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Harry stares at the tin of soup he’s heating up after work and thinks to himself that this may be the most pathetic day of his life. Then, he decides to say it aloud. “This may be the most pathetic day of my life up to this point.” The only living thing in the flat to hear him is his cat. Not even really his cat though, is it? It’s his sister’s cat. He’s now talking to a cat, and it’s not even his own cat. Mr. Whiskers just sits politely next to his feet and licks his chops, hoping for a bit of meat from the soup. Harry frowns at him. He should really stop feeding him table scraps, but Mr. Whiskers is his only friend here. He has no one else to spoil. Oh god. Now, he feels even more pathetic. An entire month has gone by since he moved to London, and Mr. Whiskers is still his only friend.
It’s hard to make friends when you’re not in uni any longer and the only people you interact with are at work. Harry works at a care home, which is both extremely rewarding and unbelievably exhausting at times. He’s already grown quite fond of many of their elderly clients, but it’s not really the place to meet people to see a film with on the weekends. Or help you celebrate your birthday. He lets himself glance at the wall calendar the previous tenant of his flat left behind. He’s circled today’s date with a big red heart, 1 February. His birthday. He really wishes he hadn’t done that because now the rest of the month, he’ll be left looking at that date circled and remember this awful day.
It had started out pleasantly enough. His mum had rung and wished him a happy day. Gemma had as well and asked how Mr. Whiskers was doing without her. He assured her all was well with the cat and that while Mr. Whiskers most certainly missed her, it appeared what he most missed was his ability to roam the neighbourhood. “He’s constantly trying to escape the flat, Gems. I’m quite paranoid to ever open the door.” Good thing no one ever calls, he’d thought. His day had gone downhill from there. He was working with some of their more difficult clients today. Harry understands though. Normally that wouldn’t have been enough to ruin his day, but it was so dreary today. As he walked from the tube to his flat in the grey drizzle, it had further dampened his spirits. He now found himself, alone, on his birthday with a tin of soup. And a cat. If only his birthday could have fallen on a weekend, he could have gone home and spent time with his mum and a few of his old mates.
He sits down with his soup and gives a bit of meat to Mr. Whiskers and looks out the small window of his flat at the dull February evening. He really needs to break out of this funk he’s found himself in. He needs to get out more. But not tonight. No, tonight he’ll celebrate somehow though. He jumps up from his small table and places the bowl and spoon into the sink with a clatter. He starts rummaging through cupboards and taking out ingredients. He nearly shouts with joy when he realises he has all that he needs to make a simple chocolate cake. He quickly mixes the dry ingredients and then sets it aside to mix the wet ones. As it bakes, filling the small flat with a warm chocolate smell, he sings as he whips up a buttercream icing for it. It reminds him of his days working in the bakery in his small home town, and he belts out ‘(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction’ in honour of Mary, the owner of the bakery. She loves the Rolling Stones.
He fills up a sink of sudsy water to wash the dishes.
I can't get no, oh no no no
He splashes the dirty mixing bowls and spoon into the water.
Hey hey hey, that's what I say
He sings into the whisk like a microphone and chases the cat around for a bit.
I can’t get no satisfaction
I can’t get no satisfaction
Suddenly, he hears the accompanying music coming from somewhere. Someone has heard him singing and has started playing the song. He laughs. He thinks it’s maybe coming from the pipes. He wonders which of his neighbours likes the Rolling Stones.
When the cake is done and cooled, it’s fairly late, but Harry still has a small piece. It’s his birthday after all. Another pang of loneliness finds him as he finishes eating a birthday cake he had to make himself, but he tries to tell himself this is all just temporary. Soon he’ll find his place here. He knows it.
That night is the first night Mr. Whiskers escapes.
*
“Gems, I swear, I woke up this morning and the room was freezing cold. The window was cracked open, and Mr. Whiskers was gone.” Harry paces the room as he listens to his sister’s response through the phone.
“No, I don’t actually believe someone came through the window to just take the cat, but I don’t know why the window was open.” Harry walks over to the offending window.
