don't give up on us quite yet (hs/lt, zm/lp)
title: don't give up on us quite yet
pairing(s): louis tomlinson/harry styles, zayn malik/liam payne. (very very brief louis tomlinson/jordan henderson, and vague louis/zayn codependent best friend situation.)
rating: Rish
word count: 10,200ish.
disclaimer: hilariously untrue.
summary: AU. louis is kind of a mess and harry is kind of perfect and zayn is kind of dumb and protective and they all work in a restaurant sometimes.
notes: my creative writing major is sobbing at the fact the first thing i've written in months is ten thousand words of one direction fanfiction. anyway. this is just something silly that i had a lot of fun doing. entirely for estuve, without whom i'd be nothing, as usual, standard dedication, love her. also many thanks and love to: moderns, wanderingfound, and my coworker (as weird as that sounds.) big love, y'all. xx
830 staff meeting m8 better set sum alarms!!!
Louis gets the text at 1am, just after his third drink and his third phone number. He groans loudly, loudly enough that the boy he's dancing with looks up -- and then down at his crotch -- in alarm.
That's embarrassing. Louis raises his eyebrows at him and shakes his head slowly, with a bit of his patented you wish, mate smile.
"Sorry, darlin'," he yells over the music. "Gotta run." He gives the boy -- not his type at all: a bit shorter than him, a bit uglier than him -- a cheeky pat on the arse and melts away.
Zayn's still at the bar with a fag behind his ear and a Jack on the rocks in his hand.
"Niall text you?" Louis sneaks up behind him and shouts in his ear. The fag falls down as Zayn jumps about six feet. Louis laughs and tickles his side before leaning in and resting his head on his shoulder.
Zayn quirks an eyebrow. "About the bloody fucking meeting at shit-o-clock in the goddamn morning?" Louis nods, pulls a face. "Liam did."
"Ooooh, Liam did," Louis drawls delightedly, waggling his eyebrows.
"You're a maniac. Let's roll. Unless you're pulling?" Zayn's already standing up, patting his pockets and pulling the cig from his collar where it fell. It's between his lips before his feet are fully on the ground and Louis rolls his eyes.
He follows Zayn towards the door, hopping behind him, still buzzing from the music and drinks. "Not tonight! No one's as gorgeous and mysterious as you, my love, and you continually break my heart." He gives a little tug on Zayn's beltloop, knocking their hips together.
Zayn smiles and wraps his arm around Louis's shoulders. "Good lad. Finally recognising what's right in front of you."
Louis pouts. "I recognised the first day I met you, with those eyes and lips and--"
Zayn laughs. "Louis, you whore."
"I just want a shag! Why is that so bloody hard? We're in Camden for christ's sake! Is it me, Zany-Zayn? Am I so horribly unattractive that every boy within the entire city of London is repulsed by me?" Louis throws in some sniffles, too, for effect.
Laughing again, Zayn pulls him in closer and presses his mouth to Louis's ear. "Don't talk bollocks, darling, you know you're absolutely to die for."
The night is unseasonably chilled for early September and they walk entwined, their sides pressed together and legs moving in unison, until they reach their flat. Louis digs in Zayn's pocket for the key, groping more than may be strictly necessary. Zayn shakes his head with a smile.
"Sleep with me tonight," Louis says.
"Lou."
Louis sighs. "No funny business, I swear. Just. Sleep with me?"
Zayn pulls back a few inches, looks Louis in the eye. He nods. "Yeah, Lou. Let's sleep." He pulls away and heads for Louis's bedroom, pulling his shirt up over his head on the way. Louis averts his eyes because he knows he should and veers left into the bathroom.
He loves Zayn, he does, but sometimes Zayn knows him too well for either of their own good.
*
Sunlight comes before either of them are ready, beating down through the sheets, heating their bodies. Louis raises his head from where it was pressed against Zayn's heartbeat, cringing a little at the tacky stick of sweat everywhere their bodies touch.
"Zayn." He shakes Zayn's shoulder. "Zayn!"
"Fuck off," is the muffled reply.
"Zayn! It's 7:45, you have to get up and style that gorgeous mane of yours."
"Get out from between my legs, Louis. Christ." Raising his head slightly, Zayn bucks his hips up, trying to knock Louis away. Louis grins and rolls his down, pressing his morning wood against Zayn's hip.
"Fucking hell," is all Zayn says as he pushes him off and rolls out of bed. Standing up and looking down at Louis sprawled across the sheets, he shakes his head. "You need a boyfriend, like, yesterday."
Louis gazes up at him and smiles. He knows he looks good; he knows he looks like he's just been fucked. He knows that Zayn likes it. "Make me tea, hon." He bats his eyelashes.
Zayn shakes his head again. "You're such a cunt. Get dressed, you slut."
*
At least Louis can take comfort in the fact that Niall looks rougher than he does.
"Don't say a word," is spat out before Louis even has a chance to open his mouth. He settles for smiling lovingly. Niall throws him a dirty look and a harsh pinch to the nipple.
"Oi! Uncalled for!"
Zayn snorts into his coffee. "It's never uncalled for, Lou."
They're piled into the tiny breakroom of the world-famous and prestigious Chez Cowéll, upscale cafe and eatery. Or so Simon would like them all to believe as they pawn off tiny pretentious servings to the handful of patrons who have heard of them and can afford it.
Zayn sprawls out on one of the three chairs in the room. Niall curls up in another. Louis bounds around, messing up their hair as Liam walks in.
"Looking fresh as ever, Liam my boy!" Louis exclaims, giving him a quick hug.
Liam smiles back curiously. "Did you get laid?" he asks.
Zayn groans. "Don't get him started."
Louis plops down on Zayn's lap and throws his arms around his neck. "Liiiiiiii-yuuum, no one will shag me. No one in the entire country will shag me. I am unshaggable. I am going to die alone and celibate with no one but my pet Zayn to love me."
Liam raises his eyebrows. "You two are the gayest non-gay-together gay roommates I've ever met."
"He's a bloody albatross," Zayn says.
Louis mock-gasps. "Words hurt, Malik!"
"Your bony arse is what hurts, mate."
Niall emerges from his dazed morning-after stupor to laugh in his mad Irish cackle. "Louis's bony arse!" He curls up again, his face pressed into his knees, shoulders still shaking. "Bony arse," he repeats to himself.
Liam, Zayn, and Louis exchange glances. "Are you high?" Liam finally asks, hesitantly.
Simon walks in as the question hangs in the air and Louis swallows his laughter while Niall wipes his eyes discreetly.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice, lads," he says. There's a boy behind him, Louis notices.
Simon continues, "Now, as you know, I have a very strict no-drugs-on-the-premises rule at Chez Cowéll. One of your coworkers broke it, and unfortunately I had to let her go."
Niall jerks his head up at that. "You fired Cher?!"
Louis opens his mouth to protest. Cher was the only one who knew where to get the good pills, the kind that make him happy and bright eyed without the manic energy that tends to follow. She also made him quesadillas. Pity, that.
"She was doing lines on the toilet seat in the customer bathroom, Horan. Of course I bloody fired her."
Oh well. Louis still has her number. Hopefully she won't be bitter about this and cut him off.
"Anyway. I've hired a new cook. Niall, you'll be training him today -- I hope you don't mind coming in a few hours early." Simon pulls the boy from behind him. Louis doesn't quite look at him, yet. He's scrolling through his phone, trying to remember what pejorative he drunkenly saved Cher's number under.
"Oi! A few hours meaning when, exactly?"
Simon glances at his watch. "Oh, how about right after we're done here?"
Niall's silent. Fuming, Louis expects.
"So. This is Harry. He's the son of a mate and worked in a bakery for a few years. You should all get on famously, et cetera et cetera. Have fun. Niall, you and Harry can work in the kitchen this morning and get him all set up and prepped. Tommo, Malik, and Payne -- I expect you all here no later than 3:30. See you then." Simon turns on his heel and is out the door, leaving the skinny boy beside him swaying a bit in his wake.
They all stare at him.
He's got big scared eyes and big red lips and big brown curls and Louis wants to lick him.
He clears his throat. "So. Um. I'm Harry."
*
Zayn, Liam, and Louis go out for breakfast after the farce of a staff meeting. They settle on Val's, the greasy diner in between both their flats, and as soon as they sit in their booth, Louis faceplants on the table.
"That might be a bit not clean, Lou," Liam says mildly.
"I love him," Louis moans.
Zayn huffs a sigh. "I'm shocked," he says dryly.
"He's perfect."
Zayn opens a menu uselessly -- they know what they're ordering. "You don't know him, mate. He might think your arse is too big."
Liam raises his eyebrows from across the table. Louis turns his head to look at him from its position on his arms.
"Come again?"
Liam sighs a tired laugh. "He's jealous. Lou, I'm sure if he's into blokes, you've a good a chance as any."
"Jealous?" Zayn spits. "More like there are two possible outcomes here. One, this kid -- Yes, Lou, kid, jesus, he can't be more than 18 -- will be perfect for about two weeks. A month, maybe. Then he'll inevitably fuck up and fuck someone else or have a secret girlfriend or boyfriend or Louis will be the secret boyfriend and it'll all come out and I'll have to deal with the bloody shitshow that follows. Or two, you'll fuck him before you know anything about him then he'll turn out to be annoying or stupid or too serious or godforbid a poet and we'll all have to deal with the fallout in the form of Louis Tomlinson, supreme bitch."
Louis sits up, stares at Zayn. Liam looks down at his lap, twists his fingers into knots.
"I'm not very hungry," Louis says slowly. "Enjoy." He slides out from the booth and runs his fingers through his dirty hair.
"Lou..."
Louis waves Zayn off. "It's fine. I get it. I either get fucked over or I'm an asshole. I'll see you at home. Bye, Li."
"Bye, Lou," Liam says softly.
*
The thing is, Zayn's not wrong. It's how it happens. Every time, it's how it happens.
There was Alex Walker, two years ago. The token straight-boy crush: the unattainable crush that was so hopelessly crushing. Louis would have done anything for him. Anything for his attention, that smile. It was so cliche, so cliche that it makes him sick to think about it a little. They met at a magazine stand, Alex buying Mojo and Louis buying NME and they bantered and got coffee and it was so, so promising for two months. Then Louis did what Louis always seems to do and got blindingly drunk with him and told him everything and pushed his hands up the line of his hips and smiled into his neck, and. Felt two hands against his shoulders, pushing back, pushing away. Saw the sad, uncomfortable smile. Heard the usual we should get you home, mate. They stayed friends until Louis couldn't take it anymore. He saw the same sad smile one more time, and then never again.
Then there was Axel Sturridge, the absolute whirlwind. He was twenty six years and six and a half feet of sex and drugs and tattoos and he chewed Louis up in three months. Left him covered in lovebites and stupid eyeliner, fucked out and wrung out and strung out. There weren't any sad smiles, this time. Just Louis walking in to a bedroom occupied by Axel and two other men.
There was Professor Summers, but that was never meant to happen. That was Louis with an infatuation that went too far and ended with a good grade, nasty rumours, cold shoulders, and a cold wedding ring.
There was Danny Anderson, last year. That lasted six months. A record, for Louis. That was sweet and soft and unexpectedly dirty and wonderful and Louis was so in love he couldn't see straight. He held Danny's hand and whispered his thoughts in his ear. Danny held him at night and Louis made him burnt unidentified food in the morning and they kissed everywhere and took pictures and changed their facebook statuses and it was a Relationship. It was five months of perfect and one month of distance and then Danny met Alexa and it was over. There were no sad smiles, there, either, just breakdowns and breaking hearts and breaking plates.
There are more, too, is the sad fact. There are more fuckups and fuckoffs. And he always comes back to Zayn. He always comes back, crawling under Zayn's arm, Zayn's covers, crying into Zayn's neck, pressing his body against Zayn's. Zayn, who understands. Zayn, who's been in love with the same boy since he was sixteen. Zayn, who always holds him close and whispers stupid loving shit in his ear and doesn't let go. Zayn, who deals with his shitshows every single time. Zayn, who knows him too well, too well for it to be healthy.
Louis doesn't like to sleep alone.
*
Zayn comes home two hours later and curls up behind Louis in his bed. "I'm sorry," he whispers into Louis's neck. "I'm sorry."
Louis rolls over in Zayn's arms and strokes a hand down his face, resting on his neck, thumb pressing into the soft space beneath his jaw. Louis squeezes his eyes shut. "Don't be. You weren't wrong."
"I shouldn't have said any of that, Lou."
"You weren't wrong," Louis repeats. His eyes are still closed.
Zayn rests a hand on Louis's hip, pushing up his jumper a bit to stroke at the skin there. "You're so much better than this. You're so much better than what you put yourself through."
Louis laughs softly, opens his eyes and stares into Zayn's. "Why won't you fall in love with me?"
