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The first time Louis realised he might actually be in love with Harry Styles, was over a half-burnt piece of toast and an unreasonably charming bedhead.
Harry shuffled into the kitchen of their shared apartment with one sock on and one trailing from his hand, blinking like the sun had personally wronged him. His oversized sweatshirt hung off one shoulder, exposing pale skin that should not have been as distracting as it was.
"Mornin'," Harry mumbled, voice still sticky with sleep, and Louis nearly forgot he was holding a knife and a jar of jam.
"Morning," Louis replied, much too quickly.
He slid a plate across the counter, nudging it in Harry’s direction. Toast, slightly overdone on one side, two eggs, sunny side up, because Harry liked to stab the yolks and make a mess, and a sticky note stuck to the rim of the plate with a little doodle of a sleepy cat and the words Don't fall asleep in your eggs again x .
Harry snorted, eyes lighting up just a little as he picked up the note.
“You’re such a weirdo,” he said fondly, before tucking the paper into his pocket, Louis knew it would go with the little pile Louis had seen growing in the corner of Harry’s desk.
“You’re welcome, by the way.” Louis looked away for a second, cheeks warm.
Harry hummed in response, already making a mess, poking through the yolks like it was some grand experiment.
And Louis just…watched him.
Like an idiot.
His heart did a weird flip and Louis just stood there with his heart beating fast and his world turning upside down.
Because Louis realised his stupid, stupid heart had been slowly, quietly rearranged over the course of two years of shared spaces and late night laughter, two years of the kind of comfort that sneaks up on you when you are too busy living it to notice.
Harry had been his roommate for exactly seven hundred and thirty-two days.
Not that Louis was counting.
Not really.
But he remembered the first night, when Harry had set down his boxes and immediately claimed the smaller bedroom because he said he liked how the sun hit the curtains.
Louis had laughed at the time, rolling on the bed.
Harry had called him dramatic.
Now, two years later, Louis was still laughing. But for different reasons.
He laughed fondly because Harry pushed toast into his mouth and grinned through it. Louis felt his chest squeeze so tight it was almost hard to breathe.
Because he was an idiot, and had gone and fallen in love with his best friend.
He swallowed hard, eyes still fixed on Harry.
Shit.
***
It had been four months since Louis’ heart did something completely stupid over toast and silly bedhead.
Since then he had made it his personal, borderline tragic, mission to do something everyday to show Harry how he felt.
Nothing big.
Just… little things.
Just in case Harry felt the same.
Just in case he ever noticed.
So far? Not so great results.
Well, attempt number one was a playlist. Full of love songs he claimed were just “background vibes”. Harry had liked it. Said it made him feel safe.
Louis’ heart flipped again.
But no love confession over that.
Attempt number forty-six was the candles. Did Louis like candles? He did not. But Harry said they helped him focus, so Louis lit up seven candles to a late night study session.
Louis nearly passed out from how strong they smelled. Harry laughed at him while he blew out the flames.
There wasn’t a shared kiss as Louis hoped, but he did get cuddles, so he would call that one a win.
Attempt number seventy three was pasta night.
Louis almost had a breakdown while trying to cook sauce from scratch, but Harry licked his thumb clean and smiled like Louis had handed him the moon. Louis had to leave the room and scream silently into a pillow.
But still… just friends.
Louis sighed while writing the little sticky note for Harry’s plate.
It was something he always did, even before his heart had mutiny against him. But now they were flirty, sweet. An ongoing attempt to make Harry smile… and maybe kiss Louis.
Not a success. But not a disaster either.
It was something Harry noticed if Louis didn’t do. Louis called them attempt number 01.
For Louis, every little note Harry kept counted as hope.
There had been other attempts, subtle, small, and increasingly desperate. “Accidentally” ending up in the same spot on the sofa so their knees touched. Wearing that deep forest green jumper because he’d once overheard Harry say it made his eyes look good. Maybe he should be a little bolder?