“‘Course I didn’t have it open on purpose! It’s February!” He examines the lock and hinges on the window just before he lets out a rather undignified shriek.
“Sorry! Sorry! It’s Mr. Whiskers! He’s standing right outside the window!”
“What? Oh, yes, yes.” Harry opens the window. “Get in here, you naughty thing!”
Mr. Whiskers trots inside and lays down next to the radiator to warm up. He opens his jaws to release a piece of fabric from between his teeth.
“What in the world do you have there?” Harry asks the cat. He picks it up to further examine it and realizes it’s a sock. It’s slate blue with a neon green toe and heel. “You are the strangest cat. Where did you get this?”
Mr. Whiskers gives him a brief glance before curling up into a ball and promptly falling asleep.
When Harry crawls into bed that night, he remembers the faulty window. He goes to check on it and finds that the lock is stuck into an open position. He sighs and hopes that Mr. Whiskers doesn’t decide to escape again tonight. Who knows how the cat got it open in the first place.
**
Harry wakes up to a cold flat and an open window. “Bloody hell, Mr. Whiskers!” Harry exclaims as he takes a cursory look for the cat. Of course, he’s nowhere to be found. He eats a quick bowl of porridge before he needs to leave for work, and just as he’s about to walk out the door, Harry hears scratching at the window. As he lets Mr. Whiskers back into the flat, he notices quite a bit of fabric held between the cat’s teeth. As Harry takes it from him, he’s a bit taken aback by the men’s boxer briefs he’s currently holding that quite obviously do not belong to him.
***
After the third night Mr. Whiskers escapes, he brings back a slipper. It’s white with black spots and has the face of a cow on the toe.
“Mr. Whiskers! Now, someone has only one of their slippers!” Harry scolds. “It’s very cold in February, and now someone is probably missing their favourite pair because of you.”
Harry attempts to force the window lock back in place. He’s got to stop this menace of a cat from stealing odd bits of things from his neighbours. The lock doesn’t budge. He can’t quite figure out how the cat is still getting out though. Since when do cats know how to open windows? He eyes Mr. Whiskers suspiciously before he heads out to work.
****
The fourth escape brings with it a mop head.
“Really? A part of a mop? Are you trying to imply something, Mr. Whiskers? I run a tight ship around here, I’ll have you know. You are living in a perfectly clean environment,” Harry explains a bit defensively. He picks up the mop head. “Ugh. What am I supposed to do with this, anyway?” He looks around and finds a small, empty wicker basket that his sister had foisted on him when he moved into this flat. He stuffs the sock, boxer briefs, cow slipper, and part of a mop into the basket. He has no clue what to do with them. He feels badly throwing them away when they aren’t even his possessions. He sighs and pets Mr. Whiskers a bit before he finishes up some chores. It’s Saturday, so he has some time to himself. He now feels the need to clean up a bit, since apparently the flat isn’t up to Mr. Whiskers’ standards.
*****
Harry awakens to some type of fabric being placed on his face. It’s Sunday, so he’s having a lie in. Or he was until someone tried to smother him. He flings the fabric off his face and smells the lingering traces of aftershave. Mr. Whiskers is sitting in his bed, cleaning himself.
“Did you do this?” Harry asks. “Of course you did. What is this? A shirt?” He examines the white mens dress shirt with blue pinstripes. He can smell the faint traces of a man’s scent along with the aftershave. It stirs something in Harry’s gut. Christ. He’s really hard up when just the smell of another man is doing it for him. He grabs the offending garment and stalks over to the wicker basket and stuffs it inside. Mr. Whiskers stares at him judgmentally when Harry takes it back out later and sniffs it just one more time. He doesn’t do it again. He can’t take any more of Mr. Whiskers’ condemnation.
******
Harry actually witnesses Mr. Whiskers’ sixth escape. He’s stayed up a bit late to watch a repeat of The Chase on the telly and sees the cat nudge the window open.
