Archive of Our Own

Spring

It’s 24 hours until graduation and it seems like every single person on campus is hosting a party. Harry lazily sips at his drink, watching the way all his people from the past four years have come together to say hello for the last time and goodbye for the first time. It feels simultaneously final and phony; it’s like they’re all playing the part of the nervous graduate, unsure of what their future holds, pretending they’re excited, pretending they’re ready to leave the comfort of college behind. Maybe some are ready. Harry doesn’t know if he’s one of them yet.

It’s a hot May night, this night, and the sticky Florida air makes it feel impossible to breathe. Harry lets the screen door slam shut behind him as he takes a step outside, trying to get away from the thick crowds of people, but the humidity is just as suffocating. A few familiar faces are lingering outside, and he gives a friendly wave before making his way to his car in an attempt to find his lost cell phone.

However, before he can start looking, he feels a pair of eyes on him out of his peripheral.

A man is sitting under a sand pine tree several yards away and looks to be about Harry’s age. His black jeans are ripped at the knee, his white t-shirt hanging loosely from his collarbones, his feet bare, his brown hair wild. He’s smoking a cigarette, and the smoke swirls around his face, framing it. Even in the darkness, Harry can tell his eyes are blue.

He must be staring a bit more intensely than he thought he was because the man breaks the silence and asks, “Are you broken?”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “I don’t think so. Just looking for my phone.”

“Well, it’s not on my face, so you’re doing a shitty job so far.”

He bites back a second laugh. “Thank you. That’s helpful.”

From his position underneath the tree, he takes another puff of his cigarette. On an exhale, he pats the ground next to him. “Sit, if you want.”

Harry wants.

He sits beside the stranger in an awkward silence, crossing his legs, drawing patterns into the dirt. It’s soft, it’s gritty. It leaves a coating of dust on his fingertips.

He takes several deep breaths, enjoying the way his senses feel muted. Normally, he’s outgoing, the life of the party, catering to everyone, but tonight? He hums in the stillness of the damp air, of the conversation that hasn’t picked up again since he sat down.

The noise from inside the party sounds muffled, the lights hazy, and when the wind slightly stirs, Harry feels himself relax. He didn’t realize how tense he was until this very moment, his shoulders dropping, sore, holding onto his mind’s stress for the past several weeks.

Blue eyes clears his throat, shaking Harry from his thoughts. “I’m Louis, by the way.”

Harry smiles. “I’m Harry.”

“I know.”

He looks up at that. “You do?”

“Yup.”

“You’ve heard about me?” he asks, cocking a brow, sitting up straighter.

Louis smirks, putting his cigarette out on the rock beside him. “Heard someone say hi to you when you walked outside. But, man, do you seem smug, thinking people you don’t even know are out here talking about you.”

He knows he’s blushing. He can feel his cheeks growing hotter. “I’m not smug.”

Louis snorts. “Okay.”

They fall quiet again, after that, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable now. Harry leans back, his spine lining up with the bark on the tree. They watch as people filter in and out of the house, the moon growing brighter with every passing minute. Eventually, Harry asks, “Is this your last night on campus?”

Louis shakes his head. “I’m here about until the end of next week.”

“Same here.” He pauses to rub his sweaty palms onto his jeans. “Have any work lined up?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to find stuff directly after graduation. I get that.”

Louis nods and lights another cigarette.

“So, why’d you come out here to begin with? Not enjoying yourself inside?

Louis rolls his shoulders. “I came out here to smoke and then realized I was drunker than I originally thought I was so I sat down and then you came out a minute or two later and here we are.”

Harry smiles. “Not so drunk now?”

Louis bursts out laughing, confusing Harry momentarily. “I can’t believe how many questions one person can possibly ask in such a short amount of time.”

Harry blushes again, but this time, he isn’t embarrassed. “I like talking to you, even if you barely answer.”

“I think you just like the sound of your own voice.”

“I think maybe you like the sound of my voice.”

At that, Louis goes still, except for his toes, which Harry notices are wiggling in the grass. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Harry takes that as his invitation to keep talking, spilling whatever’s on his mind.

It goes like this:

He discusses his upcoming job, located in Tampa, Florida, which he hopes will eventually transfer him up North somewhere. “I think I would like the change of seasons, you know?” Louis nods, whether he really knows or not. And Harry continues. He talks about his sister Gemma, his mom, his friends at school, his friends at home, how much he hates the window that gets stuck in his bedroom, how much he loves breakfast for dinner, how much he’s always wanted to learn how to play an instrument, and how terribly afraid he is to say goodbye and move on first thing in the morning. He talks for a long time; nonstop for the better part of an hour, he estimates.

Louis remains silent, only making movement when he pulls his knees up to his chest. “I’ve been playing the piano for about 10 years,” he finally says.

Harry chokes out a laugh. “ That’s all you have to say? Not even an offer to teach me?”

“Eh.”

He laughs again. “Are you usually this chatty?”

Louis smiles. “Usually, I’m the one doing all the talking. Nice to give someone else the lead for a change. You have a nice speaking voice.”

“Still drunk, Louis?”

“Not really, no.”

He looks beside him to make eye contact with Louis, and finds his gaze is already locked on Harry. He speaks slowly when he asks, “Do you plan to stay in the area after graduation?”

Louis shrugs. “I plan to. For now, anyway.”

“I think I want to see you again. If you’d want to.”

“Aren’t you supposed to make friends at the beginning of your college career, not at the end? Aren’t we supposed to be saying goodbye to all the people we actually know inside that house right now, not getting to know each other the night before we leave this campus forever?”

It’s the most Louis has supplied all night. Harry decides to be equally as bold. “Well, what if I said I wasn’t trying to make a new friend right now?”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “You think you like me?”

“I think I do, yeah.”

“Where are you going to store my number, then? Seeing as you never found your phone.”

Harry pats his pocket, as if his phone magically found its way into his pants, and he laughs. “I guess you’re right. Okay, give me yours. I’ll call my phone, and that way, we’ll both have each other’s numbers.”

“Smart thinking. You must have a college degree,” Louis says with a smirk, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and handing it to Harry.

Harry taps his number onto the glass screen and listens to his phone ring on the other side. “Not quite. I’ll have it tomorrow, though. Must just be naturally gifted. Intelligent and gorgeous. The real deal.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure ‘gifted’ is the word I would have chosen…”

He bites his bottom lip and he can feel his dimple poking out. “I’ll call you, Louis.” He shakes the pins and needles out of his legs and stands up. “Enjoy graduation tomorrow.”

Louis remains seated on the ground and looks up at Harry, eyelids hooded and lazy. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Which part?”

He winks.

And just like that, Harry is done for.

Summer

Harry moves back into his parents’ house after graduation with the plan to work through the winter, with the hope that he’ll be able to save up enough money to get his own apartment in Tampa. Louis, however, already has his own apartment in the area, and Harry has taken it upon himself to make it his primary location. And Louis doesn’t ever seem to mind. He welcomes Harry into his apartment with open arms, a series of hysterical stories, and a kitchen full of dirty dishes.

Harry adores all of it.

He’s never bored around Louis; he’s unlike his other friends in the sense that he’s sometimes hard to read, but he also wears his heart on his sleeve. It’s a complicated conundrum, but Harry is endeared. He likes having to work for Louis’ praise. He likes that it takes time and patience to eventually hear a really good story, like Louis was saving up his best ones just for Harry, just for that very moment. He likes Louis’ brutal honesty, his carefree attitude, his always sockless feet, his inked skin, his absurd laugh…

And for the many layers of Louis’ personality, the rest of their relationship is just… It’s simple, is all. They eat a ton of takeout, go to the bar with friends, play video games… It's all very normal and regular and Harry can appreciate that.

