Chapter Text
WE’LL CALL THIS WHAT YOU LIKE
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CHAPTER ONE
You’d think by the age of nineteen your parents wouldn’t force you into things anymore.
Not Harry’s parents, though. Nope, his evil parents were shipping Harry off to be a live-in friend for a stranger. A live-in friend for a stranger. What kind of parents sent their nineteen-year-old son off to live with a stranger for the entire summer?
Actually, what kind of sad little freak needed a live-in friend?
Most people Harry’s age were spending their summer getting drunk in fields and going to festivals and stumbling out of clubs at three in the morning with a kebab and a shag. Harry was spending his living with some rich guy he'd never met who probably owned three horses and collected stamps, all because his mum had spent the last two weeks emotionally blackmailing him.
Oh, but I’ve known his mum since I was a little girl. Okay, and Harry had never even met her. Oh, but she’s going away for the summer and doesn’t want to leave him alone. Okay, the guy was twenty-three not twelve. Oh, but his dad died last year. Unfortunately, that one got Harry giving up all of his dramatic attempts to get out of it.
Definitely wasn’t the fact that his mum had also slid in a lovely little oh, but he's also gay in there. Harry did have a heart... that loved men.
Still, he didn’t really understand how Louis' dad had died just last year and his mum was already swanning off to France with this new boyfriend of hers. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, Harry supposed. Though he didn’t expect a widow to take that approach.
It was fine. He’d be fine as long as the guy didn’t trauma dump on him or beg him to sleep top and tail because he also couldn’t sleep alone on top of living alone. Unless he was fit. Then Harry might need to make up his own little sob story about how he couldn’t sleep alone. And naked. He would definitely now sleep naked.
Oh god, what if he was fit? What if Harry had to survive three months trying not to pounce on the guy— no. Horses and stamps. Horses and stamps. Harry would ride him like a horse—
“Are you there yet?”
He was there alright, had been sitting in his car staring at the bloody house for a whole twenty minutes, completely forgetting that his mum was even on the phone.
She had this annoying habit where she’d also forget Harry was on the phone and go off and do her own thing, leaving Harry there listening to her faff around in the background but feeling too guilty to end the call.
“Yep,” he finally said, unclipping his seatbelt and pushing the door open. “Time to kill myself.”
His mum ignored that last part completely. “Good. I spoke to Louis’ mum this morning, she’s just landed in—”
“France,” Harry cut in, taking her off speaker and wedging his phone awkwardly between his shoulder and ear as he climbed out of the car.
It was a bit embarrassing actually, pulling up to this big fancy house in his shitty little battered Corsa that he’d bought off his uncle who wasn’t actually his uncle but still got called uncle anyway (Harry didn’t understand it either) for six hundred quid an hour after getting his drivers licence.
“Yes, France. She’s very grateful you’re doing this, Harry—“
Harry tuned her out, shoving the car door shut with his hip and pushing his sunglasses up onto his head so he could get a proper look at the place.
Bloody hell.
It was the kind of house you saw on telly during those competitions where people would win a mansion and a brand new Range Rover if they correctly answered what year Britain joined the EU or whatever other bollocks they came up with. Harry used to sneak onto his mum’s phone when he was eleven and enter every single one. He never won, decided it was a scam.
Or apparently not.
He admittedly did have many moments over the past few weeks where he’d wondered how the fuck his mum was friends with someone so well off, but maybe Louis’ family had won one of those competitions.
The house had massive windows with ivy crawling up around them, a huge front door right in the middle with tall glass panels either side, and a driveway (with a Range Rover. Obviously. Definitely won a competition) leading up to it that was bigger than the street Harry grew up on.
There was a big bit of land behind it from what Harry could see too. No horse stables. Promising.
“Right, gonna go. Love you.”
“Remember your manners—“
Harry ended the call before she could finish whatever lecture she'd undoubtedly prepared and shoved his phone into his pocket as he headed around to the boot, squinting into it when it lifted open.
Three suitcases and a Morrison’s carrier bag full of things he'd forgotten to pack until this morning was probably going a bit overboard, but he was moving in for three whole months and he needed a fresh outfit for all ninety-one days.
Harry's mum used to have to pack his suitcases for him when they went on holiday as a kid; otherwise Harry would’ve packed his entire wardrobe. Luckily, she was fine with him doing it himself this time. Probably because she felt guilty for forcing him into this whole thing.
