Archive of Our Own

“Listen to this part…” Louis takes a sip of his tea and reads, “This finely executed collection will be the most relevant in masculine luxury come autumn. Burberry has a powerhouse—fuck, I love that word—of young designers, especially Louis Tomlinson. It appears we can expect more captivating pieces from him and the rest of Burberry’s dynamic team soon enough.”

He lowers his iPad to peer across the kitchen at Michael, his brows arched expectantly. Michael comes closer, placing his coffee down on the glass table.

“Sounds hot, babe. They love you,” he says, stepping behind him and wrapping his arms around Louis’ shoulders. He presses a kiss to Louis’ neck, sliding his hand down the front of Louis’ bare chest.

Louis hums. “It appears they do.” He turns his head and drops a kiss on Michael’s lips. When he strolls away, Louis' gaze slides down to Michael’s ass, covered in his tight black Calvin Klein pants. The lad is fit as fuck, that’s for sure, but he isn’t any good for conversation, which Louis expects sometimes with models. He hates to feed into stereotypes but this one at least is based in truth. It’s hard to find a model of Michael’s age with the same level of success and physical…prowess and expect to maintain a proper relationship with him.

So it’s a good thing Louis isn’t looking for a proper relationship with anyone.

And as far as stereotypes go, he knows he fits one himself. He’s the rich, power-hungry bachelor. He’s one of the city hawks sat in a high-rise, thinking of ways to step on more heads and climb to new heights. And he enjoys every second of his life. When you’ve achieved the kind of fame and financial superiority he has, how could you not?

“I’m going to take a shower,” Michael announces. He pushes down his underwear and discards it on the glossy marble floor before giving Louis a smile. “Want to come with?”

Louis was going to finish his cup of tea and maybe find more articles about how well the show went last night. But his eyes trail over Michael’s body and…well, there’s plenty of time for all that later.

He takes one last sip of his tea and places his iPad down. He stands, rolling his shoulders back and sauntering past the wall of windows overlooking New York City, and follows Michael into his room.

> > > < < <

Louis feels fantastic, snapping his fingers to the beat of JT’s 20/20 Experience on his ride to work. His hair is perfectly coiffed. His shoes are shining. His sunglasses are Gucci. He just fucked a model into oblivion. And yeah, he’s balls deep in traffic, but life is good and the future is bright.

Soon enough, he swings his Audi into the parking garage of Burberry’s corporate office. When he parks and hops out, he twirls his keys around his finger, still humming a happy tune.

He checks his reflection in the car window. He’s sexy as fuck. And confident about that undeniable fact, he carries on.

“Good morning, Louis,” Rachel says as he’s walking into his office. She hands him a cup of tea.

“Thanks, love,” he says.

Rachel is looking at him in that dopey way she always does. Most people know Louis prefers men, but the girl can’t help herself. It’s flattering. She’s pretty and all, but Louis has more important things on his mind.

“Everything’s set for my meeting this morning, yeah?” he asks, swinging into his leather desk chair. He starts tapping at his keyboard, bringing up his email.

Office correspondence is essentially the same in any company. There are reminders for meetings, product alerts, and occasionally an inspirational message when a coworker is in the mood.

“Yup, you’re good to go,” Rachel says, practically bouncing on her toes. After the show last night, pretty much everyone knows this meeting is bound to be the best one of Louis’ life. This promotion has never been more absolute.

Louis still winks at Rachel. “Keep your fingers crossed for me?”

Rachel grins. “Absolutely,” she says. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Louis smiles and then shifts his gaze back to his email. He doesn’t get two seconds to himself before Zayn waltzes in and shuts the door.

“Good morning to you too,” Louis says when Zayn plops down in the seat across from him.

Zayn finishes the text message he’s typing on his phone and glances up with a smile. “I’m coming by to make sure that we’re still on for lunch later. Wasn’t sure if you’d still be interested in hanging out with the lesser people.”

Louis gives him a look. “God, shut up. We’re going to lunch regardless of how this meeting goes.”

“Only one way it could go, babe,” Zayn assures him. “Gonna have one of the best offices, you know. As if this one isn’t sweet enough.”

“Hm, maybe they’ll give this one to you once I’m done with it,” Louis says, taking a sip of his tea.

Zayn answers him with his middle finger and then a smirk. Not highly professional, but the two of them never have been.

“See you at lunch, you twat,” Zayn says, and then he’s gliding out of the room.

Louis hates that he feels nervous at all, that he has to straighten the papers on his desk ten times to feel calm.

It’s not much longer until he’s shutting his office door and heading over to the smaller conference room. His boss, Richard Kingsley, overseer of operations in New York, is waiting there for him, with a small smile on his face. On the projector just behind him is a split screen with Andrew Bailey, Chief Creative Officer of Burberry Worldwide, and oddly, Margaret George, the Financial Officer for Burberry Kids.

Louis has had conference calls with Bailey before. It’s not that the man makes him nervous. Very few people make Louis nervous. But Bailey is one of the most powerful men in the company and it drives home the importance of the position Louis is up for and the responsibilities it entails.

Being Creative Director in New York would be huge. Having the power to make the call on what designs make it out of the showroom here and spearheading the designs that make it to final productions. It’s all huge and Louis wants it so badly he can already taste it, can smell the leather in his new office, can see the view from the windows flittering across his vision.

He greets everyone in the room, either physically or on the projector, and he sits in the chair opposing them, and he’s never been more sure of anything.

“We want to send you back to London.”

Louis nearly chokes on his cup of water. It’s Richard who says it, because Andrew and Margaret are already in London, Louis assumes. He manages to swallow his small sip of water and replace the glass on the table, though his hands have begun to shake.

Nope, that’s not at all what he expected to hear.

“We want to see how you handle things for Burberry Kids,” Richard continues. “If you can turn some of the designs around there, get some positive reviews for next year’s spring collection, the position of Creative Director will be here waiting for you when you return.”

Jesus, this is absolutely not what he expected to hear. He thought the position would be here waiting for him now.

Louis glances at Margaret and finds her nodding. He takes a careful sip of his water.

This is still a promotion in a way, yes, but not his promotion. Not the one he was looking for.

Furthermore, he likes his life here in New York. This is where he belongs, at least for right now. For fuck’s sake, Louis just got here. Only a year ago. And he hates to be a proper child about it, but he’s not ready to go anywhere again.

And yet this is the life he chose. As long as he is still moving forward in his career, so be it.

“Thank you,” Louis says, forcing a gracious smile. “I definitely won’t let you down.”

Finally, Andrew speaks up. Louis was beginning to wonder why he was even there. “We’re positive that with your ingenuity and expertise, we can redevelop the morale over here at Burberry Kids. You’ll have a whole season to get the creative juices flowing,” he says.

It’s nice to hear Andrew speak of him in that way, almost like he’s been keeping notice of Louis’ work. So, Louis isn’t pleased at all about any of this. But still he looks at Andrew and nods.

“That’s all I’ll need,” Louis assures him.

> > > < < <

“Call from…Liam Payne,” Siri reports.

Louis replaces his smoothie in the cup holder and taps the green call button.

“Talk to me, Payno.”

There’s some rustling on the other end. Might be a bad connection. And then Liam is yelling, “Heard you got a promotion!”

Louis shoots a glare at Zayn in the passenger seat. Seriously, he could have given it at least an hour. Zayn shrugs apologetically. “That’s putting it generously,” Louis says. “They’re sending me back to London is what it is.”

Zayn frowns at him. “It’s a fantastic position. Still better than what you have here,” he says.

“And regardless of how you feel about it, we’re going to celebrate tonight,” Liam replies.

Louis rolls his eyes, pulling into the parking garage. “I’d rather not.”

“Don’t have much choice in the matter,” Liam says. “Right, Zayn?”

“None at all,” Zayn agrees.

“Oh, no, Liam! It sounds like you’re breaking up,” Louis says. He starts making funny noises with his mouth, ignoring the fact that Liam is still trying to talk. “What’s that? I can’t hear a thing, mate. Maybe call me back later.”

And then Louis presses the end call button right as he pulls into a parking space.

“Not very mature,” Zayn comments.

Louis shrugs and hops out. He never claimed to be mature.

> > > < < <

He ends up going out with Liam and Zayn despite his protests and despite the lack of much to celebrate.

He woke this morning feeling like he couldn’t be in a better place. He had a glorious man strolling around his kitchen. The rave reviews were flooding in. And that promotion was within arms reach.

Now hours later, Louis has no credible promotion, no matter how positively Zayn tries to spin it. The reviews have stopped coming in. Because apparently last night’s show is no longer worth talking about. And fucking Michael has been posting pictures on Instagram for the last hour of him and some bloke Louis’ never seen before. Things with Michael aren’t exactly exclusive, Louis knows that. Louis likes it that way.

But still. The lad could make an attempt at discretion. Jesus.

He’s had enough martinis and the ceviche has grown warm. Zayn is leaning a little closer to Liam, starting to whisper in his ear the way he does when he has a bit of alcohol in him. It’s 100% guaranteed that they’ll end up fucking tonight. And Louis doesn’t feel like sticking around for the foreplay.

So he stands, collecting his wallet and tucks it into his jeans pocket.

“I’m gonna head off,” he says.

Zayn drops his fingers away from the skewered olive he seemed to contemplate feeding to Liam. He looks to Louis, his brows creasing. “Why?”

“Knackered,” Louis says remorsefully. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Liam, thanks for drinks. See you soon, mate.”

They both smile. Liam tips his glass to him. “Congrats again, Lou!”

Louis’ smile is forced and takes even more out of him. He waves one last time and makes his way through the club, weaving past the throngs of people. He gets looks from some as he moves by. A few attempt to talk to him. And on any other night, Louis would buy them a drink and set about bringing at least one of them home. Maybe two.

But not tonight. Tonight, he needs to go back to his massive flat, take a hot shower and go to sleep.

He hails a cab and murmurs his address. He rests his head against the window, watching the city lights whiz by for a moment. Eventually it becomes hypnotic and before long, he’s shut his eyes and dozed off.

> > > < < <

Louis wakes to a slew of foul language and the sight of smoke billowing up from the hood of the cab. He panics, thinking he’s one second from being blown to smithereens, and scrambles out of the car, not even taking into account the possibility of oncoming traffic.

There is no traffic though, Louis notices as he puts space between himself and the smoking car. It’s just him, the driver, and their clearly useless vehicle on a deserted back road.

“What happened?” Louis asks the driver, who’s sitting on an upturned cinderblock he must have found on the side of the road.

“Engine’s blown out,” he responds. “I’m sorry. I’m calling another cab for you now. Shouldn’t be long before they get out here.”

Louis looks around at the graffitied buildings, the long stretch of road before and behind them. And he thinks he recognizes where they are. Shouldn’t be much farther to his apartment, if he’s correct. “That’s alright. I’ll walk from here,” he says. He reaches into his pocket to grab his wallet and freezes.

“Fuck,” he says. He pats down his other two pockets and then leans in through the passenger window to scan the seats. He sees nothing. “Fuck.”

This just keeps getting better and better. His wallet now is lying somewhere around the city with a bank card that grants access to all six figures in his account. His driver’s license. His insurance card. A blank check with his account number.

Fucking hell.

“Listen, do you have a pen or something?” Louis asks the driver. “Unfortunately I don’t have any money on me. But if you give me your number, I’ll make sure to pay you back.”

The driver gives him a funny look. “It’s fine, sir. Not like I actually got you to your destination.”

“Not your fault the car broke down,” Louis tells him.

The driver smiles gratefully. “Thank you. But it’s alright. Please just get home safely.”

Louis returns his smile. “Thanks. Have a good night,” he says. He makes his way past the man, certain that he’s headed in the right direction. If he continues up this street, he thinks he should hit the shortcut he sometimes jogs through in the mornings.

He pulls out his phone and sees that the battery is running low. Because of course it is. But he has enough power to pull up the GPS and double check that he’s going in the right direction.

The driver is at least 100 feet behind him and out of view by the time Louis takes his shortcut, up through an alley that’s a couple blocks from his building. It looks completely different in the dark of night. The narrow space is dimly lit and damp from earlier rain showers. It seems everyone in the apartments overhead is asleep. Quite early for New Yorkers.

He can hear traffic not far away though, the faint honking of car horns and motors running. But in this alley, an eerie stillness settles around him that raises goose bumps all along his arms and makes him walk a little faster.

“Have any cash to spare?”

Louis hates that he flinches when the man steps into view. The last thing he needs is to appear jumpy and nervous on these streets. But he didn’t even see where this man came from, as if he materialized from some puddle or the corner between the skip and the brick wall. He has a stringy graying beard, a hood shielding the sides of his face, and Louis can barely see his eyes. So, yes, he’s more than a little freaked out. He focuses on keeping his cool, even though alarm bells start blaring in his head.

Anyone that approaches another person in a place like this can’t be up to any good.

Louis clutches his phone a little tighter and sidesteps him. “Actually I don’t.”

He realizes that must seem unbelievable with the way he looks. His shiny hair and shoes and immaculate clothes.

The man steps in front of him again, and Louis stops walking, exhaling an exhausted breath. “Seriously?”

“Not even a dollar?” the man questions again.

Annoyance prickles under Louis’ skin. “I’ve got nothing, pal. Not a single cent,” Louis says patting himself down for emphasis. “Now would you please step the fuck aside? For the love of—”

The man makes a sudden movement, so fast his arm blurs. And Louis goes silent when he sees the light from an overhead street lamp catch on the blade of a pocketknife.

There’s not enough time to panic. In the second Louis realizes what’s happening, the man is also swinging his arm forward.

It’s like someone’s punched him in the gut. He’s reminded of the times on the football pitch when he was just a boy and sometimes collisions with the other players would knock every bit of breath from his lungs and leave him curled over and gasping. It’s like that but so much worse.

Because he’s not sure his breath is coming back.

Louis grunts, his face crinkling with pain but his eyes widening in shock. It’s ironic how he’s looking into the face of his killer and simultaneously clinging to the man’s shirt, trying to stay upright. He clings to him while feeling sheer terror in his presence.

The man pushes him away, pulling his blade free. Louis hears himself make a strangled cry and fumbles forward while the thud of the man’s trainers echoes and fades behind him. He presses one hand against his stomach, ignoring the warm trickle of blood he feels soaking through his thin shirt. He trails his other hand along the brick wall beside him.

He knows that if he stays in this alley, this is where he’ll die. If he can just get out into the open, maybe someone will see him. He prays to every deity he can think of that someone will see him.

But he also knows he’s losing too much blood. He feels it coating his fingers and just beginning to run down his leg. Black spots cover his vision like some twisted kaleidoscope. His head spins. His breath grows shallow.

It’s true what they say about looking death in the face and seeing your life flash before your eyes. When Louis finally collapses on the alley floor and comes to terms with the certainty of what is about to happen, he stares up at the night sky and the millions of stars staring back and beginning to mourn for him. He thinks about all the things he’s done and still hasn’t done. He thinks about his mum, how fucking heartbroken she will be, how she will beat herself up about this as if there’s anything she could have done. He thinks about his sisters and his brother who’s still so young that he will forget everything about Louis by the time he is ten.

He thinks about all the shit he’s accumulated over the past few years, the money, the cars, the men (and some women), the fame.

It all passes away, doesn’t it? And now, so will he.

> > > < < <

“Hey.”

“Can you hear me?”

“Please open your eyes. I need you to stay awake, okay?”

“You have to stay awake.”

“My name is Harry. You’re okay now.”

“You’re going to be okay.”

> > > < < <

At first there was just one voice, a boy’s voice saying, “hold on” and “almost there.”

Now there are several. From every direction. So loud. Too loud. A cacophony of shouts and commands. The whirring of machinery and wheels.

At first there were just two hands on him, lifting him. And in that moment, Louis imagined he was a bird. He imagined the person would toss him up into the air so that he would be forced to take flight. Way past the tops of skyscrapers, through the clouds, and up into the stars. Louis would have liked that.

Now though there are many hands, descending on his body, demanding signs of life from a body with little left to give.

He finds there is no will to panic. He feels a calm settle over him even in the midst of what seems to be chaos. And that’s the last he remembers before everything, every touch and every voice, surrenders to true darkness.

> > > < < <

“Hi, Lou.”

Zayn sounds like he’s underwater. Louis worries for one second that he might be drowning. His eyes flicker around. His vision swims. Maybe they’re both drowning.

“Louis, can you hear us?”

Liam, too. His voice bubbles and his visage blurs the way it might be if he were standing behind a wall of water.

Louis doesn’t understand a word they’re saying. He doesn’t understand anything. But still, he doesn’t panic. Again, the calm—it welcomes him.

> > > < < <

Louis honestly loves pizza. Like New York style pizza. It surprised him at first how much he loved the stuff when he moved here. Zayn and Liam took him to this rinky-dink place at the corner of North and Cleveland. And Louis swears he took one bite and saw God himself descend from the clouds and shoot him a thumbs-up. Like fuck yeah, son, you did it. You found the best pizza in the world.

The truth is that Louis probably came closer to any God when a stranger on the street drove a knife through his abdomen. But he still craves a slice of that pizza right now. And he’ll get it too.

Because he’s alive. He knows that from the telltale beeping of a heart monitor nearby. He’s alive and he’s hungry as fuck.

