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Louis is twenty six and Niall is twenty four and they've been together for two years now. Technically, they've been together since Louis first kissed Niall when he was fourteen but officially, properly, it's been two years. Louis is still at Manchester United and Niall is churning out number one singles for other people now as well as himself. The papers still love them, they make little collages of their public outings sometimes when it's been a slow news week, but they're so domesticated now. Boring for the tabloids. There's nothing really for them to be unhappy about.
Except, well, Niall goes away on tour in the middle of August. Louis's not particularly happy about that.
"I love you more than America ever could," he whines the night before Niall leaves, curling around him. He pushes his toes between Niall's knees and buries his nose in his throat, soaking up as much as he can because three months is three months too long.
"I'll be back before you know it," Niall says with a laugh deep into Louis's hair but Louis can hear the way his voice catches and feel the way his fingers are digging into Louis's hips and knows he's not as blasé about the whole thing as he's letting on.
It's a big deal, this tour in America. A huge deal because who doesn't want to crack the states and Louis is very very proud but they've wasted too much time apart being stupid and stubborn and so is it really that bad if Louis wants to spend every second he can with Niall.
"We can Skype yeah?" he mumbles. "You'll be sick of me."
"Sick of you already," Niall says because he's hilarious. "You're gonna come out and see me, aren't you?"
That's the plan, anyway. Louis's a footballer, though, a footballer in the biggest team in Britain and free time doesn't come along often even if your boyfriend is doing a huge tour thousands of miles away.
"I'll be your groupie," he slips a hand under Niall's t-shirt making him squirm when his cold hands dance along his ribs, pressing into the dips between them.
"I'll be your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me," Niall sings softly, grinning when Louis looks up. He cups Louis's chin, guiding his mouth to his.
Louis sighs into the kiss; he's going to miss this. He presses down on Niall's chest, shifting his weight so he's lying on top of him and slotting his thigh in between both of Niall's. Niall licks into his mouth, his tongue sliding along the roof of Louis's mouth. It makes Louis moan, breaking the kiss to bite at Niall's neck, sucking bruises onto the pale skin. He thumbs the underside of Niall's jaw, tilting it up to give himself better access.
Niall wraps his arms round Louis's waist, tight, and rolls them over easily so he's straddling Louis. He gives a wolfish grin, one that makes Louis's heart ache because he's going to miss this, and then he shoves Louis's pyjama bottoms down and oh, he's going to miss this a whole lot more.
They get some sort of rhythm going, Niall's hips rotating on Louis's slow and lazy like they have all the time in the world. Louis digs his heel into Niall's calf and whispers into Niall's neck that he loves him. They grind sleepily, exchanging sloppy kisses and biting at shoulders and collarbones to make each other giggle breathlessly. When Louis comes he clings on to Niall tight and tries not to let go.
After they’ve cleaned up Niall curves himself round Louis, pulls him flush against his chest. He noses at Louis's hair, down to his ear. "We've waited a lot longer before, Louis. Three months is nothing, we can do this. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” That’s going to be enough.
--
Louis feels Niall roll away in the morning, the weight of his arm on Louis's waist gone, and listens to the shower run, and then Niall comes back, kisses his forehead and that's him gone. Louis stays curled up with the mentality that if he doesn’t get out the bed then Niall might still be in the flat somewhere and nothing will change. He’s being pathetic, he knows this. They’re not breaking up, or dying, or moving away permanently; it’s three months, Niall’s right; they can do this.
That burst of positivity doesn’t move him from the bed, but he does unfold himself so he’s lying spread-eagled, stretching so his fingers brush the edges of the bed, and this is. This is definitely progress.
He counts to one hundred three times and then sits up. It's too early to be awake but he’s not going to sleep anymore so he wraps the duvet round him and pads through to the living room and watches cartoons for a few of hours instead, always aware at the back of his mind of Niall's plane climbing through the air, taking him further and further away. He tells himself he's being stupid and makes himself a cheese toastie for breakfast/lunch -- he’s not cultured enough for brunch, sitting at the kitchen table across from an empty seat and using Niall's favourite mug (Wonder Woman).
The first week is the worst because Louis's off training thanks to a knee injury and so he sits around the flat, wearing one of Niall's jumpers and holding another to his face like its his oxygen. He doesn’t stop to think about how it’s possible he’s turning into someone people make documentaries about -- and this is one that he would probably watch: The Tragic Tale of the Footballer Who Was Left Alone and Turned Mental and Couldn’t Stop Smelling His Boyfriend’s Jumpers; that’s its working title. Channel 4 will come up with something snappier when it airs -- and so he puts on Justin Bieber and tells himself he’s listening to it because he likes his songs and not because it’s a running joke that Niall is five steps away from leaving Louis for him.
He cleans the flat from top to bottom in that first week, clearing out chipped mugs and mismatched plates and dusting every surface twice. He plays music loud -- he gave up on Justin Bieber after the third song -- and dances while he hoovers, shimmying through the hall to Whitney and stomping along with Steps as he changes the duvet cover.
On Sunday evening he sits in the spotless living room, sipping tea from a brand new mug with pink spots on it, and feels a bit better. It helps him feel less helpless, the cleaning. Less left behind.
--
Niall: in new york!! the concrete jungle! THIS IS WHERE DREAMS ARE MADE OF!!!!
Niall: get it lou??
