Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It’s a lazy summer day, lying on the floor of Zayn’s room with the ceiling on the fan as the only comfort from the heat outside. Exams are over, and Harry and his best friend have both become vampires, coming back home when the sun is already up in the sky and waking up when it’s past lunch time. 

He almost always stays over at Zayn’s, and his parents don’t seem to mind. He gets a message from his mum every couple of days to check up on him, but that is all. Harry is doing them a favour by staying out of the way, it seems like. He will have to go back soon, he knows, because they have a holiday planned. Harry doesn’t know why he still agrees to travel with them, to inflict this punishment upon himself year after year. He’s old enough now to say no. And yet every year he finds himself on some remote island somewhere in Spain or Greece or Italy, two weeks of pure torture in which he always has to play the perfect son with his parents’ friends. Two weeks of fake smiles and polite talking and people who insist on introducing him to their daughters, in the faint hope that Harry might marry one of them. Harry might fuck some of them, promise to call them sometimes, and then never does. Sometimes it backfires, like it did with a girl named Katie, whom he fucked for an entire week last summer and then run into again at uni. 

He never truly cares, is the thing. He went out with a guy in Spring, but Harry got bored after a few weeks. The only lasting relationship he had was with Noah in Sixth form, and that he suspected was just because he liked to bring him over and see his parents’ mad faces because their son didn’t turn out like the perfect heir they expected him to be. He liked to challenge them, to hold Noah’s hand in front of them, and kiss him in his room when he knew they would walk past it. Their spite always fueled Harry. 

Spite is also one of the reasons why Harry loves to stay over at Zayn so much. He knows his parents don’t approve of Zayn’s lifestyle – the piercings he has all over his body, the tattoos. Harry has some as well, but nothing like Zayn. His whole arms are covered by now, and he’s doing a giant piece on his back next. They let him hang with Zayn solely because his dad is a huge politician, but they don’t approve of how the Maliks have raised their son. They don’t approve that Zayn has loving parents, unlike Harry. 

They’ve been friends since when they were kids, both going to the same private school. They were so young when they met that Harry doesn’t remember a day in his life without Zayn next to him. 

“There’s a concert tonight,” Zayn says out of nowhere, from where he’s laying in his bed. 

“A concert?” Harry repeats. 

“A friend of Niall’s,” Zayn explains. Niall is a friend they met in Uni, an Irish bloke that moved to London to study. “It’s – well, a punk concert.” 

“You want to take me to a punk concert,” Harry says, enunciating every word just to make sure he’s heard Zayn correctly. 

“I thought it would be fun. Do something different.” 

Harry hums as he ponders about it. They’re out almost every night, but it’s different when they’re going to clubs, where they know people that know people that let them in into privèes, snogging with strangers they don’t even know the names of. He likes to do things that his parents don’t approve of, but there’s a difference between a sweaty dance floor and a concert full of nerds who don’t know the meaning of the word shower. 

But then, he thinks, if he takes a picture there and sends it to his family group chat, he knows his parents would properly lose it. Would ask him to go to the closest hospital to get checked for any illnesses he might catch. They will hate it. Which means that Harry is going to love it. 

“It’s going to be fun,” Harry agrees finally. 

The club where the concert is taking place is a lot smaller than Harry envisioned. He likes concerts, but most of the time he sits on the stands, next to some famous actor or singer. He pretends not to know them, and they all fall for it, every single time. 

There is obviously not a chance there is going to be a chair in this place, nor that he is going to meet Chris Martin in the crowd. The sacrifices he has to make to spite his family. Being the sole heir of their fortune is a hard job, and Harry is determined to do it in the most disastrously wrong way possible. 

Coming here on such a hot day has been a mistake, is the first thing that Harry thinks after they’ve bought their tickets and walked past a tunnel. The concert hasn’t started yet and it’s already about a thousand degrees in here, and, as expected, most of the people filling the venue have never heard of the word deodorant before. He knows that alcohol doesn’t help with the heat, but the only way Harry is going to survive the night is by drinking. He gets a gin tonic for him and Zayn while they wait for Niall to show up. The air is stale, not helped by the fact that most of the people are smoking, either cigarettes or weed. Niall arrives not long after, incredibly excited to have convinced the two of them to come. 

“You will see,” he says, as he takes out an already rolled joint out of his jeans pockets. “Louis is so talented.” 

By the time the concert starts, the venue is not even remotely full. He can’t imagine this Louis to be this talented, if not more than a hundred people are there to see him. His band is also the first band to play tonight, which is never a good sign. Niall, though, keeps being excited, although that might be because they’ve smoked and had like three drinks already. Harry is properly buzzed by now, not buzzed enough to be convinced by Niall to get in the middle of the crowd. 

“C’mon! It’s way more fun when you’re in the middle of the mosh pit!” He shouts over the loud music that is playing over the speakers. Zayn, of course, follows him. Unlike Harry, he fits in this crowd perfectly. These people might not even know that his shirt is worth about five hundred pounds, his trousers fitted by the same tailor that dressed the Prime Minister. He loves to pretend to be a man of the people, Zayn, just like his father does in the Parliament. Harry always makes fun of him because of that. 

As the concert begins, the small crowd moves closer to the stage, only a handful of people stay closer to the bar like Harry. He gets another drink. The acoustic is terrible, and Harry regrets not bringing his earplugs. Not only because of the acoustic. It is also because they are a terrible band. They all can play, but they are obviously not fitted to play together. The famous Louis is the guitarist and the singer, shouting dramatic lyrics into the microphone. He also has his hair dyed pink, because of course you cannot be the lead of a punk band without having some ridiculous hair colour. Despite that though, Harry can’t take his eyes off him. It must be all the vodka that he’s drinking, but he thinks that he wouldn’t mind sucking him off in the bathroom once he’s done playing. He has done a lot of things in his life, but he’s never been a groupie. If you could use the word groupie when you’re having sex with the lead singer of a very mediocre band. He also remembers where he is, and that he might catch a copious amount of disease if he took his pants off in the bathroom of this place. And yet, after two songs and yet another gin tonic, Harry reasons that he doesn’t care. He wants to know what the punk’s dick tastes like. He wants to find out if the punk can fuck him raw. He seems like the type who is all talk and no bite, but who knows. Maybe he could surprise Harry. 

Louis the pink haired guy walks towards the bar with his guitar case slung on a shoulder, his t-shirt plastered to his body because of his stage sweat. Harry has to wonder how that body would feel, pressed against his. He would like to find out. 

What he says when Niall introduces them, though, is “this is the worst concert I’ve ever been to.” Which is true. But he’s also not sure that pink haired Louis would like to fuck him after this introduction. But Harry supposes it could be a sort of test. 

“Don’t mind Harry,” Zayn says. “He can be an arse sometimes.” 

Louis doesn’t seem too bothered by the statement. He actually smiles at Harry. 

“Appreciate the honesty, mate,” he says. Harry thinks those lips would look so pretty around his cock. He is so drunk. 

“Do you want a drink?” He asks Louis, as if he hasn’t just told him that his band sucks. 

Zayn groans. He already knows what this is going to lead to. 

A while later they are outside the club. Harry doesn’t know where Zayn and Niall are. They probably left. Everything is very confusing. His ears are, predictably, ringing loudly. He’s had far too much to drink, his legs are wobbly and he’s talking nonsense. He’s telling Louis about a holiday he had in the Bahamas a couple years ago and Louis tells him that he has never traveled anywhere outside of Europe. 

“That’s sad,” Harry says. “You’re poor and you play in a very terrible band.” 

Louis scoffs, as he tosses the cigarette he was smoking on the ground. “I’m not poor.” 

Harry hasn’t told him a single nice word all night, and yet he’s not leaving. Harry has his back against a wall, he can hear the loud thumping of the band that is on stage now. The walls are vibrating. It has been so hot all day that even the building is warm. It is a nice sensation against his skin. 

“You are poor,” Harry repeats. 

“I might be poor but at least I’m not an entitled arse,” Louis points out. It is a good point, Harry will concede to him. It is funny, though, because Louis is not moving. He’s standing in front of Harry and he has just called him an entitled arse, and yet he is still there. Moving closer, even. Harry looks down at his lips. It’s a trick that always works. Let the other person know he’s interested without making a single move. Just a single flicker of his eyes. 

“Shit,” Louis hisses, as if he realises that he is about to fully give in. Which he does, as he closes the gap between them. The kiss is raw and eager, and even though Louis tastes so terribly of the cigarette he just smoked, Harry doesn’t care. Louis presses him even more into the wall, and Harry’s immediate reaction is to grind against Louis. They’re both wearing jeans, and despite the layers that’s enough to make him moan against Louis’ mouth. He’s not only kissing a guy out in the open, but he’s kissing a guy with pink hair who smokes like a chimney. That would most likely send his parents to an early grave. 

“Fuck me,” he whispers when they pull back for a second, both of them breathless, one hand around Louis’ neck to keep him there, close to him. Even in the dark, he can see the way Louis’ pupils grow wide. 

“Yeah,” he says, breathless, before kissing Harry again. 

Louis lives in a shared flat in East London. It’s pure chaos, from what little Harry can see before they even enter Louis' bedroom. Louis kisses him and unbuttons his shirt, taking it off and throwing it away somewhere. He pushes Harry down on the bed. Maybe there is a bit of a bite in there. 

“Take off your trousers,” he growls, from where he is standing in front of Harry, and Harry is pleasantly surprised. Harry doesn’t like to be told what to do, but he does love it in bed. Pink-haired Louis might end up being a good fuck. A lot of people handled Harry with too much care, especially if they knew who his parents were. Always worried about making a good impression. Always wanting to be the one Harry might bring home someday. But Louis doesn’t care. Doesn’t know who Harry’s parents are – or even if he does, he doesn’t care one bit. He just wants to have a good fuck, and Harry respects that. 

He unbuttons his jeans, raises his bum off the bed to slide them down, taking them off together with his socks. He is hard inside his pants, almost painfully so, but he doesn’t take them off, waiting for Louis to tell him. But Louis doesn’t, and he sits on top of him, straddling him. He’s also wearing nothing but his pants, and Harry can feel how hard he is through the thin layer of his underwear. 

Louis combs his fingers through his hair, almost gently at first and then tugging at it, forcing Harry to look up at him. 

“Shit,” he says once again, as if Louis cannot accept that he is truly is about to fuck Harry. Harry smirks, and Louis tugs at his hair even more. It hurts in the right way. Harry loves it. Louis kisses him then, wet and sloppy and both of them desperate for contact, Louis rolling his hips with every kiss, his hand firmly holding onto Harry’s hair. Harry moves his hands to Louis’ back, and then down to his arse, digging his fingers into the flesh, as if urging him to get closer. 

“Fuck me,” Harry says, and he knows he sounds almost desperate, but he’s drunk and so, so turned on that he can’t be bothered with keeping up appearances much longer. 

Louis tuts. “Be patient, princess,” he whispers before kissing him again, ravenous, biting at Harry’s lower lip. 

He can’t remember the last time he came into his pants. Not recently anyway. He’s ready to let go, whining against Louis’ lips, murmuring a word that sounds a lot like close. 

“Not yet,” Louis orders, with another roll of his hips. Harry sinks his nails into Louis’ arse even more. He knows that Louis is affected by the touch just as Harry is. 

Louis tugs at his hair a bit more then, looking at him before removing his hand, and Harry whines at the lack of contact. 

Louis kisses his neck, bites it, and then down to his nipple. Every time his teeth sink into his skin, a jolt goes through Harry’s body, making him shiver. Louis shifts just enough to put a hand between them, playing a bit with the hem of Harry’s pants at first, obviously enjoying the sounds that comes out of Harry’s mouth – he’s not quite begging, he would never do that, but he can’t keep quiet. His cock is throbbing and he needs the release. He doesn’t know how long he can resist, not when Louis knows exactly where and how to touch him. When Louis finally pulls down his shorts, Harry sighs in relief. He teases Harry some more, his fingers brushing his tip and Harry hisses. Louis chuckles, and Harry, with his hands still on his arse, presses his fingers even more into the meat of his cheeks. 

He finally moves his hand down to his cock, fingers wrapping around it and Louis gives it a firm stroke as he kisses Harry once more, balancing himself so he can pull at Harry’s hair once again. His head is swimming, and Harry knows he won’t be able to hold back much longer. 

Louis’ lips graze his cheek, and then move close to his ear, as he pulls his hair a bit more. 

“Let go,” he whispers into his ear, and Harry does, spilling all over Louis’ hand, a mess between them as he whines, Louis stroking his cock slower now, getting him through his orgasm. Louis slowly lets go of his hair at first, then of his cock as well, and Harry takes that as a permission to fall down on the bed, with Louis standing still, legs on either side of him. 

Harry can’t believe he’s just come like this just from a handjob. He feels boneless, raw and exposed like he hasn’t been in a long time. Louis doesn’t even know him, yet knows exactly what buttons to push. It is a bit discerning. He doesn’t say anything though, he lies there and pants heavily. 

Louis gets off of him then, moves to the nightstand on the side and takes out a tissue. He lies next to Harry, gently cleaning the come off his belly. He could drift off just like that, in this bed of a stranger. Then, as his brain slowly regains consciousness, he remembers. Louis hasn’t come yet. He slowly moves his hand to Louis’ lower belly, but Louis swats it away. 

“Not yet,” he says. 

“I want to suck you off,” Harry whines. 

“You want too many things, princess,” Louis whispers. “Didn’t you want me to fuck you?” 

“That too,” Harry replies. “The night is young.” 

He has no idea what time it is. He doesn’t care. He has nowhere to go tomorrow. Or the day after. He could, quite honestly, stay holed up in this messy student room for the whole day. Find out how many different ways pink-haired Louis can make him come. He knows this is just a post-orgasm induced thought. He most likely won’t see Louis again after tonight. 

“Later maybe, if you keep on being a good girl,” Louis says, and Harry knows that it won’t take him long to get hard again if Louis keeps talking to him like this. And Louis quite obviously can tell. He smirks, quite satisfied. 

He shifts closer to Harry, kissing him again, this time slow and with purpose, taking his time with it. Louis is patient, waits, teases him, his fingers on Harry’s nipples, and he’s still so oversensitive he whines at every single touch. Harry rolls on his side, desperate for some contact with Louis’ body, even now, in his post-orgasm blissed out state. Louis pushes him closer, his hands on Harry’s back. 

“Let me touch you,” Harry whines, as he presses his crotch against Louis’, who is still wearing his pants. 

“No,” Louis groans. Harry has to respect his perseverance. No matter how much he tries, Louis doesn’t let Harry touch him. He kisses and bites Harry, so tuned into what he likes, which is sort of scary for someone who has met him maybe three hours earlier. 

They’re so close that Louis can feel it, when Harry’s dick is finally getting hard again, Louis’ hand moving to his arse. His fingers brushing his hole, teasing it. Harry knows this is going to be a good fuck, and he can’t wait. But Louis pulls away almost immediately. He rolls to his left side to take something out of a drawer. Lube and condoms. 

“On your stomach,” he orders, and Harry does, his cock pressed against the sheets, hurting a bit. He barely can see Louis from where he is lying, but it doesn’t take long to feel his first finger pressing inside of him. Harry moans, begs Louis for more. “I can’t hear you, princess. Louder.” 

“More,” Harry repeats, loud enough that Louis’ flatmates have probably heard as well. Louis presses another finger then, and Harry moves his arse up so he can feel them even more, wanting them to reach his prostate; he's desperate for it. 

“So eager,” Louis teases, and pushes a third finger in, and Harry presses his face into the sheets, moaning into them. “I want to hear you,” he repeats. “Do not hold it in.” 

“Fuck me,” Harry begs then, Louis’ fingers not enough anymore, he wants his cock inside of him. 