Harry’s arrival at the kitchen made Louis’ heart dance inside his chest and his thoughts scrambles inside his mind. He tried really hard not to scream his love to the other man when Harry gave him a thank you for the breakfast. Instead he watched as Harry dug into his eggs with a subtle blush on his cheeks, a finger tapping the note. Maybe today was the day.
But Harry was still… Harry.
Oblivious, sunny, and currently spooning his eggs like it was a cereal bowl.
“How’s the art project coming?” Louis asked, leaning against the counter, watching Harry try to pour orange juice with his eyes half closed.
“Painted a shoe last night.” Harry shrugged
“An actual shoe?” Louis asked, smiling.
“Yeah. It’s for some abstract form-meets-function concept thing.”
“You’re gonna fail, aren’t you?” Louis grinned.
“Massively,” Harry said cheerfully, getting up to leave his dishes on the sink, and Louis laughed, low and warm. Harry’s arm brushed Louis’ for a moment, lingered there.
There were moments, tiny ones, like this one, where Louis thought maybe… there was a tiny possibility… Harry looked at him differently.
A hand on his arm that lingered a second too long. A soft smile when he didn’t know Louis was watching. The way he always, always came home, no matter how late or tired, to their shared apartment instead of crashing at one of his many admirers' places. But maybe that was just Louis hoping too hard.
He stepped a little closer, reaching past Harry for a glass from the cupboard. Their arms brushed again.
Harry didn’t flinch away.
But he didn’t lean in either.
Strike... What, one hundred and twenty?
Still, Louis wasn’t discouraged. Not really. Because Harry was smiling again, that dimple on full display, holding up the sticky note.
“I’m keeping this one too,” he said.
“Of course you are,” Louis murmured, turning back to the sink and letting himself smile, while his heart beat faster..
***
There was a point when Louis realised he was no longer dropping hints.
He was catapulting them.
And Harry Styles, the gorgeous idiot, remained blissfully unaware.
Attempt number 150 had not been planned. Louis would die on that hill. He had not planned it. But…
The steam from the bathroom curled into the hallway like fog on a London morning as Louis stepped out, dripping, towel slung low around his hips, another one ruffling over his damp hair. His skin still tingled from the too hot water, and his plan was simple: breeze into his room across the hall, get dressed, look good, and maybe, maybe be seen.
What he didn’t plan for was Harry, sitting cross-legged on the floor just outside his door, scribbling in a sketchbook and humming to himself.
“Jesus, Harry!” Louis froze mid-step.
Harry looked up, wide-eyed, then grinned like Louis hadn’t just nearly died of cardiac arrest.
“Hey! You’re out. I wanted to ask if we still have almond milk.” Harry said oblivious to the blush spreading through Louis’ body.
“I…” He gestured to himself, towel and all. His cheeks flushed.
“Oh, right.” Harry scratched the back of his neck, unbothered. “Sorry. You can go. I’ll wait.”
And he did. There. On the floor. Just sat there like Louis wasn’t half-naked and clinging to the last thread of his dignity. Louis had to shuffle past him in silence, skin burning, trying not to think about how Harry hadn’t even looked fluttered. Harry just looked down at his hands and played with his rings. Louis slammed his bedroom door behind him and groaned into his pillow.
Strike number 150 …Louis should really stop counting these things…
Attempt number 200… was more of a performance.
And a little desperate, Louis could admit.
Louis found Harry’s bed strangely comfortable, even though it was technically the same IKEA model as his own. Maybe it was Harry’s linen-scented laundry detergent. Or maybe it was just Harry. And he wasn’t sad for craving Harry’s smell.
Harry had made him watch a mind numbingly dull documentary about 3D printers, and Louis laid there and tried to look enticing, showing a little skin where his shirt had raised, blinking his eyes a little slower, brushing his feet on Harry’s.
But the dull voice of the presenter made Louis blink sluggish and his mind blur, he closed his eyes for a second, just to rest them a little bit.
Forty five minutes later Louis stirred when he felt something on his lips. A finger? What? Louis tried to stop moving and paid attention to his surroundings.
Louis was curled around one of Harry’s pillows, breathing in the scent of peppermint shampoo and something softer underneath that he couldn’t name.