Niall: like the song! hahahaha
Louis: so clever. its a shame you dont write songs for a living
Louis: get me a frdge magnet?
--
It isn't until the eighth night Niall's away that they get a chance to Skype and actually see each other instead of surviving on late night phone calls and emails.
"Louis!" Niall says, happy and loud and god Louis has missed him.
"Hi -- no, wait. I can't see you."
"Louis?"
"The screen's still black, Ni. How do I --?" Louis presses some buttons. Nothing happens.
"Haven't you used this before?" Niall laughs and it's so frustrating because he's there, somewhere, but Louis can't see him. "Press that button down there."
"Wow, so helpful," Louis says, deadpan, but after a series of banging keys in frustration the screen flickers and there’s Niall. Niall is there. “Hi,” he says breathlessly.
Niall laughs, his head back so Louis can see his neck, follow the pale column of his throat. He wants to touch, but they’re thousands of miles apart and technology hasn’t advanced that far yet. “Hey, Tommo. How you holding up without me?”
Louis first thinks he should lie, play everything down, but then his mouth opens and, “I miss you a little bit,” comes out in a rush and technically that’s still a lie because he misses Niall a whole lot more than a ‘little bit’.
“Always knew I was the strongest in this relationship,” Niall says, but his eyes soften and he leans forward, his hair curling at the top of the screen. Louis watches as his hand comes up to touch, to reach out, not feeling as foolish now at the urge he feels to do the same. Niall clears his throat, blinking, leaning back. “How’s the knee?”
“Alright,” Louis shrugs. It twinges a bit when he walks too quickly but he thinks that might be permanent thing. The doctor says he’s fine to play which is all he cares about anyway. “Should be back at training next week.” Niall nods, happy with Louis’s health. “Never mind that, though, tell me all about being a giant superstar. How was New York?”
“Mobbed. Walked round Central Park a coupla times and went on a ferry to see the Statue of Liberty, that’s all we had time for. We’ll need to go together, you’d love all the tourist shit.” Louis wants to cut in and say that out of the two of them he is definitely the more cultured but he doesn’t have a leg to stand on in that argument. Besides, Niall’s face has just lit up, his eyes big and sparkling, the way he always gets when he talks about performing. “But performing! It’s incredible, Lou. They’re all here to see me, yaknow? And the rush I get from it --” he breaks off, shaking his head like he can’t possibly put it into words. Louis knows the feeling. “It’s fecking boiling,” he says next, his voice climbing into a whine. “I’m all burnt, look.”
He pulls aside his tank top to show the splodges of red along his collarbone, pressing a finger into his shoulder to show Louis how the skin bursts white then fades back to red.
Louis’s nails dig into his own hand, his skin making the same patterns. “Put some aftersun on it. Jesus you can’t do anything without me, can you?”
“Nope,” Niall agrees happily. “I think I might be dead by the time you come across.”
“I’ll throw a party. Decorate the corpse.”
“I think you would be quite sad if I died,” Niall says, thinking hard about it like there’s a question at all. “Yeah, I think you might even cry.”
“Hey now that’s pushing it,” Louis frowns. “I wouldn’t ever waste my tears on a boy like you.”
Niall nods. “Quite right.” He reaches out again, this time his knuckle brushing the screen. Louis leans further forward so his nose is pressed against the laptop. “It’s like I’m stroking your nose.” Niall laughs, delighted. His laugh swirls deep into Louis, getting into all the nooks and crannies from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He feels like he’s glowing.
“Woof!”
Niall rolls back, giggling until his face turns as red as his neck. “Idiot,” he says weakly through his laughs.
“Do you have groupies then?” Louis wants to know all about the reason why Niall isn’t here with him. He always wants to know everything about Niall, even the stuff that hurts like what happened when Louis was off being a dick in London and Niall had to turn to Zayn. They made a pact, see, no secrets -- no big ones, anyway, small ones are allowed; Louis doesn’t want his birthday spoiled -- and so he likes when Niall tells him stories about his first show and the flat he lived in with Zayn and Louis swallows the horrible feeling that sometimes creeps into his throat and tells Niall about David Beckham and Ryan Giggs knowing who he is and what Harry said when they broke up. No secrets is a policy not for the faint-hearted, but it helps them, helps them feel like they didn’t miss out on all those years, it brings them closer. “Do girls throw their knickers at you?”
Niall’s still snickering. “Yeah, want me to bring some home for you?” He says it as a joke but Louis watches his eyes darken, thinking it over. He wants to dress up for Niall, give him what he wants, make him happy.
“Please,” he nods, “Only the sexy ones; I don’t want any with your face on it thanks.”
“Are you saying my face isn’t sexy?” Niall asks, pouting ridiculously.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Niall hangs his head, shaking it. “Fuck you.”
Louis huffs a laugh, resting his head on his hand to stare at Niall, drinking him all in. The curve of his ears, the stubble spread down his jaw, the soft blue of his eyes. “I miss your face.”
“I miss you, too,” Niall says, his voice rough, his accent stronger with the emotion. “It’s only been eight days. We’re ridiculous, aren’t we?”
“The very most ridiculous,” Louis says, and then leans back, resting his weight on his elbows . If he doesn't go now he’ll do something stupid like cry and he’s not having that held over him. “Go get ready to wow America then or whatever it is you’re doing without me.”
“I’ll be thinking about you,” Niall beams, completely unabashed.