He’s not sure if he should open his eyes. It feels like they’ve been shut for a long time. The first time he tries to blink, it’s as though someone has put a bit of glue over his lashes. So he doesn’t try again, not for a while. In the meantime, he worries about what he’ll see when he finally does.

Will he be looking at the inside of a casket? He’s heard those stories of people being buried alive…

Okay, no. He listens for the heart monitor and tells himself he’s okay.

Maybe he’ll see his mum. He knows she’ll be a weepy mess and drape herself all over him, kissing his face, asking questions he’s not ready to answer.

Or maybe…he’ll see no one.

That’s what hurts most of all—even the possibility that he’ll open his eyes and there’ll be no one there. His mum is thousands of miles away in Doncaster with the rest of his family. And maybe he imagined seeing Zayn and Liam. And Michael— fuck, that kid is probably preoccupied with a threesome in a random bed somewhere in the city.

But Louis has put this off long enough. He’s hungry. He kind of has to pee. And he’ll need to open his eyes eventually. So he decides to do it now.

It’s bright. Too bright. The sun is flooding in through the windows beside him and it’s almost blinding. But Louis doesn’t hate it. He feels like it’s been forever since he’s seen the sun. And however long ago, he was lying in an alley, unsure about the prospect of ever seeing it again.

When his eyes adjust, he looks to his left.

And there’s a boy sitting there. Right beside his hospital bed. With a big smile on his face.

He looks out of place in the pastel room—everyone looks out of place in a hospital though, don’t they?

But this boy has tattoos all up his arms and across his chest that are visible with his low-cut white T. Two piercings decorate his left brow and one on his lip. His hair is tucked under a black beanie but it’s long from what Louis can see, the ends curling over the tops of his collarbones. With it drawn back, Louis also takes note of the gages in both of his ears.

He smiles. It’s radiant. More so than the sun. “Hi,” he says.

Louis’ brows crease. He glances around the room, knowing no one else is there but looking anyway.

“Hi,” he tries to reply. His voice cracks. He hasn’t used it in too long. Doesn’t even think he remembers how.

The boy hands him a cup of water with a straw, sunlight refracting on the various rings adorning his fingers.

Louis tries to push himself upright. But his body is much too weak. Crippling pain explodes across his abdomen, searing up through his chest. He eases back down, struggling for breath.

The boy sets a hand—big hand—on Louis’ shoulder.

“You shouldn’t move. You just came out of surgery ‘bout seven hours ago,” the boy says. “Here.”

He holds the straw closer to Louis’ mouth, lets him drink. Louis keeps his eye on him while he does.

“I think the medication might be wearing off,” the boy says. “I’ll go get the doctor.”

“Who are you?” Louis finally croaks. That’s the pressing question here. So far all he’s been able to gather is that he’s attractive and English, most likely from the North. And punk.

“I fucked up and told them I was your younger brother so they’d let me ride in the ambulance.”

Louis chokes on a laugh. “Don’t look a thing like my younger brother.” Seriously, Ernest is only 3, and Louis will probably talk him out of piercing his lip if and when necessary.

“I figured. My name is Harry,” the boy replies.

Louis can vaguely remember hearing that.

My name is Harry. You’re okay now. You’re going to be okay.

“Then…you must be the one who saved my life,” Louis decides.

Harry actually blushes and grins. God, that smile. Louis thinks that if he hadn’t just survived an actual knife attack, Harry’s smile would be the thing that did him in. Harry rubs at the side of his neck, bashfully. “I just called 911.”

“You saved my life,” Louis repeats. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry says. He lingers there for a second. “I’ll get the doctor.”

Louis watches him leave. He waits until Harry slips out the door and then he looks around for his phone. It’s sitting on the table beside him, connected to a charging cable.

Louis reaches for it, trying to ignore the pain, but whatever they gave him has worn off significantly. His whole body throbs with the ache of his wound.

His fingers brush over his phone and he attempts to pull it closer but ends up sliding it right off the table and onto the floor.

“Fuck,” Louis grumbles. Damn thing is lost to him now.

The door opens again. Louis straightens up but not before Harry notices he’s been slumped over the edge of the hospital bed. He also notices Louis’ phone on the floor. Observant, he is.

He picks it up and hands it to him, just as a doctor is stepping into the room behind him with a clipboard in hand.

The doctor adjusts his glasses and scrutinizes Louis closely. His mouth curves in a friendly smile, his graying beard moving stiffly. “Louis,” he says. “I’m Dr. Russ.”

“Nice to meet you.” Louis shakes the doctor’s offered hand.

“Pleasure’s mine. Very happy to see you recovering so well.”

“Nice to hear you say that considering I feel like shit,” Louis says.

The doctor laughs. “A nurse will be in in a minute to give you another dose of medication. And a warm meal.”

Louis still just wants that pizza. But the medication… “Sounds great.”

“We’re going to give you something a little less strong so you won’t feel loopy,” Dr. Russ informs him.

Just then, the door opens again and Zayn strolls inside, his face lighting up instantly when he sees Louis is awake. He has Louis’ duffle slung over his shoulder and what looks to be his laptop case too. Bless him. He waves and Louis wiggles his fingers back at him.

Dr. Russ is still speaking. Louis tries to focus on what he’s saying while the doctor shines a small light in both of his eyes before removing his stethoscope and pressing it over Louis’ chest. “Deep breath in…and out.”

Louis does as instructed.

“Feeling nauseous at all?” Dr. Russ asks.

“Only a little,” Louis says.

The doctor nods and scribbles something on his clipboard. “I’ll just check your stitches. Make sure everything’s looking good there.”

Harry’s standing by the window, leaning against the frame with his tattooed arms crossed over his chest. He noticeably averts his gaze when the doctor lifts the side of Louis’ robe. But Louis wouldn’t mind the lad having a look at his body.

Then he looks down and sees the unattractive line of stitches, the reddened puffy skin, and he’s glad the only other person looking is the doctor.

“Alright,” Dr. Russ says. He jots something down on his clipboard again and then slides his pen back into his pocket. “I’m sure you’re still feeling some of the effects of the morphine. So I’ll keep this brief. You suffered some minor lacerations to the small intestines but you’ve survived this whole ordeal remarkably unscathed. The nausea you might be feeling is most likely associated with the antibiotics you were given earlier. We’ll keep checking for any signs of infection or hemorrhaging but I think you’ll be able to go home in three days if things continue going the way they are.”

“Thank you,” Louis says. He can’t say he understood all of that but he’s grateful anyway.

“Honestly, if you want to thank anyone, I’d say it’s your brother here. If you’d gotten here any later than you did, you might not have made it.”

Louis truly hates to hear things like that. Because in terms of what-ifs, there are a lot of things that could have shaped the night differently. If Louis had gotten the promotion he’d wanted, he might have stuck around at the club a little later. If he’d stuck around the club later, it would have been Liam that took him home, not the cab driver. Or if he’d hailed a different cab, he wouldn’t have been walking alone in the first place. If he’d just waited and not been so quick to get home, a man wouldn’t have tried to eviscerate him in the street.

If. If. If.

But none of that fucking helps now, does it?

Still. Louis’ eyes shift to Harry. Because Dr. Russ is right that if there’s anyone Louis wants to thank profusely, it’s him, the punk who found him.

“There’s a detective here that’s going to come in and talk to you about what happened. Is that alright?”

Louis nods. Might as well get it over with.

When Dr. Russ leaves, Zayn looks about ten seconds away from launching himself onto Louis’ hospital bed. Harry steps outside to give them privacy. And Zayn steps forward and wraps Louis in as tight of a hug as he can.

“Jesus, Louis,” Zayn mumbles, holding him for a long while. Louis doesn’t have the strength or energy to hug him back as passionately. But he lets Zayn hold him until he’s satisfied and steps away.

“Good to see you awake,” Zayn says.

Louis smiles. “Wish I felt awake. I keep thinking I’m dreaming, to be honest.”

“Might be the medication,” Zayn suggests.

Speaking of which, where is that nurse?

Zayn takes a seat beside the bed and sighs. “Now, don’t feel bad… But when the hospital called, I was literally two seconds away from a blow job.”

Louis snorts a surprised laugh. “Chose a bad time to nearly die, did I?”

Zayn’s expression changes, his brow crinkling. “Any time is a bad time for that. I would have died myself.”

Louis gives him a small smile. “No need for that. I’m all stitched up, good as new.”

Zayn ruffles his hair and smiles warmly. For a second, it looks like he might cry. But he manages to reign it in. “So, this kid, the punk kid. Who is he?” he asks.

“Haven’t you talked to him?”

“Yeah, a little. When I got here, he told me you were being operated on, and he gave me your phone,” Zayn shrugs. “Did you know him before last night?”

“Come on. Where would I have met him?” Louis says. “I don’t know who he is… He just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Unlike me.”

Zayn smiles ruefully but doesn’t bother to agree with him. They both know it’s true. “I called your mum, by the way. And then had to calm her down, tell her you were stable and all that. But you should really call her, soon as you’re able.”

Louis tries to scroll through his phone now and pull up her number. But his head is still swimming and he feels more nauseous than ever trying to read the glowing words on the screen.

“Probably have to fly her in,” Louis says, squeezing his eyes shut to still the spinning room. His mum won’t get a wink of sleep if she can’t see for herself that he’s alright. “You mind booking a flight for her? Something for this afternoon if possible.”

“Yeah, I’m on it. Where’s your wallet by the way? I had to call her back for your insurance information.”

“I lost it,” Louis says. Seeing the look on Zayn’s face, he nods. “Yup. One hell of a night.”

“Fucking worst night ever. When you’re feeling better, we’ll have to call and let the bank know,” Zayn says. “I have your stuff here. And fresh clothes for when you’re allowed to leave.”

“Thank you,” Louis smiles. “And thanks for being here.”

“No place else to be. Liam was here too but he had a big client waiting for him.”

The detective that Dr. Russ mentioned steps into the room then. Louis notes the man’s badge gleaming on his waistband. “Good morning,” he says. “Mr. Tomlinson? Do you have a moment?”

“Sure, yeah,” Louis says. Zayn presses a kiss to his forehead before leaving the room.

The detective takes a seat beside his bed, flips to a clean page in his notepad, and asks him to recount what’s happened.

Louis finds that he can’t remember the night as it unfolded. He can’t place the hours in consecutive order. But he does the best that he can. He tells the detective that he never got a proper look at the man’s face because it was too dark and he wore a hood. He tells him what he knows about Harry. He leaves out the part about feeling like a bird.

And then the detective assures him they’ll keep him informed about how their investigation goes. Louis doesn’t think there’ll be much of an investigation. Unfortunately, muggings happen all the time in big cities and the perpetrators are hardly ever caught. Still Louis hopes that someday they’ll get the man who attacked him off the streets, especially before he hurts anyone else.

As soon as the detective leaves, there’s a nurse shuffling into his room, pushing a lunch cart over to his bed. She hands him a little cup filled with two tablets. “Should help with the pain,” she says, her voice gravelly like she’s been munching on cigarettes night and day.

Louis swallows the pills right away. His whole left side has felt like it was engulfed in fire for the last ten minutes. He gratefully accepts the water she holds for him.

“Might feel a little drowsy at first. Make sure to eat up,” the nurse adds, lifting the lunch tray and placing it over his lap.

“Enjoy,” she smiles.

“Thank you,” Louis says, uncovering his food while she leaves the room.

He has what looks like a TV dinner spread out in front of him. A piece of baked chicken. Watery looking mash. And a very sad collection of vegetables. There’s also a pudding cup and a bottle of sugar-free apple juice.

Louis picks up his spoon and decides on the pudding cup, which is probably the most appetizing item on the tray.

Harry choses then to return to the room. “Oh, good. They’re feeding you,” he says.

Louis chuckles dryly. “I know. I was surprised too,” he tries to joke.

He doesn’t expect Harry to laugh but he does. The dimples are just awful. People as attractive as Harry shouldn’t be allowed dimples too.

“Zayn’s on the phone booking a flight for your mum,” Harry says.

“Great,” Louis smiles. They look at each other. Not for the first time, Louis wonders what Harry’s still doing here. Most people call 911 and then leave the situation to paramedics and all that. So what’s his deal?

“What’d they give you?” Harry asks, coming to the seat beside Louis’ bed where he’d been earlier. Louis doesn’t answer, dropping his hands away from the tray so Harry can see for himself.

“I’d much rather have pizza,” Louis mentions.

Harry turns up his nose at the soggy mash. “New York style? Or like Pizza Hut?”

“New York style, of course. As greasy as possible,” Louis says, opening his pudding cup.

Harry watches him. “I could go pick you up a slice.”

Louis’ spoon freezes near his mouth. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” Harry smiles.

Louis moans dramatically before he can think to be embarrassed about it. “Fuck, yes.”

Harry laughs while he picks his keys up off the table beside the hospital bed. “What toppings do you like?”

“Just cheese,” Louis says. “Look at you, saving my life again. Could make a profession out of it.”

Harry’s still laughing but he shakes his head in dismay as if finally understanding the extent of Louis’ ridiculousness. “I’ll be back soon,” he says. “While I’m out, do you want to try ringing your mum?”

“Yeah. Probably should. Could you just— maybe dial the number? Trying to focus on the screen makes me nauseous.”

“Sure,” Harry says. He pulls up Louis’ mum’s contact and taps the button before handing it to Louis. “Be back soon,” he says again.

Louis’ mum answers at the earliest possible second like she’s just sitting in front of her phone, waiting. Louis peels his eyes away from Harry’s retreating figure and opens his mouth to speak.

“Louis,” she gasps into the phone and it’s clear she’s been crying. He hears the girls in the background begin cheering and that part would be comical if not for the gravity of the situation.

“Oh my God, baby. I thought—Oh my God. Louis,” his mum is saying. The whole time he hasn’t said a word. He’s trying, but she isn’t giving him the chance.

“Mum,” he tries again.

“I thought you were dead,” she says and then she’s out for the count, crying into the phone. And the next voice that comes to the line belongs to his step dad, Dan.

“Lou,” he says. “How are you doing?”

“Better. Still have some pain but nothing I can’t handle.”

“That’s good to hear. Your mum needs to see you ASAP,” Dan says. “Like, if she could fly out today, that would be great. I’ll cover what I can but—”

“Zayn’s taking care of it. I’ll send you flight details when I have them,” Louis says, poking at his pudding.

“Good. Alright, the girls want to say something quick,” Dan says.

Louis hears Dan telling them not to yell, that Louis is still “very weak,” and honestly Louis feels like he’s on his deathbed or something.

Anyway it’s all for naught because the second Daisy gets on the phone she yells right into the transmitter, “LOUIS.”

She’s sniffling as well. And if his mum wasn’t in such a state or if he had more energy, he’d chide her for telling them anything before she understood the full situation. His younger sisters are still just kids with lots of schoolwork and no time for Louis’ near-death dramatics.

He does what he can to reassure each member of his family. The girls are surprisingly easier to talk to than his mum, who tries to get him to explain exactly what happened but doesn’t allow Louis to make it even halfway through his patchy story before crying again.

He resigns and tells her he’s feeling sleepy and he’ll talk to her when she arrives.

“One second, love,” she says, after blowing her nose. “Who’s Harry?”

Louis closes his eyes and rests his head back against his pillow. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “He’s just here.”

“Well…thank God for him,” she says. “I just—I hope I have a chance to meet him.”

“I’m sure you will when you get here,” Louis says. “I’ll send you the flight details, okay? Have a lie down ‘til then.”

“Okay. I love you, boo. I love you so much,” his mum says. “So, so much.”

“I love you too,” Louis says for the hundredth time. He doesn’t mind though. Just yesterday, he thought he’d never see or hear from his mum again.

A minute after he ends his call, the sight of Harry stepping into his room, and bringing with him the smell of pizza, makes everything Louis has endured in the past day seem less significant.

> > > < < <

“What were you doing in that alley?”

Harry looks up from the journal he’s writing in, his pen slowing to a stop.

Zayn left a little while ago to get himself dinner. Louis pretends to be watching Game of Thrones but really he studies Harry’s long fingers shuffle through the pages of his journal, and continues to wonder why he’s still there.

He hasn’t made much progress figuring it out.

“I should be asking you that,” Harry says in reply to his question. “Most New Yorkers know to stay out of dark alleys. Especially after midnight.”

“I don’t really consider myself a New Yorker just yet. Only got here about a year ago,” Louis says. He plucks his earphones from his ears, giving up the illusion of watching anything. “The taxi cab broke down and my place was close by so I decided to walk the rest of the way. I jog through that alley sometimes.”

Harry closes his journal. “Well. I bought a bike.”

Louis’ brows crease. “What?”

“I was having drinks with friends who live down the road. And they sold me their bike for like 10 bucks,” Harry clarifies. “So, silly me, I was so excited I decided to bike back home. ‘Cause like why let your friend give you a ride when you’ve got this hot new set of wheels, right?” Harry laughs at himself. Louis laughs too and tries not to be distracted by the dimples. He likes the way Harry tells stories, like they’re more entertaining to him than they could ever be to anyone else. Harry goes on, “So I’m biking along and I got about two blocks before realizing the front tire had like zero air. So I get off the bike and start walking the rest of the way back.”

