Work Text:
Today’s the day.
Today’s the day, and Louis’ really bloody terrified. It’s been six years since his first day at Mandeville’s. Six years since he first pushed his way through the heavy wooden door of the bakery, red paint flaking around the edges, glass panes misting with condensation, harsh December wind nipping at his ankles as he fought to close it behind him, the little silver bell ringing out the sound of his arrival.
Six years since he met the love of his life.
Harry snuffles beside him, his arms tightening around Louis’ waist as a glimmer of fresh morning sunlight dances across his face. He’s so beautiful in the morning, is Louis’ boy. Beautiful all the time, of course, but there’s something wonderful about the way his mussed up curls are matted to one side of his face and the way his eyes are crusted shut, drool down his chin and his bare legs wrapped around Louis’ own. Something raw and fragile and Louis feels so blessed that he’s allowed to witness this; that Harry has allowed Louis to wake up beside him almost every morning for the best part of five years.
Today’s the day and Louis refuses to mess it up.
~♡~
Louis is already showered and half dressed, jeans clasped between his fingers, when Harry finally rouses; blinking his big round eyes at the ceiling a few times, eyelashes brushing his cheeks, before he pops his back and shuffles up the bed, duvet pooling around his waist as he offers Louis a sleepy grin.
“Morning, love,” He mumbles, voice deep and sleep gravelled in a way that still turns Louis’ insides to mush.
“Hi,” Louis whispers. “Sleep well?”
Harry hums, pulling the duvet up around his shoulders and burrowing under it, toes wiggling into the mattress. “Close the window, would you? S’freezing.”
Rolling his eyes, Louis traipses over, reaching a hand through the curtains to pull the window shut, biting cold nipping at his wrist, a smile spreading over his face as he feels Harry’s warm body press up against his back, arms coming up to rest over Louis’ shoulders as he drapes the duvet over their heads, blanketing them both in a murky blue darkness.
Laughing, Louis’ turns in the bracket of his arms, coming chest to chest with a grinning Harry, doesn’t even try to supress a giggle as he wraps his arms around Harry’s middle, resting his cold cheek against the hot skin of Harry’s sternum, revelling in the way his chest rises and falls rhythmically with every inhale of breath, every exhale of air.
It’s only about 7am but Louis has already fallen in love twice today.
~♡~
Breakfast is quiet. The radio by the stove is tinkling out old Christmas classics as Harry makes quick work of frying some bacon. It’s a Tuesday; Tuesdays are official bacon days although Louis usually manages to talk Harry into cooking him some most other days anyway.
He’s half way through reading about the latest Man U transfers in this morning’s paper when Harry slides into the chair across from him, looking at him expectantly. “So,” He starts, quirking an eyebrow at Louis.
“So…” Louis frowns, brows furrowing as he closes The Mirror.
Harry laughs a little, clasping his ankles around Louis’ under the table, blowing ripples across the mug of steaming tea in his hands. “Six years.” He grins, taking a tentative sip.
“Oh,” Louis sighs, tension dropping from his shoulders. “Didn’t think you’d remember.”
“Hey,” Harry chimes, placing his mug back onto the table, reaching out to lace his tea warmed fingers with Louis’. “Of course I remember, best day of my life, that was.”
Scoffing, Louis takes a drag of his own tea, squeezing Harry’s fingers. “I know, babe.” He smiles, bringing Harry’s hand up to his lips. “Just teasing,” He whispers against his skin before pressing a small kiss there.
“Good,” Harry humphs, pushing himself up just as the smoke alarm starts to beep.
~♡~
The ground outside is crunchy beneath their feet, a light dusting of winter frost covering the concrete below them, their breath fanning out like dragons in front of them, hands clasped together between them.
It’s much the same as it was all those years ago, Louis thinks. It had been the last Monday in November; the outside temperate was close to freezing and the sky was grey with an impending flurry. The papers and the news had given out amber weather warnings for the next few days but Louis hadn’t been concerned; Paul the weatherman had said people shouldn’t use their cars but Louis couldn’t drive anyway and his house was only a few minutes’ walk from the bakery. That’s why his mum had said he should apply in the first place; she needed him to get a job. He was 18 then and fresh out of a failed college course; he’d only lasted three months before deciding he couldn’t do it.
