Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You have the check-in info, right? The printout or whatever?” Niall asks.

Harry nods, pats his bag. “Got it right here.”

“Man, I can't believe we’re here,” Niall says, looking around with excitement. The lobby is full of people their age, many of them lined up to check in just like them. Just outside the window, he can see people laying out by the pool, and there’s an audible thump of the beat of the music from the DJ.

“I know,” agrees Harry, “Gems came here when she was our age, said it was wicked. Can’t believe we’re finally here.”

“Ibiza.” Niall breathes, says the word a little like a prayer. And for them it is, two first year uni students turned best friends who are on holiday by themselves for the first time. “Here for ten days of relaxation, sun, and booze, with no exams to distract us. Can't believe it.”

Harry’s about to agree when he takes a small step to the side to give Niall a bit of breathing room and bumps into a body in motion. It's a short guy hoisting a big duffle bag over his shoulder, and Harry nearly knocks the guy to the ground.

“Hi,” says the guy, and Harry suddenly takes notice of the way he’s grabbed onto Harry’s upper arm to catch his balance. The boy looks up at him, and the first thing Harry notices is that his eyes are so blue.

“Sorry,” Harry breathes, and then shakes his head. “My bad.”

“Sorry about that, pal. Gotta catch up to my friend here,” and then he’s off to the front of the queue to stand next to a guy at the desk.

Harry watches as he holds out a series of papers and shows the receptionist their IDs, and then he lets out a sharp breath and turns away.

“Well that was weird,” Niall says slowly, watching Harry carefully.

Harry nods. “Yeah.” He pauses for a beat, and then changes the subject. This is a lads’ holiday; it’s not the time to be thinking about pretty boys with deep blue eyes. He’s here for Niall, and Niall only.

“So do you think there's any places to golf here?” He asks Niall, banishing all his previous thoughts from his head.

* 

Their room is on the ninth floor, and Harry’s stood on the balcony admiring the view of the beach. It stretches as far as he can see, and there’s pools and trees and beach chairs littering the whole landscape. It's gorgeous.

The balcony is also the perfect place to sit out and have a cup of tea; he's already looking forward to doing that tomorrow morning. But right now he wants to take a photo of the beach.

“Nialler, come look at this view,” he says as he goes back into the room, digging through his suitcase for his camera. Niall had immediately flopped down onto one of the queen beds when they'd walked into the room and he's currently waxing poetic about how comfy they are.

“Haz, I'm telling you, lie down,” he says, pushing over toward the wall and patting the spot on the bed next to him. Never mind that there’s an entirely empty bed that belongs to Harry just six feet away. “You’ll probably never get up again. You have to try it. Plus I want a cuddle.”

Ah, so that explains it. Harry is altogether too happy to comply.

* 

He’s sipping tea on the balcony the next morning just like he planned, finishing his eggs and bacon that came from room service about twenty minutes ago. He rubs his temples and frowns; he might have intended to spend his morning out here but he certainly wasn't planning on having this hangover.

They'd gone out to a club last night, some place with one of Niall’s friends from London, and Harry had had far too much to drink after a few weeks of not drinking at all. At the time, it had sounded like a great idea. “Just jump right into it,” Niall had encouraged. “No time to waste!” And because Harry is nothing if not a good friend, he’d obliged. And now he’s paying for it.

He pushes his plate to the side and picks up his camera, the weight of it in his hand a familiar comfort. He turns it on and looks through the viewfinder, messing around with the aperture and a few other settings. He's about to click the shutter when he hears a groan behind him.

Niall stumbles out onto the balcony and plops himself down into the chair across from Harry.

“Hope you have some food for me there, Harold.”

“Tough night there, Ni?” Harry grins. “Need some paracetamol for that hangover?”

“I don’t do hangovers, Styles. Just a bit tired, I think.” The way he’s squinting in the sunlight before putting his sunglasses on says otherwise.

Harry pushes the second plate toward him with one finger and rolls his eyes at Niall. He lays back in his chair, looking at his best friend with a knowing smile. Niall just glares at him, but then he gives him a grateful thanks and starts eating.

The minutes pass in comfortable silence. Harry wants to ask Niall what he thought of the club they went to, how he's feeling, what he wants to do today. It's their first full day and he's thankful his headache is starting to recede; he wants to make the most of the island. Or at least make it to the beach before sunset.

“I absolutely think the national squad has a shot at making it to the final of the World Cup,” says an English voice from out on the balcony next door. There's the sound of a door sliding shut, and then another voice.

“Tommo, if you genuinely think that team has a shot, I think you're mad.”

“Did you see the way they played against Ireland last month? They slaughtered them!” Niall’s whole body shoots up in his chair. He looks ready for a fight.

“I did, but I still think it'll be Brazil,” the second guy answers definitively. “They beat Ireland, sure, but they've been rubbish lately.”

Niall jumps out of his chair. “You really want to call Ireland rubbish, mate?”

There’s a pause, and then the second voice speaks again. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Niall, Niall Horan. Pretty much an expert on the Irish squad, having grown up there and all.”

A petty disagreement breaks out between the three of them, despite the fact that they can't quite see each other. Harry watches Niall with amusement out of the corner of his eye as he finally takes a few shots of the beach with his camera.

He’s just noticing the lovely vines and flowers growing on the divider between the two balconies as Niall’s argument starts to heat up. He points his camera at the flowers, puts his finger on the shutter, and - a head pokes itself over the railing and past the divider. He jumps and his finger hits the button.

It's the boy from yesterday. The one he bumped into. Because, of course it is.

“Are you taking pictures of me without permission, Curly?” His smile is teasing.

“Well, technically as long as you're in a public space I can take all the photos I want,” Harry retorts.

“Ah, but I don't think this counts as a public space, is the thing. Might want to ask my permission first.”

Harry rolls his eyes good-naturedly and takes another couple of photos of the flowers. He can see the guy from yesterday looking at him out of the corner of his eye, but he focuses on his camera. Good photography is about concentration. Maybe he’ll make them into postcards and sell them, or maybe he’ll use them as part of his end of year exhibition. He’s on holiday, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to forget about the portfolio assignment that’s coming up in a month. One of the topics is ‘nature’ and he thinks that this would definitely work. Plus the flowers are just pretty.

Niall and the other guy are in heated discussion about football, even though they can’t see each other. It’s pretty amusing; ten minutes ago Niall was complaining about (or really, refusing to acknowledge) his massive hangover, and now he’s got his arms flailing as he defends his home football team to a complete stranger.

“I’ll just drag over a chair and stand on it and look over,” the guy says.

Niall scoffs. “No, don’t do that, mate. Just come over to ours.” Harry drops his camera to the table with a start, eyes flying to Niall’s face. Niall shrugs. And that’s Niall to a T, isn’t it, always eager to defend himself and the things he loves passionately but also willing to cross borders and make new friends.

There’s a knock on the door then, and Niall runs inside the room to open it. Harry stands up as he leads the two boys out to the balcony, and he’s suddenly fidgety, wiping his palms on his shorts and feeling his foot tap a little bit.

“So I’m Niall, and this is Harry,” Niall’s saying, and Harry extends his hand to the taller guy.

“Harry Styles, hi.”

“Liam Payne, nice to meet you mate,” he says, smiling.

“Ah, the one who thinks Brazil will win the World Cup,” Harry says, smiling.

“That’s me. And this is Louis.”

“Guess I can’t call you Curly now that we’ve met properly,” Louis says as he shakes Harry’s hand. “Louis Tomlinson.” He’s got such small hands, Harry notices. But then again he might not, maybe they’re normal sized - Harry’s been teased enough by Niall about his massive hands to know that he’s not really the best one to judge.

“Well, you can,” Harry says, “but everyone else just calls me Harry.”

“Well, nice to meet you then, Harry.”

Niall claps Liam and Louis on the back, practically pushing them into the open chairs at the table. “So, tell me more about how you think the Irish squad is the worst in fifty years then,” he says as he takes his own seat.

“Can I get anyone anything to drink? Could make some tea maybe, if you’re up for it,” Harry interrupts, trying to cut Niall off before he gets too heated.

“Ever the host, Harry is,” Niall says, poking Harry in the chest. Even through his t-shirt, it hurts. He rubs at the spot absently as Liam starts talking.

“I think we’re good. Actually,” he says, pausing to look at Louis, who gives a little shrug that seems to say ‘Why not?’ before continuing, “Actually we were just about to go play some football on the beach, maybe you’d like to come? Be more fun with four instead of two. Plus, new blood.” He grins.

Niall nods enthusiastically. “Absolutely, we’d love to. Wouldn’t we, Haz?” He’s grinning manically at Harry.

“Well…” Harry trails off. Niall’s eyes widen slightly, like he’s trying not to glare. “I’m rubbish at football, seriously.”

“Ah, no, I bet you’re fine. Come with us,” Liam says pleasantly.

“We need an even number, Curly, please, please come with us!” Louis says, and his eyes are bright and eager and his foot is bopping around.

Harry sighs. It’s hard to say no to that kind of enthusiasm, even if it’ll take about three minutes before they’re all begging him to quit.

“Yeah, please come!” Niall says, but he’s acting. He knows, is the thing, he knows how uncoordinated and awful Harry is at football, and he just wants another opportunity to make fun of him.

“Fine, I’ll come,” he says, and the three of them cheer, standing up to leave. “But I’m bringing my camera along because after five minutes you’ll be asking me to stop playing.”

“Oh, I doubt that, Curly,” Louis says, “I’m sure you’ll be great."

«« »»

He is not great, it turns out. In fact, Louis has never met a single person worse at football than Harry Styles. He’d figured that the boy was just faking it, trying to sound humble or something. But no, he is well and truly awful.

“I told you,” Harry calls after he tries to block a goal and falls to the sand instead. “I told you I was terrible.”

“Yeah, you’re bloody awful,” Louis calls back, and ordinarily it’d be a mean thing to say to someone he’s just met but something about the way Harry’s laughing tells him it’ll be okay.

“Not a very nice thing to say, Louis,” Harry says as he stands up.

“It’s true, though, innit? You’re like a baby deer or something, falling all over the place.”

Harry opens his mouth to answer when all of a sudden Louis hears someone calling Liam’s name. They all turn and as Liam’s hugging one of the guys, Louis recognizes the three of them as Liam’s mates from uni. Liam invites them to join them, and then suddenly there’s seven.

