Archive of Our Own

It happened out of the blue.

“I think we’re looking for different things.”

Wait. What?

“Sorry?” Harry practically squeaked.

Charlie bit his lip and scratched the back of his neck. He’s clearly uncomfortable, but at least his chest doesn’t feel like its collapsing on itself. Harry made these reservations (very expensive just for the record) under the assumption that they were celebrating Charlie’s new position in his office. He doesn’t know what dictionary Charlie uses, but that was not a celebrating conversation starter. They’ve barely sat down. Harry was thinking about mozzerella sticks for an appetizer.

Charlie tried again. “You’re great. Really great, but lately I’ve been feeling...pressured into something we’re both not ready for.”

“Dinner?” Harry asked in response. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s the direction this night was supposed to go.”

“Don’t do this,” his boyfriend of two years said with a sympathetic expression.

“Don’t do what?!” he whispered because his breaths are becoming shorter and shorter. His heart was still racing and his head felt too light.

“Don’t make a big deal out of us going our separate ways,” Charlie explained reaching out for Harry’s clenched fist on the table. He pulled his fist away before Charlie could reach it.

Wait. Slow down there friend. Separate ways?! “Sorry?” Harry begged because what the bloody hell is going on exactly?

Charlie’s thick, black fringe fell into his face as he leaned his head forward. Harry winced at it. He’s glad he hadn’t nagged about a haircut before tonight. What a wasted argument that would have been.

A waiter, couldn’t have been much older than Harry, came over with a fixed smile. “How is everything tonight? My name is Zayn and I’ll be serving you. Can I get either of you started with drinks?” he asked completely oblivious to the mental breakdown Harry was having over his cutlery.

Charlie gave the waiter an obvious once over and, well, under different circumstances Harry wouldn’t have minded. The tanned boy with jet-black hair styled up into a quiff that accentuated his sharp cheekbones is quite the specimen to behold. But as his hands were shaking and bile was crawling up his throat, Charlie’s appreciation of this man’s beauty was not understandable nor the least bit helpful.

Charlie answered, “I’ll have white wine, thank you,” and the waiter--Zayn--turned to Harry expectantly just noticing that something was off.

“Pressured? Separate ways?” Harry couldn’t help but vocalise the major concerns of Charlie’s break-up line. The shaking was, apparently, contagious because his legs started an uncontrollable rhythm underneath the table.

Zayn’s fake smile fell off his face and Charlie grunted, nodding his head at Zayn in what appeared to be an effort to remind Harry that he’s there. Harry knew Zayn was still there. He didn’t give a flying fuck. “Separate ways?” he repeated a third time.

“Harry,” Charlie warned in his ‘please don’t make a scene’ voice.

Once again: Harry didn’t give a flying fuck. “Why?” he demanded, his whole body racking in waves of shivers.

Charlie lost it and threw his menu on the table. Zayn excused himself racing for the hills for all Harry could have cared. He gripped onto the tablecloth in an effort to control his body but that was in vain. The lightness in his head grew to a faintness and Harry could have promised anyone at that moment that he had never felt more dizzy in his whole twenty years of life.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t subscribe to a wedding magazine,” Charlie hissed.

As a baker that often caters for weddings, the magazine subscription was long over due, but that’s not what Harry cared to inform Charlie about at this time. “Two years,” he threw out instead. “You’ve been fucking me for longer. Is marriage really that out of the question?” No, Harry didn’t want to get married (he’s not stupid, he knows he’s much too young), but that was hardly the argument.

He speculated that maybe he should have been fighting for Charlie rather than against him. He could always blame this minor lapse in judgment on the lack of oxygen that was reaching his brain.

Charlie looked frightened. “Marriage, Harry? Really? Since day one you’ve been pushing me and I can’t take it anymore.” He got up from the table just as Zayn crept over with a glass of white wine and another glass of iced water.

“Sorry your dick wasn’t enough for me!” Harry tried to yell after him, but ended up blacking out and fainting. He never did get the last word.

He woke up to two blokes huddled over him and a severely broken heart.

That’s how Harry met his best mates Zayn and Niall and came up with the theory that whenever something hellish happens, something bloody amazing has to happen too. If only to balance things out. Like last week Harry had stubbed his toe on the coffee table and found Zayn’s glasses underneath the couch where he was bent over, clutching his foot. It was a lose-win situation and Harry prides himself with thinking of the positives. Well, after a fair bit of therapy. Zayn’s boyfriend at the time was a part-time therapist so the sessions came in those fifteen minute intervals when the bloke waited for Zayn to finish getting ready.

“The fucking cunts at that taco place got my order wrong again,” Niall whines as he barges through Harry’s flat’s front entrance. Whenever he gets upset, Niall falls into a thick Irish accent that reminds Harry of that St. Patrick’s Day where he had drank so much that he had convinced himself that he was a leprechaun.

“Got yours right, ya fucker,” Niall finishes his rant, throwing a brown paper bag with grease stains on the table.

Harry sets his book down next to the couch where he’s seated and grins at his blonde-bright-eyed-cursing-bundle-of-smelly-farts he calls one of his best mates. “That’s because my order doesn’t take five hours to say.”

“What? Am I not allowed to select the best for my tongue? I’ve told their fucking manager a million times that adding extra seasoning to the meat won’t kill anyone. It’s bland as shite.” He falls on the floor and grumbles more profanities into the carpeting.

Harry shrugs. “You don’t have to keep going there.”

Niall points at him and frowns. “Don’t mess with the map.”

Harry nods solemnly because “the map” is ingenious. Upon arriving in Manchester years ago, Niall had taken the challenge of finding the best restaurants in the city, drawing up a map and going the whole distance. Niall spent years at culinary schools and knows food to be an artform. That’s the reason why he became a chef at the restaurant Harry met him. “The map” currently hangs up in the guestroom where Niall resides in Harry’s flat. Zayn generally vacates the front couch because Harry has never actually seen them go home to their own places in the three years they’ve been mates.

After the break-up, Harry was inconsolable and for whatever reason, the two of them decided to stay around with him, literally. If Harry was in his right mind at the time, he wouldn’t have allowed practical strangers to move into his flat and life, but he’s glad he was pathetic. He’s not sure how he lived without those brutes.

Zayn comes home while they play FIFA and wrestle over controllers. “Ah my little demons with faces only I could love,” he exclaims when he sees them.

“Heeeeey”

“Shut your motherf--”

“Okaaay, so I have a favour to ask of you two. Met the new bloke today and he’s sexy as fuck, but also new to the city with like one friend.”

Harry rolls over so that he’s facing Zayn and raises his eyebrows (something he learned recently thanks to youtube tutorials). “You’re dating that Patrick bloke.”

“Dibs,” Niall says from his part of the floor underneath Harry’s left leg.

“Dibs to what? Patrick or new guy? Nevermind. I don’t want to get in new guy’s pants, I just thought we’d be the good citizens that we are and make sure he’s not lonely on weekends, yeah?” Zayn flicks his hand and steps over Harry and Niall to get to their abandoned dinner. He cringes after biting into Harry’s taco and mutters something that sounds strangely similar to ‘this meat is bloody bland’.

Harry asks, “So what should we do?”

Zayn shrugs and Niall abandons the conversation to score points while Harry is distracted. Brutes. “What’s his name?” Harry tries again after a few minutes of weirdly comfortable silence.

“Liam. He’s built like a tank, I swear. Could grate cheese on his abs,” Zayn comments lightly. Niall perks up at that second sentence and nods his head as though this information could be useful.

Now Harry’s just begging for any information that could help them get along with the poor lad. “Has he mentioned anything he wants to do in Manchester?”

“Nah, here for school. Studying law or something way too practical,” Zayn answers and kicks Niall away from his taco. Well, from Harry’s taco.

Harry’s stumped. He thinks on what he would want to do in a new city, but he can’t think of anything. Zayn shoots down Niall’s idea of a film night because “how are we supposed to get to know him if we’re watching a film, idiot.” Which also confirms Harry’s suspicions that Zayn does, in fact, want to get in the bloke’s pants. Or have the option to, but...he’s Zayn. Hell, Harry would let him in his own pants. He’s even probably told him that during a drunken night. Oh, that gives him a brilliant idea.

“What about we take him to a pub?” he asks because he’s a clever little shit. Really, they owe him big time for coming up with such an original idea.

“Yes! Give ‘im a good Irish greeting! Pints n’ chips, nothing gets better than that, lads,” Niall comments from under Zayn’s elbow where he is headlocked. Huh, that’s new. “Then we can bring him home and have that orgy we’ve been meaning to ‘ave.”

Harry groans. “Niall, you can’t have an orgy with a potential friend until we know he’s clean.”

At the same time Zayn asks, “Why haven’t we followed through with those orgy plans?”

Niall ignores Harry and looks at Zayn as though he stepped in horse dung. “Zayn...babe...you can’t have an orgy with three people. That’s a threesome.”

Zayn frowns and nods, taking in this crucial information. Harry kicks both of them. “No, no orgies. We’re going to take him to the pub during karaoke night--”

“So we can seduce him with Zayn’s riffing and your sex voice while I harmonize behind you guys like a boss,” Niall inserts.

Harry sends a second kick at Niall’s groin to keep his dick occupied. “NO, no seducing, no orgies, just a family approved fun night.”

“Alcohol: fun for all ages,” Zayn drones and Niall snickers.

“Yes,” Harry hisses. “And it’s going to be--”

“Orgasmic?”

Another kick at Niall’s groin. “It’s going to be full of friendship power!”

Niall’s bent over himself on the ground and Zayn is staring at Harry with mild disgust from the couch. He decides to add more, “Friendship power...you know? Bonding? We’ll get matching tattoos of screws on our ankles or something? A night of platonic things,” NIall opens his mouth to comment, but Harry cuts him off, “not including orgasms. It’ll be great.”

They agree after a few more kicks and settle in for a night of fiercely competitive FIFA and even more competitive cuddling.

***

The plans for the weekend were confirmed by Liam and he even added to the agenda (stopping by his flat first to warm-up) which is fine because Zayn, Niall, and Harry don’t have a clue what they’re doing. What is this even? Friend-wooing? Mate-courting? Harry’s name “friendship bonding” was thrown out after a particular violent tickling fight.

