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“You fucking asswipe I’m going to murder you!”
It was a Sunday. This one in particular involved eight burnt pancakes, an angry neighbour and not one but two fire alarms. It was also three in the morning on this particular Sunday.
His roommate Brendon was crying. Though he wasn’t sure why, Harry felt bad for him.
“Stop crying and get up. We have to go apologize.” But he was already turning a sickly green shade. “You bloody drank all my rum didn’t you?” Brendon just nodded. Fucking arse.
The previous yell had come from their neighbour in the apartment next door, in which he was awoken by the fire alarm in his apartment going off. Though not their actual neighbour, as he was just the douchebag sleeping with Cora, this really sweet girl and also Harry’s dance partner at the studio downtown, where they taught a class together.
“Really, you don’t have to apologize to him,” Cora said in a sleepy sort of quiet tone to him. She was in her pajamas.
“No, no, don’t worry about it,” Harry muttered. Her douchebag “boyfriend” was still storming around the apartment. He looked like he was searching for something to hit. Speaking of, he glanced at Cora again, who was looking down quietly at her own feet. Avoiding his gaze, he guessed. His lips thinned.
“I’m sorry about that.”
What a fucking douchebag, he was. Breaking everything he fucking touched.
Harry put his hands into his pajama pockets, looking back into his own apartment, the door still open. The room was filled with a thick fog of smoke. With all the windows possible open, it already seemed to be clearing out. Good.
They were surprised that the fire department hadn’t come yet. No one had evacuated the building, but it being one of those old, creaky and dark apartment complexes, no one seemed to hear much anyways. In fact, Harry guessed most of the fire alarms in the building didn’t work. Well, one more down, then.
Brendon was vomiting in the kitchen sink.
“Couldn’t make it ten steps further?” Harry asked, his hand outstretched in the direction of the bathroom. Apparently not, though Brendon the Meth Head probably couldn’t remember where the hell it was anyways. Brendon slugged over to the fridge just then, allowing Harry the opportunity to wash as much as he could down the drain. He turned on the faucet, but made a face at what was still leftover. No garbage disposal. He knew Brendon wouldn’t do it, which left Harry the job.
He turned away from the sink, and fanned away the smoke that was starting to irritate his eyes. It was so much worse in the kitchen than it was anywhere else in the house.
Brendon had decided at two thirty that morning that he wanted pancakes for breakfast, and woke up Harry as he wanted to share his meal with him. But when he got up, he realized the apartment was filled with smoke, and the pancakes were burnt to absolute crisps.
Harry wondered why the fire alarm hadn't gone off, until he went to go look at it, maybe it had dead batteries?
It sat on the wall in the hallway, and he realized quickly why it hadn't gone off. The thing had been fucking smashed.
"You can't be serious," he muttered.
A shrill sound could be heard through the thin walls of their apartment, which made Harry burst out laughing. Brendon had made their fire alarm go off.
*
The smoke had cleared by the time Harry had woken up around nine later that morning. But God was the apartment freezing cold.
"Brendon? You here, man?" No answer.
Harry went to the fridge and poured himself a glass of milk thinking about how that morning's class would go. Sure, Amelia could dance, but she wasn't nearly as good as Sara. But then again, she still had time to improve. They were, in fact, five to six year olds.
Only three of the dancers were boys. It saddened Harry a bit to see that at that age most little boys didn't realize that dancing was for everyone, not just girls. As well as that, it was too bad that they couldn't recruit anyone. Five-year olds don't get recruited, dumbarse.
Harry looked at his watch, silver and shiny, checking the time. His eyes widened, shit. shit. shit. He was going to be late.
Cora was knocking on his door loudly, "Come on, Harry! It's already nine thirty!"
He hadn't even gotten dressed yet. He drained his glass quickly, the sweet flavor going with it. He hurried to his room, stripping of his clothes and shit. His head was stuck in his shirt.
"Cora would you please let yourself in and help me with this?"
"What's that, mate?"
Louis. Where the hell had he come from? Cora was in the doorway of his room, smiling at Harry.
"Apparently you made plans with me for breakfast before I left for the airport, you arse." Louis approached him, and lifted Harry's shirt, getting it unstuck from his shoulders.
