I'm wonder struck, blushing all the way home, I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/39521271.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: One Direction (Band)
Relationship: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Character: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan, Matt Dinnadge, Michael
Blackwell, Oli Wright, Ellie Wright, Mitch Rowland, Sarah Jones, Elin
Sandberg
Additional Tags: Non-Famous Louis Tomlinson, Lawyer Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles
and Louis Tomlinson Being Idiots, Louis is a Tease, Harry is worse
though, Smut, Top Louis Tomlinson, Bottom Harry Styles, Light BDSM,
Louis doesn't do relationships, Harry wants a relationship, Harry Styles
Thinks Louis Tomlinson is Pretty, Louis Tomlinson is a Little Shit, Louis
is really funny, No slow build sorry I hate those, Flashbacks, Harry is
slow but fast, I really suck at tagging this is my first long fic, I apologize
for the bad tagging, the wedding fic, Louis and Harry meet at a
wedding, or do they, harry likes feminine pronouns, breakdowns, Angst,
lots and lots of angst, promise a happy ending, Niall and Louis have the
greatest friendship, Humor
Stats: Published: 2022-06-08 Updated: 2022-07-01 Chapters: 11/? Words:
52401

I'm wonder struck, blushing all the way home, I'll spend
forever wondering if you knew
by unitedbylarry

Summary

“I dig the funny, you know?”

Louis laughs. “And the actors?” He asks, serious, referencing his previous joke. He smirks
after a bit.

“I dig your cinema, too.” He smiles softly. “And you’re cute.”

“Uh.” Louis bites his bottom lips, feels his cheeks warming. “Thanks.”

“And you’re pretty.”

“Now, you’re making me blush.”

“And you’re small.”

“And now you’re just taking the piss.” Louis says, playfully sounding offended.

Harry takes a moment. His eyes drift to Louis’ lips. “And I really want to kiss you.” He
 says, voice barely even audible.

Louis gulps. “And now you’re just stating the obvious.”

Harry laughs. “I take it back, I’m going home.”

“What? Sorry, couldn't hear you properly. You want to take me home?” Louis asks,
smirking at him.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And single.”

“I got the bouquet.” Harry points out.

“Slow down, Juliet. One marriage per year.”

or

Louis attends to his best friend's wedding only to meet a beautiful boy. It doesn't matter if
he's still stuck in a relationship that ended ten years ago. What matters is he has emerald
eyes and a new connection Louis hasn't felt in years. But is it really new?

Notes

Hiiii, guess who's here? Fern, that's me!

After all my mutuals from twitter (@LOUISTTHESTYLES) ask me write the Wedding
Fic, I surrendered.

So, here you go. Feedbacks are always, always welcome so I can keep the inspiration!

xxx
 Chapter 1

A wedding.

Louis’ always absolutely loved weddings. Actually, he’s always got a thing for parties - when it’s
your best mate’s wedding, then, it gets even better. Oliver’s been engaged to Ellie for two years
now, but he’s never stopped being Louis’ plus one on every night and every club and he’s sort of
silently hoping things won’t change.

It’s a Friday night, the day of the wedding, Louis’ just got home from work. Being a lawyer can be
annoying sometimes with having to change from a suit to another suit so he can attend as Oliver’s
best-man. He sighs as he unbuttons his red button-up, standing in front of the bathroom’s mirror
and looking up to meet his own blue eyes. He catches a glimpse of his ‘it is what it is’ tattoo,
groans to himself.
Stupid teenagers with stupid love decisions and stupid matching tattoos.

He shakes his thoughts away. Not today, you’re not thinking of him today. It’s been nearly ten
fucking years, get over it.

The shower lasts longer than normal, as he stands with his hand resting on the glass letting the
warm water run down his shoulders, eyes closed. He tries not to think of the client who yelled at
him today, tries not to think of the contracts he’s set on his monthly planner he was due to finish on
Sunday, he tries not to think of him.

But it’s like they always say, you can never empty your mind, and Louis is no different.

God. He can’t believe he’s finally having a night out after three fucking weeks.

He ties his towel around his waist, adjusts his wet hair on the mirror, and moves to his closet. Light
blue button up, black suit, black shoes. He feels like he’s getting ready to work, but whatever. Puts
on his favorite cologne, takes his phone from the charger, picks one of his packs of cigarettes, a
lighter, feeds Clifford and Bruce - and absolutely ignores the urge to go through the box inside his
bedside table, he’s strong.

When he finally gets to his car, he lights up a cigarette and checks the time. He’ll be one hour
early, good, Oliver is not killing him today. Turns on the car and, has Louis ever said how much he
loves a party?

The ceremony takes place in a local church in Doncaster - the same one all Oliver’s relatives got
married in - and as he passes by in his car, he notices that it’s mostly empty. It doesn’t take long for
him to find a spot and he’s soon walking into the place.

His best mate is already waiting for him all the way up at the altar, along with another friend of
theirs, Niall, who’s distracted talking to the priest and doesn’t see him walking down the aisle.

“Louis, fucking finally!” The ginger head exclaims. He looks nervous, breathing a little more than
normal, lips dry. “I said two hours before, you asshole.”

Louis smiles at him, looks around the nearly empty church. “I don’t see many people, mate,
nothing to worry about, was working late.”
Oliver shakes his head. “I don’t know if I should hit you for working late or for arriving later than
we settled.” He says, pulling him into a hug. “I’m so fucking nervous.”

“No reason to be,” Louis says, smiling, patting his back three times, “she loves you and you love
her, and you’re best friends.”

“Personal experience?” He shoots back, smirking.

“Fuck you.” Louis says, but he doesn’t really care - or at least tries not to, it’s been nearly ten
years, Louis, get your shit together. “It’s not like I got married.”

“Might as well have since you still keep a promise ring in your bedside table.” He points out,
smirking.

“I swear to God, I’m just not killing you because we’re in a church.”

“And because I’m getting married today.”

“Yeah, good point too.”

“Louis!” They both hear coming from behind Oliver. It’s Niall. “Missed you, mate!” He says,
smiling and pulling Louis into a hug.

“Hey, man.” He offers a warm smile back, both pulling away from the hug. “I’m one office away,
no need to get all emotional.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Working with you can be a pain in my ass.”

“Still your boss, show some respect for your superiors.” Louis smirks.

Niall snorts. “Still your best friend, show some respect for your brothers- but, hey, I wanted to ask
you about Mr. Douglas, I was able to hear him yelling at you from my office.”

But before Louis can answer, Oliver goes “shhhh”.

“You two seriously need to stop working when you’re not working. Can we please focus on the
trouble in hand? I’m literally getting married in like-“ he checks his wrist - “Jesus Christ, twenty
fucking minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah, mate.” Louis pats his arm. “Sorry for your loss.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Marriage is a beautiful institution.”

Louis widens his eyes, holding back a laugh. “Sure it is, Mr. single for six years.”

His mate slaps his arm. “Two if you count my last relationship.”

“Sure because it’s definitely a relationship if it lasts a day.”

“I hate you.” Niall rolls his eyes.

“Still your boss.”

“Then I hate you even more!”

☺
Ellie looks beautiful and so does the wedding. Oliver looks nearly as nervous as Ellie’s father, who
tries his best to smile as the groom leans in to kiss her. Don’t get him wrong, Mr. Dean absolutely
loves his son-in-law, but Ellie’s his daughter, so Louis feels some empathy towards him. He
doesn’t think he’ll ever have kids, but if he did, he wouldn’t want them to leave his side, but
whatever. Not the point.

His best mate smiles at him so big that his eyes nearly close. Louis knew he was making the right
decision, but watching the happiness on his face makes his tummy warm and if he considers ever
getting married for a minute, no one has to know.

After the ceremony, everyone starts leaving and making their way to where the party is going to be
hosted and Louis is not far behind. When he’s in the car, his mind shifts to what once made him
the happiest man (boy at the time) on earth. God, he misses him.

Except, the thing is he doesn’t know if he misses him or the feeling of being loved. His one - and
only - ex-boyfriend brought out the best in him, made him breakfast in bed - even if he was only
just eighteen, he was the best cook Louis’ ever seen - and told him over and over again “I love you,
I love you, I love you”.

Love. So much for leaving Louis behind to pursue his own dreams.

Don’t get him wrong, Louis is all for “never let anyone hold you back from pursuing your dreams”,
but it’s what anyone will say until they realize that leaving the country also means leaving him
behind. And, in all honesty, it hurts like a fucking bitch.

Anyways.

To be fair, Louis does smoke two cigarettes before he even gets in the car. (He also smokes another
one when he reaches Lisa’s Bed and Breakfast - also the same place Oliver’s relatives had their
own wedding receptions).

The place looks beautiful, is the first thing Louis notices when he locks his car. Lisa’s Bed and
Breakfast is a house with two floors, wooden walls and floor and a triangular roof, located in the
entrance to the woods in Doncaster. It has an entrance to the backyard on the side of the house,
which is decorated with fairy lights - which Louis personally loves. He already sees the place filled
with people, a few in front of the Bed and Breakfast, but most of them in the garden.

“Good evening, Louis,” Ellie’s sister Dina says as soon as she spots him. She blushes a bit too
much to Louis’ liking - God, he’s been single so long that people think he’s straight, he’s gotta get
that fixed.

“Hi, Dina.” He says, smiling at her. “The newly weds are already back there?”

“Yes!” She says excitedly. “You took quite a bit to arrive. Ellie’s already considering throwing the
bouquet.”

Louis laughs. “Really? Well, seems like I gotta be quick, then.”

The woman smiles at him, eyes crinkling and all.

Louis sort of forces a smile. Jesus Christ, Louis, narrow it down.

“See you inside?” He says, already turning away from her.

“Absolutely!”
As Louis walks inside, he greets a few familiar people, mostly Oliver’s family and friends. Well,
you sort of get popular when you’ve been friends with someone for over 12 years. He spots Niall in
no time - of course he’s at the bar.
He approaches the counter, standing beside him. “Beer? For me? Why thank you, mate.” He
smirks, taking the drink from Niall’s hand and drinking it.

Niall looks unimpressed. “Took you long enough, eh?” He asks. “Another beer, please.”

Louis shrugs, turns his back to the counter, resting on it. He glances around the party, tries to spot
anyone else familiar and does a few. “Who’s the lucky girl, today?” He asks, then.

A snort can be heard. “No one.”

Now, Louis snorts. “As if. You’ve been looking for a girlfriend for ages, mate, bet a few spiders
would slip out of your pants if you took them off.”

Niall slaps his arm. “Who’s the lucky boy, today?” He shoots the question back.

“Meh.” Louis says, taking a sip of his beer. “I’m good.”

“Oh!” Niall, smiles. “Got me thinking, Oli wanted to introduce you to someone - says he’s pretty
much all you look for in a man.”

Louis snorts again, nods ironically. “I’m sure.” He says. “Last time he said that I ended up going
out with Michael.”

“Whom you’re really good friends with nowadays!” Niall points out.

“Niall, I already have what? Ten friends?” Louis asks rhetorically. “Mom once told me that good
friends you should be able to count on your fingers.”

“Well, that makes ten.” His brownish haired friend says, smiling. “I guess the next one he
introduces to you would have to be your boyfriend.”

“Sorry.” Louis laughs, finishing his drink. “Couldn’t hear you past ‘your’.”

Niall rolls his eyes.

“I don’t want a boyfriend and I don’t want to be introduced to anyone, thanks. Let’s just celebrate
him and drink until we die.”

Niall points at the counter. Louis turns to see what he’s showing.

Two blue shots. Cool.

“Might as well get started.” Niall raises his eyebrows daringly.

“Hit me with your best shot.” Louis jokes before clinking his glass to his mate’s and downing the
drink in one go.

So, Louis’ on his seventh beer and whatever number shot and he’s feeling good - good enough
taking the piss of Michael’s new boyfriend, Matt, good enough that Matt calls him his new best
mate, good enough that he doesn’t remember him.
It’s about another shot of tequila (?) later that Ellie invites everyone because she’s going to throw
the bouquet and of course, what really is the purpose of a wedding if there aren’t desperate girls
hoping to find a future wife of a husband.

Louis doesn’t buy this bullshit. As if. Sure, makes total sense, hey, get your bouquet here and that
one hundred per cent guarantees a perfect match and eternal love. Give him a break.

He watches as more than a few women gather behind Ellie, waiting anxiously for her to throw the
goddamned flowers.

“Mike, what’re you waiting for?” Louis hears Matt say, followed by a short silence and two loud
laughs.

Good. His friends agree this is bullshit.

Still, it’s very entertaining to watch as they whisper to each other “it’s definitely mine”, “Val has it
coming”, “Liz so wants to get married”. It’s all very fucking entertaining until it’s… Not? Because
next thing Louis sees is this man, tall, long limbs that could go for fucking miles, dressed in a
white suit, approaching the crowd. And Louis has to laugh because who the fuck wears white on
someone else’s wedding? Well. Louis only has the back view, but, fuck if it isn’t enough. Even his
hair looks so soft and Louis really wants to touch it.

Okay. No. Chill Louis.

He takes a sip of his drink. Chill.

“I’m gonna throw!” Ellie says playfully, of course proceeding to pretend to throw the bouquet,
only to be followed by a girl screaming “throw it already, Ellie.”

And it’s all fine. Entertaining.

Louis doesn’t even pretend he isn’t looking at the man’s curves, doesn’t even pretend he isn’t
waiting anxiously for him to turn around so he’ll see if his face matches the body. But he doesn’t
get the honor because, next thing he knows, his ear is hit with a deep, deep voice.

“El, throw the bouquet!” The man says, not sounding annoyed at all.

Okay.

Louis gulps.

Turn around, please, thank you.

And honestly, it could have been fucking planned because, after pretending a few more times, Ellie
throws the bouquet and guess where it lands? Yeah, right inside limbs-that-could-go-for-miles’
dude’s hands.

Everyone cheers, taking the piss off him, pushing his arm weakly, jokingly, as if saying “damn,
who’s the lucky one?”.

“Nope.” Louis mutters to himself. “No marriage for you today, Tommo.”

Except.

Except he’s still looking at the man when he turns around. He’s still looking when he, as if fucking
fate - or Louis’ curse at least - looks up and meets Louis’ eyes. And Louis will just replace his
previous nickname by pretty boy because, what the fuck? Who the fuck is this man? Who is this
man and why hasn’t Oliver introduced him to Louis?

It does feel a bit homophobic, to be honest. But whatever.

Still, no marriage for him today.

So he turns away and walks towards the bar - completely ignores how weirdly familiar his face
looks.

Okay, so apparently he’s really fucking strong for drinks because he’s staring at a red shot that is
literally on fire and he totally agreed with no hesitation when Oli invited him and his other best
mates to drink. So now he’s on what? Ten beers? Three thousand shots? He lost count.

He rests his forearm at the counter as grimaces at the drink. Jesus Christ, it looks and smells like
the worst hangover of his life and he sort of regrets blindly agreeing to whatever Oliver and Niall
throw his way.

Louis is so distracted trying to figure out a way to pretend to drink the burning shot without having
to throw it on the grass and start a fucking fire, that he doesn’t realize when someone approaches
him, standing by his side. The person leans a bit too close to him, shoulders fully in contact.

The stranger feels warm.

“It does look like death.” The familiar - Louis ignores that the accent and slow talking sounds a bit
too familiar - voice interrupts his thoughts.

And so he follows the voice. His eyebrows raise, widening his eyes. “Calm down, Louis, it’s just a
man, you know how to fucking flirt,” he thinks to himself.

“I’m pretty sure death seems better than this.” Louis says, taking another look at the drink and
grimacing again.

The man laughs.

Familiar.

“I’m Harry.” He says, sticking out his hand.

“It’s just a name, Louis”. He thinks to himself. “It’s just a name, you definitely don’t know this
name, pretend it’s just a name”.

He shakes his hand. “I’m Louis, nice to meet you.”

Pretty boy - Harry - sticks to his side and Oli pulls the six of them in for a heartfelt “I love you guys
so much. Thank you for being here. God, I can’t believe I’m married. I’m married. Okay, who’s
drunk? I’m drunk- let’s get drunk!”.
They all lean onto the counter, take their straws and down the shot.

Louis smiles as he notices Harry having to finish his in two sips. He looks like Louis feels - throat
burning like he just swallowed fire, which he technically did, but whatever.

He’s taken by surprise when Oliver sends his thoughts away, leaning to hug him tight. “You’re the
best mate I could have. Thank you.”
He pats Oli’s back. “Right back at you, mate.”

Before he says anything else, Oliver pulls away and turns to face Harry, both him and Louis
realizing he’s still standing there, right beside him.

“Oh, you’ve met Harry!” Oli says, smiling. “That’s the one I wanted to introduce you to.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “You wanted to introduce me to a dude called Harry. For no reason
whatsoever.”

“Well, it does fit the name Louis, doesn’t it?” He laughs drunkenly. “Now if you don’t mind me,
I’m gonna find my wife. Wife. Ellie’s my wife. Ha.” And he leaves.

Louis watches as he goes away, running to hug the bride. He still has his eyebrows furrowed and a
“what is happening” face as Harry pats his shoulder.

“Want a drink?” He asks, smiling.

“Sure.”

“So, are you Oliver’s cousin?” Harry asks him, leaning again on the counter.

“Nope.” Louis says, popping the P. “Best mate. You?”

“I’m Ellie’s brother actually.” He says.

Louis turns back to look at him, walking another step once someone leaves the bar with a drink in
hand. “No way! How come we never met?”

“I’m an actor,” Harry smiles, “so I’m not around much.”

“Really? I’m an actor myself.”

“No way!” Harry widens his eyes, parting his lips in an open smile. “But how-“

“I’m acting.” Louis says, serious.

“Wait, what?” The taller one says, furrowing his eyebrows and tilting his head.

“It was a joke.” He points out.

“Oh.” Harry lets out. “Oh!” He repeats as if he’s just now understanding.

“Yeah, yeah, you got it now.” Louis smiles, turning to the bartender once there’s no one in front of
them on the line. “Two beers, please.”

“Uh.” Harry raises a finger. “I actually don’t like beer.”

“Ha! A flaw!” Louis spits out, closing his mouth as soon as he realizes he’s said it out loud.

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“I said I studied law!” He says, hoping the pretty boy won’t ask him anything. “I am a lawyer. So,
gin?”

“Oh! That’s nice!” Harry smiles. “And yeah, gin’s good.”

Louis gulps, turning to face the bartender again. “Two gin and tonics, please.”

“Yeah, we probably never met because I’m sorta new to the family, too?” He offers and Louis
turns to him, a confused expression on his face. “I’m her stepbrother, actually. Mom and El’s dad
got married last year.”

“Oh. That’s nice, congrats to your mom.” He takes the drinks and hands one to Harry. “Cheers,
mate.” He says before clinking his glass to pretty boy’s and drinking up.

The party goes by and Harry doesn’t really leave his side unless it’s to go to the bathroom - he
always comes back, though.

It’s when they’re outside, sitting on the bench right in the front garden and he’s trying, damn, he’s
trying to keep it together because Harry literally grabbed the bouquet, he wants something serious
and. It’s been ten years, but Louis still doesn’t feel like he’s ready for it. Oliver always tells him
that if he never allows himself to, he’ll never feel the same towards anyone ever again. He also
tells him that he doesn’t need to dive into it with the thought of getting into a relationship, just go
with the flow. But it’s all sort of hard when you’re talking to someone who’s probably looking for
a relationship - and when you’re still stuck in a relationship that ended such a long time ago.

The thing is Louis feels this weird attraction towards Harry. He doesn’t know if it’s the smile, or
the dimples when he laughs at Louis’ jokes (or even at comments he’s pretty sure no one else
would find funny), or the green, emerald eyes that he can’t get himself to stare into for too long, or
if it’s his personality.

Louis sort of gives up trying to pretend to himself he doesn’t want to kiss him.

“Did you know you’re not actually supposed to wear white in someone’s wedding?” He asks,
taking his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

“But I’m the bride’s brother.” He frowns.

“Still.” He takes a second. “Do you mind?” He asks, cigarette already laying between his lips,
lighter in his hand.

“No, go ahead.” Harry smiles.

Louis takes a moment, covering the cigarette with his other hand so the wind won’t blow the fire.
“Gotta give it to you, though.” He says, ignoring the way Harry is clearly staring at his lips.
“Haven’t seen you in another color before, but white’s definitely your color.”

At that, Harry blushes. Louis glances at his rosy cheeks before he looks down at his lap, shyly.
“Thank you.” He says, quietly.

Louis’ pretty proud of his flirting. “See, it’s easy,” he thinks to himself.

“Do you like the blue handkerchief?” He asks after a moment, taking it a bit out of his pocket.

“Matches the color of my eyes,” Louis smiles, “so, yeah.”

“And your shirt.” He points out.

Louis looks down at himself. “I forgot I was wearing this, yeah, it does.”
They stay quiet for a bit.

Louis can’t help but notice the way Harry’s cheeks still have a slight blush stuck to them. He also
realizes that “pretty boy” doesn’t really fit him. It doesn’t do him justice. He’s beautiful, like,
hands down one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen in his life.

“So, did you come by yourself?” Harry asks after a few moments in silence.

“Excuse you!” Louis exclaims, sounding offended. “How dare you?”

Harry widens his eyes.

“I’m in very good company.” He says, then. “There’s a very cute boy with me.”

And then, to no sake of Louis’ heart, Harry fucking pouts.

“Oh.”

He carries on pouting.

“Harold.” He stares at him incredulously. “The cute boy is you.”

“Oh!” Harry lets out, giggling.

Jesus Christ. There’s no way Louis’ making it out of this shit alive.

“You’re pretty slow, mate.” He says, shaking his head and taking a puff of his forgotten cigarette.

“Hey.” He pouts again. “I’m drunk, gimme a break.”

Louis shakes his head again, letting out a laugh through his nose.

“Can I?” He asks, pointing to the cigarette.

“By all means.” Louis says, handing him the cigarette.

“I don’t smoke, so you could, like.” He points to Louis’ mouth.

“What?” He furrows his eyebrows.

Harry raises his eyebrows, doesn’t say anything else, waiting for him to get it. When he finally
does, he lets out a “oooooh”. He shakes his head. “And I’m the slow one.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Come’ere.” He says before taking a long puff of his cigarette.

It doesn’t even take him a second to do as Louis asked him to, leaning in. Louis pulls the cigarette
out of his mouth, keeping it in his right hand. With his left hand, he reaches for Harry’s cheeks and
presses his fingers lightly to them, so he’ll part his lips. Harry stares into his eyes, gulping, then his
glance turns to Louis’ lips.

“Bit wider.” Louis says quietly.

Harry does so.

Louis gets so, so close that he feels Harry’s warm breath on his own nose and lips. His heart races a
bit too fast to his own liking as he blows the smoke into Harry’s mouth. It’s midway into the
process that he realizes he didn’t actually tell him to inhale the smoke, so it’s pretty expected when
he pulls away and Harry frowns.

“Don’t think it worked.” He tells him.

“Did you inhale?” Louis asks.

“Oh.”

“Sort of how smoking works, mate.” He laughs.

“Can we do it again?” He asks, barely even a whisper.

And, yeah, if Louis thought he wouldn’t make it out of this shit alive before, now he’s one hundred
percent sure.

“Sure.” He gulps, licks his lips, takes another long puff.

He does the same process as before, but this time, he keeps his eyes on Harry’s parted lips. And
Jesus fucking Christ. What even is this man and is this God testing Louis? Because he sure as hell
ain’t passing this test.
This time, Harry actually does inhale the smoke and, to no one’s surprise, he coughs immediately.

Louis smirks.

“Yeah, you really don’t smoke.” He points out, inhaling the last bit of nicotine left in the cigarette.
He uses the pack to light off the butt and stands up to throw it in the trash. When he gets back,
Harry’s staring at him. He sits again. “Did you come with anyone?”

“Not really.” Harry says.

“You still went for the bouquet?” Louis asks.

“Call it wishful thinking.” He smiles.

Louis snorts. “Sure.”

“You don’t believe in catching the bouquet and being the next one to get married?” He asks,
looking genuinely interested in his answer.

“Call it being reasonable.” Louis says playfully. Harry frowns. “I’m joking, I think people can
believe whatever they want to believe.”

“Yeah.” Harry smiles.

“You’re a strong defender of marriage?” He asks then, turning to face him.

“Yeah.” He says. “If it’s the right person for you, I mean.”

“Did you find your right person?”

Harry takes a bit longer than Louis would’ve expected. “There was someone. There isn’t anymore,
though.”

Louis nods.

They stay in silence.

“You look too sober.” Harry says after a moment.

Louis snorts, again. “I’m very strong for alcohol, thank you.”

“I’m not.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“I can see it.”

Beautiful boy tilts his head, looks into Louis’ eyes. “You’re funny.” He says.

Louis furrows his eyebrows, looks one side then the other. “Thanks, I guess.”

“No, I’m serious.” Harry says, then, trying his best to look serious. Louis notices his nearly closed
eyelids. He’s drunk and he’s cute. “I dig the funny, you know?”

Louis laughs. “And the actors?” He asks, serious, referencing his previous joke. He smirks after a
bit.

“I dig your cinema, too.” He smiles softly. “And you’re cute.”

“Uh.” Louis bites his bottom lips, feels his cheeks warming. “Thanks.”

“And you’re pretty.”

“Now, you’re making me blush.”

“And you’re small.”

“And now you’re just taking the piss.” Louis says, playfully sounding offended.

Harry takes a moment. His eyes drift to Louis’ lips. “And I really want to kiss you.” He says, voice
barely even audible.

Louis gulps. “And now you’re just stating the obvious.”

Harry laughs. “I take it back, I’m going home.”

“What? Sorry, couldn't hear you properly. You want to take me home?” Louis asks, smirking at
him.

Harry shakes his head, still laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And single.”

“I got the bouquet.” Harry points out.

“Slow down, Juliet. One marriage per year.” Louis says, shaking his head.

“Yeah, my parents’ last year. Ellie and Oliver’s this year…” He raises his eyebrows daringly.
“Ours in 2023?” He asks, smirking.

“You’re fast.”

“Thought I was slow?” Harry asks, raising his eyebrows again, smiling.

“And you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Was hoping the other way around?” He offers.

Louis widens his eyes, parting his lips, like he didn’t expect this comment at all.

Harry’s eyes widen too. “Oh, my God, I was joking, please don’t give up on me.”

At that, Louis snorts. “You’re funny too, Harry.”

“I try my best, thank you.” He says, looking smug.

For a few moments, they stay quiet again. Except, even less drunk than he was before, Louis can’t
seem to stop himself from looking at Harry every chance he gets. It’s the courage that wasn’t there
before. To be honest, Louis doesn’t know when it arrived.

“You were talking about taking me home?”

“Sorry, couldn’t hear you properly, you want to take me home?” Harry shoots back.

Louis squints his eyes then raises his eyebrows, nodding with a smirk on his lips. “I see it, that’s
how it’s gonna be?”

“I’m a lady.” He says. “You invite me over and I politely consider your offer.”

“As if you’re not dying to kiss me.”

Harry looks like he’s thinking for a bit, looks up. Then shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

Louis licks his lips. “I’m sure.” He says, pretending to buy it. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I went by
myself?”

“As if you’re not dying to take me to bed.”

“Jesus Christ, when did this conversation become this?”

“I’m drunk?” Harry offers.

“If you’re drunk, you should probably go home, mate.”

“Not that drunk.”

“Mmm, I see.”

“Please?” Harry asks, hand reaching out for Louis’ thigh. “Take me home?”

He looks down to spot the hand, laying there, not moving. He gulps. “God, when I tell you I’m not
strong enough I mean it,” he thinks to himself.

Louis smiles, doesn’t even consider it, doesn’t even hesitate. He leans in to press a kiss to Harry’s
cheek. “Let’s say goodbye to everyone.” He says. He licks his lips “and don’t forget the bouquet.”
 Chapter 2
Chapter Summary

And finally, fucking finally, Louis has a second alone to breathe. He tries hard to
ignore the way he’s feeling, tries to ignore the way it feels like he’s known this man
for years, tries to ignore the way his voice sounds so familiar, the way he laughs
sounds so familiar. He looks so familiar.

He ignores it. He’s not thinking of him, he’s fucking not thinking of him, mainly when
there’s a cute boy in his bathroom and he’s probably two minutes away from making
out with said cute boy.

It still has him thinking.

He takes another shot before Harry comes back from the bathroom.

Chapter Notes

Hiiii, I'm back with a new chapter.

As I said, not much of a slow builder, huh?

The story is finally getting started, still no angst, just a bit. It goes from here, there are
so many ideas in my head and I can't wait to post more.

Love you xxx

For the longest time in his life, Louis thought he was the one person he’s ever known that just
couldn’t control himself when he really wanted something. It takes two minutes in his car with
Harry for him to realize that was complete bullshit. It turns out beautiful boy can barely keep his
hands to himself as he reaches for the back of Louis’ neck while he’s driving.

Louis clenches his jaw, takes a deep breath.

“I’m driving.” He says, like Harry needs a fucking reminder - but it’s not like he knows one of his
weaknesses is his neck.

“And I’m just playing with your hair.” He states right back at him, smiling with one corner of his
lips.

He realizes there’s no way he’s convincing him to keep his hands off him, so he just relaxes. His
hand feels like heaven and it’s enough to get goosebumps right where he’s touching - besides, he’s
sort of a bit drunk too. Jesus Christ, he’s just realized he’s drunk and driving, his sister would
absolutely kill him for it. At least it’s a short drive.

Louis lives not even ten minutes away from Lisa’s Bed and Breakfast - the perks of living close to
the woods and in a smaller city - he wouldn’t change Doncaster for anywhere. He keeps his eyes
focused on the road, only gets distracted for a second when Harry speaks up.

“Can I put my bluetooth?” He asks.

“Sure.” Louis shrugs.

He removes his hand from Louis’ neck and it should be fucking worrying how much he misses the
touch barely even a second afterwards. He still feels him there, though. It’s really fucking weird,
but whatever.

It doesn’t take long for the beat to start. Of fucking course he would put a sex song. Because that’s
the mood. Still, Louis has to clench his jaw when he listens “I was in your wet dream, driving in
your car”. Jesus Christ. Who even is this man?

The hand returns after a few minutes, but now it rests on his thigh. Louis squirms in his seat. Focus
on the road, focus on the fucking road. Except, of course there’s a moment Louis glances down
and, for a moment, he swears to God he spots something on Harry’s hand. He frowns. What the
fuck is that?

He doesn’t have much time to think, though. Next thing he’s hearing is “it’s enough to make a girl
blush, it’s enough, it’s enough to make a girl blush”.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, widening his eyes and focusing on the road once
again.

“You good?” Harry asks after a second.

“Yeah, just dying to get home.” Louis says, takes a deep breath. “Really fucking dying to get
home.”

“Are we close?” He asks, caressing his thigh gently.

“Really fucking close, like two blocks.”

And so they arrive.

Louis’ house is located in the rich part of Doncaster - thank God for being a lawyer. The walls are
tall and black, covered with a large see-through sliding door that shows enough to whoever passes
on the street. There are large stairs that lead to his front door and a beautiful front garden. Harry
admires it for a moment.

Louis parks in front of the place, opening his own door and walking a bit faster so he’ll reach
Harry’s side. He opens for him.

Harry smiles. “A gentleman.”

“A lady.” Louis replies, smirking.

The beautiful boy’s right hand reaches for his left one and Louis closes the door behind them.
Harry holds his hand as they walk to the front door.

“It’s a beautiful house,” he says once they reach the stairs.

“Thank you.” Louis smiles at him, letting go of his hand so he’ll press the code on the door. Once
the door opens he sticks his arm out to the door. “Ladies first.”
Harry smiles at him, nostrils flaring and dimples carving their ways into his cheeks. “Thank you.”

Louis walks right after him, shutting the door. He turns the living room’s light on - light enough to
see the furniture, low enough to keep the mood. “Do you want something to drink?” He asks,
walking towards the wet bar, also designed in dark colours.

“Just when I’m sobering up?” Harry asks, laughing and following him. Before the other man says
anything, he continues. “We could do a shot?”

Louis looks at him from the counter, raises his eyebrows. “Mate, if you plan on staying sober I
don’t think that’s the best choice.”

“I don’t.” Is all he says.

Louis nods back at him. “Shots it is, then.”

He goes through the bottles on the counter. Tequila, vodka, gin. Jesus Christ, he feels like if he has
another shot he might not be able to keep it in. He’s got to impress him, though, so he pours a shot
of tequila, separates a bit of salt and cuts a lemon, placing all on the counter.

“Body shots?” Harry offers, smiling.

“We’re too old for body shots, Harry.” He says, licking his lips. “But I’m up for it if you are.”

Louis watches as he stays quiet, considering. Harry bites the inside of his cheek, gulps. “Just
shots,” he answers.

“Just shots it is.” He repeats. “Make yourself at home,” he says, reaching for the salt and putting a
bit on his hand, picking up the lemon and glass. Harry repeats his moves. “Abajo, a cima, to the
side or something, out and in? I don’t know how this goes.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how it goes,” he smiles, “cheers.”

They clink glasses and down the shot. Harry grimaces. “Jesus Christ, this is disgusting.”

Placing the empty glass on the counter and using the sink to wash his hands, Louis laughs. “Sorry,
next time I’ll just give you orange juice.”

Harry rolls his eyes, moving close to his side. “Hey, don’t turn it off, lemme wash my hands,
asshole.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Damn, you’re rude.”

