Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

With an uneasy sigh, he falls deep into the birch bentwood located in the very centre of the school library. The book that folds out neatly in Louis’ lap is no other than the tale of Oedipus the King. One would say that he’s deep in the 400-page book, the book spread out to appear as if he’s read three-quarters of the text already. However, if you’d assume that, you’d would be wrong, as Louis has only read two pages of the third play; the only play he is supposed to be reading. His Literature teacher is going to have him at his throat.

“Alright,” he murmurs to himself. He swallows his panic hoping it will settle as a replacement meal for today’s uneaten lunch. He needs to, at least, read to line 500 by the end of the break. The library seemed like a good spot to read, to not get distracted. “Focus, Louis. It’s only a small play.”

He glares at the tiny print on the paper, blinking confusedly when the text blended into one massive blur. Louis readjusts the glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose. His vision becomes even more terribly impaired the more he tries to glare at the words. Maybe it’s a sign that Literature not only ruins your view on the morality of your society, but your vision... literally. Fuck.

“Act, defend yourself, your former glory! Your country calls you savio-- Oh look, line 60 already!” Louis cheers absentmindedly. With a tight grin on his lips, he continues through the rest of the Priest’s dialogue, coming across words he can barely pronounce let alone know the meaning of. He skips plenty of sentences, and plenty more pieces of dialogue to finally reach to line 375 “and I’ll never reveal my dreadful secrets...”

He pauses to reach for his water bottle inside his day pack. He takes, what Louis supposes is, a well-deserved break, opening his mouth and sipping at his drink. He drags out his actions purposely, forgetting to screw the lid around the bottle’s lip so that he could pick the drink up again and retighten the seal. He wastes 2 minutes of his time with nonsense, snapping himself out of his usual procrastination antics and delving himself in the Theban play once again.

He doesn’t look at the text. He presents himself to look like he is. His eyes make direct contact with the crease line in the centre of the book. He wastes another minute blankly staring at the paper, a discoloured yellow that’s thin and easy to tear. Oh yes, the colour also has a few imperfections in its tone, a few white specks, black specks, here and there. And the printing of the font on the page is uneven. The two O's in the same line of Oedipus’ dialogue isn’t the same-- fuck. 

Louis knew from the very start of his Literature course back he wouldn’t be able to complete it. His mindset from three months ago hasn’t changed now. He can’t even read 375 lines properly without going into boredom overdrive. With that being said, he definitely would not be able to complete the in-class essay next Thursday on the play. Louis is so fucking fucked. He doesn’t know how he let himself stoop so low to end up failing the lowest stage of Literature provided by his school. He doesn’t know at all.

“Christ,” an urgent voice whispers. Louis loses all focus on his book. Not as if he was paying any attention to it anyway... But whatever. His eyes divert upwards to where the voice came from. It’s hidden behind the bookcase next to Louis’ chair. “Hello?”

So mystery person is taking a phone call inside the school library. Maybe not so convenient considering a library is a place for absolutely no talking whatsoever. This is going to be some delicious gossip to tell if the person’s busted for chatting in the library, not to mention the fact he’s using a mobile phone during school hours. A dickhead, this mystery kid is.

“Why are you calling me, what’s so important? You know I can’t talk to you during school hours.” Louis rules out the fact that this kid might be new to the school. He knows the rules. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. God knows why he chose the library out of all places to have an over the line conversation with someone. “Yeah, I know, mum. She called me last night. I haven’t forgotten.”

His own damn mother. How sweet.

“I’ll be home at seven,” the mysterious boy, Louis can now identify through the hoarse whispers, speaks with sincerity in his voice. It reminds Louis of when he used to speak to his mother on the phone every day like that. Always after school when he would go to Niall’s house, tell her that he’d be back by five, ready for dinner, washed up with hands-free of any dirt, grime and worries. Louis can’t remember the last time he had a proper phone call with his mum. By that, he means a proper phone call where he doesn’t lie at least once.

The bookshelf hiding the man creaks just where Louis’ chair is settled. Louis’ breath hitches in his throat, body frozen as he glances at the unmoved books. There’s silence in their air; as there should be. But soon enough, footsteps are pacing further and further away from Louis’ hideaway and the voice grows softer as he continues to speak on the phone. Louis sighs once again, looking down to the book and trying to sharpen his glare at line 376 of the play.

It’s silent for an extensive amount of time. Louis composes himself and drowns in the words spoken by Tiresias towards Oedipus. Suddenly, an abrupt voice sneaks up behind Louis’ back and frightens him. He squeaks, snapping his head leftward to see the mystery man slouching as if he’s not hidden enough behind the tall shelves. He’s got his phone tucked close to his ear, a hand cupping around it as his pink mouth hangs open mid-sentence. He’s got long hair that passes his shoulders. A feral, Louis declares he is. A lovely looking feral.

Louis then realises he must have been completely concealed by the bentwood’s back.

Beady green eyes stare intently at Louis. He can’t tell whether or not the boy’s planning his next move or if he’s just startled that he got caught in the act. It’s not like Louis is going to tattle-tale about what he’s doing. He’s just as panicked as the boy is, as a matter of fact. How dare he scare him like that.

“I,” the boy says, Louis’ unsure if it was towards him or the phone, “Yeah.”

Louis doesn’t speak a word. It’s just a fucking phone call for God’s sake but the man’s expression belongs to someone who just got caught slaughtering 5 cats. He glances at his book, still nestled between the gap of his thighs, and thinks to himself. It’s the first lot of good thinking he’s actually done today. A few muted seconds later, he tilts his head up again, seeing the man in the same position as he was when Louis first caught eyes with him.

Louis sends a reassuring smile, one of earnestness and endearment. The man doesn’t hesitate to smile back, a goofy grin with a bit of tongue popping out between his top and bottom teeth. It sends Louis spiralling into a world of delight and bashfulness. He’s got pink high on his cheeks when he sends his eyes straight down to the crevasse of his book once again, screening his shyness from any observance. The next time he looks up, the long haired man is gone, and so has the mysterious voice he carried around with him.

Before proceeding, Louis checks if anyone has the ability to spot him. He realises that he’s in the all clear. He bends down to his day pack once more to bring out an empty mason jar, washed and cleared from anything that was once contained within it. He opens the lid, placing it in his lap, and swoops forward to collect what looks to be nothing but the silent air of the library. He then fumbles with the lid, closing the mason jar and shoves it in his bag quickly to prevent anyone from seeing what he has done.

The bell rings ten minutes later and he rushes out of the library to the final period of the day; Literature. Louis only gets to line 523 of the Oedipus play, but he supposes that’s enough to kind of get the story line. Kind of.

: :

After his drive back home that afternoon, he locks himself inside the desolate house. His first instinct is to walk to the kitchen, where he could either find his mother dressed with her cherry red apron tied around her waist, occupied behind the stove, or a lonely sticky note. As expected, stuck on the marble counter is a yellow square, Louis picking it up and instantly recognising his mother’s handwriting. Dinner’s in the fridge, love mummy x, it says.

He finds a foil wrapped bowl in the fridge, inspecting what this “so called dinner” was. Alfredo. Also expected. He closes the fridge door with nothing more than a solemn sigh, soon stumbling up the stairs to the second storey of the house. His bedroom lies at the very end of the upstairs corridor, the area quite obscurely dark even though it’s only early afternoon. He passes his sister’s room, noticing the door was left open with her three dolls by her tea set; a thing she always does before their mother takes her to play time with Louis’ niece. It saves Louis the stress of looking after his four-year-old sister after school hours. It gives him plenty of opportunities to do things without being interrupted too...

Like Literature homework.

Opening the door to his room is like entering the gates of heaven itself. Not so much for the fact that the room is pristine or has a ten-course buffet ready to devour, but the tall window framing his balcony doors floods light into his room. It makes the white walls look whiter and the double bed in the corner of his room seem as if they were the clouds themselves. But before he drops face first to his mattress and falls into a three-hour nap, he has some business to attend to.

He unzips his day pack, reaching in for the mason jar he used earlier. He takes it out, dumping his bag on the carpet, and walks to the second door of his room; the balcony entrance. Unlatching the door’s lock, he swings the door open and the sheer curtain immediately blows in his face. Louis moves past it, unfazed, and steps outside to where 50 mason jars are scattered on the balcony’s railing, on the painted planks that support his feet, on the homemade shelves...

Everywhere you look there would be an empty mason jar, only the fair few having pieces of papers inside them. Louis knows those special papers have writing on them. Most of the jars have writing on their glass exterior. This is so he could identify them for future purposes.

Louis puts the mason jar in his hands on a shelf, placed next to another jar labelled “First day of middle school.”

He steps back and looks at the jar he had just positioned. It’s taller than half of the jars Louis has. He doesn’t mind, however. All jars came in different sizes, just like people. Just like memories.

He breathes in the Autumn air while glancing at the sky. Up there, he spots a cloud in the shape of a lighthouse. No one else could probably recognise it as so. Louis purses his lips together into a tight smile, one that’s unsettled. It doesn’t take long for him to tilt his head downward to look at the planks beneath him. He bunches his fists up into secure bundles to compose himself.

“Hold them forever, Nan said,” Louis murmurs to himself. “They’re held indefinitely here.”

Louis reaches into his nine-year-old memory, seeing himself sitting before his Granny. She was sat on the lone couch by the TV, knitting, as most Grannies do. Louis was there with a doll, one that Granny herself made for her favourite grandchild. He still has the doll now, Louis remembers. It’s perched on top of his dresser.

“Louis,” she had whispered to him, a gentle voice that’s smoother than the seaside’s waves. “I have a gift for you.”

A present. Louis stands up quicker than the old woman could blink. He immediately stretches his hands out for whatever his Nan was knitting. Instead, he was gifted a glass jar, one with a gold lid. It was empty.

“No lollies?” Louis murmured. An innocent being he was.

“No lollies,” his Granny whispered with a chuckle. “Not yet, anyway. But don’t tell your mother.”

Louis giggles to himself, but is soon enamoured by this random object he could easily find at the bottom of his kitchen cupboard. Why did his Nan give him something so easy to find, so easy to break?

“This is a special gift from me to you, my dear,” his Granny told him. Louis inspected closer. No rainbows were inside it, no invisible fairy. This was a plain mason jar that had been washed out and given to him. What is he supposed to do with it? “A long time ago, and I mean when I was about your age, I found a jar in my cupboard just like this one. It’s a bit dusty now, maybe broken. But I still remember the day I held it in my hands and thought of the most precious of ways to keep my most fond memories in perfect condition.

“I went outside and found the most beautiful flower, Louis. I kept it in the jar and little did I know that the pretty little thing would die after two days. Your great-grandmother threw the flower away but kept the jar in my room. And you know what? I looked at the jar every single day from there on and every time I looked at it, I remembered the very day I found that flower and how beautiful it was, how magical the day was. I collected more jars, and instead of collecting more flowers, I collected the air that filled the day, the air that brightened my mood.”

Louis glared at her as if she was straight out of a mental asylum. But his Granny continued to talk.

“You see this jar that I have here?” She pulled out her own small jar, similar to Louis’. “This is the jar I used when I first met your Grandpa. A few weeks later, he found out what I was doing, and he joined me in collecting memories while we journeyed through our lives.”

He held the jar out in his hands. It’s clear on the inside, just filled with air, but there’s so much more to it. 70-year-old air was inside that jar. A 70-year-old memory. Only Louis and his grandparents knew what was inside that jar. It’s just a clear jar to everyone else. This was... kind of beautiful.

“Your mother didn’t carry on with something like this. She broke her first jar and forgotten about it after time passed by. But you, Louis, I think you should do something that carries on with our family. To keep our memories together, to keep your memories safe. Literally.”

He blinked at his Granny twice, blank in the face but not in the mind. His Granny smiled to him wholeheartedly. Louis loves her so much. He would do anything for her to keep her happy. To make sure he could be the best grandson.

“You’re an absolute treasure, you know that, Louis?”

He cupped the jar tighter in his hands, holding it close to his heart and saying “Thank you Granny,” and smiling delightedly. His Granny watched him sit down again and instead of playing with his knitted doll, Louis opened the jar to only close it a few seconds later. She watched in awe.

“Look Granny!” Louis squeaked, holding up the closed jar. “I did it!”

His Granny grins proud and enthralled. “Yes, yes you did.”

Nine months later, Louis’ grandmother passed away in her sleep. Louis slept with the gifted mason jar by his nightstand for four years.

The town lighthouse was the last place Louis went with his Granny. The Summer was bliss and the trip to the seaside was unforgettable. Louis collected the memory, along with a few seashells that sit at the bottom of the glass jar. He remembers the salt wafting through the air as it gathered in his mousy brown hair. He remembers the sand sliding between his toes to be found in the shower, the bed, and everywhere in between three days later. He remembers holding his Granny’s hand, listening to her hum a sweet melody as they walked to the pier; their final destination of that magical evening.

The sunset was beautiful that night. It was the last one they’d spent together.

It was downhill from there. Louis would’ve never thought his mind would fall succumb to mild depression. He never thought that his grandma’s passing would affect him to this very day. Eight years. The funeral replays as clear as day in his mind, the sweet scent of the fresh chrysanthemums scattered on her coffin; her favourite.

Louis unclasps his balled fists, looking to the sky now just a shade of blue lighter. It’s fading into soft tones of vibrant orange. He walks back inside from the balcony before sunset dares to come any closer to him. He falls into his bed, tucking himself deep into the white duvet and dreams of a happier tomorrow.

: :

A week after he’d been on the balcony, he finds himself face to face with the same long haired wonder.

Resting against the bentwood is Louis, once again. If the boy is stupid, he could conclude that Louis hasn’t moved at all in the past week. But a preposterous idea like that could never come from someone who is smart enough. Then again, Louis is talking about the same boy who did use a mobile phone during school hours in the quietest place on school grounds.

But this time, the boy isn’t talking on the phone, or talking at all for that matter. He’s been strolling around for a while, Louis has seen him pace up and down a few non-fiction aisles nearby. The boy is by the same bookshelf where he had frightened Louis before. The situation is quite similar, both of them eyeing at each other with little to no idea on what to do next.

However, this time, the boy’s the first one to smile. It makes Louis’ heart stop and stutter against his ribs. His cheeks indent, small dimples pop out and smile to Louis themselves. He wears the grin beautifully. The boy’s eyes are comforting. They remind him of his grandmother’s. Louis beams a grin back, game enough to lift his hand from where his fingers clutched the book page to wave over to him. There is a pregnant pause that stops them both from breathing suddenly, but then the man turns his back to Louis. Louis watches his behind, seeing he’s gazing at, what Louis supposes is, the book he’s been looking for.

He slides out his selection then views the blurb. The boy hums approvingly, turning on his heels and pacing away from Louis in the bentwood. Louis is about to continue with his reading of the Theban play, which yes, he still hasn’t finished despite facing the consequences of going into tomorrow’s in-class essay unprepared. He sees something fall out of the man’s pocket, which was perceived to be impossible due to how tight his jeans are around his thighs. It’s a small black object. Louis recognises it as his USB.

“Wait,” Louis calls out in a firm whisper. He rests his book aside and stands from the chair, trotting over to the USB on the floor. He picks it up with his pointer finger and thumb then proceeds to examine it. Louis looks to where the man had walked away to the left. He’s gone. As if he’s just vanished into thin air. “Shit.”

After a further search around the library, he can finalise that he’s going to have to wait until the boy tries to track down his missing USB. He can also safely say that the curly haired, green-eyed, charming man is of the name Harry Styles. The name was carved in neat capital letters on the USB’s plastic surface. Louis runs his fingers over the engraving. It burns heat into his skin. Also grazes plastic shavings into his thumb. Whatever.

He strolls back to the bentwood to finish up the final few pages of Oedipus the King. The bell rings thirteen minutes later, and Louis still hasn’t finished the damn play.

: :

He leaves his Math class with a notoriously bored expression on his face. Before travelling out of school grounds to drive back home, he walks to his locker located in the Music blocks’ corridor. He snatches his day pack, his lunch - which he yet again didn’t eat - and his Literature study notes with The Three Theban Plays book. When he gets home, he’s going head first into study for the essay tomorrow morning. He can’t fuck it up that bad. It’s a small play, a simple topic to write about. The contextual meaning of Oedipus the King. Ha ha, simple...

The walk out of school grounds is uneventful. He says goodbye to a few fellow students from his classes and proceeds to head to the emptying parking lot. However, if Louis were walking any slower or faster, he would have missed the long locks of hair that blew in the gentle town breeze. He puts two and two together. The man who sports the white t-shirt and tight black skinnies, now walking to his car, who lost his USB earlier today, is, in fact, Harry Styles.

He doesn’t wave a hand around like a maniac to grab his attention. Neither does he call out. Instead, he runs like bison in a stampede. He sprints to Harry as if it’s the last time he is ever going to see him again. He earns Harry’s warm eyes on him when Louis’ footsteps echo closer from the bitumen underneath them. Louis is in awe when he comes face to face with Harry for the third time in the past week. He’s more pretty when close up. His eyes radiate all sorts of magnificence. Harry’s definitely something else.

“Hi,” Louis says with his untimely breathing. Harry smiles at him, amused and probably confused. “I... um, I have something of yours.”

He slings his bag over his shoulder to have the bag resting on his front. He reaches in to search for the USB deep inside his pack, feeling Harry’s eyes burn deep into the top of his head as Louis struggles to find it. He takes out his Literature books and places them next to his feet, finally having enough light and space to see the USB clearly stowed away in the very corner of his pack. He hands it over to Harry confidently, the boy’s green eyes lifting with his eyebrows as his mouth pours out gasps and stutters.

“I-I, oh my God, how did you... Where d-did you--”

“You dropped it in the library earlier,” Louis tells him. “You know, when you were in the central part of the library, looking for that book. I saw it fall from your pocket or something, and I tried finding you all over the library and couldn’t find you so... I kept it thinking you’d probably come around tomorrow trying to look for it.”

The thankful man nods excitedly. “I would have, for sure. Oh fuck-- I have never felt more in debt! You have no idea how panicked I was when I found out it wasn’t in my pocket last period. I have an assignment due tomorrow morning, and the file was on here.” He shows his USB to Louis as if it’s the first time he had seen it. “Man, honestly. I need to repay you somehow. You’ve saved my ass--”

“Harry, it’s just a USB,” Louis states. Harry’s face lights up further when he hears his name being said. He takes an easy guess that Harry didn't expect him to know his name. “No compensation needed. You’re alright.”

Harry snickers shakily, eyes directing away from Louis’ as he scratches the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Yeah, I know... Ha ha, sorry. I just... Sorry,” Harry rambles awkwardly. “You know, it’s a massive thing you’ve done. It doesn’t seem like a lot like… it’s a damn USB but... wait.” Louis follows Harry’s gaze. It’s straight to the Literature book on the bitumen. Oh. He forgot to pick that up. “You study Literature?”

He said that so passively that Louis is almost afraid to say “yes” just in case Harry begins to tease him. Yes, it’s studying the beauty of a book, and some other stuff. And he might like poetry. Whatever. Jocks always take the piss out of him for choosing Literature. Always asking Louis why he selected a “girly” subject. As if subjects have fucking genders or something.

“Um, yeah,” Louis says apprehensively, bending down to collect the books hastily. He doesn’t want a cute boy coming for him with this entire gendered subject bullshit. He’d rather not know that Harry might be some misogynistic bully. He stuffs his notes and The Theban Plays in his bag and zips the pack up, hoping to move away from the conversation, and maybe Harry altogether. “Trying to, anyway. It’s... It’s not that great of a subject.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. Literature is beautiful. As a matter of fact, I’m studying it now as well.” Harry speaks proudly. His eyes glitter when he expresses his subject choice. If that isn’t a plot twist, Louis will never know what is. “I never knew there were two classes of third stage?”

“There isn’t,” Louis murmurs, shuffling on his feet restlessly. “I’m the lowest stage they offer here. I’ve never been great at English, let alone Literature. I feel like there’s a part I’m missing about it because it isn’t as beautiful as Miss Watts makes it out to be. Like, I want to be able to experience that. I don’t put a lot of effort into it so that may be the problem.”

Something lights up in Harry’s eyes, and it isn’t the excitement from earlier. It shouldn’t nerve Louis, but it does.

“You know,” Harry begins, “If you’re up for it, I could like... You know, tutor you? You did give me my USB back after all and regardless of what you say, I’m going to pay you back somehow.”

Tutoring. Not an offer Louis thought would come out of Harry’s mouth, but it’s there ready for Louis to take. “Like... Really? You’d do that for me?” Louis questions. Harry only nods, no sign of regret for the proposal he’s given. Louis grins. “That would be really nice... Lovely, even.”

“I’ll do it,” Harry claims, slipping a blue pen from his pocket and poking at Louis’ forearm. “I’ll write my number on your arm. Just message me when you want to study up a few things or need some help. I can be a bit busy sometimes so planning ahead is probably better, but if you have any questions and stuff I’ll be a text away!”

Louis smiles, endeared by his cheerful aura. “No worries, mate.”

He leaves Harry to it after a few minutes more of pleasant conversation. Blue biro is up his arm in forms of letters and numbers, including a flat smiley face. He gets into his car and bites into his lip, over-excited about the fact that he and Harry are in no doubt going to be spending a lot more time together. A cute boy hasn’t appealed to Louis in a very long time. His senior year has turned for him.

