Archive of Our Own

Louis’ alarm blares off at exactly seven o’clock in the morning, except he’s already been awake for fifteen minutes.

Cliff jumps out of bed and scrambles through Louis’ apartment, his paws stomping against the wooden floors. It’s at this exact same time that Louis greets the morning with a loud groan, a stretch, and a desperate urge to stay in bed. Staring up at his white ceiling, Louis allows himself to surrender to his body’s wishes for a good thirty seconds before that familiar itch begins to scratch away at him. He can’t stay in place too long, mentally or physically, and would rather be on a cyclical move than stay still. With a tired sigh, Louis pushes the blankets off and swings his legs over the side of the bed with the feeling of defeat clouding his mind.

Plus, Louis knows himself. He can’t stay in bed if his life depended on it, not when he’s got a routine going. Not when his life seems to depend on his routine.

“Cliff, drink some water first!” Louis calls out.

The mountain of black fur stops in his tracks in the middle of the hallway leading to the main room before bolting back into the room to slurp some water. Zayn had told him that talking to pets is a sign of loneliness. Louis had only argued back with a gracious then maybe you should get one and, looking back at it now, was probably just as effective and embarrassing as a child sticking out their tongue to their parents.

While it’s true that Louis had adopted Cliff when he moved away from his family to live on his own, he’s not lonely. Louis had just been busy with juggling school and a part-time job in a new city that he has to call home. Now with the start of summer, he’s got a full-time job to handle even if it’s remote and he can practically do the job with his eyes closed. Louis has become an expert at dodging Zayn’s eyes, concern darkening him whenever he thought Louis wasn’t paying attention.

So he’s not lonely. It’s just that he somehow fell into this routine that has taken over his life and now he can’t find himself escaping it.

The end of spring fades off into early summer with the morning chill lingering in the air, so Louis throws on a hoodie to fight off the cold. With his earphones in and playing a soft tune, Louis clips Cliff’s leash on and toes on his shoes. They head out of Louis’ shitty apartment complex in favor of the stairs rather than the faulty elevator. He’s been here for only about six months, but for a run-down and barely-functioning apartment, he’s actually grown to love it. It’s the kind of apartment that you have to work around in order to really live in it, like tapping the faucet twice to get it running or adjusting the knobs of the shower just right to get the perfect temperature. The small space is more charming than a pain in the ass, so Louis deals with it. But if he’s being completely honest with himself, it was the only apartment that allowed pets inside, his work is walking distance so he can save money on gas and, well, it’s got great internet connection.

In the end, Louis was forced to love his apartment.

Cliff leads the familiar route of their morning walk, eagerly pulling Louis along as his black paws trot against the pavement and his nose curiously sniffing everything they pass. They don’t venture outside the gates of their apartment, winding through the paths of the quiet neighborhood. Louis smiles and waves to Mrs. Wang, the elderly widow who unofficially marked the bench in the grassy area as hers. Tito, her brown chihuahua, lays contentedly in her arms as he watches the people and cars pass by. She has a tendency to talk out loud to herself, claiming that she’s talking to her husband who passed away the year before.

Zayn had once mentioned getting out more, which he does, so Zayn had quickly added no, taking Cliff out and doing your routine errands doesn’t count. He rarely listens to his best friend on a good day, despite his insistent arguments about his routine because what Louis has now is good, it’s dependable. His morning routine unravels the way it always does, the comfortable familiarity making its way under his skin as if to wake him up.

“Cliff, one day we’ll have an actual house with a full yard where you can piss like a free man,” Louis sighs, peering down at his dog with a tired smile. Cliff responds by elegantly lifting his leg and pissing on a bush, glancing up at Louis with a certain gleam in his dark eyes.

For now, Louis just has his lunch box-size of an apartment, his dog, and his routine. He tells himself that’s enough.

*****

“Do you want to go out with us tonight?”

The question sounds monotonous, the dull drawl of Zayn’s voice lending the words to ring more obligatory than genuine. Louis can’t blame his best friend, really. Not when he’s turned down his invitation about ten times already. Maybe even eleven if he’s being completely honest with himself. It’s just that it’s six o’clock on a Saturday evening and Louis doesn’t think he needs to be honest with himself when he’s running on an empty stomach.

“No, it’s okay,” Louis answers just as robotically and curses under his breath when the stove’s fire keeps going out. Even making the world’s easiest and quickest meal like instant ramen turns out to be difficult for Louis at the fault of nobody but his apartment.

Zayn rolls his eyes and knocks a closed fist against the tiled counter. “C’mon, Lou. It’s been ages since you went out with us,” he replies. A momentary silence fills the air, nothing but the clicking of the stove attempting to come to life before it dies out again. “Ages since you brought someone home.”

“You can stop bringing up the sex bit every five minutes, you know. It’s not like I can’t have sex. I just choose not to,” Louis mumbles. He glances up to meet Zayn’s dubious gaze, one dark eyebrow arched high. “The novelty of sex just—wore off for me.”

“The novelty of sex?” Zayn asks indignantly, leaning back in the rickety high stool that its creak threatens to snap if he pushes back further. “What the fuck are you on, Lou? Sex is sex and I had it last night.”

Louis snaps his head up with a small gasp. “You had sex last night?!” He says with more excitement than he intended. “With who? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. GooGoo, Gaga, something like that,” Zayn replies with a vague wave of his hand.

“I’m sorry, are you making baby noises at me or—”

“I was drunk and she was hot, think she said she’s becoming a model. Amazing in bed. Listen, she was soa—”

“Okay!” Louis exclaims, throwing his hands in the air and scrunching his nose in exaggerated disgust. “Anyway, this fucking stove.”

“Jesus, when did you turn into a nun?” Zayn huffs. He leans forward on the countertop with his elbows planted on the tiles, watching Louis with an expression so bored he’d probably find more entertainment watching grass grow. “Oh, wait! Was it in your three-month supposed sex ban?”

The stove’s fire flickers on for a second, giving Louis a glimmer of hope, before dying out again. “If the fire dies out again, it’s gonna take me with it,” He grits through clenched teeth, turning the knob slowly.

“Why didn’t you do grocery shopping?” Zayn asks.

“What do you mean? I have food, but I wanted to eat ramen,” Louis replies.

“Sorry, I forgot you plan your meals in advance like a fucking retirement home,” Zayn says. “A place that also does not have sex. Probably. Maybe more than you, though.”

Louis considers taking up Zayn’s offer on hanging out for a split second. He’s not a complete hermit; he’s been out with them before, even recently. If running to the market to pick up more milk or going to the store to stock up on laundry detergent counts. Lies about not wanting to go out roll so easily off Louis’ tongue that he could mistake them for truths, except Zayn reads him like an open book. He’s always been annoying in that sense and there’s no reason to hang out with his dog in his apartment. Louis’ summer job is remote so he works at home on his laptop, which means he can stay out if he wanted and he can actually meet someone instead of using his own hand—

But he has a whole day of errands tomorrow that needs to be done before a new week begins and it’s going to be the last day of sale for his favorite cereal. His cabinets are running tragically low on essential food and no man is worth skipping a buy one, get one half off sale for Fruity Pebbles.

“You know what, I don’t need to cook this,” Louis says, turning the useless knob so the gas turns off. He gives the ramen bag a few good punches with more force than necessary and rips the bag open. “I’ll just eat it like this. It’s almost seven, anyway. You should get going so you don’t be late since it takes you two hours on a good day to do your hair.”

With a defeated sigh, Zayn hops off the stool and slowly walks backwards towards the door. “You sure you don’t want to just stop by? You can show up exactly like you are right now and the guys would flock to you the second you step through the door.”

Dropping his chin, Louis takes in his old gray sweatpants with a hole in the thigh, his burgundy worn shirt with loose threads at the hem and ramen crumbs undoubtedly sprinkling his lips. Zayn is his best friend for a reason—horribly blunt and honest at the best of times while a rampant liar at the worst of times. Louis has never looked more unfuckable in his entire life.

“Got my ramen and pup with me,” Louis smiles, holding up his bag of crushed, uncooked noodle bits. Zayn eyes him with a mixture of amusement and sadness, just about the worst combination Louis can think of. He’s already having a pathetic excuse for dinner, he doesn’t need to be judged by his best friend on top of everything else. Dramatically rolling his eyes, Louis rounds the counter and gently pushes Zayn towards the door. “Just go before you throw another sex jab at me.”

Arms circle his waist and then he’s being pulled tight against Zayn. Louis falls into the hug easily, naturally, and fits his chin over his slender shoulder while his arms loop around his waist. They’re no stranger to hugs, greeted each other with one no more than two hours ago when Zayn waltzed through the door, but it feels different now under the weight of unspoken words. Louis relaxes into the hug, leaning some of his weight on Zayn and burying his nose into the cotton of his shirt that smells too strongly of overpriced cologne.

“Jesus, you’re touch starved,” Zayn mutters into his neck, warm breath tickling his skin. “Please don’t get hard. I love you, but—”

“Ugh!” Louis shoves Zayn away from him, but his best friend just throws his head back in laughter, the asshole. Pulling the door open, Louis gives him another forceful push. “Go, already. Hope your hair looks like shit.”

“Wow, touchy,” Zayn says with a smile. “Come out with us tonight and you’ll get more than a hug, Lou. Don’t you miss getting your—”

A pink flush warms Louis’ cheeks as he pushes Zayn through the door and slams it shut, locking it quickly.

“You used to be a whore!” Zayn yells across the other side of the wall, loud enough that the entire floor most likely heard him.

Padding over to the couch, Louis sinks into the soft cushions and blankly stares at the TV. Cliff comes racing to him a second later, clambering onto the couch and lying his head on Louis’ lap. Hanging out deep into the night and stumbling back into his apartment with a stranger attached to his back was once upon a time and now he’s got his uncooked ramen and shitty TV shows to watch.

Louis turns his phone off to stave off the temptation of giving in, resigning himself to a long night to himself.

*****

The early morning sun pours into Louis’ bedroom and washes over him in its light while he waits for his alarm to go off. He doesn’t even have to glance at his phone to know that he’s got about two minutes left to relax before facing the day.

“Cliff, can you just try to open the door and go for a walk by yourself?” Louis asks, carding his fingers through the mounds of black fur.

With a grunt, Cliff rolls over and licks a wet stripe over Louis’ cheek, his warm breath fanning over his skin before he tramples off the bed.

Louis goes about his morning routine on autopilot, relying on his muscle memory to carry him through washing his face, dressing himself, and making coffee. For a split second, while he’s toeing on his shoes, he almost regrets not going out with Zayn last night, but he shakes off the thought. Louis has the splendor of his dull apartment, monotonous routine, and a dog who needs to piss way too much and way too early. There’s an odd sense of calm that comes with the familiarity of his routine, blanketing him in ease.

“Who needs sex with a life like ours, right?” Louis asks Cliff as they trudge down the hallway.

“Morning, Louis!”

Snapping his neck back, Louis nearly catches whiplash as he turns and his eyes fall on Mrs. Wang bundled up in a long coat and a soft smile. Her short black hair peppered with strays of gray is styled to perfection as it always is, even at six in the morning. Louis doesn’t think he’s ever seen a hair out of place and he self-consciously pats the back of his half-assed combed hair. Tito wags his tail beside her, clearly anxious to keep moving.

“Oh, good morning!” Louis says, heat warming up the back of his neck. “Sorry, I was just talking to Cliff.”

A soft chuckle falls out of Mrs. Wang’s lips. “You don’t have to defend yourself, not with me at least,” She replies and winks at him. Her fragile arms come up in a circle as if she’s wrapping them around a pillow and she turns her head up with a fond gaze. “I understand more than anyone. Isn’t that right, darling?”

They’ve been neighbors since the time Louis’ moved in, so he’s no stranger to Mrs. Wang’s one-sided conversations. One day, over a cup of coffee, Mrs. Wang told him that she talks to her late husband and Louis very nearly checked her into a nursing home himself. He would’ve done exactly that, except she seems perfectly normal, talking to her dead husband aside. That, and he’s not related to her and therefore has no authority over her housing.

So, Louis is resigned to these conversations that are worthy of Stephen King movies.

“Right, anyway, gotta get going. On a schedule!” Louis waves off and gently pulls Cliff alongside him.

He lets himself follow the familiar trail, gently nodding along to his music while Cliff sniffs about. Louis’ so tuned out with his music that he doesn’t even notice Cliff guiding them in a different direction. Furrowing his brows, Louis tugs on the leash in an attempt to redirect them, but Cliff fights against him and pulls him forward. His black nose sniffs about enthusiastically and his tail wags back and forth so fast that Louis has to take a step back to save himself from being wacked.

The detour that Cliff takes them down leads straight to a stranger sitting on a bench with his eyebrows knitted together as his green eyes scan the newspaper. His brown ringlets flop over to one side of his head, the curls falling over to frame his pale face and brushing the nape of his neck. The warm glow of the sun leans in his favor; the poor guy looks like he’s got the actual life sucked out of him with his ghostly pale skin and his barely pink-tinted lips.

Louis can practically name everyone in his apartment complex and the surrounding area off the top of his head like they’re his best friends rather than residents that share the same vicinity. He knows almost everyone’s schedule in the least creepy way possible, merely just information he’s grown to know over time and his routine. He’s never seen this stranger once and while that’s not exactly enough to sound off the warning systems, the new face piques Louis’ curiosity.

Apparently, it’s enough to interest Cliff as he charges over, almost yanking Louis to the floor with the force. Cliff starts sniffing him excitedly, wet nose poking at his thigh and tail wagging back and forth. The stranger gasps sharply and nearly topples over, the newspaper flying from his hands. He catches himself with a flat palm on the bench with a look of shock.

The stranger’s wide, green eyes track Louis as he crouches down to pick up the fallen newspaper. He stares at Louis with a strange mixture of wonder and pure shock, his eyes almost comically wide with his full lips dropped open. Stranger holds a certain amount of caution, his body tense and his hands curled in a tight fist with white knuckles. He moves slightly away from Louis on the bench and offers a nervous smile when Louis arches a questionable eyebrow at him.

“Cliff, stop,” Louis tuts, giving his leash a gentle tug and glances down at the guy with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about him.”

Cars whizzing by and distant footsteps against the pavement fill the otherwise silent air as Stranger stares up at him with a bemused gleam, the sunlight painting his pale skin in its golden glow. Louis uncomfortably shifts from foot to foot and scratches at the back of his neck.

“Did you just move in?” Louis asks. He tries for casual and nonchalance, but instead he feels like a criminal who’s trying to harbor confidential information.

“No, I live—around the area,” Stranger replies with a lazy wave of his hand, voice so deep that Louis practically shivers with it.

There’s an inexplicable urge to draw out the thin conversation, a jumbled mess of words caught in Louis’ throat as he thinks of something to say. “Sorry about that. Here’s your, um, paper,” Louis mutters with a dry throat and extends his arm that’s holding the newspaper.

Pale Face takes it gingerly and the tips of their fingers barely brush, but it’s enough for Louis to suddenly jerk back with a sharp gasp. His fingertips are cold, almost unnaturally so, and Louis cradles his hand against his chest. He fists the fabric of his shirt, rubbing his fingertips into the cotton as if to rid himself of the stranger’s ghost touch. The realization that the gesture probably comes off as rude hits Louis a beat too late. The touch alone seems to have sparked a certain life to Stranger, his wide eyes holding nothing but pure shock and his body practically vibrating with excitement. He leans in closer, enough that Louis has to tilt his head back, and a loose curl untucks itself from behind his ear. Stranger stares at him, watches him, with intensity something fierce that Louis drops his gaze to his ridiculous shirt and bites his bottom lip.

“There was a ghost sighting,” Stranger blurts out suddenly as if his mouth has a mind of its own.

“Was there?” Louis asks, quipping a curious eyebrow.

“A mom of two claims she saw her dead husband in bed next to her,” Pale Face says.

A soft burst of laughter escapes Louis’ lips before he could stop it. “Next week they’ll say vampires are roaming the streets.”

Pale Face wrinkles his nose. “Hope not. I think I prefer ghosts, though. They’re friendlier and don’t—suck blood to survive and all that. Ghosts will just knock over a thing or two, usually by accident, and hope someone will talk to them.”

“You speak like you have personal experience,” Louis laughs lightly.

“What? Oh, no, I’ve never been—seen a ghost. I’ve never seen a ghost. In real life. Because they’re not real and all that,” Edward Cullen 2.0 stammers, running a nervous hand through his hair. Louis watches the curls bounce around before flopping to one side of his head again. “I’ve just seen them in movies like Casper.”

“Right, like Casper,” Louis laughs. “I don’t know anyone who still reads the newspaper. I don’t even think my grandparents read it. That might be because their eyesight is a bit poor these days, but…” He trails off slowly, tilting his head to the side when Edward Cullen 2.0’s gaze inches something akin to worry. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s, um, I don’t think we should be talking. Here. We should probably move somewhere else,” Stranger rambles and his last sentence comes out more like a question rather than a suggestion.

Louis arches a quizzical, yet amused eyebrow at him. “We just met. Bit quick there, don’t you think?”

“What? No!” Stranger exclaims with horror. “That wasn’t—I would never—”

“I’m kidding,” Louis laughs, his shoulders dancing with it. He tightens his grip on Cliff’s leash, giving it a light tug to get the mountain of black fur to look up at him. “I do have to go, though.”

“Oh,” Pale Face says and it sounds sullen, like he’s disappointed. A thrum of happiness swirls in the pit of Louis’ stomach at this and he has to aim his smile down at Cliff. “Yeah, right, of course. You’ve got things to do and I’ve got this newspaper to read. It was nice meeting you, though.”

Louis smiles softly. “You too.”

Stranger gives him a firm nod and Louis takes a few steps backwards, his lips curving into a suggestion of a smile before he whips around. He walks all of two steps before he pauses and not-so-subtly peers over his shoulder to glance back at Pale Face. Louis watches his green eyes scan the paper for a couple seconds before those eyes flick up over the top edge to meet his gaze.

They both immediately smile as if mirroring each other and Louis turns back around so quickly that he nearly stumbles into Cliff. He steadies himself, convincing himself that his head spinning is from the sudden movement and not a certain stranger, while Cliff trots along beside him.

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

Spinning on his heels, Louis faces Edward Cullen 2.0—Harry—again and cocks his head to the side. “I’m Louis and this is Cliff.”

“I’ll be at the park tomorrow,” Harry says.

“Mm, I think Cliff can do with a park day,” Louis replies, peering down at his dog.

A poorly-veiled smile inches on Harry’s pale lips as he lowers the newspaper onto his lap. “Tomorrow night. I just think it’ll be better when we’re more—alone.”

Louis’ shoulders sag; he should’ve known. It’s always the hot ones that are the most disappointing.

“Um,” Louis blinks. Harry just returns his gaze easily, all wide-eyed and casual like he’s just made a comment about the weather and Louis can’t decide if that makes it that much creepier.

“We can meet by the swings,” Harry adds quickly. “It feels nice at night, kind of like you’re at the beach. I’ll push you, if you want.”

“Right,” Louis nods, taking a subtle step backwards with his mind racing thoughts of oh fuck oh shit I’m about to die and don’t hurt my dog at least. “Yes, um. I’ve got to, eh, get going. I’ll see you!”

Louis twirls around quickly with his heart beating hard against his chest and his shoes colliding against the pavement with every harsh step toward his apartment. He takes a quick peek over his shoulder and sees Harry’s head dropped and buried into the newspaper with his hands pressed against it. Louis’ lips are tinged with a smile before he even realizes it, but it quickly drops when the prospect of him being a murderer clouds his mind again.

As soon as Louis steps foot into his apartment, he knows he’s not going to meet Harry. He’s got a routine to stick to, after all.

*****

It turns out that changing a routine to meet a stranger-maybe-murderer is a lot easier than Louis thought. All he really needed to do was wake up two hours earlier, just in case, to get a head start on what he had planned for the day.

“Cliff, c’mon.”

The dog grunts and nestles himself further into the cushions of the couch, clearly uninterested in whatever plans Louis has for them. He had spent the day watching Louis flutter throughout his apartment, speeding through the day’s schedule of laundry, organizing the kitchen cabinets, and getting an early start on work projects. In the middle of folding his blankets on his bedroom floor, he tells himself it’ll be fun, he offered to push me on the swing. While he’s wiping down his dingy kitchen table with a wet flannel, he thinks I should probably hide my dildos so Zayn doesn’t use it against me. As he’s mindlessly typing on his laptop, he ponders maybe I should give my will one more look before walking to my death. He keeps his mind busy, coming up with contingency plans in case anything happens.

Not once does Louis think he’s actually going to talk himself out of going to the park. Weighing the pros and cons in his head, at best he could hopefully sleep with someone. At worst, he could—well, he was never a pessimist.

Hours later, Louis stands in the middle of his living room with a heaving chest and hands on his hips, staring down at Cliff who hasn’t moved for what seemed like the past six hours. Glancing at his phone, the time reads just a little after eight pm and before his mind can start whirring again, telling him the park’s ten minutes away so if you leave now it won’t be too late, he’s reminded that Harry didn’t give him a specific time.

“You act like you actually have a choice,” Louis huffs. He collapses on the couch beside Cliff, pulling socks over his feet and thoroughly ignoring the nerves that have begun to creep under his skin. Running his fingers through Cliff’s thick fur, Louis smiles down at him. “Get up you lazy oaf, I need you with me.”

A yawn escapes Cliff’s mouth as he stretches out his limbs and rolls over onto his back, letting his eyes drift close again. Sighing heavily, Louis finally gives up and pats his pockets at the door, checking for his phone, keys, and pepper spray, and then he leaves the safety of his apartment. Willing the continuous thread of nerves away, Louis pulls out his phone with shaky fingers, giving him something to do.

Scrolling through his contacts to the very bottom, Louis taps a name and holds his phone up to his ear. The phone rings just once before the person on the other end picks up and Louis speaks before they could greet him.

“Hey Zayn, I’m gonna be at Harvey Park, the place around the corner from my apartment complex,” Louis explains quickly, almost nervously.

There’s a sharp inhale and then some frantic rustling, Zayn’s voice faintly muttering oh sweet Jesus, finally. “Congrats, Lou! Moving from the beach to the park this time around? Who’s the lucky guy?”

“What are you—no. I’m really just going to the park,” Louis says.

Silence fills his ear, not even the sound of breathing, and Louis has to actually pull his phone back to check if Zayn’s still on the line before he gets a reply.

“Okaaay, is that code for sex?” Zayn asks.

“No!” Louis exclaims exasperatedly, slamming the elevator button with his elbow. “I’m actually going to the park, but I’m letting you know just in case something happens.”

“Like sex?”

“Would you stop?”

“Well, is something gonna happen to you? Should I be concerned?” Zayn says. Louis doesn’t need to see his face to know that a string of questions lies on the tip of Zayn’s tongue. His best friend just knows to ask the important ones first and warmth blossoms in Louis’ chest that he pulls open his to-do list on his phone, tapping buy Zayn a box of chocolate.

“Er, not yet,” Louis replies when he holds his phone back to his ear. The elevators ding open and he steps through, leaning against the back wall. Tipping his head back, Louis narrows his eyes at the fluorescent lights that flicker in and out. The elevator groans to life as it begins its rocky descent, jostling him in place. “Just in case. Harvey Park.”

Zayn hums. “The first time you step outside your apartment in absolute ages and it’s to go to a park,” he grumbles to himself. “Alright, well, be safe. Ring me in an hour, yeah?”

“Mm, will do,” Louis says and promptly hangs up right when the doors slide open. Pushing the doors open, the cold night air gently whips across Louis’ face. A certain kind of life radiates under his skin, some odd mixture of excitement and nerves, and it blooms with each step he bounces down. He makes a left and reaches into his pocket, lightly rolling the pepper spray around in his hand.

Just in case.

*****

Harvey Park at night pales in comparison to what it’s like in the day, alive under the thrum of excitement from kids running around, the creaking of the playground’s metal as footsteps clamber on it, and the sun beating down to wash it over with light. The surrounding trees that look welcoming in the bright day now look intimidating, looming over him.

Louis doesn’t so much see Harry as much as hears him, his drawling hum piercing through the still night as he softly swings back and forth. His long legs clad in a pair of denim jeans kick off the ground as he swings forward, chocolate curls dancing in the light breeze. His light skin nearly glows as bright as the flickering street lamp, a blur of light chasing after him whenever he swings. With one hand grasping the pepper spray in his pocket, Louis shuffles until he’s close enough to talk to him without raising his voice, but far enough to run away if Harry turns out to be a murderer.

“I have pepper spray.”

Green eyes, once at ease and relaxed, grow sharp as his broad shoulders stiffen before his gaze meets Louis’. Tension visibly leaves Harry’s body and he just—grins back at him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Kicking his legs up when he swings forward, Harry throws him a thumbs up.

“Cool,” Harry says. “Don’t think we’ll need it, though. The park’s pretty safe from what I’ve seen.”

“I know how to use it,” Louis continues dismissively, inching closer.

“Awesome,” Harry replies easily as if he isn’t the threat in question. “Nobody really comes around to parks at night, but I guess I can throw a punch or two. They’ll never see me coming.” His smile grows wider, full lips stretched across his face as a dimple carves into his cheek. “Literally.”

