Archive of Our Own

~*~

The problem with crystal balls, Louis thought, or just balls in general (heh), was that they tended to fog up your sight and judgment. Mostly your judgment, in all cases. He stared at the woman dressed in purple robes, his arms crossed, and tried to retrace his steps to figure out how the hell he had ended up here.

As always, the worst moments of his life had the habit of being initiated by Niall and his drinking habits. Sadly, those were the most interesting moments of his life as well. It was a fine line he didn't dare examine up close, in case it led him to spiral into another existential crisis (he'd had enough of those the past few months, thanks. Being this close to getting his Creative Arts BA was stressful enough).

The thing was, Louis didn’t believe in fate, or destiny, or anything that came even remotely close to handing over the control of his life to anything, or anyone, rather, that wasn’t him. He usually had no idea what he was doing, true, and maybe sometimes he wanted to curl up in his bed with his cat and hide from the world, but he at least knew that if he fucked up, it was his own fault and not someone else's. Control was good. Having a grip on his life was nice. Destiny, fate and religion, however? Too vague of a concept for Louis to grasp. He was too much of control freak to believe that anything but his own hard work (or his own slacking off, if he was being honest) got him where he was.

So. Fortune tellers. Bunch of bullshit, really.

And he had Niall to thank for sitting in front of one right now. Louis hated him fiercely. Going to the Winter Wonderland fair in Hyde Park was annoying enough as it was - there were too many tourists, too many ridiculously overpriced attractions that weren't interesting in the first place, but Louis could deal with it if he had to. Going into the fortune teller's tent, though? Niall was lucky that Louis agreed to everything Niall suggested when drunk. He was truly so blessed to have a friend like Louis. He made a mental note to make sure that Niall was reminded of this fact every damn day.

It helped that Zayn was suffering right with him, brooding in the chair on Louis' left. Good old Zayn. Louis knew he could count on him, even if they were currently suffocating in a dark, musky tent that was surrounded with deep purple drapes and had the scent of copal hanging in the air. Vaguely, it reminded him of his latest dentist visit, the smell faintly familiar. It didn't exactly help the matters along.

“Welcome to my lair, new ones,” the fortune teller spoke in a grave voice. A shiver rolled down Louis' spine and he squinted at her, irritation welling up within him. Her dark grey curls escaped from her auburn scarf as she ran her hands up and down the crystal ball in front of her, looking at them earnestly.

“Your lair? Really?” Zayn rolled his eyes. “Very promising, that.”

“I sense skepticism.”

“Oh, wonderful! You're also Sherlock Holmes now. A woman of many talents, aren't you?” Louis snapped, his fingers twitching on the auburn table.

“You'd be surprised, o ye of little faith.” Her tone remained neutral, but Louis could see a flicker of annoyance glinting in her eyes before it disappeared. On his right side, Niall snickered, taking a swig of the beer that he had hidden in his sleeve before walking in - king of subtlety as always.

“Oi, here's your money. Just tell us something good, yeah?” Niall grinned and threw some tokens on the table, nearly knocking over the tarot cards that were splayed out across the table.

“Fate is seldom good or bad,” the woman mused, “it is solely that - fate. Though I might suggest you put down the lager for a while after this dreadful day. Your body will be in much better spirits tomorrow morning if you do.”

“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen,” Zayn muttered. Louis couldn't help but smirk. The situation they were in was ridiculous, but he was starting to see the fun of it. Maybe it had something to do with the way his head was pleasantly buzzing, a touch of alcohol flowing through his blood, loosening up his limbs and inhibitions just enough for the world to get a little fuzzier.

“The spirits aren't responding as fast as they are normally inclined to,” the fortune teller frowned (Louis decided to dub her as Trelawney, might as well) as she stared into the fog billowing underneath the crystal. “They seem turbulent.”

“Everything seems turbulent when there's a storm going on in your balls,” Louis pointed out, snickering to himself. Ah, penis jokes. The best kind.

“I'll drink to that,” Niall snorted, bless his soul. Trelawney's face snapped up, looking at Louis directly. Her eyes appeared to be black in the dark light of the tent, making her seem almost devilish and divine. With her gaze trained on Louis, singling him out from his two boys, he felt himself growing more uncomfortable by the minute. He adjusted himself in his seat, shifting impatiently, waiting for the devil himself to jump out and drag him down to hell any minute now. It seemed likely enough, given everything.

“Do you not believe in fate, then?” Trelawney asked, her voice barely a whisper. Outside of the tent, he could hear the sound of men shouting something about going to crash the ice skating rink. For the first time in his life, he wished he could join the mayhem of men proving their manhood. Miracles did exist, apparently.

“Ha,” he snorted. “I believe in the powers that be. By which I mean myself. I am the Louis almighty.” As she glared sharply at him, he grinned, pointing to his left where Zayn was unsubtly trying to stifle a yawn.

“Maybe Zayn here does believe in fate. Ask the lad, would you?” Zayn’s head snapped up, giving him a death glare that would be intimidating to others, but meant nothing to Louis.

“Fuck no, why me?” he groaned and leaned back, pinching his nose in frustration. Trelawney grinned. Whereas she had at first seemed mystical, a bit strange, she was now downright predatory. If Zayn had been here on his own, he probably wouldn't have made it out without a few tears in his clothes. Or any clothes at all, for that matter.

“The spirits have informed me…” She let her hands run over the ball, fondling it gently, and paused for dramatic effect, “That your promising jawline will get you anywhere you want in life. That is the lesson the universe wants me to pass along to you.”

Louis stared at her. What the fuck kind of bullshit prediction was that?

“She has the hots for you, Malik!” Niall leaned over, peeking around Louis to suggestively wiggle his eyebrows at Zayn. “What was the saying again? You ride best on an old bike?”

No one responded. It was probably for the best.

“Now, for you, chirpy one.” It took Louis a second before he realized she was talking to him. “For you, I have a much more exciting prospect in the cards.”