He’s ten minutes into his drive back home when he suddenly realises that Harry doesn’t have a shit’s clue what Louis’ name is, at all.

: :

heyy it’s louis! the guy who gave you back your usb. realised i never told u my name ha ha. anyway turns out i have a bit to do in the next few days but i’m alright for this saturday if ur free of course. thnks again for offering this !

It takes him a lot longer than usual to hit the send button. He gets to it eventually, after minutes of making sure that he sounds every bit reasonable in his first ever message to the pretty boy. Harry doesn’t take long to see the delivered message. The writing bubble pops out from the left soon after that.

Louis, gotcha! and thanks again for the USB!! i totally forgot about asking for your name. bit ridiculous that. anyway Saturday is perfect!!! i’m free from 10am until a little after lunch. public library sound good to you?? :)

Two entire hours with Harry. For studying... of course. Only studying.

perfect. i’ll meet u at the front. i’ll send a msg when i’m close :)

The fore-coming Saturday comes quick, and Louis arrives at the Public Library to see Harry already standing out the front. He parks in the lot, looking to the passenger seat where his Literature notes are gathered. He picks them up and leaves his car to meet face to face with Harry. Harry approaches him with a brilliant smile.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Louis greets. Harry laughs a simple ‘hi’. “So, um. I probably should have picked a better time because I haven’t received my results from my in-class on Thursday. That might have helped a little on what you should teach me and stuff.”

“Not needed for now. I was planning to start from scratch, you know? You said you had a bit of a problem grasping the beauty of it all, so I feel like it’s just the concepts that you maybe need to focus on,” Harry says. Louis glares at him blankly, almost horrified. “And don’t be afraid. It’s much easier to grasp than wet soap, I can tell you that.”

Bullshit, Louis wants to say. He restricts his mouth from doing so and filters his mind. He needs to seem interested, maybe a bit more enthusiastic. A cute boy’s tutoring him. He can’t look too stupid, or say stupid things. He wants- no, needs, to impress him.

They enter the library, and by the view of the parking lot when driving in there is probably no more than four people currently inside. Harry leads them to a large wooden table by a set of Apple computers, setting down his work books and bringing a chair out for Louis to take. Louis thanks him before sitting down, eyes following Harry’s lean body as he moves around Louis’ chair to sit in his own.

“Right,” Harry starts off, opening a smallish yellow book. Louis gulps. It’s a thick book with small print. His worst nightmare. “How do you feel you went during the essay on Thursday?”

Where to begin. “Totally unprepared. Tired, for sure. Maybe like... Like I’ve been set up to fail? It’s hard to explain--”

“So you think you went pretty shit, yeah?”

Louis tries to swallow a laugh, but it comes out soft within his words. “That’s the easy way to say it.”

“Do you know why you felt like that, Lou?” Lou. Just... Lou. God, Louis trusts a man who he caught rebelling in the school library much more than 99% of the town’s population at the moment. He trusts a man who had offered him tutoring lessons after a few sentences to each other. Louis, without a doubt, will lose himself as easily as Harry lost his USB.

“I...” It takes him time to gather his words. The nickname knocked him right over. He hasn’t been called Lou by new people in a long time. The name is very much kept for Niall or his mother. But it rolls off Harry’s tongue so languidly, so smoothly. He hopes he says it again, and again. All the way until next Winter ends. “I just didn’t understand the book, the play. I’m not interested in it. It’s not good. I can’t read something unless I’m into it, you know?”

Harry nods knowingly, and Louis is relieved at that. “I do know,” he clarifies, “And you have every bit of reason to not be interested in Oedipus, I mean, they make you study this shit because there’s themes within Greek tragedy that are good for Literature study. Personally, I think that there’s a lot more we can study than books which describe incestuous relationships which ends up with four people hanging themselves and the other twenty living in exile.”

He stares disgusted at Harry. “Is that what Oedipus the King is about?”

Harry grins after a silent pause. “You didn’t read the entire book, did you?” Louis had never said he did.

“Never said I did,” Louis backfires. Harry accepts that with a small shrug. “But honestly, I’m fucking glad I didn’t. What the fuck? I mean... I’ve heard about the incest stuff, but four people hanging themselves? Really? Did they have anything to do with the relationship?”

“No, and that’s the stupid thing about it. And four people didn’t hang themselves. Oedipus gouges out his eyes and exiles himself from Thebes. His wife, who is also his mother, kills herself. That’s the content those sick people enjoyed back in those days. Interesting, isn’t it?” Harry mutters sarcastically. Louis can’t remove the state of revolt from his face. “I studied this last year during second stage. It was a very pleasant few weeks we spend studying this play.”

Louis wants to quit Literature while he’s ahead. Fuck this. He doesn’t want to study something so devastating. He will work ten times as hard to get back into a proper English course. This is mayhem.

“That entire story is tragic,” Louis says, his head in his two hands. “A mess, just... Tragic.”

“Clearly why it’s called a Greek tragedy,” Harry says, bumping Louis’ ankle with his own. The touch pleases him. “But the real question is, why isn’t there an Era named after me? All my life seems to be is messy and tragic.”

“Oh please. Do you take drama class as well?”

Harry smirks. “Would it please you if I said yes?”

“For one, it wouldn’t surprise me if you did. And two, I would also know that you’re lying because I, in fact, take that class and know that there’s only one stage available at our school for seniors to take.”

“I would never lie,” Harry comments playfully. “Also, drama class, hm? Are you the diva kid who I hear passes out every time they’re about to enter Maths class just to get out of doing Algebra? Are you going to threaten to hide away in your locker forever if you end up failing your Lit course? ”

“Now, now, with you here, I would certainly hope I won’t be failing my Lit course. I’m not paying you to be a horrible teacher, Styles.”

“You’re not paying me at all, actually,” Harry laughs. “And no, don’t offer me money, or donuts. It’s hard enough finding someone nice who studies the same thing as me. I’ll take the opportunity as is.”

“Glad to be your nice companion,” Louis says, admiring the way Harry’s eyes flicker to him and glow brighter. “Donuts, hey?”

“Gets me on my knees, every time.”

Fuck.

It takes a moment for Harry to understand what’s off about his sentence. Then, there’s the light bulb that blinks on in his head, and a flaming red colour begins to spread across his cheeks.

“Unintentional innuendos are a blast, aren’t they?” Harry groans in his hands, obviously embarrassed. Louis tries to choke down his laugh, but it sputters out as he cackles with his head down to the table. Harry kicks his chair to try silence him. “It wasn’t supposed to sound like... that, I swear.”

“Sound like what?” Louis grins cheekily. Harry groans again, miserably. “Please, Harry. I’m only young. What is a penis.”

Harry picks up his small notebook and cracks it over Louis’ head. Louis throws his head back and barks out in ridiculous laughter. A librarian guiding a book cart passes by their table and asks the two boys to quieten down for the other patrons. Both apologise, not sincerely, however. Louis supposes the librarian would have enough expertise in this job to know that.

They do quieten down, though. Now laughed out and relaxed, Louis leans on his books with his elbow to glance at Harry, still red in the face and unable to directly look at Louis in the eye.

“Weak at the knees, I think would have been the most appropriate thing to say.”

Harry breaks out in a super massive grin, eyes lifting to see Louis also smiling back. “It’s funny how I, a Literature student, had totally forgotten one of the most used phrases in the universe, only to stuff it up and turn it into an innuendo.”

“You know what’s funnier? You making an innuendo about sucking cock without realising it--”

“I will not hesitate to crack this book over your head again,” Harry warns. Louis mercies with his hands in the air, earning a proud simper from Harry. “But as much as I would love to ramble on about stupid remarks and cock related things, we have a bit of work to do to make sure you can kick Literature’s ass.”

Louis agrees with a hum, silencing himself from any further banter.

The more Louis or Harry tries to remind one another that they need to do something, the less they actually do. Harry drifts on about some excellent coffee at a café down the street from his place. It ends up with Louis discussing his favourite things in the universe with Harry leaning on his arm listening to him babble on for twenty minutes straight. He’s charmed enough not to interrupt Louis with a ‘we need to get back to work’ anytime during his shit talk. They get something done within the two hours they’re there. With that being said,  the something they actually get done is talking endlessly, getting to know each other plenty. And by the end of their session, Louis wants to tuck his head into the curve of Harry’s neck and fall asleep with his nose buried in his curls.

Harry’s timer on his phone sounds and the buzz startles them both. Harry’s movements are panicky as he turns off the alarm, looking to Louis apologetically with a weak smile.

“God, I’m so sorry,” he says, as if he’s foolish, “We didn’t get much done, at all.”

Of course they didn’t get anything done. Louis could say they wasted their time, but this wasn’t a waste. Getting to know someone isn’t a waste. Spending time talking to Harry isn’t a waste of time at all.

“It’s alright,” Louis says assuringly. Harry is about to dispute, but Louis cuts him off short. “A mate of mine had a tutor for Biology once, and he hated her. Only because they didn’t get to know each other. We did get something done.”

Harry thinks about his words for a moment, then nods happily. “If you call making fun of me and my love for donuts getting to know me, then yes, you’re right,” he laughs. Louis slaps Harry’s bicep, annoyed, but very much smitten. “I’m kidding. Besides, this only means we have to organise another session.”

So Louis isn’t the only one who wants to plan more of these. Well, it’s expected. Harry’s his tutor after all. But between the lines, Harry wants to spend more time with him, regardless of whether or not it’s just for study.

“Of course, would never pass up the chance to make fun of you some more,” Louis chirps. “I’ll... um, message you? Just my schedule’s a bit sketch at the moment so I don’t know what times I’ll be available.”

Harry begins to collect his things, stacking his books nicely one on top of the other. “This was really fun, Lou.”

Lou. Lou. Lou.

“It was.” He stands from the table, picking up his things and cradling them in his arms. Harry joins him. “I’m a bit hungry now, also keen for a nap. All tuckered out from the study we did.”

Harry snorts. “Of course,” Harry says. “And I wish I could join, but I have to run around with the little ones now. Study won’t be the only thing putting me to sleep tonight.”

“Little ones?” Harry’s certainly got a way with making things sound different than the way he intends. “You don’t... You don’t have kids, do you?”

“No, no,” Harry says, humoured. “I babysit for a few families, some are close friends or family. It replaces what I should have as a job. Good pay and all. It’s why your tutoring is free.”

“You said I didn’t have to pay you! I would gladly if you need it.”

Harry sighs out contently, face relaxed and elated. “You can pay me back by teasing me for the rest of eternity, how about that?”

“Quite an offer there, Styles,” Louis winks at him. Harry seems unbothered. “I’ll think about it on the drive home.”

They part ways from there. Louis doesn’t think about the offer. He thinks about playing with Harry’s hair with his head in his lap and slipping a dandelion crown over the top of his hair. He almost crashes his car while doing so.

: :

When he gets home, he finds a mason jar underneath the kitchen sink. He runs to his room and finds his sharpie, drawing a large smiley face on the glass. He opens the jar and scrambles to find a piece of white paper. Once retrieved it, he rips off a clean strip and writes on it with his sharpie.

first day spent with harry. he’s more beautiful up close. when he laughs, especially :)

He stuffs it into the jar and closes the lid. Without a doubt, he’s not going to be able to take the jars out and capture the memories in front of Harry. Let alone show the fifty jars he’s stowed away. Harry might think he’s a freak. Nevertheless, anyone thinking he’s a freak or finding out about the jars won’t stop Louis from writing down the memories he’s creating with the world.

But he wants to keep this a secret for his family and too close friends for as long as possible. In that case, instead of capturing these memories with Harry upfront, he’ll write them down. It’s better than leaving them in his mind and prone to forgetting altogether.

: :

Throughout the next week, Louis continues to see Harry out and about in the most random of places. None of those being the school library.

Louis gradually warms up to messaging Harry for more reasons than Literature. And as Harry promised, he has never left Louis in the deep end with unanswered questions. There would be a few times where they’d go off topic, which is normal, Louis has concluded. On Monday, Louis stopped their conversation abruptly by telling Harry he needs to get back to work. Harry replied with a cheeky oh reaaaaally ;) but left him be with a talk later lou! which was clearly an invitation to text each other as if there was no tomorrow. By Thursday, he and Harry were messaging each other so much that Louis couldn’t take his eyes off his phone, in fear Harry’d send a message without him seeing it on his lock screen.

Another week passes and Louis is once again sat on the bentwood. He’s reading a fictional book, enjoying it over the Theban Plays. It’s not the book he’s here for, however.

He thinks about Harry; a normal everyday occurrence. He wonders if Harry would walk into the library not suspecting that Louis would be in the same place he always is. He wonders about a lot of things. If Harry would walk in and talk to him. If Harry would walk in and ask Louis to move over in the bentwood so they can share it. He would gladly share a kiss too. Probably. Maybe. That’s not going to happen.

Twenty minutes until the end of lunch time, and Louis can’t bear to wait for Harry to dawdle his way into the library. He decides to rebel against the school, slipping out his phone from his day pack and concealing it behind the novel he holds in his hands. While unlocking his phone, he looks up to see if anyone will pass by and notice what he’s doing. He’s sure he’s in the all clear. If Harry could take a fucking phone call in here, he certainly can send a few texts.

Oh. There’s a message from Harry already, it seems. Only from a few minutes ago. Convenient.

where are youuuuu :)

Harry certainly wouldn’t want to spend lunch with him. Would he?

the library!! a poor lonely soul needs company :(

A reply is almost instant.

Ahhhh i’m on the other side of the school for this stupid club i’m in. i get to quit after next week’s meet up though! but :(

Dammit. Fucking dammit.

You busy after school today?

Okay. Okay. Fucking okay.

no! wanna to meet up? Louis starts off with. He’s about to send it, but he tuts his fingers against the side of his phone then decides to add in, i got the essay back in second period today, and maybe u can go through it with me? see what’s bad and good and stuff :)

Smooth, Louis says to himself. He watches as Harry sees the delivered message, the three dots appearing in their bubble as he types out his message. It should be a yes, it must be a yes. It’s almost been a week since he’s actually seen Harry up close and spoken to him. He misses his face. His voice. His eyes that twinkle when he smiles.

School library’s holding tutorial classes this afternoon. we can join them :) what class do you have last? i’ll meet you there and we can walk together.

He breaks out into a smile. His afternoon is going to be nothing less than wonderful.

: :

“The blandest taste of them all! How could anyone possibly enjoy that shit?”

Louis has his eyebrows furrowed, sharp eyes glaring in Harry’s direction. Harry is chuckling under his breath, scribbling something in the margin of the lined paper in front of him.

“It’s not bland. Your creativity awaits you. You can add strawberry topping, chocolate topping. I’m sure there’s a choc-mint topping too! You’d love that considering it’s your favourite!”

Louis doesn’t know how this dispute started. One minute they’re writing down a critic for him to follow while writing essays, and next thing they know there’s a book being threatened to be whacked across Louis’ head again, and squeaky swears coming from Louis’ mouth. All Louis knows is that Harry’s disgusting choice of favourite ice-cream is very, very mortifying.

“But that defeats the entire purpose of just vanilla ice-cream, you fool!” Louis argues intently. He taps Harry’s pen with the end of his own, intruding his personal space and drawing a small dick on the lovely smile face. “You might as well get strawberry ice-cream, or chocolate ice-cream. You don’t need to spend more money to buy the topping. Where is the logic behind this, Harold?”

In turn for destroying the smiley, Harry throws up a crumpled piece of paper at Louis’ temple. “Lots of logic, Lou. You can have multiple flavours waiting for you, instead of buying an entirely new ice-cream pint every time you want a new flavour.”

Dammit. Just... fucking dammit. Harry’s ice-cream logic actually makes sense.

But he doesn’t let him win. Not this time. Not again. “Who would want more than one flavour once a month? Come on, if you love any flavour enough you wouldn’t buy another one. You’d be a traitor.”

“Traitor for ice-cream? Oh no, chain me up and lock me in the prison cells made of wafer sticks!” Harry cries dramatically. “What’s my punishment? No relief from an everlasting brain freeze?”

He doesn’t realise he’s staring intensely at Harry’s pink mouth until Harry’s hand touches at his thigh. He flinches at the unusual touch, Harry pulling his hand away suddenly as if the contact was accidental. Louis clears his throat, glancing down at the scattered pages on the desk before them and noticing how much work they’ve done today. Nothing.

“Our study sessions sure are productive,” Harry comments sardonically, leaning back into the padded chair. He drops the blue pen he was holding, eyeing the pages Louis has now collected into a neat pile. Louis’ grin is forced as he nods hastily to continue Harry’s satirical game.

“I’m glad I’m not paying you.” He unlocks his phone and heeds that it’s in fact quarter to five in the afternoon. They’ve definitely spent too much time squabbling about nonsense. Yet again, Louis doesn’t regret his time spent with Harry. He’ll never regret it.

“Same,” Harry tells him. “I probably would have spent the money on vanilla ice-cream. Could you imagine that?”

“If you ever told me that you spent my good money paying for good tutoring lessons on something as dire as vanilla ice-cream, I would actually not hesitate to shave all your hair off.”

At that, Harry runs a hand through his curls. It’s hypnotising to watch. “You like my hair as much as I do, don’t even try to deny that.”

“Never denied it, Harold. Besides,” he reaches up to touch at the soft tufts of Harry’s hair, “I might like it so much that I want to shave it all off and keep it for myself.” Harry shoos his hand away with a flick at his wrist. He pauses to rethink his odd words, blushing slightly when he notices Harry has a lopsided sneer on his face. “That sounded a bit weird, didn’t it?”

“Almost as weird as me getting on my knees for donuts.”

Louis snorts loudly. “You made my words sound a lot more normal, thanks. Also, thanks for reminding me that you’re never going to live that moment down.”

“Damn, who knew you could be so incredulously evil,” but he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Here I thought I was the evil bastard with his so called bland taste for vanilla ice-cream.”

“You are. No person could ever withstand vanilla ice-cream for the rest of their lives, let alone call it their favourite. Why did you think the people who invented ice-cream made more flavours? Not to be betrayed by your vanilla taste, surely!”

Harry is the first to stand from his desk, and Louis thinks he’s had about enough, going to walk out on him and never talk to him again. Instead, he cocks his head left towards where the exit is. He realises that Harry is asking if he wanted to walk out with him, since both of them knew that there wasn’t much else going to be done today than constant teasing of each other’s preferences. Teasing at a limit, that is. He would never purposely hurt Harry for his choices. For what he likes, and what he prefers. All humans are different.

“I think this is the reason why we never get anything done,” Harry whispers to him, walking down the main aisle to the exit with Louis, bumping arms every so often. Louis eyes him, asking him to elaborate on something so obvious. “I think we need set proper study days, so we can prepare for what we’re going to do when we have sessions like this.”

“Yeah,” Louis acknowledges, opening the exit door to let Harry through. He passes through with a bold ‘thank you’. “Any chance for lunch time tutoring lessons? If it’s during school hours, I usually stay a lot more focused since I’m more... in the zone, I guess.”

“That’s fine, yeah. That might be a good idea, actually,” he answers.

The walk to the parking lot is only a short distance from the Library exit. It feels even shorter since he’s walking with Harry by his side. He can see Harry’s Range Rover parked in the middle section of the lot, Louis’ little Hyundai parked a few spaces away. Without realising, he walks with Harry to his car, discussing further about future study plans. Louis bets to himself that it’ll only be one lesson until they both end up falling out of their plan and spending 98% of their study time teasing each other again.

Harry stands with his back against his car door, books perched in his arms as they both fall quiet. Louis should really leave now, but he’d rather... stay. It feels as if they have some unfinished business, and yes, that business may be the study that they didn’t end up doing. Harry presents the same look. There’s something that’s holding them back from saying their goodbyes. Louis is unsure what it is.

Until it’s actually said. “Um,” mumbles Harry out of the blue. “It’s just out there for you to take or think about. I’m having a get together at mine this weekend. Or should I say tomorrow night. I was wondering if you wanted to tag along?”

Oh. “A party?”

“No, not a party,” Harry says quickly. “Just a few friends - four of my mates. We’re just having pizza, something to drink, playing FIFA and some other game Ed’s bringing over. Few of them are staying over. You’re welcome to do so as well, if you’d like.”

Tempting, it is. To spend the night with Harry is one thing. If it’s too early for that might be another. Not saying that... that... is going to happen. Harry isn’t a type of guy to shag people for the fun of it, or by what it seems. And Louis knows very well that’s something he doesn’t want to get involved with unless he likes the guy first. In which... yeah, he does like Harry. He’s attracted to Harry, fuck. Just not enough.

He likes to assume a lot, and that usually results in assumptions never actually happening. But he hasn’t been out in a while. It might be nice to get out and about with some new people.

“We’ve talked about how we should try and actually study on the days we set for tutoring, but I don’t want to... Put you off. Like I don’t want to stop talking to you, to stop hanging out just normally. You know? It’s a lot of fun, and we hit off pretty well for mates who had just met. It’s not something that normally happens with me.”

He smiles, eyes lifting from the floor in thought. “I’m glad you feel the same way as me,” he confirms to Harry. “Y-Yeah, I’ll come around. Might as well.”

Harry bounces off the balls of his feet, twisting his body around to unlock his car door. He looks back to Louis just before he hops inside, chiming, “I’ll text you my address.”