“Love to hear you beg,” Louis says, as he slowly removes his fingers. 

“Fuck you,” Harry says this time, through gritted teeth. Louis snickers, but doesn’t reply. 

“You are –” Louis whimpers, and Harry supposes he’s putting his condom on. “A sight to behold. Ready for me. You’ve been waiting for this all night, haven’t you?” Louis is on top of him then, his cock grazing his arse now. Teasing him some more, even now. “Say it.” 

“Yeah,” Harry confesses. “Ever since you walked on stage.” 

That seems enough for Louis to finally get inside of him. Louis fucks him slow at first, and then picks up his rhythm, and Harry’s moans get progressively louder with every thrust. His cock hurts, trapped between his stomach and the bed, but still he chases the friction. It is, just as expected, a good fuck. Louis is giving him exactly what he wants and Harry gives it back, by being as loud as possible. He doesn't even have to exaggerate, every thrust makes him see the stars. 

“So good,” he whimpers, just as Louis pulls out almost completely and goes back in again, deeper even. “More,” he begs, and Louis provides again. 

“Shit,” Louis hisses then, and Harry knows that he must be close. He is impressed by how long Louis has lasted anyway. 

With a final, deep thrust inside of Harry, Louis comes, collapsing on top of Harry, panting into his ear. 

“You good?” He asks, in an uncharacteristically sweet tone. Everything is conceded, in the post-orgasm haze. 

“Mmh,” Harry murmurs, although he hasn’t come a second time yet. 

“Don’t touch yourself while I’m gone,” Louis adds then, before pulling out, his voice a growl once again. 

He gets out of the room, and Harry rolls on his back, and waits. Louis comes back with a bottle of water, and Harry can finally take a look at his cock, although now limp, and licks his lips. He wants to suck it so badly before he’s out of here. It has been his obsession all night, but he wants to know what a pink-haired punk’s cock tastes like. Probably not any different than a regular cock. Still. 

“You can touch yourself now,” Louis says casually. He is standing there, naked, at the side of the bed, bottle of water in hand. Harry doesn’t wait a second longer, doesn’t even try to be gentle with himself, stroking his cock fast and hard immediately, never losing eye contact with Louis, who is drinking water from the bottle as if he’s not affected by this, as if he has boys touching themselves in his bed all the time, and he probably does. He comes as Louis mouths the bottle in an obscene way, tongue out all over the rim of it, just like he did with the microphone earlier. 

“Do not move,” Louis orders Harry then, as he’s laying there, arms on his side, legs sprawled, come all over his hand and his stomach. Louis crawls on the bed, getting on either side of Harry once again. Harry looks down at him, curious on what he is going to do next. Louis leans down on his stomach and licks the come off of it, looking up at Harry, fluttering his eyelashes. Shit. A lot of sex that Harry has is good but uneventful. He forgets faces and names most of the time. But this one, he knows he will remember for a while. 

When Louis is done, he rolls to the side and picks the bottle from the nightstand, taking a sip before handing it to Harry. 

“You know,” he says. “Rich boy come tastes exactly like poor boy come.” 

Harry almost chokes on the water. This guy is annoyingly funny. 

He leaves a while later, when Louis is already asleep. It is still so warm, even at night, and Harry is so hot and sticky he needs to go home and take a shower. He calls an Uber and doesn’t even care about buttoning up his shirt, gets into the car knowing well that he still smells like sex. When he comes home, he collapses on the bed, and decides that the shower can wait in the morning. He likes Louis’ smell on himself. 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Harry forgets that it’s the weekend. He only realises it when he goes downstairs the next afternoon and finds his parents sitting at the kitchen table, eating lunch. Harry has just taken a shower, his hair dripping, not caring that he’s wetting the old t-shirt he’s wearing and the floor. It is still so hot today. His mother, though, looks at him with disdain. 

“Where have you been?” she asks. 

He hasn’t been home for a week. 

“Places,” Harry replies, as he opens the fridge and takes out a container with what looks like lasagna in it. He doesn’t know if it comes from one of the events his mother organises or their cook. Either way, he puts the container in the microwave. 

“That’s not an answer,” his dad scolds him. 

“Mostly with Zayn,” Harry replies, unbothered. He drinks some water. He thinks about last night, Louis’ lips around the rim of the bottle. It is such a pity that he fell asleep and Harry didn’t find out what those lips felt like around his cock. Just the thought seems to be sparking an interest, his dick twitching in his pants. 

“I went to club clubs, met people,” he adds. He knows his parents like that. His parents also know what that implies– that Harry has been fucking people, but they always hold that little flicker of hope that Harry might meet someone – a girl, really – who their son would actually like and marry. It’s their whole plan for him. Graduate in economics, get a job in his dad’s firm so he can one day become CEO. Marry an equally rich person. Girl. Not a man, because that would be a disgrace on the family. Have a lot of very rich babies. Which is ironic, considering that they only ever had Harry. His mum, in one of her rare vulnerable moments, confessed to Harry that his dad wanted a son. If they had a girl first, they would’ve tried again. But his wish was fulfilled the first time around, so he didn’t care for more. 

“Anyone … picked your interest?” His dad talks about relationships like transactions. And that’s probably what they are to him. 

“Not really,” he lies, although memories of last night keep repeating in a loop in his head. Patience, princess. No one has ever called him that before. He liked it quite a lot. “Went to a punk concert last night,” he says then, just to gauge his parents’ reaction. 

Just as expected, they both hiss at that. “Why?” his mum asks, shocked, her fork clattling loudly on her plate. 

“A friend of Niall plays for a band,” Harry explains as the microwave beeps. He takes out the container, doesn’t even bother putting the lasagna in a plate, and takes out a fork out of a drawer. He sits at the other side of the table, far from his parents, bracing for the next moment and what he is about to say. “We fucked, after.” 

His dad takes a deep breath. Harry can tell that his first reaction is to throw the fork he’s holding at him. He is sort of lucky to be their only son. No matter what he says or does, they don’t have anyone to leave their inheritance to. So Harry knows that he can push and push, and the rope would never truly break. It is fun. His mum closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“He had pink hair, lives in a student flat,” he explains further. 

His dad shoots him a look, and then looks back at his mum, starts talking about something they have to do that night, some dinner somewhere. If they’re not on holiday somewhere for the weekend, they’re always out for dinner with their equally annoying friends. They ignore Harry for the rest of the lunch, pretending he’s not even there. He doesn't know why he sat down with them and didn’t go eat the lasagna up in his room, but there is just something about the side glances they keep on shooting him. The disappointment in their eyes. It fuels him, every day more. 

It wasn’t like that, at first. They were annoyed, but they obviously thought it was just a rebel phase Harry was going through. But the years go by, and the rebel phase hasn’t slowed down one bit. People his age in his parents’ circle are already in respectable relationships, some of them already married. Children planned, two or three. He knows a girl a couple of years earlier than him who is about to have her first baby. Anytime Harry sees her at some event, he can’t help but think how hollow her eyes are. How empty every single one of their interactions are, when before she seemed sort of fun, less dull than a lot of people around them. She used to go to parties with him and Zayn, and at some point she stopped. Then came the wedding, and not long after the pregnancy. 

Everyone had their future already written for them. Harry is trying to postpone that future as much as possible.

He heads back into his room later, his hair dry by now. He likes the heat when he’s lying on a beach all day somewhere in Southern Europe, not when he is in London. It doesn’t feel right. He texts Zayn to ask him if they want to meet later, but he replies that he’s busy with his sisters for the day. One of them is getting married, and she wants to take him shopping for his dress. Send pictures, he types. Zayn's sister is, unlike a lot of people in their circle, marrying because she wants to. The few times Harry has met her lately, she seemed incredibly excited about it. The wedding isn’t until next year but she is already planning everything, every small detail. This is what he wants, if he has to get married. When he will have to get married, he thinks bitterly. He wants that excitement. The spark in the eyes while talking about their future spouse. Harry hopes that he will be lucky enough to find someone – a girl – that makes him feel like that. 

He drifts off to sleep, despite the heat, and wakes up a few hours later, his thoughts going back one again to his night with Louis. Before he knows it, Harry’s hand is on his cock, stroking lazily at first, the thought of Louis pulling at his hair and biting his nipples making him hard. With his free hand he pinches his nipple, although the sensation isn’t quite the same, it doesn’t hurt enough, so he pinches tighter, thinking about Louis’ words, you want too many things, princess, and isn’t it true. He groans against the pillow as he comes, spilling all over his hand and his t-shirt, because he forgot to take it off. Shit. He takes his hand close to his face then, looks at his come dripping down his fingers. It tastes just like poor boy come, he thinks, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. He gets off the bed to go take another shower. 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

louis is playing another concert tonight, want to come? 

It’s pouring outside, the heat finally subsiding after days. Harry is lying in bed, looking out of the window, breathing the fresh air in. He has had yet another fight with his mum earlier, something about not meeting expectations and whatever the fuck she always goes on about. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing at home, but Zayn seems to be busy with his sisters a lot these days. He doesn’t blame him. He would also probably love that if he had a sibling. He often fantasised about it as a kid, a dream team against the tyranny of his parents. 

Yes, he types without even thinking. He hasn’t planned on seeing him again, he never does with anyone. He doesn’t like when they get attached to him. Hates when they start texting good morning and good night, that sort of small talk. What’s your favourite colour, your favourite food. But then he thinks of his parents’ face the other day when he mentioned the punk concert and the pink hair. The student flat. The way Louis had made him come twice. So maybe, yes, it wouldn’t hurt to see him again. Harry has to leave for Greece in less than a week anyway. 

This club they’re playing at tonight is, if possible, even smaller than the previous one. There are probably the same amount of people as there was last time, but it looks more packed. Harry is completely out of place, in the sea of band tees. He’s wearing one of his favourite shirts, a black one made of lace, all see through, with a pair of black tailored trousers. 

“This isn’t a runaway,” Niall jokes with him. “You know that Louis will fuck you whatever you wear.” 

Harry is taken aback. He never talks about it with his friends, but he guesses it was sort of obvious with the way they gravitated around each other that night. 

“I didn’t do it for him,” he lies, because he sort of did. 

They’re already on their second drink when Zayn finally shows up, immediately taking in Harry’s outfit, cocking an eyebrow as he looks back up at his face. 

“Do you know where we are?” he asks, teasing. Zayn, as usual, fits the venue perfectly. He could be a MI6 spy for how well he blends in wherever he goes. He’s wearing eyeliner and black nailpolish, and Harry bites his lip, thinking that he should’ve thought about that. His mother would be livid if he went through her make up. She’s already extremely annoyed when he steals her hair product. 

“You’re a man, you shouldn’t keep your hair that long,” she always tells him. He doesn’t care.

"Wouldn't feel the same, when they pull my hair,” he told her once to shut her up. 

He thinks about it when Louis is on stage, a bit later. He hopes that’s how the night will end once again, with Louis pulling his hair as he comes, screaming loud enough for the whole flat to hear. Niall and Zayn are somewhere in the crowd. Harry is at the bar, the bartender flirting with him, adding an extra shot of vodka in his glass between winks. Harry feels a bit bad for him if he thinks Harry will go back home with him tonight. He has just one purpose for being here and that’s the singer on stage. He wonders if Louis knows that Harry is here, despite the club being so small Harry hasn’t seen him walk in from anywhere. 

The music is just as awful as the other day and Harry has forgotten his earplugs yet again. He doesn’t care. The sex will be worth the ringing ears. 

Louis is sweaty and blissed out when he walks towards the bar. He barely looks at Harry’s direction as Zayn passes him a drink. Harry pretends not to care. He’s not going to give him the satisfaction. He has already begged him enough as it is the other night. 

He talks with Zayn and laughs at something his friend has told him, his head leaning down on his shoulder. Niall tells Harry about this girl he’s going out with, and Harry couldn’t care less. He’s not here for this. But Harry knows how to get his attention. He turns back towards the bartender, and leans on the counter. It’s sticky and disgusting, but Harry is a man on a mission. The bartender looks pleased, leans close to Harry, and Harry whispers in his ear that he wants three more vodka lemons. 

“Yeah,” the bartender stammers. Harry smiles and turns back to his friends. Louis’ eyes are on him now, but he looks away as soon as Harry looks back. Men are so easy. 

The four of them go outside, and Liam, the bassist in Louis’ band, joins them. Liam seems to be eternally confused, a fish out of water, even when he’s on stage. They talk mostly about uni, and Harry finds out that Liam also studies economics, but he seems way more enthusiastic about it than Harry is. Louis eyes him curiously as Harry talks about it, especially when he makes a cutting comment about his parents choosing it for him. He doesn’t say anything, though, and lights up a cigarette. Harry likes smoking weed, not as much cigarettes, but Louis has barely talked to him all night, and he’s annoyed, so he steals the cigarette from Louis’ hand. 

“Oi,” he protests, but doesn’t try to get it back. Harry takes a long drag, almost daring Louis to. Louis raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching. Harry figures he doesn’t want to make a scene when the rest of the guys are there. Otherwise Harry knows he would’ve already been pinned against the wall. 

“Want to head back inside? There’s a dj set going all night,” Niall says then, ignoring the whole thing going on between Harry and Louis. Zayn hums in agreement, Liam too. 

“‘m tired,” Louis says, cigarette dangling from his lips, a new one he’s about to light up. He doesn’t take his eyes off Harry as he speaks. “I’m going to head home, I think.” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, staring straight at Louis as he does. “Me too.” 

Zayn groans. Niall snorts. Liam doesn’t seem to catch up on the vibe. Either way, the three of them go back inside, and Harry can hear Zayn mumbling something about a disaster, but can’t catch the rest of what he is saying. 

They don’t speak, the two of them, and smoke in silence. It’s a lot chiller than last time, and Harry is kind of shivering with only that lace shirt on. It’s worth it, though, just to see the look on Louis’ face as he looks down at his chest, at his hard nipples, then up at his face as he licks his lips. 

“I’m going to call an Uber,” Harry announces when they’re both done smoking, just to make a scene. He knows they will end up at Louis’ place. But he wants him to say it. “What about you?” 

Louis rolls his eyes, drops the cigarette on the ground. “You’re an arse,” he says. 

“I know,” Harry agrees, smirking.

Louis’ flatmates are not home, so they’re practically already naked by the time they reach Louis’ bedroom, their clothes scattered everywhere in the corridor. Louis pushes Harry against a wall, and Harry wants to get lost in it, but he also doesn’t want to miss the show of Louis on his knees for him. 

“Use your words, princess,” Louis says, cocky even now that he has his head between his thighs. Even now that he shouldn’t be in control, but he is. Fuck. He hates how much power Louis has over him even with four simple words. 

“Blow me,” he says. Louis bites his inner thighs, up up up until he reaches Harry’s groin. He stops there, looks up at Harry as he flutters his eyelashes. Harry fucking hates him. “Please.” 

Louis’ lips are just as good as Harry expected them to be. He looks down as much as he can, admires Louis’ hollow cheeks as he sucks him. Louis pulls back when Harry is close, though. “Not yet,” he says, as he gets up, with a kind of nonchalance reserved for discussing the fucking weather. It is infuriating and the hottest thing Harry has ever experienced in his life. People fold at Harry’s presence, but not Louis. 

“I want –” 

“I don’t care what you want, princess.” 

Harry stays there, still with his back flushed against the wall, his lips slightly parted, shocked almost, but waiting for instructions. 

“Then what do you want?” He asks, when Louis doesn’t say a word. So frustrating. 

“I want you to ride me,” Louis says finally. “Get on the bed. Prep yourself first.” 

Harry nods and immediately lies down on the bed, legs spread. Louis stands there and throws the lube at him. It’s a new bottle, Harry notices, just opened. He wonders if Louis fucked someone else this week. Or if he fingered himself, thinking of Harry. He wants to ask, but he knows Louis won’t let him talk now. 