He’s pretty sure he’s dealing with a child by the moment Harry sticks his tongue out, making a
silly face. He has to hold back the smile, though.

“Is there a bathroom?” He hears then.

“No, Harry, I don’t shower or use the toilet. I’m a caveman.”

“See. Asshole.” Harry points out.

Louis shakes his head. “Down the corridor, last door to the right.”

“Thanks.” He says before turning away.

And finally, fucking finally, Louis has a second alone to breathe. He tries hard to ignore the way
he’s feeling, tries to ignore the way it feels like he’s known this man for years, tries to ignore the
way his voice sounds so familiar, the way he laughs sounds so familiar. He looks so familiar.

He ignores it. He’s not thinking of him, he’s fucking not thinking of him, mainly when there’s a
cute boy in his bathroom and he’s probably two minutes away from making out with said cute boy.

It still has him thinking.

He takes another shot before Harry comes back from the bathroom.

By the time he finally gets back, which feels like a good ten minutes later, Louis’ sitting on the
couch, legs spread, head laid back on the fabric. Jesus, partying is good, but there’s nothing like the
comfort of Louis’ home. He opens his eyes when he hears him approaching. Except, he doesn’t
take the huge empty spot next to him, no. He sits on his lap, one leg on each side of Louis’ body.
Slowly, he takes off his suit and places it on the couch.

Louis gulps.

His own hands reach over for the man’s thighs, just resting there, fingers spread open. He licks his
lips. He takes his time - eyeing all the way from Harry’s legs to his arms and throat.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asks, quietly.

Louis stays quiet, reaches with his right hand for the man’s face, touching his warm skin. Harry
leans into his touch, tilting his head and closing his eyes. His hand continues its path, moving from
his cheek to the back of his neck, pressing into the skin gently.

“Please.” Harry repeats as if reminding Louis he’s there. “Please, can I kiss you?”

Louis’ eyes finally meet his, looking at him. This feels too fucking familiar, but he’s ignoring it.
Louis’ ignoring it. There’s no chance. There’s no way. He’s ignoring it.

“Kiss me.” Is what he lets out, after a few seconds, low and raspy.

And so Harry leans in. He takes a moment, a bit too long, forehead pressed to Louis’, eyes glued to
his lips. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath before he’s finally pressing his lips’ to Louis’.

Harry tastes like tequila. Harry tastes like tequila and desperation and Louis is pretty sure he tastes
about just the same. “Fuck,” he mutters, reaching for the back of Harry’s neck, pulling him in as
close as humanly possible.
“Kiss me, kiss me.” Harry whispers between kisses, needy.

“I’m kissing you, Harry.” Louis answers, pulling him into his mouth again.

It’s quiet after that, the only audible sound being the wet kisses, the soft moans leaving the taller
man’s lips as Louis squeezes his thigh. And wasn’t Oliver right? He fits just right. Harry’s
desperate, he answers, he complies, he begs. Louis hasn’t felt it in years, so many years. It’s almost
like.

“Fuck, I need you, Louis.” He moans. “I need you, please.”

Louis groans. “Harry, fuck,” he says, out of breath, hands slowly caressing his back all the way to
his ass. He squeezes it a bit too strongly, but before he even has time to worry, Harry is moaning
louder, head falling into his neck, forehead resting on the skin where it meets his shoulder. He
sounds as out of breath as Louis is.

Harry’s arms move to Louis’ shoulders, resting there. It takes another squeeze of Louis’ hand on
his ass before he finally grinds his hips down. And he does it so naturally, he does it just right.
Louis moans. “Good,” he mutters under his breath, “keep going.”

And he does. Harry grinds down like he needs it, like he needs to feel him growing hard underneath
him, like he needs to know he’s pleasing him. “Good,” Harry repeats drunkenly off Louis’ touch,
“good,” like a mantra.

Louis ignores the smell. Louis ignores the familiar taste on his lips. Louis ignores how it feels like
dejavu. He ignores it.

“Look at me.” He says, hand reaching for the back of Harry’s short hair, pulling it lightly. “I want
to see you.”

And fuck if it isn’t the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Harry isn’t into it. Harry is it. He looks like
sex, he smells like sex, he is sex. Louis gulps at the sight before him - Harry’s eyelids barely even
open, he looks dizzy, he lets himself feel it, throwing his head back for a bit, grinding harder onto
Louis’ lap.

And if this already feels like heaven, Louis can only imagine what the real thing must feel like.

“Let me take your shirt off.” Louis mumbles, pressing a kiss to Harry’s neck.

“You.” Harry finally speaks - barely even speaks, to be honest, Louis has to listen closely
otherwise he wouldn’t even think he said anything.

“Baby, shirt off.” Louis repeats, ignoring him.

“You first.” He says breathy. “You. First. Please.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows, licks his lips. He ignores it, he just ignores it as he pulls Harry’s body
away from his a bit so he’ll have space to unbutton his shirt.

He doesn’t look at Harry as he does it, only concerned about getting all those layers out of the way
so he can feel him properly against his skin.

He feels it, though.

He feels Harry’s hand on his torso, and he’s not even unbuttoned four buttons. Louis breathes
heavily as he feels his right hand on his skin, caressing him, but most importantly, caressing his
tattoos.

“Fuck.” Harry whispers, shakily.

Louis hears him gulp as he finally removes the rest of the shirt. He backs away from the couch so
he’ll be able to take it off completely, and Harry’s hands never leave his skin. Louis finally looks
up. He watches Harry’s features and how they’ve changed and what he looks like. Louis can’t even
pinpoint what he looks like, exactly. But it’s not the same as before and it sort of feels different.

His hand reaches for Harry’s chin, raises his head gently. “You good?” He asks.

Harry bites his bottom lip. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.” He smiles. But not as before, not the same way
he was smiling before.
“Hey.” Louis calls his attention again, his other hand reaching for Harry’s hand that’s resting just
over his heart, he rests his own just over it. “You sure?”

“I just.” Harry starts, looking down at their hands once again. “I just really want this.”

Louis frowns, tipping Harry’s chin up again. “Hey,” he says, “I want this, too.”

“Not as much as I do.” Is all he says.

“Harry.” Louis says, eyebrows still furrows. “We can stop it if you want, I can take you home. It’s
okay.”

Harry widens his eyes, eyebrows raised. He shakes his head repeatedly. “No, no. I just.” He bites
the inside of his cheek. “I just. I really want this, I’m scared you won’t.”

“Harry, why wouldn’t I want this?” Louis asks, still looking at him. His hand moves from his chin
to his cheek, slowly caressing the skin with his thumb.

Harry shrugs.

“Are you sure you want this?” Louis asks once again, wants to make sure he feels as comfortable
as before, wants to make sure he won’t regret it. Harry nods, eyes glued to his.

Familiar. It feels too familiar.

“Let me take your shirt off,” he offers.

“I should’ve drank more.”

Louis laughs. “Look, I know I’m not Tom Cruise, but I can’t be all that bad, come on.”

At that, Harry laughs. Louis mentally pats himself in the head for his achievement. His hands reach
for the hem of his shirt. He looks up. “Can I?”

“Promise you won’t freak out.” Harry whispers.

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “Harry, I’m sure you’re as hot as you feel.”

One side of Harry’s lips curve up, he stays quiet.

Slowly, Louis guides his hands up Harry’s body. Through the shirt, he feels his tummy, chest and
nipples. He takes a second, squeezing the nib of his right nipple, causing Harry to moan, eyes still
glued to his face. When Louis finally reaches for the top button, the other man’s hand quickly
moves to where he’s resting his own. Louis looks up at him.

“Promise me.” He repeats, quietly.

“I won’t.” Is all Louis says before Harry takes a deep breath and moves his hand away.

His chest is heavy under Louis’ hands, breathing getting faster and faster. Louis slowly unbuttons
the first one, looking up to meet his eyes through his eyelashes. “Can I-“

“Just do it.”

Louis bites his bottom lip, reaching for the second one. Slowly, he unbuttons it. And he goes for
the third, and the fourth and as the shirt begins to open, falling to the sides, Harry covers his chest
before Louis’ fully able to see skin.
“Promise me.” He asks again.

“Harry, now you’re freaking me out. Do you have your nipples pierced or something?” Louis asks,
furrowing his eyebrows.

“Fuck.” Harry mutters under his breath. “Just promise me.”

“I won’t freak out, Harry.” Louis repeats, firmly. “I won’t freak out.”

And it’s just when Harry licks his lips, looks down at his lap and lets the shirt fall open that Louis
sees it.

He clenches his jaw. His own breath starts quickening, like he’s running out of air. He doesn’t pull
away, though, he doesn’t look up to meet Harry’s eyes either. He just goes for the fifth button and
the sixth, and the seventh.

He widens his eyes.

It’s the swallows. It’s the moth.

And he goes on and on.

And it’s the ferns.

He feels frozen. Hands shaking as they involuntarily move to the skin, to the ink. He caresses the
skin, slowly. Louis gulps. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way. Except it hits him, all at once.
The way Oli didn’t know, couldn’t have what with his mother getting married to Ellie’s father the
year before, what with Louis having only ever shown him a single picture of Harry, what with their
relationship being just between them. The way he left him to pursue his dreams - singing or acting.
The way he feels so familiar. The way this all feels too fucking familiar.

“You knew?” Is all he’s able to say.

“You promised you wouldn’t freak out.”

“You knew.”

Harry's hands are shaking where they rest on his own thighs, his chest is heavy where Louis’ hands
rest.

Louis can’t even look up to meet his eyes, his own glued to the ink on his torso. He slowly caresses
the moth. He can’t breathe. He can’t fucking breathe. Because this is Harry. This is the man he’s
been stuck on for years. This is the man that’s sitting on his lap. It’s him.

“I’m sorry.” He hears the whisper.

Louis ignores him. Louis ignores him as he touches, touches and touches him. And as much as he
touches, as long as he touches, it still doesn’t feel real.

“You knew.” He repeats. “Did anyone else know?”

Quietly, Harry shakes his head.

Louis clenches his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“You could’ve told me.”

“As if you’d even look at me.” Harry says, laughing shortly and humorlessly.

“How didn’t I recognise you?” He asks, then, ignoring him.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Harry shakes his head. “I thought you would. I don’t even know how
you didn’t see the hand tattoo.”

Louis widens his eyes. “Wait, so that’s what the shadow was. I saw it in the car, but I was a bit too
distracted with your girl blushing song.”

At that, Harry giggles. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” He replies, sounding a bit more annoyed than he intended.

And then Harry goes silent. Louis looks at him for a few seconds more before his eyes move to his
chest again.

“I should go,” Harry whispers after a moment, shifting on Louis’ lap, supporting himself on his
knees, trying to stand up.

Louis doesn’t know what hits him - can’t decide if it’s how he feels towards him now or if it’s just
the muscle memory - but he reaches for Harry’s wrist, looks up at him. “Don’t.” He says.

And so he doesn’t. Quietly, he sits back on Louis’ thighs, still not meeting his eyes.

God. Louis can’t believe it’s him.

“You said you wouldn’t freak out.” Harry whispers.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect my ex-boyfriend to be sitting on me.” Louis shoots back.

Harry sighs. “Look, I can really leave if you want.”

Louis stays quiet.

“Unless you want me to stay?” He asks.

“What I really want is for you to shut up.” He states, annoyed. “Look, I’m sorry, it’s just a lot to
take in, give me a second.”

“Okay.”

And then it’s all silent again. Louis’ hands are back on the man’s chest in no time, this time tracing
the swallows. It feels unreal underneath his fingertips. He feels warm and he feels just like he did
ten years ago. He takes his time and Harry gives him all the time he needs. His right hand moves
from his chest to his neck to his cheek.

“I can’t believe it’s really you.” He whispers, voice a bit raspy from how dry his throat feels. His
fingertips trace Harry’s facial features. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.” Harry says quietly.

Louis takes a deep breath. He doesn’t even think before he speaks. “Kiss me,” he mutters under his
breath.

Harry’s eyes widen as soon as he says it. He gulps, chest growing heavier. “You want me to-“

“Just kiss me.”

And Harry does. But this time it feels different. This time it feels like he’s there, like it’s him. It
feels fucking familiar and it feels out of this fucking world because Louis knows him, he knows
what he likes, he knows his body, he knows his taste. And he tastes like Harry. He tastes like the
same Harry he kissed for the first time, he tastes like the same Harry he kissed goodbye before he
got into the plane.

“Fuck,” Louis mutters under his breath, pulling Harry closer, squeezing his hips, guiding him back
into grinding down on him. “Fuck, Harry.”

“Fuck me.” Harry says back, breathlessly. “Fuck me, please.”

Louis groans, hands moving to his ass, his grip getting tighter. “Lay down, fuck,” he moans when
he feels Harry sucks a kiss into his neck. “Come on, Harry, fuck.”

It takes him another two round of hips before he’s leaving Louis’ lap and laying onto the couch.
His hand reaches for Louis’ neck, pulling him down with him. Louis falls over his body, Harry’s
hands quickly moving to his back, scratching them. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s neck, sucking on the skin there. “Shut up,” he mutters onto his
shoulder, biting it. “You talk too much.”

At that, Harry laughs. “I thought you’d remember your way around me.”

“I thought you’d remember to be quiet unless I ask you a question.” Louis says right back at him.

Harry moans at that. So, Louis does remember him well.

Next thing he knows, he feels the man’s hands reach for his ass, squeezing it tight. Louis grinds
down onto him, causing Harry to moan loudly. “Fuck,” he mumbles into his neck, grinding down
again and again and again. Harry’s grip tightens, pulling him down so he won’t stop.

“Fuck me.”

“I said shut up.” Louis mutters.

“Fuck me.”

Louis pulls away from him. “I’m not fucking you.”

“Fuck you.” Harry says, drunkenly.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Well, now I’m absolutely not fucking you.”

“Asshole.”

“Brat.”

“Fuck me.”
“Jesus Christ, am I gonna have to shut you up?” Louis mumbles, having lost a bit of his patience.
“You used to be good.”

Harry looks up at him. “You used to give me what I wanted.”

Louis raises his eyebrows again, shaking his head. He pulls away from him, then. Harry groans at
the loss of warm touch. “Knees.”

“No.” But before Louis can say anything, Harry laughs, standing up from the couch. He has to
support himself on it. If Louis remembers him well, he knows how dizzy he gets when he’s horny.
Louis doesn’t do anything, though, only lays back on the couch and places his arms behind his
head, watching him.

It takes Harry a second to adjust himself on his knees before he’s leaning into Louis’ trousers,
nosing his cock over the layers. He mouths on it, wetting the fabric. Fucking tease. Just as he
remembers.

Harry takes his time, Louis lets him. When he finally unbuttons his trousers and pulls them down
along with the boxers, Louis lets out a sigh of relief, like he can finally breathe. Harry stays quiet
as he observes him.

“Come on, Harry,” he says, impatient.

“Touch yourself.” Is Harry’s answer.

Louis laughs. “I’m sorry, when did I give the impression that I follow orders?”

Harry smirks. “Oh, you don’t? My bad.” He licks his lips. “Please, touch yourself.”

“Jesus Christ, you haven’t changed.” Louis mutters under his breath before he’s reaching for his
cock. “Either I touch myself or you suck me off. Since you want to call the shots.”

Harry squints his eyes back at him before slapping his hand away. “You haven’t changed either,” is
what he says before he finally leans in to wrap his lips on the head of Louis’ cock.

Just as Louis remembered, he teases. He mouths his cock without sucking, just tonguing at the slit.
Louis lets him taste it, but his hand moves to his neck, pressing his fingers there. Harry moans
around him. The man pulls away, lips ghosting over his cock. He looks so fucking sinful, lips wet,
red, puffy. And all because of Louis.

“Fuck my throat,” Harry says, breathing over his cock. “Please.”

Louis groans before he pushes Harry down onto his cock. His hand sticks to Harry’s neck, warm
and sweaty, pushing him further and further until pulls back to cough. Louis smirks. “Thought
you’d remember your way around my cock,” he jokes.

“Fuck you.” He says before he swallows him again, pressing further and further until his lips ghost
over Louis’ skin just beside his cock.

“Jesus fuck, Harry.” Louis moans, hand moving to his hair, he pulls on it, pushing him down.
“Fuck.”

Louis watches as he bobs his head up and down, sometimes looking at him through his eyelashes
and watery eyes.
He feels like he’s catching on fire.

“Harry, shit.” He mutters as Harry pulls away, kissing his length, eyes glued to Louis’. His hand is
on Louis’ cock, moving his wrist up and down, not slow, not quick. Just the way Louis fucking
lives for.

Louis’s hand moves to his lips, caressing them with his thumb.

“Good enough?” Harry manages to say, voice sounding broken and hoarse from deepthroating
Louis.

Louis looks at him, eyelids low, lips bitten raw to stop himself from moaning as Harry fucked
himself on his cock. “Make me come, Harry.” Is what he says.

“You still have a thing for facial?” Harry asks, smirking.

Louis rolls his eyes, reaching for his hair again. He pushes him back down on his cock just as
Harry mouths on it. His hand grips onto Harry’s hair more strongly than before, just enough to
make his ex moan. Sucker for pain, he always has been.

“Good, so good.” He moans, feeling the warmth on his tummy. He groans. “Make me come. Be
good.”

And that seems to be what Harry needed because he swallows his cheeks around Louis’ cock,
sucking and licking around him. It’s just when he looks up through his eyelashes, that Louis’ grip
tightens on his hair and he comes down his throat.

“Fuck.” He lets out. “Harry, fuck.”

Harry holds himself still as Louis fucks his throat, riding out his orgasm. Louis’ hand stays on his
hair, but he no longer holds it, just rests it there. When he finally falls down onto the couch, Harry
starts sucking him off again. Louis’ grip tightens on Harry’s hair, pulling him off.

“Jesus, fuck, Harry.” He mutters breathlessly. “Sensitive, Jesus.”

Looking up at him and with a smirk on his face, Harry wipes his mouth the back of his hand. He
looks a little less dizzy than Louis feels, but then again, it’s not like Louis’ actually able to see
much with his eyes barely even open.
Harry stands up from the carpet, wiping his knees. Louis, trying his hardest to keep his eyes open,
catches a few glimpses of the man in front of him removing his pants and boxers. He gulps at the
sight of his hard cock. It doesn’t take Harry long before he’s sitting on his lap again. Louis groans
at the weight over his cock, shifting so he’ll adjust himself into a more comfortable position.

“Good enough?” Harry repeats his previous question, looking a bit too smug.

“Meh.” Louis lays his head back on the couch, looking unimpressed.

Harry squints his eyes. “Think you can do better?” He asks daringly.

Louis licks his lips, cussing at his dry throat. “You know I can.” He manages to say. “Just. Gimme
like two minutes.”

“Damn, you’re old.” Harry says playfully.

Louis opens his eyes, squinting them. “You’re two years younger than me, mate.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Why do you keep calling me mate?”

Louis lets out a laugh through his nose. “What do you want me to call you?”

He looks down, bites his upper lip. Says quietly “you know what”.

Louis ignores how it hits a bit too close to home. He raises his eyebrows, smirking. “Still your
thing?”

“Shut up.”

“Well, I wanna see you make me.” Louis licks his lips, reaching for Harry’s waist, he squeezes it a
bit, smirking. “Princess.”
 Chapter 3
Chapter Summary

And don’t get him wrong. The fact that he’s stuck on someone for so long doesn’t
make him dependent, it just makes him emotionally unavailable. And the thing is,
after Harry, after years, he never even tried to move on. The thing is life just went on.
Life goes on and you learn to just ignore it.

And that’s what frustrates him the most - he hasn’t even tried.

Chapter Notes

Hiii, it's me again!

Another chapter, another heartbreak.

Want to thank Britt and Liz for helping me word some phrases in a better way. I love
you.

Hope you enjoy it. x

The one thing that Louis’ always loved the most about sex with Harry is how he can always tell
how he’s feeling. It’s something about the way he’s always so responsive, always so willing to take
whatever he wants to give him, to please him. So it isn’t really a surprise when Harry gets dizzier
and dizzier as Louis touches him.

Harry is all about giving and taking, taking, taking.

And Louis fucking missed him.

Harry’s still on his lap when he finally gets back in the mood - he’s actually never lost it, to be
honest. His skin feels soft under Louis’ calloused hands, like the silk that covers his bed. He traces
all the way from his thigh to his stomach just for the feeling of it. Harry’s cock is hard, laying
against his belly as Louis avoids it, teasing him.

It takes him a while, but when Louis finally reaches for his nipples, it comes back to him so
naturally, like the thought never even left his mind - how sensitive they are. Harry shivers, closing
his eyes, lips parting into a shape of an o as he lets out a low moan.

He doesn’t speak, only tries to, and that’s exactly how Louis wanted him.

The thing about sex with Harry is that he’s so into it that he exudes it. Louis knows he’s not far
from getting a hard-on again, but he tries to focus on him, on pleasing him.

Louis’ hands reach for Harry’s hips, squeezing the skin tight between his fingers. And, fuck. It’s
been ten years, but it feels like they’ve never been apart. He ignores his chest, ignores how fast his
own heart starts beating as he looks up to meet Harry’s face, and ignores the fear he feels.

Focus on the now.

He leans in, pressing a kiss to the man’s chest, neck and ear - has to stop himself from saying what
he really wants to, how much he’s missed this. Harry groans as Louis bites particularly hard onto
his shoulder. God. He wants it so much he can barely breathe.

“Please.” He hears.

Harry breathes. Louis breathes him in.

Louis’ so drunk off Harry’s touch, smell, responsiveness, that it feels like the alcohol is still in his
system. He reaches for Harry’s nipple, twists it hard.

“Ah.” Harry moans, face contorting into a painful but pleasured feature. His own hand
involuntarily reaches for Louis’ shoulder, bracing himself on it. “More,” he says, begs.

And it’s beautiful - the way he can’t even form a phrase, the way Louis can keep him quiet, well
behaved.

Louis doesn’t think about how long it’s been since he’s had him like this for the last time. He
doesn’t.

“Please.” Harry repeats, eyelids low, pupils blown.

“Quiet.” Louis demands.

“Please,” he ignores him.

Louis doesn’t insist, he’s nearly as desperate as him - if not as desperate. He finally brings his hand
between their bodies, reaches for Harry’s cock, wrapping his fingers around him and letting out a
breath as soon as he feels the warmth radiating from it.

Harry moans, louder. “Please,” he begs, “need you. Please.”

Louis wants him quiet and so he shuts him up. With his other hand, he reaches for the back of his
neck, pulls him into a kiss. Harry kisses like he speaks, slow and taking his time. His tongue no
longer tastes like tequila, it tastes like Louis and that’s far better.

Once Louis finally rubs his wet slit, Harry pulls away from the kiss, letting out a loud moan. Louis
feels as his cock throbs in his grip, as he squeezes his eyes shut just letting himself feel it.

Louis’ so lost into the moment, it takes him a few minutes to remember he’s able to speak. So he
flicks his wrist. “Good girl,” he finally says, voice raspy and low.

And fuck. He didn’t even remember how responsive Harry was, how much he enjoyed this, until
he feels him thrust his cock into his hand. When Louis looks up, he meets Harry’s half open eyes,
parted lips, rosy cheeks. He sees the tongue resting inside his mouth, like he needs to be filled.
Always needs to feel full. Just like he remembered.

God. He’s missed this.

“More.” Harry manages to say like he has to force himself to speak.

Louis’ hand flies from his neck to his hip, keeping him still. Except, Harry doesn’t comply, he
doesn’t obey. Louis clenches his jaw. “Still, Harry.”

“Can’t.” Is what he breathes. “‘m trying, ‘m trying.”

He feels like fire underneath Louis’ hands. Harry looks as desperate and needy as he feels. He
doesn’t speak, can’t even think, let alone form words. He presses his hand harder on his skin, hard
enough to leave a bruise. “I said still, Harry.”

Louis doesn’t stop though, doesn’t give him time to recompose himself as he flicks his wrist,
moving his hand up and down. His eyes roll down, glued to Harry’s cock. He watches as he leaks
more and more. Louis feels himself throb underneath Harry’s balls.

“So wet for me.” He says, flicking his wrist again.

“More.” Harry begs.

“You talk too much.” Louis replies.

“Deserve it.” He moans, hand gripping on Louis’ shoulder. “Made you come. Was good.”

Louis doesn’t praise him, doesn’t compliment him, doesn’t agree. At least not with words. He
quickens his moves, thumbing at the slit every so often. His other hand moves to Harry’s hair.
“Want to see you come,” he tells him, “look at me,” he demands, watching as Harry forces himself
to keep his eyes open.

And it’s funny how even after all these years, it all still feels so natural.
Green eyes meet his.

And, honestly, scratch the previous thought. The one thing that Louis’ always loved the most about
sex with Harry is making him come. There’s nothing more pleasurable than watching him fall
apart under his hands, to know he was responsible for making him lose it. He doesn’t know where
to look - Harry’s face expression or the way his cock throbs, throbs and throbs as he comes, comes
and comes.

He doesn’t praise him. He ignores the way it feels too personal.

“Thank you,” Harry says as he comes, “thank you, thank you.”

And for a moment - just for a fucking moment - it feels like ten years ago.

The thing about sex with Harry is he turns completely useless after it - add alcohol to it and boom -
perfect match. And so it isn’t really a surprise when he lays his head on Louis’ shoulder and
mumbles another “thank you” before he’s out.

Louis gives him a minute - maybe even ten, but it’s not like he’s really willing to admit it - before
he slowly moves him off his lap, laying him on the couch. Harry blinks once or twice as he does it,
but doesn’t say anything - which is good, since the thought of having to have a conversation with
him after all’s out in the open makes Louis’ skin itch.

Louis turns away, shaky hands as he searches for his suit. He finds it on the floor, right next to his
shoes - doesn’t even remember taking it off. He puts on his boxers before he takes his pack of
cigarettes and walks out to the balcony.
It doesn’t hit him like a crashing wave, no. It’s more like a fucking punch to his face, when he
realizes. He ignores the way his hands tremble as he tries to light up the cigarette. “Fuck,” he
cusses under his breath before taking a long drag off it.

He feels dizzy, nauseous, but most importantly, he feels sober.

And it fucking hits him.

Because this was him. This is him. This is the man he’s been stuck on for years, this is the man
that ruined relationships for him, this is the man he can’t forget. And it’s not regret that he feels, he
feels like it’s withdrawn. And there are so many thoughts going through his head that he can’t
fucking think straight.

He takes another hit off his cigarette, supporting his forearms on the grid.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, clenching his jaw.

Because the thing is there are a million thoughts going through his head, but the one that sticks out
is the feeling that it’s only a matter of time before it all goes to shit again.

When he leaves to go to his room, he passes by the couch. And, as much as he wants to, he doesn’t
look back.
☺

“Are you scared things are going to change?” Harry asks, shifting the position of his head so he’ll
be able to look at Louis.

It’s late in the night and they’re laying on a blanket Louis spread out for them in the backyard of
his house. His family went away for the weekend, staying over at his auntie’s house - he didn’t
hesitate before coming up with an excuse to stay back and have the house to him and his boyfriend.

Louis doesn’t speak, feels his mouth begin to dry. He tries to be subtle, but can’t hide the way he
feels when he pulls Harry closer to him so he’s laying with his body half over Louis’. They haven’t
discussed it, honestly, Louis avoids it like the goddamned plague. The conversation he never
thought he’d have, the conversation he never wants to have.

“Lou?” The other boy calls him, still looking up at him.

The thing is it’s always been in Louis’ being to try to be strong for everyone - even if it meant
suffering in silence. Harry, on the other hand, talks. Harry talks and he says how he feels, he
shares his fears, asks questions, doesn’t keep a single thought to himself. But Louis. Louis just
doesn’t.

He wants so badly to say that things will be okay, wants to tell him not to worry about it, but how is
he supposed to do that when he can’t even bring himself to believe his own words?

Harry sighs. “You need to talk to me, Louis,” he says after a while, giving up on trying to get Louis
to look at him.

Still, he can’t bring himself to because he doesn’t know how to say anything without asking him not
to go. Louis doesn’t speak, just squeezes his eyes shut, trying his hardest not to let his feelings out.

It takes him a moment, like he’s hesitating, like he doesn’t want to spend a minute of this last week
away from Louis’ touch, but he pulls away, shifting his position, so he’s sitting down. He has his
legs crossed, body facing Louis. He looks down at him. Louis doesn’t look back, he doesn’t even
open his eyes.

“Louis, please.” Harry says.

Louis licks his lips. “Harry, can we not? Please?”

But it’s in a week. It’s in just a week. Louis can only avoid it for so long.

“When do you want to talk?” He asks then. “When I’m not here anymore?”

And it fucking hits Louis because this is actually happening. Harry is actually leaving. And Louis
can do nothing but be a supportive boyfriend. Except it fucking hurts. It hurts him because this is
the boy he fell in love with a year and a half ago, the boy that brought out the best in him, the boy
he couldn’t see himself without.

“Louis.” He calls him, sounding a little more annoyed.

Louis sighs. “Just.” He bites the inside of his cheek so hard he feels the metallic taste of blood.
“Not now, please.”

“Louis, I’m leaving in a week.” Harry says.

Like Louis needs to be fucking reminded of that every fucking five seconds.

“Yeah, Harry.” Louis says, finally looking at him. “You leave in a fucking week, now can we
please not do this now.”

And.

This time, Harry doesn’t argue. Instead, he takes a deep breath, gives up, looking at Louis’ facial
expressions for a bit too long and laying back down in his arms.

He doesn’t insist. He doesn’t need to.

Louis knows and, a week later, Louis regrets it.

The curtains are open. Louis wakes up to the sun shining on his face and, to no one’s surprise, an
empty bed. The first thing that hits him is the headache and he groans, turning his face from the
window and diving it into his soft pillow. The second thing that hits him is everything.

He doesn’t get up, but he stays quiet. He doesn’t know why he expects to hear anything but the
sound of Clifford and Bruce’s loud breathing right beside his bed. He still expects it and he gets
nothing.

Clifford jumps on his bed - he was never able to teach him not to - laying right beside him. He
smiles, patting his head tiredly. He tries not to think of it, but the empty feeling inside his stomach,
that isn’t just hunger, tells him he wasn’t wrong about how things would go.

He closes his eyes and remembers as every bit of the night before washes over him. It’s just then
that he realizes he was drunk, but not nearly drunk enough. He cusses to himself, as he remembers
the feeling of skin on skin. The feeling of him.

When he does get up - and it takes him a fucking while and a lot of Clifford licking his arm - he
walks towards the bathroom.
“Gimme a second,” he mumbles sleepily to his dogs, who just stare at him, tilting their heads.
“Lemme wake up.”

It takes him a second to finally look up at his reflection in the mirror. And it’s just what he was
expecting. Bruises over his neck, scratch marks over his torso and back. It just proves to him that
last night wasn’t a lucid dream. He still can’t bring himself to believe it wasn’t.

He braces himself on the counter, shutting his eyes closed. “Fuck,” he cusses under his breath as
the thought of Harry washes over him.

He knows not to expect and so he walks into the shower, turns on the hot water and takes his time.

As he walks downstairs, Clifford and Bruce by his side, he walks past the living room. He knows
he isn’t there. He can’t bring himself to step foot into the room knowing what happened, and so he
goes straight to the kitchen and pours food into his dogs’ bowls. They look at him like they know.

Or maybe Louis’ just officially losing his fucking mind.

Whatever.

Louis doesn’t have breakfast. Instead, he makes himself the strongest coffee he’s ever made and
goes back to his room. This time, though, he can’t help himself from looking into the living room.

He knows not to expect. It still hurts like a fucking bitch when he sees the empty couch. It hurts
even more when he sees the pillows placed the same way they were before. And it hurts because,
not only does it feel like it never happened, it also looks like it.

And so he does what he knows. He opens his computer to work. Except.

There’s a note. A sticky note on the screen.

“Thank you for last night. H”

He doesn’t even think before he’s throwing it in the trash.

He grabs his phone.

And fucking scratch work. Louis wouldn’t be able to fucking focus.

It isn’t hard to gather some of his mates and colleagues for a football game. They meet up every
Wednesday for a match and since Louis was too busy this week, they were pretty excited about his
message “footie match?”.

When Louis arrives, there are already a few known people there. He spots Niall in no time and it’s
fucking annoying because just the sight of him brings back everything from the night before. He
walks to where he’s standing, talking to someone Louis doesn’t know.

“Hey.” He says as soon as he reaches them.

Niall and the man turn to look at him right away. “Hey!” His friend smiles, pulling him into a hug.
As soon as he pulls away he points his hand at the other man. “This is Isaac.”
Louis takes his hand and shakes it. “Nice to meet you, I’m Louis.”

“Isaac.” He smiles back.

“He’s finishing law school in a few months.” Niall says. “I’ve been going through some cases with
him. No names, of course.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Well, we could use a new intern,” is what he replies.

He pretends he doesn’t see the way Niall widens his eyes at Isaac, who looks at him trying to bite
back a huge smile on his face - their facial expressions are basically screaming their plan worked
out.

After a few seconds, Louis walks away from them, going to the middle of the field. It doesn’t take
too long before everyone arrives and he’s finally able to focus on something else. Just what he
fucking needed - a good footie match.

He scores six goals - it’s not like he’s counting or anything - but it’s a good two hours of running
on the field and by the time he’s done, he feels tired, but he also feels a little better, and, most
importantly, he barely even thought of him while playing.

Most of the people are gone when he sits on the bench, water bottle in his hand, lungs still running
out of air. He swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, sighing. He looks up once he hears
someone approaching.