: :

The drive to Harry’s is quick on the Saturday afternoon. He lives in a quiet suburb not too far from Louis’ own, filled with quaint houses and affordable flats. He drives up the large driveway, seeing two cars already parked close to the garden plot of roses. One’s Harry’s, he recognises it. The other belongs to anonymous, an average grey Fiesta. Louis parks behind Harry’s car, shutting off his engine and settling deep into his seat. He relaxes for the time being, hands still warm around the steering wheel and eyes locked to Harry’s number plate.

The house is built with white bricks and a deep grey roof. As are most houses in this area. The neighbourhood is new compared to the others in their town, so it’s expected that this area is more modern and has greener grass. Harry’s lot has a beautiful, well-kept garden. There are tall birch trees that circle their land. Plenty of pretty flowers contrast to the dark brown soil, the flower bed surrounding the mowed grass that’s large enough to play a half field game of football on it. He thinks he could just lie on the grass for hours and stare at the clouds. That being if there were any clouds in the sky at this very moment.

Instead, he gets his ass out of the car. Harry’s probably peeking out the window wondering why the fuck Louis is taking so long to walk to the front door. He walks the path to Harry’s doorstep, knocking three times against the hardwood. There’s the soft thud of footsteps coming closer and closer, each thud growing louder and louder. The knob jiggles slightly and there’s a light ‘f-ttang’ noise coming from the other side of the door as Harry opens it. Louis blinks at him, then grins.

“Hi,” he sings instantly, shoving his hands into his pockets and nodding his fringe from his face.

“Hey,” Harry marvels back, stepping to the right to let Louis enter. The inside of his house is coloured with dark tones. Dark wood linoleum underneath Louis’ feet that blend into the navy blue walls. It makes everything feel more homely, for some reason. It’s not large and empty. More compact and warm. Louis easily settles in.

There’s a soft tap at Louis’ bicep. It’s Harry seeking his attention. He cocks his head to the left signalling Louis to follow him. Harry leads them to the living room, a telly sits near the window angled from the corner. There, Louis sees a man with short brown hair facing away from him watching a movie. Harry clears his throat.

“Liam, Lou is here.” He’s actually introducing him as Lou. Lou, for fuck’s sake, this man is insufferable.

“Hi,” Louis says without thought. Liam turns his head around, noticing the small figure close to Harry. He smiles. It’s cordial.

“You’re the little one Harry can’t stop talking about.”

“You’re a fucking prick,” growls Harry. Louis puts a hand in front of his mouth, probably for dramatic effect. He’s genuinely shocked. But who’s to believe a man he’s just met. “That’s not true. He’s just... He’s being a prick.”

Liam smirks at Harry. Louis doesn’t see. “Anyway, Louis,” Liam starts, “Join your pal here.” He pats next to him on the leather couch. It sounds comfortable, as if Liam’s sitting on clouds.

He does join him. Harry’s following him and taking the spot beside Louis, rather than the larger spot beside Liam. It’s nice, really. To have this attention around him. New company is always good.

“Josh and Ed should be here in a few. They're out at the moment buying some things and collecting the pizza,” Harry says to Louis. Liam echoes a ‘yeah’. “Andrew’s coming back here later. He’s got work on tonight so he’s out a bit late.”

“He’ll be catching up,” Liam says after. “Odd that. It’s usually Harry who’s last to get pissed with the rest of us.”

“Sorry it doesn’t take me one tequila shot for me to get fucked,” Harry argues. Liam sinks further into his lounge chair.

“Hey, it only means he needs to spend less on alcohol,” Louis retaliates. Harry glares at Louis with wide eyes, unexpected to hear an answer from him. Liam immediately perks up in interest, clapping Louis on the shoulder meanwhile.

“Exactly,” Liam chirps back in support. “See, my pal is one of a kind. He gets me.”

“Aw, Liam,” Louis dips his body into Liam’s, curling into him slightly. “I can see us getting along rather well, hm?”

“The one time I bring you into my house and you’re all over my best friend,” Harry mutters grumpily. Louis pulls a deviant grin, a face he hopes Harry notices. He does. “What’s that look for?”

“Jealousy stinks on you, Harold.”

Harry begins to panic under his own skin, but it’s not noticeable to the two friends. “Excuse m-- What? There’s no reason for me to be jealous?”

“So why are you, then?” Liam banters. Louis leans further into Liam’s touch, practically putting all body weight into Liam’s shoulder. Harry chuckles, reaching over to slap Liam on the knee. “Twat. Of course you’d abuse me and not Louis.”

“Of course. You’re my best friend--”

“Ouch, Harold,” Louis pouts. He pulls away from Liam, resting normally with his back against the leather couch. “Not your best friend, am I? Very much hurt. I’ll be taking back my thousands of dollars I’ve kept away to pay for your tutoring lessons.”

“You two are impossible to please. It’s going to be hell with the both of you around. A nightmare and a half is on it’s way, I swear,” he squints at Liam and Louis, the little bit of green Louis can see of his eyes radiating sheepishness. Louis nudges his bicep with his elbow, Harry humming in disregard towards the telly. Harry can hear Liam whispering in Louis’ ear, and Harry feels the slightest bit uncomfortable at that. Louis can tell by the way he shifts, almost as if he wants the same amount of attention.

“I’m going to call Ed,” Liam says, suddenly. He stands from the lounge and walks out of the room with no questions asked. It’s suspicious. Still, Louis doesn’t question it, instead he keeps his eyes peeled on the telly.

“I hope you like pepperoni pizza.”

He’s quick to look at Harry, who’s staring at the show playing in front of them. “I do,” Louis admits. “Tastes almost as good as the feeling of victory when winning an argument against you.”

“It wasn’t even an argument! Besides. It was two versus one. I deem that as an unfair advantage.”

“A debate isn’t about the quantity, Harold. It’s the quality of your point. I thought you’d know that from Literature.” Harry’s grinning down to him, unsure if the smile is one of pride or to make things less pensive. Either way, Louis finds it as stunning as any other time he smiles. The feeling of making Harry smile is better than the feeling of tasting every pizza in the world.

“Smart one, you are Lou,” Harry compliments. “Let’s just see how your Literature talk goes after five tequila shots with no relief.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s like... Fuck, you might as well be pouring gasoline down your throat.”

“Well, this tequila is the best one you can find,” Harry says to him. There’s a hint of maliciousness that slips from his mouth. It could only mean that they’re going to be drinking something that’s going to make Louis wish he was drinking gasoline instead. “Passion tequi--”

“No way, Harold.” He crosses his finger mid-air, a frown on his face. “You’re fucking satanic for even having that pink shit in your house. What made you think buying that would be a good idea?”

“Louis, it’s fucking fluro-pink for crying out loud! Who wouldn’t want fluro-pink tequila!”

“Me, that’s who. Do you wear a gas mask while handling it? Have you smelt it? Have you tried it?!”

That’s Harry’s cue to stand up and retrieve the death potion in a bottle. Louis hides his face in his hands, groaning weakly in remorse as Harry reveals that he, in fact, does have the pink tequila ready to be poured in his two hands. Harry looks proud. The bastard should be for even touching the thing.

It remains in the middle of the coffee table until nine o’clock that night. Of all people to pick up the bottle, it’s a tipsy Louis that takes it by the neck and shouts at the five other lads “Time for shots, boys!” and slams his palm to the wooden table’s surface. Harry’s attention is immediately caught, snickering at the small boy opening the lid from the tequila and instantly gagging at the scent.

Andrew’s by Louis’ side, a hand spread underneath the bottom of the tequila bottle. He’s just as drunk as Harry, which means not at all. He’s fast to warn Louis about the tequila. Louis already knows too much about the pink poison, but he’s drunk enough to not give anymore fucks.

“You sure you want to do that, mate?”

Louis hates his snobby attitude and ugly face and uglier personality and he’s just been flirting with Harry the entire night. Fuck Andrew. Louis wants him to go away. He wants to hoard Harry away into the kitchen’s pantry and maybe lean on him for a few minutes just so he can hear Harry’s heart beating. It’s the only way Louis will know that this gorgeous man is alive and real.

“How ‘bout you go fuck y’self?” Louis blurts out, giggling meanwhile. Andrew does fuck off, stepping away from Louis with hands in surrender and a knowing look plastered on his face. Louis knows that’s the same face that’s going to be saying ‘I told you so’ in the morning. Andrew’s ugly face.

There’s a few red cups lying about. Some are still filled with cheap scotch and ginger ale, others with spirits on the rocks. Louis picks one up and tips out anything contained inside it, spilling ice and diluted whiskey onto Harry’s carpeted flooring. He doesn’t try to find Harry’s face to see his reaction to that. He begins pouring a shot of tequila for himself into the empty cup. Or what he supposes is a shot. The cup’s almost half full, but it’s basically a shot.

“Lou, oh my God.” Harry snatches the bottle from Louis, capping it and placing it back on the table. Louis turns his body away just in time so Harry can’t steal the red cup from him. “You’ll throw up if you drink that straight.”

“Not if I drink it quick enough!” He has the rim of the cup at his lip. There’s no further protest from Harry, so Louis drinks it. Half of it. He ends up spurting out in disgust and sending some tequila from his mouth back into the cup, but swallows the majority he tried to chug down. Harry catches the cup before Louis could drop it. Louis coughs and tastes his breath. His cheeks burn. His gums could be on fire. This stuff could be a bleaching agent.

Harry glares worriedly. Louis falls down into the leather couch, the chair unoccupied. Harry stares at him from above, still standing.

“Are you gonna finish that?” Louis asks him, pointing at the cup. Harry doesn’t respond to him, taking full ownership of the poured drink and sipping from the cup himself. “You’re disgusting for drinking that.”

“I honestly can’t tell if that’s him drunk talking, or him talking normally,” Liam laughs while entering the room. In his hand is the crust of a pizza slice. He’s stumbling around trying to make his way to the pillow fort Ed and himself made by the TV earlier. “Anyway, tequila. Who was the first to bring that out?”

“This tipsy moron here.” Louis points at himself. “Woo, that stuff’s a good hit. Try some Liam. It’ll knock you out!”

They all end up having about two shots each. Two of Louis’ shots, that is. Andrew’s passed out in the upstairs guest room by ten thirty. Liam and Josh are piled on top of one another, deep into a conversation about Instagram girls and other things that Louis has no interest in whatsoever. Ed’s messaging someone, sipping on the last of his scotch straight from the bottle. And Harry. Who sits in front of him so majestically with his hair loose to his shoulders. His legs are adjacent to Louis’, extending forever up the couch. His toes brush at Louis’ thighs, covered in ankle high black socks. Harry’s pretty eyes are focused on the beer bottle he has in his hand. He’s peeling off the label. He’s too mesmerised to take his eyes from what Harry’s doing.

“Babe, I’m tired,” he calls out sleepily. Harry stops what he’s doing, standing up and asking Louis to follow. There’s an extra room upstairs that’s hopefully there for him to take. Maybe it’s the same guest room Andrew’s in at the moment. He might murder him, actually. He’s sure he tried to touch Harry’s hair when they were taking shots. Fuck Andrew.

They get to the foot of the staircase, and Harry asks a very important question. “You alright to walk up here?”

Surely he is. He isn’t incapable. Though, he would like Harry to carry him. “Yeah, you doof,” he says, slurring enough to hope he’s not making too much of a fool of himself. “Should be fine.”

“Here,” Harry whispers. “Take my hand, just in case.”

This is better than getting Harry to carry him.

He reaches for Harry’s hand, missing a few times but Harry makes sure they grip onto each other tight. Their fingers slip between each other’s and interlock. Butterflies bang hard against the sides of Louis’ stomach. Or maybe that’s the tequila ready to come back out for an encore and ruin his night and confidence. Louis holds it down, however, and makes it up to the top of the stairs without falling back down at any time.

From what he could remember, Andrew took the exact same path to his room upstairs. Well, of course he did; there’s only one set of stairs. But Louis’ sense of direction or object permanence is next to nothing while drunk. However, Louis wants to ask just in case Harry leads him into the place of the condemned. “Hey, ‘ey ‘ey you’re not going to take me to Andrew, are ya?”

Harry leads him a few steps forward, shaking his head. “No, Lou,” Harry says. Louis sighs dramatically with relief. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Of course he wouldn’t. Harry’s a sweetheart.

Harry turns left abruptly, the third door closest to the stairs. He opens it to reveal an average sided bedroom with a navy coloured bed in just in front of them in the middle. There’s a desk to the left, cluttered with notes and books but still seems somewhat organised. It’s hard to see in the dim light, but Louis can make out a neat dresser next to another door on the right, which Louis supposes might be an entrance to one of the bathrooms. There’s a large white t-shirt lying crumpled on the carpet beside a lonely pair of Nike’s.

Oh. Is this... Harry’s bedroom?

Well, unless Harry changes in other rooms. Harry only lives with his mum. And where was his mum, actually? Too many unanswered questions. But one of them being why did Harry take him up here. He could sleep on the couch, he could sleep in the pillow fort, or in the car, or something.

“Lou.” Harry tugs at his arm, pulling him into the room. Harry closes the door behind them. Is this... No. He needs to tell Harry no. This is not what he’s here for. “You alright? You’re paler than my carpet.”

He might be proper sick in a minute. He swallows the nervousness down. He knows how to say no.

“Yeah, mate, I’m fine,” Louis murmurs, twisting on his feet to come face to face with Harry. “The tequila was a strong hit... Sorry. I’m a little out of it at the moment. Tryna get back into reality and... stuff.”

“Right,” he laughs weakly. “You can make yourself at home up here. Sorry I didn’t have any other... places for you to sleep. And before you say the couch, I know well enough that a piss night like this plus my couch equals doesn’t only promise a terrible hangover in the morning but neck pains that last a lifetime. I have enough respect for you to not put you through that kind of torture.”

“Aw, a sweetheart you are, Harold.” And as cunning as Louis sounds, he genuinely means it. Though, while this does push away Harry might have lead him up here for a drunken shag, it doesn’t completely destroy the thought. “I’ll pay you back with something nice one day, I promise.”

It probably could be interpreted sexually, if Harry’s horny enough to believe so. But Harry only smirks and says, “Lifetime supply of donuts?”.

That really fucks with Louis’ mind.

“One day, little prince,” Louis repeats with a slur, untangling his hands with Harry. He steps close to the bed, the sheets looking fresh and duvet looking more delectable than any sort of fast food meal at the moment. Louis touches the left side pillow. He thinks this is a nice place to call home for the night. But wait. “Wait, where are you sleeping?”

Harry shrugs. “Anywhere, I suppose. If Liam and Ed can make a pillow fort while tipsy, I can certainly make one while I’m sobering up.”

“You’re ridiculous.” And Louis is always full of bad ideas. But this is probably the worst one yet. “Stay here.”

Harry shifts uncomfortably on his spot. It’s so fucking noticeable that Louis’ thoughts don’t process properly before he’s commenting on the movement.

“Like, you don’t have to stay here. It’s just... easier. You might think I’m trying to get into your pants but I’m really not I promise like I wouldn’t do that to you... Here, or at all... I just wouldn’t take advantage of you like that I really really promise,” Louis rushes. And fuck fuck fuck why does he have to fuck up so bad. What happened to this mind-to-mouth filter? What the fuck. “I’m just... Fuck, I’m so sorry, I’m such an awkward person. I-I... Fuck--”

“You’re alright, Lou,” Harry reassures. It’s not enough to reinstate Louis’ composure. “I... Was just, um... Never mind. You wanted sleep and the other three are probably going to go off their faces soon, so...”

It is alright, he supposes. Louis still wants to shrivel up inside the duvet and die.

“I’m going to go back downstairs, alright?” Harry says to him. “If you need anything, just call out for me. Or throw something at the door. I’ll hear it easily enough.”

Louis barks out in a laugh, falling into the mattress and rolling into the soft duvet. There’s a faint click of the door locking into place. Louis realises that Harry really did mean he was leaving him here, alone. He groans loudly into the sheets, probably loud enough for Harry and the other three lads to hear downstairs. The duvet covers half of his body now, the warmth keeping him away from feeling somewhat isolated. A few minutes have passed with Louis staring blankly into the air, head recovering from its unbearable dizziness.

He doesn’t like being alone. He’d very much rather Harry by his side with his fluffy curls at his nose. He wants to talk to him. Intoxicated Louis has never wanted something more. And whilst Harry is only downstairs, no less than a few close metres away, Louis feels as if the distance between them is impossible to reach unless he took two plane trips and had a portal to another universe. His hands clutch tight in the navy sheets, his entire body fatigued but his mind raging with how upset he is without Harry by his side.

So he begins to sob. Weakly. It feels like nothing but tequila is coming out of his tear ducts. His eyes feel like they never close, the tears burning down the sides of his cheekbones and tickling against his ears. He smudges them away with the back of his hand, hiding any sort of weakness.

Crying doesn’t help him, he realises. He continues to stare blankly at the ceiling. A pretty ceiling it is. He’d rather something else in his view. Harry. Is it healthy to want something this bad? Is it healthy to want something this bad after such little time? Probably not. But Louis had like five Louis sized shots of Passion tequila so anything is healthier than that.

“Harry,” he calls out, voice mewling more than shouting. He has nothing to throw at the door. It’s been twenty minutes and Louis could have easily fallen asleep and forgot about the world for ten hours. Instead, he wants to speak to Harry. He wants to touch Harry’s hair and fall asleep while Harry tells him nonsense about donuts and Literature again. That feels like a dream worth living. Though, he had totally forgotten that it was once reality to Louis when they were both sober.

There’s silence for a minute. Impatient enough, Louis sits up with his head throbbing and eyes feeling as if they’re about to pop out from his head and dangle past his chin. He manages to pick up something from the side table, something of leather. He ditches it at the door. The “thwack” noise against the door rumbles through the room. If that wasn't loud enough, Louis’ scream of ‘Harry!’ should do the trick.

The brat remains motionless for another minute. Harry’s at the door not a second after that, head popping into the room to see what the problem was. He sees Louis sitting up with the duvet over his legs, Louis’ eyes drooping and eyebrows low. He could be mad, but there is nothing he could be mad about. Harry steps into the room with nothing but curiosity pasted on his face.

“You alright?” Harry questions him. Louis shakes his head. Simple enough. “Need me to get you a bucket, or something?”

Louis shakes his head again, close to dislodging his skull from his spine entirely. Harry closes the door behind him. He knows it’ll be a while.

“Tell me what you want, Lou,” Harry murmurs, pacing closer to Louis’ side. Louis twists his thumbs into the duvet, giggling gingerly with his head lopsided. The grin he sports can only be defined as cute. “You’re a funny one, aren’t you?”

“You,” Louis slurs once Harry sits down on the edge of the mattress. Louis pokes a finger into his bicep, as if his answer wasn’t direct enough.

However, it wasn’t concise. “Me? What about me?”

“No no,” Louis giggles, voice high pitched and distorted. “I want you. Here.” He pats the space next to him in the bed. It’s free and has Harry’s name written all over it. Louis wants him there, now. “Please.”

Harry smiles. “Lou,” he drags out like a snooty child, “I’d love to stay and talk but--”

“Then why don't you?” Louis interrupts, his tone assertive but still gentle.

It doesn’t take Harry much to give in to him. Whatever Harry was going to do with the other boys downstairs obviously wasn’t important enough. Louis doesn’t care however. He would have used every bit of strength and persuasion to make sure Harry doesn’t even think about going to that door and leaving Louis to suffer in seclusion.

Harry rolls his eyes, but shuffles his bum closer towards the middle of the bed. Soon enough he falls into the mattress, back against Louis’ shins. Neither of them move.

“Fucking princess, you are,” Harry whispers into the air. “However, your offer is too tempting.”

“Get off my shins, you big oaf. Do you think royalty deserve this type of treatment?”

“Let me remind you that you did call me little prince no more than half an hour ago,” Harry mentions. Oh, did he really do that? He can’t remember. “That’s right. Contradict yourself a little more!”

Harry scoots over, his entire body now on the bed. He’s laying on his stomach proper ways up the bed, propping himself up on his elbows so his hair flows down and frames his face. Harry remains close to the centre, not to the right. Which is interesting, really. Louis doesn’t mind it. He could reach and touch Harry’s hair easily from here.

“You really don’t want to try and get into an argument with me,” Louis warns him. “Especially when I’m full of tequila.”

Harry scoffs, head cocking backwards while doing so. “What’s the worst you can do? Spew on me?”

“You’d hate that if I did it.”

Harry’s glaring at him with narrowed eyes. Even with soft creases of disgust lingering on his skin, Louis finds him remarkably beautiful. It’s unbelievable how much Louis wanted him here.

“Can I touch your hair?” Louis babbles suddenly. Fucking mind-to-mouth filter...

Harry uses his elbows to scurry up the mattress, crawling close to Louis. He dips his head towards Louis, giving him the invitation to touch his hair.

He lifts up a hand excitedly. “Really?” Louis says, voice buoyant. Harry nods with no hesitation.

“It’s there for you to touch, always,” he preens.

Louis doesn’t waste anymore time to tangle his hands deep into the delicate curls. And they’re exactly how he’d imagined it to be. It’s like his hand is in another world, being smothered by all things great. His thumb circles around thick strands of hair with his fingers scratching into Harry’s scalp. Louis watches as Harry eyes flutter closed, dry mouth parting a little. He seems to relaxed under Louis’ touch, so poise and elegant. This is maybe a thing that Harry’s not used to. That’s going to change from now on in.