His hand landed on the handle of the nearest case before he paused.
What if Louis showed him to some tiny little box room with nowhere to put anything? Harry would look like a bit of a tit lugging half his bedroom up the stairs only to discover he’d been given the smallest room— okay, no. Highly doubtful considering the size of the house.
Still though, Harry would probably look like even more of a tit showing up at the door with a load of suitcases. Bit much, really. They both knew he was moving in but he didn’t need to make it a production before he’d even properly met the guy.
Plus, what if Louis turned out to be a complete weirdo? Harry wanted the option of making a getaway without having to awkwardly drag luggage back down the driveway first.
Right. The luggage could stay where it was for now, for all of the above reasons.
He slammed the boot shut and locked the car, though it was probably pointless considering they were in the middle of nowhere and the place likely had a million security cameras. That, and the fact that nobody in their right mind would rob a car like his.
Then he shoved his keys into his pocket and headed up the stone pathway towards the front door, the house getting more and more pathetic the closer he got to it.
Who actually needed this much house? Harry barely had a bedroom at home and this place probably had a bathroom the size of his kitchen. Definitely had a room just for Louis' stamp collection and equestrian trophies.
When he reached the front step, he caught sight of himself in one of the glass panels beside the door and, well… a quick inspection wouldn’t hurt. Just incase.
He pulled his sunglasses off his head then ruffled a hand through his curls, then tried to put them back how they'd been before, then wished he’d never touched his stupid hair in the first place.
His t-shirt got tugged down, smoothed flat, tugged down again, then told to fuck off twice before Harry gave up with that battle too and moved onto adjusting his shorts.
While he really wasn’t trying to impress Louis, the little red shorts (that definitely weren’t the shorts he wore when he wanted men to look at his legs) just happened to be the first thing he pulled out of his drawer this morning.
Couldn’t exactly turn up looking like a complete scruff anyway, in case the universe did decide to give Harry some good karma and Louis did happen to be attractive. Doubtful, but never say never.
With one final look at his reflection, he decided he looked about as presentable as he was ever going to get and pressed his finger against the doorbell, the chime echoing somewhere deep inside the house.
And Harry was fully expecting to be waiting at least ten minutes for Louis to make his way to the door, but within thirty seconds the lock was being unlatched.
Please don’t be a weirdo, please don’t be a weirdo, please don’t be a weirdo— oh. The door swung open and oh. This was not what Harry was expecting. Fuck, what the fuck?
Where was the knitted jumper? Where were the loafers? Where was the tragic haircut and branded outfit? He was wearing a fucking Radiohead t-shirt.
Turned out Harry’s luck was actually quite insane, because Louis wasn’t some ugly, miserable recluse. Louis was gorgeous and sexy and exactly Harry’s type.
He had messy hair, tattoos on his slightly tanned arms, and the prettiest blue eyes Harry had ever seen. Harry immediately wanted to ring his mum and thank her for blessing him with such a beautiful opportunity and that he wouldn't be coming home.
“Well fuck,” he then blurted before he could stop himself because his brain had turned into mush the second he’d laid eyes on Louis. “Aren’t you pretty.”
The extremely pretty Louis dragged his eyes slowly up and down Harry before one corner of his mouth twitched. “Aren’t you bold,” he replied, finally meeting Harry’s gaze and fuck. Fuck. Harry was tempted to drop to his knees right there.
His brows knitted together instead though, because he certainly wasn't bald. “Last time I checked, no," he said, lifting both hands to run through his hair as he brushed past Louis and straight into the house.
He saw no point in hovering on the doorstep all day when he had a cock to suck— sorry. A house to move into.
“Bold,” he heard from behind him, followed by the click of the door shutting and Louis’ footsteps trailing after him.
Harry was a little confused as to why he was repeating himself. “Yeah, you've said that already,” he laughed, kicking off his trainers and bending down to line them neatly beside the shoe cabinet.
His mum had drilled into him at a young age that you should always take your shoes off in somebody else’s house because it was rude not to. The fact Louis was currently getting a perfect view of Harry’s arse had absolutely nothing to do with it.
He straightened (very slowly) after a (very long) moment and stepped further into the hallway before Louis could accuse him of being bald again, trying to distract himself from the way Louis looked and instead focus on where he was about to spend the next three months. In Louis’ bed, hopefully.
