Archive of Our Own ^beta

“It’s just - s’ amazing , like, when you think about it. I mean, really, if we look at it from an evolutionary standpoint, it’s fascinating. Our brains know even before we do what we want. Did you know that, subconsciously, one of the first things we look for in a potential love interest is teeth? Yeah, s’wild, I know. It’s got something to do with how we reproduce and having a superior gene pool. Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever judged someone by their teeth. But, you know what? That doesn’t mean I haven’t, no, do you want to know why?” 

Louis glances around to see if anyone’s listening to Harry’s customary drunk-ranting but everyone seems immersed in other things. They’re at a house party, chairs scattered all around to socialize, some music blaring behind them and making his ears ring, and a few people dancing rather poorly in the corner. Louis grimaces when a young couple trips on their way upstairs and turns back to hear the inevitable answer to Harry’s query, swirling around the dark liquid in his cup. He’s got class tomorrow, so he’s trying to play it safe. 

“Internal bias,” Harry says pointedly, like he’s just revealed something profound, uncaring of the fact that no one’s paying attention as he answers his own question. “We do it all the time . And we don’t even realize it! I mean, forget the intentional stuff for a mo’, and think more like, uh, colors. Yeah, that’s good - if someone’s wearing a certain color when we meet them it can affect how much dopamine is released in the substantia nigra and the ventral tegmental area of the brain, using the hypothalamus to trigger certain feelings of-” 

“We get it, man,” someone across from them moans, throwing back the rest of whatever’s in their solo cup as if to save themselves from any more psychological conjecture. 

“Harry,” Louis hums lightly, a smile threatening to bloom, “You’re boring everyone again.” 

“Am not,” Harry huffs, an exaggerated frown on his lips. 

“Dude,” Niall leans over to him, an unsteady hand landing on his shoulder as he whispers conspiratorially. “You kinda are.” 

Harry stands from his chair abruptly and shrugs at them. “Alright, that’s fine. You guys can just go on never knowing about the theory of attraction and what happens in the anterior lobe when you’re around someone you like. Doesn’t bother me one bit, not one.” 

Grinning at the rest of them and at the rerun of their regular party routine, Louis stands, grabs his cup as well as Harry’s empty one, and follows him out. By now, this has become his favorite part of the night. 

“See you in class, Ni,” he calls over his shoulder, his legs working faster to catch up with him. 

“It’s unbelievable,” Harry mutters, his arms crossed over his chest as he huffs his way through the dark streets back to their flat. “They’re all idiots - do you know how much they could stand to learn? Maybe then they could have a relationship that lasts longer than a night . Or, really just a few minutes with their stamina.” 

Even though he’s heard it a thousand times at this point, Louis rolls his eyes at his grumbling but he can’t help the smile that follows. “You can tell me all about the theory of attraction on the way home, yeah?” 

“Really?” A bright grin spreads wide across Harry’s lips and he leans forward, grabbing Louis’ face and pressing a wet, alcohol scented kiss to his cheek. “You’re amazing,” he cheers. 

Louis flushes at his close proximity, Harry’s warm breath ghosting across his cheekbones. Swallowing thickly, he clears his throat and backs away, leading them outside toward the apartments. 

“I know,” he says. “C’mon, big boy. S’time to get you home.” 

Just barely he can make out Harry’s face as they walk underneath street lights, trying to keep his balance as Harry’s heavy weight pulls him sideways. He’s rambling again, talking Louis’ ear off about all sorts of psychological mess that Louis can’t even begin to decipher, but he’s also smiling so hard it looks like his face hurts so Louis just lets him keep going. 

Harry talks up until they get home, all while people give them weird looks in the lobby and shake their heads at them in disapproval. Louis ignores this too and opts for fumbling for his apartment key to get them inside quicker. 

“Okay, you go shower,” he tells Harry, pushing him toward his room. 

“Only if you come with me, baby,” he purrs drunkenly. 

“Ugh, get off me, you oaf.” 

Laughing it off, Harry stumbles down the hallway to his own bedroom to take a shower, and Louis does his best to brush it off as well. With a tired sigh and a slight blush on his cheeks, he reaches for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket and heads out to the balcony. 

Louis still remembers his first cigarette. It’d been a joke when he was out with some friends and only supposed to be a one time thing. However, it quickly turned into much more than that, and within the same year he was buying packs off his friends and from the dodgy convenience store near his house, basking in the way his classmates thought he was cool. 

And then it became more of a medicinal thing. He would smoke when he was anxious, when he got bad marks on an exam, or when he felt like he couldn’t get away from his babysitting duties. Eventually he’d begun to rely on it anytime he felt anything at all. 

Harry, his flatmate, best friend, and all-around health freak, absolutely despises it. Louis can smoke out on the balcony, he said, or he can’t smoke at all. 

He glances down at the lit cigarette balanced between his fingers and tilts his head. It glows bright orange against the midnight blue of the sky, the ashes falling prettily down onto the concrete of their patio below. Louis brings it to his lips again and inhales, letting his eyes fall shut as the smoke fills his lungs. Slowly he blows it out and takes a few more minutes to enjoy the calmness before he stubs it on the concrete railing. 

He’s coming back inside just as Harry returns from his own bedroom having changed clothes, looking comfortable and sleepy and disappointed on the sofa as he crosses his arms over his chest. 

“S’a filthy habit, Lou,” he slurs, shaking his head. “You should stop that.” 

“Hey, you said I could do it as long as I kept it out of the flat. And I do,” he adds. “Give me a break, I don’t need another ramble about how it’s bad for me both physically and mentally and it could stem from some kind of subconsciously hidden trauma and blah-blah-blah,” Louis rolls his eyes fondly in his direction. 

Crossing through the kitchen, Louis grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it to the brim with cool water from the sink. 

Harry’s lower lip juts outward, pouting as he accepts the cup Louis hands him. “Hey, thought you liked my rambles.” 

Dropping the carton of cigarettes onto the coffee table, Louis picks up the jacket Harry left on the floor to hang it up, grabbing a few old dishes left out to set near the sink for later as Harry gulps the drink down. 

“Stop frowning,” Louis scolds from the entryway even though he can’t see his face anymore, “You know I love your rambles. Just - y’know, not when you do that whole psycho-analyzing thing. S’creepy.” 

With everything else done and put away, Louis rolls his shoulders to rid himself of the tension and plops down into the armchair next to the sofa, glancing at the television where Harry’s just turned on an old rerun of Friends . 

“Just wanna make sure you’re happy n’ healthy,” he coos, looking soft and warm in his big sweater, sat up on their couch. “I won’t bring it up again if you don’t want me to.” 

Louis squints, levelling him with a glare. Harry’s still smiling softly but Louis knows he has more to say, and he hates that Harry knows he’s going to let him say it. He’s always one step ahead, and it’s always just one step too many. He sighs. 

“Alright, fine. What is it, then? Give me the best you’ve got. What’s this big reason why I smoke,” he asks flatly. 

Harry’s head lolls backward on the back of the sofa, a dopey grin on his face even though his eyes are already halfway closed - that look he gives Louis when he’s about to spout some incoherent bout of psychological bullshit. 

“Oral fixation,” Harry mutters as delightfully as he can muster, his tone suggesting that it should be obvious. 

Frowning, Louis crosses his arms, already defensive. There’s a pause as he thinks it over in his head, and then, “Okay, wait a second. Are you - are you seriously saying that I smoke because I want to suck dick ?” he asks eloquently. 

“In short, yes,” Harry wastes no time in answering. 

He sputters for a moment, actually taken aback by his answer. Harry’s lectured him before on the health concerns, on the addiction aspect and what part his childhood may have played in it, but he’s never said this . Louis would blame it on the drinks but it seems like Harry’s had this answered prepared long before now. Which- 

“I do not have an oral fixation.” 

“Whatever you say, babycakes,” Harry hums to himself, eyes shutting as his head rolls back to face the ceiling. 

“I - that is so - I could stop if I wanted to,” Louis argues. “I just don’t want to.” 

“Sure,” he agrees. 

“I mean it, Harry.” 

“I believe you, boo,” he manages to lift his head to give Louis a tired smile, but it’s just lopsided enough that it looks suspiciously like a smirk as he eyes the open carton of cigarettes out on the table. “You could stop if you wanted to,” Harry repeats mechanically. 

“You’re - you know what? I - ugh ,” Louis groans, reaching forward to clean up the mess of food and drink left on the table for something to do with his hands. He’s itching for a smoke and if Harry sees him go out right now he’ll never hear the end of it. “Forget it, you dick. C’mon, let’s go to bed.” 

Arms full of their clutter, Louis deposits all of it at the kitchen sink and half heartedly rinses out a cup before he decides he’ll do the rest in the morning. He’s about to turn around and head to his room when Harry comes up behind him and boxes him in, arms encircling his waist and pulling him back into thick body heat. Harry’s always been clingy when he’s drunk. 

“Don’t be mad at me, baby,” he frowns, nosing at the back of Louis’ head. “You know I love you.” 

A bit lightheaded, Louis lets himself relax for a moment before he sighs, pulling out of Harry’s hold and turning around to grab his hand as it falls from Louis’ hip. “I know, Hazza. Let’s just go to bed, yeah?” 

“In your room?” Harry asks, suddenly perking up a bit more. 

“If you want to,” Louis shrugs. “You know I take all of the covers.” 

Grinning, Harry leans forward and bumps their noses together several times, subtly swaying on his feet. Behind him, the clock on the microwave reads 3:28 . With the heavy weight of Harry leaning into him, he feels more tired than he thought he did. 

“I know,” Harry laughs, pecking his forehead before lifting Louis off the ground and throwing him over his shoulder, carrying him to his bedroom. “I know you do, ‘cause you’re always cold and I’m always hot. Hey, hey - we balance each other out, Lou,” he exclaims, accidentally loosening his grip on Louis’ legs. 

“Harry,” he yells, gripping hard onto his back upside down. “You’re not making any sense, babes. Just get to the bed, yeah? Before you drop me,” he chuckles nervously as they pass the threshold to his bedroom. 

“Would never drop you,” Harry mutters, ironically dropping him down onto the sheets right after. 

Louis doesn’t even have time to scoot back onto the pillows before Harry’s falling down on top of him, still dressed although he prefers to sleep nude, half of his body over Louis and some of his hair in his mouth. He’s got an arm thrown over Louis’ tummy, the other stuck underneath him awkwardly as he begins to snore. 

So Louis just stays there, legs dangling off of the end of the bed, his teeth unbrushed and clothes still on, a hand stroking Harry’s hair gently. The ceiling fan turns lazily above them, barely visible from the streetlights outside of his window. There’s a crick in his neck and a nagging thought in the back of his head, Harry’s words swirling around in his subconscious. 

He knows he could probably quit if he wanted to. Lottie’s been complaining about it for years along with the rest of his family, and Liam and Niall can’t stand it. Hell, Harry even has asthma . Zayn used to smoke with him but even he’s toned it down a bit, cutting down while Louis kept up the same routines. And Harry absolutely loathes the things, but he’s never thrown a fit about them as long as Louis doesn’t stink up the flat or do it too close to him. Some nights though, Louis could swear Harry glares at the pack so hard he feels bad for it. 

He could quit if he wanted to. And he will, probably, one of these days. But all of the thinking is making his head hurt, surely on the way to a killer hangover in the morning, so he takes a deep breath and tries to clear his head until another time. 

Louis presses his lips to the top of Harry’s hair to soothe him after he lets out a particularly loud snore, falling asleep with his lips against warm, familiar skin and not sparing a single thought for his cigarettes laid out on the kitchen counter down the hall. 

+

The fall semester passes by in a blur of late night study sessions and even later television show marathons with Harry, staying up talking until the early morning when Louis can’t keep his eyes open any longer. It’s a whirlwind of events between his exams and assignments, but somehow (with the help of Harry’s homemade flash cards and surprisingly energetic cheerleading) he manages to come out of it unscathed and with fairly good marks. 

They don’t have much of a break before things start up again but Louis still makes the most of it, trailing along with Harry to parties and get-togethers around campus. He’d been supposed to go home for a few days but Lottie told him not to come. He’d been offended at first, until she showed up at eight-thirty in the morning unexpected to their flat. 

“Lottie,” he exclaims, sounding a bit like a question as he swings open the door in his newly awoken state. He knuckles at his eyes and steps aside, letting her in the apartment. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?” 

She smiles brightly, leaning in for a hug. “Everything is perfect actually,” she says. 

When she pulls away she brings up a hand between them, a bright diamond ring glinting in the leftover light from the kitchen to the entryway. 

“I - oh my God, Lotts,” Louis grins, breathless. “That’s - I’m so happy for you, c’mere,” he crushes her hand between them as he wraps her in another hug, swaying them back and forth excitedly. His little sister is getting married . 

Harry’s just now waking up as well when Louis glances over at the noise, stretching his arms high and yawning obscenely. He blinks wide and then winks at Louis when he sees him staring. 

“Uh,” Louis panics, glancing back at Lottie. “So when’s the wedding?” 

“It’s in six months. You should be graduated by then and everything, I checked,” she smiles. “Harry, did you hear the news?” 

She pulls a sarcastic face and flaunts her ring much more obnoxiously than she had with Louis. Standing from the couch, Harry’s eyes widen and he shrieks like one of Louis’ little sisters would, bouncing over to grab at her hand and get a closer look. Louis rolls his eyes at them - Harry’s always had such a weird relationship with his siblings. 

“I’m invited?” he asks, glancing up at Lottie’s face from where he’s inspecting the diamond. 

“Of course you’re invited, Harry,” she says seriously. “You’re family.” 

Louis’ lips twitch as they hug briefly, as Harry smiles softly at her in return. He doesn’t get much longer to appreciate the moment because Lottie is pulling away from him, turning back to address Louis. She takes a deep breath and nods to herself, then speaks again. 

“Louis, I’d like you to walk me down the aisle.” 

Heart stopping inside of his chest, Louis gawks at her. He’d always sort of thought that maybe she would ask him to since they’ve always been so much closer than they are with their stepfather, but actually hearing her ask him is something totally different. It feels surreal, almost, and Louis’ eyes fill with a sheen of emotional tears. 

“I - Lotts, of course.” He lunges forward to tackle her in another hug, “Of course I will.” 

Lottie pats his back twice until he pulls back. “Don’t get your hopes up just yet,” she mutters. 

“What are you talking about?” Louis’ brows furrow, sitting back down on the edge of the couch behind him. 

He sees it when her eyes track from him to beside her on the table, to where his pack of cigarettes rests open in the middle of his old school work he has yet to move and half-eaten food they’d abandoned to answer the door. Louis gulps. 

“You know how much I hate it when you do that,” she begins, seeming slightly hesitant, her eyes lingering on the pack. “It was one thing when you were younger and it was cool or whatever, but I think - I think it’s time that you got serious about it, Louis. Your health is too important to me after everything we went through with - with -” Lottie stops abruptly, her own eyes shining as a tear slides down the side of her cheek and she hurriedly wipes it away. 

“S’okay, Lotts,” Louis puts a hand on her shoulder. 

“No, no, it’s not. You mean too much to me to watch you continue to do this to yourself. I know a lot of people don’t think it’s a big deal but - I have to do this, Louis. It’s for the best. Mum wanted you to quit too.” 

She sucks in another shaky breath, shutting her eyes for a moment as she steadies her breathing again. Louis’ brows furrow, glancing over to Harry who only gives him a wide-eyed shrug in response. Curious, Louis turns back to her. 

“What are you -” 

“You have to stop smoking,” she rushes, then deflates, like a weight has dropped off of her shoulders. “Or - or else you can’t come to the wedding.” 

Louis thinks he can feel Harry gulp, eyes flicking between them unsurely. He doesn’t even want to see his face right now. Still a bit shocked but also thinking he should have seen this coming, he makes himself shut his open mouth and nods slightly, slowly. 

“Are you mad?” she asks, lip caught between her teeth. 

“No, I-” Louis shakes his head, sighing. “I’m not angry. I probably should have seen this coming, actually.” 

“I don’t want you to hate me,” Lottie whispers. “I just - I want to be able to walk down that aisle without you smelling like smoke. I don’t want to be worrying about you leaving me when I’m just starting the rest of my life. I - I can’t have you leave me too,” she says, her voice cracking. “You’re my big brother.” 

“Hey, look at me,” Louis grabs her shoulders, “I am not going anywhere, alright? I’m gonna be here for your marriage, for all of the babies you’re gonna have, anything you want me for. Don’t you worry about me, alright? I’ll quit, Lottie, I mean that.” 

She accepts his hug eagerly, a few more stray tears soaking into his shirt as he rubs her back. Sniffing and pulling away, she dabs at her makeup and sends him a pointed look. 

“You better, because I’m going to be checking in with Harry.” 

Chuckling, Louis nods and leans down as she presses a kiss to his cheek before doing the same to Harry. 

“Do you want to stay for breakfast? I can put on some tea,” Harry offers, pulling away from her. 

“Nope, I’ve got an appointment about an hour away to look at venues,” she says. “But I’ll definitely take you up on that soon, okay?” 

She wipes at her eyes one last time before she squeezes Louis’ hand tightly, offering him a brief, close-lipped smile. Louis can see it in her eyes that she’s serious, that this isn’t just something he’s going to be able to talk his way out of or lie about. 

They say a few more goodbyes before she’s finally out the door and Louis sags against the back of it, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Harry’s still leaning up against the edge of the sofa with his ankles crossed and he’s just - he’s got this look . The one where Louis thinks he’s trying to see the future, the one where Louis fucks up catastrophically and Harry gets to saunter up at the end and say I told you so . 

Instead of yelling like he wants to, he pushes off of the door and heads for the kitchen to escape Harry’s pinpointed gaze. 

“Alright, well. This should be fine. Easy. I can quit, no problem,” Louis says flippantly. 

Right behind him, Harry follows his footsteps through the kitchen to the dining area and back to the living room, his annoying half-laugh, half-snort echoing in their hallway. 

“Looks like we’re going to see if I’m right,” he smirks. 

“ Easy ,” Louis repeats, acting like he can’t hear him. “It’s gonna be easy, easy, easy.”

He should be focusing on things to do to keep himself distracted. Should be making lists, doing some research. He could even probably pick up some of that gum from the convenience store down the street or order one of the fancy patches from the ad on the television he always sees. There’s a lot of things he should probably be doing to prepare for this major life change he’s just agreed to making. 

Instead, he sneaks back around to the coffee table to see if he can hide the rest of the pack in his hoodie, desperate for a goodbye smoke before he tries to quit. But, as usual, Harry’s two steps ahead of him, quite literally with his long legs, and he’s scooped them up before Louis can even get close. 

“H,” he warns. 

“Been waiting to do this for ages ,” he groans, promptly walking over to the window near the dining area. 

Louis actually feels a hint of genuine fear as Harry pops open the safety lock, pushing the curtains out of the way. 

“Haz,” he tries. 

He doesn’t listen. Harry only throws a smile over his shoulder and looks back outside, using his hands to pull up on the glass until it lifts and a current of the cool night air flows in, the thin curtain blowing side to side. 

“Harry, please ,” he says. 

Finally, without pretense, Harry reels back his arm and doesn’t even hesitate before tossing them out as far as they’ll go, probably landing somewhere in the emptiness behind their apartment building. Louis doesn’t even hear them land. He does, however, feel his heart as it drops into his stomach. 

When he’s finished, Harry has a smug smile on his lips. He shuts the window and locks it again, pulling the curtains back where they’d been before. Turning to face him, Harry dusts his hands together for emphasis, Louis’ pack of cigarettes long gone now. 

“I -” Louis can’t even form words. He can’t be angry necessarily, since he’d just been trying to help. Still, he can’t help the way his hands twitch to slap him when Harry comes in for a hug. He feels surprisingly numb. 

“S’for the best, Lou,” Harry assures, rubbing his back with a big hand. 

Yeah, Louis knows. It still doesn’t feel good . 

So instead he leans further into Harry and buries his nose deep in the material of his shirt, breathing in the scent just like he would a burning cigarette into his lungs. He’s not going to think about it until he has to. 

+

The very first day goes fairly well. Louis reaches for the pack but he doesn’t actually need a cigarette, he convinces himself, not yet anyway. Harry makes a point to ask him how he’s feeling every hour or so and Louis smiles wryly and flips him off over his shoulder, already bitter without the nicotine in his system. 

The second day is marginally more difficult. Louis itches at spots on his skin that don’t need scratching, playing with his lips and pulling down on the soft skin where the cigarette would rest. He yells at Harry about dinner when he asks, and he ends up throwing the remote at the television twice when he can’t find something he wants to watch. He goes to bed angry and alone without anyone to hog covers from. 

By the end of the week he decides he’s going to have to do something about it. Which, he’d known he was going to have to, but for some reason he kind of hoped that maybe he hadn’t been as addicted as he thought. That maybe it would be different for him when he tried to quit, not like the films or the adverts make it out to be. 

Harry’s dragged him to the library on campus in hopes that a change of scenery will help his mood. As reluctant as Louis is to ever admit that he might be right, he does feel slightly calmer here, less like he’s trapped somewhere where he used to smoke constantly. Here there’s just the sounds of pages turning and pens clicking and the wrapper of Harry’s crinkly protein bar being tossed toward the trash bin. 

It’s good, and it helps for a bit, but it still isn’t enough. 

Across the table from him, Harry types away on his laptop, his brow furrowed and fingers fast across the keyboard. He’s obviously working on something but Louis decides to be a menace anyway. Harry should be used to it by now. 

He lifts his leg underneath the table and nudges Harry’s shin once. Harry’s lips quirk up but he doesn’t lift his eyes, so Louis does it again. And again. And harder. 

“Ouch, fucking hell , Louis, what do you want ?” he hisses, careful to keep his voice down as he rubs at his leg with a frown. 

