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Louis comes down slowly. His face is pressed into the pillows, which doesn’t help his heaving lungs to catch up, but he’s too blissfully relaxed to move.
That was nice. That was very nice. Wow.
Slowly, slowly, he starts to feel like his limbs are made of flesh instead of pixie dust, and he peels open one eye.
The man of the hour is lying next to him, a slightly dazed look on his face as he grins at Louis. “You’re something else, Tomlinson.”
Louis laughs. “I could say the same for you, Grimshaw,” he says. “You sure know how to show a guy a good time.”
Nick chuckles. “I try.”
Louis leans in for a kiss and Nick responds easily, his hand gripping Louis’ jaw with a pleasant firmness. Louis closes his eyes, letting himself get lost in the moment.
Nick sighs as he pulls away. “God, you make it so hard to leave.”
“Then don’t,” Louis says. “It’s late. Stay.”
“Can’t,” Nick says, sitting up with a wry smile. “I’ve got to be at work early tomorrow, and it’s clear across town.”
Louis reaches up, pressing a soft kiss to Nick’s back. “Get an Uber.”
Nick groans, leaning into Louis’ touch. “I want to, believe me,” he says. “But I think we both know that if I stay, I won’t get to sleep for quite some time.” His eyes are dark and hungry as he turns to look at Louis, and it feels like a hook behind Louis’ stomach, pulling him closer.
“You’re probably right,” Louis admits, swaying slightly. He sighs. “Fine. Text me when you get home, at least?”
Nick chuckles. “Of course, babe.” He stretches, the muscles of his back pulling taut over his ribs, then stands up with a groan to look for his clothes.
Louis smiles as he watches him. He could help, of course. But then he wouldn’t get to ogle Nick’s ass as he bends to pick up his shirt from the floor, or admire the way his chest flexes as he pulls it over his head.
Nick catches his eye with a grin as he pulls on his boxers. “Enjoying the view?”
“Course I am,” Louis says, leaning back on the pillows and tucking his hands behind his head. “Don’t tell me you aren’t.”
Nick’s grin widens. “It’s a very nice view.”
“Just reminding you what you’ve got to come back for,” Louis says with a shrug. “Maybe next time you’ll plan better, so you don’t have to rush home for work.”
“Hey, I was just expecting a nice dinner,” Nick says, laughing. “Didn’t realize you were planning on providing dessert until you walked into the restaurant in those fucking jeans .”
Louis grins. The jeans had been very intentional. And really, calling them “fucking jeans” wasn’t far off the mark. After two nice, respectable dates where Nick had proven himself to be funny, interesting, and not a serial killer, Louis had specifically suggested getting dinner at a restaurant just down the block from his apartment. Presumptuous, perhaps, but hey, it had worked.
“Well, now you know what’s on the menu,” he says. “It’s up to you how much room you leave for dessert.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Nick says, shaking his head with a smile. “Are you at least going to walk me out?”
“Fine,” Louis says, groaning as he swings his feet over the side of the bed and pushes himself up. His legs still feel slightly unsteady, but walking to the front door should be perfectly manageable.
Especially since it gives him a good excuse to drape himself over Nick’s back.
Nick laughs, rearranging Louis to tuck into his side as he gathers the last of his things. They walk towards the door together, Louis absentmindedly tracing his fingers along Nick’s shirt hem. Nick brushes his lips across the top of Louis’ head as they reach the entryway.
“I had a great time,” he murmurs. “Can’t wait to see you again.”
“Mmm,” Louis hums in agreement. “Friday, maybe? I’m off at four.”
“I’ll check my calendar,” Nick promises.
He leans down for one last kiss, and Louis drinks it in. It’s new, still, only three dates, but he has a good feeling about this. He likes Nick, likes him quite a lot. Most of his Tinder matches have been somewhat boring, or he just didn’t feel any spark, and some days Louis wonders if he’s too old to find the right guy. But Nick is different. Nick makes him feel like he’s doing something right.
Nick pulls away with a smile, unlocking the front door to let himself out. “I’ll text you,” he says. His eyes travel up and down Louis’ body as he licks his lips. “If I’m very lucky, maybe you’ll text me first. Send me something to remember tonight by.”
“Something other than that bruise on your shoulder?” Louis teases.
Nick’s hand rises to touch the place where Louis had left a mark, rubbing it absently. “The marks will fade,” he says. “But I can save the pictures for the next time I miss you -- miss your touch.”
Louis bites his lip, smiling. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Nick presses one more soft kiss to Louis’ mouth, and then he’s gone. Louis watches him go, standing in the doorway until he remembers that he’s not wearing anything and the apartment hallway is far from private. He quickly shuts the door and locks it behind him, leaning against it with a sigh of satisfaction.
It was a good night. It was a very good night. And unless he’s much mistaken, there will be many more good nights to come.
But he wants to remember this one in particular. And so does Nick. So, as Louis heads for the bathroom to shower off the smell of sweat and sex before bed, he grabs his phone.
~*~
“All right, Mrs. Aliweather,” Louis says, stepping back from the massage table. “I think that’s all for today. How are we feeling?”
“Much better, thank you dear,” his client says, slowly sitting up. “I swear, you have magic hands.”
Louis laughs. “I’m happy to hear it,” he says. “Zayn can set up your next appointment out front -- and remember to do your exercises in the meantime.”
“I’ll try,” Mrs. Aliweather says, chuckling. “I’m just so bad at remembering them. My old mind is getting forgetful, you know.”
“It can be a challenge,” Louis agrees, helping her down from the table. “Some of my clients do them with meals. Before breakfast, or after lunch, that sort of thing.”
Mrs. Aliweather taps her chin with one finger. “You know, that’s quite an idea,” she says. “Perhaps I’ll give that a try.” She reaches for her walking stick. “I’ll see you next week, young man!”
“See you soon, Mrs. Aliweather.” Louis smiles as he watches her leave before wiping down his area to prepare for the next client. She’s one of his favorite patients, always kind and friendly and occasionally delightfully frank. He always enjoys her sessions.
He checks his schedule and sees that he has a new patient up next. Intake interviews are a nice change of pace from the physical work, though they can be a little tedious. He pulls up another chair next to his small desk and starts readying the paperwork.
A few minutes later, there’s a knock on his door and Zayn pops his head in. “Dr. Tomlinson, are you ready for your intake?”
Louis stands, smiling at the tall man standing next to Zayn. “Yes, of course, come right in,” he says. “I’m Dr. Tomlinson, pleasure to meet you.”
He holds out a hand, and the man shakes it. His grip is just a little too tight, but Louis doesn’t flinch.
“I have a few questions to ask before we get started,” he says, keeping his expression pleasant and friendly as he extracts his hand. “Just to make sure we can give you the best treatment, you understand. Please, take a seat.”
The man sits in the chair Louis indicates, but he still doesn’t say anything. His expression is stony. Louis starts to wonder if he’s going to be the kind of client whose masculinity is threatened by the mere fact that he needs help.
“So,” Louis says, consulting a file. “Harry Styles, is it?”
“Yes.” It’s the first word the man has spoken. There’s a clipped tone to his voice, but Louis ignores it.
“All right, Mr. Styles,” he says. “So I see that you’re experiencing back pain? That’s quite common, it can happen to people of any gender or any age.”
“I’m sure.”
It’s looking more and more like he really is going to be one of those patients. Louis bites back a sigh. “Okay, would you be able to give me a little more detail on this pain? Whereabouts on your back are you feeling it?”
“Fairly high up,” Mr. Styles says. He gestures with his arm to the area around the scapulae -- Louis notes he has good range of motion. “Kind of right around my heart, you know?”
“I see,” Louis says. “And would you say that it’s a sharp pain, or more of an aching pain?”
“Both, I guess,” Mr. Styles says. “Aching most of the time, but sometimes it gets sharper.”
“Mhm,” Louis says. “And are there any particular activities or motions that cause it to get sharper like that?”
“Well,” Mr. Styles says, “finding out that my fiancé’s massage therapist was trying to seduce him away from me made the pain pretty sharp.”
Louis blinks. He blinks again. He looks up at Mr. Styles. “I’m sorry?”
“You should be,” Mr. Styles says. His voice is low and hard. “Honestly, what kind of disgusting, low, pathetic excuse for a-”
“You misunderstand me,” Louis says evenly. “I am not apologizing for the behavior you are falsely accusing me of. I believe you have me mistaken for someone else.”
“You’d like me to think that, wouldn’t you?” Mr. Styles stands abruptly, pushing his chair back. Louis’ hand immediately goes under his desk, his finger hovering over the panic button. “But I do my research, Dr. Louis Tomlinson . I’ve seen the text messages from you.”
“Our office sends out automated reminder texts to let patients know about upcoming appointments,” Louis says slowly. His finger is still poised on the button, but he’d really rather not have to put up with the teasing that would come if he had to call security over a jealous boyfriend. “Perhaps that’s what you’ve seen? I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
“I think the services you were discussing in these messages are a bit beyond what you normally offer your clients here,” Mr. Styles says, his voice dripping with meaning.
“Then I think you’ve made an error,” Louis says again. “I would never behave in an improper manner with a client -- that would threaten my job, which I happen to love. We have a strict code of conduct-”
“Then perhaps you should read it again,” Mr. Styles says. “Or don’t. I don’t care. Just stay away from Nick, you hear me? He’s mine, and I mean to keep it that way.”
“I don’t-” Louis pauses. “Wait. What?”
Mr. Styles laughs, the sound harsh and high pitched. “That name ring a bell, finally? Are you done playing dumb yet, Lewis ?”
“I don’t -- okay, hold up.” Louis sets down his pen. “This isn’t -- can you back up for a minute?”
“I don’t think I will.” Mr. Styles stalks towards the door. “I think I’ve made my point clear. Nick Grimshaw is mine, and you had better keep your fucking hands in your pockets. If I find out you aren’t behaving, I will come back here and make your life miserable, but I’d much rather never see your disgusting face again.”
And then he sweeps out of the room, slamming the door behind him before Louis can say another word.
Louis sits back in his chair, his head reeling. “Holy shit,” he whispers to himself. “What the everloving fuck .”
~*~
It takes a full five minutes before Louis can pull himself together enough to peel himself out of the chair and head down the hall to the front desk. Zayn is sitting at the computer, typing away, but he looks up when Louis walks into the vestibule behind the counter.
“Hey, Lou,” he says. “Did something go wrong with the new client? He stormed out of here like the house was on fire -- I hadn’t thought he’d been in there long enough for even you to offend him.”
Zayn’s smile is friendly, but Louis is still a little dazed.
“Um. Yeah, something like that,” he says.
Zayn’s smile dims just a little, the faint lines of a frown creasing his forehead. “Louis?” he says. “Did something happen?”
“Um.” Louis grips the edge of Zayn’s desk. “It’s a long story. He… misunderstood something.” Louis glances out at the waiting room -- blessedly empty for the moment -- and lowers his voice. “Look, I know it’s against policy, but is there any chance you could let me take a peek at his file? I swear it’s for a good reason.”
Zayn arches an eyebrow that looks like it might have been carved by Michelangelo. “This sounds serious,” he says. “What’s going on?”
“Um.” Louis scratches the back of his neck. “Well, short version is, Mr. Styles thinks I’m trying to lure his fiancé away from him through the seductive power of massage therapy.”
Zayn blinks. “What?”
“Yeah, that’s about what I said.”
“It’s against policy to have any kind of relationship with a patient,” Zayn says. “Hell, I think it might be against the law.”
“Also pretty similar to what I said.”
“So he’s crazy?” Zayn lets out a long breath. “What does that have to do with his files, then? If he’s some weird jealous boyfriend barking up the wrong tree, that’s not our problem, is it?”
“Well.” Louis shifts from foot to foot. “It’s complicated. See, the thing is -- Nick isn’t a patient.”
“Louis William Tomlinson.” Zayn looks at Louis as though he’s peering over the rims of schoolmarm-style glasses which he is not in fact wearing. “ Are you trying to seduce Mr. Styles’ fiancé away from him?”
“Um.” Louis can’t make eye contact. “Not on purpose?”
“Louis. What the fuck.”
“Well, I sure as shit didn’t know Nick was engaged when I swiped right on him on Tinder.”
“ Louis .”
“Maybe it slipped his mind to include that in his bio?”
Zayn sighs loudly. “Why am I friends with you?”
“Because I’m charming and adorable?”
“Hmm.” Zayn doesn’t look convinced. “So you want to -- what, track down this Styles guy? Warn him?”
“Um. I guess?” Louis rubs his face. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really gotten that far yet. But like… doesn’t he deserve the truth?”
Zayn sighs. “One day your saviour complex is going to be the death of me,” he says. “But on an unrelated note, I’m going to the bathroom, and carelessly leaving my account logged in while I do so. I’ll be back in five minutes. Hopefully no one hacks into my files while I’m gone.”
Louis lets out a sigh of relief. “I owe you one.”
“I think this makes four, actually,” Zayn says, walking out of the vestibule. “Someday I’ll cash in.”
“Whatever you need, big man.”
~*~
It only takes Louis a moment to copy down the phone number and address Harry Styles put on his forms. Whether they’re real is anyone’s guess, but that’s a later problem. For the moment, the question is just -- what does he do? What does he say?
He tries to put it out of his mind for the rest of the workday -- distraction isn’t ideal when you’re hovering on the line between medicine and pain, and one slip of the hand might paralyze someone.
But it lingers. It floats in the corners of his skull, the questions swirling and the uncertainties dancing and the guilt dragging everything down.
By the time he finishes his last client and waves them out the door with a perfect customer service smile, he’s exhausted. Thank fuck it’s Wednesday, which means Hump Day drinks with Liam. He needs a drink worse than he has in months.
Liam is late, which is unusual for him. It also means Louis is already two shots in and nursing a beer when Liam finally arrives. In his defence, he was left without adult supervision.
“Sorry,” Liam says, sliding into the booth across from Louis. “There was a crisis at work -- well, not a crisis, everything’s fine, but Rita was freaking out so I had to calm her down and deal with everything and so I was late getting out and -- god, I’m ready for a drink.” He snags Louis’ glass, taking a quick sip. “How’s work been for you?”
“Weird,” Louis says, stealing his glass back and holding it like a security blanket. “It’s… a long story. Get your own beer first.”
“Fine,” Liam says, standing with a groan. “Be right back.”
As Liam orders, Louis ponders how to explain the situation. Not that he has any explanation for whatever the fuck is going on, he’s as baffled as anyone else. He feels like the situation requires context, but it’s challenging to give context when all he has is a fistful of question marks and regrets.
He’s still pondering when Liam returns, carrying a tall glass of amber liquid with at least a few inches already missing.
“Someone was thirsty,” Louis comments, his voice teasing.
Liam rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he says. “You’d be chugging it too, if you had to deal with Rita on a daily basis.”
It’s probably true. And Louis isn’t really in a position to judge, given the amount of vodka that is currently making its way into his bloodstream. On which note...
“Is there a good way to tell a stranger that their fiancé is cheating on them?”
Liam nearly spits his beer all over the table, just barely managing to swallow it before dissolving into a coughing fit. “Jesus, Louis,” he says between coughs. “Did you have to wait until I had just taken a sip to spring that one on me?”
“Sorry,” Louis says, only half-meaning it. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I figured,” Liam says, wiping his face. “Care to clarify what the fuck you’re talking about?”
“Um.” Louis runs his fingers through his hair. “Short version or long version?”
“Just spit it out, Louis.”
“I thought that’s what you were doing with your beer.”
“I will if you don’t start fucking talking.”
Louis sighs. “So you remember that guy I told you about, from Tinder?”
“Sure,” Liam says. “Nathan or something? Ned?”
“Nick, yeah,” Louis says. “We’d chatted a bit, grabbed dinner a couple times, went back to my place. You know.” He takes another drink. “Then this afternoon, a guy comes in for an appointment and informs me that he’s Nick’s fiancé.”
Liam stares at Louis for a long moment, like he’s trying to figure out if Louis is messing with him. Which, to be fair, Louis does somewhat frequently. But not this time. God, he wishes it were a joke.
“That’s… a lot,” Liam says slowly.
“Yeah.”
“How are you feeling?”
Louis blinks. That was not the question he’d been expecting. “What?”
“Well, I mean -- it sounds like you liked this Nick guy, before he turned out to be a cheating asswipe. Seems like that might sting.”
“Oh.” Louis nods slowly. “I mean, I guess. Yeah.” He hadn’t really let himself think about it, had pushed that to the side, but as Liam looks at him, those feelings slowly start to sink in. He ducks his head, rubbing his face. “Yeah, it’s -- I mean, it was still early days and all, but… I did like him. He was sweet, funny, clever, hot. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. It was… good.”
“I’m sorry.”
Louis swallows around the lump in his throat. “Yeah, well. It is what it is, I guess.”
“What it is can still suck. You’re allowed to feel that, you know.”
He’d really rather not, though. Feeling it sucks.
“I guess I figure I’m lucky, in a way. Better now than later, you know? I barely knew him; it stings but it’ll pass. I mostly just feel like an idiot. But Harry…” Louis trails off, shaking his head.