“Sure. And what might that be?” He inspected his fingernails, waiting for her to say something about his bum. It wouldn't be the first time someone said something about his behind, crude or not. She smiled wickedly, playing with the hideous green ring she had on her thumb (really? her fucking thumb? He vowed to never trust anyone wearing a thumb ring ever again) as she spoke softly, lacing her words with a touch of conspiracy.

“Somewhere around two weeks from now, the universe will gather together to unite you with your soulmate. It is up to you what you do with the knowledge that he’s coming, of course, but beware of the storm that is approaching. The boy is a whirlwind and will knock over everything you have come to know.”

O...kay. Yeah, no.

“Really. My soulmate,” Louis deadpanned. Trelawney had officially lost it. Not that she had it together to begin with, but still.

“I understand you are full of doubt, but listen to me, boy. My crystal orb tells me that you must be prepared for the curly haired one. He will be your rise or your downfall.”

“Oh, is that so? Well, my magical balls,” he pointed to his lap for emphasis, “tell me that you are full of shit. I tend to trust them, since they're so close to me and all.”

“Whatever you say, Louis. Don't say I haven't warned you,” Trelawney shrugged. Which, what the fuck? How did she know his name? He shot an alarmed look at Zayn, who looked back at him wide-eyed and motioned to the door, as eager to get out of there as Louis was, thank god.

“What, that was it?” Niall asked incredulously. “Where are the tarot cards? And the penchants dangling in a flask we fill with Louis' blood so we can trace where his true love is supposed to hide out? ”

“Do you want to know how you will meet your end, blondie?” Trelawney sneered. Terrifyingly enough, the mystical tone had disappeared from her voice completely. Louis decided that was their cue to go.

“He will meet his end because of alcohol poisoning, probably. We've heard enough of your scams, thanks,” he snapped and hauled Niall up by the sleeve of his jacket. Two seconds later he realized his mistake. The bottle of beer that Niall had been hiding clattered on the table, smashing in pieces and drenching the stack of tarot cards. The three of them looked at it in horror.

Louis didn't wait for Trelawney’s reaction. He had the suspicion that she might actually murder them this time.

“Go, go!” he yelled. They quickly scrambled to their feet, running out of the tent and not looking back until they'd gone far enough that even the ice rink seemed a million miles away. Once they came to a stop, Louis collapsed to the muddy ground, his chest rising and falling in rapid speed.

Jesus, he was out of shape.

“We are never.... Fuck - doing that again,” Zayn wheezed out. His hand reached out to the tree behind him in an attempt to stabilize himself, heaving loudly.

“What? Why not? You could have seduced a sixty year old fortune teller with your promising jawline,” Niall smirked as he patted his pockets, probably looking for more tokens to spend on alcohol. “Living the dream, innit?”

“Shut up, Niall,” Zayn and Louis said in unison. Niall shrugged, emptying his pockets to discover there was nothing left.

“I’m out, boys. Sorry. Do you have anything left?”

“You took all of ours and spent it on the wicked witch of London in there,” Zayn pointed out.

“Fine. Wanna head home then?”

“Please,” Louis sighed, suddenly exhausted. The long trek home ahead of them didn’t even seem like a drag - he was eager to reunite with his cat and hold her until they fell asleep on the couch. The way he liked it best, honestly.

The three of them got on the tube and kicked back, Louis’ worries about graduating suddenly back on the front of his mind while Zayn and Niall chatted about something he couldn’t really bring himself to care about.

“No, really, I would have done her,” he heard Niall exclaim. An incredulous squeak from Zayn’s side followed, but Louis, for the first time in his life, was too bone-tired to mix himself up in the conversation. If the other two noticed (which they did, Louis never shut up if he could help it), they didn’t say anything of it.

They got off at Earl’s Court so they could transfer to the District Line, but Louis barely registered any of it, the day catching up to him. Soon enough, the intercom announced they had reached Notting Hill Gate. Louis got up, waved a quick goodbye to Zayn and Niall and pulled his bag over his shoulder, disappearing in the swarm of people for a little while. The walk to his flat didn’t take long, the familiar colourful neighbourhood greeting him silently as he approached his front lawn.

He spared a quick glance at his neighbour’s house. From the window, he could see the guy walking around in something that resembled a fireman costume.

He really, really didn’t want to know.

“Honey, I’m home,” Louis announced loudly when he opened his front door. Immediately, a yellow Burmese cat came running into the hallway, stopping in front of his feet and looking at him accusingly. The cat meowed, loud and long, until he sighed and kneeled in front of her, petting her gently. Where she would normally start purring immediately, the meowing kept on as she looked at him with her big, green eyes.

Louis caved.

“I know, I know, I’m late. Come on, then, Peyton,” Louis picked her up, cradling his cat to his chest as he made way to the kitchen to give her food in an attempt to quiet her. To no avail, he might add - the meowing never stopped until he’d set the bowl down right in front of her.

Fine. He spoiled the love of his life a little. So what.

See, Louis wasn’t lonely. Okay, he named his cat after his favourite character in One Tree Hill (he would have called her Lucas, but since she was female he figured giving her a girl’s name was the fairest way to go). Sure, he called her the love of his life, and yes, maybe he tended to stay holed up in his flat longer than Niall would ever understand, but he was not lonely. Being alone was what he had gotten himself used to, what he craved after living in a house that was always filled with chatter and crowded rooms wherever he went, his four sisters and mum always filling up the house that was much too small for all six of them. His own place was what he had needed. Alone time was still what he longed for most, even now that he lived alone – he was still in dire need of being his own only company.

A curly haired wonder boy that was supposed to turn his life upside down was the last thing he needed. Right now, everything was easy and peaceful and, fine, slightly stressful now that life as he knew it in uni was slowly coming to an end, but, still. It was comfortable. This was how he liked it. Fortune tellers were a bunch of crap anyway.