Louis laughs haughtily. “Most New Yorkers know not to buy a bike. That’s just asking for trouble.”

“I’ve realized,” Harry chuckles.

“So, you got off your bike and then what?”

“And then I found you,” Harry smiles warmly. “I was passing the alley. And I thought I heard something and I saw you lying there with your phone by your hand. So I came closer and then I saw the blood,” Harry shrugs, his expression pained. “And then I dialed 911.”

Louis doesn’t know many New Yorkers, or people in general, who would have stopped and ventured down that alley. They tell you to mind your business, to keep your eyes straight, worry about yourself. Curiosity kills cats and people alike.

Louis doesn’t even know if he would have stopped himself. He’d like to think he would. That he hasn’t fallen so far off the moral road that he would abandon someone in need.

But Harry didn’t know what was waiting for him down that alley, if it was an ambush or God knows what else. Yet what he did was take a chance. And in turn, gave Louis a chance too—at life.

“I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen,” Harry says suddenly. The thoughts in Louis’ head disintegrate. His eyes flicker back to Harry’s and lock.

“That isn’t why I saved your life,” Harry adds. “I would have done that even if I didn’t find you attractive. But I thought you were like this tragic beauty. I couldn’t figure out what you were doing alone. Or why someone would want to hurt you. And I just—I wanted nothing more than to keep you alive.”

Louis is actually blushing. And let’s be clear, Louis blushes for no one. But no one’s ever looked at him the way Harry looks at him now, with green eyes so earnest and promising, Louis can’t help the reaction they call forth.

“Sorry,” Harry says. “That was weird.”

“No, it’s—“ Louis pauses, rubbing at his scruffy jaw. “I’m just…very glad you bought that bike.”

Harry laughs. “I am too.”

They smile at each other. Louis twists the wire of his earphones between his fingers. Harry tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear and reopens his journal.

“What are you writing?” Louis asks. “If you don’t mind—”

“Not at all. Um, right now, a poem. About you actually.”

God. Louis’ cheeks burn hotter. No one’s written a poem for him either. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing, like, dramatic. It’s just about what happened. I challenge myself sometimes to write down the events of the day in poem.”

Louis wishes he could roll his eyes at that. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t have a problem doing so. Coming from Harry, it’s just swoon-worthy. And Louis realizes in shock that he is in fact swooning. Over the dimples and the green eyes. The journal and the poems. Over Harry.

And he’s quite finished with that, thank you.

He lifts his earphones back to his ears. “Well, don’t let me interrupt you.”

Harry smiles and lowers his gaze back to his journal.

Louis doesn’t pay much attention to Game of Thrones, as hard as he tries. He watches Harry write and brush his hair back behind his ears and sip his tea.

Swooning, Louis decides, is akin to torture.

> > > < < <

Louis’ mum arrives at noon the next day. Harry picks her up from the airport and then says he has to go but he’ll be back later. Louis wants to ask him why he would bother to come back at all, but he can’t figure out a way to do so politely.

And he’s not entirely sure he wants Harry to go away for good. Not just yet.

“He doesn’t look the way I expected him to,” Jay says, eating a pineapple from the massive Edible Arrangement Louis’ boss sent him. It was a kind gesture but he isn’t sure who’s supposed to eat all that fruit.

Louis continues scrolling through his email now that he can read without feeling like his head will implode. “He’s different, yeah.”

“But very handsome,” Jay adds. “Even with that piercing in his lip. Don’t know why he’d do that.”

“It looks good on him,” Louis finds himself saying.

Jay bites into a strawberry, raising her brows at him. Louis pretends not to notice.

When Harry comes back, Louis catches her watching them both. Harry fixes Louis’ tea and fluffs his pillows and brings him soup. He brings some for Jay as well. And she thanks him and goes back to studying every interaction he has with her son.

“You’re not shagging him, are you?” she asks Louis when Harry steps out to make a call.

“Jesus,” Louis adjusts his glasses. “No, I’m not. He saved my life. That’s all.”

“But why’s he still here?”

Louis gives her a look. “I wish I knew. Ask him and tell me what he says.”

She obviously doesn’t do so.

> > > < < <

At noon the next day, Louis is permitted to leave. Zayn isn’t the one to drive him and his mum home. He would be, of course, but when Louis checks his schedule in the morning, he sees it’s the day Aiyana, a model from Kenya, is flying in for a shoot. She’s one of their biggest models and Louis doesn’t trust anyone else on their team to look after her in his absence aside from Zayn.

And anyway, he has Harry.

Louis does almost everything in his life on his own. He’s not used to depending on people and he can’t say he likes how it feels.

After what’s just happened, he definitely shouldn’t be counting on a stranger to take him anywhere. Especially not a boy wearing eyeliner and black nail polish who looks like he goes around smashing perfectly good guitars for sport.

But it’s odd how easy it feels to depend on Harry. Louis doesn’t have nearly as many qualms about it as he should. So when Harry offers, Louis says “yes.”

Harry returns in the morning with a fresh cup of tea, a muffin, and a parfait for Louis, and something for Jay too. Saving Louis’ life was probably enough for Harry to win his mum over but if there was any doubt, he’s definitely done it in the past few days.

Harry pushes him in a wheelchair while Louis eats his parfait. They take the lift down to the first floor and out the sliding doors.

Louis takes a big breath, lets it slide into his lungs and expel all that stale hospital air. He smiles around at the cars whizzing by like he’s seeing the city for the very first time.

Harry helps him into the back seat of his car, a modest two-door vehicle that he takes obvious pride in owning. He has Louis wrap an arm around his broad shoulders while he’s lowering him into the seat. At one point, his hair brushes Louis’ nose and it’s then that Louis confirms that Harry’s curls smell like a rose garden after the rain.

They drive the ten minutes to Louis’ apartment, which is deep into the heart of the city, in Midtown to be exact. Louis pokes through Harry’s collection of leather and denim jackets piled beside him in the back seat. He sniffs a little roll-on bottle of cologne there before lifting his eyes to the rearview mirror and catching Harry’s gaze. He tucks the cologne back under the pile of clothing and stares aggressively at the passing traffic for the rest of the trip.

When they pull up in front of the high-rise apartment complex, Harry peers out the window, craning his neck to look up to the top of the building. It’s impossible, though, with how massive it is.

“This is where you live?” he asks just to be sure.

Louis nods. “You’ll have to give the valet your car,” he says.

For the most part, Harry takes everything rather calmly. Even when the valet gets into his car, which stands out amidst the luxury cars parked around it, and watches the man drive off. He looks like he’s parting with a loved one but he steels himself and helps Louis to the door.

Louis could walk on his own just fine, he thinks. But he likes it when Harry wraps his arm around his waist. It gives him reason to lean into his side and also confirm that the boy smells good all over. He ignores the look his mum shoots him. He’s young and injured and he can lean all over Harry if he wants to.

They make their way into the lift and then up to the 18^th floor and then into Louis’ apartment, which is one of just two apartments on the whole floor.

Harry’s breath audibly halts when they step inside. He walks Louis to the kitchen while Jay brings Louis’ duffle to his room. Harry sits him down at the table. He can’t stop darting his gaze this way and that, trying to take everything in at once. Louis knows it’s a nice place but he’s never had anyone here who was unaccustomed to this kind of life. In comparison to the homes of some acquaintances, Louis’ isn’t such a marvel.

“This is really amazing,” Harry says.

Louis smiles. “Thanks.”

Harry lingers there, looking all around, and then he refocuses on Louis. “So, do you need me to do anything for you?”

It’s too bad his mum is here. Now that he has Harry in his apartment, smiling and looking like a rare gem, Louis could think of a lot of things Harry could do for him. Too many of them are inappropriate. Others, like fixing a cup of tea, are things his mum could do for him. In the end, there’s only one thing he deems worthy of voicing.

“If you could leave contact information, somewhere I can reach you? An address even, if that’s okay?”

Harry doesn’t seem put off at all. “Sure,” he says. “Here. Why don’t I just put my info in your phone?”

“Good idea,” Louis pulls his phone out. And Harry puts his information in and hands it back.

“Styles,” Louis says. “I know a thing or two about that.”

Harry looks at him confusedly for one second before barking a laugh. “Wow,” he says. “So, you enjoy puns, huh? So do I.”

“I love a good pun,” Louis says.

Harry’s grinning, his two dimples out in his cheeks. Louis thinks he might be one of the most beautiful people he’s ever seen. He’s encountered models from all over the world, but there’s something about Harry that makes him stand out amidst them all.

“I just sent you a message,” Louis tells him. “So you have my number too.”

Harry’s phone buzzes in his front pocket. “Just got it.”

The next beat of silence is a little awkward because they’re just looking at each other and smiling. Louis hates goodbyes and would rather just get this over with as soon as possible. He doesn’t even really know Harry, just that he saved his life. But he shouldn’t feel this reluctant about letting him leave and he needed to get himself together.

Jay walks past them to Louis’ laundry cupboard to wash the armful of bed sheets she’s holding.

“Harry, are you staying for lunch?” she asks him on the way.

Louis thinks his mum is a genius. He watches her step into the laundry room and looks at Harry expectantly, raising his brows.

“I wish. But I have work in another hour,” Harry says, his eyes never leaving Louis.

“Too bad,” Louis says with a sad twitch of his lips.

“Maybe next time,” Harry says, picking at the rip in his jeans. “Keep in touch, yeah?”

“Will do,” Louis says. He pushes himself up using the arms of the chair. Harry looks for a second like he wants to reach out and help him but he doesn’t. Instead when he steps forward, he wraps his arms around Louis’ neck and hugs him as tightly as he can, while still being mindful of his injury.

He’s warm and strong and smells of summertime, of lying in the grass and staring at stars, of ice cream. And boy, those painkillers are beginning to hit Louis hard.

It feels too good to be tucked in Harry’s arms. But for the first two seconds, Louis is stunned. He ends up awkwardly patting him on his broad back.

“I’m glad you made it,” Harry says, almost fiercely, giving Louis another gentle squeeze before pulling away completely.

Louis just looks at him. It’s the first time in a long time that he hasn’t known what to say.

He licks his lips and coughs to clear his throat. “Thanks to you.”

Harry smiles and takes a numbing step away from Louis, taking his warmth with him, and with a little wave, he makes his way back through the apartment and out of view. Louis hears him speaking with Jay, saying his goodbyes. A second later, the front door closes and Louis sinks again into his chair.

> > > < < <

The next morning, he sends Harry a sizable bouquet of white peonies and yellow roses along with a box of chocolates. He doesn’t consider that they might not be fitting gifts for a punk rocker or even that Harry might be allergic to any of it. Louis doesn't think he's done enough to say thank you, and even this gesture doesn’t measure up to what Harry’s done. But it would do for now.

Per Dr. Russ’ orders, Louis takes two weeks away from work to recuperate.

His mum stays the whole first week. By the third day, Louis feels fine enough to do most things on his own, but she insists on cooking and cleaning, and even redressing his wound, certain that he’ll forget to do it all himself.

The manager of the club where Louis met Zayn and Liam for drinks calls on Tuesday to report that they’ve found his wallet. The fifty dollars Louis knows he had tucked inside is nowhere to be found. But he considers it a reasonable loss.

Also, on Tuesday, he receives a text from Harry that reads, ‘thanks for the gift! how lovely x’ and that alone has Louis feeling fuzzy for the next few days.

He wants to see Harry again. Just to talk. Maybe over a cuppa or a glass of wine. But he also wants to forget all that’s happened, put it as far behind him as possible.

Except he can’t.

There’s still some pain here and there. Every now and then he’ll feel it blossom under his skin like he’s been stung by a bee or burned with a cigarette. But he expects all of that and he takes his medication whenever necessary.

What he isn’t expecting are the nightmares, which come every night like clockwork. He dreams of being chased and cornered for hours. And in every dream his pursuit ends the same way—with him bloody and alone and dying in an alley. He dreams of being stabbed repeatedly and wakes every time tangled in sheets that are damp with his sweat.

The fourth night this happens, his mum comes into the room and lies down with him and rubs his back until he falls asleep again. He’s almost thirty and yet he clings so easily to her comfort and regrets when she has to leave.

He looks up diets that are supposed to keep nightmares at bay. But that proves futile. This has nothing to do with eating chocolate too close to bedtime. It’s his head that’s out of sorts.

When his mum returns to Doncaster, he schedules an appointment with a therapist, determined to do whatever he needs in order to feel safe again, to feel like himself.

Dr. Marin is a kind lady with kinder eyes, which oddly reminds him immediately of Harry. It makes it easier to talk to her and to tell her about the crushing fear that everyday he’s two steps away from death, that nothing he’s done up until this point matters.

She listens and encourages him to take control of the things he can. Return to his routines and rituals in order to ground himself in the here and now. And once he has, weed out those things in his life that no longer provide contentment.

She also prescribes him something to help him sleep.

It’s all more than enough for now. And after his first visit, Louis likes her already.

> > > < < <

The last week of his stay at home Louis dedicates to getting back into the groove of things, as Dr. Marin suggested. He prepares for his return to work and his big move back to London at the end of the summer. He has a little under two months left and if he doesn’t push past all that’s happened, August will show up in no time and catch him off guard.

A nurse from the hospital calls to check in and gives him a set of restrictions to adhere to for the next few days. He’s to limit alcohol consumption, as it thins the blood, and inebriation could cause him to overexert himself. He’s to limit physical activity as well. Jogging is a no. And while she doesn’t say it explicitly, sex is too. Vigorous sex, at least. Which, in Louis’ book, is the best kind.

So, he goes for walks just to get out of the house in the mornings and keep himself motivated. He takes a route that widely avoids the alley where he almost died. His pride convinces him it’s about trying new things. But the truth tells him it’s because he’s scared. Louis ignores both and just enjoys his mild exercise.

He takes Zayn and Liam out for drinks (and orders a glass of water with lemon because he’s well-behaved when it’s necessary). There’s a pretty lad there that lures him into a kiss and scribbles his number on the edge of Louis’ palm. But Louis falls asleep later and after a shower in the morning, finds it to be gone.

He signs up for a gym membership over in London, as if to solidify for himself that this is actually happening. If he has to go home, he’s going to be physically fit while there.

He stops seeing Michael and starts wooing another model named Carlos, who’s essentially a carbon copy of him.

While he’s at it, he tamps down on the sudden inexhaustible desire for punks with lip rings and eyebrow piercings and enough ink to fill the pages of an anthology.

Speaking of Harry…

‘check this out’ he sends Louis on Thursday and attaches a recipe that’s supposed to help restore blood cells and repair tissue.

Louis sends back ‘thanks :)’ and makes it that night.

> > > < < <

Louis spends his first day back at work staging for a shoot with Aiyana and a few other models—Carlos included. There’s also an interviewer there from Vogue, recording the behind the scenes for their upcoming gala in the fall, the one Louis won’t be here for, the one he’s not at all bitter about.

He stands in the dark studio amidst a bustle of technicians, keeping a close eye on Aiyana’s dressing process, stepping in every now and then to adjust one of the flowers adorning her gown.

“That’s enough glitter,” he comments when one of the technicians continues dusting the gold specks over Aiyana’s shoulders. Louis loves the stuff as much as the next man but there’s a limit to everything. The technician scurries off with a flick of Louis’ hand.

“I heard you nearly died,” Aiyana comments with wide eyes and then a friendly laugh. She says it the way almost everyone else has, like it’s a joke, because no one knows the whole story. The word around the office is that Louis had a "close call" after a wild night out and to the average ear that sounded like a funny story. In every instance, Louis answers with a smile and a laugh of his own.

As he does now when he says, “Had a rough night two weeks ago is all.”

Aiyana smiles. “I’m happy that’s all it was. I was horrified when Zayn told me you were being hospitalized,” she says.

Louis adjusts his glasses. “Not as serious as it sounds. I’m not going anywhere, trust me.”

“Good. Because I would be devastated,” she replies.

Louis thinks she’d be just fine. Perhaps she would mourn him for a day or too, like all of the people that surround him now. They might mount a plaque on the wall in the lobby (and hopefully use the really good picture Louis took at the staff banquet four months ago). They might mention him in passing, reference one of his designs, or use a quote from some interview. But as time progressed and his designs fell out of style and the plaque on the wall grew dusty, they would do what all humans tend to—forget.

Louis rolls his eyes at himself and the morbid inner monologue he can’t seem to silence. He knows it’s not all true. Zayn, who’s standing nearby, helping one of the technicians mix an eye shadow palette—he would be devastated. And outside of this great glass building, and this city, his family, too.

And maybe Harry…who wanted nothing more than for Louis to live.

At least, there are some who would have always remembered.

Later, after Louis is finished speaking briefly with the interviewer, he resigns to his office for a cup of tea and a moment to rest his eyes. He presses a button on the remote at the edge of his desk and a black panel slides across the windows, shrouding the room in moderate darkness.

He’s only been reclined in his chair for two minutes when his phone buzzes on the desk. He sighs, thinking it’s one of the technicians, complaining about another “urgent” problem, one that most likely has a simple solution. He lifts his glasses, slipping them back onto his face to glare at his phone.

‘thought of you. hope things are well.’

He has a sudden jolt of energy seeing Harry’s name above those words. He sits up straighter.

‘doing good. u?’