“Mr. Whiskers!” Harry exclaims as the cat pays him no mind and slides through the open window and out into the night. He climbs out onto the fire escape to see if he can tell where Mr. Whiskers has gone, but he doesn’t last long out there. He’s standing in the freezing cold in just his pants. There’s no sign of the cat, so Harry climbs back inside the flat.
He takes a look at the window again and realizes that the hinge is quite loose as well. The damn window is probably about to fall off. He makes a mental note to call someone in the morning about it.
His magpie of a cat brings back a knitted pot holder. It actually looks quite nice as though someone put some care into making this lovely thing. Red knitted through with pink hearts. He almost wants to just toss it in his own drawer, but he knows that isn’t right. He puts it in the basket with the other things. He begins wondering more about the people Mr. Whiskers is stealing from. He doesn’t really know his neighbours, and he’s unsure if Mr. Whiskers is stealing from the same flat or multiple flats. Curious.
*******
Mr. Whiskers brings him back a small piece of red tissue paper with a bit of confetti glued to it after his seventh successful escape.
“This has got to stop, Mr. Whiskers! Someone is trying to do some project of some kind, and you’ve ruined it!”
He tosses it into the basket and notices that Mr. Whiskers seems to be lounging with all his contraband. Harry narrows his eyes. Mr. Whiskers pulls everything out of the basket and sits in it. Harry ignores him and gives him only one cat treat before bed. He wonders what Mr. Whiskers will bring back tomorrow.
********
Harry feels a bit awful. Mr. Whiskers has brought him back a valentine. It’s lovely and handmade and scrawled in childish letters Harry can make out the words, To Louis From Phoebe . He thinks it may have used a bit of that tissue paper Mr. Whiskers brought back yesterday. Harry sighs as he places it in the basket with all the rest. He feels terrible that this ridiculous cat has stolen something that looks to be so thoughtful and lovely. It hangs over his head a bit as he leaves for work, and he nearly knocks into someone as he opens the door to leave the building.
“Oh! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying a bit of—“ Harry looks up into the most beautiful face he’s ever seen. Harry’s fairly certain his mouth is hanging open. The man smiles at him.
“No worries,” the breathtaking man says, his eyes crinkling in the corners.
He holds the door open, so the angel with blue eyes can walk inside.
“Thanks, mate!” The man says with a bewitching lilt to his voice. “Forgot my phone and had to come back for it!”
Harry has stood like an idiot, speechless. Just holding the door open and watching the man dart back inside the building. The most handsome man in the world lives in Harry’s building. Harry spends most of the day in an odd sort of daze, daydreaming about wide set blue eyes and sharp cheekbones.
*********
The valentine Mr. Whiskers brings back this time is from Louis, presumably the Louis on the valentine from the previous day. He’s beginning to think Mr. Whiskers is stealing from the same person. The handwriting is less childish and is written out to someone named Daisy. It’s the type of valentine one would give a child. It makes Harry smile a bit before he realises that Louis won’t be able to give Daisy the valentine because his absurd cat has stolen it. He glares at Mr. Whiskers.
“You’ve ruined someone’s valentine, you know. Are you trying to ruin Valentine’s Day?”
Mr. Whiskers gives him a pointed look. “Yes, I know, Mr. Whiskers, my Valentine’s Day isn’t going to be much, but that doesn’t mean you have to ruin everyone else’s day.” Harry sighs. He looks at the valentine a bit sadly now and places it in the box before leaving for work.
He watches the door today so as not to injure any alluring sirens that happen to be trying to come into the building like yesterday. He’s glad he does this because the beautiful man is back. Harry opens the door for him and tries to keep from panting or breathing strangely at least while in the man’s presence.
“Thanks again, mate! Forgot my sunnies. There’s actually some sunlight today!”
Harry thinks he managed to at least smile at the man this time. He watches the man walk away back through the building and thinks you’re the sun . Thank god his brain to mouth filter seems to be working properly. He spends most of the day with a bright sappy smile across his face. When people ask why he’s so upbeat today, he tells them it’s the sun.