Somewhere in the midst of their conversation, Harry had stopped swinging and Louis had drawn in closer until he was standing in front of him, just an arm’s length away. Up close like this, Harry’s ivory skin seems stronger, almost incandescent, as if he was painted in white and Louis nearly squints his eyes at the stark contrast he is against the surrounding darkness. Harry dwarfs the swing, his defined chest hidden under his shirt, and the look of his long legs and broad shoulders alone could nearly weigh down the entire swing set.

For a split second, Louis really thinks Harry is going to kill him.

“I’m not gonna kill you,” Harry says with a cocked eyebrow.

“What?” Louis nearly exclaims. He laughs nervously, but it feels a bit manic as his heart pounds against his chest and Harry watches him with an amused grin. He’s sure that he didn’t actually think out loud, but Harry can’t read his mind either. “I wasn’t—right. Of course you aren’t. Sorry, it’s just—”

He stammers, dropping his gaze to the space between them. He just wanted someone to sleep with and now he’s gone making the man feel like a murderer. Louis contemplates never stepping foot outside his apartment again for the safety of the general public or even his own sanity. Cliff will just have to learn to piss in the toilet and he’ll have Zayn do his grocery shopping. Louis starts to mentally plan how the rest of his life will go when Harry clears his throat.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Harry asks, tilting his head to the side.

“No!” Louis cries. “No no, definitely no.”

Harry sags in relief with a shuddering exhale and a loose smile. “Oh, good. That wouldn’t have really worked out, anyway.”

Eyes pinned on Harry’s tattooed arms flexing on the chains of the swing, Louis doesn't doubt it. Everything gets worse, a thousand times worse, when Harry tightens his hold on the chains, the ripple of muscle hardening as he hauls himself into a standing position. Louis stumbles back a step, lips fallen open in silent shock at his towering height. He seems intimidating now, like the looming trees surrounding the park like a defensive wall guarding a secret. Louis’ suddenly taken aback, not from the impending threat of a possible murderer, but from the fact that he has absolutely no idea what he just walked into.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks softly, tentatively.

“Yes,” Louis squeaks. “I mean, I don’t know why I came, really. I guess I just wanted—I don’t know what I wanted.”

“Hm,” Harry says. The soft lines of his face suddenly harden into something darker, his eyes glued on Louis with his lips set in a faint frown. The change of expression is so quick that Louis hasn’t fully processed it when Harry opens his mouth again. “Not gonna hurt you, Louis.”

“That’s usually what a murderer says before killing someone,” Louis replies pointedly, reaching into his pocket for the pepper spray again. Harry’s dark eyes catch the movement and he frowns further, a deep furrow between his eyebrows.

“Then why aren’t you running?” Harry asks, low and rough.

Louis’ mind comes up completely blank for reasons to actually stay, but his feet remain frozen in place as he silently gapes at Harry. He just has a stare so intent and focused, watching Louis like he’s prey, and—he should run. Louis should get his phone out and call Zayn, the police, anyone and bolt off because what was he thinking just coming here without any plan and—

“I just wanted to talk.”

“Talk.”

“I haven’t really talked to anyone in a while.”

“You know you’re not really helping to set yourself apart from killers,” Louis says pointedly.

“I think you probably watch too many crime shows,” Harry replies with a laugh. He hasn’t moved an inch, except his eyes tracking Louis’ movements closely. His stone expression has eased into softness, almost looking tired. He rests his temple against the chain of the swing, a faint smile resting on his lips.

“Well, you invite me to a park at night to make sure nobody else is around,” Louis argues, but there’s a smile ghosting his lips. “S’bit creepy.”

“Oh, I didn’t even think about it like that,” Harry murmurs, kicking the heel of his shoe against the dirt and a cloud of brown dust floats into the air. “I wanted to make sure talking to you was—well, the night’s just easier. When there’s less people around. It really has nothing to do with murder. I don’t even know if I could—” He cuts himself off abruptly, heaving in a deep sigh before glancing up curiously at Louis. “Um, why did you come? If you thought I was a dangerous murderer?”

“I dunno,” Louis admits, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I honestly wasn’t planning on coming at all. Maybe it was because I was—” bored, curious, a little bit lonely, “making sure you actually aren’t a murderer. I had to make sure you wouldn’t run rampant on the streets.”

“You planned on taking me out with pepper spray?” Harry asks, arching an amused eyebrow.

“Well, that was the first step of the plan,” Louis says with his fingers wound around the pepper spray in his pocket. “After that I would call the police, obviously.”

With another thoughtful hum, mainly to himself, Harry smiles up at him. “Do you want to take me up on that offer to push you yet?”

“Maybe later,” Louis says and quickly adds, “but we could talk.”

Harry smiles softly at him, a private little thing with the corners of his lips curling and his green eyes melting into something more open and honest. They’re not quite there, not yet at least, but the possibility of that door being opened doesn’t seem outside the realm of possibility. Not when Harry looks at him like that.

Sinking into the swing beside Harry, Louis returns the smile just as openly. Talking is fine.

*****

Louis meets with Harry the next night. And the night after that. Then every night after that.

There’s just something infectious about Harry and not just in the way his deep voice drawls out a story over the span of thirty minutes when it should be five or how he talks with his hands moving about. He’s genuine and sincere, completely attentive to whatever Louis says, and consuming a space Louis gave up on trying to fill.

Somehow Harry managed to nestle himself in Louis’ routine and Louis, for some reason, just lets him. Maybe it’s because Harry does it so seamlessly that Louis barely even noticed, as if he was there all along. Some mornings, Louis catches him sitting on that same bench with the day’s newspaper looking happy and then, somehow, looking even happier when he catches a glimpse of Louis and Cliff. They go from what’s in the newspaper today? to meet me by the swirly side tomorrow night and then finally okay, okay, fine you can push me on the swings.

“So why don’t you have a phone again?”

“I told you it’s because the government can track us and everything we do with them.”

Louis kicks his legs up as he laughs, only shuddering slightly when the cold tips of Harry’s fingers press into his skin when he gently pushes him. “What, are you in some sort of drug cartel? Stealing thrift store’s unique shirts?”

“Hey,” Harry drawls. The swing comes to an abrupt stop, swinging Louis violently in place that he digs his shoes into the dirt. Looking up, Louis catches a glimpse of Harry’s large hands tightly wound the chains of the swing, right above Louis’ own hands. “You like my shirts and your phone probably picked up on all of that.”

They’re so close that Louis can feel Harry’s sweater grazing his back, his cold breath fanning across the crown of his head. Louis wants to lean back into him, tip his head on his shoulder and become more familiar with Harry’s touch outside of just casual, ghost touches that are more accidental than anything. He sometimes wonders what holding his hand would feel like, his own warm ones intertwined with Harry’s cold hands. It’s during these times where Louis wants to close the gap between them, brush his shoulders along Harry’s, but the temptation dies out before he could act on it.

Zayn’s voice muttering Jesus, you’re tough starved suddenly rings loudly in his ear that Louis instinctively tightens his hands around the swing’s chains. He already hates Zayn; the feeling’s amplified when his best friend is actually right.

Louis’ stomach lightly grumbles with hunger and he sighs, running a hand over his belly. “I should get going,” he says. He gives a small whistle and Cliff comes bolting towards them, tongue dangling out his mouth and tail wagging happily.

“Oh, right,” Harry mutters, shoulders sagging. “Has it been our daily thirty minutes already?” Muted shock colors Louis’ face as he peers at Harry, eyebrows raised on his forehead and eyes wide. Harry innocently blinks back at him, the corners of his lips curled downward in confusion. “What? You come around at the exact same time, exact same way, and then leave. S’not hard to tell you’ve got a routine going on.”

“You’ve been watching me?” Louis asks with a small laugh.

Harry does a horrible once-over of him, not a trace of shyness behind those eyes and smile. “Well. A bit hard not to.”

His warm honesty wrapped in fond flirtation always leaves Louis speechless, a bit out of breath, and with the strongest temptation to do something stupid like smack his shoulder, kiss him, or hold his hand.

Instead, Louis drops his gaze to Cliff and coughs. “I’ve got dinner back at my place. If you want to have some.”

Some life colors Harry back up again as he straightens up with a grin so wide his dimples cut deeply into his cheek. Louis is completely ruined. “Dinner?”

“It’s not much, but I’ve got some chicken, rice and vegetables we can throw together,” Louis replies. He stands up, his knees croaking with it, and nudges his head back towards his apartment. “Don’t get too excited.”

Undeterred, Harry falls in line with Louis as they trek back to his apartment. Louis keeps his gaze on the pavement instead of where their hands brush against each other, pressing his lips together to suppress his smile. Only once does Louis lift his chin to peer over at Harry, who doesn’t even try to hide the smile of his own.

*****

As much as Louis likes his routine, how it keeps him steady and focused, Louis finds himself liking Harry more. It’s almost scary how easily they fell into step with each other, taking only a month for them to be playfully bumping hips in the kitchen and bickering with each other. There’s really only one thing that pricks at the back of Louis’ mind, something about Harry that bothers him, and it’s that Harry doesn’t easily give away information about himself.

There’s an easy current that runs through their conversations, but that comes to an abrupt halt when it inches anywhere near Harry’s personal life. He’ll laugh off any talk about school, work, and especially his family, skirting off to another topic instead as long as that topic revolves around Louis. With Harry’s aversion to the outside world combined with his apathy for mobile phones, Louis’ convinced that he’s actually an eighty year-old man disguised as a charming and helpless guy. Either that or Harry’s just a very strange person who Louis happens to be intensely attracted to and he can't decide which is worse.

Louis can’t help but feel like they’re nothing more than glorified friends when he can’t even get them to step foot outside the five-foot radius of his apartment.

“Hey,” Harry says, leaning against the door frame. When he wasn’t walking into walls, he was lounging in the doorway while he watched Louis type up spreadsheets for work at the kitchen table or chase Cliff down.

“Hey, you gonna come in?” Louis asks, peering behind his shoulder from the couch where he’s been typing away on his laptop.

Pushing himself off the doorframe, Harry comes towards Louis and closes the door behind him.

“Careful!” Louis shouts. He doesn’t even need to worry about Cliff, but Harry’s got two left feet and a tendency to walk into objects. Harry pauses at the couch and flashes a dimpled grin at him. Louis quickly darts his eyes back to his laptop because he’s been a victim of that smile far too many times.

“Just admiring the view,” Harry says.

“I don’t know how you don’t have bruises the size of a baseball when you bump into counters and walk into walls every time I blink,” Louis says with a soft laugh and a shake of his head. He has to physically keep his eyes on his laptop screen rather than watch Harry make his way around the couch and plop down with an arm’s length between them. Louis tries not to frown at that permanent short distance, never seeming to draw smaller because Harry’s annoying and Louis’ not brave enough to do it himself. Dragging his gaze over to him, Louis arches an amused eyebrow. “You’re so pale, you’d think a small bruise would bring some color to your skin.”

He reaches over to pinch at his arm, hoping it’ll play off as a friendly, platonic touch, when Harry suddenly leans forward, just out of Louis’ reach. He coos at Cliff, scratching behind his ears enthusiastically while Louis drops his hand back onto his keyboard.

For a moment, Louis feels almost guilty because it didn't take long to notice that Harry's got some weird aversion to physical touch. To Harry’s credit, he’s tried to keep it subtle by suddenly crouching down to pet Cliff or excuse himself to the bathroom. Louis’ become so aware of it, like becoming too aware of your own breathing, that not touching Harry feels like a physical strain. He hopes, foolishly, that brushing arms or bumping hips will break open whatever gates Harry’s got closed up.

Except now, Louis kind of wants to smash his head into the wall for reaching out to him.

“Um,” Louis finally stutters. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—that was wrong of me to just think I can do that. I won’t though. Do that anymore.”

Harry makes a sound akin to being strangled, looks like he’s being strangled for words caught in his throat with his wild curls framing his pale face, green eyes wide, and—great. Now Louis just feels like a sack of shit and even thinks of walking out of his apartment all together if that’ll make Harry feel better.

“Have you seen Twilight?” Harry asks, deep and rough. He doesn’t look like he’s going to explain any further, leaving Louis to knit his eyebrows together.

“What?”

“Better yet, do you like Edward Cullen?”

“What?”

“I just mean I’m always cold,” Harry frowns and Louis can practically see him mentally scolding himself.

“You think I’m gonna be scared because you’re like a vampire?” Louis laughs lightly. Ease bubbles in the pit of his stomach, overtaking the nerves and anxiety that consumed him just a moment ago.

“Not that, exactly,” Harry mumbles, scratching at the back of his neck.

“It’s okay, I won’t freak out over anything,” Louis smiles. “I’ve got Cliff who’s practically a human heater.”

“Alright,” Harry agrees easily, relaxing into the cushions of the couch. “So... about Twilight.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon lounging on his couch, arguing about the merits of Twilight until Harry buys the entire series online with Louis’ card. Louis couldn’t even bring himself to be upset about anything through his laughter, reveling in Harry inching closer to him. The small space between them now closed up enough that their shoulders are barely brushing and their hands lay between them, their pinkies intertwined.

*****

The whole no-touching rule progresses over the next month. It’s still nothing more than skimming fingers and accidental bumps. Louis nearly drives his head into the wall out of frustration and convinces himself that Harry’s just not into him like that, which is—fine. Except he wants to kill himself just a little bit. A ghost probably lives an easier life than he does. He just looks infuriatingly good all the time with his easy smile and sex-tousled hair that Louis begins to worry if he actually does have sex before he pops over to his apartment.

In the middle of the night, Louis has a startling realization that maybe Harry’s already seeing someone else. He never talks about his personal life and their dating lives, for some reason, seem taboo. Staring at his ceiling while piecing together the reasons, suddenly it all makes sense. Harry never wants them to go outside. He says he doesn’t have a phone, but maybe it’s to lower the risk of his other partner finding out. Harry never makes a move to touch him unless it’s purely accidental.

It’s the most depressing epiphany he’s come across, so Louis immediately comes up with a plan there in his bed at three in the morning. Cliff snores soundly beside him as he tells himself don’t look too interested or desperate and whore time is over, which—it never really began but the door was beginning to open.

“Do you have to make a snack plate like it’s an art?” Harry asks the next day. He pads into the kitchen and stands dangerously close behind him, peering over Louis’ shoulder.

“You won’t let us go to the theaters, so yes,” Louis grits. He carefully arranges a bowl of candy beside chips sitting on a serving plate to bring out to the coffee table. Two months of hanging out with Harry and they haven’t even gone on one date, unless sitting on his shitty couch watching cheap movies in his shirt and sweatpants count. It was all just—stupid. Pointless. “It’s a Saturday night, you know.”

Harry arches a brow. “And?”

“You don’t have a date or anything tonight?" Louis asks, aiming for nonchalance but sounding annoyed. A minute into his plan and he’s already failing, so he takes a deep breath exhales slowly, throwing Harry a soft smile. “You don’t have to hang around with me, you know. If you’ve got other plans.”

Instead of looking confused or angry, Harry just looks amused. “Did you want this to be a date?”

“What?” Louis asks, slightly horrified. Mainly caught-out. He hates when Harry does that—see right through his meticulously thought-out plans. The worst part of it all is that it only takes Harry pulling on that string to get Louis to unravel completely and then he's blurting out, “I’m asking if you’re busy tonight because you’re here with me. Always, all the time.”

“I’m busy with you,” Harry replies, blinking dumbly at him. “I’m here with you because I want to be.”

“Are you busy with anyone else?” Louis asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because—because I’m tired of tiptoeing around whatever this,” he gestures wildly between them, “is.”

“I thought I was dating you.”

“Do you date nuns?”

Knitting his eyebrows together, Harry cocks his head to the side. “I said I was dating you.”

Louis smacks a hand over his face. “When have we ever had that conversation? We don’t talk about it and you never—” Louis cuts himself off, feeling a warm flush coloring his cheeks. “You never told or—showed me. That we were dating.”

“I thought I was obvious about how much I like you,” Harry says, eyes wide and lips curled in a slight frown. “I just haven’t—look, if I touch you or kiss you, I won’t stop.”

“I wouldn’t be complaining,” Louis replies, willing the pink flush blooming across his cheeks to go away. “Unless you are busy with someone else. Is that why we haven’t really done anything? Why we don't go anywhere? Why you always come looking like that?”

“Okay, so first you think I’m a murderer and now you think I’m a cheater?" Harry asks, nostrils flared and eyes wild and he looks genuinely upset. “I’ve been interested in nobody but you for the past couple of weeks. What else do you think I am, Lou? Part of the mafia? A drug lord? A ghost?” He takes a momentary pause, mouth hanging open like he stopped himself in the middle of a thought, and then his eyes go soft. “Out of the choices, I think one of them is the least—harmful.”

And—Louis hates him so much that he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. “So a vampire isn’t one of the choices?”

“I should’ve never dragged you down the Twilight hole,” Harry laughs, low and deep. He casts his gaze down to the space between them and shifts in closer, reaching out to run a finger over Louis’ knuckles. “But while we’re talking about it, there’s actually something I need to—”

“Hellooo! Lou!”

The door violently swings open as if Zayn had used a battering ram, slamming against the wall loudly.

“Zayn!” Louis gasps, pushing himself off the couch so frantically that he nearly stumbles. He catches himself on the coffee table and hauls himself up on shaky legs, his heart hammering in his chest. Flashbacks of getting caught with his boyfriend in bed by his mom come flooding, nearly threatening an oncoming headache. The sad reality is that Louis almost wishes that’s what he and Harry were doing. Instead, they had been watching TV on the couch with Cliff between them like the world’s most horrible cockblock. “Can you please at least text or knock before you come over?”

“You're alive,” Zayn exhales in relief.

Louis actually feels like he might die from mortification alone or from Zayn’s suddenly cold stare. “Not if you keep this up. You’re gonna send me to an early grave,” He mumbles.

“You weren’t answering your phone for two days!” Zayn exclaims, flapping his arms wildly. “I nearly rammed down your fucking door.”

“Okay, that’s a bit dramatic.”

“I thought you were dead!”

Harry coughs.

In the heat of the moment, Louis nearly forgot Harry was there at all. He hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch, practically sitting stone still except when he rakes his fingers through his wild curls. Zayn doesn’t even blink at the stranger, his brooding brown eyes pinned on Louis instead. He looks genuinely upset, his grown out jet black hair in a tangled mess like he’s been running his fingers through it all day, dark shadows under his eyes, and scruff peppering his face.

“Right,” Louis murmurs under his breath and then remembers Harry is still in the room. “Zayn, this is—Haz, get over here.”

Harry nearly spasms from his name and turns around, resting an arm over the edge of the couch with worry written in the lines of his face. “Lou, listen, funny story—”

“I was going to introduce you two earlier, but—”

“I really have to tell you something.”

“This is my—” Louis cuts himself off at a loss for words. The word friends feels like a lie. Anything more feels like wishful thinking or an opportunity for disappointment. “Harry. This is Harry.”

Zayn blinks at him a couple of times. Dark eyebrows furrow together and a frown pulls at the corner of his lips, a tired sigh falling out of them. “Who?”

“Harry,” Louis answers patiently, throwing a pleading look at Harry to stand up or do anything, really. He’s never seen him so still, his body nearly wracked with nerves.

“You’ve... been seeing a guy named Harry?” Zayn replies slowly.

“Yes, why are you talking about him like he’s not here when he’s literally right there?” Louis asks with a slight irritated huff.

“Lou,” Zayn mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose together and squeezing his eyes shut. He inhales deeply before exhaling and opening his eyes again. “Are you okay? Do you need me to take you to the doctor?”

“Why would I need to see the doctor?”

“Because there’s no Harry? Because there’s nobody besides us here?”

Pulling his head back, Louis gapes at him. Zayn could be horribly ignorant, but he’s never been one to actually be rude, especially to people Louis cares about. Without even needing to exchange words, Zayn can tell if Louis wants someone to stick around. Glancing back at Harry, all wide-eyed and chewed lips, Louis wants that someone to be Harry.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks. “Harry is right there on the—”

“Lou, I’m a ghost!”

The room falls under a quiet spell as Louis gapes at Harry in confusion. It’s not unusual for Harry to make weird comments, but it’s never been paired with a look of distress that colors his face now. He looks even paler than usual, almost like he actually is dead, and—oh.

Oh.

Tangles of thoughts swirl in Louis’ head, attempting to unravel themselves into something that makes sense. Harry’s always been a bit odd—Louis accounted that to his personality—but then there was they wouldn’t see it coming—literally and we should go somewhere where we’re more alone. He was always walking into something like he was about to pass right through it and his skin, it really did look like the life was sucked out of him, and—

A sharp gasp falls out of Louis’ mouth and he slaps a hand over it, whirling towards Harry with wide eyes as the startling realization dawns over him.

“You’re a—”

“Don’t say anything!” Harry hisses loudly, frantically pointing a finger at Zayn. “Just tell him to go home and I’ll explain.”

Oh God, Louis thinks to himself as he slowly turns around. Oh fucking Christ, he’s gonna kill me. I’ve been accidentally dating a ghost and now he’s gonna kill me.

“I’m not gonna kill you!” Harry exclaims.

Fear curdles in his stomach as he stares at Harry, but Louis quickly drops his eyes because it’s not the same Harry he was just a minute ago. This Harry is like a stranger, like a new person. Just a moment ago Louis was aching to hold his hand and now he can’t even hold his gaze.

Louis grimaces, but follows along in lieu of possibly getting murdered. “Right, sorry Zayn.” He scrubs a harsh hand over his face and laughs lightly, ignoring the nerves bubbling in his stomach. “I'm just tired and I’ve been up all night because Cliff's been feeling sick—” The huge dog on the couch pops his head over the couch and huffs, earning himself a glare from Louis. “You know how I get when he isn’t feeling well, so, um, I’ll walk you out to your car.”

Before Zayn could argue, Louis is grabbing his arm and shoving his feet into the nearest pairs of shoes. He ignored Zayn’s are you sure you’re okay? and are you mad because you were about to have sex? and the last time you were this mad it was because I walked in on you getting your ass eaten, listen, I’m sorry—which. Zayn has a nasty habit of charging into his apartment like he owns the place so he deserved getting a frantic phone call from his mom when Louis knew he was about to bring someone home.

Harry follows closely behind him, mostly quiet except for muttering I’m so so sorry, Lou please don’t hate me if I could die then I would be dead if you did hate me. Between his apologies and Zayn’s worries, Louis can barely find a moment’s peace to have a thought for himself. His head swims in a hazy fog and he barely returns Zayn’s warm hug before watching him drive off.

“Darling, are you all right?” Mrs. Wang asks, suddenly coming up beside him as he stares off. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

*****

Louis runs.

It’s flight or fight instinct, except he wouldn’t dare to fight the guy because he’s just as useless as Cliff. Now seems like a better time than ever to look up self-defense classes, sign up at the gym, or maybe just never step foot outside his apartment again.

As soon as Louis makes it inside his apartment, he slams the door shut behind him and locks it. His chest heaves as he leans back against the door, letting his eyes shut for a moment to let his morning sink in.

His mind feels like it’s racing, jumping from different thoughts before it can settle on just one. He’s barely had time to process the stranger claiming to be a ghost when a soft knock shocks him out of his thoughts. Louis springs away from the door, his heart racing against his chest as he takes slow steps backwards.

“Please don’t say anything because nobody can hear me and I don’t want anyone to think you’re crazy,” Harry says gently, almost carefully, like he’s trying not to scare Louis off.

“Go away,” Louis says meekly, hands clenched in tight fists held against his chest.

“I said don’t say anything.”

The familiar voice comes from right behind him, startling a blood-curdling scream out of Louis. Without sparing a glance behind him, Louis bolts to the kitchen and throws a drawer open. He reaches for the first thing his hands grabs—a wooden spoon, with his luck—and turns around with his weapon cautiously held out in front of him like a sword. Harry has his hands held up, frozen in place as he stares back at Louis with wide, green eyes.

“Get out,” Louis croaks, tightening his grip around the wooden handle when Harry shifts closer. “Get out right now or I’ll call the police.”

“Please don’t do that,” Harry mutters softly. “Don’t act like we’re strangers. We’re—we’re not strangers, Lou.”

“Yeah? What are we then?” Louis says.

“Just thirty minutes ago we were dating.” Harry holds his gaze and takes a tentative step closer. “Let’s just—talk. It’s what we’ve always done. I’ll explain everything, okay?”

This is what he gets for opening up. This is what he gets for taking a chance. This is why he has his routine and stays inside of it. Never in a million years would he think the one time he opens up, it would turn out like this, but—this just hurts.

Louis scowls at him. “You tell me you’re a ghost and you expect me to, what, act like everything’s normal? I’m allowed to have a reaction.”

“Of course you are! I’m not saying that, I’m just—I’m a ghost, I swear,” Harry says and suddenly stands pin-straight, holds up three fingers and schools his face into something serious. “Scout’s honor.”

“Are you—are you insane?” Louis asks incredulously.

“How do you think I got in here?” Harry flaps his arms around exasperatedly, leaning back against the sink. His hair flops over to the side, but he doesn’t bother to brush it back as he silently pleads with Louis with those wide, green eyes of his.