Saturday, however, saw Harry working a double shift in the bakery due to most of the staff coming down with the flu. By the time he closed up shop, Harry had flour in places that would make his mother blush and decided that he would friend-woo Liam-the-Tank another weekend. A decision he came to regret the next morning when his two best mates come crashing into the kitchen with sleepy eyes and hickeys lining up and down their necks.

Harry frowns and grabs his water spray bottle from underneath the kitchen sink. “No,” he sprays them squarely on their noses. “I said no sex with new friend.”

Zayn hisses and Niall blinks sleepily. “There was no ‘sex’-ing last night, Haz,” Niall replies confusedly.

Harry points at their purple necks and Niall laughs. “Oh yeah, forgot that Tommo was showing off his pro hickey technique. Their beauties, aren’t they?” And Harry has to admit that they were some nice looking hickeys.

“You owe us an apology breakfast,” Zayn announces with his head resting on the counter.

Harry places two fry-ups in front of them, but continues to pointedly pout until Zayn swats his arm with his fork. “Stop that moping, you demon. It’s not our fault you went all boring last night.”

“Oh!” Niall says suddenly, looking up with a devilish glint in his eye. Harry winces automatically at the look. “We found your soulmate, Haz.”

“I wouldn’t call him a ‘soul mate’ more like he’s Harry’s type,” Zayn goes to explain, but Niall waves him off with his elbow.

“Whatever, you’re going to love him. I’ve already started planning the wedding. How does a swallow ice sculpture sound?”

Harry’s still stuck on Zayn’s part of the conversation. “I do not have a type.”

Niall and Zayn roll their eyes and glance at each other before Niall clears his throat. He counts off with his fingers. “Cynical, humorous, cheeky, non-monogamous blokes that stroke your curls and let you talk about your daddy issues.” Zayn nods along.

Harry sputters, “What? I do not have dad--”

Zayn interrupts. “Lucas the loser.”

Niall adds. “Always came stumbling in at two in the morning so you could suck him off. Changed his phone number as soon as you started calling him your boyfriend.”

“Stephen the stealer.”

“Knicked all eight seasons of House from our DVD collection and then ran off with his dentist.”

“John the Jerk.”

“Kept calling Zayn Zack and, from what I heard, was actually quite boring in the sack.” Niall looked very proud of his rhyme and held his hand up for a celebratory high-five that no one granted.

“P--”

“Okay, okaaaay, you guys win, I have a type,” Harry pleads, feeling his face warm with embarrassment. “So when do I meet this Tom bloke?” he adds because he is actually very lonely and isn’t above being set up.

Niall and Zayn exchange another look. “We’re not setting you up with Louis, we’re setting you up with Liam.” They look as though they’re sharing some sort of awful inside joke which should have been Harry’s first warning.

“Fine. If I’m going to be dating him, you two can’t seduce him,” he finalises with a stern look. Niall looks like he’s going vomit and Zayn frowns unattractively.

“Woah, woah, woah, you’ve shared before!” Zayn protests.

Harry flushes a deep red. “That was one time.”

Niall swallows a forkful of sausage and says with his mouth full, “It was a very good one-time.”

Harry sprays them on the noses and walks out of the kitchen.

***

As Harry waits for his date in the pub, he tries to distract himself by rearranging a pile of peanuts on the counter into a beautiful daisy. As soon as he’s proud of his work and utterly bored with life, Harry sighs and looks up to find the bartender staring at him in pure amusement. As soon as he has Harry’s attention, the bloke beams and says, “As gorgeous as that flower is, its sort of dull.”

Before Harry could object to his rude comment about his masterpiece, the bartender places a jar of cherries on the counter with a heavy thud. “These should brighten that up, yeah?”

Harry does not squeak enthusiastically. He does, however, make a dignified noise before adding cherries to his peanut flower. Its so gorgeous when he’s done that he just has to take a picture and add it on his instagram.

“So…” the bartender interrupts his cooing over his phone.

Oh, right. How rude of him. “Thanks,” Harry sings and beams at the bloke. He finally takes in the details of the man, including bright blue eyes, artfully disheveled light, brown hair, and chiseled cheek bones that make Harry’s mouth water a little. But, Harry’s on a date. Well, Harry’s waiting for his date so he’s not going there. Nope. He can still objectively admire beauty when it is presented before him.

The bloke blinks at Harry’s dimpled smile a few times before smiling and dazzling Harry with crinkled, soft eyes. “I was just wondering,” he says to Harry carefully, “why you’re drinkless at the bar.”

“Oh,” he immediately responds and looks around a bit for his mysterious date. “I’m waiting for someone,” he explains with his eyes glued to the door.

The bartender shuffles awkwardly before asking, “Well, could I get you a drink while you wait? On the house.”

Harry taps his chin, looking back at the counter where the syrup of the cherries is slowly oozing into the cracks. “What would you recommend?”

“I’ve got just the thing,” he replies and dips away, making a concoction of bright colours that has Harry’s nose wrinkling. As soon as he’s finished, he places it in front of Harry and grins in a challenging fashion.

To be fair, Harry isn’t usually one to take up challenges from acquaintances, but there was something about this bartender that had him chugging the beverage down. The sugar content has his throat clenching and he coughs at the tickling sensation. The bartender’s eyebrows raise and he gives Harry an appreciative nod before mixing something more appropriate to chase the sugary taste away. Harry takes it with a grateful grunt while the bartender tends to other customers who are clearly unamused by the wait.

While he’s gone Harry thinks of his situation and, okay, he knows he has been attracted to blokes who are...well, questionable ever since Charlie, but this date hasn’t even shown up. A shiver runs up his spine when he thinks of his first “real” relationship that lasted longer than a few months. Sometimes when he’s having a bad day or just taking the piss, Harry thinks about him. Just wonders about how a relationship that developed so much could be broken so easily.

Perhaps Charlie was unhappy for a long time, maybe even from the start. He was right in accusing Harry of pushing for too much, at least. And...well, Harry doesn’t know how to feel about that. Knowing he pushed one of the few things that made him so happy away, because, yes, Charlie had made him happy. So utterly happy at the time.

Not to say he isn’t happy now, because he is. He’s doing well at the bakery and he has two of the best mates anyone could have ever asked for, but there’s something missing. There’s always something missing.

“You look like you’re thinking too much,” the bartender’s voice brings Harry back to reality. A reality in which he’s alone at a pub waiting for a date that seems to not be showing up. He looks up to see the bloke smiling and thinks that maybe he’s not alone.

He shrugs. “Just estimating how many cavities my dentist is going to find after that drink,” and after a moments hesitation, he adds, “I’m Harry.”

“Louis,” and the the bloke all but trips in his rush to shake hands with Harry. “Nice to meet you, mate.”

Louis...the name is incredibly familiar, but Niall is obsessed with French soap operas. Something about the passion of the language coupled with “completely believable” drama, has him hooked. “Louis,” Harry tries out the name and beams. “It suits you.”

Louis the bartender stares at him a second before shaking his head and saying, “I’m glad I have your blessing, I’ll let my mother know.”

“Cheeky!” Harry accuses, pointing with wide eyes. That, he was not expecting from him.

“Me? Cheeky?! Never!” Louis gasps and clutches his heart dramatically. “I can’t even comprehend such an accusation,” he smirks.

Harry chuckles happily and...this night isn’t all so bad even if the thought of Charlie’s disgusted face still haunts his vision whenever he blinks. “I have a challenge for you,” he declares after watching Louis scrub at some glasses.

Louis regards him a bit before shrugging and putting the glass occupying his hands down. He nods at Harry with a glint in his eyes. Harry holds up his own mobile and grins what he hopes is a good “you should be worried” kind of grin. “You see, Louis-the-cheeky-bartender, I am supposed to be with a date right now.”

“Oh?” Louis hiccups.

“Yes,” Harry confirms sternly. “In fact, this date was set up by two of my closest mates.” Louis looks at him as though questioning where this is going and Harry has to keep himself from smiling wickedly. “So...Lewis, we’re going to prank them.”

“Prank them,” he repeats with a strangely proud voice. “I’ve got just the thing.” He holds his hand out for Harry’s mobile and Harry hands it over without a second thought. “Names,” Louis says tapping at the phone.

“Oh erm...just, er, call the contact,” Harry coughs and scratches the back of his head, feeling a blush crawl up his neck. He internally curses Niall for his evil influence in picking the name for their house line. “It’s listed under ‘cocksuckingmotherfuckers’.”

To his credit, Louis looks like he’s at least trying to keep any amusement he might have about the contact name off his face and gives Harry a serious nod before typing on the mobile. Once he finds the contact, he pulls his own phone out from his back pocket and taps the number in, holding the mobile to his ear.

“Hello and whom might I be speaking to?” Louis booms out a fake-announcer voice. Harry can hear both Zayn’s chilled tone of voice and Niall’s loud, Irish lilt come through the phone in an incomprehensible buzz.

Louis’s eyebrows shoot up and he glances at Harry with a worried look for a split-second before continuing the call. “I’m calling to inform you that a member of your household has won a contest with an award of one thousand pounds! Is there a Ms. Hugginkiss there? First name, Amanda.” He sends a nod over at Harry. “You can’t find Amanda Hugginkiss? That’s a shame.” There’s a distinctive chatter of commotion.

“That was fantastic,” Harry gushes once Louis hangs up the mobile.

Louis smiles half-heartedly. “Thank you, Harold.”

Harry shakes his head and grasps unto Louis’s hands, willing for him to understand. “No, but seriously, they probably won’t stop talking about this for weeks.”

“I would hope not.” Louis chuckles awkwardly and gently squeezes Harry’s hand before letting go to take care of other customers.

His reaction bothers Harry for a bit after he leaves and Harry feels the suffocating, yet disgustingly empty feeling of loneliness again. He checks the time on his mobile before standing up, fishing some money from his wallet, throwing it on the cherry-stained counter, and leaving with an enthusiastic wave to Louis. He’s busy mixing a drink and misses Harry’s departure.