As he turned on the TV, Peyton crawled onto his lap, sated and content. His hand nestled into her fur, scratching behind her ears softly. Louis closed his eyes, a small smile playing around his lips. This was normal life, where soul mates and destiny didn't exist. Louis was happy, and that was all that mattered.

~*~

Since the fortune teller incident, Niall had taken it upon himself to point out every single curly haired boy that was in Louis’ vicinity. Repeatedly. Every five seconds, Louis would hear “What about that bloke, Lou?”, “He’s got curly hair, Tommo, what do you think?” and of course the more crude way of going about it: “That’s the one you should shag. Go.”

Louis was as ready to punch Niall in the face as he was to burst into a crying fit over the entire graduating thing that he still wasn’t even as close to as he would have liked. His fingers were already curled into the palm of his hand as Niall blabbered on, just waiting for Niall to give him a reason to take the swing.

The first time it happened, they were walking down the corridor to the cafeteria, aching for a coffee to rub the sleep out of their eyes before classes started. Unfortunately, when they got near the counter, the waiter smiling at them widely had curls that went on for miles and eyes that could bring Louis to his knees without having to ask.

“Tommo, how about him?” Niall hissed, predictably, as if it wouldn’t have been the first thought in Louis’ mind. But the waiter seemed vaguely familiar.

“How about him, what?” Louis shrugged, deciding to play dumb. He wasn't going to give in this easily.

“What if he's the curly haired wonderboy? You won't know if you don't try.”

He was kind of handsome, actually, Louis had to admit. As he stared at the boy’s nametag, the black letters that spelled ‘Mitch’ flashing brightly into his eyes, Louis stiffened. Mitch. Images of endless vodka shots in a dirty kitchen, hints of desperation and dark bathrooms flashed before his eyes until he realized what his memories were telling him. Suddenly, Louis was absolutely sure that Mitch was taken and, more importantly, decidedly straight. Louis would know - last time he went to a party in the dorms, Mitch had been there and Louis had offered to suck him off in the bathroom. A generous offer, really, but all he had gotten was an "I don't swing that way" in return. Not that he was about to admit this humiliation to Niall. If Mitch was insistent on keeping it a secret, so was he.

“If he’s my soul mate, surely we’ll meet again, don’t ya think?” Niall opened his mouth to retort, but by then Mitch had already noticed them and motioned them over to get their order. Louis sighed in relief, nodding at Mitch in acknowledgement. For now, he was safe. It probably wouldn’t last long.

“What can I get you two?” Mitch asked with a smile, flipping his hair out of his eyes with an easy motion. Louis’ stomach lurched. The fact that Mitch was straight and had rejected Louis didn’t stop him from being unfairly attractive, really, and Louis was only human. Fuck this, he needed sugar.

“A frappucino for me, mate,” Louis said, averting his eyes before he could do something rash. Niall shifted, and Louis could tell that something was about to happen before it did.

“A macchiato for me, and you could tell us if you’re dating anyone,” Niall grinned. Mitch lifted his head, looking at Niall in confusion before raising an eyebrow at Louis, silently asking him if they were really going to do this again?

No. No, no, no, no. He was going to kill Niall.

“You know what, mates, I’m suddenly very much awake,” Louis said hurriedly and grabbed Niall by the shoulders, pushing him away from the counter. Niall struggled against his grip, trying to hold on to the edge of the wood, but Louis was determined, dragging him out of the shop by his wrists without saying another word. When they got to the door, he looked over his shoulder and spared a glance at Mitch, who seemed to be a little bit lost.

“Bye, Mitch! Remember, this never happened!” he said cheerily and waved before he burst out the door. They walked in silence, briskly pacing down the corridor until the cafeteria was out of sight, and more importantly, earshot.

“What the fuck?” he breathed out eventually, releasing his grip on Niall’s wrists and coming to a stand still.

“Bro, ‘m not sorry at all. Just givin’ fate a lil' hand here.” Niall shrugged and rubbed his skin, tracing the ghost of Louis’ touch. His face scrunched up in pain and Louis felt a sharp ting of satisfaction settle in his gut. Good, he thought. Feel the humiliation. Lord knows he’d had to endure enough of it.

“I swear to God, Horan, do that again and I will end you.”

“We’ll see about that, mate. You’ll thank me one day.”

“Yeah, when you don’t try to hit on straight waiters who told me no when I offered to suck their dick,” Louis grumbled under his breath.

As Niall’s face lit up in glee, he immediately realized that had been a huge mistake.

“You offered him what?”

~*~

It happened every day after that. Whether he was walking around campus and tried to borrow a book from the library, whether he was furiously typing away about the history of theatre, or whether they were crowded together in the pub, smashed off their arse, Niall pointed out (and tried to seduce) every curly haired boy around. It was not only getting exhausting, but it was getting humiliating as well. If this kept up any longer, Louis would be known across campus as the guy who had a kink for a good head of curls (…which maybe he did. But the world didn’t have to know that). Enough was enough - this had to stop. And the only way of stopping this was by complaining about it until someone agreed with him, obviously.

“Zaaaaayn,” Louis whined. He flopped onto his couch and headbutted Zayn’s arm, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“What,” Zayn said flatly. He kept his eyes trained on the TV where he was playing Super Smash Bros, firmly holding onto the controller as Louis tried to grab it out of his hands. When it was clear that Zayn wouldn’t stop, Louis sighed and dropped his head in Zayn’s lap.

“Zayn, help me,” he repeated and turned his lip into a pout. His fingers reached out to the edge of Zayn’s tank, playing with it absentmindedly.

“What do you want, Louis,” Zayn sighed. He cursed under his breath, attempting to dodge rock-Kirby but failing as it successfully smashed onto his head. Louis grinned up at him. 1 - 0 for Tomlinson.

“I want you to stop Niall seducing boys on my behalf,” he said petulantly after Zayn had paused the game and was staring at Louis, an expectant look on his face.

