Work Text:
Late morning sunlight is streaming between the September clouds, reflecting through the glass mason jars on the windowsill, throwing rainbow pools of light onto the shoe-worn linoleum. Harry wishes he had a moment to appreciate the small moment of natural light, but he’s currently got a fresh glob of paint in his curls, Elmer’s glue between his fingers, and thirty or so children all cutting, pasting, and painting away that he needs to supervise. It’s been a warm morning, warm by Oregon standards, that is. With it being the first day of class, he’d gone through with his yearly tradition of getting up early to see the sunrise, happy to greet a new year of tiny smiling faces.
He quickly scoops up one of his kids from where they’ve been slouching in their seat. He digs his fingers under the little boy’s armpits and hoists him into a better position in his chair.
“I won’t have you hunching over before you’ve even hit double digits, Benjamin.” He wags his finger, and Benjamin just giggles. Harry does his best not to break down and laugh along with him.
A few minutes later he’s helping a group of girls glue popsicle sticks together, “alright, Melody, let’s see you do it on your own this time.” He hands the girl with a light blue floral dress on the glue bottle.
“But I like when you do it better, Mr. Harry!” She exclaims. He’s missed this so much.
On his way in with Zayn this morning he’d greeted Niall, offered to help him with his guitar case. Zayn had gone to get a mug of coffee, and Harry had popped in to say hello to Liam, Caroline, and Lou in the office. He’d swung by to wish Zayn well, or rather, to leave a sticky note stuck to his forehead reading ‘good luck,’ as he’d found Zayn already back asleep, slumped forward onto his desk. He had set an alarm on Zayn’s phone, admired his new phone case that has a spray painted rendition of the power rangers in various fighting poses, and had been off.
All told, it’s been a good start. The figurative birds are singing, the sun is… somewhat shining, but he’s got a good feeling about this year.
“Paolo stop painting on Tom, please,” he sighs from where he’s currently helping Stella color in her drawing of a daisy. He puts down his crayon and heads over to give the offending boy his best stern teacher face, both Tom and Paolo look at him with wide eyes. He bends down to wipe some of the smudged green hearts off of Tom’s dark skin before it can dry.
“Sorry, Mr. Harry,” Paolo pouts beside them. Harry turns to him, facade breaking as he takes in Paolo’s downcast eyes and embarrassed-pink cheeks. Harry loves these kids too much to ever stay truly upset with them. Tom gives Paolo a look that Harry might be able to read if he weren’t so distracted, he’s still getting back in the groove of things himself. Tom then skitters over to the wash sink to clean his hands and get another brush.
Harry leans down, then, taking Paolo’s olive hands in his own. “If you want to do something nice for Tom, why don’t you make him something?” He suggests softly. “That way it can’t be washed away.”
Paolo looks up at him with glassy brown eyes, and Harry knows it’s never easy to be scolded on your first day back. As the boy processes the idea a smile spreads across his mouth, and he nods, “okay!” before he’s off, quick as a rabbit.
Harry stands again, smiling himself, as he checks over the room again. It isn’t all that grand, his classroom, but it feels like home. He’s strung up glittering christmas lights under the panels of the painted ceiling tiles. Each panel is its own representation of a famous artist, when the students reach fifth grade they get to help him paint one. There’s only one left to be done, actually. He smiles again, looking up at them, seeing where the old art teacher, Mrs. Hidley, left off, and where he began. There are photographs, polaroids that he’s taken, lining the crease between the ceiling and the curry yellow and poppy red walls.
His life is in those photos. There’s Niall’s birthday cake last year, and Liam’s promotion party next to it. There’s Zayn writing in the nook of their window seat as it rains against the glass, and there’s the four of them trying to ride unicycles in varying levels of success. Mixed between are his students, old and young, and his family. His mom, helping him fix his old Subaru where it had broken down in the driveway just before he’d left to come here two years ago. Another, where she’s hugging him tight and holding up a cupcake that has a small 24 iced onto it. There’s Gemma in the cockpit for the first time, when she was only eighteen, and another on the opposite wall, of them seeing her off at the airport, heading overseas, uniform reading United States Air Force.
You might think he’d keep photos this personal in his apartment, but he wants to share these things with his students, with anyone passing through. It’s something he tries to live by, being open, sharing what makes him who he is. He’s always delighted when his kids ask about one of the shots, “what’s that Mr. Harry?” To which he’ll answer, “that’s me eating so much ice cream my stomach hurt, that’s me falling down rollerblading and bruising my knee.” Besides, who wouldn’t want to look up and see all their happy memories every day?
He takes a lap around the room, tidying as he goes. The kids are full of energy, and it keeps his step from slowing. He’s just managed to save a set of colored pastels from certain death, plucking them from the sticky grip of an adorably disgruntled first-grader, when he sees him.
Of course, he doesn’t really get a chance to register the beautiful man standing next to Liam in his classroom doorway. One of his students voices his excitement for him.
“Uncle Lou! Uncle Lou!” A bright voice squeaks from Harry’s right. A bouncing head of brunette braids rushes past him.
The man’s eyes light up as a smile dawns over his features, gentle as the morning has been so far, making Harry’s stomach turn in knots of warmth. He’s got scruff dusted along his chin and tired eyes that speak to something Harry can somehow feel. Which is… strange to say about a stranger? Right? He chooses this moment to set the pastels down in their rightful drawer and pluck a few stray paint chippings out of his hair, checking to make sure that Christopher is still staying away from the glue paste, that Annie hasn’t once again smeared purple watercolors down her dress. After a breath and an expectant glance from Liam he walks over the doorway to introduce himself.
“Principal Payne what is my Uncle Louis doing here?” Lily, the little girl that had gone rushing to greet them, is asking. She’s one of Harry’s more energetic students, always up for mixing bright colors and helping him after class while the other kids line up by the door. The second graders are secretly his favorite bunch, as they were his youngest group when he first started here, he remembers each of them well.
“Well,” Liam says with that signature crease in his brow. “I’m showing your uncle here around the school, he’s going to be your new P.E. teacher.”
Lily gasps. “Really?” But then her brow furrows and she looks down at her hands like she’s sorting through something difficult. Harry is very aware that he’s standing behind her with hands stained with different hues of childhood creativity, and a half blushing smile on his lips as the man - their new P.E. teacher, apparently - sends him a soft smirk.
“Your parents and I wanted it to be a surprise!” The man smiles down at her, eyes blue like melting ice.
“But what about Mrs. Botchner?” Lily finally exclaims, as though the retired teacher has slipped under all of their noses, hardly giving two blinks’ pause.
The man laughs. Liam shakes his head with an amused huff, and Harry chuckles under his breath.
“She’s always had a clever streak in her,” Louis squats down to Lily’s level, and Harry certainly does not have his eyes glued to where his thighs are stretching the material of his jeans. “Haven’t you, Lil?”
Lily juts her chin up defiantly, before the man ruffles her hair, after which she’s giggling and stretching her arms up for a hug. He obliges her, picking her up and setting her on his hip. Harry’s smile grows wider as Lily obviously trusts him, snuggling into his side and hugging him tight. The man plants a kiss on her head before turning to face Harry fully, same smirk from before on his lips, but it’s more of a smile this time as he extends a hand out for Harry to shake.
“Louis,” he says, with a voice that sounds as bright as the colors that are decorated like stain glass window panes up Harry’s arms. “Louis Tomlinson.”
“Got a hint of England in you?” Is what Harry manages as he feels the rough palm of Louis’ hand against his own. “I’m Harry Styles.”
“Surprised you noticed,” Louis says, bouncing Lily on his hip to keep her from slipping down. His eyes are the kind of blue Harry keeps in his expensive acrylic set. But… not just one color, though. No, if he wanted to get Louis’ eyes right he’d need some time with a canvas. They’re seaglass, absolutely gorgeous. And his lips, too, thin and snow powder pink. He’d need some time to get those right. “Been a long time since I was on the other side of the Atlantic.”