"God dammit Lou, you know I can't do that. I have to go to work, do you have time afterwards?" Harry pulled on a different shirt.
"I have to leave in an hour, Harry."
He was terrible with making plans when it came to his friends.
Cora went into the other room while he changed into his leggings.
"I can still buy you breakfast, if you'd like." he said. Louis just shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his face.
"Not if you don't want be anymore late you won't." Harry hugged Louis and when he pulled away, was knocked on the side of his head by Louis' hand.
"Oi, what was that for?"
"For screwing up our plans, you moron." Okay, so he deserved that. "Now get out there and go dance with those preschoolers."
*
Three kids were bawling. One of them crying because the other two were crying.
Harry scratched his head for a while before deciding what to do. Cora had to go downstairs with one of the other students, as their dad was picking them up early.
This all happened in a matter of seconds. One of the kids, Felix, had tripped and fallen into Amelia, who fell into Leslie. The last two immediately started crying, and Felix's eyes started watering once he realized his friends were hurt. Sara, of course, was laughing at them and calling them "babies" for crying. But Harry was quick to hush her up by making her go stand in the corner for being rude.
Harry knelt down in front of the kids.
"Hey, it's alright, now. You guys are all right, see?" Amelia was holding her hurt arm. He poked at it with his pinky.
"It's not that bad, maybe just a bit of bruising, yeah?" He nodded at the other two, whose faces were still scrunched up from crying.
“I have candy if you guys be brave and keep dancing,” he whispered to them, making it a point to put his hand by his mouth so the other couple of kids couldn’t hear them. “Do you think you can be brave?”
The three children nodded and slowly got to their feet. Cora returned shortly after, and they continued.
Afterwards, when they were getting ready to go home, Harry rewarded the three kids each with a lollipop.
Of course he took one for himself as well, though he ended up sticking it in his pocket after deciding not to eat it.
He hated having forgot about his and Louis’ plans to go for breakfast. Which meant that he’d have to make it up to his friend after he returned from his trip to Ireland. Apparently during their third year at uni, Lou had encountered an Irishman by the name of Niall something. They quickly hit it off, and Louis was invited to come to Ireland and hang out with this friend of his for a two week period before returning mid-summer break. It’s not that Harry was jealous, but they’d never all hung out together as a group. Not that Harry would want to anyways.
Besides. He had his other friends, Liam and Zayn. Unfortunately, the two weren’t currently on speaking terms, having had a fight about something related to Zayn kissing Liam’s girlfriend to prove a point (a point in which was pointless, because Harry could see- clearly- that they were in love with each other, his two mates). There was protest, of course, coming from Zayn that no, he hadn’t kissed her, she kissed him. So Liam broke it off between them, and lost contact with both Zayn and Harry for what was now about a week and a half.
Felix was one of the last kids to leave, as his father seemed to be running late. It was funny, because Harry knew that he’d meant to do it. He always had on this little smirk when he came to pick up his son, and was always sweeping his hair away from his eyes, catching the gaze of the dance instructor. Since Cora was always quick to leave for her second job, it was just them. And Felix, who was usually ushered out to the car so the adults could “talk”.
So it was a well known fact that Jackson Keeler was a male hooker. Not to most of the neighbourhood, but to Harry and whomever else he flirted with when telling them, “You know, you could have me if you wanted it enough.”
It was pay day. Which meant, a small fraction of his pay would go to Keeler when a job well done was finished. He brought all they needed in this single, fat black briefcase. His day job was supposedly working at an attorney’s office as a secretary, which made Harry wonder whether his employers knew of his talent.
Keeler, with his trimmed light, brown hair. Keeler with his annoying smirk that made you sweat. Like he knew something you didn’t. It both frustrated and enticed Harry.
Harry was at his desk, looking over signed forms for a field trip being held in a couple of days for a dance show when he heard it. The click of his office door shutting and being locked. He raised his head, meeting the dark, lustful eyes of Jackson Keeler, that usual smirk on his face.
“Take off your clothes,” he said. Harry returned that sweet smirk, and did as he was told. Keeler was unlatching his briefcase, looking for something in particular. Harry was taking off his leggings as he watched the clock above Keeler’s head on the wall. Their seven minutes had started counting down.
