Archive of Our Own

“Are there no good ones left?” Louis grumbles, kicking off his shoes and slamming the door behind him. It shuts close, though it’s no resounding slam, so he opens it again and closes it with more force. The resulting thud causes Liam and Niall to jump.

Much better.

“Bad date?” Liam asks, sympathetically. He carefully places a bookmark in between the pages of his economic text book and closes it. He moves aside the rest of his notes to make space for Louis on the sofa.

“Not yet,” Niall holds his hand up as a physical enforcement to keep Louis quiet, then using the same palm, he pushes his glasses up his nose. His back is to the boys, so it’s easy to glimpse his laptop screen, open to a complicated Excel spreadsheet. It’s only the second week of classes and Niall is head over heels in love with his Sports and Entertainment Data Analytics course; he’s already approached the professor to assist in research.

Such a nerd.

Louis steals some soggy chips off the plate in front of Liam and waits for Niall to finish up a formula. He’s bursting with the need to rant but he’s kind enough to allow Niall some peace to concentrate. Besides, he wants all the attention when he begins complaining.

It’s another 30 seconds before Niall hits a key with extreme flourish and turns in his chair to face Louis.

“Hit me,” he says.

Louis braces himself for his tirade, straightening out his jumper and flicking his fringe from his eyes.

“Where do I begin?” He holds up his hand, counting off offenses on his fingers. “First of all, he was rude as fuck – didn’t hold the door open for me, even though my hands were full - made a comment about me being short – “

Liam makes an affronted noise at that. Everyone knows not to comment on Louis’ height.

“ – blabbered for ten minutes on how males in skinny jeans are an abomination to fashion – “

“You’re wearing skinny jeans,” Niall observes.

“Exactly!” Louis raises his voice. It drops when he says darkly, waggling his last two fingers. “I’m not done yet. He then said, after I told him I’m majoring in journalism, that it’s a dying industry that holds no standard for writing. That these days anyone and their dog could get published. That journalism is a waste of time, intellect, and money.”

Louis’ panting with how worked up he is, how offended he still is from his date’s words. Liam’s just as outraged, letting out a stream of expletives and threats.

“And,” Louis exhales a puff, “he had the audacity to ask if I was ready for the ‘fuck of my life,’ after I paid.”

“Is that all?” Niall asks, demeanor calm and seemingly unaffected. The stiffness in his spine says otherwise.

Louis casts him a careful glance, and then goes in for the kill. “He said the Backstreet Boys were a dark spot in pop history.”

Niall’s back somehow manages to get straighter, his eyes flashing dangerously. He cracks his knuckles and turns back to his laptop.

“What’s his name?” he asks, tone void of emotion, eerily ominous.

“You sound like a mobster, ready to order a kill,” Liam jokes.

“My uncle’s the head of the Irish mafia,” Niall slowly rotates his head to Liam, blinking owlishly at him, “Didn’t you know that?”

“I-I-“ Liam stutters.

Niall holds his look for a beat longer before breaking out into a fit of cackles. Liam throws a chip at him in return.

“I just wanted to look him up on Facebook,” Niall explains, once his laughter has subsided. “He’s probably dumb enough to have a public account. I’ll grab a picture of him, circulate it with something embarrassing. Maybe hack into his other social media accounts and show his true colours.”

Louis sighs, “Don’t. He’s not worth it. I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

For the first time that night, Niall looks offended, “I’m skilled enough that I won’t get caught.” But he abandons his laptop and chair and moves to sit beside Louis, squeezing into the minimal space between him and the armrest.

“I know,” Louis says, absently scratching Niall’s head, which is now pillowed against his chest, “We’re better than that though. We’re not going to stoop to his level. Besides, cyberbullying isn’t cool.”

They sit in silence, watching a blob of ketchup fall off a chip and land onto the table. It splatters red across the white surface. Much like Louis’ heart.

“Like I said, are there no good ones left?” Louis repeats his opening question.

“Of course,” Liam says, voice strained as he stretches his torso to wipe off the ketchup. “You’ve just not been on that many dates.”

“Since we moved back two weeks ago,” Louis counters, “Brian, who sent me a dick pic before I even went out with him. Bad mistake. Nick, who couldn’t hold a conversation to save his life. Alexander, who spent the entire date spouting history facts to support his deep rooted belief that the French are better than us. He was British, by the way. Howard, who flirted with the waiter the entire time. And now Kevin.”

He heaves a breath. Niall’s looking at him oddly.

“What?” Louis asks.

“Did you know that you were dating your way through the Backstreet Boys? Maybe that’s why the guy hated them so much.”

“What?”

“Brian, Nick, AJ, Howie and Kevin,” Niall raises his eyebrows expectantly.

Louis wails, “My life is a joke. That’s it. I’m meant to be single for the rest of my life. I won’t have a wedding, there won’t be any babies. No grandkids. It’ll just be me and my ninety cats, all alone. I’ll probably lose my hair and get wrinkles. The only saving grace will be my arse.”

Liam offers him a half-eaten chip and smiles sympathetically, “You do have an amazing arse.”

“Let’s get some ice cream and wine and watch Love Actually so I can wallow,” Louis sniffs, sadly.

“Nuh-uh,” Niall deflects. He moves his hand toward the back of the sofa, and a second later, Louis feels him groping around his arse.

“I know I’m sad and miserable, but I cannot be that pathetic that you’re offering me a pity fuck,” Louis bites out and wriggles away from Niall’s grabby hands.

“Oh fuck off,” Niall mutters, coming away with Louis’ phone. He expertly unlocks it even though Louis just changed his password yesterday.

“I’m setting you up with a Tinder account.”

“NO!” Louis yells, lunging back toward Niall to grab his phone.

“Hold him back, Liam,” Niall orders, opening up the apps store and downloading Tinder.

Liam’s arms circle around Louis’ waist and hold him still. Louis struggles but can’t get away. It’s not his fault - Liam’s goal in life has been to rival Batman’s strength.

“Why must you do this to me?” Louis whines pathetically into Liam’s sleeve.

“Why are you so against Tinder?” Liam asks.

“It’s a sign of weakness! That I can’t get a boy through my own charm and personality and instead have to rely on perfectly lit selfies.”

“But you look good,” Liam says, clearly confused.

“Where’s the romance, Li? I don’t want my ‘how-did-you-meet’ story to be, ‘Oh, we both swiped right.’ Where’s the old-fashioned love of Jane Austen? Where I’d see my true love across an extravagantly decorated ballroom and our eyes would meet. We’d first avoid each other, too shy to speak, but then –

“But then you’d realise that being gay in that time was frowned upon and you couldn’t be together. It’s 2013. Grow up and use technology,” Niall says, thrusting Louis’ phone into his hands. “Plenty of people meet through online dating sites and apps. It’s the way things are done, and it makes sense.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Louis grumbles, staring at the red flame of the Tinder icon.

He opens up the app with Niall and Liam watching over either shoulder. For every semi interesting person he passes, he sees even more douches with half naked mirror selfies.

“You want me to date them?” Louis asks, aghast.

“No,” Niall says, swiping left, past a couple more abs and flexed biceps. Finally, he lands on an exquisitely good looking guy, cheekbones sharp and brows thick, all to emphasise the steely look in his amber eyes. His black hair is combed back in a quiff with a loose strand falling into his thick lashes.

“Fuck me, he’s beautiful,” Louis breathes, moving to swipe right.

“No, uh – you,” Liam quickly reaches over and swipes left.

“What the fuck you do that for?” Niall yells in horror, staring now at a Justin, who’s pulling his boxers low enough that a hint of his pubic hair is on display. Louis isn’t sure if he’s more repulsed by that, or the poorly executed duckface.

“You’ll find someone,” Niall reassures, swiping left.

They go at it for another half an hour, making comments on pictures and bios and drinking Liam’s beer in retaliation for the Greek god he’d taken away from Louis. By the time the beers are done, Louis has matched with five of his ten swipes and maybe, just maybe, this Tinder thing might work out after all.

His phone buzzes with a notification from the app, ten minutes after he’d put it down and had started on some of his own readings for class.

“I got a message!” Louis says excitedly, opening up the app. He clicks on his messages and is greeted with the sight of a half hard dick picture, captioned extremely creatively with, ‘I’m hard for you.’

He promptly deletes the message and blocks the guy. “Does no one believe in the sanctity of relationships anymore?”

“You’re twenty, not forty,” Niall comments. “Start acting your age.”

Louis sticks his tongue at him.

“It gets better,” Liam promises. “Just have to get through some wankers before you find the nice ones.”

Louis tries to believe him and turns back to his paper.

He wakes up the next morning with four new messages: ‘wanna fuck 2n’; ‘let me put my dic in u’; and two more dick pics.

He promptly turns off the app notifications.

---

When he was fixing his schedule for the term, Louis had spent a long time deciding on his classes. It was his last year of university and he was determined to only pick the classes that he wanted and would also allow him with minimal seminar time.

Despite his best efforts, he ended up stuck with a first year course on Film Theory. Initially, he’d been excited. The professor was known to be an exciting and engaging lecturer and as homework, they got to watch and analyse classic films. It should have been great.

In theory.

Two weeks prior to the start of the year, the professor had decided to go on sabbatical, and in her place was the oldest, most boring person Louis had ever encountered. Normally, Louis loved the elderly – his Nan is well into her nineties and he’d give anything to listen to her talk. But he’d never expect her to teach a class full of young people, a couple of generations apart, mumbling around dentures that don’t fit properly.

Louis sighs and slumps further into his seat. He glances around the room and sees multiple first years in a similar position as him. The girl beside him is watching make-up tutorials on contouring. He watches along for a few minutes, simultaneously amazed and weirded out that make-up can transform a person that much. When the girl moves onto the fifth contour video, he does another sweep of the class.

His eyes land on the front row, on a boy sitting diagonally from him.  Cute Boy, as Louis had taken to calling him, ever since he’d bumbled his way late on the second seminar, tripping over the bottom stair, and sending his notes sprawling. Cute Boy had been so embarrassed that he’d sank into the first seat, face flaming.

He’s taken up residence again in that same spot, Louis notes. The boy’s hair is entangled around a deep blue scarf, fingers resting on his slightly pink lips as he stares straight at the professor. He might possibly be the only student in the entire lecture hall who is actually paying attention. Louis’ not sure if he should be impressed by Cute Boy’s immense concentration or slightly unnerved that he’s hanging onto to every indecipherable word.

He’s still trying to make up his mind, when he watches the boy’s head slowly drift forward until its nearly parallel to the desk, stays there for a second, before its jerked back up. Louis snorts to himself as the boy does it three more times, before he finally rearranges himself to lean back in his chair and pulls out his phone. He tries and fails spectacularly in being discreet, but considering the professor probably can’t see past the length of his own arm, Cute Boy has nothing to fear.

Louis pulls out his own phone then, thumbing through his various social media apps before he settles on Snapchat. He doodles a crying face on his shoe and sends that to Liam and Niall, followed by a video of the professor's droning voice, with a plea for help. Apparently, whatever class they’re in right now is a lot more interesting since a whole ten seconds goes by and his snaps are still unopened. Rude. He sneaks a short video of the contour tutorial the girl is watching and sends that to Lottie with a simple, ‘Teach me how to do that?’ captioned over the video. Sometimes he just wants his cheekbones to pop.

He exits the app and peruses the other entertainment possibilities on his phone. The red Tinder icon catches his eye.

His finger hovers over it, uncertainly. It’s been a week since he had opened the app and he’s still hesitant about it. But he’s so incredibly bored and the girl beside him is now online shopping, so he gives in.

The options today are much better than the last time. Maybe that says something about his neighbourhood. He swipes right to a couple of good looking boys, left to some not so good looking ones and the act is quickly starting to lose its fun. He’s about to close it when the next prospect pops up on his phone screen.

Harry E. Styles, age 18, raconteur.

There’s an image of a boy with a soft, pink scarf wrapped up in rich chocolate curls. Green eyes are smiling back at him, mesmerising and sparkling, but not enough to deter from the plump, lushness of lips. He’s dressed in a plaid shirt over a white T.

It’s Cute Boy. There’s no doubt about it.

Louis lifts his head to look at Cute Boy – Harry – whose legs are stretched out in front of him, boot clad feet crossed at the ankles. He flips his gaze back to his phone and looks at the next picture. In this one, his face is hidden behind a large, vintage looking camera while he sits on the edge of a curb. There are holes in his jeans and the same boots on his feet. The next two pictures aren’t even of him. One shows a window looking out onto a brick wall and the other is a picture of a half empty smoothie. They’re both in black and white.

It’s the most pretentious, hipster shit, Louis has ever had the misfortune of encountering.

He swipes right.

