when i feel that something [1/1]
title: when i feel that something
author: leira17
ships: harry/louis
rating: (hard) r
word count: ~9000
warnings: swearing, subpar knowledge of the way X Factor works, masturbation
summary: In which Harry and Louis are put into a duo instead of a group, and Louis Googles asexuality.
notes: beta’d by my lovely laurencake. probably this idea has been done before, and better, but it wouldn’t leave me alone so you can have another one. also I apologise for my fixation on labels.
also posted here on ao3
---
“We’d like to put you in duos,” Simon was saying. “You’ll go through to the judges’ houses if you think that’s something you could do. Don’t rush -- you’re allowed to go away and consider it.”
Louis blinked. He blinked quite a lot, actually, waiting for someone to laugh, because it had to be -- there was no way he was good enough to get through. No way. It all had to be some kind of sick joke, that’s what it was. The two girls on the other side of the stage looked like they wanted to shriek and he was rather glad when they didn’t.
“Really?” the boy under Louis’ arm asked. He sounded floored, and honestly, Louis couldn’t blame him.
Ten minutes ago they’d been packing their bags, and then they’d been called back on stage with two girls Louis vaguely remembered from Bootcamp. He also sort of remembered the boy next to him -- not his name or anything like that, but he’d heard the boy sing and, no, no way. Louis’ league of talent didn’t even touch his.
Simon said, “Really.”
The boy’s red-rimmed eyes met Louis’, and he had no choice but to nod. If he could help this kid get farther in the competition, he would, whether or not he believed he deserved the chance to.
“We would --” the boy cut himself off with a cough that could’ve been covering a laugh or a sob. Louis tightened his hold on his shoulders. “We would like to take this opportunity.” Across the empty stage the girls were nodding, clutching at each other and oh, there was the squealing.
“This is a lifeline,” said Simon. “Don’t waste it.”
“Congratulations,” Nicole smiled, sparing a quick glare at Simon. “You’re being put through to the judges’ houses.”
That couldn’t be -- Louis was going to wake up on a train to Doncaster, because he hadn’t ever actually expected to hear those words. The boy beside him was laughing, relieved and ecstatic, and Louis basically threw himself into his arms for a hug. He yelped when the boy picked him up and twirled, still laughing. They stumbled off the stage and into Dermot, who was congratulating them and asking questions and shoving cameras in their faces. It was all so overwhelming that Louis could do nothing but bury his face in his new teammate’s neck and let him do the talking.
This could work. This could actually work. He was going to be on the X Factor.
---
After that was kind of a blur, and it wasn’t until Louis was on the steps out front later, on the phone with his delighted family, that his teammate found him again.
“Oh, hi,” he said, grin threatening to break his face. Lottie immediately questioned who he was talking to, and Louis added, “The boy I’m going to win with,” into the phone. The smile he got for that was blinding.
“Put him on, put him on!” his sisters chanted, and Louis made a face but handed his mobile out all the same. The boy looked confused, but Louis just shrugged and explained that his family wanted to speak with him. After another moment of strange looks, he sat down next to Louis and took the mobile.
“Hello?” he said, voice raspier than it had been on stage from all the celebratory shouting. “I’m Harry, what’s your name?”
Harry, right. Harry Styles. Louis remembered him clearer now; they’d met in the toilets.
He’d taken on a soft sort of tone, so Louis assumed one of the twins had taken the phone. Harry glanced at Louis, then laughed. “I dunno, Pheebs, I think my mum would be sad if I -- oh. Well, I suppose that would be all right. Is your mum and dad okay with this?” Louis poked at Harry, giving him a questioning look, but Harry waved him off. “All right, cool. I’ll talk to my mum, yeah? Do you want to speak to your brother again?”
Louis heard a loud ‘No!’ and laughed, taking his mobile from Harry by force. “See you when I get home, brats,” he yelled, hanging up. Harry laughed, too, startled. “What was that about?”
“Oh,” said Harry. “We need to practice, right? Your mum invited me to stay for half the break -- and then you can come to mine. If you -- wow, if you don’t mind. I probably should’ve ran that by you first.” He rubbed the back of his neck kind of sheepishly, and Louis resisted the urge to fix his collar where it got creased upward with the movement.
Yeah, he didn’t mind in the slightest. Practicing was something he needed in any case. He figured telling Harry to go pack his bags because the last train left in an hour was answer enough.
---
Harry slept on the train but Louis couldn’t, too keyed up. He was still having trouble believing that this was real life. He wasn’t famous enough to get legitimately Punk’d, sure, but he had no doubt Stan would go to much farther lengths for a good prank.
At first, Harry’d tried to keep his eyes open and chat, but within ten minutes Louis took pity on him and offered his shoulder as a pillow. By the time they reached Doncaster Harry had slid so his head was on Louis’ thigh and his body was curled up in a way that could not possibly be comfortable. Louis shook him awake, snickering at the sleepy glare he was fixed with for his trouble.
“Home sweet home,” he said. Harry cheered unenthusiastically, standing up and stretching with the air of someone who’d just discovered the existence of sleep only to be rudely awoken. “I ought to warn you, my sisters are going to love you.”
“Now why’s that?”
Louis said something like, “Well, just look at you,” but the expression on Harry’s face made his stomach tighten and he added, “But all four of ‘em are way too young for you, so back off.”
“Four?” Harry moaned, sufficiently distracted. “You didn’t tell me there were four.”
“Well, I’ve told you now,” Louis shrugged, grabbing his bags and starting off down the train car. He heard Harry muttering behind him and bit back a smile. Louis’ family wasn’t there when they got out into the station, which Louis figured meant they’d fallen asleep waiting for his text.
He dropped onto a bench and texted them now, multiple times -- mostly to be sure they heard the ringing, but also just to be irritating. He barely registered that Harry had sat down next to him, except to note that he was closer than was strictly necessary.
“Anything else you need to warn me about?”
Louis cocked his head, considering. “My parents fight sometimes. A lot, actually, but they’ll probably tone it down since you’re a stranger and all. Er, we have peas with pretty much every dinner because Daisy adores them. You’ll have to share my room -- you can sleep on the floor if you want but I promise the bed is more comfortable. Oh, and there’s no lock on the bathroom door.”
“Wonderful,” said Harry. “I’m so glad you waited ‘til I was here to tell me all that.”
“I’m sure there’ll be trains running to Cheshire in the a.m.,” Louis said, guessing at Harry’s accent. He wasn’t corrected, but Harry did poke him in the ribs, eyebrows raising when Louis jerked away with a squeak.
Harry said, “I think I’ll manage.”
It was dumb, because Louis barely knew the kid, but he was far too relieved that Harry didn’t want to leave. Then again, that was before he’d met Louis’ family. Lord knew what he’d think after a week and a half in the Tomlinson household -- if he lasted that long.
“Is there anything I should know about you, Hazza?” Louis asked, nudging Harry with his shoulder. “Any bad habits?”
“Er,” said Harry. “I snore.”
After a long moment, Louis asked if that was the only bad habit he had and Harry just grinned, saying something like Louis would have to figure out the rest for himself.
That -- something about that felt like flirting, but Louis’ phone was buzzing to tell him their ride was outside and he didn’t have a whole lot of time to dwell on it. Well, that, and Louis was terrible at telling when someone was attempting to flirt with him; to him it basically equated to ‘being friendly’. On the ride home he wondered what exactly he would have to do if it was flirting. Tell him to back off? That didn’t sound terribly appealing, so Louis put it from his mind and listened to his mum chatter away to Harry.
---
Louis had to brush his teeth super quietly so he didn’t wake his sisters up. He stripped off while the toothbrush was in his mouth and pulled on his sweatpants after spitting into the sink. He hated changing in here; there really wasn’t a lock and he had four curious nuisances and a mum who never knocked. Leaving his clothes on the bathroom floor, he tip-toed back to his bedroom. The twins were unfairly light sleepers, and he couldn’t even count the number of times he and Stan had gotten shit for being too loud after they’d gone to bed.
His lights were off, but the streetlight outside his window had always been enough for him to navigate the tip of a room.
“Budge up,” he whispered to the lump of blankets on his bed.
“What?” Harry hissed, head emerging. “I thought you were sleeping on the floor.”
“No, I gave you the option of sleeping on the floor. Fuck the floor, it’s my bed. Get off or budge up, Hazza, s’your choice.”
Still Harry hesitated. Louis was this close to just shoving him over, but then Harry said, “I should put on some pants, then, shouldn’t I?” and Louis froze, choking on a laugh that would be far too loud at this time of night.
“You’re sleeping naked?” he asked, rhetorically. “You’ve never even been here before!”
“Well,” was all Harry said. He didn’t seem to actually have an explanation, but, whatever. Louis didn’t mind -- Stan always slept in the nude if they were at his house, but started leaving his pants on at Louis’ after one too many nosy sister -- and he said as much, making hand gestures to convey Harry’s moving over so he could lie down and sleep. Harry shrugged, finally making room for Louis under the covers. “If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” Louis assured him. “Just don’t grope me in my sleep, all right?”
Harry chuckled, but promised nothing of the sort.
---
Very quickly, Louis learned that Harry didn’t only sleep naked -- he liked to be naked.
Sure, he wore clothes when he had to, at meals and anytime he had to interact with Louis’ family or leave the house, but they were gone as soon as Louis’ bedroom door shut.
“Is this your weird way of seducing me?” Louis asked after they finally got the harmonies smoothed out.
“No,” said Harry, startled. He was lounging on Louis’ bed, sheets protecting his modesty -- barely. He didn’t look seductive, but Louis wasn’t exactly the best judge of what was meant to be sexy. It wasn’t like he found everything from gym shorts to linoleum sexy, like most of his classmates seemed to. “Does it bother you?”
Louis shook his head. “Not really. I was just wondering if there was any specific reason for your near-constant nakedness.”
“No, I just,” Harry shrugged helplessly, “like it, I guess.”
“All right then,” said Louis, then moved onto the topic of whether or not they were meant to have a ‘duo name’ considering they were technically in the group category.
---
Felicity blinked at them over lunch, then decisively said, “Stylinson,” like it was something they’d been discussing. Harry looked confused but Louis grinned and poked her nose.
“That’s a good one,” he said. “Like Styles and Tomlinson all mushed together. What d’you think, Haz?”
After a moment of consideration, Harry repeated it in a terrible Peter Dickson impersonation. Lottie giggled and Jay snorted into her macaroni. Sty-lin-son. Louis joined Harry in saying it aloud, putting emphasis on a different syllable or vowel each time he did.
“I like it,” Harry eventually said, ignoring the hysterics Louis’ sisters were in.
“It’s like Brangelina,” said Louis.
Harry pointed a fork at him. “I am not adopting kids with you, mate. Nobody deserves parents like us, am I right?”
“You’ll marry me, though?” Louis fluttered his eyelashes, and Harry easily said, “Of course.”