*
He was just sitting there, on top of the desk. Every piece of paper, pen, and all that had been on his desk before was on the floor. Jackson was grazing Harry’s thighs with his tongue. His eyes flicked to Harry, who was just watching him. His body was blazing with heat from Keeler’s touch, but it made him feel off. Harry didn’t know whether he liked it or not.
“Shit, my time’s up, mate.” Jackson muttered, looking at his watch. Harry nodded, pulling out his wallet from the drawer on the side of the desk. He flipped through his wallet, and pulled out the exact amount Keeler wanted. He handed it to him. They both got dressed quickly, and Keeler put his toys and everything else in his briefcase. He left.
Harry was numb to this feeling of pleasure. It was odd. At first it had been fantastic, but after a while it became less and less, but he felt this attraction to these men. An addiction.
He was behind the steering wheel of his car. Harry ran his fingers through his fingers through his hair while he was thinking. Just forget about it already, will you? Nothing happened.
But his thought still sat in the corner of his mind as Harry drove home, nagging at him.
Harry had had five different hookers at his house in that week. It didn’t take him long to realize that ignoring his problem wasn’t helping any, but he couldn’t stop.
*
“Harder,” faster, goddammit. Harry had forgotten the name of this one. Was it Michael? Morgan? He couldn’t remember.
His heart was pounding. Cockful in his arse, Harry was holding his breath, though he wasn’t sure why. It was fast, excruciatingly fast. And then it was over, and the prostitute left, though Harry still lay on his bed, the only thing covering him being his come-stained sheets.
“H-Harry?” his eyes widened, and his head turned to the doorway of his bedroom, where Louis Tomlinson stood.
“What the hell are you doing here, Lou? You’re supposed to be in Ireland right now.” He sat up with the sheets around him. “And how did you even get in here?” Louis was silent for a moment.
“The- um, prostitute left it open for me.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
They were silent for a long time.
"Why did you come back early? You weren't supposed to come back for another week." Harry finally said, breaking the silence.
Louis was scratching the nape of his neck, and sighed. He didn't look at Harry when he told him what happened.
"I was feeling sick. Home sick, I guess. I like Niall and all, but sometimes he just doesn't get it. And I thought I'd come to your's and talk to you about it." About what? Homesickness?
"You know I've never felt like that, Lou."
"I know. And I understand why and all, but I just felt like we, best mates, would be able to just sit down and talk."
"You came home for that?" Harry asked him. "Louis, you had a good opportunity to make new friends and hang out with That Guy Niall. You can talk to me any time, but I don't understand why you would come home for a simple conversation."
"Just... forget it okay? Forget I ever said anything."
He didn't mean to hurt Louis' feelings, but it was obvious to Harry that that was what he'd done.
"Lou-"
"Forget about it, Haz." Louis walked out, taking his coat from the table in the living room and left.
Harry put on his clothes, and frustration went in waves through him. He'd be fine one second, and the next he'd be fuming that Louis came back. It wasn't that he didn't want Louis come back, but him showing up at the wrong moment ruined everything.
But at the same time, that numbness seemed to be leaving Harry. It was clearing from his mind, leaving him… better.
That night, Zayn called him up to ask about what was going on with the two of them.
“What’s the matter, mate? I talked to Louis a bit earlier, I asked him about whether or not he’d come to your place to hang out after he came in from the airport, and he said that he came over but didn’t stay long. Somefin about you being too busy to hang out.” Too busy. Great wording, there, Lou.
“Nothing happened, like he said, I was just a bit busy.”
“Too busy for your best mate?”
“...Yeah.”
“Well, whatever. We’re going to a movie tomorrow, the three of us.”
“Speaking of best mates, Zayn, what about Liam?”
The receiving end was silent for a long time. “He won’t take my calls.” It took him another moment before he said, “So, movie, three of us, yeah? I’ll text you the details later.”
“Okay.”
Zayn hung up on him. Harry realized, that for once that day, his mind was buzzing with a strange silence. His many angry thoughts had locked themselves away. He could breathe easier.
*
Harry took a long overdue bath that next morning.
Floating in the bath water, he looked up at the ceiling. It reminded him of the ocean, with the light blue meeting swirls of darker blue. He closed his eyes and let the colors explode within his mind.