Instantaneously, a black screen pops up, the words “It’s a Match” scrawled across the top. Below, in two circles beside each other, is the first picture of Cute Boy and one of Louis with a disheveled pixie cut. In stripes and braces. From two years ago. He looks like a twink. He needs to have a word with Niall. And change his pictures.

And deal with the fact that Cute Boy just matched with him.

Not in that order.

He looks up to see Harry in person, and freezes. Harry is looking straight at him, mouth slightly agape. He’s too far to gauge the look in his eyes, but Louis is sure they must reflect the slight panic and fluster in his own. He quickly pockets his phone and averts his gaze when he sees Harry do the same.

---

“Help me,” Louis wails the minute he’s got the door open.

Liam spares him a glance from the textbook he’s reading and Niall doesn’t even bother to acknowledge him, typing away at his spreadsheet. Fine.

“Cute Boy matched with me on Tinder.”

That gets some action. Niall pauses his fingers and turns around to look at Louis with interest. Liam closes his textbook without bookmarking his page. Good. They got him here, now they’re going to help him with it.

“The one in your Film Theory class?” Niall asks, turning his chair around, giving Louis his full attention when he sees Louis’ answering nod.

Liam’s frowning at him, “What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know what to do!” Louis whines, sitting down next to him with a huff.

“Why are you actually the most incompetent person ever?” Niall gets up and takes Louis phone from his hand. “Just send him a message and wait for his reply.”

“Oh, look!” Niall says happily a moment later, “He messaged you already.”

“What?” Louis jumps up and grabs his phone. “How did I not see it?”

“You’ve got the notifications turned off, haven’t you?” Liam leans forward trying to see Louis’ phone. “What did he say?”

“’Hi,’” Louis reads out.

“That’s it?” Liam asks.

Louis nods, still staring at the message below Harry’s face. “What do I say?”

“Why is this so hard for you?” Niall asks, nudging Louis into Liam so he can sit down.

Louis falters, nervously picking at a hang nail, pointedly avoiding the quickening heart rate and slight sweatiness in his palms. “He’s actually real. Like, he’s not just some random person on Tinder. I see him in class every week. I’ve noticed him. I need to make a good impression.” His face contorts comically, “Oh god, what if he sends me a dick pic and just ruins the image I have of him?”

“Just be yourself,” Liam suggests.

Louis levels Liam with an unimpressed look and stares back at his phone. He contemplates an adequate response, cocking his head and furrowing his brow. He taps a few words, pauses and then erases it. It’s silent while he figures out what to say, neither of the boys rushing him. Finally, he types out something he’s satisfied with.

“’Hi,’” Niall reads, when Louis tilts the phone his way. He smacks Louis upside his head and returns to his spreadsheet with a disappointed, “I thought I raised you better.”

“I like it,” Liam says, picking up his textbook, “Simple, yet effective.”

Louis’ always loved him more.

He changes out of his jeans into some sweats and drags his laptop back to the sofa with Liam. He’s been a regular columnist at his school’s Ally online newspaper and is currently working on an article on the LBGT+ community during World War II. He’s in the process of putting together letters and photos that he’d scanned from libraries and archives – extremely time consuming and tedious, but he’s so passionate about this piece that he doesn’t even care. The three work in quiet for half an hour, the only noises being the keys of Niall and Louis’ laptop, and Liam’s periodical scratching of pen against paper as he writes notes into the margins. The entire time, Louis discreetly checks his phone every five minutes to see if Harry has messaged back.

Just when he’s about to give up on all hope, he gets a reply.

Hi Louis. I’m glad you replied. You’re in Film Theory too, right?

So Harry had recognised him. He glances at Liam and Niall, both still busy working. He takes his phone into his hands.

Yes. You’re the one who sits in the very front, so enthralled by what Bergman says.

The reply is instantaneous.

Heyyyy, I got stuck with that seat.

I know. I saw your spectacular fall.

Louis quickly follows that up with the ‘monkey covering its eyes’ emoji.

Oh god, is that my legacy now?

Nah, mate. You’re still known as ‘Cute Boy’ in my head.

The minute Louis hits send, his eyes widen in horror. How could he have spent ten minutes building up the courage to send the word ‘hi,’ but a total of ten seconds admitting his nickname for Harry? Niall did teach him better.

It’s a harrowing minute later when Harry replies.

That’s extremely flattering. Thank you. You’re quite fit yourself.

Louis’ very glad that the other two are still studying and paying no attention to him, otherwise they would have totally called him out on the blush that’s spreading over his cheekbones. He struggles for an adequate response that doesn’t sound too cocky, yet proper pleased.

Thank you

When Harry doesn’t respond a minute later, Louis thinks with a fizzle of disappointment, that the conversation had taken its natural course to its end. It’s too late for him to send another message without sounding too eager. Maybe he can strike up a conversation with Harry next week at seminar.

He returns back to the story of two nurses who had met during the war and is quickly engrossed in a well-documented chain of letters that an extended family member had found and donated. It’s only when he plugs his phone to charge that night that he thumbs back to his conversation with Harry, wanting to read it before he goes to bed again. There’s a new unread message.

Would you be interested in tea with me Thursday? There’s a cart outside University College. I’m done class at half four.

With trembling fingers, Louis types out, I know that cart. Margaret makes the best tea on campus!

The reply is instantaneous again, She’s my favourite.

Careful, Harold. I might think you’re using me as an excuse to see her.

Did you have any doubts?

Before Louis can type out a witty comeback, Harry sends another message.

But 4:30 work for you?

He erases his initial response for a simple, It’s a date.

The smiley face, followed by bursting confetti and a banana and dancing lady are the last things Louis sees before sleeping.

---

“Liam, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I need you to get out now. I’ve got to meet Harry is less than thirty minutes and my hair is a mess. Move,” Louis demands as he shoves his way into the bathroom beside Liam, who is painstakingly trimming his beard. 

Louis stares at him, eyes narrowed, “I know I have a date, but what’s got you working with Batman here?” he nods toward the trimmer.

“You’re not the only one who can get dates,” Liam mutters, cheek sucked in so he can reach his sideburns and jaw.

His response had been low, and given that their walls are pretty solid, there should be no way that Niall could have heard it. Yet, the blonde pops up a second later, glasses perched on his nose and a beer in his hands.

“Who’s got a date?” he asks, taking a sip of his beer and then levelling them both with a look, “And didn’t tell me?”

“Don’t look at me,” Louis raises his hands in defense. “I crawled into your bed the morning after Harry asked me out, to tell you.”

“And I still haven’t forgiven you for waiting till the next morning,” Niall says. “But you’re right. I did know about you. Liam?”

“Not a date,” Liam mutters, eyes darting every which way.

“I know when you’re lying,” Niall sighs. “You’re also trimming your beard.”

“And he just insinuated that he had a date,” Louis adds helpfully, trying to get back into Niall’s good books.

“Traitor,” Liam shoots his way. He sighs, “Just a guy I ran into on campus. It’s nothing important.”

“What’s his name?” Niall asks, phone out of his pocket, ready to Facebook search the name Liam provides.

“Not telling,” Liam says, setting Batman back on the counter. “You’re going to search him up and then I won’t hear the end of it. It’s new, I think I might really like him, and… I just want this time for myself. Before he meets the two of you and forgets about me.”

Niall just looks at Liam, pocketing his phone. He walks into the tiny room with the other two, and then silently leans into Liam and smacks his lips against his cheek. He then gives his beer to Liam and places an arm around his shoulder.

“Come on, come tell me in your cryptic way about this boy who stole your heart and I promise I won’t try and figure out his identity. Besides, you don’t want to be next to Louis when he starts spraying all that shit in his hair.”

Affronted, Louis yells at their retreating figures, “At least I only do it for when I’m going out. Not unlike some people who use is every day to keep us their fake blonde quiff.”

Niall doesn’t even bother to turn around to flip him off.

Louis decides on leaving his fringe down, so if it gets too cold, he can pull a beanie over it and = not ruin his hair. He finishes up relatively quickly and then moves to his room to set on the daunting task of picking out clothes. He stops short when he walks in, seeing an outfit already on his bed. His favourite, ‘fuck-me’ black skinnies are paired with a maroon jumper, so soft, it’s almost like cashmere. It clings at just the right places to accentuate his curves, dips just low enough that his collarbones are on display, sleeves just long enough that they make the best sweater paws for the crisp autumn weather.

He quickly shrugs them on, careful to not mess up the piecey bits of his fringe and waltzes out into the common area. Liam and Niall are giggling like twelve year olds, though Louis’ not too bothered. They'll repeat the entire conversation later for his benefit. They stop their laughter to look at Louis, and Niall lets out an appreciative whistle.

“I did good,” he comments, getting up to straighten Louis’ sweater and absently smooths Louis’ hair out of his eyes.

“Nialler, are you – crying?” Louis asks, slightly concerned.

Niall blinks his eyes, in rapid succession. “Of course not,” his voice comes out thick, “I just have a good feeling about this one. Banana emoji and no dick pic. Good signs.”

He squeezes Louis’ cheeks in his palms, “And if all else fails, just make sure he gets a good look at your arse.”

Louis wrestles himself out of Niall’s grip, promises Liam that he’s going to hear all about his date, and sets off.

It’s a crisp autumn afternoon and students are milling around the campus, basking in the shine of the sun. The leaves have turned into various shades of orange and red, making the quick walk to the tea cart pleasant and beautiful. There’s a slight skip in Louis’ step to match the flutter in his heart. It’s been ages since he was this excited about a date, and much like Niall, he has a good feeling about this one.

There are a group of students around the cart, obscuring Louis’ view when he turns the corner, so he can’t be sure if Harry is already there or not. He pulls out his phone as he nears the spot, checking to see if there are any new messages. Finding nothing, he pockets the device again, only to be greeted by a sight clad in an oversized lilac jumper, blue jeans that cling to toned thighs, and curls wrapped in a bottle green scarf. Louis swallows around the dryness in his throat and approaches Harry who’s talking animatedly to Margaret.

He’s suddenly shy as he comes to stand beside Harry, shoulder brushing slightly against his bicep, “Hi.”

“Louis,” Harry smiles warmly at him. “Hi, I was waiting for you to order. Chatting with Margaret here.”

“Hi, love,” Louis greets the older woman.

“Why didn’t you tell me Louis was your date?” Margaret admonishes, but her smile stays fixed. “You know, now that I look at the two of you, I don’t know why I never thought of this myself. You’re perfect for each other!”

A matching blush takes over both the boys, as they meet each other’s eyes and then quickly look away. Louis pinches his lips together to keep a smile from spreading.

“Black Yorkshire for you, my love?” Margaret asks Louis, “Or, are you feeling more adventurous today? Romantic perhaps?”

“Surprise me, love,” Louis says.

She looks at the two of them appraisingly, wisps of her white hair flying in the breeze, deep set laugh lines even deeper as she thinks. Clapping her hands together she say, “I’ve got a spicy, dark chocolate that will be perfect for this weather.” She turns to Harry, “And for you, dear,” she leans in like she’s sharing a secret, “I tried out this concoction my granddaughter in Canada has been raving about. London Fog, she calls it. Earl Grey with milk and some vanilla syrup. At first, I was scandalised, but now,” she pinks slightly, embarrassed to be saying such things, “I’m in love with it.”

“Sounds absolutely perfect,” Harry says, as Louis nods his confirmation.

They chatter with Margaret while she prepares their drinks, thanking her profusely when she gives it to them with a couple of slices of her infamous banana bread.

“On the house, dears. I’m just so honoured that you both came to me for your first date.”

Her eyes are a little watery and Louis wonders if he should be alarmed about how many people are reduced to tears at the thought of Harry and him.

“Shall –“ Harry’s words are cut off by someone bumping into him. The force is impactful enough that Harry struggles for his balance for a few seconds before stumbling forward and into Louis, who’s fighting a lid onto his cup. All three watch in horror as Louis’ drink splashes onto his jumper, a damp spot against the deep maroon.

Why? Honestly, just why? This date was supposed to go well. And yet, its barely even begun and his jumper is wet. And not in a good way. The universe must hate him.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I,” Harry looks around helplessly, frantically fisting the tissues Margaret thrusts at him and begins blotting at Louis’ jumper.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry repeats, his face red and blotchy, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, “I, uh, live just around the corner, if you need to change out.”

He dabs at the hot chocolate stain some more before finally giving up and wordlessly handing the soiled tissues back to Margaret, who’s watching the scene with blatant interest and amusement.

“Honestly, Harry, it’s totally fine. Just a small spot. I’m sure it’ll come right out,” Louis tries to comfort. He’s not yet ready to give up on this boy. Not yet ready to add another failed date to his growing tally.

They thank Margaret again and make their way to a bench under a large, leafy tree. Harry attempts to make up for the ruined jumper multiple times, until Louis threatens to leave the date, causing him to finally shut up.

