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     The muffled thrum of some pop song—Justin Bieber, maybe?—reached Louis’s ears, blurred and distant. His head was spinning, too light after too many glasses of champagne. The beat tangled with the sound of waves breaking softly against the golden sand, while colorful spotlights washed over the seaside mansion where L.A.’s elite mingled with models and influencers from across the globe.

Louis wove his way through the crowd, another glass of champagne in hand. It was his first summer here, in a world so dazzling and excessive, and he still wasn’t sure he belonged. Every laugh, every glance, every camera flash reminded him that he was an outsider.

When he tried to slip away from a relentless photographer, he turned too quickly—and collided with someone. The glass tipped, and champagne splashed across a crisp white button-down.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Louis blurted, dabbing uselessly at the stain with his fingers.

Harry Styles stared back at him with the expression of someone who had never been denied anything. Fury flashed in his eyes. How dare anyone ruin one of his expensive shirts—his favorite, no less?

“Do you have any idea what this shirt cost?” Harry demanded, frowning, more incensed than offended. “I can’t believe someone would actually destroy a piece like this.”

Louis swallowed hard but forced himself to stand tall.
“I can make it up to you… somehow.”

Harry crossed his arms, head tilting as he studied him, weighing whether this newcomer was even worth the trouble.
“You’ll buy me another. This one’s ruined,” he said flatly, his voice edged with authority. “And don’t think of anything cheap. I want the exact same shirt.”

Louis’s eyes widened, disbelief breaking into a shaky laugh.
“You can’t be serious.”

Harry arched a brow, impatience flickering across his face.
“Do I look like I’d waste time joking with you?”

Louis let out another nervous laugh, caught between irritation and the undeniable pull of the spoiled heir standing in front of him. And in that instant, amid flashing cameras and pounding music, something shifted. A spark—intangible but undeniable—ignited between them.

The party roared on around them, alive with laughter, toasts, and curious stares. Yet Louis felt the world collapse into those green eyes watching him with a mix of arrogance and intrigue.

And as he tried to steady himself, he knew one thing: this summer would be different. Here, between secrets, luxury, and desire, he and Harry were about to step into a game neither of them knew how to end.

And for better—or worse—Louis realized he’d been hooked from the very

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The sun poured through the thin hotel curtains with full force. Louis woke up with a pounding head, a dry mouth, and the feeling that a truck had run over him. The previous night had been a parade of full glasses, loud music, and attempts to appear more confident than he actually felt.

The sound of someone knocking on the door hit his ears like thunder.

“Tomlinson!”—an impatient voice echoed from the other side.

Louis groaned, dragging himself from the bed to the door. He opened it with effort, eyes still half-closed. And there he was: Harry Styles, sunglasses on, wearing the expression of someone with no time to waste.

“You have until tonight to deliver my new shirt,” Harry said, one hand resting on the doorframe like he owned the room. “No excuses. I want the exact same one.”

Louis rubbed his eyes, trying to process the scene.
“Good morning to you too, prince of the city,” he murmured, ironic. “I’m already taking care of it, relax.”

Harry tilted his head, clearly unsatisfied.
“Don’t I look relaxed to you?” he shot back. Before Louis could answer, he put his sunglasses back on and turned, walking away without waiting for a reply.

Later, Louis tried to regain some dignity, sprawled on a lounge chair at the hotel’s private beach. Sunglasses on, cold water in hand, finally a moment of peace. Until he heard a familiar voice:

“So? Where’s my new shirt?”

Harry was standing next to him, wearing only swim shorts, wet hair falling over his shoulders. Louis swallowed hard before he could speak. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t ignore Harry’s body: not overly muscular, but with striking curves—broad shoulders, narrow waist—the kind of physique that drew attention naturally. His tanned skin glistened under the sun, and the tattoos—a butterfly on his stomach and others across his chest and arms—gave the impression that each design held a hidden story.

“Not here yet, Your Majesty,” Louis replied, adjusting his sunglasses to hide his gaze. “But I promise you’ll survive a day without it.”

Harry laughed, not out of amusement, but pure mockery.
“You talk too much for someone who ruined my favorite shirt.”

Louis raised an eyebrow.
“And you’re too spoiled for someone who already has a closet the size of a room.”

Zayn appeared behind Louis, placing a hand on his shoulder calmly, his voice low but firm:
“Not worth it, Lou. Just breathe and let it go.”

Louis was about to retort when Niall showed up beside Harry, arms crossed, mimicking his friend’s demanding tone.
“That’s right, Louis. The least you can do is get that shirt. Count yourself lucky Harry hasn’t told you to leave.”

Harry laughed softly, pleased with the support. Louis, on the other hand, rolled his eyes hard.
“You two are unbearable,” he muttered, letting himself be pulled away by Zayn. Before walking off, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Harry still watching him—and making a face. That boy was even more childish than he’d thought.

Louis had already bought the damn shirt that morning, but the urge to deliver it immediately had vanished. Maybe it was better to make Harry—and his spoiled friend—wait a little longer.

At night, dinner brought everyone together on a spacious outdoor terrace, overlooking the illuminated pool and the city beyond. Men wore linen shirts and lightweight trousers, some casually unbuttoned at the top; women floated in flowing dresses that danced with the Los Angeles night breeze. Waiters circulated, balancing trays of tropical cocktails and crystal glasses, keeping the effortless luxury of a summer party alive.

Louis deliberately walked to the Styles family table. He sat next to Harry, who immediately stared at him as if he were an intruder.

“Lost your way to your table?” Harry whispered, impatient.

Louis smiled, feigning innocence.
“No. I just thought it would be polite to return something personally.”

He pulled the new designer blazer out of the bag, still with the tag, and placed it carefully on the table in front of Harry.

“Here’s your new shirt, prince. I hope the stitching lives up to your ego.”

A few people nearby chuckled quietly, while Harry felt his face flush slightly. The first time, perhaps, someone had embarrassed him in public.

Louis stood calmly, adjusted his suit, and walked to his own table, leaving Harry frozen with the shirt in his hands—an expression of irritation and fascination etched across his face.

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CHAPTER 3 – Conversation

Louis sat at one of the tables at the party, trying to look naturally sociable. The turtleneck of his shirt was already starting to irritate him—who had been crazy enough to make him wear this in the Los Angeles heat? He wanted to ditch the blazer, keep just the shirt, but he couldn’t; he had to maintain a flawless image for the media: make allies, get good photos, and, on top of that, snag a few perfect shots for social media.

Across the room, Harry watched him, leaning against a chair, a crooked smile on his face. He was clearly enjoying watching Louis struggle to be “nice” and popular.

“Look at you… all prim and proper, trying to please everyone,” he murmured, green eyes fixed on the model.

A few minutes of forced smiles later, Zayn approached.
“Wanna grab a drink?” he asked, giving Louis a friendly pat on the back.
“Good idea,” Louis replied, relieved.

They moved away from the table, laughing and relaxing. After a few rounds, Zayn received a message and stepped away. Louis noticed his friend hadn’t stopped messaging since they’d arrived in Los Angeles. He was about to check Zayn’s phone to uncover the mystery.

Harry noticed Louis and the tattooed friend—Zayn—had disappeared—Nicknamed by Niall, who never stopped talking about Malik’s tattoos. Soon, he saw Zayn return to the mansion through the door leading to the pool. Was Louis still there?

With no answers, Harry stood up, adjusted his white floral suit, and ran a hand through his hair—a habit since it had grown longer. He told his parents he’d go talk to some guests, but in reality, he headed to the pool.

When he opened the door, he spotted Louis sitting on a white metal bench, a glass of whiskey in one hand and his phone in the other.

Harry strode toward him, shoulders relaxed, a mischievous smile on his face.
“Seriously? You think you can get away with what you did at that table?” he teased, recalling the humiliation Louis had caused him in front of the Styles family.

Louis paused, putting down his phone, staring at Styles in that hideous suit that honestly hurt his eyes. How could someone so rich wear that? he thought.
“Ah, come on… going to pick on me again, Styles?” he shot back, trying to stay composed.

Harry crossed his arms, a crooked smile of satisfaction playing on his lips as he enjoyed Louis’s full attention.
“Seems like someone, Mr. Tomlinson, still hasn’t learned to respect me,” he teased, dripping with mockery.

“And you’re still an impossible spoiled brat to take seriously,” Louis countered, rolling his eyes.

The duel of egos began: each of Harry’s provocations met with a sarcastic response from Louis. Every remark from Louis only entertained Styles more. A quick game of humor, irritation, and the tension only they could create.

Annoyed, Louis decided to look for Zayn. He found him talking to an elegant man, probably business-related.
“Since you’re busy, I’ll head back to the hotel,” Louis said, stepping away discreetly, avoiding glancing toward the door.

Harry crossed his arms, frustrated. How dare Louis leave him alone, without a chance to retaliate?

Hours later, Harry was in his room, wearing a white Rolling Stones tee and loose yellow shorts. Wrapped in the duvet, he waited for Niall to finish his shower—they’d agreed that after the gala, Horan would sleep over at the Styles’ house for a “pajama party.”

“That Louis is impossible,” Harry muttered when he saw Niall leave the bathroom, towel drying his hair.
“I agree, Styles. But he’s only here for one reason,” Niall replied with a mischievous grin. “Didn’t you hear? The media went after him after his ex said Louis was controlling—maybe even abusive.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised.
“Abusive? Him?”

“That’s what all the sites reported,” Niall shrugged. “I don’t know the truth, just what was published. But… you know how these things blow up.”

Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head.

Louis might try to play the perfect model, but for Harry, every little detail was now the perfect opportunity to tease him.

And there, under the soft light of the lamps and the distant sound of the sea, the game between them took shape once again—a mix of provocation, tension, and something deeper, hard to name, but impossible to ignore.

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CHAPTER 4 – Day After

The day had barely begun when Louis woke up with a pounding headache, dry mouth, and the mental promise never to drink again. A promise that, like all the others, he already knew he wouldn’t keep.

He turned to the side, burying his face into the pillow, when his phone buzzed for the second time. Groaning, he searched blindly through the sheets until he finally found it—almost throwing it against the wall when he saw the name Zayn flashing on the screen.

“I swear I’ll rip Malik’s dick off if this isn’t important,” he grumbled before answering. “What do you want, Javadd?!”

On the other end, Zayn laughed.
“Relax, Tommo. No need to use my middle name. I’m only calling because your manager asked me to. Since you ignored his twenty calls…”

Louis pulled the phone from his ear and checked the screen: twenty missed calls from Simon.
“Shit,” he cursed. Back to the call, he asked, “Do you even know what he wanted with me this early?”
“Early?” Zayn let out a short laugh. “Louis, it’s past ten.”

Louis froze, eyes wide.
“Holy fuck, I have a photoshoot in half an hour!”

Without letting Zayn reply, he hung up, tossed the phone onto the bed, and ran straight to the bathroom. Being late was not an option. The last time it happened, Simon had made sure to remind him of the contract, the fine, and—worse—had told the sponsors about Louis’s “lack of professionalism.” Since then, Tomlinson had sworn to himself he’d be the most punctual person on earth.

Ten minutes later, he was ready—or almost. A gray Marvel t-shirt, light ripped denim shorts, phone stuffed in his pocket, and his white Vans sneakers (almost black from wear) in his hands. He bolted down the hallway of the W Hollywood hotel barefoot, ignoring the curious looks from guests. He had this habit of never wearing shoes, and not even Simon had been able to break it.

In front of the hotel, an agency car was already waiting. The driver opened the door without enthusiasm. Simon was inside, visibly impatient.

“You’re an hour and a half late.” That was the first thing Louis heard, even before a “good morning.”

He sat down, still breathless, and tried to compose himself.
“Sorry, Simon, I—”
“I don’t want apologies!” Simon snapped. “How do you expect to change your image if you can’t even wake up on time? You’re irresponsible, Louis. Irresponsible!”

Louis stayed quiet, staring down at the sneakers in his hands.
“And put those shoes on, for God’s sake. That ridiculous barefoot thing… Honestly.” Simon sighed, defeated. “But I’ve given up. People from small towns always keep bad habits.”

Louis swallowed hard. Arguing was pointless. His stomach growled, his hangover throbbed, but he knew opening his mouth would only get him more scolding.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the studio. Louis went straight to hair and makeup without even managing to talk to Zayn, who had already finished his shoot. When he finally stepped onto the set, he slipped into pieces from Adidas’s new spring collection: sporty blue-and-black jackets and shirts, the iconic three stripes down the sleeves, and the Trefoil logo embroidered on the chest.

Two hours of photos later, he was drained. He could barely manage a smile for the camera. When it was finally over, Simon only said:
“You’re free. Tomorrow, commitments start in the afternoon.”

Louis changed quickly and, on his way out, texted Zayn.

Louis: “You busy?”
Zayn: “Not right now. But I’ve got something later.”
Louis: “Pick me up in front of the studio? I’m starving.”

Twenty minutes later, they were parked in front of the ocean, devouring McDonald’s burgers inside Zayn’s car. Louis gestured wildly with his hands, indignant.
“Seriously, man! Last night that spoiled brat came after me just because I said his ego was bigger than his mansion!”

Zayn bit into his fries and laughed.
“Louis… that’s not annoyance, that’s sexual tension. You two just need to deal with that pent-up attraction already.”

Louis nearly choked on his Coke.
“Are you insane, Malik?! Not even in my worst nightmares would I hook up with Styles!”

Zayn raised an eyebrow, amused.
“You’re the only one who believes that.”

“I mean it!” Louis insisted—but his mind betrayed him. He thought of Harry’s hair, the way it fell over his shoulders, probably smelling like strawberries. His pale skin that looked way too soft for someone so irritating. He shook his head. “Never. Not a chance!”

Zayn laughed out loud.
“You can deny it all you want, Tommo. But I know that tone of voice.”