He could stay in that bathtub forever, he thought. If only someone wasn’t knocking on his door just then. Harry furrowed his brows, and sat up. He rubbed the water from his eyes before opening them, and grabbed his towel that sat on top of the shut toilet seat. He opened the bathroom door just a smidge, enough so that they could hear him.
“Just a second!” he shouted, pulling on his briefs, and then his trousers. He left off his shirt, figuring that no one too important could be at the door. He was still drying off his curly brown hair when he went to answer the door.
It was Louis, just standing there.
“Figured I should knock this time,” he said quietly.
“Why are you here?” Harry asked.
“I- you promised me breakfast, Harry. And I don’t care if you’re fucking prostitutes or anything, but I’m bloody starving and you owe me one.” He had a point there.
“Just- uh, let me get dressed, okay? I’ll be out in a few.” All he really did was pull on a shirt and shoes, combed his hair a bit, ended up putting it into a wet bun. Then he stood in front of his mirror for what seemed like hours before deciding he was okay, they were okay. Louis didn’t seem to be mad at him.
Louis was sitting on the couch, waiting for him. He was quiet, legs on the couch, scratching at a mark on his sneaker. He raised his head when he sensed Harry’s presence, and nodded at him. “Ready to go?” he asked. Harry returned the nod and picked up his wallet on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room, and stuffed it into his pocket.
*
It wasn’t long before they found an empty booth in this old diner a half mile away from Harry’s apartment.
“I want to know about the homesickness,” Harry said after they’d ordered. Louis nodded, watching the glass of icy water in front of him. He began stirring it with the straw he’d been given, and kept his eyes on it as he spoke.
“I can’t live a goddamn city away from my mum, Haz. I’ve always had this problem, and it’s terrible.”
“You knew you couldn’t stay in Ireland.” he said. It wasn’t a question. Louis shook his head. “But you tried anyways.”
“I thought maybe this time would be different. Maybe I’d grown out of it since uni began three years ago.” He kept shaking his head.
“The whole time I was there, I thought, ‘wow, Harry would love to see this!’ and I began to realize something. I’d left my attachment to my own home and I-” he stopped. His brows furrowed.
“What is it, Lou?”
“You were why I was homesick. I needed you beside me. My best mate.” He finally looked up at Harry, who was staring back at him.
“I mean, do you want to go back?” Harry asked him. It was a stupid question, and he didn’t know why he’d asked.
“No. I’m done traveling, for a while, at least.”
He didn’t know how to reply to Louis, so he just watched as his friend stirred the water with his straw.
They were quick to eat, mostly because they’d both only ordered small meals. Zayn texted them, saying that they had about two hours until they were to head over to the theatre.
“Might as well just stay in town while we wait,” Louis commented. Harry agreed.
"What do you want to do?"
"Window-shopping."
"Yeah?"
"Well there ain't much else to do around here.
Louis shrugged and pulled one of the sleeves of his sweater, beginning to roll it up. Then he did the same to the other one. Harry paid the bill and left a tip for the waitress.
"So are we okay?" Louis asked Harry when they'd abandoned their booth.
"If you are, I am." If you aren't completely disgusted with me by now, I guess so.
It hit Harry hard when he realized- really realized- what had said before at breakfast. I was his homesickness, he thought.
“I have an idea.” Louis said suddenly. There was a grin spreading across his face. “We need to go to the big department store down the street.”
“What are we going to be doing there, exactly?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
*
They were on the second floor in the clothes section, which seemed just about empty. Louis was picking up random articles of clothing, including beanies and scarves, and putting them on the mannequins in whatever weird way he could. A hat that completely covered a mannequin’s face here, multiple pairs of socks stuffed under the shirt of one there (making breasts, naturally).
At first, Harry watched and shook his head at Louis as he vandalized the store’s mannequins, with a smile on his face. Then, Louis was waving him over, and they snuck around to multiple more, covering one in ridiculous-looking kitten belts of all colors, and a stack of cowboy hats upon his head.
Occasionally, they’d hide whenever a customer approached the plastic figures, and watched as their faces turned from confused to an even deeper confusion, sometimes accompanied with small smiles. The boys would then snicker behind the racks of clothing.
Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be long, they realized, until they’d either get caught or run out of mannequins to decorate, so the two friends decided to walk around outside.