“Lads, I’m gonna sit this one out, I think, take a few photos,” Harry says as throws the ball to Louis and wanders over to where their towels and bags are laying on the sand. He pulls out his camera and fiddles it with a bit, turning to face the ocean, but then Louis has to stop watching because the lads are calling for the ball and the game is starting up again.

It happens a few minutes later.

One of Liam’s friends, Jamie, Louis thinks his name is, kicks the ball and it goes flying in the wrong direction, towards the sea. Louis watches the path of the ball in the air, can feel what’s going to happen before it does, but he’s frozen, can’t say anything. Can’t warn Harry to get the hell out of the way before the ball whacks him in the back of the head. It’s fast, and it looks like it hurt, if the way Harry falls to his knees is anything to go by.

“You okay, Haz?” Niall’s yelling as he and Louis both run to Harry’s side.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I’m fine,” Harry says, rubbing the back of his neck. Niall puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

“You sure?” Louis asks. “I’m so sorry, I saw what was going to happen and I tried to yell but I was like, frozen, you know?” He feels bad.

He and Niall both offer a hand to help Harry up, and he pulls himself to standing with their help. “Promise I’m fine, really. Just took me by surprise. You can go back to your match, I swear.”

“Ok, as long as you’re fine,” Niall says, pulling Harry in for a quick hug before running off to join the lads again.

“Sorry again,” Louis says after they both stand there in silence for a minute.

“Not your fault,” Harry says. “Guess I’m worse than we thought though. Get hurt even when I’m not playing.”

Louis laughs. “You’re a hazard, Harold. Unsafe to be around.”

“My secondary school athletics coach did say that I was terrible at sports,” Harry confesses. “I think the exact quote on my school report was ‘Harry, in particular, was awful.’”

“Oh no!” Louis says, and then there’s a few beats of quiet.

“You can go back to the match if you want,” Harry offers, gesturing to the lads, who’ve picked up the game again. Liam’s taken over Harry’s spot in goal, and Luke and Niall are currently duking it out for the ball at the other end of their makeshift pitch. “I’m all set, don’t need a babysitter or anything. Was thinking of walking down to the end of the beach, take my camera with me in case there’s anything interesting.”

Louis looks back at the guys. They seem to be doing fine, haven’t noticed that he hasn’t come back. He doesn’t know what compels him to say it, but: “Think I’ll come with you, if that’s alright. Could use a walk.”

Harry’s face brightens, and Louis suddenly notices how green his eyes are. In the afternoon light, they look like emeralds. “Perfect.” 

*

The sun is low in the sky when they finally make their way back to their original spot. It’s beautiful, just a hint of orange coming up from the horizon. Louis hasn’t always been one for nature, prefers a footie pitch to an open field of grass, but he can certainly appreciate a good sunset. And this one looks like it’ll be good.

“Where’d they all go?” Harry asks, giving the towels a second look to make sure they’re in the right place.

“Must’ve given up, gone back to the rooms,” Louis says, but he’s also wondering. Had they really been gone that long?

“Feels like we weren’t gone that long,” Harry says, giving a voice to Louis’s thoughts.

“Well, you know what they say,” Louis says. Harry looks at him quizzically. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

Harry looks like he’s about to roll his eyes. “Heeyy, stupid jokes are supposed to be my thing. You can’t go stealing my spotlight.”

“Yeah, I think we’ve established that the stupid jokes are your domain,” Louis teases, and he’s not totally sure, but he thinks he sees Harry blush. It’s true, Harry really had told Louis more stupid jokes during their walk than Louis has ever heard in his life, and he has four younger sisters. They’d been stupid, but they’d also made Louis laugh, because they were stupid but they were also funny. Harry himself was funny, but also sincere, the way he talked slow and really thought about what he was saying. Even if he’d nearly knocked over Louis yesterday, something Louis had taken the first opportunity to tease him about.

“I guess they’re gone then,” Harry is saying, and Louis is struck by the way the fading light is bouncing off his curls, by the way it lights up his whole face. He’s beautiful, Louis suddenly thinks to himself. He’d thought so yesterday, when he’d run into him in the lobby, but now that he knows him a bit better, Louis recognizes it’s not just his looks. Harry himself is beautiful, if the past few hours they’ve spent together are anything to go by. His heart is doing a flip in his chest and Louis wants it to stop, doesn’t like the implication of it. He’s here on holiday, not to be attracted to handsome boys.

Harry bends down to pick up their towels and he hands Louis his, giving him a strange look.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Louis shakes his head. Snap out of it, Lou. Let it go.

“I asked if you think we should head back then?”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

It’s a quick walk back to the hotel and they’re silent in the lift ride up to the ninth floor.

“Well, hopefully I’ll see you at some point later?” Harry asks, a bright smile on his face as they stand in between their own doors. He’s tanner than he was earlier that afternoon, all of him sun-kissed and bronzed. He’s dressed in a white t-shirt and blue swimming trunks, and Louis notices now that they’ve got sea turtles on them. Quirky.

“Yeah, let’s do something tomorrow then,” Louis says, finding himself hoping desperately that Harry will actually follow through.

“See ya then,” Harry answers.

Louis lets himself into his room and collapses on the bed. What is he doing? He’s not supposed to spend this trip lusting after pretty boys with curly hair. That never works out well, not that he’s been interested in anyone lately anyway.

But still, he can’t do this. He can’t.

* 

Louis knocks on the door next to his, and there’s a minute or two of silence. He’s just getting ready to turn back, he’ll just go back to his room and eat alone, when Harry opens the door. He’s pulling a t-shirt over his head, a grey one with a big G in the middle, and his hair is damp. “Louis, hi,” he says. He sounds a bit confused, but he motions for him to come in anyway.

“Harry, hi, sorry, I know I only left you like 45 minutes ago,” Louis says, going into the room and standing a bit awkwardly by the television.“I got a text from Liam, said that he and Niall and some of the lads went to one of the clubs. Wondered if you wanted to eat with me,” he says, holding up the six pack and the pizza he’d picked up at one of the restaurants downstairs.

There’s a beat of hesitation, a pause while Harry just looks at him. “Unless of course you had plans to meet them or something. I’m sorry, you probably had plans. I’ll just go,” Louis babbles, picking up the shoes he’d kicked off at the door.

Harry stops him with a soft hand on his shoulder. “No, no, Lou, that sounds perfect. Thanks for thinking of me.”

They lock eyes and for a moment, Louis feels like time stops. The breath goes out of him for a second, because Harry’s gaze on his face is so, so intense. And then Harry turns away and the moment is broken, and Louis is left standing holding a six pack of beer and a racing heart.

“You wanna watch a film?” Harry asks, sitting down on the sofa and motioning for Louis to do the same. He puts the pizza on the coffee table and picks up the remote, flicking through channels.

“Ooh, Grease!” Louis exclaims with a mouth full of pizza, and yeah it’s not the cutest he’s ever looks but he doesn’t care right now.

It’s the first day of school scene, right at the beginning, and Louis is turning to Harry with pleading eyes just as Harry says, “This is my favorite movie!”

“Mine too,” Louis says. He just smiles, laughs, tries to remember that he met this boy all of twenty-eight hours ago and yet he feels drawn to him like they’re magnets.

But it’s not a big deal. He just thinks Harry is funny and friendly and cute, that’s all. That’s it.

(That’s not all, his brain protests, but he tells it to be quiet.)

*

“What the hell - Louis?”

Louis opens his eyes, and the first thing is notices is Niall stumbling into the room. The second thing he notices is that Harry’s head is on his shoulder, and he’s dead asleep. He takes a second to appreciate the peacefulness in his expression, and then Niall’s general state of inebriation shakes him out of that.

“Curly, wake up,” Louis whispers, shrugging his head off his shoulder. “Harry, get up,” he says a little louder when he gets no response.

“What-what’s going on?” Harry asks, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “Louis?”

“What the hell, it’s our second night here and the two of you are already spending the night together? Liam and I bet it would take until at least day four.” Niall’s standing in front of them, and Louis’ heart gives a lurch, trying not to think about the implications of that statement.

“Nialler, what are you talking about?” Harry’s talking even slower than usual, still dazed with sleep and also very, very cute.

(No, no, no, says Louis’s brain.)

“Better get back to my own room, then,” he says, face blushing from Niall’s insinuation. “Goodnight, Curly.”

He hugs Harry then as they both stand up, and as Harry nearly falls into him, still half-asleep, he has to stop himself from pressing a kiss to his forehead. He watches then as Harry sleepily crawls into bed, still dressed in his joggers and American football shirt. He can feel Niall staring at him, but he ignores it. “Goodnight, Niall.”

“Night, Louis.”

*

“Tommo, we’re here to get shitfaced. Follow through, please,” Liam orders the next morning when they’re at the poolside bar, frowning at the mimosa Louis just ordered.

“Lima, I get you, but I need to ease into it a bit. Can’t be ordering two shots of vodka and a beer right off the bat like you,” Louis answers. “Plus, it’s 11am. I know we just woke up, but take it easy.”

“You’re falling behind, Tommo. Still can’t believe you didn’t drink last night.”

“Excuse you, I had three beers last night.”

“Yeah, so tell me more about this romantic night in with Harry,” Liam starts, and Louis just whacks him on the shoulder.

They spot Niall waving to them from his spot at the other edge of the pool, and they make their way over there. Harry’s spreading sun cream on his upper arms, and - wow. He’s shirtless this morning, wearing the same turtle swimming trunks as yesterday. And he has a lot of tattoos. Louis had noticed the ones on his lower arms yesterday, obviously, but he’s got a huge butterfly on his chest and two ferns and what looks like birds and a big ship, and a whole bunch of other ones he can’t see from this distance. But shit, he has a lot of ink. Not that Louis has room to talk, after years of hating tattoos and finally being convinced by Liam to get one their first year of uni.

Anyway.

“Heyo!” Harry calls to them when they get closer. “How’s it going?” His curls are tied back in a deep green headscarf, and Louis is willing to bet it’s the exact color of his eyes.

“Hey Harry, Niall,” Louis says. “Good night last night?”

Harry smiles at him as he sits down on the lounger next to him. “Yeah, it was alright, I guess.”

Louis takes a sip of his drink and has to look away to hide his smile. There’s a DJ playing loud music and the pool is full of people splashing around and spilling drinks and there’s girls in skimpy bikinis and it’s exactly like spring break in an American film.

“So, what are we all drinking?”