“You vanished last night,” Niall says, coming to a stop when he’s right in front of him.

And so much for wanting to keep shit out of his mind.

The hours do pass by fast when you’re doing something you love.

Louis shrugs, drinks his water again.

“You left with that man, didn’t you?” He says, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows daringly.

Once again, all Louis does is shrug.

This time, Niall furrows his eyebrows. “What is it? Wasn’t it good?”

And Louis wants to fucking slap him because no. No, Niall, it wasn’t fucking good. It was worse.
It was so good it made him remember what he once had. He sighs. “Yeah, it was,” is what he
replies, instead.

His friend stares at him for a minute before he walks over to the empty spot beside Louis. He sits
down, braces himself on the thighs, looks sideways to meet Louis’ face. Louis doesn’t look at him,
though, the field looks very much less intimidating, thank you.

“You good?” Niall asks, again.

This time, Louis has to clench his jaw because fuck Niall Horan and his constant caring about
people around him. For a second, Louis wonders if he knows Harry. The thing is, when you want
to avoid someone at all costs, you can. So it isn’t really a surprise Louis’ never seen a movie
Harry’s been in, hasn’t searched for his name on the internet ever since- well, ever since three
months after he left.

He wonders if Niall knows him, and, him being famous makes it way fucking harder to discuss
anything.

“I’m good.” Louis answers when he realizes Niall was still there. “I’m good.”

Niall stays quiet, licks his lips. “I think I’ve seen him before.”

Louis doesn’t say anything.

“Wait, didn’t he play Rose’s brother in Too Young? Was a small part, but I’m pretty sure it’s him.”
He says, but before Louis even has time to say he doesn’t know, he doesn’t care, he speaks again.
“He definitely did. Played a small part.” Louis remains quiet. “So, he’s an actor?”

Louis clenches his jaw, looks at Niall. “I don’t know, Niall.” he says, “was just Harry, the one
night stand for me.”

He ignores the way the words sound too bitter, the way the words fucking cut through his heart.

At that, Niall raises his eyebrows. “So?”

Louis sighs. “Look, mate, can we not? Thank you.”

“Louis, chill, Jesus.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Because when Louis feels annoyed, bothered by anything, he tends to
take it out on other people. He sort of forgets it’s not their fault. He sort of forgets it’s not Niall’s
fucking fault his ex decided to come back and fuck him over again after years.

“Sorry, sorry.” He sighs. “Can we just? Not now?”

Niall nods, hand reaching for Louis’ knee and pressing like he’s reassuring he’s there. “Still too
hungover for a beer?”

They opt for the chairs by the bar, easier to get drinks. The place is actually a bit too full for 4pm,
but apparently it’s never too early for alcohol. They both order beer and Louis could actually kiss
him right now, because what he needed wasn’t a good footie match, but Niall, who always knows
just how to keep him distracted.

“You missed half the party.” He says, sipping his beer. Louis’ eyes are glued on the television by
the bar, an old Manchester United match on the screen. “Oli made us drink about fifteen more of
that red shit.”

Louis takes a sip of his own drink, tries not to think of what he was up to in that moment of the
night before.

“Michael nearly proposed to Matt.” And at that, Louis laughs, looking back at him. “They’ve been
dating for literally two months.”

“He’s chill.” Louis says. “I liked him.”

Niall nods. “Me too, for real. No, because he even got down on one knee.”

Louis snorts. “Must’ve been embarrassing.”

“Yeah and he didn’t even get the bouquet.” Niall points out.
Louis doesn’t point out who did. Neither does Niall.

Niall goes off topic, thank God. They end up discussing the next Doncaster match and work and
the contracts that are due on Monday. For an hour or so, Louis drinks a little too fast, but so does
Niall, and it keeps him distracted, so it’s good.

It’s when Louis excuses himself to go to the bathroom and meets his sweaty self in the mirror, that
he sighs. He wonders if Niall’s ever going to point out the huge ass love-bites taking over his neck.
His eyelids are a bit lower than usual. He feels a little drunk, but again, not drunk enough.

For a moment, he allows himself to think where did he go? It makes his blood boil when he
remembers the stick note. And the thing is, it’s not like Louis was expecting anything else to
happen - he saw it coming, he saw exactly what was coming - but he still can’t help himself from
feeling just like he did the first time. Except, this time, it’s worse. This time is worse because this
isn’t the Harry he knew and loved saying that leaving wouldn’t change a thing. No. This is twenty-
eight year old actor Harry - a man he no longer knows, a man who left leaving just a note.

A note thanking him for getting laid.

He curses under his breath. And Louis is pissed. For the longest time he just felt in the dark, like he
couldn’t move on from something that was never really over. But, right now, Louis just feels
anger, and it’s not even at Harry - he feels angry at himself.

Louis blames it all on himself because he saw it coming, he could’ve stopped it from happening,
but, still, he gave in. He gave into the feeling that was crawling on his skin, he gave into the touch
he didn’t even know he missed so much, he gave into one thing he shouldn’t have.

And it’s frustrating because, once again, he feels in the dark. The thing about his and Harry’s
relationship is that it was just for them, and for no reason at all. For Louis, the moment you let
someone else into something, they ruin it. And he regrets it, God does he regret it, because it’s like
a fucking dream. No one else knows, no one else but him and Harry. And it makes him doubt it
even happened.

And don’t get him wrong. The fact that he’s stuck on someone for so long doesn’t make him
dependent, it just makes him emotionally unavailable. And the thing is, after Harry, after years, he
never even tried to move on. The thing is life just went on. Life goes on and you learn to just
ignore it.

And that’s what frustrates him the most - he hasn’t even tried.

He washes his face with cold water, looking up to meet his own eyes. It’s so fucking frustrating
that it’s been ten fucking years and he still knows just how to get under his skin.

He leaves the bathroom so he won’t look at himself anymore.

There’s a full glass of beer waiting for Louis on the counter. Niall looks up at him and smiles.

“Took a while.” He points out, still smiling.

Louis bites the inside of his cheek. He takes a long sip off his drink before he sighs. “I know
Harry.”

Niall furrows his eyebrows, placing his glass on the wooden counter. “Yeah, I guess you could say
that about someone you took home last night?”
Louis clenches his jaw, meets his mate’s eyes. “I knew him before, Niall.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“So, that’s why you…”

“Yeah.” Louis says, looking down at his beer. “I don’t know how I didn’t recognize him, it’s just.
Fuck. Niall, I just didn’t see it coming.”

“Jesus.” Niall mutters under his breath. “Jesus, Louis.”

“And then it was him and.” He clenches his jaw. “He left and I saw it coming, but he still left.”

Niall takes a second, like he’s analyzing the next words to say. He knows Louis all too well, knows
he doesn’t usually open up about things. He’s scared he might scare him away, so he takes a while
before he speaks, choosing his words by finger. “Has it happened before?”

“Not like this.” Louis answers.

“How long?”

It feels fucking terrifying when he says it out loud. “Ten fucking years.”

Niall literally gasps. “Ten years?”

“Ten years.”

“How come Oli didn’t know?” He asks then, furrowing his eyebrows.

“No one did.” He says quietly, doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s fidgeting his fingers. “Not even him. It
was just us.”

“Fuck.” He cusses. “Louis, you bottled this up for ten years?”

At that, Louis lets out a laugh through his nose. Bitter. “Nearly twelve,” he says, “we were together
for nearly two years.”

And then, Niall doesn’t know what to say. In all honesty, Louis’ chest feels heavy, heart beating
fast. He feels a lump inside his throat. His palms sweat, he rubs them on his pants. He wants to
speak, but doesn’t know what else to say. The thing is he doesn’t know how to talk about it, avoids
it at all costs. Louis is scared if he says how he feels, it’ll become true.

He doesn’t realize Niall’s still looking at him, empathy all over his face. He reaches for Louis’
shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Louis licks his lips. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have let you go home with him.”

Looking up, Louis laughs bitterly. “The thing is I don’t know if I’d listen to you.”

Niall stays quiet. Waits.

“I can’t.” Louis starts, stops. The lump in his throat is awfully uncomfortable. “I can’t think when
I’m with him and it’s so fucking annoying because it’s just stupid.”

“Louis, it’s not.”

“But it is.” He interrupts him right away.

“Louis, what you feel is valid.”

But he doesn’t feel like it. He feels so stupid because it keeps coming back to him - the fact that it’s
been so long and he still moves him. If anyone else told him they were stuck on someone for so
long, Louis would probably think they’re overreacting. Why can’t he just walk past this? Why
can’t he just fucking move on? How can someone who hasn’t been in his life for so long still have
this impact on him?

His thoughts are pushed away when he hears Niall speak again. “How did it feel?” He bites his
bottom lip. “Seeing him again?”

“I don’t know.” Is what Louis answers.

Niall knows it’s bullshit. He doesn’t insist on the same question again.

“Do you regret it?” He asks, instead.

Louis clenches his jaw, feels his stomach drop. He stays silent. He doesn’t look up to face him,
feels too intimidating. Niall waits.

“I regret letting him go.” He finally says. “I just. I feel like I’m the only one that feels this way.”

And it feels like a fucking weight. People say that when you open up about how you’re feeling,
when you share what you’re bottling up, you’re supposed to feel better. So, Louis doesn’t know
why he feels like he’s just adding more and more weight on his shoulders. Like he’s more and
more in the dark.

“Why did he come back, though?” Niall asks him.

And Louis would’ve answered, but, honestly, he wouldn’t know.

Because he knows a lot of things, but he doesn’t know Harry, not anymore.
 Chapter 4
Chapter Summary

He tries to argue with himself that it lasted only a year and a half, he shouldn’t be so
dramatic.

But then he remembers Harry saying “time doesn’t matter once you meet the one”.

He shoves the box so far into his closet so he can’t fucking see it anymore.

Chapter Notes

Hiii, it's me again with a new chapter.

I would like to say thank you again for Britt for helping my writer's block and for Britt
and Liz for being my bloody dedicated and supporting betas. I wouldn't be anywhere
without you.

This is particularly my favorite chapter so far. I hope you enjoy it.

Tomorrow's my birthday, but I think I'll post Chapter 5.

Love, Fee

Monday comes.

The one thing Louis never got right when becoming a lawyer were due dates and it turns out
they’re pretty fucking important and set for a reason. Louis’ always been the type to leave things
for the last minute - add the fact that he sort of couldn’t really focus on anything this weekend and
you get the perfect chaos match.

As always, Louis arrives to work on time - it’s something he had to learn since being everyone’s
boss makes you need to set a good example - and he goes straight to his office. Through the see-
through walls of Niall’s office, he sees Isaac, too, which was expected. He does say his good
mornings even though he’s not in the best mood, but he feels much better once he’s sitting at his
desk and doesn’t have to talk to anyone.

He turns on his work computer and the first thing he sees is the document that reads “due dates”,
he groans to himself because Niall’s going to be on his fucking ass today. He had two documents
to prepare on the weekend, just his specialty. Louis’ company has all sorts of lawyers, but he
himself is an employment and labor lawyer, who, in general, handles the relationships between
unions, employers, and employees.

He opens Mrs. Luna’s case - a mother, who had developed a medical condition during pregnancy
and according to her doctor’s orders, should stay in bed-rest. The company was claiming they
wouldn’t pay her if she didn’t work.
And after a long sip of his black coffee, he begins to type.

Since he was a child, Louis had always wanted to help people. It wasn’t really a surprise when he
stayed away from the medical career - since the mere sight of blood would make him pass out -
and opted for law school. Louis got accepted to a few different colleges, including one of the best
ones in London, which he picked right away. He went to college for 3 years and spent the next two
specializing in his area.

And, in all honesty, Louis couldn’t be happier with his choice. It’s that thing. He doesn’t mind he
has work on Monday, doesn’t mind that he has to be up at 6am so he can be at his office at 7:30am
- what he really does mind is due dates, but that’s besides the point - because he’s genuinely proud
of what he does.

Louis’ mother, Johannah, couldn’t feel any different. She was visiting him nearly every month
when he lived in London, along with his sisters. She always cooked a delicious dinner - which was
definitely better than takeaways - and, most importantly, she always supported him. And there’s
not a single day he doesn’t miss her.

It had been one hour since he started working, when hears a knock on his door. “Come in,” he says
out loud, not even looking away from the screen.

The door opens. “Good morning, sir,” a female voice says. It’s Brittani, his assistant.

“Good morning, Britt.” He smiles, looking up at her.

“The court-case for Mr. Dean has been set for the 29th of August, a Monday.”

“Thank you, love.” Louis answers. “Has Kate finished preparing the case?”

“I will ask her, sir. Excuse me.” She says, leaving the room.

And then Louis is back at it.

The thing about working with your best mate is that the chances of him coming into your office
and starting a conversation about work that will turn into a personal life talk, are very high. Louis
doesn’t even know how Niall hasn’t knocked on his door yet, but by the time it’s 11am, he gets a
little bored and goes to look for him himself.

Louis knocks on his door after a minute.

“Come in!” He hears coming from inside.

Niall doesn’t look up at him, eyes glued on the screen and fingers tapping the keyboard fast and
loudly. Louis furrows his eyebrows, he doesn’t spot Isaac. He walks towards one of the armchairs
on the other side of Niall’s table and gets comfortable.

He’s able to stay quiet for about thirty seconds.

“Busy?” He asks, squinting his eyes at him.

Niall sighs loudly, his hands finally come to a stop. “You’ve no idea, Lou, seriously.” His hand
moves to the mousepad. “This case is literally killing my mind. I don’t know why I even took it.”

Louis reaches for one of the pens on the table and grabs a stick note. Starts doodling. “What is it?”

“A divorce.” Niall says. “She literally wants everything of theirs in her name.”
Louis snorts, keeps doodling.

Niall finally lays back on his office chair, stretching his arms. “How are you?” He asks after a
moment.

“I’m good.” Louis answers right away, not looking up from the third stick note he ripped out to
doodle on.

“Louis.”

He looks up from the table, raises his eyebrows. “What? I’m fine, like 100% okay, couldn’t be
better.”

Niall looks unimpressed. “Did you finish your cases?” He changes the subject.

“Meh.” Louis shrugs. “Just the first one, still have one to go.”

“I hate Mondays.” His friend groans.

“But Mondays are awesome, they keep you busy.” Louis answers, doodling a smiley face.

Niall furrows his eyebrows. “You’re so fucking weird.”

“Hey.” Louis looks up. “Respect your elders.”

“Sure, Mr. seventy years old.” Niall laughs through his nose.

They stay silent. But then Louis’ mind is loud and he hates it. He asks Niall to tell him more about
the case.

Half an hour passes as Niall talks about Mr. Eli and Mrs. Dina’s case - which does in fact keep
Louis entertained, but not nearly half as much as the doodling. Louis’ on his ninth stick note when
he gets distracted. He gets fucking distracted, looking up to pay attention to what his mate is
saying. It’s literally ten fucking seconds, but when he looks down, he clenches his jaw.

“Thank you for last night. H” is what he wrote.

Niall isn’t looking at him anymore, eyes glued to the screen, scrolling past the document, reading a
few paragraphs as he asks Louis to tell him if it’s good enough. And so, he doesn’t notice the way
Louis’ facial features change.

He looks at the paper for another minute before he crumples it and throws it inside the trash.

Work.

Before he knows, he’s standing up, telling Niall the case is just fine, and walking back to his
office. He fills a cup of coffee on the way there and shuts his mind off again as he begins to type.

Okay, so, Louis loves his work, but arriving home and showering feels like a fucking dream.

In his office, he spent the rest of the day finishing the document and going through it over and over
again - Louis’ a perfectionist, give him a fucking break. And it’s not really a surprise. The other
thing he loves about his job is that it keeps his mind off everything else and he really fucking
appreciates it.
He doesn’t think of him more than six times during the day, which is better than twenty, so -
yesterday as a work in progress, whatever.

Louis showers. No. Louis showers for ages. The warm water on his shoulders feels like a muscle
relaxing medicine and he needed it more than he’d like to admit. He braces himself on the wall,
right over the faucet, and lowers his head, letting the water wash over him. It doesn’t take five
seconds, after he closes his eyes, for him to remember.

The flashes of touches, moaning, eye contact and begging come to his mind in glimpses. He cusses
under his breath, doesn’t dare to open his eyes - if he did, he’d see it. He’d see the way his cock
thickened, he’d see the way he still affects him, he’d touch himself. He doesn’t.

“Fuck me, please” he remembers, cusses under his breath again.

He feels the way his body gets hot, refuses to open his eyes, keeps his head down. His back
muscles flex as he presses his hands harder against the wall, clenching his wrists onto it. He
clenches his jaw. Louis can feel himself throb.

“More.”

Louis feels his chest get heavier, breathing faster and faster. His hands tremble, sweating against
the wall. “Fuck,” he mutters, angry at himself.

He feels frustrated. He feels dizzy. But the only thing he can focus on is: he doesn’t fucking feel
him anymore.

He tries. He tries so hard to keep it to himself, tries to control himself. But he can’t.

Louis lets out an involuntary moan once he finally wraps his hand around himself. He stays in the
same position he was before, his other hand supporting himself on the wall, head down, water
falling over his skin. He touches himself with his eyes closed.

He doesn’t try to not think of him.

He thinks of wet swollen red lips. He thinks of glances through eyelashes. He thinks of soft moans.
He thinks of "please". He thinks of him.

He comes after a minute and a half.

Louis’ favorite band is in London.

No, you don’t understand. The Script is in London and they’re performing today at the O2 Arena
and Louis is at the venue. Louis’ at the fucking venue.

It took a lot of talking to his mother - and nearly a fucking powerpoint presentation on why it was
reasonable for her to let her 18 year old son travel to London with hometown mates - so she would
actually consider it. If Jamie and Aaron don’t actually attend the concert with him, his mother
doesn’t need to know.

He’s at the fucking arena.

The place is full. Louis isn’t really the waiting-a-whole-day-in-a-line type, so the show begins at
9pm and he’s walking inside the arena at 7:30pm. The place is full, but people are really respectful
and it doesn't feel crowded.

He decides to go to the bathroom before the show starts, so he makes his way there. To his
surprise, there’s only one person there. Of course, he’s very observant and he notices the boy’s
white converse is untied. Louis is really fucking bad at timing, so he doesn’t really consider the
fact that the boy is peeing before he approaches him, standing on his side.

He taps him on his shoulder. “Hi.”

The boy turns to look at him immediately. Except he doesn’t turn just his head, but his whole body
and then.

“Oops.” The boy gasps.

His pee splashes on Louis’ beige trousers. They both look down at the stain.

“Oh my God.” He continues. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” His eyes are wide and he reaches for
the wet stain on Louis’ pants, swiping his hand over it, like it’s just dirt. “I’m literally so sorry, oh
God.”

Louis’ eyebrows are raised as he just stands there, watching the boy do the worst job at cleaning
he’s ever witnessed in his life. But then.

Then he looks up.

And fuck, he shouldn’t have.

Because this boy’s eyes are green, the color of emeralds. He has soft curly hair and pretty pink lips
to match and his cheeks are rosy. He’s flustered, and he’s still insisting on cleaning Louis’
trousers. Louis’ eyes are wide open, he can’t get his fucking eyes off him.

It takes him a long time to remember he has functioning vocal cords. “It’s okay,” is what he says.
“Don’t worry.”

The boy finally stops glancing up and down, up and down. And then he’s just looking into Louis’
eyes. And Louis doesn’t fucking believe in love at first sight - God, Louis has never even been in
love, has no idea what it feels like - but he’s pretty sure this feels… Different.

“I’m really clumsy, I’m sorry.” The boy insists.

Louis finally gets out of his trance, realizing that. Erm. His pants are still open, his… Is still out.
He feels his own cheeks beginning to flush.

“Erm.” He coughs, looks down again. Looks up. “It’s still. Erm.”

The boy furrows his eyebrows, follows his glance. Once he finally realizes what he means, he
widens his eyes again, cheeks flushing darker. He immediately reaches for the button of his
trousers, pulling the zipper up.

“Oh my God.” He says, embarrassed, as he does it.

“It’s okay.” Louis insists. “I was feeling pretty hot, needed some refreshing, anyways.” He jokes.

And then it’s the first time he sees a smile. And dimples.
His stomach flips.

“I’m Harry.” The boy says, after he stops laughing, keeping the warm smile.

Louis smiles back at him. “I’m Louis.”

Turns out sweet, lovely Harry was attending the concert with his sister - since he was only sixteen
years old - whom he introduced as Gemma. He insists Louis stays with them since he’s by himself.
Louis doesn’t really feel like complaining, so he does.

When Louis’ favorite song “For the First Time” starts, he turns to Harry and tells him it’s his
favorite song ever.

Turns out it’s Harry’s favorite too.

Monday is the same as Tuesday, which is the same as Wednesday.

Niall still asks him how he’s feeling, Louis still says he couldn’t be better. Niall still knows it’s
bullshit, but doesn’t insist.

Louis attends one court-case on Wednesday, which, of course, it’s a win. His client hugs him a bit
longer than normal and asks if he’s single. He turns her down by saying he doesn’t date clients - he
keeps to himself the comment “only pussy I go for are cats”.

As the week passes by, he dives himself more and more into work, which, obviously, worries
Niall, who doesn’t tell him, but brings lunch and an afternoon snack every day to his office. Louis
goes around the office grabbing his team’s finished cases, insisting he wants to check on them, see
if they’re good enough.

He dives himself into work and he only thinks of Harry when he’s looking at his notebook sitting
on the table in his room. Or when he’s walking past the living room. Or when he’s showering. Or
when he’s laying in bed to sleep.

What fucking ever.

Clifford and Bruce keep him company, though, and he marathons Marvel movies as they lay with
their chins on his thighs. It sort of feels like things are going back to normal. He even calls his
sister, Lottie, listens to her talk about her pregnancy and her boyfriend and about how she can’t
wait to see him.

Louis’ just fucking fine, thank you very much.

Until he isn’t.

It’s Wednesday night. He gets home from work, showers, pours himself some cereal and milk,
feeds his dogs and decides to take out the trash. He takes the kitchen’s trash bag, ties it, then
moves to his room. He leans down to take the trash, but then, there’s just one paper there.

It’s the sticky note.

His stomach drops as he stares at it. And it’s so stupid because it’s just a fucking paper, but he
can’t even bring himself to reach out for it.

He doesn’t take it.

Doesn’t throw it away either.

It’s 2am when Louis wakes up.

He wakes up to himself sweating, heart beating hard, nearly jumping out of his chest. He dreamed
of him. And it wasn’t even a bad dream, but it still feels like someone has their hand wrapped
around Louis’ throat.

He doesn’t sit up. His hands move to his head, pressing his palms against his eyes until he sees
stars. He groans to himself because it’s been fucking years since he last dreamed of him and he
hates him.

Louis fucking hates him.

He refuses to admit it’s a lie.

There’s heavy breathing next to his bed and Louis’ watched enough horror movies not to think it’s
a fucking demon, so he opens his eyes right away, following the sound. And, of course, it turns out
it’s just Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head at him, looking like he has his eyebrows furrowed.

“I know.” Louis mumbles. “I know, I hate this, too.”

Bruce tilts his head to the other side and then. Louis can’t fucking believe how fucking convenient
this is because his dog turns to the bedside table and starts sniffing the drawer. And Louis knows,
he fucking knows it’s because he keeps the dog snacks in there and he hasn’t given them to his
dogs in two weeks.

But that’s.

Louis groans. “Bruce, I swear to God.”

Bruce doesn’t stop.

“I’m not opening the drawer, Bruce.”

He barks.

“Bruce.”

Bark.

“I hate you.”

But he’s taking a deep breath and sitting on the bed, crawling over closer to the bedside table. He
looks at his dog once again, he finally stopped sniffing. “It’s 2am, Bruce.” Louis says once he taps
on his phone to see the time. “You’re fucking spoiled.”

Louis ignores the way his heart races as fast as a fucking Ferrari as he reaches for the handle,
opening the drawer.

He’s ignoring it. He’s ignoring it.

He reaches for the small bag, but he doesn’t close the drawer. Louis picks one snack. “Sit.” He
says and Bruce obeys, giving the paw for him to shake as soon as Louis asks for it. He feeds him
two more before Clifford comes claiming for his part of the deal, which, fair enough - Louis
doesn’t have any favorites.

Louis groans. “You two are so spoiled, I regret it.”

When he’s done, he closes the bag and turns to the drawer. But before he puts it back there, his
eyes spot it.

The box.

Louis clenches his jaw.

It’s like a staring contest between him and the heart patterned box. He bites his upper lip. “I’m not
doing this.” He tells himself - more like tries to convince himself. But it’s just useless because,
before he knows, he reaches out for it, taking it out of the drawer and bringing it to his lap.

And it shouldn’t hurt nearly half as bad as it does.

He looks at it long enough that it feels like too much. He cusses under his breath, once again
thinking to himself how fucking annoying it is that it still means so much. It’s involuntary as he
caresses his fingertips through the cover. He tries not to think of when he first held it.

He tries to argue with himself that it lasted only a year and a half, he shouldn’t be so dramatic.

But then he remembers Harry saying “time doesn’t matter once you meet the one”.

He shoves the box so far into his closet so he can’t fucking see it anymore.

Louis gets a total of two hours of sleep and he’s really not fucking happy.

He’s also late to work and everyone’s already there. He doesn’t say good morning to anyone and
the whole office looks at him like he’s dead - which is probably what he looks like. He goes
straight to his office and as soon as he sits down, he lays his head on the desk.

Scratch what he said Monday.

Louis hates working.

The thing is, Louis couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about the box and the things he hasn’t
gone through in years. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at it, but he also couldn’t even blink.
He gave up trying to sleep and took Clifford and Bruce for a walk - thank God for Doncaster’s
safety - and ended up having to clean their shit thrice because apparently dog snacks aren’t safe
anymore.

Louis groans to himself.

Niall walks in without even knocking. “Did you die?”

Face still buried in his forearms, all he does is hold up the middle finger.

His mate laughs. He walks closer to him, getting comfortable on the armchair in front of Louis’
desk. “You good?”
“I didn’t sleep.”

“Why?”

“Literally two hours.”

Niall gets the message. He’s not talking about it. “Why didn’t you stay home?”

“I’m the boss, Niall.”

“Exactly.”

Louis groans. “Please, shut up.”

“If I were the boss, I’d work from home most of the week.”

“That’s why you’re not.” Louis points out.

Niall snorts. “You’re arrogant.”

“You’re loud.”

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

Niall leaves the room and comes back not even two minutes later with a mug full of black coffee.
He hands it to Louis, who mumbles dramatically “I love you” to the cup. They both stay silent until
he’s finished half of it.

“I literally can’t stand him.” Louis says.

“Did anything else happen?” Niall asks.

“Wasn’t it enough?” He asks dramatically.

Niall shrugs. “You need to get your shit together.”

“Fuck you.”

“I mean it, Louis.” Niall says. “You can’t let him have this much control over you.”

Louis looks at him as if he’s saying “no shit, Sherlock”. “Don’t know if you noticed it, but it’s sort
of hard.”

“He fucked you over, right?” He asks, ignoring him. “Fuck him over too.”

He stares at him for about thirty seconds before he speaks. “And how exactly do you expect me to
do that?”

Louis is sort of expecting him to come up with this huge ass complex plan about how to break
someone’s heart in two steps, but it’s not like he’d ever follow it anyways. “Cut him off from your
life.”

Louis snorts. “How do you cut off someone who’s not even in your life?”

Niall shrugs. “If he shows up, don’t let him in.”

“Niall, you literally talk a lot of shit, everyday.” He starts, raising his mug at him. “But cheers to
you, you outdid yourself today.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “If you don’t want to get over him, just admit it.”

He takes a second, then two. Doesn’t really say anything.

“I’m just saying.” Niall raises his eyebrows at him. “Either you move on or you go for it. What you
can’t do is keep going this way.”

And it’s fucking true.

Louis just doesn’t know what to choose.

The thing is, inside, Louis was always scared to move on. He was scared because it was never
really over and if he decides it is, if he moves on, it means they just. They wouldn’t get another
shot. He’d never admit it out loud, though.

“Louis, it’s been ten years.” Niall insists, shaking his thoughts away.

As if Louis doesn’t fucking know.

Louis’ patience is wearing so thin that he can’t think anymore. He clenches his jaw, places his mug
on the desk a little bit too roughly. “I don’t fucking want to move on.” He spits, bitterly.

Niall raises his eyebrows, eyes a bit wider. He looks like he didn’t expect him to admit it, not after
such little time after opening up to him about it. It’s just then that he realizes how much Harry
actually means to him.

Louis on the other hand stays still, doesn’t say anything else. Because this time, this time it does
feel like he lifted some weight off his shoulders.

By lunch, Niall tells him to go home, but Louis insists on staying.

Niall takes him home anyways.

So, Niall stays.

They don’t talk about it anymore. Instead, Louis tells his friend to make himself at home - as he
always does - and goes off to fucking sleep. He passes out a minute after he lays down.

When he wakes up, he hears the sound of television coming from downstairs and throws on
trackies and a white shirt and goes to the living room, seeing Niall on the couch. When he sits
down, Niall gets up and comes back with two beers for them. Louis lays his head back on the
fabric and it’s so, so hard not to think of him.

Luckily, there’s a footie match today. He doesn’t even know who’s playing, which is a fucking
first, but Niall turns it on anyways. It’s good. Niall is literally the best person to watch a match
with because he reacts to basically every single player’s move. Louis doesn’t even have time to
focus on the fact that his couch smells like sex.

And so they drink. Niall brings beer after beer and Louis thanks him quietly. There comes a
moment when he’s a bit too dizzy and things start sounding funny. So he laughs and, from then on,
his mind is off him.
When the game is over, Niall goes off to the kitchen and comes back with chips - which Louis
didn’t even know he had. Louis folds his legs over the couch facing him and asks about Isaac.

Niall tells him that he met Isaac when he went to his university - he was invited by a friend of his, a
teacher, to give a lecture on being a divorce lawyer. He says he was very interested in following the
same path he did. Niall points out that he’s never seen someone who liked the area, so they soon
became friends and he offered an internship at Louis’ company without even having the authority
for it.

Louis says Niall has as much authority as he does. Niall tells him he’s nicer when he’s drunk and
Louis flips him off.

It’s when Louis’ lost count of how many beers he’s had that his phone rings. He takes it from the
center table.

It’s Lottie.

“Hi!” She says as soon as he picks up.

“Hey, Lots.” He smiles once he hears her voice, sits back down on the couch. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to know what time you and Niall will arrive tomorrow.”

Louis widens his eyes, looks at Niall. Shit.

Shit.

The baby’s gender reveal party.

He takes a good minute to come up with an answer that doesn’t scream “I completely forgot about
it, please don’t hate me”.

“Still figuring it out, Lots.” Louis laughs awkwardly.

“Okay, please let me know as soon as possible cause I’m still sorting some stuff and I want to be
home when you arrive.”

“Of course, Lots. What time is it gonna be, again?” He asks, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Saturday at 2pm! I gotta go now, love you.” And Louis doesn’t even have time to answer because
she ends the call.

“What?” Niall asks as soon as Louis throws his phone on the couch, looking at him.

“Lottie’s baby thing, Niall.”

Niall widens his eyes. “Shit, we completely forgot.”

“We need to be in London on Saturday.”

“We can go tomorrow?” He offers, finishing his beer.

“Yeah because I need three days in London.”

Niall rolls his eyes at him. “We’re going tomorrow.”

Louis doesn’t argue, not much use.

It turns out Louis isn’t nearly half strong for alcohol as Niall is and he’s completely forgotten
because they go from beer to vodka and he literally cannot keep track. He wonders if his liver is
making through the month because in a span of a week he got wasted three fucking times, but
whatever.

Also, apparently vodka shots became a thing because Niall makes him drink two and Louis swears
all the way from his mouth to his stomach is on fucking fire. He needed a drink or two, Jesus, he
didn’t need to get a hangover the day before he had to drive all the way to London - he’d make
Niall drive but he’s not really sure he trusts him with his car.

Now, Louis’ sitting on the couch, legs spread open, head laid back and eyes closed. Niall’s put his
indie playlist on and Louis is literally a second away from falling asleep.

But Niall is wide awake.

What he hears next makes him nearly throw up.

“Tequila?”

Louis groans. “Jesus Christ, Niall.” But before he can argue, his mate is already standing up and
walking towards the wet bar. He chooses to stay seated, better enjoy his peace before he fucking
dies of alcohol poisoning.

Except.

“What’s this?” He hears him say.

Louis doesn’t even open his eyes, doesn’t even move. “What?”

“This.”

“Niall, I can’t see with my eyes closed. What is it?”

“A sticky note.” Niall says, confused.

Louis fucking stops breathing. “What?”

“A sticky note.” He repeats.

Like Louis is fucking deaf.

Louis is up before he can even think. He walks towards the wet bar.

“You inspire me.”

“Niall, I know I’m inspiring, but-“

But Niall turns to him, a sticky note in his hand. He shows it to him. “No, it reads you inspire me.”

Louis can’t feel his hands as he reaches for the note. He can’t fucking breathe. He can’t even
fucking think because when he looks at it, it’s there.
“You inspire me. H”
 Chapter 5
Chapter Summary

Louis hated silence - always had. The thing is when things get quiet outside, they get
too loud inside his head and he can’t stand it. But then Harry came. Harry who’d just
lay with him in silence, Harry who’d sit beside him on the couch and read his book in
silence as Louis studied for his finals, Harry who made him feel things words could
never begin to explain. Harry who made silence comfortable.

