Chapter Text
**
AUGUST 2023, ITALY.
LOUIS.
“This is your actual first concert. I was your first concert, but you were still…” Louis trails off. “Anyways, you wouldn’t remember it. You won’t remember this either, and you’ll probably be asleep before I even come onstage, but that’s not the point.”
He’s wandering around the backstage area, holding Lucky on his hip and talking into his ear. He’s got the kid facing forward because he insists upon seeing everything, or else he’ll resort to tugging at Louis’ hair or shoving his fingers in Louis’ mouth. Which is gross.
“And there’s Nana, probably asking your Aunt Phoebe seven hundred questions about how she’s feeling. If she’s anything like your Nan and your mum, she’s definitely miserable, which is why we’re going to stay away from her. They don’t very much like me when they’re like that, I had to learn the hard way.”
Lottie did, eventually, come around. His mum not so much, but Louis was also a lot younger then.
“Oh, Uncle Harry’s going in now too,” Louis continues, and Lucky makes a little sound at the mention of Harry’s name, just like he almost always does. “Pheebs will like it, though. Yeah, there he goes, with the hand on her belly. I don’t even know if your cousin is kicking yet, but he doesn’t care. I swear, the idea alone is enough for him, he’s got some weird fixation about it. I probably shouldn’t be telling you that, but here we are.”
Harry’s got both hands on Phoebe’s belly now, staring at her like she’s a fucking marvel (which, she is, as long as Louis only thinks about it very briefly and on the most surface-level possible). Jay puts a hand on the small of his back and resumes fussing over Phoebe the same way.
Louis catches the slight huff of air his younger sister releases, the way she tips her head back and rolls her neck a little, fighting off annoyance or discomfort or both. Louis huffs. “We should go save Auntie Phoebe,” he tells Lucky. “Wanna walk over?”
Lucky doesn’t really answer him, which is on par, but he starts taking little steps between Louis’ feet after he sets him down. He has a death grip on Louis’ fingertips, each step focused and determined. Of course, though, it takes forever, and Louis has to scoop him up and carry him the rest of the way before his boyfriend and his mother drive Phoebe insane.
“Hey, loves,” Louis greets. “Phee, wanna take him over to Lots? Get some practice for when one of yours is on your hip.”
Phoebe stares at him hard for a moment, annoyed, but then she understands a moment later. “He walks, right?”
“Very, very slowly, but yes. He does.” Louis confirms. “They do that around this age, you must not have gotten to that part in your books.”
She inherited every single book Lottie had (many of which were from Harry) and Harry also bought her more, convinced that there would be new information in them even though it’s only been, like, a year.
Phoebe scoffs. She motions for Lucky and Louis passes him over, waiting until they’re finally out of earshot to turn to Harry and his mum. “Do you not remember how Lottie was when she was pregnant? Mum, do you not remember what you were like?” He hisses, ignoring the quizzical look from Harry. He’ll melt the second he looks at Harry’s face, and he has to prevent Phoebe from having some kind of hormonal meltdown right now.
“What?” Harry balks. “I was just—”
“Cooing over her stomach and probably spewing off a hundred thousand pregnancy facts that no gay man should know,” Louis cuts him off, and Harry shuts his mouth. “Look, I have to be onstage in an hour. And I’d appreciate you two not giving Pea a mental breakdown.”
“Louis,” his mum says, her tone serious. “I am a mother. And I am her mother. I do know what I’m doing.”
“Mum. You remember what Lottie was like,” he stresses. “Please, just… Lay off. She was already in a bad mood this morning, and she doesn’t have to be here but she won’t go to ours or to a hotel or home no matter who tells her to.”
Jay tries to level him with one of her looks, but Louis refuses to let it work. She breaks the stare with an eye roll, waving him off. “I’ll lay off. A little,” Jay yields. Louis knows this literally means a little. She will lay off the absolute smallest bit, but it’ll be enough to let Louis get through the show without having to worry about any more fires.
Christ, he needs a drink. Or four. He glances over at Harry, who’s gone rather silent. He needs to sort out his boy now, too, and probably apologize for being so short and stern.
And, preferably, kiss the life out of him when that’s all handled. He touches a hand to the palm of Harry’s back, nodding his head in the general direction of where he’s pretty sure the bar is.
“C’mon, love, let’s go get a drink,” he coaxes.
Harry starts moving, albeit a bit delayed, following Louis’ gentle lead. They find the bar rather easily, where Louis gets himself a drink and Harry orders one of the special cocktails they have available, something fruity and tequila-driven.
Louis rests an elbow on the bartop, turning to his side to look at Harry beside him. “I’m sorry,” he says, right out the gate because he knows that he was a bit more rude than necessary. “For how I talked to you about Pea. I just know how she’s been getting, and I know she’s already a bit overwhelmed with all of this. Plus, mum’s been breathing down her neck ever since Phoebe told us she was pregnant, so there’s already a lot going on there.”
Harry nods, his bottom lip pinched between his thumb and pointer finger, brows drawn together in worry. That’s when Louis realizes that he’s not upset over the way Louis spoke to him, but rather is worried that he’s done something wrong or made Louis’ sister uncomfortable. Louis grabs his hand, stopping him from worrying his lip. He absently spins around Harry’s Peace ring on his middle finger, drawing Harry’s attention there in an attempt to distract him a little.
“Love, it’s fine. I just… Get a little intense about the girls, we know that. Phoebe would tell you if there was something bothering her.”
Harry winces. “Would she, though? I mean, you’re a pain with that and you’re, like, in love with me.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m only ‘like’, in love with you, Harold. I’d say I’m definitely in love with you,” Louis clarifies, needlessly except for the fact that it makes Harry roll his eyes and start to smile a little bit. “And, yeah, she would probably say something. I can’t guarantee she’d be nice about it, but she’d say something.”
“Okay,” Harry says, yielding finally. “Thanks. For apologizing.”
Louis shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I was rude and I made you uncomfortable.”
Their drinks are finally put down in front of them, and in the back of his mind Louis has to marvel, just a little bit, at how insane it is he’s in a healthy enough relationship that something tedious can be solved before they’ve even been served their drinks.
He brings Harry’s fingers to his lips and brushes a kiss across his knuckles before releasing him. “Love you, baby,” he murmurs. Harry smiles and whispers it back, too quiet to even be heard over the sound of the next band starting up their set. “Wanna go watch or should we go find the girls again?”
“We can watch for a little,” Harry decides. “Give you time to smoke and drink your beer.”
Louis has literally found his dream man. He is definitely making out with Harry for at least five minutes before he finally has to go onstage. They make their way to the side of the stage, Louis hopping up on one of the equipment boxes, letting Harry lean back against it between his spread legs. Harry rests his cold glass on Louis’ thigh, using his other hand to get his phone out from the front pocket of his jeans.
He watches over Harry’s shoulder as he takes a video of the band performing onstage, then pulls his phone closer to his face while he picks a filter and an emoji to post along with it. “Good?” Harry asks, holding it up for Louis’ approval.
