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Chapter Text

𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒆𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆
𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔
𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅.
- 𝑱𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝑱𝒐𝒚𝒄𝒆

“So,” Louis starts, eyeing him up and down, “do you wanna fuck, or am I just gonna stare at your tits all night?” Louis asks. “Don't get me wrong, they're great fucking tits but I’d literally be down for more.”

Harry tilts his head to the left, fully taking in Louis. “You sure you wanna do this?”

Louis huffs, taking several steps forward in a rush. “Does this,” he grabs Harry’s arse and pushes their crotches together, Harry hissing at the contact of their hard dicks touching, “feel like I'm unsure about it?”

Harry’s breath hitches. “Mm,” he huffs as Louis’ tongue licks and his teeth bite over his jaw in turn. “Okay, okay,” Harry tilts his head more to give Louis access when he feels him bite and suck right underneath his ear. “Ngh, Lou,” he moans, “ground rules,” he presses out as he puts a hand on Louis’ chest and pushes him away gently.

“Ground–” Louis frowns, “what?”

“I don't– this is not– we're just fucking, right?” Harry continues, Louis’ heart is rabbiting in his chest, “Like, Adam and I just broke up, I’m not looking for–”

“Just fucking,” Louis agrees easily, off-handedly, like the mention of Harry’s ex doesn’t almost send him into a spiral. “Just friends who have always thought–” Louis cringes internally, fuck , “I mean, think the other one is fit and want to blow off some steam.”

Harry nods in relief. Louis’ fingernails scratch over his naked back, making him hiss out in pain. 

Harry sticks his hand inside Louis’ underwear, around his cock and Louis’ mind whites out completely.

When he comes back to himself, he's alone. He should've figured Harry would bolt right away. He ignores the tugging at his heart; the way it constricts, pulsing rapidly where his Adam’s apple sits. Louis squeezes his eyes shut and swallows his feelings right back down.

It's okay, it's fine. It's casual, he repeats, at least you have him in some way, it's casual.

He picks up his phone from where it sits on his night stand, a message from Harry sitting there. 10 minutes ago.

H : Had an early class and needed to shower, didn't want to wake you up. We still up for beers and football later? x

Louis exhales because at least it doesn't sound like anything changed. Fuck , what if this was the biggest mistake they could've made for their friendship? What if they lose each other aga– no, no, don't go there.

It’s a little bit pathetic, Louis muses, this long-term crush he’s harbouring for Harry. Harry was their neighbour’s son, moving into the house next to his when Harry was 6 and Louis was 8.

There were times, for example, when Harry was 14 and just starting to figure out his sexuality, and Louis, 16-year-old and naive and wide-eyed, just wanted to help him through. It’s when they first blurred the lines between friendship and something more, something else .

“Louis,” Harry breathes out, moving a little closer to him, “I think I might like boys.” They’re playing on the Nintendo, a game of Mario Kart on. Harry is fourth, Louis second. Louis is lucky his Mum lets him have a little TV and the games control in his room, but all of it doesn’t seem to matter right now.

Louis stills, just minutely and pauses the video game. “What–” he coughs, trying not to be too obvious, trying not to show his hand.

“Like, have you seen Adam?” Harry asks, and fidgets with his fingers, “He’s so fit. I wonder what it’s like to kiss him, like, all the time, Louis.”

Adam. He’s in the same class as Louis, they’re not friends per se, but hang in the same corners, so it was inevitable for Harry to, well. Notice him. “Sometimes,” Harry continues, tucking one leg under the other, squirming a little, “Sometimes I think he looks at me a little longer than he’s looking at other people. And-and last week, he complimented me.”

Louis sucks in a sharp breath, his heart shattering in little pieces. You’re 14, Louis wants to scream, you shouldn’t be thinking of boys. But he feels a little hypocritical, because he thinks of 14-year-old Harry kissing his lips, and not Adam’s.

“Do you think that maybe you could, like, umm, can we–” Harry stutters out, eyes flicking nervously across the room, blinking rapidly, “Can we, umm– maybepracticekissing?” he mumbles out, and Louis’ heart is doing fucking somersaults in his chest. He doesn’t just want to be the practice kisser, the one who shows him the ropes, he wants to be more , wants to be–

“Of course,” he blurts out, and he feels utterly betrayed by his mouth. Harry moves forward on his hands and knees, crawling closer on Louis’ bed until they’re sitting right next to each other, legs touching. Louis is so fucking nervous he feels the sweat pooling in his neck. A jolt of electricity zings through Louis’ entire body. Harry is too close, Harry isn’t close enough. Their lips meet, just two mouths pressing onto each other tentatively. Louis isn’t breathing, sucking in his breath. Harry’s eyes are closed, a little frown building in the crease of his eyebrows. Then, cautiously, he tilts his head, lips still pressed onto one another but the tilt deepens the kiss a little. Louis breaks the kiss, putting some distance back between them. A little spit hangs from Harry’s lips and the back of his hand wipes it away.

“That was–” They both start, Louis gesturing for Harry to continue.

“Weird. Right?” he asks, and Louis’ heart shatters right there, between popcorn crumbs and Pepsi bottles, it shatters between childhood dreams and memories, tiny shards poking at his throat. It wasn’t weird for him , just new, and a little clumsy. He’d do it a million times more.

“Yeah,” he replies nonchalantly, like Harry didn’t just rip his heart out with his bare hands, like Harry is Queen Regina and Louis is Sheriff Graham, Harry holding his pure red, beating heart in his hand, squishing until it's only black dust, falling onto the ground, swept away by the wind. “Yeah.”

They meet in the hallway between classes, Louis spots him first; he's deep in discussion with one of his peers. Louis knows by the way Harry holds himself, the way he leans against the wall, that he's flirting and it's three, two, one, yeah, he’s tucking a curl strand behind his ear. Louis wants to scream, wants to yell and stomp up to him, ask him to stop playing with his heart, he’s done that enough already, why is he doing it again . The guy pulls out his phone from his back pocket and they exchange numbers, and Louis doesn’t understand, didn’t he just say he didn’t want something serious, just a little fucking, would he just fuck anyone, or, or was Louis that bad of a shag that he’s going out to find someone else to do it with?

They lock eyes for a split second, just a half beat of his heart, and Louis turns to run out of the hallway, sprinting towards his next class, 25 minutes early.

So much for nothing has changed. 

It’s not that he’s purposefully ignoring Harry’s texts except that he is. Absolutely and without a doubt, he’s ignoring the repeated vibrations of his phone. 

He’s in class , though, in his defence. Also, in his defence, he’s trying to pay attention to the class. However, Louis begrudgingly realises it's a futile attempt, which is why he packs his bag and leaves halfway through it. “Sorry,” he mumbles as he passes the lecturer, “I’m not feeling well.”

And he really doesn’t, but he’s going to push away the butterflies thrashing in his stomach, he’s going to eat them in ice cream, he’s going to drown them in wine until they can’t move their wings anymore. He did it once, he can do it again.

He’s not going to fall down the Harry Styles rabbit hole again.

Friends with benefits. He can do that. Harry leans against the wall outside the classroom, like he’s the main character in a movie, absently playing with the phone in his hand. “Hey,” he says casually, like he didn’t just flirt with someone else, like he hasn’t been continuously breaking Louis’ heart since he was 14 years old, “are you okay? Why did you run away from me?”

“I didn’t run away from you,” Louis answers, “don’t be dense. I just remembered I had to be somewhere.”

Harry eyes him, gaze traveling up and down his body, and for the first time, he feels desired by the one he wants. His pupils blow a little, and he averts his gaze as quickly as he can. He coughs, then gestures one hand forward. “After you,” he says, “let’s go to the pub.”

“Sure. Zayn and Niall will be there, too.” He doesn't know if he imagines Harry’s face falling a little, doesn't know if it's his mind playing dirty tricks on him or if it does fall. But he relishes in it like someone told him he just won the Premier League.

Zayn and Niall are already there when they enter the pub, Niall obnoxiously waving at them, hollering. They sit down next to each other, both of them ordering a pint. Harry’s hand squeezes his thigh as he puts it there, and a hunger for more shoots through him. They stare at each other for a second, before Louis gets up, muttering out a “Gotta piss” and heads for the bathrooms. He hopes Harry gets the hint.

He waits a few seconds, then the door opens and Harry rushes in, their lips meeting in a frantic, hungry kiss as the door shuts behind him. He walks them back into a stall, then sinks to his knees, “gonna suck you so good, Lou,” his lips engulf Louis’ half-hard cock and Louis throws his head back, world turning into white splashes of static.

Chapter Text

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈
𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕,
& 𝑰 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓,
'𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒆 𝒎𝒆.'
- 𝑽𝒊𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝑾𝒐𝒐𝒍𝒇

Zayn pulls him aside two weeks after their little thing had started. “What’s going on?” Louis asks, looking around.

“What are you doing?” He asks exasperatedly, and Louis only shrugs in reply.

“Didn't know I needed your permission.”

Zayn scoffs, puffing on his cigarette. “You don’t. But you’re being stupid and reckless. Mind I remind you how we nursed your heart after he got with Adam?”

Zayn had been in his class, having skipped one grade, and he'd always been perceptive about Louis’ feelings for Harry. 

“We kissed,” Harry skips next to him, beaming. “He–”

Louis takes a deep steadying breath, willing his racing heart to calm down. “You–”

“We had a date yesterday,” Harry says, and Louis doesn't know if he feels betrayed because he didn't know, because his best friend didn't feel the need to tell him something this exciting or because–well, because.

“He took me to the movies, and we watched this-this horror movie,” Harry’s eyes flick around nervously like he's confessing to doing something illegal, and maybe he is because the movie was most probably rated 15, so not something Harry should have watched. He bites the disappointed scoff back down. “It wasn’t that scary,” Harry starts, oblivious to Louis’ internal turmoil, “but I scooched closer to him, or well, as much as possible. It was a loveseat ,” he says dreamily, stars in his eyes, and Louis wishes he was the one who put them there, “and I didn’t want to seem too desperate, like you said, but after a while he took my hand, and we continued to hold hands the whole movie.” Harry takes a deep breath, beaming smile on his face, dimples on display so wide Louis fears they’ll be etched in permanently.

“Then he dropped me off at home and when we said bye he pressed a quick kiss on my lips.”

Louis opens the door to his bedroom and Harry flops down on the bed immediately. “It was sooooo good.”

Louis’ lips tighten, the pain in his chest constricting. “That’s so nice,” he whispers, but knows he’s lost Harry a little. Right here, right now, in between Spiderman duvets and video game controllers, in between memories of growing up together, in between everything they have, something between them irrevocably breaks.

“Wanna tell me more about it?” Louis whispers, biting back down the venom he feels threatening to leave, forcing it back down into the pit of his stomach, carving a black space for anything Adam related. He hopes it won’t grow.

“Nah,” Harry says, grabbing the controller. “Let’s just play a little, ‘kay?”

Louis just nods and grabs the other one. They play in complete silence.

“It wasn’t actually that bad,” Louis scoffs.

“Louis, you didn’t want to get out of bed for almost two weeks after they made it official. You actually told me you don’t want to see him anymore. And you still did, every single day, putting on a brave face for your best friend, because he was in love, and you wanted to be supportive, and he couldn’t even appreciate that. And the one time you snapped and asked him–” he shakes his head, disappointment still palpable, “And you just let him waltz right back into your life like he didn’t do any of that. He came to this university, just like you both had it planned back before he tossed you aside because he found something shinier, something more interesting. He just fucking tossed you to the side like you didn’t matter, Lou, and I will forever, forever, resent him for that. He broke your heart.”

“He–” Louis gulps the big lump in his throat back down, “he didn’t toss me aside,” Louis whispers, “he was in love for the first time, and I acted like a jealous bitch.”

“But you didn’t, and I hate that he made you believe that.”

“Isn’t this how life goes? Some have a great first love, others don’t?” Louis asks, puffing on his cigarette. He leans against the hood of his beat up car, his mum’s old one, Zayn sitting on top of it. The sun is setting somewhere in the North and paints a beautiful sunset. “He had a great one, I hadn’t, life goes on.”

“But Lou,” he stresses, “you deserve it.”

Louis shrugs, flicking the cigarette away and tossing his head back to stare at the sky. There’s a few clouds, and Louis’ eyes trace them, looking for any kind of sign. What should I do?

“Well, I didn’t get that love, Zayn, so this conversation feels a little redundant right now. Can we talk about literally anything else?”

“Fine,” Zayn scoffs, getting inside Louis’ car.

They don’t speak the whole ride home from campus to Zayn and Liam’s flat.

“Night,” Zayn says coldly, and slams the door shut without looking back. Louis isn’t in the mood to run after him to apologise.

His phone vibrates right before he decides to start the car again, so he stops in his tracks and takes it from where it sits on the middle console.

H: You up for some gaming? My place?

Louis isn’t sure if gaming is code for sex, but he won’t say no to a good time with Harry regardless, so he texts back a thumbs up, and drives the short distance to Harry’s one-bedroom flat.

Harry’s already waiting downstairs, a joint in his hand, wiggling his eyebrows. “Want some?” he asks, and Louis is never going to say no to some good weed.

