Archive of Our Own ^beta

“What do you mean, they’ll be here in half an hour?”

Harry’s voice was squeaking embarrassingly, but he didn’t have time to worry about that just now. It was absolutely not fair of Dan to spring this on him without any warning, without giving him enough time to mentally prepare and compose himself.

“Relax,” Dan said. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“How can you say that?” Harry asked, grabbing large handfuls of his hair. “Not a big deal? This is Midnight Memories we’re talking about here! They’re famous!”

“So are you,” Dan said. “You’re a YouTuber, they’re YouTubers.”

“They have over two million subscribers!” Harry said. “I haven’t even gotten half that many views on my most popular video! There is no comparison and you know it!”

“He’s right,” Phil chipped in from the other side of the room, where he was reviewing notes for the interview. “And besides, you’re famous and I think you nearly came in your pants when Nick Jonas hugged you. I was a bit jealous, actually.”

“Thank you for reminding me of that simultaneously intensely exciting and deeply humiliating moment,” Dan deadpanned.

Harry flopped into Dan’s chair, burying his head in his hands. “Of all the days to be wearing this stupid The Wanted T-shirt-”

“Why are you wearing that?” Dan asked. “Hell, why do you own that? I thought you hated The Wanted?”

“Personally I thought they weren’t half bad,” Phil put in absently. “Not my style, but not bad singers.”

“They’re just such arseholes,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “They pick fights with Midnight Memories over the most obnoxious things. No one likes them anymore. Nick bought me the shirt for a laugh. I haven’t had time to do laundry in a while, though, and it was the only clean shirt I had left.”

“You could always say you’re wearing it ironically,” Dan offered.

Phil snorted. “That’s a terrible idea.”

Harry flung his arm dramatically over his face. “Why are you so mean to me?”

“Mean?” Dan asked. “I’m introducing you to your favourite band. How is that mean? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you and all that shit. You should be thanking me. Also, get out of my chair.”

“Fine,” Harry said, standing. “Thank you, and also, I hate you.” He headed for the hallway.

“You’re welcome,” Dan called after him.

Harry flipped him off, but he threw a grin back with it before slamming the door behind him.

By the time the band arrived, Harry had managed to requisition somebody’s jacket in order to cover up the unfortunate T-shirt. He stood in the back of the room as Liam, Zayn, Niall, and Louis filed in, greeting Dan and Phil with warm handshakes and laughs. Phil quickly did a round of introductions for everyone, and Harry managed to smile and wave without embarrassing himself too badly.

The interview flew by, the four boys talking about the month long tour they’d just finished and the EP they were planning to release in a couple of months. Before Harry knew it, the band was filing out of the room. Harry let out a sigh of relief – he hadn’t hyperventilated himself into passing out, so he counted that as a success. He turned to Dan, who was grinning widely.

“Well?” Dan said.

Harry considered not answering, but decided against it. “That was the coolest thing that has ever happened to me,” he said. “Thanks.” Dan’s grin grew a fraction wider, and Harry waved a finger warningly. “Don’t get too full of yourself. I have plenty of blackmail material the internet would love to get their hands on.”

Dan just laughed. “You’re welcome.” He checked his watch and turned to Phil. “I think we’re done here. We need to swing by the shops before we head home, though – you ate all my cereal again.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Phil said with a grin.

Harry chuckled. “I’ll see you guys later,” he said. Dan nodded absently, and Harry slipped out the door.

He headed for the loo – his bladder always got the best of him when he was nervous. He pushed open the door to the toilets – and squeaked. There was someone else in the room. No, not just someone, Louis freaking Tomlinson. Harry was going to die.

Louis glanced up from his position at the urinal. “Hey,” he said, zipping up his jeans. “Harry, right?”

Louis Tomlinson was talking to him. Harry was going to die, come back to life, and then die three more times.

He nodded, trying not to look petrified and starstruck. “Yep,” he managed to say, his voice unusually high. “That’s me. I’m Harry.”

Okay, now he actually wanted to die. He wanted the floor to swallow him up and descend directly to hell. Sadly, the only flames he felt were the ones in his cheeks. He headed for the other urinal, hoping to end the conversation.

He heard Louis walk over to the sink and turn it on, washing his hands with the dispenser soap that always smelled just a little bit suspicious to Harry. With the number of celebrities that came through here, you’d think they’d get something nice, but it was just a boring little lavatory, and only slightly cleaner than average.

It was hard to pee with the knowledge that Louis freaking Tomlinson was standing not ten feet away, and Harry had to properly concentrate before he could, tuning out every noise. When he finished, he headed for the sinks, starting when he realized that Louis was still standing there, evidently waiting for him. He coughed, and quickly turned on the water.

“What do you do here, Harry?” Louis asked casually.

It took Harry a moment to believe that Louis was addressing him, but there were no other people in the room, let alone other people named Harry.

“Um, I don’t really work here,” Harry said. “I’m just friends with Dan and Phil. They invite me along sometimes. Like today. I’m a huge fan of you guys, so Dan invited me in. He didn’t tell me it was for you, though.”

“Well, always nice to meet a fan,” Louis said. “What do you do then, if you don’t work here?”

“I have a job in a bookshop right now,” Harry said. “Been doing that for about a month. And I’m studying English at UCL. I do YouTube videos too, though pretty small time.”

“Do you?” Louis smiled. They were moving out of the room now. Harry still couldn’t believe this was happening. “What’s your channel name? I’ll have to check you out.”

Okay, now Harry definitely couldn’t believe this was happening.  “Um, it’s HarryStylish,” he managed. “Cause my last name is Styles, so, I dunno, it seemed the obvious choice.”

“Is it a fashion channel?” Louis asked. “I haven’t seen many of those by guys.”

“Not really,” Harry said. “I mean, I talk about fashion sometimes, but just because it interests me. Mostly it’s vlogs.”

Louis nodded. “I’ll be sure to take a look,” he said. They reached the green room a moment later. Harry could see the other band members through the door as Louis paused. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Harry.”

“You too,” Harry said. “Very nice to meet you. An absolute pleasure.”

Louis nodded and gave him a crooked grin, which Harry took as a dismissal. He turned and started to walk away.

“Harry?”

He paused and turned.

“Nice T-shirt.”

Harry looked down and flushed. Somewhere along the line he’d unzipped his jacket, leaving the The Wanted T-shirt completely visible.

“I ran out of laundry,” he stammered. “I don’t-”

“Relax,” Louis said with a laugh. “I’m teasing.”

That didn’t help Harry’s cheeks, but perhaps his ego would recover someday. He turned to walk away again.

“Harry?”

He turned back again.

“Your fly’s open.”

It just was not his day.

Harry collapsed dramatically onto the sofa with a groan. “Why does this always happen to me?” he asked the ceiling.

The ceiling didn’t answer. Harry’s flatmate Ed, who was watching football on TV from a nearby chair, was similarly nonplussed. “Some people would be grateful, you know,” Ed commented, taking another bite of the pizza that sat on the coffee table between them.

“I am grateful,” Harry said quickly. “I really am. Just… ugh!” He threw his hands up in the air. “I made a complete tit of myself.”

Ed shrugged. “At least you’ll be memorable,” he offered.

Harry let his hands fall over his face. “That's not a good thing,” he said. “Not in this case.”

“Styles,” Ed said. “I know dozens of people who would kill to have been in your shoes, mortal embarrassment or no. Let's start over from the beginning, shall we?” Harry had no idea what that meant, but he nodded anyway. Ed shoved the last bite of pizza into his mouth and twisted to face Harry. “You got to meet Midnight Memories in person?” he said, his voice falsely enthusiastic. “You’re so lucky! That must have been really cool.”

Harry picked up a pillow and fiddled with it. “Well, yeah, it was really cool.”

“And you had a conversation with Louis? The Louis Tomlinson? Actually talked to you, Harry Styles?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, starting to feel better. “And he said he’d check out my YouTube channel.”

“See?” Ed said. “Not so bad.”

“No,” Harry said slowly. “No, it really wasn’t. It was pretty amazing.” A grin slowly began to spread across his face. “Thanks, Ed. You’re pretty amazing too.”

“And don’t you forget it!” Ed said, picking up another piece of pizza.

Sometimes Harry hated his job. Oh, most of the time he loved it – he loved books, so working in a bookshop could be amazing. But when things were slow, it could get a little dull. He was supposed to keep busy cleaning or putting things away, but there’s only so much of that one could do. Sometimes he would read behind the desk, but the problem with that was a customer could come in at any moment, including midway through the dramatic final scene, or an emotional and heart-wrenching one. Or his boss might come in. Sometimes Harry did it anyway, but most of the time it was safer not to risk it.

But that meant that he was bored. He’d spent the past half hour cleaning, and the place was spotless, and he was bored. He’d spent twenty minutes before that shelving books, and the shelves were all full, and he was bored. He stared at the door, hoping that someone would come in and talk to him.

He didn’t expect it to happen.

He definitely didn’t expect the person to be Zayn Malik.

He was dressed down, wearing a jean jacket in place of his signature leather one, but there was no mistaking that bone structure. Which actually sounded bizarre once Harry had thought it. He should probably say something.

Harry swallowed all the freaking out and fanboy instincts and pasted on his customer service smile. “Hi,” he said. “Welcome to Burt’s Books. Can I help you with anything today?”

Zayn squinted at him for a moment, then shook his head. “I know where everything is,” he said with a friendly smile.

And indeed, it seemed he did, for he headed straight to the comics section, thumbing through the pages of the latest publications and running his hands along past ones like they were old friends. Harry tried not to watch, but, well, he was still bored. And it was Zayn freaking Malik, one of Harry’s all-time idols who also happened to be unfairly attractive. Who could have blamed him?

Zayn didn’t seem to, and he gave Harry another friendly smile as he approached the register with a few comics. “Just these for today, thanks.”

Harry obediently rang up the books. “That’ll be £8.65,” he said.

Zayn seemed to be studying him. “Have you worked here long?” he asked after a moment.

Harry was slightly taken aback. “No,” he said. “Just a few weeks.”

Zayn nodded. “I haven’t been in for a while,” he said, and that made sense now that Harry thought about it – he’d been on tour. “You seem familiar though,” Zayn said hesitantly.

Harry was flattered. “I was at the BBC interview last week,” he said. “I’m friends with Dan and Phil, and they invited me-”

“Right!” Zayn snapped his fingers. “Harry, wasn’t it? With the The Wanted t-shirt?”

Harry blushed crimson. “That was an accident."

Zayn grinned. “I know,” he said. “No hard feelings, really. Good for a laugh, though.”

“I suppose,” Harry said. He glanced down at the comic books on the counter, desperate to change the subject. “Batman, huh? So you’re a DC guy?”

Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Would that be a problem?”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “No, of course not. I didn’t mean-”

“Relax,” Zayn said with a laugh. “I was kidding.”

“Oh.”

“I like both DC and Marvel,” Zayn said. “Hence the Iron Man comics under the Batman. Don’t really have a strong preference between the two. Some people get bent out of shape about that.”

“That’s silly,” Harry said. “Why should it matter what else you like?”

“That’s what I’ve always said,” Zayn said. “I guess some people are just so wedded to the idea of a rivalry that they can’t imagine people who don’t feel the same. But I’ll read pretty much anything, so long as the quality’s good.”

“Well, here’s hoping the quality of these meets your standards,” Harry said, handing over the bagged books.

Zayn laughed. “I’m sure it will,” he said, heading for the door. “See you next week.”

Harry squeaked. “Next week?”

But Zayn had already left the shop, and the only answer he got was the chime of the door closing behind him.

Okay, this was simply not fair. Harry was certain the universe was trying to give him a heart attack. And it just might be succeeding.

It was a week after the day Zayn had come into the bookshop, and he was back, as promised. Harry could survive that. Except that this time he had brought someone else with him.

Louis Tomlinson sauntered into the bookshop with a gleam in his eye and a spring in his step. “Hello, Harry,” he said, grinning. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Words. Coherence. Those were not faculties Harry was in possession of at this particular moment.

“Hi,” he managed after a moment.

Louis’ grin widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I see you did laundry,” he said.

Harry was not going to blush. He was not. He refused to. His cheeks didn’t seem to get the memo. “You’re never going to let me live that down,” he said, shaking his head. Which he realized as he said it sounded like he expected them to have regular interactions in the future. That wasn’t what he meant. Not that he didn’t want to, just – now his ears were warm too.

“Probably not,” Louis said, seemingly unfazed.

Zayn chuckled. “You still poke fun at me for things I did years ago,” he said. He quirked a smile at Harry, and Harry tried not to pass out. “Memory of an elephant, this one.”

“Only for blackmail material,” Louis corrected.

“Doesn’t bringing it up at every possible opportunity render it useless for blackmail?” Zayn said. “You never use it for extortion, just mortification.”

“That’s even better,” Louis retorted.

Zayn laughed again. “I’ll get this one out of your hair,” he said to Harry, and a minute later he had dragged Louis off into the shelves.

Harry sat down on the high stool behind the counter, feeling slightly lightheaded. Holy shit. Holy shitballs. Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik – half of Midnight Memories – were in his bookshop. Well, not his exactly, but – just, holy shit.

Okay. He needed to calm down. Calm. He could do that. Act normal. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He could totally do this. Professionalism. That was his middle name. Or something.

When Louis and Zayn returned to the front counter, each carrying a few books, Harry greeted them with a smile that was only slightly more hysterical than usual. “Is this all for today?” he said, quickly scanning and bagging Zayn’s purchases.

“Actually,” Louis said, leaning against the counter. “I was wondering if you have any copies of Victoria Starr’s biography of k.d. Lang in stock?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry said. “Let me check.” He quickly searched the computer. “All You Get Is Me?”

Louis nodded. “That’s the one.”

 “We don’t seem to have any copies in just now,” Harry said. “If you’d like, we could order it for you and let you know when it comes in?”

Louis nodded. “That’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m in no rush.” He handed over a credit card. “Put it on there.”

Harry obeyed, adding it to Louis’ other purchases. “I’ll just need, um.” He paused for a millisecond. Holy shit. “I’ll need an email or a phone number, so we can contact you to let you know when it’s in.”

Louis quickly rattled off a number, and Harry typed it into the computer, trying to keep his hands from shaking. Louis Tomlinson’s phone number, that was Louis Tomlinson’s phone number.

“All right,” he said. “You’re all set. The book should be in within a week or two.”

“Cheers,” Louis said. “See you then.”

A moment later he and Zayn were walking out of the shop, and Harry sagged against the wall, trying not to hyperventilate. It didn’t work.

“Holy shit.”

“You’ve said that already,” Ed told him, looking bemused. “Twice.”

“I have Louis freaking Tomlinson’s number.”

“You said that too.”

“I mean, I don’t have it memorized or anything,” Harry said. “That would be weird. And it’s not in my possession, exactly – I would never misuse something like that.”

“You have, in fact, also said that.”

Ed was a terrible flatmate. Harry should really find someone else. Someone helpful. Someone who understood the magnitude of this. He attempted to convey his displeasure by means of a pout and a whine. Ed laughed.

“I know you’re excited, H,” he said indulgently. “It’s cool, I’ll grant you.”

Harry switched back to grinning in an instant. “It’s so cool,” he agreed. He moved closer to Ed on the sofa, and Ed slung an arm around his shoulder. Harry leaned into the contact with a sigh.

“Are you gonna call him when the book comes in, or is that someone else’s job?” Ed asked.

Harry’s head shot up, narrowly missing Ed’s chin. “Holy shit.”

“Four.”

“Shut up.” There was no venom in it. There never was. Harry leaned back into Ed’s side a moment later. “I hope I get to do it,” he said. “It depends when the book comes in, and when I’m working. But it could totally happen.”

“Do you want it to?” Ed sounded genuinely curious.

Harry pondered the question. “Yes. No. Yes.” He shook his head. “It would be so freaking cool, but also bloody terrifying,” he explained. “Like, can you imagine just casually calling Louis Tomlinson – I know you don’t care about Midnight Memories, but if it was, like, Hayley Williams or some shit-”

“I know what you mean.”