“Louis?” Harry nudged him gently.
Louis didn’t move.
“Louis, you’re in my bed.”
Still nothing.
“Louis, I’m gonna lay down if you don’t move,” Harry threatened with a laugh.
Louis very dramatically shifted to the edge, making just enough space.
“Are you fake-sleeping?” Harry blinked at him.
“Mmhmm,” Louis replied, very much not asleep.
“You’re the weirdest bloke I’ve ever met.” Harry said, but Louis could hear the fondness in his voice.
“Sweet,” Louis murmured into the pillow. “Get in or stop complaining.”
Harry did. And Louis definitely didn’t relax his body so their arms would touch. He definitely didn’t sigh all dreamily when Harry laughed at something on his phone. And when Harry finally turned off the light, Louis stayed exactly where he was, soaking in the warmth of having the boy he liked inches away.
When Harry whispered, “Night, Lou,” he almost said I’m in love with you .
He settled for “G’night, Haz,” and tried not to think about how his heart ached in the best-worst way.
***
Attempt number 360 was romantic.
Foolproof, even.
“Titanic?” Louis suggested one Saturday night, holding up the DVD case with the hopeful glee of a man on a mission.
“We’re watching a three-hour movie where everyone drowns?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Not everyone. Just most people,” Louis said brightly. “Come on. It’s a classic.”
“Fine. But don’t expect me to cry” Harry sighed but gave in.
“You will cry,” Louis said smugly. “I cry every time.”
They piled onto the sofa, Louis with a blanket “big enough for two, is less mess for after the movie Haz” and Harry with a bowl of popcorn he somehow kept forgetting to share. Louis tucked himself closer as the film progressed, pretending to shiver during the iceberg bit. It earned him a very platonic, very devastating side-hug.
By the time Rose was floating on that bloody door, Louis had subtly (ok maybe aggressively) leaned his head onto Harry’s shoulder, practically begging for him to wrap an arm around him.
Instead, Harry gave him a peck on his head and leaned away from Louis.
Louis stifled a groan and buried his face in the pillow. He wasn’t even mad. He was impressed. At this point, Harry had to be doing it on purpose. No one could be that clueless.
“I think I’ve seen this guy in another movie... Wait, was he in Inception ?” Harry said softly.
“We’re watching one of the most tragic love stories of all time, and you’re IMDb-ing Leo DiCaprio in your head?” Louis sat up and stared at him. “And how the hell do you not know who Leo DiCaprio is?”
“Not the point Lou, he’s got range.” Harry shrugged.
“Unbelievable”, Louis muttered, but he was already laughing, even if his chest ached in longing.
The movie ended, and Harry shuffled off to brush his teeth while Louis stayed behind to tidy up. He folded the blanket slowly, like the silence might offer him answers.
It didn’t.
***
Later that night, Louis was back in the kitchen scribbling furiously on another sticky note for tomorrow’s breakfast.
Bought more almond milk, you beautiful menace. x
He stared at it for a moment, then added a tiny, frowning doodle of himself face-down on the floor.
A pair of arms looped lazily around his waist, and Louis jumped. And his blood pressure jumped. And his heart jumped.
“Whatcha doin’?” Harry said, behind him, resting his chin on Louis’s shoulder like it was the most casual thing in the world.
Louis’s heart did an Olympic-level somersault.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, stuffing the note in a drawer.
“You okay?” Harry’s voice was quiet now, sincere.
Louis turned around, gently bumping their foreheads together before he could second-guess it.
“Dunno. I think I’m broken.” Louis said while fighting sudden tears. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Why would you say that?” Harry looked over sharply, his forehead creasing.
Louis hesitated, then shrugged helplessly.
“Because I don’t know if I’m… lovable.”
The words hung there, fragile and real, and Louis instantly regretted them. He bit the inside of his cheek and looked down, pretending to study the edge of his sleeve like it had something important to say.
Harry didn’t speak for a second, but when he did, his voice was soft. Certain.
“You are”, he said.