But then July rolls in, booming and hot.

Harry has never specifically admitted out loud, “I think you’re gorgeous and I can hardly keep my hands off you and I think I’m falling for you but in all seriousness, how could I not?” He has the feeling Louis knows, anyway, and it’s not like the mutual flirting is kept to a minimum. They’re constantly bantering back and forth, Harry gripping Louis’ thigh, Louis twisting Harry’s curls around his fingers.

He wants Louis. He wants it badly; he wants it all. He can hardly think straight when he thinks about the way Louis would arch up into him, biting at his own bottom lip, scratching at Harry’s back. But that’s not all he wants.

Harry wants late night dates, morning breath, and “Mom, meet my Louis.” He doesn’t have these things. This is a part of Louis he has yet to touch, and it’s not cutting it anymore.

It’s the second week of July when Harry gives in. They’re sitting on Louis’ couch around midnight one Friday night, emptying a full 6-pack of beer between the two of them before starting another, and Louis is going on about a girl he met at the bar the night before, his legs draped over Harry’s lap. If he’s bothered by the way Harry is rubbing circles across his ankle with his thumb, he doesn’t say anything.

“Harry, she was trashed, and would not stop going on about her dead dog from childhood. I’ve never seen anything like it. She was so upset but I couldn’t stop laughing. Like, I’ve never met Duke the German Shepherd, and he’s been dead for seven years. Why is this such an issue now, Molly? How am I supposed to sort that out for you?”

Harry chuckles and stops tracing shapes, choosing to wrap his hand around Louis’ ankle instead. He squeezes twice. “Poor Molly. Just wanted some comfort from the cute boy at the bar and he laughed in her face.”

“I did not laugh in her face.” He finishes off his beer and cracks open another one, smile playing across his lips. “Okay, I probably did.”

Harry sinks down further into the couch. It’s an ugly piece of furniture, to put it nicely - patterned with red and green plaid and sporting several unrepairable rips and tears - but he loves the softness of the worn material underneath his fingertips. It’s comfortable and warm; it’s the place he and Louis have shared countless slices of pizza, movies, drinks, and conversations so late at night, it could have been considered morning.

So, naturally, it’s the place Harry chooses to share something else.

“Lou, I think I wanna kiss you.”

Louis clears his throat. He sets his beer down on the coffee table in front of them. The condensation immediately drips down the can, sweating onto the wood below it. “You think or you know ?”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut tightly for a moment, opens them again. “I know .”

“Are you drunk?”

“A little. But I want to kiss you all the time, drunk or not.”

Louis twists his body so he’s facing Harry. “Okay.”

“‘Okay’ like I can kiss you, or ‘Okay, that’s nice, Harry.’ Which is it?”

He laughs. “Both, probably.”

Harry doesn’t feel like asking more questions, so he leans in slowly, giving Louis time to resist and tell him to cut the shit, but when Louis’ eyelids flutter shut, Harry knows he’s allowed to close the gap. His heart is nearly in his throat when he can feel Louis’ breath mingling with his own.

He takes Louis’ lips between his, fingers dragging up the nape of Louis’ neck, and he sighs into it. It’s been weeks and weeks of waiting and wanting and wishing and now that he has Louis melting into his touch like putty, he doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to draw strength to pull away.

Louis inhales sharply when Harry drags his tongue along his bottom lip, and he opens his mouth to allow Harry more access. Harry moves in willingly, tasting Louis, loving the way he groans quietly when Harry pulls Louis flush up against him.

Eventually, Harry lies down on the couch and drags Louis on top of him, but it never goes beyond that. They occasionally grind their hips against one another, Harry mumbling fuck once or twice, Louis smirking into his neck, sucking a bruise there, but that’s as far as it goes. Their kisses never grow frantic; it’s more or less like they’re exploring, getting to know each other in this intimate light, and Harry is content.

Louis pulls away first after God only knows how long, and he drops his weight next to Harry, squeezing in between the couch cushions. Harry drapes his arm over Louis’ shoulder and pulls him in close.

“It’s really fucking hot in here,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s chest.

Harry laughs. “Like, a thousand degrees.”

“Or more.”

They don’t move for a while, the whir and ticking from the AC the only noise in the entire apartment, the bright lights from the muted late night TV show flashing in front of them. Harry watches as Louis’ breathing becomes steady and evens out. He kisses him on top of his head. Louis’ hair smells like the coconut shampoo perched in the shower that Harry has used on multiple occasions.

They fall asleep tangled together, angle awkward and uncomfortable, skin sticking together with sweat. It’s awful.

Harry is happy.

And then comes August.

It goes like this:

Harry Potter marathons, day trips to Universal Studios, diving into the ocean late at night once the crowds have long since diminished, Chinese food out of the carton at 2 AM on that hideous plaid sofa, endless episodes of Chopped which result in screaming matches at the TV, throwing back disgusting shots at dive bars, and cursing every time the power would go out due to Florida’s daily thunderstorms.

And sex. An abundance of sex that makes Harry’s toes curl whenever he thinks about it.

Harry lives for the way Louis looks when he has his lips wrapped around Harry’s cock, sucking him off like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. He’ll never get over how into it Louis is, cheeks flushing whenever Harry praises him. He can’t help but thrust his hips upward into the heat of Louis’ mouth, stomach tensing… Louis always moans alongside him, even when Harry’s hands aren’t anywhere near him. And don’t even get him started on how much he loves when Louis gets all pliant when he’s thrusting into him, begging for Harry to go harder, breaths stuttering out of him. He’s never had sex like this in his life. He’s absolutely obsessed with his boy, can’t imagine ever going back to a time when he didn’t know what Louis felt like tight around him, whimpering, coming untouched just from the way Harry is manipulating his body in the best ways possible.

One night at end of the summer, Harry is sucking Louis off slowly, Louis’ words slurring and coming quick, gripping at the sheets, groaning Harry’s name, and he comes all over his own belly after only a few minutes, too worked up to last very long. Harry adds to the mess moments later, collapsing on the bed next to him, panting synchronized. They both lay there in silence, watching the shadows from the traffic outside dance across the bedroom walls, when Harry’s stomach growls.

“Sorry. Must be hungry. Have you gone food shopping recently?”

Louis snorts and jumps out of bed, wipes off his stomach with a tissue, and yanks on a pair of boxers.

“Where are you going?” Harry asks, propping himself up on his elbows.

“I need to make a list.”

“A list…”

“Yeah.”

“A list of what?”

Louis leaves the bedroom then, and Harry can hear him rummaging through a drawer in the kitchen. “A list of things you need to buy me at the store,” he calls out from the other room.

Harry sits up all the way. “Wait, why am I buying you things at the store?”

“Because.” Louis emerges with a pen and a notebook in hand. He jumps onto the bed, settling in beside Harry. “Because you’re here just about as much as I am, if not more, and you eat all my food and it’s time you start contributing, Harold .”

He frowns and furrows his brows. He knows Louis is teasing, but he also knows there’s some truth behind his words and he genuinely feels bad. “Shit, Lou, I’m sorry. I hadn’t really thought about it much. Make a list. I’ll buy whatever you want. I’ll go out in the morning and pick up everything on the list. Anything you need.”

Louis suddenly flashes a devilish grin and Harry is half confused, half turned on. “I’m not angry or anything, babe, but I am gonna take you up on that now.” Harry relaxes and preens at the term of endearment, but when he leans over to see what Louis is writing, Louis slaps Harry away. “Not until I’m done.”