“Ha!” Zayn snorted, but put down the controller nonetheless and looked at Louis thoughtfully. “Fat chance of that happening. I’ll have better luck predicting what weird costume your neighbour is wearing next.”

“So you noticed that as well!” Louis exclaimed in glee and chucked his own controller away, sitting up straight. He'd completely forgotten to bring up his neighbour's clothing preferences to Niall and Zayn, too preoccupied with... Well, doing nothing, really, that it had slipped his mind. Now that Zayn had mentioned it, though, he suddenly felt the need to speculate about it until they had the answer. Or until he passed out. Either goes, really.

“It’s hard not to notice, innit?” Zayn frowned and risked a glance out the window, as if he expected the guy to come out any second now, which was unlikely, Louis thought. He barely knew the guy’s name. Liam something. It wasn't enough to make the bloke suddenly pop up in his living room. Whatever his name was, his habits were curious to say the least and Louis suddenly felt a burning desire to find out more about him as soon as possible.

“We should ask him why he wears fireman costumes, Zayn. I want to solve the mystery,” he voiced his thoughts. Zayn leveled him with a look, his hands lazily tracing the seams of his jeans. Zayn was effortlessly beautiful, Louis thought. Maybe Trelawney really did have a point, two weeks ago. His jawline really was outstanding.

“You can’t just ask someone why they do the things they do. Especially not when it's in the privacy of their own home, Lou. No matter how fit they are,” Zayn’s eyes glazed over as he spoke. Fit. Huh. He hadn't noticed, really, but sure, the guy wasn't exactly horrendous to look at, could even be the star of Louis' night time bed stories if he wasn't so preoccupied with Niall ruining his entire life. Speaking of which- he still didn't have a solution for his problem.

“Fine,” he crossed his arms and stared at Zayn indignantly. “If you won’t let me go spy on my neighbour, at least tell me what to do about Niall.”

“Get him so pissed that he forgets his own name?” Zayn suggested drily. 

“Thanks for the brilliant suggestion,” Louis groaned, his hands flying up to his face in desperation. As he stared at the skin of his own hands, he blinked, rubbing his fingers up and down his face in frustration. He should probably just fuck one of Niall’s wonder boys to get it over with – maybe then the tormenting would end. It would be better than putting up with Niall’s Cupid tendencies for the rest of his life, anyway. 

“It’s 2 am, what did you expect?” Zayn had meant to go for a snide tone to burn Louis to the ground, Louis knew, but obviously failed. As much as Zayn liked to pretend that he was tough and broody, he still couldn’t hide the fond expression on his face as he looked at Louis’ face. He loved that face. He loved Louis.

“You love me,” Louis stated as he looked through the gaps of his fingers. Zayn shook his head and lifted his hips off the couch, brushing the yellow fur off his pants as he got up. Louis reached out, grabbing Zayn’s wrist and holding onto it tightly.

“What are you doing? Stay! Keep me company, I'm lonely,” Louis pouted.

“Maybe if you vacuum your house more often. You and that cat of yours are menaces.”

“Hey!” Louis protested, digging his fingernails into Zayn’s skin in a way of retaliation. Honestly. Ever since he had gotten her over two years ago, and Louis had flipped shit over Zayn cursing her out when she clawed her nails into his leg, Zayn knew better than to insult Peyton. He hadn't been allowed back in the flat for two weeks.

Louis liked to believe that Zayn had learned his lesson.

“That’s my cue to go. Bye babes,” Zayn pulled his wrist free and made a move to walk away, but thought better of it before returning and kissing the top of Louis’ head.

“There, a good night’s kiss to help you sleep better. Night!”

Even the way he walked out the door was graceful. Louis hated him.

“Fuck you, Malik,” Louis spit out after him, but there was no heat behind the words. If Zayn felt like Louis was capable of dealing with his own crises, then sure, he would remember that next time Zayn was having a bit of trouble. He perked his ears, waiting for the sound of Zayn’s car doors slamming shut, but heard nothing. He got up, walking towards the window to see what was going on, and nearly choked at the sight.

Zayn was standing still as a statue in Louis’ front lawn, staring dreamily at the windows of Liam’s house. Louis couldn’t see what Zayn was so enthralled by, but the way the light reflected onto Zayn’s glowing, slightly creepy face told Louis enough. His best friend had a crush on Louis’ weird ass neighbour that neither of them had really ever talked to beyond an introduction.

Oh, Zayn was never going to live this down.

~*~

Louis was awoken by a loud crash. He snuck a glance at the alarm clock, the red numbers shining at him evilly, announcing that it was 4:54 am. He rolled around, pulling the duvet around himself in an attempt to go back to sleep, but his mind was wide awake now. It was Peyton, probably. His conniving little queen was was too smart for her own good. Since the moment she realized Louis wasn’t always going to open the doors for her, she had taught herself to jump on the door handle in order to get it open – as such, Louis had never invested in a cat flap for the backdoor and kept it unlocked during the night. It had its downsides, of course, and one of them was that she tended to run in during the middle of the night after one of her fights with the neighbourhood cats and proceed to break everything in sight. Louis enjoyed the wonders of the night time as much as the next person, but waking up at five am to find his cat crashing around the house tested even his limits. 

If she'd broken another vase and ran through the shattered glass, he'd be up all night (or well, morning, really) to pull the splinters out of her paws again. No one liked that scenario. 

He sighed, exasperated, and got up as slowly as humanly possible to find out what she had broken this time. 

Except, when he walked down the stairs and expected to find Peyton wreaking havoc, instead, he found a long limbed giraffe boy sprawled across his couch. On the arm rest, Peyton stared at the intruder curiously.

What the fuck?