Louis makes himself comfortable on the bench, hot chocolate and banana bread beside him, and watches as Harry fishes his phone out of his pocket and places it next to his own food.

“Never really fits in my pocket,” Harry explains, sitting down too, “Makes sitting a right pain in the arse. Literally.”

Louis nods in agreement, opening his mouth to ask Harry about his major, when Harry’s phone starts to ring, The Call blasting from its speakers.

“Oh sorry,” Harry glances at the phone, silencing it and ending the call. “Just my roommate.”

“No worries,” Louis waves it off, breaking a piece of the bread and chewing it slowly. “Tell me about yourself, young Harold.”

“My name’s actually Harry,” Harry replies, taking a sip of his drink. “Fuck me, this is actually good.”

Louis scrunches up his nose in disbelief, “I doubt it. No one should mess with tea. Vanilla syrup.”

“Just a sip,” Harry urges, holding the cup out to him. “I dare you.”

Louis raises an eyebrow at the challenge, accepting the drink and taking a hesitant sip. He ponders it for a bit, “I can see the appeal, but it’s a little too sweet for me. Tea should be -”

Harry’s phone starts buzzing between them, interrupting Louis’ philosophy on proper tea.

“Sorry, I thought I –“ Harry frowns at his phone, picking it up and properly silencing it this time.

He’s barely put it down before it lights up again, the name Zayn flashing across the screen.

“Someone’s really trying to get you,” Louis comments.

“Normally, he’s not this needy,” Harry bites his lip, turning the phone over so that they won’t be bothered by the screen anymore.

“Just answer it,” Louis says.

“No,” Harry replies firmly. “I’m on a date with you and he knows that. Whatever it is, can wait.”

“It might be something important.”

Harry falters a little, a line of worry appearing between his brows, green eyes dimming, “Do you think?”

Louis shrugs, “Just talk to him, I don’t mind.”

The smile he gets is blinding and so warm, the slight autumn chill is completely snuffed out.

“You’re really amazing,” Harry says, eyes shy yet genuine.

Louis blushes in return.

Harry picks up his phone and swipes to answer it because Zayn is calling. Again. He angles his body slightly away from Louis, but that doesn’t block out the distressed sounds from the phone. Now Louis is a bit worried. He sighs.

The universe must really hate him.

“Calm down,” Harry says into his phone. “Breathe and tell me what happened.”

Louis examines the stain on his jumper as Zayn explains his problems to Harry. It’s not too noticeable, but if it sets, it’ll definitely render the jumper useless for dates or nights out. 

“How did you manage to burn the food? You’ve been practicing for a week now,” Harry says exasperated.

Clearly whatever Zayn says is unimpressive as Harry replies, “No, I don’t care. Just order in or something.”

“No,” he lowers his voice slightly, casting an apprehensive look at Louis, “You know how much I was looking forward to this date,” he furiously whispers. “I’m not going to come and cook for you.”

He doesn’t give Zayn a chance to elaborate, “I don’t care if you promised him a home-cooked meal! This isn’t – “

He’s cut off by Louis palm on his hand.

“Uh, just a second,” Harry tells Zayn, covering the speaker and looking at Louis with inquisitive yet apologetic eyes. “Just give me a second to hang up and then I’m all yours.”

“No, er, I was going to say, that it’s alright if you go cook for roommate. He’s clearly distressed and needs you. We can meet up again another day. I might even be able to salvage this,” Louis points at the stain on his jumper. He tries to sound nonchalant, though it fails spectacularly. So he tries for a reassuring smile instead. He’s sure it comes out more like a grimace.

Zayn’s inarticulate voice come from the speaker of Harry’s phone, breaking Harry’s intense stare at Louis.

“Shut up for a second, will you?” he growls at Zayn, before turning his attention back to Louis.

“I really don’t have to. I want to stay here with you,” Harry insists.

“But will it really be as much fun if Zayn keeps bothering us?” Louis asks.

“I can turn my phone off,” Harry offers weakly.

“Honestly Harold, I insist,” Louis says. Really, the universe should be fucking rewarding him for being so selfless. Not going around sabotaging his dates.

Harry chews at his lip in thought, “What if you come with me?”

“What?” Louis asks.

“You don’t have to cook, of course!” Harry rushes to explain, “But we can still finish up our drinks and talk while I cook. I’ll cook extra for us, and we can eat it out on the roof of my building. And I can clean your jumper!” he tacks on in a flourish. Louis is waiting for the jazz hands.

“Unless you have plans for the evening already,” Harry amends, excitement deflating.

Louis does, is the thing. He’s got to finish up the article which is due in a couple of days, analyse a couple of journalistic styles and trends, and create a volunteer schedule for the Ally Help Center. He’s got a lot of plans for this evening.

“I have nothing planned,” Louis says.

“You hear that Zee?” Harry grins broadly. “See you in 5.”

It literally does take five minutes to walk to Harry and Zayn’s flat. Louis had thought he had lucked out with housing close to campus. Clearly, he stands corrected.

Harry’s barely put the key in the lock, before the door swings open. They’re greeted by a distressed looking, absolutely stunning face.

“I’m so sorry about this and I owe you forever,” Zayn bypasses Harry and looks directly at Louis.

“Greek god,” Louis gawks, floored that he’s actually looking at the face of the man Liam had swiped left, weeks ago. Is this some horrible Tinder prank gone all wrong?

“What?” Harry and Zayn say together.

“Uh, nothing,” Louis quickly straightens up, “No worries, mate. I’m getting a home-cooked meal out of this as well and get to spend some extra time with Harold. Can’t complain.”

“First, I’m washing up Louis’ jumper. Don’t even think of arguing,” Harry points a finger at Zayn, marching right past him and pulling Louis along into his room.

A wall is completely filled with pictures on a string, fairy lights framing the display. Right below it, is a simple white desk, books stacked high on the end and some complicated photography equipment laid out over the rest of the desk. Against the opposite wall lies a bed, adorned with white sheets and a matching duvet, made, with a slight crumpled, slept in look. It’s bright and cozy and fits Harry perfectly.

The door closing behind Louis startles him into movement as he steps further inside the room and sits down on the chair in between the bed and the desk. He watches Harry rifle through the jumpers in his closet.

“You can just take off your dirty jumper and leave it on the bed,” Harry says, back toward Louis as he picks out a soft looking grey sweater, examines it and then places it back.

“I’m appalled, Harold,” Louis smirks, doing just as he asked, “Moving awfully quick aren’t you?”

“What?” Harry asks, blue knit hoodie clutched in his palms. He freezes as he sees Louis half naked in his chair, eyes widening just a bit, and swallows thickly. “I think all my clothes might be too bi-“ he cuts off, unsure if he should comment on Louis’ size.

Here’s the thing: Louis loves how small he is. Absolutely relishes in being the one who gets the cuddles, the big jumpers, the bigger boyfriend. He’s only offended when someone points it out, like being small is a bad thing. Kevin.

He takes pity on Harry’s pigeon toed stance and awkward look, “Normally when guys on Tinder want to get me naked, they don’t bother with an elaborate plan. No distressed roommates, no spilled drinks. Just send me a dick pic. I’m quite impressed with your ingenuity.”

Harry squawks at him and then narrows his eyes with a smirk, “As I was saying, I don’t have anything small enough to fit you.”

He walks over to Louis who uncrosses his legs as he sees Harry approaching. Harry drops the hoodie into Louis’ lap, places his hands on the armrest on either side and slowly rolls the chair back until it bumps into the bed. The slight jolt pushes Louis up straighter, eyes fixed on Harry’s green ones as he looms over Louis.

“I don’t kiss on first dates,” Louis breathes, darting his glance to Harry’s plush lips, cock twitching at how tiny he feels, encaged in the chair by Harry’s arms and his body. He’s already made so many exceptions for this boy, surely another one wouldn’t hurt.

“Good, neither do I,” Harry says just as softly, licking his lips in anticipation.

He places a knee in between Louis’ spread thighs and leans closer until there’s barely any space in between their bodies. Louis’ pulled so taut, his entire body thrumming with anticipation and need.

“You should wear that,” Harry breaks their eye contact to look down at the jumper in Louis’ lap, “It matches your eyes.”

He closes the gap between their chests as he reaches behind Louis and plucks up his stained jumper. He pulls back with a lazy smirk and bright eyes, “You get changed, I’ll just get the hot chocolate out of this.”

“Wanker,” Louis huffs out a laugh.

Louis changes into the hoodie quickly. It’s definitely bigger than anything he owns and it swallows him up entirely. He takes a quick sniff, documenting the faint spiciness lingering on the hoodie. He whiles the time waiting for Harry by examining the pictures on his wall. A girl who looks like him appears in quite a few of them, as does a woman with sparkling eyes and an older man who shares Harry’s face structure. It’s evident that Harry is a family man. There are many more of groups of people dressed in a mix of grunge and hipster clothes, the Greek god and some artistic looking shots.

Above his desk is a whiteboard with indecipherable notes and a calendar of –

Louis narrows his eyes at incredibly horrible 90’s outfits, mushroom hair and boys who are barely in their twenties. There’s no mistaking that it’s a calendar of the Backstreet Boys.

He’s awfully done with trying to decipher the frankly confusing messages the universe keeps sending at him.

The water is still running in the bathroom across Harry’s room, and Louis is getting restless and a bit awkward standing in Harry’s room without him. So he leaves, making his way to the kitchen.

The Greek god – Zayn – is hovering over the bin, scraping blackened food of the bottom of a pan. His face is contorted with an effort of holding back tears, though his sniffles are still audible from where Louis is standing.

Louis clears his throat.

Zayn’s head shoots up, apology written all over.

“God, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to disrupt your date. I just…” he trails off uncertainly, suddenly aware that he’s talking to a stranger. “I really like this guy and I wanted to do something special for him.”

Louis takes in his white tank, arm holes sinking low enough to reveal his ribs, splattered with sauce. His black joggers aren’t in a better condition. In fact they’re weirdly more colourful, dots of pinks and greens and yellows splattered all over. What the fuck was he cooking? Zayn’s hair is matted to his forehead and there’s a smudge of something on the side of his right jaw. An overwhelming wave of pity washes over Louis.

And jealousy. Even stressed and marred with food, Zayn still looks beautiful.

He sighs, “Harry should be nearly done with my jumper. You should probably wash your face. And neck. Maybe just take a shower. I can take care of the pan.”

“Oh no!” Zayn shakes his head frantically. “I can’t ask you to do that. I already ruined your date. I can’t ask you to clean as well.”

Louis laughs gently, “It’s just a pan. Looks like you’ve cleaned up the rest of it anyways,” he notes, taking in the immaculate nature of the rest of the kitchen.

“Harry only cooks if the kitchen is spotless.”

Louis scoffs, “Why doesn’t that surprise me.”

Harry chooses that moment to enter, lilac jumper replaced with a ratty Rolling Stones shirt. “Jumper’s good as new,” he beams at Louis.

His eyes flit over to Zayn who’s still standing over the bin, pan pathetically clutched in his hand. “Fuck Zayn, you look horrible. Do something, otherwise even my food won’t salvage this date.”

Zayn’s shoulders visibly sag and the pan clatters to the counter noisily.

“Thank you. I owe you so big,” he plants a kiss to Harry’s cheek and moves to do the same to Louis when he catches himself. Instead he extends a hand out self-consciously. “You too.”

They wait until Zayn leaves the kitchen before Harry turns to Louis, “How good are your skills in the kitchen?”

Louis squares him with a raised eyebrow, “Do you want to salvage his date or ruin it further?”

Harry laughs, grabbing the pan Zayn was working on. “I just didn’t know if you’re actually a culinary genius and would be offended if I never asked for your opinion.” He soaks the pan under some scalding water and dish soap and points to spot on the counter beside the fridge. “You sit there then.”

Louis obeys and contrary to every cell in his body, he avoids making the process difficult for Harry. He sits still, save for the swinging of his legs, content to watch Harry move around the kitchen. He expertly slices onions and garlic, mincing them, while stirring some pasta sauce into the freshly scrubbed pan. His hands move fluidly, molding ground beef into meatballs and Louis watches mesmerised. He’s never really looked at someone’s hands before. By the time the spaghetti is drained and cooling and the meatballs and sauce are simmering on the hob, wafts of basil and garlic making his stomach rumble slightly, Louis has decided that Harry’s hands are definitely his favourite body part. On anyone.

He watches Harry slide numerous rings onto his fingers after drying his hands on a towel, completely missing what Harry’s saying. This might have happened a couple of times already. Like five or six. Maybe eight.

“- And then I flew over London Bridge, chased by Voldemort and Hagrid – “ Harry’s words register again.

Louis narrows his eyes accusingly, “Hagrid would rather give up Fluffy than work with Voldemort.”