Harry coats his fingers in lube and angles his arse so that he can push his fingers inside himself. He did this the other night, thinking about Louis’ fingers doing this instead of his own. He likes this though, he likes to put on a show for him. He moans loudly, spreads his legs open even more, and tries to raise his hips more so Louis can see him better. 

“Look at you,” Louis says. “So desperate for it.” 

“‘m not,” Harry bites back, although without much conviction, as he pushes a second finger in. 

“You are,” Louis retorts.  “Did you think about me this week?” 

Harry whimpers. “I did,” he confesses. He wants to touch his cock so desperately, but he refrains from doing so. 

“Did you touch yourself thinking about me?”

“Yeah,” Harry stammers,  third finger in. “Did you,” he tries to ask, bold all of a sudden, too far gone to care about Louis’ biting tone. 

Louis huffs. “You don’t get to know that, princess. Spoiled brats like you need to be put in their place.” Harry whines loudly. He’s so close to coming untouched, and Louis can tell, because he orders him to take his fingers out. And Harry does, thankful. 

Louis sits on the bed next to him then, legs dangling from it. He’s already put a condom on, and Harry can’t wait to feel it deeply into him. 

“C’mon,” Louis urges him. Harry sits on him then, slowly tries to find the right angle, helping himself with his hand. 

“Fuck,” he lets out, as he sits down on Louis’ cock. Louis whimpers, and Harry loves to see him finally lose a bit of his snark now. He starts to move without waiting for Louis’ instruction, and Louis slaps his arse. Harry stops moving. 

“Shit, sorry,” Louis says, his tone so different now. “Was that okay? Should’ve asked before –” 

“More than okay,” Harry reassures him. “Keep going.” 

Louis shifts immediately back in his role, shaking his head. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” He slaps him again. Harry squeals. 

“Now move,” he orders, and Harry does. Louis’s hands are on Harry’s side to ground him down, moving only when he wants to slap him some more. “Did you wear that shirt for me?” he asks. 

“No,” Harry lies. “I just – think –” he’s so close. Louis slaps him once again. “I look pretty in it,” he manages to say. 

“Liar,” Louis growls, and kisses him, biting into his lower lip. A slap, once again. “Do not come until I tell you.” 

“Shit, Louis, I’m –” he cries out, picking up the rhythm, wanting to feel Louis even more inside of him. He lets his head fall on Louis’ shoulder, and bites into it. Louis slaps him once again. 

“Fuck,” Louis hisses. Harry bites even more into it. He knows it will most likely leave a sign. Loves the idea of Louis sleeping with someone else and having a mark of him on his body. He doesn’t stop, but sucks into his skin next. A whole mess of saliva and tongue and lips and teeth. 

“Touch me,” he begs, his lips now grazing Louis’ neck. Louis doesn’t, but slaps him once again. “Please.” His cock is throbbing, and yet Harry won’t stop moving, won’t stop riding Louis’ dick. 

“Ask again, princess,” Louis growls, quite obviously on edge too. 

“Touch me, please,” Harry lets out, panting at every syllable. Louis’ hand is finally on his cock, fingers wrapped around it, thumb on his tip, slick with precome. “Louis,” he cries out. 

“You can come now,” Louis gives him the permission, and Harry does, moaning loudly against Louis’ neck, and Louis follows him right after, their bodies spent, trembling together, Harry’s come all over both their stomachs, their breaths slowly going back to a normal rhythm at the same time. 

Harry reluctantly gets off Louis’ dick and collapses on the bed on his back. Louis disappears again to throw off the condom, coming back with a bottle of water. He puts it on the nightstand, and takes out a tissue, cleaning himself and Harry next, always so tender –a sharp contrast to how he bosses Harry around while they fuck. 

“Does my dick taste like the poor boy dicks you usually suck?” 

Louis snorts. “Hate to break it to you but yes, not a difference.” 

“Liar,” Harry says. Louis passes him the water. They don’t talk much. Harry leaves again after Louis falls asleep. 

There’s a new message request on Harry’s Instagram a couple of days later. He’s having dinner with Zayn at one of their favourite Italian restaurants, and they’re waiting for Tiramisù. Harry loves Tiramisù. 

my place tonight? The message says. User louist28. That’s the number he has tattooed on his knuckles, Harry remembers. He smiles at his phone. Zayn, of course, catches it. 

“What are you smiling at?” He asks. 

“The thought of Tiramisù,” Harry lies without missing a beat. He shoots a quick reply. Yes, without adding any further details. He likes the idea of Louis waiting at home for him all night. 

“Harry,” Zayn says, sighing. “Who is it?” 

“No one,” Harry replies. 

“Is it Louis?” Zayn knows. Zayn always knows everything, somehow. 

“Who?” Harry asks, smirking, all innocent. Zayn rolls his eyes. He is about to say something but then the waiter arrives with their desserts. 

Later, when Harry makes up an excuse as to why he has to go back home, Zayn looks at him with that knowing look of his.  

Louis fucks him again, this time on the couch in the shared living room. They move to Louis’ room then, and Harry finally blows Louis, begs him to fuck his mouth. Louis pulls off before coming, and lets the come drip into Harry’s mouth, telling Harry to touch himself in the process. It’s a whole mess of Louis’ come trickling down his jaw and his own come all over his hand. 

This time, he tells Louis that he’s leaving. He has a plane to catch in the morning. 

“Where to?” Louis asks, as he lights up a cigarette. 

“It’s disgusting that you smoke in your own room with the window closed,” Harry comments, wrinkling his nose. “You won’t like the answer, anyway.” 

“It’s fine, you told me I’m poor because I’ve never been to the Bahamas the first time we spoke, remember?” 

Harry coughs. “Well, we’re going to Greece.” 

“I’ve also been to Greece,” Louis mutters. “That’s not so weird.” 

“Yeah, to – a private island. Friends of my parents.” 

“A private island,” Louis repeats. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Text me,” Harry says as he gets up from the bed. 

Louis scoffs. “Why would I text you?” 

“I’m not asking you to text me what you do during the day, Louis, Lord knows how much I don’t care about that. You know, tell me how you want to fuck me, that type of texts. Jesus.” 

Louis shrugs, trying to act unaffected by the suggestion. Harry also tries his best to act unaffected by the way Louis’ naked body looks, lightened up by the street lights outside, cigarette between his lips. “Okay.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Harry swears to himself that this is the last time. He hates traveling with his parents. He hates spending two weeks in a place that should be paradise but it’s a long series of obligations, of meeting people he has to pretend he likes. Have you seen how beautiful the weather is here? So much better than in England. So much small talk. So many lies told. So many tight lipped smiles. 

He doesn’t know why these people care so much about appearances. He just wants to lie on a beach all day and then at night take a shower, get into bed and text with Louis. But Louis doesn’t text. He fucks with one of the girls, the daughter of friends of his family, they’ve known each other forever. She doesn’t care about him just as much as he doesn’t care about her, and it’s fun. Nothing more than that. It’s nothing like what Louis makes him feel. He knows it’s because his parents approve of her. With Louis, there is always that undercurrent of everything being forbidden. Of remembering the faces of the two of them, when he told them that he had sex with Louis. 

After a week, he gets tired. He decides to initiate it. He texts Louis, what are you up to? 

not much, comes the reply, watching a movie on netflix. Harry hates him. 

 

Harry

i don’t fucking care 

 

Louis

then why did you text? 

 

Harry

I know you smoke a lot of weed but I didn’t think your memory was so bad 

 

Louis 

I just tend to forget what people I don't care about tell me 

 

Harry

you’re such a terrible liar even via text 

 

Louis 

So? What do you want? 

you’ll have to spell it out for me 

Harry sighs loudly. He hates this. He hates begging. And yet here is, doing exactly that. i want to see your cock, he types, giving up. He always gives up, when it comes to Louis. 

Louis

you have to be nicer princess you know that 

 

Harry

please send me a picture of your cock, please?

 

Louis

send me yours first 

Harry is already naked in bed, so he takes a picture immediately, but changes his mind before sending it. He doesn’t want to be the one who’s always begging for it. So he waits a bit. Then he does send it, hoping that it feels like an afterthought, although it’s obvious that it isn’t. He was the one who texted first, after all. 

lovely, comes Louis’ reply. want to put my lips around that pretty cock of yours.  make you beg for it. pull back before you come. lick your hole until you’re so spent you’ll be crying. would you like that, princess? 

yes, Harry replies, his hand around his cock, stroking it. Just the idea of Louis’ tongue on his hole makes him whimper as he fucks on his own hand. Fuck. He has to stay on this bloody island for another week. 

show me how hard you are for me, Louis texts then. 

not until you send a picture first, Harry replies. please, he adds. 

you’re learning :) i’m pleased, he texts, followed by a picture. The sight of Louis’ hard cock is enough for Harry to pick up his rhythm, but then he remembers Louis has asked for a picture and he sends him one, his cock so hard and leaking with precome. 

beautiful, Louis writes. come for me you pretty thing 

wish i could come all over your face, Harry types, somehow still able to do that, as he trashes in his bed, chasing the high with his own hand, but it’s not enough. He misses Louis. Well, not Louis. He misses his cock, and his mouth. His fingers. 

i’ll let you do it next week if you behave, Louis types, and after that, Harry comes, his phone falling out of his hand, the rest of the world forgotten. He has only Louis’ name on his lips, even if he’s not even there. 

They start texting every night after that, and towards the end Harry gets bolder, sending him naked pictures during the day as well. After the first one Louis texts i’m in public you arse, so that only makes Harry send him even more. Louis, despite complaining about being in public, replies quite quickly every single time. Harry points out that he could simply mute the chat until he goes back home. Louis doesn’t reply. 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Harry comes back to London with a tan, five new books added to his read list, and a renewed hatred for his parents. Zayn is on a trip in Italy with his family, on board of a yacht of a friend of his father. Harry loves to see him so happy in all the pictures he sends him, but at the time he hates how much he can’t have the same relationship with his parents. How he’s forced to go on these trips every year just because they have to show off being a united family, and Zayn’s parents don’t have to ask him. He loves to travel with them and his sisters. 

Niall is back in Ireland, which means that Harry could either go to a club on his own or, well. Text Louis to tell him he’s back. 

Harry goes to a club. He knows the owner, a friend of his parents, and he always lets him in from the back, in the privè where the real action is. He takes some pills, drink after drink served to him. He doesn’t know why he’s there. He doesn’t like to go to these places without Zayn. He doesn’t like these people. He just wanted out of the house, and he ended up in an even worse place. He wants out. He texts Louis, are you up? But it’s like four in the morning, so obviously he isn’t. He goes back home alone. He couldn’t even be arsed to pretend wanting to fuck any of these people. 

next time you want to fuck text a bit earlier, Louis has texted sometime around 7. He wonders why he was up that early. He goes downstairs to grab a coffee and realises that it’s Monday and no one is home. The maid comes on Tuesday, so there’s no risk of her getting in the way. 

what about now?, he asks. i’m home alone all day. 

Louis doesn’t reply at first, and Harry wonders if he’s already bored of him. It didn’t feel like it, when they texted all those pictures, but maybe Louis has met someone else. But then the reply comes, in about an hour?

sure, Harry replies immediately, not even bothering pretending that he wasn’t waiting for it. 

Harry sends Louis the address. He thinks about what to wear. There’s something in the back of a drawer that he has never worn before, if not alone in his room. He stares at it, and then decides to wear it. He doesn’t overdo it, just a white crop top and a pair of blue shorts. It’s hot again, in London. He can’t wait for Louis to take those off to see what’s underneath. Can’t wait to be called princess while wearing those panties. 

“You’re late,” Harry says when he opens the door, a hand on his hip and a pout on his face. “Not sure I’ll let you in now.” He will let Louis in, of course. He has been waiting for Louis to touch him again for two weeks. “Especially not with that hair.” His hair is not as pink anymore, the colour faded to show a terrible bleach job that he had probably done himself, his dark roots peaking out. Harry likes it, but he will make a remark later about how he could give him the number of his hairdresser, just to annoy him even more. Louis will most likely go on a rant about how he can’t afford a hairdresser and how spoiled he is, which will somehow turn Harry on even more. Class differences are a kink of his, apparently. 

“Yes, well, something came up at work,” Louis explains. 

Harry cocks his head to the side. “You – work?” 

“Yes, Harry, you know that thing you do in exchange for money? You should try that sometimes. You’re good at taking orders, anyway.” 

Harry moves from the doorway to let him in. He closes the door and Louis looks around, looking impressed and terrorised at the same time. 

As they walk upstairs Harry realises that it's the first time they're doing this in the daytime. He doesn't know why he's hit with a sudden wave of panic, as if he hasn't been sending nudes to Louis every day for the past week, which was arguably more intimate and scary than having sex. 

Harry knows Louis feels this too, this shift, in the way he reverently takes Harry's top off, gently lays him down on the bed. It's so different today, and Harry isn't sure if he's having trouble breathing because it's a thousand degrees outside or just because of how gently Louis is kissing him today. How slowly he moves down his body, how he licks his nipple. 

“You're obsessed with my nipples,” Harry murmurs to break the intensity of it all. 

“Mmh,” Louis mutters, sucking at it. Harry arches his back, leaning into every touch. He moves down, kissing his stomach, with such reverence that it makes Harry shiver. He reaches the hem of the shorts then, and Harry is nervous, not sure at how Louis will react to what's underneath. He slowly moves down the shorts, and an oh escapes his mouth.

“Do you like them?” Harry asks, voice wavering, as he arches his back so Louis can take the shorts off. Slowly, like everything he’s doing today. 

“Yeah,” Louis replies, almost out of breath. The white lace panties Harry hid in the back of a drawer, that he barely used. He was waiting for the right occasion. And Louis, thankfully, seems to agree. He’s staring at Harry’s hard cock, visible now with the see through fabric. “Shit,” he hisses. 

“Don’t take them off yet,” Harry tells him, for once daring to be the one in charge. This heat is getting to both their heads. Louis moves away then, takes off his own shorts and underwear. It is quite something, getting to admire Louis’ body in broad daylight. Louis catches him staring, a sly smile on his face. “You’re not bad to look at.” 

Louis huffs. “You’re always so nice to me,” he jokes, as he makes his way up Harry’s body again, lying on top of him. The contact of Louis’ hard cock against the fabric of his panties make Harry whine, there is just something about today, maybe the fact that they’re at his place and everything is so different, maybe the choice of clothing, or a mix of everything, but Harry is just so far gone just from the friction of their hard cocks together. Louis kisses him, moans against his mouth, and Harry has his hands in Louis’ hair, messing it.  

Louis starts to move down again then, biting all over his chest and stomach and then he licks Harry’s cock through the fabric. 

“Remember what we texted about these days?” Louis asks him, voice low and rough, as he bites the inside of Harry’s thighs. 

“Sex?” Harry replies. 

Louis groans. “Smartarse.” Another bite. “Can I take these off now?” 

“Yeah,” Harry allows him, and there is just something in the slow and deliberate way Louis takes off those panties that makes his whole body shiver. 

“Turn on your belly for me now, princess.” And Harry, like always, does as he’s told. The illusion of him being in charge didn’t last for very long. “Now, remember –” Louis kisses his lower back then, his hands on his arse, his mouth moving down, his hands spreading him open just enough for his tongue to make its way in. Harry now remembers. Very well. “What we texted about?” 

“You – yeah,” Harry replies. “Dreamed about it,” he confesses. “Your tongue inside of me.” 

“Yeah?” Harry hates that he can’t see him now, but loves the pressure of Louis’ hands on his arse, the way his tongue is circling his hole. 

“Came in the shower thinking about it,” he adds then, doesn’t know why he is saying it out loud. Why is he giving this power to Louis. “It’s – fuck. So much better than I thought.” 

