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From his penthouse in Piazza Navona, Harry had a stunning view of the city, his balcony high enough for him to have privacy as he looked down at the tourists crowding the piazza. He loved that time of the day when the sun was starting to set, the orange and purple hues of the sky reflecting on the buildings, the people slowly walking away from the piazza, retreating to bars and restaurants, the sound of bottles popping open and glasses clinking. It brought him peace, more often than not. Even the sound of the water falling into the fountain calmed him down, despite what Gemma always said when she came to visit. It makes me want to pee, she always said. On this particular evening, though, nothing calmed Harry down. Not the last church bell resonating through the piazza, or the sound of the fountain or the laughter of the tourists, nothing at all. Smoking weed helped sometimes, but he knew that it would only amplify his paranoia tonight. He walked back inside the flat, giving up on finding an ounce of peace on the balcony tonight, no matter how much he tried to find some poetry in the Roman sunset. He walked back to his bedroom without bothering to turn the lights on. He knew this flat better than his London house by now; he could walk around it with his eyes closed. It was also easy to move around it because the flat was still half-empty, because Harry had decided he didn’t want to have other people do it for him, so he was slowly filling it up. He wanted every single piece of furniture or decoration to have a meaning, to remind him of something or someone special. Just the other day, he found an old gramophone that he put in the living room. He had sent a picture of it to Louis, who replied that’s lovely, grandpa. 

Harry also knew that the flat wasn’t in the best state. He hadn’t cleaned in days, and his bedroom in particular was a mess. He didn’t bother making the bed that morning; there were clothes scattered around the room, and he should’ve changed the sheets after he came all over them last night. Even if it had dried down by now, Harry knew he was there. He knew exactly who he was thinking about when he came in the middle of the night, almost crying as he did. His phone was lying there, probably very close to the same spot as the wet spot from last night, next to a half-read book and his notebook full of scribbles and ideas for new songs. He picked up his phone to check his messages, and as expected, there was a new one from Louis, just boarded my plane, that message being the exact reason why he felt so tormented tonight. The same reason why he cried while he came last night. The person he wrote most of his songs about. 

It wasn’t a novelty, Louis coming to visit him when they were both on a break from touring. It was either in Rome or in London, where they both lived most of the time. They often pretended to casually time their breaks back home during the same days. So Harry wasn’t nervous about Louis coming to visit, per se. The reason why Harry was so nervous tonight was because he had spent days, weeks really, debating with himself - and his therapist, she also had to be credited for it - whether it was time that he talked with Louis about their situationship. That was how kids called it these days. Harry would’ve simply called a bloody mess, but half his audience consisted of teenagers, and he had to keep up with them. He knew their slang, despite being close to his thirties and had found a couple of grey hairs just the other day. Never as much as Louis, though, and even though Harry teased him about it, he found it incredibly hot. But the fact that they both got grey hair meant that they were adults, real adults now, and they should’ve stopped playing games. Harry didn’t want this to be a situationship anymore. He wanted the real thing. He wanted to know if it meant the same to Louis as it meant to him, because if it didn’t, it was about time they stopped sleeping together. They could stay friends. Maybe. They had been friends before they started sleeping together, so they could go back to that. Either way, Harry didn’t want to sleep with Louis anymore and pretend he didn’t want to have it all with him. It had been so tiring to pretend that he didn’t for so long. It was thrilling when they started, years ago, but not anymore. Harry craved stability now. Because of the grey hair and all that. 

He wasn’t sure how tonight was going to end, but Harry was terrified of confronting Louis about it. He was terrified of confrontation at all times, really, but this whole thing between the two of them was on a whole different level. 

They had been fucking for years, and Harry wanted things to progress further, even if with their careers, it was hard to have a normal, stable relationship. For the longest time, Harry didn’t let himself analyse the fact that anytime he ended things with someone, he would go back to Louis, every single time, without fail. He only admitted it to himself recently. Now it was time to admit it out loud as well, to Louis. 

have a safe flight, Harry texted Louis as he dragged himself to the kitchen, even if he didn’t feel hungry at all, his stomach tied in knots. 

Both Harry’s and Louis’ tours were going to start again in the summer, so for now they were enjoying a well-deserved break before heading back to London. Harry had found his haven in Rome and bought the penthouse a year before, coming back to Italy any time he had enough time off between tour dates. He had made some Italian friends years before, who invited Harry to their flat in Rome, and ever since then, Harry came back so often that in the end, he thought it only made sense for him to buy a flat himself, instead of always sleeping in other people’s guest rooms. 

After his first album, Harry's fame skyrocketed almost overnight, and he started getting invited to parties, and he loved all of that. He loved meeting new people, and he loved being out all night. He loved, quite frankly, the drugs and the alcohol too. His life was wild for a while, but after some time, it all lost its novelty. Most of the people he met never cared about him, never cared about Harry the person, but rather more about Harry the famous singer. The partying lost its appeal. Now, as he was getting closer to his thirties, he had started to appreciate the slow life a bit more. He wasn’t a saint; he still went to parties while he was touring, still did coke every once in a while, took pills when someone offered, because Harry was nothing if not well-behaved. After his last tour date before the break, his team organised a party, and Harry might’ve been so out of it that he might’ve rambled about Louis for ages to his poor guitarist, who just wanted to enjoy a night out with his friends. He barely remembered it, but the next morning, Chris sent him a text to ask him if everything was okay and that he was there for him, if Harry wanted to talk about his boyfriend some more. I don’t have a boyfriend, Harry replied, confused and with a pounding headache. My bad, Chris replied. I must’ve imagined that yorkshire lad I caught you snogging more than once and that you cried about for hours last night, despite half the guests being all over you. Harry had ignored Chris since then, which was easy considering they weren’t going to see each other for weeks, but that was also one of the reasons why he knew he had to talk with Louis. 

They met each other when they were barely twenty, pretending to be enrolled at uni in Manchester, but they were mostly playing music, playing in the same dingy clubs around town. Harry was on his own, while Louis had a band with three of his mates. They were all lucky enough to go and become famous, all of them. 

Harry opened the fridge, and it was half-full, but that night it mostly seemed half-empty. He cut some carrots into sticks and ate them with some leftover hummus he had made the other night, when he felt particularly fancy and decided to make his own instead of buying it. Even then, he had texted Louis about it. He couldn’t remember a time Louis wasn’t in his life, even if that life existed for twenty whole years. More than half his life, really, and yet it didn’t feel real to Harry now. Almost like he started truly living when he met Louis. When they first became friends, they didn’t text that much, but that was also because they got to see each other almost every day. Uni life was great for one thing, they skipped classes all the time and went to the same parties, slept all together with other friends on couches, not caring one bit about neck or back pain. 

They first started fucking after a party held by a common friend, someone they didn’t even talk to anymore, when they had already moved to London, their careers finally getting somewhere at that point. Harry had been thinking about it for a while, always overthinking everything, even back then, and that night, he was drunk enough to ask Louis to come back to his place. Even then, they didn’t text as much. They talked a lot, they always did, but the texting never became as insistent as it did recently. As did the fucking, if Harry had to be honest, but that had to be attributed to the fact that lately they found themselves, more often than not, being in the same cities at the same time. Zayn, the singer of Louis’ band, made a joke about it one evening, when Harry had a night off and came to see their band, hiding backstage at all times because he didn’t want to cause an uproar on social media because of his presence there. 

“It is such a coincidence, really,” Zayn said after the show, back to their dressing room, passing around bottles of beer to everyone, “that we find ourselves in the same cities all the time lately. Almost as if someone planned it on purpose.” Harry loved Zayn’s humour, even when he was the victim of one of his jokes. Niall, the guitarist, couldn’t hold back a laugh. He would always laugh, Niall. Liam, the drummer, was a force to be reckoned with on stage, but was mostly quiet when they were behind the scenes. Harry liked to spend time with them, because as much as he liked his band, it was not the same. They were musicians who played for him for a few months, some of them even rotating at times, but when they were not on stage, they could lead regular lives. Sometimes a die-hard fan might recognise them on the street, but it was rare. They didn’t have to disguise themselves at all times. They didn’t have to be regularly presented with disturbing comments online about their appearance or being linked romantically to every single person who might’ve made the mistake of taking a stroll together with them. Louis and the rest of the lads, though, knew what that meant. They weren’t the only other famous people that Harry knew, but Harry had a special bond with them because they met when they were just regular students with a dream. When they could walk out of a bar and smoke a cigarette, and no one would sneakily take a picture and post it on Twitter to get thousands of likes and retweets. The fame and the money were not bad, of course, they were not; it was everything Harry had dreamed of ever since he was a child, but sometimes he ached for those simpler times. Even if it was mortifying at times, to play in front of maybe a hundred people that were there just for the beers and would barely listen to his music. He wondered sometimes if those people remembered seeing Harry before he became Harry Styles. If they regretted booing at him and shouting that he was boring. 

Harry liked Louis’ band, and he felt understood when he was with them. He liked Louis a little bit more than he liked the rest of them, although that wasn’t a secret. The two of them sleeping together technically was a secret - the worst-kept secret in the history of secrets, at least between them and the lads. Liam had once walked in on them while Harry was on his knees, as he was pulling down Louis’ pants, but they never talked about it. Except for that one drunken night with his guitarist, Harry only ever talked about it with his therapist, and occasionally his old friends from home. Even if they barely got the chance to see each other now, Harry always kept in touch with them. Nothing grounded him more than sharing his problems with people who knew him since he was six, and had no problems whatsoever in telling him that he was an arse. His childhood friends never held back because they didn’t care that he was famous, and these were the people Harry needed in his life. Not bootlickers at parties who interacted with him just so they could have a story to tell to their friends the next day. 

Harry was sitting on the couch, his plate now empty, only a glob of hummus still there, and he ate it with his finger. All his plates were mismatched, gifts from friends or ones he found in shops or flea markets around town. Louis also brought one last time he came over. Harry never used that one, though, terrified to break it. They didn’t often get each other gifts; that was also a recent development in their relationship. They mostly got rare items, vintage shirts or records that were almost impossible to find, things that had a meaning. They knew each other so well. Harry often saw things that screamed Louis’ name to him, although at times, he worried it was just because Louis was all he could think about. It was not sane, he knew. If they talked things through tonight, maybe the thoughts would quiet down. 