*

Louis is blissfully, gloriously drunk. This is the best day ever. He’s with his best friend and a boy he might be developing a very tiny crush on and an blond Irish boy who Louis thinks is hilarious, and none of them are even close to sober.

It’s one of those days when day drinking where time seems to stretch out before him, and he feels like he’s been drinking all day but he checks his phone and it’s just after 2pm. It’s like time is elastic, like it goes by really quickly one minute and the next minute seems to last a million years.

“Isn’t it weird how time goes when you’re drunk?” He asks Harry. Somehow his lounger has gotten much closer to Harry’s, and he doesn’t remember moving it but he’s not going to complain either. If he just leaned over a bit his shoulder could brush Harry’s. He stays where he is.

“Yeah, like feels we’ve been here forever but think it’s only been a couple hours.” Harry answers, “I’m tired, could use a nap.”

Louis is about to agree when Harry moves to an entirely new topic of conversation. “Here, can you put some of this on me?” He asks, handing Louis the bottle of sun cream. His speech is slow and sloppy. “Can’t reach my back.”

Louis hesitates for a second before taking the bottle. He squeezes a little bit of it out, and it’s cold in his palm. “It’s cold, just a warning,” he says before rubbing the lotion on his hands and placing his palms on the top of Harry’s back. It’s so broad, so toned, so warm. Louis tries not to let it affect him, tries to act casual as he spreads the lotion, even as he feels electric sparks shooting down his own spine.

He fails.

«« »»

Harry feels electric. He’s drunk, he can’t figure out too much right now but he knows that with complete certainty, he is very drunk. He’s not sure he’s been sober for at least twelve hours, and at the moment he doesn’t really care. He’s got his best friend by his side and they’re at the beach and he’s getting a tan for the first time in ages and he feels happy.

“I’m so happy!” He yells over the booming music, pressing a sloppy kiss to Niall’s cheek from where they’re seated next to each other in the booth.

“Me too!” Niall yells back, and Harry just grins, holding up his drink and clinking it against Niall’s. A bit of it spills out over the top, but who cares? He can just go up and get another one when this one runs out.

“Let’s go dance!” Louis yells from across the table, and Harry thinks that sounds like a good idea. Louis takes his hand and pulls him up and Niall and Liam follow. Harry’s hand feels so hot and he thinks it’s all because of Louis. He looks at him and all he feels is heat. Heat under his skin, heat trying to get out, heat burning him up from the inside out.

“Want a drink?” Louis asks him after the four of them have been on the dance floor for a few minutes. The music is loud and Harry can barely hear him. He presses himself right up against Louis, bends down and brings his mouth close to his ear.

“Yes please. Something… something fruity. I don’t care what. Just something with alcohol.” Harry yells, and Louis nods, gives Harry a thumbs up. He disappears into the crowd, and Harry tracks him for a few seconds, and then loses him. Because Louis is small. He’s not like, tiny, but he’s a few inches shorter than Harry. Which just adds to how cute he is. God, Harry thinks he’s so cute.

“Louis is so cute,” Harry yells to Niall, slurring his words.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you two are madly in love, you want to have his babies, I get it!” Niall says back.
“It’s not - we’re not - I’m not-” Harry stutters. But then he’s saved from answering because there’s a warm, small hand on his back and he’s turning and Louis is handing him a drink, an orange thing with a little umbrella inside of it.

“This umbrella is so cute, Lou!” He yells, wrapping his free arm around Louis’s neck and pulling him close. “And you’re really cute. You’re so cute, Louis.” If Harry were sober, he would probably be a bit more careful. But Harry is very, very drunk, and he doesn’t care. He needs Louis to know how cute he is. “You have such lovely eyelashes.”

He tries to pull away, but Louis moves his head just then and suddenly his lips are on Louis’ neck. He presses a sloppy kiss there without thinking. Louis freezes.

“Uh…” Harry trails off, because he doesn't really have an explanation but he's also not going to apologise.

He loosens his hold on him and takes a long sip of his drink. It's wonderfully fruity and he's sure it's full of alcohol but he can't even really taste it. He downs the drink in four or five long gulps and drops the empty glass onto the table behind him.

“You okay?” Louis asks him, staring at him. Harry’s face feels hot, his skin feels too tight, just from Louis’s gaze. He looks away, looks for Liam and Niall. They're nowhere to be found - at the bar maybe, or off pulling girls. Or maybe boys; he’d never asked Liam who he was into, after all.

Anyway.

“Harry…” Louis says against his ear, and Harry feels it more than hears it. Does Louis sound as desperate as Harry feels, or is he imagining that?

Harry nods, turns his eyes back to Louis’s face, to Louis’s lips. He doesn't realize it, but his tongue has darted out to lick his lower lip. Louis just stares, bites his own lip.

Harry sighs, brings his hand up to Louis’s cheek before he’s even realised he's done it. Louis leans into it, lets Harry trail his thumb down the slope of his jaw.

“Can we-” Louis starts, and then swallows. “Can we go outside? It's really hot in here.”

Harry nods. Outside. He can do that. He pulls Louis’s hand and drags him out the door of the club.

They both take a long, deep breath once they're outside. It's still warm, but it has to be ten degrees cooler than the club. They both stand there. It's quiet, but Harry’s ears are still pounding from the music inside.

It happens fast, then. One second Harry is taking a long breath and filling his lungs with air, salty from the sea and warm even this late at night, and the next second he feels his back hit a brick wall behind him and Louis’s hands are on his shoulders.

“Harry, I want-” Louis stops abruptly. His voice sounds low and throaty. Their faces are just inches away from each other, and Harry has to pull his eyes away from where they've been searching Louis’s face, his open expression, to stare at the long column of his neck, that wide expanse where Harry had accidentally kissed him earlier. God, that already feels like forever ago.

“Time is really weird when you're drunk,” Harry blurts out, “I think you were saying that earlier.”

Louis blinks once and lets out a short laugh, a little like a bark. “Yeah, Harry, I was.”

Louis’s eyes are back on Harry’s lips and his left hand comes up to tangle in his curls. Harry can't be bothered to care about the fact that his hair is probably gross and sweaty from the dancing. All he cares about is the little tug Louis gives at his scalp, at the way he’s moving closer and closer, and how it's all happening in slow motion. Harry can feel Louis’s breath on his upper lip, can feel Louis pressed against him, pinning him to the wall. He thinks this would probably be a good time to close his eyes, because Louis is about to kiss him, he's about to kiss Louis, and then -

“Louis! Louis, mate, we need you! Liam’s sick in the bathroom, he’s asking for you.”

Louis pulls away abruptly and Harry lets out a low groan, falling back against the brick wall for a second. He opens his eyes. Louis has taken a step back, is now a foot away, talking to someone that Harry belatedly recognizes as one of the guys from their game yesterday - God, was that only yesterday? - one of Liam’s mates from uni.

“Harry,” Louis says, suddenly back in his space, “I have to go. I-I’m sorry.” He looks hesitant, torn. After a second he squeezes Harry’s shoulder, a confusion in his eyes like he’s not sure he has the right to do even that any longer. He’s walking backwards, his eyes still locked on Harry’s until the very last moment when he has to turn away to go inside.

Harry bites his lip, groans, and his head falls back to hit the brick wall with a loud thunk. When he closes his eyes, he can still feel the ghost of Louis’s lips on his.

*

Knock, knock.

There’s a series of taps on the door, the second set in as many minutes. Harry figures he's no longer imagining it, flops over in bed and looks at the clock. Who the hell is knocking on his door at 8:17am?

Knock, knock. Louder this time. He better jump up and answer it before it wakes Niall, who’d stumbled into the room only two hours ago, plastered like Harry had never seen him before. He doesn't expect Niall will wake until noon, and he'd like to keep him from waking any sooner.

He peers through the peephole. It's Louis.

Oh god, it's Louis. The same Louis he very nearly kissed last night.

He sneaks a glance in the hallway mirror and his hands fly to his hair. He pulls at his curls a bit to try and get them to behave. It doesn't work. He's suddenly conscious of the fact that he’s dressed only in his boxers, but there's no more time to waste; Louis might leave if he runs back to grab a shirt.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door only as far as he needs to squeeze himself out. He steps into the hall and shuts it gently behind him.

“Hi, Lou,” he breathes. Louis is dressed in a black tank top and red swimming trunks; Harry feels underdressed.

“Morning, Curly. How’s it going?”

“It's a bit early, but I'm good otherwise, I guess. You?”

Louis smiles, but there’s an underlying hint of something that looks like nervous. “I'm good.”

There’s a pause, and Harry wonders if Louis is going to mention it, if they're going to talk about the almost kiss. It was only seven or eight hours ago, but it feels much longer.

“Fancy a bit of beach volleyball, Haz?”

* 

Turns out Harry is not much better at beach volleyball than he is at football.

“But I’m at least a tiny bit better, you have to admit,” Harry says, taking a sip of water from the bottle Louis had brought for them.

“You are definitely better. Plus it helps that you've thus far remained uninjured,” Louis teases.

“That has certainly made this more fun,” Harry acknowledges. “Hey, do you want to go for a swim?”

“You’re just trying to get out of playing any more beach volleyball!” Louis accuses, and his smile is bright and warm.

“Am not! Look, I’ll race you!” Harry’s peeling off his shirt as he says it and then he’s running across the sand to the ocean. He doesn’t dare look back in case he loses his lead, but he knows Louis is following him. He can tell that that boy has a competitive streak.

The water is cold when he runs into it, but he keeps going, barrelling through like Gemma taught him when he was young. “Best to just get it over with,” she always said, “just run right in up to your chest.”

“Ahhh, it’s so cold!” Louis screams. Harry turns to look at him. He’s got ankle deep in the water and he’s shivering.

“Don’t be a twat, just run in all the way,” Harry orders. There’s no one else in their area of the beach, so he doesn’t feel bad screaming to him from where he’s standing twenty feet away.

Louis takes a deep breath and does it, running into the water with a loud scream. He gets to Harry and nearly collapses into his arms.

“Harold, this water is way too cold. This is the Mediterranean sea in April - shouldn’t it be a bit warmer?”

Harry’s about to give a scientific answer, something he read in his geography textbook in sixth form, when Louis splashes him with water. Harry squeals and splashes back.

“I’m going to get you for that one, Tomlinson!” Louis is running then, bobbing up and down in the water as he tries to get away. When Harry gets close, he dodges and ducks under the water, swimming away before Harry can even realises he’s done it.

