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Chapter Text

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The darkness was all encompassing, pulling at him with spindly fingers and stealing away the last wisps of his cognisance. Someone close by was quietly screaming, their breath hitching and jerking in a slow suffocation of sanity. Harry fought against the sleep-induced apraxia, desperately searching for the sound despite his temporary blindness. Their fear instilled fear in him too, amongst his disorientation. The harder he cast around, the more the torment turned to panic-striped nausea. He was giving up hope, even as the screams turned to wracking sobs that reached down his throat and strangled him from the inside. But then, in a surprising moment of salvation, a cold hand wrapped around his wrist and took the solace he was so willingly offering. It was an anchor, a starting point for his rescue mission. Harry pushed past the hotbed of pillows and gnarled mess of blankets to reach the weeping figure. Without detaching their hand, he wrapped his arm around their body, pulling them back into the cradle of his grasp and pressing placating kisses into the heat of their scalp. “No one can hurt you, I’m here,” he whispered into the midnight void, his heart sure of what his mind could not decipher. 

↬

“Harry?” 

Niall’s tearful voice broke into his dreams, dragging him back to the surface. In those hazy first moments of wakefulness, Harry struggled to fit the broken pieces of his senses together in any reasonable order. He tightened his grip around the warm body that was pressed against him, and let his lips find the first piece of flesh he came too. 

“Ssshhh, it’s okay.” 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” Niall sobbed, his voice cracking and breaking around his apology. 

Fragmented memories of the night before flooded his consciousness, bringing him back to the here and now as his eyelids fluttered open. The world was still blurry, and all Harry could do was hold his friend tightly, pouring love into him. 

“I should have said something before it got that bad, and I’m sorry. Can I have a cuddle?” 

“You silly sod, it’s okay. That’s why I am cuddling you.” As Harry finished his sentence, his eyes adjusted to the weak light that seeped in around his curtains. It had barely registered with him that Niall’s voice was drifting in from the doorway, that the body in his arms wasn’t juddering or even moving at all. He turned his head awkwardly, glancing over to the door and took in his best friend sagging against the frame in all his dishevelled distress. Slowly, and without another word, Harry turned his head slowly back to the man in his arms. 

Louis looked back at him, his face a map of bewitching sleepy charm. Not quite awake yet, he hadn’t attempted to move from their embrace, instead he stretched his arms above his head with grumbling moans and sighs. He was still under the protection of not questioning their position, although Harry knew the seconds were numbered and they would soon face his reaction.  It slammed down on them almost instantly, Louis’ eyes widening with a mixture of shock and embarrassment. He started to peddle his legs, his hands slapping at Harry’s own in his haste to put space between them in the big bed. Louis’ eyes searched for the barrier they had built between them the night before, his feet finding the pillow beneath the duvet before he could. Harry supposed it could be symbolic, walls between them broken down, but while Louis was so twitchy, it didn’t seem like the right moment to bring it up. 

“Morning,” Harry whispered, his eyes searching Louis’ own for answers. 

“Yeah… morning,” he mumbled back, avoiding the eye contact Harry so desperately craved. Their stale breath mingled between them, and Louis angled his hips backwards. It was a pointless exercise, his morning glory already well acquainted with Harry’s thigh, but the movement itself spoke volumes. 

“Guys? Can I get in?” Niall stammered. He started to cross the room, aiming to clamber in behind Harry. 

“Come on, over here,” Harry coaxed, patting the still-warm empty space between them both. “Get yourself in here.”

They settled into their snuggle, three grown men who cared about nothing except being there for each other when it mattered most. The air of awkwardness still lingered, but it could be ignored for a while, Niall’s need greater than anything else they were facing. In moments like these, it was hard for Harry to believe that Louis had been there mere weeks, that he had known Niall for less than half the time they had known each other. He had risen to this latest challenge with more grace and decorum than could ever have been expected from a near stranger. The compassion was so ingrained in him, and it was easy to see that there were parts of Louis that prison could never steal. Maybe it could even be said that prison had even enhanced his humanity instead of stripping it all away, as so often happened to others. The next few days were bound to be hard as they pulled Niall back up from the depths of his self-imposed shame. 

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” Harry coaxed Niall gently, hoping that he could get to the bottom of the latest episode. 

“It’s so fecking stupid.” Niall’s voice was still thick with tears; he raised one arm from under the covers and pressed it against his eyes. “You know that me and Charlie had a bit of a fight about Christmas? It wasn’t anything major; she asked me whether I’d be interested in spending Christmas with her family, and instead of talking it out, I just closed down. I was already feeling a bit…iffy… and then that just tipped me over the edge.”

“Oh Nialler, why didn’t you tell me?” Harry pulled his best friend into a tight embrace, remembering from last time that a tight hold helped him feel more secure. 

“I wanted to try and do it by myself this time, H. Keep a bit of normality, y’know?”

“I get it. I really do get it. But I want you to stay here for a few days now, okay? You don’t have to go downstairs if you don’t feel up to it but I need you close.” Harry looked at Louis over Niall’s head, asking a silent question. Is this okay with you? Louis nodded back enthusiastically and reached out a hand to pat at Niall’s hair. 

“Thanks guys.” Niall’s voice was muffled against Harry’s chest, his eyes closed against the daylight in the room. “Jesus, I’m hungover to feck,” he moaned. 

“Nothing a bit of brekkie and two paracetamol can’t cure,” Louis threw in, already twisting his body out of the overcrowded bed. “I’ll leave you two to it.” 

Harry watched fondly as Louis pulled on the colourful robe he had hanging on the back of the door. It made him happy that Louis was so comfortable here, even if that was exactly what he had been aiming for. And the primal side of him roared at the sight of Louis in his clothes. This was even better than the t-shirts. 

“I might be emotionally bruised but there’s nowt wrong with my eyes, y'know?” Niall muttered from inside the cuddle, lifting his head when he felt Harry stiffen. 

“I don’t know what you mean?!” Harry spluttered, the lie obvious in his tone. 

“So you and Papillon weren’t spooning just now then?” Niall shuffled backwards onto the other half of the bed, one eyebrow raised as he watched Harry try to find an explanation. 

“Well not on purpose.” 

“Explain to me how one finds themself snuggling up with another grown arsed adult ‘by accident’,” Niall teased, his own worries forgotten for a moment in the haze of Harry’s avoidance. 

“I think he had a nightmare,” Harry murmured like a stroppy teenager. It was the truth, but he was well aware how it sounded. 

“I thought you were going out with that other widget… erm, Nick!” 

“I am. Kind of. He was here yesterday trying to organise another date, actually.” 

“So will you be explaining to him that he has to share a bed with you and Louis or…”

Harry took the opportunity to batter Niall in the face with a pillow, hoping that if anything it would make him stop talking. His friend screeched with mock indignation, his arms flailing in an attempt to hit Harry back. It wasn’t the end of the conversation, and Harry knew it, but it was the short respite that they both needed from the world. 

🕸

Louis stepped away from the toaster with a yawn; he shuffled back to the kitchen table as the smell of browning bread filled the air. He had the laptop open in front of him, the Google search opened on Cyclothymia. He had meant what he said to Harry, he wanted to help Niall in any way that he could. And reading was something he was good at. 

Mild form of bipolar disorder…

Mood swings can affect daily life….

Hypomania… do not need much sleep…

Will not go for longer than 2 months without experiencing low mood or an emotional high…

Everything that Louis read brought him more clarity, although it felt like an underestimation of what Niall had gone through the night before to call it ‘mild’. He supposed that meant he was lucky, that he had been sheltered from experiencing anything more severe, but there was still something inside of him that wanted to shout out loud for what his friend was going through. 