He hands Louis the lit joint and Louis takes a long drag of it, then hands it to Harry. He’s inhaling, inhaling, until he slowly exhales the smoke. He feels relaxed almost instantly, giddy with how close he and Harry are.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, gazing at him, and Louis feels oddly appreciated under his intense stare. He doesn't know what to make of it. “You have an eyelash there,” he says, wiping his thumb over the space underneath his eyes, and Louis’ eyes almost flutter shut at the sensation. His heart grows three sizes in his chest, suddenly feeling too big for it, ready to claw its way out, vomiting out words he will regret later.

Instead, he huffs out a quiet breath, and stares at Harry. He thinks about Adam suddenly. The many moments Harry and he have shared, the whispered promises, entangled in sheets and themselves and he has to suck in a deep breath. Weed makes him so soft, and incredibly jealous too. It's always been his worst trait.

The stars twinkle behind Harry’s frame, and his eyes rival with them. Louis wants to drown in the depth of his moss green eyes. 

“Make a wish,” Harry whispers, his voice soft and laced with something Louis can't place. He blames the weed.

He blows the eyelash away and closes his eyes, wishing for something he knows won't come true; wishes for Harry to stay, wishes for late night talks, and hazy early mornings, wishes for Harry in his arms, wishes for an I love you that means more than just friendship. He thinks, absently, as he stares at Harry, taking him in, memorising the way his eyelashes fall onto his cheeks when he blinks, breathing him in, the intoxicating smell of weed, Harry’s cologne, and something so unique to just Harry, that he’d wait an eternity for Harry to love him back.

When the joint is finished and they both feel loose-limbed, they trudge the few stairs up to Harry’s flat. He hasn’t been over many times since Harry moved to Leeds. Most of the time they meet in Louis’ flat. Louis is lucky enough his grandparents decided to support him, giving him the possibility to rent a little flat in the outskirts of Leeds. Harry’s flat is smaller than his own, but it’s a lot closer to the city centre; a life Louis wishes to be a part of but also not.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Harry laughs as he struggles to open the door, the lock not quite cooperating, and when the door closes, Harry is all over Louis in seconds. Louis lets out a surprised gasp, grasping at Harry’s back, letting himself be pushed against the door. Harry’s hand skirts under Louis’ shirt, pressing into the softness of his hips. Another breathy gasp escapes him unwillingly.

“You feel so good,” Harry whispers as he nips at Louis’ jaw, working his way up to Louis’ earlobe, licking over the sensitive skin just below, the part of his body that betrays him the most, makes him weak in the knees and dizzy with need. Harry figured that out about Louis two minutes into them making out all those days ago.

“You too,” Louis gasps out, hands roaming over Harry’s body, looking for purchase, for something to hold on to. Harry licks the roof of Louis’ mouth, coaxing little moans out of him, and Louis’ brain goes a little woozy.

Harry’s moans are something that Louis never thought he'd get to experience, they soothe something deep inside him, settling the irrational fear that he's deeply unloveable. High moans and little gasps turn into his lifeline as they stumble over furniture and shoes tossed on the floor, as they only break their kissing to catch their breath because they need to.

“I want you to fuck me,” Harry says nonchalant as he fiddles with the button of Louis’ jeans, yanking them down when he finally gets it right. Louis’ entire body lights up in reply, a low groan escaping him. His cock twitches against the fabric of his underwear.

Fuck.

“Are you sure?” Louis asks, and Harry tilts his head to the left in a display of absolute exasperation, like he asked for his firstborn, or something else ridiculous like loving him in return.

“Yeah,” Harry nods eagerly, frantically, and if Louis closes his eyes, maybe he can pretend that for Harry, getting fucked by Louis is like winning the lottery, like it's mankind’s highest achievement.

“Okay,” Louis breathes out, fingers flirting down Harry’s spine, tracing trivial patterns along it until he reaches the lace of Harry’s panties (fuck?) and dips in, reducing Harry to a moaning, trembling mess. “Sure.”

Hand him the dagger, because this is like sealing his death. He's Eve, and Harry’s the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. Louis is going to doom them forever.

Chapter Text

𝑩𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆.
- 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌

“What happened to that guy you gave your number to?” Louis blurts out over shared pizza and beers, a few days later. Fuck his overjealous mind.

Harry’s answer is a frown. “Who?”

“Um, a few weeks back, in the hallway, you were flirting with that guy and you exchanged numbers.” Louis tries his best at nonchalance, his voice unsteady to his own ears, his throat constricting as he presses the words out. Sweat is pooling in his neck. Ridiculous.

“Oh, you mean Percy,” Harry nods while he's taking a bite of his slice of pizza, humming thoughtfully while chewing. “He had a few questions over a class that we share. He's like, super heterosexual though, so I didn't flirt –”

“You tucked your curl behind your ear!” Louis points out and Harry honks out a loud laugh. Louis wants to treasure this laugh forever, because it feels like he’s the only person who gets that laugh out of him.

“Oh my god . That isn't code for flirting, Lou, literally my hair was just annoying me. I’m thinking of cutting it.”

No , Louis thinks. No, don’t. I like raking my fingers through your hair when you’re asleep after sex. I like the way you melt into my touch when I tug at it when we kiss . “Do it,” he answers, and once more he feels utterly betrayed by his mouth. How fucking desperate are you to appeal to him ?

“Really? Adam always said that–” he seems to be catching himself mid-sentence, looking down at his pizza, his face hardening. Louis frowns. He always thought they were perfect together. Weren’t they perfect together? High school sweethearts, dating for years. They must have been perfect together at one point.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry apologises quickly. “I know he's a sore topic. It's the same for me, but my mind still drifts off to him sometimes.”

Louis waves his hands in dismissal, “No, go on. I've been a shit best friend before, so, have at it. Whatever you wanna say, I'm here to listen.” He takes a big sip of his beer, and braces himself for six degrees of heartbreak.

“Umm, well. He said shorter hair made me look… Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that. Can I talk about what happened after you left for Leeds? I can, right? You said whatever I want to talk about,” Harry rambles and Louis puts his hand on Harry’s thigh, shushing him.

“It’s fine. Whatever you want to talk about, babe.”

There’s a flicker of something on Harry’s face and Louis wonders if he crossed a boundary. Harry doesn’t say anything. “He graduated the same year as you, obviously, so he started working around, little jobs here and there, umm, to, save for his travels. When he had enough money saved up, he decided to start a gap year, that was like,” Harry ponders for a minute, finger tapping lightly against his lips. Louis wants to kiss them, “Six, seven months before my graduation? I think it was around November or December, and he started his travels then, starting in New Zealand and Australia. At the beginning, he texted me all the time but it started to wane around my 18th birthday. I hate that he wasn't there for that, but it was even worse that he didn't come for my graduation. Even though I begged him to. I missed him so much during those months, and I just thought, you know, I was there for his graduation, he could've at least returned the favour. I even would've paid half of–” Harry whispers, tears pooling at the brim of his eyes. “Sorry, sorry. I’m– like, still processing.”

Harry moves closer to Louis as Louis stretches out an arm for Harry to cuddle in close. The soft hum of the refrigerator is the only noise in his little flat. Outside, the sun begins to set, a vibrant kaleidoscope of colours littering the sky. “That’s okay, babe,” Louis says, pushing Harry’s fringe out of his face before he presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’m here to listen, okay. I’m–” He’s about to apologise for years ago, when he was 17 and lonely, and heartbroken, when he pushed Harry away. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“I know,” he whispers, “Thank you, Lou. I’m so glad to have you back.” His head falls onto Louis’ shoulder, and he feels the shuddering breath Harry takes as he curls himself closer into Louis, his finger curling into Louis’ shirt.

“Me too,” Louis whispers, his heart beating in his throat. “Me too.” He’s biting back down words he’s going to regret if they fall out. It seems to be all he's going to be doing with Harry.

“So, yeah. He didn’t come to my graduation, which was like, okay ,” Harry huffs out an exasperated breath, the hurt in his voice still palpable, and Louis wants to shake Adam, have a sword fight with him or whatever to fight for Harry’s honour, “I guess I had my answer then, you know? When he came back two weeks later for his birthday, because his parents insisted on him coming, I thought, wow, so you couldn't just spend three or four weeks at home? But yeah, well, he sat me down like, I think two or three days after his birthday, and broke up with me. He said he’d–” Harry sticks his tongue out, biting on it, taking a deep breath. Louis thinks he can see him swallowing tears back down. “I don’t actually want to talk about it right now. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Louis replies easily. “I’m not entitled to a rundown on your break up. You said it, we’re just. Having a little fun, right? Best friends first?” He hopes he sounds as sincere as possible, even if he wants to be so much more than best friends, even if his heart is tugging, screaming, yearning to be loved back. 

Harry nods, moving to lay his head down in Louis’ lap, his cheek pressed into Louis’ thigh, staring at the black TV. “Should I put on a movie?” Louis asks, and he only feels Harry’s nod against his thigh. He ignores the wetness building on his trackpants, ignores the quiet sniffle.

His hand finds Harry’s head by its own volition, carding through his curls. He hears Harry let out a little, content sigh, before he squishes his cheek further into Louis’ thigh.

He opens the DisneyPlus app on his TV, starting Bambi . He feels Harry’s faint smile against his thigh again, and hears a whispered awestruck “You remember?” like Louis could ever forget.

“Watched it every day for a month when you were 7, don't think I could forget even if I wanted to.”

Something he wouldn't tell Harry, though, is how sometimes when he was drunk out of his mind or when he was missing Harry so much, the charred hole in his heart would start burning again and he’d watch the movie, too.

“M’sorry,” Harry says after a while, “for, you know, back then.”

Louis’ hand stills where they stroke through Harry’s hair, and he feels a little punch-drunk. He needs no apology. He doesn't–it's not–he's forgiven him, right?

“Fuck you,” Harry hisses as he moves a few steps back, Louis doesn't think he's ever seen Harry—sweet, kind Harry—this angry. “Why can't you be happy for me? Why do you have to ruin everything? Why do you have to be so obsessed with me?”

“Ruin everything? Obsessed with you? Are you fucking for real right now?” Louis huffs out through his nose, simmering anger bubbling in his throat. “I asked you to spend some time with me! We've seen each other like, three times in the past four weeks. I’m your best fucking friend, or-or am I not?” He hates the insecurity that’s laced in the question; he hates it even more that Harry scoffs like he's been asked a really inconvenient question.

“Honestly, I'm questioning that right now, because if you were, you'd be happy for me!”

“I am!” Louis shouts, “I am,” he adds quieter, “but we never spend time together anymore and I never thought you'd be the type of person to lose themselves in their relationship. So… yeah. Maybe you're right, maybe we're not best friends anymore, because right now, I don't even know who you are anymore. I'm not even sure I like you right now.”

Harry inhales sharply, a look of hurt overtaking his angry face, and he turns to retreat back into their house. “Okay. Maybe we do need some space, or whatever.”

Louis nods quickly, curtly. The tears are threatening to fall and he's choking them back down immediately. He won't cry in front of Harry. He slams the door shut behind him, trying to breathe. What a good thing they're neighbours.

He survives the few steps to his home, and once he opens the door, tears are streaming down his face. His mum is right there, as always, scooping him up in a hug, incessantly stroking his hair, just whispers to him. It’ll be alright, babe. You’ll be fine. Do you want some tea? He’ll come around, boo bear . But no, he won’t, Louis just knows , he feels it, deep in his bones like Icarus was too close to the sun, he was, too. Too close to Harry. But he’s not flying, he's drowning, drowning so deep that he doesn’t know how to swim back up to the surface. So, he does what he knows, and he lets himself be carried away by the tide, sinking further away.

Startled by the intensity of his memory, Louis moves away suddenly, like he’s been burnt, jolting Harry awake in the process. Harry frowns, little laughter lines showing around his eyes, but not enough to be wrinkles quite yet. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Louis whispers, shoving the memory back down into the Adam slash Harry pit of his stomach, the one that he's closed off years ago, the one that only recently got scabbed open again. “I just remembered I have an early class tomorrow. You wanna sleep on the couch or do you want me to drive you back home quickly?”

“It's not even 9 yet,” Harry replies, a questioning tint to it.

“It's an important class.”

“Oh, okay. Is it–is it really okay if I sleep here?” he asks, and no , it's really not, but Louis can't really say that, can he? Because he's just got Harry back, right? He can't antagonise him again, so he only nods imperceptibly. “There's a toothbrush underneath the sink in the drawer, and–” He gets up quickly, excusing himself, “I’ll be right back, but just–get yourself ready, I guess.”

Louis still sees the frown on Harry’s face before he slips into his bedroom, trying to breathe.

Harry's ready for bed (as much as one can be when a sleepover wasn’t planned, so Harry sits there in boxer briefs and nothing else and Louis wants to groan) when he emerges from his bedroom in his pajamas, sitting on the sofa, tapping away on his phone. He locks it immediately when he notices Louis in the room. “Don’t worry,” Louis says, the smile on his face feeling so fake he's scared Harry is going to call him out on it, “I’ll quickly get ready and then I'll bring you a pillow and a duvet.”

Harry nods, a thoughtful expression worrying his face.