Trying for nonchalant, Louis shrugs and takes a sip of his vitamin water that’s supposed to distract his taste buds that also isn’t working. Harry rolls his eyes and glances back down at his screen but Louis knows he’s still paying attention to him. 

“So,” Louis begins. 

Harry glances up at him from behind his laptop again, a single unimpressed brow raised in question, albeit hesitantly amused, at Louis’ actions. 

“So…?” he repeats. 

“The whole, uhm,” Louis clears his throat, “ fixation thing.” 

With a snort, Harry closes the lid of his computer and gives Louis his full attention, lacing his fingers together and setting them on top of the table. Sighing, Louis’ face colors at the direct gaze. 

“Curious now?” Harry asks. 

“No,” he denies immediately. 

“Why did you ask then?” 

He tries to let the embarrassment fade out but it only grows and stretches between them, Harry’s impatient frown persisting onward. Louis sighs and shifts in his seat. 

“Suppose that someone was curious - not me,” Louis clarifies. “What sorts of things would you suggest to help, uhm, get over that kind of fixation.” 

“We already established that, didn’t we?” 

This time he does glare at Harry, blushing slightly despite trying not to be affected by his suggestive words. They’ve talked all about their sex lives in far too much detail, things Louis would pay someone to erase from his brain, but this he’s embarrassed about. 

Eventually Harry decides he isn’t going to get the reaction he wants. He shifts from regular Harry to psych Harry, lacing his fingers together on top of the table. 

“I mean, I guess you could use just about anything. A piece of gum, a sucker, your own fingers,” Harry lists. “But, knowing you, my original suggestion still stands.” 

“And where on earth would I find someone that’s just willing to let me do that to them every time I need a smoke,” Louis asks rhetorically. 

“What are friends for?” Harry asks, leaning back in his chair cockily with his hands folded behind his head. 

“I - you ?” Louis sputters. 

Reaching for his water so he doesn’t choke, he chugs some of it before putting it back down on the table, still trying to read Harry’s expression. A lot of the time he’s overconfident in a way that Louis knows is artificial. But this time he just seems genuine, head tilted as he waits for Louis’ answer. 

“Uh, we’ll see,” Louis stutters. 

“You know where to find me,” Harry answers easily. “I’d never turn you down.” 

His tone is so frustratingly casual that Louis has a difficult time stomaching it. Harry stands and begins to pack up their things, his body language perfectly normal and his voice even. So it’s a joke, then? Louis can’t tell anymore and he rubs his temples, fighting the headache already threatening to worsen behind his eyelids. 

“Come on, let’s pick up dinner.” 

That’s the fourth time this week they’ll have spent too much money on takeout but still Louis stands and follows blindly, his bookbag swinging against his hip. He can’t find it in himself to argue, not when he’s stuck thinking about the heavy insinuation of what Harry’s just said. He falls into step behind him and blinks at the concrete blankly. 

“You want white rice or fried?” Harry asks him, holding the phone away from his face where he’s got the restaurant dialed. 

“Uhm,” Louis mumbles, blinks. 

“Fried, got it,” Harry grins, relaying their regular order into the mic. 

He still hates that Harry knows him so well. 

+

Louis already has too much to worry about. He’s got coursework littered all across the flat, a group project in psych and an exam in econ that he’s really not looking forward to. On top of that he’s agreed to help Niall with his own presentation and recently he hasn’t even had the time to relax for a bit between last minute study sessions and group texts with his team. 

So, naturally, the smoking thing just makes everything existentially worse. Harry’s suggestion floats around in his head but he doesn’t do anything with it, still unsure of whether it’s an offer or just one big joke. And that just adds to his frustration, building and building inside of him until every little thing tips him off. 

Niall ends up leaving and saying he’ll finish the presentation on his own after Louis yells at him that he isn’t doing it correctly. Harry avoids him because he huffs at every movement he makes. Every time Louis twitches to reach for his pack of cigarettes he curses and hits something. 

It would be one thing if it was just the stress from school, but it isn’t. First of all, he’s eating the entire flat. Every last bit of leftovers and the snacks they have in the pantry, and then he’s ordering even more. Harry tells him it’s because nicotine reduces your appetite and Louis throws an old box of cereal at him. 

He’s been sporting a migraine for nearly two full days now and it makes him dizzy, head going fuzzy around the edges when he coughs, which he also does every few minutes. So much that his throat goes scratchy and burns and he downs glasses of water, only to feel dehydrated again when he’s finished with it. 

Louis’ tired all day. He feels like he can’t focus on anything when he sits down to try to do school work even though he knows the course material like the back of his own hand. When the nausea sets in he rifles through the cabinet for some medicine but it seems they’re out of that, too. Louis groans and drags his feet back into the den, collapsing dramatically onto the sofa. 

From beside him, Harry raises a concerned brow and fixes him with his gaze. Louis knows he knows what’s wrong but he doesn’t say anything, trying to just let him get comfortable. He isn’t sure if he’s grateful for that or if he wants to smack him. 

“Everything okay?” he asks Louis, eyes on the TV like he’s afraid Louis may attack him if he looks at him directly. 

“Peachy,” Louis grimaces, rubbing at his temples. 

He sighs once and shifts his legs, crossing his ankles one over the other. Then he readjusts his spot on the sofa and crosses them the other way. And then, once more, he grunts and folds one of them underneath him, the other tapping lightly on the ground. He blows hot air through his nose and tries not to fidget, sliding his hands underneath his thighs so he won’t be tempted to do anything with them (like grab for a pack of cigarettes he knows isn’t there). 

Harry’s been side-eyeing him for a few minutes now, his intense interest in the television fading the longer Louis distracts him from it. He should apologize, probably, but right now he’s too worked up to think about anything else. 

“You’re so tense,” Harry murmurs, hands lifting to rest on Louis’ shoulders and rubbing deep circles into his skin. “What’s got you all worked up, babe?” 

Louis isn’t really sure if he’s being patronized at the moment, but he turns and buries his face into Harry’s shirt because he’s too anxious to care all that much. Then again, he also doesn’t know what he’s asking for here. They’re both exhausted already and Louis knows it’s the worst time to have an urge but he can’t help it, and he doesn’t think it’ll just go away on its own if he does nothing. He’s all out of options. 

“I need a smoke,” he mutters. 

“You what?” Harry asks, moving him slightly so that his face is less buried in his shirt. Louis scowls. 

“I need a smoke ,” he reiterates. 

Silence. And then, “Well, what do you suppose we do about that?” 

Louis’ brows turn in and he fully glares at him, sitting up straight and bristling. “Oh, I don’t know, why don’t you tell me, Mr. Psych-Major-That-Thinks-He-Knows-Everything? You seemed to have all of the answers the other day when you preached about how -” 

There are fingers in Louis’ mouth. He bristles around them, accidentally biting down on a knuckle. What are you doing , he tries to say, although it just comes out one big garbled syllable. 

“Don’t be a brat,” Harry hums. “I said what I thought it was and I’ll give that to you if you really want it.” 

Louis glances down cross-eyed at the digits still stuffed inside off his mouth, spreading it wide because Harry’s always had big hands. He looks back up at Harry questioningly. This isn’t necessarily what he’d promised. Not that he’d really promised anything to him at all, but Louis finds himself a bit surprised at his own blatant disappointment that it’s only his fingers. 

“The only catch is,” Harry breathes, leaning in, “you have to ask me for it. So, tonight, unless you change your mind and stop being stubborn, you get this,” he wiggles his fingers, grinning when Louis gags lightly around them. 

He sits there quietly for a few moments, stunned, before he begins to squirm. This is his best friend, this is Harry , with his fingers stuffed inside of Louis’ mouth so much that they take up all of the space on his tongue, reaching to the back of his throat too. It should be weird, very, very weird, but what is he supposed to do? 

The urge is already dying down if he’s honest, not completely gone yet but definitely lessening. From genuine psychological manipulation or plain shock, he isn’t sure. Could it really be that easy to trick his brain into believing this could take the place of a cigarette? He doesn’t think so because Harry’s fingers - and other things - aren’t made of nicotine, but he can’t really argue right now, can he? 

So it’s weird but it’s fine, and Harry isn’t acting like anything is different so Louis just goes with it. And he goes with it without any major issues for a good few minutes, but then - then he drools . 

It leaks out of the side of his mouth unbidden and he doesn’t even feel it at first, but it dribbles down his chin and over Harry’s fingers and it’s too late by the time he realizes what’s happened. 

He squeals and tries to pull back but Harry’s hand only follows him, keeping his mouth stuffed full. 

“It’s fine, Lou. Don’t worry about it,” he says, no trace of a joking smile on his lips. “Has it passed yet?” 

Bright red and embarrassed, Louis squeezes his eyes shut tight and tries to swallow around Harry’s fingers to soak up some of the excess saliva before he makes an even bigger mess. It’s - he’s confused because it’s weird and warm and wet and just slightly erotic and definitely not something friends do for each other, but - it works. Louis’ desire for a cigarette has dwindled down to almost nothing at all, his headache gone and the buzzing in his veins muted with the embarrassment and clever distraction. 

He nods once, opening his eyes again to look over at Harry. Slowly the digits are pulled from his mouth, and he watches as Harry picks up a napkin from the table and wipes off his hand until it’s dry again. Louis makes a horrifying noise as he hurries to keep any more spit from dripping down his chin, swallowing thickly. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Harry grins. 

“What the fuck are you on about,” Louis mutters defensively. “That was awful .” 

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Lou,” he hums, turning back to the television. “You can’t say I don’t care about you.” 

“I can say that you’re a freak ,” he teases, still tense. 

“Oh, I’m the freak? Me?” 

Harry grins and lunges sideways, jabbing Louis in the ribs and tickling him until he surrenders. He grabs a pillow and hits Harry with it and they end up fighting each other that way, pillow fighting on the sofa like some schoolgirls at a sleepover. Or, at least the kind of sleepover Louis remembers seeing in sleazy porn a long time ago. It’s just about right, Harry’s fingers having been stuffed in his mouth only a few moments prior. 

Blushing again, he rolls off the side and onto the rug below, the pillow tossed somewhere behind him and a hand laid across his stomach as he catches his breath. 

“Do you surrender?” 

“Me?” Louis parrots his earlier words. “Never.” 

But, fuck , he wishes he could. 

+

Louis’ been known to do just about anything (within moral and legal guidelines) to get extra credit. The older he got the more difficult his courses tended to be, leading him to sign up for nearly every option there was for a free grade or extra points for his projects. 

The only issue is that it tends to get a bit boring. Most of Louis’ professors send him to help in the library for a few hours over the weekend to help the overworked librarian, but occasionally they send him other places around campus to get the credit. 

Today he’s helping the acapella team with their bake sale to raise money for their upcoming competitions and travel, so he’ll just be sitting behind a table and handling money for the most part. 

Because of his persistent fatigue, he enlists Niall’s help to keep him from snapping at anyone or flat out falling asleep on the table while he’s taking orders. After only a bit of complaining, Niall reluctantly agrees, and they head out an hour ahead of time to help them set up before people arrive. 

It isn’t even five minutes that they’ve been seated that Niall can’t keep himself from pointing out Louis’ lack of cigarettes. 

“Usually you’d be over there having a smoke by now,” Niall jabs a finger toward the courtyard, a pleased smirk on his lips. 

“Thank you for that,” Louis nods sarcastically. “You’re so observant, Ni.” 

Throwing his head backward for good measure, Niall cackles but quickly reigns it in when someone else approaches the table. They recite their order and Niall grabs it for them while Louis rings them up. 

After they’re gone Niall plops back down into his chair and leans back, fixing Louis with a curious stare. “Seriously, though, how’s it going?” 

“It’s-” Louis shakes his head and purses his lips, “it’s been interesting. The first few days were definitely the worst. I think I yelled at Harry nearly ten times,” he admits. “But I’m already doing better, I haven’t had one since the night of the party.” 

Funnily enough, when he says it Louis sits a bit straighter and feels somewhat brighter, proud of his own accomplishments. Harry’s been giving him positive reinforcement almost constantly when they’re at home and though Louis usually just rolls his eyes, it’s been working wonders on his psyche. 

That, and the weird finger-sucking incident that Louis can’t seem to get out of his head. 

Pushing the thought down, he hopes his blush isn’t too obvious as they serve the next few customers, working their way through the small line that’d gathered since the rest of the booths opened. Louis scans card after card and smiles until his jaw aches, sagging back into his chair when they get a short break and the crowd dissipates for a moment. 

“I’m just glad you live with Harry, mate,” Niall scoffs, continuing their earlier conversation. 

“What?” Louis asks. “Why?” 

“Because if you were that angry and annoying at my place I’d have kicked you out a long time ago. I’ve seen you when you’re in a bad mood.” Niall gives him a judgemental gaze, cocky like he knows he’s right. 

Sputtering, Louis tries to come up with some sort of comeback but rolls his lips together when another couple comes up to their table. 

“I am not always angry and annoying,” he hisses quietly, throwing a fake smile toward the people as he hands back their credit card. 

“Wouldn"t matter either way,” Niall snickers to himself, rearranging the baked bread on the display after the customers leave. “Pretty sure Harry would put up with you even if you were the least pleasant person in the entire world.” 

Hints of a smile making his lips twitch, Louis fights his smirk. That, he doesn’t even have to think about. 

“He would,” Louis agrees. 

“And you’d let him,” Niall counters. 

His confidence makes Louis shrink back into his seat just a bit. What is that supposed to mean? he wonders. 

Before he gets a chance to ask, the lunch rush lets out from their classes and floods the line in front of them, tons of impatient students queuing up before they have to be somewhere else for the afternoon. 

Louis shrugs it off and lets the self satisfied smirk fall back into place on his lips, scanning cards and handing them back to the customers. It gives him a faux sense of security that Niall can pick out things like that about their relationship. If he can, surely others can too. 

He’s still not entirely sure what that means for him, but, whatever. 

+

For the first time in his life, Louis finds himself bored at a party. 

There’s noise all around him and constant movement in his vision but he can’t pay attention to any of it. Typically if he’d felt this claustrophobic before he’d have gone out front for a smoke. Now he can’t do that either. 

The reason he’s alone is because he’d had another study group to attend with his tone-deaf psychology classmates after he finished helping out with Niall, once again landing himself most of the work for the group project, and he’d had to come late. A party had sounded like just what he needed, but now he isn’t so sure. 

It’s a horrible cycle - the irritability makes people just want to get away from him so, when Louis tells them they aren’t doing something correctly, they just give it to him for fear of being yelled at more . This only makes Louis even more frustrated, of course, and so it’s useless anyway. At this point he feels like he’s just going to be an angry hermit for the rest of his life, and it’s only been just over two weeks since his last cigarette. Not that he’s keeping track, or anything. 

It all traces back to the nicotine, he reckons. It doesn’t make it any easier for him to snap out of it. 

If anything it only makes it worse , because Louis knows if he could just borrow a cigarette from someone he’d be fine again. Right at this moment he doesn’t even really feel like he needs one, but he thinks it would probably fix all of the side effects that come with the withdrawal. 

And, frankly, fuck Harry for his part. Louis hates it when he’s right, and that’s all he’s been doing lately, is proving him so. He’s even a little bit angry with Lottie but he knows that’s irrational. Both of them only want what’s best for him, but Louis wishes he could skip all of the difficult parts and fast forward to the kudos and congratulations. 

His eyes flick across the room to the reason he can’t focus on anything. Harry’s there, a natural crowd of people around him even though he’s probably talking their ears off about something they couldn’t care less about. It’d be completely reasonable for Louis to go over there and tell him he’s here, because he knows Harry would be excited to see him. 

Instead, he’s stayed in his corner. He’s stayed here and let his blood boil with unintentional jealousy, unfair jealousy, watching them all interact. He’s worried, he thinks. Because everyone is acting the same way as when Louis is there, in his usual spot next to Harry. Irrationally, he wonders if it would always be this way. Maybe if he just stayed home they’d have just as good a time. Because, really, what role does Louis even play? Is he just there to take Harry home afterward? He doesn’t care what the rest of them think, but he does worry about Harry. Louis used to think they couldn’t have one without the other. 

Because, in what used to be a purely platonic way, they are each other’s. No matter where they are they’ve got to be touching somehow, Harry’s head in his lap or their sides pressed closely together. And then when they separate they’re texting or talking on the phone, unable to go without some sort of interaction for only hours at a time. 

It’s never even crossed Louis’ mind before, but it does now. It sits at the forefront and festers up like an ugly reminder of something he didn’t even want to remember in the first place, but now it won’t go away. 

This is the first time, Louis thinks melancholically, that he can remember standing alone at a party. Sharp digs of someone’s elbow into his side instead of Harry’s arm thrown around his shoulders, his mouth sealed shut in a frown instead of laughing at Harry’s monologues that everybody else finds annoying. 

Louis battles with himself for a good ten minutes, steely gaze focused on one of the girl’s arm tracing one of Harry’s tattoos, before he pushes off the wall and decides fuck it . Harry’s the one that told him to come and get him when he needs it. He’ll do what it takes. Maybe all he’d needed was a bit of liquid courage, with all of his nicotine gone. His head aches from something completely different this time.  

When he approaches he can hear Harry’s voice fade into his ears over the rest of the crowd gathered around. Louis shuffles through them roughly and ignores the drunken complaints thrown his way, stopping right in front of them. 

“S’just - it’s so much more than that, you know?” Harry gesticulates, a sparkle in his eye as he waves a hand around in front of the girl’s face. “It’s like, like, let’s say you’ve got a kid, let’s say fifteen, sixteen. That’s such an impressionable age - every single thing that happens to them is going to severely impact the way that they think about - Lou !” He hiccups happily, only now noticing him standing there. 

“How drunk are you?” Louis asks blankly. 

“M’not, I’ve only had a few,” he denies easily. “Melanie -” 

“It’s Mallory,” the girl corrects when Harry points to her, her forehead wrinkling. 

Sighing, Louis takes the cup from Harry’s hand and places it on a table behind them, grabbing Harry’s arm to leave. Melanie or Mallory or whatever her name is stops them. 

“Wait, we were talking,” she argues. 

“I mean this in the nicest way possible,” Louis smiles softly as Harry wraps an arm around his shoulders and leans his weight on him, “he’s not interested.” 

Her scoff is loud but Louis tunes it out, pushing back through the crowd with a big, sweaty Harry stuck to his back. Just the way it should be, he thinks smugly. He’s got them moving so fast that he neglects to think about his actions and their possible consequences, about what any of this will mean when they get home and they’re sober again in the morning. 

“What’re we doin’?” Harry asks, maneuvering around Louis in the small bathroom he shoves them into. 

Locking the door, he turns to face Harry and draws a piece of lint off of his shirt from his chest, running his hand flat over the broad pec and shoulder. What is he doing? 

“You said to come find you when I needed it,” Louis says. He runs his tongue along his dry lower lip and sighs. Then, “I need it.” 

“My fingers?” Harry asks, holding out his hand, “Have at them.” 

Louis shakes his head and pushes his wrist back down, eyeing the zipper of his black skinny jeans instead. 

“Er - oh ,” he says, his eyes widening. Harry catches himself quickly and shimmies out of his tight jeans and his boxers, doesn"t even bother stepping out of them before he’s angling his hips forward in an arrogant invitation. “Can have it anytime you want it, baby.” 

Usually Louis would make fun of him for saying things like that but he lets it slide this time, too hazy in his own brain to come up with a proper response. His brain cycles through images of them standing together on the other side of the room while he stood alone. Even if it’d been obvious Harry wasn’t really interested, Louis’ overcome with the need to show him what he’s missing out on. He reaches out and helps him get them the rest of the way down. 

“Oh, shit, wait -” Harry stutters. “Shit - you’re serious , aren’t you? We’re doing this?” 

Louis fixes him with half-lidded eyes, waiting for his brain to catch up. Yes , he thinks, he’s very much serious. Only Harry would get himself naked before asking the important questions, the nudist. He glances down at where Harry’s pants are pooled on the ground below them, his cock already twitching, interested, as his eyes widen. Louis looks back up at his face and raises a brow. 

When he begins to lower himself to the floor Harry seems to realize what’s happening, grasping awkwardly at the wall behind him to steady himself even though he isn’t going anywhere trapped between it and Louis. 

“Okay, okay, alright,” Harry mutters under his breath, “we’re doing this.” He sniffs loudly and then seems to shift into action, spreading his legs further apart for Louis to crawl between, his brows furrowing determinedly. 

Louis knees forward on the tile and puts his hands on Harry’s thighs, glancing up at his face. Harry only holds his gaze, his eyebrows still pulled together and careful curiosity underneath his lashes. It’s soft and entirely too gentle for the moment and Louis shakes his head to clear it from his mind, his veins still buzzing with something slightly more sinister than Harry’s sweet demeanor. 

Licking his lips again, he doesn’t bother wasting any time before he leans forward and takes as much of Harry as he can, wincing and trying to keep his teeth covered just as his length hits the back of his throat. It’s been a while since he’s done this last, but he’s determined. Both subconsciously and very, very consciously. 

“Fucking - shit , Lou,” Harry groans, his head thunking back against the wall. His shoulders stay flush to the wall behind him but his hips jut forward, feeding more of himself into Louis’ waiting mouth before he catches himself and pulls back. “Thought you were just gonna - what is with you tonight? Fuck .” 

It’s pretty much a rhetorical question because Louis’ got Harry’s cock so far down his throat that he’s struggling to breathe, let alone speak, but he flutters his lashes up at Harry nonetheless as he swirls his tongue along the underside of his prick. 

Suctioning his cheeks, he takes his time pulling off, wet lips sliding down every inch of him before popping off, precome stringing from the tip of Harry’s cock to his mouth. Louis goes cross-eyed as he stares forward at it, bringing a hand up to spread the wetness everywhere he can reach. 

“Knew you’d be good at this but I swear ,” Harry grunts, hips shifting restlessly under Louis’ grip, “better than I could’a dreamed .” 