But this. This is like he never met Harry. No. It’s worse. Because it’s not silent outside
and loud inside. It’s so silent outside that it becomes louder than any sound could ever
be. It feels like anxiety, it feels like no intimacy. It feels like goodbye.

Chapter Notes

Hiiiiiii, I'm back!

So, apparently this chapter hits you hard in the feels because Liz and Britt (my besties
and betas) cried when I read it to them.

Hope you enjoy it.

Also, 5th chapter - 5k words! Yay!

Love, Fee

It’s shocking to say the least.

The paper feels like fire inside his hands, burning holes on his fingers. For a second, it feels like
the alcohol has completely left his system and then he just feels sober. He doesn’t let go of the
paper, can’t even look away from it.

You inspire me.

If Niall is calling him, he doesn’t listen.

Louis can’t fucking breathe because what the fuck? Who does he think he is to just leave sticky
notes around Louis’ house? And after leaving without a word? But the thing is Louis can’t feel
anger. In all honesty, he can’t feel anything at all.

“Louis?” He hears after a minute.

He doesn’t turn to look at him. “What?”

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t fucking know and I don’t want to.” He spits, sounding a bit too annoyed and shoving the
sticky note onto Niall’s chest.

Niall takes it, doesn’t say anything.

Honestly, fuck Harry. Fuck Harry and him coming back. Fuck him and his sticky notes. Fuck him
and him thinking it’s okay to just show up in Louis’ life after ten fucking years and just cause as
much damage as he did once before.

And he’s so pissed he doesn’t even try to figure out what it means.

Instead, he opens the bottle of tequila and drinks straight from it.

Louis doesn’t go to work.

To be honest, Louis doesn’t even wake up before 2pm.

On the night before, he and Niall drink until he can’t even think of Harry anymore. They don’t talk
about it, Louis even forget about the fucking sticky note he shoved at Niall’s chest. At midnight,
Niall falls asleep on the couch and Louis goes to his room, not even bothering to shower and just
passing out on his bed - making sure to close the curtains so the sunlight doesn’t fucking bother
him and also pouring enough food in Clifford and Bruce’s bowls and shutting his door so they
don’t come in early asking for breakfast.

Before he falls asleep, he thinks of the sticky note.

When he dreams, he dreams of the last goodbye.

Louis never liked goodbyes.

The thing is, as long as it’s avoidable, Louis’ doing it. The problem is, this time, he doesn’t have
much of a choice as he’s the one driving Harry to the airport because his mother would be stuck at
work. The problem is, Harry is quiet. The problem is so is he.

As Louis puts Harry’s luggage in the back of his car, he tries not to think of how this feels like the
end - no matter how many times his boyfriend tells him things aren’t going to change. He opens the
passenger door for Harry, as he always does, and Harry gets in with a quiet “thank you”.

Louis and Harry never talk. And that’s not on Harry since he tried his best to bring up the subject,
to get Louis to tell him what he was feeling. That’s totally on Louis because the mere thought of
not being able to hold him makes him sick to his stomach.

The ride is quiet. Harry doesn’t look at him, opting to stare out of the window. Louis, who isn’t -
has never been - really good with words, does the only thing he can. For a moment, Harry does
look at him once he feels his hand coming to rest on his thigh. It’s in silence, that Harry reaches
out for it, intertwining their fingers, gripping his hand a little tighter than he usually does.

Harry’s bluetooth is on. It’s the playlist he made for Louis’ for their one year anniversary. Louis
has to try really fucking hard to not cry once For The First Time starts playing. Harry doesn’t even
try.

Louis looks at him once he sees his right hand reaching for his eyes and cheeks, as subtly as
possible as if trying to get Louis not to notice. He wipes the tears away. Louis does the only thing
he knows - presses his hand against his a little more as if saying “I feel you and I’m sorry”.

The thing is: Harry stopped trying.

Harry stopped trying to get him to speak, stopped trying to figure out with him how things would
go after he left. He just stopped trying. The problem is, he isn’t the type who’s able to hide what he
feels and so he would let it all out and Louis would hold it in - not saying a single word.

Quietly, Harry also feels like this is the end.

Once they arrive at the airport, Louis opens the door - resists the urge to smoke a cigarette - but
before he can reach Harry’s side, he’s opening his door himself and leaving the car. It hurts a bit
too much, but Louis, once again, doesn’t say anything. He goes to the back of the car, opens the
trunk and gets the bags out.

Harry stands right where he is - right beside the car, waiting for him. He has his arms around
himself, Louis’ jumper laying over his arm. Once Louis locks the car and walks towards where he
is, Harry, once again, thanks him quietly.

Louis feels like crying, but he doesn’t.

“Should we go?” He says after a few seconds.

Harry doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches for one of the bags Louis is holding and puts the strap
over his shoulder and looks at him. He just… Looks at him. And he looks hurt. It’s even worse, he
looks like he’s given up.

Louis reaches out for his hand and intertwines their fingers before they start walking inside the
airport.

Louis hated silence - always had. The thing is when things get quiet outside, they get too loud
inside his head and he can’t stand it. But then Harry came. Harry who’d just lay with him in
silence, Harry who’d sit beside him on the couch and read his book in silence as Louis studied for
his finals, Harry who made him feel things words could never begin to explain. Harry who made
silence comfortable.

But this. This is like he never met Harry. No. It’s worse. Because it’s not silent outside and loud
inside. It’s so silent outside that it becomes louder than any sound could ever be. It feels like
anxiety, it feels like no intimacy. It feels like goodbye.

Harry checks-in. They’re a little later than they should be, and he’s able to check-in ten minutes
before the deadline. His flight officially leaves in an hour and a half and he has to start boarding in
thirty minutes.

It’s still silent. It still feels fucking terrifying. But Harry doesn’t leave his side. He keeps holding
his hand when they sit down close to the boarding area. He lays his head on his shoulder, and
doesn't try to hide how he’s crying anymore.

Louis’ hand burns, so does his shoulder and his arm - and every single part of his skin that feels
Harry touching him.
“Will you miss me?” Harry speaks after some time they’re seated. It’s barely even a whisper, it’s
broken.

Louis furrows his eyebrows, can’t even believe this is a question. He turns his head a bit, trying to
look at him. Harry’s hair smells like his shampoo. Louis doesn’t joke like he usually would. “Of
course, H, how’s that even a question?”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I’m scared you’ll forget me.”

This time, Louis pulls away a little. Harry removes his head for his shoulder, but doesn’t look at
him. Louis does. “H, how could I forget you?”

Harry shrugs.

“Harry.” Louis says, a little lower - like it’s just for them, like this moment belongs only to them.
He reaches for Harry’s chin, raises it gently so he’ll look at him. “I love you,” he tells him once
their eyes meet.

In his hand, Harry grips the jumper tighter and feels another tear fall down his cheek. Louis wipes
it.

“I love you, Harry.” Louis repeats. “It isn’t changing because you’re.” He stops. Fuck, it hurts
too fucking much to even say it out loud. “It’s never changing.”

Harry stays quiet.

“Harry, I mean it.” He continues. “What we have… That’s not something I think I’d ever be able
to have with someone else. I wouldn’t want to. We’re it, Harry.”

Harry takes a second. “Do you promise?”

“Like your letter said, H.” Louis smiles - tries hard for it not to look sad. “Maple syrup, coffee,
pancakes for two. Hash brown, egg yolk, I will always love you.”

At that, Harry finally smiles. Dimples and all. His expression changes, even if just partially, to a
happier one. The one Louis fell in love with - the one he will always love. He takes a second. “Can
we stand up?” He asks.

Louis furrows his eyebrows.

“Please?”

“Of course,” he says, standing up and placing Harry’s bag on the seat.

Harry stands up right after him and ties Louis’ jumper around his hips. He looks at Louis for a bit
before he just surges forward, wrapping his arms around Louis’ shoulders. He holds him tighter
and tighter. Louis takes a second to process what’s happening before he does the same. He pulls
Harry in.

“I love you.” Harry whispers into his neck. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And it hurts. It hurts because Louis doesn’t want to lose this, doesn't want to lose him. The thought
of not being able to hug Harry when he wants to, the thought of not being physically there for
Harry, the thought of just.

Fuck.
“I love you.” Louis says back to him.

And this time, he doesn’t cry, but he has to close his eyes so he won’t see blurry because of his
watery eyes.

The last goodbye feels like this one. Harry doesn’t leave his side, holds in the “I should probably
go” until he absolutely has to because now it’s the last call to board the plane to Los Angeles. But
when he does say it, it’s with Louis inside his arms - because he never stopped hugging him.

When Harry is about to walk inside the international flights area, Louis takes a deep breath. “H.”
He calls him.

“Yeah?” He asks, sniffling.

“I.” Louis clears his throat. “I put something in your bag,” he says, “just. It’s not much, just
something for you.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “Should I see it now?”

“No, just.” He licks his lips. “It’s not much. It’s really not much, see it when you’re in the plane.
You should probably go. Don’t want you to miss your flight.”

Eyebrows still furrowed, Harry nods. “Okay.” And before he turns away again to leave, he pulls
him in again. “I love you,” he whispers onto his neck, “more than anything.”

Louis smiles into his shoulder. “Call me when you arrive, please,” he says.

“Okay.”

When Harry finally pulls away, Louis smiles at him. And he’s so hesitant to go, so fucking hesitant,
but he still does - has to. Before Louis loses sight of him, Harry looks back and mouths “I love
you” one more time.

Louis doesn’t cry.

Once he gets inside his car, he sits, completely still - doesn’t feel anything. His phone vibrates and
when he looks at it, it’s a picture of Harry’s hand holding the notebook - leather cover and stripe.
“Thank you, Lou. It’s beautiful” is what the text reads.

This time, Louis cries.

When he does wake up it’s from the sound of knocking on his door. He groans into the pillow,
feels a headache thrice the size of the day after the wedding. Barely even remembers what he
dreamed of. “What?”

“Wake up,” is what Niall says as soon as he walks into the room.

Louis doesn’t look at him, pulls the covers over his head. “Fuck off.”

“It’s 2pm, mate.”

“Too early.” He says, voice coming out muffled because of the covers.

“Yeah, but if we don’t leave for London soon we’re gonna get there too late.”
“Niall, we’re not going today.”

“Yes, we are.”

“I’m sorry, when did I give you the impression that I follow orders?” Louis asks once he pulls the
covers down.

His friend sighs, sits on the bed a bit too roughly for Louis’ liking. Louis looks up at him, annoyed.
“Louis, come on. We could go out.”

“Jesus, Niall.” He groans, sitting down. “I don’t want to drive for three fucking hours, can we
please go tomorrow?”

“I can drive.”

“Fuck no.”

“Come on, I can shower here then we stop at mine to grab some clothes.” Niall suggests.

Louis groans again, takes a second. “Towel’s in the guest bedroom.”

Niall smiles big and Louis tells him to get out of his sight before he regrets his choices.

Traveling with Niall can be a fucking pain in the ass.

Louis’ head is still throbbing when Niall gets back in the car after grabbing his stuff and he already
won’t fucking stop talking. And it’s three hours to get there, but ten minutes beside this talking
cricket and Louis is very, very close to politely asking him to open the door and leave.

He doesn’t allow him to connect his bluetooth, though - that’s not a thing he just lets anyone do.
Instead, he opens his traveling playlist and tries to focus his eyes on the road as he listens to 7 by
Catfish and The Bottleman - and, of course, Niall’s blabbering.

To no one’s surprise at all, Niall doesn’t have a headache. Louis tells him about five times that just
because he doesn’t have one, it doesn’t mean he has to make sure Louis has the worst one of his
life.

The drive to London is loud.

He texts his sister before he’s about to leave and she tells him she’ll ask her boyfriend to set the
guest bedroom for Niall and the couch for Louis - not before complaining about him not letting her
know earlier. Louis also tells her she’s mistaking Niall as the brother because he’s definitely not
fucking sleeping on the couch.

Louis’ never had anything against London, in particular, he even likes the weather and the crowded
streets. What Louis doesn’t like is leaving Doncaster, the comfort of his home. He does like
driving, though - one of his passions - even if he feels like dying, right now. Besides, this is about
Lottie and her pregnancy and. Well. Louis’ going to be an uncle and that’s pretty fucking exciting.

Kids. Louis’ always loved them. It’s something about the way they feel so small inside his arms,
the way they’re literally the sweetest little creatures ever. Being the older brother, Louis was very
experienced with newborns and children, always having to look after his sisters and brother when
his mother went working. It was a hard job for a teenager, but he never complained, - okay, maybe
once when he had football practice and his mum made him stay home to watch his sisters and the
coach got really pissed at him.

Anyways.

Louis bloody loves kids. In the past, he even thought about having his own, but now he doesn’t see
it happening. At least, not any time soon. The thing is, the thought of having a little boy to teach
football to still does get to his heart. He doesn’t think about how things could’ve gone if they were
different.

He absolutely doesn’t.

“So, how’s the headache?” Niall asks, shaking his thoughts away.

Louis doesn’t turn his head to look at him - he does see his feet resting on the dashboard from the
corner of his eyes. “Feet off,” he says. “Bit better.”

Niall takes a minute, or two. Louis can totally see the way he looks like he wants to talk. Niall
sighs.

“What?” He asks.

“It’s just.” Niall looks at him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, yeah.” Louis answers, not smiling at all.

Niall looks unsure. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“Yeah.” He says. “I’ll be alright.”

They stay in silence for a bit. The song playing at the moment is Here Comes The Sun by The
Beatles.

“And, for the record, I think he isn’t nearly half as hot as you. He isn’t even hot.” Niall says after a
minute.

At that, Louis snorts. “Sure, mate.”

“Hey, so.” He starts again after another minute.

“You really can’t keep quiet, can you?”

“No.” He says. “So, that note from last night. What do you want me to do with it?”

Louis clenches his jaw. It’s just then that he remembers the sticky note even exists. For a few
moments, he stays quiet. “I don’t know, do to it as you will.”

“Okay, so I’ll throw it away…?” He says, but it sounds more like a question.

“Niall, I don’t care.”

“How do you inspire him, though?” He asks, ignoring him.

Finally, Louis turns to look at him, squinting his eyes. “I thought you wanted me to move on?”

“I do. I’m just interested.” Niall smiles, crossing his legs on the seat, still looking at him.
Louis clenches his jaw, turns to look at the road again. “I don’t know,” he answers.

“Is he, like. You inspire him to act?” He asks. “Oh. And I want to ask, like. It’s so weird that he’s
an actor and I haven’t seen him much. You know I’m a movie fanatic. Maybe he isn’t so famous?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s weird.” Niall comments. “Like, dude literally shows up out of nowhere and goes leaving notes
around your house. Who even leaves sticky notes? It’s so cheesy.”

It’s then that Louis doesn’t speak. Because it’s not weird and, most importantly, it’s not the first
time. Back when they were together, Harry used to leave sticky notes around Louis’ room and in
Louis’ car and in the mirror of the bathroom. And it’d be just the simplest notes. He remembers a
few - “went out to buy cereal because you ran out” and “you really need to clean your room” and
“I love you” and “borrowed your jumper, it’s mine now”.

So it isn’t weird and it isn’t surprising. At least, not for that reason.

“He used to, like.” Louis starts, shrugs. “He used to leave sticky notes in my room, my car.”

“Oh.”

Louis licks his lips. “Yeah. Was pretty common. Like, literally every time he came by my house.”

“Did he come around a lot?”

“Sometimes.” He pauses. “He was from Holmes Chapel, actually, I’d travel to him a lot. His mum
used to be a bit cross with me because I’d come around a lot, but when she met me, things got a bit
easier.”

“That’s a bit of a drive.” Niall says.

“Mhm.” Louis hums. “Was worth it, though.”

“How old were you?” He asks.

“I was 18 when we met.” Louis answers. “He was 16.”

“You were young.”

“Yeah.” Louis shrugs. “He was 18 when he left.”

“That’s very young.”

“Yeah.” Louis agrees - doesn’t notice how it feels a little more natural and less hard to discuss
about it with Niall. “He wanted to be an actor. Sometimes he’d talk about becoming a singer, but
he wasn’t really sure about his voice.”

“Was he good?” Niall asks.

Louis takes a second - remembers Harry singing in front of him for the first time. They were in the
car, on the way to a market in Harry’s hometown - the first time Louis went there. Remembers the
way Harry blushed the color of a tomato when he complimented him over and over again.

“Really good.” He answers.

After that, Niall doesn’t ask any questions for a while. He looks like he’s trying to think of things
he could ask without scaring Louis off.

He speaks again after ten minutes. “Did you stay together for long after he left?”

Louis sighs. “A bit, not much.”

“You or him?”

“No one.” Is what Louis answers.

With that, Niall decides that’s enough opening up for some time.

Louis, once again, feels more weight being lifted from his shoulders.

They arrive in London a bit after 6pm and stop by McDonald’s to grab some food because of
fucking course they forgot to get snacks for the drive since they only had one hour to get ready.

Lottie welcomes them with open arms and a huge belly that doesn’t really allow Louis to hug her
properly. She looks like she’s glowing and her brother tells her so as they walk into her house.
Lewis welcomes them with pizza and Louis is full, but Niall never denies food.

Of course Louis takes the bedroom. “You’ve been my mate for too long, you’re family, couch’s
yours” is what he tells him before he follows Lottie to the guest room. He feels fucking tired,
throwing himself on the bed as soon as he drops his bag on the floor. Lottie sits right beside him,
letting out a heavy sigh.

“Jesus, they don’t tell you enough about pregnancy.” She groans, stretching her arms. “This belly
is killing me.”

Louis, still laying on his stomach, turns to look at her, supporting his head on his hand, elbow on
the sheets. He laughs. “I can only imagine.”

“I missed you.” Lottie says. “You look tired.”

“I am literally dead.” He says. “Niall came over yesterday, we got so pissed.”

Lottie laughs. “I do miss a good gin and tonic.”

“I promise you, if you stay with Niall for an hour you’ll never say that again.” He jokes.

She smiles. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” He says, smiling at her. “How are things with Lewis? Is he assisting you?”

“Yeah.” She says. “He’s been great, really. Every time I want something and try to move to do it,
he says ‘leave it to me, you stay right there’.”

Louis smiles. “That’s good,” he says. “He better be.”

“How was Oli’s wedding? I was so sad I couldn’t go.” She sighs. “Was really tired.”

“Was good, yeah,” he answers.

“A little bird told me you didn’t stay for very long, though.” She smirks, raising her eyebrows as
she supports her hands behind her on the bed, getting more comfortable.

“Was that little bird Niall, by any chance?”

“I’m not telling!” She laughs. “Is it true, though? Tall, green eyes, pretty smile.”

“And he had the audacity to tell me he isn’t hot.” Louis laughs.

Lottie smiles, big. “So it is true!”

Louis completely ignores her. “So, is everything settled for tomorrow?”

She doesn’t insist - her baby’s gender reveal party is way more exciting to her. “Yes!” She says,
smiling. “Lewis is getting the food tomorrow and Val’s responsible for the revealing part.”

“So, what is it going to be?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. “An airplane with a sign? Fireworks?”

Lottie rolls her eyes. “Just a balloon, you dipshit.”

Louis opens his mouth, pretends to be shocked. “That’s very basic for you.”

She flips him the finger. “I like it simple.”

“Sure, Mrs. I want sixteen birthday gifts for my sixteenth birthday.” He jokes.

“You’re an asshole.” She says, smiling and takes a second. “I really missed you. You don’t come
around anymore.”

Louis licks his lips. “Work’s a bit much, right now. Promise I’ll start coming around more often,
though.”

“The girls miss you, expect to be attacked tomorrow.”

“Can’t fucking wait.” He says, heart warm.

It’s good to be home.

It’s 10pm and Louis’ sleeping when Niall comes into his room and jumps on the bed. “Wake up.”

Louis jumps awake, eyes wide and staring at where the voice came from. He groans. “Oh my
fucking God.”

“Let’s go out for drinks!” He says, excitedly.

“Jesus fuck, Niall, get out of my sight, I literally can’t stand you anymore.”

“Why did you think I wanted to come today, mate.” He rolls his eyes. “Otherwise we would’ve
come tomorrow.” He stands up. “I’ll wait downstairs. You have ten minutes.” And he leaves the
room.

Louis considers going back to sleep - to be honest, he even tries. It’s with a loud groan that he
stands up and goes for a shower.

☺
Louis can complain about many things in London, but one he absolutely can’t is about the night
life. You could literally say you want to go to a bar decorated with bluebirds and green lights and
someone would say “yeah, absolutely, just down the corner”. So, as Niall and Louis walk through
one of the streets full of bars, Louis can already see it’s really fucking crowded.

What can he say? British people know how to have fun.

“Where do you want to go?” Niall asks as he looks around for good places. “And I love you, but
please don’t say a gay club because we went to them the last five times and, as much as I
absolutely am all for it, I sadly am straight.”

Louis snorts. “Gay clubs are the best, dude. Straight people are weird.”

Niall looks at him, unimpressed. “What about that one?” He asks, pointing to a very colorful bar.

“That is a gay club.”

“And that one?” He points to another.

“Niall, you do realize we’re on a street full of gay bars, right?”

Niall groans. “I’m never getting laid.”

“I’m sure you’ll meet someone.” Louis smiles jokingly.

The streets are colorful. For a moment, Louis remembers what it was like to live here. He used to
be quite the party person - he was actually the one to invite all his mates from law school to go out
for drinks. As he walks, he remembers more clubs and bars than not, and it sort of makes him feel
nostalgic.

It’s the last bar Niall points at - after asking about eight others - that makes Louis’ throat a little
dry.

“What about that one?” He asks, pointing to a very, very familiar place.

17 Black.

“I think not.” Louis says, carries on walking.

“Why?” Niall asks, eyebrows furrowed.

Louis doesn’t have much of an excuse, and also doesn’t want to tell him the real reason. He just
repeats. “Nope.”

Niall stops in his tracks, thinks for a second before he pulls Louis by the arm. “17 Black it is.”

Louis groans. “Niall, literally the only place I’m refusing to go.”

“Come on!” He insists, still pulling him as they get closer and closer to the bar. “It looks all pretty
with a deer and heart.”

Louis absolutely does not think of the deer inked on his own arm.

The place looks exactly like it did the first time Louis walked in with him. It’s still very much dark
and still has portraits on the wall. It’s also a little less full than the rest of the bars were looking.
There’s also a little stage at the corner and there’s a girl singing.

Niall goes straight to the bar stools - never liked the table, better stay close to the source. He orders
two beers without even asking if he wants it. Louis sits on the stool, trying not to look around the
bar. He is definitely not thinking about it.

“It’s nice and warm in here.” His mate says.

Louis doesn’t say anything, just thanks the girl who brings them the drinks and takes a sip of his
own. Jesus, even beer tastes like shit after drinking as much as he did yesterday.

“Cheers!” Niall clinks his glass on his.

“I can’t believe I’m drinking again.” Louis comments.

“It’s always a good time for alcohol.” He smiles.

“Literally tastes like shit.”

“Do you want something else?” The girl asks, having heard him.

Louis widens his eyes. “Oh my God.” He says. “No, I didn’t mean it that way, it’s just because he
made me drink yesterday and I’m drinking again when I’m still hungover.”

The girl laughs. “I can bring you something else if you want.”

Louis thinks for a second. “I’ll have a new liver, please.”

She laughs louder.

“What’s your name?” Niall asks.

“Oh. I’m Liz.” She smiles, turning her head when she hears someone calling her at the other side
of the counter. “Let me know if you want anything else.”

The singer, whom Liz said was called Fairy, sings for another hour before she gets off stage. She
sounds like an angel and Louis has to hear about it as Niall says how he really needs to get her
number before she leaves.

He does.

Louis is forgotten a little after ten minutes when Niall finally engages in a conversation with the
girl. He doesn’t really mind, to be honest. He doesn’t really mind, but he does get lost in his
thoughts, a glass of sparkling water on the counter in front of him - it’s the only thing that’s not
threatening to come back up from his stomach.

“What do you think of that one?” He asked, hand attached to Louis’. Before Louis knew, he was
being dragged into the bar. “I love you so much” Is what he said a few hours later, drunk off his
mind. “Always gonna love you.”

It was Harry’s first time at a club, after finally reaching the age of eighteen. For his birthday, Louis
took him to London. They stayed for the weekend - wasn’t too hard to convince Anne, who was
pretty much in love with Louis even though she had no idea he was dating her son - or maybe she
did, Louis was never really sure if Harry could keep it to himself.
17 Black became special to them. So special that Harry insisted they’d get a matching tattoo for it
right after they left it. Louis opted for the deer - much nicer than the name of the place itself, like
Harry picked. Louis took him back to the hotel much later than they expected. Harry went to sleep
with a smile on his face and his head on Louis’ Far Away tattoo.

The night goes on.

Niall’s still flirting with Fairy and Louis’ still focused on the glass of water.

It’s when he’s thanking Liz for the new sparkling water, that his heart fucking stops.

“Good evening, my name is Harry Styles.” Is what he hears, but he doesn’t turn. He can’t even
fucking move.

The people at the bar scream his name like they already know him.

He doesn’t turn around.

He giggles into the mic. “I’m going to sing a couple of songs for you and I hope you enjoy it.”

Louis stands up.

The last thing he heard before he walks out of the bar is “same lips red, same eyes blue, same
white shirt, couple more tattoos”.

The last thing he thinks as he leaves is how he wishes he could rub the deer off his skin, but not as
much as he wishes he had never gotten it done in the first place.
 Chapter 6
Chapter Summary

Louis needs a fucking drink - a whole bottle of tequila, honestly. But there’s no way
he’s going in again. He isn’t. It’s too much. It’s what he does - he fucking avoids it. He
avoids everything - just like he avoided a serious conversation ten years ago, just like
he avoided talking about it for years.

It’s what he fucking does best.

It doesn’t mean it’s the best for him, though.

Chapter Notes

Guess who's back, back again? Apparently I don't have a life because I do nothing but
write anymore.

Hope you enjoy it, feedbacks are so, so welcome!

Fee x

“Louis, where are you going?” He hears from a distance.

He carries on walking, doesn’t look back. He’s barely even able to see where he’s going, has to
fight himself so hard not to let the tears fall. He doesn’t even know when his eyes begin to water,
his mind is loud, loud and loud. Louis walks fast, needs to get away from that bar as soon as
possible - needs to get away from him. He still can’t believe his ears.

“Louis, wait up! Jesus!” Niall yells again, running after him.

Louis still doesn’t turn, doesn’t stop. His friend finally reaches him, hand coming to his shoulder to
stop him from walking. And so he stops. But he doesn’t turn around, eyes on the ground. His sight
is so fucking blurry. Niall walks around him, comes to stand in front of him.

“Louis, what happened?” He asks.

Louis notices the sniffling before he even notices his wet cheeks. His hand folds into a fist, coming
to his face and wiping the tears away angrily. Shit.

It doesn’t take more than ten seconds for Niall to realize he’s crying. “Oh, Lou,” is what he says
before he pulls him into a hug.

Louis just stands there, doesn’t even wrap his arms back around his friend. All he can feel is the
tears streaming down his face, Niall’s hand caressing his back. His mind is so loud, memories
playing in his head. It hurts too fucking much - hasn’t hurt this much in a long, long time.
“What happened?” Niall asks, still holding him.

But he can’t even speak, he only cries harder. Niall doesn’t ask anymore, doesn’t pull away either.
Louis sobs and sobs and sobs.

His mind is loud, and all it screams is Harry, Harry, Harry.

The walk home is silent.

Louis still sees blurry, but at least he isn’t sobbing anymore.

His thoughts keep going back to him. His voice stuck in his ears. His throat hurts a bit, like there’s
a lump inside it. He doesn’t even try not to think of him. And he thinks of how he used to be the
only one who got to hear him singing, he was the one who always made sure he knew how
beautiful his voice was, he was the one. And now. Now he’s no one.

He barely even remembers what he was singing, too focused on the fact that it was him. That was
Harry. No. That was Harry, in London, in the place he once called their own.

Once they get home, Louis doesn’t say good night to Niall. Instead, he goes to the bathroom and
takes a long shower. And with his eyes closed, he finally allows himself to remember.

He finally allows himself to feel.

And the tears fall.

It’s the first time Louis visits Harry in his city. The thing about being friends with someone who
lives two hours away from you is that you’ll take any chance you get to see them again. So, when
Harry says “I wish you were here”, Louis doesn’t even hesitate before asking if he wants him to
come over.

Harry is the one who’s a little hesitant at first - of course, after he says “yes, please, can you?
God, I miss you”. And the reason is his mother. Anne was never too protective of Harry, allowing
him to do as he pleased - most of the time - but having someone you only met once come over to
stay at your place is sort of nerve wracking to a mother.

Harry does have to talk to her more than once to get her to agree to it.

So, on a Saturday, after spending the last two weeks nervously biting on his nails, he drives over to
Holmes Chapel. It takes him a little more than two hours to arrive at Harry’s house and the whole
way there is full of excitement and anxiety. Once he’s finally in front of his house, he takes a
second inside his car, tells himself that it’s all going to be okay, “it’s just Harry, whom you’ve been
messaging and calling daily for about two months, it’s all going to be fine”.

He texts him as soon as he’s out of the car and opening the back door to grab his suitcase. Harry
doesn’t take more than a minute to come running out of the front door wearing sweatpants and a
black shirt. He wastes no time jumping into Louis’ arms and pulling him into the tightest hug ever.

“I missed you.” Harry whispers, nose nuzzling into his neck. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Louis is not even surprised, he’s just happy. His heart is beating so fast that he feels like it might
jump out of his chest any second now. God. He didn’t even know he could miss someone this much.
“I missed you, too,” he tells him, a huge smile on his lips.

Harry takes a bit too long to pull away. Louis doesn’t complain. But as soon as he does, Louis
already misses his touch and it sort of feels a little terrifying.

“Let me help you!” He says, leaning down to pick his suitcase.

“Harry, it’s heavy.” Louis says.

Harry rolls his eyes, takes it anyways, immediately looking at Louis once he does. “Jesus Christ,
Lou, I didn’t know you were moving in.”

Louis sticks his tongue at him. “Let me, you’re too delicate,” he jokes. Harry doesn’t, though, just
blushes.

Louis takes a mental note.

Anne isn’t home. So they have the house all to themselves - which makes Louis feel a little less
nervous, even though Harry is just a friend. The curly boy takes him straight to his own room. As
soon as he walks in, he reminds himself to clean his own room if Harry ever decides to come visit
him because everything here is just so in order. Louis feels a little ashamed.

“You can leave them there,” Harry says once Louis gets past the door.

Harry’s room is nice. The walls are painted in light blue, with some band posters on them. His bed
is covered by a beige duvet and there are far more pillows than Louis owns. There’s a study table
at the corner of the room, right under the window.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He’s shaken out of his thoughts, turning to look at him. “Are you
hungry? Do you want to shower?”

Louis laughs, covering his mouth. “Love, I’m good, don’t worry.”

The boy blushes, looks away. “Can’t believe you’re here,” he repeats.

“I’m here.”

“You came all the way here to see me.” He continues, like he can’t believe someone would ever do
that.

“Yep.”

It’s quiet then, just Harry staring at him and Louis right back. It’s after a few seconds that Harry
bites his bottom lip, fidgeting with his fingers. “Can I…”

“What?” Louis asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Can I hug you again?” He asks, quietly, blushing a little.

“I drove two hours just to see you, curly.” He answers, smiling, opening his arms. “I expect as
many hugs as you’re willing to give me.”

Harry smiles so big and all Louis can think of is how much he’s missed his dimples.

They spend most of the day inside, watching Friends. Every five minutes, Harry asks if Louis needs
anything, looking at him, worried. Louis just rolls his eyes and says “I’m all settled, don’t worry”.

And it’s terrifying the way it all feels so natural - like it just happened. Louis has never felt this
connected to anyone, ever. Ever since the night of the show, Louis asked for Harry’s number and
they never, for one day, stopped texting. Louis would find himself coming up with any subject he
could just so he’d never stop talking to him.

And it’s like there’s a magnet pulling them together. When they sit on the couch, Harry doesn’t
take more than ten minutes to move closer to Louis. Two episodes in and his head is already laying
on Louis’ shoulder. Four episodes in and his head is resting on Louis’ lap as he plays with his
hair.

However, at the same time it feels terrifying for Louis to feel so much and so fast, it also feels out
of this fucking world. Because being with Harry feels so comfortable, so safe and, most
importantly, weirdly, Louis feels more at home than he did back in Doncaster.

But Louis doesn’t overthink it. Instead, he lets himself feel it. And God, does it feel like everything
and a little more.

It makes him wish he would’ve just offered to come sooner.

Later, Anne texts her son asking if he could go to the market to grab a few things to make dinner -
normally they would just have something simple, but having a guest over, Anne wanted to cook
something nicer. Harry asks Louis if he wants to stay while he goes, but Louis only grabs his car
keys and says “as if I’d make you walk all the way there”.

Once they’re in the car, Harry shyly asks if he can connect his bluetooth. Louis says “yes” right
away. To no one’s surprise, he chooses The Script - the same playlist he created and sent Louis a
day after the show. Louis looks at him, raises his eyebrows. Harry looks back, smiling as big as
humanly possible.

It’s when they’re halfway to the market that Breakeven starts playing. It’s when Louis has his eyes
focused on the road, following the directions Harry’s giving him, that he knows he’s fucked.
Because Harry starts singing.

And Jesus fucking Christ.