Harry grins, “Took you long enough. Bellatrix and McGonagall were making out before and you didn’t even bat an eyelash.”

Louis gags, “Why? Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

“My stories about the bakery weren’t captivating enough so I had to try something else. I’m wounded.”

Despite the laughter in Harry’s tone, Louis still averts his gaze and fidgets on his perch.

Harry’s grin turns into a filthy smirk, “What were you thinking about, Louis?”

“Nothing,” Louis says. Perhaps a tad too quickly. And defensively. Niall is going to kill him.

“Really? I think you’re lying,” Harry says casually, stirring the sauce. He places his free hand on Louis’ knee.

Oh god, it’s so big. And beautiful. His fingers are so long, knuckles proportioned perfectly. He suddenly pictures himself sucking on those fingers. Those fingers in his arse, opening him up.

“Uh, Lou?” Harry asks when Louis still doesn’t say anything, slightly concerned.

“Fuck, your hands are incredible,” Louis blurts, completely dazed from his images and the heat of the hand on his thigh.

Harry barks out a laugh, dimples deep in his cheek. He makes an angelic sight, but Louis is too mortified to even take it in, covering his face with his own hands.

He feels gentle fingers on his wrists, pulling his hands off his face. His face is burning but he can’t avoid Harry’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Harry says simply. “No one’s ever said that about my hands.”

“Well, they should,” Louis insists. “They’re, like, mesmerising. And big.”

“You know what they say about big hands,” Harry says straight faced. He pauses for a bit. “My feet are quite big too.”

“Fuck you, Styles,” Louis kicks him. “You’re going to burn the sauce.”

“Never.”

“Well, please give me a moment to plan out how I can escape after sufficiently embarrassing myself.”

“No!” Harry practically growls.

Louis brightens at his reaction, ready to retort when –

“Fuck, Haz, he’s going to be here in fifteen,” Zayn comes in. His hair is up in a quiff, clean black jeans and a Batman T-shirt clinging to his slight frame.

“Done,” Harry turns off the knob. He works on plating spaghetti and meatballs on two plates for himself and Louis before turning to take in Zayn. He whistles appreciatively.

“I look alright?” Zayn asks anxiously.

“Chill, mate,” Harry squeezes his shoulder. He goes over the food for Zayn and then adds some cutlery to the plates he’d prepared.

“I’m sorry,” he looks apologetically at Louis. “I don’t have any wine.”

“No worries. The food looks delicious. It’s more than enough.”

Zayn clears his throat, “I actually bought a bottle. For tonight. Um, you’re welcome to have it. For like, saving my arse.”

Louis and Harry exchange a look. “No, you save that for your date,” Louis says. “Now, if you don’t mind, I was promised dinner on a rooftop.”

Zayn follows them up to the roof, armed with a blanket and some pillows. “For when it gets cold,” he explains. And then he disappears, leaving Harry and Louis alone.

Louis looks around the space. It’s not much and a far cry from a romantic scene a rooftop dinner alludes to. There’s more concrete than anything, though the view is decent, the high towers of the university visible under the sky.

Harry drags him to the other side of the roof where a beat up sofa and table lie, surrounded by pots of plants. He places the food on the table and arranges the pillows on the sofa.

“Dig in,” Harry gestures to the plate, and Louis doesn’t need to be told twice, sinking down next to Harry. He gets comfortable quite quickly, balancing his plate on his crossed legs.

The minute his lips wrap around the food on his fork, he lets out an obscene sound that he cannot be blamed for. It’s absolutely delicious, the garlic and basil complementing the tanginess of the tomato sauce perfectly.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis looks at him with wide eyes.

“Good?” Harry asks, bashfully.

“I’m going to keep you just so you can cook for me.”

“I’d be perfectly alright with that.”

They share a look too soft for the conversation, only averting their gazes when it becomes too much.

Dinner passes in a steady flow of chatter. Harry tells Louis about his classes in Film Production and Photography. They spend twenty minutes discussing their favourite newspapers when Harry figures out that Louis writes for Ally.

“I love reading news from other countries,” Harry confesses. “’S my favourite thing about papers available online. Perspectives change quite a bit.”

They exchange stories about their divorced parents and siblings, when Harry confirms that the girl in his pictures is his older sister, Gemma.

“I’d let Lottie practice make-up on me,” Louis reveals. “When I came out to them, Lottie gave me my own make-up kit as a present.”

Harry coos appropriately, “Gemma gave me all of her nail polish. Mum was proud of her until she realised that Gem had used it as an excuse to get new ones for herself."

And so it continues, laughs ringing out between shy glances and bold touches.

Louis scoops his last forkful into his mouth, contemplating licking the plate clean. He stops himself when he realises he wants another date with Harry.

“You were saying?” Harry prompts.

“Yeah,” Louis shrugs, remembering their conversation topic. “Dunno, something ‘bout the whole online dating doesn’t sit right w’ me. ‘S taking the romance out of meeting someone for the first time. Them butterflies and nerves and shit. All people want is a quick fuck, y’ know?”

“So poetic.” Silence settles around them as Harry contemplates Louis’ words.

“Like, I get it? But is it really taking out the romance?” Harry ponders. He continues when he sees Louis about to interrupt, “Don’t get me wrong, you’ll always have people who want a booty call. But… the mating ritual is still the same if you were to meet someone face to face. The chats and dates. Trying to figure out if you’re compatible. I think it makes it easier in a way. There’s no stress worrying if the other person finds you attractive – you know right away. Opens up the field and eliminates that bad nerves.”

“Mating ritual,” Louis snorts. “And you call me poetic.”

“That’s what you took away?” Harry pouts.

“No, no,” Louis rushes to placate. “You’re right I suppose. I guess I’m just… old-fashioned.” He shrugs.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Harry nudges him. “’S not so bad, yeah? It got us here.”

Louis grins at Harry, smile taking its time to light up his face, “Yeah. And this is plenty romantic.”

“Yeah,” Harry blushes. The setting sun casts hues of gold across his face, highlighting his pinking cheeks.

They’re singing the praises of Man U when Zayn interrupts them, steaming mugs of tea in his hand.

“It’s black, but I can add milk and sugar if you’d like.”

They assure him its fine and shoo him off, yelling lewd remarks after him.

“No kissing on the first date,” Harry says once Zayn has left.

“Uh huh,” Louis nods. “’S a good rule. Separates the ones who’re actually interested.”

“What can you do on the first date then?” Harry settles comfortably back beside Louis.

“Hugs,” Louis says promptly.

Harry considers that for a moment and then nods. “Second?”

Louis shrugs, “Never really gave it much thought.”

“When does the kissing begin?”

“Coming off quite eager, young Harold.”

Harry doesn’t contradict him, casting a cheeky smirk in his direction.

“Third,” Louis says.

“That’s not a very good system, don’t you think?” Harry pinches his bottom lip between his fingers. “Like what if you go on three dates in a week with someone? But then with somebody else, what if they’re like, super busy, and you go on three dates in a month. Dating’s too subjective and fluid to follow strict rules.”

He looks at Louis challengingly.

“You’re not making a very good impression, questioning my system,” Louis retorts.

Harry raises his lips in a lazy smile.

Louis sighs, burrowing further under the warmth of the blanket. “Fine. Dating is subjective and fluid and there might –“ he emphasises the word again at Harry’s victorious cheer, “might be a flaw in my system. Still,” he continues, “I’ve never kissed anyone on the first date.”

“’S fair,” Harry concedes.

“Also, no dick pics until the sex has been had.”

“The sex has been had?” Harry guffaws.

“If I haven’t seen the goods in person, one, maybe I don’t want to see them? And two, why would I want the first time to be on a phone?”

Harry snorts, spilling some tea in the process. “What if its long distance and you don’t want to wait months before you get to see the goods?”

Louis levels him with a contemplative look, “I’m concerned for you and your compulsive need to question my dating rules.”

“Maybe I’m just looking for a loophole,” Harry says calmly.

“Why?”

“Maybe I want to kiss you on our first date, send you dick pics on our second, and fuck you by the third.”

Louis gasps, mouth open in mock horror. “My ears!” he shrieks, covering his eyes, getting louder to be heard over Harry’s honking laugh, “My innocence! My virtue!”

Harry tugs on Louis’ uncovered ears, angling his face closer. “I’m more concerned about your brain. These are your ears.”

Louis uncovers his eyes to glare righteously at Harry. Instead, he swallows drily when he sees how close Harry is, his breath fanning against Louis lips.

“Don’t worry, little Louis,” Harry teases, moving forward to whisper into his ear. “I’ll wait to kiss you on our third date.”

“Hmph,” Louis huffs, when Harry pulls back. “Your chances are looking pretty slim, Styles.”

“I’ll make them work,” Harry sips confidently at his tea.

They’re snuggled under the blanket, pillows cushioning their backs as they lean against the back of the sofa, mugs long emptied. Louis’ lost track of when the sun set. There are a few stars visible in the sky, though most are obscured by the city lights.

“I miss the stars,” Harry comments. “There’s these huge fields in Cheshire, where I’d sneak out at night to look at the stars.”

“Sounds lovely,” Louis admits. His breath hitches when he feels Harry’s fingers, under the blanket, twine into his own, slightly clammy against his palm. He tightens his fingers in response, relishing in how his hand is dwarfed.

“I can take you one day,” Harry suggests, shyly.

It’s not the first time they’ve alluded to something too big, too long term for a first date. Louis nods happily, debating if he should rest his head on Harry’s shoulder.

His phone buzzes, loud against the quietness on the roof. Louis reaches for it with his free hand, unwilling to let go.

It’s nearly 11 young man. Liam came home ages ago. Remember we said no putting out on the first date

He hadn’t realised the phone was angled toward Harry, until Harry says, “I didn’t realise it was so late.”

Louis sighs, “I suppose I should head out.”

They make their way back down, somehow managing to hold hands between the pillows and mugs and precarious stairs. Zayn’s sitting in front of an easel, bright yellows and pinks painted onto the canvas. He looks up when they enter, abandoning his work to pull Harry into a hug.

“I love you.”

This time, there’s no awkwardness as he wraps his arms around Louis as well, muttering a thanks into his neck.

Louis laughs with Harry over Zayn’s shoulder, patting away his thanks.

“I’ll see you soon,” Louis hopes he doesn’t sound too unsure or hopeful while he waits at Harry’s door.

“Yeah, I’ll text you,” Harry agrees. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you home?”

“It’s late, Harold. You need your beauty sleep,” Louis murmurs, playing with a small hole in Harry’s shirt right above his heart.

“You’re making it worse,” Harry stills his hands with his own, voice too soft to be admonishing.

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.”

Louis looks up at Harry finally, still loath to leave just yet.

“Text me when you get home?” Harry asks.

Louis nods.

They stay for another beat.

“I’m going to need my hands,” Louis points out, faint smile stretching his lips.

“Uh, right,” Harry blushes. Again. His gaze flickers from Louis hands to his face and back down. He seems to be struggling.

“G’night Lou,” Harry breathes, lifting Louis’ hands to his lips. The kiss he places is so incredibly soft and fleeting, Louis is sure he’s envisioned it.

The burning on his skin that singes all the way home says otherwise. 

-

Louis texts Harry a simple ‘home’ emoji when he’s at his door, which he opens with flair.

“Best. Date. Ever. Bitches,” Louis announces his entrance.

Liam is on the sofa in flannel bottoms, his economics textbook replaced with a marketing one. Niall’s at the table, Excel spreadsheet exchanged for a PowerPoint. Louis frowns.

“Do you two ever move?”

“How was the date?” Niall asks, closing the lid of his laptop with a snap.

“The best,” Louis swoons, falling into Liam. He lays his head on top of Liam’s textbook and blinks  at him.

“How was yours, Leeyum?”

Before Liam can answer, Niall lifts Louis’ legs and settles underneath him. “That is not what I picked out for you this afternoon.” He pinches Louis’ thigh, “I told you not to put out.”

Louis kicks his hands away. “Stop,” he whines. “I didn’t. Harry spilled some hot chocolate on me, so he gave me his jumper while he washed mine. Oh, fuck, I left it at his.”

Niall’s hands return to pat him, “Good boy. You did learn somethings after all.”

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” Louis pouts.

Liam gently moves his textbook from under Louis’ head and replaces it with a cushion. Louis blows him a kiss.

“So you went to his place?” Liam asks, putting Louis back on track.

“Mhm,” Louis shimmies to get comfortable, stretching his limbs across the two. “We got some drinks from Margaret,” Niall makes a sound of approval, “and someone bumped into him, and then,” Louis gestures vaguely at his clothes, “we were just about to get settled on a bench when his roommate kept calling him. He’d ruined dinner for his date, so being the selfless and amazing people that we are, Harry and I went back to his and cooked dinner for his roommate.”