“You’re delusional,” Louis scoffed. “By the way, what’s this ‘something’ you’ve got later? Gonna tell me or what?”

Zayn stroked his beard, feigning mystery.
“Stop being nosy, Tommo. Not everything’s your business.”

“I’m not nosy, I just wanna know who my friend’s sneaking off with.” Louis tossed his empty burger wrapper into the bag.

Minutes later, Zayn dropped him back at the hotel. Louis barely managed to drag himself up to his room, collapsing onto the bed still in his shorts. He grabbed his phone and started scrolling aimlessly, just to distract his mind.

Until a notification popped up on his screen.

Harry Styles.

Louis’s eyes widened.

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CHAPTER 5 – Book and Messages

Harry pushed open the heavy door of The Last Bookstore in Los Angeles with a discreet smile on his lips. He wore a light long-sleeved shirt with a phrase written in black on the back, red shorts that stopped above his knees, and cream Vans sneakers. A bag hung over his shoulder, his hair tied back with a few rebellious strands falling around his face. Dark sunglasses completed the casual look.

Los Angeles was in pleasant weather—not the suffocating heat that usually ruled the city, but far from cold. A light breeze shook the trees, bringing almost refreshing air.

Harry was still buzzing from the thrill of finding a treasure: a French edition of The Little Prince. It was one of his literary passions, and he had finally gotten his hands on an original version on American soil. He carried the book carefully inside his bag, as if it were the most valuable piece he owned.

As he walked toward his car, Selena Gomez’s Come & Get It playing in his headphones, he caught a quick glimpse of a scene: Louis Tomlinson climbing into a car across the street, clearly in a rush—barefoot. Instinctively, Harry pulled out his phone and snapped a picture before even thinking. He smirked, satisfied with the catch, and headed for his car.

The Horan mansion was no novelty for Harry. The Styles and Horan families had been close for generations—business, dinners, vacations together. He and Niall were practically brothers. They’d studied side by side since kindergarten, shared every piano lesson, every tennis practice, every plan to burn through their parents’ money.

But now, for the first time, they were in different universities. Harry was studying fashion—because, according to him, no one understood style and trends better than a Styles. Niall had chosen Music, loyal to his childhood passion.

When Harry arrived, he didn’t ask permission from anyone. He simply greeted a few people in the hallway and headed straight upstairs to Niall’s room. He pushed the door open without ceremony.
“Hey, Horan.” He tossed the bag onto the bed with a smug grin.

Niall looked up from the guitar he was strumming. “Hey, Harry. What is it this time? Another pair of boots? Or a ridiculously expensive pair of pants you’ll wear twice?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “That was last week, you idiot.” He pulled the bag toward him and carefully took out the book, holding it up like a trophy. “Today I bought this.”

Niall stared for a second, unimpressed. “A little book? You crossed the whole city to show me a children’s book?”

“It’s not a little book, it’s a rare edition of The Little Prince—in French.” Harry shot back, offended. “You don’t understand anything about art.”

Niall chuckled, plucking a few more notes. “Maybe because I prefer real music, not paper with kids’ drawings.”

Harry playfully slapped his shoulder, feigning outrage. “You’re insufferable.”
“Right,” Niall leaned back in his chair, arms crossed with the guitar in his lap. “Because no one has ever read that before.” He said it just to provoke.

Harry narrowed his eyes but ended up laughing. It was always like this.

Their conversation stayed light until, inevitably, Louis’s name came up. Harry pulled out his phone and showed the picture he had taken minutes earlier.
“Look who I ran into today.”

Niall frowned at the sight of Louis getting into the car barefoot. “That guy’s insane. Who goes out like that, without shoes?”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “I know. He looks like a spoiled kid dressed like that.”
“Another reason to stay away,” Niall muttered, though his tone was more playful than serious. “That guy’s nothing but a headache.”
Harry raised a brow, feigning curiosity. “Is he, though?”
Niall scoffed, trying to hide the laugh that slipped out. “He’s a walking joke, Styles.”
Harry only smiled wider.

Hours later, back in his own house, Harry was in the bathroom applying a hydrating hair mask. Since arriving in Los Angeles, he’d spent days at the beach, and his strands had ended up dry. His self-esteem had always been tied to his hair, and now he hoped this mask would really deliver on its promise of “softness down to the last strand.”

As he waited for the product to set, he stared at his phone. He was at an impasse: to text Louis or not? He didn’t even know the reason for this sudden urge. Maybe it was just to tease him. Maybe curiosity. Or maybe something he wasn’t ready to admit even to himself.

In the end, he got Louis’s number the obvious way: he asked his brother. He just took the opportunities life gave him. He opened the messaging app, typed quickly, and hit send.

The message came with the photo he had snapped earlier:

“Don’t you think you’re a little too old to be running around barefoot?”

As soon as he sent it, he tossed his phone onto the sink and went back to his hair, as if it were nothing. But inside, anxiety was already pounding:

Would Louis reply?

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CHAPTER 6 –  Messages

Louis had been back for about an hour, sprawled on his bed, scrolling through his phone. He was flipping through Instagram when a notification caught his attention.

Harry Styles.

Louis’s eyes widened. For a moment, he thought he’d read it wrong. He blinked, looked again. Harry’s name glowed on the screen. A chill ran through his stomach, and he bit his lip, trying not to show it—even though he was alone in the room. Hesitantly, he tapped the notification, and the photo appeared: himself, climbing into the car barefoot.

Below it, the cheeky caption:
"Don’t you think you’re a little too old to be running around barefoot?"

Louis took a deep breath, feeling his cheeks flush. Part of him wanted to laugh, another part wanted to delete the message and pretend it never happened. But deep down, most of him wanted to reply—and somehow, reply well.

He held the phone for a few seconds, staring at the screen. His mind raced: if he was blunt, Styles would only enjoy it more. If he was ironic, he might give away that he cared. If he ignored it… he knew Harry wasn’t the type to let it slide.

With a heavy sigh, Louis began to type:
"Are you stalking me, Styles? Missing me already?"

He finished typing and bit his lip. After all, how had Styles gotten his number? Simon? No, Simon wouldn’t give it out. Zayn? His eyes widened at the thought. Louis swore he’d kill Malik the next time he saw him.

He tried to push the thought aside, focusing on Styles’ response. Almost immediately, the message appeared:

Harry Styles:
"Stalking? Don’t flatter yourself, Tomlinson. I wouldn’t waste my precious time following you."

Seconds later, another message popped up, as if Harry had reconsidered:

Harry Styles:
"And about missing… maybe I’m just having fun watching you run around like a child."

Louis leaned back against the headboard, phone still in hand, heart racing. Every notification from Harry seemed to pull him deeper into a game he couldn’t escape. He exhaled, preparing to type a reply, but hesitated: he needed to seem firm, not entertained.

"Like a child? Is there a problem with me going without my shoes?" he finally typed.

Almost immediately, the phone vibrated again.

Harry Styles:
"No problem. But for someone trying to polish their good-boy image, it’s not exactly ideal…"

Louis’s excitement vanished like smoke. The words touched an old wound: he hadn’t completely forgotten what his ex had spread about him. He stared at the message for a long moment, unsure whether to reply or just let it go.

Anger finally won. Louis typed something sharp:
"Ah, great… thanks for reminding me of what I’m trying to forget."

Without waiting for a response, he locked his phone and tossed it onto the bed. He needed space. He took a deep breath and stood, eyes slightly watery, expression serious.

After a long shower, Louis emerged, wrapped only in a towel around his waist, drying his hair with another. He didn’t bother checking if Harry had replied. He grabbed a pair of underwear and shorts from one of the collections he’d received, got dressed quickly, and flopped back onto the bed. He turned on the TV to watch some superhero movie and soon ordered room service. Finally, he would have a real meal.

Minutes after the movie started, there was a knock at the door. He opened it to find the room service guy. He thanked him and returned to bed with the plate in hand, sighing in relief at a touch of normalcy in his day.

Meanwhile, across the city, Harry stared at his phone, noticing Louis hadn’t replied. A small pang of guilt pressed in on him—had he gone too far with the teasing? But he quickly shook his head. “If anyone’s in the wrong here, it’s not me… it’s Louis, still carrying that ex drama,” he thought.

Still, he couldn’t resist. He opened the chat and typed quickly:

Harry Styles:
"Okay, Louis… if you don’t want to talk, fine. But remember: in this game, you started it."

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CHAPTER 7 – Him

Louis leaned back on the bed, having already finished his dinner, while the superhero movie played on the TV without really holding his attention. The plate was in his hand, his phone beside him, but he didn’t dare touch the screen—Harry had replied to his message, yet Louis didn’t have the courage to look.

Part of him wanted to see what Harry had written; the smaller part just wanted to turn off the phone and forget the world for a few hours.

Meanwhile, Harry lay on his side, staring at the ceiling. Music played softly in the background. He was replaying the day’s conversation in his head—the teasing, Louis’s contained anger, the way he expressed himself—and he had to admit: it had affected him more than he wanted.

“He’s upset, but what can I do?” he muttered to himself. Opening the chat felt inevitable. Harry started typing, then paused, choosing each word carefully: provocative, but without crossing the line.

Harry Styles:
"I bet you’re staring at your screen right this moment… I’m curious to see if you’ll actually ignore my messages."

Louis raised an eyebrow. By the phone’s vibration, he knew who had sent it, but curiosity won. He picked up the device, unable to hold back a small smile. He took a deep breath and started typing, trying to sound indifferent:

"I’m just waiting for you to get tired of this little fight, Styles. And leave me alone."

Harry reread the message three times, incredulous. Was Louis really that annoying? Asking for peace was almost unbelievable. A shiver ran down his spine—a mix of frustration and amusement. After all, no one could get under his skin like Tomlinson. He exhaled slowly, trying to gather his thoughts.

As Louis finished the movie, an idea popped into Harry’s mind. Keep the game going or wait? Waiting had never been an option for him. Soon, another message appeared:

Harry Styles:
"You know, Tomlinson… you manage to be both annoying and interesting at the same time. It’s almost an art."

Louis frowned but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto his face. He locked the screen for a moment, took a deep breath, and thought: “He’s going to drive me insane.”

And there, in the silence only they could fill, the game continued—between soft laughter, precise teasing, and a tension neither of them dared to fully admit.

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CHAPTER 8 – Sephora and Victoria’s Secret

Louis was already tired from so much walking. He had gone through the biggest makeup stores in the mall, carrying two shopping bags full of his sisters’ requests. Ever since they found out he was coming to Los Angeles, they hadn’t stopped messaging him insistently: “Don’t forget my lipstick!” “Buy the new palette!” “Bring me that mascara, mine just ran out.”

Sighing, Louis gave in. After all, how could he deny them anything?

He walked into Sephora, adjusted the cap over his hair, and went straight to the lipstick section. While he was analyzing the colors, a movement to his side caught his attention.

Harry Styles.

There he was, impeccable as always, wearing a white shirt with the sleeves slightly rolled up, black skinny jeans that showed off his thighs, and light brown boots with a small heel. In his arms, he carried several shopping bags—expensive clothes, hair products, and, to Louis’s surprise, a pink Victoria’s Secret bag. That raised an eyebrow and sparked a wave of curiosity.

Harry walked calmly through the aisles, picking out a clear mascara and a light-colored lip balm. Discreet, but with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what he wanted. When he turned to head for the cashier, his eyes met Louis’s.

For a moment, the two just stared at each other. Harry made a point of looking Louis up and down with that half-mocking smile before turning to continue on his way. But his mind was already racing: What was Tomlinson doing in a makeup store?

Did he have a girlfriend? The involuntary pout on his lips almost gave him away. Was he… upset? Ridiculous, he thought right after. If Louis had someone, it wasn’t his problem. Tomlinson wasn’t even in his league, anyway.

Louis, on the other hand, wasn’t about to let the moment slip away. He slowly approached, with that same nonchalant air he always wore when he wanted to poke at someone. When Harry was about to hand his things to the cashier, a voice sounded behind him:

— Didn’t know you were into buying lip gloss, Styles. Planning to launch your own line or is it just vanity?

Harry turned slowly, chin slightly raised, a mischievous smile forming on his lips.

— And I didn’t know you spent your afternoons in makeup stores, Tomlinson. Buying for your girlfriend… or is it for yourself?

Louis narrowed his eyes, not letting the provocation shake his casual tone.

— Not that it’s any of your business, Styles. But if it were for me, at least I’d know how to pick a better color than that pale pink lip balm.

Harry let out a low laugh, almost amused, while the cashier waited for him.

— So worried about my choice… funny. Almost sounds like you want to try it yourself.

Louis crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

— Don’t flatter yourself. I just found it curious seeing the great Harry Styles with a Victoria’s Secret bag.

Harry took a deep breath, but his smile didn’t fade.

— Curious? Bet you’re dying to know what’s inside.

Louis rolled his eyes, but the truth was—he was dying to know.

Louis left Sephora with a few extra bags in hand and a new weight on his mind. It wasn’t exactly from his sisters’ requests, but from what had just happened. Seeing Harry there, so at ease, provoking him with that insolent half-smile… it was as if Styles could invade even the most ordinary corners of his routine.

He walked through the mall, trying to ignore the strange feeling that had been following him since their exchange of glances in the store. Why did Harry have a Victoria’s Secret bag? It didn’t make sense. A tiny detail, but Louis’s mind wouldn’t stop circling around it.

— Ridiculous. None of my business, he muttered to himself, quickening his pace toward the exit.

The driver was already waiting for him in the parking lot. As soon as he got in the car, he dropped the bags on the seat beside him and leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a moment. The encounter had shaken him more than he wanted to admit.

Minutes later, Louis was already standing in front of the building. Simon was waiting in the office, impeccable as always, with a pile of documents in front of him and that calculating air Louis knew so well.