“Well, then,” Louis says when he emerges like a dolphin fifteen feet away. “What’s that you were saying about getting me back?” Harry glares at him, but his expression is jubilant. “Guess you’ll have to catch me!”

And Louis runs back up to the beach.

* 

“So you have, what, four sisters?” Harry’s asking Louis as he takes a sip of his smoothie.

“Five. And a little brother. He’s just a few weeks old, he’s a twin.” Louis says, and Harry’s eyes light up.

“Oh wow, so you have two babies at home? I love babies.”

Louis laughs. “Yeah, it’s a bit mad but my mum just had them a few weeks ago. She’s getting married again soon, in a few months. They’re great. I mean, they can’t do anything yet, but they’re cute all the same.”

“I can’t wait to have kids of my own,” Harry says idly, like it’s a thought that’s spilled out without him giving it permission. “I mean, years from now, obviously. Not in a position to be anyone’s dad anytime soon.”

Louis nods. “Do you have any siblings?”

“A sister, Gemma. She’s nearly three years older, I guess she’s a not that much older than you,” Harry answers. “She’s finished with uni, figuring out what she wants to do next. We’re pretty close, have to be, I guess.”

“Was it quiet? I always wondered what it’d be like to just have one sibling. Feel like I’ve had a million forever,” Louis says as he pops a cut strawberry into his mouth.

After they’d gotten out of the water, Harry insisted that he needed some sustenance and while, yes, it was lovely that Louis had thought to bring one small water bottle for the two of them to share, Harry was going to need a little more than that if he was expected to spend the day out here in the sun. Not that they’d explicitly said the two of them were going to spend the day out there together, but there’d been no mention of anyone else and Harry figured it was inevitable.

So now they were eating the breakfast they’d grabbed at a little shack on the edge of the beach, one that let them take their food down to their spot in the sand. There were croissants and fruit smoothies and lots of fresh fruit, and Harry thought it was the most delicious breakfast he’d ever tasted. Louis, though, was a little more sceptical.

“Usually have cereal for breakfast,” he’d complained, “I love cereal.”

“Well, Lou, if you want cereal you can go back to the hotel. But this is good for you, it won’t kill you.”

Louis had grumbled but accepted the fruit smoothie Harry handed him, and a few minutes later Harry got him to concede that it was indeed delicious.

“Yeah, I guess it was quiet. But Gemma’s all I’ve ever known, so kinda like you, it’s just whatever you grow up with is what you’re used to.”

“And she’s done with uni? I’ll be done with uni in a few weeks, got absolutely no clue what I’m going to do after that.”

“What are you studying to do?”

“Well, I was thinking of being a drama teacher. I mean, that’s what I’ve been studying for, been doing an apprenticeship of sorts at a school in Manchester near uni this term. Just not sure it’s for me anymore.”

“Yeah, I get that. Like I’m studying photography and I absolutely love taking photos, if you couldn’t already tell, like all my friends know me as the guy who always has his camera, the one capturing every memory, but sometimes I wonder if I should do something else, something a bit more stable. I work in a bakery on the weekends and I love doing that, not just the baking but the business side of things too. Sometimes I wonder if I should do something like that instead. I’m not sure how much I’d love it, but it would be more stable, I think. Just scary, is all.”

Harry is well aware that he’s rambling, but something about the way that Louis is watching him, his expression open and earnest, makes Harry feel like he can trust him with what he’s saying. He hasn’t voiced most of these thoughts before, he hasn’t even told Niall that he’s considering doing some kind of course switch or at least looking into it, but he feels like Louis is a safe harbor. Like he’s an unmoored ship and Louis is the one who’s going to rescue him.

Which -- whoa. He needs to chill.

But Louis is beautiful. One look at his face, which has turned a few shades darker in the past few days since Harry met him, beautifully sun-kissed and bronze, and it’s quite obvious that he’s possibly the most beautiful boy Harry has ever met. It’s his long eyelashes, possibly the longest ones in the world, and his laugh that tugs at Harry’s heart a little bit. It’s the way he’d talked about his sisters, like he’d do anything to protect them. Louis laughs at a joke he’s made, and he’s oblivious to the fact that Harry isn’t paying attention to his words, and Harry feels his heart swell. He feels like… like he could just sit here and admire what Louis is like for the rest of his life.

He wants to kiss him. He’s wanted to kiss him all day, has wanted to kiss him since last night, really, when they were three seconds from actually doing it. All he’d have to do is lean over the fruit tray and press his lips to Louis’. And Harry feels a sudden surge of bravery, not to do that (even though he wants to) but to ask Louis if he remembers the almost-kiss.

“Hey, Lou?”

And then someone’s hitting him in the back of the head.

“Oi, what are you two doing?”

«« »»

It’s Niall. And Liam, but Niall’s the one who actually hit Harry, and Louis wants to kill him. Not necessarily because he hit him, because Harry seems fine, but because he’d just ruined a moment that seemed like it was going somewhere.

Harry had been biting his lip nervously for the past few minutes, his eyes staring at Louis’s lips with an intensity that Louis probably should’ve found creepy but couldn’t bring himself to. Probably because he wanted to do the same to Harry, just stare at him for a little longer than was necessarily polite.

Louis wondered what he was thinking, wondered what was going on inside that head of his.

“How's it going, boys?” Liam asks, picking up a piece of pineapple from the fruit tray and sitting on the towel next to Louis.

“We’re uh- we’re good,” Harry stutters, and Louis thinks he sees a flash of uneasiness in his eyes. “How’re you?”

“We’re good,” Niall says, mouth full of blueberries as he talks. “Woke up and realized this fucker was gone,” he pokes Harry in the chest and Harry swats him away, “thought I’d been abandoned for someone hotter and funnier. But then I talked to Liam and I figured out it was just you, Lou, so I'm all good.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Louis says, mock affronted, “I resent that implication.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Niall says, pushing Harry to the side so that he can lay down next to him. He curls up against Harry and Harry tangles his fingers with Niall’s for a few seconds. Louis just watches them, wonders idly what his hand would feel like wrapped in Harry’s. Harry’s got such big hands, is the thing, and Louis wants to know what they’d feel like on him.

They're all quiet for a few minutes and then Niall leans back and crosses his arms behind his head. “So, lads, who’s up for a good game of truth or dare?” 

* 

Louis has officially given up on thinking he might be able to talk to Harry about anything serious this morning. Liam keeps dragging him away to introduce him to that girl or this mate from uni or a girl he met at the club last night; Louis thinks Liam must have already slept with at least two of the girls, based on the way they're looking at him with doe eyes. Though Louis can't blame them; in his objective opinion, Liam is hot. And he’s been hurt lately, he deserves to have some fun.

Niall's not much better about monopolising Harry’s time. “Oi, Tommo, will you come tell my new friend here what you were saying the other day about the England squad?” Louis would almost think Harry had put the two of them up to it, if not for the way Harry’s face falls a little bit every time he gets dragged away.

So Louis has given up on any kind of serious conversation for the moment. He settles for pestering him again, poking his dimple and pulling at his curls and making fun of him, and Harry gives as good as he gets. It's okay that they haven't talked about it yet; there's time. Harry’s bright, squawky laugh is enough for now.

Except that Louis tries not to be affected by Harry, but he fails. All afternoon, he fails. Harry leans over past him to grab a water bottle, has to shift a bit to reach it, and Louis tries to ignore the way Harry’s thigh is pressed into his. Louis makes a joke at Niall’s expense, and his gaze slides to Harry to see if he laughs. He gets a bit of sand thrown in his hair by Liam, and Harry says, “Hang on a second, you've got some in your fringe.” He rises up on his knees and brings his hand - his massive hand, God, why does Harry have such big hands - up to his hair. Louis looks up at him, and he freezes at the careful way Harry pulls the clump of sand out, his tongue between his teeth in concentration.

“There. Got it.”

“Uh, thank you.” Louis swallows hard. “Thanks.”

He tries to tell himself he's imagining the way his own voice has gone low and a little throaty just from Harry delicately pulling some sand out of his hair. He really tries not to seem affected by it. But he is. Of course he is. Harry is nineteen and tall and long-legged and shirtless and Louis is twenty one and he should be able to get over this but he is so weak, so gone for this boy he met just a few days ago.

He’s about to say something, crack a joke, maybe, to dissolve the heated tension between them, when Niall comes over.

“Hey Haz, think it's about time we go get ready for that round we bet on. Tee time’s in an hour.”

Golfing, right. Harry had mentioned something about that. Harry sighs and allows himself to be dragged away, giving only a fistbump to Liam and Louis, maybe lingering a bit longer on Louis than he needed to. Unless Louis’s imagining it. Which is totally possible.

“Bye, lads!” Liam calls to the two of them. Louis waves, his eyes locked on Harry as he heads back toward the hotel.

Liam turns to him and there’s a split second where Louis considers running, wracks his brain for an excuse. He needs to call his mum, maybe, or ask Lottie what they're going to get Dan for his birthday. He can't recall at this moment when exactly Dan’s birthday even is, but they'll have to get him a gift eventually. No time like the present. He scrambles up to his feet, intent on getting out of there quick as he can.

A hand on his wrist tugs him back to the ground. “Stop right there, Tommo. Not so fast.”

Louis groans, but he falls back to the ground and sits across from Liam cross legged, mirroring his position. He looks at Liam expectantly, willing him to say anything but what he thinks he’s going to say.

“So, you and Harry then,” Liam says coolly, but there's a hint of mischief in his face, one that says he’s two seconds away from taking the absolute piss out of Louis for his desperate crush. Louis tries to act nonchalant, tries to keep his calm.

“It’s nothing. I mean...nothing’s happened yet,” he stutters.

“Ah, so you want something to happen then,” Liam says victoriously.

Louis groans and falls back to the sand, throwing his arm over his face. “I don't know!”

Liam shifts and lays down next to him, no doubt waiting for him to clarify. Louis opens one eye, squinting in the sun, and looks at Liam. He expects Liam to mock him, to crack a joke at his expense, but instead he's just… waiting.

“I think- I think I have a crush on him,” Louis finally says, and his voice is quiet. He relaxes into the sand a little bit then; it's a relief to finally get the words out of his head and into the world, even if it's just to his best mate.

“You're only just figuring this out?” Liam asks, and there's the mocking Liam that Louis had been expecting. “I mean, sorry Lou, but I knew the minute you saw him on that balcony that you were done for. You haven't looked at anybody like that in a long time.”