It was cool that afternoon. There was elevated ground by the sidewalk they walked on, bricks that were layered going upwards a bit, and Louis began walking on the thin cement blocks, his arms outstretched to help keep him balanced. There wasn’t many people out at that time of day, a few here and there, as most of them were at work.
Harry watched Louis go up another set of bricks, the way he walked upon them. Steady and surely, as if there were no way that his mate could possibly fall. It made him nervous just watching Louis.
“Get down from there, will you? You’re beginning to freak me out.” Louis just laughed, and bent down to jump onto the pavement. When they were once again eye level, Harry felt better. Though only slightly, it seemed. His heart was still pounding, but the curly-haired boy didn’t understand why.
Harry looked at the time on his watch and looked over at Louis.
“We should head over to the theatre right about now.”
*
Zayn’s choice of movie was terribly dreadful. What he thought was a ‘action-filled flick’ turned out to be ‘are they just going to be doing it forever or get on with the show already?’ and ‘what the bloody fuck is that’. Everyone in the theatre left uncomfortable and irritated, which was only seven people all together. I guess everyone else had already gotten the memo on how awful that movie was. Nearly two hours of their lives had been wasted.
“Well, now what?” Louis asked his two friends after they entered the lobby.
“I have to head back to the flat for the night, I have to finish my homework before classes in the morning.” Oh right, Harry had nearly forgotten that Zayn was taking a summer term at the university so he could finish his classes earlier. They said their farewells to him for the night, which left Harry and Louis alone once again.
“I should probably check on the apartment, make sure my roommate hasn’t burnt it down yet.” Harry muttered.
“I need to go as well. I’ll uh- see you later Haz.”
“You too, Lou.”
*
Brendon wasn’t home, which left Harry alone in the apartment, trying to figure out something to do when someone called.
“I can’t find my fucking keys.” It was Louis.
“And you never thought of keeping one under the mat or something?”
“...No.”
“And have you called the locksmith?” (Louis had this guy on speed dial for reasons none other than many occasions where he’d lost his keys: dropped them down the drainage gates, and even had them stolen at one point, and never even thought of making spares).
“He won’t come until morning.”
“You need a place to sleep.”
“I need a place to sleep,” he repeated.
Harry was holding back his laughter, “Come on over, Lou. I’ll make a space for you on the couch.”
When he got there, Harry opened the door to see Louis looking nervous and hands in his back pockets. He mumbled a hi and Harry smirked, letting his friend into the living room.
“I have some sweats for you to wear, so uh, don’t sweat it.” Harry said. Louis laughed.
“How long have you been planning that one?”
“Since after you called.”
“That’s a terrible joke, Haz. Never ever repeat that joke in public.” They both laughed.
Harry had put the sweats and a t-shirt on the couch that had been made up into a bed. A light blue sheet hung over the sofa, and multiple pillows and blankets sat piled there, too.
“Lou, you hungry?”
“You can’t even cook, you moron.”
“Hey, that’s not true. I can make boxed food.”
“Like what?” Louis said it on his tongue, raising his eyebrows. A challenge. Harry went into the kitchen, and looked into the cabinets for something to cook.
“Uh, I have Hamburger Helper?”
“Oh god no, that stuff is bloody awful.” He overheard him say from the living room. Harry kept rummaging.
“Rice? Mac and cheese?”
“Eh.” Louis had moved into the kitchen then.
“Work with me here, Lou.”
Louis moved towards Harry and began looking through the cabinets with him. He grabbed a large box and nodded to it.
“Cereal?”
“Doesn’t even require cooking it.” Harry put his hands up in defense, a stupid smile on his face.
“Whatever you want, mate.”
*
Two bowls of cereal, three bottle of rum and seven games of Monopoly later (someone kept winning, and someone kept calling for a rematch), the two boys were about to pass out in the living room.
“Louis move your fat arse before I throw it out the window,” Harry was saying, giggling as he did.
“You can’t make me,” Louis muttered, laying on the floor.
“Come oon, Lou, you have to go to bed.”
“Then I’ll sleep here. I can’t even move my arms, Haz.” Harry scrambled to his feet and to the couch, where he started grabbing the pillows and blankets for his friend. He flopped them down on top of Louis, who groaned in reply.