The toaster popped, dragging Louis out of his thoughts. He pulled the hot toast out onto the worktop saver and made his way to the fridge for the butter. Waves of laughter cut across the room from the bedroom door that he’d left ajar and Louis smiled instinctively. He would recognise Harry’s laughter anywhere, although he didn’t hear enough of it. It was heart-warming that Niall could take care of Harry while Harry thought he was taking care of Niall. And not for the first time, Louis felt grateful that he had been welcomed into an environment where looking out for one another was at the forefront of everyone’s mind. 

The two men exited the bedroom just as Louis was carrying the breakfast over to the table. They were still giggling, walking close and bobbing in and out of each other’s space. Niall was the first to take his seat, while Harry made his way over to stand next to Louis. 

“I’m gonna make some cuppas. Can I just…” Harry gestured at the space Louis was currently standing in, and that he needed to get into. 

“Oh of course, yes!” Louis moved left, just as Harry moved right. They smiled, and then Harry moved left as Louis moved right. “Let me just help us out here.” Louis put one hand on Harry’s waist, the skin hot and burning through the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. He squeezed, and then pulled Harry in, twirling them round together in an unintentionally carnal mockery of a dance. 

“Thanks,” Harry muttered quickly, turning away. But not before Louis saw the flush starting up on his throat. 

“Welcome,” Louis muttered back, willing his cock to behave itself. 

It wasn’t until he looked over to the kitchen table that he realised Niall had watched the entire thing as it unfolded, his toast hanging limp in his hand and a mildly amused, and sort of disgusted, look on his face. Louis’ eyes flicked from side to side, avoiding Niall’s stare for as long as possible while Harry obliviously made the drinks. It was fruitless, the knowing smirk waiting for him when he finally acquiesced to his embarrassing fate. 

“You guys are gross. Thought you should know.” Niall quickly went back to his toast, leaving Louis to decide between a seat next to Niall, or a seat next to Harry.  

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Niall had swept in like a bittersweet breath of fresh air, blasting away the awkwardness and tension between Louis and Harry. There had been no other choice but to come together for their friend, and to push aside the wall they were each constructing to keep the other out. It was a relief, and Louis felt guilty for even thinking that way. Worse still would be thinking about how wrong it could all go when Niall was no longer around to act as a buffer. He shrugged the thoughts away, concentrating instead on the itemised list Harry had handed to him for the day. Now, they were on a recovery mission, sweeping through the debris of hypomania for salvageable pieces that they could slot back into place. Harry had asked Callum and Tanya to run The Creaky Stanza for the next few days, promising that he would pop down from time to time and lift the pressure a bit. Sitting close together on the sofa, Louis had placated his nerves, batting away every catastrophised obstacle Harry stumbled on and reassuring him that they would both literally be right there should anything happen. He tried to ignore the way Harry’s phone relentlessly buzzed in his pocket, knowing full well that Nick would feel an urgent need to touch base. Louis had no right to feel territorial, and yet with every ignored notification, his heart glowed a little warmer. 

They had already helped Niall go through his shopping bags; most of them were filled with almost empty cans of lager, the few purchases sticky with the foamy dregs left at the bottom. From what could be salvaged, it seemed like Niall had been on a mission to buy Christmas decorations. 

“What's this one?” Louis asked from the floor, holding up a sad looking piece of pink felt wearing a Santa hat. One end of it was stained with lager, the stuffing bloated and bulging  against the seams. 

“It’s a festive prawn,” Niall responded with a shrug. He went back to digging through the bag he held on his own lap. “I think this one was for you, H.” 

Harry reached out and took the decoration from Niall; he lifted it into the air, letting it spin on its string so the glitter caught the light. “A peacock! I love it!”

“It reminded me of you. The most beautiful part of it is all folded up and hidden away. And even if you think you know what it looks like, it still takes your breath away every time.” Niall flashed a small, sheepish smile at his friend, then carried on going through his bag as if he hadn’t just said the most profound thing. 

Louis looked to Harry, catching the glint of tears at his lash line before he looked down. It seemed impolite to stare at what was clearly a vulnerable moment, and yet Louis couldn’t help but admire Harry with his shields lowered. He was softer somehow, even when he was fighting back the emotion. It was as though he was fuzzy round the edges, more perfect because of his imperfections. There was coffee splashed down his hoodie, one of his socks had a hole at the toe and his hair was greasy at the root. Louis had never seen a person more beautiful. 

“And this is for you, Lou.”

Louis startled out of his daze, taking the decoration from Niall without really looking at it. It took him a minute before it registered what he was looking at. “A fucking avocado? I mean…why, Nialler?” 

Niall started to laugh first, with Harry close behind. All Louis could do was stare blankly between the two of them, his confusion growing by the second. 

“Me and Harry heard you ranting at the lads in the kitchen about how much you hated them, and apparently even when I’m off my tits I’m hilarious,” Niall gasped between laughs. Harry hooted and barked beside him, his laughter the most undignified thing about him but still somehow endearing. 

Louis could have taken it personally, could have felt like the nerdy new kid being bullied by the popular girls. But it was impossible to feel like that in a room that was straining at the beams with love. There was no sarcastic edge to the laughter, no puffed chests or broadened shoulders. Instead, the two men were almost squashy with glee; their bodies were wide open and turned towards Louis, their eyes closed as they hiccupped and choked on amusement. Louis was part of the joke, rather than the butt of it. He was thought about enough to be included in Niall’s gift giving.  And he was surprised by the depth of feeling that came with that realisation. 

Before he had been sent to prison, there had been friends. But as the years went on and life got cut throat, the real friends slipped into the cracks and the degenerates filled them up. That first night in prison, Louis had soothed himself through the terror into a fitful sleep on the thought of his ‘friends’ filing visiting orders and supporting him through his sentence. Rewarding him for his silence with love and bug-out bags of goodies. But as the weeks turned to months turned to years he had given up hope and he had hardened. There had been friends in HMP Manchester, relationships borne by convenience and the agonising ache for human contact. Relationships designed to be left behind and forgotten on release day. Louis had mainly kept to himself, until one night he found himself hewing voices together from the disjointed hum of background chatter and wailing on the wing. The very next day, shaken by his own mental instability,  Louis went to the library and talked to the first inmate he came across. Goliath. 

Storing away the unfamiliar feelings for his next meeting with James, Louis concentrated on bringing himself back into the room. The laughter had quieted to sporadic giggles, and he watched as Harry dashed tears away from his eyes for the second time in less than ten minutes. He liked these ones better, the ones accompanied by an impossibly bright smile without the traces of self-consciousness he usually carried on his shoulders. Louis would happily be the avocado to his peacock if it meant his feathers would be spread. 

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“Any excuse for a fecking list!” 

Harry flicked Niall the v’s over his shoulder and laughed. It came easily, his bones already lightened by warm hearts and affection. He didn’t understand how something so chaotic could give way to this kind of magic, but it was one of the things Harry cherished most about his friendship with Niall. No matter what was going on, they could find the space to laugh and make fun of themselves. Having Louis along for the ride hadn’t changed that, if anything, the new blood had amplified whatever it was that made Harry more like himself. He had shrugged off the cloak of anxiety and wariness that threatened to smother him most days, and with every cackle he could feel the tension leaving his body. 

“Honestly Louis, get used to this if you’re going to be living here. Jobs to do? List! Party to organise? List! List to make? List! The man is unstoppable!” 