“No, I haven't,” agrees Louis. “I really haven’t.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Louis groans again. “Probably nothing. I mean, in a week we’ll be gone. What's the point?” He swallows, gets ready to confess his deepest fear about the whole thing. “Plus, who’s to say he feels the same?”

There's a pause, the silence heavy between them.

“I think you should do something about it. You never know,” Liam finally answers.

«« »»

“Louis has such pretty eyelashes,” Harry whines to Niall that night as they're standing by the bar. Niall is intent on drinking his way through the clubs of Ibiza; ‘new night, new club’ seems to be their motto at this point. Not that Harry is complaining; he likes the syrupy, slightly tipsy way his head feels right now, likes standing with his arm wrapped around Niall. “Have you noticed how pretty his eyelashes are? They're so long.”

“Yeah, yeah, you were telling me about this earlier, you twat. I still can't believe nothing's happened between the two of you.” Niall says, and he holds up a hand to stop Harry’s interruption. “I know, I know, you two almost kissed. But come on, you’re not twelve. I was sure you two were shagging by now.” He raises his eyebrows, and Harry feels a sharp twist of arousal in his gut at the very suggestion of it. Because of course he’s thought about it, but he isn’t going to do anything about it. He can’t.

But he also can't stop thinking about it, that feeling sitting low in his stomach, making his heart beat just that much faster.

They take the drinks from the bartender and carefully make their way through the crowd to get back to their table. Liam and Louis are sitting there laughing at something on Liam’s phone, Louis leaning over so he can see it better. Whatever they’re watching must be funny; Louis brings his hand up to cover his mouth to stop the laugh that bursts out. His sharp giggle pierces Harry’s ears, and he knows it’s silly but it’s one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard.

“Oi, about time you two showed up with our drinks,” Louis says as Harry and Niall slide into the booth. “Been ages.”

“Well, you can get the drinks for us next time, then, if you’re not happy with the speed of service,” Niall says, swatting Louis’s hand away from where he’s trying to grab his Corona.

“Maybe I will,” Louis retorts, and then he makes eye contact with Harry, and Harry’s probably imagining it but he feels like there’s some kind of deeper undertone in that look. He just can’t figure it out. Harry looks away and settles for tracing the patterns in the wood table with his fingernail as a distraction as he drinks his beer.

Liam starts talking about some pub in Wolverhampton that he used to go to with his dad and Niall chimes in with a story about the first time his brother snuck him alcohol. Harry’s trying to focus, he really is, but he’s heard that story about thirteen times before. He doesn't mean to, but he tunes out again; the music is loud and his head is starting to feel a little bit spinny and he keeps thinking someone’s trying to call his name but no one here knows him besides these three at the table.

But then a foot brushes against Harry’s ankle and he knows he’s not imagining that. His eyes shoot up to Louis’s, because who else would it be, and Louis just smirks, raises his eyebrows, and keeps his eyes trained on Harry’s face. Harry feels his face heat up, feels a little bit squirmy. Louis does it again, once more, dragging his shoe a few inches higher this time. Harry swallows hard and takes a long sip of his beer. He can’t- he can't do this, can't have this affecting him like this. Because it’s only been a few days but he has this dumb desperate crush on Louis, like he’d do anything to make him laugh and like he just wants to be around him all the time.

He turns his attention back to Liam because if he keeps staring at Louis there's no telling what his heart will do, no telling if it will beat its way right out of his chest. As it stands, it's currently fluttering madly just from the feeling of Louis’s eyes on his face.

It works for a few minutes. He’s able to laugh at Liam’s jokes and able to ignore how Niall’s looking at him a little funny. He even contributes a few relevant comments of his own, though he can't remember them moments later.

But then Louis starts talking, telling a story about his sister Lottie, and Harry can't take his eyes off him. He’s so expressive, is the thing. He’s imitating his sister one second and showing outrage the next and then joy just a moment later. Louis is looking at Harry as he tells the story, and Harry is looking at Louis’s lips. They’re so pink, is the thing, and every so often, usually when he’s concentrating on someone’s story, his tongue will poke out of the side. He has very kissable lips, Harry notices. Not that he hadn't thought that before, but now that he’s sitting here with his complete attention on them, he wonders what it would be like to kiss them, to drag his own lips along the stubble that’s grown over the course of the day.

He brings his eyes to Louis’s again and he finds that he’s stopped talking and is now just blatantly staring at Harry. The air has gone out of the room. He’d only buttoned four buttons on his shirt and still he feels too hot, goes to tug at his collar only to find that this shirt doesn't have one. Distantly, he can hear Niall talking but he has no clue what he’s saying. All he can think is Louis, Louis, Louis. He can feel his blood thrumming in his ears, and heat in his face, and Louis is just across the table there and it would be so easy to just lean over and kiss- no. He won't. He can’t. He needs to calm down. And he can't do that when Louis is staring at him, blue eyes boring into his face like laser beams.

“I have to- I’m gonna- bathroom.” Harry manages, scrambling up and out of the booth without giving any of them a second glance.

He's sprinting then, not running exactly but pushing his way through the crowd as he searches for the bathroom. It's down a long hallway and he makes it halfway down the hall before stopping to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. It's more from Louis than exertion, he can admit. God, why is he letting Louis affect him like this?

He takes a deep breath, slowly counts to ten as he lets it out. He places his hands on his knees and bends over slightly; to anyone else it would look like he just finished running a marathon, but nope, just worked up over a beautiful boy who won't stop staring at him and who he very possibly wants to snog the pants off. Not embarrassing at all.

There’s footsteps behind him then, and he moves a bit to the side so he's not blocking the way through the hall. Doesn't need to drag anyone else into this mess, after all.

The footsteps stop just behind him, and Harry turns around to see who it is.

“Harry,” Louis says, more like a breath than an actual sentence, and Harry barely has time to register the heated look on his face before Louis throws himself forward and up into Harry’s space, pulling him by the shirt into a bruising kiss. Harry growls low in his throat but it’s swallowed by Louis, who tastes like beer and vodka and some kind of gum. Louis, who’s holding him close by the waist, hands fisted in Harry’s shirt. Louis, who’s kissing him.

“Lou,” Harry manages to say as he breaks away for air, and Louis groans. He looks up at Harry and Harry gasps at how wild he looks, like he’s been wanting this as long as Harry himself has.

“I- tell me I haven’t misread this whole thing,” Louis says. “Tell me you want this too.” His eyes are so blue, so dark, and something twists in Harry’s gut, sharp and intense. He nods.

Louis takes a few steps forward then, backing Harry up to the wall. He expects Louis to crash into him, to return to the desperation and madness of just a few seconds ago, but when Louis brings his lips to Harry’s it’s all softness and gentleness. His hands come up to grasp at a few of Harry’s curls, pulling a bit at his scalp, and Harry gasps a little. He brings his hand to Louis’s waist and he wonders if Louis can feel that heat too, if Louis also feels like Harry’s palm is burning through his skin. One of Louis’s hands drifts to the nape of Harry’s neck, scratching there with a fingernail, like he’s trying to expel some of the feeling. Harry feels like he’s going to float away, pulls Louis closer by the waist to anchor him to the earth.

It feels so good, is the thing, Louis rocking against him slowly and pressing kisses to his jaw and pulling at his hair. Harry can’t even remember the last time he’d kissed anyone and he certainly hasn’t ever been kissed like this. Like - like he’s a prize to be won and Louis is celebrating his victory.

He laughs then, a little giggle that he tries to muffle in Louis’s hair. Louis pulls his mouth away from where he’s nipping at the side of Harry’s neck. “You alright, there, Hazza?”

“Never better, Lou,” Harry whispers. “Kiss me again.” 

*

Heat. That’s what Harry feels when he wakes up the next morning. There’s an arm wrapped around his waist and someone’s chest pressed up against his back and his legs are tangled up with another person’s. There’s a half second where he panics, and then the night before comes rushing back to him and he settles.

“Were you plotting your escape there, Hazza?” Louis whispers in his ear, low and quiet.

Harry grins and turns in Louis’s arms to face him. “Maybe,” he says teasingly.

“Morning,” Louis says, and they're both smiling, a little bashful. Louis closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them he scoots closer to Harry and presses a quick kiss to his nose.

“Hey.” Harry whispers, and they’re both quiet for a few minutes. The sunlight is pouring in through the glass doors that lead to the balcony; they must have forgotten to close the curtains last night. He’s not even sure what happened last night; all he remembers is the kissing (oh God, so much kissing) and pulling Louis by the hand out of the club. He suddenly notices that they’re both shirtless, and he’s certainly not complaining, but he’s wondering what happened last night.

“Last night. Did we..?” Harry trails off, not sure how to ask or even what he's really asking, but Louis seems to understand anyway.

“No, no, we didn't. You were very drunk,” Louis informs him. “We snogged a bit and then I took you home and tucked you in to go to sleep. But you kept asking me to cuddle. Asked me to stay the night. Was very cute, actually.”

“God, I can't believe we slept together on the first date,” Harry groans, but he's teasing.

“You call that a date, Harold? Don't think that was a date.” Louis is teasing too, and there’s a levity in his expression that makes him look about fifteen, so young and open.

“Well, why don't you take me on a real one then?” Harry shoots back, and he's proud of it, proud of how he managed to say something witty even when faced with a very beautiful shirtless boy in his bed.

“How's tonight sound?”

Harry just kisses him. 

*

“You are absolutely hopeless,” Niall says later that afternoon, and Harry just flops over onto his stomach on the lounge chair.

“I’m not,” he protests, but it sounds weak and unconvincing even to his own ears. Niall looks at him and laughs. “I swear!”

“Yeah, alright, whatever you say.” Harry steadily avoids eye contact and sits up a bit, leaning forward to take a drink out of the latest round of drinks Niall’s brought for him. (“It’s fruity and it’s got lots of alcohol, now shut up and drink it.”)

“It’s just that he’s got-” Harry starts, but Niall cuts him off with a finger in the air.

“If you say one more word about Tommo’s eyelashes, I swear I will cut off all that hair you love so much.”

Harry stops, offended. “You wound me, Horan, really.”

“You bring it on yourself, really, with your whole hopeless romantic thing. Going on and on about his eyelashes and how cute he was when he ordered the two of you breakfast this morning. Thank God I was otherwise occupied. Wouldn't have wanted to listen to whatever nonsense you two got up to.”