Harry’s head tipped back and he stared at the ceiling. “It would be so cool, though,” he said. “But, like – shit, Ed.”            

“Very eloquent.” Ed chuckled. “You’re a giant nerd, you know that?”

Harry glared balefully at him. “Says the guy with a tattoo of ketchup.”

“Touché.” Ed shifted slightly to better meet Harry’s eyes. “But if you get the chance, you should go for it. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.”

“Get the chance to what? Call him to tell him that his book is in?”

Ed shrugged. “Yeah, definitely that. But, like, anything else too. He’ll probably come back to your bookshop – I’d wager Zayn definitely will. Take advantage.”

“Of them?” Harry was indignant.

“No, not of them,” Ed said. “Of the opportunity. Talk to them. Don’t just panic and freeze up. Get to know them. Otherwise you’ll always wonder what could have happened.”

Harry nodded slowly. “You’re a great flatmate,” he said. “And a great friend.”

“Good to hear,” Ed said. “Does that mean you’re making dinner?”

Harry groaned, but he was smiling as he rose and headed to the kitchen.

Harry sat at the desk, a book in one hand, and a telephone in the other, staring at the number on the screen.

“You can do this,” he told himself. “It’s just a routine phone call. You’ve done a hundred of them. Just stick to the script.”

He didn’t believe himself, but he dialled the number anyways. The phone rang, and rang again, the recorded sound tinny through the outdated handset. Maybe Louis wouldn’t pick up. Famous people probably didn’t answer calls from unknown numbers.

Just as the thought crossed Harry’s mind, the call connected with a click, and a familiar voice said, “Hullo?”

Harry took a deep breath. “Hi, this is Harry from Burt’s Books, calling to let you know that the book you ordered has arrived.” He spoke a little quicker than usual, spewing out the whole thing in one long breath, but his voice remained remarkably steady. Harry decided to count that as a success. Mostly because it beat the alternative.

“Oh,” Louis said. “Hello, Harry.” He paused. “Um, how long would you be able to hold onto that book? I might not be able to come in for a bit.”

This was not in his prepared script. “Um, I’m not sure,” Harry said. “How long do you need?” Louis didn’t answer for a moment, and Harry’s curiosity got the better of him. “Are you busy with work?” he asked, then backtracked. “Not that you have to tell me anything, I was just curious-”

“No, it’s fine,” Louis said. “It’s not work. I mean, we’re working, but, well… I injured my foot yesterday, and walking is… difficult at the moment.”

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, immediately concerned. “What happened?”

“I’ll be fine,” Louis said quickly. “It’s just a sprain, but it hurts like the devil. Doctor says it should heal up in a week or two.”

“Well, we’d be happy to hold onto the book until you’re back to normal,” Harry said. “Or-”

He cut himself off. That was probably going too far.

“Or what?” Louis asked.

Harry bit his lip. “Well, if you wanted, I wouldn’t mind dropping it off for you, after work,” Harry said. “Just an offer, you don’t have to-”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” Louis said at the same time.

“It wouldn’t be any inconvenience at all,” Harry said. “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable – I’m not trying to find out where you live or anything.”

Louis laughed. “I’m not worried,” he said. “You don’t scare me.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to take that. “Thanks?” he said after a moment.

Louis laughed again. “If you’re sure it would be no trouble, I’d love to have the book,” he said. “It’d give me something to do rather than watch footie all day.”

“No trouble at all,” Harry said. “I’d be glad to.”

Harry could swear he could hear the smile in Louis’ voice as he gave Harry the address. “I really do appreciate it,” Louis added before he hung up. “You’re a very generous fellow, Harry Styles.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something – thank him, maybe? – but Louis had already ended the call.

Harry stood outside Louis’ building, having a conversation with himself that was very much reminiscent of the one he’d had before making the call that morning.

He’d been standing there for almost ten minutes, and by this point he was probably making the residents nervous. Not to mention passersby on the street.

“He’s just a customer,” Harry whispered fiercely to himself. “Just a regular bloke. Who happens to be famous and makes music for a living.” That wasn’t helping. “You told him you would be here in twenty minutes nearly half an hour ago,” he tried next. “He’s probably wondering where you are. Just press the goddamn button.”

That was more effective, but his hand still trembled as he rested a finger on the call button. “Push it,” he told himself. And he did.

The buzz startled him, despite the fact that he had literally pushed it himself, and he jumped. And then he waited. There was no answer. Had he gotten the address wrong, or the flat number? He checked the slip of paper that was still in his hand – everything matched. Maybe Louis hadn’t heard it? He hesitated for a moment, then pressed the buzzer again.

Harry was beginning to get decidedly nervous when at last a loud click sounded and a slightly breathless voice crackled through the speakers.

“Sorry about the wait,” Louis said. “Foot’s really slowing up the works.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Right. I’m sorry.” A momentary pause. “It’s Harry,” he added. “I brought your book?” His voice turned up at the end a little more than he meant it to.

“Right,” Louis said. “Up the stairs on the left to the second floor, and then it’s the third door.”

A loud buzz sounded as the front doors unlocked and the call cut out. Harry rested a hand on the door for a moment before pushing it open and walking inside.

It was a nice complex, not overly posh but certainly upscale. The lobby was attractively decorated, the stairwell clean and well-lit. Harry focused on these little details rather than on the fact that he was in Louis Tomlinson’s building, which might have brought on a panic attack or something. He forced himself not to pause for more than ten seconds outside Louis’ door before knocking.

“Coming!” came the call from within, but it was a good thirty seconds before the door swung open, accompanied by quiet swearing.

Louis was casually dressed in a loose-fitting black t-shirt and joggers than hung low on his hips. His left foot was swathed in bandages and he balanced on a pair of crutches. He pushed his fringe out of his eyes with one hand as he wiped sweat from his brow.

“I hate these bloody things,” he said, gesturing at the crutches. “It takes forever to get anywhere. I’m completely useless. Trapped in me own flat, since I can barely get around on flat ground, and the building doesn’t have a lift.”

“That’s rough,” Harry said, finding his voice. “I remember I broke my leg once, when I was in Year Nine, and I could barely do anything for a solid month and a half.”

“Well, this shouldn’t last quite that long, thank fuck,” Louis said. “I’d go stir crazy.” He started to reach for the book in Harry’s hand, and then paused, both of them simultaneously realizing that Louis couldn’t carry the book and use his crutches at the same time.

“Um,” Louis started. “Do you mind-”

“Lending you a hand?” Harry finished. “Only because it’s a good pun.”

He immediately half-regretted the pun, but it was instinctive. Louis rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “I’d smack you, but I think I’d fall over,” he said. “But yeah, that would be great, thanks.”

“Of course,” Harry said. “Where do you need it?”

“Just the living room would be perfect,” Louis said, moving back to let Harry in. “I’ve been camped out there.” He pointed with a crutch, and nearly stumbled and fell. Harry instinctively grabbed him, steadying him.

“Maybe keep the dramatic gestures to a minimum,” he said with a laugh.

Louis laughed too. “That might be best.”

They made their way to the living room, and Louis slowly lowered himself onto the enormous leather sofa that sat against one wall. An equally enormous TV took up a substantial amount of the opposite wall, and bookshelves framed it on both sides. A football game was still playing on the TV, the volume muted.

Louis sighed as he relaxed into the sofa, then leaned forward to pick up his injured foot and swing it onto a pillow on the coffee table. He winced, lines appearing around his eyes and mouth.

“Do you need anything else?” Harry asked. “While I’m here, I mean – since you can’t get around very well, and I-”

He cut himself off, but Louis was smiling hopefully. “If it’s not too much of a bother,” he said, “I’ve been dying for a tea all day. Didn’t trust myself with hot liquids, though.”

Harry laughed. “I suppose not,” he said. “But yeah, no, of course. It’s no problem.”

“You’re a prince,” Louis said fervently.

Harry ducked his head, his cheeks turning a light pink. “It’s nothing,” he insisted. He glanced around. “Um, where-”

“Kitchen is down the hall,” Louis said, pointing to the door they had come in. “Next door on the same side. Kettle is on the side, mugs and tea in the cupboard above it.” He gave a crooked smile. “You’re welcome to have a cup yourself, if you’d like.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Harry started, but Louis was already shaking his head.

“It’s the least I can do,” he said. “Since you’re being so helpful.”

Harry nodded slowly. “All right,” he said, allowing a small smile to creep across his face. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Louis said, and Harry’s smile widened a little more.

Somehow one cup of tea turned into several, and then Harry found himself talked into playing FIFA with Louis, which he lost terribly at, and then it was getting late and Louis offered to order pizza and Harry couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

“This is not how I pictured today going when I woke up,” he told Louis as he bit into a piece of deliciously cheesy goodness.

Louis chuckled. “I should hope not,” he said. “That would be weird.”

Harry looked nervous for a moment, and Louis gave him a chuck on the shoulder. “Lighten up,” he said. “Stop worrying so much. You’re fine.”

Harry smiled timidly. “Sorry,” he said. “I just – like, I don’t want to overstep. I mean, I know a lot of celebrities can have… problems with fame and fans. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Or, like, completely humiliate myself. Again.”

“Don’t apologize,” Louis scolded. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” He took a large bite of pizza. “As for the rest,” he said after swallowing, “I’m not exactly a celebrity.” Harry started to protest, but Louis waved him off with a smile. “I’m not super widely known," he clarified, "so I haven’t had too many problems. And most of the people who are going to be a problem, it becomes clear fairly early on. You seem like a right enough guy. Been nothing but respectful since we met. Nervous, sure, but impeccably polite. More polite than I am.” He chuckled. “More paranoid too.”

“I’m not paranoid,” Harry protested weakly. “I’m concerned. And I don’t want to overstep.”

“You’re not,” Louis assured him. “I said yes, didn’t I? And I’m the one who made you stay longer. You’re deferential to a fault, but it’s fine, I swear.”

Harry nodded timidly. “Okay.”

They ate in silence for a while, the only sound the television playing in the background. Harry had known Louis was into football, but the obsession seemed to go far deeper than he’d ever imagined.

“I looked up your YouTube channel, by the way,” Louis said as Harry cleaned up the remains of their dinner.

Harry’s hands stilled momentarily. “Really?” he said. “What did you think?”

He was nervous, in spite of himself. He tried to put up videos he was proud of, obviously, but it was always so hard to know what would go over well.

“I liked it,” Louis said with a nod. “Your puns are terrible, but the way you look so pleased with yourself makes them funny anyways.”

“Heeey,” Harry protested weakly, and Louis laughed.

“Sorry, love, but I think you know they’re awful. You, me, and the bloody moon all know that.”

Harry pouted. “You’re being mean.”

Louis shrugged. “It’s clearly working for you,” he said, “so it’s not like it’s a problem. Two hundred and fifty thousand subscribers is not to be sneezed at.”

Harry smiled, and resumed piling everything into the nearly empty pizza box. As he carried it into the kitchen, he heard the front door buzzer sound. A moment later he heard a thud and a groan, and raced back into the living room to find Louis sprawled on the floor, his crutches splayed.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

Louis looked at him crossly. “I tripped, what does it look like?” he asked. He started to push himself back to his feet, wincing, and Harry quickly moved forward to help him, supporting his weight.

“The door,” Louis said, as Harry guided him back to the sofa.

“I’ll get it,” Harry said sharply. “Now sit down before you injure yourself any further.”

To his surprise, Louis obeyed with a sigh. His face looked slightly pinched, but before Harry could ask him about it the buzzer sounded again.

Harry hurried into the hall and pressed the button to accept the call.

“Shit, you’re slow,” the person outside said, before Harry could even open his mouth. “Open the bloody door, Lou.”

He gave no introduction, apparently assuming he needed none, and perhaps he was right, as despite the crackling of the intercom Harry could clearly distinguish Niall’s voice.

“It’s Niall,” he called back to Louis.

“Let him up,” Louis called back, and Harry pressed the button to do so.

He was back in the kitchen, putting the last of the pizza into a Tupperware when the door opened and a loud Irish voice echoed through the flat.

“How’s it going, Louis?”

“About the same as it was yesterday,” Louis replied, at a somewhat more reasonable volume. “I’m an invalid, positively bedridden.”

“Ah, buck up, mate,” Niall replied, without losing a mite of cheeriness. “You’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

There was a moment’s pause. Harry carried the now-empty pizza box over to the recycling bin and tried to force it in, but it was just a little bit too large.

“Who’s this?” Harry jumped as the Irish voice sounded loudly just behind him. “Someone’s in your kitchen, mate. Did you know that?”

Harry turned quickly. “It’s just me,” he said. “I mean, Harry. I was helping Louis out.”

Niall’s eyebrows twitched upwards. “You’re Harry, are you?” he said. “I remember you. Good lad.”

Harry blinked. “Thanks, I think?”

“Those boxes never fit in the bin,” Niall said, changing subjects so rapidly Harry felt like he had whiplash. “Just stick it behind the can. Any pizza left over?” Harry pointed wordlessly to the counter where the Tupperware sat, and a moment later Niall was strolling back towards the living room, eating the remaining slices and talking loudly at the same time. Harry wondered how he managed it.

It was quarter to ten on a Thursday and things were slow at the bookshop. Harry was working on an English essay that was due the following week when the chime of the door opening alerted him that someone had come in.

“We’re closing in about fifteen minutes,” Harry said, finishing a sentence. “But you’re welcome to-” He looked up. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Hi,” Louis said, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Hi,” Harry repeated, closing his laptop. “What’s up?”

Louis shrugged. “Not much. Had a question for you.”

“Shoot,” Harry said, trying not to let on that his mind was reeling slightly. He was a person who casually said ‘What’s up?’ to Louis freaking Tomlinson. Not that his internal monologue was casual, but his delivery was totally – shit, Louis was saying something.

“Sorry?” he said, trying not to act like he hadn’t been listening. “Could you repeat that?”

Louis’ mouth quirked up on one side. “I know it might be a surprise,” he said, “but I saw your recent collabs with Dan and Phil, and they were fucking hilarious. Niall and Zayn and Li liked them too. And it’d be a great opportunity for you to grow your audience.”

Wait – was he – did he mean –

“What did you have in mind?” Harry asked.

Louis shrugged. “We haven’t got the details hammered out quite yet. We wanted to know if you were interested, before we started making too many plans.”

“Interested in collabing with Midnight Memories?” Harry said. “Holy shit yes.” He covered his mouth with one hand – that had been a little more exuberantly enthusiastic than he’d meant it to be – but Louis was laughing.

“Sounds good,” he said. “Do you have any opinions for what we do? We could obviously do something musical if you want, but we could just as easily do some kind of challenge.”

“I’m down for either,” Harry said. He bit his tongue to keep himself from blurting out, “I’m down for anything,” which was also true.

“All right,” Louis said. “I guess I’ll talk to the others and we can figure things out.”

“Sounds good,” Harry said again, because it really did. Holy shit. A video with Midnight Memories – two videos, really, since they’d be making one for his channel.

“What about you?” Harry asked. “Any restrictions on what my half is?”

Louis shrugged. “Be reasonable,” he said. “But we’re all pretty chill.”

Harry suddenly thought to glance at his watch, and realized that he’d lost track of time while they were talking. “I’d love to continue this conversation,” he said, “and I’m super excited about this collab, but my bus is coming in half an hour and I still have to close up.”

“I’ll get out of your hair, then,” Louis said, starting for the door. He paused. “Or I could give you a lift?”

Harry paused. “I don’t want to impose…”

Louis was already shaking his head. “It’s no trouble at all,” he said. “Besides, you brought me my book last week. I’m just returning the favour.”

Harry smiled gratefully. “Then I’d love a lift,” he said. “As long as you don’t mind waiting a few minutes.”

“I’m in no rush,” Louis said with a shrug. “Besides, you’ve got an entire room full of books to keep me occupied.”

He was right, at that, and as Harry began going through the steps of closing the shop Louis grabbed a book from a shelf and plopped down on the floor. Cleaning was fairly rudimentary, as they’d been enjoying a spell of nice weather which sharply reduced the amount of mud tracked in, and then Harry turned to restocking; filling the spaces in the shelves with books he’d priced that day. He hummed quietly to himself as he worked his way through the shelves for a few minutes before emerging back into the front.

