Archive of Our Own ^beta

I am here through it all
I'm just a guy who falls
And I can't keep the feeling stuck in the back of my mind
And I tried too many, tried too many times

~sombr

Louis is halfway through brushing his teeth, eyes bleary and posture slack when he hears his phone buzz on his bedside table in the other room. 

He ignores it at first, desperate to finish his nightly routine and get into bed, to end this long day before he has to wake up and do it all over again. 

He spits his toothpaste and washes it down the drain, rinses with mouthwash and drags a towel over his face before stumbling back to his bedroom with his eyes nearly closed. He collapses onto his bed with as much grace as a toddler who’s way past their nap time and it’s not until he blindly plugs his phone into its charger that he remembers the text. 

The phone lights up in his hand and he sees the preview flash up. Louis stares at it for so long that the screen goes black again, and his own eyes— now wide and very much awake, are staring back at him, startlingly.

It’s a text from Harry. Which in itself is far from unusual. They text all the time. Almost every day in one long continuous stream of random conversation that never really starts or ends. It’s what the message says that has Louis’ mouth dropping open and his body kicking into gear. He sits up immediately, tapping the screen again to make sure that what he’s really seeing is not actually some over worked, over tired illusion. 

Harry

Want to see what happens if you don’t come over tonight, babe?

Louis’ brain stalls, completely slamming against the wall. 

There’s a photo attached. 

He shouldn’t open it. He knows this. He should lock the phone and throw it across the room. It doesn’t matter if the screen shatters, maybe it would be for the best. He can just pretend it never happened, delete it and completely forget it was ever there. 

Naturally, he taps on the image. 

It loads slowly, his flat’s patchy wifi making it buffer just long enough for Louis to question every life choice leading up to this decision. But when it finally appears on the screen, clear and in full high definition, Louis nearly swallows his tongue. 

It’s Harry. 

His best friend of ten years, lying against his rumpled bed sheets in soft, warm lighting. Shirtless and flushed pink. That stupid knowing smile curled on his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Which he probably does. Harry’s never been unaware of the way he looks. But this— this is different. 

He’s wearing lace.

Black lace panties, thin and snug across the swell of his soft hips, the waistband resting low enough that Louis can see the trail of hair that disappears beneath the delicate fabric. He’s arched slightly, one leg bent, a hand brushing his inner thigh like he’s teasing himself. He’s looking up at the outstretched camera with wide, innocent eyes. Like he isn’t spread out like a fucking centrefold. 

The heat floods Louis fast and brutal, licking up his spine and pooling low in his belly. It’s enough to make him dizzy, his pulse racing and the phone shaking in his hand.

He shouldn’t be looking. He knows this. It’s obvious— painfully obvious, that the text wasn’t meant for him. Harry must have meant to send it to the new boyfriend. The one who takes Harry on dull dates and drives that posh car he definitely didn’t buy himself. 

Louis hates him. Mostly because he’s nice enough. Harmless even. The kind of guy Harry thinks he should want, because he doesn’t know better. Because he doesn’t realise he could have more. 

Deserves more.

Deserves someone who would know what to do with him in those panties.

Louis swears under his breath, drops the phone onto the bed and rubs a hand down his face.

He doesn’t think about Harry like that anymore. Not in years.

Sure, he used to. Back at uni when they first got close. When Harry would sleep in his bed after nights out, curl around him like they were made to fit together. Louis used to lie awake for hours watching the slow rise and fall of Harry’s chest, imagining what it would be like to kiss him. To touch him. To have him.

But that was a long time ago.

Back then, Harry was just discovering who he was. Always dating someone new, always bouncing around in bright clothes and even brighter smiles. Louis made peace with just being his best friend. He’d forced himself to shut that part down, to bury it somewhere deep. He let it go.

And it stayed buried. Or so he thought.

Because now he can’t stop seeing it flash behind his eyelids, the lines of Harry’s body in that photo, the way he posed like he wanted to be devoured, like he knew the effect it would have.

And not on Louis.

It wasn’t for him. It was for someone else.

Someone who could touch him like that. Someone who wouldn’t waste time pretending not to notice how fucking gorgeous he is.

Louis exhales harshly, raking both hands through his hair.

“Fuck’s sake.”

It’s not like he didn’t know about the lingerie. They lived together during uni. Shared a cramped closet in their even more cramped dorm. Of course Louis had seen them. Harry had brushed it off at the time, made a joke about it once in that casual, too loose way he uses when he’s saying something real and pretending he’s not.

“I like it sometimes.” He’d said, flopping onto their couch and pointedly refusing to look Louis in the eyes. “Makes me feel hot.”

“You are hot.” Louis had replied without thinking. It earned him a laugh and a swat to the knee and that had been it. The moment passed.

But this—

This is real.

This is evidence.

Harry’s not just wearing lace. He’s posing in it. Smirking in it. Sending it to someone and wanting a reaction. Wanting to be touched.

Louis groans and rolls onto his stomach. His cock is already pressing against his mattress, hard and insistent like it knows better than him what he wants.

It would be so easy. Just a hand slipped under the waistband. Just a few strokes. Just enough to ease the ache.

He shouldn’t. God, he knows he shouldn’t.

But he can’t blink away the image. And Harry looks so pretty. And Louis is only human. A disgusting, perverted human. 

They’re best friends. They have been for ten years. Louis knows the smell of his shampoo. He’s seen him laugh so hard that he chokes. They’ve cried over movies together and gone home to each other's families at Christmas time.

Louis has held Harry’s hair back as he throws up in the gutter after three tequila shots too many. He cradled him in his arms when he had his heart broken. He loves Harry. He’s not supposed to be getting hard over him.

He grabs his phone. He opens the picture again. His hand slips lower.

He’ll regret it, he knows he will. He’ll allow himself time to be disgusted with himself later, once he's dealt with the persistent ache between his legs. 

Louis exhales shakily and hopes this will be quick. Hopes it’ll be clinical— just a release, nothing more. He can blame it on exhaustion. Or stress. Or the fact that he hasn’t had a decent wank in ages.

His hand moves lower. He’s already rock hard.

He palms himself slowly at first, just feeling the weight and the heat in his hand. The first stroke punches a breath from his lungs. He closes his eyes and tries not to picture it. 

He fails spectacularly.

All he can see is Harry’s legs spread wide, his back arched just so. The dip of his waist. The obvious line of his cock under the delicate lace. His tongue in the corner of his smile.

Louis groans, the sound catching low in his throat. He flops back over onto his back and opens his legs wider, then slowly drags his thumb over the head, smearing precome and lets his head fall back against the pillow.

He shouldn’t be doing this. 

But it’s just one time. One slip. A moment of weakness.

His hand moves faster, his hips jerking up into it, chasing the friction. His thighs are already trembling.

He wonders what Harry sounds like when he’s turned on. If he gets loud and whiny. If he gasps when he’s touched just right. If he likes it rough, or if he goes soft and shy.

He thinks about slipping his fingers under that lace. Tearing them off in a frenzy and throwing the shredded material onto the floor. Pinning Harry down and showing him how good it could be. How it’s supposed to feel.

His stomach clenches. His whole body curls tight around the feeling. He's so close. He needs it.

Just a bit more. Just—

His phone buzzes in his hand, the photo now replaced by Harry’s smiling face as the incoming call shatters Louis’ thoughts. 

His entire body jolts like he’s been electrocuted, the phone slipping from his fingers into the rumpled covers. 

He scrambles to find it, the ringtone cutting through the pounding in his ears, shattering the silence of the room.

He sits up when he finds it, his breath ragged and heart pounding. 

Harry is calling him.

His dick wilts instantly and he tugs the blankets up higher like Harry could see him and know what he was doing. 

He answers in a voice that he barely recognises. 