“This is the fiancé, I presume?”
“Yeah.” Louis sighs. “He thinks I’m trying to seduce Nick away from him under the guise of massage, or something. Put the whole thing on me. But I didn’t make Nick a Tinder profile, you know?”
“It’s probably easier to believe,” Liam says softly. “To pin it all on a stranger, rather than someone he knows and trusts… and loves.”
“Yeah,” Louis says. “Poor kid.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“No,” Louis says. “But I still feel… not responsible, exactly, but. He deserves to know, you know?”
“I guess so,” Liam says slowly. “I mean -- it’s not that I disagree, I just… worry.” He sighs. “This seems like something that could get complicated fast. I just don’t want you to get in over your head, or have things blow up in your face.”
“I think it’s already complicated,” Louis says with a shrug. “And I guess I just don’t know if I deserve to stay out of it, when he can’t -- isn’t. Like, it just feels wrong to keep it to myself.”
Liam sighs again. “I don’t know what I think of that,” he says. “But I do know I’m not going to be able to talk you out of it, am I?”
“Probably not.”
“Figured.” He takes another sip of his drink. “And I’m not saying I want to talk you out of it, or that I disagree. I just… it’s a lot, you know?”
“Yeah.” Louis bites down on the inside of his cheek. “It is.”
“What do you think you’ll do?”
“I don’t know,” Louis says. “That’s why I was asking you.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I, um. Might have cribbed his details from the patient file after he ran off.”
Liam just blinks at him. “Of course you did.”
“I mean, if I was him, I would have given a fake number, in which case I don’t have a lot of options. But if he didn’t…” Louis shrugs. “I just don’t know what to say. I don’t think there’s a manual for that kind of conversation.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Liam says. “But probably not. There probably shouldn’t be.” He scratches his chin. “What would you want to hear?” he asks. “There’s probably not, like, a good way, but maybe there’s a least-bad way?”
Louis considers for a moment. “I think I’d just want the truth,” he says at last. “Probably wouldn’t have appreciated the person who gave it, but… at least I’d have known. At least it would have been over, instead of dragging on and on.”
He’s not drunk enough for this. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to retread those paths. The sooner he can deal with Harry’s situation and leave that pain in the past, the better.
Louis pushes himself to his feet. “I’m grabbing another drink,” he says. “Want anything?”
“Sure,” Liam says. “You know my tastes.”
“I do,” Louis says. “And in return, when I get back we’ll talk about Rita instead of Harry.”
Liam groans. “Do we have to?” he says. “I don’t want to think about her either.”
“Or whatever other topic you come up with,” Louis says, shrugging. “Better think fast.”
And he walks away before Liam can argue.
~*~
It’s late by the time Louis heads home. After another round of drinks, he and Liam wander down the street to a fast food joint and spend another hour or two downing well-salted fries and greasy burgers. Time and food help to sober him up, as does the cool night air, until the alcohol has faded into more of a pleasant buzz in the background.
He’s still slightly unsteady on his feet, but he has a much higher tolerance than Liam, who Louis carefully loads into a taxi with meticulous instructions to both driver and drunk. Liam pulls him into an awkward hug as he starts to step away from the car, pressing his cheek against Louis’.
“Thanksss,” he murmurs. “You’re a great friend. A great person. To me and to Henry.”
“To wh- oh.” Louis pats Liam on the back. “I hope so. Thanks man. Text me when you’re home.”
He carefully peels Liam’s arms off, makes sure everything is inside the vehicle, and closes the door. As he watches the cab drive away, he sighs. Liam is right. His night isn’t quite over yet.
He decides to walk home first. It’s not procrastinating, really. It’s just not a conversation he wants to have in public. And it’ll let a little more alcohol work its way out of his system. Also, this way when he’s done he can crawl into bed and forget the whole thing ever happened. Or at least try to.
He might be procrastinating a little bit.
He walks home anyway, trying to rehearse the words in his head, but everything he might say sounds hollow, sometimes even cruel. There just isn’t a good way to break someone’s heart.
As he walks up the stairs of his building, he shakes his head. No way to do it that’s good, so might as well do it fast. Just put it out there, tell it straight, and let the pieces fall where they will.
It still feels brutal.
He unlocks the door and pushes it open, stepping into the familiar comfort of his home. He looks longingly at the couch and even more longingly at the bedroom door, but he can’t give in to the temptation of either yet. If he does, he’ll fall asleep. And if he doesn’t do this tonight, he’s not sure he’ll find the strength again.
He walks over to the window, sliding it open and staring out into the night. It’s dark, and yet the city is still full of light and life. Thousands upon thousands of people still awake, still walking down streets or dancing in clubs or doing a hundred other things. It’s always felt comforting to Louis, to feel just a fraction of that energy and vibrancy, and he breathes it in with the night air.
He’s still a little buzzed, which he’s grateful for honestly, not sure if he’d have the courage without the lingering effects of the alcohol to give it to him. But he’s more sober than not -- enough to be relatively clearheaded, at least. He thinks.
It’ll have to be enough.
He dials the number.
The phone rings once, then again, and Louis is just starting to wonder if maybe Harry is asleep -- or worse, with Nick -- when the call picks up.
“Hello?” The voice sounds familiar, but Louis isn’t completely sure. It could still be a fake number.
“Hi,” Louis says. His palms are sweating, he wipes them on his shorts. “Erm, is this Harry Styles?”
“Speaking. Who is this?”
“Okay.” Louis lets out a long breath. “This is Louis Tomlinson.”
There is only silence for a long moment. When Harry speaks again, his voice is low and dangerous. “You’ve got some nerve-”
“I probably do,” Louis says. “And I honestly wouldn’t blame you if you hung up on me right now. But you deserve to know the truth, so I had to at least try.”
Harry snorts. “The truth, is it?” he says. “That’s an interesting idea. What’s the ‘truth,’ then? Are you going to tell me about how my fiancé is just too irresistible, about how you love him more than I ever could, about how you deserve him?”
“No,” Louis says honestly. “I definitely don’t deserve him -- and neither do you. We both deserve way better.”
“Well, I hope you -- wait, what?”
“The truth is,” Louis says, emphasizing the word, “I met Nick on Tinder. He was the one to message me first; he was the one who suggested we get coffee. I had no idea he was seeing someone else -- let alone engaged -- until you told me, and I wouldn’t have gone near him if I’d known.”
There’s a long pause. “You’re lying,” Harry says at last, but he sounds unsure.
“I wish I was,” Louis says. “Truly, I do. You seem like a nice guy. Someone who deserves better than a fiancé who runs around hooking up with random strangers on Tinder. But unfortunately, life doesn’t always give us what we deserve.”
“You’re lying ,” Harry says again. His voice is growing higher, on the verge of hysterics. “You just want me to break up with Nick so you can have him all to yourself. It won’t work. I love him, and he loves me, and you’re just a sad, pathetic, jealous little man.”
Louis grimaces. This is not going well. Not that he’d expected it to, but. “I can’t make you believe me,” he says. “I’m not here to tell you what to do. I just figured, in your position… I’d have wanted someone to tell me. That’s all this call is. I would never have touched him if I knew he wasn’t single, and now that I do know, I’m dropping him like a hot rock.”
“I’m glad you’re doing the right thing and stepping away,” Harry says, his voice dripping with venom. “Just keep your eyes -- and your hands -- off my fiancé. It’s not that hard.”
Louis sighs. “I don’t plan to ever speak to Nick again,” he says. “I hope he shapes up for you. I really do. But if I’m being honest, I don’t expect him to.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I don’t,” Louis agrees. “He clearly didn’t tell me some very important things. But I’m not sure you know him all that much better.”
Harry snorts. “After five years together, I think I do.”
Louis winces. Five years? Jesus Christ, that’s brutal. “I couldn’t say,” Louis says. “I just wanted you to have the information I have.” He bites his lip. “And… if you ever need -- I don’t know, someone to talk to… well, you have my number now.”
Harry’s laugh is short and sharp, almost a shout. “Fat chance of that.”
Louis shrugs. He knew it was a long shot, and would probably be incredibly awkward, but he couldn’t stop the words. “Just an offer,” he says. “You don’t have to take it. But I wanted you to know you’re not alone.”
“Of course I’m not alone,” Harry says. “I have a wonderful fiancé, who loves me and will pick me over a homewrecking little harlot like you any day of the week.”
“Well, like I said, I hope you’re right,” Louis says. “I’ve said what I wanted to say. What you do with it is your choice. Goodbye.”
He hangs up before Harry can say another word. For a long moment, he stares at the darkened screen, his reflection just visible in the glass. He wonders what he just did. He wonders what Harry will do about it.
The phone vibrates in his hand, a message from Liam flashing across the screen: mad eti hoome sfe! lov u bro :)
Louis shakes his head, shoving the phone into his pocket and digging for a cigarette. Usually he tries to restrict himself to one a day during his break, but there are exceptions to every rule, and today is clearly a special circumstance.
He clicks the lighter and holds it to the tip of the cigarette as he inhales, feeling himself relax as the smoke fills his lungs. He holds his breath for a moment, then lets it out, a slow cloud billowing in front of him before blowing away on the night breeze.
~*~
He doesn’t think about it after that. Okay, that’s a lie, but he tries not to think about it. There’s nothing else he can do. It’s not his business. He tells Nick that he’s not interested in continuing things, deletes his number, deletes Harry’s number, then does his absolute best to go on with his life as normal.
He also buries Tinder in a folder on a far back page of his phone. Seeing it just leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
Still, life goes on. He goes to work, goes to the bar with Liam, calls his mother, spends too much time scrolling social media or watching mediocre television. The usual. If Harry occasionally crosses his mind in quiet moments -- on his commute to work, or as he’s falling asleep at night -- well, nobody needs to know. He assumes he’ll probably never find out what happened, one of those stories in life where you play a minor part and never see the ending.
But then, a few weeks later, Louis steps outside for a smoke break at work. The cigarette is already between his lips, the lighter ready in his hand, but he pauses, thumb hovering on the button. There’s a man sitting on the curb, his head in his hands. Which isn’t in itself terribly unusual; there’s a few homeless folks who frequent this part of town, and they get the occasional drunk wandering through, but -- this man seems too well dressed to be in either of those crowds. He’s wearing a long black coat, the material of which looks thick and luxurious, even from a distance. His boots seem fancy too, smooth brown leather that’s clearly been well-maintained, with just a touch of a heel.
Louis frowns at the man’s back, perplexed -- and then, as though feeling his gaze, the man raises his head.
For a moment, Louis thinks he’s imagining things, maybe a weird dream or a hallucination. But no, the man before him is solid and real and unmistakably Harry Styles.
“Harry?” Louis says, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
Harry’s face crumples and he turns away, but not before Louis realizes that his eyes are red and swollen, his cheeks blotchy and streaked with tears.
“Hey,” he says, moving closer instinctively and taking a seat next to Harry. “Are you okay?”
The only reply is a choked sob.
Louis has no idea what to do. He can’t leave, obviously, but, like. What is he supposed to say? Is there anything he can say? Are there any words that from him can possibly sound comforting, instead of just feeling like another knife between Harry’s ribs?
He wonders why Harry came here.
“You were right,” Harry whispers, after a long, agonizing minute. “He’s… I don’t even know. God, I feel so stupid .”
“Hey, hey, none of that,” Louis says. His voice is gentle, but firm. “You’re not stupid.”
“I am,” Harry says. “I believed him, believed every lie and every promise… but you were right. I saw his phone while he was in the bathroom, and… God, I wanted to throw up. I should never have doubted you.”
“In your defense,” Louis says, “I probably wouldn’t have believed me either. I mean, I was just some random stranger. And Nick was… well.”
“He was my everything,” Harry says. “I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. I thought… but I was just one of the crowd, I guess.” He hiccups, swaying slightly on the curb.
God, he’s a mess. Louis feels for him.
“What am I going to do?” Harry asks bleakly, staring out at the street. “I don’t know -- where to go, who to trust, how to stop hurting this fucking bad… I don’t know anything anymore.”
Louis winces, the words just a little too familiar. He bites his lip.
He should walk away. Not immediately, obviously, maybe help Harry to call a friend or at least find a motel or something, but he should disengage. This is just… too weird. Too uncomfortable.
But he can’t. He can’t bring himself to be yet another person letting Harry down. For better or worse, he’s involved -- Harry saw to that himself, even more than Nick -- and he can’t not help. Or at least try.
“Come on,” Louis says, pushing himself to his feet. “Let’s get you inside.”
Harry looks up at him, puzzled. “What?”
“Inside,” Louis says. “Unless you enjoy sitting on a dirty street corner? Not to mention cold; my ass is freezing already, and you’ve been here longer than me.”
That startles a laugh out of Harry, at least. It’s a small one, but it’s real, and it warms Louis’ heart.
He smiles. “That’s the spirit,” he says. “Come on, I’ve got a couple more clients today, but you can sit in the back office. Warm up, drink some water. Then we can talk through what comes next.”
It’s part-true, part-stall. He does have another client in -- he checks his watch -- fuck, six minutes, but he also has absolutely no idea what to say to Harry, how to help him, anything. Hopefully an hour or two of work will give him time to at least come up with the beginnings of a plan.
If not… well, fortunately he’s always been fairly good at faking it.
He holds out a hand to help Harry up. Harry stares at it for a long moment, then takes a deep breath and takes it. His skin is surprisingly warm in the autumn chill, and his grip is firm as he pulls himself to his feet.
Louis initially wonders if he’s going to have to help Harry walk, but though the taller man sways slightly on his feet, he seems steady enough. His movements are a little slow, every step seeming to take great effort, but he puts one foot in front of the other, and they make their way into the building and the elevator. The small space feels a bit claustrophobic as they ascend to the fourth floor, the air heavy with silence and unspoken tension, but just as Louis’ lungs are beginning to feel tight, the door dings open on their floor.
Louis can immediately feel Zayn’s questioning gaze. Which is fair. He hadn’t thought about that part, and he has absolutely no idea how to explain… any of this. So instead, he ushers Harry past him and into the back, carefully avoiding Zayn and relying on his professionalism to put off the questions for at least a few minutes.
“Don’t go poking around or anything,” Louis says as he lets them into the small office behind his treatment room. “But you can sit here for a bit, if that’s okay. Decompress a little, or something.”
“That’s fine,” Harry says softly. “Thank you. I’m sorry for being a bother, I just… I didn’t know what to do.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Louis says. “I’m happy to help.” And it’s true, he is. He’s always wanted to help people; it’s one of his favorite things about this job. This isn’t the usual way he helps people, but if someone needs him and he can be there -- who is he to turn them down?
Even if it does complicate some things. He might have a bit of explaining to do. Or a lot.
“I’ll grab you a glass of water,” Louis says. “Do you need anything else?”
Harry shakes his head slowly, looking at the floor. “I’m okay,” he says. “This is -- you’ve already done more than enough.”
Louis shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Um. Okay, I’ll be right back.”
He shuts the door behind him, heading back through the treatment room to the reception area where he knows Zayn will be waiting to bombard him with questions.
“What the fuck. ”
Louis jumps as he steps into the hallway, turning to see Zayn waiting for him beside the door. “Shit, dude, don’t startle me like that!”
“I could say the same to you. Isn’t that the guy?”
“Um. What guy?”
Zayn scowls at him. “Don’t fucking give me that. Homewrecker guy.”
“I mean, technically I’m the homewrecker,” Louis says. “But that is the guy who told me I was one, yes.”
“What is he doing here?”
Louis sighs. “Having a breakdown, mostly?” he says. “I found him crying on the sidewalk outside. What was I supposed to do, leave him there?”
Zayn rubs his face. “Fucking hell, Louis, how do you wind up in these situations?” he asks. “I swear you’re cursed or something.”
“Probably.” Louis doesn’t really have the energy to debate the point. “Look, he realized that Nick is a cheating scumbag and basically his whole life was a lie -- or felt like it -- and now he’s here.”
“And… why is that exactly?”
Louis chews his bottom lip. It’s a good question. “I guess I was the one person he knew had told him the truth?”
“I hate that that makes sense,” Zayn says, sighing. “Fine. Just… be careful, will you?”
“I’m always careful.”
“That is a dirty fucking lie and you know it,” Zayn says without even a moment’s pause.
“I do,” Louis admits. “I’ll try.”
“You get so invested with people,” Zayn says. “It’s one of the things I admire most about you, and it’s part of what makes you so good at this job -- and such a good friend. But… don’t burn yourself out, you know?”
“I know,” Louis says. “I won’t. Probably.”
“ Louis. ”
“I’m not planning to keep him in my office,” Louis says. “I’m sure he’s got a friend or a relative he’ll be able to lean on, once he’s done freaking out. I’m just here for the freaking out part.”
“Because that’s the easy part?”
“It’s the now part,” Louis says. “It’s the short part. I hope.”
Zayn grimaces. “I hope so too,” he says. “This is just weird. The sooner it’s over and he’s gone, the better.”