Louis bolts to the bathroom, getting ready in the serene quiet of his bathroom, the occasional little noise from the living room the only disturbance. He slips out of the bathroom and through the living room in silence, getting the duvet and pillow out of his closet, as well as an old bed-set his mother gave him. He places it down on the sofa, sending Harry a little smile. “Sorry, it’s not made, it was in the wash,” he apologises but Harry just waves him off.

“That’s okay, Lou,” he answers, a smile playing around his mouth. God, he looks so beautiful, Louis wants to lose himself in him all over again. Maybe he already has, maybe he was never saved. “You can go to bed, it’s fine. I’ll take care of this. Good night, Lou.”

Louis nods and retreats to his small bedroom, leaving Harry to sleep on the worn down couch. If he were in a better headspace, he would have let him sleep with him.

Louis doesn’t know how much time has passed, but the creak of the door opening and someone slipping in wakes him up, just barely. He stifles a yawn and turns to search for a silhouette, a dark shadow barely in the room. “Harry?” he asks, “are you okay?”

“Can’t sleep,” he whispers, shuffling forward. Louis doesn't know if he imagines it or if it's there, but it sounds like Harry had been crying. “Is it– I know– can I–”

“Get in here,” Louis says and moves to the right of the bed, waiting for the dip of the mattress and Harry cuddling in. He turns to face Louis’ body, but Louis’ back is to him. He feels Harry’s arm snake around his body. He stiffens at the sudden touch but softens when he feels Harry pulling him closer. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even know if he’s still breathing. Cheeky fingers dance over his naked, sleep-warm skin, erupting butterflies and goosebumps like a volcano, hot lava pooling in the pits of his stomach. Harry is skillfully reducing him to a pile of goo. Then, then , as if Louis’ resolve isn't wavering and running thin, Harry’s fingers dip underneath the waistband of Louis’ underwear and Louis is too weak to protest, he’s too weak to deny Harry anything. He lets out a high, needy moan as he presses his arse closer against Harry.

“Please,” he keens, “please please please .”

Harry’s hand wraps around Louis’ cock, and Louis’ world explodes.

Chapter Text

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒍𝒚
𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎
𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅.
- 𝑭. 𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒕𝒕 𝑭𝒊𝒕𝒛𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒅

There's something peaceful in waking up next to Harry, entangled in each other, a little sticky, a little sweaty, but Louis feels the butterflies in his stomach, a little flutter, making his heart beat faster, the skin on his arms erupting in goosebumps. It's not even sexual, it's soft, it's slow. Harry stretches a little, stifles a yawn, a soft little squeal escaping when a particularly long stretch hits just right. He rolls around and opens his eyes, hazily, blinking slowly.

“Morning,” he whispers, and it hits Louis that this is the first time they are waking up next to each other after having slept together.

“Hey,” Louis replies sleepily, stretching too, putting the back of his hand over his eyes to hide himself. 

“Did you sleep well?” Harry asks, a little teasing undertone in his voice.

“After you attacked me when I was hardly awake and made me come three times?” Louis laughs, exhaling softly, shakily. “Absolutely. Like a baby.”

“You felt so good underneath my fingers.” Harry’s voice is husky, and the need in it is palpable by the way his pupils blow and he licks his lips, casting his eyes over Louis’ naked body.

“Didn't think I could come three times, that was…” Louis shakes his head. “You made me late for class now, I could barely open my eyes when my alarm went off.”

Harry laughs, this cute little laugh that he makes when he’s endeared by something– an animal, a video he’s found on TikTok, anything really. To be the recipient of this laugh, Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself. His heart is racing in his chest, faster than any McLaren formula 1 car could ever drive.

It’s casual , he prays to himself, on repeat, on repeat, on repeat. “Now that you so inconveniently missed your class,” Harry says casually, as if it's not an inconvenience at all, as he moves closer, his lips grazing the shell of Louis’ ear, leaving goosebumps in his trail, “You wanna shower together? Save the earth, or whatever scientists say?”

He presses a glimmer of a kiss behind his ear, Louis’ breath catching in his lungs. He's lightheaded in the best way, and nothing in the world could make him say no to Harry.

Clumsily they stumble through the flat, touching where their fingers can find purchase, coaxing noises out of each other.

When they reach the small shower space, crowding in it, their hard cocks touch and Louis doesn't know where Harry starts and ends.

It’s spring, and Louis is in love. He’s in love with life, and he’s in love with Harry, and the realisation hit him square in the chest only two weeks prior to now, and he’s still trying to quell the feelings, to stomp them down to tiny nothings, because Louis doesn’t want to be in love with Harry. Harry’s his best friend. That’s all there is to it.

The picnic blanket they’re sitting on feels a little clam, springtime still casting the grass in dew. There’s daisies blooming all around them, dandelions and trout lilies, too. None of them are as beautiful as Harry.

“Do you ever think about the future?” Harry asks, sheepishly, the dandelion that Louis handed him tucked behind his ear causing Louis’ breath to hitch. Louis has to breathe deeply not to confess his feelings right away.

Louis busies himself with the flower crown he’s working on before he replies. “Sometimes,” Louis answers distractedly, “Why?”

“Just wondering,” Harry says, pulling his knees up to his body, resting his head onto his knees. He’s careful about the dandelion, switching it from one ear to the other to do so. “‘S scary, you know? Like, you make all these plans, get married when you're twenty-three, have kids, make a career out of whatever you decide on. What if it doesn't come true?”

Louis tosses away a daisy, it just doesn't want to stick inside the other one, picking a new one. “I don't think it's important for your plans to come true at a specific age. You just gotta make sure you stay true to yourself,” Louis whispers as he finishes the flower crown and puts it on Harry’s head. “Ta-da,” he grins, pulling up his camera to snap a quick picture of Harry, catching him off guard. “And make sure you work for them, but it doesn't matter when you achieve them.”

Harry looks at him, a thoughtful expression glazing his youthful eyes. There’s something in Harry’s gaze that makes Louis want to protect him from whatever storm he’s weathering, from whatever feelings bug him and eat at him.

Louis wants Harry to stay 13 forever.

When Harry leaves later that day, somewhere around midday, a lingering kiss pressed to Louis’ lips as they say their goodbyes, Louis’ heart gets a little confused, almost blurting out something stupid like “Love you”, like that's a thing they say to each other when they haven't in three or four years. His eyes linger on the door for a few more minutes after the door closes shut, like the door holds all the answers to questions he’s not ready to ask.

He’s perched on the floor in his bedroom minutes later, pulling the shoebox out from underneath the bed. It moved with him, even though he hasn't dared to look at it in just as many years he hasn't told Harry he loved him. He opens it, carefully, like any sudden move might destroy the false sense of security he’s built up. Right there, on top of all the memories he's shoved down into the deepest parts of his heart, lays the picture of Harry, a flower crown adorning his beautiful face. Louis thinks he was definitely in love with Harry here. He doesn't remember a time when he wasn't.

H: Movie tonight? I’ll cook x

His answer’s been sitting ready to be sent for at least 40 minutes now, but Louis can't muster up the courage to actually hit the button. It's just a fucking movie night , Louis thinks, you're friends .

Louis does have to say that Harry’s putting effort into their friendship these days. Most of the time he's the one reaching out to Louis, with Louis sending pretty nondescript short answers, a thumbs up or a yes x . It's just, he's scared. He's put so much of his heart into Harry already, and there's only so much he has left of it.

So, today, he ends up deleting his answer and only writes:

Sorry. Have a ‘date’ with Zayn tonight.

And this is how he ends up at Zayn and Liam’s place, in the middle of their date night, and third wheeling never felt worse.

“Sorry,” he says to them both when they open the door. “Harry asked to hang out but–”

Zayn waves him off and inside, “no worries, for us it's date night almost every night,” and Louis looks at him in disgust, uttering out “too much information” and hears Liam cackling in the background, shuffling around in the kitchen.

“So.”

“So.” Louis takes a big sip of his beer and stares at the ceiling for several minutes before he turns to Zayn, “You're right. I'm fucking stupid. What the hell did I think, casually sleeping with him? As if anything about him is fucking casual ! I made a stupid fucking flower crown for him when he was 13. Does he think all best friends do that, or?”

He bangs his head against the back of the sofa and groans. “And then he’s so good with his fingers, oh my God , he made me come three times only from his fingers.”

“Okay, okay woah, what?”

“Sorry,” Louis mutters, “I’m horny around the clock these days. Pretty sure I’m gonna flunk my next exam when he keeps doing that thing with his fingers–”

“Babes.” Zayn snaps his fingers in front of Louis’ face and his focus shifts back to his surroundings.

“And he also apparently makes me lose all my inhibitions and boundaries when sober, so please if you could just forget whatever I told you, that would be ace.”

“Already forgotten,” Liam laughs as he places some snacks on their couch table and sits down next to Zayn, a hand snaking on Zayn’s thigh so naturally Louis wants to throw up by the domesticity of it.

“How long exactly have you guys been dating again?” Louis wants to know but also not really, so he fake-retches and turns to his beer. “You would never betray me, right?” he asks the bottle, fake sweetness lacing his voice.

“It’s beer, Louis, I don’t think it holds any feelings.”

“Oh but it does. It told me so,” Louis replies, cradling the beer bottle like a long lost friend returning after war. Or something akin to that.

So they spent their night getting drunk, and maybe smoking a spliff or two, and Louis doesn’t think of Harry. Nope, he doesn’t. He’s not wondering if he’s thinking about Louis the same way he’s thinking about Harry. He’s not wondering if Harry imagines their encounters again, if Harry is plagued by memories of a childhood friendship gone wrong. He’s not wondering if Harry ever thinks about him at night, when he’s alone and his wandering hand touches supple skin. He’s not.

Only that in the morning, the incriminating evidence of I’d fuck you silly right now if you were here. Love the noises you make when I finger you sits in his messages, read but unreplied. Did this cross a boundary they never set? Louis doesn’t even know how he got home again, yet alone how he’d managed to send a message with no typos at all.

The ringing of his door bell pulls him out of the spiral he’s in, and when he opens his door, Harry stands in front of him, fringe sweaty, shorts showing off his toned legs, and he’s breathing– oh . “Fuck,” he groans, “fuck, Lou, you can’t just send messages like this, what the fuck . I couldn’t, I didn’t, I wasn’t–” He frantically barges in. 

“Sorry,” Louis giggles, “I've been high off my arse with Zayn and Liam, and then– I don't fully remember but I think they made out with each other and that made me so horny, and I think then I decided to text yo—”

“Shut up,” Harry moans, stepping into Louis’ space, crowding him. He dips his lips down onto Louis’. He smells of toothpaste and cologne, he feels strong underneath his fingertips.

“You gonna stay true to your words or am I gonna have to do it myself?” Harry pulls his shorts down in one, smooth move, his hard cock springing free. Louis’ mouth waters a little at the sight, and he sinks down to his knees reverently, and oh, how the Mighty have fallen, Louis thinks as he licks over the slit of Harry’s cock.

Harry's hands find their way into Louis’ hair, Louis’ hand grabbing into Harry’s arse cheek, and Louis just takes whatever Harry is willing to give. He's not ready to ruin it yet. Just a little longer.

Chapter Text

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔
𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅
𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆
𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒆.
- 𝑭. 𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒕𝒕 𝑭𝒊𝒕𝒛𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒅

“I’m going to visit my mum this weekend,” Louis puffs out the smoke from his cigarette, the back of his head pressed against Harry’s chest. “You wanna join me? Bet your mum would be happy to see you.”

Harry exhales, pressing a kiss to the crown of Louis’ head. Louis wants to combust. His heart feels too full, too heavy. He doesn’t know how to stop, he doesn’t know if he should stop. Should he?

“Yeah, m’in,” Harry murmurs. The pads of his fingertips skid underneath Louis’ shirt and brush over the supple skin, barely so. Goosebumps build on his skin instantly. He could get so used to this. “When do you wanna leave? I’d probably have to move around my shift.”

Right . Harry’s working a lot lately. “Tomorrow after my classes,” Louis replies. “But I could like–” he starts, taking another drag of his cigarette, puffing it out before he continues, “if you need to work the shift tomorrow, we can leave after that.”

“I’ll check with Phillip, see if he can take over my shift.”

“Right, cool,” Louis nods, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. He really, really needs to get some reality check, and that soon, because any mention of any guy sets his jealousy off lately, and admittedly, it’s starting to become a problem. Not for Harry, because he’s still as oblivious to the inner turmoil he sends Louis’ heart in with every domestic gesture, with every lingering kiss, with every hello and goodbye that is a little longer than friendly.

“I’ll leave then,” Harry yawns, putting his arms over his body to stretch.

“Okay.” Louis doesn’t want Harry to leave, he’s sleeping better when Harry’s there, but that’s not something he can just blurt out, that's not something they do. Harry lingers in the door frame, his hand stroking through Louis’ hair, pulling at it a little, pulling him in for a lingering kiss. “Bye, baby,” he whispers and presses another chaste kiss to Louis’ lips. Louis’ heart bursts into screaming colours, love me, love me, why can't you love me ? Harry turns back, a smile playing on his lips, and then he's gone. Louis stays rooted where he is, the persistent tugging of his heart forcing him to retreat back instead of running after Harry. His neighbour greets him, aloof but questioning gaze on his face, asking him if his boyfriend had to leave and–

Harry’s not his boyfriend, why is he not his boyfriend? Why didn't he stay? Why does Louis have to beg first before Harry deems him worthy enough to spend the night?