Mouth twitching to keep the smug grin from spreading across his cheeks, he leans in again and places his lips softly right underneath where Harry’s still leaking, some of it landing on his cheek as he suckles at the sensitive head. Muted curses sound above him, a big hand coming to rest in his hair, tugging lightly at the roots. 

But Harry feeling good isn’t what he’s after. The girl from before could make him feel good - Louis wants to make him feel so mind numbingly amazing that he can’t even remember where they are, much less the name of some desperate partygoer. Not that Harry could even get it right before. 

So he inhales and sinks back down onto him again, shutting his eyes and willing his gag reflex to cooperate with him. Louis knows from being roommates with him for so long that he doesn’t last long at all when he’s had something to drink, so he doesn’t plan on this taking too much time. And yet, he muses, he’s having more fun right now than any other time he’s ever been on his knees before. 

At one point Harry’s knees buckle slightly and his cock sinks further down his throat, surprising him. His gagging drowns out most of the sound of Harry’s deep moan, Louis sparing a thought for the people just outside the door. What if they can hear me , he thinks, a whimper caught in the back of his throat. What if they know what’s happening in here ? 

They don’t, probably, the self-absorbed uni-aged partygoers they are, but the thought eggs him on. Harry’s lost any sense of subtlety at this point, cursing openly and dragging a hand through Louis’ hair, tugging on it harshly in acute intervals without a care for who might be listening. 

Louis doesn’t think he would mind if they knew. If everyone knew that he’d dragged Harry in here simply to get on his knees for him, to let him use Louis’ mouth to get himself off. And he figures they will know when they walk out, when Louis’ eyes are glassy, his clothes and hair mussed and his brain still stuck somewhere far, far away. 

He slows in a quick moment of admiration, watching the sharp line of Harry’s jaw as it locks and unlocks around harsh pants. When they first walked in and Harry had unashamedly stripped, he’d still been somewhat soft. Even then he’d been big, not that Louis hasn’t seen it before. Roommates, and all that. 

But now - now he gets to touch it. Gets to put his hands and mouth on it. Gets to savor it. He pulls off just enough to let a thick glob of precome and spit drop from the tip of Harry’s cock onto his lap and hums. 

He’d been going for something sultry, a trick that Harry might find hot. When Louis glances back up, Harry’s head is no longer thrown backwards. 

No, he’s got his eyes hooked onto Louis, dark and intense and nothing like the bubbly drunk he usually is. The movement feels solid and intentional when he grips Louis hard by the hair, yanks him up and uses his legs to nudge him backward until Louis’ leaned against the bathroom cabinet, trapped between his legs and the wood. Gulping and taking in a large inhale while he can, Louis fumbles to find his balance on his knees again and reaches up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand in the small space. Perhaps Harry isn’t quite as drunk as he thought. 

“You need it, hm?” Harry taunts, his own finger tracing Louis’ lips on the opposite side, pulling on it before letting it bounce back into place. 

The air seems to shift around them, obvious now that the power is no longer in Louis’ hands. He nods once, quickly, halfway afraid of what Harry might make him admit but more than a little bit aroused. 

“S’better than my fingers, yeah?” 

Louis rushes to nod again. He gasps when the heel of Harry’s shoe presses intentionally on the growing bulge at the front of his trousers, his eyelashes fluttering. With his mouth open, Harry must see an opportunity. He shoves three fingers to the back of Louis’ throat abruptly, imitating the last time he’d had Louis suck on them. 

Coughing lightly, Louis tries to adjust to the intrusion, growing desperate as his eyes water. His hips jerk up into the harsh friction of Harry’s shoe as he swallows around his fingers, whimpering as his abdomen clenches sporadically. He can’t even think of the last time he was this turned on, and Harry hasn’t even touched him properly. 

Smirking filthily, Harry draws his fingers out in slow motion, using the spit-slick digits to wet the tip of his cock once again. He strokes himself a few times, his length jutting out proudly from between his thighs. The foot that’d been pressed against Louis’ crotch disappears as Harry places his leg right in between Louis’ knees. 

His hand appears at the back of Louis’ head to draw him forward, back onto his wet prick. Just as Louis leans in toward it, his own length that’s tucked away in his jeans grazes Harry’s leg and - oh . He gets it now. 

So it’s a steady rhythm, Harry’s cock fucking in and out of his mouth while Louis ruts up into his leg like he can’t even help it. At first he’d tried to be subtle but now it feels too good to stop. Harry’s probably - hopefully - too tipsy to remember this anyway. 

It’s just that he knows Harry is good at this kind of thing. If he hadn’t seen the people that leave their flat in the early morning with big smiles on their faces and a limp in their step he would still know it, because Harry talks about it all the time. 

Sex is an important part of who you are, he always reminds Louis. Your likes, your dislikes, they all say a lot about you. And it’s perfectly normal to experiment and explore those parts of you. It’s a massive release of emotion too - orgasms mean dopamine and dopamine means feeling good and feeling good means -

Spluttering, Louis coughs again. He’s allowed one moment to collect himself before Harry’s tilting his chin up and pushing in again at the same steady speed. 

Yeah, so Harry’s good. He talks a lot of shit but he knows what he’s doing, knows how to watch a person and gauge their reactions to see what they like. And he’s had more than enough time to analyze Louis. 

It used to scare him, how much information Harry was able to draw out of him even without saying anything. But it seems his worrying had been for naught, because Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been this sexually compatible with anyone before. He wonders if it’s from Harry studying him or if they’d be good together either way. 

But that’s - it’s not even supposed to be a sex thing. Louis is not supposed to be humping his thigh like he’s in some kind of heat, drooling all over Harry’s cock while he fucks his face. None of it is supposed to get him off. The blurry image of Harry’s hips pistoning at his face is distracting though, and he couldn’t string a coherent sentence together right now if he tried. 

His jaw aches and he whimpers when he begins to feel close, pulling his cheeks in again as Harry curses, his rhythm faltering. Despite the roughness he can feel Harry’s hands cradling the back of his head, making sure it doesn’t bang repeatedly against the wooden cabinets behind him too roughly. 

It’s predictable until one of his hands traces from his neck to his cheekbone, his thumb searing hot as it glides against spit-soaked lips. Harry doesn’t lose momentum as he hooks his thumb into the side of Louis’ mouth, pulling it over harshly until the muscles in his face burn and there’s just a hint of his teeth in the slide over Harry’s length. 

Louis’ body tenses at the feeling and the abruptness of it, rucking up into Harry’s leg one last time before he freezes, eyes shooting open as he comes inside of his boxers. He’s still shivering with it as Harry begins to come inside of his mouth, but he tries to sit up as best he can. 

He ignores the pain and forces his mouth open as wide as it’ll go, swallowing as much as he can while the rest leaks out down his chin from where Harry’s still got his thumb hooked inside of his cheek. 

Chest heaving, Harry pulls out of his mouth with a hiss and taps the leaking head of his cock several times against Louis’ bottom lip. Everything settles around them save for the ringing in Louis’ ears, the music from the party fading back into his awareness. He blinks harshly a few times, smacking his lips together and running his tongue over his teeth. When he goes to stand he fumbles, dizzy. 

“Louis,” Harry murmurs, “Hey, hey, look at me. Y’alright?” 

There are big hands gripping his chin, wiping at his mouth with a warm washcloth. Harry keeps talking to him as he rubs circles into Louis’ cheeks, the soreness ebbing and fading the longer he continues. 

“Always come to me, yeah?” 

Nodding numbly at Harry, he leans into the touch and closes his eyes. He groans when Harry begins to lift him into a standing position, poking and prodding at his clothes until he looks right. He removes his jacket and leans forward to tie it around Louis’ waist where there’s a dark stain forming on the denim. Louis’ so tired he can only blush lightly, head buried in Harry’s chest. 

“C’mon, s’time to go home,” Harry grunts, wrapping an arm around him to walk them out of the bathroom, seeming much more sober. Louis gets deja vu from how many times he’s told Harry the same thing. 

Melanie doesn’t show her face again as they say their goodbyes. Several people offer fist bumps or high fives on the way out with promises to see them again soon but Louis doesn’t lift a finger as Harry tells them he doesn’t feel well. Eventually they make it outside to the car where Harry buckles him in before getting into the driver’s side. 

“So, you feel better?” Harry asks after a few moments of silence. Louis struggles to hear him over the hum of the AC. 

“Hm?” he mumbles, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the window as they pass under a bright streetlight. 

“You needed a smoke, right?” he asks, turning onto their street. “So… how was it? I mean - uh, do you feel better? Now?” 

Louis nods again, shifting around on the seat until he can wrap his arms around his legs and drift off more comfortably. Harry absolutely doesn’t need to know that he hadn’t been having an urge in the first place. 

+

On the Saturday that follows, Louis panics. He lays in bed and makes himself dizzy staring at the ceiling fan, his brain a constant hazy loop of the events that’d taken place less than 48 hours before. 

The thing is, it might have been okay if they were just classmates. Just random guys that happened to know each other through mutual friends that got off drunkenly at a party. If Harry had been nothing but a blissful somewhat-stranger. 

None of that is the case. Harry is his roommate. They’re best friends. This isn’t something Louis can avoid. Not that he even wants to avoid it anyway, but it’s the principle of the thing. 

By that he means that he’d promised himself a long time ago nothing could happen between them. And yet here he is, still biting his lip at the phantom feeling of Harry’s cock having been in his mouth.  

When Louis first met Harry, they’d instantly clicked. Like, explosions behind his eyes, butterflies in his stomach, soulmate-type things. Funnily enough, that’d also been at a party. It was the first one of the semester and Louis was hoping to make some friends, but he’d been standing alone in a dark corner for nearly a half hour until Harry found him. 

He was mumbling to himself as he shouldered past people in the crowd, and he’d caught Louis’ eye immediately. Tall and broad and everything Louis could want, he’d sauntered drunkenly toward him with his eyes on his shoelaces. 

Before Louis could tell him to watch out, Harry had walked right into him. Because he’d been talking to himself and looking at the floor, he hadn’t even seen Louis standing there. 

“Hi - oh, you’re not the bathroom,” he’d laughed softly, his own face close enough to Louis’ that he could guess the drink he’d been nursing. 

Which wouldn’t have been all that difficult anyway, because it’d also spilled down the entire front of his shirt and jeans. It takes Harry more than enough time to realize it but Louis doesn’t say anything - can’t say anything, too entranced by the pretty stranger that’s just made a complete fool of himself. Louis couldn’t have been any more endeared. 

“Oh, shit,” Harry gasps, “your clothes!” 

Though Harry’s shirt was soaked through as well, he’d neglected to mention it as he grabbed Louis’ hand and took him upstairs, opening several doors before they found the bathroom. 

“Here, just - shit , sit here.” 

He’s pushed up onto the bathroom counter as Harry begins to rifle through the cabinets below, throwing out several condoms and a few stray tampons onto the rug before he sighs and stands again. Louis watches him fumble for the toilet paper instead, wetting a bunch of it underneath the sink water before starting to dab at Louis’ ruined shirt. If he’d been in his right mind, he’d have been angry that it was one of his favorite shirts. 

(Now he loves it even more with the stains, still hanging in the center of his closet.)

It would have also been a good time to say something, like a normal human would have, instead of just staring at curly hair and green eyes and tattoos, the way Harry’s tongue poked out of his mouth just the slightest bit while he focused. 

But Louis wasn’t - and still isn’t , obviously - normal. Sometime after Harry had finished scrubbing at his chest and probably just making it worse, he’d looked up into Louis’ eyes. That’d been it for him, really. Louis hadn’t even been drunk and he was so sure that he’d just met the one , naive and hopeful and away from home for the first time. 

The air seemed to crackle between them since Harry didn’t seem to have any idea what the idea of personal space meant, his hair tickling Louis’ cheek. He remembers holding his breath and blushing so hard his face felt hot, Harry’s glassy eyes taking him in as well. 

There’d been a moment when Louis was sure they would kiss, when Harry’s lip fell open the slightest bit and Louis’ neck tilted to the side, when they seemed so incredibly in tune with each other for having just met. It was supposed to be the beginning. And then - 

“You have amazing teeth.” 

The moment shatters. The noise from the party comes screaming back to his senses and he leans back slightly from Harry’s body heat. 

It doesn’t end up doing much, not really, because then Harry’s laughing. He’s throwing his head back and laughing harder than Louis’ ever seen anyone laugh before, and he can’t help joining in. 

Louis grins until his face stings from the motion, tears streaming down both of their faces. His chest is still wet from the spilled drink but he almost can’t even feel it anymore. 

“I’m Harry,” the guy says, his breath still catching in his throat. A hand twice the size of Louis’ extends toward him. 

“Louis,” he nods. 

There’s another beat of silence while they just stare at each other and their ruined clothes, still somewhat breathless and happy. Maybe he feels it too , Louis thinks, eyes dropping back down to his lips. 

“Do you want to live together?” 

Louis blinks. “Excuse me?” 

“I’m sorry. It’s just - my roommate is a dick . I already know I can’t spend the rest of the semester with him. He’s awful ,” Harry groans. “And I don’t know you but you seem so - so nice. Y’have a good energy. I just - I wanna have fun in uni, y’know? Just wanna have Liam over without him complaining .” 

His head has dropped down to Louis’ collarbone while he was speaking, and Louis’ heart skips a beat inside of his chest before it feels like it stops altogether. Liam ? 

Louis should’ve known he was already taken. 

(He finds out later that Liam is just a close friend and feels catastrophic levels of relief flood his veins, but in the moment he’d been crushed.) 

At that time apparently, he’d been disappointed but also in the mood for some tasteful self-sabotage, not to mention in active search for a roommate. So he’d said yes and they’d spent the rest of the night ditching the party, heading back to Harry’s to pack up his things and then going to Louis’, leaving nothing but a somewhat passive aggressive note on the counter for his old flatmate. 

They’ve always been close. It’s like they share the same brain sometimes, and at first Louis used to think it really was because they were somehow meant to be. As time went on and Louis was forced to see all of the people sneaking out of Harry’s bedroom early in the morning and the way his phone was constantly lit up with a different name, he figured he should just get over it. 

So he’d sworn off any feelings he had and promised that nothing would ever happen between them, because even the evidence of the one night stands were nearly too much for him to take. 

Now he’s here. 

And last night was definitely not nothing . It was a whole lot of something that definitely should not have happened and that should not happen again , although Louis has a feeling it will. 

Surely none of this can have a happy ending. They’re nearly graduating and soon Harry will move on with his life and he won’t be up in Louis’ space all the time anymore and things will be much different. It’s quite possibly the worst idea they’ve ever had, getting him addicted to Harry instead of cigarettes. What had they been thinking? 

“Lou?” Harry calls through the door. “I’ve got breakfast made! You should come get some before I eat it all, probably,” he chuckles. Just like normal. 

Blinking once, twice, at the ceiling, Louis sighs and throws his legs over the edge of the bed, wondering how he’s possibly going to eat eggs and sausage without choking on the image of Harry’s cock still painted vividly in his brain. 

He’s fine. It’ll be fine. Probably. 

+

For a little while, Louis convinces himself that he doesn’t need it. Maybe that once was somehow magically enough to cure him of his withdrawals and Harry’s some kind of sex wizard and psychological genius and all of his symptoms would dissapear. 

Then he yells at his classmates again and supposes maybe not, after all. 

His unpredictable appetite seems to have died down some but the fatigue has him walking through campus practically dead weight on his feet. It feels like no matter how much he sleeps he never feels rested, especially not when he’s got an early class this semester and only has time to study in the afternoons. Louis tries not to fall asleep in class, but usually does end up face down in his studies by the end of the night when he’s back at the apartment. 

And, just like with every other symptom he’s had, it leads to anger. Bitter frustration at things that shouldn’t even affect him at all, when a dog barks downstairs and Louis hears it through the vent or when someone taps their pencil too loudly in class during the lecture. 

To top all of that off, three times now he’s almost caved. Stood in front of a petrol station and just stared into the front window, the wall of cigarettes behind the counter taunting him. One time he’d even stepped inside. 

It’d be so easy to just give in - except that he’s got too much of a conscience for that. He doesn’t want to disappoint Lottie and Harry can always tell when he’s fibbing about something. So he turns his head away and continues home instead, commending himself on his strength. It’d feel like more of a compliment if his head wasn’t constantly pounding. 

Despite Louis’ sour attitude, Harry remains unfazed. He’s still his happy self, frolicking around the flat like an idiot and humming tunes to songs Louis can’t remember the name of. Louis hates him and loves him for the normalcy it brings when it feels like everything else is so up in the air. 

Still, he manages to make Louis anxious because they haven’t talked about anything that happened yet. Louis hadn’t thought he was that drunk, and Harry isn’t one to not talk about things. In fact, he’s the type to make them talk until Louis throws a pillow in his face for how badly he wants him to shut up. 

The first few days after the party it’s all Louis thought about. For hours he replayed it in his head, trying to remember exactly how it felt, and once he’d tried to replicate the feeling of a hand pulling at his hair until he gasped, even with Harry passed out asleep right next to him. 

Then the days began to blur together again, the pain in his head and stomach and bones too deep to ignore. He’d dragged his limbs through campus and collapsed on the sofa until the next morning when he repeated it all over again. 

So he makes it another week, just barely. 

“I thought I told you to come to me,” Harry’s voice makes him jump, wincing at the throbbing it causes in his head when he moves. 

Louis’ leaned up against the kitchen counter with his head in one of his hands, waiting for the pain medication he’d just taken to kick in. It takes a few moments for what Harry’s just said to register as he walks back in through the front door, dropping several bags of groceries next to the sink to put away. 

He flips on the kitchen light and Louis groans, picking up his other hand to shield both eyes from the harshness of it. Luckily, the action also works to cover up his flushed cheeks from Harry’s comment. Maybe if he’s quiet long enough, Louis muses, Harry will forget he even asked. 

But then there are warm hands on his arms and a body behind him and Louis can’t help the way he falls back into the hard chest, especially not when Harry reaches over and flips the light back off for him. 

In the dark it’s much easier to not think about it and just feel . Louis sways on his feet and Harry stumbles to catch him, flipping him around until they’re face-to-chest. He burrows into the material of Harry’s shirt and nearly falls asleep right there. 

“Thought I said to come to me when it got bad,” he murmurs again, his tone soft for Louis’ benefit. 

His thumb rubs hot circles into Louis’ shoulder and it feels like Louis’ skin is scorched over the spot, burning when he swallows and sighs against his chest. 

“Sorry,” he offers brokenly. 

“Don’t apologize,” Harry shakes his head, “c’mere.” 

He lowers his arms in favor of picking Louis up underneath his back and legs, carrying him down the hallway. The motion is almost like rocking and Louis relaxes further, his eyes shut. 

“What’re we doin’,” Louis slurs against him. 

Harry doesn’t answer him until he stops walking. Louis feels the temperature change slightly and hears a door being opened and shut, feels his pants slid off of his legs while the lights stay off. Bedsheets are pulled down and then back up over his body, tucked neatly underneath his chin. 

Before he can whine about being alone, he hears another piece of clothing hit the floor beside the bed and feels the bed dip with Harry’s weight. 

“We’re gonna take a nap, and then when you wake up we’re gonna have a chat about some things, m’kay?” he whispers. 

Swallowing once and smacking his lips together, Louis fists a hand in his shirt and pulls him close, laying his head on his chest even as he tries to complain. 

“But - v’got homework, and - and-” 

“Sleep now,” Harry tells him when he trails off without finishing his train of thought, his lips pressed to the side of Louis’ head. “We’ll handle everything else later.” 

The gentle glide of Harry’s hand up and down his back lulls him into a much needed sleep, and Louis goes without fighting it. 

+

When he wakes, it’s dark outside the window again. It feels odd without his alarm or Harry waking him up for his class, and his initial reaction is to panic. So, that’s what he does. 

He’s hot still, body sweating underneath the thick covers. Louis rips them off and scrambles for his phone even though it isn’t there, cursing and standing abruptly from the bed. He keels over and thinks he might get sick for a second, but quickly shakes his head and walks as fast as he can manage back down the hallway to the living room. 

Harry’s already there, sat at the kitchen table on his own phone. When he sees Louis he stands, clad in only his sweatpants and no shirt, pulling a plate of cut fruit from the fridge. He waves Louis to follow him, setting the plate down in front of a chair and gesturing for him to sit. 

“You need to eat,” he says as Louis scoots up to the table, “you’ve been asleep for nearly sixteen hours now.” 

Eyes widening, Louis does as he’s told and begins to pick up the fruit with a fork. Sixteen hours? No wonder he feels at least a little more rested than he had this entire week. 

Then he remembers his classes and chokes on a slice of pineapple, Harry’s concerned gaze following him as a hand flies to his chest. 

“What - what about my classes?” he manages around the food. 

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s Wednesday, so you only had one. Niall’s in there too so I just had him drop off a copy of the notes.” 

When Louis looks over his shoulder where Harry pointed there’s a neatly stacked pile of notebook paper resting on the table near the door, Niall’s familiar scrawl scribbled across them. Louis sighs and settles back into the chair. 

“Thank you,” he smiles timidly. 

“It’s no problem,” Harry mirrors his expression, his own lips turning upward. 

Setting his phone off to the side, he watches silently as Louis finishes the last few pieces of cold fruit from the plate and downs a glass of water, and even then Louis can feel his eyes on him. 

“Is it time for the talk?” Louis asks blankly, hoping his lack of enthusiasm shows outwardly. 

“Yeah,” Harry half-sighs and half-chuckles, “it’s time for the talk.” 

Leaving his plate in the sink to wash later, he lets himself be dragged to the sofa and sat down, pulling his knees into his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Harry drops down less than a cushion away, his legs crossed and body language open as always. 

“You go,” Louis tells him as an introduction. 

Chuckling, Harry raises a brow but nods at him. “Fair enough. I think we should talk about what happened the other night at the party.”

