Chapter Text
The Music Finally Started
The lighting in their usual pub was low enough to hide a multitude of sins, which was exactly what Harry needed.
He was nursing a gin and tonic, waiting for Zayn and the rest of the lot to show up, when he saw him. He had bright blue eyes that cut through the dimness like a blade and a smirk that suggested he knew exactly how good he looked in that worn denim jacket. No names were exchanged, just a heavy, magnetic pull that led them down the narrow hallway to the back. Harry had never been the type for reckless impulses or anonymous corners. He liked order, and planned encounters… and names, but this guy, with the sharp jawline and the eyes that had been tracking Harry from across the bar, was an anomaly, a gravitational pull Harry couldn't possibly fight.
The bathroom was a cramped, utilitarian box that smelled of industrial bleach. The door hadn't even finished swinging shut before the stranger’s hand found the lock, the sound acting as a starting pistol. Harry was shoved back against the wood, the impact rattling the hinges and knocking the breath from his lungs, and before he could inhale, the stranger was there, a solid weight pressing him into the door.
"Finally," the guy muttered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against Harry’s ear. "I thought you were going to make me wait all night."
"I wasn't sure you were actually going to follow me," Harry breathed, his fingers tangling desperately in the lapels of the guys jacket.
"Don't lie. You knew."
There was no poetry in what followed, it wasn't a slow dance, it was a frantic, desperate collision. It was the sharp sting of a zipper catching, the heat of palms sliding against skin, and the frantic rhythm of two people trying to occupy the same space at once. The friction between them felt like a localized electrical storm, white-hot and jagged. Harry let out a sharp sound, immediately biting it back against the stranger’s shoulder to keep from being heard over the muffled thrum of the music outside.
"Easy," the guy whispered, though his own movements were anything but. He gripped Harry’s waist with a bruising intensity, his breath hitching in time with Harry's. "Turn around."
Harry didn't hesitate. He felt the phantom heat of the man’s hands leave his waist just long enough for him to pivot and be pressed against the painted wood of the door, the surface cool and unforgiving against his flushed skin. The contrast was jarring, cold wood in front and a burning furnace behind. He felt the stranger close the gap again, his chest broad and solid against Harry's back, then the slide of lips. He started at the sensitive cord of Harry’s neck, kissing a path toward his shoulder, his stubble grazing his skin like fine sandpaper.
"Is this what you want?" the guy whispered, his breath hot against Harry’s ear.
Harry couldn’t find his voice, so he just nodded frantically, the movement jarring his head against the stall door.
"Say it," the stranger pressed, his hands sliding down to Harry's hips, gripping tight enough to leave marks. "I need to hear you say it."
"I want it," Harry choked out, his voice cracking. "Please, I want it."
The metallic sound of a belt being unbuckled cut through the cramped silence. Harry’s own fingers were clumsy and trembling as he fumbled with his own, the fabric of his trousers suddenly pooling around his ankles. The air hit his legs, but the chill didn't last long. The stranger reached around, his hand appearing in Harry’s field of vision as he pressed two fingers against Harry’s lips.
"Open," he murmured.
Harry obeyed, his eyes fluttering shut as he sucked the fingers gently, the intimacy of it making his heart hammer against his ribs. After a moment, the guy pulled them back, slick and gleaming, and slid his hand down slowly. Harry let out a sharp, involuntary gasp as he felt the stranger’s touch, circling and testing, before sliding his fingers inside him with a firm, deliberate pressure.
"Shh," the stranger hissed, his mouth hovering just inches from Harry's ear. "Wouldn't want your friends to hear, now would we?"
He began to move his hand in a rhythmic, punishing pace. Harry’s knees felt like they were made of water and he had to brace his palms against the door to keep from collapsing. The friction was building into something unbearable, a coil tightening in his gut until he was breathless.
"Please," Harry begged, his forehead thumping rhythmically against the wood. "Please, I can't…”
"Almost," the guy whispered, his own composure finally fracturing.