The television was on, but Harry was barely paying attention to the movie that was on air right now. His Italian had gotten better through the years, but not good enough for him to follow along with a dubbed movie, so he didn’t even try to understand what was happening. It was a black and white movie, and Harry could tell that it was set in Rome, probably after the war, but that was all that he managed to gather. He watched for a bit longer, trying to recognise the streets the characters walked through. Despite it being set in the 1940s, many of them hadn’t changed much. There were just way more cars and people now, but the core of the city was the same. Harry got bored after a while, though, and he turned the TV off and picked up his phone. 

Even though he promised himself not to go on social media, he did it all the time anyway. For a while, Harry had deleted the Twitter app on his phone but still logged into his account from the browser, so he recently gave up and downloaded it again. Thankfully, he hadn’t been spotted in Rome yet, so the tweets he saw were mostly about people counting down to their tour dates, posting old videos from the American leg of the tour that ended not long before. Harry had done shows in the United States before, but it was his first time playing in South America as well. It had been a dream come true. The intensity of the audience there was nothing like anything else he had experienced. And then, of course, there was Louis. There was always Louis. His band was also playing in South America around that time. They met in Buenos Aires for one night, the city bursting with life outside, and the two of them in Harry’s hotel room, unable to keep their hands off each other. It was a hot summer day, and they used the weather as an excuse not to leave the room. It was thirty degrees at midnight, and there was no chance he was going to leave his air-conditioned room; he texted his band to convince himself more than anything. It was not at all because Harry and Louis had texted for days about what they were going to do to each other once they got the chance to meet. On his previous tour, Harry would often come back to his hotel room with someone, but this time he had unconsciously made the decision to sleep with Louis only, and Louis seemed to be doing the same or so Harry hoped. Naked selfies taken in the bathroom mirror. Harry’s hard cock, followed by a text that said thinking about you. One, two fingers pushed up his arse, wish it were your fingers. Phone calls, too, sometimes. “I can’t wait to stretch you open again,” Louis would tell him over the phone, “make you come untouched, just my fingers and my tongue.” And so he did, that one night in Buenos Aires. Casual sex was fun, but nothing was as good as sex with someone who knew you as well as Louis knew Harry. 

At the end of both their tours, they spent two days in Rio De Janeiro before flying back to London. They would’ve never done this before, spending so much time together and planning it, even. Louis was the one who proposed they should’ve done that, after Harry off-handedly mentioned on the phone that Rio was one of his favourite cities and he was sad about being there for one night only. They barely left the hotel those two days, ordering room service and smoking weed naked on the balcony with an Ocean view. It was there, maybe, on that balcony that it started brewing. The desire to say something, finally. To either move this relationship forward or close it forever. 

Louis wasn’t going to be there before midnight. He had to get a late flight because he had a photoshoot with the band earlier that day, and Harry didn’t know how to spend the time until Louis got there. He ordered some ice cream from a place down the road that he remembered Louis had liked the last time, although he wasn’t sure that Louis was going to stay after they talked. At least, if Louis chose to leave, Harry would have the ice cream. He picked a mix of his and Louis’ favourite flavours, just in case he did stay. He went back to his bedroom, put the dirty clothes in the washing machine, even changed the sheets, and yet there was still so much time left. He lay on his bed, scrolling some more through Twitter. Entertained himself with a whole thread about how some people were absolutely convinced that Harry and Louis were together, with a lot of evidence. Anytime Harry read through those, he was surprised by how much these people got right, and how some overromanticised the truth. He found it sweet, though. Some thought they were engaged because of a ring Harry wore in South America, when in reality it was an old ring from his grandmother that Gemma brought to him when she came to his two dates in Colombia. Another proof was Zayn introducing one of their most famous hits with “this is a song Louis wrote about – a very good friend of his.” The whole crowd erupted. Someone next to whoever was taking the video shouted Harry’s name. Louis had never told Harry the song was about him, although many people seemed to be sure about it. It was about miscommunication and a strong bond between two people despite that, and it resonated with Harry. He wasn’t presumptuous enough to think it was about himself. 

With some time to spare still, Harry texted his group chat with his friends back home, I’m going to speak with Louis tonight, and added I’m kind of scared.

Scared of what? Johnny was the first to reply. They had all been encouraging him to fix things, that it was ridiculous that Harry was still calling this a situationship after years. For them, it was obvious that Louis felt the same. 

That he will reject me, Harry replied. Everyone immediately replied with stickers, ranging from confused faces to one that simply said SHUT UP HARRY (his friend Paul made it, and he was extremely proud of that one, and everyone in the group chat used it at least once a day).

You’re talking about the same Louis that forced his band to have the same exact tour as yours this year, Johnny texted. 

Maybe he just wanted an easy fuck, he texted. Harry knew how ridiculous that sounded. When he was younger, he thought that growing older meant also becoming wiser, but that hadn’t been the case with him. When it came to Louis, he felt not a day older than sixteen. A boy with his first crush who couldn’t form a coherent thought anytime that person was around. 

As if Louis Tomlinson would have a hard time finding someone to fuck? Have you ever read the comments under his Instagram posts?, That came from Paul. Harry tried to avoid reading those comments if he had to be honest. The thirst tweets that his algorithm showed him half the time were already enough. Close-ups of all sweaty Louis during a concert. His blissed-out face while he played a rewarding solo, a face that Harry knew was very similar to the one Louis had when he came. He never told anyone that he sometimes got off while looking at those pictures. 

He’s trying to talk himself out of it like last time, Sally wrote, and she wasn’t wrong. Harry told them that he was going to talk to Louis when they were both in London a few weeks earlier, but then changed his mind. He blamed Louis for it, really, because he had barely given Harry the time to greet Louis in his house. Louis had already dragged him to the living room and pinned him down on the couch. He blabbered about these nipple clamps he bought in the morning, and that made Harry forget about all his resolutions and the serious talk they should’ve had. This was why this time Harry was adamant on doing the talking part before they started to fuck, and Louis would fuck all the determination out of him. 

Harry kept on texting back and forth with his friends for a while, until the bell rang and for a second, Harry thought Louis was there, before remembering about the ice cream order. He left a generous tip for the guy and then put the giant container in the refrigerator. It barely fit in there. Harry might have overdone it, which would’ve been especially troubling if Louis decided to leave. He thought about which one of his friends he could call the next day, eventually, a shoulder to cry on as they ate about two kilos of gelato. 

He picked up his guitar and played for a bit on his bed, his notebook opened next to him, trying to give some sense to some lyrics that he wrote down the day before, chords repeated over and over. He didn’t hate it, which was more than he could say about half the songs he wrote recently. If Louis had stayed, maybe he could’ve asked him what he thought of it. Harry always trusted his judgement. Louis never lied to him, never told him he liked a song Harry wrote if he didn’t actually mean it. 

Harry wasn’t in a rush to release a new album. Between his first and second album, his label had been pressuring him to release a new one almost immediately, afraid that Harry would lose momentum, that his fans would abandon him just as quickly as they started following him. Now he was in a place where he was allowed to rest, not frantically write and record while he was still on tour. Harry barely rested between the release of his first album and the second one, almost as if he had been on tour for the last four years without any pause. And now, after he was going to play festivals all over Europe for the summer, he knew he was going to be off the radar for a while. He was looking forward to that, although still not sure about how he was going to spend that time. A bit at home with his family, for sure. And then, maybe. Well. If Louis was not going to run away tonight. Maybe. Somewhere, on a deserted island together. 

“That’s our plan as well,” Louis told him when Harry shared his plans with him at the beginning of the year. “After the summer, I don’t want to see Zayn’s face for at least a couple of months. As pretty as he is, he’s starting to get on my nerves.” Harry stayed over at Louis’ place that night. He had recently moved in, and there were still boxes lying around, empty shelves ready to be filled. They were going to leave for America soon, and Louis didn’t seem to be in any rush to empty those boxes. They were still there when they came back from South America – it didn’t help that Louis spent most of his free time at Harry’s place. 

“If you want to go back to yours and empty your boxes, I wouldn’t mind helping you,” Harry told him one evening. 

Louis shrugged. “I have better things to do, if I have to be honest,” and he walked towards Harry, kissing him. Harry was going to fly to Rome a few days later, and it seemed like Louis didn’t want to do anything other than be naked in one of the many rooms of Harry’s house. Harry was lucky enough that he didn’t have any work obligations for a while, unlike Louis and the rest of his band, busy with photoshoots and interviews, and so he left town as soon as he could. He also needed a bit of time away from Louis to think things through. Harry thought he was going to have some more time, that he could come back to London when he was finally ready to have that conversation, but then Louis called and said he had a few days off and he would’ve loved to come, that he missed Harry, and Harry could not say no to him. 

Between 11 and midnight, it felt like time stopped. Harry was restless, going back to his balcony and looking down at the piazza, tourists still walking around, taking pictures of the fountain. Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, Harry went out in the middle of the night, and enjoyed walking around the area a bit, taking pictures of buildings and fountains and the churches like a regular tourist, even if by now he didn’t feel like a tourist anymore here. It was his second home. Some of the shop owners he often went to had started calling him with the Italian version of his name, Enrico. He thought, then, that he could show Louis around a bit that night. The other times he came over, they hadn’t left the apartment very often, except when they went out for dinner in some of Harry’s favourite restaurants. 

“E’ il tuo ragazzo?” Is this your boyfriend, the owner of Harry’s favourite trattoria asked him one evening. If there was one thing that Harry had learned about the people around here, it was that they were great at being discreet with not revealing his location, but at the same time they could be terribly noisy and inappropriate. 

“No, no, solo un amico,” he replied, just a friend. The thigh-lipped smile of the man told Harry everything he needed to know. He obviously didn’t believe him, but he didn’t push it any further. Harry was grateful that Louis didn’t understand a single word of the language, as much as Louis often told him that he wanted to learn. 

just landed, Louis finally texted a while later. Harry had moved to his bedroom once again, too cold to stay on the balcony for too long. Gemma had sent him about a thousand voice notes about a guy she had been seeing for a while. She fancied him a lot, Harry could tell from the way she spoke about him, the giddiness in her tone. “I just, you know,” she said towards the end of a ten-minute voice note, “See a future with him, do you know that feeling?” Harry got up from his bed once again and walked outside, because he felt there was a distinct lack of air inside the apartment. He briefly thought about a future with Louis. A future with him in this apartment, their tour breaks thoroughly planned together, a lazy morning, Harry still half asleep and the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen. Homemade pancakes, or maybe freshly baked croissants from the bakery around the corner that Harry loved. 

The loud laugh of someone walking by the piazza took Harry’s attention away from the ridiculous thoughts. There was a bigger chance of Louis running away tonight and Harry waking up alone again the next morning and having to buy those croissants for himself. 