~*~
When Louis lets himself into the office an hour and a half later after he’s finished with his last client, he doesn’t see Harry anywhere. He has a moment of confused panic before he notices the sound of soft snores. He leans over and sees Harry curled up under the desk, his head resting on his rolled-up coat. His face is smooth and peaceful, the stress and ache falling away as he sleeps, though there are still tear tracks on his cheeks. There’s a small pile of used tissues in the wastebasket at his feet, but at least the glass of water Louis had brought has been drained dry. Hopefully he’s not too dehydrated, then.
He dithers at the door for a moment, trying to decide what to do. He knows what he probably should do, what the logical course of action would be. But he also knows he’s never been particularly good at “should”s, never been renowned for his logical choices.
So instead, he silently shuts the door and slips out into the hallway. Zayn is packing up his desk, filing the last stacks of papers away, but he looks up when Louis approaches.
“You’ve got that look in your eye,” he says. “The one that says you can’t believe what you’re about to ask, and I probably won’t either. Should I just tell you no in advance?”
Louis ignores him. He’s probably right, but acknowledging that won’t help anything.
“Can I stay a bit late?” he says. “You can leave me the key, and I’ll lock up.”
“I’ll need the key in the morning,” Zayn says. “Unless you want to get here at 7am.”
“I do not,” Louis says. “I’ll drop it off on my way home; you’re practically on the way.”
“Dare I ask why you need it?” Zayn asks. “Not to be vulgar, but this does feel a little… sordid.”
“What?” Louis says. “Oh, god, absolutely not. It’s not like that. I wouldn’t-”
“Okay,” Zayn says. “Good. Sorry, I just… this is just weird, man. I don’t know what to think about any of it.”
Louis sighs. “Harry’s asleep,” he says. “I feel bad waking him, goodness knows he could probably use the rest.”
“Louis…”
“I know, I know.” Louis scratches his neck. “I just -- I feel for the kid, you know? It’s a shitty situation, and it hurts like a motherfucker. Seeing him like this…”
“You see yourself.”
Louis doesn’t argue the point.
“Okay,” Zayn says. “That’s… I can get that, I guess.” He sighs, digging through his pockets to pull out the office keys. “I know there’s no arguing with you when you’re in protective mode,” he says. “But don’t stay too late. And double check that the door is locked correctly, sometimes the latch is finicky.”
“Thanks,” Louis says. “You’re the best.”
“I am the best,” Zayn says. “But I’m not sure you should be thanking me. This feels like a bad idea.”
Louis just shrugs. It might be. But it’s also the only thing he can do.
A few minutes later, Zayn is out the door and Louis walking back through the darkened halls to his office. He doesn’t sit down at the desk, not wanting to disturb Harry, so instead he perches atop the filing cabinet in the corner, pulling his knees up to his chest as he scrolls through his phone. He replies to a few emails, texts his mother to assure her he’s alive and eating, then pulls up a research article he’s been meaning to read about new tools for massage.
When he’s about halfway through, he hears movement. He lowers his phone to see Harry stirring under the desk, rubbing his face and stretching out his legs.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Louis says. “Nice nap?”
Harry startles, whacking his head on the leg of the desk. “Ouch,” he says, rubbing his skull. “Sorry -- what? Is it morning? I didn’t mean to-”
“No, sorry, relax,” Louis says quickly, lowering his feet to the floor. “It’s only just after five, you’re fine. I was just -- it was a bad joke, I’m sorry.”
Harry shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says. “I’m fine, just wasn’t expecting -- sorry.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence that hangs in the air for a few long moments. Louis swallows hard. This is more awkward than he’d anticipated.
“I could use a drink,” he says aloud. He leans over, careful not to overbalance as he pulls open the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. After a moment of rifling, he pulls out a clear glass bottle, which he holds up like a trophy. “It’s been a long day. What do you say?”
Harry stares at him, surprise giving way to laughter. “I see you have more than one treatment method at your disposal,” he says between chuckles.
“Booze doesn’t cure hurts,” Louis says with a shrug, “but it makes it easier to forget about them for a bit.”
“I could sure use some forgetting,” Harry says fervently. “Let’s have at it.”
Louis unscrews the cap, taking a sip. It’s cheap vodka, nothing fancy when he’s just going to leave it in a drawer for who knows how long, and it burns going down. But he sighs in relief at the feeling and at the sense of relaxation he can already feel twisting through his veins.
He hands the bottle to Harry, who tips it back, taking down three large gulps in quick succession. Louis suddenly wonders if adding alcohol to this already volatile emotional cocktail might have been a bad idea, but it’s done now. He takes the bottle back, allowing himself one more small swallow before capping it and returning it to its drawer.
“So,” he says, pulling his legs back up to sit cross-legged on the cabinet. “You’ve had some water, some sleep, some time to process, and now some alcohol. I’d say that puts us in a good place to figure out what comes next.”
Harry blinks. “What do you mean?”
Louis smiles wryly. “Well, I don’t think you’re planning to live under my desk for the rest of your life,” he says. “I don’t know if you’re planning to go back to Nick-”
“Not on your life,” Harry says emphatically, which warms Louis’ heart.
“-but if not, you’ve got some next steps to figure out. Do you have a friend or a relative you could crash with for a bit?”
Harry chews his bottom lip. “My mother would, but she’s at the edge of the city,” he says. “I don’t want to burden her. I’d ask my friend Niall, but his place is tiny.” He scratches his nose. “Maybe my sister? I don’t know. I never -- I didn’t have a plan for this kind of situation, you know.”
“Most people don’t,” Louis says. “No one wants to need it.”
Harry nods. “It just feels so… vulnerable,” he says softly. “Not exactly shameful, but… I feel like I’m admitting some kind of failure. That I wasn’t good enough.”
“Hey.” Louis’ voice is sharp. “Don’t talk like that. This is not your fault; you didn’t do anything wrong. Nick is just a greedy, lying little fucker who doesn’t care about hurting people. That’s on him, not you.”
“Don’t talk about him like that,” Harry says, wincing. “You don’t know him. You don’t know me.”
Chagrin bites at Louis’ heart. “You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry, that was… I just hate seeing you blame yourself for someone else’s actions. For someone else hurting you.”
Harry just shrugs.
Louis swallows hard. “Okay,” he says. “Your sister, then. Do you want to call her?”
Harry sighs. “Not really. But I will.” He pulls his phone out, his movements slow and reluctant. “Um. Can I-”
“Right, of course,” Louis says, standing. “I’ll give you some space, to -- I’ll just be waiting outside in the exam room.”
He steps outside, shutting the door behind him, then leans against the wall with a sigh. This is harder than he’d expected. Not that he’d thought it would be easy, but -- it’s hard. Harry’s pain is hard. His own pain is hard. The awkwardness of their shared sense of betrayal is hard.
He runs a hand through his hair, wishing he hadn’t put the bottle of vodka away so quickly. He could really use another drink. Or three.
He can hear Harry’s voice through the door, soft and low. The words aren’t clear, but the voice itself is soothing. Louis closes his eyes, just resting them for a moment. It’s been a long day. He’s earned it, hasn’t he?
He jumps when the door beside him swings open, startling him out of his half-sleep.
“Sorry,” Harry says, wincing. “It’s -- she wants to speak to you, if that’s okay?”
“Oh,” Louis says, surprised. “Um. Sure, I guess?”
He takes the phone, pressing it to his ear as he tries to suppress a yawn. “Hello?”
“Louis?” The voice is higher than Harry’s, though not by much, and there’s a firmness to it that makes him stand a little straighter after just the one word. “My name is Gemma, I’m Harry’s older sister.”
“Erm.” Louis has no idea what to say. “Pleasure?”
“That’s probably not true, but it’s a nice sentiment,” Gemma says. “Let me be quite plain with you, Louis: I don’t trust you. Not that I think you’re lying, but I don’t know a thing about you. So I just need you to know that I will never hesitate to protect Harry.”
“I completely understand,” Louis says. “I have younger siblings myself, so I can relate. I’d do anything for them.”
“Good,” Gemma says. “Then I’m sure you understand that hearing my brother crying on the phone, explaining the situation, was… upsetting for me.”
Louis swallows. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I didn’t much enjoy it myself. Any of it. Been an unpleasant few days all around, I think.”
“Indeed.” Gemma’s voice starts to lose its edge. “I’m sorry to be so harsh. It’s just… an infuriating situation. And I needed... to make sure of you, I suppose. But I should thank you. I am grateful for all you’ve done for my brother.”
“Of course,” Louis says, almost surprised. “Just seemed like the decent thing to do.”
“Well, Nick clearly isn’t so decent,” Gemma says. “If I get my hands on that mangy, rotten, two-faced son of a-” She cuts herself off. “I’m sorry. I just -- he’s my baby brother, you know?”
“I know,” Louis says. “It sounds like he’s lucky to have you. And you don’t have to be polite for my sake; I agree with every word you just said.”
Gemma laughs. “Duly noted,” she says. “It doesn’t help right now, though. Right now, Harry needs my support more than my rage. But the problem is, I’m out of town on a business trip. I can drive back tonight, but I won’t be there until tomorrow morning.” She sighs. “I needed to make sure of you, because I’m about to request a really huge favor of you -- I hate to ask when you’ve already done so much and we’re virtual strangers, but… I’d really rather Harry wasn’t alone just now. Obviously if you’re not comfortable we can find him a motel or something, but-”
“Of course,” Louis says, before he can think twice. He looks over at Harry. “I have a foldout couch; it’s not the most comfortable, but it’s a place to stay, if he’s all right with it.”
Harry had been staring at the ground, his hand twisting together nervously, but as Louis speaks he looks up. His eyes are bright with emotions, a complex mix that Louis can barely guess how to pick apart. There’s nervousness, definitely, but also relief. There’s shame, but there’s hope too. He nods at Louis, who smiles softly.
“Are you sure?” Gemma says, and Louis had very nearly forgotten he was on the phone with her. “Obviously I would appreciate it, but I don’t want you to feel pressured-”
“It’s fine,” Louis says. “I don’t mind. It’s one night, no big deal. Besides, if Harry was planning to murder me, he’s had plenty of opportunity by now.”
Gemma snorts. “I don’t think Harry could murder you if he wanted to,” she says. “Hell, I don’t think he could want to. Also, on that note, please don’t murder my brother. Even if he sometimes kind of deserves it.”
Louis laughs. “I think I can manage that,” he says. “Anything else I should know, or should I give you back to Harry?”
“I think we’re good,” she says. “Just -- thank you again. I can come by tomorrow morning, whenever is convenient for you. Just let me know the address.”
“I’ll have Harry text it to you,” Louis promises. “Here, I’ll give you back now.”
He hands the phone back to Harry and looks out the window as the siblings say goodbye. The sun is dipping towards the horizon, the silhouettes of the buildings stark against the light. An airplane glides across the sky, leaving a tiny trail of white clouds behind it, and Louis wonders where it’s going.
“Okay,” Harry says behind him. “Bye. I love you. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Louis glances back as Harry ends the call, slipping the phone into his pocket with a sigh.
“All good?” Louis asks.
“Yeah,” Harry says. “I guess. You’re sure you’re all right with this?”
“It’s fine,” Louis says. “It’s the least I can do.” He gives Harry a joking smile. “Gotta make up for my homewrecking ways.”
Harry just winces. “Sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have assumed -- I’m sorry. I was such a jerk to you.”
Oops. Not a funny joke, apparently. “No hard feelings,” Louis says. “Seriously. None. You had no way to know.” He shrugs, pulling out his phone. “Shall we head out? I’ll grab an Uber, and then I was thinking of ordering takeout for dinner, any preferences?”
~*~
Forty minutes later, they’ve dropped the office keys at Zayn’s and made it to Louis’ apartment. Harry has texted his sister the address, and Louis has changed into a comfy t-shirt and sweatpants, glad to be out of his work clothes. He offered Harry another set, though they’re different enough sizes that it’s not a great fit -- the shirt is almost skintight and the pants are an inch or two short in the legs -- but Harry just took the clothes with a quiet thank you.
Now, they’re sprawled on the sofa bed with several containers of takeout Chinese food spread out around them. Louis digs in gleefully, starving after a long day at work, but Harry just stares balefully at his plate.
“What’s up?” Louis asks after a few minutes. “Chopsticks giving you trouble?”
Harry gives the joke a ghost of a smile, but it only lasts for a moment. “Just not that hungry,” he says.
Louis takes another mouthful of noodles. “Okay,” he says, “but it’s best when it’s still hot. Come on, just a few bites.”
Harry picks at a few grains of rice, then shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says softly. “I just can’t.” He sniffles, wiping his nose. “I’m sorry,” he says again.
And then the tears start in earnest, rolling down his face in silent streams. Harry doesn’t sob, doesn’t wail, he just sits there and lets them fall. And all Louis can do is hand him tissues and hope Harry doesn’t mind a little salt in his fried rice.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t murmur comforts or condolences or platitudes. He doesn’t think they’ll help. What is there to say? So instead, he just sits there with him. He rests a gentle hand on Harry’s knee, rubbing soft circles with his thumb, and he sits with him.
“I just don’t get it,” Harry says, after a few minutes. The tears have started to slow, though they’re still falling, and his voice is thin and scratchy.
“What’s that?” Louis asks.
“What does he see in you?”
Louis frowns, the comment stinging in spite of himself. “Rude.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Harry says quickly, wiping his nose. “Just. Why wasn’t I enough? What was wrong with me? What did I do, or not do? What did you give him that I couldn’t?”
Louis bites his lip. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“But there has to be a reason,” Harry says. His voice is almost desperate. “There has to. Were you better in bed? Nick always said I give the best head he’s ever had, but was yours better? Were you into kinks he never told me he had?”
“Okay,” Louis says, feeling vaguely lightheaded. “I think we’re getting a little personal here.”
“I just want to know,” Harry says. “I’m sorry. I just -- I wish-” He stops, shaking his head. His face twists, ache twining together with frustration mixing with yearning.
And then he leans forward, slides his hands into Louis’ hair, and kisses him on the mouth.
Louis’ first thought is that Harry is an excellent kisser. His lips are warm and soft, his touch eager, he smells like strawberries and saltwater. For a few seconds, Louis loses himself in the kiss, in the feeling of Harry’s mouth and how much he wants more.
Then he remembers who Harry is, why he’s here, how bad of an idea this is. He pulls away with an effort that feels Herculean, like he’s fighting against gravity. His eyes open just in time to watch Harry’s face fall.
“I’m sorry,” Harry says, covering his face. “That was dumb, I shouldn’t -- I’m sorry, I just ruin everything. You don’t even know me, that was probably so weird and uncomfortable… I can’t do anything right, oh god, I’m the worst-”
“It’s fine, Harry,” Louis says softly. “I get it. I’m not upset.”
“You’re probably disgusted,” Harry continues, his voice growing faster and more high-pitched with every word. “Who wouldn’t be, I’m a fucking mess, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”
“Harry, stop it,” Louis says. “I’m not upset. I’m not disgusted. You’re an attractive young man, and frankly a fantastic kisser. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” Harry says. His hands fall from his face, gripping Louis’ sweatpants instead. “I’m single, thanks to fuckface. So are you. Isn’t there some shit about getting over someone by getting under someone else?”
Louis feels Harry’s touch slide along his leg, and he swallows, trying not to think about it too hard. “You’re in no condition,” he says. “You’re drunk, you’re upset, you’re exhausted. I wouldn’t feel right. I don’t want to take advantage.”
“But if I want-”
“No.” Louis’ voice leaves no room for argument. “Not on the table, Harry.”
Harry seems to shrink under Louis’ tone. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “You’re right, I’m sorry, I just… wanted to know. What it was like, for him.”
Louis feels nauseous.
“You don’t need to compare yourself,” he says. “You’ll just drive yourself crazy.”
Harry shrugs. “Maybe I already am.”
He takes a forkful of fried rice and shoves it in his mouth, not seeming to mind or even notice that it’s still damp with tears.
Louis tries not to grimace. At least he’s eating. He’ll take what success he can get.
~*~
Louis feels a little bit guilty about locking his bedroom door, but he does it anyway. He trusts Harry (mostly), but it’s still just a little weird having a total stranger sleeping on his couch. If Harry is sleeping at all. Harry had laid down obediently when Louis said they should get some rest, but Louis isn’t sure if Harry is more likely to cry himself to sleep or be too upset to sleep at all.
Louis does sleep, but restlessly. He keeps waking up, jolting out of hazy nightmares or thinking he hears something or just suddenly finding himself staring at the ceiling, wide awake. It’s a long night.
At last, half an hour before his alarm is set to go off, he decides to throw in the towel. He shoves back the covers with a sigh, swinging his feet out of bed and standing up. He makes his way to the bathroom to pee, then splashes some water on his face, hoping he doesn’t look as haggard as he feels. He shuffles down the hall to the kitchen, but pauses on the threshold.
The kitchen smells… wonderful? Fruity and nutty and sweet, all riding on a wave of soft warmth. He’s already salivating as he looks around and sees Harry sitting at the corner table, nursing a mug of steaming liquid.