It takes Harry a second to respond. Louis waits with his phone cupped in both hands, his tired eyes trained on the screen.

‘i’m great. was wondering if it’d be alright to stop by and see you?’

And you know, Louis is really trying to be a better person as of late.

Because he’s been thinking a lot about karma and all the people he’s slept with, all the hearts he’s broken, and he can only assume that nearly dying was some sort of universal retribution for all the shit he’s done.

And if everyone’s being honest, Harry stopping by Louis’ apartment would most likely lead to Louis trying to seduce him. The more he thinks about him, the more he’s grateful Jay was there to keep him from dragging Harry into his bedroom when he brought Louis home two weeks ago.

And if everyone’s being really honest, that’s all it would be. A quick fuck. Very good, he imagines. Explosive, even. But that’s it.

So, he doesn’t let Harry come see him. He decides to meet him at a café near Burberry’s corporate offices where it’s safe and Louis can avoid taking advantage of his Good Samaritan.

> > > < < <

Harry stands out at the café, just as much as he did at the hospital. All around him are the business elite in their blazers and neckties, crisp shirts and pencil skirts. And Harry’s just sitting by the window with his piercings, a ratty black shirt with the sleeves hastily cut off. His black jeans have holes in the knees and over his thighs. But Louis tries not to focus too much on Harry’s thighs.

When Harry lifts his cup of tea to his mouth, Louis also notices that his nails are still painted black. In the same instance, he spots a black guitar case resting at Harry’s feet and makes a note to ask him about it at some point.

Harry spots him as Louis gets closer to the table and his lips stretch in this big grin that nearly stops Louis in his tracks.

“Louis, hi,” Harry says, standing up. He pulls him into a gentle hug, just like last time. This time though Louis curls an arm around his waist and hugs back. He even takes a whiff of Harry’s hair.

Harry returns to his seat. Louis sits across from him.

For a second, they simply smile.

“So, how are you?” Harry asks.

“Good,” Louis says. “You know, recovering well and all that. And I’m back to work as of today, so. I’m feeling good, yeah.”

Lies. All Lies. Louis still doesn’t get much sleep at night, even with the pills Dr. Marin gave him. And since nearly losing his life, nothing about his life feels quite right.

He’s done so much recently to put things back together. But it’s beginning to feel impossible. You can’t solve a puzzle when pieces are missing.

He’s told his coworkers and his friends and his mum that he’s fine. But he finds it hard to lie to Harry now. He thinks Harry reads it on his face because his smile falters.

“I’m glad you’re healing up well,” he says anyway. “Any pain?”

The waitress steps up to the table right then. Louis orders a tea and a blueberry scone, and returns his attention to Harry. “Not too much. It’s a lot better now.”

“That’s really great to hear,” Harry says.

The waitress comes back with a full tea set: a cup, a small pot, a wooden box of tea satchels, cream, and sugar cubes. Louis thanks her and starts fixing himself a cuppa.

“So do you work here in the city?” Louis asks Harry.

“No,” Harry says. “I go to school at NYU.”

“Oh. What do you study?” Louis asks, his interest piqued. Not that he had any trouble staying interested in Harry. He could watch the boy spread jam over his toast, the way he’s doing now, and still Louis would think he was fascinating.

“Music composition.”

“Right. I see the guitar you’ve got there,” Louis says.

Harry smirks. “That actually has nothing to do with my major. At school, I play violin. The guitar is more of a hobby than a profession. I play with a few other lads, in this band…”

Louis feels overloaded with information. Harry plays violin. Harry is in a band. And yeah, that makes sense, he thinks.

“Tell me more about this band,” Louis says.

Harry laughs at himself. The tops of his cheeks start to go pink. “Uh,” he scratches his cheek. “We’re not like super popular. But we have some fans I guess. Just like university students mostly. It’s fun.”

“Should invite me to one of your shows some time,” Louis says. He means it but he can’t say he meant to say it. Anyway it’s worth it for how ecstatic Harry looks.

“Yeah, definitely. We have one next week actually. On Friday.”

“Good. Send me the info and I’ll be there,” Louis says. He should probably check his schedule. But he doesn’t bother. If there’s something else planned for Louis on Friday, there isn’t anymore.

Harry’s still grinning, like Louis’ just given him the new Burberry boots from the upcoming season. He thinks that maybe going to one of Harry’s shows is the equivalent for him. Not that there’s an equivalent to Burberry but Louis will indulge the idea.

Speaking of Burberry, Harry choses right then to ask Louis, “So what do you do? Aside from doing it well?”

Louis laughs and tries to stop his smile from going smug. With the models he’s dated, Louis tends to boast a little, about his wealth and success and all that. Because often times that’s what those men wanted to hear. But he doesn’t feel the urge to do that with Harry. He’s not sure Harry would be impressed.

“I’m a designer,” Louis says. “I work on menswear mostly.”

“Wow,” Harry says, munching on his toast, and appears interested in hearing more.

So Louis adds, “For Burberry.”

“Right, I think I know that one,” Harry says.

Louis hates that he finds that cute. Usually he’d scoff at anyone lacking basic fashion knowledge but this is Harry. Louis would change all his rules for him.

“Thanks again for the flowers,” Harry says randomly. The tops of his cheeks start to go pink. “Don’t think anyone’s ever sent me flowers before.”

Louis smiles, maybe a little smug this time. “I’m glad you liked them.”

“I loved them. I wanted to call or something. But I didn’t know if that would be weird,” Harry says. “But just, yeah— thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Louis says. “And you can call whenever you like.”

“I think I will,” Harry says, popping the last bit of his toast into his mouth. Louis’ eyes trail over his pink lips. They’re absolutely sinful and perhaps the greatest mystery of mankind is whether or not they're as soft as they look.

Louis would love to find out. He settles on taking a dainty sip of his tea and says in reply, “good.”

> > > < < <

“It’s a process, Louis,” Dr. Marin says. “What happened to you was traumatic. You can expect it to take some time before things feel whole again. Keep doing what you’re doing. And feel assured that you’re doing your best.”

Louis’ smile is small. He knows. Time heals all wounds, yes. He just wishes Time had paid better attention in med school so that the whole healing thing didn’t take so long. That’s all he’s saying.

“Tell me about Harry,” Dr. Marin says all of a sudden.

Louis blinks at her. Did he mention Harry at some point? Maybe. He’s certainly been thinking about him. Lately, he’s always thinking about him.

“He’s cool. Saved my life and all that,” he says with a noncommittal shrug.

“You said a moment ago that you saw him recently. How was that?”

“Oh, right.” Louis scratches his stubble. “Right, yeah, it was good. We went and had us a cuppa. He’s a cool lad, yeah. Pretty cool.”

Dr. Marin studies him for a moment and even before she speaks Louis knows what she’s about to say. Because it’s the same thing she said last time Louis obviously held things back.

“Bullshit,” she announces. She likes to keep it real. The last time, Louis was stunned. Now his lips twitch with a laugh.

“He’s just cool?” Dr. Marin repeats. “In our first meeting,” she flips to a page in her notebook, “you said, ‘I’d like to crawl into his dimple and spend the rest of my life there’ and…” she runs her finger down the page, “oh yes, ‘if death is imminent, I’d love for it to happen between his thighs. if I died with Harry’s thighs wrapped around my face, at least I’d die a happy man.’”

She sets her gaze on him again.

“I very well did not say that,” Louis says, crossing his arms.

“June 14. I have it right here. Should I read it again? Maybe it’ll spark your memory?”

Louis groans. “No, fuck, I don’t know. That was different. I said those things because I wanted to get him into bed. It’s different now.”

“How so?”

Louis cracks his knuckles. “It just is. He's different. There's more to him than just...what I thought. You wouldn’t expect half the things he says to come out of his mouth because he’s all punk rock and looks like he kicks waste bins over and throws rocks into windows and shit. But he writes poetry and plays violin and guitar. And he called me beautiful. I’m sure someone’s said that to me before but not like that. Not with the big green eyes and the pouty mouth and the dimple—which yes, I’d very much like to spend my life in his dimple, if possible.”

Dr. Marin smiles and sips her tea.

Louis goes on. It’s clear she wants him to. “He’s in this band. And he has this show coming up on Friday. And it’s all I’ve been thinking about. Just seeing him. This all could be just some weird attachment thing I’m feeling ‘cause he saved me. But I just—I like seeing him. He’s nice.”

“Have you considered that you might have feelings for him?” Dr. Marin asks.

Louis shrugs. “Sure.”

“And? Do you?”

“I can’t. I’m moving to London in August. I can’t have feelings for him.”

“Do you?”

Louis sighs and gives her a defeated smirk. “Come on, doc,” he says. She raises her brows. “I think you know the answer to that.”

> > > < < <

“Please tell me this isn’t another way of saying thank you,” Harry says, cradling the paper bag of sushi Louis placed in his hands.

“No,” Louis says. Well, he probably won’t stop thinking of ways to thank Harry. But, no. That’s not what this is. Louis isn’t sure what it is. “I was in the area. And you told me you don’t usually find time to have lunch, so.”

So, now he’s come to NYU’s campus for the sole purpose of bringing Harry lunch. What the fuck is happening to him? How did he turn into such a blubbering sap?

There’s this light dusting of pink on Harry’s cheeks: Louis thinks that might be one reason. “That means a lot. Thank you,” Harry says.

“It’s no problem at all,” Louis smiles.

They’re standing in Washington Square Park where Harry told Louis he could meet him. It’s right near Steinhardt, home of New York University’s department of music.

Harry has another class in fifteen minutes or so but for now he’s paused by the massive fountain in the center of the park, with his violin case in one hand, and his sushi in the other. Someone passes by them on a bike and calls “bye” to Harry. He waves, his face lighting up. A gentle breeze blows a tendril of his dark hair close to his mouth and he brushes it away with his index finger, just as his gaze flickers back to Louis.

“So,” Harry says. “Do you want to walk back with me or…?”

Louis blinks slowly like he’s resurfacing water. “Uh…”

Harry looks amused, his one brow arching. The right corner of his lips curves seductively.

Louis should probably head back to work. It’s not far and he still has half an hour of his break left. But the more he lingers here the more he worries about the implications of bringing Harry lunch.

Friends do things like this all the time though, right? And he absolutely considers Harry a friend. At the very least.

Still he should leave. But he finds himself turning and falling into step beside Harry, and it’s with a silent agreement that he begins walking him to class.

They take a seat on a wooden bench near Harry’s classroom, the sound of stringed instruments floating through the halls from one direction, and the hum of woodwinds from the other. Every now and then, someone passes through, their footfalls echoing on the polished marble floors. But for the most part the place is empty.

“What time do you need to be back at work?” Harry asks, pulling his chopsticks apart.

“Whenever,” Louis says with a shrug and a smile. “Break’s over in about thirty minutes. But I’ve got no meetings coming up, so.”

“So, you’re fine just killing time with me,” Harry concludes.

Louis makes a face. “Well, no. I was told I could get a free music lesson from a nice student if I linger around here long enough.”

“Must be a shit musician if they’re offering free lessons,” Harry grumbles.

Jealousy would seem ugly on anyone else. On Harry, it’s adorable. “Yeah? Why don’t you teach me then?”

Harry busies himself squirting soy sauce all over his sushi. When he’s finished, he sucks a drop off his thumb. Unnecessary. “What would you like to learn?” he asks.

“Right, I forgot you’re a man of many talents,” Louis says. “Guitar is cool and all, but I think I’d look better playing a violin, don’t you?”

He loves fishing for compliments and there’s an extra note of yearning for it when he does so with Harry now. He gauges his reaction, the way his eyes flicker up and then away. “I’d sit through your recital, yeah,” Harry says.

That’ll do.

Harry fits his fingers around his chopsticks and lifts one of the sushi rolls to his mouth, his tongue jutting out a little to receive it. Louis narrows his eyes, his lips screwing into a tight line.

Two questions occur to him then: First, what the fuck was that? And second, why is Louis excited about it happening again?

He decides not to watch Harry eat the rest of his sushi.

“What class do you have next?” he asks to distract himself.

Harry chews for a second before he can speak. “Music History,” he says. “Baroque and Classical.”

“That your favorite class?”

“Wouldn’t say that,” Harry says. “With summer classes, the number of students is really low. So there’s more…individual attention.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Louis has been out of formal schooling for a long time now but he remembers enough. And smaller class sizes are always a bonus.

“No, it’s not a bad thing. Not usually,” Harry scratches a spot on his scalp. “But for me it is. ‘Cause I kind of had a thing with my professor.”

Both of Louis’ brows shoot up, his lips stretching in a mischievous smile. “A thing with your professor?” he repeats too loudly.

Harry puts his chopstick to his own lips to shush him. He glances around as if there’s anyone there but them. “S’not as big a deal as it sounds. He took a liking to me is all,” he explains quietly. “‘Cause he thought I was pretty talented. And then for some reason, I started flirting with him. And he started flirting back. And, you know.” Harry shrugs.

“No, I don’t know actually. But you can tell me,” Louis urges him.

Harry laughs, dropping his face into his palm for a second. He sighs and drags his hand down his pink cheeks. “Okay, so last semester, on the last day of finals, I turned in my paper with a sticky note attached. I wrote my number and something like ‘let’s have drinks sometime’ and like three days later, he messages me and says ‘I’d love to.’”

Louis doesn’t know whether to be proud or jealous. Mostly he finds the whole thing hilarious. “You’re a proper minx,” he says.

Harry almost looks smug. “I thought I was being so clever,” he admits. “But I did it thinking I wouldn’t have another class with him again before graduation. And then the professor who was supposed to teach this class died in April.”

Louis’ eyes widen. “Oh, God.”

“I know,” Harry says. “So the professor who I gave my number to had to fill in for her. And it’s just been awkward ever since. Obviously, I’m not going to have drinks with him now. I feel like it wouldn’t be fair to my classmates.”

And also, Louis’ heart would break just a little.

“Anyway, it never would have worked. He’s like 45,” Harry says.

Again, Louis balks. “Jesus. And you found him attractive?” Not that Louis hasn’t slept with men twice his age. But Harry is much younger than he was at the time.

“Yeah,” Harry says and shrugs. “I like older men.”

Harry is a sweetheart, yeah. Louis knows that. But there’s a devilish side to him too, something coy that’s hard to pick up on at first. It isn’t till he says, “I like older men” and gives Louis this purposeful glance, that Louis comes to understand that fully.

Louis clears his throat and glances down at his hands folded in his lap. Harry begins to repack his leftover sushi, while across the hall, the students from the class before Harry’s begin filtering out of the room, stringed instruments tucked away in cases, tired chatter drifting between yawning mouths.

“Thanks again for lunch,” Harry says, drawing Louis’ attention back to him.

Louis smirks. “Thanks for sharing your methods of seduction.”

Harry laughs, lifting his violin case back up as he stands. “I’ll see you, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” Louis says and watches Harry walk towards his classroom. He almost wishes his schedule were free for him to hang around a bit longer, maybe take Harry out for dinner when his class ends.

But that’s just absurd.

With a sigh, Louis hops up and starts off in search of the right exit.

> > > < < <

Louis keeps forgetting to respond to Carlos. It doesn’t make sense seeing as he hasn’t had much sex since the attack and the bloke is more than willing to help him make up for lost time.

There was that one blow job last week when Carlos slept over. But afterwards Louis found it impossible to sleep with him there. He was too self-conscious about waking up in a cold sweat. And after that, he wasn’t eager to invite Carlos over again.

That being the case, he still doesn’t sleep much at all.

After oversleeping and missing a meeting a work, he stopped taking the pills. Instead, he gets a few scattered hours of sleep every night before giving up and taking naps at the office.

He spends the majority of his time that week planning photo shoots and constructing mockups and attending two separate staff luncheons. He has a phone session with Dr. Marin, in which he admits that he’s been listening to punk music in preparation for Harry’s show. It’s not his preferred genre but again, Harry is a rule-changer.

Harry calls on Wednesday while Louis is in the shower and listening to a punk Spotify playlist he’s made. He leaves a voicemail.

“Hiii. Sorry to bother you. But I was just sitting here with some pot noodles I made and like flipping channels. And I saw you on TV! You were at like some fashion show and talking about like…modeling and designing and stuff. And it was really cool and weird. I know you said you worked for Burberry. I Googled them and I didn’t realize how big they are, as like, a brand. But yeah, they’re pretty big. And then now you’re on the TV so that means you must be like really big…” Harry pauses. “That sounded weird. Kind of sexual. I didn’t mean— Anyway, that’s so cool, Lou. I didn’t understand any of what you were talking about on TV but maybe you can explain it to me sometime, if you want. Or even on Friday, after the show, we can hang out or something. I’d like that… Alright, well, I should go. This is probably the longest voicemail ever. And you’re probably like asleep. Not that you’re old and you’d go to sleep this early. But like, how old are you anyway? You can answer that on Friday too. Or call me back, if you want. I’ll be awake. Or just on Friday. Are you still coming on Friday? I hope so. K, bye. Good night.”

Louis replays the voicemail twice. And then a third time, while having a quick wank. He can’t even look at himself in the mirror afterwards, convinced that he’s slipped to the lowest level of human depravity. He definitely doesn’t call Harry back.

In the morning, he sends him a text instead.