He doesn’t stop the gentle touches to Harry’s scalp whilst speaking. “You like this, don’t you?”

“Hm, yeah,” Harry hums happily, mouth now closed and curved into a tamed smile. “You’re really good at it.”

Louis stops intentionally. Not as if he wanted to. It’s to only see Harry pout and hopefully come closer. He does.

“Why?” he sulks. He scoots further up the bed, Harry’s forearm brushing against Louis’ waist. “I like it.”

Harry rolls his entire body over just so his head settles in the very middle of Louis’ crotch. His melancholy eyes are focused on Louis’, showing both want and need. They’re glowing and very pretty, almost too pretty. Harry’s mouth is prettier, bitten red and no longer dry. His tongue is hard to see in the dark, but it’s still there making an appearance every few seconds as Harry licks his bottom lip. Sinful, he is. Oh my God, Louis did not expect this.

“You’re in my lap,” Louis comments.

“I can see that,” Harry retorts. “Touch my hair, again.”

He tries to find Louis’ right hand, taking him by the wrist and guiding the hand to the same spot where Louis had carded his fingers through the strands earlier. The moment Louis circles his thumb into his scalp and lightly tugs with his other fingers, Harry’s eyes are shut and his mouth mumbles something incoherent to Louis’ ears.

They stay like this for a while, the air between them light and calming. Louis could feel his mind stepping into the zone of minor sobriety. Harry’s breathing slowly in front of him, Louis taking notice of his nostrils flaring inward and outward, his chest raising and lowering with perfect rhythm. His mouth quirks up sometimes when Louis touches new areas on his scalp or tugs at sweet spots. He’s sure Harry’s fallen asleep on him. But he isn’t unconscious, Louis realises, when Harry begins to talk about anything and everything his mind decides to focus on.

“The only thing that could make this better is having you put green grapes into my mouth,” Harry whispers to him. Louis laughs, bringing his left hand to rest against Harry’s chest. Harry doesn’t flinch at the move, instead, lifts his own two hands to cover Louis’ tiny wrist. It forces Louis to feel Harry’s heartbeat. It’s a mild beat that jumps every few seconds. Probably not healthy. But once again, tequila...

“I like it here because I get to touch your hair,” Louis grins, pulling his hair a bit harder than he would do, forcing a squeak out of Harry. “Got you weak at the tips of my fingers.”

“Still, could easily prowl on you.”

“Bullshit,” Louis announces loudly. “You said you get on your knees for donuts. All I have to do is show you Homer fucking Simpson and you’ll bust a nut.”

Harry scrunches up his face. “It’d be the donut that I’d shoot a load for, not the dude who strangles his own fucking devil kid.”

He fonds briefly. He’s sure Harry doesn’t see it in the darkness of the room.

“You disgust me, Harold,” Louis mumbles light-heartedly. He decides to try move his left hand to flatten his palm at Harry’s stomach, to pat his tummy with soft, easy strokes. When twisting his left hand upward, he finds that Harry’s hand also curls. But not to shy the hand away. He curls it to grasp Louis’ hand and interlock their fingers. That is-- That’s very okay. “Disgusting creature.”

“Only me.”

Louis sighs, pressing his thumb into Harry’s hand. “Only you.”

“And you’d be Marge Simpson,” Harry continues, dragging their hands together further up Harry’s chest. It rests between his prominent collarbones now. “Smart, is the one everyone has the hots for--”

“Ha ha,” Louis laughs bluntly. “Flattering, Harold. But definitely not true.”

“Crazy hair,” Harry finishes with a chuckle. Louis growls and twists his fingers to roughly tug at his curls. Punishment. “Ow.”

“You should have left it where you said I was hot.”

“I didn’t say you were hot.”

“Oh, so you’re not everyone then. As a Literature student, I believe that you, who is also a Literature student, should try and word your sentences in a better way for full clarity,” Louis speaks poshly, eyeing Harry as he sits up from Louis’ thighs. Louis removes his hand from Harry’s hair instinctively, but the other remains locked with Harry’s hand. “Sick of me touching your hair?”

“Sick of you teasing my sentence structure, is more like it,” he smirks playfully. “I had enough of you being my pillow.”

“Excuse me? What type of normal pillow will scratch and detangle your hair for you while you relax, hm?”

In turn, Harry steals the pillow from Louis’ side. Harry clutches both his own and Louis’ pillows tight between his arms, never giving Louis the chance to snatch his pillow back for a good night sleep. Louis glowers miserably when Harry turns around, back to him, and rests his head on both pillows. It looks uncomfortable, his neck not in perfect alignment compared to the rest of his body. If anything, Harry’s going to be getting a deserving amount of sore payback in the morning for stealing his pillow and not thanking Louis for the thirty minutes of free head scratches.

“What am I supposed to use for my lovely head then?” Louis asks him, prodding Harry’s shoulder blade. Harry shrugs cluelessly. “Harry,” he whines.

The idiot fakes unconsciousness with obnoxiously loud snoring. Having none of his attitude, he decides to shuffle closer to Harry’s body and tries to find space on the pillow. Harry’s taking up the majority of it with his large head. Great. He could try and push him off the bed, leaving him all the free pillow and bed space in the world for an excellent night’s sleep. But it’s the question of whether or not Louis will be able to take Harry on while half drunk, half weak. Harry might wrestle him and lay on him with no release until tomorrow comes.  Maybe they could thumb wrestle; a fair game. Hold hands until a person calls mercy.

Eh, maybe it would be a good idea to annoy the shit out of Harry.

“Move,” Louis orders. Harry doesn’t obey. “Don’t be a pig, give me some pillow.”

“Find your own.”

“You took my own.” Louis brushes some of Harry’s hair from the pillows. It exposes a few inches worth of space to lay on, but it’s still not enough. “You better fucking move before I sit on you.”

“Oh, the horror,” Harry barks out monotonously, making Louis squint daggers into the back of his head.

Well, he asked for it. He stands up on his knees, spinning himself around to sit right on Harry’s hip. The boy underneath him grumbles, the loudness of it muffled by the two pillows he’s smothering his face in. Louis balances himself while straightening himself up. He feels like a proper prince now. On his very own throne. All he needs is a crown.

“Lou,” Harry moans. Louis doesn’t answer him, attempting to press more of his weight into Harry’s now tensed body. “Fuck, get off me.”

“Oh, was that a noise I hear? Nah, can’t be. I’m very much alone in this room,” he teases brutally. Harry groans, frustrated. “Another noise. Must be the mice upstairs squabbling about. Pest control should be called at once!”

“Sure thing, your highness. I should warn them of the twat sporting a blue hoodie and white chinos in my room. He’s the biggest pest in the kingdom, surely.”

The description fits him perfectly. Despite the glorious chance to banter silly with Harry, Louis continues to ignore him. “Dear, oh dear. I should close the windows to the room. The wind seems to be speaking nonsense again.”

He wriggles his arse to pressure more weight into the hip, but begins to slide backwards while doing so. He tries to shift himself for his comfort’s sake, Louis removing his weight from Harry’s body. Within a split second, Harry somehow, some fucking how, had managed to twist his entire body around, sit up and then push Louis’ body forward into the mattress, stomach first. Louis lands where he is now, out of breath due to shock and a heavy weight pooling at his lower back. Harry’s on his fucking back.

“It is as fun as it looks,” Harry grins, big toes digging into Louis’ thighs. They’re sockless, he realises. And quite chilly. “How does it feel now?”

“Fuck off,” Louis frowns. His words grow whinier when Harry places his each of his hands on Louis’ shoulder blades, leaning on them to equally distribute the weight. Or so Harry thought. “I can’t breathe.”

Harry sneers. “I couldn't either.”

“Okay, your lungs aren’t in your fucking hip, Harold,” he snaps hastily, breath shortening the more he speaks. “Get off me, you oaf! I’m drunk but I still have feelings.”

“Thank God, I thought you were soulless this entire time.” Harry sits up high, but not high enough to uncage Louis from Harry’s leg prison. Instead, Louis turns himself around, back to the bed rather than stomach. That way, if Harry does end up moving a little bit more Louis can knee him right in the balls and escape. Maybe escape with his pillow as well.

Plan A’s called off the minute Harry grabs both of Louis’ wrists and pins them above his head. It’s play time; just as Louis had hoped for.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’ll suffer for thirty days and thirty nights in compensation for your inhumane torture to me.”

Louis rolls his eyes at his dumb comment. “Surely you’ll be able to hold me here for thirty days and thirty nights without no one suspecting our disappearances. Especially since we go to the same school, have friends who worry shitless about us, and not to mention mock exams in no more than a month’s time.”

Harry giggles mercilessly. Louis looks at his hair drooping over his face like a willow tree in a misty forest. His skin appears to be so smooth, so milky. It’s so aesthetically pleasing to his eyes. Harry’s eyelashes curl and veil shadows on his puffed cheeks. His eyes are intensely dark, but they’re not chilling as if they would lead to the unknown. Harry’s lip twitches into a smile and creases are carved in the hollow parts of his cheeks. Dimples. And they belong to Harry. All of this belongs to Harry.

“You’re hot too,” Louis whispers absentmindedly.

It doesn’t take Harry by surprise, weirdly enough. The once-over Louis had just given Harry might as well have said the exact same thing. Harry could have understood that. Or maybe Harry’s just cocky enough to know he’s hot already.

“I can’t believe you’re on top of me like this,” he murmurs as Harry focuses keenly at him. “Can I have my pillow back now?”

“I am your pillow,” Harry says down to him.

“I don’t remember resting a pillow on top of my body when I’m about to go to sleep.”

Harry flops down suddenly, torso coming to contact with Louis’ own. His head slots beside Louis’ neck. “You’ve been sleeping wrong your entire life then.”

“You’re telling me that I’ve been sleeping wrong for the past 18 years, and my family have been sleeping wrong for the past... I don’t know... two centuries?”

“Of course,” Harry mutters promptly. Louis feels his hot breath closing into his neck, and it’s bliss.

“You’re teaching me how to English properly, I think it might be time for me to teach you how to sleep properly, young man.”

“That means I get to spend more time with you,” he murmurs into his neck. “Cuddling.”

He’s about to whisper a yeah but his word is lost in the back of his throat when Harry presses a kiss into his skin. Louis’ eyes are wide open, eyelids creaking as the stretch wider than they have ever been. Heat rushes to his face and his left hand comes up to touch Harry at the curve of his waist. He curls his fingers into Harry’s t-shirt, trying to calm his heartbeat and drag himself in the reality of the night.

Harry noses at the skin, stained with the print of his soft lips. “You smell like strawberries.”

“You’re drunk enough to mistaken tequila for strawberries.” Louis dips his knuckles into Harry’s waist, soothing him with sweet touches. Harry sputters a laugh into his neck and turns his head away so his nose is deep into the mattress rather than into his skin. Harry’s kiss still burns into his neck. “Hey, hey.”

Harry perks up from the mattress with his face so very close to Louis’. “What?”

“Keep going.”

The confusion that spreads across Harry’s face softens into a smile after a silent pause. He bends his head down again, top tufts of Harry’s hair brushing against Louis’ chin as lips touch at the very centre of his neck. It’s a sensitive area. Porcelain smooth.

Louis’ knuckles against his waist soon become fingertips digging deep into Harry’s skin. Harry trails his mouth from point A to B; from the centre of Louis’ neck towards his left side jaw. Louis tilts his head to the side but curls his head downward to feel the sweep of Harry’s hair over his rosy cheeks. He feels pliant like this, weak at the knees and incapable to think about anything else other than Harry’s skin touching his and the heat between their bodies. He can hardly remember the rest of the night as is, but with Harry straddling his body and with his lips attached to his neck, it’s hard to remember literally anything that has happened five minutes ago.

A warm wetness begins to be felt under his jaw. It lingers on his skin longer than a simple kiss. He’s caught off guard whilst trying to think about what Harry could be doing, Harry’s mouth opening on his skin and sucking just under the jaw. Louis bundles the side of Harry’s shirt tight in his hand, tugging the shirt up in shock to reveal Harry’s flushed abdomen. Harry stops himself from sucking a mark into Louis’ neck, instead biting softly at the reddened area.

Louis cocks his head to the left, pressing his nose into Harry’s jaw and whispering, “Try again if you wanna know what’s good for you.”

“You asked for it.”

His lips touch the same area, and he doesn’t kiss the spot before sucking this time. It’s a harsh bite that comes too quick. Warmth smothers him into the mattress but Louis grips onto Harry tight enough to not be compelled by the power of heat. He moans, loud. He doesn’t care. And Harry sucks another love bite just under the first, just as quick as the first. He kisses over both before marking another into his skin, and another. There’s no stopping it; it’s addictive. And Louis slides a hand into Harry’s hair to entice him to keep going until time stops. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop, until he does.

The seventh love bite is stamped into his skin and Harry pulls away breathless and pink cheeked. He leans over Louis, looking at the pretty red marks that he’s left up and down the side of his neck. Harry giggles and rolls over, freeing Louis from his weight. Louis sits up in relief, fingers gliding across the markings he’s yet to see. Louis won’t be impressed in the morning, but who cares. Right now just who fucking cares.

“C’mere, munchkin,” Harry whispers, arms open wide. He’s laying the wrong way across the bed. Harry really needs lessons on how to sleep properly. “Found you a pillow.”

Two pillows are right there for him to take, including the soft pillow he has been fighting Harry for for the past half hour. Instead he crawls to Harry and rests his head on the squishy part of his bicep. Harry curls his arm around Louis’ back and cradles him in closer. Much closer. Warmer.

The best pillow, he thinks before resting his drunken little head.

: :

The early sunrise peering through Harry’s blinds wakes Louis from his drunken slumber. He’s stomach down, still laying lengthways across the bed with a navy pillow cushioning his head. He’s not as sore as he had expected to be. As a matter of fact, he feels perfectly fine. Could climb Mount Everest in a matter of hours, in fact. It’s better than a 6 o’clock wake up on a Monday school morning.

Except today, he’s alone in a stranger’s bed. Topless. He surely doesn’t remember taking his shirt off at any point last night.

His body is now somewhat alert of most things. Now that his senses have come in, a swarm of smells have attacked his sinuses. One that stands out clearly is the aroma of bacon. Fucking bacon. Bless whoever’s downstairs and cooking that up. The perfect food for the drunken aftermath. Hangover Sunday has only started.

Slightly disorientated still, he sits up and notices his shirt creased on the floor beside the bed. Right, so that’s didn’t go very far. He’d hoped that. Once standing from the mattress he picks it up and shrugs it back on, smoothing the creases out with soft strokes across his torso. The smell of bacon is clogging his nose entirely now, and it’s only making Louis more hungrier by the second.

It doesn’t take him long to follow the scent to the kitchen, peeking past the door frame to see who was occupying the stove before Louis just waltz in with the demand for food. Behind a sizzling pan is Harry. Topless, also. Should he mention. Louis hopes to God there isn’t some sort of connection there between his own previous half-nakedness and current Harry’s half-nakedness.

His assumptions don’t worry him as much as they should.

“Haz,” he calls over the loud sizzling. Harry turns his head, looking over to Louis by the door frame and sending him a big toothy grin. It’s contagious.

“Hey Lou!” Harry cheers, too happy for a boy with regrets and a hangover. “Hungry?”

“God, yes.” He paces across the room to the stools by the counter. There, he receives a direct view of Harry twisting the bacon to their uncooked sides. The smell is incredible. He wonders how the other boys haven’t been woken up and compelled by Harry’s cooking.

Harry covers the strips with a pot lid, facing Louis with the same smile from earlier. It disappears as soon as Harry locks eyes with him.

“What?” Louis questions quickly, paranoid. Harry pulls a face. “Harry, what? What’s on my face?”

“Nothing... Um, nothing’s on your face?”

It’s a question, not a clear and firm statement. Louis’ anxiety doesn’t fade. Harry looks around Louis, side stepping to get a closer look at whatever the fuck Harry’s entranced by. God, it must be humiliating enough to have this much attention on him.

Louis realises Harry’s looking at his neck. He slaps a hand over the presumed spot. “Harry, Jesus Christ, what is it?” Louis demands. Harry’s got a finger over his lip in thought, still not saying a word. “You know, I could have gone to the mirror and back within the time it’s taking you to answer.”

“You might want to go to a mirror,” Harry says, unsure if his tone is humoured or uneasy. “I did a bit of damage... I see.”

“Wha--” Louis runs two fingers across his neck, trying to feel for marks, scratches. Anything. But there’s nothing. Shit. He knows exactly what it is. “Did you--”

“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t... I wasn’t thinking!”

“Oh my God,” Louis barks, pushing himself from the stool and continuing to use his last hope to find something. Harry can’t have given him love bites. That’s... What. Why? “They’re not what I think they are... are they?”

“There’s seven.” Harry shies himself away, hearing Louis gasp loudly to the side. “I counted seven.”

There’s small footsteps behind him within a few short seconds, the soft sound of poof poof poof as Louis’ feet stormed on the lino flooring. Harry tenses up but turns around when Louis taps him on the back with the tip of his finger. Harry could only smile. The bites look lovely on Louis, he must admit. Not as if they should be there.

Harry continues to try smile away the serious situation. “Hi.”

Louis pokes a finger in his chest. “Don’t hi me, asshole. You attacked my neck.”

“It was an accident!” Harry raises the spatula and gives the puppiest of eyes to Louis. It doesn’t do him justice. “Lou.”

“Accident my arse. You did seven. Seven. That’s the same amount of dwarves Snow White had, Harry! The fucking evil queen, you are!”

Harry pouts his lip out next. Still, it does nothing for him. Louis’ finger dips further into his chest, pinching Harry’s skin slightly. Good.

Harry smirks suddenly, lowering his spatula and tapping the end of it at Louis’ hip. “We could make it eight--”

“No,” Louis tries to say confidently. He fails, miserably. He ends up grinning and shuffling an inch closer to Harry’s body. “Definitely not.”

Harry doesn’t try to go for another, as much as he would like to. The damage is enough, seven redish purple love bites are scattered up his neck in an uneven line. He’ll get him again one day. Last night was fun and had enough, somewhat, sexual release for Harry to relish on for the next few weeks.

“Your bacon’s burning,” Louis warns him. Harry spins around to attend it. Louis whispers behind him, “Need any help?”

“Actually, yeah. The boys will be up soonish, I think.” Harry points the spatula to the clock. It reads 9:23. Not as early as Louis had thought. “They love their toast. Would it be a bother for you to make some up?”

“Of course it would,” Louis laughs, stepping towards the counter beside the stove. “But since it’s for the boys, I guess I might have to.”

“Yeah, that, or I won’t give you any cover up for those bruises and I will make sure I’ll point out every single one and say that Andrew did them.”

“Evil queen,” Louis repeats, lifting himself onto the counter and dragging the toaster by his side from the right. “Anyway, where’s the bread?” Harry points to the cupboard. “Just when I made the effort to sit up on the counter?”

“Oh dear, your poor efforts have gone to waste, haven’t they?” Harry glances at Louis feigning all sorts of sorrow. Louis rolls his eyes and travels to the cupboard, finding a pre-cut loaf of bread inside the bread bin. “You’re lucky I didn’t give you eight, munchkin.”

By 10 in the morning, there’s 11 pieces of toast - rather cold but whatever - sitting on a china plate in the middle of the dining table, with bacon strips on another. Harry’s frying up eggs with Louis sitting on the counter, annoying him and throwing pieces of egg shell at his hair. Harry fries up the last of the eggs quickly, turning off the stove and plating up each of the soft eggs nicely. While setting the plate to the table with the rest of the breakfast feast, Louis throws half a shell at Harry. It lands perfectly in his curls, the little bit of egg white left inside the shell oozing out to ruin Harry’s ends.

Harry freezes and glares at Louis. Louis has both hands over his mouth, astounded. Harry shakes the egg shell from his hair and ditches it at Louis’ thighs, missing entirely.

“Ha! Missed!” he shouts at Harry’s attempt. Harry growls and stomps over to him. “Oh, what’re you gonna do? Fry me like you did your soggy eggs?”

He presses his two hands on Louis’ knees, securing him to the counter. Louis smiles down and tries to kick his leg up to kick Harry in the nuts. Before he could, Harry’s in front of him locking his shins against the side of the counter, eradicating any sort of potential harm to his beloved crown jewels. Harry smirks and leans on his hands, putting pressure onto Louis’ knees.

Louis makes eye contact with him. His eyes are iridescent, he concludes. They’re almost a blue green from eye level, unlike the jade green or deep green they’re usually from other angles. This angle is the best, he thinks. A centimetre taller and he would, for once, be the taller one between them. A centimetre closer and he’d have Harry’s breath warmly hitting his face. He has never wanted to pinch someone silly more than he does now.

Instead, Harry whispers, “I’ll make it eight.”

He wasn’t going to protest, is the thing. If Liam didn’t come into the room with a frustrated moan for breakfast, he would have found his hand twisted in Harry’s hair with his lips attached to his neck again. Harry jumps from him, freeing him, and points over to the table where the three plates sit. Liam almost screeches, running to the table and snatching at the meal like a scavenging wolf.