“H-hey.” 

“Louis.” Harry's voice comes through, breathless and panicked. “Oh my god. Please tell me you didn’t look at that text.”

Louis’ heart is doing something awful behind his ribs. His skin feels three sizes too tight.

He laughs, weakly. “What text?”

“Oh my god.” Harry groans with what sounds like relief. “It was meant for Leo. I wasn’t— God, I wasn’t even thinking. I hit the wrong name, and I— shit, Lou, I’m so sorry. Please don’t open it. Just delete it.”

Louis stares at the wall. His hand is still damp in his lap, his cock throbbing in miserable betrayal.

“It’s alright.” He manages. “I didn’t see anything.”

“You didn’t?”

“Nope.” Lie. “I was asleep.” He should have been. If he’d just turned his phone off when he went for his shower, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t be lying to his best friend or have guilt clawing its way up his throat with every word. 

“Oh thank god.” Harry exhales so loudly Louis has to pull the phone away slightly. “I would’ve died, Lou. I swear I just aged ten years.” He huffs a laugh that Louis tries to let soothe his frayed nerves, but it doesn’t help. 

He just swallows it all down, tries to end this conversation quickly so he can pretend this never happened. 

Except when they say their goodnights and Louis is left alone in the silence of his bedroom, it’s all he can think about. He stares at the ceiling.

The photo is still burned into the backs of his eyelids.

He knows this won’t be the last time he sees it. Even if he deletes it like Harry begged him to, his brain won’t let him forget. Not now. Probably not ever.

~

He can’t look Harry in the eye, which is fine because Harry’s entire focus is on Leo anyway. He knows he’s being moody and he’s quietly thankful his friends aren’t calling him out on it. 

They’re at their weekly Thursday night drinks, all crammed into their usual corner booth. Empty jugs litter the table and there’s a half eaten bowl of chips in the middle. Louis has been nursing the same warm beer for the last hour, tuning in and out of the conversations going on around him. 

Zayn and Liam are talking about some show they’re both watching, while Niall gave up trying to include Louis and is now having an animated debate about the benefits of pre drinks with a bored looking waitress. 

At the other end of the table, Harry is tucked in close to Leo, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. Louis doesn’t try to hear what they’re saying. He doesn’t want to know. 

Leo twirls one of Harry’s curls with his fingers and then gently pushes it behind his ear. Harry’s cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink and Louis’ mind betrays him with flashes of Harry’s flushed cheeks in the photo he still hasn’t deleted from his phone. Suddenly he can’t breathe.

He stands up abruptly and excuses himself for a smoke, though no one is really listening. 

It’s cold when he pushes his way outside, the kind that sinks down to your bones and leaves you damp and shivering. He didn’t grab his jacket from his chair, was too busy trying to flee the suffocating air of the crowded bar to even think about it.

He’s halfway through his cigarette when a blast of warm air and the muffled sounds of the bar spill out as the door swings open beside him. He spots Harry first, then those eyes find him and Harry’s smile blooms so wide his eyes squeeze shut with the force of it.

“There you are!” He shouts a little too loudly, clearly passed tipsy now. His eyes are glassy and dark, lips pink and sticky from whatever ghastly cocktail he’s been sipping on. He looks beautiful in the flickering light of the smokers room, and Louis can’t breathe again. 

“Fuck, it’s cold.” Harry doesn’t seem to notice Louis’ inner spiral and steps towards him, leaning his back against the brick wall beside Louis with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

He’s in jeans and a flimsy shirt, more buttons coming loose as the night wears on. His own jacket was clearly forgotten inside too.

Harry doesn’t smoke, so he must have come out looking for Louis.

Louis finishes his cigarette before either of them says anything else. He doesn’t know what he’s about to say when he opens his mouth, but it quickly dies on his tongue when he turns and comes face to face with Harry. He’s already looking at Louis, soft and open and with so much love in his eyes it nearly knocks the wind out of him. His eyes are wide and full of trust and Louis feels like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. 

He has to look away, eyes falling to his shoes against the damp concrete. 

“You’re quiet tonight.” Harry's voice comes out softer than before. “Everything alright?” 

Louis doesn’t know how to answer without spewing out the truth, but he doesn’t want to keep lying. So he forces a weak smile and nods. “Just tired. It’s been a shit week.” It’s mostly true. He’s been drowning at work and the little sleep he does get is broken and filled with spiralling thoughts. 

He hasn’t looked at the photo again since he received it, but he doesn’t have to. It’s etched into his mind— sharp and clear as daylight.

Harry nods, but his eyes stay locked on Louis, watching him, searching, like he’s still not quite convinced. He looks like he’s about to say something more, so Louis pushes off the cold brick wall, flicks his cigarette butt into a discarded beer bottle and brushes his hands on his jeans.

“I think I’m gonna head home.” He still can’t meet Harry’s eyes, but he catches the way Harry’s shoulders sag, disappointment clear in the slump. He hates himself for it, but if he stays any longer, he knows he’ll do something stupid like kiss that pout right off his lips.

“Okay.” Harry doesn’t argue, he knows how stubborn Louis can be. Instead, he steps forward, pulling Louis into his arms before he can slip away. “Can we hang out soon? I’ve missed you.” His voice drops to a whisper, breath warm against Louis’ ear as he holds him tight.

Louis allows himself to bask in the warmth of Harry’s arms a moment longer than he should before stepping back. “Maybe.” He says, forcing himself to meet Harry’s eyes. “Work’s been hectic. And you’ve got Leo to keep you busy.” He means it as a joke, but it lands heavier than he intended.

Harry doesn’t laugh. He levels Louis with a steady frown and shakes his head. “He could never replace you, Lou. You know that. Nobody could.”

Louis lets the words settle, sinking deep. Harry’s had boyfriends before, never letting any of them come between what they have. It’s Louis who’s been pulling away. No matter how much it hurts.

He just needs to sort his head out. He needs to work out how to go back to how things were before he started thinking about his best friend naked in his bed. It’s not even just the picture. He loves Harry. He always has. It was never just sexual attraction, though that’s definitely a potent side effect. He wants to go on dates with Harry, to show him how every idiot who ever took him out should have treated him. He wants to call him his boyfriend, to kiss him in public just to watch him blush under the spotlight.

He wants to marry him. To spend the rest of his life with Harry by his side. He was happy doing that as friends, knowing they would always be a part of each other's lives no matter what. He just needs to go back to a time when that was enough.

They go back inside together and Louis grabs his jacket, leaves the pub with a quick wave to his mates. Niall barely notices and Liam is at the bar, but Zayn gives him a questioning look, wordlessly asking him if he’s okay. Louis just nods and promises to see them all next week. 

He doesn’t bother with an Uber. It’s close enough and the walk might do him good, even with the chill nipping at his skin. All he wants is to sleep. To survive the week without breaking anything else. He tells himself he can do it.

Maybe.

~

When he gets home, the cold bites sharp at his fingers as he fumbles with the lock. For a split second, he’s back on campus— eighteen, hungover and shivering, stumbling into his dorm room during that first disorienting week of uni.

Back before everything got tangled up.

Back when Harry had first crashed into his life.

The memory hits him hard and when he closes his eyes, he’s right back there again like no time has passed.

He pushed the door open and stumbled inside, shushing himself and giggling quietly at the nonsense of it all. His roommate wasn’t even in tonight, he could be as loud as he wanted. But something about the dark, stillness of the room and the aching tiredness in his bones had him wanting to just crawl right into the bed he was still not quite used to sleeping in. 

It’d been a rough first few weeks, his schedule packed with classes where he had no idea what he was doing, and social gatherings that felt forced and awkward. He came here thinking he’d make friends instantly, instead he was sweating through his clothes as he rushed from class to class, burying himself in coursework and staying up way too late trying to get comfortable in the too stiff bed with the strange smelling sheets. 