Louis kisses the side of his neck and nods. “Perfect, honey,” he replies. “Make sure you post a good video of me, too. Want me to take my shirt off for you?”
Harry snorts and half-heartedly throws an elbow back into Louis’ ribs. “No, thank you. Keep it on this time if you can help it, please.”
Louis hasn’t really openly admitted it, but he likes how jealous Harry gets when something dramatic happens to his tank top on the barricade. It’s resulted in a lot of pouting, a lot of bashful smiles, and quite a bit of hot sex. Louis never complains about hot sex, especially not hot sex with Harry. Though, he probably wouldn’t complain about any kind of sex, as long as it was with Harry.
“After they wrap up, I wanna take you to my trailer,” Louis says in his ear. “There’s something important I have to talk to you about.”
Harry turns his head, trying to look at Louis over his shoulder. “Is that code for something dirty?”
“No,” Louis lies.
“I know you, Tomlinson,” Harry reminds him, tone airy and sing-song, teasing. “If you want something from me you can just say it, you know. I appreciate our open communication.”
Louis leans in close again, quickly biting Harry’s earlobe. “I would quite like to snog you senseless. For a minimum of five minutes before I have to go on.”
Harry fidgets against him, unconsciously. “Okay,” he agrees. “That’s fine. As long as you don’t get worked up.”
Louis noses down his neck, planting a kiss directly at the base of it. “Hm. Nothing about you not getting worked up?”
“You get me worked up no matter what. Figured there was no reason for putting it out there.” Louis bites down on the delicious, always-so-tempting curve of his neck just to make Harry gasp. He can’t even hear it over the music, but he can feel it, the way Harry’s breath hitches and his back comes to rest more solidly against Louis’ chest.
Harry turns his torso a little so he can speak closer to Louis’ ear. “Does it make me a bad boyfriend if I ask my festival-hosting boyfriend and headliner to sneak away from this set early?”
Louis considers it for a second. It’s probably fine. “Not the worst boyfriend,” he decides. “Let’s go.”
Wearing matching wild grins, they rush their way to Louis’ trailer, ignoring Lottie when she calls out to them. Harry calls over his shoulder that they’ll be right back, just before Louis tugs him into the trailer and slams the door behind them.
“You seem pretty worked up,” Harry points out. Louis rolls his eyes. They barely manage to put their drinks down before he tugs Harry down onto the couch, their hips aligned. Harry puts his hands on either side of Louis’ head, his mouth hovering a couple inches away from Louis’ own.
Louis tips his face up, his lips just barely brushing Harry’s chin. “Baby,” he breathes. “C’mere.”
“Are you gonna get us off?” Harry asks, just a hint of challenge to his tone. Louis could get it out of him in two seconds if he really wanted to, with any number of tricks. He doesn’t, though, not yet.
Louis skirts his hand down the side of Harry’s body, the curve of his waist and the dip of his hip. He stops once he reaches Harry’s bum, coaxing his hips down onto Louis’ own. Harry quirks an eyebrow. “You’re a grown man. You want to dry hump like teenagers?”
“Maybe. Would you complain if I did?” Louis asks, finally rising to the challenge.
“Probably not.” Harry says automatically, then pauses. “Well, maybe a little. You know I like sucking you off.”
Louis knows that, but he also knows that they probably shouldn’t get off. Not when he goes on in, like, forty minutes. He doesn’t always like leaving Harry so soon after, and he’s not sure he wants to today.
Harry's hand comes up, fingertips gently rubbing over the crease in his brow as he considers his options. “What’re you thinking?” He asks quietly.
Their hips are still flush together, which means that Louis can feel Harry getting hard. He’s not hard, but he’s getting there. “Can I kiss you a little bit without needing to get you off?” Louis asks, and Harry looks confused. “I just… I don’t wanna leave you right after. I want to take my time with you, not have a quickie.”
Harry pouts, because of course he does. Nothing is ever good enough for him, never enough. Louis has half a mind to punish him, but that’s certainly not something they have time for. “Fine, but it can’t be for very long. I don’t wanna… You know.”
“I know,” Louis confirms. “Now, c’mere, give us a kiss.”
Harry brings their mouths together, catching Louis’ upper lip first, teasing despite what he said. Harry lets out a little happy sigh when Louis slips him a bit of tongue, which happens every time, without fail. Life became a lot easier when Louis figured out how easy it is to turn Harry into putty with just a little bit of tongue.
Harry’s got the fabric of Louis’ shirt bunched in his fist, his hips slowly starting to rock against Louis’ as he searches for friction. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, which tends to make it all the more hot. Louis breaks their kiss after probably too long, resorting to sucking wet kisses along his jaw. He makes his way to the column of Harry’s throat, sucking a bruise there just because he can.
He eventually slows down, drawing his lips away from Harry’s skin even though it’s painful to do so. Harry ducks his head, resting his forehead against Louis’ shoulder. Louis moves his hand from Harry’s arse up to his back, gently scratching between his shoulder blades as Harry’s breathing slowly evens out again.
“Love how you get worked up, baby,” Louis murmurs in his ear. “So gorgeous for me, so good, too.”
“You should—” Harry starts, stopping when he hears how rough his voice sounds. Louis loves how that happens to him, how it doesn’t matter if Louis’ just snogged him a bit or if he’s just fucked his throat, Harry’s voice always sounds a raspy after even the smallest amount of time. Harry clears his throat and starts again. “You should probably stop talking.”
Louis laughs softly, nodding. “Okay. Though, I feel like I should tell you something, before you want me to shut up again.”
Harry hums, prompting him to go on. “I’ll be in a tank top and trousers tonight,” Louis tells him. “We decided earlier. It’s too fuckin’ hot for anything else.”
Harry whimpers. He picks his head up and stares down at Louis incredulously. Quickly, he presses his mouth to Louis’ unsuspecting lips one final time before getting up. “God, I hate you,” he breathes, running a hand through his hair and smoothing the other down the front of his pretty shirt. “Stupid fucking summer concerts. Next tour it’s gonna be the dead of fuckin’ winter.”
Louis laughs, sitting up. He fixes his own shirt, and reaches a hand down to adjust himself in his shorts when Harry isn’t looking. Harry picks up his drink and takes a few big sips of it, pointedly avoiding Louis’ eye. His gaze drags up Harry’s body, lingering on where he’s half-hard in his jeans.
Harry catches him looking and immediately uses a big hand to cover himself up. “Stop,” he hisses, but he’s grinning and blushing a little bit. “I’m gonna borrow some of your clothes.”
Louis picks up his beer again, taking a sip before replying. “You can have whatever you like, love,” he says. “M’gonna get changed really quick, do I need to remove myself from the room?”
Harry huffs. “No. I’ll go to the toilet. I know Krystle’s gonna be here soon anyway, so you can unlock the door for her.”
Louis pauses. He never locked it in the first place, he’s fairly certain. Oops. He doesn’t bother telling Harry that, because it’ll probably get him worked up all over again anyway. Instead he searches for his own clothes, stealing glances at Harry as he digs through Louis’ bag for something to wear.