“Psst.”

Louis stifles a yawn, turning around to look at the lump of Harry sitting on the floor, covered fully in a blanket, only his face visible. “What the fuck are you doing?” Louis asks incredulously, voice pitching up a few octaves.

“Couldn't sleep,” he replies easily.

“So you…took your blanket, got up and out of your bed, walked the short distance over here without shoes or socks and into mine ? Which, creepy, did you climb in through my window?”

Harry grins. Both his upper front teeth are missing. “Missed you,” he says. “I didn't want to wake you but then I got bored and I was scared you’d scream if I just got into bed with you.”

“Good thing you didn't, Hazza.” Louis shakes his head violently, pressing the on switch of his bedside lamp.

“Ugh, bright, ew,” Harry complains. Louis moves to the sight, pressing his body against the wall.

“Come on in, you've got to sleep.” Harry clambers up to Louis and cuddles in close. When he talks, it’s quiet and shy.

“Don't wanna. Also I don't wanna go to school, they're mean.”

“You're gonna be kind, okay?” Louis asks, pulling him in close. Harry huffs out an annoyed breath. 

“Always be kind, even if they're mean. And if they continue, you get me, ‘kay?”

Harry nods. Louis waits for his breath to even out before he turns around, counting sheep, syncing his breathing with Harry’s. He wants to protect Harry. He's always going to protect Harry.

Sometimes, Louis thinks he gave up on Harry too quickly. Maybe he should've just ignored it, the hurt his unrequited crush caused. 

Harry loved him, Louis knows he did, and just because it was–is–a different kind of love, it doesn't make it any less valuable. He should've hold on to it better.

He drives to Harry’s work–he's a barista at a coffeehouse (Louis doesn't think Harry could get more hipster if he tried)–and parks a few streets over, with no parking spot free in front of it. Waiting for Harry, he finds an abandoned, lonely dandelion on the paveway. He plucks it out and holds it in his hands, twirling it back and forth nervously. He doesn't know why he's so nervous.

“Hey,” Harry greets him as he walks out the place and pulls him into a tight hug. Louis doesn't want the hug to end. He clings onto Harry’s back for a second, inhaling the scent of coffee and pastries, and just breathes.

“Hey, H,” he smiles, pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek when they part, and sticks the dandelion behind Harry’s ear. “Saw this and thought of you.”

“Oh,” Harry blushes, looking down at his shoes, standing a little bit pigeon-toed. “Thank you,” he breathes, and then, before Louis can prepare, or anything, presses a kiss onto his lips. “That's so sweet of you.”

Louis goes a little weak in the knees, and maybe he feels a little bit like all his dreams just came true with one, chaste kiss.

“Let's get going, alright,” Louis says, dodging Harry’s gaze on him. It's casual, casual, casual. He doesn't want you. Friends, friends, casual.

If he doesn't really reply to any of Harry’s stories, well, he can blame the traffic and the need to pay attention to the other cars around him.

They arrive in Doncaster around an hour later. It’s weird, being back here with Harry in tow when he spent the better half of his last school years ignoring the pretty neighbour, ignoring the very person who became his best friend so effortlessly, like it was fate, like some invisible string was pulling them. He ignored him when he kissed his boyfriend goodbye, when they made out against the lamppost for what felt like hours, Louis hiding behind the curtains in his room, watching them, wishing he was Adam. Louis has always been watching, but Harry never did.

“Home sweet home,” Louis says as he stops the car and puts it in park. They get out of the car together, both their mum’s standing outside and waiting for them. He sees his mum’s eyes glistening a little. He doesn't know if there's a hickey to hide. He'll burn that bridge when he gets there. 

Time with his Mum is always a good time, and his siblings are a wild bunch. Lottie and Fizzy fight over a mascara, Phoebe and Daisy are running around the living room playing catch. He loves being home, loves being doted on by his mum, and loves doting on his siblings. He doesn't, however, love his mum meddling in things she shouldn't be meddling in, like: “So, you and Harry?”

He spits out his tea and looks at her incredulously, like she's just laid bare all his deepest darkest secrets with one, quick look at him, like it really is that easy to see how head over heels and lost in his feelings for Harry he is. Like everyone, everyone sees it but Harry.

“What? No, Mum!” He shakes his head quickly, emphatically. “We're just friends. Adam broke up with him a few months ago, and he's still trying to get over it and move on. And, like, it's been forever since we were close. We're getting to know each other again.”

“If you say so,” she replies easily, no judgment in her voice by his deflecting.

They spend the rest of the evening catching up, watching a movie. When it's bedtime for the twins, Louis tells his mum he's got it and he gets them ready for bed, brushes and braids their hair, helps them brush their teeth correctly, and wash their faces. When they're both in bed, Phoebe on his left and Daisy on his right, he reads them a story and almost falls asleep, too. It's a good night.

He's ready for bed a little after 10, having had a glass of wine with his Mum, listening to her complain about too much work at the hospital. He thinks about sneaking out to see Harry but then he hears quiet tapping against his closed window and knows it's Harry.

His eyes are bright and dilated, like he had a little bit too much to drink, too, and he climbs into the room easily when Louis opens the window.

Louis closes the window; Harry is all over him, mouthing at his jaw and whimpering quiet little Lou s and babys and one hand pulls his trackies down, slipping his hand into his underwear and around Louis’ hardening cock.

He absently whispers to Harry to be quiet but lets out a guttural moan himself when Harry smears some blurted precome over Louis’ slit, frantically whispering please please please , before Harry sinks to his knees, taking him in his willing, wet mouth and Louis closes his eyes and blacks out.

Chapter Text

𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖
𝒂𝒔 𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅,
𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕, 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍.
- 𝑷𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐 𝑵𝒆𝒓𝒖𝒅𝒂

Christmas comes and goes, and Louis isn’t getting anywhere. If anything, his feelings are getting worse , because now he’s back to openly admiring Harry at all times, like right now, where they’re in a pub and Harry’s talking to Niall about a concert they went to a while back, and he’s kind of just… staring at him. He thinks Zayn must have kicked him in the shin five times already, but he doesn’t really care. Listening to Harry is far more entrancing, especially with the way his mouth opens and closes around the bottle mouth, puffy lips closing around it, licking over the residue of it. Louis knows he should probably not openly stare at Harry like this, especially with the way his pants are tenting underneath the table. He’ll stop. He will. Just a little longer, just a little–

But then Zayn smashes the bottle on the table, not enough for it to crack but enough to startle everyone from their conversations. Or mostly, startle Harry and Niall from it, and Louis from his staring. Liam is observing all of them with a curious face. “Let’s play some billiards,” Zayn says and gestures to the billiard table. “Billiards is good.”

Turns out, Harry is shit at billiards. Or acts like it. Louis can’t be sure, because Harry holds his heart so close to himself that he barely sees glimpses of it.

There’s something effortless in the way Harry carries himself these days. He barely talks about his feelings, not to him, at least, even though Louis sometimes almost begs him to. He sees the far-away look he gets sometimes, when he’s deep in thought and Louis doesn’t know what to make of it. How do you help someone to get over a heartbreak? It’s not like he’s ever gotten over a heartbreak. His heartbreak is standing in front of him right now, back slightly arched forward, pool cue in hand. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees the skeptical gaze Zayn sends them, and he lets go off Harry’s hip like he’s been burned.

“You okay, Lou?” he asks, oblivious to the inner turmoil he always seems to send Louis into. “Did I do something?”

“Nope, no, nuh,” Louis says, a little over the top, chuckling as he cards a hand through his hair. “Just, you’ve got this.”

He steps back, turns around and takes a deep breath, cursing the Gods and the Heavens and his Mum, because why did she turn him into this hopeless romantic.

They play and Harry wins. The congratulatory blowjob in the bathroom stall included.

“How do you know you're ready?” Harry wants to know as he munches on his nachos. Louis splutters on nothing, eyes widening instantly.

“You're not even–” he stutters, sitting up. His heart is burning in his chest, along with his cheeks. “It's not even legal yet. Not for you, anyway, and especially not with him.” Or me , goes unnoticed but Louis doesn't dwell on that, he would wait eternities for Harry.

“Oh come off it, Lou,” he scoffs, “as if you haven't fooled around with anyone before you turned 16.”

“I haven't!” He doesn’t count the mutual handjob Zayn and he exchanged when drunk at some classmate’s house party six weeks before he turned 16. No one will ever know this happened anyway.

“Harry,” Louis presses out, trying to still his beating heart further, like maybe if he thinks about Adam and Harry enough he will get over his crush. Sometimes he wonders if it even is a crush. “Is he cornering you? Pressuring you?”

“No!” Harry snarls, fire burning in his eyes, and Louis doesn’t know why they always seem to fight lately. It’s like Harry’s picking a fight over him breathing . “No. Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Louis grumbles, “I was just wondering. Sorry I’m concerned about my best friend. You’ve been seeing each other for two months, and you’re 14. I just didn’t think you’d think you were–” he bites his tongue, trying to gauge how to say what he wants to say without sounding condescending.

“Hazza,” Louis pleads, “I know you’re feeling a lot right now, but please wait. If he likes you, he’ll wait until you’re ready.”

Harry huffs but doesn’t argue, so Louis nods to himself. “Oh, and Harry, just so you know,” Louis snaps, “you’re ready as soon as you’re not wondering anymore if you’re ready.”

He decides, somewhere around midnight, four pints in and pretty tipsy, that he should distance himself from Harry a little. Just, emotionally, because he’s not doing well. He thinks it must be obvious to everyone that he’s head over heels for Harry. He’s a little stupid about him, too. He wonders how Harry can’t see it. Or can he, and he just ignores it? Enjoys the attention he’s getting too much to see any wrong with what he’s doing?

Harry’s deep in conversation with Liam when Louis decides it’s time to put his thoughts into action, many shots and pints later. “Who’s DD?” he asks, slurring a little, and as is his luck, Harry turns and sheepishly smiles at him.

“Me.”

And, well, distance can start in the morning. They find themselves cramped in Louis’ beat up Fiesta, Niall, Liam and Zayn in the backseats; Zayn and Liam all over each other, Niall a little uncomfortably pressed against the door. If Louis were a little more sober, he’d scold Zayn and Liam. As it is, he’s too drunk to be arsed and a little too horny, too. Their obscene kissing noises and moans don’t really help, so he palms himself in his pants discreetly, or tries; he fails, because there’s a little, knowing smirk on Harry’s face. “Boys!” he scolds to the back then, shooting a small smile his way.

“Sorry,” they giggle in unison and Louis shakes his head.

“We’re at your place,” Harry announces, “Fuck in peace.”

Louis snorts, fuck in peace, that’s funny. “Thanks,” Harry replies in earnest and Louis’ brows furrow. Did he say that out loud?

“You did,” Harry confirms and Louis lets his head fall against the cold window. Maybe he should just go to bed. “Almost there, just Niall first.”

“Oh, thank God,” Niall’s voice calls from the backseat. “Kinda feared y’all have forgotten about me.”

“Never.” Harry grins back at him through the rearview mirror and starts the car again.

They’re back at his place too quickly for Louis to recover from the whiplash.

“You wanna come up with me?” Louis asks as Harry parks Louis’ car. “I’d say you can have my car but I’d rather not let you have my car unsupervised.”

“Ha ha, Lewis. How funny you are.”

“Harold, I'm the funnest,” Louis grins, playing with one of Harry’s curls. “Really love your long hair.”

“You’re very drunk,” Harry says, hoisting Louis out of the car, and oh, that’s hot. Harry can manhandle him some more. He likes being manhandled. Harry should always manhandle him.

“Come on, you lightweight.”

“M’nooot,” he pouts. “Drank too much. I feel so dizzy.”

“Wait a few more minutes, baby,” Harry says and maybe Louis melts because what the fuck , who the fuck does Harry think he is, running around calling him baby.

“M’not your baby,” he replies petulantly. He thinks there’s a flash of hurt on Harry’s face but he can’t be too sure, because Louis sees him double.

He feels Harry pat around his trousers and lets out an indignant shriek. “What are you doing?” he squirms away, the touch hot to his groin, even though Harry wasn’t even close to it.

“Looking for your stupid keys, what do you think?”

“Oh.” He pats for them too and pulls them from his pockets. “Ta- da.”

Harry smiles, dimples popping on both sides of his face and that’s just so rude, Louis thinks. How will I ever get over you?

There’s no getting over him.

Chapter Text

𝑾𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓,
𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒖𝒔
𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆
𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔.
- 𝑶𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒆

Harry’s been slipping a few baby s into talking to him lately. They’ve made it to February now. It’s fucking February, and Louis never said he’s good at holding himself accountable for New Year’s Resolutions. He isn’t. It doesn’t seem like it’s a conscious thing Harry does, but what it did do is that Louis isn’t able to pull back, isn’t capable of it. He’s spending more time at Harry’s place than at his own, and all his friendships are suffering under it. Zayn’s chewed him out on it on more than one occasion already, and Louis is kind of–he just really, really needs to get a grip.