“What about it,” he drawls. It’d be no use trying to pretend like he was drunk enough to forget, not when Louis’ been so anxious around him recently. Harry’s always been able to read him like an open book. 

“Lou,” he hums. “C’mon, meet me halfway here. Was it alright? We talked about doing it whenever you had an urge. I didn’t know what we did was exactly what you’d had in mind, but is that still something you’d want to do again?” 

Instead of answering, Louis gulps and avoids eye contact, picking at a long thread coming out of the side of the sofa. He twirls it around two fingers and pulls, watching the imprint of the thread leave a white imprint behind on his blushing skin. 

“You gonna get all awkward on me now?” Harry asks. “C’mon, Lou. It’s us . I want to do this for you, yeah? ‘Specially if it worked the last time.” 

When Louis continues to ignore him, Harry grows impatient and throws himself onto the cushion closest to Louis, circling him in a hug whether he likes it or not. Once he’s tugged to his chest it’s a bit better because he can’t see Louis’ face, but it’s still morbidly embarrassing and Louis hates every second of it. He presses his nose to Harry’s shoulder and inhales. 

“Don’t get all caught up in that pretty little head of yours, yeah? S’ me ,” Harry says again, like that’s supposed to be comforting somehow, like that isn’t the entire reason he’s stressed about it to begin with. 

However, Louis’ a weak man. It doesn’t take much to convince him and he resigns carefully with a sigh and a short nod. Harry will never know that the real issue here isn’t that he doesn’t want it, it’s that he wants it too much . 

“So, the next time you’re feeling awful, what will you do?” 

“Come find you,” Louis mutters. 

“ Before it gets bad, right?” 

“I suppose,” he sighs. 

Harry grins, “Good boy.” 

To hide his own blush Louis playfully bites him on the shoulder until Harry hisses and tries to drag him away. After a moment Louis releases the spit slick area of t-shirt and grits, “Dick,” right into his ear. 

“Dick,” Harry agrees with a nod. “That is what we’re talking about.” 

“ Ugh ,” Louis groans. 

His attempt at a mock-fight is really only just a tight hug, Harry’s arms wrapped around him so much that he can’t move. Or, rather, he just doesn’t really want to. 

Coming down off of a laugh, Harry sombers some, tugging Louis close again. “It’ll be okay,” he says, ever the optimist. 

Louis’ grateful for the distraction when Harry flips on the television and settles more casually into the couch, the air feeling much less heated than it had moments before. It’s natural for him to curl up in his space, to lean his head on Harry’s shoulder and inhale the scent while he stares dazedly at the screen. 

He thinks he hears Harry fall asleep at some point but Louis stays wide awake, staring at Harry’s fingers curved possessively around his sweatpant-clad thigh and zoning out to the sound of familiar commercials and curated laugh tracks and ignoring the fact that what’s going on in his own life right now is infinitely more captivating. 

+

“- the prefrontal cortex should go first, since it’s the one that controls all social interaction.” 

“It doesn’t control all social interaction, Lindsey. It just helps to correct social behavior - not control it.” 

“I still think it should be the first slide. Social interaction is easily the most important part of our lives today and I think opening with that will grab people’s attention, y’know, like, actually make them listen to the rest of it without just falling asleep which is what will happen if we keep taking your advice-” 

Louis groans at his partners for the project. Max is clever but unwilling to compromise on anything and Lindsey only cares about herself, and Louis’ about to pull out his own hair if he has to listen to them bicker any longer. The rest of their classmates had this finished last week. 

“Stop it, both of you,” he hisses, glancing apologetically around the library toward the people who’ve started looking in their direction. 

Slumping down into the nearest chair, Max huffs and crosses his legs while Lindsey rolls her eyes and taps open her phone as if she’s missed anything over the last few minutes since she’d checked it last. 

“We’re not getting anywhere tonight,” Louis tells them. “I’ll try to get some more finished tomorrow and share it with you guys. Just - just go home for now.” 

“Thanks, Louis,” she chirps, slinging her back over her shoulder and heading for the door before the words are even out of his mouth. 

Max opens his mouth to fight him on it but Louis just raises a hand toward him and begins packing his own things. Soon enough he gets the point, and Louis doesn’t look up when he hears the door shut behind him, too. 

He rests his forehead in his hands and sighs, his breath slipping through his fingers. It’s been almost three weeks since his last cigarette. He can still very much feel the effects. Most of the smaller, inconvenient withdrawal symptoms have faded, like the exaggerated appetite and the mood swings, but the tiredness seems to remain no matter what he does. 

Admittedly though, he has felt better since he and Harry talked. A bit lighter, if nothing else. He hates it when they don’t communicate. 

“Hiya!” 

Louis jumps so hard that he nearly falls off the chair, uncovering his face to find Harry standing on the other side of the table. He gives a polite grimace when the librarian reminds him to keep it down, then grins secretively at Louis with a raised brow. 

“You ready to get out of here and grab something to eat?” 

Snorting, Louis stuffs his laptop and books into his bag and slings it over his shoulder, standing to head around to the exit. He winces at the weight on his arm, stretching the muscles in his neck, tense from how long he’d been sitting. 

“I thought you were cooking chicken tonight?” Louis says. 

Snatching the heavy bag from Louis, Harry carries it for him without complaint as they nod toward the woman at the front desk on their way out, pushing the door open into cool night air. 

“I was,” Harry nods. “And then maybe the end of The Notebook was on the telly and maybe I sat down to watch it after it started cooking and then maybe I forgot about it and maybe the fire alarm went off but-” 

“The fire alarm?” Louis squeaks, “Again, H? The neighbors are gonna kill us.” 

“Which is why we’re getting dinner out and won’t be home until they’re all asleep,” he explains, smirking as he tosses Louis’ bag into the passenger seat before holding the door open for him to get in. 

“Idiot,” Louis huffs to himself, watching Harry jog around to the other side of the car. “Did you at least apologize to them?” he asks when they’re both in. 

Harry glances in the rearview and begins to pull out of the parking spot, turning the wheel toward the road. “Of course. I told them I would bake them cookies for the trouble, but…” he grins. 

Eyes falling shut and head leaning back against the seat, Louis grins so hard his cheeks hurt. “Where are you taking me anyway?” he drawls tiredly. 

“Wherever you want,” Harry hums. “That bar you like downtown is doing half price appetizers tonight.” 

Louis’ eyes narrow. “But you hate that bar.” 

“Yeah, well,” Harry shrugs. “I like you .” 

The light from the lamp posts glints off of his teeth when Harry turns sideways for a second to smile at him, but Louis hopes his own face can’t be seen. His blush feels nearly palpable. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip and shrugs. 

“If you’re offering…” 

“Might as well, if we’ve got to be out for another hour or so,” Harry reasons. 

The closer they get to the bar the more excited Louis gets, the less he feels so bogged down with his fatigue. Harry’s right - they are his favorite appetizers. On the rare occasion Harry agrees to accompany him there, Louis gets the sampler platter that comes with one of everything. His mouth waters. 

So maybe the cravings haven’t completely gone away yet. 

It’s only beginning to get packed when they arrive, that awkward time between dinner and partying after work, so they’re able to get their food fairly quickly before anyone else orders. They settle at a secluded table at the back near the restrooms, the large sampler platter settled between them. 

“You sure you don’t want a pickle?” Louis asks him, holding up the last fried pickle in his hand, dripping thick with ranch. 

“Ugh, no,” Harry pulls a disgusted face. “I’m okay, thanks.” 

“Your loss,” Louis shrugs. 

Chuckling, Harry leans back into the booth opposite him and swipes a french fry through some ketchup, bringing it to his lips. “I’m glad you like it, though.” 

“I love it,” Louis groans, swallowing the last of it and reaching for his drink to wash it down. He eyes the rest of the platter, already deciding what he’s going to eat next. 

“Good. You seemed like you needed something happy tonight,” Harry mirrors him, downing his own beer. 

“What do you mean?” Louis frowns. 

Sniffing, Harry’s face scrunches up and he jerks his shoulder, that knowing look rising again in his eye. “Just - you’ve been so stressed about this project and everything lately. I thought we could use something fun, so-” he gestures to the appetizer platter. 

“That is not why we’re here,” Louis snorts. “We’re here because you nearly lit the house on fire with your chicken and now we’re practically fugitives.” 

“Hey,” Harry whines. “I can’t be blamed for that. You know what The Notebook does to me,” he argues. 

Shaking his head fondly, Louis rotates the plate until he can reach the chips and salsa, picking one up to dip into that and the cheese. Greasy fast food is exactly what he needed. That and Harry. The usual. 

“Actually, you’re right. I’m glad we came here,” Louis concedes. “I’m so tired of working with them. It feels like we never get anything done and psych stresses me out enough as it is.” 

“Wait, it’s a psych project?” Harry stops him. “I can help you with it, Lou,” he huffs a small laugh, “it is what I’m studying, you know. I really don’t mind at all.” 

“That-” Louis sighs, about to turn him down but considering it properly for a moment, chewing another chip, “that would be amazing.” 

“It’s settled, then. Don’t worry about it anymore, alright?” Harry smiles. 

Nodding, Louis lets the last bit of stress fall off of his shoulders, switching between the foods happily. He lets Harry ramble about his own classes for a bit before the bar really begins to get packed, and their drinks eventually run out to the tune of their easy conversation. 

Leaving Louis alone at the table, Harry promises to be right back while he gets them refilled, both of their glasses in one hand while he shoulders around people to get back to the front. 

Louis isn’t ashamed to admit he watches him go, his broad back and long legs sauntering away. Sometimes when they’re out and it’s just the two of them he lets himself play into the fantasy that they’re on a date. Like maybe this is a couple-thing instead of a friend-thing. He wonders what other people think when they see them out together. 

His fantasy is cut short with a stubby hand suddenly directed toward him. Louis bristles, wiping the back of his mouth with a napkin as a stranger approaches from the outside of the table. Eyeing him disinterestedly, Louis ignores his offer of introduction. 

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re all alone,” the guy notes, a sleazy smirk on his lips and the heavy stench of beer surrounding him. 

“I’m not alone, thanks,” Louis cuts. 

The man makes a show of glancing around toward the empty side of the booth, raising his brows. “I don’t see anyone else here,” he slurs. 

“He’s just getting our drinks,” Louis says. “I’m not interested.” 

As Louis moves to turn away from him the guy follows, sticky fingers on his shoulder. Frowning, he shifts away but the guy still keeps his hold. Just as Louis’ about to reiterate his earlier words, he sees familiar curly hair appear behind him. 

“Hey, what the fuck, mate,” Harry grits, an exceptionally fake smile on his lips. 

“Can we help you?” the guy asks, scoffing at him. 

Louis absolutely should not be as excited as he is right now. And he wouldn’t be, if he wasn’t so sure of what was about to happen. If this hadn’t already happened a thousand times before. He bites his lip when Harry calmly sets their drinks down on the table and smiles at Louis, then trails his eyes back to the guy who still hasn’t let go of him. 

“Yeah, buddy, you can,” he nods like he’s talking to a child. 

Then, in the blink of an eye, there are hands twisted in the font of the guys shirt and he’s being yanked away so fast that Louis gets whiplash, pushed up against the nearest wall and held there as Harry’s features darken. 

The first time this happened he’d been shocked. Louis hadn’t known anyone that would make such a gesture for his benefit without expecting anything in return, but then again he’d never met anyone like Harry before. 

Even now he isn’t completely used to it, but he knows how it goes. Louis crosses his legs tighter as his hair begins to stand on end, a kick in his heartbeat and in between his thighs at the scene in front of him. He can’t even feel the guy’s hands on him anymore, too preoccupied with the way Harry’s biceps bulge as he holds the struggling guy up against the wall like it’s no problem at all. 

This is the part Louis gets lost in usually. Harry always leans in close to them and says something that he can’t ever hear, and eventually the guys scatter with their proverbial tail between their legs, effectively forgotten for the rest of the night. 

It’s exactly what happens now. The guy throws a wide eyed stare in Louis’ direction and Harry taps him on the chin in warning for laying his eyes on him again. Harry smirks as the guy shakes his head and holds up his hands innocently, then full on grins as he runs off into the crowd toward the door. 

Harry saunters back toward the table and slides into the same side of the booth Louis’ on, sliding him his drink as he picks up his own to take a sip. Arm thrown around his shoulders, he squeezes Louis to his side and spreads his legs underneath the table cockily, his knee knocking into Louis’. 

“Alright?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Louis clears his throat and swallows again when only a whisper comes out, his eyes caught on Harry’s lips. “Yeah - m’good. Thanks.” 

“Of course,” Harry says. 

Twice he reaches for the food but he doesn’t feel hungry anymore. The excitement in his gut is from something completely different now, the heavy weight of Harry against him, the arm on his shoulders and their legs pressed together. It feels a bit like he can’t catch his breath. 

Harry does this sort of thing all the time but now that they’ve shared more than just friendly pecks, Louis feels like a door has been opened. He wonders what he’s allowed to ask for - if he’s allowed anything at all outside of their arrangement. 

If he said he needed a smoke right now (which he doesn’t, happily sated with the greasy food, drinks, and intellectual conversation), surely Harry would see right through him. But - 

He just doesn’t care. Louis tugs on his sleeve until Harry meets his eye. 

“I - I think I need a smoke,” he says carefully. 

“Right now?” Harry raises a brow, glancing around the crowded room. He doesn’t wait for confirmation before he’s grabbing Louis’ jacket and sliding back out of the booth. “Let’s go home.” 

In record time they’re out of the bar and to the front seat, where Harry still pauses to open the door for him before getting in himself. Hands slightly shaking, Louis pulls on the seatbelt just as Harry throws it into reverse and pulls out of the spot. 

“Wait,” Louis stumbles, halfway buckled into the seat, “it’s only ten-thirty, Mrs. Brindleton doesn’t go to bed until midnight,” he notes, remembering Harry’s idea to stay out until their neighbors went to sleep. 

“You’re right,” Harry frowns. Suddenly the car jerks to the side and Louis squeals, balancing himself as they pull into a dark, empty parking lot near the back of the bar. He throws open his door and makes a move to get out, eyes flicking to the backseat. “You coming?” 

And - oh . Louis nods frantically, not bothering to even get out of the car as he throws a leg over the middle console, climbing into the backseat just as Harry shuts the door next to him, and then they’re both just there . 

Because of the way they’d hurried, Louis’ already hovering over him, breath hitting his cheek. The sound of Harry locking the car echoes around them and draws a soft whimper from his lips, desire burning in his belly from seeing Harry so protective of him. 

They’ve kissed before. Once or twice when they’d been drinking and a few times when they weren’t, but they’d been just friendly pecks, really. Nothing that would’ve suggested anything more. So Louis thinks he’ll know what it feels like. 

He doesn’t. 

His eyes flick down to Harry’s lips again and that’s all it takes, Harry’s hands darting up to frame his face and grab at his neck and shoulders, drawing him down into his body heat. This time it feels like more , like there’s a purpose to it, and Louis doesn’t have time to panic when Harry’s tongue dips through the seam of his lips and inside along his teeth. 

Moaning, Louis throws a leg over his lap and pulls a hand through Harry’s hair, unconsciously grinding his already hardening prick onto Harry’s lap. He gasps openly when a hand comes down hard on the curve of his denim-clad arse when he least expects it. 

Taking advantage of the movement, Harry sucks on his tongue and his fingernails dig in to grab handfuls on his hips, a low growl caught between their mouths as he explores. When he’s finished with that he moves his mouth to Louis’ neck, sucking a deep mark just above his collarbone. Unabashed, Louis tosses his head backward and pushes down harder, arching into the touch. 

“Harry - H,” Louis pants, impatient already. 

“Mm - what,” he breaks away, catching his breath, a hand cupping Louis’ cheek, “are the symptoms getting worse? You okay?” 

Breath caught in his throat, Louis averts his eyes guiltily. Harry’s doing this for him and he’s lying about it just to get his hands on him for a bit. He blinks away frustrated tears and nods because he doesn’t trust his voice, and Harry jumps into action. 

“Here, baby,” he says. He helps Louis onto the next seat over as he stands halfway and reaches forward to bump the front seat up, moving it until Louis has enough room to kneel between his open thighs. “That okay?” 

Nodding again, Louis keeps his eyes down as he crawls into the space and helps Harry get his jeans and boxers over his hips and down his legs, finally resting around his ankles. 

Inside the car everything is quieter, not like when they’d been at the party. Neither of them are drunk either and he knows Harry’s watching his every move, always attentive and understanding. It only makes him feel worse. 

But then he grips Louis’ chin, tilts it upward and delves his tongue into Louis’ mouth again in a filthy kiss, and the sharp arousal returns. Louis pulses with it, his hands springing forward to feel the hot skin and curly hair beneath the imprinted line Harry’s jeans left behind. 

“Fuck, baby,” he hisses, rutting upward when the back of Louis’ wrist grazes his cock. 

He’s already mostly hard too and Louis wonders if things like what happened earlier get him off just as much, if maybe he has some of the same intentions Louis does in this arrangement they’ve found themselves in. Then he wonders if he’s just trying to rationalize his own guilt by projecting his fantasies onto Harry instead. Fuck , he thinks bitterly, he’s really been spending too much time with him recently. The psych stuff really makes his head hurt. 

So he focuses instead on Harry’s intense gaze, pumping a careful hand over his length a few times until he’s fully hard, firm length standing up and curved toward his own belly in Louis’ hand. 

Before he can lean forward and put his mouth to use, Harry runs a finger over his heated cheek, tracing it around his mouth lips several times. He tugs down on Louis’ bottom lip and watches it bounce back into place, the corner of his own lips turning upward. 

“Whenever you’re ready, baby,” he rasps, voice deeper than it’d been earlier. 

Holding eye contact with him, Louis moistens his lips and lowers his chin, blinking up from underneath his lashes as he takes him into his mouth. 

It doesn’t take but a few seconds until his eyes fall shut once again. Overwhelmed by the heady taste and smell of Harry’s most intimate areas, Louis’ brows dip inward as he focuses and inhales deeply, hands coming up to grip him around the base of his cock. 

Distantly Louis notices when Harry’s body jerks as he suckles lightly underneath the dark pink color of the sensitive tip, turned milky white with his excitement and Louis’ spit. He feels it when Harry shifts and throws his head backward, when big hands come to rest on his shoulders like he isn’t sure where to put them. 

Louis leans up into the touch like a magnet is keeping him connected to it. The feeling of Harry’s skin is heated and grounding, keeping him in the moment even as his mind races with thousands of other ideas. 

Between his own legs he reaches down to place a hand over himself, rubbing lightly over the denim. He whimpers around Harry and chokes lightly when he grinds up against his own hand. 

It’s so wrong. Louis knows it’s wrong. He’s taking advantage of Harry’s kindness and willingness to help him just so he can act on some dirty fantasies but - it all just feels so good. For now, at least, the pleasure overpowers the guilt. 

Harry gets more confident and it pulls him back to the moment, his hands traveling upward onto his cheeks instead of just resting on his shoulders. He grips Louis’ face and roughly tilts it upward until he’s straining to maintain eye contact as well as keep his mouth poised and open for him, blinking rapidly as tears gather at the corners of his eyes. 

The same look from the party re-enters his eyes, that dark, sensual gaze that has Louis faltering again. He blinks hard as he grips his own prick in his trousers and takes Harry as deep as he can go, holding the position for as long as he’s able before pulling off and coughing lightly. 

Louis only awards himself a few seconds of relief before he’s repeating everything all over again, tonguing around Harry’s cock, rigid and firm and unpredictable, fucking into Louis’ throat as Harry begins to take their rhythm into his own hands. 

He hisses again, wincing when Louis chokes, fingers delving into his hair before he grips and pulls upward hard , sparks of pain dancing over Louis’ skull as he moans. Keening around nothing as Harry pulls him off of his cock, his eyes roll backward into his head just as Harry begins to come, thick white stripes coating his face as his fist flies over his length. 

“C’mere, c’mere,” he pants. 

Louis’ dizzy as he’s yanked up onto the seat beside Harry again, long fingers swiftly undoing his button and zip on his trousers. He grasps Harry’s shoulders for balance as he’s pulled onto his lap, straddling only one of Harry’s muscular thighs. 

“H,” he whines, overwhelmed. 

“Here, baby,” Harry soothes, still twitching from his own release and spilling trails of translucent white over their clothing. He reaches a hand down between them to grip Louis’ prick and another behind him to rest just over the split of his arse, rubbing over the seam of his trousers with intent. 

The glide is dry and harsh on Louis’ prick with only his precome to slick it up, but he cries out and arches into the pain, rocking back and forth between that and the hand on his arse. It rubs harder and when his hips jerk awkwardly it slips, his fingers grazing Louis’ hole through the fabric. 

Sealing his lips to Harry’s while he’s still allowed to, Louis sobs into his mouth and comes, freezing as his movements go uncoordinated and frantic. 

“Shh,” Harry holds him, his hands never ceasing until he’s sure every last bit of Louis’ orgasm has been worked out of him. 

When it’s over, Louis sags against his chest even though he’s still got Harry’s cum on his face, licking over his dry lips. It feels more difficult for some reason to calm down, the weight of his emotions versus his actions warring inside of his head. 

“Do you feel better?” Harry asks breathily, quiet and intimate and gentle as he keeps him against his chest. And still just a friend. Just. 

In some ways, Louis does feel better. He always feels better in general when he’s with Harry. But this intimacy comes with both high highs and very low lows. Louis rides the feeling until it"s replaced with cold, stale guilt, just like the cum drying on his skin, the feeling of using Harry just to get a bit of the romantic attention he craves that he can’t seem to find anywhere else. 

Soon, just feeling good isn’t going to be enough anymore. Harry means too much to him to keep doing this. It would be one thing if he felt the same way, but Louis knows he doesn’t. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice hoarse from what they’d done. “M’better.” 

