louis’. It wasn’t here the last time he came around either. Nick is about to shut the door in his face again but Louis puts his foot in the gap.

“Nick…” he starts, his pitch slightly higher but his tone not as accusatory as he feared. “If there’s no one here with you then…who does that leather jacket belong to?”

It’s a combination of things; the way the whole left side of Nick’s face twitches and then goes still, the matching pair of studded boots that Louis spots beneath the unrecognisable jacket and worst of all, the slightly concerned enquiry that comes trickling down the stairs.

“Nick?”

Louis is steamrolling past Nick and rushing up the stairs before the horror of it all can even begin to catch up with him. His blood rushes up to his head, dizzying and intense. His thudding heart beats in time with his steps. It’s all a blur, Nick yelling out to him with a note of panic escalating in his tone. Louis pushes through the door of Nick’s bedroom and sways unsteadily on his feet.

He’s not prepared for what awaits him. Not even nearly. Had he suspected? Of course. Had he considered the reality? Never. He’d been holding his breath since he spotted that foreign leather jacket just behind Nick’s head. It escapes him now in a ragged, torn gasp that burns his lungs fiercely. His fingers twist into fists at his sides but his whole body feels strangely limp, as if someone cut the strings that were holding him taut.

He can feel Nick breathing heavily just behind him, muttering tired apologies while refusing to take any shred of responsibility for the hurt he’s just inflicted. Louis’ not really paying any attention though. His focus is solely on the Spanish god stretched out before him on Nick’s chocolate toned sheets wearing nothing but a black G-string and covered in whipped cream. It melts sideways across his erect nipples. He doesn’t look at all bothered by Louis’ presence or even threatened…but then why should he? His cock is as big as a small but very real fighter plane and his skin is even more deliciously golden than Louis’. He’s tall, dark and handsome and with the proper equipment to back it up. He has to be ten years Louis’ junior, his whole essence screams youthful vitality. Louis has never felt so unequivocally ordinary in his life. He’s also never felt so lifeless, like he just sunk back into his body and drifted away with the rising sea of hurt.

“This is Carlito. From the New York office.”

As though they all gathered in Nick’s room for a cordial introduction. The Boyfriend and the perfect manifestation of what he could never give someone like Nick. Carlito. How prudent. Coincidentally it’s also the name of Louis’ first fuckwit boyfriend. Carlito’s eyes briefly touch on Louis, drifting up and down his body for only a couple of seconds. As if that were all he were worth.

“I thought you said he was good looking?”

It sounds even more dismissive and patronising in a Spanish accent. Louis tilts his head back a little and a harsh, disbelieving laugh escapes, a few tears smarting in his eyes. Is this really his life? Nick’s hand is on the back of his shoulder, squeezing as if he thinks it might help. Louis shakes him off and then catches his brimming tears with the back of his hand. Carlito looks on like this is the most fun he’s had all day.

“Right.” Louis nods at him, tears turning his eyes translucent as he performs some kind of strange bow.  “It was very nice to meet you.”

Louis turns away from the scene with trembling hands. Did he really just say—yes, yes he did.

This is why you don’t love me, he thinks idly as his eyes rest on Nick’s ill attempt to hide his amusement. Louis brushes past him without a word and then descends down the stairs, complete quiet following after him. Nick doesn’t follow. Of course not. Louis hails a taxi because he’s too beside himself to walk. The taxi driver spends the whole ride nervously glancing at him in the rear vision mirror and at the end of the journey asks Louis if he’s actually good for the fare. Apparently his obvious nakedness beneath the coat is more likely as a result of homelessness than any kind of mutual orgasm.

Louis weeps for two hours straight. He curls up on the couch with a bottle of red and a carton of rocky road ice cream, his fluffiest socks pulled up to way past his ankles. Louis makes it a habit not to wear socks if he can help it but this night calls for something warm and comforting. It’s more doom and gloom than Louis would safely admit in the light of day but he can’t help thinking that this is what his love life might be eternally confined to. He might never do any better than this sob induced clenching inside his chest and the constant reminders that he is not fit for dating. That he is not fit at all. Louis cries until his throat runs dry and his chest burns from sobbing. He falls into a relatively comfortable sleep on the couch, clutching an empty wine bottle and listening to the TV drone on about some poor woman’s struggle with IVF.  As if that doesn’t mess him up even more.

Louis never planned on adopting all on his lonesome in his late thirties as an alternative to ever having the family he envisioned. It was supposed to happen in some kind of natural sequence and without Louis breaking his heart ten million times over just trying to find it. It never bothered him whether marriage or babies came first, he wasn’t picky about that but it was supposed to have become reality a long time ago now. He was supposed to be taking his first steps towards fatherhood in his early thirties, not staying holed up in a stodgy flat with a worn out electric blanket and no one there to warm his frozen ankles between the sheets.

Louis’ always wanted a big family; a loving husband, a platoon of pets and of course a brood of ragtag children that look nothing like him but carry his essence anyway. He’s always wanted a big house too, situated somewhere quiet but not too far from the city so he could still see his family and friends whenever he felt so inclined. He wants a stone fireplace and a house that’s bordered on all sides by fields that extend for miles. He’d like to live somewhere that sits far enough out of the city that it’s not subject to smog and the nine to five misery that comes along with it. He knows deep down that he wants to get away from a place that suited him in his twenties but is starting to feel all wrong in his thirties. Although perhaps that’s just what being alone does, turns your once beloved home into an easily detestable prison yard.

*-*-*-*-*

What a small arsed, pointy nosed boyfriend snatcher. It doesn’t work, looking for ways to insult him. Carlito has the body of a Greek God and a face that any gay man would beg to ride. It’s atrocious to be so viscerally aware of his perfection. It’s even worse to have it rubbed in his face in his very own workplace. Nick must be doing this just to drive him mad. It’s the only explanation for why he’d completely bypassed Louis’ desk this morning without so much as a nod in his direction. He’d then spent ten minutes locked in a very intense phone conversation, his brow deeply furrowed. Louis wondered if Nick would mind very much if he waxed those eyebrows off and wrote traitorous dickhead along his brow line instead. Probably. He’s more than traitorous though, isn’t he? He’s a self-absorbed hypocrite. After all, he went through a similar ordeal with Harry and his former fiancé and yet was still willing to do the dirty on Louis. That says a lot about a man.

About ten minutes ago, Carlito had swaggered past Louis and into Nick’s office while unbeknownst to him, Louis quietly plotted a double homicide. He watched, heartbroken as Nick greeted Carlito with a short kiss which melted into one of his infectious grins. Their heads stayed close together as they worked on whatever pressing problem Nick’s computer screen presented.

Louis watches as Nick guides Carlito from his office now, kissing just below his ear and not so subtly swatting his behind the way he used to swat Louis’. Louis turns away from the scene and almost shrieks with surprise when he finds Eleanor watching him from across the way, a strange downward tilt to her mouth.

“Mr Grimshaw wants to see you now,” she informs him but there’s less snippiness in her tone than usual.

Louis gives her a shaky, dizzied nod and then gathers the data sheets in his hands. He walks up the steps with a nervous gait, his mouth instantly drying up when he finds Nick watching him with a sombre expression. Louis saves himself any further humiliation by averting his eyes the moment he walks through that door. He hasn’t yet recovered his stamped out pride.

“Mr Grimshaw,” Louis acknowledges, eyes fixed firmly on the paper. “I assume you’d like a status update for the Cycling through Cancer campaign? I’m sure you’re pleased to hear that it’s coming along quite nicely. The radio interview increased awareness exponentially and we’ve had quite an increase in online interest. Would you like to see the graphs?”

"Louis, forget the graphs. I feel horrible, okay? It’s just that, me and Carlito…well you understand, yes?”

Louis reluctantly raises his eyes to Nick’s, expression gone sour.

"Not really Nick, no."

"Well we're the same, Louis. You and me, we're searching for that moment, that person to commit to and we’re finding it awfully fucking difficult. And I just think that we need something truly awe-inspiring. Something more than what we've been getting? And Carlito is—Carlito’s American, Louis.” Actually, he’s first and foremost a Spaniard. “Do you see what I'm saying? He's confident, young. He’s all of the things that I'm looking for and I think we really…we really have something. We’ve connected quite strongly.”

"Already? That must have been one hell of a weekend.” Louis says, tone caustic.

Nick’s face twists awkwardly.

"Actually...."

"Right. Of course.” Louis reads it in his face. It leaves his heart jammed somewhere up near his throat. “Yesterday wasn't the first time you met him."

"Yes, I guess we were quite close when I worked in New York.” He says, as if it only just occurred to him that they have a prior history.

"I'm very happy for you. Really."

Louis’ never sounded so stiff.

"Good because I-- this might be difficult to hear but I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

It can’t get any worse, can it?

"Tell me what?"

Nick spreads his palms over the desk and leans forward.

"We're engaged."

Louis turns around and leaves without a word. He doesn’t bother telling Eleanor that he needs an extended bathroom break. It’s probably obvious, what with the way he furiously shakes his head at her when she tries to speak to him and then rushes in the direction of the toilets. When he gets there, his breakfast happens in reverse. He emerges from the bathroom fifteen minutes later with his head feeling thick and woollen, the way it does after you finish crying. Only Louis’ chest continues to heave long after his tears dry.

*-*-*-*-*

Dear Diary,

I have a choice between sanity and insanity. Between resigning myself to never give a fuck about anything or anyone again, be that my body or the shitload of tossers out there just waiting to fuck me over, and deciding to finally start caring. A choice between letting every cruel word form a scar or proving each and every one false. I have a choice between letting him have power over me and choosing not to. This time I choose not. But first, vodka.

Louis passes out in front of the telly with his diary stretched over his stomach and the dregs of an empty wine bottle lying somewhere around his feet.

*-*-*-*-*

Somewhere I heard that life is a test
I've been through the worst, but I still give my best
God made my mould different from the rest
Then he broke that mould so I know I'm blessed

This is my world

Stand up now and face the sun
Won't hide my tail or turn and run
It's time to do what must be done
And be a king when kingdom comes

Well you can tell everybody
Yeah you can tell everybody
Go ahead and tell everybody
I'm the man, I'm the man, I'm the man

Yes I am, yes I am, yes I am

Cue the montage of Louis putting his life back together. If only things happened that quickly.

These bicycles at the gym are made for people who have no feeling in their bums, Louis swears it. While his own ample behind provides a little extra cushioning, it doesn’t much ease the soreness when he’s been at it for an hour, crazily pedalling his way towards a new, fitter body. It’s not for Nick so fuck anyone who tries to tell him that men shouldn’t define our bodies. It’s to spite him and that’s completely different. Louis’ tired of weeping. He’s tired of missing the way their bodies moved together between the sheets. He’s tired of being sad, old Louis who locks himself up in his flat because he’s too damn set in his ways to change things now. No more. Louis’ on the road to recovery (clue the Oprah style clapping) and that means remodelling himself just slightly to meet his own (and not anybody else’s) expectations.

That realisation brought him here, to this bastard of a gym where he spent just twenty minutes sweating it out on the treadmill and then just ten minutes on weight training. But it’s been a whole hour since he first slumped over the exercise bike. It might be because it’s one of the few pieces of gym equipment that mandates the use of a seat but nonetheless, Louis’ been giving it his all. He hasn’t stopped once and he’s been steadily increasing the resistance every time Nick’s infuriatingly handsome face happens to pop up behind his eyelids.

When Louis finishes, he’s drenched from head to toe in sweat and hurting all over. It feels like someone fed him through a pasta machine and stretched every muscle out to unnatural lengths. His legs are the worst by the far. He’s quietly whimpering by the time he makes it to the showers, shedding his clothes in a haze of unparalleled pain. The unrelenting intensity of it has him squeezing his eyes shut and leaning heavily against the shower wall as he rinses the last traces of sweat from his body. He sings, partly to distract himself from the ache and partly because it seems like a waste of a perfectly good opportunity not to when there’s no one else occupying the showers. It’s an old favourite of his, too.

And it’s you and me and all other people

And I don’t know why

I can’t keep my eyes off of you

Louis wanders out of the showers with his towel tied loosely around his waist but it fall to pool around his hips when he moves. There’s a sharp twinge of pain in his legs for every step he takes. It’s the only explanation for why his legs seemingly buckle at the sight of Harry Styles standing there with tight braids done on either side of his head, tiny black shorts and a baby sitting on his hip.

“Harry?”

Harry’s talking (actually, it sounds a lot more like cooing?) to the baby in his arms as he lifts him into the sling he’s got tied around his shoulder. He doesn’t appear to hear Louis at first. It’s almost unfathomable, seeing Harry like this. Knowing that Harry’s always wanted a big family and seeing him in action are two very different things.

“This is Edison,” Harry speaks suddenly, startling Louis in the process, having apparently heard Louis’ befuddled greeting after all. “He’s not mine. Unfortunately.”

Louis drifts closer, completely forgetting his near nakedness for a moment. He’s hypnotised by the little green orbs he can see poking out the light blue sling and the small, plump fists he can see moving about inside. Harry looks up at him when he gets close enough, watching him expectantly.

“Your hair is braided.” Louis informs him, as if it somehow braided itself without his knowledge.

Harry’s look rests just briefly on the trail of moist brunette hair snaking down beneath his towel and then he’s chuckling gently and bending over Edison to rub their noses together.

“This is duck, Ed.” Harry gently tips the sling in Louis’ direction, his thumb stroking over one of Edison’s plump little arms. “He thinks I’ve been victim to some sort of prank. Silly, isn’t he?”

“I didn’t say—“

“You didn’t have to.”

Louis can’t hold himself back much longer. He reaches out to touch the gorgeous infant in Harry’s arms but falters at the last second, looking up at Harry to check that it’s okay. Harry nods at him, his expression getting brighter and more doe eyed by the second.

“Go on.”

Louis very gingerly rubs his thumb over Edison’s tummy, watching the way his eyes dilate in response to the new sensation. He kicks his feet out excitedly at Louis and squeezes his thick hands into fists. His blue onesie is a little bit big on him, meaning he’s even tinier than Louis can actually see. He’s perfect, small but plump in all the right places and with a tuft of light blonde hair atop his head. He’s also got the biggest, most beautiful pair of green eyes Louis has ever seen on such a small infant.

“I’m not silly, bud.” Louis tells Edison, automatically slipping into baby talk. “Your awful minder just threw me off a bit. You see he’s not exactly known for his---flamboyance.”

Harry snorts but he’s grinning so widely at Louis that it hardly matters.

“His older sister Olivia did them for me when I picked Edison up. Their parents are quite close friends of mine and I offered to take Eddie to baby yoga.”

“Baby yoga?” Louis repeats, voice cracking weirdly. “You let a little girl braid your hair and now you’re on your way to do yoga with tiny humans?”

“Yes,” Harry looks quite pleased with the effect this has on Louis. “it’s called pro bono, you should try it some time. Ed usually fusses quite a bit, more than most babies and his parents have tried just about everything to get him to sleep more soundly but it’s fruitless. I saw a flyer for this class when I was at the gym last week and I thought, why not? It’s supposed to be for new mums and their babies but Janet’s been suffering from post-partum depression. I thought she could use the time to herself.”

Louis’ chest feels awfully tight. Who offers to attend something as peculiar as baby yoga with a baby that’s not theirs just to ease the strain of new motherhood on a friend? Harry Styles, that’s who. Never mind how sharp Harry’s jaw looks with his hair pulled back like that, or the fact the juxtaposition of his soft grey Henley with that severe hairline makes Louis’ knees feel weak. It’s the image of him talking sweetly and softly to a very tiny baby that has Louis’ heart melted to the very core.

“That’s…nice of you. Very nice. But how does yoga with a baby even work? Sounds like a natural disaster waiting to happen.”

“Perhaps,” Harry shrugs. Louis’ eyes are drawn to Edison again as he hiccups quietly and stretches his hand out towards Louis’ face. Louis leans down so Edison can grab at his nose more easily.
“I don’t actually know how it works. I haven’t done yoga in years and there were definitely no babies involved the last time I did.”

“Well, I wish you luck,” Louis grins up at him, all lopsided and then trails a row of kisses down Edison’s chubby cheek. “And you, little man, I wish you even more luck. You’ve got a Harry Styles on your hands…you must be vigilant!”

Harry swats at his shoulder, laughing.

“Stop that. He loves his uncle Harry, don’t you Ed?”

Harry encloses Edison’s hand in his and brings it to his lips. Louis has to leave. Soon. Before he miraculously starts growing ovaries just to service his overwhelming need to have a baby.

“I really should go—“

“You’re good, you know.”

Louis turns back to him with a curious smile.

“Good at what, Styles?”

“Singing,” Harry’s expression turns sly, “I heard you before. In the shower.”

Shit shit shit. Play it cool.

“Don’t look so surprised.”

Nicely done.

Louis turns to grab his clothes and enter one of the toilet stalls but Harry grabs at his naked waist. They both flinch back like they've been burned.

"I mean it Louis. Your voice is good…and you looked erhm, really good out there." Well well well, Harry Styles isn’t above perving on men at the gym? This one is full of surprises. "Like a man on mission.”

Harry looks frightfully embarrassed so Louis spares him a half smile.

"Something like that, yeah."

“How are your glutes?”

There’s a cheeky twist in Harry’s smile now. Louis is painfully aware of his nakedness.

“Sore,” Louis acknowledges, squeezing his behind. Harry’s whole expression seizes. Louis rubs a hand over the back of his thigh. “Not as bad as my hamstrings though.”

“Mm,” Harry’s eyes are on Edison, his ears bright pink all over. “You probably need a deep tissue massage.”

“Course. Well I---should be getting changed. It’s kind of freezing in here and my nipples could cut glass.”

Harry’s eyes fly straight up towards his chest and then dart quickly away. As if he couldn’t quite resist a cursory glance. Louis chuckles awkwardly.

“Bye then.”

He backs towards the toilet, knocking into the side of the door and wincing at the impact. Fortunately Harry doesn’t seem any better off than him, practically waving at the ground as he cradles the sling in his arms and books it out of the changing rooms.

Well. That was something.

Chapter Text

They say never to make a decision about your life in the middle of the night. Probably because there's nothing you can do about it until morning anyway. In the light of day, you're far less likely to see it through. Louis thinks that when it comes to his pre-dawn decision making, he can't be trusted to think through the practicalities of the process. He made an oath to himself that he wouldn’t let the likes of Nick Grimshaw get the best of him and while his desire to achieve that hasn't waned, he's since realised that he never actually came up with any kind of actionable plan to achieve that.

He has started working out at the gym though where, coincidentally enough, Harry Styles happens to work out too. Louis’ still undecided as to whether that's a good thing or not. That is, to be regularly confronted with his (second) worst nemesis who looks really hot in boxing gloves and a black wife beater. He tests Louis' sanity daily.

They haven't spoken since that run in in the changing rooms two weeks ago but those two weeks have been interesting, to say the least. They've been full to bursting with loaded glances and confusingly intimate eye contact that has had Louis' insides in an interesting state of chaos. You'd think that the bubbling, churning feeling would have him associating Harry with perpetual misery. Instead every time he happens across him, his mind deteriorates into strange imagery of rain dampened streets, lit by lanterns burning starlight, strung together with rivulets of Harry's evergreen eye colour.  Louis might be insane. It's still up for debate.

The gym has become a constant and Louis' fatty deposits are slowly morphing back into the soft curves he used to appreciate. A tighter body is something Louis has always desperately wanted but now that he's got it, he realises it's really not the biggest issue. He knows there are things he should be doing that he's not but it's not been possible to figure out what those things are yet.

It takes him a few days of calling in sick to work and desperately scouring the papers for new and exciting job opportunities to figure it out.  A new job. That's what he really needs. The interviews go...well, appalling might be too nice a word.

*-*-*-*-*

"So you're interested in television journalism, are you? Do you have much experience in front of a camera?"

"Well…No. One of my douche-y ex boyfriends once filmed me giving him a Beyonce inspired strip tease. Oh no...don't get the wrong idea. It wasn't like--it was totally a joke! If I was going to do a strip tease, I'd probably pick something like Pony by Ginuwine. Go all Channing Tatum on his arse."

"Thank you for your time, sir."

"Oh. Oh, okay."

*-*-*-*-*

Louis curses his big mouth the whole way home and resolves to do better. Unfortunately the second interview unfolds much the same way...

*-*-*-*-*

"Why have you left your old job?"

"I haven't yet…but I will. If I get this one. God knows I could use a fucking break right now."

"Do you think that kind of language will fly on a children's program?"

"Um.”

*-*-*-*-*

After the third interview, Louis considers getting therapy for what is obviously a very unfortunate case of foot in mouth syndrome...

"Soooo Louis. Can you tell us a little bit about your interest in current affairs...what has you buzzing at the moment?"

"Oh my god, yes! Great question. So. Have you heard that guy on X Factor? With the gravelly voice? It didn't sound like that in his audition so all the judges were like, what's going on? Simon was all..."you sound like you ate your father." Which, what? But this kid did sound ten years older than the last time they heard him sing. He made up some bullshit excuse about a throat infection. Anyway. I was stalking him on Instagram and he's taken a lot of selfies with one of his fellow contestants, Damian. Annnnd I'm not an expert on these matters but I'm pretty damn sure I saw some sparks flying in the backstage videos. So I don't think he got that deep, gravelly tone from practising..." Louis makes a slightly crude gesture with his hand, "if you know what I mean."

*-*-*-*-*

They did know what he meant. Evidently, they weren't interested in those kinds of affairs. Their loss, really.

But all those awful interviews just remind Louis of the times when he used to practice with Harry, in anticipation of getting their first jobs. They were too young to actually apply anywhere, of course and their friendship had long since dissolved when Louis got his first job at a local ice creamery. It doesn’t keep him from reminiscing though. Walking out of his third shitty interview in a row, Louis can’t help but think back to how Harry seemed so impressed with him and so smitten back then, even if Louis hadn't exactly registered it at the time. In a weird, frustrating way, Louis misses being Harry’s hero.

*_*_*_*_*

"So tell me, Mr. Tomlinson, why are you here?"

They were in the study. They’d migrated there because Louis complained he'd not yet seen enough of Harry's gigantic house. When Louis proposed they hold mock interviews in there, Harry seated himself in the high backed, leather chair and declared himself interviewer rather than interviewee. It was not what Louis had intended. He humoured Harry, taking it very well indeed. It was partially because Harry looked so very fetching in the hoodie he'd stolen from Louis' house and a pair of bright pink joggers, sitting across from with his legs tucked beneath him. He was also wary of Harry calling him a grumpy little brat again. God knows neither of them wanted to relive that war of words.

Harry leaned across the table to interrogate him, drumming his fingers against the tops of his arms and staring him down like a properly dominant boss. Louis didn't want to admit it but he felt a little breathless beneath Harry's intensive stare. The hairs on his arms were standing on end as layers of goosebumps rose beneath them.

"Please do tell me, Mr Tomlinson. Why are you here?" He repeated, a little more insistently this time.

Louis snorted, breaking the spell cast by Harry's eyes. Harry cracked a grin, his chubby little cheeks lifting up towards his ears.

"I think, Mr Styles," Louis paused to wink at Harry, whose face immediately turned a glorious shade of pink, "that I'm here for a job interview."

Harry pretended to straighten an invisible pair of glasses, raising his eyebrows at Louis. Louis fought back a giggle.

"And what position are you interested in, Mr Tomlinson?"

Louis sometimes felt like he was completely out of his depth with someone as smart as Harry.

"Err..." Louis stalled, looking around the room for cues. They hadn't discussed this part. His eyes caught on what looked like a piece of parchment. "The position of…defence against the dark arts teacher."

Harry's eyes lit up at that, his square shaped teeth poking through his full lips. Harry's Harry Potter books (try saying that fifty times, really quickly) were torn and dirtied from Louis' messy fingers. He couldn't tell you how many times they'd fallen asleep, cuddled together with one of those books fanned out over his chest and Harry's head lolling on his shoulder.

"I see. And...what has you interested in working for us...Louis, is it?"

Harry cocked his head to the side, all inquisitive and adorable. He was too good at it. Louis coughed, weirdly shaken by Harry's sudden assertion of dominance, no matter how false.

"Yes, it's Louis." His voice sounded wiry and strained. "Um...well it's Hogwarts, you know? I like helping people and ah, being the hero."

"You'd make a great hero," Harry said softly, very obviously slipping out of character.

Louis didn't mind in the slightest. His heart melted in his chest. He nudged Harry's knee with his foot, smiling dopily back at him.

"Thanks love."

Harry's eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks like perfectly cut blades of grass and he looked down at the ground, biting hard at the inner flesh of his bottom lip.

"Next question then, mate."

Louis' voice was soft as feathers. When Harry looked back up, his eyes grew more and more unfocused. They were completely glazed over too.

"Um. What would you say your worst quality is?"

"My worst quality?" Louis crooked an eyebrow. "You really think they'd ask that?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "they ask you that to see how well you can talk out of you arse. You have to say something that sounds like it's a problem but explain how it's not going to be a problem."

Louis shook his head, feeling fuzzy.

"I don't know what that means but I..." Louis chewed on the edge of his little finger, "I guess my math skills. I'm pretty awful with times tables."

Louis' eyes strayed to the floor and he wrung his hands in his lap. He'd always been self conscious about his math skills. Math had never been his forte. He struggled with things like analogue time and angles. Louis' teacher assured both him and his parents that he was doing fine but he couldn't help feeling like she only said it because she felt sorry for him. She did catch him crying in the bag room in on the day of parent-teacher interviews.

Harry's voice broke him out of his negative spiral.

"Good thing you don't need any of those skills to do this job then."

Louis beamed at him unabashedly. It felt like what Louis' teacher had tried to do for him, only it was different when Harry did it. It felt less like pity and more like Harry just having faith in his abilities. He wanted Louis to be happy. Louis just wanted to keep being someone Harry could sit back and admire.

"And what about your best quality?" Harry asked, interlocking his fingers on the desk and twiddling his thumbs expectantly.

Louis felt even more nervous than he had before. He didn't think he had a lot of good qualities. He might have acted like he did but when it came down to it, he found it hard to list them. Things like his sense of humour or his record number of kick ups suddenly didn't seem so impressive. Where Harry was kind, smart and lovely to look at, Louis felt bland and kind of useless. It was just his mum had said to Mrs Dubois, "he doesn't really have any special abilities, does he?"

Louis wanted desperately to prove her wrong and in fact, had tried repeatedly to do just that. He put extra effort into his schoolwork, getting up early and staying up late to work on the exercises his teacher had given him to do. He even asked his dad to test him while his mum was in the same room. Nothing Louis did seemed to matter. Not to Beatrice Tomlinson, who would rather regale him with tales of their neighbour's rocky marriage than listen to anything he had to say about his own interests. It was safe to say that despite expressing brash, unparalleled confidence on the outside, Louis was dealing with overwhelming insecurities on the inside.

He had been quiet too long, toying with his bottom lip as he tried to think of something honestly good about himself. A little frown appeared on Harry's face, his dimples conspicuously absent. Before Louis could bullshit his way out of the question, Harry started speaking to him in calm and dulcet tones, trying to get through to him.

"You can't think of anything, Lou? Not one thing?"

Louis felt pathetic. He didn't want Harry to look at him with those sad little eyes. That look did more to upset the careful balance of homeostasis inside his body than when he'd contracted that awful virus a couple of years back.

He crossed his arms defensively, flicking his messy fringe away from his eyes.

"So? Not everybody can pick out their best qualities at the drop of a hat."

"I can," Harry whispered, eyes blown wide as if he hadn't meant to say it aloud.

It was too late.

"Good for you," he whispered obstinately, "I'm really very happy for you Harry."

"No," Harry whined softly, "I mean, I can pick out yours. I can tell you your very best quality. Well..." Harry's mouth twisted up in a self-conscious quirk and he looked down at the desk, "it's definitely my favourite thing about you."

Louis' stomach was full of white hot heat. His fingers curled around the edges of his seat.

"Well..." he swallowed noisily, "let's hear it then."

"You take up space," Harry said, as if that one sentence were enough to disarm anybody.

"No kidding," Louis huffed, rolling his eyes.

"No, Lou. Listen. My English teacher once said to me that people are like balloons. They inflate based on the size of their personality. The biggest personalities take up the most space but sink to the ground more easily. The smaller personalities take up less space but float in the air for longer. But you...you're different."