He had looked around for something, felt guilty sitting around on his arse all day while his mum slaved away working extra shifts to be able to provide for the six of them on her own. He wanted a ‘cool’ job though. His friend Niall from school had moved to Manchester to work in a recording studio and he’d seen the old head boy, Liam, behind the counter in Top Man more than once. Needless to say, being a baker wasn’t the top of his list.
But he’d gone anyway, trekked through the pouring rain and shouldered his way into Mandeville’s for the first time in weeks. He’d been in countless times before; of course he had, to pick up a loaf for his mum on the way home from school or to spend the last of his pocket money on a batch of warm pastries for them all to share after tea. It felt different that time though, as he sat on a rickety old chair sandwiched in between two large trolleys of freshly baked bread cakes. The old lady who was interviewing him, Barbara, smelt like a homely mixture of his grandma and pastry batter, her hands caked in flour and there had been small bits of egg shell smeared across her forehead.
She was lovely with him, explained that it didn’t really matter that he had no baking experience, training him up would be half the fun. He listened intently as she babbled on about the basics; health and safety and how to deal with customers and thanked her profusely when she told him he could start the next Monday.
He’d been strangely excited in the days leading up to him starting, jittery and hyper, the prospect of finally branching out a little, doing something for himself had been overwhelming to him and when Monday had finally rolled around he was up and out of bed for 6am, the little sleep he’d had doing nothing to calm his nerves.
His mum had gotten up early with him to make his favourite breakfast, scrambled eggs and bacon, and to wish him luck on his first day, wrapping him up in her arms and whispering to him how proud she was, couldn’t wait to hear all about it when he got home. Pulling back, he’d taken a juddery breath and nodded, waving goodbye to her before heading out.
The bakery was warm and inviting when he arrived, the overwhelming aroma of cinnamon bundling him up in a warming cocoon as he shrugged off his thick winter coat.
“Um, sorry we’re not open till 9, mate,” Someone had mumbled from behind him and he’d spun around as quick as lightning to see a boy, around his age, stood in the door way of the kitchen, tanned skin pulled taught across his cheek bones, dark hair falling softly across his forehead.
“Oh, I um-I’m Louis. I’m starting working here today, um, Barbara told me to-”
“It’s okay, Zayn,” Came a voice from out back, followed by a clanging of pans before another boy had appeared beside him, curly hair full of flour, wiping messy hands on his apron. “He’s your replacement.” He’d grinned, knocking his shoulder against the other boys before swiftly dodging a smack to the side of his head.
Laughing, he’d tripped his way over to Louis, arm out stretched in front of him. “Hi,” He smiled, cheek dimpling. “I’m Harry.”
~♡~
The bakery is usually busy during the winter months, providing needed respite for chilly Christmas shoppers and comfort for the familiar regulars, lovely old ladies out on their weekly shopping trips and frazzled mums on their way back from the school run. They’ve made friends here, over the years, with lots of the customers so working at the bakery is easy; nice and comfortable. Occasionally they get the odd restless business man who doesn’t have time for idle chit chat or an irate mum with screaming children; but for the most part Louis is more than content to spend his days here.
Out in the seating area there’s a lingering aroma of pine needles from the Christmas tree in the corner and a hint of gingerbread coming from the candles Harry had bought from Arthur at the little gift shop a few doors down on their way home from work a couple of weeks ago. He keeps getting hit by a whiff of lemon from the batch of lemon drizzle muffins Harry is working on in the kitchen and someone out front is wearing too much perfume for his liking but it’s nice nonetheless.
There’s a lull at about 2 o’clock so Harry fixes them up some sandwiches using the baguettes he baked this morning and some ham that was left in the fridge and brings them out front. He sets them down on the counter beside them as he pulls up one of the tatty old bar stools that live under the counter. This one is blue with an intricate faded silver pattern covering it, something that Zayn started doing when they were quiet, said it was to help him out practicing for his art course but Barbara hadn’t minded in the slightest.