After another minute or so, he withdrew his fingers and for a heartbeat, Harry felt the agonizing sting of the cold air, but a moment later, he felt the stranger line himself up, the solid, heavy heat of him pressing against Harry’s sensitive skin. With one fluid, forceful surge, he pushed his cock inside him. The sound Harry made was caught in the back of his throat, a muffled cry of shock and relief before they fell into a frantic, bruising rhythm. Every thrust was a jolt of electricity, the world narrowing down to the sensation of the stranger’s weight and the frantic, wet sound of their bodies colliding. It was over in a blur of white heat. Harry’s vision swam as he came, his body racking with tremors, quickly followed by the stranger’s low, guttural groan as he hit his own breaking point, coming hard inside Harry as his grip on his hips tightened until it was almost painful.
They stood there for a long moment, the only sound was their synchronized, ragged breathing. The stranger leaned his forehead against the back of Harry's head, his heart still thudding like a drum against Harry's shoulder blades. Slowly, he pulled away, but the spell didn't break, it just dissolved into the smell of bleach and the reality of the cold room. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic click of belts being fastened and the rustle of denim. Harry’s hands were still shaking, his fingers fumbling with his buttons as he stared at the wood grain of the door. The guy smoothed his shirt and fixed his collar with a practiced, effortless grace, looking like he hadn’t just been bracing himself against a bathroom stall mere minutes ago. He cleared his throat, a dry, amused sound.
"Thank you for… that.” he murmured, before leaning in, just close enough for Harry to catch his expensive cologne, and threw a devastating wink, then the lock clicked, and he was gone, leaving Harry to stand frozwn for a full minute, his heart still hammering.
What the fuck just happened?
The question looped in his brain, vivid and frantic. He didn’t do things like this. He was the sensible one, the one who kept his coat folded and his drinks paced. He stumbled to the sink, the fluorescent light overhead feeling blindingly bright. His reflection was a mess, with his hair standing in every direction, lips swollen, and a dazed, glassy look in his eyes. He splashed cold water onto his face, the shock of it helping to ground him. He scrubbed at his skin, adjusted his collar to hide the faint flush on his neck, and ran his fingers through his curls until they looked intentionally tousled rather than just shoved against a door tousled. He took one long, shuddering breath, squared his shoulders, and pushed out into the noise of the pub.
The bass hit him like a physical wall as he navigated the crowded floor toward the booth where his mates were waiting. He could see them through the dim light, Zayn’s head tilted back in a laugh, Liam nursing a beer, and Niall gesturing wildly as he told a story, but as Harry got closer, his stomach dropped into his shoes. There was a fourth person at the table. A guy with a sharp jawline and a very familiar, perfectly straightened collar.
"There he is!" Niall shouted over the music, spotting Harry first. "Took you long enough, mate. Did you fall in?"
Harry didn't answer, he physically couldn't. He felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him cold and lightheaded. Zayn stood up, grinning broadly, and clapped the stranger on the shoulder.
"Harry, I want you to meet someone. This is Louis, my best mate from back home. He just moved into the city today."
Louis looked up and his expression was a masterpiece of casual innocence, though his eyes held a wicked, shimmering glint that only Harry could see. He didn't look pale at all, if anything, he looked fucking delighted.
"Nice to meet you, Harry," Louis said, his voice smooth and utterly composed as he held out a hand. "I've heard a lot about you."
Harry felt like he was vibrating out of his skin as he reached out and shook Louis' hand. After that, every time he tried to pick up his drink, his pulse thrummed so hard against the glass he was sure the ice would rattle. He kept his eyes glued to the lemon wedge in his gin, terrified that if he looked up, Zayn would see what he’d just done written across his forehead in neon letters. Louis, on the other hand, was leaning back in the booth with a terrifyingly relaxed posture. He took a long, slow sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving Harry’s flushed face.
"So Louis," Zayn said, tossing a peanut into his mouth, "Harry’s the one I was telling you about. Best illustrator London's got to offer."
"Oh, an artist?" Louis purred. He shifted his weight and under the table, the toe of his boot firmly nudged Harry’s shin. "I bet he’s got a real eye for detail. Very hands-on, I'd imagine."
Harry choked, a spray of gin hitting the back of his throat. He coughed into his elbow, his face turning a shade of red that definitely wasn't just the ambient lighting. "I uh… it’s mostly digital," Harry managed to wheeze out.