‘listened to your message. i’m 28. and definitely coming to your show. i’ll tell u anything else u wanna know .xx’

He knows he should get a handle on all that he’s feeling before seeing Harry on Friday, if only so he goes into this with a level head.

But then Friday comes, and even though there’s been more than enough time, Louis never gets around to it.

> > > < < <

The place Harry’s performing at is some bar in Greenwich Village, very close to NYU’s campus. The places Louis tends to go to are upscale and pricey and filled with people like him. Every corner is packed with university students and probably some high school students too.

It’s Louis’ turn to look out of place. He’d tried to dress down as much as he could. He dug up his Vans from wherever he’d last thrown them and wore a simple black tee. He has a few tattoos of his own too, like the stag on his bicep and with the sleeves of his t-shirt, it’s on display now.

He thinks he’s at least dressed the part. But he’s still 28 and most of the people around him look to have just exited puberty.

Harry’s technically one of those people. Louis still doesn’t know how old he is. (He thinks 22 if he’s graduating university soon.) But that doesn’t bother him at all. Louis has dated people much younger than himself before, and Harry “likes older men.”

Though…that’s not to say he’s planning on dating Harry. Because he’s not. Romantic involvement never shapes out well for Louis. It takes perfectly good acquaintanceships and turns them sour, and Louis really wants to keep Harry around for as long as possible. At least until he moves back to London.

He orders a drink at the bar and when the bartender asks to see his ID, Louis completely understands. He might feel old but he thankfully doesn’t look it.

He’s sipping a beer and hanging back near the side of the stage.

And that’s when two spotlights flicker on over the stage. A few people begin to whistle, even though there’s nothing going on just yet. Louis looks around observantly.

Then he hears someone tap the microphone.

He looks back to the stage and there’s Harry. Wearing a fucking flower crown. When he smiles, light catches on his lip ring. “Hello, all.”

“Harry!” someone yells back at him, and then a few others clap, hoot and whistle louder than before.

Harry’s laughing into the microphone, this happy, breathy sound that Louis tucks away in the corners of his brain to recall whenever he’s feeling down.

Aside from the flower crown of red roses, Harry wears a leather jacket overtop a white t-shirt, his signature ripped black jeans, and ratty Chuck Taylor’s. There's a spiked black collar around his neck that conjures up thoughts that Louis will have to deal with later. Harry's nails are still painted black and from what Louis can see his bright eyes are lined with eyeliner.

He’s fucking beautiful, he is. Louis has seen the most pristine looking men in his lifetime, with their perfect hair and perfect bodies and perfect clothing, and none of them even come close to Harry igniting the space around him and making it his.

“Alright,” Harry says, adjusting his guitar strap. “You know how this goes.”

Before he’s done uttering the final word, the drummer starts tapping on the cymbals. Tss Tss Tss.

“My friend,” Harry murmurs, “Louis Tomlinson is here tonight.”

Louis freezes, the rim of his beer glass hovering near his lips.

Harry sweeps his ethereal eyes over the audience. “Can’t see him but I know he’s here,” he says, dropping his hand back to his guitar, running his fingers over the strings.

Louis keeps his eyes on him. As if he could look anywhere else. He doesn’t have a choice but to look at Harry. And he doesn’t want one.

“They say music is the language of angels,” Harry speaks into the mic. “So these songs are for him.”

Harry starts nodding his head to the beat, like he’s counting off in his head. His eyes slip closed, and then he rakes his pick down the guitar and grabs the microphone and starts singing.

The words don’t even make sense, honestly. Louis is willing to change his perception of the world for Harry but there is no logical part of his brain that can comprehend Harry’s lyrics.

And yet it doesn’t matter. His voice is beautiful. Just like Louis imagined it would be. Even when he’s just yelling. Even when the words don’t sound like words at all. His voice is deep and powerful and melodic and Louis almost wants to cry. Because as odd as it is, Louis gets it. Somehow, he understands. And he loves every note of it.

At one point, Harry drops to his knees, playing the absolute shit out of his guitar, shredding the life out of it. It shouldn’t turn Louis on as much as it does. But everything about Harry turns Louis on.

And it’s in that second, surrounded by people wailing Harry’s name, looking like they want to rip their hearts from their chests and throw them at his feet—it’s then that Louis knows there’s no way to keep things platonic with Harry. He feels too much for this kid, too much by far.

Harry sings and extends the mic to the audience to hear them repeat the words back to him and Louis is pleased to find they know the songs. Harry dances all over the stage and shakes out his hair. The flower crown must be well secured but if it flew off his head, Louis doesn’t think Harry would care. He’s just so into it. It’s as if the music is in his veins. The way he moves it’s like it’s taken over him.

At the end of their short set, Harry is out of breath but full of smiles. “Thank you,” he says. “We’re Blessed Unrest and it’s been fun.”

He shoots up a peace sign and they filter offstage. The spotlights stay up and a minute later another band comes into view. But Louis isn’t paying attention anymore. He just wants to see Harry.

He discards his empty beer glass on the table and starts weaving his way back toward the bar. He thinks if he can get out of the heavily concentrated areas of the bar, he’ll have a better view.

And then he feels a hand wrap around his arm and he tenses up, fear locking him in place, like he’s back in the alley again. He’s ready to swing around and push away from whoever’s gotten hold of him, and then the person speaks.

“Louis.”

It’s like that moment after a long day when Louis fills his tub with warm water, that moment right as he’s submerging himself, that sigh of relief it invariably gets out of him. The minute he hears Harry call his name, the tension dissolves completely.

Louis wonders if it’s possible to fall in love with someone’s voice, specifically Harry’s. He thinks it has the power to unravel him. Whether he’s singing, or calling to him, or saving him.

You’re okay now. You’re going to be okay.

Louis turns and meets his gaze.

“Hi,” Harry says happily, his dimples out.

This time, Louis steps close and wraps him in a hug before Harry can think to do so himself. Louis holds on a bit tighter than last time, breathing him in, the light scent of sweat and his flowery shampoo.

“You were fucking amazing,” he says, speaking right into Harry’s ear.

Harry pulls back, his eyes sparkling like he’s some kind of supernatural being. Louis is willing to believe that. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if Harry actually was a guardian angel. So long as he’s his.

“Thank you. I’m glad you could make it. Was it weird dedicating the show to you?”

Louis shakes his head, his voice locking up in his throat. “No,” he manages to say. “No, it was great. I—thank you.”

Harry’s eyes flicker over his face. Louis wonders if he can read all the emotion hiding beneath his skin. “Come,” Harry says. “I want you to meet my band mates.”

Louis just wants to be alone with him. He wants to sit under the stars somewhere and listen to Harry talk for hours. But he knows it’s important to Harry for Louis to meet his band and that makes it important for Louis too. So he lets Harry take his hand and lead him closer to the bar.

There’s a girl with platinum hair waiting there. She’s covered in tattoos and as for piercings, Louis counts five; two in her brow, one in her septum, and two in her bright red lips.

“Our drummer, Louise,” Harry says.

Louise smiles and waves to Louis. “Nice to finally meet you. Haz won’t shut up about you.”

Harry’s face was pinkish before she said that. But the flush is starting to spread up to his ears now and he turns his attention to their other band member to shift the topic.

“And this is Niall, our bassist,” he says.

Niall tilts his beer to him as a sign of salute. He’s also thoroughly tattooed and wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and blue skinny jeans.

“You were all really great,” Louis says. “Seriously the best punk performance I’ve ever seen.” It’s the only punk performance Louis’ seen. He probably sounds like such a dork. But with the way Harry’s beaming at him, he doesn’t really care.

Louise and Niall seem happy enough to have his appreciation. Louis thinks he wins them over further by buying them all a round of drinks.

Harry’s cheeks are still flushed from all the excitement and he hasn’t stopped smiling since he stepped on stage. He’s practically glowing, filling up the space around him with so much light. He never stops smiling and Louis never stops staring.

At one point someone passes close behind them and Louis steps a little closer to Harry, touching his waist to ease him gently out of the way. And then, he just leaves his hand there because it feels nice and Harry has soft pillowy hips that Louis would love to suck bruises into.

For now he settles on giving him a squeeze when Harry smiles gratefully at him. For now.

Throughout the night, he knows Niall and Louise have both given him funny looks, they must read it on his face how completely gone he is.

But again, Louis doesn’t care. And Harry isn’t any better. He shifts closer into Louis’ arm at one point. Later, he turns to whisper into Louis’ ear, deliberately letting his mouth trail over Louis’ skin. His gazes last longer than usual. So many of his smiles are for Louis, and each one has an added edge to it, a hidden meaning.

It’s nearly midnight by the time they’re leaving the bar. Louis offers Harry a ride back to his apartment, even though Harry says it’s not very far. Maybe Harry detects that Louis would be grateful for the company. He doesn’t stay out this late anymore, not since the attack. And he doesn’t feel comfortable with Harry walking by himself either.

So Harry climbs into Louis’ Audi and whistles appreciatively. “This ride…is sick.”

Louis grins. He’s trying not to show off but Harry makes it easy sometimes. He focuses on turning up the radio and finding a station he thinks Harry will like, which is pointless because Harry’s place is literally up the street. By the time the song on the radio hits the chorus, they’re already there.

Harry removes his spiked collar and tucks it into his bag. Shame.

“Do you want to come up for a bit?” he asks after he’s done looping the top of his hair up into a knot to keep it out of his eyes.

Louis isn’t even sure how to answer the question. He only has a split-second to think about it or Harry will read his apprehension as something else.

He wants Harry, he does. That much has been clear since the beginning. And he thinks Harry wants him too. But there’s still the chance he could go up there, fuck around a bit, and ruin whatever it is they have.

But…a look around wouldn’t hurt. He plucks his keys from the ignition. If they end up in Harry’s bed, a little cuddle wouldn’t hurt either. “Why not,” Louis says.

Harry leads him into his building and slaps hands with the security guard on their way to the lift. Louis greets the man with a smile.

“Do you have roommates?” Louis asks. He’s genuinely interested in knowing, yeah, but he’s also trying to distract himself from the tight space of the lift. Another side effect of nearly dying in a narrow alley happens to be increased claustrophobia.

“Yeah, Niall, actually. But he tends to sleep at his girlfriend’s place most nights.”

“Doesn’t get lonely by yourself?” Louis asks.

“No,” Harry says, smiling. “Could ask you the same thing, though. And my place is a lot smaller than yours.”

Louis shrugs. “I don’t tend to be lonely, no,” he says. He usually has a lad over to keep him company, but he obviously doesn’t say that. “Though I guess, lately things have been different.”

Harry is leaning against the wall of the lift, his head resting against the metal surface, his big green eyes intent on Louis. “Since the attack,” he concludes.

“Yeah, since then,” Louis confirms.

“How do you sleep?”

Louis can’t imagine how or why Harry would think to ask him that. But the way he does, it’s like he already knows the answer.

The lift chimes and the doors slide open. “I don’t really,” Louis says.

He steps off the lift, feeling Harry’s eyes lingering on him. And then Harry steps out and starts off in the direction of his apartment.

He pulls a set of keys off the ring attached to his belt loop and unlocks the rickety metal door. “Welcome,” he says, holding the door open for Louis.

He turns on a dim floor lamp and sets his guitar case down by the couch. Louis shuts the door and turns back to find Harry plopping down on the couch, stretching his long limbs out. He sighs loud and heavy, ruffling the wispy ends of his hair.

Louis chuckles quietly. “You must be exhausted. After singing your heart out and all that,” he says. “I shouldn’t stay too long.”

He knows he’s just gotten here. But Harry’s had a hell of a night and a few drinks. Louis gets it if the boy would rather just sleep it all off.

But Harry sits up straighter and pats the couch beside him. “No,” he says. “Stay for a bit, mate. Just a few minutes.”

Louis doesn’t really see the point in that. But he comes over to the couch and sits beside Harry, angling his body toward him, the same way Harry does for Louis. They look at each other.

“Wanna smoke?” Harry asks.

Louis raises both brows.

Harry presses his fist to his mouth to suppress a laugh. “’M sorry. Niall has a stash. And I don’t know, might help you relax.”

“Do I seem tense?”

“You always seem tense,” Harry says.

Well, alright then. Louis shrugs. “Sure.”

So, Harry pulls out Niall’s “stash,” which is tucked under the couch.

“Okay. I’m not any good at the rolling part, so…” he trails off.

Louis snorts. Because of course he isn’t. Why doesn’t it surprise him that Mr. Punk Rock isn’t good at rolling a joint?

“Let me,” Louis says. He can’t remember the last time he did this. It’d have to be with Zayn, or Stan when he was still in London. But it was a long time ago, for sure. Still, Louis knows he’s retained most of his knowledge.

When he’s finished, he tucks the joint between Harry’s lips. “Voila,” he says, reaching for the lighter. Harry takes hold of the joint between his fingers while Louis lights it.

Harry inhales, hands it to Louis, and breaths out a cloud of smoke. When he coughs, they both smile, while Louis takes his turn.

“So, you aren’t sleeping?” Harry asks.

Why had Louis said that again?

He hands the joint back as a way of distracting him. But even when Harry smokes, he doesn’t take his eyes off of him.

“I sleep enough,” Louis finally says.

“So, 7-8 hours?” Harry clarifies.

Louis makes a face, his nose wrinkling. Not quite.

“5-6?” Harry questions.

Louis picks at the quick of his nails. Yeah, maybe not. Harry holds the joint out for him. Louis doesn’t take it from him. He leans forward and tucks his lips over the end. Harry keeps it steady, his eyes flickering over Louis’ face. Louis leans away, breathing out slow.

“Two, sometimes three hours if I’m lucky,” he admits.

Harry frowns and sets the joint down.

“I get naps in at work though,” Louis adds in an attempt to reassure him. He doesn’t like the frowning. People like Harry shouldn’t have to frown a day in their lives.

“Doesn’t sound very good,” Harry says.

Louis doesn’t have a response for that. So he stays quiet, his head swimming, while Harry stares down at his jeans and picks at the frayed edges of denim over his kneecaps.

Louis licks his lips, sitting closer to him. “Hey,” he says. Harry looks at him. Louis’ eyes dart over his face. “You know, you say I’m the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, but clearly you haven’t looked in your mirror recently.”

Harry’s brows are still creased deeply but his lips twitch with a smile. “Well, I have to. To put on the eyeliner,” he says, and he can’t seem to resist the smile on his lips from his own clever response. “But thank you.”

Louis smiles.

And then Harry says, “Would it help to sleep here? For tonight maybe?”

Well. Damn.

Louis isn’t expecting that at all. He would never describe Harry as shy. Modest, maybe. Polite, yes. But never shy. Even so, the offer is bold for him.

If Louis hadn’t been giving him looks all night, or calling him beautiful now, maybe they could pretend the gesture was a friendly one. But Louis thinks he’s made his intentions obvious enough.

“Maybe,” Louis says. “Is that an invitation?”

Harry blinks slowly at him. For a fraction of a second, his eyes drop to Louis’ mouth, and then he licks his own lips, running his tongue over his lip ring.

And fuck, Louis is just— He’s done for. Really he is.

“I don’t know what it is…” Harry says quietly. “I just want to help.”

Louis brushes one of Harry’s long curls back behind his ear. “Hm,” he hums. “You’ve been very helpful.”

He slides his hand through Harry’s hair, not at all surprised about how silky and perfect it feels between his fingers. Harry watches him expectantly, his eyes like polished sea glass, his lips parted and cherry red.

“Good,” Harry says softly.

Louis hums again in agreement. He’d reply but he chooses instead to cover Harry’s mouth with his own.

He kisses him deliberately slow, just letting their mouths slide together. Maybe it’s the pot, making every movement occur at this pace. Or maybe it’s because kissing this way makes Harry softer and more pliant by the second. Mostly, it’s because Louis doesn’t want to move any faster than this. He doesn’t want to screw this up, whatever this is.

But then he kisses over Harry’s jaw and down the side of his neck and sucks on the spot just beneath his ear. And Harry makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a moan and a whine and Louis has to pull back to make sure he’s okay. Harry’s eyes flutter open, so misty and eager Louis gets lost in them for a second.

He slides his hand down to Harry’s thigh and lifts his leg so he can settle between them. He’s poised overtop Harry’s body and Harry’s looking up at him like Louis could do anything to him.

“Louis,” Harry murmurs.

Louis just loves the sound of his voice. He kisses him again, pushes his tongue past Harry’s lips. He doesn’t want to stop kissing him. Because yes, Harry’s lips are just as soft as they look.

Harry moans again and the sound goes straight to Louis’ dick. His mind says no, tells him to keep it cool. But his body says fuck yes, to hell with cool when Harry is so mind-numbingly hot.

Harry pushes his hips up and their cocks brush together beneath the layers of their clothing. Louis groans into his mouth, pulling away to catch his breath, shutting his eyes for a second.

Yup, screw this.

“Want to thank you for letting me stay the night. And for everything else too,” Louis murmurs against the spot below Harry’s ear. He reaches down at the same time to brush his hand over the front of Harry’s jeans. “That okay?”

“Yes. Please. Whatever you want,” Harry says.

Louis tugs Harry’s jeans open and slides his hand down into his pants. “Is this okay?” he checks again.