He tugged off his jeans, leaning on the desk so he didn’t fall, nearly knocking over a water bottle he didn’t remember leaving out and then climbed under the covers. He rolled onto his side and reached for his pillow when he suddenly grabbed something warm and solid. 

The person in his bed screamed at the same time Louis did. He jolted back so hard he crashed to the floor with an aching thud. 

“What the fuck?!” He shouted and scrambled across the room to turn on the light. When his eyes focused in the brightness, he saw a boy in his bed, clutching the duvet to his chest with a horrified look on his face. “What are you doing in my room?” Louis tried to sound tough but his voice shook as he backed himself against the wall by the door, ready to bolt.

“Your room?” The boy gasped. “This is my room!” 

Louis’ stomach dropped. His gaze flicked around the unfamiliar space, and he can clearly see this is definitely not his dorm. This room was tidy, smelled like lavender and had a little shelf lined with tiny houseplants.

“Shit.” Louis muttered, mortified. “Fuck— sorry, I thought this was 3B. Must’ve gotten the wrong floor. Jesus, sorry, mate.”

The boy still clutched his chest, eyes wide like he might faint. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Well, you screamed in my face!” Louis shot back.

“You crawled into my bed!”

“Yeah, well— maybe you should’ve locked your door!”

They stared at each other for a beat too long and then both dissolved into nervous, breathless laughter. Louis sank back onto the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s been a hell of a night— week, actually.” 

“Ugh, tell me about it. Why did I not prepare for how hard this would be?” 

Louis looked at him properly, then. And something inside his chest eased, like a weight lifting. His hair was a mess— curls flattened on one side, wild and untamed on the other from sleep. His eyes were wide and bright despite being roused so suddenly and they held a softness that made Louis’ breath catch. His lips curved into a shy smile, the faintest dimple shadowing one cheek.

“I’m Louis.” He said softly, holding out his hand.

The boy leaned forward without hesitation, fingers curling around his. “I’m Harry.”

They spent that entire first night sprawled on Harry’s dorm room floor, talking about everything and nothing all at once. Louis finally let go of the feelings he’d bottled up every time he told his mum he was fine, happy, well rested. Harry in turn, confessed his excitement about finding himself at uni, but also his fear at being out on his own for the first time.

It sparked a protective fire in Louis’ chest so fierce it never truly faded. Even that first night as they laughed over stories, munched on gummy bears and shared the same bottle of water between them, Louis felt an immediate, unspoken connection with Harry. And it was clear that Harry felt it too.

Louis couldn’t say whether it was because Harry was the first real friend he’d made at uni, or if it was something about Harry himself— open, disarming, and painfully honest, that made Louis want to stay close. Maybe it was both. Whatever it was, something shifted for him that night, and it never quite shifted back.

Harry had been clear from the start— he’d come to uni to explore. To try things he never felt free enough to explore back home. He wanted to experiment with style, with sexuality, with identity and figure out who he was when nobody was watching.

So Louis sat back and watched, honoured to witness Harry bloom into himself. It was messy, brilliant and so brave. Louis was there to pick him up when he made mistakes, to cheer him on when he found another puzzle piece that clicked into place. And all the while, he buried every urge to reach out and touch what was never his to hold.

The Harry Louis first met was always in there, buried beneath the layers he tried on over the years. He’d shine through in the quieter moments— when it was just them, when he felt safe enough to let the walls down.

Louis cherished those moments.

He loved every version of Harry. The shy boy he first crawled into bed with, the sexy, self-assured man who still turned to him like he was home.

And he waited.

Not for Harry to realise Louis had wanted him all along, but for the feeling to pass. For the ache to dull, for the yearning to settle into something easier to live with. And for a while it had. Or at least he’d convinced himself that it had.

He told himself he was happy just being close. To be the one Harry called when things went wrong, the one who stayed long after everyone else got bored. He watched the boy he loved kiss strangers and fall into short lived romances and told himself he was lucky just to be beside him.

It’s not like Louis hadn’t tried to move on. He’d dated, fucked around, even thought he might be falling once or twice.

But no one else ever made him feel like Harry did. Like love could be as simple as breathing, if only he were brave enough to take the first breath.

He curls into his bed now, cold and alone. He thinks of how they had fallen asleep together that very first night, right there on Harry’s dorm room floor. How they had curled around each other like instinct, hands pressed against warm skin and legs tangled together. 

He pulls the covers up to his chin and closes his eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easy. His mind is too loud. It’s been years since he let himself think about that night— really think about it. Even longer since he allowed himself to feel the truth behind it.

He tells himself it’s just nostalgia. That he’s just tired, touch starved and overwhelmed. But it’s harder to lie to himself now. Not when the memory feels more like a wound reopening than a comfort.

Louis lets out a shaky breath and stares at the ceiling.

He’s in so much fucking trouble.

~

It’s the following weekend and Louis has almost managed to fool himself into thinking he’s over it.

He’s buried himself in work, ducked a few of Harry’s texts with halfhearted excuses and ignored the way his chest tightens every time Leo’s name comes up in the group chat. It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s pulled back just enough to clear his head. To try and get himself in check. Things are settling. Returning to their normal rhythm.

And Harry hasn’t seemed to notice the shift. If he has, he hasn’t said anything.

That’s why it throws Louis completely off balance when he’s just settling in with takeaway and a mindless Netflix queue early on a Saturday night and his phone buzzes loud against the quiet with an incoming call from Harry.

He answers on the second ring, because despite the distance, despite everything, he’s never been able to ignore Harry when he needs him.

“Hey, everything alright?” He asks, closing his pizza box and dropping the remote down onto the couch. 

Harry doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is breathless and high pitched with panic. Louis sits up a little straighter.

“Lou? Are you— can you come over? Please?”

Louis bolts up from the couch and is already pulling on a hoodie before Harry has even finished his sentence. “What’s happened? Are you hurt?”

He frantically pats down every pocket, then glances at the key dish by the door. It’s empty, as usual. Honestly, he’s not sure why he even has a key dish when it never seems to hold his keys when he actually needs them.

“No! No, nothing like that. I just—” Harry exhales sharply. “It’s stupid. Never mind, I shouldn’t have called.” Louis’ heart beat eases slightly, but the distress in Harry’s voice still has him on edge. He checks the pocket of his jacket on the hook by the door and finally finds his keys, already opening his front door. 

“I’m on my way.” He keeps his voice steady even as he rushes down the stairs two at a time. “Just stay put, I’ll be there in ten.”

He makes it there in seven minutes flat and only managed to have one near miss when he shot through an amber light. 

The door flies open before he’s even made it up the stairs of Harry’s floor and what greets him is a wide eyed Harry in nothing but fluffy socks and the dressing gown Louis got him for Christmas. 

His hair looks like it had been neatly curled but it’s clear he’s been running his fingers through the sides— a telltale sign that he’s stressed. 

He’s got a sheen of sweat on his forehead and there’s mascara streaked down his left cheek, the skin beneath red and blotchy like he’d been scrubbing at it. 

Louis stops in his tracks on the landing, stunned. “Jesus. What’s going on?” He mindlessly checks over Harry for any sign of injury, despite Harry having insisted he wasn’t hurt. 

Harry just grabs Louis by the wrist and tugs him inside, slamming the door behind them. He doesn’t stop until they’re standing in Harry’s bedroom. At least it used to be Harry’s bedroom. 

Now it looks like the inside of a style magazine has exploded in the room. There’s clothes strewn all over the bed, the floor, even the little chair in the corner that Harry insists isn’t a sex chair. 

It’s a far cry from the neat, orderly space Harry takes such good care of— especially his closet. 