In the past couple of years, he barely ever smoked cigarettes, but right now he desperately craved one, and looked around to see if he had a packet lying around. He found it in the bedroom, probably one that Louis left behind last time he visited. 

Harry had just enough time to smoke it before the doorbell rang. He always had an ashtray on the table, and Harry quickly squished down the butt in there, ran to the door, and pressed the button to open the front door. He waited, then, for Louis to get to the last floor of the building. 

Harry often wore nail polish so he wouldn’t be tempted to bite his nails, but it was all chipped, and he took it off a few days ago, and now his nails were bitten down to the skin because he couldn’t stop picking at them, even now as he waited for Louis to get there. He could hear the noise of the lift humming outside the door, knew exactly how long it took for it to get up there, but today it seemed slower than usual. It was an old, cranky lift after all, it might’ve slowed down with time. 

When the doorbell rang, Harry waited a few seconds, so Louis didn’t notice that he was standing behind the door the whole time. He took a deep breath and opened it. Louis didn’t know it yet, but tonight was going to change everything.  

Louis stood there, with his rucksack on his shoulder, his luggage on the side. He was wearing a t-shirt that Harry got him in New York last year, with a green jacket on top. He looked tired, Harry noticed in the way his smile didn’t fully reach his eyes. Harry smiled back and let him in. He immediately complained about the long day he had, the chaos at Heathrow as he took off his jacket and his shoes. 

“Bloody flight was full,” he complained, “what are all these people doing coming to Rome so late in the middle of the week, I wonder.” Harry smiled, enjoying Louis’ rant, which was a common occurrence anytime they flew commercial. 

As he kept on complaining, Louis made his way to the bedroom without even pretending he wasn’t going to sleep there, which was a thing that used to happen at the beginning. Now, he dropped his rucksack and suitcase on the side of the bed that he knew was his. No one else had slept in that bed other than Louis, and Harry wasn’t sure if Louis knew that. Probably one of the things he might have to mention later. 

Harry leaned against the doorframe, observing Louis as he crouched down and took things out of his suitcase, fresh underwear and a change of clothes. 

He got up and came closer to Harry, a hand casually resting on his waist.

“I’ll take a quick shower and then I’m all yours,” he said, planting a quick kiss on Harry’s lips, and Harry was so close to asking Louis if he could join him before he remembered. No sex before the talk. 

“Of course.” He kissed Louis once again, not sure if he would get to do that again in a few hours. When he pulled back, he studied Louis’ face, his warm smile, and the word future flashed through Harry’s brain once again. It wasn’t easy to kiss Louis once again.  “Do you – would you like to take a walk, maybe? I feel like I haven’t shown you around much.” Louis looked down at the clothes he was holding in his hand. 

“Can I wear these, or do I need to wear proper clothes?” Louis asked, holding up a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms and a black t-shirt. Harry knew that one, because Louis stole it from him last month. Louis tended to do that, even wore some of Harry’s shirts when he was on tour. Harry might’ve stolen a couple of hoodies from him in the past as well. There was a part of the thread that he read earlier that mentioned that. 

“You can wear whatever you like. Even my t-shirt,” Harry replied. Louis rolled his eyes. 

“I will give it back to you if you care about it so much,” he said, pinching Harry’s waist. “Midnight stroll it is, then.” He kissed Harry again, this time lingering a bit more, maybe expecting Harry to say something about joining him in the shower, but Harry didn’t. There was a flicker in Louis’ eyes that Harry thought looked a bit like disappointment. 

Most places were already closed when they went out; the Piazza was now a lot quieter than it was before, Harry’s thoughts so loud in his brain they trampled over the noise of the fountain in the middle of it. 

“Are we going anywhere specific?” Louis asked. They were walking close to each other, and Harry tried to ignore the way he felt anytime their hands touched, as brief as it was. 

“Not really,” Harry replied. He liked to look at Louis, the wonder on his face at every turn. Harry was afraid he had lost that spark a bit, with all the times he came here. He knew all the streets in this area by heart, everything so familiar by now.  

“I’m surprised by how well you know your way around here now,” Louis commented, almost reading his mind, when they turned and the Pantheon appeared right in front of them. 

“It’s because I’m always in the same area,” Harry said, taking a picture of the piazza, as if he hadn’t been here a thousand times already. Then he snapped one of Louis, and cursed himself for forgetting to bring his camera. Harry had brought his analogue camera with him so he could finally take the last few pictures on the roll, so he could develop it, but he forgot it at home. There were a few pictures from South America there, pictures of Louis in Rio and in Buenos Aires. It was probably just pictures of Louis, now that he thought about it. 

“I look awful tonight,” Louis complained, his eyes fixed on the building, as he took a few pictures himself. 

“You never look awful,” Harry said, voice low, almost embarrassed to admit it. 

He could see Louis turn to him for a second, a smile on his face, but then he scoffed, putting his phone back in his pocket. A group of teenagers ran past them, all screaming and laughing, most likely drunk. 

“You’re a terrible guide, by the way, you’re not telling me a single thing about the things we’re seeing,” Louis said, when they went down another street that during the day was always so busy with shops, but now was eerily quiet. 

“Sorry, just a lot on my mind,” Harry muttered. 

Louis nodded, although Harry wasn’t sure that Louis knew what he meant. Louis had his hands in his pockets now, and Harry was desperate for their hands to touch again. 

They walked to one of Harry’s favourite spots, the ancient ruins where they thought Julius Caesar was murdered. This time, he made the effort to explain what they were seeing. Louis took out his phone again and took some more pictures. There were a lot of cats roaming around, unaware of the historical significance of the place they were living in. 

“There are volunteers taking care of the cats,” Harry explained. “I leave donations anytime I’m here.” 

“Of course you do.” Louis was teasing, but his voice was warm, almost fond. The cats barely ventured outside of the archaeological area, but late at night and early in the mornings, some of them felt braver and walked up to the sidewalk. That night, Harry and Louis were lucky enough to meet an orange cat, who meowed loudly at them, before rubbing himself against both their legs. They stayed there for a while, both crouched down to pet the cat, who purred loudly at them. Harry took a video of Louis doing silly voices, as the cat rolled down on the asphalt and showed them his belly. 

“Can we steal him?” Louis asked, looking up at Harry, who stopped the video, just in case the cat police might get hold of it. 

“You can adopt them,” Harry replied. “I thought about getting one, but I’m always travelling, you know.” Louis hummed in response, and the cat suddenly turned back up and walked back down the stairs, away from them. 

Harry had no actual plans for where to go tonight. He wasn’t even planning on going out, really, but in the end he decided to be a bit clichè, maybe, and walk towards the Colosseum. 

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Louis said. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah,” Harry lied. “Just, you know, with the tour starting again soon and everything. I’m sorry, I’m not exactly the best company tonight.” The truth was, he didn’t know how to start talking about their relationship. It was years and years of buried feelings, and unearthing them all at once was not an easy feat. Louis probably didn’t buy Harry’s answer, but didn’t press it, and looked straight ahead at the Colosseum. 

Harry suddenly remembered one night, last Autumn, when they were both drunk in the back of a taxi, and the Colosseum came into view, and they both stopped giggling about whatever stupid thing they were giggling about to look at it, Harry trying to take a video which came out all blurred, but that he had still saved on his phone. You couldn’t see anything in the video, but Harry kept it because you could hear Louis’ laugh. The driver thankfully didn’t know who they were and even commented in Italian about dumb, rich American tourists before he dropped them off. Harry was more offended about being called American than being called dumb. 

Tonight, though, they weren’t in a taxi nor drunk, so they stopped in front of the Colosseum and took pictures of each other, feeling like normal tourists for once. 

“The label is complaining that I don’t post enough,” Louis said, as he looked through all the pictures that Harry took of him. They also took a couple of the two of them, which Harry hoped were not going to be the last pictures they ever took together. “So I might do a Rome post once we’re back in London.” 

“So everyone will know that you were here with me,” Harry pointed out. He didn’t mind it. Their friendship wasn’t a secret, but there was so much speculation online by now, and Harry wasn’t sure where Louis stood about it. Louis looked up from his phone then and frowned.

“Do you mind if people know about us spending time together?” Louis asked. 

“I really don’t,” Harry replied without missing a beat. That was the right time, he knew, to start talking about it. “What about you?” 

“I don’t either, so. I’m making that post next week,” Louis replied. “Or maybe I should start posting more thirst traps, as Zayn often does.” 

“‘m not sure you should,” Harry murmured, looking down at his shoes. He was wearing his favourite pair of Adidas, some black Gazelles that he bought years ago with the first money he made with his first single, and despite them being so worn down and dirty, Harry couldn’t separate himself from them. They held too many memories. He was sentimental like that. “Or do. You know. Whatever makes you comfortable. Don’t do it just because of the label pressuring you.” No label was perfect, Harry knew, he also had to fight a bit with his to protect his image, as much as a public person could. Harry barely posted his face, unless it was a picture from one of the tour dates. He mostly posted artistic shots from his trips, which Louis relentlessly made fun of. 

“They’re not pressuring me about posting thirst traps, I promise. Zayn does it of his own volition.” That made Harry laugh, because he didn’t have a hard time imagining that. Louis started talking about the photoshoot they did that morning, effectively moving the conversation away from the main topic. Harry had lost his chance to speak. 

There was a final place that Harry wanted to take Louis to tonight before heading home, and it was a bit of a longer walk, so maybe he would find the courage on the way there. They talked a bit about work, photoshoots and magazine covers and interviews. It was crazy that they had both done Rolling Stone. It felt like one of those things you talked about as a joke, as something that only happened to other people you knew but never to yourself. They had both done other magazine covers, but that one seemed like a huge milestone. The conversation died down again as they started walking through some more narrow streets. Harry wasn't completely sure of where they were, but he was positive they were headed in the right direction. He didn't want to take out his phone and open the Maps app to admit his defeat just yet. He wanted to seem confident and sure of his sense of direction in front of Louis. In the end, they probably had taken a longer route, which Harry didn't mind because he saw streets he had never walked past before. Anytime he left the neighbourhood his flat was in, there was always something new to discover. Every new alley in Rome surprised him, and that was one of the things he loved the most about this city. It never ceased to amaze him, never bore him after years. Louis seemed equally fascinated by it all. 