It's their quiet joke, and it borders on too painful, too close to the truth.
Smiling sadly, Zayn pushes his hand up farther, fingers notching into the spaces between Louis's ribs. "We couldn't work, Lou, you know that. And then where would we be?"
"Where would I be, you mean," Louis smiles back.
Laughing, Zayn twitches his fingers, tickling. "Anyone would be lucky to be your best friend, or whatever the fuck I am."
"The gayest non-gay-together gay roommate, I think was how it was put most eloquently."
"Ah, yes. What an honour."
Louis shuffles closer into Zayn's warmth, presses his face into his neck. "Zayn."
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
"Mm. Love you too, Lou. You know that."
"And. You know. You deserve the best, too. You know that, right? Like. You know. Liam's just. It's just... delicate."
Zayn makes a quiet noise of protest. "We're focusing on your problems, today, babe."
"Okay. Well. You know, if you ever want to--"
"I know."
"Okay."
They lay there, pressed together, for a few more minutes until Zayn takes another breath. Louis tenses imperceptibly. He knows Zayn's been wanting to say something else, knows he wanted to get the apology out of the way first.
"Lou? About the kid? Harry?"
Louis sighs. "If you don't want me to, I won't."
Zayn's arms come around him tighter. "It's not that. I just. Be careful, yeah? I'm a bit tired of seeing you so hurt."
Suddenly, after all that's been said, Louis finally wants to cry. "I'll be careful. I promise."
Dry lips press against his forehead, ending the conversation. They stay curled up, curled together, two stupid boys with two stupid hearts against the world.
*
At 3:30, Louis finds himself sitting on a counter in the kitchen, swinging his legs back and forth, chattering aimlessly to the cooks. Well, to Harry.
"So then I was like, hey, arsehole, keep your filthy mitts off my pie! And he was like, hey, my bird here's starving, and I was like, yeah, mate, it doesn't look like it, and he was like--"
"Christ, Louis, shut up!" Niall bellows from behind him. Harry looks horribly amused, a pink smirk stretching his lips. Louis still really, really wants to lick him.
Louis says, "Rude, Niall."
Harry's still smiling at him, though, so he counts it as a win.
"Anyway, Harry," Louis continues. "What about you? What's up? Who are you? Are you a dangerous spy here to infiltrate our ranks? Are you a poet, by any chance? How old are you? Zayn and I have a bet running. He's guessing thirteen. If he wins, I may cry, Harry. Don't put that on your conscience."
Harry's laughing, now. "I, um. No, I'm not thirteen. I'm eighteen?" he says it like a question, like maybe he's looking for approval. Louis nods encouragingly. Harry talks so slowly. Louis finds himself leaning forward, chasing the words as they drop out of his stupid red mouth.
Harry continues, "I really like to bake, so this cooking lark is a bit of a challenge. But that's okay. I've only burnt myself three times today."
"Oh no!" Louis croons. "Where? Does it hurt? Shall I kiss it better?"
Harry winks, looking a bit out of his depth. "Maybe later, that might not be sanitary in the kitchen."
Louis waggles his eyebrows delightedly, as Niall violently sighs from the other side of the room. "Can't you wait until I'm gone for this?"
The back door slams and Zayn strolls in from the ally, smelling faintly of garbage and cigarettes. "What'd I miss," he mumbles.
"A bit of the good ol' Tomlinson mating ritual," Niall says.
Louis grins charmingly at Harry. "I haven't even thrown you my A-game yet," he says.
"Give me some warning when you do, I might need to wear looser trousers," Harry says back.
Oh, this is good, Louis thinks, and cuts his eyes to Zayn. Zayn, who's giving him a bit of a glare, a bit of a pity stare, with a muscle jumping in his jaw. Louis feels his smile drop a bit, and he looks down. Zayn sighs and comes over, wrapping his arm around Louis's shoulder.
"Steady on, sailor," Zayn says, and then whispers in his ear, "Just go slow, love." Louis nods and presses a kiss to his cheek.
Harry is watching them curiously, Louis notices. Let him wonder, for awhile. Slow it down.
*
It's a surprisingly busy night. Liam's answering phones madly and scribbling down reservations and sorting out table arrangements and trying to bar Zayn from sneaking out every hour for unsanctioned smoke breaks. Louis is running from table to table, delivering plates and thanking god he's charming enough to talk his way out of order mixups -- good thing the new kid is so cute -- and trying to decide if it's a bad idea or a good idea to try to fix his collapsing hair with butter. Zayn, by nature, operates on a less high-strung frequency, and his method of coping is sneering and shrugging. Louis likes to count his tips in front of Zayn's face on nights like this.
They close up at 11:30, directing their customers to the Chez Cowéll bar next door, and the small restaurant is finally silent.
"Haven't had a night like that in awhile," Liam remarks.
Louis looks around the empty room. "D'you think Simon's been advertising, or do you think there's some sort of sex-magnet coming off the jailbait in the kitchen?"
Liam and Zayn roll their eyes at him in unison, and Liam says, "We should probably check on him, actually."
The first thing they notice when they reach the kitchen is that Harry looks like he's been hit by a truck.
Zayn looks at him, and then Niall. "So how'd it go, lads?"
Niall has an exhausted flush on his cheeks and drops his forehead to the cool metal counter. "In two weeks, we will laugh about tonight. Two weeks."
Harry ducks his head, embarrassed. "I'm really sorry, Niall."
Niall shakes his head mutely and Louis jumps in, "Oh, Hazza, love, don't you get frown lines, now. You're fine. We all were disasters when we started. Hey, Niall, remember your first night? I thought Mary was about to kill you, I really did."
"Shut the fuck up, Louis," Niall mutters halfheartedly.
"No, seriously," Louis continues to Harry, "he set the eggplant parm on fire, right, and started screaming, ran out into the dining room, and hid behind Liam's podium. Then we all saw the smoke and poor Mary was in there trying to put out this bloody fire, right, and then she comes for Niall, right, and let's be clear here -- she's not a small woman -- so we have this hulked out chef coming after this scrawny Irish boy and--"
"Okay, Louis." Niall's decidedly unamused at the moment, Louis notices.
"Okay, okay, sorry, sorry. Just trying to make the poor little virgin feel better."
"Virgin?!" Harry exclaims. Niall and Liam snort a laugh as Louis hastily adds, "Virgin in the kitchen sense. Er. Cooking. Things. I mean, I don't know your personal life, love. Yet." He punctuates that with a lewd wink and Harry giggles.
Zayn makes a noise in his throat and heads for the alley, tugging his pack of Marbs from his back pocket. "Are we getting drinks, or what?"
"Rhetorical question," Niall says.
They follow Zayn out the door. Louis pulls back and walks next to Harry.
"So, really, how'd it go?"
Harry shrugs. "I mean, I obviously fucked up a lot, but, like..."
Louis smiles. "You didn't set any fires?"
Harry glances up at him, mouth twitching. "I didn't set any fires."
Nodding, Louis says, "Good, good. It'll be exponentially better tomorrow, don't worry about it."
They walk in silence for awhile, the pair of them trailing behind, letting the other boys lead the way.
"So," Harry starts.
Louis smiles to himself at the ground. "Yes?"
"So what's your deal? Are you a spy, poet, thirteen year old?" he says with a kind of sheepish laugh.
"Yes, all of those, actually. I'm quite talented for my age. Wily-wordsmith-wunderkind is the title I prefer."
"Just my type then," Harry says.
Louis glances up at him through his eyelashes. "That's worrisome, babe." After a pause, he adds, "I'm twenty, with no official title. Maybe waiter? But that's a shit title. Comic genius, perhaps. Or irresistible. That's a resume-starter, there. Louis Tomlinson, Irresistible."
"Yeah, no, I think that works," Harry laughs. "Don't want to lie on those things, anyway."
Louis beams. "Exactly!"
"So where are you from?"
Louis makes a considering noise. "Try to guess."
"Mm. Up north, somewhere. Sheff?"
"Ooh! Close. Doncaster. And, you, darling, are from Cheshire."
Harry raises his eyebrows. "And how, pray tell, did you do that?"
Louis winks. "Spy, remember?"
"Oi! Tommo, try not to give it away before you've even got a few pints in ya," Niall calls back to them from where he, Liam, and Zayn are standing in front of O'Shaunnessy's.
Louis sighs and mutters, "Sorry about them," to Harry.
"It's alright," Harry says with a quiet laugh.
*
Five pints later, Louis is pressed into a booth between the wall and a drunk Harry Styles. He's got his fingers curled in Harry's ringlets and he's got Harry's big dark eyes fixed somewhere below his nose. Niall's at the bar, charming the bartender and Liam and Zayn -- well. Louis has no idea where Liam and Zayn are. Good. Good Liam. Keep Zayn the downer away from Harry the charmer. Good job, Liam. Louis better remember to give him a big pat on the head for this one.
"You're well fit," Harry's whispering against his cheekbone and Louis can't hold back the giggle that comes out.
"Mr. Styles, are you trying to seduce me?" he tugs a bit on Harry's hair and feels the curve of his smile against his face.
"What if I was?" and his mouth is all but on Louis's ear now and it feels quite nice, actually, and Louis lets out a breath, pulls his hair again, just because.
"Louis." A startlingly sober voice cuts through whatever Harry's doing to his ear and this displeases Louis.
"Oh. Zayn's back," Louis sighs.
Harry pulls away from Louis. "Are you two...?"
Louis just rolls his eyes and looks up at Zayn. "What do you want, Dad?"
"We're leaving." Zayn doesn't look all the way angry, but he doesn't look pleased either.
Louis sighs again and shrugs at Harry, motioning for him to let Louis out of the booth. As he slides out, he leans into Zayn and says, "You do realise that it's my life and not yours, right?"
Zayn chuckles humourlessly. "Oh, if only that were true, Lou." Pulling Louis away from the table, Zayn turns back to Harry and says, "Sorry. Loverboy here's got a curfew. See you tomorrow, kid."
Harry waves halfheartedly, looking confused and a bit hurt. Liam and Niall appear back at the table, then, and Louis is glad. They'll explain, in hopefully a vague and palatable way. Or at least a way that doesn't make Louis sound like some sort of psycho, codependent, needy, clingy, pathetic, slut. Hopefully.
"'M not a slut!" Louis yells back to them, just in case.
"Jesus Christ," Zayn says.
*
When they get back to their flat, Louis tugs Zayn's arm. "Sleep with me."
Zayn stops and turns Louis to look at him. "Lou, no. You've got to get yourself sorted."
Louis is mostly sober now, not really that drunk to begin with and the cold walk with the cold Zayn stamped out whatever buzz he had going. "Zayn, please."
"No, Louis, you can't keep jumping from bed to bed and expect me to keep yours warm in the off-season." Zayn's not looking at him now, looking anywhere but. His jaw is clenching guiltily, uncomfortably.
Louis ignores whatever implication that holds and tugs again. "You know you want to. You know you sleep better with me anyway."
Zayn jerks away. "This isn't about me, this isn't about us, and you know that. This is about you and your fucked up sense of loneliness." He stops, takes a breath. "I don't want to have this conversation now. Go to bed. We'll talk in the morning."
"Are you mad at me?" Louis asks quietly, after a few moments of feeling like he's been punched in the stomach.
Zayn finally looks at him and sags against the wall. "No. No, Lou, I can never seem to get mad at you. I'm just tired."
Louis moves in and maneuvers himself under Zayn's arm, pushes himself tight against him. "Where did you and Liam disappear to?"
Zayn huffs a laugh into Louis's hair. "We danced a bit. He came out for a smoke with me."
"And?"
"And, fuck me, he thinks I'm in love with you."
Louis lets out a sigh. "What'd you say?"
"I think my spluttering protests didn't help the matter much."
"God, Zayn."
They're quiet for a few minutes, staring at their dark hallway, lost in their thoughts.
Finally, Louis says, "Do you want me to back off? Is that what some of this is about?"
Zayn doesn't answer for awhile, but he eventually says softly, "I don't know. Maybe."
Louis swallows, nods. "Okay." He brushes his hand down the side of Zayn's face and gives him a quick kiss. "It's okay. You're right, anyway. It's not fair to you. I'm not being fair to you."
Zayn closes his eyes. "Sleep well, Lou."
*
He doesn't, and Zayn doesn't either. They don't mention it. Louis is in the kitchen when Zayn stumbles in. "Tea?" Lou rasps to him. Zayn grunts and pops two pieces of bread in the toaster.
After a few minutes of silent chewing, drinking, and waking up, Zayn glances over at Louis. "About last night," he starts.
Setting his tea down and faking a smile, Louis holds up a hand to stop him. "Zayn, seriously. No explanation needed."