“You cooked?!” Liam asks, a touch horrified.

“Maybe Harry cooked and I helped,” Louis mumbles into the cushion. Niall pinches him again.

“Fine, I watched,” Louis knees Niall in retaliation. “He has the best hands. I’ve never seen hands like them. Did you know hands could be sexy? Because they can be. Are. Like the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. I –“

“You’re drooling,” Niall interrupts, scandalised. “Get a grip, Tommo.”

“I’m only talking to Liam,” Louis ignores him. “So, Lima, after we cooked, and Harry cut all the food with his big hands and washed dishes with his sexy hands and stirred sauce with his fuck-me fingers, we went to the rooftop to eat dinner. Liam. And then we watched the sunset and drank some tea. Liam. And we talked and snuggled under some blankets and I got to hold one of his big, sexy, I-want-them-in-me hands and…” Louis trails off, eyes unfocused as the events of the night unfold in front of them. “It was perfect,” he breathes.

“Liam,” he adds, looking at Niall with a defiant smirk. Niall’s looking back at him with a wide smile and bright eyes.

“So happy for you,” Niall squishes him as he kisses Louis on each cheek, loudly and wetly.

Louis bats at him but Niall refuses to get up, leaving Liam to stare at the two boys in his lap.

“I think this is how porn starts,” Liam observes.

“What?” the two still. Niall finally sits back up and Louis props himself rather precariously on his elbow to look up at Liam.

“Your turn,” he pokes Liam’s stomach.

Liam blushes, “He, um, he cooked for me. Spaghetti and meatballs. Like proper, from scratch. And he showed me some art that, I um - that he said - I inspired it.”

Louis coos up at Liam, exchanging a glance with Niall. The two pounce on him, smothering him with kisses until he’s a giggling mess beneath them. When they finally come up for air, Louis’ tumbled onto the floor and the cushion is on the other side of the room.

“Alright bitches,” Niall announces, getting up and commanding their attention. “I’m quite proud of you two. Seems my time and effort is finally starting to pay off. Payno – I’m giving you a week to give us this boy’s name. I don’t care if he’s secretly a superhero, he still has to go by me. Tommo – you need to schedule another date for next week. Harry did the asking the first time, it’s your turn. Don’t keep him waiting. Understood?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Louis salutes from his positon on the floor.

“Tha’s me, Captain Niall,” Niall salutes back and saunters to his room, giving his bum a wiggle.

“I’m knackered,” Liam says after Niall’s bedroom door shuts close. “’Night Lou.”

“Night,” Louis replies from the floor.

After he’s replayed every scene from the night, and a certain few multiple times, Louis pulls himself up and gets ready for bed.

He checks his messages before he goes to bed, grinning into the darkness when he sees a new one from Harry.

It’s an emoji of a hand and a peach.

Louis frowns at it puzzled and replies with a question mark.

I’ve got big hands and you’ve got a big …

Louis gasps and then breaks out into silent giggles.

Fuck off Harold

Match made in heaven. I’m eagerly waiting to test it out the next time we see each other.

That’s for date 4

Harry sends a crying emoji.

What’s going to tie me over to date 3?

Louis purses his lips. Play your cards right and we’ll see

Harry sends him another hand and peach. This time followed by some bursting confetti.

Good night Harold

---

None of the boys have morning classes on Friday, so they all have a bit of a lie in. Louis wakes up late, lazily rolling over to palm his phone when the last vestiges of sleep leave his body with a fight. There’s a new message from Harry.

Zayn lied!!!

What?

He scrolls through Twitter and Facebook while he waits for Harry to reply.

He let his date believe that he cooked the food. It’s followed by a building and a horn. Louis’ convinced that Harry just blindly sends emojis.

Poor Hazza. Its ok I know the truth

It shall set you free

Entertain me lewis. I just got home from lecture and Zayn’s refusing to pay attention to me.

Poor baby. Louis yawns. What’s he doing?

Painting. Something about his date being his muse.

I feed him and clothe him and take care of him yet ive never been his muse.

I feel used

Louis frowns at Harry’s messages, mind whirling. A pan clatters in the kitchen and Louis bolts upright.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

He leaves his phone on his bed as he races into the kitchen, too frantic to put on clothes.

“Morning, Lou,” Liam greets him, head in the fridge as he fishes out some eggs. “Want eggs?”

He turns around and takes in Louis’ lack of attire, and clutches the carton of eggs over his eyes, “Put some clothes on. No one wants to see that.”

He walks to the hob and places the eggs down on the counter. Louis stands eerily calm beside him. Liam casts him a worried glance.

“You okay?” he takes an egg from the carton, about to crack it against the skillet.

“Zayn.”

The egg splatters onto the floor.

In hindsight, Louis probably should have waited until Liam’s hands were free.

Niall comes running out from the bathroom, “What happened?” He takes in the egg on the floor, Louis naked body and Liam’s ashen face.

“Really Liam?” Niall asks disappointed. “Have you never seen a naked man before? Or is Louis’ willie so small it shocked you?”

“More like too big,” Louis pinches Niall’s nipple. “And no. Look I – Liam and – he’s -“ Louis growls in frustration trying to find an adequate way to explain his discovery to Niall. He gives up and just says, “Zayn.”

“Shhh,” Liam finally moves into action, grabbing napkins to mop up the mess.

“Who is possibly going to hear us?” Louis demands.

“What’s Zayn?” Niall asks, bewildered.

“Who’s Zayn,” Louis corrects.

“Who’s Zayn?” Niall amends.

“Liam’s boy,” Louis declares smugly.

“How do you know?” Liam asks. His eyes are slightly downcast. “I asked you to give me some time.”

“Oh, hey, no, Li,” Louis shushes him. He moves in and gives Liam a hug. “He’s Harry’s roommate.”

“What?” Niall asks from behind them. His confusion doesn’t stop him from joining the hug, arms content around Louis and Liam.

“Um, Lou,” Liam tentatively pats Louis, “you’re still naked.”

“Alright,” Niall says, slapping Louis’ bum. “Go put on some pants before Payno gets a hernia and then I want a proper explanation.

Once everyone’s bits are covered and eggs are scrambled and toast is toasted and tea is steeping, Louis recounts how he put two and two together.

“He’s the Greek god from Tinder,” Louis tells Niall. “The one Liam wouldn’t let me match with.”

“He deleted his account after I told him about it,” Liam says.

“Aww, he’s so whipped for you,” Niall beams.

“Harry actually cooked dinner?” Liam asks.

Louis nods, sympathetically. “If it makes you feel better, he’d been practicing cooking for a week. Was going to make you Parmesan chicken.”

“That’s my fave,” Liam smiles at his eggs.

“Was proper stressed when I saw him,” Louis adds. “Still fucking gorgeous.”

“He is.” Liam’s eyes crinkle adorably.

---

“Our roommates are dating,” Louis says in lieu of a greeting when Harry takes a seat across from him.

“Liam’s your roommate?” Harry asks, mouth hanging open.

“Mhm, and he wouldn’t let me swipe right for Zayn because he’s dating Zayn.”

“I was slightly confused before, but now I’m really confused,” Harry admits.

Louis fills him in.

“Should’ve seen him, Haz. Egg just fell out of his hand.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Harry shakes his head.

“Swallow a dictionary, babe?”

“Just a thesaurus.”

Louis kicks him under the table. Harry blows him a kiss.

“Tell me why we’re meeting for pints at one o’clock in the afternoon? On a Wednesday? At the sketchiest pub near campus?”

“Only day you had an afternoon off,” Louis shrugs.

“How’d you know that?”

“Was on your calendar. You should really be more careful with your privacy.”

“You were snooping in my room!”

“One – you left me in there. All alone. Two – it was posted on your wall. In plain sight. Under a horrible picture of the Backstreet Boys.”

“Heyyy, they’re the greatest boyband of all time.”

“Can’t argue with the truth,” Louis admits. “Pints?”

“And food. ‘M fucking starving.” Harry picks up a menu.

“Just avoid the beef and you won’t get diarrhea. Chicken too. Heard some story about salmonella.”

“Why’d you bring me here?” Harry places his menu down to look at Louis.

“Gotta work your way up to a fancy restaurant. Can’t expect that on date two.”

“What can I expect on date two?”

Louis purses his lips in thought. “I hear their peach cobbler is very good.”

Harry’s eyes light up comically, “Really?”

Louis snorts, “Down, boy.”

A waiter interrupts them and they stop their verbal flirting to place their orders. Harry, undeterred, rubs his foot up Louis’ calf and watches with barely contained glee, as Louis trips over his words to order a plate of chips.

“I actually have a meeting at two thirty,” Louis admits a bit sheepishly, once the waiter leaves and Harry behaves himself. “This was the closest place where I could spend enough of time with you and still get to my meeting in time. We can go somewhere else if you want.”

“Don’t be silly, Lou,” Harry says warmly, “Zayn and I love this place.”

“’K. Good.”

“Good.”

“Who’re you meeting with?” Harry asks, taking a sip of his beer.

“Got an Ally meeting. Fixing schedules for the month and then going over the paper. New issue goes live on Monday.”

“Oh, finish the article then?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, happily.

“Can I get a sneak peak of it?”

Louis breath stutters slightly. He’s never dated anyone who willingly wanted to read his work. “I have the final version on my laptop… if you want to read it now?”

“Brilliant!” Harry moves the soup and salad he’d just received out of the way to make room for Louis’ laptop.

It’s silent as he reads through the article. Harry’s eyebrows pinch together slightly when he concentrates, a tiny furrow in between. It takes all of Louis’ self-control to not reach over and smooth out the line with the tips of his fingers. Instead, he sits still and focuses on making his chest cavity bigger, so his swelling heart has enough room to grow. The things he does for this boy. Honestly.

“Lou,” Harry breathes, when he gets to the end. His fingers touch the image of the two nurses on the screen, light and reverently.

“D’you like it?” He attempts for casual, though Louis’ voice still wavers slightly.

“Babe, it’s incredible. I can’t believe how much work you put into finding all these pictures and letters. And how you gave these soldiers and nurses a voice. Fuck, Lou, it’s so well written.”

“I – I,” Louis bites his lip, heat flaming from his face. He’s at a loss of words at Harry’s sincere praise. “Er, thank you. Really. Means a lot t’me.”

Harry gently closes the lid of Louis’ laptop and takes Louis’ hand in his own, “Meant every word.”

His gaze is so steady and piercing that Louis can only last for a few minutes before he has to tear his eyes away, the intensity lighting him up from the inside.

He clears his throat, “How’s your project going? Come up with an idea yet?”

Harry awkwardly lets go of Louis’ hands to dig his spoon into his soup with gusto and ends up dribbling down his chin. He wipes at it frantically, reaching for his pint to cover up his awkwardness, only to end up choking on the lager.

“You alright?” Louis asks half concerned, half amused, and half endeared. So maybe it doesn’t all add up to a whole, but he supposes the universe must expand and break its laws to accommodate for Harry, so he’s okay with the Maths flaw.

Harry nods vigorously, a few curls flying out from his red headscarf. He finally manages to settle himself and take a deep breath.

“I actually wanted to run an idea by you,” Harry admits.

“Shoot,” Louis says, popping a chip into his mouth. He’s quite curious to what Harry’s come up with. He has two weeks to finish his midterm Photography project. The instructions were minimal to say the least: everyone in the class had received an envelope with one word written inside – blue.

“So it’s been bothering me trying to figure out what to do, yeah?” Harry begins.

Louis attempts to cover up his snort at the understatement. Obviously, he fails, and Harry kicks him in retaliation.

“Be nice,” Harry admonishes, “or I won’t tell you.”

“Being nice,” Louis promises.

Harry levels him with a look, but continues, “I got the idea after our date, last week. When I gave you my hoodie, which, by the way, I have your jumper with me.” Louis waves him on. Harry clears his throat. “Yeah, I kind of picked that hoodie, because, it, er, it like, matches your eyes?”

Any other time, and Louis would be teasing him relentlessly. Now, he’s just a bit confused.

“Okay…” he says.

“They’re both blue?” Harry looks at him expectantly.

“I got that bit, Haz.”

“Right, yeah, good. So, er… when I gave them to you, they were the perfect match right? But then, sometimes they weren’t. When we were on the roof, and the sun was setting, your eyes were lighter and had a bit more green in them. And then when it got dark, they were a bit grey.”

“Mhm,” Louis nods, “Eyes tend to change colour.”

“Exactly!” Harry exclaims. His nerves abandon him for a moment. “Like when you were thinking of my hands, they were almost black.”

Louis stares at his smirk, Harry leaning back in his seat looking entirely too pleased with himself. He’s unsure if he wants to slap it off or kiss it off.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis sniffs, noise in the air. “You also haven’t explained this project to me.