Better, Louis echoes to himself. Maybe if he was better Harry would feel the same way. 

“C’mon,” Harry pats his arse lightly, helping him straighten up and get back into the front seat, where he promptly lays his cheek against the material and shuts his eyes as the car hums to life again. “I’ll take us home.” 

Home. Better. Home. Better. 

“Thank you,” Louis says. 

Instead of answering him, Harry just leans over and presses a kiss to his forehead, his nose, and his lips. Then he sits back into his own seat, smiles softly in Louis’ direction, and drives them home. 

+

He’s lounging around on the couch a few days later when Lottie calls him to check in. He and Harry have just finished his ridiculously difficult psych project and Louis submitted it only an hour before, just as soon as his partners had luckily given him the O.K.. It feels like a massive weight has been lifted off of his chest, and when Lottie’s name pops up on his screen he grins, sliding his finger across the bottom to answer it. 

“Hey, Lotts,” he says, tossing an arm behind his head as he reclines. 

Since it’s just his sister, he puts the call on speaker and rests it on his chest while they talk, unworried about Harry who’s working on his own studies on the chair in the corner. 

“Louis! It’s so good to hear your voice,” she groans. 

“What, planning your dream wedding taking a lot out of you?” he jokes, settling comfortably back into the throw pillows with his eyes closed. 

“Hush, you,” Lottie bites. “It actually hasn’t been so bad. I just tried on my dress again today to make the final alterations and Tommy went to get fitted for his suit.” 

“That’s great,” Louis smiles, “I can’t wait to see you in it. I bet it’s beautiful.” 

“As long as you don’t trip me when we’re walking down the aisle,” she mumbles. 

“Hey,” he whines, eyes flicking open with a frown on his lips. 

The sound of her laughter serves as background noise when he glances over toward Harry again. Hair mussed from running his hands through it, he seems tired after a full day of studying and helping Louis, but still just as happy as he always is. 

He shoves his notes aside and opens the lid of his laptop, glancing over to Louis with a brow raised when he notices him staring. Quickly averting his gaze, Louis opens his mouth to say something else and change the subject but Lottie beats him to it. 

“So, how’s the no smoking thing going?” she asks him, voice light like he might get angry with her. 

“It’s - it’s actually going really good,” he mutters, trying to keep from catching Harry’s attention and stroking his ego too much. 

It doesn’t end up working because even from here Louis can see the way his lip twitches, the way he doesn’t even try to hide his smirk. Scowling, Louis sighs into the microphone and tries to redirect his attention. 

“That makes me so happy, Lou,” she says. “I know it’s probably been hard for you but I’m so proud that you’re going through with it.” 

At the mention of the word ‘hard’, Harry gives a loud snort that echoes around the room, stifling it a moment too late. The bastard. Louis tosses a pillow in his direction but it misses by a few feet and thuds against the wall behind him without hitting its target. 

“Is that Harry?” Lottie asks. 

“I -” Louis huffs. “Yeah, it’s Harry.” 

“Is he lying to me, Harry? Has he really been smoking?” 

Scoffing loudly, Louis raises his voice into the phone before Harry can answer her. “You don’t believe me?” 

Lottie makes up some half-assed excuse as they both chuckle about it but insists that Harry answer the question. Raising a brow, Louis fixes him with a threatening glare. Clearing his throat quietly, Harry smiles again and leans in toward the phone. 

“Don’t worry, Lotts. He’s been a very good boy.” 

With wide eyes and an open mouth, Louis hurries to press the mute button on the phone so Lottie can’t hear them anymore, a blush flooding his cheeks red. “You dick, ” he hisses through clenched teeth. 

He isn’t even sure that Harry hears him over his obnoxious laughter at Louis’ embarrassment. Rolling his eyes, Louis accepts defeat. He returns his gaze to the cell phone and punches the mute button off again, tuning into Lottie’s praises about his progress once more. 

“That’s so good to hear, Louis, I mean it. And there’s only a few more weeks until the wedding!” 

Both he and Harry sober at that, the reality of how close it is striking them at once. They’d known the date, but that also means that school is coming to an end and everything else that comes with that, and Louis’ never been good at thinking about the future. He clears his own throat and returns Lottie’s excitement, promising they’ll see her soon. When he hangs up, the phone slips from his hand to his lap lazily. 

“I hadn’t realized it was so close,” Harry mumbles, blinking. 

“Me neither,” he agrees. 

The silence that spreads over the living room isn’t anything like the comfortable ones that he’s used to, and Louis can’t tell if he’s the only one that’s feeling it or not. Within minutes he’s bringing a thumb up to his mouth to bite nervously at the skin around it, his nervous habits beginning to show themselves again. 

He’s so accustomed to his life that he isn’t sure how long it would take him to get used to a change. He likes the location here, the familiarity of the town, the people. Harry. As much as he hates some of his classes, he’s really going to miss this era of his life. 

Sensing his anxious mood, Harry sighs and stands from the chair, moving the phone out of Louis’ lap to set it on the table instead. He sits down on the middle cushion and resumes their usual position, Louis’ legs strung out over his lap and their sides pressed together like puzzle pieces. 

“We’re graduating in, like, a month,” Louis mutters into his shirt. 

“We are,” Harry hums. He strokes a hand over Louis’ side and tugs him closer, resting his chin on the top of his head. 

“Aren’t you nervous?” 

Harry knows him enough to know that it isn’t even really a question for him to answer. It’s just a roundabout way of Louis telling him that he’s stressed and he’s got no idea how to handle it. 

“Not really,” he answers. At Louis’ abruptly narrowed eyes, he smiles a bit and tilts his head, continuing. “It’s just not really that stressful for me,” Harry shrugs. 

“Why not?” 

“Well, there’s no reason to move out of the flat, is there? Our lease isn’t even up for another year or so,” he reasons. “We’ve got jobs sort of lined up in the area anyway. Plus, I still want to live with you, y’know? That’s not too much of a change.” 

Huffing an amused, emotional laugh, Louis grins and pulls back only to tackle him in a proper hug. Harry’s arms come up around his waist and it’s everything it always is and more, comfortable and reassuring and exactly what he needs. Maybe not everything has to change. Maybe they can keep this. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Tomlinson,” he jokes. Then, simultaneously more seriously and cheesy, “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together.” 

Louis pulls away from his neck again to look him in the eye, sure that his appreciation is showing on every inch of his face. He starts to smile but gets distracted by the familiarity of Harry’s gaze. His green eyes and his dark lashes, the hidden scar on his eyebrow, his slightly crooked nose and the way the corners of his mouth point different directions. 

Before he can think better of it he’s framing his face with his hands and leaning forward, sealing his lips to Harry’s. It isn’t weird and Harry doesn’t flinch once, relaxing into it just as easily as their hug moments before. 

It shouldn’t be normal. Even after everything they’ve done together, they’re friends. Friends don’t kiss like this. There’s too much emotion there, too much of a relief when they do this that he can’t get anywhere else. Maybe he really has gotten himself addicted to him, Louis muses. 

Slowly he pulls away, savoring the moment for a second longer before he opens his eyes again. When he does, Harry’s already looking at them. In slow motion his dimples begin to show and then he’s tilting Louis’ head down and pressing a kiss to his forehead, then his nose. 

One last time he leans forward and takes Louis’ lips, breath mingling as the anxiousness from before finally fades completely. He can’t bring himself to handle any more eye contact so Louis forgoes moving away and ends up burying his face back into Harry’s neck. 

He leans into the hand that holds him there and inhales deeply. Then he lets his lips graze the predictable rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat, presses down like a promise, and exhales. 

+

The next few weeks pass by too quickly for Louis to comprehend properly. He gets through most of his final exams with acceptable marks, once again thanks to Harry’s meticulous study habits and handmade note cards, and graduation draws closer each day. There are a few silver linings within all of the stress, though. 

Namely, Harry. 

Louis feels like he’s a teenager all over again. He and Harry are all over each other nearly every chance they get, sneaking off to bathrooms at parties or their cars between classes when no one’s around. And, of course, in the flat as well. Louis’ mouth has been defiled on almost every piece of furniture they have in every room of the apartment. 

He’s balancing in dangerous territory now though - he still gets some urges to smoke, but they’re very little. Maybe just once a week at this point, even. If he lets Harry know that bit of anecdotal info, he might be a bit confused why Louis asks to give him a blowjob every other day. 

So he keeps quiet about it instead, opting to appreciate what he’s got while he has it. Which, that wouldn’t be an issue either, except for the fact that every time it happens, he can’t help but want more. 

It’s just - Harry’s so good at everything he does and he’s good at Louis, and naturally that leads to Louis daydreaming his day away about what it would be like to really be with him. To share a bed without only sleeping, to feel his big hands all over him, inside of him. Louis’ come to know every vein and ridge on Harry’s lower body, and he aches to figure out what it feels like if they were just the slightest bit closer. 

But how would he even go about that? The oral fixation theory makes sense with oral sex - not regular sex. Sometimes he thinks about pulling off just before Harry’s about to come and saying a quick, simple fuck me? but he always loses his confidence, too caught up in everything going on in the moment to remember. 

It feels foolish to admit that he thinks there are times Harry may feel it too, but he does. It’s in glimpses when Louis blinks up at him, when he’s got his head thrown backward and his mouth open around a curse. It’s when Harry maneuvers them around to return the favor right afterward, just as eager to touch Louis as Louis was to touch him. It’s when he kisses him like they’ve been doing it for years and not like they’re just best friends. 

It’s a lot of different times, and Louis’ gotten all too comfortable just pretending that they’re more than what they really are. He thinks the prospect of taking advantage of Harry’s unfailing trust and willingness to help him should make him feel much worse than it does, but - it’s just been so long.  

So long of watching him be with other people, charm them, date them, dance with them. So long of muffling the noises coming from his room with a pillow over his head sleepless night after sleepless night. So long of pretending he didn’t have feelings that he knows he’s had since the very beginning. How can he blame himself for taking the chance to act on them?

A lot of different ways actually, he’s come to find out. Then again, none of them really seem to matter when he’s busy doing… other things. He supposes he can’t say the wrong thing if his mouth is full, at the very least. 

“Lou,” Harry hums, the tip of his ballpoint pen caught in between his lips. 

“Yeah?” Keeping his voice to a whisper to fit with the tone of the empty library, Louis glances up at him from his textbook. 

Several moments pass silently as Harry holds his gaze. His brow dips inward and a frown graces his lips a second before they part around nothing. He seems troubled in a way that he rarely ever does, and Louis’ unused to seeing him so unsure of himself. 

“Haz…?” he prompts. 

“I - I was just wondering if-” Harry promptly bites his lip to stop his own thought. He sighs, then glances back down at his book, clearing his throat softly. 

“Harry,” Louis murmurs, “what is it?” 

These are the times he was talking about earlier. The moments where it feels like something monumental is about to happen, when they’re all vulnerable and quiet and intimate. He thinks he builds it up in his head a lot but there just seems to be something behind his eyes, some nervousness about something Louis can’t put his finger on. Come on, he thinks, tell me.  

It’s like it’s always right there on the edge and sometimes Louis wishes he could reach forward and shake his shoulders, tell him to spit it out before he goes insane thinking he means something he doesn’t. One of these days maybe he’ll do that, but for now he sits in the silence and casts his hopeful gaze toward Harry’s apprehensive one, begging him with no words to just say it. 

“Do you want to get dinner out again?”  

And then that happens, and he reconsiders everything else.

Sighing, he collects his things and stands from the table, rubbing his eyes to rid himself of the strain from reading for so long. Harry tugs his bag over his shoulder before he can grab it himself, and they fall in step with each other on the way to the door. 

Just before they can leave, Harry’s taking his hand at the last second and tugging him toward the single person bathroom, a knowing smirk on his lips. Louis’ locking the door behind them just as Harry drops their things and pulls Louis into his space, backing them up against the counter. 

It’s to the point now where it’s so familiar that Louis already knows what to expect, knows that Harry likes his hair pulled just a bit when they kiss and the soft sigh he gives when they part. He knows Harry just like Harry knows him, knows where to touch on his hips that makes him go crazy and where to grab him by the back of his neck just enough to leave him a bit breathless. 

“Think I’d rather have this,” Louis whispers on an inhale. 

Hands cupping his face, Harry pulls back just enough to display his confused expression, lips and cheeks already rosy red like Louis’ sure his are as well. 

“Huh?” 

“You asked me if I wanted to get dinner,” Louis explains. 

“Fuck,” Harry curses. “That’s brilliant.” 

Louis’ muffled laughter dissolves into Harry’s open mouth as their teeth clink together. He reaches up to pull his hands through curly hair as nimble fingers make their way underneath his own waistband over his arse. He breaks away from Harry in the next breath, a smile on his lips and a pull in his lower stomach. 

Louis drops to his knees without another word. 

+

The afternoon before they leave for the wedding they meet Niall and Liam for lunch. Being busy with uni means not seeing them either, and it takes Louis too long to realize that he’s been sort of very wrapped up in his Harry-bubble for quite a while now. 

They’re already at a table when he and Harry walk in, and it doesn’t take long to find them. Niall’s obnoxious waving catches their eye right away. The first round of drinks have already been ordered for them, and they slide into the booth opposite Liam and Niall and slip off their jackets. 

Louis’ glad that even if they don’t see each other all the time, they never fail to fall back into a routine easily. Niall tells them about his classes and Liam butts in when he says something wrong and they bicker amongst themselves while he and Harry share secretive, amused smiles. It’s easy, and he appreciates that when everything else seems to be so hectic in their lives. 

By the time Liam’s finished talking about his most recent job offer, their drinks and appetizers have gone dry. Louis nudges Harry with a pouted lip, blinking his eyelashes exaggeratedly to get his way. 

Without even a complaint, he’s picking up Louis’ glass and asking the rest of them if they need anything else, headed to the bar for the refills. A fond smile on his lips, Louis laces his fingers together smugly and turns back to face his friends, trying to draw his eyes away from Harry’s retreating figure. 

“So are you guys heading out tomorrow night, or…?” Niall asks, scooping up the last of the chips and salsa and talking through his mouthful. “I know Lottie decided she wasn’t doing a rehearsal dinner or anything.” 

“Harry and I will probably head out a bit ahead of schedule,” Louis says. “We wanted to see the pool and spa first and check out the room.” 

“Yeah, I bet you did,” Niall huffs with a grin, the fact that he’d had several drinks before they showed up catching up with him. 

Liam clears his throat and appears to nudge him underneath the table, and Niall coughs around his bite of appetizer and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, raising a curious brow in Liam’s direction. 

“What are you talking about?” Louis mutters, glancing nervously back and forth between them. 

“Well, nothing, s’just that - y’know,” Liam rushes, fingers lifted from his lap in some sort of noncommittal shrug while he fishmouths, like he’s trying to fill the silence before Niall can. 

“We know there’s more to it, is all,” Niall finishes anyway.  

“I’m sorry,” Louis repeats defensively, “what’re you talking about?” 

Sighing, Niall leans forward onto the table further until he can speak more quietly, addressing Louis like he would a child. Meanwhile Louis can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, picking at his fingernails underneath the table. Liam stays silent, refusing to look in Louis’ direction. 

“It’s okay, Lou, really. Harry’s great, you guys have always been great together.” 

“Together?” Louis chokes. 

This time Niall tilts his head at him and smirks, as if he thinks this is somehow funny. Louis wipes the sweat from his palms onto his pants. Why is he so nervous? If it really meant nothing to him, there’s no reason he should be this worked up. 

“Louis,” Niall deadpans again, “it’s okay. We aren’t stupid. You guys have been even closer than usual, leaving early together, staying in more, being touchy. Liam and I are just proud you finally figured it out.” 

“Ni-” Liam starts, but Niall’s having none of it. He straightens up and smiles at Louis to underscore his point, taking another long swig of his drink even though he’s already had a bit much for the time of day. 

Hot anger rushes through Louis’ veins. How is it that everyone is able to peg exactly what he’s going to do before he does it - is he just that predictable? Harry knowing him so intimately has been a journey enough. Niall’s spot-on evaluation and Liam’s guilty, knowing eyes make his blood boil. Has Zayn noticed the same things? His classmates, the people around them at parties? 

It’s as if he wears his emotions on his face at all times, and he supposes, at least lately, maybe he has. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to butt in and tell him that they knew before he did. To act like he’s playing some kind of coy game by not telling them. 

His coffee order, his college course schedule, those are things they can speculate about. This thing with Harry is his . It’s private and just between them and for once Louis felt safe enough to be vulnerable with him but he hadn’t meant to be so transparent , for everyone else to know as well. 

Before it felt sacred, little moments stowed away and stored in his head, bits and pieces that would bring a private smile to his lips. Now it feels like everything’s laid out on the table, all of that vulnerability twisted for people to judge and critique. If Liam and Niall know, how many other people have picked up on it? How many times has Louis done something he thought was ‘friendly’ that everyone else saw right through? 

“Harry and I aren’t together,” he says. 

Liam’s eyes flicker up to his and even he has a sympathetic look on his face. Niall’s lips turn up on one side but he tries to hide it. 

“I mean it,” Louis reiterates. “Harry and I are just friends. Best friends.” 

“Lou, you don’t have to lie to us,” Liam says softly. “We won’t tell anyone-” 

“You guys are insane, ” Louis scoffs at them, gripping his drink tighter in his hands. 

“Louis, it’s not a big deal,” Niall shakes his head, “it’s alright.” 

“No - it isn’t really,” he raises his voice slightly, shaking with his frustration. “Even if we were it wouldn’t really be any of your business, but we aren’t. Harry and I have always been friends and that’s all we’ll ever be. I’m sorry you guys have this deluded idea of us in your head, but-” 

“He’s been helping you with the smoking thing, yeah?” Niall cuts him off, “C’mon, Lou.” 

Flushing even more red, Louis digs his fingernails into his thighs and fixes him with a sharp glare. “Yeah, he has. So what? It doesn’t mean I’m fucking in love with him,” he seethes. “I use him to get rid of the urge and that’s it.” 

Niall opens his mouth to say something else but promptly closes it when a tall shadow falls over the table. Liam and him look down at their hands and Louis gulps, keeping his gaze glued to the booth behind their heads. 

Shit. 

It takes him several moments before he can glance up at Harry’s face. When he does, he wants to cry, yell, and curl up into a ball all over again. 

Obviously he’s heard what Louis’ just said, and who else would he be talking about? Harry’s eyes are squinted the slightest bit and his mouth sits open like he’d been smiling before but isn’t now. Louis’ heart constricts painfully in his chest. 

“H,” he says. 

“I think,” Harry glances around the table slowly and then nods his head once, “I think I’m gonna head out.” 

“Wait, I’ll come with you-” Louis fumbles for his coat and keys but stops when Harry’s voice rings out again, louder. 

“No,” he says. 

The finalty in his tone has Louis freezing, unable to do anything as Harry grabs his own jacket from the outside of the booth and walks toward the exit, the drinks he’d gotten them sitting forgotten on the edge of the table. 

This time he watches Harry go without starting after him, a frown on his lips instead of a smile. This time he doesn’t watch the way he moves or picture how he would look next to him. 

No, this time he keeps his mouth shut. He sits alone on his side of the booth, feeling stupid and embarassed and a little bit unsteady. He stares at the door long after Harry walks out of it, and then stands and walks out as well with no idea what to do or how to fix what he’d so obviously just broken. 

+

In the hours that follow, Louis ignores Liam and Niall’s offers to go back to one of theirs and instead walks to the nearest supermarket just to get away, strolling aimlessly through the aisles. 

He talks himself in circles, wondering if Harry heard enough to truly make Louis guilty or not. Maybe he could spin it somehow, say that he was talking about someone else. Even though there is no one else. 

It would be no use anyway - Harry knows him too well. He’d see right through it if Louis tried to lie. 

So he knows he’s going to have to have another uncomfortable conversation but he’s still stalling, glancing anxiously down the displays, searching for something he can’t put his finger on. Twice he picks up a carton of milk only to put it back and walk away again. The nerves bubbling in his stomach make him nauseous. 

Harry’s his reprieve. When Louis’ nervous he goes to him, when he’s sad or happy or angry or anything. They’ve never said something really hurtful to each other and Louis doesn’t know what the rules are. 

And it’s not like he isn’t independent - Louis’ perfectly capable of taking care of himself. The issue is when he feels so guilty. That’s the part of him that’s begging him to go and apologize, to explain himself and, for once, take his pride out of the equation. 

He tugs on his sleeves and scuffs his shoe against the smooth concrete floor of the supermarket with a frown. It’s only when he makes it back around to the front entrance that he pauses, eyeing the wall behind the checkout. 

The shiny new packs of Marlboro cigarettes seem to call out to him, and Louis takes one step in that direction in some kind of trance. Then he shakes his head, turns back toward the exit, and books it all the way back to the apartment. No way he’s going to blow this whole no smoking thing now . He’s just going to have to get over himself and go talk to Harry. 

For as long as Louis’ known him he’s always been the most understanding person ever. They’ll talk and everything will probably be fine. So why does Louis still feel so existentially guilty ? 

Sliding his key from his pocket with a shaky hand, Louis unlocks the door and strolls into the apartment like he would normally. He catches Harry just before he turns down the hallway to the bedrooms, looking disappointed as if he hadn’t been fast enough in leaving the kitchen. Louis gulps. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he rushes, eyes flickering anywhere but Harry’s face. It’s nothing like the dramatic entrance and apology he’d had planned, but it’s out there now. 

“What do you mean,” Harry asks without an ounce of concern in his tone. “What’s the matter?” 

“You know-” Louis begins, then takes a deep breath. “We’re leaving for the wedding tomorrow and I really…” he swallows, “I really need a smoke.” 

Harry stares at him silently while Louis fidgets. He’s never been good at asking for the things he wants. And this time it isn’t just a ploy to get intimate with him, either. Louis’ genuinely anxious, fidgety and craving the release that nicotine used to provide for him. 