The look on Louis’ face when they walked down a street and the Trevi fountain appeared in front of them was priceless. Harry was glad he didn't tell him where they were going. The middle of the night was the only time when you could actually enjoy it. A few tourists were there, throwing coins into the fountain while they took a video of it. The fountain was full of them, and Harry realised just then that he had left his wallet at home. He had left his whole brain back home, really. Luckily, Louis didn't forget and took out a couple of coins from his wallet. 

“I don't even know where they're from,” he said, passing one coin to Harry, who studied it. 

“Brazil? Don't you want to keep it?” He asked, just in case. Harry would’ve kept them, a memory from their holiday in Rio. Louis shrugged. He didn't seem to care that much. 

“I'm sure we'll go back soon,” he replied, smiling. “Should we do this together?” 

Harry nodded. They turned their backs to the fountain. Louis counted them down from three, and then they threw the coins at the same time. The wish couldn’t be too articulated, just a few seconds to think before the coin dropped into the water. Harry wished for Louis to feel the same way Harry did. 

He chose a slightly different path to get back home, so they wouldn't walk past the Pantheon again. He was back in his territory, back to the familiar streets he didn’t need a map for. Harry felt more at ease now, knowing that there was no chance he could get lost here. 

“There's actually something I wanted to talk to you about,” he started to say, and his voice echoed loudly in the empty alley they were walking in. He wasn't talking that loud, he knew. He just felt so exposed, the walls of the buildings on either side of the street closing down on him. 

“Oh. What about?” Louis asked. Harry wondered if Louis could hear his heart thumping in his chest, but they weren't close enough for it. Out of nowhere, he thought of all that gelato in the freezer back home. 

They walked past a bar that was closing just then, the girl who had just pulled down the shutter looked at them curiously, but she didn't say a word and walked away. Harry didn't know how long they had walked around; if bars were closing, it meant that it was truly late. It felt like a lifetime and at the same time not more than ten minutes, like it often happened when he was with Louis. Time simultaneously stopped and went by too quickly. 

“About –” the words seemed to get stuck in his throat. “About what we're doing.” 

“About what we're doing,” Louis repeated. “That clears it all, thanks mate.” Harry came closer to him and shoved him. If he didn't know any better, he thought that Louis’ voice sounded nervous even while he was teasing. It was usually like second nature to them, and yet it came out all wrong tonight. Harry focused on the sound of their steps for a while, almost a musical rhythm. They were walking in sync. He didn’t know if it meant anything or if they had just been doing things together for too long at this point. The silence stretched, but Louis didn’t say anything, not even one of his sarcastic remarks to break the tension like he did most of the time. 

“Have you been on any dates lately? Seeing anyone?” Harry didn’t know why he asked that. Maybe he should’ve stopped talking. He was so great at putting his emotions into his songs, but when it came to having actual conversations, Harry was an awkward mess. Maybe he should’ve waited to be home and sing a song to Louis; that would’ve been a lot easier. 

“No, I haven’t,” Louis replied, and then stopped in his tracks. Harry stopped right in front of him. “Wait. Is this why you’re so weird tonight? Are you – are you seeing someone?” He asked, trying to keep his voice low. God, they really should’ve had this conversation at home. What was Harry thinking? It was so easy to forget who they were in the middle of the night, when the streets were deserted and they weren’t constantly stopped for a quick chat or a picture, but there was still a small chance someone might’ve overheard them.  It would’ve been hilarious if someone did and they found themselves on the Sun the next morning, a headline like Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson SCREAMING AT EACH OTHER in the middle of the night in CENTRAL ROME. Certainly a way for them to get some publicity before the summer tour started, even though most of the festivals they were playing had been sold out for months. 

Louis was looking expectantly at him, his hands in his pocket, frowning. 

“Am I - No, Louis, I’m not seeing someone else,” Harry finally replied. “Why would I – let you come here if I was seeing someone else?” It was hard to keep his voice down. 

“I don’t know!” Louis sighed. He had a habit of fixing his fringe anytime he was nervous, which he did at that moment. “Are we far from home? I really don’t think we should be having this conversation in the middle of the street.” 

“We’re not,” Harry replied, voice breaking. “Only a five-minute walk.” Louis nodded, and so they started walking again, not uttering a single word. It took them even less than five minutes to get to Harry’s front door, both of them obviously in a hurry to resume their conversation. It was a good thing they stopped talking because a group of teenagers walked past them and obviously recognised them, as they were trying to keep their giggles to a minimum before they turned onto another street, and then both of them could hear them mentioning their names. Harry was grateful that none of them took any pictures or videos, at least. 

Even in the lift, they didn’t say a word, just exchanged nervous looks. Harry wanted to reach out and take Louis’s hand in his. They barely touched when they were home, and they kept their distance outside, and now he was desperate to feel Louis’ skin on his. But he stayed still, tried to keep his distance as much as he could in that tiny elevator. 

“So you’re not seeing anyone else,” Louis said, once they were inside the flat, not missing a beat, finally free to use a normal tone of voice. They took their shoes off as they talked. Harry then put his jacket on the coat rack, and Louis followed suit, like some sort of dance. 

“And you’re not either.” Harry didn’t know why he was looking for yet another confirmation about it. 

“Glad we cleared that up.” Louis’ tone was not as cutting as it might’ve been most of the time. He fixed his fringe once again. 

“Do you want some tea?” Harry asked, trying to buy himself some more time. 

“Not before you tell me what the fuck is going on, Harry,” Louis saying no to tea was definitely a first. 

“Okay, um. Can we at least sit on the couch?” Louis nodded, and they moved to the living room. Last time Louis was here, they pretended to watch a movie on Netflix but instead got each other off on the couch. Now, though, they sat with a bit of distance between them, facing each other. 

“I’ve wanted to talk to you about this for a while. Like, in Brazil. Or even before that, really. But, um. Yeah. I just – fully realised this when we were in Rio.” Harry looked down at his hands folded over his lap. He was wearing an oversized sweater, the sleeves long enough to cover his hands, only the tips of his fingers peeking out. “I don’t think I want this anymore,” he added. Harry should’ve written something down. Improvisation seemed to be one of his strong suits when it came to his concerts, not so much when it came to his own feelings, apparently. He immediately looked up at Louis, who was frowning but wasn’t saying anything, his lips pursed. “Shit. No. That came out all wrong. I meant – ” he shifted a bit closer to Louis, who didn’t move an inch. He looked at Harry, jaw clenched. His blue eyes felt like ice cutting through Harry’s whole body.

“If you made me come all the way here to tell me that you’re tired of me or something, Styles, I swear to God, I –”, Louis stammered. 

“No, no. I don’t think I could ever get tired of you, is the thing. That’s the whole problem. Not a problem. But, like. I thought about it a lot and realised this isn’t enough. I don’t want this to be casual.” Louis’ features softened, although he wasn’t smiling yet. The words were finally tumbling out of Harry. He was finally saying this out loud. His heart was racing the same way it did the first time he played a concert in an arena. “I’ve been lying to myself this whole time because I was kind of scared that you wouldn’t want me, or just, you know, with the lives we lead, it is a bit hard to have a stable relationship. I get it. We see our friends struggling with that all the time. But I really want that. With you. If you want that. But I also, like. I would understand if you don’t.” Louis was finally smiling, his body visibly relaxing. “Sex with you is great. But the rest is also great. I love talking with you and making stupid jokes with you. I love talking about music with you and writing songs with you. And I'm just tired of pretending that I don't want it all. With you. And –”

“Oh my god, will you stop talking? Jesus,” Louis interrupted him, and then lurched forward, and kissed Harry with a bit too much enthusiasm, making him fall backwards, his back hitting the couch. Louis’s hands were all over Harry's face, and Louis looked at him as if he was truly seeing Harry for the first time. “I was so scared you didn't want this,” Louis whispered, as he traced the lines of Harry's lips with his fingers before he leaned down and kissed him again. “I thought you –” Louis sighed, moving a strand of hair away from Harry’s face. “You just. You could have anyone, Harry.” 

Harry smiled and shook his head. “But I just want you, Louis,” he whispered, afraid that raising his voice would break the spell. Louis kissed him again. “Just you,” Harry repeated, the words spoken against Louis’ lips. 

Harry trailed his hands up and down Louis’s back, his fingers pressing into his skin as if he was terrified that he might slip away.  But Louis didn’t slip away, and kept on kissing Harry, his hands trailing down his body, slowly, relearning every curve, and Harry shivered at every touch, even though they were still both wearing all their clothes. Every caress was a promise to each other. A promise not to let each other go. 

They agreed to move to the bed not long after, clothes scattered around the corridor before they reached the bedroom. They’d done this for years, and yet that night everything felt different about it. Harry could obviously not remember every single time they fucked through the years, but he would remember this night for the rest of his life, that he was sure of. They had always taken care of each other, no matter if it was a night they could take it slow or if they were in a dressing room when they had to hurry before other people would show up. But that night, the air was filled with promises, words whispered while Louis opened him up. Words they had never dared to whisper to each other before. I want to be with you, Harry said, as Louis’ fingers filled him up, like I never wanted anything else in my life. This whole night was going to be a song one day. A whole album, really, Harry thought, as Louis finally got inside of him, Harry’s legs wrapped around his middle. He could finally confess how much he missed Louis all the time they were not together. It felt amazing to let it all go, to not have to pretend anymore, to know that Louis felt the same. 

They never cuddled much at the beginning, after they had sex. Louis would often get out of bed right after and smoke a cigarette with the window open. They would talk a lot, but often kept a safe distance. If they were sleeping in the same hotel, one of them would leave at some point. They started sleeping together only recently, and sometimes Harry would wake up with Louis’ arms around him. They never spoke about it. There was so much they hadn’t talked about yet, but for tonight it was enough. 

That night, Louis’ arms were immediately wrapped around him, Harry giggling against his chest, Louis kissing the top of his head. 

“I got ice cream,” Harry said after a while, only now remembering his order. It seemed to belong to a whole different lifetime. “From that place you liked last time.” 

“And you’re just telling me now.” Louis feigned annoyance.  

“You had to earn it,” Harry explained. “Sex was adequate enough for you to have gelato.” Louis snorted. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to see you ever again,” he said, but held Harry even tighter then, denying his own words with his actions. 

They decided to eat the ice cream in bed, with no clothes on, their legs tangled. Harry had just changed the sheets, but there was a good chance he would have to change them again soon. 

“I’m glad we’re playing almost the same festivals all summer,” Harry said, as he stole a bit of chocolate ice cream from Louis’ bowl. He wasn’t a big fan of chocolate ice cream, but he liked to annoy Louis. Harry wrinkled his nose after he ate it, and Louis leaned in to kiss it. He liked chocolate in all its forms, but somehow he couldn’t find the joy in eating it as ice cream. 