Louis glanced up, startled.
“I mean it,” Harry continued, eyes on him now, honest and open in a way that made Louis’ heart ache. “You are… you are funny and thoughtful and annoying in, like, a charming way. You make people feel seen. Of course you are lovable.”
Louis stared at him, heart hammering in his throat. For a moment, just a split second, it felt like something shifted in the air between them. Like maybe Harry was finally seeing him, not as a friend or a roommate, but as him, Louis, who was wearing his heart on his sleeve for the best part of a year now.
So Louis leaned in just slightly. Not even close enough to be obvious, just enough to feel Harry’s heat. Just enough to hope.
And then Harry smiled, passed a hand through his hair and reached behind him to grab a cup. Louis watched as the man filled the glass and drank the water with sparkly eyes on Louis. And then he gave Louis a hug and went away.
And that was it.
No shift.
No spark.
Just… more of the same.
Louis turned away and blinked back the tears.
“Yeah,” He muttered, trying to make his heart stop bleeding. “Just not loved by who I want.”
Inside, his chest was buzzing with disappointment and the familiar burn of the almost .
Of course Harry didn’t get it. Of course he didn’t see.
Because moments like this only meant something to Louis.
And he was starting to think they never would to Harry.
***
The week had been a mess. Louis had spent days trying to ignore the growing ache in his chest, the one that flared up every time Harry smiled that smile that he wasn’t meant to be the recipient of. It had gotten to the point where Louis could no longer sit back and pretend everything was fine. The hints had been dropped, the signals sent, and still, Harry had no clue.
Louis was tired of being invisible.
So, when a guy from one of his classes had casually asked him to a party after a particularly grueling lecture, Louis had said yes. He wasn’t looking for anything serious; it was just a fun night out, maybe some flirting with someone who would flirt back.
Just a way to get his mind off the fact that Harry - his best friend, his roommate, the love of his life - had no idea how Louis felt.
And maybe... Louis thought that maybe if he went out with someone else, if he could make Harry realise what he was losing, things would get better. Or it would finally teach him that Louis wasn’t just some comforting presence in his life. He was someone . A person. A guy who had been waiting far too long for Harry to wake up.
Louis was tired.
The night of the campus party arrived, and Louis felt a mixture of nervous excitement as he got ready. He put on his favorite shirt, the one that made him feel confident, and styled his hair with more care than usual. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to impress the guy he was meeting or if he was trying to prove something to himself.
When he met Jason, the guy from his class, outside the dorm, Louis felt a strange sense of detachment. Jason was nice enough, but Louis couldn’t help but feel like he was trying too hard. He was comparing every small thing to the comfort of being with Harry. The way Harry’s laugh made his stomach flutter, how easy it was to be with him even in silence.
Still, Louis went through with it. They walked to the party, chatted about trivial things, and Louis tried to push the thought of Harry out of his mind. This wasn’t about him. Not anymore.
At the party, the music was loud, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and excitement. People milled around, laughing, dancing, talking. Louis could see Jason talking to some of his friends, and although he was trying to have fun, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
That’s when he saw him.
Harry.
It was like a punch to the gut. Louis’ eyes locked on Harry, and in an instant, the entire room faded away. Harry was standing in the corner, talking to Zayn, the most gorgeous guy on campus, looking effortlessly cool in his hoodie and jeans. He was laughing at something Zayn said, and Louis couldn’t help but notice the way Harry’s eyes twinkled with amusement, the way his lips curved into that warm smile Louis had become addicted to.
For a split second, Louis wondered if Harry would notice him, if their eyes would meet across the crowded room. He waited, almost holding his breath.
But then, a sharp laugh from Jason broke his focus, pulling him back into the present. He looked over at Jason, but all he could think about was Harry. How easy it was to get lost in him, how much he wanted to be the one Harry was smiling at.
"Hey, you okay?" Jason asked, his voice cutting through Louis' thoughts.
"Yeah, I’m good." Louis nodded, plastering on a smile.