Harry nods, digging his black painted nails into Louis’ bicep. Louis pulls Harry free of his jeans, stroking him slowly. “Do you want it like this? Or do you want my mouth?”

“Lou,” Harry groans. “Fuck. I don’t— the last one, fuck.”

Louis huffs a little laugh, pressing one firm kiss to Harry’s mouth, pushing their tongues together for a bit, before leaving him panting. He shuffles down between his legs, running his fingertips over Harry’s cock.

Harry keeps his eyes on him. His whole face is flushed and he’s biting into his lip so hard it’s a wonder there’s no blood. But it’s clear that he’s trying to be patient. He keeps his hands curled in fists over his stomach and just waits.

Louis understands now what it means to want to ravish someone. He wants to work Harry over bit by bit, leave him squirming and pleading and begging. He wants to take him right up to the precipice, keep him suspended there until there’s nothing left to do but fall into ecstasy.

He licks over the tip of Harry’s cock, collecting the pre-come there. A shudder makes its way over Harry’s body and Louis hears him sigh. He takes hold of Harry’s hips and wraps his mouth just around the head of him and swirls his tongue around and commits every sound Harry makes to memory.

He sinks his mouth down around him and looks up at him. Their eyes meet and lock. Harry’s mouth hangs open, his eyes unblinking. And when Louis swallows, they screw shut.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry tilts his head back into the couch.

Louis digs his fingers into Harry’s hips and puts everything he has into this, all the tricks he can think of. He has to pull off for a second to suck in a deep breath and runs his mouth down the length of Harry’s cock, over his balls and then back up over the head.

“Louis,” Harry whines. “Lou, I can’t—”

“Don’t,” Louis says and sucks him back down. He doesn’t even know exactly what Harry was going to say. But if it was something about holding off his orgasm, Louis doesn’t want him to. He wants him to come. And he’d prefer for it to happen down his throat.

Harry fists his hand in Louis’ hair and moans loud and long and beautiful when he comes. Louis watches him, swallowing whatever hits the back of his throat, breathing in the scent of Harry’s skin through his nose, feeling tears prickle his eyes. He licks him clean and pulls away, wiping his sleeve over his mouth.

Harry stares at him through half-lidded eyes in something that looks like awe. It gets heat rushing to Louis’ face, which is the strangest reaction after what he’s just done.

“Do you want me to—?” Harry begins.

Louis shakes his head. Under different circumstances, he would say yes, because like…Harry’s mouth is glorious. But his throat is probably sore from singing all night. And he looks exhausted. And Louis just wanted this to be about him.

“Then do you want to cuddle?” Harry asks.

With Harry’s eyeliner and ripped clothes and general air of rebellion, most people wouldn’t expect those words to come out of his mouth. But Louis isn’t surprised at all. Not anymore. And also, fuck yes, he wants to cuddle.

Harry takes his hand and pulls him into his room. They strip down to just their pants and crawl beneath the covers and after a few gentle kisses, Harry falls asleep.

It’s no surprise that it takes Louis a little longer. But he surrenders to his exhaustion eventually with Harry snug beside him. Right before he does, he wonders why Harry’s arms feel so much like home.

> > > < < <

‘do you have a lunch break or anything?’

Louis is drafting an email when Harry’s message comes through. He forgets what he’s typing all together, abandons his computer, and grabs for his phone.

‘yeah. in about twenty minutes. want to meet up?’

‘please? want to talk.’

Louis raises his brows at that. “I want to talk” or any variation of those words has never been a good sign. Not at any point in history, not in the future, and regardless of context. It just doesn’t sound pleasant.

So Louis is uncharacteristically jittery when he meets Harry at the quiet restaurant a block away from Burberry. It’s a dimly lit place with a perfect mix of laid-back and elegant in its decor. It’s also scarcely populated because the prices are a little too high for the everyday lunch crowd. Louis plans on paying for everything though and he urges Harry to order whatever he wants.

They’re seated at a booth. Harry’s running his fork through the salmon salad he ordered. He looks even prettier than usual with the top of his hair in a bun and the rest flowing down past his neck. He’s wearing this sleeveless denim jacket overtop a torn white t-shirt that’s been haphazardly repaired with safety pins.

Louis just wants to sit and watch him all day. He knows he’d never get tired. But there’s something wrong. Harry’s barely put a dent in his salad.

“So, you wanted to talk?” Louis reminds him, now that their food is here and they’ve exhausted all topics of small talk.

Harry nods. “I did.”

Louis smiles encouragingly. “I happen to be a good listener.”

Harry’s answering smile is small and widely misses his eyes. He releases a sigh.

“I don’t know what happened last night,” he says. “And I feel really awful about it honestly.”

Louis’ brows furrow. “About what? Which part?”

“All of it.”

Well. Louis didn’t think he’d let his cock-sucking skills fall so far off the mark. Clearly, he needs to shape up. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No, wait,” Harry gasps. “No. You were great. I loved—It was great. But like, I took advantage of you.” Louis chokes out a surprised laugh. Harry rambles on, “You were distressed and you hadn’t been sleeping. And I pulled out the weed. And like, I seduced you.”

It’s a testament to how pure Harry is, how kind and gentle, that he would look at it that way. Furthermore, the idea of Harry taking advantage of Louis is probably the best joke Louis’ heard in a long time. If either of them were to do such a thing, it’d be Louis, who possesses the level of power necessary to do so. That’s what he thinks, anyway.

And as far as seduction goes—okay, yes, admittedly when Harry had offered Louis his home to spend the night and swiped his tongue over his lip ring, Louis considered himself thoroughly seduced. But that’s nothing for Harry to feel ashamed of. He’s gorgeous and alluring and regardless of what he did, Louis would feel exactly the same way.

“It was really good weed,” Louis says with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

Harry pins him with a look. “Louis.”

Louis sighs. “I think maybe you’re overthinking things, love. I don’t feel taken advantage of or whatever. It was nice, all of it. It doesn’t have to mean any more than that.”

Harry looks even more distraught. “Then that’s what it was? Just like…” he sighs. Louis doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say. He doesn’t think Harry does either. Sure enough, Harry mumbles, “I don’t understand.”

The way he says it breaks Louis’ heart. And Louis starts to panic because he feels like maybe Harry’s panicking too.

“We just had ourselves a fun time. That’s all, okay?” Louis says. This is exactly what he was afraid of, freaking Harry out by moving too fast. It was as if nothing in the past few weeks could go the way Louis wanted.

“Who’s Carlos?” Harry says all of a sudden.

Louis blinks. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says. “I just—I saw your phone this morning before you left. You got messages from a person named Carlos. I didn’t mean to look but it kept chiming, the phone, and I thought it was an alarm and you were oversleeping or something. So I just checked. And I don’t know—he seemed like someone important to you. Like in a romantic way. Like…your boyfriend or something.”

“Jesus,” Louis sighs, massaging his forehead. He hasn’t spoken to Carlos in days and has no intention whatsoever of seeing him again. Now he wishes he’d made that more clear to the bloke the last time they had spoken.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says again. “I don’t mean to be any trouble to you. I know you’ve had enough of that already. I told you, Louis, I just want to help. I meant that.”

“You have helped. So much,” Louis assures him.

Harry’s face softens at that. Still he continues, “But I can’t just be someone for you to fuck around with. I don’t want to just be a fun time. I know how I look. I know it might be hard for you to take me seriously, especially being who you are, with everything you’ve got going for you. But I just—I can’t be that person for you.”

“You’re not,” Louis says fervently. “You’re not. Harry, I—fuck, I don’t know. Carlos is a bloke I was seeing for a bit, yeah. But I’m done with him. Since spending time with you, I haven’t even been looking at anyone else. I’m not going to make any promises to you or anything. I’m just trying to get my life back together. I’m trying to make sense of things. And—I don’t want to hurt you, okay? But right now, all I know is that you make sense. And I want you around. All the time. Whatever that means for us. If it’s just hanging out, watching a bit of telly, whatever. I just want you around.”

It’s perhaps the longest impromptu speech Louis’ ever given anyone. And he has to press his lips together to physically keep from rambling on. He thinks he could go on and on about what Harry’s come to mean to him and how he waltzed into Louis’ perfect life and simultaneously saved him while blowing everything apart.

Harry is just looking at him with his big green eyes that are kind of misty. If he starts crying, Louis isn’t sure what he’ll do.

“You’re wrong about me, making it seem like I’m any better than you because I have money and whatever else. I’m starting to learn it doesn’t mean anything. It’s all fleeting. But you—I want you to stick around. For as long as possible.”

This is beginning to sound like a proposal. Every word Louis speaks is loaded and full of promises he knows he shouldn’t be making. By the end of the summer, he’ll be in London—an important point he still hasn’t disclosed to Harry. Louis probably shouldn’t say any of these things.

And yet he means every word. Somehow, whatever promises he’s inadvertently made, he intends to keep them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry says.

Louis smiles. “Promise?”

“Yeah. As long as you don’t either.”

Harry must be making a reference to his near-death experience. But Louis thinks again about London. He doesn’t say anything after that because he’s not one to lie outright, especially not to Harry. And telling the truth seems like a sure way to end things before he’s even figured them out.

So much has been breaking Louis down bit by bit. Nearly dying and dealing with the psychological aftermath. Inevitably falling for the punk rocker who saved him. And now keeping this secret from that very person. It all tears away at him.

All Louis hopes is that there’s a way past it, that this is one of those things were Louis is a phoenix rising from its ashes, and not just a man set for complete annihilation.

> > > < < <

“How are you sleeping?” Dr. Marin shakes out the contents of one of those water flavor enhancing packets. The label reads “iced tea.” Louis forgives her for profaning tea in such a way. It’s hard, but he forgives her.

“Better. Nightmares don’t come as often,” he replies.

“Have you tried going back like I suggested?”

Louis curls his hands into a fist then flexes his fingers. “No.”

Her eyes bore into his. “What about taking Harry with you?”

Louis shakes his head just once. Dr. Marin has the sense to drop the topic. It’s not something Louis even wants to think about. Going back to the alley. He’s not sure he can.

“How have things been with Harry?”

“Good,” Louis says. “I nearly ruined it all though. Moved too fast. And he misunderstood what I was after.”

“But they’re better now?”

“Yeah. I’m moving slower.”

Dr. Marin smiles. “Have you tried just telling him what you’re actually after?”

“Can’t do that. ‘Cause I don’t know myself.”

> > > < < <

Louis figures it out. Slowly but surely.

He isn’t exactly the most patient man in the world. But he wants to be patient with Harry and with determining where they go from here.

So he starts over. As if that Friday night after Harry’s show hadn’t happened.

On Monday, Harry comes over after he finishes his last class and together they make this mess of a pizza with pineapple, peppers, and every kind of meat they can find in Louis’ fridge.

“Looks ridiculous,” Louis comments, watching the cheese bubble in the oven.

“Bet it tastes amazing though,” Harry singsongs. And he happens to be right.

They grab beers and eat in front of Louis’ massive flat screen TV. After their conversation at the restaurant Louis actually feels self-conscious about all the grand shit he has. It’s almost as if he’d rather have a place where Harry could feel more at home. And Louis thought he was past the point of feeling terrified about his feelings for Harry, but that proves false when he realizes he wants to relocate just to keep this boy happy.

“When are you going to play something on your violin for me?” Louis asks him after they’ve eaten the majority of the pizza and Harry has his head resting in Louis’ lap. Louis doesn’t even know how that happens but he’s happy it does: it gives him an excuse to run his fingers through Harry’s curls.

“God, never,” Harry says. “You don’t want to hear me play.”

Louis laughs at the sheer terror in Harry’s voice. “You don’t think you’re any good?”

“I mean, you have to be pretty good to get into the program at all. And I love to play. But it’s weird playing for other people. It’s nerve-wracking in a way that singing isn’t.”

“Well, your voice is perfect. So no surprise there,” Louis says.

He feels rather than sees Harry smile against his thigh. “I could play you something. If you really wanted me too,” he says.

“I do. But only if you’re comfortable,” Louis says.

Regrettably, Harry has to lift his head up to go fetch his violin case. He comes back and plops down on the couch, tucking one leg under himself. He runs his long fingers along the edge of the case until he gets to the two hatches and pops the case open.

Louis sips his beer while he watches Harry remove the violin and set it under his chin. Harry licks his bottom lip.

“Okay, um. I guess I’ll play my favorite,” he says, “Which is Fix You.”

Louis smiles. “Nice choice.”

Harry shoots him a smile and then he brings his bow to the strings, licks his lips again, rolls his shoulders back, and plays.

He sticks to just the first verse and the chorus, which Louis understands because it’s quite a long song, and he doesn’t expect a full on symphony. The chorus is more than enough and Harry plays it beautifully.

Sometimes his eyes dart up to Louis’ and he gives him a small smile. Mostly he stays focused on his strings. At one instance, he shuts his eyes.

He slides the bow over the strings like a brush to a canvas. And the picture he paints is just as beautiful as Louis would expect.

When he’s done, he exhales a breath and lifts the bow away and shrugs. “Pretty much how it goes.”

Louis is just staring at him. “Have I told you yet that you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen?”

Harry is momentarily stunned by that response. And then he smiles and drops his gaze to his violin to tuck it away. “Maybe not like that. But I think you did, when we were high,” he says, shutting his case.

Well, Louis is pretending that Friday didn’t happen. So in his head, it doesn’t count.

“I’m saying it again,” Louis says, sliding his hand over Harry’s cheek. Harry’s eyes dart up to Louis’. He seems to be holding his breath.

“You are,” Louis asserts. “And you play beautifully too.”

Harry tilts his face into Louis’ palm. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

Louis runs his thumb over Harry’s dimple, his eyes trailing over his face and then his lips. He wants to kiss him. So badly, it aches. And maybe Harry wants to be kissed.

But Louis doesn’t do it. Because he hopes the next time they kiss—if ever there is a next time—it’ll be knowing what it means. He wants that kiss to mean something.

He drops his hand away from Harry’s cheek and hops to his feet. “You feel like having ice cream?” he asks as he makes his way to the kitchen.

He hears Harry say “Sure” and breathes a sigh a relief, grateful for something else to focus on.

They share a bowl of ice cream, which is so domestic Louis has to roll his eyes at himself. Around the middle of the Grease sequel, they’re lying on the couch, Harry’s back to Louis’ chest.

Louis isn’t even sure if he should touch him. He’s never been so off his game, so uncertain about his next move. But Harry makes him feel that way—strong in most cases, but weak at times like these.

Which is why it’s Harry who reaches for Louis’ arm and pulls it around his body and snuggles back against him.

Louis exhales a breath, squeezing him a little closer.

They don’t make it through the rest of the film before they’re both asleep.

> > > < < <

Harry sleeps over for the rest of the week.

At lunch on Tuesday, he asks Louis how he slept the night before and Louis says, “Good.”

But the truth is that Louis slept better than he had in weeks, maybe even months. He was curled around his boy and none of the shit that kept him terrified mattered right then.

On Tuesday night, it only makes sense that Harry stays over again.

He makes Louis this “Sweet Dreams” smoothie that he says is supposed to help him sleep soundly. Louis accepts it gratefully and sleeps all through the night.

In the morning Harry asks him if the smoothie helped and Louis tells him, “Yes.”

But again, he thinks it has a lot more to do with Harry than the (albeit good) combination of milk, bananas, and granola.

Louis loves having Harry over. He brings a peace that settles all the anxiety Louis feels. He listens when Louis needs him to listen and talks when Louis needs him to talk, and Louis does the same for him.

It’s a little difficult with all the…tension building up between them. But Louis is intent to take things slow. The last thing he wants is for Harry to think Louis is using him for sex like he did the last time. Because it’s not about that.

What he has with Harry, and what he thinks he wants, is all so much deeper than anything Louis’ felt before. And he can’t mess this up. Regardless of how good it’d feel and how perfect and…

He can’t.

On Thursday, Harry gives Louis a back massage. He starts rubbing his thumbs into Louis’ lower back. Louis feels him hesitate before he pushes his hands up under Louis’ t-shirt and his fingertips are cool enough to make Louis shiver.

“All right?” Harry asks him quietly.

Louis nods. Except he’s more than alright.

On Friday, Zayn invites Louis out for drinks with him and Liam. But Louis knows how that story ends and he can’t say he’s interested. When Harry offers to bring over popcorn and “Love Actually,” Louis thinks that sounds infinitely better.

While the movie plays, Harry paints Louis’ nails black.

“Which piercing hurt the most?” Louis asks him while Harry focuses hard on angling his brush perfectly.

“Um,” Harry thinks. “My nipples.”

Louis’ eyes widen. “Your nipples are not pierced.”

“You’ve never seen my nipples,” Harry replies.

Very true. “Could I?” Louis asks.

Harry’s eyes flitter up to his and he shoots him this adorable crooked smile. “Maybe when we’re done with your manicure.”

Louis will definitely hold him to it. His phone rings for the third time because Zayn just doesn’t know how to give up.

“Do you want to answer that?” Harry asks like he did the time before. “Seems like it could be an emergency?”

“It’s not. It’s just Zayn. He wants me to go out for drinks tonight so that he’ll have an excuse to see Liam.”

“Who’s Liam?”

“A friend of ours. He’s a photographer that we’ve worked with at the company. And now him and Zayn have this weird thing. They aren’t dating. Probably won’t ever date. But they honestly end up fucking every single time we hang out. But he can’t just invite Liam out for drinks ‘cause then it’d be a date.”