His dad coughed pointedly, and it reminded Louis of all the Talks they’d had about his supposedly strange friendship with Stan. Louis frowned down at his bowl. Why did his dad have to do this to every single male friend he had? When he was with Hannah, she was always welcomed with open arms, but if a bloke dropped by his dad was instantly suspicious. He was so convinced that Louis was gay when, really, he’d never been attracted to guys. Girls didn’t really appeal to him either, though, so he wasn’t entirely sure what to call himself. He was sure there was a word for it, but he’d never cared enough to look it up.
Maybe he’d Google it later, when he needed the words to sufficiently explain to his dad why, exactly, he wasn’t a ‘normal teenage lad’ chasing skirts.
He felt Harry’s gaze but didn’t meet it, eating his pasta in silence while his family chattered on.
---
“I don’t think your dad likes me,” Harry said.
They were chilling in the park by Louis’ house, happy to escape babysitting duty for a while. Louis was occupying the only swing, and Harry had moved from the merry-go-round to lean against the nearest pole.
“My dad likes you well enough,” Louis scoffed, kicking himself slowly on the swing.
“But he --”
“Oh, he thinks I’m gay,” snapped Louis. “He likes you fine, he just doesn’t want me to like you too much.” He stared at the sky, fuming just a little. Sometimes he got upset on behalf of the queer people he did know, because his dad could make the most accidentally homophobic comments when trying to be understanding that it was a little unreal.
“Why does your dad think you’re gay?” Harry asked.
Louis looked at him then, incredulously. “Dude, everyone who meets me thinks I’m gay. I know it’s not -- it’s not an insult or whatever, I’m not, like, offended, but it kind of pisses me off.”
“You are a bit camp,” Harry said. Louis laughed, surprised, and Harry smiled in return. “So what are you, then? Do you know?”
“Not a clue,” said Louis.
“Me either,” said Harry.
Louis said, “Huh”, and kept on swinging.
---
All right, well, if Louis thought Harry was naked a lot at his house, Harry told him, he was in for a shock when they got to Holmes Chapel. They’d done the goodbye hug and invitation to come back any time routine with Louis’ family and now they were watching the scenery fly by the train window.
“Looking forward to it,” said Louis breezily.
He liked the way Harry laughed, full-bodied and ridiculous. More than that, though, he liked being the one to cause it, to look at Harry’s scrunched-up face and think I did that.
---
Harry’s mum and sister were so gorgeous that Louis felt his jaw literally drop when he walked into Harry’s kitchen and saw them sat at the table. Nobody noticed his awe, because they were all busy having the big welcome-home hug, laughing and swaying dangerously. Louis hung back, smiling at the scene.
“Who’s this, then?” Harry’s sister asked, looking Louis up and down speculatively. Louis tried and probably failed not to blush.
“That’s Louis, Gem, I’ve already told you lot about him,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Louis, this is my mum and my pain-in-the-arse sister, Gemma.”
“At least it’s a singular pain,” said Louis, offering his hand to shake. “That’s a really pretty name.”
“Thanks,” both women said simultaneously, then laughed, shaking his hand in turn. Louis was immediately charmed. He didn’t think he’d mind spending the rest of break here at all if Harry’s family was this nice and non-shouty.
He wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulder and stage-whispered, “There are some seriously good genes in your family, Curly. Did they skip you or something?”
Harry told him to stuff it, but he was biting his lip like he was trying not to smile.
---
“Stop flirting with my family,” Harry hissed over breakfast the next day. He was wearing a pair of Spongebob boxers in courtesy of Gemma, who’d taken to shrieking ‘my virgin eyes!’ whenever he walked into a room naked. Louis thought it was pretty hilarious, but Harry evidently did not.
“What?” said Louis, half-laughing. “I’m not flirting with anyone, mate.”
“You are, though,” said Harry. “You’re all -- I don’t even know what to call it, but stop.”
Honestly, Louis hadn’t been acting any different than he usually did -- however, Harry didn’t exactly have a good frame of reference, did he? So Louis explained to him how this was just the way he was around people not related to him.
“Oh,” Harry said. He blinked. “I thought I was special.”
He jutted his lower lip out exaggeratingly and Louis had to remind himself not to lean over and bite it like he would with Stan. That would certainly be misconstrued.
“Aww, Hazza,” he simpered instead. “You are special! You’re the, the Style to my Linson.” That -- had sounded a hell of a lot better in his head, and judging by Harry’s snigger, he obviously thought so too.
“You’re special, Lou,” Harry said. “Special needs.”
“Oh my god,” Gemma said from the fridge. Louis jumped; he hadn’t heard her come in. “Take your weird mating ritual outside, would you?”
“You’re just jealous,” Harry shot back.
Very purposefully, Gemma let her eyes rake down Louis’ body. He felt the urge to cover his bare chest from her scrutiny, though he knew he didn’t exactly have anything to be ashamed of. “Yeah,” she drawled, winking at Louis. “I am.” Without another word, she grabbed an apple from the fridge and disappeared.
“Okay,” Louis said. “Now I know that was flirting.”
Harry eyed him. “Maybe you ought to start wearing a shirt around.”
“You’re consistently naked!” Louis protested. “I hardly think my lack of shirt is going to make me suddenly interested in your sister, so I don’t see the harm.”
That gave Harry pause.
“You’re -- not interested?”
“Er, no,” said Louis. He really wanted to eat his cornflakes in peace, but Harry seemed to be waiting for a longer explanation so he sighed and set his spoon down. “Okay, like, I don’t get -- interested in people, all right? Gemma is, she’s beautiful and nice enough, sure, but, er, no. Never.”
Harry made a little ‘o’ with his mouth. “So you’re, like, asexual?” he asked in a hushed tone, like it was some kind of national secret. Louis pulled a face.
“I thought they didn’t have sex drives. Like at all.”
“No, I think they can,” said Harry, and Louis took a moment to wonder why this sixteen-year-old knew more than he did about all of this. Maybe he really should’ve looked it up years ago, when Stan suggested it. “Just -- just not with, you know, other people, I think. You could Google it or something, I’m sure Yahoo Answers knows more than I do. You could find something to call yourself.”
“You think I need something to call myself?” Louis asked, bristling. Harry was undeterred; he just kept looking at Louis like someone who’d only known him eleven days shouldn’t be able to.
“I think it’ll make you feel better,” he said with an air of finality.
---
“Demisexual,” Louis announced, jumping onto Harry’s bed.
Hair sticking up in odd places from the nap he’d been taking, Harry glared at him. “I’m not a sexuality guru, I don’t know what that means.”
Louis snuggled into Harry until he smiled and pulled him closer. One thing he was starting to learn was that Harry couldn’t resist cuddles. Which worked out quite well, because Louis was a champion cuddler, if he did say so himself. He’d tried to get Hannah to make an award for him and everything.
“Well, the short version is that I still want love and sex and whatnot, but not with just anyone, it needs to be -- don’t laugh -- the right person. And probably the love will come before the sexual attraction, not the other way ‘round.”
“That’s great, Lou,” Harry said earnestly. He tucked his face into Louis’ neck, making him smile and smooth down a few wayward curls.
“So, Hazzhead, now that I’ve slapped a label on meself, it’s time to find you one.”
“I don’t think I have a label,” Harry said against Louis’ neck. Louis tutted skeptically.
“That’s what I thought, too, but I found one.”
He felt Harry smile and couldn’t help the answering one he directed at the ceiling. Harry didn’t say anything else, but that was fine, too -- it had taken hours of frantic Googling before Louis was happy with his own label. He carded his fingers through Harry’s superbly soft curls and made a mental note in the ‘Harry’ folder of his brain: Likes his hair being played with.
---
Practicing took on top priority when they realised they only had four days left of break and not nearly enough talent to show for it.
Louis really did love the way their voices sounded, though; he thought Simon made the right call in putting them together. They recorded themselves on Harry’s iPod to play back, and Anne said she thought they sounded perfect, and even though there were actually quite a few slip-ups and awkward moments in the track, Louis secretly agreed with her.
“You guys might actually get through,” Gemma said, stunned enough that Louis felt a little offended.
While they listened, Harry’s hand sneaked its way into Louis’, and when it was over and the women applauded, he squeezed Louis’ fingers so tightly it hurt.
---
Soon -- way too soon -- they were packed up and on their way to Simon’s house. Louis’ nails were bitten down past the tips of his fingers before they even arrived and Harry was looking very pale and clammy. They went through the motions of looking anxious for the cameras (which wasn’t hard) and talking to Dermot about how they felt, how prepared they were, how much they wanted this. They had to explain their duo name, and it sounded so stupid now coming out of Louis’ mouth that he wanted to cry. Harry noticed and put an arm around him, joking, “Like Brangelina, only better.”
Dermot found Harry charming, because everybody found Harry charming, and didn’t complain when Louis excused himself to splash water on his face and sing a few trembling bars into the large and echoey bathroom.
Then, like no time at all had passed, Harry was sticking his head in the door and saying, “C’mon.”
Harry held his hand until he absolutely had to let go, and Louis found himself being handed a microphone and staring straight into Simon Cowell’s impassive face.
He took a breath.
---
They got through. He wrapped his arms around Harry and held tight as they screamed themselves hoarse in each others’ ears.
---
“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that,” a vaguely familiar voice said from the doorway of Louis and Harry’s room in the bloody X Factor house. They looked up from where they were pushing one bed against the other to see a boy around their age peering in, his face all scrunchy and worried. Louis was terrible at names, generally, but he remembered the guy’s family name was Payne because of how many puns he’d made when they were introduced at Bootcamp.
“‘s our bed, innit?” Louis scoffed at the same time Harry said, “Hi, Liam.”
“Hi,” Liam Payne said. He still didn’t step in their room, just looked on all disapproving-like with his floppy Bieber hair and puppy eyes.
“We’re not going to do anything,” Louis said, lining the beds up so there was no gap to fall into during the night. Knowing his luck, it would always be him, not Harry, who ended up stuck between them. “Hazza here just needs a cuddle to sleep, s’all.”
“So untrue,” said Harry. “Louis is the one who sleepwalks if I don’t hold him down.”
Distracted, Louis asked, “How do you know that?”
“I’ve been sleeping with you for three weeks straight, it was kind of hard not to notice. Plus, your mum warned me.”
“Huh,” said Louis. Then, remembering their guest, he turned back to say, “So you see, no danger at all of Harry and I getting it on,” but Liam was already gone. “Sneaky bastard,” he said. Harry hummed in agreement before leaping onto the bed(s) and rolling around like a dog.
“I can’t believe we made it,” he said.
Louis agreed completely. All of it felt so surreal -- he was still waiting for the train to stop at Doncaster, where he would wake up, go to school, and remember when he was almost good enough. Except that, wow, this really was happening.
“Getting through to the live shows cuddle!” Louis hollered, jumping on top of Harry and half-wrestling him into a decent snuggling position. He was aware that people were passing their open door and giving them looks, muttering to each other, but Harry was smiling widely up at him and Louis couldn’t help but laugh at the whole situation he’d somehow found himself in.
“This is awesome,” he got out through his giggle-fit. Harry’s answering laugh reminded him that he wasn’t the only one living this dream, and he clung tighter to his teammate.