Harry smiles. “Okay.”

Louis scribbles for a while, pausing to chew on the end of his pen every so often. Harry watches his facial expressions change from contemplative to downright evil. Eventually, he rips the sheet of paper out of the notebook and hands it to Harry. He can feel Louis’ gaze on him as his own eyes glide over the list. It starts off normal enough. Loaf of bread, eggs, toothpaste, cigarettes, ketchup, beer, cheese, grapes. But then…

“Darts? Why would you need darts?”

“Why wouldn’t I need darts?”

“But you don’t even have a dartboard.” He looks up at Louis, who’s giving him a blank stare, so Harry looks back down at the list. The next item reads dartboard . What the hell. “They don’t sell these at the grocery store, Lou.”

“I never specified grocery store.”

Harry scratches his head. He’s right. “Okay, fine, but Mentos and Coke? You can have one or the other. Definitely not both.” He grabs the pen from Louis’ hand and crosses out Mentos.

“Fuck you! I need them both for what I’m planning on doing!”

He can’t get into that now. “And ‘a lot of batteries.’ Why. Why do you need a lot of batteries.” He isn’t really asking. He doesn’t really want to know, either.

“I want to build something.”

“You didn’t even write what kind you need! And batteries are expensive!”

“So?”

Harry can’t believe he’s still playing along. “Blood capsules? A hacksaw? Twenty feet of rope?! No, no, and no ,” Harry says, crossing out each item. “Oh my God, you’re a serial killer, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know why you promised you’d get me whatever I wanted if you were going to be impossible about this. Honestly, Harry, it isn’t that difficult to go out and purchase a lifetime’s supply of shoelaces and gum, now is it?”

“A dog collar, bird feed, dry ice, fire starter logs?” Harry can’t read the rest of the list, he’s laughing too hard.

Louis is laughing, too, his eyes crinkling at the corner, hair sweeping over his eyes. Harry pushes it out of the way and stares, his laughter dying down. Louis’ still smiling as he sits still and lets Harry play with his hair, eventually sighing. “Harry, I really need a hacksaw,” he whispers, pushing Harry down on the bed, straddling him.

Harry’s heart is beating so hard, he’s sure Louis can hear it from above him. He runs his hands up and down Louis’ sides and Louis leans down to press their foreheads together. “I’ll get you whatever you want, baby,” Harry mumbles just before Louis kisses him. They kiss slowly and languidly, Harry unable to stop touching Louis anywhere and everywhere, and when Louis finally sits up, Harry can’t help himself from saying, “Christ, I am so into you. Everything about you.”

Louis’ face flashes something unrecognizable, but the look fades as quickly as it appeared. “Yeah, well, you should be.”

Harry knows it’s a cop out, he does, but he has a hard time questioning it when Louis bends back down to kiss him again. He tastes and smells like heaven.

And that’s the end of that.

Around the end of September, Louis lands a local job. It isn’t the one he’s been dreaming of, but it’s a step in the right direction, and Harry nearly melts when he sees how radiant and excited his boy is about it.

They go out for drinks to celebrate, meeting up with some of Louis’ best friends from school, and after Harry has four shots in him, he can’t help it when he has to kiss Louis’ neck, not caring who’s looking.

Louis’ best friend Liam rolls his eyes. “Really, Lou?”

He pulls Harry closer against him and whines slightly. “Really.” Louis lulls his head to the side, giving Harry more room, and his breath stutters when Harry starts nipping at his ear and gripping at his ass. “Harry, fuck,” he whispers. “I’m done celebrating, let’s go home, take me home, come on .”

Harry throws down $50 - he has no idea if that’s too much or too little - and says goodbye as quickly as he can to the rest of their group before heading out the door. Louis’ apartment is only four blocks away, but it might as well be miles with the way Louis keeps pushing Harry up against buildings, grinding himself into him, making Harry as desperate for it as he’s ever been.

“Louis, baby, let’s go,” Harry manages to get out through gritted teeth. “It’s starting to rain. Lou…” He trails off when Louis grinds into him particularly hard. The light drizzle becomes heavier; Harry looks up and blinks at the sky, raindrops streaking his face.

“Don’t care,” Louis says, standing on his tip toes to capture Harry in a deep kiss. But then, a crack of lightning streaks across the sky, and is accompanied by a boom of thunder less than a second later. The wind starts to pick up. Louis licks his lips. “Okay, yeah, let’s, yeah.”

Harry drags him into another kiss, helpless to stop himself, before they make the last final steps back up to the apartment.

By the time they get inside, Harry is nearly shaking with how badly he needs to fuck into Louis. He doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol, if it’s the buildup of the rainstorm that’s now ripping through Louis’ block, or if it’s the way Louis is hanging off of him, panting heavily, eyes wide and hands trembling.

Who is he kidding? It’s Louis. It’s always Louis.

The lights flicker off and back on from the storm, and they both pause in their tracks to stare out the window. The wind is blowing the trees outside violently, nearly whipping them around, and when the lights go out permanently, Harry can only tell Louis is still in front of him when Louis’ breath hits his face.

“Harry?”

“Lou.”

“Come on. Take me to bed.”

Harry knows Louis’ body so well at this point that he doesn’t need any lights to help him know exactly where to touch him. He reaches out into the darkness and grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Yeah. Bed.” He drags Louis along the hallway, careful not to bump into the coat rack or bathroom door on the way, and as soon as they reach the bed, he pulls his own shirt off, followed by Louis’.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Harry murmurs, digging his fingertips into Louis’ side, pulling him down on the bed next to him.

“Can you even see me?” Louis banters.

Harry rolls on top of Louis. “No. Don’t need to see you to know.”

“So cheesy,” Louis whispers, but Harry knows he’s blushing. He doesn’t need lights on to be able to prove that , either.

His head is spinning when he dips down to kiss Louis fiercely, Louis arching up to greet Harry’s touch, and he needs more. Needs to get his hands and mouth on every inch of him. Based on the way Louis is nearly whining into Harry’s mouth, Harry knows he wants that too.

Knees still astride Louis’ hips, he quickly unbuttons his jeans, Louis impatiently yanking them down, and immediately gets his fist around Harry’s cock, already completely hard. He bucks into the way Louis twists his hand expertly around him and he loves that he can feel Louis’ gaze on him without being able to see him in the darkness.

Louis starts squirming underneath Harry, thrusting his own hips upward in time with the way he’s jerking Harry. “Harry, I need…” He trails off, and Harry knows. He slides off Louis, pulling down his skin tight jeans in one swift motion, mouthing at his cock, hot and heavy, through his boxers. Louis’ groan is obscene. “Christ, you’re so good at that,” he stutters out.

Harry yanks Louis’ boxers off all the way and quickly sucks the entirety of his cock down, only pausing when he feels Louis at the back of his throat. He works his mouth and tongue over Louis’ cock over and over, Louis whining, pulling at Harry’s hair, and when he finally slides back up after several minutes, Louis’ thighs are wracked with tremors around Harry’s head. The tip of Louis’ cock brushes against Harry’s lips, and he can feel Louis’ entire body twitching. “You want me to fuck you?” he asks, voice husky, body trembling with how badly he wants to push inside of him, make Louis gasp and plead for anything, everything.

“Fuck, yes, Christ,” Louis groans. Harry can feel Louis spread his legs out, can feel his hand moving quickly over his cock, jerking himself roughly.

“You want it hard?” He knows Louis wants that. Harry can be accommodating.