“About that,” Louis started to say, his mouth full. “I might have something to do with it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I kind of – you know.” He waved his spoon around to convey a concept that Harry wasn’t fully grasping. Louis caught Harry’s confusion and explained further. “Asked our poor managers to have a similar schedule to yours. The lads were not particularly happy about it, even though in the end we would’ve probably played the same festivals anyway, even if I hadn’t asked. So I made a fool out of myself for nothing, really.” 

“You moved your schedule around for me?” 

“Yeah, Harry, I did. I thought it was obvious. And Zayn kept making jokes about it, so I thought you –” Louis shook his head. “I can’t believe you were there on the couch earlier, going on about me not wanting you.” 

“You didn’t exactly tell me what you wanted, did you?” Harry pointed out before eating some more of his banana ice cream. It was his favourite flavour, which he knew wasn't a very popular choice. Whatever. He loved it. 

“I know, okay? But I told you I was scared. We were both kind of stupid this whole time.” Harry’s bowl of gelato was now empty, and he left it on his nightstand, so he could scoot closer to Louis, leaning into him. They only had a handful of days to spend together before going back to London. Back to London and to work obligations. 

“We kind of were,” Harry agreed before kissing Louis, licking his upper lip to get off the ice cream moustache he had there. “We’re pushing thirty, and you still get dirty when you eat ice cream,” he teased Louis.

“We’re not even remotely pushing thirty.” Harry rolled his eyes. They were twenty-eight, of course, they were pushing thirty, but Louis couldn’t admit it. Harry kissed him again, nonetheless. 

Harry woke up the next morning alone in bed and panicked for a second before he heard noises coming from the kitchen. He decided to linger in bed a while longer, checking all the messages that he hadn’t looked at ever since Louis arrived, informing his friends' group chat that everything had gone well. He also replied to a few texts from his family, and then opened Twitter. Everyone was freaking out about rumours of the two of them being in Rome together. There were no pictures, thankfully, so many people were sure that it was a lie, but a lot of them were posting a series of keysmashes followed by gifs. 

“What are you laughing at?” Harry was so deep into his Twitter feed that he didn’t even realise that Louis was at the door, leaning against the doorframe. He was wearing the same tracksuit bottoms he had on last night, and a t-shirt he stole from Harry just now, merch from his previous tour. 

“People on Twitter are freaking out about us being in Rome together,” Harry explained simply, and then took a better look at Louis. He was so hot, and now he was all Harry’s. No one else’s. “You shouldn’t be wearing all those clothes, by the way.” 

“And why’s that?” 

“House rules. No clothes allowed inside for the rest of your stay.” 

“Is that a rule you enforce on every single person that comes here?” Louis cocked his head to the side. 

“Of course not,” Harry replied. “Just you.” Louis seemed to like the answer and threw the t-shirt he was wearing at him. 

“You can take the rest off yourself once you eat the breakfast I just cooked for you,” he said. Harry was out of bed at the speed of light, phone forgotten between the sheets. 

They ate breakfast on the balcony, scrambled eggs and toast and strawberries. Louis kept looking at Harry, eyes squinting because of the sun. It was starting to get quite warm, even if it wasn’t June yet. 

“Have I ever told you of the first time I saw you play?” Louis said, before he popped a strawberry in his mouth. The juice dribbled down his chin, and Harry was unsure if he wanted to make fun of him because he was such a messy eater or come closer to him so he could lick it off. 

“It was one of those open mic nights, right? And we spoke right after. Niall came over to me and said I was a talented motherfucker,” Harry recalled, scooting his chair closer to Louis’ and licking the strawberry’s juice off of his chin. Louis pretended to be disgusted by it and moved his head away, a playful smile on his face. 

“They all made fun of me because I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. So they all told me that I should’ve talked to you, but Niall went ahead because I couldn’t do it.” Harry put his legs up on Louis’ lap, then, waiting for him to continue talking. “I told Zayn that you were like, the most talented musician I’ve ever seen. And there was no chance you were ever going to notice me.” Louis started to stroke his legs, and Harry observed him as he drank his coffee, the mug clutched in his hands. 

“You have this tendency of being so wrong about yourself, like, most of the time,” Harry said as he put the mug down on the table. “Even to this day. When you thought your second record would flop, even after I told you a thousand times it was one of the best things I’ve ever listened to.” 

“And you were reading all the bad reviews after your first record came out and cried about your career not going anywhere, even though you were surrounded by people who told you it wasn’t true,” Louis pointed out. The memory made Harry shudder. He was home alone, reading through the reviews with a bottle of wine next to him, and then he called Louis on the verge of tears because most of them were barely over a six. Even before they started sleeping together, Harry didn’t trust many people the way he trusted Louis, calling him in the middle of the night anytime he had doubts about where his career was headed, or when he made the mistake of looking for his name online. He stopped doing that now, or at least Harry learned to filter out the bad comments. 

“Okay, fair. We’re both very bad at judging ourselves, then.” 

Louis took a strawberry from the bowl and brought it to Harry’s mouth, who let himself be fed. Harry knew life couldn’t always be like this; they were often on the road, often working, travelling from city to city, late nights and early mornings, but he tried not to think too far ahead, enjoying every single second of these days off with Louis. 

Louis moved his hands to Harry’s face, bringing him closer to kiss him, both their lips tasting like strawberries with an undertaste of coffee. Harry would always think back on the first day of their actual relationship and think about these flavours, the sun warm on their skin, the air smelling like Spring, a smell that he couldn’t quite describe, but it was so specific to Rome in his mind. Strawberries, coffee, eggs and Louis. 

They barely left the flat for the next couple of days, ordering food for every meal and barely wearing any clothes except when they had to collect their food, that is. 

Harry had recently found his mum’s old Polaroid camera, and he brought it with him to Rome. He planned to take photos of the town that he could put on the fridge, maybe bring some back to London, but instead, all the pictures were taken inside the flat. Louis, naked, playing the guitar on the bed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. A close-up of Harry’s face as he woke up, one eye half closed, the rest of his face barely visible, covered by his hair. He had let it grow longer these past couple of years. He was not going to leave the pictures hanging on the fridge, but he gave some to Louis, and the others he hid in his journal, and decided he was going to bring them with him on tour. 

There was one they tried to take while they kissed, but it came out all blurred, their faces paler than they actually were because of the flash. Despite that, it was Harry’s favourite Polaroid. 

“We should go out for dinner,” Harry said one afternoon, after they had barely left the bed all morning, only slightly aware of what time it was because of the light filtering through the curtains. Louis had just made his way back to bed after going to the bathroom, and just as he walked back in there, Harry had realised how many hickeys he had left on Louis’ body. He probably had just as many. They were like two ravenous teenagers except that they were, well, close to their thirties now, as much as Louis didn’t like to admit it. 

Louis kissed Harry and agreed to it. Harry knew a sushi restaurant he had gone to with some friends before; he wasn’t sure that they would get a table for tonight, but he made a few phone calls. Louis stared at him in awe. 

“You just didn’t do that whole phone call in Italian,” he said when Harry hung up. He had somehow secured a table. Talking in Italian was not a smart choice on the phone, because he didn’t understand every single word, and he wasn’t sure he got the time right. But the truth was that he did want to impress Louis. Harry acted as if he were no big deal. 

Luckily, he got the time right, and they were welcomed and brought to a private room like Harry had asked. They got some white wine to start, and then their waitress left them alone to read through the menu. When she got back and took their orders, Harry could see a smile spreading on her lips, betraying her professionalism for a bit. 

“Parli molto bene in italiano, complimenti,” she said, complimenting Harry on his Italian. She added that she was going to come see both Harry and Louis’ band in Barcelona at the beginning of June, and she was so excited. 

Harry thanked her, and then she added in English that they were going to get their first course very soon. 

“I’ll have to start learning Italian,” Louis complained. “What did she say? Is she a fan?” 

“Yeah, she said she’s coming to Barcelona. To see us both,” Harry explained. “I can give you some lessons. If you get a sentence right, I can reward you.” Harry drank some of his wine, never breaking eye contact. 

“Sounds fun. What did you have in mind?” Louis asked, taking a sip as well, his foot touching Harry’s leg under the table. Harry leaned into the touch, moving his legs closer to Louis’ side of the table. 

“I’ll show you later when we’re back home,” Harry replied, a smirk, as he put down his glass on the table. He had a few words in mind that he could teach Louis that night. 

In their last few days in Rome, Harry took his job as Italian teacher seriously. He made flash cards, with drawings on the side - amore, love, with hearts all over. Cuore, heart,  with the same drawing, which Harry realised too late might not be very effective. Casa, home, with a stylised drawing of a house and two stick figures on the side, representing the two of them. 

He questioned Louis in the night, as they walked around town again, except that this time Harry took him to the Vatican. He knew it was a bit risky, but kissed Louis on the bridge that they had to cross in order to get there, and found that even if they got caught by some fans, he truly didn’t care. Louis seemed to agree, if the way he kissed Harry back was any indication. But no one walked past them, and they stayed there for a while longer, holding onto each other. The only sound was that of the river flowing under the bridge. 

“It is a bit annoying how beautiful this place is,” Louis said as he took a picture of Saint Peter’s Basilica. “Considering that a lot of these people want us to be burned at the stake.” 

“Homophobes but with a great taste in buildings and paintings, the catholics,” Harry agreed. That made them laugh, their laughter echoing in the gallery facing the church, a whole town asleep except for Harry and Louis. 

On their last day in Rome, neither of them seemed to be able to leave the bed. They were going back to London together; it wasn't like they weren't going to see each other at every chance they got, but it was going to be different. They had work obligations, their tour to rehearse, and other people to see. Regrettably, there was a whole world outside of that flat that was demanding their presence. And so, for now, they stayed in bed, even if they kept complaining that they needed coffee; neither of them was doing anything about it. 

“Can I tell you something?” Louis said at some point, his lips on Harry's neck, his hands trailing up and down his back. If he kept going with it for a while longer, Harry was going to get hard again, but he figured that had been Louis’ plan all along. Who cared about coffee anyway? 

“Mmh,” Harry murmured. “You can tell me everything.” And it was about time they did. No more half-truths, no more repressed feelings. Louis moved his head up, his lips now grazing Harry’s cheek, and then he moved back a bit, facing him. 