Having Louis here seemed to be having an effect on Niall too. Harry had been prepared, with a list of course, to guide Niall through the inevitable low mood that followed one of his episodes. The last few years had given more opportunities than he liked to refine his ideas, and his cupboard was always stocked with extra warm clothes and Niall’s favourite snacks and sugary drinks. And while there had been moments today when the darkness seemed to be rearing up, it had only taken one witty remark or a spontaneous burst of song from Louis before Niall was laughing again. Real, honest to God magic- that was the only explanation for it. 

Harry reached into the drawer of his telephone table and pulled out his favourite notebook. They had spent the morning eating and doing the basic things they needed to get Niall on the road to recovery, but now it was time to focus on the more serious stuff. And not just Niall’s serious stuff either. In a show of solidarity, both Harry and Louis had agreed to get their own shit together and cross off some jobs they had been avoiding. He could only hope that Niall wouldn't say a word about whatever he thought he saw blossoming between his friends. As he made his way back to the living room, and the nest they had created amongst themselves on the sofa, Harry let himself really watch Louis. He was freshly showered, his hair drying into fluffy waves across his forehead. It was getting longer, sitting just below his eyebrows now, and it never failed to charm Harry when Louis pushed out his bottom lip and blew upwards to move it. He was wearing one of Harry’s hoodies, one with ridiculously short arms that irritated him every time they rode up. They were longer on Louis, enough so that he could pull the cuffs over his knuckles, leaving just the tips of his fingers visible when he gestured with every word. Harry couldn’t see Louis’ face, but he could picture it perfectly. The crinkled eyes, almost closed with the force of the wide, toothy smile and adorable dimples at the corner. The soft petal pink of his tongue, slipping out between his teeth to moisten his lips. The soft flush of his cheeks, warmed through by laughter and central heating, edged with the three- day stubble that Harry desperately wanted to touch. 

When he took his seat back on the sofa, the urge to crawl into Louis’ lap was almost uncontrollable. Their thighs brushed casually, but Harry’s yearning heart didn’t get the memo. It stuttered in his chest, his stomach swooping as the traitorous muscle searched for a regular beat. It took too long, the uncertainty stealing his breath and dragging him into clammy panic.  Harry knew that the illusion of domesticity that their current situation had caused was to blame, but right now he was trapped in it, and there was no way to know if he would be able to survive it. And if he couldn’t get out of it the easy way, then he needed to find another solution. Around him, the room hummed with a quiet conversation that he was privy to, but not part of. Harry pulled out his phone, and composed a text to Nick. 

🕸

The night had been so monumentally different to the one before, that Louis struggled to accept there had been less than 24 hours between the two. In fact, the entire day had been so peaceful that it left him feeling uneasy. It wasn’t fair of his mind to try and convince him that he was wasting time or being lazy, but the remnants of prison life still nibbled away at his subconscious. The only thing that had gotten him through the day when he was inside was making sure he appreciated the hours that were begging to be wasted. It was too much of his life, the entirety of his twenties slipping away with nothing but a criminal record to show for it. The prison library had given him that purpose, even more so when he was granted permission to fulfil his work duties there while it was closed to the public. Louis had always enjoyed reading, but incarceration had strong-armed him into the life of a bookworm; his mind was more active for it, more inquisitive, more alive. But the downside was that he could never truly appreciate idle minutes now.

In an attempt to quiet his mind, Louis laid in bed and  looked back over the list he had made with Harry and Niall. They all had a copy (Harry’s idea of course) so that they could add their own personal tasks or make notes. In fact, as soon as they had finished Harry had started doodling all over his; crude and childish drawings that somehow captured his entire personality in a few pen scratches. Smiling at the memory of Harry, pizza in one hand and his list in the other, Louis started to read back over what he’d written. 

• Get the flat ready for Christmas

                     -Clean

                     -Sort decorations 

                     -Decorate

• Make sure Niall stays away from the ‘bad place’
  
  

• Chase up with social worker about Louis’ family visits
  
  

• Make a Pinterest board of Christmas activities we want to do together

                      -Christmas movie night?

                      -Baking ?

                      -Making decorations?

                      -Wrapping and card writing?

• Plan staff Christmas lunch

Their ideas were shaping the next few weeks into a real family Christmas- chosen family at least. Louis had tried to coax Harry into telling him what he would be doing for Christmas, but his new boss had awkwardly avoided the question every time. There had been a moment where Louis wondered if Harry was afraid of talking about his plans in case his ex-con flatmate invited himself along, and the self-consciousness that came with that thought was enough to make him drop it. He hadn’t had a real Christmas for the last four years, and the two before that hadn’t been so great either, so if he was destined to a Christmas with the pod people, then he would be extremely lucky. 

The bedroom door pushed open and the carpet fibres whooshed under the wood. Louis looked up eagerly, waiting for a glimpse of Harry appearing into the lamp-lit room. And then he was there, changed into pyjamas and as breath-taking as ever. He caught Louis’ eye with a shy smile reminiscent of a bride on her wedding night. The air felt charged, loaded. The promise of what could be, of a prospective glance into their future. Harry’s blush and Louis’ nerves. Bare legs and open hearts. Not tonight, but maybe in a million miles. 

Louis cleared his throat, embarrassed by the things he would never share. Instead, he peeled the covers back and waited silent and still against the pillows for Harry to climb in next to him. He walked to the vacant side of the bed, his movements shy and stilted as though he was somehow intruding. As Harry sat down, the bed dipped slightly under his weight. After a moments contemplation, Harry swung his legs round, spinning on his bottom; Louis felt the mattress drop away beneath him, then swoop back up to catch him. He jostled as Harry tried to get into position, clumsier for his heightened care. Harry whispered apologies under his breath, barely loud enough for Louis to hear, not expecting an answer. Despite that Louis still replied with soothing noises, and all the while he wished he could make himself smaller, give Harry the room to be unapologetically himself. 

The first night had been everything he’d expected-awkward, uncomfortable and unnatural, so he had high hopes that tonight they could handle it with more normality. Even if Harry laid down and turned his back, Louis would be glad to see him there. Especially when there was nothing stopping him from getting at the spare bedding this time. The sleeping arrangements hadn’t really been discussed, and Louis assumed that in agreeing to Niall staying over, he had also agreed to a room share for as long as they needed it. He didn’t say that after what had gone on between them, it might have been more sensible for Niall to share with Harry. He didn’t say that he would gladly sleep on the sofa so they all had their own space. He didn’t say that he hoped a warm body next to him might chase the nightmares away. 

Instead of turning away, Harry laid on his side facing the middle of the bed. Without a word he reached above his head for the barricade pillow and dragged it into a hug at his stomach.  It meant that his arms had breached the divide, his skin just inches from Louis’ hip, the ink of his tattoos begging to be traced, or kissed. Still upright, Louis looked down on Harry and devoured him shamelessly, eyes roving over his details, saving them up for later. Harry’s eyes were closed lightly, not scrunched or peeping. His lashes kissed his cheekbones, one side of his face smushed into the pillow. His lips were soft and pouting, barely parted for sleep to escape. As Louis watched, the furrows in Harry’s forehead fell away with his consciousness, dreams filtering in to replace his thoughts. There was no telling if he was teetering on sleep, or if he was just avoiding a conversation. But it was peaceful nonetheless, to share a space so intimate with someone he couldn’t have. A consolation prize for the things he would never get to understand. 