To his right was a kitchen that was so clean it looked like it’d never once been used for anything as disgusting as cooking, all dark cupboards and marble worktops and those stupid fancy lights hanging from the ceiling that looked expensive but were really just lightbulbs on strings.
Pretty standard kitchen, besides the fact it looked like it could feed fifty whole people instead of just two, with its massive island in the middle that had six stools lined up and the big table infront of the window with ten chairs.
Wild but whatever, just more space to get freaky with Louis. Which would definitely be happening, by the way. Harry just needed a day or two to work his charm then he’d be bent over that table.
To his left there was what looked like a living room. Big TV on the wall, obviously. Massive U-shaped sofa infront of it, of course. Pool table a bit further in… interesting. Again, lots of space for certain activities.
“Big house,” he commented, turning to face Louis again, his eyes flicking down and landing somewhere a bit too low for a bit too long. He wondered if he had a big— pervert. Harry was a pervert.
“Harry, is it?”
Harry’s gaze snapped back up to his face. “Yes,” he said quickly, remembering he had manners somewhere in his body and shoving his hand out as he stepped closer. “Um— Styles. Harry Styles.”
Louis knew Harry’s full name. His mum had typed out and sent a stupidly long email about him before he’d arrived because she thought Louis needed a detailed briefing on the stranger she was forcing into his house for the summer, so his full name was not needed in this conversation.
Neither was Harry’s semi in his shorts the second he clocked Louis’ hand though, because fuck. Fuck, his hand.
Harry had never really understood the whole liking hands thing, had always thought it sounded like one of those fake internet kinks people pretended to have for attention, but it was apparently not fake. No, it was very real and Harry had just learnt something new about himself.
He could already imagine them gripping his jaw, sliding down his chest, wrapping around his throat, and yep… so, he needed Louis to choke him. Or maybe he needed to choke Louis. He wasn’t sure but he didn’t care. Hands all over each other. Stat.
“You have really nice hands.”
Oops.
Louis’ eyebrows lifted slightly. “I have nice hands?” he asked, a small laugh in his voice that Harry immediately went all stupid over. Lovely face, lovely hands, lovely laugh, this guy definitely had a lovely cock. Would it be rude to ask to see it?
Luckily Harry’s mouth decided not to embarrass him with that one and instead chose something a little more…
“You do,” he nodded, finally and very unfortunately releasing Louis’ hand. “Not in a foot fetish kind of way, though. Obviously. Not saying you have ugly feet or anything, you probably have nice feet— oh god. You could have a foot fetish. I’m not a kink shamer, I swear!”
Humiliating. A little more humiliating.
Fuck. His only option now was to look away, change the conversation completely, and pray the slutty red shorts were enough to save him.
“So, were you okay with this?” he asked, hooking his thumbs beneath the hem of his shorts and giving them an absent tug. “I mean, my mum—”
Louis’ eyes dropped to Harry’s thighs. “I’m fine with it,” he cut in, clearing his throat the second they flicked back up and caught the smirk Harry had clearly failed to hide. Success. “Had no choice, really.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed at that. “Aren’t you an adult? Why’d you still follow your mums orders?”
“Why do you?” Louis countered immediately, a bit of sharpness in his tone now that Harry didn’t like.
Harry watched him turn away and wander into the kitchen. “I don’t,” he lied, trailing after him. “I did this because I wanted to.”
Louis let out a short scoff, reaching inside the fridge and pulling out an apple. Who the hell kept apples in the fridge? That was a point knocked off the 100000/10 score Harry had given him in his head.
“You wanted to spend the summer with a complete stranger?” he asked, shutting the door with his hip and taking a bite of the probably cold apple. “Nothing to do with the money, then?”
Eh?
“What?“ Harry frowned. Did he seriously think he came here just to sponge off him? “I’m not here because you’re rich. Why would I—”
“Bit hard of thinking, aren’t you, Styles?” He reached out as he passed and ruffled Harry’s curls, then carried on walking towards the staircase. "My mum paid yours.”
Oh. Well, how was Harry supposed to pay attention to anything coming out of Louis’ mouth when he’d just casually put his hand in Harry’s hair? Harry wanted to ask if he’d do it again. Maybe tug a bit.
“Paid my what?” he managed after a few seconds, still confused.
Louis was halfway up the stairs now, that same hand trailing along the rail as he climbed. “Your mum,” he said over his shoulder. “For you to come here.”