Louis had abandoned his book and was instead standing behind the counter, peering at Harry’s homework. “Hello,” he said, looking up as Harry approached. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“No,” Harry said. “That’s fine.”

“What is it?”

“Just an English essay I’m working on for uni,” Harry said. “Some of us are still getting an education.”

He grinned, the jibe light and teasing, and Louis grinned back. “Your loss,” he said. “I’m having the time of my life making music and going on tour while you’re stuck in lectures all day.”

“I like it,” Harry said with a shrug. “I like learning. And it’s good to have employable skills. I don’t think employers are looking for ‘a smart mouth and a fantastic arse’ on resumes.”

That… might have been a little much. But then, Louis’ bum was almost as famous as he was. Louis seemed to take it in stride, chuckling.

“I have plenty of employable skills, Styles,” he said. “Don’t objectify me before you even know me. What’s the essay on?”

Were abrupt subject changes a Midnight Memories trademark?

“A poem by Lord Byron,” Harry replied. “‘She Walks In Beauty.’ It’s really interesting, actually.”

“Hmm.” Louis ran a finger along the page. “I’m not much of one for poetry.”

Harry was flabbergasted. “But… you’re a musician,” he said. “You write songs. That’s literally poetry set to music.”

Louis frowned. “That’s different,” he said.

“Is it?” Harry tilted his head to one side. “How so?”

“I dunno,” Louis said. “It’s… less fancy, I guess.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you’ve never heard of slam poetry,” Harry said. Louis’ frown said he was right. “Google Button Poetry,” Harry advised. “Neil Hilborn is a personal favourite of mine. Or look up ‘Somewhere In America.’ Or basically any of Taylor Mali’s stuff.”

“You seem to know a lot about poetry,” Louis said.

Harry shrugged. “I guess so,” he said. “I am an English student.”

“Will you read it to me?”

Harry frowned. “Read what?”

“The poem.”

“The-” Harry was startled. “It’s not slam poetry,” he said. “It’s – Byron’s stuff is pretty classic.”

Louis shrugged. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” Harry said cautiously.

“So read it to me,” Louis said. “Make me like it.”

Harry couldn’t figure out how to argue. He carefully moved behind the desk, slotting in next to Louis. He brushed imaginary dust off the page and settled his eyes at the first line.

And then he remembered.

‘She Walks In Beauty’ was a love poem.

This might be just a little bit awkward.

He blinked twice and began reading anyway, his voice low.

“She walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.”

He glanced over at Louis. His eyes were fixed on the page, his head nodding slightly. Harry swallowed hard and continued.

“One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

“And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!" 

Harry fell silent, and Louis glanced up at him.

“I’ll admit it sounds nice,” he said, “the cadence and all, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of the meaning, most of the time.”

“It can be a little enigmatic,” Harry said. “But that’s part of what makes in interesting. It’s the little details, the things you have to really search for – working for it makes it feel like an accomplishment.”

“But I’m lazy,” Louis said with a grin. “I don’t want to work for it.”

Harry chuckled. “Not all poetry is like this,” he said. “It’s just a sample, one subtype – like pop music versus hip hop, or jazz. The more modern stuff, especially, can have a lot more variety and freedom.”

Louis shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Harry said. “I’ve read and heard some stuff that just gives me chills. Or it’s just so clever and witty, or it looks at something in a totally new way, or it puts an abstract, intangible, indescribable feeling into words so that you look at it and say, ‘Yes, that’s it exactly.’ Haven’t you ever had a moment like that when you were writing?”

Louis slowly nodded, and Harry smiled victoriously. “I guess,” Louis said. “Sometimes – with Home, maybe, or Love You Goodbye.”

“Exactly,” Harry said. “Look, let me prove it to you.”

Louis tilted his head to the side. “You take this really seriously, you know that?”

Harry flushed. “I’m an English student?” he said again. “I guess it’s kind of my job to defend poetry. And Shakespeare.” Louis made a face at that, and Harry laughed. “Yeah, I get that reaction a lot.”

“The man’s been dead four hundred years!”

“He was good at what he did,” Harry said with a shrug. “And trust me – when the naughty jokes are explained instead of ignored, it’s much better reading. And there are a lot of naughty jokes.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Louis said. “But poetry is just so – inaccessible to me.”

“You just don’t know how to read it,” Harry said. “Or you haven’t been exposed to the right stuff.” Inspiration struck him. “I know – it can be my half of the collab.”

“What?” Louis seemed baffled.

“Poetry,” Harry said, excitedly. “Reading it, or watching it – I dunno, just… yeah.” He scratched his neck. Out loud it sounded like a stupid idea.

Louis tilted his head to one side. He seemed to be considering the idea seriously. “Will your viewers like that?”

Harry thought about it. He’d talked about literature stuff before; stuff he’d read for class for instance. And plenty of the stuff on his channel was pretty nerdy. “I think so?” he said. “Enough, at least.”

“Then we’ll do it,” Louis said. “It’s your channel; make what you want to. We invited you for the collab; we’ll take what that entails.”

Harry smiled. “Sounds good.” He flipped the book shut and stacked it on top of his notebook and laptop. “I’m ready to go if you are.”

Louis reached across and picked up Harry’s things. “Your chariot awaits, then.”

Harry laughed and followed him out, flipping out the lights and locking the door behind them.

“So what have you been up to lately?” Phil asked, leaning back in his chair. He, Dan, Harry, and Ed were out for lunch together at a small restaurant near the BBC Radio 1 studio. Harry had just taken a mouthful of salad as the question was posed. He hastened to swallow and answer, but Ed had the advantage and beat him to it.

“Harry has been freaking out for the past week,” Ed said, and Harry closed his eyes, wishing kale didn’t take so long to chew. “He never stops talking and fretting about-”

“Okay!” Harry said, mouth finally empty. “Let’s let each person answer for themselves.”

Ed shrugged. “You’re my flatmate,” he pointed out. “Your behaviour impacts my life.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Okay,” Phil said. “So why don’t you tell us about it, then?”

Because he didn’t bloody want to. Because Ed was making a joke out of it. Because this was holy shit big and Harry was still terrified that this was going to turn out to be some fever dream, even though the text messages on his phone said otherwise.

But now they were all staring expectantly at him, and he had no way out of answering. He sighed, poking at a piece of cucumber with his fork.

“I’m doing a collab with Midnight Memories.”

There was a small clatter of cutlery as Dan dropped his fork. “You’re bloody what?”

“Congratulations!” Phil said. “That must be really exciting for you!”

Harry nodded, still not looking up. “Yeah,” he said. “Very exciting.”

There was a pause. “You don’t sound excited,” Dan said.

“Dan!” Phil chided.

Dan held up his hands. “I meant nothing,” he said. “I was just surprised. You practically had an accident when we introduced you to them, but now you’re just picking at your food.”

“Because I’m nervous!” Harry burst out. “I’m scared shitless that I’m going to make a fool of myself in front of them, or that their fans will hate me, or that-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Phil said. “Calm down.” He rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder and Harry forced himself to take a deep breath. “You’re going to be fine,” Phil said. “They wouldn’t have asked you if they didn’t think you had what it took.”

“I know,” Harry said. “I’ve just never done a collab with someone so big before.”

“That’s what she said,” Dan said. Phil glared at him, and he looked away. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

Phil rolled his eyes and turned back to Harry. “I know can be intimidating working with someone with such a big audience, but that’s why this is a great opportunity for you.”

“I know,” Harry said again, “and I’m grateful, really, just…”

“You’re also terrified?” Phil supplied.

Harry nodded.

“You’ll be fine,” Ed said. “You’ve done plenty of music stuff with me for my channel. You’re good, Harry. They know that. Soon their fans will too.”

Harry rolled his eyes, glancing at Dan and Phil. “This is the kind of emotional support I get,” he said wryly.

“And you were telling me off for being unsupportive,” Dan teased Phil. “But really,” he said, turning back to Harry, “I didn’t follow quite the same path into the YouTube community as you, since I was already friends with Phil, but I remember when we did that interview with Oli Sykes. I was so nervous, I literally thought I was going to be sick.”

“And then you were fine,” Phil said. “You just went out there and aced it.”

Dan smiled. “I mean, it wasn’t perfect,” he said, a self-deprecating lilt to his voice. “But I just did it, and it actually wound up being fairly fun.”

“Fairly fun,” Phil repeated. “You loved it, don’t lie.”

Dan laughed. “Okay, maybe I loved it a little bit.”

Phil grinned, and Harry turned to exchange an amused glance with Ed.

“Do you get on with them?” Harry jumped at Phil’s question, having just taken another bite of his salad.

“I haven’t interacted with them too much,” Harry said after swallowing, “but for the most part, yeah, I guess so.” He hadn’t actually spoken to Liam or Niall in person yet, but Zayn was still dropping in for comics every week or so, and Louis had actually extended an offer to drive him home when he was in the area, since their recording studio was apparently nearby. That had only happened once so far, their schedules not always lining up, but they’d had a great conversation about what features were important in bookshelves, of all things. Harry smiled at the memory, but didn’t bring it up. Ed would tease him to no end, and Harry wanted to keep it pure, keep it his, in a way.

“Then you’re already doing well,” Phil said, and for a moment Harry half panicked that he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. “Good chemistry is one of the most important things in working together.” He glanced at Dan as they spoke, and they both laughed. Harry smiled as he watched them. He envied their relationship, how easy and comfortable it was. Ed was great and all, and Harry loved having him as a friend and a flatmate, but Dan and Phil seemed to reach a whole new level of unity, to the point where they almost seemed like a package deal, like you couldn’t have one without the other.

He shook his head and clapped his hands. “Okay!” he said. “So now that we’ve analysed the crap out of my life, what about you guys? What’s going on in your lives?”

Dan rested his head on his hand. “Well,” he said. “We’re thinking of having another leg of our tour…”

Harry immediately demanded details, from where they were going to what they would be doing to what touristy activities they were planning. A sideways glance from Ed said that Harry’s subject change wasn’t lost on him, but subtlety hadn’t really been the point. And it had worked, hadn’t it? Harry turned away from Ed and threw himself into Dan and Phil’s debate over the merits of visiting tourist traps – were they overpriced, overhyped scams or an important part of the experience of visiting a city? Harry was just glad to have a new topic of conversation.

They made the video a week later at Liam’s flat. It was an acoustic cover of Torn, with only Niall on guitar for instrumentation. Harry felt shaky for the first few run throughs, until Niall and Louis’ animated debate over bar chords got him laughing, and then everything slowly started to feel comfortable.

Between takes they talked about random crap while Niall shook out his wrists. Some of this would get put into the extras at the end of the video, Liam told Harry. It was easy to forget that it was for consumption, though, and just get lost in hanging out with four incredibly cool guys. From time to time, Harry even found himself forgetting to be starstruck, and just thinking of them as four funny friends. It was a strange feeling.

The time flew by, and when Liam declared that it was time to break for lunch, Harry was astonished to find that three hours had passed and he was starving. He’d been too nervous to eat a proper breakfast, and he seriously considered ripping the food out of the delivery guy’s hands as the delicious smell of dumplings and fried rice permeated the flat.

“Good job this morning,” Zayn said to him as they dug in.

Harry quickly swallowed a large mouthful of chicken. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s an honour to have been invited, and I really enjoyed it.”

Zayn chuckled. “Louis was right,” he said. “You are very polite.”

Harry frowned uncertainly. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Zayn said. “It’s not bad. It’s just… unusual, I guess.”

“Being polite is unusual?” Now Harry was just confused.

Zayn chuckled again. “A little,” he said. “Your mum raised you right, I guess.”

Harry blinked. “I think so?”

“Is Zayn interrogating you?” Louis asked from the other side of the table. “Play nice, Zaynie.”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “It’s fine. We were just talking.”

“Well, talk to me,” Louis said. “I’m feeling deprived of my rightful position as the centre of attention.”

Zayn shook his head, but he was smiling. “God forbid that anyone pay attention to anything that isn’t you.”

“Exactly,” Louis said. “I’m so glad you see it my way, Zayn.”

“So, Harry,” Liam interjected. “What’s your plan for the videos this afternoon?”

“That depends,” Harry said, twirling his fork in his noodles. “I’ve got a bunch of poems picked out, but I wanted to run how we do it past you guys. We could do videos or audios of spoken word, or I could read some, or you could read some. Or, like, a mix.”

“While I think that Niall reading poetry would be hilarious,” Louis said, tapping his chin, “I think it might be get your poetry-protective hackles up.” He winked at Harry, and Harry smiled.

“Maybe,” he said. “Do any of the rest of you have any opinions?”

“Mate, it’s your video,” Niall said. “We’ll follow your lead.”

“The Fine Brothers might try to sue you if you do a react thing,” Zayn said. “But then, who gives a shit anyway?”

Harry laughed. “I’m not scared of them.” He thought for a moment. “I think the spoken word has the most potential to be interesting,” he decided, “both visually and for you guys. How about we pull titles out of a hat to choose which ones?”

“Saves you having to make the tough decisions?” Louis commented.

Harry smiled. “You know me too well.”

The videos went up at five pm on Saturday. Harry stayed online for a bit to gauge reactions and reply to a few people. It was looking good; comments were positive and several said they’d come over from Midnight Memories’ channel and liked what they’d found. His subscriber count had gone up by almost a hundred. Harry was pleased.

After about half an hour he shut down his computer and headed to the kitchen to make dinner – whole wheat pasta with a tomato and basil sauce. It was delicious, and he put the leftovers in the fridge for lunch the next day. Then he checked YouTube again.

He nearly dropped his phone.

His video had nearly twenty thousand views. He knew it wasn’t all that many compared to bigger channels, and even some of his more popular videos, but in only an hour and a half, that was unprecedented. He had nearly a thousand new subscribers, and checking his Twitter he found almost as many new followers.

He was almost in a daze as he pulled up Louis’ number and hit call. Louis picked up almost immediately.

“Hey, Harry,” he said. “How’s it looking?”

“Um.” Harry was still in shock. “Wow.”

Louis laughed. “I think I’ll take that as a good sign,” he said. Harry heard clicking in the background as Louis hummed tunelessly, then a low whistle. “Yep,” he said. “Those are some nice numbers.”

“I’m just – I don’t – thank you,” Harry said. “This is – amazing.”

“I’m glad.” Louis’ smile was audible through the phone. “What say we have a pub night to celebrate?”

Holy shit. A pub night with Louis Tomlinson. What even was his life.

“Just you and me, or all the boys?” he asked, trying to keep his voice in its normal register.

“Either way,” Louis said. “I was planning to invite the others, though I think at least Zayn is busy. I’m not really sure. But that doesn’t mean we can’t go. You’re welcome to invite someone as well.”

Harry’s throat was dry. He swallowed. “Okay,” he said. “That sounds great. Where did you have in mind?”

And so it was that two hours later Harry found himself standing next to Ed outside The Hairy Tarantula. Louis had given him directions, promising to meet him there. Harry was just beginning to wonder if he should go in or wait outside when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“There you are!” Louis said. “Good to see you mate. Nice coat.”

Harry glanced down, his ears turning slightly pink. He was wearing a long Burberry coat, which he’d sprung on as a celebration when he'd hit a hundred thousand subscribers. It was a little bit over-fancy, but it was also comfortable. Then again, maybe Louis was just genuinely complimenting it. He needed to stop overthinking it.

“Louis, Niall, this is my flatmate, Ed,” Harry said, changing the subject. “EddySings, on Youtube.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Ed said, shaking first Louis and then Niall’s hands. “Harry’s told me a lot about you.”

“Well, now that the introductions are out of the way, let’s get this party started!” Niall put on an exaggerated American accent for the last bit, and Harry burst out laughing. He followed, though, and they proceeded into the pub in as orderly a fashion as could be expected.

“First round’s on me,” Louis called, heading for the bar. “You guys grab a table.”

“C’mon,” Niall said, taking the lead and heading for a back corner. “Our usual spot is free.”