“I’ll let the police figure that out,” Louis pulls out his phone and cocks an eyebrow at him, “if you don’t leave in the next second.”

Harry groans and searches the kitchen—for what, Louis has no idea—until his eyes fall on the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter of his kitchen. He beams and nods his head towards it. “Throw something at me.”

“Huh?”

“Throw that lemon at me,” Harry grins widely, eyes too bright for someone who just proposed a fruit to be thrown at them, for someone who claims to be a ghost.

Through his frustration, Louis grabs the lemon and hurls it towards Harry, hitting him right in the stomach. Harry lets out an oomph! and curls over, clutching his stomach as his face screws up in pain. A sharp gasp rips out of Louis and he nearly rushes to Harry, but freezes his steps. He watches Harry dramatically rub at his stomach with a frown and groaning as if Louis had launched a rocket at him.

“Ow, that hurt. You didn’t have to throw it that hard,” Harry grumbles petulantly. “It’s not the World Series.”

Which—that’s a lie because Harry’s got pounds of muscle hidden under his clothes. Louis knows this because he’s spent too much time fixated on the way his insane graphic shirts stretch over his taunt abs or his strong arms. Louis could probably throw a bowling ball straight at him and Harry would flick it off like a pebble and he’s only being slightly hyperbolic.

“Please go,” Louis says with a heavy sigh. “I’ve got a lot to do today and I’m already behind schedule, so—”

“No,” Harry straightens up instantly, recovering quickly from his pseudo-injury. Louis wants to kill him. Something mischievous gleams in Harry’s eyes as he casually crosses one long giraffe leg over the other. “Now throw a knife at me.”

Louis’ mouth drops open in shock, but Harry just arches an eyebrow as if to say well? and Louis clenches his fists by his side. Harry’s got one of those faces where you constantly walk the line of either wanting to punch him or wanting to be the center of his attention. He’s got these big, green eyes and obscene plump lips that he keeps swiping his tongue over, a horrible habit that Louis finds himself catching every single time. His curls frame his pale face, just barely brushing the nape of his neck that washes him in something almost regal or princely, if he wasn’t wearing another one of his horrendous shirts.

Standing there in the light of his kitchen, casually leaning back with a look of amusement annoys Louis just enough for him to yank a drawer open, pull out a butter knife because as annoyed as he is, he’s not about to go to prison, throws it at Harry and—

Watches it go through his body and clatter onto the counter behind him.

A ball of fear drops in Louis’ stomach as he stares at Harry’s stomach, at where the knife just went through. He’s pretty sure his mouth is hanging open in pure shock with his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. Louis doesn’t know how long it’s been when he finally drags his eyes up to meet Harry’s, that ball of fear growing bigger inside him.

A smile is already spread across Harry’s lips like he’s been waiting for this moment. With his arms crossed over his chest, there’s a smug twinkle in his eye as he looks down at Louis through his eyelashes.

“Boo.”

*****

Louis runs. Again.

He doesn’t run outside like what Louis presumes any smart person would do. Instead, Louis jets down the hallway that leads to his bedroom with Cliff obliviously chasing after him. Throwing the door open, Cliff trots through and Louis throws a quick glance back. Harry isn’t stalking after him, not that Louis can see because apparently there's a ghost in his house. The mere thought of it sends a shiver down his spine, lights a fire under his ass so quick that he hurries into his bedroom and slams the door shut, locking it and hoping that it actually does something. Like keep a ghost outside.

The sound of Louis’ heart racing in his chest and Cliff’s heavy pants fill his ears as he paces back and forth. A stream of thoughts run through his head, telling him it was a trick of the eye, that he blinked and Harry somehow got the knife behind him, that this is a dream. Either that or Louis imagined the knife going right through Harry’s body. None of these reasons does a single thing to help quell the nerves in his stomach. Suddenly, his neat bed looks warm and inviting with its fluffed pillows and pristine sheets, something like out of a magazine. Louis can’t think of a time when sleep doesn’t help the situation. Or at least puts his problems aside, saving them for another time that Louis can’t bring himself to care about right now.

Louis’ just about to crawl into bed when he hears footsteps drawing nearer.

“Hello?” Harry calls softly, but Louis jumps at the sound anyway. His voice sounds close, like his mouth is pressed right against his bedroom door. Anxiously pressing his back against the opposite end of his room, Louis slowly slides down the wall, legs bent and Cliff, big and warm, by his side. He faintly hears Harry breathe in deeply before grumbling, “I guess I shouldn’t have listened to that ghost when they said pull out the party tricks early.”

There’s a dry lump in Louis’ throat that he swallows down. “Please leave,” he croaks, slinging an arm around Cliff and tugging him close for comfort. He glances around his room and pats his pockets only to have dread wash over him when he realizes he doesn’t have his phone.

“'You left your phone out here,” Harry chimes as if he could read Louis’ mind. “I could fetch it for you if you want to call someone, but, ehm like I said, no one can see me. Only you and Cliff can.”

“Can you read my mind?”

“No,” Harry answers quickly, sharp and direct like he’s preparing himself for an interrogation. “I don’t know all my superpowers yet, but so far I can’t read your mind. I can walk through walls, which I won’t do now so don’t worry, and kind of—” he takes a thoughtful pause and Louis hears a fingernail scratching against the wooden door—“phase myself in and out. Like you saw earlier.”

Louis frowns, fingers idly scratching Cliff’s thick, black fur. Seeing it is one thing; Louis can chalk it down to mind games or an optical illusion. A bat of an eyelash. But hearing it somehow brings it all to life, no matter how hard Louis tries to convince himself otherwise.

“Superpo—okay, look, I don’t know what you want, but you need to go. Please. You can use my phone to call someone or—”

“No one can hear me,” Harry cuts in quickly, almost desperately. “Hear, touch, see, smell, nothing. Except for you and your dog. That’s why I want to stick around.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I haven’t lied to you. What, you think the knife flying through me was just a magic trick?”

“Better than believing it’s a ghost trick.”

“Superpower. It’s a superpower,” Harry says. There’s a pregnant pause and then he quietly adds, barely above a whisper, “Are you scared of me?”

Louis thumps his head back against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut. The thing is, Louis isn’t really scared. At least, not of Harry himself. What Louis is afraid of is what this means for them. It’s not love or anything but Louis likes him. He wants him to stick around, which, apparently, seems inevitable now that he’s a ghost. Louis’ tired of tiptoeing around Harry and what he wants because in the end, what Louis wants is Harry.

The whole being a ghost almost seems secondary when he looks at it like that.

“No,” Louis says and then, because he’s horrible and can’t accept anything other than being absolute certainty, he adds, “But, Haz, what is this then?”

“Mm, a little haunting,” Harry replies through the door with a tinge of a smile in his voice.

A strange mixture of frustration and desperation creeps inside of Louis and he finds himself standing up, taking slow but sure steps towards the door. “I don’t know. This is all just—it’s a lot to process,” he says firmly, eyes glued to the door like he can see right through it and into Harry's green eyes. “I don’t need a ghost—haunting me.”

“Louis... it’s not like you can do anything about it anyway, right?” Harry asks.

And—that. That is enough for Louis to pull the door open with an angry crease between his eyebrows, a frown pulling at the corners of his lips. “Are you threatening me, Casper?”

“We’re both friendly ghosts, I’ll give you that,” Harry grins widely, leaning against the doorframe. “Besides, what are you gonna do?” He lolls his head to the side, a stupid, cheeky grin inching on his lips. “Kill me?”

And, oh, Louis wishes he could.

*****

“So.”

“Mm. So.”

Louis shifts uncomfortably, elbows planted on the kitchen table as Harry waits patiently. “I’m just gonna come right out and ask,” Louis mutters, dropping his gaze when Harry’s eyes on him become a little too intense for his liking. “How did you die?”

“Well, Tomlinson...”

Snapping his head up, Louis' brows furrow together in confusion. “How do you know my last name?”

“Oh, because Zayn texted you,” Harry answers easily. “You should probably answer him by the way, he seems upset.”

“You went through my phone?” Louis drops his mouth open, eyes going wide as he picks up his phone.

Harry knits his eyebrows together. “You let me go through your phone before. Nothing really changes because I’m a ghost.”

“That changes everything,” Louis grumbles under his breath. As soon as his phone lights up, the screen is filled with text messages like hey fruity pebbles r on sale again and so did u want any???? and louis tomlinson can u stop jerking off for two seconds and answer ur phone, which—he wasn’t.

“Safe to say you weren’t busy jerking off.”

“You sure you can’t read my mind?”

Harry holds his pinky up. “Pinky promise, it’s just our connected brains,” he grins, only to cough awkwardly when Louis doesn’t let up. “Well, I was going to give your phone to you. It kept blowing up with notifications and I skimmed it just in case anyone was worrying about you.”

Taking his eyes off his phone, Louis narrows his eyes at him. “Should they be worrying?”

“Not at all,” Harry frowns. “Look, I died two months ago when I was hiking and slipped. It was—a bad fall.”

“And you think there’s a reason why you can only see me?” Louis asks tentatively.

Pulling at his bottom lip and letting it snap back, Harry shrugs. “I don't know if there’s a reason, but… I’m curious to find out. In the meantime, I do have something for us to do.”

The way he says it, so sure and certain of himself, jars Louis. He hasn’t done his laundry, organized his cabinets, or that PowerPoint slide that he actually really needs to get done for work, but Harry’s already moving his plans aside to make room for himself. Louis’ barely had time to wrap his head around the situation, much less actually accept it.

“I’m sorry, but I have things to do,” Louis says gently, standing up from his chair. He’ll think everything over once he’s back on schedule, caught up on what he has to do. Maybe think of a plan to somehow get rid of Harry. “You can just—hang out with Cliff or go to the park again? Do whatever ghosts do.”

“Wait,” Harry grits roughly, suddenly determined. His eyes harden on Louis and lips set in a frown. It’s startling, almost frightening, how fast his expressions can change. “Let me just—I want to talk with you before you try to think of a plan to get away from me, okay? I swear I’m not trying to bother you or anything. Do you like coffee?”

He does. Splash of hazelnut creamer. “No,” Louis lies.

“You had coffee the other morning while walking Cliff,” Harry deadpans with an arch of his eyebrow.

Through Harry’s tendency to seem quite dumb, sometimes his sharpness can fly over Louis’ head. He clenches his jaw in frustration and pins his gaze on Harry, refusing to back down. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep that night.”

“Okay, how about ice cream? I’ll even get you a double scoop,” Harry presses eagerly. “We’ve never had ice cream before.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Louis replies quickly. He isn’t, loves ice cream and could go for the sugar right now, but lying just seems like the easier option. “And how do you even have money?”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest and leans back on the chair, a hard and challenging glimmer in his eyes. “Tea. I’ll make you a cup of tea and I’ll tell you everything. If you need time or space or anything, I’ll give it to you. Just—hear me out, okay?”

Louis’ shoulders sag in defeat. He can’t help that inquisitive part of his mind, always needing an answer right when he asks a question or else he feels like he’s left hanging. Like he needs to sneeze or it just won’t come. Pure curiosity wins over anything else. It’s how he got himself into this mess in the first place if he thinks about it hard enough, walking to the park with no plan in mind to meet Harry. Louis’ come full circle and he might as well resign himself to this fate, as long as he comes up with some plan later.

But—fuck. Louis actually really hates tea.

*****

Two steaming cups of green tea later that Zayn will probably kill him for using, Harry and Louis sit across each other at the kitchen table. They once had comfortable silence, but now it seems to cloud over them, slowly suffocating them.

“I’ve been dead for about two months,” Harry begins. “Just—woke up on the other side of living. At first I thought I had woken up from a coma or something, but nobody could hear, touch, or see me.”

“Where did you wake up?” Louis asks.

“The park bench,” Harry replies and takes a small sip of his tea, letting out a hum of satisfaction.

Louis suddenly slams a flat hand on the table and leans forward. “So that’s why you always wanted to meet at night. Because it’d look like I was talking to no one. That’s why you don’t have a phone. That’s why you never wanted to go anywhere.”

“I told you I wasn’t trying to murder you,” Harry grumbles under his breath, drawing a soft laugh out of Louis. He beams over at Louis like he’d just been rewarded and plants his elbows on the table. “Nothing I’ve said to you was a lie. If it was, then it was—out of necessity.”

“Were you planning on telling me?” Louis says quietly, dropping his gaze to his full cup of tea. His leg bounces nervously in place and he takes a sip just to do something with his hands.

“I wanted to, Lou,” Harry says, voice sounding strained. “It’s just not the easiest thing to bring up. I didn’t want to ruin anything and I thought we were dating. I would’ve killed myself if I ruined that.”

The horrible light above the kitchen table leans in Harry’s favor, painting his ivory skin in a light gold that he looks almost—alive. Reality sinks into the pit of Louis’ stomach as he fully takes in Harry’s pale lips and the weight of everything else.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Louis asks with an arched eyebrow.

Harry frowns, offended. “Of course I do.”

“A place that’s not a park bench.”

“Yes,” Harry says. His lips stretch across his face in a grin with the pride of an eight year old child winning scholar of the month. “I’m staying at the cemetery.”

“What?!” Louis shrieks.

Blinking dumbly at him, Harry rubs at the back of his neck. “Just kidding?” he mumbles as if he isn’t quite sure that’s the right answer. He slumps back on the couch, raking his fingers through his tousled curls in a way that’s too distracting for a ghost. Louis pointedly flicks his gaze to Harry’s ridiculous shirt of the day—a blue shirt with STAY TRIPPY written across the chest and a girl sitting with mushrooms. “Well, there’s not exactly a shelter home or a hotel for ghosts to stay in.”

Louis shoots him an unimpressed look. “Well, did you ask another ghost?”

The question hangs in the quiet air while Harry fishes around for an answer, his mouth hanging open and his brows knitted together. “A lot of them are like me, just waiting around. The ones who aren’t waiting around just give cryptic answers.”

“Harry…” Louis sighs, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“I can go back to my grave. Take a little dirt nap,” Harry sighs. He cranes his neck, eyes squinting as he peers out the window where the sun filters through, casting the room in a light glow. “Looks like it's about to pour any minute now. The park has a tube slide that can stay in, I guess.”

“Are you—are you seriously trying to guilt trip me right now?” Louis asks incredulously.

“No!” Harry cries. A huff passes through his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest, staring at the coffee table with an angry furrow between his brows. A moment or five stretches between them before Harry drags his green eyes up at Louis, his lips tinged in a smile. “I really will give you whatever you need. I’m not—the last thing I want is for you to hate me.”

Louis drops his face into his hands with a groan, scrubbing them up and down. “I don’t hate you,” he says.

“That’s what I need your help with,” Harry says, voice low and deep. “A place to stay while I wait things out.”

“Wait things out?”

“Well, I need to find out if I’ll be going to heaven or hell.”

“So, what, you’re just hanging around in limbo for now? Your time on Earth is a test or something?”

“Kind of,” Harry shrugs. “We wait around until they call us for—Judgment Day.”

“What else do you need? Internet? Full access to my fridge? Folded towels and chocolate on your pillow?” Louis asks.

Harry’s eyes shine brightly. “Can you actually fold the towels into animals? I stayed at a hotel where they did—”

Lightly kicking his foot under the table, Louis wraps his hands around the warm cup of tea and sighs. Harry silently watches him from across the table, bottom lip caught between his teeth and then he’s hooking his ankle around Louis’. The cold shocks Louis, jolting him in his seat and a breathy laugh falls out of Harry’s mouth. It’s all so familiar that it’s easy to convince himself that nothing really has to change. If Harry survived death, living on and roaming around, then maybe Louis can survive this.

“Okay, fine,” Louis finally says and mirrors Harry’s bright smile widening over his face. “You can stay.”

Harry reaches across the table, grabbing one of Louis’ hands and engulfing it between his own to bring it to his mouth and kiss his knuckles. The moment happens so fast that Louis barely has time to register it, barely has time to savor what Harry’s lips on his skin feels like for the first time. Tentatively, Louis goes to extend his own hand. Cupping the side of Harry’s face, Louis strokes his thumb along his smooth skin and Harry turns his head to press another kiss to the inside of his palm, mumbling a thank you into his skin.

Louis figures there’ll be more time to savor Harry later.

*****

“You sure do eat a lot.”

The next morning, after Louis wakes up an hour early to squeeze in work, he watches Harry in fascination as he shovels spoonful after spoonful of cereal into his mouth with milk dripping down his chin and onto the table. He eats like a man starved—barely any breathers in between bites, tongue lolling out his mouth whenever he takes a bite, and soft little grunts of satisfaction.

Louis had gotten little sleep, constantly tossing and turning. Only half of him was worried that he would wake up to find Harry creep-staring at him like Edward in the middle of the night. Most of him just wanted to tiptoe out to the couch where Harry slept and nestle in close.

“I’m a growing boy,” Harry says around a mouthful of cereal. He chews viciously, sharp jawline even more pronounced with every bite. “Why do you have milk if you’re lactose intolerant?”

“Zayn likes to eat out of my fridge,” Louis says quickly, waving a lazy hand in the air as if to brush off the topic. “You done yet, Hungry Hippo?”

“I haven’t had a proper meal in weeks,” Harry replies with milk dribbling down his chin. “I’ve been holding back and all we’ve eaten are snacks or quick dinners.”

“So ghosts eat?” Louis asks, leaning forward with interest.

“You’ve watched me eat a hundred times, Lou.”

“That’s when I thought you were alive.”

“We don’t need to eat,” Harry answers mechanically like he’s been asked this question a hundred times before. “We don’t need to sleep either.”

Louis grabs the cereal box and dumps another load into his meal, smiling softly when Harry’s face brightens up. He gives his bowl a stir, coating the cereal in milk before diving in again. “What do ghosts do? Do you talk to them? Do other ghosts only talk to one person?” Louis questions.

Slurping up some milk, Harry gives his wet, milky chin a wipe with the back of his hand and shrugs. “I’ve seen other ghosts wandering around and talked to them when I first died to get the hang of the ol’ ghost life. I guess if you get into heaven, you can roam between that and Earth. That’s a lot better than, you know, being condemned to a lifetime in hell. In the meantime, I don’t know what ghosts are supposed to do. I mean, it’s not like we’re the Grim Reaper and—”

“Wait, the Grim Reaper is real?”

“Yeah, I saw him when I died,” Harry says, brushing a loose curl out of his face. “Apparently they’re the only one who could cross between hell, heaven, and Earth.”

It’s only when Louis averts his gaze from Harry’s eyes to the table that he notices it’s shaking. At first, Louis thinks it’s another ghost trick Harry’s trying to pull, but then he realizes his knee is bouncing nervously in place. Dropping his elbows off the table, the shaking stops and Harry goes about spooning more cereal into his mouth, tongue sticking out and everything, like nothing had happened.

With the sudden urge to move, Louis pushes himself away from the table and swiftly grabs the near-empty cereal bowl. Ambling towards the kitchen, Louis ignores Harry’s hey, I wanted another bowl! and dumps it into the sink as nerves practically radiate off his skin. He feels itchy all over, like he needs to keep his mind busy or do something. Harry’s been here for all of one day and he’s already got Louis panicking with the lack of routine.

“There has to be a reason why some ghosts can talk to more than one person. You said it depends, right? I think we need to find out what it depends on. Maybe we could search online for some answers,” Louis begins, tapping the heel of his palm against the faucet before twisting it on. Warm water pours out and Louis begins to scrub down their bowls. “Then we could—”

“Um, you sure you don’t want me to help you with the dishes?” Harry asks.

Louis peers over at him and meets his gaze. “No, you’re fine. Anyway, we could go to the library and look up some books on ghosts and the afterlife.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the running water and the sponge squeaking as Louis scrubs it against their dishes, washing away the remnants of their morning. It’s only when Louis can practically feel Harry’s eyes burning into the back of his head that he peers over his shoulder and squeezes the sponge so tightly that the soap suds pour out because, well—

Harry looks like he’s about to murder him, is the thing.

Mossy green eyes lit aflame under furrowed eyebrows and plump bottom lip caught between his teeth, Harry watches with all of two feet between them. Louis’ watched his fair share of murder documentaries and Harry’s intent gaze sparks unsettling familiarity in the pit of his stomach. They stay like that, just staring at each other in the space of his kitchen with the sink running and a car occasionally zooming by. Louis feels like his heart is in his ears, beating so loudly that he’s sure even Harry can hear it, so he does the first thing that comes to mind.

Turning around fully, Louis flicks water at Harry’s face and watches as he flinches. “If you’re going to kill me, I want you to do it away from my dog.”

“Huh?” Harry mumbles, wiping off the droplets of water with the back of his hand. “I told you I’m not going to kill you!”

“Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“A murderer.”

Harry’s eyes widen like Louis’ just accused him of, well, murder and then the lines of his face fall into sadness. “Committing murder isn’t exactly the best way to secure your spot in heaven.”

“Then what is it?” Louis asks with a slight flush blooming onto his cheeks. “I can’t help you if you hold back information from me.”

“It’s not—I’m not holding anything back,” Harry mutters, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I just didn't know you wanted to help me in the first place. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“So you do have a plan?”

A soft laugh spills out of Harry's lips as he shakes his head. “No, of course not, but,” Harry says quickly when he sees Louis is about to argue, “I’ve got some ideas on what to do that could give us a start.”

Louis can’t help the string of arguments that threaten to burst out of him, the first one being how dare—how dare—he storm into his life without any sort of plan. He reigns himself back if only to have some semblance of peace on their first day of living together. Arguing with Harry seems too easy with little to no payback and, if he’s being honest with himself, they’re behind on his schedule that he had planned.

“Let’s meet in the middle,” Louis offers. “We can do some research online and then do whatever you came up with after.”

“Okay,” Harry says easily. He has the sort of face that changes like a flick of a switch, worry and concern etched into the lines of his face one second and pure bliss the next. “After online research, we can go visit my friend.”

Louis raises his eyebrows in curiosity. “Your friend?”

Somehow, Harry’s smile grows wider across his face. The curl of his lips and gleam in his eye wash him in something devious, inching closer to his Murder Look again and Louis fights the urge to flick more water at him out of annoyance.

“He lives in Ireland.”

Louis throws the wet sponge square at his chest so quick that Harry doesn't have time to phase himself out. The sponge lands on the tiled floor with a rather disgusting splat, leaving a dark spot in the middle of Harry’s shirt. Feeling petty, Louis storms out the kitchen with thunderous steps, only to stomp back in five seconds later to swipe the sponge off the floor. He ignores Harry’s gaze following him as he tosses the sponge back into the sink, chin held up high in the air as he stalks back out and into his room because there’s no way in heaven or hell is he going to another country with this ghost.

*****

By Ireland, Harry just means his Irish friend who moved here and they had been practically attached to the hip up until the unfortunate day that Harry tripped and accidentally ended his life.

“I’m not saying that,” Louis argues, tightening his hands around the steering wheel. “I’m a stranger, he’s gonna think I’m insane.”

“He’s my best friend, I know he won’t think that,” Harry retorts.

They had been researching in the library for all of one hour—Louis had planned for a solid two and a half hours of research—until Harry’s loud groaning of why do you need to read about ghosts when I’m right here? got too distracting. Even if Louis did want to stay longer, the library only offered books on encounters with ghosts and fictitious ghost stories, nothing that offered actual help on how to get one an express ticket to heaven.

“Let me just—think of what to say,” Louis mutters, turning the volume to a low thrum.

“I’m not asking you to say this to make you sound dumb,” Harry says. “It’s because he’ll know it’s me. Lou, if you stroll up to him mechanically reciting your planned script like Jehovah’s Witness, he’s not gonna buy it.”

Harry’s words settle into the quiet air as the car slowly rolls to a stop in front of a white house nestled in a quaint neighborhood. A guy with sandy brown hair in a rumpled white shirt and black gym shorts swings the door open, walking towards his car.

“Right on time,” Harry smiles, eyeing his friend. He reaches over the console and clicks Louis’ seatbelt free, circling his wrist. “C’mon, let’s go before he leaves.”

With a gentle squeeze, Harry lets Louis’ wrist fall and pushes the car door open in a haste. His eyes dart back and forth from Louis to Niall, ambling across the pavement to Louis’ side of the car. It’s only when he pulls the door open that Louis realizes he hasn’t moved an inch, his breath coming in short and quick.

“Wait, just—Harry, we have no plan,” Louis grits as Harry tugs him out the car with a firm hold on his hand. He pulls him along so effortlessly that it doesn’t even look like he’s trying if it weren’t for the muscle in his arms flexing as he grips Louis’ hand tighter.

“The plan is to just say what I told you,” Harry grunts, stalking toward Niall with determined steps as Louis flails around behind him.

As Niall is hauling his gym back into the trunk of his car, he spots the commotion and Louis immediately ducks his head because he must look like a lunatic, being dragged by a great brute except Niall can’t see Harry. Once they get close to Niall, Harry drops his hand and slides it to the small of Louis’ back, giving him a gentle nudge.

“Go on,” Harry whispers closely to his ear.