Zayn looks down and nods. "I just. It's stupid. And I'm sorry. We've known him for four years. He's seen how we are for four years and he thinks I'm in love with you."
Louis shrugs. "I mean, to be fair, you haven't seriously dated anyone in that time. And most people think we're at least fucking. And, oh, I don't know, you haven't done a fuckin' thing to make him believe that maybe, just maybe you love him?"
Zayn blinks. "What else could I have done?"
"Shit, Zayn. Ask him out without inviting me? Don't just bitch about me when you get him alone? You're an amazing person, and sometimes you only let me see that."
"I don't talk about you that much," Zayn grumbles.
"I seriously doubt that." Louis starts to lean in to hug him, but stops himself. Pulls back and gets up to put his dishes in the sink. "Ask him to do something after work tonight."
Zayn furrows his brow. "But we all do something after work."
Louis turns to stare at him. "Yes, Zayn, so ask him -- and only him -- to do something with you -- and only you -- after work tonight." His voice could not possibly contain more of the general you're a fucking idiot sentiment.
*
It's kind of a car-wreck to behold, actually. Louis, Niall, and Harry are sitting at a table in the dining room, pretending not to listen as Zayn corners Liam at his host's podium.
"Hey, um, Liam?"
Liam looks up and smiles at Zayn. "What's up?"
Zayn runs a hand through his hair and fidgets and generally looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. Great job, Zayn, Louis thinks. "Oh, I was just wondering, like, what you were up to after work tonight?"
Liam starts in on the reservation map and replies, "Are we getting drinks? I dunno. Hey, Lou, can you handle a table of eight?"
"Um, yeah," Louis says back and pulls an apologetic and annoyed face at Zayn's glare.
"This is painful," Harry whispers. Louis nods furtively.
Zayn presses on almost doggedly.
"So, anyway, um, I was wondering if, like, you weren't busy with stuff, if you'd like to, like, I dunno, get some pizza or something. With me. Tonight."
Pizza?! Harry mouths to Louis. Louis claps a hand over his eyes. God damn it, Zayn. Niall lets out a snort that he hastily turns into a cough.
Liam looks up, a bit startled. "Just us?"
Now Zayn is bright red, looking like he wants to die instantly. "I mean. Yes? If you want? Or not? Not is okay too?"
Shaking his head a bit bemusedly, Liam says, "No, no, I mean, no, that's fine. Sounds good?"
"Okay. Cool. Safe. See you then," Zayn says, looking around wildly. "And also, y'know, before then. Because we work. Together. Um. Cool. So yeah. Nice. Okay."
Louis can't resist any longer. "For fuck's sake, Malik!" he yells. Niall starts cackling madly, and Harry loses it too. Zayn's glare at them is murderous.
"It's been four fucking years," he hisses as he walks past them. Louis gives him an encouraging smack on the arse as he passes and Niall gets up to follow him into the back, leaving Harry and Louis alone at the table.
Harry leans back in his chair. "So I guess you guys aren't dating?"
Louis widens his eyes innocently. "Who?"
Harry gives him a look. "You and Zayn. Zayn who seems to hate me for only one reason I can think of."
"He doesn't hate you!" Louis protests. "He's just. Protective."
"Yeah, that's what Liam and Niall said last night, but, like, if he's not your boyfriend, there's no reason to come over all protective-boyfriend, you know?"
Louis rubs a hand over his face. "I just, how shall we say? I have not been known to make the best choices. Ever."
Harry nods slowly. "Ah, yes. I am dangerous. I am a bad, bad man, Louis. I deal guns on the weekend and cocaine during the working week. I break hearts as a hobby and also kick puppies."
Louis smiles. "You're a menace."
"That I am. So, hey, would you like to get pizza after work?" Harry says with a mocking lilt.
Tilting his head, considering, Louis says, "Take out the pizza and replace it with drinks, then yes."
"You drive a hard bargain, Tomlinson."
*
The night passes slowly. It's moderately busy, busy enough there's no time to take breaks in the kitchen, but not busy enough to make the hours rush by. Louis is antsy.
So is Zayn. He passes by Louis on their water rounds and hisses, "What the fuck do I do?"
Louis gives him an unimpressed look. "You've been friends with him for four years, mate, I think you can muster up some conversation."
Zayn opens his mouth, but Louis cuts him off. "And don't you dare talk about me."
Two hours later, Zayn stops him again. "All of my stories involve you; why the fuck is this my life?"
"Jesus, Zayn." Louis is balancing four plates for table six. "Just unclench and let the conversation flow. He knows we're friends, just don't talk about me in an I-secretly-love-him way."
"But apparently I do that without knowing it!"
"Whatever. I have a date with Harry, did I mention that?"
Now Zayn's the one throwing the unimpressed look Louis's way. "Don't shag him."
"Fuck off."
*
At closing, Niall is distinctly unimpressed at being ditched.
"You can come with me and Harry," Louis offers. Harry opens his mouth in protest and Louis throws him a wink.
"Oh fuck no, I like my porn with vaginas, thank you," Niall snarls and slams out the alley. Harry starts laughing, and Zayn lets out a chuckle, somewhat against his will.
"Is he actually mad?" Harry asks.
"Nah," Liam says. "He'd be more angry if everyone paired off while he was actually there."
They all exit together before splitting off. Louis watches Liam and Zayn walk off, arms bumping awkwardly. Zayn shoots him a panicked look and Louis just shakes his head. "Don't get too crazy, lads," he yells after them. He just gets two fingers in response.
He laughs and he and Harry start walking the opposite direction. "So, are they, like, a thing?" Harry asks.
Louis makes a frustrated noise. "They should be. Zayn's been so fucking gone for that boy since we met him when we were sixteen, you know? Like, he's a good-looking bloke, Zayn is, right, and he's turned down so many boys and just sat at home alone waiting for Liam. As if he would come through sheer force of pining."
Harry laughs a little. "You two never..."
Louis shrugs. "I mean, not really, no. He's been my best mate since forever, and when you're thirteen and figuring out you're gay and your best mate is too, there's obviously going to be some experimentation going on, y'know? But there was never anything real there. He's pretty much the most important thing in my life, though."
"And your family...?"
When did this turn into some sort of interview? Louis wonders. "I haven't seen or heard from my parents since I was sixteen. I have four little sisters. It's hard. Lottie, the oldest, keeps in touch, though. So I get to talk to them. I have some mates up in the Don that I stay with sometimes so I can see the girls." He shrugs. This is probably the least fun date conversation ever.
Harry looks unbearably sad. "Louis, that's... Shit. I'm so sorry. Was it the gay thing? Or. I mean. We don't have to talk about this."
Louis lets out a laugh. "I mean, I don't mind. Just. We could be talking about something fun. Like your curlies. Or your lips. Or your fingers."
Harry smiles. "Or your jawline, or your collarbones, or your cheekbones, or your eyelashes."
"All valid subjects! But what about you, what's your history? What's a little boy like you doing in big bad London?"
"Oh, like, my parents got divorced last year and my dad lives down here and, I dunno, it was either uni here or uni in Manchester, and I chose here." Harry kicks a rock on the ground.
"Oh! So you're a uni boy, are you? Are you going to talk all educated around me while I fix your meals?" Louis has honestly no idea what's coming out of his mouth. He dropped out of uni after the disastrous affair that left a sour taste for a long time. He'd rather not tell Harry about one of his grander fuckups.
Harry grins, rolls his eyes. "Hardly. I'm studying engineering, tentatively, and I have no bloody idea what's going on, so we'll see how long that lasts. Thinking of switching to English or something."
They've reached the bar, some trendy thing with overpriced cocktails, but they go in and grab a table in the corner. Louis orders something manly-sounding, and Harry gets a cosmo.
"Are you serious?" Louis is laughing.
Harry makes a face and shrugs. "Like you're not trying to impress me with your neat Jack."
"You caught me."
They sit there for two hours, ordering four drinks each before Louis protests -- My wallet can't handle this! -- and Harry takes the tab anyway, smiling slightly and shyly suggesting Louis get the next one, the next one emphasised. Louis grins at him.
Harry insists upon walking him home. "The perfect gentleman," Louis teases.
"Only the best for you, darling." Harry hesitantly reaches for Louis's hand, smiling at the ground when Louis laces their fingers together.
"I had a great time tonight," Louis says as they reach his door.
Harry looks down into his eyes. "I did, too. I, um. Think you're pretty great, Louis Tomlinson."
"I think you're pretty great, too, Harry Styles, and if you ask permission to kiss me, you'll get a knee in the balls."
Harry laughs and leans in, down, and fuck but Louis has a weakness for guys taller than him. His lips are as soft as they look when they press down on Louis's and Louis immediately opens his to Harry. It gets heated quickly; Louis's back against the door and Harry's hands running from his hips to his ribs and back down again. Louis keeps his fingers tightly in Harry's curls, pulling slightly, making Harry groan as he pulls back.
"I should go," Harry says into Louis's lips.
"You should," Louis agrees, tugging him back in.
Five minutes later, Harry pulls away fully, except for his hands solidly grasping Louis's hips. "Okay. Yes. I'm leaving."
Louis untangles his fingers and touches his swollen lips. Harry looks away, swaying forward slightly. Louis laughs, pushes him a little. "Go, you."
"Goodnight, Lou."
"Night, Haz."
Louis goes inside alone, but he's smiling.
*
Zayn's home when Louis walks in. He drops his keys off and curls up next to him on the couch.
"How'd it go?" Skins is on the telly. That's not a good sign, Louis thinks.
"Awkward." Zayn stares at Cassie not eating and Sid trying to figure her out.
Louis makes a sympathetic noise and cuddles closer. "What happened?"
"I dunno. He was confused, I guess. It was just like we were hanging out."
"You took him for pizza, dipshit. Did you, like, tell him how you feel? Or, like, flirt? Or anything?"
"No. I don't fucking know, Louis. I don't want to talk about this. How was your babysitting gig?"
"Shut up." Louis stretches his arms and tries to keep his smile from stretching his face. "It was nice. He's nice. And sweet. And funny. And smart. And. It was so... nice."
"Lou..." Zayn mutes the telly and Louis makes a noise of protest -- Maxxie's talking, Louis likes Maxxie.
"Why can't I have this? Let me have this. He's so lovely, Zayn. Get to know him. He's..." Louis trails off, sighing.
Zayn sounds disgusted, "God, you're a teenage girl."
Louis shrugs in agreement. "He's lovely," he says again.
Zayn tsks in his throat and unmutes the television. "Don't get serious, Louis. Honestly. Don't get serious."
Pulling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, Louis mutters, "Yeah, yeah," into his kneecaps.
Not getting serious is hard for Louis. Louis spends his entire life as far away from serious as he possibly can, but when someone could love him, when someone could be his, for him, it's hard. It's hard to be so unbalanced, and Louis craves that balance. Louis might, maybe, just possibly, be a classic romantic. He wants to be serious about someone, he wants someone to be serious about him. He just wants someone to stay.
*
The next two weeks pass in a blur. Harry takes him to the zoo on their day off, holds his hand and points to every animal that reminds him of Louis -- I'm not a bloody meerkat, Haz -- and buys him ice cream. He takes him out for dinner all around the city, nice restaurants, diners, sandwich shops. He takes him to movies, sappy movies they mock until the climax then they kiss in time with the actors. He takes him to his mate's concert -- Lou, wait, this is my favourite song, it's called Kiss Me -- and he wraps his arms around Louis's waist and sways them together. They kiss all the time, all the time, and Niall gets past his issues and starts thinking they're the cutest thing ever, making obnoxious cooing sounds whenever they brush hands or smile at each other during working hours.
Harry walks Louis home every night, and they kiss for what feels like hours, and sometimes Louis invites him up and Harry lays him out on the couch and presses him down, rocking them together. Invitations to spend the night almost drip off Louis's tongue every time. And every time he bites them back, swallows them down, remembering Zayn's warning, remembers to be careful, to be slow, to be casual. Harry never asks, never pushes, just smiles and kisses him one last time before showing himself out.
No matter how good Louis is, no matter how much he resists, Zayn always arches an eyebrow in his direction. Louis wants to scream, honestly. He's not had a shag in weeks and there's this gorgeous, sweet, adorable boy who wants him, who treats him like he's something special, and this stupid fucking guilt complex implemented by his best friend keeps him from following through.
He confronts Zayn, eventually.
"It's been three weeks, Zayn. Three weeks of dating this perfect boy and not letting him shag me. I don't think I did this even when I was fifteen." Louis is tapping his spoon against his saucer anxiously, his tea gone cold and his body jittery.
Zayn turns around from the stove where he's making eggs. "Okay? I mean. I don't quite follow."
"Let me shag him!" Louis bursts out.
Zayn raises his eyebrows. "Babe, I definitely am not hiding any chastity belt keys about me person. Shag him or don't, it's really, really not my call."