---
The first thing Simon Cowell said to them when they stepped in his office was, “Whatever’s going on between the two of you, it had better not affect the competition.”
Louis blinked.
“There’s nothing ‘going on’ between us,” said Harry, using finger quotes like a nine-year-old.
“Sure there isn’t,” Simon said, and then they were discussing song choice and Louis never got a chance to defend himself. Not that it would be such a terrible -- but, even if they were, they wouldn’t let it affect their work. They were better than that. At least, he hoped so.
---
“I’ve got no idea what we’re supposed to do.”
“Nor have I.”
“Okay, well, hi. We’re Stylinson.”
“I’m Louis Tomlinson, he’s Harry Styles.”
“Hence Stylinson.”
“Yes, hence. So, we’ve been practicing our pretty bums off this week --”
“We can’t wait for you guys to hear the song.”
“Shut up, Hazza, I was on a roll.”
“Sorry, sorry. Back to our bottoms, then.”
“Yes, they have been totally and completely practiced off. Harry here is pretty nervous --”
“So are you!”
“Lies and slander, Styles!”
“Whatever. So, we hope you like the song -- I am personally a massive Michael Jackson fan and I hope -- we hope -- that we can pull him off.”
“So, keep watching, and hopefully we’ll see you next week? Is that how I end it?”
“Why are you asking me? I don’t know any more than you do.”
“Well, I’m leaving now.”
“You want lunch? I was thinking of making some sandwiches, and maybe your presence will scare the other contestants off from snacking on them.”
---
When Louis woke up kind of suddenly at some god-awful hour, Harry wasn’t there. It shouldn’t have been as weird as it was, since waking up beside Harry was a relatively new phenomenon in his life, but Louis still slid the blankets off and padded to the door, which was ajar. There were only two places Harry could possibly be at this time of night -- morning? -- and since the bathroom was closer than the kitchen, Louis decided to check there first.
It was a good guess.
“Haz, are you alright?” Louis kept his voice quiet but couldn’t hide the alarm in it.
Harry barely twitched at his entrance, head resting on the toilet seat, and even though the logical response would be to freak out because their first show was tomorrow -- today -- and Harry might be ill, Louis’ first instinct was to drop the the tiled floor and smooth Harry’s curls off his damp forehead.
“You don’t have a temperature,” said Louis.
“No,” said Harry. “I think I -- it’s just nerves, I think. I’m kind of...” Louis knew exactly what the vague hand gesture was conveying, because he was feeling it, too. Scared. Excited. Overwhelmed. He kept smoothing Harry’s hair back until he visibly relaxed, and Louis edited his previous mental note: Really likes his hair being played with.
They sat there quietly for a few minutes, and the smell of vomit, though strong, didn’t bother Louis like it would someone without four sisters who all seemed to fall ill at the same time.
After a while he stopped stroking Harry’s curls and just kept his hand there, fingers threaded through them.
“I know what you mean,” he said like they’d been having a conversation. Harry fixed him with a gaze that was a little confused, a lot terrified, and all tired. “This is so -- it’s brilliant and, and amazing, beyond my wildest dreams, really, but it’s also scary as fuck.”
Harry laughed weakly, pressing his face into Louis’ hand. “Scary as fuck. I like it. Sums the whole thing up nicely.”
“Might not want to say it in front of any cameras, though,” said Louis. “Or Liam. That boy is just -- I don’t even know, I just really want to corrupt him. Seriously, his face is, like, permanently red. Like face-dye.”
He didn’t really know what he was saying anymore, but Harry was smiling and that was good, so he rambled some more about Liam and how he’d picked Coldplay of all things and Cher’s scary long nails and how much he wanted to propose to Mary on the spot and how they needed to choose questions for their next video diary preemptively because it always helped to think positive. It was the most one-sided conversation Louis had had since the twins were very young, but he didn’t mind.
When Harry’s eyes started to droop, Louis suggested bed. They only had a scant few hours but Harry obediently flushed the toilet and brushed his teeth, wincing at the taste in his mouth. Louis didn’t strictly need to help Harry down the hall, but he wanted to and Harry seemed to appreciate it, leaning against him heavily.
He helped Harry out of the pair of sweatpants he said he’d grabbed on his rush to the toilets, and Louis didn’t know if it was the fact that Harry thought to cover up just in case someone like Liam did come in and found him naked and hugging the toilet or just the fact that the pants were Louis’ that made his heart swell with fondness.
“We’re awesome,” Louis whispered when they were in the warmth and safety of the covers. Harry’s arm tightened around him. “We’re going to be so awesome. You’ll see, Hazza. You’ll look back on how nervous you were and laugh.”
“Thanks,” said Harry. Then he said it again. “Thank you. So much.” His voice was wavering a little, so Louis kissed the nearest part of him -- hair -- to console him.
“Sleep now,” Louis said. “Thank me with pancakes.”
Harry mumbled a sleepy promise and curled into Louis like he’d been doing it his whole life. It was ridiculously easy for Louis to drift off again.
---
Louis was holding Harry’s face between his hands and repeating a mantra.
“You will not throw up again. You won’t, do you hear me, Curly? We don’t have time for you to be sick. Do you want me to make you laugh or does that just raise the likelihood of you blowing chunks backstage?”
“Christ, Lou,” laughed Harry. Colour was returning to his cheeks, though, and Louis was so relieved that he kissed them, one after the other, like the girls in France did when he and Stan went on holiday. When he stepped back, Harry’s dimples were in full force. “What was that for?”
He shrugged. “Luck.”
---
In the next three weeks, Louis discovered that Harry was a superstitious sort of person, demanding kisses on both cheeks before each performance for luck. Louis would complain except that he could see no real reason to.
---
“The next question is from Molly, and she wants to know if we -- you and I, Harry, to be clear -- are together.”
“Good question, good question.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Er, I guess the simplest answer is yes.”
“Excuse you, Hazzhead, I don’t recall agreeing to anything of the sort.”
“Well, we do snuggle constantly, you kiss me before every show --”
“Only because you insist!”
“-- and, look, it’s the easiest answer, all right?”
“Fine, but don’t think I’m putting out until I see a ring on this finger, Styles.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Boo Bear.”
“Where did you learn that name?”
---
The weirdest part, Louis thought, about coming out as boyfriends when they technically weren’t was the fact that everyone they came in contact with was both supportive and unsurprised.
“If you fuck in my bed I will feed you your own bollocks,” said Cher.
“And you tried to tell me you weren’t going to do anything,” said Liam.
“I’m so proud of you -- I knew it right off,” said Jay.
“Stylinsonisreal is trending in Britain,” said Gemma.
“Good, now we can stop purposefully avoiding love songs,” said Simon.
“You know,” Louis said, head in Harry’s lap while they watched Alan Carr. “I’d be really touched by all this support if we were actually dating.”
Harry laughed. “Don’t lie, you’re touched anyway.”
“Maybe a little.” There was a text in Louis’ mobile from his dad that he would never erase. He very nearly cried the first time he read it -- he hadn’t shown it to Harry yet, because it was something he just wanted to treasure for himself a while. He had no doubt he would tell Harry at some point, though, because he told Harry everything. He’d never really done that, just opened up and let another person in, but it helped that Harry was just as open about his own thoughts and secrets and passing fancies.
Maybe -- but, no, Louis still didn’t feel anything. He never wanted to, to, to kiss a smile off Harry’s lips or act like it was anything more than funny whenever Harry woke up hard (which was more often than not, really, maybe all the teenage boy stereotypes had a point) or whatever it was he was supposed to feel if he was interested in someone.
It was kind of frustrating. Hannah all over again -- he wished he was interested, but it just didn’t work that way. It never had.
Whatever. He was pretty content with what he and Harry had, even if he didn’t know what to call it.
---
They were in the bottom two, with Aiden of all fucking people, and they didn’t go home but it was still like a kick to the gut; Louis felt winded for hours afterward, gasping for breath even though he didn’t physically need any. Harry was crying -- had been since their name was called -- and he’d insisted on staying in Matt’s room for the night to keep him company. For the first time in over two months, Louis slept alone.
He kept wondering if their song wasn’t good enough, if he hadn’t done his part properly, if some of their voters had jumped ship upon the public declaration of their ‘relationship’. He hoped it wasn’t the last, but he would probably never know for sure, and that bugged him so much he laid awake for hours, tossing and turning in the too-big bed.
His phone buzzed and he checked it gratefully; he needed a distraction. It was Harry, of course.
do me a favour, it said.
sure, what do you need?
The reply was so far from what Louis expected that he dropped his phone and then scrambled to pick it up and re-read it. give me a heads up if u think ur falling in love w/ me.
why do you need a heads up was the first thing Louis thought to type. The reply is instantaneous and robs him of the little breath he’d managed to hold on to.
bcos i’ve got a much shorter fall and i’d rather meet u @ the bottom.
---
What did love even feel like?
Familial love Louis was quite familiar with -- incredibly so, blessed as he was by such a caring bunch of relatives. He knew he loved his parents and sisters and (most of) his extended family in spite of how annoying they could be. That wasn’t something he’d ever questioned, not even when his mum and dad started fighting.
He loved Stan and he loved Hannah, more than he loved most of his other friends, and he thought he loved Harry now, too, but it wasn’t romantic-comedy love in any sense.
The thing was, though, he didn’t know how he was supposed to know. He didn’t have a good frame of reference -- passing over his parents, who were as apart as they could be without actually separating -- he just didn’t feel things the way he was always told he was supposed to. He remembered when he thought Stan was weird for thinking so much about sex, but media and locker room talk soon made Louis realise he was the weird one. He thought girls were pretty enough, sure, but it didn’t really do anything for him when their hemline was a little high or they flicked their hair over their shoulder.
Which had led, of course, to widespread speculation on his sexuality, but Louis always knew he wasn’t gay. He wasn’t even as appreciative of guys as he was of the ladies, but he could never figure out if it was because he found so few blokes physically appealing or if it was just that he wasn’t supposed to, so he didn’t.
Sweaty hands, butterflies in the stomach, whatever. Louis didn’t feel any of it.
Even snogging girls wasn’t, like, a turn-on, it just felt nice enough that he didn’t want to stop. It was a strange thing to have to explain to Hannah, who thought she was doing something wrong when he didn’t want to touch her breasts.
He assumed the sexual attraction would make an appearance after he fell in love -- that was what Google had said, anyhow, under ‘demisexual’ -- but how was he supposed to know if he was in love without physical reactions to guide him? He was in a stalemate with himself, and it wasn’t fair to Harry.
---
Louis could’ve just acted like everything was normal, but instead he blurted “Why did you send me that text?” the moment Harry walked in the kitchen.
After a second of surprise that Louis was bringing it up, Harry shrugged.
“Matt talked at me a lot. He was a bit hammered and sad and kind of in love with Aiden, but he never said anything and it was tearing him up,” Harry said in a quick, hushed tone. Thankfully nobody else seemed to be awake just yet, but Louis understood his caution.
“Oh,” said Louis.