“Yeah yeah,” Louis waves it off, pleased. He’ll be doing the same, anyway. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” and then the screen goes black and that’s that.
--
Louis plays in Spain in the third week. They go into penalties in the game against Barcelona; Louis makes his by sheer luck. But they win, amazingly, and so they go out to a club to celebrate, and Louis dances with a blond boy in a tank top and braces. When the boy leans in, Louis leans out, shrugging a lot and playing up the language barrier with a woeful sigh and a wink, slipping through the throng of people and out to the cool air where he leans against the wall of the club with his beer and looks up at the stars, feeling like a fucking cliche when he thinks that Niall will be looking at the same stars in a few hours.
It’s hot in Barcelona, so hot Louis spends half his time fanning himself with his map like it will be any help at all. He sends Niall a picture of his arm that’s somehow much more red than the other one.
Niall: hahahaha we match now ! Well done on the game mate we all watched it over here (: can you get messi’s autograph for me pretty please with cherries on top? youre the best! xxx
Louis’s been on the scene for about six years now. He’s played against Lionel Messi before; hell, he’s been out clubbing with him and crashed in his hotel room, but at the end of the day it’s still Lionel fucking Messi, arguably the best player in the world, no matter how well you know him, and so Louis’s stomach still twists a bit when he goes over to him in the pub the night before they leave for the UK and asks for his autograph.
“My boyfriend’s a massive fan,” he explains when Messi asks why he’s asking for this after all these years. “He’s been after me to get this for ages.”
“Supporting the wrong team,” Messi says with a laugh. “He should like Man United, should he not?”
“That’s what I’ve been telling him,” Louis shrugs, hands out wide. “But you’re the one he wants.”
“When we meet I’ll try not to steal him from you, okay?”
At night, the crumpled napkin with the scrawled message and signature on the bedside table, Louis has to pinch himself because six years in and he’s still not used to being around his idols like it’s nothing.
Niall forgets about timezones and phones him after his show. He’s in Chicago now, keeps rambling about a dinosaur called Sue, and Louis wants to listen, he really does, but he’s so tired so he tells Niall he has a surprise for him and then falls asleep to the way Niall whispers down the phone, his accent curling and twisting round the words, letting Louis pretend he's at home.
--
"You coming out tonight, Lou?"
Louis slides the ball across to Stan, Manchester United’s best striker and Louis’s best friend, and shrugs. “You catch the game last night?”
“Don’t change the subject.” Stan knows all Louis’s tricks. It’s both a curse and a blessing, usually the former, case in point. “It’s been four weeks since Niall left, you can’t stay cooped up the full time he’s gone.”
Louis jogs up the pitch, dribbling the ball until he reaches the white line behind the goal posts. He focuses on the ball in front of him, takes a run up and watches it soar through the air back to where Stan is standing with his hands on his hips.
“Come on,” he whines when Louis gets close enough again, slightly out of breath from his attempt at a distraction. It’s not that he doesn’t see Stan's point, he’s maybe been a bit anti-social lately, but Niall’s got an interview later on that Louis really wants to catch.
“Maybe another time,” he says, pushing his fringe off his face. “I’ve just got a lot on.”
“Like what? Alphabetising your DVDs? Cleaning the kitchen sink?” Stan pouts; it’s surprisingly effective. Louis has to avert his eyes. “I’m not that bad, am I?”
“You’re the very worst, Stanley Lucas,” Louis hooks a foot around Stan's ankle to send him crashing to the ground, not foreseeing himself falling on top of him until his recently healed knee knocks against the slightly damp grass, sending a shoot of pain through him. He grits his teeth, rubbing the area. “Why would I want to spend more time with you than I’m already contracted to?”
Stan shifts so Louis can sit comfortably on his chest, his cheeks rosy and his eyes bright. He’s really very pretty. Louis remembers strongly considering it back when he first joined the team, back when Harry was becoming uncertain and Niall was still in Doncaster. But then he realised that he prefers blondes to brunettes and blue eyes to brows and that he was in love with someone else, and that was that.
“I don’t want you suffocating yourself with one of Niall’s shirts by accident,” Stan says like Louis’s reached the point of suicide watch. “I know you smell them --”
Louis narrows his eyes. “How do you know?”
“I know everything,” Stan says flippantly. “The point is: he’s not... dead. You do know that, right?”
And it’s the way Stan says it, just crossing into uncertainty, that makes Louis laugh, bouncing on Stan’s chest and making him swear loudly. “I know he’s fine,” Louis chucks Stan under his chin and then gets to his feet, pulling Stan up with him. “I’m just so used to him being around I don’t know what to do when he’s away.”
“Come out and get pissed with me,” Stan spreads his arms wide, his head tilted to the side.
Louis pushes him over again. “Tomorrow,” he promises.
--
Niall’s still sunburnt when he appears on Ellen that night. Louis can see a smudge of aftersun lotion on his neck where his shirt gapes and grins, feeling close to him from all these miles away.
Ellen asks about the tour and life on the road and the new album coming out. Louis watches Niall talk and laugh and charm everyone in the studio, twisting the bracelet Louis bought him for his birthday last year between his fingers. He looks so good; so happy to be doing what he loves. Louis hates the distance, didn’t expect being away from Niall to be so hard, but he’s so proud of him for making it.
“You’ve got a famous boyfriend, too,” Ellen says, smiling knowingly, getting to the part everyone knows they’re most interested in. “Louis Tomlinson, and he's a big footballer in England?”
