Archive of Our Own

Louis is fourteen and his sisters will not stop playing “A Whole New World.” At 7 fucking o-clock each morning. Every single day. Like if they do it often enough, some deity is going to reward their dedication and gift them with their own magic carpet ride. He opens his eyes, annoyance seeping through every pore in his body, ready to storm out of his bed, wrench the David Beckham poster clad door open and complain to his mum about the injustice of it all.

Except when he opens his eyes, he is not fourteen and David Beckham does not greet him from behind his door. He’s twenty-four, in a sparsely furnished bedroom that he moved into a couple of days ago.

And yet. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, imagining the notes he heard earlier are from a residual dream. He opens his eyes, and, nope. The music is still there. Notes of a song he could never forget clear as the confusion in his head. That is to say, they’re really not very clear. The more he strains to comprehend what the fuck is actually going on, the more he understands.

Understands that what he’s hearing is piano keys, not a record of a song.

Understands that whoever is playing the piano is really not very good at it, hesitance heard before each press of the key.

Understands that his fucking neighbour is waking him up at – he fumbles with his phone on his bedside - 7:30 in the morning by playing Aladdin songs on a piano. Badly.

As if on cue, his phone buzzes violently in his hand, alarm going off. Right. First day of school. Louis has more important things to worry about than his neighbour’s piano skills.

He stretches and refocuses his mind to the day ahead. A week ago his surroundings were much more different. For starters, he had been in Doncaster, not London. He had been jobless and pitiful at the thought of another year without a full time teaching position. Not job-ful and excited at the prospect of enriching young minds, all his to nurture and grow for an entire year.

A jarring wrong note cuts off his thoughts, as well as the song, bringing the room into silence for the first time that morning. He hears a low murmur of a voice and then a high pitched giggle, clear yet muffled through the wall. Great. He can deal with bad piano playing at 7:30 in the morning. But if his neighbours decide to have loud, vocal sex, he is going to have to draw the line.

Louis gets off his bed and heads to the bathroom, closing the door behind him just as the song picks up again. With the door shut and the shower running, he can no longer hear the piano and he breathes a sigh of relief. He makes quick work cleansing his body and then his mouth, before taking his time with his face. He carefully slicks his face up with shaving cream and even more meticulously, rakes the razor over the day old stubble. When he finishes, he washes off the remaining cream, and runs his hands gently over his face, feeling for any missed patches of hair. He deems his face as smooth as a baby’s bottom – which he would know, having changed diapers for six siblings – and moves onto the more daunting task of his hair. The choice between a quiff or piecey fringe had kept him up fifteen minutes past his bedtime last night; the quiff having won a vicious fight against the fringe. Besides, he thinks in the light of the day, him mum always said the quiff looked more professional. He doesn’t remember using that point for the argument in his head last night. Once done, he slips into the dark grey trousers, pressed the night before, a white Oxford, and a bow-tie covered in various emojis.

He steps out of the bathroom, and is greeted by the bridge of the same song. This time however, the notes flow into each other, the melody clearer and quite beautiful in the morning. Which supports his theory that two people live in the flat next door. Obviously, one is much better at the piano than the other.

Louis walks into the kitchen and rummages through the box on the counter. He finds his goal under a pile of cutlery, fishing out a mug nearly as old as himself, the bottom of the handle cracked off from the time he dropped it in university after one too many shots of vodka. He remembers cradling the mug after the incident, peppering kisses along its surface with tears streaming down his face. He also remembers threatening to cut off Zayn and Liam’s balls should the video they took of him that night, ever see the light of day.

Now, as he places a Yorkshire teabag into the mug and pours in boiling water, he resolutely ignores the fact that the mug is adorned with faces of Disney princes, Aladdin smiling happily from his spot beside Simba. He spreads some jam on his toast while he waits for the tea to steep. He stands as he works his way through breakfast, going over his lesson plans for the day, and testing himself on the names of the students in his class. And if, whenever he takes a sip of his tea, he ensures Aladdin is on the furthest side away from him, then so be it. He has his own whole new world to attend to.

---

It’s later than Louis had planned. Fifteen to eleven and Louis is just getting home from his first day of work. It had been great. He only messed up a kid’s name once, and has already won them over. He likes to think so. Except for Lucy. She’s very shy, and it’s Louis’ goal to bring her out of her shell. It’ll take some time, but he thinks he can do it.

What he cannot do, is return home an hour away from midnight, slightly tipsy. He’s an adult now with a job. He can’t afford to be staying out late partying. He also can’t say no to free drinks, which is why his celebratory night with Zayn and Liam lasted longer than anticipated. He makes his way to the lift that fills up surprisingly, giving the lateness of the night. He supposes it has to do with the amalgamation of people in the building, ranging from university students to families to retired couples. Louis looks down at his phone, closing his Facebook app to open Twitter, when a deep voice magics out a spell.

“Hold the lift, please,” the voice casts. Louis is enchanted, head jerking up to see who has spoken. A hand jeweled with thick, silver rings aids the request, preventing the lift doors from closing. The face that follows through can only be described as, well - a princess. A Disney princess. Because life likes to be funny that way. Big, rounded, green eyes, hair long and wavy, lips pink and full, skin fair and creamy. Fine, it’s a little bit tan, but definitely creamy. Louis’ fingers are itching to touch. The princess – man – man princess? Prince? - sends out a sorry and thank you, voice still deep and gravelly, yet so smooth and silky. Like some fairy godmother got confused when creating Louis’ perfect man and threw in all the opposites together, yet still making them work.

Said man turns his back to Louis, who is huddled at the back of the lift, and presses the button for two floors below Louis’ seventeenth. It gives Louis the perfect view of the broad expanse of a back, hair glossy even in the harsh lift lighting, muscles rippling under the thin material of the man’s black shirt as he fidgets in the small space. Louis’ mouth goes dry. His brain gives up trying to figure out how someone can be so much man, but so much princess at the same time. It’s so many differences, but so many sames, it shouldn’t work, but it does; and Louis’ had a long day, so he gives in to the undercurrent of arousal and attraction and turns off his brain.

The lift pings at the tenth floor and the man gets out to allow a couple enough space to exit. When he steps back in, there’s less obstruction to Louis’ line of sight, allowing him to catch a glimpse of a soft toy in the man’s hand. A soft toy that’s completely dwarfed by his fingers. Louis wonders what those fingers would look like on him. If they’d make Louis appear small. Because he isn’t. Louis isn’t small. Except he wouldn’t mind being small for those fingers. That man.

It’s only after the man leaves on the fifteenth floor that Louis’ attraction addled brain clears a bit and he realises the toy in the man’s hand had been Mushu. Huh.

Once home, he gets ready for bed quickly, sighing happily. He relishes the coolness of the sheets and flips onto his stomach shutting his eyes.

---

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,” Louis calls out, hand cupping his mouth to send his words louder, higher. He tilts his head back, shielding his eyes from the sun, trying to get a clear view of the window on the side of the tower. It’s impossible to scale and there seems to be no entrance, but Louis is determined to see Rapunzel. He opens his mouth to call again. This time, he’s answered with a wave of long, brown hair, cascading through the window, falling down, down, down, like a never ending waterfall. Louis moves out of the way so the hair can float gently before him. He reaches out to touch it, and yes, it’s just as silky, as smooth, as soft as he’d imagined. He wraps his fingers around the hair almost reverently, and gives it a slight tug, afraid of damaging something so precious. His action is returned with an answering tug, the signal to go ahead.

Louis begins to climb the hair, using it as a rope, heart slightly breaking at demeaning such wonder. The minute he is through the window, he is pushed into the wall, strong arms bracketing him against the rough stone, insistent mouth on his. Louis moans into the kiss, nipping at plush lips, giving as good as he’s getting.

“Lou, Lou,” Rapunzel breathes, “You came for me.” His voice is just as gravely, just as low, just as enchanting as Louis remembers, but its better, because it’s laced with want for Louis.

“Of course baby, of course,” Louis stutters, Rapunzel biting a bruising kiss into the jut of his collarbone. Rapunzel pulls back, and Louis is allowed to finally see him. To take in his sinful red lips, green eyes blown apart, hair still perfect and beautiful. How is he even real?

“Let me blow you, Lou. Please. I want to thank you for rescuing me.”

That’s nonsense. Louis didn’t come to rescue the princess because he expected sexual favours in return. But he looks down, and he’s naked. And Rapunzel is already kneeling before him, large, large hand circling his cock, mouth lapping at his slit. The angels are singing, and Louis squeezes his eyes shut, but opens them quickly, afraid of losing the image before him. Rapnuzel is eager, taking him down completely, wholly, fully, until his nose is pressed against Louis’ pubic bone, tongue doing frankly dangerous, magical things to his cock, and Louis is so close to coming.

“Come on Lou,” Rapunzel pleads, pink lips stretched open, even pinker tongue sticking out as he quickly strokes Louis. The angels are getting louder, louder, louder, and Louis is closer, closer, closer.

“Come for me.”

Louis comes. He wakes up with a gasp, pants soaked and piano loud through his wall. A wet dream hasn’t made him come since he was fourteen. His heart is still racing, his pants are wet and his neighbour is playing “I See the Light” from Tangled.

Of course.

The melody from Tangled fades away, only to be replaced by the mistake laden “A Whole New World.” Each wrong note is drilling a nail in his head and his drying come is sticking to his skin. He flings his hand out and looks at the time on his phone. Fifteen minutes before his alarm. He pulls himself out of bed and walks blearily into the bathroom.

He drinks an extra mug of tea in those fifteen minutes.

---

“I Just Can’t Wait to be King” is what wakes him up on Wednesday. It used to be what woke his parents up every day when he was a child and the Lion King was the best thing ever. Except he’s no longer a kid and karma’s a bitch.

Today when he drinks tea, he covers Simba’s face with a strategically placed thumb. He places the mug in the sink once he’s done, only to double back and place a kiss on Simba’s face. It’s really not Simba’s fault that his neighbour is an asshole who can’t respect sleeping hours.

That night, Louis stuffs his ears with cotton and hopes for the best.

---

On Thursday, hopes come true. For the first time that week, Louis is woken up by his alarm. Not some –

The angst filled notes of “Let it Go” comes thudding through the walls. Never mind then. Hopes are meant to be dashed.

---

It’s Friday and “Tale as Old as Time” is playing through his walls and really, being woken up every fucking day by a piano playing, Disney loving neighbour, is a tale as old as time. Tomorrow is Saturday. Surely, his neighbours understand the sanctity of a Saturday.

---

Surely he has been more wrong in his life? It’s currently 7:20 and Louis is lying in bed listening to a much improved version of “A Whole New World.” Neighbour #2 is getting better at this. Too bad the same can’t be said for Louis’ sleep.

He drags himself out of bed, mood sufficiently ruined. He contemplates throwing his Disney prince mug against the wall. Remove Disney from his life, scare the neighbours and release some frustration. Three birds in one stone. Louis is nothing if not ambitious.

He doesn’t because he’s attached to the mug. He’s twenty-four and he can do as he pleases. He still plots ways to get back at his neighbours though, each varying in levels of gore, vindictiveness and efficiency. He doesn’t follow through with any of them. Because he’s twenty-four and actions have consequences.

He sighs instead.

-

“Anyone seen one more wooden screw?” Zayn asks, from the midst of screws, nuts and bolts.

The boys are over at his place, helping Louis put the finishing touches to his flat. He’d worked his way through the boxes during the week, and had been successful in finding the rest of his furniture on Craigslist. The same could not be said for locating a sofa. So he had given in and ordered one off Ikea. He’s still wondering why.

It’s been two hours and all they’ve managed is to sort through the various screws and nails, placing them in neat piles around Zayn, with Liam ticking of the inventory each time the count matches the instruction manual.

He should have called his dad for help instead.

“I’ve got 15 of these screw caps,” Zayn says, showing Liam a black piece. Liam checks the tally off the sheet in front of him and rewards Zayn with a kiss.

He should have called Lottie and Fizzy for help.

“Babe, if you switch that pile of silver long ones with the black tiny ones, they make a really pretty pattern around you. Yeah, just a little more over,” Liam instructs, “Yes. Hold still love, you are perfect.”

He whips out his phone and stands to take a birds-eye view shot of Zayn.

Louis should have called his fucking, piano-playing neighbours instead.

“Alright you two. Have you quite finished? I’d like to have this sofa done by the end of the day,” Louis snaps.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Liam asks offended.

“You’ve been a right twat today,” Zayn agrees. Louis falls back on the sofa cushions behind him.

“My neighbours woke me up this morning. I just wanted to sleep in. Is it too much to ask?” He wails, and throws his right arm over his face.

“Again?” Zayn asks, carefully crawling out from his place between the pieces to go lie next to Louis. “That sucks.”

“Why don’t you go talk to them?” Liam suggests, snuggling up on Louis other side.

“Tomorrow,” Louis vows. “For now, you can love me and tell me how pretty I am. And then you can order me pizza and fill me up with beer.”

He peeks up from underneath his arms to catch Zayn and Liam roll their eyes at him, but they negate it by bringing their arms around him and telling him he’s the prettiest thing they’ve ever seen. They then negate that by making him build the sofa and then insisting that he chips in for beer and pizza. Then they kiss him goodbye and wish him luck on tackling his neighbours; so in the grand scheme of things, he concludes that they’re good friends. He thinks so. He kind of lost track once they turned on the Lion King.

---

Sunday greets Louis with the sun shining and birds singing.

So there are no singing birds.

And maybe it’s raining.

Whatever. The point is, it is 10:30 in the morning and he wasn’t been woken up by his neighbour playing the piano.

He smiles at everyone he meets, skips along the streets and taps his heels together when he jumps in the air.

Well, he supposes he would do that if he actually left the house. Instead he sits in his pants all day, eats cold pizza, and scratches his balls when they get particularly itchy.

Again, the point is, it’s gloriously silent. He can’t hear his neighbours and is free to do whatever he wants. In silence. He works on his lesson plans for the next week and scourges the internet for fun science experiments on plant growth.

He is happy.

---

Happiness is short lived.

His neighbours clearly agree because its 7:15 and they’re playing the theme song of Up. Sadistic bastards.

He gets out of bed and gets ready for the day. He leaves his hair in a side swept soft fringe today, can’t muster up the energy for more. On his way to school, he formulates a plan to talk to his neighbours. Best not be rude or else they could retaliate. The loud sex, which has not yet happened, is still very much a possibility.

Louis flicks on the lights in his classroom, straightening out a stray desk and writes a brief agenda on the board. He dusts the chalk residue of his hands – of course his school would be last to switch over to white boards – and moves to check on the plants. It’s been a week since the kids had planted bean seeds in cotton balls and the sprouts are beginning to show. He is interrupted by Cara the other third grade teacher, who wants to review the Maths lesson for the day. They’re using a times table chart to teach the kids their multiplication and Cara had admitted, when they first met, that she hated doing Maths. So every morning, she talks the lesson over with Louis to ensure she’s on the right page. The clock on the wall reads one minute to nine, when Cara is confident she won’t be telling her students that three fives are twelve, and the school bell rings shortly after. Louis’ children come trudging in, slinging their bags behind their chair and respond to his ‘Good Morning’ with a chorused, “Good Morning Mister Tomlinson.”

Such bright minds, such bright faces. Louis loves these children so much.

The Maths lesson goes better than expected, the students quickly grasping the use of the chart. Louis had printed one off for each child and taped it on their desks. It’s been twenty minutes and most children are done the ten practice questions he assigned them.

“Mister Tomlinson,” he feels a tug on his trousers, and turns to see Sarah standing next to him, her long black hair falling straight down her shoulders. Tucked a bit behind her is Lucy, who’s slowly starting to shed her shyness.

“Yes Ms. Lau, how can I help you?” Sarah giggles bashfully, and behind her Lucy lets out a small smile as well. Good, Louis nods to himself, small victories.