“I need…” 

Tapping his foot, Harry’s arms tighten and bulge across his chest impatiently. “What do you need, Louis?” 

“- You ,” he says. 

Without missing a beat, Harry addresses him. “Thought I was just something you were using to get rid of the urge,” he sniffs blankly, glancing down toward the ground between them. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, H. You know I didn’t. I just -” Louis sighs, trying to think of the right word. Harry cuts him off before he can. 

“No - you’re right. We shouldn’t be doing this anymore.” Harry pauses, huffs out a bitter laugh with a shake of his head and moves toward the couch leaving Louis alone in the entryway. “We never really should’ve done it in the first place.” 

He falls down onto the sofa and rubs his temples so hard Louis can see the skin become irritated. Furrowing his brows, he steps forward him determinedly. 

“What do you mean we shouldn’t have done it in the first place?” Louis pushes. “You enjoyed it just as much as I did, you can’t -”

“Of course I fucking enjoyed it, Louis, your mouth was on my dick and you’re not exactly unattractive,” he spits, cutting him off, harsh and out of character. 

Harry reaches forward after his outburst to grab the half empty glass of alcohol off of the coffee table in front of him, taking the rest of it down in one giant gulp. Louis winces at the noise when he slams it back down on the surface. 

He wishes Harry wouldn’t drink when they’re trying to have a civil conversation, but it’s just another clue that something else is going on here. What does Harry know that he doesn’t?  

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Louis says quietly. He’s not letting Harry avoid this one, no matter how many mind games he tries to play. 

Cursing underneath his breath, Harry runs a hand over his face and sighs. “I mean that I knew the risks of doing this with you and I should’ve known better. I knew that it would fuck with your psyche to get you attatched to me instead of to the cigarettes -” 

Defensive as always, Louis bristles. “Who said I was attached to you?” 

The smile that spread across Harry’s lips is melancholic, reminding Louis of several times in the past when they’d had similar conversations. Harry locks his jaw, a sinister twinkle in his eye as he stares hard at his empty glass. 

“That’s great,” Harry mutters. “It’s - you know what, Louis? That’s good. That’s good that you aren’t attached to me at all, really.” 

“It’s not like you wanted me to be,” Louis adds softly, the bite of his earlier anger fizzling out as the flesh of his lip catches between his teeth. 

Harry barks a quick laugh, “Yeah, because God forbid I did want you to.” 

Louis pauses, his eyes widening. There’s no way Harry’s suggesting what Louis thinks he is because surely he’d have noticed if Harry felt the same way. 

“But you can’t -” Louis shakes his head. “Why would you -”

“Because I fucking liked you, Louis,” Harry snaps, head swinging to meet his eye abruptly. He scoffs again and his hand tightens up on the glass until it turns white. “Sue me,” he bites, quieter. 

“I - what the fuck, Harry? Where is all of this coming from?” 

Head reeling, Louis blinks at him, unsure of what exactly he’s saying. Harry’s always been out of his league. They’ve been best friends and there was an imaginary line that was not to be crossed, a rulebook about people like Louis and people like Harry. Now everything feels suddenly flipped on its head, and Louis struggles to keep up. 

Harry seems to deflate some, his voice lowering. “Look, I - you weren"t supposed to find out, alright? It was just supposed to be a stupid crush but then the opportunity was there and you needed help and I thought -” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. 

Pushing aside his own feelings for a moment, Louis tries to consider things from Harry’s perspective. 

“So you just offered hoping that - that I would get psychologically attached to you and everything would work out?” he stutters, face morphing into a scowl and voice raising. “Do you know how fucked up that is?” 

He watches as Harry curses under his breath and trails off to the kitchen, presumably for more alcohol. Right behind him, Louis glares hard at his back, still at a loss for what he’s just admitted. 

First of all, they could have saved so much time. But second of all, the fact that he tried to trick him into it instead of just talking about it has Louis’ blood boiling, the guilt from his own words at the restaurant falling away like ashes as his anger toward Harry grows. 

“Normal people usually just talk to each other about what they’re feeling,” he adds. 

“ Oh ,” Harry exclaims sarcastically, a bright, tipsy fake smile on his face with his brows raised and eyes wide, “Oh, you want to talk . Tell me, Louis, how has that worked out for us in the past, hm? Since you’re always so eager to share your feelings.” 

Waving a bottle around in the air, Harry’s eyes take on a crazy edge, monitoring Louis’ every movement for his answer. Which, unfortunately, is nothing but a clenched jaw and watery eyes. He doesn’t trust his voice right now. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Harry scoffs, lowering the bottle to pour himself another glass.  

As it fills up to the brim Louis swallows back his emotions and clears his throat, not even feeling like raising his voice anymore. If Harry’s going to be immature, drink his problems away, and be a complete hypocrite, Lous won’t stop him. But he will point it out. 

“It doesn’t change the fact that you - you manipulated me.” 

The fight finally seems to drain out of him at that, Harry’s throat bobbing as he rests his head in his hands. His voice is low and rough when he speaks next. 

“I - I am sorry about that,” Harry whispers. “But it’s been so long, Louis. Watching you go out with those other guys and flirting with them and dancing and shit. I couldn’t - I just had to take the chance. I had to see what would happen. I tried to get over it but for so long but - I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Nodding in slow motion, Louis crosses his arms over his chest. He eyes the glass and Harry’s curved back as he wilts against the counter, his forehead creased and feet dragging the ground. He looks like he feels like shit. Good , Louis thinks. He does too. 

“Well, I hope you got what you wanted.” 

Harry’s pleas fall on deaf ears. Turning on his heel dramatically, he grabs for the door handle and yanks it open, slamming it hard behind him without looking back. Harry had no right to make him feel so guilty when he’d been practically playing him the entire time. Even if he had had feelings. 

Which - that opens a completely separate door. Louis skips the lift in his anger and runs down the stairs instead, huffing out irritated breaths through his nose. He jams the key into his car and gets in, pulling out and speeding down the road to the nearest convenience store in an angry blur. 

He’s frustrated. Really fucking frustrated, if he’s honest, because Harry having feelings for him was never part of the plan. And he’s too worked up now to see it as a good thing, too overwhelmed to realize that his formerly unrequited love is finally returned. Louis’ been so used to wanting Harry that he’d never even considered it’d be the other way around. Harry is lovely and charming and outgoing and so far out of his league and - 

That’s probably why Louis liked him in the first place, he realizes demurely. 

Maybe Harry’s assumptions about him hadn’t been all that far off. Louis’ always been attracted to guys that seemed unattainable at first, that were into playing hard to get and that kept him on his toes. If he pretended they never wanted him, he would never have to approach his issues with intimacy and relationships. He’s wonderful at playing the part of the guy in the corner, pining intentionally for people that will never want him back and then complaining about it later on to anyone who might listen. 

But - Harry does , is the thing. He does want him back, apparently. 

Swerving off of the side of the road into the parking lot, Louis pulls in and leaves the car parked sideways in the spot. He yanks the keys back out and kills the engine, grabbing his lighter and wallet and marching up to the entrance of the store. 

“Pack of Marlboro’s,” Louis mumbles to the clerk, slapping the money down on the counter in front of him, the price long since memorized. 

Usually they ask him his specific preference but the guy seems to realize that he’s upset, grabbing for the closest pack of Marlboro’s and sliding them across the counter, putting the cash into the machine and not bothering to wave as Louis storms back outside. 

He pulls the lighter from his pocket and leans up against the cool brick. It’s freezing outside, the beginnings of a storm Louis remembers hearing vaguely about on the news this morning rolling in over his head. Every few seconds a cold droplet lands on his cheek and he flinches. 

Opening up the pack of cigarettes, he takes one out and sets the rest of them down on the bench next to where he’s standing. Louis watches the lighter flicker to life, setting the cigarette between his lips and drawing it up toward his face. 

This is it, then. This is weeks of trying to quit down the drain. Louis chuckles to himself. He supposes it’s fine, since everything with Harry had been just as artificial. It’ll be a ceremonious ending, all things considered. Alone, just like he was in the first place. 

He tongues at it while it balances between his lips, going cross eyed as he watches the lighter pull closer and closer. It’s beginning to rain now, actual consistent sprinkles, and he’s got to hurry or it’ll put it out altogether before he’s even lit it. 

Just one breath away and he’d be inhaling that sweet feeling he used to be so hooked to. Lottie would probably never even know. There isn’t anyone watching him - Louis could smoke this cigarette, could smoke the entire pack and not a soul would find out. There would be no consequences. 

But - but stupid Harry and his stupid mind games have him second guessing himself. He already knows he doesn’t need to smoke. If that weren’t true, Harry’s method wouldn’t have worked on him either. No one else would know if he smoked, but Louis would. 

Ripping the cigarette from his mouth and throwing it to the ground, he stomps on it for good measure though it hadn’t even been lit until it"s just a soggy, small pile of soot on the concrete. Subtle, rolling thunder sounds above his head, the sky lighting up quickly with a bolt of sharp lightning before it settles with soft raindrops once again. 

Louis hates himself for buying them. For walking in there knowing what he was doing, for letting it get so far before he said no. 

But, more than anything else, he hates that Harry was right. Louis tosses the pack of cigarettes into the bin beside him but grips the lighter more tightly in his hand as stubborn tears begin to fill his eyes. 

He holds it up in front of his face and flicks it on, exhaling as he watches the flame dance higher and higher until the rain puts it out again, the light in his eyes fading along with it. 

+

Louis’ always hated fighting with Harry. It doesn’t happen often, if ever, and he can’t even really remember what the last one was about. But he remembers how quickly the atmosphere changes, how cold the apartment feels when they don’t talk. 

It’s so quiet that Louis can hear their neighbors walking as he stuffs several changes of clothes into his suitcase, fumbling with the zipper until it finally pulls closed. He and Harry were supposed to drive down together, but when Louis came home early this morning after staying at Zayn’s for the night, it was clear the flat was empty and Harry decided to leave early - without him. It feels exceptionally more lonely than he’d thought. So much for the fun roadtrip they’d had planned, he muses. 

He’d pictured a lot for this weekend. He’d dreamt of him and Harry sharing a hotel room, of hazy mornings with slow kisses and languid movements. He could nearly envision Harry’s face when he came back after the wedding to Louis naked in that same bed, ready to finally end all of the tension that’s been between them for years now and take everything to the next level. 

None of that will be happening. If Harry was angry enough to leave without him, Louis’ sure he’s already probably at the hotel, already unpacking in a new, separate room. Louis’ surprised he still even wanted to go , but he and Lottie have always been oddly close. 

It’ll probably come up at some point but he hopes Lottie stays distracted with wedding prep and doesn’t look too closely at their awkward behavior. Then again, his entire family knows Harry. If Lottie doesn’t catch on, someone’s bound to. 

Regardless, he makes it to the hotel by sometime that afternoon. The ride down hadn’t been the fun road trip he’d pictured but he makes the best of it. Or, really he just sits in complete silence the entire time except for once when he stops to use the restroom and has to talk to the cashier to thank them when he’s checking out, a bag of Cheetos and an energy drink in his hands. It’s less than exciting. 

By the time he reaches his destination, the GPS startles him when it closes the application as he gets out of the car. He gets his heavy luggage out by himself and fumbles with it until it finally stands upright, blushing as several of the valet staff members step forward to offer him help. Sighing, Louis runs a hand down the front of his shirt and hands off his keys, rolling the luggage into the marbled front entrance of the resort. 

He still feels kind of numb when he approaches the front desk to check in. Twice he has to clear his throat before his voice comes out loudly enough to say hello. 

“Hello, checking in?” At Louis’ nod, she glances down at the computer. “Name?” 

“Styles,” Louis tells her, watching her type it into the system with disappointed eyes. 

Lottie told them beforehand that the wedding suite had to be booked under Tomlinson because someone else had already booked under their new last name, so he and Harry would have to use Styles instead. It wasn’t going to be a big deal. 

The reminder hurts more than he’d expected it to. 

“Here you go, Mr. Styles,” she chirps, handing him the room keys. “It looks like you’re all set, but please don’t hesitate to call us if you have any issues.” 

Nodding politely, Louis takes the card and heads to the lift, dragging his suitcase close behind him. He already feels exceptionally lonely. 

It isn’t like there aren’t people to talk to - his entire family is here. But they’re all a bit too invested in his life and they’d surely pick up on his sour attitude. He considers scoping out the pool or the spa like they’d been planning to, but he doesn’t want to make things awkward if Harry already decided to do the same. If Harry even still came, he muses worriedly. 

Either way, he’s made it very clear that he doesn’t want to see Louis at the moment. Louis guesses it’s the least he can do right now to respect his wishes, most of the anger from last night absent now, deep melancholy in its place. He supposes both of them fucked up on some level, but he doesn’t really know how to go about apologizing. 

Because that’s what he’s going to have to do, most likely. Harry is bright and personable and forgiving until someone hurts his feelings, and then he shuts down. Louis’ only ever seen him like that maybe once before with an old friend from first year, and Harry never talked to the guy again. Louis shivers at the possibility that that might be him if he doesn’t handle this correctly. 

The room is cold when he walks into it and stands his suitcase up next to the entrance. Crossing his arms to warm himself up, he stalks over to the thermostat to turn it up several notches. Usually he likes being just a little bit cold because Harry notices and gives him a cuddle, but right now he doesn’t have that option. 

He’s already made up his mind that their fighting was stupid and he knows if he apologizes, Harry will too. It’s just the problem of getting him to hear him out, getting him alone that Louis’ struggling with. 

Harry’s smart and stubborn and firm and Louis’ none of those things, chasing what he wants blindly, regardless of consequences, not thinking before he speaks. Word vomit has never landed him where he wanted to be, but it may be his only viable option here. 

Shoulders slumped, he marches back over to the door to lock it again and takes his luggage over to the bed, letting it thud against the ground with nothing to lean against anymore. He doesn’t bother picking it up. 

Instead, he shuffles backward until his knees hit the edge of the mattress, falling onto it as the world spins around him. When he opens his eyes he’s staring at the popcorn pattern of the ceiling, the position doing nothing for his nervous stomach ache. 

Fumbling around beside him, he picks up his phone that’d slipped out of his pocket and clicks the screen until it lights up. This time tomorrow, Lottie will be getting married. He’ll be walking her down the aisle and pretending that nothing else is wrong while he tries to avoid Harry’s curly head in the seats. It’s going to be impossible. 

He switches over to his text messages and opens a new one for Lottie, letting her know that he’s checked in and having an early night before tomorrow. She sends back a quick thumbs up and he reads it but doesn’t respond. 

Louis clicks off of her contact and over to Harry’s, the contact name and picture causing Louis’ mouth to twist downward again. His thumb hovers over the call button and for a second he feels brave enough to press it. 

Then he locks it, waits for the screen to turn black before he tosses it somewhere else in the sheets, and tries to fall asleep even though it’s only half past six. 

+

Both fortunately and unfortunately, he doesn’t manage to find Harry before the wedding. 

It’d been a long and mostly sleepless night, and when he finally managed to keep his eyes closed for more than a few minutes it was light outside again and Lottie was calling him down for breakfast before she went to get ready. 

His withdrawal symptoms mixed with the anxiousness from everything else going on had him wide-eyed and tossing and turning in the stiff bedding, his limbs falling asleep from his awkward positions. More than once he’d been tempted to call room service and order one of everything on the menu but he’d tampered it down, only to bite at his own lips and fingers until they were a red, half-bloody mess. His stomach still aches and so does his head, a dull throbbing bouncing back and forth in his temples. 

Even so, breakfast goes somewhat alright. Lottie is too occupied with her own stress and obligations to do much but eat before she’s got to go again, bidding Louis’ a short goodbye and promising to see him in a bit. 

All things considered, Louis probably should have tried to take a nap with his free time. He hadn’t been invited to any of the groomsmen activities just like Harry, and he wonders where he is right now, if he’s exploring the city or swimming or just sitting alone in his hotel room, half as miserable as Louis’ been since he’s last seen him. 

So he spends his time walking around the carpeted hallways and thinking about Harry instead. He walks until his feet hurt and still doesn’t come across him anywhere, not in the spa or the lounge either, so he gives up and goes back up to his room to get dressed. Louis knows he is here, because he’d caved and subtly asked Lottie if she’d seen him around. Apparently he’d already stopped by to talk to her the day before. 

A shower seems too difficult but is much needed, so Louis strips and gets in before the water has even turned hot. He washes his hair and face with the fancy soaps they’d provided for him, shaped like seashells but providing him little amusement. Eventually they get too wet under the water and rest still in his palm, just smooth useless blobs without their shape. 

He towels off and steps into the room, unzipping his suitcase to get to the suit he’d folded the afternoon prior and cursing himself for not hanging it up in the closet when he arrived so it wouldn’t be wrinkled. Luckily it doesn’t look too bad when he lays it out on the small sofa in front of him, only creasing in a few places. 

Smoothing them the best he can, Louis’ lower lip wobbles. This is supposed to be such a happy day and he’s ruined all of it. Struck by a fit of frustration, he promises himself that he isn’t going to let Lottie know about any of this. It’s her day, and the last thing she needs to worry about is he and Harry’s non-relationship relationship problems. 

Determined, he slips the suit on and takes a few minutes to mess with his hair until he thinks it looks right, running his eyes over his reflection in the long mirror near the door. The bags underneath his eyes haven’t lessened much from this morning and his posture is slouched halfway over. Rolling his shoulders back and slapping his own cheeks a few times to wake himself up, he jumps when the alarm on his phone goes off. 

Louis retrieves it from the bed, noting the reminder to head downstairs for a quick rundown of what’s going to happen before the actual wedding. He’s glad they decided not to do the traditional rehearsal the night before because he doesn’t know what he’d have done if Harry’d been there. Or if he hadn’t. 

Slipping his room key into his pocket, he shuts the door behind him and catches the lift to the lobby. The venue they’ve chosen is a few miles away and he’ll have to catch a cab so he won’t have to bother with his car. Luckily the valet team has some lined up when he steps out into the night air, prepared for all of the members of the wedding party. 

Within the next fifteen minutes he steps out at the tall white building, decorated with lush greenery and white flowers, just the way Lottie’s wanted it since she was a little girl. Despite the circumstances, Louis smiles a bit at the memories. 

“Louis!” 

Several of his younger siblings dart toward him as soon as he enters and wrap around his waist and legs, nearly pushing him over with the force of it. His smile widens as tears prick behind his eyes. 

“I’ve missed you guys so much,” he says, bending to wrap his arms around all of them. 

“We’ve missed you too,” Phoebe says. “Now, c’mon! You’ve got to see Lottie.” 

Each of his other sisters lead the way while Louis takes the hands of the younger twins, walking at their pace to the bridal suite where Lottie’s getting ready. 

He gives a short knock on the wooden door when they stop walking, waiting for her to tell him it’s alright to come in. The rest of his siblings seem to sense the heaviness of the moment, staying back while Louis begins to turn the handle. 

Eyes trailing around the small decorated room, Louis gasps when he sees her. Her dress is beautiful like he knew it would be, her veil over her shoulders and flowers matching the decor pinned in her blonde hair. She looks like their mother did in her own wedding photos. 

“Oh, Lotts,” he huffs, grinning even as tears make their way down his cheeks. 

“How do I look?” she asks softly, her expression mirroring Louis’. 

Shaking his head, he laughs and steps forward to wrap her in a tight hug, careful not to mess up any part of her outfit or makeup. 

“You look amazing,” Louis tells her, pulling away. “I - I’m so happy for you, Lotts.” 

“I’m happy for me too,” she whispers with a smile, squeezing his hand. 

“Stop crying, you’ll mess up your makeup,” Louis runs his thumbs gently underneath her eyes to dry the moisture, her laughter echoing around them. 

Everything inside of him is warring with itself, half extraordinarily happy for his sister and her future and half overwhelmingly anxious for his own. Either way, he’s got to get a handle on himself. In less than two hours he’ll be walking her down the aisle, and he’ll have to have his best face forward. Partially because Harry will be in the crowd, but mostly because he owes that much and more to Lottie. 

“You ready to head out?” he asks quietly, looping an arm through hers as she takes one last look in the mirror. 

She finds Louis’ gaze in the reflection and smiles, nodding her head once. Then she squeezes his hand and her shoulders relax, her head held high and brows level. “I’m ready,” she says. 

Louis wishes he had half of her unwavering confidence. 

+

He cries. Once when they first step out and another time when he gives her away, and then again when they’re finished with their vows. And even then he can’t seem to stop his sniffling when everyone disperses to go inside and resume the festivities. He sits alone at a table in the far corner, talks intermittently with his siblings who stop by to try to keep him included, and keeps an eye on Harry the entire afternoon. 

The maid of honor and best man make speeches that have the small crowd clutching their stomachs with laughter but Louis can’t seem to make himself join in. He picks nervously at the corner of the fancy napkin and moves some food around on his plate as they work through the customary wedding checklist. 

His eyes are still red-rimmed when Lottie finally makes her way through greeting everyone and thanking them for coming, ending up at his table toward the back. She sighs and sits down in the empty chair next to him. 

“What are you planning on doing the rest of the night,” she asks, “got any exciting plans? I hear the guys are going out.” 

Eyes flicking over to where Harry’s won over all of Louis’ old hometown friends and some of his cousins, Louis doesn’t want to think about all of them going out after this. He shakes his head and shrugs. 

“Nothing much. I’ll probably just go back to the hotel, honestly,” he says. 

Louis stares hard at the white of her dress as he forces himself not to cry again, the table of guys across the room leaving - Harry leaving - without a single glance backward. 

“Really?” Lottie pushes, following his gaze, “You aren’t going with Harry?” 

There have been many moments in Louis’ life where he’d had to bottle up his emotions. He’d dodge personal questions and say he’s tired when it’s really much more than that, but all of that was okay because he could just go home and vent to Harry. He can’t do that tonight. Harry’s probably going out with the rest of them to celebrate because why would he stay behind for Louis? For someone that claimed he wasn’t anything more than a distraction? 