“Big’s maybe the wrong word,” Niall laughs, turning to smile up at the giant photo of the two of them in the street. Louis’s tucked into Niall’s side, his hand clutching at his waist and Niall's arm round Louis's shoulders, both of them grinning at each other. It’s one of Closer’s favourites to use when they’re running an article saying how cute they are together. Louis remembers trying to steal Niall’s Coke and Niall doing everything he could to stop him before giving in, pushing the can up to Louis's lips. It had spilt all down them; they’re not the most coordinated set of people. Louis rubs the spot where the wasp stung his neck, wincing when he remembers Niall got stung on the top of his thigh. It had been his own fault, serves him right.
“Oh?” Of course it sounds like it shouldn’t. Louis groans and rolls his eyes at the laptop. Niall.
“No!” Niall giggles, his face red. “Not like that -- I mean, look at the height of him!”
Ellen gives the audience a look that has Niall shaking his head and covering his face with his hands. “He’s gonna kill me now.”
“Blame me if that’ll make it any easier,” Ellen says, patting Niall’s knee and looking at the audience again, grinning. “So you’ve been in America for six weeks so far. It must be hard being away from him for this long.”
“It’s much harder than I was expecting, to be honest. Like, we both knew it wouldn't be easy but I'm used to waking up to him every day and to go from that to Skype dates whenever you can both find the time is difficult,” Niall rubs the back of his neck, his mouth turning down at the corners. Louis does the same; he wants to touch him so badly, wants to be near him all the time. America ruins lives. “He's my best friend, too, which makes it much harder because he's the one I tell everything to and who I want to share this experience with but I can't. Hopefully he’ll be able to come out for a bit but his job makes it hard to get time off.”
“How long have you been together? You’ve known each other forever, is that right?”
Niall smiles at that, smiles until he seems to glow. “Yeah, I met him when I was three, actually.”
Louis remembers his mum telling him the new neighbours had moved in and that there was a child just a bit younger; a new friend for him. He remembers expecting it to be a boring girl who wouldn’t know a thing about football and refuse to get her little white socks dirty. He had scrambled over the fence anyway, falling right in front of a boy with blond hair like the sun and a bag of sweets in his sticky hand. He had offered Louis one and Louis had declared them best friends... and that was history made.
“Wow, three years old. That’s --”
“Twenty one years,” Niall nods. “It’s unbelievable but I think we’re such a strong couple because we’ve known each other for so long.”
Twenty one years. Holy shit. It doesn’t feel that long at all.
"And has it always been a sure thing that you would be together?"
Yes. It has. It might not have seemed like it for a while with Harry and Zayn and different cities getting in the way but Louis thinks it was only a matter of time before he and Niall found their way back together.
Niall basically says the same with more rambling and blushing. Ellen and the audience applaud and coo like it’s a fairy tale ending and maybe it is; Louis's not really a romantic.
From Niall: think ellen likes you better than me. you suck
--
Louis finally takes Stan up on his offer and goes out and gets completely wrecked. He rests his forehead on Stan’s shoulder when they’re getting more drinks, and mumbles something about Stan being the best friend he’s ever had, apart from maybe Harry.
“Where’s Harry now, Stan?” he slurs, turning his face to stare up at the two Stans above him. “Where is he in his life?”
Stan snorts. “No idea, mate. Somewhere without you.”
“Shame.” Louis hums whimsically. Harry’s curls were always very soft; nice to run your fingers through. “I hope he has someone else. Ev’ryone needs a Niall. Pretty sure Niall’s my soul mate. D’you want a soul mate, Stan?”
“I would settle for a shag,” Stan says, picking up both their drinks and leading Louis over to a quieter booth in the corner. Louis vaguely remembers his publicist saying something about getting photographed drunk less but this is his first time in a month so he decides it’s okay. They're gonna be invisible in this corner. “Find someone to shag me, Lou.”
“You’ve just got to get yourself out there,” Louis advises, placing a hand on Stan’s arm and patting it in what he plans to be comforting but just turns out confusing when he can’t stop. Stan helps out and grabs his hand to hold him still, slotting their fingers together.
“Right, I’ll just do that,” Stan gets up, standing surprisingly steady. Louis feels dizzy looking at him. He groans and drops his head on to the table, the sticky wood cool on his skin.
“Wonder how many infections you’re picking up doing that.” There’s a voice above him. A voice that isn’t Stanley Lucas.
“Harry Styles,” Louis drawls, raising his head and giggling. He still looks the same as he did two years ago. His hair’s maybe flatter and there’s probably a dozen more tattoos covering him but he’s still tall like a tree and his hands are still really big.
“The one and only Louis Tomlinson,” Harry replies, smirking. “Can I join you?”
“Sure, sit sit!” There’s nothing funny about this at all; what are the odds of Louis mentioning his ex for the first time in so many months and then he runs into him two minutes later in a pub in one of the busiest cities in the country, but Louis can’t stop laughing. Harry squashes into the booth beside him, sitting closer than is strictly necessary but Louis is drunk and doesn’t really give a shit about boundaries.
“Where’s the other half?” Harry’s eyes are glazed, his smirk a touch too mean. He’s drunk, too. They shouldn’t be having this conversation drunk; shouldn’t be having it at all. “Let him off the lead for the night?”