“Can Lucy and I look at our plants?” Sarah asks.

“Can you?” Louis responds, eyebrows raised.

“Oh Mister Tommo,” Sarah says exasperated, all formalities forgotten. The students hate it when Louis does that. But his teacher did it to him and it’s only fair that he pass it on to the next generation. “May Lucy and I look at our plants?” Sarah amends.

“Yes you may,” Louis agrees. “Just be quiet okay? There are some students still finishing up.”

The girls promise they will and scurry off to the back of the classroom. Louis stops by Ben, who has been struggling with his times tables, pulling up a chair that’s too small for his arse and sets about explaining the concept. He sees the moment Ben understands how to use the chart, and in the next two minutes Ben’s already finished two questions. Louis pats the boy on his back proudly and does a quick survey of the rest of the students. Most are either at their plants, reading quietly at their desk or chatting with friends. There’s only 5 minutes left until recess, so Louis isn’t bothered with their individual activities. He slowly walks around the classroom and is drawn to the back when he hears raised voices. Amelia and Richard are stood by the window, plants held protectively against their chest, stubbornness written on their faces. Louis walks quietly up to them.

“I was here first,” Richard complains, “My plant should get the sun spot.” Louis glances briefly at the window above the two children, noting a sole empty spot in the sun, in the row of plants.

“But that’s Mary’s plant,” Amelia points at a plant by the vacant spot, “And she’s my friend. She said I could put my plant next to hers."

Louis raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. Solid arguments, both of them. Too bad he has to be a responsible adult. He crouches down in front of the two, “Hey loves, remember what our third rule is in class?”

They turn to him, stricken at being caught having an argument. Louis’ heart melts.

“Let’s not fight if we can compromise,” Richard recites, eyes still downcast.

“Excellent,” Louis smiles encouragingly. He refrains from saying ’10 points to Gryffindor.’ “Any ideas on how we can compromise?”

Richard looks at the spot thoughtfully, his brown eyes crunched up in concentration, “What if we move Mary’s plant? Then both Amelia and I can put ours in the sun.”

Louis bites back a chuckle, and rearranges his face into what he hopes is a stern expression, “Would that be fair to Mary?”

Richard’s face falls, his chubby hands clutching his plant, “No.”

“You’re on the right track though. Is there anything else we can move?” Louis suggests. Both kids crane their heads to stare at the spot and Louis notices the way their eyes brighten when they get it.

“If you raise up the blinds, we can both put our plants on the window!” Amelia exclaims.

“Good job!” Louis gives her and Richard a high five and sets about raising the blinds a little.

He tries to keep them down because this window lets in the sun at a particular angle that lands on George’s desk and bothers him all morning. The kids place their plants on the newly created spots and rush off to their friends, shouting a ‘thanks’ to Louis. With that crisis averted, Louis walks along the plants and stops at Sarah who is singing to hers, singing -

“A whole new world, a new fantastic point of view,” she croons softly, stroking the plastic cup her sprout is nestled in.

“Sarah, um, sweetheart, are you singing to your plant?”

She turns to him and says brightly, “Yes! Uncle Harry says that talking and singing to plants make them grow better.”

Louis bites his lip to hold back the retort about Uncle Harry and his hipster ideas, and instead asks, “A Whole New World?”

“Aladdin’s my favourite!” Her face scrunches up and then she corrects herself, “Actually, Mulan is my favourite, but I like ‘A Whole New World’ better.”

Louis nods, but doesn’t say much else. Because what is there to tell this seven year old? How his annoying neighbours have ruined the song for him. Not her burden to bear.

Thomas, who was standing beside Sarah has more to say on the subject though, and says it quite loudly, “I love that song too! I can show you the wooorld!” he belts out.

Louis’ eyes round in horror, as Sarah giggles and jumps in to join him, “Shining shimmering spleennndid!”

Quiet, shy Lucy, who never yells in his class, who Louis always loves when the students get too loud, opens her mouth wide and sings louder than the two, “Tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart deciiiide?”

The entire class turns to look at the three, and quickly catch on to the happenings. It doesn’t take long before the all twenty-eight students are singing on the top of their lungs, “A whole new worrrld, a new fantastic point of vieww,” undeterred by the ringing of the recess bell, and simply continue bellowing the song out into the playground.

Louis slumps in his desk, fingertips massaging his temples. He was too quick to profess his love for these kids. Maybe he should look into building a chokey.

-

It’s after school, and Louis walks down the street toward his building, balancing his work bag off his shoulder, a cake in one hand and a balloon in the other. Because Louis believes that nothing can be perceived as bad if it’s said with cake. He had pondered long and hard for what to write on the cake, but when everything started to sound too passive aggressive, he gave up. Instead he chose to have the cake adorned with Disney princesses. It’s fitting.

He makes it into his home very carefully, thanks to some kind fellows who hold doors open for him, and hit his floor number in the lift. Once he gets inside, he places the cake on the table, movements diligent. He’s more careless with his bag, dropping it on the floor and goes in search of a felt-tip pen. He finds one under a pile of takeout menus in a drawer and pulls it out with flourish. He then takes a seat at the table, drawing the balloon in and proceeds to write Disney related questions on it. Questions like:

Why is Sleeping Beauty my favourite princess?

Why is Snow White so lucky?

Louis places the cover back on the pen and cackles to himself. He has a great sense of humour. He just hopes his neighbours do to. With all the preparation set, Louis gathers the cake and the balloon and makes the very long journey from his kitchen to his neighbours’ door. He sucks in a breath and steels himself. He didn’t practice a speech. Should he have practised a speech?

He knocks. And waits. This could go very well.

He knocks again. And waits again. This could go very horribly.

He knocks. Again. And waits. Again. Or this could go not at all.

There’s clearly no one at home. He returns back to his flat. It goes much quicker this time. But then, return journeys always did seem shorter. It has nothing to do with the mere ten feet between their doors. He supposes he’ll try again later. Or another day. Maybe his neighbours moved and he’ll get to eat the cake himself.

---

His neighbours didn’t move out. Louis knows, because it’s Tuesday, and they’re up particularly early today. 7:00 am to be exact. An entire half hour earlier than his alarm.

They’re also sending him a message to man up and talk to them. Louis knows because they’re playing “I’ll Make a Man Out of You.” It’s fine. He can take a hint.

By the time he’s ready today, hair done in a textured fringe, dark blue trousers ironed to perfection, pale cream shirt patterned with tiny anchors and a navy bow-tie, he still has half an hour to spare. He looks in the mirror and tries to convince himself that he didn’t dress up to impress the neighbours. His mum always told him that first impressions are important. He was a very obedient child.

He removes the cake from the fridge and unties the balloon from the chair where he had left it last night for safe keeping, helium still holding it high up. Louis makes his way to his neighbours’ door, palms sweaty and pulse slightly elevated. Fight or flight response, Fizzy had called it, when she had chosen to explain scientific concepts to everyone during her boards. Louis exhales, braces himself and knocks.

The music inside falters, and then Louis hears a distinct, “Coming.”

He freezes. That voice. Fizzy never explained this response. For when your body stops functioning upon realising that your neighbour is the gorgeous man from the lift last week. Who Louis had a wet dream about!

Oh. That means his neighbour is actually the gorgeous man from the lift last week. But he got off at the wrong floor? Whatever, fate is chancing them to meet again. Maybe Louis does have a fairy godmother. He glances down at his clothes helplessly, wishing he had worn something tighter. More low cut. Nothing at all.

Then he remembers that a couple lives here.

Maybe he’s got an evil stepmother that’s out to ruin his life. The door opens before Louis can further fairy tale musings, and there stands the man princess from last week. His hair is tied up in a bun, and Louis still finds him ridiculously attractive. Maybe he’ll get to hear the voice again. Maybe the man will speak.

The man opens his mouth to speak. Louis should have probably wished for something less inevitable.

“Uh… Can I help you?”

He hears a giggle from behind the man, “It’s may I help you.”

Louis nods, satisfied that his kids are learning something from him. Wait. What?

A head pokes out from beside the man’s thighs and Louis looks down to see Sarah’s face smiling brightly at him. Her mouth rounds in recognition, and she says happily, “Mr. Tommo! What are you doing here?”

It really bears repeating: Wait. What?

He looks at the man who is still in the doorway, clearly as confused as Louis.

“Is that cake?” Sarah asks excitedly, eyeing the baked good in Louis’ hand. “Oh yes! And it’s got princesses. Uncle Harry, can Mr. Tommo come in? Please?”

Uncle Harry. Why does that sound familiar? Oh. The hipster uncle who talks to his plants. He takes in the man’s – Harry’s – attire: lose grey joggers, white long sleeved Henley; he doesn’t dress like a hipster. Then again, he doesn’t dress like a princess, and Louis’ convinced that amount of beauty is definitely royal, so what does he know?

“Uh, yes. I suppose,” Harry says, uncertainty and confusion lacing his words. He opens the door wider to let Louis in. “Come in.”

He takes the cake from Louis and places it on the table, freeing Louis’ hands so that he’s now standing even more awkwardly, with a lone balloon. This had sounded so much cooler in his head yesterday.

“Can I have cake?” Sarah asks, tugging on Harry’s joggers. Louis resists the urge to correct her.

Harry tears his eyes away from Louis, “Not now. It’s too early in the morning and you still have to have breakfast. But I’ll save you a piece and bring it over to your house so you can have it for dessert tonight. Does that sound fair?”

Sarah is unimpressed, but she nods anyways. Bless the girl. Always had a smart head.

Harry spares a quick glance at Louis, before looking back at Sarah, “How do you know, uh – Mr. Tommo?”

“He’s my teacher. He’s funny,” Sarah says like it’s a fact. Which it is. Both statements are. She lets go of Harry to give Louis a hug that he reciprocates, glad to finally have something to do with his hands. The balloon bops him in the head as he straightens; a reminder of how stupid he looks. And really. This idea did sound much better in his head.

“What are you doing here?” Sarah asks him.

“Yeah,” Harry asks, crossing his arms and leaning back on the chair. Now that he knows Louis isn’t a serial murderer, he seems more open. More willing to be amused at the situation, judging by the smile pulling at his lips.

“I’m your – uh – neighbour?” Louis stammers.

“Are you sure?” Harry teases.

Really, this is some high form of injustice. Just because he’s good looking – insanely good looking- doesn’t mean Louis is going to forget the week of piano playing at ungodly hours. He has a point to make. Even if it might cost him his true love’s kiss.

“I can hear you. Every morning. You and your…” he means to say, girlfriend, but trails off when he realises aside from the three of them, there is no one else in the house. At least he doesn’t think so. The bathroom and bedroom doors are open, and Louis cannot make out another human.

He looks down at Sarah, who’s looking at him expectantly.

“Actually, Mulan is my favourite, but I like ‘A Whole New World’ better.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. What are the chances?

“Me and my?” Harry prompts.

Louis sighs defeated. Now he feels like a jerk. “You and Sarah. I can hear you and Sarah playing Disney songs every morning. It’s usually what wakes me up,” he shrugs.

He glances up to take in the keyboard resting against the wall of the living room. Based on the layout, it’s sitting against the wall that separates Harry’s living room and Louis’ bedroom.

“Oh! No. I’m so sorry,” Harry straightens, apology written all over him. “I never realised it. No one’s been living in that flat for the past two weeks, which is when Sarah starting coming over in the morning. I’m truly sorry. I had no idea you can hear it.”

“Mummy and Daddy are doctors,” Sarah jumps in with her own explanation. “They have early morning shifts, so Uncle Harry babysits me until I go to school. And on Saturdays. Sundays are their holidays, so we all sleep in.”

“Her parent’s just started six months of these shifts. I know them through my older sister. Gemma. Who went to university with Helen. Uh, Sarah’s mum.” Harry pinks, realising he might have explained too much, given Louis’ slight smirk at his tripped words and quicker speech.

“Aunty Gemma’s pretty,” Sarah adds. It’s probably a fact too. “Can I go practice now?” she asks Harry, the excitement of having her teacher over no longer holding her interest.

“Sure,” Harry says, moving slightly to allow Sarah to walk passed him. He turns back to Louis, “I’ll move the piano to another wall. It should lessen the sound. Or we can practice later too.”

Louis shakes his head, “No, no. I don’t want Sarah to stop playing. It’s fine really. She’s getting better too.”

“Isn’t she?” Harry says proudly. “Uh, I’m sorry, I never caught your real name. Unless it is Tommo.”

“Louis. Louis Tomlinson. Your neighbour and Sarah’s teacher.” He holds out his hand to shake Harry’s, hoping to salvage his first impression. Always trying to make his mum proud. The balloon flies up the minute he opens his palm. Louis sighs. Never mind then.

Harry laughs and shakes his hand before reaching up to pull the balloon down. He holds the balloon in his hands, completely dwarfing the object. Big hands. Louis remembers that.

“So,” Harry begins conversationally, reading off the balloon, “Why is Sleeping Beauty your favourite? And why is Snow White lucky?”

He grins up at Louis, who can’t fight the embarrassment. Really. It really did sound infinitely better yesterday.

“Because she gets to sleep. And uh, because,” he scratches his the back of his neck, and shuffles his feet, “Snow White is woken up quite pleasantly. With, you know, true love’s first kiss.”

Harry lets out a cackle that startles even Sarah who jumbles in her playing. He quickly claps his hand to his mouth in horror. “God, I’m sorry. I’ve never made that noise before.”

Louis laughs delighted, the last tiny bit of ice sufficiently broken. He leans against the counter, “I hope the cake and balloon aren’t too aggressive. Or passive aggressive.”

Harry shakes his head vehemently, “No, they’re brilliant. Especially like how you ran with the Disney theme. Shows dedication.”

Louis snorts and Harry looks pleased at his reaction.

“I came by yesterday. You weren’t at home?”

“I usually get home late,” Harry says. “I own a music store - with my best friend, Niall. Ever since John and Helen asked me to baby sit Sarah in the mornings, Niall’s offered to open and I close. Get home around 10 or 11 each night. I get that sleep’s important.”

That explains the night in the lift. “I normally don’t hear you otherwise,” Louis says, hoping Harry will stop apologising. “It’s just the strategic placement of the piano.”

Harry laughs, open, and so, so beautiful. Louis cocks his head slightly, taking in the mesmerising sight in front of him. Harry catches him staring and a pink hue spreads across his cheeks, making him appear younger and prettier. He self-consciously pushes a strand of hair that’s come loose from his bun behind his ear, and ends up releasing the balloon. It floats languidly up, and Harry lets out a huff of laughter, averting his head from Louis’ gaze. Louis should probably stop staring at him. It’s, just, he really can’t. He watches as Harry moves to tie the balloon to the back of a chair, watches as he trips over – well, nothing really. Harry comes to stand in front of Louis with the cake now in hand, chest deflating as he lets out a huge breath. Like he’s just completed a herculean task.

“I’m going to put the cake in the fridge,” Harry tells him.

“Try not to drop it,” Louis teases.

“Don’t be rude,” Harry tries to blow the strand of hair that’s come untucked again, out of his face.

It falls back down in front of his eyes. Louis isn’t quite sure what it is about this person that makes him forget societal rules, proper etiquette, himself really. But it must be something. Because he’s already had a wet dream featuring Harry. And he now reaches out to tuck the offending hair behind Harry’s ear, fingers trailing the shell of his ear, lingering at the sharp angle of his jaw. Harry leans into the touch slightly, startling Louis who draws his hand away quickly, horrified at his actions.

Louis attempts to move back, but there’s nowhere to go, and Harry seems just as magnetically attracted, body following Louis’ movements. He’s close now. So close, that the cake is pressing into Louis’ chest. Because Harry’s quite tall. That’s a thing too.