“You should go,” Harry says. “Help him out. It’s not easy trying to get laid.”

“Tell me about it,” Louis says. When Harry looks at him again, Louis cracks a smile. “I’m joking.”

Harry clearly doesn’t think he is. Louis kind of isn’t.

“I mean it. You should go,” Harry repeats.

“What about Love Actually?”

“We haven’t even been paying attention,” Harry says.

His phone starts ringing again. “Would you go with me?” Louis asks.

Harry’s brows crease. “What? No. Why? I’m not dressed to go anywhere.”

“You can borrow one of my tops if you’d like. I want you to go with me,” Louis says. “Come on.”

Harry screws the cap onto the nail polish. “How do you like your nails?”

Louis holds his hands out. “They’re perfect,” he says.

Harry grins. “I think so too,” he says. “Answer your phone. I’ll go look through your shirts.”

Louis smiles, watching him saunter away. And then he taps the green button on his phone, and lifts it gingerly, mindful of his drying nails.

“This is Louis,” he says.

“God, what the fuck. I called you like twenty times,” Zayn grumbles. “Are you coming for drinks? Because Liam wants to see you. And you’ve been spending all your time with that kid, so we’re both feeling neglected.”

“Harry,” Louis says.

Across from him, Harry pokes his head out from Louis’ bedroom. He’s not wearing a shirt and Louis can just make out the gleam of metal near his nipples. Then Harry realizes he’s on the phone and disappears again.

“Okay, yes, Harry,” Zayn says. “You’ve been spending all your time with Harry. And Liam and I miss you.”

“Zayn, if you want to fuck Liam, just invite him to your place,” Louis says.

“Fuck— No. I can’t do that. Louis, stop being a twat. Just bring your boyfriend with you.”

Boyfriend, huh? If only. Still Louis smiles. “Will do. See you soon.”

Zayn grumbles something else but Louis is already hanging up and walking over to his room where Harry is rummaging through his closet.

“Having any luck?” Louis asks.

Harry holds up a black t-shirt. “Tried this one but it really makes my nipples stand out,” he says.

“Speaking of those,” Louis says, stepping a little closer. His eyes drop to Harry’s chest. “Very nice.”

Harry smiles. “Thank you,” he says. “I’m quite proud of them.”

Louis wants to wrap his mouth around the raised nubs and their piercings. He feels like his mouth is watering. He looks away. “You should be,” he says, walking to the dresser on the other side of the room. He digs around for a second before he finds his black Ramones t-shirt. He tosses it Harry’s way. “Try that.”

Harry pulls it on and looks at himself in the mirror. He shoots Louis two thumbs-up. “Guess I’m ready to go.”

> > > < < <

Liam hasn’t stopped staring at Harry for the past thirty minutes. Louis can’t tell if it’s because he finds him attractive or appalling. The latter is impossible though because Harry is gorgeous, even with all the piercings and tattoos and whatever else—perhaps more so because of those things.

Eventually, Zayn must kick him or something because Liam snaps out of it and takes a big gulp of his drink.

“Nice manicure,” Zayn comments with a smile. Like Liam, he’s been doing some staring of his own but just at Louis’ hands and Harry’s hands too. Because yes, it didn’t occur to Louis before, but their nails match. Louis thinks it’s cute.

“Thank you. Harry did them for me,” he says, knocking his knuckles against Harry’s. Harry smiles, wrapping his beautiful mouth around his straw.

Zayn watches them for a second and then averts all his attention to Harry. “So, Harry, what do you? Some modeling?” he asks.

Louis rolls his eyes.

“Nope. I go to NYU and work at Barnes & Noble,” Harry says.

Zayn raises his brows. Louis is expecting more of his tings and he’s quite ready to tell him to take Liam home and get on with what he’s really after. But then Zayn surprises him. “I went to NYU too. What school?”

“Steinhardt,” Harry says. “You?”

“Tisch. Got into costume design for a bit,” Zayn says. “Heard Steinhardt’s great though. What instrument do you play?”

“Violin,” Louis says. He doesn’t know why he finds it necessary to chime in but whatever. Harry smirks at Louis.

Now it’s Zayn’s turn to roll his eyes. “Thanks, Harry,” he says sarcastically.

“So you don’t play guitar?” Liam asks Harry. “Because I feel like you should play guitar.”

Louis is actually embarrassed.

Harry laughs. “No, I do. I’m in a band as well.”

“You’re like straight out of the ‘70s,” Liam says.

“Ignore him,” Zayn tells Harry. Liam pouts. “When’s graduation for you? And what are your plans for afterwards?”

Louis doesn’t know why Zayn has so many questions. He’s like a fucking drill sergeant. But Harry takes it all in stride. “I was supposed to finish up this summer. But I have one semester left in the Fall. And I’ll graduate in December. And then I think I’ll probably head home.”

“Where’s that?”

“Cheshire,” Harry says, and then specifies. “Holmes Chapel.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Zayn says, glancing at Louis. “You’ll just miss Louis then.”

“What?” Harry’s brows crease deeply.

And just like that. Without Louis even seeing it coming. The secret’s out.

The instant Zayn realizes what’s happened, he lifts his glass and takes a sip and then proceeds to start flirting with Liam.

But it’s such an obvious dodge that Harry knows right away that something’s up. His eyes shift to Louis and he raises his brows expectantly. “What’s he mean?”

Louis puts his glass down with a thud. “Want to go outside?”

“No,” Harry says, his annoyance flaring. It stuns Louis momentarily. He can’t recall Harry ever being even slightly annoyed with him. But Louis doesn’t blame him. With the way Zayn and Liam are looking at them discreetly, and the way Louis is all fidgety, the big reveal that Harry knows is coming must seem terrifying.

“Come on, love,” Louis says more quietly. “Please?”

Harry slides off the bar stool and heads for the door. Louis braces himself and follows after him. As soon as they’re out of the door, Harry rounds on him.

“Spill,” he commands.

“I’m being transferred to London at the end of the summer,” Louis says. “But just until January and then I’ll be coming back here to New York. And most likely staying here permanently.”

Harry blinks at him. And then shakes his head. “Why are they making you leave at all?”

“They want fresh ideas for Burberry Kids over in London. And if I can help turn things in their favor, they’ll give me the position of Creative Director here in New York. Which is huge, bigger than any other thing I’ve done.”

Harry curls his hands into fists at his sides and cracks his knuckles. “So,” he begins. “Were you just going to leave in August? And maybe send a postcard as an afterthought?”

“Harry,” Louis says.

“No, really. When were you planning to mention this?”

“Soon. I would have said it soon enough. I just couldn’t figure out how.”

“Is that why you haven’t tried anything with me since last week?” Harry asks.

Whatever thought Louis had been constructing in his brain crackles and shatters like glass. Because now he’s just stumped.

“Is it because you knew you were leaving?” Harry questions. “This whole time, you knew there was no point.”

“What?” Louis looks at him like he’s crazy. Or maybe Louis is the crazy one because honestly that makes no sense at all. “Harry, I haven’t tried anything because I wanted to take things slow. Because you made it seem like that’s what you wanted.”

Harry snorts a laugh that’s about as undignified as he can get. “Was I not grinding my arse into your crotch hard enough before we went to sleep then, Louis?”

“Are you serious?” Louis thought Harry was just really into cuddling. It had taken an almighty amount of self-control on Louis’s part with Harry little-spooning the ever living fuck out of him. But again, Louis hadn’t looked at it that way. Now he sees he was wrong.

Harry wipes his sleeve quickly across his eyes. And Louis forgets about sex and grinding and just focuses on him.

“H,” he says quietly, stepping close. “Hey, look at me.”

Harry shakes his head. “I think I should go home.”

“Please, don’t do that,” Louis sighs. “I know I keep fucking this up. Somehow, as hard as I try not to, I do it anyway. But there’s never been a point where I didn’t want you. When you were sitting in my hospital room. And when you were on stage at your show. And when you made me that smoothie. Every time I’m with you and even when I’m not, I want you so much.”

Harry finds it in him to make eye contact now. And his face is flushed and his eyes are red-rimmed and damp. But he listens and that’s all Louis needs.

“I needed time to figure that all out. Because I’m leaving in August. And I’m fucking terrified of losing you,” Louis says. It feels at once like he’s unburdening himself and losing a huge part of himself too. Like he’s just handed Harry this chunk of his heart to do with as he pleases.

The truth is that he’s been scared ever since someone drove a knife through his gut in an alleyway a few weeks ago. But Harry makes him feel safe. Harry makes him feel like he can breathe. Like it’s okay not to constantly look over his shoulder because Harry’s watching his back.

And at the same time, Louis is terrified of Harry too, terrified of giving him the power to do what the man in the alley did, except in a different way, terrified of giving Harry his heart.

Admitting that fear to Harry feels like the biggest weight lifted off his chest. There’s no turning back from here. And Louis is tired of being afraid.

“I wanted to tell you about the transfer. But I was terrified of what it’d mean, if that’d be it for us. And I can’t lose you, Harry,” Louis says.

He finds that his last words aren’t scary at all.

“I can’t lose you ‘cause I think I’m in love with you.”

Harry sighs, his eyes closing for a second. And then he tangles his big hands in Louis’ collar and gives him a yank forward. It takes Louis by surprise. Harry’s always been gentle with him. But now he holds him tight and close and crushes their lips together so forcefully, Louis knows his will bruise.

“Take me home,” he says to him. “Now, please.”

They don’t even bother going back inside to say bye to Zayn and Liam. They catch a cab home and Harry runs his mouth over Louis’ stubble and down the side of his neck before pulling back to kiss him.

It may seem like an odd time for Louis to note this, but he was so wrong about the fucking lip ring. That little silver hoop is sex. When Harry runs his tongue over it, it completely undoes Louis. He has to push their mouths together so he has a chance to run his tongue over it too.

“I want to fucking ruin you.”

Harry groans. “Yes. Fuck yes. Please.”

Louis honestly doesn’t even know if either of them are going to make it home. Harry looks about ready to climb into Louis’ lap and Louis won’t try to stop him.

But then the cab driver pulls up hastily to the curb, happy enough to be rid of the two of them. Louis pays well over the amount of the fare to make up for it.

When they hustle into the empty lift, Harry pushes Louis into the corner and reaches down to smooth his hands over Louis’ bum. He starts on a bruise beneath his jaw while Louis jabs the button for his floor.

“Can’t believe you were doing that on purpose, grinding your arse all over me when I was trying to sleep,” Louis comments.

“Was just trying to get what I want,” Harry says.

“Next time, just ask.”

Harry pulls away from Louis’ neck and looks at him, his eyes hooded. “Okay. Then when we get inside, will you fuck me?”

Louis licks his lips. “See? That wasn’t hard at all,” he says. The lift dings and comes to a stop. Louis presses a hand against Harry’s waist and urges him out.

“And the answer is yes,” he adds.

The second they’re in Louis’ apartment, Harry’s back on him, pressing up against him. They kiss just like that for so long, breathing hot into each other’s mouths, running their tongues together. And then Harry sinks to his knees.

“Jesus—” Louis breathes out when Harry has his cock exposed in under five seconds and licks at the head. He’s getting him all slick with spit, rubbing his lips down the length of him. And when he sinks his mouth down around him, Louis thinks he’ll come any second. He watches Harry bob his head over him until it becomes too much. He taps his jaw gently.

“Haz—“ he murmurs. Harry must read that as encouragement because he sucks Louis all the way down until Louis feels his cock nudge the back of his throat. Louis slumps against the metal door, while Harry moans appreciatively and swallows around him.

Louis’ hand fists in his hair. “Fuck, Harry,” he warns and tries to pull him off right before he comes. But Harry digs his nails into Louis’ thighs because clearly he wants this too. And Louis wants to give it to him.

So he holds on tight to his hair when he feels the first band of come shoot off into Harry’s mouth. Harry looks up at him, his eyes wet and his face pink. He pulls back but keeps his mouth open obscenely, lets Louis’ come land on his tongue. His eyes flutter closed in what looks like gratitude. Louis has honestly never seen anything more beautiful.

He strokes himself, working out more come to decorate Harry’s tongue, which he holds out for him patiently. And when Louis is finished, Harry licks his lips, and swallows.

For a second, Louis is just looking at him. And Harry is looking up at him. He drags his hand over his mouth. His cock noticeably strains against his jeans, to the point where it must be painful. “Louis—” he begins to plea, his voice fucking ruined.

“Up,” Louis says, releasing his hair, taking his hand. “Come on, baby, up, up, up.”

Harry pushes himself to his feet and Louis holds his hand and twirls him around, waltz-style, and guides him to his room. He’ll need a moment before he’s ready for round two. But he plans to pass the time getting Harry to the point where he’s weeping for it.

Louis shuts the door behind them and Harry seats himself on the bed right away, pulling off his shirt, kicking away his shoes. Such a good boy.

Louis comes to stand between his legs while Harry lies back so Louis can pull his jeans down his long legs. He parts his legs, displaying his flushed cock, curled over and spreading pre-come between the two laurels on his tummy.

Louis presses a kiss to the inside of Harry’s knee, smoothing his hand along Harry’s thighs. “You’re so incredibly beautiful,” he says against his skin. He feels like he says this a lot now, in his head or directly to Harry. He might never stop saying it. He attaches his lips to the inside of his thigh and sucks hard.

“So are you,” Harry gasps out, his hips rising off the bed. Louis looks up at him, finds him to be biting his lip the way he always does. Harry reaches for him, pulling on his shoulders. Louis climbs over top of him and gives Harry the kiss he’s looking for, parting his lips with his tongue.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?” Harry breaks away to ask petulantly.

Louis laughs and pulls back so he can tug his shirt up over his head. Harry helps him and tosses the shirt away as if it’s personally offensive to him. He pushes at Louis’ jeans next, shoving them down his thighs until Louis can kick them away.

Harry presses a kiss to the center of Louis’ chest.

“One day, I’ll compose a song about your body,” he murmurs, licking over his right nipple.

Louis shivers while Harry moves down, spreading kisses to his navel. “I’m looking forward to it.”

And then Harry kisses softly over the left side of Louis’ abdomen, where there’s a jagged scar left from weeks prior. Louis’ eyes slip shut.

“Have I said yet that I love you too?” Harry speaks quietly and looks up at him, running his hands up Louis’ back. “And I’m really fucking glad you made it.”

Louis brushes a kiss over his smiling lips. “And I’m glad you found me. You and not anyone else.”

It seems like such a silly thing to say. When he was lying in that alley, he would have been happy for anyone's help. But he's so fucking glad that it was Harry.

He hates to think about what happened in terms of fate, that it was written in the stars that he would be at the brink of death and a kind-hearted punk rocker would come by at just the right time. He doesn’t want to believe that the only way he and Harry would have met is by those circumstances.

But he’s not sure if the person he was before the attack would have been right for someone as good as Harry. He remembers thinking that sex with Harry would be the only thing they would amount to because the person Louis was back then didn’t want anything more. Harry has always deserved more than that.

It’s possible that in this colossal city, they might have crossed paths at one point or another. But he’s not sure that they would have exchanged more than a passing glance.

He thinks what it boils down to is that regardless of everything else, he’s glad his life has led up to this point right here.

Harry settles into the mattress again, his legs parted, his eyes steady on Louis.

Louis doesn’t draw out the wait for too long. Although when he has his fingers slick with lube and he’s sliding one, then two, then three past Harry’s rim, he’s meticulous about it. He focuses on every twitch of Harry’s brow and every sound that falls out of his open mouth. He rubs his fingers inside of him like a caress, driving Harry to the point where he’s whining and pushing down on Louis’ fingers and then murmuring, “pleasepleaseplease.”

And then Louis scrabbles for the condom he threw somewhere on the duvet and rolls it on as quickly as his dazed mind will allow.

It’s not a surprise that Harry feels as good as he does. Because he feels good all over. No matter where Louis touches him, each touch is always incredible. But also because they’ve both waited so long.

For a moment, they move slowly, gently. Louis pushes the hair away from Harry’s forehead, brushing kisses over his temple as they glide together. Harry tucks his face into Louis’ neck, breathing quiet moans.

And then the drag of Louis’ cock gets to be too much. Harry starts panting, drawing his nails down Louis’ back. “God, yes.”

“You feel good, babe?”

“So good, Louis, yes.” He repeats that. So good. So, so good. Like an incantation. Like he’s casting a spell.

And Louis feels enchanted.

It builds and builds. The heady, magical thing happening within and between them.

His thrusts turn erratic, each one shifting Harry up the mattress, dismantling the bedding. Harry grunts and whines and pleads and then he’s shivering when Louis wraps his hand around him and works him through his high.

It keeps building for Louis until it can’t anymore until he pounds his fist into the mattress and Harry twists his hands in his hair, murmuring encouragement as he comes. Louis pushes their panting mouths together until he can breathe and slow to a still.

“I love you, I do, Harry. I love you so much,” he says, resting his head down.

Harry nods and he sounds choked up when he speaks, “Me too. I love you too.”

Louis waits to pull out, finding comfort and calm right where he is in Harry’s arms with Harry still snug around him.