“From there myself,” Harry responds. “But I’m much the same, spent nearly three quarters of my life Stateside.”
“I can tell,” Louis says, gaze flickering down Harry’s figure. Harry feels his cheeks flush, his fingers curl into his palm. “Not much to be said for the gloomy skies they’ve got over there, when you’re as tan as you are.”
It’s true, Harry has managed to keep a good shade of bronze since he spent most of August down with his mom at home. He plucks out another glob of paint from behind his ear as he ducks his head, shrugging. “Never been much of one for doom and gloom, anyways.”
“No,” Louis says, and Lilly is poking him in the cheek, but somehow there’s an electric charge in the air. “Somehow I don’t think you are.”
Liam clears his throat and raises a quick eyebrow at Harry before turning briskly to Louis again. “On to go and see what’s next, then?”
Louis nods, “suppose so.” He sets Lilly down, crouching, telling her he’ll see her at home. He must be staying with Lilly’s mom, his sister, then. He stands again and faces Harry fully. “It’s a lovely classroom you’ve got, you know. It’s warm, I quite like it.”
“Thank you,” is all he can say as their gazes stay tangled. “I hope you’ll stop by again sometime?”
“I expect I will, golden boy.” Louis smiles around the name, and Harry feels his pulse jump. “See you in the teacher’s lounge, until then, I suppose?”
It’s like they’re playing at a game, who can plan the next meeting, the next moment like this one. “I suppose.” He manages, and he made it through art school, through eclectic kids from all kinds of personality pools pulling him out of his comfort zone. But this? This magnetic, instantaneous cord that Harry feels tied around him? Pulling him towards this stranger? This is brand new, and he’s out of his depth.
Liam nods, then, clearing his throat again, as he always does when he isn’t sure how to act, and the two of them turn and head down the hall. Harry turns around to find over half of his class watching him silently, some of them with their tools still poised in their hands. He swallows thickly, clapping his hands together.
“Right, who’s ready to add their piece to the class collage?”
~*~
“Zayn,” he drawls again. “Zaaayyynnn.”
Zayn gives a grunt from his desk, features honey shaded from the dim lamp he has angled towards his papers. He’s flipping through his second graders’ favorite-summer-memory writings. Harry thinks he looks far too interested for being someone who has just read what is probably the fifth sheet saying how they got ice cream down by the docks, but then again that’s why he’s here in the first place, teaching elementary.
Harry sighs dramatically and drapes himself over the desk he’s currently sitting in. He’s long since outgrown the children’s size desks, so it’s no surprise to him that his knees keep knocking into the legs of it, or that the table of it is digging into his stomach. It only adds emphasis to the trapped bird that’s fluttering in his ribcage.
“Zayn, apple of my eye, the light of my days, most dashing man to ever wear corduroy slacks and a polka dot button up at the same time, the fire of my-”
“Harry, for fuck’s sake, what’s his name?”
Harry huffs a breath to blow an unruly curl out of his eyes. He thinks Zayn swears far too much for someone who teaches small children how to read. It also might be because it’s gaining on six o’clock and neither of them are home yet and today has been a long day. All he wants is for Zayn to be done so that they can go back to their apartment and decompress. He has things he has to seriously lay in bed and think about. And… maybe he could go for wank. Also he should start double checking his planning for the upcoming weeks. Right, being responsible and all that.
“The new gym teacher, he called me golden boy.” Harry sighs wistfully, a small laugh getting caught in his throat. Zayn looks up from his papers, glasses perched low on his nose. “His name’s Louis.”
Zayn holds his gaze a moment longer, eyes squinting like he’s trying to remember something. “That guy Liam was showing around?”
“Mhmm,” Harry picks at his nails, feeling another sigh coming on.
Zayn gives another grunt. “Wondered who he was, clinging to Li’s side like that.”
Harry picks his head up. Zayn’s possessive of people at the best of times, but it’s only when things involve Liam that unwarranted jealousy comes into play. “Clinging to his side, huh?”
Zayn’s back to his papers, scribbling something as he responds. Outside, rain has begun to fall, a misty haze settling over the sky. “Yeah, they came in the doorway while I was having the kids make name cards for their desks, scissors, glue sticks, too many things to look out for. You out of anyone know how that is.”
“So Liam didn’t introduce him?”
“Kinda gave him a look, think he knew what it meant, I was too busy,” Zayn says quietly. He clears his throat. “But the guy didn’t catch my eye, all I noticed was that they were standing close enough.”
Harry shakes his head, knowing the response he’ll get but speaking up anyway. “Zayn, you know that Liam doesn’t want to be with anyone.” Zayn sets down his pen again, opening his mouth, but Harry beats him to the punch. “Anyone that isn’t you.”
Zayn’s mouth clamps shut like a slammed door, and Harry feels bad for pointing out the obvious, but at the same this is a conversation that they’ve danced around before.
“That doesn’t make any difference,” Zayn says.
“Why not?” Harry asks.
“Because, Harry,” he stutters into the statement, like he’s said it in his head so often it’s a scratched record by now. “He’s my boss now.”
“He’s been our boss for almost a year, Z.” Harry says softly. “That doesn’t change what you guys had before he was promoted.”
“What we almost had.”
“What you still have a shot at.” Harry corrects.
Zayn looks at him with a helpless glimmer in his eyes, and sets back to his work. The rain falls more steadily against the classroom windows now, and Harry makes to head back to his own room to get his umbrella. Tomorrow’s another day, and maybe he’ll get a moment alone with Liam to gauge where he’s at with all of this. It isn’t like last year, when everything was new and excited after he switched from a classroom to an office, now they’ve settled into it.
No, Harry thinks, it isn’t like last year at all, not with Zayn looking more tired and restless than ever, not with Niall taking night classes, and certainly not with Louis walking past his classroom every morning on the way into the gym.
~*~
The next few days are a whirlwind of welcome-back-to-school projects, too few hours of sleep, and not nearly enough Louis encounters.
On Wednesday during his planning time he’d literally bumped into Louis in the hallway as he’d been closing up the gym’s storage locker, slinging a net of soccer balls over his shoulder. Harry had been on his way to go grab some coffee, had been face down in a children’s psychology book, trying to understand the latest theory on color schemes and early development when they’d collided.
Louis had apologized profusely and had tried to pick up Harry’s dropped book, but had apparently forgotten that he had a lumpy bag over his shoulder, as it had swung forward with the momentum of Louis leaning over. All of this had resulted in Louis falling forward onto the floor, elbows stinging with carpet burn and cheeks flushed red with embarrassment as Harry had keeled over against the nearest wall giggling.
It had been the end of passing time, so a few curious pairs of eyes peered out of their classrooms to see the two of them in their state of disarray. One of the kids that Harry has in his first hour had whisper-shouted to her friend, “are they like Mickey and Minnie?”
Louis just huffed out a breath, had tried to get up, but with the cumbersome bag weighing over him he’d only fallen back on his chest again. Which, to no surprise, only made Harry laugh harder, because Louis is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, and hell yes Harry had noticed his biceps on Tuesday when he’d spotted him lifting one of his students up onto the soccer field bleachers. And yet he’d been right there before Harry, compact muscles all for naught as he’d peered up through his lashes and squeaked a self deprecating “help?”
Harry had tried to pull himself together, had giggled into the back of his hand as he leaned down to give Louis his hand, their fingers slotting together just so. He’d tugged Louis up, up, up, and because Harry’s life was always meant to be a movie, Louis had stumbled forward right into his chest. Harry’s free hand had immediately gone to his waist to steady him as the weight of the bag that had still been on his shoulder had threatened to pull him back down.
“Sorry,” Louis had said, a little breathlessly.