‘The usual spot’ turned out to be a small round table with four tall stools, tucked away in the back. A high window above it let in a slight breeze, which was refreshing with the heat of the crowded pub.

Louis arrived a few minutes later carrying four glasses, precariously balanced. Harry hurried to help him, but Louis just laughed at his concern. “I’m in a four person band,” he told Harry. “I’ve had a lot of practice at this.”

It soon became apparent that Louis’ professed practicednessapplied not only to carrying drinks but imbibing them as well. He easily kept pace with Niall, who was none too reserved himself. Harry slowed down when it became apparent that no one else was going to, though Ed seemed to be taking a middle road. Still, as they talked and laughed and swayed slightly to music with no discernible words, Harry found his head growing more than a little fuzzy.

“Gonna head to the loo,” Harry said eventually, he wasn’t really sure how long it had been. Alcohol and good timekeeping didn’t mix well. Manoeuvring himself off the high stool was slightly challenging, and really whose idea had it been to put tall seats in a place for drunk people? Stupid idea.

What had he been doing? Loo. Right.

“I’ll come with you,” Louis said, hopping down from his own stool. “I know where it is.”

Harry was pretty sure he could find the toilets on his own, but he wasn’t entirely sure, so he just nodded. Louis led him through the crowd, moving remarkably dextrously for someone who'd had more alcohol than Harry but was half his size.

“You’re so tiny,” Harry said as they entered a narrow and dimly lit hallway. A moment later he walked into something. It took him a moment to realize it was Louis, stopped dead.

“I’m not tiny,” Louis said, and Harry couldn’t see his face but he would be willing to bet money that Louis was pouting. He would have paid money to see Louis pouting.

Maybe he was a little drunk.

“I meant compared to me,” Harry said, trying to explain his thoughts. “You’re smaller than me.” That sounded very different from what he meant. Also he was not sure that was true. Not that he had any empirical evidence – this was not the train of thought he was aiming for. “I weigh more than you,” Harry continued. “So how are you so not-drunk, and I am so drunk-drunk?” That made sense, right?

Louis laughed, which Harry supposed meant it did. “Practice, Harold,” Louis said, grinning at him and starting down the hall. “Lots of practice.”

Harry could do practice.

Louis turned through a low door and Harry followed him into the loo, making straight for the urinals. Peeing took more concentration than it should have, and Harry was beginning to realize just how drunk he was.

“It’s just like when we met,” Louis commented as Harry washed his hands.

“Hmm?” Harry said. “I suppose. Not quite as upscale.” He kicked at a clump of sodden paper towels on the floor.

“And you’re dressed better.”

“Will you never let that go?” Harry asked, and Louis laughed.

“Nope,” he said. “Not likely.”

Harry shook his head. As he turned off the water, he felt a sharp pinch on his bum. Harry squealed and spun around, his wet hands shedding water all over Louis.

“Hey!” Louis said. “You sprayed me!”

“You pinched my bum!” Harry countered.

Louis shrugged. “It was cute.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond to that.

He decided to go for pinching Louis’ bum. That was fair, right? A squeeze for a squeeze? Of course, alcohol impaired his coordination, and instead of a quick pinch he wound up with a proper handful. It was a nice bum, he noticed. Good for squeezing.

Louis was looking at him, though he hadn’t flinched when Harry had squeezed his bum – or groped it, might be more accurate, really. “Hi,” Louis said.

“Hi,” Harry echoed.

“I know my bum is one of my best assets,” Louis said, “but I was wondering if you had any plans to let go of it?”

Harry snatched his hand back. “Oops,” he said. “Sorry.” Abruptly, he giggled, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry.”

Louis tilted his head. “What’s so funny?”

“You made a pun,” Harry said, giggling again. “Two puns, actually. Bum puns. My favourite. Well, second favourite. Penis jokes still win.”

Louis blinked at him. “I’ll pretend I understood that,” he said. “In the meantime, I think I owe you something.”

“What?” Harry asked, but Louis didn’t answer, instead squeezing past him to the sink, running his hands quickly under the water, and then turning with a grin.

Harry shrank back, understanding. “Oh no-”

Louis shook his hands vigorously, which of course meant that he got almost as damp as Harry. Harry stumbled, nearly falling, and they both laughed.

“There,” Louis said, steadying him. “Now we’re even.”

Harry shook his head, but he was smiling. “You’re impossible,” he said.

“It’s one of my best features,” Louis said seriously, and Harry laughed again.

They left the toilets, heading back to their table. As they walked, Harry bumped his hip against Louis’. “Next round on me?” he offered.

Louis stopped walking and turned to him, a bright grin spreading across his face. “You,” he pronounced, “are a prince.” He seized Harry’s face with both hands and surged up to kiss his cheek. Louis’ lips were damp and slightly sticky, and his scruff was itchy, but Harry smiled. Louis let him go and skipped ahead towards the table. “Free drinks!” he called. “Thanks, Harry!”

Harry’s smile widened, and he watched fondly as Louis rejoined the group. Ed’s eyes met his as he approached, something in his expression that Harry couldn’t quite read, but when he tilted his head in a question Ed just smiled and shook his head.

When Harry woke up, he momentarily had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten there. His head was pounding, the ceiling above him spinning slightly and the sunlight from the window making him wince and throw an arm over his eyes.

In the renewed darkness, his brain slowly began working again. The ceiling and the window were his; he was in his bedroom. And he was hungover. Very hungover.

Gingerly, he removed his arm, squinting at the light. He sat up, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed and then swaying with a rush of dizziness and nausea. When he was relatively certain that the contents of his stomach were going to stay put, he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled across the hall to the bathroom.

He grabbed a bottle of paracetamol from the cabinet and swallowed two pills dry. Then he stepped back and looked at himself in the mirror. He was still wearing his clothes from last night, tight jeans and a half-unbuttoned shirt which normally he would have found impossible to sleep in.

He emerged from the bathroom five minutes later to find Ed waiting in the hall.

“That was a hell of a night,” Harry said.

“You said it,” Ed said, wincing. Harry tossed him the bottle of pills, and Ed downed two gratefully.

“Fun, though,” Harry said. Ed said nothing. Harry couldn’t tell if that was a comment or not. “You got on well with Niall, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Almost as well as you and Louis,” Ed said.

Harry frowned. “What does that mean?”

Ed shrugged noncommittally. “I like Niall,” he said. “He’s a right guy. Big on guitars, songwriting.”

“I think I know someone else like that,” Harry commented, and Ed chuckled.

“I really don’t think you have any room to talk.”

“Okay, that’s twice,” Harry said. “What on earth are you talking about Ed?”

Ed raised an eyebrow. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No,” Harry said, “I don’t, so stop being cryptic and spit it out.”

“You and Louis.”

Harry blinked. “Me and Louis what?”

“Don’t give me that.”

“Give you what?” Harry asked, exasperated. “I have no idea what you’re on about!”

“Sure you don’t.”

“Ed, I – wait.” He took a step back as he put together what Ed was thinking. “You think that we – no, Ed, I swear, we’re just friends. He’s a laugh, I like hanging out with him. That’s all.”

“Mhm,” Ed said. He didn’t sound convinced.

“I’m telling the truth!”

“And he gave you that kiss on the cheek because?”

“I offered to buy the next round,” Harry said. “Free booze makes a man do strange things.”

“And you snuck off to the toilets together last night because?”

“To pee,” Harry said. “That is what toilets are for, you know.”

“Among other things.” Ed made a gesture that could have been eating a hot dog, but wasn’t.

“No!” Harry almost shrieked. “That did not happen!”

“And you don’t want it to?” Ed pressed. “You’d say no if he asked?”

“Of course!” Harry paused for just a millisecond too long before answering, and Ed’s grin said that he’d noticed. Harry sighed. “Okay, maybe not. But like – he’s literally one of my idols, Ed. You can’t tell me you’d say no if one of your idols asked.”

Ed’s grin was painfully wide. “I knew it,” he said.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Stop it with the fucking matchmaking,” he said. “I don’t need it. I don’t want it. You remember how that turned out last time.”

“This is not last time,” Ed said, slinging his arm across Harry’s shoulders. “This is this time. And I predict a long and glorious future for the two of you.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Harry said. “It’s not like that – we’re not like that.”

Ed raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure about that, are you?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Just drop it, Ed. We’re friends. That’s it.”

Ed looked sceptical, but Harry glared at him, and at last he raised his hands in surrender. “Fine,” he said. “But I reserve the right to say I told you so. And I will say it.”

Harry just shook his head.

Louis continued to make good on his offer to drive Harry home, and while Harry still took the bus occasionally, he drove with Louis more and more. He alternated closing shifts with afternoon shifts, but soon Louis seemed to know his schedule almost better than he did. On the nights he was closing, Louis would show up a few minutes before and they would chat as Harry went through the closing procedures. One day, about two weeks in, he offered to give Harry a hand.

“You don’t have to,” Harry insisted, but Louis shook his head.

“It’s fine,” he said. “It’ll speed things up. Besides, it’s easier to talk if we’re nearer each other.”

He seemed to genuinely want to help, so Harry set him to restocking books. They would work their way down the aisles together, filling the spaces that had been left by sales.

“You know, you might have been right about poetry,” Louis said as he shelved a volume of T. S. Eliot.

Harry perked up. “You’ve started to like it?”

Louis shrugged. “A bit?” he said. “I dunno. I enjoyed doing the video, but it’s hard to motivate myself to read it. Maybe it’s just ingrained.” He tossed a teasing smile at Harry. “Or maybe it’s just you.”

Harry laughed. “Are you asking me to read you more poetry?”

He was mostly kidding, but Louis shrugged again. “I wouldn’t stop you,” he said. “If you wanted to, like.”

Harry stared at him. It sounded like he was asking while trying to avoid saying the words directly.

“Do you want me to?” Harry asked. Louis didn’t answer. “I don’t want – I like reading poetry, and I like sharing poetry, but I know it’s not for everyone.”

“Always so polite.” Harry could hear the smile in his voice. "Courteous to a fault.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“No,” Louis sighed. “I’m not. I dunno. I just – you’re a good reader. And the stuff you’ve showed me before has been fairly good. But, like. Asking for poetry feels so alien to me.”

Harry smiled. “But you are asking. Sort of. Without asking.”

Louis said nothing, just shuffled the books in his stack a bit, which Harry took as confirmation.

“Would you like a poem now?” Harry asked.

Louis shrugged a third time. “If you’d like,” he said. “If you have one.”

Harry glanced down at his pile, the top book of which was a collection of Wendy Cope poems. He opened it, attempting to page through it one handed, which wasn’t very effective. “Let’s see if…” he started to say, but then the book fell open to the very poem he’d been searching for. He chuckled. “I guess whoever owned this book loved this one as much as I do,” he said. “You up for it? It’s a funny one.”

“I like funny,” Louis said. “Hit me with it.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “This is a poem about mansplaining.

“He tells her that the Earth is flat—
He knows the facts, and that is that.
In altercations fierce and long
She tries her best to prove him wrong.
But he has learned to argue well.
He calls her arguments unsound
And often asks her not to yell.
She cannot win. He stands his ground.

“The planet goes on being round.”

Louis laughed as Harry finished reading. “You’re right,” he said. “That is funny.”

Harry smiled. “I really like how well the rhyme scheme works in this one,” he said. “Sometimes it can come out stilted, but it really works here.”

“Witty and aesthetically pleasing,” Louis said. “What more could a guy ask for?”

Harry laughed. "Not much," he agreed.

Louis' smile was soft as he shook his head. "Not much at all."

After a few weeks Harry had gotten so used to Louis picking him up that when he received a text from Louis saying he might not be able to that day, he was momentarily completely thrown.

The family is coming down for a week, another text quickly explained. I promised to drop by to help them settle in. 

Fair enough, Harry sent back. I can take the bus. Have fun with your family.

Unless… Harry frowned in confusion as the bubble popped up, waiting for Louis to complete the thought. It took nearly a minute to come through. If you don’t mind spending half an hour or so with my family, I could still drive you.

That… was not less confusing. I don’t want to get in the way of your time with your family, Harry sent, but he received a reply in under twenty seconds.

I’ll be spending time with them all week, it read. This is just my Mum’s way of getting someone else to help with the unpacking. A moment later, another message: I suppose you might get strong armed in as well.

Harry laughed aloud, then looked around guiltily to make sure that no one had noticed. He wasn’t really supposed to be texting during work.

I’m not afraid of a little hard work, he sent. If I’m not imposing, I certainly won’t turn down a free ride.

You keep using that word, Louis sent back, an upside down smiley face tagged onto the end. I keep telling you, I wouldn’t offer if I minded.

Indeed, it seemed that Louis thought he was the one inconveniencing Harry.  “You’re sure you don’t mind?” Louis asked as they got into the car. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re the one doing me a favour,” Harry pointed out with a laugh. “It’s fine, Louis. Besides, I’d love to meet your family.”

“They’re a bit of a handful,” Louis warned.  “There are a lot of them.”

“I know,” Harry said. “Six siblings, right?”

“Right.” Louis shook his head. “Sorry, I always forget people know more about me than I think.”

Harry flushed. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” Louis said quickly. “It’s fine, just… it always throws me off.”

There was a momentary pause. “I guess being a handful runs in the family,” Harry offered after a moment, hoping to break the tension. It was a terrible joke, but Louis smiled.

“Maybe,” he said. “Twins certainly does.”

As if to prove his point, Louis was immediately mobbed by the older twins upon their arrival at the hotel, the younger pair running just behind them. Louis laughed and gathered them all into a hug.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, and was immediately answered by a chorus of affirmative answers.

More people had come into the hallway, now, and Harry recognized Louis’ older two sisters. A woman who had to be his mother stood just behind them.

Louis stood from where he had been kneeling to mess with the younger twins and moved over to Harry’s side. “Everyone, this is Harry,” he said. “He’s a friend of mine.”

“I remember him!” one of the older twins said. “He was in your video last month!”

“That’s right,” Louis said. “I was giving him a ride home, but I wanted to come see you guys first.” He ruffled the hair of the nearest twin and she squealed, ducking away.

Harry laughed, watching them with unconcealed amusement. He looked up a moment later as he heard someone walking up to him

“Pleasure to meet you, Harry,” Louis’ mother said, holding out a hand. Harry shook it.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mrs. Tomlinson.”

She laughed. “I’m remarried,” she said. “So it’s Deakin. But please, call me Jay.”

Harry blushed crimson. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I forgot-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs – no, Jay said. “I get it all the time. I’m used to it. It’s a part of being Louis Tomlinson’s mum, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.”

Harry smiled gratefully. “He’s done pretty well for himself, hasn’t he?”

“I couldn’t be more proud,” Jay agreed. “But then, I don’t really need to tell you that, do I?”

Harry shook his head, watching Louis interact with his younger siblings. He was tickling the younger twins now, and they were laughing and trying to scramble away, but the older sisters blocked them in. Harry supposed that growing up with so many siblings one got very good at interacting with children.

“I want a whole mess of kids, someday,” he said absently.

“Louis’ the same,” Jay said. “My, you’d have a busy house.”

Harry nodded without thinking, but stopped as the words sank in. “Wait,” he said. “I’m not – we’re not – I’m single.”

Jay’s eyes widened and a hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry, I thought – I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said, though he was startled. “I guess I can see why you’d think – but no, we’re just friends.”

“I just – I mean, he talks about you so much – my mistake.” She laughed. “And here I was wondering why he was taking so long to introduce me.” She shook her head. “Forgive a silly old woman for her enthusiasm. I just want him happy.”

“Of course,” Harry said automatically. It applied to both parts, really. “I can see why you might think – but no, he’s great, but we’re – I’m just a friend.”

Jay smiled at him, but he felt like her eyes were dissecting him, judging him, though not harshly. More like she was trying to see into him. He shifted under her scrutiny and turned back to the kids.

“Hello,” he said to one of the older twins, who had moved towards him while he hadn’t been paying attention. “What’s your name?”

“Daisy,” the girl said. She pointed to her twin. “That’s Phoebe. She’s shy. But we both like you.”

“That’s nice,” Harry said. “I like you too. And you don’t have to be shy. Come on over, Phoebe.”