He prides himself on the pieces in his wardrobe, the designer suits, the delicate blouses, his collection of shoes so big Louis used to wonder if he’d ever seen Harry wear the same pair twice. 

“Have you been robbed?” It’s the only explanation to why Louis would be standing a foot away from a crumpled Gucci blazer. 

Harry groans dramatically. “No! I can’t find anything to wear.” He sounds genuinely distressed, pacing back inside the closet. “I’m meeting Leo’s parents in an hour and everything I own makes me look like a fucking clown.”

Louis swallows hard, the image of Harry meeting Leo’s parents after just a few weeks together settling heavy in his chest. The seriousness of it all hits him in a rush. This wasn’t just a fling to Harry. It was something real.

Louis pushes away those thoughts and steps over a sequin top on the floor, blinking. “So— this is a fashion emergency?” 

Harry shoots him a look like he’s just been slapped. “It’s the fashion emergency. I need to look cute but smart. Soft but not fragile. Sexy but not slutty. Like I’m marriage material but not desperate for it, you know?”

Louis doesn’t know. Not even a little. But he nods anyway. “Got it.”

He swallows hard against the lump rising in his throat. It’s just dinner. Just clothes. Just Harry, panicking in the way only Harry can— pacing in circles with his hands fluttering at the air like they do when he’s passionate about something. 

There’s still a streak of mascara down his cheek, faint but visible like he wiped his face mid breakdown and couldn’t be arsed to fix it. Louis can’t help but zero in on it, heart squeezing at the evidence of how hard Harry’s tried. And how hard he’s doubting himself.

Harry’s voice cracks slightly as he starts pulling shirts off their hangers. “Nothing is working. I tried some makeup but I looked ridiculous. I don’t want them to think I’m too much.”

That’s what does it. Something inside Louis snaps, quiet but fierce.

“Haz.” He says, firm enough to get Harry’s attention then steps forward before he can stop himself. “You are too much. And that’s exactly why you’re brilliant.”

Harry stills. He looks at Louis, properly looks at him, his eyes wide and searching as if Louis’ words are sinking deep, cracking something open inside him.

Louis pushes on. “Don’t dull yourself down for anyone. Not for some posh dinner, not for a boyfriend’s parents, not for anyone who can’t handle all that you are. If they can’t love you just for being yourself, then they don’t deserve to know you.”

It’s out there now, bold and stupid and too close to the truth and Harry’s eyes are wide with something unreadable, like he’s seeing Louis in a new light.

The silence stretches tight between them like elastic. So Louis does the only thing he can to keep it from snapping.

He strides into the closet and plucks a shirt off a hanger. It’s soft and delicate, a pearly lilac that makes Harry’s eyes shine. “This one.” He says, holding it up. “Makes your eyes sparkle.”

Harry blinks, lashes still damp as he takes the shirt.

Louis finds some tailored black trousers next. Crisp, elegant, a little boring, but they’ll do. They’ll make the shirt pop.

He brings them over and gently presses them into Harry’s hands then reaches up to wipe the mascara tracks from his cheek with the pad of his thumb. Harry closes his eyes, leaning into the touch just slightly.

Louis clears his throat and steps back. “You could do a little highlighter.” He adds softly. “Just here—” He taps the corners of his own eyes. “Bring a bit of glow back in. You don’t need much.”

Harry nods but he doesn’t say anything. Just watches him. Quiet and awestruck, like Louis has hung the stars instead of just picked out trousers.

Louis feels like he’s bleeding inside his own skin. Dressing the boy he loves so he can go to dinner with someone else.

When Louis returns home, his pizza has long gone cold and the TV has faded to black. He sits in the quiet and bites into a chewy crust just for something to do but gives up not long after and goes to bed. 

He stares at the ceiling, trying and failing not to think about how Harry had looked, bright and happy as he kissed Louis’ cheek with a quiet thank you and drove off towards his future. One that doesn’t include Louis sitting across the table from him. 

~

It’s Harry’s birthday, and the pub is buzzing with familiar faces and the kind of laughter that only comes from a close knit group of friends, too much alcohol and celebrating someone who is loved. 

Louis arrives just late enough to miss the initial chaos, but early enough to catch the second round of shots. Harry is already tipsy, glitter smudged around his eyes, shining under the warm lights as he dances around the crowded room. 

He’s wearing a powder blue suit jacket— no shirt underneath, just his cross necklace and a delicate string of pearls against his bare chest. 

His hair is curled to perfection, tousled and framing his cheeks that are glowing from booze and pure joy. His whole face lights up when he spots Louis and then he’s bouncing across the room and throwing his arms around Louis the second he's in front of him. They stumble slightly, but Louis catches him like always, each of them holding tight like they didn’t just see each other yesterday. 

“Thought you’d bailed on me.” Harry slurs into Louis’ ear, warm and giddy.

Louis huffs a soft laugh, keeping Harry steady as he pulls back to look at him. “As if I’d miss celebrating the second most important day of the year.” 

Harry snorts and grins at him, wide and boyish, knowing this day will always fall second to Louis’ own birthday. Louis swallows the ache in his chest and hands over the gift he has hiding in his coat pocket. He offers Harry the little velvet pouch, his stomach fluttering a little with nerves. “Happy birthday.”

He debated even bringing it, wondering if maybe it was too much for someone to give a person who was definitely not their boyfriend. But when Louis had walked past the little antique shop on his way home from work last week and caught sight of it shimmering in the late afternoon sun, he knew it belonged on Harry’s finger. 

And of the way Harry’s face lights up before he’s even seen it is any indication, then he’s made the right choice.

Harry takes the ring out of the pouch right there in the middle of the crowded pub. His reaction is immediate— a soft gasp leaving his lips as his eyes go glassy. He stares down at it, inspecting the polished amethyst stone, turning it over and noticing what’s hidden in the gold inner band. His thumb brushes over the fading engraving like he’s memorising it.

Always in my heart.

“It was already engraved.” Louis murmurs softly, the words hanging in the quiet between them. “The man at the antique shop said it’d been sitting in his storage room for years, and he’d only just put it out that day. He didn’t know who it belonged to, but.. I think it was meant for you.”

“Lou..” Harry says, blinking a few times before he looks at Louis. “This is— fuck, this is perfect.”

Louis shrugs, trying to play it casual as Harry slides it down onto his pinky finger. “I’m glad you like it.”

The moment only lasts a second longer before they’re being dragged into the crowd, Niall jolting them back to reality with an arm slung over both of their shoulders. 

Louis is quickly pulled into a conversation with Harry’s sister Gemma who he’s genuinely thrilled to catch up with, but he can’t seem to keep his eyes off Harry as he flits around the room. 

He’s magnetic, like he’s lit up from within. Gliding from friend to friend like every one of them is the most important person in the room. He leans in close when people speak, laughs with his whole chest, clutches at their arms like he can’t contain his joy. He keeps lifting his hand to show off the ring, twisting his wrist in the light so the amethyst catches and sparkles.

Louis can’t hear what’s being said from where he stands, but he sees the way Harry’s face softens when he talks about it, glancing over at Louis with a wobbly smile. He sees the way people nod along, impressed, charmed, maybe even a little moved.

Harry gratefully accepts each gifts as they’re handed to him, lighting up as he unwraps a glossy hardcover book, a designer purse he immediately slings over one shoulder, a vinyl Louis can’t see but with the way Harry gasps it’s clearly one he’s been wanting to add to his ever growing collection. 

Leo’s gift comes a few moments later— a nice enough bottle of cologne, expensive, still in the bag from the shop. Harry thanks him with a smile and a kiss to his cheek, but it’s clear he’s being polite. Louis tries not to look smug, but when Leo’s eyes flick over to him, cool and assessing, he knows he hasn’t quite managed it.