Harry’s breathing levelled out, each puff of minty sweet breath a little deeper than the last. Louis shuffled his bottom downwards, cursing his thick pyjama bottoms every time they caught on the bed sheet. He hadn’t thought about how he could lie down without disturbing Harry, too lost in the intimate sweet spot of watching him fall asleep. He wanted to regret it, but he couldn’t. In a world where Harry offered up so much of himself to others, Louis was welcomed into his privacy. Every sleepless night, he had wondered if anyone could learn of his past and still let their guard down around him. Would there ever be someone who felt safe with him in the room, who would let go without fear? Would anyone ever be able to trust him? When he was finally laid flat, Louis pulled off his glasses and flicked off the bedside lamp before he turned onto his side. The thoughts kept coming, his wonder at being here with Harry growing with every one. Through all the years of pondering, of making up alternate futures for himself outside of the prison walls, Louis had never imagined that someone as good and as wholesome as Harry would be the one who let him in. In fact, he had resigned himself to forever running in circles of undesirables and broken humans, those desperate for love or maybe just companionship. Louis was that undesirable. He was that broken human who ached for a connection. But Harry didn’t see him that way. To Harry, Louis was just a human. 

📖

Harry feigned sleep, unsure how to talk to Louis when he was already so overwhelmed with emotion. As soon as the night had drawn in, he had dreaded the moment Louis would offer to take the sofa. So sure that he wouldn’t get another chance at sharing a bed with him, Harry had already convinced himself that it wouldn’t happen. When Louis had turned left out of the bathroom, it reignited his nerves with a ferocious intensity. So much so that he’d worked through his own night time routine at a snail’s pace in the hopes of getting it together. 

Walking into the bedroom, Harry had every intention of making conversation. Small talk at the very least. But seeing Louis there waiting for him, features softened in the low light and his glasses perched on the end of his nose as he read, Harry’s voice was ripped from his throat. It was all he could do to keep breathing. Getting into bed was an olympic effort; how could he get under the covers without Louis noticing? How was he supposed to know how to behave when he was under the spotlight of that smile and that gently piercing gaze? It was like an out of body experience, his awkwardness a cry for help. “Tell me what to do. Tell me who to be.”

With his pillow armour in place, he forced his breathing to shallow, finally putting to use the mindfulness he had promised the doctor he would try. Like a child, Harry fought against the urge to reveal himself by opening his eyes and, instead, he tried to picture what Louis was doing at the other side of his eyelids. There was wriggling and cursing as Louis tried to lie down; Harry pictured the frustrated pinch of his lips and the sarcastic roll of his eyes. There was a clatter as Louis put his glasses on the side table, and the click of the switch as the lamp went off. In Harry’s mind, Louis was brushing his fringe off his forehead, straightening his sleep shirt. 

For a while, there was nothing but darkness and the quiet static of soundlessness. Somewhere in the distance, if he tried really hard, Harry could vaguely hear Niall snoring and the bones of the house creaking. The other side of the bed remained eerily quiet, and Harry wondered if Louis was holding his breaths in too for fear they would be too loud, too obvious. It meant that he was completely unprepared for the rustle of the sheets, for the brief touch of cold skin against his shin. Harry gasped, knowing but not caring that Louis would have heard him. His heartbeat pulsed in his head, his throat dry and ears roaring. 

With bated breath he waited for another touch. Louis wriggled further down the bed, his fingers accidentally brushing Harry’s as he positioned himself. They were close enough to taste each other’s breath in the air, their noses mere inches apart. Once more, Louis’ foot closed the gap between them, finding its way on top of Harry’s and immediately leeching the warmth from his skin. Louis curled his toes once, twice, stroking the thin skin along his instep. He dragged  back, his heel brushing the hair on Harry’s toes, and then finally settled with the side of his foot draped across the top of Harry’s. THIS IS HARD TO WRITE WHY DID I DO THIS TO MYSELF. 

There was fluency in their silence, promises made without a word. Staggered breaths met and mingled in the middle of the bed, the excitement of touching one another filling the air with pipedreams. Butterflies stirred deep inside of Harry, their wings beating and fluttering with a tranquillity that defied Harry’s infatuation. They danced to the rhythm of inevitability, their wings fluttering with quiet confidence. This was how it was supposed to feel. This was where Harry was supposed to be. 

🕸

Louis ran for his life, the darkness gaining on him faster than he could ever hope to run. There was a distinct taste of dread at the back of his throat, his legs never quite moving as fast as he needed them too. Something had stolen his voice, and every time he tried to call it out there was nothing but gurgling murmur. He needed to find his sisters. He needed to protect them from whatever was chasing him. Louis ran up the stairs, the same people passing him every few steps like a relic of old Scooby Doo cartoons. How could he keep running but never reach the top? He knew that their flat was up here, could almost smell the distinctive aroma of home. The wind changed direction, and he heard the girls scream out of his name.  Louis pumped his arms, taking the stairs two at a time despite the ache in his legs. He had to get to them. He had to make sure they were okay.  Something behind him let out a terrifying roar, splitting his ears with the low timbre. With his hands clasped to the side of his head, Louis fought the weightless weakness in his legs and ran for his life. He reached the flat, his body folding forward and his hands slapping down hard on the linoleum of the top step. The front door stood open, no light filtering out from inside. He crawled, no longer able to get to his feet, the screams getting louder with every inch that he dragged his tired body. Louis tried to scream again, felt something clawing at his ankles. He was almost there, he needed to get to them. As he finally crossed the hall, his hand outstretched to the flat, the door slammed shut in his face and the screams almost deafened him. 

Louis woke to the sound of his own scream. It wasn’t actually much of a scream, toppling out of him as more of a murmur. His entire body ached, all of his muscles clenched and his fingers folded into fists. The pillow was damp underneath his head, cold sweat coating his hair and running down his neck. Another nightmare, another rude awakening. Hesitantly, Louis opened his eyes; weak light filtered in, a sure sign that the clock had ticked past 7am at this time of year. He focused on relaxing his muscles, on centering himself back into the room. While his mind lingered in the fog of unfamiliarity from such an abrupt awakening, Louis searched the room around him for anything that sparked recognition in his mind. It wasn’t until the body next to him stirred that Louis even realised he was being held. 

He gently turned into the embrace, loath to break it while he was still soaking up the affection. Harry’s arms tightened and he murmured something ineligible, as though he too was afraid of losing something. His eyes remained closed, little grunts and snorts coming from behind his nose as his soul tiptoed away from wakefulness. The pillow was gone again, this time thrown to the ground on Harry’s side of the bed. Louis gave in to the self-indulgent smile that took him by surprise and then curled his body closer to Harry’s. As he gave into sleep, Louis promised himself he wouldn’t get used to this. 

↬

It was Harry slowly unpeeling his arms that woke Louis two hours later. His eyes shot open, an accusatory stare waiting right there for its moment to shine. 

“Sorry Lou, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Harry’s voice was sleep-rough and throaty. 

“No that’s … I’m sorry for…”

“Don’t apologise! Completely normal. Healthy, even. I mean we’re both men and I’m in the same boat so-”

“Cuddling you. I’m sorry for cuddling you,” Louis finished with a snort. He couldn’t find the head space for embarrassment, especially when Harry looked so stricken. 

“Right, of course.” Harry paused, his body midway out of the bed. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom first?” he asked, looking at Louis over his shoulder but avoiding eye contact. 

“Be my guest.” 

“Excellent. I’ll just go and kill myself then.” With a hop, Harry got both feet on the floor. He scuttled out of the bedroom, his lower half turned to the wall to hide the morning glory that he’d just announced. “Fucking hell,” he chuckled, closing the bedroom door behind him. 