"You always look all judge-y!"
Sighing, Zayn scoops his eggs onto his toast and sits next to Louis. "I just. You know how you get. Everyone is so perfect and so lovely and so amazing and so wonderful. Until they aren't. Until you're crying and broken and fucked up for weeks. And I just don't know if I can handle that again."
Louis flinches sharply. "Oh. Okay. Um. Sorry if I've... annoyed you, I guess."
"Louis."
Louis gets up and pours his tea down the drain. "Whatever. Fine. I hear you. I'll just. Fine. I'll figure something out."
"Lou, come on. I just mean... You know I only want you to be happy, right? That's all I want."
Louis walks out of the kitchen, waving his hand behind him. "Yeah, yeah. I'll see you later. I'm going out."
*
It's 11am so Louis just goes to the coffee shop a block from their flat and orders a black coffee. He lets it sit in front of him; he hates coffee.
The barista comes by after a half hour. "Need a refill?" he asks with a smile.
Louis glances down at his full cup. "Not yet, mate, thanks."
The guy laughs a little. "Yeah, I noticed. You just, um, look a bit sad. I wondered if you wanted to talk or something?"
Oh. See, fuck Zayn. Louis can be casual. He shrugs, smiles a bit at the barista. "Sure."
Setting down the coffeepot, the guy pulls out the chair looking surprised, pleased. "I'm Jordan."
He's got dirty blonde hair that's artfully parted to the side and a big white smile. Louis likes him immediately. "I'm Louis."
"So, Louis. What brings you to this here coffee shop to not drink coffee?"
Grinning down at his mug, Louis says, "Would you believe me if I said boy troubles?"
Jordan gives him an obvious once over. "No, you look like you should never have boy troubles," he says with a wink.
Louis laughs. "Ah, flattery, my old friend."
"So, what's the problem; too many boys, too little time?"
It doesn't feel right to talk to Jordan about Harry. It feels cheap and manipulative and Harry doesn't deserve that. "No, it's stupid," he says instead. "Let's talk about you." Louis gives him a flirty smile and Jordan's mouth curls up.
"Well, I'm Jordan Henderson, aged twenty two, from Sunderland. I play football and pour coffee and on a good day, I get to talk to a pretty boy." He quirks an eyebrow at Louis.
"Jordan Henderson, the footballer from Sunderland. In London, because...?"
"West Ham reserves. I'm twenty two, it's never gonna work out to anything, but I'm enjoying it. Now you, Louis...?"
"Tomlinson, twenty, from Doncaster. I wanted to be a footballer until I was fourteen. Fancied myself the next Giggs, to be honest." Louis pulls a face, mocking himself.
Jordan scoffs. "United fan, then?"
Louis sits up a little straighter. "The one and only. And you?"
"I'll just say I'm the next Steven Gerrard." Jordan looks a bit challenging.
Chuckling wryly, Louis shakes his head. "I foresee problems between us, mate."
"Please. Respect him, if not the badge."
"I'll do no such thing!"
Louis ends up sitting there with Jordan, talking football and other stupid shit, until his phone buzzes with a text from Harry. "I have to get going," he says apologetically.
Jordan nods, stands. "Yeah, I should probably... get back to work." He gestures to the empty coffee shop. "Loads to do."
Louis laughs, hesitates. "This was fun. I'll come back."
Jordan smiles a little. "Hey, if your boy troubles aren't too... troubling, I'd love to get a number off you."
See? Louis can do casual. He casually scribbles his number on a napkin and casually hands it to Jordan. "I'll see you," he says as he walks out.
"You will," Jordan says after him.
So casual, that. Louis feels a sick sense of dread creeping up his spine.
*
Jordan calls the next day before Louis gets to work. They chat for a bit as Louis walks down the street, and as they're about to hang up, Jordan asks him out for drinks after work.
"Not a big deal, just some mates getting together. Would be cool if you came, but no worries if you can't."
Louis pauses for a second. He doesn't want to, is the thing. But he's too scared to fall in love with Harry. The fear is pounding through him, every day, every date, every kiss, every time Harry looks at him with those big sincere eyes. Louis just wants to hold him close, hold him tight, whisper, what are you going to do to me? When are you going to leave me? and it's all just so hard to remember to keep himself safe.
"Yeah, okay. Text me the address. I'll see you tonight."
Work passes slowly, Louis choking on guilt every time Harry touches his hip, every time Harry smiles at him, every time Harry kisses his cheek, pours him a glass of water, gives him a quick massage on his break. Finally at closing, as they're all pulling on jackets, Louis says, "I've actually got plans tonight."
Liam, Zayn, Niall, and Harry all look around at each other. No one says anything for a second.
"Wait," Niall finally says slowly. "One... two... three.. four... five... Nope. We're all here. Okay. Who have you got plans with?"
Louis fiddles with the zipper on his jacket. "Oh, um, nobody, I dunno. This guy I met at a coffee shop yesterday." The ground is just as interesting as his jacket. He stares at that a bit, digging his toe into the tiling.
Zayn coughs awkwardly. "Okay, mate, see you later then. Shall we go, lads?"
Liam and Niall agree hurriedly, quickly moving to stand behind Harry and forcing him to walk after Zayn, forcing him to move. Louis glances up at the last minute, and Harry's absolutely devastated expression is burnt into his brain.
*
Louis is not fun at all at the bar. He orders drink after drink and leans silently against the bartop. Jordan stays with him for awhile, trying to cajole some conversation out of him.
"Long day, Louis?" he says, pressing a vodka-cranberry into Louis's hand.
Louis shrugs. "Yeah, a bit."
"Yeah, me too. Training was rough, it was pissing down and muddy. And bloody cold, y'know. I'm starting this weekend, though!" Jordan smiles excitedly.
Louis nods. "Sounds fun, yeah. Good luck." After a beat he adds, "Who're you playing?" He's being borderline rude, and he knows it.
"Newcastle. God. I hope we fucking massacre them, y'know? Fucking despise those cunts."
"Right, right, yeah. Quite liked Shearer, though," Louis says absently.
"...Yeah, sure. Look, mate, are you alright? If you wanna leave, you know, that's fine. You look like you're about to be executed or something."
Blinking, Louis shakes himself. "I -- shit. Yeah, Jordan, I'm sorry. I'm actually seeing someone and I thought I could do the casual thing with him and have it be not, like, serious, but."
Jordan's lips press into a thin line, but he nods. "Sure, yeah. Alright, then. Maybe I'll see you 'round."
"Right. I'm sorry. It's not, like. I mean, you seem awesome. I'm really sorry. Good luck with the football." Louis sets his glass down and grabs his jacket.
He hopes Harry's still at the pub with the lads.
*
Louis practically runs to the pub, braving the rain, and what the rain is potentially almost certainly doing to his hair. He texts Zayn on the way, dont let haz leave im coming.
As he reaches the door, Zayn replies, yeah m8 but its not looking good here.
Fuck.
He wrenches open the door and immediately welcomes the warmth and dryness of walls and roofs and artificial lighting. Scanning his eyes around the room, he sees a head of dark curls with large hands wrapped around a pint. Niall's arm is around him and Liam's eyebrows are furrowed. Zayn's eyes find Louis's immediately and he pulls his lower lip into his mouth. Louis takes a deep breath.
He approaches the table. "Harry, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Harry looks up at him blearily, eyes red and mouth pulled down. "What, then, want to dump me properly now?"
Louis closes his eyes briefly. What was he thinking?
"No. No, Haz. Please come talk to me."
Harry looks to Niall a bit wildly and Louis notices that Liam and Niall are glaring at him, sadness with a hint of anger mixed in their expressions. "Please, Harry," he begs.
"Yeah, alright," he mutters, clumsily getting up. Louis leads him to the door, pulls him back outside into the rain.
"Fuck, Lou, can you be a bit more cliche?" Harry's jaw is clenched and he's staring at the streetlamp across the street, fingers pulling at each other insistently.
"Harry. I'm so sorry about today. And, like. No, fuck. I'm sorry about everything. I've been shit this entire time."
Harry looks at him sharply, then. "Have you been? Because I was having a really great time with you, Louis. Sorry if that's been shit for you."
"No, Harry. No, of course not. I -- fuck. I've been shit to you. I've not been... I've not been fair to you. I've had an amazing time. You've been amazing. I just. I really, really like you, and I know I fucked up. I really fucked up. But I need you to know, before I start in on the groveling and explanations, that nothing happened. Nothing happened with this guy yesterday or tonight and nothing ever will. I didn't do anything with him. I promise."
Harry stares at the ground, drawing patterns in the rainwater with his toe. "Okay."
Louis lets out a frantic breath. "Okay. Okay. So it's like this, right. It goes like, I meet someone, and I fall in -- not love, I guess, but, like hardcore infatuation, like. You know? I just get kind of obsessed and I can't think about anything else or anyone else and I just. Get attached. And I always end up getting hurt. Always. Every single fucking time, I get absolutely torn apart. And I drive everyone crazy -- mostly Zayn, honestly -- but I just turn into this disastrous mess and I can't snap out of it and it's just. I met you and I just like you so much and there are all these alarms going off in my head, you know? I just. Like, when you leave me, I'm going to collapse and I haven't got anyone to pick up the pieces, I guess. I haven't got a family, I haven't got friends outside of the four of you lot, I haven't got anyone but Zayn who really gets it. And Zayn... is getting tired. So I guess I just thought I would be careful with you. I wouldn't get attached and then when you lost interest or whatever, it wouldn't hurt as much? If that makes sense? But it didn't work out that way and now I'm attached and I've fucked it up. I just want you to know that I don't want to be with anyone but you and I want to hold your hand and kiss you and sleep with you and it's scary for me. So. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I've hurt you. More than anything, I'm sorry that I've hurt you."
He takes a breath and runs his hands over his face. Harry is silent. Louis closes his eyes and focuses on inhaling, exhaling. Thirty seconds pass.
"So," Harry begins slowly. "You were going to cheat on me because you like me too much?"
Louis looks up at him, then quickly back down, letting out a harsh laugh. "Something like that, yeah. I'm such a fucking idiot."
Harry nods. "Yeah. Why'd you decide I was going to leave you, anyway?"
"Everyone always seems to," Louis shrugs.
Harry looks a bit desperate now. "Louis."
Waving a hand, Louis says quickly, "No, fuck, I didn't mean it to come out that way. It's just. I mean, yeah. I guess it's true. Just not all pathetic-sounding like that. Fuck."
"I... okay." Harry runs a hand through his hair and lets out a sharp breath. "Okay. Okay, Louis. You can't do this again, yeah? Just. Be with me. Be with me and I'll be with you and we can just. Not worry about it. Just. Let's be together, for real. No stupid games."
Louis's eyes snap up to Harry's. "Yes. Yes. I'm so sorry. Yes. Together."
Harry nods. "Okay. Okay." He sounds like he's reassuring himself. Louis steps closer, tentatively takes Harry's hand. Harry's eyes squeeze shut and he reaches his other hand to pull Louis all the way into his body, into a hug.
"Not going to leave you," he whispers into Louis's hair.
Louis grips him tightly and clenches his jaw. "Yeah."
Pulling back, Harry's eyes are red again. He raises his hands to Louis's face, holds his jaw carefully. "I'm not." He leans down and presses soft kisses to Louis's lips, his eyelids, his cheeks.
Louis lets out a choked laugh. "I think you're pretty great, Harry Styles."
Harry smiles faintly. "I think you're pretty great, too, Louis Tomlinson."
*
Harry agrees to go home with Louis and they're both smiling when they come in from the rain. Liam's forehead relaxes and Niall shakes his head with a smile.
"Was rootin' for ya, Tommo," he says.
Louis laughs. "Thanks, mate, kinda hoping for meself, too."
He looks to Zayn, trying to convey with his eyes that it's okay, they're okay, he's gonna be okay. Zayn nods, smiles. "Be good to him, Haz. And when he pisses you the fuck off, let me know, and we'll figure something out." He winks at Harry and Harry lights up, looks pleased as hell.
"Right, fuck you, if you come home tonight, we're going to fuck as loud as possible right outside your room," Louis says.
Zayn shudders. Liam glances over at him, and says, "You could. Um. You could come stay at mine, if you like."
Louis beams. "Fantastic! Orgasms for everyone! Niall, I hope you've been resting your wrist, because it should be a busy night."
"Oh, fuck off and get laid, you've been a bitch for weeks."
Louis blows him a kiss. "Love you all, have fun, be safe, wear a condom!"
Harry's laughing, rolling his eyes, grabbing his hand, and pulling him out the door. They get outside and Harry wraps his arm around Louis's shoulders and tugs him close. He presses his mouth to Louis's ear and whispers, "You're well fit."