The other three join a few minutes later, Louis and Harry sitting across from each other but always finding a way to catch each other’s eyes every so often. Breakfast is slow with laughs about the drunken night that had passed them and compliments about Harry’s cooking. Louis takes no praise, but doesn’t mind it. He knows well enough that Harry loves the toast and will thank him for it privately once they’re done. He’s a sweetheart like that.

The three plates are polished off and it almost goes unnoticed. When Louis stands up in offering to take the plates to the sink, Josh gasps out and points at him. All attention is caught on him, and his neck.

Harry tries his best to mask his guilt. It’s the most transparent look Louis has ever seen someone give.

“Fuck, Lou. Those are some nasty marks,” Liam comments. And Louis very much hates Liam right now but he tries his best to hide his shame. It’s as good as Harry’s failed poker-face. “And who did that, hm?”

All eyes glance at Harry with no hesitation. There’s no way to backtrack from this now. The only thing that saves Louis from losing all composure is with Andrew’s face contorting into all sorts of jealousy. It suffices to bring him away from ultimate humiliation. Louis points out the tenseness of Andrew’s face. He immediately detests.

The rest of the boys laugh at his restlessness. Andrew is teased for the rest of the morning.

: :

He drives himself home by half twelve. He’s outside on the balcony just before quarter to one, writing down every little thing he remembers about the night before, separating his memories between two jars. One for the boys, one for Harry.

His ripped papers go into their designated jars. The lids are sealed and the memory filled jars are returned to their places on the shelves. Louis goes back inside his room, closing the doors to the balcony. He slips off his shirt and dives into his bed, resting face down while remembering more of last night’s antics.

He had spoken with Harry earlier, just after breakfast. The boys took turns with showering, playing a game of FIFA meanwhile. Harry had dragged Louis out of the room at one point, and the hoots and calls that followed their footsteps were expected. Harry brought him to the bedroom despite there being private rooms that are much closer than the upstairs room. Louis doesn’t mind the extra walk.

Harry sat with him on the centre of the bed, cross legged with Harry holding a pillow between his arms. They talk about what they remembered from last night, and obviously Harry remembered more than Louis. There was never an awkward moment talking about what had happened. Neither of them said they regretted anything. They ended up heading off topic, a common thing to happen between them. It only led to relentless stomach-cramping laughter and for a pillow fight to ensue.

Love bite number eight also kind of happened but Louis is trying to keep his mind from that. Just in case his mind never stops thinking about it.

It reminds him that Harry gave him a bottle of liquid foundation to cover things up for school. Kind of him, really. He’s sure he stole it from his mother’s bedroom, but for the time being Louis can’t really care. He’s got to learn how to cover up eight love bites by tomorrow. That, as well as not using the entire bottle just to cover up said bites.

So he resorts to Youtube tutorials. On incognito mode. He doesn’t want his mother to see this in his internet history. There’ll be enough questions as to why Louis has a patch of light skin on the left side of his neck. He should just go to the store now and by a foundation that’s the same shade as his skin. But whatever, this will make do for something at least. If worse comes to worse, he can wear a turtle neck.

Whilst in the middle of a tutorial, his phone bleeps on the bed side table. He pauses the video and retrieves it, seeing the message is from Harry. The preview message isn’t teasing, or anything about the love bites. Or a mix of both. Actually it’s...

“Oh shit.” Louis can’t find a way to swipe his phone unlocked. He’s in... shock. He can’t stop reading the message over and over because did Harry say... Date? Study date? A date?

He could be reading too much into it. But they called their sessions “sessions” enough to make that the usual thing to say when they want to study. A study date. Harry wants a study date tomorrow.

He sounds ridiculous, but it’s not as ridiculous as how long it took Louis to reply “sure!” to Harry.

So it’s organised. Louis sits back in front of his computer and fucks up the coverage on his neck completely. He gives up and falls into the carpet, thinking about his and Harry’s date tomorrow.

A study date, he reminds himself sheepishly.

: :

It’s the four words Louis had dare hoped to never say to Harry.

we have to cancel :(

The reply is slow. Louis could see Harry’s frown now at the school library’s desk. He would be collecting his stuff in solemn and be planning to ignore Louis’ sad text for the rest of his life.

Of course Harry wouldn’t ignore him. He’s a sweetheart.

oh nooooo :( i had donutssss

So Louis had ruined Harry’s plans as well as ruined his chance to have a perfect powdered donut with Harry. He’s been ever too excited to see icing sugar stain Harry’s mouth.

i’m so sorry! we can organise for friday if you’re not busy? im so sorry!!!! mum just messaged me and it’s an emergency :((

you’re alright lou. friday is fine. i owe you two donuts for friday ;) x

The x Harry sends him drives away most of the guilt he feels. He could only wish his mother had planned forward with her schedule instead of suddenly handing all responsibility to Louis to look after his little sister on this dismal Monday afternoon.

: :

Louis strikes a permanent line through the 28th. He sees the other number written in red underneath the black line. 8. Eight days until mid-term exams. He’s so fucked.

He had just woken up and his day’s already ruined. He doesn’t even know why he bothers looking at his calendar. It reminds him of how little time he has left before his failure comes for him at his throat. It reminds him also of how little he’s done in the past 45 days counting down to the start of mid-terms.

If there’s anything good that has come out of this calendar that Harry had given him 45 days ago, it’s the fact that Louis knows now that he and Harry have been friends for around about two months. And that’s kind of weird to think about, actually. The time flew past fast. Faster than their study sessions, even faster than the times they’ve spent together for the hell of it.

They’re attached to the hip, Liam had said to him once in the cafeteria. Louis doesn’t mind him and Harry being known as the friends who can’t get away from each other. No one else seems to mind it, even Harry’s current best friends. Niall certainly doesn’t mind Louis hanging out with Harry. In fact, he keeps encouraging it. Louis knows very well why.

It’s not so hidden that Louis may like Harry just a little bit. Like... only the tiniest bit. Niall always tells him to shut up when Louis talks about him over the phone and stuff, but that only means he likes talking about Harry. Niall tells him plenty that Louis has an obsession, or something. That or Louis is crushing harder than ever for the messy haired punk, as Niall describes him.

And sure, Harry’s hot as hell. He’s admitted that more times than told himself he’s going to fail his mid-terms. Certainly doesn’t mean that Harry thinks the same for Louis. Of all things, he might like Louis as a friend, call him his best friend. If that. Whatever Harry thinks of him, he’ll take it with a tight hold. Harry’s a good mate. He’s not going to let that friendship slip even if he does have a bit of heart for him.

He loses the daylight fast. The sun is setting when Harry calls him; a usual thing that happens now. If Louis was actually doing anything he’d drop it all just for a phone call with Harry. It’s not a good thing when he’s got important things to do and a man who grants nothing less than a four hour phone call is ringing for his attention. Always does Louis answer.

“Working hard, or hardly working?” Harry asks him. It’s always the latter, but Harry likes to push that in his face. Bastard.

“Can I come over?” Louis questions in return. Harry hums delightfully.

“Is it because you don’t want to talk to me. You’d rather come over and steal every bit of food in my cupboard before sleeping off your hard-not-so-hard work in my bed?”

“You forgot the part where Doritos crumbs are left where you were supposed to sleep,” Louis laughs, already packing his back pack with a pair of grey sweats and soft beanie.

“Sad thing is, love, the Doritos are quite, as someone would say, gone.” Louis gasps in horror, clutching his chest as if someone was watching his dramatic episode. “Anyway, we can go for a drive to shops. Pick me up.”

“Oh, so am I your taxi now?”

“Oh,” Harry mocks, “So am I your second home now? Your second supplier of food? Your second bed--”

“Whatever, I’ll be there in fifteen.”

The seventh day until exams is just like the eighth, except, he spends it with another human being. He lays in bed with Harry for most of the day. However, Harry doesn’t let him drown in laziness and makes him recite some quotes from Oedipus - which Louis did end up finishing, as a matter of fact. It’s for the sake of the mid-terms. Harry wants him to do well. He’s told that to Louis enough, but Louis rolls in the praise he gets whenever Harry says he’s done well for the day, or he’s going to do great in the exam. Which... Okay, it does sound kind of fake. The possibility of him passing the Literature exam is next to nothing, not to mention the possibility of doing well. Harry just has some sort of other belief in him that Louis can’t obtain.

The sixth day until mid-terms Louis spends with Niall. He goes from the late evening to early fifth-day-until-exams talking to Harry over the phone. Harry reminds him of his fate of passing all five exams for each of his subjects. Louis still doesn’t believe him, but feigns belief just to keep Harry happy. Anything to keep Harry happy.

Day four and three aren’t any better. School has begun after the two week holiday, and even though there’s time for revision during classes, Louis doesn’t do much other than say he’s going to his locker but never comes back to his class. He walks around the school instead, clearing his head. Harry joins him on day three during his Gym class and Louis’ Drama studies. Pleasant conversation was exchanged. Louis feels like he could do anything after returning from the walk. Well, except his exams.

After school, Louis lays in bed for both of those days, and his mother comes into his room every so often to see if he’s alright. Louis only tells her he’s fine and will come down for dinner prep to help her out a bit. Just to keep her happy. Anything to keep his mother happy.

He doesn’t remember day two or one. They’re just as much of a blur as Louis’ mind during his Maths exam on the first day of mid-term week. He’s only thanking the Lord that his Literature exam is last. He spends most of the days after exams with Harry studying in the library. That is if Harry didn’t have an exam himself. Their schedules seem to slot perfectly for long study sessions, that being actual study sessions. Louis feels motivated knowing Harry’s doing something, whether that be scribbling colours on his note pad or sticky noting pages in his text book.

Friday afternoon, it is. Louis has just walked out of his final exam and he’s not relieved. He’s more tense walking out than he was walking in. The first thing he decides to do is call Harry, who had completed his Stage Three Lit exam earlier in the morning. Harry will calm him down, he hopes. Just... Something. He feels so fragile that one step down the stairs might end up shattering him.

Harry answers after a few rings with a sweet “Hey munchkin, you finished up?”

“Y-Yeah,” Louis replies, shaken up. “I... Fuck, Harry. I did so bad. I couldn’t remember the quotes and forgot the fucking... The acts, for the play! I didn’t... The reading in the first part was awful, didn’t make any sense at all. I knew I couldn’t do this--”

“Lou,” Harry speaks calmly, unhurried and perfectly kind. Harry’s a fucking sweetheart. “Love, it’s not the end of the world, a’right? You wrote something on the page, and I’m proud of you for that.”

He can only smile at Harry’s words. Harry makes everything okay. “C-Can I come over?”

“You know me well enough to know the answer to that.”

Yes, of course.

Two weeks later, Louis finds out he had passed three out of five exams, those three being Drama, Biology and Literature.

Literature. He passed his Literature exam. The moment he’s released from class, he finds Harry walking from his locker to morning tea. He shouts for him and sprints towards him. Harry doesn’t have enough time to compose what’s going on, being slammed into with two arms wrapping around his torso. There’s a small figure hugging him, and if he didn’t see the little beady blue eyes glare up to him he wouldn’t have realised it’s Louis attached to his body right now.

Harry furrows his eyebrows, but keeps his expression soft. “What’s up, munchkin?”

“I passed.” He could cry. And he does. “I passed the Lit exam.”

“Holy-- Louis!” Harry fucking picks him up and spins him around. Louis clutches him tighter, burying his nose into Harry’s t-shirt. “Lou! You passed! You fucking passed-- Oh shit, don’t cry, you silly goose!”

Harry places his two feet back to the Earth and rubs his thumbs under his eyes. Louis’ eyelids are spilling out weak tears onto his cheeks. “I’m happy, you idiot!” Louis cries out, gently punching into Harry’s stomach. Harry grabs his wrists and holds them warmly. So, so warm. “Thank you. I can’t... Just. Thank you.”

“I always believed in you, you know that,” Harry whispers to him, bunching Louis at his chest against and holding him close. Louis feel Harry nose into the hair on the top of his head. “And I know you didn’t really believe in yourself, but you did it. You pulled through. And you need to be so proud of yourself for that.”

He could say anything right now. He could say that he is proud of himself, he could say that he helped him believe in himself in the end. Instead, he breathes deep to catch his excited breath but soon feels his heart beat race when Harry kisses his forehead in appreciation. That’s better than any sort of verbal pride, any sort of written pride.

Louis grasps the back of Harry’s shirt, pressing their chests closer together, as if they’re not already close enough. “I’m so glad I met you,” he whispers up to Harry. “So, so glad.”

He could have kissed him then and there. A thank you kiss. He doesn’t, though. He doesn’t know why.

: :

“In reality, I would be the one taking a penalty shot right now, Tommo.”

“But in this reality, Payno, you’re not,” Louis places his foot on the football, stopping it from moving about, “So fucking deal with it.”

He takes a few steps back and marks his aim. He takes his unfair shot straight into Liam’s hands, who barks a crude laugh at Louis’ horrid footballing skills. Louis doesn’t show his resentment (Oh, the irony). He’d rather let it show next time when he kicks a ball straight into Liam’s face without damn sorry in the world.

But it’s Harry’s turn, and Louis always knows Liam lets Harry get the goal. Because they’re best fucking friends. Louis hates them sometimes. He doesn’t know why he agreed to Harry’s outing to the park by his street. Maybe because he kind of really fucking likes Harry but doesn’t very much like Liam and his attitude towards football. He loves Liam a lot, really. But not right now.

“You know, Messi would have your arse by now, Liam,” Louis points out, joining him at the goal posts. Harry ends up jogging to the pair before they play a small game of kick around between the three of them.

“Lucky I’m not trying to be a professional footballer, unlike...” Liam says smugly. Louis drones a look at him. “Alright, alright. Calm down with the look, mate.”

“Harry, I’ll give you five dollars to punch your best friend.”

“What,” Harry says. “I’d punch him for nothing.”

“What type of gang up is this,” Liam hisses, passing the ball over to Harry. “Harry, if you didn’t realise, when you’re on a certain team, you don’t defend the opposition.”

“Oh, yes, I know that Liam. If you didn’t know, my mate Lou here is actually on my team. Looks like you’re the one who’s been fooled.”

“Fooled by the foolish, I would like to think.”

“Hey,” Louis snaps with slight offence. “You like to think wrong, don’t you?”

Harry knocks the ball over to Louis, where his leg takes a massive swing at the ball, hitting Liam dead on the thigh. Instinctively, Liam cups his hands over his crotch and turns away, glaring eye wide at Louis with his mouth formed into an O. They hear Harry before they see him. Louis looks over to see him on the floor cackling loudly and beautifully. He looks so tiny and precious. If Louis could scoop him up and give him a thousand and one kisses, then he would. It takes all his will power not to do as so.

They all bounce around silly like three puppies in a pen for the next twenty minutes. Harry ends up falling to the grass again, where he doesn’t bother to get up. Louis joins him, star fishing his body once he made contact to the Earth. Liam comes about somewhere. They all take in a heavy breath together and giggle, letting their bodies relax and their eyes focus on the sky. The clouds have raided the blue sky today, all different shades of grey and only promising a storm for the later evening. It’s going to be a good night sleep tonight, Louis thinks.

There’s a faint beeping sound that earns all their attention. It’s unknown of where it’s coming from, until Liam speaks up with mild annoyance in his voice.

“Ah, I need to head back home.” Louis can see him sit up in his peripheral vision. He had just remembered Liam set a 4:30 alarm on his watch when they walked to their cars after school. He has some sort of dinner with his relatives. Poor Liam.“Good game, lads. I’ll see you around.”

Both Louis and Harry wave him off with a cheery goodbye. Neither of the two pick themselves up from the ground, still all eyes on the sky moving above them like a calm ocean. Harry’s the first to speak between the two of them, even though it had taken three minutes worth of silence before either of them did anything other than breathe as quietly as they could into the air.

“Do you ever think clouds look at humans and think ‘what if I just rained on them’?”

If Louis expected anything normal to come from Harry’s mouth at this given time, he’d be more wrong than admitting to himself that he doesn’t fancy Harry one little bit.

“It’s certainly a wonder why you didn’t take Biology class, Harold,” Louis teases, tilting his head leftward to see Harry’s hair gently smoothed against the grass. Placing a million dandelions in his hair has never felt more tempting. “Certainly a wonder.”

“Just because science has theorised that clouds are inanimate doesn’t mean that my imagination can’t think that clouds have competitions on who can piss rain and hit someone in the head first.”

He’s adorable. A 17 year old with an expanse imagination that is usually found in a five year old. He could be deemed childish. Except he isn’t. He’s just really adorable.

He keeps it going for the sake of getting the giggles out of Harry. “I think that one up there is called Sanjay.” Louis points to what he thinks is one cloud. All the clouds are mushed together into a big blanket. “He’s looking at you now and contemplating your next move.”

“No, he’s looking at you and contemplating your next move. He’ll rain on you because he knows you’ll create the most magnificent of rainbows.”

Louis questions what he means, “Is that you telling me that there’s going to be a paint fight involved later in the day? And I’m going to be drenched all sorts of colours?”

“It was meant as a figure of speech,” Harry whispers, amused. He also cocks his head to the side, gazing at Louis’ face wrinkled with confusion. “You create rainbows when the rain pours on you because you’re the sunshine.”

Oh. Just. Oh. “I’m the sunshine?”

“My only sunshine,” Harry sings happily, “You make me happy when skies are grey--”

“Oh God,” Louis moans, whacking Harry’s chest with the back of his hand. It shuts him up good. “I should have seen that one coming.”

“I’d make a musical out of anything, so you should have definitely seen that one coming.”

Louis fishes his phone out of his front pocket and checks the time. It’s only quarter to. He knows Harry has to leave soonish for a babysitting job down the street. Sad, really. He’d love to spend the rest of the afternoon with Harry, the rest of the night. But for a boy who needs to rewrite his failed Maths and Politics exams by Monday week, it’s not a good idea.

“I’m still coming over tomorrow, right?” Louis asks him. After three months, it’s incredible how Harry hasn’t asked him why they haven’t gone to Louis’ place for a study session. Maybe Harry doesn’t mind always going back to his own house. Or has noticed Louis uneasiness with going back to the Tomlinson residence. “Like... For study.”

“If study actually happens,” Harry snickers. “And yes, I haven’t got anything planned so just call me when you’re about to come over or you’re at my door or something.”

“Cool.” He watches as Harry takes his own phone out, tapping his thumbs on the screen a few times before dropping the phone to his stomach. Louis shuffles closer to snoop into Harry’s business. “Who’re you messaging?”

Harry faces him with narrowed eyes. “You certainly take a lot of notice on unimportant things, don’t you munchkin?”

“Not my fault when your sausage fingers tap the screen louder than a kid with a new drum kit.”

Harry barks out a laugh, picking up his phone and handing it to Louis. “An old mate of mine sent me a meme.” Louis takes the phone in his hands, unlocking it. It’s passcode free, he realises. Harry’s very open to the people around him, it seems.

The meme is nothing more than a cat laying on its back with its tail stiffened on its stomach. Rather funny, but not a meme.

“Zayn knows I have a thing for cats.”

Louis grins mischievously at him. “A thing for pussy, hm?”

“Oh my God,” Harry snatches the phone from him and shoves a flat hand at Louis’ cheek, “The number of times you've taken my words the wrong way...”

Louis licks his palm, Harry growling in disgust. “Your fault for wording things the wrong way.”

“I only said I have a thing for cats. There was no need to associate it to people with vaginas, Lou.” He’s got Louis there. Louis only hmph’s in defeat, sitting up and folding his arms in front of his chest. Harry follows him, crossing his legs and settling his hands in his lap, laughing at Louis’ crankiness.

He places a hand on Louis’ knee, startling him. He looks down to the burning touch and realises then how close they are. Harry’s left knee is resting against Louis’ thigh. Everything touching him that belongs to Harry fries against his skin. They could leave marks that last a lifetime. Louis doesn’t mind.

“You’re something else, you know that?” Harry whispers.

“Of course I am,” Louis states proudly. Harry laughs at his cockiness, but nods in agreement. Louis tones down his confidence with a gruff chuckle. “I’d say something really sappy like you bring out the best in me but you know, I’m horrible enough.”

Harry smiles gently, nudging his pinky between the fold of his knee. “I’ll pretend that the statement you just said was the only thing you said to me.”

“I was hoping you’d do that,” Louis says. “I’m too much of a loser to admit that I can be quite sweet.”

“You don’t have to add something to discourage yourself to make a point. You can just say it. If there’s anyone that’s going to tease you for opening up, it won’t be me.”

He eyes Harry shyly with face tilted slightly downwards. Today, his eyes match the sky, but they’re not as glum as the clouds. They’re still a brilliant green but much darker than usual. He’s so close that Louis can make out the detailing in his irises, count every eyelash on his bottom lid, spot the very point where the blush on his cheeks start and grow out into a fading pink. He glows as if he’s swallowed a million fireflies and they’re trying to escape through his pores. So much about Harry he wants to learn just so he could paint him. He doesn’t even paint, but Louis wants to paint the beauty on a canvas and show the world, name the work “Prince”, sell the artwork for a priceless amount of money.

Louis feels his eyelids become heavy, his mouth become light. “You’re something else, H.”

“Of course I am,” Harry mimics terribly. Louis dips his forehead against Harry’s shoulder and laughs into his shirt, feeling Harry’s hands squeeze around his knee cap. “Thanks, munchkin.”