The party continues, louder and livelier as the night goes on. But Leo starts looking more and more sour, maybe from the way Harry keeps gravitating to Louis, maybe from the sparkle in Harry’s eyes as he keeps looking down at the ring on his pinky finger. 

And then it happens.

Harry’s laughing at something Niall said, swaying slightly to the music with his arms in the air, vibrant and entirely himself. Leo leans over, just loud enough to be heard above the chatter.

“Babe, maybe tone it down a bit?”

Harry’s smile falters, just a flicker. But that’s all it takes.

Louis sets his drink down on the table with a clink, eyes burning into Leo across from him. “Yeah, God forbid he draws any attention on his own birthday.”

The chatter around the table dies down. Louis feels the weight of eyes on him but keeps his gaze locked on Leo, who lets out a nervous laugh, clearly caught off guard. “Jesus, didn’t know you were his personal bodyguard. I was just saying, maybe he could take it down a notch. People are staring.”

“They’re not staring because he’s embarrassing.” Louis snaps, voice low but sharp. “They’re staring because he’s fucking gorgeous and he’s enjoying himself. If that makes you uncomfortable, that’s on you, mate.”

Leo scoffs, eyes fiery and defensive. “You’ve sure got some pretty strong opinions for someone who’s not his boyfriend— no matter how much you clearly want to be. Maybe stay in your lane, mate.”

Louis’ breath punches out of him. He shoots up from his seat, not even thinking about what he’s about to do. That’s when Zayn stands up, eyes stern as he nudges Louis firmly by the elbow. “Outside. Now.”

Louis’ fists are clenched tightly, and his eyes flick to Harry who’s sitting beside Leo with his hand over his mouth and eyes wide, all traces of joy stolen from his features. The ring Louis gave him glints in the light like it's mocking him. 

Louis doesn’t argue, just clenches his jaw and lets Zayn drag him towards the front door. Out in the alley behind the pub, the cold air hits like a sharp slap of clarity. Louis leans against the wall, shaking slightly, the adrenaline still coursing through him

Zayn mirrors him, lighting a cigarette and handing it to Louis before sparking another for himself.

They’re quiet for a while, the silence stretching on as they let the smoke curl between them. Finally, Zayn breaks it, his voice low but steady. “You love him, don’t you.”

It’s not even a question, not really. Still, Louis doesn’t hesitate to answer. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look away.

“Always have.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything, just watches Louis with that steady, calm gaze he always has— like he’s quietly saying, I’m here. You’re not alone.

Louis finally lets out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, his voice rough and low. “It’s like.. I’m stuck, you know?” He swallows, running a hand through his hair. “I’m scared I’ll never stop feeling this way.”

“Feelings don’t just switch off, Lou. Doesn’t mean you have to drown in them either. Just let yourself feel them for a while, maybe with time it’ll get easier to hold onto.”

“Thanks, mate.” Louis says quietly.

Zayn shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Always.”

They fall back into silence, but it’s softer now— less heavy. And the night feels a little less cold.

~

Louis is slow to wake up the next morning, like his mind refuses to begin a new day when the weight of last night is still pressed hard against his chest. Outside, rain lashes against his window, the sky dark and heavy through the gap in his curtains, matching the gloom that’s settled inside him. 

It’s Sunday, but the usual comfort of the weekend has been replaced with the dull, hollow ache of guilt. He can’t stop replaying the look on Harry’s face when he snapped at Leo. The way his eyes widened with confusion when Leo’s words landed like a slap. 

“You’re not his boyfriend. No matter how much you clearly want to be.”

The whole table had heard it. Clearly Louis hadn’t been as subtle with his feelings as he’d thought. 

Harry’s eyes had searched his, as if begging for an answer Louis couldn’t give. 

He hates that Leo had gotten under skin, and it was clear by his reaction that Louis had gotten under Leo’s, too. For weeks, Leo had been perfectly pleasant. A bit dull, maybe, but polite enough, making an effort with Harry’s friends even though it was clear he thought them all a little low-brow.

Eventually, Louis drags himself to the kitchen, pours a bowl of cereal and drops onto the couch. He scrolls Netflix mindlessly before settling on an old comfort show. Something familiar enough that it can hopefully drown out his thoughts. 

He’s two episodes in when the doorbell buzzes. The sound is sharp and Louis startles, nearly spilling the forgotten cereal in his lap as he gets up and crosses the room to see who it is. 

When he opens the door, Harry stands there— curls soaked, shoulders hunched, his eyes dimmed like someone’s gone and stolen all his light.

Louis blinks. “Christ, you’re—”

“Don’t.” Harry cuts in, pushing past him before he can finish. He paces the length of the living room, dripping rainwater across the hardwood. “Don’t do the polite thing right now. I need— I need you to just tell me the truth.”

Louis’ pulse picks up. He shuts the door softly behind them. “What are you on about?”

Harry spins on him, wide eyed and wild. “Is it true?”

The silence between them crackles, charged and electric.

Louis swallows. “Is what true?”

“That you have feelings for me.” Harry says the words like they burn.

Louis exhales slowly through his nose, his jaw clenching tight. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it fucking matters, Louis!”

Louis’ shoulders sag, the fight draining out of him. “Then yeah. It’s true.”

Harry flinches like he’s been slapped. His voice drops, raw and broken. “How long?”

Louis doesn’t look away. “Always.”

Harry shakes his head, his damp curls swinging. He lets out a humourless laugh. “You should’ve told me.”

Louis huffs. “And said what, exactly? ‘Hey mate, been quietly in love with you since we were eighteen. Fancy ruining everything?’”

“You lied.”

“I protected myself.”

Harry moves to the couch like he’s going to sit down but he stops himself, chest still rising and falling like he’s been running. He turns, his eyes searing into Louis. “What else have you lied about?”

Louis flinches. “Harry—”

“No. Don’t backpedal now. I was naive enough to think you’d never lie to me and I was wrong. So, tell me. What else?” His voice cracks on the last word, barely held together.

Louis swallows hard. “I saw the photo.”

Harry’s brow furrows, confused. “What?”

Louis drops his chin. “The one you sent by accident. I told you I didn’t see it. That I would delete it. I didn’t.”

Harry stares at him like he’s just been punched in the sternum. “You— what? You said—”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Louis says quickly, voice low and desperate. “You were panicking. You begged me to tell you I hadn’t seen it. I wanted to save you the embarrassment—“

“You think this is less embarrassing?” Harry’s face hardens. “Unbelievable.” He paces a few steps before spinning back around. “You lied. You fucking lied. How could you not tell me?”

Louis crosses his arms over his chest like he’s trying to keep himself together. “You have a boyfriend, Harry.”

“I don’t give a shit about Leo right now!”

“Well you should! He’s your boyfriend. It’s his photo, not mine.” Louis rubs his face, heat prickling his cheeks. “It’s pathetic, I know. I wasn’t keeping it to— you know. I never looked at it again. But for that one second, before I knew it was a mistake, it felt like it was meant for me. Like you’d finally seen me the way I’ve seen you for years. And I.. I couldn’t make myself erase that feeling. You have no fucking clue what it did to me, Harry. I’ve been a mess.”

Harry’s visibly angry, but when the admission lands, his face softens slightly, shoulders sagging with a sigh of resolve. “You should have told me, Lou. We tell each other everything.” 

“I was embarrassed. And confused. I didn’t want to ruin this— us.”

“You couldn’t.”

“Yeah, well. None of it would have changed the fact that it wasn’t me you were sending the photo to.”

Harry swallows, eyes on Louis. “I never sent it to Leo.”

Louis frowns. “What?”

“Once I’d sent it to you.. it didn’t feel right sending it to him too.” Harry steps closer now, slow and cautious, the air between them tightening. “You should have told me.”