“ Yes ,” Louis hisses out. “Come on .”

Harry feels for lube and a condom in the darkness; his eyes still haven’t adjusted, and at this point, he doesn’t think they will. The wind is absolutely howling and the rain is pounding down on the windowpane so hard, he’s nervous that the glass actually might shatter. The intensity of the storm only urges him to move faster, push harder.

He slicks up to fingers and doesn’t waste any time before he’s pushing one inside of Louis, who moans obscenely at the feeling. Harry knows it doesn’t feel that good, he knows Louis is putting on a show. But he loves it and is more than happy to play along.

“You like my fingers, baby?” Harry asks, finding the inside of Louis’ knee and kissing it.

“ Love them,” he slurs out, spreading his legs wider. “Gimme another.”

Harry complies easily, slipping in a second alongside the first. Louis rocks his hips back onto them lazily for a minute or two, until Harry crooks his finger exactly right, and Louis cries out, movements stuttering. Harry bites at his own bottom lip, knowing Louis’ reaction wasn’t a part of the game. “Right there?”

Louis’ voice is unsteady when he says, “You fucking know it. Harry, one more, please …”

Harry moves quickly, not wanting to hurt Louis while keeping in mind that Louis sometimes likes the sting and the stretch and the burn. And by the time he’s three fingers deep, he thinks he could come just from listening to Louis, still unable to see him.

He pulls his fingers out and feels around for the foil package on the bed, locating it near the headboard, and tears it open with his teeth. He’s rolling it onto his cock when he feels Louis’ fingers dragging gently down his back, goosebumps erupting the trail his nails have been. “Wanna ride you,” Louis says, his voice quiet but firm.

Harry lets go of his cock, which is now positively aching to be touched, and he positions himself over Louis, sliding his arms under his back, flipping him so he’s on top. “Yes, baby, want you to ride me, you’re so fucking good at it, always look so hot.” He can’t stop gripping Louis’ ass, thighs, legs. Louis can’t stop squirming under the praise.

Not being able to see almost makes it better; it’s like all his other senses are heightened. When Louis grips him and slowly sinks down, the heat and tightness around him makes him go cross-eyed. And every time Louis spits out a gasp, lifting himself up and sinking back down roughly, Harry thinks he could cry with how dirty and gorgeous and vulnerable he sounds.

Louis bends down, still grinding his hips onto Harry’s cock, and kisses sloppily at Harry’s neck. His cock is trapped in between them, rubbing against Harry’s stomach, and he can hardly take how good he feels, sounds, smells. He thrusts his hips upward roughly, and Louis bites his shoulder.

“Harry, Har--”

“Baby,” he grits out.

“‘m so close, need you to, need…”

Harry doesn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. He grips him by the hips and flips him onto his back, immediately diving back into him, thrusting hard, eager to make his boy come.

The flights flicker back on then, just moments before Harry feels his own orgasm building white hot, and he groans loudly when he sees Louis underneath him.

His cheeks are flushed, his lips swollen, blue eyes absolutely piercing , and there are beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, pooling in the hollow of his collarbones. He looks sultry, undeniably gorgeous, and when he looks up at Harry and whimpers, that’s just about it for Harry.

“Baby, come on, let go for me,” Harry nearly shouts, his hips snapping uncontrollably, desperate to get Louis there before he does, needs to watch him fall apart underneath him.

Louis tips his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, and his jaw goes slack while the rest of his body tenses. Harry can nearly feel him come before he’s actually there. He holds him through it, and he only needs four more thrusts before he goes over the edge, himself.

Louis is still trembling when he collapses next to him; Harry gathers him into his arms, kissing the top of his head, murmuring words of admiration. His shaking slowly stills, his breathing evens out, and Harry loosens his grip.

“Louis?” he whispers.

“Harry.”

“Congrats on the new job.”

Louis bursts out laughing. “And what are you gonna give me when I get the job I actually want?”

Harry nuzzles his face into Louis’ shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

Neither of them get up to turn the lights back off, and they fall asleep listening to the sound of the whirring AC unit from the other room, alive once again.

Autumn

They’ve never talked about their relationship, really. On paper, it seems like they’ve got a great thing going: they make dinner together on weeknights, go out for drinks on weekends, and spend early mornings wrapped up within each other, whispering secrets to one another before they fuck as loudly or as quietly as they want.

But Harry would kill to call Louis his boyfriend; it’s never been a topic they’ve breached before. Louis has never shown interest in making anything official, for the most part, and they work so well together that Harry has never felt the need to push it. But now, six months in, he wants it all. He wants the actual dates, meeting each other's families, and the title . No one knows Louis is his, no one knows he’s Louis’, and he never thought something like this would bother him… But then again, he’s never had someone like Louis before, never had someone who’s managed to touch every piece of him like this before. And if he’s not mistaken, Louis seems to feel the same way.

He thinks.

Any time he gets close to bringing it up, he loses his nerve. After knowing this boy and being completely infatuated with him for nearly six months now, Louis is still so hard to read sometimes, Christ, and Harry can’t figure out how to say, “Louis, I need to make this official, I need to tell you how in love with you I am, because I am, desperately so, and I want this to be a lasting thing.”

He’s only ever given it one half-assed attempt. He didn’t want to directly jump into Hey, Louis, wanna come to my place and meet my parents? They know all about you but we’ve been doing this song and dance for about half a year now, and they’re beginning to think I’ve made you up . So instead, he casually slipped into conversation, “Lou, do you wanna hang at my place this weekend?” He waited for Louis’ response with bated breath.

Louis had made a face and asked, “Why? You still live with your parents.” Then he went back to dunking his bagel from Heavenly Donuts into cream cheese.

And that was the end of that.

Harry finally builds up his courage again about a week before Halloween. He starts off small and asks Louis in between bites of spaghetti from the plaid couch, “Hey, Lou? Did you know we’ve never been on a date together before?”

Louis twirls his pasta around his fork and shrugs. “Guess not.”

“Would you wanna?”

Louis cocks a brow. “Why? Do we need to? We’re friends.”

Harry freezes. Are we friends? “I mean, no, we don’t need to? But it might be fun.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

He tries to ignore the pit sitting at the bottom of his stomach, and he’s fairly unsuccessful.

But later on, when he’s rocking into Louis slowly, Louis gasps when Harry changes angles and grips at Harry’s hair.

“So good, H. So fucking good. You drive me absolutely wild,” he says, breath uneven and choppy.

Harry thrusts harder. “Anything for you,” he whispers back, unable to stop himself, and he has to bite down on his tongue to stop from whimpering out I love you so much . One of his hands grips tighter at Louis’ jaw, and Louis comes.

An hour later, with Harry’s arms wrapped around Louis’ frame, he kisses Louis’ freckled shoulder. Louis doesn’t stir, so Harry assumes he’s asleep and allows his own eyes to shut. But then, Louis whispers into the darkness of the bedroom, “Harry, you make me so fucking happy. You have no idea.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, unaware he’d been holding his breath, and pulls Louis in impossibly closer. He takes Louis’ words as a sign and silently starts to plan in his head until Louis’ steady breathing lulls him to sleep.

It takes him nearly a full day of planning to get everything exactly the way he wants it. He makes reservations at his favorite restaurant downtown, a place he knows Louis will love , and even though the dinner will be a little more expensive than he’s used to, he has some money put away, so transfers some money over from his savings to cover the cost. Later in the afternoon, he goes to a local florist and requests an arrangement of wildflowers. They’re a combination of bright blues, yellows, whites, greens, and reds; they smell amazing. He knows the gesture is a little over-the-top, and he has the feeling Louis will tease him mercilessly for it, but secretly, Louis will love it.