“Where did that nickname come from?” he mumbles. He admires Harry from the low angle. How his jawline curves deep. Even with the limited sunshine given by the sombre afternoon his structure casts a shadow onto his smooth neck. His Adam’s apple is prominent, sticking out the middle of his neck as if something’s trying to get out. It bobs when Harry swallows, and Louis is instantly hypnotised. However, it’s not as mesmerising as Harry’s lips.

“It just came from somewhere,” Harry grins down to him, bumping his nose against Louis’ forehead. They’re close. Too close. Except neither of them mind it. His lips are right there. Mouth is a pretty pink with a crystal glaze. They’re full, always full. Never dry. Smoother than Harry’s neck, than Harry’s voice. Harry. “I-I... Um, I don’t... I don’t know...”

His heavy eyelids fall shut without warning. Harry’s hand is gently squeezing his knee again. Harry could burn a forest with his own hands, he thinks. He dances his fingers over to Harry’s t-shirt, twisting his fingers just above his pecs and surging him forward, close enough for Louis’ lips to attach to his neck. Though, that doesn’t happen. He lets his breath hit Harry’s skin, breath too hot and too quick. They haven’t spoken a word in a minute. There’s still no need to.

His body falls into the ground by force. With the way his hand is still loosely clutched to Harry’s shirt, Louis understands that Harry’s hovering above him. Unknown where. The burn of Harry’s hand on his knee is missing. It’s replaced to the left of his chest, a palm flat against his heart. He knows Harry can feel how fast its beating. It’s for him. It’s always for him.

“I... Um,” Louis mutters suddenly, eyes peeking open just the slightest. He sees Harry not even three inches away, vision unable to focus on how close he is. Harry’s eyes are bulging from his head. It reminds Louis of the first time he caught him in the library. “I-I think it’s a cute nickname.”

Harry chuckles and pushes himself back, removing all contact from Louis and shaking his messy curls away from the front of his face. “It is,” he agrees. For some reason Harry looks agitated, or maybe unaccomplished. It’s nothing for Louis to know about. “Anyway, I think it’s time for me to go. You know... Babysitting and stuff.”

“Right,” Louis says blandly. “I forgot about that.”

“Yeah, glad I didn’t. Leaving a two year old child to fend for himself isn’t such a good idea,” Harry giggles, lifting his body from the ground and roughly wiping the dirt from his jeans. He puts out a hand to help Louis from the ground. Louis takes the offer. “I’ll see you tomorrow night though, won’t I?”

Louis smiles with glee. “Definitely.”

Harry begins walking off with his hands in his pockets, head hanging low. He wonders what’s going through his mind. He wonders all the way back home, where he finds his little sister sitting in her room playing with her tea set.

Louis knocks on the door and Amelia stands from her plastic chair, screaming as she runs over to her big brother. She clutches at his leg as if it’s the first time she’s seem him in months. It’s only been two hours. Nevertheless, Louis ruffles her blonde hair and boops her on the nose hello. Amelia finds his hand and tugs at it, yanking Louis to the tea party and making him sit next to Mr. Fluffikins. Louis compliments his blue and purple hat, taking a plastic tea cup and asking Amelia for a fill up.

At some points, Amelia just ignores him completely and tends to her stuffed dollies. Louis hides in his daydream for a while, thinking about Harry. His fleecy hair, his pink lips, his iridescent eyes... He’s never wanted to know what someone had felt like against his mouth in such depth before. Belonging to him is a voice sweeter than cotton candy. Louis wants to know if his lips will taste the same.

: :

After school he retrieves his phone from his locker. There’s a message from his mother. Shit.

Emergency call in. Could you pls pick up amelia from preschool?? I need u to look after her tonite. Promise to take care of her this weekend. Love u. xx

Shit fuck piss fucking fuck fuck. He’s got a study date with Harry this afternoon. He can’t cancel this. Not today. Fuck!

God, there’s no way of getting out of it. He can’t give Amelia to a babysitter. It’s too late for that. He doesn’t know a babysitter other than Harry. Harry doesn’t let the baby be sat at his house, either. Fuck, he can’t waste this day with Harry. He’s got so much to do, so much to accomplish.

His life is a fucking disaster.

He waits at Harry’s car, unhappy. Harry’s going to be so disappointed. He can already feel the disappointment shake his bones. He never wants to disappoint Harry, because he does that pouty lip thing that is worse than stepping on a poor puppy’s tail. He’d cry if he ever saw that face again.

He’s so fucking nervous to tell Harry. Seeing his face light up from far away when he finds Louis at his car makes Louis stomach turn. It’s just a cancelling of a study date. Louis has done this before. Once. Fuck, he said he’d definitely spend time with Harry today. And look what’s happened. He’s about to crumble down in his own anxiety for something he can’t help.

Harry waves him and walks faster when he’s approaching Louis. Louis plays with his fingers, twiddling his thumbs, and scuffing his Vans on the ground. He doesn’t look up to Harry; he doesn’t think he can. Harry’s in front of him presenting what Louis thinks is an enthusiastic smile for the afternoon plan.

“Hey munchkin, need a lift?” He’s so, so happy. It’s a fucking Friday afternoon, a sunny day. Things can’t be more perfect for him. Until Louis tells him he can’t fucking study with him today. “Aw, no, Lou. I thought--”

“I know, H,” Louis mumbles apologetically. “I’m so, so sorry. Mum’s got a call in the emergency department and needs me to look after my little sister. I know I said I had no plans, but she just messaged me and told me to pick her up from school and look after her for the night... I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t need to tell me everything, you know that? If you need to cancel, just say so.” There’s no disappointment in his voice, or anger. Nothing but sincerity and collectiveness. “But since you did mention it, we can just go back to your house, hm? I mean it’s just your little sister. Amelia isn’t going to mind having me over, right?”

Well, fuck. This didn’t go to plan.

“I... Uh.” Amelia loves Louis’ friends. God she admires them more than her big brother. She’d love Harry to bits. Amelia isn’t the problem though. It’s the fact both of them usually study in their bedrooms as a little hide away. Harry’s going to question why they can’t go up there if Louis says no. It’s the mason jars. Louis doesn’t want Harry knowing about the jars. If Harry gets too enticed to look out the balcony window, his secret will be exposed. He’s not ready to tell him about the jars. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to tell him.

He’s been quiet for too long now. To say a lie now will only make Harry suspicious. That’s something he doesn’t want. He can distract Harry while they’re at home for sure. He can tell a little white lie about the balcony for today. He won’t be able to get away with it forever though. But it’s just for today.

“Yeah,” Louis says, very unsure. “Come over. You can meet Amelia’s dollies.”

“Sounds fun,” Harry grins, stepping around Louis to open his car door. “Text me the address when you’re home. I’ll head over then.”

“Sure.” Harry jumps into his Range Rover and starts it up the moment Louis begins to travel to his car. On the drive to Amelia’s preschool, his mind theorises plenty of unfortunate events that could happen later this afternoon. If Harry finds the jars, he doesn’t know what else he’d do other than cry and tell Harry to get out. It’s too hard to explain without sounding more like a freak.

He knows he isn’t a freak to himself. He thinks of himself as normal, in some sense. However, his opinion isn’t the same as someone else’s. It’s certainly not the same as Harry’s. Harry is too much to lose over a secret. He’s going to protect the jars as much as possible in order to keep both his sane reputation and his... best friend.

: :

Louis’ balcony being out of range isn’t first thing he tells Harry when he enters the Tomlinson house for the first time. But it is the second thing. He says it to him so casually that it wouldn’t be picked up by a lie detector. Harry shrugs off the request and smiles to Louis an “Okay!” before they both head upstairs to Amelia’s room.

Harry meets her. At the very moment Louis knows exactly why Harry chose a job surrounding kids. He picks her up, spins her around until she’s squealing against Harry’s neck happily. He greets every single one of the dolls she owns, asking for their names and their favourite colours. Amelia speaks out with no hesitation, reciting each name and colour of choice as if she had them written on the back of her hand. It’s so endearing seeing Harry shake each doll’s hand and listening to every single word Amelia is saying. He’s so good with kids. Louis wishes he had the same amount of patience as Harry with his sister. Or with anyone, actually.

“We’re going to have a private tea party,” she says aloof. Louis kicks himself and Harry out of the room, shutting the door behind themselves before Harry ends up snickering over to him. Louis questions him.

“What’s so funny, Mr. I wish I had dollies as prim and proper as yours?”

“Shut up.” Harry whacks him firmly at the bicep. “Your sister is like you, you know that? If it weren’t for the blonde I’d be mistaken.”

He cocks his head towards the end of the corridor, leading Harry to the bedroom. It’s nerve-wracking to know the unfortunate can happen inside there anytime soon.

“I think height would also be a factor to consider.”

“What about the height? You’re literally three foot like your sister.”

Louis spins on his heels, stopping them on their carpeted track. “Did you fail your Maths exam, Harold?”

“Yes, I did, actually, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re not much taller than your little sister.” He’s trying to be funny. It’s so funny Louis forgot to laugh. He purses his lips together and raises his eyebrows, seeking an apology. Harry rolls his eyes and sneers. “Don’t be grumpy.”

“You’re lucky I let you in my house, twat.” He finishes their journey, opening the door and letting Harry take the first glimpse of the room. Louis makes sure the blinds and curtains completely conceal the window to the balcony. Harry notices them and opens his mouth to comment, but Louis gets in the way first. “Yes, that’s the balcony. Mum will kill me if we opened the door to it.”

“Right,” Harry nods, pacing towards the bed and star fishing into the mattress. He groans. “Soft.”

“Very,” Louis agrees, also flopping straight into the bed and trying to land his body on top of Harry’s arm. That’ll promise cuddles, or a tickle fight. Whatever it is, it’ll get them away from studying for a while.

Harry ends up pinching him at the sides a few times when they lay facing each other. Harry also rolls Louis up in his duvet and calls him a sausage roll. Louis admitted defeat before Harry tried anything on him, so it left him vulnerable to most things. It’s why he’s immovable in a duvet right now. Oh well.

Harry releases him from the blanket after Louis whinges about the heat. Harry reminds them both that they actually need to study since this time was specifically allocated for cracking into the books and writing mercilessly. Louis finds an excuse out of plain air, telling Harry they needed to prepare some sort of dinner for his sister to eat. Harry’s eyes light up, excited and more than likely contemplating revenge for Louis’ previous attack with the egg shells.

It’s more than a disaster, Louis concludes when they hand Amelia a plate of spaghetti jaffles. Everything that could have ended up wrong while making mashed sweet potato and sprinkled pikelets went wrong. Louis has pikelet batter in his hair, Harry has mash potato on his face. Neither of them know how either food got onto their bodies.

The kitchen is clean by five, dishes all washed and put away, the wall tiles free from grime and the once full bin now empty. Louis checks up on Amelia upstairs, who is asleep with a full belly. He comes back down to see Harry sitting on the island counter tapping away on his phone, smiling shyly at the screen. Probably another cat joke or something from his mate.

“So,” Louis starts, bringing a hand down to the counter. The abrupt noise in the calm silence spooks Harry. “You staying for dinner?”

Harry sends him a lopsided smile. “It’s not going to be spaghetti jaffles, is it, chef?”

“I was thinking take away,” laughs Louis. He creeps near the island, feeling the counter top press into his stomach as he leans into it. He blinks up to Harry. “Got any ideas, H?”

“Well, I do have something. I get this really nice meal from this Thai place when I end up having a long shift babysitting,” Harry recommends. “Satay chicken, or garlic prawns with jasmine rice. It’s fucking beautiful. And delivery isn’t much at all.”

“Alright then.” He plucks Harry’s phone from his hands, daintily leaning both elbows on the counter and unlocking the phone. “You’ve got me all in. Give me the number, I’ll call them.”

Harry flicks his pointer finger at Louis’ cheek, “Taking things without asking, who are you?” Louis only shrugs. He rolls his eyes before saying the number out loud, Louis typing the number in and reciting the digits back to Harry before pressing the call button. Louis holds the phone to his ear, listening to the rings.

“I hope they hang up on you,” Harry mouths. Louis flips the bird at him and continues to hold it up while speaking to the Thai lady on the phone. She takes their order professionally, despite the small giggles slipping from Louis’ mouth when Harry tries to bite the tip of his finger. The woman thanks him for the order and Louis hangs up, slipping the phone into his pocket rather than handing it back to Harry.

“You’ll get this back when you eat your veggies,” he scolds.

His parenting guide doesn’t help him out, giving back the phone after Harry chases him around the island with dangerous dancing fingers. Of anything, being tickled is one of his worst nightmares. He doesn’t release that secret to Harry. It’ll only make his intentions grow. The passing of the phone is an acceptable gift of surrender, leaving Louis alone and delving into the next world closest to them, which is social media.

He’s scrolling through Instagram, double tapping every so often over a few aesthetic posts. He’s surprised that Harry didn’t take a Media class for photography or something. He’s obsessed with the orientation of a photo and the lighting in the background and all that other shit Louis doesn’t understand.

He stands close to Harry’s legs, placing one hand on each knee and standing over the phone for a very restricted view of Harry’s Instagram feed. Harry scrolls past a few photos of people from school, liking a photo of Liam’s dog when it appears. His finger keeps moving on the screen, scrolling fast past photos and videos. The top of Louis’ forehead is suddenly knocked. He rocks back, stunned. Harry’s there to meet him with an impish grin.

“You’re actually horrible.” Louis only tracks back to stand between his legs and view the phone. This time, Harry supports his forehead against Louis’ bed of hair gently, both leaning against each other as Harry switches to the Facebook app. He scrolls through that a bit, hardly interesting and videos of nail tutorials or gardening appear more than anything else.

They’re saved by the bell. Both are alerted by the melody of knocks that ring through the house. Their meal is here. Both excitedly run from the kitchen towards the front door, body parts never colliding while galloping through small spaces. Both gather at the door, taking a breath to calm their words when they accept their food. Louis opens the door to three little girls and a mother.

Both would have fallen disappointed if the little girls with pigtails weren’t holding big brown boxes full of girl scout cookies.

“Hi,” Louis cheers, bending down to meet at eye level with the smaller girls. They all chime a “hello” back, the mother standing back and letting the little girls do their charming work. “You selling cookies?”

“Chocolate chip, caramel, or vanilla!” One of them says. She’s blonde and has four badges on her sash. Her toothy grin is missing a few front teeth. “Three bucks a box!”

“Nice,” Louis smiles. “Would it make you happy if I bought a box?”

“Yes, please!” All of them bounce merrily, Louis chuckling as he reaches into his back pocket where he had hidden his cash for the Thai. He pulls out a ten and hands it to the mother. He asks for three boxes, one of each flavour. Each girl reaches into their box and pulls one out, giving the boxes to Louis with a “thank you so much sir.” The mother hands him his change and thanks for his kindness also.

“If you have any left, come back and I’ll buy more,” Louis smiles down to the scout girls. All three shine smiles up to him, giggling as they waddle away behind the mother down towards the footpath. Louis closes the door behind him, three boxes of cookies cradled in his arms. Harry is standing with his shoulder leaning against the wall, a smug smirk plastered on his face. “What?”

“I’m not the only one who’s broody.”

“Oh shut up, will you?” Louis sighs out exasperatedly. “They had cookies! Did you think I was going to open the door and tell them to piss off?”

He walks over to Harry, who then snatches the first box on top. Vanilla. Harry’s favourite. “You didn’t have to buy them.”

“Yes, I did,” Louis scoffs. “Who are you, you cruel villain?”

Harry titters lightly, shaking the box of cookies and feeling their weight. “These are mine, right?”

“Oh yes, I bought vanilla for myself, surely.”

“Vanilla cookies are different from vanilla ice-cream, munchkin,” Harry reminds him, shaking the box in his face. Louis rolls his eyes and sends him a look. He needs to prove his point, it seems. “Don’t believe me then. I’ll just have a box of cookies for myself.”

“I’ll never let you live down the fact that you prefer vanilla over every other flavour in the world.” Louis falls back into the wall, leaning next to Harry with the two boxes of cookies still in his hands. “The caramel box had the most. I felt sorry for that girl. She’ll probably feel unaccomplished for the rest of the afternoon just because you like vanilla.”

“You’re the one that bought three fucking boxes, Mr. Clucky.”

“Are you just going to pretend that you didn’t just coddle my sister no less than two hours ago, loser?” Louis asks him with eyebrows high. Harry chuckles and slaps the smooth side of the box against Louis’ cheek. “Ha, so I win that round. My prize is a foot massage while I eat your Thai.”

“Feet? Gross,” Harry comments, horrified. Louis wriggles his toes mid air to hopefully enthral Harry. It only makes Harry dry heave into his hand. “You wouldn’t put me under that sort of torture.”

“You never know, Harold. Maybe I would.”

“You’re calling me the villain.” Louis waggles his eyebrows and simpers at the annoyance softly crossing Harry’s face. It disappears when mischievous little Louis kicks at Harry’s shin. His face fills with emotions of pain and regret in seconds. He squeaks out a, “Why am I friends with you?”

“Because you’re a twit and dropped your fucking USB and I was a kind enough soul to bring it back to you, rather than deleting every file that belonged on there and keeping it for myself.”

“Christ,” Harry shudders with doe eyes. “What type of kind soul thinks of something as diabolical as that?”

“Me, who is, as a matter of fact, buying you dinner and made you cook up a tragedy for my four year old sister. What’s not to love about me, hm? I’m the Brady bunch all in one person. A real treasure to have!”

Louis could have missed the endearment cross Harry’s eyes, but he catches it at the right moment. Harry’s lips twitch upwards. Not into a proper smile. A fond smile, he recognises. His eyes display vibrant green colours, lighting up with the help of the sconces from above. They’re smaller, as if they’re about to narrow into a squint. But they’re soft, not forced. His bottom lids are lifted by his cheekbones. They’re pinkish shade now. Louis has been staring too long.

Louis comments stupidly. “You’re staring.”

Harry doesn’t rub the fond from his face but looks up and down as if he’s planning the next move, as if he’s checking Louis out. “So are you.”

“Not my fault,” Louis argues childishly. Harry pokes his tongue out at him. Pink and wet. It leaves Louis’ mouth dry.

Harry’s lips... They’re the same perfect shape with the same perfect fullness. They’re wet from Harry’s tongue, glowing from the lighting above. They’re only puckered open by the tiniest bit, the gap between his top and bottom lip forming an O. They’re... striking. Perfect He’s said that too many times to the point where the word could be meaningless, but they’re perfect. They’re really are.

“I...” Harry whispers out. It sounds too delicate, as if the silence shouldn’t have been broken. “I just...”

Suddenly, Harry’s in front of him with two arms bracketing him on either side of his head. His body caves in, stepping a foot between Louis’ legs to feel him closer. The impact of Harry’s thigh against his crotch freezes him up. But then, he sees Harry’s eyes flutter closed and his front teeth biting into his bottom lip. Harry takes his breath away. He doesn’t think he’ll ever find something that’ll make his heart race as much as Harry does.

The sweet smell of cotton candy fills his nose, Harry nearing closer to his face and letting their foreheads bump together. Harry’s hair brushes against his cheeks, thin trails burning against him. His eyes close, heavy. His heart smacks hard against his chest fuelled by Harry’s aura. Their lips slot together. The taste of cotton candy falls on his mouth, and it’s the sweetest he’s ever had. The most luscious, most soft... Harry’s mouth feels as soft as they look, as full as they seem. Feeling them on his own lips sends shockwave upon shockwave of electricity to his heart. If it stopped Harry would be able to bring him back to life. With nothing more than a timid kiss.

Harry shies away, Louis guiding himself forward to try and linger the warm feeling of Harry being so close to him. It goes away eventually, but the forest fire still blazes on his lips. Harry blinks his eyes open and notices Louis’ flushed cheeks and glistened cerulean eyes. He comes to realise that a mistake has not been made.

“I couldn’t...” Harry whispers, trailing off into silence. It sits uncomfortably in Louis’ stomach.

“Couldn’t what, H?” He curls a hand over Harry’s bicep, rubbing it soothingly to reassure him. It does the trick when Harry grins meekly.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about doing that,” Harry tells him. “Since yesterday... Since... A long time. I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you.”

“Brave thing to admit, Harold,” he teases willingly, however, his knees are weak from the confession. “Might be braver for me to admit that I would very much like you to kiss me again.”

Harry deadpans a look to Louis, brushing his fingers over Louis’ silky cheeks. “I have to do all the fucking work, don’t I?”

“You’re complaining that you have to do all the fucking work when you said a moment ago that you couldn’t stop thinking about kissi--”

Harry’s mouth snaps him quiet, his fingers sliding under Louis’ chin to tilt his head backwards for Harry to kiss him deeper. He treats him like an antique, as if he was made of gold, the most prized possession in the world. He kisses him tender, mouths moving in against one another and each kiss feeling hotter and hotter. Louis falls pliant with the glide of Harry’s tongue across his own. He muffles the quiet moan buzzing in his throat, leaning his head to the right side to keep things interesting. As if they’re not interesting enough.

He doesn’t realise his entire body has been frozen since Harry kissed him again, his hand still gripped around his bicep and the other by his side not knowing what to do. He takes both hands and settles them on Harry’s hips, sliding his thumbs just above his hip bone and pressing the pads of his fingers deep into his smooth back. Harry drags a hum against his mouth and grazes his nose against Louis’ blushed cheeks. He pauses them, Louis breathing heavily into Harry’s ear, Harry trying to comprehend the world around him with his forehead clicking against Louis’.