**********
The next day Mr. Whiskers arrives with a shopping list. Harry feels a bit like a voyeur reading someone else’s list, but he doesn’t stop himself either. The list says ‘Tesco’ at the top with a line under it. The rest of the list is mostly frozen foods and sweets. It’s awful really. Harry hopes whoever this is isn’t living off this stuff. There’s one item that’s crossed out. It looks like lube . Harry blushes a bit, but he assumes it’s his own dirty thoughts playing tricks on him. He’s had plenty of dirty thoughts about the beautiful man who’s always forgetting things.
He suddenly has the thought to check the handwriting. It looks a bit like the one from the valentine. He pulls out the valentine from Louis and compares them. It maybe looks similar. He looks at the rest of the items in the box. Do all these things belong to this Louis person? He smiles at the cow slipper. It’s a bit feminine, but perhaps it belongs to this Louis’ wife or girlfriend. Or maybe this Louis really likes cows. He laughs at himself for trying to assign meaning to the random assortment of things Mr. Whiskers has laid claim to.
He tries to time his leaving the flat to be right at the same time as the last two days on the off chance he can time it just right to hold the door open for his beautiful neighbour again. He tries not to think about what that says about him. He’s surprised to find the object of his thoughts standing just inside the door staring down at the phone in his hand. Harry freezes and forgets what he’s supposed to do. Probably not stand stock still and stare. That’s probably the wrong thing to do.
The man looks up and smiles. “Hi. Just checking my phone. Didn’t mean to block the door.” He’s not actually blocking the door, but he shuffles a bit more out of the way.
“Ehm, no you’re not in the way.” Harry wants to pat himself on the back for managing to speak in his presence this time. “You didn’t forget anything today.”
The man throws his head back a bit and laughs. Harry startles at the sound and mentally high fives himself for making him laugh. “No, I didn’t forget anything today. My mate is just texting me about this show his band is playing this weekend.”
“Oh. That sounds really cool!” Now, Harry wants to crawl into a corner. He sounds like he’s angling for an invite, and he doesn’t even know this man. “Um, have fun,” he says and quickly walks through the door. He walks towards the tube station and wishes he had friends to go to a show with. He should have asked what the name of the band was or some other question. Anything. What he said wasn’t even that bad, but he panicked and left and now it’s too late. He sighs and gets on with his day, but he lets his mind wander into imagining scenarios of meeting up with his gorgeous neighbour.
***********
“Well, now you’re just getting downright cruel, Mr. Whiskers!” Harry accuses as he stares at the flyer his godforsaken cat has brought back this morning. It’s a advertisement for a small cinema playing the French film ‘Amelie’ on Valentine’s Day. Harry sits heavily on his small, second-hand sofa, staring at the offending flyer. ‘Amelie’ is his favourite film. What wouldn’t he give to have someone to see it with? He would go see it by himself if it wasn’t being shown on Valentine’s Day. He doesn’t think he could bear to see it in a cinema filled with happy couples celebrating love.
He doesn’t even have much of a hope of seeing his neighbour today because it’s Saturday. He is glad for a rest though. He takes a long shower, and he just can’t help but wrap a hand around himself and think about his fit neighbour. After Harry comes to the mental picture of him on his knees, he thinks belatedly that it will be harder to meet his eye the next time they meet.
When he walks back into the kitchen, Mr. Whiskers is judging him. He can tell. “Just keep your opinions to yourself, if you please.” Harry decides he’s not even going to leave his flat today. He’s going to have a nice day to wallow in self-pity. He begins setting out ingredients for strawberry cupcakes, but baking makes him happy. So he mixes ingredients as he belts out ‘I Will Survive’ and somehow ends up singing and dancing about to ‘Bootylicious’ as the cupcakes bake and he cleans up the mess. Fine, he sings it because his fit neighbour is blessed in that area. He suddenly hears the strains of Beyonce reach him through the pipes again and laughs. At least someone in this building is enjoying his renditions of random pop songs.