Fighting a strong urge to elbow Harry, Louis steps closer and clears his throat awkwardly to catch Niall’s attention. Just as Niall’s opening the door to his car, he turns to Louis with a polite smile.

“Hello,” Niall says with a hand resting on top of his car. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’ve come to deliver a message,” Louis mumbles and, when Harry pushes him and hisses say it, say it right now or so help me, sputters out, “from the afterworld.”

The keys slip from Niall’s hands as he lets out a shaky breath, his eyes suddenly glistening. “Harry?”

“Niall!”

Niall rushes over and stops in front of Louis, bright blue eyes boring into his as he cups his face and squeezes tightly. “Harry,” he breathes out softly in disbelief. “Hey, whose body are you in? Did you take over his body because you think he’s cute?”

Louis’ eyes fly wide open and he pushes Niall’s hands off him as a pink flush begins to color his cheeks. “He’s not in my body!” he exclaims, shooting a glare when Harry cackles loudly beside him. He sighs, staring down at Harry’s clown feet shoes beside his own in black Converse. Keeping his chin dropped, Louis mutters, “He’s a—well, he’s a ghost that’s standing right next to me. So far, I’m the only one who can see or hear him.”

“You forgot Cliff,” Harry points out.

Trailing his gaze from the pavement up the long lines of Harry's body, Louis turns to catch his eyes, if only to avoid Niall’s reaction of his best friend being a ghost. Harry’s already turned to face him, hands stuffed in his jean pockets and a smile hinting on his lips, the kind that makes Louis avert his gaze almost immediately—too soft, almost tender.

“What’s the one secret I have that only Harry knows?”

“You pissed in Adam’s pool when we were seven, but blamed it on John so now everyone thinks he has some sort of piss kink,” Harry drawls and stifles a smile in Louis’ direction, who repeats the answer to Niall.

“Cool, what was the message from the afterworld?”

“The Grim Reaper. Harry said you might know a thing or two?” Louis says.

Niall darts his eyes around frantically and leans in close. “You guys are trying to summon the Grim Reaper?” he asks in a hushed voice.

“Okay, they’re not Voldemort,” Louis mutters. “We think they might have some information that could help Harry.”

“Help him? Is he in trouble?” Niall says. He closes his car door and takes another step towards him, glimpsing at Louis’ side as if to find Harry.

“I’m dead,” Harry chimes in gruffly.

“He’s not in trouble,” Louis says instead. “We just want to talk with them and see what they know. Harry’s been hanging around for months. It just—seems a bit weird that it’s taking so long.”

Leaning against his car, Niall runs his fingers through his brown hair. It doesn’t have any of the same effect as when Harry does it and Louis peers to his side to catch a quick glimpse of those curls before turning back quickly so Harry doesn’t catch him staring.

“I told Harry I saw the Grim Reaper once. I was in the hospital after a car crash and—well, the Grim Reaper showed up,” Niall explains. “I obviously made it out, but Grim Reaper probably isn’t too happy about that. The point is, he’s just out collecting souls. You can’t summon him unless you’re about to die.”

“Well, I’m already dead,” Harry says and throws his hands up in exasperation. He turns to face Louis, but Louis’ mind is already racing too quickly to focus on him, his eyes drifting off and his bottom lip worrying between his teeth. Harry must read something evident on his face as he steps in closer and frowns. “Louis, no.”

“Harry—”

Tightly gripping Louis’ shoulders, Harry whirls him to stare down at him with firm eyes. “You’re not doing what I think you are,” He says, dropping his voice to a low growl.

“I have a plan.”

*****

“I don’t fucking care, your plan can go to hell.”

“Funny, I think you’re the one who should focus on avoiding that.”

Harry’s nostrils flare as he glares at him from the doorway, strong arms crossed over his chest and stretching out the fabric of his graphic shirt. Louis pointedly keeps his eyes on his phone, mindlessly scrolling while he nestles himself further in the sheets of his bed. At this point, Louis has turned feigning nonchalance into an art, always pretending to be absorbed into whatever he’s doing while Harry stares at him from the doorway. He was always lounging there as if the great brute needed something to prop him up.

More than anything, Louis just likes to feel his eyes on him while he’s not looking.

“Louis.” Harry shifts his footing and leans against the doorframe with his shoulder, dark eyes pinned on him. “You’re not going to off yourself just to see the Grim Reaper. We don’t even know if it’ll work.”

“I obviously know that!” Louis exclaims, dropping his phone onto the blankets in exasperation. He finally drags his gaze to Harry with tired eyes. “I said I can pretend to, you know, end it all and see if they come. At worst, they don’t show up and nothing happens.”

“At worst, you could actually die. You’re not an actor, Lou!” Harry argues.

“Will you relax? I usually don’t offer to kill myself for someone unless I’ve been dating them for at least a year. You should feel special,” Louis huffs.

Harry’s dark expression doesn’t crack as he clenches his teeth. “You’re not going to do anything,” he mumbles roughly.

“You have a better plan?” Louis asks. He pushes the blankets off him and marches over to Harry in the doorway, tilting his head back to scowl up at him. “You obviously don’t have one because you never do. You just go off—instinct, which is almost as bad as no plan at all because it’s reckless. You should be thanking me for the plans, Harry.”

They’re so close now, breathing in each other’s air. If Louis tilted his head up an inch, their lips would be brushing and he shivers from the thought. He prattles off, a horrible habit he’s developed whenever Harry’s touching him and making him lose any coherent thought process.

“Hm, alright.”

“Wha’?”

Mossy green eyes flick down to Louis’ lips, lingering there before trailing up to meet his eyes again. Cupping the side of Louis’ face, Harry dips down further so their foreheads rest against each other. “How do you want me to thank you?” Harry asks, thumbing across his cheek delicately.

“I—I don’t know. Maybe let me follow through with my plans,” Louis stammers.

“Not that,” Harry practically growls, tightening his fingers on Louis’ face.

“Then I don’t know,” Louis mumbles while staring at Harry’s lips. They’re right there, ghosting over his own and if Harry just leaned in a bit—

“You have to tell me what you want, Lou,” Harry whispers. “I’m not a mind reader.”

“Well learn to be one,” Louis argues petulantly. He forces himself to keep his eyes on Harry’s. “You’re always saying our brains are connected, right? So if that’s true, then—”

The words get swallowed by Harry as he surges down to catch Louis’ lips. Soft mouth moves against his so fervently that Louis’ head tips back until Harry’s hand slides to grip the back of his neck. His long fingers tangle into the hair there, keeping Louis close while Harry’s lips explore his as if claiming newfound territory. It’s almost like Harry’s savoring it and the thought is so thrilling that Louis shudders with it, winding his arms around Harry’s neck and curling in closer to him. To think that Harry wants this just as much as Louis does, whatever this is, makes him happier than it has any right to be when he’s only had Harry’s lips on his for no more than sixty seconds.

Louis just barely feels the flick of his tongue running over his bottom lip before Harry pulls away. Clawing at Harry’s shirt, Louis keeps him close against him, cold pressed against hot. Through his own daze, Louis can just barely make out Harry blinking softly to himself, trying to catch his breath.

“S’okay?” Harry mutters with a small smile, thumbing over his cheek. “Did I read your mind right?”

“Yeah,” Louis laughs, feeling light as air. “Just this once.”

“How was your first kiss with a ghost?” Harry asks.

Louis hums thoughtfully. “Not bad,” he answers, catching his bottom lip between his teeth to stop himself from breaking out in a wide grin. Harry’s eyes flick down to catch the movement, his lips curling into a suggestion of a smile, before meeting Louis’ gaze again. “Could do with another one.”

Harry’s already moving forward to close the gap between them before Louis’ finished his sentence, a self-satisfied smile stretching across his face. It’s more mushed smiles and bumping noses than an actual kiss, laughing into each other’s mouths like their happiness needs to make itself known. Louis can’t even find it in himself to feel annoyed, to feel anything at all other than pure bliss because he thinks that kissing a ghost might be his new favorite discovery.

*****

“Whatcha gonna do with all that junk, all that inside that trunk,” Harry sings from the shower. “Hm, hm, Lou’s gonna make me drunk, make me drunk.”

“You’ve been singing that song for a week already! Move on!” Louis cries from the living room where he’s buried deeply into the couch.

Louis made the mistake of giving Harry his old iPod for entertainment when he kept stealing Louis’ laptop that he needed for work. Harry sings while he’s cooking off a storm in the kitchen, pots and pans clanging against each other in the midst of him belting out a note. He sings constantly, humming a song when he wakes up early to walk Cliff so Louis can sleep in.

Harry had complained of a bad back from the couch and Louis nearly argued that ghosts probably don’t get bad backs, but then again they probably shouldn’t get hard pricks either so in the end, he gave in. The whole deal was more convenient than anything. His bed is big enough to the both of them, Harry fetches Louis a cup of water whenever he forgets and wakes up with a dry throat and—who is he kidding, Harry’s basically a free, walking air conditioner in the sweltering heat of summer. The first morning of sleeping together, Harry had sprawled himself across Louis, his long limbs heavy with sleep and weighing him down, while his face was tucked in the nape of Louis’ neck. Mornings were already horrible, but waking up to that had made it all that much better.

But now, Harry’s gone making ridiculous playlists and humming out songs that Louis ends up getting stuck in his head.

Louis’ been finishing up spreadsheets for work while sipping the warm tea Harry had made him before jumping in the shower. His pen glides along the paper as he mumbles, “I’m a get get get get you drunk. Get you love drunk off—”

“Why are you singing that song?”

“Jesus,” Louis gasps and his hand flies to his chest. “Why do you keep waltzing in here like you own the place?”

“Well you’re barely answering my texts, so,” Zayn shrugs, plopping himself down on the couch with an air of nonchalance like barging into his apartment completely justifies Louis ignoring just two of his texts. Before Louis has a chance to defend himself, Zayn glances down the hallway and shoots him a curious look. “You know your shower’s running.”

A pregnant pause fills the air as Louis frantically racks his brain for an excuse when Harry loudly belts out, “He’s got me spendinggg. Your turn, Lou!”

“I can turn it off for you,” Zayn says. He stands up and begins to pad towards the hallway. “I have to take a piss anyway.”

“No!” Louis shrieks and reaches over the armchair of the couch to claw at Zayn’s shirt. He stumbles back a step, throwing a bewildered glance at Louis over his shoulder. Louis can imagine it now—Zayn stumbling into the bathroom and Harry, the hulking idiot, would be dumb enough to carry on his shower like a floating shampoo bottle is completely normal. “It’s okay, I’ll just go instead.”

“I need to piss!” Zayn calls after him as Louis quickly shuffled toward the bathroom.

“Harry,” Louis hisses, pressing his cheek against the wooden door. The low drawl of Harry’s singing filters through the wall and Louis nearly kicks down the door to get him to shut up. “Harry.”

Harry hums. “I was like good gracious, ass is bodacious…”

Tightening his hand around the door knob, Louis grits his teeth and pulls the door open. The door ricochets behind him as he slams it shut, pinning his gaze to the white tiled floors. Warm steam clouds around Louis, fogging up the mirror above the sink, and he only half-wishes that it was enough to blur his vision. Even with the shower curtains drawn closed, Louis can vaguely make out the shadows of Harry’s shoulders down to his long torso wide as a fridge and legs that go on for miles.

It’s been a long, excruciating week of nothing more than kissing until their lips are swollen and wandering hands under shirts. Right when Louis would think they were on the edge of something finally happening, Harry would pull back. Louis’ so touch starved for something more that he nearly lets out a whimper just at the sight of Harry’s—

“Dick.”

“Wha’?”

Harry chuckles, low and deep. Louis drops his head back against the door, swallowing down a dry lump in his throat. “Zayn. He’s a dick for just walking in here like he owns it.”

“Are you reading my mind again? I was just—wait, so you heard him?” Louis asks, snapping his head up and glaring at Harry’s shadow.

A soapy hand grips the curtain and pulls it back, revealing Harry in all his naked glory. Louis’ eyes follow the droplets of water running down his defined chest, tree trunk torso until they reach the patch of dark hair at the base of—oh.

Knuckling into his eye to make sure he’s seeing right, Louis feels his mouth drop open on its own will at Harry’s elephant trunk of a cock. He can’t even imagine it hard when it resembles more of a third leg than an actual prick. His mind goes completely blank, the bathroom steam fogging his own mind so heavily that he can’t think of anything except Harry’s cock, long and—

“Hard.”

“Huh?”

Harry smiles knowingly at him and disappears behind the curtain. The high-pitched squeaks of the shower knobs echo off the walls as the water comes to an abrupt stop, filling the small space with uncomfortable silence. Harry steps his long legs out the shower, fat cock swinging with it. He makes no move to reach for a towel, completely shameless and almost proud to be standing there like a Greek God statue come to life. If he wasn’t already dead, Louis would want to kill him.

“I said it’s not hard to hear him. The walls are paper thin,” Harry says.

“So why did you keep showering?!” Louis exclaims in a hushed voice. “He was about to come in here to piss!”

“Bit rude of him to come in while I’m showering. Unless it’s you, of course,” Harry replies.

“It’s my apartment, I can do—okay, you need to dry yourself off,” Louis mutters. He yanks a towel off the rack and drops his gaze to the sink, balling up the fabric and blindly tosses it in Harry’s general direction. “Then you need to put on clothes and leave so he can use the bathroom. I can probably distract him long enough for you to sneak off to the bedroom.”

“Lou.”

“Water might get on the floor because your hair is like a wet mop, but I’ll clean it up later and—”

“Louis.”

“Just be careful to not slip and fall. We remember what happened last time that happened so—”

“Hey, will you just—look at me?”

Huffing incredulously, Louis keeps his eyes firm on the floor between them. “You’re naked.”

“What, is that a problem?” Harry asks.

Louis quickly shoots his eyes up to scowl at him, making a heavy effort to not let his eyes linger on his third leg on the way up. “You don’t even need to shower.”

“Maybe I’m just hoping one day you’ll join me,” Harry grins, all dumb and lopsided the way Louis loves. Leaning in close enough that water drops from Harry’s hair to Louis’ cheeks, he nudges their noses together before catching his lips.

With one hand pressed flat against the door besides Louis’ head, Harry slips his other hand under Louis’ shirt. He keeps their bodies angled apart, the bastard, but doesn’t shy away from keeping his hand and lips busy on Louis. His hand practically spans across Louis’ lower back, long fingers pressing into his skin cold enough to shock him that he gasps into Harry’s mouth. As if taking advantage of the opportunity, Harry dips his tongue in, licking into the roof of Louis’ mouth and moaning obscenely. Harry surges closer, flattening Louis against the door with his entire body, firm and wet against him, and his cock pressing into his thigh.

“Ah—Harry,” Louis mumbles, clawing down Harry’s back. His own prick begins to harden and he ruts his hips against Harry’s, whimpering desperately as Harry kisses a trail to the corner of his jaw.

“Lou, hurry up!” Zayn bellows from the living room. Startled, Louis pushes Harry away from him and wipes his slick mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll piss on you if you don’t come out!”

“Dry off and clothes on, please,” Louis says desperately.

“Only if you promise to take a shower with me,” Harry replies.

“You don’t need to shower!” Louis hisses.

“I’m about to burst in three seconds!” Zayn yells.

Harry lifts an eyebrow with a smirk curling at his lips, water droplets cascading down his chest to the moth tattoo plastered across his toned stomach. “I’ll leave if you promise me.”

“No, just leave like a normal person or else—”

“Three!”

“Promise or I’ll throw a bottle at his head as soon as he comes in here.”

“Two!”

“Fine.”

The smirk stretched across Harry’s face breaks into an easy smile. “Best go, baby,” Harry murmurs, dipping down to press their lips together and lick into Louis’ mouth for a brief second before pulling away. “I’d prefer if your best friend didn’t try to mark his territory on what’s already mine.”

Scowling, Louis whirls around and storms out the bathroom, contemplating whether he should kill his boyfriend or his best friend.

*****

“Zayn left?”

Harry stands at the entrance of the hallway, clad in gray sweatpants and a plain white shirt. His curls have dried, brushing the nape of his neck and bouncing lightly whenever he moves around. It’s horrible, seeing Harry fully clothed now that he knows what he looks like underneath. Knows what he’s got underneath. Just feeling Harry’s eyes on him is enough to have a warm flush blooming across his cheeks.

“Yeah,” Louis croaks. He pretends to keep busy on his laptop even though he hasn’t paid attention to his work ever since leaving the bathroom. “He just wanted to pop by and give me some clothes he isn’t keeping anymore.”

“Hm,” Harry hums and crosses one leg over the other. “You know, you can borrow my clothes if you want.”

“What, your clothes that you take from thrift stores?” Louis asks with a hint of a smile if only because Harry is terrible at being subtle. “I don’t need clothes. Zayn just gives them to me because he has a shopping problem and he’s too much of a lazy ass to drop them off at a thrift store.”

“I don’t want you wearing his clothes.”

“What do you want me to wear?”

“Mine or none at all.”

Throwing a dubious glance at Harry, Louis pointedly drops his gaze to his crotch before meeting his eyes again with an arched brow. “Can you even get it up?”

“You’re in a mood,” Harry states flatly.

Louis forces himself to keep his gaze on his laptop, typing senseless words. He gives a disheartened hum, arching his back as if to stretch his muscles before relaxing back into the couch. Harry’s eyes glued to the side of his face isn’t anything new now, but he can almost feel the heat behind them and it’s—annoying. Louis doesn’t know what the point is in Harry’s murder stare if he doesn’t actually do anything with it.

“Why are you in a mood?” Harry presses.

“I’m not in a mood,” Louis says, dull and flat.

“I can tell when you’re feeling off,” Harry replies, raising his eyebrows.

“What, because of your ghost superpowers?” Louis asks.

With a tinge of an amused smile, Harry pushes himself off the wall and makes his way over to Louis in all of five steps. Collapsing down next to him, Harry brushes Louis’ fringe to the side and kisses his temple. “What’s wrong? Are you tired?”

And—Harry’s so genuinely concerned, so determined to fix Louis’ bad mood, that Louis wants to shove him. He walks around with sex-mussed hair, even fresh out the shower like it is now, and still blinks dumbly at him whenever Louis so much as suggests for something more. Harry’s an idiot for being so blind and for once Louis wants him to do whatever he wants instead of waiting for the green light because he’s so tired of skirting around him and—and—

“Can you get it up?”

Harry tilts his head to the side. “What, my dick? I mean, I haven’t figured out all my superpowers yet, but—”

“They’re not superpowers!” Louis exclaims incredulously.

Frowning, Harry snaps Louis’ laptop shut and practically tosses it onto the table before he pushes Louis on his back. Kneeling between Louis’ spread thighs, Harry ruts their hips together and— “What do you call this?!”

Louis’ fingers dig into the couch as he bites back a whimper. Maybe Harry does have superpowers because his cock is suddenly hard, pressing up against his thigh. Something between a smirk and a goofy smile spreads across Harry’s face as he cages Louis between his arms and rocks his hips down.

Gasping sharply, Louis claws down Harry’s back. “I call it hard cock, what else?”

“No, it’s a superpower, Lou.”

“It’s biology, Harry.”

“Not when I’m a fucking ghost!” Harry leans down further, his curls framing his pale face. He rakes his fingers through his hair, brushing the brown curls out his face where they had fallen from his outburst, and eyes Louis curiously. “Why do you ask?”

“Wha’?”

Harry knees in closer. Louis tries to back up further. “Why’d you ask? If I can get it up?”

“Oh, well, just out of natural and innocent curiosity,” Louis splutters, trying to keep his eyes off Harry’s crotch to no avail. He’s tenting obscenely, his hard prick pushing against the fabric of his sweatpants and Louis’ mouth practically waters. “Not everyday you ask a ghost if they get hard, so. Seize the cock,” oh God, “Moment. Seize the moment.”

A smile starts to creep on Harry’s lips as he closes in another inch. “Do you want me to get hard?”

“What?” Louis exclaims. “No. No no no. Nope,” and, just for good measure, “no.”

“I think I’ve made it obvious about how much I want you,” Harry replies roughly, shifting so he can press their hips together, letting Louis feel his hardening cock against his own. “Ghost sex isn’t different, Lou.”

“Do you hear yourself? Do you listen when you talk? Sorry for never taking ghost biology class—”

“You’re so annoying,” Harry grunts, dipping his head to nip at Louis’ neck. “I want you. I want this—all the time.”

“Wait, wait.” Louis gently tugs at Harry’s curls to pull him away. Grunting, Harry lifts his head with dark eyes and wet lips. “Haz, you’re clean, right?”

Harry throws him an incredulous look. “I’m dead and you’re worried about me being clean?”

“What did I just say? I didn’t take ghost biology class!”

“Yes, baby.” Harry hangs his head and stifles a laugh against Louis’ forehead. “Yes, I’m clean.”

“Harry,” Louis gasps, carding through his hair. “Not—not on the couch. Take me to bed.”

Ignoring him, Harry licks a stripe from his collar bone up his neck and nips him harshly. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll fuck you everywhere. On the couch, the kitchen table, on the hallway floor.”

An embarrassing high-pitched mewl drips from Louis’ mouth as he angles his neck to give Harry more access, rocking his hips against Harry’s thigh. “Okay, but Cliff is right there.”

Snapping his head up, Harry turns his head and groans when he sees Cliff staring at them from the other end of the couch. He looked so annoyed at that moment, like Cliff was sent on Earth just to serve as Harry’s biggest inconvenience, that a laugh bubbles out of Louis.

“C’mon.” Harry scrambles up and tugs on Louis’ wrist, catching him by the hip.

They trip and stumble their way to the bedroom, shedding their clothes in a messy trail behind them. Fervent hands trace over each other’s bodies as they trip over each other and stifle laughter into their kisses, fumbling towards the room. As soon as Harry kicks the door open, he crowds against Louis desperately, urgently, and tips them over the bed.

“Is that how you died?” Louis asks, carding his fingers through Harry’s thick curls. “A bad fall, you said?”

“Shut up.” Harry chuckles deeply against Louis’ cheek and winds his strong arms around his back, pulling them close. His hair falls down like a curtain around his face as he leans down to fit their mouths together, muffling incoherently between kisses. “Do you even know what you do to—you drive me crazy. Been wanting you like this forever.”

Harry’s everywhere all at once—hands sliding up the back of his thighs to squeeze his ass and groaning loudly, teeth nipping at his neck, and their cocks dragging against each other.

A certain thrill sweeps through Louis at having Harry in this new way—frantic, almost animalistic if the way he goes after every inch of Louis’ skin is anything to go by. Peering down at Harry’s cock, thick and tinged with the slightest flush of pink, Louis nearly whines at the precum pooling at the tip. Maybe this is what it’s like to be wanted. Maybe Harry wants Louis something so fiercely that he can get him like this. It all seems impossible, outside the realm of possibility—and yet.

“Stop thinking,” Harry mumbles against his jaw as he works a bruise there. “Don’t think about anything. Just let me—”

“Haz, I want you,” Louis nearly whimpers, arching his back and wrapping his legs around Harry’s back.

“You have me,” Harry replies instantly, nudging the tips of their noses together.

“Lube, in the drawer,” Louis murmurs.

The drag of Harry’s lips leave for a second while Harry throws an arm out and then a wet finger gently prods at his hole, drawing a sharp gasp from Louis. Slowly, Harry slips a long finger inside and ducks down to kiss away Louis’ moan.

“S’okay?” Harry whispers, resting his forehead against Louis. He slowly slides his finger out, gliding it around Louis’ pink, glistening rim and grinning when Louis whimpers before fucking back in again.

“Mm, feels a bit like an icicle fucking into me,” Louis replies and they laugh into each other’s mouth. “Another one, Haz.”

Dragging his finger out, Harry slips in two and spreads them. He wastes no time pistoning his fingers in and out, exploring the tightness of Louis’ wet heat and stretching him out. Cold and hot pressed against each other, Harry licks a stripe up Louis’ neck and sinks his teeth into the corner of his jaw. He pants like a mindless animal, grunting roughly as he teases in a third finger.

“Ah, feels good,” Louis mewls, jerking violently as the third finger slips inside.

“God, look at you taking my fingers so well,” Harry mutters, pressing in deep and smirking as Louis jerks violently. “You gonna take my cock like this?”

“Yes, yes,” Louis nods dumbly, scratching down Harry’s back desperately. Blinking slowly, Louis grins at Harry before spreading his legs and tilting his hips up invitingly, flushing under the heat of Harry’s eyes. With his heart caught in his throat and Harry peering down at him softly, Louis turns his head to kiss his collarbone. “Inside, just—c’mon.”

“Jesus,” Harry grunts, fisting his cock with one hand and pushing at Louis’ hip with the other. “Hands and knees, baby.”

Rolling over, Louis arches his back and shivers from the breeze over his wet hole, exposed and clenching down on instinct just from having Harry’s eyes raking over him. Cold hands trail up the length of his thighs until they reach his ass, squeezing hard. The squelch of lube is dirty, Harry working his hard length behind Louis with rough grunts.

“You want it?” Harry traces his rim with his wet cockhead, gently teasing the tip inside before pulling out and slapping his hole with his cock obscenely.

“Please,” Louis whines, pushing his ass out. He’s never felt so completely fucked out with just fingers inside him, mewling into the sheets something desperate as Harry chuckles throatily and continues teasing his hole.