“Don’t be,” Harry’d said, reaching to brush Louis’ fringe out of his eyes for him before his head could catch up with his heart.
It was then that Niall had come lumbering up the hallway, music class in tow and heading towards the courtyard for a drum circle or something of the like. Harry had spotted him over Louis’ shoulder, and Louis had followed his gaze. Niall had caught their eyes, a smirk crawling over his features, and Harry wasn’t even sure if Niall had even met Louis at that point.
“Boys,” he’d tipped his UCLA snapback to them, having never fully grown out of college. Harry had still been holding Louis’ hip, and Louis hadn’t made any move to take his hand off of Harry’s bicep. Niall’s conga line of kids followed him dutifully, each jingling with their own plastic tambourine, harmonica, or rain shaker. Most of the kids were fascinated with their instruments, but Louis’ niece had been amongst the lot of them and had given them a cheesy smile. Niall had continued to give them a look over his shoulder until he and his kids had turned the corner down the hall.
At which point Harry had realized that they were alone in the hall with classes starting, still holding one another.
“You alright?” Harry had asked, wanting to make sure.
Louis’ lashes fluttered and he’d cleared his throat suddenly, taking a step back, swaying slightly. “Right. Yes. Fine, I’m. All good. Thank you?”
Harry’s smile, which had faltered at Louis’ withdrawal, had returned softly at his flustered tone. “You’re welcome. Um, see you in the lounge?”
“Of course,” Louis had nodded, and then spun on his heel to head for the field, shaking his head to himself and muttering something under his breath that Harry hadn’t been able to catch.
Thursday was finger painting day, which meant that Harry’d had his favorite Spice Girls Pandora station playing through his classroom speakers. The kids were having a grand time, swirling their fingers through different shades. At some point a few of the little rascals had started neglecting their work in favor of having a dance party, and Harry couldn’t really help but join them.
With all of their art shirts on, covered in paints, they’d looked a mess. But as they twirled about, adding random strokes to their paper canvases here and there, he found that he couldn’t care less if Liam or someone from the office walked in on them right then. Moments like that were what made him love his job even more, why he had searched so hard to find a school where creative learning was so encouraged, why he’d moved to Astoria in the first place.
But when he’d heard a soft knock on the classroom door over the music, it wasn’t anyone in formal attire that he saw there, it had been Louis. Louis in his soccer shorts and tight fitting Under Armor long sleeve top, hugging the curves of his body perfectly. Louis with a dawning curl to his lips, looking right at him where he stood in mid twirl.
“Just wanted to apologize for the bang on your window, had a kid kicking too hard for his own good out there,” Louis had said as Harry’d pulled out the remote for the speakers, turning the volume down a tad. “But from the looks of it in here I can understand why you guys weren’t bothered.”
Harry’s students had all chipped in with, “who was it Mr. Tommo?” ‘s and some, “I bet it was Timothy!” ‘s and a few giggling, “Mr. Harry why’re your cheeks all pink?” ‘s.
Harry could only shrug shyly at being caught, about to respond when the bell had run. The kids, as usual, had gone bananas, he was only able to shout a “don’t forget to take care of your art shirts!” as they had broken into an excited scramble for their things.
He’d crossed to Louis by the door, then. “Feel free to join us next time, if you’d like? Door’s always open.”
Louis’ eyes were a pale mountain sky. “Not much of a dancer myself.” At Harry’s look he’d added, “although I do love the Spice Girls.”
Harry’d perked up at that. “Oh? Have a favorite?”
“Have always been partial to Posh.” Louis had grinned.
“Why’s that?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
Harry had hummed, feeling brave. They’ve barely spent any alone time together, let alone having had enough dialogue back and forth that might warrant such a bold move. “Gotta feeling you like ‘em sporty, but not quite like the Spice.”
Louis had ducked his eyes, putting his hands up in mock surrender. The last of Harry’s students had been leaving, then, meeting their homeroom teacher in the hall. “Beckham’s always held a special spot in my heart. You’ve caught me, golden boy.”
Harry’s skin had prickled at hearing the name again. He’d turned to wash through some of the dirty brushes that had been left behind by the sink in order to hide his delight. Louis had cocked his hip against the door frame, eyes lingering on Harry’s hands in a fairly noticeable way. There’d been a pause, Harry could feel Louis hesitating, like he hadn’t been sure if he should say more or not.
“You’re wrong, though,” Louis had been softer as he’d spoken, and the quietness that had settled in the classroom with the absence of the students made his words echo in Harry’s head. “For me, they don’t have to be sporty. I quite like ‘em artsy, y’know? Sweet. Golden. A little curly.”
And then, before Harry could even stutter over a breath, could even turn to see the hope and fear glimmering in Louis’ eyes, Louis had ducked out of the doorway, and was gone.
~*~
Harry doesn’t even hesitate when he gets home, after that. He sets his bags down on the daybed, flicks on the kitchen lights, and pulls out two of his muffin tins. Zayn grumbles about keeping it down as he trudges off to his own room.
Harry breathes, staring at the ingredients he has assembled. The only lights he’s kept on is the strand of red chili pepper bulbs hanging above the sink between the cabinets that his songwriter friend Ed got for him from a Mexican restaurant he’d played at somewhere down south. Harry’s fond of them, and the dim lighting calms him. He gets to work.
If Louis wants to make things obvious, Harry can play along, no problem.
~*~
The first thing Louis says is, “how can I be sure that these aren’t just poisoned with acrylics?”
To which Harry gleefully responds, to a chorus of familiar groans, “I used to be a baker.”
Louis takes one of the pink frosted cupcakes with green sprinkles (which are Harry’s favorite, Christ, how did Louis know?) and licks at the frosting with a quirked eyebrow and a poorly hid smile. “Of course you were.”
“Please don’t get him started,” Liam pleads, eyes not leaving his work.
“Step aside, Tommo.” Niall pushes past Louis, much to Harry’s fond surprise but equal displeasure, because Louis takes a finger through his frosting and dabs it on Niall’s ear in protest, but hey, they were having a moment. Niall is nonplussed as he grabs two cupcakes, a heavily iced chocolate one with purple star designs, and one of the strawberry ones with cream cheese frosting. “Harry’s cupcakes only come a couple times a year, so I’ve gotta stock up.” He pats Louis on the head on his way past, heading to stow away his treasure. “Nothing personal, mate.”
Liam creeps over during this exchange, and although he’d deny it to Harry later, Harry sees him take a look back at Zayn who is head down in his journal at the long desk over by the coffee maker. Liam then gives Harry a shy look, and takes two out’ve the box, one plain chocolate and vanilla for himself, and one vanilla with orange creme icing for Zayn, which is, as both Liam and Harry know, Zayn’s favorite.
“Only a couple times a year, huh?” Louis’ voice draws his attention as he sets the box down on the counter which is lined with the staff microwave, various coffee mugs. There are a few reminders printed out and stuck to the above cabinets. “So why today, then?”
Harry turns and makes a small shrug, going for nonchalant but probably ending up somewhere in the hey-you-caught-me-I’m-crushing-on-you-bigtime-please-let-me-go-down-on-you ballpark. “Big occasion, isn’t it? It being your first week here.”
Louis features freeze up, like he’s been paused in real life, but then Harry sees them melt into something he can’t put his finger on. Harry wonders, not for the first time, what Louis’ past is, who he’s known and loved, and who he’s been hurt by. He hopes one day he might get the chance, be trusted to know such things. Before he can try and pin down what Louis’ lip is quirking up means, Louis is speaking.
“It’s everyone’s first week back though, isn’t it?”
Harry gulps and it goes down wrong, which makes it end up being a cough. Which only makes his heart beat louder, harder. “I uh, yeah, I suppose.” He says. But, wait, no. He didn’t go to these lengths to be bashful. Time to make good on his promises to himself. “But no, these are for you. I wanted to formally welcome you, Liam told me you had to move here from a ways away. Wanted to make you feel at home, because I care. About you. Or, um, about all of the staff in general. Right.”