He watches ‘Amelie’ on his laptop and eats strawberry cupcakes as Nino pieces together the clues Amelie leaves for him until he shows up at her door.
************
As he wrestles a small laminated card away from Mr. Whiskers, he wonders how his life has come to this. Every morning he is forced to collect the things his wayward cat has pilfered from his neighbours. He suddenly realises that he’s begun to think of Mr. Whiskers as his cat. He finally gets the card away from him as Mr. Whiskers hisses at him. “No cat treats for you today!” he scolds. “Fine. You can have one if you behave the rest of the day.” That seems fair, he thinks. Otherwise, Mr. Whiskers has nothing to work towards. Oh god. He really needs to get out more.
He looks at the card. It’s a membership card to an indoor football club. There’s a name, Louis Tomlinson, and a membership number. Must be the Louis of the valentines. He could potentially bring this back to the football club and say he found it on the street or something. He would really like to return the valentines, but he doesn’t really fancy telling some football club his cat has been stealing things from this Louis person. He pockets the card and decides to get out and do a bit of shopping today. If he goes anywhere near the club, he’ll drop it off.
As he reaches for the door to leave the building he notices all the cat fur clinging to his black coat. He sighs and stops to try to brush the worst of it off before he leaves. The door swings wide open and the neighbour starring in all his fantasies appears in front of him. He’s dressed in athletic clothing and trainers and looks as though he’s just gone for a run. His nose and cheeks are pink from exertion and the still chilly weather. He looks heavenly.
He seems to realize what Harry is doing standing there in the doorway. “You have a pet?” he asks.
“Oh, ehm. Yes. I have a cat. Well, it’s not actually my cat. It’s my sister’s cat. Mr. Whiskers. That’s his name. He’s one of those grey tabby cats. Not that you asked. But ehm, yes, he’s got my coat full of fur at the moment.” Harry lets out a strangled sort of laugh as he brushes away more fur and wishes he could go back and redo this whole conversation. “Well, I should go. Shopping. Errands and such.” Harry gives him a weak smile and squeezes past him where the February wind can cool his heated cheeks. So that went well, he thinks as he slaps his hands to his cheeks with a long sigh.
He forgets about the football club membership card until he’s returned home. He’ll have to try to return it another time. He has bought himself a new pair of trainers though. He thinks he might take up running. For health purposes of course.
*************
As if Monday mornings weren’t already the worst, now it’s actually Monday morning and Valentine’s Day. He drags himself out of bed and doesn’t even notice Mr. Whiskers return as he eats yoghurt and a banana. A crumpled page of paper floats down on top of the table. Harry grabs it as he watches Mr. Whiskers swish away, his tail held high.
Harry smooths the page and realizes it’s a receipt of some kind from an online delivery. The first thing he notices is that the name of the company, Harmony, has a logo wherein the ‘o’ looks like it has devil horns.
H a r m o n y
Oxford Street - Soho
*
100% Discretion Assured!
ALL ORDERS are shipped in plain discreet packaging! Payments on your card/bank statement are displayed as HS Trading giving no indication of the nature of your purchase.
*
Vive Zesiro Small Vibrating Plug QTY: 1 £59.99
RealRock Large Realistic 10 inch Dildo with Balls QTY: 1 £49.99
ID BackSlide Anal Lubricant-130 ml QTY: 1 £19.99
QTY TOTAL: 3
TOTAL: £129.97
Harry’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as he stares at the receipt. Then, he notices the name and address in the corner. Louis Tomlinson. And there’s an address. It appears to be the flat directly above his own. Harry is in a bit of shock at the moment thinking about that large realistic dildo, so it takes a few minutes to realise he now knows where to take the football membership card and the valentines. He glances over at the wicker basket and wonders how many of those things are Louis’. Louis who plays football. Louis who gives and receives sweet valentines. Louis who apparently likes to give and receive in other ways as well.