“Look so good like this,” Harry grits. “Should’ve had you on your knees and ass up a long time ago. I would’ve given you my cock every night.”

“Give it to me,” Louis murmurs. He swivels his hips, riding his thick cock between his cheeks and whining loudly each time the tip catches his rim, desperate to be filled.

Slowly, Harry pushes his throbbing cockhead inside and they moan in unison. He’s thick, stretching and filling out Louis that there isn’t a single nerve his prick doesn’t hit. Harry draws back experimentally and leans down to kiss Louis’ shoulder, his hand firmly holding his hips in place as he rocks back in the tight heat.

“Baby, you’re kind of shaking,” Harry mumbles against his skin. “Are you nervous or—”

“I’m cold, idiot,” Louis says and shivers when Harry’s breathy laughter fans across his bare back.

“I wonder why.” Harry swivels his hips and grunts when Louis clenches down around him.

Bracing his arms on either side of Louis, Harry folds himself over his back. Louis feels consumed by him, covered and held down by the weight of him, filled and stretched out on the right side of pain and he only wants more.

Fueled by Louis’ soft whimpers, Harry pounds into him harder with sharp slaps of their skin echoing off the walls. He draws out high-pitched, breathy noises of pleasure from Louis every time he fucks back in roughly. Being so touch starved almost seems worth it when Harry pistons his hips frantically, his defined chest and abs tensing against his back every time he fucks back in. The cool of Harry’s skin works against Louis’ warmth and he presses back against Harry, seeking out more of his touch.

“Oh, right there,” Louis mumbles, the words spilling from his loose mouth hanging open. A dribble of drool begins to crawl down Louis’ chin, but he can’t feel anything but Harry’s thick girth railing into him in erratic thrusts. He’s never felt so completely detached from himself, narrowly hanging on by just Harry’s cock. “Uh, uh—yes!”

“Like that?” Harry asks gruffly as he snaps his hips harder.

“Right there—ah,” Louis cries, clenching his fingers tightly into the sheets.

“Feel so good around me, baby,” Harry grunts. His tongue glides over Louis’ shoulder, licking away the sweat there, and he sinks his teeth into his neck. Tensing his arms beside Louis, Harry fucks into him so hard that the obscene slap of their skins echo in his ears.

“Oh—oh, just like that.” Louis squeezes his eyes shut, drinking in nothing but the feel of Harry’s thick cock railing in and out of him harshly.

“You gonna come for me?” Harry noses at his hair and reaches down to wrap a hand around his cock, so small that Harry’s entire hand practically cradles it. He coos softly in Louis’ ear, wrapping his hand around the short length. “Come and I’ll fill you up, yeah?”

“Yes, want it, please,” Louis preens, drooling into the bedsheets.

The muscles in Harry’s arms flex as he works his hand around Louis’ cock, too small to stroke properly so Harry keeps a right fist around it. He thumbs around the wet tip, spreading his precome around messily. The squelch of his hand and the slapping of their skin sends Louis over the edge as comes. His mouth hangs open in a silent moan, his prick shooting off into the sheets and Harry’s hand.

Harry’s curls brush against Louis’ skin as he leans down, bringing their faces close together. He buries his head in the crook of Louis’ neck and moans loudly, hammering his prick into him relentlessly. “Lou, baby, I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, c’mon.” Louis arches his back, his hole stretching around the thickness of Harry’s cock buried down to the hilt. He feels Harry so deep that his breaths come in short and shallow, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “Haz, fill me up.”

“Fuck, fuck.” Thrusting in erratically, Harry comes in long, thick spurts. His stomach muscles clench tightly as his hips jerk, moaning loudly when Louis tightens his hole around his sensitive cock as if to milk every last drop.

A strong arm wraps around Louis’ waist to draw him in even closer and Harry’s mouth seeks Louis’, blindly kissing the corner of his jaw, his eyelid, and his cheek. Running his hand up and down Louis’ waist, Harry slowly eases out of him, come dribbling out his sensitive hole.

“I’ll be right back.” Harry rolls Louis onto his back and presses a chaste kiss on his mouth before padding out the room.

Catching his breath, Louis closes his eyes for what feels like a second when he hears footsteps returning. Peeking one eye open, Louis’ gaze falls on Harry with a wet flannel in his hands.

“For a dead guy, I can’t tell if you made me feel alive or killed me,” Louis pants.

Settling down on the bed beside Louis, Harry laughs softly and cups the back of Louis’ thigh to spread him out. He gently wipes down Louis’ sensitive, red rim and peppers kisses wherever he can reach whenever Louis jerks.

“You’re poetic after getting fucked,” Harry says, voice deep and rough.

He balls up the flannel and shoots it over to their laundry basket, missing by a good couple of inches, and groans. As Harry walks off to pick it back up, Louis watches the expanse of his wide back and the line of his broad shoulders. He’s sure that he clawed and scratched his nails down his skin, sucked a bruise onto Harry’s neck, but his skin remains completely pale and spotless.

“You look like you just took a shower or something,” Louis observes, trailing his eyes over his long, tattooed limbs.

“You look completely ruined.”

“I do?”

Harry’s lips twist into something between a smirk and a smile. “Yeah. Wanna see how far I can get you.”

Louis’ legs automatically spread as Harry crawls over him, kneeing in between his thighs with a wolfish grin. “S’good that your cock didn’t die with you,” he says, eyes dropping down to where Harry’s cock, still wet and blushed, twitches against his thigh.

Harry holds up a flat hand and runs it in a horizontal line as if he’s drawing a billboard. “Ghostie: He may be dead, but his cock sure isn’t!”

A sharp laugh rips out of Louis, something so bright and foreign that it catches him off guard. He lets himself revel in his own new laughter, enjoying the taste of it before he lets himself overthink of what it could mean. All he knows is that he likes the way it tastes, likes the person that drew that kind of laugh out of him.

As if reading his mind, Harry leans down to catch his lips in a sweet kiss, laughing into each other’s mouths and tasting the other’s happiness.

*****

“You look depressed.”

“Thanks, my therapist says the same thing.”

Niall’s eyes sharply flick to his, mouth fallen open while his hand that’s holding a spoonful of fried rice pauses in the air.

“That was a joke. I was joking,” Louis clarifies quickly. Christ, sometimes he forgets that Niall’s only been his friend for two weeks and isn’t exactly immune to Louis’ morbid sense of humor. Moments like this almost make him miss Zayn, which is insane because Niall’s too kind-hearted while Zayn lives and breathes to annoy him.

“I was gonna ask for a referral,” Niall laughs. He takes a bite of his fried rice and chews quickly before speaking again. “But you do look unwell. Is everything okay?”

Biting back another dry response, Louis sighs heavily instead.

Beside Louis, Harry’s taken out one earbud to listen in on the conversation. He’s been bopping along to whatever song he’s added to his iPod, occasionally humming slap you like a bitch and you take it like a whore and dick bigger than a tower, I ain’t talking about Eiffel’s, which made Louis choke on an orange chicken. Harry rubbing his big hand in soothing circles on Louis’ back only made everything worse, a million times worse.

Without chancing a glance at Harry, Louis knows that even though he’s still got one earbud in and his eyes cast down to the book he’s reading, he’s attentive enough to listen in on their conversation.

“Yeah, just busy with my summer job before classes start up again in the fall,” Louis replies mechanically, shoveling orange chicken around his plate. The lie comes so easily that he almost feels bad because Niall knows Harry’s a ghost; Louis could have just told him he’s been busy with Harry. Always busy with Harry.

“Have you tried being a whore again?”

This time, Louis actually does choke on an orange chicken. He coughs violently, pounding his chest like a gorilla gone mad.

“Jesus, Lou! You can’t die now, it’s too soon,” Harry says frantically, slapping his back. He quickly snatches Louis’ cup of water and brings it to Louis’ lips, tipping his head back so water slowly trickles into his mouth. As soon as Louis gets his coughing under control, Harry rubs comforting circles on his back with his lips pulled into a concerned frown.

“Fucking hell, I should’ve filmed that,” Niall cackles. “You know I can make a bunch of money off you guys.”

“How’d you—whore?” Louis croaks. Harry slides his hand down Louis’ back to his thigh, always touching him.

“Oh, Zayn told me.”

“You talk to Zayn?”

Niall scoops more fried rice into his mouth and nods, oil staining his lips. “Told me you had sex on a beach once.”

The hand on his thigh tightens as if on reflex, digging into his skin. “You had sex on a beach?” Harry asks, quipping a curious brow.

“It was one time,” Louis murmurs. “I don’t recommend it. It’s messy, sand gets everywhere. It feels like we’re right next to the sun and—”

“Harry, it was wild,” Niall says, looking in the general direction of where Harry sits. “Apparently Louis was gaggi—”

“Okay!” Louis cuts in maniacally, slamming his hands on the table. “I’m stuffed.”

“Not in the way you want though, right?” Niall snickers. “Okay, but on a serious note, I think I saw the Grim Reaper.”

Louis raises both eyebrows in piqued interest. “You think?”

“It’s hard to tell. He comes and goes so fast that it’s like I imagined it,” Niall mutters and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. Heaving a sigh, Niall stares at his greasy plate of half-eaten take away before shrugging casually. “Oh well.”

“Niall! You need to catch him!”

“Well, he’s not exactly a butterfly I can chase down.”

“He don’t wanna spit, Lou wants to gulp… He don’t wanna gag, Lou wants to choke…”

Frowning, Louis smacks Harry’s shoulder. “Are you paying attention?”

“To this song, yeah.” Harry whirls the earbud around before dropping it onto the table at Louis’ unimpressed expression. “Baby, Niall’s right. We don’t have a way of catching him and we might even upset him by trying anything.”

Louis slumps back in his chair with a huff of defeat. While he can’t deny that they have a point, he doesn’t like sitting around and waiting for something to happen. An old, familiar itch begins to gnaw away at him with the urge to work at something and it only worsens when Louis comes up completely blank.

“Hey.” Harry squeezes Louis’ thigh and smiles softly at him. “Stop thinking so much.”

“I can’t. Maybe I can do some more research? That’s pretty harmless, but still helpful,” Louis mutters to himself.

“You’re trying really hard to get rid of me,” Harry says.

“Well, unless you start paying your half of the rent, then yeah,” Louis retorts.

Harry’s breathy laughter fans across his cheek before he closes in. His fingers grip Louis under his chin to turn his face and fit their mouths together, lips moving languidly. Louis nearly crawls into Harry’s lap, melting instantly after having his skin on his for just five seconds, but resigns himself to raking his fingers through Harry’s curls and mewling softly against him.

“Fucking hell, I’m taking all of this to go,” Niall groans.

*****

unknown number - HEY ITS H

louis - niall? did you get a new number?

unknown number - NO ITS H BOO

louis - how are you texting me???

ghostie - G2G TTYL

ghostie - <3

Louis frowns and dials the number, but it rings three times before it goes to voicemail.

His eyes slowly drift shut and he’s just about to dip into sleep when he feels the bed bounce. A dark shadow washes over his face and Louis drearily blinks his eyes open to see a black piece of plastic being waved around and Harry’s dimpled grin looming over him.

“Morning, sunshine,” Harry says brightly.

“Jesus, what time is it?” Louis grumbles, stifling a yawn into his hand.

“Let me check,” Harry drawls, dramatically flipping the plastic open, a flip phone, and glances at the screen. “12:42.”

Louis shifts in closer, pressing their shoulders together and grabbing the phone out of Harry’s hand to inspect it. The poor, old thing even has an antenna. “They still make these things?”

“Cool, huh?” Harry says. “Niall still owes me money so he bought me a prepaid phone. I think he only bought me a certain amount of calls and texting, so,” he shrugs and smiles all dopey at Louis, “can’t waste them all on you.”

“I thought getting a phone meant you’d communicate more,” Louis says and arches an eyebrow.

“It takes forever to type because of the QWERTY keyboard, but it’s something,” Harry says.

Louis snaps the phone shut and hands it over to Harry. “Alright well, what’s the next step, Ghostie? Do you happen to have Grim Reaper’s phone number in there? Edward’s number on speed dial?”

“I only have your number in here, obviously,” Harry says, turning his head to bury his nose in Louis’ hair that still needs to be washed. Louis had planned to surprise Harry with his promise, prepping himself just an hour earlier with three wet fingers that would just barely help out with Harry’s thick girth. “Who do you have in yours?”

“Loads of people.”

“Like who?”

“You don’t know them,” Louis replies. He shoves the blankets down his body and hitches a leg over Harry to pad off to the bathroom when Harry’s hands strongly grip his waist.

“Maybe that’s the one good thing about vampires. People can see them and see who’s theirs,” Harry ponders, although his eyes have darkened and his lips are set in a tight line.

“Is that what I am? Yours?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“You can’t just think things and assume people know what’s going on in your head,” Louis huffs. He yanks Harry’s hands off him and saunters off to the bathroom.

“Because I thought it was obvious.” Harry follows closely behind him.

Satisfaction blooms in Louis’ belly and he bites down a grin. While this wasn’t part of his plan, seeing Harry seethe with jealousy was just an added bonus. With his back turned to Harry, Louis drags his pants and briefs down his legs, purposely pushing his ass out as he bends over to pull them completely off. The heat of Harry’s eyes burn into his skin as he sheds his shirt, leaving his clothes in a messy pile before twisting the knobs of the shower to get the water running.

“Well, you thought wrong,” Louis replies flatly. He tears the warmth of the water before stepping into the shower and drawing the curtain back.

Louis heard low, incoherent mumbles through the flow of the water and then the faint noise of clothes hitting the floor. Just as Louis tips his head under the running water, the shower curtain pulls back and Harry steps inside, crowding Louis in the small space.

“About being mine or being obvious?” Harry grits.

“What, are you jealous?”

“No, I’ll just throw your phone out the fucking window.”

Rolling his eyes, Louis grabs a shampoo bottle and squeezed a dollop onto his hand just for something to do. He lathers it in his hands, tipping his head back to gaze at the ceiling instead of Harry or his cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs. He’s just about to spew something else, random words at Harry, when big hands knock his own to the side and Harry begins working into Louis’ hair with deft fingers.

Droplets of water hit Harry’s smooth skin, but he keeps his hard gaze fixed on Louis with a clenched jaw and balled fists at his side. His brown curls begin to dark under the weight of the water, matting against the sides of his face. Under the warm spray, Harry lasts about three more seconds before he pushes Louis against the wall so they aren’t directly under the spray of water.

“Why are you so—I’ll kill the other guys in—you’re mine,” He grumbles in between biting and kissing Louis’ skin.

“Ah, ah—please,” Louis hisses, dropping his head back against the tiled walls.

Harry’s hard cock presses into his thigh and his hole clenches down instinctively as if begging for its attention. Soap suds glide down their bodies and Louis traces them, feeling every ridge of Harry’s muscles under his touch. Rutting his hips up, Louis hooks his arms around Harry’s shoulders and mewls softly.

“Haz, lube. Under the sink.” Louis tugs on Harry’s hair despite craning his neck to give him more access, sighing contentedly as Harry sucks a bruise.

Reluctantly, Harry detaches himself away from Louis and leaves him colder than before as he carefully steps his long legs out the shower. He hears him rummaging through the sink cabinets before shoving the shower curtain to the side and reappearing with the bottle of lube with a crude smirk.

“What do you want, baby?” Harry asks, running his hands down his sides until they smooth over the swell of his ass. He dips his fingers in between his cheeks, running a teasing finger over Louis’ rim and drawing a whimper from him. Arching a brow, a smirk begins to take shape over Harry’s lips. “You’re already wet for me?”

“Please, want—need you inside,” Louis murmurs, burying his heated face into Harry’s neck and working his hips to seek friction.

“Need what inside?” Harry swirls his finger around his hole, pushing inside before slipping out again.

“Your c-cock,” Louis muffles into Harry’s skin. He startled in Harry’s arm when he brings a hand down sharply, his ass cheek catching the blow before Harry smooths it over and coos softly in his ear. Two fingers prod at his hole and smoothly slides inside, stretching him out gently.

Chuckling hoarsely at Louis’ desperate whines, Harry grinds their hips together. “This cock?”

“Yes—yes,” Louis pants, rubbing his small prick against Harry’s throbbing length.

“Got so desperate for it that you started without me?” Harry asks. The tips of his fingers run over his sensitive rim, teasing the area and feeling it tighten down before a third finger eases inside. Whimpering loudly, Louis ruts their hard cocks together, Harry’s long prick sliding against his own small length. It’s a heady reminder just how big Harry is in every sense of the word, an overwhelming brute that can overpower him with the blink of an eye.

Slipping his fingers out, Harry turns Louis around and presses a hand on the small of his back, bending him over. Folding his arms like a pillow on the wall, Louis rests his cheeks there and arches his back. Grunting, Harry pulls them flush together, his throbbing cock slotting between Louis’ cheeks. Just having his thick length on him is enough for Louis’ knees to buckle as he works his hips, gliding Harry’s prick in the cleft of his ass. Wrapping an arm around Louis’ chest, Harry begins to rock his hips.

“That’s right. Only I can give this to you, right?” Harry runs his hand down his chest, pinching his nipple and smirking against his skin when Louis gasps sharply. Harry’s touch disappears as Louis nears the familiar snick of the lube bottle opening and then Harry’s cockhead, wet with precome and lube, slaps against his hole. “Right, baby?”

“O-only you—ah,” Louis mewls and falls pliant as soon as Harry’s thick cock begins to push in.

“Yeah, fuck, look at you.” Harry’s hands spread Louis’ cheeks, squeezing roughly and thumbing at Louis’ red rim where he’s stretched around Harry’s cock. “Taking my cock like a good boy. Always—so—good.”

He punctuates each word with a brutal thrust, hips slapping obscenely against Louis’ ass. The water splashes around between them as Harry pounds into him with a white-knuckled grip on Louis’ hips, hard enough to bruise.

It’s almost as if Louis becomes a mindless animal when Harry gets like this, hard cock dribbling precome, big hands exploring the smooth expanse of Louis’ belly, and wet mouth on his. Touching him, Harry was always touching him, and Louis was helpless to fight him off.

“Uh, uh, so big—feels so good,” Louis whines, loud and high in his throat.

“Yeah? Know how much you like it when I fill you up.” Harry snaps his hips so hard that Louis’ ass bounces with each thrust. Moaning roughly, Harry digs his fingers into Louis’ hips and pounds in more, hurtling both of them towards the edge.

The steam of water clouding over them wraps Harry up in warmth, something unfamiliar and welcoming. Dropping his head back on Harry’s shoulder, Louis’ eyes flutter close as he goes dizzy and numb from Harry’s cock railing into him relentlessly. Soft sounds of uh, uh, uh drip past his lips and he presses back even more, desperate to be filled by every inch of Harry’s girth.

“Oh, oh! I’m—Haz, you’re gonna make me come,” Louis whines, hanging his head between his shoulders.

“Come for me.” Harry slides a hand down his stomach and catches Louis’ prick, bouncing with every thrust. He works his hand furiously over his small cock, tightening his hand around him while tonguing over his neck in wet stripes. “Can feel how close you are, c’mon. Feels so good when you come.”

Stroking in time with his thrusts, Harry nips at the corner of his jaw. Louis feels overwhelmed under Harry’s touch, folded completely underneath his strong body and it sends familiar sparks of heat in the pit of Louis’ stomach. Louis shudders in Harry’s arms, a wrecked sob caught in his throat as he comes over the bathroom walls.

The rim of Louis’ hole clamps down tightly around Harry’s cock as he comes, whining unabashedly. “There we go, baby. Fuck, so close—tighter.” Harry braces his hands on either side of Louis’ head, fucking in fervently. He groans into his neck as Louis weakly clenches down in a suffocating grip.

A loud moan tears out of Harry’s throat and he turns his face to part his mouth over Louis’ cheek, biting down harshly as he fills Louis with thick spurts. A litany of mine, mine, mine gets muffled into Louis’ skin as Harry pumps his hips, riding out the last wave of come.

“Thanks for keeping your promise,” Harry pants, brushing Louis’ fringe off his forehead and nosing into his cheek.

“Didn’t want you waiting forever,” Louis replies.

“I have forever to wait,” Harry says easily. “But not forever in the shower. Let’s wash up before you prune to death.”

Louis nods his head slowly and lifts himself onto his toes to fit their mouths together, shuddering under the warm water and the steam blanketing around them while tasting forever on Harry’s lips.

*****

The idea comes to Louis a few days later while Harry’s out, claiming he has ghosts to meet.

Louis moves around the kitchen on autopilot, his mind too busy buzzing around with thoughts. The idea isn’t a strong one and it definitely isn’t based on anything concrete, but it’s the best Louis can come up with considering his last plan didn't go over too smoothly. This idea, at the very least, doesn’t involve anyone pretending to kill themselves.

Zayn and Niall lounge on the couch as Louis cooks salmon on a pan with vegetables roasting in the oven. Nervously waiting for Harry to reply to his come home, need to talk text, Louis keeps himself busy by fluttering around in the kitchen or trying to relax with Cliff hanging by his side.

“Hey, who’s Anal Thrasher 69?”

Louis snaps his head back towards the living room where Zayn and Niall are huddled together, peering down at Louis’ phone. Tossing the rag on the kitchen counter, he bolts over to the couch, bending over the headrest to squeeze his way between their heads.

anal thrasher 69 - COMING SOON

anal thrasher 69 - COMING HOME*

anal thrasher 69 - ;)

“It’s nobody,” Louis grumbles, snatching his phone away from them and pocketing it. Harry had gone and deleted a bunch of numbers along with changing his own contact name in Louis’ phone after his jealous rage. Louis pads back into the kitchen and lifts the lid to check on the fish that’s slightly crisping up in the pan.

“It’s obviously somebody. Is it the guy you’ve been sleeping around with?” Zayn asks. His dark eyes pin on the side of Louis’ face as he comes up next to him, propping a hip against the edge of the counter.

“No, it’s not—it’s just stupid spam,” Louis answers.

"You save your spam numbers as Anal Thrasher 69?"

“You don’t?”

Louis can feel the heat of Zayn’s eyes burning into the side of his face before he storms off to the living room, muttering something under his breath. Under the noise of salmon hissing on the pan, Louis faintly hears Zayn and Niall bickering back and forth. Louis knows Zayn, knows how he needs a couple minutes to himself to blow off whatever steam he’s got before relaxing back into his cool demeanor again. He knows that he’s going to waltz back into the kitchen and probably flick salt at him and—

“I’m leaving.”

Snapping his head up, Louis watches Zayn thunder from the living room to the door, his expression completely unreadable. Louis’ always been able to read him, didn’t even have to look at him to know what kind of mood he’s in. Now, Louis doesn’t know what to think.

“What? Why are you leaving? I’ve made dinner that could feed a homeless shelter,” Louis replies.

“Then you can eat it with Anal Thrasher because I’m tired,” Zayn replies flatly.

"Tired of what?" Louis asks. He rounds the corner of the counter while Zayn steps into his shoes, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Where did Cliff go? Hellooo, Cliff!” Niall calls out.

Zayn lifts his head to arch an eyebrow at Louis, lips set in a firm line. “Tired of you being so secretive! Tired of you just—lying all the time! Jesus, I can’t even remember the last time we had an actual honest conversation.”

“Sorry, I’m allowed to have secrets,” Louis retorts.

“I never said you couldn’t,” Zayn spits, narrowing his dark eyes. “You just don’t have to keep lying about them.”

“Oh, you like that don’t you. Grr, woof woof, good boy,” Niall growls at Cliff, scratching his belly excitedly.

“I have my reasons!” Louis exclaims.

Suddenly, Harry bursts through the wall with a wide smile and a heaving chest as if he had just come back from a marathon. A heavy silence pollutes the tense room as Louis and Zayn glare at each other. Glowering at Louis, Zayn storms off and slams the door behind him.

“Jesus, who died here?” Harry asks, looking around the still room. “Besides me.”

*****

After Niall bids a swift goodbye, Louis quickly loads up their plates with dinner. He flutters around the kitchen in haste as if his own nerves are driving him to move while Harry helps him by making tea and grabbing utensils, occasionally eyeing him in curiosity.

“You had something to tell me?” Harry asks.

“Well, I was thinking about everything.” Louis pulls out the bed of roasted vegetables, gently blowing off the steam. “You haven't really done anything, right? In the four months since you passed?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, pulling out two plates and handing one to him.

“I mean, you’ve just been kind of—hanging about on benches and parks. Then you've been hanging out with me,” Louis answers.

Sliding a hand across his back, Harry presses in close and kisses his cheek. “Think we do more than hang out, baby.”

“Exactly,” Louis laughs and loads their plates up.

They set up the table quickly having done this a handful of times already, smoothly moving in sync with one another. Harry goes to fill up glasses of water as Louis preps Cliff’s own dinner, bumping hips and placing a soft hand on each other’s hips as they reach around to grab something. It’s only when they're both sat across from each other at the table that Louis feels the nerves bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

“You gonna tell me what's on your mind?” Harry asks, gently kicking Louis’ ankle.

“Okay, um, I just think—I know you haven’t really talked about it, but. I think it’d be a good idea for you to see your family,” Louis murmurs.