Harry smiles nervously at him. “Good morning,” he says softly. “I hope you don’t mind? I couldn’t sleep, so I made some muffins. The bananas were just the right level of ripe.”
Louis blinks. “I had bananas?”
A flash of genuine mirth sparks in Harry’s eyes, just for a moment. “Ah, that explains how you’d reached that level of brown. Most people freeze them before then.”
“You can freeze bananas?” Louis doesn’t wait for an answer, crossing to the muffin tins that sit atop the stove and helping himself. He takes a large bite and almost groans at the explosion of rich flavour and sweetness, the soft bread wrapped around pockets of melted chocolate or crunchy lumps of chopped pecan. “Holy fuck,” he says around a mouthful of crumbs. “This is incredible. Have you had one yet?”
“I tried one, yeah,” Harry says. “I’m glad you like it.”
“You can crash on my couch any time if it means I get to wake up to food like this,” Louis says fervently. “Jesus, Harry, I didn’t know you could cook like this.”
“I used to be a baker,” Harry says, shrugging. “I’ve always liked cooking. It’s… relaxing. Calms my mind.”
Louis nods, taking another massive bite. It’s the best muffin he’s ever tasted, which is even more impressive considering he has no idea what ingredients are even in his kitchen. What goes into a muffin anyway?
“Gemma texted a bit ago,” Harry says after a moment. “She’ll probably be here in about twenty minutes, if that works for you.”
“Oh, sure,” Louis says. “Whenever’s good. We’re all up anyway. And she can have some of these muffins -- I’ll never manage to eat them all in time by myself. Does she know what a talent her brother is in the kitchen?”
Harry chuckles. “She’s been a primary taste tester on my kitchen experiments for more than a decade,” he says. “Good and bad. I’d like to think I’ve fed her more successes than failures, but there have definitely been a few that were pretty horrendous.”
“Well, gotta try it to know,” Louis says, shrugging. “It’s hard to succeed at anything without failing a few times.”
“True,” Harry says. “I guess that really does apply to everything.”
Louis isn’t sure what to say to that, so he doesn’t. Harry doesn’t say anything either, and the silence slowly grows heavy and awkward. Louis finishes his muffin and starts on a second, but still no one speaks.
At last, Louis clears his throat. “Did you make coffee?” he asks, nodding to Harry’s mug.
“Hmm? Oh. Tea. Chamomile. Hope you don’t mind?”
“Ah, makes sense,” Louis says. “That’s fine, I’ve got plenty to go around.” He starts to step towards the coffeemaker, then pauses. “Actually, tea sounds lovely, I might make some up too.”
The kettle is still fairly warm, so he sets it to reheat as he looks through the tea drawer, selecting a bag of Irish Breakfast and dropping it into a mug. Two minutes and a splash of milk later, he takes a first cautious sip and feels warmth flood his body.
He also burns his tongue a little bit, but that’s honestly normal for him. He hates waiting for things to cool.
Though maybe he should at least get dressed, so Gemma’s first impression of him isn’t a grungy tank top and gym shorts. Then it’s not waiting, it’s multitasking.
Hopefully Harry’s opinions of him haven’t been lowered too much by said ratty attire.
“I’m gonna put on some clothes,” Louis informs Harry, who probably doesn’t care, but it seems polite at least. “Do you, like -- can I get you anything?”
“I’m good,” Harry says, shaking his head. “Thanks.”
“Okay,” Louis says. “Cool. Okay, back in a minute.”
Why is he so bad at talking? Apparently he really needs that caffeine.
By the time he’s thrown on some slacks and a shirt, run a brush through his hair, and applied some deodorant, his tea is the perfect temperature. He snags a third muffin -- they really are delicious -- and sits at the table to eat. At least the food gives him an excuse not to talk, explains away the silence. If Harry wants to say anything, he can, but Louis isn’t going to push.
When the knock on the door comes a few minutes later, they both stand up in silent synchrony.
“Right,” Louis says, his palms suddenly inexplicably warm. “Do you have everything?”
Harry shrugs. “I didn’t have much to begin with,” he says. “I wasn’t -- yeah.”
Louis winces at the unspoken words of how much Harry has lost -- or perhaps how much he never had.
“Right,” he says again. “Well. Let’s go meet your sister.”
Gemma is taller than he expected. Not quite as tall as Harry, but between her impeccable posture and the confidence she carries herself with, she feels like she could be six feet tall. Louis finds himself quite speechless as she breezes into the apartment like she owns the place. He would almost believe her if she told him she did.
Fortunately for him, Gemma walks right past him and straight to Harry, pulling him into a tight hug. He sags into her arms, his face crumpling as he presses it to her shoulder.
Louis looks away. It feels too private to watch, so he turns his gaze out the window, watching a bird that’s perched in a tree outside. He tries (and mostly fails) not to listen as Harry and Gemma murmur back and forth, tries not to feel the pangs that squeeze at his heart as he hears Harry muttering “stupid” and “idiot” and more words that he can’t quite catch but have the same despondent tone.
Gemma just holds him. She holds him and she tells him that he’s wrong and that he’ll be okay.
Louis hopes she’s right. He doesn’t know Harry as anything but broken, but he suspects if anyone can put him back together, it’s Gemma. He hopes she can. He hopes Harry has plenty of others in his corner. He hopes, but he’ll probably never know.
~*~
“For the last time, Liam, what was I supposed to do?” Louis gestures wildly, almost spilling his drink. “He was crying on my doorstep.”
“He literally wasn’t, though,” Liam says. He’s had a slightly pinched look on his face since Louis started telling him about Harry, which makes him look like a constipated librarian, but Louis doesn’t mention that. “He was on a street curb outside your workplace.”
“Are you telling me you wouldn’t have felt bad for him?” Louis challenges. “Are you saying you wouldn’t have helped?”
“I’m just saying-” Liam sighs. “You concern me, you know that?”
“I know,” Louis says, smiling. “That's why you keep hanging out with me.”
“I honestly can’t tell anymore.”
“I’m fine, Liam,” Louis says for what feels like the third time that night. “It’s fine. Everything is fine. I didn’t get murdered, I didn’t get dragged into anything. He spent one night on my couch a week and a half ago, and we’ll probably never see each other again.”
Liam sighs again. “I hope so,” he says. “This all feels way too complicated for me. Sometimes I’m really glad to be aromantic.”
“It probably would be easier,” Louis agrees. “But there are some perks, too. To each their own.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Liam says, raising his glass.
Louis clinks his own against Liam’s, tilting his head back to take a long sip. As he lowers the glass to the table, he almost drops it. “Holy fuck.”
“What?”
“That’s -- over there by the door, next to that blond dude.”
Liam twists around. “The guy with the curly hair? Okay, what about him? He’s hot, but not usually your type.”
Louis almost chokes on his tongue. “That’s him,” he rasps out. “What the fuck.”
Liam’s eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. “That’s -- Harry?” he hisses. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
“Do I look like I know?” Louis grips the table hard, trying to keep his hands from trembling. Should he leave? Should he go say hi? Should he hide under the table? Should he pretend he doesn’t recognize Harry at all? Should he lock himself in the bathroom for the rest of the night? He has no idea.
He tries not to watch as Harry and the blond guy walk up to the bar and order a pitcher of beer. He tries not to watch as they each down a shot as the beer is poured. He tries not to watch as they walk through the bar, taking a seat in a booth just a few tables down from him and Liam.
He fails miserably.
At least he’s trying to be subtle, though. Liam keeps twisting in his seat to look back at them, until Louis snaps for him to stop attracting attention.
“Sorry,” Liam says, turning back to the table. “I just -- what the fuck?”
“You can say that again.” Louis rubs his forehead, glancing over at the pair again for just a moment -- and his blood freezes in his veins as he sees the blond boy looking back, pointing in their direction. “Fuck.”
“What?” Liam starts to look back again.
“Don’t turn around,” Louis snaps. “They’ve already noticed you.”
“Shit,” Liam says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“I know,” Louis says tiredly. “It’s fine, I just… god, this could get awkward.” He sighs. He needs another drink. He needs a harder drink. Maybe he needs a lobotomy. He stares into his cup, watching the bubbles clinging to the surface, then takes a sip.
“Hullo, lads!”
Louis nearly spits out his beer as a bright, cheerful voice calls out a greeting, and he looks up to see the blond boy striding towards their table.
“Pardon my intrusion,” the stranger continues, grinning widely, “but I couldn’t help noticing you were checking out my friend and I.”
Liam looks like a deer in the headlights. Louis has beer stuck in his lungs. He coughs.
“Um,” he says. “Sorry about that.” He glances behind the blond guy to where Harry is standing, the expression of shock on his face a mirror for Liam’s. “Hi, Harry.”
Harry squeaks. “Um. Hi.”
The blond guy looks back and forth between them. “Do you two know each other?”
Louis shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Sort of? It’s a long story.”
“Niall,” Harry says softly, “this is Louis. I told you about him. Louis, this is my friend Niall.”
Niall’s eyes widen. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, shit, sorry, I didn’t realize-”
Louis waves him off. “It’s fine,” he says. “Not a problem, I just -- didn’t want to make it awkward.” He gives Harry a smile that he hopes looks genuine rather than strained. “How are you doing, Harry?”
“Um.” Harry ducks his head. “I’m getting by, you know. It’s okay.”
“I feel that,” Louis says, nodding. “What brings you out tonight?”
Harry gives a crooked smile. “Niall, mostly,” he says. “He says I need to get out of the house and have some fun.”
“Am I wrong?” Niall asks. “You can’t just keep moping around all the time-”
“I am not moping just because I’m taking some time-”
“-you need to live a little, laugh, maybe find a cute guy to-”
“Niall!”
“All right, all right, I’m just saying.” Niall holds up his hands, giving Louis a sideways grin. “Can you tell we’ve had this argument a few times already?”
“I can, actually,” Louis says, smiling. “How’s that going for you? Is he as stubborn with his friends as he is with strangers?”
“Worse,” Niall says, making a face.
“Heyyy!” Harry protests, frowning. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Barely,” Niall says. “Unwillingly. And while I’ll give you some points for a night not spend moping on Gemma’s couch-
“It’s not moping-”
“-I’d also point out that instead you’re sadly drinking in the corner of a bar. And you know how some people might describe that?”
Harry sighs loudly and doesn’t answer.
“Moping?” Liam pipes up, the first time he’s spoken in almost two full minutes. Louis had almost forgotten he was there.
Niall laughs. “I like you,” he says. “You’re funny. I’m Niall.” He sticks out a hand to shake.
“Liam,” Liam says, taking the hand. “So, uh… is moping better than moping?”
“That is a very interesting question, Liam!” Niall says. “You see, what I did not tell young Harry here is that getting him out of the house was only step one of my plan.”
Harry looks apprehensive. “Do I want to know what step two is?”
Niall shrugs grandly. “Who knows!” he says. “Fun! Music! Dancing! Hot people! Toilet papering your shitty ex’s place! Take your pick!”
“How does one toilet paper an apartment?” Harry asks.
“I don’t know,” Niall says, “but I’m prepared to find out if you are!”
“So it’s not so much a plan as it is a general sense of chaos?” Louis says. “I can get behind that.”
Niall laughs. “A man after my own heart,” he says. “Does this mean I can enlist you two in my plans? Or lack of plans?”
“Niall,” says Harry quickly. “They’re probably just looking to relax, not -- they barely know me.”
“I don’t know you at all,” Liam points out.
“Exactly,” Harry says. “You guys don’t have to -- like, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”
Louis thinks about it for a moment, glancing at Liam. “I’m not uncomfortable,” he says. He’s surprised by that fact, but it’s true. “You both seem like cool people, the kind of guys I’d want to hang out with -- you know, if we’d met under different circumstances. But why should circumstances dictate that?” He shrugs. “Would it be uncomfortable for you?”
Harry chews on his bottom lip. “I don’t know,” he says. “I guess… well, I just keep remembering what a fool I made of myself last time. And cringing.”
Louis chuckles. “Water under the bridge,” he says. “Besides, I’ve done my share of stupid shit after a breakup, so I can’t really judge.”
That startles a laugh out of Harry. “That sounds like a story I’d like to hear.”
“Which one?” Liam says wryly. “And bold of you to suggest that it takes a breakup to make you do stupid shit. You’re my best friend, Louis, but you’re also an idiot.”
“And proudly so,” Louis says, kicking Liam in the shins. “What do you say, Lima bean? Shall we join the party?”
Liam shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “You sure do make friends in the strangest places,” he says. “What the heck, I’m in if Harry is.”
Louis looks at Harry. “Your call, Harry,” he says, his voice softening just a little. “Whatever you’re comfortable with. Whatever you think you’ll enjoy.”
Harry’s teeth are still firmly digging into his bottom lip, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “I guess the more the merrier,” he says. “And, um. Thanks.”
Louis isn’t quite sure what he’s being thanked for, so he just nods. “So,” he says. “What brand of chaos are we feeling tonight?”
~*~
It’s been a while since Louis has visited Canyon Moon -- he’s not as young as he once was, doesn’t always have the energy for dancing into the night -- but seeing the familiar blue sign and yellow door still feels like coming home.
“It’s not a gay club, specifically,” Louis says as they make their way inside, “but it’s very welcoming, so it attracts a certain clientele, you know?” He smiles. “Plus their rainbow shots are fantastic.”
Niall laughs, and Harry joins in a moment later.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know about this place,” Niall says.
Louis shrugs. “It’s a bit out of the way, not the most well known,” he says. “But I kind of like it that way. It feels special that way.”
“Well, thank you for sharing it with us, then,” Niall says. “Guess we must be special too.”
Louis laughs. “Sure,” he says. “And it’s a special occasion. Speaking of, Harry, I’ll buy the next drink -- do you want a Get-Over-Him Gin Sour? Or the rainbow shot? Pick your poison.”
“Erm.” It’s hard to see Harry’s face clearly in the semi-darkness of the club, the flush on his cheeks could just be from the colored lights, but the way he ducks his head belies that possibility. “I… the second one sounds good. The first is a little on the nose.”
“And the gayest drink in here isn’t on the nose?” Louis chuckles. “I’m just teasing you, Harry. Come on.”
A few minutes and a bit of flirtatious banter with the bartender later, they return to Liam and Niall with drinks in hand. The pair are deep in conversation, and Louis almost feels like he’s intruding, though he can’t hear a word of what they’re talking about over the music.
“Should we join them?” Louis asks Harry, giving him a friendly nudge with one hip. “Or should we strike out on our own?”
Harry blinks at him. “What do you mean?” he says.
“The dance floor is our oyster,” Louis says, gesturing with the hand that isn’t holding a colorful glass of alcohol. “We don’t have to wait on the snails if we don’t want to. Shall we dance?”
Harry ducks his head again, though he’s smiling. “Sure,” he says. “Why not.”
“That’s the spirit,” Louis says, taking Harry’s free hand and pulling him towards the crowd. “Maybe we’ll find a pearl for you yet. Someone to take you home and take your mind off things.” Another hip nudge, with a knowing grin.
Harry wrinkles his nose, shoving Louis back gently. “Shut up, you doofus,” he says. “One step at a time.”
“I can do one step at a time,” Louis says, his grin not wavering. “I’m very patient, you know.”
Harry swallows hard, eyeing the throbbing mass of people on the dance floor. He tips back his glass, draining the colorful liquid dry in a few quick gulps, his throat bobbing. Then he sets the glass on a table and wipes his mouth. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”
Harry, it turns out, is a terrible dancer.
Oh, Louis isn’t claiming to be an artist or anything, but Harry is a danger to society, all long limbs and wild movements. Louis isn’t sure how he stays standing, or how he doesn’t put someone’s eye out in the first five minutes. He can’t look away, though, laughter making his limbs feel light as they move, unafraid and unapologetic. The crowd seems to part around them, the other dancers instinctively giving Harry a protective bubble of space.
He watches as a smile slowly blooms on Harry’s face as he shouts along to the lyrics, as the tension in his forehead slowly eases and his eyes start to light up. Seeing him start to come to life lights a warmth in Louis’ chest, a satisfaction he can’t quite put a name to. It’s just good to see him healing. Even if it’s not a complete fix, it’s a step in the right direction.
Niall and Liam join them after a little while, though Louis isn’t sure how long they’ve been there when he notices them. He’s caught up in the music, lost in the rhythm of the crowd. Seeing them almost startles him, like he’d forgotten they were there, had forgotten everything but the moment.
As he comes back to himself, he suddenly realizes that he had also forgotten how much he’s had to drink, and the effect that can have on his bladder. He needs to pee. Now.
He excuses himself and slips out of the crowd to find the bathrooms hidden away in the back. There’s a bit of a line, and then he stops at the bar to grab another shot, so it’s almost ten minutes before he returns to the dance floor. It takes him a moment to spot Liam and Niall in the crowd, but when he does he realizes Harry isn’t with them.
“Where’s Harry?” Louis asks as he rejoins their circle.