Well, shit. Didn’t quite stick the landing on that one. He’s just hoping Louis gathers from it what he intended. Harry knows that if his words are a river bed, Louis’ a gold digger, searching for something shining through. He’s always been a bit of a slow speaker. But Louis is looking at him like he doesn’t mind searching, maybe. Harry hopes, hopes, hopes.
But why is he hoping, again? This is hopeless, if anything. Louis is looking at him like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Harry wants to tell him that there is no other shoe, he just likes Louis. Just, in all the simplest ways, likes him. Okay, so maybe the part where he wants to make out with him and press him into his bedsheets until they start to smell like them complicates things a bit. Or maybe Louis would press him down, fuck, yeah Harry thinks he would. Maybe Louis would even bite him a little, spank him, whisper “mine” right against his ear until Harry would be panting with it, hips shifting and searching, feeling Louis everywhere around him until-
“Harry, you with me?” Real life Louis is asking.
“Um.” Harry’s brain is still stuck on images that are far too vivid for seven in the morning. “What?”
“I said thank you,” Louis says, a genuine air about him. “For the cupcakes. Really, they’re… it’s more than I could’ve asked for, and you didn’t have to. I’m staying with my sister in town, who’s been living here for years now. But it’s true, I did have to move from Pennsylvania to get here. It means a lot to me, that you did this, honestly. So thank you, Harry, for everything you’ve done.”
“Of course, Louis.” He responds, watching the way Louis licks at the icing again.
Harry would let him. Would let him have anything he wanted.
~*~
Later on in class, Louis’ niece, comes up to him with something clutched in her hands.
“What's up, Lilly?” Harry extends his hand, and Lilly hands the sheet of paper to him. Upon unfolding it he finds that it’s a drawing of himself, with his curly hair drawn like ramen noodles, holding a slightly smaller person’s hand. The smaller person has bright blue circles for eyes, and is wearing soccer shorts with a Nike swoosh on them. It’s Louis.
Harry darts his eyes back down to Lilly, feeling a flush creeping up his neck. “Oh, Lilly, this is lovely… but, may I ask who these people are?” Like he doesn’t already know, but he just needs to hear her intention.
“It’s you and Uncle Lou!” She says charmingly, going on her tiptoes to point at the heart she has drawn above where his and Louis’ stick figure hands are holding. “You’re my favoritist teacher, and Uncle Lou is my most favoritist Uncle, so this heart means love!”
Harry nods like he’s following her, but really his head is just screaming at his heart saying, ‘nice job being obvious, asshole! told you to chill! now look where we are!’. He needs a drink, and maybe a day off, thank god it’s Friday. “I see it now, yes! Would you like me to keep it?”
Lilly nods. “Mhmm, yes please! Uncle Lou already saw it when I drew it last night, he said you’d want it!”
Harry’s head is now preparing to poison his heart’s food, there are murder plans being made, darkness is falling. “Wonderful.” He squeaks.
Lilly nods again, and then heads back to her seat to continue painting her sunflower for their class community garden collage. It’s a first week thing, collages. Harry leans back in his desk chair, clutching the drawing in hand.
At least they’re off to a running start.
~*~
It’s the following Wednesday that he cracks, if only slightly.
During his planning hour he decides to put off looking at his kids’ color wheel worksheets in favor of going for a walk on the playground. It’s early enough that he can still see his breath when he exhales, but not bitter enough that he needs much more than his painting jacket, the one with bulky insulation and smears of different colors up and down the arms.
When he passes the swings he can see the baseball field, and why he came out here in the first place. Louis has got the kids playing kickball, and he’s standing with his back to the playground with his legs set wide. A stance that screams confidence. The kids look like they’re having a blast, and one girl steps up to the plate with a mean look in her eye. The kid at the pitcher’s mound sneers at her in the spirit of competition, and hurls the ball her way. She kicks it so hard her maryjane shoe comes flying off, but it’s forgotten as he run for first base, the ball itself sailing right between the pitcher’s legs. Louis blows his whistle and runs to high five the girl, carrying her shoe to her. Harry can see from here that he’s shaved the scruff off of his cheeks.
Harry shakes his head, turning to head back inside just as Louis turns back in his direction. Why is he out here? He should be inside, doing his own job. Stupid crushes, damn extremely hot men showing up and stealing the wind right out from under him. Seriously, he’s over it, it’s all in the past as of right now.
He’s just passing the jungle gym when hears a muffled snick that makes his head turn. If he weren’t used to seeing those tired eyes, he might’ve missed it and kept walking. But as it is, he spots Zayn easily enough through the slats of the play house. Even if he hadn’t, the lit cigarette butt would’ve caught his eye. He looks like every five year old that’s ever been caught with one hand in the cookie jar.
“Are you serious right now?” He whispers, quickly casting his eyes to the classroom windows that look out on the courtyard. All of them have their blinds drawn, but that doesn’t mean shit given that Zayn is literally smoking up in the middle of the entire goddamn school.
Zayn shyly makes room for him in the crowded space as he ducks down to sit beside him. “I needed a break.” His voice is meek.
“Why not in your car, then?” Harry asks, exasperated.
“Because his car is right next to mine.” Zayn says quietly, sounding miserable.
Harry doesn’t even have to ask the obvious question, so instead he goes for, “what happened?”
Zayn takes a long drag, eyes downcast, throat bobbing with a swallow. “He was singing to them.”
Zayn inhales around his cigarette again, and Harry sighs, moving his hand up so he can rub Zayn’s back soothingly. Liam will join in on Niall’s sing alongs sometimes, if the kids beg enough. Zayn’s kids have music class this hour, so Zayn probably caught the tail end of Niall’s class time.
“His voice is so lovely, Harry, he’s. Jesus. He’s so beautiful.” And Harry might ask if he were drunk right now if the conversation topic was anything different. For Zayn, this is the usual.
“Well, what was he singing?” Harry tries to ask.
“The Itsy Bitsy fucking Spider!” Zayn exclaims, loud enough that Harry jumps and looks around to check that they’re clear.
“Alright, alright,” Harry pats his shoulders. “Just, take a deep breath, yeah? Let’s get you through this, and we can talk later, if you want.”
Zayn sniffles and rubs furiously at his eyes, stamping out his cig and burying it in a thick layer of wood chips. Harry smiles ruefully, gaze wandering through the slats of the walls around them, finding Louis’ figure back where it first was, legs spread and head lifted high.
“What’re you doing out here, then?” Zayn asks, and Harry really should be able to focus on his friend more in this situation, but as it is Louis is bending down to tie a little boy’s shoelaces so… give him a break.
Zayn scoots into Harry peripheral vision then, looking between Louis and Harry’s longing gaze.
“I see.” Zayn says with a nod.
“What?” Harry coughs.
“Just be careful,” Zayn murmurs. “Don’t fall too hard too fast. Promise me, okay? Because I can’t keep up with my own romantic life.” He shakes his head, cupping the back of his neck. “Let alone yours, too.”
Harry nods slowly. “I don’t think it’s like that this time.”
Zayn quirks an eyebrow, because that doesn’t sound like a promise and they both know it. Harry just turns back to Louis, prepared to dust off his pants and head back inside but caught by the way Louis’ profile looks caught in the dawning sun. And it isn’t like the last times, even if knowing so is a slow climb that’s happening in double time. Louis isn’t Samuel from the bar, coming through town every three months on a fishing boat and desperate for a fuck, only to be gone by sunrise. Louis isn’t Charlie, steady but stagnant. Louis isn’t Evan, looking for answers in all the wrong places, thinking Harry was option D. on life’s multiple choice quiz, all of the above.