"How?"

Harry grinned at Louis' sudden interest in his theory. Louis rolled his eyes, fondly of course. Harry was suck a pillock. Louis wasn't quite sure why he liked him.

"You're a big personality and that means you sink more easily than other people." Louis frowned at that but Harry distracted him by reaching forward and tenderly sweeping his fringe away from his eyes. Louis’ breath stopped. The rest of the world ceased to exist for him and it was only Harry's eyes and the strange weakness in his muscles that kept him present. It made him feel like his whole body was melting. "But unlike everybody else, you continue to take up space even when you're deflated. Even when you're sad or grumpy," Harry's mouth twisted up and Louis had to bite down on his own answering grin, "you're still you. You still want to make people happy and you do, Louis. You light up every room you walk in to...even when your own light is faded."

That was some poetic shit, right there. Louis' tongue felt too big for his mouth.

"That was a seriously twisted balloon metaphor. Did your English teacher really tell you that?"

Harry shook his head, his nose adorably scrunched.

"Came up with it m'self."

Louis did a double take.

"You're kind of a secret genius, you know that?"

Harry's toothy smile shone through.

"Thanks Lou. Now, moving on." Louis laughed at Harry's attempt to be serious again, his rounded face all wrinkled with concentration. "What do you think that you would bring to the job as opposed to all our other outstanding candidates?"

"Your vocabulary makes me want to vomit."

"How grotesque," Harry said with a twinkle in his eye.

Louis only just resisted leaning across the desk to punch him.

"Well let’s see…I would bring my sparkling wit, my devastating good looks," Harry threw his head back, laughing, "and of course, my best mate Hazza Styles."

Harry seemed honestly touched by that.

"You'd really bring me with you?"

Louis smirked up at him from beneath his eyelashes.

"Yeah. Gotta feed somebody's soul to the dementers, might as well be yours."

Harry shook his head in mock exasperation. He was grinning far too widely for it to be even remotely convincing.

"You're nicer than you pretend to be."

Louis shrugged. He didn't mind that Harry knew he was a sensitive soul. He seemed to think it was a good thing anyway.

"So what position would I take then?" Harry asked him, seemingly done with the interview.

He collapsed his hands on the desk and rested his chin atop his knuckles. He looked like a very doe-eyed puppy.

Louis' mouth pulled back in a goofy grin.

"The herbology professor."

Harry looked more pleased with that then any adolescent boy had the right to be.

"I do like plants."

"Or," Louis' lips twitched, "you could be Hagrid’s apprentice. Got the hair for it."

He reached over and ruffled the silky curls, cackling at Harry’s crestfallen expression.

"Take it back," he begged, looking downright devastated.

"Never."

"What if I make you?"

Harry climbed out of the chair and rounded the desk quickly.

"Wha--Harrrrry," A telling giggle slipped through his lips when Harry dug his long fingers into his sides, "Harry, n-no."

"Take it back!"

"N-no. Pleeeease."

Harry continued to tickle him and Louis wriggled too far to one side of the chair and fell. He landed on the soft carpet with a dull thud. It didn't hurt but Louis rubbed at his lower back anyway, wincing theatrically. Harry dropped down next to him, his eyes instantly filling with tears.

"God Lou, I'm so sorry. I'm SO sorry. Are you okay?"

Louis stayed mum but climbed into Harry's lap, pretending as though he were aiming for cuddles. It mustn’t have been that hard a pill for Harry to swallow. He let Louis push him back against the carpet. Although when he straddled Harry’s waist, his eyes went wide, the whites standing out against the shiny, slick green of his irises. His mouth parted with a quiet puff of air and his hands flew to Louis' hips, fingers digging in.

"What are you doing?" He whispered.

"This," Louis shouted and locked his thighs around Harry's, reaching down to tickle him.

Harry's surprised squeal, followed by his raspy giggle had to be one of the loveliest sounds Louis had ever heard.

*_*_*_*_*

It takes Louis those few days of job interviews to realise how much he needs to change. He comes to a few conclusions. One, he needs to quit smoking and stop drinking so much. Two and most importantly, he must start doing things to please himself rather than the men in his life.

He starts by depositing a just opened carton of cigarettes in the bin which is quickly followed by the numerous bottles of wine he keeps stashed around the flat. Next to go is his junk food stash. He's tempted to set up a candlelight vigil inside his empty pantry but figures that it’s probably a pretty bad fire hazard.

The most emotional part of the process is clearing out his book shelf, which houses a vast collection of problematic relationship books. Books that talk about how to get a man's attention and how to keep it once you've gotten it. Books designed to make you think you have a fighting chance with someone who couldn't care less about you. What good did they do him? Louis' relationship history reads like some kind of twisted horror story. He constantly tells himself that he won't be lured in by another heartbreaker and yet he’s still yet to learn not to chase after men who don't want to be caught. These men (who aren't really men, by his definition) pursue him for his bum and his unquenchable thirst for sex but that’s it. As if beyond that, there's really nothing about him worth knowing.

Louis shoves the whole row of books off the shelf and into the bin. With one clean sweep, his endless pursuit of perpetual heartbreakers is over. He lets out a weighted sigh. He plans on replacing those books with a collection of self-help ones, something to keep him motivated rather than to have him chasing after his next disaster of a relationship, lugging his tattered heart in tow.

After that everything that unravelled with the revelation of Nick's betrayal seems to fall back together pretty quickly. Louis goes back to work, keeping his head down and his heart locked away beneath a frosty ice veneer. He feels Nick's eyes on him every morning when he marches through the bull pen but he does his best to ignore it. Nick pauses beside his cubicle every time and then hurries ahead as if someone's just called his name. Louis doesn't entertain the thought that Nick regrets cheating on him. He doesn't trust himself to make wise decisions about it if it were true. Besides which, it makes no difference. Louis' had his heart trampled on too many times not to know that by now. Nick does watch him constantly though. He can hear the awkward hush that falls over the occupants of the meeting room whenever he walks past, dressed impeccably. It’s for nobody's benefit but his own. That isn’t to say he doesn’t get any satisfaction out of it because he does.

He's settled into a reasonable diet which, for someone of his tastes, is really quite impressive. While he still despises atrocities such as broccoli or kale, he's been more lenient with the rest of the vegetable family. Louis’ even started to enjoy his workouts at the gym which has nothing to do with Harry's continuing presence or his seemingly unending supply of tight shorts and even tighter t-shirts. It definitely has nothing to do with that time that Louis was on the bench press trying to lower the bar down when his biceps stared to shake. His teeth were tearing through his bottom lip and he whimpered quietly, too proud to call for help. Out of nowhere, the bar was lifted from his hands and placed back onto the stand. A deep voice grunted at him, "someone should be spotting you." Louis listened to the sound of heavy footsteps trailing away. When he got out from under the bench press, he was treated to the delicious sight of Harry back, deeply muscled and glowing with perspiration. Louis' above that kind of thing though. Of course he is.

It has nothing to do with the time Harry absolutely murdered his legs on the treadmill and swayed precariously on his feet when he got off. Louis had been passing by on his way to the showers. He instinctively reached out and caught him by the bicep, fingers curling around the meaty flesh in an effort to steady him. Harry pulled back like he'd been electrocuted and let out a low hiss like a startled kitten. Louis apologised profusely, refusing to make eye contact as he scuttled off to the changing rooms. He felt Harry's eyes on him the whole way there.

It's all about the exercise, really. Nothing to do with Harry. Louis does actually enjoy the burn in his thighs when he walks into work the morning after an intense workout. He likes the pleasant fizzing of his muscles when he collapses into bed with a melodramatic groan. Hard work pays off and fortunately for him, Louis' arse hasn't lost any of its perfectly rounded shape. His stomach is little more defined though and his biceps have never looked better. No matter how much he hates pushing himself, he has to admit that the end result feels good.

As for his tobacco habit, he admits he might have snuck one or two fags when he received another rejection letter for a job that he applied for online.

Dear Mr Tomlinson.
We regret to inform you that your application has not been successful...

I mean c'mon, if they sincerely regretted to inform him then why would they reject his application in the first place? Bastards. So Louis lit up an old musty cigarette that he found down the side of his couch cushions. However he did feel like he was going to vomit afterwards and figured it was a good idea to collect all the musty cigarettes beneath his cushions and throw them away.

A couple of hours later, the phone rang and now Louis' having to deal with the very same bastard who sent him that, "we regret to inform you..." email.

"It was my mistake, Louis. Tomlinson, is it? Can I call you LT? You see, LT..." he continues, without waiting for confirmation, "we update every hour, on the hour. News, weather, sport. The trifecta. That's a lot of information going in and out of these offices. Sometimes I feel like Gretchen Weiners," Louis flares his nostrils to keep from laughing, "my hair is full of secrets. Today was a really busy news day, what with the new panda being born at the zoo and Brangelina adopting another kid for their army. I'm convinced their training a child army, aren't you?"

Louis knows full well that if he tries to talk now, it will only end in disaster. He opens his mouth and all that comes out is a disbelieving puff of air. Mr Terrens doesn't seem to need even that much.

"Or perhaps they're collecting all of the kids with supernatural abilities so that their impossibly attractive family can take over the world. Anyway, point being, I glossed over your application without very much thought. I must have misinformed my receptionist because she thought I was done. I was most certainly not done, LT. Now if you'd like, we can do an interview over the phone?"

"Oh. Um." Louis' more than a trifle shocked by this sudden turn of events. "If you...okay. You don't want me to come in?"

"Well assuming you get the job, I think it’d be quite difficult to report on the news from your home but I suppose we could do a trial run. How big is your flat? Maybe we could move the whole production there for a more homely feel...." Mr Terrens muses, sounding awfully serious.

Disturbingly so.

"Um, it's not very big so--"

"You're a size queen then? I may be able to accommodate that."

Louis' mouth gapes open. Is the man really coming onto him in the middle of an interview?

"In a purely professional capacity of course," he adds, "our offices are huge."

Louis chuckles nervously.

"LT, are you ready to undertake the most arduous interview of your life?"

Louis' not even sure he wants the job at this point. In fact all that's stopping him from hanging up is how little success he's had with the rest of his applications. This guy might be off his rocker but at least there's hope. He’s hopeful that if he humours this wacky man, he might just land himself a job.

"Of course sir."

"None of this 'sir' business, please! My friends call me Dick International. Why? Well although I've never been further than Ireland myself, my dick has had just about every ethnicity imaginable. I consider myself very multicultural."

This guy actually sounds like he believes his own horse shit. He doesn't seem to have any issues discussing his genitalia with a prospective employee. Louis wants to slam down the phone because by God, he has more dignity than this. Only…he doesn't and he's pretty sure that if he has to go one more week working alongside Nick and his new flame, he might light some flames of his own. He wouldn't mind taking a match to Nick's penis. God knows how he'd get by without it. It would be like taking Louis' arse away. Although Louis' arse is much nicer than Nick's penis.

"Um, mind if I shorten it to DI?"

"If you must," DI sighs. "LT, what reason can you give me for why you sought out this job?"

"My ex is marrying the younger guy that he was fucking when we were together."

"That bastard! Should we set a bunch of ravenous hounds on him?"

Okay, maybe DI isn't so bad.

"They'd make a tasty meal of his danglers. Does he have a nice cock LT? I haven't looked at a nice cock all week."

Spoke too soon, obviously.

"Um. No comment?"

"Right. Well there's just one more thing I need to know."

"Okay..."

"Do you or do you not take sugar in your tea?"

"I do not," Louis says, with more vehemence than was needed.

It’s just that anyone who takes sugar in their tea should consider themselves inhuman in Louis' opinion.

"Good. We've just started rationing out the sugar in the break room and I can't tell you how many people keep asking for more vouchers."

Louis shudders to think what kind of wartime regime he's walking into. This place sounds like a home for the terminally insane...and DI is their leader. But it's a job, one where he won't be forced to follow the commands of his adulterous ex.

"So does that mean..."

"You got it! We'll see you bright and early Monday morning."

Louis furrows his eyebrows.

"I thought you didn't broadcast in the mornings?"

"Right, erm, we'll see you bright and early, Monday afternoon!"

Louis chuckles. He hangs up the phone and takes the time to do a little happy dance around the coffee table, jiggling his hips and shaking his arse. Then it dawns on him that he's in full view of the window. He looks across and finds a couple in the building across from his having stopped what they're doing to watch him. They've both god wide eyes and wolfish grins. Louis flashes them a peace sign and then ducks out of sight, crawling across the living area to the kitchen where he plugs the toaster into the outlet precedes to make his dinner on the floor. He's surprisingly okay with slumming it, even if it is just to avoid further embarrassment.

*_*_*_*_*

It's not that Louis' excited to quit--no, fuck it, he's excited to quit. He's not sure what pleases him more, that Eleanor's snappy, misguided authority won't be his problem anymore or the that Mr. Cowell will never get another chance to call him 'Lewis’. If he's being honest with himself, he knows it's really neither of those things that has him bouncing off the walls while he slips into white Capri pants and a tight grey t-shirt. It's the knowledge that he no longer owes Nick Grimshaw anything. Not the press realese he needs "next Wednesday at the latest, Mr Tomlinson" or the forced politeness that he had to put on every single time he went into that office and saw Carlito hanging off Nick. Not a thing.

When he gets there, he bypasses the bull pen and heads straight for Nick's office, not bothering to knock before making his way inside. Nick's lips flutter at the corners like he's pleasantly surprised but Louis ignores him in favour of dropping the letter of resignation on his desk. He collapses into the chair opposite Nick's with a self-satisfied grin, watching as Nick's eyes trace over the typed script with an irritated scowl.

"What is this? A joke?"

Louis' laughter is dry.

"Only if you have a poor sense of humour."

Nick puffs his nostrils out and leans forward, resting his hands on the outer edges of Louis' elbows.

"You're not quitting, Louis. That's ridiculous."

Louis scoffs.

"Oh so it's Louis now? Not Mr Tomlinson?"

Nick looks suitably embarrassed by the way he's treated him of late but Louis knows better than to fall for his shy schoolboy act.

"Look, Mr Grimshaw--"

"Nick," he corrects desperately.

Louis crooks an eyebrow.

"You can't have it both ways."

Nick looks confused by that. He's never had his cake and not gotten to eat it too.

"I've been offered a job at Good Afternoon Britain. I'm going to be their next reporter."

"You? On television?"

Nick's incredulous.

Louis pulls away from his touch and settles back into the chair with a dazzling smile.

"Yes, me. And actually I've got to run and pick up my new suit from the dry cleaners. I start Monday."

Louis stands up, revelling in the sight of Nick floundering beneath him. He straightens up the pile of papers in front of Nick and then leans forward to fiddle with his tie, tutting quietly.

"He's not quite as skilled at tying ties as me, is he?"

Nick doesn't respond, for once too flustered to think of a witty, flirtatious comeback. Louis chuckles.

"Bye Nick. I hope you and Carlito will be very happy."

Louis only makes it to the bottom of the staircase before Nick stumbles out of his office, his tie loose around his neck.

"Louis," he yells and half the office turns to greet him instead. "I mean…Mr Tomlinson. You haven't given me my two weeks. It's in the contract you signed when we gave you the job."

Louis turns around slowly, a honeyed smile stretching across his mouth. His hand roams over his thigh, encased in tight material. He watches Nick's eyes rove over him hungrily too and feels the burn of satisfaction without the heat of desire. Louis’ hand glides ever so subtly over his crotch and then he points his finger at Nick, cocking his head to one side.

"I think you'll find, Mr Grimshaw, that it also says something about not fucking your superiors. Or in your case, fucking those who are so clearly beneath you."

Louis lowers himself into a mock curtesy.

"Besides, I figured you wouldn't miss the press agent who swans into your office every day in a pair of tight trousers and yesterday's shirt, bending over backwards just to get you to pay me some attention.”

Nick looks flabbergasted. His eyes are wide and glassy with shock while his complexion fades from a patchy, desperate pink to a pale, pallid white. The whole room is silent and yet buzzing with adrenalin. Everybody waits for Nick's next move with eager anticipation.

"Louis," he says, lowering his voice and raising his hands. "Please. I know it hasn't been easy working here with me--but I promise you, there are opportunities for people like you. People who--who may have been overlooked or misjudged. If you stay with us, we could help you. We could take you places you would never reach on your own."

"That's funny, Nick because I have. I'm going to be a news reporter. An actual journalist and it had nothing to do with you whatsoever. So thanks for the offer love but if working at Cowell Publishing means working within ten feet of you, then I'd rather work for a guy who calls himself Dick International. Because at least I know where his dick's been."

A scandalised gasp runs through the room. Poorly muffled laughter carries over the tops of office cubicles and computers, excited whispers filling the air.

Nick looks wounded and drawn, as if someone came and sucked all the air out of his cheeks.

"Louis, I’m so glad you said that," Eleanor says, clutching him by the shoulder. "Because if you gave even one inch, I was going to fire your fine, lazy arse anyway."

Louis guffaws, shocked but surprisingly touched when Eleanor hauls him into a hug. He ignores the fact that she doesn't have the legitimate power to fire him and that she kind of smells like a fresh diaper. She's given him the perfect cue to make his exit and Louis couldn't be more grateful. He kisses her cheek and watches with wonder as the crowd of employees parts down the middle, making way for him. Louis doesn't look back.

Silence falls over the room as he struts his way down the makeshift aisle, humming the tune of respect by Aretha Franklin and grinning cockily at his former coworkers. There's more than a few winks and a few sneaky thumbs up. Louis pauses just outside the bullpen to listen for the aftermath, giggling when he hears Nick shouting at them to get back to work.

He’s never felt so vindicated in his entire life.

*_*_*_*_*

Harry didn't mean to exchange numbers with Louis but then he didn't mean to fall in like with him either and well. Besides, he doesn't regret the exchange. He's one step closer to Louis than he was prior to the exchange of digits. The only thing standing in his way now is one smarmy Nick Grimshaw and the fact that Louis' probably still arse over tits for the guy. God knows why. The man is a complete imbecile, in every sense of the word but in fact Harry has him to thank for the turn of events that lead to him getting Louis' number.

It was earlier on that night. The gym had just closed but as one of their most loyal customers, Harry had been given the okay to have a brief shower before he left.

The thing is, he tends to think of himself as two people situated within one body. There's the principled, humanitarian lawyer whose respectable upbringing comes as no surprise to his fellow colleagues who have often commented that he has a kind of regal presence about him. Yet alongside that, there's Harry's childhood and the ways in which he is still very much the same self-conscious boy, draped in loose flannel whenever he's not in public who enjoys dancing around his house to the sounds of Disney.

It was the latter that made an appearance that night at the gym. His defences were down and he'd just about had it with the other side of him. The respectable lawyer guy. The one that always seemed to drive Louis away before his boyish charm could hope to repair the damage.

When two hours of strenuous exercise didn't bring him any clarity, Harry had also just about had it with logic. It was clear that Louis didn't fit into his five year plan, his ten year plan or his life in general. A man like that didn't fall for a man like Harry and vice versa but it was become increasingly harder to deny that Harry didn't feel all kinds of things for Louis. Things he never expected or intended to feel. Against all his reason, he was developing strong feelings for one curvy, little press agent. It was these thoughts and the heavy exhaustion settling in his bones that had him cranking up the hot water and singing Jessie's Girl (boy) at the top of his lungs.

*_*_*_*_*

"But lately something's changed that ain't hard to define
Jessie's got himself a boy and I wanna make him mine

Cause he's watching him with those eyes
And he's loving him with that body, I just know it
And he's holding him in his arms late late at night

You know I wish that I had Jessie's b--"

Louis walks straight into the open shower area, naked from the waist up. Harry jumps a foot in the air and lets out a horrifyingly high pitched squeal. Unfortunately for him, he's the one who's completely naked, not Louis, having thought he was completely alone in the showers. Louis shrieks just as loud, If not louder at the sight of Harry and then screams again when his foot slips out from under him and he goes tumbling to the shower floor. He lands on said foot and twists his ankle badly. Harry winces at the sound Louis' ankle makes when he goes down.

"Oh my god, Louis!"

Harry's at his side in an instant. He bends down to examine the damage to but Louis shoves at his chest, covering his eyes with his hand.

"Put some clothes on first! Jesus Chris Styles, you could poke someone's eye out with that thing."

Harry can't help the upturn of his lips or how his chest puffs out unconscious pride. Louis' too quick for him though, swatting at his chest. Harder this time too.

"Stop that. You might have a huge dick but it doesn't mean you know how to you use it."

Harry cackles and leans in to whisper in Louis' ear. He watches delightedly as Louis' neck fills with pale pink goosebumps.

"I know how to use it."

Louis opens one eye, his lips pressed together in a smirk.

"How very improper of you."

Harry cackles, losing his balance and falling forward. He catches himself on Louis' ankle which...bad idea. Louis positively howls. His eyes roll back in his head and he gasps with pain. When Harry pictured Louis naked and out of breath beneath him, this wasn’t the scenario he had in mind. Not that he pictures that. Ever.

Harry feels terrible. His guilt overwhelms him and he stumbles over to his bag, pulling his sweats back on in record speed.

"Goodness, Louis. I'm so sorry. Truly. I didn't mean for you to get hurt but you know, I didn't know you were here so really--"

"Oh no, don't you dare put this back on me. You were the one standing in here, completely starkers, singing Rick Springfield, of all things at the top of your lungs."

Harry blushes at that. He fiddles distractedly with his curls and then sits back down by Louis, gently uncurling his foot from where he's tucked it behind his other leg. Louis winces. Harry tries and fails at not reaching out to cup his knee, squeezing it comfortingly. Louis' face twitches gently but remains impassive. He’s too stubborn to admit he needs the comfort.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry sniffs.

Louis' expression is as cynical as it is pained.

"Let me remind you," he snorts. He throws his head back and runs his hands through his hair which is an entirely too accurate imitation of Harry in the shower. "Jessie's got himself a boy and I wanna make him mi--"

"Stop," Harry says desperately, "I get it. I'm a loser."

Louis nods sagely but then cocks his head, his teeth poking out from behind his lips. It's way too cute for someone so prickly.

"A complete loser with a huge dick and killer vocals."

Harry raises his eyebrows. Did Louis just compliment him free of charge? Stranger things have happened but Harry still grapples to understand where this is coming from. Have all those lingering looks they've been sharing of late really changed Louis' mind about him? Harry gulps, then furrows his eyebrows.

"Hang on, if I was singing so loudly then how could I have scared you? You were the one who snuck up on me, not the other way round."

Louis seems to realise this too because he ducks his head down, an elegant blush streaking its way across his chipmunk cheeks while he mumbles his reply. Harry hears him anyway.

"Well it's not like I was expecting you to be completely naked."

"And my naked body overwhelmed you so much that you squealed at me and twisted your ankle?"

Harry's body shakes with silent laughter. Louis glares up at him from beneath bent eyelashes, his angular cheekbones as sharp as his fine baby blues.

"One, I did not squeal and two, I was not overwhelmed. I was horrified."

Harry chuckles, his eyes briefly straying to Louis' naked tummy. It's more of a small pouch than anything. Harry can see it's gotten smaller of late, most probably due to all the working out he's been doing. Harry wants to tell him to stop there. The generous curve of his tummy, along with the rounded shaped of his hips are just about Harry's favourite things about Louis’ body. The top spot is obviously reserved for that wonderfully pert arse.

"Hello, earth to Harold," Louis flutters his fingers in front of Harry's face, his voice all huffy and impatient. Harry wants to kiss away his petulance, to thrust his tongue inside Louis’ hole until he’s crying out for mercy. Harry’s desires are unsettling, to say the least. "I'm in pain here. I think you've broken my ankle."

"It's twisted, not broken and I didn't do anything. It's not my fault that you were literally floored by the size of my dick."

Louis' eyes have narrowed into slits.

"For someone who acts so high and mighty all the time, you sure do have a dirty mouth."

Harry flashes his teeth.

"The dirtiest. Now, where are you parked?"

"I--I walked," Louis stutters, looking forlorn.

"Good. I'll drive you home."

Louis' eyes shoot up to his, puzzlement warring with soft gratitude inside his eyes. Harry really does just want to lean forward and taste his mouth, even if it’s just to convince Louis its okay to trust him. It's crazy how much he wants that, crazy to want someone who has the potential to ruin you completely.

But nothing has ever felt as intense as the desire Harry has to take Louis in his arms and worship every inch of his decidedly stunning, curvaceous body. Harry wants to emblazen the words "you're perfect" into the soft, supple skin covering Louis' ribcage with just the tip of his tongue. He wants to bury his hands in the coarsest part of Louis' hair and watch him melt into a puddle at his feet. Hed like to see what Louis’ skin looks like with dusty sunlight spilling over it's precious expanse and to know whether the butterscotch of his lower back shimmers like diamonds in the sunlight, begging for Harry's mouth to map out the path of his spine. He’d suck carefully on each fine knob until Louis' a squirming mess beneath his tongue. Harry wants to touch all the places he never dared touch when they were kids, to memorise the feel of each one and to sing their praises to Louis. He’d like to explore the give of Louis’ body, soft but firm, the circles of his hips, ever inviting and most of all, to taste that succulent bottom lip, so quick to turn up at the first sign of a challenge.

"You don't need to do that Harry."

"Louis, you've twisted your ankle and whether it's my fault or not, I'm not letting you walk home on an injured ankle. Please don't be daft."

Thankfully he doesn't seem offended.

"Okay," he murmurs, playing with the waistband of his shorts, "but you're going to have to help me up off this floor."

"No worries."

Louis reaches for his hand but Harry chuckles and slides an arm beneath his knees, holding him by the waist with the other while he hauls him up into his arms. Louis squeals (again) and scrunches his nose with annoyance. A smile rolls through Harry's lips of its own accord and he moves his arm so he's cradling Louis against his chest like an infant.

"Not what I meant." Louis says through gritted teeth, "I'm not paralysed. Yet."

"Oh. My bad."

Harry lets him slip through his arms. He keeps hold of Louis’ upper body but let’s his foot slide down to the ground. Louis' eyes go wide with the shock of pain and he squeezes them closed. As though it might hurt less if he just doesn't look. It's honestly precious.

"Shit. Shit Harry, you asshole. Are you crazy?"

"No," Harry chirps. He lifts Louis back up into the cradle of his arms and uses his pinkie to clear Louis' his away from his eyes. "But I think you should stop being so crazy and let me help you."

Louis doesn't say anything but he nestles his head into Harry's stomach and lets his breath go in a defeated huff.

"Much better."

Louis pinches his side. Harry jumps and almost drops him all over again.

"Bratty little thing, aren't you?"

That earns him an ever harder pinch. Harry's still grinning from ear to ear as he carries Louis out of the gym to his car and settles him in the passenger seat. He even goes as far as to do up his seatbelt for him, in spite of Louis trying to bat his hands away with a predictably vexed expression.

Louis directs him to his place which happens to be fairly close the gym. It's still too far to walk on a twisted ankle though so Harry's glad Louis didn't stubbornly insist on it. It's relieving to know he's not actually determined to be independent to the point of insanity. For now. Harry watches him out of the corner of his eye the whole way home. Yet he's still much too slow when they arrive at Louis’ building and Louis throws the car open and hops out like he's good as new. As if Harry didn't carry him from the gym to the car. As if he's not been suffering since Harry accidentally rested his hand on his ankle.

It's no surprise then that Louis immediately disappears from sight, collapsing in a heap on the pathway adjacent to his building. Harry sighs, rolling his eyes at the roof of his car. Why did he have to pick someone so intent on foolishness? The probable truth… he didn't pick Louis. Louis picked him.

Harry gets out, slamming the door a little harder than necessary. A little harder than he would have had Louis actually heeded his warnings. When he rounds the car, he spies a dejected pile of limbs and a mess of dark hair that must be his old friend. Even now, the little shit tugs at Harry's heart, despite acting like a complete idiot. Harry wonders again at his sanity.

He glares down at Louis for as long as it takes for him to finally lift his head and meet Harry’s eyes. Louis’ own are misted with tears, his cheeks wobbling gently. That, combined with the way his cheeks are tinged in shameful pink does a fair amount of damage to Harry's will power. Louis holds his limp hands up for Harry to take and his fine bottom lip looks like someones folded it over.

"Help. Please."

Harry shakes his head exasperatedly.

"You are so unfair."