Louis knew, instinctively, that he should call the police. He’s not dumb, after all. When someone enters your flat in the middle of the night, you should get some help and get the intruder evacuated out of the place. It was just... As he looked at the boy, loudly snoring with his face pressed into the cushions, there wasn’t an ounce of him that felt threatened by his presence. By the way his snores were just a tad too deep and the coffee table that was canted onto its side, Louis could tell immediately that the guy was drunk off his arse.

Honestly, he’d been there. He would just wake up the poor lad, gently, and ask him where he needed to go. No need to be rude – the guy’s punishment would be the massive hangover he would undoubtedly nurse the next day.

Peyton obviously agreed with his choice as she crawled over the giraffe’s insane legs, sniffing him inquisitively. The fact that she didn’t immediately feel the need to dig her claws into his skin like she'd done with Zayn the first time around told Louis enough – if Peyton was sure that this guy wasn’t here to murder him or steal Louis’ valuables, then Louis would trust the guy. It was his general life rule, really.

He watched as his cat walked up and down the bloke’s back and eventually came to a rest on his bum, curling up on his black skinny jeans and purring loudly. Louis couldn’t stop the snort that escaped from his mouth. Like cat, like owner, apparently.

Was that even a saying or was he getting delirious? Jesus Christ. 

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, unsure of what to do. He should probably wake him up now and stop watching the guy sleep like he was in fucking Twilight or something. He definitely couldn’t let him sleep here and have him wake up and crash the place – Louis planned on sleeping soundly after this. Not even drunk intruders could sway him.

He edged closer, carefully, and kneeled down next to the couch, trying to make out a face behind the mop of curls. As Louis poked into his side, fingers grazing against the guy’s flowery blouse, the snoring stopped abruptly. Other than the sudden silence, however, there was no sign of the guy waking up. Fuck. This was gonna be harder than he thought it would be.

“’Lo?” he tried and shook him a little harder, closer to his back this time. The guy’s muscles rippled underneath Louis’ hand and a surge of electric surged through his fingertips, making him pull back instantly as if burned.

He didn’t have to touch him again. Luckily. Or sadly, whatever it was. Either way, the guy groaned into the cushion and turned around, Peyton moving with him until she was perched on his chest. The sudden weight on his lungs seemed to do the trick.

“… What?” The guy opened up his eyes slowly in confusion, staring around the room with the greenest, biggest eyes Louis had ever seen in his life. They were lined red with sleep and alcohol, probably.

“You’re not Liam,” he blinked, words slurring a little on his tongue. Louis couldn’t stop staring, mesmerized by the way this creature was staring around the room, bewildered, until he realized he should probably say something.

Ah, fuck. This was not going well.

“Afraid not, mate. Louis. Pleasure,” he offered after he’d remembered how to talk, extending his hand. The guy stared at his hand for a few seconds until he seemed to realize he was supposed to shake it. Great. Apparently both of them had no social skills. Fan-bloody-tastic.

“Harry Styles,” he said slowly, a little startled. Jesus, even his name was beautiful. He lowered his hand, fingertips reaching out to rest in Peyton’s fur, and Louis’ heartbeat sped up at the sight, butterflies erupting in his stomach. He refused to acknowledge why that could be. The guy was attractive, sure, but he also needed to get out of his house asap. Something about all of this was deeply unsettling, world changing, like he couldn’t possibly ever recover from any of this.

He really wanted to recover from this.

“So, Harry Styles. Are you going to tell me why exactly you’re sleeping on my couch?”

“I… Um.” It took an eternity for the words to come out of his mouth. Louis wanted to slap the words out of him. Or kiss him until he could taste the words on his tongue. Both options would be great, honestly.

“I had a party?” the kid – Harry, Louis reminded himself – frowned, the wrinkles between his eyebrows deepening before flattening out as he looked up at Louis in relief. “I was supposed to crash at my mate’s place, Liam. Do you happen to know him?”

“Liam? Does he walk around in fireman costumes often?” Harry’s face brightened, curls whipping around him in similar glee, and he scrambled off the couch, carefully putting Peyton next to him so she wouldn’t crash to the floor. Louis was hopelessly endeared.

“That’s the one! Is this the moment you’re going to tell me we’re on the other side of London and there’s no way to get there at this time of night?”

“You’re good, mate, he lives next door. Want me to walk you home?”

“I think I’ll manage,” Harry shook his head and grinned, walking through the kitchen to the backdoor. When he came to a standstill, he shuffled with his feet, seemingly unsure what to do. Louis' hands twitched behind his back, aching to touch him one last time before he left. He clasped his fingers together in an attempt to control himself. He didn't even know the kid. He was better than this. He could control himself.

“Tell Liam I say hi, yeah?” Louis broke the silence after it had dragged on a tad too long. Ah, fuck it. He extended one of his hands and patted Harry on the back. His skin burned at the contact, heat pooling low in his stomach. “We don’t talk often enough. I’m intrigued.”

“I will. He’s not really that interesting though. I promise,” Harry shrugged, but he didn’t take a step back – instead, he seemed to arch into Louis’ touch, lips curled in a happy, content smile.

“I know someone who begs to differ,” Louis smirked, hurriedly taking his hand away as he realized it was still glued to Harry's back. What was he even doing? He needed to put an end to this before it escalated, if it hadn't already.

“Good night, mystery burglar. I’m glad you didn’t steal my cat,” he hurriedly said and opened the door, peaking out to make sure the light in Liam’s living room was on. He saw a police officer costume hanging out against the window and decided not to think about it. If he was a member of the YMCA, that was his prerogative and Louis had absolutely nothing to do with it.  

“Never say never,” Harry winked, breaking Louis from his thoughts, before stepping out and closing the door behind him. Louis pointedly ignored the strange sense of loss he felt as the boy disappeared and got up, determined to busy himself and rid his house of anything even remotely connected to Harry Styles. Starting with fixing up the coffee table that Harry had knocked down like some kind of bloody tornado. Great.