“I’m taking these,” Harry calls, holding a bundle of clothes up over his shoulder as he disappears into the small bathroom.
Louis changes into his green pants and blank tank as fast as he can, not wanting Harry to walk out on him mid-change and get sidetracked. It’s hard, being in love with someone so fucking gorgeous. Louis’ not nearly as vain or shallow as being with Harry makes him feel or act, he’s sure of it. And he truly does love everything about Harry, he’s just so fucking gorgeous it makes it hard for Louis not to want to jump his bones at any given moment.
Harry comes out as Louis is tucking his tank top into the waistband of his pants, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees Louis. It’s nice to know that even if people thought at the end of the day that he was just a horny bastard, at least he’s not alone in that. Harry’s just as bad as he is, if the way his eyes linger on different parts of Louis’ body. First his arse, then his hands, then his upper arm, the scar from his surgery.
“You’re a weirdo, you know that?” Louis asks, finally prompting Harry to make eye contact. “But you look good in my clothes.”
He’s wearing a pair of Louis’ shorts; his white England ones, cutting off dangerously high up on Harry’s thigh. As for a shirt, it’s one of Louis’ black tanks, pulled tighter around his shoulders. Louis knows his back probably looks fucking amazing. He probably shouldn’t look, just so he doesn’t get distracted.
“These are clean, right?”
“Yeah, love,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. He drains the rest of his beer and gets rid of the cup in the trash. “I did get some laundry done between the birthday and today.”
What he means is Harry did laundry and Louis actually remembered to slip some of his own clothes into it without Harry asking him for it. Harry doesn’t even really care if they’re clean anyway; this is the same boy who put on Louis’ England jersey immediately after a show and proceeded to wear it the entire night, after all.
“You’re ridiculous,” Harry tells him. Then he comes over and first kisses Louis’ scar, then his lips. But right, Louis is the ridiculous one. “Love you, I’ll see you out there.”
Louis grabs his wrist before he can get too far away. “Wait,” he says, tugging Harry back. He grips the back of Harry’s neck with his other hand and tugs him in for a longer kiss. Harry tastes like whatever the fruity cocktail is that he ordered, the underlying taste of tequila and Louis’ own beer on his tongue.
There’s that happy little sound again, high pitched in the back of Harry’s throat as he goes impossibly more pliant in Louis’ hold. Louis revels in it, this moment of complete and total grounding, the last one he’ll have before he’s thrust onstage in front of forty thousand people or so. And he loves that, obviously, he does. But he loves this, too, maybe even a little bit more.
Louis hopes no one ever asks him to choose between the two, because he’s not sure he actually could.
“There,” Louis says, satisfied as they finally pull apart. “Now I’m good to go.”
Harry laughs softly, shaking his head. He lifts his hand and brushes through Louis’ fringe, pushing it off his forehead. “Ridiculous,” he murmurs. “Have I told you lately how much I love your hair?”
Not lately, but he’s definitely shared this. While Louis recently sporting some grey hair has sent him spiraling a time or two (he saw the first one and convinced himself he was seeing things, and kept telling himself that until his mum pointed it out during one of their visits, and it was undeniable after that) but Harry has been borderline obsessed with it.
“Please leave,” Louis says, instead of dwelling on it. “I love you, but get out of here. And keep your shirt untucked, I can still see your cock in those shorts.”
“That’s only because you’re looking. Pretty much no one else will be looking at my dick.”
Louis just stares at him, because he’s not entirely sure how true that statement is. Not when it’s so obvious and they all definitely know by now that the pair snuck off to the trailer for a few minutes. Harry huffs and makes his way to the door, pointedly fixing his shirt. “I love you. Arsehole.”
That softens Louis up immediately. “I love you, too,” he replies.
Harry huffs again, his face filled with obvious conflict over leaving the trailer. It makes Louis have to fight back laughter. “Ugh, you’re so stupid. I’ll see you in a couple of minutes.”
“See you, baby! Let Krystle know I’m ready for her!” Louis calls just before the door shuts behind him.
He blows out a quick breath of his own and shakes his head. They’re both ridiculous, and he’s fully aware. It’s embarrassing and stupid, but Louis wouldn’t have it any other way. Three years ago maybe he would have cared, but with Harry — since Harry — Louis’ softened up in the best possible way.
Krystle comes in a few minutes later, ushering Louis into the chair and getting him all made up for the stage.
“Is there anything I should know about that needs to be… Covered?” She asks, making eye contact with him in the mirror.
“If you’re asking me if my boyfriend left any noticeable hickies, the answer is no. Not that they need to be covered, anyway, because we are publicly dating and in love,” Louis reminds her. Krystle just rolls his eyes and sprays a bit of hairspray a little too close to his eyes, muttering an oops. Louis squints and sticks his tongue out at her.
“Are you nervous?” She asks.
Louis shakes his head. Most of his nerves surround the other bands in the lineup, and they’re all mostly over with now. He’s not that worried about his own performance. Instead his veins are thrumming with excitement, and maybe a little bit of pride that he’s not quite ready to express yet. “No, mostly excited,” he says aloud. “I love that I get to do this, you know?”
“It really is a great thing,” she says, nodding. “I think I’m just about done here, if you’re satisfied.”
“Love, you could do absolutely nothing and I’d still go out onstage. You’re a wizard,” Louis tells her. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, darling. Even if it is just hickey coverage. But you are a grown man. Isn’t that, like, not acceptable anymore?”
Louis, very admirably, doesn’t quip, yeah, try telling that to Harry. Instead he just shrugs and gets up from his seat, giving himself one final onceover in the mirror before finishing his beer and stepping out of the trailer, calling his goodbye and further thanks over his shoulder to Krystle.
He finds Harry, Niall, and Zayn at the bar, all three leaning over and talking to two of the bartenders. Harry, wearing Louis’ clothes, tank top far too tight to not be giving the bartender an eyeful of his tits. Louis sighs and drops his empty cup into a garbage can before approaching the bar, pinching Harry’s side and resting an arm on Zayn’s shoulder.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go on?” Zayn asks, deadpan.
“I’ve got some time to spare,” Louis says dismissively. He sneaks his hand under Harry’s arm to brush one of his nipples over the tank top, feigning accident and innocence when Harry shoots him a warning look. “Are you trying to show these poor lads your tits?”
Harry removes one elbow from the bar to free up his hand, snatching Louis’ own so he can’t touch his chest anymore. “Can’t help it if they look good,” Harry says, cocky. He tangles their fingers together, and Louis brushes his thumb over the top of Harry’s hand absently.
“You really fucking with me like this before a show, Harold?” Louis asks lowly, warning. “Don’t get all bratty now.”
Harry turns his head to look at him, his eyes dropping to Louis’ lips briefly before making eye contact, smiling slowly and syrupy, sweet. “I’m not,” he says easily. “Aren’t you gonna offer to pay for my drink?”