“Hey, good morning, baby,” Harry whispers in the space between their faces, and Louis scrunches his face as he opens his eyes, blinking rapidly against the stark brightness. “It's 7:40,” he continues, and Louis lets out a long sigh. “It's when your alarm goes off, but I couldn't find your phone after you fell asleep, so it probably turned off, I’m sorry. I would've charged it.”

Louis sighs, rubbing sleep from his eyes and stifling a yawn. “Don’t worry, Haz,” he sits up, stretching a little. Harry’s eyes roam over his body, and Louis feels the need to cover up or sit himself down onto Harry’s lap.

“Baby,” Harry gets out, “you’ve got to get up for classes, and so do I. Come on, let’s get ready.”

Spoilsport, Louis thinks blearily, like it’s not the sensible thing to do. He needs to have a chat with Zayn.

So he gets ready for his class on time and meets with Zayn after his biochem class, and they decide to drive around town a little. “So,” Zayn starts, puffing out smoke from his cigarette, “What’s new? I think I haven’t seen you in two weeks apart from uni.”

“Nothing new,” Louis laughs nervously, eyes flitting around to Zayn and then back to the traffic. “Well, maybe a little bit. Harry, um, Harry started calling me baby. I don’t know if it’s like a, um, a conscious thing he does. But he does , and every time it slips past his lips, I want to like, sink to my knees.”

“Woah,” Zayn coughs, “TMI.”

“No,” Louis laughs, shaking his head. “Not like that. More in like a, prayer thing. Like, like–”

“Still woah. You’re so gone for him, I can’t believe he doesn’t want to lock you down. He won’t ever find anything better than you.”

“Stop,” Louis begs, “stop. I have to, I have to stop. I’ve got to let him go, I’ve got to end this, I know . But I can’t, I’m not there yet.”

“Louis,” Zayn sighs, “do you really think you’ll get there?”

“M’not–”

“Okay, forget I said anything.”

They go back to uni ten minutes later, and Louis hasn’t craved getting high in a long time, but right now, he does.

He hands the joint to Zayn, his eyes fixed on Harry. He’s in a corner at this stupid houseparty Zayn had dragged him to, and he’s kissing Adam. His fingers are curled into the hem of Adam’s shirt, and there’s a sliver of space between them until they’ll start grinding against each other. 

“We don’t have to stay here,” Zayn’s voice comes from his left, his eyes also fixed on them. “Like, literally, being in a pigsty would be nicer. I’d take prison, even.”

Louis snorts, slapping his arm. “Don’t be mean, they’re in love. It’s quite cute.”

“My gran’s knickers are quite cute, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Zee, seriously. He doesn’t want me. And I’ve got to come to terms with that. He doesn’t want me as more than a friend, and, well, he doesn’t even want me as a friend anymore, so. Don’t bother. I’ll be fine. Only five more months until I’m out of here.”

He’s been counting the days. There’s a calendar tucked underneath his pillow that he gets out every single night, and he crosses off another day, knowing he’ll be in Leeds soon. And who knows what Harry will do once he finishes school. Now that nothing’s tying them together anymore but memories of a shared childhood and one stupid kiss that left Louis wanting more for years, who’s to say that Harry still wants to go to Leeds? He could go to any university he could dream of. He could fuck off to Brighton or whatever hipster city he wants to live in. Zayn excuses himself to go to the loo quickly before they leave.

He’s hoisting himself up now, and once he stands maybe, just maybe, Harry’s eyes flit from where he’s looking at Adam to Louis, and Louis feels a little suspended in time when their eyes meet, just for the half beat of his heart. He nods minutely and then the spell is broken when someone crashes into Louis and he's dripping wet. Awesome. 

“Wanker,” Louis scoffs and shoves the guy off him. “Watch where you're going.”

“Fuck,” drunk guy says, “Louis, fuck, I’m so sorry. I tripped. I'm not that drunk. Umm–”

Louis narrows his eyes. It's– fuck he knows who it is, he knows but he can't remember his fucking name. “Luke,” the not-so-drunk guy says then, and Louis nods, like of course I know who you are.

“Not how I imagined to talk to you,” he says sheepishly. “Let me get you some clothes, okay? It's my house, so…”

Louis gulps, looking around to search for Zayn. He's off to the left, just coming back from the bathroom but gives him a thumbs up when he sees them together and Louis guesses it's fine.

“Cool, mate. Thanks.”

“Follow me,” Luke says, and Louis does. He's pretty, Louis thinks, his dark hair short and gelled up. He doesn’t have curls, and he doesn’t have dimples, and Louis hates that it’s the first thing he notices. He's wearing a vest with some abstract pattern on it, and a black skinny jeans that's snug on his bum and shows it off just fine. It's a really nice bum.

Once they reach his room upstairs, Louis gets a little nervous.

“Hey so,” Luke starts as he scrambles through his clothes in the drawer. “Could I get your number, maybe?”

“Uh. Sure, mate,” Louis answers a little apprehensive, but the smile it puts on Luke’s face is so worth it. There's still no dimples, and he still curses himself for drawing comparisons to someone who's out of his league. It's not fair to Luke.

Luke hands him a grey shirt, and he looks at it. It’s some merch from a band he’s not heard of yet, but he doesn’t really care. “I can wash your shirt,” Luke says sheepishly, “you know, since it’s my fault it’s wet. I really am sorry about that.”

Louis turns to take his shirt off, feeling oddly self-conscious about his body all of a sudden, not ready to have Luke, an almost stranger schoolmate scrutinise his body.

But Luke turns, too, and that makes Louis exhale, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

When he turns, Luke is still turned away from him, and Louis doesn’t know what to think. Luke obviously likes him, if the way he held himself all the way up and reacted after he realised who he bumped into is any sign. So, should he maybe just… maybe just once? Once won’t hurt. Maybe it’ll help him to get Harry out of his system. Maybe he just needs a fuck. Not that he’s fucked before, because he hasn’t, because– well, because. It's different than fooling around. It's–it's supposed to be something special, something sacred. So, he won't. He can’t. But he can kiss Luke, and he can fool around with him. He's not tied to anyone, most certainly not Harry, even though he feels like he's betraying him the second he and Luke lock eyes again. Luke’s brown eyes flit nervously from Louis’ eyes to his lips and then back to his eyes before he averts his gaze completely and looks down at the ground.

There's something heady in knowing that Luke wants him, that he makes Luke’s heart beat quicker in his chest and makes butterflies flutter in his stomach. So, he pushes the feelings for Harry down, away, like they're parasites, and he crosses the distance between Luke and him, and when their lips meet, Luke lets out a little, disbelieving gasp.

“You’re–”

“Shhh…” Louis says, a smile playing on his face, the sound quiet against Luke’s lips. They kiss for what feels forever, and it feels good, and then Luke sinks to his knees, and looks up at him through his lashes. His fingers fumble with the button of Louis’ jeans, and he whispers a quiet “Is this okay?” and Louis only nods, and then he forgets how to think.

His next class is boring, and long, and he can't concentrate, not when Harry texts him up for some fun later ten minutes into it. 

what type of fun, he replies dryly, his gaze shifting from his phone back to the board. Harry makes taking uni a little less seriously so effortlessly fun. But he should take it seriously. He should, but:

if say I’d wait for you… hard, aching, riding my favourite dildo… would that…

Louis gulps, adjusting himself sneakily underneath the desk.

yeah that would… thanks for the boner

youre welcome, lou. can't wait to have you in me x

Louis bites his lips, then locks his phone and squirms in the chair until his dick has settled and calmed down. Barely.

His heart is racing the rest of the class, and while he’s mostly calmed his dick down, it still twitches every now and then at the thought of Harry waiting in his flat, riding his favourite… fuck.

He’s going to ruin Harry. And then, maybe, he’ll find the courage to tell Harry that this whole friends with benefits thing is a load of bullshit, and they should just date. You don’t call someone baby if you don’t feel something for them, do you?

Chapter Text

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈
𝒂𝒕 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒇
𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈
𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅.
- 𝑭. 𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒕𝒕 𝑭𝒊𝒕𝒛𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒅

March passes in a blur, and suddenly it’s April, and the birds are chirping, and leaves are starting to grow on trees, and a long winter gives way to spring, and Louis’ heart feels a little less heavy with his feelings for Harry. He’s still inexplicably, irrevocably and ridiculously in love with him. He doesn’t think it’s going to change at some point, but Harry’s clingy these days, and he’s sleeping over almost every day. There’s a toothbrush sitting next to Louis’, there’s Harry’s skincare neatly placed on the vanity under Louis’ bathroom mirror. There’s clothes on the floor in Louis’ bedroom, and a second pair of shoes in the hallway next to Louis’ shabby old black and white Vans.

They leave for university together more times than they don’t, and while Zayn always, always raises an eyebrow, he never says a thing. Louis is thankful for that, because he doesn’t want to deal with the repercussions of the denial he’s living in. Because no, they’re not dating, they’re not together, they’re not anything more than friends who fuck each other silly more days than they don’t. It’s not more for Harry, and Louis’ fine with that. He will be. Maybe. Someday. But, and Louis doesn’t admit that very often, only ever when he’s alone with Zayn and high as a kite, he tells him. He tells him that he’s still so stupidly head over heels in love with Harry; the same way he has been since Louis was 14 years old, or maybe even worse, because now that he’s had Harry, truly had him, how is he supposed to let that go when inevitably someone comes along that Harry will love?

And now, it’s the third or fourth day that it’s really warm in Leeds, and Harry has an assignment to do. So, as a best friend, Louis let himself be persuaded into doing a stupid thing.

Louis feels pathetic. And truly, maybe he is. Because he can’t, in any good conscience, justify what he’s doing here. That he’s here, playing model for Harry’s school assignment, like he doesn’t have his own assignments and things to do. As if he hasn’t really spent time with Zayn, as if he isn’t behind on his school work, as if he isn't scared to flunk out of his classes. But putting a smile on Harry’s face? Maybe that's better than a career in the NHS, better than saving lives.

Harry walks in the fields, flowers blooming around him, and Louis feels like he's walking through a romance novel, where the love interest is going to turn around and profess his never ending love, and they're going to live on until they die, happily ever after. And then Harry does turn around, and the sun casts his face in a bright light, and there's a smile tugging on his lips, and Louis thinks he is gonna do something reckless like sink onto his knees and propose or maybe suck his cock. Both sound like a good option, when Harry looks like a God carved from exquisite marble. Louis is just waiting for Harry to say something, anything, instruct him with whatever he needs.

“Stay like this,” Harry commands as he looks through the camera visor, “now look down, and slightly to the right. Perfect.” He clicks and the camera shutters. Louis doesn't dare breathe.

“Perfect,” Harry whispers again, and smiles to himself.

“My turn,” Louis says, running forward and snatching the camera from Harry. They stumble in turn and Harry falls onto his back, Louis on top of him, a soft gasp escaping both of them.

“Oh,” Harry whispers, a coy smile playing on his face, before he dips up and presses a quick kiss to Louis’ lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Louis says dumbly.

“You kind of–” Harry moves a little, their crotches touching and they both let out a soft moan. Harry smiles up at him, catching his lips in another kiss. Louis wants to melt into him. Startled by the intensity of it all, Louis scrambles up. Harry still smiles, bright and beautiful, a hand over his right eye like he's shielding himself from the sun rays, hand hidden in blue white striped sweater paws, surrounded by wildflowers. It's like he's a painted portrait come to life. Louis wants to live inside his smile and inside this moment forever.

He looks through the viewfinder, just like Harry had taught him a few weeks back, and then when he's mostly satisfied, clicks the shutter button.

“I’m gonna–” He turns around and presses the palm of his hand against his crotch, whispering to it that now really isn't the time to get hard. He hears Harry get up, dusting off some pollen from his linen trousers. He feels Harry’s breath ghost over the shell of his ear, he feels Harry’s hands on his upper arms and he's so, so close to moving around. If he did, he’d see the stars in Harry’s eyes. He doesn't, though, and takes a step forward, out of Harry’s vicinity, out of his hold, like if he's forcing himself to put space back between them, then maybe he won't fall even more. He wonders what Harry feels in these moments. Does he ever think they cross the lines sometimes? How does he justify their need to kiss in all situations? Does he freak out sometimes, or is he all too indifferent to it all?

“Fuck,” Louis curses as he stumbles, his vision blurry. He’s drunk, and he’s just seen another make out session from Harry and Adam, and he truly just doesn’t know why he even bothers coming anymore when Harry invites him. Nine times out of ten, Adam will be there, too. And Louis, Louis decides to still go, every single time, even if he ends up being ignored by the person he needs attention from most.

He bumps into Zayn, who’s taking a drag of his joint. “Gimme,” Louis gasps out and Zayn jumps out of his skin a little, taken aback by Louis’ brashness and eyes him suspiciously.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

“Where the fuck else would I be, Zee? Where Harry goes, I go.” Zayn passes him the joint and Louis takes a long drag, letting the smoke out in short puffs.

