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The mingling sounds of laughter, music and drunken merriment – very loud, very drunken and anything but professional, all his favourite types really - bounce and echo their way from the party that's half a floor away around the large empty room to Louis' desk, causing him to frown at his monitor. He's not glowering at his monitor because his coworkers are clearly enjoying the annual Christmas party without him, oh no. He's glowering because that should be him laughing and drunkenly singing Santa Baby.
Santa Baby is his baby, okay? Although, in all honesty, all Christmas songs are his jam. It's the downside to being a Christmas gift and all. And no one, but no one sings Christmas songs better than he does. They don't even come close.
But his coworkers sound like they're making a pretty good attempt at it, bless their liquored hearts. Tis the season for drunken holiday merriment, fa la la la la.
Instead of being up in front of his coworkers, shaking his drunken arse to the umpteenth version and rendition of Santa Baby, though, he's stuck trying to finish what has stupidly (and foolishly, if he's honest, Christmas miracle) turned into a last minute advice column that needed to be given to the right people yesterday in order to make the new issue. A relationship column, 'Ask Lou' is incredibly popular with their primarily female readers and is a frequent feature on both the magazine's physical issue and the website. Even their social media posts the most popular ones.
Not for the first time, Louis wonders if people are aware the Lou in 'Ask Lou' is really a gay man, using relationship advice he's pulled from his own life and a lot of cheesy titled relationship books that used to line a few shelves on his mum's bookcase. Actually, his mum might still own them; she just doesn't keep them around in light of her new marriage to his stepdad.
A loud braying laugh in the midst of all the other laughter brings his gaze up from where he's trying to stare a hole into his monitor in the hope it finishes writing itself, or at the very least, his monitor sets itself on fire. (Perhaps not so secretly, he's holding out for the monitor to set itself on fire so he can get a new one.) He knows that laugh all too well; he's more than a little enamored with the man the laugh is attached to, even though they've never had a serious conversation between the two of them.
He fixes his monitor with another glare, focusing it specifically at the question that's been the reason his normally prompt article. The thing is, the question hits far too close to home for him, can see himself in it, and he doesn't like the feeling much.
He scans through his answer one final time, making sure he hasn't made any errors in it, before looking at the question again for what will be – until the new issue of the magazine comes out, at least – the last time.
“Dear Lou,” he reads aloud, scrunching his nose up momentarily, “I work with this coworker who seems pretty ace, and although we haven't ever had a real conversation beyond the usual water cooler talk of weather, I'm pretty sure I'm falling for them. How do I approach this person to tell them how I feel?”
It's signed “Hopeless coworker”, but it's a very near thing that Louis doesn't check his email to see if he hadn't drunkenly sent this question to himself and forgot all about it.
The loud braying laugh makes its way to him once more as he's hitting send. This time, though, his gaze shifts to a festive Disney Princess bag sitting next to the monitor. It's for his Secret Santa, and in a terrible, quite possibly cruel twist of fate, his Secret Santa is the same man he's got a massive crush on.
The same one with the loud braying laugh.
Although, maybe he shouldn't call it a crush; he's pretty sure that it's more that he's in love with a man he's barely talked to, and he is every bit as hopeless a person as the person seeking advice in the column that took him the same amount of time to write as quite a few of his papers back in uni.
He groans, propping his elbows on the desk to either side of his keyboard and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Now that he's done with his column, he needs to find the courage to go into that Christmas party and hand his gift over.
Courage. Right.
“I'm a coward.” He finally says out loud, digging the heels of his hands in hard enough that he sees darker spots behind his eyelids. “Can't even bring myself to hand over a gift to someone I fancy.”
“You fancy someone?” The voice, for all that it's slow as honey and deep as sin, is light, the tone teasing. “Who is it then?”
Louis wants to go play in traffic; that voice haunts his dreams something terrible, even though he's never had a serious conversation with the owner.
For all that he's really a coward, though, Louis manages to find something resembling courage; he lifts his head to find Harry Styles, graphic designer from the floor above his and key player in a lot of fantasies. Also his Secret Santa, better not forget that.
Harry Styles is leaning over the low wall that divides Louis' desk from his neighbor's, smiling down at him like Louis' a particularly funny creature.
Maybe he really is. Maybe his reality is really not his reality, but some twisted nightmare that has gone on far longer than it should have. Maybe his brain hates him.
He's also pretty sure that he hasn't spoken to Harry for enough time to properly answer such an upfront question like that, so instead of answering, he stares up at him.
The smile on Harry's face doesn't even falter. In fact, it's like he takes the staring as an invitation to come around the low wall and leans against Louis' desk like he's part of the decorations. There's also a large canvas tote bag – white, with a pair of hedgehogs in a cutesy style cuddled up on a orange leafy heart on it - angling from his fingers.