Immediately, Louis looks to his side. The boy is singing with his eyes closed and fuck. What even is
his voice? The thing is when they were at the concert, they were so excited and singing at the top of
their lungs and everything was so loud but This? This is just them, in the car. And Louis can hear
him perfectly clear.

“What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you?” He sings.

Louis just watches - eyes, obviously, glancing between him and the road - and his heart only beats
faster and faster, stomach getting warmer and warmer, guts turning and turning. He sounds so
good that Louis doesn’t even compliment him as he sings, doesn’t want to interrupt him or for him
to ever stop. And Harry doesn’t look at him, when he does open his eyes, he looks to the right, at
the streets, then closes his eyes again when he’s supposed to sing louder.

It’s only when the song is over that Louis speaks. “Holy shit.”

Harry looks at him right away, eyebrows raised. “What? What happened?”

They’re finally arriving at the market, so Louis pulls over before he turns to look at him again.
“Your voice, Harry, just. Holy shit.”

Right away, Harry’s cheeks become so, so red and he widens his eyes. “No, no, no. Oh my God,
shut up.”

“Harry, your voice is. I don’t even know how to explain.” He insists.

The boy looks down, fidgeting with his fingers. “Shut up, Louis. It’s not even good.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “Harry,” he says, reaching for his shoulder, resting his hand there,
caressing him over the shirt with his thumb. “I mean it, like, you could easily sing for a living.”

Harry blushes even more. “Shut up.”

“You should. I mean, you could try out for The X Factor, or something.” He smiles. “I’d definitely
be there cheering for you.”

“Oh my God, stop.” He groans, shyly.

“I mean it.” Louis says.

Finally, Harry looks up and to the side, eyes meeting Louis’. And. This is the first time Louis
realizes Harry looks at him differently. It’s also the first time he feels the urge to lean in and kiss
him.

Harry beats him to it, though.

Lottie’s baby’s gender reveal party begins at 2pm sharp, but the siblings arrive an hour before.
Louis is in the kitchen, helping Lewis with the food, when he’s attacked by his younger siblings -
Ernie and Doris. They both hug him at the same time, repeating “Lou, Lou, Lou” about a hundred
times.

It had been quite a while since he last saw them. After his mother passed away, they moved in with
Louis’ grandparents, still spending most of the day with his other two sisters, Phoebe and Daisy.
Sometimes, Louis misses them so much it hurts - it’s honestly the only reason why Doncaster
doesn’t feel like home as much as it used to feel back then.

The twins walk into the kitchen right after the younger ones do and they hug him right away. They
tell him how much they’ve missed him, how he never comes around anymore. It makes Louis’
heart break a little.

He tells them that work hasn’t been easy in the last year, about how many court-cases he’s been
needing to attend, how having your own company is very good, but also extremely exhausting
sometimes.

Ernie and Doris only leave his side when they see Niall, the fun uncle who takes them outside to
play football in the backyard.

To Louis’ surprise, the revealing part is really a balloon. Valentina, Lottie’s best friend, is the only
one who knows the gender of the baby - Louis is particularly glad he doesn’t, he’s very shitty at
keeping this sort of secret.

Turns out is a little boy.

And, for a second, Louis wishes it was his little boy, but he doesn’t think about it much because
he’s going to be uncle and he’s going to have someone to teach his footie skills to and he’s so
fucking happy for Lottie that he holds onto this feeling.

It’s good to be home. Throughout the years - he doesn’t think of the person who made him realize
so - Louis came to the conclusion that home isn’t a place. Home is your family and it doesn’t
matter where they are.

For a moment, Louis doesn’t miss Doncaster or his house. He just wishes he could feel like he’s
home all the time, like he does now.

After the gender reveal, Niall and the young siblings, along with a few of Louis’ young cousins,
ask him to play football with them in the backyard. He doesn’t even think twice - doesn’t give a
shit that he’s wearing his fanciest outfit - a matching Burberry set, button up and shorts.

As usual, Niall is the goal keeper and he lets all the kids score. He doesn’t go easy on Louis,
though - he does still manage to score, anyways.

And it feels good. So good he doesn’t remember what happened the night before, or a week ago, or
in the past twelve years.

He focuses on his family.

It’s a little later, when he’s sitting on the grass, tired and breathing a little too heavily, that Lottie
comes to sit right beside him - not without laying a blanket, first, there’s no way she’s ruining her
white dress.

Louis smiles at her, then looks front again.

She takes a while to speak. “Are you okay?”

He turns to look at her again, pulling his knees up and resting his arms over them. “Yeah, I’m
good. You?”

“So excited.” She smiles.

“Have you chosen the name?” He asks.

“Haven’t yet.” Lottie says. “Was thinking of grandpa’s name.”

Louis smiles. “Good one.”

Lottie stays silent again. “Are you really okay?”

He thinks about it. For a moment, he wonders if he should open up about how he’s really feeling,
about what he’s been bottling up for years. But he decides not to. This is a good day. He doesn’t
want to ruin Lottie’s party with some tragic love story.

“I’m okay.” He answers, instead.

He forces a smile.

If she notices, she doesn’t mention it.

They stay seated for a while, talking about Lottie’s pregnancy and Ernie’s and Doris’ school year
and Phoebe’s new boyfriend. And it’s all good until Val calls her to take some pictures and she
excuses herself as he watches her go stand in front of some trees with Lewis, posing for the camera.

It’s sort of when it hits.

Louis watches everything, the belly, the children running around, the happiness on the couple’s
face and it fucking hurts. It hurts because it’s only then that he realizes he’s stuck. He’s stuck on
someone he made countless plans with in the past, a person he has no future with. And it fucking
sucks because Louis wants this. He wants kids and he wants to build his own family and he wants
to teach his son to play football, buy dresses for his daughter. He wants it all and the thought of
never getting it hurts.

He remembers the one time he and Harry were laying in the younger one’s bed and he asked if
Louis wanted to get married. And it was so funny because they were so young, but he didn’t
hesitate for a single second before he said yes. “Even as young as you are?” Harry then asked.
Louis, once again, didn’t hesitate.

The thing about what they had, is that Louis could see it all with him and it wasn’t even close to
being terrifying. From the very first time they talked about the future, it just felt natural. They’d
talk about getting a house by the beach, having two dogs - and one cat because Harry refused not to
get one and call it pussy - adopting three kids.

Future.

How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 30?

The problem with the future is that, now, if Louis tries to see himself in five years, he doesn’t see
anything but himself.

And the thought of it wrecks him.

The guests don’t notice as he leaves the party, walking towards his room. He allows himself to cry.
He wonders if he’s ever going to be able to move on, if he’s ever going to have his own future with
someone.

It’s only then that he realizes that he can’t have any of that if he doesn’t have closure.

It’s then that he decides he needs closure.

Before he leaves through the front door, he tells Lottie he loves her and says he’s going to be the
best uncle her son could ever have.

The bar is as crowded as it was the day before. Louis does hesitate for a bit, staring at the 17 Black
sign before he finally walks in. It’s really easier said than done because just entering this place
feels like a fucking punch to his stomach.

Instead of looking at the stage, he walks directly towards the bar, ordering the strongest whiskey
the bartender has to offer. It’s Liz, once again, and they furrow their eyebrows at him, noticing the
mood shift compared to the day before. They bring him his drink and a shot of tequila on the
house. Louis downs it in one go.

When he does look at the corner, he spots the same girl from the day before. She’s wearing a long
white dress, singing as she plays the piano. He looks back to Liz.
“Do you know if the same man from yesterday is playing today?” He asks Liz but they don’t
listen.

“Harry Styles?” A voice comes from his side.

Louis turns to where it came from. It’s a man, he has long dark hair and looks pretty much like
Jesus Christ. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “He plays here every weekend.”

“Oh.” Louis blinks. “Thank you. Do you know how long until he starts?”

“I think half an hour or so. Fairy’s just about to finish.”

“Thank you.” He repeats.

So he has thirty fucking minutes of overthinking to go. He looks back down at his glass again,
finishes it and orders another one.

Better drink then.

It turns out the lad’s name is Mitch and he likes painting. Louis sort of tries to get him to
understand he doesn’t really feel like talking, but he won’t stop, so he just gives up. He has an art
studio in London and he lives with his girlfriend, Sarah, who plays drums and is currently touring
with her band.

The conversation ends up being interesting and it’s enough to keep Louis distracted, which makes
him slow down his drinking. By the time Harry’s supposed to go on stage, he doesn’t. After ten
minutes pass and he still hasn’t come out, Louis excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

Louis is sober and he notices that when he doesn’t have to support himself on the wall as he takes a
wee. At least he feels a little less nervous. As he washes his hands, he doesn’t focus on the fact that
he’s seeing Harry, he focuses on the fact that he’s finally getting closure and that’s what fucking
matters.

Things get a little weird when he’s opening the bathroom door and Mitch’s standing there. He
doesn’t go in after Louis comes out, though. “Just to let you know he’s on stage now.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “Okay…? Thanks, I guess?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

As he makes his way back to the bar, he glances to his left, spotting the stage and. Well, spotting
him. Harry’s wearing an orange and purple shirt, a glittery cherry on his chest and jeans. Louis
doesn’t look away, couldn’t even if he wanted to.

He cusses at himself once the memory of him sitting on his lap, naked, comes to his mind. He
doesn’t make his way towards the bar, though, just stays where he is - leaned back onto the wall,
on the opposite corner of the place. He only sees Harry’s side profile.

“Good evening.” He says. “I’m Harry Styles and I’m going to sing a couple of songs for you. I
hope you enjoy it.”

Just like the night before, Louis watches as he begins to string his acoustic guitar, the same lyrics
as yesterday’s coming out of his mouth. But then, he stops.

“Erm.” He speaks into the mic. “Sorry, I’m.” He takes a second. “I’m actually going to start with a
different song today and I wanted to talk a little before I get into it, if you’re okay with it.”

The bar stays silent, eyes on him.

“I wrote this song last week.” He continues. “I sort of… I met this person again after a long, long
time and he sort of inspired me. He…” He interrupts himself, again. “Anyways, this is Satellite.”

Louis watches quietly as he, once again, moves his fingers. He doesn’t focus on his pink lips,
absolutely doesn’t.

He’s getting closure, that’s what matters.

“You got a new life, am I bothering you? Do you wanna talk?” He begins. “We share the last line,
then we drink the wall, until we wanna talk. I go round and round, satellite. Spinning out waiting
for you to pull me in. I can see you’re lonely down there, don’t you know that I am right here.”

And it’s shocking to say the least.

Because this isn’t fucking fair.

“I’m in an LA mood, I don’t wanna talk to you, he said give me a day or two.” He continues. “I go
round and round, satellite.”

It isn’t fair. It isn’t fucking fair. Because how is Louis supposed to get closure after this? After
knowing he wrote this song about him? After leaving him again?

Louis doesn’t know how he hasn’t left the bar yet. He can’t fucking think properly. And Harry
doesn’t see him - he looks around the whole place but he doesn’t see him. Louis is really fucking
glad because he doesn’t think he’d be able to deal with familiar green eyes right now. This is
already too fucking much.

And for a second, he feels like he goes back twelve years because this feels like watching him sing
for the first time. And, no. No. He doesn’t need fucking closure, he needs to fucking leave.

And it’s just as he’s about to turn away to walk out of the bar, that Harry finally finds him, just in
time for him to say the last lyrics “don’t you know that I am right here?”. Louis can’t look away
and neither does Harry. It feels like too much, but for one fucking second, he feels like he did so
long ago.

Lost in his eyes.

Harry doesn’t start another song, doesn’t look away. His eyebrows are furrowed, like a painful
expression is stuck on his face. His hand rests on the same place they were before the song ended -
on his night themed acoustic guitar.

Louis doesn’t look away, until.

Until it feels like too much.

He turns away in a fast move, and doesn't look back. His mind screams for him to leave, his heart
screams for him to come back. He doesn’t fucking care, he needs to leave. Fuck closure and
absolutely fuck Harry.
It’s just when he’s walked past the door that he stops.

“Louis!” He hears.

He can’t fucking breathe.

He hears the steps getting faster and faster, closer and closer.

“Louis!” He hears again.

“What?” He snaps.

Louis feels a hand on his shoulder, clenches his jaw. It fucking burns.

“Louis, please.” He says. “Please, don’t leave.”

He takes a deep breath before he turns around, ignoring the lump inside his throat. “Why the fuck
would I stay?”

The man in front of him furrows his eyebrows. He looks hurt. “I’m sorry.”

Louis licks his lips, clenches his jaw again. “This fucking bar, really?”

“I.” Harry starts, stops. He blinks a few times. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry, Jesus.”

Harry stops. But he also doesn’t say anything else.

“Don’t you have to go back? Got a crowd to sing for.” Louis says sarcastically, but he still doesn’t
say a thing. “I can’t believe I came here.”

“Why did you?” He finally asks, voice a bit lower than before - like he’s afraid what his answer
will be.

Closure. Louis needed fucking closure. But he can’t even think about it, not when Harry wrote a
song about him, about getting back in his life.

“Because I’m fucking stupid, that’s why.” Is what he says, instead.

And Harry doesn’t say anything, just stays quiet. What he does do is look at him for a few seconds
before he looks down, unable to speak. Louis, on the other side, can’t stop looking at him.

“I’m gonna go.” He says, gulping.

Harry takes a second, he doesn’t look up. “Please,” he asks, quietly.

Louis can’t breathe. He hesitates, heart begging him to stay. “I can’t,” he says. This time he sounds
a lot less angry and a lot more hurt, like it’s so hard to say no - like it’s so hard to stay away from
him.

But this time. Harry doesn’t insist.

“Okay.” Is what he says, instead, his voice coming out as barely even a whisper.

The last thing Harry says before he turns away and walks back inside the bar is “I’m sorry”.
☺

It’s right where Harry left him, that he stays - still and quiet. His eyes barely even focus on
anything, looking nowhere in particular. He can’t fucking move. This time, he wishes he could feel
nothing, but all he feels is his heart, shattered inside his chest. The images of Harry walking away
from him stay on his mind, playing like a tape recording over and over again.

He doesn’t leave.

Instead, he reaches for the packet of cigarettes inside his coat’s front pocket. He smokes one, two,
then three. He doesn’t know what makes him stay, but he knows that it isn’t about closure
anymore.

His hands sweat even though it’s really fucking cold outside. Time passes slowly as he waits. The
thing is, he knows he’s waiting for him, but he doesn’t fucking know what to expect. Another
argument? Another series of bitter words? He can’t even fucking see this going anywhere good,
doesn’t know if he’d be able to be close to him in silence while ignoring the loudness inside his
head.

He doesn’t fucking know.

Louis stays for too long. He doesn’t even know how long Harry’s performance lasts, has absolutely
no fucking idea if he’s walking out of the door any time soon. What if Harry decides to stay?
There’s no fucking way Louis’ getting inside this bar again.

What the fuck is he to expect?

The streets are still full. No one leaves the bar for the next forty-five minutes. In reality, more and
more people go in. Louis then remembers the people cheering for Harry the day before, Harry isn’t
famous, but he sure is famous around here.

Louis needs a fucking drink - a whole bottle of tequila, honestly. But there’s no way he’s going in
again. He isn’t. It’s too much. It’s what he does - he fucking avoids it. He avoids everything - just
like he avoided a serious conversation ten years ago, just like he avoided talking about it for years.

It’s what he fucking does best.

It doesn’t mean it’s the best for him, though.

His attention shifts to the entrance of 17 Black once he hears a loud laughing. When he glances at
it, there are two familiar faces walking out - Mitch and Fairy. He watches them as he smokes his
fourth cigarette. It doesn’t take too long before Harry comes right after them, following their way
out.

Louis’ heart shrinks.

Why did he fucking stay?

But he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t even know what his facial expression looks like, right now,
just knows that as soon as Harry raises his head, his eyes meet wide open green ones. He
immediately feels the lump inside his throat once again.

Harry turns to the side, says something to them. It’s just then that Louis realizes that Mitch is with
him. Jesus fucking Christ. Does Mitch know about him?
After a moment, Mitch and Fairy look up and see him. The long haired man even waves a little to
him, no smile on his face. Before Harry makes his way to where Louis is standing, his eyes meet
Louis’ one more. He looks hesitant, like he’s waiting for Louis to turn away and leave him
standing there. When Louis doesn’t move, he does.

“You didn’t leave.” Harry says, voice coming out a bit softer than before. He sounds surprised.

Well, that makes two of them.

Louis doesn’t answer, only gulps, trying to swallow the fucking lump inside his throat. He looks
down, just stands there, cigarette in one hand, the other inside the pocket of his dark blue coat,
gripping onto the packet of cigarettes.

Harry only looks at him. He takes a second, two. “Do you…” He starts. “Do you want to maybe
grab a drink?”

Louis hesitates, clenches his jaw. And, this time, both his mind and heart agree - they both tell him
to stay.

“I’m not going in there.” Is what he answers.

“There’s a bar down the street.” Harry says quietly. “We could go there.”

Louis takes a deep breath before he speaks. “Lead the way.”

Harry looks as surprised as Louis himself feels. Once he starts walking, Louis stays still. He turns
to look back at him after he’s walked a few steps. “Are you coming?” He asks.

It’s with his heart on his sleeve that Louis follows him.
 Chapter 7
Chapter Summary

Louis wonders if he remembers as much as he does, if the memories play in his head
as much.

He wonders if Harry would’ve still tried to find his way back to him if it weren’t for
the oh so convenient wedding. He’s afraid he doesn’t think so.

Chapter Notes

Hiiii, guess who's back? Me, again! And so quick!

I told you all I am pretty excited about this fic.

Enjoy it! Feedbacks are always welcome!

Fee x

The walk is quiet.

The streets are loud as they make their way to the other bar. Louis doesn’t look to his side as much
as he wants to. Harry doesn’t control himself as much. He looks like he can’t believe this is
actually happening - Louis feels the same, but absolutely refuses to give it away.

Everywhere seems full - people on the tables outside, drinks in their hands. There’s also a different
sort of music for every bar or club they pass by. Most of them don’t seem to be playing live music,
which makes Louis wonder if that’s maybe why Harry chose to play at 17 Black. It still feels a bit
too personal and he isn’t really sure if he can convince himself that’s the reason.

They don’t walk too close, but they also don’t stand far from each other. They still walk side by
side.

Louis can’t help but notice the way Harry smells so familiar. It reminds him of the cologne he
himself used to wear - the same one his ex-boyfriend would steal every chance he got. “I love
smelling like you” is what he used to say. Louis shakes the thought away.

From the corner of his eyes, he’s able to see Harry’s hand. He’s wearing light yellow nail polish.
And it has him remembering more and more memories. Louis was the first person who ever
painted his nails. He recalls the way Harry tried to pretend he didn’t like it as much as he did, even
asked him for the remover a few seconds after being starstruck - admiring them. He remembers
how nervous he got once he realized what he was doing, looking a little too nervous as he searched
for the remover. “Painted nails make you beautiful” Louis said then. Harry blushed and looked
away.

He didn’t remove the nail polish until they went out for dinner.
Walking beside him is sort of triggering, but not as bad as Louis thought it would be. Still, silence
doesn’t feel half as comfortable as it used to back then - at least not until the last goodbye.

Louis wonders if he remembers as much as he does, if the memories play in his head as much.

He wonders if Harry would’ve still tried to find his way back to him if it weren’t for the oh so
convenient wedding. He’s afraid he doesn’t think so.

As they walk - and they do slowly, as if taking their time - Louis notices the bar is a lot further
away than it seemed like. For a moment, Louis nearly asks him if it’s still a long way to go - he’s a
bit too tired from playing footie for two hours with his family - but he can’t really speak. And it’s
so stupid because it’s literally just a simple question, but it feels a bit terrifying to have to talk to
him.

Louis needs a drink even more than he thought he did.

They walk for a five more minutes until Harry finally comes to a stop, pointing to a bar with a sign
that reads “Sally’s Tavern”.

“Here we are.” Harry says.

Louis looks up at the sign, looks down again at the entrance. He notices that it looks emptier than
most of the other places they went by. Once Harry walks in, Louis follows him. Inside, the walls
are red, some portraits of the sea on them. The counter looks pretty much like the other ones Louis’
seen. There’s a song playing in low volume - it’s Boston by Augustana.

There are only five people inside the bar, other than the bartender and a single waiter. It feels a
little intimate, a little more personal. Louis likes it - wonders if Harry knew he would.

“Do you want to grab a table?” Harry asks, looking at him. He adjusts his hair as he speaks. Louis
tries not to think too much about how he doesn’t spot a single curl anymore.

Louis looks away, looks around. “Let’s just stay there,” he answers, pointing to the bar stools.

“Okay.” He says as he walks towards the bar. There’s a woman there, right behind the counter.
“Hi, Sal,” Harry says, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Hi, H.” She smiles at him, crinkles by her eyes.

Louis follows him after a moment, sitting on one of the stools.

“Who’s your friend?” The woman asks.

Harry turns to him, points at him then to her. “This is Louis. Louis, this is Sally. She owns the
place.”

“Nice to meet you,” Louis says, smiling.

“Oh.” She raises her eyebrows. “Louis. Nice to meet you, Louis.” She looks back at Harry. “What
will you two have?”

Harry doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns to Louis, who looks at him, waiting. “Do you wanna
choose?” He asks.

Louis takes a second - tries not to focus on the blush on his cheeks. He looks back at Sally. “I’ll
have whiskey, please. Thank you.”
He ignores the way Harry stays quiet for a few moments. Louis knows all too well that, back in
time, he always used to order for them both. At first, Harry would ask him to choose and, after
some time, he knew Harry and what he’d like, so he’d just order.

Harry looks away from Louis. “White wine, please,” he says, voice a bit lower. He clears his
throat.

Louis ignores that he sounds a little shaken.

Once Harry finally takes the seat next to Louis’, they wait in silence. Louis, with the corners of his
eyes, notices Harry scratching his cross tattoo on his hand. He tries not to remember that he was
there when he got it - tries not to remember that Harry’s not religious at all, tries not to remember
the real reason why he got it in the first place.

After a minute, Sally comes back with both their drinks. Louis ignores how Harry raises his glass to
clink on his and takes a long sip of his whiskey. He doesn’t grimace at the burning feeling going all
the way from his tongue to his stomach.

It’s silent between them. The only things Louis hears is the sound of loud laughing coming from a
table with two men who seem to be having the best night of their lives, and the low song playing at
the bar. Louis knows this song all too well - Jealous by Labrinth.

He tries not to think of how much he relates to the song. He finishes his drink way sooner than he
planned.

“So.” His thoughts are sent away once he hears the voice coming from his right side. He turns to
look at Harry, doesn’t say a thing. He clears his throat. “How was your day?”

At that, Louis genuinely feels like rolling his eyes because is that what they’re doing? Ignoring the
huge ass elephant in the room? He doesn’t, though, just takes a deep breath.

“Look, Harry.” He starts. “I don’t know why I’m here, but this,” he points out between him and
Harry, “isn’t going to work.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “Sorry.”

“I told you to stop with the apologies.”

“Sorry.” He repeats. “Erm, I mean, yeah.”

Louis sighs, turns to Sally, orders another whiskey. “Why are you in London?” He asks, not even
looking at him.

“Oh.” Harry licks his lips, he swirls his glass of wine, eyes on it. “Moved back here.”

At that, Louis rolls his eyes. “No shit.”

Harry lets out a small laugh, drinks a bit of his wine.

“When did you?” Louis asks, then.

It’s then that Harry stays quiet, the tiny little trace of smile leaving his face. He clears his throat.
He looks like he’s hesitating, like he’s afraid to answer.

“Two years ago.” He finally answers.

And fuck. Louis knew it must have been a while since he moved back to the UK with him being
known at the other bar and looking like he’s friends with the owner of Sally’s Tavern. Still, it feels
like a punch to his stomach. It feels like when things become real - like the fact that Harry was four
hours away from Louis and made no effort whatsoever to contact him.

He doesn’t say anything, just sips his whiskey. The feeling of emptiness in his stomach stands out
way more than the burning from the drink. He looks down at the counter.

“When did you move back to Doncaster?” Harry asks, trying to change the subject - and to get
Louis not to shut back down on him. He looks at Louis, waiting for him to answer.

“Soon as I was done specializing.” He says, sounding cold - just as he fucking feels.

“Oh.” Harry bites his bottom lip, looks back down at his drink. He takes a minute, maybe two,
three, in silence. He takes a deep breath before he turns back to face Louis. “Look, I’m sorry,
okay?” He says - he doesn’t sound annoyed, just frustrated.

“It’s fine.” Louis says, still sounds like he doesn’t feel a single thing.

Harry sighs. “It’s not and I know it.”

“Harry, it’s whatever. I don’t care.”

At that, Harry goes silent. He doesn’t look away though. Louis tries, he fucking tries damn hard not
to look at him, but he can still see him with his panoramic view - he looks hurt, like Louis pushed
the right fucking button.

He also looks like he’s about to apologize. He doesn’t.

It’s silent again. Harry downs his wine in one go and, only five minutes later, he’s on his third
glass. Louis pretends not to notice, but he’s on his fourth one, too. He guesses he’s winning?

Well, at least things are going better than Louis expected? Louis would’ve thought he’d have left
already, choosing - as always - to avoid any sort of serious conversation. He doesn’t even know
why he’s still there - sat in awkward silence with no one other than the person who broke his
fucking heart.

Surprisingly, he’s the one to speak once they’re quiet for God knows how long. Harry managed to
catch up on him, though, and they’re both on their fifth drinks.

“I’m assuming you’re not an actor like you said?” He asks, swirling his own glass and sipping it -
it tastes like fucking water with the ice having melted.

Harry bites the inside of his cheek - more like chews on it. “I played a small part in a movie, didn’t
go as well as I expected,” he shrugs. When Louis doesn’t speak, he continues. “I tried, you know?”
Louis doesn’t - in fact he doesn’t know shit about him. “I spent like, two years? Yeah, two years
trying - auditioning for a bunch of different movies. Turned out I wasn’t really good at it or maybe
I just gave up too soon.”

“Two years is a long time,” Louis points out.

“Yeah.” Harry shrugs. “Most people try for longer, though… At least, when they really want it.”

“You don’t want to be an actor?” He asks, then, furrowing his eyebrows once he looks at him.
Harry’s still looking down at his half empty glass of wine. “Found something that made me
happier,” he says.

“Oh.” He says, nodding. “Cool.”

“Yeah.” He agrees, turns to look at him, sipping his drink.

Louis tries not to focus on his pink lips again - he’s starting to think he might be doing a miserable
job at not looking at them.

“So you sing.” Louis states.

Once again, Harry shrugs. “I play a few gigs at bars,” he says, “but it’s more like a hobby, I
guess.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “You have something else?”

He nods, licks his lips. “Yeah, I own a bakery, actually. It’s pretty small.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you do?”

“Mhm.” He hums in agreement. “Not just me, though. Elin’s in this with me.”

“Oh, nice.”

Who the fuck is Elin? Actually, does Louis even know anyone who’s in Harry's life at this point?

“Yeah.” He smiles. “She’s really sweet. Like, literally. She cooks the best cookies in London.”
When Louis doesn’t say anything, he does. “You should try them someday.”

“Trying to make me your client?” Louis says, one corner of his lips curving up in a tiny trace of
smile.

At that, Harry giggles. “I don’t mind the money,” he jokes. “I’m joking, I’m joking.”

“I’m sure you are,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows, smiling a little more and turning back to his
whiskey, sipping it - yeah, it tastes like fucking water. “Hey, Sally, can I have another one,
please?”

She smiles at him. “Of course.”

Louis feels a little dizzy, but not much. Turns out when you spend too much time with Niall you
sort of get some of his strength for alcohol. He thanks her once she comes back with it.

“What’s it called?” He asks, then.

Harry looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry, what?”

“The bakery.” Louis reminds him. “What’s it called?”

“Oh.” Harry smiles. “It’s pretty stupid,” he laughs, “Blue Bird.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, snorts. “It is stupid.”

Harry opens his mouth, furrowing his eyebrows - he looks playfully offended. “Heeeeeey.”

Louis laughs. “I’m just taking the piss,” he smiles, “it’s a nice name.”
Harry tries to bite back a smile. “Thank you.” He takes a moment. “You should come by, some
time.”

Louis shrugs. “I’m leaving tomorrow, don’t know when I’ll be back,” he says.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, got a company to run.”

“You own a company?” He asks, then, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah.” Louis answers. “Not too big, though.”

“It’s still nice.” He says. “That’s actually really nice.”

“Thanks.” He smiles at him.

“So, what did you choose? Like, to specialize in?”

“Employment and labor.”

Harry looks at him, squints his eyes. “Okay… Explain to me like I’m five.”

Louis laughs. “It’s like. I make sure employees’ rights are being assured.”

“Oh.” He raises his eyebrows. “That’s really nice. Fits you.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

This time, when they both go silent, it feels a little less uncomfortable and a little easier to deal
with. Louis focuses on his drink, notices how he’s getting dizzier and dizzier with time. He finds
himself glancing at Harry more times than before, and he doesn’t even try to stop himself from
doing it.

Just as he remembers - even more with recent events - Harry begins to loosen himself a bit. His
cheeks get a little flushed. He smiles more easily at everything that goes around him. Louis, for the
first time in years, finds looking at him a little calming.

Back then, Harry used to be the one who grounded him. Whenever Louis was feeling anxious over
a fight with his mum, or stressed over his finals, just one look at Harry’s smile and everything
seemed calmer, he felt more relaxed.

For the first time in a week, though, Louis doesn’t focus on the past, doesn’t focus on the
memories, doesn’t focus on what could’ve been. He focuses on the present - and it feels much
better.

There comes a point when Louis doesn’t even know what number drink he’s on - he assumes
neither does Harry. The whiskey no longer tastes like whiskey, it feels like he’s just drinking water.
He decides he’s done with it.

He turns to Harry. “How do you feel about shots?”

Harry turns to look at him, eyebrows raised, cheeks flushed. “I’m not opposed.”

Louis smirks - he doesn’t really realize how drunk he is. “Sally!” He calls for her a little too loudly.
She looks at him right away. “Four shots of tequila, please.”
“Four?” He hears from his side.

Louis looks at him, shrugs. “Let’s do it the right way.”

It doesn’t take long for Sally to come back with the shot glasses, lemon and salt. She places them
in front Louis and Harry, and raises her eyebrows at Harry. Louis doesn’t look into it, he’s too
drunk.

Louis sprinkles some salt on the skin where his index and thumb meet, holds the lemon and the
glass. He turns to look at Harry, who is still staring at him with his eyebrows raised. He takes a
moment before he follows Louis’ steps.

And it’s really fucking hard to look away when, before sprinkling the salt on his hand, he licks it.
Louis couldn’t look away if he damn well tried.

When he’s done, he turns back to him.

Louis licks his lips, raises his eyebrows daringly, clinks his glass on Harry’s. “Cheers.”

Harry doesn’t even say it back, doesn’t even fucking drink, just watches his him - eyes wide open,
lips parted.

Jesus fuck.

He finally drinks.

They do the same with the other shot of tequila - so it’s two for each. Immediately, Louis feels
himself loosen up a little more. His pupils are a bit dilated, eyes wide open - differently from
Harry, who, just as Louis remembers, has his eyelids low, eyelashes fluttering.

It’s not silent after it, though. Louis can’t stop smiling at Harry, who can’t fucking stop giggling.

“I missed this.” Is what Louis hears him say, sounding happy.

And it’s then that it fucking hits Louis. He’s letting him in, again. Louis feels even dizzer, having
to squeeze his eyes a few times to focus his sight.

He licks his lips, still looking at Harry, who’s still smiling at him - crinkles by his eyes, dimples on
his cheeks. “Why did you leave?” Louis asks. “I mean, a week ago.”

Harry’s smile vanishes right away. “I’m sorry.”

“Harry, I’m not asking for apologies, I’m just trying to understand.” He sighs. “Look, what do you
want me to think? You leave before I wake up, don’t leave your number, then you sing this
fucking song about how you’re there for me? I’m fucking confused.”

It’s then that Harry furrows his eyebrows. “Wait, what? I’m confused.”

Louis lets out a laugh through his nose. “Not as confused as me, mate.”

Harry still looks at him like he didn’t understand a word he said. “What you said before. Like, I did
leave my number.”

At that, Louis stops. “Sorry, what?”

“I did leave my number.” He repeats.

“No, you didn’t.”

“But I did.” Harry insists. When Louis only stares at him, waiting for an explanation, he continues.
“On the sticky note, I left my number there.”

Louis groans. “So there’s more than two sticky notes?”

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “No, it was just two.”

Louis shakes his head, still very much lost. “If it’s just two, then I’m pretty sure you’re imagining
things.”

“No,” he licks his lips, “on the screen of your computer,” he says, “my number was there.”

Louis takes a second, remembers the note. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Harry, I’m not blind. You basically thanked me for getting laid.”

“What?” He shakes his head. “No, I thanked you for the night.” Louis rolls his eyes. “My number
was on the back.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I wrote ‘call me when you want to’ and my number on the back.” Harry says.

“Wait. What?” Louis repeats, like he’s still confused.

“Yeah. Didn’t you see it?”

“Wait.” He stops, closes his eyes, then opens. “When I saw it I just crumpled it and threw it away,”
he says, not even measuring his words.

“Oh.” Harry whispers. “Oh, okay.”

“Harry, you literally left.” Louis says, like he needs a fucking reminder - keeps the ‘twice’ to
himself.