Being a mess of sweat and want at the moment, Harry can only move his arse up to feel Louis’ tongue even more inside of him. “Touch me, Louis,” he whines, and Harry knows that this is an unusual day because Louis doesn’t tell him to wait, doesn’t give him his usual patience, princess, but moves a hand away from Harry’s arse to stroke his cock, his tongue and hand moving in sync. It doesn’t take long for Harry to come, a mess all over his bed. Louis eases him through his orgasm, his hand moving slowly, his whole body trembling, and he collapses down on the now wet bed as soon as Louis removes his hand. Louis slowly comes back up with a trail of kisses on Harry’s back, who trembles at every single one, so overstimulated. He doesn’t even care he’s lying on his come, he’s so blissed out. Louis is next to him then, kissing him, soft and slow. 

“Can I suck you?” he murmurs, and Louis laughs softly. There is just something in the way he always laughs when they’re kissing. Harry hates how much he likes it. 

“Of course you can, princess,” he replies, low and sweet. They kiss for a while longer, as Harry tries to start to feel his body again, not a jelly mess. He knows his bones are still there, but for a few minutes he can’t feel them, everything has gone soft in his body. 

Just like Louis, Harry takes his time. It’s the heat, of course. It’s the strong sense of vindication of fucking a boy at home. Nothing more. He takes in all his tattoos now, studies them as he traces them with his fingers. Harry loves how Louis reacts to the touches, how he’s affected by every single one of them, the way he moans. No complaining today. It’s not rough today, it’s all very contemplative. It’s the heat, he repeats himself when he’s teasing Louis a bit more, kissing his stomach. 

“Did you think about me at all? My tongue on your cock,” he says, teasing him, licking his length. 

“Sometimes,” Louis says, trying to sound casual but stammering, every movement of Harry’s tongue messing with him. 

“Did you think of my mouth when you let anyone else near your cock?” Louis doesn’t reply, as Harry’s licks his tip, precome leaking out of it. “I bet none of them can take it as well as I do.” Louis again, doesn’t talk. Harry decides to stop talking and starts sucking, first at the tip and then taking it all in, Louis’ hand in his hair, pulling at it, dictating Harry’s rhythm. It becomes more frantic as he gets closer, and Harry loves how strong he’s pulling, loves how desperate Louis is right now, moaning incoherent words. He is so beautiful from this angle, Harry thinks, as Louis comes into his mouth. 

The windowsill is big enough to fit a person, and Harry often sits there, when he reads or studies. There is something special about it, about the view of the house’s garden. Right now, though, he’s lying in bed, and Louis is the one sitting there, smoking a cigarette that Harry wouldn’t allow him to light up in bed. He’s naked, still, with his head resting on the wall, looking outside the window, as he holds the cigarette lazily. Harry might join him in a while, but for now he admires him from the bed. Even takes a couple of pictures without Louis noticing. When he looks down back at Harry, he can’t read his look. His brain is still so hazy post-orgasm, Harry has almost forgotten that they don’t know each other, after all. That even if they have exchanged bodily fluids several times by now, he can’t read Louis. He wouldn’t be able to guess what he’s thinking right now. Louis smiles at him, though, as he takes another drag. 

“Why don’t you have your own place?” Louis asks then. “I’m sure your parents could afford to pay you rent.” 

“They don’t want me to leave before I get a job,” Harry explains. “I think they’re scared of me dropping out of uni if I’m out of their sight.” 

“And would you?” 

The heat is doing numbers to their brains. Now Louis is asking him a very private question and Harry is even willing to answer. “I think, so, yeah,” he confesses. He only ever talks about these things with Zayn. He is the only one that sort of understands. “I don’t care one bit about numbers and economy and all of that.” 

“Mmh,” Louis hums. He doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t bite back. Doesn’t make fun of him for having rich people problems. He observes Harry, though, never takes his eyes off him. Harry is naked already, but there is something in that look that makes him feel even more exposed. Having his dick out is easy, he has done it with so many people before. But being vulnerable is different. Harry doesn’t do that. Louis takes another drag of his cigarette, which he then presses into a glass that Harry gave to him, the same one he uses when he smokes with Zayn sometimes. 

“Woud you light up another one?” Harry asks, as he finally gets out of bed and joins Louis on the windowsill. His sacred place. Louis does then, taking another cigarette out of the packet, and lighting it up. He takes a drag before passing it to Harry. “What do you do? For work?” 

“I work in a cafè,” Louis replies. “Which is why I was stuck in London almost the whole summer, unlike my flatmates who went back home.” 

“You’re from Yorkshire, right?” The accent was one of the first things Harry noticed when they met. Well, first it was the way his mouth did obscene things around the microphone. Then the accent. 

“Doncaster, yeah,” Louis replies, pride apparent in his tone. He tells him a bit about his family. About growing up with a lot of sisters, and his failure of a band that he loves. He’s graduating in psychology. Harry understands a bit more why Louis makes him feel so exposed. When Harry is done smoking the cigarette, he leans in closer to Louis to put the cigarette butt in the glass, and Louis kisses him then. They kiss for a while, their mouth tasting a weird mix of each other and the cigarettes they just smoked. 

Louis fucks him on the bed a while later, the sheets a whole mess by now, stained with splotches of come and sweat. The air is thick, heavy with sex and something else that weighs down on Harry, but he doesn’t know what that is. Not fully, at least. 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Harry wouldn’t admit that it becomes sort of a thing, but it sort of becomes a thing. Louis comes over every other day, right after his shifts. They fuck and smoke on the window sill and fuck again. Sometimes Louis disappears and when he finally replies Harry ignores him for hours. He cares, and he doesn’t want to care. 

He tries to find out where Louis works, but he wouldn’t tell Harry. He knows it’s Costa Coffee, but that doesn’t narrow it down very much. There are about a thousand around town. Harry wants to go there and be annoying and order the most ridiculous thing he could ever think of. But Louis won’t say, and Harry is not going to ask Niall. 

When he doesn’t see Louis, Harry goes to Zayn’s place, sleeps there most nights. He likes his room only when Louis is in it. 

Zayn is almost excited about uni starting again soon. Harry hates the idea, hates that it’s his final year, and then he will be stuck working in his dad’s company. He hates that Louis knows now, that he makes Harry talk about it sometimes. He says, then quit, if it’s not what you want, and he says with such ease. It gets under his skin. It seeps through him, a seed that grows inside him slowly, taking roots there. Then quit, if it’s not what you want. 

His whole life, planned for him since the day he was born. And now comes a pink haired boy from Doncaster to disrupt it all. 

Louis’ band plays another concert towards the end of the summer. It has started raining a lot these past few days. Harry decides to wear a crop top and his favourite thigh, black jeans. He likes how tight the top is as well, showing off his body as much as possible. He went with Zayn to the tattoo parlour the other day, and he didn't get new ink but decided to pierce one of his nipples instead. It hurts a bit still, but he likes how it shows through the fabric, and he hopes Louis will notice even before undressing him. Not that he has done it for Louis. It has nothing to do with the fact that he hasn’t seen Louis in three days because he was busy with rehearsals after work. The last text he sent to Louis said: I really don’t know what you have to rehearse for since you suck. 

Earlier that day he bought some stuff, decided that it was time he tried something new. He makes a mess of it, his nails painted black but he doesn’t know how to do that properly, the polish going all over the side of his nails. The black eyeliner, it’s even more of a disaster. His eyes look like those of a panda. He smudges it a bit, and he likes the final results. Then he smiles, thinking of Louis making even more of a mess of his face later. 

It’s late when he leaves, and his mum is home. His dad is nowhere to be seen. Harry isn’t sure if he’s still at work or out with the woman he sleeps with. She hears him coming down the stairs and shows up in front of him like a ghost.

“Where are you going?” she asks, her arms folded in front of her chest, eyes flicking from his head to his toes. 

“Louis has a concert tonight,” he explains simply. He has casually mentioned him a few more times by now, enjoying how much his parents flinch. They know he comes over, there are cameras all over the property. It makes the sex even more enjoyable. 

“As if the hair wasn’t enough,” she says, tone full of spite. “Now you’re wearing make up like a woman.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, make up is for everyone," Harry says, pretending to be bold, pretending not to be affected, pretending that her words don’t make him want to crawl into a hole and never leave. But he has learned, he has toughened up through the years. Then quit, if it’s not what you want. He walks past her and doesn’t look back. 

The venue tonight is nicer. Or maybe it is just Harry that doesn’t hate it as much as he did at the beginning. 

“You learned how to dress for a concert,” Niall teases him, a hand on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Styles.” 

The three days of rehearsals have, predictably, not done much for the state of the band. Harry has taken piano lessons as a kid so he’s not quite a musical expert, but it pisses him off because Louis is talented. He doesn’t maybe particularly enjoy it when he sings about redistribution of wealth or whatever, but there’s something there. And Harry is entranced. As usual, he’s standing in the back by the bar, and he can’t keep his eyes off Louis for the whole set they play. At the end, he doesn't know what comes over him, but joins the crowd, jumping and screaming around with other people. Louis sees him when Harry comes closer to the stage. He imagines maybe, a tiny smile cracking up on his face when he does. Harry is so distracted he almost gets elbowed in the face. 

“Can't believe you joined us peasants,” Niall tells him when the song is over and they move back towards the bar. “Didn't think I would ever see you there.”

“Louis dick is doing wonders for him,” Zayn comments. 

“Shut up,” Harry retorts, fixing his hair a bit. He didn't think about tying it up before jumping into the crowd and now it's a whole mess. 

Niall snorts. “So that's, like, a thing now?”

“It's not a thing. We fuck,” Harry replies. 

“That's what you keep saying,” Zayn comments. “And yet I've never seen you going back to the same person this many times before.” 

Harry ignores him and orders drinks for everyone. 

Louis doesn’t come to them immediately, but stops to talk with another group of people. Friends of his, Harry supposes. He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know any of his friends, except for Liam. He knows many things about Louis, like how he sounds right before he comes, or how he likes his earlobe sucked. It is weird how two people can get so intimate and yet don’t know that much about each other. Harry sips on his drink and looks at Louis laughing about something a guy is saying. Louis catches him looking, because of course he does. Harry looks back at Niall, pretending to be interested in a story he’s telling about his grandma back in Ireland. 

Liam then shows up out of nowhere, putting his arms around both Niall and Harry. 

“Hello, lads,” he says. “It’s my birthday in two days! Are you three coming?” 

“Sure,” Harry replies, surly. He should order a new drink as he’s chewing on ice cubes now. “Liam, a question.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Who are the people Louis is talking with?” 

Niall snorts. “It’s not a thing,” he says, voice low, imitating Harry’s earlier statement . Once again, Harry ignores any retorts from his friends about the nature of the relationship between him and Louis. 

Liam turns behind him, to where Louis is standing. “Oh, some friends from uni. One’s Thomas, Louis’ ex. To be fair, not sure if he’s still an ex. It’s confusing with them, they broke up and got back together a few times.” 

He doesn’t hear anything else that the three of them say because Harry is already walking towards the group. 

“Hello,” he says in a fake cheerful tone, showing up behind Louis. He casually puts a hand behind his back. Louis doesn’t move.

“Hi, Harry,” he says, almost resigned. 

“Hello, Harry,” one of them says, smiling. “Are you the reason why Louis is barely going out with us anymore?” 

Louis scoffs, almost annoyed, and yet leans into Harry’s touch. “I do see you all the time.” 

“Yeah, because we come see you at work,” another one points out. 

Louis finally turns towards Harry. He can see the little smile tugging at his lips as he notices the make up. Harry has no idea how he must look now, as sweaty as he is. “Don’t listen to them. They just like to talk shit about me.” 

“We have that in common, then,” Harry tells them. That earns him a laugh from the group, who is still eyeing him curiously. Obviously they’ve never heard of him before. 

One of them stretches his hand towards Harry, tells him he’s called George. They all introduce themselves, and when it’sThomas’ turn, Harry squeezes his hand a bit tighter than the others, studies him, his thigh-lipped smile. Harry can’t believe that this tiny, rat-faced boy is his competition. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says after a bit of boring small talk. “I’ll head to the bathroom.” 

He lingers for a second more, not removing his hand from Louis’ back until the last second. Harry does have to go to the bathroom, but he waits there a bit longer, just in case. Loud music comes from the main room, another band playing just about now. It’s just one single stall, the door heavy. Perfect, really. Would be a pity if Louis didn’t take the bait. 

There is a knock on the door then, and Harry unlocks it. 

“You’re an arse,” Louis says as he makes his way in. Harry locks the door again. Louis presses him immediately against the sticky walls of the bathroom, almost causing Harry to hit his head. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Louis growls, mouth close to his ear.

“I’m not doing anything,” Harry says innocently. Louis presses his body more against him, and Harry hisses. “Shit.” 

“Are you okay?” Louis asks, voice laced with worry. Harry hates how much he likes when Louis gets out of whatever sex spell they’re in and becomes caring. 

“It’s my nipple,” Harry explains, and Louis moves away just enough to look down, and sees it through the thigh shirt. 

“Oh,” Louis says. “Can I see it?” 

Harry thinks about it for a second. He wants to be an arse and tell him that now he can’t take his shirt off, but he also really wants Louis to see it. “Yeah,” he says in the end. Louis carefully raises the shirt, high enough so Harry’s nipples are showing. 

“Shit,” he says, his fingers grazing it. “Does it hurt now?” 

“Kinda. In a good way, though,” Harry explains. Louis touches it a bit, curious, and then looks up at Harry. 

“I can’t wait for it to heal,” he says, before kissing Harry again. 

They blow each other in the bathroom, the music thumping loud inside of it despite the thick walls. When they get out, both disheveled, there are traces of come on their pants as they barely have taken them off, and Thomas doesn’t look pleased. Even less when they ask him if they want to go to another club to end the night there, and Louis refuses. 

Harry hasn’t gone over Louis’ place in a while. It makes more sense for them to meet at Harry’s house, now that all of Louis’ flatmates are back. But the club tonight is close to his flat, and Harry wouldn’t want to risk him meeting his parents, as much as he would enjoy the look on their faces if they saw Louis. 

The room is messier than Harry remembers, clothes scattered everywhere. The desk covered in books, sheets of papers scribbled, he doesn’t know if with song lyrics or if it’s uni stuff. He likes the chaos. His parents keep the house like a sterilised operation room in a hospital, always squeaky clean, never a thing out of place. 

Harry likes the band posters on the walls, the polaroids with his friends. Some drawings, he supposes from his younger sisters. By now Harry knows they’re twins. Sometimes, in the post-orgasm haze, some personal details come out. 

Then Louis starts kissing him and Harry forgets about his surroundings, he forgets how to breathe as Louis carefully removes his top, so delicate as he tries not to brush the new piercing with the fabric. It’s a bit ridiculous, being turned on by gentleness. In all these years of casual sex, there was never enough space for this. To take time for things, to be kind. And now Louis takes all the time in the world as he takes off Harry’s clothes. It was rushed before, in the bathroom, but now there is no need to. Louis fucks him while they face each other, and Harry doesn’t think too much of their fingers intertwined. It’s just sex. 

For the first time, Harry stays the night. 

“Your hair looks terrible.” 

Harry’ has just woken up, and he has rolled to the other side of the bed to see Louis already awake, maybe for a while now, scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t even look back at Harry, busy writing something now, probably a text. Flashes of rat-faced Thomas cloud Harry’s mind. 

“You’re even more pleasant in the morning, who would’ve guessed,” Louis says, not even looking down at him. Harry doesn’t like to be ignored.  

“Mmh,” Harry murmurs, coming closer to Louis , moving so he’s half on top of him. 

“Get off me,” Louis protests, but doesn’t move an inch. Harry bites his hip in retaliation. “Ow. I’m not a maniac like you. I don’t like to be in pain.” 