“Hey,” Louis smiles, “Good bake?”
“Yeah, really good,” He grins before making a groan of protest deep in his throat. “Wait-forgot something.”
Louis watches as Harry disappears back into the kitchen, worrying for a fleeting moment before he reappears, a small bottle of Moet under his arm, two plastic beakers in his other hand. “Sorry it’s not a big one,” He frowns, setting it down in front of Louis. “Happy sort-of anniversary.”
“Harry,” Louis breathes, pushing to his feet to wrap his arms around him. “Thank you, babe. Really, thank you. I’m-” He takes a deep breath before letting out a shaky sigh, burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the space below Louis’ ear. “I know it’s nothing special but, yano.”
Louis grumbles, lifting his head to meet Harry’s eye. “No,” He shakes his head, hands coming to rest on either side of Harry’s head. “Harry, no. It’s wonderful, I didn’t even expect anything from you, darling. It’s not even our proper anniversary, this is lovely. You’re lovely. I love you.”
Harry grins, leaning forward to press his lips against Louis’ just as the bell above the door jingles. They both turn together, still wrapped up in each other, to see Zayn propped against the counter. “A’ight lads? Long-time no see.”
“Zayn!” Harry squeals, dropping his arms from around Louis’ waist and hot footing it around the pastry display to fling himself at Zayn. “Missed you,” Louis hears him mumble, watches as Zayn laughs and hugs Harry tighter into him.
It’s a sort of unspoken arrangement they have, the three of them. Every year, Zayn comes up from London to visit them at the beginning of December to bring their Christmas presents for them, one from him, one from Perrie. The little business he has is booming near Christmas time so he likes to get away from it all for a few days when he can.
“Hey, Lou,” He smiles, once Harry is back by Louis’ side, arm around his waist, fingers dipping beneath his shirt to stroke over the skin of his hip. “Todays the day right?”
Momentarily, Louis’ chest tightens but he sees Zayn’s eyes drop to the champagne and he sighs, dropping his shoulders and nodding. “Yeah,” Clears his throat. “Yup, six years.”
“Hang on, I think there’s another cup out back.” Harry starts. “If you want some?”
Zayn nods, thanking Harry as he draws up a chair to sit in front of Louis, straddling the seat, arms draped over the back as he watches Harry disappear into the kitchen. “So, anything happening?” He asks, drawing Louis’ attention back to him.
“I’m gonna propose to Harry today.” Louis blurts.
“Sorry?”
Louis coughs, clearing his throat. “I um, I’m proposing to Haz today.” He says quieter.
“I-wow. That’s,” He nods. “Wow.”
“Do you think I shouldn’t? Shit, I’m so stupid,” Louis groans, his hands coming up to cover his face. “I’ll mess everything up won’t I. God, why did I think this was a good idea. I don’t-”
“Hey,” Zayn mumbles, taking a hold of Louis’ hands, gently moving them away from his face. “I think,” He smiles. “That today is gonna be one of the best days of your life and I have every confidence that he’ll say yes. I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to be honest.”
Taking a deep breath, Louis offers him a shaky smile. “Yeah,” He gulps. “I hope so.”
“Hope what?” Harry perks up behind them as he meanders back into the room, bright blue plastic mug balancing precariously atop a huge box of what looks like lemon drizzle muffins.
“Zayn here was just saying he might be able to stay an extra day this year, something about Perrie being away with work and him getting lonely all by himself.” Louis coos, reaching over the counter to pinch one of Zayn’s cheeks between his fingers.
He grumbles, shoving Louis’ hand away as Harry’s face lights up. “Oh that’s great!” He grins. “Hey, do you have anywhere to stay? You could stay with us? Like, we got that sofa bed a little while ago so me and Lou can sleep there, if you want to. Or, yano-” He trails off, his attention dropping to the champagne bottle clasped between his fingers.
“Thanks, Haz.” Zayn laughs as the cork pops, skittering cross the counter before landing by his feet. “Your mum already offered me your old room. Thanks, though.”
Harry’s brows furrow as he makes quick work of filling up the beakers with the fizzy gold liquid. “She never told me that.” He pouts.