Soon enough the cluster of children around Louis had shifted to cluster around Harry. Louis moved to stand beside his mother, and they watched the group with gentle smiles. Harry couldn’t make out any of their conversation, focusing instead on learning to distinguish between Daisy and Phoebe, who giggled every time he got it wrong.

When Louis walked in a week later, Harry could immediately feel that something was off. There was less spring in Louis’ step, less shine in his eyes. Harry was out from behind the counter and walking over to him almost before he realized he had stood up.

“You okay?” he asked, resting his hands on Louis’ shoulders.

Louis gave a half smile, but it was weak. “Just… long day,” he said. “We were writing today, and it was… intense. I’m just a bit worn out. But we got a pretty good song out of it, so.”

“Anything I can do?” Harry said.

Louis shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said. “Thanks, though.”

“Okay,” Harry said, stepping away. “I’ll try to be quick.”

“I can-”

“No,” Harry said sternly. “You are going to sit down behind the counter and rest. I’ll be done in five minutes.”

Louis’ smile was slightly stronger. “I’m not going to argue with you on this one,” he said.

“Good,” Harry said. “Now sit.” He waited just long enough to be sure Louis was obeying before heading off to do restocking. It was half-arsed at best, and the sweeping he gave the floor could barely even be called cursory, but that would be the openers’ problem.

“All set,” he called to Louis as he approached the front. Louis’ head was rested on his arms on the counter, and at Harry’s voice he slowly raised it. Harry paused, studying him for a moment.

Louis tilted his head to one side. “What is it?”

“I was just thinking,” Harry said. “You look like you could use a poem.”

“Hmm.” Louis looked thoughtful, but said nothing.

Harry shifted his feet. “You don’t have to,” he said. “If you’re tired, or – I just – there’s a poem I like to read when I’m feeling low.”

“Does it help?”

Harry shrugged. “It helps me.”

Louis nodded. “Hit me with it, then,” he said, lowering his head back onto his arms.

Harry stepped closer to the counter, shutting his eyes as he ran quickly through the poem in his mind. He’d read it enough times he had it memorized.

“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.” 

He slowly opened his eyes, glancing down to find Louis looking back up at him. The expression on his face was unfamiliar, but Harry couldn’t tell what it meant. He swallowed nervously, waiting for Louis to speak, to say something, anything.

“You’re right,” Louis said at last. “That helped.”

Harry let out a relieved breath. “I’m glad,” he said, smiling. “Emily knew what she was talking about, I guess. Emily Dickinson,” he explained at Louis’ querying look. “She wrote a lot of short little poems like that.”

Louis nodded. “She certainly knows how to turn a phrase,” he said. He pushed himself to his feet, stretching. “Ready to head out?”

“Sure,” Harry said, flipping off the lights. “After you.” He held the door open for Louis then followed him out, locking the door behind them.

The drive was quiet, Louis not saying much and Harry not wanting to push him. When they pulled up in front of Harry’s building, neither of them moved for a moment. At last, Harry unbuckled his seatbelt.

“You good?” he asked Louis.

“Hmm?” Louis said. “Oh, yeah, sure. Fine.”

Harry regarded him sceptically. “You don’t sound sure. Or fine.”

Louis sighed. “I’m just… I think I need to get out of my head,” he said. “Otherwise I’ll just keep ruminating. I need to be distracted.” He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I just… I don’t really want to be alone just now.” He scratched at the steering wheel, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Right,” Harry said, rebuckling his seatbelt. “So you’re hanging out with me tonight.”

Louis looked so surprised that Harry reconsidered.

“Unless… would you rather call one of your bandmates?”

“No,” Louis said. “No, I’d… I’d love to hang out with you, if you’re okay with that.”

“Of course,” Harry said. He leaned forward in his seat. “I think there’s parking around the corner.”

There was, fortunately, and they walked back together, heads bowed slightly against a nippy wind. “Thanks for offering to keep me company,” Louis said as they walked. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” Harry said. “I don’t even think Ed’s in, so we’re free to do whatever you want. Any preferences?”

“Not really,” Louis said with a shrug. “Whatever you feel like is fine by me.”

Harry racked his brain. “We could watch something on telly,” he suggested. “Or… I was thinking of making cookies.”

Louis perked up at that. “Cookies sounds fun,” he said. “Though I’m not much of a cook.”

“That’s fine,” Harry said. “I used to be a baker, so I can provide the culinary expertise for us both. The only thing is…”

He trailed off, and Louis looked up at him. “What?”

Harry scratched his head. “Well, I was thinking of doing it for a video,” he said. “Would that be okay with you? Filming it, I mean? Or, like, it could just be a practice batch if you’d rather.”

Louis was quiet for a minute, considering. “I don’t know if being ‘on’ for the camera will be helpful or not,” he said. “What if we film it but, like, if it isn’t going well we stop?”

“That’s fair,” Harry said, nodding. “And, like, worst case scenario I have to make more cookies.”

“Tragic,” Louis agreed, and they both laughed.

Louis bumped his arm against Harry’s. “You’re a really good friend,” he said. “Thank you.”

Harry smiled. “It’s my pleasure,” he said. And it really was.

The video turned out great, and Louis quickly reverted to his usual cheerful self, cracking jokes and generally just being a menace to society. Or at least to Harry’s kitchen.

“You’re gonna help me clean this up, right?” Harry asked after a particularly messy spill of flour while Louis was attempting to mix the dough.

Louis laughed. “If by ‘help’ you mean sit on the counter and eat cookies while you do all the work, then yes.”

Harry glanced around the kitchen. “Honestly, that might be more helpful than you actually contributing.”

“Hey!” Louis said, pouting. “I’m insulted.”

Harry laughed. “Does that mean you’re going to help after all?” he asked. “Laziness or honour?”

Louis did wind up helping with the clean-up, though Harry did most of the harder work and just assigned Louis to washing up. By the time they finished, the cookies were done, and they smelled amazing, as they told the camera in no uncertain terms.

“What now?” Harry asked as he packed the camera away. “You good to go home, or would you rather stay here and help me eat these cookies?”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Louis said with a smile. “Helping you seems like the honourable thing to do. I’m a bit concerned for your furniture though.”

Harry glanced down, realizing that they were both covered in substantial stripes of flour and other baking materials. Attempting to brush it off had little effect.

“I think it likes us,” Louis said at last, and Harry laughed.

“It is stuck on pretty good,” he said. “All I can think of at this point is throwing it all in the laundry. I can lend you some of my stuff, if you want? It’ll probably be a little big on you, though.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Louis said, but Harry was already shaking his head.

“I needed to do laundry anyway,” he said.

Louis smiled. “Then how can I refuse your kind and generous offer?”

Harry wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, so he settled for heading for his bedroom. “Sorry about the mess,” he said as they stepped into the room. “I wasn’t really expecting guests.”

“Are you kidding?” Louis said. “This room is neater than mine is when I’ve cleaned it.”

Harry laughed, opening a drawer and rummaging around briefly. He pulled out a pair of joggers and an old band T-shirt. “You may need to roll up the legs a bit,” he said, handing them to Louis. “The shirt might actually fit you, though; it’s always been a bit tight on me.”

“Sounds good,” Louis said. He scratched the back of his neck. “Got somewhere I can change?”

“Bathroom is just across the hall,” Harry said, pointing. Louis nodded and left. Harry heard the click of the door locking a moment later. He turned back to the drawers and dug for some clothes for himself.

When Louis returned a few minutes later, Harry was dressed in tight fitting black jeans and a light grey jumper. He looked up from the laundry basket he was digging through as Louis walked in the door.

The joggers had indeed been rolled up at the ankles, and the drawstring knotted tight. The shirt, on the other hand, fit excellently, settling just right on Louis’ shoulders. It was a bit long, but there was no doubt it fit Louis better than Harry.

“Where d’you want these?” Louis asked, holding up his cookie spattered clothes.

Harry blinked twice. “Uh, here’s fine,” he said, holding out the basket. “I’ll just dump this all in and then we can dig in. D’you want to find something to watch on the telly?”

“I can do that,” Louis said, nodding.

They walked down the hall together, Harry just behind Louis. “No football,” Harry called out, as Louis entered the living room.

Louis popped his head back around the doorway. “You are no fun at all,” he said.

Harry laughed. “I think we both know that’s not true,” he said.

Louis regarded him a moment longer, and then his face seemed to soften. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess we do.”

He disappeared again before Harry could ask him what he meant. Harry shrugged, and headed for the washing machine instead.

Harry posted the video a few days later, to moderate success. He was pleased with the results, which he had no doubt were substantially boosted by Louis’ presence and promotion. He would have to find a way to thank him.

He skimmed through the comments, humming absently to himself, then paused as his eyes fell on a particular one.

The way Harry looks at Louis… dreamy, said someone with the username PinguAndFlamingu.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. He looked at Louis like he was hoping he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of his idol. He scrolled down further, eyes skipping over half a dozen OMG OTPs.

They’re so tactile with each other, I love it, commented WeeSmallHours, and someone called MeHerAndTheMoon replied, ikr??? My fave is at 6:43 – so cute!

Curious, Harry skipped to 6:40, watching as they bent over a mixing bowl. Louis tried to grab a taste of the dough and Harry slapped his hand. “Wait for it to be baked,” he scolded. Louis responded with a mournful look, and Harry sighed and pulled a spoon out of a drawer. “Fine,” he said. “But only a little bit. And don’t blame me if you get salmonella.” 

Harry hit pause, smiling. Louis was a little scamp all right, and he always got his way. He was too adorable for his own good.

The thought caught Harry off guard. He’d thought of Louis as hot before, obviously, even beautiful, and occasionally cute. But adorable was new.

Before he could think much of it, his phone rang, and he answered instinctively.

“Hello?”

“Hey Haz,” Louis’ familiar voice came warm through the line. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good,” Harry said. “Just looking through comments on the video.”

“How are they?”

“Interesting,” Harry said. “I think they ship us.”

He laughed, and Louis’ laugh joined him after a moment. “Probably,” he said. “I mean, wouldn’t you?”

“Probably,” Harry had to admit. “‘s weird though.”

“How’s that?”

“Just, you know.” He waved a hand in the air, though Louis couldn’t see it. “Being the one shipped – it’s different.”

“Your fans haven’t shipped you with anyone before?”

“Not that I’ve noticed,” Harry said. “I don’t do a lot of collabs, really. I think some ship me with Ed, but I’ve known him for ages.”

“I guess that’s the internet for you, then,” Louis said. Harry frowned. Louis’ voice sounded just slightly off.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” he asked.

“No, no,” Louis said. “Of course not.” He chuckled. “I’m used to it by now.” There was a momentary pause. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” Harry said. “It’s just new to me.”

Louis hummed noncommittally. “Well, other than shippers, how are the comments?”

“Pretty good, I think,” Harry said. “Thanks again for agreeing.”

“It was my pleasure,” Louis said.

Harry scratched at the back of his neck. “I feel like I’m getting a lot more out of this than you,” he said. “I’m the one gaining subscribers by the thousands, and you’re also giving me rides home. What are you getting out of it?”

“The joy of your glorious company, of course,” Louis quipped.

Harry laughed. “Naturally.”

“And besides,” Louis said, “the entire reason we did that video is because you were helping me out.”

“But I’m the one getting most of the benefit,” Harry argued. “I don’t want to take advantage. I feel guilty. I want to do something for you.”

There was a brief pause. “You don’t have to pay me back,” Louis said slowly. “It’s not like you owe me anything.”

“I know,” Harry said. “But I want to. Can I – I don’t know, make you dinner or something?”

Another pause. “Did Niall tell you that I can’t cook?”

“No,” Harry said. “Although you did.”

“When?”

“When I suggested that we bake cookies.”

“Oh yeah.”

Harry smiled into the phone. “So is that a yes?”

“I can cook,” Louis said. “Sort of. I’ve been living on my own for over a year and I haven’t starved. I’m an adult.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “Is that a yes?” Louis didn’t say anything. “Please?”

“Fine,” Louis said, sounding simultaneously defeated and affectionate. “Next week, when I pick you up from work?”

“Sure,” Harry said. “Perfect.”

He was beaming, and he was sure it showed in his voice. He caught a hint of a similar smile in Louis’ voice as he said, “Then I guess I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“I love spaghetti carbonara,” Louis said as they sat down at the table, a large pan of the pasta between them.

Harry smiled. “You do?” he said. “I wasn’t sure-”

“Fuck, this looks amazing,” Louis said. “Smells even better.” He lifted a forkful to his mouth as Harry watched, nervous in spite of himself. Louis closed his eyes as he chewed, making contented noises. “Tastes even better than that.”

Harry beamed. It was always nice to be praised, and coming from Louis it meant a lot.

Louis took another bite and moaned softly. “Best pasta I’ve ever had,” he said. “If you’re not careful you’re going to find yourself employed as my personal chef.”

Harry laughed. “I’m not afraid of you,” he teased.

Louis grinned. “You should be,” he said. “I’m very scary.”

“Are you now?”

“Terrifying.”

“You have pasta sauce on your shirt.”

He didn’t, but he looked down anyways, and Harry laughed. Louis joined in a moment later. “You got me,” he said. He motioned with his fork. “Eat your pasta.”

“Are you telling me what to do with food that I cooked for you?”

“In my kitchen with my ingredients,” Louis countered. “And yes. Eat it. It’s good.”

“I know it’s good,” Harry said. “I made it, didn’t I?”

Louis laughed again at that, and Harry realized how conceited that sounded.

“I meant I taste-tested as I went,” he said, and Louis nodded.

“Okay.”

“I did!”

“I believe you.”

Harry wasn’t sure he did, but he sighed and took a bite of the pasta rather than argue.

It was good. Better than usual, even, probably because Louis could afford to splurge on more expensive ingredients. Even his equipment was better, though he somehow managed to not own a cheese grater, which Harry could not for the life of him make sense of.

“You know what this needs?” Louis said, standing up. “Wine.”

Before Harry could argue, Louis had opened a cupboard, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. He popped the cork and splashed a liberal amount into both glasses, placing one in front of Harry before sitting back down.

Harry stared at the red liquid for a moment, swirling it gently in the glass. The bottle probably cost more than this entire dinner. He took a tentative sip and sighed happily.

“Good, innit?” Louis said. His own glass was half gone already.

“It’s excellent,” Harry said.

“You provide the meal, I provide the beverage,” Louis said, taking another sip.

Harry laughed. “I cooked this meal,” he said. “You just bought the wine.”

“Oh, shut up,” Louis said, but he was laughing too.

They finished half the bottle by the time the pasta ran out, Louis drinking about twice as much as Harry. Afterwards, they retired to the sofa, the television playing quietly in the background. The wine was a warm fuzz in Harry’s mind and his limbs, and he leaned his head against Louis’ shoulder. A moment later he felt the familiar sensation of gentle fingers teasing through his hair.

“‘S so soft,” Louis murmured. “Love your hair.”

Harry hummed, his eyes drifting shut. “Love your voice,” he murmured back.

Louis chuckled. “Yeah?” he said. “Want me to sing to you?”

Harry shook his head without opening his eyes. “Your speaking voice,” he said. “Love your singing too, but your speaking is just so nice.”

Louis laughed again, but softer. “All right,” he said. “If you say so, Harry.”

Harry yawned, then forced his eyes back open. “I should probably get home before I fall asleep on you,” he said.

Louis’ breath was a quiet exhalation. “Probably,” he said after a moment. “I’ll dr – oh.”

“Hmm?” Harry said, sitting up slowly.

“I probably shouldn’t be driving.”

“Why – oh. Yeah.” Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. “I can take the bus.”

“No, no,” Louis said. “I’ll call you a taxi. I’ll cover it.”

“You really don’t have to-”

“I’m the idiot who brought out the wine,” Louis countered.

Harry smiled goofily. “I’m pretty sure the wine was a good idea.”

Louis smiled back. “Maybe,” he agreed. He glanced down the hall. “Or…”

Harry waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “Or what?” he prompted.

Louis stared at his hands, his fingers fidgeting with a napkin. “Or you could stay here,” he suggested. “I have a guest room, though no one uses it much since my family is big enough that they usually just stay at a hotel.” He glanced up at Harry.