Harry opens his mouth, but then he thinks better of addressing that comment and moves on.

“Anyway, like I was saying earlier before I was so rudely interrupted,” and he glares at Niall, “Louis is taking me on a date tonight,” he confesses.

Niall sputters a cough and he seems to be choking; in retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea to spring this news on Niall when he’d been taking a sip of beer.

“Sorry, sorry, you okay?” He asks as he rolls over onto his back and leans over to give Niall a good whack. Niall nods, still coughing a bit.

“A date?” Harry nods. “Good on ya, mate. Surprised it took this long, honestly. Where are you going?”

“No clue. Said he wanted to surprise me.”

Niall looks impressed. Harry’s just a bundle of nerves, a weight sitting in his stomach growing by the minute.

“Well, you're happy about it, right? I mean, with the way the two of you ran out of there last night I feel like only good things could've happened.”

“Yeah, course I'm happy about it. But Ni, I know we just met like four days ago, but I think that I really like him. Like. I don't know. I already don't know how I'll say bye to him.” His voice is suddenly throaty and scratchy and he feels very vulnerable, even though it's just Niall. But this is Louis they're talking about.

A pause. “I’m just scared of getting hurt.”

“Oh, Haz,” Niall says sympathetically, stretching out a hand to rub Harry’s forearm. “You get like this, so serious about things. You've probably already named all seven of your kids with him,” he says, and Harry tries to fight a grin. He’s not exactly wrong, but he won't admit to that. “If it's meant to happen, you'll find a way. But just focus on having fun; that's why we're on holiday, yeah?”

«« »»

It’s a quarter to eight when Louis knocks on Harry’s door that night. He swallows hard and wipes his palms on his jeans for the fourth time.

The door opens before he feels well and truly ready and - oh. Wow.

Harry looks gorgeous. That's the only word for it. He’s wearing brown boots and black skinny jeans and a light blue patterned shirt with white dots. He’s left his hair long and curly; it's just skimming the top of his shoulders.

“You look- wow. You look great.” Louis manages, swallowing hard again. “Here, these are for you,” he says, holding out the bouquet of wildflowers to Harry.

Harry’s face softens. “Thank- thank you. These are beautiful, Louis. Here, come in, I'll just put them into a vase and then I'll be ready to go.”

Louis steps into the hotel room and watches as Harry finds a vase in the cupboard and fills it with water. “You don't look too bad yourself,” he says casually as he places the flowers in there and rearranges them. He looks up and makes eye contact then, his hands stilling above the vase. “You look lovely. I like your hair like that.”

Louis has styled his hair in the cinnamon swirl that Lottie taught him how to do when he needed to impress people; she’ll be thrilled to find out it was actually successful.

He’s wearing blue jeans and a black blazer with a black graphic t-shirt under it; where they’re going isn't that fancy but he wanted to dress up for Harry anyway.

“Thanks,” he says after a minute; he’s been too busy watching Harry’s hands fiddling with the flowers to remember that he was supposed to respond. Has Louis ever been attracted to a pair of hands before? Doesn't matter; he is now.

“Alright, I’m all yours.” Harry says with a smile as he places the flowers on the table next to his bed. He comes closer to Louis, sidling up into his space.

“Thank you so much for the flowers, they're beautiful.” His voice is low and a bit scratchy and Louis’s throat feels dry just at the sound of it.

“You're beautiful,” is how Louis wants to answer, but instead he says, “you’re welcome.” 

*

“Hazza, I have to say that I did not expect you to actually be able to sing,” Louis says later that night as Harry’s sitting next to him in the booth. A handful of empty cocktail glasses sit on the table.

“Oh, I have a lot of talents you don't know about yet,” Harry teases.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Well, I can't tell you now cause that would spoil all my surprises.” He gives a cheeky wink and takes a sip of his cocktail through the straw.

They're at a karaoke bar, a silly hole in the wall place that's on the edge of the resort. The clock on the wall says that it’s half past ten but Louis doesn't trust it; how could he already have spent almost three hours with Harry? Time flies when you’re having fun, as the saying goes, and Louis had certainly had fun eating tapas with Harry and drinking wine and just now laughing hysterically as Harry belted out the words to Shania Twain’s ‘Still The One’ up on stage.

“I nearly tried out for the X-Factor when I was 16,” Harry admits with a smile. “But I got too scared and backed out.”

“Wait, are you serious?” Louis asks. He’s doing maths in his head. Harry nods.

“When was that, 2011?”

“2010,” Harry says, confirming what Louis suspects.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I tried out for the X-Factor in 2010.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m dead serious. Didn’t make it through the first round, but I tried out in Manchester.” Louis says, remembering the way he’d sung ‘Hey There Delilah’ for anyone who’d listen in the weeks leading up to his audition, the long queue he’d waited in with his mum, the nerves he’d felt as he’d waited for the judges’ responses.

“That’s incredible. To think that we could’ve met all those years ago,” Harry says.

“I’m sure you would’ve gone off and won the show and become an international superstar, touring the world and producing albums and making the whole world fall in love with you. And I could’ve told everyone that I knew you, Harry Styles, when you were just a cute little sixteen year old.”

“You have no idea what I looked like when I was sixteen,” Harry retorts, but his smile is cheeky.

“Well, that’s true. But I’d be willing to bet money that you were cute.”

He throws his arm over Harry’s shoulder and presses a kiss to his temple. They've been like this all night, a little more touchy feely, more in each other’s space than they would have been two days ago. Louis had fed Harry bites of his dinner from his own fork and Harry had taken sips from Louis’ wine glass even though they were drinking the same kind of wine. The easy familiarity of it had made something tighten in Louis’s chest, but he’s not ready to put a name to that just yet. It’s just that he feels like he’s always known Harry, that they’ve fallen into each other much sooner than he ever has with anyone else he’s ever met.

“You’re not wrong.” Harry admits, and he snuggles up to Louis, making himself small to fit his head on his shoulder. They can't really make eye contact this way, but they can hear each other better over the sounds of the couple up on stage singing an off-key rendition of ‘I Want It That Way.’

“So you didn't make it, obviously, but did you ever end up doing anything with the singing thing?”

“Been in a few plays in uni, local productions, that sort of thing. Mostly musicals. Never found a new band when I went off to Manchester for school, we all went our separate ways,” Louis says. “Had to be in a few things for my degree but then the rest were just for fun.”

Harry’s quiet then for a few minutes, his head still on Louis’ shoulder. They’re watching the performers, some of whom are truly awful but Harry laughs at every single one, clapping enthusiastically.

Louis brings his hand up to Harry’s scalp and absentmindedly runs his fingers through his curls, scratching at his scalp a little bit. Harry leans into his touch like a kitten, closing his eyes and smiling contentedly each time Louis makes contact with his scalp.

“Feels good,” he whispers. He yawns then, a little one that he tries to catch before it starts. He fails, and it expands and then suddenly Louis is yawning too.

“Tired, Hazza?” Harry nods, curling inward toward Louis’s chest. “Want to go back to mine? We can just- we can just sleep, if you want.”

Harry places his hand on Louis’s chest and uses it as leverage to reach up to bring his lips to meet Louis’s. He feels Harry’s palm on his chest like a brand, burning him from the outside. He feels hot, feels heat pouring into him from Harry’s lips against his, feels like he’s being set on fire centimeter by centimeter. It’s soft and gentle and yet Louis still feels like he’s going to combust at any second.

“Back to yours,” Harry says after they’ve been kissing a few minutes. His voice is raspy, Louis shivers; he tells himself the two have nothing to do with each other.

“That sounds good.” 

*

Harry tugs Louis out of the lift with a firm hand clasped in his own and Louis emits a low whine at the loss of Harry’s lips on his.

“Come on, Lou, inside,” Harry whispers, but he’s still on the drunk side of tipsy and so there’s nothing quiet about his whisper.

“Okay, okay, just have to-” he’s cut off by Harry pushing him against the wall between their two rooms, pinning him there with the press of his body against his own. “I can't-” Louis tries, but then he gives in to the feel of Harry’s open mouthed kisses against his neck, his jaw, his lips. It feels so good, is the thing; he can't remember the last time he felt like this. Felt like he liked someone who liked him back, someone who made him laugh and treated him well and was happy to snog him in lifts. He laughs then, and Harry pulls his lips away from where he’s been nipping at his jaw.

“What?”

Louis looks up into his eyes, dark blue and open, and thinks he could cry at the earnestness he finds in them.

“Nothing. Just happy.”

Harry grins then, and it gives Louis renewed motivation to fish his room key out of his wallet.

“In you get,” Louis says with a flourish as he opens the door to let Harry in. Harry giggles and kisses Louis as he passes.

“I’m exhausted,” Harry says, flopping down on Louis’s bed without invitation. But then, it's not like he really needed an invitation, is it? Louis feels like he would grant him anything he wanted in that moment, lying there on his back, limbs stretched out like a starfish. His eyes are closed but there’s a smile on his face and he looks happy. Happy like how Louis feels.

“Me too. Budge over, there,” Louis says, nudging Harry’s leg with his knee. Harry opens his eyes and obliges, pushing over a bit to the side. And then Louis is next to him and Harry’s cuddling into him. They stay like this for a bit, Louis pressing kisses into his hair every few minutes, and then he moves to his mouth. It should be alarming, how settled and comfortable he feels, but he can't bring himself to be bothered by it.

“I’m so sleepy,” Harry whines against his lips after a few minutes. “But I don't want to stop kissing you. Like it too much.”

Louis laughs, a warm laugh that fills the space of the room. “I'll still be here in the morning, Haz. Why don't you get undressed and go to sleep?”

“You just want to see me naked,” Harry says, and Louis flushes suddenly. “That's okay, I've been told I’m a sight to behold.” He grins cheekily.

“You have not.” Louis retorts, though from what he's seen it’s certainly the truth.

“Ok, I just made that up, but I'm hoping maybe you'll be the one to tell me one day.”

One day. Louis doesn't let himself think about the implications of that statement. He shakes his head once, quick, shaking the thought from his brain.

“Just strip, Curly.”

They both stand up and strip down to their underpants then, and Harry goes to the bathroom. When Louis returns from doing the same, Harry is curled up in Louis’s bed, already sleeping soundly. Louis crawls in behind him and there’s a half second of hesitation before he wraps his arm around Harry and fits himself snugly against him.