“I want to photograph your eyes.”

When he looks back on the moment, it’s definitely not his finest. In his defense, spitting out his beer, was Louis’ only valid option.

“Fuck, Louis!”

“I’m sorry, what?” Louis asks, dabbing his mouth with the napkins Harry thrusts as him.

“I want to take pictures of the different shades of blue of your eyes. And then match them with other things that I associate with that colour. When I first saw you at Margaret’s cart, your eyes, they looked like the sky that day. S’all bright and clear.”

Louis just stares at him, in a bit of a shock.

“If you don’t want to, I understand,” Harry rushes to say. “I can always figure something else out.”

“No,” Louis quickly shakes his head, searching for words in his vacant brain. Harry essentially wants to do a project on him. Where, he, Louis is the subject. Louis is his muse.

“I’m your muse.”

Harry chews at his lip, “Yeah. I suppose you are.”

Louis simply sits across from him and smiles brilliantly. His cheeks are starting to hurt, but he can’t be bothered to stop.

“So will you let me take pictures of you?” Harry asks.

Louis tries to say yes but his stretched lips aren’t really cooperating, so he settles for nodding happily.

Harry visibly deflates in relief, “Fuck, thank you, Louis. I, just a –“ Harry fiddles with something at his side for a minute. “Just give me a sec.”

Louis’ content to just sit and watch him, smile dimming a little, into something less manic. He’s still unbelievably flattered, his heart doing cartwheels and back flips in his chest. Good thing he’d taken those moments before to will his chest cavity bigger.

“K, smile,” Harry’s head suddenly turns to face him, a DSLR in his hand. Before Louis can even blink, he hears the shutter of the camera go off.

“Already?” Louis asks, moving to fix his fringe. “Could’ve given a guy some warning.”

Harry shrugs, “It’s got to be candid. Only way to really capture the difference in your eye colour. And the moment.”

“The moment?”

“When you’re pleased, or really happy, your eyes become this magnificent, clear blue. Even in this crappy pub lighting.”

Louis’ rendered speechless again. He’s starting to realise that in a couple of weeks, he’s going to learn a lot about how his emotions play across his face.

“Will you be able to get enough pictures?” Louis questions. Their schedules don’t align that often.

“I’ll figure it out. ‘S not like I need that many. I’d rather have a few distinct shades.”

Louis’ alarm chooses that moment to go off. He sighs, “That’s my five minute alarm.”

“You set an alarm?”

“Had to, didn’t I? Else, I’d lose track of time, around you.”

“We did set a precedent for that,” Harry admits. He pouts sadly as Louis packs up his laptop. “When will I see you again?”

“You free next Friday?” Louis asks.

“Haven’t memorised my schedule?” Harry teases.

Louis throws his napkin at him.

“But, er, actually, next Friday won’t work.”

“What’s more important than our third date?” Louis asks indignantly.

Harry grins unabashedly, “Backstreet Boys concert.”

“What the fuck?” Louis demands. “How’d you get tickets? Niall’s been looking for some for ages and the only ones left are ridiculously expensive.”

“Oh, I’ve got a spare one. If he’d like to go?”

“I’m sorry,” Louis clears his throat, “Who exactly are you dating?”

Harry dimple pops out cheekily, “Gemma’s friend works for the arena they’re playing at and got us some tickets. Five – one for herself, one for Gemma, one for Gem’s boyfriend, one for Zayn, and one for me.”

Louis nods, following along.

“They’re all best friends from uni,” Harry continues with his story. “And a friend in their circle is getting married in Miami that weekend, so the three of them are going for the wedding instead.”

“That’s three extra tickets, Harold,” Louis tuts.

“Well, Zayn is taking Liam.”

“Two extra.”

“You get an A in Maths?”

“Two extra,” Louis repeats.

“I guess Niall’s getting one.”

“One left.”

“Don’t you have to leave, Lou? You’re going to be late.”

“You never did order that peach cobbler,” Louis says coolly, standing up and wrapping his scarf around his neck.

The next thing he knows, he’s being smothered by curls and the faint spiciness he’s come to associate with Harry.

“Will you be my date to the Backstreet Boys?” Harry asks in his ear, hands burning through Louis’ back, hugging him close. They’re resting high on Louis’ back, nowhere near his arse. And suddenly, Louis wants nothing more.

“Lower,” Louis breathes into Harry’s neck.

“’S not an answer,” Harry says, inching his hands down Louis’ back. At the pace he’s going, Louis’ going to miss his meeting entirely.

Louis bites at Harry’s neck in retaliation, the sharp nip eliciting a low groan from Harry.

“We’re in public, Lou,” Harry chides, pinching Louis right above the swell of his arse.

“I swear to –“ Louis breaks off as Harry slides his palms over Louis’ bum, cupping a cheek in each hand. He gives them a gentle squeeze and pulls back to look at Louis.

“Would you look at that? Perfect fit,” Harry’s lips stretch obscenely to reveal his teeth, dimple dancing in his cheek.

“I hate you,” Louis says, belying his words with a swift kiss to Harry’s dimple. Harry gives his arse one last squeeze, letting go so Louis can leave.

His phone buzzes during the Ally meeting and Louis quickly silences it. He only gets a chance to check his messages when he’s walking home with some friends.

0 tickets. Gave the last one to Billy the bartender

You snooze you lose

Louis snorts, fiddling with his phone. It’s a while before he succeeds, asking Adam who’s walking beside him to help. He quickly sends a screenshot of his phone to Harry.

YOU snooze YOU lose

He leaves his friends at the edge of campus, heading in the opposite direction. As soon as he’s alone, his phone rings.  

“Yes, Harold?”

“Turns out Billy the Bartender is actually busy Friday night.”

“What a coincidence.”

There’s a bit of silence from Harry’s end.

“Haz?” Louis asks tentatively.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles.

“You’re kind of quiet.”

“’M sorry,” Harry stutters. “I uh, ‘s only the second date, erm, like I know that but. Like – “

“Harry,” Louis says softly, “was just a joke, yeah? Adam’s a friend from the Ally Centre. I asked him to match with me on Tinder so I could send you the screenshot. Just a bit of banter, love.”

“Yeah?” the relief in Harry’s voice is audible, even over the phone.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckles hesitantly, “I know. I just got…”

“Jealous?” Louis offers.

“Just a smidge.”

“I’m not a big fan of Billy the bartender, either.”

Harry’s laugh is more bodied, “I’ll see you Friday.”

“Couldn’t keep me away if you tried.”

They hang up long before Louis gets home, but he’s still smiling goofily when he enters.

Niall’s sitting at the table with his laptop and Liam’s on the sofa, textbook in his lap.

“K, that’s it,” Louis stomps in, slamming the door behind him.

“What?” Liam asks.

“This is like, the fifth time that I’ve come home to the two of you, in the exact same, fucking positions. Doing the same, fucking things.”

“You’re being a bit dramatic,” Niall rubs his eyes behind his glasses. “We’re students, we study. It’s part of the word. Same derivative.”

“Not like we have more furniture to vary it up,” Liam comments. He pats the seat on the sofa beside him. Louis’ seat. “Come join me. I saved you a seat.”

Louis searches in his pockets and finds a used napkin. He ceremoniously balls it up and then lobs it at Liam’s head. The way the tissue bounces off Liam’s startled face is utterly satisfying.

“How’d the paper go?” Niall asks, absentmindedly, more focussed on the data analysis he’s running.

“They loved it. Jones suggested submitting it to the school’s main paper.”

“Wey hey!” Niall crows, looking up at Louis. “Calls for a proper celebration, mate! We should drink.”

“When have you needed an excuse to drink?” Liam questions.

“Wait, I have more good news,” Louis interrupts.

“Oh, yes! Date with Harry today. How’d it go?” Liam asks.

“Brilliantly. You’re not the only one who can be a muse,” he pokes Liam’s thigh.

“Muse for what?” Niall asks.

Louis explains the project, revelling in the teasing when he’s done. They’re sipping lazily at beers and watching an old episode of IT Crowd, when Louis remembers.

“Leeyum, I forgot. You’re also not the only one going to see the Backstreet Boys.”

Niall whips his head round so quick, Louis’ sure he’s sprained a muscle. “Who’s going to see the Backstreet Boys?”

“Zayn’s taking me,” Liam says. “Harry was coming too, his sister got them tickets.” His face brightens when it clicks, “He’s taking you, Lou?”

Louis nods, giving Liam a double high five.

“’S great lads,” Niall says around a pull of beer. “Gotta take lots of pictures for me. And videos. Their first tour with Kevin back.”

He’s smiling, though there’s a slight downward slant to his lips. Louis can only tell because he’s known Niall for so long. Poor Nialler. So self-sacrificing. Such a great friend.

Louis carefully places his beer on the table and proceeds to crawl gracefully onto Niall’s lap, nearly knocking over his beer in the process. Only Liam’s quick reflexes save it from upending all over his laptop.

Niall blinks up at him when Louis’ settled comfortably. Once. Twice.

“Yes?”

Louis squeezes his cheeks in his palms, watching Niall’s lips purse up into a fish mouth. He’s really quite adorable.

Niall blinks again. “Louis.”

“Did you think Liam and I would abandon you? That we’d go see the most sacred act in pop music without you? Singers of hits such as I Want it That Way, Quit Playing Games with my Heart, Show ‘Em What You’re Made Of, Larger-“

“Fu–“

“Hazza has an extra ticket.”

“Oh,” Niall lets out. It’s clear he’s holding himself back from jumping to conclusions.

Louis sighs. “We’re taking you.”

“I fucking love you!” Niall yells, jumping up with Louis in his arms.

He jostles the table in his exuberance. From Louis’ vantage point, he has a clear view of his beer spilling over his laptop.

“Oh, fuck,” Liam sighs. “Not again.”

“I’m on it!” Niall shouts, dropping Louis to the floor with a thud and returning with towels.

“This arse is precious,” Louis scowls from the floor.

“So’s your laptop.” Niall dabs furiously at the keyboard.

“If it’s survived the last five times, it’ll survive this,” Louis stretches out, watching Niall cross over him to toss the towels. “’S turning on?”

Liam tests it out. “Working fine.”

They all sit back. It’s silent for a whole of ten seconds before Niall jumps up again and yells, “Backstreet Boys, motherfuckers!”

And the night devolves into the three of them singing along to the Backstreet Boys’ greatest hits and practicing their choreographed dance moves.

---

He knows he’s cutting it close but when an eighteen year old comes crying to the Ally Centre about a sexual identity revelation, Louis isn’t going to rush their tears.

That’s why he finds himself alone at home, quickly changing into white baggy trousers, white shirt, and white button up. He can’t believe the others agreed to Niall’s inane idea to dress like the Backstreet Boys from the I Want it That Way music video. He was sure they’d veto it. And yet, the image in the mirror begs to differ.

He’s antsy the entire way to the arena. He’d told the others to go ahead without him, had insisted when Harry had protested. He’s questioning his decision now, wishes Harry was with him to listen to the new BSB album, tell him about his day, and hold his hand.

It’s also been years since he last saw Harry.

Maybe more like days but semantics are irrelevant. He’d been exiting the Larson building, greeted by a beautiful sunset as he walked down the steps. He’d also been ambushed by a sneaky Harry who had taken a few candid shots of Louis, followed by some carefully set up ones to capture the sunset. Harry’s ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ were a second apart, paired with a rushed, “I couldn’t forget how your eyes looked in the setting sun. Had to photograph it.” Louis had watched him trip over air in his haste to get to a class, a bit stunned and smiling goofily at Harry’s retreating back.

Louis schools the replicated smile as he gets off the bus a few stops later. He keeps his eyes peeled once at the arena though he doesn’t have to try too hard. They’re the only boys in the line this early, as well as the only group dressed in all white. Niall and Liam are wearing the same baggy trousers and unbuttoned white shirt combo. They look like morons, and Louis loves them.

His eyes flit to Harry and Zayn, and snorts. Obviously, they would find a way to make Niall’s idea work for them. Zayn’s paired his fitted trousers with a white blazer, just like Howie in the music video. It hangs off his shoulders in a way that ensures Liam can’t take his eyes off him.

Louis bites his bottom lip when he finally rests his eyes on Harry and drinks his fill. Louis is convinced Harry’s wearing women’s jeans because he has yet to find a pair of men’s trousers that fit that snugly. He’s looked. His jeans are paired with a white singlet that’s practically see through, with the way the tattooed moth is visible. On his head is a white fedora. It should look ridiculous but it works. Beautiful bastard.

Louis quickly swipes a hand over his mouth to ensure there’s no drool leaking out the side.

“Lads,” he greets when he joins them.

“Tommo!” they cheer. “You made it!”

Harry pulls him in for a hug, a quiet, “I’ve missed you,” and a soft kiss to his temple.