Louis settled back into the pillows and laughed. He adjusted his own hard on, hissing at the first flush of lust that spiked through him. There was something about a full bladder that really heightened his pleasure; taking advantage of the temporary solitude, Louis wrapped his hand around himself tightly through his pyjamas and pressed down on his abdomen. It would be too much of an overstep to wank himself off in Harry’s bed, but the temptation was almost too much to bear. Outside the bedroom door Niall whistled in the kitchen, and the pipes clanked as Harry turned the shower on in the bathroom.

“I’m not going to do this here,” Louis whispered to himself, his hand already slipping under his waistband. “Not in Harry’s bed.” He traced lightly over the head of his cock, his fingertips feather light, and bit down hard on his lip to stop the cry that threatened in his throat. 

A frisson of shame rose up, but Louis was already too far gone. Instead of deterring him, the illicit excitement of what he was doing only turned him on more. His cock throbbed against his palm and a drip of precome wet his head. Without missing a beat, Louis caught it with his thumb and smeared it over the sensitive skin, using the slickness to swirl his hand around the most sensitive part of himself. Suddenly overwhelmed by the force of his desire, Louis grappled his pyjama bottoms off, pushing them down under the duvet with his foot. He whined from the lack of contact, mere seconds stretching endlessly, and he had already started to stroke himself again even as he hiked his t-shirt up. He held the hem between his teeth, leaving both hands free to explore his body. Stiffening his fingers, Louis pressed down on his abdomen hard and groaned as his full bladder pressed on his nerves. 

What if Harry walks in and you’ve got no trousers on? What if he sees you fucking your fist like a teenage boy?

Louis taunted himself, finding pleasure in the threat of being caught. His eyes rolled back into his head, his hips lifting off the bed as he thrust into his own hand. He couldn’t stroke fast enough, couldn’t find the rhythm he wanted, so he chased it persistently. His hand blurred in front of his own eyes, his grip tightening and loosening, hand sliding all over his cock in search of that perfect angle. He told himself he’d know it when found it. He wanted to feel everything, he wanted to lose control, he wanted it to last forever. 

Reaching between his legs, Louis cupped and squeezed his own balls, scraping at the skin with the sharp edges of his bitten nails. He was a man untethered, completely lost to everything except getting himself off. His hand dipped lower, searching for the soft skin of his taint. He didn’t always give in to these urges, preferring not to play with his own hole. This morning was different, the desperation more rabid than he had felt in a long time. Louis pressed down as hard as he could bear on his prostate, stimulating himself from the outside until his legs curled up on themselves. 

Harry’s only in the shower, he won’t be gone long. Harry’s in the shower. Harry’s naked…wet…soaping himself…

Louis moaned, the sounds muffled by his t-shirt but still louder than he would have liked had he been capable of caring. He remembered the way Harry’s body looked underneath his clothes, how his abs rippled one over another, how his shoulders flexed when he moved, how his arms bulged out of his shirt sleeves. It wasn’t hard to imagine how he would look wet, his skin glistening, soap running down into neatly trimmed pubic hair. He pictured wet, slicked back hair, one curl falling over Harry’s forehead, long fingers pushing it away. Louis pressed down on his prostate again, his other hand sliding his foreskin over his cockhead and gathering more precome with every swipe. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this wet and he wanted to indulge himself. 

You want to be caught, don’t you? You want Harry to see what you’re doing, offer to help you out? What if he’s touching himself too?

The last thought unleashed something inside of Louis. He flipped himself over, pushing a pillow into his stomach to keep the pressure on his bladder. It sent fiery pulses of pure ecstasy into his cock and his hole, both of them throbbing with pure need. The lust twisted in his stomach, pulling sickeningly at his abs and concaving his stomach. Louis humped into his fist and imagined it was Harry beneath him. His head thrown back so Louis could bite his throat, a hand stripping his dick while Louis pounded into him. Harry was whining, keening, screaming Louis’ name. He was hot and wet and so….fucking…tight. 

Louis’ vision tunnelled, his orgasm teasing him a torturous ebb and flow. His arm ached, numbness threatening him as he fucked his way towards release. Louis buried his face into the mattress, Harry’s smell lingering on the sheets, and screamed out the delicious, tense frustration. 

“You’re fucking mine,” Louis growled, Harry the only thing he could see as his body finally let go. 

📖

The shower poured down over the empty bathtub and filled the small room with steam. It had been on for the last five minutes, warming through, or at least that’s what Harry had told himself. This was his sanctuary, a place for him to hide after the embarrassment of discussing his morning glory with Louis. But it hadn’t worked out that way. 

Harry stood against the bathroom door, his body barricading the way in should anyone decide to interrupt him. He watched himself in the mirror, one hand twisting his nipples while the other stroked his cock slow and steady. It was a struggle, all he wanted to do was pump himself hard and fast and dirty. But he needed this pleasure to last, to be almost painful in its longevity. Harry needed to feel every single second of it. The mirror was already steaming around the edges, blurring his view in exactly the way he wanted. 

With a moan, Harry let his head drop back into the bathroom door and exposed his throat. Eyes closed, his hand moved up from his nipple, his fingers falling naturally to the sides of his neck in a firm grip. He didn’t squeeze, content with the feeling of being held in place. Slower still, Harry undulated his hips and tightened his grip on his cock; he enjoyed the way the cold metal of the door handle bit into his lower back. He imagined that it was Louis’ fingers delving into his skin, leaving fingerprints behind that Harry could admire days later. 

You want to give yourself over to him so badly. You want him to take control, make you beg.

Harry’s cock hardened at the mere thought of Louis towering over him, pushing into him. It ached deep at its root, urging Harry to go faster, to get himself off and end the agony. His self-control pushed its way to the front, and Harry adjusted his hand so that his thumb brushed his frenulum with every upstroke. Looking back to the mirror, Harry saw that glass was entirely frosted over, small beads of condensation giving him flashes of skin. Sweat started to bead along his chest, the drops rolling over his stomach with a tantalising caress. With the mirror obscured, it was easy for Harry to imagine another body writhing against his, to pretend the hand around his cock wasn’t his  own. 

You want him to take you apart. To let him see you like this, at your most vulnerable.

“Yes! Please!” Harry whispered, an answer to his own thoughts. He wanted Louis to peel all of his layers away and to fuck him until he forgot his own name. He wouldn’t need to think, or speak, or take care of himself. Louis would be there. 

He remembered how it felt to wake that morning, Louis’ cock as hard as rock and digging into the soft skin between his thigh and his own heavy dick. There had been a moment, before the veil of sleep had fully lifted, that Harry thought about reaching for it, of pushing his hips forward and watching Louis lean into his touch. He’d caught himself just in time, his dick already filling even more, his desire peaked. As the memory flooded back in full colour, Harry allowed himself to pull faster, his hand twisting at his head, lingering over the tight skin until he shivered. His hips faltered, his body slamming back into the door with a bang. 

If Louis’ up already, he’ll be able to hear you getting off. He’s going to know you’re touching yourself and thinking about him.

While it would be better if his internal dialogue was encouraging, there was something about the self-deprecation that worked for Harry. Here he was, wanking over the man he was supposed to be supporting, potentially with only a thin piece of wood between them. At this exact moment, he couldn’t give a fuck if Louis could hear every whimper, every slick slap of his hand on his cock. He didn’t care if he would smell the sex in the air when Harry opened the door. He wanted Louis to know he was weak for him, and only him. 