He gets too fucking high in the next twenty minutes, and everything’s a little funny. It’s funny that Harry comes looking for him now when he’s too high to form coherent sentences, and it’s funny that that casts a worried look on Harry’s beautiful face. You’re too beautiful to look this worried.

“Uhm,” Harry says suddenly and Louis frowns. “Thanks, I guess?”

What for?

“I mean, um,” he gulps, “Uhm. Are you fine?”

“I’m peachy, Hazza,” Louis slurs a little, throwing his arm over Harry’s shoulder, “absolutely peachy. Where’s your other half?”

“Getting something to drink,” Harry says uneasily, squirming away a little. Louis doesn’t want to admit that that hurts more than his feelings not being reciprocated. 

“Are you like, high?” Harry asks him, searching for Louis’ eyes and Louis feels a little scolded just by that. Fuck . He can’t let 15-year-old Harry have this much of a hold over him.

“So what? Go bother your boyfriend,” Louis snaps and Harry sighs, shaking his head. Louis doesn’t mean to be a prick, but well, Adam makes him go irrational.

“Sorry I care about you,” Harry growls and turns to leave, but not before looking back at him one more time. Louis can’t stand the pity in his eyes. He can’t stand the distance between them even more.

“Zayn!” Louis yells, “I need more pot.”

Harry scoffs before he’s completely gone, but Louis doesn’t care. He doesn’t. His heart does, and Louis has a hard time calming it down.

Harry cooks him dinner that night, and Louis feels properly wooed without being wooed. Fuck. Harry looks like a natural in the kitchen, and if Louis pushes the knowledge of their imminent ending aside (because, he’s got to get used to it, right? Right.), if he squints just right, he can so clearly see the rest of his life play out like this.

Louis sees him, in the dim light of their future kitchen, flipping pancakes in the pan, a child sitting on the counter. He sees himself coming home from a late shift at the hospital to Harry waiting for him on the sofa, book in hand but nodding off because it's late and he should sleep, but he didn't want to before Louis got home. He can see their lives together so clearly that it makes his chest constrict and his heart tugs at the edges of it to get closer, closer, closer to Harry. He can see them both established in their careers. He can imagine them with their children, Sunday brunches and zoo visits. He can see it all, and Harry can't, and Louis just wonders why and how it's possible to be on such different pages. Louis wonders what's so unloveable about him.

“Hey babe?” Harry’s voice startles him from his thoughts, and Louis looks at him, a little frantic and wide-eyed. “You're hogging the salt and I need a pinch of it.”

“Oh.” He nods dumbly and walks the few steps between them and hands Harry the salt shaker. As their hands brush, Louis’ breath hitches like it's the first time they touch. He looks down at his feet immediately, hoping Harry didn't notice. “Sorry.”

He bites at a flap of skin on his thumb as he watches Harry in his element. There's something undeniably attractive about the way Harry acts in a kitchen. 

Say something, Louis thinks, anything. But when he blurts out “fuck, you're so hot when you're going all chef in my kitchen”, that's not what he meant.

He's lucky the stove is on, because by the way Harry’s eyes dilate and he licks his lips, his eyes trace over Louis’ face to his lips and then rake over his entire body, well, Louis would go down on his knees if it weren't for that.

Chapter Text

𝑯𝒆’𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒂𝒎.
𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇,
𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆.
- 𝑬𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆

They barely see each other in the following weeks and Louis finds himself in a sour mood about it constantly. It's exam period soon, though, so they're swamped revising.

They still fuck. Occasionally. Louis misses Harry. He misses their time spent together, watching silly reels on a phone together, his face tucked against Harry’s chest in a way that's so casually non-platonic that he falls even more in love with Harry.

L: need to get absolutely pissed tonight. pleeeease, H, pleeeeease? I'll suck you off in the club bathroom stall

H: cool i'm in

And that's how they find themselves absolutely trashed in a club in downtown Leeds both of them have barely heard of. The music is absolutely atrocious, and Harry’s dancing, well… he is a nightmare on the dance floor.

The thing is, the thing is, Harry’s not dancing alone, but he’s also not dancing with Louis, and that’s where the problem lies. They came here together and Harry’s dancing with some blonde haired prick that’s tall and pretty and touches him in places only Louis should be allowed to touch.

But he’s not, because they’re just fucking, because they’re best friends who found each other again and then fell head first into each other like vampires starving for blood. 

But the blonde guy is grinding against Harry and Louis just, that's not what he came here for. He's half a thought away from leaving or hooking up with a random person too, when he feels a warm hand on the small of his back, and he leans into the touch like a cat bathing in sunbeams.

“You should dance with me,” Harry murmurs against the shell of Louis’ ear, erupting butterflies in Louis’ belly and goosebumps all over Louis’ body. He lets his head fall back against Harry’s shoulder, moving to make room for Harry’s lips against his neck.

He licks and nibbles over Louis’ most sensitive spot there, eliciting a little moan from him and Louis wants to sink into the touch even more. “Come on, Lou, let's dance! Let's go!”

And fuck, Harry turns him around and cups his face with both his hands and presses his mouth onto Louis’, turning it into a long, almost filthy kiss. When they part, it's to get some air, it's to stare at each other with eyes too heavy for what they are, only to break their gaze. Louis licks his lips, tasting Harry’s sweat and some beer and something that's so inexplicably Harry. He's addicted to it. So, he lets himself be pulled onto the dance floor, his drink sloshing a little over the brim, wetting his fingers and the floor. 

“You're so hot,” Harry says, and then he sucks a mark in the crook of Louis’ neck and Louis lets out a whimper. “Makes me a little crazy,” Harry tacks on, just a murmur against his pulse point, “can't think when you look at me.”

Louis lets out another whimper. Harry’s drunk, he has to remind himself, but drunken words are sober thoughts, aren't they?

“Stop thinking then,” Louis replies and moves in closer, careful not to spill more of his beer, “just kiss me.”

It's almost pitch black outside when Louis finally finds Harry, perched on the inner edge of a playhouse on their favourite playground. His eyes are brimmed-red, and his lip is trembling. A loud sob escapes him when he sees Louis. “Hazza!” He looks back outside for a second, Harry’s mum, Anne, lurking off the side. She looks relieved now.

“I don't want to go home,” his little voice says, and he looks up at him through wet lashes. “Mummy and Daddy had a really, really bad fight, Lou.”

Louis crouches down next to him. He wants to make him laugh so badly. No one should make Harry cry, like ever. He's too beautiful to cry.

“Louis, I think Mummy and Daddy are gonna get a divorce.”

Louis sighs and slings his arms around Harry. “But Hazza, you shouldn’t run away. Your Mum’s worried. We searched for you everywhere. She’s here, too.”

“But–”

“Haz, sometimes people fall out of love. Or–or, so I think. I’m only nine,” Louis chuckles nervously, “but my Mum said that sometimes it’s better to end something than to hold on to it, because that only hurts everyone. You don’t like it when you come home and all they do is scream at each other, do you?”

“No, not really.”

“See.”

“But what if, Lou, what if– does that mean my Daddy doesn’t love me anymore?”

Oh God, Louis thinks, a seven-year-old shouldn’t think that. “What’s not to love about you?” Louis says, laughing. “You’re smart, and kind, and loving, and lovely. And you’ve got beautiful chocolate curls.”

“You’re so stupid,” Harry says, but he’s laughing too, now, and that’s the most beautiful sound Louis could wish for. He thinks he wants to make Harry laugh forever.

“Promise not to run away again?” Louis asks. “Promise to always, always come to me first? Then we can talk about it. Talking is good.”

“Mmm,” Harry nods and scrambles out of the playhouse on his knees and right into his Mum’s arms. “I’m sorry for running away, Mummy.”

Running away, of sorts, is what Harry had established as an intricate instinct following his parents’ divorce. Whenever something happened, no matter how insignificant it might have seemed, he'd run away. Their cat died? Run. A fight with his sister Gemma? Run.

And that's what he's doing right now.

“Harry,” Louis says into his phone, “pick up your fucking phone. Why are you always running away? What the fuck happened!” He runs his hand through his hair and lets out an exasperated sigh.

The problem with Leeds is Louis doesn't know Harry’s hiding spots. In Doncaster, there was the playground when they were kids. An abandoned factory building when they were teenagers. Louis knew where to search for Harry. But here, in Leeds, where Harry lives downtown and Louis in the outskirts, their paths don’t cross. They cross in university, and they cross when they fuck, and they cross when they meet at one of their flats, but they don’t– they’re not entangled in each other anymore in the same way they were when they were wide-eyed children who thought it was funny to play a prank on their parents, who explored every nook and cranny Doncaster had to offer to them.

And now, well, for one, Harry’s drunk. For two, so is Louis. How is he supposed to find his best friend if he can’t even walk straight? Hah, straight.

When he rounds the next corner, he’s almost at the outer edge of downtown Leeds and he hears a distinct sniffling. “Fucking finally,” he exhales on a short breath, stalking towards Harry’s hunched figure.

“What the hell was that?” Louis barks, and Harry flinches at him. “Everything was fucking fine, Hazza, and then you just take off?” 

Louis doesn’t call him Hazza a whole lot anymore, feeling like he’s grown out of the nickname for the most part. But sometimes, sometimes he feels like he’s fourteen, and then when Harry looks up at him, Harry looks so, so young.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I don’t know what the fuck just happened. One second I was feeling good and the next it just. Came crashing down on me. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“What came crashing down on you? What’s going on, H?”

“Adam called.” Oh. Oh, that hurts in his heart. “Just before we left for the club.” Oh. “He wanted to catch up.” Right, Louis thinks, of course. Right when Harry’s starting to move on, Adam’s spidey senses come tingling and he’s got to get his claws back into him. “And, and I told him maybe. But we had plans, and I didn’t want to bail on you. I’ve bailed on you too many times, Lou, and I don’t want to be that person anymore. I don’t like the person I was with you, to you, when Adam and I were together. I want to be worthy of your friendship.” He wipes the tears from his face aggressively. Somewhere, a window shutter closes, startling them both.

“Let’s get you home, hm?” Louis says and holds his hand out. When Harry takes it, and lets himself be pulled up, it feels like a new beginning somehow. Harry sheepishly looks at him, then entangles their hands for just a moment, squeezing it tight, before he lets go.

Louis isn’t sure it’s the beginning he wants. 

Chapter Text

𝑾𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆
𝒘𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌
𝒘𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆.
- 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑪𝒉𝒃𝒐𝒔𝒌𝒚

The second semester with Harry back in his life ends as quietly as it first began, before Louis threw his heart on the line, before they reconciled in more ways than one. It’s June now, spring semester is over just a little over a month now, the weather is as British as it comes.

Harry’s next to him. He always is. He yawns a little, then stretches and cuddles against Louis’ chest, hiding his tired face in Louis’ arms. “Do you have any plans for today?” Harry mumbles into his chest and Louis has to strain to make the words out.

“Well,” Louis drags out, not looking at anything in particular. “I’ve got my internship at the hospital. Night shift today.”

Harry nods, thoughtful gaze, his eyes flitting around Louis’ face nervously. “I–”

“What, babe?” Louis asks as he cards through Harry’s long curls. They’re even longer now, Harry still not having gotten around to cutting them off. Louis loves it.

“Nothing.”

He knows it’s not nothing by the way Harry moves away for a second and pulls his phone out. “No, don’t do this,” Louis pleads, “just talk to me.”

“But it’s nothing. I guess–I don’t know… I don’t know, it’s just–it’s nothing, Lou.”

Louis sighs and closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath and counts to ten. “Okay. If you say so.”

It’s not nothing, Louis feels it in his bones, but he doesn’t know–how does he ask Harry to actually talk to him? How are they so bad at this?

His heart squeezes in his chest when Harry presses a kiss to his naked chest and pulls himself off the bed. “I have a shift now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why…” Louis starts but trails off into nothing, he doesn’t even know what to say, less what he feels. Why does everything feel so weird between them lately?

He knows they’re not on the same page, haven’t been on the same page since before they started this fucked up thing between them, because– because Louis’ been in love with Harry since secondary, and Harry’s still getting over Adam.

“Did you hear from Adam again?” Louis asks, as if to think, let’s just twist the knife into your own stomach a little more, let’s bleed you dry.

“No,” Harry shakes his head in the negative and fiddles with his Peace ring. Louis had gotten it for him when they were only fourteen and sixteen, just a few weeks before Harry had come out to Louis, just a few Fridays before Adam took Harry out for a date for the first time, just a few Mario Kart games before their friendship was forever changed.

It’s been too long. Louis misses Harry, he does so much that he’s resorted himself to looking at old pictures of them. He doesn’t want to seem too clingy, because look how that had turned out. They hadn’t talked for three weeks. Slowly, deliberately, they went back to…something. Never quite what they were before Adam, and Louis gets it, he does. Your partner is supposed to be your best friend, too, right? He gets that Harry wants to share everything with Adam, that they spend more and more time together. It’s okay. He’s okay with it. (He’s not, but no one needs to know.)

But Harry’s slipping away from him again. He is, because they haven’t seen each other outside of school for the last two weeks, and Louis doesn’t want to seem clingy. So he stopped texting. He waits for Harry to text first, which he does… almost never, but sometimes. Louis sees that as a win. It isn’t one, and Zayn tells him he should just ditch Harry, because this isn’t how you treat your childhood best friend and Louis knows he should. But it’s Harry, okay, and he’s still got this imperturbable hope that Harry realises he doesn’t have to make a choice. Louis is going to be in his life however Harry lets him.