“Your eyes are very blue,” Harry murmurs.

“Yours are very green,” Louis breathes.

Apparently stating facts today is a thing as well.

Harry leans down a little, and Louis lifts his head marginally up. He glances down at Harry’s lips, unsure how he missed him wetting them, because they’re significantly shinier than a few moments ago. Probably too busy staring into his eyes. Which he looks at again. They’ve darkened. Huh.

Louis wets his own lips, watching Harry’s eyes follow the movement. Wonders if Harry is going to kiss him. Wonders if that’s appropriate. Given that they’ve just met. Like five minutes ago. He doesn’t know head from tails anymore, doesn’t know what’s deemed appropriate anymore. Just that he’d really like to kiss those lips. See if they’re as soft as they look. Taste as sweet as he imagines. At this rate, they’ll be engaged by Thursday and married in a week.

“I’m hungry,” Sarah announces from the piano bench.

Funny. He never heard the music stop.

Harry stumbles back, shocked out of the pull, and Louis reaches out to catch the cake that’s slipping from his hands. They both pull away, cake and persons unscathed. The same can’t be said for their lips, which are smarting from the phantom promise of a kiss not to be had.

“Cereal okay?” Harry clears his throat.

“Cocoa Puffs?” Sarah offers.

“Sure.”

Louis turns to walk toward the fridge, putting the cake in, and steps out of the way so Harry can work around him.

He tries to forget the moment from before and asks, “So are you the other person playing the piano?”

Harry nods, “Yeah. Picked it up as a kid and Sarah’s genuinely interested in learning, so I figured it’s a good use of the time she spends here in the mornings. I don’t normally play Disney, but she’s going through a phase, and I’ll play anything that will motivate her.”

Louis smiles, “I get that. It’s so important to make learning unique and motivational for children.”

“I only work with children individually when I’m giving lessons,” Harry says, clearing off odds and ends from the work surface. “I can’t imagine what it’s like dealing with a class full of kids.”

“It’s tough, but I love it,” Louis replies, trying his best not to get caught up in watching Harry move. His hands really are a work of art. “Tell me more about yourself,” he pauses, before smirking as he continues, “Do you like talking to animals, owning your own bakery, making friends with short strange men?”

Harry shoots him a look, laughing as he answers, “Testing me on my Disney knowledge? Cinderella, though really, it could be any princess; Tiana; and that’s just a little too easy - Snow White.”

Louis grins, delighted in a man who’s not too ashamed to know his Disney.

“And yes; was actually a very potential career possibility; and I’m talking to you aren’t I?” Harry sends Louis a sly grin.

Louis’ mouth falls open, “You did not just call me short.”

“If the shoe fits.”

“Thank you. I’d much rather be Cinderella,” Louis sniffs. “You wanted to own your own bakery?” he asks once he's done with his theatrics.

“Worked in a bakery as my first job. Fancied myself a proper baker. But then I went to business school and studied music on the side. Still bake whenever I can though.”

Louis nods, already plotting ways in which he can get Harry to bake for him.

“You’re welcome to some of what I bake,” Harry offers, “It’s the neighbourly thing to do.”

Who is this person, and how can Louis keep in him in his life? Preferably forever. He should probably get around to figuring that out.

“So just you here?” Louis asks, not bothering with a segue.

“And sometimes Sarah,” Harry nods.

“So there’s no girlfriend who comes to visit? Or boyfriend?” Louis asks. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Harry smirks, seeing right through Louis. Whatever, it’s not like he was being subtle, “No. I’m not in a relationship. And definitely not with a female. I’ve never been in a relationship with a female. Unless you count Stacey from when I was six.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “I don’t count Stacey from when you were six.”

Harry exaggerates a gasp, “Stacey would be offended. I’m a little offended. Stacey was the first love of my life. You know they say you never forget your first love.”

“You just insinuated that your relationship with Stacey never counted!”

“Yeah, well I’ve changed my mind,” Harry says casually, pulling out some milk from the fridge. He then cringes as Sarah presses down hard on a wrong note. “It’s a C,” Harry reminds her gently, “not a D.”

Sarah shouts her thanks and continues. She’s got amazing focus for a seven year old. Louis is very impressed.

Harry pulls some bowls and cereal from a cupboard. “Cereal?”

“If it’s not too much of a bother. I hope I’m not over staying my welcome.”

“Oh, no. I love getting to know my neighbours. I miss Geraldine, she’s the one who used to live in your apartment.”

“Geraldine sounds like an old woman,” Louis observes. “Geraldine was an old woman,” Harry laughs. “She had to move into a nursing home after a particularly bad fall. She’s doing fine now,” Harry hastily adds on, seeing Louis’ face turn to horror. “I visit her every couple of weeks.”

Definitely a princess: visiting the sick, baking goods, spending time with children. Louis wonders if he can sing. It would complete the package.

“What about you,” Harry asks.

“What about me?”

“Tell me about yourself.”

“Anything in particular? You already know I teach.”

Harry grins, “Well for starters, you can tell me how you got here from Neverland?”

“If this is another short joke –“

“More a comment on your fringe,” Harry interrupts.

Louis tries to glare, but it falls short, “You’re not the first person to point out the similarities between me and Peter Pan.”

Harry laughs, “I had a crush on Peter Pan as a kid.”

Oh. Is he trying to send Louis a hint? Does he have a crush on Louis now? Should Louis reciprocate? Tell him that he had a wet dream about him a week ago?

“Was this before or after Stacey?” is what he settles.

“More like throughout? Before, during and after? Poor Stacey,” Harry muses, “She never stood a chance from the beginning.”

Louis snorts. He can’t remember the last time he felt so at ease with a stranger where banter flew back and forth so seamlessly.

“What about your family? Friends? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?” Harry asks. He’s about as subtle as Louis.

“Six sibling, five girls, one boy. It’s a lot, they’re a lot and I’ll do a proper show and tell when there’s more time. Two of my best friends are actually in the city too, so it’s great. And what part of me makes you think I’m straight?”

“Definitely not your arse,” Harry comments, pouring some cereal into the bowls.

“Harry!” Louis gasps in mock affront.

Harry smiles bright and calls out to Sarah, “Breakfast’s ready.”

Fifteen minutes later, Louis realises that if he doesn’t leave, he’s going to be late to work. He’s about to rush out the door, when he stops and turns to Harry, “I’ll see you around yeah?”

“Of course,” Harry beams back, and Louis is ready to burst into song about how he’s met the love of his life.

Disney makes so much sense.

-

It is five to ten and Louis is curled up on his couch, an episode of Friends playing on his laptop. He’s distracted from Ross attempting to scare Phoebe and Rachel, by a knock on his door. He pauses the episode and looks through the peep hole to see a man moving his hair to a side, fluffing it out. He opens the door with a flourish, large smile stretched across his face. His eyes are probably crinkling. He should tone it down.

“Hii,” Harry says, shuffling his feet a bit. “I hope it’s not too late. I just wanted to, uh, to-“ he fumbles, unable to find an adequate excuse.

His neighbour, his very attractive neighbour, wanted to come see him. Just because he wanted to. Louis can’t be bothered to tone down the crinkling of his eyes.

“You don’t need a reason to come visit Harry,” Louis says.

He’s rewarded with a fucking huge dimple – it’s almost a crater – and really, that’s the best gift he’s ever been given. And he was given his mug as a birthday present when he was five.

“Oh, I swear I had a list of reasons, but they kind of just- “ he stops himself short, and blushes.

Louis giggles.

Oh god, they’re worse than his students. And he had to witness George pull Sally’s hair and then run away. He glances at Harry’s glossy curls. He kind of gets the appeal.

“Come in. I was just watching Friends and drinking tea. Would you like some?”

“Only if it’s herbal. Caffeine’s going to keep me up.”

“Will camomile do?”

“Perfect.”

Louis turns the kettle on and fishes out a bag of camomile tea, plopping it in the cup and tying the string around the handle. He turns around to see where Harry went, and bumps right into him. So not far at all.

“Sorry,” Harry moves back, “I was taking a look at your tea. Don’t think you have enough Yorkshire to feed the country.”

“I might have a very healthy fear of running out of Yorkshire tea,” Louis defends.

“I’m so proud of you for conquering your fears,” Harry grins.

The kettle pings, and Louis turns back around to pour the boiling water into Harry’s mug. But not before sticking his tongue out at him. He spends majority of his days with seven year olds. It’s only natural that he adopts their behaviour.

The two make their way to Louis’ sofa, and sit down, burrowing under the blanket. Well Louis does that. Harry is still caught up at the entry way of the living room, taking in the pictures Louis had hung on the walls.

“These your sisters?” Louis sighs dramatically, but places his mug back down on the coffee table and moves back to join Harry before the pictures. They’re an assortment of photos on the wall, of his family and friends. It was his attempt at decorating, and he’s quite pleased the with gallery wall look he ended up with.

He looks at the picture Harry’s peering at, Fizzy, Lottie and the oldest twins covered in water from when Louis and his dad had sneak attacked them. His mum had been a great sport, volunteering to capture it on camera, in return that she wouldn’t be soaked. Obviously they hadn’t kept their promise.

“Yeah,” Louis says, telling Harry about the story behind the picture and naming each sister, along with their ages.

“You mentioned you had a brother too?” Harry asks, scanning the wall for other pictures. Louis points to a photo in the far right corner, Doris and Ernie just a year old, dressed identically as peas in a pod for Halloween.

“That’s from a year ago, when they were one. They’re two now, and right terrors.”

“And you love it,” Harry says softly, eyes shining as he takes in the babies. “Babies are so cute Lou. You’re so lucky.”

Louis doesn’t think Harry’s noticed the nickname slip out, what with how he’s so engrossed in the picture. But Louis definitely has, what with how his heart is beating faster.

“Who are they?” Harry asks, his voice not as soft as it was before.

Louis looks to the photo he’s pointing to and laughs. He’s sandwiched between Zayn and Liam, both kissing either side of his cheek, all three adorned in graduation gowns.

“Liam and Zayn,” Louis answers. “They’re the ones who live in the city too.”

“Oh,” Harry says, “They’re quite good looking.” He turns around and walks to the sofa, “You said something about watching Friends?”

“They’re also together,” Louis adds, joining Harry on the sofa and throwing the blanket over both of them.

“That’s nice,” Harry attempts to sound indifferent, but the way his body relaxes, along with the small curve of his lips, betrays his tone.

“How was your day?” Louis asks, changing the subject, willing his racing heart to calm. He’s not so sure that spending time around Harry is good for his cardiovascular health. He picks up his mug and takes a sip of his tea.

“What?” he asks when he sees Harry’s stare.

“My life suddenly has a lot more Disney,” Harry looking pointedly at Louis’ mug.

“Got this when I was five,” Louis says brightly, “It’s my favourite. Only ever drink out of it.”

“It’s broken.”

“Shh,” Louis chastises, cradling the mug to his chest, “It can hear you.”

“Are you teaching the children or are you actually the child?”

Louis sticks his tongue at him. Again. Honestly, children have the best ways of communicating.

“My day was great, thank you for asking,” Harry says, like the conversation hadn’t taken a detour, “Taught a few lessons, tuned a few guitars, sold a few instruments.”

“That’s a lot of ‘a fews.”

“Well a lot of ‘a fews’ make a few ‘a lots’.”

Harry laughs like he’s a right comedian. Louis stares at him like he’s lost his mind.

“You said you own the store?” Louis tries to bring the conversation back on track this time.

Harry sobers down to answer, “Mhm. I’ve known Niall, my business partner,” he reminds, “since we were kids. He’s Irish, and would come visit his grandfather who was my neighbour every summer. When his grandfather passed away, he left Niall a shit ton of money. We used it to open up our own store. My parents’ lent me some money as well for start-up costs, but once we got the business running, it’s been great.”

“Do you like it?”

Harry nods once, a quiet passion simmering through, “It’s the best. It’s tough obviously having to run all the aspects of the business, but it’s great being my own boss. The store’s really what we make of it, you know? Like at the start of the year, a couple of friends were commenting on how hard it is to play live gigs around the area, so we started doing an open mic night every other Saturday. And of course, I’ve always wanted to work with kids in some aspect, so we do the music lessons as well. Though we do end up with more adult learners during the day, it’s still fun.”

“Sounds brilliant,” Louis says, completely meaning it. His step-dad runs his own business and he’s seen how much work goes into it. He’s quite impressed that Harry and his friend have managed to be so successful given how young they are.

“You should come by,” Harry says, smiling at Louis from over his mug, dimple – sorry, crater – on full display. And really, Harry could ask for the moon, and Louis would be in conversation with NASA the next minute, working out a plan to get it for him.

“I’d love that,” Louis returns the smile. His eyes are crinkling again and he could care less. He’d also be content to sit and stare at Harry all the time, but Harry turns to return his mug to the table, and points at Louis’ laptop.

“You said you were watching Friends?”

Louis snaps out his trance to face the laptop as well, “It’s the unagi episode.”

“I love that one!” Harry exclaims, settling back into the sofa.

Louis presses play and sits back too, except. Well, there’s a space between them. It might only be a couple centimeters wide, but – there’s a space between them. He knew he shouldn’t have bought this sofa. Stupid, spacious Ikea furniture. Should have gone with a love seat instead. Then Harry could have sat in his lap. Or the other way around. Louis’ really not picky.

They sit in silence, chuckling every so often. The scene pans out to Ross trying to pick up attacking tips from the self defense instructor when Harry says, “I’ve always wanted to learn martial arts. Never actually done it though.” He pulls at his bottom lip and looks completely heart broken.

Poor, little, princess. “Well you can always defend yourself with a frying pan,” Louis suggests.

Harry’s brows come together in confusion, until his expression clears, “Tangled? Is there a reason you keep referring to me as one of the Disney princesses?”

“Because you look like one,” Louis says. The ‘duh’ is not vocalized. But it’s heavily implied.

Harry looks down at himself, taking in his flannel bottoms and ripped Rolling Stones tee, “I don’t?”

He sounds so unsure.

Louis is so endeared. “Don’t worry about it Curly,” he says, and reaches out to tug on one of Harry’s glossy curls. He thinks he’s supposed to run away now. That’s how the kids flirt right?

But then Harry bites his lip, rolls his eyes and allows his dimple to make another appearance, and Louis’ quite content to stay where he is. Thank you very much.

---

Wednesday goes much the same way.

Well, Louis isn’t woken up by piano, so that’s different. Though now that he thinks about it, the buzzing of his alarm is really not as appealing as Harry’s piano playing. He wonders if it would be too much to ask Harry to relocate the keyboard and then time their practice session at exactly 7:30 am each day. Probably.

Harry visits again after he’s done work, bringing some ginger biscuits he somehow found time to bake. Louis is still plotting ways to keep him forever, when he isn’t completely mesmerised by Harry’s looks, his charm, his laugh, his heart. Everything really.

When Harry leaves later that night, after another episode of Friends, he sways closer to Louis, eyes very intent on his lips. Maybe he’ll kiss him this time. He hopes he’ll kiss him this time.

Harry’s face moves to the side and his arms come up to wrap Louis in a hug. Not a kiss then. He hugs back, and he finds he’s not too disappointed.

---

Louis’ walking through the water system on the board, explaining how the sun evaporates water, and the clouds bring it back down as precipitation.

Ellie raises her hand and asks, “So it’s the same water from like 100 years ago?”

“Yes,” Louis nods, glad the students are grasping the concept.

“What about 200 years ago?” Ben shouts from the back of the class.

“Mhm.”

“300?” Lucy giggles. She’s really come out of her shell.

Louis laughs, “And 400, and 500 and all the way back.”

“Like, dinosaur time?” Arthur whispers, incredulous.

“Yes, even that far back.”