Niall jerks a thumb to the left, and Louis looks over to see Harry leaning against the wall. A dark-haired man is standing next to him, and they appear caught up in rapt conversation.
“Harry tapped out a few minutes after you left,” Liam explains. “Not two minutes after that, his admirer appeared out of the crowd.”
“Don’t look too hard,” Niall adds. “I don’t want to scare Harry off. I swear, he’s more skittish than the baby deer he models his dance skills after.”
Louis obediently looks away, pretending he hasn’t noticed the pair, but he keeps finding himself glancing back, just to check on them. The first glance, he takes in the man’s sturdy frame, the defined muscles of his arms and back. The second, his head is turned just enough to catch the light, showing a strong jawline peppered in handsome stubble. On the third glance, he notices the man is running a hand down Harry’s arm; the next, he sees Harry throw back his head laughing, his hand swatting at the man’s chest.
Harry looks happy. That’s the goal, of course. Fun, distraction, moving on, all that jazz. It’s working. That’s good. The man is damned handsome, and he seems to make Harry laugh. That’s very good.
Louis looks away.
He shouldn’t be watching, it’s not his business. He keeps his attention on Liam and Niall instead, tries to lose himself in the music and the crowd and the buzz of alcohol in his veins.
“ Fuck yes!” he hears Niall whisper a few minutes later, and his resolve crumbles. He peeks over quickly, just for an instant, but it’s long enough to see how the dark-haired stranger is pressing Harry against the wall, how Harry’s hands are fisted in his hair, how their mouths are moving against each other with an urgency that matches Louis’ earlier need for the toilet.
He really shouldn’t be watching.
But he can’t look away. After a few seconds, the stranger pulls back and whispers something in Harry’s ear. Louis watches Harry’s throat bob as he swallows hard, then nods.
And a moment later the pair are walking towards the exit, the stranger’s hand tucked into Harry’s back pocket. As they reach the door, Harry looks over his shoulder for just a second, and his eyes catch Louis’.
Louis gives him a smile and a thumbs up.
Harry smiles back, then disappears out of sight.
“Well done, boys!” Niall says, thumping Louis and Liam on the back. “Gotta say, I did not expect this to work out so successfully when I started trying to get Harry out of the house. I figured it’d be baby steps, hit the bar tonight, maybe a club next week, rebound hookup the week after that. I don’t know how you do it, but you are efficient .”
Louis blinks, not sure how to take that. “Thanks, I think?” he says. “Is that a good thing?”
“Harry getting over Nick the Dick is a good thing,” Niall says, scowling. “Whatever form that takes. But this definitely seems to count. Much obliged to you both. Especially you, Louis. You seem to have a way with Harry.”
“I speak baby deer,” Louis says. It’s the first thing that pops into his head, and he doesn’t question it.
Niall doesn’t either, thankfully, just laughs and slaps Louis on the back again. “Well, you’re welcome on my nights out any time. But next time, I’m buying.”
Louis smiles. “Far be it from me to say no to free booze,” he says. “Just let me know where and when.”
~*~
“When” turns out to be about two weeks later. Louis has just finished work and is packing up to leave when his cell phone rings. He answers without looking at the number, sticking the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he picks up his bag and his umbrella.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Louis.” The voice on the other end is familiar, loud and boisterous and friendly, but it takes Louis a moment to place it. “Miss me yet? I was wondering if you wanted to come to Harry’s housewarming party.”
Ah. Right. Niall.
“Uh, maybe?” he says, stepping into the hall. He shifts the things he’s carrying between hands as locks the door behind him. “When are you-”
“This Friday night,” Niall says. “Just a small group, you know, nothing fancy. But there’ll be booze and snacks and music and general festivity -- and hopefully you. Also Liam, I’m calling him next.”
Louis considers it for a moment. It’s still a little weird, but so far things have been fine -- better than fine, even. He likes Niall, likes Harry.
Also, free booze.
“I could probably do Friday,” he says. “What’s-”
“Who are you talking to?”
Louis freezes for a moment, not sure why he feels like he’s been caught doing something naughty. He bites back the urge to say, “No one,” which would be very subtle and not at all suspicious.
“Oh, hey Zayn,” he says, by way of explanation to Niall. “Just a friend of mine.”
Zayn gives him a skeptical look anyway. Louis swallows hard. He’s too perceptive sometimes.
“Is this friend Harry?”
“No,” Louis says truthfully.
“Is this friend in some way connected to Harry?”
“...maybe?”
“Who are you talking to?” Niall asks.
“Just a friend of mine,” Louis says again. “Someone from work.”
“Someone who thinks it’s weird you’re hanging out with your ex’s ex, I take it?”
“...yeah.”
“Cool. Bring him.”
“What?”
“Bring him. HEY! LOUIS’ FRIEND! WANNA COME TO A PARTY?”
Louis winces, pulling the phone away from his ear as Niall suddenly yells through the line.
Zayn stares at him. “Did he just invite me to a party?”
“Um. Yes?”
Zayn blinks. “That’s actually even weirder.”
“I think that’s just Niall,” Louis says. “He ran into Liam and me at the bar and decided we were now friends. Is that a no?”
“I didn’t say-” Zayn shakes his head. “You know what, sure.” He sighs. “At least this way I can see if any of these bizarre friends of yours are serial killers or something. Or if this turns out to be an occult ritual sacrifice or something, at least you’ll have backup fending them off.”
“I LIKE YOUR FRIEND,” Niall’s voice shouts through the phone.
“He has his merits,” Louis says, smiling. “Text me the address, we’ll both be there.”
~*~
“Hey,” Harry says as he opens the door. “I didn’t realize Niall had invited you.”
Louis pauses. “Did you not want-”
“No, no, it’s fine, come in,” Harry says quickly, stepping back. “He didn’t tell me who he invited; everyone’s a bit of a surprise. It’s good to have you here.” He smiles, and it seems genuine enough, if a bit nervous.
“Are you sure?” Louis says. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or-”
“It’s fine,” Harry says again. “I swear. Just didn’t expect it. But you’re fun to hang out with, and that’s the goal for the night, right?”
“Louis!” Niall’s voice comes carrying down the hall. “Good to see you, man! And nice to meet your friend with the suspicious nature and the creative imagination.”
“Oh, right,” Louis says. “Niall, Harry, this is Zayn. He’s a friend of mine from work; Niall said he should come along so he can stop worrying that you’re going to murder me.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t blame you,” Zayn says, shrugging. “I consider murdering Louis on a regular basis, and he didn’t steal my fiancé.”
“Erm.” Harry looks down. “Yeah, no, no murdering plans. Just hanging out with some friends. Making the new place feel a little more… lived in, I guess.”
“Exactly,” Niall says, giving Harry a chuck on the shoulder. “Tonight is about living, not dying. Though I suppose tomorrow morning’s hangovers might feel a little different.”
He laughs, and Louis can’t help but smile. Niall’s enthusiasm is contagious, soothing Louis’ nervousness into excitement for what’s ahead. It’ll be fun. How can it be anything but fun with Niall around?
“Who else is here?” Louis asks as they walk down the hall to the main room. “I mean, probably no one I know, it’s your friends, but. You know.”
“It’s a pretty small group,” Harry says. “Nothing too fancy, just a few of Niall’s and my friends. And you guys.”
“Are we not your friends?” Louis puts a hand to his heart in mock outrage. “I’m crushed.”
Harry chuckles. “You know what I mean,” he says. “Most of these guys I’ve known for the better part of a decade.”
“Ah,” Louis says. “So we’re young whippersnappers in comparison. New meat.”
Another chuckle. “If you like.”
They step into the living room, where half a dozen people are standing around in various clusters. Folksy music is playing softly from a speaker, and the lights are warm and slightly dimmed, giving the room a cozy atmosphere. The table is piled high with snacks and drinks, and Zayn heads over to check out the pickings, Niall following on his heels. Louis sticks by Harry’s side, still looking around.
“Kacey and Bebe I know from work,” Harry says, pointing to two women chatting by the window. “I think you’ll like them, they have your kind of firebrand spirit. Shawn is someone Niall found in a bar one night and adopted as a friend -- kind of like you, I guess. He’s hilarious. And I know Ed and Dua from university; he was my first year roommate and she was in an English Literature course with me that we both hated.”
“Not a fan of the classics?” Louis asks.
“Not a fan of pretentious professors,” Harry corrects. “The books were fine, but the prof looked down his nose at anyone who enjoyed pop fiction. Thought that any author who didn’t take ten times longer than necessary to get to the point clearly wasn’t doing it right. And he’d mark down anyone who disagreed with him about anything. Three weeks in, I was sitting behind Dua and saw her drawing a caricature of him -- it was really good, too -- and we spent every class for the rest of the semester complaining about him to each other.”
Louis laughs. “Nothing like bonding through mutual distaste,” he says. “I swear, one of the strongest bonds known to man.”
Harry grins. “Isn’t it?” he agrees. “Anyway, they’re all, like… I was friends with them before, you know, him . So I know they have my back.”
Louis squeezes Harry’s shoulder. “I’m glad,” he says. “You deserve good people.”
Harry coughs, ducking his head. “Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “Shall I introduce you?”
As they make the rounds, nobody asks how Louis knows Harry. Louis is grateful. He’s not sure if it’s because they already know or because they don’t care, but he’s grateful. He really doesn’t want to have to explain things to any more strangers than he has to. Especially if they might get protective of Harry, which he absolutely understands and approves of, but just isn’t sure how to deal with.
But everyone is great. More than great. Louis isn’t exactly surprised that Harry surrounds himself with friends as clever and funny and thoughtful as he is, but he’s pleased. It’s a good group.
He’s just finishing up an animated discussion with Dua about which Hunger Games characters are the most tragic when Niall claps loudly, calls for their attention, and announces it’s time for party games.
The announcement is met with equal parts groans and laughter. “We’re old , Niall,” Shawn calls out.
“No one is too old for Pin the Tail on the Donkey,” Niall retorts. “Or in this case, Pin the Beer on the Irishman.” He pulls out a large poster of himself dressed as a leprechaun and starts to affix it to the wall.
“I shouldn’t be surprised anymore,” Bebe says, laughing. “And yet I still am.”
“I’m not,” Ed says. “Honestly I feel like I’d be more surprised if it was a donkey at this point.”
“Glad to hear my fans appreciate me,” Niall says, holding up a handful of paper beer steins. “Who wants to go first?”
“You do befriend the most unusual people,” a familiar voice murmurs from behind him. Louis turns to see Zayn standing behind him, with Liam at his side. Louis hadn’t even noticed him arriving.
“I like to think I befriend the most interesting people,” Louis replies. “Consider yourselves lucky to be counted among them.”
“Oh, I do,” Zayn says. “Most of the time.”
“Most of the time,” Liam agrees. “Sometimes I’d kill for some boring, normal friends.”
“Eh,” Louis says. “Might be hard. Boring, normal people don’t usually want to be friends with murderers, you know.”
Liam snorts. “Doofus.”
“You know it.”
“I’m going to kick your ass at this game.”
“Probably.”
He does. Liam is unreasonably good at most things, and apparently Pin the Whatever on the Whichever is no exception. His stein winds up placed neatly on Niall’s elbow, whereas no one else even lands on Niall’s body. After a few minutes of good-natured ribbing, Niall transitions them to the next game: Truth or Dare.
“Is it really a party without some spilled secrets and ill-advised behavior?” he asks, shepherding everyone into a rough circle over chairs, couches, and floor cushions. “I’ll go first. Harry, dare me to do something.”
Harry glances up from his spot curled into an armchair, his legs flung over one side. “I dare you to stick your butt out the window and moon my neighborhood,” he says lazily.
Niall cackles. “Excellent choice. Done.”
They go around like that for a while, trading Truths about fanfiction hot takes or embarrassing sexcapades and doing Dares of chugging drinks and mild nudity, the usual. It feels calm, relaxed, laughter flowing easily through the group. Louis feels like he’s sinking into the floor, sprawling out more and more comfortably.
“Louis.” He looks up to see Bebe staring at him. “Truth or Dare.”
He ponders for a moment. “Truth.”
“Who’s the first person who ever broke your heart?”
Oh. Okay. That… hits harder than he expected.
He coughs, looking down. “Um. Ian Fisher, in university.”
Zayn snorts. “Lying asshole, he was.”
“Yeah.” Louis shrugs. “The sex wasn’t even that good, but hey, I was young and stupid.”
“Come on,” Bebe cajoles. “Give us more than that. Who was asshole Ian? What did he do?”
Louis grimaces. It’s not exactly the conversation he wants to have at Harry’s housewarming party, but. Truth. “Had three other boyfriends,” he says. “Said he wanted to take it slow, keep it low key -- I figured he was just private, or not ready to come out, but turns out he just didn’t want us to find out about each other.”
The room is silent for a long moment. “Shit,” Shawn says at last, when no one else speaks.
“Yeah,” Louis says. “Wasn’t super fun. But I mean, he was kind of a dick to begin with -- I didn’t really have standards yet. It stung for a while, but ultimately I was way happier after I broke it off.”
“Well, that’s good.” The words are either Dua’s or Kacey’s; he’s not entirely sure. He can’t quite tear his eyes from the floor.
“Yeah,” he says again. “Ed, Truth or Dare?”
“Dare.”
“I dare you to crush a bunch of Doritos and Cheetos into your beer and then drink it.”
Laughter ripples through the circle, along with exclamations of “Ew!” and “Oh, gross!” Ed doesn’t hesitate in standing and walking over to the table, grabbing a handful of each snack.
Louis stands too. “Be right back,” he says. “Gotta use the bathroom.”
He’s not sure which door is the bathroom, so he just picks one at random and finds himself in the kitchen. He walks over to the sink, splashing some water on his face and then drinking a few sips straight from the tap. The cold settles him, and he takes a deep breath before letting it out.
“You okay?”
Louis spins around, startled, to see Harry hovering in the doorway to the kitchen. He presses a hand to his chest, his heart pounding. “Jesus, can you not sneak up on a guy like that?”
“Sorry.” Harry gives him a soft smile. “Just wanted to check in… did you get lost on the way to the bathroom?”
Louis chuckles. “I’m okay,” he says. “Just needed a minute.”
“Yeah.” Harry wanders over, leaning against the counter next to Louis. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” Louis says. “Just felt awkward. Didn’t want to, like, bring up bad reminders. But I didn’t want to lie either.”
“No,” Harry says. “I’m glad you didn’t lie.” His fingers tap against the cupboards. “I feel like I understand you a little more now. And it was -- it made me feel a little less alone, honestly.”
Louis glances over at him, surprised. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Harry shrugs. “I still might be an idiot, but at least I’m not the only one, I guess.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Louis says. “He’s the idiot.”
“But I believed him.”
“So did I.”
“Yeah.”
They lapse into silence again.
“Anyway,” Harry says after a moment. “I guess I just wanted to say… thank you. For trusting me with that. And for telling me the truth. And… a lot of things, I guess. You’re a good person. I’m grateful to know you.”
Louis smiles, unexpected tears pricking at his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers. “That means a lot.”
Harry turns towards him, then pauses. “I don’t know if you’re a hugger,” he says, “but can I-”
“Yes,” Louis says. “Absolutely. Get in here.”
He reaches over, wrapping his arms around Harry, and he feels Harry do the same. Harry’s grip is tight around Louis’ ribs, his breath warm on Louis’ neck, his hair softly tickling Louis’ nose. Louis breathes in, the air smelling faintly sweet and yet also so purely human, a warm, musky scent. He breathes it in again.
“We should probably head back to the others,” Louis says when they eventually pull apart. “Can’t miss your own party, after all.”
Something Louis can’t quite name flashes through Harry’s eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess so.” He sighs. “God, I’m too introverted for this shit. I love Niall, and I love my friends, but I’m ready for bed.”
Louis laughs. “Fair enough,” he says. “I can start dropping hints, if you like. Be all oh, it’s getting late, I’m so tired and I have so much to do tomorrow and whatever.”
Harry chuckles. “I mean, don’t feel obliged, but I certainly wouldn’t stop you,” he says. “Maybe some other time we can have a smaller get together. Just a few of us, so we can really get to know each other better.”
“I’d like that,” Louis says. “I’d like to know you.”
Harry smiles. “Me too.”
~*~
A week and a half later, Louis is on his way to meet Liam when his phone rings. As he glances at the display, he recognizes Harry’s number.
Why does he recognize a number he’s only called once?
Nevermind.
He answers the call. “Hiya, Harry, what’s up?”
“Hi Louis,” Harry says. “This might be a weird question, but do you watch the Great British Bake-Off?”
Louis blinks. “Um. No?” he says. “That is a weird question. Why do you ask?”
“Well, it sounds like Liam mentioned to Niall that he watches,” Harry says, “and Niall thinks it would be fun to watch together. Which it might be. But he’s been having a hard time convincing Liam, so he thinks he might have more luck if you were on board.”
Louis blinks. “You have the strangest friends.”
“Probably,” Harry agrees. “It’s up to you, obviously, no pressure, but -- I thought it could be fun. I really like spending time with you, I just… it always feels so easy. And I meant what I said at the party, I would like to get to know you better.”