Louis leans into the weight of his arm and looks up at him. "Mr. Styles, are you trying to seduce me?"
pairing(s): louis tomlinson/harry styles, zayn malik/liam payne. (very very brief louis tomlinson/jordan henderson, and vague louis/zayn codependent best friend situation.)
rating: Rish
word count: 10,200ish.
disclaimer: hilariously untrue.
summary: AU. louis is kind of a mess and harry is kind of perfect and zayn is kind of dumb and protective and they all work in a restaurant sometimes.
notes: my creative writing major is sobbing at the fact the first thing i've written in months is ten thousand words of one direction fanfiction. anyway. this is just something silly that i had a lot of fun doing. entirely for estuve, without whom i'd be nothing, as usual, standard dedication, love her. also many thanks and love to: moderns, wanderingfound, and my coworker (as weird as that sounds.) big love, y'all. xx
830 staff meeting m8 better set sum alarms!!!
Louis gets the text at 1am, just after his third drink and his third phone number. He groans loudly, loudly enough that the boy he's dancing with looks up -- and then down at his crotch -- in alarm.
That's embarrassing. Louis raises his eyebrows at him and shakes his head slowly, with a bit of his patented you wish, mate smile.
"Sorry, darlin'," he yells over the music. "Gotta run." He gives the boy -- not his type at all: a bit shorter than him, a bit uglier than him -- a cheeky pat on the arse and melts away.
Zayn's still at the bar with a fag behind his ear and a Jack on the rocks in his hand.
"Niall text you?" Louis sneaks up behind him and shouts in his ear. The fag falls down as Zayn jumps about six feet. Louis laughs and tickles his side before leaning in and resting his head on his shoulder.
Zayn quirks an eyebrow. "About the bloody fucking meeting at shit-o-clock in the goddamn morning?" Louis nods, pulls a face. "Liam did."
"Ooooh, Liam did," Louis drawls delightedly, waggling his eyebrows.
"You're a maniac. Let's roll. Unless you're pulling?" Zayn's already standing up, patting his pockets and pulling the cig from his collar where it fell. It's between his lips before his feet are fully on the ground and Louis rolls his eyes.
He follows Zayn towards the door, hopping behind him, still buzzing from the music and drinks. "Not tonight! No one's as gorgeous and mysterious as you, my love, and you continually break my heart." He gives a little tug on Zayn's beltloop, knocking their hips together.
Zayn smiles and wraps his arm around Louis's shoulders. "Good lad. Finally recognising what's right in front of you."
Louis pouts. "I recognised the first day I met you, with those eyes and lips and--"
Zayn laughs. "Louis, you whore."
"I just want a shag! Why is that so bloody hard? We're in Camden for christ's sake! Is it me, Zany-Zayn? Am I so horribly unattractive that every boy within the entire city of London is repulsed by me?" Louis throws in some sniffles, too, for effect.
Laughing again, Zayn pulls him in closer and presses his mouth to Louis's ear. "Don't talk bollocks, darling, you know you're absolutely to die for."
The night is unseasonably chilled for early September and they walk entwined, their sides pressed together and legs moving in unison, until they reach their flat. Louis digs in Zayn's pocket for the key, groping more than may be strictly necessary. Zayn shakes his head with a smile.
"Sleep with me tonight," Louis says.
"Lou."
Louis sighs. "No funny business, I swear. Just. Sleep with me?"
Zayn pulls back a few inches, looks Louis in the eye. He nods. "Yeah, Lou. Let's sleep." He pulls away and heads for Louis's bedroom, pulling his shirt up over his head on the way. Louis averts his eyes because he knows he should and veers left into the bathroom.
He loves Zayn, he does, but sometimes Zayn knows him too well for either of their own good.
*
Sunlight comes before either of them are ready, beating down through the sheets, heating their bodies. Louis raises his head from where it was pressed against Zayn's heartbeat, cringing a little at the tacky stick of sweat everywhere their bodies touch.
"Zayn." He shakes Zayn's shoulder. "Zayn!"
"Fuck off," is the muffled reply.
"Zayn! It's 7:45, you have to get up and style that gorgeous mane of yours."
"Get out from between my legs, Louis. Christ." Raising his head slightly, Zayn bucks his hips up, trying to knock Louis away. Louis grins and rolls his down, pressing his morning wood against Zayn's hip.
"Fucking hell," is all Zayn says as he pushes him off and rolls out of bed. Standing up and looking down at Louis sprawled across the sheets, he shakes his head. "You need a boyfriend, like, yesterday."
Louis gazes up at him and smiles. He knows he looks good; he knows he looks like he's just been fucked. He knows that Zayn likes it. "Make me tea, hon." He bats his eyelashes.
Zayn shakes his head again. "You're such a cunt. Get dressed, you slut."
*
At least Louis can take comfort in the fact that Niall looks rougher than he does.
"Don't say a word," is spat out before Louis even has a chance to open his mouth. He settles for smiling lovingly. Niall throws him a dirty look and a harsh pinch to the nipple.
"Oi! Uncalled for!"
Zayn snorts into his coffee. "It's never uncalled for, Lou."
They're piled into the tiny breakroom of the world-famous and prestigious Chez Cowéll, upscale cafe and eatery. Or so Simon would like them all to believe as they pawn off tiny pretentious servings to the handful of patrons who have heard of them and can afford it.
Zayn sprawls out on one of the three chairs in the room. Niall curls up in another. Louis bounds around, messing up their hair as Liam walks in.
"Looking fresh as ever, Liam my boy!" Louis exclaims, giving him a quick hug.
Liam smiles back curiously. "Did you get laid?" he asks.
Zayn groans. "Don't get him started."
Louis plops down on Zayn's lap and throws his arms around his neck. "Liiiiiiii-yuuum, no one will shag me. No one in the entire country will shag me. I am unshaggable. I am going to die alone and celibate with no one but my pet Zayn to love me."
Liam raises his eyebrows. "You two are the gayest non-gay-together gay roommates I've ever met."
"He's a bloody albatross," Zayn says.
Louis mock-gasps. "Words hurt, Malik!"
"Your bony arse is what hurts, mate."
Niall emerges from his dazed morning-after stupor to laugh in his mad Irish cackle. "Louis's bony arse!" He curls up again, his face pressed into his knees, shoulders still shaking. "Bony arse," he repeats to himself.
Liam, Zayn, and Louis exchange glances. "Are you high?" Liam finally asks, hesitantly.
Simon walks in as the question hangs in the air and Louis swallows his laughter while Niall wipes his eyes discreetly.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice, lads," he says. There's a boy behind him, Louis notices.
Simon continues, "Now, as you know, I have a very strict no-drugs-on-the-premises rule at Chez Cowéll. One of your coworkers broke it, and unfortunately I had to let her go."
Niall jerks his head up at that. "You fired Cher?!"
Louis opens his mouth to protest. Cher was the only one who knew where to get the good pills, the kind that make him happy and bright eyed without the manic energy that tends to follow. She also made him quesadillas. Pity, that.
"She was doing lines on the toilet seat in the customer bathroom, Horan. Of course I bloody fired her."
Oh well. Louis still has her number. Hopefully she won't be bitter about this and cut him off.
"Anyway. I've hired a new cook. Niall, you'll be training him today -- I hope you don't mind coming in a few hours early." Simon pulls the boy from behind him. Louis doesn't quite look at him, yet. He's scrolling through his phone, trying to remember what pejorative he drunkenly saved Cher's number under.
"Oi! A few hours meaning when, exactly?"
Simon glances at his watch. "Oh, how about right after we're done here?"
Niall's silent. Fuming, Louis expects.
"So. This is Harry. He's the son of a mate and worked in a bakery for a few years. You should all get on famously, et cetera et cetera. Have fun. Niall, you and Harry can work in the kitchen this morning and get him all set up and prepped. Tommo, Malik, and Payne -- I expect you all here no later than 3:30. See you then." Simon turns on his heel and is out the door, leaving the skinny boy beside him swaying a bit in his wake.
They all stare at him.
He's got big scared eyes and big red lips and big brown curls and Louis wants to lick him.
He clears his throat. "So. Um. I'm Harry."
*
Zayn, Liam, and Louis go out for breakfast after the farce of a staff meeting. They settle on Val's, the greasy diner in between both their flats, and as soon as they sit in their booth, Louis faceplants on the table.
"That might be a bit not clean, Lou," Liam says mildly.
"I love him," Louis moans.
Zayn huffs a sigh. "I'm shocked," he says dryly.
"He's perfect."
Zayn opens a menu uselessly -- they know what they're ordering. "You don't know him, mate. He might think your arse is too big."
Liam raises his eyebrows from across the table. Louis turns his head to look at him from its position on his arms.
"Come again?"
Liam sighs a tired laugh. "He's jealous. Lou, I'm sure if he's into blokes, you've a good a chance as any."
"Jealous?" Zayn spits. "More like there are two possible outcomes here. One, this kid -- Yes, Lou, kid, jesus, he can't be more than 18 -- will be perfect for about two weeks. A month, maybe. Then he'll inevitably fuck up and fuck someone else or have a secret girlfriend or boyfriend or Louis will be the secret boyfriend and it'll all come out and I'll have to deal with the bloody shitshow that follows. Or two, you'll fuck him before you know anything about him then he'll turn out to be annoying or stupid or too serious or godforbid a poet and we'll all have to deal with the fallout in the form of Louis Tomlinson, supreme bitch."
Louis sits up, stares at Zayn. Liam looks down at his lap, twists his fingers into knots.
"I'm not very hungry," Louis says slowly. "Enjoy." He slides out from the booth and runs his fingers through his dirty hair.
"Lou..."
Louis waves Zayn off. "It's fine. I get it. I either get fucked over or I'm an asshole. I'll see you at home. Bye, Li."
"Bye, Lou," Liam says softly.
*
The thing is, Zayn's not wrong. It's how it happens. Every time, it's how it happens.
There was Alex Walker, two years ago. The token straight-boy crush: the unattainable crush that was so hopelessly crushing. Louis would have done anything for him. Anything for his attention, that smile. It was so cliche, so cliche that it makes him sick to think about it a little. They met at a magazine stand, Alex buying Mojo and Louis buying NME and they bantered and got coffee and it was so, so promising for two months. Then Louis did what Louis always seems to do and got blindingly drunk with him and told him everything and pushed his hands up the line of his hips and smiled into his neck, and. Felt two hands against his shoulders, pushing back, pushing away. Saw the sad, uncomfortable smile. Heard the usual we should get you home, mate. They stayed friends until Louis couldn't take it anymore. He saw the same sad smile one more time, and then never again.
Then there was Axel Sturridge, the absolute whirlwind. He was twenty six years and six and a half feet of sex and drugs and tattoos and he chewed Louis up in three months. Left him covered in lovebites and stupid eyeliner, fucked out and wrung out and strung out. There weren't any sad smiles, this time. Just Louis walking in to a bedroom occupied by Axel and two other men.
There was Professor Summers, but that was never meant to happen. That was Louis with an infatuation that went too far and ended with a good grade, nasty rumours, cold shoulders, and a cold wedding ring.
There was Danny Anderson, last year. That lasted six months. A record, for Louis. That was sweet and soft and unexpectedly dirty and wonderful and Louis was so in love he couldn't see straight. He held Danny's hand and whispered his thoughts in his ear. Danny held him at night and Louis made him burnt unidentified food in the morning and they kissed everywhere and took pictures and changed their facebook statuses and it was a Relationship. It was five months of perfect and one month of distance and then Danny met Alexa and it was over. There were no sad smiles, there, either, just breakdowns and breaking hearts and breaking plates.
There are more, too, is the sad fact. There are more fuckups and fuckoffs. And he always comes back to Zayn. He always comes back, crawling under Zayn's arm, Zayn's covers, crying into Zayn's neck, pressing his body against Zayn's. Zayn, who understands. Zayn, who's been in love with the same boy since he was sixteen. Zayn, who always holds him close and whispers stupid loving shit in his ear and doesn't let go. Zayn, who deals with his shitshows every single time. Zayn, who knows him too well, too well for it to be healthy.
Louis doesn't like to sleep alone.
*
Zayn comes home two hours later and curls up behind Louis in his bed. "I'm sorry," he whispers into Louis's neck. "I'm sorry."
Louis rolls over in Zayn's arms and strokes a hand down his face, resting on his neck, thumb pressing into the soft space beneath his jaw. Louis squeezes his eyes shut. "Don't be. You weren't wrong."
"I shouldn't have said any of that, Lou."
"You weren't wrong," Louis repeats. His eyes are still closed.
Zayn rests a hand on Louis's hip, pushing up his jumper a bit to stroke at the skin there. "You're so much better than this. You're so much better than what you put yourself through."
Louis laughs softly, opens his eyes and stares into Zayn's. "Why won't you fall in love with me?"