Louis knows he could just walk the few steps from his house to Harry’s, demand answers he’s sure he doesn’t want and put his foot down. But he doesn’t know if he’d act any different if he were the one in a relationship, so it’s all futile, really.

He flops back down onto his bed and closes his eyes, ignoring the burn building from too much salt water stuck in the corners of them, ignores the thumping in his chest like his heart is threatening to fall out.

There’s a knock on his door, and then two little heads peek in. “Lou!” Daisy says excitedly, her hands on Phoebe’s shoulder, shaking her sister a little, “Come play with us?”

He wants to say No, wants to tell them to fuck off, wants to wallow in his self-loathing and heartache, but four very big, very excited eyes stare at him and his sisters’ happiness is more important than anything.

“Will we see each other tonight before I leave?” Louis doesn’t want to sound too hopeful, doesn’t want Harry to know how much he relies on their nightcaps, how much he needs Harry in his life, how little he sleeps when there’s not a warm, firm body nestled close, when there’s no curls stuck in his mouth when he wakes up.

“When does your shift start again?” Harry asks, putting on his trousers, buttoning his shirt.

“At ten. I have to leave around half ten.”

“I was –” Harry starts but shakes his head, biting his lip. Louis knows he’s hiding something but he doesn’t say anything. He just waits. “I was thinking of sleeping at my place –” he continues, and Louis doesn’t want to feel too chuffed he doesn’t call it home anymore, “ – check on the plants and check the postbox, but –” he smiles at Louis, closing the gap between them by sitting back down on the bed, wafting through his fringe, bridging the gap between their faces and pressing a chaste kiss onto Louis’ lips. Louis feels dizzy with the desire to tell him to stay with him forever. He doesn’t, though, and simply closes his eyes and lets himself be kissed. “I guess I can spend another night here,” he finishes and presses two, three, four more quick kisses on Louis’ mouth. He gets up, but not without touching Louis’ cheek and stroking it for a second, Louis’ eyes fluttering close at the contact. Louis is still in a daze when Harry gets up.

“I’ll be back around 8, then.” Harry says as he puts on his shoes and turns to walk out the room. “I’ll bring food, so don’t eat dinner. Love you.”

And with that, he’s out and so is Louis’ heart, because what the fuck just happened?

Love you. It's stuck in his brain like a song he's been listening to on repeat for too long, like a grocery list he's trying to remember because he's too lazy to write it down. What does that mean? Love you as a friend? Love you, just because you're comfortable and I'm used to you now?

Louis doesn't know, but it has his heart beating out of his chest in rapid, and he'll treasure the moment forever.

Love you.

Chapter Text

𝑴𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒔
𝒔𝒐 𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖
𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒍𝒚
𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏
- 𝑳𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝑹𝒂𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒖

The internship is amazing. Louis loves his internship, he does. He’s learning a lot, and his colleagues are amazing. There’s one other girl there with him, Nell, and she’s the best. They're learning so, so much. From each other, from the amazing nurses and the outstanding doctors they work with on a daily basis. Nell's in the same year as him, and they're in the same classes at Leeds, too, but she keeps to herself most of the time, so they haven’t really crossed paths before. Or maybe they just ran in different circles. If he weren't gay and well, utterly devoted to Harry, she'd definitely be someone he'd want to chat up. Her long, brown curls reminded him of Harry's at the moment, a little longer as his and a little more unruly, but a reason he was drawn to her a little. Not that the rest of her resemble Harry, the rest of her features darker than Harry's. As established, she's quiet—not too quiet, but definitely quieter than Harry—and maybe that's why they got along so well.

Sometimes they even meet on the weekends, to study or just to hang out. Nell is funny, and kind, and if he weren't gay, well– and also like, hopelessly in love with his best friend, she'd be the obvious choice.

It’s in one of his lunch breaks, a little over a month after it started, around mid July, when she looks up at him, a shy smile on her face. “Um, Louis,” she says, her eyes flitting around his face but not quite meeting his eyes, “I was, um—I mean—doyouwanttogoonadatewithme?”

Oh.

“Oh.”

Her face falls, and she looks around, making sure no one hears them. “Forget I said anything. I’m sorry. I just–I thought–well, I misread,” she presses out, “just forget I said anything, okay? I know I’m just…me.”

“No!” Louis interjects, his hand finding hers by its own volition, and she flinches a little. "No, that's not it, that's not it at all, Nell, you're absolutely lovely, I promise you. It's just… I'm–"

"Oh my God you have a girlfriend," she interrupts him and Louis shakes his head a little, "how did I not realise? Of course you do. You're dashing, and like, whenever we have a quick break you're glued to your phone."

"I don't," he murmurs miserably, then, even quieter, "I don't have a girlfriend. And I'm not glued to my phone," he defends himself, even though he is. "I'm just a stupid son of a bitch who has a crush on his best friend."

"What's her name?" Nell asks, her voice soft and her eyes tender, like Louis didn't just reject her.

"His name is Harry," Louis whispers, like it's a secret, like his name's sacred.

She smiles. "Do you want to talk about it? I'm a good listener."

"You are," he says honestly, squeezing her hand, "but you don't have to listen to me wax poetry about my fuck buddy, whom I promised to that it was just that."

Nell's eyes glisten with mirth, sparkle with determination. "Oh we'll make him fall for you," she says but Louis only shakes his head in defeat.

"I've tried," Louis laughs though it's not funny, "trust me. I've been trying since he was 14."

"You've been in love with him for seven years?" She asks, her voice a little awed and her moss green (fuck, they're just like Harry's) eyes sparkle with something akin to wonder. And no, it's not been seven years. It's been nine.

"I think I'm in love with him," Louis whispers into the crook of Zayn's shoulder, repeating it until it doesn't feel like a secret anymore.

Zayn sighs, and he doesn't say anything, he just kisses Louis' head and holds him. Louis thinks that makes everything worse, so a sob escapes him and he presses his head against Zayn. "Sorry," he hiccups, "m'ruining your shirt."

"It's just water, mate," Zayn laughs, but it's a hollow one. "Hey, you wanna go out tonight? The movies? Anything."

Louis grimaces and moves away from the safety of Zayn's arms. "I–" He looks down, plays with the hem of his shirt.

"You have plans with H," Zayn murmurs, no judgment behind it. "No worries, bro. Tomorrow?"

"I've got to study for algebra," Louis winces, "and I'm a little behind on my biology and chemistry, and–"

"Okay, nerd," Zayn laughs, "then I'll see you in school. Bright and early, and then we talk about your little crush on your best friend. Sound good?"

Louis doesn't say it sounds like hell on Earth, doesn't say he'd rather swallow fire than talk about it. Zayn hugs him and then leaves Louis' house, leaves him behind with an abundance of thoughts of a curly-haired, green-eyed boy.

He debates cancelling on Harry even though he knows he won't, but the message is written quicker than he thinks about it, then he hovers over the send button for minutes before he decides to discard the message and throw his phone into the pillow stack on his bed.

Minutes later, the bell rings and Louis knows it's Harry. His heart beats so quick he thinks he's about to pass out when he opens the door for him. Harry's unruly curls and dimpled grin greet him, tray of cookies in his hands. "Hey," he greets him, "I baked those myself. Mum said they're good but you know Mum. I could ruin a cake and she'd still think it's the best thing she ever had."

Louis stares at Harry, and he wonders what it must look like for him. He doesn't think he's subtle at all, but Harry just pushes the tray into Louis' hands and toes his shoes off, places them neatly next to the door. He's not wearing a jacket, just an old shirt, Louis thinks it must be one of his, actually, but he doesn't call Harry out on it. There's something nice about Harry in his clothes. He can't make out why it makes his belly all squirmish.

"Let's just play a round of Mario Kart," Louis says and before he can continue, Harry skips up the stairs and into Louis' room. Louis takes another three minutes to catch his breath.

Nell stares at him, and Louis doesn't know why. "Um." He looks at her warily, waiting for her to say something—anything.

"He's so lucky, you know?" Nell says, a little in awe. "Like, if my best friend talked about me like that? I'd be at their knees immediately."

Louis laughs a little and then shakes his head. "Well, it didn't help. I'm just the best friend. That's what I've always been. As soon as boys got interesting, well, I was just the practice kiss. Hey Lou, Adam's so fit," he mocks Harry's slow drawl, "you think we could practice kissing so that when it's time I finally kiss him, I know what I'm doing?" He huffs and rubs at his eye, but soon realises, for the first time when he recalls it, he's not close to tears anymore. Maybe it's just a blip in their history now.

"You could try to make him jealous." Nell wiggles her eyebrows, "Throw in a conversation that you met someone."

Louis sits up a little straighter and regards her for a few quiet seconds. "I hate lying to him."

Nell scoffs. "Babes, you're lying anyway. What's one more lie?"

And she's right.

What's one more lie?

Chapter Text

His phone is burning a hole into his trousers, ever since he read and dismissed Harry's plea to meet up. "Nellll," he whisper-yells when he sees her and her face lights up in an instant.

"Oh my God, fuck!" she whisper-screams back and runs the few steps to him and hugs him tightly. She's a good hugger. "I didn't think I'd see you here today!" She exclaims, "I thought you had the day off?"

"Ah," he dismisses her, "I'd rather spend time with my favourite Nell."

"I'm the only Nell you know."

"Exactly." He laughs and ruffles her hair, to which she rolls her eyes and squirms away from him. "I might or might not be trying to avoid Harry. Here, have some berries." He hands her a lunch box and she takes it, a grateful smile playing on her lips.

"I don't know," he continues, "what to do about him. He's so hot and cold."

"You seriously got up at," she stops and looks at her watch to check the time, "6 AM to talk boy troubles?"

"Nell!" He wails, "please take me seriously. This is quite serious."

"You're lucky my shift's almost over."

"No, I just know when your shift ends," he retorts and Nell shoves him.

He takes a deep breath and leans his head on Nell's shoulder for a quick second before moving away again. "I'm sorry for just barging in like you owe me your time," he whispers, "you're obviously tired after your shift. I should've just texted you."

"Nonsense, babe," she says and kisses his temple. "But let me go home to take a quick shower, yeah? You can come with. Breakfast on my couch?"

He nods meekly and gestures to the car park. "I'll be waiting in my car until you're finished changing."

She salutes him and they part ways.

He fiddles with his phone while he waits for Nell to come back. The message from Harry from the night before sits unread in his phone.

Can we talk?

No, no we can't talk, Louis thinks desperately. Because talking means Harry is about to end things, Louis can just feel it, and he's not ready for it. He's not ready for Adam to claim what's rightfully his.

His phone vibrates and he almost throws it away.

You can't ignore me forever, Lou

As if Louis doesn't know that.

"Get up." Zayn's voice is grating in his ear and no, he doesn't want to get up. He wants to lie here in his warm, comfortable bed and rot to death. It sounds better than any alternative he could think of.

Zayn rips the curtains aside and sun casts through his room for the first time in a week. It's way too sunny outside. It does not fit his mood at all.

"Get up," Zayn repeats but Louis ignores him and pulls the blanket over his head.

"Leave me alone."

"Get up."

"Are you stuck on repeat? I'm not going to get up, what the fuck is wrong with you," Louis hisses though his voice is muffled and Louis isn't sure Zayn gets what he's saying.

"Louis, I'm scared. I'm fuckin' terrified right now because it's been over a week and I haven't seen you in school and you haven't replied to a single one of my texts and—what's going on?"

"Nothing," he muffles a scream into the pillow and throws the blanket away. "Nothing's going on. It's whatever, Zee. I had a fight with Harry. What else is new."

Zayn sighs and sits down on the edge of Louis' bed, his eyes so soft and caring Louis wants to throw up. He should've fallen in love with Zayn. Everything would be so much easier if he could have fallen in love with Zayn instead of Harry.

Zayn's hands are soft where they stroke through Louis' messy and greasy hair. He should shower. Zayn doesn't let up in stroking through his hair, though, even if it must feel disgusting on his fingertips. He just continues and doesn't say anything.

"Babes," Zayn says after the silence stretches on for too long and borders on uncomfortable, "come on. It's—" not worth it, Louis knows Zayn wants to say but he bites his lip and stays quiet.

Louis lets out a deep sigh and wiggles to sit up and against the headboard. "I'm not ready, Zee," Louis starts and he hates how weak he sounds. He's not weak. "I'm not ready to see him, see the way he continues to flaunt his relationship in my eyes when I'm so—" he shakes his head, then adds quietly, "when I'm still so desperately in love with him."

"It'll pass," Zayn says but Louis knows it won't.

Harry's the one for him, and he needs to settle for less.

Let's meet tonight, he texted Harry four hours ago, right after his mid morning nap that he fell into after he got home from too much talking about seducing Harry with Nell. He doesn't need to seduce Harry, he needs him to fall in love with him, for fuck's sake. He woke up groggy and pissed, and another message from Harry just tipped him over, made him go weak. So he texted. And that turned into four hours of no reply make him anxious and fidgety, tossing and turning in bed for half an hour before he stalks out of bed and starts a deep cleaning session his flat should have seen three weeks ago.