The sound of metal clanking against plate echoes resoundingly in the apartment as Harry drags his eyes from his fish to Louis. He goes impossibly still, but his hands are clenched tight with his arm muscles flexing in tension.

“Lou, I haven’t seen my family since I died,” Harry says slowly. “I don’t plan on seeing them any time soon.”

“Maybe you should,” Louis replies. “You haven’t really done anything from your past, right? Have you even been to your grave?”

“Why would I do that? I’m dead, I don’t need to see where I was buried,” Harry argues. “What would be the point in doing any of that?”

Piercing into his salmon, Louis grits his teeth. “Just because you died doesn’t mean everything else did, too. It’s probably important for you to just visit your family and see how they’re doing.”

Darkness clouds over Harry’s eyes as he clenches his jaw, glancing at Louis with a sharp gaze. “And if they’re not doing well? What if they’re still mourning? What am I supposed to do then, Lou? How can you—” He takes a deep breath to steady himself and pushes himself away from the table. “I’m going for a walk.”

Words get caught in Louis’ throat as he watches Harry make his way to the door. Instantly, Cliff bolts towards the front door in a blur of blackness. His tail wags excitedly as Harry pets his head, jaw locked tight and hard eyes focused on the floor, his shoes, the door. Anywhere but Louis.

Swinging the door open, Harry leaves without another word and Cliff trailing beside him. He doesn’t linger in the doorway.

*****

Sleep falls over Louis at three in the morning after a restless night of tossing and turning, worried thoughts of Harry and Zayn swimming in his head. Cliff tucked himself in close beside him and offered him at least a little solace as he twisted in the sheets with the moon light spilling through the window.

Only a short time later, Louis wakes from the sound of a tapping against his window.

“Louuuuuis! Hey, Louis!”

Rubbing the sleep away from his eye, Louis grumbles and ambles towards the window where a pebble knocks against it. When Louis finally blinks the lingering sleep away, he can make out Harry’s pale face grinning up widely against the darkness. Frowning, Louis pulls the window open and lets the night breeze fan across his face.

“Hey Juliet,” Harry says with a wave.

“Scream louder, why don’t you? I don’t think every household in the next continent heard you,” Louis hisses.

“Oh, I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Harry quips with a bright smile. “I can never be too loud.”

“What are you doing shouting like a madman anyway?” Louis asks.

“I was bored,” Harry shrugs.

“It’s four in the morning! Do you want me to kill myself? I’ll jump out this window right now,” Louis says, fingers tightening on the windowsill.

“Okay, do a flip,” Harry calls with a stupidly wide smile. Louis jumps back and forth from wanting to kill and kiss him so much that he risks a migraine nearly every day.

Louis tries to scowl throughout a yawn, probably ending up like a disgruntled kitten instead. “Two minutes or I’m locking the door.”

“I can get through locked doors!”

“Probably not the best idea to be shouting that at four in the morning.”

Slamming the window close, Louis stifles another yawn against his palm as he pads across the apartment to unlock the door. Expecting a visitor, Cliff wags his tail excitedly as his heavy paws scratch against the floors. Too tired to care about appearances, Louis collapses on the couch and sinks into its cushions, letting his eyes close. He’s about to drift off when he thinks Harry’s taking too long and the sound of a faint scratching at his door pulls him out of his slumber. Pushing himself off the couch, Louis swings the door open to reveal Harry with his eyebrows knitted together in concentration and holding a chipped wooden 3.

“It fell off the door.” Harry pushes the number sign onto the door, securing it in place so it reads 331 again. He stares at the number with a far-off gaze, a slight frown pushing at the corners of his lips.

“What did you want?” Louis asks groggily, dragging his feet across the floor as he makes his way back to the couch.

Shaking his head, Harry shrugs as he pets Cliff's head and makes his way over. “You?”

“Besides that.”

Chuckling softly, Harry scoots in closer until their shoulders are pressed together and he reaches out to brush Louis’ fringe out of his eyes. “Sorry for waking you, babe.”

“S’fine, I’m sorry for—overstepping. I shouldn’t have pushed you to do something you’re not ready for,” Louis mutters.

“No, that’s what I was thinking about.” Harry swings an arm around Louis’ shoulder to pull him in close, nosing into his hair. “I think we should do it.”

“We?” Louis pulls back to look up at Harry. For once, Harry actually looks tired-his hair’s a tangled mess as if he's been running his hand through it, his lips set in the way it usually looks when he’s about to wake up, and his eyes blinking slowly like they’re begging for rest. “Haz, why don’t we go to bed and talk about it in the morning?”

“No, I want you there with me,” Harry says firmly. Gently, he takes Louis’ chin between his fingers to tilt his head up. “Maybe you need to be there. It might be part of the reason why I can only see you.”

Catching his bottom lip between his teeth, Louis gnaws on it nervously. He should let Harry have this moment to himself. He should tell him that he can go another time, when Harry’s already seen his family. He should say no, but then Harry’s pressing a series of kisses from the corner of his jaw, up to his cheeks and then his lips. Harry mutters a please against Louis’ wet mouth and through the heavy haze of sleep, he’s nodding before he even realizes what he’s doing, hoping he doesn’t regret it in the morning.

*****

Louis regrets it the next morning.

Times like when Louis’ driving the both of them is when he really, selfishly, wishes that Harry was alive. He can’t stop fidgeting with his white shirt, buttoned up to his neck, and his navy blue pants suddenly seem too tight. Glancing at himself in the mirror, Louis frantically thinks he should’ve spent more time on his hair or maybe he spent too much time on it—the hairspray is so hard that he resembles something akin to a plastic doll—and Jesus, is that a—

“Babe, relax.”

“I’m fine,” Louis murmurs. “Why couldn’t you be a vampire? This would be a lot easier if you were one.”

“I think it would be easier if I was, I don’t know, alive.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Louis huffs. “We’re picking the lesser of two evils here. Edward was basically walking in the park compared to us.”

“They were at war.”

“At least they weren’t flying blind like us!”

Harry reaches across the console to squeeze his thigh reassuringly, keeping his big hand splayed across it while his thumb draws circles. “You look nice, by the way,” He comments.

“Nice? I spent nearly two hours getting ready and I just look nice?” Louis asks.

“Well, don’t flatter yourself,” Harry says with a laugh. “They’ll love you no matter what, Lou.”

“This isn’t under normal circumstances,” Louis says. “You’re wearing that when I meet your parents for the first time?”

At a red light, Louis peers over to his side, eyes trailing to take in Harry’s light-washed jeans to his white shirt that reads Don’t talk to strangers with children and an alien on it. His white Vans are stained with dirt and as ridiculous as the entire outfit is, Harry would be the only person who could pull it off and make it actually look nice.

“They can’t see me anyway,” Harry shrugs, smoothing down his shirt with the hand that isn’t still lying on Louis’ thigh.

“I should’ve stayed home,” Louis says, mainly to himself. He slows the car to a stop across the street from Harry’s house and turns off the engine, letting the sudden quiet fill the air between them. “This is—it’s your first time seeing your family since you passed. It should just be you and your parents.”

A crease carves between Harry’s brows as the corners of his lips curl downwards. “You should be with me,” he says gruffly, reaching over the console to undo Louis’ seatbelt before doing his own.

Harry’s turning his back to Louis before he can catch the pink flush quickly coloring Louis’ cheeks. He pushes the door open, slams it shut, and rounds the car to Louis’ side to swing the door open. It takes a moment for Louis to get his limbs working and he’s only just ducked his head out before Harry’s tugging on his wrist. Once Louis topples out the car, Harry pushes him against it, trapping Louis between him and the door.

Cool lips are on his, moving fervently as Harry circles his arms around Louis’ waist and pulls him up on his toes. Louis sags against him almost immediately, just one of many side effects of having Harry touching him, and fists the fabric of Harry’s ridiculous shirt when his tongue runs along his bottom lip. Humming contentedly, Harry holds him tighter as he finally pulls away with a click of their lips.

“Besides, I kind of want to be there when you meet my family for the first time,” Harry grins, kiss-bitten lips stretched across his face.

“I think you’re crazy,” Louis says breathlessly.

“I think you think too much,” Harry replies. “Relax, yeah?”

“What if someone saw that?” Louis asks, smoothing his hands on Harry’s chest as he lowers onto the balls of his feet.

“Tell them you were kissing a ghost,” Harry shrugs.

Pecking one more kiss to Louis’ swollen mouth, Harry turns and starts to march his way across the street. In the middle of the road, he glances over his shoulder with a raised, expecting eyebrow. Louis’ head is spinning from the last few minutes, his mouth still tingling and his skin cool from the press of Harry’s fingers. He flushes at the thought of how he probably looks right now—lips obscenely red and glistening, skin blooming pink, and glassy eyes.

They stop a few feet away from a quaint brick house with a brown, oak wood door and a neatly-tended garden lined up along the front. The front windows cast a dim, fluorescent glow where Harry’s parents probably are, sending a tingle of nerves down Louis’ spine.

“Ready?” Harry asks, peeking over at him.

Louis offers him a soft, reassuring smile. “You’ll be okay,” he murmurs. “You can stay close to me, if that helps. Just make sure you don’t let me trip over you.”

“You worried about first impressions?” Harry replies smugly.

Rolling his eyes, Louis lightly pinches Harry’s arm and hurries to the door. His hand is raising and pressing the doorbell before his mind can catch up and it’s only when the door swings open that Louis can’t remember a thing he planned to say.

“My mom,” Harry suddenly says, his cool breath in his ear. “Say hi.”

“Hi,” Louis croaks out with a nervous smile. “I’m Louis and, ehm, a friend of Harry’s.”

Confusion falls on his mom’s face, lips pressed in a flat line and a wrinkle of contemplation as if mentally going through a catalogue of Harry’s friends.

“I’m sorry to come here unannounced,” Louis adds. “Did I come at a bad time?”

“No!” His mom exclaims and laughs lightly, a warm blush creeping on her cheeks. “Sorry, we just thought—well, it’s been awhile and all of Harry’s friends have already come by to visit so we weren’t quite expecting anyone.”

Louis swallows down the lump in his dry throat and nods. “Right, right, of course. I’ve just, um, been processing what happened and didn’t want to bother you by stopping by since I’m sure you all had a lot going on at the time.”

At that, his mom gives him a smile and opens the door wider. “Why don’t you come in and we can talk some more?”

The short hallway leading to the living room is lined with picture frames hanging on the white walls. Steadying himself with one hand on the wall while he toes off his shoes, Louis makes the mistake of looking up and staring right back up at Harry in a picture, long limbs stretching out over the length of a brown leather couch. For the most part, Harry looks the same with his bright-eyes and wide smile stretching over his face, a hint of color washing over his skin.

It’s just that this is the first time Louis’ ever seen Harry alive. Somewhere between morning walks and movie nights in Louis’ apartment, he had forgotten that Harry had a whole life before, one where everyone had been able to hear the ringing of his loud laugh, be a victim of his dimpled smile, or sing along to whatever ridiculous song he had stuck in his head.

“You okay?” Harry asks, nosing into his hair and kissing his temple.

Harry’s mom pokes her head into the hallway with a kind smile until it slowly fades into concern when she takes Louis in. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Louis clears his throat, throwing her a quick smile and waving vaguely at the picture frames. “I was just looking and I hadn’t gone to the funeral, so it’s just the first time I’ve seen him. In a while.”

Her eyes go soft, the lines of her face relaxing into something understanding, and she tilts her head towards what Louis assumes is the kitchen. “Would you like some lemonade? I just made it fresh this morning. Or I have some tea, if you’d like.”

Louis hates tea unless Harry’s making it for him and the refusal almost spills out his mouth when Harry’s hand firmly grips his waist, squeezing as if to ground him.

“Tea would be great.”

*****

Louis skirts his finger along the ceramic mug, steam curling out of it as Anne finishes up in the kitchen. He’s tempted to watch her, just to see some extension of Harry that’s alive. He can’t do that without being creepy, even though Harry’s doing that exact same thing right now from where he’s perched in the middle of the kitchen table. Harry looks like a hulking giant with his long legs and muscled arms looming against the wood since Louis didn’t dare push out a spare chair for him.

Harry, who Louis had assumed would be a right mess at seeing his family again for the first time, seems completely at ease. He prattles off about memories of cooking in the kitchen with his mom, bumping his forehead on that coffee table over there, and watching morning cartoons with his sister on that couch. Louis can’t do anything but nods along fondly with his lips tinged in a smile, stifling a laugh into his hand whenever Harry recounts a particularly funny memory.

“That’s my mug,” Harry notes.

Humming softly in lieu of a response, Louis just continues tracing along the mug’s outer ring where Harry’s lips once were. That’s my mug, Louis thinks as he brings it to his own lips and it feels like a kiss. The mug is warm from the tea, which doesn’t feel right at all. Harry’s never been warm, not to Louis, and he hates tea, but he takes a tentative sip anyway. Louis also hates the cold, but he likes Harry so he reaches out for Harry's hand to replace that blooming warmth with his cold until Anne waltzes in and he drops his hand onto the table instead.

“I’m home alone today since the rest ran off to do some errands,” Anne says and pulls out a chair across from Louis.

“Did you have any plans for the summer?” Louis asks.

“Oh, we’ve thought about it,” Anne sighs, staring down at her tea. "We thought it’d be good to get away for a bit and take our minds off. When it happened, we all just kept ourselves so busy to distract us. We never really gave ourselves a break. It’s just—I think summer was always Harry’s favorite.”

“That’s true,” Harry chimes in. Louis just frowns to himself, can’t help it because he doesn’t like talking about Harry in the past tense.

With her dark hair styled in loose curls that just barely brush the nape of her neck, Anne looks almost too similar to Harry. The sight is a bit jarring to see as Louis subtly darts his eyes back and forth between the two. Harry undoubtedly got his wide smile from her, his round eyes, and that sharp jawline—Louis practically mapped out Harry’s entire body at this point. His fingertips ache with the want to reach out again, but he keeps his hands glued to the mug instead and lets the warmth radiate to his skin.

“I didn’t know that. It seems like he prefers the cooler weather. We go out at night a lot,” Louis replies.

“He was always a bit of a night owl, staying up late and going out for walks in the middle of the night,” Anne mulls and taps her red fingernail against her mug. “I never thought to ask him these kinds of things. His favorite color, his favorite tea, his favorite season. I just—I never really thought I had to.”

“It’s summer,” Harry replies softly.

“Mom instinct,” Louis says and offers her a smile when she peers up from her tea. “You’re probably right.”

Anne returns his smile and tucks a brown strand of hair behind her ear. “I think it’s the sun. I always thought he preferred the sun.”

Harry watches the both of them carefully, but Louis feels light, as if some unspoken weight has been knocked off his shoulders. “He prefers the sun?” Louis repeats if only because he’s at a loss for words.

“Oh, he likes it,” She laughs and lightly blows on her steaming mug of tea. Louis feels lighter.

“I like it,” Harry repeats, staring hard at the side of Louis’ face. “I think I love it.”

Louis feels light—so light that he thinks he might just float away.

Gripping his cup of tea just to do something with his shaky hands, Louis brings the cup to his lips. He feels so light that he almost goes dizzy with it and then takes a sip. The scalding tea nearly burns his tongue, so hot that Louis swears he swallowed the sun.

*****

Convincing Harry to go to his grave fuels Louis like a flame. While Louis isn’t quite sure if it’ll even work, having something to focus on instead of walking blind is enough for him to become obsessive. Throughout the next week, Louis does just about anything from ignoring him to practically spending an entire day on his hands and knees with Harry’s cock attached to him. In the end, Harry never takes the bait and Louis’ just about ready to off himself in secret to summon the Grim Reaper.

On a Friday morning, Louis comes out of the bathroom and abruptly halts when he sees Harry scrambling eggs on a sizzling pan with an inscrutable expression written in the lines of his face.

“You’re back early,” Louis says softly.

Harry only hums, gently stirring the eggs and darting his eyes at the slices of bread toasting. The easy softness of Harry in the morning is now replaced with something blank and unreadable as if a storm of thoughts are brewing inside his head. Slowly, Louis pads across the floor to wrap his arms around his waist and squeezes gently. The tension doesn’t ease from Harry as Louis hopes, the hard lines of his back held tight like hens bound by some permanent stiffness.

“Seeing your grave isn’t the best way to start your morning,” Harry says gruffly.

Louis freezes. “You went?”

“Last minute decision, so I ended up taking Cliff with me. Can you watch the sausages?” Harry steps out of Louis’ arms to grab the toast and load them on a plate.

Giving the pan a gentle shake, Louis blankly watches as the sausages roll around while mindful of Harry pouring tea into two mugs. Louis used to hate tea and at some points he still thinks he does. He thinks that he just likes watching Harry make him a cup as if he'd turned the whole process into an art form—the subtle flexing of his muscles as he lifts the kettle, the deep concentration behind his eyes, and a rogue curl falling in front of his face. Louis allows himself to stare openly at him until the crackling of the sausages pulls him out of his reverie.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks.

“I’m better.” Harry sighs heavily and the tension leaves his body with it as his shoulders sag. He gathers Louis in his arms, kissing from his shoulder to the crook of his neck before burying his nose there and inhaling deeply. “I’m better now.”

*****

The next week passes by quietly, almost too smoothly for Louis’ liking. Without a plan or an idea wracking his brain, he busies himself with Harry and work. He falls into a new version of his routine, dozing off for an extra few hours as Harry sets a kiss to Louis’ bare shoulder before he and Cliff amble off the bed for their morning walk. A steaming cup of tea is set on the kitchen table by the time Louis makes his way out of the bedroom, greeted with a cheery Harry waiting for him to prep breakfast together.

Without a doubt, Louis prefers this version of his routine.

“So you’re really okay with this?” Harry asks.

He’s leaning on his side, head propped up on his bent arm while he stares up at Louis who’s leaning back against the pillow. Harry’s long, ivory body practically melts in with the white sheets of Louis’ bed—their bed, at this point—while they stand as a stark contrast against Louis’ golden skin.

“What? Eating and fucking all day?” Louis replies, popping a grape into his mouth. “You sure that isn’t heaven? Maybe we found it after all.”

“Maybe,” Harry hums half-heartedly and leans in to kiss Louis’ bare shoulder. “I didn’t know you were such a—”

“If you say I’m a social recluse, I’ll kill you,” Louis snaps.

Harry chuckles against Louis’ shoulder. “I was gonna say homebody. I love it, though. You have no idea how much.”

Stretching his back invitingly and letting the blankets pool around his bare hips, Louis glances down at Harry’s cock, glistening with come and flushed the faintest pink. “I think I have some idea on how much you love it.”

“C’mere and help me out then,” Harry grunts. Sitting up on his heels, Harry grips Louis’ waist and rolls him onto his back one swift movement. Even when Harry’s dead, he uses his size and strength against Louis like some great hulking brute and it sends a thrill through him every single time. “Look gorgeous all spread out for me.”

“Please,” Louis murmurs quietly, his legs falling open as Harry knees in closer with a hungry gaze.

Hands squeeze the meat of Louis’ thighs and spreads him open, exposing his loose, red hole where a dribble of come leaks out. Groaning deep in his chest, Harry pushes Louis’ knees against his chest and folds him in half as he ducks his head. With a heated gaze fixed on Louism hole, Harry puckers his lips and lets a string of spit spill out.

“Fuck, you’re a mess.” Harry licks his lips, staring reverently at his rim and running a finger through the wetness of come, spit and lube. He smirks when Louis jerks and clenches down, silently asking for more. Louis throws an arm over his face where a deep flush begins to crawl up his cheeks and muffled a whine into his skin.

“Please,” Louis mewls. His free hand goes to grip behind his knee to hold himself open, drawing a low growl from Harry.

He doesn’t waste another second as he dips down to lick a wet stripe up the cleft of Louis’ ass, lapping up the mess of come and moaning hungrily. Louis’ legs nearly fall down as he arches his back just from Harry’s tongue alone, flicking into his tight heat. Obscene slurp noises fill the room as Harry licks into him, tasting himself from earlier with a content hum. Harry’s hands cool down his heated skin, the morning summer skin already spilling through the window and Louis whines, high in his throat, more more more.

Harry responds immediately, sliding his hands up Louism thigh and leaving a cooling sensation in its wake as he spreads Louis wide open and works his tongue into his abused hole, sensitive yet still desperate.

Harry pulls back with a sharp gasp as if emerging from water and kneads Louis’ ass. “Got you so loose and wet, baby,” he mutters gruffly, voice wrecked. “M’gonna fuck you again, get you so messy with my come.”

“Yeah, Haz, like that.” Louis bucks against his mouth, seeking out his slick tongue.

Louis buries a hand in Harry’s hair, thick and soft between his fingers, and gasps when Harry digs his tongue in as deep as he can go. Spit runs down Harry’s chin when he pulls back, only to bury his face between his cheeks again like a man starved, moaning as his tongue licks a fat stripe over his red, sensitive hole.

“Feel good?” Harry asks when he pulls back, dark eyes pinned to Louis’ shiny rim before pressing his lips against it. Groaning against him, Harry dives back in, licking eagerly into him. Rough grunts fall from Harry’s lips as he eats him out, burying his face between Louis’ cheeks as much as possible and gets himself wet with spit.

“Harry, right there—ah, ah—”

“Hey, Lou, listen. I’m really—Jesus!”

The door slams close, jostling the frames hanging on the wall of Louis’ bedroom. Despite Louis’ heart pounding in his ears, he can faintly make out Zayn muttering to himself as he stomps down the hallway.

“Haz, stop, Zayn just—oh,” Louis gasps as Harry runs the flat of his tongue over his hole and hums in content. “Harry, Zayn just saw us!”

“So?” Harry points his tongue into his hole unapologetically and moans. “He can let us finish, then.”

Pushing at his shoulder with his foot, Louis scrambles up the bed, his cock already flagging from the horrific image of Zayn walking in on them. “I need to get dressed. I know he’s out there, waiting for an explanation. Jesus, Harry, how are we gonna explain this?”

“Relax,” Harry murmurs, crawling after him and kissing a trail from Louis’ hip bone, up his belly, to his bitten, red lips. His face, slick with spit, grins down at him reassuringly, a hand stroking his side.

“You’re still hard?” Louis asks incredulously as Harry nestles beside him and grinds his cock into Louis’ thigh.

“Well, I was eating you out just ten seconds ago,” Harry grunts. “Can we change the locks or throw away his spare key? I can sneak into his place and just grab it. We won’t have to deal with his annoying ass anymore.”

“Oh, now you have plans. You have a hand,” Louis says dismissively. He swings his legs off the bed, bending down to grab his clothes and pull them on in a haste while ignoring Harry’s eyes watching him. “Zayn is right outside. Take care of—that and help me with the more immediate problem.”

“This is an immediate problem!” Harry hisses in frustration, his hard cock bobbing against his stomach.

“Please.”

Harry flops down on the bed with a loud, frustrated groan. The last thing Louis hears before he shuts the door behind him is the wet, slapping noise of Harry frantically working over his cock and the pounding of his heart in his ears as he makes his way out to Zayn.

*****

“Louis.”

“Yes?”

“Louis. Lewis. Louis William Tomlinson.”

He sighs. “Yes?”

Zayn fixes him with a concerned, sympathetic gaze and reaches over to place a comforting hand on his knee, thumb rubbing small circles. “Look, if you… if you’re having financial troubles—any troubles—then I can help you. Are you trying to get into, um, porn? Is that what that was? You were practicing or something?” He gives him a tentative smile, squeezing his knee and Louis has never felt so small in his entire life, never felt so fucking embarrassed. “If you are, then you can tell me. Porn is a completely honorable line of work. You know I wouldn’t judge you. Or—or was that, like, some sort of sexual miming? That’s a thing, isn’t it? People get off on—”

“No!” Louis suddenly exclaims because it just gets worse and worse. The last thing he needs is his best friend thinking he’s sunk so low that he’s seeking sexual miming as his next career choice. “No, it wasn’t—what you just saw was, ehm, I was just getting off. That’s it.”

“It looked like you were getting head,” Zayn cocks a dubious eyebrow. “You weren’t even touching yourself.”

Harry snickers across him from the kitchen table, leaning forward earnestly. “Tell him a ghost was eating you out,” he chimes in.

Maybe it’s a little concerning how much Louis contemplates murder now that Harry’s stepped into the picture.

Louis takes in a slow inhale, partly to steady himself, mainly to buy himself some time. “That’s just how I get off,” Louis explains before he even knows what he’s really saying and quickly rambles on when Zayn’s frown deepens. “I mean, I was touching myself. Obviously. But, ehm, you know… living on the edge, a bit?”

“You did mention you like getting edged one time…”

Louis’ eyes practically go teacup size as Harry barks out a laughter so hard that it rings in his ear. Before he can come up with a reply, the door flies open and Niall bursts through.

“Does anyone knock?” Louis says exasperatedly.

“Lou! You won’t believe who—” Niall narrows his eyes and leans toward Louis and then abruptly pulls back with a grimace. “Fucking hell. Just clean up and meet us at the ice cream shop down the road.”

“I won’t believe what?” Louis stands up and watches the two slip on their shoes.