“Yeah, so,” said Harry. “I just wanted to -- if we’re going home this week, you know, I wanted you to, just, know that it was an option. Yeah.”
“Harry, I’m not,” Louis sighed, checking that nobody was on the stairs, about to come in and interrupt their probably important conversation. “I’m not -- I’m not interested, you understand that, don’t you? I don’t mean -- I mean, not physically, I’m not.”
Harry was nodding before Louis was even done speaking. “I’m well aware of that. I wasn’t asking you to, like, want me, or whatever.”
He opened his mouth like he had more to say, but Louis couldn’t help asking, “Do you want me?”
Harry’s face went pink. “I,” he said, and nothing else.
“It’s not going to make me mad or anything if you do,” Louis said. “I’m just being nosy.”
“I do,” Harry said, quietly.
“All right.” That was all Louis needed to say on the matter, and he could hear people coming down the stairs besides, so he poured himself some cereal and went about his morning like nothing was unusual. Harry followed his lead and, besides a few covert glances, acted normal. Louis noticed the glances because his own eyes barely left Harry for the rest of the day.
In Simon’s office, they were told it was Beatles Week, and Louis picked the song before Harry or Simon could even make suggestions. He said it with such conviction that neither tried arguing with him.
He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that Harry took his song choice as a cue to twine his fingers through Louis’ -- in fact, it was sort of the effect he was trying to achieve. Neither let go of the other until they absolutely had to, and maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Holding hands was good, really good, and Louis did know how to kiss well enough thanks to Hannah and Doncaster house parties, but quite possibly that would be the full extent of it. And, well, who wanted a relationship like that? None of the girls who’d pursued Louis, and certainly not any of the boys he was mates with.
Still, that was Harry’s decision, and eventually he’d realise how much he missed real relationships and they’d go back to being friends, but for now Harry was looking at him with hearts in his eyes and Louis told him that, yeah, they could be together for real if Harry wanted.
Harry laughed, enveloping him in a hug, and that was all right -- hugs were good. Hugs were safe.
“I’m not going to be a very good boyfriend,” Louis warned Harry, who snorted, keeping his arms looped around Louis’ neck like they were slow-dancing.
“You’ll be no different from the millions of other people who are waiting to have sex.”
“Except they want to.”
Harry flicked his ear. “You’re fine Lou, why do you think relationships have to follow some kind of formula?”
What a good question. Influence, Louis supposed. He said as much and Harry sniggered, pulling away to entwine their hands together and drag Louis off to watch a Star Wars marathon with Matt and Liam.
---
If Louis had expected things to change, he was sorely disappointed. Harry was remarkably considerate -- too much so, in fact.
They’d just finished their sound check and it had sounded so good and Harry was all up in his space like he was going to kiss him but stopped himself and, jesus, Louis wasn’t quite as delicate as all that. He took Harry’s face in his hands and pressed their lips together insistently. When he pulled back with a comical smack, Harry was grinning but also looking disapproving, oddly enough.
“What?” Louis asked.
“You don’t have to do that,” Harry said, scolding a little. “You don’t have to kiss me.”
Louis laughed loud enough that it echoed through the stadium and made the people milling about glance over in vague interest.
“Have to? I want to, you big tosser.”
“You --” Harry’s grin faltered. “You want to kiss me? Honestly?”
“Honestly,” Louis said. He kissed Harry again to prove his point. “Kissing is good, I do like to kiss. And if you’re my boyfriend, you can bloody well kiss me whenever you want to.”
Not smiling at all anymore, Harry brushed his lips against Louis’ tentatively. Before he could ask if Louis was sure or something equally stupid, Louis threw his arms around Harry’s neck and kissed him properly, glad when hands came to steady at his hips.
“Oi,” Liam’s voice was echoing through a microphone, annoyed. “If you’re done canoodling, get off the stage.”
---
They fucking rocked Beatles Week.
Maybe they were being a bit ridiculous during the performances, grinning like idiots and singing directly to each other more than the crowd, but Louis knew without a shadow of a doubt that they had never sounded better. When they sang the last notes of I Wanna Hold Your Hand, the crowd was almost deafening. Louis had to strain to hear the judges but it was good things, all good things, and when Harry hauled him in for a brief kiss by the back of his neck, the crowd got, impossibly, louder.
----
Louis woke up in the middle of the night thanks to Harry extricating himself from Louis’ arms. He was about to get up, it seemed, so Louis threw an arm across his chest and held him down, just to be a dick.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked conversationally.
A full-body shiver went through Harry.
“Er,” he said, voice taut. “I kind of -- with the excitement and all -”
“Oh, you need to have a wank,” Louis said. He didn’t move his arm. “No need to be embarrassed, I do wank off, just not nearly as often as you and the rest of the male populous, apparently.”
Harry laughed, but it was strained. “Can you, um, let me go then? Or at least stop talking, you’re really -- you’re not helping matters.” Oh. Oh, all right. Probably Louis should just move his arm and let Harry sneak off to the loo, but he was still a little wound up from the show himself, and helping Harry out didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.
“You can stay,” Louis said into Harry’s ear. “I don’t -- you can, you know. You’re not going to traumatise me or anything, Haz, so, just -- you can.”
“No,” Harry half-groaned. “No, I’ll -- you’ll be uncomfortable.”
“Do I look uncomfortable?” Louis asked. When Harry made to argue again he lost patience. “For God’s sake, Styles, put your hand on your dick.”
Whether it was the direct order or just that he really needed relief, Harry didn’t hesitate to obey Louis, sighing happily when his hand made contact under the covers. It was kind of adorable, but Louis would never say that out loud -- Harry might take it as a dig at his manliness.
“I have to, um, sorry,” Harry said, kicking the blankets to the foot of the bed, “you’ll be angrier if I get the sheets dirty.”
“I’ve seen you naked a million times,” said Louis.
It was true, of course, but naked and aroused was a different story altogether. “Sorry anyway.” Harry barely seemed to realise he was speaking, concentrated as he was on arching up into his own palm. Louis watched, in the low light, the head of his dick disappearing and reappearing over Harry’s fist. It didn’t stimulate him, the same way porn was nothing other than absolutely hilarious -- dicks hadn’t really interested Louis before, and it was more the fact that this was Harry that made his throat feel dry.
“What’re you thinking about?” Louis asked, genuinely curious. Harry snorted a little.
“You.”
Well, that wasn’t surprising. In fact, Louis thought he might’ve been a little cranky if he’d said anyone else. He honestly didn’t mind being objectified, especially if the one doing it was his own boyfriend, but Harry was looking at him apologetically and really, he had to get past feeling guilty about stupid things. If Louis wanted him to stop, he’d damn well tell him to stop. But he didn’t want to, just yet.
“What am I doing?” He laughed at the way Harry’s eyes fluttered closed at the question.
“Sucking me off,” Harry said, mumble in full force.
“I can do that,” said Louis. “Not -- not right now, but someday, yeah?”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Fuck, yeah.”
Really, Louis had no idea how blowjobs even worked. He’d only ever been on the receiving end of one, and as nice as it had felt to have Hannah’s lips stretched around him, he just -- he hadn’t been able to get completely hard, let alone get off. Whatever, it couldn’t be too difficult. Louis thought he might actually do a better job than people who wanted to get off, because he could just focus all his attention on Harry, on making him happy. And, yeah, that didn’t sound like a hardship in the slightest. It was definitely something he could do, in future.
“I don’t know how or anything,” Louis said just to have something to say. The room was filled with nothing but the sound of Harry’s hand working itself over his dick and his laboured breathing.
“I’ll show you,” Harry managed to say. “I’ll -- I’ll show you what I like.”
“I like you,” Louis said.
Harry huffed a laugh. “I -- oh, god, Lou, I like you too.” Louis nipped at his ear in an affectionate way, and Harry made a kind of choked-off sound. “‘m close, Louis, I need to --”
“Come on, then,” Louis said, and Harry did.
The actual result of an orgasm was usually about as interesting to Louis as a sloth race, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the streaks of white along Harry’s flat stomach. He brought his hand down to trace pictures in the come, fascinated. Harry chuckled at him but he couldn’t quite get past the idea that he caused that reaction in Harry, helped him come without even touching him.
Harry groped around on the floor and came up with a t-shirt that he wiped himself down with. There was still some come clinging to Louis’ fingers and he put them in his mouth, curious
Though his pupils were still dilated, Harry’s expression was more amused than anything else.
“Salty,” Louis commented, and Harry burst out laughing, pulling him close.
---
It was the kiss.
That’s what Simon kept saying, and Liam agreed with him, which pissed Louis off because Harry shouldn’t be feeling responsible for this shit. They’d put on the best performance of the night and they were voted off, because Harry kissed him onstage for the world to see.
So many people were outraged on their behalf; Caroline Flack was saying that ‘Stylinson didn’t deserve to leave after a performance as strong as that one’, and Simon was fuming about as much as Louis was.
Harry needed to be alone, he said, so Liam took it upon himself to bring Louis to the gym and hold the punching bag while Louis let out his frustration.
“It’s -- not -- fucking -- fair,” he growled, accentuating each word with a punch. Liam didn’t say anything, but his Sad Eyes were at full capacity and Louis guessed that even though Liam was relieved -- he and Stylinson appealed to the same demographic, after all, so now he kind of had the teenage girl vote locked down -- part of him was upset to see Louis and Harry go.
Louis gave Liam his number before he went to sleep for the last time in the X Factor house even though he was fairly certain Liam would never use it. Harry wasn’t there when Louis fell asleep, but he was when the sun broke through their window, snoring lightly, tear-tracks dried on his cheeks.
---
“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Harry asked, his hand holding his mum’s car door open. Louis ruffled his hair and then left his hand there, just cupping the back of Harry’s head.
“Course you will,” he said. “I’ll come visit next week if your mum’s cool with it --”
“I am,” Anne said from inside the car; she wasn’t even pretending she wasn’t listening. Louis smiled at her brightly.
“Cheers, Anne. Besides, the tour’s in a few weeks. We can pester Cher and make Liam blush all the livelong day and you’ll be sick of me when it’s all over. And you know, even then I’ll force my company on you.”
“Promise?” Harry asked, voice breaking.
Louis kissed him, quick and close-mouthed because Anne and Gemma were right there, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Promise,” he said, bumping his nose against Harry’s.
---
Falling in love was a hell of a lot easier than the movies made it sound. There was no Big Misunderstanding or meddling friends (discounting Stan, who meddled in everything, not just Louis’ love life), and it wasn’t like Louis wanted to die whenever he had to be away from Harry. It sucked, sure, but it was no Man United losing four matches in a row. And the wanting did come, at an incredibly inopportune moment if Louis did say so himself -- in the middle of his solo in the O2 Arena -- but the only big deal about it was Stan’s hysterical laughter at the other end of the phone because of the pictures leaked online of him sporting an erection that could be seen from space. Basically, at the end of it all, it was totally void of Big Misunderstandings and Big Romantic Gestures, but Louis was more than happy with the way it all turned out and so, he knew, was Harry.
author: leira17
ships: harry/louis
rating: (hard) r
word count: ~9000
warnings: swearing, subpar knowledge of the way X Factor works, masturbation
summary: In which Harry and Louis are put into a duo instead of a group, and Louis Googles asexuality.
notes: beta’d by my lovely laurencake. probably this idea has been done before, and better, but it wouldn’t leave me alone so you can have another one. also I apologise for my fixation on labels.
also posted here on ao3
---
“We’d like to put you in duos,” Simon was saying. “You’ll go through to the judges’ houses if you think that’s something you could do. Don’t rush -- you’re allowed to go away and consider it.”