“There’s a lot she doesn’t tell you, babe.” Louis mumbles watching as Harry’s brows furrow even deeper and Zayn shoots the two of them a knowing smile.
~♡~
Louis had thought he would be thrown in at the deep end on his first day, and he wasn’t far wrong. Once he’d been properly introduced to Zayn, Harry had explained that Barbara was away on holiday for the week but she’d left strict instructions for the three of them that Zayn would be out front manning the tills while Harry would stay in the back with Louis, showing him the ropes.
Harry was, as Zayn had explained, the star baker of the place and Barbara trusted him with pretty much everything.
Apron on and hands washed, Harry had led him through to the kitchen, the freshly mopped tiles slippery beneath his trainers and the smell of vanilla filling his nostrils. The work surfaces were cluttered with bags of flour and bun cases, various baking utensils everywhere but Harry had guided him over to the far corner where there was an empty space, a small bundle of papers waiting there secured together with bakers twine.
“Babs has left some recipes for you to practice. It’s nothing complicated, don’t look so scared.” Harry giggled. “Just like, yano, Victoria sponge and scones and stuff. Easy peasy, really. I don’t have much to do today once I’ve got this big batch in, so if you need any help, just give me a shout, yeah?”
Louis nodded, wiping sweaty palms on his apron before picking up the papers. The top one, as Harry had said, was Victoria sponge. He could do this, he could.
It took him the best part of half an hour to find all the stuff he needed and during this time the bell had rung about half a dozen times out front, Harry disappearing each time with a tester plate of hot cookies or fresh bread.
By the time Louis had managed to weigh out all the ingredients, it was nearing 10 o’clock and Harry was lounging back against the worktop, phone clasped in his hands, face lit up from the glow of the screen, a small smile on his face as his fingers worked over the keys, his attention on whoever he was talking to, not Louis.
Which, no. That was fine.
“Hey, um-” Louis cleared his throat, Harry’s head shooting up to meet his eyes expectantly. “Um, how do-how do you whisk?”
Harry’s laugh had been loud and raucous, his hand immediately coming up to cover his mouth. “Shit, sorry I’m-do you really not know how to whisk?” He’d asked after seeing Louis’ dumfounded expression.
“I don’t even know what a whisk is.”
“Jesus,” He’d laughed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You really don’t know what you’re doing do you?” Harry had asked; smiling softly as Louis had hung his head sheepishly, fringe falling into his eyes.
“Sorry, it’s dumb I know. Don’t worry about it, I’ll figure it out.” He shrugged, turning back to his surface, vaguely waving Harry off over his shoulder as he started to rummage around in the box of utensils he’d grabbed from Harry.
It had taken him by surprise, when arms settled around his waist and a warm, heavy weight pressed up against his back. “It’s this one,” Harry said, low and gravelly right into his ear, reaching out to prise the ladle from Louis’ fingers, handing him a whisk instead. “C’mon, let me help you.”
“Aren’t you busy or something? Really I can do it, honestly. You don’t have to.” Louis babbled, waving his arms around in the general direction of the ingredients sprawled out before him.
Harry had laughed, shaking his head. “I already told you, I’ve finished that batch of bread so I don’t have anything else to do for a couple of hours. I really don’t mind.” He’d said genuinely, smiling fondly down at Louis, who’d sighed, slumping back into Harry’s arms and mumbled “teach me your ways, baker boy.”
~♡~
The bakery is pretty quiet for the rest of the day, the odd spattering of school kids and worn out mothers later on in the afternoon once school has finished, but for the most part it’s pretty dead so Barbara leaves Harry in charge of finishing up the last lot of custom bakes while she nips across the road to Tesco to get some bits for the usual Wednesday morning rush leaving Louis out front on his own.
Beside his feet is a box of cupcakes Babs had helped him bake yesterday while Harry was out doing deliveries and he’s got a notepad stuffed down the side of the till. He more or less knows what he’s doing, planned it all out with his mum and Anne last week, but he’s still terrified.
It’s just, he’s got so much riding on this, his whole future really. Harry’s too. And if Harry says no, well that’s probably the end of HarryandLouis.