“Okay, I used Google Translate, so I'm not sure it's right, and also, forgive my pronunciation,” Louis said, and Harry truly had no bloody idea where he was going with this. “So, um. Io – wait, shit. I forgot it already. Io sono il tuo ragazzo. Is that correct? ” 

“You’re my boyfriend? That’s news to me.” Louis slapped his arse, which Harry wasn't sure was supposed to be punishment or just a way to turn him on even faster. 

“I hate you,” Louis said, although the way he held onto Harry betrayed his words. “Had to hear that robotic voice on Google a thousand times last night when you were in the bathroom.” 

“That’s so sweet,” Harry said, humouring him a bit. Louis was trying to look offended, and so Harry kissed the crease between his eyebrows. “It’s actually - really cool to hear you say that. Whatever language you want to say that in. You’re my boyfriend in every single language in the world.” 

“I am?” Louis’ features softened. Harry nodded and kissed Louis, his boyfriend. His boyfriend. He could not believe this was real, that his Trevi Fountain wish had become true. 

“Mio,” Harry whispered into his ear. “Mine,” he repeated in English. 

Their hearts beat loud in their chests, louder than the sound of the city that was waking up outside. 

Chapter Text

can't wait for you to be here, Harry texted Louis as he was about to board his plane, followed by a picture of his balcony, a tea mug on the table. Louis was a bit spooked by the timing, because technically, Harry didn't know that Louis was about to be there in a few hours. He had recently started a record label, and one of the first bands he signed was recording, so he wanted to be in the studio with them, and that wasn't a lie. Louis only lied about the day they would be done with the recording. He had spent the last three days holed up in a studio, and for once it was nice to be on the other side, to help young people achieve their dreams. And Louis loved every second of this new venture he decided to undertake, even if his bandmates were already on holiday, sending him pictures from pristine beaches all around the world. After the festival run they had for the summer, they all deserved a break. Louis didn't know if it was because he was getting older, but it had been more exhausting than being on a regular tour for some reason. Playing Glastonbury was a dream come true, not to mention closing the season with Leeds, where he had gone so many times before as a kid with his friends. It was one of the most emotional times in Louis’ life and also one of the most tiring. And instead of immediately going on holiday like every sane person would’ve done, Louis ended up working some more. Harry told him he was a bit insane when they both were in London the week before, and Louis didn’t know where he found the strength to leave his boyfriend (his boyfriend) in bed, right after Harry had made a convincing argument of not leaving with a life-changing morning blow job that Louis spent the rest of the day thinking about. It didn’t help that Harry kept on sending him pictures of himself naked around the house, no matter how many times Louis told him he was working.

Then Harry had to leave for Rome because one of his closest friends was turning thirty, and so Louis had spent the last few days alone in London. Not that he didn’t mind it, the recording sessions kept him busy for hours, and at least his older sisters, Lottie and Fizzy, had both moved to London recently and came over for dinner a few times, claiming that they only got to see him now when Harry was not around. It wasn’t untrue, it was the thing. They managed to see each other often during the summer, since they played almost all the same festivals, but it never felt enough. They shut down from the rest of the world anytime they had a few days off, and Louis knew they had to find a balance. The honeymoon phase couldn’t last forever, and he knew his sisters were not mad at him for it. They both knew how long Louis had pined for Harry, how long he wanted something real with him. All the times he cried to them, saying that obviously Harry didn’t love him the way Louis loved him. And then came that one night in Rome that changed everything. And even now, after months, Louis’ heart beats faster when he thinks about the look on Harry’s face when he confessed his feelings, and how Louis had launched himself at him. Long days spent in Harry’s flat, the world outside forgotten. And now, in about three hours, they were going to do that once again. And then, after a few days in Rome, they were going on a proper holiday, the first one as a couple. 

They had rented a secluded villa with a private beach somewhere, a couple of hours away from Rome, a place Harry loved. Louis had joked that Harry didn't seem to be able to go anywhere further than that, almost as if he was attached at the umbilical cord with that town. Louis could not believe that they organised things together now, without having to pretend that them being at the same place at the same time was just pure luck. There was one time when they were both at the Milan fashion week and were also very much casually put in the same hotel. It was not like Louis had asked his assistant to find out where Harry was staying and book a room in the same place. A room that turned out to be useless, because of course Louis spent that night in Harry’s room, both of them drunk after coming back from an afterparty. There were so many instances of that, but that night struck Louis as something special because the party was full of people, of course it was, and the two of them barely interacted, and yet something always pulled them back together.  Like the moon with the tides, two magnets always find their way back to each other.  

can't wait to be there xx heading back into the studio now so sorry if won't reply for a bit, he texted Harry back. He hated lying to him, but it was for a good reason. 

Louis fell asleep almost as soon as he fastened his seat belt, headphones on just in case someone might recognise him and wanted to have a chat. He played the playlist that Harry made for him the other day, they were sappy like this now. Making each other playlists. Louis was thinking about getting a tape recorder to make a mixtape for Harry, old style, like he used to do when he was a kid. He was barely thirty and already talking like an old man who missed the “simpler times”. 

He woke up as the plane was landing, a Hozier song playing in his ears. He sent a text to the family group chat, like he always did anytime he landed. enjoy your time off with your boy, his mum replied immediately. gross, Fizzy wrote next, love sucks. 

He called Harry when he finally got into his car, and even though it had been months now, Louis didn't think he could ever get used to the way Harry replied to him on the phone, how he used that soft tone of voice that he reserved for him only. Louis didn't know how he got so lucky. The whole world wanted Harry Styles, and Harry only wanted him. Louis Tomlinson, of all people. 

“Hi, babe,” Harry replied. They called each other pet names all the time now. Louis smiled, wondering when the novelty was going to wear off. “What should I get for dinner?” He asked. 

“Chinese? I'd love to have Chinese. Remember the one we got the last time? I loved their lemon chicken.” Harry laughed, obviously thinking Louis was just taking the piss. They’ve had a discussion about the serious lack of International restaurants in Rome, although it seemed that Chinese and Japanese restaurants were on every corner. They joked about wanting to try them all, and when Harry pointed out that it would’ve taken a lifetime, Louis said that he was on board for it. A lifetime together. That was what he was aiming for. 

“That's a good idea, I haven't had that since the last time we were here. I'm going to ship it to you then,” Harry said, completely oblivious still. 

“There won't be any need for you to do that, actually.” He smiled to himself, bracing himself for Harry’s reaction. “I'll be there in about – thirty minutes?”

“What do you mean, thirty minutes? Where are you?” 

“I’m in a car right now,” Louis explained. “Just got off a flight.” 

“You’re serious,” Harry’s voice quivered. 

“Dead serious, love.” Louis knew how much Harry loved being called love, and he could picture his face right now.

“Louis. Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry sighed, and Louis could hear his pout over the phone. 

“That’s the whole point of a surprise,” Louis pointed out. 

“I know, but, like. If I knew you were coming, I wouldn't have jerked off in the shower like half an hour ago.” A bloody menace, that was what Harry Styles was. Louis groaned. He couldn’t do this when he was in a car with a stranger who could hear everything he said. 

“I’m in a car, Harry, which I’m not driving myself.” 

“I know,” Harry chuckled. “I thought of you, by the way. You know that thing you do with your tongue when you eat my –” 

“Harry,” Louis interrupted him, voice strained. “Jesus. Half an hour and I’m there. And I’ll –” he lowered his voice. “I will do everything you want me to do with my tongue.” 

“That’s my boy,” Harry said casually, as if he hadn’t just made Louis hard in his pants with a single sentence. “Text me your order for dinner, okay? I can't wait to kiss your stupid face.” Louis could not wait either. It was a good thing Italian drivers didn’t seem to have a care in the world about speed limits. 

And they did kiss, as soon as Harry opened the door, like they hadn’t seen each other in a year, even if it was barely a week. It had been like that all summer; sometimes they had to be away from each other, and every single time they would reunite, they acted as if it had been ages since they last saw each other. They were ridiculous, Louis knew it. But he didn’t care, really, not when Harry had his arms wrapped around him, kissing for ages in the entryway because they couldn’t wait a second longer. There was a song in there somewhere, Louis knew, waiting to spring out of him any day now. Louis was also aware that his bandmates were going to have the best time teasing him about it, but the truth was that they were jealous. He knew that they all wanted a love like theirs. Louis was going to write the sappiest, most romantic songs ever known to humankind and maybe even call one Harry, so the whole world would know. He wanted the whole world to know. For that night, though, there were no lyrics in his head, just Harryharryharry and his mouth and his hands all over Louis. 

It took Louis so long to realise the reason why every relationship he had before wasn’t good enough; he was looking for Harry in every single one of these people. It should’ve been obvious, with the way both of them kept on coming back to each other year after year, failed relationship after failed relationship. Louis could not believe how long it took them to stop lying to themselves. It took them long enough, but they finally found a home in each other’s arms. 

Their dinner got there not long after – too early, Louis protested. He didn’t care for food when he could eat Harry instead. Harry rolled his eyes at his terrible joke; he often did.  They ate the food on the balcony, because last time they made a mess when they ate it on the couch. Louis had pointed out that they had stained that couch in a lot of other ways, so what was a bit of grease, really, and Harry poked his arm with a chopstick. That night, though, Louis didn’t feel like having this conversation again, so he accepted Harry’s proposal of eating outside. Rome was still quite hot in September, and they had to relish the last few days of summer. 

Even if they both published two albums and had several number one hits on the charts, Louis didn't think he would ever get used to this. To them, actually having money, owning houses around the world. Harry owned a penthouse in central Rome. Every time they were invited to posh parties or to some event, Louis felt he was there by mistake, almost out of place at every function. He didn't feel out of place in Harry's flat, not quite, but sometimes he had to remind himself that it was his and they weren't in a bed and breakfast they had to check out of. This was all Harry’s. 

At the same time, though, they were drinking beers that were probably less than a euro each at the supermarket, they had never truly left their old selves behind. When they clinked their bottles to cheer on the beginning of their holidays, it felt a bit like being back in a pub in Manchester, with their dreams so much bigger than them still, but already with that determination in their eyes that brought them where they were now. 

“Can't believe you ruined all my plans,” Harry said, mouth half full of noodles. 

“What plans?”

“I invited my Italian boyfriend over, but had to cancel last minute because you got here,” Harry explained with the most serious face ever. Louis knew him well enough by now to recognise Harry’s deadpan humour, but that didn't mean that it didn't annoy him at times. 