He hopes.

Harry takes his time getting ready. It’s unseasonably warm, even for the end of October in Florida, so the blazer is out. He opts for a nearly see through blouse, instead, accompanied by a tight pair of black jeans and boots. He does his best to tame his wild curls which, lately, are completely out of control, and once he’s satisfied with his appearance, he makes his way to Louis’ to surprise him.

He texts Louis when he’s walking up to the apartment complex and Louis buzzes him in immediately. Harry takes the steps up to 3C two at a time, anxious to see the look on Louis’ face when he opens the door and sees Harry standing there, actually put together for once, ready to woo the fuck out of him.

Harry knocks on the door three times and Louis calls out, “It’s unlocked. I’m in the kitchen.”

“No, you have to come open the door.”

“When have I ever opened the door for you? Just let yourself in,” Louis yells back.

“Louis, open the door.” He hears Louis grumble, followed by footsteps approaching, and he smiles, excited.

The doorknob starts to twist while Louis is still complaining, “Did you forget how to use your hands?” He pulls it open gracelessly and the look on his face is utter confusion when he sees what Harry is wearing, when he sees the bouquet of flowers. “What the hell is that? What are you doing?”

Harry grins. “I’m taking you out on a date.”

“Why.” His tone isn’t teasing.

He shuffles in the hallway awkwardly. “Because we haven’t done that before.”

“I haven’t done a lot of things before. Doesn’t mean I plan on starting now.”

“Lou, I made reservations at a place I know you’ll really like.”

“I really don’t know what you think you’re doing, Harry. Seriously.”

It takes Harry about half a second to realize that Louis isn’t being his usual Louis self. He’s genuinely not interested. He thinks he might be sick. “I don’t get it…” He trails off, feeling stupid, not knowing where to look. He would give anything to not be holding these flowers right now.

Louis crosses his arms. “No, I don’t get it. Why would you think I’d want to go out on a date?”

Harry swallows, trying to figure out if he wants to cry or if he wants to punch Louis directly in the throat. “I don’t know. I just thought, like, we’ve been dating, basically, since the beginning of the summer and I wanted to tell you how crazy I am about you, and I wanted to do it in a nice way?” His train of thought is completely wiped and he feels so fucking dumb.

Louis purses his lips. “Harry, we aren’t dating.”

“Well, not officially , but, I mean…”

“No. Harry. We aren’t dating. At all.”

Yeah, his mind is made up, he wants to punch him directly in the throat. “Are you kidding me, Tomlinson? I basically live here. I wake up next to you, like, five times a week. I call you to tell you when I’m going to be late coming home from work. I hold your hand when we go out with friends. I fuck you any chance I can get. I haven’t so much as looked at another guy since before you even kissed me for the first time.”

Louis blinks. “I didn’t ask you to do any of those things.”

He’s going to scream. He’s honestly going to-- “Wait. Are you seeing other people?”

He sighs. “No, Harry, I’m not seeing other people.”

“Then why are you giving me such mixed fucking signals all the God damn time?!”

“How am I giving you mixed signals? I have never once told you I wanted a serious relationship with you. Have I ever alluded to the fact that I wanted a boyfriend? A girlfriend? Have I ever told you I wanted you to take me out and open doors for me and pay for my meal? Harry, I haven’t even told you when my birthday is, because I know you’d try to get me a present, and that’s not what this is. You’re my friend and you’re a good fuck and that’s where I stand. Sorry if you read into it otherwise.”

Harry is positively speechless. On the one hand, Louis is kind of right. He hasn’t ever said he wanted a relationship. And looking back, he knows that. He really does. But on the other hand… “You are the biggest prick alive, you know that? I’m a ‘good fuck’? Is that all I am to you?”

Louis rubs his hands across his face. “No, Harry, you know you mean more to me than that.”

“Do I, though?”

They stand there in silence long enough for Harry to even out his breathing, to get his pulse to quit racing. He hates the way Louis is looking at him when he murmurs, “Maybe you should go.”

Harry’s head drops down, his chin touching his chest. He doesn’t say anything else. He turns on his heel and makes his way back down the hallway and flinches when he hears the door close and the lock turn behind him.

Sitting inside his car, he dials the restaurant's number with shaky hands. “Hi, yeah, I have to cancel my dinner reservation for two.” He takes a deep breath, exhales. “The name is Styles. Thanks.”

He hangs up the phone and lets his head fall back against the headrest, letting out a choked sigh. He shouldn’t have ignored the bit of doubt he had in the back of his mind, screaming at him, telling him to stop. Instead, he pushed it down and pushed Louis, too. He could have been content to keep things the way they were. He could have been happy just to have Louis warm in his arms.

Right?

Fuck, he hasn’t felt this shitty in a long time; this has to be rock bottom.

But somehow, the next three weeks are worse.

It goes like this:

He makes the commute to work in the morning feeling unsatisfied, missing Louis more than he ever thought he could. When he drives home, he’s unnecessarily angry to be in traffic, more irritable and testy than usual. He gives everyone around him short answers, and he probably sounds rude, but he shrugs it off. Just like Louis shrugged him off.

And that’s the worst part, Harry thinks. That he’d fallen in love with this unbelievable person, and not only were the feelings not reciprocated, but Louis had been able to brush him away like it was nothing, like he was nothing. Harry has no problem admitting that it fucking hurts .

Three weeks later without so much as a word from Louis, he hears a knock at the front door to his parents’ house. He makes his way to the entrance sluggishly, and he feels like the wind is knocked out of him when he sees Louis standing there, looking as gorgeous as ever, minus the dark circles under his eyes. He’s holding flowers similar to the ones Harry had shown up with at his apartment on the failed date night. He holds them out for Harry, and Harry takes them timidly.

“I didn’t have to get as mad as I did,” Louis says slowly. “I was such an asshole. And I want to explain some things to you, about why I’m not looking for a relationship.” Harry’s assumes his facial expression matches how hurt he feels because Louis steps in closer and grabs one of his hands. “Babe. I have so much fun with you. It’s not you. If I was going to date anyone, I promise, it would be you. You’re perfect, Harry. It’s… Let’s go in and I’ll meet your family and then we can chat, okay?” His gaze lowers to the bouquet of flowers in Harry’s hand. “Those are for your mom, by the way.”

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. His limbs feel heavy. His head aches. “How did you even know where my parents’ lived? You’ve never been here.” His voice sounds scratchy.

Louis smiles briefly. “I harassed Gemma on FaceBook.”

“Of course you did.” He guides Louis into his house, heart hammering in his chest, and rounds the corner into the kitchen. His mom is sitting at the table and looks up when she hears him shuffling in, and raises her brows in surprise when she sees Louis standing next to him. “Mom, uh, this is Louis Tomlinson. And these flowers are for you, from him, apparently.”

“Oh! Louis! It’s great to finally meet you! I’m Anne.” She smiles and Harry feels himself relax. “Were we expecting you? These flowers are beautiful!”

Louis steps forward with his hand out, meeting Anne in the middle. “It’s great to meet you, as well. No, I decided to surprise Harry.”

“I’ll fucking say,” Harry mutters under his breath. Louis looks over his shoulder back at Harry and rolls his eyes. Harry laughs, genuinely for the first time in nearly a month.

And just like that, he’s already in deep over his head, once again.