The entire class makes a collective sound of awe, eyes widening and whispers breaking out. Louis’ convinced he’s going to burst into laughter, so he turns back to the board, trying his best to be discreet. His phone buzzes on the desk, just as the bell rings and the kids rush out for recess. He waits till the classroom is empty before checking the message on his phone.

Forgot I’m having dinner with Gems tonight. No Friends for me, followed by a crying emoticon.

It’s from Harry, and Louis cannot control the bubble of happiness that’s expanding inside. It’s not like they explicitly made plans to spend every night of the week watching Friends and hanging out, yet Harry deemed it necessary to update him. Louis is so hopelessly enamoured with this boy.

He doesn’t realise exactly how much, until he finds himself stood before a shop front, records handing from the top of the window display, guitars and cellos resting in their stands. The sign above says ‘Horan & Styles’ in big, block white letters. He hates to admit it, but he was expecting more out of the store name. Like a really bad joke that he’s come to associate with Harry.

He pushes open the door, and is greeted by the smell of wood, instruments lining the walls, a display of records at the far end. A brighter coloured sign for ‘Music Lessons’ hangs above a doorway that’s separates a private room for the main floor. So this is where Harry spends most of his day. A pulse of excitement courses through, followed by a rush of nervousness. Harry doesn’t know that he’s coming in. He hopes this surprise doesn’t embarrass him, like the balloon and cake.

“Can I help you?” an Irish accented voice greets.

Louis turns around and is met with a bright, toothy grin, blond hair fluffed right up. It could be from hours with a blow dryer, or it could be from the excitement the man’s generating. This must be Niall.

“Oh!” Niall says excitedly, “Oh, you’re Haz’s new person!”

Person? What’s that supposed to mean? Friend person? Neighbour person? Person I love, person?

“Person?” Louis asks.

Niall’s face reddens dramatically. Louis’ never seen anything quite like that, and he’s alarmed.

“Neighbour. H was looking you up on Facebook, Tuesday.” Niall immediately looks like he regrets ever opening his mouth.

Louis smiles, taking pity on him. “Yes, I am. Moved in two weeks ago. Harry talks about this place all the time – you as well – and I was just in the area, so I thought I’d stop by.”

Lies. Louis was not in the area. In fact, Harry’s shop is a twenty minute detour, but those are details Niall doesn’t need to know.

“Lou!” that voice greets brightly. Louis should probably stop referring to Harry’s voice as ‘that voice.’ “What are you doing here?” Harry emerges from another room in the back, navy blue pea coat covering up a grey sweater underneath.

“Was just in the area,” Louis shrugs like it’s no big deal. It really isn’t.

“Isn’t your school on the other side of –“ Harry begins, frowning slightly, about to expose Louis.

“Niall told me you were stalking me on Facebook,” Louis blurts. Never say he isn’t one for self-preservation.

Harry’s eyes narrow as he shoots Niall a look, not preventing a pretty blush from spreading across his face. It’s highly unfair how he manages to look good in a shade of red.

“What the fuck man?” Niall glares at Louis. “Sorry,” Louis says quickly and turns to Harry, “So what’s with the name of the shop? I expected a pun from you.”

It’s Niall who answers him, sighing like the memory pains him. “Harry couldn’t make up his mind about a name. He’d come up with something new every day.”

“They were great,” Harry defends. “I was thinking of ‘Cell-o Submarine,’ an ode to the first song Niall and I ever performed together. Or ‘A Beat in the Street,’ like music beats. Oh and there was –“

“Too many,” Niall cuts him off, “And then it was the day to file in our papers to open the business, and H still couldn’t make up his mind.”

“Gem took the pen and the papers from us, wrote in a name and then mailed them off,” Harry says sadly. The memory is causing him more pain than it did Niall, and Louis wants to hug him, stroke his hair and whisper only good things in his ears.

“The first time we saw the name was when we got our business approval from the city. Horan and Styles.”

“It’s not even punny. So many opportunities wasted,” Harry laments, and Louis’ worried he’s going to cry.

There’s a slightly tense moment of silence, broken by Harry’s sniffles, when the door opens and a woman who looks like the female version of Harry steps in. Gemma, then.

“Hi Niall. H,” she says, fiddling with something in her purse, head down, “You ready to go?” Gemma looks up and takes in Louis, who’s standing before her, “Oh, hi. Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

She makes to walk around him, presuming him to be another customer, when she literally doubles back and stops in front of Louis. Her face breaks into a wicked grin as she shoots her brother - who is currently shaking his head fervently - a smirk and says to Louis, “Hi, I’m Gemma. Your neighbour’s sister. I’ve heard a lot about you. Did you know H wanted to cancel our monthly dinner date to watch TV with you?”

Louis is going to cuddle up Harry and take him far, far away to a land where no one spills his secrets.

In the meantime he says, “It’s all part of my plan to capture the fairest in the land.”

“Ah, is this the fairy tale obsession you were talking about?” Gemma asks Harry.

“Disney,” Harry and Louis correct simultaneously. They look at each other, eyes unbearably fond, smiles too wide.

“Oh, that’s disgusting,” Niall retches from behind the till. “Put away those heart-eyes. No one wants to see them.”

“Niall’s just jealous because his girlfriend broke up with him,” Gemma says. She sighs when she notices that neither Harry nor Louis are looking at her.

“Sorry, what?” Louis tears his eyes away from Harry. He has to make a good impression on his future in-laws.

“Never mind,” Gemma rolls her eyes, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to steal my brother away. I promise not to introduce him to any good looking males and get him home in time so he can snuggle with you before bed.”

She waits for Louis and Harry to look sufficiently embarrassed, before she says a bit more kindly, “It was nice meeting you Louis. I’m sure I’ll see more of you.”

Louis nods at her and watches as the two leave, emitting a lovesick sigh to time with the door closing. He supposes he should leave as well.

“So,” Niall says, conjuring up some beer and guiding Louis to leather armchairs at the corner of the shop, “You and Haz. Tell me all about it.”

---

“You will never guess what happened,” Harry says the minute he barges through Louis’ front door Friday evening. It’s been a week, and Louis still wants to kiss him.

“What?”

“You have to guess, Lou,” Harry says, toeing off his shoes and bee lining for the sofa.

“You just told me I wouldn’t be able to,” Louis points out, taking a seat beside Harry, drawing his knee up, so he can turn to face Harry more fully.

“Just three guesses,” Harry bounces, practically giddy with excitement. His eyes are sparkling and Louis really wants to kiss him.

“Niall got back together with his girlfriend?” Louis guesses.

“Ugh, no,” Harry pulls a face. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.” Louis’ glad. From what Louis gathered yesterday while he and Niall chatted in the shop, the girl was a nightmare.

“Um… Gemma lied yesterday and didn’t return you back in time?” he tries again.

“Be serious, Lou,” Harry swats his knee, mouth pouting. His lips are so pink and it’s been five days and Louis still has not kissed him.

“You’re finally going to admit to being a princess, who’s trapped in our world? Like in Enchanted,” is Louis’ final guess.

“I hate you,” Harry grumbles, negating his words by grabbing onto Louis’ hands. And oh. Yup. Yeah, the size difference is just how Louis imagined. He wonders if other things will be just like he imagined. Like Harry’s lips on his.

“Are you ready?” Harry asks. Louis nods, because how is he supposed to speak, when Harry’s got his hands, warm and secure and so, so big. “Ed Sheeran came to our store!” Harry reveals, hands squeezing his tightly, and Louis just might die.

“That’s great!” he squeaks, which is good, because Harry presumes its genuine excitement over Ed Sheeran shopping at Horan & Styles. It is great actually. And if it were any other time, Louis would be buzzing so hard. Ed fucking Sheeran. Louis loves him.

The thing is, he loves Harry holding onto his hands more. Harry, who’s launched into a story of how Ed just strolled through the door, like he was a normal customer, looking for a replacement string because his had just broken. How Niall had fixed the string and then Harry had sold Ed a couple of picks. How Ed had then signed Niall’s and Harry’s guitars for them. And isn’t that fucking amazing Lou? Isn’t it?

It is. It really fucking is. It’s just. Harry’s lips are so pink? And so plush. And so soft. Louis just desperately wants to kiss them. Why hasn’t he kissed them? There have been a total of three times when Harry looked like he was going to kiss Louis, had leaned in. And. Then he hadn’t kissed Louis. Why hadn’t he kissed Louis?

“Lou?” Oh, Harry asked him a question. He should respond. What was the question?

“Why haven’t you kissed me?” he answers. Judging by Harry’s fish-mouthing, that was not the right answer to the question.

“Erm…” This is the point where Louis should apologise, quickly change the subject, maybe even answer Harry’s original question. Which, what even was it?

“Like the first day. And then the day after. And that time this morning,” is what Louis says instead. His mouth clearly is choosing to live by its own rules.

Harry’s recovered enough to shoot back a, “Why haven’t you kissed me.”

Which, fair point. He should really change the subject. Salvage their pride.

“You’re taller. It’s easier for you to lean down, than me to reach up,” he settles on petulantly. One day, he’s going to seriously evaluate his brain to mouth connection. Go to the doctor. They have specialists for these kind of abnormalities right?

“I just figured you’d do it first. You always go on about how I’m a princess and don’t pay attention to what I’m saying and just stare at me,” Harry says.

So they’re doing this then, “You’re the one who’s stalking me on Facebook! And showing your sister pictures of me!”

“I saw you take a picture of me on Wednesday,” Harry retorts. “Who did you send it to? Lottie? Zayn? Liam?”

“Zayn and Liam,” Louis confesses reluctantly, turning his body away from Harry, crossing his arms and glaring down at his lap. Harry mirrors his actions.

“You would have kissed me first,” Louis says after they’ve sat in silence for ten seconds. He knows. He’s been counting.

“Please! There’s no way you can resist this,” Harry fires up, turning his body back to face Louis, making a sweeping gesture of his body.

He does have a fair point. Louis doubts his ability to resist Harry too. But he doesn’t say that. Because he’s stronger. He’s older, more experienced. He can definitely resist Harry.

“I can definitely resist you,” Louis says. Oh, so his mouth is connected to his brain then. Good, Louis hates going to the doctor. “No matter how much you look like a Snow White with those lips, and that hair.”

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you keep comparing me to a Disney princess. But I will not ignore the fact that you think you can hold out longer than me. You’re good-looking, but not that good-looking.” Harry tries to glare at Louis, but he breaks the façade by shifting his eyes away. He’s a terrible liar.

“Blasphemy!” Louis cries. “I’m the prettiest in all the land. My mirror tells me every morning.”

“So delusional little Lou,” Harry pats his head condescendingly.

“I can hold out longer than you,” Louis says, refusing to back down from the argument.

“I bet you can’t,” Harry responds.

Oh. Oh. Oh. No one makes a bet with Louis Tomlinson and lives to win it. “It’s on.”

“Wait, we’re actually betting?” Harry falters, frowning like the conversation lost him in the dust five minutes ago. It’s lost Louis too, but Louis has a point to prove.

“Of course. No one doubts my abilities.”

“What are we betting on?”

“Which one of us caves first. To the,” Louis pitches his voice lower, waggling his eyebrows at Harry, “attraction between us. The sexual tension.”

Harry snorts. Louis might have to work a bit on the seductive looks.

“What do we get if we win?”

“Orgasms?” Louis shrugs. “I don’t know, we’ll figure that out later.”

“Okay," Harry says, steeling himself, "Do we have rules?”

“Yes! Rules are very important.” Louis reaches for a blank sheet of paper and a pen from his work bag resting against the sofa. “Rule number one,” he says, as he writes the same. “The first person to…”

“Kiss the other,” Harry supplies.

“Good. Yes, the first person to kiss the other loses.”

“What are we allowed to do?” Harry asks, “To like, win?”

“Seduce each other?” Louis questions, unsure himself. It’s not like he’s done this before.

Harry ponders that, “Yeah, seduction works,” and Louis writes that down as the second rule.

“Also, no sex? With other people? It would be cheating if you’re secretly having sex with others. Help you hold out longer.”

“But getting yourself off should be ok,” Harry volunteers. Louis roughly pushes the image of Harry, with his hand around his cock, out of his head.

“’K, number three, no sex with other people,” Louis writes, tongue out in concentration. He falters a bit when he’s done, “We should probably add an amendment to that. What if you really like another person, and want to call it off? I don’t think that’s fair.”

“You’re so wise,” Harry smiles at him. “Though I don’t think I’ll want to have sex with other people if you’re around.”

Louis beams back. He wants to kiss him in thanks. But then he’d lose the bet. He’s starting to see a gigantic flaw in this plan.

Harry, takes the pen from Louis and draws the paper toward himself, “But you’re right. How about no meaningless sex with other people.”

He adds the amendment to the sheet.

“Good lad,” Louis approves.

He sits back and reads over the paper, “Well that seems like enough rules. Do we shake on it? Sign the paper with blood? Or would semen be more fitting?”

Harry chuckles, “How about we just sign our names to the bottom of this?”

They both do, the sheet of paper relegated to the front of Louis’ fridge. He makes his way back to the sofa, and kicks his feet up on the table. They lean back, sipping slowly at their tea.

“Is it weird?” Harry speaks into the silence, “That we basically signed a sex pact.”

Totally weird. Maybe a cause for concern.

“Nahh,” Louis says, bringing his mug to his lips. Beside him, Harry mirrors his action.

---

He texts Harry a ‘good morning’ when he wakes up the next day, turning on the kettle so he can make himself a mug of tea before he goes over to Harry’s. His eye catches the sex pact on his fridge, and now that he reads through it, the idea doesn’t seem as appealing as it did last night. Why would he willingly prevent himself from kissing Harry?

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears a loud banging on the door. He pulls the door open, so Harry can barge in, ranting.

About a cake.

A specific Disney princess cake that is still in his fridge. Turns out Sarah is allergic to nuts, and the cake has a hazelnut filling. Harry’s on some no sugar diet, so he can’t obviously eat it. And Louis refuses to eat a cake that he bought for someone else. Even if the intentions weren’t solely the best. It’s the principle of things, and he’s sticking by it. So the cake is sitting untouched in Harry’s fridge for a week, and he is not pleased. He is gesticulating wildly and rambling. All over cake. Really.

“You know, I was going to eat some of the cake just now. Break my no sugar diet. Just for you. But it’s no fun to cut cake by yourself. Especially when we’re celebrating.”

Harry’s all exaggeration and no sense. Louis is not caffeinated enough for this, so he settles on debating what character Harry would play in a Disney movie. Right now, his vote is resting heavily with the comic relief; Genie seems very apt.

“What are we celebrating?” he asks when Harry’s been looking at him expectantly for some time.

“The fact that you’re sleeping again!” Harry exclaims.

Cinderella when the animals sew her dress? No, Cinderella’s always been too refined, too poised. He just saw Harry trip over air a few seconds ago. He looks up at Harry’s openly excited face. Ariel.

“Didn’t realise that was worth celebrating,” Louis comments.

Harry shoots him an unimpressed glare, hands on his hip. Perhaps the fairy godmother?

“Which one of us bought a cake and balloons to highlight the fact that he wasn’t sleeping?”

“My fairy godmother.”

“Huh?” Harry asks, brows furrowed in confusion.

Right, the Disney musings are a monologue in his head.

“Well, I’m here. Let’s cut the cake now.” Louis moves from against the counter toward his door, making to go to Harry’s place. He’s stopped short by Harry’s body blocking his path. He looks up to ask Harry what he’s doing, but is distracted by Harry’s hands on his hips. Huh. They’re close. Like very close. Louis can see the barest hint of stubble on Harry’s chin. He’s not going to comment on how it’s patchy. He’s also not going to focus on Harry’s breath fanning across his face as he whines.