"Don't be modest, H," Liam chimed in, leaning across the table. "You’re a perfectionist. You don't stop until the job's done properly."
Louis let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh that made Harry’s stomach do a backflip. "Is that right? I can appreciate a man who doesn't leave a job half finished. That’s a rare quality these days."
Zayn beamed, looking between his two favorite people. "See? I knew you two would hit it off. You’ve got the same sense of humour."
"We definitely have something in common, that’s for sure," Louis agreed.
He reached out, ostensibly to grab a napkin, but his forearm brushed heavily against Harry’s as he did and the contact felt like a live wire. Louis leaned in closer, dropping his voice just enough so it felt intimate but not suspicious to the others. "You okay there, Harry? You look a bit breathless. The air in here is a bit thick, isn't it?"
Harry finally looked at him, and it was definitely a mistake. Louis’s eyes were dancing with pure mischief. He was enjoying this, watching Harry crumble under the weight of a secret that was currently sitting three inches away from him.
"I'm fine," Harry snapped, then immediately softened it when Zayn looked up curiously. "Just... hot. I think I’m gonna go get a round of waters."
"I'll help you," Louis said instantly, sliding out of the booth before Harry could even plant his feet. "Least I can do for Zayn’s best mate."
As they walked toward the bar, out of the direct line of sight of the table, Louis leaned into Harry’s ear. His breath was warm, smelling of hops and the same peppermint gum Harry had tasted ten minutes ago.
"You've got a smudge of something on your neck, H.” Louis whispered, his voice dropping an octave. "You might want to fix that before Zayn asks why his best mate looks like he’s been tackled in the corridor."
The moment they were out of earshot, Harry rounded on him, his back hitting the bar with a dull thud. He felt like he was hovering about six inches off the floor, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
"You have to forget everything that happened,” Harry hissed, his voice trembling as he looked over Louis’s shoulder to make sure Zayn was still deep in conversation with Liam. "Everything. The last twenty minutes never happened. You’re Zayn’s best friend. This is a fucking disaster. A literal, actual catastrophe."
Louis didn't look like a man facing a catastrophe, he looked like a man who had just won the lottery and was currently deciding how to spend the jackpot. He stepped into Harry’s personal space, bracing one hand on the bar right next to Harry’s hip, effectively pinning him in place.
"Forget it?" Louis repeated, his eyebrows arching in mock disbelief. "Hard to forget someone who makes those kinds of noises, love. You’re quite loud, aren't you?"
Harry’s face went from flushed to a deep, agonizing crimson. "Please, I’m serious. I don’t… I don't do this." He took a shaky breath, his hands twisting the hem of his shirt. "I don’t just... pick up fucking strangers in a pub. I’ve never done that before in my life, I swear."
Louis’s gaze softened, but the predatory glint didn't vanish. He tilted his head, studying the way Harry’s pulse was jumping in the hollow of his throat. "Is that right? So I just happened to be the lucky winner of your one night only experience?”
Harry squeaked, the sound high and desperate and he immediately clamped a hand over his mouth, looking around wildly to see if the bartender had noticed. "It was a momentary lapse in judgment. I saw you, and I... I don't know what happened, but Zayn can never know. He’d never let me hear the end of it, and it’s weird, Louis. It’s so wrong."
Louis hummed, leaning in until the tip of his nose brushed against Harry’s curls. "See, I think it’s the opposite of weird. I think it’s fate, or at the very least, very good timing." He lowered his voice, his thumb catching the edge of Harry’s belt loop. "And if it really was your first time doing something like that, then I definitely can’t forget it. Makes it more special, don't you think?"
"Special?" Harry whispered, his brain short-circuiting as Louis’s fingers grazed his waist. "It was a fucking pub toilet, Louis."
"Best five minutes I've had in London so far," Louis countered with a wink. He pulled back just as the bartender approached, leaving Harry breathless and clutching the edge of the bar for stability. "Two waters and two more pints, mate. My friend here is a bit dehydrated."
Harry felt like his brain was short circuiting. The cold condensation from the water glasses the bartender slid toward them felt like the only thing grounding him to the earth. He grabbed his glass with a white knuckled grip, staring at the swirling ice as if it held the secrets to time travel so he could undo the last hour of his fucking life.