“I don’t want to impose,” Harry said, but Louis shook his head vehemently.

“You wouldn’t be,” he said. “I swear.”

Harry considered it. He was fairly sure there was a reason to say no, but he couldn’t seem to remember what it was. He was pretty drunk. “All right,” he said at last. “But I’m making you breakfast tomorrow.”

Louis laughed. “It’s a deal.”

Harry rose early and began preparing bacon and eggs. He turned the radio on low as he worked, humming along to a Katy Perry song. By the time the bacon was finished he was dancing and singing aloud.

“Nice vocals, Styles,” Louis’ voice said drowsily from behind him. Harry whirled around to see him strolling into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Louis looked up, smiling, and then his eyes suddenly widened.

“What is it?” Harry asked. “Are the eggs burning?” He started to turn to check, but Louis was shaking his head.

“No, no, everything’s fine,” Louis said, heading for the refrigerator.

Harry blinked, confused. “Then what is it?”

“Nothing!” Louis’ voice was high pitched, even for him.

Harry squinted suspiciously. “Okay, except it’s clearly not nothing.”

Louis cleared his throat as he pulled a carton of orange juice out of the fridge. “I just. I was expecting trousers. Or a shirt.”

Harry looked down, flushing slightly as he realized that he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. He hadn’t thought anything of it when he’d risen, used to a certain level of nudity at home, but then this wasn’t his home. It just felt like home. Or maybe Louis did.

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I forgot – I’ll go get dressed.”

“You don’t-” Louis stopped, and Harry frowned.

“What?”

“Nevermind.” Louis’s ears were pink, and he was studiously avoiding Harry’s gaze as he poured a glass of juice.

Harry shifted from one foot to the other. “I’ll just…” He started for the door, then remembered the eggs which were still on the stove. “Or – d’you mind if I finish the eggs first?”

“No, that’s fine,” Louis said. Harry wasn’t sure it was, but the eggs would burn if he didn’t, so he finished them quickly before hurrying back to the guest room. He had to wear the same clothes from yesterday, not having planned on an overnight stay, but at least they didn’t smell, and nothing had spilled on them.

Louis was still avoiding Harry’s gaze as they sat down to eat. Harry felt guilty. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he blurted as Louis ate a forkful of egg.

Louis started, inhaling a bit of egg and dissolving into a brief coughing fit. Harry moved to help him, but Louis waved him off. “It’s fine,” Louis said. “I’m fine. And you didn’t make me uncomfortable. I was just… surprised. You’re very…” He trailed off.

“Very what?” Harry could think of any of a number of ways that sentence could have ended.

“Um. Very self-assured?” Louis stabbed a piece of egg with his fork, bringing it up to his face to examine. “I just wasn’t expecting it. Is all.”

He still wasn’t meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Why won’t you look at me?” Harry asked, frustrated.

A quick grin flashed over Louis’ face. “Demanding, aren’t we?”

Harry sighed. “I didn’t mean-”

“I suppose you’re used to everyone looking at you all the time,” Louis continued, his eyes dancing. “Handsome bloke that you are.”

“That’s not-” Harry shook his head. “Fine.” He was smiling, though. Louis smiled back, and the knot in Harry’s stomach loosened and disappeared. They were okay.

Of course, he was far less okay when he arrived home. Harry had hoped to sneak in quietly and avoid an interrogation, but it was not to be. Ed met him at the door, demanding to know where he’d been.

“You never came home,” Ed berated him. “I don’t mind if you want to get laid, and I’m totally in favour of your doing it someplace other than here, but a text to let me know you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere would be nice.”

“I didn’t – I’m not-” There were too many things to respond to. “None of those things happened,” he said at last.

“I can see you’re not dead in a ditch,” Ed said. “But the point about texting me still stands.”

“Sorry,” Harry said. “I was a little drunk. We both were. Louis was going to drive me home, but that was before the wine.”

Ed’s eyebrows shot up. “Louis?” he said.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Nothing happened,” he said. “I offered to cook him dinner, to repay him for all the times he’s driven me home.”

“Mhm,” Ed said. Harry could only describe his expression as a leer. “And then you stayed the night.”

“Well it’s not like he was in any position to drive with half a bottle of wine in him,” Harry said.

“And you didn’t cab it because?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, exasperated. “I don’t know, Ed. I didn’t. He offered me the guest room and I said yes. Cooked him breakfast in the morning and then he drove me here. That’s all that happened. I swear.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” Accidentally giving Louis an eyeful didn’t count. “Just drop it, Ed. I mean it.”

“If you say so,” Ed said, raising his hands in surrender.

“I do.”

“Okay then.” Ed turned to head for his room. “But this isn’t the end.”

“Ed, it’s not-”

But Ed was gone. Harry sighed, and went to change into clean clothes.

Midnight Memories released their new EP at the end of that month. They held a concert to celebrate the release; a fairly small venue, the tickets distributed through a combination of lottery and auction, with a few reserved for specific guests. Harry was honoured to be one of the few with one of these reserved tickets, with an extra for Ed.

The concert was electric. Harry had seen Midnight Memories’ music videos before, he’d seen concert videos taken with shaky phone cameras, but he’d never actually seen them live in concert. They had an energy about them that took his breath away, all of them connecting with the crowd and with each other in a way that made it feel like each fan was the only one there, that they were right up with the band.

And Louis… Louis absolutely glowed. He was having the time of his life, and it showed. Every time Harry looked at him, he found himself smiling automatically, but his smile couldn’t match the absolute brilliance of the grin that never left Louis’ face for a moment. Even during the sadder songs, his eyes still burned with a light that said he was born to be on that stage.

He was beautiful.

Harry kept coming back to that, over and over. Louis was beautiful up there. Harry had called Louis beautiful before, and he had meant it, but… this was different. It was so much more. It wasn’t about the physical features. It wasn’t about the way the light caught his eyes or his hair. It was Louis that was beautiful, the person, alive and vibrant and… beautiful. As the concert progressed, Harry found himself paying less and less attention to the other band members, or even to the music. All of his attention was fixated on Louis. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

And then it was over and Harry was stumbling as Ed half-dragged him backstage and into the green room. He was only barely aware of what was going on around him, his mind still reeling from the experience.

Louis enveloped him in a hug the moment he entered the room, and Harry automatically lifted his arms to reciprocate.

“What did you think?” Louis asked, pulling away. His hair was dark with sweat, alternately sticking to his forehead and sticking up in spikes, but the light in his eyes was still heady.

Harry pulled him back in, and though Louis’ shirt was damp and sticky, and he desperately needed a shower, Harry didn’t want to let go. He never wanted to let go.

“You were fantastic,” he whispered in Louis’ ear. “Absolutely phenomenal. Thank you.”

He could feel the smile widen on Louis’ face.

“Thank you,” Louis said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

That caught Harry off guard. “I – you – what?”

Louis’ face froze momentarily, but then he laughed and patted Harry on the back. “You were excellent moral support,” he said. “And I wouldn’t normally say this, but I think all that poetry you’ve been reading me did help. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Harry smiled. “Too late.”

Louis shook his head, but his expression was soft.

“Hey,” someone said behind him, and Harry had completely forgotten that they weren’t the only ones in the room. He turned around to find himself face to face with Niall. A few months ago, even a few weeks ago, he would still have been mildly starstruck, but now he just blinked. “We’re having an afterparty downtown,” Niall said. “You and Ed are welcome to join us.”

“That sounds like fun,” Harry said. “I don’t know about Ed, but I’d love to come.”

“Great,” Niall said. “You can ride with us; we have cars hired and there’s plenty of room.”

“Perfect,” Harry said. He glanced over at Louis, and was surprised to see that he was frowning slightly. “That’s okay with you, right Louis?”

“Yes, of course,” Louis said. “I’d be glad to have you there.” He looked mildly agitated, shifting his weight, but before Harry could even formulate a question, he turned to Niall. “Hey Ni, you got a minute? Excuse us, Harry.”

A moment later Louis and Niall were moving off into a corner of the room and Harry was standing by himself, slightly dazed. He shook his head, which didn’t do much to clear it, and scanned the room for Ed. He was talking to Zayn, and Harry paused for a moment, then moved to join them.

“Speak of the devil,” Ed said as he approached.

Zayn smiled a greeting. “Hey, Harry.”

“Hi Zayn,” Harry said. “I see you’ve met my flatmate. Hopefully he hasn’t too many awful stories about me.”

“How many are there?” Zayn asked.

“Too many,” Harry replied with a laugh. “I’ve done some pretty dumb stuff. But then, so has he, so we have an understanding.”

Zayn laughed. “I see.”

“I hear there’s an afterparty,” Harry said, changing the subject.

One of Zayn’s eyebrows twitched upward, his grin widening slightly. “Who told you that?”

“Niall,” Harry replied. “You down, Ed?”

“Niall?” Zayn repeated. He seemed surprised, though not displeased. Harry was confused.

“Yes,” he said. “Ed?”

“Hey, I’m always down for free drinks,” Ed said, spreading his hands. “You guys are paying, right?”

Zayn chuckled. “I’ll buy your first drink,” he said, “but after that you’ll have to find someone else to milk.”

Ed nodded. “That works too,” he said. “I’m really not that fussy.”

The party had been going on for well over an hour, and Harry was having a blast. The club was beautiful, and there were so many amazing people. And while drinks were purportedly buy-your-own, everyone was in a good enough mood that it wasn’t hard to persuade someone else to pay.

He spotted Phil exiting the hallway to the toilets. He hadn’t even realized he was here; there were too many people to keep track of.

“Oh,” Phil said. “Hello, Harry.”

“Hello yourself,” Harry replied. “I didn’t realize you guys were here.”

“Yeah,” Phil said, his eyes flicking back towards the toilets. “Niall invited us.”

“That man is the walking posterchild for the more the merrier,” Harry said, and Phil laughed.

“You’ve got that right.” He leaned against the wall. “You seem to have made good use of the introduction we gave you.”

“I suppose I did,” Harry said. “It’s been an incredible few months. I feel really lucky to have had the chance to get to know them.”

“They’re great guys, aren’t they?” Phil said, and Harry could only nod, though the description didn’t really seem strong enough.

“I’m really happy that the EP launch was so successful,” he said. “They deserve it. As artists and as people.”

“It’s crazy to think that a just few years ago they were nobody,” Phil said. “Even a year ago they were small time. And now they’ve done a national tour.”

“YouTube is a game changer,” Harry agreed. “For a lot of people, I think. How many musicians have gotten big off it?”

“A lot,” Phil said. “And that’s not even getting into the writers, actors, directors, entertainers…”

“Educators,” Harry added. “And to think, it’s only a decade or so old. Who knows what things will be like in another ten years.”

Dan showed up then, and Phil made his excuses and they moved off together. No sooner were they gone than Louis appeared at Harry’s side holding a shot glass. Harry regarded the offered drink with mild suspicion: it was the third Louis had brought him.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Harry asked playfully.

Louis giggled, which was adorable. “Maybe,” he said. “Is it working?”

Harry considered that. He felt pretty drunk. And it wasn’t like he was planning on refusing the drink in Louis’ hand. “Maybe,” he said after a moment.

Louis held out the shot again, and Harry took it. It burned as it went down and he grimaced. “You are a bad influence,” he told Louis, swaying slightly.

“Yes,” Louis said. “Let’s dance.”

“That is a terrible idea,” Harry said.

Louis giggled again. “I know,” he said, taking Harry’s hand. “Let’s do it anyway.”

Louis tugged him toward the dance floor, and Harry was helpless to do anything but follow.

Dancing really was a bad idea. Harry was coordinationally challenged at the best of times, and the amount of alcohol he had consumed meant that this was not the best of times. He managed admirably for a little while, but before long his flailing and jumping led to stepping on someone’s foot and nearly hitting someone else in the face, at which point he refused to continue.

Louis laughed good-naturedly as they took up residence on one of the luxurious sofas that decorated the club. “You really are a klutz, aren’t you?”

“Heyyy.” Harry pouted prettily, and Louis laughed again.

“Calm down, Curly,” Louis said, pinching Harry’s cheek. “Nothing wrong with that. It’s just a fact.”

Harry accepted that with no further complaint and they settled into a comfortable silence, Louis’ head resting against Harry’s shoulder. It was the perfect height for him, Harry noticed, gazing down at Louis. His eyes had drifted shut and drowsiness wiped his face clean of lines. Harry smiled affectionately as Louis nuzzled slightly closer, muttering something nearly inaudible. Harry strained to pick out the words.

“…want you…”

A flash of heat shot involuntarily through Harry and he started, knocking Louis’ head from its perch.

“What did you say?” he asked.

Louis’ face went from mildly grumpy to mildly fearful before he plastered on a tense grin. “Um, I said I want you to buy me another drink,” he said.

Harry regarded him sceptically. “You’re half asleep,” he said. “I’m pretty sure you don’t need more alcohol.” Also Louis was not usually this nervous about… well, anything. Harry had only rarely seen him anything but self-assured. His brain was too fuzzy to make sense of it.

“I always need more alcohol,” Louis said, pushing himself to his feet. “Now are you getting it or am I?”

Harry pointed a warning finger at him, standing as well. “If you try to get more alcohol I will literally sic Liam on you.”

Louis seemed torn between annoyance and amusement at the threat. “Would you?”

“Yes,” Harry said. He was feeling decidedly less drunk now, but he was pretty sure Liam was more practiced at handling drunk and disobedient Louis.

Louis sighed and acquiesced. “Fine." He studied Harry for a moment, then pulled him into a hug. Harry stumbled, caught off guard. “You’re a good friend,” Louis said. “Even if you try to deprive me of my rightful alcohol.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, returning the embrace. “You too.”

There was something pressing into his thigh. Louis’ phone, maybe, or, like, a pack of mints. Details. Louis was warm and soft and he smelled good, and Harry buried his face in Louis’ hair. It was far too soon when Louis pulled away a moment later, grinning, and turned to head back to the dance floor. At the last moment before he melted into the crowd he turned, waving back at Harry. Harry lifted a hand to wave back, but he caught sight of something that arrested his attention.

The thing that had been pressing into his leg had not been Louis’ phone, or mints.

Well. There were all kinds of reasons for that, and, like, sometimes it just happened right? It didn’t mean anything, or like, even if it did, that didn’t have to mean anything. Harry’s head was whirling as he sat back down on the sofa. But as he did, his attention was redirected.

Sitting down suddenly made it clear that Louis was not the only one sporting a boner.

This was unexpected.

It was also highly inconvenient. The bulge in his trousers was fairly conspicuous, and Harry was not about to risk rejoining the dancing in an attempt to hide it. After a moment’s consideration, he pulled out his phone. He scrolled absently through his Twitter mentions. There were a lot more of them than he was used to, which still felt strange. His eyes flicked from Tweet to Tweet, reading bits and pieces but not really holding onto much. But as he read, he began to notice, not for the first time, an undeniable pattern.

He’d seen it before, of course, and not thought anything of it. There were always shippers; it was just how the world worked. He’d just laughed it off.

It was slightly harder to laugh off in his present situation.

He paused when he found a link to a masterpost. He was curious, he really was, but he had a feeling that clicking the link would… it would change things. Maybe a lot of things. He glanced back at the dance floor. Louis was nowhere in sight – it was dark, and there were too many people – but Harry could swear he could hear his voice ringing through the room. He wondered what Louis would do in this position. Would he scroll past and forget about it? Or would he take the plunge?

Harry chuckled. That wasn’t even a question. Louis had always been a risk taker.

He tapped the link, his heart beating just a little bit faster as he waited for the page to load.

It was detailed. That wasn’t surprising in and of itself; Harry had seen the inside of enough fandoms to know that they could be incredibly thorough when they wanted to be. But he’d never had that concerted force of investigation and analysis directed at him. He’d watched it, or occasionally even participated, but never had he been the subject.

It was disconcerting, but it was also impressive, and Harry had to give them that. He scrolled quickly through the post, not really reading it but just skimming. There were gifs, videos, pictures, tweets, and thorough analysis of each. Someone had clearly devoted significant time to this endeavour.