Harry wished he had a toy in the bathroom, his arse twitching and clenching around nothing. He wanted to feel full, wanted to imagine himself stretched around Louis’s cock with every snap of his hips. The thought forced an intense wave of lust through Harry, weakening his legs until he had no choice but to slide to the floor. The cold tile against his arse cheeks was a luscious shock to his system, encouraging Harry to really let go. He let out a deep breath, pausing his strokes for a split second. Harry closed his eyes again and dropped his head back. He pushed his feet flat into the floor, his knees bent and tilted outwards. He could feel the draft from under the door against his lower back, and he imagined Louis’ mouth there, moving downwards…

“Jesus fuck!” 

The words burst out of him before he could stop them. Harry slapped his hand over his mouth, muffling every curse and prayer as they tripped over each other on the way out of his mouth. He was pulling at himself like a maniac, no rhyme or rhythm as he begged the idea of Louis to just make him come. Harry’s hips started to roll, his arse scooting against the floor until the skin pulled and stung. 

“It’s all for you!” Harry screamed into his palm, his come spurting out of him across the bathroom floor. 

↬

When he sheepishly left the bathroom twenty minutes later, Harry was surprised to find Niall sitting alone on the sofa. He was waiting for Harry with a smirk, one foot up on the sofa and a coffee balanced on his knee. The television played to itself in the background, some breakfast news show discussing the merits of reusable toilet roll. 

“Morning Niall, you’re looking well today,” Harry murmured. He scrunched the towels in his hand, hoping against hope that the stains weren’t visible. 

“Fuck off you mucky twat,” Niall giggled, not offering the obvious and unwanted context. 

Before he could say more, the bedroom door opened and Louis shuffled out looking just as sheepish as Harry felt. He’d stripped the bed, all of it bundled up inside the duvet cover and crushed to Louis’ chest. Niall turned to watch the show, his eyes briefly coming back to Harry so he could waggle his eyebrows. 

“Oh! Morning lads. Harry. Just thought I’d change the bed…” Louis’ words trailed off, his explanation falling away from him with almost impressive speed. 

“I thought I’d change the towels,” Harry added dumbly, his only aim to fill the awkward silence that was swiftly growing between them. 

Without another word, Louis scuttled towards the kitchen; he audibly sighed with relief when he realised the machine was already empty. Harry watched him, the panic evident on his face as he tried to work out what he was going to do with the towels he had accidentally covered with jizz. He couldn’t leave them in front of the washer in case Louis or Niall decided they wanted to be helpful and put them in before he could get to them. And he couldn’t put them in the basket in case there was a …. transfer… onto everything else. 

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the wee donkey they rode in on,” Niall sighed. When Harry turned his attention onto him, he was shaking his head with the filthiest, most gleeful smile on his face. “If I’d known we were having a group wank I’d have cleared my schedule.” 

Harry gawped and spluttered as Niall got up and walked back into his bedroom, laughing hysterically all the way. That shame that he didn’t care about? Yeah, he’d definitely have to rethink that one. 

🕸

The rest of the day dragged over in a medley of awkward moments and deep cleaning. After breakfast, Harry had disappeared down to the shop for an hour or so, making sure he checked in with everyone and worked through the boring jobs that the other clients couldn’t really handle. Louis had sat in silence, Niall next to him watching television, and contemplated exactly what he would say if Harry asked why he had changed the bed. He was pretty much finished convincing himself that he'd rather pretend he’d pissed the bed when Niall’s voice cut into his thoughts. 

“Nice wank this morning?” He took pleasure in the way Louis glitched at the abrupt confrontation of what he had thought was a secret. 

“I wasn’t…. I didn’t…” 

“Hey now, don’t panic. It’s no big deal, is it? Anyway, you weren’t the only one.” Niall slapped Louis on the shoulder, his other hand raising his third coffee off the morning to his lips. 

“Oh fucking hell, you’re not going to ask me for tips or anything are you?” Louis groaned, covering his face to escape the excruciating embarrassment. 

“Give over! I’m more than capable of a five knuckle shuffle, thank you Louis!” 

“Thank God for small mercies!”

“Anyway, I wasn’t talking about me.” 

Reality doused Louis like a bucket of cold water. Despite his athletic morning, the idea of Harry touching himself sent a flare of excitement through him, and he squirmed in his seat to chase it away. The last thing he needed was to pop a boner with Niall sitting right next to him. 

It seemed arrogant to assume that Harry was so turned on by Louis' own morning wood that he needed to relieve himself in the bathroom, but Louis let that version of truth in with open arms. Letting it marinate, he tried to work out how it made him feel. The overwhelming feeling was horny, there was no way to deny that. They had been caught in a cursed merry-go-round of will they/won't they for the last few weeks, intimate touch swapped out for avoidance at a breakneck pace. It was hard to want someone so badly that your hands ached to reach for them and have them avoiding your orbit with everything they had. Turning away when you spoke. Orchestrating their entire day to avoid being alone with you. It had been different the last three days, the torturous relief of forced proximity. Close but not close enough. The distance has still spread out between them, taunting Louis with the ifs and maybes. But if Harry had really done what Niall was saying he had, then Louis' could hold on to the small bit of hope that he wasn't alone in pining. 

“That's it buddy, let it sink in,” Niall muttered, his attention mostly back on the television as the presenter coaxed two couples round a car boot sale. 

The revelation felt to Louis like reading Harry's diary. He couldn't bring it up, not unless he wanted to face the mortification of his own indiscretion. And even if he was willing to do that, there was no saying how Harry would react. It would need to be his secret to sit with, his burden to carry while he tried to figure out how to handle it. One thing was certain, this would fan the flame for a little while longer. This thing with Harry wasn't off the table yet. 

📖

Unable to avoid it any longer, Harry made his way back up to the flat. The gang had been pleased to see them, their anxious curiosity easy to see as they flitted amongst the shelves with a visible need to be busy. They weren't used to being without their captain, especially when his men in waiting were missing too. It had soaked the shop in fear and unease. Harry had reassured them all the best that he could without giving too much away, explaining only that Niall was ill, and that himself and Louis were going to take care of him for a little while. He encouraged his clients to call for him, even if the problem seemed inconsequential. They needed to know that he was still there, and that he still cared. 

As his foot touched the top step, Harry heard the music filtering through the flat door. One of his own playlists, Louis' choice no doubt. The hoover was running, emitting the low whine of immobility. Pushing his way into the flat, Harry came face to face with Louis. The first thing he noticed was the stripe of skin exposed by his up stretched arms, the soft, dark hair on his stomach stark against the creamy white of his skin. Louis held the hoover hose above his head, chasing imaginary cobwebs from the corners of the ceiling. There was something about a man cleaning that always stirred Harry. Like some primal, innate yearning, watching Louis preen their living space (even if it was from a list that Harry had made himself) made him want to strap on an apron and bake cookies. It was a secret he’d take to his grave, so far removed from his outward advocacy for equality and yet completely uncontrollable. 

“Am I doing it right?” Louis asked, his arms dropping back to his sides as he stared back at Harry. 

“Um, yeah?” Embarrassed to be caught in his ogling, Harry’s tone edged on sneering. 

“Oh, okay. You were just staring is all, so I thought maybe you were the kind of person who likes things done a certain way.” Louis flicked off the hoover and pushed it to one side with his foot. “I’m very versatile if you want to give me pointers?”