~*~

If he thought Harry’s appearance would change something in the progress of his and Liam’s non-existent friendship, he was wrong. They still waved when they saw each other, smiled in a friendly way that silently spoke about the mutual understanding that Liam had weird friends, but that’s where it stopped. There was no inviting each other over, no trading secrets about their weird habits when they thought no one was looking, no telling Louis that he was secretly a stripper and, most disappointingly of all, absolutely no kink discussions.

Louis was strangely unsatisfied. So was Zayn, who kept (un)subtly trying to convince Louis to finally go over and break the weird silence between them so Zayn could “make new friends”. To which Louis stubbornly replied that if he wanted to so badly, he should do it himself. Zayn always shut up at that, unsurprisingly.

Niall, however, still practically wet himself laughing at the story about Harry breaking into his house, unable to let it go. Louis should have known not to tell Niall, but he guessed that that's what friends were for. To tease each other endlessly until the other one snapped. Or something.

“Lou, you never told me what he looked like,” Niall curiously quipped one night at the pub after his millionth laughing fit. Louis shrugged, ignoring the sharp pang he felt low in his stomach at the thought of one Harry Styles.

“He wasn’t that interesting, really. Just some lad drunk off his arse, breaking into my house. You know. Daily routine.” If he looked around the pub, hoping to see the best legs he’d ever seen stuck in jeans too tight for his own good, no one had to know.

“Sure. Whatever you say, Tommo,” Niall answered skeptically, but let it go nonetheless to go talk to a brunette by the bar. Louis let out a breath in relief before knocking back his beer. Maybe alcohol would rid his mind of drunk giraffe boys. 

~*~

Three days later, Louis walked to the mailbox, finally getting out the bills that he’d been ignoring for far too long, until he noticed a blank piece of paper sticking out between the stacks with his name hastily sprawled across the white.

Heeeeeyyy,

I’m having a lil party on Friday so you knowww, get out while you can :)
or come by, it’d be a nice opportunity to get to know each other a little better!!!

See you Friday then? :D

Liam (your neighbour, in case you forgot!!!)

Okay. A party, then. Louis could work with that.

It was time to kickstart Operation Bring Ziam Together into official motion and find out if Liam had a weird thing for men in uniform. He couldn't wait.

~*~

Of course, Niall was up for it before Louis had even fully completed his sentence. Convincing Zayn to come with hadn’t been hard either – the mere mention of Liam had been enough to get him to step through the door on Friday night.

Apparently that didn't mean that Zayn would be able to bring himself to talk to Liam. Let alone woo him. He was useless.

From all that Zayn was normally slick as hell and managed to out-cool all of them by miles, the lone thought of actually talking to Liam was evidently enough to send him into a panic frenzy. Which was ridiculous – Zayn was the most aloof and most attractive male Louis had ever had the pleasure of knowing. If Zayn had to worry, Louis thought, was there any hope left for himself?

Still. Zayn was absolutely bombing Operation Ziam, even if he didn’t realize it existed. He stared at Liam, fiddling nervously with the cigarette in his hand, seemingly unable to get out a word. Liam, in turn, seemed somehow mesmerized by the sharp lines of Zayn’s jaw and the way his stubble brushed his skin artfully. Something in the back of Louis’ mind itched, the words sharp jawlines suddenly standing out fiercely, surrounded by purple smoke and faded tarot cards.

Louis forced the memory away. Now was not the time.

“What’s your favourite Halloween costume?” Liam asked suddenly, randomly. A pathetic attempt at breaking the awkward silence, really, but Louis admired him for the effort. If Zayn said he liked firemen, Louis was out.

“I have a thing for firemen,” Zayn mumbled and his cheeks coloured red. Oh, fucking hell.

“Okay, lads, that’s it. I’m out,” Louis announced without waiting for Liam’s answer and slid himself out of the conversation, making his way through the throng of people to get to the kitchen. If he wanted to survive this, he needed more alcohol to numb his brain.

“Sorry, love,” he excused himself as he bumped against a girl with bright red curls. He attempted to grab a beer from the fridge, but found himself unable to as it was currently occupied by a couple fiercely making out against the door.

“Excuse me,” he began, attempting to slide around the two of them, “Would you mind?”

“Go away, mate,” the guy groaned and… that sounded suspiciously like Niall. Louis looked up, peering at the two filthily swapping fluids, and, yep, there he was, his hands wandering to places that made Louis wish he was suddenly blind.

“How the hell did you pull someone within five minutes of getting here?” he asked incredulously, arms crossed over his chest.

“Lou?” Niall dragged himself away from the blonde, at least having the decency to look at Louis with a hint of shame. They wordlessly stared at each other until Niall blindly opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of beer from the bottom shelf, handing them over to Louis. The second Louis averted his eyes, he pressed his mouth back to the girl’s neck, producing some unnecessarily loud, filthy noises as he did so.

“I’d rather have bleach, but thanks,” Louis grumbled and turned around. Next thing he knew, an elbow abruptly appeared out of nowhere and punched him in the face, spilling the two beers all over Louis' front.

“Oi! Watch where you're going, yeah?” he groaned, irritated, and braced himself, ready to face whoever it was that decided to stink him up with beer and punch him right back in the face if he had to. As he turned around to face the music, a very familiar wide-eyed, curly haired boy stared right back at Louis, reminiscent of a dark, drunken night a few weeks ago in the middle of his living room.

Louis froze in astonishment. The air acutely felt tense, charged, and full of promises.

“You! My mystery burglar!” Louis finally grinned in surprise when his mind decided to catch up with what he was seeing. He felt suspiciously warm, a pleasant buzzing spreading through to his toes, and he realized he was completely fucked. There he stood, soaking wet, dripping with beer in the middle of the kitchen, and the one boy he hadn't been able to get out of his mind for weeks was staring at him, looking absolutely mouthwatering.

“Hi there, Louis,” Harry Styles grinned back at him. Louis wanted to die.