— Punctual, as always, Simon commented, looking up from the papers. I hope you’re rested, because we have serious matters to discuss.

Louis straightened in his chair, still trying to push the image of Harry from his mind.

— I’m ready. What’s on the agenda today?

Simon clasped his hands on the desk and fixed his gaze on him.

— We need to talk about your public image. And also… about a special invitation.

Louis felt his heart race, even without knowing why exactly. After the unexpected run-in at the mall, the last thing he wanted was another surprise.

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CHAPTER 9 – Special

Louis still felt the weight of his meeting with Simon as he shifted in his chair. The special invitation lay on the table in front of him, and he could already feel the tension knotting in his stomach.

“Louis, the agency is launching Adidas’ new spring collection,” Simon began, his gaze firm. “You’re going to be the star of the night. But there’s something new: Harry Styles has been nominated by one of the fashion professors to attend the launch.”

Louis arched a brow, trying to process the information.
“Harry Styles? The city’s prince?”

Simon nodded.
“Exactly. He wants to see the collection up close, observe the production, and maybe even interact with you on set. The idea is for it to be a media opportunity, with some photos as well.”

Louis swallowed hard. The memory of the Sephora encounter instantly resurfaced: Harry’s stare, the mysterious shopping bags, the way he had sized him up. Now, having Styles present officially—“allowed,” even—was a whole different story.

“So… I’ll have to face him again,” he muttered, half to himself, while Simon studied every reaction.

“Exactly. But Louis, remember: professionalism. No behaviors that could damage your image. You are the face of the campaign.” Simon stood, handing over the formal invitation with time, location, and detailed instructions.

Louis took it, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves. He knew it would be hard to ignore Styles in the same space. Every glance, every movement, every photo could turn into a game of provocations… or something even more unexpected.

Harry was in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, one of his shopping bags still by his side. The Little Prince in French rested on the table, but he hadn’t paid attention to the book for hours. His mind was occupied with something far more intriguing.

He picked up his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through notifications, until a message from his fashion professor caught his attention: “You’ve been selected to attend the launch of Adidas’ new collection. An excellent networking opportunity. Prepare to be close to the stars of the campaign.”

Harry frowned, a slow smile spreading across his lips. This meant he and Louis would be in the same space—officially, with a formal excuse, and with the perfect chance to observe each other up close. The Sephora encounter came rushing back: Louis with that suspicious gaze, that way he had of sizing everything and everyone up… and the inevitable curiosity Harry had felt.

“Perfect,” he murmured to himself, leaning against the wall. “Let’s see if Tomlinson stays just as confident with everyone watching.”

He began mentally planning how to carry himself: discreet when necessary, provocative at the right moment, and observant—above all, observant. Every detail of Louis would be noticed, every reaction stored away. The idea of playing with the tension between them was irresistible.

As Harry closed his eyes for a moment, he could almost feel the game beginning—even before the event. Every glance, every move, every smile could be the spark for something bigger… and he could hardly wait to see how long Louis would hold out.

While Harry plotted every detail of their upcoming encounter, Louis was already caught up in his own routine. After his meeting with Simon, he headed to the studio to finish a few adjustments to the photo session and check the final details for the Adidas campaign. Every finishing touch, every pose reviewed, was another step toward being ready for the big launch the next day.

When he was finally done, Louis returned to the hotel, exhausted but trying to keep his focus on what mattered: resting for the event. He tossed his backpack onto the bed, took a deep breath, and let himself fall onto the mattress, body heavy from the long hours of work.

Even tired, he couldn’t push Harry completely from his thoughts—or what might happen the next day. He switched off his phone, adjusted the pillow, and closed his eyes, trying to prepare himself—both physically and mentally—for what promised to be an intense day.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 10 – The Night

The Adidas studio was in full transformation. Huge panels with the brand’s logo dominated the space, white lights hung from the ceiling reflecting off the polished floor, creating a modern, impersonal atmosphere. Racks of clothes were strategically organized, mannequins dressed in the spring collection, and photographers adjusted their cameras as if preparing for battle.

Louis, already tired from the back-and-forth of fittings and photoshoots, stood in front of a gray backdrop, posing with the pieces he had photographed weeks earlier. Now, the images were projected onto giant screens across the room—photos of him in oversized hoodies, fitted athletic pants, and white sneakers shining under the spotlights. Each camera click echoed, bringing back memories of the shoot: the rigidity of poses, the stylists’ demands, and the discomfort of feeling more like a mannequin than a person.

Simon watched from afar, arms crossed. He approached only when the photographer called for a break, placing a firm hand on Louis’s shoulder. His tone was low but loaded with authority.

“Remember, Louis… today, you’re not just yourself,” Simon said, leaning slightly so only he could hear. “Today, you’re the face of Adidas. And I don’t want anything—absolutely nothing—distracting from that.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, uncomfortable. “I know what I have to do.”

“I hope so,” Simon continued, his evaluative gaze scanning him from head to toe. “Because when you’re on this stage, you’re no longer the country boy from Doncaster.” His words were cold, almost cutting. “You are a product. An investment. And if you want to stay at this level, you’ll have to behave like an adult. No amateurism.”

Louis swallowed hard, clenching his jaw. The word product hit him like a punch, but he remained silent, adjusting the collection’s jacket as if nothing had happened. The bitter taste lingered on his tongue—but for some reason, he didn’t let it escape.

Across the room, photographers checked the panels with his images. On the largest screen, a close-up showed Louis staring at the camera seriously, his features defined. One stylist commented aloud:

“Perfect. There’s that ‘desirable but unattainable’ vibe. That’s what we want.”

Louis took a deep breath, trying to convince himself it was all part of the game. He was the showcase, the face, the product. But inside, a restlessness grew. Not just from Simon’s words—but because he knew that soon, the event wouldn’t just be about Adidas or image.

Harry Styles would be there.

And that changed everything.

And it did.

Harry Styles entered through the main door as if he owned the place. The dark blazer accentuated his silhouette, his hair fell in slightly messy waves, and even the way he walked seemed calculated to draw attention.

It didn’t take long: multiple heads turned, murmurs spread across the room. “Harry Styles… he’s even more handsome in person…”

Louis heard clearly, even trying to remain indifferent. He bit his lip, irritated by how everyone seemed to focus on Harry. He couldn’t deny it—Harry was beautiful. But up close… it was surreal.

Louis found himself staring. He couldn’t help it.

Across the room, Harry noticed too. The half-smile he flashed was quick but precise. Arrogant, irritating.

Louis looked away, muttering quietly:
“Focus, Tomlinson…”

He tried to lose himself in conversations with stylists, in quick press interviews, but Harry seemed omnipresent. Every time he moved, Louis knew exactly where he was. It was as if Styles’ presence was a magnet, impossible to ignore.

Until, inevitably, Harry approached.

He walked past him, close enough for Louis to catch the expensive scent he wore, and murmured in a low, almost intimate tone:

“Finally looks like a real model.”

Louis blinked, surprised, turning his head—but Harry was already walking away with that confident stride, as if he hadn’t just dropped a provocation right in the middle of his chest.

The event continued, but Louis’s heart no longer followed the rhythm.

Later, backstage, Louis tried to focus on final adjustments. The mirror reflected his serious face as he fixed the collar of one of the garments, which stubbornly refused to cooperate. He was so absorbed that he didn’t notice Harry approach until he felt a hand on the fabric.

“It’s crooked,” a low voice said behind him.

Louis looked up through the mirror and saw Harry standing there, adjusting the collar with infuriating calm.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” he retorted, trying to sound firm.

Harry shrugged, unfazed. “I know. But you clearly needed it.”

Louis turned to face him directly, only then realizing how close they were. Centimeters apart. Their breaths mingled. The silence that followed was almost deafening, filled with unspoken things, old provocations that suddenly carried a new weight.

“You think you’re too clever, don’t you?” Louis whispered, trying to break the tension.

Harry raised an eyebrow, a corner-smile forming. “I don’t need to think so.”

And before Louis could respond, Harry grabbed the collar of his garment, pulling him in.

The kiss was urgent, intense, as if they had been holding back for a long time. Louis responded without thinking, fingers gripping the fabric, heart racing. It was anger, desire, provocation—all mixed into an explosion neither dared to admit out loud.

But as quickly as it started, Harry was the one to stop it.

He pulled away suddenly, as if remembering who he was actually kissing, breaking the contact without warning. An enigmatic smile lingered on his lips, but before Louis could react, Harry disappeared down the corridor, without looking back. Louis remained frozen, heart racing, staring at the empty space he had just occupied.

The noise of the event returned—voices, flashes, music—but nothing felt the same.

Louis brought his hand to his lips, still tasting Styles, and let out a nervous laugh.

Harry Styles wasn’t just a provocation.

He was a problem.

And Louis didn’t know if he wanted the solution.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 11 –  Glances

Harry adjusted his blazer while chatting with some professors in the main hall, commenting on details of the Adidas collection—fabrics, cuts, and colors. He spoke enthusiastically, mentally noting every point that could be useful for his own understanding of fashion. Yet, with every sentence that left his mouth, his mind kept returning to another subject—Louis.

The kiss that had just happened still burned in his memory. So fast, so intense, yet he had been the first to pull away. Why? Harry was still trying to understand. It wasn’t disdain, nor anger. Perhaps a mix of fear of giving in with so many people around, or maybe the awareness that he couldn’t—yet—let that feeling take control.

Despite that, Harry kept his expression calm, gesturing naturally, laughing at the professors’ remarks, but every now and then, almost unconsciously, his eyes drifted to Louis. The model tried to act normally, handing out smiles, responding to greetings and quick interviews, but the tension in his body was visible—even if only to Harry.

Harry took a deep breath, realizing the effect Louis’s mere glance had on him. Every gesture, every step of the other seemed calculated to make him more attentive. He quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the people he was speaking to, but he knew he needed to process that kiss before anything else.

Louis tried to stay composed while adjusting his posture in front of Simon, smiling and greeting photographers and guests. But inside, it was chaos. The kiss. Harry pulling away right afterward.

He tried to act as naturally as possible, following every instruction from Simon, politely answering questions, and posing for photos. Yet his mind wouldn’t stop working. Every flash, every guest comment, every laugh from Harry was a distraction.

He took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. He needed a plan. An excuse to leave without raising suspicion, just enough to find Zayn and talk about what had happened. Maybe only he could help him understand what had really occurred.

Louis discreetly checked his phone, seeing if Zayn was available. Each passing minute increased his anxiety. The model knew he couldn’t show weakness in front of Simon, couldn’t let it slip that a single kiss had completely thrown off his day.

As he glimpsed Harry out of the corner of his eye, Louis noticed the other maintained external control—the same control he himself tried to keep. But deep down, Louis knew they were both equally affected by what had just happened.

Louis took another deep breath, feigning calm as Simon continued giving instructions for the next round of photos and interviews. With every word from the agent, Louis felt the need to escape, to find Zayn, and finally understand what had happened with Harry.

Taking advantage of a moment when Simon got distracted by a phone call, Louis excused himself quietly:
“I need to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”

Simon raised an eyebrow but didn’t insist. Louis walked away with light steps, avoiding eyes, moving through the hallways. Each step was measured, as if trying not to attract too much attention. Inside, he was anxious, but he needed to maintain composure until he found Zayn.

On the other side, Harry remained standing, leaning against a wall, watching Louis disappear among the guests. His heart raced, and he mentally scolded himself. “Why did he have to leave?” he thought. It wasn’t jealousy, nor frustration—it was just… curiosity. The kiss had left something between them.

Harry tried to focus on the next tasks: photos of the collection, compliments from the professors. But every time his eyes searched for Louis in the room and didn’t find him, his focus failed. Every remembered smile, every subtle gesture, seemed like a silent provocation.

Meanwhile, Louis, now away from the main hall and free from curious eyes, subtly changed his path. Instead of heading to the bathroom, he diverted through the hallways to the dressing rooms. There, he finally found Zayn. His friend raised an eyebrow, noticing the tension on his face.

“Relax, Louis. What happened? You look pale,” Zayn asked, with a half-smile of suspicion.

“I don’t know, Zayn…” Louis murmured, frowning. “He kissed me and… then pulled away like… like he remembered who he was kissing.”

Zayn raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Who kissed you, Tommo?”

Louis swallowed hard. “Harry!”

Zayn let out a low, amused laugh. “I told you, Tommo!” he said, still chuckling. “What you two have is just too much built-up tension, my friend.”

Louis crossed his arms, trying to hide the blush rising on his face. “Built-up tension… seriously?”

“Seriously, Tommo,” Zayn nodded, still smiling. “There’s no other explanation. Now you just need to sort it out before anyone else notices.”

“Built-up tension… seriously?” Louis repeated, crossing his arms, still trying to hide his blush.

Zayn continued smiling, amused. “Seriously, Tommo. There’s no other explanation.”

“No one will notice anything,” Louis said, with a half-smile and a slight sigh. “He kissed me and then pulled away. It was quick… discreet.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Oh yeah? Then you two already know how to be discreet.”

Louis scoffed, trying to appear indifferent, but inside, his heart still raced. “It’s not experience, it’s…” he hesitated, looking down. “…he makes everything more complicated.”

“Oh, Tommo…” Zayn shook his head, smiling. “You know he doesn’t do anything simple, right? Every step with Styles is a puzzle.”

Louis sighed deeply, trying to organize his thoughts. Every time he remembered the kiss, he felt a mix of heat and frustration. He needed to pull himself together—he couldn’t show anything different to Simon or anyone else in the studio. Work had to come first, or the image he had worked so hard to build could collapse.

“I just wanted to…” Louis murmured, more to himself than to Zayn, “…talk to someone who understands. Like… to figure out if I misread it, if he really cared, or if it was just provocation.”

“And you’ll find out,” Zayn gave him a pat on the arm. “But for now, focus on what you need to do. Later, you’ll try to figure out what’s going on in the city prince’s head.”