***

“Tommo is the funniest fucking person to ever exist. The clever little shite,” Niall shouts the morning after the disaster of a date. Harry guesses that he shouldn’t even be calling it a date. He should be referring to that THING as a disaster of a non-date. Yup, original.

Zayn’s still asleep on the couch. “What did your Tom bloke do?” Harry asks Niall. Monday mornings are the best because none of them have anything to do until the late afternoon.

“He’s a riot is what he is,” Niall explains, but before Harry can ask anymore questions, he asks, “How’d your date go last night?”

“No show.”

Niall looks suspiciously unsurprised which should have been Harry’s second warning. “A no show, huh? Why were you out so late then? Meet someone?”

Harry thinks about Louis, but surely bartenders that pity you don’t count. “Nope, just waited in pathetic anticipation for too-fucking-long. Hey Niall, you know soulmates usually don’t stand each other up, right?”

“I’ve heard someone mention something along those lines,” Niall replies with a wink. “Are you sure there wasn’t any one person there that held your attention for...I don’t know...a few hours?”

The couch pillow hits Niall’s head and he falls over groaning in pain. Zayn mumbles, “Calm down, kid,” and falls back to sleep.

Harry stares between the two. He hates this “left out” feeling he’s been having lately. A mobile phone chirps somewhere in the flat and Zayn’s body shoots up into a sitting position. “Harry, you need to go to the grocery store now.”

Both Harry and Niall gap at him, but Zayn isn’t having any of that. “I need...peas. I need you to get me peas.”

“Er--”

“NOW! GO!!” Zayn shouts and Harry scrambles out of the flat barely pausing to grab a pair of shoes and his wallet.

He’s shaking on the walk down the street to their nearest grocer, thinking of the blasphemy he just witnessed in his own home. Maybe Niall and him should invest in an exorcist, because that has never happened before in their time living together. It’s when he actually gets into the building that he realises that he’s still in his trackies and beanie. Not that he’s trying to impress, but it just goes to show how petrified of “Zayn-suddenly-waking-up-and-yelling” he is at the moment.

He wanders into the frozen foods aisle and quickly realises that he doesn’t know whether Zayn wants frozen peas or fresh peas. Both, Harry is going to get both because he doesn’t want to make a mistake and die today.

He’s contemplating between two different brands when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He answers it while tossing one of the bags back into the freezer. Zayn never appreciates orange coloured things. “Hello?”

“Harry you little shit,” a young woman’s voice answers him.

He rolls his eyes realising too late that she wouldn’t see the action. “Gemma.”

“When the fuck were you going to mention that you’ve met your soul-mate?!” she demands. He nearly crashes into an elderly woman pushing a trolley on his way to the fresh fruits and vegetables section of the building.

“I thought that we agreed that Niall exaggerates?” he asks casually. The pile of fresh peas this store has is distinctly unremarkable and he frowns at the price.

Gemma huffs on the phone. Harry decides against his better judgment and picks out a few peas to place in a grocery veggie bag. Better safe than sorry in regards to Zayn Malik. “Niall didn’t tell me, I had to find out through Paul.”

He stiffens and nearly drops his peas. “Paul-your-body-builder-next-door-neighbour? Who told him?”

“Michael who found out through Ashton on twitter,” Gemma is talking in her “scary-calm” voice.

“And how did Ashton know?”

“How would I know? The point is, you miserable little shell of a brother, is that everyone besides your own sister knows of your impending matrimony,” she finally snaps, and Harry wants the calm girl back.

He groans and decides to take a look at the bananas before checking out and heading back to the flat where nosy brutes reside. He grabs a perfectly yellow-green bundle and tucks them under his armpit. “Okay now we both know that marriage is blatant exaggeration.”

“Is it, Styles? Niall has your wedding colours picked out. Emerald green and sapphire blue.”

“Absolutely not. Clearly coral pink, peach, and gold are the best spring wedding colours.” He’s joking. Maybe.

The check-out queues are annoyingly long. “What even is the kid’s name, huh? That’s the information I actually care about at this point.” She sounds stressed. She should have a pea or two. Someone mentioned peas having a calming effect. Actually, he can confirm he learned that from one of the French soap opera episodes that aired last week.

“Liam,” Harry informs her. A big-built employee with big, brown eyes walking passed stops abruptly and looks over at him curiously. His name-tag reads ‘Liam’ and what an awkward situation to be in. Harry smiles at him and shuffles away to the cereal aisle. He can wait to check-out. You know, when his blush goes away.

“But Gemma, I haven’t even met him yet,” he says safely between the Corn Flakes and Cheerios.

“Bull shit, you met with him last night and hit it off so efficiently that Niall’s been sending me Shania Twain lyrics all morning,” she says with fake annoyance. He knows about her secret affair with Twain albums.

A movement from the corner of his eye distracts him. He turns to watch someone in a pair of maroon trousers leap head-first into a pile of bran cereal on sale. “Um…” he says stupidly because its not everyday something like this happens. He watches the unhidden legs twitch a bit as he walks over to the bloke. “I’m going to have to call you back,” he tells Gemma and ends the call on her complaints.

“Wow, four for the price of one, what a deal,” he tells the legs and...well, they’re attached to a fairly attractive bum. A good shape. Harry gives it full marks. “I think I understand your level of enthusiasm, but jumping the cereal is a bit counter-productive.”

The bloke responds with a mixture of squeals and pained grunts and Harry’s worried. “Are you okay? Do I need to get someone?”

“No,” Harry hears. The bloke shuffles out from the pile and the two watch the whole thing come to the ground.

“Louis?” Harry asks finally resting his eyes on the leaping lad. He’s in an employee uniform.

He bites his bottom lip. “Hiya Harry...you’ve got quite a lot of peas on you.”

In the bright fluorescent lights of the grocery store, Harry is taken by Louis a second time. His hair is styled in a quiff today and his eyes catch him off guard. They’re a stormy-blue and Harry can promise anyone that he’s never taken a second thought to someone’s eyes before. Louis smiles timidly and Harry blinks at the beauty of it.

“Peas make people calmer,” Louis blurts all of a sudden.

Harry blinks a second and third time. “An evil spirit inside my flatmate told me to get them,” he explains.

“I don’t know if its wise to follow orders from an evil spirit.” Louis begins to smile, relaxing his shoulders a bit.

“Eh, and I don’t think its wise taking advice from people who leap into big piles of bran,” he teases back and...is this flirting? Maybe?

Louis flushes a deep red and clears his throat. “I’m just doing my job.” He waves down at his uniform that mainly consists of a green shirt and a brown apron.

Harry makes an exaggerated turn and looks at the mess of broken/bent boxes on the floor and pointedly looks back at Louis. Louis waves his same hand at it. “They were expiring soon anyways.”

Which brings up the important question: “Can bran expire?”

Louis snorts. “Obviously. Stop telling me how to do my job, Harold!” He pokes Harry’s chest with a pointer finger. Wow, he has really tiny hands. Actually, Louis is just small in general. Its adorable.

Oh, wait. This is the actual important question that Harry should be focused on: “Why did you leap into a pile of bran cereal?”

“You missed your opportunity to ask that,” Louis announces, tilting his chin up and folding his arms over his chest.

Harry frowns. “Sorry?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Harold there is a rule that exists in society called the ‘five minute rule.’ You have a span of five minutes after an incident occurs to ask the necessary questions about said incident. You missed yours and now I’m not required to answer a damned thing.”

Well shit. “Wait...there is no such thing as a ‘five minute rule’.”

“How would you know. You’ve got the manners of a monkey.”

“Do not! I took a course in uni about etiquette and manners and...things.’

“Eloquent.”

“Rude.”

“Nice comeback, now if you’ll excuse me, I actually have a job to be doing at the moment.”

Time for plan B. Harry falls to his knees and grabs Louis’s hands into his own. He places a full pout on his face and widens his eyes. “Leeewwwiiis, will you pleeease tell me why you jumped head-first into that pile?”

Louis’s mouth falls open and he shuffles in his spot. Flushing a deep red that rivals that of his maroon trousers, he hisses, “Get off your knees you absolute devil.”

He smirks, “Not until you tell me.” Harry is one stubborn bugger and he knows it.

“FINE, just get UP.” He stands up and dusts the knees of his trackies. Louis shakes his head, face and neck still incredibly red. “I got into work and this mate of mine who’s been trying to set me up with this fit bloke texted me that the lad would be in the store. I panicked when I, er, thought I saw him and jumped into the cereal. You happy?”

“Was that so hard?” Harry asks and Louis glares at him as if saying ‘Yes, that was hard you little nuisance.’ Harry just smiles and picks his peas and bananas from the floor. “Good luck with your boy! I’ll see you around, Lou.”

“Right...thanks. Erm, good luck with your evil flatmate,” Louis calls after him.

Oh, Harry doesn’t need luck. He’s a professional.

***

“Harry stop spraying me GOD DAMMIT!” Niall shrieks.

Harry does not stop spraying him. “Sapphire and emerald? Really?! Those completely clash with the pink and red roses!”

A few more sprays. “Harry, I’ve changed your flowers to white orchids. Its classier and you fucking know it.”

“BUT I THOUGHT THE RECEPTION WAS IN THE ROSE GARDEN!”

“ROSE GARDENS ARE PRETENTIOUS!”

Several more sprays. “ROSE GARDENS ARE BEAUTIFUL AND ROMANTIC!”

“Demons, listen up,” Zayn interrupts, slapping the spray bottle out of Harry’s hand and flicking him on the nose. He hisses and rubs his nose glaring at his best mates. “One, sapphire and emerald in the Springtime? Come on, Niall. We aren’t barbarians. Two, we don’t live in a Jane Austen novel so rose gardens are out of the question. And, three, we’re leaving.” He holds three train tickets up. “So pack accordingly.”

“Where are we going?” Harry asks, still rubbing his nose.

“Doncaster,” Zayn answers, turns on his heel, and leaves.

Harry looks at Niall expectantly and sees a content smile. That should have been his third warning.