“Wait, how do you know Harry?” Liam’s voice rose from behind Louis and he whipped around in surprise, looking straight at Liam’s slightly rosy cheeks as Zayn was plastered to his back. He’d clearly missed a step somewhere along the way.

Whatever. He had more important matters to deal with.

“Oh yes, do tell, Louis,” Niall piped up from behind Louis, his eyes darting over Harry and the way his jeans clung to his thighs. Niall’s lips were swollen, hands occupied underneath the blonde’s shirt as she let out a soft mewl at his motions. The boy was absolutely shameless. Louis was going to make sure he’d regret it some day soon.

“Louis and I had our first rendez-vous in the dark the other night,” Harry grinned before Louis could answer and threw his arm around Louis’ soaked shoulders, pulling him into his chest. Louis elbowed him in the ribs in retaliation.

“No need to make it sound so filthy, Harold, you broke into my house,” he scoffed, the nickname falling from his lips easily, but there was no heat behind the words. He could practically feel the smile that was radiating off his face. Bloody hell, he acted like a fucking thirteen year old with a crush. Or Zayn. It didn't really matter which one - both were mortifying enough.

“Wait!” Niall perked up and removed his hands from under the girl’s shirt to point at Louis accusingly. “You didn’t tell me your burglar had such a good head of hair, Lou." He turned back to Harry, eyes focusing on him for real this time. “What was your name again?”

“Um, I’m Harry?” Harry answered and frowned in confusion.

“Okay then, Harry, tell me the secret behind those luscious locks,” Niall grinned with a mischievous glint in his eye. Louis knew that he was totally fucked if he didn’t get out of here sooner than later.

“Well, this has all been very entertaining,” Louis cut off, “but I am going to the bathroom to get myself dried off, if you lads don’t mind.” There. He would have been on fire tonight, focused on bringing Liam and Zayn as close together as possible, weren't it for Harry next to him, who squeezed his shoulder. A slightly guilty look appeared on his face at Louis' words and he untangled himself from Louis, hands leaving his soaked shirt.

Louis missed the contact almost immediately.

“I’ll go with, it’s my fault after all,” Harry offered then and Louis swore he could hear the angels sing in the sky.

“You don’t have to do that,” Louis protested weakly, trying to get himself out of this one last time. There was no way this was going to end well, after all. Harry gave him a look, effectively shutting him up. Okay then. Nothing could go wrong if he just kept breathing. Everything was fine. Absolutely dandy.

They made their way to the bathroom and Harry closed the door behind the two of them. Louis exhaled shakingly, running his hands through his hair as he looked at himself in the mirror.

Fuck, he was a mess.

He took off his shirt quickly, without sparing a look at Harry in case it would be awkward, and turned on the faucet. He rinsed the fabric off quietly, his mind running faster than he could keep up with. Apart from the vodka, this scenario wasn't exactly very different from what happened with Mitch. Another one of those rejections and he'd have to become a monk at this point.

“Louis?” Harry broke him from his inner turmoil, voice slow and quiet behind him. His giant hands came to rest on Louis’ bare hips, the grip surprisingly gentle for someone so big.

“Hm?” he breathed out, shaking with it. The sound was all that managed to fall from lips for now, his mind and heart both racing at a million miles a minute. The world was spinning on its axis, Harry's touch thrumming underneath his naked skin. He just wanted, needed, itched for Harry to touch him a little lower and never let go.

He spread out his shirt and hung it over the towel rank. The words that came next literally took his breath away.

“I truly am terribly sorry, you know. Can I make it up to you?” Harry purred, fucking purred into his ears, meeting his gaze in the mirror. Louis nodded and before he could answer, hungry lips were pressed against his, immediately prying his mouth open. Louis felt like he was drowning in the kiss already, his arms going down to cup Harry’s bum, falling into the movement like that’s all his hands were ever meant to do. It felt like he had been waiting for years for this. The realization that it was only their second meeting, ever, did nothing to quell his thirst.

“God, yes, finally,” Louis grumbled against his mouth and cupped his cheeks, his thumb stroking over his jaw and forcing Harry’s mouth open wider. He pushed in, the tip of his tongue dipping against the rim of Harry's lips, slick and fast, and Louis had never felt more at home than right at that moment. His fingertips pressed into the rough material of Harry’s jeans, his mouth rapidly moving along with him and why the fuck had he not done this the second he laid eyes on Harry in his own damn living room?

Somehow, Harry tasted like home. He tasted like cinnamon and Doncaster winters by the fireplace, and hidden right below the surface was a wave of fresh that reminded Louis of the snow, of the cold ice down at the pond behind his old house. He didn’t understand how anyone could set him on fire like Harry did, never having experienced it like this before. It drove him insane, but he went along with it, desperate and needy and clingy as if he would die if Harry ever let go.

Louis broke the kiss first, leaning his head back against the wall to catch his breath. Harry’s lips moved from his jawline down to his throat, mouthing against his skin lazily. Louis unbuttoned his blouse, fingers brushing against the pink flamingoes, and pushed it off. As it fell to the floor, broad shoulders came into view, chest littered with tattoos. His mouth watered at the view and he couldn't help but let his fingers trace the 'G' and 'A' on his shoulders, making a mental note to ask him about it later. If later ever came around, that was.

Louis slumped against him, sighing deeply as Harry bit down right below his ear. The moan that escaped his lips was just on the wrong side of loud and he clasped a hand over his mouth, trying to keep quiet. A thought occurred to him then.

“Harold,” he murmured, letting his hand travel up Harry's hair. Harry didn't answer, letting his lips travel along Louis' cheekbones and pressing into him a little closer, skin brushing skin.

“People are right behind this door waiting to take a piss. We gotta make this quick, love,” Louis insisted, tangling his hands into his curls and pulling harshly for emphasis. "Harry. Are you even listening?" 