They spend the evening together - Harry, Louis, Anne, and Harry’s stepdad, Robin - and it’s a comfortable fit. Anne tells Louis about what Harry was like as as a child, Harry pretends to be embarrassed, and when Louis carefully drags his thumb back and forth across Harry’s knee under the table, Harry genuinely thinks he might sweat through his t-shirt.

Long after Anne and Robin have gone to bed, Harry and Louis are sitting on his front porch steps. It’s the first night in a while that hasn’t been unbearably humid. It’s nice to be able to breathe.

Louis clears his throat. “My mom had me when she was 18,” he starts off. “She was so young and so scared, and then my dad totally fucked off. Charming guy, he was, I’m sure.”

Harry already has so many questions, but he’s knows it’s better to not interrupt. He lets Louis continue.

“She met Mark a few years later, and after they had my first sister, Mark adopted me. And then they had three more girls after that. And it was all fine for a long time. But then, all of a sudden, it just… Wasn’t.” He pauses to pull at a loose thread on his pants. “My mom is an incredible person. And she always did what was best for me and my sisters. She was desperate for that family unit… And that meant dating a lot of losers to get to Dan.” He sighs. Harry moves over on the steps, placing his hand on Louis’ thigh, and Louis leans into the touch. “My stepdad is a phenomenal person. But it’s really hard to watch someone you love so much go through so much trial and error to get to the right person.”

He’s silent after that and Harry isn’t sure how to respond. After a while, he whispers, “Do you think I’m trial and error?”

Louis purses his lips together. “I don’t want you to be.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“I don’t know if I have an answer.”

They both fall quiet again for a while. Louis tangles his hands in Harry’s and Harry can feel Louis’ pulse racing against his own. The fireflies are bright when they twinkle around the yard. “Lou, I’m sorry if I pushed you at all. I’m just… I like you so much, it’s unbelievable, and I thought we were on the same page.”

Louis drops his head to Harry’s shoulder. “I was such a dick to you. God, you’re more than just a fuck to me. I still can’t believe I said that. Christ. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I didn’t like that much.”

Louis huffs out a laugh. “I can’t imagine why.” He looks up at Harry, his eyelashes sweeping against his cheekbones every time he blinks. “This is all I can give you for now. I know it’s not a great reason, but… It’s hard to watch your mom give up everything to get nothing in return. I don’t want that for myself. I’m terrified to give myself away and then be left with nothing.”

“I would never--”

“I know, babe. I know you wouldn’t. Not right now, anyway. But who knows what could happen in the future. I’m just not ready to jump into anything more, and I know it’s selfish of me, which is why I’m giving you the option to get out. If this isn’t enough for you, then that’s fine. We can keep doing this, or we can just cut ties all together. It’s up to you, H.”

Harry suddenly feels hot all over. “Is this like an ultimatum? Your way or no way?”

Louis shakes his head, but then freezes. “I told you I was selfish.”

He thinks about it for a moment, hating that he knows he’d do whatever Louis asked of him, hating that he can’t have him the way he wants. “Is there potential for you to date other people?”

Louis can’t meet his gaze. “I’m not putting a label on us for a reason, Harry.”

He’s so jittery, he feels like he could run around the block. “Fuck, Louis. So you’d be fine with me going out and finding some other guy at a bar and grabbing him by the hips just like you like it and grinding him into me and then sucking a bruise right below his left ear…”

Louis’ breathing is heavy. “Okay, fine, I won’t sleep with anyone else.”

Harry laughs and closes his eyes. He knows how illogical this entire situation is. They’re dating. Louis is his boyfriend. They’re not sleeping with anyone else, they practically live together; they just don’t have the title, is all. Harry can deal with that for the time being, now that he knows how it feels to go without Louis at all. And maybe Louis will change his mind. Maybe he can coax him into it. Subtly, this time.

He bends slightly to capture Louis’ mouth in a gentle kiss, and it feels so fucking nice, warm and safe, and Louis immediately leans up to tuck his fingers into Harry’s curls, clenching tightly. After a few moments, Louis pulls away and traces his thumb across Harry’s bottom lip.

“When I'm ready, I'll know. You will, too.”

Harry nods. “Okay.” The moon is bright and when he stares directly at it, he has to squint. “Are you ready now?”

Louis laughs. “I hate you.” He laces his fingers through Harry’s. “Let’s just have fun again, okay? This has been fun. You’re always fun. We can keep it at that for now, right?”

He swallows. “Okay.” It’s not a very specific answer, but it seems to suffice.

For now. Definitely only for now.

Winter

The rest of the autumn goes by quickly. Louis is extremely focused at his new job, Harry is working harder than ever at his own, and the holidays sneak up before they know it.

A few days before Christmas, Harry is tracing lazy shapes onto Louis’ naked back, still slick with sweat from earlier. “Lou?” he asks before kissing his shoulder blade.

“Mmm.”

“I remember you mentioned you were heading to Daytona Beach for Christmas Day to be with your family, but I just wanted to make sure you weren’t alone for Christmas Eve. Did you wanna come to my place?”

Louis twists his body and looks up at Harry. “I, uh, actually have plans for Christmas Eve, so we’re all good.”

“Oh, yeah?” He kisses him again, this time behind his ear. “What’re you doing?”

His cheeks go pink. “Liam and Stan were gonna take me out.”

Harry pauses. “That’s weird. Why would your best friends take you out on Christmas Eve?”

Louis clears his throat. “Because it’s my birthday.”

“Wait, what?” Harry sits up all the way, the sheets pooling around his waist. “Your birthday is on Christmas Eve? As in two days from now?”

He nods, clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah, I just didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it, you know?”

“How is telling me you have a birthday coming up making it into a big deal?”

Louis winces at Harry’s tone. “Because I knew you’d want to do something to celebrate it and I’m just not into huge parties.”

“Since when are you not into huge parties? What the fuck, Louis?”

He sighs. “It’s just me and Liam and Stan going out for a few drinks before they head to their families’ houses, okay? It’s not a big thing.”

Harry isn’t just pissed; he’s hurt. “So you’re going out for drinks with two friends for your birthday and you didn’t invite me to this lowkey occasion because you figured I’d turn it into something that would make you uncomfortable.”

“Christ, Harry, way to put words into my mouth. I don’t know, okay? I just didn’t think to invite you.”

Harry’s hands are shaking when he climbs out of bed, looking for his sweatpants. “Perfect. Just didn’t think to invite me. I’m gonna go sleep in the living room, or I’m just gonna go, yeah.”

Louis slides out of bed, too. “Why are we even fighting? This is so dumb. It’s not like we’re fucking dating.”

He hates how close he is to crying; angry, red hot tears. “Nope, not fucking dating. Just fucking.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Don’t start with this shit again, Harry. You have an out any time you want it, and you know that. Don’t make me feel bad because you continue to misinterpret everything.”

Harry knows he could explode, he could tell Louis exactly why he’s wrong, why he’s such an ass, but instead, he grabs his sweatshirt, keys, and leaves.

It’s radio silence from then on out. But two days later, on Louis’ birthday, Harry gives in. He texts Louis a simple Happy birthday and Merry Christmas. Enjoy your night.

Louis sends back Thanks babe. I wish you were here.

Harry wants to strangle him. He genuinely thinks he could if he was within arm’s reach. He doesn’t respond, and Louis doesn’t say anything else, either.

He spends Christmas without Louis. He’s surrounded by his family, family he absolutely adores, but he misses his boy, as stubborn as he may be. Around midnight, once the majority of his family has gone home, he slips out and heads to Louis’ apartment. Louis isn’t home yet, probably still in Daytona, but Harry knows how to let himself in. He takes off his shoes once he’s inside, makes a cup of coffee, and slides into the familiar bed, wrapping the duvet around him. He must fall asleep because he wakes up to Louis mouthing at his jaw, hands fervent as they squeeze his hips.