“You like this, though,” Harry says before sucking the skin over his hip. Louis hisses. “I figured.” He sucks some more, and he likes how Louis pretends to be unaffected, keeps on texting whoever he’s texting, but his face betrays him. His dick too. Harry moves his mouth a bit, leaves a few more hickeys in Lous’ lower abdomen. 

“Good morning,” he whispers when he’s finally in front of his cock, hard by now. Louis snorts. He licks the length, and Louis hisses at that, but doesn’t get off his phone. He’s good, Harry will give him that. 

“Shit,” he says then. “Liam’s calling me, can you please get away a second, Harry –” 

“Yeah,” he assures Louis, but doesn’t move from his spot. He quite likes this spot. As soon as Louis answers the call, Harry does the opposite of what he’s told. He takes Louis’ dick in his mouth. 

“Hi,” Louis replies, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, of course. Yeah.” Harry is slow in his movements, sucking and licking Louis’ dick. His whole body is tense, trying to maintain a composure on the phone. “Oh – yes. Good idea.” Harry pulls off, intentionally licking Louis' whole length slowly, before taking his cock in his mouth again. “See you later. No, I’m – fine man.” Louis doesn't look down at Harry even once, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere on the other side of the room. “Never been better. Yeah. Later.” He hangs up, his phone falling from his hand. “Fuck, Harry,” he finally lets out a, finally free to let go. When Harry picks up his rhythm, Louis comes fast in his mouth. 

“I hate you,” Louis grumbles as Harry lies next to him again. “That was the hottest thing you’ve ever done.” 

Harry laughs softly and kisses his shoulder. “Didn’t know you’d like that so much.” 

“Me neither,” Louis says, as he shifts on his side to kiss Harry better. “You’re making me discover a lot of things about myself.” 

“Such as?” Harry asks, curious, before leaning in for a kiss. 

“That maybe I don’t want to kill all the rich.” Louis moves his hand to Harry’s chest, grazing his pierced nipple once again. “This is awful for me, princess. Should’ve not let me see it before it healed.” Louis kisses the smug smile off Harry’s face, his hand trailing down to his crotch, ready to return the favour. 

Harry has to go pee after, and walks towards the door naked. 

“Harry,” Louis calls him. “There are other people in this flat.” 

“And?” He shrugs. 

“Oh my god. Please wear your pants and a shirt. Not everyone would be excited to see your penis.” 

“Unlike you?” 

Louis doesn’t reply, and throws his pants and an oversize t-shirt that belongs to him. He only runs into one of the flatmates when he leaves the bathroom, and Harry says hi to him, not bothering introducing himself. The guy looks at him curiously. 

“Hi, you’re Louis’ –” he waits for Harry to finish the sentence. 

“Yes,” is all Harry says, and walks back into the room, back into bed with Louis. His something. Friend with benefits? Do people even say that anymore? He wouldn’t know how to define their thing, anyway. 

The flat is silent when they go to the kitchen. Harry doesn’t know if it’s because both flatmates are in their room or if they went out, he hasn’t truly heard any noise. Which says a lot about how lost he was into Louis as they were in the room. Not that it means anything. It doesn’t, and Zayn’s words from last night are not echoing in his brain since he woke up this morning. They’re having fun, and there is nothing criminal in sleeping with the same person if the sex is that good. 

“Don’t you have to work today?” Harry asks to escape his own thoughts and also because, well, he’s curious. He’s still trying to figure out where Louis works. 

“No, I don’t, otherwise I wouldn’t be here with you,” Louis replies, words slow and clear like he’s talking with a child. Or a rich person who has never worked a day in his life. 

“Did you take the day off for me?” 

“I –” Louis sighs, as he fills the coffee machine. “That’s not how it works. It’s not like I can call them and say well, I’m sorry, I’m not coming today because I have to get my dick sucked.” 

“Well, I reckon it should be a thing,” Harry ponders, as he comes closer to Louis, his arms around his middle. “What are we eating?” 

“Nothing if you don’t get your hands off of me. I can’t move.” Louis hits both of Harry’s hands with a spatula, but he doesn’t budge, and hugs Louis tighter. “Right. Forgot you actually like that because you’re a freak.” 

“‘m not a freak,” Harry murmurs. “And anyway, we could always order,” he proposes, kissing Louis’ shoulder. 

“Who the fuck orders breakfast?” Louis asks, affronted. 

“Me and Zayn? All the time.” 

“God. I can’t believe I fuck a guy who orders breakfast. We’re not doing that. Do you like oatmeal?” 

“I love oatmeal,” Harry replies. 

“Then get off me, princess, let me cook.” It feels weird to hear Louis call him princess while they’re not doing anything sexual, and it throws Harry off a bit, so much that he immediately pulls back, sitting at the kitchen table. He has to admit that it is a lot better than ordering, admiring Louis at the stove mixing the oats with the milk. Harry is a bit annoyed because Louis put on some shorts that are a size too big for him, and he can’t really see his arse. 

“Do you like peanut butter and bananas?” Louis asks him as he’s stirring. It is the first time they’re actually eating together. It is sort of weird to think about it, that they’ve never had a meal together before this. He can’t remember the last time someone that wasn’t paid for it cooked for him. 

“I do, yeah,” Harry replies. Louis looks at him for a brief second, smiling, and Harry’s head spins just a little. Maybe sleeping over was a mistake. 

“So I have an idea,” Louis tells him a bit later, when they’re finally eating, sitting in front of each other at the table. “Since you complained about my hair.” 

“What about it? Do you want my hairdresser’s number?” 

Just as predicted, Louis makes a face, almost disgusted. “And spend three hundred pounds for some hair dye? No, I do it at home. And you’re going to bleach my hair.” 

“I can’t do that. I would make a mess.” 

“You won’t, and if you do I will shave it off, it’s not a big deal,” Louis says, shrugging. Harry cocks an eyebrow, takes a look at Louis. He would probably like him even shaved. 

And so he accepts, and when they’re done with breakfast, Louis puts together a sort of hair salon in his bedroom, taking off his t-shirt just in case the bleach might drop on it and ruin it. 

“I’ve never done this before and you’re practically naked. This won’t go well,” Harry complains, as Louis is mixing a powder and a liquid in a plastic bowl. 

“Says the one who wanted to parade his cock around to my flatmates,” Louis retorts. 

Harry scoffs. “Don’t cry to me when you’ll have to shave your head because I did something wrong because I couldn’t stop staring at you.” 

“If my twelve year old sister can do this, you can do it too,” Louis says, passing him the bowl. “But it’s good to know you can’t stop staring at me.” He plants a quick kiss on Harry’s lips, and then he sits down. 

Harry puts on a pair of plastic gloves like Louis has told him, his hand trembling a bit as he picks up a bit of the mixture with a brush. After he has put the first bit of it in Louis’ hair, he realises that, yeah, maybe it’s not that hard. 

“Did your sister actually do it for you once?” Harry asks, repeating the process.

“Fizzy, yeah,” Louis replies, and it’s the first one he’s ever told him the name of one of his sisters. “She’s – well, she’s so cool.” 

“When was the last time you went back to Doncaster?” 

“It was, uh. June, before we met. They came here to visit, though, when you were in Greece.” Harry freezes for a second. He has spent days sending nudes to Louis during the day and Louis was spending time with his family. He doesn’t say anything, though, and goes back to his task. “None of my sisters have seen anything, if that’s what you were worried about.” 

“Yeah, that’s – I still feel like an arse, though. Maybe you were talking with your mum about something important and I sent you a dick pic.” 

Louis chuckles. “You didn’t know and I didn’t stop you, so. It’s fine.” 

They stay in silence until Harry is done, satisfied with his job, all Louis’ hair coated in the white mixture. Louis takes a look at himself in the bathroom mirror, and congratulates Harry for a job well done with a kiss. Despite the strong smell of bleach, Harry almost forgets for a second that Louis' hair is covered in it and he stops himself just in time before putting his hands on it. He lies down on the bed dramatically, making a whole scene out of it. 

“Can’t believe that I have to wait at least half an hour before I can finally touch you again,” he complains. 

“You know you’ll have to put the colour next, right?” Louis points out, as he lies down on his stomach next to Harry, propped up on his elbow so there is no risk of his hair getting in contact with the sheets. 

“Oh. Right. Pink again?” 

“I bought pink and blue. You choose.” 

Harry thinks about it for a second, his eyes fixed on Louis’ face. It is a bit stupid how much he wants to kiss him all the time. “Pink again? It suits you.” 

“Pink it is, then.” And Louis leans down again to kiss him. It takes a lot of strength for Harry to not make a mess out of that hair. 

It turns out that the bleaching part is the easy part of the process. Louis has washed his hair – he looks a bit like a canary, with his blonde hair going in all directions – and it should be simple. Just scoop out the colour from the jar with his gloved hand, and spread it everywhere on Louis’ hair. It is a rather simple task, but the colour is very pigmented and seems to end up everywhere. On Louis’ face, his ears, his shoulders, Harry’s arms. Even Harry’s hands, despite wearing gloves. There is pink dye everywhere on their bodies. 

“I’m hungry,” Harry protests when they’re done and now they have to wait once again. “Can I order for lunch or will you say I’m too spoiled once again?” 

“You are spoiled. But you could order lunch, yeah.” They’re not talking about the fact that Harry has not said a word about leaving. Louis doesn’t seem to mind, so Harry is staying until Louis is kicking him out of the flat. He likes it here. 

He opens the app and scrolls through it, realising once again that he has not the faintest idea of what Louis could like. “Is Indian alright?” he asks.

“More than alright,” Louis replies. And then, out of nowhere, “should we shower together? I’ll need a hand to scrub this colour off my body.” 

Harry knows it is a lame excuse, but he doesn’t point it out. “Not sure if we’d fit in there,” he says instead, because he wants to be a bit of an arse anyway. He’s been nothing but nice all day, and it is getting out of hand. 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Fit into that shower with another person several times before.” That is enough to shut Harry up and agree to it. 

Showering with Louis, it turns out, is a lot nicer and way less filthy than Harry thought it would be. There are a lot of soapy kisses and a lot of scrubbing. Louis washes off whatever is left of Harry’s makeup from his face, gently wiping it off his eyes and his face with his fingers. They touch a lot, but there is a different intention behind every gesture. They stumble into bed after, not caring about still being completely wet, Louis on top of him, grinding against him until someone rings the bell. They both forgot about the lunch they ordered. It is fun to see Louis quickly putting on some clothes and rushing to the door, walking like a duck. Harry doesn’t remember the last time he’slaughed as much. 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Liam’s flat is already packed when Harry and Zayn get there. They were smoking at Zayn’s place and lost track of time. It’s a small flat. Unlike Louis, Liam lives on his own, and there is just a small living room area and his bedroom. He doesn’t know why Liam has invited them when they barely know each other, but Harry won’t complain about having an excuse to see Louis without having to go through the embarrassing ordeal of letting him know that he wants to see him. But he guesses it would be rather pointless to worry about such things after they spent almost twenty-four hours together. He hasn’t, of course, told Zayn about that. 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” And this is why he hasn’t told Zayn. He is already too cocky about the whole situation as it is.

“Not my boyfriend,” Harry replies automatically, walking towards the fridge where Liam has promised would be beers stored. He doesn’t drink beer much, doesn’t like the taste of it, but he thinks it would get him pleasantly buzzed after the joint they just smoked. He passes one to Zayn. 

Harry finds Louis on the balcony, chatting with a couple of the same guys from the other night. Thomas is not there, thankfully. He doesn’t remember at all the names of the other ones, but he doesn’t care that much. Louis looks so good with his freshly dyed pink hair. He is smoking a cigarette and holding a beer with the other, and Harry steals the cigarette from him before he even says hi. He takes a drag, and then says hi. Louis just looks at him, and doesn’t say anything. 

“Nice to see you again, lads,” Harry says cheerfully to the guys he forgot the names of, and takes another drag of the cigarette before passing it back to Louis. “Louis,” he adds then, before kissing him on the corner of his mouth, just to gauge his reaction. 

“Harry,” he says, his expression not betraying any emotion, but Harry could swear there is just the tiny hint of a smile in the same spot where Harry has just kissed him.

He leans on the balcony railing just like Louis, and takes a sip of his beer as the conversation resumes, as if Harry has always been part of their group and they’re not particularly surprised to see him show up and kiss Louis, as if it’s just another Saturday night. 

They stay there until someone shouts that it’s time for the cake, everyone gathering together to sing Happy birthday to Liam and clap after he blows on the candles. He opens his gifts then, Harry Zayn and Niall got him two records of an obscure band Harry had never heard before, obviously suggested by Louis. It is a great choice because Liam hugs and kisses them like they've been friends forever. 

The pleasant buzz from the beer accompanies Harry the whole night. It helps that Thomas the ex doesn't show up. Harry doesn't dare ask Louis if he was busy or he didn't want him there. Harry wants to believe that the latter is the truth. That he wanted Harry there more than his ex. 

It's all very nice, is the thing. He doesn't feel like he has to perform. He can complain about uni with these people, Harry doesn't need to put on a show. He doesn't need to be on edge, ready to explode like he always did when he hung out with the people his parents deemed worthy. This summer has smoothed his edges. Harry knows who’s partially responsible for it, but he doesn’t want to dwell too much on it. For now, he enjoys the night and when the party dies down and most people leave, Harry doesn’t leave with Zayn. 

“It’s getting serious,” Zayn tells Harry, and he’s not even teasing anymore. Just a statement, point blank. Louis is out of earshot, on the balcony smoking a cigarette with his friends. He hasn’t even asked Harry if he wants to come over, but he is sort of taking it for granted at this point. He looks at Louis as he takes a drag of his cigarette and nods at something a friend says. It takes him a few seconds to remember that Zayn has spoken and that he should maybe reply to him. 

“Of course not, don’t be silly. Nothing is ever serious with me.” 

Zayn shakes his head as he puts on his jacket. “Of course,” he repeats. He kisses his cheek. “Good night, Harry.” And then he’s out of the flat. 

Harry stays inside with Liam and Niall, because he wants to prove to himself that he can stay away from Louis. He does constantly turn towards the balcony to take a look at him, but he’s at least physically away from him. It must count for something. 

“You know you can go outside and be with him,” Niall tells him after a while. They're on the couch, the two of them, together with Liam. 

“Wouldn’t know what you’re talking about, Niall,” Harry says, in that tone he uses when he’s trying to hide a lie. 

“Absolutely ridiculous, the both of you. Although I get it, it is sort of impossible not to stare at him with that hair,” Niall reasons. 

“I dyed it,” Harry says with a certain pride, not thinking about the obvious implications of that. 

“Can't believe this. Louis has made you do something with your hands that's not inherently sexual? A first for you,” Niall teases. 

“I can do a lot of non sexual things with my hands,” Harry protests. He doesn't, really. 

“Such as?” Niall asks at the same time that Liam asks if Harry and Louis are a thing, and he doesn't know which question he doesn't want to answer more. 

“We're, uh. Not,” he says weakly. Thoughts of the shower they took together the other day flood his mind. 

“They are. Harry won't admit it, but they are,” Niall says.

“Oh god. Yeah. Louis is just the same!” Liam cries out. “I barely see him anymore!” 

“Yeah, Harry is barely answering his texts. This is the first time I’ve seen him in weeks.” Niall is exaggerating, it hasn’t been weeks, but it is true that he is less present. However, in true Harry fashion, he will deny it. 

“We’re both very busy. A coincidence. Louis works a lot, and I have – family things.” 

“Family things,” Niall repeats. “You’re a shitty liar, Harry Styles.” 

Thankfully, just then Louis arrives to save the day. Or make it worse, technically, as he sits half on Harry's lap and half on Liam, his arms slung behind both their backs. Louis kisses Liam cheek, and wishes him a happy birthday again. 