***

The train ride is long and bumpy. Niall kept pushing Harry’s head off his shoulder so he didn’t even get a nap in. When they pull up to their stop, he’s decidedly in a bad mood and doesn’t even take the time to appreciate the lush rolling green hills surrounding them. Zayn and him hand Niall their luggage and collapse in the nearest bench. Niall grumbles unhappily underneath the heavy bags.

“What’s so special about Doncaster?” Harry asks again for the fiftieth time. And instead of answering Harry’s impossibly simple question, Zayn pulls out his mobile and skips off to ring someone. Niall throws the bags in his vacant seat and pats Harry on top of his head.

“Haz, I have a more important question: is whipped cream a good substitute for lube?”

Harry groans. “Niall, we’ve been over this. Better safe than immobile!”

Niall nods. “Okay, ya, but let’s say that I know for a fact that we’re out of lube--”

“Are you kidding me? We bought that liter jug just last week.” Yup, this isn’t helping Harry’s bad mood.

Niall continues as though he didn’t hear Harry. “And let’s say that a certain flatmate of ours has been frickity fracking Li--” he cuts himself off, coughs, and continues, “Erm, has been having ‘intimate relations’ with someone, and I happened to find puddles of whipped cream on the couch which leads me to the conclusion that they are either messy eaters or resourceful lovers.”

Harry blinks, shakes his head, and gets up from the bench. He leaves Niall without explanation and wanders along the tracks. Its about mid-afternoon and the sun is hitting at an angle that allows for stretched shadows. The station is surprisingly empty for it being rush hour when those with nine to five jobs hurry home. The few groups of individuals on the platform are either elderly or fairly young families.

He passes a particular young couple who are holding hands and smiling. He probably stares longer than he should, but there’s something there. A spark, per se. There’s nothing special about them, but their gentle interaction--soft looks, small smiles, etc.--really captures Harry’s attention.

Its this that triggers the sad thought of: “I’ve never had that.” Not when he was fifteen and he kissed his first boy, nor when he first walked into uni and met Charlie. And its just that his and Charlie’s relationship was always physical, yes, but not the kind of physical that allows for soft caresses or gentle kisses. Their relationship was the rough and pleasurable type and every other “relationship” (if Harry can even call his late interactions that) after Charlie have been the same.

A beautiful woman with long, brown hair and warm brown eyes approaches him, interrupting his dark thoughts. “Excuse me, but you wouldn’t happen to know where platform nine and three-quarters is?” she asks.

“Is this some sort of joke…?” Harry replies slowly, because he thought people got over the Harry Potter reference jokes. Oh, and how does this woman know his name?

She suddenly doubles over in laughter, clutching her knees. “Oh,” she stands back up and squeezes his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise how that sounded. I got a text to meet these boys I’m picking up at platform nine and three-quarters and I didn’t even think...Hold on.” She regards Harry with a curious once-over. “Are you Harry Styles?”

“Erm.” All Harry can think about is stranger danger and all those lectures from Gemma about situations like these. Do not take any sweets she might hand him or follow her into suspicious automobiles.

This is when Harry is attacked. Two girls with light-brown hair and matching blue eyes who couldn’t be more than eight or nine years old pull Harry into the ground and scramble on top of him. “Daisy, Phoebe, what the devil are you doing?!” the woman screeches.

“This is Harry, isn’t it?” one of them squeaks and digs her fingers into his hair.

The other one pokes at his sparkly boots. “Yeah, he has the curly hair, green eyes, and weirdly tight trousers like that Irish bloke said.” Weirdly tight. Excuse you, but these trousers are fashionably tight. He should probably enlighten these twin about proper fashion.

“Irish bloke?” he ends up wheezing out loud instead, because one of the girls has her knee in his spleen and he can only get so many words out.

The two girls’ faces come into view and they poke at his face. “Neil or something like that.”

“Niall?”

“Yes.”

The woman makes an unhappy noise in the back of her throat and grabs the two girls, heaving them off Harry’s chest and up next to her. “Sorry about them. They’ve been anticipating meeting you for a little while now. Well, about a day really.” They nod along to her explanation as Harry rubs the back of his sore head. Those two girls really have a firm grip. Its impressive, really.

“Haz! Oh good, they’re here, come on Zayn.” The devil’s (formerly known as Niall) face appears above Harry’s injured body. “What are you doing on the ground?” he inquires, but before Harry can answer, Niall shrugs and walks to the woman. “Hello Jay! So I’m having a hard time deciding between a DJ or a live band at the reception and I was hoping you’d have some ideas.”

“Of course, love,” the woman--Jay--responds with a lovely smile. The two walk off to the car park, the two little girls skipping behind them.

Another shadow looms over Harry just seconds after their departure. “Is this what people with daddy issues do for fun?” Zayn’s voice asks.

“I have no control over my own life.”

That response receives a nice, hard kick to the shin. “Get up, we have things to do,” Zayn states and leaves in the direction that Niall and Jay went.

The young couple from earlier are staring in pity when Harry finally pulls himself off the pavement. “Hey,” he calls to them. They both take a step back in caution. “Whatever you do, don’t break-up in a restaurant before the appetizers are served because your waiter will move into your flat with his best mate and fuck up your life.” He leaves the couple to gawk after him.

***

The “things they have to do” involve Harry dressing up as a princess and having “tea with the queen.” Which he wouldn’t have minded if “the queen” wasn’t a pet tarantula and “the tea” wasn’t dirt from the garden poured into paper cups.

“Keep your pinky out,” Daisy, one of the twins, demands.

Phoebe nods in agreement, poking Harry’s outstretched pinky. “Boo-bear says that if your pinky touches the cup, the queen will behead you.” That’s...delightful. This imaginary friend “Boo-bear” is a very violent bear. He looks over at “the queen” to see the tarantula still settled in the same spot on the quilt. He’s half-worried that the thing is actually dead.

Niall, Zayn, and Jay are drinking actual tea at a picnic table close to them. Niall has a map of Doncaster opened up and sprawled across the table top. The three of them are conversing with hushed voices and serious faces. Harry fixes his tiara subconsciously when they peer over at him suddenly, halting their conversation.

“Your pinky needs to stay out!” Both the twins yell, startling him.

“That’s it,” Phoebe concludes and stands up. “You can’t even do simple tea-drinking etiquette. You are unfit to marry Boo-bear. Please leave.”

Tea etiquette is an essential requirement to marrying imaginary mammals? This is news to Harry. He blinks at the frowning girl and slowly places his dirt-filled-cup onto the grass. He’s out of his league here, not knowing how to get back into the good graces of little girls who believe a spider is the ruler of a nation. Actually, why does it matter if these girls like him or not? That question is answered by the big-eyed, grumpy faces of the girls. They’re fucking adorable.

“Erm, you caught me,” he begins haphazardly, thinking on his feet. Something he’s never been good at, but they’ve already kicked him out of the tea party, what else does he have to lose?

“Caught you?” Daisy is the one who answers, because Phoebe is still ignoring him with a pout.

Harry nods solemnly. “Yes, I was testing you two.” The irritated and curious looks on their faces have him trudging forward with the lie. “I was testing to see whether you two really could protect this infamous Boo-bear from offensive courtiers. You have passed and now I know that I can trust you two for a,” he leans in a whispers, “top secret mission.”

They both gasp in a way that makes Harry giddy. Adults don’t have such great reactions. He should hang around children more often.

“You see, the queen and I have been chatting and it came to our attention that ninjas have been encroaching upon our tea party hoping to assassinate the royal highness herself!”

Daisy jumps up and looks around spastically hoping to catch sight of the tea-interrupting ninjas. Phoebe’s bottom lip trembles a bit before she drops down and snatches the loitering spider from the quilt. She cuddles the creature against her bosom and whispers reassurances to it. Huh, the twitching of its legs confirm that it is, indeed, living.

“Where are they?” Daisy asks.

“What are we going to do?” Phoebe adds.

“We are going to have to concoct an anti-ninja serum,” Harry answers as seriously as he can. He staggers to stand up in the lengthy dress and heels causing the three person audience behind them to laugh. Because he is a princess, he does not make any rude gestures to them, but he does glare in a royal fashion. A panicked cry from Phoebe reminds him of the mission. So, the twins and him race to the kitchen for the required serum ingredients.

Two teenage girls are already sitting comfortably on top of the kitchen counter. The older of the two has long, dirty blonde hair and warm brown eyes. The younger has light, brown hair and equally warm brown eyes. Both are wearing sundresses and chatting in a giggly fashion until Harry’s, albeit chaotic, entrance.

“You’re wearing a dress,” the younger states rather obviously.

“Are those my heels?” the older adds.

He ignores their curious stares and introduces himself. “Hi, I’m Harry and we’re commandeering this kitchen to stew up some anti-ninja serum so that I can marry an imaginary friend with beheading tendencies.”

Before either can react, Daisy yanks Harry’s dress and he leans down to hear her whisper, “Shouldn’t we ask them for help?”

“Can we trust them?” he whispers back.

She nods and he stands back up. “Erm, right, so we would like to enlist your help in warding off assassinating ninjas. What say you?”

They only hesitate a second before jumping off the counter and nodding.

Harry learns their names to be Lottie and Fizzy and his helpers spend the next two hours baking “anti-ninja” biscuits which turns into an evening of baking “anti-zombie” cupcakes with additional “anti-vampire” sprinkles. Once the kitchen is full of all sorts of protective baked goods, the five of them cuddle into couch and fall asleep to X-Factor.

A small fist punches his face, waking him up at around two in the morning. He sits up from where his head was laying back along the back of the couch. Both twins are laying along his legs, cutting off the circulation to his feet. Daisy’s arms are all over the place as she continues to wiggle around in her sleep. One of them connecting with Harry’s chin a second time. Lottie’s dirty blonde hair is pooled around his feet where she’s sleeping on the ground and it looks like Fizzy was smart enough to go up to her bedroom for the night.

Slowly, he removes himself from their clutches and hisses at the sharp pain in his feet. He jumps a bit before moving and grabbing Phoebe, carefully lifting her into his arms. He tip-toes through the house until he finds the twins’ bedroom (where the tarantula glass container rests). Once Phoebe is safely tucked in, he moves Daisy in the same pattern, careful to avoid her flying limbs. Lottie is too big for him to carry, so Harry grabs a blanket and couch pillow and rearranges her into a more comfortable position on the floor.