Louis nodded, took a deep breath, and turned back to the costume table. Each movement seemed mechanical, but he was determined to maintain composure. Inside, his mind was spinning: every glance Harry threw, every contained smile, left Louis more confused—and more curious.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 12 – After

Louis left the dressing room with Zayn’s words still hammering in his head. The loud electronic music shook the corridors, vibrating through the floor, proof that the event was at its peak. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before returning to the hall.

But before he could blend back in with the guests, he saw Simon coming his way. The manager’s severe look froze his stomach.
“Tomlinson, what did I tell you about behaving?” Simon growled, not bothering to hide his irritation. “You’re the star of the night, for fuck’s sake! You can’t just disappear like that!”

Louis widened his eyes. He had told him… even if it was a lie.
“I told you I was going to the bathroom…” he said, trying to sound firm, though he already knew it wouldn’t matter.

Simon narrowed his eyes, his tone even harsher:
“Louis, I don’t care where you went. If you had gone to Mars, you still couldn’t just vanish! One more slip, and you’re back with nothing to that farm you call a city.”

Louis’s whole body froze. Those words cut through him like a blade.

He remembered everything he had done to get there. It was thanks to his work that his mother could finally stop killing herself with two jobs. That she could spend more time with the younger kids. It was him who managed to put his siblings in a better school, who got the family out of Doncaster and bought a house in London, giving them a more dignified life.

And now, after all the humiliations he had swallowed because of the scandal with Taylor, Simon was reminding him that he could lose everything in the blink of an eye.

Louis lowered his eyes, swallowing hard.
“Alright, Simon… I’m sorry. I just needed to use the bathroom.”

His voice came out low, but Simon heard it anyway. He only scoffed and made a sharp gesture for Louis to get back to the hall.

Not long after, the fashion show began. Models walked in one by one, showcasing pieces from the Adidas collection. The room was lit up, the electronic beats syncing with every step on the runway. Louis was the last to enter, wearing the highlight piece of the night: the collection’s main feature.

The moment he stepped onto the runway, all eyes turned to him. His stride was firm, his expression serious, his body impeccable in the outfit. And in the front row, there was Harry, not hiding a thing. The green eyes were locked on Louis, following every move, as if he were the only person in that room.

On the outside, Louis was nothing but professionalism. On the inside, his heart was racing out of control.

When he reached the end of the runway and struck the final pose, the flashes went off, capturing the moment. The audience applauded.

After the show, with tension still hanging in the air, invitations to the afterparty started circulating. Simon shot Louis a serious look, as if testing his discipline. But Zayn quickly stepped in, pulling his friend away from the mess.
“Let’s go to the after, Tommo,” he said, almost like an order. “Tonight you deserve to switch your head off.”

Louis hesitated for a moment but eventually gave in. Deep down, he wanted to breathe a different kind of air, to shake off Simon’s weight and Harry’s piercing stare.

The afterparty was at an exclusive club, and the moment Louis walked in, the music hit hard in his ears. Lights burst in vibrant colors, the smell of alcohol mixed with marijuana filled the air.

He took a deep breath. He recognized that smell easily. Only one person would dare bring weed to a party like this.

Weaving through the dancing crowd, Louis made his way to the VIP area. And there he was: Zayn, leaning over a table, rolling paper with the calmness of someone who knew the process inside out. On the table, several bottles of booze, scattered glasses, and some drunk models laughing loudly.

Beside Zayn, a familiar face: Liam. The same guy Louis had seen at the last party. He looked focused, helping Zayn prepare more joints.

Louis approached with a discreet smile.
“So that’s where the smell was coming from…” he said, crossing his arms.

Zayn looked up and smirked.
“Thought you weren’t gonna show, Tommo,” he said, offering him a glass.

“I thought so too… but here I am.” Louis replied, shaking Liam’s hand next. “Hey, you good?”

“All good.” Liam smiled, a little shy but friendly.

The three soon settled in, between sips of alcohol and puffs of smoke. Louis tried to stay in control, but little by little, with the music pulsing, the alcohol warming his body, and the smoke filling the air, he let the day’s weight slide off. He felt slightly high, but in a strangely comfortable way.

Louis leaned back on the VIP couch, laughing at something Zayn had just said. The buzz of alcohol and smoke was starting to kick in, loosening his mind more than he wanted.
“Man, you’re laughing at nothing,” Zayn teased, passing the finished joint to Liam to seal. “Want another drink, or are you already seeing stars?”

“I don’t drink that much…” Louis protested, though his voice came out tangled with laughter. “I mean… only when I need to forget life’s a mess.”

Liam, who had been quieter, let out a short laugh.
“Welcome to the club.”

Louis raised his glass to him in an improvised toast. “To the club of fucked-up people who hide it well.”

“You don’t hide shit, Tommo,” Zayn commented, inhaling and blowing out smoke slowly. “That face of yours gives everything away. Especially when it’s about… Styles.”

Louis nearly choked on his drink, coughing.
“Shut the fuck up, Zayn.”

Liam raised an eyebrow, curious.
“Styles? Like… Harry Styles?”

Zayn laughed, shrugging.
“The one and only. But never mind, it’s a long story…”

Louis shook his head, trying to change the subject, but he couldn’t stop the blush rising in his face. It was useless pretending nothing had happened, not with the kiss still branded in his memory.

The music rose again, lights flashing in warm colors. Models drifted in and out of the VIP area, some laughing, others stumbling already drunk. The vibe was excessive, but there in the corner, the three of them felt like they were in their own bubble.

“You should relax more, Louis,” Liam said, watching him with sincere concern. “Feels like you’re carrying the world on your back.”

Louis took a deep breath, looking down at the glass in his hand.
“Maybe I am…”

The weight of the words lingered for a second. Zayn broke the silence, offering the joint to Louis.
“Then drop some of that weight, Tommo. Tonight isn’t a night for thinking.”

Louis hesitated, but ended up taking it, feeling the tip burn between his fingers. He inhaled slowly, the bitter taste mixing with the alcohol. And for the first time that night, he allowed himself to just feel.

The laughter came back, light, genuine. And for a few minutes, he forgot about Simon, forgot about the pressure of having Harry Styles looking at him like he could burn through him with a stare.

But deep down, Louis knew: that peace was fragile. And it wouldn’t last long.

The music thundered in the VIP, red and blue lights flashing fast. Louis was more loosened up, laughing at one of Zayn’s jokes while Liam finished rolling another joint. The smell of weed mixed with spilled alcohol on the table, and for a few minutes, nothing else seemed to matter but that bubble.

Until the air changed.

Louis didn’t need to look immediately to know why. The sudden hush of some models, the way Zayn slightly lifted his chin, and Liam diverted his eyes—everything gave it away. Someone had arrived. And not just anyone.

“Well, look who decided to show up…” Zayn murmured, a lazy smirk on his lips. “The prince of the city.”

Louis finally looked up.

Harry was standing at the entrance to the VIP, blazer swapped for a simple black silk shirt with white patterns, clinging to his body, hem tucked in, a few buttons undone. His messy hair looked intentional, and his gaze… that gaze pinned Louis in place.

Louis’s heart sped up. He swallowed hard, trying to hide the tension. It wasn’t fair. Harry had no right to just show up like this, after a stolen kiss and the cruel distance that had left him unsettled.

Harry, on the other hand, walked toward them slowly, ignoring the curious stares and whispers along the way. His eyes never left Louis.
“Tommo.” His voice was low, almost intimate. “Having fun without me?”

Louis opened his mouth but couldn’t find an immediate answer. Zayn laughed, raising his glass.
“Alright, I’ll let you two catch up,” he said, already pulling Liam by the arm. “Come on, Payno, let’s grab more drinks.”

“Wait, Zayn…” Louis tried to protest, but it was too late. They were gone, leaving only him and Harry, face to face.

The silence between them felt louder than the music itself.

Harry moved closer, nearly brushing against him. The scent of expensive cologne and faint alcohol filled the space.
“You shouldn’t run from me like that…” he said in a low tone, loaded with something Louis couldn’t tell if it was desire or frustration.

Louis held his breath, not knowing if he should push him away or pull him closer.

He wet his lips, eyes locked on Harry, trying to stay composed. But his voice came out firm, though quiet:
“Run from you? You’re the one who kissed me… then pulled away like it was a mistake.”

Harry blinked slowly, breathing deep. His jaw tightened, but his gaze never faltered.
“It wasn’t a mistake.”

“Oh, no?” Louis crossed his arms, trying to ignore how his body burned from the proximity. “Because it sure looked like one, Harry. A quick mistake you regretted the second after.”

Harry tilted his head, leaning closer, his voice almost swallowed by the beat of the music.
“I didn’t regret it. I just… didn’t know if I should.”

Louis’s stomach churned. Part of him wanted to believe, another part screamed not to give in.
“You never know, do you? Always stuck in the middle.” He murmured, glancing at the glasses on the table, trying to divert. “But I’m done being trapped in this little fight—no, this game of yours.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, as if Louis’s words had hit deep.
“And what if I say it’s not a game?”

Louis breathed hard, anger and the urge to surrender colliding inside him. His heart beat so loudly he was sure everyone could hear it.

He crossed his arms tighter, his voice heavy with irony and resentment:
“Then prove it, Harry. Because so far, I’ve only felt used by you. Just another object to a spoiled little boy.”

Harry’s smile vanished instantly. His green eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, as if every word cut like a knife. He stepped forward, closing the gap, and the tension between them electrified the air.
“Spoiled?” Harry repeated, his voice low, sharp, almost a venomous whisper. “That’s what you think? That having money, a big name, makes me untouchable? I grew up hearing nothing was ever enough, Louis. Always more, always perfect. And guess what? I had everything, but I never got to choose anything.”

Louis raised his eyebrows, laughing mockingly, as if Harry’s pain was just another act.
“Oh, of course. The city prince whining about his heavy crown. Must be real tough…”

Harry narrowed his eyes, blood boiling at Louis’s laugh.
“You don’t understand shit, Tomlinson,” he growled, stepping closer.

Louis scoffed, still laughing low. “Oh, but I do… you just can’t stand it when someone doesn’t kneel at your feet.”

Harry scoffed back, each word from Louis like gasoline on fire.
“You love playing king, don’t you?” he spat, eyes blazing. “Acting like you’ve got all the answers, like you know everything about me.”

Louis stepped forward, facing him without fear. “At least I don’t live on a pedestal of my own making,” he spat back, voice firm. “Always expecting the world to bow to Prince Styles.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, and he moved in closer, the two now so near they could feel each other’s breath.
“Careful, Tomlinson…” he growled, his voice low, heavy with threat.

Louis didn’t back down. Instead, he lifted his chin, his blue eyes burning with defiance. “Or what? You’ll prove me wrong?”

Harry clenched his fists, on the edge of exploding. But before he could think, the anger spilled into something else. He grabbed Louis by the nape and crashed his mouth against his in a rough, urgent, almost brutal kiss.

Louis lost his breath for a second, the shock shooting through his whole body. But instead of pulling away, he matched the intensity. The kiss was more raw than tender—teeth clashing, hands grabbing, breaths short and heavy.

Louis shoved Harry against the small railing of the VIP area, making it easy for anyone paying attention to see what they were doing. Harry let out a muffled sound, half anger, half desire, and fisted Louis’s shirt, yanking him even closer.

Between bites and ragged breaths, Louis gasped against Harry’s lips:
“Is this what you wanted, Styles? To prove you’re in control?”

Harry broke the kiss only to whisper, voice hoarse, face pressed against his:
“No… I just wanted you quiet for a second.”

Louis laughed against his mouth, a mocking laugh that ended in another kiss, even more desperate.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13 – Desire

Song: How Deep Is Your Love – Calvin Harris

Louis kissed him with urgency, each kiss wetter than the last, every moan spilling from their mouths making the air heavy, electric. He could feel his jeans growing tighter — and he knew, from the pressure against his own hips, that Harry was already hardening too. Styles gasped when Louis trailed slow, teasing kisses down his pale neck, leaving behind a dark purple mark.

— Lou… — Harry moaned, his voice breaking as the pressure grew.

Louis lifted his gaze, a smug smile tugging at his swollen lips. — Lou what? — he asked cynically, biting down on his bottom lip, teasing.

Harry was a mess — hair tousled, green eyes burning brighter than gold, lips red from too many kisses. Coming back to his senses for a moment, he caught the way Louis was watching him, lips curved into a smirk, and without thinking twice, Styles grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the bathroom off the VIP area. Louis didn’t protest; on the contrary, he let himself be pulled along, eager for what was coming.

As soon as the door was shut and locked, Harry pressed him against the wood, attacking his lips again. The kiss was ravenous, desperate. Louis kissed back just as fiercely, until, between ragged breaths, he guided Harry toward the wide marble sink. Harry was lifted up onto it, legs parting as Louis fit himself between them. Harry smiled breathlessly.

— Did you know your lips look even prettier when they’re red?

Without waiting for a reply, Louis went back to tormenting the pale skin of his neck, leaving visible marks while Harry’s hands tangled in his hair, tugging lightly. Louis kissed down to his collarbone, and in the movement, ripped open several buttons of Harry’s new shirt.

— Louis! — Harry gasped between moans, watching the buttons scatter. — I bought that shirt yesterday! How long are you planning to destroy my precious clothes?! — he said in fake indignation, panting.

Louis only laughed against his skin, moving up to whisper huskily in his ear: — Sorry, prince… I promise I’ll buy you another one.

The words sent shivers down Harry’s spine.

They went back to kissing harder, Louis gripping his waist like he wanted to leave his hands imprinted there. The heat grew, until a knock on the door shattered their bubble.

Louis pulled back slowly, groaning in frustration. — Shit… — he muttered, fixing his hair quickly. Another, louder knock followed. Annoyed, he swung the door open.