Louis glares at him, but it only lasts a moment before Harry’s ducking down, pressing a kiss to his cheek and Louis’ melting. He sighs, “yeah, baby. What d’you want?”
Harry beams, all proud of himself now. “Tequila sunrise, please.”
“No special themed drink?”
“It is Louis themed. Sunshine.”
Louis groans a little, rolling his eyes. “You’re gross. It’s a sun rise, not sun shine.”
“I know. You love me.”
“Yeah, that’s what everybody keeps telling me,” Louis retorts. Niall and Zayn finally finish up their ordering and the incessant series of questioning involving it, and the bartender turns to take Louis’ order. He orders Harry’s drink for him and gets one of his own, for appearances, since the bar they have backstage is open and covered by Louis anyway. He pops away again to get them, and Louis squeezes in next to Harry, to a very disgruntled Zayn’s dismay.
“Sure, mate, make yourself at home,” Zayn mutters. “Christ, you two can’t be apart for more than five seconds.”
“Fuck off,” Louis bites as he leans back against the bar, then directs his attention at Harry. Harry has dropped his hand, both elbows down on the bar top again, bringing him level with Louis’ face. “Seriously, babe,” Louis might be whining a little bit. His eyes fall to Harry’s chest, the cleavage — because that’s what it is, really — beneath the shirt, all the more prominent from the way Harry’s propped himself up.
“You’re alright with parading me around a club in Vegas without a shirt on, but this you have a problem with?”
Louis shrugs. At least he was with Harry in Vegas. They’re not even going to be together for most of this. He puts a hand on Harry’s chest, just barely above the low-cut neck of the tank. “I’m a man of mystery,” he says whimsically. Harry snorts.
“Even if I were trying to show off, they’re not worse off for it,” Harry says, indignant, throwing a pointed glance behind Louis at the bartenders. Louis has to hold back laughter at the way Harry’s practically turning his nose up at him. “Just tell me I look hot and get on with it.”
“You look hot,” Louis concedes. “Stop showing your tits off to bartenders. It’s not even like you have to flirt for a free drink.”
Having Harry all to himself for all that time in Italy and England after the tour ended evidently made him a bit more possessive than he anticipated. He should have anticipated it, he knows that this has a tendency to happen. It used to be a lot worse than this, really, back before Harry was with him all the time, back when they were just starting out with each other. When they were still a secret, dating behind the backs of everyone on the staff and in the bands.
At the end of a very long day (and night) of partying, after everyone else had finally gone to bed, Harry would find his way to Louis’ room, or vice versa. Whichever way it was, Louis would have an agenda the second he finally got his hands on Harry properly again, after so long watching him party and laugh and dance with other people for hours and hours on end.
It eventually got past the point of hiding, the marks and bruises and — eventually — the scratches all couldn’t be explained away anymore (people definitely got suspicious, but nobody ever asked Louis about it other than Zayn, and he never properly admitted it even to him). It all hit its head one night at a club in some random city, when Harry was dancing with a stranger and Louis marched right over, grabbed him by the wrist to pull him away, and kissed him soundly in the middle of the dance floor.
“Hey,” Harry says now, his fingers combing through the hair just above Louis’ ear, careful not to mess any of it up. “What’re you thinking about?”
“You,” Louis replies easily. “You make me… Crazy jealous.”
“That’s not a secret, Lo,” Harry says with a sly smile. “We’ve known that for a long time, haven’t we?”
“Yup.” Louis says. The bartender sets their drinks down and Louis taps Zayn’s shoulder, motioning for his wallet. Zayn huffs and hands it over, Louis pulling out a few bills to give the lad a tip. “Thanks, Zaynie. I’ll get you back later. You know I’m good for it.”
“I’m gonna start charging interest,” Zayn mutters.
Louis kisses his cheek dramatically, handing him the wallet back. “You know I can’t go onstage with my wallet! They’ll think I’m hard up for it in the middle of a show.”
“You mean hard up for Harry. And you pretty much always are, aren’t you?”
Louis grins wickedly, reaching over to smack Harry’s bum. “Hey!” Harry protests, flailing for his wrist, but Louis manages to evade him.
“You’d be hard up for it all the time, too, mate,” Louis says cheekily.
“You guys are gross!” Niall exclaims. “Christ, you’re in public!”
Louis’ eyes flit over to Harry, smirking. “Yes, we are,” he says. Then he kisses Harry’s cheek and makes his exit, happy to have caused a bit of discomfort and chaos in such a short amount of time. He doesn’t have to look behind himself to know that Harry’s hot on his heels.
It doesn’t take long for Harry to catch up with him at all, stupidly gorgeous long legs and all, grabbing Louis’ wrist to slow him down, crowding against his back. “You’re a menace, you know that?” Harry asks in his ear.
“You’re the menace,” Louis counters. He slows to a stop in the wings, Harry wrapping his arm around Louis’ waist. Louis puts his hand over Harry’s, squeezing the top of it. “Lemme go so I can get wired and come back for my pre-show kiss.”
Harry presses a tender kiss to the hinge of his jaw. “Fine. Only the quick one, though. We did the longer one in the trailer.”
Louis rolls his eyes. Such a stickler for the rules. “You’re such a kiss-arse. I’m the boss here. This is my festival. Technically we can do whatever we want.”
“I don’t think that applies to kissing and general PDA,” Harry says thoughtfully. He kisses the side of Louis’ neck this time. “Go,” he insists, quickly slipping away from him so he’s not as much a distraction anymore.
Louis finds his tech guy and gets all hooked up. Helene finds him and runs through his vocal exercises one final time while he limbers up, rolling his neck and cracking his back. They do their pre-show shot and chant just before the band starts walking out.
When he looks over at Harry, he’s holding his camera up, seemingly having gotten it out of thin air (or, more likely, having gotten it from Josh) and has it aimed at Louis. Louis flips him off but then blows him a kiss right after, and Harry lowers the camera as he approaches.
“Good luck,” Harry tells him, just like always.
“Thanks, doll. Same to you,” Louis answers, just like always. “Love you, baby.”
Harry leans forward and kisses him gently. “Love you, too. Sing a song for me.”
And Louis looks at him, really looks at him, and it’s a high unlike anything he could ever find on the stage. He breathes in deeply, feeling something familiar and comforting, something like relief. “Baby,” he sighs. “They’re all for you.”
Harry’s answering blush and smile is all the answer Louis needs. His cue is sounding in his ears but he can read it on Harry’s lips when he says I love you again, and Louis tucks that into his pocket and into his heart, heading out to perform his songs — Harry’s songs — in front of thousands of people.
The one person he wrote them about, the one person he wrote them for, is off waiting for him, and knowing that is what ultimately gives Louis the courage to do this. Because the person he’s doing it all for is there, always, and it’s something he’d never forget or want to let go of.
***********
EPILOGUE.
DECEMBER 2023, DONCASTER, ENGLAND.
HARRY.