“I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t right to keep it and I shouldn’t have lied—“

“It’s not about the photo!” Harry cuts him off, his voice suddenly raw, cracking down the middle. “I wish I’d known how you felt. Because—” He stops himself, too late.

Louis’ entire body stills. “Because what?”

Harry stares at him, eyes glassy and wet. His voice breaks when he says it. “Because I fucking love you too.”

The room stills, the hammering rain against the window and Louis’ heartbeat in his ears the only sound. Louis stares, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and hope. “What did you just say?”

Harry doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His eyes are wide and searching Louis’ face for a truth that’s been written there all along. 

“I have loved you from the moment you crawled into my bed and scared the life out of me ten years ago. I’ve been addicted to you ever since. You’ve been there for me through everything, Lou. Supporting me, encouraging me. You’re the only one who’s ever let me be truly myself. How could I not have fallen hard?”

Louis feels his heart stutter, a painful catch in his throat. Everything he’s held back crashes over him in waves. The longing, the fear, the hope, the ache of time wasted and years waiting.

His voice is barely more than a whisper, shaky and raw when he finally speaks. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He asks.

Harry shrugs his shoulders, eyes full of regret. “Same reason you didn’t. I was scared. Scared to ruin everything we have.”

Louis swallows hard, the weight of Harry’s words settling deep in his chest. After a breath, he asks quietly, “What about Leo?”

Harry’s gaze is steady, unflinching. “It’s over.”

Louis blinks. “Really?”

“He could see it in my eyes the moment he said the words last night. I didn’t even have to say it, he just knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That if there was even the slightest chance with you, I’d take it. He never stood a chance, Lou.”

”I’m sorry.” He means it. He never wanted to come between Harry and his relationship. He’d never have done that intentionally. 

“I’m not.”

Something about the raw honesty, the certainty in Harry’s words causes Louis to break. Years of restraint, of swallowing every feeling, of pretending he was fine is gone in an instant. He doesn’t even think, just closes the space between them and crashes their mouths together.

It’s desperate and bruising. The kind of kiss that feels like dragging back years they can never reclaim. Harry makes a startled noise against his mouth before surging forward, fisting Louis’ shirt like he’s afraid letting go might undo all of it. Cold rainwater is seeping into Louis from Harry’s wet clothes, but it barely registers. All he knows is heat, the slide of Harry’s lips, the press of his body, the taste that’s been haunting him for years— and the dizzy, bone-deep shock of finally.

The hesitation that’s held him back for so long melts away like ice in a fire. His hands slide up Harry’s wet shirt, gripping the curve of his waist, pulling him flush against his body. Harry’s breath catches, caught off guard by the sudden movement but he doesn't resist.

Their mouths collide again, but this time it’s more urgent, more demanding, as if making up for every lost second. He nips at Harry’s bottom lip, a sharp little bite that sends a soft, breathless whimper tumbling from Harry’s throat.

Harry’s hands tangle in Louis’ hair, his fingers curling as if to anchor himself to the moment, to Louis. “Lou.” He gasps, voice thick with need. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Take me to bed.”

Louis’ pulse hammers, every nerve coming alive. He doesn’t hesitate. He presses one last scorching kiss to Harry’s lips before tugging him towards the bedroom, their bodies trembling with hunger, the air electric with all the years they’ve held back finally crashing down around them.

They don’t make it to the bed before Harry pulls Louis in again, lips crashing against his with a desperation that makes Louis’ knees weaken. Harry’s hands clutch at his shirt, fingers digging in like he can’t bear to let go for even a moment.

But despite the ache burning under his skin, Louis pulls back just enough to catch his breath. His chest heaves, eyes dark and searching as he cups Harry’s face. His fingers trace the curve of his cheekbone, his jaw, the soft skin beneath his ear.

“Wait.” Louis breathes, voice thick and rough. “Let me see you.”

Harry blinks at him, flushed and disheveled. His lips are swollen and pink, eyes wide and shining, chest rising and falling faster than it should be. Louis lets his knuckles ghost down Harry’s cheek, lingering as if memorising the faint flush across his skin.

A silence falls between them, almost sacred. Louis leans in, voice just a whisper as it trembles with something fierce beneath the words. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

He tugs gently at the hem of Harry’s shirt. Without a word, Harry lifts his arms, so willing and so utterly obedient that it makes Louis’ head spin. As the damp fabric slips off his torso, the cool air hits Harry’s skin sending a ripple of goosebumps across it. Louis leans in immediately, pressing his warm palms flat against the chilled planes of Harry’s body, willing the heat to seep into every inch.

The kiss that follows is nothing like before. It’s slow, deep and reverent. Their tongues slide together with gentle urgency. Louis’ hands roam with purpose— down Harry’s neck, across his shoulders, tracing the planes of his back as if he’s worshipping him.

Slowly, without breaking their connection they slide down to the bed, their hearts pounding in a fierce rhythm. 

Louis settles in beside Harry, leaning up on his elbow so he can look at him. His finger tips trace a path up to Harry’s throat, lingering just long enough to feel the way his pulse flutters under the soft skin. He moves lower, trailing over his collarbones, across the swell of his chest and ghosting over a nipple. 

Harry’s breath catches, his lips parting and eyes fluttering shut. Louis leans in and plants a featherlight kiss to the centre of his chest. He keeps his eyes locked on Harry’s face as he moves lower, his lips pressing to the soft skin of his belly. Harry blinks open his eyes and looks down at Louis when Louis fingers find the button of his jeans. 

Harry squirms into the touch, clearly turned on and trying to contain it. Louis feels a rush of heat at being the one to get Harry like this. 

“So gorgeous, Harry.” He whispers as he pops the button open. He keeps his gaze steady on Harry’s face for any sign of hesitation. When all he sees is need, he works the zipper down next. 

He tugs lightly at the waistband. The fabric resists, tight and stubborn from the rain water. Harry’s patience is clearly fraying and he lifts his hips to help with a quiet hiss. As Louis peels the jeans down lower, a flash of black lace catches his eye, the same lace from the photo, delicate and impossibly beautiful against Harry’s pale skin.

Louis lets out a breathless laugh, head bowing like a prayer against Harry’s stomach. “You little fucking tease.” He murmurs, voice rough with disbelief. “You came here in these like you knew exactly what was going to happen.”

Harry’s cheeks flush deeper, eyes locked on Louis with a trembling smile. “I didn’t know, but god, I’d hoped.” 

Louis traces the intricate lace with his fingertips, slow and teasing, making Harry squirm beneath his touch. “Couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d do to you in these.” Louis confesses, voice low and hot. “So fucking pretty, baby.” His lips barely brush Harry’s skin as he leans in close, the scent of damp lace and the sweetness of Harry’s skin enveloping him. 

He trails his lips across Harry’s torso, pressing slow kisses along the ridges of his ribs, tasting every dip and curve. His hands are everywhere at once— one sliding under Harry’s back to keep him arched into his mouth, the other gripping a thigh, squeezing the firm muscle before coaxing it open, shuffling until he’s nestled between them. 

His breath skates over the thin lace, but he doesn’t touch where Harry needs it most. Instead, he palms both thighs, thumbs stroking the soft inside, spreading him wider until Harry’s breath catches audibly. He presses a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, lingering just long enough for Harry to twitch beneath his lips.

When he makes his way back up, Louis takes his time, tasting his way across Harry’s chest, tracing his tongue over each nipple until he’s finally hovering over Harry’s face again. Harry’s lips are swollen, parted like he’s just been waiting for Louis to get there.

Louis drags a fingertip slowly across Harry’s bottom lip, tracing it over the plush skin. Harry’s eyes darken, and then he leans up, biting gently at the tip before closing his lips around it. The wet heat of his mouth makes Louis’ breath stutter. Harry sucks lazily, teasing him until Louis pulls his finger free with a soft pop.