Outside stood Liam, trying to hold up Zayn, who was practically hanging off his shoulder.

— What happened to him? — Louis asked, concerned.

Liam sighed, adjusting Malik’s weight. — He got into a contest to see who could take the most shots.

Before he could say more, Zayn lifted his head and shouted with a goofy grin:

— I WON, LOUIS!

Louis couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s happy expression. — That’s great, Zayn… — he answered patiently.

— Louis, if it’s not too much trouble… — Liam said, exhausted. — Can you help me get him inside?

— Of course.

Tomlinson slung Zayn’s arm over his shoulder and helped Liam bring him in. Liam opened the shower stall and together they sat Malik down on the floor.

— Thanks, Louis, — Liam murmured, though his eyes didn’t take long to meet Harry’s. Harry was already standing, fixing his clothes, silently watching.

Louis noticed the brief look between them and cleared his throat, breaking the moment.

— Well… I guess you can handle him, right? — he said, looking at Liam.

The brunette just nodded with a restrained smile. Louis and Harry then left the bathroom together, the tension of what had been left unfinished still hanging thick in the air.

They stepped back into the party in silence, carrying the weight of what had almost happened inside. Louis adjusted his shirt carelessly, while Harry, his expression firm, took the lead.

— I’m taking you to the hotel, — he announced, leaving no room for debate. — You’ve had too much to drink tonight.

Louis raised a brow but didn’t argue. Something in Harry’s tone stopped him from letting a sarcastic remark slip. He simply followed, through the crowd still buzzing with music and laughter. Outside, the cold wind from the sea hit them hard, carrying the salty night air. Louis breathed deeply, catching the scent of the ocean.

They walked to Harry’s car, a sleek but surprisingly cozy model. Louis settled into the passenger seat. As soon as he closed the door, he noticed the detail: tiny pink flowers clipped to the air vents, filling the car with a soft lavender scent.

He smiled to himself. That was so… Harry. Beneath the arrogance and sharp looks, there was always a hidden tenderness that caught him off guard.

The drive was quiet — unlike the usual, where they’d exchange barbs over the smallest thing. This silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken words. Louis, body slowly relaxing, eventually drifted off.

— Louis… — a soft voice called, gentle. — We’re here.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking away sleep, stretching. Through the window, he recognized the lit-up facade of the hotel he’d been calling his temporary home.

— Already? — he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

— Already, — Harry replied with a small smile. — Better for you to rest… It’s been a long day.

Louis turned to him, eyes still heavy. — You’re not a bad driver, Styles. Who would’ve thought… a prince behind the wheel. — he said teasingly, though his tone was softer than mocking.

Harry chuckled lowly. — And you’re kind of adorable sleeping in my car, Tommo.

Louis pulled a face, opening the door. — Shut up.

Outside, he leaned against the door for a moment, letting the cold sea breeze wash over him. Glancing back at Harry over his shoulder, he murmured: — Goodnight, Harry. And… thanks.

The last word came out almost swallowed, but it was there.

Harry only nodded, eyes fixed on him until he disappeared through the hotel entrance. Only then did he start the engine, the hum filling the empty street.

As he drove back, his mind replayed the night’s events — the kisses, the anger, the laughter, the marks on his neck. An involuntary smile tugged at his lips, small but genuine.

Chapter Text

chapter 14 – Confusion

The room was still drowned in the lazy gloom of morning. The only sound came from the soft hum of the air conditioner. His hair was scattered across the pillow, and he clutched a teddy bear close, his face buried against it.

Suddenly, his phone started buzzing. Harry groaned, pulling his face away from the bear and fumbling along the nightstand until he found it. Seeing the time, he sighed — 10 a.m. He had come in late last night and wanted nothing more than to sleep off the exhaustion. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked at the flood of notifications: missed calls from Niall, texts from his mom, Instagram tags, Twitter alerts — more than he could remember getting in weeks.

He unlocked his phone and went straight to his messages. Dozens from Niall, a few from his mom — enough to make his forehead crease. “She only texts me when it’s something serious…” he thought.

Opening Niall’s chat, Harry found links to gossip pages and tweets. Clicking the first one, his stomach dropped at the headline under the photo: him and Louis leaving the club, holding hands.

“The Styles heir spotted leaving a club hand-in-hand with Adidas model Louis Tomlinson.”

Scrolling down, the article continued:

“Harry Styles, heir to one of Los Angeles’ wealthiest families, was seen leaving a nightclub early this morning with Adidas model Louis Tomlinson. The sighting sparked immediate speculation, given Louis’ reputation and the fashion industry’s controversial scandals. A millionaire heir and a so-called ‘troubled model’? Social media is buzzing.”

Harry exhaled, shaking his head before checking the other links — all variations of the same story: rumors of romance with Louis.

He switched back to Niall’s messages:

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WENT HOME WITH THE ‘TROUBLED MODEL’?!
YOU TOOK HIM TO THE HOTEL??
EDWARDS, ANSWER ME!!”

Harry frowned at the phrase troubled model and typed a quick reply: I didn’t “go home” with Louis. I only drove him back because he was drunk and couldn’t drive. A clean lie.

Then he opened his mom’s messages:

“Hi, love. Call me when you see this.
Your father is furious.
That boy you went out with is handsome, though.”

Harry flushed at the last line. But why would his father be furious about Louis?

Before he could think further, Louis’ name lit up his screen. A single message:

“Did you see what they’re saying about us?”

Harry tossed the phone aside and hugged his teddy bear again.

Louis woke with his head pounding. The bitter taste of alcohol lingered in his mouth, but that wasn’t what bothered him. The problem was remembering. Every detail. Every kiss. The way Harry looked at him in the bathroom, as if the world had stopped for the two of them alone.

He groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes to block the light slipping through the curtains.

— Idiot… — he muttered, not sure if he meant Harry or himself.

Reaching for his phone, he squinted at the screen. A new message from Harry:

“Did you see what they’re saying about us?”

Louis frowned, his heart racing. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. But before he could type a reply, a loud knock rattled the door, making his headache throb harder.

And then the door burst open. Simon stormed in like a thundercloud, his face red with fury.

— How dare you walk out holding his hand in front of everyone?!

Louis’ eyes widened in confusion.
— What…? — he stammered.

Simon laughed bitterly. — You’re seriously asking ‘what’? — his voice rose. — Haven’t you seen the mess you made last night?

— No… — Louis swallowed hard. — I just woke up. I haven’t seen anything.

Simon slammed his phone down on the bed. — Then take a look.

Louis picked it up, his breath catching as he saw the photos: him and Harry leaving the club, flashes freezing them in place. Holding hands. Exposed.

— Do you even realize what this means? — Simon’s voice dripped with frustration. — How many contracts, how many investors we could lose because you decided to parade around with that boy?!

Still clutching the phone like it burned, Louis tried to explain:
— It wasn’t my fault! Harry showed up at the club… and then he pulled me outside.

— I don’t care if it was his fault, your fault, or the Pope’s! — Simon snapped, slamming his hand against the desk. — You came to Los Angeles for two reasons: to attend the right parties and to launch your collection. That’s it. Not to get dragged into another scandal.

Louis shut his eyes for a moment, exhausted.

Simon pointed at him sharply.
— From now on, I don’t want to see you with him. Or with anyone. Until further notice.

Louis drew a shaky breath, anger simmering beneath the surface.
— Enough… — his voice cracked.

Simon studied him, almost as if waiting for him to break. But Louis only stood, his body tense.
— I made a mistake, but cut me some slack… I’m human.

The man laughed dryly, full of contempt.
— “Human”? In this world, Tomlinson, being human is the same as being disposable. And if you keep this up, that’s exactly what you’ll be.

With that, Simon stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening. Louis collapsed back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Harry’s unanswered message still glowed on the screen beside him:

“Did you see what they’re saying about us?”

Louis closed his eyes, his chest tightening. It felt like everything he believed in had just turned against him.

Two hours later, Harry was still haunted by the headlines, proof that none of it had been a dream. He dragged himself to the bathroom, letting hot water pour over him, but the thoughts knotted in his head refused to wash away.

He dressed deliberately: ripped dark blue jeans, a black jacket, his trademark light-brown boots, hair styled, and his sunglasses swapped for his prescription pair. Every detail polished — but the unease lingered.

Grabbing his bag, he glanced at his phone. Louis’ messages popped up one by one, marked as “read” — but ignored.

“Louis, answer me.”
“Don’t ignore me, Tomlinson!”
“I need to talk to you about last night.”

Harry’s heart pounded, fear mixing with anger and hurt. He already knew what his father had done. Every event, every party, every launch Harry had attended was never his choice. If it were up to him, he’d stay far from those glittering rooms filled with whispers and stares. But his family needed him, and behaving meant keeping the peace.

And then Louis appeared. From their very first meeting, everything had been chaos — Harry’s irritation when he had to buy that replacement shirt, the embarrassment in front of acquaintances, the frustration at Louis strolling around the beach in shorts like the world didn’t matter. Yet Harry couldn’t help but feel a strange satisfaction every time he made Louis flustered. Even small victories — like realizing Louis really had bought the right shirt — had thrilled him.

Harry shoved his phone into his pocket, steeling himself. He knew he had to face his father eventually. But he also knew the tension with Louis — the provocation, the annoyance, the thrill — had already spun far beyond the game he thought he was playing.

With a mix of determination and frustration, he left his room. He couldn’t hide anymore — not from his family, and not from what he felt for Louis. And despite everything, a small, mischievous smile tugged at his lips: he liked riling Louis up. And he knew the game had only just begun.

Mr. Styles’ office was vast, cold, and silent. Glass walls reflected the city outside, but inside, time seemed to stand still. Harry entered slowly, his boots echoing on the polished wood floor.

His father sat behind the desk, flawless as always, suit pressed, eyes sharp. He didn’t need to raise his voice; Harry felt the weight of judgment immediately.

— Sit. — The command was firm, absolute.

Harry obeyed, sinking into the leather chair, forcing himself to stay calm.

— Do you even realize what you did last night? — his father began, fingers interlaced on the desk. — Walking out hand-in-hand with that boy…

— Louis, — Harry corrected quietly but firmly. — His name is Louis.

Mr. Styles arched a brow.
— Well, that “Louis” happens to be one of the models I’ve invested millions in. — his voice was ice. — And thanks to you, every contract with his name on it is now at risk. Partners were calling me before breakfast, demanding answers.

Harry drew a deep breath, trying to hold back his anger.
— I only helped him. He wasn’t in any state to leave alone.

— Helped him? — his father repeated with mocking disdain. — You don’t understand what’s at stake. That boy already has a reputation: parties, scandals, delays. And now, with your last name tied to his, investors doubt the stability of every project we’re involved in. — He leaned forward. — Do you get it? This isn’t just about you, Harry. It’s about money. Power. Reputation.

Silence hung heavy. Harry stared at the floor, then lifted his gaze.
— You’re the one who made me keep an eye on him. — his voice was bitter. — And now you’re furious because I actually did?

Mr. Styles pressed his lips together, struggling to contain his temper.
— Don’t be insolent. You have more responsibility than you realize. And if you can’t separate personal whims from business, you’ll ruin everything.

Harry’s chest tightened, but he didn’t look away.
— Maybe that’s the problem, Dad. I’ve never had “personal whims.” Only your expectations.

The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the faint tick of a clock. His father’s eyes burned with disapproval — but beneath it, Harry caught something else: fear. Fear of losing control.

Finally, his father’s voice came low, threatening:
— Stay away from that boy, Harry. Consider it an order.

Harry rose slowly, adjusting his jacket.
— You can dictate my events, my schedule, the flashes I stand in. But not what I feel.

And he left, boots echoing through the glass office, leaving his father alone in the silence.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 15-Hotel room

The sun was already high in the sky when Louis finally summoned the courage to leave his room. Each step down the hotel corridor felt heavier than the last, as if all the invisible eyes were following him. He didn't need to check his phone to know: his name was all over the headlines, mixed in with Harry's.

He walked down to the lobby, trying to go unnoticed with sunglasses and a cap, but it was no use. A few heads turned, whispers echoed, and the feeling of being just“the problematic model”burned in his stomach again.

Across the lobby, Harry appeared. Calm as ever, boots echoing on the marble, glasses on his face, and that almost insolent posture that made everything seem effortless. Louis held his breath.

They met in the middle of the lobby. For a moment, no one spoke. Only their eyes, filled with things that couldn't be said there.

"Look who decided to show up." Harry arched an eyebrow. "Did you not see my messages or were you just ignoring me?"

Louis narrowed his eyes, exhausted. He ran a hand over his face.
— I was too busy getting scolded to answer you.

Harry tilted his head, as if amused.
— What a coincidence… I also got scolded. And guess what? Because of you.

— Mycause?" Louis let out a bitter laugh. "As far as I remember, I wasn't the one who forced you to kick me out of that club."

Harry stepped forward, his lips curving into a half smile.
— You didn't have to force me, Louis. I wanted to.

The silence that followed was thick. They both knew it wasn't just about the club, or the news. It was about what had happened before: the kisses, the way they'd looked at each other, what no one else knew.

For a second, Louis considered giving in. He considered confessing how much he still tasted the kiss, how much Harry's gaze haunted him. But before he could say anything, he noticed the ever-increasing gazes on them.

Louis was the first to notice the danger.
"If we stay here, they'll make up ten more stories by lunch," he muttered quietly, only for Harry to hear. "Come on."

Without waiting for a response, she lightly touched his arm and guided him toward the elevator. Harry hesitated, but eventually gave in. His heart was beating too fast. When the doors closed, the world outside fell silent.

And for the first time since the confusion, they were alone.

The elevator ascended slowly, and the silence seemed deafening. Harry leaned against the metal wall, arms crossed, but his eyes never left Louis.