He finds Niall and Zayn by following the sounds of Niall’s snores. He’s surprised to find them not in a guest bedroom, but what looks like a well-lived in regular bedroom. Band posters line the walls. There’s a bookshelf right across the corner of the back wall filled with CD albums, DVD cases, and a few books. Small trophies decorate a desk next to the door and Harry is itching to look at every little detail under better light. A bit of him craves to know the person who formerly lived in this room. Another sister? A distant uncle?

Another snort from Niall reminds him of how exhausted he is, so he turns away from the many details that litter the room and climbs into the twin bed where Zayn is spread out and Niall is cuddled into. He forces himself in the middle of the two and drifts to sleep dreaming of ninjas and young couples that hold hands.

***

The next few days, the three of them help around the house to the begrudging protests of Jay (“She needs a break,” Niall exclaimed while pulling out his personal bejeweled broom). The girls generally spend most of the day at school, but when they come back home, Harry and them sneak away to some made-up adventure. Boo-bear is never mentioned again (which is slightly disappointing since Harry is under the impression that he is now fiances with the imaginary friend) and, without fail, Jay, Niall, and Zayn get together and have whispered meetings each afternoon.

He’s not sure what Zayn told his boss because they’ve nearly been in Doncaster for a week and part of him suspects he’ll be going back to Manchester to find his job given to a more trustworthy employee. Or, rather, an employee that doesn’t let himself get dragged around the country. His suspicions are neither denied nor confirmed whenever he asks so he just gives up and lets himself enjoy the company of the four giggly girls.

Harry also finds time to go through the previous owner of their bedroom’s music collection. Its a vast collection ranging from Take That! to The Script. He even spots a Brittney Spears album and finds himself respecting this unknown person a bit more. Although Harry’s own preferences drift in the 1975 direction, he also has a few pop records stashed in his own private collection. His sister laughs, but its always good to have an open mind. Even if this “open mind” leads to learning the whole lyrics and choreography to “Womanizer.”

Saturday, Harry is dragged out of the house to a football field to watch a match and its no bother because he appreciates a good football game. Part of the reason why he moved to Manchester is because of the Manchester United team. However, despite his passion of the sport, he’s never really done much with it outside of the occasional friendly game, because...well...he’s not very good. He hasn’t really taken the opportunity to understand the dimensions of his own body and he ends up missing the ball. A lot. So, he keeps his passion off the field and into his cheering. He’s a good cheerleader.

Today, the twins lead their group to the field dressed in matching football uniforms complete with cleats so Harry’s guessing that his cheerleading skills will be greatly appreciated.

“We’re meeting up with your soulmate here, Haz,” Niall says over his shoulder. Phoebe is on his shoulder, clutching his snapback. He’s looking entirely pleased and radiant with energy today. This should have been Harry’s fourth warning.

“Is he actually going to show this time?” Harry responds and...He’s not sure what happens, but he blinks and turns his head to take a look at a cluster of flowers and when he turns back, he’s lost them all. Its a field. How does one lose seven people, including a loud Irishman, in a field?

He spins on his heel, looking around for them but...nothing.

“How the bloody h--”

“Harry?” An unerringly familiar voice cuts off his profanity. Harry turns and sees Louis-the-Cheeky-Bran-Flake-Loving-Bartender-and-Grocer. He’s lost a whole group of people but somehow finds a person that shouldn’t even be in this city. The world is a bizarre place. Not to mention that Louis looks exceptionally gorgeous today in the noon sunlight. He’s just wearing trackies, a black t-shirt, and his hair is pulled back in a beanie, but there’s just something about him that is...beautiful? Unreal? Plus its been nearly a week since Harry’s last seen him so maybe he missed the crazy bloke. Just a bit.

“What are you doing here?” Louis asks and that makes Harry laugh. Its a rather unattractive laugh of wheezes and chortles. Louis looks at him with a worried expression.

Harry returns the question with slight exasperation and Louis shrugs instead of answering. Such is the life of Harry Styles  “Hold on.” Louis does a turn, looking in every direction. “Did you bring anyone with you?” he asks.

“Erm, yeah actually a whole group of people and I just lost them a few minutes--what are you doing?” Harry cuts himself off and watches as Louis jumps behind the nearest object which happens to be a picnic table. “Do you enjoy throwing your body like that?”

Louis grabs and pulls Harry down next to him. “Stay hidden,” he tells Harry, ignoring his question.

“What are we hiding from?” He doesn’t know why he keeps asking questions. Maybe he should just stay in a constant state of indifference. That would be less infuriating.

At least he gets an answer this time. “From me,” Louis responds seriously.

He’s not sure what that means or how to even respond to that so Harry does what he speculates he should have done a week ago. He stays quiet and waits patiently for sanity to return to his life. Sanity doesn’t return, but Louis does pull him out from the picnic table and runs with him to a battered old red car.

“Sorry, should have asked if you wanted to come with me or not, but I couldn’t let you tell anyone I was here,” Louis states, manually unlocking the passenger door for Harry and climbing into the seat to get to the driver’s seat.

“I did have cheerleading responsibilities back there,” he sighs in response, because he’s going to miss those girls. Not to mention he doesn’t necessarily know how to explain his disappearance to Niall, Zayn, or...Liam. Shit. He’s supposed to meet Liam.

Louis mumbles to himself. “Cheerleading…” and curses loudly. “Oh no, this was worse than I thought. You’ve met the twins? How long have you been in Doncaster?” He doesn’t wait for Harry to answer. Just puts his car in drive and bolts it out of there.

He keeps muttering to himself and Harry’s a bit wary of it. “You never did explain the whole ‘hiding from you’ concept, because if that’s what we’re doing, I do not want you on my hide-and-seek team. No offense, but my mate, Niall, gets super competitive and I need only the best players.” Yes, they are grown men that play hide-and-seek on occasion. Last month Niall broke his wrist during a game because he fell off the roof of their building.

Louis turns his head a bit, but keeps his gaze on the road. “You’d be blessed to have me on your team. I can hide in small spaces.”

“So can I! I’m very flexible,” he returns instantly. He’ll let no one doubt his hide-and-seeking abilities.

Louis allows this. “Okay, but your hair can be spotted a mile away, Styles. Especially if you keep it up in a headband like a pirate,” he pauses and glances over a second time, “and is that an earring?!”

Harry frowns. Fizzy said the earring complemented the ‘look’ as a whole. “Its not mine. Its just a clip-on. Borrowed it from twins’ sister, Lottie.” Harry figures that if Louis know the twins, he must know their sisters.

“You know Lottie too?! Oh god, this is so much worse than I originally thought.” He’s whining into the steering wheel at a red light. Harry pats his back consolingly, but he’s not sure what about this that is so horrible. Its just unnerving to witness Louis being so upset. He wants the other Louis back.

“Its okay, Lou,” he chants with each stroke. The light turns green and Louis lifts his head to drive again. The tension in the air diminishes a little with each stroke Harry places on Louis’ back, but something Louis mentioned earlier is bugging him a bit. “Hey...how do you know my last name?” he wonders out loud.

Louis flinches and the car swerves on the road. “You told it to me,” he grits out after steadying the car again.

“No, I don’t think so or else I would know your last name…?” Harry’s statement takes a questioning turn.

“It was a lucky guess,” Louis counters, hands clutching the wheel more firmly. The skin on his knuckles stretch to a white colour.

Harry’s response gets lost once he looks out the window. They’re in the middle of nowhere. Well, it might be somewhere, but his mobile confirms he doesn’t have any service wherever they are. “Uh Louis, where are we going?”

“Manchester,” he answers easily.

Okay...and that’s when it hits him. “You’re a stranger,” Harry states. “I’ve only met you two times before this.”

Louis snorts, but doesn’t comment.

“Seriously, I don’t know anything about you. You could be a serial killer, arsonist, rapist,” he gasps suddenly, “or a Liverpool supporter for all I know.”

Louis makes an offended sound at that. “Man U, Harold. Please don’t speak such blasphemy in my car.”

Harry nods and lets out a held breath of air. “Okay, so we both like Manchester United, but you could still be a criminal!” After a second, he adds, “A pretty face always has secrets.”

“How do I know you aren’t one of England’s Most Wanted?” Louis asks, blushing.

“You don’t.”

They both let this sink in for a while. Harry watches the hills roll along and it makes him a bit car sick. Louis is the one who breaks the silence. “So...I guess we’re at an impasse. How about we make a deal, eh? You promise not to kill me and I’ll promise not to kill you? Sounds good?”

Harry hums, tapping a finger to his chin. “Okay, I think I can agree to that, but I still don’t trust you.” That’s a lie. Harry trusted him the second he smiled. To be fair, Louis has a beautiful smile.

“Let’s get to know one another then. Its a two hour drive, we have a little while. Hello, I’m Louis Tomlinson from Doncaster. I have two part-time jobs, a pet goldfish named Hector, and a horrendous fear of clowns.” He shudders at the last comment and nods his head for Harry to go.

“Hii, I’m Harry Styles from Holmes Chapel. My favourite colours are orange and blue, I work at a bakery, and I also feel uncomfortable around clowns.”

Louis laughs. “They’re creepy, right? I mean, who needs that much make-up?”

The rest of the drive goes like this. Harry learns that Louis’ studying under a football scholarship, but he’s also supporting his family with his two jobs. He’s at school to be a drama teacher and he said this with a small smile and a far-away look in his eyes that made Harry’s heart beat a little faster. He went on to explain that his best mate growing up recently moved in with him, making rent easier to handle and life a little less lonely.

They talk about their favourite films and television series. Even going so far as to debating the ending of ‘Lost’ which they both agreed was an enormous let-down. When the conversation takes a turn to music, they both grow enthusiastic. Harry even mentions almost auditioning for X-Factor in 2010, Louis gasps and divulges that he, too, almost auditioned that year.

By the time they reach the busy streets of Manchester, they are exchanging life philosophies. Chatting about things people only think about when their alone. The conversation came naturally in the two hours and that’s probably what leads Harry into asking Louis up for a cup of tea (not his gorgeous eyes, don’t be ridiculous) when he directs Louis to his flat’s building.