“Hand it over boys,” Harry says, leisurely stroking his fingers along Louis’ waist.

“Hand what over?” Louis asks.

“They bet that you wouldn’t wear the white. But I knew you’d take one for the team and do it. You’re just that amazing.”

“Leeyum, I’m going to vom my lunch,” Niall says, pulling out his phone. “Get in, we need to document my brilliance.”

“You can’t even see our outfits,” Liam pouts, looking at the selfie Niall takes.

“That’s a good thing,” Louis mutters.

“Let’s ask someone to take a picture,” Harry says, already off to a group of girls with his phone in his hand.

The good thing of asking someone else to take their picture is they get a wonderful shot of the five of them looking awfully like the Backstreet Boys. The bad thing is now they have a proper picture documenting the monstrosity of their outfits.

-

Thanks to their time in the line, they’re able to get standing room right at center stage. Niall’s bought beer for everyone, insisting drinks were on him for the night. The arena gets progressively louder as it fills, random screams going up every time someone thinks they see one of the boys. It’s infectious and Louis’ thrilled, laughing with the women around them. They drink their way through the opener, Niall returning with a new set of beers just in time for the lights to dim and the noise to reach deafening decibels.

Despite listening to Backstreet Boys nonstop and watching videos every night for a week, nothing could have prepared them for moment AJ, Nick, Howie, Brian, and Kevin all appear on the stage, in matching white suits. The unmistakable beat of The Call resounds in the arena and Liam upends half of his beer over Louis as he jumps along to the song. Louis can’t bring himself to care, yelling the lyrics along, dancing with Harry by his side. He feels alive and free and it’s the most fun he’s had in ages.

-

It’s the third time that AJ has glanced in their direction, offering up a wave or smile or wink. Nick had actually been the first to notice them, stopping dead in the middle of his All I Have to Give dance move and had to move his mic away so his laugh wouldn’t drown out the other’s vocals. Niall had nearly dropped his beer in shock, before his Irish instincts kicked in. The others had yelled and ended up in a group hug with Louis in the middle, that he had to wrestle out of, choking for air.

“Some of you might know our next song,” Brian says once they’ve finished singing Permanent Stain. He’s holding the stage while the other four do a costume change.

“I think a few people liked it, back in the day,” Howie tacks on, emerging from backstage.

Louis’ ears are ringing in the relative quietness of the arena, the audience softer to ensure everyone can hear the boys talk. Someone bumps into him from behind and his arm is jostled as he attempts to drink the last dregs of his beer. Most of it ends up on his shirt. He’s bumped again and Harry moves behind him.

Fuck, Louis loves concerts. Particularly, boy band concerts where everyone harmonizes so perfectly, five glorious men in coordinated outfits on stage, dance moves on point.

AJ chooses that moment to run out, his black nail polish glittering in the stage lights. “Sorry, my ear piece got caught in my shirt.”

It earns a raucous cheer which they all contribute to. Zayn’s particularly pleased at the idea of a shirtless AJ, arms up in the air, spilling some of his beer onto Louis. It’s fine. Louis can pretend the wet shirt look is for the Quit Playing Games with my Heart music video instead.

“Actually,” AJ is saying, “before we start, I have to do a shout out. Can we get a camera to the audience?”

It’s so loud that Louis misses AJ’s next words. There’s no missing the hand pointed in their direction though, or the image of the five of them plastered over the big screens. Louis stares at his face in mild shock, while the other four jump up and down. That’s his face, broadcast over the entire arena, for everyone to see. It’s only when Harry gently nudges his side that he comes to, waving for the camera and for the Backstreet Boys.

“Quite impressive,” Nick says. “That one’s even got your chain, AJ.” He points at Harry in case anyone’s missed the obvious.

Harry blushes furiously, tipping his fedora in thanks, earning more screams. Louis gets it.

“Who’s the most brilliant, motherfuckers?” Niall bellows at them, face ruddy and bright at being noticed by the Backstreet fucking Boys. Louis cackles along with him.

It only gets louder from there as the first notes of I Want it That Way break through. The crowd belts out the opening lyrics as one, drowning out Brian’s voice. It’s exhilarating and momentous, a feeling of pure elation coursing through Louis. He’s got his favourite boys swaying together with him, the most classic of pop songs being sung live, and he spares a moment to wonder if it ever gets better than this.

It’s great. It’s wonderful. It’s almost perfect. Like 90% perfect, maybe even 95%, if he’s being generous. The only thing that’s keeping that 5% out of reach is one thing. Or one person, really.

Harold Edward Styles.

He’s spent the concert being unfairly beautiful. Inappropriately attractive. Just too bright and shiny for someone in the audience, when it’s the people on stage who are supposed to be captivating and enthralling.

Harry’s tossed his hair every which way, belted out lyrics with his head thrown back to highlight the vein in his neck and the sharpness of his jaw. Shimmied his arse in an absolutely ridiculous and frankly obscene way. He’s already taken up too much of Louis’ brain space and then he had to go an wrap his arms around Louis, align their bodies from head to toe, push his junk into Louis’ arse, and sing Madeleine sweetly into his ear.

It’s disgusting and rude is what it is.

Not that Louis’ doing anything to stop it. He might even be encouraging it. If tilting his head to the side to allow Harry better access to his neck is considered encouragement. Or digging his fingers into Harry’s arms when he tells Louis that he’ll, “Never play games with your heart.”

He supposes it might be considered encouragement when everyone around them jumps along to the chorus of Love Somebody and he chooses to stay firmly on the ground, arse rubbing against Harry. He’s doing it to the beat of the song, so no one can argue that they’re not paying attention to the concert.

The Backstreet Boys are singing about how they’re so in love and they could die right now and be fine, I need you tonight.

“Louis, fuck – “ Harry’s groan is drowned out by the crowd, his lips dragging down Louis’ neck as Louis punctuates the lyrics with a timely thrust of his hips. 

Louis turns to sing the chorus to Harry, when he takes in Harry’s face, eyes blown wide and lips glistening in the stage lights. It’s at that moment that he realises his pants are too loose to hide anything, especially not the raging boner he’s going to pop any minute now. With the way the camera man has taken to panning to the five of them, it’s probably not a good moment. 

In a testament to how fantastic the boys are, Niall tunes into them and slings an arm around Harry, creating some space between him and Louis. Zayn clasps tightly onto Louis’ sweaty palm for the encore of Larger than Life. And then the Backstreet Boys are doing their final bows and the crowd just gets louder and louder and Louis finds himself drowning in the hard look that Harry fixes him with.

“We’re going to the buses,” Niall yells. “The girls said Howie and Kevin are good about coming out and signing stuff after the concert.”

They follow Niall around the back of the arena where a small group of girls have gathered. Louis means to stop beside Liam but Harry pulls on his hand.

“We’re just going – “ he vaguely points off to somewhere, not bothered if the others acknowledge him or not.

His grip on Louis is insistent yet gentle, taking him around a secluded corner of the arena where the sounds are muted and the only light is from a street lamp far away. Louis waits expectantly, the brick rough against his back through the shirt, the coolness of the night drying the sweat on his forehead.

“Hi,” Harry’s voice is impossibly rougher, sandpaper against his throat, product of a night of screaming.

“Hi,” Louis replies, raspiness a perfect match.

“So,” Harry’s hand palms at Louis’ hip, his fingers drawing maddening circles into his skin. “It’s our third date.”

Louis flicks his hair from his eye, “Didn’t know this was a date.”

Harry growls in frustration, “I spent two hours with you grinding your arse into me, so don’t you dare –“

“Shut up and kiss me, you fool,” Louis mutters, yanking Harry in by his see-through shirt.

Harry takes a split second to sigh against Louis’ lips, before he presses insistently into Louis, tongue demanding entrance. It’s wet and slick and Louis just wants more, more, more. It begins as a battle of wills and dominance, hands groping wildly, bruising and biting at lips and teeth, until Louis shifts his leg allowing Harry to slip a thigh in between. The immediate contact of hard dicks through layers of clothing should have ignited the sparks into a flaming, scorching fire. Instead it simmers the heat, reminding Louis to take his time.

He slips his hand into Harry’s hair, tugs gently at the silky strands to angle his mouth just so. Harry lets out a moan at Louis’ soft swipes of his tongue, huge hands palming at Louis’ arse, pulling him more snugly against his crotch. They lose track as they snog against the wall, working bites into salty skin, marking up necks and sucking at plush lips.

Louis forgets how long he’s been submerged into Harry. He comes up gasping when Harry places a particularly sharp nip right under his ear.

“Babe,” he breathes.

“Sorry, too hard?” Harry asks, belying his concern by pressing into a bruise on Louis’ collarbone.

“No,” Louis flutters his eyes open. He loses his breath at the sight before him, yearning to touch even though he already is. He fingers reverently at Harry’s bottom lip, thumbing at its slickness. “You’re so pretty.”

“You too, Lou,” Harry kisses his cheek softly. He palms at Louis’ cock and then grinds onto it. “Want me to take care of that? Before – “

Loud screams swallow his words.

“We should…” Harry trails off helplessly, eyes darting from Louis to the screams and then back again.

“Yeah,” Louis nods, gulping in air to regain control. “Just gimme a sec.”

Louis ties his button up around his waist, letting the sleeves hide his erection. He winces as Harry adjusts himself in the tightness of his jeans and together they make the way to the busses.

Howie and Kevin are indeed by the crowd, taking picture and signing autographs. They join Niall, Liam and Zayn just as AJ pops out of one of the busses.

“Fix your hair,” Niall hisses when Louis sidles next to him. “You can’t look like that in front of the Backstreet Boys.”

“You too Haz,” Zayn snorts.

Harry sticks out his tongue, tying up his hair into a bun. He’s done not a moment too soon, when Howie catches a glimpse of them. He and AJ approach the boys excitedly.

“Sick outfits,” AJ says.

“Thanks,” the five of them reply as one.

“I really like your nail polish,” Harry tells him.

“Thanks!” AJ holds out his fourth finger on his left hand, painted in a sparkly pink. “Check out this one. My daughter did it,” he grins.

Kevin joins them and they take pictures together, gushing about how much they love the Backstreet Boys. Niall turns a brilliant shade of red when everyone credits him for the outfit idea. They’re still a little stunned that they’re actually holding a conversation with people they’ve grown up listening to, thankful they have enough wits to talk coherently and not just stare or scream at them. Just when they figure the night can’t get any better, Howie points to Louis’ collarbone and winks at Harry, “Nice hickey.”

The laughter follows them all the way back home.

-

Louis lies in bed, frowning at the shadows on the ceiling cast by his bedside lamp. They’d stayed up late reminiscing about the concert and watching the videos they’d taken.

When Zayn had said he’d stay over with Liam, Louis had thought of offering Harry the same. Except Harry had beaten him, yawning as the clock hit 1 am, saying he needed to get home and get some sleep so he could wake up at the crack of dawn to take some pictures. He’d kissed Louis good night, soft lips sliding gently against his own. Because that’s something they do now. Kiss.

And then he’d left.

Left Louis alone with memories of Harry’s lips and hands. The more Louis tried to push the thoughts away, the faster they came back, insistent and unyielding, just the way Harry had kissed him. He’s hard and he just wants to get off.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand.

I can’t sleep

Should have stayed over

Louisss

Louis can practically hear him whine, lips pouty and eyes wide. His cock twitches helplessly and Louis groans.

Go to sleep Harold

Can’t. Can’t stop thinking about you

Louis sighs. Same

You’re thinking about you too? How you keep making those high pitched noises?

Fuck off

He gets a picture of Harry kissing the camera instead. He’s shirtless and Louis is still hard.

That’s for you. Wish I was doing that to you right now

You should sleep.

Working on it

Louis feels restless as he reads Harry’s words. His skin feels itchy and hot and there’s a sense of something just out of his grasp.

How?

He bites his lip as he waits for Harry’s reply. He thumbs it open with his heart pounding in his chest.

It’s a picture of Harry’s laurel tattoos in the foreground. There’s a light shining from above that illuminates the image clearly.

The image of Harry’s hand around his hard cock. Louis can see a drop of precum glistening at the head. Louis’ own blurts weakly to match Harry’s.

”You sent me a dick pic, Harold,” Louis hisses the second Harry accepts his call.

“You asked me,” Harry defends, words punctuated by puffs of air. The slick of his hand moving is clear through the phone.

“And you’re touching yourself!”

“Am I breaking your rules, Lou? You going to break up with – me?” Harry gasps.

“I hate you.” His cock doesn’t agree.

He feels the phone buzz against his cheek. Louis pulls it away in confusion to accept a FaceTime call from Harry.

“And you hung up on me,” Louis complains. “I should break up with you.”

“I wanted to see you,” Harry shrugs, unabashed. “I should have stayed over.”