It's their quiet joke, and it borders on too painful, too close to the truth.
Smiling sadly, Zayn pushes his hand up farther, fingers notching into the spaces between Louis's ribs. "We couldn't work, Lou, you know that. And then where would we be?"
"Where would I be, you mean," Louis smiles back.
Laughing, Zayn twitches his fingers, tickling. "Anyone would be lucky to be your best friend, or whatever the fuck I am."
"The gayest non-gay-together gay roommate, I think was how it was put most eloquently."
"Ah, yes. What an honour."
Louis shuffles closer into Zayn's warmth, presses his face into his neck. "Zayn."
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
"Mm. Love you too, Lou. You know that."
"And. You know. You deserve the best, too. You know that, right? Like. You know. Liam's just. It's just... delicate."
Zayn makes a quiet noise of protest. "We're focusing on your problems, today, babe."
"Okay. Well. You know, if you ever want to--"
"I know."
"Okay."
They lay there, pressed together, for a few more minutes until Zayn takes another breath. Louis tenses imperceptibly. He knows Zayn's been wanting to say something else, knows he wanted to get the apology out of the way first.
"Lou? About the kid? Harry?"
Louis sighs. "If you don't want me to, I won't."
Zayn's arms come around him tighter. "It's not that. I just. Be careful, yeah? I'm a bit tired of seeing you so hurt."
Suddenly, after all that's been said, Louis finally wants to cry. "I'll be careful. I promise."
Dry lips press against his forehead, ending the conversation. They stay curled up, curled together, two stupid boys with two stupid hearts against the world.
*
At 3:30, Louis finds himself sitting on a counter in the kitchen, swinging his legs back and forth, chattering aimlessly to the cooks. Well, to Harry.
"So then I was like, hey, arsehole, keep your filthy mitts off my pie! And he was like, hey, my bird here's starving, and I was like, yeah, mate, it doesn't look like it, and he was like--"
"Christ, Louis, shut up!" Niall bellows from behind him. Harry looks horribly amused, a pink smirk stretching his lips. Louis still really, really wants to lick him.
Louis says, "Rude, Niall."
Harry's still smiling at him, though, so he counts it as a win.
"Anyway, Harry," Louis continues. "What about you? What's up? Who are you? Are you a dangerous spy here to infiltrate our ranks? Are you a poet, by any chance? How old are you? Zayn and I have a bet running. He's guessing thirteen. If he wins, I may cry, Harry. Don't put that on your conscience."
Harry's laughing, now. "I, um. No, I'm not thirteen. I'm eighteen?" he says it like a question, like maybe he's looking for approval. Louis nods encouragingly. Harry talks so slowly. Louis finds himself leaning forward, chasing the words as they drop out of his stupid red mouth.
Harry continues, "I really like to bake, so this cooking lark is a bit of a challenge. But that's okay. I've only burnt myself three times today."
"Oh no!" Louis croons. "Where? Does it hurt? Shall I kiss it better?"
Harry winks, looking a bit out of his depth. "Maybe later, that might not be sanitary in the kitchen."
Louis waggles his eyebrows delightedly, as Niall violently sighs from the other side of the room. "Can't you wait until I'm gone for this?"
The back door slams and Zayn strolls in from the ally, smelling faintly of garbage and cigarettes. "What'd I miss," he mumbles.
"A bit of the good ol' Tomlinson mating ritual," Niall says.
Louis grins charmingly at Harry. "I haven't even thrown you my A-game yet," he says.
"Give me some warning when you do, I might need to wear looser trousers," Harry says back.
Oh, this is good, Louis thinks, and cuts his eyes to Zayn. Zayn, who's giving him a bit of a glare, a bit of a pity stare, with a muscle jumping in his jaw. Louis feels his smile drop a bit, and he looks down. Zayn sighs and comes over, wrapping his arm around Louis's shoulder.
"Steady on, sailor," Zayn says, and then whispers in his ear, "Just go slow, love." Louis nods and presses a kiss to his cheek.
Harry is watching them curiously, Louis notices. Let him wonder, for awhile. Slow it down.
*
It's a surprisingly busy night. Liam's answering phones madly and scribbling down reservations and sorting out table arrangements and trying to bar Zayn from sneaking out every hour for unsanctioned smoke breaks. Louis is running from table to table, delivering plates and thanking god he's charming enough to talk his way out of order mixups -- good thing the new kid is so cute -- and trying to decide if it's a bad idea or a good idea to try to fix his collapsing hair with butter. Zayn, by nature, operates on a less high-strung frequency, and his method of coping is sneering and shrugging. Louis likes to count his tips in front of Zayn's face on nights like this.
They close up at 11:30, directing their customers to the Chez Cowéll bar next door, and the small restaurant is finally silent.
"Haven't had a night like that in awhile," Liam remarks.
Louis looks around the empty room. "D'you think Simon's been advertising, or do you think there's some sort of sex-magnet coming off the jailbait in the kitchen?"
Liam and Zayn roll their eyes at him in unison, and Liam says, "We should probably check on him, actually."
The first thing they notice when they reach the kitchen is that Harry looks like he's been hit by a truck.
Zayn looks at him, and then Niall. "So how'd it go, lads?"
Niall has an exhausted flush on his cheeks and drops his forehead to the cool metal counter. "In two weeks, we will laugh about tonight. Two weeks."
Harry ducks his head, embarrassed. "I'm really sorry, Niall."
Niall shakes his head mutely and Louis jumps in, "Oh, Hazza, love, don't you get frown lines, now. You're fine. We all were disasters when we started. Hey, Niall, remember your first night? I thought Mary was about to kill you, I really did."
"Shut the fuck up, Louis," Niall mutters halfheartedly.
"No, seriously," Louis continues to Harry, "he set the eggplant parm on fire, right, and started screaming, ran out into the dining room, and hid behind Liam's podium. Then we all saw the smoke and poor Mary was in there trying to put out this bloody fire, right, and then she comes for Niall, right, and let's be clear here -- she's not a small woman -- so we have this hulked out chef coming after this scrawny Irish boy and--"
"Okay, Louis." Niall's decidedly unamused at the moment, Louis notices.
"Okay, okay, sorry, sorry. Just trying to make the poor little virgin feel better."
"Virgin?!" Harry exclaims. Niall and Liam snort a laugh as Louis hastily adds, "Virgin in the kitchen sense. Er. Cooking. Things. I mean, I don't know your personal life, love. Yet." He punctuates that with a lewd wink and Harry giggles.
Zayn makes a noise in his throat and heads for the alley, tugging his pack of Marbs from his back pocket. "Are we getting drinks, or what?"
"Rhetorical question," Niall says.
They follow Zayn out the door. Louis pulls back and walks next to Harry.
"So, really, how'd it go?"
Harry shrugs. "I mean, I obviously fucked up a lot, but, like..."
Louis smiles. "You didn't set any fires?"
Harry glances up at him, mouth twitching. "I didn't set any fires."
Nodding, Louis says, "Good, good. It'll be exponentially better tomorrow, don't worry about it."
They walk in silence for awhile, the pair of them trailing behind, letting the other boys lead the way.
"So," Harry starts.
Louis smiles to himself at the ground. "Yes?"
"So what's your deal? Are you a spy, poet, thirteen year old?" he says with a kind of sheepish laugh.
"Yes, all of those, actually. I'm quite talented for my age. Wily-wordsmith-wunderkind is the title I prefer."
"Just my type then," Harry says.
Louis glances up at him through his eyelashes. "That's worrisome, babe." After a pause, he adds, "I'm twenty, with no official title. Maybe waiter? But that's a shit title. Comic genius, perhaps. Or irresistible. That's a resume-starter, there. Louis Tomlinson, Irresistible."
"Yeah, no, I think that works," Harry laughs. "Don't want to lie on those things, anyway."
Louis beams. "Exactly!"
"So where are you from?"
Louis makes a considering noise. "Try to guess."
"Mm. Up north, somewhere. Sheff?"
"Ooh! Close. Doncaster. And, you, darling, are from Cheshire."
Harry raises his eyebrows. "And how, pray tell, did you do that?"
Louis winks. "Spy, remember?"
"Oi! Tommo, try not to give it away before you've even got a few pints in ya," Niall calls back to them from where he, Liam, and Zayn are standing in front of O'Shaunnessy's.
Louis sighs and mutters, "Sorry about them," to Harry.
"It's alright," Harry says with a quiet laugh.
*
Five pints later, Louis is pressed into a booth between the wall and a drunk Harry Styles. He's got his fingers curled in Harry's ringlets and he's got Harry's big dark eyes fixed somewhere below his nose. Niall's at the bar, charming the bartender and Liam and Zayn -- well. Louis has no idea where Liam and Zayn are. Good. Good Liam. Keep Zayn the downer away from Harry the charmer. Good job, Liam. Louis better remember to give him a big pat on the head for this one.
"You're well fit," Harry's whispering against his cheekbone and Louis can't hold back the giggle that comes out.
"Mr. Styles, are you trying to seduce me?" he tugs a bit on Harry's hair and feels the curve of his smile against his face.
"What if I was?" and his mouth is all but on Louis's ear now and it feels quite nice, actually, and Louis lets out a breath, pulls his hair again, just because.
"Louis." A startlingly sober voice cuts through whatever Harry's doing to his ear and this displeases Louis.
"Oh. Zayn's back," Louis sighs.
Harry pulls away from Louis. "Are you two...?"
Louis just rolls his eyes and looks up at Zayn. "What do you want, Dad?"
"We're leaving." Zayn doesn't look all the way angry, but he doesn't look pleased either.
Louis sighs again and shrugs at Harry, motioning for him to let Louis out of the booth. As he slides out, he leans into Zayn and says, "You do realise that it's my life and not yours, right?"
Zayn chuckles humourlessly. "Oh, if only that were true, Lou." Pulling Louis away from the table, Zayn turns back to Harry and says, "Sorry. Loverboy here's got a curfew. See you tomorrow, kid."
Harry waves halfheartedly, looking confused and a bit hurt. Liam and Niall appear back at the table, then, and Louis is glad. They'll explain, in hopefully a vague and palatable way. Or at least a way that doesn't make Louis sound like some sort of psycho, codependent, needy, clingy, pathetic, slut. Hopefully.
"'M not a slut!" Louis yells back to them, just in case.
"Jesus Christ," Zayn says.
*
When they get back to their flat, Louis tugs Zayn's arm. "Sleep with me."
Zayn stops and turns Louis to look at him. "Lou, no. You've got to get yourself sorted."
Louis is mostly sober now, not really that drunk to begin with and the cold walk with the cold Zayn stamped out whatever buzz he had going. "Zayn, please."
"No, Louis, you can't keep jumping from bed to bed and expect me to keep yours warm in the off-season." Zayn's not looking at him now, looking anywhere but. His jaw is clenching guiltily, uncomfortably.
Louis ignores whatever implication that holds and tugs again. "You know you want to. You know you sleep better with me anyway."
Zayn jerks away. "This isn't about me, this isn't about us, and you know that. This is about you and your fucked up sense of loneliness." He stops, takes a breath. "I don't want to have this conversation now. Go to bed. We'll talk in the morning."
"Are you mad at me?" Louis asks quietly, after a few moments of feeling like he's been punched in the stomach.
Zayn finally looks at him and sags against the wall. "No. No, Lou, I can never seem to get mad at you. I'm just tired."
Louis moves in and maneuvers himself under Zayn's arm, pushes himself tight against him. "Where did you and Liam disappear to?"
Zayn huffs a laugh into Louis's hair. "We danced a bit. He came out for a smoke with me."
"And?"
"And, fuck me, he thinks I'm in love with you."
Louis lets out a sigh. "What'd you say?"
"I think my spluttering protests didn't help the matter much."
"God, Zayn."
They're quiet for a few minutes, staring at their dark hallway, lost in their thoughts.
Finally, Louis says, "Do you want me to back off? Is that what some of this is about?"
Zayn doesn't answer for awhile, but he eventually says softly, "I don't know. Maybe."
Louis swallows, nods. "Okay." He brushes his hand down the side of Zayn's face and gives him a quick kiss. "It's okay. You're right, anyway. It's not fair to you. I'm not being fair to you."
Zayn closes his eyes. "Sleep well, Lou."
*
He doesn't, and Zayn doesn't either. They don't mention it. Louis is in the kitchen when Zayn stumbles in. "Tea?" Lou rasps to him. Zayn grunts and pops two pieces of bread in the toaster.
After a few minutes of silent chewing, drinking, and waking up, Zayn glances over at Louis. "About last night," he starts.
Setting his tea down and faking a smile, Louis holds up a hand to stop him. "Zayn, seriously. No explanation needed."
Zayn looks down and nods. "I just. It's stupid. And I'm sorry. We've known him for four years. He's seen how we are for four years and he thinks I'm in love with you."