“Stop,” Louis says sharply. He sighs, and picks up Harry’s hand. More tattoos have been added to the inked bracelet on his left wrist. Louis blinks, trying to decipher them. “What are these then?”
Harry shrugs. He was always so casual with his tattoos, coming home with a new one every other day. Louis likes to think his over, makes sure it’s what he really wants, because once it’s on that’s it, no going back.
“I miss you,” Harry says suddenly, glaring at the table instead of Louis and sounding bitter and disgusted with himself.
“Ha --”
“Don’t pity me,” he snaps, his mouth -- that same pretty mouth Louis used to marvel over, kissing and pressing smiles to it -- curling into a snarl. “You don’t have the right to feel sorry for me.”
Louis blinks. He feels so out of his depth. He doesn’t want confrontations and public arguments; he needs Stan. Harry’s eyes are stormy, glaring at him like he’s waiting to leap on whatever Louis says next, ready to tear it apart.
“I don’t feel sorry for you, Harry,” he says honestly, feeling a lot more sober than he was a few minutes ago. “It was a mutual break up, I’m with Niall now, and nothing happened when I was with you so there’s nothing you can be angry about.”
Harry’s fingers twitch on the table. Louis flinches, half expecting a punch to be thrown. Instead Harry takes in a deep breath, his eyes shutting as he holds it, and then exhales slowly. He turns and smiles at Louis, a small hesitant one.
“It's probably a bad idea for us to be talking, eh?"
Louis can't keep up with the personality change. He nods. He needs another drink after this.
"I'll see you around, Lou."
Louis finds himself crouched over the toilet a couple of hours later, wincing at each new wave of nausea. Stan holds a wet cloth to his head and gets him into bed and tells him they'll have to do it again some time. Louis forgets all about Harry.
--
@Louis_Tomlinson: the flat’s too quiet without you @NiallOfficial !! :(
@NiallOfficial: @Louis_Tomlinson play my cd then , ya idiot! #numberonefan
@Louis_Tomlinson: @NiallOfficial would rather listen to cats crying... xx
@NiallOfficial: @Louis_Tomlinson well buy a goddam cat x
--
“Jesus, Lou, I didn’t think you would actually get one!”
Louis beams, burying his face in the tuft of white fur at the cat’s neck. He’s a Maine Coon, a tortoiseshell pedigree with a big bushy tail and a permanent haughty expression. He sleeps a lot, hisses when he's disturbed, and doesn't like anyone touching his tail. Louis thinks they’re quite similar.
“Is he fluffy?” Niall leans in closer to peer at the bundle in Louis’s arms.
“No,” Louis rolls his eyes. “He’s made of rocks.”
Niall tuts. “No need for that. Whatsis’ name?”
“Thought we could name him together.”
Niall blows him a kiss, pressing his hand agaisnt the screen to push it towards him. Louis pretends to catch it, pretends to drop the cat, too. The cat doesn’t like that; he yowls and scratches a line down Louis’s arm. Louis drops him for real, then, and watches sadly as it skids across the floor and under the couch, his green eyes staring out at Louis, big and unblinking.
“Seems lovely,” Niall comments.
“He doesn’t like you, obviously,” Louis says. “You scared him away.”
“I’m not the one with blood down my arm.”
“You’re so smart, aren’t you? Look at me, I’m Niall, I play a stupid guitar and play stupid songs about my lovely fit boyfriend.”
“My lovely fit boyfriend’s a right arse, actually,” Niall says, mouth bending into a smirk. “Bought a cat and doesn’t even have a name for it. And he can’t even play football.”
“I said we should name -- hey I scored a hat trick at the weekend, actually, for all the congratulations I got from you.” Louis had been quite proud of that game against Liverpool. Very proud, actually. It’s not every day you score three goals in one half. It had been in the papers.
“I did congratulate you!” Niall exclaims, indignant. “And you dismissed it and rambled on about Vegas weddings.”
“Does that sound like something I would do, babe?”
“Yes, because you did.”
“I don’t think so. Why would I be talking about weddings in Las Vegas?”
“You’re a shit, Lou,” Niall groans, smiling like he can’t help it. “I hate it when you do this, you know.”
“I do know,” Louis nods. “S’why I do it.”
“Have you got time off yet to come over?”
Louis frowns, a sinking feeling like guilt filling him up. He doesn’t know why. “No, I’ll speak to my manager tomorrow, use some of that Tomlinson charm.”
“Good idea,” Niall says. He pushes his snapback up to run a hand through his hair and then pulls it back down to cover his forehead. His hair looks blonder, bleached by the American sun. Louis wants to run his hands through it and has to sit on them. "We'll be in Nevada in a couple of weeks."
"Niall Horan, are you proposing?" Louis feels okay again, the unsettled feeling gone. He grins easy, laughing when Niall blushes, his skin flushing down as far as he can see. "This is so sudden; we barely know each other!"
"Shut up," Niall mumbles, ducking his head. "Just -- think about it, yeah? I want you out here."
"I'll get there, babe," Louis promises. "I wanna see you wow all the Americans."
"I'm their favourite person ever," Niall says. "You'll get jealous. Oh! We haven't named that thing yet."
"Don't call it a thing, Niall."
"But 'it' is okay?" Niall raises an eyebrow. Louis shrugs; he thinks it might be the devil. It's still hissing occasionally from under the couch. Louis is feeling threatened in his own home.