Louis is something else entirely, and it’s hard for Harry to explain it even to himself. He feels like he’s known Louis before, like he knows him by heart and is just refreshing his memory. There’s a pull, like an anchor line tethering him as the waves rock around him.
Falling is a bit like drowning, he thinks.
~*~
Niall suggests the trip two weeks later, on a Tuesday.
“Liam, you look like you need to get away from all this.” Niall says.
Liam, the stressed and half professionally dressed man in question looks up from his third cup of coffee, finger still pointed to his reading spot on the newest school board proposal. Liam’s about to speak when Zayn slowly but surely put his palm lightly on Liam’s forearm, looking at Niall. Harry raising his eyebrows and catches Louis’ eyes from across the lounge, Louis raises his own in return, and it seems he’s a quick study when it comes to their little circle of events and unfoldings. Maybe Harry’ll have to fill him in on a few details.
Then again, maybe Harry shouldn’t trust someone he’s only met a month ago with his closest friend’s secrets.
“Does this have to do with that RV your brother gave you, Niall?” Zayn says, sounding very much like a father would speaking to their child who has just been written up for detention again.
“Not an RV.” Niall sets his mug down with a precise set to his jaw. The not-RV is a sensitive subject. Harry has witnessed firsthand how much Niall cares for it, washing it in the summer, checking its tire pressure monthly. Although the interior is still riddled with various nicknacks and clutter. “An Airstream, a luxury, streamlined model, which I am willing to share with the four of you,” he gives Louis a pointed look as if to confirm this. Louis’ eyes light up and Harry really, really likes him. Likes seeing him being included into their circle so openly.
There’s a silence that seems hesitant, waiting for one of them to move in a direction.
“Well, you know I’m game.” Harry speaks up. “Just would have to set up a sitter for Champion, and I’d be set.”
“Champion?” Louis asks.
“My cat,” Harry smiles at him. “When I left my door open while I was moving into my apartment he snuck in,” he loves this story. Has a picture of it hanging in his classroom. “And was just sitting in my kitchen, like, eating out of my box of-”
“Wheaties,” Niall supplies. “Because they’re the breakfast of champions, and Harry ended up keeping him, long story short. Anyway, back to my not-RV,” he looks at Zayn, bouncing slightly. “Harry’s in, who else?”
“Sounds like fun?” Louis says. “But… where are we going with it?”
“Fort Stevens,” Niall tells him. “The National Park, it’s only a twenty minute drive, and we can watch the sunset and roast hotdogs and shit. C’mon, guys,” he turns to plea to Liam and Zayn who look every bit the mother and father of the group that they should. “Louis’s in, Harry’s in, I’m in. I can’t keep her in my backyard forever, she’s gotta get out and see the world.”
Zayn turns to Louis with a harmless but judging glance, one that turns into a fond forfeit when he turns to see Harry’s urging expression.
“Alright, I’m in,” Zayn says. “But only for Stella.”
Stella, otherwise known as Niall’s not-RV, named after Stella Artois. The queen of beers in Niall’s opinion. Liam gives a sigh, glancing over at Zayn quickly, ducking his eyes as he knows that his answer will only confirm Zayn and he’s orbit around one another. “For Stella,” he says finally.
So they start to set up plans. Harry figures it’s only a matter of time before they’re out in the wild and he’s trying to seduce Louis with his manly prowess.
~*~
“Harry, if you’re going to pitch the tent, you’re going to have to pitch the damn tent, man.” Niall is saying, but all Harry can hear is the crinkling of the instruction manual under his foot as he attempts to pound one of the tent stakes into the cold earth.
“He’s just going to have to learn in his own way,” Liam says quietly from where he stands putting the finishing touches on his own tent, which is already completely set up. No wonder he’s Principal Payne, sensible, unbearably honest in most cases, and the youngest self proclaimed woodsman Harry’s ever come across.
They’d all drawn straws for who got to take the spare bed in Niall’s Airstream, and Zayn had ended up winning. So, the three of them remaining were left to fight against the elements. Or rather, these flimsy as fuck poles that don’t want to cooperate. Harry’s loving all of these Boy Scout antics, he truly is.
“Harry do you want some help?” Louis calls, voice sounding amused but sincere. Harry wants to bury himself under his covers and hide his morbid embarrassment. He should be able to do at least this if he wants to impress Louis in the slightest.
Niall’s just come back out of the trailer, beer in one hand and cell phone in the other. He makes eye contact with Harry in his moment of distress and outright cackles, eyes flickering between Harry’s pout and Louis’ concerned glances, and takes a goddamn photo of Harry’s demise.
“Dude, you’re gonna be sleeping with the bugs at this rate.” Niall’s still laughing through his broken gasps.
Liam, who’s been having a conversation with Zayn during all of this, breaks away with a sigh, looking to Harry, who is currently on his last leg with trying to fit one of his poles into the stake hole that goes with.
“Harry, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” Liam says. Zayn sips from his bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade and turns to go to the fire pit where he’s been gathering sticks and wood. Harry doesn’t miss the twitch of a smirk he sees on Zayn’s lips, though, the bastard. Harry can do this, he can be amongst the well accomplished men of the woods. He can totally just, like, if only this pole thing would cooperate.
Louis has crossed into his line of vision, squatting down a few feet away with a small smile on his lips that Harry doesn’t know how to take. “Harry,” he says as Harry wipes his sweating hand off on his jeans, going back to it. He’s almost got it in, just a few more inches. “Babe, it’s okay if you can’t get it, just let me help you-”
Three things happen then. Harry hears and processes that Louis just called him babe. Secondly, Harry’s tent frame breaks. And for the grand finale, the pole he’d been working on snaps backwards and hits him across the cheek with enough force to send him onto his back.
“Christ,” he grumbles, feeling a definite bruise where his head collided with the softened earth.
“Harry, shit!” Louis’ voice is scrambling as he rushes over to Harry’s side. “Are you alright?”
Niall’s cackle, which had died down, has now picked up again into a hiccuping pitch. Liam shakes his head, laughing a bit under his breath as he says something that sounds to Harry like, “I’ll get the First Aid kit.” Zayn is still at the fire pit at the edge of Harry’s blurry vision, but he’s turned around with a concerned arch to his eyebrow.
Louis, however, is cupping Harry’s cheek and looking at him with a kind of light in his eyes that Harry must be imagining. He must’ve hit his head too hard, he’s still reeling. Louis is beautiful, kind, and sweet. But Louis is also gorgeously snarky, bitter in the mornings, and energetic. Harry might love him. Which, well. Definitely hit his head too hard, then.
“Ouch.” Harry intones. Maybe that one word says a lot about his fall, though. His physical fall, of course, not the part where he’s falling so fast and out of control into love that his lungs are shaking in his chest. Screaming for air, even though he’s tumbling through the atmosphere. He’s headed for the ground without a parachute, without any will to stop his descent, without a prayer. He takes a breath.
“Yeah, ouch.” Louis laughs on a huff. “Scared me, Harry. Christ. Thought it’d gotten your eye or something.”
Harry swallows and blinks in response, showing Louis that he’s got both eyes and they’re all for him.
“You’re bleeding, a bit,” Louis shakes his head again.
“Can hardly feel it,” Harry tells him, moving his hand to touch the wind-worn bones of Louis’ slim wrist. “Can feel this, though.”
Louis bites his bottom lip, the hand in Harry’s grasp moving to intertwine their fingers, his free hand moving to outline the shape of Harry’s jaw. “What am I going to do with you, golden boy?” Louis says softly, and his touch is light where he strokes over the curve of Harry’s brow with his thumb.
Harry could live in this moment, could swim in it, even. It feels thick, tangible, real. Louis’s here in his space, looking down at him, and Harry’s heart is knocking on his ribcage, calling, he wants you! while his head echoes back with don’t risk what you already have!