Louis shrugs. "I mean, to be fair, you haven't seriously dated anyone in that time. And most people think we're at least fucking. And, oh, I don't know, you haven't done a fuckin' thing to make him believe that maybe, just maybe you love him?"
Zayn blinks. "What else could I have done?"
"Shit, Zayn. Ask him out without inviting me? Don't just bitch about me when you get him alone? You're an amazing person, and sometimes you only let me see that."
"I don't talk about you that much," Zayn grumbles.
"I seriously doubt that." Louis starts to lean in to hug him, but stops himself. Pulls back and gets up to put his dishes in the sink. "Ask him to do something after work tonight."
Zayn furrows his brow. "But we all do something after work."
Louis turns to stare at him. "Yes, Zayn, so ask him -- and only him -- to do something with you -- and only you -- after work tonight." His voice could not possibly contain more of the general you're a fucking idiot sentiment.
*
It's kind of a car-wreck to behold, actually. Louis, Niall, and Harry are sitting at a table in the dining room, pretending not to listen as Zayn corners Liam at his host's podium.
"Hey, um, Liam?"
Liam looks up and smiles at Zayn. "What's up?"
Zayn runs a hand through his hair and fidgets and generally looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. Great job, Zayn, Louis thinks. "Oh, I was just wondering, like, what you were up to after work tonight?"
Liam starts in on the reservation map and replies, "Are we getting drinks? I dunno. Hey, Lou, can you handle a table of eight?"
"Um, yeah," Louis says back and pulls an apologetic and annoyed face at Zayn's glare.
"This is painful," Harry whispers. Louis nods furtively.
Zayn presses on almost doggedly.
"So, anyway, um, I was wondering if, like, you weren't busy with stuff, if you'd like to, like, I dunno, get some pizza or something. With me. Tonight."
Pizza?! Harry mouths to Louis. Louis claps a hand over his eyes. God damn it, Zayn. Niall lets out a snort that he hastily turns into a cough.
Liam looks up, a bit startled. "Just us?"
Now Zayn is bright red, looking like he wants to die instantly. "I mean. Yes? If you want? Or not? Not is okay too?"
Shaking his head a bit bemusedly, Liam says, "No, no, I mean, no, that's fine. Sounds good?"
"Okay. Cool. Safe. See you then," Zayn says, looking around wildly. "And also, y'know, before then. Because we work. Together. Um. Cool. So yeah. Nice. Okay."
Louis can't resist any longer. "For fuck's sake, Malik!" he yells. Niall starts cackling madly, and Harry loses it too. Zayn's glare at them is murderous.
"It's been four fucking years," he hisses as he walks past them. Louis gives him an encouraging smack on the arse as he passes and Niall gets up to follow him into the back, leaving Harry and Louis alone at the table.
Harry leans back in his chair. "So I guess you guys aren't dating?"
Louis widens his eyes innocently. "Who?"
Harry gives him a look. "You and Zayn. Zayn who seems to hate me for only one reason I can think of."
"He doesn't hate you!" Louis protests. "He's just. Protective."
"Yeah, that's what Liam and Niall said last night, but, like, if he's not your boyfriend, there's no reason to come over all protective-boyfriend, you know?"
Louis rubs a hand over his face. "I just, how shall we say? I have not been known to make the best choices. Ever."
Harry nods slowly. "Ah, yes. I am dangerous. I am a bad, bad man, Louis. I deal guns on the weekend and cocaine during the working week. I break hearts as a hobby and also kick puppies."
Louis smiles. "You're a menace."
"That I am. So, hey, would you like to get pizza after work?" Harry says with a mocking lilt.
Tilting his head, considering, Louis says, "Take out the pizza and replace it with drinks, then yes."
"You drive a hard bargain, Tomlinson."
*
The night passes slowly. It's moderately busy, busy enough there's no time to take breaks in the kitchen, but not busy enough to make the hours rush by. Louis is antsy.
So is Zayn. He passes by Louis on their water rounds and hisses, "What the fuck do I do?"
Louis gives him an unimpressed look. "You've been friends with him for four years, mate, I think you can muster up some conversation."
Zayn opens his mouth, but Louis cuts him off. "And don't you dare talk about me."
Two hours later, Zayn stops him again. "All of my stories involve you; why the fuck is this my life?"
"Jesus, Zayn." Louis is balancing four plates for table six. "Just unclench and let the conversation flow. He knows we're friends, just don't talk about me in an I-secretly-love-him way."
"But apparently I do that without knowing it!"
"Whatever. I have a date with Harry, did I mention that?"
Now Zayn's the one throwing the unimpressed look Louis's way. "Don't shag him."
"Fuck off."
*
At closing, Niall is distinctly unimpressed at being ditched.
"You can come with me and Harry," Louis offers. Harry opens his mouth in protest and Louis throws him a wink.
"Oh fuck no, I like my porn with vaginas, thank you," Niall snarls and slams out the alley. Harry starts laughing, and Zayn lets out a chuckle, somewhat against his will.
"Is he actually mad?" Harry asks.
"Nah," Liam says. "He'd be more angry if everyone paired off while he was actually there."
They all exit together before splitting off. Louis watches Liam and Zayn walk off, arms bumping awkwardly. Zayn shoots him a panicked look and Louis just shakes his head. "Don't get too crazy, lads," he yells after them. He just gets two fingers in response.
He laughs and he and Harry start walking the opposite direction. "So, are they, like, a thing?" Harry asks.
Louis makes a frustrated noise. "They should be. Zayn's been so fucking gone for that boy since we met him when we were sixteen, you know? Like, he's a good-looking bloke, Zayn is, right, and he's turned down so many boys and just sat at home alone waiting for Liam. As if he would come through sheer force of pining."
Harry laughs a little. "You two never..."
Louis shrugs. "I mean, not really, no. He's been my best mate since forever, and when you're thirteen and figuring out you're gay and your best mate is too, there's obviously going to be some experimentation going on, y'know? But there was never anything real there. He's pretty much the most important thing in my life, though."
"And your family...?"
When did this turn into some sort of interview? Louis wonders. "I haven't seen or heard from my parents since I was sixteen. I have four little sisters. It's hard. Lottie, the oldest, keeps in touch, though. So I get to talk to them. I have some mates up in the Don that I stay with sometimes so I can see the girls." He shrugs. This is probably the least fun date conversation ever.
Harry looks unbearably sad. "Louis, that's... Shit. I'm so sorry. Was it the gay thing? Or. I mean. We don't have to talk about this."
Louis lets out a laugh. "I mean, I don't mind. Just. We could be talking about something fun. Like your curlies. Or your lips. Or your fingers."
Harry smiles. "Or your jawline, or your collarbones, or your cheekbones, or your eyelashes."
"All valid subjects! But what about you, what's your history? What's a little boy like you doing in big bad London?"
"Oh, like, my parents got divorced last year and my dad lives down here and, I dunno, it was either uni here or uni in Manchester, and I chose here." Harry kicks a rock on the ground.
"Oh! So you're a uni boy, are you? Are you going to talk all educated around me while I fix your meals?" Louis has honestly no idea what's coming out of his mouth. He dropped out of uni after the disastrous affair that left a sour taste for a long time. He'd rather not tell Harry about one of his grander fuckups.
Harry grins, rolls his eyes. "Hardly. I'm studying engineering, tentatively, and I have no bloody idea what's going on, so we'll see how long that lasts. Thinking of switching to English or something."
They've reached the bar, some trendy thing with overpriced cocktails, but they go in and grab a table in the corner. Louis orders something manly-sounding, and Harry gets a cosmo.
"Are you serious?" Louis is laughing.
Harry makes a face and shrugs. "Like you're not trying to impress me with your neat Jack."
"You caught me."
They sit there for two hours, ordering four drinks each before Louis protests -- My wallet can't handle this! -- and Harry takes the tab anyway, smiling slightly and shyly suggesting Louis get the next one, the next one emphasised. Louis grins at him.
Harry insists upon walking him home. "The perfect gentleman," Louis teases.
"Only the best for you, darling." Harry hesitantly reaches for Louis's hand, smiling at the ground when Louis laces their fingers together.
"I had a great time tonight," Louis says as they reach his door.
Harry looks down into his eyes. "I did, too. I, um. Think you're pretty great, Louis Tomlinson."
"I think you're pretty great, too, Harry Styles, and if you ask permission to kiss me, you'll get a knee in the balls."
Harry laughs and leans in, down, and fuck but Louis has a weakness for guys taller than him. His lips are as soft as they look when they press down on Louis's and Louis immediately opens his to Harry. It gets heated quickly; Louis's back against the door and Harry's hands running from his hips to his ribs and back down again. Louis keeps his fingers tightly in Harry's curls, pulling slightly, making Harry groan as he pulls back.
"I should go," Harry says into Louis's lips.
"You should," Louis agrees, tugging him back in.
Five minutes later, Harry pulls away fully, except for his hands solidly grasping Louis's hips. "Okay. Yes. I'm leaving."
Louis untangles his fingers and touches his swollen lips. Harry looks away, swaying forward slightly. Louis laughs, pushes him a little. "Go, you."
"Goodnight, Lou."
"Night, Haz."
Louis goes inside alone, but he's smiling.
*
Zayn's home when Louis walks in. He drops his keys off and curls up next to him on the couch.
"How'd it go?" Skins is on the telly. That's not a good sign, Louis thinks.
"Awkward." Zayn stares at Cassie not eating and Sid trying to figure her out.
Louis makes a sympathetic noise and cuddles closer. "What happened?"
"I dunno. He was confused, I guess. It was just like we were hanging out."
"You took him for pizza, dipshit. Did you, like, tell him how you feel? Or, like, flirt? Or anything?"
"No. I don't fucking know, Louis. I don't want to talk about this. How was your babysitting gig?"
"Shut up." Louis stretches his arms and tries to keep his smile from stretching his face. "It was nice. He's nice. And sweet. And funny. And smart. And. It was so... nice."
"Lou..." Zayn mutes the telly and Louis makes a noise of protest -- Maxxie's talking, Louis likes Maxxie.
"Why can't I have this? Let me have this. He's so lovely, Zayn. Get to know him. He's..." Louis trails off, sighing.
Zayn sounds disgusted, "God, you're a teenage girl."
Louis shrugs in agreement. "He's lovely," he says again.
Zayn tsks in his throat and unmutes the television. "Don't get serious, Louis. Honestly. Don't get serious."
Pulling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, Louis mutters, "Yeah, yeah," into his kneecaps.
Not getting serious is hard for Louis. Louis spends his entire life as far away from serious as he possibly can, but when someone could love him, when someone could be his, for him, it's hard. It's hard to be so unbalanced, and Louis craves that balance. Louis might, maybe, just possibly, be a classic romantic. He wants to be serious about someone, he wants someone to be serious about him. He just wants someone to stay.
*
The next two weeks pass in a blur. Harry takes him to the zoo on their day off, holds his hand and points to every animal that reminds him of Louis -- I'm not a bloody meerkat, Haz -- and buys him ice cream. He takes him out for dinner all around the city, nice restaurants, diners, sandwich shops. He takes him to movies, sappy movies they mock until the climax then they kiss in time with the actors. He takes him to his mate's concert -- Lou, wait, this is my favourite song, it's called Kiss Me -- and he wraps his arms around Louis's waist and sways them together. They kiss all the time, all the time, and Niall gets past his issues and starts thinking they're the cutest thing ever, making obnoxious cooing sounds whenever they brush hands or smile at each other during working hours.
Harry walks Louis home every night, and they kiss for what feels like hours, and sometimes Louis invites him up and Harry lays him out on the couch and presses him down, rocking them together. Invitations to spend the night almost drip off Louis's tongue every time. And every time he bites them back, swallows them down, remembering Zayn's warning, remembers to be careful, to be slow, to be casual. Harry never asks, never pushes, just smiles and kisses him one last time before showing himself out.
No matter how good Louis is, no matter how much he resists, Zayn always arches an eyebrow in his direction. Louis wants to scream, honestly. He's not had a shag in weeks and there's this gorgeous, sweet, adorable boy who wants him, who treats him like he's something special, and this stupid fucking guilt complex implemented by his best friend keeps him from following through.
He confronts Zayn, eventually.
"It's been three weeks, Zayn. Three weeks of dating this perfect boy and not letting him shag me. I don't think I did this even when I was fifteen." Louis is tapping his spoon against his saucer anxiously, his tea gone cold and his body jittery.
Zayn turns around from the stove where he's making eggs. "Okay? I mean. I don't quite follow."
"Let me shag him!" Louis bursts out.
Zayn raises his eyebrows. "Babe, I definitely am not hiding any chastity belt keys about me person. Shag him or don't, it's really, really not my call."
"You always look all judge-y!"