He sighs heavily, turning back to Niall who has moved so he's lying down, the laptop balanced on his chest. "What d'you think?"
"Blackie."
"Unoriginal, and also untrue," Louis points out. "Fluffy."
"Wow, so unique," Niall counters. He frowns for a minute, thinking hard. Louis feels incredibly fond of him.
"Beckham. Becks for short," Louis says decisively.
Niall nods slowly, thinks it over. "I think he would hate that name but he's going to hate every one we give him and I like this one."
"Becks!" Louis leans over to shout under the couch. "Beckham, come here!"
The cat hisses again. Louis whistles, bending down and tapping his fingers on the floor. "C'mere, Becks! What a lovely name, eh? You lucky lucky boy!"
He hears Niall snort from above his head and flips him off.
"Beckham!" Niall tries, laughing too much for it to really be clear.
It works, somehow, and Beckham inches out, his tail curling and flicking menacingly. He moves to the wall furthest from Louis, backed up against it like he's waiting for Louis to attack.
"Unbelievable," Louis says. “Not even here and it likes you better than me.”
“Irish charm,” Niall crows. Louis shuts the laptop lid and regrets it immediately when Niall doesn’t appear again when he lifts it back up. He crawls into bed and watches videos of Niall on YouTube and tries not to feel completely pathetic. He gets off to a grainy video of Niall by the pool somewhere in America, panting and gripping the sheets when he comes. He feels a bit pathetic after that.
--
@NiallOfficial: must have the only evil cat in the world
@lovinniall331: you got a cat?! omg is it at home with louis?? :D <3
@NiallOfficial: @Louis_Tomlinson put a pic up babe need to show it off!
@Louis_Tomlinson: @NiallOfficial but i wanted a proper unveiling ceremony a la the lion king
@Louis_Tomlinson: fine...
@Louis_Tomlinson: meet Beckhammmm !! :)
--
There's talk of Louis transferring somewhere abroad. Barcelona want him, and so do Real Madrid. He finds himself considering it more than he thought he would. There's so much for him in the UK: his family, Niall, his whole life, but there's opportunities, change, if he moves. He'll need to discuss it with Niall, though, need to try and swallow the possibility that the three months apart they're struggling through could turn into something a whole lot more.
Still, it's something to think about.
--
Louis calls up Harry one day when he's feeling bored and lonely and stupid. Harry's slow drawl brings back memories, all sorts of memories, but when he suggests getting drinks Louis hears himself say yes against his better judgement. They go out and push that awful night from the club to the side and laugh and talk because everything's so different from two years ago. Now Harry owns his own record company and Louis has football clubs fighting over him and he has Niall. They get drunk on vodka and memories and when they leave the pub there's so many flashes and where's Niall?'s. Louis tries to reply but he's had too much to drink and it comes out a slur and a giggle and so he grabs Harry's arm to keep himself steady and pulls him into a cab.
"'ve missed you, Lou," Harry mumbles when the taxi stops outside Niall and Louis's flat. "Missed you so much. But I'm glad you're happy."
“I am happy, Harry. And you are, too.”
Harry grunts. “Hmm. I miss you.”
“Stop saying that,” Louis says, quiet but firm. He can’t have Harry talking like this; it’ll make him feel guilty and he has no reason at all to feel guilty but that won’t stop him. “I’ll speak you soon, kay?”
“Kay,” Harry mumbles and turns his back to Louis, curled in on himself in the backseat. It’s a sad sight, one that makes Louis gnaw his lip as he makes decisions in his head that he shouldn’t be making after so much alcohol.
The taxi driver tuts loudly. “Are you getting out or not, son?”
Harry mumbles something into his collar, and then Louis yanks him out by the sleeve and throws a twenty at the driver, kicking the door shut with his foot. Once again Harry’s managed to sober him up in record time.
“You can stay here tonight,” Louis says as he tugs Harry up to the door. He forgot what a clumsy drunk Harry is, swaying from side to side and giggling when he kicks over the plant by the door. Louis has told Niall again and again that that plant is a disaster waiting to happen but no one listens to him. He leaves the plant, thinks rather sadly that clearing it up will give him something to do tomorrow, and pushes Harry through the door.
Harry flops onto the couch, kicking off his shoes like he belongs. He’s never been here, it’s Niall’s flat after all so why should he, and Louis finds that he doesn’t fit at all. He’s too big, too different, a completely different part of Louis’s life.
“You’re sleeping there,” he says firmly, pointing a finger to emphasise his instruction. He must be breaking all the meeting-up-with-exes rules -- don’t meet up with them in the first place, don’t be sober when you’re doing it, and don’t invite them into the place you share with your current partner all bolded and underlined.
Harry laughs, loud in the silent flat. “No funny business, you hear me, Lou,” he claps a hand over his mouth and snorts, far away from the maudlin state he was in not five minutes before. Louis is too tired for this. He misses Niall. “What would Niall make of me being here? His boss in his house with his boyfriend.” It’s not even said maliciously, is the thing. He’s genuinely curious.
“You’re not his boss,” is the only possible reply to that.
Harry frowns. “I sort of am. I’m more his boss than you are.”
“That’s a fair point,” Louis agrees, trying to get rid of the crushing pain in his chest. He’s not doing anything wrong; everything's fine. “But he would be okay with it because there’s nothing going on between us.” That’s an exaggeration; Louis knows Niall would be confused and frowny over this but Harry doesn’t know that and it has to stay that way.