Oh? Oh, wow. What the fuck. His mum had been paid? Paid actual money? And she hadn't thought to mention that at any point during her two-week campaign of emotional manipulation?
The woman had sat across from him at the dinner table, looked him dead in the eyes, and spun an entire guilt-trip about lonely men and kindness and helping people. Meanwhile she'd been accepting payment and Harry hadn't seen a penny of it. Didn’t even know about it.
Before he could question exactly how much she'd been paid or why nobody had thought to tell him, Louis was already talking again.
“Make yourself at home, your room’s the third door on the right.” He turned away before Harry could get another word in, continuing up the stairs. “And by the way, no. I don’t have a foot fetish.”
Well, thank god for that. Wait—
“Hold on, where are you going?” Harry called, hurrying after him. “You’re not gonna show me around?”
“Do I look like a tour guide? You’ll find your way.”
“But I’m here to keep you company—”
“Don’t need it,” Louis cut in, stopping on the top step and turning to look down at him. “You’ve basically got a free house for the summer, enjoy it.”
Then he disappeared down the landing, leaving Harry standing there halfway up the stairs with his lips parted from pure disbelief.
Was that it? No grand tour or awkward getting to know each other conversation? What about the tragic story about grief Harry had expected from someone who’d lost their dad and wasn’t trusted to be alone?
He didn’t even offer Harry a cup of tea. Who invited someone into their house for three months and didn't offer them a cuppa? Harry's mum would've had the kettle boiling before the front door had even fully shut.
Harry stared at where Louis had just been for another second before scoffing to himself and continuing up the stairs.
The first thing he noticed when he reached the top was that the landing was absolutely ridiculous, stretching off in both directions with thick cream carpet underfoot and far too many doors scattered along it.
What was even more ridiculous though, was that Harry had already stupidly forgotten which room Louis had said was his because he’d clung onto the Louis not having a foot fetish thing instead.
He started walking, passing the first door and wondering if that was actually the first door on the right. Louis had said first door on the right, hadn't he? First from where? First from the stairs? Or was it the third door? Fuck.
With a sigh, he headed towards the nearest door and pushed it open only to find a bathroom. Massive one, naturally. With another sigh, he shut it and continued, praying he wouldn’t stumble across Louis’ mums room amongst them all.
Imagine that. Imagine Louis catching him in there. Then Harry would look like a complete weirdo and Louis would be kicking him out before they even did so much as kiss.
Luckily, the second door revealed what looked like a study and not somewhere he’d be invading a stranger’s mothers privacy, the third was a walk-in wardrobe, and the fourth was empty apart from a few bits of furniture covered with white sheets.
None of them were Harry’s room, but he’d found something far more exciting than that anyway — Louis’ bedroom.
Louis’ bedroom with Louis sat at the desk in the far corner squinting down at his laptop through his glasses. Louis in his bedroom wearing glasses. Glasses. Louis was wearing glasses. Harry was going to break those glasses when he pounced on him.
“You wear glasses?”
Louis didn’t look up, just continued typing. “Yes.”
Harry had to force his eyes away from Louis’ fingers. “Hot.”
That was what made Louis finally look up, his brows pinching together as he leaned back slightly in the chair. “Are you lost?”
“Well, yes,” Harry admitted, taking a few steps further into the room because he couldn’t help himself. Technically Louis hadn’t told him to leave, so. “You shouldn't have left me alone to find it myself.”
“You shouldn’t have let yourself into my room without my permission.”
Well.
“I wouldn’t have had to if you’d shown me to mine in the first place,” Harry argued, wandering further inside and turning slowly in a circle as his eyes swept around.
His bed was huge, shoved against the far wall beneath a row of tall windows overlooking the garden, with dark bedding, a million pillows that matched, and a throw draped over the end of it.
There was a red electric guitar propped in the corner beside a matching red record player, and stacks of vinyls next to it, which should’ve told Harry that Louis had an interest in music, but all it did was tell him that Louis was good with his fingers.
Then his gaze landed on a framed photo sitting on the bedside table before immediately darting away again because nope. Absolutely not. That felt too close to accidentally seeing something personal and then looking like a creep. He’d already been called out for letting himself in.
He redirected his attention towards a bookshelf instead, stacked full of boring looking books that Harry couldn’t even imagine wasting his time reading. Fucking nerd.