Harry’s fairly certain he’s covered from head to toe in flour and various other baking ingredients. He braces his hands against the counter and goes a little cross-eyed trying to stare at an incriminating loose curl on his forehead, escaped from the headband he’s been sporting since he helped make Jay pancakes early this morning.
The rest of the house is loud with chatter and music and laughter, everyone excited about it being Louis’ birthday and Christmas and about having Harry and Louis both home for once with some time to spare. They’d spent nearly a month at their own home after the European leg of the tour wrapped up in November, the first week of which was actual downtime, and then Louis was spending a lot of time writing.
By the time Louis’ birthday rolls around, they’ve already been at Jay’s house for two full days, and Harry either feels the happiest he’s ever been, or the most stressed he’s ever been. It’s mostly happiness, but he can’t deny the fact that Louis’ family gets a bit overwhelming at times. He loves them all to death, obviously, but still.
He stares at the curl on his forehead again, blowing another frustrated breath up at it in an attempt to get it off. “Need a hand, love?”
Harry looks up to where Louis is leaning in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, soft smile on his face. He’s dressed in a pair of soft grey sweatpants, the bottoms tucked into his white socks, and one of Harry’s large black hoodies with the strings pulled out. Harry softens at the sight of him.
“Did my mum duck out on you?”
“She’s putting Lucky down for a nap,” Harry replies. “Could you, um,” he gestures at the hair, and Louis laughs softly, nodding.
He crosses the kitchen and puts a hand on Harry’s waist, turning him so they’re facing each other. Louis cups one side of his face and uses the other hand to tuck the loose curl back into his headband, where it probably won’t even stay for very long.
“What are you making now?” Louis asks quietly.
“Um, I just put cupcakes in. I’m waiting for the cookies to cool off enough, then I’m calling the girls and Ernie in to help decorate them. It sucks that Lucky is down for his nap.”
Louis looks around the kitchen, at the collection of baked goods Harry and Jay have made over the past couple of hours. There’s muffins and cookies and two really, really good batches of brownies. Louis eyes the brownies and looks at Harry suspiciously. Harry rolls his eyes.
“They’re just normal brownies,” Harry deadpans. “Our brownies are still upstairs in your room, aren’t they?”
“Yeah. Seems like you could use one,” Louis tells him. “C’mon, I’ll watch the cupcakes. Why don’t you go shower? This is the last batch right? Gotta switch over to dinner prep.”
Harry whimpers. “It’s hardly even noon!”
“Closer to one, actually. Go hop in the shower, how long do these have to bake for?”
“Like, ten more minutes? Stick a toothpick in them, if it comes out clean they’re good to go. And, like, your mum should be back any minute.”
Louis kisses the corner of his mouth. Then he frowns, leaning back again. Harry watches Louis’ tongue dart out to lick the pad of his thumb, rubs that same thumb over Harry’s cheek, then licks his thumb again. “Ew. I think that was, like, baking soda. Go on, baby. I’ll be fine. I know how an oven works.”
Harry’s not so sure about that sometimes. Louis kisses him again, fully on the mouth this time. Reluctantly, Harry makes his way upstairs, ignoring Louis’ shouted comment about Harry grabbing a brownie while he’s up there.
He showers and stays in the bathroom to use the hair dryer after, wrapped in his towel standing in front of the sink. Before crossing back into Louis’ bedroom, Harry sticks his head out the door and checks that the coast is clear before quickly making his way back.
Louis bought his family (mostly his mum, really, since the girls quickly moved out) a new house, the way he tells it, it was his first big boy purchase once he started making real money from his music and his touring. The twins all have their own bedrooms now and, according to the Tomlinsons, Jay’s bedroom is basically the size of their old house.
He locks the door to the bedroom and flips open his suitcase, digging out his favorite pair of white pleated trousers, which he pairs with a black tank top and his patchwork cardigan for the time being. The house is pretty warm, which isn’t surprising, and it’ll be even more warm in the kitchen.
Before opening the bedroom door again, Harry stops, his eyes landing on the tupperware container sitting on the dresser. In a split second decision, he pops it open and takes one of the brownies out, breaking it off in small pieces as he makes his way downstairs. Louis is still in the kitchen, sitting in what appears to be the one open spot on the countertop, talking to his mum.
“Did you burn the cupcakes?” Harry asks, popping another bite in his mouth.
Louis arches his eyebrows at him, motioning Harry over. “No. Did you find a snack?”
“Mhm. You can have the other half. I still have to help.”
Jay looks over at them. “Harry, love, you’ve been helping the whole morning. You can take a break if you want.”
Harry quickly shakes his bread. He takes one last bite of the brownie and passes it off to Louis, wiping his hand off on Louis’ thigh. “Nope, I’m good. I love cooking. Just give me something to do and I’m on it.”
Louis shoves the rest of the brownie in his mouth at once. “The second he starts double checking what his task is, pull him out,” Louis says around his mouthful. “I don’t wanna hear him whining about how I got him too stoned to cook.”
This time, Harry punches his thigh. “I only ate half of it and it’s not even that strong. Fuck off,” he mutters.
That makes Louis cackle, and makes Jay laugh too, and all of it makes Harry pout a little bit. Louis kisses him to make it go away, though, which makes it all worth it.
When he finally gets a break, a couple of hours later after meal prepping is finally done and cookies have been decorated, Louis shoves a glass of wine into his hand and leads him to the living room. He tugs Harry down onto the arm chair with him, unashamed and unafraid of being a little too all over each other even in front of his family. Though, for once, the living room is the least crowded it’s been all day — everyone off in their rooms getting ready for dinner later, save for Lottie.
Harry sits sideways, his feet up on the arm of the couch and his knees resting against Louis’ chest. Louis runs a hand up one of his legs over his trousers, frowning as he goes over his knee and up his thigh. Then he grabs Harry’s ankles and, one by one, straightens his legs out a little more.
“You're wearing your braces, baby?” He asks softly, and Harry nods. He’d pulled them on after putting on his trousers in a last minute thought, thinking about how long he’d be on his feet for and what havoc that would wreak on his fucked up knees.
“Just in case,” Harry tells him. “They’re not bothering me that much. My back, though…”
“Are you trying to get a back rub out of me?” Louis asks. He brushes a curl behind Harry’s ear and kisses the skin just below it. “You did great today, H, let everyone else handle the rest, yeah? This is still supposed to be a vacation for both of us.”
Harry sips his wine and nods. He doesn’t know that he’ll be able to do that, but he agrees anyway. Louis kisses his neck again and then directs his attention to Lottie, who’s currently sitting in front of the Christmas tree reorganizing the presents by name instead of the random assortment they’d been in.
“H wanted to know when we could get some tennis in,” Louis says, and Harry grins, turning his attention to her as well.
“I know, he already asked me,” Lottie says over her shoulder. “We can go whenever you guys get back from your next trip, I guess. When’s that one?”
“We’re going to New Zealand for a bit before the Australian shows start,” Harry says.
Lottie shakes her head. “No, I could’ve sworn there was something else.”