“No, Lou, a celebration. With people,” Harry says, slowly walking Louis backward until he feels the counter top against his spine. Louis is losing traction on this conversation, and it has everything to do with its absurdity and nothing to do with the proximity between them. Nothing to do with how Harry’s hands are still on his hips, burning through his shirt. Nothing to do with Louis focussing on regulating his breathing – which - when did it become so laboured? At the best times, Louis is a fantastic multi-tasker. Unfortunately, Harry taking over all of his senses is kind of short circuiting his brain and preventing him from doing much else. Like forming words into sentences. Speaking. Thinking. Those kind of things.

“A-are we not people?” Louis stutters.

“Pay attention Lou,” Harry chastises, “Of course we’re people, but a celebration needs more.”

He crowds further into Louis’ space, leaning down so his lips are just right there. It’s great for igniting arousal in his veins. Not so great for his sanity. He leans up into Harry, lips pursed, eyes fluttering close when he catches a glimpse of a vanishing smirk as Harry quickly attempts to rearrange his face.

The bet.

Bastard. Suddenly, Louis has a very renewed interest in winning the bet.

Upon realising that he’s been caught, Harry takes a step back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “It was too easy,” he shrugs, “Couldn’t help myself.”

Louis shakes himself and lies, “I’ll have you know, it’s going to be a lot harder to seduce me than what you just did.”

Harry snorts and waves his hand airily, “I was being serious about inviting more people over. Niall loves cake. Any food really, and he’s been pestering me meet you again. Might as well turn it into a proper gathering? You can invite Zayn and Liam too.”

Louis ponders the suggestion, “I’m sure they’d be up for it.”

Harry beams at him.

All thoughts of Harry’s little stunt vanish from Louis’ mind, as literal sunshine and rainbows and unicorns spill out of Harry’s eyes and settle into the gigantic crater on his face.

Maybe not literal. Except for the crater. That’s literal. Louis pokes it to check.

Harry bats his hand away, “What are you doing?”

“Checking to see if the crater is real,” Louis says. “And you by extension,” he tacks on, because he’s still not convinced that Harry is from another world.

“You mean my dimple.”

Louis nods in affirmation.

“Of course it’s real. As am I,” Harry’s given up on trying to understand why Louis’ so insistent that he’s a princess, but he won’t stop trying to prove him wrong.

Louis makes a disbelieving noise, “You would say that if you’re trying to hide where you’re really from. You’re lying.”

Harry sighs, exasperated, swatting Louis hand away as it comes out to poke his nose. “Now what are you doing?” he asks.

“Making sure your nose didn’t grow,” Louis replies promptly.

“Pinocchio is not a Disney princess.”

“Ah, but he’s a little wooden boy who thought he was real. Sounds familiar?”

“You sound crazy.”

Louis flips him off.

-

It’s later that night and the boys are gathered in Louis’ place, because – ‘I haven’t had a chance to clean Lou, I can’t have people over.’

Harry had made Parmesan chicken with homemade marinara sauce, and they’re stuffed. Zayn and Liam are sprawled on the couch and Louis is currently lying on the floor, his head resting in Niall’s lap. Harry had left to go to his place to get something, and no one bothered to stop him. Except for Louis. Louis protested vehemently to Harry leaving them. Just, he’d only done the protesting in his head, too lazy to actually speak. It’s the thought that counts anyways.

“Alright boys,” Harry calls, opening the door. Louis attempts to sit up, but can’t be bothered. It’s all Harry’s fault anyways. Who asked him to cook such a delicious meal?

Harry comes to kneel besides them, moving plates and glasses of wine off the coffee table. Louis opens his eyes to look at what he’s doing, but his view is obscured by Harry.

“So pretty Haz,” Zayn mumbles from his position on the couch, reaching out to pet Harry’s cheek clumsily and play with his hair. Zayn’s a hairdresser at a high send salon. He understands beautiful hair, giving Harry’s the attention it deserves. Harry smiles at Zayn and nuzzles into his hand a little, before turning his head to place a tiny kiss in Zayn’s open palm.

Louis sits up so fast, he gets a little dizzy, but manages to slap Zayn’s palm away. He’s glad they’re getting along so well, but boundaries.

“What the fuck man?” Zayn grumbles at Louis. Except he’s smirking. As is Liam and Harry. Only Niall isn’t. Bless Niall. Great lad that one.

“Breathe, Nialler,” Liam says, eyes crinkling at Niall who’s laughing so hard he’s turning red. Never mind then. Louis hates them all.

“I hate you all.”

“Come on Lou,” Harry placates, taking his hand and pulling him to the cake that he’s set up on the coffee table. Louis takes in the familiar faces of Jasmine, Belle and Cinderella. Harry’s face should join them.

“What am I doing?” Louis blinks. Wine always makes him sleepy. So does eating ginormous amounts of food.

“You’re cutting the cake,” Harry says, like he’s explaining a particularly difficult concept to a child. Which. Louis’ the teacher. He does all the explaining.

“Why?”

“We’re celebrating you sleeping again. Remember?”

“I can’t believe you bought cake,” Zayn chortles. “What were you thinking?”

Niall starts laughing, and this time Liam joins him.

“Fine, none of you are getting any cake,” Louis scowls. “Except you Hazza. You can have all the cake.” He wraps a finger around one of Harry’s silky curls and tugs lightly. Harry dimples back at him, and Louis can’t help returning the smile. He probably shouldn’t have had that fourth glass of wine.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, will you two quit it?” Niall admonishes. “Come on Lou, cut the cake.”

“We should sing,” Harry says excitedly.

“Sing what?” Liam asks.

“How about,” Zayn starts, encouraging Louis to take the knife in his hand. Louis picks it up and waits, knife poised carefully over the cake. Zayn starts up in the tune of ‘Happy Birthday,’ “Happy sleeping to Lou.”

“Genius,” Niall grins, before joining in along with the rest of the boys, “Happy sleeping to Lou. Happy sleeping dear Louis, happy sleeping to Lou.”

They bang and cheer and clap and Louis slices evenly through Jasmine’s face. Poor Jasmine. Liam gets up to bring some plates over, and Niall goes to the fridge to pull out beers, the three bottles of wine already emptied.

“What’s this?” Niall calls from the kitchen.

“What’s what?” Harry calls back. Louis can’t be bothered. His head is now cushioned by Harry’s lap, and what more could he want in the world?

“Number one: The first person to kiss the other loses,” Liam reads as he and Niall re-enter the room. Zayn sits up curious. Oh. That.

“Number two,” Niall takes over, “You may attempt to win by seducing the other.”

Liam sounds more confused as he finishes, “Number three: no meaningless sex with other people.”

“What the fuck?” Niall asks.

“It’s our sex pact,” Harry says brightly, like that explains it all.

“Your sex pact?” Liam questions. Louis’ eyes are closed, but he can tell that the other three are staring at them. Harry nudges him, but Louis refuses to budge. He’s resting.

“Lou,” Harry whines. “They’re staring at me. You explain.” Louis sighs and says, eyes still closed, head still resting against Harry’s thighs, “Harry thinks I’m going to kiss him first. So we bet on it. See who can hold out the longest.”

“Why,” Zayn asks incredulously. Louis has known him for too long, because he knows the exact face that Zayn is making: eyes narrowed, brows pulled up in confusion and bewilderment. Louis sneaks a peak, and yup, he was totally right. Should have bet on that too.

“Because I’m more irresistible,” Louis says like its common knowledge. Harry pokes him.

“But don’t you want to kiss him?” Zayn prods. “How is holding out beneficial?”

Louis groans. They’re not going to let him be, are they? He sits up and looks at the other three who are staring and Harry and him expectantly.

“Of course,” Louis says, and beside him Harry nods vehemently, “but it’s a matter of principle.”

“I don’t understand it,” Niall shakes his head. “Have I had too much to drink? That’s kind of impossible right? I’m Irish.”

“Why can’t you just date?” Zayn speaks up again.

Honestly, they are so thick.

“You like each other, right?” Liam asks, perplexed.

“Well duh, we’ve established that we would like to sleep together.” Louis bets if he tried explaining this to his third graders, they’d understand it better. There’s just the issue of the subject matter being slightly inappropriate.

“Then I don’t understand how preventing mutual orgasms is considered fun. Like why don’t you just date and sleep together. Like normal people.”

Harry looks at Louis, “Normal is so overrated,” he smirks, looking purely evil. Wow. Louis has never seen this look on Harry, but he digs it. “Besides, you’ve clearly never experienced the beauty of orgasm delay.”

Louis has met his soulmate, “Edging.”

“Begging,” Harry adds.

“Denial,” Louis says and the two dissolve into giggles. They’re the dream team.

“Please stop. For the love of god, stop. I’m so glad you found each other.” Niall looks completely disgusted.

“Can we get in on the bet?” Zayn asks, the three given up on understanding why.

“Louis’ going to cave first,” Liam says.

Louis’ mouth falls open, “I thought we were friends. What kind of bloody betrayal is this?”

“Na,” Niall objects, “Harry will definitely give in first. You should listen to him go off – Oi!”

Harry kicks Niall and glares, “I’m never telling you anything. Ever.”

Zayn is watching the two of them carefully, “It’s going to be mutual. They’ll both give in at the same time.”

Louis scoffs. Forfeit a bet? It’s like Zayn doesn’t even know him.

“What’s the wager?” Niall looks over the contract. “Erm, we hadn’t really decided on that,” Harry says a bit sheepishly.

“Idiots. Both of you,” Niall grumbles. “Alright lads, ten quid per person should do it?” He grabs a stray pen off the table and writes the new bit to the paper, passing it around for Zayn and Liam to sign.

Louis isn’t sure if he should be offended or proud. Niall returns the paper to the fridge and then shoves himself between Liam and Zayn, and Louis’ impressed that the sofa can hold that many people. He’s secretly waiting for it to break under their combined weight. He means to remind them that they’re supposed to be watching a movie, but he can no longer be bothered. Instead, he settles back against Harry, and takes in the scene before him. Zayn and Harry are engrossed in a conversation about hair styles, and Niall and Liam are cackling on the other end.

He could get used to this. This amalgamation of different lives, different groups, woven together. It’s beautiful. Of course it is.

Because when the powers combine –

He shakes his head. One cartoon universe at a time. Louis looks up, sneaking a glance at his own princess, who’s already watching him. Harry shoots him a private smile, which Louis is only too happy to return.

This is it. This is the life. Harry and him and their boys.

And their sex pact.

---

It’s been a couple of days, and aside from a few heated looks, lingering touches or suggestive remarks, neither Louis nor Harry have really attempted anything at seduction. So Louis decides to up the ante. He’s stood in front of his mirror, intending to practice his looks of seduction. He narrows his eyes into a smolder, sucks his cheeks in and purses his lips lightly.

Perfect. Harry won’t even know what hit him.

He had texted Louis earlier that day, offering his flat up for their nightly chats and tea. Louis is currently sitting at the keyboard, mindlessly tinkering with some keys, waiting for Harry to finish up with his shower. He hears the water turn off, and he swivels around in his seat, every intent of dramatizing his boredom, when.

Harry walks out naked.

Okay, he’s got a white towel snug around his waist, but for all intents and purposes, he’s naked. Louis’ eyes grow as he takes in Harry’s muscular form, can see rivets of water falling between his pecs and Louis licks his lips in hunger. He’s so aroused, and all he wants to do is-

Wait.

He’s aroused.

Damn Styles and he’s sneaky seduction methods.

“That’s cheating!” Louis accuses at Harry’s form which is retreating to his bedroom.

“Fuck, Lou!” Harry stumbles into the wall, holding on to the door jamb for support. “Nearly gave me a heart attack. What are you doing here?”

“You said we’d do your place tonight. Was this just a set up?” Louis scowls at Harry’s face. Well, he means to be scowling at Harry’s face, but he’s tracing Harry’s happy trail with his eyes and is wishing, hoping, praying, that he could be doing so with his tongue.

“How did you even get in?” Harry asks, still clutching onto his heart. Maybe he didn’t tie the knot securely enough, and his towel will fall open. Louis can only hope.

“You keep a key under the mat. Proper unsafe.”

“Remind me to change that,” Harry rolls his eyes, turning around to enter his bedroom. Now his back is on display, with even more water trailing down, and Louis is so thirsty, and the water is just there. Ugh, he can’t believe Harry pulled out the big guns, quite literally, so early on.

“You can’t just walk around naked,” Louis calls to his retreating back, “That’s just – unfair.”

“I’m not trying to seduce you!” Harry turns around, “I didn’t even know you were here!”

“Sure you didn’t. You had it all planned,” Louis says obstinately.

“I didn’t plan anything,” Harry wails, exasperated.

Louis doesn’t believe that innocent face, “Yeah, well," Louis fumbles, searching his head frantically for a comeback, "I can get naked too!”

“What are you on about?” Harry asks, arms on his hips. The stance bares more of his body to Louis, and screw him, two can play the same game. Louis lifts of his shirt and throws it dramatically over the piano, “Just you watch.”

He tucks his thumbs under the waistband of his joggers and pulls those down, hopping a little to step out. He throws these at Harry, who’s too shocked to do anything. He stands there in his pants, smirking haughtily at Harry.

“What the fuck Louis? Put your clothes back on.” Harry demands throwing Louis’ joggers back.

“No. See if you can resist this!” Louis narrows his eyes and pouts his lips, cocking up a hip and accentuating his curves with his hand. Harry visibly gulps, but he holds his ground and says, “Yes I can. Because I’m going to get dressed.”

“Yeah, you do that. I’ll be waiting here. NAKED.” Louis shouts over Harry’s slamming door. He crosses over to the sofa, and spreads his arms over the back, spreading his legs as he settles in to wait. Harry doesn’t stand a chance. It’s only a couple of minutes before Harry walks out, dressed in plaid pyjama bottoms and a Beatles tee. Louis’ about to taunt him, when he’s stopped short by a knock on the door.

He jumps up in fright searching the room frantically for his clothes.

“What the fuck Harry? Who’s knocking on your door?” Louis hisses. “Where’s my shirt?”

“Probably still on the keyboard?” Harry smirks, walking past to collect a stuffed toy from the table. It’s the same toy that he had in the lift those many moons ago.

“Helen’s here to collect Mushu. Sarah left it this morning.”

One day, Louis will talk to Sarah about interrupting opportune moments. For now, he’s got to find his joggers.

“I’m opening the door,” Harry warns, smiling a little too evilly, and Louis really hates him. He still wants to kiss him and fuck him. But he hates him.

“Don’t you dare,” Louis threatens, frantically looking for his joggers. Where the fuck did Harry toss them to?

“Turning the handle,” Harry sing songs.

Louis hates him. “I hate you,” he hisses out, running into Harry’s room and shutting the door behind him.

“Hiya Harry,” he hears a female voice say, “I’m so sorry about this. But Sarah’s refusing to sleep without Mushu.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry responds. “Do you want to come in for some tea?”

Wanker. He knows Louis’ hiding out in his bedroom.

“No thanks, I’ve got to put her to bed. But another time for sure.”

They bid each other good night, and Louis hears the door click shut. He steps out, in only his shirt and pants. Harry’s waiting for him, Louis’ joggers clutched weakly in his hand as he shakes with silent laughter. Louis snatches them from him and roughly puts them on.

“You’re still staying for Friends right? I’ve even put the kettle on the hob.”

If he’s trying to console Louis, he’s failing drastically. Louis queues up the episode in silence while Harry prepares the tea, still chuckling every couple of minutes, and comes to join Louis on the sofa.

Louis makes sure there’s five extra centimeters between them.

There. That will show him.

---

Louis has Tangled downloaded on his laptop and he’s waiting for Harry. The other boys were supposed to join for Disney night, but Niall’s Tinder match was free tonight, and Liam and Zayn had decided to go up to Wolverhampton for Liam’s sisters birthday.

So it’s just Harry and him, and Louis is not complaining.

There’s a knock on the door and Louis calls out, “It’s open.”