Said nerd was suddenly in Harry’s space, a bit too close considering Harry was approximately two seconds away from begging Louis to back him against the wall and kiss him— fuck. One second away now that Louis was looking up at him through those stupid, sexy glasses.
There was something so incredibly attractive about the fact that Louis was shorter than him. Fuck kissing against the wall, their height difference had Harry tempted to beg Louis to bend him over the desk and fuck him silly instead.
Suddenly, something got shoved against Harry's chest. “My mum made this for you,” Louis said, nodding down at it. “Forgot to give you it downstairs. Got all the information you need in there.”
Harry grabbed it before it could hit the floor, blinking down at the thick blue folder in his hands that was labelled welcome guide. What on earth?
“What am I, a new employee?”
Louis rolled his eyes and stepped around him, heading towards the door. “Come on, Styles.”
Not that Harry was counting, but that was the second time Louis had called him Styles since he’d arrived. Did that count as a nickname? Were they already on the nickname stage? Maybe this was progress, maybe Louis was just a bit shy and needed time to warm up.
Baby next, please. Or darling. Or sweetheart. Or actually, Louis could call him anything he wanted. He could call Harry a piece of shit and Harry would still like it, would probably thank him.
He took one last little look at the room before following behind, hopeful that he'd be in here again soon.
“So…” he fell into step beside Louis as they made their way down the landing, purposely slowing his pace because if they reached his room too quickly then the conversation would end. “What were you doing on your laptop?”
“Watching porn,” Louis said, sneaking a quick glance at Harry before averting his gaze forward again.
Harry nearly tripped over his own feet. “Really?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Louis let out a short laugh, stopping outside a door Harry had definitely already fucking walked past and pushing it open. “Work stuff,” he muttered, one hand dragging down his thigh as he nodded towards the room. “Your room. Remember where it is.”
Sigh. Conversation ended. Harry wanted to ask what Louis did for work, how he spent his days, actually get to know the person he was going to be spending the next few months with, but Louis was already backing away.
Harry huffed, glanced down at the folder still tucked under his arm, then stepped fully into the room.
It looked pretty much the same as Louis’ — big bed in the centre (unlike his. Harry had already memorised his entire room) with cream bedding, a mirrored wardrobe, desk, massive windows. Boring and lonely looking.
“It’s a bit big,” Harry said, quickly realising he was talking to the wall since Louis had fucked off, and peeking his head around the door frame. “I’m gonna get lonely in here.”
“You get used to it.”
Then he was gone, again, and Harry supposed he had better things to do than to chase after a man that clearly wasn’t interested. Better things being ringing his mum and telling her to transfer him some of his money while he looked through the stupid little welcome guide.
٠࣪⭑
Harry spent the rest of yesterday moping, giving his mum an earful, and getting lost at least twelve times before spending the rest of the evening back in his room.
He had skimmed through the guide, which was mostly made up of codes for alarms, emergency contacts, and local takeaway numbers, then used the very handy floor plan included to navigate his way around the house.
By 6pm, he’d successfully snooped his way through almost the entire place.
He’d found two more living rooms (what the fuck?), a fucking cinema room, a gym, and an entire room dedicated to nothing but shelves and boxes. That one had a code, so Harry probably shouldn’t have been in there. Then again, Jay shouldn’t have written down said code if she didn’t want him having a little peek inside.
By 7pm, he’d decided he wasn’t going to be pulling any dramatic getaways in the middle of the night and got his luggage out of his car.
Unpacking didn’t take long, he’d mostly just shoved everything in the chest of drawers and dedicated the wardrobe to the outfits that might impress Louis. The rest could sod off. Especially the knitted jumper Harry had worn once to make grandma happy that his mum had somehow sneakily thrown in there.
By 8, he’d called his mum and spent twenty minutes arguing about the money she’d been paid to get rid of him.
Apparently it was, in fact, his money and she was just “putting it aside” for when he came home. She refused to tell him how much it was though, which actually meant she was dipping into it and whatever she didn’t spend would be his.
She also didn’t trust him not to spend it all on stupid things, said she didn’t want another finger monkey incident. Granted, Harry probably should’ve known a bloke called Gary on Facebook marketplace wouldn’t be selling an actual pet finger monkey for a hundred quid, but the guy was very convincing. And Harry really wanted that finger monkey.