Harry picked up a blanket and laid it on top of Louis, then moved to where Louis’ head was on the floor and raised it just enough to stuff an old pillow underneath it.
He bent down to get a better look at Louis, who seemed to already be asleep. Harry smiled. He looked so cute when sleeping, even if they were both drunk out of their minds.
Harry left his friend to sleep, and went to his own room to bed. He didn’t even try getting out of his clothes, just fell onto the mattress and curled up there.
*
There was the worst burning sensation in his head when he woke up the next morning. And God could he remember everything. Not just the shouting and throwing board pieces at each other, or the smashing of- what was it, Brendon’s empty beer bottles from his room? by throwing them out the window into the alley below. No, not just all of that. They’d kissed. Louis had kissed Harry after he’d turned for another beer bottle to throw, and they’d somehow ended up on the floor together.
So much was going through his mind right then. Did Louis remember? Would they just forget it ever happened? Harry felt like he was going to explode. He needed fresh air.
Harry shoved his feet into some old sneakers and opened his bedroom door as quietly as he could. Louis was still passed out on the floor by the couch. Harry could feel his face reddening at the thought of the previous night. He snuck through the living room, and unlocked the front door, opened it, and closed it again behind him. He took a deep breath and continued through the corridor, and down the staircase to the lobby, where he pushed through the glass doors and hurried to the alley, feeling something coming up his throat.
His stomach felt empty and sore, and his mouth sour with the taste of vomit. Tears were streaming down his face, having been caused from the puking. He wiped his eyes with his hands, and his mouth with his shirt. Harry leaned against the brick walls of the apartment building, and slipped down into a sitting position, his knees at his chest. He tried to even his breathing, but it didn’t seem to be working.
“You all right there, mate?” A man was standing at the edge of the alleyway. No, not a man, Niall. That Guy Niall, who’d pretty much caused a strange rift in his and Louis’ relationship.
“I’m- uh, fine.” Harry muttered.
“What’s that?”
“I’m fine,” he repeated louder.
“Harry Styles, that’s your name, right?”
“I guess.”
“Do you happen to know where Louis is? I’ve called him multiple times, but he hasn’t answered. I figured he’d probably be with you.”
“How do you know where I live?” Harry asked, his brows furrowed at the mere stranger.
“He told me, once, when he was at my place. I used to live around these parts. So, do you know where he is?”
No, was the first thing he thought. Haven’t heard from him for a day or two. Who was this guy anyway? It couldn’t have even been ten in the morning.
That’s when he noticed the flowers in his hands.
Fuck. Fucking fuck. “He’s upstairs. He’s also asleep, mind you.”
“Oh, well, can you give these to him when he wakes up?”
Can’t you give them to him yourself? “Sure.”
As soon as he got back into the apartment, he dropped the flowers into the trash. Harry didn’t even know why he did it. Compulsively, maybe, but he didn’t even like Louis.
His best mate was still sleeping.
Harry felt extremely guilty for the flowers, but tried brushing it off with cooking eggs and toast for breakfast. Louis woke up just as Harry was plating the food, coming into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and messy hair.
“Oi, I was just ‘bout to wake you up.”
“Saved you the time of doing so, then, eh?”
He handed a plate to the other boy, who took it to the table and sat down. They downed their food quickly, and Louis of course offered to scrape them into the trash. He opened the metal can with his foot and saw the flowers. He raised his eyebrows at Harry.
“Oh, Haz, do you have an admirer?” He waggled his eyebrows, and all the blood felt like it had drained from Harry’s face.
“That’s not for you to know.” This made Louis even more curious, damn him.
“Tell me all about it.”
“No, Lou.” It was cold. He could see it on Louis’ face. He’d only been joking, but Harry had shot him down. He regretted every moment of that. But Louis shrugged seemed to shrug it off, and thanked Harry for breakfast. Both of them.
“I think the locksmith should be over by now, so I need to go. And thanks for letting me stay over, mate.”
He left, and Harry wanted to hit his head on the wall for being so stupid. Louis didn’t even remember the fucking kiss. Of course he wouldn’t, him having blackouts was a well known fact when he got drunk.
*
Harry didn’t hear from him until later the next evening, when his first word was, “Flowers.”