Harry walks over and picks up the basket. Louis may also own the missing mate to this green and blue sock and to this cow slipper. He may own hand knitted pot holders and help children make valentines with red tissue paper and buy awful prepackaged and premade food at Tesco. He looks closely at the ‘Amelie’ flyer with a sad smile. And that’s when Harry realises he can’t possibly return any of these things. How will he explain how he knows where to find Louis and that these are all his things? No, there is zero chance that Harry will march up to a stranger’s door and knock on it and say, hello I believe these are things my cat has stolen from you. I’ve found you because of this receipt from a sex shop! No, thank you. Maybe he could just leave it all outside Louis Tomlinson’s door and let him deal with it.
He groans when he sees the time. He’s already running late. He’s most likely missed his chance to run into the fit neighbour again. He darts down just to be sure, but to no avail. He begins walking down the street when he notices all the signs. Someone has plastered signs with a photo of the backside of a cat escaping out a window. The cat looks suspiciously like Mr. Whiskers even from the back. The text on the sign reads: Cat Burglar! This cat keeps coming in and stealing my stuff and leaving the window open. I’d at least like my pot holder back that was from my Nan.
There’s a phone number to call. Harry feels terribly guilty and as soon as he reaches work, he calls the number.
“’lo?”
“Ehm, hi. I saw your signs this morning. And uh, I think I have your stuff? Like my cat has been sneaking out of my flat and bringing home odd things, and I think they might be yours.”
“Oh. Uhhh. Okay. Let me give you my address.”
Harry dutifully writes down the address. “I’m so sorry about this by the way—“
“Louis. My name’s Louis. Don’t stress too much, mate. It was just a few things, right?” Harry looks at the address he’s written down without thinking. Yes, it’s the flat above his. He’s got a feeling that the entire contents of that box belongs to Louis.
“Ehm. Well, there’s quite a few things I think he’s taken actually. I’m terribly sorry. My cat has dug himself a very deep hole, I’m afraid.”
“Is it as deep as your voice?”
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s fine—“
“Harry. My name’s Harry.”
“Well, it’s fine, Harry. Do you think you could bring my things back tonight? Or do you have plans?”
Harry most definitely doesn’t have plans. “I can bring your things back tonight when I’m off work. I think your flat is right above mine, actually.”
“Oh, so we’re neighbours then. Convenient.”
“I’m not sure how convenient it is for you that my cat is stealing things. But I’ll bring all your things back tonight. Again, really sorry about this, Louis.”
“I’ll see you tonight, Harry. No worries.”
*
After work, Harry takes a quick shower and dresses in some casual clothes, a Rolling Stones t-shirt and skinny jeans. He grabs the wicker basket that has everything Mr. Whiskers has stolen in it. He then walks up a short flight of stairs to Louis’ flat and knocks at the door.
The door swings open, and the neighbour of his dreams stands before him in all his glory. Harry stands there, his mouth hanging open just like the first time he saw him. Harry knew there was a small chance his cat had been stealing from the fit neighbour, but he was unprepared to see the fit neighbour, Louis , looking like this. Louis’ hair is styled into a quiff, his cheekbones standing prominently, a frame for his amazing blue eyes. Louis’ long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, and Harry thinks he may be having a heart attack. Louis is wearing a thin, black jumper that looks soft to the touch. Good god, Harry has to restrain himself from touching. And to make matters even worse, Louis is wearing the tightest black jeans Harry has ever seen. Harry’s not sure they can even be called jeans really. They look painted onto his body. Harry can feel himself beginning to sweat.
He thinks Louis may have invited him in because he’s holding the door open and standing back. Harry didn’t hear him if he said anything because there’s a loud rushing noise right now in Harry’s ears, and it’s quite disconcerting.
Harry walks in, and Louis offers him a chair at a small round dining table. “Would you like some tea?” Louis asks.