He takes a sip on his tea and promptly chokes because Harry is standing expectantly in a fluffy, pink bathrobe that is much too small for him.

“What are you wearing?” Louis asks. He’s not sure he wants an answer.

“It’s Gem’s. I had to borrow it. Do you like it?” He does a little twirl, showcasing how the bathrobe barely covers his pert derrière.

“Okay, why are you wearing it?”

“So I could come over.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, not bothering to say anything.

“Ask me what’s under it,” Harry says.

“And if I don’t?” Louis asks.

“Louu,” Harry whines.

“What’s under it?” Louis sighs. He’s dealing with a child.

Harry grins wide, slowly untying the knot of the robe, and suddenly, Louis is very interested to find out what’s under it. He sincerely hopes the answer is nothing.

Except. It’s not nothing. It’s definitely something. A very furry, brown something. That’s covering his bits. Harry has managed to find the ugliest, furriest, brown pair of pants, and not only is he wearing them, but he’s wearing them quite proudly. If this was supposed to make sense to Louis, it’s really not. Naked would have been much better.

Louis makes a questioning noise, too concerned to actually speak. He’s so concerned, that he’s not even drooling over Harry’s bare torso.

“I’m Tarzan!” Harry throws his arms wide, bathrobe pooled at his feet.

Okay, Louis can see that. It doesn’t explain why.

“Why?” Louis asks.

“I’m seducing you. Come on Lou, catch up.”

“What?” Louis asks flabbergasted.

“You’re always talking about how I’m a princess. But none of their outfits are revealing enough. Except for Jasmine’s, but the delivery time for one in my size was too long. So I went for Tarzan,” Harry explains.

“That’s because you’re pretty! Not because I want to role play to fucking Disney stories. They’re children’s movies Haz! I watch them with my two year old siblings.” Louis rubs his eyes, trying to block out confusing images, purposefully ignoring his dream from many moons ago.

Harry researched this, clearly put a lot of thought into it, and really? This is what he came up with?

“Have you ever even seduced anyone before?” Louis asks.

“Only, like, at clubs,” Harry mumbles, looking completely crestfallen. “I just smile at people and unbutton my shirt, and it works.”

He’s worrying his bottom lip, and says more to himself, “This had seemed like such a good idea.”

Louis knows that feeling. Fuck, does he know that feeling. He takes in Harry and a wave of endearment floods through him.

“Aw, Hazza, bring it in,” he walks up to Harry and wraps him in a hug, melting slightly when Harry’s arms come up to encase him. He resolutely ignores that he’s touching Harry’s naked skin, because he’s trying to comfort the boy, and Louis is stronger than that.

“It probably would have worked, if it wasn’t for those ugly pants,” Louis says, rubbing his arms up and down on Harry’s back.

Harry giggles into Louis’ neck, raising some of his neck hairs, and pulls back, “I’ll just go change, yeah?”

He shrugs the robe on, smile back in its rightful place. He returns a few minutes later, to sit beside Louis with a plate of cookies and bottle of beer. Louis reaches out to press play, when he notices a flower crown next to the laptop. That wasn’t there before.

“What’s that?”

“A flower crown. If Tarzan didn’t work, I was going to try Rapunzel.”

Louis chokes on his tea. Again.

He’ll probably die before he fucks Harry. He also promptly changes the movie to something very much not Disney related.

---

Louis is sitting at his desk, surveying the kids as they write out poems. They had just learned about the differences between stanzas and paragraphs and had brainstormed words that rhymed. He'd paired up the students and assigned each pair a topic to write a simple poem about, with an A, B, A, B rhyming pattern. The students seem content to work independently and Louis should be marking some quizzes, but he’s a little unmotivated.

Perhaps he too should write a poem.

He pulls out a blank sheet of paper and chews his pen.

Harry. He’ll write a poem for Harry.

Hair that shines like a princess

No. He scratches that out and starts again. It’s still too soon.

Skin as soft as a petal

Hair as shiny as the sun

Eyes so – what rhymes with petal? Metal? Nettle? Kettle? Ah, yes. That will work.

Eyes as green as my kettle

Harry, you are my number one.

Dimples as deep as the sea

Lips that make me want to come

Heart as pure as can be

Harry, you are my only one.

Perfect. Literary genius, he is. This is Pulitzer Prize worthy. He rewrites the poem carefully on a fresh sheet of paper and then decorates it with hearts and flowers. He spends the rest of the day in eager anticipation for when he gives the poem to Harry.

Ten pm finally rolls around when Harry texts Louis to say that he’s home. Louis bounds over eagerly, knocking obnoxiously until Harry opens the door.

“Here,” he bypasses Harry’s greeting to thrust the poem taped to a bouquet of flowers he’d picked up on his way home.

“Lou,” Harry breathes, caught off guard, “What is this.”

“I wrote you a poem,” Louis points at the paper, rocking on his feet impatiently. “Read it.”

“Okay,” Harry says, floored. He places the flowers on the table and carefully pulls the poem free. He reads silently, lips mouthing along the words. When he’s done he looks at Louis, eyes wide and slightly teary.

“This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me,” Harry says, voice wavering slightly.

“So you liked it?” Louis asks, shy all of a sudden.

“I loved it. Your kettle is very green,” Harry agrees.

Louis nods. He’s quite proud of that line. Harry reaches out to cup Louis’ jaw with one hand, poem still clutched tightly in his other.

“Your lips make me want to come too,” Harry whispers, leaning down. Oh. He’s going to kiss him. Louis' going to win the bet.

Harry must have had the same thought, because he suddenly jerks back, “Hey, that’s not fair! You’re not seducing me. You’re wooing me.”

“Am not!”

“Yes, yes you are!” Harry's eyes widen in shock, and he brings a hand to cover his mouth, “Oh my god, you bought me soup at work the other day!” “

That’s because your throat was hurting.”

“And then the flowers. And now the poem. Louis, that’s wooing. Not seducing.”

“Aren’t they the same?” Louis asks. He swears he wasn’t trying to cheat.

“Of course not.”

“I’m sure they’re, like, the same,” Louis frowns.

“Let’s google it,” Harry settles pulling out his phone. He opens two tabs and types in ‘seduce’ in one and ‘woo’ in the other.

“Kissing isn’t foolhardy or inadvisable,” Louis comments on the first line from Google’s definition of ‘seduce,’ from where he’s peering over Harry’s shoulder.

“The second one works,” Harry says, “’Entice into sexual activity.’ That’s what we’re doing.”

“Okay, what about ‘woo,’” Louis taps on the second tab.

“Try to gain the love of (someone, typically a woman), especially with a view to marriage,” Harry reads.

“That’s extremely heteronormative of Google,” Louis complains. His words fall on deaf ears, because Harry turns to him with fresh tears in his eyes.

“Do you want to marry me?” Harry looks at him in wonder.

“I’m offended you’d think I’d propose to you by sending you flowers or writing a poem,” Louis says. “It would be bigger, more romantic, gayer.” He frowns at the offending definition.

“I’d say yes,” Harry breathes.

Oh.

Louis looks into his eyes, and takes in a shaky breath of his own, “Then I’ll ask you one day.”

Harry eyes are getting quite leaky and Louis ducks his head, unable to look at such beauty any longer.

“We’re horrible at this seduction thing,” Louis chuckles.

“Yes we are,” Harry concurs, as he clutches his poem to his chest and smiles widely at Louis. Louis smiles back.

He can tell he's falling for this boy. This ridiculously beautiful, endearing, wonderful boy. And if he's right, which he usually is, Harry is falling right along with him.

---

And they lived happily ever after.

---

---

---

Of course they didn’t. Louis isn’t living in some fucking fairy tale. If he did, this saga would have started with ‘Once upon a time.’ Which it didn’t. There’s also the issue of dreams coming true and all that nonsense. Kind of impossible for Louis’ life; current state of affairs. Current state of lack of affairs.

This would be more fitting: And he lived sexually frustrated ever after.

Because damn Harry Styles.

Damn, Harry fucking Styles.

Fuck Harry Styles.

False. Louis is not fucking Harry Styles. Contrary to all his wishes and hopes and desires.

Louis is neighbours with Harry Styles. Louis is friends with Harry Styles. Louis is fucking co-parenting a kid with Harry Styles.

He needs to stop saying Harry Styles.

“Sarah, come get breakfast,” Louis calls over the piano, setting plates and cutlery out for three. It’s Saturday morning, nearly a month since school started and Harry and Sarah walked into Louis’ life. Or maybe it’s the other way around, since Louis was the one who moved into their building. A month since they started that stupid bet, which had gone nowhere because they suck at seduction. Louis is still wracking his brains to figure out how he and Harry went from being completely confident that they’d be sleeping together by the end of the first week, to well, this. After the revelation that Louis was in fact wooing Harry, and a few more failed seduction attempts (chocolate sauce is not as sexy as one would think), they’d reached a rut. A very sexually frustrating rut.

Louis’ misery of a love life aside, Saturday morning breakfasts have become their thing, and Louis will never admit it, but he secretly loves it. Loves pretending to be a parent with Harry. It makes his fantasies a lot more realistic, because he can now draw scenes from real life instead of making them up.

Louis is not pathetic.

No, what’s pathetic is Harry insisting on making fun of his mug. “I can’t believe you have to bring it over every Saturday. Would it kill you just drink out of one of my mugs?” Harry complains. “I don’t get what you have against it,” Louis says, turning the mug around in his hands. He can’t remember who he last favoured, but it’s been a while since Tarzan’s received some of his love. He places a tender kiss to Tarzan’s face. Tarzan with his long hair and large eyes, large hands and even larger heart.

Tarzan who Harry dressed up as. He lifts his head to remind Harry of that disastrously night. Except his words die as he takes in Harry’s glare.

“Wha-“ Louis trails off, following Harry’s line of sight, which doesn’t lead to him, but rather his mug. He looks like he’s ready to murder it. Louis instinctively tightens his hold on the mug and brings it marginally closer to himself. Harry’s eyes darken further.

“Uncle Harry, why are you angry?” Sarah slips into her seat beside Louis, concern directed at Harry. His features morph into something a lot more pleasant and light as he serves a cheese stuffed omelette into Sarah’s place.

“Wasn’t angry, sweetheart. Just thinking. About how Mr. Tommo is actually a child."

Sarah nods like it’s the truth. Rude.

“Have you decided what you want to be for Halloween?” Louis changes the subject. He can’t very well tell Harry to fuck off in front of a child.

“Aladdin,” Sarah says promptly, struggling to cut off a bite of the omelette. Louis reaches over and does it for her, cutting the omelette into small morsels that are easily manageable.

“Thanks Mr. Tommo,” Sarah smiles sweetly, and Louis’ heart melts a little. They tried to get her to call him Louis at home, but it got too confusing. So while Sarah’s still in his class, Louis remains as ‘Mr. Tommo.’

“We can definitely work with Aladdin,” Harry muses, whisking up some eggs.

“Is it okay?” Sarah asks around a mouthful, “If I’m a girl and Aladdin is a boy? Calvin said I can’t be Aladdin because I’m a girl.”

She looks so unsure, that Louis is furious. Louis has never liked Calvin, who made fun of Ben the other day for playing ‘house’ with the girls. He’s going to have to have a talk with the kid and his parents.

“You can be whomever you want, love,” Louis tells Sarah, gently rubbing soothing circles into her back. “Don’t listen to Calvin.”

“Will you help Uncle Harry and I make my costume? That’s what we’re doing today.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry hurries to say, “If you’ve got plans or –“

“Nonsense, Haz. Of course I’ll help.”

“You’re the best!” Sarah squeals.

Louis looks up to meet Harry’s eyes that have gone soft around the edges and he’s looking at Louis like he hung the moon and the stars. His stare gets so intense, that Louis has to glance down to fight the burning in his cheeks.

“You’re burning the eggs,” Louis says softly.

Harry finishes making the omelettes and places Louis’ in front of him, moving to sit across from him at the table. Their conversation flows easily, led by Sarah, as they discuss fabrics for the costume and how they’re going to make the pants and purple vest. Louis’ had plenty of experience creating Halloween costumes for his sisters, so he’s a valuable asset to the planning stage, a fact both Sarah and Harry mention a couple of times over the course of the conversation. He tries not to preen. Too much.

Once breakfast is done, Louis dries the dishes while Harry washes, Sarah colouring a picture with crayons on the cleared off table.

“You could be Tarzan. For Halloween,” Louis whispers.

Harry blushes, “I thought we were never talking about that night?”

“But you’ve already got the outfit,” Louis smirks. Harry splashes him with water.

“You also look like him,” Louis continues, wiping a drop that’s clinging to his eyelash.

“I thought I was a princess?”

“Well, yes. You are, but you’re also Tarzan.” He looks at Harry pointedly.

“Is it because of the hair?” Harry rolls his eyes.

“And you look like a monkey.”

“I do not!” Harry protests affronted. “Tarzan didn’t look like the gorillas either. He just lived with them.”

“Whatever. You’re still Tarzan. Look,” Louis points to the mug Harry just picked up, “Can’t you see the resemblance?”

Harry doesn’t grace him with an answer, choosing to glare at the offending object in his hand.

“Okay, why do you hate the mug?”

“I don’t hate it,” Harry grumbles.

“Say that again, but like you mean it.”

Louis gently removes the mug from his hand, rinsing it himself. He might trust Harry with his life. Just not with his most prized possession. Five year old Louis would never forgive his current self if anything were to happen to the mug. Wouldn’t forgive Harry. And really, no version of Louis – past, present or future – is allowed to be upset with Harry. It just won’t do.

“It’s a mug Louis. Don’t be silly. I can’t hate an inanimate object.”

“Yes you can, and you do.” Harry blows some hair out of his face, exasperated.

“He’s jealous.”

Both men turn to stare at Sarah, who’s busily colouring. It’s only when the silence stretches that she lifts her head to take in their faces.

“What?” Louis asks, completely baffled.

“I forgot before. Now I remembered.” She points to the picture of Cinderella and the step-sisters that she’s working on. “Aunty Gem said that’s Uncle Harry’s jealous face. The step-sisters were jealous of Cinderella. That’s how I remembered.”

“I- I’m- what – how?” Harry settles on a word, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. He even blushes like a princess.

“He wants you to kiss him,” Sarah states calmly, selecting a purple from her box of crayons. “He said so yesterday. You always kiss your mug. It’s weird.”

She shoots Louis a judgmental look. She’s seven. How does she know these things? Louis will deal with her later. For now he raises his eyebrows at Harry.

“She asked me yesterday if I’d prefer to kiss you or Niall. I picked you. Obviously,” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Aw babe, you should have just said so,” Louis teases.

He takes Harry’s face in his wet palms, holding him still as Harry squirms. He means to press a loud smack to his cheek, but the minute his lips touch Harry’s skin, they linger longer than necessary. He only draws back when Sarah starts making retching noises.

“There,” Louis exhales a bit shakily, “Now you don’t have to be jealous of my mug."

Harry bites his lip to contain the smile that’s threatening to take over his face, but there’s no containing the fresh bloom of colour on his cheeks, or the light sparkling in his eyes. Louis is finding it a lot of harder to remember his motivation for winning the bet.

-

They had spent a long and exhausting day shopping for fabric, gluing jewels and sewing pieces together. By the time they were done, Sarah looked adorable in white pants, white long sleeves shirt, purple vest and tiny hat. She was so pleased that she kissed both Harry and Louis on their cheeks as a thank you when she left, leaving both men smiling ridiculously at making a little girl’s day.