“Night, Lou,” Harry says sleepily. Louis presses a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Night, Hazza.” 

* 

When Liam and Louis had made the decision to go to Ibiza for their holidays, Louis hadn’t really had any expectations. He’d thought the two of them would screw around, get really drunk and have some fun in clubs and lay out by the beach every day and play lots of football and forget about uni. But he hadn’t expected anything specific.

He certainly hadn’t expected this, he and Liam drinking beer while lying on a boat that Niall had hired for the afternoon. He hadn’t expected new friends, hadn’t expected the beautiful boy who’s currently entertaining Niall with some dramatic story while they tread water in the ocean.

“Didn’t think this is what our holiday would be like,” he admits to Liam, who’s sat next to him trying to fish.

“What, you didn’t think you’d be sitting on some fancy boat making fun of my fishing skills?”

“Didn’t expect… didn’t think there’d be a Harry. Or a Niall, or so much to do here. Thought it’d just be me and you drunk the whole time, if we’re being honest.”

“It’s been better than that, hasn’t it?”

Louis nods. It has been better, so much so. Because there’s been games of chicken in the pool, Niall on Harry’s shoulders and Louis on Liam’s and all of them laughing so hard Louis thought he might pee. There’s been more alcohol he’s seen in possibly his whole life, so many fruity drinks and beers and shots that Louis isn’t entirely sure how they’re still alive. There’s been lazy mornings cuddling in bed and whole afternoons spent on the beach.

And through it all there’s been Harry. Harry, who likes to lay by the pool tucked under Louis’ chin, his skin being warmed by the sun as Louis discovers where he’s ticklish and feeds him grapes just because he likes them. Harry, who likes to be the little spoon even though he’s bigger than Louis. Harry, who took Louis off the beaten path of the resort the other day and took him hiking and kissed him on the mountain top and took photographs of them both. Harry, who is so earnest and kind and wanted to save a turtle that made its way onto the beach. Harry, who looks at Louis like he hung the moon.

Harry, who’s leaving in three days. Harry, who he’s falling in love with. Already has, if he really thinks about it.

«« »»

Harry stretches out on the chaise longue and lets out a little groan, extending his arms into the air. He squints into the sun.

“Oi, watch out,” says Louis from beside him. “You trying to knock me off?”

“I’d never,” Harry says, grinning and tapping him on the nose. Louis makes a kissy face.

“Can you two please cut it out?” Niall asks from his seat at the table.

“Yeah, honestly. You’re awful. We’ve had enough,” Liam chimes in.

“Sorry, lads, you’ll just have to deal with it. Not letting him go now,” Louis says, even as he extracts himself from Harry’s side and gets up to sit next to the other two at the table. Harry gets up to join him and tries not to think about what Louis’s comment means. Does he not want to part ways with Harry? They haven’t talked about anything beyond this trip, haven’t discussed how either of them are feeling. He has no idea where Louis’s head is at.

He falls into the chair and watches Liam laugh at a joke Niall’s made at Louis’s expense. It’s funny. They haven’t been on the island that long but they’ve become their own little band of friends, just because they happened to room next to each other. He loves that Niall feels comfortable enough to make jokes about Louis, knows from experience that that means Niall considers Louis considers him a good friend.

He feels bad; he’s left Niall alone more times than he should have this trip but he and Liam have joined forces and take equal delight in giving Louis and Harry shit. It’s a bonus that they’ve become genuine friends in the meantime.

Harry can’t complain anyway. Niall’s been such a good sport; this was supposed to be their lads trip but Harry went off and found Louis and kind of ruined that whole thing.

Not that Harry’s going to be apologetic about that. He and Louis are almost always together, not wanting to be apart. They’re always touching, always pressed up against each other in some way or cuddling or hugging or touching somehow. The other two give them a lot of crap about being like two puppies who are all over each other, and Harry tries to protest but he can’t deny it, not really.

And there’s nothing inherently sexual about it; they haven’t crossed that barrier yet. Harry certainly wants to, and he can tell that Louis does too. It feels like everytime they kiss it gets a little more heated, more familiar, more intimate. So he knows they both want it, but he’s just afraid to cross that barrier, afraid that if it happens he won’t ever be able to let Louis go.

“Hey,” Louis says to him, turning and resting his chin on the upper arm of the chair.

“Hey,” Harry smiles at him, and it feels like they’re sharing it between them, like it’s something private.

“Do you have any plans tonight?” Louis asks. Harry shakes his head; Louis must have something planned. “Care to spend the night with me?”

Harry nods, reaches his hand out to squeeze Louis’s forearm where it’s resting on the chair’s arm. He trails his finger up the length of his swallow tattoo. “Is it a date?” He asks teasingly.

“It’s a date,” Louis confirms with a sharp nod, and Harry’s about to ask what they’re doing when Niall drags his attention away.

And it’s alright, he thinks, sat here with these three on the balcony of his hotel room overlooking the ocean. Especially when he considers that one of them is a beautiful boy that he’s gotten to kiss every day for the past week. It’s more than alright.

It’s pretty great, actually.

*

“So you’ve really never gone skinny dipping before?”

“No, what did I just say? Shut up and pass me some crisps. Please.”

Louis rolls his eyes but he dutifully grabs the bag, leaning over further than necessary and pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s lips before he puts the bag of crisps in his hand.

“Well, would you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Skinny dip, obviously. Come on, Harold. Do keep up.” He winks.

“Yeah, probably. I mean, I’m not like, against it. Just never had the opportunity.”

“So you’re saying you would do it? Say, if I dared you?”

Harry closes his eyes. When he opens them, Louis’s face is six inches from his own, his smile teasing but earnest. Louis wouldn’t make him do it if he didn’t want to. But he suddenly finds that he wants to, wants to do it if it’ll make Louis smile. Would probably do anything to make him happy.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll do it.” Harry acquiesces, and Louis cheers. “But only after sunset, when there’s less people around.”

“Yeah, okay, I can support that.”

Harry leans back onto the blanket then and tugs at Louis’s shirt. He comes easily, falling next to him and resting his head on Harry’s chest.

“Thanks for the pizza, Lou,” Harry says as his eyes fall on the empty pizza box falling on the sand.

“You’re welcome,” Louis says, and his voice is soft. There’s a few beats of silence, and then: “So, two more days, huh?” And it’s not even really two days, more like 36 hours at this point.

Harry doesn’t know how to answer. He’s thought about it, with increasing desperation over the past three days or so. But he hasn’t figured out an answer to the questions bouncing around his head. He thinks about the rest of the people at this resort. They’re all out to dinner or drinking by the pool or falling into bed. But Harry -- Harry is falling in love. He doesn’t know what to make of that.

So he just makes a noncommittal noise and kisses the top of his head. He tangles his fingers with Louis’s and rests their intertwined hands on his chest.

“It’s beautiful, huh?” Louis says of the sunset, orange bleeding into pink turning into purple as far as they can see.

“It is.” Harry agrees. “My favorite time of day.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, there’s nothing like a good sunset. You know, I take pictures of a million things a day,” and Louis knows this, has watched Harry take his camera all over the island this week, “but anytime I’ve ever tried to photograph a sunset, it just never looks as good as it does in real life. Just doesn’t come out as nice.”

“Feel like you’ve got yourself a metaphor there or something, huh, Styles?”

“Okay, Tomlinson, just shut up and watch the sunset.” Louis is quiet for a while then, only making comments every few minutes, and Harry counts that as a success.

Harry’s eyes are just drifting closed when Louis jumps up. “Come on Hazza, time for swimming!”

He sits up and looks around at the beach. There’s no one around them, Louis is already stripping down to his underpants, and Harry tries not to stare at his skin for so long, turned dark and golden from so many hours in the sun this week.

“Haz, hurry up or I’m gonna make it into the ocean before you,” Louis teases, pulling Harry up with one hand. He tugs at the bottom of Harry’s shirt, trying to get it off him as soon as possible. He’s bouncing around, full of nervous energy, like he just can’t wait any longer for Harry to get his clothes off.

“Alright, alright, I’m going, I’m going.” Harry says, and then he’s left in his pants too.

“Count of three and then we strip off our pants and run, okay? Three, two, one.”

There’s the sound of squealing then. He’s not sure if it’s coming from him or Louis or both of them, but there’s screaming and he’s running and the sand is warm beneath his feet and he’s running across the beach. He runs into the ocean and it’s so different than the first time they’d done this, Louis is absolutely fearless next to Harry. They clasp hands as if they’d planned it just before they submerge, flailing around in the water. It’s warm, nice against his naked skin, Louis’s hand gripping his.

“That was exhilarating!” Harry exclaims once they’ve both emerged from the water. Louis’s hair is flat against his head, water dripping down into his eyes from his fringe. Harry is sure his hair looks equally ridiculous. He doesn’t care.

“I can’t believe you’ve never done this before,” Louis says, taking a step closer to Harry. They’re both standing, catching their breath from the running. Harry’s heart feels like it’s beating a million miles a minute, and it’s a combination of shock and excitement and running and Louis.

“Thank you,” Harry says sincerely after they’ve smiled goofily at each other for a few minutes, and he hopes Louis knows he isn’t just talking about the skinny dipping. He’s talking about this whole week really, about the dinners and the kissing in bed and the laughing and the making him feel like his life is better for knowing him.

His skin feels like it’s about a thousand degrees as he feels Louis’s gaze on him like a physical touch, flames licking from his eyes to his lips to his neck to his chest. He thinks Louis feels it too, if the way he’s looking at him is anything to go by. He takes three steps forward, one, two, three, and then he’s in Louis’s space, toe to toe against the sand.

Louis takes a deep breath, a sharp inhale. He brings his hand up to Harry’s face, traces the path of his lips with his thumb. It’s so gentle that Harry feels like he could cry just then, just burst into tears in the ocean, saltwater meeting saltwater.

“Hazza,” Louis whispers.

“What’s that, Lou?”

“I-I think I’m in love with you,” he confesses.

And Harry’s heart feels like it could burst out of his chest right there in the ocean. And wouldn’t that be a sight? He has to close his eyes for a second at the pure emotion he feels. It's too much, it's all too much.

When Harry was a kid, maybe four or five, he came home from school to a puppy in his kitchen. “It's for you,” his mum said as the little golden retriever scampered around the kitchen and ran straight into Harry’s arms, licking his face.

“We get to keep him?” He’d asked, not quite trusting his own ears.