“Just clean up—thoroughly. I need to be able to look you in the fucking eyes,” Niall mumbles and keeps his gaze down while he pulls the door open and disappears behind it.

Zayn pauses, one hand on the doorknob and a soft smile that looks almost foreign on him. The only times he’s wearing one of those smiles is when he’s feeling bad for Louis or when he’s trying to get his way. Either way is an entire loss for Louis, so he glances at Harry instead who already has his eyes on him.

“Remember, Lou. Support you in everything and everything!” Zayn waves and disappears in a flash, the door giving a soft click as it shuts close.

“Wonder what that was about,” Harry murmurs, pushing the chair back. Yawning loudly, he stretches his long arms above his head and his shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of pale skin that Louis can’t help stare at. When he trails his eyes up Harry’s long torso to meet his gaze, Harry stares back with a self-satisfied smirk. “You wanna clean up now? You still have that shower promise to owe me.”

“Next time. I need to shower quickly and I can’t do that with your cock up my ass.” Louis pads off toward the bathroom when Harry plasters himself against his back, circling his arms around Louis’ waist and kissing his neck.

“One more time, baby,” Harry mumbles in between kisses, softly biting at his earlobe. They awkwardly walk together, Harry’s hardening cock pressing up against Louis with every step.

“You said that the third time,” Louis laughs, turning his head to meet Harry’s gaze.

A vibration goes off and for one sick moment, Louis thinks Harry actually carried a vibrator in his pocket to torture him with until he realizes it’s just his phone. Fishing it out of his pocket, Louis unlocks it and reads a thread of texts.

nail - next time wipe off the ghost cum

nail - don’t need to see my dead best friend’s cum marked on your face

zen - wat

nail - oops group chat

nail - my bad lou lol

louis - ……….

nail left the group chat

zen - u spoke 2 me with ghost cum on ur face?????? wtf is wrong with u?????

*****

“Baby, you really need to relax. I know it’s our first date outside, but—”

“I’m fine.”

“You haven't said a single word to me,” Harry laughs. His arm’s slung around Louis' shoulder, heavy and strong. The touch out in the crowded, open streets makes Louis so dizzy that he can barely focus, like his reality has been narrowed down to Harry’s skin on his.

An arm around the shoulder is something safe, Louis mentally adds to an ongoing list of safe versus unsafe. Arm around his shoulder—safe. Hands on his waist—safe. Nose in his hair—safe. Seeing Harry waltz through people is jarring enough; Louis can’t add peculiar stares and pointed fingers from children on top of all of this and their date has barely started.

The streets are polluted with cars and a sea of people, engines revving as they zoom by and the faint chatter of conversations filtering into the warm air. The only thing Louis regrets right now is not driving to the ice cream shop, but it seemed a bit pointless when it was walking-distance and well—he’s low on gas anyway. The city would be crowded on their first outing with Louis’ luck with the sun beating down on them just a little too strongly for his liking. Harry walks in stride beside him like a human air conditioner, cold arm wound tight around him and humming under his breath. All things considered, it’s not the worst date Louis’ been on so far, but then again he’s never been on a date with a ghost.

Harry slides his hand across his shoulder, cupping the back of his neck and nuzzling his nose into his hair. “Hey, see, you’re zoning out again.”

“Do you really expect me to hold a full-on conversation with you right now?” Louis mutters, keeping his head low. He watches their scuffed-up shoes walk along the sidewalk instead of watching Harry like he should be doing, like he wants to be doing.

“Isn’t that what happens on a date?”

“Not with a—you know what.”

Louis cranes his neck to the side, tilting his head up to glance at Harry and hopes it passes off as looking into the sky. The bright day colors Harry in another shade of beautiful, pale skin drinking in the warm sunlight, green eyes bright, and brown curls in a floppy mess. Louis’ fingertips ache with the want to pull on a curl, watch it spring back before tucking it behind his ear.

“Okay, we don’t have to talk,” Harry relents and throws him a hopeful smile. His big hand slides down Louis’ forearm until he circles his wrist. “Can I hold your hand at least?”

The alarm system in his head blares off, screaming unsafe unsafe unsafe and Louis instinctively curls his hand into a tight fist. Harry catches it, the corners of his lips curling into a frown and his eyebrows knit together.

“I don't think that’s a—look, we’re almost there,” Louis says, nodding towards the distant ice cream shop coming into view.

Harry doesn’t reply, just laughs breathily. For a moment, their quiet seems foreign until Louis carefully accepts that he’s won and that they’ll make it to the ice cream shop without any more pointed glances. The silence lasts for maybe another six steps when Harry sighs heavily, running his hand up and down Louis’ arm.

“Louuuis,” Harry groans. “Do you want me to call you a whore to prove that it’ll be fine? I’ll do it right now. W-H-”

Louis nearly bites off his tongue from how hard he gnaws on it when he elbows Harry roughly in the ribs.

“Stop it.”

"What if I kissed you right here in the middle of the street with all these people around us?"

“I’d push you into traffic and call the police.”

“Good thing I’m already dead,” Harry says, dimples and eye crinkles shining under the sun. “Also not the best idea, they’d literally never catch me. All traces of evidence would probably lead back to the apartment anyway, so. Shit out of luck.”

The ice cream shop grows nearer and Louis tries to quicken their pace as if it will offer them any sort of salvation.

“Lou, do you have any idea how much not holding your hand is driving me insane?” Harry presses.

“Well,” Louis murmurs, trailing off. He sighs, nerves swirling in his stomach as he steps in closer and turns his head to press a chaste kiss to Harry’s forearm. “Shit out of luck.”

Harry doesn’t say a single word the rest of the way to the ice cream shop, a bright smile curling on his lips as he holds Louis’ wrist tighter.

*****

The ice cream shop might as well have been hell on Earth as crowds of people swarm around as if seeking shelter from the heat of the sun.

Louis keeps a firm grip around Harry’s wrist to keep him close as he quickly prattles off an order without looking at the array of flavors. He’s flooded with nerves, glancing around nervously as if people could see him tugging a dead person around and, honestly, how did Bella do this when—

“Don’t worry. I got this, babe,” Harry smirks, all suave and smooth and extra stupid as he slides a bill across the counter. Louis’ so preoccupied with the urge to kick him that the realization falls on him too late.

The cashier’s eyes slowly grow wider as she watches the bill move closer towards her and she stumbles back a step. She flicks her horrified eyes from the bill to Louis. Back to the bill and then on Louis again.

“Magic,” Louis quickly stutters, clenching his fist until his knuckles turn white when Harry’s deep chuckle tickles his ear. “I’m practicing magic. That was pretty good, right? Magician is my next career choice.”

The girl just looks at him like she doesn’t get paid enough for these kinds of antics, sighing heavily and tossing the money into the register.

“Louis!”

The familiar voice sends dread in the pit of Louis’ stomach. He squeezes his eyes shut, hands curled tightly around the edge of the counter and when he opens his eyes again, Zayn is right beside him.

“So instead of becoming a porn star you wanted to become a magician?” Zayn asks with a cruel smile.

“What?!” Louis cries out in horror. “No, that’s not—no. They’re both jokes, I’m pursuing a serious career,” he quickly rambles, shooting a glance to the cashier who looks at him with a strange mixture of unimpressed and confusion. “I mean, I am practicing magic tricks. That’s why you saw the money sliding across the counter like that. I’m just—anyway, keep the change.”

With a tug of Louis’ wrist, Zayn pulls him into a rough hug. He slaps him on the back and presses his lips to Louis’ ear. “You have some explaining to do, Lou. Until then, payback, bitch.”

Zayn pulls back and swiftly leaves with his cloud of cologne lingering in the air. Louis could kill him. Or, better yet, he could get Harry to kill him. Nobody would ever know a thing and when Harry gets upset, he could practically bring a whole army to their knees. The thought of having Harry kill Zayn shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but knowing Harry would do it without hesitation is more thrilling than it probably should be and—

“Ooh, Louis, they have mint ice cream with Belgian chocolate chips! Can we order that instead?” Harry exclaims.

Grabbing his cup of vanilla ice cream, Louis throws a frantic smile to the cashier before darting off to a table where Niall’s sitting. As soon as they sit down across from him, Niall waves his spoon around in front of their faces with chocolate staining the corner of his mouth.

“I saw the Grim Reaper,” Niall says giddily with a slight maniac gleam to his blue eyes. “I think he’s stalking me.”

“You think the Grim Reaper, collector of souls, is your stalker?” Louis asks.

“You’re dating a ghost who fucks you. Is it really that hard to believe?” Niall hisses. “Listen, I swear I’ve been seeing him. At first I thought I was hallucinating, but he pops up when I least expect it.”

Scooping a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, Louis frowns. “So you weren’t able to ask him anything?”

“He disappears as soon as I see him,” Niall answers. “Besides, I can’t just ask him if he has a cheat sheet for Harry.”

“So what now?” Louis turns to Harry with an expecting look, but he’s only met with green eyes staring back hard. “What?”

“I can leave him notes around my place,” Niall offers. “Please don’t kill me and you got any tips on how to get to heaven xoxo.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try,” Louis quips and spoons another mouthful of ice cream into his mouth, holding back a moan. “But maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this here.”

Glancing around the buzzing shop, Niall rolls his eyes. “I doubt anyone is actually paying attention to us. What’s up with Ghost Boy being as quiet as the dead today?”

While Harry was bright when they had first entered the shop, now he’s fallen almost completely silent as he bounces his leg up and down.

“Maybe the sun is getting to him. We should get going, but keep us updated on you and your stalker,” Louis says, knocking their knees together under the table. Harry doesn’t budge and keeps his eyes cast on Louis’ cup of ice cream. “Sucks he doesn’t sparkle like vampires.”

A hand harshly pinches his hip as he stands up and he yelps around his spoon. Glowering at Harry, Louis watches him stalk out the shop, seamlessly weeding through everyone by walking straight through them and out the doors.

Frowning after him, Louis turns back to Niall with a helpless shrug. “Thanks, Niall. Don’t die!”

Louis rushes out the shop and jogs to catch up to Harry, who doesn't acknowledge his presence. He keeps walking, long and quick strides that have Louis panting to keep up before he yanks Harry in an alleyway between two shops. Harry keeps his gaze pinned on the brick wall over Louis’ shoulder, hands tucked deep inside his pockets while the occasional breeze brushes by them and sends his curls dancing.

“Why are you upset?” Louis asks softly and gifs at the hem of Harry’s shirt. “Is it because the Grim Reaper is stalking your best friend? Or is it because of the Twilight comment? You know that I don’t actually prefer vampires over you, right?”

Harry frowns, an angry furrow set between his brows. He glares—not at Louis, but at the ice cream cone slowly melting in the paper cup that he’s still holding. Finally, Harry blurts out, “I thought the ice cream was for me. You said you were lactose intolerant!”

And—right. If it weren’t for Zayn buying him cartons of oat milk, Louis would have forgotten about that lie entirely. More than anything, he's surprised that Harry had even hung onto a stupid detail like that. He knew there had to be a reason Harry was staring at his ice cream with such discontent like he was trying to set it on fire with his glare alone.

Louis opens his mouth, ready to enunciate every word. “I. Lied.” Louis hesitates, letting the effect of my words sink in. Then he adds snappily, “Because I didn’t wanna be with you.”

“You didn’t have to lie!” Harry exclaims.

“Are you seri—we have a stalking Grim Reaper on our hands and you’re thinking about that?” Louis asks incredulously.

“I’m thinking about you,” Harry argues.

“Okay, sorry for lying about not being lactose intolerant,” Louis slides his hands up Harry’s chest to wind them behind his neck, getting on his toes to kiss his chin. “Great first date, by the way.”

“Well, I did pay,” Harry grins and it’s like a wave of relief seeing how it brightens his face again. “But the Grim Reaper is supposedly stalking my best friend and you lied about being lactose intolerant. Can’t get too much worse.”

“I think we’re getting closer to figuring it all out though,” Louis replies.

Harry grumbles incoherently to himself, but ducks his head to nudge the tips of their noses together before kissing Louis all the same.

*****

As much as Louis loves staying at home, he’d much rather be somewhere floating along the Milky Way if that means being away from Zayn.

The next morning, Zayn had stormed inside his apartment with a furious look. He’s been pacing the short length of his living room with thunderous steps, scratching his chin in some sort of deep contemplation while muttering incoherently to himself. Harry slouches on the couch beside Louis, one earbud plugged in, tapping his finger on the armrest while softly singing lyrics like hm, hm and he stole my heart and muttering why did the band have to break up.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Zayn says, running a hand through his inky black hair. “The person you’ve been seeing is a ghost? You actually had a ghost in your apartment that one day I came over to check on you? Your ghost boyfriend is Anal Thrasher 69?”

“Yes,” Louis answers and suppresses a smile when Harry knocks their knees together.

“Your boyfriend is dead? He’s a ghost? Sitting right next to you?” Zayn inquires.

“Keep saying boyfriend, Zaynie boy,” Harry grins darkly. “Makes me less likely to kill you.”

Louis elbows him and turns to Zayn. “Can’t you see his headphones and iPod floating?”

“I’m still convincing myself that’s a hallucination,” Zayn mumbles. Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms, Zayn storms over until he’s standing in front of Louis and grabs hold of his face, squeezing his cheeks tightly. “Lou, why didn’t you tell me you were going to Pound Town almost every night?"

“Pound Town is every night. Definitely every night,” Harry adds.

“Pound Town? Really, Zayn?” Louis huffs.

Dropping his hands, Zayn goes back to walking laps across his apartment while he expertly ignores Cliff's whining for attention. “We could’ve been making money! There are some sick fucks out there that would pay to watch ghost sex. I could’ve filmed you getting your hole rai—”

“Are you campaigning for me to be a porn star?” Louis asks incredulously.

“With an ass like that? It’d be a waste for you not to be,” Zayn replies. Finally conceding, he bends down to scratch behind Cliff’s ears, letting the dog lick his cheek, right where a smile begins to take shape. “You didn’t have to hide this from me, you know.”

“I wasn’t really hiding it as much as I was trying to find out a way to tell you,” Louis mumbles. Cliff hurries over, climbing on the couch and perching himself over his lap. “So you’re really okay with—all of this?” Louis gives a vague wave of his hand.

“Well, it’s weird. When I said you’re touch-starved, I didn’t mean for you to go after a ghost,” Zayn laughs lightly and then shrugs. “But if you’re happy and all.”

“I am,” Louis says without hesitation and breaks out in a smile when Harry slings an arm around his waist. “Really happy.”

“Well, I would threaten to kill him if anything happened, but I don’t think it’ll work here,” Zayn says.

A loud scoff falls out of Harry’s lips as he leans on his knees with his elbows as if to showcase the flex of his arm muscles and his broad back. “Could kill you right now if you talk about Louis’ ass again.”

“Love you. Thanks for offering to kill on my behalf,” Louis smiles, watching Zayn head towards the door.

“Love you, too. Don’t forget my offer on the porn star, though!” Zayn cries as he slips on his shoes.

“It’s not happening!” Louis cries. Harry’s low, throaty chuckle fills his ear as he twists his body to watch Zayn swing the door open.

“Just think about it. In some alternate reality, you probably are one!”

With a lazy wave, the door slams shut behind Zayn and leaves them in a wave of quiet. Collapsing against Harry’s shoulder, Louis sighs heavily. “Well, that was awful.”

“I dunno, I think the whole ghost sex tape was a pretty solid idea,” Harry shrugs. A hand drags down Louis’ waist and sweeps under his shirt, cold fingertips pressing into his skin.

“Scared someone will see us, baby?” Harry murmurs into his ear and bites down on his earlobe.

“Someone will see me and my—” The image is so horrific that Louis cuts himself off and digs his fingernails into Harry’s back. “Please, not out here.”

Whatever alternate reality Zayn’s talking about, Louis doesn’t want any part of it. Harry’s hand cards through Louis' hair, gently massaging and preventing an inevitable headache coming on.

He prefers this reality, anyway.

*****

nail - i swear he’s out to get me

zen - did u ask him if he knows why harry is stuck here???

nail - ya then we swapped secrets and painted each other’s nails like a slumber party

anal thrasher 69 - PICS OR DIDNT HPPEN :)

louis - yeah send a selfie

nail - fuck you guys

Laughing into their pillow, Harry drops his phone and rolls over to peer at Louis. “You think he’s being serious?”

“Mm, probably. He wouldn’t really be gaining anything from lying and it seems like he hasn’t been getting a lot of sleep—” Louis abruptly scrambles around the bed, pushing himself up with wide eyes. “What if he sleeps over here?”

“Like a slumber party?”

Louis weakly slaps Harry's arm. “If the Grim Reaper is stalking Niall and he sleeps here, then maybe we can catch him.”

“And then what?” Harry sits up, the sheets pooling around his bare hips. “I think we’ve done all that we could, baby. It’s a waiting game at this point.”

“Well, we should try, right?” Louis says. He glides a hand up Harry's chest, silently pleading with wide and soft eyes. “Can't we try at least one of my plans?”

“Your last plan was stupid.” Harry says roughly. He swiftly catches Louis' hand, circling his small wrist and bringing it up to his lips. “Now you want to try and invite the Grim Reaper into our home? How about we get all the bad plans out right now?”

“Then you think of something, I’m sure you have plenty of bad plans,” Louis scowls and flops down on his back. Harry follows after him, inching in close and hovering over him with a soft, concerned gaze.

“I don’t want to risk you getting hurt,” Harry mutters.

“The worst thing that happens is I die and look how you turned out,” Louis argues petulantly. A sound akin to a deep growl rumbles from Harry’s chest as he tightly grips Louis’ waist with dark eyes and flared nostrils. “Oh, sorry. Was that a bit morbid for ghostie?”

His hand digs into Louis’ skin as his frown deepens. “You’re being selfish.”

Sagging against the bed, Louis reaches up to thread his fingers through Harry’s hair and pushes them out of his face. “Please?” he whispers. He cranes his neck to peck between Harry's brows. “Just this once.”

Harry pins his eyes on Louis with a hard gaze, his lips pressed in a tight line before he exhales heavily and then rests their foreheads together. “I’ll text Niall.”

*****

Louis’ apartment has never seemed more cramped with two people, one ghost, and one giant dog living in it. It doesn’t help that Zayn, who feels left out, decides to invite himself over to join in on the circus. The days fly by in a mess of late night movies, arguing over Team Jacob or Team Edward, and piles of dishes after feeding starving stomachs.

To make matters worse, Harry never leaves Louis’ side. On any other day, Louis would be thrilled to have his attention at nearly all seconds of the day, but Harry looms protectively over him like a shadow. Harry begins to look restless, hair a wild mess, dry lips, and tired eyes from the lack of sleep as he stays up to watch over Louis. One night, Louis actually catches Harry creep-staring at him in bed and while it would be a little sweet, the notion is ruined by the thought of the Grim Reaper lurking somewhere nearby.

He’s just about to kick Niall out with nothing more than a sorry about the stalker, good luck though when a visitor pops by a week later.

“Ooh, nice place you've got here.”

Startled at the unfamiliar voice, Louis jumps away from the counter with a hand clamped to his chest to somehow calm down his stuttering heart.

As the days passed by undisturbed, Harry’s guard had begun to slowly come down. He and Cliff had left for a quick morning walk, nothing more than twenty minutes with his brick phone secured in his pockets, while Niall popped off for work when Louis had finally managed to haul himself out of bed to make breakfast. His frantic eyes dart around until they land on a tall, pale man with jet black hair slicked back to match his entire black outfit-leather jacket paired with skin-tight pants and boots. Louis pulls the drawer open and draws out a knife, an actual sharp one this time, and points it to the stranger who stares back at him unimpressively.

“I brought ghost cookies,” he says flatly and pushes a plate towards him.

“Who are you?” Louis asks with a tight throat.

“The one you’ve been trying to summon for the past few weeks,” he replies and glances around. “I’m assuming Niall isn’t here.”

The knife nearly falls out of Louis’ grip as he falters and takes a small step forward. “You—you’re the Grim Reaper?”

“I go by Alex. Sorry, did you expect a skeleton with a black cloak?” Alex says. He speaks with a deep drawl, almost similar to Harry’s except he sounds completely lifeless, which may be a side effect from collecting souls.

“Maybe. It’d help with the whole Grim Reaper look. Instead, you just look like you’d be the lead singer of some band.” Louis settles the knife back in its place and leans his hip against the counter. Satisfaction curls in the pit of his stomach, slowly taking over the fear that was once there. He’s almost tempted to pull out his phone and snap a picture of the Grim Reaper with an obnoxious my plan worked, ghostie text to Harry, but promptly decides against it.

“I don’t meddle in human activities,” Alex grimaces with disgust.

“Did you bake these?” Louis asks, pointedly dropping his gaze to the plate of white-frosted cookies between them.

“Have some. They’re from a bakery in heaven.”

Instead of reaching for one, Louis taps a finger against the counter. “Don’t you have souls to collect? Why are you here talking to me?”

Alex carelessly shrugs his shoulders. “I also have souls to check on.”

“Are you monitoring Harry?” Louis says, words dripping with accusation. “He doesn't need—he’s fine. He hasn’t done anything wrong. All we do is walk my dog, watch shitty TV shows, and cook. You know, he’s allowed to have a life even if he’s—”

“Can I stop you here?” Alex replies with a bored tone. “I’m not checking up on Ghost Boy; I’m checking on you.”

“Me?”

Flicking a piece of lint off the sleeve of his jacket, Alex sighs as if the thought of an explanation is a burden. “Humans,” He mutters under his breath with a slight shake of his head. “I don’t need to check up on Harry; he’s already dead. I’m here to make sure you’re okay, considering everything you've been handling.”

“Okay?” Louis echoes, lips curling into a smile. “Funny, I always thought the Grim Reaper was cold and horrible, but it turns out he's caring."

Alex holds up a flat palm with a look of disgust. “Please don't start any rumors. This is my job, nothing more. I’m just making my rounds,” Alex explains and crosses his arms over his chest with an arched eyebrow. “So, Louis, are you okay?”

“Yes,” Louis says with a dry throat. “All things considered.”

“Great.” Alex nods his head firmly. “Well, enjoy the cookies. Try not calling for me anymore.”

“Wait!” Louis cries as Alex takes a step toward the wall. “What happens now?”

Pursing his lips, Alex hesitates for a moment before leaning in and speaking lowly. “You’ve helped him a lot. They’re finishing some things, but it won’t be much longer.”

“Much longer? It's already been almost six months,” Louis mutters. “Why did it take so long in the first place?”

With a slight grumble, Alex reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a large, green leather-bound book. He leafs through the pages, eyes quickly scanning over them before he stops and drags a finger through a page. “The past, present, and future are necessary for growth,” Alex reads mechanically. “One cannot expect to move forward without looking back at—fuck, I hate when they make me recite these things.” He groans and slams the book shut. “Listen, just be patient. That’s all I can say. And don’t say anything about talking to me.”

“What am I supposed to do about the cookies?!”

“Eat them, obviously.”

Alex fixes him with a firm stare before disappearing with a light crack, leaving nothing but the plate of ghost cookies behind. Glancing at his phone, Louis has about ten minutes before everyone returns so he begins to scarf down the ghost cookies and—well, they do taste heavenly.

*****

“So what do you have planned for us today?” Harry asks one Sunday morning.

About two weeks have passed by since seeing Alex and Louis had spent every day wracked with nerves, thinking that Harry would be whisked away any second. To help ease him, Louis began to string together a day together, an actual day of going out and being together in some semblance of normalcy.

“Plan?” Louis tilts his head in faux innocence. “What makes you think I have one? Maybe I want us to lie in bed all day.” Cliff rolls over onto his back beside Harry who reaches over to scratch his stomach with a smile.

“We could do that,” Harry drawls roughly, voice still ridden with sleep. “I have a feeling that’s not what you actually have planned, though.”

“You’re right.” Louis leans up on his elbows and grins brightly before swinging a leg over to straddle Harry’s bare hips. Leaning down to peck Harry’s lips, he rests their foreheads together. “We’re going out.”

“Out? You want to go out? Where people can see us?” Harry says carefully, propping himself up on his elbows. Louis can feel his eyes following him as he elegantly slides off the bed to saunter to the closet.

“Well, people will see me being crazy and talking to no one, but yes,” Louis replies.

Sifting through his clothes that at some point began to also house Harry’s assortment of graphic shirts and jeans, Louis pulls on some briefs over his legs and some brown pants. He would’ve laid out the outfit he already had planned a few days ago, but he couldn’t do that without Harry inevitably questioning him about what he was planning.

“Are you gonna stay in bed with Cliff all day or do you want to go to the farmer’s market?” Louis asks over his shoulder as he throws on a white shirt over his head.

“Farmer’s market?” Harry repeats, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed to slowly make his way towards him. Under meticulous practice, Louis has trained to keep his eyes pinned on anything except on Harry when he parades himself and his fat cock around while naked.