"You know," Harry began, his voice low and teasing, "I can't get that night at the club out of my head. Every time I think about the way you looked at me before the kiss… well, it was hard not to imagine what came next."

Louis felt his heart race, a mixture of irritation and desire burning inside him.
“Stop it, Styles,” he murmured firmly, looking away for a moment. “This is no time for jokes.”

"Just kidding?" Harry arched an eyebrow, stepping closer. "You know damn well it wasn't just a joke, Louis. You loved every second of it."

Louis pressed his lips together, trying to control his reaction. He left quickly, as if his haste could deceive his feelings. Harry followed him silently to his room.

Louis unlocked the door with his key and tossed his cap onto the chair. He was about to say something to send Harry away, but when he turned around, Harry was already inside, calmly closing the door.

"You never learn, do you?" Louis murmured, his voice firm, with a hint of severity.

Harry shrugged, taking a few steps closer, a mischievous smile on his lips.
— Maybe I just don't want to learn.

The air between them grew heavy. Louis wanted to push him away, but every time Harry got closer, his strength seemed to weaken.

— Harry… this is a terrible idea — Louis said seriously, trying to assert control.

Harry stopped a few inches away, eyes fixed on his, voice low and provocative:
— The worst ideas always become the best memories… and some of the funniest.

Louis felt his entire body react, but he kept his chin up, firm. Part of him wanted to let go, but another, stronger part, demanded control. He couldn't just repeat the same mistakes. Not this time.
"You have to stop this, Harry," she said quietly, seriously, looking him in the eye. "I won't let you play with me again."

Harry smiled slowly, as if Louis's words were just a challenge.
“Play?” he repeated, moving closer until their breaths almost mingled. “Do you really think that was just a game?”

Louis didn't answer. Silence was answered enough.

Harry tilted his head, his voice deeper, filled with malice.
—I still remember the way you pulled me that night… it didn't feel like someone was being deceived. It felt like someone wanting more.

Louis took a deep breath, maintaining his posture, but the stiffness in his shoulders betrayed him.
"That doesn't change anything, Styles," he said seriously. "Once was a mistake. Twice would be stupid."

Harry chuckled softly, the teasing clear in his eyes.
"Then prove to me it's just a mistake..." he whispered defiantly. "Push me now. He says he didn't feel anything."

Louis remained silent, his jaw clenched, trying to hold his own resolve. But Harry's gaze, the suffocating closeness, the damn confidence in that smile… it all felt like a direct blow to his defenses.

Harry slowly raised his hand, brushing his fingers lightly along the line of his jaw, forcing him to hold his gaze.
"You can't tell, can you?" he whispered, almost victorious. "Because every time you look at me, you remember exactly how it was."

Louis took a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest. For a moment, he considered pushing him away and putting an end to the provocation. But in the next second, anger and desire mingled in a rush he couldn't contain.

He grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt and pulled him hard, joining their lips in an urgent, intense kiss, full of everything he had been trying to deny.

Harry smiled against his mouth, deepening the kiss as if he'd been waiting for this very moment. His hands slid around the back of Louis's neck, firm, holding him there as their bodies collided.

Louis moans at Harry's reaction, the feeling was so good he can barely control himself.

-Holy shit Harry...- he moans, his voice coming out breathless- you're really good at this, you know?

Harry takes Louis's member from his mouth and slowly runs his tongue along its warm, wet length. He returns with a gentle back and forth motion, but finally, he sucks the glans hard—making Louis gasp and pull at his hair desperately.

— Christ, Harry... — he moans, his eyes half-closed in pleasure.

Harry just smiles between sucks, savoring the liquid that escapes—slow and addictive.

Harry began to fuck himself in the mouth, moving fast as he swallowed Louis's cock greedily. Louis, moaning loudly, held tightly to Louis's curly hair to help with the rhythm—bobbing up and down hard, feeling Harry choke slightly with each deep thrust.

— That's it, fuck… — Louis pants, eyes half-closed with lust. — Swallow it all, Harry…

Louis reached deep into Harry's throat, making Harry's eyes water at the intense sensation. Harry's muffled moans vibrated his member, nearly driving him over the edge.

Then Harry reaches down and begins to stroke Louis's shaft while his mouth focuses on the glans—sucking hard, with precise pressure, until he tastes the salty white liquid filling his mouth. He doesn't let go—he swallows it all with a hoarse moan, still sucking slowly until he's sucked every drop.

Harry got up from the bed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His steps to the mirror were light, making almost no sound in the quiet room. He studied his reflection carefully, noticing his still reddened lips. The tears that had fallen minutes earlier had dried, but his skin still bore their rough traces.
The taste of Louis lingered in his mouth, as did the memory of the way the older man had shivered beneath his touch, no matter how hard he had tried to remain impassive.

A slow smile played across his lips as he tied his hair with a hair tie. Then he turned away from the mirror and glanced back. Louis was sprawled on the bed, on his back, staring at the ceiling as if there might be an answer. His body still exuded heat, but his gaze was distant. His legs dangled off the mattress, his upper body sunk into the sheets, as if he lacked the will to move.

Harry bent down to pick up the glasses that had fallen near him. For a moment, he stood there, the frames clasped between his fingers, watching the older man motionless, feigning indifference.
"You should look less at the ceiling... and more at me," he said, his tone soft but full of irony.

Louis took a deep, steadying breath, never taking his eyes off the void above.
— You should stop that… before I really want to.

The silence fell, heavy. Harry just smiled at the corner of his mouth and put his glasses back on. He walked to the door with calm steps, without letting go of the provocation that enveloped him like a second skin.

Before leaving, he stopped with his hand on the doorknob, without looking back.
— Keep pretending, Louis… but I already know the truth.

And he left, leaving the room plunged into silence—and Louis trapped between the relief and frustration that only Harry could evoke.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 16-whole foods market  

Harry left the hotel with calm steps, but his mind racing. Louis's every movement still felt etched into his skin, and the memory of the taste of his lips brought an involuntary smile to his face. He needed to talk to someone, to talk about everything that had happened so far.

He took his cell phone out of his pocket and quickly typed to Niall:

"I need to talk to you. Urgent. I think I messed up. Meet me at Whole Foods? I don't want to talk about this over text."

He waited a few seconds. The illuminated screen reflected off his glasses when the answer came:

"What did you do, Harry?"

"I hope I didn't kill anyone."

"I'm on my way. See you in 15 minutes."

Harry laughed at the message and put his phone back in his pocket. He knew Niall would understand more than anyone else—and he needed someone to help him deal with the confusion Louis and the photos had caused.

As he walked to his car, the wind gently blew against his face. He felt that familiar mix of anxiety and excitement. Because somehow, even after all these years, Louis still managed to unsettle him.

— YOU WHAT?! — Niall almost screamed as soon as Harry finished telling him what had happened in the club's bathroom.

— Niall, don't shout, that's a thing — his friend scolded, looking away at the large refrigerated shelf, full of fruit jars.

"How can you not want me to scream? Do you have any idea what you just told me?" he said, staring at Harry, who was holding a small bowl of berries.

— Yes, Niall. I understand what I just told you.

"You lied to me, Harry!" Niall gestured indignantly.

"I didn't lie, I just omitted a fact. That's all." Harry replied, walking to another section of the market.

Niall snorted in defeat. He knew arguing with Harry like that wouldn't get him anywhere.

"Oh, if you're already like this just because I almost had sex with Louis at the club... I won't even tell you what happened at the hotel," Harry said, already in the bread section, looking for his favorite donuts.

Niall's eyes widened. "Harry! What did you do at the hotel with Louis?" he asked quietly, dreading the answer.

Harry turned to him, holding the box of donuts in his hand. "Maybe I...gave him a blowjob," he muttered awkwardly.

Niall just stared at him, mouth open, silent for a few seconds, just staring at his friend with wide eyes, almost popping out of his face.

“You… what?” he almost whispered, incredulous.

"Ni, stop it, jeez! It's like I killed someone." Harry pouted his lips, sulking.

"Harry, you just told me you slept with the guy whose dad is one of the biggest investors in his career!" Niall ran his hand through his hair, completely lost. Sometimes he wondered what was really going through Harry's head to get himself into something like that.

As they walked to the cashier, Niall grumbled,

"You know this could have serious consequences, right? This isn't just any case. Louis isn't just another one."

Harry smirked, placing the donuts on the conveyor belt.

— We'll deal with the consequences later. For now... I just want to repeat... —

Niall grabbed his own bottle of water and followed him out of the market.

— That's what worries me.

The cold street air washed over them both, and Niall still wasn't sure if he wanted to shake Harry into reality… or simply accept that nothing in the world would make him give up on Louis. Outside, the cool night air enveloped them as they walked through the market's automatic doors. The sound of carts and people coming and going faded as they made their way toward the nearly empty parking lot.

Niall walked beside Harry in silence, still processing everything he'd just heard. Harry balanced the box of donuts in one hand and the car keys in the other, as if nothing had happened.

“You’re unbelievable, Harry,” Niall broke the silence, stopping beside the car. “You say that like it’s normal. Like it doesn’t matter at all.”

Harry threw the box into the backseat and leaned against the car door, looking at his friend.

— It's not normal, I know that. But, Ni… it's not new.

"What do you mean?" Niall narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms.

Harry took a deep breath, adjusting his glasses on his face.

"Ever since I was fourteen… I've looked at Louis differently. He was already starting his career, with a lot of people around him, and I… well, I was just a kid who had a crush on a model." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "I thought I was over it. But every time he shows up… it's like I'm fourteen again."

Niall was silent for a few seconds, watching his friend. The confession didn't seem like a joke, nor another one of Harry's provocations. This was real, raw.

"So you're telling me... that this whole thing with him isn't just impulse?" he asked quietly, almost as if he didn't want to hear the answer.

Harry gave a half smile, but his gaze was serious.

— I never stopped having a crush on him, but I ended up forgetting. I grew up, I had my boyfriends. The difference is that now… he's here, close to me. And knowing that I might have one of my teenage crushes back. It leaves me in a daze.

Niall ran his hand over his face, taking a deep breath.

— Jesus, Harry… what a mess you’re getting yourself into

Harry shrugged, opening the car door.

— I know. But for the first time, it feels worth it.

Harry started the car, but didn't move. The engine only purred softly, filling the silence that hung heavy inside the car. Niall was in the passenger seat, turned sideways, looking at his friend.

"Do you have any idea what could happen if someone finds out?" Niall began, his voice firm. "The photos are already out there, scattered around. If someone puts the pieces together, it could end his career for good… and, Harry, it could destroy both of you."

Harry kept his eyes fixed on the steering wheel, his fingers gripping the leather.

— I know, Ni. But I can't stop. Not after what happened today.

"That's not an answer, Hazz." Niall shifted in his seat, visibly uneasy. "You're not dealing with just anyone. This is Louis. The same Louis you've dreamed of since you were a kid. Are you sure you're not confusing desire with nostalgia?"

Harry looked away, biting his lower lip before speaking:

— I know the difference. What I felt at the hotel… wasn't just physical. It was him. It's always been him.

Niall let out a long sigh, running his hand through his blond hair.

— You say that with such conviction that it almost seems easy. But you forget that he's not just "Louis." He's a public figure, Harry. He has a career, contracts, and a not-so-good image to maintain. If anyone finds out that you...

Harry interrupted him with a short, bitter laugh:

— That he let a boy who had a crush on him, get on his knees for him;

"That he got involved with the son of one of the investors," Niall corrected, his voice lower, almost like a warning. "You have no idea the damage this could cause."

Harry finally turned to face him, his eyes shining behind the lenses of his glasses.

— So tell me, Niall… what do I do?

Niall didn't respond immediately. Silence fell again, broken only by the distant sound of cars passing by on the street. Finally, he sighed in defeat.

— I don't know what you should do, Harry. I just know that if you're going to do this, you have to be prepared to face the consequences.

Harry nodded slowly, swallowing hard. The weight of Niall's words didn't dull the heat still burning under his skin.

—I'm already jumping in, Ni. — he murmured, more to himself than to his friend.

Niall leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes for a moment.

— Then may God have mercy on you, Styles. Because the way you are… I know you're going to lose yourself in this guy.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17 – Messages

Three days after the headline that had shaken them both, Louis adjusted his green jacket on the car seat, staring distractedly at the road. Today he had to fly to New York — an important meeting about his newly launched collection required his personal presence. The city that never sleeps promised opportunities, but also, now, judgment and relentless stares.

As the cab drove through the sunny streets of Los Angeles, the model kept glancing at his phone, as if waiting for one specific notification. Deep down, he knew exactly whose message he was hoping for.

Across town, Harry rested by the pool, arms folded on the edge, head lying on them. His sunglasses hid his distant gaze, but not the anxiety coursing through every fiber of his body. Since that night at the hotel, he hadn’t seen Louis, and the urge to send him a message grew stronger every minute. He just didn’t know how to start, what to write without turning everything into a mess.

The silence around the pool only amplified the noise in his head: memories of that night, of Louis’s touch, his taste, his teasing. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, Harry knew — Louis still had the power to destabilize him.

At the airport, Louis got out of the car with his backpack on his shoulders and his hood pulled low over his face. Simon walked him to boarding, but their path was quickly cut off by a group of photographers who came running, shouting questions:

— Is it true about your relationship with Harry?
— What happened at the club?
— Harry pulled you out, Louis, can you confirm?

Lowering his head, Louis let Simon push him along, quickening his pace until they finally entered the brand’s private jet. He headed straight for his seat, kicked off his sneakers, and released a tired sigh. Simon, beside him, had his brow furrowed — and it wasn’t hard to guess why.

Before takeoff, Louis crouched by the minibar and grabbed a can of Coke. Returning to his seat, he cracked it open and caught Simon’s stern look.
— Relax, Simon… it’s just a Coke, it’s not going to change my measurements — he said, mocking, before taking the first sip.