“I better not, Haz,” he responds. He picked up the nickname as soon as Harry mentioned it an hour ago.

Harry’s not disheartened. Not a least bit. He just has to fight to keep a smile on his face as he fumbles with the door handle. Besides, its not like Louis is Harry’s type. He’s too nice and perfect in every way possible.

It's when he’s turning to close the car door that he remembers. “Hey Lou, when you pulled me behind the table? What did you mean that we were hiding from you?”

Louis chuckles and winks. “Five minute rule, Harold.”

Blast. Not wanting to embarrass himself further, Harry nods and closes the door quickly. He trips on his way to the curb and races to get into the building. Louis rolls down his window and waves frantically, calling out different goodbyes. Harry smiles back at him before going inside. Yup, he’s definitely not Harry’s type.

Not at all.

***

Niall is furious. “So what, were you picked up by a flying carpet? Magical unicorn?!”

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t want to tell them about Louis. Maybe its due to the fact that if he talks about him out loud, it’ll all be real. The easy conversation, the sweet smiles, loud laughter...it all seems like a dream. Its better off that way. “Actually unicorns don’t fly. I think you meant to say Pegasus, but even then, he’s kind of been immortalised in the stars. I don’t know why he’d come down to Doncaster to give me a ride to Manchester. That’s ridiculous.”

Niall blinks and Zayn smiles proudly. “You did read that mythology book I bought you for the holidays last year!” he coos and cuddles up next to Harry on the couch. Niall flips them off and falls face-first into the carpeted floor.

“I don’t fucking care what thing got you here. You missed your opportunity for true love!” he shouts into the floor.

Zayn frowns at him. “Ni, he didn’t even show up.”

“Again?” Harry asks, because, man, this Liam bloke really needs to sort himself out.

They ignore him. Niall whines, “Yeah, but what if he did?!”

“Doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t,” Zayn concludes and turns back to Harry. “How was work?”

Niall and Zayn spent another night at Doncaster and Harry discovered that Zayn had gotten all of his shifts covered somehow. Harry struggles getting one covered weeks in advance. The power of being too beautiful for this world.

“Good. We sold four dozen of those bran muffins,” he tells them and his thoughts, once again, shift to Louis. This is starting to become a problem for him. Everything seems to remind him of the blue-eyed bloke.

They grunt their responses and Harry frowns at them. “That’s a big deal. No one purchases bran muffins.”

They grunt again. Brutes, the lot of them. He gets up, throwing Zayn off his side, and leaves them to suffer his disapproval in silence.

He spends the rest of the day thinking of crinkled eye smiles and bright laughter.

***

Two weeks pass in a blur. Harry is working extra shifts to make up for the missing chunk of money in his pay cheque after his week vacation in Doncaster. Niall’s gotten over his pouting at Harry and they make up their differences over tacos and a game of FIFA. However, something strange has been brewing. Well, something stranger than ever before. Niall and Zayn keep casting nervous glances at each other when they think Harry isn’t looking. They seem more “off” and gloomy around the flat. If he wasn’t working so much, he would probably stage an intervention.

The last customer of the lunch rush leaves the store having purchased three bran muffins. Its almost as if the Universe is laughing at Harry and his attempts to keep Louis out of his head, because suddenly the people of Manchester have a craving for bran. His boss has never been happier and won’t stop talking about the difference in sales. So, when Harry isn’t selling bran, his boss is talking about it. Its a vicious cycle.

The bell above the store’s door chimes and Harry looks up to greet the customer, only he has to restrain himself from groaning. A fuming Louis storms into the store and points across the counter at him. “You,” he hisses.

He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. His hair is a mess, pointing up in different directions. His black trousers are ripped at the thigh, revealing a pair of dark red pants. Finally, his purple t-shirt is put on backwards. The tag is sticking out and poking into his neck. Still, even buggered and livid with crazed eyes, Louis Tomlinson is the prettiest boy Harry has ever laid eyes on. That’s when he knows he’s thoroughly buggered over.

“Me…?” Harry returns absolutely confused.

“Yes, you. Fuck you.”

Harry’s boss’s jaw drops. “Erm,” Harry tells her. “I’m going to take my break.” She nods and he hastens to take his apron off. Once he’s out of uniform, he grabs Louis’s arm and drags him to the alley next to the shop where the dumpsters are.

Louis paces back and forth from one end of the alley back to Harry. He’s absolutely seething. “The girls adore you!”

Girls? “Okay, but I’m gay…?”

“All of them, just have fallen in love with you and they never do that. Not for Stan, not for Greg. I mean, really?!” Harry misses chunks of his rant, but he’s nearly certain he hears something about ninjas and biscuits.

Louis suddenly stops his pacing in front of Harry and pokes his chest, hard. “I can’t fucking get away! You’re everywhere! At work, at home, in my fucking mind.”

Harry’s at a loss.

“Its your dimples and your curls, you look like a child whenever you smile. They drive me insane.” He rips at his hair and starts to pace again. “You don’t even have a clue what’s going on and its endearing for fuck’s sake.”

Harry really needs him to stop saying ‘fuck’.

“Who even dresses you? Do you wake up each morning asking yourself what will make everyone else sexually frustrated?” He mimics Harry’s slow drawl of a voice, “Oh, maybe I should only button three buttons?! Let’s wear the skinniest pair of trousers known to man. How about tossing on a headscarf and an earring to remind everyone of their Johnny Depp fantasies??”

And then he’s in Harry face. “Who gave you the right to get tattoos? A butterfly? On your abs? Really?!” and then he’s kissing Harry.

Wow. Okay. So this is incredibly surprising. He was pretty positive that Louis was going to punch him or something more violent, but his lips are gentle and soft against Harry’s. Nothing like the angry words he was spewing just two seconds ago. Harry tries to match the softness, placing his hands delicately on Louis’ sides just to keep himself grounded.

He has never in his life been kissed like this before. Granted, they are in a smelly alley where the sounds of road traffic are magnified and Harry has witnessed a rat give birth just in the gutter to the left. But Louis is stroking the little hairs on his neck and nipping softly at his bottom lip, so Harry can deal with the less than romantic scenery.

When Louis pulls away, Harry whines in protest and tries to chase the gentle lips. “Woah,” Louis says, pushing on Harry’s chest. “So that was…” he trails off. He bites his lip and stares at his hand on Harry’s chest.

“Amazing?” Harry fills in breathlessly.

Louis blinks. “Bad. That was bad,” he seems to be talking more to himself than the confused boy he just snogged.

Harry repeats. “Bad?”

“No it was good, but it was bad,” is the clarification he gets when Louis steps away.

Harry likes to think of himself as a very patient person. He really does, but his breakdown is inevitable. Something he has been avoiding for weeks now. Maybe being kissed and told that the said kiss is bad was the last straw, but everything inside Harry just seems to implode.

“What the actual fuck?! What are you going on about, what is everyone going on about?! You didn’t have to come here and you sure as hell didn’t have to kiss me!” Harry explodes and pants once he’s finished.

He feels guilty seconds after and goes to apologise, but Louis cuts him off. “You’re right. I’ll just go. Sorry about everything.”

“Wait, Louis,” Harry calls after him, but the boy with the gentle lips continues to walk away. “Well...fuck,” he curses and turns back to work to sell more bran and apologise to his boss.

***

He’s murderous when he finally gets home. Zayn is busy reading some fiction novel about space monsters and Niall is folding his laundry, but they notice immediately. “Woah, who crawled into your curls?” Zayn asks, placing his book down on his thigh.

“I’m exhausted. Kiss me,” Harry states and grabs Niall’s shoulders, pulling him into his lips. Nope. He makes grabby hands at Zayn next while Niall races to the loo screaming something about mouthwash.

Zayn holds his hands up as a weak guard against Harry’s lips. “What the fuck has gotten into you?!”

Harry gives up, runs away, and throws himself into his bedroom. The tears come shortly afterward. Why is it that he’s so unlovable? A gentle knock rings in his dark bedroom, but he doesn’t pause to answer it. “Harry!” Zayn calls through the door.

He does, however, strangle off a choked sob into his pillow. What’s wrong with him? Really, what the hell is wrong with him. Why is it that he can’t hold someone’s focus for more than a few weeks at a time? Lucas, Stephen, John, Pete, the list goes on and on. Harry thought it was because he pushed and pushed for something, but he didn’t even try with Louis. Everything felt so natural with him. Their conversations and jokes, he didn’t push at all. Not the least bit, but he still rejected Harry.

“Harry!” Niall’s voice joins Zayn’s just outside his door.

“Go away!” he yells at them.

Charlie’s face burns in his mind, but it changes from his face to Lucas’s, Stephen’s, John’s, Pete’s, ending on Louis’s face. They all look amused. Like Harry’s some inside joke they share.

Niall’s voice, accent thick and demanding, booms, “Harry I swear to God I will bust this fucking door down if you don’t open it!”

He does get up and open the door at that threat. He knows Niall well enough that he doesn’t doubt he’d actually go through with it. They go into action as soon as they see him. Zayn turns on the light and grabs the box of tissues from the night stand. Niall pulls Harry into the bed and throws blankets at him.

“Charlie?” Zayn asks as he dabs the tears and snot from his cheeks.

“Who the fuck else,” Niall growls and strokes Harry’s head.

Harry whimpers at Zayn’s very disgusted face. Zayn turns at that and coos before wrapping his arms around him and whispering assurances. “Harry, when are you going to get it into your thick skull that the only person that matters in your life is yourself. Daddy issues and all.”

“Yeah, Haz. Honestly, just because you date douchelords doesn’t mean you are one. You are the most important person in our lives and it fucking sucks that you don’t see that sometimes. Repeat after me: fuck Charlie,” Niall demands.

“Fuck Charlie.”

“Good. Fuck Lucas the loser.”

“Fuck Lucas the loser.”

“Even better. Fuck Stephen the stealer.”

“Fuck Stephen the stealer.”

“And from what I remember, we don’t want to fuck John the jerk.”