“Ha ha,” Louis said, as he kicked Harry’s shin under the table, before he froze for a second, his chopsticks mid-air. “Wait. Did you actually have an Italian boyfriend?”

“Like, before we got together, you mean?” Harry asked, and Louis nodded. “I didn’t, no. You’ve always been the only one who disrupted my peace here.” 

“God, you're so romantic.” They both tended to hide their feelings through layers of sarcasm, which was also why it took them so long to get where they were now. It was always I don't want you here, when they really wanted the other to be there. Always you're decent in bed, when what they meant was you're the best fuck of my life. Always I hate you and never that scary L word. So much so that after a few months, they hadn't said it yet. They were always in a rush between concerts, flying at different times, mornings in hotel rooms cut short because of work obligations. It never seemed like the right time. Louis didn’t want his first I love you to Harry to be over text or in a nondescript hotel room somewhere in Europe. It was stupid, he knew, because they obviously both felt it. Those three words weren’t going to change anything, because the magnitude of their feelings was obvious to them and everyone around them. Their love, bursting out of every seam, was too big for anyone to ignore. But still, Louis wanted it to be special. 

“I really had plans, though, for later. A friend invited me over to his place, if you want to come. It’s just, like, a fifteen-minute walk.” 

“I'd love to,” Louis said. 

“Are you sure? If you’re tired, we can cancel. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. They saw me the other day anyway.” 

Louis nodded and leaned in to plant a quick kiss on Harry’s lips, all stained with chilli sauce. It made Louis’ lips tingle. “Yes, I’m sure. I really want to meet your friends.” 

Harry smiled and kissed him again. “They will be so happy to know that you’re going to be there. They’ve wanted to meet you for ages.” 

“Yeah? Did you talk about me to them?” 

“I might have, uh. At the party the other night, I drank a bit and just. Yeah. I might’ve mentioned you once or twice.” 

“Once or twice, uh?” Louis nuzzled Harry’s neck. He could feel Harry getting goosebumps at the touch. Harry drew in a deep breath. “Do we, uh. Have some time before going over to your friend’s?” He asked in a whisper. 

“We do, yeah,” Harry replied with a smirk. Louis kissed him on the neck then, sucking a bit on his skin, like he knew that Harry liked before drawing back. Just a little taste. “I don’t think I’m that hungry anymore," Harry said then, his tone ever so casual. 

“Me neither. It is a lot. We can warm it up tomorrow,” Louis agreed. 

Sex had always been electric between them. At first, Louis thought, it was just that. Sex. He didn’t think too much of it. There was good sex, and then there was sex with Harry. It fired him up every single time, and it took both of them enough time to realise that the reason why it was so good was because of the feelings behind it. 

They didn’t have that much time before the party, but that didn’t stop them from slowly taking their clothes off. Louis hadn’t changed from his plane clothes, but he didn’t care now. He was going to shower once they were done. All he cared for now was to get his hands on Harry’s body. Louis kissed every single inch of his chest after he took off his t-shirt, retracing all his tattoos with his fingers. It was one of his favourite things to do. He loved that every single one of Harry’s tattoos told a story, and some of them were related to him as well. That was, quite obviously, the same for Louis’s ones. They got their first ones together in the same studio in Manchester, with the little money they managed to save back then. The same artist was their friend now, and half of their tattoos were drawn by him. “We should get new ones,” Louis said, lips pressed against Harry’s hips, slowly lowering his trousers and pants together. 

“Mmh,” Harry murmured, agreeing. He gently lowered Harry onto the bed, then took off his pants and trousers hanging on his calves. Louis kissed his reverently on the legs, making his way up again. “Fuck, Louis, we don’t – have much time,” he said, already panting, even if Louis hadn’t touched him yet. He wanted to tease Harry a bit more, even if his mouth was already watering at the thought of licking Harry’s dick, of taking it all in. 

“Don’t care,” Louis said, his mouth now on Harry’s thighs. Harry whimpered, begged him. “Missed you too much,” Louis whispered. 

“Missed you so – fuck, Louis. Touch me.” 

“Mmh,” Louis rested his head on Harry’s thighs. “Didn’t you say you got off in the shower earlier? And yet you’re so desperate.” 

“Always desperate for you, babe,” Harry cried out as he looked down at Louis, his eyes glassy and mouth so red from all the kissing they had done before. It was obscene, and it was all for Louis to see. All his. Louis moved his head, then decided to finally give Harry what he wanted. He licked his whole length, and Harry whimpered, spine arching. He kissed his tip next, teasing Harry a bit more. “Fuck, your lips, Louis, you –” Harry said, voice strained. Louis moved away then, to get the lube that he knew was in the first drawer. Harry grunted. “Fucking tease.” But Louis didn’t listen, coated his fingers in lube before getting back between Harry’s legs. 

“Don’t even think,” Louis said, as he pushed the first finger in, “about coming before I tell you.” Harry didn’t reply, barely able to function when Louis finally started to suck his dick, head bobbing as he pushed another finger in. Louis pulled back as soon as he felt that Harry was close; he didn’t want him to come before he could even get inside of him. He pushed a third finger inside of him, opening Harry up as he obviously struggled with delaying his orgasm. “So good for me, baby,” Louis said. “So good,” he repeated, before pulling his fingers out. Harry hissed. Louis took the bottle of lube again, smearing some on his dick. They had gotten tested over the summer and weren’t using condoms anymore. Louis had come ridiculously fast the first time they fucked without one. “You should see yourself now,” he said, as he positioned himself to get inside of Harry. The anticipation was delicious, every single time. “All sprawled out, ready for me to fuck you.” 

Harry opened his legs even more then, and Louis finally pushed his cock inside of him, a slow rhythm. He loved when Harry was so pliant under him, and Louis didn’t want to rush this. He didn’t care if they were going to be late for the party, and Harry didn’t seem to mind either. He kissed Harry, both of them moaning against each other’s mouths, and then his cheeks, his jaw, and down to his neck, knowing the exact spot where Harry was more sensitive, sucking the skin there. Harry cried out, obviously desperate to come, his fingers pressing in the curve between Louis’s back and arse, pushing him even more inside of Harry, his cock pressed between their stomachs. 

“Don’t,” Louis growled. “Come yet.” Harry whimpered, desperate. Louis could feel how much his cock was throbbing against his stomach. He left another mark on his collarbone. 

“Babe, please,” Harry pleaded. Louis sucked his nipple in response. It was then that he decided to pick up the rhythm, he was so close himself. He moved back up to face Harry, to see the desperation painted on his face, tears in his eyes. That’s when he permitted Harry to come. Harry sighed in relief, and came right after, spilling between their stomachs. Louis followed right after, shooting up inside of Harry, which is something that he loved now, loved when Harry sometimes got up and Louis’s cum dribbled down his leg. He collapsed on top of him and then slowly pulled out, rolling to the side. He kissed Harry’s shoulder. 

“Missed you so much,” he whispered. 

“Missed you too,” Harry murmured, kissing Louis’s forehead, so sweaty and gross now, but Harry didn’t seem to mind.

They arrived at the party an hour late, but that was customary for house parties, so no one seemed to mind. Half the guests weren’t there anyway. Harry was sporting a giant hickey on his neck, which he didn’t cover, showing it proudly along with the one on his collarbone, which was quite visible as Harry wore his shirt half-unbuttoned. Louis didn’t know how they managed to leave the house with Harry looking so obscene. 

Harry's friends welcomed Louis as if they had known him for years, hugging him for ages. 

“Finally, Louis!” one of them said, and told him how he loved his band and that he saw them in Berlin last year. It wasn’t a big party or anything, just some friends meeting for the night, drinking wine, some arrived later, and all of them seemed equally excited to meet Louis. The star of the evening, Harry joked, before kissing the tip of his nose. 

“You guys are so cute,” the host, Andrea, said. He was a guy in his early thirties with dark hair and green eyes, and Louis wouldn’t have truly held it against Harry if they fucked in the past, although Harry promised that they didn’t. 

“Why, would you –” Harry started to say, a mischievous smile as he brought the wine glass to his lips. 

Louis shrugged. “Maybe, one day? For now, I just want you all for myself.” Harry smiled, knowingly. It was something they could explore, one day. Not now. Louis put an arm around Harry’s waist, just to make things clear. As if the fact that they were glued to each other wasn’t clear enough. 

The party was fun, they all taught Harry and Louis some Italian words, and as the empty bottles increased, the words got progressively dirtier. Louis learned how to ask politely in Italian for a blowjob. He still had to work on the pronunciation, one of the guys, Marco, said, but the sentiment was there. 

“He feels strongly about blowjobs,” Harry agreed. Everyone burst into laughter. Louis loved to see him with his friends, feeling comfortable among them, far away from London and the music industry and all the people that gravitated around it. Louis was lucky to have a band with some of his best mates, because he struggled to make friends in the industry; everyone seemed so fake. Harry, on the other hand, had this natural ability to draw people towards him. Louis knew, because he was also drawn to him since the first time he saw him play in that pub. He knew the effect Harry had on people. And Harry was a kind soul, and when they first started out, Louis was scared for him. Scared that the industry would chew Harry and spit him out in tiny pieces, Louis would've had to pick up. Now, though, Louis could see that Harry had finally found his people. With the right people, Louis saw Harry, the boy from a small town near Manchester who was almost too shy to sing at an open mic night. And Louis was already falling in love with him that night, and every day since. Louis loved every single version of himself. Harry the shy kid, Harry the popstar, Harry the loyal friend. 

Last time they were in Rome, they usually left the flat late at night. It was more practical, there were fewer people around,d and they didn’t have to take too many precautions. Their relationship wasn’t public yet, although people in the industry knew about it at this point. They hadn’t exactly hidden when they were at the same festivals. It was sort of obvious when they ended up snogging backstage every chance they got. Liam, Niall and Zayn were fed up with them, so much so that they threatened Louis to find another band. Jokingly. Or so Louis hoped. 

They had decided not to make any big announcement, but they weren’t going to hide either. Surely people would pick it up soon, since they kept getting spotted in the same cities at the same time. Except that common people had a tendency not to take it for granted, when it came to queer people, Louis thought. 

As they went out the next day, Louis was feeling a bit woozy from all the wine they had drunk the night before. If there was a sign that he was getting close to his thirties, Louis knew that it was the fact that it always took him a bit longer to recover from a hangover. But walking around Rome with Harry cured everything. They stopped at the cat place near the Roman ruins, the same one they walked past the night they got together, and left a big donation. The volunteers were obviously in love with Harry, especially the older ones who were all over him. Louis observed as they chatted in Italian, understanding a word here and there. Then Harry looked at him, and Louis knew they were talking about him. 