So he cries again. Not at first, though. He jerks up his shoulder in a tense shrug and looks away from Lottie at the people mingling toward the front of the room. Then he nods, because he doesn’t have anything else to do, and when Lottie asks him again he can’t hold it in any longer. 

His lower lip wobbles and he winces, hurriedly wiping at his eyes. When Lottie hugs him he sobs loudly and clutches onto her arms, his face buried in her shoulder so she won’t see him cry. 

“Lou, hey - it’s me. Tell me what’s wrong,” she says. 

“No,” Louis shakes his head, pulling back and using his sleeve to wipe at his face again. “No, it’s - today is your day. I shouldn’t be - like this. I’m so happy for you.” 

“You’re right, it is my day. And what I want is for you to tell me what’s wrong ,” Lottie says firmly, then softens when his lower lip trembles once more. “Is it Harry?” 

It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to even his breathing and lower his heart rate from his upset, only managing one more terse nod in her direction because he doesn’t trust his own voice. 

“Oh, Lou,” she hums. 

“I think I fucked up,” he begins suddenly. “Or, well, we both fucked up, but - I’m the reason he isn’t talking to me.” Louis pauses once more to resume fumbling with the napkin, throwing it back down onto the table frustratedly a moment later. “I mean, you’re married now, yeah? Surely you know something about relationships,” he chuckles desperately. “What do I do, Lotts?” 

“What do you mean, what do you do?” She narrows her eyes, “You go and apologize.” 

“But - but we were both wrong,” he argues, still clinging to that last bit of his pride. 

“And knowing Harry, he’ll apologize too. But it isn’t like him to avoid you, so you must’ve done something to hurt his feelings. You guys have been so attached to each other from the day you met that it’s weirding me out to see you apart.” Staying silent for a moment to take in her words, Louis knows she’s right. It’s just working up the courage to actually talk to him that’s making him so nervous. “I know it’s not necessarily a relationship yet, but if he’s worth it to you you’ve both got to put in the effort.” 

It’s a shitty excuse, he knows, but he can’t help wanting Harry to just know. He’s always just known, known the way Louis acts when he’s sad or mad or happy or whatever he’s feeling. But now it’s the other way around and Louis’ so troubled about it he can’t seem to think straight. 

Maybe this time it’s him that has to know what he’s supposed to do here - go and initiate the conversation even if it’s one he isn’t too keen on having in the first place. 

“It’s you guys,” Lottie stresses. Yeah , Louis thinks, he’s been hearing that a lot lately. He still doesn’t understand exactly what it means. 

Everyone around them seems to have faith though, which gives him some comfort. They’ve made it through everything this far, haven’t they? They’ve walked down that fine line long enough. 

And Louis’ scared. It’s to the point now where he can’t pretend anymore that he doesn’t have feelings, can’t hide in that comfortable grey area that he loves so much. This entire thing is Harry letting him figure that out for himself, and piecing together how he’s going to go about coping with it. This is something he’s going to have to work through himself before he lays it all on Harry. 

So, he guesses that leaves him with one question: is he ready? If he goes after Harry one of two things will happen, he’s fairly certain. Either Louis will admit he feels the same way and they’ll try out this whole relationship thing that everyone thinks they’ve been in for a long time anyway, or he’ll keep running from what he wants just because he’s unfamiliar with the idea of someone actually returning his love, and both of them leave just as miserable as they are now. 

He says two options only because he can’t see them coming back from this unscathed. He’s never wanted to be only friends with Harry, really, and now that everything’s out on the table he isn’t sure if he can just pretend it isn’t, isn’t sure if he wants to anymore. 

“Go get him, Louis,” she murmurs, her cheeks raising slightly with her smile. 

Blinking at her, he nods a final time, this time certain of what he’s going to do. Leaning forward, Louis wraps her in a tight hug as a silent thank you. Then he takes a deep breath, stands, and heads for the door. 

+

Louis goes out to the patio first. He finds his other siblings by the buffet and asks them if they’ve seen Harry and they say he left with the group of guys he’d seen earlier in the night. They say they don’t know where when Louis pushes further for a location. 

So he goes back to his table for his phone next, texting one of the groomsmen he’d happened to already have the number for from a long time ago. It takes nearly fifteen minutes until he gets an answer, all of which Louis paces up and down the empty walkway between the chairs. When his phone finally buzzes, the only text is a single address for a bar downtown. Louis hails a cab and heads that way. 

They don’t get far once they pull out onto the highway. Everyone is leaving the wedding so the main road out had been just as congested, cars backed up all the way to the entrance to the venue. Cursing, Louis takes several deep breaths to calm himself and tries to stay calm. 

It takes nearly a full hour to get across town to the address, for which Louis compulsively checks his phone every few minutes in between. When they finally pull to a stop he throws open the door with so much force it squeaks on its hinges. 

He hasn’t really thought much about what he’s going to say but Harry always seems to know before he does anyway, so surely he’s expecting Louis. That thought is comforting at the very least, and he clings to it as he tosses some cash at the driver and hurries toward the entrance of the bar. 

The bouncer stops him for ID and Louis thinks about throwing a fit but figures it’d be faster, and less guilty-looking if he just shows him. So he spends another few minutes digging that from his wallet before he’s allowed in, fluorescent street lights giving way to darker, more intimate lamps inside. 

Louis squints and glances around for familiar faces, straining on his tip-toes to see if he can recognize them. He’s made a full round of the place by the time he reaches the table in the back, a bunch of the groom’s party downing shots. 

“Louis!” several of them shout when he approaches. 

Instead of indulging them he dodges their sweaty hugs and clears his throat, trying to speak over the yelling and the background music. 

“Have you guys seen Harry?” 

“Nope, sorry mate,” one of them says. 

As Louis turns to leave with a curse on his lips, another calls out to him, “I think he said he didn’t feel well so he probably went back to the hotel.” 

Wasting no time in sticking around, he spins on his heel and for the exit once again. The bouncer gives him a look but doesn’t say anything as he pushes his way back out, only to find the taxi gone. The cars are still bumper-to-bumper in traffic and Louis doesn’t see another one in sight anyway. 

He pulls his phone from his pocket and inputs the hotel into his GPS, switching the setting to walking instead of driving. 49 minutes , it says. Louis gulps. Challenge accepted. 

Keeping the map open, he tries to read the sign at the end of the street and takes a left like it says he should. At the corner he still has to wait for the walk signal to turn green even though there isn’t anyone driving there right now. Just as he’s convinced himself to go anyway it turns, and he jogs across the designated walkway. 

Once he gets to the other side he doesn’t slow down. Louis jogs three blocks straight before he has to wait for another light, then flat out runs across that one. 

He steps onto the curb and glances back down at the GPS when it buzzes. Rerouting , it says. 

“What? No, no ,” he mumbles, tapping frantically at the screen. “Come on .” 

The route it shows him isn’t as neat as the old one. This time it points him in the direction of the hotel and says that it’ll get him there much quicker, but it takes him all the way back around the way he came in order to get to the right road. 

Biting his lip, Louis glances up at the stream of unmoving cars in front of him. If he can get to the other side of this main road he’ll be able to skip the mess of backstreets he’d have to walk down. 

His legs start moving before he can think it through. He steps off the curb again and his eyes widen when he sees how close he is to one of the vehicles, bile rising in his throat. Still he keeps moving, checking one last time that everything is still before he steps confidently out in between the cars. 

It’s a four lane road on both sides and Louis doesn’t think he’s been this nervous in his life and there are people honking at him to get off the road and oh God , is he going to get arrested ? He can’t go to jail on Lottie’s wedding day. 

The traffic doesn’t seem to care that he’s on a mission to confess his all-consuming feelings of love, a cacophony of car horns blasting as he makes it to the middle and hops over the median. 

The bright headlights blur his vision with the darkness of the night around him, but he blinks harder and tries to keep focused on the barely visible opposite side of the road in front of him, strutting forward with nervous intent. He rips part of the leg of his nice slacks in the process but there isn’t time to mourn them. Louis shakes his head and doubles his speed. 

He’s celebrating avoiding death once he finally steps onto the sidewalk on the other side of the road, laughing once happily as he reopens his phone. It takes him too long to realize that the screen is wet, and that his hands are wet, and that there’s a steady beat of rain pelting down on his back. He’d felt so much adrenaline he hadn’t even noticed the thunder overhead. 

“ Shit ,” he curses, hiding the phone inside of his jacket to keep it dry. 

After rerouting again, the time has dropped down to ten minutes. Louis grins despite the circumstance and starts jogging again. He’s only another two and a half blocks away from the hotel. If Harry isn’t there either Louis will just take it as a sign to give up. 

But not until then. He can’t afford to give up now. 

It might’ve been nice if Harry’d just been at the venue earlier and Louis’d caught him before he left, but this works too. Why should any of it be easy for them? It certainly hasn’t been this far. 

Louis takes the turn closest to the hotel and his phone blinks twice and promptly dies in his hand. Exhaling dramatically, he pockets it, pulls his jacket over his head, and runs the rest of the way until he makes it to the front entrance still lit up with hanging tree lights. 

Blinking to get the raindrops off of his lashes, Louis pushes through the double doors like he’s seen people do in movies before, adrenaline still coursing through him so much that he feels electric despite the rain and the ache in his legs. 

Bingo . Everyone is here. Even the guys from the bar, somehow, gathered around with drinks in their hands as they float around Lottie and Tommy. And there, right in the middle of it all, is Harry. 

When he sees Louis his face darkens and he sets his champagne down on a nearby table, and Louis can see him make a beeline for the lifts. 

“Harry, wait,” he says, tripping as he trails water over the nice floor to chase after him. 

“I don’t feel like doing this right now, Louis,” he mutters, turning around for only a second, nervous and trying to keep quiet. “We’ll talk when we get home tomorrow.” 

He turns his back again and Louis’ heart drops into his stomach at the sight of him walking away. Desperate to make him listen, Louis says the first thing he can think of. 

“I love you,” Louis yells, much louder than he’d really meant to but genuine all the same. 

Harry turns slowly back in his direction and a hush begins to fall over the wedding crowd gathered in the lobby. Louis blushes but pays them no mind, keeping his eyes on Harry’s face. 

He glances around them and then back toward Louis, and for the first time ever he looks like Louis’ surprised him. Like for once he hadn’t seen this coming. 

To be honest, Louis hadn’t either. It spurs him on. 

“What are you doing?” Harry grits quietly, still fake half-smiling regretfully at the other onlooking guests. 

“There’s a lot that I’ve never told you before. And now might not be the best time to do that but,” Louis pauses to shake his head at the ground, mustering up all of his strength. “I don’t care. You deserve to hear it.” 

There’s too much space between them but Louis’ voice carries through the wide open lobby, broadcasted for everyone to hear. Taking one last deep breath, he doesn’t try to continue reconciling it in his head before he just goes with his gut, looking Harry directly in the eye. 

“I wanted you from the moment I met you. That night when you asked me if I wanted to move in together. Right after you told me I had good teeth,” Louis laughs abruptly, the memory too much in his head not to. Harry clears his throat and pretends to fix his jacket self-consciously across the lobby from him as Louis rambles on. “I thought you were insane. And I thought it was gonna be the start of something so, so good.” 

He pictures the people they were then and the ones they are now, how much they’ve grown and changed over the years together. It hurts him to think of all of that going down the drain because of something he’d said, to think of them slowly transitioning back into strangers. 

“It was, in some ways,” he continues. “You’re my best friend, Haz. Always. I still wanted more but I knew you didn’t and so for a long time I just - pretended. You meant too much to me to make things awkward between us.” 

Louis’ brain scrambles to keep up with him but his mouth is moving too fast, blurting out things before he can think them through fully. Everyone is still watching them and Harry’s still twitching nervously, glancing between them and Louis, and Louis thinks he sees someone raising their phone to film them but he can’t be bothered to check. 

“And then recently we - well, you know what happened. And all of those feelings came rushing back. You know I’ve never been good with letting people in but that’s no excuse,” he mutters. “Sometimes it just - it feels like you know me too well. Like you know what I’m going to do before I do it. And that scares me,” Louis sniffs again, nodding with wide eyes. “ You scare me. You always have. But still, you never quite figured out how I felt, did you?” 

Harry’s gaze drops to the linoleum below him in response. Louis’ always been too busy thinking no one would ever want him back to realize how Harry felt, but had Harry not been guilty of the same thing? Too preoccupied with his own insecurities to believe that Louis might feel the same? 

“It’s okay. I suppose we were both stupid. There’s things we both should apologize for but - I should never have said that you were just a distraction. That was so shitty of me and it’s so far from the truth. I don’t even have an excuse for it,” Louis huffs, frustrated with himself. “I was just scared again. Of what people would think, of what you felt or what you didn’t feel. I’m not good at being the bigger person. At being vulnerable. I think that’s why I’ve always been drawn to you is because I don’t have to say it out loud - you just always know .” 

As he says it the realization dawns on him. Maybe it isn’t only because Harry seemed unattainable. Maybe it’s just because, regardless of whatever psychoanalytic bullshit Harry spews to him about attraction, they just fit. Finishing each other’s sentences and filling in each other’s blanks - it’s always been that way with him. So easy, and yet they keep making it so difficult for themselves. Maybe it isn’t some great complex theory - maybe it’s just them. 

“But I - I’m glad that I’m doing this actually, because I’m so much more afraid of losing you for good than I am to just tell you how I feel. I don’t - I don’t think I can live without you, Harry.” 

This time when he looks up Harry seems conflicted, lips twitching like he wants to reassure Louis but he isn’t sure if he can. There’s still the slightest bit of hesitance in his eyes and Louis’ shoulders drop. It’s now or never, he supposes. 

“You’re the absolute most boring person at parties. You ramble too much and you’re such a freak. You always have to sleep on the left side of the bed and I have no idea why. When you nag me about what I eat I want to slap you,” Louis lists. “You’re so - so weird and so perfect and I can’t imagine being this close with anyone else and I-” 

Louis gulps and tastes the words on his tongue before he says them, his speech coming full circle. If there was any doubt before, he hopes Harry hears him loud and clear now. Believes him. 

“I love you.” 

His hands are shaking. Louis feels like a weight has been taken off of his shoulders, years of hiding it gone down the drain. He feels relieved and also a bit like he might throw up, nervous knots in his stomach as he waits, suspended in the middle of the open floor as he waits to see what’s going to happen. He swallows, his face stuck in a permanent grimace. 

“So, this is everything I never told you. Just - just in case you wanted to know.” 

Nodding to himself, Louis scuffs his feet along the floor when the silence draws on. He’d been on a roll before, emotional and desperate to get it off of his chest, but now he feels a bit foolish. He’s in front of his entire family - if Harry rejects him he’ll never hear the end of it. But while he’s still thinking about it - 

“Oh, and - and you have really fucking good teeth.” 

Louis laughs wetly, his sudden tears blurring his ability to see him clearly anymore. The other people watching faded away a long time ago, even though the nerves heighten his senses. It takes a moment to be able to swallow around the tears in his throat but he does, using the back of his hand to wipe away one that falls down his cheek quickly. 

Harry stares at him for a long moment, his mouth open and his jacket still clutched in one hand. It seems like everything happens in slow motion. 

The jacket drops to the ground as it slips out of Harry’s grasp. Squeaky, obnoxious, familiar boots start toward him, gaining speed as they get closer. Louis gulps as Harry doesn’t let up, as he stalks determinedly forward. Frozen on his feet in the middle of the lobby, Louis can only watch until he’s right in front of him, until he’s close enough to touch. 

It’s so silent that Louis can hear both of their heartbeats in his ears. When he opens his mouth to say something, no sound comes out. 

Instead, he gets the taste of Harry"s lips. Almost immediately warm hands frame his face and his head is tilted backwards, his arms tangling around Harry’s waist and gripping the fabric of his dress shirt tightly. 

Vaguely he registers the sound of cheering but he can’t bring himself to pull away to acknowledge it. Harry’s tongue is warm and wet and perhaps a bit too much for someone else’s wedding reception but no one stops them. Louis’ going to have to send the happy couple a very nice gift. 

For a few moments longer he savors the feeling, the warmth of Harry around him and the idea that maybe he feels the same way. Louis doesn’t think he’d kiss him in front of everyone like this if he didn’t. 

Harry breaks away from him with an exhale, their heads still pressed together and bodies much the same. When his neck gets tired Louis rests his head against Harry’s chest and finally, finally lets himself relax. 

Louis half-laughs and half-sobs into his shirt, trying to catch his breath. Still Harry doesn’t let go, keeps his face buried in Louis’ neck and inhales. He’s always loved rom-coms, the sap, and if Louis doesn’t get credit for this for the rest of their lives he’s going to be proper upset. 

He blushes at his own thought, tilting his head back up to press his lips into Harry’s chin. 

“Are we okay?” Louis whispers, safe between them and away from still-prying eyes and ears. 

“Yeah,” Harry nods, his mouth twitching into a soft smile as he presses their foreheads together again, “we’re perfect.” 

He runs his thumb over Louis’ cheek and kisses him deeply once more, pecking his lips once, twice afterward before pulling back. He twines their fingers together and turns outward, lifting their joined hands as the rest of them resume their cheering. 

It’s stupid and adorable and Louis hates it but loves him and the adrenaline is still very much rushing through his veins. He squeezes his grip and grins out at the crowd that’s gathered, some people who aren’t even with their party celebrating with them. His cheeks burn from his smile. 

“Can we go back to your room now, please?” Louis leans in to him once people begin to converse among themselves again, cheeks flushed and excited. 

“Hell yeah, we can,” Harry growls playfully. 

He spins on his heel and pulls Louis’ hand in the direction of the lift. They make it halfway there before they’re stopped again. 

“Not so fast,” Lottie says, a quick hand on his arm. 

Guiltily, Louis meets her eye. “Lotts, I’m so sorry-” he starts. 

“Don’t you dare apologize for this,” she says. “This is the best wedding gift you could’ve given me, I promise,” she grins. “I just stopped you because I have one last surprise.” 

He and Harry make hesitant eye contact as their brows dip inward, Louis’ mind running with what else she could be talking about. 

“Tommy and I decided a few days ago to leave for the honeymoon tonight instead of staying here. We called and asked the hotel to cancel our room but they said they couldn’t rebook on such short notice, so technically it’s still reserved under our name.” 

She pulls her bag off of her shoulder and rifles through it for a second, pulling out a sleek black key card and holding it out to them. 

“The honeymoon suite is all yours if you want it,” she says. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Louis glances at her, “I-” 

“Thanks, Lottie,” Harry says, swiftly pocketing the card in his dress pants. 

With a bubbling laugh Louis grins at him, then blushes. He turns back to thank Lottie but she stops him again with a hand in the air. 

“Don’t thank me. You deserve this, Louis. Both of you do,” her face turns serious, her eyes softer. “I’m just happy you both finally figured it out.” 

“He can be kind of slow,” Harry agrees. Louis pinches his nipple. “ Ow . It’s okay, baby. We’re all a little slow sometimes.” 

Harry starts pinching his cheeks and Lottie grimaces, patting them both on the arm. “Ugh, okay, you two. I’m off. Harry, don’t propose until I get back!” 

Louis sputters at her and watches her leave, everyone waving their goodbyes as they get into the limousine parked out front. Just as someone comes around to shut the door, Lottie glances up at him one last time, a comfortable smile on her face, leaving Louis with a wink, a wave, and sweet, sweet hope for the future. 

+

Louis may very well be addicted to Harry and it’s got nothing to do with any nicotine or peculiar psychological techniques. 

It does however, have everything to do with his lips and his wandering hands, his words spoken low in Louis’ ear until he shivers. Louis’ pretty much putty in his big palms, hopeless as he stumbles through the door to the suite, eyes closed and depending on Harry to get him to the bed. 

He can barely breathe but he refuses to split from Harry’s lips anyway, grasping at any part of him he can reach. They hit the wall next to the bathroom and the closet door, the sofa and coffee table in the middle of the room. Louis hisses when his hip bumps into the dresser but even that doesn’t stop them, Harry’s tongue delving further into his mouth. 

“Mm,” Louis hums, pulling at his own clothes to try to get them off. 

Harry breaks from him only to help him pull it over his head, shrugging out of his own suit afterward. They’re down to their underclothes in record time, but something shifts when they meet each other’s eyes again. 

Stepping forward, Louis reaches for the band of Harry’s boxers to pull them off too, but a hand on his wrist stops him. 

“Wait,” Harry licks his lips, eyeing Louis’ face. 

“What? I’ve seen it a thousand times,” Louis reasons. He’s too desperate to be ashamed at the moment, his own prick all too excited in his pants. 

“I know, but - this is different ,” Harry stresses. “We’re not just - we’re going the whole way this time and I want,” he sighs, licking over his lips, “I want it to be perfect.” 

“Haz,” he hums lightly, moving his hands from his hips to his shoulders. “Look around - there’s wine on the nightstand, roses on the bed. The view is amazing .”

Louis kisses him some more and then runs his finger underneath the band again experimentally, stroking the skin there and drinking in Harry’s light moan. 

“But it’s gonna be amazing because it’s us ,” he finishes. 

“You’re right,” Harry concedes, a small grin on his lips as he runs his hands over Louis’ back. 

“Now, can we please get on with it?” Louis asks, “Because I’ve literally been waiting for this for - hmm.” 

He’s cut off abruptly when Harry’s lips seal onto his own. Just like every other time, he knows exactly what to do. His hands are familiar but not boring in the slightest, each touch sending him shivering with goosebumps, his skin blushing bright red in the lamp and candle light. 

Their legs tangle together in the path to the bed, and Louis squeals and grabs onto his arms when Harry throws them down onto it, never once parting from him. His eyes are closed with the kiss but he smiles into it when he feels Harry reach down between them to slide his boxers off. Without hesitation Louis copies his movements, albeit slower and more nervous because he isn’t as used to Harry seeing those parts of him as opposed to touching.  