“I told you I miss you,” Harry says quietly. “And you said you miss me too.”
Louis is not having this conversation. Not because he’s hiding feelings that he doesn’t want discovered but because he literally has nothing to say and no feelings to speak of and he doesn’t want to tell Harry that in the state he’s in.
“Right,” Louis nods, “Well, I’ll, uh. I’ll see you in the morning. Night, Harry.”
“Night, Lou.”
When Louis turns around Harry is fast asleep. He looks okay like that, with his mouth open a little bit and his arms crossed at his chest. He doesn’t look dangerous or threatening or in love with Louis at all.
Louis sighs and rubs a hand over his face. Sometimes sleep is the better option for everyone.
--
@Louis_Tomlinson: becks, you’re meant to sleep ON the couch not hanging off it
@NiallOfficial: @Louis_Tomlinson has he stopped scratching you yet??
@Louis_Tomlinson: @NiallOfficial no. no he has not : (
@NiallOfficial: Louis_Tomlinson hahahahahaha
--
Niall’s always been one to say exactly what he feels, no holding back when something’s bothering him. It’s something Louis has always admired in a way since he’s prone to bottling everything up until he explodes. It’s what makes them work as a couple, one of the contributing factors anyway, and it’s why it’s odd when Niall is off the next time they’re on Skype.
“You sure you’re okay?” Louis asks for the third time in as many minutes. He doesn’t want to push it too far but Niall’s not been replying to his texts all week and now he’d rather pick at his fingernails instead of look at him.
“Yeah,” Niall says and maybe Louis’s just being melodramatic but it sounds cold. “I’m fine.”
“What state are you in now? You still been getting me fridge magnets?”
“Colorado.” Niall smiles a bit then, not his usual grin, but at least it’s something. “Yeah they weigh a fucking tonne.”
“They’re worth it.”
“Yeah,” Niall says, and that’s all he’s said all week.
“Niall,” Louis starts hesitantly. “You’d tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn’t you? And please don’t just say yeah.”
“Mm. I’m just --” he scrubs a hand through his hair until it’s up in tufts. It’s even blonder since the last time they spoke. “-- just tired.”
Louis doesn’t buy it but he knows now’s the time to stop. “Okay. So at training earlier --”
“How’s Harry then?” Niall says in a rush like he didn’t want to say but his mouth went ahead with it anyway. “How’d the cosy catch up go?”
But -- Harry?
“Niall, how...?”
“How did I find out? Your date was all over the internet. Don’t tell me that wasn’t what you wanted.”
Louis’s in shock. He thinks he might actually need medical attention. He stares at Niall, open-mouthed, and watches as Niall gets more and more worked up, everything coming out now.
“I know three months is hard, Louis, but we’re halfway through and we’re in a steady relationship and I thought -- I thought we could do this.”
“Niall,” Louis says weakly. “We just met up for drinks. He’s all in the past, you know that.”
Niall’s eyes are big and blue and Louis thinks there might be tears in them. This isn’t right; he knew he shouldn’t have let Harry stay the night. He didn’t even let him, like Harry was begging to stay, he invited him into the house he shares with Niall which is ten times worse, sleeping on the couch or not.
“Yeah,” he says again. Louis laughs, on edge and slightly hysterical. “Well, I have a show so...”
“So you’re just going to believe the papers instead of me? Great. That’s. Glad to know there’s some real trust in this relationship,” Louis bites at his thumb until it bleeds, watching the red stain his skin until he sucks it into his mouth. Niall stays silent, his eyes somewhere above Louis’s head. “It was one drink, Niall.”
Niall opens his mouth to say something. Shuts it again. The metallic taste filling his mouth is making Louis feel sick.
“Don’t call me, okay?” Niall mutters, so low Louis hopes he misheard. “I’ll text you or whatever.”
The screen goes black. Louis’s left sucking his thumb with a lump the size of a golf ball in his throat. The feeling of guilt and helplessness continues for the rest of the night where it reaches the point where he tells Beckham to fuck off. He gets a hiss in return; it really improves his mood.
--
Niall doesn’t call for a week. And then he doesn’t call for two. Louis focuses on football and makes excuses not to go out with Stan so he can sit at home with Ben & Jerrys and watch shitty reality tv shows. He prints off sheets about Barcelona and Real Madrid and makes pros and cons lists, his phone sitting beside him the whole time, waiting for something that isn’t coming.
He doesn’t tell anyone about the argument. He tells Stan and his family that everything is fine and he ignores Harry’s calls and texts until they finally stop. He’s not okay, but he’s coping.
And then he goes out with Danny from the team, gets pissed, and spills all his secrets. It happens in the bathroom of a grimey club; it’s a disgusting cliche.
“Danny, you’ve met Niall, right?”
Danny laughs, it’s nothing like Niall’s laugh, nowhere near as infectious or cute and it doesn’t make Louis smile, but it’s nice enough. “Yeah, he’s a good bloke.”
Louis drops his head back against the wall. He feels steadier now. “You’re telling me. You know...”
“What?”
“I think he might be sunshine.” Louis giggles. “Like, not the actual sun but he has yellow hair and he’s always really happy.”
Danny sinks down on to the floor. It seems like a good idea, a lot comfier than standing up, and so Louis joins him. “You guys have been together forever. You’re very cute.”