"You're not fucking helping," Harry hissed, his voice cracking. "You're supposed to be appalled, or at least awkward. You’re supposed to want to bury this as deep as I do."
Louis didn't look appalled, he looked delighted. He leaned his hip against the bar, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Harry with a look that was far too perceptive. "Why would I be appalled? I had a great time. You seemed to be having a pretty spectacular time too, if I recall correctly."
"Louis!"
"What?" Louis grinned, unbothered by Harry’s panicked shush. He stepped closer again, his shoulder brushing Harry’s, forcing Harry to look at him. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed just a fraction, replaced by something more intense, more searching. "I’m genuinely curious, H. If you’re not the type to do that, and you’ve got good lad written all over you in cursive, what changed? What made you make the exception for a total stranger by the gents?”
Harry opened his mouth to give a dry, deflection heavy answer, but the words died in his throat. He couldn't exactly say it was the way you looked at me like you wanted to ruin my life or I've never felt a pull like that before. That would be admitting defeat.
"I don't know," Harry whispered, his eyes darting to Louis’s mouth before he could stop himself. "The lighting was bad and… I'd had gin. I just wasn't thinking."
"Liar," Louis murmured, his voice a low, honeyed rasp. He reached out, his thumb grazing the back of Harry’s hand where it clutched the glass. "You were thinking. You were thinking the exact same thing I was, that the air between us was practically screaming."
Harry shivered, a traitorous thrill running down his spine. "It doesn't matter, it can't happen again. You're Zayn's best mate, you’re going to be around all the time, so we have to be... normal."
"Normal," Louis repeated the word like it was a foreign concept. He picked up the two pints, his smirk returning in full force. "Right. Normal. I can do normal. I’ll be the perfect gentleman back at that table. I won't say a word about how you taste, or how you look with your hair a mess, or the way you…”
"Stop it!" Harry’s voice was a strangled wheeze.
"Just checking if you're still vibrating, love," Louis winked, turning to head back to the booth.
They arrived back at the table just as Liam was mid sentence, the heavy thud of the pint glasses signaling their return. Harry practically collapsed into his seat, clutching his water like a lifeline, while Louis slid back in next to Zayn with the serene confidence of a man who hadn't just been committing social suicide against a disgusting pub stall door.
"About time," Zayn muttered, though he was grinning. "Thought you two had started a fight already."
"Nah," Louis said, taking a long, deliberate pull of his beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes flicking to Harry for a fraction of a second. "Quite the opposite, actually. I was just telling Harry that London’s already treating me better than I expected."
Niall leaned forward, sensing gossip. "Yeah? You’ve been here six hours, Tommo. What’s happened?"
Louis leaned back, his arm draping over the back of the booth, his fingers mere inches from Harry’s shoulder. "Let's just say the welcome to the city committee was very thorough. Stumbled into a bit of fun in the loo about half an hour ago."
The table erupted. Niall let out a loud whistle, and Liam started laughing, shaking his head.
"No way!" Zayn cheered, shoving Louis’s shoulder. "Half an hour in the pub and you’ve already bagged someone? Fucking hell, Lou, you don't waste time, do you?"
Harry felt the blood drain from his face so fast he thought he might actually faint. He took a frantic, noisy sip of his water, the ice clinking violently against his teeth. He couldn't even look up.
"Was she local?" Niall asked, grinning wickedly. "Dark hair? Blonde hair? Give us something, mate."
"Incredible hair," Louis said, his voice dropping into that dark, honeyed tone that made Harry’s toes curl in his shoes. "Really soft. And the skin... god lads, you wouldn't believe it. Best I've ever had, honestly. Proper little firecracker."
"Look at him," Zayn pointed at Louis, beaming with misplaced pride. "Moves to the big city and immediately becomes a legend. Was it quick, then? Or did you make her wait?"
"Oh, it was fast," Louis murmured, his eyes locked onto the side of Harry’s head. Harry was staring so hard at a knot in the wooden table he was surprised it hadn't caught fire. "But I think we both got what we needed. Though, I have a feeling they might be a bit shy about it now."