“He’s my boyfriend, Louis. You should also listen to his music,” he said, switching to English for Louis to understand. They all shook his hand then, promising that they would listen to his band’s music and thanking him for the donation as well. They stayed there a bit longer, petting the cats, something pulling at Louis’ heartstrings anytime a cat came closer to them, meowing and headbutting. 

It was not easy to leave the place, but they had to when a few tourists walked in and quite obviously recognised them. So they left and kept walking towards their second stop for the day. They stopped several times, Harry telling him stories of previous trips to Rome, memories of evenings spent with his friends, or his mum and sister. 

“Imagine years from now, you bring someone else here, and you are going to tell them, I brought this lad here once. The name was Louis, I think,” Louis teased. 

They were walking towards the old Jewish ghetto, where Harry had promised they would eat some of the best desserts he had ever eaten. 

“Or I’ll do you one better,” Harry said, confidently turning left. The way he knew his way around the city was kind of sexy to Louis; he didn’t even know why. “We’ll be here in a few years from now, and we will reminisce about that one day in September, we were happy, but both sort of hungover.” Harry smiled at him, nudging Louis lightly. 

“You shouldn’t say these things when you know I can’t kiss you,” Louis complained. They were in a very touristic area, with too many people around. He quickly squeezed Harry’s hand in his. He loved him so much. And soon he knew that those words were going to get out of his mouth. Certainly not now, when they were entering a bakery. Louis hadn’t yet tasted anything, but the smell was promising. The woman behind the counter smiled at them, mostly at Harry, who she obviously knew. One would think he lived there all his life, with the way all the people around the area knew him. They talked for a while, and Louis caught maybe two words in total, and then the woman handed him two pieces of a pie. The pie, Louis found out as they left and started eating, was called crostata, and it was filled with ricotta and sour cherries. 

“Fuck,” he said, after a few bites. “Is there any chance we can get this delivered to London every week?” 

“Told you,” Harry said, chuckling. He brought a hand to Louis' face, to wipe a bit of ricotta from his face, and then licked his finger. Louis had to look away before he was going to do something that was not deemed appropriate in public in at least a hundred countries in the world.

They came back home as the sun was setting, two cartons of pizza and a bag full of friends in hand. No fancy restaurants could ever beat a good, greasy pizza eaten directly from the carton. Harry had given up and allowed Louis to eat on the couch, a trashy movie playing on the telly. He let Harry lick his fingers clean. Louis could not ask for more from this holiday, and it hadn’t technically started yet.

The next day, Harry brought him to a cemetery. It was a small place, full of old gravestones. They walked around in silence, reading the inscriptions – most of them in English, because it was the non-catholic cemetery of the city. Not many people got buried there in recent times, and it felt like a place suspended in time, and Louis didn’t have a hard time understanding why Harry loved it so much. There were also a lot of cats, which added to the appeal of the place. 

They sat on a bench in front of John Keats’ grave, which was in a more isolated area of the cemetery, and it was just the two of them, and a cat who kept on walking around them. 

“Do you choose your favourite places in this city based on the number of cats?” Louis asked Harry. 

“You got me.” Harry wasn’t even looking at him, crouched down to pet the orange cat. Louis snapped a few pictures, and again he thought of how much he loved Harry. He was talking to the cat in that silly voice he used for pets and babies, and so Louis took a video too, which he would rewatch during the hard times, when they wouldn’t be able to see each other 24/7. He had a folder called H that was growing bigger every day, and Louis didn’t care how pathetic that looked. He stopped filming and crouched down too, but just then the cat bolted. 

“That was rude,” Louis complained. 

“She sensed that you’re a dog person.” Harry sat up and looked around. No one else was there, and so he kissed Louis, just a quick kiss in front of John Keats. Surely he would’ve written lovely poems about the two of them. 

Quite predictably, they got spotted more than once. It was entertaining to read through the comments on Twitter, people fighting about it. Some argued that they didn’t have to assume that they were together just because they were both queer, and others pointed out that if they were a man and a woman spending that much time together, they would’ve been called a couple already. A few people stopped them and had a chat with them, took pictures. They all said how lovely and down-to-earth the two of them were. 

“I don’t know if they’re together or if they’re just good friends,” Harry read through a tweet. “It doesn’t really matter, but I saw them today and they looked so happy and relaxed.” He looked up at Louis.“That’s sweet. Do you feel happy and relaxed, babe?” 

“I sure do.” They were smoking a joint on the balcony on their last night in Rome before they left for their trip, Louis stroking Harry's legs that were resting on his lap. He was feeling happy and relaxed, the weed was helping, but it wasn't; he knew that Harry’s presence in itself grounded Louis down like nothing else could. He felt at ease and at home with him, no matter where they were. Whether it was here or in one of their houses back in London or backstage at a concert. It didn’t matter. He took a long drag, and a memory suddenly came back to him. It was a few years earlier, Zayn was celebrating his birthday in the house that he had recently bought. It was late, and most of the guests had left already, and Zayn had just rolled a joint for the few people that were still there. Louis remembered how desperate he was to kiss Harry, who had ignored him almost the whole time, and now they were finally sitting together on a couch, joint lazily passed back and forth between them. At some point, Harry told him to open his mouth, and then took a drag. Louis did as he was told, knowing what was going to happen. Finally, he thought, as the smoke passed from Harry’s mouth to his, and then they were kissing, Zayn loudly groaning next to them. Later, they fucked in one of Zayn’s guest rooms. 

With that thought in mind, Louis passed the joint back to Harry, who took a drag and looked back at his phone. Louis found another tweet from someone they met earlier that day. “This one says – oh wait, it's a whole thread.” He cleared his throat before he started to read. “My girlfriend and I saw them today, and we were so starstruck we couldn't say everything we wanted to say. We just said that we loved their music and thanked them, but it meant so much more to us. They helped us a lot a few years ago when we were struggling with our identities, and seeing them both being so open about their experiences helped us so much in figuring things out.” He read through the whole thing, even the replies from her girlfriend. 

“Louis, this was supposed to be a fun thing,” Harry protested, his voice breaking a bit. “I wish they had told us that,” he added, tearing up a bit, as he passed the joint back to Louis.  

“I could like the tweet, so they would know that we know what it meant for them.” He didn't even think twice and did it, blaming his impulsiveness on the weed. If someone from his team had something to say, Louis would’ve dealt with it tomorrow. “Okay, done.” He passed the joint back to Harry and looked at him as he threw his head back, his throat exposed, and it unlocked another memory in Louis’ brain. It was before it all started, when they were still friends. They were smoking together with Louis' bandmates, and Harry had thrown his head back in the same way, and Louis found himself thinking that he wanted to lick Harry's neck. Kiss him all over. Find out what he tasted like. That night, he attributed the thought to the weed. Niall had gotten something particularly strong. But when the thought presented itself even stronger when he was neither drunk nor high a few weeks later, he knew. And years later, the desire hadn't dimmed one bit. It didn't help that Harry had his shirt almost completely unbuttoned, the birds tattooed under his collarbones peaking out. It was also one of Louis’ favourite shirts that Harry owned, a pink one with white polka dots. 

“It's still mad to me that people are actually inspired by us,” Harry finally said, taking Louis back to the present. He was looking at him now, with that droopy look Harry always had when they smoked. 

“I know,” Louis agreed. “At first I was just, you know. Overwhelmed by it all. I focused so much on the negative comments, the people calling me slurs, but then I realised that it didn't matter much, if I had only one kid in my inbox telling me that they had come out to their best friends because of me.” Harry nodded, taking another drag. “Anytime we do signings, there is always some kid telling me how much it means to them that I always spoke so openly about it. And – like, it annoys me sometimes when I get considered a hero just for being myself, you know?” 

“Mmh,” Harry mumbled, passing the joint back to Louis. He thought about how much he craved those little touches in the early days. Just their fingers brushing would make him dream about Harry for days. “I know, it's like – I just mentioned once that I had a boyfriend, and I wish it wasn't so revolutionary. We should be able to just be.” Harry stared at him, picking at the skin on his thumb. He was obviously ruminating about something he wasn't sure he should've said out loud. “Should we like, as the kids say, soft launch our relationship on Instagram?” 

“You didn't just say soft launch out loud,” Louis groaned. “I’d love that. Casual pictures from our holiday that are obviously taken in the same place. My team will absolutely say that it's terrible timing and that we should wait until we release our new single, but quite frankly, I don't give a fuck.” Louis took a final drag and then squished the butt in the ashtray. “But then again, most people will probably think we're good friends unless they see us with our tongues shoved down each other’s throats.” 

“Historians will say they were good friends,” Harry said. He was ridiculous; he spoke in memes half the time, and yet Harry always made Louis laugh. He loved him, he thought again, as he looked at the satisfied grin on Harry’s face after he made that silly joke. He loved him when he woke up before Louis and got him croissants from his favourite bakery. He loved him when he serenaded Louis with some old, romantic song - Elvis, sometimes, failing at imitating his voice and his accent every single time. He loved him, when Louis showed him some new lyrics he wrote that he hated and Harry helped him get over his impostor syndrome. He loved him at every hour of every day, and he knew he was going to tell him soon. Louis just needed the right time for it. Except that there wasn’t really a right time, was it? He couldn't postpone it any further.

“Harry?” He called him then, as Harry walked back inside. Harry turned his head towards Louis, a confused look on his face. He could've said something else; he still had time to change his mind and make a joke, maybe, but it was just bursting out of him, and he had to let it out. He couldn’t wait a second longer. “I love you,” he said, simply. He thought the world would implode, or that he would feel different, but Louis didn’t. He felt just a sense of relief for finally saying said out loud. 

He would never forget the myriad of expressions that went through Harry's face, from shock at first, and then his features relaxed, and a warm smile appeared.

“I love you too,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They repeated it to each other throughout the whole night, as they undressed each other, and then later in that blissful post-orgasm state. I love you, I love yo,u I love you. They had to catch up on all those years they denied those feelings. I love you, Harry said first thing the next morning. Louis groaned and pretended to wiggle himself free from Harry’s arms, but he couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Say it back,” Harry said, pouting, his arms tighter around Louis’ middle. Louis could not resist that pout, and so he kissed Harry. 

“I love you too,” he whispered against his lips, morning breath be damned. 

The next morning, before they left for their holiday, Harry handed a new flashcard to Louis. It said ti amo, I love you. Louis put inside his phone cover.