“Can I help you?” Louis finally finds his voice, aware that even though he's not really sure what's going on, he needs to say something here. He also needs to not freak out that his crush is here, in his cubicle like he owns the place.
Like he belongs in Louis' cubicle. Or, god, like he belongs in Louis' life this way.
“I noticed you weren't at the Christmas party.” Harry says, bright green eyes flitting from decoration to decoration in Louis' cubicle and smiling widely like he's delighted by each and every one of them. He might also be drunk. Louis wouldn't be surprised by that; after all, their boss is heavy handed with the alcohol when it comes to office parties. He also makes sure all of his employees get home safely afterward.
“I was going to,” Louis begins, pointing at his computer screen. “And then I remembered that I hadn't finished my article in time to go to print. Couldn't go with that weighing on my mind.”
Harry makes a noncommittal sound in response, turning his bright smile on Louis. “Dedication to your job. I can respect that in a man.”
They stay like that for a few minutes, Harry smiling brightly at Louis and Louis wondering if he's being punked by his crush, before Harry holds out the tote bag.
“This is for you, by the way. That's why I was hoping I'd see you at the party.” Harry says as Louis takes the tote bag, blinking. “I drew your name for Secret Santa.”
“Why the hedgehogs, though?” Louis blinks at the design, not wanting to look inside just yet. The thing is, he's incredibly enamored with it, and he does love hedgehogs a lot.
“Heard you loved hedgies.” Harry grins like he can hear Louis' thoughts. He bounces a little on the balls of his feet. “Look inside, though. It's not just the tote.”
Louis can't help the smile from forming as he pulls out a tightly wrapped white bundle.
“Careful unwrapping that. The middle is fragile.” Harry says when Louis shoots him a questioning look. The smile turns sheepish. “I went a bit overboard, and definitely over the budget assigned, but.” He gestures a hand at the package. “Unwrap it, unwrap it. I really hope you like it.”
So that's what Louis does.
The white outer wrapping, once Louis' unfolded and unwrapped it, turns out to be a large wall tapestry. He sets the gray bundle that was inside onto his desk to hold it up properly. He's pretty sure it's done by the same artist that designed the tote bag; the white stag on the tapestry looks out from a blue and orange feathery local background, surrounded by white.
The gray bundle turns out to be a t-shirt from one of Louis' favourite websites Tee Turtle: a grouchy hedgehog holds a mug full of coffee surrounded by the words “Mondays... (and every other day).”
Inside the t-shirt is the part Harry had mentioned was fragile. It's a white mug with the word “Gryffindor” written in pale red calligraphy, with a cartoon lion behind it along with the words “the brave”. Inside that are a few tea bags of Louis' favourite tea and...
“Are those rich tea biscuits?” Louis exclaims, holding the mug out to Harry.
“They are.” Harry looks more sheepish, if that were possible. “I bake in my off time, and I thought I'd heard you liked them. If you don't, I can take them back....”
“No, no.” Louis tilts the mug toward himself again, smiling down into it. “I love them with tea.” He looks over his gifts, still smiling. “That was a great gift, Santa. You did good.” He reaches out, fingering the tapestry. He's reminded a bit of the stag tattoo he's got on his upper arm with it, but since he's never worn shirts short enough to show it off..... “But what was the thought process, if I can ask?”
“Okay, so.” Harry pushes away from where he was leaning, touching the tote and the t-shirt. “The hedgehogs are because I heard you liked them, and the shirt felt especially appropriate because you're always cranky when you first come into work. And it matches a lot of the shirts I've seen you wear.” His gaze lands on the shirt Louis' wearing as if to prove his point. And prove it he does: the shirt he's wearing has a mischievous kitten with a string of lights in its mouth, sitting in front of a downed and destroyed Christmas tree with the words “You're welcome” written below it. (It's one of Louis' favourite holiday shirts and it glows in the dark.)
“The stag tapestry reminded me of your stag tattoo.” He continues, fingering the corner of it.
Louis opens his mouth to respond to that, to point out he's never been shirtless around Harry for Harry to know about that tattoo, but the other man moves onto the mug.
“As for Gryffindor, I heard rumours that that's your house at Hogwarts. And you can't have a mug without tea and biscuits.” Harry picks up the mug in his hands, tilting it toward Louis like he hadn't been shown the contents earlier. He sets it back down, his fingers moving to tuck themselves into the front pockets of Harry's dark skinnies, as he looks over the small collection of gifts. “Yeah, I think I went overboard. Sorry.”
“Hey, no, don't be.” Louis smiles up at him, taking a deep breath. “I've got a confession myself.”
“You're going to tell me who you fancy then?”
While Louis might've had doubts earlier about expressing such an intimate detail to someone he barely knows, especially to the person he absolutely does fancy, the very clear thought that had gone into the Secret Santa gift Harry had given him gives him pause. He's definitely never had long enough conversations with Harry for Harry to know this much about him, not unless Harry's gotten help from someone Louis works closely with.