The moment is broken when Liam comes to Harry’s other side, Band-Aids and ointments in hand. Louis doesn’t let go of his hand until Harry’s back on his feet.
When Zayn asks if Harry wants to share the twin bunk with him in the trailer, Louis beats them both to the punch.
“He can stay in mine with me,” he says. Harry balks and feels his stomach clench. Louis then turns to him, a little quieter, “if you’d like?”
Harry just nods, and reaches for his hand again.
~*~
“Question time.” Louis says, breaking the contented silence.
They’re all sitting around the fire, watching the flames settle down against the pitch of the darkened sky. Dinner’s long since over, s’mores still sweet on their lips. Niall is lounging on a foldout chair, eyes alight. Zayn is leaning back against the horizontal line of a pine log, shoulder pressed against Liam’s thigh where he sits above him. They’ve been swapping heavy glances all night, and Harry just hopes they can get it right this time around.
Louis is sat close to Harry, almost near enough that their ankles are brushing. The smallest but most infuriating bit of air stretches between them. Harry scratches at the seam of his jeans to distract himself while he listens.
“Go on,” Zayn says with a nod. Harry’s happy to see that the ice Zayn had had for Louis initially has begun to fade. This weekend is doing them all some good.
“I’ve been here for almost four months now, and I know that Niall collects vintage pinup calendars, I know that Liam likes to admire his own biceps when he thinks nobody is looking, and I know that you, Zayn, you are a massive comics nerd.” Zayn nods, only ducking his head slightly, Liam huffs an affronted breath before Zayn places his palm on his bare knee over the tear in his jeans. Liam juts his chin out hilariously, but says nothing. Niall just shrugs. Louis continues, “but I don’t know where you all come from, how you came to Astoria.”
“Liam also drives an old yellow VW Beetle named Doris on the weekends.” Niall says, out of nowhere.
Liam can’t contain himself at that. “You said you’d never tell!”
Niall just shakes his head, doing his best to look somber, and Harry is laughing his ass off as it is. “I’m sorry, dude, but I’ve kept that bottled up for so long and I couldn’t pass this opportunity up.”
“Is he serious?” Louis is laughing, too.
“He only drives it on the weekends,” Niall says. “I only know because I caught him polishing it when I stopped over once.”
“Niall!” Liam shrieks, slightly.
“Oh my god,” Harry thinks now is a great moment to capture, pulling out his polaroid to snap a picture of all of them laughing together. Then he's on his back laughing, seeing the stars through the branches of the trees.
“Doris?” Zayn asks, and Liam looks absolutely miserable. Seeing Liam’s helpless expression in the face of Zayn’s questioning look, Niall breaks his composure and chokes on his beer.
“It was the name of the woman who owned it before me,” Liam tells him. “Seemed only right to, you know, name it after her, after she passed.”
“Why on earth do you have it, though?” Louis wonders, and they’re off to a roaring start as far the whole get-to-know-one-another thing is concerned.
Liam rubs a hand down his face, shoulders slumped in defeat. Zayn leans a little further into his side, and at that Liam shows his eyes again. Zayn gives him a smile.
“I like having it because I feel more positive driving it,” Liam shrugs. “It was a gift to myself, maybe a bit embarrassing, yeah, but.”
There’s a beat, and then.
“I think it’s sweet.” Zayn says, and that’s that.
Niall’s still laughing heartily, though, and Harry’s chest is still rumbling with giggles. It takes them a bit longer to settle down before Harry gets his wits about him and sees that Zayn and Louis have been having a short conversation about The Mystery Machine from Scooby Doo. Niall takes a quick sip of his beer, and Harry waits until the two boy’s chatter has subsided naturally.
“Maybe you should tell us about yourself first, eh Tommo?” Liam says from across the fire, looking a little more settled.
Louis shrugs, “yeah, alright.”
Harry feels a flicker inside his chest, something curious.
“I was born in England as well,” he looks to Harry, whose lips curl quietly. “My mom had a pretty messy divorce with my birth dad, and we ended up, my four sister and I, moving around quite a bit while she was looking for a steady job. We lived in France for a few years, even. She eventually got a good gig in Montana when I was about eleven, and she’s still there now while my younger sisters are still growing up.
“We had a rough go of it for a while, but we landed on our feet all in all. My sister Charlotte, we call her Lottie, moved here about a year ago after she finished her associate’s degree. She heard about the job opening and invited me to crash on her and her husband’s spare bed. I landed the job, and here I am.”
He pauses, picking at a loose thread on his sweater.
“Although, to be honest, she knew I needed to get away from home just like she had.” He takes a swig from his drink. “She helped me spread my wings and get on my feet.”
Harry thinks Louis must feel something for the way he’d gone away from his mom, which explains why he’s looking downcast. He takes a second to process Louis’ story, and makes the executive decision to move on from sad things in general.
“Shall the rest of us go around in a circle, then, boys?” He asks the group at large.
They all nod, and Harry clears his throat, looking back to Louis’ waiting eyes.
“Well, I’m Harry, I’m 24, and you already know I was born in England.” Louis nods. “My Mom moved my sister and I here when I was about nine, her boss offered her a better job over here and she had just gone through the divorce with my Dad, so it made sense. We moved to Santa Rosa, down in California. Gemma took it pretty hard, but she’s long since forgiven Mom by now.” Harry looks around the circle, seeing that everyone is looking to him, some of them know bits of his story, from the pictures in his classroom or from hashes of conversations they’ve had. He doesn’t think anyone but Zayn knows the whole thing. He wants to share it, though, not just for Louis, but for all of them. “She joined the Air Force when she turned 18, and she’s stationed in Kunsan in South Korea now.” He clears his throat, talking about her always makes him thick-throated.
Louis nudges his ankle with his own, what looks to be an encouraging quirk to his lips filling Harry’s stomach with warmth. God, he’ll never be able to say that he was ready for Louis. He’s a hurricane, a tidal wave blocking out the sun, turning the blue sky into crystalline shades of love. Harry sees something in him, a glimmer of lives past and ghosts that have been quietly haunting his nights, and he isn’t afraid in the slightest. Instead, he’s enraptured, wanting to know more, to be closer. Louis is waves on rocks, currents dragging him out to sea. Harry doesn’t want to resurface.
“Anyway,” he goes on. “I always loved children, and when I ended up at UCLA I took a few art classes and decided why the hell not? I’ll become an art teacher.” He laughs at how casual it sounds. “Then I met Niall my Senior year, he was renting the apartment right across from mine and my boyfriend’s at the time.” He adds the later half of that sentence for clarity, flickering his eyes over to Louis’ again. He doesn’t want anything else left up to question on his end. Louis’ eyes shimmer with something quick and hot, but maybe it was just the reflection of the fire. “He was in education as well, and he found out that this little school up in Oregon was looking for a music and an art instructor. Just the perfect amount of distance from home, we both thought, so we drove up for interviews and the rest is, well.”
He looks to Niall, smiling.
“History,” Niall says with a smirk that’s full of memories.
Harry looks back to Louis, who’s been quiet throughout his slow tale. There’s something playing over his features that Harry wants to linger on, but he’s distracted by the way the firelight catches Louis’ chin, turning the unshaved scruff on his cheeks a honeyed hue. The softness of his wine red jumper, how it’s big enough that the sleeves fall over his knuckles. His light wash, grass stained jeans that hug his thighs, his bare feet that are digging mindlessly into the cool dirt.
Harry doesn’t know when he’ll hit the ground, it just keeps coming at him with a blinding sense of clarity.
Niall leans forward in his chair and takes a swig from his bottle of Stella. “Right, then, guess it’s my turn.”
Louis slowly breaks away from Harry’s gaze, turning to listen. After a moment longer spent tracing the line of Louis’ ankles with his eyes, Harry turns as well.