They’re now snuggled on the sofa, after some curry, and watching TV. When Louis says snuggled, he means proper spooning and such. Harry insists he’s the little spoon, except all evidence points to the otherwise. Case in point: he currently has Louis pressed against his chest, arms securing Louis to him, legs entangled so thoroughly, Louis can no longer tell which limb belongs to which body. They were watching the Great British Bake Off, but that ended, and now they’re mindlessly flipping channels. Louis is mindlessly switching channels. Harry is gently stroking his fingers back and forth across Louis’ arm, breathing soothingly, yet hotly on the back of his neck. Louis is mindlessly switching channels because his brain is doing that thing where it cannot multi-task. It’s choosing to zero in at all the points that they’re touching. To try and stem the goosebumps that are erupting on his arm. He doesn’t think he’s succeeding because Harry won’t stop moving his damn fingers.

“Mhm, Titanic,” Harry murmurs from behind, rumbles vibrating through his chest to Louis’ back. He shifts slightly, aligning his hips more accurately against Louis’ arse. Louis can’t decide if it’s on purpose or accidently. His cock doesn’t really care for a motive. It’s still fattening up. Louis shuffles a bit, arse more firmly on Harry. He can feel the outline of Harry’s dick, confirms he’s hung. Harry’s right arm slides out further from underneath Louis’ side to still him slightly, fist gently bunching up Louis shirt.

“Go back. Jack’s about to let go,” Harry breathes, words floating out to Louis’ ear, not daring to scatter into the wider room. It’s for Louis only. He doesn’t know when the night got so intimate. They’re not even watching Netflix. It’s sacrilegious to be chilling without Netflix.

They’re not even chilling. In the Biblical sense.

“Lou,” Harry whines. Except it’s too low and gravely to be considered a whine. When Louis doesn’t respond, Harry chooses to nudge him. With his hips. Because that’s appropriate. His cock seems to think so, as it continues getting harder.

“Lou,” Harry repeats, fingers releasing the fabric of Louis shirt to find bare skin underneath and scratch at it lightly. Right, he had a task. Change channels. Can anyone really begrudge him, when all the blood that’s supposed to be fueling his brain is instead being diverted elsewhere? And really, based on the proper semi he’s officially sporting, it’s a lot of blood.

He flips back to the Titanic. Rose is freezing on the door that could very easily fit Jack as well, making him promise that he won’t let go.

“I’ve always wanted to have sex in a car and steam it up like they do,” Harry says conversationally from behind, fingers still drawing maddening patterns on Louis body. Jack has just died on screen. Nothing makes sense to Louis anymore. Nothing but the need to get off.

He makes to get up. Harry’s arms tighten around him. Louis didn’t think that was possible. “Where’re you going?” Harry attempts to turn Louis so they’d be facing each other. Louis resists.

“Girls are visiting tomorrow.” Harry’s lips are now directly behind Louis’ ear. Louis knows this because when Harry makes a noise of protest deep in his throat, he snuggles his face further into Louis. It brings his lips flush with Louis’ skin, causes his heart rate to pick up.

He could very easily turn around and kiss Harry now. He could lose that stupid bet for all he cares. But the girls are visiting tomorrow and when Louis first kisses Harry, he intends for it to lead to sex, and then snuggles in bed, and then more sex and more kissing. It’s going to be a full 24 hour, maybe 48 hour marathon, not a rushed six hours. He is going to take his time.

Louis swings his legs over the sofa and Harry lets go of him. He sits up and turns around to look at Harry, who peers up at him from sleepy eyes. He leans down to place a kiss to Harry’s cheek, feels the crater appear underneath his lips as Harry’s smiles.

“Night Princess,” Louis says quietly.

“G’night,” Harry says back, teeth shining in the lateness of the hour, the darkness in the room.

Darkness Louis is extremely grateful for as he lets himself out and hastily rushes to his bed. He scrambles on, not bothering to turn on any lights, or get under the covers, arm flinging out to grab the bottle of lube from the drawer beside his bed. He wastes no time reaching into his joggers and pulling out his still half hard dick. He wanks quick, just the side of rough, spilling over his fist a few minutes later, images of Harry’s lips and eyes and smile dancing behind his eyes, the remnants of his touch caressing him through his orgasm. He brings his clean palm to wipe away at the sweat on his brow.

He’s going to have to lose this bet and soon if he values his sanity.

---

It’s a week later, and Louis has not had a chance to kiss Harry.

Correction.

He’s had plenty of chances to kiss Harry, but they’ve never been right. Given that they’ve built the first kiss up so much, he needs the moment to be perfect. The situation and surrounding circumstances need to align. Like Louis saving Harry from an evil witch. Or rescuing him from a sea monster. Wake him up from a deep sleep with true love’s first kiss.

That kind of perfect.

Which is a bit hard to recreate in the setting of his small one-bedroom flat. That is currently housing four, loud and rowdy boys. Zayn, Liam and Niall are over again, watching footie and eating pizza and drinking beer. Proper lads.

Except the pizza is homemade because Harry refuses to eat anything store bought – it’s not the way they do it in Italy, Lou - and the beer is some Belgian artisan shit that Zayn has been raving about ever since he and Liam went to Brussels.

Proper posh lads.

“Oi, who won the bet?” Niall asks from the kitchen where he’s gone to refill his plate.

Harry is feeding Louis a bite of his pizza, so Louis very well can’t answer. Harry doesn’t bother either, choosing to wipe off some tomato sauce from Louis chin with his thumb. Such a good lad.

“Neither,” Harry says, once he’s satisfied that Louis is fed and clean.

“What do you mean neither?” Niall asks, coming back into the room.

“Exactly what it means?” Harry says, confused by Niall’s lack of comprehension skills.

“But you’re feeding him pizza!” Niall’s looks flustered. Maybe annoyed. Probably both.

“And you’re sharing a beer,” Liam chips in.

“Exactly,” Niall thanks Liam.

“So?” Louis and Harry ask simultaneously, identical expressions of bewilderment.

“You’re dating,” Zayn says slowly.

“No we’re not,” Louis replies, equally slowly.

“You are!” Niall exclaims, “You go grocery shopping together. You buy him face wash when it’s over. You take care of him when he's sick and bring him flowers. Harry’s got that poem pinned up at the store that you wrote for him. Which by the way,” he fixes Louis with an unimpressed look, “Utter shite.”

“Hey,” Harry yells angrily, “That poem was beautiful. You shut your mouth.”

Liam picks up, unbothered by Harry’s outburst, “Niall’s right. You are dating. You’ve even met each other’s families.”

That is true. He had gone out to brunch with Anne and Harry just last week. Absolutely delightful woman.

“Not true,” Harry glares, “I haven’t actually met Jay. Or the babies,” he adds looking at Louis like he’s committed a crime, keeping babies away from Harry.

“You’ve spoken to her plenty of times,” Liam waves his hand. “You’re practically her son.”

Harry beams at that, and the way his face is changing expressions is making Louis dizzy.

“You spend every evening together,” Zayn says.

“That doesn’t mean we’re dating,” Louis insists. He would know if he had entered into a relationship. He would know because then he’d have kissed Harry. And he knows he hasn’t done that yet.

“Wait a minute,” Niall catches up, swiveling his head from the paper in his hands to the boys in front of him, “You haven’t kissed yet.”

The silence emanating from Louis and Harry answers his question.

“Oh my god,” Zayn bursts out laughing, “You’re dating without any of the fun stuff.”

“We have plenty of fun,” Louis defends. Who invited them over?

“Lou,” Liam looks at him sadly, “When was the last time you even got some?”

“You’re not getting it from each other,” Niall cackles, wickedly, “Let’s take you out tonight. Find you someone to break this celibacy vow you’ve both taken.”

“No,” Harry growls, squeezing Louis’ thigh almost painfully.

“Shh, princess,” Louis soothes, “We’re not going anywhere tonight.”

“Then fucking kiss already,” Niall snaps, “You go around calling him ‘princess’ and doing boyfriend shit together but you haven’t fucking kissed him yet.”

That’s exactly what Louis’ been saying! Also, he never thought he’d be scared of a little, Irish man, but he’s quite terrified of Niall right now.

“Okay,” Louis says. The room immediately silences as all eyes fixate on Louis.

“What?” Harry breathes.

“Okay,” Louis repeats.

“B-but you’ll lose the bet,” Harry stammers.

“They’re right, Haz,” Louis sighs. It fucking hurts to admit that. “What good is winning the bet if I can’t get to kiss you?”

“I’ll kiss you,” Harry immediately volunteers, “Then you don’t have to lose.”

What a sweet, precious, wonderful boy.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Zayn groans. “Just kiss each other and get it over with.”

“Together?” Louis asks. Harry nods, hands shaking lightly as he puts his plate on the table and turns to face Louis.

“Wait!” Niall yells, causing the two to jump apart. He turns to glare at Zayn, “You just said that so you’ll win the bet. You can’t kiss each other. Harry you kiss him.”

“Do you want us to kiss or not?” Louis asks impatiently. “Actually, why are you still here?”

“I’m not moving,” Niall says, sitting down on the floor with a thud, “Until I see you two kiss.”

“Ugh, fine,” Louis throws his hands up and turns back to face Harry. His face softens instantly, once he takes in Harry’s smile and eagerness. “Come on, princess,” he murmurs, taking Harry’s hands in his own, angling his face and leaning in slowly.

“Uh, actually, no,” Harry pulls back, sheepishly. The other three let out a collective groan, but Louis looks up at Harry with hurt and confusion. Did he completely misread all the signals?

“Oh, erm, okay,” Louis stutters, unsure of what to do now. He lets go of Harry’s hands.

“No, Lou, no, I still want to kiss you,” Harry rushes to explain, grabbing back onto Louis hands. “Just, could you lie down for me?”

He gets up, leaving the sofa open for Louis to lay down. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” Louis crosses him arms. Crossly. “You’re not making sense.”

“Just, please?” Harrys begs. He does as he’s asked, grumbling the entire way.  The boys remain silent, watching in rapt attention, too taken up in the scene to say anything.

“And close your eyes.”

Louis sighs, loudly and obnoxiously, but obeys. “Happy?” he asks with his eyes shut.

He feels rather than sees Harry’s presence, intimately aware of him kneeling down beside Louis. Louis forces his eyes to stay shut, as Harry gently soothes back the hair from his face, tracing his hairline, then brows and finally, lips.

It clicks, just as Harry leans over him, breath fanning hotly against his face.

“True love’s first kiss, right, Lou?” Harry murmurs, before closing the gap and pressing a firm yet chaste kiss to Louis’ lips. He pulls back before Louis can respond, and Louis opens his eyes, pouting. He wanted more.

Harry on the other hand looks entirely too pleased with himself as he claps delightedly, “You’re awake Lou! True love’s first kiss woke you up.”

Louis’ in love with an idiot.

Oh. Louis’ in love. He needs to tell Harry immediately. Except, he’s interrupted by loud, gagging sounds as Niall fake retches from the floor.

“That was the most sickeningly, atrocious thing I have ever seen. I can’t believe I stayed to watch that.”

“I thought it was cute,” Liam says.

“But who kissed who?” Zayn demands.

“H obviously kissed Lou. True love’s first kiss.” Niall’s cackling again, “Hey fuckers, guess who just won.” He sobers up immediately, “Haz, true love,” he whispers up at Harry, “True love. You just told Louis you loved him you idiot,” he hisses, like the others weren’t there to witness it as well.

And Louis would really like to return the sentiment, except the others are still there.

“Alright, show’s over. Get the fuck out.”

“But I’m still eating my pizza,” Zayn pouts, “And drinking my beer.”

“Yeah, it’s lads’ night. You can’t just call us and then kick us out,” Niall argues.

“I think they’re going to have sex,” Liam comments around a mouthful of pizza.

“We’re definitely going to have sex,” Louis agrees.

“Here, take my keys. You can take the rest of this stuff and go to my place,” Harry pulls out his keys from his jeans pocket and tosses them at Niall. The boys moan and grumble, but they make it to the door, ushered out by a very impatient Louis and Harry.

“Try to keep it down will you?” Zayn smirks, “I’ve heard these walls are very thin.” He might not see the middle finger Louis flips at him, but the sentiment is still there.

And then.

They’re alone.

Harry shuts and locks the door and turns to Louis.

“So,” he says, taking a step toward Louis.

“So,” Louis parrots back, taking a step back. He hits the door.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Harry says, caging Louis in.

“You already did,” Louis replies, eyes dragging away from Harry’s green, down to the pink of his mouth. He wants it back on his.

“I’m going to do it again,” Harry whispers, hands resting on Louis waist and squeezing slightly.

“Please,” Louis says, not above begging, palms clenching the fabric of Harry’s shirt.

And then Harry’s lips are crashing into his. Finally, finally, finally. It might not be a kiss following a battle or a grand declaration of love but it’s perfect. Louis kisses back this time, lips pressing hard against Harry’s unyielding mouth. His lips are just as soft as he’d imagined, but are placing such a bruising pressure and Louis’ brain isn’t functioning anymore to figure out how they can be so contradictory. He succumbs to the kiss, his legs weakening, heart rabbiting in his chest.

He’s finally kissing Harry.

Harry’s hand travels around him and down, down, down to settle on his arse, palming and squeezing each cheek perfectly, like they were made for his hands. Which they probably were. Louis moans deep and long, his own hands flying up to tangle in Harry’s soft, silky, luscious hair so he can tug and angle his head just the way he wants to. The kiss deepens as Louis’s tongue snakes out urgently to lick along Harry’s lips, noises swallowed up by Harry’s open mouth.

“I’m serious Lou,” Harry tears his mouth away from Louis’, gasping into his ear, “I love you. I want to date you. Marriage, babies, everything.”

Louis throws his head back, hearing rather than feeling it hit the wall, what with Harry’s words working their way through him, snatching onto his heart. It’s too much and not enough, too soon after so long of waiting.

“It’s yours. Everything. All – it’s yours. Me. Yours. Please, Harry,” he gasps, incoherent as Harry bites down on his neck, “Love you too. So much.”

His hands scramble trying to find purchase on the wall, before they give up and tangle back into Harry’s hair, pulling him back to his lips.

“Say it again,” Harry demands, sucking a hot, fierce kiss onto Louis’ lips.

“Love you,” Louis manages, arches, hips straining to meet Harry’s hardness. Harry gives in, grinding down on Louis. Filthy. Hot. It’s so much. Too much.

“Again,” Harry insists. He licks into Louis mouth. Filthier. Hotter. Wetter. Louis pulls away, sucking in air, lungs no longer working, nothing working unless Harry’s making it work.

“Yours,” Louis breaks, “Harry, Harry, Harry.” He means to say more. To ask, but he can’t. Everything’s short circuited. He tightens his grip on Harry’s hair.

“Bed, Lou. Please, want to suck you. Want to fuck you. Wanted you for so long, from that first time I opened my door to you. Fuck, I love you so much,” Harry groans, just as affected as Louis, mouth moving across Louis face, lost with no direction, yet insistent that every spot he lands on, is the treasure he was meant to find.

Louis hoists himself weakly into Harry’s arms, legs straining around Harry, as Harry takes a shaky breath and walks the short distance into his bedroom. He places Louis softly onto the bed, like he’s porcelain that can break. That doesn’t make sense. Harry’s the dainty one. He’s the princess. Louis looks up at him from where he’s sprawled on the bed, Harry’s figure looming above him, strong, manly, trembling with want. And love.

Harry loves him.

Fuck, Louis can’t look at him. He can’t stop looking at him.

“Slow?” Louis asks, voice shaky and horse, like he’s been parched for days. “Want to touch you. See you. Make it last.”

Harry breaks though a haze to say, “Orgasm delay?”

Louis lets out a laugh, glad the frantic urgency is replaced with a simmering heat and want. He’s starting to think clearly again. He wants this so badly, wants Harry so much, but he doesn’t want their first time to be over and done with. He wants to remember it, to savour it.

“Don’t think I’ll be able to last,” Louis admits.