He gazes at Louis for a moment, breath not as rushed as before.

“Did you come already?” Louis demands.

“Nope,” Harry grins, popping the ‘p.’ “Wanted to see you when I did.”

“You’re disgusting, Harold.”

“You’re really pretty.”

“Are you stroking the screen?” Louis questions.

“Wish I was stroking you,” Harry sighs. “Want to feel you in my hands. In my mouth. I love giving blow jobs, Lou. Can I give you a blow job?”

Louis practically cries at that, his cock demanding his attention. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“No, Lou, open your eyes for me babe. I want to see you. See what you’d look like when I take you in my mouth.”

“Harry,” Louis whines. He wraps a hand around himself, arching at the touch.

“Yeah, just like that. You’re touching yourself aren’t you? Wishing it was my hands? My big hands? Or my mouth.”

“Hands,” Louis gasps on an upstroke. “I hate you. I hate you for making me do this to myself.”

“Sorry,” Harry grins, looking the least bit apologetic. He fumbles with his camera for a bit.

“Did you, did you just take a screenshot?” Louis bites out, thumb grazing his slit.

Harry nods, happily. “Love how dark your eyes turn when you think of my hands touching you.”

Louis hangs up.

His phone buzzes in succession. He opens it to pictures of Harry’s leaking dick, lying flat on his stomach, the angle allowing for a visual of his flushed chest and lip captured in his teeth.

“After I come, I’m breaking up with you,” Louis promises when Harry calls him again.

Harry’s breath is laboured and he laughs breathlessly. “Want me to talk you through your orgasm, babe?”

Louis whines and buries his face in his pillow.

“Show me,” Harry demands, suddenly. “I want to see you.”

With shaky hands, Louis turns his phone to his own leaking cock. Harry swears over the speaker.

“I’d put my fingers in you too. Can’t wait to get my fingers in your arse. Been dreaming about it.”

“Haz, please,” Louis begs, rubbing himself off. He can feel his muscles tighten, his balls pulling close to his body.

“How many would you take? One? Or two?”

“Three,” Louis gasps.

“I’d give them to you. Anything you want. You want my cock too?”

“Close,” Louis chokes, watching the way Harry’s hand is flying over his cock, wishing it was the doing the same to his own.

“Me too, Lou. Come for me, babe. In my mouth. Over my hands.”

Louis does, shooting white over his chest, cock twitching helplessly. He tries to angle the camera so that Harry can see it all but he’s shaking too much to get a proper shot.

“Just want to see your face,” Harry tells him, voice tight.

“Are you going to come?” Louis pants, heart still racing after his orgasm.

Harry gives him a jerky nod, eyes squeezing shut. Louis watches in awe as he shoots over his moth. The camera shifts up to Harry’s face only. They lie in silence, coming down from their high. They don’t take their eyes off each other.

“I still hate you,” Louis says, when Harry breaks their eye contact to yawn.

“It’s okay,” Harry blows him a kiss. “I can make it up to you.”

“Go to sleep, Harold.”

Louis cleans himself up, the last thing he sees before sleeping are the emojis of a hand, an eggplant, and a row full of bursting confetti.

---

“I got my project back!”

The door flies open. Niall looks up from his chair at the table, Liam and Louis from their spots on the couch. Harry and Zayn frown at them from the door.

“What?” Liam asks, closing his economics textbook.

“Do you ever move?” Zayn questions, kissing Liam while hugging him from behind.

“Your project?” Louis ignores Zayn.

Harry waves around a very large envelope.

“Oh, your photography project. Of me. That you wouldn’t let me see. Of me.” Louis turns his attention back to his laptop.

Niall cackles, “How’d you do?”

“Got an A,” Harry says, proudly. “My professor was very impressed with my idea. Wants to put it up in the end of year showcase.”

Louis huffs loudly, eyes fixed resolutely on his screen.

Harry cards his fingers through Louis’ hair, gently dragging his nails just the way Louis like it. “I’ll show it to you now.” He drops a kiss to Louis’ temple and prances away to his bedroom.

Louis refuses to follow him.

“Aren’t you going to go see?” Liam asks.

“No,” Louis picks at his nails. He’s the most uninterested. Cares the least. Isn’t bothered by Niall, Liam and Zayn staring at him.

He lasts all of thirty second before he grunts, grumbling the entire way to his room.

“Was convinced you’d hold out for longer,” Harry grins. He’s arranging something on Louis’ bed.

“Alright,” Harry says, stepping back. “Take a look.”

Louis approaches the bed. There are six photos, enlarged so the detail is magnified and magnificent. They’re arranged in two columns, three rows in each column. On the right are blown up images of Louis’ eyes. No other feature, but Louis’ eyes. Each set of his eyes are paired with an image of the sea and sky, on the left, all taken from the same vantage point. The only difference in those pictures are the blues of the sky and its reflection in the water.

The top two pictures depict a clear, crystal blue of Louis’ eyes, a brightness that Harry had enhanced, despite the dim lighting of the pub the picture was taken in. It’s definitely the bluest he’s ever seen his eyes, not a trace of the occasional green or grey flecks, but a classic cerulean blue. He wonders if Harry had played with the colours.

He asks him so.

“No. Just brightened up the pictures a bit, played with lighting. I wanted the colours to stay the same.”

Louis nods, taking in the similar cerulean of the sky, an incredibly clear expanse without a trace of a cloud. The water glistens below, waves catching and reflecting the sharpness above.

The two photographs below show a darker blue, highlighted orange and gold due to the setting sun. There’s a hint of surprise in Louis’ eyes, though he figures he’s privy to that based on his knowledge of how Harry had ambushed him that day. The matching sunset over the horizon is equally breathtaking, the orange of the sun drawing out the richness of the sky and water.

“I cheated on that one,” Harry says quietly, watching Louis’ fingers touch the edge of the sunset. “It’s not actually a sunset, but a sunrise. Doubt anyone can tell the difference.”

“I couldn’t.”

The last two are the blue of the sky just before it turns pitch black. The sea and sky resemble an eternity, never ending as they blend into one. The same infinity is captured in Louis’ eyes, his irises so dark they practically are one with the blackness of his pupil.

“When did you take this one?” Louis asks, having no memory of that image.

Harry blushes beside him. “The first time we had sex.”

Louis furrows his brows, “I’m pretty sure I’d have remembered if you paused fingering me to pull out your camera.”

Harry’s avoiding his eyes. “Before that,” he mumbles.

Louis is thrown to a month ago, when Harry had fumbled around with his phone while he talked Louis through his orgasm.

“You used a picture of me, minutes away from an orgasm, for you photography project?!” Louis whispers furiously at him.

“No one knows when it was taken!”

Louis stares him down for a beat longer and then breaks into cackles, sliding to sit on the floor when he can’t hold himself up any longer.

“That’s brilliant, babe. My phone sex face got you an ‘A.’”

Harry swats at him, busying himself with putting away the pictures. Louis makes a garbled noise and stops him.

“No. I haven’t looked my fill. Someone wouldn’t let me see them before.”

Harry bites his lip, leaving the pictures on the bed.

“Why wouldn’t you let me see it?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs, “Dunno. Just wanted to know it was good enough before you saw it.”

“Haz,” Louis says, gently. He knows Harry is withholding the truth from him. In the past couple months of dating, they’ve bounced ideas for papers and projects off each other before anyone else, sent drafts to the other for thoughts and feedback. That’s one of Louis’ favourite things about being with Harry – how he’s able to be vulnerable in his work because he knows Harry will treat it with the utmost importance. He knows Harry feels the same as well.

“It revealed too much. Was too serious,” Harry sighs. “We’d been dating for only a couple of weeks at that time and I was already falling for you. I was worried I’d scare you away if you saw it. With all your dating rules, I just. I was flying blind, Lou.”

“Still sent me a dick pic,” Louis points out.

Harry glares at him.

“Kidding, love.” Louis lifts his chin, forcing Harry to look at him. He gently pulls Harry’s bottom lip from between his teeth. “You have to know that I’ll break any rule for you. Do anything for you.”

“Didn’t really know that back then,” Harry pinks again. Louis idly wonders if he should start capturing all the shades of pink Harry gets.

“And now?” Louis asks.

“I know I love you.”

“Even though we’ve only been dating for two months?”

“Knew it at two weeks.”

“Good,” Louis murmurs against Harry’s lips, words fanning out. He feels Harry’s eyes flutter close. “Love you too.”

He presses softly into Harry, lips barely brushing as Harry exhales heavy breathes.

“Lou, stop teasing,” Harry whines, clutching at Louis and pressing a hard and bruising kiss to his lips. He sheds Louis’ clothes with the same fieriness and passion, sucking hot kisses down his neck and chest. Louis lets him take the lead. Allows Harry to bend him over the bed, knees shaking and overcome with love, slightly useless as he stares at the pictures in front of him.

Harry moves to push the photographs aside so Louis can move onto the bed but Louis stops him with a whine.

“Want to see them. Want you to fuck me in front of them. See how much you loved me that you turned me into a project for class.” He giggles at that  and turns bright, yet hooded eyes to Harry.

“Fuck,” Harry runs a hand through his hair, ridding himself of his jeans. He looks at Louis bent over for him, pink hole exposed. “Going to make love to you. Show you how much I love you.”

He does just that, opening Louis up with three fingers like Louis always demands, licking messily around his fingers, lube and spit slicking Louis up. He’s encouraged by Louis’ babbling, declarations of love for Harry and his fingers, his tongue, his cock. For his heart and his mind and his soul.

When Louis gets sentimental like that, Harry pushes into him gently, though Louis’ elbows still buckle from the sensation of being filled up. Harry wraps an arm around him, holding him up as he thrusts into Louis, turning his head to kiss him when he wails as Harry finds his prostate.

“Close,” Louis chokes little breathy moans along with each thrust of Harry’s hips. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Harry mouths at him, quickening his pace in time with jerking Louis off. “Love you so much. Like the sea and the sky. Never ending, Lou. For infinity.”

It’s overwhelming seeing the physical evidence of Harry’s love laid out on the bed before him and that pushes him over the edge. Louis comes with the reminder swimming before his eyes and the words exploding in his brain.

He feels the change in Harry’s thrusts as they get more erratic and Louis wills himself to push Harry off. He cuts off Harry’s whimper with a searing kiss. “In my mouth, babe.”

Harry nods, eyes wide and blown. He rips the condom off, jerking himself while Louis sucks the tip of his cock in his mouth. They’ve done this many times, yet Louis still closes his eyes in happiness when the first bursts of come fill up his mouth. He sucks gently until Harry pushes him away, oversensitive. Harry joins him on the floor, exchanging lazy kisses back and forth. They clean each other up and move to lie down on the bed, Louis stroking the pictures lightly as Harry kisses his neck.

“We’re coming in!” An Irish voice breaks through their afterglow.

“Naked,” Harry yells back, scrambling to move him and Louis under the covers.

“Nothing we haven’t seen before,” Liam says. “Unfortunately.”

“You’re interrupting,” Louis yawns.

“No, we waited until you were done, and then gave you an extra half an hour before we came in,” Zayn corrects. “We’re being thoughtful.”

“What do you want?” Louis grumbles, refusing to remove himself from Harry.

“To see these,” Niall climbs on top of them to look at the pictures.

“Very nice, H,” Zayn compliments. “Love what you did with the lighting.”

They all settle on Louis’ bed, carefully passing the photographs around and commenting on the brilliance of the project and the artistry behind the pictures.

“Hey, Lou,” Niall looks up from the picture of the sunrise. “Tinder wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Louis scowls at him, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“Doesn’t completely take away the romance?” Liam tacks on, sending Zayn a look of pure adoration.

“Still hate dick pics?” Harry smirks into his ear.

“I thoroughly loathe every single one of you,” Louis laments.

“I didn’t do anything!” Zayn says indignantly.

“Zayn’s alright. I love Zayn,” Louis shuffles away from Harry to nuzzle into Zayn’s thigh. He squeals when Harry hauls him back.

“Alright,” Niall gets up, as Harry bites at Louis’ neck, “We’re leaving.”

He doesn’t make it very far before he’s tackled by Louis who tugs him down to the bed.

“Thank you, Nialler,” Louis slobbers the blond with kisses. “I wouldn’t have met the love of my life if it wasn’t for you.”

“Geroff,” Niall squirms. He gladly accepts Liam and Zayn’s help, fleeing the room when he’s out of Louis’ grabby hands. “Keep it down. Some of us have studying to do.”

“Hey, H,” Louis turns to Harry once the others have left.

“Mhm,” Harry sucks a kiss to Louis’s lips.

“I’d swipe right for you, again.”

Harry giggles into his lips, nudging Louis’ nose with his own. “I’d swipe right for you, too. Forever and for always.”