“Flowers.” Harry repeated. He knew about Niall, then.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Haz?”
He was having trouble wording together a sentence.
“Do you have something against Niall that you aren’t telling me?”
“No- I-”
“Then why the hell would you throw the flowers in the fucking garbage?”
“I-I’m sorry, Louis.” And that was it. Harry didn’t hear from him again for- he lost count of how many days. Neither Zayn nor Liam called him in that time, but Harry figured that they had their own problems to work out.
He felt like trash. Moping around the apartment day after day, his classes were out for the remainder of the summer, and he didn’t feel like going out at all.
He tried calling Louis a couple of times, but he never answered. So he stopped trying. It was what had gone on between them in those past couple of weeks that made Louis snap.
God, did he regret it.
*
Harry had finally worked up the courage to go to Louis’ flat. He bought flowers from a street vendor and headed over to his place on a crisp morning.
He was anxious. He was pacing around the corridor outside of the flat, trying to think up of something to say.
Knocking on the door was easy compared to the stare that was received when the door was answered. Louis stood there, and Harry held the flowers out to him, whose lips were thin.
“I’m sorry. For everything.”
“Y' know, you never answered my question of why you did what you did.”
It took Harry a while to reply. “I was jealous, Lou. Of what you and Niall had, that Niall liked you-”
“You were jealous of Niall and I?” Louis was shaking his head, “Jesus christ, Haz, me and you are best mates.” His brows furrowed, “And did you just say Niall liked me?”
“Yeah.”
“He got me flowers because I left Ireland, I’d given him the fucking excuse that I was sick. They were get-well flowers from his mum.” He was laughing- laughing at him.
Harry turned to leave when Louis grabbed him on the arm. “Hey, I forgive you, okay? Just tell me when you have something to say.” he mumbled an “okay” in reply and took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry for laughing. It’s just that Niall having a crush on me, that’s ludacris, Haz. When I said I had a homesickness for you… I left out the part where I should’ve told you I like you. Not just having you around as a best mate, but-”
“You kissed me that night you slept over.” Harry blurted. His cheeks were flaming with heat.
“So you know too, huh? I just thought maybe you couldn’t remember.” Louis smirked at the redness of his friend’s cheeks. He was tensing under Louis’ gaze. Like he was looking right through him.
“Did you like it?” His eyebrows were raised. Harry’s entire body was flushing with that. Louis smirk intensified, and he leaned closer to Harry, and he whispered next to his ear, “And did you like it when we were on the floor there, making out?” His breath caused Harry to shiver. It was terribly obvious that Louis was enjoying every bit of it. “Do you think we should’ve gone further? Taken it to your room, maybe?”
Fuck.
He must’ve decided not to tease him any longer, because Louis’ lips were on Harry’s, warm and eager. He pulled them into his flat, his hands fisted up in Harry’s shirt. He kicked the door shut, and moved his hands to Harry’s dark, curly hair. Louis was in control. Harry was vulnerable to Louis’ touch, and he knew it, the bastard. Harry melted under his touch. He was pushed up against the wall, and Harry’s own hands were wrapped around the top of Louis’ back, who was moving his mouth down to Harry’s neck. He returned again to meet his mouth, his tongue hot against Harry’s.
It became hard and messy and they found themselves enjoying it. They had soon moved themselves into Louis’ room.
“How are we gonna tell the guys about this?” Harry managed breathlessly, unzipping his jeans.
“Haven’t you heard? They’ve been fucking around for a week, those naughty fools.” Louis was quicker than he was, already in just his briefs. Louis was pulling him onto the bed, pulling the shirt off of Harry’s head. Louis kissed his shoulders, trailing kisses up and down his body. Briefs were abandoned, leaving more skin to be touched, kissed, and known.
They were sweaty and happy and holy shit were they tired by the end of it all. But still, Harry had tears in his voice as he said it, “Don’t ever let me slip away.” to which Louis whispered against his lips, “I would never.” It was the first time Harry had felt good about himself with another; with his best friend. It left a bubbly feeling inside him, which left him happy. Laying there, he felt free. Louis was mumbling something about “doing this same time tomorrow” and Harry was laughing, shaking his head. There was relief. He was okay. They were okay.