Harry laughs at this and gets cuddled by his best mates. So yes, Harry felt lonely, but he sure as hell isn’t alone. In fact, he doesn’t need a man or blowjobs to feel loved. He’s got his brutes. His wonderful and emotionally supporting best mates. But, that doesn’t mean he isn’t still a little pissed off and upset by the interaction this late afternoon.

“Hey Niall, can we go get icecream?” Harry sniffs into Niall’s shoulder.

“Should I get my map?” he asks in response.

Harry shakes his head. “Nah, let’s just go to the grocery store.”

Niall and Zayn exchange a look but nod accordingly.

***

“Why is it we can’t even plan a good orgy? I feel like we’ve failed at life,” Niall comments as they walk through the sliding doors into the local grocer. It’s quite empty with a few employees hanging about the cash registers.

Zayn shrugs. “You can blame Tommo and his self esteem issues for that one. I swear the guy poops drama on a daily basis.”

“Be nice,” Harry says instantly and leads them to the freezer aisle. “Peanut butter cups or caramel cups?” he asks.

Niall blinks a few times and groans loudly. “I don’t know!” he yells and throws his face into his hands.

Harry frowns at himself. He forgets that Niall has existential crises over desserts. Zayn scoffs and flicks the caramel chocolate cup icecream tub. “Caramel. Peanut butter is packaged in orange. Gross.”

Harry shrugs and places the peanut butter back in the freezer. Niall keeps wailing quietly to himself which isn’t as disturbing as it should be. However, an employee seems to disagree and walks over. “Is everything--oh, Niall and Zayn?”

His name tag reads ‘Liam’ and Harry is reminded of his embarrassing afternoon spent hiding in the cereal aisle...but his mind slowly puts two and two together and he sputters. “You’re Liam?!”

Liam looks over at him and smiles. “Yes! Has Zayn told you about me?”

Niall flees and Zayn crouches to the ground, curling up in a little Zayn-ball. “Kind of,” Harry answers and explains quickly when he starts to see Liam frown. “They keep calling you my soul-mate?”

“Sorry?”

Oops. He guesses that telling someone that they’re supposed to be your soulmate is not acceptable in most societies. He rewinds his mind and tries again. “Erm, they tried to set us up at one point,” he explains quickly, a blush crawling up his neck.

“Zayn wanted to set you up with me…?” Liam questions.

Niall runs back, Louis trailing behind, both look absolutely frazzled. Harry’s stomach drops when he sees Louis and he repeats to himself Zayn’s words. He doesn’t need anyone to be happy. He can make himself happy. Liam can help. “Yes,” he answers Liam earnestly and smiles his prize-winning flirtatious smile. “So dinner tomorrow night? Should I give you my number this time around?”

Liam looks dazed. He looks between Zayn and Harry, but ultimately decides to nod at Harry. He looks sad, which confuses Harry enough to place his hand on his bulky arm. “Are you okay?” he whispers.

Louis and Niall are whispering frantically to each other while Liam seems to consider his answer. “I’m fine, yeah. I just thought you were being set up with--”

“You should go,” Louis interrupts hastily, throwing himself into Liam’s arms. Harry cringes and tries to keep his tears back. “You know, you two would be perfect for each other,” he tackles on to Harry’s chagrin. “Right, Zayn?”

Zayn looks up from the ground, still in a ball. “Erm...okay.”

“See?” Louis continues, looking between Harry and Liam, settling his gaze on Liam’s hurt expression. “Even Zayn agrees.” He turns to Harry. “I’ll give him your number. See you.” and then he’s pulling Liam away from them.

Louis has his number? He watches as Niall picks Zayn off the ground, giving him a consolidating pat on the head. “He has my number?” he questions finally.

“Yes,” Niall answers instantly to Harry’s surprise. It’s a bit sad that he isn’t used to his questions being answered anymore. “Louis has your number.”

The three of them leave without getting icecream, a decidedly depressing mood in the atmosphere. Harry tries not to think of it too much as he anticipates his date tomorrow. Liam actually seems like a really good bloke. That’s a change that Harry can get behind.

***

He chose the restaurant that Niall and Zayn work at mostly because Zayn’s mood hadn’t lightened since the night before and Harry wants to keep an eye on him. Part of him was hoping that when he finally went on a date with this bloke that his friends have been going on about for weeks, they’d be happy for him. Apparently that assumption was wrong.

“You won’t be serving us, right Zayn?” he asks once he gets to the restaurant. Zayn and Niall have joined him at his table as he waits for Liam.

Zayn looks up from where he was pouting at the table cloth and raises and eyebrow. “What’s wrong with that?”

Multiple things. Most of which are his sulking demeanor and tendency to embarrass Harry. “Privacy,” is the reason Harry gives him though.

Zayn deflates even more at that and Niall ends up answering for him. “We’ll stay away. Have fun, Haz.”

They depart with encouraging words and Harry waits.

And waits.

Jesy, his waitress, comes back a tenth time with a water pitcher to refill his drink. She’s wearing a pitying look and Harry feels like vomiting. “Do you want us to get started on your order while you wait?” she asks politely. “Maybe a drink?”

“I think he’s just lost,” Harry responds and it’s a blatant lie. Liam works here. She ignores it and leaves with a parting smile. He tries ringing him. Again. But hangs up once he hears the voice message.

What is he doing still waiting here, he ponders. He knows that Liam has the tendency to not-show, but he really thought that tonight would be different. Apparently not. He almost blames himself, maybe he gave him a wrong time, but no, that’s not it.

This isn’t Harry’s fault. It’s a liberating thought that has him standing up and walking away from his table.

This isn’t his fault. He didn’t do anything. He smiles widely when he catches Jesy on his way out. “I’m going home,” he tells her between laughs. She looks scared for him, which makes him laugh even harder. Oh, she has no idea.

On the street just outside the restaurant, he’s waving for a cabbie when a large body knocks him to the ground. Liam is nearly starkers in only a pair of briefs, red faced, and panting heavily above him. “What the fuck?” Harry asks.

“I was--locked--in the toilets--without my--phone. I’m s-s-so sorry, Harry,” he gasps out.

“Did you run here?” Harry asks.

“I couldn’t find my wallet,” Liam explains with a wild look in his eye.

Harry laughs. He laughs when he gets up from the ground and pulls Liam into the restaurant. He laughs when they order and Jesy tries her hardest to keep her eyes above Liam’s waist. He laughs as he pays the bill for the sheepish looking Liam. He laughs when he pays for a cabbie to take Liam home. He only stops laughing when he gets to his own flat and sees Louis pacing just outside it.

Louis pulls out two sets of phones and wallets from his pockets and nods at the door. “Do you think I could get that cup of tea now?”

Harry nods and leads him inside. Louis waits at the kitchen table while Harry prepares a kettle on the stove and thinks to himself. The pieces of missing information in his head get filled slowly. Louis and Liam are roommates. Louis took Liam’s phone and wallet and locked him in the loo. What he hardly understands is why. Why did he keep Liam from his date with Harry. He leaves the kitchen with two cuppas and--oh--Louis went to Harry’s right after locking Liam in the bathroom. It’s obvious now why he kept Liam away. Although Harry still can’t wrap his mind around it all.

Carefully, he sets the cups down on the table and sits across from Louis. He places his palms on the flat of the surface and regards him. Louis looks like a mess, but not physically this time. He looks nervous, biting his bottom lip and hardly meeting Harry’s eye.

“So...looks like it’s going to rain,” he says, because, hell, he’s nervous too.

“I jumped in that pile of bran cereal because I saw you,” Louis states and sinks further in his chair. Harry blinks and frowns, but doesn’t comment. Louis looks up and scratches the back of his neck before explaining further, “I didn’t know who you were when I first met you. Remember? In the pub? You left before saying goodbye.”

Harry’s about to correct him, but decides against it and waits for more information. “You were just this ridiculously fit bloke playing with the bloody peanuts. You made a flower with them. A flower. I just had to talk to you, figure you out, but then…” he coughs, “I couldn’t.”

Harry sips his tea letting it burn his tongue to keep from demanding more. That little story didn’t help his confusion. Louis groans and lets his head fall on the table. The table muffles his voice when he says, “I met your friends just a few nights before meeting you. We had an interesting discussion about you. Apparently I’m your soulmate that’s supposed to save you from your rubbish ex or something.”

When Harry doesn’t respond, Louis looks up with a pleading expression. “Do you know how much pressure that is? I...I pull away, Harry. That’s what I do. I find someone I really like, convince them to like me, and then pull away. Liam says it’s because I’m scared I’ll get hurt, but that’s absolute rubbish. I think I get off hurting other people and I couldn’t do that to you! Not to the kid that waited patiently for his fake date to show up. Whose eyes lit up when I gave him fucking cherries.”

He makes a strangled noise, but continues, “And then you met my family! What was up with that? How am I supposed to stay away from you when my sisters ask about ‘my fiance Harry’ every time I call to check up? It was a mistake to drive you back, because you’re really beyond reason. You really are. You’re like the epitome of everything I’m not. I tried to stay away, but there’s something about you, Harry. You’re a bloody magnet,” he finishes and finally looks up.

Harry gets up from where he’s sitting, walks slowly to the kitchen, grabs his water sprayer from underneath the sink, and returns to Louis. He sprays him squarely on the nose. “You’re an idiot. A complete and total idiot,” Harry remarks before sliding over and sitting right in Louis’s lap.

“I know,” he groans, but Harry isn’t finished. He gets sprayed on the nose and cringes.

“I did say goodbye. I left because you were acting weird and it made me feel uncomfortable, but I waved goodbye,” he starts and sprays Louis a third time when he tries to interrupt. “Jumping into a pile of bran to avoid me? I’m embarrassed for you, really I am. Also, why the hell did you teach your sisters that the queen would behead them if they didn’t keep their pinkies out? Who tells little children that?!”

“I was teaching them proper manners,” Louis says quickly and gets sprayed more as consequence.

Harry regards him with a stern look. “You’re an idiot because you were so worried about hurting me that you did hurt me. I was really, really hurt. But you’re an even greater idiot if you thought you could save me. Honestly, you just called me a magnet. You’re as eloquent as a goldfish.”