Louis blinked. He blinked quite a lot, actually, waiting for someone to laugh, because it had to be -- there was no way he was good enough to get through. No way. It all had to be some kind of sick joke, that’s what it was. The two girls on the other side of the stage looked like they wanted to shriek and he was rather glad when they didn’t.
“Really?” the boy under Louis’ arm asked. He sounded floored, and honestly, Louis couldn’t blame him.
Ten minutes ago they’d been packing their bags, and then they’d been called back on stage with two girls Louis vaguely remembered from Bootcamp. He also sort of remembered the boy next to him -- not his name or anything like that, but he’d heard the boy sing and, no, no way. Louis’ league of talent didn’t even touch his.
Simon said, “Really.”
The boy’s red-rimmed eyes met Louis’, and he had no choice but to nod. If he could help this kid get farther in the competition, he would, whether or not he believed he deserved the chance to.
“We would --” the boy cut himself off with a cough that could’ve been covering a laugh or a sob. Louis tightened his hold on his shoulders. “We would like to take this opportunity.” Across the empty stage the girls were nodding, clutching at each other and oh, there was the squealing.
“This is a lifeline,” said Simon. “Don’t waste it.”
“Congratulations,” Nicole smiled, sparing a quick glare at Simon. “You’re being put through to the judges’ houses.”
That couldn’t be -- Louis was going to wake up on a train to Doncaster, because he hadn’t ever actually expected to hear those words. The boy beside him was laughing, relieved and ecstatic, and Louis basically threw himself into his arms for a hug. He yelped when the boy picked him up and twirled, still laughing. They stumbled off the stage and into Dermot, who was congratulating them and asking questions and shoving cameras in their faces. It was all so overwhelming that Louis could do nothing but bury his face in his new teammate’s neck and let him do the talking.
This could work. This could actually work. He was going to be on the X Factor.
---
After that was kind of a blur, and it wasn’t until Louis was on the steps out front later, on the phone with his delighted family, that his teammate found him again.
“Oh, hi,” he said, grin threatening to break his face. Lottie immediately questioned who he was talking to, and Louis added, “The boy I’m going to win with,” into the phone. The smile he got for that was blinding.
“Put him on, put him on!” his sisters chanted, and Louis made a face but handed his mobile out all the same. The boy looked confused, but Louis just shrugged and explained that his family wanted to speak with him. After another moment of strange looks, he sat down next to Louis and took the mobile.
“Hello?” he said, voice raspier than it had been on stage from all the celebratory shouting. “I’m Harry, what’s your name?”
Harry, right. Harry Styles. Louis remembered him clearer now; they’d met in the toilets.
He’d taken on a soft sort of tone, so Louis assumed one of the twins had taken the phone. Harry glanced at Louis, then laughed. “I dunno, Pheebs, I think my mum would be sad if I -- oh. Well, I suppose that would be all right. Is your mum and dad okay with this?” Louis poked at Harry, giving him a questioning look, but Harry waved him off. “All right, cool. I’ll talk to my mum, yeah? Do you want to speak to your brother again?”
Louis heard a loud ‘No!’ and laughed, taking his mobile from Harry by force. “See you when I get home, brats,” he yelled, hanging up. Harry laughed, too, startled. “What was that about?”
“Oh,” said Harry. “We need to practice, right? Your mum invited me to stay for half the break -- and then you can come to mine. If you -- wow, if you don’t mind. I probably should’ve ran that by you first.” He rubbed the back of his neck kind of sheepishly, and Louis resisted the urge to fix his collar where it got creased upward with the movement.
Yeah, he didn’t mind in the slightest. Practicing was something he needed in any case. He figured telling Harry to go pack his bags because the last train left in an hour was answer enough.
---
Harry slept on the train but Louis couldn’t, too keyed up. He was still having trouble believing that this was real life. He wasn’t famous enough to get legitimately Punk’d, sure, but he had no doubt Stan would go to much farther lengths for a good prank.
At first, Harry’d tried to keep his eyes open and chat, but within ten minutes Louis took pity on him and offered his shoulder as a pillow. By the time they reached Doncaster Harry had slid so his head was on Louis’ thigh and his body was curled up in a way that could not possibly be comfortable. Louis shook him awake, snickering at the sleepy glare he was fixed with for his trouble.
“Home sweet home,” he said. Harry cheered unenthusiastically, standing up and stretching with the air of someone who’d just discovered the existence of sleep only to be rudely awoken. “I ought to warn you, my sisters are going to love you.”
“Now why’s that?”
Louis said something like, “Well, just look at you,” but the expression on Harry’s face made his stomach tighten and he added, “But all four of ‘em are way too young for you, so back off.”
“Four?” Harry moaned, sufficiently distracted. “You didn’t tell me there were four.”
“Well, I’ve told you now,” Louis shrugged, grabbing his bags and starting off down the train car. He heard Harry muttering behind him and bit back a smile. Louis’ family wasn’t there when they got out into the station, which Louis figured meant they’d fallen asleep waiting for his text.
He dropped onto a bench and texted them now, multiple times -- mostly to be sure they heard the ringing, but also just to be irritating. He barely registered that Harry had sat down next to him, except to note that he was closer than was strictly necessary.
“Anything else you need to warn me about?”
Louis cocked his head, considering. “My parents fight sometimes. A lot, actually, but they’ll probably tone it down since you’re a stranger and all. Er, we have peas with pretty much every dinner because Daisy adores them. You’ll have to share my room -- you can sleep on the floor if you want but I promise the bed is more comfortable. Oh, and there’s no lock on the bathroom door.”
“Wonderful,” said Harry. “I’m so glad you waited ‘til I was here to tell me all that.”
“I’m sure there’ll be trains running to Cheshire in the a.m.,” Louis said, guessing at Harry’s accent. He wasn’t corrected, but Harry did poke him in the ribs, eyebrows raising when Louis jerked away with a squeak.
Harry said, “I think I’ll manage.”
It was dumb, because Louis barely knew the kid, but he was far too relieved that Harry didn’t want to leave. Then again, that was before he’d met Louis’ family. Lord knew what he’d think after a week and a half in the Tomlinson household -- if he lasted that long.
“Is there anything I should know about you, Hazza?” Louis asked, nudging Harry with his shoulder. “Any bad habits?”
“Er,” said Harry. “I snore.”
After a long moment, Louis asked if that was the only bad habit he had and Harry just grinned, saying something like Louis would have to figure out the rest for himself.
That -- something about that felt like flirting, but Louis’ phone was buzzing to tell him their ride was outside and he didn’t have a whole lot of time to dwell on it. Well, that, and Louis was terrible at telling when someone was attempting to flirt with him; to him it basically equated to ‘being friendly’. On the ride home he wondered what exactly he would have to do if it was flirting. Tell him to back off? That didn’t sound terribly appealing, so Louis put it from his mind and listened to his mum chatter away to Harry.
---
Louis had to brush his teeth super quietly so he didn’t wake his sisters up. He stripped off while the toothbrush was in his mouth and pulled on his sweatpants after spitting into the sink. He hated changing in here; there really wasn’t a lock and he had four curious nuisances and a mum who never knocked. Leaving his clothes on the bathroom floor, he tip-toed back to his bedroom. The twins were unfairly light sleepers, and he couldn’t even count the number of times he and Stan had gotten shit for being too loud after they’d gone to bed.
His lights were off, but the streetlight outside his window had always been enough for him to navigate the tip of a room.
“Budge up,” he whispered to the lump of blankets on his bed.
“What?” Harry hissed, head emerging. “I thought you were sleeping on the floor.”
“No, I gave you the option of sleeping on the floor. Fuck the floor, it’s my bed. Get off or budge up, Hazza, s’your choice.”
Still Harry hesitated. Louis was this close to just shoving him over, but then Harry said, “I should put on some pants, then, shouldn’t I?” and Louis froze, choking on a laugh that would be far too loud at this time of night.
“You’re sleeping naked?” he asked, rhetorically. “You’ve never even been here before!”
“Well,” was all Harry said. He didn’t seem to actually have an explanation, but, whatever. Louis didn’t mind -- Stan always slept in the nude if they were at his house, but started leaving his pants on at Louis’ after one too many nosy sister -- and he said as much, making hand gestures to convey Harry’s moving over so he could lie down and sleep. Harry shrugged, finally making room for Louis under the covers. “If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” Louis assured him. “Just don’t grope me in my sleep, all right?”
Harry chuckled, but promised nothing of the sort.
---
Very quickly, Louis learned that Harry didn’t only sleep naked -- he liked to be naked.
Sure, he wore clothes when he had to, at meals and anytime he had to interact with Louis’ family or leave the house, but they were gone as soon as Louis’ bedroom door shut.
“Is this your weird way of seducing me?” Louis asked after they finally got the harmonies smoothed out.
“No,” said Harry, startled. He was lounging on Louis’ bed, sheets protecting his modesty -- barely. He didn’t look seductive, but Louis wasn’t exactly the best judge of what was meant to be sexy. It wasn’t like he found everything from gym shorts to linoleum sexy, like most of his classmates seemed to. “Does it bother you?”
Louis shook his head. “Not really. I was just wondering if there was any specific reason for your near-constant nakedness.”
“No, I just,” Harry shrugged helplessly, “like it, I guess.”
“All right then,” said Louis, then moved onto the topic of whether or not they were meant to have a ‘duo name’ considering they were technically in the group category.
---
Felicity blinked at them over lunch, then decisively said, “Stylinson,” like it was something they’d been discussing. Harry looked confused but Louis grinned and poked her nose.
“That’s a good one,” he said. “Like Styles and Tomlinson all mushed together. What d’you think, Haz?”
After a moment of consideration, Harry repeated it in a terrible Peter Dickson impersonation. Lottie giggled and Jay snorted into her macaroni. Sty-lin-son. Louis joined Harry in saying it aloud, putting emphasis on a different syllable or vowel each time he did.
“I like it,” Harry eventually said, ignoring the hysterics Louis’ sisters were in.
“It’s like Brangelina,” said Louis.
Harry pointed a fork at him. “I am not adopting kids with you, mate. Nobody deserves parents like us, am I right?”
“You’ll marry me, though?” Louis fluttered his eyelashes, and Harry easily said, “Of course.”