It takes time for either of them to speak up. But when it happens, it’s short back and forth before Louis’ hands are scratching for Harry to come near, so close to the point where he’s compactly sandwiched between Harry’s chest and the wall. Harry joins them up again, as he should. He never wants to be apart from him. He wants to be able to hold his hand or touch his hair or have his mouth on him or anything. Just anything as long as it’s Harry. He’d never ask for anything else. He wouldn’t be able to if Harry keeps kissing him quiet. If he keeps asking Harry to kiss him quiet.

Knock knock knock. It rips them apart, teeth clicking and hearts racing as if they’ve just been caught red handed. Their eyes bore into the door, both surprise and frustration swamping their minds. Louis looks over to Harry first, Harry turning his head too as he grins shyly, lips still bitten red and glossy. He misses them too much already.

It’s their meal, unfortunately. Louis pays the rude man, who holds a twisted smirk as the money is being handed over to him. A teenager with dishevelled hair and still panting for breath isn’t going to be able to hide shit with an excuse. Whatever. He slams the door on the delivery man and faces Harry with the plastic bag holding three takeaway containers. Louis pushes it forward, Harry reaching for the bag and opening inside, despite the transparency of the bag.

“Don’t worry, H, it’s exactly what I ordered for me.”

Harry snatches the bag and strides towards the kitchen, snubbing Louis entirely. Louis follows him with a giggle. He finds bowls and cutlery, finding Harry behind the counter wrapping the meals from the bag and undoing the lids. Louis stands on the opposite side of him, where the meals steam directly into Louis’ nose. The smell is incredulously fragrant.

He hands Harry a fork and spoon over the counter. “I thought it was for you,” Harry sneers, dipping the spoon into the steamed rice and taking a large portion. It’s almost half of the container.

“I’m nice enough to share,” Louis shrugs off, “But that doesn’t mean you can take half the container of rice, you ass.”

“Who else is going to eat it?” Harry asks, now carefully spooning the garlic prawns into the bowl, taking only a few peach coloured prawns for himself. He leaves more for Louis, which is kind hearted and what he should have done.

“Me, that’s who.” Louis forks a sliced carrot and points it at Harry’s face. Harry glares at it, puzzled. “Eat your veggies.”

Harry bends over to kiss him quick on the mouth. Louis is left tight lipped with nothing else to say to him.

Harry snickers. “Shut up and eat your dinner, munchkin.”

: :

Much to Louis’ dismay, both end up with heads tucked into study. Louis completes the corrections to his failed exams, Harry jotting down notes for some class. Louis is stomach down to the bed, feet resting against the wall with a pen tutting against his lips. Harry’s near him with a pillow behind his back leaning up against the wired bed head. He watches Louis as he stares into open space cluelessly.

“Need help?” Harry questions him. It takes Louis out of his trance as he nods helplessly. Harry doesn’t crack anything but a pleasant smile. Louis always knew he could trust him not to judge. For certain things... anyway. “What’s up?”

“Just... Maths,” Louis sighs. That in itself explains everything. Harry pushes his notes to the nightstand and slants towards Louis, laying down also and squishing their shoulders together as if no space existed elsewhere. “I can’t figure out cubics still, H. And I-I know it’s such a simple thing but--”

“It’s not simple,” Harry whispers cordially, consoling Louis. “We all had difficulty with it once, Lou.”

“I know but it’s, you know, basic compared to the shit you do in your stage,” he frowns, tapping the end of his pen at the question.

Harry glowers at him and snatches the pen from Louis, reaching for a piece of paper from his notebook. He leans on Louis’ exam paper, scribbling down a few tips to remember. Most of it is gibberish to Louis. Harry starts branching off into quadratics and starts using terms like parabola and it’s probably the most simple fucking shit in the world but Louis does not get it. At all. He doesn’t know how anyone gets it.

But then Harry explains, and every so often he’d ask if Louis understands. There was no use lying. The first thing Harry had said, he’d asked if Louis had understood, and Louis lied. The bastard saw right through him and slapped his knuckles with the side of the pen, telling him once again that he’d be the last person on Earth to judge him for something like Maths. It’s not like Louis had forgotten that. But Louis did this to himself. He let himself become really fucking stupid and will never know how to Math.

“You said the same thing about Lit, and look at you. You passed the exam!” Harry encourages. Louis shakes his head and stares at the page with lips quirked into a tense frown. “You’re not stupid.”

“Tell my mind to stop convincing me that I am.”

“You’re not stupid, Lou,” he repeats. “Here, what about this.”

He writes more nonsense on the page, drawings lines and the parabola things, which he just learned was the fucking name of the graphs he’s been drawing. Harry draws four of those, writing dot points underneath them all with the formulas and other stupid fucking stuff. The entire page is filled with his chicken scrawl after three minutes. Louis is left more blank than he’s ever been.

“Step by step, alright?” Harry says softly. He points at the first parabola, a line with a small bump touching at the 2 on the x-axis. Can’t be too difficult to figure out. It looks harmless enough. “Can you tell me what that is?”

Louis immediately shakes his head no. It’s not because he doesn’t want to do it but because he doesn’t fucking know, Harry knows that.

He takes him through it, step by step as promised. It’s something in Harry’s voice that gives Louis the pure incentive to keep going. And by ten minutes, something seems to click. Whether it be the way Harry had explained it or if the gene to comprehend Math had just switched on, something seems to click, and Louis’ eyes go wide when he suddenly realises that what Harry is saying actually makes some sort of fucking sense.

So he asks Harry to draw him something. Only a simple parabola. Harry keeps it as so, Louis figuring out the rule for it in one second flat. Harry grins over to him and draws another, in which Louis also completes the rule for.

He feels like a proud mother, Harry does. Louis squeaks and stares at the notes Harry’s made for him, and everything works in harmony in his mind. Puzzle pieces have been joined to fit into a perfect picture. All of the world’s questions have been answered. Louis feels as if his purpose in the world is real.

He’s over-dramatic, but it’s Maths for crying out loud. He understands Maths.

“You seem happy,” Harry comments, glancing at Louis giggling at his Maths exam. A rare sight.

“On top of the world,” Louis grins to him, but it falters soon enough. “You’re so smart. Then there’s me who’s--”

“Smarter,” Harry adds. “Maths doesn’t define shit. It’s just numbers and letters all mixed and made up by someone. You could do the exact same thing for yourself.”

“But none of it would make sense.”

“Eh, who gives a shit.”

Louis presses his nose into Harry’s shoulder, still giggling. “No offence, but you’re atrocious at life advice, let me tell you.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Harry says, humorously. “But you shouldn’t let Maths creep up to you until it makes you go nuts. Or anything, in that matter. It only leads to bad things.”

“You do talk shit sometimes.”

“Yet you still call me and talk to me until one in the morning on week nights, don’t you, Mr. You Do Talk Shit Sometimes.”

He breathes out a laugh and tilts his head back to stare at Harry’s mouth. “That I do,” he whispers. Harry preens wonderfully, like a new spring blossom. “I’m not afraid to admit that I like talking to you.”

“Love,” Harry corrects. Louis rolls his eyes. “Our conversations about avocado are always incredible.”

“To know you love such a nasty fruit really puts me off being your friend.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry questions him smugly. “I thought it was the fact that I love vanilla ice-cream that drew the line for you.”

“Fuck off. That too.” Louis shoves at his shoulder, rolling him over onto his side. Harry’s face lights up with the chuckle that escapes from his mouth. “Vanilla boy.”

“Too ridiculous for my liking, you are,” Harry teases sheepishly, poking a finger at Louis’ stomach. He barks and smacks his dancing fingers away. “You and your chocolate chip cookies, your stupid choc-mint flavour of ice-cream, your aggressive infatuation and taste for anything that’s got a bit of chilli in it.”

“Spiciness make shit better!”

“Oh, you and your daredevil lifestyle. Do you live on the edge by rubbing chilli powder in your eyes?”

Louis bounces upward to sit on his knees, grinning meekly. “How do you know I do that?” he questions maliciously.

Harry sits up and scoots himself to lean against his pillow once again, but he doesn’t retrieve his study notes. He doesn’t have time to. Louis is crawling up to him with a playful smirk, eyes squinted and body language very wanton.

“I saw chilli powder stashed in your drawer,” Harry sneers. Louis gasps in horror, pausing his movements along the bed. “It’s an addiction, Louis. You need to stop. I’ve called for intervention to take place Wednesday week.”

“I’ll never stop,” Louis says with a chortle, hands curling around Harry’s bare ankles. Harry doesn’t flinch at the touch. He creeps closer, settling himself bravely between Harry’s knees. “You can’t stop me. No one can.”

Harry places his hands on Louis’ biceps, hoisting him forward and through his legs, those spreading to accommodate him between his thighs. Louis ends up straddled across his abdomen, calves pressing against his hips. Harry’s hands graze from his arms down to his wrists, holding both of them gently and thumb brushing over the bone sticking out on either side.

“The chillies have rubbed off on you.” He rocks his hips up to bump Louis up on his knees. The wave motion doesn’t do much but grind his crotch against Louis’ bum. “You’re pretty hot yourself.”

“Oh, how flirtatious of you, never would have thought you could have pulled that one out of your arse, even if you tried.”

“You’re quick to take a compliment, aren’t you?”

“I take mine with a bit more kick to it,” Louis tells him, sitting back down against Harry. He glares at his mouth, Harry’s pink tongue swiping over his bottom lip. Obscene. “You know, something that doesn’t spit with your bland bullshit, let alone to come from a vanilla mouth.”

“Oi,” Harry snaps, hands now at Louis’ waist. “Next time I’ll make you eat your veggies.”

“Eat my mouth, maybe?”

Harry spits a laugh. “Gross, did YouTube teach you that one?”

“YouTube and the back of my hand, Harold.” He perches himself forward to kiss Harry gently on the mouth. He pulls away, saying, “It’s made me into the very man that stands before you.”

“You mean the very man that straddles my hips?”

“One day when you decide to take things not so literally, your life would be much more pleasant.”

He can’t take much more of his nonsense mouth and kisses him quiet, one of Harry’s hand lifting from his hip to only be found at the base of his neck, gently smoothing over the small tufts of hair. Louis hums while pressing his tongue into Harry’s mouth, letting their lips move effortlessly against each other in some sort of rhythm. Whatever the fuck that was.

It’s more soft than the kiss they shared by the front door. Every time their mouths were closed against each other, they’d linger their hold to feel one another. To know how their addictive kisses would feel like, taste like. Louis knows well enough he tastes everything and a bit more like cotton candy. The way Harry’s hand twists in his hair, bunching up strand upon strand to pull at faintly, makes Louis weak at the knees. If anything, it makes his briefs feel tighter than they should.

He bears down onto Harry’s crotch accidentally, deeply inhaling as he kisses Harry even further. His mouth his lost with his, tangled in the hot atmosphere they’ve created together. Harry bites at Louis’ bottom lip, Louis seething bitterly through his teeth and smothering his mouth once more on Harry’s beautifully red lips.  Harry ends up pushing them both down to the bed, mouths never disconnecting. Harry’s between his legs, his hips cradling Louis’ calves as he wraps his legs around his waist. Harry grinds down into him, not so accidentally. Louis giggles, their lips bouncing from one another as their teeth clicked uncomfortably.

Louis feels uncontrollable when he kisses him. He feels as if his heart is going to come out of his chest and swallow both him and Harry whole. His stomach might flutter from his body with the number of butterflies inside of it. His legs might wrap around Harry so tight that he’d lose circulation in the lower half of his body. The feeling of Harry’s tongue in his mouth will never get old, the way he curls it, the way it manages to lose itself to taste every part of what Louis has to offer. Louis only kisses him deeper, more willingly.

Harry doesn’t stop at his mouth. He’s soon at Louis’ smooth neck, Louis screwing his eyes shut hard enough to feel his eyelashes at the bags under his eyes. De ja vu hits them both, but neither of them stop him from attaching his mouth against his neck and sucking briefly. Louis fucks his crotch up to roll against Harry’s lower body, mewling into the air as Harry breaks into his skin, drawing the blood near the surface. Harry pulls back and sees the glowing red mark. It’s so pure, says nothing but lust. The strength to not create another becomes harder and harder the more Harry looks at it.

He noses at the love bite instead, lips brushing underneath. Louis slips his hand under the cotton t-shirt Harry sports, smoothing his finger tips along his spine. He can feel Harry shiver on top of him, moaning softly through his relaxed lips, noises vibrating against his skin. He drags his hand all the way up to his shoulder blade, twisting his head to the left to give Harry further access to him. Harry smudges a firm kiss against him before grazing his teeth over his collar bones and sucking in the dips. Louis clutches his hand, digging his finger nails into Harry’s shoulder. Harry can feel the half moon indents that’ll stay there for the rest of the night. He can feel Louis’ heartbeat through their heaving chests, their heat through their too-hot abdomens.

Louis purrs against him, curling his chin down to find Harry’s mouth. It’s been missing far too long from his own. Harry rocks against him again, his semi all too real against Louis’ crotch. He doesn’t mind though. He’d be a hypocrite otherwise. The moment Harry is at his lips again, they’re only breathing hot air onto each other’s faces, lips caressing one another. The minor touches send shock waves, tidal waves. Something splendid that reminds Louis all too much of a happier time down at the seaside collecting sea shells. Harry kisses him once more and endures the feeling, not disappearing until a few long seconds pass.

Both open their eyes. Harry’s are incredibly glossy, sparkling with bliss and desire. Louis slides his hand from underneath his shirt, scratching his nails down his back before withdrawing it away from complete contact. Then, Harry snatches both of his wrists, entwining their hands and pinning them above Louis’ head. Mind you, their crotches are in perfect alignment, Louis semi very visible under the thin material of the joggers. His legs are still secure around his waist and aren’t inclined to removing themselves any time soon. Neither of them seem to mind. But it has to happen at some point and that made Louis very unhappy.

“We don’t study a lot while we’re together,” Harry whispers down to him. Louis snickers and pokes his tongue out.

“Please, it’s not like you give a shit.”

“I do!” Harry squeaks defensively. Louis raises his eyebrows knowingly. “I give a shit, but like... It’s hard.”

Louis looks between them, smirking.  “You’re telling me.”

Harry laughs, untangling their fingers and leaving his hands at Louis’ torso. Louis supposes it’s time. He unlatches Harry’s body from his leg prison. Harry ends up rolling next to Louis’ side nevertheless, both staring up at the ceiling with hard ons and some incapability to breathe properly.

“Just, I don’t know, think of your grandma naked or something, I guess.”

Louis immediately tenses up, feeling his nostrils flare and heart sink. It... Okay. Harry doesn’t know. Harry just doesn’t fucking know and he can’t blame Harry for not knowing. Louis can’t tell him, either. It’s not the right time to say anything about his Granny, or the fucking jars just... Fuck. It’s such a known term to say... and Harry got the phrase right this time. It isn’t appropriate. Because it’s Louis. Harry could have said that to anyone else and it would have been a totally different reaction. But it’s just Louis.

Harry doesn’t need to know. He conceals the emotions well enough, despite the heavier breathing and the entire world feeling like it’s about to crash down on top of him. It’s all alright, he guesses. Harry’s at his side with happy eyes, a happy grin and a very happy life. He’s not weird or anything. In Louis’ sense, anyway. He doesn’t have too many secrets, he supposes. Not something as big as Louis’. Something that is literally in the next room and has an excuse written all over it to stop any sort of intrusion. It’s sad it’s come to this. He should be able to tell Harry, but he can’t. Something’s stopping him. It’s not anyone’s business.

There’s a cute boy by his side gazing at him now. “All alright, munchkin?”

No, not really. But, “Yeah,” he lies. He doesn’t know if Harry sees through him, but Harry doesn’t comment on it albeit. “Why do you ask?”

“You haven’t spoken in a while.” Harry curls closer, like an affectionate house cat. “Just miss hearing your voice, is all.”

If there were any human being trying to stop Louis from liking Harry this much, they’d probably struggle alongside Louis’ inability to control his fondness. However, in reality there’s nothing stopping him. So he embraces Harry with welcoming arms wrapping around his torso. He dips his nose in the centre of his chest, giggling silly. He hasn’t found one like this one in a very long time.

: :

Harry leaves just after nine thirty that night. Louis ends up going back into his room there after, unlocking his balcony door and walking out to the jars. He picks up the one full of Harry and his memories.

He jumps back inside with happiness bouncing him across the carpet. He uncaps the sharpie, lid between his teeth as he rips it from his mouth, and scribbles on a strip of paper what had happened this evening.

He screws the lid back on and looks at the barely full jar. Yet it is filled with memories so intense it might shatter the glass from the inside out if anything else is placed inside. Louis holds it in his hands towards the light, bringing it down to kiss just above where the rim of the lid is. He puts it back where it rightfully belongs, simpering all the way back to his bed and dumping his body onto the mattress.

Best day of my life, he reminds himself, the exact five words written on a piece of memory paper.

: :

He’s messaging Harry during the school’s lunch hour. Harry certainly brings out the rebellious side of him.

maths last :( but at least i actually did my work this time :D, he answers to Harry’s what’s your final class?. An unusual question to ask considering all senior students attend Maths at the same time on any school day. It’s keeping them busy. Also in trouble.

all because of my fantastic tutoring ;)

you know it’s because of that. x

The school librarian walks past Louis who’s sitting on the birch bentwood. He hides his phone behind a novel, which he later discovers is actually a old style dictionary that someone hasn’t used since the 19th century. It does the trick for him, however. He doesn’t get caught out and can keep texting Harry freely with no suspicious over lookers whatsoever.

how should i feel that you actually complimented me without any sort of teasing beforehand?

And how the fuck did he let Harry get away with a compliment so easily.

it’s hardly a compliment. i just agreed with you.

do you know what the definition of a compliment is?

He’s about to reply back with something more on the cheeky side, but best put this ancient dictionary to use.

compliment: noun. a polite expression of praise or admiration.

so exactly what you just did! ;)

best know that this means war, and you won’t be expecting any sort of compliment from me any time soon, mate.

Harry only replies back with a :O emoji and sends him a few x’s along with it. Plenty of kisses to go around. He should give them all to Louis. He thinks he’s in desperate need for a kiss right now, one blooming with enthusiasm to keep him motivated and to not knock himself out during Maths whilst learning some new important topic. He had enough trouble with the quadratic parabola things, whatever the fuck they are.

Both leave off their conversation when the lunch bell rings, the students flooding into their designated classes. He heads into Maths to see his teacher sitting proper at her table, a coffee mug in her hands and a strict look tightening her face. The students in front of him pass the desk, placing their completed re-do exams on the table. Louis should proudly slam the fuckload of sheets onto her desk and walk off with all eyes on him and his swaying ass. Of course, that doesn’t happen. He courteously, more so nervously, places the exam on the pile and walks away with his head hanging down in despair. Any sort of high, whether it be from self-pride or artificial, will never make Maths more fun than it isn’t.

It’s exactly how he expected the day to end. He doesn’t fall asleep, but with his mind being in La La Land he might as well have slept through the entire lesson. He’s tired - exhausted actually. And it’s only Monday.

He goes to his locker to retrieve his day bag, slinging it smoothly onto his back and feeling his pockets for his phone. His hand hits jackpot, fishing for it in his right pocket and seeing a message from Harry. It was sent a few minutes ago. He doesn’t even look at the message as he frantically types out a reply.

a bit clingy, babe? ;)

He reads the message above. Harry wants him to go to his car rather than straight to his own. However, Harry’s typing out a reply. It’s short and quick.

you know i am. where are you? x

He doesn’t bother messaging back. He’s already on the way to the carpark, making his way through tight groups of sophomores, finally being able to breathe fresh air when he reaches outside. Harry’s not too far away. In fact, he’s not even two rows from the front and Louis can clearly see him from the top of the front entrance stairs. He’s with his short haired prick of a best friend. Liam’s holding a footie in his left hand and his car keys on the right, dangling from his finger. They’re talking whilst leaning against the car, and it doesn’t seem to be private. So Louis makes his easy way down the stairs towards Harry’s Range Rover.

It’s the first time he’s seen Harry all day. He was late this morning, not being able to meet Harry in the car park to sleepily stumble into the school together. They don’t see much of each other at school. Or as much as Louis had hoped. They’re both busy with things and Harry’s got stupid clubs and all the like, despite saying he’d be leaving them earlier in the year. Bastard.

He greets Liam first just to be a dick. Harry frowns at him but the dandy smile returns when Louis kicks a small stone at his shoe. They don’t even say hello. The stone kicking was apparently their form of greeting; a new form of greeting. Harry ends up talking from where Louis supposes they had left off before he’d walked over. It’s some nonsense about travelling or some shit. Disneyland is mentioned at some point.

Liam ends up noticing Louis’ agitation for being left out of conversation. Instead of doing something about it, he says, “I have to go. Footie and stuff. Catch you two around, yeah?”

But he actually has done something. He’s now alone with Harry in an emptying carpark. They’re not as alone as he would have hoped but they’re secluded behind Harry’s big ass car. It’s as concealed as they’re going to get in this environment.