Niall tells them about Los Angeles. About growing up in the heart of the city, his Dad owning a food truck and how he spent his summers going up and down the coast. How his Mom worked with a record company for a short while, and how he and his brother got the damaged recording instruments. How they’d learned to play them together, and the time they spent loving music together. How it had inspired him to want to teach children that same sense of joy.
Liam tells them about growing being born in and growing up in Astoria, about joining the Marines out’ve high school. How he’d gotten through it, but couldn’t make a career of it because, “The discipline was one thing, but I couldn’t look someone else in the eye and say it’s their last day, without knowing why, without true reason, you know?” He stumbles over explaining himself, but makes it through. He tells them about going to night classes while he spent his days working the shipyards in town. About how he was hired on by his ship captain’s wife, their former principal, as vice principal, and then as principal a year later.
“It’s all about who you know, huh?” Niall says, hearing all this for the first time just like Harry.
Liam shrugs. Zayn speaks, looking up at Liam’s open face. “The captain saw him save a kid from getting crushed between the side of a ship and the dock.” Harry feels his eyes widen, and Louis leans forward beside him.
“Guess he trusted me after that,” Liam scratches at the back of his neck.
“‘Course he did,” Zayn says, gentle. “Who wouldn’t?”
There’s a long moment, in which all they can hear is the crackling of the fire and the sounds of the forest around them. Harry finds it interesting that Zayn knows this about Liam, but hadn’t known about Liam’s secret car. Liam has always been such a careful person, protective of himself. Zayn’s begun to slip through the cracks, though, slowly but surely.
Harry looks to his left and finds Louis looking at them with a curve to his lips. He must see Harry in his peripheral vision, because his gaze slides over and his smile only grows. Harry holds it, feeling it warm him even more so than the fire, before looking back to see that Liam has slid down so that he’s resting against the log as well, right beside Zayn. Zayn’s whispering something, voice light over the air, and Liam is looking down at their interwoven fingers.
Quietly Niall gets up from his chair, throwing Harry and Louis a look, nodding at them before smiling once in Zayn and Liam’s direction. He heads for the trailer, leaving the four of them behind. Harry agrees with Niall’s intentions, and reaches for Louis’ hand, pressing a finger to his lips, saying shh and pointing to Louis’ - no, their - tent.
Louis leads the way, and they leave the stories of their pasts, behind.
~*~
“Zayn’s from Seattle,” Harry tells Louis as they settle into their sleeping bags.
Louis has his hoodie up around the frame of his face, green, soft looking material making Harry’s fingers twitch, wanting to touch. Louis wiggles around in his sleeping bag to face Harry. He looks so small, and Harry wants to hook their calves around one another and rest his forehead against his. Wants to whisper honest words with shaken lips.
“But I guess that’s a story for another night,” he shrugs, finding his way into his own bag. They’re both bundled up in cold weather sleeping gear, making it difficult to be anywhere near agile.
Louis chuckles. “Guess so,” he scratches at his nose. “I’d say I hope they don’t catch colds out there, but somehow I think they’re managing to keep warm.”
Harry laughs now, too. After a moment, their shared amusement dies down into comfortable but pregnant silence.
“What were they like before… whatever it is that happened? Were they like this?” Louis asks.
“Before Liam got promoted, you mean.” Harry tells him. “And no, not like this, not this careful. They came so close to, I dunno, really falling for one another. But Zayn was afraid of what Liam thought of being his boss, afraid of the change. And Liam is scared of Zayn at the best of times.”
“Scared of him?”
“Fucking gone for him,” Harry tucks his palm around the the curve of his own neck, trying to warm his fingers. Louis’ eyes track the motion. “But terrified of him at the same time. Zayn was onto Liam long before Liam was onto Zayn.”
Louis pauses, swallowing. “Do you think they’re in love?”
Harry doesn’t know how to take that question, what to think of Louis asking it. He says what he knows to be true, at least. “I couldn’t tell you that, I mean, right now they’ve got too much to figure out, I don’t know if they even know for themselves.”
Louis pauses again, longer this time. Harry waits, wondering. “Have you ever been in love?”
Harry feels his limbs go a bit numb. “What?”
“Shit, sorry,” Louis tucks his knees up closer, curling his body in his sleeping bag. “Sorry if that’s too personal, or whatever, I just.”
Louis cuts himself off, and breaks away from Harry’s gaze. He isn’t usually like this, second guessing, quiet. Harry only takes a minute or so, collecting himself, before he inches his sleeping bag across the distance between them, closing the gap. They’re inches apart now, limbs still wrapped in down packed material and blankets. Harry sneaks his hand out and reaches out to touch Louis’ cheek, the same way Louis had for him earlier. Louis’ eyes meet his again, but they’re reserved. Harry feels him go still under his touch.
“No,” Harry says, as quiet as Louis’ breathing. “I haven’t.”
Louis leans into his palm minutely, like snow melting, responding to Harry’s words, his touch. Fuck it, he’s all in.
“But I’m starting to know what it feels like.” He can feel his heartbeat in his fingers, can feel the warm blush that pools in Louis’ cheeks suddenly. There’s hope fluttering in his chest, and a lightness in his fingertips.
“What does it feel like?” Louis whispers, eyes searching, hand coming up to curl around Harry’s wrist, holding.
Harry breathes out. “Golden.”
Louis bites his lip, muttering something sharp. Then he’s struggling his arms out of his sleeping bag entirely, wrapping them around Harry’s shoulders, leaning in and yes. Their mouths slot together like waves to a shore, and Louis tastes sweet, smells like smoke from the fire, and feels like coming home. He kisses Louis back as soon as he can recover from the reality that this is happening, that he is actually, truly, feeling Louis’ tongue against his.
“Harry,” Louis pants, quick.
“God,” Harry breathes out in the brief seconds that their lips part, voice sounding like a revelation to his own ears. “Louis.”
Louis breathes with him, nodding on a delighted exhale, and they’re falling too fast to even see the sun.
Harry’s already overheating in the confines of his sleeping bag, fingers aching to touch everywhere, feel everything. He groans in equal halves of frustration and pleasure, as Louis’ fingers have found their way into his hair, tugging just enough to leave him breathless.
“Baby, let me just,” Louis is saying, exhaling hotly over Harry’s cheek.
At the same, Harry’s panting, “Lou, please.”
Together, they rush to change their positions. Louis struggles out’ve his confines completely, and Harry gets his arms free and sits up. Louis looks at him from where he’s gotten free, their gazes tangling and tripping over seconds that feel like hours, like eternities. Their frantic pace slows, and it’s this moment right here, as Louis takes his hand again, tangling their fingers, that Harry swears he hears music.
He hears violins in the curve of Louis’ neck. A swell of cellos and a heavy line of base in the turn of his jaw as he leans in to kiss Harry again. There’s a surging, a crescendo of a piano as he feels Louis’ thighs come to rest over his own, straddling him into the bed pad. Louis slots their hips together, and the bunched material of Harry’s sleeping bag only adds to the friction between their thinly clothed cocks. Louis gasps when he shifts up and feels Harry beneath him, Harry moans into the juncture of Louis’ shoulder, hands coming up to cup Louis’ hips.
“Louis,” he tries. “I’m, you feel, fuck.”
Louis moans at that, fingers tightening around Harry’s as he grinds his hips lightly. Testing the waters. They both shudder with it, and Harry hears Louis let out a breathy laugh.
“This feels,” Louis swallows audibly, eyes wild. “Harry, what do you - is this okay?”
Louis hips haven’t stopped churning, but there’s a note of uncertainty, concern in his voice. Harry’s pulse is a jackhammer and a crashing wave all at once.
“Yes, yes,” his fingers hold Louis’ waist even tighter on their own accord. “Anything you want, just, anything.”