Simon only huffed in response.

The flight would be long, about two hours to New York. In that time, Louis had already watched an episode of his favorite show, played on his phone, and was now trying to sleep. Wrapped in the blue-and-white blanket, he was nearly drifting off when his phone buzzed.

He picked it up. A message. From Harry.

His heart raced. He opened the chat. It was a photo.

On instinct, Louis glanced around — you never know — then tapped to load the image.

His eyes widened.

Sunlight streamed softly through the bathroom, still misty from a recent shower. Drops slid down the fogged-up mirror, framing the scene.

Harry stood there, naked, his body golden in the soft light. Turned slightly to the side, he didn’t show everything, but he wasn’t hiding either. His right arm, raised to hold the phone, covered part of his face — though the sly smile curving his lips was impossible to miss.

His back tapered down to a slim waist, the firm curve of his ass in full display. Part of his fern leaf tattoo peeked above the damp skin, mingling with other delicate lines. His wet hair fell rebelliously to one side.

Beneath the photo, the caption read:
“Just to make sure you won’t run from me when you land ;)”

Louis swallowed hard, fingers trembling as they slid across the screen as if they could touch him. Heat flushed up his neck to his cheeks. He grabbed a bottle of water and drank half in one go, trying to suppress any physical reaction he couldn’t admit to.

He exhaled deeply. Closed his eyes for a moment before typing:
Louis: “Styles… you’re impossible.”

He hit send and set the phone aside. But then a thought crossed his mind, tightening his chest: how did Harry know he was on a flight? Every move, every step seemed calculated to provoke that mix of anxiety and fascination Louis couldn’t control.

— This boy is going to kill me… — he muttered, an involuntary smile escaping. Because deep down, he knew: that photo was meant for him alone.

The plane landed in New York shortly after noon. Louis pulled his hood back up, trying to hide from the world, though he already knew what awaited him at the steps.

Simon walked ahead, phone pressed to his ear, speaking far too quickly for someone pretending to be in control. Louis, meanwhile, felt his stomach churn.

And he wasn’t wrong.

As soon as he stepped onto the tarmac, flashes exploded from behind the security gates. Journalists and photographers had found the flight schedule — they were all there, shouting his name.

— Louis! Is it true you and Harry are together?!
— Did he spend the night at your hotel?!
— What happened at the club?!
— Do you confirm the romance?!

The questions collided from every side. Louis kept his head down, hands shoved in his pockets, quickening his steps beside Simon.

But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, he heard Harry’s name echo in every question, as if breathing without remembering him was impossible. As if the whole world had invaded a space meant to be theirs alone.

Inside the car, the tinted windows offered brief relief. Louis pressed his forehead against the cold glass, closing his eyes. Even there, behind the darkness, he still saw flashes.

His phone buzzed again in his hand. Harry.
“Impossible? No… you’re the one who leaves me no choice, Louis ;)”

Louis bit his lip, undecided. He finally typed back:
Louis: “You’re going to regret teasing me like this, Styles…”

The car pulled up to the brand’s penthouse. Louis tugged his hood lower, though he knew hiding was useless: curious eyes were already glued to social media, and journalists would soon be calling PR.

Simon opened the door first and stepped out quickly. Louis took a deep breath, pulled the hood further forward, and followed, feeling the weight of every stare. Each step sounded louder, every imaginary camera click echoing in his head.

Louis’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing on the meeting table. First journalists, then nosy friends, and now even old contacts he barely remembered. Annoyed, Simon snatched it and set it to silent, though the screen kept lighting up — a cruel reminder there was no escape.

— They’re hungry, Louis — the communications manager said, swiping more headlines onto the big screen. — “Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson: romance on the rise?”; “Creative partnership or secret affair?” She sighed. — We need to decide: deny, stay silent, or change the narrative.

Louis propped his elbow on the table and rubbed his face, exhausted.

Simon cut in, bluntly:
— Deny. Period.

Louis lifted his eyes, displeased.
— And when they ask me directly? On the street, in an interview?

Simon shot him a sharp look.
— You’ll do what you’ve always done: smile, dodge, and say nothing.

Louis opened his mouth to argue, but his phone buzzed again. Against his will, he grabbed it. A Twitter notification caught his eye: Harry Styles was trending worldwide.

He tapped it. The feed filled with photos of Harry: at the beach, walking LA streets the day before, even screenshots of old stories that — deliberately or not — hinted at a connection between them. Louis’s name appeared in every comment, side by side with Harry’s.

His heart sped up. It was as if, even from afar, Harry kept pulling him into the storm.

Suddenly, a new message appeared on-screen.
“Regret? That’s something I don’t think I’ll ever feel ;)”

Louis swallowed, thumb hovering over the screen.
— Who is it? — Simon asked, impatient, holding out his hand.

Louis flipped the phone, locked it, and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
— No one. — His voice was firm, though it betrayed him.

He waited for the right moment. When Simon turned back to argue with the communications manager, Louis leaned back discreetly and pulled the phone into his lap.

Harry’s message still glowed on the screen:
“Regret? That’s something I don’t think I’ll ever feel ;)”

Louis inhaled sharply, hesitant. The right thing would be to ignore it. Pretend he’d never seen it. But his fingers moved on their own, betraying reason.

“You love making things harder for me, don’t you? You have no idea the hell I’m going through here.”

He hit send, and his stomach flipped immediately. It was like throwing gasoline on a fire already burning too high.

The reply came almost instantly, as if Harry had been waiting:
“Maybe I do… but only because I know you feel the same as I do ;)”

Louis bit his lip, hiding an involuntary smile. He glanced up quickly — Simon was still arguing, none the wiser.

He pocketed the phone again, but he already knew: there was no going back.

Moments later, it buzzed once more. Louis couldn’t resist peeking under the table.

Harry: “Thinking about me right now, aren’t you? Bet you can’t focus on a thing.”

Louis rolled his eyes, though warmth spread deliciously through his body. Risky as it was, he typed fast:
Louis: “You’re reckless, Styles. If Simon sees this, I’m dead.”

Seconds later:
Harry: “Relax… he doesn’t need to know what I make you feel. Only I do ;)”

Louis pressed his lips together, stifling the grin threatening to break free.

He typed back, more firmly this time:
Louis: “Stop playing with this. I’m trying to keep my career intact here.”

The reply was immediate:
Harry: “And I’m trying to have you to myself.”

Louis’s heart pounded. His finger hovered over the screen, torn between replying and shoving the phone away before things went too far.

The meeting dragged on, voices rising, headlines spinning across the screen, reports tossed on the table. Yet all Louis could think about was Harry’s last message.

In the end, the manager laid it down:
— We’ll release a neutral statement. Neither confirm nor deny.

Simon crossed his arms, still displeased.
— Better than nothing. At least it buys time.

Louis lifted his eyes, masking the relief. Not the truth, but not a complete lie either.

The manager typed quickly, reading aloud:
— “Louis Tomlinson remains fully focused on his professional projects and the new collection launched in Los Angeles. He will not be commenting on personal speculation.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. Everyone except Louis.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers clenched around his phone. Harry was still waiting.

Louis typed fast, hiding it beneath the table:
Louis: “They’ll release a statement. Nothing confirmed, nothing denied. It’s the best I could do.”

The typing dots appeared instantly.
Harry: “So that’s it. They say nothing… but we keep going in secret.”

Louis swallowed, eyes drifting to the window. Outside, New York pulsed on, oblivious to the war raging inside him.

After the meeting, Louis slumped onto the office’s private lounge sofa, body heavy with exhaustion. The brand meeting had ended without disaster, but the weight of the photos still pressed hard. Simon had granted him a few days off, letting the storm settle before work resumed.

He sank deeper into the cushions, phone glowing with an incoming call. His mother.

— Louis, darling, how are you? — Johannah’s voice carried pure concern. — Are you sleeping well? Eating properly?

Louis smiled softly, trying to reassure her.
— I’m fine, Mum. Sleeping and eating just fine.

Their conversation went on for a few minutes, full of questions and light laughter, until Louis felt he could share a bit more.

— You know, Mum… Simon gave me a few days off. I thought maybe you and the boys could come visit me in New York. What do you think? — he asked, picturing his mother and siblings exploring the city, strolling the streets and shops, laughing together.

On the other end, Johannah’s voice lit up:
— Louis! That would be wonderful. We’ll make arrangements, spend those days with you.

Louis leaned back, a small wave of relief washing over him. For a few days, the chaos of photos, flashes, and rumors could be left behind. At least for now.

Chapter Text

Two days later, Louis’s family arrived in New York. He was at the airport, surrounded by a few bodyguards, but as soon as he saw his mother coming with luggage, he ran toward her.

— Mom, let me help — he said, hugging her tightly before taking some of the bags from her hands.

Right behind her, Lottie was guiding the twins, who looked around at everything, fascinated by the hustle and bustle of the airport. Louis smiled as he hugged each of them, but noticing one sister was missing, he frowned.

— And Fizz? — he asked, raising his eyebrows. — Why didn’t she come?

Johannah sighed, adjusting her coat.
— She wanted to, but she’s swamped with her internship. She said she couldn’t drop everything right now.

Louis nodded slowly, even though a pang of disappointment crossed his chest.
— Ah… makes sense. — He forced a small smile. — But tell her I missed her, okay?

— I’ll tell her, love — his mother replied, squeezing his hand affectionately.

The twins, impatient, began tugging at Louis’s arms.
— Lou, are you going to show us the Statue of Liberty? And Times Square? And Central Park?

He laughed, letting himself be carried away by their energy.
— Calm down, calm down, we’ll see everything! But first, let’s grab something decent to eat, because airplane food doesn’t count.

Johannah laughed along, and the group headed toward the exit, where the van was waiting to take them to the hotel.

Even though he was tired and still carrying the tension of the past few days, Louis felt his heart warm. Having his family there was like finally taking a deep breath after being underwater for too long.

At the hotel, the suite reserved especially for the family was bathed in afternoon light. The twins ran from one side to the other, opening the curtains to peek at the New York view through the huge windows. Lottie tried to organize the luggage, while Johannah sat on the sofa, relieved after the long trip.

Louis appeared from the kitchen with bottles of water and some snacks.
— All set, initial survival guaranteed — he said, handing them out.

Johannah smiled, looking at her son attentively.
— You look tired, Lou. — Her voice was gentle but firm. — Are you really sleeping well, like you said on the phone?

Louis sighed and shrugged.
— More or less… — he tried to avoid the question, but seeing the insistence in her eyes, he continued: — But it’ll pass, Mom. It’s a lot happening at once.

She lightly touched his hand, a gesture full of care.
— I know. And I also know that these “things” have names. — Her tone lowered. — It’s about the guy from the photos, isn’t it?

Louis looked away, biting his lip. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t.
— It’s not just about him. It’s about everything. Work, the photos, the pressure… — he took a deep breath. — But yes, he’s in the middle of it.

Johannah simply squeezed his hand, without judging or insisting.
— I just want you to be happy. The rest… we’ll handle it.

Before the conversation could get heavier, Daisy jumped into Louis’s lap with contagious excitement.
— Lou! You promised you’d show us New York!

He laughed, hugging her.
— And I will. But where do you want to start?

— Candy store! — they both shouted at the same time.

Soon after, Louis left the hotel in a cap and hoodie, trying to be discreet, but with a light heart for the first time in days. He walked hand in hand with the sisters through the streets of Manhattan, surrounded by the chaotic energy of the city.

When they entered one of the largest candy stores in Times Square, the girls’ eyes lit up as if they had just stepped into an amusement park.

— Boo, look at this! — Phoebe shouted, pointing to an entire wall covered in colorful M&Ms.
— I want this, this, this, and… this one too! — Daisy exclaimed, hugging a box almost as big as her.

Louis laughed, grabbing a candy for himself as well.
— I think I’m leaving here broke.

After a few hours exploring candy, toy, and even a huge bookstore, Louis returned with the family to the hotel. The twins were ecstatic, each clutching a giant bag of treats, while Lottie complained that he had ruined their dinner. Louis just shrugged, laughing.
— Let them have fun, Lotts. — He winked at his younger sister. — Tomorrow, I’ll take you to whichever store you want, I promise.

At night, everyone gathered in a reserved room at the hotel restaurant. The girls talked about news from London, school, and everyday life, animated as always. Louis listened, smiling, feeling for a moment protected from the chaotic world waiting outside.

When dinner ended and everyone went up to their rooms, Louis stayed alone on the suite balcony, watching the city that never sleeps. The cold night air hit his face, bringing a rare feeling of calm.

Then his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Harry: “Bet you’re playing the perfect brother now… But don’t forget, you still owe me an answer.”

— How does he know I’m with my family? — he murmured to himself, feeling his heart race.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, a small involuntary smile escaping even though he didn’t want it to.

He typed slowly, hesitantly:
Louis: “Maybe you’re right… Styles.”

Not even two minutes later, the screen lit up again.

“I’m always right, Tomlinson. Enjoy your time with them… because later, I want yours all to myself ;)”

Louis felt his stomach twist and, at the same time, a nervous laugh escape. He leaned back in the chair on the balcony, looking at the illuminated New York sky.

He put the phone away, but his heart was already racing too much for him to sleep easily.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Even after putting the twins to bed and chatting a bit with Lottie, Louis couldn’t relax. Excitement, confusion, and—most of all—Harry hammering in his mind left him restless. He tossed and turned, trying in vain to fall asleep, but nothing worked.

With a sigh, he got up. Grabbing a light jacket and slipping his phone into his pocket, he slipped quietly out of the room. He wandered through the hotel’s hallways until he reached the pool area, where the cool night air mingled with the humidity rising from the water, glowing under the floodlights.

Lighting a cigarette, he leaned against the railing, blowing smoke slowly as he tried to steady his thoughts. His heart, however, skipped a beat with every faint splash he heard from the pool.