He returned to the top and was about to start reading when someone sat down next to him. He quickly turned off his phone, turning to find Ed lounging on the sofa at his side.

“Hullo, Harry,” Ed said. “What are you up to?”

“Not much,” Harry said. “Avoiding the disaster that would be me on the dance floor.”

Ed chuckled. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “Anyway, I wanted to make sure you had a plan to get home.”

“What about you?” Harry asked.

Ed grinned and hooked a thumb at the crowd. “See that blonde over by the bar?”

“I don’t need to,” Harry said with a wry grin. “Say no more, pal.”

Ed ruffled his hair. “Good lad.”

“I think I might head out fairly soon, actually,” Harry said. “I’m a bit tired. You’re going to hers, right?”

“Yep,” Ed confirmed. “Her flatmate already went home with someone else, so we’ll have the place to ourselves. Just the way I like it.”

Harry shook his head, but he was smiling. “Try not to piss off the neighbours too much,” he said.

Ed grinned back. “No promises.”

Harry awoke with a start, the grey light of morning streaming tiredly through his window. He could barely remember coming home, and whole patches of the previous night were blurry. It had been quite a party.

He groped for his phone on the bedside table to check the time. 8:17 am. He let his arm fall back onto the bed with a sigh. His head ached something fierce, though he could remember worse. After a moment he lifted the phone again, unlocking it to check his messages.

His hand froze as he saw the webpage still open on his phone screen. Some of the blurred patches from party suddenly filled in. He remembered… a lot of things. Most of which were confusing.

Looking at the webpage felt very different in the light of morning, and sober. Harry’s stomach tightened nervously. He turned his phone off and dropped it on the bed, shutting his eyes again, as though if he didn’t look at it then it wouldn’t exist.

But it did exist. He knew it existed. He also knew what had happened the previous night, fuzzy though it might be. With a sigh, he picked his phone back up and turned it back on, staring at the title: Louis and Harry aka ‘The Dream Team’. The top of a gif was just visible beneath it, and Harry could already tell it was from the baking video, after Harry had made a particularly bad pun – they’d been putting the dough onto the cookie sheet and Harry had made a comment about Louis being “a baker in tray-ning”. It had been terrible, and they’d both known it, but Louis had laughed anyways, before proceeding to tease him mercilessly about it. Harry smiled in spite of himself. He loved Louis’ laugh, loved the way his whole face lit up and his eyes crinkled in the corners.

Oh, who was he kidding? Who was he trying to fool? The post might have all the evidence in one place, but Harry didn’t have to look any farther than himself to realize the truth. He just had to stop running from it.

“Fuck,” Harry whispered, the word loud in the stillness of the room. “I never expected – never thought – this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

But then again, was it really so unexpected? His friendship with Louis had built so fast; they’d only known each other for a few months but Harry already felt almost as close to him as he did to Ed. He craved his company, missed it when their schedules didn’t line up. There had even been times where he wasn’t scheduled for a day, and though he enjoyed the time off, he'd half wished he was working so that he could see Louis at the end of the day.

How had he never seen this coming?

He desperately wished he had someone to talk to. Ed wasn’t home, and even if he was – he couldn’t talk to Ed. Ed was far from unbiased, and liable to rub his face in it, which, while possibly deserved, was not what Harry needed.

What was he going to do?

Before he could find an answer to that question, his phone buzzed with an alarm telling him he had work in an hour.

Work.

Louis would probably be picking him up.

Shit.

That was nothing out of the ordinary, of course, except that today everything was out of the ordinary. Everything felt different, looked different.

Louis – was he – what would he – he couldn’t think.

Harry buried his face in his hands and breathed deeply. Calm, he thought. I can handle this. He lifted his head and stood.

As he dressed, he considered the situation. He was in love with Louis. He knew that, and as soon as he stopped denying it or repressing it he realized that he had been for some time. Louis, though, he was less sure of.

He tugged at a lock of hair, weighing ‘just being nice’ against ‘just wants to be friends’ against – well, more. He shied away from the direct thought.

His phone chimed again, a message from Ed that contained a string of suggestive emoji. Harry rolled his eyes, but the message had given him an idea. He unlocked his phone again, hovering at the top of the masterpost that he had twice failed to read.

“Third time’s a charm,” he muttered to himself, and began to scroll.

Twenty minutes later he was booking it out the door, very nearly late for work, but with no regrets. The post had made a compelling argument, though it had become harder and harder to read as Harry’s hands grew shaky. If he hadn’t already realized he was in love, the post would have convinced him. And he thought – suspected – hoped – that it just might be mutual.

His heart pounding with fear and excitement, he resolved to find out.

“Hiya, Harry,” Louis said as he walked into the shop. “How’s business?”

“Good, good,” Harry said. He was nervous, though he tried not to show it. “A bit quiet, but some good sales. I was just about to close up.”

“Need a hand?” Louis offered, and Harry smiled.

“Your pile is over there.”

“The way you treat me,” Louis said, but he was smiling too as he picked up the stack.

They shelved in silence for a few minutes, Harry’s heart pounding so hard he could swear that Louis could hear it. He kept glancing at the notebook poking out of the middle of his pile. When he shelved the last book on top of it, he took a deep breath and steeled himself to speak.

“So, uh.” Harry coughed. “I have a poem for you today.”

Louis turned to him, smiling. “Yeah?” he said. “Let’s hear it.”

Harry swallowed hard, opening the notebook to the correct page. The poem was messily written, with numerous cross-outs and notes scribbled in the margins. He’d worked on it all day, determined to have it ready. Now it was the moment of truth.

“I fell in love with a beautiful boy, and he still takes my breath away.
I fell in love but never had a clue until I woke up today.
A million thoughts keep running through my head til I don’t know what I mean
But I’m scared if I don’t say it now he’ll never see what he is to me.

“So I’ll say what I’m thinking, I’ll let down my guard,
For his eyes only, I’ll show him my heart.
My mind’s running in circles til it’s hard to breathe
As I hope that he won’t run from me.

“The light in his eyes is driving me wild and I can’t even think straight
But it would feel like the end of the world if I never got to say
He feels like summertime and butterflies and everything I need.
I’m a fool for him, and I’m standing here hoping he’ll be a fool for me.” 

Silence. Harry closed the notebook, too nervous to look up. He picked up another book and put it on the shelves.

“I liked that one,” Louis said at last. “It was different from most of the other ones you’ve showed me, though. Who’s it by?”

“Um.” Harry’s mouth was dry. “I wrote it.”

Silence reigned again. Harry put away another three books before a hand on his shoulder made him jump. He spun, nearly dropping the books in his arms. Louis stood directly behind him, an odd look on his face.

“Harry,” he said. “Did you – was that-” He ran a hand through his hair. “Was that what I think it was?”

Harry swallowed. “Depends what you think it was?” he said. “Probably?”

“Was that – are you-” For a famous songwriter, he was remarkably incoherent. “Was it about – anyone in particular?”

If it were possible for a heart to beat its way out of its chest, Harry was at risk of that. He met Louis’ eyes squarely, his mouth dry as he asked, “Who do you want it to be about?”

“Harry.”

Harry smiled tentatively, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Louis’. “Yes,” he said. “Okay? Yes.”

Louis swallowed hard, Harry’s eyes latching to the convulsive movement of his throat. A moment later, the books were pulled from Harry’s hands, Louis laying them on a half-filled shelf. He stepped closer, crowding into Harry’s space, his arms caging him against the shelves. “Is this okay?” he asked.

Harry could barely breathe, but he nodded. “Yes,” he said, his hands settling on Louis’ hips. His gaze never left Louis, flicking from his eyes to his mouth and back again. Louis’ breath was shallow as he swayed closer, and Harry felt like he might explode if he had to wait one more second before they finally –

And then Louis’ lips found his and Harry melted.

The kiss was soft at first, the pressure light and the contact chaste. It was incredible, reminding Harry of summer and sunshine. But Harry didn’t want light and chaste. He didn’t want summer and sunshine. He wanted Louis, wanted all of him and wanted it now. His fingers hooked in Louis’ belt loops and he pulled Louis closer, their bodies bumping roughly together. Louis gasped and Harry took advantage of the opportunity to slip his tongue into Louis’ mouth.

It might have been bold, but the low moan it elicited said that Louis wanted it just as much as Harry did. A moment later, Louis’ hands were tangled in Harry’s hair, tugging roughly and making Harry shiver. Harry’s hand slid around to cup Louis’ bum and Louis hummed happily against Harry’s lips, pressing him harder against the shelves.

When a wandering hand knocked a book to the ground they pulled apart. Harry bent to retrieve the book, a secondhand edition of Jane Eyre. He started to put it away, but Louis tugged it from his grasp and set it aside, pulling him into another crushing kiss as he fumbled with the buttons on Harry’s shirt.

Harry’s brain momentarily whited out as he reached for Louis’ zipper, but common sense raised its head just long enough to be heard. “Not here,” he gasped. “Too open.”

“Back room?” Louis asked. His voice was rough and sent a rush of heat rolling through Harry’s body, but Harry shook his head.

“Too cramped.”

“Come back to my place, then?” Harry didn’t even have to think. He kissed Louis again, pushing them towards the door.

Harry had had his share of sex in cars, but it was never comfortable. The feeling of his dick trying to push its way out of his jeans, however, wasn’t much better. He pressed the heel of his hand to his crotch as they raced through the streets, Louis’ driving slightly less steady than usual.

“Hey,” Louis said, glancing over. “That’s my job.”

“You’re driving,” Harry whined.

“Only because you wouldn’t let me fuck you in the bookshop.”

Harry’s dick twitched. “Louis.”

“I know, but – fucking shit, Harry.”

Harry couldn’t have said it better himself. Admittedly, blood flow to his brain was severely restricted at the moment.

Harry rested a hand on Louis’ thigh, squeezing gently, and Louis glanced down. “Eyes on the road,” Harry teased. Louis glared balefully at him before obeying. That was no fun. Harry moved his hand, brushing it over the sizeable bulge in Louis’ jeans. That elicited a sharp hiss.

“Harry,” Louis said, his voice strained. “I will crash this car and kill us both.”

Harry had to admit that he had a point. He sat on his hands for the remainder of the car ride.

Walking inside was made difficult by the need to keep as much of their bodies touching as possible. Uncoordinated at the best of times, Harry nearly tripped three times before they made it to the door. Which was locked.

“Stupid door,” Louis panted, fumbling with the key. “Stupid lock. Get in the fucking hole!”

“I’m going to,” Harry murmured against Louis’ neck, and Louis promptly dropped the key.

“Don’t you – fucking hell!” He bent to pick it up, but his hands were shaking as he tried to fit it into the keyhole. It took three more tries before it worked, but then they were in, stumbling through the door into the hallway, with barely the presence of mind to close the door behind them.

Harry awoke slowly. The bed was warm and soft, and he burrowed deeper into the blankets. Gradually, he began to realize that the light was coming from the wrong direction. The blankets, the pillow, the mattress, they were too lush to be his. His eyes popped open.

The previous night’s events slowly came back to him as he took in his surroundings. The poem. Kissing Louis. The frenetic drive back to Louis’ flat. Kissing Louis more. Clumsy handjobs in the hallway, followed by a long hot shower together in which Louis gave him some of the best head of his life.

It had been quite a night.

Harry rolled over carefully to face Louis. He was still asleep, a peaceful expression on his face, and Harry smiled, propping his head up on one hand to study him. His eyes traced the light stubble on his cheek and the gentle swoop of his eyelashes. His hair was messy as it caught the early morning light, falling artfully across his face. Harry could have watched him for hours.

It was only a few minutes before Louis began to stir, and his eyes slowly fluttered open.

Harry smiled. “Good morning.”

Louis stared at him. “So that was real.”

Harry laughed. “I’m not sure whether to be amused or offended,” he teased, and Louis blushed.

“You know what I mean,” he said. “I was half afraid it was all a dream.”

“Do you dream about me often?”

“You’re not helping.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “I’m not.” He pushed the blankets down the bed. “What say I give you a special good morning?” he said. He moved down the bed, flashing a wide grin at Louis. “A very… memorable one.”

Louis’ breath sped up as Harry moved, his legs willingly moving apart to let Harry settle between them. His cock was already fattening, to Harry’s immense satisfaction, and he hadn’t even touched it yet.

Supporting himself with a hand on each leg, Harry lowered his face to lap at the tip of Louis’ cock. Louis wheezed, his hands scrabbling at the sheets beneath him. “Stay still,” Harry scolded absently, bending down for more. He took the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue across the head and under the base, and Louis made a delightful panting sound.

And then Harry took him down, down, down, and Louis collapsed on the mattress, absolutely boneless with pleasure. Well, except for the one in Harry’s mouth. Harry might have giggled if his mouth weren’t otherwise engaged.

He swallowed, feeling the tip of Louis’ cock bob against the back of his throat. He pulled partway off, running his tongue along the bottom, then took it back down again.

“Ha – Ha – Harry!” Louis already sounded wrecked, and Harry wrapped a hand around his own dick to ease the throbbing. “Fuck, so good for me – fuck!”

Harry bobbed his head slowly back and forth, feeling the pressure on the back of his throat each time he moved down. His jaw was beginning to ache slightly, but the frantic noises spilling from Louis’ mouth made it all worth it.

When Louis’ mutterings grew even more garbled, and his motions more frenzied, Harry knew he was close. Moments later, Louis’ back arched and he spilled into Harry’s mouth.

Harry pulled off with a pop as he swallowed, wiping a bit of leakage from his mouth with a corner of the duvet. “How’s that for a good morning?” he asked as he moved back up the bed. Louis could only stare at him, gasping, and Harry grinned.

“I hope you know I’m gonna write a song about you,” Louis said when he’d regained the power of speech.

Harry laughed. “You mean you haven’t written one yet?”

Louis paused for a moment. “I’m going to write another song about you.”

Harry laughed again. “I look forward to hearing it,” he said. “Maybe I’ll write more poems about you. That went pretty well the last time.”

Louis smiled. “It did, didn’t it?”

His hand traced the side of Harry’s face, catching under his chin to pull him in for a soft kiss. Harry sighed happily, his eyes fluttering shut, eyelashes brushing Louis’ cheek. “Love getting to do this,” Louis murmured. “Love kissing you.” Harry didn’t want to stop kissing him long enough to reply.

At last, Louis sighed and sat up in bed. “I’m starved,” he said. “You?”

“I just ate,” Harry said cheekily, licking his lips, and Louis laughed aloud. “No, but in all seriousness,” Harry said. “I could eat a horse.”

“Will a pig do?” Louis asked, standing up. He was still completely naked, and Harry couldn’t help but admire the gentle curves of his body. “I think there’s a packet of bacon in the fridge somewhere.”

“Perfect,” Harry said absently. He wasn’t talking about the bacon.

Ed was waiting in the living room when Harry walked in.

“Was that Louis’ car I saw you getting out of?” he demanded before Harry had even shut the door behind him. “What exactly did you get up to last night?”

“I texted you,” Harry said, taking off his shoes.

“You texted me, ‘dont wait up. wont be home,” Ed said. “That’s hardly informative. Now spill.”

Harry slowly walked over to the sofa and sat down. Ed’s foot was tapping impatiently as Harry made himself comfortable, adjusting the pillows and fixing the afghan draped over the back.

“I’m waiting,” Ed said at last, and Harry checked his watch. Two minutes and twenty six seconds. Not bad.

“I know,” Harry said instead of answering, and Ed glared.

“Just tell me where Louis put his cock,” he spat, “because I am simply dying to know.”

Harry grinned, in spite of himself.

Ed whooped. “So you finally got your shit together?”

Harry shrugged. “Let’s just say Louis is probably writing a song about my blowjob abilities – which are considerable – as we speak.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Maybe.” Harry shrugged again. “But it’s more than can be said for you.”

“It’s more than I want to be said of me.”

“To each their own.” Harry pushed himself to his feet. “I’m gonna take a shower. See you in an hour or so.”

“Wash all the evidence down the drain,” Ed said. “I really don’t want to see that. Or clean it up.”