“You think? You’re pretty cute too, Dan,” Louis reaches out to touch Danny’s cheek and then his chin, pushing his face up. “I like your chin.”
“Cheers, Lou.” There’s people standing around them, checking themselves out in the mirrors or using the urinals, and Louis should think about how to conduct himself in public but the floor’s really comfy and he has a lot of problems.
“Niall thought I cheated on him,” he says quietly. It sounds a whole lot worse saying it out loud but Danny, lovely Danny, just nods, not judging. Louis might marry him if it didn’t contradict the whole cheating on Niall thing. “With Harry.”
Danny whistles. “Shit.”
“I know. And now he won’t talk to me.”
Danny pats his knee. Louis feels a bit better, a problem shared and all that, but not really. “You know what you have to do, don’t you?”
Louis shakes his head so fast the room spins. There’s no one else here now.
“You need to make a big gesture.”
“Like what?”
Danny shrugs. “You have to think of it yourself otherwise it wouldn’t be so special, would it.”
“You’re very smart, Danny Riach.”
“I don’t appreciate your tone, Tommo.”
--
Louis doesn’t know how he does it. If it had been anyone else they wouldn’t have been able to but somehow, two days after his talk with Danny on the floor of a public bathroom, he finds himself on a flight to Nevada.
Las Vegas is exactly what he imagined it to be: loud, crowded, bright, something for everyone. He doesn't take it all in, though, that's for later if maybe everything goes okay. Instead he goes up to the hotel room he hastily booked yesterday and sits and thinks over what he could possibly say to make this right.
He watches reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond on the TV that takes up half the wall until half eleven when he decides that surely the concert must be over now. It takes a lot of phoning and searching on twitter and some nervous tapping on his thigh telling him this is the worst idea but he eventually finds where Niall is.
"Bet you can't get a hard eight," he says into Niall's ear, stretching up on his tiptoes.
Niall swirls around and drops the dice on the floor between them. "What are you doing here?!" He's doing that smile, the sunshine one, and it's like nothing's wrong at all. He grabs Louis's waist and spins him around, laughing and laughing until he has to stop, red-faced and breathless.
They stumble to the side, into a quieter corner, and Louis grips Niall's shoulders to stop him falling over. Niall's here, he's with him now. It's not scary anymore.
"I had to see you," he laughs again, brushing his thumb over Niall's cheek. Niall pushes into it like a dog. "I've been -- Niall I've been going crazy not being able to speak to you."
Niall keeps nodding like he agrees with everything Louis's saying. "I've missed you so much. I shouldn't have ignored you like that. I was being stubborn and jealous and --"
"I shouldn't have gone out with Harry in the first place. It was stupid, and I'm sorry."
"And, Lou, I'm sorry for not believing --"
Louis shuts him up by leaning up onto and kissing Niall, slotting their lips together for the first time in months. He smiles when Niall still tastes the same, when his shoulders feel the same, and when he licks into Louis's mouth too soon, wet and a little bit sloppy. He's missed this.
"Remember that proposal," Niall murmurs, pulling back to kiss Louis's jaw, pressing kisses down to his neck. They should probably go up to a hotel room – they have a lot to make up for for the last couple of months; Skype and phone sex can only go so far -- but Louis doesn't want to move. "How about it?"
Louis's brain goes into overdrive, running over the past few months and then right into the future. "Is this your idea of a marriage proposal?"
Niall laughs into Louis's neck. "It is, yeah. I want to marry you, Louis, right here."
And there's nothing stopping Louis from kissing Niall fiercely, pressing up against him and whispering yes into his mouth.
--
Louis is twenty seven and Niall is twenty five. They've been married just over a year and, without jinxing it, Louis thinks they're pretty perfect. Niall is still writing but he’s doing a lot of producing, too, something he’s been wanting to get into for a while. Louis ended up not taking any of the transfer offers, there's always a chance for a change a few years down the line, and he's happy at Manchester United. He has more pressing concerns now, like the adoption lady coming to inspect their flat in an hour. Beckham's been shedding hairs everywhere, growling and slinking around the living room like he knows what's going on, and is just trying to make it difficult for them.
"Honey, I'm home!" The door slams and Niall comes skidding into the kitchen. He dips Louis in his arms, kissing him deeply until Louis is laughing and trying to bat him away, wrapping his arms round his neck to stop him falling on the floor.
"What're you so happy about?"
"Can I not just be excited to see my husband?" Niall grins, letting Louis go and jumping up onto the counter. "Oi! Becks! Your favourite's home!"
"I hate you," Louis narrows his eyes at Niall when the cat comes scurrying into the kitchen, meowing at Niall's feet.
"Don't let the adoption people hear that. We're a loving family."
Louis rolls his eyes, but the excitement is bubbling up inside him, nerves twisting it and making him feel sick. “You better write cute as fuck songs about us.”
“Don’t I always, Lou?”
“That one about me being a cold hearted bastard wasn’t so cute.”
Niall groans. He reaches out and tugs Louis over by the hem of his t-shirt and traps him between his legs. “Maybe we’ve grown up since then.”
“Mm,” Louis leans in and kisses Niall. “A baby. How are we going to cope?”
“Well you’ll fall apart but I’m going to be a brilliant dad,” Niall says confidently. He laughs at Louis’s frown and then kisses his cheek just under his eye. “Twenty three years, Lou. I think that makes us invincible to the rest of the world, we’re going to be fine.”