Louis kisses him at that, hands coming up to hold Harry’s jaw. Harry’s hands hold him tight, pressing them together at every possible line. Louis’ lips are insistent and open, and Harry feels nothing but more of the same. Louis’ legs tighten around Harry’s hips, and they’re as close as can be. Harry’s mind stutters over the thought that if not for their haste to feel one another like this, if there weren’t layers separating their bare skin, he might be inside Louis right now.
“Just like this, then,” Louis pants. His ass is dragging over the hard line of Harry’s cock, pressure perfectly enveloping him as the material of the sleeping bag shifts with them perfectly. “God, you look gorgeous.”
The space between their mouths is miniscule, he can feel Louis’ words like they’re his own. And they are, if he could form syllables with his kiss-swollen lips, he’d be washing Louis with words like beautiful and perfect.
Harry snakes a hand between their close stomachs, fingers searching, eyes glued headily to Louis’ lips. He finds what he’s searching for, palming over the thick line of Louis over his sweatpants. Louis shudders in his arms, hips working to a new rhythm, arching into Harry’s touch like he’s starved for it. Harry wonders what sex was before this, before Louis. He can’t even spare a second to remember.
“Oh my god,” Harry breathes his slow words against Louis’ adam’s apple, because Louis’ dick twitches against his hand. Louis, it would seem, can only respond with a whimper, hips still working, but faster now. “Holy shit.”
“Harry, I’m already,” Louis’ voice dips into a moan as Harry rubs up the length of his shaft, fingers circling at the head, rubbing the cotton fabric against Louis’ bare skin. Harry can feel that he’s wet underneath the dry material, and it only makes him harder, bucking his hips up to meet the line of Louis’ ass. “I’m close already, shit.”
Harry moans, hips quick, breathing ragged. “Yeah, Lou.”
Louis leans in with a whine, fitting their mouths together as Harry’s left hand palms the meat of Louis’ ass, fingers digging in. He feels Louis’ thighs clench around his hips, and drags the bunched material down over the curve of muscle, leaving Louis’ ass bare for him. Louis responds with a harsh breath, hips rocking hard enough to send Harry onto his back again. Louis follows, landing on his chest. Their cocks are still fitted together, but the falling motion sends Harry’s grip skittering from the safe area of Louis’ cheek to the crease of his hole.
“Holy fuck,” Harry whisper shouts, feeling the puckered ring of muscle flutter under his touch.
“Fuck, Harry,” Louis whines out, voice absolutely wrecked. He pushes back into Harry’s hand just as Harry’s other hand winds it’s way under the front of his sweatpants, circling the head of his cock, and he comes. All over Harry’s fist, spurting hot and fast, and absolutely fucking perfect.
Harry’s breathing hasn’t slowed in the slightest, and now he’s desperate. He searches for Louis’ lips with his own, getting his come-stained hand free from the material of Louis’ pants. He messily unzips the material of his sleeping bag, and gets a hand on himself where he’s still pressed tightly against Louis. The glide is incredible, as Louis’ come only makes him even more wet than he already was.
Louis’ lips finally respond to his own as he comes back into himself, and Harry makes a brief note away from the feeling of his hand on his dick, feeling Louis’ hand against the material of the sleeping bag, where his thighs are. If Harry were able to get away from the fact that he’s hard as hell with a lapful of a gorgeous, orgasm pliant man that he’d very much like to call his, then he might wonder what he’s doing.
Then Louis’ hand joins his on his cock, just as wet as Harry’s, and he realizes that Louis has palmed the rest of his come that had dripped onto his thighs. They’re both jacking Harry off with Louis’ slick come. Fucking hell.
“Come on, baby,” Louis breathes into him. “You feel incredible, so big and all mine, come for me.”
Harry shoots his load just like that, with Louis’ lips against his, and both of their hands working him through it. Louis called him his, how could he not?
“Beautiful,” Louis says, like he’s saying it to himself as he watches Harry’s cock twitch in their hands. Harry’s eyes are all for Louis, though, his midnight stained silhouette, his rose petal lips that look like they’ve been crushed with red berries. All because of Harry.
Louis thumbs a bit at the head, causing Harry’s hips to jolt with how sensitive he is, but he kind of loves it. It’s a thought for another time, he supposes. Louis looks back at him minutes later, cheeks still flushed.
“I feel like I’ve known you my whole life,” Harry tells him. Somewhere in between those words, there’s three more.
Louis’ features are soft, now. Always soft for Harry. “I feel like I’ve known you in all of mine. Every life. Every single one.”
Harry thinks that the thing about falling is that you don’t know anything but the rushing wind. That, and the enveloping certainty of the ground waiting for you at the bottom, saying welcome home.
~*~
The following morning, Niall stumbles out’ve the trailer to start up the morning fire only to find that the wilderness smells like sex. The zipper of Liam’s tent is half open, and through it he sees Liam sitting up with Zayn’s head on his chest, running his hands through Zayn’s hair. Liam’s fingers linger over the curve of Zayn’s neck, and Niall sees him lean down to kiss Zayn’s forehead sweetly. He quickly ducks out’ve sight, feeling his chest lighten. It’s about time.
Louis’ tent is zipped shut, but he figures that all things considered, that ship could sail itself. He pats himself on the back for his own success. Two birds with one stone. The weekend is already a success, and it’s only Saturday. He’s a fucking genius.
He sets to work, lighting the fire, humming as he goes. The sun shines through the colored foliage above, and he figures that must be a good sign. All told, he’s feeling a song coming on. Something about sticking together, making things work. Never forgetting where you belong.
~*~
The following Monday, a herd of students gather at Harry’s classroom door during his planning hour. They’re all jumping and yelling excitedly, and he can’t understand a single one of them. He crosses to them from his desk, confused but very amused by their energy.
“What’s all this fuss about?” He laughs as some of them tug on his jeans, trying to pull him, while others are jumping on the other side of the hallway and pointing out the double doors that lead to the playground.
“Mr. Harry! Mr. Harry!” A familiar voice squeaks. It’s Lilly, Louis’ niece, which. Louis. God, his lips instantly turn up into a small smile. But wait, he needs to focus on the task at hand.
“Yes, Lilly, what is it?” He asks, bending down.
“Come quick, Uncle Lou has a surprise for you!” She grabs his hand, already leading him. He follows easily, because what in the world. The other kids push their way out past the doors, sprinting ahead of them towards the baseball field. Harry can’t make out much, but he can see a few small, jumping figures holding balloons as they notice him making his way towards them. Louis is there, fidgeting with his hands and Harry can’t understand why until Lilly and he are close enough. He stops in his tracks and gasps to himself.
Right there, written in field chalk in the earth of the baseball field, are words that read: HARRY WILL YOU BE MY BOYFRIEND?
Harry is standing stock still, happiness bubbling under his toes, eyes damp, and fingers itching to hold Louis and scream his answer. Louis is standing just on the edge of the field, looking nervous and so incredibly lovely that Harry could melt. Maybe he already has.
“Well?” A loud voice says expectantly. It’s Lilly, looking up at him with her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised.
Harry’s eyes swing back to Louis, and all he can do is nod slowly, then rapidly, before his lips are spilling over. “Yes.” He says, he looks down to meet Lilly’s gaze, he’d said it so quietly he knows that she couldn’t have heard him. “Yes,” he tells her, and then he’s crossing to Louis, running to him and colliding with him, kissing him for all to see. (Maybe it’s public indecency to do this in front of their students, but somehow he thinks Liam will understand, given that he caught him and Zayn making out in the staff bathroom this morning.) Louis kisses him back, hugging him tight, fingers fisting Harry’s shirt.
“Yes?” Louis asks when they part.
“Yes,” Harry tells him, and the kids holding the balloons are whooping, running around and celebrating for them.
Louis breathes out, fingers tightening in Harry’s shirt as he draws back to look him in the eyes. There’s frost on the ground, but between the two of them it feels like spring, and Louis feels like summer in his arms. The sun beams through the thin morning clouds, turning everything golden.