Harry just grinned as he sauntered out of the room.

In the days that followed, things were largely the same, but they were also different. When Louis arrived at the bookshop, Harry’s smile was just a little bit brighter. He greeted Louis with a kiss that they both agreed was too short, but kept so in order to maintain at least a modicum of professionality at work. As soon as they reached the car, however, that fell away and they found themselves sprawled across the backseat, panting into each other’s mouths.

Things were different, but things were also the same. They talked about everything and nothing as they drove home. They teased each other comfortably, laughing until Harry insisted Louis focus on the road before they wound up dead in a ditch. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Louis said when they reached Harry’s building, and Harry nodded.

Harry couldn’t help smiling against Louis’ lips as they kissed goodbye. “I still can’t believe this is happening,” he murmured, their foreheads pressed together across the console.

Louis laughed breathily. “Me neither,” he said. “But I’m so glad it is.”

Harry couldn’t agree more.

For their first proper date, Louis took Harry to a restaurant, followed by a production of the Book of Mormon. They played footsie through the entire meal, and didn’t let go of each other’s hands for the entire play. Harry couldn’t stop smiling. At Louis’ flat, they sprawled out on the sofa, Harry’s head in Louis’ lap as Louis’ fingers carded through his hair.

“Babe,” Louis said after a while, and Harry’s stomach swooped happily at the nickname. “Would you be okay with us having Zayn, Niall, and Liam over for dinner sometime?”

“‘S your flat,” Harry said drowsily, the feel of Louis’ hands having put him half to sleep.

Louis chuckled. “Yeah, but you’re the better cook,” he said. “And I want to introduce you to them.”

Harry opened his eyes. “They know me already.”

“I meant as my boyfriend.”

If Harry’s stomach had swooped before, now it hit the stratosphere. He couldn’t speak.

Louis’ smile slipped when Harry didn’t answer. “We don’t have to,” he said. “If you’re not ready, or if you – there’s not rush to-”

Harry found his voice, cutting off Louis’ backpedalling. “No, no, that’s fine,” he said. “You just… caught me off guard. Not the dinner thing, the other thing.”

Louis frowned in confusion. “Which other thing?”

Harry fiddled with the hem of Louis’ shirt. “The part where you called me your boyfriend.”

Louis smiled. “Well, you are, aren’t you?”

Harry smiled back. “Say it again.”

“You’re my boyfriend,” Louis said, running his fingers along Harry’s jaw. “And I’m your boyfriend.”

Harry tilted his head up, and Louis willingly leaned down to connect their lips. Harry’s fingers dug into Louis’ hair. He wanted him closer, always closer. Not separating their mouths for a moment, he sat up, crawling into Louis’ lap and straddling him, one leg on either side. Louis only pulled him in tighter.

Soon Harry’s trousers began to feel uncomfortably tight. From his perch on Louis’ lap he could tell that Louis was in the same state. With great effort he pulled back an inch from Louis’ mouth.

“Bed?” he breathed.

Louis’ eyes opened slowly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Harry laughed. “No you didn’t.”

Louis smiled and stood, forcing Harry to wrap his legs around Louis’ waist to keep from falling to the floor. “No,” Louis said. “I didn’t.”

The door buzzer sounded just as the oven timer went off.

“I’ll get the door,” Louis said immediately. “You take care of dinner.”

“Deal,” Harry agreed.

He could hear the others from the kitchen as he took the lasagna out of the oven. Niall’s voice in particular carried clearly down the hallway.

“Something smells good,” he was saying to Louis. “Naturally I’m suspicious, seeing as you can’t cook.”

“Maybe I learned.” Louis’ voice was quieter, but Harry could still make it out, and he smiled.

Niall snorted. “And maybe I’ve decided to give up drinking."

“That’s a very mature decision, Niall.” Harry’s grip on the pan slipped as recognized the new voice as Zayn’s. He recovered just short of burning himself, and quickly decided to set the pan down. “We’ll do our best to support you in this difficult time.”

“Oh, knock it off,” Niall said, and the dull thud that echoed down the hall suggested that the jibe had been accompanied by pushing Zayn into the wall.

“Let’s not break Louis’ flat,” said another voice. Liam. So they’d all arrived together. Okay. That was fine. Harry took a deep breath, focusing his attention on slicing the lasagna. He was good at that. He knew where he stood with the lasagna.

Focusing on the lasagna worked a little too well, and he missed hearing the movement of footsteps down the hall. It wasn’t until he was greeted with a cheerful “Oh hello Harry!” that he realized they’d reached the kitchen.

“Hello,” Harry said, smiling timidly.

Niall turned to Louis. “I knew you hadn’t suddenly learned to cook.”

“Stuff it,” Louis said, but it came out fond and amused.

Zayn hadn’t spoken yet, but his eyes kept darting from Louis to Harry and back again. “Lou,” he said, then stopped.

Louis either didn’t hear or pretended not to, instead turning away and walking towards Harry. On second thought, he was almost certainly pretending, seeing as Harry was more than twice as far away and had heard him perfectly.

“How’s the lasagna?” Louis asked, his hand brushing Harry’s side. The contact was light, but Harry still shivered.

“Um, I think it’s ready,” he said.

“Excellent,” Louis said, flashing him a smile. He turned to face the others. “Gentlemen and more gentlemen, dinner is served.”

As Harry carried the pan to the table, he could feel Zayn’s eyes on him. Niall was also watching him with undisguised curiosity, leaving Liam as the only one who was either too oblivious or too polite to stare. Harry was willing to bet money it was the latter.

“This smells amazing, Harry,” Liam said as he served himself a portion.

“I bet it tastes even better,” Niall said. “Share the wealth, Li.”

Everyone at the table praised the food, and Harry beamed at the compliments, but he could barely taste it. Every bite he was expecting someone to finally ask the question. But no one did, and then the pan was empty and Niall and Zayn were heading for the living room. Harry stood, starting to clear the dishes. Liam volunteered to help, but Louis shooed him away.

“We’ll be along in a moment,” he said, and Liam obediently left the room.

They were alone. Harry let out a breath, only realizing as the tension left his shoulders just how on edge he’d been. Louis touched his back.

“Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

“Is there any particular reason we haven’t told them yet?” Harry asked. His head drooped as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

Louis’ hand stilled. “Not really,” he said. “I was just wondering how long it would take them to give in and ask.”

Harry couldn’t suppress a smile at that. They were all idiots, and he loved them.

“Is it stressing you out?” Louis asked. “Because we don’t have to-”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, but reconsidered at Louis’ sceptical look. “Okay, yes, I’m a little stressed – waiting is not one of my favourite pastimes, but I don’t mind.”

Louis still didn’t look convinced. “Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s give it half an hour. If they haven’t asked by then, we make out in front of them.”

Heat curled in Harry’s stomach at the idea, and his cheeks flushed slightly. “Okay, but now making out with you is going to be all I can think about,” he said.

Louis laughed. “You mean there are normally times when you’re not thinking about making out with me?” he teased.

Harry smiled. “Occasionally,” he said. “After all, masturbation at work is generally frowned upon.”

Now Louis’ cheeks were flushed, and when he moved forward Harry was more than happy to meet his mouth with his own, one hand pressing into the back of Louis’ neck; Louis’ fingernails digging into Harry’s shoulder. They broke away after a few seconds, and Harry brushed his thumb gently over Louis’ mouth.

“We’re not exactly subtle, you know,” he mused.

Louis smiled. “That’s what makes it so funny that they haven’t asked yet.” He gave Harry’s shoulder a final squeeze, then turned to finish clearing the table. Harry put the beverages back into the fridge as Louis dumped the plates into the sink, and then they headed for the living room to join the others.

Zayn and Niall had claimed the two armchairs, and Liam was on one end of the sofa. Harry sat down on the other end, expecting Louis to sit in the middle, but instead he plopped down right beside Harry. Harry’s arm automatically wrapped around Louis’ back, and after a moment’s consideration he decided to leave it there.

He glanced up to see that Zayn’s eyes were narrowed slightly in his direction. Niall looked amused but not displeased. Even Liam seemed to be trying to hide a smile.

Louis clapped his hands. “So,” he said. “What were we talking about?”

“Golf,” Niall said instantly.

Liam and Zayn groaned, but Harry perked up. “Golf?”

Niall looked at him in surprise. “You play?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Do you?”

“A bit. What’s your handicap?”

“Around 15,” Harry said.

Niall whistled. “I’m at 20 myself,” he said.

Zayn was shaking his head. “Trust you to find the one guy who shares Niall’s strange obsession with golf,” he said to Louis.

“You’re the one who followed him to the bookshop,” Louis shot back.

Liam held up a hand. “As fascinating as this is,” he said, “we were actually talking about football, and I think that topic is interesting to far more people in this room.”

Niall sat back, chuckling. “Fair enough,” he said. “But I’m telling you, West Brom hasn’t got a chance.”

“Oi, back off,” Liam said. “There’s still plenty of time.”

“I’m giving this one to Niall,” Louis said. “They just don’t have the team for a title.”

The conversation continued easily from there, but Harry mostly stayed out of it. He was aware of football, but only because Ed followed it sometimes. It had never really interested him. Instead, he watched the others talk. Zayn was also staying quiet, Harry noticed, and he seemed to be watching Harry back. Or perhaps it was Louis; they were so close it was hard to tell. Maybe it was both of them. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what he was watching for, but Louis’ grin grew wider and wider, and his motions more and more energetic.

Twenty six minutes after they had entered the living room, the conversation hit a momentary lull. Zayn shook his head. “You’re really going to make me ask, aren’t you?” he said.

Louis laughed. “Ask what?” he said.

Niall was the one who responded. “Congratulations, mate,” he said. “And fucking finally.”

“We’re very happy for you,” Liam added. “Welcome to the family, Harry. Treat him right.”

Harry blinked. “Wait,” he said. “Just like that?”

“What do you mean?” Louis asked.

“They all knew?”

“They are my best mates,” Louis pointed out. “And we write songs together. So… they tend to know a lot about my life.”

Niall laughed. “You say that like you were subtle, mate,” he said. “I had you pegged from the beginning, when you wouldn’t shut up about ‘that cute lad in the stupid T-shirt.’”

“I figured it out when you insisted on coming to the bookshop with me when I told you he was working there,” Zayn added.

“I knew when you arranged our writing and recording schedules around his work hours,” Liam chipped in.

Harry turned to Louis. “You scheduled around me?” he asked. “But you said – I never would have asked if I’d-”

“I know,” Louis said. “But it was fine, really. Liam’s only complaining because he likes everything to be organized just so. I always tell him that as an artist he needs more spontaneity.”

“He’s a pain in the neck,” Liam said with a chuckle. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way, honestly.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Louis leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Now that’s settled, what’s everybody’s favourite one star review on the EP so far?”

The conversation carried on for another fifteen minutes or so before Liam announced that he had to leave. Niall and Zayn stood too, thanking Louis for the food.

“And for finally growing a pair,” Niall added. Louis shoved him gently as they made their way to the front door.

Zayn stopped in the doorway, turning back to Harry. “Take care of him, yeah?” he said.

“Excuse you, I can take care of myself,” Louis said.

Zayn rolled his eyes and said nothing. Harry smiled, rubbing his thumb along Louis’ side. “I will,” he said.

“Let’s go,” Niall shouted from down the hall. “Before they start making out.”

“You know you want to watch,” Louis called back, and Niall laughed.

As the door shut behind them, Louis settled his head on Harry’s shoulder. They were quiet for a moment, but then Harry broke the silence.

“Did you really call me ‘the cute lad in the stupid T-shirt’ after we met?”

Louis laughed. “Maybe,” he said. “But to be fair, it was a very stupid T-shirt.”

“I’m not disagreeing,” Harry said. “But it did get us here, so it’s hard to argue with the results. Maybe I should wear it more often.”

“Absolutely not,” Louis said, but they were both smiling. “We can hold a sacrificial burning.”

“That seems wasteful,” Harry said. “How about I just donate it?”

“Would anyone want it?” Louis said. Harry just looked at him, and Louis smiled. “Donating it sounds lovely.”

“You’re lovely,” Harry murmured, pressing a kiss to Louis’ temple.

CODA:

They are lying on the bed together, arms wrapped around each other, laptop balanced precariously on their intertwined legs. Their eyes are glued to the video upload bar as it twitches from 99% to 100%.

Louis looks at Harry. “Ready?” he asks.

Harry smiles. “Ready.”

Louis reaches for the trackpad, then pauses, his hand hovering in the air. “Together?”

Harry’s smile widens. “Together,” he agrees, wrapping his hand around Louis’. Their joined hands hover over the trackpad a moment longer, and then they click the Publish button and the music video for No Control is live.

Harry starts to giggle. Louis looks mildly alarmed and extremely confused, but Harry can’t help himself. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s just… I can’t believe it’s out there.”

“You’re not getting worried, are you?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, and I’m not having second thoughts.” He rubs his hand over Louis’ knee. “I won’t say I’m not at least a little nervous, but mostly it feels… freeing.”

Louis smiles. “I know what you mean,” he says. “I felt the same way when I came out.”

“I remember that video,” Harry says. “I was so proud of you. And Zayn, of course.”

“Mmm.” Louis nods. “I can’t tell you how grateful I was that he did it with me.”

“I can imagine.” Harry moves to shut the laptop, but pauses. “Do you want to watch it?”

“Again?” Louis says, but he’s smiling. “You’re such a sap.”

“Hey, it was your video idea,” Harry retorts.

Louis laughs, and clicks on the video. He settles back into Harry’s arms as it begins to play.

The video opens with a shot of Louis, his face squished into a pillow. His eyes open slowly and he winces at the harsh light. The end table beside the bed slowly comes into focus, a Midnight Memories mug sitting beside the lamp as the lyrics start. Louis rolls over, smiling, but the smile slides off his face when he discovers the other side of the bed empty. His brow furrows as he picks up a folded piece of paper from among the sheets.

We have him, the note reads. Come and get him, if you dare. 744 Richmond Street. Signed, The Desired.

As the song moves into the chorus the video cuts to Louis opening his closet and quickly pulling on a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He loads and holsters a gun, then a second. Two knives are added to his belt as well. He walks into the garage, where a red convertible sits waiting. As he walks around to the driver’s side, he pulls out his phone and holds it up to his ear.

Liam’s verse begins, and the scene changes to show him eating breakfast. His phone rings, and he answers immediately. The screen splits as Louis fills him in, Niall and Zayn joining the image a moment later. Their faces harden as they hear the news.

The next shot is in a large open space, where four masked men stand around another man tied to a pillar. His head hangs low, and his face is obscured by his long hair. The men sneer at him, and one slaps him, hard. His head snaps to the side, but he doesn’t look up or respond. The men laugh anyway.

In the second chorus, Niall, Liam, and Zayn undertake their own preparations for what is ahead. Zayn gathers a small pile of shuriken into a bag. Liam wraps boxing tape around his hands. Niall grabs a grappling hook off of a shelf. Louis picks the three of them up one at a time. Then he hits the gas.

They pull up outside a large warehouse and pile out of the car. There’s no one in sight as they run over to the building. Niall throws the grapple through a second story window, and they all carefully climb up and inside.

They find themselves in a dark hallway, completely empty, but they can see light coming from an open doorway at the end of the hall. Louis motions for the others to follow and they break into a run.

The instrumental drops away, leaving just the vocals as they burst into the light and find themselves on a high catwalk above the open warehouse space. Below, the four masked men spot them. The man tied to the pillar slowly raises his head, his face coming into view for the first time. It’s Harry. Louis freezes for a moment. But as the music swells, the four band members jump over the railing and land in a crouch on the warehouse floor.

The masked men charge them, weapons raised, but in a flurry of punches and kicks, their guns go flying. Undeterred, they try again, but it’s futile. Within moments all four are sprawled on the ground, clutching at their various injuries.

Their assailants defeated, Louis runs to the pillar where Harry is tied. He pulls out a knife, sawing at the ropes holding him bound. At last, they fall away, and Harry falls into his arms. They embrace for a moment, then pull back. As the music fades out, they lean forward and their lips meet.