“Just New Zealand, Lots. Don’t give Harry any ideas,” Louis says, but he’s a bit too quick with his answer. Harry looks over at him, suspicious. Louis waves him off. “We’ll have to go to the club, play inside till the weather clears up again.”
Louis is a bit too enthusiastic about tennis. Tennis with his sister and Lewis, the former-pro tennis player who always kicks their arses. Harry stares at him, then at Lottie, who’s still diligently focused on the gifts. He thinks, distantly, that Louis is up to something, but he doesn’t have the energy to try to figure it out right now. Instead, he chugs his glass of wine and meets Louis’ shocked gaze.
“Will you get me more?”
“Yeah, but you should take it easy, love. We haven’t even had dinner yet. Don’t chug the next one, hm?”
Again, Harry just nods his agreement. Louis nudges him and Harry shuffles over so he can slip off the chair. He takes Harry’s glass from him, kisses the top of his head and murmurs that he’s going to grab a smoke before he comes back in. He leaves too quickly for Harry to ask if he’s got a joint or if he’s going to smoke a cigarette.
As soon as he’s gone, Harry turns around in the chair so he’s facing Lottie instead. “What’s he talking about?” He asks. “Why’d he get all weird?”
Lottie shrugs. She adds one last gift to someone’s pile and turns to face him. “I dunno. He’s weird.”
That’s two Tomlinsons being weird. Harry’s even more suspicious. “You’re being weird, too.”
“Have you been eating Louis’ pot brownies again? He told me that was his batch and not yours, I’m surprised you could make it through cooking.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “No,” he says firmly. “And I don’t like the way you two always talk to me like I’m fucking stupid. I’m older than you, there’s no reason for you to be treating me like this.”
He sounds indignant and childish, he knows it, but he can’t help it. Harry takes a deep breath. “I just wanna know why he’s being weird,” he says, calmer and more even this time.
“He’s not being weird, Harry. You two travel so fuckin’ much how am I supposed to keep it all straight?” Lottie asks. “And I won’t be offended by this little outburst. It’s not my fault my brother’s an idiot, I’m very much aware of that.”
“Sorry,” Harry murmurs, eyes downcast.
Lottie sighs heavily. “Ugh, don’t make that face. It’s fine. You just cooked all damn day with my mum. And my brother’s a twat.”
“Yeah,” Harry says. “I’m sorry anyway.”
Lottie stands up, coming over to kiss Harry’s head. “It’s really alright, Haz. C’mon, let’s go steal Lucky from Lewis and pick out a Christmas outfit for him.”
This, finally, makes Harry grin. “I’d love to.”
“Alright. You go grab him, I’ll let mum and Lo know where we’re off to. I’ll tell him to double the wine since I’m not breastfeeding.”
“He’s probably gonna tell you to help yourself to a brownie, too,” Harry says. Lottie laughs and heads off into the kitchen in search of her mum and brother.
Harry retrieves Lucky from where his dad has him in the other room, telling him to go grab a beer or something. He takes him upstairs, talking quietly to him about nonsense, baby things, none of which Lucky has an answer to, obviously. Lottie joins him a few minutes later, and it turns out a bit of time cooing over cute baby clothes and a cute baby is just what Harry needed to not feel as confused and paranoid about whatever has the Tomlinson siblings acting like they’re hiding nuclear codes.
Louis finds them there, two glasses of wine in his hand and a piece of brownie balanced between the fingers of his left. “Lewis said you two snuck off up here.”
“What’re you doing here?” Lottie asks, pulling out a different little sweater and showing it to Harry.
He gasps. “We got you that one! Can this be the one? Oh, it’ll look so cute with his little trousers!”
“He’s got a maximum of about thirty minutes in these clothes before they’re shit in, puked on, or he decides he just doesn’t like them, but sure.”
Louis enters the room fully, holding one of the glasses out to Harry. He takes it, and tries to snag the piece of brownie too, but Louis evades his grasp, quickly popping it into his own mouth instead. “Sorry, love.” Louis says, not sounding sorry at all. “You had your half earlier.”
“You shouldn’t need to be stoned on your birthday,” Harry tells him, but he doesn’t mean it.
“Just drink your wine. What were you two cooing about before I interrupted?” He asks like he doesn’t know, but Harry suspects he was standing there for longer than he’s letting on and most likely already knows what they were talking about before he made his presence known.
“Baby booties,” Harry answers anyway, picking up the pair left on the bed. “I’m obsessed with them.”
Louis smiles, his eyes going all soft and crinkly at the corners like Harry loves so fucking much. “Of course. It’s always the booties.”
Harry sticks his bottom lip out, nodding. “They’re just so cute.”
“What’d you decide to put him in? He won’t leave it on, you know,” Louis points out. He wraps his arm around Harry’s waist, nosing up the side of his neck.
“Yeah, well. It’ll be cute while it lasts. Did y’bring your phone?”
“Do you just, never bring yours with you?” Louis retorts, but when Harry reaches back he finds Louis’ in the pocket of his sweatpants right away.
“Lo, are you gonna change into something else?” Lottie asks as she wrangles Lucky’s chubby little leg into his pants.
Louis sighs into Harry’s neck, pulling him closer. “Yeah. Lemme steal my boy so we can color coordinate?”
“If that’s code for something dirty, Louis, so help me God, I’m telling mum and we’re interrupting. I don’t care if it’s your birthday.”
“Oh, my God,” Harry groans. “It’s not. And I did have something I wanted him to wear, so.”
“You wanted to—God, you know what? Just go. We all know who your favorite Tomlinson is.”
Harry grins as Louis tugs at his waist, leading him toward the door. “It’s his birthday, Lots. And Christmas. This is important.”
Lottie grumbles long after they’ve made their way down to Louis’ room. Harry’s giggling, Louis’ lips and scruff tickling at his neck, even after he’s shut the door behind them. Harry slips away from him the second he has the chance to, taking a sip from the wine Louis brought him.
“We can’t do anything,” he says, warning. Because Louis is looking at him like he might just get something and they can’t, Harry’s firm in that, and Louis knows it. “I seriously do have this new sweater I want you to wear, it’s black and white and it’s perfect, and it’s not itchy. I tried one on in the store.”
“So you can look all comfy and cute and not sweat your balls off while you stuff me in a sweater and jeans?” Louis asks. He sets his wine glass down on the counter and steps closer. Harry tries not to think about how hot he is. Absolutely does not look at the grey sweatpants, which may very well be one of Harry’s biggest weaknesses when it comes to Louis.
“Well. Yes. But it’s not my fault you won’t wear trousers like mine.” His arse would look fucking fantastic in any of Harry’s pants. Harry thinks about it quite often.
Louis sighs. “Fine, baby. Lemme see what you have, then. I have to wear my good jeans, I presume?”
“Yes,” Harry answers automatically. He nods towards the bed, and Louis obeys surprisingly quickly, sitting down at the edge of it. Harry huffs, takes another, longer sip of his wine before setting it aside. It’s in his own luggage, neatly folded and hidden away so Louis couldn’t possibly find it if he happened to snoop.