He's just about to clean his oven when the bell rings. Thank god, he thinks, snapping the gloves off and tossing them in the sink before moving to his door to buzz Harry in. He opens the door an inch before he ventures into the living room, setting two glasses of water onto the coffee table. He's so fucking nervous.

"Hey."

Louis jumps a little at Harry's voice and then flinches when he feels Harry's hand squeeze his shoulder. He lets out a sigh. "Hey, Harry." He winces, the feigned indifference so clearly audible to his own ears. He turns to see the smile on Harry's face falter and wants to kick himself. It's not a look he wants to see on Harry.

"What's going on, Lou?" Harry asks, crossing his arms in front of his body, cocking his hip and his head.

"Nothing," he gets out but it sounds weak to even himself. "It's nothing, Harry."

"Louis," Harry pleads, soft eyes and a sad smile painted on his face.

"It's just—" Louis takes a grounding breath, flicks his eyes to the ground and then back up at Harry's eyes, probing him like Harry's eyes might hold the answer for a question he's too afraid to ask. Why am I not good enough?

"You're pulling away again." Louis balances on the ball of his feet, kneading his hands. He's so sweaty he feels it in the hairs on his neck. "So, I've got to ask, because—because it's all I know, okay? When you pull away, it has to do with Adam, and you literally let me know he contacted you again, okay?" He bites his lip and ignores the bile rising up in his throat.

"So?" Harry asks and Louis hates how defensive he sounds. "Lou…" he sighs. "I'm not pulling away. I promise. And I'm not talking with Adam. He just—He dropped in. Let me know he's back home and planning to stay. But that's it, Louis."

Louis wants to believe him so badly.

So he nods. And when they stare at each other two, three, four beats too long and Harry drops his defences and overrides the distance, his mouth pressing onto his, his tongue hungrily sliding over Louis' lips—well, Louis' only a man, and Harry knows how to use every single one of his assets for his advantage.

Chapter Text

It's almost like they're back to normal. Or whatever their current variation of normal is. Louis still spends most of his time between the hospital, Nell and Harry. Harry works most days, alternating a pesky early shift and a stupid shift that ends right when Louis has to leave for his night shift, since the coffeeshop he's working at changed their opening hours for the summer. So, they barely see each other. Again.

But when they do, it's heated and desperate. Their teeth clash and their nails scratch over their backs, and they're insatiable, really, and Louis is too blissed out to notice warning signs. Or maybe there weren't any.

It's 11 PM on a Sunday when Louis comes home from a back shift, not expecting Harry to be there, expecting him to have gone home to his own flat after his shift at the coffee shop, but lo and behold, Harry's there. He's sound asleep in Louis' bed, the duvet rumpled over him, his tan torso peeking out. He sees the bird tattoos he likes to bite and nibble into, marking Harry up any way possible, likes the butterfly that paints Harry's stomach—"so that I always have butterflies in my belly, duh", Harry had explained when Louis asked what it meant.

When he lies down next to him after a thorough shower and changing into just some underwear, he crawls underneath the blanket and puts his head on Harry's chest. He plans to just for a second, just to listen to Harry's heartbeat, to hear it beat, and maybe get lost in it, hoping that one day maybe it could beat for him. "Do you work tomorrow?" Harry's soft voice speaks into the quiet stillness of a late night and Harry shakes his head where it lays against Harry's chest.

"Thought you were sleeping already." They move around quietly, Harry cuddling into Louis' chest, making himself so small that Louis' heart squeezes in his chest and then grows three sizes.

"Mhh," Harry yawns, then pressing his face further into Louis, pressing soft little kisses where his mouth meets Louis' body. "Woke up when you got in. Don't worry. So, are you?"

"Uh," Louis falters, "no. No I don't. I'm meeting with Nell though." At the mention of Nell, Harry's hand that lays lightly over his body, moves and presses into Louis' hipbone slightly. Is that the jealousy Nell was talking about? But no, Louis thinks, Harry isn't jealous.

"Oh." He blows a raspberry against Louis' warm skin, then licks over the tingling spot. He's alternating it with bites, eliciting tiny little huffs and moans out of Louis. When he's satisfied with the way the bruise formed and looks, he lets go off him and cuddles back into the crook of Louis' shoulder.

Their breathing evens out, and Louis almost thinks Harry fell back to sleep when he moves again and pulls him closer, entangling their legs together. Louis' heart races in his chest, and he's sure Harry picks up on it. He doesn't say anything though, just stays and presses his face deeper into Louis' chest.

Harry must think he's asleep, by the way he draws pattern on Louis' hipbone where his hand rests and whispers a quiet, little "I wish…" but doesn't elaborate, and Louis just wants to know what he wishes for. Could it be that they actually want the same? But what if they don't? What if he risks it all only for them to fall apart because Harry's not in love with him, because Harry doesn't actually see more in Louis than a friend. Louis' too scared to fall, so he doesn't dare fly at all.

They haven't seen each other in school today, and Louis needs his Harry fix. He needs to be close to him, just—just in his proximity. Just the dimples that always makes him feel so much lighter.

He's at an impasse here though. He's been waiting for Adam and Harry to part ways so he can go over to Harry's place, but they've been stuck in front of Harry's house, making out against a lamppost for the past too many minutes. It's innocent enough to not be considered public indecency, but every so often, it looks like a little moan does escape Harry's lips and—Louis didn't need to know what he looks like when—well, when.

Finally when they part, Harry stares after him dazedly for a few more minutes before he turns to walk back into the house. Louis sighs, pushing the curtains closed again and sitting back down on his desk.

He can't make himself go over there.

So instead, he pulls out his journal—his once well-used, well-loved journal that harbours too many feelings that don't deserve to surface. He opens his, flipping through it sombrely. One date sticks out to him the most, the first time he realised that whatever it was he was feeling for Harry back then wasn't what a best friend feels.

It's his dimples, the text starts simply, and the tears that prick at his waterline blur his sight a little. It makes him laugh, incredulously, that this is how he would start a diary entry, but then again, he was 14. His dimples make me feel weird. Like, there's this weird sensation bubbling in my tummy. Mum said that boys can like boys too. I know that, but I'm scared to like Harry. He's my best friend. I can't lose him.

Louis laughs a little at his 14-year-old self, the way the diary entry is all over the place, not knowing what and how to say what he's feeling. 17-year-old Louis isn't faring much better. If he loved Harry a little less, maybe he could talk about it more. His phone vibrates in his pocket, the custom vibration alerting him to who it is—and, he can't. He can't talk to Harry right now. So, for the first time, he lets it go to voicemail.

His internship ends, and the new semester starts peacefully. He's got a new friend and so much valuable experience that he's still trying to process. Harry is—well, Harry. He's all smiley and bubbly and makes him laugh with stupid puns (What did the grape say when it got crushed? Nothing, it just let out a little wine.) and holds his hand even when they're outside and Louis' so so in love he's drowning.

The first time Harry saw him with Nell, he's gotten a passive-aggressive text that led to some angry sex.

The second time Harry saw him with Nell, he strode up to them and introduced himself as Louis' best friend but the implications were clear and the jealousy raged in his eyes like a war.

The third time he actually ignored him for three days. When Louis reached out and told him that Nell was just a friend and he wouldn't be so shitty as to just show up with her in tow without so much as an explanation, Harry apologised and then sucked him off in his tiny shower until Louis was gasping for air and spilled into Harry's mouth.

After that the months pass in a blur of uni, of kisses in empty hallways hidden away from view, and suddenly it's November. It's November, and they've been doing this—this thing with each other—for almost a year and they feel closer than ever but also, Louis is scared. He's… There's this nagging feeling that shit is about to go down.

So when it does. When he walks from biochem to his next class, and spots Harry, he's about to walk over when he sees him whispering to someone else. Someone who resembles someone very, very well. And well. Okay.

Okay.

He should've known.

Should've known that the second Harry announced Adam pushed himself into his life again, he'd be tossed to the side.

He should've known that he'd get his heart broken again. It feels so much worse the second time around. The fierce betrayal of spotting Harry and Adam together, it's like his heart's being squeezed so tightly that all the oxygen doesn't actually go where it's supposed to go.

He feels the bile rising in his stomach up to his throat, feels like he's about to projectile vomit right into their faces, right there where only last week Harry had pecked Louis' cheek, for everyone else to see, like Louis wasn't a dirty little secret anymore, like he was someone worth loving. Right there, only four days ago, Harry had brushed Louis' fringe out of his face and smiled at him like it meant something. Adam's so close to Harry, so so close, Louis continues feeling sick, and he tucks a loose strand of hair behind Harry's ear, and Harry's just. He's smiling at him, that smile that's been reserved for Adam since the first time Harry told him about Adam. He's smiling at Adam like he used to, like he—like he loves him. Harry's never looked at Louis like this a day in his life.

Louis turns on the spot, bumping right into Zayn who only stares at the scene too, like a car crash you can't look away from.

Then when he just. He just bolts, runs out—he runs, and runs, and runs. He runs until he can't anymore, until his lungs burn and his heart cries out in anguish. He doesn't know where he is but he only lets himself sink onto the pavement in rainy Leeds weather. He doesn't even care that he looks like a fool—he is one.

How could he let this happen again, and how can it hurt more the second time around? Why didn’t he protect his heart better?

Suddenly, there's warmth around him, an all-encompassing sense of safety. Strong arms hold him. The aftershave and perfume distinctly remind him of Zayn so he just lets himself fall, lets himself be held. Zayn doesn't say I told you so, and he doesn't say I'm sorry. Louis can't see him through the tears, but he's sure he tries to keep the pity out of his eyes as well. He doesn't say One day it'll hurt less. He says nothing—he just holds him, and maybe that's enough.

“I think I love him,” Harry says about seven weeks after he and Adam had started dating, and it takes an insane amount of inner strength not to scoff at it. Harry’s 14, of course he thinks he loves him. Is it possible to love someone you’ve shared such an insignificant amount of time with? Louis doesn’t know.

“You do?” Louis replies, as if his insides aren’t burning, as if Harry doesn’t stomp on his heart again, and again.

“I think so,” Harry whispers, tucking hair behind his ear as he licks his lips and ponders how to continue, “Like, he makes me so happy. And I feel really good with him. And there’s so many butterflies in my stomach.”

Louis gulps the pain in his heart back down into the pits of his stomach. "I'm happy for you," Louis whispers, but the lie feels bitter on his tongue. "You're really cute together."

Harry beams at him and then looks down at his feet, a thoughtful expression casting over it. "I just–"

"Yeah?"

"I hope you find someone too, soon. I wanna go on a double date."

And Louis, Louis just feels like breaking down and sobbing into his throw pillow, the one Harry gifted him one Christmas with three little ducklings on it, the one he's been safe keeping ever since.

"Yeah," Louis whispers again, because what else is he supposed to say?

"How do I tell him?" Harry wants to know then, sitting down on his bed and patting next to him, gesturing Louis to sit down as well. "Need a cuddle, please." And fuck, Louis' too weak to say that they shouldn't. He's too weak to tell him that that's what boyfriends do, not best friends.

Incessant knocking calls him from torturous flashbacks. "Louis!" Harry's voice rings through the otherwise quiet flat. Zayn had left a few hours ago, and he's been sitting in silence and darkness for all of it. "Open the door! Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Louis scoffs. Hurt doesn't even begin to cover what he's feeling right now. Nevertheless, he gets up and opens the door and blankly stares at Harry's face. "What the fuck do you want? Rip my heart out some more? Why is it so fucking easy for you to break my heart?"

Harry frowns and then looks down at his feet. "You said– we agreed–"

"Fuck that, H. Fuck you. You've treated me like a boyfriend. You spent all your days here. Just five days ago we–" he shakes his head sadly. "Why didn't you tell me you were seeing him again? Why is it so easy for you to break my heart?" Louis asks, voice quietly breaking. Harry opens his mouth but closes it again, looking lost and confused. No words come out for another two minutes, so Louis continues on.

"I'm– I can't do this again." Louis shakes his head once more. "I'm sorry. You need to go, Harry. I love you. I'm in love with you, I've been in love with you since I was 14 and didn't even know what love meant, and I still, I don't understand how you could've been so oblivious to that. It– If you'd been honest with me, maybe–maybe we could've salvaged… whatever was left of our friendship. But like this? Go be with Adam. Be happy. If that's what you think makes you happy, I won't force you into anything with me. Clearly, I was good enough to bed but not good enough to love. You need to leave me alone. Please."

Harry's sob is a little gut wrenching thing, but Louis can't get weak now. He has to protect himself. "I'm serious, Harry. Just four days ago, you kissed me in public and I know we said it's just fucking, I know that and I know I was stupid for getting my hopes up. But yeah—four days ago, you kissed me in public and then went on and still got back with Adam. So please. I am begging you to leave me alone."

Harry looks at him, and it sounds like he's saying something but everything sounds a little cottony right now, like he's drowning under water, and he only says "Goodbye, Harry" as he closes the door shut in Harry's face.

He's going to be fine.

It's going to be fine.

It's over.