Louis looks decidedly confused by that comment. Harry crouches down in front of him and cups the small apples of his cheeks, disconcertingly overwhelmed by the feelings inside his chest while Louis looks plainly unsettled by his touch.

"Are you always this persistently naïve, or is tonight a special case because I'm here?"

Louis pokes his tongue out and then crosses his arms, avoiding Harry's eyes at all costs.

"If you're not going to help me, you may as well just leave."

"And you're going to what...crawl up to your flat with your dodgy ankle lagging behind you?" Harry snorts.

Louis' bottom lip juts out angrily. He brushes away the last of his tears with the back of his wrist.

"Dick."

Harry has never enjoyed him more. He gently uncrosses Louis' arms with his hands and watches as Louis' eyes flash to his face. Harry wraps his arms around him in an underarm hug and wrenches him up off the ground. Louis' arms instinctively form a loop around his neck, his legs meeting at the back of Harry's waist.

"Fuck, you're strong," he mutters, almost incoherently.

It seems like maybe he didn't mean for Harry to hear it. Harry tenses his biceps anyway and makes a real show of carrying him up to his flat.

"This one?" Harry clarifies when they reach Louis' door.

Louis pulls back a little to confirm and then their faces are suddenly a whole lot closer than they were before.

"Yeah.” He blinks his long eyelashes at Harry, who feels as stupefied as Louis looks, "this one."

Louis presses even closer, until his ocean like orbs are just about all Harry can see. His expression is soft and open, like he wants Harry to see every emotion that flits across his pixie like face.

"My key is in my back pocket," he reveals, making no moves to retrieve it.

Harry can't. For one thing, Louis is way too much for him to handle. That's without even thinking about actually handling him. For another, Louis' Nick's boyfriend, not his. Whatever Harry may feel about the guy, it doesn't mean he's going to go ahead and touch his boyfriend's butt. Even if it kills him not to. Even if Louis' expression could melt butter right now, too vulnerable for Harry to even think about making a wise crack.

"Um," he clears his throat awkwardly, trying not to give away how much effort comes with this response, "do you need me to put you down?"

There's a slight puff of air over Harry's mouth. It smells of vanilla and tastes of genuine disappointment but that doesn't make any sense. Louis reaches into his back pocket and retrieves his key, wiggling around in Harry's grip. He twists the key inside the lock and then pushes the door open as much as he can. Harry opens it the rest of the way, inwardly groaning when he realises that thanks to Louis' manoeuvre, his arm is now wrapped pretty snugly around Louis' arse, his hand clamped around his hip.

"Where can I--"

"Just put me on the couch. It's closer to the toilet."

Harry gently lowers him down, watching carefully for any signs of pain. Louis' face seizes up at first but he remains calm. When Harry sets him down, his body immediately curls up into an ’s’ shape. He looks even smaller like this and Harry wants to berate him just for being the sole cause of his misery. Instead he bends down next to him, pulling his phone from his pocket to hand to Louis.

"Number. In. Now." He orders him, not willing to take no for an answer. "I'm going to text you so you have mine and that way if your pain gets worse or you need any kind of help, you can text or call me. I'll be here as soon as I can. I don't care whether it's something stupid or it's a weird time of the night or you think I won't care, just ask. Please, duck."

"I--" Louis looks like he might protest but when he looks up into Harry's eyes, his protests seem to die a swift death upon his lips. "Fine."

He takes Harry's phone and programs his number in, his pretty little fingers flying over the keys faster than Harry could ever possibly manage.

"Thank you," Harry murmurs.

He takes his phone back and texts Louis right away, pulling his phone out from the (front) pocket of his shorts and handing it to him. It's then he realises Louis' probably freezing. He hands him a shirt that's slung over the back of one of the armchairs and Louis slides his arms in inside, buttoning it up more slowly than Harry can safely handle in his current state of mind.

"Blanket?" He asks Louis.

"My room's over there," Louis sighs, pointing at a door on the far side of the living room.

When Harry steps in there, he feels a lazy smile curl his mouth. It's exactly like he expected. Clothes strewn everywhere, hanging from the lampshade and the bedhead and tucked between the mattress and the foot of the bed. It's chaotic and disgustingly unorganised but visibly lived in. Unlike Harry's bedroom, it has personality. Character. It doesn't look like a hospital room or the kind of place that people come to die. It's homey and smells of Louis' skin, spicy but decadently sweet underneath. Harry has to get out of there before his insides start to unravel completely.

He yanks Louis' coverlet off his bed, grabbing a few pillows to match and then trudges back out to Louis with his haul. Louis' eyes are half closed already but he watches Harry like an attentive kitten, sharp eyed but sleepy. Harry spreads the duvet over him and tucks him in, gingerly lifting Louis’ head to insert the pillows in behind and patting everything down twice before moseying over to the kitchen.

He fills a glass with water and searches through the cupboards until he finds a packet of regular pain meds and an ice pack. He squeezes the ice pack and shakes it to get it started, wrapping it in a floral tea towel he finds hanging over one corner of the bench. When he makes it back to Louis, Louis’ snoring softly, his hand pushed up against his cheek while his ankle falls limply over the side of the couch. Harry gingerly positions it next to his other foot and rests the ice pack between them, pushing it against Louis' sore ankle so it won't fall off. He leaves the water and the pains meds on the table, retrieving his keys from his pocket. He lingers for a moment, feeling uniquely tested when Louis' face fills with pained crinkles and an unconscious whimper slips through his lips. A strange compulsion fills Harry and he kneels again, bringing Louis' open palm to his lips. He's rewarded with a choked gurgle and the abrupt absence of pain from Louis' expression.

"Goodnight duck. Sleep well."

Harry kisses his hair, trying to convince himself it's all in the name of looking after him. Looking after him as any decent human being would. It's just that he really hasn't been this decent to anyone since he first fell for Xander and that probably means more than he'd like to admit. God knows that when he saw Louis again for the first time in twenty odd years, he never imagined feeling the way he does now. Maybe it wouldn't be so horrifying if Louis wasn't dating Satan's spawn. Jessie is a friend, my ass.

*_*_*_*_*

Louis wakes up to a disturbing amount of saliva pooling in the curve of his hand and an unexpectedly dry mouth. To make matters worse, his feet are frozen to the point of numbness. Thankfully he now has the number of the person responsible.

Louis: You thought it was a good idea to put an ice pack on my bare feet while I was asleep? How very thoughtful of you. I so enjoy frostbite.

Harry: I was trying to help Louis.

Louis: Yeah? Well what a superb job you did of that.

Harry doesn't respond immediately. Perhaps he’s irritated. Louis cracks faster than he'd feel comfortable admitting in an open court.

Louis: I mean... thank you.

Harry: That wasn't so hard, was it? If you only had better manners to begin with then maybe I would have been more impressed.

The nerve!

Louis: Quite frankly I don't give a damn whether you're impressed.

Harry: Okay, Scarlett O'Hara. No need to work yourself up into a tizzy. Lie back down, you need to rest.

Louis glares at his lit up his screen and rues the day his mother agreed to meet with Harry's mother for afternoon tea. That was the beginning of the end, right there. Harry need not know that Louis settles back into his cocoon soon after reading that text. He spots the tall glass of water and pain meds sitting on the table. They look fairly innocuous but still somehow hold the answers to some of the biggest questions Louis' had about Harry since they came back into each other's lives. That is; is he still made of melted snowflakes and soft beanies like he was when they were kids? Too vulnerable for the kind of world they live so, so lovely. Or, is he made of tougher stuff now? Corrugated iron and ice that's too brittle to the touch. Maybe the vulnerability of youth was swept away with everything else Harry left behind, including Louis.

Louis gulps down half the water and lies back down, ignoring the pain meds. Yes, there's a dull throb in his ankle but he'll survive.

It occurs to him that Harry’s no longer the porcelain child who could easily be blown over with the weight of someone's breath. Yet his exterior has yet to harden to the point of freezing. He's neither the purity of his childhood or the abruptness of his manhood. Rather, he seems to be some compelling combination of the two. It leaves Louis in constant riddles.

He tucks himself back in, as best as he can and turns over, forgetting his phone and the conversation with Harry. He's too busy wondering about the new parts of him that he's yet to bear witness to.

Harry: Much better. Sleep tight Lou .x

Louis would very much like to deny that he melts into the couch. Lou? A kiss? What is Harry playing at? If Louis didn't know any better, he'd think the man has bipolar disorder.

*_*_*_*_*

Louis has to go live in five minutes. It's more than problematic. They want him to slide down a fire pole and give a quick report on the charity work of Lewisham fire station. Sounds easy enough, like a walk in the park really. It probably would be if Louis wasn't so damn nervous and prone to falling on his arse at every available opportunity. Not to mention his ankle is still quite swollen and bruised from his fall yesterday. He can walk on it now, just but it won't be so bearable if he injures it again. Harry actually had the gall to text him a warning this morning.

Harry: Take your pain meds. I'll know if you haven't.

Louis ignored him. There's no way Harry will know he didn't take them and even if he does, it's none of his business. They're not dating and it's a bit too late for Harry to pull the whole protective big brother act now.

All of a sudden, DI's talking in his ear. Louis should probably be listening so he doesn't make a spectacular fool of himself on live TV. The headset he's wearing is virtually hidden but it's giving him a headache and that combined with the low buzzing of DI's voice is making it hard for him to concentrate on the pole he's supposed to slide down.

"LT, we'll show the package before they cross to you. Just slide down the pole and when you get to the bottom, all you need to say is...'Lewisham Fire station is a pillar of the community and I for one feel very at home here."

"I can do that," Louis tells him, almost certain that he can't.

"Okay, we're running the package now. Get ready."

Louis approaches the pole with sweaty hands and shaking fingers. He reminds himself that this is his future. This is what he wants to be doing and nothing is going to stand in his way, least of all a simple fire pole. He grips the sides of the thing and wraps his legs around the cold steel, waiting for DI's confirmation.

"Okay, go!"

Louis' halfway down when DI starts yelling in his ear.

"No, not yet! Go back up, go back up!"

It's impossible. He can barely hold his own weight up, let alone pull himself up the damn thing. He tries anyway, grunting with the effort.

"It's now! Go now!"

"Now?" Louis shrieks and then let’s go, sailing to the bottom of the ground with a very undignified scream.

His bum hits something hard, pushing whatever it is into the ground. He squashes his injured ankle on impact, crying out at the sharp pain. But he's live. Louis stands up from the ground with only a slight wobble in his smile, brushing the dirt from his knees while he addresses the wonky camera. He watches the cameraman attempt to right it and realises then that it must be what his arse collided with. That means millions of viewers have just witnessed his arse in free-fall. Fantastic.

"Lewisham Fire station is a pillar of the community and I for one..." What was the rest of it? Fuck, DI's going to murder him. The broken headset is on the ground which means Louis' completely on his own. "I for one....err... feel very at home on this pole."

It takes him a second. There's a surprised gasp from the cameraman and then one of the sleazier firemen calls out, "dance for me baby” on camera. That's when it hits him. He's just confessed. To millions of people. On a semi-respectable news program. That he likes a good pole dance.

Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.

*_*_*_*_*

Harry's been laughing non-stop for the last few minutes. It seems to alarm Luke who's never seen him laugh quite this hard. Maybe that means something…that Louis is the only person who's capable of reducing him to this. Whether that's intentionally or more likely, by accident. Even Xander could never quite get him to let go and surrender himself to the moment. Harry had stopped knowing how and even when he laughed, it never really ran deep. He was always one step too far from enjoying himself.

Now he's doubled over laughing at the image of Louis' bamboozled expression as he gets up from the floor and brushes away the dirt from his knees. Harry sees a brief twinge of pain flit across his eyes. It only that which stems his laughter and has him leaning across the desk to peer at the TV more closely. That little bastard didn't take his meds. Luke nods his head at the screen.

"Pathetic, isn't it? He's a walking disaster."

Harry turns to him with a delicate smile. He's two seconds away from pushing him up against a wall and demanding that he apologise for every cruel word he's ever said about Louis. Instead, he takes the high road.

"His behind is quite lovely, wouldn't you say?"

Luke looks at him like he's grown two heads. Harry ignores him in favour of watching Louis who just happens to humiliate himself all over again. This time is worse, however because some idiot catcalls him from behind the camera. Louis' entire face collapses into blatant shame. A disgusted growl slips through Harry's lips.

"Did you just....growl?"

Luke's eyes are as wide as gum balls.

"No," Harry denies hotly.

He did. He acted like a feral animal instead of a distinguished lawyer with contacts at Harvard. As if it has anything to do with him who calls Louis baby and who doesn't. Louis has a boyfriend, for pete's sake's and Harry’s been cheated on before. He's not a hypocrite. He's not going to go there, even if there was even the smallest possibility that Louis might feel the same, which obviously there isn't. Harry's still boiling with rage inside. How anybody could speak to Louis like that is a complete mystery.

Harry: How's your ankle?

Louis: Sod off.

Harry: Louis.

Louis: Fine. It hurts, but what else is new?

Harry: Take. Your. Meds.

Louis: Yes doctor.

Harry: Good boy.

Louis: Man*

Harry chuckles and puts his phone away but it vibrates again.

Louis: Aren't you going to make some snarky, rude comment about my report?

Harry: About which part? The extreme close up of your bum or your secret passion for pole dancing. All I'll say is this....

Louis: ???

Harry: You've got a bright future behind you ;) .x

He doesn't get a reply. He hopes it isn't anything to do with the tone of his message. It wasn't too flirty, was it? There's a fine line between teasing and flirting. Harry wonders whether he might have crossed it after all. Damn Louis Tomlinson. How is he able to bring out both the best and the worst in Harry without really trying?

*_*_*_*_*

"Bring a potato salad, don't be late. Oh and by the way, your old friend Harry Styles will be there."

Fucking Carol. The one person he knows from Doncaster who moved to London and sought him out. Fucking yellow pages. Whose idea was that anyway? Now Louis' forced to deal with Carol on a monthly basis because he's too polite to tell her that her dinner parties are the bane of his existence. They're not proper dinner parties anyway, where people share stories about their biggest nights out and the one night stands they wish they never had. They're 'age appropriate' dinner parties which means that sex is a dirty word and singledom is downright shameful. This is Louis' first time attending without a date and fuck is it going to be awful. He'd like to say that the other guests' stories about their child's first words or their first day of school bore to him tears. He'd like to pretend that the blatant farce of every marriage there turns him off the idea completely but he can't because he’s certain marriage isn't the problem. It's the people participating in it and the views they have on life. These people are the kind that would rather have all their laundry folded before they go to sleep than be lulled to sleep with an orgasm.

Louis gets it, he does. Family life can become monotonous and even exhausting. Screaming babies and school runs probably kill your sex drive faster than clown porn. Then there's menopause, mid-life crises, weight gain and all the things your husband promised he would do before six but didn't. It can't be easy to share intimacy with someone you've learned to despise...but these people aren't like regular married folk.

They aren't like that pair of grandparents that can argue till the cows come home and who sleep in separate beds but still somehow manage to look at each other like the sun rises and sets in each other's eyes. Even after all those years together. These friend's of Carols have long stopped trying to repair their lacklustre marriages but they stay tied to them anyway, forcing their kids to endure through countless screaming fights, shattered glass and the finality of slamming doors. Things like that can screw a kid up pretty royally, Louis' sure and the only reason these people have for staying in a loveless marriage is that divorce is an even dirtier word than sex. It's not a misguided attempt to shield their kids from the perils of separation. It's an attempt to shield themselves from the embarrassment of having to admit that things didn't work out on the first try. So no, Louis doesn't like Carol's friends or respect their opinions. Still, he yearns.

It pains him to have to sit at that table with a bunch of couples who don't appreciate how lucky they are and probably never will. He knows he'd do it differently. If he was ever lucky enough to find someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, who wanted to spend the rest of their life with him, he'd never let them fade away in front of his eyes. They'd have to pry that lovely wedding ring off his cold, dead finger.

But how does he know familial chores and bratty kids wouldn't get the best of him? Well, because he's had his heart broken far too many times to ever waste his time being petty and closed off with his future husband. He might be difficult, and that's a strong 'might', thank you very much but he's fairly certain he'd never say things he couldn't take back in the light of the day. He'd never forget that he chose this person to have and to hold for the rest of his life. He prays that they wouldn't forget that either. Vows aren't a contract you stick to out of some misplaced sense of rightness and wrongness. They're a promise you keep because you want to, because you still love the person you married and those promises are still relevant so long as you do.

Carol is just the type to invite him to a couple's night when she knows full well that he's not dating anybody. Oh well. Guess who's turning up late, without the potato salad in tow? Louis, that's who. It occurs to him that if Harry's coming, he might not be the only singleton there but that just means he has to look extra fit. Not because he has anything to prove or anyone to impress but because maybe the dynamic between them has finally changed. Their banter is flirtier than ever and Louis gets a surprising amount of butterflies when he thinks about seeing him again.

It's no surprise, then that he calls up his best boys to come help him pick out his outfit. What is a surprise is that he opens his door up to Niall and…a couple. Liam and Zayn are holding hands on his doorstep, looking for all the world like it's been this way all along, which....it kind of has, but c'mon. They're his best mates and they couldn't even muster up the energy to give him a call.

"Your expression is priceless," Niall guffaws.

Louis hits him over the shoulder.

"You knew?!"

Niall rubs at the sore spot, barging past him into the flat.

"Who do you think drove them here? Their legs were too sore from all the fucking."

"You fuck now?!" Louis demands of them, barring their entry.

The two of them collapse into giggles at that, Zayn pressing a sweet little kiss behind Liam's ear. It's nauseatingly adorable.

"We fuck, we copulate...we basically own each other's dicks." Zayn looks disgustingly smug. "Li assures me I'm a much better fuck than his asshole ex."

Liam nods, tightening his grip on Zayn's hand and turning his puppy dog eyes in his direction.

"Best fuck of my life."

"Just...what? When? How?! Answers. Answers now!"

"Okay, okay. Just let us in first Loueh."

Louis reluctantly steps aside and the new found couple join Niall on the lounge. Louis sits on the armchair adjacent to them, locking his fingers around his knees. Niall snorts but Louis silences him with a cutting look.

"So. Who confessed first?"

Zayn raises his hand, a cheesy grin overtaking his features.

"I did. Turned up on his doorstep with a bunch of roses. They were--"

"Pink roses. My favourite," Liam finishes.

Zayn leans in and cups his chin, kissing him too intensely for this kind of setting. Louis lets them go. This is all he's ever wanted.

"Mm, your favourite." Zayn slides his fingers through the side of Liam's hair, mirroring his dopey smile. "I just opened with the truth. I had to, Lou. I was so tired of not kissing him. I told him I've been in love with him all this time. Even when he wasn't mine to be in love with."

Liam's eyes are suspiciously misty. He slides a hand over Zayn's knee, his voice rough.

"I was always yours." Zayn chokes on nothing, bringing Liam's hand to his lips. "And I told him I've been in love with him too, for as long as I’ve known him. I just didn't know it myself."

"Fuck, I'm going to hurl in a minute."

"Come off it Lou, we all know you wanted this just as much as we did."

Damn Zayn Malik for being right way too often. Louis cracks a smile.

"Maybe. But don't think I won't throw things at you if you start to ignore me and Nialler."

Niall nods at him in agreeance.

"I'll help."

Zayn and Liam roll their eyes.

"You're like the kids we never asked for."

Niall elbows Liam's side.

"Are you saying we were both accidents mummy?" He simpers.

Louis cackles delightedly.

"Hang on, why am I the mummy?"

"Shh sweetheart," Zayn presses his nose to Liam's jawline, "if you don't simmer down, daddy may have to spank you."

"Niall, get my shotgun."

"You don't have a shotgun Tommo."

"I don't care! Zayn is defiling our baby."

Liam points at him.

"I thought we just established that you and Niall are the babies."

"This is giving me a headache. Can we choose my outfit now? I need to look hot."

"And why is that?" Zayn crosses one endless leg over the other. "All you've told us is that you've got a dinner party and no date."

"Harry will be there," he mumbles.

"Excuse me? Sorry but I couldn't hear you over all that blushing."

"I'm not blushing!"

"Lou, you're kind of blushing," Liam agrees, offering him a sympathetic pat to the shoulder. "And all this over a guy you say you despise?"

"I don't despise him."

"So you like him then?" Niall asks, smirking.

"Not like that, jerk wad." Louis snaps. Liam silently mouths jerk wad? at Zayn, as if he's never heard the insult before. Zayn looks nonplussed too. "I just--he's different. He's not like Nick, okay and that makes him different. Now can we move on?"

"Fine," Zayn agrees, "but don't think we don't know you have a huge, embarrassing crush on him."

"Whatever, can we start please? I kind of have an idea but I need your approval."

He ushers the boys into his room where he changes into his outfit. He's decided on dark trousers (that fit like a glove), a pale blue shirt and a navy dinner jacket, made out of felt that hems in around his waist (he has a strong feeling Harry likes that style on him). For the final touches, he adds black, pointed shoes, the glasses Harry likes so much on him and a deep blue bow tie that matches his jacket.

"You look amazing, love but somehow you don't look like you."

Louis points at Zayn.

"Precisely."

The three of them share a befuddled look. Louis sighs and jumps onto his bed, stretching himself across all three of their laps. Zayn's hands automatically go to his hair while Niall pats his butt.

"I'm mocking him, obviously. He likes daggy bow ties and weird, snobby shoes. It's a statement. Because this stuff is awful but dare I say, it kind of looks good on me?"

"You dare," Liam agrees with a salacious grin.

Zayn shoves at him.

"Excuse me Leeyum. I'd hate to interrupt your ogling of our best mate but I'm sitting right here. Your boyfriend is sitting right here."

"Yeah, Leeyum. Stop ogling me."

Louis winks at him which makes Zayn growl. Luckily Liam has the magic touch. He reaches over and squeezes Zayn's thigh.

"Shh babe. I promise you I don't want Louis' dick. I don't want anyone's dick but yours. In fact, I probably want your dick for the rest of our God given lives."

Niall and Louis burst out laughing but Zayn looks pleased. He plants a kiss between Liam's eyes and pulls him into a crushing embrace.

"That was the most romantic thing anybody's ever said to me."

"That says a lot about his dating history," Niall sniggers.

"What dating history? Fucking an entire football team is not dating," Louis reminds him.

"Think we should punish them?"

"Yes," Zayn agrees, curling his legs around Liam's waist, "definitely."

And then they're sucking face. Arseholes.

*_*_*_*_*

"Oh. Hello. You're late. I mean--I didn't know you were coming."

"Well Styles, here I am," Louis holds his arms out with a purposefully crooked smile. "Now are you going to let me in or what?"

Harry's eyes are yet to make the journey from his body to his face.

"You're wearing a bow tie," he says, clearly struck dumb.

"I am," Louis tugs at the offensive item. "Do you like it?"

Harry's brow lines are so inflamed, they almost look like horns.

"You look like you're wearing my clothes."

His voice sounds hoarse. Louis has a feeling that he'd let Louis do just about anything to him right now. His mouth quirks up at the side.

"I'm. mocking. you." He enunciates.

Harry's expression twists with amusement and annoyance all rolled into one. He gets hold of the sides of Louis' jacket and tugs, pulling him near, securing him there with just the intensity of his eyes.

"You're impossible," he sighs, evergreen eyes shifting across Louis' face slowly. "Completely maddening."

He sways close and accidentally skims his nose over Louis'. Or is it an accident? Harry knocks into him again, his cheeks twitching into a smile. Louis cleverly keeps his expression free from emotion but his eyes fall to Harry's plush, tender mouth. The weakness in his limbs turns to warm tingles.

"If I'm completely maddening, then you're--"

"Harry, what are you doing? Carol wants to hear all about the Yates case."

Luke appears in the archway behind Harry with a small frown settling between his eyes. It lengthens when he sees Harry's hands on Louis' jacket. Louis steps back quickly, swallowing the lump of disappointment that fills his mouth like acid. He didn't think Luke and Harry were dating but obviously he was wrong.

"Oh. You came with him. That's--"

"Louis."

"Would either of you know where the toilet is? I can never seem to remember."

Harry's fingers slide across his wrist, the earnestness of his eyes doing nothing to soothe Louis' hurt.

"Yes. I'll show you."

"It's up the stairs, second door on the left."

Louis peers around Harry's shoulder to look at Luke who's eyeing them both with barely concealed jealousy.

"Thanks Luke."

Harry throws a dark look over his shoulder at him and then tries to follow Louis but Louis pushes him away, hurrying up the stairs on his own.

Once in the bathroom, he confronts his reflection.

"C'mon Tommo, you can do better than that. Remember what Eleanor Roosevelt said, 'no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.' Stop giving him your consent."

Louis heads back downstairs with a few buttons popped open on his shirt and his fringe pulled loose from its former arrangement. When Harry notices him loitering just inside the dining room, he very subtly tilts his head at the empty seat beside him. Louis eyes slide over Harry to the person on his other side. Luke. Luke leans into Harry's side, squeezing his forearm. Louis doesn't watch for Harry's response. It's not worth it. Instead he seats himself down the other end of the table, in between Carol and her nasal best friend, Dana.

"Louis! You're here. With...no...potato salad?"

"Yep."

That's all he says. She seems puzzled but ends up turning away to talk to Harry and his stupid boyfriend (scratch that, very stupid boyfriend) instead. Louis whiles away the time by playing with his food and determinedly ignoring each and every person at the table. He doesn't look up at Harry, who remains strangely quiet and seems determined to burn through Louis' cheek with his penetrative gaze.

"So...Louis, how are you doing post-Nick? It must be hard to be single again at your age." Dana asks him, none too elegantly stuffing another forkful of lettuce in her mouth.

Louis chokes on his bread, surprised that someone has finally bothered to talk to him and not pleased about it either. What a way to bring up his recently broken up relationship. Louis' face feels hot. His stomach pools with congealed sludge. He looks up and his traitorous eyes cross to Harry, who stares right back at him with wide eyes and an indiscernible expression. He holds up the beans for Louis to take. As Louis takes them, their fingertips brush.  He feels like he's been zapped. He gulps.

"You're not with him anymore?"

It's barely more than a whisper. Everybody else hears it but it's for Louis' ears only. Louis gives him a subtle nod and then turns away, unable to confront that kind of intensity when he's not sure what it could mean.

"Why would it be hard Dana?" He counters instead.

Dana looks flummoxed, as if she hadn’t expected him to bite back. Maybe it's because he never would have a couple of months ago. He didn't have a back bone or the confidence to stand up for himself back them. He won't say he's completely cured yet but he's certainly not going down without a fight.

"Oh I don't know, Louis....you tell me. Surely people pay less attention to you once you hit thirty. Perhaps Nick just ignored it."

"Ignored what?" He asks, through gritted teeth.

"The wrinkles, your waistline. The crow's feet around your eyes."

Fuck off. Louis has crinkly eyes, not wrinkly ones!!! And his waistline is one of his best assets, thank you very much.

"No, he didn't ignore it," he says, with a sickly sweet smile, "because he didn't have to. I don't have wrinkles yet and I sure as hell don't spend any time worrying about my waist."

"Louis, don't swear!" Carol scolds him.

He doesn't give a fuck.

"Besides, Nick is older than me."

"Yes, but...." Dana trails off.

"Yes but what?" Louis' eyes fly from Dana to Carol who both avoid eye contact, looking intolerably awkward.

Their husbands roll their eyes at the same time. Louis likes them a little bit more than their wives.

"He left you for a younger man, didn't he?" Dana finally breaks.

There's a shocked puff of air from somebody's lips, too quiet to hear under normal circumstances but the tension in the air is so thick that Louis does. He turns towards Harry who's frozen to the spot with a glass of Chardonnay pressed to his lips, his startled eyes locked on Louis’ face. They scream, "why didn't you tell me?" Louis’ silent answer is, “you never asked.”

Harry looks aggravatingly beautiful underneath the light of chandelier, with silky curls falling down the sides of his face like chocolate molten lava. He's dressed in a loose black button up tonight and it suits him terribly well. Terrible, because he's just as well suited to tight clothing. The man doesn't deserve to look so delicious all the time.

"He did," Louis croaks, his gaze still on Harry who hasn't yet looked away. His frown lines are only growing in intensity and he looks to be in physical pain. Louis turns away. "And you know what? It broke my heart."

Everybody but Harry looks shocked, as if they don't know what to do with that information other than to stare at him and whisper about it as soon as he leaves. Louis holds his head high, even though his heart is beating wildly inside his chest, telling him to stop talking.