“Forever and ever,” his mum had promised, and he’d promptly burst into tears, overwhelmed with feeling.

Being here with Louis feels a lot like that.

“I love you too, Louis,” he says, and it's more of an exhale than a proper sentence, but it's the truest declaration he’s ever made.

Louis is laughing then, but he’s also crying. Harry understands just how he feels.

He wraps his arms around Louis’s neck and kisses him, and it feels so different, so much more intimate than all the times before. There’s no desperation in it this time, but there’s longing, there’s love, there’s an understanding that they get to keep each other, even though they haven't quite figured that out yet. 

* 

They stumble into Harry’s room a little while later, Harry peeling off Louis’s swimming trunks and then pulling off his own with a quick tug on each. They're naked again then, and he slowly wraps his arms around Louis’s neck and steps closer and they're chest to chest, no space between them. Louis reaches up on his tip toes to kiss him, and the movement brushes their cocks together. Harry gasps into Louis’s mouth and he can feel him grin.

“No need to be smug,” Harry says, pulling away to drop a line of kisses along Louis’s jaw.

“No?” Louis asks, voice throaty. He brings one hand up to tangle in Harry’s curls, pulling at his scalp. “Can I be smug if I do this?”

His other hand reaches between them to grip Harry’s cock then, giving it two quick tugs. “Yes,” Harry gasps into his neck. “You can definitely be smug if you keep doing that.”

After a minute of heated kisses and slow pulls from Louis, Harry grips him below his arse and carries him to the bed, Louis’s legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He’s stumbling a bit, the movement sending heat to his oversensitive groin, and they both fall onto the bed with a groan.

They're kissing then, and it’s all desperation and sweetness and the energy of that first time with someone buzzing through them both. It’s so new, but they also feel like they’ve known each other for a thousand years. It feels right.

“How do you want it?” Harry asks.

“I just want you. Your mouth, your hand, I don’t care.” Louis says desperately, as Harry grinds up against him.

Harry sits up on his knees then, looking at Louis, face flushed and eyes filled with desire. That’s for him, that's all for him. No one’s ever looked at him this way before.

“I love you,” Harry feels compelled to say before he gets his mouth on Louis. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Louis manages desperately. “Love you so much. You're the best ever. Now can you get on with it?”

Harry rolls his eyes, bites his lip and lets his gaze roam over Louis’s squirming form once more. He tells himself it's just to torture Louis. But if he's doing it for himself too, could anyone fault him?

Harry gets his mouth on him then, and Louis doesn't complain anymore, too blissed out to say a word.

«« »»

Happy.

That's the first thing Louis thinks when he wakes up, that he's happy. It takes him a second to remember why, and then he smiles when he remembers. Remembers Harry’s smug, self-satisfied grin as he rested his face on Louis’s thigh after giving him very possibly the best orgasm of his life. Remembers kneeling on the carpet of the hotel room and looking up at Harry, grinning as he teased him before sucking him off. Remembers tugging Harry into the shower to get clean and Harry taking the opportunity to stroke them both to orgasm at the same time. Remembers falling into bed and kissing some more, sated and happy and giggly.

Because he’s done this before, plenty of times. But he’s never laughed so much or had so much fun. Never felt so much. Until now.

Harry stirs in his arms and Louis brushes back a bit of hair and presses a kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Mm, morning,” Harry whispers, his voice filled with sleep. He turns in Louis’s arms and Louis grins at the sight of him. He’s got pillow creases on his cheek and his hair resembles a lion’s mane, but he looks relaxed and happy.

“Hmm, not sure my boyfriend would be too happy about the fact that there’s another guy in my bed,” Harry says sleepily as he turns around in Louis’ arms.

“Boyfriend?” Louis asks, even as the sound of the word coming from Harry’s lips makes him feel ten times lighter. It’s not rational, it’s not going to be easy, but he knows that he can’t let Harry go.

“Boyfriend,” Harry nods, “if that’s okay with you.”

“I think I could work with that,” Louis says, rolling over on top of Harry, settling his legs on either side of his. He holds himself up with his elbows and reaches down to brush a stray lock of hair off of Harry’s face. Harry’s smiling up at him, a goofy grin that makes him look like a little kid.

“What are you thinking?” Harry asks him softly after a few minutes, eyes searching his face.

Louis is quiet for a minute, considers making a sarcastic quip to hide how he really feels. Because he’s feeling a lot, joy and happiness and arousal and a bit of fear and dread. And this very second, the dread is winning and he wants to give into it. But this is Harry, who he’s inexplicably and unexpectedly fallen in love with. He owes him more than that.

“You. Me. Tomorrow. What happens after that.” He says the words slowly, thinking them through before he speaks. He’s struck by a need to explain what’s going through his head right now, wants to try and make sense of the muddle that is his brain. He hasn’t quite sorted out his feelings himself, but maybe talking it through will help.

“You’re going back to London.” He says quietly, and the smile falls from Harry’s face then. Louis hates that he’s the one who did that, but he needs to press on. “And I’m going back to Manchester.”

He exhales then, bringing his hand up to push Harry’s hair away from his face again and trailing his thumb along the length of Harry’s jaw. Harry leans into his light touch like a kitten seeking attention. He’s always like that, soft and cuddly and wanting affection. “What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t want to say goodbye to you,” Harry says, and it comes out right away, like it’s a foregone conclusion, like the thought has been lingering in his head for a while. Louis doesn’t expect the punch to the stomach with those few words, even though they’ve just claimed each other as boyfriends. He doesn’t expect to feel as secure as he does in that moment.

“Harry.”

“What?” Harry’s face is the picture of confusion.

“You’re lovely. Have I told you that? You’re so lovely. Not sure what I did to deserve you,” Louis says, rolling back onto his side and cuddling up next to Harry. “I don't want to leave you either. But I have to, for a little while, love. Have to finish up my degree. But then I swear I'll move down to London as soon as I can, I swear I'll be closer.”

Harry nods. “You promise?”

“I promise, love. We’ll make it work.”

*

They're up before the sun the next morning so that Niall and Harry can catch a taxi to the airport. Niall and Liam are standing by the lobby doors, and Louis is wrapped in Harry’s arms in a corner of the room. Harry keeps rubbing his eyes, dragging his palms down his face to wipe away the tears.

“Don’t cry, love, don’t cry.” Louis whispers in his ear as he rubs his hand up and down Harry’s back gently. It’s futile, because he’s crying too, but he just wants to offer any words of comfort he can. “I’ll see you soon, it’s just two months and then I’ll be back in London, I’ll be back with you. It’s gonna be okay.”

He sees Niall out of the corner of his eye and he squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face in Harry’s neck and hugging him tighter.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

“Harry,” Niall says quietly, just a few feet away then. Harry squeezes Louis one, two, three times.

“I love you too,” Harry says, and his voice is only a little bit shaky. “I love you so much.”

“Hazza, we really gotta go. Taxi’s waiting,” Niall says, and there’s a sad, sorry look on his face.

“Take care of him, okay?” Louis says as Niall takes Harry’s hand in his. Louis’s arms already feel empty. Niall nods; they’ve already had this conversation, said their own goodbyes. And really, it’s more of a ‘see you later.’

Harry is probably ten feet away when he turns back and runs to Louis for one more hug. “I love you, Lou,” he says, and Louis kisses his forehead.

“Love you too, Hazza,” he says, steadying his voice so he doesn’t break down.

And then Harry pulls away and walks out the door.

*

Liam unlocks the door to their room and Louis curls up on his bed. Liam stands in the doorway, unsure of what to do, where to go, if Louis needs to be left alone or to be held.

Louis takes a pillow - Harry’s pillow - from the bed and hugs it to his chest, squeezing his eyes tight and trying not to cry.

He cries anyway.

«« two months later »»

“Yup, just finished the last exam, Mum. So glad to finally be done,” Harry says on the phone as he turns the corner onto his road.

“I’m so proud of you,” his mum says. “I know this first year hasn’t been easy but I’m so very proud.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, and he knows that she means it. Last week she’d come to London to see his gallery show, the exhibition of his photos. She’d never admit it, but she cried a little bit seeing his photos on the wall, sunsets and vines growing on balconies and a boy playing football on the beach.

“I love you,” she says, just before she hangs up. Then she’s gone, and Harry feels joyous. The long expanse of the summer holidays stretches before him, a whole three months where he doesn’t have to go to university. It’s definitely the best feeling in the world. He’s working at the bakery and he has some part time photography gigs lined up and in just a few weeks, Louis is moving to London. His London. Here. To be with him.

His heart does a few twists below his ribcage just at the thought.

He’s just getting to the door of his building when his phone beeps with a text. He stops to fish his phone out of his pocket. It’s Louis.

Hey love do u mind if we push our skype date back a bit? Something just came up, thanks love u <3

Harry frowns, but he knows it’s silly. He and Louis talk every day; he can handle waiting a few more hours.

He types out a quick response (Sure, no problem, love you xx) and opens the door and starts up the stairs to the fourth floor. Maybe he’ll bake something, he hasn’t done that in a while. He could make a cake and give it to the girls across the hall; they’ve been stressed about their exams this past week.

But what kind? Chocolate? Vanilla? Maybe vanilla with some kind of fruit topping, he decides as he turns the key in the lock and pushes open the door to his flat. He’ll put on some music and bake and then he’ll still have time for a nap before he talks to Louis. It’ll be perfect and - is that a light on in the living room? He knows it’s not Niall; he’s gone away for the weekend. Did he leave the light on by mistake?

His heart is beating a little faster now because the lock to their flat really isn’t that great and did someone break in? He rounds the corner, and he’s sure his eyesight is failing him.

Because what he sees is Louis standing there, hands in his pockets, a bright smile on his face. Harry blinks. He’s still there.

Louis laughs a little then, taking a small step forward. “Surprise!”

“Lou.” Harry breathes, and then he’s dropping his bag on the floor with a loud thud and running to him. They collide, two bodies in motion, and they’re hugging and Harry’s heart feels like it will never calm down, the fast fluttering certainly a sign that he’s going to collapse at any moment.

But what a way to go.

“Hi,” Louis says then, pulling back to get a good look at him. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Harry answers, and he feels giddy. “I can’t believe you’re here, I can’t believe it.” He kisses Louis again, and he realizes he was wrong about the best feeling in the world. It’s not the summer holidays.

It’s this, here in Louis’s arms.

Home.