“Yeah,” Louis says, smiling in spite of himself. “I don’t know if… I’ll talk to Liam. Anything else I should know about this plan? Other people Niall’s inviting, or other machinations he might have in store for us?”
Harry coughs. “I mean, it’s always hard to tell with him,” he says, “but I think it’s pretty much just us? The new season starts next week, so we were thinking of meeting up Friday night -- probably at my apartment again, since Niall lives in a shoebox.”
“Noted,” Louis says. “It might be a little weird being the only person who doesn’t know the show -- would that take catching up?”
“Not too much?” Harry says. “Each competition season is independent, of course. But if you want to bring along someone else less familiar so you’re not the only one -- your work friend, maybe, the one who thinks I want to murder you -- that would be fine too. Plenty of room.”
“Okay,” Louis says. He’s in the last block to the bar, and he sees Liam walking from the other direction with his phone pressed to his ear. “Listen, I have to go, I’m actually about to meet Liam for drinks, but I’ll talk to him and let you know.”
“Sounds good,” Harry says. “And again, no pressure, just if you wanted to. I think it could be fun.”
“Could be,” Louis agrees. “Talk to you later.”
“Bye.”
Louis slides his phone back into his pocket as he reaches Liam, who is going through the same goodbye motions. As he hangs up the phone he looks up at Louis with a tired smile.
“Sorry,” he says. “I was just talking to-”
“Niall?”
Liam blinks. “Yeah,” he says. “How did you-”
“Mine was Harry,” Louis says. “I hear we’ve been invited to watch the Big British Bakery with them.”
“That’s not the -- nevermind,” Liam says. “Yeah. What do you think?”
“I think that’s not a decision I want to consider before there’s a beer in my hand.”
Liam laughs. “Fair enough,” he says. “Let’s go.”
Five minutes later, they’re tucked into a booth with two tall glasses of beer on the table in front of them. Louis takes a long sip of his drink, setting it down with a satisfied sigh.
“So,” he says.
“So,” Liam agrees.
“What do you think?”
Liam lets out a long breath. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Is it weird?”
Liam shrugs. “I think we passed weird a long time ago.”
“Is it too weird?”
“Do you think it is?”
“I don’t know.” Louis sighs.
Liam nods slowly. “Do you want to go?” he asks.
Louis considers it. He kind of does, actually. Surprisingly. Cooking shows aren’t usually his thing, but he has a feeling that Niall will be at least as entertaining as the show. And with Harry’s baking past, he can probably explain the parts that don’t make sense. It’s a chill, low-stakes way to hang out for a bit and get to know each other more, without the spectre of their shared ex looming over them. It sounds… lovely, really.
“I think so?” he says at last. “I think it could be nice. But I guess I just don’t know if I should.”
Liam shrugs. “Fuck ‘should,’” he says. “It’s your life.”
“I know,” Louis says. “It’s just… complicated.” He sighs again. “Do you want to go?”
Liam scratches thoughtfully at his chin. “It would be neat to watch with someone,” he says. “It’s always so different from watching alone. And I do really like the show.” He drums his fingers on the rim of his glass. “I guess I probably would like to go? But not if it makes it awkward. Not if you don’t want to.”
“Oh sure, put the whole thing on me,” Louis says, grinning wryly. He takes another sip of his beer, licking his lips. “It sounds like we’d both like to go. So I guess… we might as well? At least the once.”
“That seems fair,” Liam says. “We can always change our minds later.”
“True.” Louis taps his chin. “I’m trying to decide if I should invite Zayn along for I’ve-never-seen-this-show moral support or if he’d just question my sanity the whole time.”
“Maybe a bit of both,” Liam says. “But really, when has sanity ever stopped you from doing anything?”
Louis laughs, lifting his glass. “I’ll drink to that,” he says.
~*~
Zayn is surprisingly on board with the plan when Louis mentions it to him. He’s not supportive, exactly, but he doesn’t call Louis an idiot. He doesn’t even seem all that surprised. He just kind of sighs, shakes his head, and shrugs.
“Does that mean you’re coming?” Louis asks. “Or does that mean you’ve given up on me?”
“I gave up on you a long time ago,” Zayn says. “Tell me when, I’ll be there.”
And he is. They head over after work on Friday, grabbing pre-ordered pizzas on the way. The toppings had been a matter of some debate (Louis is still of the firm opinion that every vegetable put on a pizza is a mistake), but with three pizzas between five people there should be something for everyone.
And it’s good. The pizza is good, the company is good, the show is good, it’s all good. It’s comfortable, fun, just… nice. It’s easy, easy to spend time with Harry and Niall and to enjoy himself and to forget about the past and the awkward and just be .
So when the show is over and the pizza is finished, no one moves to leave. Instead, they sit and chat about everything and nothing, lolling around the room. Harry seems to have an almost bottomless supply of snacks -- pretzels, popcorn, chips, crackers, candy -- and again, it’s so easy to stay, to eat, to talk, to let the hours slip away.
Before Louis even really realizes it, it’s 11pm. Liam is face down on the carpet by the radiator, and Louis is melting into the couch with his feet on Harry’s lap.
Which makes it all the more amusing when Niall apologizes as he lifts one of his legs up onto the coffee table. “My knee always aches as the weather changes,” he explains, rubbing it. “Dang bones.”
Louis glances over. “Do you want me to take a look?”
Niall frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Your knee,” Louis says, gesturing. “It’s kind of what I do? Doesn’t work for everyone, but I can give it a look. Just don’t sue me.”
“Louis has magic hands,” Liam chips in from his position sprawled on the floor. “I swear he can rub anything better.”
Louis snorts. “Liam, that might be the dirtiest sounding thing you’ve ever said.”
“Fuck off.”
“You first.”
“Would that be okay?” Niall asks. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage or anything, but I’d be interested to give it a shot.”
“Of course, no, it’s fine,” Louis says. “Wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” He pushes himself up, swinging his feet back down to the floor, and pats the couch next to him. “Plop yourself down and give it here. Harry’ll make space.”
Niall glances from Louis to Harry to his knee to Louis, then shrugs. He swings his leg back to the ground with a grunt, then crosses over to the couch. He flops down, draping his leg across Louis’ lap and his torso across Harry’s.
“Anything else you need from me, Oh Great Doctor Hands?”
“Yes,” Louis says idly, pushing Niall’s sweatpants up out of the way. “Never call me that again.”
He starts gently, feeling out the shape of the knee, running his fingers along the bones and tendons, finding the tense spots in the muscles. He asks a few questions as he examines the joint, nodding as Niall explains his history.
“Let me know if anything hurts,” he says. “Some parts of massage can be a bit painful, but it’s still important to know in case it’s causing damage.”
Niall nods, and Louis sets to work.
It’s not as thorough as he would be in the clinic, with scans and doctor’s recommendations and such, but if Niall’s grunts and breaths are anything to go by, it’s enough. Louis can feel the tension easing, the joint moving more easily. He works his way up and down the leg, rubbing the calf and the quadricep to loose relaxation, then returns to give the knee a final examination.
“How does that feel?” he asks.
“God,” Niall says. “Fucking miraculous. Maybe I should pay you to do this more often.”
Louis laughs. “My fiendish plan, revealed,” he says. “You thought it was simple altruism, but no, I’m just trying to get you hooked.” He grins. “I mean, if you want to book an appointment, Zayn can get you sorted.”
“During business hours,” Zayn says, pointing at Louis. “You can work off the clock if you want to, but I refuse to look at a schedule if I’m not getting paid for it.”
“Fair,” Louis says. “Do you want a turn?”
“Nah,” Zayn says, waving him off. “If I’m gonna get a free massage, it’ll be at the clinic where you have your whole setup handy.”
“I might charge you there, though,” Louis teases.
“Remind me, who owes whom four favors?”
“Fair.” He shakes his head, smiling. “Anyone else? Liam? Harry?”
“I don’t want to move,” Liam says. His cheek is pressed into the floor, and he looks asleep, despite the fact that he’s somehow talking.
Harry frowns slightly, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t have -- like, my knees are fine and all, no specific pain anywhere, so I don’t know if I need… therapy, exactly.”
There’s a joke in there somewhere about how Harry probably needs therapy, just not the kind Louis can provide, but he can’t be bothered to think of it. “I can just do a regular back massage, if you’d like,” he says instead. “Go back to the basics, just get everything relaxed.”
“Oh,” Harry says. “Uh, sure, I guess?” He shifts in his seat. “What do I, like -- I’ve never gotten a professional massage before.”
“Just lie down on the carpet,” Louis says, sliding off the couch. “Grab a cushion or something for your head. You can take your shirt off or keep it on, I don’t care -- whatever’s comfy for you.”
“Okay,” Harry says. “Sure. Okay.”
He wiggles out from under Niall (who is less than helpful), picking up a cushion off the couch as he rises. Louis drags the coffee table a bit farther out to make room as Harry stretches out on the floor, hugging the pillow beneath his head and shoulders.
Louis kneels beside Harry, running his hands lightly over Harry’s back. He feels Harry tense through the thin cotton, the muscles tightening instinctively at his touch. “Relax,” he says softly, keeping his touch gentle and soothing. “It’s just me.”
“I know,” Harry says. “I trust you.”
“Good,” Louis says. He can feel Harry’s muscles relaxing back to normal, but there are still pockets of tension, places that just don’t feel quite right, places he knows he can help to soften and open up. “I know it can be a little ticklish, but just hold still and let me take care of you, yeah?”
“Okay,” Harry says. “I’ll try.”
Harry’s back is warm under Louis’ hands as he sets to work. It’s soothing work, and Louis easily falls into the familiar rhythms. It’s been a while since he’s given a massage like this, but it comes back to him easily, like riding a bicycle.
Harry is a model patient too, his early twitches quickly settling to stillness, his breathing growing slow and deep as Louis works. Louis can feel the rest of his body relaxing as he rubs his way along Harry’s back, teasing out the tension.
The fabric of Harry’s shirt is thin and soft, but as Louis focuses on Harry’s lower back, it keeps catching and riding up. After the third time he has to tug the wrinkles smooth again, he shakes his head. “Do you mind,” he says, running his fingers along the hem of Harry’s shirt. “It would be easier for this part, if that’s okay.”
“Okay,” Harry says, his voice soft and sleepy. “Whatever you need.”
With that permission, Louis slides his hands up under Harry’s t-shirt, feeling the smooth skin beneath molding to his touch. It’s nothing he hasn’t done a thousand times before with a hundred clients, and yet somehow, on the floor of the quiet apartment, the murmur of their friends in the background as the only sound, it takes on a new level of intimacy.
He presses the heels of his hands into Harry’s back, feeling the steady thump of Harry’s heartbeat echoing through his own veins. He rubs circles with his fingertips, feeling Harry’s lungs expand and contract with each breath.
With a start, Louis realizes he’s been holding his own breath, and he forces himself let it out slowly. Odd; he hasn’t done that since his first month in school -- they specifically trained in breathing, both to improve their technique and to help relax the client. One teacher would smack them on the back if they stopped breathing properly.
He switches to focus on his breath instead, letting his hands run on instinct. Deep breath in, counting two, three, four… out through the mouth, two, three, four… in through the nose, two, three, four...
Paying such close attention to his breath, he notices the way the air smells like honey and strawberries, a sweetness that lingers over the more familiar scents of old pizza and a bit of sweat. He wonders what shampoo Harry uses.
His eyes fly open, he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. Okay, cool, everything is cool, everything is weird, but everything is totally cool.
“How’s that feeling?” he asks, trying to keep his voice chipper as he withdraws his hands at a carefully normal speed. “Anywhere I missed?”
It takes Harry a moment to answer. Louis watches his big, green eyes slowly open, blinking a few times. “Feels good,” he says at last. “Very relaxing. My back feels like a marshmallow.”
Louis laughs. “Is that a good thing?” he asks.
“Very good,” Harry says. “Just gonna. Stay here for a bit. Wake up. Or maybe fall asleep. Who knows?”
“Floor comfy,” Liam agrees. “Sleep good.”
“Speaking as a professional, I don’t recommend sleeping on the floor,” Louis says, sitting back and stretching his arms out. “But speaking as a human… I have to agree.”
He lies back, resting his head on Liam’s back and his feet on Harry’s legs. Both boys give faint rumbles of protest, but are either too sleepy or too used to Louis’ shit to put up much of a fuss. Maybe both. Probably both.
He closes his eyes, just for a moment. He’ll get up in a minute.
~*~
Louis wakes up with a crick in his neck and the smell of bacon in his nose. He looks around, momentarily disoriented. He’s not in his bed. He’s not even on his couch. In fact, unless he’s much mistaken, this isn’t even his apartment .
He looks around, his eyes falling on Zayn stretched out on the couch, and Liam is snoring softly on the carpet nearby.
The pieces slot back into place. Right. The get-together. Harry. Spontaneous massages. Sprawling out on the floor.
Where is Harry anyway? Louis pushes himself to his feet, his bones protesting slightly, and goes to investigate.
He finds Harry in the kitchen, bent over a sizzling pan. He’s also shirtless, revealing a fairly well muscled back and softly tanned skin. Louis had had his hands all over that skin last night, but he hadn’t really seen it.
Also Louis is looking at the stove. Yes. Very normal. Bacon. Stove.
Harry looks up with a smile as Louis approaches. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he says.
“Good morning yourself, Snow White,” Louis replies. “I wondered why this place smelled like bacon. Aren’t you worried about burning yourself cooking topless like that?”
Harry looks down. “Not really?” he says. “I guess I don’t really notice it. Does it bother you? I have an apron somewhere.” He steps away from the stove, digging through a drawer.
“It doesn’t bother me,” Louis says, although he realizes with a start that he has definitely been staring. Whoops. That’s embarrassing. “I just know I would burn myself. But I’m not very good at cooking bacon.”
“Found it,” Harry says, straightening. He unfolds the apron, looping the strap around his neck as he ties the waistband, and Louis bursts out laughing.
“Oh, yeah, that’s much less revealing,” he says between chuckles. “I thought those shirtless abs aprons were only a joke, never knew anyone who actually owned one!”
Harry shrugs, grinning. “It gets the job done.”
“I bought it as a gag gift,” someone says from behind, and Louis jumps slightly. He hadn’t realized anyone else was in the room, but as he turns he sees Niall sitting at the kitchen table with a large mug of coffee. “Didn’t know if he’d wear it or not, but the look on his face was worth it either way. I think he mostly keeps it to mess with people.”
“That’s a pretty good reason,” Louis says. “Is there more of that coffee?”
“Pot’s next to the fridge,” Harry says, turning back to his pan. “Mugs are in the cupboard above it. Help yourself.”
Louis does, and gratefully. He could use the caffeine.
Mug in hand, he takes a seat next to Niall. His first sip is a little hot, so he blows on it as he watches Harry cook. He’s intent on the task, his bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he transfers the bacon to a plate. His fingers are long and nimble as he cracks eggs into a bowl, whisking them up and sprinkling in some herbs and spices. Louis feels almost spellbound as he watches, like it’s some sort of intricate dance instead of just the mundanity of breakfast. Somehow, it’s not mundane today.
“So what do you think?” Niall asks suddenly.
Louis jumps again as he remembers himself. He tries to think what Niall could possibly be talking about, but he has no idea. “Sorry?” he says at last. “About what?”
Niall’s face shifts, just slightly -- a flash of a grin, perhaps, or the tiniest twitch of an eyebrow -- Louis can’t tell what shifted or what it means, and Niall doesn’t offer an explanation. “Bake-Off,” he says simply. “Have we converted you?”
“Oh!” Louis says. “Erm. I mean, it’s good, I guess? It’s a little above my knowledge -- as we’ve established, I can barely cook bacon, let alone… whatever they made last night. Caravaggios?”
“Cassatelles.”
“Gesundheit.” Louis chuckles. “I dunno, it’s all Greek to me.”
“They’re literally a Sicilian pastry.”
“Italy is basically Greece,” Louis retorts. “Anyway. Not really what I usually watch, but I enjoyed it. Glad to have tried it out.”
“Good,” Niall says. “You can come back next week.”
Louis almost chokes on a sip of coffee. “Sorry?”
“Come on,” Niall cajoles. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna pass up on this golden opportunity. You get to hang out with Harry, you get to hang out with yours truly, you get to criticize people for doing something you can’t do anyway -- what could be better?”
Louis laughs. “You have a point,” he says. “We’ll see how it pans out. I’m not making any promises.”
“I’ll take it,” Niall says, grinning. “We’ll get you hooked yet, mark my words.”
Louis glances over at Harry, then away. “I guess we’ll see.”
Liam chooses that moment to appear in the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I wondered where you guys were,” he says, the words dragging just slightly. “Is that coffee I smell?”
“I don’t know how you can smell the coffee over the bacon,” Louis says, “but there is indeed coffee.”
Liam blinks. “There’s bacon?”