"But at least I felt alive. Do you feel alive…Dana? Carol?"

Dana looks honestly perplexed while Carol seems offended by his candour.

"I don't know what you mean, Louis. Are you feeling alright?"

"I feel fine, love. My point is that I'm not beholden to anyone and I won't be until I find someone worthy. I'm free. So I don't worry about being single or about who my ex-boyfriend is fucking..." Carol gasps, "....because I'm free."

Louis exhales the painful breath he'd been holding all throughout the conversation. Harry's eyes twinkle at him from across the table. What does that even mean? Is it a trick of the light or did Harry really enjoy that just as much as he did?

"But you have to know that you can't be happy where you are." Wendy says, one of the women from Carol's mother's group. "I've never met someone of your age who was happy to be unmarried. Don't you feel like you're missing out?"

Louis' momentarily stumped, not because he thinks in any way that it's true. He doesn't believe that marriage is the key to happiness but for him, it is something of an ultimate end. More so, it's finding someone he'd be happy to marry and who'd be happy to marry him, rather than the bells and whistles of wedding planning. Thankfully, he relocates his backbone.

"Is it one in four marriages that end in divorce or one in three?"

"One in three."

Harry's tone is brusque and officious, as if he doesn't care about the debate but when Louis looks at him, his face is flaming pink and he's sawing through his steak as though it personally offended him.

Thank you.

It's the first time Louis' ever felt that Harry and he could make a proper team. It’s the first time he's felt that Harry gives one iota about how people talk to him. Then again Harry's just restating a fact and he's good at that, facts and figures. There's nothing to say he means more by it. Yet Louis feels warm right down to his toes.

"But what about children?" Carol cuts in. "You want to have children, don't you Louis?"

Are they really this desperate to shake him? Louis turns on Carol.

"Obviously Carol. You've known me for years."

"Well… I've heard that it only gets harder to adopt as you age. Add in to that, the fact that you're gay and it's even more difficult. Doesn't it worry you that no one will ever pick you? Especially if you don't have a partner."

They got him. They found his weak spot and picked at it until it burst open like a broken water pipe, flooding his chest with unrelenting sadness. Louis' eyes fill with hot tears which burn the corners of his eyes. He quickly blinks them away quickly but he's finding it difficult to breathe. He never considered that his natural undesirability might cost him a baby. A husband, perhaps but not a baby.

"Carol's right. My friend knew this gay couple who got approved for adoption years ago and they're still waiting for someone to pick them. It's hard for people like you, Louis. That's all we're saying."

"I don't know." Louis' head snaps in Luke's direction, shocked to hear him speak when he's scarcely said a word all evening. "Maybe it's not so life and death. You have a new job, don't you Louis? Some men are quite happy just having a career."

Louis stares at him defiantly for half a second before his lower lip starts to wobble and the humiliation takes over, taking him down with it. Louis jumps up and shoves his chair away violently.

"Thank you for a lovely evening," he gets out, just barely.

Carol and Dana look completely horrified by his outburst, as if they had nothing to do with picking him apart piece by piece. Fuck them. He's never coming back here. He doesn't have anything to prove to them.

Louis takes a deep breath when he makes it to the door and retrieves his jacket from the floor. He’d thrown it at the hook earlier and clearly missed.

"Idiot, Tomlinson. You're a complete idiot. No, you're worse than an idiot. A fool, that's what you are. A complete and utter--"

"You're not a fool."

Louis whizzes around and finds Harry leaning into his space, looking unfairly leggy and concerned. He ducks his head to inspect Louis' eyes, his own narrowed intently. It's terribly confusing. How can someone who sat by and watched their ‘friends’ tear him apart just now be so gentle and kittenish underneath?

Harry pulls back a little, a very little. The furrow between his eyebrows is back though. Maybe he realises Louis really is a fool.

"I very much enjoyed your Lewisham Fire report by the way."

Is that...humour in his eye? Or mockery? Perhaps some combination of the two.

"Thanks..." Louis says, tone stiff.

"Yes. Well. It didn't work out with Grimshaw then?" Harry asks, swaying close.

He smells alarmingly like baked apple pie. Alarming, because it's Louis' favourite dessert.

"No it didn't."

He remains curt. If Harry wants to sit there and do nothing while everybody, including his boyfriend, perform a character assassination then fine, that's his choice. Louis just won't give him the time of day.

He turns from Harry and his probing looks and shrugs on his jacket. The sensation of big hands brushing the imaginary lint off his shoulders makes him jump. He shivers beneath Harry's warm, all-encompassing touch.

"I'm delighted to hear it."

"Right. I get it, okay?" Louis snaps. "You and your boyfriend have joined forces with the universe in an attempt to humiliate me at every single opportunity. But if it's all the same to you both, I'll be on my way now and just so you know, you really needn't bother. I already feel like a complete waste of space."

Louis' lost his breath completely with his rant but when he looks back over his shoulder, Harry seems similarly afflicted. He looks flummoxed and more so, pained. His mouth has been left ajar and his Adam's Apple bobs in time with Louis' deadened heartbeat. He remains pointedly silent as Louis turns to go. Louis sighs, defeated.

"Wait, please. Please wait."

Louis reluctantly turns in his direction, feeling meek and shamed. How could he have been so blatantly pathetic and in front of Harry Styles, of all people?

"He's not my boyfriend, Louis. I'm not dating him. Really. And--"

"You're not?"

Harry's expression softens and he grabs Louis by the elbows, stroking across the soft felt with his gigantic hands.

"No. Now let me finish. I'm sorry I--if I've been. Because I really..." Harry's got that cute little furrow back. Holy hell. When did Louis decide that it was cute? "I don't think you're a waste of space or a fool or any of those things you seem to assume about yourself without any corroborating evidence, I might add. When will you learn that the carelessness of humanity is not your burden to carry? Cruel words will slip off other people's tongues the way kind ones slip off yours but you needn't listen to them. You needn't listen to me."

Louis' former opinions shatter in an instant. Not just because of what Harry's just said but because it was Harry saying it. It's Harry that's been brave and compassionate enough to call him on his shit, to reiterate just what Eleanor Roosevelt meant for him to know.

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

Harry's eyes light up, like it's a personal compliment to him and not Eleanor Roosevelt.

"Exactly. Let me be honest with you. There are things about you that I find wholly absurd, frustrating and even quite unbecoming."

His eyes flit over Louis' features, watching them tighten defensively and then fall, wounded. He gulps. One hand slides around Louis' side to settle on his lower back, cradling him there while the other roams upward to his neck, curling around the top of his spine.

"What I really mean is...your mother is kind of a nut." Louis barks a laugh at that, giggling at Harry's equally shell shocked expression. "And you really do make a habit out of embarrassing yourself. Plus you must be the only awkward loud-mouth I know. But I realise that I was impossibly rude to you at that Christmas party and in a way that you didn't deserve. Especially when we have a history, and a lovely one at that. The way I treated you...the things I said..." Harry shakes his head, looking seriously angry with himself. "As if you weren't my equal! I cannot repent enough but the thing is...well, the thing that makes all the difference in the world--"

"Whatever you're trying to say, just say it."

Harry nods and swallows noisily, his eyes like two wide, glassy spheres inside his head.

"Right." He pauses. The air crackles with escalating tension. "Well despite having acted like the worst kind of arse since I saw you again the day, I find that I really--I really do feel--" Harry gasps, as though completely winded. "--that I like you, Lou." Louis' breath hitches inside his chest. Lou. God almighty. "Very much."

It's a nice sentiment but--Louis scoffs. Harry looks appalled.

"You mean apart from the smoking and the drinking and the talking out of my arse all the fucking time."

"No." Harry's hand slides up the back of Louis’ shirt, rubbing soft, soothing circles into his bare skin. Louis' eyelashes flutter, eyelids drooping closed against his will. Harry's other hand squeezes at the base of his neck as if he can sense Louis' bended will. "No Louis, I like you very much. Even if you didn't start at the gym or find yourself a new job, I would feel that way. Because I like you, for all the things you are... smart, funny and brilliant. Not to mention, painfully gorgeous..." Harry sighs, as if overtaken by the thought.

Louis' breath quickens. He steps closer to Harry, staring up at him with wide, leaden eyes.

"And all the things you'll never be, like graceful, soft spoken or...tall." He winks at Louis, the bastard. "That's a truth universally acknowledged Louis, that I like you...and I always have."

Louis just stares at him, his brain completely fried. This incredible, flawless human being wants him, Louis Tomlinson. Warts and all. How is this his life right now? How did he get so lucky?

"You are such an arse," he groans but his grin is melting his face.

Harry seems endeared, sliding both his hands up into Louis' hair and massaging his scalp roughly. Louis' chest rumbles with a purr and he goes completely boneless, sinking into Harry's body. Harry chuckles, wrapping his long arms around him in a hug. Louis feels so small in his embrace but it's comforting, strangely so. He's entirely encased by heat and caring and...Harry.

"You feel so good in my arms," Harry whispers, practically nuzzling the spot beside Louis' ear.

Louis' chest starts to inflate, his whole body shuddering at the shock of pleasure. It's too much gentleness for him to bear right now in his fragile state of mind. He's never felt more precious. Harry pulls back at the first sign of a sniffle.

"Are you crying?"

Louis shakes him off, burying a hiccup in the back of his wrist.

"N-no, I have to go."

Harry looks maddeningly smug. He grins at Louis' dishevelled hair and wobbly cheeks.

"I made you cry."

"You're not supposed to smile about that, arsehole."

Harry relaxes his megawatt grin at that but tugs Louis back to him using just the lapels on his jacket. He pushes Louis' fringe back with a palm, leaving a barely there kiss on the warmth of his forehead.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening, gorgeous."

Louis feels faint. What. The. Fuck. He points accusingly at Harry's dopey grin.

"Stop that. You're scaring me, Styles."

"On your way, babe."

He winks at Louis with a sly smirk and then reaches over him to open up the door.

Now he's just doing it to be smart. Calling Louis pet names like that, who does he think he is? It doesn't send a thrill up Louis' spine. Not at all.

"I'm sorry Louis, I really am."

"Good.”

He walks out the door and turns around to say his final goodbye. Harry's standing in the archway, leaning his bulky arm up against one side of the door.

"Bye Styles."

"Laters, baby."

He giggles (the fucker) at Louis' narrowed eyes and shuts the door in his face.

Louis: Nobody puts baby in a corner. Arsehat.

Harry: Nobody but me .xx

Louis won't deny he's open to the possibility of Harry fucking him ten ways to Sunday just for being so ballsy and possessive. When did Louis' life become a rom com with a twist? He just hopes this is the last one.

Chapter Text

Weight: He likes me exactly as I am
Cigarettes: For all the things I am
Height:  And all the things that I will never be
Alcohol units: He likes me
Birthday: 33rd, imminent

 “Tell me you didn’t just stand there like a dope. Tell me you said you like him too.”

“I didn’t stand there ‘like a dope’, thank you very much. I called him an arse.” Zayn’s mouth is gaping ope, Liam and Niall’s catching flies too. “Hey, don’t look at me like that!”

 “You called him an arse?”

Zayn looks horrified.

“Yes. And then he hugged me. I got…well, I got a little bit teary at that point…”

Louis trails off, tipping the rest of his fluoro coloured drink down his throat. He signals the waiter, raising a finger. This is no longer a celebratory dinner for Zayn and Liam who are supposed to be moving in together on Monday. It’s Louis’ feeble attempt at drowning his sorrows in a glass. Harry Styles likes him, for god sakes. Just as he is. He called Louis ‘painfully gorgeous,’ of all things and held him when his knees caved in.  Surely that demands a round or two. It’s Harry Styles, did Louis mention? His mortal enemy. Louis’ mortal enemy who he wants to do dirty things with and who wants to do dirty things with him. Probably.

“You did not get teary!” Liam butts in, looking nearly as horrified as his boyfriend.

“Lou,” Niall grabs him by the forearms, “tell me you at least kissed the poor fucker.”

Louis gives a minute shake of his head and his friends let out a collective groan.

“That was real synchronised, that. You three would make a great boyband.”

Niall rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, cause people would really go wild for a potty mouth Irishman with a bad fucking bleach job, a washed up popstar whose hair is about two centimetres off the world record for tallest fucking quiff,” Zayn glares at Niall but Liam fits his head beneath Zayn’s chin and grabs his hand, twining their fingers together in his lap. Zayn’s scowl instantly melts into heart eyes. “And a guy whose handkerchief is always falling out the back of his pocket.”

“It’s called a sense of style,” Liam sniffs. “Something you’d know nothing about. Nelly wore it to the AMA’s.”

Niall elbows Louis in the side, whispering out the corner of his mouth.

“Next thing you know, he’ll be wearing gold chains and rapping about where he started.”

Liam scrunches his nose, disgusted.

“That’s Drake, not Nelly.”

“Okay, okay…enough squabbling.” Louis holds his hands up. “And you know what? I’m pretty sure they would go for that. All you need is a loveable, Mick Jagger-type and someone to make everybody laugh. That’s how musical history is made, boys.”

“This is a completely irrelevant conversation. You’re only saying this to deflect from the fact that you obviously choked.”

Louis annihilates Zayn with a particularly foul look.

“I did not choke, okay? It’s not like he declared his love for me.” Zayn snorts and mutters, “may as well have,” in Liam’s ear. It’s loud enough for Louis to hear. “No, look…seriously. He told me he liked me, so what? Am I supposed to know what that means? Am I supposed to do a running jump into his arms just because the almighty Harry Styles doesn’t hate me? Well…no. Not gonna happen. He didn’t ask me out on a date, he didn’t ask me how I felt and you know what, he was probably only saying these things because he felt sorry for me. He felt sorry for me after his stupid colleague made that comment about some people being happy having ‘just a career.’ He felt bad for everything he’s said to me over the past few months and I’m glad, really but it doesn’t mean he’s in love with me.”

Louis finishes his rant by swiping his next drink off the waiter’s tray and downing it in one gulp.

Laters baby.

Fuck. Why can’t he stop thinking about the way that sounded in Harry Styles’ abnormally large, plump looking mouth? It’s not as if he hasn’t heard the word before, baby…and yet all of a sudden, it’s weighted. It has meaning. Now it’s the subtly possessive term of endearment that he couldn’t shake this morning when he woke up rock hard and rutting against his mattress. It makes no sense whatsoever. Harry Styles was just being his usual smug, irritating self. He only said it to get under Louis’ skin which it didn’t, thank you very much. And yet. He can’t stop replaying that moment over and over inside his head.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve got issues.” Liam shakes his head. “Harry is into you and if he’s not into you, it’s only because he’s properly in love with you. You forget, I’ve seen him with you Lou.”

“Well you’d know then, the way Harry and I speak to each other...it’s just not the way two people who are in love speak to each other.”

“I’ve seen you squabble, yes but you know something? The way you two look at each other is not the way two people who hate each other look at each other either.  You have history and loads of it, by the sounds of things.”

“It was one year…maybe two!” Louis shrieks, verging on demented. “We didn’t even manage to stay friends!”

Liam shrugs.

“So? You were young and foolish! You didn’t know any better then. Now you do. Don’t let a couple of stupid fights and offhanded remarks stand between you and happiness. It would be an awful waste, Lou.”

Louis rolls the bottom of his glass along the edge of the table. He feels very frowny tonight.

“Why does everybody think that Harry and I are something we aren’t? Maybe we’re just too people who happen to butt heads a lot.”

Liam opens his mouth to reply but Zayn swallows his words with a short, sloppy kiss.

“Let me,” he murmurs, pressing his thumb to Liam’s Adam’s apple which jumps hyperactively beneath his touch.

Liam smiles contentedly and brushes a kiss over Zayn’s knuckles.

“Okay lovely.”

Zayn holds onto Liam’s hand when he turns to Louis. His eyelids look heavy and sated, his whole body radiating warmth. He’s happy. It’s kind of miraculous to watch how he fawns over Liam, so protective and nurturing. It’s as if he senses Liam’s vulnerability after his breakup and is doing all he can to ensure Liam never has to feel broken or humiliated again.

“You say maybe you and Harry are just two people who butt heads a lot but before this…” Zayn holds up his and Liam’s conjoined hands, “before I got my chance, I would have said the same thing. Well…not the same. I didn’t hate him. But you know what it was like. Before I admitted it to you, my best attempt at hiding it was to pretend I had no idea what you were talking about. And it was partly because I was embarrassed but also, it was because I didn’t want to confront it. It was easier to pretend we were just best friends than to admit it was killing me to see him with somebody else.”

“I love you Zayn Jaavad Malik,” Liam says. He presses his whole body against Zayn’s and nuzzles his head into his shoulder. “I hope you know that.”

Zayn’s mouth curls up in a contented smile.

“I do. Love you too babe.”

He sinks his hand into Liam’s hair, running his fingers through it while Liam snuggles closer, eyes drifting shut.

“I couldn’t be with him.” Zayn says. “And so I couldn’t admit to myself that I wanted to.”

“What has that got to do with me and Harry?”

“You think you can’t be with him. You think that just because you’re a sloppy eater or because you’re completely accident prone, he couldn’t possibly want you. Even though that’s bullshit because it’s exactly what he tried to tell you the other night. I know you, Lou. Maybe not as well as Li, but I do. You have a hole in your heart the size of Titanic and your mother has had no small part in forming it. You think you’re not good enough and every time someone tells you that you are, you dismiss it. You find a reason not to accept that you’re a good person who deserves good things.”

“I don’t—“

“You do. You could have one thousand people tell you that you’re gorgeous and you wouldn’t believe it but you would believe the one person who called you ugly. Because it confirms how you already feel about yourself. And don’t think I don’t know how you feel about yourself.”

“I’m—I’m--” Louis’ reaches across and grabs Zayn’s free hand; the one that’s not stroking Liam’s hair, Liam clearly asleep on his shoulder. “Thank you. You’re right. I—I find it difficult to believe in anybody’s good opinion of me, especially Harry’s. But I just don’t know what to do about him. He’s Harry Styles. He’s…he’s rude and stiff and not likeable.”

Zayn pursed his lips around a smile.

“But you like him anyway?”

“I—“

“Oh my god. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuuck.”

They all turn to Niall in unison, Liam waking with a startled gurgle and disgruntled pout. Zayn kisses the side of his squinted eye.

“My babies are on the fucking way!” Niall roars, clutching at his head with both hands, looking like he might very well tear his own hair out.  His phone is lying screen up on the table, vibrating with an incoming call from Perrie. “My babies are coming and I’m drunk. I’m pissed and don’t have any way of getting to the fucking hospital. Perrie’s going to fucking kill me!”

Louis rolls his eyes and nabs Niall’s phone from the table. He presses the button to answer the call and raises it to his ear.

“Perrie darling, it’s Lou.”

“Lou? Oh hi—“ there’s a pained grunt and then she’s back, cheerful as ever. “Hi lovely, how are you?”

“Um, Pez…aren’t you about to give birth? Might not be the best time for chit chat, what with you pushing two watermelon sized humans out of your lady bits.”

“My lady bits?” Perrie trills a laugh. She stops halfway through to moan loudly, huffing quick, panicked breaths as someone coaches her through the contraction. “Are you really going to call them lady bits when I ask you to have the sex talk with your nieces?”

“Perrie, sweetheart…” Louis starts to say but Niall is making these strange, dramatic hand gestures and widening his eyes at him as if he knows what that means. Unfortunately, he doesn’t speak fluent Niall. “I admire your stamina but you can’t honestly be okay right now.”

“Well—I’m—oh—oh okay, that hurts. Oh that huurrrts.”

 Perrie’s voice fades again but Louis can hear her shout of, “Jesy, why are my daughters trying to kill me?!”

“Pez? I just wanted to let you know—“

“As I was saying, or trying to say. I’m only like—oh--nine centimetres dilated. It’s quite painful but I’ll be okay. Is Niall—ow--there? I was kind of expecting him to pick up, seeing as this is his phone and all.”

Louis scrubs a hand over his face. How many drugs did they give her?

“Nine centimetres dilated? Pez, that’s a lot. Like, a lot a lot. The babies are coming!”

Louis looks up just in time to see Niall’s eyes roll back in his head. He collapses, falling sideways off his chair. Zayn and Liam both jump up with shouts of horror. They kneel by his side, looking up at Louis with wide eyed panic.

“Lou, what’s going on?” Perrie asks (screams). “It sounds like there’s a bit of a commotion on your end.”

Louis can hear Jesy, Jade and Leigh-Anne all screaming at her to hang up the blasted phone.

“Is it Niall?”

“Um…yeah. About that.”

Perrie’s voice turns lethal.

“Louis William Tomlinson, if you don’t tell me where he is right now, I swear I will take away your cuddling privileges.”

“Okay, okay. He’s um…you see he had a bit to drink because we weren’t really expecting…..well, your due date’s not for another week! And when he saw your text, he ah…well he was understandably frazzled and now he’s kinda, ah…”

“Kinda, ah—“ Perrie pulls the phone away to scream bloody murder. “Kinda ah what?”

“Well he heard me say that you were nine centimetres dilated and he fainted. He’s unconscious on the floor. Oh wait—“ Louis watches as Niall raises his head up off Liam’s knee. He looks bamboozled and kind of nauseous but he’s awake. “He’s good. Okay, he’s good.”

“Okay,” Perrie heaves a sigh of relief, “so when will you guys be here?”

“When will we be there?” Louis echoes, loud enough for the other guys to hear. Niall moans again and puts his head between his knees. Liam and Zayn shake their heads at Louis, confirming they’ve also had too much to drink. “We’ll be there soon, love. As soon as we can. Promise.”

“Oh--oh—ahhhhhh,” Perrie screams, “you p--promise? Tell him I will name his daughters after items on the Nando’s menu if he’s not here to stop me.”

Louis cocks his head to the side, considering.

“Somehow I don’t think he’d mind.”

“Louis!”

“Okay, okay she-devil, we’re coming. Just keep those babies in until we get there. And don’t break poor Jesy’s hand.”

Perrie hangs up on him abruptly and with good reason; she’s busy birthing his nieces. Correction; little she-devils. Niall starts moaning then about accidentally having switched his phone to silent earlier. Louis ignores him. He’s in charge now. Liam and Zayn obviously have nothing up their sleeves and Niall’s a yammering mess. Perrie and his little nieces are relying on him to get their daddy to the hospital and he’s not going to let them down. His first act as godfather and esteemed uncle is not going to be letting them down.

Louis knows they can’t call a taxi because it’s a Saturday evening and thus primetime for clubbing. They definitely can’t walk because they wouldn’t be there till sunrise and knowing them, they’d all wander off in different directions anyway to buy greasy food or barf into some bushes. Louis makes a quick, calculated decision which might actually be insane. He wouldn’t even consider it if it weren’t for the little she-devils.

“Give me my phone. Now.”

Liam chucks it at him. He catches it in the hand that’s not holding Niall’s phone and sifts through his contacts at record speed. He hits dial, praying that this super important humanitarian lawyer is not too important to pick up a call from the guy he supposedly likes “very much” on a late Saturday night.

“Hello? Lou? I’ve been waiting for you to call—“

“Harry. Haz. I don’t have time to talk right now because I just need you to get here. I need you to get here like, right now. Please.”

“Why? Where are you? Are you okay?”

Louis’ heart swells but he doesn’t have any time for that kind of affection in an emergency such as this.

“I’m fine but I…need you,” Louis says after a long pause, avoiding the boys’ wolfish grins. “I’m at the Dakota sports bar. You know the one? We’ll meet you out front.”

“Yeah, I know the one but…we?”

“Oh, right. Well ah...it’s not just me. It’s Niall, Liam and Zayn too. My friends. You’ve met Liam. Niall’s daughters are about to be born and we need to get to the hospital now. We’ve been drinking so—“

“I’m coming to get you. But before I go, do you have a jacket?”

Louis looks down at his bare arms. He’s pretty sure he looks decently attractive in his tight red tee and bright blue skinnies that sit low on his hips.

“What? Why?”

Harry huffs his frustration.

“Because it’s cold out and I don’t want you to get sick. Now do you have a jacket or am I going to have to bring you one?”

There’s a pleasant little buzz in Louis’ belly because Harry cares but Louis ignores it in favour of his pride. He’s a grown man, he doesn’t need to be mothered by Harry Styles, of all people.

“Yes, I have a jacket.” He lies.

“Good. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Louis turns to his friends with a smile that’s verging on hysterical.

“Harry’s coming to get us. Let’s wait out front.”

Niall leans on Liam and Zayn as they walk out the front to stand on the curb. Louis turns around to face him. He grips Niall by the shoulders and shakes him a little.

“You’ve got to prepare yourself before we get there, mate because Perrie needs you. So you made a mistake, so what? It’s not the end of the world. Perrie’s had her girls with her the whole time. Let’s face it, she’s probably been nicer to them than she would have been to you. You’re the eejit who got her pregnant with twins in the first place.” Niall cracks a wobbly grin. “But it’s time to step up to the plate now because your family needs you. You gotta shake off those bad vibes, man. Ttell yourself that when this is all over, you’re going to have two gorgeous little babies to take home. Pez is the one doing the hard yards. Pull yourself together lad,” Louis ruffles his hair, “you’re going to make a brilliant father.”

Niall’s eyes well up with tears and he hauls Louis into a surprisingly brutal hug, slapping him over his back.

“Thank fuck you’re here,” he whispers, brushing a kiss over Louis’ cheek.

Louis laughs and squeezes his bicep comfortingly. Harry pulls up at that moment in a sleek black Lamborghini which looks brand spanking new. Louis refuses to be impressed.  Even if his friends do stand there for a minute looking gobsmacked before they get in. Louis jumps in the front seat, obnoxiously calling shotgun.

“Are you having a mid-life crisis Styles or are you just that desperate to impress my friends?”

Harry doesn’t bat an eyelid at his bratty comment. His eyes skate over Louis’ exposed chest and the tight stretch of the denim over his knees. He reaches across and grabs Louis’ forearm, pulling out into the traffic at the same time. His thumb rubs over Louis’ bare skin.

“What is this?”

Louis giggles. Now that the adrenalin coursing through his veins has mellowed, he feels a bit dizzy from all the alcohol.

“That’s an arm, Styles. They come in pairs, see.” Louis chirps, sticking his arms out in front of him while wiggling his bum from side to side.

Harry looks at him out the corner of his eye, eyebrows arched.  

“You weren’t lying about your intoxication.” Louis echoes ‘intoxication’ under his breath and giggles happily. “I meant your bare skin, not your arms as such. You told me you had a jacket. Why would you lie about something as silly as that?”

He looks truly baffled.

“Because he’s stubborn,” Zayn calls out.

“And irrational,” Liam chimes in.

“And you’re ‘Harry freaking Styles,’” Niall mimics him expertly.

Harry chuckles at that. Chuckles! The bastard.

“I see. Well then…” Harry throws an arm around the back of Louis’ chair, his smile swooping up at the side. “I guess I’ll just have to give you mine.”

Louis’ heart threatens to drop out the bottom of his body. He gazes at Harry with the kind of intensity he usually reserves for Nutella donuts and anyone who gets between him and a lemon cheesecake. He doesn’t realise he’s been caught until they’re stopped at a traffic light and Harry leans close to him, whispering “you’re staring” in his ear with a beatific smile.

Louis might be irrationally competitive but Harry can’t get away with this. The man is humming, for god’s sake. Humming! When they reach the hospital, Louis puts a hand to Harry’s thigh to stop him from getting out. Then he scrunches his fingers, digging them into the meaty flesh beneath Harry’s trousers. Harry seizes up immediately. His hands fly to the steering wheel, as if he’s lost control of the car.

“Thank you Harry. Honestly. And you know….the car isn’t all bad.” Harry snorts at that. Except when Louis starts walking his fingers up Harry’s thigh, he gulps. “Because this is the kind of car I’d like to, well…”

Harry covers Louis’ hand on his thigh, catching his wandering fingers.

“Like to what?”

Louis shifts over the console and presses himself up against Harry’s side, resting a hand on his lower belly which tightens beneath his touch. Louis rests his mouth next to Harry’s ear.

“This is the kind of car I’d like to get fucked in.”

Harry whistles out his breath, choking on it slightly. Louis giggles and slips out his door with a swish of his hips. Harry stumbles after him, like Danny after Sandy. Louis starts humming you’re the one that I want underneath his breath.