Louis sniffs at that and Harry kisses his nose. He relaxes instantly and Harry faintly thinks that kissing seems to be more effective than the spray bottle. “No one needs saving, you twat. I don’t want you around for such rubbish.”

He visibly deflates at that and Harry feels smug. “I want you around because I fancy you. Quite a lot, actually. I think you’ve increased bran muffin sales at the bakery. I don’t know how, but it’s definitely you doing it.”

And Harry kisses him, trying to mimic the gentleness Louis gave with their first kiss. It seems to work because Louis melts into his touch. It’s nice. Almost nicer than the kiss in the alleyway, but Louis pulls away too quickly. “I can’t…” he whispers and drops three sweet chaste kisses on Harry’s lips. “I left Liam locked in our toilet.”

A small laugh escapes from Harry, it matches the lightness he feels in his head. “Louis, Liam got out of the toilet and ran to the restaurant because he felt so bad about standing me up. Didn’t even stop to grab a pair of trousers.”

Louis’s eyes widen and he ducks so that Harry can’t see his face. He tells Harry’s collarbones, “So he showed up to the restaurant half naked for your date?”

“Yeah, gave our waitress quite the shock.”

Harry feels, rather than hears, a choked sigh across his clothed chest. “You two went through with the date?”

He sounds thoroughly put out, which upsets Harry enough to pull back and glare at Louis. “You’re the one who said we’d be perfect for each other.”

“Yeah, so that you’d realise that Liam is a million times better than me, but I regretted it!” he whispers pathetically.

Harry rolls his eyes. “It was a great date, but I think Liam is more than a little in love with Zayn. If you tossers would just tell me these things, I wouldn’t have gone on a date with a bloke who wouldn’t stop buzzing about what exciting things Zayn does every other second. It wasn’t the worst date I’ve been on, but I think I prefer blokes who are more into me than my best mate, yeah?”

Louis doesn’t respond, but he does pull forward to capture Harry’s lips into a more heated kiss. Still, his lips seem to be more focused on transferring a sentiment rather than a need for physical gratification. The kiss isn’t a means to an end, rather an importance of its own altogether. This fact sends thrills down Harry’s spine and blood further south. This kiss, Harry decides, is different from their first and second. It seems each of their kisses are incomparable, which is just fine. He never thought he could enjoy kissing someone so much.

His blood surges when he opens his mouth to Louis’s tongue and they enter a whole new playing field. Snogging Louis is his new favourite activity. An activity that gets halted when his lovely mates come home with a beaming Liam trailing.

“So the wedding is back on?!” Niall squeals excitedly.

Harry groans and, with great effort, pulls away from Louis’s sweet mouth and skilled tongue. Liam waves tentatively at him when Harry sees Zayn grasping onto Liam’s hand. That is a good development that Harry supports full heartedly. He would have supported it earlier if his mates weren’t such tits. Speaking of.

“Why couldn’t you brutes just set us up like normal human beings?” His demand is less intimidating with Louis nipping at his neck, making his words come out breathy. He holds back a moan when Louis sucks at the sweet spot where his neck meets his shoulder.

Zayn rolls his eyes in a patronising fashion. “Have you met you two? Wouldn’t have worked.”

Niall ignores all of this and pulls out a bulky folder from the cabinet by the kitchen table. “I’m assuming you finally understand the cleverness of sapphire blue and emerald green, eh? So, I’ve also got cherries and peanuts for the centerpieces and I know you think those will clash with the colours, but I’ve got--”

“Niall,” Louis interrupts finally pulling himself away from Harry’s neck and saving Harry the effort of hiding a hard on. His half-hard cock is already straining against his lucky trousers he saves for dates. “What the hell is that?” he asks, pointing his chin at the folder Niall ceremoniously dumped on the table in front of where Harry is straddling Louis.

“Wedding plans,” Niall replies as though the answer was obvious. “Oh,” he adds. “Those are some beauties.” He points at Harry’s neck where the skin is already starting to darken.

“You’re planning our wedding?” Louis huffs and...suddenly Harry’s stomach drops. “Marriage, Harry? Really? Since day one you’ve been pushing me and I can’t take it anymore.” Charlie’s voice echoes in his head and he can’t help but shake in Louis’s arms.

“Of course,” is Niall’s reply as he begins spreading papers out on the table. Zayn and Liam have long gone. Hopefully they don’t use the rest of the lube. Again. Although Harry has been pondering the whipped cream phenomenon.

Louis fidgets and snaps, “Absolutely not.”

Harry winces and tries to remove himself from his lap, but Louis is holding strong. Maybe he wants to lecture on how entirely inappropriate this is and how Harry is obviously desperate and clingy.

Harry waits for the words he’s practically memorised by now, but they never come. Louis leans forward and grabs a photograph. “I will not have my reception in a rose garden. That’s all sorts of pretentious,” he remarks and tosses the paper back in the pile.

A few things happen at once. Niall laughs and tries to high-five Louis, Louis goes to pet Harry’s curls, finally noticing that something was off with him, and Harry growls and attacks Louis’s neck with passionate kisses. Somehow the three of them end up sprawled out on the floor when Zayn and Liam make their appearance again (with suspiciously frazzled clothing and hair).

“Oh so you talked to them? We’re doing the orgy?” Zayn exclaims when he sees the pile of limbs on the floor and Harry still attached firmly to Louis’s neck.

Harry hisses and pulls Louis closer. “Mine,” he tells them.

Louis groans and fidgets, flushing all the way past the collar on his t-shirt. Niall groans out a sigh of defeat and picks himself back off the floor. “Back to square one, then,” he complains and collapses into their couch.

“I’m never going through the effort of setting anyone up just so we can have an orgy ever again,” Zayn adds, collapsing next to him.

Liam smiles and sits right in Zayn’s lap. “You’re pretty when you’re disappointed. Harry! Did I tell you that Zayn is pretty when he’s disappointed? Because he is.”

Harry doesn’t care, he yanks Louis up from the floor and without so much as a goodbye to the others, drags him to his bedroom. “Is this your way of asking for the rose garden reception, because I’m all for this, but I am not setting foot anywhere close to that douche of a place. I have some dignity, Haz,” Louis states as Harry unceremoniously pushes him on his twin sized mattress.

Harry climbs on him and yanks his own shirt off, careful to fold it before placing it on the ground. Louis chuckles at the action. “Oh, we’re doing a rose garden,” he states firmly. He is not shifting on this.

Louis just shrugs. “We’ll see.”

And that’s about the time it hits him. He’s not sure whether he wants to fuck Louis, have Louis fuck him, cuddle him tightly, be cuddled tightly, kiss him until he whines, be kissed until he whines, hold hands and walk down a beach, cook breakfast and laugh over the morning cartoons...he just wants everything. He wants to give everything and be given everything. It’s an overwhelming thought that has him tearing up.

Louis scrambles up and tucks Harry under his chin. “Hey, we can have a bloody rose garden. I was just joking. Mostly. Don’t cry, Hazza, please. We don’t have to decide tonight. We have as long as you need.”

They have time. Hell, they could have their whole lives if they do this right and Harry will sure as hell do this right. “Fuck me,” he whispers to Louis.

“Sorry?” Louis responds and pulls away to look him in the eye.

“I want you to make love to me, Lou,” he changes the phrasing once he sees the bright colour of Louis’s eyes.

There’s a pause, and then. “Wow, okay. Is this real life? Sorry, okay. I need lube, right? Yeah, lube. Do you have lube? God I sound like a virgin or something. I promise I--”

“Lou,” Harry cuts him off and feels an overwhelming fondness for him. Actually, not overwhelming. It’s more of a relaxing feeling. He’s not the only one here who feels out of his depth. He kisses him once on his lips and twice on his cheeks and shifts so that he’s pulling Louis down on top of him.

They kiss sweetly the sounds of their lips smacking, tongue chasing, and heavy breathing echoing in the bedroom. It’s a bit embarrassing how the simple act of kissing has gotten Harry straining against his trousers and rutting up against Louis until their sweet snogging session turns more into a teenage spit exchange.

Louis sits up and strips his shirt before looking down at Harry. He stares for a while until Harry whines and pulls him back. “You’re absolutely beautiful,” he tells him between kisses.

Harry sighs in return and moves his hands so that he’s cupping Louis’s arse and pulling him forward. Except that Louis ends up kneeing Harry in the balls and Harry twitches forward and rams his nose into Louis’s shoulder. Louis panics at the sight of blood and falls off the bed.

Their cursings get cut off by a knocking on Harry’s door. Zayn’s voice calls through, “Is this how people with daddy issues shag, because it sounds painful.”

***

“The map of Doncaster!” Niall announces and unfolds a rolled up map over the kitchen table. “Think of it as my early wedding present for you two!”

Harry and Louis managed to kick Niall and Zayn out of their flat a month ago after the fifteenth time the two tried to initiate an orgy when Harry was sucking Louis off. They still let themselves into the flat unannounced and uninvited with Liam trailing along like a lost puppy. Now they’re interrupting Harry’s post-coital breakfast pancakes and he isn’t sure which is more irritating. The interruption or Louis’s obvious amusement.

“You weren’t kidding about the whole map thing?” Louis asks, eyes trailing over the map of Doncaster with a variety of coloured dots placed all across the board.

Zayn answers, “This is no normal map,” as Niall helps himself to a plate of pancakes.

“Yeah, these are different restaurants with Niall’s approval, right?”

Both Niall and Zayn snort and share amused looks. “Not quite,” Niall giggles, mouth full of syrup.

Liam walks over with a basket full of random things. He winks at Harry and places it delicately next to the map. Zayn picks up the bottle of coconut oil and throws it at Louis. He barely catches it before it hits his head. “The dots range from yellow to dark purple for public places that you two can get it on,” he explains easily.

Louis drops the tube of coconut oil and stares. Harry’s the one that answers, “Excuse me?”

“We double-checked with Jay and everything!” Niall replies and grabs a can of whipped cream from Liam’s basket. “I still need to try this one out,” he says with a wistful voice.

Well. Harry gets up from his place at the table and goes to fetch his spray bottle. Some things never change.