"Probably just overwhelmed by the Doncaster charm," Liam joked, raising his glass. "To Louis, for getting lucky on night one."
"To Louis!" Niall and Zayn echoed, clinking glasses.
Harry wanted the floor to open up. He wanted to be swallowed by the earth and spat out in a different hemisphere. He finally risked a glance at Louis, a silent, pleading please stop written in his wide, green eyes, but Louis just winked at him over the rim of his glass, the corner of his mouth twitching. He leaned in a little closer to the table, his voice dropping to a confidential stage whisper.
"The best part? I don't even think they knew who they were dealing with. Just a complete, beautiful accident."
"Man’s a poet," Zayn laughed, leaning back. "Harry, you’re quiet. What’s the matter? Jealous you didn't get a bathroom break too?"
Harry’s squeak this time was audible. "I… I just... I think the gin is hitting me. I might need some air."
"I’ll take him," Louis said, sliding out of the booth before Harry could even finish his sentence. He didn't even wait for Zayn to agree, he just grabbed Harry by the elbow with a grip that was entirely too firm for total strangers, "Come on mate, you look like you’re about to pass out into your gin.”
Zayn waved them off, still laughing at some joke Niall was making, completely oblivious to the fact that his best friend was currently leading his other best friend toward the exit like a condemned man.
The cool night air hit Harry’s face the second they stepped out of the heavy pub doors, but it didn't do anything to calm the fire in his blood. He waited until they were tucked into the shadows of a brick alleyway next to the smoking area, and then he spun around, shoving Louis’s chest with both hands.
"Are you actually insane?" Harry hissed, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and genuine terror. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Best you ever had? Incredible hair? They’re going to figure it out!"
Louis didn't even stumble, he just leaned back against the damp brick wall, shoving his hands into his pockets, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face. The orange glow of a streetlamp caught the sharp line of his jaw.
"They’re not going to figure out anything, Harry. They think I'm talking about some girl. You're the only one who knows the truth, which is exactly why this is so much fun."
"It’s not fucking fun! It’s… it’s sociopathic!" Harry paced a tight circle, his curls bouncing frantically. "I am a respectable person. I have a career, I have a reputation. I don’t... I don't do that and then sit across from the person and listen to them review it to my friends like it’s a fucking Yelp entry!"
"I gave you five stars, didn't I?" Louis countered, his voice dropping into that low, rasping register that made Harry’s knees feel like jelly.
"Shut the fuck up! Just... stop talking." Harry stepped into his space, pointing a finger directly at Louis. "You are going to go back in there, you are going to change the subject and you are never, ever going to mention the words pub bathroom or soft skin or fucking firecracker again. Do you understand me? Or I will personally make sure Zayn never invites you out again."
Louis looked down at the finger, then back up at Harry. His eyes were dark, dilated, and dancing with something that definitely wasn't apology. He reached out, wrapping his hand around Harry’s wrist and slowly lowering it.
"God, you’re so sexy when you’re angry," Louis murmured, stepping closer until their chests were almost touching. "The way your voice gets all deep and shaky... the way your eyes go dark. It’s a good look on you, love. Much better than the scared rabbit thing you were doing at the table."
"I am not trying to be sexy,” Harry sputtered, though his breath was hitching in a way that betrayed him. "I’m just angry. There is a difference."
"Is there?" Louis tilted his head, his thumb tracing the delicate skin on the inside of Harry’s wrist. "Because you’re yelling at me, but you’re standing close enough for me to feel your heart beating. You want to hate me for it, but you're vibrating again, and we both know it's not because you're cold."
Harry opened his mouth to deliver a scathing comeback, but all that came out was a frustrated, shaky exhale. He was losing, and he knew it. His back hit the damp brick of the alleyway before he even realized he’d stopped pacing. Louis didn't just step into his space, he annexed it, crowding Harry until the only thing he could smell was the faint scent of Louis’s beer and the dangerously sharp edge of his cologne.
"You’re so busy being horrified, you’re forgetting how much you loved it," Louis murmured. He reached up, his fingers sliding into the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck, pulling just enough to force Harry to tilt his head back. "Tell me to go back inside, Harry. Tell me you want me to leave you alone and never touch you again… and I’ll do it.”