*-*-*-*-*

“You look like you’re in love.”

Louis wheels around at the quiet intrusion. He’s got a baby cradled to his chest, her feather soft breaths barely disturbing the collar of his shirt or the sides of Harry’s jacket. She’s pale in colour like Niall, except for her cheeks which are a stunning shade of pink. She’s got short, choppy eyelashes and a little button nose that looks like it’s been pressed into her face. She’s gorgeous, all wrapped up in her yellow blanket and sleeping just as soundly as Perrie in the next room, her sister dozing in the neighbouring bassinet. The nurses had to pry them from Niall and Perrie’s limp hands earlier. The happy parents were both slumping over from exhaustion but held on for as long as they could, talking and laughing with their friends and family.

Thanks to Harry, Niall made it just in time to see the first of his daughters crowning. The boys and Harry had waited outside while Perrie’s band stuck with her through the whole of the birth. Perrie just about screamed the whole hospital down and Louis felt like screaming with her, praying that his nieces would make it out okay. He knew that giving birth to twins was much riskier than giving birth to just one child and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from pacing the corridor outside the delivery room. When the screaming reached it’s peak, Louis swayed unsteadily on his feet but Harry was at his side in an instant, cradling him from behind while he gently massaged the dips just above his hips. Louis got so lost in the sensation of Harry’s hands cupping him there that he almost missed it when the nurses called them in.

When they walked in, Louis saw the sheen of sweat marring Perrie’s face and the exhausted tear tracks on her cheeks. He felt a surge of worry rise within him but Harry gripped his hand tight and pulled him towards her bed. That was when he noticed the tiny, pink infants all swaddled up in her lap. He saw their mouths pucker up tightly as they let out a synchronised cry and watched with avid attention as Perrie smiled down at them with a teary, blissed out smile. Louis knew then that it was all worth it; the stress and the screaming, the intolerable pain she must have gone through. It all was all worth it because she was finally holding two lovely babies in her arms and they were all hers. For real. Niall seemed just as overwhelmed, crying into Perrie’s shoulder as he snuck bashful little peaks at his daughter. Louis’ heart swelled watching Niall gently brush his palms over their heads and laying gentle kisses on their foreheads. When Louis covertly glanced at Harry out the corner of his eye, he saw a similarly dopey expression on his face.

“My girls,” Niall had breathed. “My beautiful, little girls.”

Perrie looked like she might float away with euphoria.

“That includes me right?” She laughed.

Niall grinned at her and kissed her achingly slow. Louis stole that opportunity to have his first hold.

Now it’s almost 3 am, everybody else has gone home and the newfound parents are doing their best to get some sleep before their little ones wake again. Louis couldn’t tear himself away though, hard as he tried. He needed to hold his nieces just a little longer before he allowed himself to slip away. He told Harry to go home, that he’d get a taxi home later but the guy refused to leave. He disappeared to get coffee for them both. An hour ago. Now here he is with a surprisingly bushy head of hair and no coffee in sight. Louis crooks an eyebrow at him.

“Where did you get to? I was about to come looking.”

Harry’s smile turns wry. He nods his head at the baby in Louis’ arms.

“I don’t think you could pull yourself away if you tried.”

Louis chuckles quietly.

“You’re probably right.”

“I went to get coffee but there was a huge line so I just took a seat in the lobby and then…” Harry laughs, tilting his head down. Pink streaks across his cheeks like shreds of unnameable colour in an evening sky. He’s beautiful. “I fell asleep.”

Louis shakes his head at him, unwittingly amused.

“Long day then?”

“Four cases, two sessions in court and a whole bunch of paperwork that I couldn’t care less about. Then you call me,” Harry rests his head on one shoulder, his smile soft and almost begrudgingly sweet, “and ask for a favour. How could I say no?”

“You could say no.”

Louis presses his nose to the baby’s forehead, inhaling her intoxicating scent. He rocks her from side to side slowly while she snuffles like a sleepy puppy .

“Right now, I couldn’t say no to you, no matter what you asked me. You look—“ Louis raises his eyes to him and Harry smiles, careful. “You look like the most gorgeous, loving uncle these babies could ever ask for.”

Louis gingerly lays his niece back in her bed and turns to Harry with a lazy curl of his mouth. He opens his arms up wide.

“C’mere Styles.”

Harry doesn’t waste a minute. Nor does he let Louis control the pace of the hug. He instantly swoops him up into his arms, practically lifting Louis off his feet in an attempt to wind his arms tighter around his waist. Louis’ head fits so snugly beneath Harry’s chin and he nuzzles in there, exhaling soft breaths onto Harry’s neck.

“What do you think they should name them?” Harry asks.

Louis turns his head so it’s resting on Harry’s shoulder and squeezes his biceps. Harry twists them from side to side, lulling Louis to sleep.

“I think…” he sighs, “they should name them Harry and Styles.”

Harry’s hushed laughter whooshes past his ear and a hand settles over the back of his head, smoothing his hair down.

“Sleep, duck. You’re delirious.”

“And you’re—you’re—“ Louis scrunches his nose, looking for the words. He can’t find them on the backs of his eyelids. “Harry?”

“Yeah baby?”

“I like you too.”

Harry’s hand tightens on his head. He rubs over the small of Louis’ back, repeating the motion again and again, rocking them rhythmically. It’s as though Harry thinks Louis’ his bloody infant, that he just needs to be persuaded into sleeping. Assshole. Louis rubs his cheek up against his collarbone.

“Louis?”

“Mm.”

“Tell me that again when you’re conscious.”

*-*-*-*-*

There's wild gesturing and scrunched nose glaring. There's flat out shouting and stamping of the feet. If that doesn't say "pissed off customer," Louis doesn't know what does. He's just come from a visit to Perrie's and Niall's and prior to this encounter, he was in an effervescent kind of mood. The smell of babies will do that to a person. If it isn't their smell, it's the tiny corn kernel shape of their closed eyelids or the way their puckered mouths purse up around the tiniest of spit bubbles. Louis changed both the twins for Perrie while he was there. Niall just watched him in slightly rankled awe. Apparently he's had some mixed experiences with changing them. He couldn't even look at the baby wipes without going a putrid shade of green.

They are truly precious, those little girls. Two tiny bundles of joy with perfect pea shaped blue eyes and chubby little arms and legs. They kind of look like miniature body builders. The best news is that Perrie and Niall haven't chosen obscure, outlandish names for them like Louis feared they might. Instead they’ve settled on Rory and Hazel which are still unique but suit their girls right down to a tee.

It's funny that, how Louis had looked down into their bassinets and instantly known which one was Rory and which one was Hazel without having to be told. Rory's just the slightest bit stockier and presses her toes into Louis' hand every time he grabs her little foot. Hazel's the shy observer, studying him from afar with quiet intensity. Her eyes follow him everywhere but when he holds her or tickles her, she just screws up her face at him like he’s personally offended her.

Louis' pretty sure he knows what kind of teenagers they'll be. Rory will be the one who needs bars on her windows and a talking to every other day. She'll fight with her parents constantly and seek refuge at Louis' house whenever they disagree. Of course he'll tell her to give her parents a break and that they only want what's best for her. She'll stamp her feet a bit, maybe remind him that he's not even her real uncle but give in eventually. They always do.

Hazel, now Hazel will be the one sitting up waiting for her sister to come back when she inevitably sneaks out after being grounded. She'll be the one texting Louis every second weekend with the address of the party Rory's drunk at, begging him to go pick her up before she gets herself into some kind of trouble. Hazel will be the one who reads, studies too hard and the one who keeps herself to herself. She'll be the one they have to worry about not having a life at all, as opposed to Rory’s 2000+ Facebook friends.

Louis and Rory will be partners in crime, ganging up on Niall and Perrie wherever possible but Louis and Hazel? They'll be thick as thieves. He’ll have a soft spot for Hazel and defend her self-imposed isolation whenever Niall happens to confess his concern. He’ll know her because just like him, Hazel will struggle with self-esteem. Louis won’t want her to get through what he did, he’ll never want her to feel like she's not good enough. So he'll make a point of ensuring nobody ever questions that. He'll spoil her a bit too much but she'll never actually become spoilt because of her humble upbringing. Whatever. Louis really hasn't thought about their future that much...

The point is, Louis was happy this morning. He was peaceful. Actually he was downright peachy which is rare for him so he took a second to praise the universe. It was the perfect day for it, today being the first of Louis’ forays into serious, career defining journalism. Today is the day Louis interviews Ryan Polenski, the Russian man set to be extradited back to Russia in a matter of three days for the crimes he committed in his home country. He's fighting the extradition order on the basis of his marriage of six years with his young British wife, Mia. According to Mr Polenski, he should be allowed to live out the rest of his life with her in the place he's called home for more than ten years. The Russian government begs to differ. 

Louis actually hasn't landed the interview yet. No one has. It shouldn't be a problem. He's been standing outside the courthouse for two straight hours, just waiting for someone to exit and give them a statement. He's been truly dedicated to the task at hand but no such luck. It’s a minor inconvenience, a slight grievance. Louis was meant to come into this little cafe on the corner, get himself some tea and be on his merry way. He should be back outside the courthouse by now. In fact Mr Polenski and his team have probably already given their statements and left. All the while, Louis' been standing here yelling at this cafe owner who looks about ready to drag Louis out of his establishment by the ear. Louis won't budge. This is dire straits, this is.

"I just don't understand," he huffs, blowing his fringe away from his nose. "How can you not have any Yorkshire? It's Yorkshire! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?" 

Louis waves his hands around a little for emphasis. Mr No Yorkshire scratches at his balding head, holding his pot belly as he rocks back and forth on his heels.

"I'm very sorry Sir. I know your Yorkshire must mean a lot to you." He looks baffled by the concept "But I just cannot help you. We've got English breakfast or coffee. What can I get for you?"

Are those gritted teeth? Those better not be gritted teeth.

"Are you serious?" Louis says through some gritted teeth of his own. "You cannot be serious! What kind of backwards establishment serves coffee but not tea?!"

"We have tea, Sir--"

"Uh uh," Louis shakes his head manically, "English breakfast is not tea. English breakfast is the kind of tea you drink before you discover the Holy Grail that is Yorkshire. In other words, real tea."

Louis spreads his fingers out and wiggles them like jazz hands.

"Sir I'm going to have to ask you to leave...."

"Oh hell no," Louis shakes his head, "I am not leaving without my tea. I cannot get this interview done without it! So you just walk your pudgy behind over to whatever grocery store you have around here and get me my freaking tea!"

The shopkeeper’s eyes narrow to a point and his ruddy cheeks fill with angry colour.

"You know… pint sized men really shouldn't go around yelling at men who are twice their size. You could end up in the garbage disposal if you're not careful."

Louis casts a vicious look towards the heavens. Are you serious?!

"You, Harry Styles, are by the far the biggest arse--" The words die on his lips because when he turns around, he spots Harry's satisfied smirk and the coy tilt of his head. "You're doing this to piss me off. Actually? Are you kidding me?!" 

Harry brings a finger to his lips.

"Shhh, love. When you go all high pitched, you sound like Daffy Duck. And while I can appreciate the irony of that, my little duck..." he stops to wink at Louis, "I'm not sure these other friendly customers can."

Louis looks around him and sure enough there's enough people glaring at him that he feels threatened by their standoffishness. The shopkeeper raises his eyes above Louis' head and tilts his head in his customers' direction. 

"Can you get him out of here please? He's driving away my paying customers." 

As though Louis belongs to Harry! As if he’s a kept wife. Louis huffs angrily. 

"You don't even have Yorkshire." He mutters. "How many paying customers could you possibly have?"

Harry jabs him in the side while the shopkeeper’s cheeks quiver with discernible rage. It looks for a moment like he might actually pick Louis up and throw him out himself. Louis pushes up on his toes, an angry outburst building in his throat. Luckily for the shopkeeper (but not for Louis), Harry grips him tight by the waist and steers him toward the door.

"We were just leaving. Have a lovely day!"

"Arseh--"

Harry smothers the rest of Louis' shout with his palm and forces him out the door, one arm wrapped securely around his waist. Louis will deny it to his dying day if anyone ever asks but Harry has the kind of arm you want snaked around you all the damn time. Louis' muscles relax and he snuggles back against him just a smidgeon, fitting his head beneath Harry's chin. 

"You can't just go around calling people arseholes because they don't have your precious tea!"

Harry let’s go of his hold on Louis’ mouth and drags him under the awning of a neighbouring shop so. Louis trills a laugh.

"I wasn't going to call him an arsehole Harry."

"You weren't?"

He looks unconvinced. Louis takes a moment to appreciate the shape of Harry’s body beneath his thick navy suit and pressed shirt. The shirt is a patterned red thing that should by all rights look awful with the rest of his formal ensemble. Somehow he just manages to look like a man who wins; a man who takes control and never rescinds it and by god, does he look like a man whose pants you want to get into. The red does wonders for his pale complexion and the muted green of his eyes. To top it all off, there’s a matching red head scarf tying his long locks back which is something Louis never thought he’d see. It's just another side of Harry that Louis’ never, ever seen; the distinguished lawyer with a penchant for pretty headscarves.

"No, I wasn't..." There's a quirk in Louis’ smile now. "I was going to call him an arsehat. You have to be more creative than that, Styles."

Louis draws out his last name with a devilish smirk and a cocked hip. Harry flares his nostrils.

"You’re terminally insane."

Louis shrugs, a playful smile sitting pretty on the curve of his mouth.

"Perhaps. Speaking of..." he reaches up and adjusts Harry's head scarf so that a few curls slip out from underneath. "I didn't know lawyers wore hair accessories to work. Maybe next time you should try a pink bow?"

Harry doesn't seem too perturbed. He rolls his eyes and touches Louis' hair in return, running his fingers through the softer strands at the front. 

"Well..." he lowers his eyes to Louis’ with a smirk of his own, "there's a boy."

"A boy?" 

"Yes, a boy," Harry nods at him, still combing his fingers though the front of Louis' hair. "He has an issue with my use of bows. But baby, I think you'd look quite good with a little pink bow right...here."

He touches his thumb to the side of Louis' scalp and Louis knows that he's just doing it to rile him up. Unfortunately, it’s working. Louis’ breath hitches and he throws his arms around Harry's waist, nuzzling into his chest. Harry lets out a surprised grunt but wraps his arms around him anyway, tucking Louis under his chin like before. 

"Hey, what's wrong? You can tell me. Are the babies okay? Is it me? Did I--"

"It's not you," Louis mumbles into his chest. "The babies are fine. Brilliant actually. It's...it's my job. And the tea. I need the tea to do my job."

Harry pulls back to look at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"Excuse me? That--that tantrum in there was about your job?"

"Yes!" Louis insists. "I'm supposed to be getting an interview with Mr Polenski right now but there's a million reporters out there and even if I do get an interview, who’s to say I'm not going to stuff it up? I'm...I've never done this before. What if I suck?" 

Harry chuckles lightly and tries to grab at Louis' hands. Louis pushes him away.

"It's not funny! Just because you're some hotshot lawyer, doesn't give you the right to make fun of me. This is important to me."

"I know.”

Louis snorts in disbelief but Harry reaches for him a second time and this time Louis lets him. Only because Harry’s wearing these big gaudy rings which they feel nice and cool against Louis' fingers. The feeling soothes him. Or something.

"Hey, I know. I do. And I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing because for once, I'm actually going to say the words you need to hear. You don't suck, Lou and you won't mess it up, I promise. You’re better than all of those millions of reporters waiting out there. You know why?"

"Why?" Louis grumbles, feigning disinterest.

Harry sees right through him. His smile widens. He rubs his thumbs over Louis' knuckles.

"Because you're humble, kind and good. People like Mr Polenski usually say no to interviews because journalists treat them like just another story, like they’re just another headline. But you'll treat Mr Polenski like an actual person. Like he matters. I know you will. That's the kind of journalist you are. That’s the kind of person you are."

Louis' cheeks feel hot and his heart is hammering inside his chest. Where does Harry Styles get off making him feel like a twelve year old girl with a raging crush? 

"Thank you," he says quietly. Harry squeezes his hands. "But what if I can't even get the interview? What if I'm not pushy enough? What if--"

"I can help. I'm Mr Polenski's lawyer."

Louis' mouth falls open. His hands go limp in Harry's who smiles at him sheepishly, his cheeks getting pinker by the second. 

"Unless....you don't want me to help...because…you find that offensive? You think I'm implying you can't do it without me? I'm not. Duck, please. Christ, why do I always do this? All I want is to charm you and all you ever see is this ignorant idiot with absolutely no hope of impressing you.”

"Harry," Louis grips his biceps and squeezes, which has the effect of making Harry pink up further. "I'm not charmed by you. At all. You're not my Prince Charming, love.” Harry’s expression falls, despite his attempts to contain it. “You’re not my Prince Charming because you're my knight in shining armour. You're willing to go into battle for me and that's...that’s heroic. And hot," Louis winks at him. Harry splutters. "That's all I've wanted from you really, a proper partner in crime. You're offering me the first interview with the biggest criminal case in Great Britain. What can I say? You’re making all my dreams come true."

"Not just the first. An exclusive. Yours will be the only interview.”

Harry’s eyes sparkle like diamonds in riverbed but Louis baulks.

"But Haz, I'm not--I'm not ready. What if I--oh dear god, I need tea!"

"There's a tea stand just down there," Harry gently turns him to the left and points down the street, "it sells Yorkshire. You'll be fine. I have to go now but I'll see you in there. Oh and Lou?"

Louis turns back to him. Harry’s blushing fiery red again but there's a brilliant smile on his face.

"I really do think you'd look lovely with a little pink bow. Wearing a little pink bow and..." His throat bobs obscenely. His eyes rake over Louis' curvy figure. "And nothing else."

He turns on his heel then and immediately crosses to the other side of the street. Louis watches after him, waiting for all the blood that's just migrated down south to migrate back up to his brain. He can't do his first proper interview with an empty head and a painful stiffy. Harry Styles is the world's biggest menace. 

*_*_*_*_*

So. Louis has eyes. Objectively, it’s a fact that Harry has known for quite some time. But it's not really so much that Louis has eyes, as much as it is that Louis has eyes. Harry also registered, in some distant corner of his brain, that Louis has nice eyes. It just never occurred to him that Louis has the kind of exceptionally nice eyes that you can't look away from, not without regret anyway. Louis has the kind of distractingly blue eyes that make heads turn. They're this unnameable blue colour that kind of looks cobalt in the dark and almost certainly sapphire in the sunlight. As strange as it sounds, Harry has never really been drawn in by people's eyes before. He's never really believed that saying that you can get a glimpse of a person’s soul by looking into their eyes. Xander had nice eyes. Unremarkable, but nice. They just weren't little wells of sunshine like Louis' are. So. Louis has extremely nice eyes and Harry is distracted, embarrassingly so. 

"Mr Styles?” Louis lowers his voice to an insistent hiss. “Harry!"

Which is when Harry's brain fog dissipates some and he realises he's in the middle of an interview with his most high profile client and the man he's so completely strung out over. One minute he was present and the next he was falling headfirst into Louis' eyes. Louis is now looking at him like he's grown an extra head.

"Umm...sorry, what was the question?" 

Louis rolls his perfect eyes but an indulgent smile briefly flits across his expression.

"I was asking if you think love is more important than upholding the law? You're in a unique position to answer the question, after all."

"I--" Louis runs his little hands over his thighs while he awaiting Harry's answer. It doesn't help things because now Harry's looking at Louis’ legs. His wrists. His peanut shaped ears. And then back to the enchantment of his eyes. Harry coughs. Loudly. "I, um--well I think upholding the law is very important, obviously. But my client here is not a murderer. He's a man who made a mistake and did his best to move on. He met a wonderful woman who inspired him to do great things. Is that a crime? No."

Louis' face scrunches into a squinted smile and he turns to the camera.

"So there we have it...a scintillating answer to a scintillating question. I'm Louis Tomlinson, back to you Paul."

The cameraman shoots a thumbs up when they're done. Louis squeals. Loudly. It should be annoying. It’s just really cute. Harry's making himself sick.

"I did it! Harry! I did it, I did it, I did it."

Harry leans back in his chair and smiles at him deeply.

"Yeah babe, you did."

"Babe?" Louis echoes, with a dazzling smile, "don't call me babe."

"You're smiling."

Louis presses his lips together, hard. Christ, he’s such a vixen.

"Am not."

"Yeah babe, you are." 

Louis' lips burst open and he giggles noisily. Adorably, he claps a hand over his mouth halfway through, eyes wide. Harry bursts into laughter, only spurred on by Louis' grumpy little pout. Louis gets up to leave but Harry wraps his arms around his waist and yanks him back down into his lap. He’s not allowed to walk away when he’s being that maddeningly cute.

"Harry! What are you doing?"

Harry digs his fingers into Louis' sides and watches in delight as Louis wriggles around, squealing. His head tips back onto Harry’s shoulder and he looks up at him with crinkly eyed joy, still gasping. Harry feels overwhelmed by affection. He leans over Louis and kisses the most ticklish spot on the side of his neck. This time, Louis goes completely still. His breathing stops and he stares at Harry, all doe-like and confused. Harry can sense that self-doubt creeping back, as though Louis' confused as to why Harry would show him such affection.

"I could kiss this neck all day…every day, if you’d let me.”

Louis gulps.

"I--"

Harry kisses the tip of his nose. Louis' eyes slide shut.

"I'll let you think on it." 

Harry slides out from underneath Louis and leaves the room while he still can. Before he steals a proper kiss. Before he ruins this thing between them before it's even started. 

*_*_*_*_*

Louis' thighs are wrapped around his head and Harry's tongue is fucking him deep, simulating the kind of fucking he's going to give Louis with his cock once he's nicely stretched. Louis’ legs constrict around his head every time that Harry licks into his opening and it’s driving Harry mad. He loves it. He lathes over Louis' walls with the kind of raw hunger that has Louis arching up into every soul destroying lick, shuddering with every squeeze of his tiny waist. Louis tastes like sweet and sour mixed together. He's warm and wet from Harry's devilish tongue and Harry's never been so turned on in his life. This man has transitioned from a mouthy brat into a whimpering mess quicker than Louis would ever be likely to admit. He whimpers again now and locks his thighs so tight around Harry's face that Harry can no longer raise his head. Not that he’d want to. He's trapped there, buried tongue-first in Louis Tomlinson’s arse. There's no place he'd rather be.

"Love this arse. Love you," Harry growls, rutting down into the bed.

Louis screams and starts rolling his hips up and over Harry's face, forcing his tongue deeper. Harry takes a second to admire his stretched out hole, all flushed and wet with Harry’s saliva.

Louis sits up, bending over the place where they're joined so he can bury his fingers in Harry's curls and pull tightly. He pulls him as close as humanly possible, screeching Harry’s name as he comes. Harry ruts into the bed even more desperately than before, panting at the pornworthy sight of Louis splattered with his own come. The head of Harry’s dick catches on the seam of his pants and he comes. Just like that. It’s the best orgasm he’s ever had.

Harry wakes with a start and finds himself still rutting wildly against the bed sheets. His pants are soaked, as are the sheets but he's alone with no Louis in sight. Unfortunately Harry’s mouth does not taste like the inside of Louis' arse. Much more unfortunate than that, however, is the fact that Harry’s a grown man who’s still having wet dreams. He's so attracted to Louis, he can't even make it through the nights without thinking about him anymore. It's ridiculous.

Harry's phone goes off beside him and he snaps it up. For some foolish reason, he's expecting Louis.

"Hello."

He sounds sluggish and fucked out. 

"Harry? Are you okay?"

"Mum!" Shit shit shit. He just had a wet dream about Louis and now he has to talk to his mother, of all people. His pants haven't yet dried and his dick is still at half mast, clearly disheartened by the lack of real arse licking going on. "Can I call you back? I've just got to ah--clean up."

"Have you got someone there darling? Is it Louis? I knew you would change your mind!"

The woman can never know how right she was to point him in Louis' direction.

"No! I haven't got someone here but I'm kind of busy and I'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't call at the arse crack of dawn. You know I work crazy hours."

Did he really just say…arse crack of dawn?

"Harry, there's no need for that kind of language. All I wanted was to let you know that Louis' mother mentioned it's his birthday tomorrow. Anyway he isn't going home to see her. Apparently they have a strained relationship, did you know?"

"It can't be his birthday tomorrow," Harry scratches at his chin, annoyed. "He would have told me."

"Would he? So you’re dating?"

"No! He just--he would have told me."

His mother laughs.

"Stop feeling so rejected and stop your pouting." He’s not pouting. Or feeling rejected. Not at all. "Apparently he thinks his thirties are the kiss of death."

Harry rolls his eyes. Typical Louis.

"Oh please. He's thirty two, not eighty two. The man is a complete drama queen."

"His mother agrees with you."

Harry growls lowly.

"That woman is not allowed to say anything about him, you hear me? I don't care if she's his mother. If she so much as teases him--"

"I’m sorry Harry Edward, but I do not believe that the two of you are not dating. Either way, think about a present, hmm? Perhaps a lovely card?"

"Goodbye mum."

"Bye dear! And remember, be safe!"

Harry throws the phone to the foot of his bed.

"Gross," he says, shuddering violently, “my mother is gross.”

He looks down at his soaked underwear.

"But the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

*_*_*_*_*

The soup is blue and there’s no escaping the fact that the soup is blue. He thought this would be okay. Louis foolishly thought that he wasn’t that mentally challenged when it came to cooking. Apparently he was wrong. Now he has a saucepan full of blue soup (apparently you shouldn’t use blue string to tie your ingredients together) and a pale green apron that’s covered in liquefied vegetables (apparently, it helps to keep the lid on the food processor when you use it). Louis has to feed those savage animals he calls friends and all he’s got to feed them is an off putting, discoloured soup. The sludge that was supposed to flavour the soup is all over his apron and now he somehow has to find time to have another shower and get changed before they get here.

This is why a person should never turn thirty three. When you do, unfortunate things like this happen. Or maybe it’s just the celebrating that’s the problem. Louis begrudgingly consented to a quiet dinner, hosted by himself at his own flat. There would be no night on the town or embarrassing surprise party this year. Louis’ a proper grown up now and as such he thought it was about time he celebrated his birthday like a dignified adult. Not that he has much dignity left, after everything that’s happened to him this year. Thank god it’s almost over.

He thought about inviting Harry. Harry would probably say yes and perhaps Louis would actually find the courage to tell the man how he feels. It’s just that….Louis’ intimidated, okay? Harry isn’t just an attractive, successful lawyer who happened to take interest in Louis. He’s the boy who comforted him through his fear of thunderstorms and the one who recognised his self-esteem issues at an age when they should have been wrestling each other to the ground or battling it out on their favourite video games. Of course, they did those things too but there was always something different about the way they interacted with each other, even then. They were intimate and touchy-feely, as if their bodies knew the extent of their connection long before their minds did. Harry’s not just any boy. He’s Prince Charming. Sort of. He’s Prince Charming with horrid manners. Louis’ sure that Harry didn’t want to have feelings for him, he didn’t want to be with someone like Louis. Not at first. So it’s a big undertaking to trust him, and more than that, for Louis to trust himself. How can he be sure that this isn’t just another misstep with another guy that’s going to break his heart right when he starts to feel something real?

He didn’t invite Harry. Better Louis be left to figure out his own head before he talks to him. Harry makes him nervous, flustered and hile most half decent looking men tend to have that effect on Louis, it’s never been this potent. Harry is quick witted and full of dirty little surprises and Louis’ just started to discover them all. The constant contrast between the admirable, proud man that Louis has just recently met and the soft boy he once knew is dizzying. Louis’ almost afraid of how much better it could get, of how much he could want Harry. He’s afraid that once he knows all of Harry, he won’t survive losing him.

It’s different this time. There’s not a distinct feeling of dread in his gut preceding the usual heartbreak. The doubt…it’s less crippling. Perhaps, because Harry has this trustworthy quality, this admirable sense of honour that makes him more of a man in Louis’ eyes than anyone Louis has ever dated. But. He slept with Nick’s fiancé. It doesn’t make any sense in Louis’ mind but those are the facts. If Harry’s capable of that kind of betrayal, he’s capable of hurting Louis. He’s capable of leaving him.