Sighing, Zayn scoops his eggs onto his toast and sits next to Louis. "I just. You know how you get. Everyone is so perfect and so lovely and so amazing and so wonderful. Until they aren't. Until you're crying and broken and fucked up for weeks. And I just don't know if I can handle that again."
Louis flinches sharply. "Oh. Okay. Um. Sorry if I've... annoyed you, I guess."
"Louis."
Louis gets up and pours his tea down the drain. "Whatever. Fine. I hear you. I'll just. Fine. I'll figure something out."
"Lou, come on. I just mean... You know I only want you to be happy, right? That's all I want."
Louis walks out of the kitchen, waving his hand behind him. "Yeah, yeah. I'll see you later. I'm going out."
*
It's 11am so Louis just goes to the coffee shop a block from their flat and orders a black coffee. He lets it sit in front of him; he hates coffee.
The barista comes by after a half hour. "Need a refill?" he asks with a smile.
Louis glances down at his full cup. "Not yet, mate, thanks."
The guy laughs a little. "Yeah, I noticed. You just, um, look a bit sad. I wondered if you wanted to talk or something?"
Oh. See, fuck Zayn. Louis can be casual. He shrugs, smiles a bit at the barista. "Sure."
Setting down the coffeepot, the guy pulls out the chair looking surprised, pleased. "I'm Jordan."
He's got dirty blonde hair that's artfully parted to the side and a big white smile. Louis likes him immediately. "I'm Louis."
"So, Louis. What brings you to this here coffee shop to not drink coffee?"
Grinning down at his mug, Louis says, "Would you believe me if I said boy troubles?"
Jordan gives him an obvious once over. "No, you look like you should never have boy troubles," he says with a wink.
Louis laughs. "Ah, flattery, my old friend."
"So, what's the problem; too many boys, too little time?"
It doesn't feel right to talk to Jordan about Harry. It feels cheap and manipulative and Harry doesn't deserve that. "No, it's stupid," he says instead. "Let's talk about you." Louis gives him a flirty smile and Jordan's mouth curls up.
"Well, I'm Jordan Henderson, aged twenty two, from Sunderland. I play football and pour coffee and on a good day, I get to talk to a pretty boy." He quirks an eyebrow at Louis.
"Jordan Henderson, the footballer from Sunderland. In London, because...?"
"West Ham reserves. I'm twenty two, it's never gonna work out to anything, but I'm enjoying it. Now you, Louis...?"
"Tomlinson, twenty, from Doncaster. I wanted to be a footballer until I was fourteen. Fancied myself the next Giggs, to be honest." Louis pulls a face, mocking himself.
Jordan scoffs. "United fan, then?"
Louis sits up a little straighter. "The one and only. And you?"
"I'll just say I'm the next Steven Gerrard." Jordan looks a bit challenging.
Chuckling wryly, Louis shakes his head. "I foresee problems between us, mate."
"Please. Respect him, if not the badge."
"I'll do no such thing!"
Louis ends up sitting there with Jordan, talking football and other stupid shit, until his phone buzzes with a text from Harry. "I have to get going," he says apologetically.
Jordan nods, stands. "Yeah, I should probably... get back to work." He gestures to the empty coffee shop. "Loads to do."
Louis laughs, hesitates. "This was fun. I'll come back."
Jordan smiles a little. "Hey, if your boy troubles aren't too... troubling, I'd love to get a number off you."
See? Louis can do casual. He casually scribbles his number on a napkin and casually hands it to Jordan. "I'll see you," he says as he walks out.
"You will," Jordan says after him.
So casual, that. Louis feels a sick sense of dread creeping up his spine.
*
Jordan calls the next day before Louis gets to work. They chat for a bit as Louis walks down the street, and as they're about to hang up, Jordan asks him out for drinks after work.
"Not a big deal, just some mates getting together. Would be cool if you came, but no worries if you can't."
Louis pauses for a second. He doesn't want to, is the thing. But he's too scared to fall in love with Harry. The fear is pounding through him, every day, every date, every kiss, every time Harry looks at him with those big sincere eyes. Louis just wants to hold him close, hold him tight, whisper, what are you going to do to me? When are you going to leave me? and it's all just so hard to remember to keep himself safe.
"Yeah, okay. Text me the address. I'll see you tonight."
Work passes slowly, Louis choking on guilt every time Harry touches his hip, every time Harry smiles at him, every time Harry kisses his cheek, pours him a glass of water, gives him a quick massage on his break. Finally at closing, as they're all pulling on jackets, Louis says, "I've actually got plans tonight."
Liam, Zayn, Niall, and Harry all look around at each other. No one says anything for a second.
"Wait," Niall finally says slowly. "One... two... three.. four... five... Nope. We're all here. Okay. Who have you got plans with?"
Louis fiddles with the zipper on his jacket. "Oh, um, nobody, I dunno. This guy I met at a coffee shop yesterday." The ground is just as interesting as his jacket. He stares at that a bit, digging his toe into the tiling.
Zayn coughs awkwardly. "Okay, mate, see you later then. Shall we go, lads?"
Liam and Niall agree hurriedly, quickly moving to stand behind Harry and forcing him to walk after Zayn, forcing him to move. Louis glances up at the last minute, and Harry's absolutely devastated expression is burnt into his brain.
*
Louis is not fun at all at the bar. He orders drink after drink and leans silently against the bartop. Jordan stays with him for awhile, trying to cajole some conversation out of him.
"Long day, Louis?" he says, pressing a vodka-cranberry into Louis's hand.
Louis shrugs. "Yeah, a bit."
"Yeah, me too. Training was rough, it was pissing down and muddy. And bloody cold, y'know. I'm starting this weekend, though!" Jordan smiles excitedly.
Louis nods. "Sounds fun, yeah. Good luck." After a beat he adds, "Who're you playing?" He's being borderline rude, and he knows it.
"Newcastle. God. I hope we fucking massacre them, y'know? Fucking despise those cunts."
"Right, right, yeah. Quite liked Shearer, though," Louis says absently.
"...Yeah, sure. Look, mate, are you alright? If you wanna leave, you know, that's fine. You look like you're about to be executed or something."
Blinking, Louis shakes himself. "I -- shit. Yeah, Jordan, I'm sorry. I'm actually seeing someone and I thought I could do the casual thing with him and have it be not, like, serious, but."
Jordan's lips press into a thin line, but he nods. "Sure, yeah. Alright, then. Maybe I'll see you 'round."
"Right. I'm sorry. It's not, like. I mean, you seem awesome. I'm really sorry. Good luck with the football." Louis sets his glass down and grabs his jacket.
He hopes Harry's still at the pub with the lads.
*
Louis practically runs to the pub, braving the rain, and what the rain is potentially almost certainly doing to his hair. He texts Zayn on the way, dont let haz leave im coming.
As he reaches the door, Zayn replies, yeah m8 but its not looking good here.
Fuck.
He wrenches open the door and immediately welcomes the warmth and dryness of walls and roofs and artificial lighting. Scanning his eyes around the room, he sees a head of dark curls with large hands wrapped around a pint. Niall's arm is around him and Liam's eyebrows are furrowed. Zayn's eyes find Louis's immediately and he pulls his lower lip into his mouth. Louis takes a deep breath.
He approaches the table. "Harry, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Harry looks up at him blearily, eyes red and mouth pulled down. "What, then, want to dump me properly now?"
Louis closes his eyes briefly. What was he thinking?
"No. No, Haz. Please come talk to me."
Harry looks to Niall a bit wildly and Louis notices that Liam and Niall are glaring at him, sadness with a hint of anger mixed in their expressions. "Please, Harry," he begs.
"Yeah, alright," he mutters, clumsily getting up. Louis leads him to the door, pulls him back outside into the rain.
"Fuck, Lou, can you be a bit more cliche?" Harry's jaw is clenched and he's staring at the streetlamp across the street, fingers pulling at each other insistently.
"Harry. I'm so sorry about today. And, like. No, fuck. I'm sorry about everything. I've been shit this entire time."
Harry looks at him sharply, then. "Have you been? Because I was having a really great time with you, Louis. Sorry if that's been shit for you."
"No, Harry. No, of course not. I -- fuck. I've been shit to you. I've not been... I've not been fair to you. I've had an amazing time. You've been amazing. I just. I really, really like you, and I know I fucked up. I really fucked up. But I need you to know, before I start in on the groveling and explanations, that nothing happened. Nothing happened with this guy yesterday or tonight and nothing ever will. I didn't do anything with him. I promise."
Harry stares at the ground, drawing patterns in the rainwater with his toe. "Okay."
Louis lets out a frantic breath. "Okay. Okay. So it's like this, right. It goes like, I meet someone, and I fall in -- not love, I guess, but, like hardcore infatuation, like. You know? I just get kind of obsessed and I can't think about anything else or anyone else and I just. Get attached. And I always end up getting hurt. Always. Every single fucking time, I get absolutely torn apart. And I drive everyone crazy -- mostly Zayn, honestly -- but I just turn into this disastrous mess and I can't snap out of it and it's just. I met you and I just like you so much and there are all these alarms going off in my head, you know? I just. Like, when you leave me, I'm going to collapse and I haven't got anyone to pick up the pieces, I guess. I haven't got a family, I haven't got friends outside of the four of you lot, I haven't got anyone but Zayn who really gets it. And Zayn... is getting tired. So I guess I just thought I would be careful with you. I wouldn't get attached and then when you lost interest or whatever, it wouldn't hurt as much? If that makes sense? But it didn't work out that way and now I'm attached and I've fucked it up. I just want you to know that I don't want to be with anyone but you and I want to hold your hand and kiss you and sleep with you and it's scary for me. So. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I've hurt you. More than anything, I'm sorry that I've hurt you."
He takes a breath and runs his hands over his face. Harry is silent. Louis closes his eyes and focuses on inhaling, exhaling. Thirty seconds pass.
"So," Harry begins slowly. "You were going to cheat on me because you like me too much?"
Louis looks up at him, then quickly back down, letting out a harsh laugh. "Something like that, yeah. I'm such a fucking idiot."
Harry nods. "Yeah. Why'd you decide I was going to leave you, anyway?"
"Everyone always seems to," Louis shrugs.
Harry looks a bit desperate now. "Louis."
Waving a hand, Louis says quickly, "No, fuck, I didn't mean it to come out that way. It's just. I mean, yeah. I guess it's true. Just not all pathetic-sounding like that. Fuck."
"I... okay." Harry runs a hand through his hair and lets out a sharp breath. "Okay. Okay, Louis. You can't do this again, yeah? Just. Be with me. Be with me and I'll be with you and we can just. Not worry about it. Just. Let's be together, for real. No stupid games."
Louis's eyes snap up to Harry's. "Yes. Yes. I'm so sorry. Yes. Together."
Harry nods. "Okay. Okay." He sounds like he's reassuring himself. Louis steps closer, tentatively takes Harry's hand. Harry's eyes squeeze shut and he reaches his other hand to pull Louis all the way into his body, into a hug.
"Not going to leave you," he whispers into Louis's hair.
Louis grips him tightly and clenches his jaw. "Yeah."
Pulling back, Harry's eyes are red again. He raises his hands to Louis's face, holds his jaw carefully. "I'm not." He leans down and presses soft kisses to Louis's lips, his eyelids, his cheeks.
Louis lets out a choked laugh. "I think you're pretty great, Harry Styles."
Harry smiles faintly. "I think you're pretty great, too, Louis Tomlinson."
*
Harry agrees to go home with Louis and they're both smiling when they come in from the rain. Liam's forehead relaxes and Niall shakes his head with a smile.
"Was rootin' for ya, Tommo," he says.
Louis laughs. "Thanks, mate, kinda hoping for meself, too."
He looks to Zayn, trying to convey with his eyes that it's okay, they're okay, he's gonna be okay. Zayn nods, smiles. "Be good to him, Haz. And when he pisses you the fuck off, let me know, and we'll figure something out." He winks at Harry and Harry lights up, looks pleased as hell.
"Right, fuck you, if you come home tonight, we're going to fuck as loud as possible right outside your room," Louis says.
Zayn shudders. Liam glances over at him, and says, "You could. Um. You could come stay at mine, if you like."
Louis beams. "Fantastic! Orgasms for everyone! Niall, I hope you've been resting your wrist, because it should be a busy night."
"Oh, fuck off and get laid, you've been a bitch for weeks."
Louis blows him a kiss. "Love you all, have fun, be safe, wear a condom!"
Harry's laughing, rolling his eyes, grabbing his hand, and pulling him out the door. They get outside and Harry wraps his arm around Louis's shoulders and tugs him close. He presses his mouth to Louis's ear and whispers, "You're well fit."
Louis leans into the weight of his arm and looks up at him. "Mr. Styles, are you trying to seduce me?"