“You're going to laugh if I tell you,” Louis finally settles on, feeling like that's safe for now. He reaches for the gift bag that's been taunting him the entire time he's been writing his column, the one for his Secret Santa and total crush. “It's not as elaborate as what you put into my gift, but I, uh. Drew your name too.”
Harry's fingers reach for the handles of the gift bag, lightly curling around his. “I thought this was for that lucky person you fancy.” He glances down at the bag before smiling shyly like something's suddenly clicked for him. “If this is for both who you drew for Secret Santa and who you fancy, I've got a confession of my own. You weren't the only one.”
His gaze drops to the presents he'd given Louis and oh. Oh. That would definitely explain the level of detail Harry'd gone into for his present. Louis had just agonised for a few hours before buying a Ravenclaw scarf and mug and a couple winter cosy mysteries he thought Harry'd like, because he figured that Harry'd be a Ravenclaw. The Disney Princess bag was just because he thought Harry'd get a kick out of it.
Judging by the delighted grin Harry gives the bag, he guessed right. He watches as Harry sets the bag down, pulling out the scarf and mug to equally delighted squeals.
“I guessed on Ravenclaw, by the way.” Louis confesses, smiling proudly that he'd guessed correctly. “There were no rumours circling.”
“It's perfect,” Harry tells him, very gently tapping his new mug against Louis'. “We'll have to get together and have tea like proper Hogwarts students.”
Louis' about to agree when his gaze drops on the column he'd been stuck busy writing and missed most of the Christmas party because of and suddenly, he doesn't want to be “Hopeless Coworker” and a coward. He wants to be as brave as a Gryffindor.
“Hey, do you maybe....” He trails off, feeling his courage begin to fail him, but he takes a deep breath and presses on. “D'you want to go get that tea now?”
The slow smile that graces Harry's face at that makes Louis feel like he's said the right thing. There's a moment after the question is asked where the two of them, wrapped up in their own world, can still hear the merry sounds of the Christmas party, but it's broken when Harry answers.
“I'd love that.” He raises his new Ravenclaw mug. “I've even got my own mug for that tea.”
“The new issue is here!” Harry exclaims happily as he waves the magazine in Louis' direction, stamping snow off his boots. As if he thinks the other man is unaware of this vital fact that the magazine is out.
“I'm well aware of that, you know.” Louis rolls his eyes, hiding a smile as he takes a sip from his Gryffindor mug. “So I know that we work on different floors, but we still work for the same magazine, remember?”
“Of course I remember.” Harry shakes his head, smiling fondly as he sets the magazine in front of Louis and crossing to the coffee maker to fill up his Ravenclaw mug.
They've been dating – dating! - since the night after the Christmas party, and Louis' pretty sure that the only time they're not together is at work. He's also pretty sure he's got a lot of clothes at Harry's and vice versa, and it's only been a few weeks.
They're rather ridiculous. Louis wouldn't have it any other way, though.
“Are you going to make me breakfast?” Louis says after a suitable period of time – the length of time it takes for Harry to make his coffee the way he likes it and take a sip – has passed, pulling the magazine closer to him and flipping it open.
“You're very spoiled, you are.” Harry smiles, even though Louis can see he's already digging out eggs, cheese and other fixings.
He doesn't even rise to the now regular joke, flipping through the pages of the newest issue of their magazine as he listens to the soothing sounds of Harry's cooking.
“Have I told you that I used to write in to your column?” Harry says as he sets an omelette in front of Louis. “In fact, one of the times I wrote into your column, I was trying to figure out how to ask out this bloke I worked with that I fancied.”
The memory of the Christmas party, the question that had taken Louis so long to answer, comes back into his head and Louis stares up at him in surprise. “That was you?”
Harry grins, sitting down next to him and handing him a fork. “And then I drew your name for Secret Santa. Seems to have worked out pretty well, yeah?”
“I hope you know that question took me ages to answer because I related to it so badly. I was choosing easier questions to answer. I don't even think I spent as long as I did answering that question as I did in uni. Not without a good, valid reason.”
Harry giggles, tucking into his own omelette with relish. “Yeah, I think it worked out pretty great.” He lifts his Ravenclaw mug, clinking it gently against Louis' Gryffindor mug like he doesn't even hear Louis' protesting. “Pretty bloody great, in fact.”
Despite himself, Louis can feel his cheeks stretching into a smile as he clinks his mug back against Harry's. “You're a very silly Ravenclaw, mate.”
“You've got no complaints, do you, Gryffindor?” Harry asks as he leans over for a kiss. He tastes like his cheesy omelette and coffee, and no, Louis really doesn't have any complaints.
Harry's right: it actually has turned out pretty great.