His dad coughed pointedly, and it reminded Louis of all the Talks they’d had about his supposedly strange friendship with Stan. Louis frowned down at his bowl. Why did his dad have to do this to every single male friend he had? When he was with Hannah, she was always welcomed with open arms, but if a bloke dropped by his dad was instantly suspicious. He was so convinced that Louis was gay when, really, he’d never been attracted to guys. Girls didn’t really appeal to him either, though, so he wasn’t entirely sure what to call himself. He was sure there was a word for it, but he’d never cared enough to look it up.
Maybe he’d Google it later, when he needed the words to sufficiently explain to his dad why, exactly, he wasn’t a ‘normal teenage lad’ chasing skirts.
He felt Harry’s gaze but didn’t meet it, eating his pasta in silence while his family chattered on.
---
“I don’t think your dad likes me,” Harry said.
They were chilling in the park by Louis’ house, happy to escape babysitting duty for a while. Louis was occupying the only swing, and Harry had moved from the merry-go-round to lean against the nearest pole.
“My dad likes you well enough,” Louis scoffed, kicking himself slowly on the swing.
“But he --”
“Oh, he thinks I’m gay,” snapped Louis. “He likes you fine, he just doesn’t want me to like you too much.” He stared at the sky, fuming just a little. Sometimes he got upset on behalf of the queer people he did know, because his dad could make the most accidentally homophobic comments when trying to be understanding that it was a little unreal.
“Why does your dad think you’re gay?” Harry asked.
Louis looked at him then, incredulously. “Dude, everyone who meets me thinks I’m gay. I know it’s not -- it’s not an insult or whatever, I’m not, like, offended, but it kind of pisses me off.”
“You are a bit camp,” Harry said. Louis laughed, surprised, and Harry smiled in return. “So what are you, then? Do you know?”
“Not a clue,” said Louis.
“Me either,” said Harry.
Louis said, “Huh”, and kept on swinging.
---
All right, well, if Louis thought Harry was naked a lot at his house, Harry told him, he was in for a shock when they got to Holmes Chapel. They’d done the goodbye hug and invitation to come back any time routine with Louis’ family and now they were watching the scenery fly by the train window.
“Looking forward to it,” said Louis breezily.
He liked the way Harry laughed, full-bodied and ridiculous. More than that, though, he liked being the one to cause it, to look at Harry’s scrunched-up face and think I did that.
---
Harry’s mum and sister were so gorgeous that Louis felt his jaw literally drop when he walked into Harry’s kitchen and saw them sat at the table. Nobody noticed his awe, because they were all busy having the big welcome-home hug, laughing and swaying dangerously. Louis hung back, smiling at the scene.
“Who’s this, then?” Harry’s sister asked, looking Louis up and down speculatively. Louis tried and probably failed not to blush.
“That’s Louis, Gem, I’ve already told you lot about him,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Louis, this is my mum and my pain-in-the-arse sister, Gemma.”
“At least it’s a singular pain,” said Louis, offering his hand to shake. “That’s a really pretty name.”
“Thanks,” both women said simultaneously, then laughed, shaking his hand in turn. Louis was immediately charmed. He didn’t think he’d mind spending the rest of break here at all if Harry’s family was this nice and non-shouty.
He wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulder and stage-whispered, “There are some seriously good genes in your family, Curly. Did they skip you or something?”
Harry told him to stuff it, but he was biting his lip like he was trying not to smile.
---
“Stop flirting with my family,” Harry hissed over breakfast the next day. He was wearing a pair of Spongebob boxers in courtesy of Gemma, who’d taken to shrieking ‘my virgin eyes!’ whenever he walked into a room naked. Louis thought it was pretty hilarious, but Harry evidently did not.
“What?” said Louis, half-laughing. “I’m not flirting with anyone, mate.”
“You are, though,” said Harry. “You’re all -- I don’t even know what to call it, but stop.”
Honestly, Louis hadn’t been acting any different than he usually did -- however, Harry didn’t exactly have a good frame of reference, did he? So Louis explained to him how this was just the way he was around people not related to him.
“Oh,” Harry said. He blinked. “I thought I was special.”
He jutted his lower lip out exaggeratingly and Louis had to remind himself not to lean over and bite it like he would with Stan. That would certainly be misconstrued.
“Aww, Hazza,” he simpered instead. “You are special! You’re the, the Style to my Linson.” That -- had sounded a hell of a lot better in his head, and judging by Harry’s snigger, he obviously thought so too.
“You’re special, Lou,” Harry said. “Special needs.”
“Oh my god,” Gemma said from the fridge. Louis jumped; he hadn’t heard her come in. “Take your weird mating ritual outside, would you?”
“You’re just jealous,” Harry shot back.
Very purposefully, Gemma let her eyes rake down Louis’ body. He felt the urge to cover his bare chest from her scrutiny, though he knew he didn’t exactly have anything to be ashamed of. “Yeah,” she drawled, winking at Louis. “I am.” Without another word, she grabbed an apple from the fridge and disappeared.
“Okay,” Louis said. “Now I know that was flirting.”
Harry eyed him. “Maybe you ought to start wearing a shirt around.”
“You’re consistently naked!” Louis protested. “I hardly think my lack of shirt is going to make me suddenly interested in your sister, so I don’t see the harm.”
That gave Harry pause.
“You’re -- not interested?”
“Er, no,” said Louis. He really wanted to eat his cornflakes in peace, but Harry seemed to be waiting for a longer explanation so he sighed and set his spoon down. “Okay, like, I don’t get -- interested in people, all right? Gemma is, she’s beautiful and nice enough, sure, but, er, no. Never.”
Harry made a little ‘o’ with his mouth. “So you’re, like, asexual?” he asked in a hushed tone, like it was some kind of national secret. Louis pulled a face.
“I thought they didn’t have sex drives. Like at all.”
“No, I think they can,” said Harry, and Louis took a moment to wonder why this sixteen-year-old knew more than he did about all of this. Maybe he really should’ve looked it up years ago, when Stan suggested it. “Just -- just not with, you know, other people, I think. You could Google it or something, I’m sure Yahoo Answers knows more than I do. You could find something to call yourself.”
“You think I need something to call myself?” Louis asked, bristling. Harry was undeterred; he just kept looking at Louis like someone who’d only known him eleven days shouldn’t be able to.
“I think it’ll make you feel better,” he said with an air of finality.
---
“Demisexual,” Louis announced, jumping onto Harry’s bed.
Hair sticking up in odd places from the nap he’d been taking, Harry glared at him. “I’m not a sexuality guru, I don’t know what that means.”
Louis snuggled into Harry until he smiled and pulled him closer. One thing he was starting to learn was that Harry couldn’t resist cuddles. Which worked out quite well, because Louis was a champion cuddler, if he did say so himself. He’d tried to get Hannah to make an award for him and everything.
“Well, the short version is that I still want love and sex and whatnot, but not with just anyone, it needs to be -- don’t laugh -- the right person. And probably the love will come before the sexual attraction, not the other way ‘round.”
“That’s great, Lou,” Harry said earnestly. He tucked his face into Louis’ neck, making him smile and smooth down a few wayward curls.
“So, Hazzhead, now that I’ve slapped a label on meself, it’s time to find you one.”
“I don’t think I have a label,” Harry said against Louis’ neck. Louis tutted skeptically.
“That’s what I thought, too, but I found one.”
He felt Harry smile and couldn’t help the answering one he directed at the ceiling. Harry didn’t say anything else, but that was fine, too -- it had taken hours of frantic Googling before Louis was happy with his own label. He carded his fingers through Harry’s superbly soft curls and made a mental note in the ‘Harry’ folder of his brain: Likes his hair being played with.
---
Practicing took on top priority when they realised they only had four days left of break and not nearly enough talent to show for it.
Louis really did love the way their voices sounded, though; he thought Simon made the right call in putting them together. They recorded themselves on Harry’s iPod to play back, and Anne said she thought they sounded perfect, and even though there were actually quite a few slip-ups and awkward moments in the track, Louis secretly agreed with her.
“You guys might actually get through,” Gemma said, stunned enough that Louis felt a little offended.
While they listened, Harry’s hand sneaked its way into Louis’, and when it was over and the women applauded, he squeezed Louis’ fingers so tightly it hurt.
---
Soon -- way too soon -- they were packed up and on their way to Simon’s house. Louis’ nails were bitten down past the tips of his fingers before they even arrived and Harry was looking very pale and clammy. They went through the motions of looking anxious for the cameras (which wasn’t hard) and talking to Dermot about how they felt, how prepared they were, how much they wanted this. They had to explain their duo name, and it sounded so stupid now coming out of Louis’ mouth that he wanted to cry. Harry noticed and put an arm around him, joking, “Like Brangelina, only better.”
Dermot found Harry charming, because everybody found Harry charming, and didn’t complain when Louis excused himself to splash water on his face and sing a few trembling bars into the large and echoey bathroom.
Then, like no time at all had passed, Harry was sticking his head in the door and saying, “C’mon.”
Harry held his hand until he absolutely had to let go, and Louis found himself being handed a microphone and staring straight into Simon Cowell’s impassive face.
He took a breath.
---
They got through. He wrapped his arms around Harry and held tight as they screamed themselves hoarse in each others’ ears.
---
“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that,” a vaguely familiar voice said from the doorway of Louis and Harry’s room in the bloody X Factor house. They looked up from where they were pushing one bed against the other to see a boy around their age peering in, his face all scrunchy and worried. Louis was terrible at names, generally, but he remembered the guy’s family name was Payne because of how many puns he’d made when they were introduced at Bootcamp.
“‘s our bed, innit?” Louis scoffed at the same time Harry said, “Hi, Liam.”
“Hi,” Liam Payne said. He still didn’t step in their room, just looked on all disapproving-like with his floppy Bieber hair and puppy eyes.
“We’re not going to do anything,” Louis said, lining the beds up so there was no gap to fall into during the night. Knowing his luck, it would always be him, not Harry, who ended up stuck between them. “Hazza here just needs a cuddle to sleep, s’all.”
“So untrue,” said Harry. “Louis is the one who sleepwalks if I don’t hold him down.”
Distracted, Louis asked, “How do you know that?”
“I’ve been sleeping with you for three weeks straight, it was kind of hard not to notice. Plus, your mum warned me.”
“Huh,” said Louis. Then, remembering their guest, he turned back to say, “So you see, no danger at all of Harry and I getting it on,” but Liam was already gone. “Sneaky bastard,” he said. Harry hummed in agreement before leaping onto the bed(s) and rolling around like a dog.
“I can’t believe we made it,” he said.
Louis agreed completely. All of it felt so surreal -- he was still waiting for the train to stop at Doncaster, where he would wake up, go to school, and remember when he was almost good enough. Except that, wow, this really was happening.
“Getting through to the live shows cuddle!” Louis hollered, jumping on top of Harry and half-wrestling him into a decent snuggling position. He was aware that people were passing their open door and giving them looks, muttering to each other, but Harry was smiling widely up at him and Louis couldn’t help but laugh at the whole situation he’d somehow found himself in.
“This is awesome,” he got out through his giggle-fit. Harry’s answering laugh reminded him that he wasn’t the only one living this dream, and he clung tighter to his teammate.