Louis tries not to think about that.
~♡~
Their first kiss had been less than a week after Louis’ first day. Zayn has asked Louis if he would work the Saturday so that he could go and visit his university one last time before he started his new course and of course, Louis had agreed. Barbara hadn’t asked him yet, but he knew that once Zayn left he would be expected to share the Saturday shift with her and Harry each week.
Which is how he found himself sandwiched between Harry and the worktop once again, Harry’s hands guiding his own as they sifted flour into a bowl bit by bit, pausing occasionally to drizzle in some milk. He hadn’t meant to kiss Harry, hadn’t even really let himself think about it before but when he’d turned to look up at Harry, his hair had been full of the white powder, a fine dusting of it sprinkled across his cheeks, the glow from the spotlight above them bathing him in a dim golden light and Louis just couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop his body from moving forward to press his lips against Harry’s. And when Harry had dropped the flour, hands coming to rest on Louis’ hips, big white handprints smeared down the side of his work shirt, he’d just hauled him in closer with a fist in his apron, plastering their fronts together.
They’d pulled apart, breathless, moments later when Barbara had shouted to them that she needed help and Harry had giggled, knocking his forehead against Louis’, breath fanning out over his top lip. “You should go help Babs,” He’d whispered, thumb stroking small circles into the fabric over Louis’ hip. “I’ll finish these off.”
Louis had nodded, stroking his hand down Harry’s chest. “Yeah,” He’d said, ducking out of Harry’s arms.
“Hey,” Harry’d called out after him, reaching out to lace his fingers through Louis’, pulling him back into him, their chests colliding again. “We can finish off after though,” He’d grinned. “If, if you want?” He’d tacked on nervously.
Louis had just grinned, dropping his face onto Harry’s shoulder to hide his smile, nodding into his neck, before pressing his lips against Harry’s once more, quickly, before skipping out to help Barbara.
~♡~
Once the clocks go back and daylight savings end, Mandeville’s starts to close at 4:30, when it starts to get darker and colder earlier on. It’s toasty inside, the days’ worth of body heat and oven steam doing well to block out the winter chill, the bright lights spilling out into the darkness outside. Its days like this when Louis is glad they don’t live in a big city like London, where people are careless and messy, glad that there isn’t a lot of dirt to clean up around the tables and that most of the washing up has already been done.
He can hear Harry humming something indistinguishable under his breath in the kitchen, pots and pans clanging about as him and Barbara work to replenish their lost stock in time for tomorrow morning.
It doesn’t take him long to arrange the tables as he needs them, all stacked up around the edges apart from the four he needs in the middle, and dim the lights once he’s finished setting everything up. Of all the ways he dreamed about proposing when he was younger, in the middle of a bakery didn’t even make the list, but these days he can’t think of any other way. Sure, he could’ve taken Harry to Paris and done in half way up the Eifel tower or he could’ve take him to that posh new restaurant that’s just opened in town but somehow, in his head, none of those seemed right.
The bakery has become such an integral part of both their lives so quickly. Without it they would probably never have met and even if they had, they would probably never have crashed into each other so strongly, would’ve never lasted so long if they hadn’t been constantly around each other, early in the morning to late at night, almost every day of the week, laughing and joking and arguing and falling in love.
The bakery was the only place he could ever imagine for this.
He’s right on schedule for once, so when Barbara pops her head out of the kitchen he gives her a nod and a shaky smile, taking one final deep breath when she gives him a thumbs up and disappears back into the kitchen. He can hear Harry protesting but Babs is stubborn in telling him he needs a break, he’s been on his feet all day, needs to make himself a cuppa and have a sit down. His heart is jack rabbiting in his chest when he finally hears Harry sigh his agreement, banging his wooden spoon down on the side, wiping his hands roughly over his jeans.
Louis knows, even before he sees Harry, that his face will be flushed red with the heat from the ovens, his hair will be askew, flour smeared up his forehead from where he’s tried to push his quiff back up throughout the day (Louis is constantly telling him to get it cut even though he knows Harry never listens, is secretly glad about it really.) He knows there’ll be batter smeared over his thighs and probably dropped down his apron, knows all this like the back of his hand, yet is still takes his breath away when Harry rounds the corner, eyes going wide at the sight before him.