“But I left a note.”

“You still left.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Harry whispers.

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have come to talk to me in the first place.” Louis snaps, then he stops. “I
didn’t mean that,” he says right after.

Harry bites the inside of his cheek, looks down. “You did,” he says, “it’s okay.”

“No, I didn’t.” Louis insists. “I really didn’t. It’s just.” He takes a deep breath. “Look, you fucking
confused me, okay? You left and all I got were sticky notes and I was pissed at you because you
know what they meant to me. It’s just. I don’t fucking know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Then your song… Why did you think you were bothering me?”
Harry licks his lips, still doesn’t look up. “I saw you,” he says, voice low, “when you left me on the
couch. You went outside and you were smoking and you looked so stressed out. I felt so bad.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I passed out just for a bit.” He continues. “When you got up I couldn’t sleep anymore.”

“But when I walked past you, you were asleep.”

“I wasn’t.” Harry says. “I just pretended to be,” he sighs. “When you went upstairs I left.”

“But how did you leave a sticky note on my computer?” He asks then, still confused. The math
isn’t mathing. “It was in my room.”

“No, it was in the kitchen.” Harry furrows his eyebrows.

“Oh.” Louis lets out. Then, he remembers. When he went downstairs to make coffee, he took his
computer from the table. It fucking adds up. “Fuck.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Harry repeats. “So, I thought I’d just leave my number and you’d call
when you were ready. If. If you were ready.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Harry finally looks up. “I just showed up out of nowhere, I know you hate me.”

Louis takes a second. It isn’t because he’s hesitating to answer, it’s because he can’t believe he
thinks that. “Harry, no.”

“I know I fucked up.” He ignores him. “I should’ve told you it was me, but I was scared how you’d
react.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at Harry.

It’s then that Harry jumps off his stool, standing up. “I’m sorry,” he says, reaching for his back
pocket. He takes out his wallet. “I shouldn’t have come back,” he opens it, reaching for some
money.

Frozen in his seat, all Louis does is watch him. He feels his breathing get heavier, faster and faster.

“Sal,” Harry calls her and she looks at him, “it’s on me,” then he places the money on the counter,
turning back to face Louis. “I’m really fucking sorry.”

Louis only understands what’s happening when Harry turns away to leave. It takes him a moment,
just as he’s beginning to be out of Louis’ reach, that he grips his wrist, holding it. Harry stops,
doesn’t turn back, just stands still.

“Don’t.” Is the only thing Louis says.

He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even move. Louis’ hand burns where it touches Harry’s skin,
realizing it’s the first time he’s touched him since a week ago, when he was naked, completely
vulnerable in his arms.

“Don’t leave.” Louis repeats, voice low.

Then it’s quiet. Neither of them move. At the moment, Louis and Harry were the only clients left at
the bar and the only things that could be heard were the sound of Sally organizing the counter and
the song playing on the speakers - Break My Heart Again by PHINNEAS.

It feels like time has stopped. Louis can barely even breathe. Harry doesn’t move. Louis doesn’t
realize how much he’s craved contact until he got it again. For once, this feels like too much, but
for the first fucking time in ten years, it’s not in a bad way.

“You don’t bother me.” Louis tells him. “You really don’t.”

Harry still doesn’t look back.

“Listen, can we just.” He interrupts himself. “Can we just have a good night?”

At that, he turns to face Louis, eyebrows raised. He takes a bit too long, staring into Louis’ eyes,
until he finally whispers “okay”.

Louis doesn’t let go of his wrist until he sits back down.

Harry stops drinking - says he’s a little too dizzy to continue. This time, Louis orders him water. He
blushes slightly, Louis pretends he doesn’t notice, but his stomach still gets warm at the sight.
Louis, on the other hand, continues drinking whiskey, but he slows down.

None of them mention, but it gets a little easier from then on. Sally doesn’t say anything, but Louis
is pretty sure that the bar should’ve closed a long time ago since when Louis looks up, the clock
reads 2:30am. He doesn’t mention it, though.

And it’s funny, if you come to think of it, because, only a few hours ago, all Louis wanted was to
leave and now? He doesn’t want to, any time soon.

“That was a good song.” Louis says, when they finally stop laughing over one of Sally’s uncle
jokes.

“What?” Harry asks, turning to look at him, a smile still stuck on his lips.

“Satellite.” He says. “That was really good.”

“Oh.” Harry blushes. “Thank you.”

“Do you only sing originals?” He asks, then.

“Mhm.” He answers. “At first I used to sing a few covers and add, like, two or three of my own.”

“Wow.” Louis raises his eyebrows. “How many do you sing?”

“Usually seven to eight songs.” He shrugs. “Sometimes people ask me to sing more, then I go on
for a little more.”

Louis smiles, takes a sip of his drink. “Have you thought of following the singing career?” He
asks.

He licks his lips. “I don’t know,” he answers. “Still a bit insecure about it, to be honest. I haven’t
sent any songs to record labels.”

“You should.”
“I don’t know.” He repeats. “The bakery is going well.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Blue Bird is flying high.” Louis jokes.

Harry stops, takes a second to understand him. And then he bursts out laughing, covering his
mouth right away, widening his eyes. Louis laughs, too, but it’s not at his own joke, but at his
reaction.

“You’re funny.” He mentions, still smiling.

Louis ponders with his head. “I’ve been told that.”

“I bet.” Harry says.

The night goes on better than Louis could’ve ever imagined. At this point, he barely even
remembers any bitter thoughts. He’s drunk, that sort of helps too. However, there’s still a few
things Louis can’t help but notice, like the way Harry still finds everything he says a little too
funny, like the way he scrunches his nose from time to time - like he’s a bunny - like the way he
will look at Louis like he hung up the fucking moon.

And it feels genuinely good.

The subjects come naturally, like they were never really apart. They mostly talk about Louis’
siblings, about Harry’s sister and her new sunglasses store, about the baby’s gender reveal, about
Mitch and his painting.

They talk about everything, but none of them mention the past - at least not anything that could
turn the conversation into something bad.

“I got a cat, by the way.” Harry says, changing the current subject.

“You did?” Louis raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah.” He smiles, proudly. “Her name is Bum-Bum.”

Louis bursts out laughing, he covers his mouth with hand. “Oh my God, Harry, no.” He says and
he doesn’t stop laughing.

Harry furrows his eyebrows, pouting. “It’s a pretty name, stop.”

“No, oh my God, the poor cat.” He continues. “Imagine someone asks what your cat is up to and
you say ‘Bum-Bum is pooping’- Harry, no!” He laughs louder. “And if you take her to the pet shop
and they say ‘do you want us to clean Bum-Bum? Shave it?”

This time, Harry can’t hold back the giggle. He slaps Louis’ forearm gently. “You’re an ass, shut
up.” But he carries on laughing.

“What are you gonna call your next cat?” Louis asks rhetorically. “Peen-Peen?”

Harry laughs louder. “She’ll be called pussy, thank you very much.”

“Harry, bum-bum and pussy?” He says. “I feel bad for your cats.”

“Blah, blah, blah.” Harry says playfully.

It’s a little after 4am that Sally finally comes to them and says it’s really late and she should’ve
closed a long, long time ago. When Harry looks at the clock, he widens his eyes.

“Oh my God, Sal.” He says, standing up to take his wallet again. He takes the money and gives it
to her. “I think this will cover it.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows, standing up to. “Wait, no, let me pay something.”

Harry shakes his head. “This one is on me,” is what he says - leaves the ‘next one is on you’
unsaid. “Hey, Sal, can I have a pen, please?” He asks and she gives one right away. Louis stares at
him, confused. When he pulls away from the counter, Louis sees a napkin on the table, Harry
passes it to him. “Here,” he says, “now you have my number.”

Louis smiles so big he can’t remember the last time he did.

 Chapter 8
Chapter Summary

When he finally does get back to Lottie’s house, he goes straight to his room, making
sure he’s as silent as possible so as not to wake anyone up. He does take a shower
before, though, even though he hates the thought of washing Harry’s touch off him.
This time, same as before, he takes a little too long there. This time, though, he doesn’t
stop smiling.

Chapter Notes

Hiiiii.

I'm back with a new chapter. Once again, thank you to Britt and Liz for being my slay
besties who stay on video calls with me for 9 hours so I can feel supported. I love you.

Enjoy!

Fee x

Walking back to Lottie’s house feels like everything and a little more. It feels like happiness and
relief and something Louis hasn’t felt in years: hope.

The thing is, talking to Harry until he couldn’t remember anything else about his life was not on his
bingo list tonight. Still, he fucking won. And it didn’t feel hard, it didn’t feel like he was forcing
laughter, faking smiles, it genuinely felt like he still knows him - even though he knows damn well
he definitely doesn’t, anymore.

And everything seems a little more beautiful, you could say. The stars shine a little brighter, people
on the streets are laughing a little more and even the walk back home isn’t nearly half as tiring as a
forty-five minute walk would be.

Louis feels happy and, for a few hours, he doesn’t feel like maybe it’s a mistake to let him in his
life again. He genuinely feels wonderstruck, blushing all the way home.

As he walks, he can’t get the smile off his face - and it’s not like he’s even trying to. The images of
Harry don’t leave his head and they don’t seem like they will any time soon. And it’s his smile and
his giggles and his eyes and his lips.

Maybe Louis is just too fucking drunk and tomorrow all this will be a little less of a big deal. Or
maybe it is a big deal. Whatever.

The napkin with Harry’s number written is laying inside his green coat’s pocket and he doesn’t
forget it for a single second - he even considers texting him about three times before he actually
gets home, but decides not to because he doesn’t want to seem desperate. Harry can wait, so can he.
When he finally does get back to Lottie’s house, he goes straight to his room, making sure he’s as
silent as possible so as not to wake anyone up. He does take a shower before, though, even though
he hates the thought of washing Harry’s touch off him. This time, same as before, he takes a little
too long there. This time, though, he doesn’t stop smiling.

Getting back to his room, he isn’t able to keep as quiet as before, and as soon as he walks in, he
drops his fucking phone. He cusses under his breath and, next thing he knows, Niall’s barging in,
eyes wide open.

“Where the fuck were you?” He asks a little too aggressively. “I tried calling you a million times
and you wouldn’t pick up, I thought you died.”

Louis takes a moment, squinting his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows. He blinks a few times.
“What?”

“You vanished from the party and Lottie didn’t know where you went. I was worried.”

“I went out.” Louis says, making his way to the bed. He falls on it, closing his eyes.

“No shit.” Niall rolls his eyes.

“I was with him.” He says after a second.

He doesn’t see it, eyes still closed - his face looks relaxed -, but Niall raises his eyebrows. “Sorry,
what?”

“I was with Harry.” He repeats.

“Harry, Harry?”

Louis groans, pressing his fingers onto his eyes. “No, Prince Harry, Niall.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Why were you with him?” He asks, still standing in the middle of the room,
eyebrows furrowed.

“Dunno, to be honest.” He answers. “Needed to talk to him.”

“Talk?”

“Are you just gonna keep repeating what I say?”

“I’m in shock, give me a break.” Niall rolls his eyes. He walks towards the bed and sits at the end
of it. “But why did you decide to talk to him?”

Louis licks his lips. “I needed closure.”

“Did you? Get it, I mean.”

“Not really?” He offers and sighs. “It wasn’t closure, but I think it was a bit better than that.”

Niall raises his eyebrows. “Better?”

“Yeah, I think.” He says. “I got his number.”

“I’m sorry, I feel like I skipped a whole chapter, here. Why is he in London and how did you get in
touch with him?”
Louis lets out a laugh through his nose. “Yesterday,” he starts, “when we were at that bar. I left
because he was there. Like, he started singing and it felt like too much and I left? And today I went
back there because I was fucking done with him and we sort of talked and now I have his number.”

“Wait.” Niall furrows his eyebrows. “Harry, Harry, the Harry?”

“Jesus Christ, Niall.” Louis groans.

“I’m sorry, mate, but as far as I knew you wanted nothing to do with him.”

“I.” He starts, doesn’t continue.

The thing is, Louis hasn’t thought about it. He hasn’t thought about the past, hasn’t thought about
the things that were left unsaid, hasn’t thought about anything for a few, long hours. He doesn’t
want to, is the thing. But Niall saying it feels like a bit too much? It’s not that Louis didn’t want
anything to do with him - it was never that. But it’s the fact that he wanted it so much that avoiding
the situation was easier than moving on.

“Louis, do you really think this is a good idea?” He asks when Louis doesn’t say anything. He’s
fucking worried.

“We’re just friends.” Louis says - if he says it out loud maybe he’ll convince himself. “If that.”

“Just friends?” Niall raises his eyebrows.

Louis sighs. “Look, can we not do this now? I feel like. I don’t feel shitty about this situation for
the first time in forever. I just want to stick to this feeling.”

Niall sighs, takes a second. “Okay.”

“I just.” He starts again. “Please.”

“Okay.” He repeats, getting up. “I’ll leave you to sleep,” he says.

“Thanks.”

Before he leaves, he turns to look at Louis one more time. “What time do you want to leave
today?”

At that, Louis groans. Today.

Maybe giving the car keys to Niall isn’t that bad of an idea.

Waking up at 9am feels like pure torture.

Louis sleeps for about four hours before Lottie is knocking on his door and asking him to help out
with breakfast because Lewis went out to the market. He really feels like telling her to kindly fuck
off, but snapping at a pregnant woman sounds a bit too shitty, and Louis is a good person.

It’s nearly screaming into his pillow that he says “sure, Lotts, give me a minute” and watches as
she leaves his room. He takes another shower - this time it’s just to wake the fuck up - and puts on
a pair of sweatpants and a beige crewneck. When he gets to the kitchen, his sister is trying to grab
something on the highest shelf.

“Need help?” Louis asks, walking in.

“As if you can reach it.” His sister snorts.

“Fuck off.” He mumbles - she deserved it, it doesn’t matter that she’s pregnant, she’s still his
sister.

“Oof.” She lets out when she finally reaches the cereal. “Jesus Christ, I feel like haven’t slept a
fucking blink.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, then, yawning.

Lottie walks towards the table, pouring the cereal into a bowl. “What time do you leave?”

“Can’t wait to get rid of me, I see.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just asking, dipshit.”

“Soon as Niall wakes up,” he says.

“You gonna take too long to come back?” She asks, then, as she eats.

“Dunno.” Louis says, standing up to grab a water - he feels really fucking thirsty. “You could come
around as well.”

She looks at him, unimpressed, then down at her belly. “Yeah, definitely easier.”

“When you’ve had the baby, dickhead.”

“Will do.” She smiles. “I miss Donny.”

“Donny misses you too.”

Niall sleeps way more than he does - which Louis thinks it’s extremely unfair -, but when he wakes
up, Lewis has already arrived home. Louis goes back to his room to grab his bag and the green coat
that’s laying on the floor. When he gets back to the living room, he throws his car keys at his mate,
who raises his eyebrows at him. “Desperate situations call for desperate measures,” is what he
says.

It feels a little too emotional as Louis hugs Lottie goodbye. She asks him to come around more
often, once again, and he promises he will as soon as he’s able to. When they’re inside the car,
Louis groans at his headache.

And then, he gets an idea.

He unlocks his phone and opens Google Maps, typing down the address. Turning to Niall, who’s
checking the rearing mirror, he gives the phone to him. “Quick stop before we go.”

Niall doesn’t argue, it’s not his car after all.

Blue Bird looks like home.

It’s small. The bakery walls are in a light shade of blue and it has see-through walls. There’s a vase
with a small tree in it, and the name of it is in a golden color. And it’s the 28th house on the street -
Louis doesn’t think too much about it.

Louis’ pretty much in love with it the second he sees it.

“Blue Bird.” Niall says. “Why are we here?”

“Just give me a second,” he says as he leaves the car, “just gonna grab a coffee to go.”

“Bring me a muffin, please!”

Inside, it’s just as beautiful. It has one single customer and a counter with several different pastries.
Louis tries not to feel disappointed when he sees a woman behind it. The walls’ colors are beige,
some portraits of birds on them - most of them blue. They’re always in two, never alone.

“Hi!” The woman says, a huge smile on her face. “Welcome to Blue Bird. I haven’t seen you here
before.”

Louis smiles at her. “Yeah, first time here. The place is beautiful, by the way.”

She grins. “Thank you, it was all my partner’s idea! I’m Elin.”

“Louis.” He says back. Turning his face, he glances around the place again.

“Well, Louis, what can I get for you today?”

“Hm.” He looks down at the pastries, then back to her. “Can I have a black coffee and two
blueberry muffins, please?”

“Of course!” She says. The smile doesn’t leave her face for a single second. “It’ll be ten pounds.”

Louis reaches for his back pocket, handing the money to her. He takes a second, bites the inside of
his cheek. “Is it always you? Working, I mean.”

“Oh, no!” Elin smiles as she puts the money inside the cash register. “Harry usually works on
Fridays to Sundays, but he asked me to come today. Said he stayed up until late.”

“Harry’s the partner?” Louis asks, like he’s clueless about it.

“Yeah.” She smiles, moving to prepare the coffee.

He thinks about it - can’t hold himself back.

“So, he isn’t here today?” He asks, trying to sound as casual as possible - as if he’s even able to
when he’s asking so much about a person he theoretically does not know.

“He’s supposed to arrive in a few, actually.” Elin says, handing him the cup. “He’s staying for the
afternoon shift.”

“Oh.” Louis nods. “Thank you.”

“Do you know him?” She asks, then.

Louis widens his eyes. “No, no,” he is quick to say, “I don’t, was just making conversation.”
“Oh.” She leans down to grab the muffins. “He’s lovely,” she says, “maybe you’ll catch him on
your way out.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He smiles, thanking as she hands him the paper bag.

He doesn’t bump on him on his way out, even if he talks to Elin a little more hoping it will happen.

While he’s in the car, he can’t help but think about the bakery.

Not surprisingly - and to Louis’ happiness -, Niall is quiet most of the way home - he’s the sort of
person who can only focus on one thing at a time. And so, it’s quiet enough for Louis to think.

The thing is, the bakery is so him. It’s cozy, welcoming, and sweet. It’s also nostalgic - the smell
of cookies brought him back memories of when he used to sit at the kitchen counter as his Harry
baked for him. It doesn’t feel sad, though, it feels like home.

Louis doesn’t overthink it, though, even though the number is 28 and the color is the shade of his
eyes and the fact that it was all Harry’s doing. He doesn’t overthink it.

Since he went inside it, there’s a warm feeling inside his stomach - since the night before, actually,
but he’s not admitting it to himself. To be honest, he didn’t go directly with the goal to see Harry,
but to see what he talked so passionately about. He did hope he would bump into him, but that’s not
something he’s willing to admit, as well.

And that’s the thing. Surprisingly, Louis doesn’t overthink any of what happened. He doesn’t
regret it and, at the moment, there’s not a single bitter thought in his mind.

Louis falls asleep somewhere along the way home.

Once again, he dreams.

Louis is a terrible cook.

Like, seriously, no joke, he is the absolute worse. Louis’ already managed to burn toasts and mess
up eggs. He’s literally shit at it. So, when Harry asks him if he wants to bake cookies and Louis
says he might end up setting the kitchen on fire, Harry says “let me rephrase it, do you want to sit
in the kitchen as I bake us cookies?”. He agrees right away.

Of course, he sits on the counter - the chair looks a bit too boring and Harry’s moving around the
counter, so he’d rather just stay close to him. Anne is out working, as usual, and it’s the third time
Louis comes to Holmes Chapel.

But there are rules. Harry’s own kitchen rules - because he’s a fucking grandmother apparently.
He tells Louis that if he isn’t cooking, he should at least keep him entertained. So, as he prepares
the dough, Louis scrolls down his phone as he looks through a page with the title “Kitchen Jokes”.

“I saw a yogurt floating across my kitchen.” Louis says as he watches Harry picking the
ingredients. Harry turns his face at him. “I think it might be paranormal activia.”

Harry snorts. “Jesus Christ, I already regret my choices.”

“Well, curly, that’s on you.” He raises his eyebrows daringly. When Harry has all the stuff he
needs on the counter table, Louis speaks again. “The only eggs that are strictly forbidden at
churches are deviled eggs!”

“Oh, no.” Harry moans, laughing louder. “Please, stop.”

Louis continues, smiling. “The police inquired about the accident in the kitchen, and the pastry
chef said it happened right in front of his berry eyes!”

“Get out of my kitchen!” Harry playfully yells, still giggling.

Sometimes, Louis forgets his phone is open. He gets distracted and it’s all on Harry because. God.
Louis’ so in love with him it’s fucking scary. And he’s literally always so beautiful, but it isn’t even
that. The thing is, as he moves around the kitchen, Louis can fucking see a life with him. He can
see their own house, their own kitchen, late night baking and everything that goes with it.

Fuck.

And he’s only just 18 years old, Jesus Christ. Is that even normal?

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice when Harry calls him until he looks at him, eyebrows
raised.

“You’re staring.” Is what he says.

Louis widens his eyes, looks down at his phone and scrolls the screen.

“Can you help me?” Harry asks after a bit.

He looks up again, furrows his eyebrows. “If you’re willing to lose your house to a fire, sure.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Come here.” And Louis does until he’s standing right beside him. “Okay.”
He hands him a whisk. Louis takes it and stares at it for a few seconds before he looks up,
eyebrows raised.

“Okay.”

He passes the bowl to Louis. “Now you whisk this,” he tells him before he turns away, leaning
down to turn the oven on.

Louis stays still, eyeing the bowl and the utensil in his hand.

He has no fucking clue what to do.

When Harry gets back to the counter, he looks down then up at him. “Why're you not whisking?”

Louis licks his lips. “How do you whisk?”

Harry stares at him for a moment before he bursts out laughing, hand moving to cover his mouth.
He shakes his head. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Hey.” Louis furrows his eyebrows, pouts. “I’m offended.”

“You’re offended?” He asks rhetorically. “I’m offended. I can’t believe I’m dating a baking
loser.”
“Hey!” He repeats, opening his mouth. “I can’t believe I’m dating a baking asshole!” He says
back to him.

Harry shakes his head, still laughing. He takes the whisk from his boyfriend’s hand, puts it inside
the bowl and swirls it. “That’s how you do it.”

“That seems easy.” Louis says, eyes squinted and glued to his hand moves - so focused.

Turning around, Harry hands the bowl to him. “Now you do it.”

“Okay.” He says, trying to copy Harry’s moves. “It’s pretty easy. Baking is easy, you’re not that
special.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Why thank you, baby, that’s so sweet of you to say.”

Louis sticks his tongue at him. “You’re welcome, I’m pretty romantic.”

Harry rolls his eyes. Louis leans in to kiss him.

When Harry finally puts the dough inside the oven he says it will take a bit over ten minutes. Louis
washes his hands and when he looks back to his side, Harry’s sitting at the counter, going through
his phone.

“Hey, Lou.” He says, not looking up from the screen. “Do you know why I like you?”

Drying his hands on the small towel, Louis looks at him. “Because I’m funny?”

“No.” Harry says.

“Ouch.”

“It’s cause you’re a whisk taker.” He finishes.

Louis smiles, walking towards him. He finds himself in between Harry’s open legs. He reaches for
Harry’s cheeks with both his hands - one on each side of his face. His boyfriend looks up into his
eyes.

“Hey, curly.” He says. “Do you know why I like you?”

Harry’s already blushing when he asks. “Why?”

With a serious, serious face, Louis licks his lips. “Because I’m never going to starve.”

His boyfriend squints his eyes at him, parting his lips. He slaps Louis’ arm. “Asshole. I thought
you were gonna say something romantic.”

Louis smiles at him. “I did,” he says, “never sounds like a pretty long time.”

At that, Harry smiles, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Louis’ lips. “Sounds like forever,” he says,
dimples there.

“Mhm.”

At the end, the cookies taste delicious. Louis tells him it’s definitely because of his whisking. Harry
doesn’t disagree, just smiles.
☺

Louis wakes up once they finally arrive at Niall’s house. His mate looks tired from the driving, so
he quickly says goodbye and he takes the driver’s seat, making his way home.

Getting home is heavenly.

First thing he sees when he opens the door is Bruce and Clifford jumping on him. He missed them
and, so, he sits down, still by the front door, petting them for ages. They look happy, happy, happy
to see him and he promises them there’s no way he’s traveling without them ever again.

When he does get up, he goes to the kitchen to make himself a tea. As he’s waiting for it to be
ready, he texts Michael and thanks him for coming around everyday to feed his babies. Afterwards,
he goes to his room and sits on the bed - not without dropping his bag on the floor.

Damn, it feels good to have tea. But, damn it feels fucking great to be home.

His dogs follow him, of course and, this time, not only Clifford, but Bruce also jumps on the bed
and both lay with their heads on his lap. He doesn’t argue, just pets them.

It’s just when he’s finally ready for bed that he goes to his table and sits down on the chair. He
opens his computer, opening the document to check the due dates for this week. There isn’t much
to do, thank God, which means it will be a chill week. It’s good, he needs a little break from work.

It’s then that he remembers, and he looks down.

The trash can.

He leans down, picking up the only paper inside it. Slowly, he opens it, cussing at himself for how
crumpled it looks.

‘Thank you for last night. H’.

When he turns it around, he can’t help but smile.

‘Call me when you feel comfortable’ it reads, Harry’s number underneath it.

He doesn’t put it inside the heart patterned box. He puts it inside his bedside table’s drawer,
instead.

It’s midnight when Louis finally lays in bed to sleep, he plugs his phone on the charger and sets the
alarm for 6am. Clifford and Bruce are still on the bed with him, fast asleep, and he doesn’t have it
in his heart to ask them to leave, so he just decides to deal with this probably becoming a habit
later.

He tries - he really does - to fall asleep, but he can’t. The thing is, the same thought goes through
his mind over and over again. Before putting the sticky note inside the drawer, he saved Harry’s
number on his phone - as Harry mate, may he add, because that’s who he is and he’s absolutely not
trying to convince himself of it (except he is). And he can’t get himself to fall asleep before
checking his phone about five times, staring at his contact on the screen.

He opens iMessage on the last time he checks it, though.

“Hi, Harry, it's Louis,” he types. No - too formal. “Hi, H, it’s Louis,” he tries, but no - too intimate.
“Hiiii, Harry, it’s me,” and no - too fucking desperate. “Hey, mate, Louis here,” and no, again -
too… Too nothing, Louis just absolutely feels like nothing sounds cool.

He groans to himself - he can already see himself going to sleep at 2am after typing and deleting a
billion messages to send him. “Get it together, idiot,” he cusses under his breath.

He tries one more time. “Smelly cat,” is what he sends.

Louis places his phone on the bedside table again. Good, now he can sleep.

Except, his phone’s screen lights up two minutes later. He grabs it so fast he feels ashamed of
himself.

“Bum-Bum smells good, thank you very much.” Is what it reads.

He smiles.

“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.” Is what he replies.

He falls asleep with a huge smile on his face and Clifford laying his head on his foot.

Louis doesn’t wake up to the sound of his alarm. Instead, he wakes up to fucking Bruce’s warm
breath all over his face.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bruce.” He grimaces. “Your breath smells terrible.”

His dog looks at him, shutting his mouth and tilting his head - he looks offended.

“It’s okay,” he says, petting the hair under his head, “Who am I to judge? I bet mine smells just as
awful, right now.”

It’s 5:50am when he checks his phone and he turns off the alarms before he goes to the bathroom
to shower. Today, he opts for his white button-up and no black suit - because he’s so done with
them - black jeans and black shoes. He goes downstairs, pours wet food into his dogs’ bowls -
because they fucking deserve it and he missed them so much - and makes himself tea - he also
makes himself coffee, just in case.

Louis doesn’t check his phone until he’s in the car, keys in the ignition.

“Friends reference?” Is what it reads. “I respect that.”

He smiles to himself. He doesn’t answer just yet because when he checks the time, it’s already
7:30am and he needs to get to work as soon as possible.

Work goes smoothly, thankfully. All the lawyers in his company are already there when he arrives
and they look pretty fucking busy. He says his good mornings to everyone - ignores how everyone
looks at him very suspiciously because last time he showed up here he didn’t look really well
rested.

Louis goes straight to his office.

For the first time in a week, he doesn’t feel like passing out as soon as he sits down on his chair.
Instead, he feels just fine. He does feel like checking his phone right away - to reply to his message
- but he takes a moment. He has to fucking chill. He opens a document Kate asked him to revise
and starts working.
So, Louis sort of forgets his phone even exists?

It’s about 11am when he finally finishes revising and correcting the document, calling Kate into
his office to discuss it. Louis’ always had a thing for teaching, so he absolutely enjoys helping her
improve her skills - just as much as she does improving herself.

His phone lights up when he’s halfway through the last page, and he checks it right away.

“Blue Bird isn’t flying so hard today ):” it reads.

Louis smiles. “One sec,” he tells her.

“Well, birds do need a break from time to time.” He replies.

“I need money ):” he gets right away.

This time, he laughs. “Send your songs to a record label.” He sends back, locking his phone and
getting back to going through the document with Kate.

Once they’re finally done, she thanks him a few times and smiles on her way out. And then, Louis
gets the office all to himself. He lays back on the chair, phone in hands, and unlocks it.

“What if I get rejected?” Harry says.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Rejection is good from time to time. Lowers your ego.” He sends. “Just
kidding. You won’t.”

Harry takes two minutes to reply - Louis doesn’t close iMessage as he waits.

“You’re working?”

He takes a moment, squints his eyes. Then, he opens the camera, taking a picture of his feet -
resting comfortably on his office desk. “Yeah, it’s pretty loaded today.”

He answers right away. “So we’re both bored?” Is what it reads. “We should play a game.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, but decides to see where this is going. “What do you have in mind?” He
asks.

“We can play, what am I holding?”

Louis shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. “God, you’re terrible.”

“Come on, shush.” He replies. “I have a coin, let’s see who starts.” Then another message. “Tails
or head?”

It’s like a little lightbulb shows up above his head. “Heads you win, tails I lose.”

Harry starts typing. Stops. Starts. Stops again. “Wait.” He sends. “You forgot to pick up your dry
cleaning.”

Louis lets out a loud laugh. “You’re marathoning Friends at the same time as me? ”

“No, I just have a really good memory.”

Then, Louis stops. He bites his bottom lip, takes a second. Focus on the present, Louis. Focus on
the now.

“Tails.” Is what he replies.

“You won.” Harry says right away.

Louis knows there’s no way he even threw the coin with him answering this fast. Still, Louis feels
like he would’ve won anyway - Harry’s back in his life.

Messaging Harry becomes a habit straight away and, before Louis knows, Harry is his good
morning and his good afternoon and his good night. Most of the texts are just Harry making
conversation and Louis taking the piss at him.

And it feels good.

The problem is, Louis, once again, is just avoiding the deeper point, and he doesn’t even realize he
is. The thing is, it feels so fucking out of this world that he has Harry back into his life that he
doesn’t want to focus on anything else. Except, sometimes he’ll find himself staring at the screen
for a bit too long before replying to Harry’s text because he’ll say something that reminds him of
how things used to be.

And he takes a deep breath, bottles it up, shoves it inside a little chest inside his head and shuts it
using about seven keys.

The thing is, Louis should know better. He really fucking should with keeping two years of his life
burried inside a box and ten years more burried inside the same chest he keeps the present
messages that hit a bit too close to home.

Even though he should know better, he doesn’t even notice - Harry’s, once again, becoming a habit
and, last time he checked, one he took so long to break.

A habit he’s slowly building up again.

 Chapter 9
Chapter Summary

It’s not really a surprise when Harry reads his message right away. He begins typing,
then stops. “Cool!” is what it reads. “I love football”.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Since when?” he asks.

“I’ve always loved football.”

“Really? So you’re a fan?”

“They have nice shorts” is what he gets back.

Chapter Notes

Hiiiii! I didn't have anyone available to beta for me in this chapter, so I'm sorry for any
grammar mistakes. I love you all very much, hope you enjoy it.

Fee x

There are very few things Louis loves more than a football match, but having Niall attend with him
is definitely one of them.

The week passes by faster than he expected and, just as he anticipated, work isn’t too heavy. He
has time to walk Clifford and Bruce through the woods nearly everyday - he takes some time to rest
as well - and watches about twenty more episodes of Friends. He doubles the amount of tea he
drinks and coffee goes practically forgotten.

It’s a good week and he’s not admitting it’s most likely because he and Harry text non-stop. But
they do. On Monday and Tuesday, Louis’ able to put his phone aside and go get things done - like
laundry or another case or finish a Friends episode - but from Wednesday on, the farthest his phone
stays from him is inside his pocket.

The thing is, talking to Harry makes his stomach warm, his guts turn, his heart beat faster and,
most of the time, leaves a smile on his face - one that he automatically sends away once he realizes
it’s there. Because he’s his friend - even though Louis has to repeat the words like a mantra inside
his head when he needs to remind himself of it.

Still, Harry texts him all the time and, when he doesn’t have anything interesting to say, he’ll just
tell Louis what he’s up to, or that he’s writing a new song (but that he really thinks it sucks) or
about the bakery. There comes a point when Louis starts checking his phone every five seconds
waiting for Harry to answer him. And that should worry him but he doesn’t think too much about
it.

Louis finds out Harry’s cat is white and black, but not only that. She literally has a black heart
shaped on her chest. First, Harry sends a single picture of Bum-Bum - Harry had just arrived home
from work and she was lying by the front door, as if waiting for him. Louis sees it once he’s done
taking a shower, and he’s still wet, towel wrapped around his hips. He smiles and replies “she’s a
beauty”, wetting the whole fucking screen with his fingers.