---
The first thing Simon Cowell said to them when they stepped in his office was, “Whatever’s going on between the two of you, it had better not affect the competition.”
Louis blinked.
“There’s nothing ‘going on’ between us,” said Harry, using finger quotes like a nine-year-old.
“Sure there isn’t,” Simon said, and then they were discussing song choice and Louis never got a chance to defend himself. Not that it would be such a terrible -- but, even if they were, they wouldn’t let it affect their work. They were better than that. At least, he hoped so.
---
“I’ve got no idea what we’re supposed to do.”
“Nor have I.”
“Okay, well, hi. We’re Stylinson.”
“I’m Louis Tomlinson, he’s Harry Styles.”
“Hence Stylinson.”
“Yes, hence. So, we’ve been practicing our pretty bums off this week --”
“We can’t wait for you guys to hear the song.”
“Shut up, Hazza, I was on a roll.”
“Sorry, sorry. Back to our bottoms, then.”
“Yes, they have been totally and completely practiced off. Harry here is pretty nervous --”
“So are you!”
“Lies and slander, Styles!”
“Whatever. So, we hope you like the song -- I am personally a massive Michael Jackson fan and I hope -- we hope -- that we can pull him off.”
“So, keep watching, and hopefully we’ll see you next week? Is that how I end it?”
“Why are you asking me? I don’t know any more than you do.”
“Well, I’m leaving now.”
“You want lunch? I was thinking of making some sandwiches, and maybe your presence will scare the other contestants off from snacking on them.”
---
When Louis woke up kind of suddenly at some god-awful hour, Harry wasn’t there. It shouldn’t have been as weird as it was, since waking up beside Harry was a relatively new phenomenon in his life, but Louis still slid the blankets off and padded to the door, which was ajar. There were only two places Harry could possibly be at this time of night -- morning? -- and since the bathroom was closer than the kitchen, Louis decided to check there first.
It was a good guess.
“Haz, are you alright?” Louis kept his voice quiet but couldn’t hide the alarm in it.
Harry barely twitched at his entrance, head resting on the toilet seat, and even though the logical response would be to freak out because their first show was tomorrow -- today -- and Harry might be ill, Louis’ first instinct was to drop the the tiled floor and smooth Harry’s curls off his damp forehead.
“You don’t have a temperature,” said Louis.
“No,” said Harry. “I think I -- it’s just nerves, I think. I’m kind of...” Louis knew exactly what the vague hand gesture was conveying, because he was feeling it, too. Scared. Excited. Overwhelmed. He kept smoothing Harry’s hair back until he visibly relaxed, and Louis edited his previous mental note: Really likes his hair being played with.
They sat there quietly for a few minutes, and the smell of vomit, though strong, didn’t bother Louis like it would someone without four sisters who all seemed to fall ill at the same time.
After a while he stopped stroking Harry’s curls and just kept his hand there, fingers threaded through them.
“I know what you mean,” he said like they’d been having a conversation. Harry fixed him with a gaze that was a little confused, a lot terrified, and all tired. “This is so -- it’s brilliant and, and amazing, beyond my wildest dreams, really, but it’s also scary as fuck.”
Harry laughed weakly, pressing his face into Louis’ hand. “Scary as fuck. I like it. Sums the whole thing up nicely.”
“Might not want to say it in front of any cameras, though,” said Louis. “Or Liam. That boy is just -- I don’t even know, I just really want to corrupt him. Seriously, his face is, like, permanently red. Like face-dye.”
He didn’t really know what he was saying anymore, but Harry was smiling and that was good, so he rambled some more about Liam and how he’d picked Coldplay of all things and Cher’s scary long nails and how much he wanted to propose to Mary on the spot and how they needed to choose questions for their next video diary preemptively because it always helped to think positive. It was the most one-sided conversation Louis had had since the twins were very young, but he didn’t mind.
When Harry’s eyes started to droop, Louis suggested bed. They only had a scant few hours but Harry obediently flushed the toilet and brushed his teeth, wincing at the taste in his mouth. Louis didn’t strictly need to help Harry down the hall, but he wanted to and Harry seemed to appreciate it, leaning against him heavily.
He helped Harry out of the pair of sweatpants he said he’d grabbed on his rush to the toilets, and Louis didn’t know if it was the fact that Harry thought to cover up just in case someone like Liam did come in and found him naked and hugging the toilet or just the fact that the pants were Louis’ that made his heart swell with fondness.
“We’re awesome,” Louis whispered when they were in the warmth and safety of the covers. Harry’s arm tightened around him. “We’re going to be so awesome. You’ll see, Hazza. You’ll look back on how nervous you were and laugh.”
“Thanks,” said Harry. Then he said it again. “Thank you. So much.” His voice was wavering a little, so Louis kissed the nearest part of him -- hair -- to console him.
“Sleep now,” Louis said. “Thank me with pancakes.”
Harry mumbled a sleepy promise and curled into Louis like he’d been doing it his whole life. It was ridiculously easy for Louis to drift off again.
---
Louis was holding Harry’s face between his hands and repeating a mantra.
“You will not throw up again. You won’t, do you hear me, Curly? We don’t have time for you to be sick. Do you want me to make you laugh or does that just raise the likelihood of you blowing chunks backstage?”
“Christ, Lou,” laughed Harry. Colour was returning to his cheeks, though, and Louis was so relieved that he kissed them, one after the other, like the girls in France did when he and Stan went on holiday. When he stepped back, Harry’s dimples were in full force. “What was that for?”
He shrugged. “Luck.”
---
In the next three weeks, Louis discovered that Harry was a superstitious sort of person, demanding kisses on both cheeks before each performance for luck. Louis would complain except that he could see no real reason to.
---
“The next question is from Molly, and she wants to know if we -- you and I, Harry, to be clear -- are together.”
“Good question, good question.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Er, I guess the simplest answer is yes.”
“Excuse you, Hazzhead, I don’t recall agreeing to anything of the sort.”
“Well, we do snuggle constantly, you kiss me before every show --”
“Only because you insist!”
“-- and, look, it’s the easiest answer, all right?”
“Fine, but don’t think I’m putting out until I see a ring on this finger, Styles.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Boo Bear.”
“Where did you learn that name?”
---
The weirdest part, Louis thought, about coming out as boyfriends when they technically weren’t was the fact that everyone they came in contact with was both supportive and unsurprised.
“If you fuck in my bed I will feed you your own bollocks,” said Cher.
“And you tried to tell me you weren’t going to do anything,” said Liam.
“I’m so proud of you -- I knew it right off,” said Jay.
“Stylinsonisreal is trending in Britain,” said Gemma.
“Good, now we can stop purposefully avoiding love songs,” said Simon.
“You know,” Louis said, head in Harry’s lap while they watched Alan Carr. “I’d be really touched by all this support if we were actually dating.”
Harry laughed. “Don’t lie, you’re touched anyway.”
“Maybe a little.” There was a text in Louis’ mobile from his dad that he would never erase. He very nearly cried the first time he read it -- he hadn’t shown it to Harry yet, because it was something he just wanted to treasure for himself a while. He had no doubt he would tell Harry at some point, though, because he told Harry everything. He’d never really done that, just opened up and let another person in, but it helped that Harry was just as open about his own thoughts and secrets and passing fancies.
Maybe -- but, no, Louis still didn’t feel anything. He never wanted to, to, to kiss a smile off Harry’s lips or act like it was anything more than funny whenever Harry woke up hard (which was more often than not, really, maybe all the teenage boy stereotypes had a point) or whatever it was he was supposed to feel if he was interested in someone.
It was kind of frustrating. Hannah all over again -- he wished he was interested, but it just didn’t work that way. It never had.
Whatever. He was pretty content with what he and Harry had, even if he didn’t know what to call it.
---
They were in the bottom two, with Aiden of all fucking people, and they didn’t go home but it was still like a kick to the gut; Louis felt winded for hours afterward, gasping for breath even though he didn’t physically need any. Harry was crying -- had been since their name was called -- and he’d insisted on staying in Matt’s room for the night to keep him company. For the first time in over two months, Louis slept alone.
He kept wondering if their song wasn’t good enough, if he hadn’t done his part properly, if some of their voters had jumped ship upon the public declaration of their ‘relationship’. He hoped it wasn’t the last, but he would probably never know for sure, and that bugged him so much he laid awake for hours, tossing and turning in the too-big bed.
His phone buzzed and he checked it gratefully; he needed a distraction. It was Harry, of course.
do me a favour, it said.
sure, what do you need?
The reply was so far from what Louis expected that he dropped his phone and then scrambled to pick it up and re-read it. give me a heads up if u think ur falling in love w/ me.
why do you need a heads up was the first thing Louis thought to type. The reply is instantaneous and robs him of the little breath he’d managed to hold on to.
bcos i’ve got a much shorter fall and i’d rather meet u @ the bottom.
---
What did love even feel like?
Familial love Louis was quite familiar with -- incredibly so, blessed as he was by such a caring bunch of relatives. He knew he loved his parents and sisters and (most of) his extended family in spite of how annoying they could be. That wasn’t something he’d ever questioned, not even when his mum and dad started fighting.
He loved Stan and he loved Hannah, more than he loved most of his other friends, and he thought he loved Harry now, too, but it wasn’t romantic-comedy love in any sense.
The thing was, though, he didn’t know how he was supposed to know. He didn’t have a good frame of reference -- passing over his parents, who were as apart as they could be without actually separating -- he just didn’t feel things the way he was always told he was supposed to. He remembered when he thought Stan was weird for thinking so much about sex, but media and locker room talk soon made Louis realise he was the weird one. He thought girls were pretty enough, sure, but it didn’t really do anything for him when their hemline was a little high or they flicked their hair over their shoulder.
Which had led, of course, to widespread speculation on his sexuality, but Louis always knew he wasn’t gay. He wasn’t even as appreciative of guys as he was of the ladies, but he could never figure out if it was because he found so few blokes physically appealing or if it was just that he wasn’t supposed to, so he didn’t.
Sweaty hands, butterflies in the stomach, whatever. Louis didn’t feel any of it.
Even snogging girls wasn’t, like, a turn-on, it just felt nice enough that he didn’t want to stop. It was a strange thing to have to explain to Hannah, who thought she was doing something wrong when he didn’t want to touch her breasts.
He assumed the sexual attraction would make an appearance after he fell in love -- that was what Google had said, anyhow, under ‘demisexual’ -- but how was he supposed to know if he was in love without physical reactions to guide him? He was in a stalemate with himself, and it wasn’t fair to Harry.
---
Louis could’ve just acted like everything was normal, but instead he blurted “Why did you send me that text?” the moment Harry walked in the kitchen.
After a second of surprise that Louis was bringing it up, Harry shrugged.
“Matt talked at me a lot. He was a bit hammered and sad and kind of in love with Aiden, but he never said anything and it was tearing him up,” Harry said in a quick, hushed tone. Thankfully nobody else seemed to be awake just yet, but Louis understood his caution.
“Oh,” said Louis.