“Louis,” He says breathlessly, eyes darting from table to table, back up to Louis.
He’d been up for hours this morning, preparing, had Louis. Had spent almost two hours icing all the little buns he’d baked yesterday with shaky hands, all pinks and purples, some with little love hearts some with sprinkles, all with letters. 15 in total, will you marry me? they said.
“Louis,” Harry breathes out again, watching as Louis gets down on one knee, hand reaching behind him to slip into his back pocket, little black velvet box held in his hands.
Laughing nervously, Louis cocks his head. “Come over here, you idiot, can’t very well do this with you all the way over there. Wanna touch you.”
Stumbling over, wiping furiously at his eyes, he comes to a stop in front of Louis, chest heaving with laboured breaths as he looks down at him expectantly, big fat tears brimming in his eyes and Louis knows, knows that if Harry blinks, he’ll start crying again.
“I, um-” He coughs, placing the box on the floor beside him, clasping Harry’s hand between his own. “I haven’t really planned what to say so um, bear with me here, okay?” He gulps as Harry giggles through his tears. “Harry Styles, I have known you for two thousand one hundred and ninety days and I have been in love with you for almost every single one of those. I’m in love with the way you rub your cold toes on me while you sleep, I’m in love with the way you look all flustered and warm when you step out of the shower. I’m in love with the way you put up with my ridiculous demands every day and the way you sing along to the radio in the car. Harry, I’m in love with every single thing I know about you and I’ll probably be in love with all the other things I’ll discover about you in the future and if you would do me the honour of becoming my husband I would be the most grateful man in the world. Harry Styles, will you marry me?”
He barely has time to blink before he’s been knocked backward by an armful Harry, who’s burying his face into Louis’ chest, nodding and murmuring yes, yes, 100% yes, god Louis I love you, yes over and over again and Louis can’t stop himself from laughing as he cuddles Harry into his chest. He’s so happy, can’t think of a time when he felt this happy before.
It’s a few minutes before he hears Harry take a shaky breath as he pushes himself up, straddling Louis’ thighs as he wipes at his tear stained cheeks, looking down at him like he’s just hung the moon. “Is that for me?” He whispers, dimple deepening as he nods towards to box beside Louis’ leg.
Louis nods, groping around for it until his fingers brush against the velvet. “It’s not much,” He admits, his eyes not leaving Harry’s face, watching as he watches Louis’ fingers intently. “We’re not exactly pop stars.”
“God, Louis. Just hurry up, please.” He babbles, legs jittering up and down as he grins.
Harry can’t supress his gasp as Louis opens the box, hand coming up to brush over the thin, plain platinum band. “Can I?” He whispers, fingers hovering over the box.
Shaking his head, Louis takes the ring himself. “Let me, babe.” He grins, watching as the cool metal slides easily down Harry’s ring finger, sitting snugly above his knuckle.
He doesn’t even have time to catch his breath before Harry is kissing him, holding him close with an arm around his neck like he might float away if he doesn’t. It’s slow and lazy and so loving Louis could cry. They break apart when a voice in the kitchen whispers “did he say yes?”, they’re breathless and laughing and Harry is still crying when he says “yeah, I said yes mum” and suddenly they're being swept up into a cuddle, Louis and Harry and Anne, and Jay is there too and its lovely and Louis thinks that if this is what his future looks like, he’s done good.
There’ll be a time when they move on from this, when they move onto something bigger and better, when they branch out more, maybe with a family and their own home and a garden. But for now, Louis thinks, as he sits back and watches Harry grinning at his hand as he giggles excitedly with his mum, for now he’s happy. There might be a time when they move away from Holmes Chapel and away from the bakery but Louis will never forget the times he’s had here, the people he’s met.
He’ll never forget the way Barbara gave him a chance, an opportunity and he’ll never forget Zayn, never not be thankful for him leaving Mandeville’s but most of all, he’ll never forget Harry, the love of his life in every way possible, the boy he’s going to build his future with.
Louis has never been more excited in his life.