Once he says that, Harry starts spamming him. He gets a picture of Bum-Bum at the counter trying
to eat the dough he’s preparing - she’s looking at him like she’s just been caught in the action. He
gets a picture of her sleeping on the couch with her belly up - it’s a very fucking weird position that
gets Louis wondering if cats even have bones. He gets a picture of her hissing at Mitch and another
of Mitch holding her on his lap.

But the one that gets his heart racing a bit too fucking much is the last one Harry sends him. It’s
Bum-Bum sleeping over Harry’s sleeping body. He says that Sarah was the one who took it and
that it has been his wallpaper ever since.

Harry also tells him she’s two years old and that she was the one who showed up at his house -
probably came in through the kitchen window - and just stuck around. Louis asks him if she put
him on a leash - Harry replies that he wouldn’t mind. Louis chokes on his smoke.

Louis absolutely does not fucking think of Harry with a collar around his neck, kneeling on the
carpet of his room. He does not.

On Wednesday, Louis finds out that Anne couldn’t attend to Ellie’s wedding because she had
COVID - which, honestly, explains a whole fucking lot because Louis was starting to think he was
blind what with not seeing her at the party. Harry also tells him that Gemma is currently traveling
around Europe with a friend - whom he’s really sure is her boyfriend, but she won’t admit it.

On Thursday morning, Louis wakes up to a picture of Harry pouting - sent at 4:30am - with the
quote “I’m starting to think working in a bakery and late night talking to you do not go together”.
He rolls his eyes and replies “well, that’s your choice to make”. Harry answers with “I’m sure I can
keep two blue birds”. Louis doesn’t check his phone for about two fucking hours - his heart is still
palpitating when he does text him “what’re you baking now?”, completely ignoring his words.

At night, on the same day, Louis gets a picture of Harry’s acoustic guitar and the message “I hit
Doris on the wall, I think she might be hurt”. Louis snorts, replying “you named your guitar
Doris?”. All he gets is a picture of a fucking blue stuffed animal - a llama, out of all animals out
there - and the quote “Doris two, meet Louis”. Louis sends the gif of Agnes from Despicable Me
holding a stuffed unicorn and yelling aggressively “IT’S SO FLUFFY”.

Surprisingly, the hardest work day is Friday. Louis gets asked by a bunch of employees to revise
their cases for court-cases that will be on Monday. And he could do it during the weekend, except
Niall got tickets for them both to attend a MU football match all the way in Manchester and, Louis
knows he’ll only drive for 2h30 in total, but he’s definitely not doing it on Saturday and Sunday is
his no-work day. So, he doesn’t even have lunch on Friday and, thankfully, gets to finish going
through all the documents.

The whole day, his phone goes practically untouched - and he puts it on the do-not-disturb-mode
so he won’t get distracted - so, when he gets home, showers and orders a pizza, because he’s
starving, he lays on the couch to wait for it. When he checks his phone, there are literally twenty-
one messages from Harry.

“It’s baking time,” - 5:35am.

“Bum-Bum slept on my other pillow last night and now I can’t stop sneezing.” - 6:02am.
“I talk to plants. Do you think I’m weird?” - 6:35am.

“When I whisper to my plants, do you think they whisper back, but in a frequency humans aren’t
able to hear?” - 6:36am.

“I know my cookies are good, but today they’re out of this world.” - 6:54am.

“Do you want one?” - A picture of a chocolate cookie attached to it. - 6:55am.

“Either you missed work or you’re just full on ignoring me mode ):” - 7:55am.

“Rude.” - 8:46 am.

“Louis.” - 9:23am.

“Loooooooouis.” - 11:20am.

“):” - 12:00am.

“All the cookies sold out, I’m proud of myself.” - 2:06pm.

“You should come around some time.” - 3pm.

“I don’t like you anymore.” - 3:12pm.

“It’s 3:32pm, you’re so ignoring me.” - 3:32pm.

“Okay, I’m not gonna talk to you anymore.” - 4:25pm.

“Did I do something wrong?” - 4:35pm.

“You would tell me, right? If I did?” - 4:35pm.

“I’ll give you some space.” - 5:00pm.

“Maybe I’m just overreacting and you’re just busy.” - 5:02pm.

“Okay, I’ll stop now.” - 5:02pm.

Louis can’t stop smiling at his fucking screen. As he replies, Clifford jumps on the couch, laying
with his head on his lap. “Work was a bitch, today” he sends, petting his dog for a second before
moving back to his phone. “I wanted the cookies ):” then “what sort of weed are you smoking and
can I have a puff” then “why did you get a cat if you’re allergic to cats?” then “you’re good, don’t
worry”.

Niall texts him as well. “I’ll come by at 9, MU TMW!!!!”. Louis replies with “MU!!!!!”.

A message shows at the top of his screen as he’s answering his friend. “Now there are no more
cookies. Your fault” is what it reads. Louis laughs “you could’ve sent them through mail”. Harry
answers a second later “Could’ve just gone there and given it myself”.

The smile that’s still laying on Louis’ lips vanishes right away. Fuck. He doesn’t even know why,
but it isn’t even him saying that. It feels like he’s offering to come visit Louis and it just. And it’s
just.

Louis locks his phone and throws it on the other side of the couch.
He doesn’t even know how to feel, for fuck’s sake. The thing is, he can’t tell if it’s a joke or if
Harry’s genuinely saying he would’ve come if Louis let him? If Louis invited him? It gets his mind
spinning and spinning and spinning and. He’s just a friend, Louis, just a friend. That’s what a friend
would say, don’t overthink it. Just don’t.

He doesn’t have much time to think about it, though, because his doorbell rings.

Louis eats until he can’t fucking breathe and heads straight to bed, doesn’t even think about the fact
that he read the message and Harry knows.

He just goes to sleep.

Traveling with Niall when he’s the one driving is fucking amazing - as mentioned before.

Louis is wearing his MU shirt and has his red crewneck on his lap - because it’s fucking warm in
Niall’s car - and his phone in his hands. Since he woke up, he checked the conversation with Harry
about a hundred times and, in none of them, he made up his mind of what would be appropriate to
answer.

The thing is, he doesn’t want Harry to think he wouldn’t like him coming over like, ever, but he
also doesn’t want him to think he’s really ready to see him again - and he doesn’t want to ignore
his fucking message and just change the subject. Still, when he does reply - half an hour into the
drive to Manchester - he sorts of stays in between his choices.

“Could’ve.” He sends. “Going to a MU match today :D” he texts him.

It’s not really a surprise when Harry reads his message right away. He begins typing, then stops.
“Cool!” is what it reads. “I love football”.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Since when?” he asks.

“I’ve always loved football.”

“Really? So you’re a fan?”

“They have nice shorts” is what he gets back.

Louis actually snorts.

Niall looks at him. “Who’re you talking to?” He asks, eying the screen of his phone before turning
back to check the road.

“Lots.” Louis says, not even looking at him. He types “that’s a bit gay”.

“Sure.” His mate raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t know Lottie went by the name Harry, the mate.”

Louis rolls his eyes, looking at him. “If you knew, why’d you ask?”

“You're not thinking through things.”

“And you’re so being a dickhead.” He snaps.

Niall raises his eyebrows at his tone. “I’m just worried, you dick.”
“Niall.” Louis licks his lips, putting his phone down over his crewneck. “First of all, we’re just
friends. Second of all, you need to stop going all mum-mode on me, mate. If you want a kid, get
your own.”

“Jesus.” Niall lets out. “Why so bloody on defense mode.”

“Because this is good for me, okay?” He snaps. “And I’m not thinking too much and you’re just
making me think about too much.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing. You don’t think things through, it worries me.”

Louis sighs. He knows where he’s coming from - he was the one who had to wipe Louis’ tears
away after all.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Niall continues, turning to look at him for a bit. “I just don’t like this dude, not
with all the things you told me.”

“Look,” he sighs. “I promise he’s not a dick. I promise you. It’s just.” He stops. “I don’t know.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Niall says.

“I won’t.” He tells him. “He’s just my mate .”

Niall ignores him. “Just. I’m here, okay? If you want to rant or whatever.”

At that, Louis’ face softens. “I know,” he says. “Thank you.”

When he looks down at his phone, he snorts when he reads “wait, I’m gay?? I had no idea!!!
Brand new info!!!”.

As expected, the stadium is full. Niall got them a good place right, and Louis gets full view of the
field. Even though it’s cold, he keeps his red crewneck on his lap - wants everyone to see his sick
MU official shirt with the name TOMLINSON and the number 28 on the back.

The match is a fucking classic - Manchester United against Liverpool.

“Gonna grab a beer, want one?” Niall asks him as soon as they reach their seats.

Louis looks at him. “You’re driving.”

“Well, then I guess you’re driving home.” He smiles and walks out of Louis’ sight.

Rolling his eyes, Louis fishes his phone inside his pocket. He opens iMessage, noticing he still
hasn’t replied. Yet, there’s another message from Harry. Well, it’s actually a picture. It’s the pre-
match on the television - Louis guesses it’s from the living room. A second later, there’s a picture
of his cat laying on the couch.

“My daughter and I love footie.” He sees it on the screen, right under the attachment.

Louis presses his lips together, trying to hold back the smile - he isn’t really able to. He opens the
camera and snaps a picture of his torso - his team shirt -, his fingers pulling at it right next to the
MU logo. “Where’s yours???” he texts him.

“I don’t have one. ):” Harry replies right away.

“Huge fan, I see :>” he sends him. Then “Go MU!!!!!”.

“GO MU!!!!!!!!!!” he gets back.

Niall gets back a few minutes later. To no one’s surprise - yet for Louis’ disappointment - he only
has one beer in his hand. So, he guesses he’s really driving back to Doncaster today. He flips him
off when Niall tells him “do you want me to get an alcohol free beer for you?”.

The match starts a few minutes after that and, the problem is, he can’t spend more than ten minutes
watching it without looking down to check if he got a new text from Harry. The problem is, Harry
doesn’t fucking stop texting him.

When he’s staring down at the screen, laughing at Harry’s “ so, MU is the team wearing red,
right?” - which he knows, or at least hopes to God it’s just a joke -, the whole crowd cheers. He
looks up right away, afraid he missed a goal. Harry hasn’t said anything about it, though, so he
assumes not.

“What happened?” He asks, turning to his friend.

“You’d know if you stopped texting Harry-the-mate.” Niall raises his eyebrows daringly.

“Fuck off.” Louis rolls his eyes. “What happened?”

“Varane nearly scored.” He says. “Now watch the game, dipshit, I didn’t come here to watch it by
myself.”

Louis listens to him. Well, partially. He still checks his phone every ten minutes. Currently,
Harry’s asking him what off-side means. Louis’ tried explaining it about three times, but Harry just
replies with “but what does it mean” and Louis swears to God he’s just taking the piss at him, at
this point.

No one scores in the first half of the game. Niall leaves again to get another beer and Louis’ eyes,
obviously, stay glued to his phone.

“Harry, for the last time, off-side is when the player is in an area that isn’t allowed by the rules. ”

“So if he’s at the bench it’s off-side?” Harry replies.

Louis rolls his fucking eyes because, seriously? “You’re a lost cause.”

“):” He receives. “Rude.”

His mate comes back with two beers. Louis widens his eyes, a huge smile on his face. He’s about
to thank him when he spots the “non-alcoholic beer” words written on the label. “I fucking despise
you,” he tells him.

It’s two minutes into the second half of the match, that his team finally fucking scores and,
thankfully, it happens during the ten minutes Louis doesn’t check his phone. They all cheer,
standing up - Niall turns to look at him, arms up in the air and hands fisted. Louis’ missed the
adrenaline.

Of course, when they sit back down, he opens his conversation with Harry. There’s a picture of
Bum-Bum glued to Harry’s smiling face. “GO MU!!!!!” the message reads.

Louis smiles. “You need to get her a little MU jersey” he replies.

“Oh my God! Louis! She’s gonna look like a little player!” Harry answers. “Can you get one there
for me?”

“Do they even sell pet sized jerseys here???”

“If they don’t, I’m going to be a millionaire!”

Louis locks his phone, still smiling.

The rest of the match goes as excitingly as before. No one else scores a goal and Manchester ends
up winning - of course because Louis is a bloody lucky charm, thank you very much. They’re on
their way out, Niall commenting on how fucking good Dean Henderson, their goal keeper, is. He
says he’s going to get another beer to go and Louis tells him he’ll just jump by the official store
real quick.

Turns out, they really fucking sell pet sized official Manchester United shirts. Louis doesn’t even
think twice before he takes one. If he gets a medium sized human shirt as well… Well, he doesn’t
have to explain himself to anyone.

Once he’s out of the store, Niall’s already waiting for him in front of it. “What did you get?” He
asks, sipping his beer - he bought two.

“A new jersey for me, this one’s old.”

If Niall knows it’s bullshit - which Louis is sure he does because he got the one he’s wearing six
months ago with him -, he doesn’t comment on it.

They head back to the car and, as soon as they arrive, Niall goes straight to the passenger seat,
throwing his car keys at Louis. “Oh, no, I’m drunk.” Niall smirks. “It’s your time to shine,” and he
gets into the car.

Louis rolls his eyes, opening the driver’s door and reaching for his pack of cigarettes that he ended
up leaving in the car. He lights one up, taking a few hits and leaving it in between his lips before he
opens the conversation again.

“You staying there for the weekend?” Harry sent him.

“Nope.” Louis replies. “Driving back to Donny right now.”

He takes the cigarette from his mouth, holding it between his fingers and holding his phone with
the other. He watches as Harry starts typing, then stops. “Cool. Have a safe trip!” is what it reads.

Louis replies with a “thanks” and gets on his seat.

They stop at McDonalds before they go, which sort of adds three more hours to Louis’ plans to get
home. They don’t even notice time passing by as they talk about the match and the players and the
coach and the probable new contracts for the team. Louis checks his phone three times before he
gives up - Harry’s stopped texting at all, maybe he fell asleep and Louis will get another picture of
Bum-Bum and him fast asleep together.

It’s already dark when Louis and Niall arrive in Doncaster. His mate asks him to stay with the car
claiming he’s drunk, but Louis knows it’s bullshit because he hasn’t drank anything for the past
three hours. And so, Louis drives to his own house.
On the way there, his phone vibrates, but he’s driving so he never checks it.

It takes about 25 more minutes to arrive at his place and he parks right in front of it. He opens the
door and leaves the car, making sure to grab his phone and packet of cigarettes. In the back, he
takes the MU paper bag. When he goes around his car to Niall’s side, he’s still seated, door open.

Niall groans. “I hate you for making me drive home.”

Louis smiles. “I love you for getting us tickets to this match,” he says. Niall finally comes out and
pulls him into a hug. “Thank you, for real.”

Niall smiles once they pull away. “No big deal,” he says.

As soon as Louis turns away with a “bye, see you tomorrow”, Niall calls him again.

“Lou.” He says. “You know I’m happy for you, right?”

Louis furrows his eyebrows.

“I just worry about you, but I’m happy that you’re happy.” He explains.

It’s smiling that Louis nods once. “I know,” he says, “thank you, really.”

Louis is welcomed with Bruce right inside, his food bowl between his teeth. He looks at Louis like
he’s demanding “feed me, human, how dare you leave me after you said you’d never travel
without me again?”. He smiles, taking the bowl from his mouth and making his way to the kitchen.

Somewhere during the drive back home, and since he was in charge and could decide he wanted
the air-conditioner on the lowest temperature - he put his red crewneck on. He yawls, placing the
paper bag on the kitchen counter and moving to the cupboard to grab the dogs’ food.

When he turns around, Clifford is there as well, tail waving around happily once he leans down to
pour wet food for them both. He pats their heads. “My good boys,” he says, smiling.

Louis makes himself tea - green because he’s feeling wild - and regrets it as soon as he drinks it,
grimacing. He throws it away and makes himself Yorkshire instead. With the mug in his hands, he
goes upstairs for a shower, stopping by the bed to put his dying phone to charge. Before he makes
his way to the bathroom, though, he checks the message. It’s a bit disappointing when he sees it’s
from Oli - “sadly I’m back home from Bali and I already hate it”, it reads.

He snorts, replying “I wish I could say I’m sad after returning from Bali” and locking his phone.

Showers are good, but hot, burning showers are fucking great.

Louis’ bathroom is a bit too fucking fancy - don’t go blaming him but he did spend a bit more time
with the architect to decide on its design. The walls and floor are, as the rest of the house is,
mostly, in black. The bathtub is in front of the center wall, the shower - which is honestly one of
Louis’ favorite things in his place - to its left. There’s a single sink on the white bathroom counter
and a large mirror.

Before he walks into the shower, he throws his red crewneck and MU jersey over the bathtub, and
black pants on the floor. He stays there for ages, water running down his hair and torso, eyes
closed.
He doesn’t really know exactly what gets him going, if it’s the thought of pulling hair harshly,
someone falling apart beneath him, scratching, moaning. Before he knows, he’s hard, hand
wrapping around himself. He moans under his breath, once he pictures him. He doesn’t try not to,
but his face comes into Louis’ mind.

“Fuck.” He cusses under his breath, feeling his it getting heavier and heavier. He licks his lips.

It’s probably just sexual frustration, but it feels too fucking good. He swirls his hand, tightening his
grip a little more. It reminds him of his touch. He thumbs on his slit, pressing the tip of his finger
against it. He moans louder. “Fuck.”

When he comes, he doesn’t say his name, but he repeats it like a mantra inside his head.

Louis makes himself dinner - which goes a bit better than he expected -, and even if the pancakes
look like shit, it doesn’t matter because firstly, no one’s watching, secondly, they taste fucking
amazing. He eats them with Nutella because he can, and he drinks more tea because he loves it.

His phone goes practically forgotten as he has dinner on the couch, legs crossed. Clifford and
Bruce lay on the carpet, in front of him. Friends, as always, is playing his television. He’s currently
on season 6, episode 17 - The One with Unagi - one of his favorites.

He watches one, two and three episodes. It’s when he’s halfway through episode 20, that he falls
asleep.

Louis wakes up to his dogs barking. He slowly opens his eyes, blinking them a few times.
Furrowing his eyebrows, he looks around the living room, not spotting them. He stretches his arms
as he sits down. Yawning, he stands up.

They bark again and Louis follows the sounds until he ends up in the corridor that leads to the front
door. Clifford and Bruce are both there, staring at the door, barking. Louis furrows his eyebrows
again.

“The fuck.” He mutters under his breath. “Time’s it?” He reaches for the front pocket of his black
sweatpants, but his phone is not there. “Shit.”

He hears three knocks, which makes him look up right away, eyes wide. He doesn’t have his phone
with him, but he’s pretty sure it is not earlier than 10pm. He isn’t supposed to have anyone over.

Louis waits to see if whoever it is will knock again. When they do, he walks towards the door. He
unlocks it, opening it and.

And what the fuck?

“Hi.” Is what he hears.

It’s fucking Harry.

Louis is fucking speechless.

Harry’s facial expressions shift from happy and excited to “oh my God, I should not be here”. He’s
holding a small box in his hands - like a Tupperware. Louis looks up and then down, and then up
again. Harry’s wearing a sweater the color of lavender, light colored jeans and black vans.
He doesn’t mean it the way he sounds. “What’re you doing here?”

The man in front of him parts his lips - as if he’s about to say something - and closes again, sort of
not knowing how to respond. He bites his bottom lip. “You. I. Sorry.”

Louis widens his eyes. “No, no,” he says right away once he realizes what he must’ve sounded
like. “Not in a bad way, I just. You’re in Donny.”

Harry looks to one side, the other. “Hm. Yeah.”

“What- why?”

They’re still standing in Louis’ doorway - Harry one step away from being inside Louis’ house.

“You said you wanted cookies, so.” He starts, closes his eyes, opens it. “So I baked you some.”

“And you came all the way to Donny to bring me cookies?” Like he can’t fucking believe it.

Because, still. What?

“I wasn’t doing anything.” He is quick to say. “I don’t have work today, or tomorrow, so I thought
I’d. Sorry.”

“Harry, come on.” He says. “Stop saying you’re sorry. I’m just surprised.”

“Good surprised?” He asks, looking up at him - puppy eyes.

“Mhm.” Louis hums, finally letting himself smile a little. “Good surprised.” He looks up and down
again. “Still fucking surprised.”

At that, Harry smiles - dimples and all. He glances down at the box inside his hands, then up at
Louis. He offers it to him. “So, cookies.”

“Cookies.” Louis repeats. He takes a second, bites the inside of his cheek a bit too roughly. When
he meets Harry’s eyes, he steps away from the door a little, opening it more. “You wanna come
in?”

Harry’s smiling, crinkles by his eyes, when he answers. “I’d love to.”
 Chapter 10
Chapter Summary

"They should make a new movie.” He continues. “Tarzan gets married to Jane and
they move to Doncaster and he becomes a lawyer.”

“Yeah?” Louis raises his eyebrows, pretending to be impressed at the plot he made up.
“What does Jane do?”

“Erm.” He squints his eyes, looks away before he bites his bottom lip. “She becomes a
singer?” Harry offers, quietly, smiling.

Chapter Notes

Hiiiii, it's me again!

I really like this chapter, for real. All I can tell you about it is "baby steps".

Hope you enjoy it.

AND YES THIS IS MY HUMOR

:>

Fee x

It’s not like Louis was expecting it, and it’s not like he’s reading too much into the fact that Harry
literally drove all the way from London to Doncaster to bring cookies to him - to be honest, he
doesn’t believe that’s the only reason, there’s no way. Still, his heart beats as fast as fucking Ferrari
as he guides him into his house.

Of course, the first thing Harry sees as soon as he crosses the front door is Clifford and Bruce. As
usual, they love having new people over, so it’s normal for them to get excited. But it still does one
thing or two to Louis’ heart as the other man says “oh my God, who are these babies?” as he
crouches and places the cookie box on the floor. The dogs can’t stay still, tails waving excitedly as
he pets them, a huge smile on his face.

Louis stands besides them as he watches the scene before him. He presses his lips together a bit too
strongly, trying to stop himself from smiling.

As expected, it doesn’t take much for Clifford to jump on Harry and, well, it’s not like he’s small -
Louis’ pretty sure he thinks he’s a Pomeranian, though, with the way he never has much notion of
space. Harry, of course, falls back on his bum, but he doesn’t complain. Instead, he smiles even
wider, crinkles by his eyes.

“Oh my God, you’re so cute.” He says, scratching the sides of his neck with both hands. Bruce
doesn’t like being forgotten, though, so he goes around his friend’s big body until he’s standing on
Harry’s side. He starts licking his arm and Harry turns to look at him. “You’re cute, too,” he says,
moving one of his hands away from Clifford’s neck to Bruce’s chin.

Louis takes a few more seconds, admiring them, before it hits him that he’s staring. He blinks,
licking his lips. “They’ll hold you all night long if you let them,” he says.

Turning to look up at him, Harry smiles. “Jealous?” He jokes.

It’s just a joke, but it sort of gets Louis a little antsy. He clears his throat. Harry looks away, down
at the dogs again before he says “okay, okay, lemme get up,” to them, bracing himself on the floor
and picking up the tupperware before he stands up.

Louis guides them straight to the kitchen and pretends not to notice that Harry spends a little too
long staring at the living room when they go past it.

“You’ve a pretty house.” Harry tells him as they walk inside the room.

“Yeah.” Louis laughs. “You’ve said that before.”

“I have?” Harry furrows his eyebrows. “Wait, I have.”

Shaking his head, Louis turns the kitchen lights on. “Tea?” He asks, glancing at him for a moment
just in time to see a nod and hear a “yes please”.

He doesn’t really notice, but it’s only natural when he doesn’t ask the way he likes his tea, just
makes it the way he himself likes it. Louis doesn’t exactly think about it, but maybe it’s just stuck
in the back of his mind that Harry was never really a fan of tea, only drank when Louis made it for
him - “you should’ve told me you don’t like tea” he said once when Anne commented about it,
“but I like the way you make it for yourself” Harry answered.

When he’s done, Louis hands him the mug - a plain white one. He doesn’t sit down, though,
returning to the kitchen counter, resting his back on it, his own mug in hands - plain white with the
letter L on it.

“Thank you,” Harry tells him, smiling. He blows his drink, taking a small sip and pulling the mug
away from his lips immediately. “Ouch!” He lets out. “It’s hot!”

At that, Louis snorts. Raising his eyebrows, pretending to be shocked, he says “what? I thought
boiling water was cold!”

Harry squints his eyes at him, flipping him the finger.

Louis smiles.

After a second, Harry turns to look at the box, placed on the table. “Cookies?” He asks.

“Yes, please.”

Harry bites his bottom lip, smile daring to show itself, dimples already there. He places his tea on
the table and reaches for the box, opening it. “Okay, so,” he says, licking his lips, “I made
chocolate, strawberry and vanilla flavors.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t bring cookies, you brought the whole bakery,” he jokes.

“I know, I’m awesome.” Harry says smugly. “So, what do you want?”
“Let me see,” he moves away from the counter, walking closer to the table. He squints his eyes.
“Mmm. What do you recommend?”

“I particularly like the strawberry one,” he says, “but the vanilla is also great,” he continues, “and
the chocolate one is on point.”

Turning to look at him, eyebrows raised, Louis laughs. “Isn’t it?” He asks.

“I think you should have all three.” Harry decides, nodding.

“Like a sandwich?” Louis jokes.

Harry opens his mouth, eyes wide, like Louis’ just had the best idea he’s ever witnessed. “Oh my
God, yes,” he says, reaching for one of each flavor and placing one on the top of the other. “A
cookie sandwich!”

Louis snorts. “You’re ridiculous, oh my God.”

Harry turns to look at him, looking offended. “Excuse you, you had the idea.” He says, handing
him the cookies. Louis takes them - still sandwich shaped. “Now try.”

“Demanding.” He jokes before he finally bites the cookies - all three of them. “Fuck,” he says, still
chewing. “These are so fucking good.”

At that, Harry smiles proudly and bows himself down as if thanking him. “Why thank you very
much.”

Louis nods his head, taking another bite. He practically moans, eyes closed. “Jesus fucking Christ,
I needed these.”

When he opens his eyes, Harry has a cookie in his mouth and his mug in one hand. He is still
smiling as he chews, mouth closed. “Thank you,” he says, covering his mouth with the same hand
that’s holding the cookie.

Once Louis is done, Harry slides the opened tupperware towards him, nodding to it.

“No, you have some, too.” Louis tells him.

“I made them for you,” Harry reminds him, “I can always cook more. Don’t worry.”

Smiling, Louis reaches for his own tea. “Thank you,” he says.

They stay quiet for a bit, but it’s not awkward. It feels way more comfortable than Louis thought it
would feel when he saw him again after that night. Louis, as usual, finishes his tea quickly,
standing up to make himself another one. Somehow, he knows not to ask Harry if he wants more -
he refuses to acknowledge it’s because Harry used to take ages to finish his tea back in time,
sometimes wouldn’t even drink the whole thing claiming “Now it’s cold, I don’t want it anymore”.

Louis is dipping the small bag inside the hot water, his other hand supported on the counter, when
he feels a little pressure on his leg. When he looks down, it’s Clifford. “Hungry?” He asks,
watching as he tilts his head. He walks towards the cupboard to grab the food.

“Do you want me to go get Bruce?” He hears Harry say.

He looks back at him. “You don’t need to,” he says, “just give it a second.”
It’s just when he pours the dog food inside the bowl, the sound of it hitting on the metal, that Bruce
comes running into the kitchen. He turns to look at Harry, smiling. “Told you,” he tells him.

Harry stands up, shifting around for a bit before he comes to stand next to Louis, who gets up.
Harry hands him the tupperware, closed now. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Louis says, grabbing it and placing it on the counter, just beside his toaster. “Sure
you don’t want another one?”

“I’m good, thank you.” He smiles. “Tea was good,” he says then, walking around him and to the
sink. He turns the faucet on.

“No, no, no.” Louis is quick to say, reaching for the mug. “You already baked for me. Not to
mention you drove at least three hours. You don’t get to wash anything.”

“It’s just a mug, it’s not much.”

“Leave it to me, don’t worry.” Louis says, placing it on the counter.

“Thank you,” Harry says.

It’s quiet for another moment. They both stare at each other, but it’s not long before Louis realizes
he’s getting a little too lost in green eyes. He turns away. “Come on,” he tells him. He spots
Harry’s eyebrows furrowed before he walks out of the kitchen.

Louis doesn’t look at the couch as they walk past the living room and to the balcony. He slides the
glass door open and walks out. “Shit, it’s cold,” he mutters under his breath. “Lemme just grab a
jacket,” he says. Harry just stands out there, by the door, as he walks away, but Louis turns to look
at him once again. “You good with that sweater or should I…” He asks.

Eyebrows raised, eyes a little wide - as if he didn’t expect that - he nods. “I’m good, thank you.”

Then, Louis is leaving the living room.

When he gets to his room, he doesn’t feel nervous or stressed out. He doesn’t really think much as
he walks to his closet and takes a black sweater off the hanger. As he puts it on, he walks towards
his bedside table, tapping the screen to check on the time. It’s only 11:48pm and, secretly, he hopes
Harry meant what he said when he told Louis he didn’t have any plans for today or tomorrow.

He quietly promises himself he won’t ask Harry to stay a little more if he says he has to leave - just
doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep it.

When he finally goes back to the balcony, he spots him. Harry’s back is facing him, his left arm
resting on the grid as he looks at the view. To no one’s surprise, Clifford is right beside him,
Harry’s hand petting his head slowly. It does things to Louis’ stomach, but no one needs to know.

“It’s a lovely view, isn’t it?” He asks, once he’s finally beside Harry - standing a little farther away
than he actually wants to.

Harry turns to look at him. “It really is,” he says, taking a deep breath. “It’s a nice place you have,”
he continues, “in the woods. I like the woods.”

“I’m practically Tarzan,” Louis jokes.

“The kid or the adult version?” Harry asks, smirking.

“The kid or the adult version.” He repeats, mocking him. “I’m the old, lawyer version.”

“Ohhhh.” Harry raises his eyebrows. “Tarzan… The protector of trees and animals.”

Louis snorts.

“They should make a new movie.” He continues. “Tarzan gets married to Jane and they move to
Doncaster and he becomes a lawyer.”

“Yeah?” Louis raises his eyebrows, pretending to be impressed at the plot he made up. “What does
Jane do?”

“Erm.” He squints his eyes, looks away before he bites his bottom lip. “She becomes a singer?”
Harry offers, quietly, smiling.

Louis gulps, ignoring the way his heart stings. Friends joke, Louis. He’s just your fucking friend
and friends mess with each other. Don’t overthink it.

“You’re so full of shit,” Louis tells him, forcing a little laughter that, thankfully, does not sound
forced.

Harry doesn’t notice the way he tenses, still looking anywhere but at him. He doesn’t comment on
it anymore. Instead, he looks up at the sky. “I like it when the moon is small and the city has very
few lights,” he says, “makes the stars brighter.”

Fuck.

“Me too,” Louis tells him. “It’s sort of why the lights in my place are regulable. I usually keep
them off or very low at night, and the windows open.”

Harry turns to look at him. “Aren’t you scared a wild animal will come in and murder you?”

“Harry, it’s Donny, not Sherwood Forest.”

“Well, bears can walk long distances.” He says daringly. “You could open a window on the day a
bear decides to move into these woods. Then you’d die.”

Louis squints his eyes, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. “Harry, I think your weed might have
rotted.”

“I’m just saying.” Harry shrugs, looking away. “Stay safe, close the windows.”

“Oh my God!” Louis pretends to be frightened, pointing out to the woods.

“What?” Harry asks, eyes wide, trying to figure out where Louis’ pointing at.

“A bear!” He says. “And luggages! I think he’s just moved in. Do you think he might wanna break
in today? I think Clifford’s a bit tired to take him.”

When he looks back at Harry, he’s looking back at him, an unimpressed expression on his face. He
shakes his head. “I hope a bear actually does break into your house.”

“How rude.”

“And that he murders you while you’re showering.” He continues.

“You’re dangerous.”

“And that he eats your cookies.”

“Now you’ve crossed the limit.” Louis raises his eyebrows.

At that, Harry smiles. “Okay, maybe not the cookies,” he says, “I’ll need food to help me
overcome your death.”

Louis just stands there, lips parted.

Harry takes a second. “I’m joking.”

“You used to tell knock knock jokes,” he says, “you’ve changed.”

He stays quiet, squints his eyes. “Knock knock.”

“No.”

“Knock knock,” he repeats.

“Oh my God.” Louis groans, resting his forearms on the grids. “Who’s there?”

“The bear.” Harry says.

“Not the bear, Harry, shut up.”

“You’re no fun.” He says, then stops. “Bear with me, my jokes get bearry funny with time.” He
tries to hold back the laugh as he says it, but can’t

Louis laughs. “Jesus Christ, you’re literally the worst.”

“I know.” Harry nods, looking sad. “I’m unbearable.”

Louis snorts loud, slapping Harry’s arm. “Please, shut up.”

Of course, Harry is laughing at his own jokes. “Come on, I’m funny,” he says, smiling - dimples
and crinkles and all.

Biting his bottom lip, Louis tries to stop laughing. “Yeah, yeah,” he agrees, “I’ll give it to you.”

Then, it’s silent again.