Louis laughs. “Let’s get you caffeinated,” he says, getting to his feet. He guides Liam to the coffee pot and mugs, then leaves him to figure out how to pour the coffee on his own as he ventures back to the living room to wake Zayn.
It’s a delicate process, Louis has learned from experience. Louis isn’t a morning person, Liam isn’t a morning person, but Zayn really isn’t a morning person. Once a flailing arm caught Louis behind the knees and sent him sprawling, another time a thumbnail caught him across the face and he had to explain the marks to every client for a week.
So this morning, Louis finds a broom leaning in a corner and tiptoes over to the couch. He stands as far away as possible and carefully prods Zayn’s arm.
“Hnnnnngrmmddd.”
“Zaynie, it’s morning.”
“Fffffggggyooo.” Zayn flails his arm in the general direction of the poking, but finds only air.
“Come on, Zayn, there’s breakfast in the kitchen.”
“Dwanit.” Zayn throws his arm over his face. Louis prods his ribs instead.
“Yes you do, come on, you’re a guest.”
“Mmmmmmnnnn.” He lifts the arm, peeling open one eye to glare balefully at Louis. “You are a bad man.”
“Acknowledged,” Louis says. “Get up.”
“One of these days… gonna murder you,” Zayn mumbles, sighing. He sits up with a groan, and Louis determines it’s finally safe to approach.
“Not to put too fine a point on it, but I feel like you’ve got better reasons for murdering me,” Louis says, plopping down next to him. “This is hardly the worst of my crimes. Or the most interesting.”
“Not helping your case.”
“I know.” Louis ruffled Zayn’s hair. “Come on. Up and at ‘em. Harry’s making bacon and eggs.”
Zayn lets out a soft snort. “Of course that’s what you start with.”
Louis pauses. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Zayn says, even though it clearly means something , especially since he keeps talking. “It’s just interesting that Liam is your friend, and Niall is the one who invited us, but Harry’s the one you mention first.”
“Harry is the one doing something,” Louis says. “Liam and Niall are just drinking coffee. Not as interesting.”
“I find coffee interesting,” Zayn says, yawning. “I could use some.”
“Well, I find bacon interesting,” Louis says. “But we can get you coffee, if you get up and come into the kitchen.” He starts to stand, but Zayn catches his arm, pulling him back down. Louis looks at him, perplexed. “What?”
“I just…” Zayn pauses, seemingly searching for the right words. “You really don’t see it?”
“See what? ” Louis asks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Zayn nods. “I guess you don’t.”
Louis sighs exasperatedly. “So are you going to tell me?”
“Nope.” Zayn stands up. “I’m going to drink coffee and eat eggs and let you sort out your own shit.”
Louis throws his hands in the air. “All right then,” he says. “That’s super helpful! Thanks, what would I do without friends like you?”
“Get arrested, probably?” Zayn says. He’s already halfway to the kitchen. “Or at least, get arrested more?”
Louis just shakes his head. He wants breakfast more than he wants to keep arguing.
Though only just.
~*~
Despite his best intentions, Louis finds himself talked into coming back the next week, and the week after that. It’s a comforting routine, the takeout dinners and the show and the people, and more often than not Harry makes them all breakfast the next morning. Even Zayn starts to look like he’s enjoying himself after a few weeks.
It isn’t exactly the same every week, of course; sometimes one or another of them can’t come, sometimes they meet at someone else’s apartment, sometimes they don’t stay the night. But for the most part, it quickly becomes an easy pattern.
A month or two into watching, there comes a night when Liam has to visit family and Zayn is attending some other event, so it becomes just Harry and Niall and Louis. Once, Louis might have considered begging out as well, but now it only takes the slightest cajoling from Niall before he shows up on Harry’s doorstep, same as usual. They make drinking bingo cards, express astonishment at baking mistakes they don’t understand, and stay up late into the night trading stories of Louis’ cooking disasters with Harry’s clumsy disasters with Niall’s drunken disasters.
Louis wakes up slowly. His face is mashed into the corduroy fabric of the armchair, and his back feels stiff from the way he was twisted, but he feels better rested than he has any right to. He yawns, opening his eyes slowly as he rubs the goop from the corners. He blinks, looking around.
The living room still bears the memories of their night -- the pizza boxes piled on the table, the empty cans of beer and soda scattered on the floor. Their half-filled bingo sheets lie crumpled beside the TV.
And stretched out on the couch, looking indescribably peaceful, is Harry. The light is spilling in from the big windows, and it highlights every detail in even more intensity. His face is smooth, every worry or wrinkle wiped away in sleep. His hair is messy in just the right way, falling over his eyes and yet still feeling almost artful. His cheeks look full and soft, and Louis wants to touch them. Louis wants to touch everything.
Louis wants to calm the fuck down . Apparently the sensible part of his brain hasn’t woken up yet.
But whatever part of his brain is awake can’t stop looking at Harry. Can’t stop thinking about Harry’s smile or his laugh, or how many times last night Louis had wanted to be the reason for either. Can’t stop thinking about how Harry’s eyes shine when he talks about cooking or his family or his favorite musicians. Can’t stop thinking about how beautiful he is in the morning light.
That last thought shouldn’t make Louis’ heart jump into his throat. It’s an objective fact. Harry is beautiful, and no one who saw him would deny it. But there are different kinds of beautiful. There are different feelings of beautiful.
The beautiful that fills Louis’ mind isn’t the beautiful that one might casually notice walking down the street, abstract and momentary and forgotten. It isn’t the beautiful of magazine pages, polished and artificial and unreachable.
The beautiful that fills Louis’ mind is the beautiful of “I want to remember this moment forever.” It’s the beautiful of “I can’t look away.” It’s the beautiful of “I could be content to spend the rest of my life like this.”
Oh. Oh.
Fuck.
He forces his eyes closed, letting his head fall back on the arm of the chair. Fuck. He can feel his heart beating faster, his breath speeding up as suddenly everything falls into place in his head. Fuck, fuck, fuck .
His eyes fly back open and he scrambles to his feet, stumbling to the windows. Air, he needs air, needs to breathe. He slides one of the windows open a crack, letting the chill morning air trickle in. It raises goosebumps on his skin and he welcomes it, lets it focus him. The noise of cars and horns seeps in alongside it, the cacophony feeling like it echoes the chaos of his own mind.
He takes a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs, then lets it out slowly.
Okay. Cool. So this could get awkward.
It’s impossible, right? That’s not… you don’t date your ex’s ex. You just don’t. Hell, you don’t develop feelings for your ex’s ex. It’s weird .
Louis rubs his face with his hands, pushing his hair back from his face. God, ever since Harry fell into his life, “weird” describes pretty much everything that has happened. Not that it hasn’t been fun -- he likes hanging out with Harry and Niall, he likes their friends, he likes their cooking and their taste in TV shows -- but it’s undeniably weird .
And yet, at the same time, it’s so easy to forget. It’s so easy to imagine that they met through normal paths, maybe they were neighbors or school friends -- or when they ran into each other at the bar that night, they really had been strangers, meeting for the first time. It’s so easy to forget Nick, to forget the crying and the threats of vengeance. It’s so easy to feel like Harry has always been in his life.
It’s so easy to imagine a future where Harry is always in his life.
Louis closes his eyes and groans. What the fuck is he supposed to do with this? No, seriously, genuinely -- what in the hell is he going to do?
The simplest option would probably be to run for the hills. Make whatever excuses and just cut contact, end this already chaotic mess before it gets even worse.
But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to lose Niall’s bawdy sense of humor or Harry’s terrible puns. He doesn’t want to lose the late nights talking out of their asses about whatever, or the sleepy mornings with greasy breakfasts and quiet camaraderie. He doesn’t want to lose their friendship, their company, their kindness.
And he doesn’t want to hurt Harry. He’s still fragile, still healing, and if Louis drops him -- he just might shatter all over again.
So that option is out.
Actually acting on any of this is also out. That’s just… too much. Nope. He does not want to put Harry in that position. He doesn’t want to put himself in that position. God, having to deal with that sounds even more painful than being ghosted.
Which leaves… doing nothing. Sitting on his hands, sitting on his feelings, keeping his mouth shut, and acting like nothing has changed. Smiling and laughing and being friends and biting down every instinct that wants to lean in a little too close, let a touch linger a little too long, push things a little too far.
It’s its own kind of agony. But it’s his. It beats putting it on someone else to cope with. Harry’s been through enough already.
The faint sound of movement from behind him suddenly catches Louis’ attention, and his head whips around. Harry is stirring on the couch, little sleepy noises slipping from his throat. His head twists and a hand rises to rub at his face, pushing his hair into even more disarray. Louis should not find Harry’s bedhead (or couch-head, in this case) as adorable as he does, but, well. Here they are.
Harry screws up his face for a moment, letting out a large yawn, then slowly opens his eyes.
It feels like the moment those eyes open, Louis is trapped in them. It shouldn’t be possible for Harry to open his eyes and already be looking directly at Louis, but Harry doesn’t seem to be constrained by what could be considered possible. Louis can’t look away, can barely breathe as he looks back into those eyes that hold him hostage, silent and soft.
“Hi,” Harry says at last.
Louis’ throat is dry. “Hi,” he rasps out.
“What are you looking at?”
“You.” The answer is out before he can think better of it.
Harry laughs softly. “Why?” he asks.
The words tangle in Louis’ throat. The truth is too sharp to let out, and sarcasm is too hard to swallow in his present emotional state. What else is there? He doesn’t have the brainpower available for the kind of philosophical nonsense Harry would probably answer with.
A frown starts to pull at Harry’s eyebrows, and Louis realizes he’s been quiet too long. Fuck, he has to say something .
“You’re beautiful,” he blurts out. The words are dangerously close to the truth, but it’s the best he can do. He prays Harry will just laugh it off, let it slip by unremarked.
He should have known better. Harry isn’t that kind of person.
“I… what?” Harry says. He looks startled, but not displeased. There’s something in his eyes, something almost… hopeful, maybe? He sits up, leaning towards Louis. “Are you… Louis?”
Louis swallows hard. In for a penny, in for a pound. “You’re beautiful,” he says. “And you’re smart, and you’re funny, and you’re a hell of a cook.” The words keep coming now, spilling out, and he can’t stop them. “You’re kind and you’re brave and you’re strong -- even when you think you aren’t. You’re… a lot of things.”
He hasn’t said anything too specific, not really. Harry could still ignore it, if he wanted to. They could pretend this never happened. Option Three is still available. It all depends on Harry.
Louis digs his fingernails into his palms, pushing back the urge to close his eyes. He doesn’t want to watch, doesn’t want to see Harry weighing his fate, but he can’t bear to look away. Indecision hangs in Harry’s face, in the way he chews his bottom lip. There’s something excited in the smile that pulls at his mouth, but there’s fear in his eyes too.
“Louis,” Harry says at last, and it’s almost reverent the way he holds the name in his mouth. Louis shivers. “I don’t know if I’m… but I want…” He swallows hard. “You’re beautiful too,” he says. “You’re generous and gentle and sweet. You make me laugh. You make me feel safe. You make me feel… a lot of things.”
Louis’ heart is pounding so hard he wonders if Harry can hear it. “You make me feel a lot of things too,” he whispers. “We don’t -- we’ve got time, you know? There’s no rush.”
Harry nods slowly. “Time,” he repeats. “I need -- time.”
Louis swallows. Maybe one of these days he’ll manage to swallow some moisture into his bone dry throat, but since his mouth feels like a desert he’s not optimistic. “I can give you time,” he says. “And then -- do you think-”
“Hullo lads!” Niall’s merry voice makes both Louis and Harry jump, and Louis barely restrains a yelp. He could murder Niall for choosing that moment to amble into the living room. He really, truly could.
“Hi, Niall.” Harry’s voice sounds as flat and disappointed as Louis feels.
“Your bed is so much more comfortable than mine,” Niall continues, plopping onto the couch beside Harry. “Thanks for the loan.”
Louis blinks rapidly. It feels like Niall has broken a spell of some kind, the honey-like slowness of the last few minutes suddenly on superspeed. His heart is racing and he feels almost dizzy, unable to quite catch his breath.
“What’s for breakfast?” Niall asks, oblivious. “I’m famished.”
There’s a long pause. “Sausages,” Harry says at last. “And some fresh fruit.”
Louis bites back a grimace. It sounds delicious. It really does. But it also sounds like agony. The casual, relaxed atmosphere of their post-Bake Off breakfasts feels a million miles away from what Louis is feeling right now. Next week, maybe, but in this moment -- when everything is fresh and fraught and raw, when hope and heartbreak feel twisted together tightly enough to snap -- right now he just can’t.
“I can’t stay,” he says suddenly, interrupting Niall halfway through saying… something, he wasn’t listening. It probably wasn’t important. Harry and Niall both look over at him as he gets to his feet, trying to disguise the shaking in his hands. “I’ve just got, um. Some errands and… stuff,” he says. “For a friend. They just texted me. Sorry.”
“Oh,” Niall says. He glances between Louis and Harry, confusion creeping across his face. “Are you-”
“I’ll just see Louis out,” Harry cuts in. “You can start the sausages, Niall.”
Niall looks like he doesn’t particularly want to start the sausages, but Harry’s voice doesn’t leave much room for argument. With a backwards glance, he heads into the kitchen, leaving Harry and Louis alone again.
Louis feels half-frozen as Harry walks slowly over to him, pausing just a couple feet away. “You don’t have to go,” Harry says softly.
Louis nods. “I know. It’s not that I’m -- it’s just… a lot.”
“I know,” Harry says. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Louis shakes his head. “I get it. I just… my head is all over.”
“Yeah,” Harry says. “Mine too.”
“But you think…” Louis trails off, not sure how to finish that sentence. He doesn’t know what Harry thinks, doesn’t want to put words in his mouth. But he hopes -- God, he hopes.
“I think,” Harry repeats. “Yeah. I think -- I want… but not yet. I need-”
“Time,” Louis says again. “I can do that. If you think-”
Harry takes a step forward, reaching for Louis’ arm. “You’ll wait?” he asks.
Louis closes his eyes, feeling Harry’s fingers press into his forearm. He wants more, wants to move in closer, knows he can’t. “I’ll wait,” he says instead. “I can wait.”
~*~
It’s a long weekend. Very long. And yet even though the days off seem to last forever, Louis doesn’t feel rested. He can’t settle into anything, can’t focus or relax or even think.
Monday morning is welcome for once, the work and the people at least giving him something to distract himself. But it’s exhausting, too, trying to maintain his usual upbeat professionalism when he feels like he’s moving in slow motion. More than once, he has to ask a client to repeat something, and at one point he starts working on the wrong arm of a patient who literally came in wearing a sling. It’s not great. But no one gets hurt and no one yells at him, and Louis decides to call that a win. He can tell Zayn is worried, but he can also tell Zayn is giving him space to approach rather than asking questions, and he’s grateful. Maybe in time he’ll find the words, but for now, knowing Zayn has his back is enough.
Louis breathes a sigh of relief when the last patient walks out. Hopefully tomorrow he’ll have things more out of his system -- or at least be better able to pretend. Practice makes perfect, after all. Or something.
He’s just finishing up the last few patient notes when he hears a knock on the door. He groans inwardly. Whatever it is, he doesn’t have the energy to deal with it.
“I’m closed for the day,” he calls as he writes the last line of his report. “You must have the wrong...”
The words die on his lips as he looks up to see Harry striding towards him, fire in his eyes and determination in every step. Louis feels his mouth go dry and he swallows hard.
“Harry,” he says, getting to his feet. “I wasn’t expecting-”
Harry stops in front of Louis, pulls him in, and kisses him.
Louis responds instantly. Without a second thought. Possibly without a first thought, his body reacting on its own and pressing closer to Harry, wrapping his arms around his back, letting his tongue trace along Harry’s lips. Harry’s hands tangle in Louis’ hair, his nails scraping lightly across Louis’ scalp, and his mouth is warm and urgent and amazing .
Fuck, Louis had thought Harry was a good kisser before, but this is… indescribable. This is heavenly. This is perfection.
His lungs are screaming for air as he breaks away, pressing his face to Harry’s shoulder as his chest heaves. Harry doesn’t pause for a moment, lowering his mouth to kiss along Louis’ neck and nibble at his ear. Louis has to concentrate hard to keep his knees from giving out beneath him.
“Are you…” He trails off as Harry’s teeth scrape across his neck and his eyes roll back with an involuntary shudder. “You’re not -- time, anymore?”
Harry laughs softly. “Eloquent.”
Louis kicks his shin softly. “Words are hard,” he says. “You’re very -- fuck.”
Harry laughs again as he runs his fingers down Louis’ back, sending shivers through Louis’ entire body. “That’s the plan,” he murmurs.
Louis is going to die. Maybe he already has, and this is heaven. Though he’s not sure he’s been good enough for heaven.
“You’re sure,” he manages between gasps. “You’re okay? You’re ready?”
Harry pauses, just for a moment. “I don’t know,” he says at last. “I think… I’m scared, sometimes. But I’m also scared of if I don’t… and I don’t want to wait. I want you .” He swallows. “I want to try,” he says. “If you’re willing to try.”