Harry stands upright again, holding the sweater, turning back around to Louis’ cocky smirk, slightly hooded eyes. “Oh my God,” Harry breathes. “Are you stoned?”
“No!” Louis exclaims. “You’d know if I was stoned. And I wouldn’t get that high before dinner, Harold. Christ. You’re just…”
“Don’t finish that thought,” Harry says quickly. “Just… Get changed, please. Your pants are in your luggage.”
Louis snatches the sweater from him and practically stalks over to his own suitcase. Harry laughs softly, grabbing his wine again and taking Louis’ spot on the bed. He watches Louis’ back as he gets changed, commits every flicker of muscle and curve of his body to memory, as if it all doesn’t all live there already.
The softness of his skin and the ladders of his ribs and the little plush of his hips and the curve of his waist and the smoothness of his back. His back, the only part of him unmarked by tattoos, only ever marked by Harry’s own lips and nails and teeth. It’s rather unmarred right now, surprisingly, just a couple faint scratches from one of their trysts a couple of days ago (if Harry had to guess, it was the one in the shower, when Louis pinned him against the wall and fucked him so hard Harry saw stars).
Harry swallows another gulp of wine. Louis pulls the sweater over his head, a white tank under it. “It’s cute,” Louis remarks. “And… surprisingly not itchy.”
Harry finishes his glass and leans over, putting the glass on the nightstand before he beckons Louis over. Louis comes right away, standing between Harry’s spread legs. Harry adjusts the collar and fixes the hem, teasingly brushes his fingertips over the waistband of Louis’ jeans under the guise of making sure the tank he put underneath is tucked in properly.
Louis drapes his arms over Harry’s shoulder when, evidently, he’s had enough of the pampering. Harry looks up at him. “It’s just for pictures,” Harry says. “And maybe dinner. For Lucks it’s acceptable to need a different outfit after thirty minutes. You should be able to make it for a bit longer.”
Louis sighs dramatically. Harry lifts his foot, hooking it behind Louis’ calf just to be closer. “I can do that. There’s no real pictures after dinner, though. The girls know that.”
“Nothing taken after dinner will make it onto the internet,” Harry promises. Louis grips the side of his neck, tipping Harry’s chin up and holding it there in that expert way he does; thumb right below the hinge of his jaw, the rest of his fingers at the back of his neck. Harry can feel his pointer finger just barely teasing his hair, and it makes his brain splinter for a moment.
“Okay?” Louis asks, voice gentle.
“Yeah,” he answers, meaning it. “I love you. A lot.”
Louis hums, bending down to kiss him sweetly. Harry does his best to ignore the way Louis’ thumb is digging into his jaw. “Why were you and Lots weird before?”
“We weren’t,” Louis says simply, kissing him again. “Am I dressed well enough for you, love?”
His fingers dig into the back of Harry’s neck, silently telling him to focus on the task at hand and not some silly thing that Harry’s all worked up about. Because it is, he’s sure, some silly thing.
“You’re fit as fuck. If we didn’t have dinner soon I’d suck you off right now.”
Louis' grip tightens. It feels way better than Harry thinks it probably should. Then it’s gone. Louis wipes both hands on his jeans. “I’m not letting you go under at my mum’s house, and I’m certainly not letting you go under before dinner. You’re my baby, and nothing’s gonna happen to you, but you’ve gotta cooperate when I treat you like that.”
“Okay,” Harry agrees easily. For all he fights it, he is Louis’ baby. “But you’re gonna have to drop the whole… daddy-dom tone, or it’s not going to help.”
Louis shuts his eyes. He takes a breath, then opens them again. “I love you. And if you happen to need me, find me, and tell me, and we’ll figure it out. But for now, go find Lots and head back downstairs.”
Harry was so cloudy just a second ago, mesmerized by Louis, but now he feels it clearing. It’s stupid, how gone he is. “And you?”
“I’m gonna go downstairs now and see if my mum needs help. Clear your head, spend some time with the baby,” Louis tells him, kissing Harry’s forehead as a final goodbye.
So Harry does what Louis says, because there’s nothing else to do other than that. Lottie lets him carry the baby back downstairs, getting him situated on one of the play mats in the middle of the living room. He can hear the chatter from the kitchen, Louis’ loud laughter echoing, unmistakable even from a distance.
“Your uncle is too rowdy for his own good,” Harry tells Lucky, “probably giving your nan a headache in there. Do you know what he’s hiding?”
Lucky, very helpfully, grunts. A drop of drool lands on the top of Harry’s hand. He grimaces and wipes it on the play mat. Harry sighs and sits up straight. These Tomlinsons drive him absolutely fucking crazy.
**
Louis has disappeared. It’s after nine, the baby has been asleep for hours and Phoebe fell asleep on the couch not long after Lucky went down. Harry finds Jay in the kitchen, putting away the last of the dessert leftovers finally.
“Do you know where Lo went?” He asks, setting his glass down on the counter and reaching for the next open bottle of red. He fills his glass up and holds the bottle out to Jay, who shakes her head.
“I’ve had more than enough,” she says. “And, uh, no, not recently. Did you check Lucky?”
Harry nods. “Yeah, he’s not there.”
Jay hums. “Maybe he’s having a smoke? Filthy habit that boy’s got, but knowing him that’s probably it.”
Maybe. But something isn’t right, not with the way Louis somehow slipped away unnoticed. All of a sudden Harry can’t even remember the last time he saw him, but it couldn’t have been that long ago. Regardless, Harry nods his head slowly, thanks her, and heads out of the kitchen. He checks the front porch first, but the light is off and there’s no one out there, certainly not Louis. Harry stands in the foyer for a moment, taking a fortifying sip of his wine before going to check the back deck.
He can see lights on through the cracks in the curtains on the sliding glass doors. Bingo. Harry shakes his head and pulls the curtain just enough to open the door a bit and slip out.
He stops dead in his tracks as soon as he’s turned around from shutting the door behind himself.
The lights aren’t the regular porch lights, instead it’s a perfectly hung display of twinkling fairy lights. Not Christmas lights, but the cute little ones like the strands that Harry insisted upon stringing up in their bedroom at home. And Louis isn’t sitting in one of the porch chairs or even on the swing smoking, but instead he’s standing in the middle of the deck.
He’s still wearing his jeans, and he’s pulled the sweater Harry told him to wear earlier in the day back on despite having taken it off hours ago. His cheeks are flushed from the chill outside and his hands are held up in front of his chest. He’s doing that nervous thing he does, cracking each of his knuckles and then pulling on his fingers.
“Louis?” Harry prompts, because Louis is just staring at him, not saying anything.
“Hi, honey,” Louis greets finally. “Took you long enough.”
“I was—it doesn’t matter. What are you doing?” His hands are trembling a little. He wraps them both around his wine glass, hoping to either stop the shaking or prevent himself from dropping the glass entirely.