Harry’s mouth went bone dry. The anger was still there, simmering in his chest, but it was being rapidly overtaken by the same magnetic pull that had dragged him toward the toilets in the first place. Up close, Louis’s blue eyes weren't just mischievous, they were hungry.
"I don’t… you're Zayn's best friend," Harry whispered, a pathetic attempt at a defense.
"I'm Zayn's best friend," Louis agreed, his voice a low vibration against Harry’s lips. "And you’re Zayn’s best friend. And right now, Zayn is inside arguing with Niall about football. He has no idea that his two best mates are out here doing… whatever this is."
Louis didn't wait for a rebuttal, he leaned in, his mouth crashing against Harry’s with a bruising, desperate intensity. It wasn't a polite kiss, it was a claim. Harry let out a muffled groan, his hands flying up to grip the front of Louis’s denim jacket, bunching the fabric in his fists. He knew he should push him away, he knew this was making a messy situation catastrophic, but the moment Louis’s tongue swiped against his bottom lip, Harry’s knees gave out, and he was pressing back against him, answering the kiss with a fervor that was borderline violent.
Louis chuckled into the kiss, a dark, triumphant sound. He broke away just an inch, his forehead resting against Harry’s. "Thought so," he breathed, his thumb stroking Harry’s jawline. "Still an exception, then?"
"I fucking hate you," Harry gasped, his chest heaving, his lips swollen and red.
"Yeah, you're doing a great job of showing it," Louis smirked. He reached down, adjusting the collar of Harry’s shirt where it had twisted. "Now, we should probably go back in before Zayn comes out here to see if I’ve murdered you. But just so we're clear..." He leaned in, his lips brushing Harry’s ear. "I’m not forgetting a single second of this. And I’m definitely going to need your number before the night’s over.”
Harry’s hands were still clenched in Louis’s jacket, his knuckles white. He blinked, the fog of the kiss clearing just enough for the sheer absurdity of the situation to settle back in. He looked at Louis, searching for the punchline.
"Wait," Harry whispered, his voice still a little wrecked. "You actually want my number? Like... for real?"
Louis huffed a short, breathless laugh, his head tilting back against the brick for a second before he looked Harry dead in the eye. "No, Harry, I’m asking for your digits so I can prank call you about your refrigerator. Yes, for real."
"But..." Harry gestured vaguely toward the pub, then toward the bathroom they’d occupied earlier. "This was a fluke. It was a lapse in sanity. I thought… I assumed this was just a random, one time thing. That’s how these things work, isn't it? You fuck a stranger, you feel weird about it and you never see them again."
"Is that in the rule book?" Louis asked, his smirk softening into something a bit more genuine, though the mischief hadn't entirely vanished. "Because I’ve never been very good at following rules."
Harry let go of his jacket, smoothing down his own shirt with trembling fingers. "It’s the sane thing to do, Louis. Especially since you’re Zayn’s best mate. If we keep... whatever this is... going, it becomes a thing. A secret. A lie. It gets complicated."
"I like complicated," Louis shrugged, stepping even closer, his presence warm and grounding in the cool night air. He reached out, hooking a finger under Harry’s chin to stop him from looking away. "And I really hope this isn't a one time thing. I didn't just follow you into that bathroom because I was bored. I followed you because I couldn't look at anything else in the room."
Harry’s heart did a slow, heavy roll in his chest. "You're serious?"
"Yep," Louis murmured. "I move to London, walk into a bar, and within ten minutes I’ve found the most beautiful, highly strung, incredible smelling boy I’ve ever seen. You think I’m just going to let that go because it’s socially inconvenient? You clearly don't know me very well yet."
He stepped back, giving Harry a bit of breathing room but keeping his gaze locked on him. "I want to see you again. Somewhere with better lighting, somewhere where there isn't a hand dryer going off in the background, somewhere I can actually hear you talk instead of just... well, you know."
Harry let out a shaky breath, a small, reluctant smile finally tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're crazy."
"I've been told," Louis grinned, reaching out to ruffle Harry’s curls, which were already a disaster. "Now, fix your face. We’ve been out here five minutes and Zayn’s gonna worry.”