Louis is willing. Louis is so willing. In fact, willing doesn’t even begin to cover it.
He pulls Harry back in for another crushing kiss, and this time it’s Harry’s turn to tremble under Louis’ touch.
“God,” Harry says between kisses. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Louis rolls his hips forward, feeling Harry’s cock twitch as he does. “I think I have some idea,” he says, trying to sound casual, like he’s not just as hard and desperate. “Can I take you back to mine?”
Harry shakes his head. “Don’t want to wait,” he says. “Want you here -- can I…”
The words jolt through Louis like electricity shooting straight to his dick, and he groans involuntarily. “Fuck.” He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, someone could hear -- or like, there are probably health codes or something, but all he can think is -- “That’s fucking hot, Harry.”
Harry grins, wide and toothy, and then suddenly he’s pushing Louis back and back and back, Louis almost stumbling to keep up, until his butt hits something and he realizes Harry has him pressed against the massage table.
Harry kisses him again, long and slow and deep and Louis is clinging to him for dear life. His legs feel like jelly -- like liquid, even. He’s never wanted anything so much.
And then Harry is on his knees in front of Louis, his eyes deep and dark as he smiles up at Louis and starts to unbutton his pants.
Louis is so turned on already that every brush of Harry’s fingers against his groin feels equal parts agony and ecstasy. He could come right here on the spot, he really could, but he bites his lip and tries desperately to wait, wait, just a little longer, just give Harry time to-
He gasps as the cool air hits his dick, Harry tugging the jeans and boxers out of the way just enough, and then he gasps again as he feels warm and wet and friction and oh god yes please more.
Was that part out loud?
Louis’ arms tremble as he tries to hold himself up on the table, and fuck, he’s already so far gone, already so turned on, he’s not going to last long. His eyes are closed as he babbles at Harry, not sure if his mouth is even producing words or just noises, but he can feel Harry grin around him and he knows he understands.
Louis holds out for as long as he can, revelling in every slow brush of Harry’s mouth around him, but when the orgasm comes it hits him like a train. He doesn’t even have time to warn Harry, he’s been so close for so long and then suddenly -- he bites down a scream, his whole body bucking against Harry’s face as wave after wave of glorious, beautiful, blissful pleasure washes through him.
He gasps, slumping even more against the table as his arms give out. His chest is heaving, his dick is throbbing, his heart is pounding, everything is so much so good.
“Harry,” he murmurs, only half-conscious. He peels his eyes open to see Harry still knelt on the floor, his lips red and swollen and stretched into the biggest smile Louis has ever seen, on him or on anyone. “You look like the cat that got the cream.”
Harry laughs, wiping at the corner of his mouth. “What, because of this?” He holds up the white smear on his thumb.
Louis groans, half because that’s what he does in response to Harry’s terrible jokes and half because fuck that’s hot.
“That was the best blowjob I’ve ever had in my life,” he manages after a moment.
Harry bows, which is also hot, because the fucker is still on his goddamn knees in front of Louis, and the bow brings him close enough that Louis can feel his breath against his still damp cock. “The pleasure is mine,” Harry says. “Well. Some of it.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Mmm.” Harry looks thoughtful. “Now there’s an idea.”
Louis should not be able to be this aroused again already, but every word Harry says sends another jolt of blood down to Louis’ groin. He’s not as young as he used to be, not usually raring to go another round in just a few short minutes, but it’s been a while since he had someone he wanted as much as he wants Harry.
Fuck, he wants Harry so much, wants all of him, in every way, for as long as Harry will let him.
“What did you have in mind?” Louis rasps out.
Harry taps his chin thoughtfully. “Well,” he says. “I’m pretty versatile. And I have a very active imagination. I can think of quite a few possibilities. For instance, I could push you back onto that table and ride you.” He runs a finger up Louis’ left leg, brushing just past his groin. “Or I could bend you over that table and fuck you senseless.” Another finger, this time brushing along Louis’ right leg. “Or any number of other possibilities.”
Louis can barely breathe. “I like all of those options,” he says.
“Oh yes?” Harry smiles. “Any favorites?”
Louis swallows. “First one,” he says. “Do you have... stuff?”
Harry laughs. “No, I came barreling in here with plans to seduce you and didn’t think to bring any lube or condoms. Of course I have stuff .”
“Fuck you.”
“Oh, you will.”
Louis groans, feeling yet more warmth and want twisting and tightening in that space just below his stomach. God, it’s unfair the effect Harry has on him. And yet he can’t bring himself to hold it against Harry. In fact, he’d much prefer to hold Harry against him.
He reaches down, grabbing Harry by the front of his shirt and yanking him up into a messy kiss. He wants to taste him, wants to feel him, wants everything Harry will give. Harry moves in eagerly, scrambling to his feet and pressing Louis back against the table. Louis melts into him, burying his hands in Harry’s hair as if to somehow pull their mouths even closer. He feels Harry’s hands on his back, pressing him up into the curve of Harry’s body, and he feels like he fits, like they’re two pieces of the same puzzle, like the very cells of their body are reaching out to each other.
After a minute, Harry’s hands slide slowly down Louis’ back, cupping under his bum. He lifts Louis into the air -- with an ease that makes Louis moan -- and sets him atop the table. Harry’s mouth leaves Louis’ just for a moment as he clambers up to join him on the table, but even that moment feels like a loss, and as soon as Harry has climbed up -- straddling Louis, one knee on each side, fuck could he get any hotter -- Louis tugs him back down for yet another kiss. His hands roam up and down Harry’s chest, twisting in the loose t-shirt or slipping beneath the hem to brush against the warm, soft skin beneath. Tiny gasps and squeaks spill from Harry’s throat, and Louis loves every one of them, wants to be the reason for a million more.
“You fucking tease ,” Harry manages after several minutes. “Just take my fucking shirt off already, asshole, I want to feel you, want -- oh fuck , Louis.”
His head tips back as Louis obediently pushes Harry’s shirt upwards, letting his nails scrape over Harry’s stomach and then latching onto Harry’s nipples. Louis feels Harry tremble as he squeezes, rolling the nipples between his fingers.
“Fucking hate you,” Harry murmurs into Louis neck. “Not fair, you -- fuck. ”
Louis laughs, though he’s almost as breathless as Harry. “Get your shirt off, you ass,” he says. “And get these off too, they feel a bit tight.” He tugs at the belt loops of Harry’s jeans, pulling his hips down against Louis, and Harry almost keens against Louis’ skin.
“Off,” he agrees, sitting back to yank his shirt over his head before his hands fly to his belt. “Can’t get it fast enough, fuck, Louis .”
Louis’ hands run up and down Harry’s thighs, squeezing gently, then brushing across Harry’s stomach, tracing through the thin line of hair that disappears below his waistband. He can feel every tremor that runs through Harry’s body, every wave of the feelings that are building behind his navel. God, if Louis is hard, Harry’s dick must be a fucking diamond.
And then there it is, the jeans and underwear pushed off and tossed aside, and honestly it might well be a diamond. It’s thick and beautiful and Louis would absolutely be willing to put a ring on it.
What?
“What do you want?” Louis whispers, licking his lips.
Harry leans forward, kissing him. “I want you to open me up,” he whispers against Louis’ lips. “I want to feel your fingers filling me up, preparing me for you. Want to think about what you’ll feel like inside me until I can’t wait any longer.” Another long kiss, licking deep into Louis’ mouth. “And then I want you to lie back and let me do the work.”
Louis swallows hard. “I can do that,” he says.
Harry hands him a packet of lube -- Louis isn’t sure where he retrieved it from or when, but he doesn’t question it. He just rips it open, squeezing a generous portion onto his fingers as he reaches forward, sliding them along Harry’s crack. He traces his way around the opening for a moment, feeling Harry push eagerly against him, but he doesn’t press in yet.
“Hold still,” he says. “Let me take care of you, babe.”
Harry obeys, though Louis can feel each tremble and twitch as his body strains with the desire for more, please, more . Louis waits, running his finger around and around Harry’s hole, his own breath coming faster and faster.
And then he presses in, and it’s impossible to tell his groan of pleasure from Harry’s, the twin sounds blending into one breath. He feels Harry clench around him as he works his finger in and out, the lube making the motion slick and easy. As Harry’s muscles start to relax, Louis quickly adds a second finger, and Harry’s noises go from breathless and needy to positively desperate.
“Please, Lou, gotta, need you, fuck, please!”
Louis laughs, though he’s almost as breathless. “So eager,” he pants. “So good for me, baby.”
“Always,” Harry says. “Anything, Lou, just please .”
Louis pulls his fingers out, and Harry lets out a gasp that’s almost a sob. “Put the condom on me,” Louis says.
Again, he’s not sure where Harry pulled it from, but a tiny foil packet appears in surprisingly steady hands. A quick motion rips it open and practiced hands roll the condom down onto Louis’ cock. Louis bites his lip, fighting not to buck his hips into Harry’s hand. Fuck, he’s so eager, but he can’t even be embarrassed because Harry is just as desperate, just as needy.
Harry leans forward to press one more burning kiss to Louis’ mouth. “Ready?” he asks.
“So ready,” Louis says. “More than ready. God, I’ve wanted this -- Harry.”
Louis’ eyes roll back as Harry lowers himself onto his cock, and god. There are no words. He is quite literally speechless. The feel of Harry warm and tight around him, the sight of Harry’s head thrown back and his neck long and taut, the sound of his ragged breaths, it’s indescribable.
And then Harry lifts up, and holy fuck Louis deserves a goddamn medal for not coming on the spot. Every brush of friction feels like a miracle, like his entire body is filling with sunshine, like his veins are made of lightning.
Tiny gasps and wordless noises spill from Harry’s lips, pouring down on Louis like rain. Like the blessed rains down in Africa or whatever, every sign of pleasure feeling like a gift, and all Louis can do is keep urging him on and on and on.
“So good, baby,” he gasps. “So beautiful, god, you don’t even know, fuck, it feels so good, you look so good, love making you feel so fucking good, fuck .”
“You,” Harry pants, his eyes pressed tightly closed as he pushes himself up and down and up and down, his thighs trembling. “Beautiful, wonderful, fucking -- Louis, I can’t -- God, so-”
Louis can’t help but agree. And as he watches Harry’s face contort, his movements growing sloppier, Harry’s hands digging into his hips, Louis finally feels his head tilt back and his back arch as heat explodes through him. He thrusts against Harry, messy and instinctive, and is rewarded with a breathy cry from Harry. A moment later, he feels Harry collapse against him, shaking, as hot, thick wetness spills between their skin.
They lie there for a long moment, silent but for the sound of their ragged breathing. Louis’ eyes feel heavy, his head feels heavy, his limbs feel heavy, everything feels like it’s sinking into the padded table as Harry presses down on top of him. He never wants to move, never wants to let go of the feeling of Harry on top of him and around him.
But eventually, he feels soft lips pressing against his neck, his face, his eyelids. He feels gentle fingers brushing along his ribs. He slowly pries his eyes open to see Harry hovering over him, looking flushed and sweaty and absolutely debauched -- and beautiful. He’s beautiful.
Louis leans up and kisses him.
“Thank you,” Harry says when they break apart. “That was… wow.”
“It really was.”
Harry nuzzles into Louis’ chest, his face soft and warm. “What now?” he asks.
And, well, there are so many ways to answer that. A dozen innuendos and grand gestures spring into Louis’ head -- now they should swap positions, now they should go out to a fancy restaurant -- but there’s only one thing he really wants to do.
“Come home with me?”
Harry’s smile is the most beautiful thing Louis has ever seen, warming him from head to toe. “I thought you’d never ask.”
~*~
The sun is starting to dip towards the horizon, but it’s not too dark or chilly yet, so they walk back to Louis’ apartment. The fresh air is nice, and even nicer is the feeling of Harry’s fingers wrapped around Louis’. Louis keeps staring at them, half-transfixed, hardly believing they could be real.
“I gotta say, I was not expecting this when I woke up this morning,” he says at one point as they wait at a stoplight.
Harry laughs. “I wasn’t either,” he says. “I didn’t really know what I was planning to say until I walked into your office and saw you. It got… a little more heated than I was initially planning for, escalated faster than I anticipated. But I’m not disappointed.”
Louis smiles. “Me neither,” he says. “Zayn might be, but he’ll live.”
A note had been waiting on the door when they’d finally slipped out, written in Zayn’s tidy lettering: You sounded… busy… so I didn’t disturb you. Keys are in the drawer. Lock up when you leave. And maybe give a guy some warning next time?
“I didn’t cause a problem did I?” Harry’s brow creases with concern. “I know it wasn’t the most-”
“You’re fine,” Louis assures him. “Zayn will give me shit for a while, but that’s normal. He’ll get over it. We cleaned up, it’s fine.”
“Mmm,” Harry says, grinning. “I did enjoy watching you clean, scrubbing down that floor on your hands and knees.”
Louis flushes. “Oh fuck off,” he says. “I didn’t want to leave any… traces. And don’t pretend like you weren’t trying to get me riled up with those noises you were making as you wiped the table.”
Harry’s grin widens. “Did it work?”
Louis rolls his eyes and yanks Harry in for a bruising kiss. “Of course it fucking worked, you ass,” he growls against Harry’s mouth. “You’re hot as fuck and you know it; don’t pretend you couldn’t tell how tempted I was to stay right there in that room and make us need to clean it all over again.”
Harry’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, his eyelashes fluttering against Louis’ cheek. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
Louis has to admit that when Harry says it, it really doesn’t. Right now, with Harry’s lips against his and Harry’s hand sliding down his back to squeeze his bum, Louis is hard-pressed to remember why he would ever deny Harry anything at all. Emphasis on the hard .
A honking horn and a wolf whistle manage to break Louis’ distraction enough for him to pull away, and he sees that their light is green. “Come on,” he says, tugging on Harry’s hand. “We’re almost back to my place, and then you’ll have me all to yourself.”
Harry’s smile feels as warm as the sun. “Sounds lovely,” he says. “All I could ever want.”
They stop at two more street corners before they reach Louis’ building, then make the climb up two flights of stairs to his floor. Louis unlocks the door and pushes it open, then motions Harry inside.
Harry takes a deep breath as he steps in, looking around like he’s taking it all in for the first time, cataloguing all the details in his mind.
“You’ve been here before,” Louis reminds him with a chuckle as he locks the door behind them.
Harry makes a face. “Technically,” he says. “But if I’m being honest, I don’t remember a lot from that night. I mean -- I remember, well, propositioning you.” Twin spots of crimson appear high on Harry’s cheeks. “But the place itself... didn’t really make an impression.”
Louis swallows. “Well, welcome to my home,” he says. “Make yourself comfortable. And feel free to proposition me all you want.”
Harry smiles. “Thanks,” he says. “I just might do that.”
Louis shakes his head, running a nervous hand through his hair. His apartment isn’t particularly tidy at the best of times, and this is decidedly not the best of times. The coffee table is covered in empty soda cans and chip bags he hasn’t gotten around to tossing yet, dishes he didn’t have the energy to do this weekend are piled high beside the sink, and the cushions and blankets he keeps on the couch are scattered across the floor.
“Sorry about the mess,” he says with a slight grimace. “I wasn’t planning for-”
“You’re fine,” Harry says. “It’s… it feels homey. Lived in.”
Well. It certainly is that.
Harry picks up a book on the corner of the table, one Louis had started reading and then forgotten to finish or put away. “Madeline Miller,” he says. “Good taste.”
“Yeah, well.” Louis shrugs. “Gotta feed into some of the cliches, don’t I?”
Harry laughs. “It’s a good read,” he says. “I like your Black Panther poster.”
“Zayn designed it,” Louis says, smiling. “Build bridges not barriers.”
“The world needs more bridges.” Harry turns in a slow circle. “I feel like I’m getting to peek behind the scenes of who you are.”
Louis ducks his head. “You know who I am,” he says softly. “You… I’ve always felt safe with you. Free to be myself.”
Harry’s smile is gentle, warm. “I’m glad,” he says.
The moment hangs between them for a long minute, quiet and comfortable. At last, Louis coughs, turning away. “So, um,” he says. “I don’t know if you want to, like… I didn’t have plans, I just wanted to spend time with you.”
Harry chuckles. “I like spending time with you.”
“We should probably have dinner,” Louis says. “Or maybe shower? Or I don’t know-”
“Both of those sound good.”
“Okay.” Louis nods. “Do you want to, like, together, or-”
“I’ve never seen you so nervous,” Harry says, laughing. “It’s cute.”
“Sorry,” Louis says. “You… have a way of knocking my world off its axis.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Harry crosses over to Louis, slipping his hand into Louis’. “You’ve thrown a fair number of curveballs into my life yourself.”
“Hopefully more good than bad?” Louis says with a wry smile.
Harry gives Louis’ hand a light squeeze. “I think it’s worked out for the best,” he says. “Don’t you?”
Louis’ smile softens into something real and warm as he leans into Harry. “I think so,” he says. He presses another kiss to Harry’s mouth, brief and sweet. “So -- shower or supper?”