“Mm, they have a lot of fresh fruit and everything,” Louis says and pulls a light blue sleeveless top to wear over his shirt. He finally turns around with a barely-suppressed smile, satisfaction curling in his stomach when he sees Harry eyeing him curiously. “I was thinking we could buy a few things, make brunch and have it at the park. Then we could go and watch a movie at the theatres, go to the beach and cook some shitty hot dogs or burgers over a fire. Maybe end the day with—”

While Louis was prattling off, Harry’s lips had grown from something lax until it slowly morphed into a bright smile that overtook his entire face—dimples deepening at the side of his mouth and crinkles at his eyes. Before Louis could ask him what exactly he’s beaming about, he’s being lifted off the floor with strong arms clasped around his waist and spinning him around.

“We’re going out,” Harry laughs into his mouth, pressing a series of kisses from Louis’ chin to the corner of his mouth.

“About time, yeah?” Louis says. He pats Harry’s bare chest, resisting the urge to rock their hips together. “C’mon, get dressed.”

Harry gently brings Louis to his feet and glances through the closet for all of three seconds before pulling out a cream shirt that reads IN MY MIND I’M HOLDING A FROG in bold green letters accompanied by a robot frog. He pulls his clothes on in a haste, nearly sending himself tumbling into the edge of the dresser when he pulls on his jeans before Louis catches him by gripping his forearm in a fit of laughter.

“Hellooo!” A smooth voice bellows loudly. “I brought ghost cookies!”

They both whip their heads towards the voice. In the span of a second, Louis goes from complete ease to utter nerves, his heartbeat hammering heavily in his chest. He tightens his grip around Harry’s forearm and tilts his head up at him. Fear curdles in his stomach when his eyes fall on Harry, his face still as stone and even paler than before.

“That’s him,” Harry whispers gruffly, warm breath fanning over Louis’ face. His hand circles Louis’ wrist and leans down to press their foreheads together. “We have to go.”

“Him? Who?” Louis asks. It’s not hard to play pretend and act like he’s never seen the Grim Reaper. He’s never seen Harry like this before, muscled body frozen in place with a tight expression coloring his face.

“The Grim Reaper!” Harry exclaims in a rushed whisper.

“The name is Alex.”

Louis and Harry both jump at the voice. Harry whirls around, shielding Louis with his entire body and crowding him backwards until he’s sandwiched between him and the wall. The cold from Harry’s body cuts through the thin fabric of his shirt, piercing into Louis’ skin like shards of ice. Peeking over Harry’s shoulder, Louis sees a pale-faced guy with jet black hair dressed in pitch black jeans with a leather jacket and boots. Despite actually holding a plate of cookies shaped as ghosts with white frosting, Alex carries a certain chill. His dark brown eyes dart to his, causing a shiver to run down Louis’ spine and he ducks his head again, pressing his forehead against Harry’s back.

“Go away,” Harry grits roughly. “You’re early.”

Alex sighs and takes a step forward with a tired, almost bored, expression. Harry presses back against Louis, a hand reaching behind him to grip Louis’ thigh tightly.

“Harry, listen—”

“I'll die twice if I have to.”

“That’s not even poss—”

“You're not taking him,” Harry nearly growls, nostrils flared. “You’re early. Go back to stalking Niall.”

Anger flashes behind Alex’s eyes, almost going fully black as a frown washes over his face. “That little shit should’ve died. They hang his death over me in both heaven and hell. Do you know how humiliating that is for me? A human cheating death is—” Alex closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, his eyes have gone back to brown and he plops himself down on the edge of Louis’ bed as if retiring from a long day of work. Setting the plate of cookies beside him, Alex folds his hands into his lap. “Besides, who says I was here to collect Louis’ soul?”

“What?” Harry breathes. He relaxes his body, leaning forward in curiosity. Louis wants to chase after him and close that space between them again. “Then what are you doing here?”

Tapping his foot against the wooden floors, Alex hums to himself and looks around the room if only to build anticipation like it's his own game. “Time’s up, ghostie. They’re calling for you and sent me to come get you.”

“Now?” Harry asks.

“Who’s they?” Louis asks quietly. “Like—Satan?”

“Think he goes by Jeff now, actually,” Alex says.

“He should go by fu—” Harry grumbles until Alex's relaxed expression changes into something stern.

“I’d be careful with what you say.” Alex stands up so swiftly and elegantly that it nearly looked like he floated. He takes a step toward them and rolls his eyes when Harry presses back further, pushing Louis against the wall. “They can still hear you.”

Reluctantly, Harry relaxes and sways forward, giving Louis more room to breathe but keeping a steady hand circled around his wrist. “Was just gonna say he’s a—funny guy.” Twisting his neck to face Louis, Harry gives a small shake of his head as if to say no, he’s really not.

“They can also see you, dumbass.”

Harry sighs heavily and finally turns around, peering down at Louis with soft eyes. Reaching up to cup Louis’ face, Harry strokes his cheek with his thumb. “Are you okay, Lou? I know it’s a lot to take in.”

His eyes bore into Louis for about three more seconds before he bursts out laughing.

“Gross, stop thinking like that,” Louis chides, giving his chest a weak punch.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it. It fit so well,” Harry mumbles and breaks out again, leaning down to muffle his laughter into Louis’ neck.

“Ugh, I’m right here,” Alex grumbles.

Kissing a trail up the column of Louis’ throat, Harry squeezes his hips before turning around. “We fucked on that bed you were just sitting on. I blew his back out on it. In fact, right before you came we—”

“Harry!”

Alex waves a dismissive hand, unperturbed by Harry. “Don’t worry, Lou. You don’t go to hell for being a whore.”

“Perfect for me. Harry,” Louis says, turning to face him. Harry’s already staring intently and tightens his arm hooked around Louis’ waist, pulling him in closer. All the light and humor on his face from before has melted into something soft, almost tender.

“I’ll give you guys some time,” Alex mutters into the silence. “Just—don’t take too long, Harry. They don’t like waiting.”

“Don’t kill Niall!” Louis squeaks and ducks behind Harry’s back when Alex quips an eyebrow over his shoulder before gliding through the wall.

Harry doesn’t acknowledge Alex, not even a nod or a hum as he stares at Louis. As soon as he’s out of sight, Harry’s crowding around Louis with desperate kisses anywhere his mouth reaches and cold hands slipping under his shirt.

“Haz, just—we need to—” Louis says breathily in between kisses.

“Don’t care,” Harry mumbles. He continues on with his quest of marking every inch of Louis’ skin with his lips—his jaw, the corner of his lips, his eyelids. “Don’t need to do anything.”

At that, Louis frowns and grabs Harry’s face between his hands, pulling him back so he can look into his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. Do you want to go to hell or something?”

Harry laughs, a sad and self-deprecating thing. “I’m selfish, Lou. I’m so selfish. I’m the most selfish with you.”

“Not exactly a crime,” Louis whispers, thumb grazing over his cheek. “You could’ve killed me, but you didn’t.”

Instead of laughing, Harry sighs heavily and gnaws on his bottom lip. “I’ll come back for you,” he murmurs and then he’s kissing Louis everywhere again—light little kisses. It felt like rain. “Still not done haunting you yet.”

“Okay,” Louis laughs, shivering underneath him. “Come back and haunt me, then.” He says it lightly. He means it heavily.

Pressing their lips together once more, Harry gently bites down on Louis’ lip before abruptly pulling away. Whirling around on his heels, he stalks towards the door with heavy steps. Louis thinks that he’s going to walk through it, but instead he pulls it open and stands there in the doorway like he always has. His broad shoulders alone nearly take up the entirety of the door’s width, his muscled back ridden with tension and his hair a wild mess that Louis had just carded his fingers through just minutes ago.

Louis wants him to stay there in the doorframe, that sweet halfway spot that’s away from him and to him. He wants Harry to turn back around and linger there, just a little bit longer. Harry lounges in doorways so often that Louis wants to savor the moment if it’s going to be the last. The doorway is practically stained with memories of Harry leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Louis. Now, Louis supposes, it’s his turn to watch Harry.

Completely breathless in that moment, the spark of hope flickers out when Harry walks away without looking back, hands clenched in tight fists by his side. He doesn’t even have the courtesy of closing the door, leaving Louis to watch him walk away until he’s completely gone.

*****

zen - r u ok???

louis - yes why

zen - bc u tweeted “wish i was a ghost :(” and “maybe i’ll just kms :’(”

louis - yes i’m fine

zen - okie. so to be clear, ur not suicidal?

zen - ???????

Life picks up where Louis left it as if Harry was never there at all—dull, monotonous, and largely depending on his routine. He reminds himself that’s what his routine was for in the first place, something to fall back on.

Except now, Louis knows what it’s like to have Harry. He knows what it’s like to have his laughter fill the room, his crooning in the early hours of the morning, and his skin pressed up against Louis’. They aren’t details Louis can forget overnight, not even over the course of a week, which is apparently long enough to have Niall come pounding on his apartment door.

After spending the majority of the day rotting in his bed and ignoring everyone in existence, Louis finally drags his feet down the hallway to pop off to the bathroom when his door bangs furiously. Cliff barks loudly and races out the bedroom and to the front with Louis ambling right behind him, just in time to see Niall and Mrs. Wang bursting through the door with triumphant smiles. Tito frantically scrambles in Mrs. Wang’s arms as Cliff sniffs excitedly, his tail wagging faster than a windmill.

“Oh, he’s alive,” Mrs. Wang says with a gentle smile and a small wave. “Hello, Louis.”

“Yeah, it’s just the other one that's dead. Louis is just brooding,” Niall replies.

“Jesus, I thought you were the police on a drug bust,” Louis says.

“Oh, no. That’s tomorrow night,” Niall says over his shoulder. He doesn’t waste any time as he pulls a chair out and gives the apartment a quick scan.

“Well, he smells like a dead person. Louis, when was the last time you showered?” Mrs. Wang asks with a tilt of her head.

Louis scowls. “Sorry, if I knew I would be having company then I would’ve freshened up a bit.”

A small silence follows while Mrs. Wang turns her head to the side, nodding with little hums of yes, exactly and you’re always right, dear. Louis had gotten so used to Harry taking out Cliff for walks that the sight of Mrs. Wang talking to her dead husband takes a few more seconds to settle in and—

“Your husband is a ghost too,” Louis breathes out softly, his mind reeling from the sudden epiphany.

Niall slams his hand on the table with a loud ha! and a maniac smile plastered across his face directed at Mrs. Wang. “It’s been like five minutes, so I win.”

“I’ve known him longer and it’s taken him until just now to figure it all out. You owe me twenty dollars,” Mrs. Wang rolls her eyes fondly. The lines on her face deepen as she smiles, a soft chuckle spilling out her mouth. “Anyway, you’d be right. My husband is a ghost, Lou.”

“I never—I didn't think—” Louis stammers, darting his eyes between the elderly woman and the empty space next to her where Mr. Wang undoubtedly sits.

A cold shiver runs down Louis’ spine as he stares at where Mr. Wang is, an actual unseen ghost that before had only existed on shoddy internet videos that were nothing more than click bait. Tracing back all the memories of Mrs. Wang holding a nonexistent arm and peering up at someone with fondness only a person still in love could carry, Louis almost feels dizzy with the shock of news.

Reaching across the wooden table, Mrs. Wang grasps his hand and pulls him out of his thoughts. “You think and plan so much that you miss what's right in front of you.”

“Can he see him?” Louis asks under his breath.

“Harry? Oh, they talk every morning when he walks Cliff,” Mrs. Wang laughs and it brightens up her face instantly. Louis’ always loved that about her, the gentle aura paired with her light-hearted spirit. Mrs. Wang is the personification of a warm fireplace on a winter night, curling anyone into her warmth by her existence alone. “He never shut up about you. I can only imagine what he’s going off about to everyone there. Probably talking about your smile for the millionth time.”

Niall gags violently. “Christ, who did you turn my best friend into? Your pussy can’t be that good. He used to be—ouch!”

Rubbing the back of his head, Niall glares around the kitchen. His frown deepens when Mrs. Wang snickers into her hand. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. A slap from a ghost isn’t that bad,” She huffs. Tito squirms in her arms, craning his neck to lick at her chin and drawing a fond smile from her. “I just think you need to be patient, Louis.”

“How long did you wait?” Louis asks.

“A month,” Mrs. Wang answers. “But my husband lived a longer life than Harry, there was a lot more to look over. Would you stop worrying so much?”

Not worrying seems like an impossibility when all his thoughts gravitate towards Harry and what he’s doing.

“Okay, yeah. You’re right,” Louis smiles.

“Anyway, can we focus on more important things?” Niall asks, leaning back comfortably in his seat. “I don’t think the Grim Reaper is after me anymore.”

*****

Exactly one week later, Louis finds himself perched on that rickety old swing at Harvey Park.

After staring at the white ceiling of his bedroom for too long to be considered healthy, Louis let his feet drag him to the park in the middle of the night with nothing more than empty pockets and a numb mind. The walls of his apartment had begun to shrink in on him like something worse than a prison cell where Harry’s clothes were still hanging in their closet or his playlists filling up the whole storage of the old iPod. Every text message Louis got, every knock on his door, every breeze of the fucking wind just reminded Louis of Harry that he had to get out.

Despite Harry’s absence and his long drawl or his bark of laughter that filled the quiet, the night envelopes Louis in its darkness. The sliver of moon and dots of stars cut through the black sky like someone had carved into it just to allow some lightness to peek through. The light glow reminds Louis of Harry’s pale skin, the way it would brighten up with every dimpled-simple and now he can’t even look at the moon without thinking of him. Harry’s ruined him, completely ruined him if something as simple as the sky can send Louis tumbling down—

“I found you.”

Harry’s voice strikes through him like lightning through a rainstorm, so crisp and clear that Louis digs his feet into the dirt to stop swinging. It seems like a cruel dream, to hear that warm voice that’s made a home inside his ear after what feels like a lifetime. Staring out at the black sky, Louis sucks in shaky breaths and shakes his head softly.

“Lou?”

There’s something in hearing Harry’s voice, soft and sweet even in that one syllable saying his name, that has Louis whipping his head back. His eyes immediately fall on Harry standing a few feet behind him, oddly resembling the moon with his skin so pale it nearly glows in the night. His head almost looks like it’s floating from his black clothes melting into the surrounding darkness that Louis has to squint his eyes to make out the long-sleeved black sweater and black jeans. When Louis drags his eyes up to finally meet Harry’s gaze, he pushes himself up to charge over to Harry, sending dirt flying under his angry steps.

“Where were you?” Louis grits out with a dry throat that’s threatening to break out in a sob. He gives Harry a hard push through teary eyes and grits his teeth. “I’ve been going—it’s been two weeks, Harry.”

“It’s a long process,” Harry begins and Louis clenches his jaw before shoving him again. Harry stumbles back a step, more from the shock of Louis’ anger rather than his strength and that just aggravates Louis even more.

“That’s all you have to say?” Louis exclaims with a horrible, wobbling lip. “I felt like I lost you twice! Do you know what that feels like?”

“I came home, didn’t I?” Harry stares at him with a hard gaze and reaches out to him before pausing midair and dropping his arm back again. “That’s how it felt like for me, too. I told you I’m selfish with you.”

“You could’ve sent Alex to at least let me know what’s going on!” Louis croaks. A stray tear finally brims over, gliding down his cheek and he wipes it away frustratingly with the sleeve of his hoodie. “To let me know you were okay.”

“He’s the Grim Reaper, Lou,” Harry laughs, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The deep and rough rumble of Harry’s laughter still affects Louis the way it always did—sending warmth shooting down his spine. “He’s not exactly my messenger. He has souls to collect.”

“I don’t care!” Louis says petulantly. Suddenly, he feels frantic standing at the park with Harry just out of arm’s reach after two whole weeks. His heart feels like it’s about to thud out of his chest and words pour out of his mouth before he even knows what he’s saying. “You know in Twilight, how Bella got all over dramatic and—didn’t she faint in the woods after Edward left—anyway, she was a mess, but she doesn’t come close to how I was. I mean, I wasn’t fainting anywhere and walking around like the dead, but I was—” as good as dead, “miserable without you, Haz.”

If Louis looks past his tears and frustration, he can almost make out something close to amusement twinkling in Harry’s eyes.

“Are you really talking about Twilight right now? And comparing yourself to Bella?”

Louis gapes at him for a moment, his mouth falling open and closing, and then blurts, “We always talk about Twilight!”

Louis nearly feels himself seething, chest taking in shallow breaths with his throat hoarse from crying and yelling. He doesn’t know how he got here, from sobbing himself dry to shrieking about Twilight in the dead of the night at a park.

Harry takes a tentative step forward. “Are you done yet? Because, well I’ve just missed you a lot and—”

The calm way Harry carries himself combined with his honest words is so overwhelming that Louis pushes him hard, actually knocking him back a step. Confusion washes over Harry for a split second before Louis’ pulling him back in by balling his fists in the fabric of his shirt. Standing in his toes, Louis cranes his neck to catch Harry’s lips

“I hate you. You’re horrible,” Louis mutters against his lips, sliding his hands up until his fingers thread through the thickness of Harry’s curls. “I thought you died twice. I thought I lost you. I thought you were gone for—for good.” He prattles off nonsense, words muffled against Harry’s cold, familiar mouth as Harry pulls him in closer by the waist and sweeps his tongue against Louis’.

“I told you I’d come back for you,” Harry pants.

A mixture of relief and happiness surges through Louis so heavily that it feels like it’s about to over flood him. The kiss begins to slow down, but Harry keeps them pressed together and drags his wet lips to the corner of Louis’ mouth, his cheek, the corner of his eye as if he wants to brand him in kisses.

“So does that mean—you’re not condemned to a horrible life in hell?” Louis asks. Working a bruise on the side of Louis’ neck, Harry hums noncommitedly and swipes his tongue over the mark. Impatient for an answer, Louis gently tugs on the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck. “Harry.”

“Huh? What?” Harry pulls back slowly, blinking away his glassed-over eyes and licking over his bruised lips. “Yeah, I’m not going to hell.”

The words wash over Louis like a tidal wave as an incredulous noise, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, rips out of him and he draws Harry closer with his fists tightly balled in his shirt. Their lips move against each other’s quickly, breaking apart after a few seconds to muffle their bright laughter before pulling back in again. Harry holds him around the waist, pulling him up on his toes as he deepens the kiss. Louis loosens his jaw, inviting Harry’s tongue to slide against his own. After a few more moments of this, Harry pulls back with a dazed look and slick lips stretched across his pale face.

“How are you—why are you so relaxed when this is all that we’ve been working towards?” Louis says, dropping his hands until they’re pressed flat against Harry’s chest. A helpless smile tugs at Louis’ lips as he peers up at him in disbelief. “You got what you wanted, Haz.”

“I didn’t want to be in heaven,” Harry mutters and shrugs, squeezing his arms around Louis. “I just wanted to be with you.”

“You ended up getting both,” Louis laughs.

Harry hums. “Think they’re kind of the same to me at this point.”

It’s a rare thing, when Harry’s usual, open honesty is coupled with fallen eyes and a shy, bitten smile. Louis has never seen this shade on him before, wants to revel in this new side of him now that it feels like he has him in a more permanent way. Surging up, Louis kisses him, their lips moving against each other fervently.

“We’re outside,” Harry whispers, resting his forehead against Louis’. “You sure you don’t care about someone catching us?”

The words don’t register for a few seconds because the idea seems ridiculous. Louis can’t bring himself to care about anything that isn’t Harry, his touch or the way he seems to come alive under Louis’ fingertips.

“I don’t care,” Louis smiles. “You can kiss me outside all you want. Under the sun, if you want.”

Quirking a challenging eyebrow, Harry returns his smile and digs his fingers into Louis’ skin. “Under the sun. It’s a date.”

Harry leans down once again to catch Louis’ lips as if to seal the promise with a kiss and Louis only returns it with fervor because he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care at all.

*****

“I’m home!”

Harry’s voice echoes throughout the apartment, practically beckoning Louis out of their bedroom. A month ago, Louis was thundering down the hallway and falling into Harry’s open arms like welcoming a soldier home from war. Now, however, he takes his time making his way down the hallway before stopping at the entrance, leaning against the wall with a casual smile and a pounding heart because a lot of things have changed, but not quite that. Louis doesn't think it ever will.

Cliff runs circles around Harry, his tail wagging excitedly as he pounces on him. Harry's curls, trimmed so they brush over his ears instead of the nape of his neck, loosely fall over to the side as he leans down and kisses the top of Cliff's head.

“How was heaven?” Louis asks.

“Oh, it pales in comparison to you, as usual.”

“Really?”

“No, it was awesome.”

A tinkle of laughter, soft and bright, bubbles out of Louis as leans against Harry’s side. Harry’s never gone for too long; the great thing about dating a ghost that's just been granted into heaven is never having to worry. He always comes back after a handful of days, sending Louis texts from his plastic brick of a phone that he refuses to give up because it's a memory, Lou, we can't just throw it away and yes heaven has better phones but that's no fun and what do you mean you couldn’t see.

“How’s the house coming along?” Louis asks. He tucks a curl behind Harry’s ear, thumbing at the corner of his sharp jawline.

“Got the plants you wanted,” Harry grins, catching Louis’ hand and engulfing it in his own.

“Are you even sure I'm getting into heaven?” Louis mutters. “Maybe we shouldn’t really be making our house just yet. Have you talked to Alex yet? He probably—”

His words get cut off by Harry’s mouth on his, an annoying yet effective way to put an abrupt stop to his rambling. For a moment, Louis lets himself melt into the kiss, tilting his head back as Harry cups the back of his neck to mouth hungrily at him.

“You think too much.” Harry lightly runs a finger down the bridge of Louis’ nose. “We have all this and heaven, too. Stop worrying. Just—trust me.”

“You know, when I heard of happily ever after in fairy tales, I didn’t really think they meant building a house in heaven when you die,” Louis replies and then scrunches his nose. “Actually sounds a bit morbid if you think about it.”

“What, being happy about having a whole life after death?” Harry hauls him in close and peers down at him fondly. “S’just the future, if you think about it. Plus, the sun hits the plants, so they should grow pretty well. I mean, they’ll grow anyway since it's heaven, but.”

“You love the sun.”

Harry’s smile stretches across his face. “I do.” He leans up to peck Louis’ mouth in a chaste kiss before patting his bum. “Speaking of which, are you ready for our date?”

“I’ve been ready for a month.”

“Let’s go, then.”

*****

A sea of people crowd at Harvey Park that sunny August day, milking the last of their summer by running through the grassy fields and dazing in the light breeze. Children bustle around the playground as their parents watch nearby. As soon as Cliff spots a crowd of dogs chasing a toy, he bolts after them and leaves Louis and Harry to watch after him fondly.

To Louis’ credit, he had grabbed Harry’s hand with an iron tight grip—more out of nerves than anything else—as they found a shady spot under a tree. He couldn’t stop darting his eyes around in fear of someone glancing in their direction, seeing how Louis wasn’t with anyone at all.

“We can go back home.”

“No, I’m fine.”

Harry quips a doubtful eyebrow. “You’re shaking like Tito in winter.”

Inhaling deeply, Louis wills himself to relax as he tips his head back. The tree trunk uncomfortably digs into his back, but he ignores the pain like he ignores Harry’s eyes on him.

“It’s our date,” Louis says.

“Oh, I got you a souvenir from heaven.”

“You got me something that I could get off Hollywood’s Walk of Fame for five dollars?” Louis cries incredulously. He snatches the piece of paper from Harry’s hand and inspects the photo—a very dazzling and completely shirtless Edward Cullen with smoldering eyes. In the corner, written in black sharpie, reads won’t impale you with a stake, but I’ve got something else! love always, Edward.

“I got that from heaven’s black market,” Harry argues firmly, poking a finger at Edward’s abs. “This was really hard to get.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Heaven doesn’t have a black market.”

“Okay, it doesn’t. But the actor who plays Edward has a cousin up in heaven, so I asked him to get me an autograph,” Harry grins triumphantly.

His wide smile stretched across his face so brightly and it’s so ridiculously Harry to do something as stupid and sweet as this. Louis throws an arm around his neck and tugs him in until their lips crash into each other. Harry falls into him easily, tonguing into his mouth as his hand reaches up to curl against the side of his neck. Louis managed to peek his eyes half-open when they pulled apart for air as if to make sure this moment wasn’t a product of his imagination.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” Louis whispers softly, warm breath fanning between their faces.

“Not yet,” Harry laughs into his mouth, kissing across his cheek and up to his temple. “Maybe in a year or so.”

“Other people have someone who would kill for them. I just have someone who would kill me,” Louis says. “Lucky me.”

A bark of laughter spills out of Harry’s wet mouth, loud and bright, that Louis glances around them. This time, instead of fear or nerves, Louis almost wants everyone at the park to hear him, wants them to witness his full belly laugh and the way he seems to come alive under the sunbeams that tinge his skin in its glow.

It’s strange how no one can see Harry when it feels like Louis has the entire world next to him.

“You really don’t care if people see us?” Harry asks, green, bright eyes searching his.

“No,” Louis murmurs. “Kiss me again.”

Smiling widely, Harry ducks his head down to brush the tips of their noses together, a precursor to brushing their mouths together before fervently catching his lips and kissing until it feels less like a kiss and more like a collision of the world and the sun. It could be the end of the world, it could be the next Big Bang.

Louis doesn’t care at all. He has all this and heaven, too.