“Yeah, slow,” Harry agrees. “Want to taste every bit of you.”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut up top, palm squeezing himself down bottom. Harry bats his hand away, “Stop. Mine.” Harry kneels up onto the bed, crawling over Louis. He bunches up Louis’ tee, places a slow, wet, open mouthed kiss on his skin, right above the waist band of his pants. He places another on his belly button, tongue dipping in, licking long and thorough. He lifts off to place another right above, and another, and another until Louis is a writhing, shivering mess, his t-shirt bunched up awkwardly and Harry is looking at him like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen. He feels the heat of the flush start low in his belly, working up to his face.

“Haz,” Louis says weakly, “Please.”

He doesn’t know what he’s asking for but he needs something. Anything.

“Yeah, okay,” Harry says, catching the fabric of Louis shirt in his hands, guiding it up and over Louis’ head, discarding it carelessly over his shoulder.

“So beautiful Lou,” he breathes amazed, hands trailing down Louis’ torso, nails scraping against his nipples and making him arch off the bed.

“You,” Louis fumbles, “Your shirt. Off.”

He assists Harry is taking off the his shirt and then pushes insistently on Harry’s jeans, both dissolving into frustrated giggles as the piece of clothing puts up more resistance than either of them are able to deal with. “

Your Tarzan pants would have been more ideal,” Louis declares, pulling the jeans over his foot and flinging them. He pulls off his trousers as well and pushes Harry back onto the bed. He means to lean over and start kissing Harry like his life depended on it, which it does, but he’s stopped short by the mesmerising sight in front of him. Harry’s hair is fanned across the pillow, creating a halo that only he’s fit for, his chest covered in a rose pink blush as it rises and falls rapidly. Louis trails his eyes down to take in the outline of Harry’s hard cock through his black pants and his mouth waters in hunger. He can’t wait to taste him, to feel the heavy weight against his tongue.

“Lou,” Harry whimpers, shaking under his heavy stare. Louis reaches out a tentative hand, tracing a feather light path up Harry’s torso, in awe that he’s finally getting to do this.

“Love you so much Harry,” Louis murmurs, stretching himself out, aligning their bodies so that their hard dicks can brush up against each other, so that he can fit his mouth over Harry’s and suck his bottom lip. It’s hard yet soft, insistent yet languid and Harry’s all purity of a princess yet sinfulness of a witch and Louis never stood a chance against his spell.

“I’m gonna suck you,” Harry pants into his ear when they pull apart for air. It’s all the warning Louis gets, as he finds himself on his back, ridiculously turned on from Harry’s strength. He’s not going to last if Harry gets his mouth on him, and Louis means to tell him. But Harry’s nails are digging into his pants, and then they’re gone, and Harry’s looking at his cock like it’s the last meal he’ll ever eat, and Louis is going to die.

He watches Harry shuffle down the bed until he can rest his head on the juncture of Louis’ thigh. Harry lifts a singular finger and trails it from the base of Louis’ cock up to where his nail digs lightly into his slit and back down on the other sight. The touch is light, but so maddening that Louis shivers wholly, his cock twitching violently with it.

“Don’t tease,” Louis pleads, fingers carding through Harry’s hair, “Please.”

“Just admiring,” Harry says awestruck, tracing the same path again, “So pretty. All for me.”

“Just you,” Louis confirms, gasping in air, unsure how he’s going to last once Harry actually touches him. “Please, Harry, please.”

Harry must deem that he’s had enough of his visual fill because he mumbles and ‘okay,’ turning his head to kiss at Louis’ thigh crease, before moving to hover over his cock. His hot breath is torture over Louis’ swollen dick and he’s about to cry if Harry doesn’t touch him now.

“Haz,” Louis chokes, words broken the minute Harry wraps his palm around Louis and strokes up languidly. “Like that?” Harry asks, movements unhurried, but so, so maddening.

Louis lifts his head to take in the sight and he lets out a broken cry, because, yes; Harry’s hands are so large around him, just like he’d imagined and Louis will not be able to last any longer. His head falls back the second Harry darts his tongue out and takes his first taste, both their moans mingling in the heated air. Harry starts licking in earnest, lapping at Louis’ slit and his pre come, before opening his mouth wide, and taking Louis in.

Louis is dead. He has to be.

This is what heaven must be like. Perfect heat. Perfect wetness. Perfect pressure.

He tightens his hold in Harry’s hair as he bobs on his dick, crying out when Harry opens wider and takes Louis down completely. He feels himself hitting the back of Harry’s throat and he squeezes his eyes tight and tugs on Harry’s hair to avoid coming. But Harry moans at the pressure in his hair, the vibrations nearly sending Louis over the edge.

“Haz, baby, please. Stop. I can’t,” Louis babbles, incoherent, but determined to get this out. “I’m going to come.”

The words don’t deter Harry, instead serving to push him to suck harder, swirl his tongue just – there¬ and stroke faster with his hand. And Louis is coming, shooting straight down Harry’s throat, muscles tense as he is worked through his orgasm.

He lies back spent, meaning to scold Harry, meaning to apologise for coming so soon, but Harry’s mouth is right above his, and then it’s kissing all the apologies away. He tastes like Louis’ come, and Louis hasn’t experienced anything hotter.

“So beautiful, Lou. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Love you,” Harry kisses into his jaw and down his neck.

He gently coaxes Louis onto his front, and there are so many things Louis wants to say. Things like he loves him, and that was the best blow job ever, best orgasm ever. So many things he wants to do. Like taking care of Harry’s hardness that’s digging into his arse.

“Wha- what are you doing?” Louis slurs, mouth wetting at the pillow.

“Taking care of what’s mine,” Harry murmurs, kissing down each vertebrae. He reaches the swell of Louis’ arse, and kneads each cheek gently, kissing along them reverently.

And Louis has to take care of what’s his. He reaches back to palm at Harry’s cock.

“I have to – “ Louis breaks off when he feels Harry spread his cheeks and blow hot air over his hole. He shivers, muscles tightening in anticipation, cock perking up slightly in interest. Oh god, Harry’s going to make him come again.

“This okay?” Harry asks, voice slightly muffled as he speaks into Louis’ crack.

“You’re still hard,” Louis finds his voice to protest, “Let me take care of you.”

“After,” Harry says engrossed, “I’ve got a buffet to feast on first.” He giggles lightly at his own joke, lips stretched over Louis' arse. 

It's so bad, but so good and Louis is in love with an idiot. 

An idiot who dives straight in, done with the teasing from before. He licks directly across Louis hole, up and down, around and around, until Louis is wet down there from Harry’s spit, and up top from his own tears. Harry bites into the side of his cheek, and Louis moans, voice garbled and hoarse.

“Love you,” he warbles, spasming when Harry finally breaches his hole, tracing along his inner walls.

“Love you too,” Harry says, drawing back, “Love how you taste. Now where’s the lube?” He’s a man on a mission and as soon as he’s done, Louis is going to take him apart and return the favor.

“Side draw,” Louis lifts his head, watching as Harry rummages around until he finds the bottle. Harry crawls back to his place in front of Louis’ arse after kissing Louis gently on his cheek.

“On your knees, babe,” Harry says, helping Louis arrange himself so that Harry has better access.

His knees shake, but he stays put. He hears the cap of the bottle opening and then feels a wet finger trace around his hole, knees giving way the minute Harry pushes in. It doesn’t deter Harry, who wraps an arm around to hold Louis up, while pushing deep into Louis, sweeping gently along his walls. He pulls back after a few thrusts and returns with two fingers, setting an unrelenting pace as he fucks into Louis, which has Louis babbling at the glorious stretch. Harry’s hands are big, his fingers long and insistent, and Louis already feels so full. He bites down hard on his pillow in the next second, because Harry’s found his prostate and is rubbing hard, unyielding circles against the firm ball inside. His tongue is back, tracing along Louis rim, and then inside between his two stretched out fingers, thrusting in time with his fingers.

“Haz, oh god, you feel so good,” Louis moans, hard again already, leaking onto his sheets.

“You do too,” Harry pants, “You’re taking me so well.”

He punctuates the last word by adding the third finger, and if he doesn’t get his dick into Louis now Louis is going to die. Again.

“I’m ready, come on, I’m ready,” Louis grits out. “I’m ready.”

He turns onto his back, watching as Harry fumbles opening the condom with lubed up fingers. Louis reaches out to still his shaking hands, ripping the package open and then rolling the condom on Harry’s red and hard dick. It’s the first time he’s properly looking at it, properly touching it and it’s so pretty. He wants to take a picture and frame it, replace the Mona Lisa. Louis takes the bottle of lube and drizzles a liberal amount onto Harry cock, and coats it thoroughly, revelling in the feel of Harry in his hand.

“’M not gonna last,” Harry bites out, fingers stilling Louis’ movements. “I’m sorry if it’s not going to be good, but Lou,” he moans, closing his eyes, when Louis sits up to mouth at his neck, “I don’t think I can last.”

“Don’t care,” Louis says, pushing Harry’s sweat slicked hair back with his lube free hand, “Just want you.”

“You already have me,” Harry kisses him, soft and thorough. It lacks the fire of their other kisses, but it’s just as whole and fulfilling and Louis could do this for days.

Harry draws back to press the tip against Louis’ rim, “Slow right?”

Louis nods, falling back when Harry pushes in painfully slowly. He doesn’t hurry him, letting him move in inch by inch, stretching Louis out fantastically, until he’s balls deep and Louis has to struggle to remember to breathe. He meets Harry’s eyes as Harry rests, allowing Louis to get used to the fullness. Louis nods when he’s ready, and Harry pulls out half way, just as painfully, torturously slow, setting a rhythm that is unhurried, but deep and thorough. They meet halfway in a sloppy kiss, that’s too much tongue and not enough finesse and it’s wonderful and perfect, even if they had to wait a month and a half to get here.

He can tell when Harry is close, because he starts to pick up speed and bites down on his lips to concentrate on not coming. Louis is having none of it and licks insistently at Harry’s lip until he releases it so that Louis can suck it in. He meets Harry’s every thrust, already close too, matching the pace as it quickens. Harry is grunting, sweat pouring down his back, making Louis’ hands slide as they scramble for purchase when Harry wraps a palm around Louis cock. He pumps at the same pace they’ve set and Louis is going to come, what with how he’s filled with Harry, in every sense of the being, body and heart full and overflowing.

“Come for me Lou,” Harry gasps, stroking Louis faster. And he’s close already, embarrassingly so, and it won’t take much more. “Come on Lou, come for me,” Harry pleads, and Louis gives in.

He comes, splattering between their bodies, clenching hard around Harry. Harry pushes through his tightening muscle for one, two, three thrusts and he’s coming too, spilling inside Louis.

They both fall onto the bed, chests heaving and breath mingling as they come down from their orgasms. They lie in silence until their hearts have slowed down to a more normal rate.

“We’re never allowed to leave this bed,” Louis says, voice hoarse from all the noise he’d been making.

“Best sex ever,” Harry admits, pulling out and tying up the condom. He gets up to throw it out and comes back with a wet cloth to wipe Louis down. Louis soaks in his love and affection. Today Harry can be the one to take care of him, but come tomorrow, Harry’s not going to know what hit him. He waits for Harry to come back to bed, opening his arms to let Harry slip in, and rest his curls against Louis’ chest.

“So,” Harry says, voice still in an orgasm haze and laced with sleepiness, “Suppose we should talk.”

“About how we’re idiots?” Louis asks, tracing his fingers along Harry’s arm.

Harry shakes his head, “Yes, but also how we, like, love each other.”

“You love me,” Louis teases, poking Harry’s crater when it makes an appearance.

“You love me too,” Harry retorts, biting lightly at Louis’ nipple.

“No,” Louis pulls on his hair, making Harry moan deep and low, “I am not coming three times in one night. Some of us aren’t as young anymore.”

Harry scoffs, but lays obediently still, save for his fingers that are drawing patterns on Louis’ chest. It feels nice. Louis is not complaining.

“We’re dating now?” Harry asks, “Proper boyfriend and boyfriend.”

“Apparently we already were,” Louis says wryly. “Did you know?”

“Kind of,” Harry admits sheepishly, “Sarah asked me a couple of days ago if we were boyfriends.”

“Why didn’t you do anything about it?” Louis asks exasperated.

“I was waiting for the perfect moment!” Harry defends.

Louis can’t blame him for that. “Can’t believe a seven year old knew before we did.”

“We are idiots,” Harry agrees.

“Can’t believe you let Niall win,” Louis grumbles. “He’s never going to shut up.”

"You won as well," Harry points out.

"I would have won anyways." Which really is the truth. "Stupid bet, just prolonged the winning."

"You suggested it," Harry says, a bit sleepily.

"You did!" Louis retorts.

"Because you expected me to kiss you!"

"We're not doing this again," Louis draws Harry tighter.

"You're just stubborn," Harry comments, resuming tracing circles on Louis' chest.

"Not as stubborn as you," Louis says, refusing to let Harry have the last word. "And I still won."

"It's okay," Harry snuggles closer, nuzzling his face into Louis' pec. "Had to do it for true love’s kiss,” Harry says.

“I’ll show you true love’s kiss,” Louis say, tossing Harry onto his back and pouncing on him. He litters his face with kisses, undeterred by Harry’s squirming and giggles. He pauses moments later, to look into Harry’s eyes that are so green, and so bright, and so happy.

“I love you,” Louis whispers, now that he knows it and has owned it, can't stop saying it.

“Love you too,” Harry says back, sealing it with a kiss. They continue kissing languidly, until fatigue washes over them and Harry breaks apart to turn his back on Louis.

“What are you doing?” Louis pouts. He wanted snuggles.

“I’m the little spoon, remember?” Harry says.

“Silly, little, princess,” Louis smiles, pressing up behind Harry and throwing his arm around him, letting sleep take over their sex tired bodies.

---

It’s the morning after Harry and Louis got together, and they’re woken up by ‘A Whole New World.’ Louis had thought he’d gotten past of that period in his life but when he opens his eyes, he understands.

Understands that it’s not a piano playing but rather voices singing.

Understands that it’s not coming through his wall but outside his bedroom door.

Understand that he hates Niall, Liam and Zayn and he’s going to fucking kill them.

“Now tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?”

“Morning,” Harry turns around in his arms and smiles at him through sleepy eyes. Louis has never seen anything more beautiful and he saw Harry orgasm last night. He knows he’s going to spend the rest of his life trying to figure out which version of Harry is his favourite. He also knows he’s going to cop out and say every version, every single time.

“Morning,” Louis smiles back, kissing Harry softly. “Do you want to kill them or should I?”

“I can open your eyes, take you wonder by wonder”

“Maybe if we make really loud sex noises, they’ll go away,” Harry suggests. “Oh, baby, Louis, yeah. Just like that, push it in harder,” he moans.

The singing stops.

“Yeah, Harry, fuck me so good,” Louis adds, moving around to creak the bed a little.

“Ride me Lou, let me see that arse,” Harry shouts, breaking off into a giggle.

“Take me on that magic, carpet ride,” Louis finishes, dissolving into laughter.

He’s never going to be able to listen to that song again.

“We hate you,” Zayn grumbles from the other side of the closed door.

“Yeah, fuck you,” Niall shouts.

“No thanks, Harry already is,” Louis wheezes .

“We’re leaving,” Liam says. “Just wanted to say bye.”

“And we’re taking all of your stuff,” Niall complains.

“Love you too,” Louis calls out.

The door shuts shortly after, leaving Louis and Harry blissfully alone for the rest of the day.

“What shall we ever do?” Louis smirks, reaching down to stroke Harry’s morning wood, that's been begging for attention the ever since Harry turned in his arms.

“Can’t think of anything,” Harry exhales, smiling through Louis’ very precise upstroke.

“Ready for another round?” Louis asks, sucking Harry’s lips.

“With you? Always.”

---

This time, they actually do live happily, ever after.