“I know I always tell you that I don’t need presents or any kind of recognition on my birthday, but I wanted to commemorate this one with something special. I have a feeling you’ll have some kind of issue with it, not wanting to share special dates or something, but frankly I can’t wait any longer.”
Harry swears he can feel the gears in his head turning, the puzzle slowly fitting into place. It hits him like a train when it all finally slots together, what Louis is doing. “Louis,” he breathes.
“C’mere, love,” Louis says, in lieu of an answer. Harry steps closer, close enough that Louis can take his wine glass. He bends down and sets it on the small table to his right, then stands upright again. “I need you to not interrupt me for, like, a minute.”
Harry makes a show of pursing his lips and throwing away the key, making Louis snort. He sobers up rather quickly, exhaling a short breath and meeting Harry’s eye. “Before I met you, I was a fucking mess. I didn’t know my arse from my elbow and I was just this insane rockstar party guy. And then I met you, and it felt like everything fell into place. You make me a better person, it started the very second that you walked into my life,” he pauses, taking a deep breath. Harry’s holding his own, the anticipation and love filling him up are almost overwhelming.
“I have spent every waking minute trying to be a person worthy of you. Worthy of having you come on the road with me, sacrifice your life and time with your family and sometimes your job just to be with me. You have turned me into someone I never envisioned myself becoming, and not a day goes by that I’m not grateful for it.”
Harry almost opens his mouth to say something, but then he remembers Louis’ request for silence and manages to hold it back. He’s not even sure what he was going to say, probably just Louis’ name again. His own eyes are shiny with tears but Louis’ are clear and unwavering, those steady oceans Harry always gets lost in. It’s impossible to get lost in them now; now they’re more like beacons, steady and sure and bright, something for Harry to hold his focus on.
“I never thought I would have that — have this — and there is no one else that I would want to share it with. I want to give you everything you could possibly want, even when you’re stubborn and argue and don’t want me to. I would be the absolute happiest man in the world if all I got to do for the rest of my life was argue with you over what I should and shouldn’t buy you. If all I got to do was spend the rest of my life loving you.”
Louis finishes speaking and stares at Harry expectantly. He looks a little less solid now, basking in the silence following his little speech he looks nervous, his hands are up again, nervously trying to crack his knuckles again. It’s helplessly endearing. Harry feels like his heart might fucking explode.
“Louis,” he chokes out. “I’m gonna need to hear you say it.”
“Oh, shit, yeah,” Louis says. He reaches into his back pocket and then steps impossibly closer, practically a breath away from Harry now. Louis produces a small black box from his pocket. He opens it and Harry gasps; two black bands rest side by side in the box, one of which has a small diamond set inside it.
“Lou,” he gasps. “They’re beautiful.”
And then Louis drops to one knee, looking up at Harry, all prominent cheekbones, long eyelashes, lips that feel like home. His eyes are glassy now, too, cloudy oceans of blue that change their color along with the weather (sometimes, Harry thinks, they change to reflect Louis’ mood, but that’s unproven by many things, including science, though it is rather poetic and nice to think about).
Even though he’s obviously fully aware of what’s happening now, Harry still gasps again when Louis drops down. He holds the box up, all proper romantic like, and breathes in deeply. “Harry Styles. Will you marry me?”
Harry’s nodding before he even asks the question. “Yes, holy shit, yes,” he says, all in a rush, grabbing Louis’ wrist and tugging him to his feet again. He crashes their mouths together, kissing Louis as deeply as he can, hoping to convey everything he’s thinking and feeling and how goddamn happy he is right now since he can hardly form the words to express it.
The kiss is messy and salty with tears — more than likely mostly Harry’s own — but when they pull apart, Harry whispering and begging for Louis to put the damn ring on his finger, he sees that Louis’ cheeks are damp with tears of his own. Louis slides the ring on his finger and Harry snatches the box from him rather unceremoniously so that he can return the favor.
As soon as that’s done, Harry drops the box without a care and cups Louis’ face, pulling him in for another kiss, slower this time. Louis’ hands fly to his waist, their hips now flush together, all of it everything Harry loves, everything he craves at pretty much every waking moment.
Harry gets startled away from him when there’s a sudden, very loud burst of cheering and applause. Dazed, he blinks his eyes open slowly, looking at Louis confused, but Louis is just grinning.
Louis’ entire family is coming out onto the porch, phones raised and smiles on their faces. Harry’s heart drops through his body when he catches sight of his own mother beside Jay, teary-eyed and clutching a hand over her heart.
“Louis!” He exclaims. “You snogged me like that with our whole family here?”
“You kissed me, baby, and I think it’s allowed. We did just get engaged.”
Harry shoves at his shoulder half-heartedly and beelines for his mum, wrapping her in a tight hug. He buries his face in her hair, disbelieving. “What are you doing here? It’s Christmas!”
“I know, but when your only son’s boyfriend calls you saying he’s finally going to pop the bloody question, you get your arse to Donny.”
“He called you? How long—he asked? When?”
Anne pulls back, her hands a steadying and grounding presence on his forearms. “Uh, he brought it up for the first time over a year ago,” she admits. “And asked again at the beginning of this year. And he invited me here, like, four months ago.”
He’s had this planned. Louis, his impulsive, stoner, rockstar boyfriend has had this planned. In the middle of a hectic North American tour, he planned this. Harry really shouldn’t be surprised, because Louis is kind of stupidly romantic a lot of the time, even in the smallest of ways. So, like, he really shouldn’t be surprised.
Harry still wants to get engaged to him all over again.
There’s the sound of champagne being popped, and before Harry knows it, Louis is at his side again, passing a flute into his hand and pressing a tender kiss to his jaw. Harry can’t do anything other than stare at him in shock, shaking his head.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” Harry asks. Louis snorts. “You asked for my hand. You planned this whole thing behind my back and—Oh! Is this why Lottie was all confused about our holidays?”
“Aren’t you smart?” Louis asks teasingly. Harry rolls his eyes and presses his lips to Louis’ temple, tightening his hold around his waist. “We’ll be spending New Years in Greece, if you must know. Then home for a bit so I can hit the studio, then we’re off on tour again. But first we’re having a bit of an engagement-moon.”
An engagement-moon. That certainly isn’t a thing. Harry’s getting married to an idiot. “I love you. So, so much.”
Louis tips his chin up to look at him. Harry doesn’t even have to look to predict the soft, fond look that Louis is wearing right now. He looks anyway, because it’s not something he’s keen on ever missing. “I love you, too,” Louis says, and his eyes are sparkling, and Harry feels himself fall in love all over again.
“I’m so glad Josh threw me into your dressing room,” Harry murmurs, brushing Louis’ cheekbone with the knuckles of the hand holding his champagne. Louis turns his face quickly and kisses his fingers.
“I’m just glad none of this scared you off.”
Harry quickly shakes his head. “No, never. It couldn’t.”
He would never. It’s this — them, this life — for as long as Harry can possibly have it. Forever sounds pretty damn good, and they’re on the right track.