“Yeah, so,” said Harry. “I just wanted to -- if we’re going home this week, you know, I wanted you to, just, know that it was an option. Yeah.”
“Harry, I’m not,” Louis sighed, checking that nobody was on the stairs, about to come in and interrupt their probably important conversation. “I’m not -- I’m not interested, you understand that, don’t you? I don’t mean -- I mean, not physically, I’m not.”
Harry was nodding before Louis was even done speaking. “I’m well aware of that. I wasn’t asking you to, like, want me, or whatever.”
He opened his mouth like he had more to say, but Louis couldn’t help asking, “Do you want me?”
Harry’s face went pink. “I,” he said, and nothing else.
“It’s not going to make me mad or anything if you do,” Louis said. “I’m just being nosy.”
“I do,” Harry said, quietly.
“All right.” That was all Louis needed to say on the matter, and he could hear people coming down the stairs besides, so he poured himself some cereal and went about his morning like nothing was unusual. Harry followed his lead and, besides a few covert glances, acted normal. Louis noticed the glances because his own eyes barely left Harry for the rest of the day.
In Simon’s office, they were told it was Beatles Week, and Louis picked the song before Harry or Simon could even make suggestions. He said it with such conviction that neither tried arguing with him.
He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that Harry took his song choice as a cue to twine his fingers through Louis’ -- in fact, it was sort of the effect he was trying to achieve. Neither let go of the other until they absolutely had to, and maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Holding hands was good, really good, and Louis did know how to kiss well enough thanks to Hannah and Doncaster house parties, but quite possibly that would be the full extent of it. And, well, who wanted a relationship like that? None of the girls who’d pursued Louis, and certainly not any of the boys he was mates with.
Still, that was Harry’s decision, and eventually he’d realise how much he missed real relationships and they’d go back to being friends, but for now Harry was looking at him with hearts in his eyes and Louis told him that, yeah, they could be together for real if Harry wanted.
Harry laughed, enveloping him in a hug, and that was all right -- hugs were good. Hugs were safe.
“I’m not going to be a very good boyfriend,” Louis warned Harry, who snorted, keeping his arms looped around Louis’ neck like they were slow-dancing.
“You’ll be no different from the millions of other people who are waiting to have sex.”
“Except they want to.”
Harry flicked his ear. “You’re fine Lou, why do you think relationships have to follow some kind of formula?”
What a good question. Influence, Louis supposed. He said as much and Harry sniggered, pulling away to entwine their hands together and drag Louis off to watch a Star Wars marathon with Matt and Liam.
---
If Louis had expected things to change, he was sorely disappointed. Harry was remarkably considerate -- too much so, in fact.
They’d just finished their sound check and it had sounded so good and Harry was all up in his space like he was going to kiss him but stopped himself and, jesus, Louis wasn’t quite as delicate as all that. He took Harry’s face in his hands and pressed their lips together insistently. When he pulled back with a comical smack, Harry was grinning but also looking disapproving, oddly enough.
“What?” Louis asked.
“You don’t have to do that,” Harry said, scolding a little. “You don’t have to kiss me.”
Louis laughed loud enough that it echoed through the stadium and made the people milling about glance over in vague interest.
“Have to? I want to, you big tosser.”
“You --” Harry’s grin faltered. “You want to kiss me? Honestly?”
“Honestly,” Louis said. He kissed Harry again to prove his point. “Kissing is good, I do like to kiss. And if you’re my boyfriend, you can bloody well kiss me whenever you want to.”
Not smiling at all anymore, Harry brushed his lips against Louis’ tentatively. Before he could ask if Louis was sure or something equally stupid, Louis threw his arms around Harry’s neck and kissed him properly, glad when hands came to steady at his hips.
“Oi,” Liam’s voice was echoing through a microphone, annoyed. “If you’re done canoodling, get off the stage.”
---
They fucking rocked Beatles Week.
Maybe they were being a bit ridiculous during the performances, grinning like idiots and singing directly to each other more than the crowd, but Louis knew without a shadow of a doubt that they had never sounded better. When they sang the last notes of I Wanna Hold Your Hand, the crowd was almost deafening. Louis had to strain to hear the judges but it was good things, all good things, and when Harry hauled him in for a brief kiss by the back of his neck, the crowd got, impossibly, louder.
----
Louis woke up in the middle of the night thanks to Harry extricating himself from Louis’ arms. He was about to get up, it seemed, so Louis threw an arm across his chest and held him down, just to be a dick.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked conversationally.
A full-body shiver went through Harry.
“Er,” he said, voice taut. “I kind of -- with the excitement and all -”
“Oh, you need to have a wank,” Louis said. He didn’t move his arm. “No need to be embarrassed, I do wank off, just not nearly as often as you and the rest of the male populous, apparently.”
Harry laughed, but it was strained. “Can you, um, let me go then? Or at least stop talking, you’re really -- you’re not helping matters.” Oh. Oh, all right. Probably Louis should just move his arm and let Harry sneak off to the loo, but he was still a little wound up from the show himself, and helping Harry out didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.
“You can stay,” Louis said into Harry’s ear. “I don’t -- you can, you know. You’re not going to traumatise me or anything, Haz, so, just -- you can.”
“No,” Harry half-groaned. “No, I’ll -- you’ll be uncomfortable.”
“Do I look uncomfortable?” Louis asked. When Harry made to argue again he lost patience. “For God’s sake, Styles, put your hand on your dick.”
Whether it was the direct order or just that he really needed relief, Harry didn’t hesitate to obey Louis, sighing happily when his hand made contact under the covers. It was kind of adorable, but Louis would never say that out loud -- Harry might take it as a dig at his manliness.
“I have to, um, sorry,” Harry said, kicking the blankets to the foot of the bed, “you’ll be angrier if I get the sheets dirty.”
“I’ve seen you naked a million times,” said Louis.
It was true, of course, but naked and aroused was a different story altogether. “Sorry anyway.” Harry barely seemed to realise he was speaking, concentrated as he was on arching up into his own palm. Louis watched, in the low light, the head of his dick disappearing and reappearing over Harry’s fist. It didn’t stimulate him, the same way porn was nothing other than absolutely hilarious -- dicks hadn’t really interested Louis before, and it was more the fact that this was Harry that made his throat feel dry.
“What’re you thinking about?” Louis asked, genuinely curious. Harry snorted a little.
“You.”
Well, that wasn’t surprising. In fact, Louis thought he might’ve been a little cranky if he’d said anyone else. He honestly didn’t mind being objectified, especially if the one doing it was his own boyfriend, but Harry was looking at him apologetically and really, he had to get past feeling guilty about stupid things. If Louis wanted him to stop, he’d damn well tell him to stop. But he didn’t want to, just yet.
“What am I doing?” He laughed at the way Harry’s eyes fluttered closed at the question.
“Sucking me off,” Harry said, mumble in full force.
“I can do that,” said Louis. “Not -- not right now, but someday, yeah?”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Fuck, yeah.”
Really, Louis had no idea how blowjobs even worked. He’d only ever been on the receiving end of one, and as nice as it had felt to have Hannah’s lips stretched around him, he just -- he hadn’t been able to get completely hard, let alone get off. Whatever, it couldn’t be too difficult. Louis thought he might actually do a better job than people who wanted to get off, because he could just focus all his attention on Harry, on making him happy. And, yeah, that didn’t sound like a hardship in the slightest. It was definitely something he could do, in future.
“I don’t know how or anything,” Louis said just to have something to say. The room was filled with nothing but the sound of Harry’s hand working itself over his dick and his laboured breathing.
“I’ll show you,” Harry managed to say. “I’ll -- I’ll show you what I like.”
“I like you,” Louis said.
Harry huffed a laugh. “I -- oh, god, Lou, I like you too.” Louis nipped at his ear in an affectionate way, and Harry made a kind of choked-off sound. “‘m close, Louis, I need to --”
“Come on, then,” Louis said, and Harry did.
The actual result of an orgasm was usually about as interesting to Louis as a sloth race, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the streaks of white along Harry’s flat stomach. He brought his hand down to trace pictures in the come, fascinated. Harry chuckled at him but he couldn’t quite get past the idea that he caused that reaction in Harry, helped him come without even touching him.
Harry groped around on the floor and came up with a t-shirt that he wiped himself down with. There was still some come clinging to Louis’ fingers and he put them in his mouth, curious
Though his pupils were still dilated, Harry’s expression was more amused than anything else.
“Salty,” Louis commented, and Harry burst out laughing, pulling him close.
---
It was the kiss.
That’s what Simon kept saying, and Liam agreed with him, which pissed Louis off because Harry shouldn’t be feeling responsible for this shit. They’d put on the best performance of the night and they were voted off, because Harry kissed him onstage for the world to see.
So many people were outraged on their behalf; Caroline Flack was saying that ‘Stylinson didn’t deserve to leave after a performance as strong as that one’, and Simon was fuming about as much as Louis was.
Harry needed to be alone, he said, so Liam took it upon himself to bring Louis to the gym and hold the punching bag while Louis let out his frustration.
“It’s -- not -- fucking -- fair,” he growled, accentuating each word with a punch. Liam didn’t say anything, but his Sad Eyes were at full capacity and Louis guessed that even though Liam was relieved -- he and Stylinson appealed to the same demographic, after all, so now he kind of had the teenage girl vote locked down -- part of him was upset to see Louis and Harry go.
Louis gave Liam his number before he went to sleep for the last time in the X Factor house even though he was fairly certain Liam would never use it. Harry wasn’t there when Louis fell asleep, but he was when the sun broke through their window, snoring lightly, tear-tracks dried on his cheeks.
---
“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Harry asked, his hand holding his mum’s car door open. Louis ruffled his hair and then left his hand there, just cupping the back of Harry’s head.
“Course you will,” he said. “I’ll come visit next week if your mum’s cool with it --”
“I am,” Anne said from inside the car; she wasn’t even pretending she wasn’t listening. Louis smiled at her brightly.
“Cheers, Anne. Besides, the tour’s in a few weeks. We can pester Cher and make Liam blush all the livelong day and you’ll be sick of me when it’s all over. And you know, even then I’ll force my company on you.”
“Promise?” Harry asked, voice breaking.
Louis kissed him, quick and close-mouthed because Anne and Gemma were right there, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Promise,” he said, bumping his nose against Harry’s.
---
Falling in love was a hell of a lot easier than the movies made it sound. There was no Big Misunderstanding or meddling friends (discounting Stan, who meddled in everything, not just Louis’ love life), and it wasn’t like Louis wanted to die whenever he had to be away from Harry. It sucked, sure, but it was no Man United losing four matches in a row. And the wanting did come, at an incredibly inopportune moment if Louis did say so himself -- in the middle of his solo in the O2 Arena -- but the only big deal about it was Stan’s hysterical laughter at the other end of the phone because of the pictures leaked online of him sporting an erection that could be seen from space. Basically, at the end of it all, it was totally void of Big Misunderstandings and Big Romantic Gestures, but Louis was more than happy with the way it all turned out and so, he knew, was Harry.