Louis doesn’t look at him - at least, not directly. However, from his panoramic view, there’s his
side profile, illuminated by the stars. And fuck, it’s hard. It’s hard not to look at him, it’s hard to
keep the “you’re beautiful” to himself. It’s just hard, but not in a bad way. The thing is, he still
wants so much, but this… This is more than he had two weeks ago, more than he had for the past
ten years.

And if he has to hold these parts back, he thinks he’ll be just fine.

“How was the match?” Harry asks, sending his thoughts away.

They still stand side by side, but far enough that Louis can’t feel his warmth. “Was good, yeah,” he
answers, not looking at him. “Hadn’t been to one for ages.”

“Me neither,” he tells him.

“And you’re a fan,” Louis points out what he said earlier.

Harry rolls his eyes at him. “I can be a new fan.”

“You said you’ve always loved footie,” he insists, smirking.

“Yeah, I did,” he says, “I had a reason to.”

Louis takes a second, two, to understand. “Oh.”

Harry clenches his jaw. “Yeah,” he lets out, a little too quietly. “But I’m a fan now. Of MU, I
mean.”

“Then you gotta go to a game.” Louis tells him. “Make it official.”

“When’s the next one?” He asks, then, looking at him.

“Dunno, to be honest. Gonna have to check.”

“And you consider yourself a fan.”

“Well, at least I know how the off-side rule works.” Louis raises his eyebrows.

“I know, I know.” Harry rolls his eyes. “Like, right now, I’m definitely breaking the rule because
I’m not in the field.”

“You’re hopeless.”

Harry smiles. “Let me know about the match?” He asks him, licking his lips.

“Will do.”

Harry nods. “And remind me that I gotta get a jersey, too.”

Louis gulps, remembering the paper bag in his room. It’s too soon, maybe it’s not even fucking
appropriate. He can’t just give Harry an official Manchester United jersey he got for his cat and
one for him. Why did Louis even get one for Harry? Jesus Christ, Louis needs to stop being so
fucking impulsive.

But before he knows, he’s speaking. “Yeah, about that.” Harry raises his eyebrows. “Turns out
they had pet sized jerseys there.”

Harry’s eyes widen. He turns his whole body towards Louis’. “Oh my God, tell me you got one.”

“Maybe.” He says, looking down at his arms.

There’s only so much his heart can take and a cute Harry is definitely not included on the list.

“No way.”

“I’m a sucker for pets,” he says, “even if they’re not ones practically my size.”

“Oh my God. Can I see it?” Harry asks - his eyes gleaming, hands pressed together, as if he’s
begging Louis.

“Give me a sec.” Louis says.

Before he turns away to walk back inside - once again -, he ends up glancing at Harry’s face and he
comes to a conclusion that maybe being friends will end up being a little fucking harder than he
planned.

When he comes back, it’s with a small red team shirt in his hand and a packet of cigarettes in his
pocket. “There you go,” he says as soon as he walks past the glass door.

Harry’s sitting on one of the two white chairs, table in front of him - his phone and car keys on it.
He stands up right away, walking fast towards Louis. He reaches out for the tiny jersey and holds
each sleeve, spreading it open.

“Oh my God.” He lets out. “This is the cutest little thing I’ve ever seen.” He says, seeing the front,
the Manchester United label on it.

“Turn it around,” Louis says.

When he does, he widens his eyes. “No way!” He says, grinning. “You put her name on it, Louis!”

“I did.”

“Oh my God. This is. You’re just.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe it. “Thank you so
much. God, this is so perfect.”

“I know,” Louis says, trying to sound as unaffected as he can - well as fucking unaffected as
someone seeing the person they’ve been in love with for the past 12 years happy over a gift can
sound. “I couldn’t resist it.”

It’s a fucking surprise. God. Scratch the name surprise, it’s literally the last thing Louis is
expecting to happen when Harry literally surges forward and throws his arms around him. And
then his arms are over his shoulders, the side of his face glued to Louis’, chests touching. Fuck.
Not a single centimeter left between them.

He doesn’t know how to react. He doesn’t wrap his arms around him. Louis doesn’t know what he
should focus on - if it’s the smell of coconut coming from Harry’s hair, or the way he can feel the
warmth of his body mixing with Louis’ own, or the way he feels his fucking heart palpitating like
it might jump out of his chest.

Harry pulls away when he notices him tensing up. “I’m sorry,” he says, “sorry, I got excited,”
looking down at his own hands, gripping onto the little red jersey.

Louis gulps - the familiar lump in his throat again. “No, it’s okay.” Fuck. “It’s okay, it’s just,” he
stops. “A bit too much, sometimes.”

“I know.” Harry is quick to say. “You don’t have to explain anything, I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry.”

And it’s sort of the breaking point because it comes out, for the first time since he took Harry to the
airport, ten years ago, without him even noticing. “H,” he says, “it’s okay.”

He doesn’t even notice. But Harry does. He looks up right away, eyes a little wider. He parts his
lips, like he wants to point it out. Louis called him what he used to call him when they were
together. And fuck. Louis doesn’t notice until Harry does.

But Harry doesn’t let him overthink it - doesn’t really give him time to think about it all. “Thank
you, really,” he says, instead, changing the subject, focusing on the gift. He sounds nervous, not in
any way close to how he sounded before. “Thank you. How much was it? I think I’ve money here
with me,” he continues, “but it’s in the car, let me-.”

It feels natural as Louis reaches out for one of Harry’s hands, that’s still holding onto the jersey,
interrupting his rambling. “Hey,” he says, watching as Harry looks up, meeting his eyes, “it’s a
gift, you’re not paying for it.”

“Oh.” Harry whispers. “Oh, thank you.”

“No problem.” Louis says, smiling softly, hand still there. He’s not sure why he hasn’t pulled away
yet. “Just send me a picture when you dress her up.”

And then Harry’s smile is back, nostrils flared. “Promise,” he says. “Thank you, Louis, really.
Thank you.”

“No big deal.” He insists.

When he looks down and sees his hand, still resting on Harry’s, he pulls away. But it’s not fast,
like he’s just burned himself - like he regrets it-, it’s more like it’s enough because otherwise it
would just make it awkward.

“Wanna sit?” Louis asks.

“Yeah.” Harry smiles, watching as Louis walks towards one of the chairs and sits down - he
follows him, doing the same.

And, once again, it’s silent. This time, though, Louis can feel his pack of cigarettes burning inside
his pocket. He wants to reach out for it, smoke his nervousness away, but he’s scared. He’s scared
because he can’t stop thinking of what Harry said back at the bar - about how he looked stressed
out, smoking when Harry was lying on the couch. He doesn’t want to show him he’s anxious - and
it’s not even because he doesn’t want him to know how he feels, but because he doesn't want Harry
to feel the same way he does now.

The night is going well, Louis doesn’t want to fucking ruin it.

“Do you think it was a bad idea that I came?” Harry’s voice calls him back to earth.

Jesus fucking Christ. Louis doesn’t want to do this, he can’t do this now.

He doesn’t say anything.

“It was, wasn’t it?” He asks, again.

Louis bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to feel the metallic taste of blood. He clenches his
jaw, takes a deep breath. “Wasn’t,” is the only thing he says.

“I don’t want to be a bother.” Harry says right away. “I just don’t,” he stops. He hesitates. “I
wanted to see you.”

I wanted to see you too, Louis thinks quietly, but can’t bring himself to say it. Fuck. This became so
hard, suddenly. “It wasn’t a bad idea,” he repeats himself.

Harry doesn’t say anything. With the side of his eyes, Louis notices how he won’t look up at him.

“How long are you staying?” Louis asks him.

“Oh.” Harry raises his eyebrows. “Is it late?” He asks, leaning forward to tap on the screen of his
phone. It reads 2:25am. He widens his eyes. “Oh my God, it’s so late. I’m keeping you up.”

“I meant in Donny, Harry.” Louis tells him, can’t stop himself from laughing a little. “I’m sure you
have plans and they don’t involve just bringing cookies to me.”

“Oh.” He repeats. “I actually.” He stops.

Louis furrows his eyebrows, turning to look at him. “Wait, they do?”

Harry parts his lips, but doesn’t say anything.

“Wait, where are you staying?” He asks.

He takes a moment, thinks. “There’s that bed and breakfast, right?” He says. “Think I’ll stay
there.”

“You didn’t get a room?” Louis raises his eyebrows, eyes wide.

“I’m not good at making plans.” Harry reminds him - Louis should damn well know. “Besides, it
was a last minute decision.”

“Jesus Christ, Harry.” He mutters. “What’re you gonna do if they’re loaded? Sleep in your car?”

“I don’t know, okay?” He says - he doesn’t sound annoyed, just honestly unsure. He sighs. “I
didn’t really think this through.”

“Jesus.”

“Don’t worry.” He says. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“You were worried about bears coming through my window, but you weren’t worried about bears
breaking into your car?” He asks, letting out a laugh.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Bears respect boundaries,” he says.

“You’re unbelievable.” Louis says, shaking his head.

“No.” Harry reminds him. “I’m unbearable.”

“You’re insufferable.” He corrects him.

“You’re just offending me,” he says, frowning, “when I made you cookies and drove three hours
just to bring them to you.”

“Oh, no.” Louis tuts, shaking his head. “You’re not using your own decisions against me,” he says,
smiling.

“My decisions made you happy.” He points out.

Louis ponders. “Can’t argue with that.”

The smile is back on Harry’s face in no time.

Louis’ cigarettes go long forgotten for another thirty minutes as he and Harry talk. It’s no surprise
that Harry giggles every ten seconds with whatever unfunny comment Louis comes up with. He
only remembers his pack even exists when he’s adjusting himself on the chair, feet now resting on
the table in front of them.

He’s adjusting his sweatpants when he feels the small box inside his pocket. Louis figures out the
good moment to light one up is when he and Harry are both laughing at something he said. So, he
does just that.

He takes a puff. God, smoking is fucking great.

His head is laid on the back of the chair, eyes closed. He doesn’t see it, but he can feel Harry’s eyes
on him, watching his every move. He takes another hit before he hands out the cigarette. “Want
it?” He asks.

“My answer would be yes if it was a spiff.” Harry tells him.

“Suit yourself.” Louis shrugs, taking another hit. “Think I might have one upstairs, though, if
you’re really up for it.”

“Oh.”

Opening his eyes, Louis turns his head to face him. “Might not be as good as the weed you have
since it makes you whisper to plants and shit.”

Harry squints his eyes at him, shaking his head. “Dick.”

“That’s not a very nice way to ask for something.” Louis raises his eyebrows, raising his eyebrows
and taking another hit. “So, what do you say?” He asks, the last bit of smoke still leaving his
parted lips.

“Think it might not be a good idea,” Harry shrugs, “still gotta drive to the bed and breakfast.”

“I got a spare room.” Louis says before he can even think. Jesus fuck. Niall was so fucking right
when he said he doesn’t think things through.

Harry raises his eyebrows.

“If you want, I mean.” He shrugs. “You can crash here.”

Harry looks like he’s thinking for a second, bites the inside of his cheek. “Okay.” Is what he says.

When Louis gets to his room and grabs the joint, he smokes another cigarette. This time, though, he
doesn’t feel less nervous.

The spiff will do the job. Or at least he hopes.

 Chapter 11
Chapter Summary

“You can say stuff, too, you know?” Harry’s voice pulls him back to Earth.
“Otherwise I’ll talk all night long because that's what I do when I smoke.”

Louis smiles at him. “It’s okay,” he says, “I’m a good listener.”

Harry looks at him far too long before he parts his lips. “I am, too, you know?”

Chapter Notes

Hiiii. Took me three days but know that uni has been really busy and I only accept that
a chapter is done if I love it completely.

Hope you like this, please let me know x

The first time Louis got high he ate two whole pizzas by himself. He was twenty-one, at the time,
and it was his first time attending a fraternity party. It took him about five minutes inside the house
and around his new friends for him to realize that movies don’t do half the fucking justice.

Luke was the one who offered it to him - even made fun of him when he tried to look cool but
ended up nearly coughing his lungs out. It took him a bit to get used to and he didn’t fucking stop
drinking. He only noticed he was high when he left the pool after, well, skinny dipping.

To Sum it up, college was a lot more fun than he expected and, well. Turns out that weed can
always be the answer - when you’re happy, sad, angry or when you’re in the company of the ex-
boyfriend you never got over and you’re trying to convince yourself he’s just a friend.

Turns out it’s Louis' last spiff - the one he finds on his bedside table. He looks for his lighter then
remembers it’s already in his pocket.

Holding the spiff between his index and thumb, he stares at it. “You better fucking help,” and goes
down the stairs.

When he finally reaches the balcony again, he takes a minute - maybe even two. He stops by the
glass door, quietly, and looks to where Harry’s still sitting. He has his head laid back on the chair,
eyes closed. He looks relaxed and… Honestly? He looks beautiful. Louis doesn’t know if it’s the
moonlight shining on his skin, or the fact that Louis’ missed him so much it hurts.

Louis doesn’t breathe for a good ten seconds, leaving his trance only when he hears him sigh. He
blinks a couple of times, finally walking through the door. It feels a little warmer than before.

“Hey.” He says, but doesn’t walk towards his previous spot. Instead, he goes over to the grid,
resting his back on it.
Harry opens his eyes slowly - he looks like he was sleeping. “Hi,” he says, yawning.

“Tired?” Louis asks. “We don’t have to smoke, you know?”

“I want to.” Harry is quick to say. “Aren’t you gonna sit?”

Louis licks his lips. He wishes he could say the reason he’s standing all the way there is because
he doesn’t want to stay close to him, but that would be a fucking lie. Truth is - as much as he
refuses to admit even to himself - is that, here, he can look at him without looking like he’s trying
to.

Well.

“I’m good here,” he answers.

Harry takes the initiative, this time. He stretches his arms, bracing himself on the arms of the chair,
standing up. He walks to where Louis’ standing, but doesn’t rest himself on the grid beside him.
Instead, he just stands there - in front of him.

“We’re doing this?” He asks.

Louis snorts. “Why’re you whispering like we’re doing cocaine? It’s just weed.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re a lawyer, you shouldn’t be doing drugs.”

Louis rolls his own eyes. “Shit reason not to do weed” he says, reaching for his lighter - inside his
pocket. When he has it in his hands, he puts the spiff in between his lips, covering it with one of his
hands to stop the wind from blowing the flame. Except, he takes a second, looking up.

Harry’s eyes are on his lips, but that’s besides the point. The point is, Louis is a fucking
gentleman.

“You wanna do it?” He asks, the thing still between his lips.

Harry furrows his eyebrows, confused. “What?”

“Light it, so you can go first.”

“Oh.” He lets out, realizing what he meant. “No, you can do it. I’m good,” he says, licking his lips
- glancing to Louis’ own again, then to his eyes. “Thank you.”

Louis shrugs - read tries his fucking best not to look affected by how Harry’s looking at him -, and
returns his previous moves, lighting the spiff up. He takes it back between his index and thumb and
inhales. He doesn’t move it away before exhaling it, just keeping his lips parted as the smoke
leaves his mouth, head laid back.

Fuck, it might be psychological, but he already feels a lot more relaxed.

“Can I?” He hears Harry say after some time - three puffs in, honestly.

Louis raises his head again, raising eyebrows. He takes it from his mouth and hands it over to him.
“Shit, of course, my bad.”

“It’s okay.” Harry smiles, reaching for it.

So much for being a fucking gentleman.

He already feels a little lighter when he sees Harry bringing the joint to his mouth. Harry closes his
eyes, taking it in. This time, though, surprisingly, he doesn’t cough. He actually looks like he’s
very well used to it.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “How come a cigarette gives you a hard time and weed doesn’t affect
you at all?” He asks, watching as the smoke leaves his mouth.

Harry laughs a little. “Dunno, to be honest,” he shrugs, taking another puff.

“That’s bull.” Louis squints his eyes, taking the joint that Harry passes to him. He takes a hit. “Bet
you were just pretending to cough,” he says as the smoke leaves his lungs - voice sounding a little
lower at first.

Harry snorts. “Right,” he nods as if he’s agreeing, “totally. Because there’s not a better way to
impress someone than to cough in a very cool way.”

Louis cracks his neck, eyes closed as he speaks “still got you some.”

What does end up making Harry cough is not the smoke, but Louis’ comment.

He doesn’t look at him as he says it. Louis’ gotten high far too many - fucking countless - times
not to know when he’s affected by it. He knows damn well he feels a lot more relaxed, a lot less
intimidated and, mainly, a lot less fucking in control of his mind.

Harry clears his throat. “Jesus,” he cusses under his breath.

Louis licks his lips, looking back down at Harry. He raises his eyebrows. “What?”

Harry blinks a few times, eyes locked on him. “Nothing,” he manages to say, as he hands the joint
back to Louis.

When he gets it back, there’s only a little left. He had forgotten what it was like to share a joint - a
single one makes up for two times when he does it by himself. He isn’t bothered by it, though.

“Sure you don’t want more?” He asks.

“I’m good,” Harry tells him. “Go for it.”

Louis does. It’s only two puffs left and then it’s just the holder. He puts it on the grid and looks
back at Harry. And God, if Louis thought he looked beautiful before, he had no fucking clue how
to describe him now - eyelids low, cheeks a bit rosy, licking his lips every two seconds.

He looks a little like he did when Louis fucked his throat. But, that’s besides the fucking point.

Harry doesn’t stand in front of him for much longer, though. Instead, he goes to Louis’ side, turns
his back to the grid and slides down to the floor. And then he’s sitting down.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath, not looking up. “I missed getting high.”

Louis just stares at him.

This time, Harry does look up, through his eyelashes. “Sit with me,” he says softly.

Louis does so because sitting down sounds a lot more fucking comfortable than standing, right
now. When he slides down the grid, hitting his bum on the floor, there’s still some space between
him and Harry. This time, though, it’s barely even two centimeters.
“Thank you.” Harry tells him, sounding as soft as before.

“It’s just a spiff.” Louis reminds him, looking down at his bended knees.

“A very, very, very,” he takes a deep breath, “very strong one.”

Louis lets out a laugh. “Should’ve dialled it down a bit, mate.”

“I missed smoking.” Harry repeats.

“So you’ve said.”

“Aren’t you, like.” He looks to his side, trying to open his eyes as wide as he can - which isn’t
much -, “super high?”

“I am.” Louis tells him, nodding.

“You don’t look like it.” Harry points out, furrowing his eyebrows.

“It’s cause you can’t see it.” Louis says, pointing to Harry’s eyes, “barely keep your eyes open.”

Harry sticks out his tongue. “I can still see you’re being an ass.”

Louis snorts. “You’re not blind, then.”

Harry takes a second, still looking at Louis. “Was joking.”

“You don’t have to keep pointing out you’re joking,” Louis tells him. “I can tell.”

“Don’t want to offend you, or anything.” He says, quietly.

“You’re not.” Louis says. “Don’t worry too much.”

At that, Harry looks down - Louis sees his lips curved up. His eyes glance down at Harry’s hands,
he’s fidgeting with a ring he has there.

“It’s a nice ring, you got.” He says.

Looking up, Harry raises his eyebrows, then looks down again. “Thank you,” he says, reaching for
it again. “I call it the peace ring.”

“You named your ring?”

Harry ignores his comment. He raises his hand, showing it to Louis. Then, he reaches for the ring,
turning it. “It swirls,” he says, “it’s good for when you’re anxious.”

And.

Louis wasn’t really expecting that.

“Oh.” He lets out.

“Yeah.” Harry says, smiling, pulling his hand away and resting it back on his thigh. “It’s not too
much, but I just feel nervous sometimes. Used to feel it a lot before cuz performing.”

“You shouldn’t,” Louis tells him, “you’re genuinely good.”

“It used to be more about the voice,” he continues, “then it turned into the lyrics.”

“The lyrics are good, H.”

“They’re a bit too personal.” Harry explains.

“Oh.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s weird, sometimes.”

Louis spots him swirling his ring. He feels like reaching out for his hand, steading it - calming him
down. He doesn’t. “What’s weird?” He asks, instead.

“You go and you pour your feelings out, the shit you go through, into your songs, then you just
expose it to everyone.” Harry shrugs. “Then your life is out there for everyone to hear.”

When he finishes talking, Louis has his eyebrows raised and a chokehold on his heart. He doesn’t
say anything, and, when Harry notices he’s been quiet for too long, he looks up to meet his eyes.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” He asks, laughing humorlessly.

Louis finds himself shaking his head before he answers. “It’s not. I get it,” he answers. “I mean, I
don’t get it completely because it’s not like I let people know shit about how I feel, but I get what
you mean.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“Why do you do it, though?” Louis asks, then. “Why do you choose to do it if it makes you
nervous?”

“Because it’s good, you know?” He says. “It’s good to turn the shit you feel into something good.
Like,” he takes a deep breath, shifting himself so he’s facing Louis - legs crossed -, “the same stuff
I go through, there’s people in the bar going through it, and it makes me feel less alone.”

Louis just looks at him, waiting for him to continue.

“And when I write, it makes it easier to deal with. It actually helps me move on from what I’m
feeling… Because I let myself feel it. I feel it all and it’s fucking hard, but then I feel… Relieved.”

And fuck. If Louis wasn’t high - which thank fucking God he is -, this would probably hit too hard,
like a punch to his stomach. But, now, it just gets him thinking. For a second, he feels proud of
him, but, most of all, he feels jealous.

“You can say stuff, too, you know?” Harry’s voice pulls him back to Earth. “Otherwise I’ll talk all
night long because that's what I do when I smoke.”

Louis smiles at him. “It’s okay,” he says, “I’m a good listener.”

Harry looks at him far too long before he parts his lips. “I am, too, you know?”

This one hits a bit too close to home. So, he doesn’t say anything. And then comes the silence.

Louis doesn’t look at him, all of a sudden it feels a little too intimidating. Instead, his eyes focus on
his own thighs, hands resting over them. Harry stays where he is, body facing Louis, crossed legs.

“Hey, Louis,” Harry calls him.

He looks up. “Hm?”

“What did the frog say after lighting up?”

Louis squints his eyes. “What?”

“Don't Worry, Be Hoppy.”

Louis doesn’t burst out laughing, not this time. Instead, he just smiles. Because, for a moment, he
feels vulnerable, but in a good way. He feels safe. It sort of feels like it used to go back in time,
when Harry brought him back to Earth with just a smile.

He doesn’t notice, but it’s like the world stops, and he just stares at Harry - soft smile on his face.

“You’re staring,” Harry points out after a minute.

This time, though, Louis doesn’t stop smiling, he doesn’t look away. He just bites his bottom lip,
smiling bigger.

“What is it?” Harry asks, furrowing his eyebrows. His cheeks are a bit more flustered than before -
like he’s shy.

Louis doesn’t say anything, just looks down at his own thighs. The smile doesn’t leave his face.
He feels his stomach warming up. Harry doesn’t insist on it - which is good, since Louis can’t quite
explain how he feels now. Instead, he stays quiet for a bit.

“Can we lay down?” Harry asks him after a moment.

He doesn’t answer, instead he does so, moving away from the grid and turning around so he’ll lay
with his head towards the door. Harry smiles, following his lead.

Louis has his arms crossed under his head, legs crossed, as well. Harry stays in the same position,
right beside him. Louis realizes that he’s so, so close, that if they both had the arms beside their
bodies, their hands would be brushing on one another.

“I’m so hungry I could eat the stars.” Harry tells him.

“If they were edible, you mean.” Louis points out.

“What do you think they’d taste like?” He continues, eyes fluttering open.

“Like stars.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “A total of zero creativity points for you.”

Louis laughs. “Salt and vinegar?” He offers.

He sees as Harry turns his head to look at him, arms still under him. “You think stars would taste
like sweat?” He asks.

“First thing that came to mind, Harry.” He says, rolling his eyes. “What do you think they’d taste
like?”

“Hmm.” Harry hums, looking back up. “I think they’d taste like eggs.”

Louis raises his eyebrows - it’s a good flavor. “We could eat them for breakfast.”
“And for lunch, and for dinner.” He adds.

Shaking his head, Louis just smiles.

“I bet the moon would taste like toast. Then we could have a proper meal.” Harry tells him.

Louis lets out a laugh through his nose. “You do talk some shit when you’re high.”

“Still make you smile, though.”

Louis doesn’t agree. He smiles, instead.

Harry doesn’t say anything, anymore. So, Louis closes his eyes and lets the sound of the night take
over.

Louis is in love. Louis is, by definition, in love.

They’re in Harry's house, in the garden, there’s a floral patterned blanket spread under them. His
boyfriend is lying with his back down, eyes closed, features relaxed, arms crossed over his torso.
And Louis… Louis is in love.

Harry’s playlist - Louis Vol. 6 - is playing on his phone. They’ve been through volumes 1 to 5. It’s
always been Harry’s thing to make his own anniversary gifts for Louis - says it makes them more
personal. Louis is particularly fond of volume 1 - there’s a whole lot of The Script in it.

At the moment, the song playing is Look After You by The Fray - the only song Louis knows how to
play on the piano, which he told Harry - a very fucking bad decision because he makes him play it
for him every time he goes to Louis’ place.

“Can you imagine if the stars were edible?” Harry asks, leaning onto Louis’ side. “We’d never
starve."

Louis opens his eyes, fluttering eyelashes. He’s nearly falling asleep with his boyfriend right next
to him. When he leans closer, Louis curls his arm around him, hand under his shirt, caressing his
waist.

“Don’t think I’d eat them, love,” he tells him, “I could die, right now, from how much pizza we
ate.”

Looking up at him, Harry rolls his eyes. They’re still on him as he speaks. “We could eat them with
our hearts.”

Louis laughs. “H, are you talking in your sleep again?”

Harry slaps his tummy, gently.

Louis doesn’t stop laughing. “Think my heart’s already pretty full,” he tells him, then.

“Full of me?”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “No space left.”

“Not even a tiny bit of space left for a star?”

“Not even a taste.”

At that, Harry smiles, leaning into his neck, nuzzling. “I love you, you know?”

“Love you just as much.”

Harry stays quiet for a bit. “Did you know only young sunflowers turn to face the sun?”

“Really?” Louis asks, yawning.

“Grown sunflowers face the east,” Harry continues.

Louis stays still, quiet, he assumes there must be a point to this conversation. He feels Harry’s soft
curly hair on his cheek - it smells like lavender. Harry looks up at Louis.

“I think I’m never growing older,” he says.

Louis furrows his eyebrows, confused.

“Cause I’m always turning to you.” Harry explains. “My sun.”

And Louis. God. Louis’ heart could burst from how in love he is with this boy. He blushes, rolling
his eyes. He isn’t annoyed, though. “Shut up,” he mumbles under his breath. He doesn’t mean it at
all.

Harry smiles. He looks at Louis like he’s something else, like he hung up the moon and the stars…
He looks at him like he’s the actual sun.

Louis will never understand how he got so lucky.

“Look at me, please?” Harry calls him, pulling away from his neck so he’ll be able to look into his
eyes. “I love you,” he whispers.

It’s natural, the smile that forms on Louis’ face.

“Did you know that a sunflower’s head is formed by thousands of tiny flowers?” Harry whispers.

Louis waits for him to continue.

“If we were a flower, we’d be a single sunflower. Together.” He says. “And our tiny flowers would
be pieces of our story. Like this, here.”

Louis smiles at him, thumb caressing his soft jawline. “Then we’d be the most beautiful sunflower
of all time.”

Louis wakes up to something he’d never thought he would ever again - the sound of Harry’s
snores. Well, he doesn’t exactly wake up because of it, but it is the first thing he hears.

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the sky in a gradient of orange, pink and blue.
The second thing he sees is laying on his side.

Harry looks peaceful as he sleeps, face relaxed. He’s laying on his left side - facing Louis -, his left
hand under his cheek and his right one resting over his left forearm. He looks almost angelical, and
Louis has a hard time looking away. So, he doesn’t.
He doesn’t feel anxious, like he’s wondering how the fuck he ended up in this situation - sleeping
beside who used to be the love of his life. This time, he doesn’t really think of anything other than
how beautiful Harry is.

It’s natural, as he turns to the side, so he’s lying in the same position as the man beside him. And
he just takes his time. There’s this urge in his body to reach out for him, brush his fingers through
his hair, caress his thumb over his lips. He resists it, though.

They’re lying so close he can feel Harry’s breathing on his hand. He wishes he could just reach out
for him, but, deep inside, he knows things aren’t as they used to be. The last time he had this
situation in his hands, he had everything - he had freedom. Freedom to wrap his arms around him,
freedom to kiss the top of his head, freedom to say sweet nothings into his ear even if he wasn’t
going to listen because he was asleep.

And, as much as Louis feels like he has more than he’s had for the past ten years, he still knows he
has nothing - nothing that he wishes he could have.

Louis falls asleep before he can think too much about it, and before he does, he thinks of what
Harry told him earlier about just letting himself feel it all. And when he closes his eyes, he feels
just what Harry said he felt: relief.

“Louis?” He hears from far away and he groans. “Lou, it’s too cold, let’s go inside.”

He blinks his eyes strongly, before opening them. This time, the first thing Louis sees is Harry
sitting on his knees in front of him. He looks like he just woke up, which is confirmed by his yawn
that comes right after.

“Time’s it?” Louis manages to say before yawning himself.

“Little past 5:30.”

“Shit.” He cusses under his breath, shifting himself and sitting down.

Louis only realizes how cold it was when they both finally get inside. He stretches his arms,
yawning again. When he looks to his side, he sees Harry putting his vans back on - doesn’t even
remember him taking them off.

“Thank you for yesterday,” Harry tells him as soon as he’s back up on his feet.

Louis furrows his eyebrows. He doesn’t really think before speaking - blames it on the fact that he
hasn’t even fully woken up yet. “Where’re you going?”

He doesn’t notice what he sounds like - like it doesn’t make sense for Harry to leave, like he’s
supposed to stay.

Harry licks his lips, furrowing his eyebrows. “Going to the bed and breakfast, get a room. Think
they’ll be awake now.”

“Aren’t you staying?” Louis asks, then.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” he is quick to answer. “Don’t worry about it really.”

“You’re not.”
It’s just then, that Louis realizes he’s doing exactly what he promised himself he wouldn’t - he’s
insisting for him to stay when Harry’s saying he’s leaving. But it’s a bit stronger than him, as he
feels his heart shrinking.

Harry bites his bottom lip, scrunching his nose. He looks at Louis a bit too long before speaking.
“Are you sure?”

“Told you you could crash here,” Louis reminds him, “wouldn’t have if I didn’t-“ he stops, biting
back the wanted. “If I wasn’t okay with it.”

Harry smiles, looking down at his feet before looking up. “Thank you.”

“Not a big deal,” Louis tells him before he turns away. “Come on, it’s upstairs.”

Louis guides him upstairs, noticing as Harry stops following him when they reach the first floor.
He leans down to pet Clifford, kissing his head before standing up.

The guest bedroom is the same size as Louis’, a very similar architecture and design. The only
difference is, while his own room has a desk, this one has a white couch. Also, the single eye
poster Louis has in his bedroom. The walls are black, as the rest of the house. The bed is king sized
- beige silk sheets -, a single bedside table on its side.

Harry walks in behind him, a little hesitant as he makes his way to the end of the bed.

Louis moves around the room, turning the heater on. “Do you think you might need another
blanket?”

“I think I’m good, thank you.” Harry answers, smiling shyly.

“It’ll be warmer soon,” he continues. He looks down and sees Harry’s jeans. “Do you want, like,
comfortable clothes?”

Harry looks down at himself, then looks up at Louis. “I usually sleep, like.”

He doesn’t need to continue.

“Got you.” Louis says before he feels the need to explain himself. That’s enough knowledge, thank
you very much.

“Promise I’m not bothering you?” Harry asks once again.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Might as well if you keep asking if you are,” he doesn’t sound annoyed.

“Sorry.” He says, quietly.

“All set?” Louis asks, just to make sure.

“All set.”

“Good.” Louis says, turning around to leave.

It’s when he’s at the door, Harry still standing in the middle of the room, that he hears him again.
“Thank you,” is what he says, “really.”

“Just a spare room, Harry.”

“You know what I mean, Lou.”

It’s the nickname that gets his heart racing again. Louis feels a lump inside his throat, biting his
bottom lip. He looks down at his hand, still wrapped around the doorknob.

He takes a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

Harry doesn’t even hesitate. “Anything,” he says, sounding a little desperate -, like he’s begging
for Louis to speak, for Louis to let him in again.

“Will you,” he starts, then stops. “Will you be here when I wake up?” He asks, quietly - hates how
vulnerable he sounds.

Louis doesn’t turn to look at him as he speaks, he doesn’t feel brave enough to look him in the
eyes.

“I.” Harry lets out. “Of course, I am.”

“Just.” Louis clears his throat. “Sort of tired of seeing you leave.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry whispers, voice sounding broken, hurt.

“Don’t.”

“I still am.” He insists.

“I can’t…” Louis stops, he doesn’t say anything else.

“I’ll be here.” Harry repeats. “I promise you.”

“Okay.” Is all Louis says before he leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

When he’s out, he stops on his tracks and just stands there. He has to fight his own heart, the urge
to turn around and knock on the door. He has to resist the urge to just open the door and kiss him,
feel him close. He has to resist the urge to keep him close.

It’s so fucking weird because Louis knows he’s just behind the door, but, at the same time, it feels
like he’s so far away. It’s like Louis needs to look at him, feel him with his own skin to know that
he’s actually there.

Louis craves him.

And he’s there, Louis knows, but he can’t help but feel like if he walks away for a mere second,
he’ll slip through his fingers.

Harry is there. Louis just can’t bear the thought that maybe, someday, he won’t be anymore.

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