“Lou?” he groans, stretching, gripping at Louis’ back.

“This time I was wrong,” he says into Harry’s neck. “You’re so patient with me and good to me and you don’t push me and for whatever reason, you still like me, even when I push you to your limits.”

Harry smiles. “I try so hard, babe.”

“I know , and then I go and pull shit like that, getting mad at you for things you haven’t even done . I just assume you’re gonna pull some boyfriend shit that’s gonna make me either love you or hate you and it’s my first instinct to just…”

“Force me away before I can do anything?” Harry supplies.

Louis sits up and looks at Harry. “Basically.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Liam and Stan are fun and I love them and we had a great time but, Christ, they aren’t you .”

Harry has to close his eyes before he blurts out something stupid. Does Louis realize a relationship can essentially be a friendship with sex added in? They’re dating. They’re fucking dating and they’re so close .

He can hang on a little longer. Louis is almost ready. He knows it, and Louis must know, too.

So close .

Normally, Harry longs for the winter months. The Florida heat is unbearable about nine out of 12 months a year, so the break in January and February is refreshing. Necessary, really.

This is the first winter Harry has ever loathed.

It goes like this:

Separate dinner plans, separate showers, separate ends of the couch; less phone calls, less touching, less laughing; more drinking, more fighting, more fucking.

It’s like they’re moving in reverse, and Harry doesn’t know what happened. He feels as though they make progress all the damn time , and then something insignificant will set them back and he wants to laugh at the fact that just weeks earlier, he thought they were close to getting over this fucking bump, once and for all.

He starts hanging out at Louis’ apartment less frequently; it seems like Louis doesn’t want him around as much, and he tries to respect that, as much as it stings. But he still doesn’t have the money saved for his own apartment, and he’s starting to feel trapped. He’s either under the scrutiny of his parents or under Louis, and it’s all starting to become too much.

So when his job offers him a transfer to New York City for the springtime with an incredible bonus, he knows he should jump at the opportunity. He’s been dreaming of a location change for years, and he knows this would be the perfect start into adulthood.

But. Louis.

He can’t imagine leaving him, can’t fathom the idea of having to say goodbye to him. He doesn’t even know how to bring up the topic without it being a massive fight.

And upon that realization, he thinks he knows what he has to do.

With a lump in his throat, he rings Louis’ door late one Wednesday night. Louis lets him up instantly, and he tries to calm his nerves, hating that this is the night it’s all ending.

When Louis opens the door, Harry thinks he could cry. Every word he’d planned on saying flies out of his mind, and all he can think to say is You’re gorgeous and I need to kiss you and fuck , do you have any idea how crazy I am about you?

Harry isn’t going anywhere.

Louis has a movie playing on the TV and he sits down on the couch, grabbing Harry’s hand and yanking him down with him. “I ordered pizza. I figured you’d be hungry. Is pepperoni okay?”

Harry slides over as close to Louis as he can get. “That’s fine, baby.”

Louis hums happily and turns the volume down on the TV. “So, the funniest shit happened at work today.”

He listens intently as Louis goes on about a wild customer he had earlier in the day, laughing as Louis gives the woman an absurd voice and acts out her outburst.

“Harry, I couldn’t make this up if I tried, she tried to pepper spray my boss and did it to herself instead by mistake.” Louis’ shrieking he’s laughing so hard, and Harry’s finding it difficult to keep his composure. In all honesty, the story wasn’t that funny but Louis is so Louis and Harry just…

“Lou, I’m in love with you.”

Louis immediately stops laughing, his motions halting entirely. “What did you just say?”

Harry closes his eyes, wishing he could have just kept his damn mouth shut. “I got offered a position in New York today. I’d have to move there in the spring. And I don’t think I can go because I love you so damn much, it nearly hurts.”

Louis doesn’t say a word. He blinks several times before he stands up and starts folding the blanket tossed carelessly over the armchair. Harry wants to ask why that’s so important now, but then Louis breaks.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing, saying all of this, but it isn’t funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny.”

“Why are you doing this?!” His voice is shrill, his cheeks are already red and blotchy. Harry has never heard him sound like this. Louis is pissed. And Harry is pissed that Louis is pissed.

Before he can stop himself, he’s standing, too, and nearly shouting the words he’s been holding in since October, angry and lost in his own head. “It’s your life, Louis, not your Mom’s, and it’s only going to repeat itself if you allow it. And guess fucking what? You’re allowing it. Why the fuck won’t you let me in? We were meant to find each other and you’re so against it and I can’t do this for both of us anymore. Do you know what it’s like loving you? It’s like walking on eggshells all the fucking time, and I’m constantly afraid to set you off. And when it’s good, it’s so good. I feel like I could lose my mind around you, I’m so goddamn happy. But when you push and push, I don’t know why I stick around.” His voice cracks when he says, “Fuck, I still want it all, I want everything , but I only want it with you.”

Louis’ eyes are wide, filled with rage, and Harry thinks Louis might actually hurt him. Instead, he calmly places the blanket down onto the chair, folded with perfect creases, and says evenly, “You want to know why I’m not allowing it, why I won’t let you in?” He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Because of this . I knew this would happen eventually. You’re packing up and leaving. You’re moving to New York.”

Harry laughs, bold and loud. “First of all, I didn’t say I was definitely going. I told you I didn’t want to leave you, if you would fucking listen for once.” Louis opens his mouth to say something, but Harry keeps powering through. “And second, I’ll stay for you. I’ll fucking stay here to be with you. I would give up everything. All you have to do is ask.” He would be embarrassed that he’s suddenly crying, but Louis is tearing up, too. “Just ask me, Lou. I won’t go anywhere. I won’t leave you, ever.”

Louis can’t look at him. “Well,” he says brokenly, “good thing I’m not asking.”

The doorbell rings then, and both boys look up at the door. “It’s the pizza,” Harry croaks out. Louis nods, wiping his eyes.

Harry tries to compose himself as Louis pays the delivery boy, but it’s impossible. He’s about to say his final goodbye to the man he’s fallen desperately in love with, the man who refuses to love him back, and it’s all too much. Even if Louis asked him to stay, it wouldn’t be right. None of it would be right. Harry closes his eyes. He’s moving to New York.

Louis sets the pizza box down on the table and whimpers, “Harry.” He looks up and sees that Louis is nearly shaking with how hard he’s crying, and that’s all it takes for him to snap, almost running to the kitchen to pull Louis into a tight embrace.

They stand there in the tiny kitchen, lit dimly by a single dull light bulb, and Louis can’t stop trembling. Harry murmurs how much he loves him, not caring if it makes Louis uncomfortable. It seems to do the opposite, in fact. Eventually, Louis pulls away.

“None of this is healthy,” he whispers. “Not as a friendship or as a relationship.” He rubs his hands together. “Christ, the thought of you leaving here makes me sick, but you have to go. You were meant to do so many great things. Maybe your true start is in New York.” Tears streak his cheeks again and he spits out a laugh. “God, I’m so selfish, nearly on the verge of asking you to stay because I don’t want to lose my best friend, lose my… Whatever you are. My Harry.”

Harry doesn’t know how to respond. He’s so torn because he knows Louis is right, but he also knows Louis loves him, too. He’s just such a brat, so unbelievably stubborn, if he could only just…

“Harry? 

He looks down. “Louis." 