To ease the apprehension he makes a move to take Harry into his hand, whining when he’s yet again stopped by long fingers around his wrist. 

“Hey, hey,” Harry stops him, pulling away and holding one of Louis’ hands to his chest. “Before we do anything else I - I need to apologize to you.” 

Biting back a theatrical groan, Louis tries to reign himself back in again while Harry turns serious. He supposes this is a conversation they should have, he just might have preferred to have it after Harry’s been inside of him. 

Louis loves him though, he’s mentioned, so he reaches up to run a hand through Harry’s hair as he struggles to find the right words. Harry’s been so patient with him, it’s the least he can do in return. 

“I was really stupid,” Harry starts, frowning. “I thought you didn’t feel the same way about me so the whole thing was just an excuse to get closer to you and see if you maybe did feel the same as I did. But I would never ever intentionally manipulate you into something like this, Louis. Surely you know that I couldn’t live with myself if I - uhm, I just - I want what’s best for you, always. Always, always,” he repeats. “I should never have been so selfish, and I don’t want you to think that I - ugh ,” Harry groans, hiding his face in Louis’ neck. 

To encourage him, Louis reaches up and threads a hand through his hair, smiling up at the ceiling. Louis knows he’s sorry. And he also knows Harry isn’t some big psychological villain that would take advantage of him in that way. Louis would be the first one to admit that the lines have always been blurred between them, and he hasn’t always made the best choices regarding Harry’s feelings in the past either. 

At the end of the day, he thinks Harry’s it for him. He’d meant everything he said downstairs and, from all he knows now, it seems Harry feels the same way. Louis doesn’t care much for a theatrical apology, no matter how dramatic Harry is. He’d much rather hear him tell him he loves him. 

Besides, Louis’ been gone for him for years. All of this was probably bound to happen anyway. 

“I just - I don’t want us - this ,” Harry gestures loosely between them, “to be just because of the sexual stuff. I don’t think I could handle it if we got back home and you-” 

This time Louis cuts him off with his lips. For a few seconds Harry tenses above him but soon enough he’s sighing and kissing him back, familiar and lovely until Louis pulls away with a hand on the side of his face. 

“Harry, my nicotine cravings have been gone for a while now,” Louis admits. “Did you not hear what I said down there, H? I’m in love with you,” he whispers again. “To be honest I think I’ve been right on the edge of that for years now, so. Don’t flatter your new-age psych techniques too much. It was just your stupid personality and good looks.” 

“Hey,” Harry whines. He laughs wetly, stars in his eyes whenever Louis says he loves him, finally a content smile on his lips. “I love you too, by the way,” he murmurs into Louis’ cheek. “In case that wasn’t clear.” 

“That won’t cut it. You’ll have to tell me all the time now,” Louis grins. 

“I will,” he vows. “All the time.” 

Gasping, Louis cranes his neck when Harry’s lips move down to his neck and part, his tongue and teeth meeting warm, exposed skin. He leaves bruises that Louis hopes will last forever, sucking a love bite right over his pulse that makes Louis hiss. 

“Harry - Haz, now can we get on with it?” He pants, halfway whining as his hips buck up from the linen. 

“Absolutely,” he murmurs low. 

The relief he feels is immediate when Harry moves a hand to his hip, taking a moment to stroke the skin softly before moving lower, gripping his prick through the material of his boxers. 

“Yes,” Louis hisses, his eyes shut and head still thrown backward. 

“Wanna do everything with you,” Harry groans. 

“Want you to,” he gasps. His chin aches from how much he’s straining to keep their lips connected. 

Eventually it’s too difficult and he lays back in the pillows as his eyes flutter shut, Harry’s lips lingering around his nipples. There’s a slight chill throughout the suite but Louis can’t even feel it for the heat coursing through him. The electric feeling he’d had earlier rushes back, swirling in his belly and drawing him further into Harry’s embrace. 

Big hands secured on Louis’ hips, Harry switches from one nipple to the other, taking his time to press the thick flat part of his tongue directly to the sensitive tip. When his lips close around it and pull, Louis bucks and whines, hands delving into his hair again. 

Harry’s cock rests freely on Louis’ thigh, a constant reminder tethering him to the moment. He shivers again in excitement. Hands trace his body and a burning set of lips follow in their path, the low rumble of Harry’s voice drawing him from his haze. 

With a twinkle in his eye, Harry pauses right in front of Louis’ cock, circling his fingers around the base. He regards it with half-lidded eyes, moving them from the leaking head to Louis’ face in his peripheral. 

“You’ve done this so much for me,” he murmurs conversationally. “I think I’d like to return the favor.” 

Before he can argue (not that he would, anyway) there’s a hot tongue drawing up the underside of his prick, and he mewls, kicking out a leg as a reflex. Harry doesn’t stray from him, even with the movement, only tightens his hold and doubles his efforts, keeping his touches frustratingly teasing. 

“Haz,” Louis groans, fingers making fists in the duvet. 

Flicking a brow up at him, Harry smirks and raises, lowering his mouth onto him for real this time. Usually Louis likes to give instead of receive but - oh - he may be reconsidering. Harry’s mouth is warm and tight around him in a place that he usually neglects in favor of pleasuring himself in other ways, but the attention is admittedly very nice. 

The up and down of Harry’s head has Louis mesmerized as he tries to keep his neck craned to watch, mouth open as he gasps with the sensations. Just when he begins to feel the sparks flit across his abdomen, one of Harry’s hands disappears from his hip. It doesn’t return and Louis doesn’t spare much of a thought for it. 

Until it shows up below Harry’s mouth. It traces the same place his tongue had a few minutes prior, tracing down his prick but continuing even further afterward. It draws over his aching balls pulled tight to his body, over hot skin until it reaches his hole. 

“ Fuck, ” he curses, abandoning watching in favor of collapsing back into the pillows again. His back arches and he cries out again, Harry’s fingertip, now wet and dripping with his spit, breaching him just enough to get inside. 

Harry takes him deep and swallows around him just as he manages to fit the entire digit inside, the pleasure a wonderful distraction from the slight pain of the initial slide. He pulls off of Louis’ prick with a distinguished pop. 

“Alright?” he asks, still pumping him with his other hand. 

“I - uh, yeah,” Louis struggles to nod, Harry’s finger stroking evenly inside of him now. “ Yes. ” 

Sitting up on his knees, Harry kneels between Louis’ legs and forces them open much wider, throwing one of his calves over his shoulder and keeping the other spread with his knee. He grabs one of the pillows and pauses his movements to stuff it underneath Louis’ hips to give him a better angle. 

The result is instantaneous, crooking the digit and exploring the deepest parts of him. Only once Louis’ gone blind with pleasure does he add a second finger next to the first, easing it in slow before fucking him with it fast. Eyes fluttering and rolling backward, he struggles to keep up with everything at once. 

Two is enough until it isn’t and Louis doesn’t complain when he works in a third because Harry’s big and he knows it’ll be a bit of a stretch - it’s been a while since he’s done this. Living with someone he’s been in love with for ages makes it a little bit difficult to bring someone back to the flat for a lay. 

By the same token, it makes Louis feel better to know that Harry hasn’t been with anyone in a while either. In their beginning years at uni they both had their own flings and small relationships, but they always somehow gravitated back to each other, and the last couple of years they’ve flirted, but ultimately neither of them brought anyone back home. He’d know immediately, with such thin walls. 

Biting onto his knuckle, Louis tries to hide his grin. It isn’t a problem anymore when he keens loudly, mouth opening fully around nothing when Harry uses all three of his fingers to brush over his prostate. 

He really doesn’t stand a chance when Harry leans down again and keeps fucking him with his fingers while he swallows around the head of his prick once more. Louis screams and doesn’t bother trying to hide it anymore, bucking up again twice before freezing, shaking, and spilling into Harry’s mouth before he can help it. 

Louis shivers as he comes down from his first orgasm, hazy by the time Harry shifts and moves to lay up next to him on the pillows. His stiff cock pokes into Louis’ side but he doesn’t complain once, just frames Louis’ face with his hands and kisses him until he feels stable again. 

Time passes but he isn’t sure how much. He gets a bit lost in the feeling, like he’s floating, Harry’s tongue dancing along his teeth. In slow motion he begins to regain the feeling in his limbs, twitching and stretching them toward Harry almost subconsciously. 

The same hand reappears at Louis’ shoulder, stroking softly. It rests there for a moment before tracing a circle around his chest, Louis’ breath following the pattern. Fingertips delve into the area around his belly button, the sensitive skin stretched around his hips. 

Before he knows it his prick is fattening up for a second time, unable to resist the way Harry ghosts a touch over the length. It’s just soft enough that it doesn’t even hurt, and Harry coaxes him to full excitement before he draws his hand away to move some of the hair off of Louis’ forehead, parting from their languid kisses that blend into each other. 

“Have you been dreaming of this as long as I have?” Harry murmurs. He cradles Louis’ face in his hands and bumps their noses together. 

“Yeah,” Louis huffs, laughing lightly, his smile so wide it brings tears to his vision. 

Harry’s eyes blink open again, clear and sure, and he nods toward the spot next to them on the sheets. “You wanna turn on your side for me?” 

Nodding quickly, Louis shifts until his side is pressed into the mattress, Harry’s body pressed completely against him from behind, shielding him from any of the chilly air he might’ve felt before. 

This is it, he thinks, feeling Harry slick himself up against his back. There’s no going back from here. 

He grins again, cheek smushed into his arm as he waits. He lifts a leg when Harry taps the outside of his thigh in a featherlight reminder, making room for him to settle comfortably between Louis’ spread legs from behind. 

Lips press to his shoulder and hold there for a moment. Harry’s other hand slides across the linen above their heads until it runs parallel to Louis, tangling their fingers together. Then, after they share the same inhale, Harry brushes the slick tip of his cock against his entrance. 

His breath holds for one, two, three seconds. Harry buries his face in the back of his neck as he pushes forward, finally, finally inside of him. Louis’ mouth drops open for a third time during the night, and he has a feeling it won’t be the last. 

It takes nearly a full minute until they manage to get all of him buried to the hilt. Once his larger frame is completely plastered to Louis’ smaller hips, their exhale is singular and synonymous. Fingers scramble for purchase and squeeze around Louis’ hand. Sweat clings to his brow and lingers between their bodies, sticky and hot and raw. Tilting his chin up, Louis mouths at the skin on Harry’s upper arm as he whimpers. 

If he had any doubts before, they’re gone now. Everything falls away, in fact, until there’s only Harry left. Perfectly still, the energy buzzes between them like a wildfire, bouncing between the candle light back into their eyes. Golden skin slides across crisp linen, getting used to the feeling of each other for the first time. 

Louis thinks he’d be content with just this. He’s so in tune with himself and Harry and so relaxed that he really thinks he might be able to just fall asleep here, happy and safe in Harry’s arms. 

But then Harry shifts lightly and his cock moves with him, and Louis remembers his prick is hard all over again, red at the tip and leaking onto the sheets in front of him. When Harry lifts his hand from where it’d been positioned between them, it’s shaking. He brings it to Louis’ chest and interlocks their fingers there too, keeping their arms against Louis’ stomach to hold them together as he begins to move. 

It’s an entirely different experience than anything else he’s ever felt before. Several times Harry has to pause because he gets too worked up, flushed from his cheeks all the way down his chest. Hot air blows from his mouth to Louis’ skin, humid and secretive trapped in the juncture between his shoulder and the spot behind his ear. 

Their joined hands raise and he tilts Louis’ chin toward him, taking his lips in a smooth glide. The hair that’s falling around his face tickles Louis’ cheek but he doesn’t move away. His hips draw out of Louis before they fuck back in languidly, still taking his time despite the need he knows they both feel. 

As he works up a rhythm it’s too difficult to keep their mouths together. Harry wraps both arms completely around Louis’ shoulders and burrows into the side of his neck, drawing backward and grinding forward again. The noise hypnotizes Louis and he clings to the arms around him and kisses Harry’s fingers. 

Soon enough his own hips begin to roll themselves into the dip of Harry’s waist, meeting him at each thrust. It’s just another thing between them that feels so perfect, so right, and he curses the fact that they haven’t been doing this the entire time. 

“I love you,” Harry tells him. 

“Love you,” Louis returns, his voice shot from all of his noises. 

With his own arms trapped against his chest, Harry throws one of Louis’ legs over his and reaches down, gripping Louis’ prick for a second time. Each movement is fluid and timed, Harry pressing overwhelmed kisses to his cheekbone where he’s able to reach. 

He pulls an arm away from Louis to lean up on his elbow and moves halfway over him so that he can kiss him properly. Louis pants openly into his mouth as the pressure from both Harry’s cock fucking up into him and the tight hand around his prick become too much. 

“I’m - oh, ” he moans, forgoing kisses to dig his nails into Harry’s forearm. 

“You gonna come for me?” Harry murmurs, “Gonna let me see you?” 

The filthy words in his ear have him whining again, helpless to do much but take it as Harry grows impatient, nearly pressed face first into the mattress with his thrusts. His touches are gentle but firm, desperate almost, and Louis thinks he understands the eagerness. 

“Yeah,” Louis gasps, pushing back into him as best he can. 

“Can’t - fuck - can’t believe this is real,” he rambles. “Can"t believe I’m doing this with you right now. You feel so - so good, Lou. Love you so much.” 

Harry’s hand quickens in time with his thrusts, knocking the air from his lungs as his second orgasm rapidly approaches. He strains his neck as far as it’ll go one last time so he can see Harry properly, catching his eye just in time. 

Thrusts turning frantic, Harry freezes, choking lightly on his breath as he begins to come inside of Louis. It only takes him a second to get a hold of himself though, and he continues rubbing the tip of Louis’ aching prick even as his brow furrows and he shakes, still filling Louis up to the brim with his release. 

Louis gets lost in the look in his eye and whimpers high in his throat, gasping as he comes a second time into Harry’s hand. He can’t get over the feeling of it, the intimate nature of what they’ve done. They’re still pressed together save for the instinctive drive forward of Harry’s hips, unconsciously pushing his cum even deeper. 

Closing in around Louis again, Harry blankets him and presses his lips to the spot between his shoulder blades as he comes down from it. They’re trembling, pulsing with the leftover energy from the emotional high of finally being with each other. 

His own eyes are nearly shut by the end of it, fatigued after two fulfilling orgasms, but Harry’s still twitching and shifting, his breathing uneven. Reaching up blindly, Louis runs a comforting hand through his hair and over his back to soothe him until he stills. 

A few more whispered love admissions and tired sighs see them disentangling themselves from one another, easy movements and Harry’s shushing when Louis winces from the soreness blooming in his lower back.  

Later, after a hot shower for his muscles and some of the complimentary wine from the suite bar, they’re standing in the middle of the room in the fancy hotel robes. Louis presses his ear against Harry’s heartbeat and makes a noise to get his attention, setting both of their glasses down on the dresser. 

“So, if my thing was an oral fixation, what’s your thing?” 

“My thing?” Harry repeats, amused. 

“Yeah, you know,” Louis gestures. “Like, your ‘thing’. ” 

Harry hums, drawing him in close. He tilts his chin up and presses a kiss to Louis’ temple, rocking them slowly back and forth, dancing with him even though there isn’t any music playing. 

“You,” he answers easily. 

“Me?” 

“Mhm,” Harry nods. “It’s always been you, Lou.” 

Louis grins, reaching both of his arms up high to wrap around Harry’s shoulders. The swaying movement makes him tired and takes some of the pressure off of his aching muscles. He leans into it, into Harry, with his entire body and relaxes. 

He’s enjoyed the last parts of this vacation, but he can’t wait to get back home. They’re finished with uni and they finally have their shit together, and Louis can’t wait to start making up for all of the lost time. 

“I love you,” he tells Harry again. 

“Love you,” Harry echoes. 

Louis inhales his scent with clear lungs and an open heart, swaying back and forth with him until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer. 

+

“S’just - s’so fucking cool. Like - no one ever really tells you how it’s going to feel but then once it happens you’re like woah. Everything seems brighter and colorful and happy and it’s just like where have you been all of my life, y’know? And every time I say it I just feel so - so alive and my chest just kind of, like, lighter. I don’t even know how to explain it, I-” 

“Haz,” Louis hums, smaller hands rubbing deep circles into his shoulders. He hands Harry the cup of water he’d left to get for him, returning halfway through another ramble. 

“Lou,” he exclaims, taking the cup from him but just setting it directly on the table instead of taking a drink. He reaches backward and pulls Louis around until he falls sideways into his lap, planting a wet kiss to his temple. “I was just talking about you,” he grins. 

Raising a brow, Louis glances at Niall who mimes vomiting to Liam, then to the rest of the group who don’t seem to be paying any attention. Smiling, he shakes his head and nuzzles into Harry’s neck. 

“You were?” 

“Mhm,” Harry nods seriously. “Was telling them how amazing it is to be in love. S’like a whole new world.” 

It’s the last party of the season before the students in the dorms have to move out to make room for new ones, and Louis’ feeling a bit nostalgic. He wishes they’d figured things out a long, long time ago, but he’s so happy he can’t bring himself to care about any of that except for the fact that it brought them to where they are now. 

“Can’t believe how lucky I am,” Harry continues. 

“Shut up,” Louis whines half-heartedly, a blush high on his cheeks. He tunes out the groans around them from the PDA - they should all be used to it by now. 

“M’serious, Lou,” he insists. He tugs Louis back into his chest and breathes him in again, tightening his arms. Then he glances down at their hands and perks up, using his fingers to work one of his rings off of his hand. “Give me your hand,” he says. 

“What? Why?” Louis holds it out nonetheless, breathless as he watches Harry’s brow furrow and his tongue stick out the side of his mouth in concentration. 

“Mine,” Harry mumbles brokenly. 

He kisses the back of Louis’ fingers once before he slides his own, much larger ring onto Louis’ right ring finger. Endeared and very amused, Louis thanks him but leans down to talk into his ear. 

“You’re aware this is the wrong hand, right, love?” 

Harry’s face pinches up into a confused grimace as his pupils focus in on the ring, examining it with a squint. 

“Are you sure?” 

Giggling, Louis grins into his neck. “Yeah, I’m sure.” 

“Oh well,” Harry shrugs, jostling him on his chest. “I’ll get it right one of these days, I suppose.” 

Ignoring the skip in his heartbeat at the thought, Louis presses a kiss to his temple and stands, dragging his heavy body upward along with him. Waving goodbye to their friends, Louis laughs when Harry slaps his arse and Niall mimes a gag. 

He takes his hand and heads for the door, more than ready to get back to their apartment where there’s nothing distracting them from each other anymore. It’s just a short walk so it takes less than five minutes, but Harry’s feet falter just outside the entrance of the flats, pausing for dramatic effect as Louis’ brows furrow. 

“Hey, hey,” Harry stops him abruptly, turning and taking Louis’ face into his hands. “Have I told you I love you?” 

“You might have mentioned it,” Louis smiles. He leans up on his tip-toes and kisses him deeply, pulling a hand through his hair before returning it to his fingers and dragging him inside. “C’mon,” he pleads. 

With Harry draped over his back it’s more difficult to get up to their flat than it needs to be, but he can’t offer any complaints, even when his lower back smarts at him for the heavy lifting. Digging the key from his pocket, Louis opens the door and lets them inside, heading straight to the closet to change into comfier clothes. 

On the way there he leaves Harry with the promise of meeting him on the balcony. He passes the dining table and grins, their newly printed diplomas displayed there until the frames they’d ordered arrive in the mail. 

Running his hands through his hair to mess it up a bit from its stiffness, Louis strips and pulls on Harry’s sweatpants and a t-shirt, kicking off his shoes to switch to soft socks instead. Once he’s dressed again he walks back down the hallway, filling up two glasses of water in the kitchen to bring outside. 

Harry’s already reclined on the patio chair, an arm tossed behind his head casually and his eyes shut. Louis sets their glasses on the side table and nudges him to scoot over, fitting his body in the sliver of space that Harry isn’t taking up. 

The arm that’d been behind his head comes down to wrap around his shoulders, tugging him until he’s laying fully on top of Harry instead. Lips press to his hair and Louis glances up at the last second, connecting their mouths again. 

“Love you too, by the way,” Louis whispers between kisses, in response to his earlier words. 

“Love you,” Harry says regardless, his hands drifting all over Louis’ body and his face. “Love you and your hair. And your clothes. And your shoes,” he murmurs thoughtfully, glancing down at them. “Love your ears and your eyes,” he adds. “And I love your teeth.” 

“Freak,” Louis huffs, grinning. 

As if to prove him right, he leans forward and fully licks Louis’ teeth when he laughs, a dopey grin on his lips when he pulls away. 

“Your freak,” Harry offers sweetly. 

“My freak,” Louis confirms, humming. 

He leans into Harry’s welcome embrace and rests his head over his heartbeat, snuggling into him with his eyes closed. Harry never used to come out here because it always smelled like smoke, he said. But it’s been nearly a year since his last cigarette and things have changed now. 

As the smoke finally cleared, he’d realized several things about himself. Louis’ glad he chose someone who encourages him to better himself but also accepts him for who he is, who never judges, only supports. He wouldn’t have traded anything for the last four years, the best years of his life. He’s really found himself, he thinks, and that wouldn’t have been possible without Harry. 

Now all that’s left is the future. And instead of being clouded with smoke and ash, all of his insecurities and hyper fixations, he’s going into it headfirst. He twines his fingers with Harry’s and lays them over his heart. Eyes shut, Louis inhales a large breath of fresh air, the scent of clean nature mixed with the extra soft detergent Harry uses for their laundry, and exhales. 

+

Louis walks past the petrol station on the way home from the grocery store and glances into the window toward the wall behind the counter. Then he looks away again, keeps his eyes ahead of him and, with a smile, continues home.