The word ‘versatile’ brought its own issues; images of himself pressing into Louis, watching the older man bite his lip against the moans, admiring how pretty he looked laid on his back flooded Harry’s mind. He cleared his throat, trying desperately to push them away before he answered. Louis peered at him, eyes slightly narrowed as if he’d caught a glimpse of Harry’s fantasy in his glassy eyes. If Harry was a less trusting person he might even think that Louis used that word on purpose. But he couldn’t- wouldn’t- go there. 

“I am… that person I mean. But I don’t think there’s many ways of hoovering the eaves, so I’ll let you carry on.” He was doing it wrong. Harry would never say it.

Instead of answering, Louis simply shrugged his shoulders and went back to his job. The hoover started up again as Harry walked further into the flat to change into what he called his ‘bathroom’ clothes. They were stained and colour bleached from every cleaning product imaginable, the knees of the leggings saggy and discoloured from all the kneeling and the neck of the shirt stretched out from the uncountable amount of times Harry had mixed chemicals and almost gassed himself. But they also worked as some kind of brain trigger to get him in that space that he needed when it came to cleaning. Without his self-imposed uniform, it was extremely likely he’d while the afternoon away in a cloud of procrastination and doom scrolling. And right now, Harry needed to be busy. 

Avoiding Niall was his first order of business, so as the man himself was shoving Louis’ bed to one side to clean behind it, Harry swept into his own room and grabbed the old clothes from the shelf in his wardrobe. In a comical tiptoe, Harry rushed back to the bathroom to change, making sure to ignore the way his skin burned under Louis’ scrutiny. Being back at the scene of this morning’s (extremely fucking hot) crime was a challenge in itself. Harry undressed quickly, cringing all the while as he remembered every excruciating detail of how he worked himself over. He had been like a man possessed, too turned on to even contemplate ignoring his erection, and completely unbothered about the other two people behind the door. One particularly graphic image pushed its way to the front, and Harry slammed his open palm against his forehead three times to try and oust it.  

“Just stick to your list,” he muttered to himself, all the while pretending he wasn’t avoiding his own reflection. 

🕸

“Fucking finally,” Louis groaned, as he sank into the sofa. 

“My back is in bits,” Niall groaned back, slamming himself down next to Louis. 

The list was complete, the flat absolutely gleaming. All three of them had thrown their all into the list of jobs, making sure no corner of the flat went unscrubbed. Apparently though, Louis had forgotten that he had aged in prison and that housework was definitely a more brutal form of physical labour. His knees cracked as he stretched out his legs; surely these weren’t the same knees he used to jump off swings when he was a boy?!

“At least it’s done now. We can pretend there’s no dust until January 6th.”

Niall chuckled and stretched out his arm to clank drinks with Louis. The ice cubes in their glasses bobbed in the syrupy brown liquid, and Louis’ mouth watered. It had been a long time since he’d had a full fat Coke. 

“If you think the cleaning was bad, wait ‘til you see Harry with Christmas decorations.” Niall raised his eyebrows and nodded, an answer to Louis’ quizzical look. “Oh aye- every time you think it must be over, he pulls out another box. That lad takes his holidays very seriously.” 

“That’s alright, I love Christmas. I’m actually looking forward to a full on celebration.”

“Just be careful what you wish for mate.” Niall reached out for the remote, clicking on the Netflix app and then handing it over to Louis. “You pick something. Sounds like Harry is finally out of the bathroom.”

Louis scrolled leisurely through his options, not really paying any attention to what he was looking at. He had already had his shower and slipped into his comfies ready for a night of takeaway and trash TV. It had been his own idea, but he had preened under Harry’s appreciative smile when he had mentioned that he didn’t want to make a mess in the newly cleaned kitchen. Now that he knew Harry approved, it felt like there was more pressure to get everything right tonight. He internally pored over the options; pizza, Chinese, Indian…. Documentary, rom com, action movie… Share the sofa with Harry, sit alone in the chair, settle on the floor. As he skipped over the thumbnails, Louis tried to convince himself that this family night was for Niall. But he couldn’t ignore the unintentional intimacy that he had created with Harry. Their mutual … self pleasuring…had not been planned, had never been discussed, would probably never be a topic they broached. And yet even being aware of what Louis thought he knew was enough to spark fire inside of him, a slow burning flame of craving and anticipation. 

A strong waft of vanilla ripped Louis from his wonderings; he looked up at Harry as he walked into the room, already shifting to make room for him on the sofa. Louis' face fell almost instantly. Harry was breathtaking in wide-legged mustard trousers and a black daisy print jumper. His hair had been blow dried away from his face, one curl breaking free to sit on his forehead. All of his fingers glinted with Harry’s signature eclectic rings, the nails painted bright yellow to pull his outfit together. Louis’ first thought was that it didn’t look like a comfortable outfit for sitting around in. His second thought was that he wanted to fucking kill Nick Grimshaw. 

“You look amazing, H.” It was an untouched level of hurt, to compliment the man you wanted on the way he preened for another.  It wasn’t that it wasn’t true, Harry was art on a human canvas, but more so that all of this effort wasn’t for Louis. And if it had been, it would have been appreciated but entirely unnecessary; Harry was perfect just as he was. 

“Oh thanks it’s… I wasn’t sure it was alright, actually.” Harry pulled at his clothes self-consciously, and Louis couldn’t believe Harry would ever think he was anything other than perfect. 

“I suppose it depends on the occasion?” It was a shitty move, goading Harry into saying where he was going, and Louis knew it. But the masochistic side of him needed to hear the words, if only to get things straight in his head. 

“I’mmeetingNickforadrink,” Harry muttered, already turning away to shove his belongings into a black shoulder bag. “He wants to talk about a fundraiser in the shop.”

“Just the fundraiser?” Louis willed himself to shut up, but his mouth seemed to have taken on a life of its own. “Seems like that could be a phone call.” 

Harry faltered, and Louis watched his back stiffen against the obvious attack. “Do we have to do this now, Lou?” He let out a sigh, his entire body deflating under the weight of Louis’ scrutiny. “I know you don’t like Nick, and I get it. He was an absolute arsehole to you the other day but you… you know what, never mind.”

“No, go ahead. Say what’s on your mind.” Louis scooted forward on the sofa and dropped his drink onto the table with a clatter. 

“All I was going to say is, you weren’t exactly welcoming either. The pair of you were like a couple of territorial gorillas, grunting and throwing shit at each other.”

“He gives me a funny vibe, that’s all,” Louis muttered. He didn’t want to start a fight now, especially not one entirely fuelled by his own stupid jealousy. Harry wasn’t his to be jealous over, even if that was hard to remember at times. 

“He’s a good guy…”

“He’s a snob!”

Harry opened his mouth to answer, his face frozen in a mask of fury. “You know what, I said I didn’t want to do this now, so I’m not doing it. I’ll see you later.”

As Harry stomped out of the back door, slamming it for good measure, Louis dropped back into his seat. He covered his face with his hands, already regretting slipping back into his defensive behaviour. He had wanted to leave that in his cell. He’d counted on it, in fact. At least James would be getting his money’s worth out of him. 

He let himself wallow for a few minutes, his eyes tracking the slides of the Netflix sleep screen. He didn’t care what they watched anymore, didn’t care what they ate. Niall was an awesome person to be around, and not someone Louis would ever dread spending time with, but he wasn’t Harry. 

Unsurprisingly, Louis was still sulking when Niall came back into the room, freshly showered and carrying a bundle of bedding. “You picked something to watch then, pal?”

“Nope. Thought I’d leave that up to you.” Louis threw the remote onto the coffee table and tried to find a way to ask Niall what he was up to. Eventually, brutal honesty and the need to know won out. “What's with the quilt?”