The doorbell interrupts his deeper, darker thoughts. Louis makes quick work of the journey, somewhat desperate for a distraction. He regrets that thought the minute he opens the door. Because it’s Harry standing there with his heart in his eyes and his hands in his pockets, shuffling from foot to foot. He’s draped in a navy trench coat, his shiny curls framing his heart shaped face. There’s a stunning Burgundy scarf tied around his neck and He looks like a Burberry model. Only with much brighter eyes, softer features and longer legs.

The minute Harry sees Louis, his expression shifts from earnest to amused. He laughs into his closed fist, his eyes tracking up and down over Louis’ dishevelled features. Fuck this. Louis is absolutely mortified. He might be interested in impressing this guy and here Harry is laughing at the processed carrot dripping from his glasses.

“Are you okay?” Harry guffaws. “It looks like a vegetable garden threw up on you. And you’re—you’re wearing an apron.”

Louis bangs his head against the doorframe and wraps his arms around himself protectively. He knows his cheeks are aflame and that he probably looks like he’s just about to cry but he just might. Objectively, he knows that if it were anyone else but him in this position, he’d be on the floor. He hates cooking though and even more so, he hates the way Harry’s looking at him right now.  As if he’s a weird attraction at the art museum. Maybe he just hates that Harry gives him more looks like this than he does admiring ones. Louis doesn’t want to feel like he only exists for somebody’s entertainment. Not anymore. He can draw a laugh from somebody easily enough but it’s the shallowest trick in the book. Anybody can do that. He wants to make people feel warm inside. He wants them to smile at him because he’s brilliant and worthy, not because he’s some kind of universal disaster that they feel sorry for.

“Hey,” Harry says, lowering himself to Louis’ level. “Hey. Yes, you’re wearing an apron and yeah, you look—ridiculous,” he chuckles, “but I still…”

He pauses to carefully lift Louis’ head away from the frame, cradling his cheeks gently. Louis blushes, even more fervently. Harry leans forward, brushing their noses together tenderly. His eyes go cross eyed with concentration but don’t stray from Louis’. Louis can feel Harry’s breath on his bottom lip, their chins resting against each other, as if they were shaped just for that.

“You’re ridiculous,” Harry repeats, voice husky, “but I still…” he looks frustrated, as if the words won’t come quick enough when Louis’ this close. “I still think you’re lovely. You, Louis—you’re so unfair.”

He strokes Louis’ cheek with his thumb and it’s making Louis’ heart ache. It’s barely a touch at all but Louis’ shaking. His hand comes up to grasp the back of Harry’s head of its own volition. He pulls on Harry’s curls to bring him closer but there’s no more ‘closer’ to bring.

“Why are you here?”

Harry wipes a stray bit of carrot from the corner of his mouth and Louis’ breath stops. Harry leaves his thumb there, as if he wants to keep Louis in a perpetual state of inner chaos. It’s as though he’s trying to kill Louis, one touch at time because he brushes his nose over Louis’ cheek, inhaling like his skin smells of anything except vegetable mush. It makes Louis shiver anyway. He gets a good handful of Harry’s hair, winding it around his fingers, just so that he can feel like he has some semblance of control.

“I wanted to say congratulations on the interview. You’re front page news.”

Louis received several texts this morning from family and friends but hearing it from Harry is something else. Louis’ not just an awkward press agent with poor public speaking skills anymore. He’s a proper, up and coming journalist.

“I can’t believe it. It’s incredible.“

“I also wanted to say happy birthday.” Harry’s hand roams down his neck, his thumb lightly circling Louis’ Adam’s apple. He keeps moving until he reaches Louis’ waist, where his hand wraps around Louis’ body like it’s coming back home. As if Harry’s fingers actually missed touching him there. “Happy birthday Lou.”

His mouth closes over Louis’ and Louis whimpers softly, his throat jumping. He’s always dreamed he’d meet someone who just knows how he likes to be kissed but he’d long convinced himself it wasn’t possible. No one knows things like that before the big event. You have the awkward near misses and the almost perfect kisses which leave you wanting more but you don’t actually have perfect kisses. Harry’s kiss, their first kiss, is everything Louis has ever wanted. It’s comparable to the way rain melts across a window pane, turning the world blurry, smudging colours together and leaving nothing but haziness in its place.

Harry wraps an arm around his waist and hauls Louis up against himself. He uses his grip on Louis’ cheek and the arm around his waist to press him back against the door frame. It’s so gentle and yet possessive, soft but dizzying. Their mouths don’t open completely, their tongues never meet but Louis can feel his heartbeat in every square inch of his body. He pulls on Harry’s hair, encouraging him, not even the least bit embarrassed of the way he’s shaking from head to toe. He feels like Harry is undressing him with his lips and the wide span of his hands. It feels as though they’re naked, arching against each other mid-orgasm, moving in some kind of syncopated rhythm. Harry kissing him is the equivalent of any other man being inside of him. It’s the kind of kiss that stops the world from turning. They stop for breath but Louis’ head is still spinning. Harry’s forehead rests against his and his lips part in a wide, breathtaking smile.

“I have a present for you.”

He presses a short kiss to Louis’ lips, watching his expression as if it gives away all of his unspoken emotion. Harry kisses him again. It’s just as careful as the last but this time his fingers scrunch around Louis’ cardigan, giving away a hint of his desperation. His hand covers the span of Louis’ back when he pulls away, keeping them close.

“About that,” Louis narrows his eyes, grabbing onto Harry’s collar and tugging meaningfully. “Who told you?”

Harry chuckles.

“A little birdie might have mentioned to my mother that you’re turning thirty three today.”

Louis scoffs.

“And would that little birdie happen to be my mother? Did she also tell you to get me a present?”

Harry’s hand drifts a little lower, his fingertips edging below Louis’ trousers to graze his warm skin. Louis pulls on Harry’s collar again, inching back into the curve of his hand.

“Yes. And no, that was my mother. I wanted to get you something though.”

Louis smiles into his neck. He tugs on Harry’s hand to drag him into the flat and pushes him down onto the couch.

“What’d you get me?”

Harry throws his head back and laughs at Louis’ poor attempt at hiding his eagerness.

“Close your eyes.”

Louis sends him a challenging look which makes Harry sigh and shake his head.

“Will you ever stop being stubborn for no apparent reason?”

Louis sighs himself.

“If I close my eyes, you have to promise me that you won’t put a spider in my hand. I hate spiders.”

Harry frowns at him, confused.

“Did someone do that to you?”

“At college,” Louis nods. “Apparently that’s a funny prank to pull on your best friend.”

Harry gathers Louis’ puffed out cheeks in his hands, tilting his head with a sympathetic pout.

“Baby… that’s hilarious.”

Louis swats him away. Bastard. That bastard.

“I wish you’d stop with that ‘baby’ crap.”

Harry grins at him, pointing at the flush of colour in his cheeks.

“No you don’t. You really don’t.”

Louis pushes him away.

“Oh shut up.”

Harry cackles delightedly.

“Do you want your present now?”

Louis closes his eyes and holds out his hand with practised impatience.

“It better be good.”

“Oh it’s good.”

Instead of putting whatever it is into his hand, Harry ties it around his neck and secures it in place with quick fingers. He touches his lips to Louis’ once, twice and then a third time, just for good measure.

“If you keep your eyes closed, we could just do this all night. You’re much nicer when you’re being kissed. Not to mention that you can’t glare at me with those bratty eyes of yours.”

Louis snorts.

“How can a person have bratty eyes? They can’t. Oh and I can’t just let you kiss me all night, I have friends coming over.”

Harry cups his chin and pulls their mouths together. He stops just as Louis lets out a plaintive little whimper.

“You are a brat with bratty little eyes. Now open them.”

Louis’ eyes flash open. He glares at Harry.

“I hate you.”

Harry’s mouth twists happily.

“Does this help?”

He pulls the long necklace out from under Louis’ top. It’s a thin silver chain with some kind of charm attached to the middle. Harry holds it up for him to see.

“Is that a—“

“Duck. Or duckling, rather. It’s too small to be a proper duck,” Harry says with a wink.

Arsehole. Or…not. This might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for him. It’s a simple gesture but this is Harry, the man who found ways to make him feel terrible about himself even when he wasn’t trying. This is…this is the kind of thing that makes you want to climb into a man’s lap and squeeze him. So Louis does. Harry’s hand floats down over the spread of his arse, gripping him there as Louis gets comfortable.

“Are you really touching my arse right now?”

Harry squeezes him, smirking at Louis’ involuntary whimper.

“Are you really complaining?”

Louis rests his head on Harry’s collar bone. Harry’s hand settles over his hair.

“You did get me a duckling. I’m not the duckling though. If anything….you’re the duckling.”

Harry’s chest vibrates under Louis.

“Why am I the duckling?”

“Because you have big lips. And most likely, webbed feet.”

“I am never going to try and woo you again,” Harry murmurs. “You’re not worth it, Tomlinson.”

That comment should bother him but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s the hand groping over his arse or more likely, the one tenderly stroking over his hair. It could be the way Harry’s heart is pounding beneath him. Whatever it is, Louis is more than convinced. Harry is all in.

“Really?” Louis’ lazy smile curls against Harry’s skin. “This is wooing? Because I thought you were trying to woo me when you called me obnoxious…or how about when you said I was difficult to compliment? Or, I know... when you said—“

“Enough!” Harry shouts, covering his mouth. He’s chuckling as he rolls them over so that Louis’ beneath him. “That’s enough from you and your very smart mouth.”

Louis starts giggling into his palm. Harry shakes his head but let’s go of his hold on Louis’ mouth anyway, burying his hands in Louis’ hair instead. He straddles Louis’ waist, shaking his head, doing his best attempt to look annoyed. He just looks completely taken with him, really.

“You are so much more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Mmm,” Louis hums happily, disbelievingly, “and you’re a privileged prat with an ego the size of Uranus.”

Harry cracks an eyebrow.

“I think you mean uransus baby, not mine.”

Louis’ mouth drops open, offended.

“Take it back!” He cries out.

“Nope.”

Harry’s grin overtakes his features completely. He looks like an unfairly fuckable cherub. Louis slaps him around the head.

“Take it back.”

Harry takes his arms and twists them behind his back.

“No! Quit slapping me!”

Louis growls, wriggling around on the couch to try and get free. It’s no use. Harry’s got him pinned.

“Harry Styles, if you don’t let me go right now—“

Harry raises his eyebrows in a challenge. As though he thinks Louis doesn’t have anything up his sleeve. Oh, Louis does. He grabs Harry’s hand and wrenches it down beneath him to cup his arse.

“Feel that? You think I have a big arse? Maybe I do.” He raises his eyebrows imperiously. “But I like my arse, Harry Styles and something tells me you might like it too so if you want the chance to feel it again, you might want to take that back.”

Harry hangs his head in defeat, squeezing Louis’ bum hard. Louis ignores the stirring in his groin and the temptation to spread his leads.

“I take it back. But you can’t use your bum against me! That’s not fair. It would be lonely without my hands.”

Louis shrugs, overplaying his flippant attitude.

“It would find other hands.”

Louis gasps when Harry shoves another hand beneath him and squeezes his arse tight in both hands. He digs his fingers in to the scratchy denim, drawing a high whimper from Louis’ lips. Louis yanks him down into a much more heated kiss, moaning loudly whenever their clothed dicks rub together. He’s just about to open his mouth up for Harry when they’re rudely interrupted.

“Well isn’t this a fucking sight! Should we come back when Tommo’s finished screaming?”

Zayn claps Niall on the shoulder and turns to Harry with a smirk.

“He really does scream.”

Louis groans and shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Are you guys serious right now?”

“Maybe we should go…” Liam suggests, in a very obvious whisper.

“Don’t go. Please.”

Harry pulls Louis up into a sitting position and smiles at him in a way that spurns millions of butterflies inside his stomach. Stupid friends.

“I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

He lightly skims his lips over Louis’ forehead, then smooches his nose. Finally he rests his mouth over Louis’, a helpless smile bending his lips. Louis arches his body up into him and kisses him for a heated moment. They break away with dual smiles.

“Yeah.”

The room is completely silent but everyone is watching them with dopey expressions. Louis rolls his eyes. Harry gets up to leave but all three of Louis’ mates look at him like he’s just shot somebody and asked them to bury the body. They start nodding their heads in Harry’s direction like a bunch of demented chickens.

“Stay.” Louis shouts. It’s awkward and off key but Harry stills anyway, glancing down at the little hand that’s wrapped itself around his wrist. “Please. “

Louis reaches down to finger the duckling around his neck and Harry’s face softens. He pulls Louis up off the couch by the biceps and kisses him again, squeezing his arms tight. It’s wildly sexy.

“Yes. I’d love to.” Harry pulls away with a grin, “but you are not making your own birthday dinner.”

Louis crosses his arms.

“Just because it’s my birthday, doesn’t mean it’s a crime for me to cook. Don’t tell me you’ve never hosted your own birthday dinner?”

Harry chuckles.

“It’s not a crime for you to cook on your birthday, love. It’s just a crime for you to cook. Ever.”

Louis stalks off into the kitchen, ignoring his friends’ sniggers behind him. Betrayal. Betrayal is what it is. Harry runs after him. He presses Louis up against the kitchen bench with his hips, grabbing Louis’ wrists to stop him from hitting out.

“This is how we are. You get that right?” He lowers his head to Louis’ height. “We’re not Romeo and Juliet.”

“Well obviously…” Louis mutters, rolling his eyes. “We’re two guys.”

“Shhh,” Harry grabs him by the hips, “can you shut up for five seconds, please?”

Louis crosses his arms but concedes.

“As I was saying…” he eyes Louis meaningfully. “We’re not that kind of story. We don’t like each other—“

“You don’t like me? Well great. That’s just great, Harry becau—“

Harry cuts him off with his lips this time, arching his mouth over Louis’ and teasing him with the flicker of his tongue. Louis parts his lips, hungry for it but Harry pulls back with a smirk. Bastard.

“Shut. Up.” Harry enunciates. “I don’t like you. And you don’t like me. We drive each other crazy. Completely mad. I snap at you and you snap back. I tease you and you deny me my god given right to cop a feel of your arse. It’s insane…but it’s how this works. That’s why when we touch…” He rubs his thumb around the bottom of Louis’ rib cage and it feels like warmth. Louis’ eyelashes flutter and his breath comes out like a purr. “It feels like that. I don’t like you but…”

Harry trails off. Louis’ eyes twinkle and his mouth slowly forms a smile because maybe he gets it. Maybe this is what they are.

“You don’t like me in theory, but when it comes to this—“ He traps Harry’s hand against his ribs. “you don’t remember why.”

“Touching you, being around you….seeing that smile,” Harry drags his knuckles down over Louis’ cheekbone, “it’s like hearing a secret you didn’t realise you were keeping.”

“I—let’s cook.” Louis decides on.

He’s not sure he’s capable of saying anything else. Not with Harry looking at him like he’s some kind of solar flare.

“You won’t be cooking anything.”

Louis resigns himself to his fate and jumps up on the bench.

“Well?” Louis nudges him with his foot because Harry’s still watching him. “Do your thing. Save the day.”

Harry looks down at the congealed blue sludge with a shudder.

“Do you think if I can salvage this, your friends might be impressed with me?”

Louis swallows painfully.

“You want to impress them? Really?”

Harry looks up at him like he’s deranged.

“They’re your friends, aren’t they? They saw you through the whole Nick debacle. I can’t imagine they’d be okay with you getting hurt again. Neither am I, obviously but I’d like to reassure them. If I date you—“

“Hang on, if you date me?"

Harry turns back from where he’s pouring Louis’ mess down the drain.

“Yes, if I date you. I don’t want you to do this just because I gave you a necklace and kissed you the way you like it.”

Louis is indignant.

“How do you know that’s the way I like it?”

Harry looks thrilled to be asked. His eyes go a little hazy and he rests his hip against the counter.

“Because you whine into my mouth and press up against me, so needy. It’s pretty convincing. Plus you do this thing where you grab at whatever you can to ground yourself; my hair, my clothes. You just kept grabbing me.”

Louis covers his face with his hands.

“That is so embarrassing.”

Harry crosses the room and pulls his hands away, tucking them into his own chest.

“It’s really not. It’s lovely and…hot. Really hot, in fact.”

Louis smiles a little hesitantly.

“You don’t mind the noise? Or my…grabbing?”

“I want to hear you make those noises in my bed.” Harry says, no pussyfooting around. “And when you grab me, I feel like you need me to kiss you or you’ll just—perish. It’s ridiculous and dramatic but it’s true.”

“Okay,” Louis smiles shyly down into his lap, threading his cardigan through his fingers, “you can go back to saving my arse now.”

“Okay,” Harry says with a chuckle and kisses the side of his forehead. “Glad we settled that. But I mean it, you know. Take some time to think about this whole dating thing. Take tonight. I’m in this. It’s been difficult to admit that but now I have, I need to know for sure that you’re in this the way I am. Because if you’re not….well I’d just like to know, is all.”

Louis nods his head but doesn’t say anything. He won’t. Not yet. At the end of the night, he’s going to ask Harry out on a proper date. For now, he’s just going to enjoy the fact that he’s got a devilishly handsome man stood in his kitchen, making him dinner.

*-*-*-*-*

"And the last course...white chocolate mousse with raspberry coulis."

Louis narrows his eyes at Harry.

"You are such a pretentious twat, you know that? How did you even find the ingredients for this in my kitchen?"

Harry sits down beside him, shuffling his chair over so that their legs touch. His hand reclaims its spot on Louis' thigh and he squeezes.

"I didn't. I popped down to the shop while you were telling all those stories about your many, many cooking disasters."

Louis pouts at him.

"There weren't that many."

"There were," his friends chorus back.

Harry's grin stretches his cheeks wide.  He grabs Louis' hand out of his lap and pulls it over to his own leg, locking their fingers together. Louis nudges Harry’s foot and drops his head, blinking his eyes coquettishly.

"Ah, young love."

Louis glares at Niall.

"I'm thirty three."

Niall smirks at him.

"Yeah, but you blush like you're twelve."

Louis' cheeks heat up even worse.

"I do not!"

Harry's hand grips the side of his neck, his fingers stretching over the expanse of Louis' throat. He turns Louis' head his way and skims the backs of his fingers over Louis' flaming cheek.

"It's my favourite colour on you." He says, quite sincerely. "All pretty in pink."

Louis stomach trips a little. He leans closer to Harry, silently begging for a kiss. Harry's lips turn up at the obvious invitation but a knock on the door interrupts them. Louis whines and gets up from the table, winding his way around through the kitchen and around the living area to the door. This time when he opens it, it's not mortification that he feels but annoyance and regret. He shouldn't have opened the damn door.

"Nick."

His former boyfriend/boss is standing there with a fancy bottle of red and a sheepish grin on his face. As if it's somewhat normal for the adulterous ex to turn up on his ex-boyfriend’s doorstep.

"Can I come in?"

Louis can't believe it. He stutters out a reply.

"W-well we're just in the middle of dessert at the minute."

Grow some balls Tomlinson. Tell him where to go.

"Louis," Nick takes a step closer, pressing himself into Louis' space, "I need you."

Louis laughs hollowly.

"Oh really? And what about Greg?"

Nick hangs his head.

"Dumped me when he realised I wasn't over you. Lou, I've missed you. Please."

He looks a bit cut up and maybe even a bit paler than the last time Louis saw him. There's a few shadows around his eyes and a kind of meekness to his expression that wasn’t there before. He looks vulnerable. Louis leans in closer just to inspect his expression. Nick takes it the wrong way, his eyes quickly flickering down to the curve of Louis' mouth. He leans in at the same time that a heavy set of footsteps approaches from behind.

"Duck, what are you--"

Harry's speech cuts off in a puff of surprise. Louis turns back to him with swollen vocal cords and a heartfelt plea in his eyes. Harry looks as though he doesn't know what to think, he doesn't know whether that kiss would have happened if he hadn't have walked in. It wouldn't, Louis' certain. Harry's expression isn't as hard to read when he lifts his eyes to Nick. His expression is enraged, and it’s terrifying.

"Styles? What are you doing here?"

Nick rests his hands on his hips like he thinks it might make him a more important presence in the room. Harry ignores him completely in favour of watching Louis. He's waiting for him to make a judgement call.

Louis' lower lip trembles but he catches it with his teeth, facing Nick with some level of composure.

"What are you doing here?"

"Why am I here?" Nick’s incredulous. "Why is Harry Styles here? Tell him to leave."

Nick slides a hand around to the back of Louis' waist, gliding lower to grip the curve of his bum. Louis doesn't push him off immediately but he does lean away from the touch. It seems Harry's had enough, judging by the murderous glint to his eye.

"I think you should leave. You're spooling Louis' evening," he says quietly, a million thinly veiled threats floating across his face.

Nick bristles.

"How about you leave, Styles? Did you notice that your boyfriend here didn't even start to try to shove me out the door until you showed up. What does that tell you? Maybe he prefers me. Wouldn't be the first time, now would it?"

Louis looks between them, confused. What on earth is Nick talking about? Whatever it is, it more than ruffles Harry's feathers. His nostrils flare dangerously and he grinds his teeth together, loud enough for Louis to hear. There's a thick, amorous kind of tension in the air as Harry silently divests himself of his jacket, rolling up his sleeves like he's about to--

Oh shit.

"Alright Grimshaw, outside."

"Harry!" Louis scolds him. "You can't be serious."

Both of them ignore him. As if he didn't ignite this thing in the first place.

"Are we going to brawl Styles? Is that it?" Nick grins, seemingly unconcerned. "Perhaps I should ready my sword?"

Harry laughs dryly as he finishes buttoning up his sleeve. Louis can't help but to notice his impressively muscled forearms.

"I should have done this years ago." Harry says.

His voice has this gravelly undertone that gives Louis an inappropriate twinge of arousal.

"Done what…cut your hair?" Nick chortles. "You're right. You look absolutely ridiculous."

"No. I meant this."

Harry winds up and punches Nick square in the jaw. The impact propels him out the door and into the street outside. He rubs at the sore spot, looking up at Harry with perplexed fury.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? I suppose it bothers you that I've had him before you, doesn’t it? It's okay, mate. If he doesn't scream for you like he did for me, just give me a call. I'll finish the job, yeah?"

Louis doesn't even flinch when Harry hits him again. He saw it coming a mile away. Any sane person knows not to antagonise someone who's already clocked you once. Nick Grimshaw is not a sane person. As demonstrated by the fact that he lurches towards Harry, instead of away and clubs him in the face. There's an array of punches after that and some brutish shoving which Louis struggles to follow. It's a lot less sexy than he would have hoped. There’s two men brawling over him in the middle of the street and all he can do is sigh. The other boys stumble out behind him, having heard the commotion from inside.

"Whose side are we on?" Zayn asks, resting his head on Liam's shoulder.

Liam looks indignant.

"Harry's! He never cheated on Louis. He basically called him imperfectly perfect."

Louis sighs at that, a little torn himself.

"Yes, but he slept with Nick's fiancé and betrayed their friendship." He chimes in.

The boys look sobered by that fact, as they should. It's sobering for Louis too. Maybe he should take a step back from this whole thing with Harry. He doesn't want to end up with a broken heart again. Not when he's this invested.

Harry and Nick are circling each other now like boxers in the ring. Nick seems to think this is some kind of joke, even as steam pours out of Harry's ears.

"I'm just saying, mate," Nick shouts, grinning madly. “You couldn't find his prostate if I gave you a map with the spot marked as X."

"Stop talking about him like that," Harry growls and okay, Louis can admit...it's kind of hot.

"Why does it bother you so much, Styles? Is it because you know he pictures my face every time he comes?"

Harry lets out an earth shattering roar at that, his fist arcing through the air. It collides with Nick's jaw head on. There’s a sickening crunch and the impact sends Nick flying to the ground in a style worthy of a superhero film. Louis is horrified. They've both got blood spattered faces but Nick is the one laying on the ground, seemingly unconscious.

Louis turns to Harry with an accusing eye.

"What is your problem? You act all high and mighty, like you're so much better than the rest of us but really, you're just as thick headed as the rest of the jerks I’ve dated. Haven't you hurt him enough?"

Harry’ s face looks confused initially and then disbelief takes its place as a dry snarl of a laugh tears through his lips.

"I could never hurt him 'enough.' It will never be enough. And if you--if you honestly think that sleaze of a man--" Harry gestures at Nick, "deserves my forgiveness, then clearly you're a different person than I thought. I wanted to win your affections Louis, but right now I’m at a loss to understand why.”

Louis' breathing hard and heavy. This all happened so quickly. One minute they were sitting at the dining room table, flirting and now they're standing here, glaring at each other like their lips have never touched. Harry’s expression is colder than ice and there's emerging disdain. It's like the last couple of months never happened and Harry is still that same person who thought him inferior from the get go. Maybe there's hurt in Harry’s expression too but Louis is hurt himself. He's hurt that someone he thought he respected could turn out to be such an utter disappointment.

"You're right," Louis chokes out, "it would have been a mistake. We never would have worked."

Harry turns around and marches away, dignity still intact. Louis falls to his knees beside Nick who reaches out for him with a pained smile.

"I don't want to be fucking twenty years olds in my sixties. I don't want to die alone, Lou. I want you. You're the only one who will love me when I'm acting like an absolute shithead."

Louis trails his fingers through the top of Nick's hair. It's what you do when someone is injured and completely vulnerable. It's what Louis does when he's about to let someone down easy.

"I'm sorry, but that's just not enough for me anymore. And like you said, it's not awe-inspiring. You were right. I am searching for something more than I've been getting and I didn't get it from you, nor will I ever. I'm not willing to sacrifice everything I want from life because I'm afraid to die alone. Are you?"

Nick looks panicked. His features seem all shrivelled and sweaty when he looks up at Louis, appalled.

"Yes?" He says, like it's a decision Louis can make for him.

 Louis smiles pitifully and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the corner of his shirt.

"No you're not. You are going to fuck twenty year olds when you're sixty. Lots of them, I'll bet and I feel sorry for the ones who don't know any better, I really do but that's who you are."

Nick grabs at his shirt, clinging on for dear life when Louis tries to pull away.

"I can change. Everybody can change. I can be like Styles for you, all boring and respectable."

Louis smile serenely and if he's being honest, a little sadly.

"You could never be like him. His job, the suits…that’s not why I liked him anyway."

Louis hates the past tense of that word. Liked. Nick looks befuddled.

"Then why?"

Louis' laugh is raspy and slightly hysterical. He palms his forehead.

"I honestly have no idea."

It's not true. He does. Or at least...he has some idea, but it's all mixed up with everything that happened just now, the reminders of the past that he and Nick share. Louis leaves Nick on the ground and goes to confront his friends. They try to badger him into admitting he messed things up with Harry but he won't. In the end Harry was the one who walked away. Not him. Harry was the one who decided he wasn't worth it. Louis' been through it before and you know what? He's survived it before too.

Louis plays with his necklace until he falls asleep that night, tears still drying on his face. There's something sacred about that little duck. It's his only reminder of how they felt about each other. It's their history, carved out in silver and when it knocks against his chest, Louis imagines his heart stretching out to touch it, aching for the reminder.

*_*_*_*_*

Weight: Something ghastly
Alcohol units: Which way is up?
Cigarettes: Oh sod off

Six months. That’s how long it takes to get over an uptight bastard who broke your heart and decimated it in the process. Or, that’s how long it takes to convince yourself that you’ve done so. Because deep down Louis knows that he’s still hanging on to Harry and whatever they might have been. He’s still hanging onto those few gentle kisses that admittedly rocked his world. He’s still hanging on to those miraculous dimples and the lilting sound of Harry’s voice whenever he was teasing him. He took the necklace off for a while, he did but his neck felt cold without it, almost hollow. He feels hollow.

Louis hasn’t heard from Harry since that night, not a peep and nor does he expect to. Harry’s too proud for that. Even if there was more to say, which there isn’t, Harry wouldn’t call. If he’s honest with himself, Louis can admit that while Harry might be proud, he himself is painfully stubborn. The combination of the two is what makes their separation so frustrating. Neither of them is willing to surrender.