Jason raised an eyebrow but didn't press the issue. They grabbed drinks, and Louis tried to shake the feeling that Harry was everywhere, that he was the one Louis should be talking to, not Jason.
A few hours later, Louis found himself standing by the back door of the party, watching as people laughed and danced, his thoughts running wild. He was standing next to Jason, but his mind kept drifting back to Harry, how carefree he seemed, how easy it was for him to be around others. Meanwhile, Louis was stuck, constantly second-guessing every move, every word he spoke to Harry.
Jason, sensing that Louis was distant, turned toward him with a grin.
"Come on, we should probably head out soon," Jason suggested, brushing his hand against Louis’ arm.
Louis waited to feel anything with the touch, but his heart stayed still.
"Yeah, you’re probably right." he nodded.
But Jason, ever the eager one, took a step closer.
"Why not make the most of it?" he said, his voice dropping to a flirtatious tone. He reached out, placing his hand on Louis' waist, pulling him in.
Louis hesitated for a moment, his thoughts racing. He shouldn’t, not like this, not with Harry in the room. But then again, maybe it was time. Time to stop pretending. He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Jason’s.
***
Across the room, Harry was chatting with Zayn when he caught sight of Louis. At first, he didn’t think much of it, Louis was talking to Jason, just standing there, enjoying the music. But then, as if in slow motion, his heart skipped a beat as he watched Jason lean in. The kiss was quick but full of intention. Jason’s hand slid to Louis’ neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Louis, to Harry’s utter shock, kissed him back.
Harry froze. His body went rigid, and his blood ran cold. It felt like the air had been knocked out of him.
His hands clenched into fists. He watched, unable to tear his eyes away, as Louis kissed someone else, someone who wasn’t him. The ache in his chest spread like wildfire, his throat tightening with a mix of confusion and jealousy.
Without thinking, Harry turned sharply and pushed his way through the crowd, his head spinning with a mix of rage and frustration. He couldn’t believe it - Louis was kissing someone else . Why did it hurt so much? Wasn't this what he wanted? Didn't he push Louis away, kept being friends when in fact he wanted more? Why was he suddenly furious?
The jealousy bubbled up, hot and painful, as he stormed through the party. The noise of the music, the chatter of people, all of it blurred around him. He didn’t care. He just needed to get away. Away from Louis, away from the confusion that had just shattered something deep inside him.
He made it to the door, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The cool night air hit him like a slap, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside.
***
Jason and Louis were still by the back door, laughing. Louis saw as Harry ran out of the party, hurt in his eyes. Was it because of the kiss? Louis was trying to ignore the guilt gnawing at him, but the thought of Harry seeing him like this made his heart sink.
He had been trying to forget about Harry, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t right. He knew he hadn’t really moved on, he just needed a distraction. He turned back to Jason, but the weight of Harry’s absence was already pulling him in another direction.
Meanwhile, Harry had already made it to the edge of the campus, pacing, trying to force the anger and jealousy down. But it was useless. All he could see was Louis, his Louis, his best friend, kissing someone else. He wanted to scream. He wanted to confront him, but most of all, he wanted to turn back time and be brave to say all he wanted to say for so long.
It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this.
***
The room was thick with tension, like the air was too heavy to breathe. It had been a week since the party, the night Harry had stormed out, the night he saw Louis kissing Jason.
Every day since, Harry had been walking around in a fog, trying to ignore the ache that gnawed at him every time he saw Louis. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop wondering what had gone wrong, where everything had gone wrong. What had he missed? Wasn’t he supposed to be the one Louis kissed?
But now, standing in front of the door to their apartment, Harry couldn’t run away anymore. He had to face him.
He’d seen Louis from the hallway, pacing in the living room, his shoulders slumped. Harry’s heart twisted in his chest.
When Louis noticed Harry standing there, his face fell, like a weight had dropped onto his shoulders. Harry could see the guilt in his eyes, but it only made the pain sharper. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was stand there, staring at him.
"Harry... I…" Louis swallowed hard, taking a step forward.
"No," Harry cut him off, his voice sharper than he intended. "No more excuses, Louis. No more pretending. I can't do it anymore."