“Hmm? Oh- Harry asked me to get it out for him. He said he didn’t know if he would be home tonight and if he was he’d be late and didn’t want to disturb anyone.” 

He didn’t know if he would be home tonight. 

Simple enough words, and yet every single one was another stomp on Louis’ heart. He had really thought that everything was changing, but it seemed as though Nick was always going to be there in the background. A lingering shadow that would leave him in the cold even when the sun was beating down. 

📖

The night bus wound its way through the dark streets; the blackness beyond the glass was smothering, stretching on forever and swallowing the city. Harry's forehead rested on the glass, the vibrations tickling his nose. The date with Nick had been a disaster. And it was all Louis' fault. 

It probably wasn't entirely fair to blame Louis. It wasn't like he'd shown up and caused a scene or spent the evening berating Harry by text. But he'd still had a seat at the table, been an overwhelming presence even in rooms he wasn't in. He had arrived and left with Harry, changing the atmosphere in the bar without even trying. Nick had been gracious about Harry's quickly changing mood, as he always was. But even though he seemed okay with it, the atmosphere left Harry cold with guilt and awkwardness. 

It had just been too much, was all. What once made Harry feel revered and extraordinary now felt like a quiet desperation that coated his skin in a cloying ointment of admiration. It wasn’t what he wanted, but suddenly all Harry could see were Nick’s flaws, the less than favourable personality traits that camouflaged themselves behind perfect skin and kind eyes. Had he meant to look at that table of mums on a long-awaited night out like he was somehow above them? Had he dismissed the waiter out of graciousness, or did he simply not want to be bothered by someone on minimum wage? Did he know his compliments were cheesy and ill thought out, or was this Nick’s version of charming? 

Harry had known that things would be different when he reintroduced Nick into his life; he had spent the last few days going over and over it in his head, wondering if it would be the end of any kind of friendship between Louis and himself. They hadn’t talked about the kiss, or about the argument in the shop. It wasn’t strictly healthy, but it was working for them, and being able to lock themselves away in the flat felt like starting over. Harry had expected some push back, some tension. What he hadn’t expected was for some of it to come from himself. Nick was naturally loud; in appearance, in personality and in literal volume. It had been attractive to Harry, at least at some point. He was the polar opposite, unable to even send back a meal in a restaurant. And he’d been able to imagine himself with Nick, hiding behind the confidence and bravado that came so instinctively and using it to make himself braver, bolder, noticeable. 

Strangely enough, it was similar traits that drew him to Louis. Like a moth to a flame, Harry surrounded himself with big personalities, an armour of sorts to hide behind. He could be whoever he wanted when he was with those kinds of friends because he would be protected by their extraversion. That’s why it didn’t make any sense that while Nick suddenly unsettled him, Harry was still hungry for Louis’ company. Was it possible for geniality to be soft and warm? For a social butterfly to be unassertive? If Nick was thunder, Louis was lightning. Silent in his stirring magnificence. 

The bus rounded back into the city centre and the darkness melted away. It drew Harry back to reality somewhat, and he remembered that, actually, he was mad at Louis. He had been rude and brittle with absolutely no call for it. It had reminded Harry of their early days, when they sat in the prison visiting room and barely shared a word. When he was afraid to open his mouth because it felt like throwing out a welcome mat for derision. Harry liked routine and certainty, anything else made him uncomfortable and guarded. He didn’t want to wonder which version of a person he would face that day, he wanted to feel safe to let his walls down and just be.  It really had seemed like he was getting there with Louis, but now everything was different and it made him want to puke. Now, he would have to fight against his own neediness, his compulsion to check in constantly, his fear of being annoying. Harry needed to make sure he didn’t mould himself into Louis’ cracks, to break himself to fix another broken soul. 

Maybe this time, he needed to fix himself. 

↬

By the time he made it home, Harry’s teeth chattered and his skin ached. Vanity had steered him away from his Winter coat but now, as his fingers thawed and his skin burned, he chastised his own stupidity. Granted, he had assumed that he would be coming home in Nick’s car, or at the very least in a cab, but it was that presumptuous attitude that had gotten him into trouble before. He closed the kitchen door as quietly as possible, looking around to confirm there was no one still up. His nose dripped with the sudden temperature change and, without thinking, Harry ran his cuff across his top lip to catch it. There was a beat before he realised what he’d done, and then disgust took over. Wrestling his way out of the jumper, Harry had never been more grateful to hear the central heating still humming. 

“Thank you, Niall,” he whispered to himself, knowing all along that it was probably Louis’ thoughtful gesture. 

He shucked off the rest of his clothes as he moved through the flat, suddenly desperate to rid himself of the traces of his evening out. That person, the one who laughed too loudly at Nick’s jokes to cover up his ridicule, didn’t belong here. The bottle of wine that had felt like a buzz back at the bar was wearing off, leaving Harry drained and in desperate need of his home comforts. When he saw the sofa, all made up with a sheet covering the cushions and his favourite pillow propped against one arm, Harry almost wept with relief. That was, until he realised that he hadn’t got any pyjamas out of his drawer. 

“Bollocks,” he hissed, weighing up whether he would freeze to death in just his pants. There was no way he could put the jumper back on, the very thought of it dragging an itch over his shoulders. 

Eventually, after a lot of stop-starting over his makeshift bed, Harry decided that he would just creep into his room, grab the pyjamas and come right back to the sofa. And that would have been absolutely fine, if it wasn’t for the sight of Louis in his bed. It looked like he had fallen asleep pouting, his lips puffed out and barely parted. He had curled himself around a pillow, hands barely visible under the long cuffs of one of Harry’s own shirts. The quilt was pulled up to his chin, warped into a cocoon that cradled the back of his head and draped down over his cheek. Harry didn’t like the way his brow furrowed, or the concerned knit of his eyebrows. His body was completely still, and yet he looked as though he was flailing. 

Without a second thought, Harry pulled on his pyjamas and slid into the bed next to Louis. He moved gently but with more speed than he normally would. He wanted to be there to comfort his friend, but he didn’t want to be noticed. When Louis jolted awake, it seemed like Harry’s best guess had been correct; Louis went immediately to defensive mode, his sleep-cloudy eyes piercing the darkness, his hands out in front of him warily. 

“Hey, Louis, it’s okay!” Harry clasped one of Louis’ hands in his own, making himself a promise that he wouldn’t link their fingers together. “It’s just me. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Harry?” Louis’ face settled into something calmer, and his mouth stretched around a yawn. “Wasn’t expecting you back.”

“Yeah, well. I’m full of surprises.”

“You smell like wine and Tories.”

It wasn’t the intention, but Harry still had to choke back a laugh. It was impossible to be offended when Louis was so serenely sassy; the cutting remarks didn’t quite land the way they were meant to. It was like a kitten playing at being a tiger. The lack of a response and breathy giggles only seemed to incense him more. 

“If you’ve got cock breath, you better keep away from me, lad.” 

“Jesus, Lou,” Harry laughed, not even trying to keep the volume down this time. “Nothing happened, I swear.”

“Hmmm sure, whatever.” 

It might have  been Harry’s imagination, or a good deal of wishful thinking, but Louis seemed to edge closer. “I mean it. We just talked, and then I got the bus home. No funny business.”

“Better luck next time, then.” Louis flashed a smile so quickly that Harry wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. But he couldn’t deny it when Louis lifted his leg across the pillows and tangled his foot around Harry’s ankle. And he couldn’t escape the way his heart started beating faster at the exact same moment.