Louis misses the stupidest things, like Harry’s awful fashion sense and the grating sound of his voice whenever he was being a know it all. He misses Harry. It’s hard for him to say it out loud but not so hard to admit it in the quiet space inside his own head. The worst part is… it doesn’t change things. Harry is still the man who beat up the friend he betrayed and then had the audacity to imply that Louis was a waste of his time. He’s still a fraud of the worst kind. The only difference between Harry and Nick is that Louis doesn’t wake up with Nick’s name perched desperately on the edge of his lips, his stomach tied up in messy knots. He doesn’t, against his own wishes, imagine Nick naked when he touches himself in the shower. Most importantly, Nick isn’t the one that Louis secretly hopes he’ll run into when he goes to the gym or lingers in the freezer aisle at Sainsbury’s. Harry is.

All in all, Louis’ not feeling very festive this year. But that doesn’t mean he’s exempt from attending his mother’s god awful Christmas party. Of course not. She’d screeched at him on the phone until he finally agreed to be there one hour early with a potato salad and an appropriately unflattering Christmas jumper. He turns up with a sour look on his face and an ugly maroon jumper that has a snowman in the centre…

“Couldn’t you have gone for something a little more…colourful, perhaps?”

Louis stares his mother down with hateful eyes.

“It’s red. How much more colourful can it get?”

“It’s maroon,” she corrects him, her tone haughty. Louis rolls his eyes. “And you could have worn some proper trousers instead of those god awful things you call ‘skinnies.’

“I know it’s hard to believe, mum but I actually didn’t name them. I didn’t invent ‘skinnies.’ And if you wanted me to dress like I’ve got a great big stick up my arse, well then you really should have told me on the phone.”

He gives her his best sarcastic smile which has her sighing exasperatedly and beckoning him into the house with an impatient wave of her hand.

“Give me the potato salad and go fix your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

She looks him up and down and sniffs, obviously unimpressed.

“You look like a porcupine dressed much too young for his age.”

“My hair does not make me look like a porcupine!”

She glances up at it and then looks away, lips pursed.

“Of course it doesn’t, dear.”

Louis takes a deep breath.

“Fine. I’ll wear my fringe down instead. But the skinnies are staying.”

Her expression lights up like a Christmas tree and she pushes him in the direction of the staircase which, as bloody usual, is decorated with poorly strung tinsel. It has nothing on the rest of the house, which looks like something out of a nativity themed horror film. There are little Jesus ornaments hanging from every corner and it’s creepy as all hell. They watch Louis as he lingers by the bottom of the staircase, talking to his mother.

“Is ‘uncle’ Jeffrey coming?” He asks.

She pulls back a little, tucking her chin into her neck in a remarkable impression of a startled Chihuahua.

“Of course he’s coming. He’s your uncle.”

“That man is not my uncle,” Louis shudders. “He grabs my bum every single time I see him, without fail.”

“Louis, don’t be so vulgar. The man is a very important member of this family.”

Louis’ dad drifts by then, looking just as creeped out by the Jesus statues as Louis.

“Who? Jeffrey? Well, he’s bringing his boyfriend this year. I gather he’s about Louis’ age.”

Louis directs his eyes back to his mother who flushes bright pink and flaps her hands around like a bird about to take flight.

“Well…well it’s the first I’ve heard of it! Now go! The both of you. You’re crowding me! Oh and Louis?”

Louis’ halfway up the staircase but he spins around, one hand on his hip.

“Yes?”

“Harry is coming. You know, Harry Styles. Maybe it’s none of my business but I just think this feud between the two of you is absolute nonsense. Whatever you’ve done, just apologise. You know his fiancé left him for his best friend? The poor man caught them in bed together. I think he’s been through enough, don’t you?”

Haven’t you hurt him enough? Louis’ own words have come back to haunt him.

“And he walked away without a word,” Louis’ dad chimes in with a well-intentioned wink, “good fella, that one. Can’t have been easy to just walk away from a betrayal like that. Most people would have strangled the guy.”

Most people would have strangled the guy.

He walked away without a word.

Shitttttttttttttttttttt

Louis’ an idiot. Of course it was Harry who caught his fiancé with his best friend. Of course it was Nick who screwed him over. Louis was wrong, he was wrong about everything. Harry isn’t some hypocritical arsehole who initiates a dramatic brawl over a few sly comments. He’s a man made of better stuff than Louis and Nick put together. That night wasn’t about Louis, it wasn’t some explosion of misplaced aggression. It was about that moment, years ago when Nick tore Harry’s world apart and Harry just walked away, leaving Nick to finish the job.

The anger must have been just simmering away all these years and the catalyst for the explosion was everything Nick said about Louis. Which is when it hits him. Nick slept with Harry’s fiancé, in Harry’s bed, no less and yet… Harry just walked away. But when it was Louis’ history with Nick being brandied about like a weapon, Harry couldn’t take it. It set him off. Maybe it wasn’t about Louis, not really but the truth of the matter is, Harry’s jealousy and his instinctual desire to protect Louis is what lead them here. That’s why Louis is a complete idiot.

He shoves his hand down the front of his jumper and digs the silver duck out. It shouldn’t be hidden away as if his connection to Harry is some shameful secret. He hurries up the stairs with it knocking against his chest.

“What on earth are you doing?” His mum screeches.

Louis sticks his head down over the top of the bannister.

“If you’re interested in seeing any grandbabies, you’ll shut up and let me do my thing.”

His mother looks shocked by his tone and muddled by the content.

“Fine. But Louis?”

Louis licks his lips impatiently.

“What?”

“Take off that silly jumper.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I told you mum, I don’t have a brighter colour.”

“I know.” She smiles at him hesitantly, like for once in her life she’s afraid of his response, instead of the other way round. “But it looks positively vile. There’s a shirt in your old closet…you used to wear it out clubbing. The black one.”

Louis baulks.

“The see through one that you absolutely despised? The one that I used to pull?”

Beatrice Tomlinson looks greatly ill at the thought of her son having sex with another man.  She pulls her nose up and turns away, still flushed.

“Yes,” she says, her voice as strained as it’s ever been. “That one.”

Louis grins at her retreating back.

“I love you,” He calls out, wondering whether this sudden onset of understanding is inspired by too much eggnog.

You mentioned grandkids, he reminds himself, that’s why... but it doesn’t diminish his sense of gratitude. Parents do the best they can, he knows that. He’s constantly reminded of it by the people around him but only now does he fully grasp the meaning of that statement. Beatrice Tomlinson is not a perfect woman and she’s far from a perfect mother but she did her best for him with what she had and with what her parents taught her. What matters is that now she’s making the effort. She’s making the effort to show him she accepts him for who he is; for who he’s always been. It means the world.

Louis spends far too long up there, fiddling with his jeans and trying to find the best way to emphasise his arse and to make his eyes pop. The shirt fits just as well as it used to, if not better. It stretches tighter across his chest than it did when he was younger, fully exposing his nipples and the indented lines of his ribcage. It’s a little more revealing than he would have been comfortable with a few months prior. Fortunately for him, Louis is finally body happy. He’s maintained the supple curves of his hips and the slight curvature to his stomach but his abdominals are still sharper than they’ve been in years.

By now the party is in full swing, with Harry hopefully somewhere in its midst but before Louis heads down, he double checks that his necklace is front and centre. It stands out against the black background and swings between his pecs as he makes the journey downstairs, drawing attention to the transparency of his shirt.

He spots Harry immediately, standing in the same spot as he was last year and nursing a half empty glass of bourbon. Louis cuts through the crowd quickly, his eyes glued to Harry’s perfect form. He’s just as striking as the year before, if not more so now that Louis actually knows him. Those silky curls have grown out a little further, inching down the tops of his shoulders like creepers edging their way down the side of an old brick house. He’s wearing a black sweater vest with a blue chequered top beneath it and a pair of standard grey trousers. His outfit is plain and frankly abhorrent but the past six months has changed Louis for the better. Suddenly everything about Harry is more charming than it could ever possibly be irritating.

Louis can’t stop himself from bustling up to Harry with a megawatt smile stretched over his lips. This is his second chance. It’s his first time seeing Harry in six months and his lips are already tingling. His stomach filled with nervous but somewhat anticipatory butterflies and taps on Harry’s shoulder with a laboured breath. He holds it as Harry turns around, eyebrows tented just like the first time they (re)met.

Louis’ so focused on devouring Harry’s features and cataloguing all the minute but equally fascinating changes (the new mole beside his left eyebrow, the added definition of his biceps) that it takes him a minute to notice the most important change. Harry doesn’t seem happy to see him but it’s not just that. He doesn’t look angry, upset or even surprised. Louis supposes that the potential for surprise was low anyway, given that this is his house but he expected some kind of flicker of emotion. If he’s being honest with himself, Louis expected to see fireworks going off in Harry’s eyes. Instead, there’s a blank, emotionless stranger staring back at him. The same slightly brusque, more than indifferent man that Louis met last year. Louis’ spirits sink but there’s still hope yet. He can’t give up. He won’t.

*-*-*-*-*

When Louis taps him on the shoulder, Harry knows it’s him instantly. The touch of his hand is light but warm and Harry can smell his sweet, intoxicating scent filling the air around him. His stomach coils pleasantly, his fingers trembling and there’s a familiar rush of warmth to his extremities which he’s come to associate with Louis. He stems the flow of feeling quickly and focuses on what happened between them.

It doesn’t matter if feeling Louis’ hand on him again feels like coming home. Louis has been his sole source of misery these past six months and Harry’s not just going to pretend like everything’s okay. Especially not when Louis’ probably dating Nick Grimshaw and having the time of his life at his new job. Harry’s not bitter, he’s just not ready to see Louis again. He doesn’t want to think about this time last year when he was seeing Louis again for the first time in twenty years and how it sparked a kind of revolution within him, as much as he tried to deny it at the time. He doesn’t want to think about how quickly he fell down the rabbit hole and into Louis Tomlinson’s perilous orbit. So when he turns around, he schools his expression into one of cold displacement and indifference.

Louis looks a bit taken aback by it all and Harry gets some small, vindictive satisfaction out of seeing him so unsettled. Good, he thinks, now you know what it’s like to misjudge someone completely. A little of that smug satisfaction drains away when Louis takes his hand and leads him from the room into the quiet hallway beyond. He gets a good look at Louis then and it’s hard not to stare; to just admire. Impossible, in fact because Louis looks pristinely gorgeous. He’s clothed in some kind of transparent material that teases Harry with the shape of his body beneath his clothes. He can see the arches of his hips and the small rounded shapes of his nipples which are stiff and erect, either due to the temperature or Harry’s attention. Harry secretly hopes it’s his attention. Louis’ face is also clean shaven which has Harry wanting to mouth along the line of his jaw and follow it back the same way with hix tongue.

When Louis turns around to face him, the colour and the warmth drains from Harry’s body. Louis’ wearing his necklace and it’s not tucked beneath his shirt like Harry may have expected. It’s hanging down over the top of his shirt, front and centre as if he’s just begging for someone to ask him about it. Harry reaches out and grabs it, without thinking, unable to resist.

“You kept this?”

He raises his eyes to Louis, expecting some stubborn, snappy reply. Instead, he gets this.

“Of course I kept it. You gave it to me.”

He says the word ‘you’ like it’s an important distinction. As if Harry’s gestures mean more to him than anybody else’s. Harry’s breath comes shorter and his chest feels too small for his heart but he checks himself, remembering painfully. Always painfully. He ensures his expression remains smooth and composed, even though he’s aching inside.

“Did you want to talk to me about something?”

Louis looks off balanced, like he wasn’t expecting Harry to be so short with him. It makes Harry even more irritated. Louis looks a lot like a neglected child, standing in front of Harry, wringing his tiny hands and peeking up at him from beneath stunning, curved eyelashes. It’s entirely unfair.

“Yes, I—I wanted to say, thank you for coming.”

Harry doesn’t miss a beat.

“I didn’t want to but my parents wouldn’t take no for an answer. Luke and I have something to announce.”

Harry doesn’t miss the way Louis presses his nails into his palm, disappointment breaking across his fine features. Harry’s heart throbs.

“Oh. Well…okay, I just—I wanted to apologise for what happened that night. I didn’t know that Nick slept with your fiancé. He told me it was the other way round and I…I foolishly believed him. My mum told me, just this morning and I knew I’d made a terrible mistake. I’m so sorry Harry. You have to know how sorry I am for not trusting in you.”

Harry’s heart picks up speed. Outwardly, he remains motionless and impassive. In hindsight the events of that night make a lot more sense now but it’s the kind of revelation you wish had come six months earlier. It’s too late now…isn’t it?

“And I also wanted to say that I...well, likewise.”

Harry shakes his head, completely lost.

“Excuse me?”

“You are by far the most pretentious, arrogant person that I have ever met and for a lawyer, you’re strangely incompetent when it comes to expressing your inner thoughts. You think you’re better than just about everybody else in every room you walk into and honestly Harold, would it kill you to smile a little more?”

Harry blinks back at him in blatant disbelief. Clearly the man has no concept of what an apology is.

“Are you done?”

Louis shakes his head.

“Not even close. You’ve terrible fashion sense and your desire to control things to the utmost degree is frustrating as all hell but I find that…you have soft hands. And maybe even a gentle heart. And I like you. As you are. For all of those horrible traits you possess but more importantly, for all the truly awful ones you don’t. You’re not a hypocritical man, you’re not dishonourable and I know now that you would never hurt me. So I thought… maybe, well maybe we could find time for dinner at some point. If you’d like. Or lunch, we could start with lunch!” Harry feels his resolve melting. Louis looks like all his dirtiest dreams wrapped up in earnestness and vulnerability. He’s just about to open his mouth and concede but Louis’ expression tenses up painfully. “Sorry, did you say “Luke and I?” As in, together?”

Harry’s world narrows down to the flash of horror in Louis’ baby blue eyes and the tiny kernel of hope peeking out from behind, determined not to show itself. Harry sees it all because he knows Louis now. He knows him well enough to know when he’s hurting and when the vastness of that hurt is about to swallow him whole. Louis’ not quite there yet but he’s on the tipping point between two extremes, blind happiness or the kind of despair that drowns you in its darkness. It’s all up to Harry. Harry wants to gather Louis in his arms and pretend that the past six months was just an awful dream. He could. He knows in his heart that he’s already forgiven Louis for something that wasn’t his fault anyway. They could move past it, they would move past it but when Harry opens his mouth to say so, Luke hooks his head around the door.

“Harry, it’s time.”

Louis looks up at him with an expression that breaks his heart. He can see that Louis’ still desperately clinging to hope and waiting for Harry to break this awful spell but Harry feels like he’s stuck on a merry go round that won’t let him off. It’s all happening so quickly. He wasn’t prepared for Louis to say what he has just now. He wasn’t prepared to confront the feelings he’s tried so very hard to deny these past few months. He can’t deal with this. Not now. Louis tugs on his sleeve, his eyes as wide as saucers, his heart falling to pieces inside of his gorgeous baby blues.

“Here.”

He reaches up and unlatches the necklace from around his neck, his breath hitching quietly. He drops it from a height and Harry catches it just in time, before it hits the ground. When he closes his fist around it, he imagines that the metal still feels warm from Louis’ skin. It occurs to him that this could very well be the closest that he gets to touching Louis ever again. It stings. It stings someone has just poured vinegar all over his open wounds. Before Harry can even think about hauling Louis into a hug or kissing him goodbye, Louis turns away from him. He walks past Luke and into the living area without a glance behind.

 Harry follows him in a daze of despair. Everything inside him is calling out for him just to be with Louis but it’s like there’s a disconnect between his head and his heart. His wants only one thing, only one person but he still feels that there’s a set pathway for him to walk, with no possibe forks in the road. Harry doesn’t make spontaneous decisions, he doesn’t change his mind at the last minute. He does what he’s told and only what he’s told. He doesn’t make concessions for people like Louis Tomlinson. That’s what his instincts tell him. Or it used to be. Now his instincts are telling him to grab Louis and run.

Harry barely listens when Luke’s parents make the announcement. He and Luke are moving to New York. Luke’s dad hints at marriage, waggling his eyebrows at Harry’s parents as if they’re all in on the secret. It’s a sham, all of it. Harry and Luke aren’t even dating. They went on one terrible, forgettable date a couple of months ago, before which Harry got spectacularly drunk and still didn’t manage to have a good time. They didn’t have sex, haven’t been out since and they’ll be renting separate apartments once they get to New York. Luke’s parents feel that it’s only a matter of time before the tables turn but Harry knows differently. So does Luke, for that matter which is why he’s carefully avoiding Harry’s eyes while showing off a sparkly ring which certainly didn’t come from Harry.

Harry only watches him for a brief second before his eyes are drawn to the edge of the crowd and to Louis who looks absolutely devastated. His face is a frightening shade of white and he sways on his feet, looking like someone cut all the strings holding him up. Suddenly his voice rises above the crowd, a reedy little rasp that leaves Harry’s chest feeling positively raw.

“No! NO! I speak now! I mean…it’s just…it’s such a pity for England to lose such a fine lawyer. The people of England…” Louis looks up at him with pink cheeks and desperately sad eyes. Harry’s breath catches. “…will miss him very much.”

Louis turns and makes his way through the crowd with ease. Harry watches him walk away and something inside him tears in two. Like a ticket stub at the cinema. Like a bowl that cracks cleanly in half when dropped from a height. He’s paralysed and frozen to the spot, holding his breath for fear of losing it completely. He’s lost too much already.

*-*-*-*-*

“Are you going to smile at all this weekend? Because we know you’re going through a rough fucking time right now but this was meant to cheer you up.”

Louis nudges Niall out of the way as the boys follow him out the door, hauling his many suitcases behind them.

“I’ll smile when we get to Paris, okay? Now can we just do as I asked and not mention the ‘H’ word? He’s definitely landed in New York by now and while that sucks, the best thing you guys can do to is just shut up about it. Okay?”

Niall pats him on the back with a sheepish little smile.

“Sorry man. Though in the interests of you enjoying this weekend, can I just say you might want to put your beanie on now.”

Louis looks up at the sky to see that delicate snowflakes have begun to fall, coating the ground with a fresh layer of ivory snow. It would be beautiful. In fact, it is beautiful. Despite the snow melting into his fringe and dripping down his face, despite the awful damp feeling in his socks, the snow is like something out of a winter wonderland theme park and Louis is enchanted. He’s always loved the snow. It’s always been something of a miracle to him. Maybe he be able to appreciate it fully if Harry Styles hadn’t ripped a giant hole out of his heart with his engagement to Mr. Perfect and their subsequent departure.

Louis instinctually reaches up to touch his necklace, only to realise that it’s no longer there. He wore that thing for six months straight and refused to take it off once, even to shower or sleep. Even when he probably risked strangulation, due to the fact that he tosses and turns constantly in his sleep. It just felt too important to take off. That little charm was his last connection to Harry and even when Louis doubted his integrity, he still wanted that piece of him on his person at all times.

When Harry crossed his mind and refused to leave, Louis touched the little duck. That’s how he survived, by reminding himself that even if Harry was gone, their memories would always be the remaining link. Their memories would stand the test of time. It wasn’t much comfort but it gave him hope, hope that it wouldn’t always hurt this bad. He missed Harry a little less whenever he grasped that tiny metal beak in his hand and squeezed, summoning his strength from within. When Louis took it off his neck and gave it to Harry at his mother’s party, it was because he knew that whatever they’d once had was now over. That duck couldn’t impart any more hope because there was no more hope to be had. Harry was leaving him and it wasn’t just for another country but another man too.

Now he’s gone, Louis’ mother having called to confirm that Harry left for the airport an hour ago. So why would Louis need any more reminders of the length of time they’ve known each other or worse, the length of time they’ve spent apart? That necklace was a symbol of their own naivety in thinking it would be easy for them. So Louis’ glad to be rid of it, he is. It’s just that when he reaches up to his neck and his fingers don’t meet smooth, cool metal, he seizes up for the briefest moment. His skin feels painfully bare and his fingers scrabble around a bit, trying to find even the smallest piece of what was once there. They find nothing.

Louis banishes that pessimistic train of thought and takes his shoulder bag off so he can rummage through its contents. He pulls everything out, looking for his beanie which doesn’t appear to be in there.

“It’s not here,” Louis says, voice stilted. It’s his best attempt at keeping his emotions at bay. “It’s not in here and I can’t go to Paris without it.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and pushes him playfully. He should know by now that trying to joke with him is a lost cause. His life is a joke these days and something about that just obliterates his sense of humour completely.

“C’mon Lou, it’s just a beanie. You can borrow one of mine. Or Liam’s. You don’t need the beanie.”

Louis’ throat constricts around his wind pipe and his eyes threaten a thick batch of tears.

“I need the beanie,” he enunciates slowly, trying not to let on how screwed up he is.

It’s not about the beanie, not really because if Louis could just have the one thing he actually needs, he wouldn’t give a flying toss whether he had something to warm his scalp. However the reality is that he doesn’t have the one thing he needs. He lost it to New York and that fuckwit, Luke. All because he was too strong minded to give Harry the benefit of the doubt. So yeah, he wants the fucking beanie.

Liam grabs Zayn by the arm and pulls him back with a silent warning.

“It’s okay Lou. How about you check your bag one more time and if it’s not there, we can go back up and get it?”

“Thank you Liam,” Louis emphasises, sliding his eyes over to Zayn.

Zayn just scoffs and cocks his hip out to the left. Louis starts rifling through his bag again and cheers when he spots the red fluffy hat. He tugs it down over his hair, chuckling at the boys’ wide eyed expressions.

“Okay, okay,” he rolls his eyes, “I know I had a little freak out but you can stop worrying, I’m fine. Annnnd I promise I won’t be a sour puss all weekend. That’s so long as no one mentions the “H” word whatsoever, are we clear?”

The three of them still look dumbstruck and frankly, Louis’ offended. They don’t seem to be looking at him at all.

“Um, Lou.”

Niall points behind Louis, his shock melting into a knowing grin. Louis turns around with a despairing sigh.

“What on earth—“

Louis’ words skitter away from him like soldiers under siege. Harry Styles is standing there with his giant hands buried in his pockets and an oddly embarrassed look on his face. What a tosser. He’s got this dumb glazed over look in his eyes, like Louis is his precious ghostly husband, rising from the dead before his eyes. Even though he’s the one who appeared from nowhere, sneaking up on Louis from behind like some kind of stalker. He looks frazzled too, with a fine layer of frizz circling his head. His expression is pinched and while it’s truly befitting of someone with his temperament, it’s still most unbecoming. Except…he kind of looks lovely. He makes blotchy pink cheeks and fluffy hair look lovely.  Plus the way his eyes are raking over Louis’ body like he’s a living, walking miracle is driving Louis a little mad.

“Harry,” he breathes out, not capable of much more.

“Lou…we’ll ah—we’ll wait in the car,” Liam chimes in unnecessarily.

Louis answers him without his eyes ever leaving Harry’s.

“You do that, Liam.”

Harry takes a tentative step toward him, measuring Louis’ response and then another when Louis doesn’t try to stop him. He keeps going until he’s within touching distance. Louis’ not sure whether it’s easier to breathe with him here or harder. In all likelihood, it’s somewhere in between the two.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in New York with your new fiancé?”

“Fiancé?” Harry looks baffled for a second and then screws up his expression with disgust. “No, Luke is not my fiancé. NO. Absolutely not.”

Louis puts his hands on his hips and tries in vain to make himself appear taller. Harry appears to notice his efforts, his expression quivering with poorly concealed amusement. Louis stares him down which achieves nothing really, except for Louis realises he wants to drink Harry’s eye colour in a martini glass. It’s something of a weird thought to have at a time like this and really a weird thought to have in general, if we’re being honest.

“Oh really? Because it didn’t look that way when he was flashing your ring around at my mother’s house.”

“Not my ring, Lou,” Harry tilts his head down to look at him, smiling softly which is just condescending enough for Louis to stamp on his foot, hard. Harry positively howls. “Ouch! What was that for?! Are you insane?”

Louis arches a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“You insulted my height. I think that was a perfectly sane response.”

Harry shakes his head, muttering something about Tomlinson blood and the fate of the next generation.

“I’m going to ignore that little…misstep.” Harry smiles at him, a little too stiffly for it to be considered sincere. “And get on with telling you what I came here to say.”

Louis crosses his arms.

“Well what did you come here to say? If you weren’t going to move halfway across the world to be with Luke, then why were you moving at all? Why did you leave? Why did you let me think you had already moved on with someone else? I was wrong, I get that. I made a bad judgement and because of that, we spent six months apart. But I came to you on my knees Harry, begging for a second chance and you didn’t want to give it to me. So why Harry, why were you so determined to hurt me and why are you here? Why are you here now?”

Harry looks gobsmacked, like he didn’t expect for Louis to put up so much resistance. He should have. Louis is not the kind of person who rolls over for just anybody. At least, not anymore. He’s always been stubborn but now he’s more than that, he’s self-assured and unwilling to settle.

“You hurt me,” Harry says, speaking more slowly than usual which is really saying something. “Because your ‘bad judgement,’…well, it felt like you didn’t trust me. I thought you didn’t know me and for you, of all people, not to know me…well that hurt. But I forgave you, I do forgive you. I just hadn’t worked it all out in my head when I saw you at your mother’s party. Forgive me,” he begs, his voice stern like steel but shaking with desperation, “because I failed you. It all happened so quickly. You ambushed me with this nonsensical explanation and all I could think was… I wish you weren’t so gorgeous.”

“Excuse me?” Louis asks, eyebrows in his hair.

Harry chuckles. He reaches out to fiddle with the front of Louis’ beanie, straightening it up and tucking his fringe inside.

“You’re as humble as ever,” he muses, his fingers tracing a parallel path down the apples of Louis’ cheekbones, “You do look lovely in a beanie…can I say that? You look cute. Like a little wintry munchkin.”

Louis mashes his teeth together and points an accusing finger at Harry’s face.

“Well you look like a---like a—like some kind of giant---a giant—well you’re a huuuuuge--“

Harry starts to laugh, his eyes tearing up at the intense concentration on Louis’ face. Louis lasts a beat or two before he starts laughing with him, his stomach muscles jumping sporadically and his cheeks wobbling inside the warm cradle of Harry’s fingers.

“I’ve missed you,” Harry says, when they inevitably fall silent, his voice as warm as melted caramel.

Louis swallows and tugs on Harry’s scarf to encourage him.

“You were saying?”

Harry watches him for a moment, his expression open and unreserved. He looks peaceful.

“I was saying… I wished you weren’t so gorgeous because I couldn’t think with you looking at me the way you were. I was all set to move to New York and Luke was going to come along for the ride but it was only because there was nothing here for me anymore. You weren’t here, not really and Louis, I—I will admit, Luke and I did go out once, in that six months you and I spent apart.” Louis presses his lips together, the picture of sternness. He tugs on Harry’s scarf a little harder than necessary. “But nothing came of it. The announcement was a sham, his parent’s idea and a terrible one at that. I was still going to leave today because it seemed like the right thing to do. I made a decision and I tend to see mine through, if you hadn’t noticed. Besides, it’s just not reasonable to stay here with you.”

“Right, because reason is all you know.”

Louis tries to tilt his head down but Harry holds him there with unwavering strength.

“You’re right.” Harry presses his thumbs to the points just below his eyes, gripping him from the tops of his cheekbones to the point where his jaw and neckline meet. “Reason was all I knew but you changed that for me. I got to the airport and had to turn around and come back straight away. I got here as quick as I could so I could come and tell you that I forgot something, a few things actually. I think you should hear them.”

“Precede.”

“First, this.”

Louis watches Harry stick his hand into his pocket and retrieve something long and shiny. He pulls it up so Louis can see and Louis gasps, appropriately impressed.

“Is that my necklace? You kept my necklace?”

Harry looks appalled.

“You thought I would throw it away? I’ve wanted to give this to you since I was twelve years old.”

Louis’ breath falters and he raises his fingers to his lips, unbidden. He feels them tremble and watches in dizzying awe as Harry grabs his fingers and folds them around the small metal chain.

“I got a new chain and I paid to get the duck shined but I’ve had this for twenty years. I’d forgotten about it completely but then I was trying to think of what to get you for your birthday and it struck me that I already had something. I’ve had it with me all this time but I could never seem to remember where I got it or why. I kept it though because I hoped I would remember and I did. I remember thinking you were the most impossibly wonderful human I had ever met and that you deserved something just as lovely as you.”

Louis presses his open palm to Harry’s chest. Even through the layers of thick clothing, he can feel it. Harry’s heartbeat is just as erratic as his. It’s the kind of rhythm Louis has danced to his whole life.

“Why didn’t you give it to me? Why didn’t you give it to me back then?”