“Yes,” Harry says hoarsely, regaining the power of speech. He’s still clutching the box of Louis’ belongings. “Oh, and here’s your things. At least I think they’re all your things. Unless Mr. Whiskers has been stealing from other neighbours as well—“ Harry sets the box on the table and notices that he’s forgotten to take out the sex shop receipt. He can feel the blush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, but it’s too late to take it out because Louis has already put the kettle on and has walked back to the table. Louis doesn’t notice the receipt at first as he paws through the box, exclaiming, “My cow slipper! My valentines! Oh, my nan’s pot holder is in here! Ha! My shopping list. Oh—“ Harry stares at the table, unwilling to look up at Louis’ face. He’s got the receipt in his hand. It’s possibly the worst moment of Harry’s life. He must look like a pervert to have kept that receipt in there. Harry mentally curses the day Mr. Whiskers was born.
But then he hears it. The most glorious sound he’s ever heard. Louis Tomlinson is laughing. No, not just laughing. Hysterically laughing. He’s wiping tears from his eyes and has his head thrown back just before he collapses into the chair beside Harry’s. “Oh my fucking god!” Louis manages to choke out. “Well, this is embarrassing, innit?”
Harry is laughing now, too. “I am so sorry. I totally forgot that was in there! My dumb cat! Oh God!”
As their laughter finally subsides a bit, Louis brews them a cup of tea. He crinkles his nose cutely when Harry asks for sugar. “You’re ruining my superb Yorkshire tea here, Harry.” So Harry asks for an extra spoonful with a big grin plastered across his face. Once they’re seated, Harry tells him about the broken lock and odd hinge on the window that allows his cat to escape. Louis laughs and says that his has the same issue going on. Harry eyes the lovely jumper Louis has on again and suddenly thinks about why Louis would be so dressed up. It’s Valentine’s Day. He probably has plans. He probably has a date. Harry pushes his chair back and looks at Louis apologetically. “I’m so sorry. You probably have plans, and I’m rattling on about broken windows and cats—“
“Oh. No, I don’t have plans.” Louis interrupts. “Um, do you have plans then? With your girlfriend? Or boyfriend—“
“No!” Harry nearly shouts. “No, I don’t have plans! And I don’t have a boyfriend right now either. Am very single, me.” He wants to slap his own forehead for sounding so pathetic, but Louis smiles at him and that seems very promising.
Their voices weave small insights into long conversations. Louis tells tales of his large family back in Doncaster, and Harry jokes about his sister and Mr. Whiskers. Louis makes more tea and orders food and sets it out near the couch to be more comfortable as they talk long into the night—Louis’ stories about his job teaching primary school, Harry’s new life in London, playing football in a league, French films. Each time Louis brushes against him or reaches out to nudge him playfully, electric shocks spark across Harry’s skin. It’s the best sort of torture. Harry looks at his phone, and suddenly it’s midnight. He’s been here in Louis’ flat for hours.
“It’s midnight. I guess I should probably go. We both have work tomorrow,” Harry says with reluctance clear in his voice. He stands up, and Louis starts walking him towards his door.
Before he goes, he decides to ask one last question. “Louis?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you so dressed up if you didn’t have Valentine’s Day plans?”
A slow, wicked smile crosses Louis’ face. “I dressed like this because I wanted to impress you in case you turned out to be my fit neighbour I keep crossing paths with and because I hoped you were as lovely as your voice.”
“Am I? As lovely as my voice?” Harry asks, his voice deepening.
Louis closes the space between them.
“Did it work to impress you by dressing like this?”
“God yes. Was impressed long before tonight.”
Louis surges forward and presses his lips to Harry's. Harry cups his face in his large hands. The kiss deepens, and Harry’s hands slide down to Louis’ waist as Louis reaches up to tug at Harry’s shirt and keep him close. They let go, panting, breathless.
“Uh so, Harry. Do you want to go out with me sometime?” Louis asks just before kissing him again before he can answer.
After a few minutes Harry pulls away to gasp out an answer. “Yes. Great. How about later today after work?” He pulls Louis in roughly and begins kissing along Louis’ neck.
Louis moans. “Yes, please, yes. Today.”
Harry pulls away and stares at the glazed look in Louis’ eyes. “I’ll be back,” he promises.
“Yes. Please come back. And maybe bring whatever Mr. Whiskers decides to steal from me tonight.”