“When do you leave?”

Harry furrows his brows. “May. If I decide to go.”

He nods. “You’ll go. You’re going.”

“Okay.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“Harry?” Louis asks again.

He swallows. “Lou.”

“One more time. Yeah?”

He doesn’t have to elaborate. And it’s probably a terrible idea. But.

“Let’s go.”

In the bedroom, they kiss slowly, painfully slowly, and Louis whimpers with every drag of Harry’s tongue. Harry peels their clothes off, marveling at how gorgeous Louis is, and he can hardly blink, hardly think straight. They touch each other with gentle hands, and it’s all too much… It’s not enough.

Harry opens up Louis at an excruciatingly leisurely pace, loving the way Louis’ skin goes from pale to a light shade of red, turned on and helpless. And by the time he’s thrusting into Louis from above, they’re both quivering, the bed rocking slightly, and Harry has never been so attuned to someone else’s body. It’s unfair, really, that he has to give this up. It’s such a waste, to love someone so much, and to have to pretend it doesn’t matter.

Louis gasps loudly as he comes, shooting across his stomach, shuddering with the force of it, and Harry groans at the sight. “You’re perfect,” he mumbles, unable to stop himself, and comes moments later, his vision going hazy.

He pulls out and rolls onto his side, taking deep breaths. When he looks over at Louis, he sees his eyes are closed. “I never expected breakup sex to be like that.”

Louis doesn’t open his eyes when he answers. “Good thing this isn’t a breakup, then, right? Seeing as we’re not together and we’re not dating.”

Harry snorts. “You’re impossible.” He leans over and kisses Louis the way he knows Louis likes to be kissed best, and Louis cards his fingers through Harry’s hair in response. “I know you don’t wanna hear it, but Louis, I’ve never loved someone like this before. And I just need you to know that.”

Louis bites at his bottom lip. “Okay.” Harry starts to sit up and Louis grabs his shoulder, pulling him back down. “Please stay.”

He stays.

Louis was right all along; Harry knows this. Louis didn’t go about it the right way, with how he constantly twisted Harry left and right and up and down, but he knew what he wanted, and what he wanted wasn’t a relationship with Harry. He wanted fun and carefree. It’s not Louis’ fault Harry couldn’t keep up with that. It’s not Louis’ fault Harry needed more. It’s not Louis’ fault Harry held onto him like a vice.

That’s the last thing he thinks as he slips out of Louis’ apartment quietly while Louis is still sleeping, chest rising unevenly with each breath.

He closes the door behind him softly, and as soon as it’s shut, Harry can hear Louis rustling in the bed, obviously awake.

Louis isn’t as good at pretending as he thinks he is.

The day he’s set to move to New York, Harry makes his way to Louis’ one final time. They haven’t spoken since they said their broken goodbye’s three months ago, and Harry doesn’t want to be anxious, but he is.

Sitting across from Louis at his kitchen table like they’ve done hundreds of times is somehow both familiar and unfamiliar. Louis is bouncing his leg up and down nervously, and Harry feels better that he isn’t so alone.

He stares at Louis, memorizing his features, focusing on the way his mouth moves as he talks. I’m so, so madly in love with you. Or maybe I’m not anymore. I don’t know. But I could easily fall again. So easily.

“It was never meant to be something so serious, Harry. It was supposed to be fun and easy and then it turned into too much and it hit me like a bus. I didn’t realize until just recently but my God, I loved you so much--”

Christ, I’m still there, aren’t I? Still in love with you.

“--but I, just, I panicked and snapped out of it.”

Harry’s breath stutters. But I never did. I never snapped out of it. I’m still here, fucking waiting .

“I was never ready for you. How could I have been? Jesus.” He runs his fingers through his hair, looking obscenely young and Harry’s itching to reach out and touch.

Not yours to touch. Never was, really. Are you ready now, Louis? I can be ready again. Tell me you’re ready and I’m yours .

“But I bet New York will be ready for you.” His smile is weak and doesn’t reach his eyes. Harry thinks his heart might stop beating.

He finally finds his voice. “I hate knowing I’m going to be so far away from you.”

Louis purses his lips together. “I’ll still be around, H.”

He knows this is the end of their conversation; he has a plane to catch in just two hours. He has to get moving. But needs to know, needs to ask. “If I was staying…”

Louis shakes his head firmly, but Harry notices the slight tremor in his hands. “You’re one of the best people I’ve ever known. Honestly. I can’t keep breaking you down like this, breaking your expectations. We would never work. Not right now, anyway. Just…” He looks everywhere, anywhere, but Harry’s gaze.

Harry nods, ignoring the all too familiar sinking feeling in his gut, pushing not right now out of his mind. He won’t allow himself to focus on that. He’ll go crazy. Instead, he reaches out and squeezes Louis’ hand. “I’ll call you when I get to New York, okay?”

They both stand and Louis pulls Harry into a tight embrace, burrowing his head into the crook of Harry’s neck, his breath hot, and Harry shivers. “Okay. Good luck, babe.”

Harry pulls back. “Thanks, Lou.”

He doesn’t call when he lands - he just can’t - and Louis never asks, never contacts him, either.

Summer, again

His apartment is tiny, the city is crowded, the energy is quick, and he’s completely broke.

He loves it.

Everything is so different: his friends, the food, his job. But he isn’t sitting at home, feeling like absolute shit anymore, so he embraces the changes. It’s what he needed.

That doesn’t mean his thoughts don’t drift to Louis everyday.

It goes like this:

He’ll see a coffee place or a taco stand or a bar that he knows Louis would like, and he has to clench his fists to stop them from reaching into his pocket and dialing Louis. Every time he notices a baby with piercing blue eyes or a teenager with a skateboard or anyone with a great ass, really, his mind screams Louis, Louis, Louis .

But. It’s getting easier.

It’s been three months since he moved from Florida to New York and in that time span, he hasn’t heard from Louis once. It’s made it easier, and he thinks that’s why Louis has refrained from contacting him. Or maybe he just genuinely doesn’t want to talk to him. Either way, he’s grateful. He’s starting to live again, feeling like he’s back to himself.

He hopes Louis has gone back to normal, too.

His parents have noticed the change, as well. “I don’t know what’s in the New York water, but keep drinking it. You seem so much happier there than you did here.”

How can someone you love so fiercely bring you down so much ?

Maybe one day, it’ll be different. Today isn’t that day.

He sighs. One day.

In the middle of August, Harry is at a bar with some coworkers, chatting easily with a stranger named Nathan. He’s tall and broad; his eyes are green and his smile is kind. Harry isn’t interested.

“Where are you from, Harry?” he asks.

“Florida. Just moved up here a few months ago, actually,” he says.

“No way! Wow, I could never live down South,” he admits. “Too fucking hot. And so many storms, right? Hurricanes and shit?”

Harry laughs, then shrugs. “I do miss it, more than I thought I would. I loved all the storms. Even the hurricanes.” He pauses to think about his own personal Floridian storm, with electric blue eyes and a booming personality to match. 

He excuses himself from Nathan and makes his way outside. It’s not as crowded, and the air is cool, even in August, and it isn’t sticky like it would be at this time of year back home. A man a bit shorter than him with a scruffy beard is smoking a cigarette up against the side of the building, the resemblance to Louis uncanny, and it reminds him of the night he met Louis just over a year ago.

New York doesn’t get hurricanes, but that doesn’t mean Harry will stop wishing for one - for his - to rip through him one more time.

Maybe he’ll get lucky.

One day. Just not today.

And with that in mind, he braves his way back inside.