“Thanks for the rock by the way,” Harry says, rolling the stone under his shoe. It grinds against the bitumen and causes a sound that makes Louis’ skin itch. “It was a very lovely gift.”

“You looked glum. Thought I’d treat you with a present.”

“Glum?” he asks Louis. Louis nods nonchalantly. “I wasn’t glum. Liam makes me happy.”

“As happy as I make you?” Louis isn’t expecting a serious answer to that. He gets pulled into Harry’s chest, forearms upright against his torso. Harry’s made room for his tiny feet between his own and is looking down at him. He’s pretty in this Autumn weather, from the breeze that sweeps through the town to the way the leaves fall. Everything is settled and tranquil.

“You make me happier,” Harry whispers down, kissing him chaste on the nose. “Happiest.”

Louis grins up to him and whispers back, “PDA is disgusting, Harold.”

“Let’s make it disgusting-er.”

“One of the school’s most clever stage three Literature student,” Louis says vapidly, tracing his fingers up Harry’s left collarbone. “Quote Harry Styles - disgusting-er.”

He rolls his eyes at Louis but pulls him in for a kiss anyway, hands cupping under Louis’ jaw and thumbs resting close to his ears. He forces himself on his tiptoes so Harry doesn’t break his spine while trying to kiss the breath out of him or something. It might happen one day, it’s just when. He slides his hands up and around Harry’s neck to tug him further to his body, the car taking care of their weights leaning against the passenger door. The hands find Harry’s hair, miraculously, and fingers card through the softish curls, slightly sticky from God knows what. But his fingertips instantly warm up as if the curls were his personal pink mittens.

He’s going to pull back, stop the PDA when it’s controllable rather than waiting for a hooter to heckle their steamy performance. But it’s been a long weekend without Harry, a long day without Harry. They haven’t kissed since Friday, their only share of kisses. Any time apart nowadays is a lifetime and a half. Louis doesn’t know how he survived so long without this sort of fire on his lips.

Harry licks at his mouth and smooths his hands down to Louis’ hips, locking him into place and guiding their mouths in a soft open and close motion. Lazy, it is. Their cold noses brush often. Harry’s tongue prods into his mouth and Louis smiles into their kiss, pushing his mouth back to surprise Harry with his cheeky play. Despite Harry feeding him all sorts of electric sparks his mouth is starting to bite with fragility as the last of spring’s bitter cold winds draw through the town. He’s not going to freeze but the cooling air is quite uncomfortable to be in. Especially when he’s sporting black skinnies and a cut up tank.

He faintly pinches at the juncture of Harry’s shoulder and neck while pulling away from his mouth. Harry’s cheeks are flushed pink, Louis unable to tell if it’s from the sudden chill that had breezed its way through down or from the kiss. He’d like to think it’s because of the latter, albeit it’s always the first fucking option.

Harry’s silent for a moment, but chuckles lowly before whispering, “Busy today, munchkin?”

He shakes his head immediately. “Made plans with me?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I want to come over for a bit.”

His mum’s home but that’s never stopped him from bringing random people to his house. Regardless, Harry isn’t a random people. Person. He’s mentioned him enough times to his mum that his mum probably knows more than Harry had dared for her to ever know.

Besides the fact that Harry knows the balcony is out of bounds. Having him over is always a treat. Plus, it guarantees dinner.

“Alright,” Louis kisses him again, “You know about the rules, yeah? Mum’s home and stuff.”

Harry nods. He trusts his instincts to know Harry won’t go snooping about. He gives him one last kiss before stepping out of their kissing bubble and heading towards his lonely car far away in the third row of parking spaces. When he drives out, he sees Harry right behind him, driving closely behind him all the way back to his.

Harry parks up behind his car in the driveway before they both walk to the front door. He unlocks it with a jimmy of his key, his shoulder making contact to the wood as they push themselves inside. The first thing he notices is the faint smell of chicken broth wafting through the corridor. He looks over to Harry, who stands politely quiet, and cocks his head towards the door frame to the kitchen. Louis walks, and Harry follows.

Without any surprise, his mother is there behind a chopping board, a knife secure in her right hand and a carrot being pinned down with the other. Louis sings a hello and asks what she’s storming up in the tall pot on the stove.

“Chicken pot pie,” she answers with a grin, eyes darting to Harry. Louis is worried the look upon Harry maybe one of dislike. Sooner or later she would send him a glare to make Harry run home crying to his own mother. “Who’s this?”

“He’s--”

“Harry,” Harry introduces, walking forward with a hand out. His mum takes the offering and shakes his hand over the counter. “I’ve been tutoring Louis for a bit.”

“Ah, you’re him! Finally nice to meet you,” she says, her words very welcoming. “Thank you for doing that. I’m super proud of what he’s been able to achieve in the past few months.”

“Always a helping hand.” He glances over to Louis, his hand open in front of him. He’s almost willing to take it, lace their fingers together and curl up into his chest for a warm hug, head tucked into Harry’s neck. His entire will power refrains him from doing as so; he gives him a high five instead.

“Harry’s got some Literature stuff from school, he’s helping me out today,” Louis lies. She hums to let him know she’s listening. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” she says to the both of them, staring from the julienned carrot to Harry. “Stay for dinner if you’d like. We have plenty for the fam.”

Harry thanks her for her kindness, Johannah letting Louis know she’s heading out to the store with Amelia in a few minutes. He grins too happily at that for anything to be considered unsuspicious but his mother doesn’t question him nevertheless. He guides Harry out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into his room. The curtains are flat in front of the balcony door, concealing the jars perfectly. He sighs with relief as Harry passes him to the bed, closing the door behind them to lock them away from any disturbance.

Now, where were they?

“Was that you lying out there, or did you really want to do some study this afternoon?” Harry asks him, his eyes following Louis to the bed. He plops down beside him and folds his legs, his knees appearing through the jagged rips of his jeans.

“What do you think?”

Harry shrugs. “I wouldn’t have a clue with you.”

He pounces onto Harry without warning, Louis propping himself up on Harry’s torso with his forearms. Harry looks at him sporting a double chin and a nasty grin. Playfully nasty.

“Yeah, I’d love to study,” he says so bluntly that Harry’s unsure if he’s being sarcastic or too serious. Louis helps his boggled mind out. “Could go with the study of human anatomy for a bit, have a test on Thursday.”

“I-- What,” Harry questions him, amusement in his voice. “You don’t even do human biology. I know well enough you don’t cover that in regular bio.”

“Funny that.” Louis quirks up an eyebrow and pouts out his lip in thought for a moment. “I should study up on it anyway, just in case. You know, for science and stuff.”

“I don’t even know basic human anatomy. I struggle with my own two left feet as is.”

“You can still help me,” Louis whispers down, leaning himself over to kiss Harry square on his pink lips. He mumbles against him, “I’d like to study up on the mouth first, thanks.”

“Oh my God.” Harry shoves him from his body to his side. Louis ends up giggling while squabbling excitedly to try get back on top of Harry’s body. Harry ends up rolling over to his side, gathering Louis around his chest to bring him in and smother his cunning mouth.

“You made that entire thing up to be a cheeky shit and play a move, didn’t you?” Harry asks him. Louis mutters an I would never! into his shirt, words stuffed with cotton, and giggles mercilessly at Harry’s sternum. Harry kisses the top of his head. “No kissing.”

Louis freezes in Harry’s arms, craning his head back to glare at him. “The twat’s speaking bullshit again.”

“I know you love talking about yourself but right now, it’s proving you more wrong than--” He’s cut off by a kiss at his chin, an odd feeling that. “No.”

“Yes,” Louis answers back.

“No.”

“Yeah.” He wriggles between his arms to near even closer to Harry’s face then smooches him just below his mouth. “C’mon lean down. I’m not supposed to be shorter while lying down too.”

He gives him what he wants just because he can. He’s waited too long to kiss Louis so any opportunity to do so won’t pass him by. They’re mellow and warm against one another, it reminds Louis of all things wonderful and pretty, like chicken pot pie. He could substitute his dinner for Harry. Although that wouldn’t be the most appropriate thing to say out loud.

Harry’s mouth is fragile moving with his own, and Louis wonders why that is. A sweet and slow kiss is nice, however, so he doesn’t try and speed things up.  Their lips brush against each other more than they come together for a full locking. It’s... really nice. So different. Indolent. Harry’s hands are spread across the small of his back, fingertips pressing against his curved spine. He’s being touched in the right places. It’s nothing sensual, nothing sexy. It’s something that brings Louis to a happy place, something else. Louis could lose his mind with this.

“Mhm,” Harry purrs, hands sneaking under Louis’ tank. They don't go further than where they were before, but are settled closer to his hips rather than in the middle. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I saw you in the library... the first day.”

He keeps his eyes closed but giggles when he shifts his face a little bit from Harry’s. “My eyes aren’t even open but I can see through that little white lie of yours.”

“It’s true!” Harry confronts, with little offence pointed towards Louis’ accusation. “But you’re here now. I have you.”

“You have,” Louis murmurs, closing in to Harry’s mouth again and feeling Harry’s breath his against his wet mouth. He searches for Harry’s hand at his hip, holding it tight in his own before picking out the smallest finger of the bunch. “Got me wrapped around your little pinky.”

Harry huffs out a quiet laugh and kisses him quick. “Fuck, you’re adorable,” he tells him.

A few lazy kisses and the throwing of Louis’ shirt to the floor later, both of them stop with the sound of Harry’s stomach moaning louder than a whale’s bellow. Louis simpers and sits up, feeling a lot more exposed than he is, but scurries to the bedroom door before twisting his body around and looking at Harry.

“Make yourself at home,” he jokes, eyeing Harry dig deep into the covers of his bed, ruining the neat sheets. Louis leaves the room rolling his eyes, making his way down the stairs to retrieve something of the sort. Crackers, biscuits, apples?

By the looks of it, his mum’s headed out with Amelia to the shops as told. So Louis raids the pantry of anything that seems edible but pleasant. He picks out cabanossi and cheese, cutting those up to side with a few water crackers. He doesn’t bother with the slicing of the apples; they have fucking front teeth for a reason. He also finds the cookies he bought the other day, the caramel ones. If Harry doesn’t like those he can very much leave.

Heading back up the stairs with a bowl containing two apples and a plate of snack-ons shouldn’t be so difficult. It’s why Louis never plans to become a waiter, since he has the skills similar to a plant. To make matters worse, he has the corner of the cookie box between his teeth which is blocking his view of the steps. His feet are slow up the stairs, the creaks low under his weight. He makes it to the top, eventually. He’s surprised nothing had fallen, including himself. He adjusts his balance and exhales hastily, walking into the room.

All his attention draws to the balcony curtains drifting wispy into the room.

“Hey, Lou,” his voice is very distant in his head, despite only being a few metres away, “What are the jars for?”

The jars. The curtains are blowing because the balcony door is fucking open. The jars are exposed, there is no more secret behind the curtains. Harry has seen the fucking jars.

He drops everything. The plate of snack-ons, the apples, the fucking cookies. His mouth is wide open, jaw completely slack, and hands are frozen in place as if they’re still carrying the ceramic plates. His heart could race from his chest like a bullet and kill a person. He’s completely out of function, out of order, like some damn machine that could only operate if his sanity wasn’t abolished.

“Lou? Was it... Shit, was it something I wasn’t supposed to ask or?” Harry can’t stop staring at his agape mouth and pale cheeks, hiding his own face between two shaky hands. “Fuck, of course it wasn’t something to ask about. I-I didn’t mean to pry. I’m so sorry.”

What’s he supposed to do? He didn’t plan for Harry to know about the jars today. He didn't plan for Harry to know about the jars at all. He’s been confronted about them so suddenly. He could step backwards out of the room and fall down the stairs, further break himself into the tiniest of pieces. He could avoid the question forever. But he can’t. There’s something inside him that tells him he can’t.

“Munchkin, please say something.”

He can’t find the words to say, so he pulls them from the air. “I-I...You...” This whole pulling words from the air thing is going great! “You shouldn’t have seen them.”

“I know, I-- Fuck. I know, I’m so sorry,” Harry apologises again. He can’t even bat his eyes up to Louis, trained to the carpet in remorse.

He believes him, is the thing. There’s too much sincerity in his voice to excuse it. Louis lowers his hands, finally, and shoves them both into his pant pockets. He glares at Harry still focused on the carpet, looking for answers to the situation.

“It’s... fine, H,” Louis says, unconfident with his own answer. “I was just hoping you wouldn’t see them.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, eyes lifting from the ground. He stares at Louis. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Louis exhales loudly. Annoyed, clearly. Harry shrinks between his shoulders again, feeling like nothing more than a fuck up. Louis can sense that with the way Harry shrivels up, a hand running anxiously through his hair. He licks over his bottom lip in thought, soon stepping over the fallen plates and padding across the carpet to Harry’s tense body.

He puts a hand up on his shoulder, consoling him. He musters up his exasperation and replaces it with composure. As long as Harry doesn’t ensue any further questions and forgets about the jars altogether, things will be okay.

“I know you’re sorry, and I don’t want you apologising to me every few seconds because you saw something that you weren’t meant to see. But it’s just going to make it easier for the both of us if we just forget this happened, alright?”

It sounds so fucking ridiculous because Harry has no fucking clue what the jars are for. Louis is putting all defence on some mason jars. He’s hiding the secret further away than he’s ever done before.

“If it makes you happy,” Harry says to him.

“It will,” Louis reassures. “Please don’t tell anyone either. No one knows except for my family and my best friend.”

Harry looks up to him and nods earnestly. “Yes, of course... I’m just...”

Louis blinks at him, concerned. “Just what?”

“I’m just confused, is all,” Harry mutters. “I saw them there and I wanted to know what they were. I thought they were maybe tea lights or something but there’s jars with things written on them. Like middle school and other happy things. Do you collect things?”

At least he’s being truthful. Maybe nosey, but truthful.

“Yeah,” he murmurs back, sliding his hand from his shoulder to his bicep, giving it a squeeze. “Yeah I do.”

The side of Harry’s mouth lifts into a small smile, now much calmer and breathing easily. “That’s really nice,” Harry admits to him. “What do you colle-- Wait.” Harry pauses suddenly, then slumps his shoulders again, miserable. “Fuck, sorry. I shouldn’t be asking so many questions. You said forget it--”

“Memories,” Louis blurts out, hand so tight on Harry’s shoulder his fingers could bruise into him. But he needs something to hold onto in fear he may fall over and pass out if he doesn’t. “I collect memories.”

Harry audibly swallows, watching Louis’ eyes as they strain wide open. He’s looking for something in Harry to hopefully reassure him that he’s just made the right choice. By telling him one of his deepest secrets. He has full trust in Harry and knows he’d never judge. Harry has said that enough times that Louis shouldn’t even be questioning if he would judge him for something like this.

But the silence between them is unsettling. As each cold second passes, the thought of Harry shouting out loud that he’s a freak is doubling. The thought of Harry running away and never coming back to him again is tripling.

Until Harry speaks. “You have fifty mason jars sitting outside with memories inside them?”

There’s nothing in his voice that vibes off disgust, so Louis keeps collected. “Yeah. Sometimes I open the jar and take in the atmosphere and close it, or I write on a piece of paper if I don’t have the jar with me at the time.”

Harry nods, understanding. Or... Trying to understand, at least.

“I’ve never heard of anything like that.” Harry could be invalidating his idea, but he quickly adds on to steer Louis from the thought. “That’s a really beautiful idea, Lou.”

It wasn’t his idea, he wanted to say, but if there’s one thing he’s not ready for, despite spitting his major secret to Harry, it’s to talk about his grandma.

He didn’t expect Harry to accept him, let alone his crazy scheme to collect memories in hundreds of jars. There’s got to be a catch to this. Harry can’t certainly think it’s a beautiful idea, or think he’s normal. Harry just can’t.

“Are you being serious?” Louis asks him, worried. He wants to believe Harry but his words are unbelievable. Harry is hiding the fact that he thinks Louis is a freak, without a doubt.

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

Harry laces his hands with Louis’, trying to secure his sincerity. “To not hurt my feelings,” he says softly.

Harry tilts his head at him, lips curving into a gentle, genuine smile. “If you’re thinking I’d ever call you a freak, in my head or out of my mouth, you’d be more wrong than you’d ever would be right about anything in the entire world.”

“Harry--”

“We’re all normal, Louis. Just because someone else doesn’t do what you do doesn’t make you abnormal, or make you a freak,” Harry says to him, curling his fingers tighter around Louis’ palms. “You’re every bit gorgeous and to know you want to keep memories forever makes me want to make plenty more with you.”

His words are so brilliant, so endearing. There is no one he wants to kiss more than Harry, no one he wants to spend time with more than Harry. He dips his head in the crook of Harry’s neck, breathing him in, breathing in his earnestness, exhaling his relief and letting it splash all over his body. He feels Harry’s hands slip from his and perch at his hips, thumbs digging in beside his pelvis.

“If there’s anyone who deserves the title of freak, it’d be me,” Harry continues.

Louis shakes his head and laughs heavily. “That’s not true.”

“Alright, so tell me what type of person would purposely drop a USB in front of a hot guy to maybe, hopefully, see them again the next day because they didn’t have the guts to say a proper hello.”

Louis peels himself from Harry’s body, staring with humour stricken eyes. “You dropped your USB on purpose?”

“Liam told me it wasn’t a good idea, but I went against him anyway because who the fuck listens to Liam.” Louis giggles fiercely, both hands rising to ball up at Harry’s chest. Harry laughs with him. “So yes, I did drop it on purpose to get your attention. Like I said, I’m a freak.”

“Not true,” Louis repeats. “We’re all normal, just because someone else doesn’t do what you do doesn’t make you abnormal.”

“You can’t use my own quote to prove your case.”

“I just did,” Louis grins, tucking his head back into Harry’s neck and kissing him at his collarbone. “But look what you did, where it got us. I’m here with you now.”

Harry hums and leans his cheek against Louis’ scalp. “Exactly,” he whispers while slipping his hands behind Louis’ back, palms warm at the dimples of his spine. “See, I did a good.”

Louis chortles. “You did do a good,” he says. “A great, even.”

Listening to Harry breathe is something Louis wants to do for the rest of the afternoon. Just to be pressed up against his chest and hear nothing but the soft exhales that could work deep into his muscles, further than any massager could. He wants to kiss his mouth to feel the slow draw of exhilaration seeping into their systems, making their hearts race and stomachs flutter.

“Thank you for not thinking I’m weird,” Louis says weakly, gripping at Harry’s shirt and sighing through a smile.

“Never could, never will,” Harry promises.

They drift to the bed after Louis had picked up the scattered snacks and bruised apples. Harry ends up opening the packet of cookies, the only thing that’s not coated in soft carpet fibres. He feeds Louis, who’s on his back with the duvet half covering his body, cautiously, worried he might choke on a dry biscuit and die or something. The kisses come back too, first on the nose, then on the forehead. There’s a few peppered kisses at his temple that drag all the way down to his chin, following his jawline, before there’s anything on the lips. They're the best of all.

Somehow he ends up on Harry’s lap with bum nestled nicely on his crotch, legs extended on either side of Harry’s body. His mouth is inseparable from Harry’s, arms thrown around his neck and eyes screwed shut. Harry’s hands are spread across Louis’ back again but are not there for soft, pure touches. They’re gripping, needy, clawing. As if Harry can’t get enough of him.

Harry bites at his bottom lip, already too full from the time they’ve been kissing. He bites it, pulls it, until it turns angry red. Louis’ tongue darts into his mouth to hopefully gain remedy for his sore, love bitten mouth from Harry’s own. He grinds into him voluptuously, mouth hanging open as he groans breathlessly into Harry’s mouth when he feels his cock hard underneath his arse.

And Louis tries to keep going, rising up and down to induce friction against Harry’s cock, to make him feel good. Harry only stops him with hands at his hips, firm and controlling. Louis whines softly and closes their mouths together one last time before he lets Harry speak, foreheads together and mouths near, so near that Louis can feel the words against his lips.

“Next time, munchkin,” Harry says. Louis doesn’t respond, only continuing to breathe heavily. “I have to go out after dinner. Can’t get my jeans... Like, you know.”

He could take them off, Louis thought, but he only realises how fast they’re moving, and is glad Harry had stopped them before things turned much more erotic. He kisses him once more before rolling away from him, his hard on swelled against the left side of his jeans, very noticeable. Harry’s is too, when Louis looks over at him. He wants to undo his zipper and take out his cock and maybe just suck him off a bit-- No.

Not today. Next time.

As promised, Harry stays for dinner. The chicken pot pie is to die for, and Harry tells his mother he’d be coming back much more often in the future. Louis smiles at him when Johannah tells him ‘he’s welcome to come over any time’. Harry’s going to take that way too literally and probably come into his room at midnight to spoon him one night. Not that he’d mind, of course.

Harry has a babysitting job on the other side of town at 8 o’clock, so he’s off just after he finishes his meal. Louis walks him out to his car, only because it’s the only place where they could kiss without being caught. Not that his mum would care about Louis fancying Harry, or boys, but he’s allowed to keep things for himself. He wants to keep Harry all to himself and no one needs to know about them.

Harry kisses him goodbye and drives off into the darkening evening. Louis lets out a huge huff, somber. But he’s going to see Harry tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.

Who would have ever thought Louis Tomlinson would be excited to go to school.