The moment stretches and then Louis kisses him hard. There’s no preamble this time. Their mouths crash together and Harry makes a needy, low sound in his throat, his hands flying to tangle in Louis’ hair. The kiss is deep, filthy, all tongue and teeth and the air between them shifts, giving way to something rawer, hotter.

Harry’s a mess beneath the weight of Louis’ body, cheeks flushed, curls damp and curling against his temples, mouth parted like he can’t catch his breath. His hips shift restlessly on the sheets, every movement a silent plea.

Louis drags his mouth down Harry’s throat, across the sharp rise of his collarbone. He lingers there, tongue teasing against the skin until Harry makes a strangled little noise and fists the sheets.

“Please.” Harry pants, but it’s loose and unformed like he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for.

Louis just smirks, his lips pressed against his skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” He murmurs, the words hot against Harry’s skin. His hand drifts lower, brushing over Harry’s stomach, tracing the waistband of the lace with a maddeningly light touch. “Gonna take such good care of you. Been dreaming of you like this for years.”

Harry’s whole body arches at the confession.

“Want it. Want you. Please, Lou.” 

Louis takes his time easing the lace down, exposing him inch by inch until he can wrap his hand around him, stroking slow enough to make Harry swear. His lips follow, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower until he’s kneeling in the space between Harry’s thighs. He presses one hand steadily against Harry’s hip, the other curled loosely at the base of his cock.

When Louis finally takes him into his mouth, it’s deep and slow enough to draw out a gasp that’s half relief, half disbelief. He works Harry over with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks, swallowing around him until Harry’s making these beautiful, desperate noises that Louis knows he’ll think about for the rest of his life.

Louis is immediately hooked on the taste of him. On the weight of his cock against his tongue. His head spins with it and he has to grind down into the mattress just to relieve the building ache between his legs.

Just when Harry’s thighs start to tremble, Louis pulls back with a slick pop, stroking him lazily instead. Harry’s voice is wrecked when he says, “No, don’t stop, please—”

But Louis only grins, leaning down to kiss the inside of his thigh. “Not yet, baby. I’ve been waiting too long for this to be over already.” 

Harry apparently doesn’t have any issue with speeding things up. He wraps his legs around Louis and quickly manoeuvres them until Louis is flat on his back. 

He manages to wrangle Louis’ shirt from his body before shoving at his sweatpants until Louis kicks them off along with his underwear. The second he’s bare, Harry’s got both hands on him, stroking his skin and teasing his cock until Louis’ head tips back with a groan.

Harry licks his lips and dips down, taking Louis into his mouth without warning. It’s messy with enthusiasm, his tongue greedy and unrestrained. Louis has to brace a palm against the headboard, his free hand buried in Harry’s curls as he breathes through the flood of heat threatening to drag him under.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” Louis gasps, his voice cracking. “You’re so fucking good for me.” His thumb sweeps over the damp curve of Harry’s cheek, tender and possessive all at once. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.” He watches, utterly undone as Harry’s eyes flick up to meet his— wide, blown, and so goddamn trusting. The sight alone has Louis’ thighs trembling.

“Been wanting this— fuck. Been dreaming of this for years.” Louis breathes, every word ragged. He feels like he’s splintering apart under Harry’s mouth, like there’s no part of himself he wouldn’t give over to Harry right now.

He knows he could give in to the feeling, could let the tension inside him snap but he forces himself to pull back, to savour it instead. Every desperate drag of Harry’s lips, every broken gasp, it’s all too good to waste on a moment’s release.

He lets himself drift in it, rocking shallowly into Harry’s mouth, watching the way his lashes flutter and his cheeks hollow with every pull. His fingers tighten in the curls at Harry’s neck, not to guide but to anchor himself, to keep from falling apart too soon. He murmurs praise without thinking— low, raw things like that’s it, sweetheart, taking me so well, just to hear the way Harry hums around him in answer.

His hips begin to move unconsciously, chasing that perfect suction of Harry's warm mouth and the heat begins to spark, sharp and almost painful. Harry’s hands clutch at his arse, dragging him in closer, his breath coming out his nose in frantic little bursts against Louis’ skin. Louis can feel the telltale pull in his belly, the ache threatening to tip him over and for a split second he’s ready to let it take him. But he forces himself to stop, to pull back from the brink. He drags Harry off his cock and back up onto him, swallowing the whine that follows with a filthy kiss, all wet mouths and desperate tongues.

Harry’s the one who moves first, desperate even as his mouth stays locked to Louis’. He shifts closer, lining their cocks together and grinding down with a broken little whimper, the sound muffled between their lips. Their bodies slide hot and slick, sweat gathering along the dip of Louis’ spine and where their hips are pressed. It makes every push and drag almost too much. Harry’s nails rake down Louis’ sides before landing on his hips. He holds on tight, like he’s afraid Louis might vanish if he lets go.

Louis lets him have it for a moment— lets him grind, lets the frantic need bleed out through the roll of his hips before he’s tightening his own grip and stilling him. “On your hands and knees for me, H.” His voice is wrecked, low with the gentle command.

Harry moves instantly, scrambling forward until he’s braced on all fours. The muscles in his arms are taut, his back arching in a perfect line. His curls hang in damp messy clumps around his flushed face. He glances at Louis over his shoulder, his eyes glassy with want. Louis takes a breath, letting the sight settle deep in his chest.

He reaches out and touches with the flat of his palm, running it slowly down the centre of Harry’s spine, over the curve of his arse, down the backs of his thighs. Then up again, featherlight until goosebumps follow his fingertips. He presses down gently at the small of Harry’s back, making him arch further, opening him up beautifully.

“God, look at you.” Louis murmurs more to himself. He reaches for the lube without breaking his gaze from the view then slicks his fingers slowly, letting the sound of it fill the room. Harry’s eyes follow the movement, his chest heaving as he watches.

Louis’ knuckles brush over him first, teasing over his rim until Harry jerks. Then the very tip of one finger presses in, not enough to breach, just enough to feel the way Harry clenches around nothing.

“Breathe for me, baby.” Louis’ voice is softer now, coaxing him to relax. He eases the finger in slowly, feeling the initial resistance give way to heat. Harry’s mouth falls open, a gasp catching in his throat as Louis curls inside him just slightly, just to feel the way he flutters. 

“Oh— oh, fuck. Louis—“

“That’s it.” Louis praises, working his finger in and out until Harry’s rocking back into it, needy and shameless. Only then does he add a second finger, twisting them together so the stretch is sharp and deep.

Harry’s head drops forward and he moans into the mattress. His hands clutch at the sheets, arms beginning to tremble under his weight. Precome drips steadily from him, wetting the sheets beneath.

“Have you thought about this as much as I have?” Louis croons, scissoring his fingers until Harry spreads his legs wide to take it. “Feels incredible, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yeah, please, fuck, need it—” The words tumble out between his shallow breaths, desperate and wrecked as he rocks his hips back. 

Louis shushes him with a third finger, pushing in slow, watching the stretch as it ripples over Harry’s skin. His free hand stays firm on Harry’s hip, holding him steady when he tries to push back too quickly.

“All mine now.” He murmurs, twisting his wrist to grind deep. “Just wait until it’s my cock stretching you.”

Harry’s trembling now, sweat sliding down his temples, curls sticking to his forehead. He’s babbling— please, please, Louis, now, need you, and Louis knows he’s right on the edge of breaking entirely.

Louis pulls his fingers out slowly, wiping them on the sheet. He doesn’t rush. Instead, he gently turns Harry, cradling him as he lays him back. Their eyes lock and Louis’ lips find Harry’s in a soft, searing kiss, one that lingers just long enough to steady their racing hearts.