“Great party, Li. But I'm knackered, I think I'm going.” Then he pats Harry's other thigh and turns towards him. “Shall we go?” He says it so casually, like they do this all time, going to parties and leaving together. Harry is tempted to make a scene, tell him that he's not and then maybe run after him like in a romance movie. But there really is no point, is there? Niall and Liam obviously know, and anyway there is nothing criminal in wanting to have some good sex with a mate. If they even are that. 

“Sure,” he says, and ignores Niall's snickering next to him. 

Louis' flat is just a fifteen minutes walk away, and so they walk. It is different from their usual Uber rides home, when they have hands all over each other in the dark of the car. Here in the silent streets of a quiet residential neighbourhood, every step seems to resonate so loudly through the buildings. Louis has his hands in his pockets, and sometimes they bump into each other, their arms touching, and somehow they act all shy despite spending half their days naked together in bed. 

“So, how was this peasant party?” Louis asks, after lighting up yet another cigarette. He takes a drag and passes it to Harry. 

“It was surprisingly good,” Harry replies, using the word surprisingly good to stir Louis up. He knows him a bit by now. 

Louis, predictably, scoffs. “Surprisingly, huh? I know, no crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Ruined the whole vibe.” 

“It did. You wouldn't even know what spectacle it is to see Zayn swinging from them, like the song says.” 

They pass the cigarette back and forth, an excuse to walk closer, as Harry tells him a story of parties he went to. “One time I don't know what I took exactly but, uh. I passed out in a bathtub. Then I woke up at midday and went home like nothing happened.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, a twitch in his lips. “No one checked on you?” 

Harry shakes his head. “No, Zayn wasn't there and most of these people just – don't care.” 

“I would've. Everyone in that room tonight would've, Harry.” 

“I know,” Harry says, and takes Louis' hand in his. They walk in the silence until they make it to Louis' building. 

Harry sleeps there once again. Their naked bodies entangled under the covers, and that's how Harry wakes up the next morning. He snuggles his head closer to Louis’ neck, kisses his shoulder softly. Lines are blurred by now, something tender lingers in the room, enveloping the two of them. 

“Leave me alone,” Louis croaks out, voice low and hoarse, and Harry kisses his neck, his jaw, as Louis pretends to try and get away but leans in as soon as Harry's lips are on his. 

“Make me breakfast,” Harry says, which should sound like a question but it comes out a bit like a demand. 

“You know that you're used to this sort of stuff but I'm not your private cook,” Louis mumbles.

“I do pay you, though.” Harry moves his hand down the duvet, reaching Louis' already half-hard cock. 

“That's not –” Louis protests, hissing at the touch. 

“Who needs money when you can have this?” Harry asks, as he starts to stroke Louis' dick, kissing his neck. 

“Debatable. Can't pay rent with orgasms.”

“Still worth it, though.”

“Didn’t say it wasn't, princess,” he says, as he starts stroking Harry's cock too. They don't say much else after that. 

It's a lazy morning, slow kisses after they've both come, a shower together when they finally feel like getting out of bed. 

Louis makes oatmeal once again, and when they sit at the table, Harry's legs are on top of Louis, and even though he complains about it, he doesn't make him take them off. Caresses them, even. 

“My parents are leaving for a week,” Harry tries to sound casual when he mentions it, even if he has been thinking about this ever since his mum told him about this trip. 

“Okay? Where to?” Louis asks, mouth full. 

“South of Italy. It's one of those trips my dad organises when my mum gets mad at him for finding out he's sleeping with someone else.”

Louis drops his spoon in the bowl, clanking loudly. “Sorry what?”

Harry shrugs. “It happens a lot. Instead of divorcing, they go on holiday somewhere.”

“That's why my parents divorced then, they didn't have enough money to go on a posh holiday.” Harry didn't know this. Louis keeps dropping information about his family at the most random times. 

“Oh. Did your dad cheat?” He asks. Louis' hand stops moving on his legs, stopping casually on his thighs. 

“No, it just didn't work anymore. Mum has a new boyfriend now, I really like him.” 

“That's nice. I wish they didn't base their whole life on appearances and did that too, but yeah.” Harry realises just then that talking about his parents' issues wasn't why he started the conversation at all. “So, uh. The reason why I told you it's because if you wanted maybe to stay over? For that week.” Louis looks at him, expression unreadable. 

“Classes are starting on Monday, and I have my shifts as well. It wouldn't make much sense for me to be at your place, it's not well connected with my uni.” 

“Oh.” Harry looks down at his almost empty bowl of oatmeal. He shouldn't obviously expect anything from Louis. And yet he feels his chest getting heavy, realising that maybe he was expecting a different reaction. Enthusiastic, even. “Sorry, I didn't think this through.” There's so much he wants to say, like how much he loves waking next to Louis. How much he would love to have him in his kitchen, cooking all his meals or maybe order something greasy and eat it in bed. There's a heavy silence as Harry shifts a bit closer to Louis, breakfast forgotten. “Louis,” he whines against Louis' neck, his hand travelling down to his crotch. 

“Harry, I don't live alone,” Louis reminds him. 

“One more reason for you to come to my place,” he whispers, as he plays a bit with the hem of Louis' shorts. “We can even fuck on the kitchen counter.” He teases Louis a bit more, his fingers grazing his cock from outside his shorts. 

“Harry,” Louis hisses, and then he can hear the footsteps in the corridor, so Harry pulls back. One of the roommates appears in the kitchen, not the same one from last time. 

“Oh, hello,” he says. “You must be the famous Harry.” 

Harry catches the pained expression on Louis’ face before looking up at the flatmate. “That’s me, yes. Am I famous?” Harry smiles, and turns to Louis who's pointedly avoiding looking at him and is staring at his flatmate instead. He keeps his hand on Harry's thigh though, his thumb brushing it. They've never touched like this when other people were around. It doesn't have to mean anything, Louis is at home and feels comfortable with acting like this in the flat he lives in. 

“Yes, at least in this flat you are,” he replies. “I’m Sean.” 

“Nice to meet you, Sean. I wish I could say the same about you but Louis is a bit mysterious.” Louis pinches his thigh. Sean snorts.

“Oh I know. Bit of a grump this one, huh?” 

“I’ll leave the two of you to talk shit about me, then,” Louis says, in a grumpy tone that proves exactly what Sean just said. 

“I just need to get some water, and I’ll leave you two alone. No funny business in the kitchen, though, please.” 

“We’re adults,” Louis protests. “We know how to behave.” Harry doesn’t say anything. Louis might be an adult who knows how to behave, but he certainly cannot. 

Sean looks at them rather unconvinced before getting out of the kitchen. 

“So,” Harry says, shifting closer to Louis again, resting his head on his shoulder. He pouts. Flutter his eyelashes. This work, it always works. Louis can’t be immune to his pout. “My house, next week?” 

Louis is fighting some inner demons and it’s all over his face now. Harry isn’t even sure what he is supposed to be fighting. He is proposing a week of sex, with no flatmates who can get in the way. A whole house for themselves. Louis sighs, and kisses the tip of Harry’s nose. “Okay,” he finally says. 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Harry

I'm bored in class

 

Louis

I feel sorry for you 

 

Harry

took you an hour to answer you're useless 

 

Louis

yes well unlike you I pay attention in class

 

Harry

I just wanted to know what you are going to do to me tonight 

 

Louis

not very fun if I tell you in advance is it 

boners in class are also not that fun either 

 

Harry 

you're so boring 

does that mean that you have plans tho? :)

 

Louis

maybe

Coming back home to an empty house and the knowledge that your parents won't be back for a whole week makes Harry very happy. His mum has sent him a picture of a beach and he has been such a good son, didn't even reply with you should stay there forever. Nothing is going to ruin his good mood today. He takes a lengthy shower, puts on his favourite vanilla lotion. He waits for Louis to get there listening to one of his favourite records. Unlike Louis, his music tastes are a bit basic, he likes old school rock bands, one of the few things he has inherited from his dad. He puts on nail polish; he bought a bottle of a pink shade that reminded him of Louis’ hair colour the other day. Harry could go to a nail salon, but he likes putting it on himself, he likes how it is a bit messy this way. He is truly bad at using his hands at anything that isn’t sexual, Niall wasn’t wrong.  

Louis

just got off work be there in like 40 minutes  

 

Harry

what do you want for dinner? 

 

Louis

i can stop at tesco and buy something 

and cook for you it’s the least i can do for staying there for a week

 

Harry 

i invited you and you’re my guest so tell me what you want 

 

Louis

we can’t order food all week 

 

Harry 

yes we can don’t even think about it 

you’re not replying so i’m getting vietnamese 

 

Louis

no signal on the tube but you wouldn’t know about it 

i love vietnamese

but i am cooking tomorrow 

Harry doesn’t bother putting on much other than a t-shirt and underwear, although he was quite tempted to open the door to Louis wearing nothing at all. But dinner will be there soon, so he’ll have to postpone the seducing for later. 

Louis looks sort of comical, it is very windy outside and his hair is going in all directions, a rucksack slung on his shoulder and a bottle of wine in his hand. 

“Hey,” Harry says, leaning him to kiss Louis before he has even let him in. 

“Hey,” Louis says back in a whisper against Harry’s lips. They tingle. They linger there for a bit, kissing a bit more as if they haven’t seen each other in forever, as if Harry hasn’t gone over to Louis' place just two days before. 

“Here,” Louis says, when he pulls back and hands the bottle of wine to Harry. 

“What’s this?” Harry asks, turning the bottle in his hands. He drinks wine, sure, but he doesn’t know shit about it.  

“You paid for dinner, I brought wine. Liam knows a bit about it, so I asked him. I already forgot half of what he said, to be honest. It should be good, though.” 

“That’s nice, but you didn’t have to bring anything other than yourself,” Harry grumbles, as he watches Louis  taking off his shoes and his jacket, the rucksack abandoned on the floor. He picks it up again, and starts walking towards the stairs. He knows his way around by now. Harry follows him, pleased by that. 

Louis changes into more comfortable clothes once they’re in Harry’s room, Harry observing him from the bed. He goes to the bathroom and comes back with his hair looking a bit more in order, before he slumps down on the bed right next to Harry. 

“It’s been such a long day,” he says. Harry rolls to the side, his arm around Louis’ waist. 

“Anything bad happened?” Harry asks, as he leaves kisses all over Louis’ neck and jaw. He smells of something so distinctly Louis, he realises now, a mix of cigarette and the perfume he uses, the smell of it faint after a whole day out. 

“Not really, it’s just tiring to be in class for hours and then work after,” Louis explains. “I don’t think I’ll have a proper day of rest until my birthday.” 

“Which is?” Harry asks, curious, as he keeps kissing Louis, who turns his head just slightly so they can properly kiss, one of those slow, soft kisses that make Harry’s head spin. 

“Why? Do you want to get me a gift?” Louis asks, moving some hair out of Harry’s face. 

“Maybe, yeah. Invite you over wearing nothing but a bow on my dick.” 

Louis chuckles. “It’s a pity you won’t be able to do that. I’ll be home for Christmas. My birthday’s on the 24th.” 

“Oh. Well, when you get back then.” 

“Would love that, yeah,” Louis says, before kissing Harry again, combing Harry’s hair with his fingers. They don’t talk about the fact that it’s September and they’re already making plans for December, like it’s obvious that they would still be seeing each other by then. 

All the takeout containers are sprawled on the kitchen table. There are quite a few of them. Harry might’ve exaggerated just a bit. 

“Were you planning on feeding the whole neighbourhood?” Louis teases him.

“You weren’t answering, so I picked a few different things just to be sure,” Harry explains, scratching the back of his neck. They haven’t eaten together enough times to know what the other likes. He doesn’t know if Louis is a picky eater or someone who likes everything. He did go on a rant once about the importance of reducing meat consumption, so he got a lot of vegan options. 

Louis goes through all the containers and chooses something with tofu, so that feels like a win for Harry. He also decides to get one of the vegan ones too, because he’s curious. 

They eat their noodles on the couch, as they watch a show on the telly that they both barely pay attention to, reruns of an old sit-com. They talk over it for the most part, Harry asks Louis about his birthday because he’s curious to know how it feels to be born so close to Christmas.

“‘s fine,” Louis replies, mouth half-full. “I always get two gifts anyway.” He turns to Harry then, slurping some of the noodles and making a ridiculous sound that makes Harry laugh. He smiles, proudly of his accomplishment. “When is yours, by the way?” 

“My birthday? February 1st,” Harry replies. Louis’ lips are stained all red, because of the sauce of his noodles. “Is the food good?” 

“Yeah,” Louis replies. “I think I changed my mind. We can order this for every meal.” 

They talk a lot about food then, and make some sort of plan for the next few days. They won’t be able to see each other much during the day between classes and Louis’ job, and Harry feels like a housewife who waits for her husband at home every evening. They make plans, there’s a concert Louis wants to go over the weekend. Harry doesn’t think he has ever made so many plans before that weren’t imposed by his parents. A whole week of good food, fucking and, apparently, concerts too. He shifts closer to Louis when they’re done eating, snuggling into him. Louis has his hands in his hair again, caressing him. 

“I have a very early shift tomorrow,” Louis tells him after a while, both of them already tired despite it not being that late. “Do you mind if we go upstairs?” 

“Mmh,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ neck. 

“I need to take a shower,” Louis adds then. “If you want to join me.” 

“You sure know how to motivate me.” 

“Kinda know you by now, princess.” The soft way Louis says this, makes something stir inside of Harry. He raises his head so he can kiss Louis. 

“There’s no need to know me that well to know that I’m horny all the time,” he says. 

Louis laughs softly against his lips. “Let’s go,” he says, moving his hand to Harry’s arse so he can slap it. Louis does know him that well, after all.  

Harry doesn’t know how long they stay under the shower, his bathroom smelling like coconut and vanilla, Louis making fun of him for liking such sickening sweet flavours. 

“What, are you scared that would dim your masculinity?” Harry teases, hands on Louis’ arse to push him closer to him, their dicks still not hard despite being in the shower for a while. They’re getting used to being around each other naked, the novelty wearing off, and yet Harry is not bored by it. Quite the opposite really. 

“Yeah,” Louis replies. “With this pink hair, I sure worry about that a lot.” The pink-coloured water drips down Louis’ body, the colour still so fresh it still stains everything anytime the hair gets wet. They kiss lazily for a while under the hot spray of water, until Louis' hand trails down Harry’s back, until it reaches his bum, his fingers slowly grazing Harry’s hole. “Harry,” he whispers, as Harry whimpers at the touch. “want to tie you up.”

“Oh,” is all Harry manages to say. 

“You like the idea?” Louis asks, sounding almost sheepish as he kisses Harry’s neck. “Is it okay with your nipple piercing still healing?” 

Being cared for is such a nice feeling. It almost makes Harry weep, even if they’re talking about something like being tied up in bed. “I think so, yeah.” They kiss again, this time with a different intention, ravenous, teeth clashing, lips getting bitten, chasing friction as they grind into each other, their cocks getting hard now. 

“We need to get out of the shower, princess,” Louis points out, voice low and panting already. Harry manages to close the faucet without turning towards it, the only sounds in the room now those of their heavy breaths. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, although he doesn’t take his hands off Louis. 

They manage to get out of the shower shortly after, quickly drying themselves before getting into bed, Louis on top of him, Harry’s arms outstretched over his head, Louis pinning his wrists on the bed. 

“Does it hurt?” He asks, concern showing all over his face. It is ridiculous, but this is turning Harry on almost as much as his hands pinned down. 

“No, nipple is safe,” he sort of jokes, although it comes out in a croak. “Do you have anything to –” Harry starts to say, and Louis shakes his head. “Take one of my ties from my wardrobe?” 