He didn’t get it, obviously. His dad had laughed right in his face when he’d told his parents what he needed his birthday money early for, told him if he was dumb enough to believe finger monkeys were available to buy in England, he deserved to lose the cash.
In Harry’s defence, he was seventeen. Everybody gets scammed at that age. And how the hell was he supposed to know finger monkeys were illegal to own as a pet?
By 9, he was on the phone to Zayn ranting.
Zayn had told him to stop being a baby and to start appreciating the fact he was spending the summer in a mansion with a rich, attractive, gay man. Harry called him a prick and ended the call on him.
It was now the next morning, and thanks to Jay very kindly explaining in detail exactly where every single food item was kept on page twelve of the guide, Harry had helped himself to breakfast.
He was currently sat alone at the kitchen island eating peanut butter on toast, feeling lonely, and trying not to feel like a divorced dad who lived by himself and wasn’t allowed to see his kids.
For a man who apparently wouldn’t cope with being left alone for the summer, Louis had done a pretty impressive job of avoiding Harry since showing him to his room yesterday.
Not that Harry cared a massive amount, he only cared a little. Cared just enough that he’d accidentally listened for footsteps every time he’d heard movement somewhere in the house and looked up every time a door shut.
Eventually the last bite of his toast disappeared and Harry brushed the crumbs from his hands, then carried his plate over to the dishwasher after opening approximately four wrong cupboards looking for the fucker.
A few minutes later, he was back at the island with a fresh mug of tea and his iPad lay out in front of him, his drawing app already opened to the portrait of himself and Gemma that he’d been working on for the past month.
He didn't particularly want to be working on it now that he had better things to do (like trying to seduce the sexy older mysterious man he lived with), but his dad had threatened to kick him out if he didn’t get it finished in time for his mums birthday in September.
Little did his dad know, if all went well with Louis, he wouldn’t ever be returning home anyway.
Twenty minutes passed, then thirty, then somehow an entire hour disappeared into Harry switching from drawing to scrolling through Pinterest for background inspiration and somehow ending up looking at photos of Matt Bomer. For artistic reasons, obviously.
z: You survive the night?
Harry squinted at the notification banner appearing across the top of the screen before reluctantly closing the very nice photo of Matt Bomer in glasses and opening his messages.
Harry: yup
z: ……. any updates? With Louie?
Harry: it’s louis
z: Ok any updates with LOUIS
Harry: no. he hates me
z: He wants you
Harry: ????? don’t make me delusional zayn that’s evil
z: You said he was looking at your legs
Harry: yeah but
His thumbs hovered, because yes, Louis had looked, but Louis had also spent ninety-eight percent of the previous day actively avoiding him, so it was hard to interpret that as desire.
Just then the sound of a key turning in the front door echoed faintly through the house and Harry immediately locked his iPad, sat up straighter, adjusted his hair using the reflection in the black screen, then picked up his mug and pretended he’d been drinking tea this entire time just to look casual.
“Why are you pretending to drink that?”
What.
Harry pretended to fucking swallow the “tea,” apparently too committed to the bit to admit to faking it now, then placed the very empty mug down and slowly twisted around on the stool.
Louis was walking around the island, carrying a white carrier bag in one hand and a set of keys in the other, looking annoyingly good for someone who looked like he’d gotten about three hours of sleep.
There were faint bags beneath his eyes and his hair looked messier than it had yesterday, sticking up slightly in places. He looked like a hedgehog. Harry hated him.
He was also wearing a faded grey hoodie with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows and a pair of black shorts that sat just above his knees. Bit of an ugly outfit but he still somehow looked sexy. Harry hated him even more.
“Why do you look like you’ve been up all night?” he asked, still refusing to acknowledge the fact he’d just been caught pretending to drink from an empty mug like a freak.
Louis ignored the question completely, dropping the carrier bag onto the counter opposite the island with a rustle of plastic. “Saw you with your reflection too,” he said, pulling a loaf of bread from the bag before setting it down. “Trying to look pretty for me, Styles?”
Fuck? Fuck.
Harry shrugged as casually as he could, then unlocked his iPad again, tapping his stylus against the screen but not actually doing anything. “Might’ve been.”
Louis hummed as he crossed to the fridge with an orange juice carton, shoving it inside before hooking a hand beneath his hoodie.