"What do you mean? What’s going on with you?" Louis blinked, his brows furrowing.
Harry took a step closer, and the words that had been building up for so long finally spilled out.
"You kissed someone else. You kissed him , and I… " Harry stopped, his hands shaking slightly as he ran them through his hair. "I don’t know why, but it killed me, Louis. It was like you…"
He stopped, his throat closing up as the weight of his emotions hit him all at once.
Louis opened his mouth to respond, but Harry wasn’t done. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
"I don’t care if you’re confused or you think we should be just friends. I don’t care. All I know is that I…" Harry stopped, taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his voice cracked as he looked at Louis. "I love you. I’ve loved you for so long. And I… I was too scared to say anything because I thought it would ruin everything. I thought I’d lose you as a friend, and I couldn’t handle that. But now, I can’t just stand here and watch you be with someone else. I can’t do it anymore."
The room was dead silent. Louis stood frozen, his eyes wide. His breath caught in his throat.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other… two people who had been dancing around their feelings for months, not knowing how to make the first move.
Louis was the first to speak, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Harry... you have no idea how long I’ve been trying to show you how I felt. How long I’ve been waiting for you to see me. I…" His voice faltered. He swallowed hard, stepping closer to Harry. "I’ve been trying to tell you for a year. I was just... I was just waiting for you to notice. For you to see that I’m not just your friend. I’m not just the guy you can talk to when things go wrong. I’m here , Harry. I’m always here. But I didn’t know how to make you see it. I was scared of you not feeling the same way, of losing you."
Harry’s chest tightened at the words, his heart aching for all the times he had failed to see it, failed to notice the little things, the signs that Louis had been showing all along. He had been so blind, so afraid of his own feelings, that he never gave Louis the chance to show him what was right in front of him.
"I never meant to hurt you, Louis," Harry said, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn’t know. I didn’t know that you felt the same way. And I was so damn scared of losing you that I... I pushed you away."
Louis took a shaky breath, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting Harry’s gaze again.
"You never have to be scared of losing me, Harry," he said softly. "I’ve always been here. I always will be."
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them moved. It felt like time had stopped, like the world outside their little bubble had ceased to exist. Harry took a step forward, closing the space between them until there were only inches separating them.
"Then... why didn’t you say anything?" Harry whispered, his voice shaking.
“I thought you’d never feel the same. And every time I saw you with someone else, it... it hurt. I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to mess up what we had." Louis exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving Harry’s.
Harry reached out, his hand gently cupping Louis’ cheek. The touch was soft, hesitant, but filled with all the things they hadn’t said before. He could feel the heat of Louis’ skin beneath his fingertips, the steady rhythm of his breath. For a moment, it felt like everything that had been weighing on both of them was finally being released.
"I was so afraid of losing you too," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can’t keep pretending anymore. I can’t keep letting this go unsaid. I love you, Louis. I always have. And I don’t care about anything else anymore. I just want to be with you."
"You really mean it?" Louis let out a shaky breath, his eyes glistening.
"I do. I just... I just want you." Harry nodded, a small, almost desperate smile tugging at his lips.
Louis didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. Instead, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them until their lips met. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as if both of them were unsure if this was real, unsure of how to navigate the emotions that were flooding through them.
But then, as the kiss deepened, everything else faded away. The fear, the uncertainty, the hurt, it all melted into the background.
There was only Louis, and there was only Harry.
Their lips moved together with an urgency that spoke of everything they’d kept inside for so long, everything they’d been afraid to admit.
Louis wrapped his arms around Harry, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of his body against his. Harry responded by tangling his hands in Louis’ hair, the sensation of his fingers against Louis’ skin sending sparks through him.
They pulled apart for a breath, their foreheads resting against each other as they panted softly. Louis looked into Harry’s eyes, his heart still racing, but now full of hope, full of possibility.
"Finally," Louis whispered.
"Finally." Harry smiled, his thumb gently brushing across Louis’ cheek.
Attempt number 369 was a success.