Louis leans down to kiss him one more time. “Don’t move,” he orders, and gets up from the bed. Harry stays like that, his arms outstretched, and admires the view, Louis naked and rummaging through his wardrobe, not giving him any indications of where his ties might be just so he can have this view of his arse for a bit longer. 

Louis comes back to bed holding a tie that was a gift from his parents a couple of Christmases ago, and it makes Harry smile. He won’t tell them about it maybe, but he will think about this moment every time he will wear this tie. How Louis straddled him, and then carefully tied his wrists together, asking Harry if it was too tight. 

Harry doesn’t dare to use the word romantic, that would be too much, but it is  more than just sex by now. Even doing something like this, there is some tenderness at the bottom of it all. Even when Louis is licking his arsehole and pushing his tongue inside of Harry, it is not just sex. Harry trembles and trashes on the bed, his hands firmly tied together, and he realises that the sex feels even better than the beginning because they’re starting to know each other better. 

“You’re not gonna come until I tell you, princess,” Louis says, when he has pulled back, his head resting on his thigh, and Harry nods, despite being so far gone already that he doesn’t know how he will do it. But Louis could convince Harry to do anything, with just a flutter of his eyelashes. 

Louis moves away for a moment, and Harry hates the lack of contact, whines even if he knows that Louis is just taking the lube and the condoms out of the drawer. Louis takes his time coating his fingers with the lube. Harry’s arms are starting to hurt, but he doesn’t say anything. He likes it. He also likes feeling Louis’ fingers pressed inside of him, brushing his prostate, Harry thrusting desperately against them, desperate for something that Louis hasn’t allowed him to feel yet. 

“Louis,” he begs. “Get inside of me.” 

“Patience, princess,” he says, and they both smile, because he hasn’t said that in a while. Everything has gotten softer, since that first time he said it. “I just want to admire you a bit longer,” he adds. He takes out his fingers, and Louis sucks one of his thighs in the meanwhile, before pulling away to put the condom on. Louis slowly gets inside of Harry, his body so pliant, as he tries to fight his orgasm before Louis has even moved inside of him. Just the feeling of having Louis inside of him is too much. Everything feels too much tonight. But then he starts to move and everything becomes even more loaded, his body just a giant vector for electricity and nothing more. 

“Louis,” he cries out, loud and desperate. Louis doesn’t reply, but thrust deeper into him. His arms start to hurt more right now, his muscles so tense. His whole upper body is on fire by now. “Let me come, Louis,” he begs. He can’t even let his finger grip at something like he would usually do, he can’t channel this energy anywhere else. 

“Beg some more, princess,” Louis growls, another thrust. 

“Please,” Harry says, his voice now lower. “Please, babe.” Harry has never called him that before, he has never called him anything but Louis. And Louis knows this as well, because he freezes for a second, before he thrusts again.

“You can come,” he finally allows Harry, and Harry sighs in relief, finally coming all over his stomach, Louis following soon after and collapsing on top of Harry, panting against his chest. He peppers kisses all over Harry’s chest, his neck, his jaw. Kisses his mouth. “Does it hurt?” 

“A bit,” Harry admits in a murmur. “But it’s fine.” 

Louis frowns. “You need to tell me if it hurts, okay? We’re not doing this again if you’re not communicating with me.” 

Harry nods. “I would’ve. But it’s fine, like I said.” 

Louis doesn’t look entirely convinced as he plants yet another kiss on Harry’s forehead, and finally pulls out. He doesn’t leave immediately like he often did, though, but rolls to the side, caressing Harry’s side and leaving kisses all over there as well. Every gesture is so caring and fuck, now he sort of gets people when they say that the sex in itself sometimes isn’t even the better part of sex. He has never cared enough to get that, he thought it was a thing people made up because they weren’t fucking the right people. But the truth is, he was the one who wasn’t fucking the right people. Because sex with Louis is something else, and now he’s being so gentle before he slowly unwraps his arms and Harry shakes them, bringing them down, a sigh of relief. 

“It hurts too much and you won’t admit it,” Louis grumbles, as he kisses his shoulder. 

“I promise it doesn’t.” 

Louis doesn’t look too convinced as he gets out of bed to throw out the condom in the bathroom, quickly back to lie next to Harry and touch his arm, leaving kisses everywhere. They fall asleep just like that, into each other’s arms.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The alarm starts ringing and it’s still dark outside. Harry is confused. He’s sure he’s never set his alarm so early. But then, as his body slowly regains consciousness, he feels Louis’ body pressed against his and he remembers. His early shift at work. 

“What time is it?” He grumbles.

“Five,” Louis replies. “Go back to sleep.” 

Harry doesn’t, though, and flips over so he can face Louis. A thought, a ridiculous thought that only his hazy brain at five am could conjure, forms in his brain as he kisses Louis. Morning kisses are so gross and disgusting but not with Louis. Harry hates that. Harry loves that. “I can take you,” he says, his thoughts now turned into words, because it's five in the morning and he hasn’t slept enough to stop his mouth from running faster than his brain. 

“Take me?” Louis replies, confused. 

“Mmh. Can take you to work by car, so you don’t have to freeze your beautiful arse outside.” 

He knows Louis well enough by now to know that he will refuse and that Harry will have to insist a while longer, and this is exactly what happens. They’re in the car a while later, after drinking some coffee that doesn’t truly do much. Nothing can wake you up at five am, except maybe some sex, but they have no time for that. 

It’s so cold in the garage as Harry takes the car. He hates driving, he never does it when he’s in London unless it’s an emergency and he guesses this is an emergency. He couldn’t let Louis go out so early and take the tube, as much as he kept saying how he does this almost every day and it’s fine. 

“You’re doing this just because you want to know where I work,” Louis grumbles as they’re getting in the car. 

“I’m so tired I didn’t even think of that. I was just worrying about you.” 

Louis purses his lips and looks at him like he doesn’t believe him. “It’s the one in Piccadilly.” 

Harry smirks and turns the engine on. 

“Why didn’t you want me to know?” Harry asks not long after, because if they don’t say anything he might fall asleep. London, just like him, is slowly waking up, the streets almost completely deserted. He can’t believe he’s going around town so early and he’s not because he just left a club. Everything is changing so quickly in Harry’s life. 

“I –” Louis sighs. “I just don’t want you to see me, like. There. I like that you see me only when I’m doing a concert or, you know, at home when I can be myself.” 

“You think very highly of me if you think I would hate you if I saw you wearing your barista apron,” Harry complains.” If anything, I’d probably want you to fuck me in that in the bathroom of the cafè.” 

“Flattering,” Louis grumbles. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just… you go to people’s private islands, and Zayn’s dad is on the telly like every other week and I’m just a barista. Sorry if I’m like, scared that you don’t want to be seen with me after seeing me in, like, real life.” 

“I admire you because you have a job and lead the life you want to lead. I can’t really say the same.” They’re suddenly having a profound conversation at dawn, driving to Piccadilly Circus. 

“Thank you,” Louis finally says. “You could do it, though, you know. I know you can.” 

“I think you overestimate me.” 

“I’m quite sure I don’t overestimate you, Harry,” Louis says, in that tone of voice that Harry has by now dubbed his therapist voice. It’s too early to be psychoanalysed. Not that it’s ever the right time for him. 

Harry scoffs and changes the subject after that, telling Louis a story of that one time that he ended up at Piccadilly at five in the morning with Zayn, both of them high out of their minds. Louis allows the change of topic, thankfully, but Harry knows they will talk about it again. They have a whole week, after all. 

When they get there, it’s early. There is no way to park around that area, so they stay in the car until it’s time for Louis to start his shift. They kiss, and it’s the first time that they’re kissing in public, Harry realises, although it barely counts since there are not that many people around. But it still makes something flutter inside Harry’s stomach. 

“Have a good day at work, honey,” Harry says, parroting an American movie, so he can have a distraction from the butterflies. Louis snorts and gets out of the car. He stays there a bit longer to watch Louis get inside the store, and when he turns just a second to look at Harry and smile at him, well, the butterflies come back  with a certain insistence. 

They get into a routine. It’s just a week and Harry tries not to get too used to it, but he does. And he loves every second of it. He even enjoys classes more, knowing that when he'll be done with them he’ll either meet Louis somewhere around town or wait for him at home. They finish the leftovers from the Vietnamese place the first day, and after that Louis insists that he wants to cook but Harry keeps ordering something from a different place every night. Pizza, or Indian, Lebanese. They always eat on the couch, with a movie in the background they barely watch. One night, they blow each other there, the movie still going on the telly. 

On the weekend, they go to that concert Louis wanted to go to. Most of his friends are there, and Harry invited Zayn and Niall as well. It's some indie rock band, nothing like the dingy clubs they go to for Louis’ concerts. Thomas is, regrettably, also there. Harry never leaves Louis' side the whole evening, hand casually resting somewhere on his body all the time. His head resting on Louis' shoulder, a shared drink. The music is nice and Harry might even add some of the songs to his playlist. A love song, stolen glances and a quick kiss when no one is watching. He doesn’t know if he actually likes the music or just how being out with Louis and his friends make him feel. 

It wouldn't be a concert without a joint smoked after the concert outside the venue. Zayn's eyes linger where Harry's hand is resting on Louis' hip. He passes the joint to Harry with a look that says, we'll talk about this later. 

“Were you jealous?” Louis asks when they're back home. They're taking off their clothes and about to head into the shower, sweaty and smelly after the concert. 

“Jealous? No, why?” Harry lies, as he takes off his underwear. 

“You never, like, left my side. And I know that Liam told you about Thomas.” 

“Did it bother you?” Harry asks, cocking his head to the side, hands on his hip. He must look comical, all naked and with that pose. But Louis doesn't laugh, just smiles softly. 

“Not at all, no. I sort of like that you know and that it made you jealous.” 

“But I was not jealous,” Harry mumbles, although he is sure his tone betrays him. Louis’ satisfied smile is proof of that.

Louis eats him out in the shower. Harry comes after Louis lets him touch himself, his cum spilling all over Louis' face. Louis had turned off the faucet just before so it wouldn't wash off immediately and Harry is mesmerised. He didn’t think this night could get any better.

“Are you fucking him?” Harry asks later when they're in bed, in the haze of the late night when everything seems to be allowed. It feels wrong to ask when they’re cuddling, but the doubt has consumed him for weeks now. 

“Who?” Louis asks, and Harry can see his frown even in the feeble night light. 

“Thomas? Like, we don’t really, you know. You can do whatever.” 

“I'm literally spending all my free time with you, so even if I wanted to –” 

“So you want to?” 

“No, Harry I don't want –” Louis sighs loudly.  “I'm not the one who invites him there, he just shows up with the others. We have too many friends in common and it's annoying really.”

“Sorry. I didn't want to upset you.” 

“You didn't upset me, he upsets me. Have you ever had an ex like that, maybe –”

“I don't really have an ex,” Harry confesses. 

“Oh,” Louis says, and there is a hint of sadness in his voice. Harry wants to make a joke about this being the longest situationship he's ever been in but it doesn't feel right. So he just murmurs something as he hides his face in Louis' neck. There is just something special about Louis using his shower product and smelling like vanilla. It's comforting and familiar and it makes him fall asleep in his arms so easily. Like he's home. It is a good thing he is already half asleep and he won't remember thinking that in the morning.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“I

“I'm surprised you have a day off on Sunday,” Harry tells him the next morning, when Louis has finally convinced Harry to go grocery shopping so he can cook something for lunch. He doesn't know why they have to leave the comfort of the house when it's so cold and windy outside and might start raining at any moment, but Harry has given up to the power Louis has over him and he's even leaving the house on a Sunday morning. For groceries. 

“Perks of having worked there for years,” Louis says, his hands in his jacket’s pockets. He looks so tiny, all curled up on himself to shield himself from the wind and Harry wants to kiss him so badly, so he does. Louis cocks an eyebrow. “What was there for? Out of pity for me working at Costa?”

“No. Because you looked cute, that's all.” 

Louis doesn't look entirely convinced. “Mmh. Anyway, yeah. I started working there when I moved to London, so it's been a while now.”

“You know you can, like. Talk to me about it. If your colleagues are being a pain in the arse or something. If someone's not treating you right I'll come over and punch them.” 

Louis chuckles. “Thank you. I'm perfectly capable of punching them myself, though.” 

They end up buying a lot more than originally planned because Louis ends up suggesting they should do a chickpea curry for the evening and Harry could never say no to a good curry. They walk fast back home under the rain, both of them with their arms heavy with grocery bags. 

When they tumble back inside the house they're both laughing hysterically, entering the kitchen dripping, a trail of water behind them. 

They unpack everything and Louis makes fun of Harry because he's not exactly sure where some things are supposed to go, filling up cabinets randomly. When they're done, they quickly change into warm clothes before heading back to the kitchen, Louis taking out pots and pans and utensils that Harry didn't even know they owned. His parents probably don't know that either.

He's making pasta, and he keeps saying that it's not special but it is for Harry. No one has ever cooked for him, not even Zayn because he is just as spoiled as Harry is. At some point he gets up and hugs Louis from behind. 

“Don't distract me, I don't want to overcook the pasta,” Louis complains when Harry starts kissing him, although he doesn't pull back, leaning his head on Harry's chest.

“Sorry. You look cute wearing my clothes,” Harry murmurs against his mouth.

“Yeah?” A smile spreads on Louis' lips, wide and earnest. 

“Mmh. you always look cute, by the way. You're –” Harry sighs, as if he can't believe he's saying all of this, so instead he kisses Louis again, and then reluctantly pulls back. 

His only duty is cutting onions for the sauce. Harry's eyes sting and he complains like he was sent to war. Louis is having the time of his life, but after making fun of him he kisses Harry's eyelids. 

“My mum always kissed me where it hurt as a kid, a certified method.” Harry smiles bitterly. He never had that. 

Louis makes a tomato sauce with lentils, a sort of vegan bolognese that fills the kitchen with all the flavours mixed in the pot, a warm feeling spreading through Harry as Louis makes him taste the sauce with a wooden spoon. 

“Oh my god,” Harry moans, mouth still half full. 

“You don't even sound like that when I fuck you,” Louis teases. 

“Yes, well, I guess you'll have to up your game.” Harry winks as Louis rolls his eyes, and steals some more sauce with his finger, sucking it obscenely. 

“Get your hands off my sauce,” Louis protests, batting Harry's hand with the wooden spoon when he tries to get some more. 

After lunch, Harry takes out an old guitar that belonged to his dad, which was abandoned in a room for so long that it is covered in dust. Louis refuses to play it at first, saying that he doesn't want to make a fool out of himself, but Harry has some strong convincing methods and Louis gives up. It is a lot different than what he does on stage of course, his voice softer and lower, almost shy, nothing compared to the man on stage who shouts lyrics against the government. His fringe falls into his eyes, his head bent down as he avoids any eye contact with Harry. 

“You mimic blowjobs to the microphone and now you can't sing the Beatles to me.” 

“It's harder to sing for an audience of one,” Louis mutters. “Any requests?” He asks, looking up at Harry finally. Harry smiles. 

“I don't have any, whatever you like. I love your voice either way.” 

Louis plays for a while, and Harry gets lost in his voice, he even plays some of the songs he sings at concerts in an acoustic version, and Harry has to admit that they're not that bad when he's not playing with the rest of the band. They're good songs, even. He lets himself be lulled by Louis’ voice, and thinks how this is how he wants to spend every Sunday from now on. Cooking together in the kitchen, a private concert. And then, after, back in the bedroom, Louis fucking him once again. Cooking again, when they're hungry again, from the sex and the weed they smoked right after, naked on the windowsill. It's simple, but it's nothing like anything Harry had before. He didn't think he could ever feel like this. Content. 