And then he saw him.

Harry was there, swimming lazily, curls damp and clinging to his forehead, his body gliding effortlessly through the water. His eyes found Louis’s, and for a moment, nothing else existed—the city, the family, the photos, the rumors, all fading into nothing.

“Tomlinson,” Harry said, his voice low, teasing, and achingly familiar, the kind that made Louis’s stomach twist. “Can’t sleep either?”

Louis swallowed hard, exhaling smoke slowly. An involuntary smile tugged at his lips.
“You’re staying here too?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, trying to sound steady. “I’m starting to think you’re following me, Styles.”

Harry chuckled, playing idly with the water as he drifted toward the edge.
“I’m only here because my brother wanted to stay here. If it were up to me, we’d be at one of the houses we have in the city,” he said with a careless smile.

Louis rolled his eyes, shaking his head, though laughter slipped out. He sometimes forgot Harry could be utterly spoiled.

A comfortable silence lingered, broken only by the soft sounds of water and the city in the distance. Both knew this wasn’t coincidence—and that the night held more provocations and memories than either of them could control.

Louis took one last drag, stubbed out his cigarette, and stepped closer to the pool’s edge, letting fate—and Harry—decide the rest.

He sat at the edge, letting the cold water lap at his ankles. Harry swam slowly, every movement deliberate, curls plastered to his forehead. His gaze cut straight through Louis—so familiar, so irritating.

“You know you’re not supposed to be swimming at this hour, right?” Louis said, attempting casual, though his voice betrayed a slight tremor. “It’s way past the allowed time.”

Harry only shrugged.

“Not going to tell me why you’re really in New York?” Louis asked, kicking his feet lightly in the water.

Propping his arms on the edge, Harry moved closer, that crooked smile playing on his lips.
“I just told you, Tomlinson. My brother wanted to come to New York, so I tagged along. That’s all.”

Louis shrugged, keeping up the façade, though his eyes gleamed with challenge.
“Oh, really? So you’re just here by accident… What an incredible coincidence, isn’t it?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Harry chuckled, tilting his head.
“Coincidence or fate… depends on what you want to believe.”

Louis bit his lip, glancing away briefly before locking eyes with him again.
“You always show up at the worst times, Styles,” he muttered, arms crossed, though his faint smile betrayed his amusement.

Harry drew closer, water splashing softly around them.
“Only in the moments that matter,” he replied, his voice carrying that same teasing malice that made Louis roll his eyes but fail to mask the tension building inside him.

Louis let out a short laugh, trying to mask the unease rising in his chest.
“Oh, so I’m just a little pastime toy for you, is that it?” he teased, leaning forward on his arms, almost brushing against Harry.

Harry raised an eyebrow, smirk deepening.
“Only when the toy is interesting enough,” he shot back, water dripping down his arms until it nearly touched Louis’s.

Their fingers brushed—barely—and both froze, eyes locking with intensity. Louis’s heart thudded wildly, and Harry only smirked, as if it had been on purpose.

“Careful, Styles… you’re way too close,” Louis murmured, voice tight, though the heat climbing up his neck betrayed him.

“And you?” Harry leaned in closer, droplets splashing onto Louis’s chest. “Not backing away either?”

Louis inhaled sharply, looking away for a second, then turned back with a crooked smile.
“Oh, but I do back away… when it’s not worth it,” he said, his fingers brushing Harry’s arm in a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down his skin.

Harry laughed low, amused, edging closer still, the pool closing them in as if it were the only world left.
“Then we’re even, Tomlinson?” he teased, voice low, dripping with intent.

Louis bit his lip, fighting to disguise the effect Harry had on him.
“Maybe… just maybe, Styles,” he shot back, his defiant grin hiding just how undone he truly was.

The world around them fell away—the cold water, the silence, and that electrified air between them.

“You’re insufferable, Styles!” Louis burst out, anger masking the turmoil underneath.

“And you… so easy to rile up,” Harry retorted, his smirk playful, his posture steady, leaving space for Louis to close.

The impulse was inevitable. Louis leaned in, crushing his lips against Harry’s, the kiss urgent and raw, filled with repressed desire and unspoken rage. Harry went still at first, then surrendered, eyes closed, arms loose at his sides, as if fully trusting Louis.

“Lou…” Harry murmured between kisses, his voice husky, not resisting.

The tension, the anger, the desire—it all tangled together. Louis slipped into the pool, water enveloping them both. Harry dipped lower to follow, staying close, letting Louis take control of the storm between them.

“Styles…” Louis panted, chilled by the water, burning under Harry’s touch. “You’re not running away from me now.”

Harry only smiled, green eyes glimmering under the pool lights, lips brushing Louis’s, breath mingling, every touch charged with a fire no cold could put out.

When air finally forced them apart, they hovered close, breathing hard, eyes still locked, both knowing this changed everything.

Louis traced his fingers lightly along Harry’s arm, testing boundaries without crossing them. Harry let him, leaning in just enough to offer more without taking it.

“You like leaving me like this, Styles?” Louis whispered, drawing closer, water cool but heat surging between them.

Harry arched a brow, the crooked grin returning.
“I like watching you lose control,” he admitted, voice low and rough. “But you’re overdoing it.”

Louis chuckled, teeth grazing Harry’s lips before pulling him into another kiss, deeper, hungrier. Harry yielded, gasping softly, arms floating, letting Louis lead.

“I’ll never…” Louis stammered between kisses, voice breaking, “get tired of kissing you.”

Harry only closed his eyes, that crooked smirk still lingering, answering with a breathy sigh that said everything words could not.

The cold water, the quiet night—they faded. All that remained was closeness, touch, and a tension burning hotter than any fire.

Chapter Text

Louis slid his hand through the water, causing small splashes against Harry's shoulders, who just closed his eyes and smiled, pretending to ignore it.

“Hey!” Louis muttered, arching an eyebrow. “Are you just going to stand there, Styles?”

Harry slowly opened one eye, his voice husky and amused:
—I'm watching you drown in my charm... or in the water. — And he let out a low laugh, almost muffled by the sound of the pool.

Louis rolled his eyes, leaning closer, resting his forehead against Harry's and lightly nudging his shoulder with his. The touch was minimal, but enough to electrify them both.

“You know you drive me crazy,” Louis admitted, almost whispering, his fingers tracing discreet lines down Harry’s arm, just teasing, testing limits.

Harry just arched an eyebrow, a crooked smile on his lips.
“What a surprise…” he murmured, almost challenging Louis. “It’s not like I noticed.”

Louis chuckled softly and slid even closer, feeling every breath and the heat of Harry's body contrasting with the icy water.

"You're really enjoying being annoying, huh?" Louis teased, leaning his shoulder against Harry's and letting the touch linger for a few seconds.

Harry sighed, his gaze still fixed on him, almost surrendered to the intensity of his brother Tomlinson, but without taking the initiative.
“I’m just seeing if you can handle it,” he replied, making it clear that the tension was just beginning.

Louis and Harry continued to tease each other in the pool, their kisses growing more intense. Louis, impatient, guided each approach, feeling the taste, heat, and tension of the other in every touch. Harry, though passive, responded, letting himself be carried away, his body rigid and sensitive to Louis's every movement.

After a few minutes, between kisses and crooked smiles, Harry pulled his face away, panting, and said in a low, provocative voice:
— I think we should continue this in my room…

Louis arched an eyebrow, a little surprised:
— And your brother? Will he be there?

Harry shrugged, dipping his hand into the water, causing gentle waves to splash onto Louis.
— My brother is more concerned with other things. You can trust me.

Louis sighed, deciding to believe, and together they climbed out of the pool. Water dripped from Louis's body, dripping onto the edge and leaving trails on the tiled floor. It was then that he noticed something he hadn't noticed before: Harry's underwear, still wet, was almost see-through. Louis's eyes widened, unable to help it, and he grabbed the nearby towel.
“Cover it up!” he said, throwing the towel to the other.

Harry let out a soft laugh, grabbing the towel and covering himself. Louis, trying to compose himself, began to remove his soaked coat, his body still shivering slightly from the cold and heat of the moment.

“Come on… before I freeze out here,” Louis muttered, quickly running the towel over his hands before drying himself off.

Harry just smiled, still holding the towel, his eyes shining with amusement and anticipation. They both knew that going up to their room was just the beginning of a night that promised to be full of teasing, desire, and much more intensity.

As soon as the bedroom door closed, the world outside simply disappeared. The click of the lock sounded like a point of no return.

Louis leaned his back against the dark wood for a second, his eyes fixed on Harry—still wrapped in the damp towel, his wet hair falling over his forehead. His skin glistened in the dim light. The smell of chlorine mixed with their expensive perfume hung in the air… and it was all too dangerous to ignore.

"You're looking at me with that good-boy look..." Louis murmured, taking two steps forward. His voice low and husky. "But I know what you want."

He slid the towel from Harry's shoulders with deliberate slowness and let it fall to the floor without looking where he was going. His hands slowly moved up his exposed collarbones, feeling the thin muscles tense beneath his fingers.

Harry swallowed hard… but didn't back down.

— You know you can't keep provoking me like this... and expect to get away with it?

Harry closed his eyes as he felt that electric closeness invade his every cell—chest against chest, still damp from the pool; panting breaths mingling; pent-up heat exploding in silent sparks throughout his body.

— I'm not going to run away… — Harry whispered through teeth that were trembling with pent-up excitement.

Louis arches a bushy eyebrow as he lowers one hand to firmly grip Harry's ass cheek through his wet underwear.

— Even better... because today I want you here.

Louis guided him to the bed, pushing him gently until Harry fell onto the still-disheveled sheets. The damp fabric of his underwear clung to his skin, marking every detail, and Louis bit his lip, trying to control the urge to laugh and at the same time lose himself in the sight.

“I told you to cover this,” he said, throwing the towel over Harry, but quickly pulling it back, as if he couldn’t really resist. “You don’t make it easy, Styles.”

Harry just smiled, his still-wet hair falling over his forehead, his green eyes shining in the dim light of the room. He lifted his arms slowly, as if in surrender, and let Louis climb on top of him.
“What if I don’t want to make it easy?” he teased, but his voice was low, almost trembling.

Louis leaned in, pressing his lips against Harry's in a more urgent kiss, his breath already ragged. His hands slid around Harry's waist, feeling his body warm and exposed beneath the wet fabric. He guided the rhythm, firmly, dictating every movement, every touch.

Harry, on the other hand, just let himself go, his breathing quickening, his fingers gripping the sheets as if unsure of what to do with his own hands. He moaned softly between kisses, surrendering himself completely to Louis's control.

"That's how I like it..." Louis murmured against her mouth, nibbling lightly on her lower lip before deepening the kiss again. "You still, letting me command you."

Louis ran his hands down Harry's stomach, back up to his nipples—pink, sensitive, still jutting from the damp chill of his wet skin. He smiled as he felt the slight shiver run through the body beneath him.

With his index finger and thumb he slowly squeezed one of the nipples… firmly… until he elicited a low, trembling moan.

"Are you moaning like that already?" she whispered in his ear, hot as fire. "And I haven't even started doing anything yet…"

Harry gasped at the next touch: Louis lightly licked the tip of his nipple before sucking hard—a sure suck that made Harry writhe in the sheets.

— Ahhh... shit! — he moaned too loudly to contain.

Louis chuckled against his skin—husky, domineering—before repeating: tongue swirling… teeth nibbling slowly… then his whole mouth enveloping him again. He sucked as if it were something forbidden he had a right to just because he owned him that night.

The other hand didn't stay still: light pinches on the opposite nipple; calculated pinches between pain and pleasure; while slowly moving his lips down the wet chest...

Kissing every inch below the belly button… circling it with his tongue as he felt Harry panting beneath him…

And then he looked up – eyes full of mischief under dark lashes:

— Do you want me to stop?

Harry could only shake his head slowly... His hands searched Louis' hair in a desperate gesture:

— Never... never stops...

Louis pulled back just millimeters, his hot breath brushing against Harry's swollen lips.

— There's no point asking to know who's in charge here... — suss

Moving slowly down the other's body, he kissed his neck with restrained voracity—a light bite just below his ear sent a violent shiver through Harry. His hands slid down his toned stomach until they gripped the sides of his hips possessively.

Then she stopped between his open legs... and smiled.

— Relaxed so quickly? Do you want my touch yet?

Harry didn't respond with words. He just arched his hips slightly in response—a silent invitation that made Louis chuckle softly.

And then he went down even further.

Kissing one of her collarbones first, then slowly licking her way to her right nipple—small, pink, and already hardened by the wet chill of the air conditioning... or maybe just by the accumulated desire from the days before nothing was said between them on the entire tour.

Louis blew on him first—he saw Harry shudder—before enveloping him completely in his hot, wet mouth. His tongue swirled in slow circles as he sucked firmly...then pulled back to lightly bite the sensitive skin around it.

"Ahhh! Louis!" The moan escaped too loud, too hoarse to be contained. Harry bit the sheets between his teeth, trying to hold it in...

"Look at that... just the nipple is already begging?" Louis teased, pulling away from his flushed skin just to observe his work: bright red where he'd touched; shiny with saliva mixed with the still-present moisture; hypersensitive to the slightest breeze from the fan spinning above the bed...

—Where do you want more? On your nipples again? Or here?

A strong finger ran over his underwear, which was stuck against the throbbing erection beneath it...

Harry moaned loudly without being able to control himself:

— Louis!! Please… take it off!

Louis raised a mischievous eyebrow. "Shhh... don't wake up the whole hotel, Styles," he whispered, amused.

Louis removed Harry's underwear with a slow, almost ritualistic movement. He tossed them to the floor without looking where he went. He took a step back, his eyes roaming every inch of the body exposed before him—damp skin glistening in the dim light, legs spread in silent invitation.

Then he approached again.