Well. Harry wasn't really paying attention until the hoodie disappeared over Louis' head. He was paying very close attention when the t-shirt underneath got dragged halfway up with it.
“Shit,” Louis swore under his breath when it caught around his shoulders. Then he yanked harder and accidentally pulled the whole thing off and oh my god, Harry was too gay for this.
Louis barely seemed to notice Harry choking on his own spit, just looked down at the bundled mess of fabric in his hands before tossing both items onto the counter.
He was topless. Topless. Standing right there in front of Harry topless. Standing right there in front of Harry topless, with his bare chest on full display, nips and all. Harry wanted to lick them.
“Hot day today, isn’t it?”
Hot day today, isn’t it. Pfft. Yeah, it sure was now that he was stood there half fucking naked right in front of Harry.
Harry was too busy tracing over every inch of Louis’ body with his eyes to answer. God fuck, what a body. Harry needed to touch him everywhere. Needed to get those shorts off him too, because with a body like that, there was absolutely no chance he didn’t have a nice cock and now Harry needed to see it.
“Into art, huh? Do you like painting?” Harry heard then, and yes, he did. He wanted to paint Louis. Naked. He wanted to pull a Jack and Rose, paint Louis naked and then end the session with steamy windows.
“Hm?” he hummed absently, his eyes shamelessly dragging over Louis’ stomach now.
Louis clicked his fingers once. “Eyes up here.”
Oh.
Harry’s eyes flicked up, only to be met with a smirk. A fucking smirk.
“There’s an easel in the garden,” he went on, grabbing the milk from the fridge and setting it beside a bowl already waiting on the counter. “Did you see it on your little tour?”
Harry cleared his throat and dragged his gaze away from Louis with great difficulty, scoffing as he sat up a bit straighter on the stool. “The little tour you refused to give me, you mean?”
“Yeah. You see it?”
He reached into the cupboard above him for a box of cereal, then carried everything over to the island and claimed a stool at the opposite end.
“Haven’t toured the garden yet.” Harry twisted slightly on his stool so he could look at him properly, trying to keep his eyes on his face. “Maybe you could show me?”
The laugh he got at that made him instantly regret asking. “Okay then,” he said instead, locking his iPad and tossing the stylus onto the screen. He leaned his elbow against the island and rested his cheek in his palm. “Are you gonna tell me a bit about yourself?”
Louis shrugged, already halfway through a mouthful. “Dad’s dead. Mum fucked off with some rando.”
“That it?”
“Mhm.”
Harry stared at him for a moment, waiting patiently for the rest but it was like trying to get blood from a stone, because nothing came. “That’s your entire personality?”
Louis pointed his spoon at him. “Forgot rich.”
“Oh right, yeah.” Harry laughed despite not knowing if he was being sarcastic or not. “How could I forget that?”
“Easy mistake.”
Right… definitely sarcasm? Maybe.
He then just watched him for a minute, trying to work out whether he was naturally this difficult or if he specifically became annoying whenever Harry wanted to know more about him, but he genuinely couldn’t tell.
Maybe if Harry steered the conversation to himself, Louis would get bored (Harry's life certainly was boring) and tell Harry every tiny detail about his life just to make him shut up. Or he could shut him up by kissing him, would be a lot easier.
“Is there anything you'd like to know about me?
Louis swallowed before setting his spoon down on the countertop with a quiet clink. “Harry Styles.” He leaned back, cracking his knuckles twice before standing. “Nineteen. Anne’s son.”
Harry opened his mouth but Louis continued before he could speak.
“Good at art, drives a Corsa that’s somehow still alive, likes to ask too many questions—"
“Um, actually,” Harry cut in, finally sitting up properly and nearly knocking his iPad off the island as he did, catching it against the edge at the last second. “I think I have a right to ask questions.”
Louis huffed a laugh as he carried his bowl over to the sink and started giving it a quick rinse. "You don’t,” he said simply, shutting the tap off and drying his hands on a tea towel hanging from the oven handle.
Right then. Harry was fully prepared to argue now, because he absolutely did have a right to ask questions when he was living here and they were housemates or weird friendship hostages or whatever this arrangement was.
Before he could get a word out though, Louis was crossing the kitchen and slowing slightly as he passed behind Harry’s stool, one hand landing on his shoulder. Then he gave it a quick squeeze and Harry nearly fucking levitated.
“Have a lovely day, Styles.”