The last few days Louis stays over are a bit more hectic. They're only together in the evening and it's not enough – Harry spends his days in classes thinking about him. He’s never been particularly interested in what he’s studying to begin with, but his whole brain seems to have been rewired by Louis. He goes out for lunch with Zayn and that’s all he can talk about. He tells him all about their lazy Sunday at home, and Zayn studies him like he always does, with narrowed eyes, and when Zayn does that Harry knows he’s about to hit him with one of his philosophical thoughts. 

“So,” Zayn starts to say when Harry is done talking, sipping his glass of water with great calm, like he knows Harry is dying in the anticipation of what he’s about to say and he’s taking his time. “We've known each other all our lives and you know how hard it is for you to let people in. It's nice to see you like this. Louis is a lovely guy. I can tell he cares for you, too.” 

Harry wants to bite back with some sarcastic remark. Cock his head to the side and smile, saying I don't know what you're talking about. It's an act that works with most people, but Zayn isn't most people, he can read right through him. So he stays silent, looking at his best friend. He's terrified of admitting out loud that he does care about Louis. 

“You know, it started out like it always does, I just wanted to fuck him. I mean, you were there, you saw it happen in real time. And then I don't really know what happened but. Zayn, this is awful. My parents are coming back tomorrow and the idea of coming back home and not finding him there is destroying me. I want to see him every day. And fall asleep together with him every night.” He puts his hands on his face, elbows propped on the table. A fork falls in the process, but he doesn't care. “It's awful,” he repeats. 

“It's not awful. It's very sweet. But I get why you might feel scared, it's the first time this happens to you.” 

Harry sighs and puts his arms down on the table, and Zayn takes one of Harry's hands in his. “What is happening to me?”

“Do you want me to spell it out loud? I have a feeling it would scare you even more.” 

Harry shakes his head. A waiter walks by and picks up the fork. “I'm sorry, sir, I'll immediately bring you a new one.” Harry thanks him, smiling, realising just then his eyes are full of tears. He sniffs. 

“It's just, like. It's the best sex I've ever had and maybe it's because – well, it's because it’s something more than sex.” 

Zayn nods knowingly. The waiter comes back with a clean fork and asks them if they would like something else to eat. They order, like they always do when they come here, a tiramisu to split. Harry sends a picture to Louis and asks him if he could make that. 

That evening, Louis comes back home with all the ingredients and quickly whips together the dessert. Harry insists that he wants to try it immediately, but it has to stay in the fridge for a few hours. He doesn't mind the wait. It's Louis' last night here and he doesn't want to go to sleep anyway. He can even eat the tiramisu at two for all he cares. They eat the last leftovers of the curry from the other night and then move upstairs. Harry wonders if Louis feels it too, the heaviness of this night. He probably does, as he's not as chatty as he usually is. Maybe he's just tired. Louis eats him out slowly, and no matter how many times they do this Harry always comes apart. He's on all fours, propped on his elbows, and the angle lets Louis’ tongue get even deeper inside of him. Harry thrusts against it, and when Louis pulls away he whimpers loudly. 

Louis slaps him. “Be quiet, princess.” Harry loves this. He loves that his arse will still be sore in the morning, signs from Louis' hand on his arse still visible when he is gone. He doesn't know why he's being so overdramatic, he will most likely go to Louis' place during the weekend anyway. But this has been so special and it feels like breaking a spell somehow. His thoughts thankfully are all taken over by Louis' fingers inside of him, and anytime Harry moans too loud Louis slaps him. It stings in the right way, and when Louis is finally inside of him he doesn't know how he holds back his orgasm. Louis hasn't ordered him anything, it's just him that wants to, wants this to last forever. But then Louis has his fingers around Harry's cock, stroking it, and it takes him saying “come for me, princess,” to do exactly as he's told. He tries not to collapse on the bed with Louis still inside of him, tries to keep still as Louis hasn't come yet, his hand still around his cock, getting him through his orgasm. Then he moves his hand away, and pulls out. Before he realises what's happening, there's a liquid dripping down his back, and Harry realises it's Louis who's taken off the condom and came all over his back. Harry collapses down on the bed then, and Louis is over him, licking his own come mixed with Harry's sweat. He wishes he could see this. Just the sensation of Louis' tongue on his back is enough to make his whole body shiver. Louis rolls to the side then, lying next to Harry, kissing lazily for a while, and Harry tastes Louis come and his own sweat on his tongue, and it’s supposed to be disgusting but Harry loves it, loves everything that relates to Louis. 

Louis moves his hand down Harry’s back, caressing his arse. “Does it hurt?” 

“It stings a bit,” Harry confesses. “But, like. In a good way. I will sit in class tomorrow and maybe it will hurt a little and I will think about you.” 

“Shit, Harry, you’re so —” Louis interrupts whatever he was going to say and kisses Harry again. They should shower, maybe, but they stay in bed, kissing some more, until eventually they're hard again, getting each other off. Harry doesn't think he will get enough of Louis tonight, and even later when they shower they barely keep their hands off of each other, both of them carefully washing the other, peppering kisses all over. 

When they get out of the shower, Louis deems it late enough for them to eat the tiramisù. 

“This is better than the restaurant,” Harry says, mouth still full. 

“You're just saying this because I made you come twice and your mind is still hazy.” 

“I'm saying it because it's objectively true,” Harry argues, scooping some more of the tiramisù, looking directly into Louis’ eyes. He wants to commit to memory every single instant of this night. “You should make me come a third time as well.” 

Louis raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smile on his face, as he scoops some more of the dessert as well. “Always at your service, princess.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It rains when they leave home the next morning, Louis with his rucksack on his shoulders. Harry can’t stop kissing him on the porch, despite Louis saying that he will be late for class if they keep doing that. 

“I wouldn’t want you to be late for work,” Harry murmurs as he kisses his neck, “but class, who cares.” 

Louis chuckles, but doesn’t pull away. “I care,” he says, but he’s not too convinced, as he wraps his arms around Harry’s neck. 

They manage to get away from each other, with more kisses under the rain and the promise of seeing each other during the weekend. Harry doesn’t know why he’s so clingy, why he needs so much reassurance today. He’s somehow terrified that Louis will be tired of him by now, after a whole week together. But Louis promises that he will cook for him on Friday night, that he has a lot more curries he wants Harry to try. Harry feels lighter, even if he knows that he will find his parents back home once he gets back home from uni today. 

He has barely heard from them all week, just a few pictures of landscapes here and there. Harry has barely updated them on what he was up to, and they didn’t ask. During class, he wonders what it must feel like to have a mum like the one Louis has. He told him that she knows all about his relationships, the boyfriends he had in the past. She was the first person he ever came out to. She calls him almost every day – sometimes when they were together, and the causal way in which Louis told her that he was with Harry made the butterflies in his stomach grow even bigger wings, fluttering insistently. 

Louis

how’s class 

 

Harry

boring 

 

He types something and cancels it about a thousand times. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to say what he’s thinking. He should ask Zayn or Niall, maybe. They know a lot more about these things. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to admit that he misses Louis already when they’re not even technically together. They’ve never talked about it. But then he gets a message from his mum saying that they’re at the airport, and decides to send it anyway. 

Harry

i miss you already 

 

Louis

i miss you too 

Louis' answer comes immediately, he doesn’t wait ages like Harry has done. He wonders if Louis had their chat opened, if he saw the writing bubble appear and disappear a thousand times. It’s fine, anyway. Louis misses him too. It makes him survive the rest of the day. They text a lot throughout the day, and in the evening when he’s on his way back home, Harry thinks that nothing could ruin his mood. He is going to say to his parents welcome back, reheat whatever is left of the pasta Louis cooked and go back to his room. Study a bit, even. 

But when he enters the house, he can feel there is something off. He doesn’t know why, but he can tell. Something bone chilling, like the atmosphere in a horror movie before the main character discovers a dead body or a ghost in the house. There are no dead bodies or ghosts in the house, but just his parents. He would rather take the ghosts or demons. They’re in the living room watching something on the telly, and Harry just quickly says hi to them, wants to run up to his room, take a shower before dinner. But his mum gets up from the couch, a somber expression on her face. 

“We need to talk,” she says in lieu of hello. His dad turns off the television and gets up too. He’s frowning, and Harry wonders if something bad happened, like a plummet of his shares in the stock market. Harry doesn’t understand anything about all of that, even if he’s technically studying it. Maybe they’re about to tell him that they suddenly lost all of their money and they’ll have to move. 

“Sit down, Harry,” his dad says, gesturing towards the couch. Harry slowly walks towards the couch, doing as he’s told. He has no idea what is going on. Are they getting a divorce, finally? Harry would love that. His parents sit on the couch on the side, with those grave expressions on their faces. 

“We need to talk,” his father repeats. Harry doesn’t reply, just raises an eyebrow. “We let you do whatever you wanted until now. Let you grow your hair, wear the clothes you want. I hope you realise, though, that you will have to get it all out of your system before you start to work for me next year. Sleep with men all you want now. Wear nail polish." He looks down at Harry’s hands with disgust, and he instinctively crosses his arms on his chest to hide his fingers, the chipped pink nail polish a reminder of the beautiful week he just lived. “You let it out of your system now,” his dad repeats to get his point across. “And next year you’ll cut your hair, wear suits to work. You’ll find a nice girl to date.” His mum doesn’t say a word, sitting next to her cheating husband and nodding. They’re both so pathetic, Harry thinks, as he feels his eyes fill with tears. He doesn’t want to cry, he doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing that his dad’s words are hurting him. 

“There’s – this isn’t something I’m letting out of my system. This is who I am,” Harry bites back, but with every word it is harder to fight the tears. 

“I’m not allowing you to taunt the Styles' name,” his father says through gritted teeth. “We have a reputation. What would people say, seeing you walk in the office looking like –” Harry braces himself. It wouldn’t be his dad’s first time calling him a slur. “Wearing women’s clothes.” That’s soft, compared to his standards. 

“You have to understand, Harry. Adult life is something else. You can have fun now, God knows we all did.” His mum laughs nervously. “But you’ll have to take responsibility. Not everyone is as lucky as you are, son. You have a career already planned for you. You will take over your dad one day, you do understand what that means, don’t you?” 

“How’s that lucky?” Harry spits out. 

“You’re lucky because most people your age don’t have the opportunities you have. By thirty you will have a good job, a beautiful house. A family, most likely,” his dad explains. “My dad would never have allowed me to do the things you’re doing. You’re lucky, Harry, and you don’t even realise how much you are.” 

Harry scoffs. “So lucky. You’re telling me that I have to pretend to be a different person to live my life.” 

“Most people do that,” his father says. 

“What if I don’t want to?” Harry gets up from the couch, suddenly raising his voice. “What if I don’t want any of this – the beautiful house, the job, a wife. What if I want a husband instead?” 

His mum widens her eyes, shocked. “If this is about the boy you had over this week, Harry, you can still see him as long as it’s not public.” 

Harry is shocked. How do they know this? But then he remembers. Of course they have seen it. There are cameras all over. “I’m not keeping my boyfriend a secret,” he finds himself saying. They haven’t even talked about this but he finds out that he would like Louis to be. Maybe he will tell him during the weekend. He’s trembling now, he can’t even enjoy the shocked looks on his parents faces. He has never raised his voice at them like this before. Maybe because he never had something worth fighting for, before. His father gets up from the couch too then, coming close to Harry. When he was a kid, it was always scary to see his dad like that. But now Harry is not scared. His dad isn’t taller than him anymore, and all Harry sees is a pathetic man standing in front of him, his nostrils flaring. A man who has lived a life of lies just for the sake of money. A man who doesn’t love his wife but keeps her around just to bring her to parties. A man who’s never been anything but a terrible father. Harry wants to spit at him, but refrains from doing so. He knows that using the word boyfriend in front of him was enough for now. 

“Don’t ever raise your voice at me like that ever again, son. Now go to your room, we’ll speak more calmly in the morning.” 

Harry breathes heavily, doesn’t look away. “I’m not changing my mind in the morning,” he says, his voice lower now. “You’re pathetic,” he adds, before storming out of the living room and then running up the stairs, the tears streaming down his face. He locks himself in his room, and he cries, cries until he’s exhausted. Harry loses track of time, he can hear his parents laughing in the corridor at some point, like they’re mocking him. That whole conversation meant nothing to them, while it crushed Harry. He cries again, trying not to be too loud, he doesn’t want them to know how badly he’s doing. He picks up his phone at one point just to check how late it is. It’s not even midnight. There are few messages from Zayn and Niall, some in the group chat from one of his courses. Then there’s Louis, who has sent several texts. He doesn’t even look at them, and leaves the phone on his bed. His stomach suddenly grumbles. The house seems quiet, so he dares to finally leave his room. He tiptoes downstairs. All the lights are off, so his parents are already in bed. 

Harry opens the fridge, all the leftover food that Louis cooked still there. He reheats the pasta, and then eats another piece of the tiramisù. He thinks of how different everything was, twenty four hours before, when he ate it there in the kitchen with Louis, when he felt so happy he thought his heart might burst out of his chest. He cries again, the tears mixing with the dessert in his mouth. It tastes a bit salty. It’s then, in the silence of the kitchen in the middle of the night, his stomach full of Louis’ food, that Harry realises what he wants. He has a plan. And if he doesn’t put it in action right now, he might never find the courage ever again. 

He calmly puts all the silverware and plates he used in the dishwasher, and heads back upstairs and fills a rucksack with some of his clothes. He doesn’t bother changing, even if he’s wearing the same clothes he was wearing in the morning. He takes the cash he has hidden in a drawer, the money he keeps from when he has to buy drugs. It’s not a lot, but still enough for him to survive for a bit. He fills the rucksack with whatever he can think of right now. He could’ve planned this differently, but he wants to be out of the house as fast as possible. 

He looks around the room, probably for the last time. He hopes it’s the last time. He closes the door, and slowly heads downstairs, calling an Uber as he does. He tries to close the main door as quietly as possible, but he knows that his parents never wake up in the middle of the night. They never did when he was a kid and cried loudly when he had a nightmare. 

It’s raining, again. He doesn’t care though, he lets himself get soaked as he waits for his Uber on the driveway. He can see the driver looking at him a bit funny, when he stops in front of him. Who knows what he’s thinking. When Harry gets inside and greets the driver politely, the man asks him if he’s okay. That makes Harry cry again. He tries not to let it show. 

“‘m fine,” he replies, rather unconvincingly. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Uh, yeah. I will be fine, once I reach my destination.” That seems to convince the driver, who is playing a classic rock station on the radio. That calms Harry down a bit. He checks his messages, doesn’t reply to Zayn and Niall though. He will tell him where he is in the morning. He checks Louis’ messages then – there are a few of them, a selfie of him in front of the stove, and then one of his dinner. It looks delicious. Even the food makes Harry cry now. Then, a more recent text, from about half an hour ago. 

Louis

hey i don’t want to be that person 

but I’m getting worried you haven’t answered in a while 

is everything ok with your parents? 

That obviously makes him cry even harder. He tries not to sob in front of his Uber driver, that would be embarrassing. 

Harry

are you still awake? 

He hasn’t thought this through, obviously, because if Louis is asleep where is he going to go for the night? He can’t go to Zayn’s, his parents would probably rat him out. Maybe at Niall’s place, or maybe a hotel, he has enough money for it. But he hasn’t thought rationally in hours now. It is a miracle he has even packed a toothbrush. 

Louis

i am 

are you okay? 

 

Harry

not really 

is it fine if i come over? i’m sorry it’s late 

 

Louis 

of course

 

Harry

ok i’m in a uber i should be there in 15 minutes 

Louis replies with a heart, which he has never done before if not sarcastically. That doesn't help stop Harry’s tears. He replies with a heart too, and then spends the rest of the ride looking outside the window, the night London city lights blurred through the tears.