When he pulls back, Harry’s eyes remain closed, lips parted as if reluctant to let go. “Look at me, baby.” Louis whispers, pressing gentle kisses to each of Harry’s eyelids. “I want to watch you while I take you apart.”

Harry blinks his eyes open, green and shimmering in the soft bedroom light. They’re so full of trust and need that Louis’ breath stutters.

“There you are.” He presses a gentle kiss to Harry’s lips, unable to stop himself now that he knows it’s welcome. “You alright?” He murmurs as Harry takes a slow, steadying breath. Harry nods, sliding his hands up Louis’ back and pulling him closer by the shoulders.

“I’m perfect.” Harry kisses him back, his tongue sliding soft and warm between Louis’ lips before he pulls back to whisper against the wet skin. “I need you to fuck me now. Please.”

Louis has imagined hearing those words a thousand times over the last decade. Sometimes a whisper, sometimes a roar. Even when he’d denied his feelings, the attraction still lingered in the back of his mind. But even in his best fantasies, they’d never sounded this sweet, not like this. Not with Harry’s warm breath fanning over his skin, nails digging into his shoulders like they’re holding on for dear life. Or with the way his hips roll up into Louis’, almost like he can’t stop them. 

He doesn’t ask if Harry is sure, he doesn’t need to. Not with the way he’s looking at him. The way his body reacts to his touch and the way he’s whispering pleas over and over again. 

Grabbing the lube from beside him, he slicks up his cock, groaning at the tight drag of his own fist. He lines himself up, then pushes in agonisingly slow, fighting the raw pull in his gut, the instinct to just drive in deep. Harry’s heat grips around him like it’s begging for him, like it’s trying to keep him there. Louis swears he feels it all the way up his spine.

Harry’s hands clutch at Louis’ shoulders, nails biting into the skin as he holds on tight, his face twisting in pleasure when Louis pushes in further. “Louis.” He gasps, breath catching as he whispers his name like a prayer. 

Louis leans down, pressing his forehead to Harry’s, eyes never leaving his. His voice is a hoarse whisper, thick with emotion, years of built up longing crashing over him in a flood of relief. “You feel so fucking good. Perfect, baby.”

His hips move in small, steady circles, savouring the feeling. Harry's body responds immediately, tightening, trembling, begging for more. He wraps his legs tight around Louis’ waist, holding him impossibly close. 

Their mouths find each other again in a messy kiss. Louis slides a hand up to cradle Harry’s throat gently, steadying him as the rhythm deepens. Their skin begins to slap together, mingling with their ragged breaths and whispered words. 

Harry’s lip trembles, his eyes shining with unshed tears as Louis fucks into him harder, deeper. Louis’ chest aches, his own tears threatening to spill but he keeps his hold strong, grounding them both even as the weight of what they’re doing threatens to crash over them.

The heat grows, and Louis’ slow, deep thrusts start to give way to something rougher and filthier. They don’t stop kissing, mouths roaming, teeth nibbling at lips, tongues tangling even as they gasp for air. Harry moans into his mouth, high and desperate, clutching at Louis like he’s afraid he’ll disappear.

“Louis—” Harry breaks away just long enough to whimper his name before Louis catches his mouth again.

Louis pulls back only enough to see him, to really see him, and the sight nearly undoes him. “I love you.” Louis rasps, every word torn from somewhere deep. Words he never knew he’d be allowed to say aloud. Not like this.

Harry’s moan shatters into something guttural, head falling back against the pillow, thighs shaking around Louis’ hips. “Fuck— Louis—” His voice cracks and then it’s a frantic, breathless chant between gasps. “I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Louis’ rhythm falters, thrusts turning messy as his orgasm surges forward. He holds Harry tight, forehead pressed to his, swallowing every moan as they both tip over together— bodies shaking, hands clinging, breathing deep into the small space between them like they’re the only thing keeping each other alive.

For a long moment they just lie there, Louis’ chest pressed to Harry’s, sweat cooling between them, the heavy patter of rain coming back into focus in the room. Louis cups Harry’s face gently, thumb stroking over his flushed cheek and kisses him slowly. There’s no urgency now, just the lingering press of lips.

“Still with me?” Louis murmurs, his voice low and rough.

Harry nods, eyes soft and glassy, their foreheads resting together as they breathe. Their hands find each other naturally, fingers lacing over the rise of Harry’s chest. They stay like that with their hearts gradually slowing, neither speaking because nothing needs to be said yet.

Eventually Louis rolls away just enough to grab a towel, coaxing Harry to lift his hips so he can wipe them down with quiet care. Harry watches him, sleepy eyed, as if he’s seeing Louis for the first time. When Louis climbs back into the bed Harry immediately curls into him with his head on his chest. Louis tugs the covers over them.

It’s still the middle of the day, the light dim and soft through the rain streaked windows. The world beyond feels non existent.

Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper. “It’s never felt like this before. Where have you been all my life?”

Louis lets out a soft laugh, fingers tracing idle patterns down Harry’s spine. “I’ve been right here. Waiting.” He answers simply, because it’s the truth. 

And it doesn’t feel like wasted time, or like they’ve missed out on anything. It feels like every second has been leading here, worth it just to have this. They lie there, cocooned in the warmth of Louis’ bed, the sound of rain a steady lull around them. Louis presses one last kiss into Harry’s curls, holding him as if he’ll never let go and Harry’s arms tighten in return. 

Neither of them moves, content to just breathe each other in, tangled together while the rest of the world carries on without them.

~

Louis drifts through Monday wrapped in a kind of quiet contentment he hasn’t felt in years. Every tedious meeting, every half hearted chat with a coworker is underscored by the memory of Harry in his bed— soft and warm, eyes so full of love that it makes Louis’ chest ache in the best possible way. Even the ever growing stack of paper work on his desk can’t tamper his mood. 

By late afternoon, the clock feels like it’s moving in slow motion, the hours stretching in a way that he used to despise. Now he doesn’t mind, every lull is just another chance to sink into the memory of Harry’s touch, Harry’s laugh, Harry’s whispered confessions in the quiet of Louis’ bedroom— the words he’d been waiting ten years to hear, were finally his. 

When five o’clock finally rolls around, he gathers his things with a smile on his face, ready to head home. Maybe to call Harry on the way. 

They’d spent the rest of Sunday tangled up in Louis’ flat, and when Harry finally dragged himself away, muttering about needing sleep before his early start on Monday, Louis felt the absence like the loss of a limb.

He’s half way out the door, coat slung over his arm when his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

He’s just stepping up to the lift when he pulls it out. 

Harry

Want to see what happens if you’re not home in the next fifteen minutes, babe? 

The words are familiar and Louis’ mouth twitches into a smirk before his heart fully catches up. Then there’s another buzz.

This time, a photo loads.

It’s Harry, sprawled across Louis’ bed, his curls mussed and pink lips stretched into a coy smirk. He’s wearing pale blue lace that clings indecently to his hips, his thighs spread just enough to make Louis’ breath falter. One hand toys idly with the waistband, fingers dipping beneath the lace as if he’s been waiting like this for hours.

This time, there’s no doubt that the photo is for him. There’s no crashing disappointment that he’ll never have Harry in all the ways he truly wants him. 

Louis’ pulse surges so violently it feels like a full body jolt. There’s no thought, his body just moves, away from the elevator and towards the stairwell where he takes each step two a time like if he’s quick enough he’ll make it before Harry closes those perfect thighs. 

His feet carry him out the building and towards his flat with an urgency that burns every muscle.

Every corner he turns, it’s as if the years have been narrowing to this single point— every laugh they’ve shared, every time he’s looked away instead of touching, every stupid moment he thought he could live without this. Without him.

He’s been running towards Harry for years. And this time, he knows Harry will be waiting for him at the end.