Louis’ eyes feel wet and glossy. Harry studies him with the smallest of smiles.

“I was afraid. I didn’t know how to tell a boy that I got him a necklace. Nor did I know how to admit to myself that I was hoping he’d kiss me in return.”

“Harry.” Overwhelming affection saturates Louis’ voice, tears brimming over onto his cheeks. “Harry, I—put it on me. Please.”

Harry wastes no time in reaching around to connect the chain and tucking the duck beneath Louis’ jacket. Louis shakes his head at him and pulls it right back out. His voice is raspy but solid when he speaks.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore. There’s no reason to hide.”

“The other thing…the other thing I forgot—“ Harry swallows loudly and picks up Louis’ metal duck. He fixes his eyes on that when he speaks, blushing right to his roots. “Was to tell you that I can’t live without you. I can’t live in a city that isn’t filled with you.”

Louis grabs Harry’s hands and squeezes, forcing him to look up. He feels his features slackening into a wide, toothy grin.

“You’ve just told me you wanted to kiss me for all of twenty years and now you’re blushing because you’re staying in the same city as I am?”

Harry growls at that and uses his grip on Louis’ hands to pull Louis into him. Louis stumbles but Harry catches him by the waist. His fingers bite into Louis’ sides, holding him so tightly that Louis couldn’t move even if he wanted to. He doesn’t want to though. Harry encircles the back of his neck with a protective grip, holding him there with one hand. His thumb skitters over Louis’ pulse point, coming to rest at the base of his throat where he focuses all his attention, tracing soft circles into Louis’ skin.

“You make me nervous,” he admits in a lowly whisper. “It makes me nervous to be honest with you about how much I need you…about how much I want you. But if you give me a minute, I bet I can make you nervous too.”

Louis’ eyes only get halfway through their roll before Harry presses his lips against his, effectively cutting the communication from his brain to all the systems of his body. He tries not to ‘grab’ but his fingers curl around the lapels of Harry’s coat anyway, without his permission. They cling to Harry embarrassingly tight and Louis’ only distantly aware that he’s also pulling on Harry’s lapels, trying and failing to encourage a dirtier kiss. He can’t manage to hold back his whimpering though because Harry keeps circling the inside of his mouth with the tip of his tongue which is some kind of sensual torture. Harry pulls back from the kiss just when it’s starting to really melt Louis’ insides which is torturous in a more literal sense.

“Your friends are watching us.” Harry sounds like he’s just run a marathon. “Do you want them to see you come inside your pants?”

Louis shoves him away with a snarl. Harry just smirks and darts in for another cheeky kiss. Louis is the weak fool that grabs at his belt loop to keep him there, extending the kiss for at least another few minutes. It’s a few more minutes with Harry’s tongue inside his mouth which something he can’t bring himself to regret. It does lead to Niall tooting the horn at them and the three loons he calls friends screaming out obscenities across the street. Harry takes charge and breaks the kiss, consoling Louis by taking his hand and turning him in the direction of his friends.

“Lou, are you coming or what?” Niall shouts, grinning wolfishly, like he already knows the answer.

Liam and Zayn are too busy making eyes at each other to pay Harry and Louis any mind.

“Not this time,” Louis calls out, grinning just as madly as Niall. “My boyfriend and I are going to have a quiet night in.”

Niall waves at him spastically, cackling into the wind as he starts the car. Louis and Harry watch them until they’ve disappeared around the corner. Then Harry starts shepherding him towards the building, his hands sitting low on Louis’ waist, his thumbs digging into the skin below the hem of his trousers. He nibbles on the corner of Louis’ ear as they make their way inside. Louis giggles and Harry wraps his arms around him in a vice like grip. He squeezes, pressing his lips to the spot beside Louis’ ear.

“Can you call me your boyfriend again? Please?” Harry asks. Louis chuckles and shakes his head, pushing his arse back into his groin. Harry’s grip on him tightens. “Just a little disclaimer… we won’t be having a quiet night in. That is, unless you’re too tired,” he nuzzles Louis’ skin, breathing hot and heavy over the nape of his neck, “or you want to watch a movie…” His lips make wet tracks over the side of Louis’ neck, his tongue gliding up and down the trail marked out by his hungry mouth. “We could cuddle. Mm, you smell so good. Is that you or the aftershave? Smells like you.”

They reach Louis’ door and Louis turns around to face him with a disapproving shake of his head and a helpless smile.

“You are shameless. A shameless seducer.”

Harry smirks at that and pushes Louis against his door.

“Does that make you the seducee?”

Harry wraps his hands around the tops of Louis’ thighs, his thumbs stroking over the top of the scratchy denim. He uses his grip on Louis’ thighs to hoist the smaller man up into his arms while Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist. It takes less than a minute for Harry to retrieve his keys and wrench the door open, rushing them through the doorway like his life depends on it. Harry presses him against the closed door, using just the one arm to hold him up while the other one slams down beside Louis’ head. It’s hot…dirty hot, if we’re being frank but Louis’ too busy being tongue fucked by Harry freaking Styles to bother himself with details like those.

Harry kisses him like someone injected poison into Louis’ mouth and told Harry he had to collect every single drop of it on his tongue to save him. He leaves no area of Louis untouched. His tongue plunges into Louis’ mouth with feverish desperation, gliding along his own and yet he maintains his finesse, allowing their tongues to touch only when he sees fit and only when Louis’ whimpering becomes too loud for him to ignore. He takes charge of the kiss, guiding Louis’ tongue in a maze of sensation that has Louis gasping into his mouth and pressing up against him with need.

 It’s more than the skill of his mouth though. It’s the free hand which rips Louis’ beanie from his head and tangles itself in his hair, pulling tightly to get Louis to give him more, more than Louis knew he could possibly give. That hand leaves his hair for his torso, climbing up the inside of his shirt to cover his hip. Harry’s hand is warm, rough and perfect on Louis’ skin and when it roams upward to trace his nipple, Louis cries out.

Harry carries him from the back of the door to the couch, laying him out gently and then lowering himself down over the top of him without bearing his weight down. Louis’ not satisfied with that, so he grabs at Harry’ arse, hauling him down onto himself. Harry growls and grabs him by the necklace, pulling him up into an amazingly savage kiss, complete with dizzying tongue action and a little bit of bite around Louis’ bottom lip.

Everything is happening in fast forward but when they break for breath, Harry decides it’s a good time to undress before him and everything stops. Harry sheds his coat and shirt first, holding Louis’ gaze when it seems that Louis might be tempted to look away. He’s not sure why he’s tempted to do that. Harry looks like a cardinal sin or some kind of avenging angel. His ivory skin is pale and papery looking, his veins standing out more sharply against his skin than Louis’. Something about it is truly captivating. It makes the darker colours, like the sharp cut of his eyelashes or the fine trail of hair leading down into his trousers seem bolder. At the same time it makes the light colours like the mystic glow of his eyes or the dusty pink of his nipples seem brighter.

He’s breathtaking. Louis’ transfixed and yet…he wants to look away. It’s not because he’s jealous, bitter or even remotely intimidated by Harry’s beauty. It’s because for the first time in a long time, Louis feels like a helpless virgin who doesn’t know where to start. Where does he touch first? Harry has miles upon miles of smooth, snowy white skin and Louis can’t even fathom how badly he wants to taste it all. Harry gives him an encouraging smile, gently encircling Louis’ wrists and using his grip on Louis to drag him along the couch and closer to where he’s undressing. He places Louis’ hands on his own chest and flattens his own over the top of them. Either he’s a mind reader or Louis’ nerves are written plain across his face.

“Thanks,” Louis says, a little sheepish.

Harry shrugs, smiling gently.

“It’s not easy when it’s the first time with someone new. I’m nervous too.”

Louis takes comfort from that and uses that comfort to make his first move. He runs his hands down Harry’s body, from the tops of his shoulders to the start of his trousers. He leaves goosebumps in his wake and thus decides it’s a good decision to take his time. Harry is watching him avidly, waiting for him to resume their frenetic pace but Louis’ got a better strategy and he knows it. Instead of watching Harry’s face for cues, he focuses on the blank canvas before him. He thinks of it as his, just for the time being and focuses on which area he’d like to paint first.

He starts with Harry’s shoulders, kneading the places where he’s gone completely rigid with tension. Harry’s breath gusts out of him and his hands fall to Louis’ hair, his fingers sliding through Louis’ fringe and drawing a satisfied hum from his lips. Louis moves from his shoulders to his collarbones, leaving a line of sultry kisses along the breadth of his tattoo.

“More,” Harry sighs and Louis imagines his eyes are closed, lost within the moment.

He’s massaging Louis’ head as Louis goes and it’s surprisingly effective at chasing away his nerves. Knowing Harry, that was probably his intention. Louis focuses on the task at hand, lathing his tongue over Harry’s tattoo and simultaneously reaching down to cup his clothed dick. It jerks in his hand.

“Someone’s a little excited.”

Harry pulls on his hair, just enough to get him to tilt his head back. When Louis looks up at him, his cheeks are flushed and his pupils are double the size that they were before.

“I’m about to have sex with Louis Tomlinson. Wouldn’t you be?”

Louis smiles to himself and smooches the spot just below Harry’s belly button.

“You’re lovely.”

He kisses his way up to Harry’s pecs and splays his hands out across his rib cage, warming the goose pimpled skin with the tips of his fingers. He smiles coyly up at Harry from beneath his eyelashes and then sucks Harry’s nipple into his mouth with little warning. Harry’s hands tighten in his hair.

“Bloody hell.”

Louis pulls off with an offended sniff.

“I was hoping for at least a ‘fuck.’”

Harry cups his face and bends down over him so that they can kiss. He sucks on Louis’ bottom lip until he goes pliant and then pulls away with a bite, dragging his teeth over the soft, worn flesh and  driving Louis crazy in the process.

“Oh you’ll get a fuck.”

Louis rolls his eyes but he can no longer hide the fact that he’s painfully hard and fighting a losing battle. He punishes (or rewards) Harry by tugging on his nipple with his teeth, sliding it back and forth between the flat of his tongue and the suctioning pull of his lips. At the same time, he works on the other one with his fingers, twisting it and tweaking it until it perks up completely. A constant stream of curses falls from Harry’s lips but the highlight by far is when it transcends into begging.

“Please baby. I’ll do anything. Anything. Just—just—more. I need you to—ah, jesus!”

Louis pulls away from Harry’s chest with a devilish smile.

“Louis will do.”

Harry groans and forcibly tugs at his hair to get him to keep going. Louis works on his nipples for ten minutes more until their wet and puffy looking, just how Louis likes them. Harry’s pulling at his own hair by now, looking like his train has fully derailed. Louis is too endeared by it to put this off any longer.

“Take off your trousers.”

Harry wails in relief. Louis stands up in front of him and Harry cups his face, kissing him soundly.

“Thank you. Baby, god—“ he kisses him with even more tongue, panting into his mouth, “Thank you so much.”

Louis chuckles and reaches down to undo his belt. Harry knocks his hands away and gets the thing off in two seconds flat. It goes flying into the kitchen while Harry rips his own trousers away, followed by his pants. Louis can’t draw enough breath to tell him off for it.

Harry is huge. Louis knew this, he did. It’s not really the kind of thing you miss when you’re interesting in getting a guy naked but hazarding a guess to the measurements is a lot different to seeing the real life thing. Harry is really huge. His cock is a pretty pink colour, beaded with shiny precome at the tip and begging for some kind of friction. Louis wants Harry’s cock inside of him more than he’s ever wanted any other cock in his life.

There’s only one thing for it. Louis licks a wet stripe from the base of Harry’s cock to the head, gathering precome on the tip of his tongue. He slides the flat of his tongue over Harry’s slit, watching him for signs of pleasure. Harry seizes up as soon as Louis’ tongue touches him there and shudders deeply when Louis wraps a hand around the base. Louis starts jerking him quickly, fiercely, watching Harry decompose in front of him.

“F—fuck, yes! I—ah,” Harry’s eyes fly shut and then fly open just as quickly when Louis takes the head of dick into his mouth and sucks like he’s trying to drain away all the moisture from its surface. There’s a lot of it too. Harry’s dripping. “I—mmmm, fuck Louis!”

Louis pulls off, spits on his hand and then resumes jerking him, regularly swiping over the head with his thumb.

“You? What is it love?”

He takes Harry into his mouth again and lathes his tongue over the bulging vein on the underside of his cock. Harry shivers.

“Fuck, I—I want you to--oh—oh—oh fuck me, I’m going to come.”

Louis starts mouthing hungrily over the underside of his dick, reaching up to fondle his balls.

“No you’re not,” Louis quips, “because if I don’t get to come on your cock, you won’t be sleeping in my bed.”

Harry groans, clearly pained and changes tack, drawing his thumbs along the lines of Louis’ cheekbones while he murmurs nonsense praise.

“You’re so good baby. So good at sucking my dick. I—fuck, just keep doing what you’re doing. Shit, it’s so good.”

Harry’s gently stroking does feel nice and Louis does feels precious and wanted. While the dirty talk leaves something to be desired, Louis is feeling rather compassionate today. He takes Harry back into his throat, digging his nails into his thighs so he has something to focus on other than the overwhelming urge to gag. Harry is much bigger than anyone Louis has ever deep throated before but he’s also much more vocal.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re—oh—oh shit, stop. Please.”

Louis doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop until Harry shouts his name and comes down his throat, shaking from head to toe when Louis pulls away with a smug little grin and a messy chin.

“Think you can do that again in my arse?”

Harry runs trembling hands through Louis’ hair and then kneels before him. His cock is halfway to limp and pitiful but Louis’ still turned on by the sight of it. Harry’s arms wrap around him securely and he cradles Louis, tilting him back against the couch while he kisses him quiet. Their tongues tangle together lazily, Harry’s mostly lolling in his mouth while Louis does all the work. Still, when Harry pulls away, Louis knows that the strain in the back of his throat is worth it. Harry not only looks like all his Christmases came (ha!) at once….he’s looking at Louis like he actually is Jesus.

“You. Are. Incredible.” He says, punctuating each word with a kiss. “Now let me get you naked.”

Louis starts pulling off his shirt but Harry shakes his head at him and swoops Louis up into his arms.

“Where are we going?”

“To the bedroom, Lewis.” Harry tells him, speaking as though it’s a foreign concept to Louis. “Like civilised peoples.”

“One, you and I are not civilised peoples and two,” Harry pretends to bite at his finger which is annoyingly cute. “Of course you want to take your time now that you’ve got yours. Selfish prick.”

“Mm,” Harry nudges Louis’ nose with his and gently pries his mouth open with his lips. “You’re so cute when you’re bratty.”

Louis swats at him but Harry just chucks him on the bed, chuckling at his put out expression. He crawls towards Louis across the sheets, smiling dangerously.

“Oh no, what do you think you’re going to do to me?”

Harry leans down and presses his lips to the fine bones of Louis’ inner ankle.

“Ruin you.”

Louis stretches out like a star fish.

“Go ahead.”

Harry takes his time undressing him, like every square inch of skin that he exposes needs to be worshipped before he can move on to the next. He spends way too much time just rubbing his hands over Louis’ skin and trailing kisses up and down the insides of his arms. Louis will deny that it makes him go pliant every single time.

Harry turns Louis’ hands over so that they’re facing palm up and sucks on the bone that runs from his palm through to his wrist. He eyes Louis the whole time, keeping his mouth open and flush against his pulse.

“This is not sexy,” Louis lies, breathing a little heavier than before, “you’re not good at this.”

“Mmm,” Harry tilts his head to the side and squints down at Louis, “Well, can we do an experiment to test it?”

“If you must.”

Harry flashes his teeth. He parts Louis’ naked thighs and stares at them for a moment, transfixed. It’s not the first time. Since he got Louis naked, they’ve had to wait several times for Harry to come back to earth after getting visually lost in some part of Louis’ body. Not that Louis’ complaining. It’s incredibly flattering to see Harry’s eyes glaze over every time and his cock twitch against his thigh. Harry spends more than enough time just watching the bones in Louis’ ribcage flutter whenever his mouth ghosts over (or near) Louis’ nipple.

“I bet you I can find the one spot that makes you giggle every single time I put my mouth on it. Annnnnd the one spot that makes you scream. Or cry.” He smirks. “Whichever comes first.”

Louis laughs at his misguided sense of confidence.

“Give it your best shot.”

Harry pulls him into his lap and twists his arm around so that his inner elbow is exposed. He leans over it and blows a loud raspberry on its surface, sending a trail of goosebumps down Louis’ arm and making him squeak with high pitched laughter. Harry’s eyes are smug.

“Told you.”

Louis shakes his head.

“That was once. You said every time.”

Harry grins wider at that and repeats the action, holding Louis in place as he tries to wriggle away. Louis attempts to keep himself under wraps but the sensation is too much and he caves to a breathless giggle. He doesn’t feel too badly about it though because Harry kisses him breathless, murmuring some kind of nonsense about how he could write poetry about Louis’ giggle.

“Baby, please turn over,” Harry asks him, after a few too many sloppy kisses.

Louis twists around onto his stomach and rests his head against the pillow.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Harry kisses his lower back.

“Thank you gorgeous.”

There’s another beat of silence as Harry surveys his body again. Louis waits patiently for his assessment.

“Your arse could be an exhibit in an art gallery.”

Louis barks a laugh.

“And what kind of gallery would that be?”

“An—arse gallery.”

“Hmm,” Louis plays with a stray thread on the side of his pillow, “I didn’t expect this. Sex makes you stupid.”

Harry lays down so he’s pressed against Louis from head to toe, the whole of his front stretching over Louis’ back. It’s an interesting sensation. It makes him feel safe. Protected. Harry’s lips find his hair.

“Sex makes all men stupid.”

How very true.

“Well—are you going to make sweet love to me or what?”

Harry snorts and settles his hands over the curve of Louis’ lower back.

“I’m going to kiss you until you scream. Or cry. Then I’m going to make sweet love to you, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Okay?”

Harry very gently pushes his lips up against the curve of Louis’ rim and Louis curls up. His toes, his fingers and his legs curl up tight against his body because he wasn’t expecting a mouth on his arse anytime soon. He wasn’t expecting that kind of special treatment and that of all things has him feeling vulnerable and close to tears. Harry is going to take care of him, he knows it and it occurs to him that Harry just might be the only person that genuinely knows how.  A whimper which sounds painfully sad and embarrassingly high pitched slips through his open lips. Harry kisses his arse cheek, biting at the tender skin and squeezing the other one roughly.

“I know baby,” he murmurs, dragging his lips down the seam of Louis’ arse. “I’ll make you feel so good in a minute.”

That’s the most warning Louis gets before Harry swirls his tongue around his entrance and thrusts right in. Louis’ back arches and his nails skitter along the sheets, looking for something to dig into.

“Please,” he cries out, voice breaking, “p-please.”

Harry pushes a finger in with his tongue, swirling his tongue around slowly while he screws his finger in deep. Louis pushes his arse back, tightening his muscles around the intrusion in order to try and get Harry to fuck him deeper. It works. Harry moans and twists his finger in further, rubbing desperately at Louis’ prostate.

“You look so good fucking yourself on my finger. So beautiful, duck.”

Louis whines, pearl shaped tears fogging up his vision.

“More,” he croaks, “another.”

Harry doesn’t listen, instead using his tongue to draw shapes on the inside of Louis’ arse while he kneads Louis’ prostate with the flattest part of his finger. It’s good, perfect even and Louis’ arching up the bed to get closer to the sensation. It’s just not enough. He starts to cry, pushing his bum back into Harry’s mouth and holding his head there to try and get his tongue deeper. It’s not enough.

“P-p-please,” he sobs, “Harry, I’m b—begging you.”

Harry shoves three of his fingers in at the same time, tearing a crazed scream from Louis’ lips as he presses them flat against his prostate, fucking him relentlessly. Harry tears his mouth away to speak but his voice sounds almost as ragged as Louis’. Louis can feel him watching, Harry’s eyes glued to the way his hole stretches around all three of his fingers, greedily sucking them in.

“Have to fuck you. You look so fucking good right now. I want to destroy you.”

Louis’ moan is strangled and cuts off halfway through when he hears the snick of lube and the sound of a condom being torn open. He doesn’t realise he’s been repeatedly begging Harry to fuck him until the man in question turns his head to look at him and plants a kiss between his eyebrows.

“I’m going to baby. I’m going to fuck you right now.”

Harry squares up their hips and reaches around Louis to grip the front of his necklace. He uses it to pull him back onto his cock, murmuring endless encouragement when Louis’ face briefly tenses up with discomfort.

“You’re doing so well baby. Look at you, taking my cock like it was made for you. Here, squeeze my fingers. If you want me to stop, squeeze real hard.”

Louis scrabbles to grab them, holding his breath through the pain. When Harry’s fully sheathed inside, he lets both Harry’s hand and his breath go with a moan. His body feels thick and unusable in the best way. There are tears streaming down his face and all that comes out when he opens his mouth are strangled whimpers. It’s frightening in the abstract, feeling himself losing control but there’s something about being here with Harry, about doing this with someone like Harry that eases his fear. He feels…taken care of.

Instead of ramming into him straight off the bat, Harry pulls Louis back onto his cock, swirling him around in a circle. He’s using Louis for his own pleasure but somehow doing it gently. It makes Louis hot inside. The tip of Harry’s dick teases his prostate with every rotation and he’s getting increasingly desperate, clenching spasmodically in an effort to drive Harry mad. All it seems to do is make Harry more determined to see him fall apart. He grabs hold of Louis’ hips and uses them to start up a more regular rhythm. He pulls Louis back onto his dick, fucking him with slow, short, teasing thrusts, listening to Louis cry out for more. Then when Louis’ on the verge of madness, he pushes him down into the mattress, jack rabbiting inside him while taking aim at his prostate.

“Want to fuck you like this forever,” Harry sighs in his ear, their thighs slapping together violently, “Want you to be mine forever.”

Harry wraps a hand around his dick, jerking him in time with the shorter thrusts. When he pushes him down against the mattress, Louis rubs against the sheets. That, combined with the absolute prostate bashing he’s getting sends him hurtling over the edge of his own orgasm.

“F—fuuuuck Harry,” he screams, soaking Harry’s hand and circling his hips wildly as he fucks into Harry’s fist.

Harry’s teeth sink into the back of his shoulder and his fingers clench around Louis’ hips. Louis clenches around his dick, still battling aftershocks as Harry roars into his ear.

“Louis!”

Harry spills into the condom with a loud grunt, gyrating his hips while he fucks Louis through his own aftershocks. After a few more lazy thrusts, he collapses atop him. Louis mewls a complaint and Harry gently extricates himself with a wince, depositing the condom in the bin beside them. He lifts the covers up over Louis’ shoulders and snuggles in beside him, pressing his whole face to the side of Louis’. His arm curls around Louis’ waist in an attempt to drag Louis closer but Louis’ not of much help.

“M’ tired,” he mumbles, smacking his lips together.

Harry kisses his closed eyelids.

“You cried. You came on my cock and you cried. You’re perfect, that’s what you are.”

Louis’ mouth curls up sleepily.

“You are one dirty lawyer, Harry Styles.”

Harry laughs loudly at that, way too loudly for Louis’ tired brain and presses a kiss to Louis’ shoulder.

“Kiss me,” he says, with sunshine in his voice.

“Need to brush my teeth.” Louis complains.

He can hear Harry’s thoughts.

“I know we just had sex and you just had your tongue in my mouth but that’s exactly the point. My mouth probably tastes of your cock.”

“I don’t mind.”

Louis can feel him leaning in. He sticks his hand out and moves it around until he finds Harry’s face, clamping down his palm. He pushes Harry away with a laugh.

“No kisses. Need to brush my teeth.”

“Okay…”

Louis squeals, his eyes snapping open in shock as Harry slides his arms underneath him and hauls him up into his arms.

“Tell me that one day you’ll get sick of picking me up like this.”

Harry just winks. He waits at the entrance of the bathroom while Louis retrieves his toothbrush and squeezes out his minty toothpaste, sticking it in his mouth with an unhappy scrunch of his nose. Peppermint and cock do not go well together.

Harry watches him fondly, almost dopily as Louis scrubs at the plaque on his teeth. He meanders over to where Harry’s standing in the doorway and leans back on the opposite side of the doorjamb, watching him with a foamy smirk. Apparently his tooth brushing skills are just too much for Harry who snatches Louis’ toothbrush from his mouth and presses him flat against the doorjamb with his body.

“I’m not done brushing my teeth,” Louis whines, trying not to spit foam onto the tile.

Harry’ eyes sparkle like little green gumdrops.

“Well I’m not done kissing my boyfriend.”

Louis tries to push him away again, to no avail.

“You are such a loser.”

Harry’s not having it. He chucks Louis’ toothbrush in the sink (without looking) and encircles his wrists, raising them up over his head. He feasts his eyes on Louis’ defenceless posture, looking like he wants to ruin him all over again but Louis just pouts.

“I’m all foamy.”

Harry smiles into the kiss.

“I like you all foamy.”

Which doesn’t turn out to be true because Harry kisses him for approximately ten seconds before he runs to the sink to deposit Louis’ foam. Idiot. Louis’ only very slightly endeared.

They’re all ready for bed when they realise that it’s only seven in the evening and they should probably eat something first. Harry promises to bring him dinner in bed which is so much better than breakfast in bed because it’s not followed by a day of work. Louis promises not to spill crumbs on the sheets, even though they’re his sheets and he knows that he will. It’s all going swimmingly until Louis realises that toasted sandwiches don’t take this long to make and he hurries out to see what Harry’s got up to. He finds Harry gone and his diary open on the table like a major clue to a crime scene. Louis is horrified. He runs out the door in just his underwear.

*-*-*-*-*

Harry hadn’t been looking for it, he hadn’t even meant to read it but it was front and centre on Louis’ kitchen bench, just begging for someone to stumble across it. Naturally, it caught his eye. He opened it up curiously, not knowing what to expect but when he read what was inside, he knew he couldn’t very well pretend he hadn’t seen it.

Harry Styles has the acquired manners of a particularly vile python.

Harry Styles is more pretentious than he is pretty which is remarkable because objectively speaking, he’s very pretty.

Harry Styles frequently takes to wearing his arse as a hat. I'd inform him that it's not to be worn so but I'm afraid he wouldn't hear me through the sheer volume of shit.

At least Harry could proudly say he was dating someone with wit.

"Harry! Harry, wait!”

Harry turns around at the sound of his name being called. The sight that greets him fills him with absolute horror. Louis is hurrying after him, dressed in next to nothing. He’s followed Harry all the way through the snow to speak to him.

“I’m so sorry,” he rasps, his big blue eyes fogged up with remorseful tears, “I didn’t mean any of it, I swear. Or…I did but I don’t now. I know you now and I—I want you to forgive me.” He says determinedly, and then as an afterthought, “please.”

Harry pulls a bound leather book out from behind his back.

"I was just getting you a new one. For a new start. What do you think?"

Louis reaches up to wipe the tears from beneath his eyes with a shaky laugh. Harry has never seen anyone so beautiful nor so temperamentally insane.

"I think I want to kiss you."

Harry gestures at Louis’ lack of clothing, shaking his head at his boyfriend’s sheer idiocy.

"You must be freezing!" Harry scolds him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him firmly anyway. "What kind of idiot are you?"

Louis’ answering smile is dazzling.

"The kind of idiot falls in love with the likes of you, Harry Styles."

"Mm," Harry's tongue darts out to trace his bottom lip, "my favourite kind. I love you too, Louis Tomlinson."

Harry wraps his coat around him, tucking Louis underneath his chin and holding him hostage inside his arms. Louis looks up at him, scepticism written plain across his features.

"Wait a second, nice boys don't fuck like that. They don’t kiss like you."

Harry grips him by the side of the face, pressing his thumb into the swell of Louis’ cheek. He uses his other arm to dip him low to the ground and kisses him passionately, chasing Louis’ tongue back into his mouth whenever he should dare to thrust it out. He pulls Louis back up after and tightens his coat around his small shoulders.

 "Oh yes, they fucking do."

Louis turns his head to the side inquisitively.

"Does this mean that they don't always finish last either?"

Harry laughs into this mouth.

"I got the guy, didn't I?"

Louis pinches his side.

“For now.”

Harry won’t have that. He pushes Louis’ hair away from his eyes and smiles into them, perfectly sincere

“For now…and forever.”