“Lou--” Harry groaned against his jaw at his pull, the first word to escape from him in five minutes, and – oh. Wasn’t that interesting. Louis filed it under things to remember for a more private setting.

“Lou,” Harry repeated, slightly desperate this time, rolling the name off his tongue in a way that went straight to Louis’ pants. This was definitely not going to take long if they kept up this speed, he realized. He also realized he couldn’t give less of a damn.

He kissed Harry soundly, deeper and slightly filthy this time around as Harry undid his jeans and let them fall to the floor, shoving his pants down with them. Louis wrapped his leg around Harry’s waist, pulling him in closer with his heel, finally giving them the fraction they’d been craving. Harry’s lips went slack against Louis’, his hot breath burning on his skin and Louis felt his skin heat up, the familiar fire that started at his ears flowing to his toes gradually.

His hips moved against Harry’s in a desperate way he’d be embarrassed about if it wasn’t so damn hot. He edged closer, increasing the pressure one last time before pulling away and sliding down Harry’s black skinnies, annoyed with the clothing that made him feel ridiculously underdressed. He was naked, why wasn't Harry? He’d waited long enough.

After he unzipped Harry’s jeans and slid down his pants he was ready to sink to his knees, already taking Harry’s member into his hand. However, a hand tangled into the strands of Louis’ hair and hauled him up forcefully.

Louis blinked.

“Together,” Harry growled, looking at Louis like he was about to devour him. Which, for the record... Louis wouldn’t mind. Before he knew it, Harry had grabbed his leg and locked it right back around his waist. It seemed to belong there, the two of them connected hip to hip. Louis lifted himself and wrapped his free leg around Harry’s waist as well, fully depending on Harry to keep him standing.

The skin on skin contact made them both groan and he bucked his hips against Harry, trapped between the wall behind him and Harry’s naked chest. Louis’ hand went down to stroke over the butterfly tattoo, cherishing it almost, mesmerized by the way the light hit it just right.

This boy was beautiful. Everything about this was beautiful.

“Ugh,” Harry keened under his touch and smashed his lips back to Louis’. They rutted against each other, harder and harder, until Louis felt like he was about to break, his fingernails scraping down Harry's abs. A slur of broken moans fell from Harry's lips as he stuttered against him, face buried into the crook of Louis’ shoulder. Louis gripped onto him tighter as Harry started to shake underneath him, moving faster, desperate, chasing his orgasm as he practically drove Louis into the wall. His hips shoved against Louis' skin in a sudden fit of urgency that Louis could feel thrumming in his bones, blissfully lost in the circling movement against his groin. 

“Ah, ah-– ohh, fuck,” were the last sounds that tumbled over Harry’s lips as he spilled all over Louis, spurts of come hitting his own chest. Louis’ hipbones hit Harry’s forcefully and he was a hundred percent sure that was going to bruise, but all that was imprinted in Louis’ thoughts was the face Harry made when he came, how it was the most gorgeous thing he had ever gotten to witness.

A massive hand slipped down and wrapped around him and Louis saw stars, clouds, the entire fucking Milkyway flashing right in front of his eyes when Harry started moving up and down, slowly but firm and gentle in a way he didn’t know was possible. He gasped, thrusting in time with Harry’s strokes and fucking up into his hand. When Harry bit down onto his neck, lips soothing the burn almost immediately after, he spilled over Harry’s hand with a drawn out moan that sounded loud even to his own ears.

He would’ve been satisfied staying there forever, weren't it for Harry’s arms shaking with the effort of still keeping him up. It would be the nice thing to do, really, to untangle himself from the mess that was Harry Styles and get them cleaned up. He got down to his feet and grabbed his jeans, pulling them up and wincing slightly as he handed Harry his shirt.

“Hey,” he heard from behind him as he turned on the faucet, washing the come off his hands. As he dried off and grabbed his still damp shirt, he turned around and was met with Harry’s green, green eyes.

“We can do this again sometime, yeah? I’m not done with you,” Harry grinned and Louis could only nod in relief, overwhelmed with the thought of having this wonderful, brightly shining boy all to himself whenever he damn well pleased. Which was a little fast, maybe. He zipped up his jeans and stepped aside so Harry could wipe himself clean as well. A hint of something stirred in his stomach, low and promising.

All right, it might not be love. They’d just gotten off in the bathroom of his neighbour’s party. This was not a love story, this was the stuff porn was based on.

Still, though. Trelawney had been right, sort of. Harry, if anything, was a whirlwind at least. The way Harry struggled to pick up his skinnies, dancing on his feet in an attempt to keep standing, spoke for itself. For fuck's sake, he'd even managed to knock over Louis' coffee table in the process of breaking into his house. Shaking up his life seemed to be about right.

“I have a fortune teller to thank, I suppose,” Louis murmured with a smirk and kissed Harry on the lips quickly, unable to stop himself now that he’d gotten a taste. He briefly wondered how he ever went without a Harry Styles in his life and decided it didn’t matter, because here he was, looking like a vision, and he wanted to see Louis again. Life seemed so much brighter, somehow. “We might have to go see her on our second date.”  

“What?” Harry pulled away and looked at him with confusion etched across his face as he too zipped up his jeans.

“I’ll explain later,” Louis grinned and tugged Harry closer, his back pressing into its now familiar spot against the wall. “We have more important matters at hand right now, I reckon.”

“Hmm? Like what?” Louis smiled and kissed him one last time before removing himself from Harry’s grip. He unlocked and opened the bathroom door, holding out an arm in invitation.

“Like you telling me what on earth Liam does for a living and then teasing him about it forever.” The laugh that escaped from Harry's throat was loud, unfiltered and brash. Louis wanted to hear more of that laugh forever.

“Sounds like a plan,” Harry grabbed his hand and pulled him out into the hallway. As they made their way through the crowd, the heat of Harry’s hand burning in his as a promise, Louis thought that maybe fate and soul mates weren’t so ridiculous after all.