Eventually he presses one kiss to Harry’s mouth and leaves him to fill the tub. Harry lies there, moonlight spilling in over the curve of his back and the swell of his bum, and after the tub is filled, Louis takes a moment to just watch him.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs, leaning over to speak near his ear.

Harry hums in response. His eyes remain closed.

“Come take a bath with me,” Louis says, brushing his thumb of his cheek and coaxing his eyes open.

“Sounds nice,” Harry smiles.

He’s so sated and relaxed he nearly falls asleep. But Louis doesn’t need him awake to wash him down, dragging a flannel over his chest, scrubbing his scalp with shampoo and the pads of his fingers. He’s overwhelmed by the urge to take care of Harry’s every need, to keep him this content for the rest of his life.

He thinks that’s what love does to a person.

Later, they lie in bed while Harry traces the stag on his bicep.

They don’t talk about the job again (though Louis knows they’ll have to at some point), except for when Harry asks him sleepily, “Are you ready to leave New York? After what’s happened?”

Louis doesn’t stop running his fingers through Harry’s hair, but he hesitates before answering. “You would think so,” he says. “But no. I have a lot going for me here.”

And I have you.

Louis doesn’t say it. But he thinks the way he looks at Harry might say it for him.

Harry snuggles up closer to him and shuts his eyes. “Tell me more in the morning?”

Louis presses a kiss to his forehead and listens for the second Harry’s breathing evens out. He stays up long after that, feeling the fear hovering around him, in the corners of the room or just outside his door.

But when he holds a little tighter to Harry, it ebbs.

He shuts his eyes and drifts to sleep.

> > > < < <

“Can I eat you out?”

Louis thinks he’s still dreaming or something. His face is buried in a pillow and he’s sprawled out on his stomach, feeling fantastic after the best sleep of his life, and the best dreams too.

So when he hears the question, it doesn’t click right away that he’s awake.

“Fuck yeah you can,” he mumbles.

And the bed shifts and Louis blinks just as Harry is pressing his fingers into Louis’ hips.

Louis looks back at him, his lips parted.

Oh. So this is actually happening.

“Gonna do it like this, okay?” Harry asks.

Louis can barely talk, suddenly choked up with anticipation. It thrums all through his body, especially where Harry’s hands are dragging his hips up. Louis gives a nod of his head.

Or maybe he is dreaming after all.

Harry slides his hands up over Louis’ bum and spreads him apart. He runs his thumb between Louis’ crease, applying a little pressure. Louis decides then that he’s not going to watch this unfold. Because Harry has this determined look on his face and when he licks his lips, Louis realizes he intends to ruin him.

As with most things, Louis turns out to be right. Harry gives him one tentative lick and that’s all the preparation he gets before Harry seals his mouth over his rim and goes to fucking town.

“Oh, God…” Louis mumbles, burying his face back into his pillow, knotting his fist up in his sheets.

“Hm?” he hears Harry hum, sending little vibrations over his hole. This fucking punk rock motherfucker. Louis can’t even breathe.

Harry doesn’t wait for an answer. Clearly, he’s not interested in having one. He pushes his tongue past Louis’ rim, using the tip of his thumb to spread him open a bit more. And he fucks him like that, in and out with his ridiculous tongue.

Louis isn’t beyond crying. He’d started tearing up a little last night because in general, sex is always good for him. But sex with the person he loves? That’s of a new caliber. He never saw it coming with how hard it hit him emotionally, until he was close to coming and the edges of his eyes started burning with the threat of tears.

Maybe he did cry a little. But right now he wants to full on weep.

It all feels so good. To be well rested, to be loved and to be in love. And now to be serviced like fucking royalty.

Most of all, to feel safe. Because he knows Harry can take him apart and obliterate the world as he knows it with his perfect tongue (and maybe someday soon, his cock too) but he’ll always bring Louis back together again.

What he’s gained in the past month is all so much better than anything he’s achieved in the past 28 years of his life.

Louis reaches back to tangle his fingers in Harry’s hair because that always encourages him, no matter what he’s doing.

Harry hums again and sucks more purposefully, his face buried in Louis’ ass. He runs his tongue up through his crease, pushes his thumb into his hole.

“Harry,” Louis actually whines. When his eyes roll and flutter shut, he thinks he sees the gates of heaven (or hell actually) part for one second. His knees start to shake and he wants to collapse on the mattress but Harry holds his hips tighter, keeps him right up against his mouth, cutting half-moons into his skin.

“Fucking hell,” Louis groans into his pillow. “Fuck. Harry…babe, I—”

Harry reaches up, trailing his fingers over Louis’ balls and strokes him. He only needs to do it twice, three times maybe, Louis doesn’t remember. He comes in a chorus of swears and blinding morning light, feeling Harry’s breath puff against his damp hole. He finally lets his hips sink down to the mattress and Louis lies there, panting for breath.

When he looks Harry is sitting back on his haunches, looking like the perfect boy he is. He smiles, wild curls framing his face, dimples like smiles of their own. “Good morning.”

Louis doesn’t know when because his brain is still too addled to produce logical thoughts but someday, he’s going to put a ring on this kid’s finger. That’s for damn sure.

> > > < < <

Louis sets his hand against the brick, feeling the rough surface collide with the ridges of his fingerprints. The air smells earthy and yet rank. The skip stands nearby, perhaps loaded with trash.

“You could just stay right here,” Harry says, hovering just behind him. “You don’t have to go any further than this.”

Louis knows that. He does but… “Where’d you find me?”

“Couple more feet. Closer to the skip,” Harry informs him.

Louis nods, sucking in a deep breath through his nose. He glances farther down but there’s no one in sight. Sunlight reflects off the windows overhead. Some are open. Music trickles out from one. Nothing stands out as unusual or unnerving.

Louis has to take another breath and then another before he can more forward. Harry moves with him, staying close, ready to reach out and carry Louis to safety if need be.

A pigeon flutters out from behind the skip, its wing flapping loud and unexpected. Louis freezes for just one second, blinking rapidly. His nostrils flare when he breathes out.

“You’re doing great."

Louis doesn’t glance at Harry when he says it. But he clings to those words, to Harry’s voice. It’s like a battle song, urging him on.

“Just a bit more,” Harry says.

Louis nods, licking his lips. He keeps moving, his heart thudding loud in his ears. He takes five more steps

“Right here, Lou. Right here.”

He stops walking, his eyes flickering around the spot. "Here?"

"This is it," Harry says.

Louis stares down at the uneven cement beneath his feet, pictures himself lying there for just a second. It’s rained several times since the attack. Any traces of blood are long gone or too faint to make out.

Louis isn’t looking to recount what happened here. He can’t see the point in doing that. And even Dr. Marin advised against it.

He’s just looking to reclaim this ground, to write a new memory over the one that lingers here.

He turns and looks at Harry, finds him with a small, cautious smile on his face.

“Smells like piss,” Louis tells him.

Harry’s smile deepens. “I noticed,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “…how do you feel?”

Louis swallows and looks around, releasing a sigh.

“Weird,” he admits. And then he smiles too. “Alive.”

> > > < < <

They finally have the conversation Louis’ been dreading. But he knows it has to happen if he wants to make this work. And he does.

“Should I get my nipples pierced or like my cock or something?”

Harry chokes on his banana. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking I want a piercing. Like one of yours,” Louis says.

“So you narrowed it down to the two most painful piercings you could get?” Harry asks, his brows raised.

Louis shrugs. “Love is pain.”

Harry puts down his jar of peanut butter and his half-eaten banana and gives Louis a serious look. “You can’t get a piercing because you love me. That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not just because I love you. I actually think they’re cool. And I really want one,” Louis says.

“In your nipples or your cock?” Harry deadpans.

“Okay, well, maybe not there. Maybe like my ear or something.”

Harry smiles. “Okay. Yeah, baby steps,” he says. “We’ll go to the place I go to. So you can just check it all out.”

And that’s what they end up doing. Harry frequents this tattoo parlor on 36^th Street. When they step inside, Harry’s immediately greeted by a woman sitting behind the register. Louis realizes in the next second that it’s Lou.

The man further back in the shop, currently holding a tattoo gun, turns out to be her husband, Tom. He also greets Harry with a big hug, and then chats with Louis about all the different kinds of piercings, the usual ones and some Louis can’t look at for very long without feeling faint.

He isn’t intent on having any work done right this instant. They happened to be in the area buying lunch when Harry mentioned that the shop was right up the street and that was what brought them here.

But now Louis watches someone else getting pierced and he feels the same thrum of excitement he did when he got his first two tattoos: the triangle on his ankle and the stag on his bicep.

So before he knows it, he’s sitting down to have his ear pierced. Harry tries to tell him about which ones are less painful and blah blah blah. Louis’ grateful, really he is. But he’s never let the pain stop him before.

So he gets his cartilage pierced and yeah it hurts like a bitch and throbs for the rest of the day. But when Harry sits down and gets the same piercing, Louis doesn’t care.

“Are you sure?” Louis keeps asking him while Tom is wiping down his ear with alcohol.

He knows it’s just a piercing but it feels like a much bigger deal.

“Positive,” Harry says. He doesn’t even flinch when Tom pierces him. He smiles the whole time like the thing merely tickles. Louis is a little put out, and suspicious that Tom somehow made his own experience more painful.

As they’re paying, Louis looks at all the photos of completed tattoos on the wall, along with sketches of designs, and one of them catches his eye.

“Hey,” Louis says, stepping closer. “Isn’t that the butterfly you have on your stomach?”

“Moth,” Harry corrects, not for the first time. Louis will remember that on his own eventually. “And that’s the one.”

“What are the words there above it?” Louis asks, trying to read them himself.

“It is what it is,” Harry says.

Louis keeps thinking about that long afterwards.

(Before the end of the summer, he comes back with Harry and has the words tattooed across his chest. Harry is so turned on by the whole experience, he takes Louis back to his room and rides him into delirium.)

> > > < < <

A week after Louis’ piercing, they have the real conversation Louis’ been dreading. The one that actually determines whether their relationship lasts as long as he wants it too.

Harry is polishing his violin when Louis’ asks, “So, why are you going home after graduation?” When Harry glances at him, Louis adds. “Why not stay here in New York?”

Harry hesitates to answer. “I think I’ll stay here actually.”

Louis’ brows crease. “I thought you told Zayn you were heading back to Cheshire.”

“I did, yeah. But. That was before…” Harry trails off. He glances up at him again.

Before Louis.

Warmth curls in his stomach and throughout his veins, and he finds himself smiling. Harry doesn’t see it though because he’s looked back down, running his cloth over the body of his violin.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing. Things will be really flexible for me after graduation. I could join a troupe anywhere or teach. It’s hard work and it’s competitive but either here or back home, it’ll be the same.”

Harry seems sort of fidgety and nervous, like this conversation might end badly for him if he doesn’t say the right things. Truthfully, Louis is projecting. He’s been fidgeting himself since he asked his first question. Because Louis needs for this conversation to work out okay. Louis needs to say exactly the right things.

“It doesn’t matter where you go,” he states. “As long as you’re happy.”

“I’m happy right now,” Harry says.

They’re doing this thing where they talk around the big issue. The nuances between what Harry says and what he means aren’t subtle at all. What Louis thinks he means is that he’s happy right now because he’s with Louis and he doesn’t want that to change.

Louis doesn’t either.

But things don’t always work that way.

The only thing for them to do is face their shitty circumstances head on. It’s the only sure route to a resolution. And that’s what they both need right now.

“We’re going to make this work,” Louis tells him.

Harry exhales a breath. It’s shocking that he sounds relieved, that he thought Louis would say anything else. If only he knew how thoroughly Louis belonged to him, how bound Louis felt to him now, he’d realize no other response made sense.

“It’s a big distance, I know. But we’ll make it work. Because I want it to work and as long as you do too, that’s all that matters right now.”

Louis has more than enough money to fly back and forth to New York. He’s sure some of those trips would even be paid for by the company if he was called in for shows or conferences. And flying so much, he’d rack up a bunch of rewards points too.

He could fly to New York to spend his weekends with Harry. Or even fly Harry into London, which he’s sure Harry’s family would appreciate.

He knows he can make it work. He knows he needs Harry to make this work too. Relationships are a two-way street and all that. But he wants this more than anything else in the world and he knows Harry wants it too.

“Of course I do,” Harry says. “I want so badly for this to work.”

“Good. That’s all I need to hear, babe,” Louis says.

Harry smiles and puts his violin aside. He shuffles forward to hug Louis close.

“We’ll do this together, yeah?” Louis mumbles, running his hand down the back of Harry’s hair. He feels him nod and then Harry draws back to press their lips together.

“Absolutely,” he says.

They’re in this for the long haul, for whatever the rest of the summer brings, and the fall too. They’re in this for the sure struggle the distance will be, for the amazing times they’ll have together and the awful ones.

Louis is still scared. Of course he is. If this fails, he loses the greatest person he’s ever met.

But also Louis feels braver than ever. Because he has Harry in his arms. And because weeks ago, he literally looked death in the face and said “not fucking today, pal.”

He thinks if he could make it through that, he can make it through anything.

> > > < < <

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Louis sits on a bench in the middle of Cambridge University’s campus. There aren’t many students in sight on account of it being December and winter hols started only recently.

He wraps his arms more tightly around himself when a bitter wind passes through. Shouldn’t be much longer now.

He hasn’t seen Harry in person for two weeks.

It’s a much shorter time than most couples in long-distance relationships have to suffer through. Over the past five months, they’ve actually seen a lot of each other. Because Louis was 100% serious about flying to New York on the weekends—though he limited it to every two weeks or whenever he was called in for business.

Still, those two weeks may not be a tremendously long time but he dreads them nonetheless. And the culmination of three days he gets with Harry in between never quite makes up for it.

But the last time Louis was in New York, it was for Harry’s graduation on December 11^th. And now Harry’s home indeterminately. It’s a few days before Christmas and he has this audition for a position he really seems want, even when he pretends otherwise.

Harry was reluctant about trying for any jobs in the UK. He never says it explicitly but finding work here isn’t ideal if Louis is headed back to New York in January.

But Louis has been doing a lot of thinking about the future, specifically about his future with Harry. And they have much to discuss.

When Harry comes out of the ornate building ahead, violin case in hand, Louis lights up like the Christmas tree he passed on the train ride here. He stands to his feet and walks to meet him halfway.

“Hi,” Harry says, smiling wide. He cups Louis’ face and kisses him softly.

It’s weird seeing him without all his piercings but he must have removed them for his interview. The holes in his ears have closed significantly since he got rid of his gages in the fall.

He hugs Louis close and Louis buries his face in his chest and holds onto him, just breathing him in.

“How’d it go?”

Harry smiles. “Really good. Normally at auditions, everyone’s just really stoic, you know? But there was this one man who started clapping when I was done. I must have played his favorite song.”

“Or you were just phenomenal and he couldn’t help himself,” Louis suggests.

“Hm, that too,” Harry says, kissing Louis again.

“Bet you’ll probably get the position then, huh?” Louis says.

Harry shrugs. “Dunno. I could. But I’m still looking at jobs in New York too. There are plenty of opportunities for me there too. Nothing’s set in stone—”

Louis kisses him to shut him up. Harry does this every time, just goes off on lengthy monologues about being flexible and not setting things in stone. He’s always desperate to reassure Louis. But perhaps to also reassure himself. The distance, and the thought of it being indefinite, is hard for them both.

So Louis kisses him until he’s soft and placid in his arms because for now that will quell his nerves.

“I missed you,” Harry sighs into his mouth, running his hand over the back of Louis’s head.

“Same here. Thought waiting for you to get home this time would be easy,” Louis says. “But even when I know we have so much time now to look forward to, the wait sucks just as badly.”

Harry laughs, his face buried in Louis’ neck while he hugs him. “Agreed.”

“Passed a tea shop on the way here. Want something to warm you up?” Louis asks.

“Or, better idea…” Harry murmurs, his mouth brushing over Louis’ ear. “You can warm me up.”

Much better idea.

“Don’t know why I didn’t think of that,” Louis says. He pulls back to look Harry in the eye. “But there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Harry’s smile falters. “Are you okay?” he asks immediately.

“Yes, you’re here so I’m perfect. But I want to tell you something,” Louis says, sliding his hand into Harry’s. He brings their joined hands to his mouth and presses a reassuring kiss to Harry’s knuckles. “Come on.”

Harry has another bag strapped over his shoulder, so Louis takes his violin case for him. The teashop is within walking distance from the university and the train stop. They take a seat by a window that’s clouded by frost. Wood logs in an iron furnace crackle in the corner nearby.

Louis wishes he weren’t so on edge, so he could enjoy how romantic it all is, or how the little candle in the center of their table casts dancing light on Harry’s face.

Harry orders a cup of chai. Louis orders classic Yorkshire. And they share a complimentary plate of tea biscuits.

“Okay,” Harry says. “If you don’t start talking, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Louis smiles, replacing his teacup on its saucer.

“I want to stay here,” he says. “Well, not here in Cambridge. But in London.”

Harry’s frozen there, looking at him and trying to comprehend what Louis’ just said, when suddenly there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He makes a clear effort to keep cool. “What about New York? And the job?” he asks.

Louis shakes his head, turning his teacup as he thinks. “Things have changed so much since the start of the summer. Things that used to seem important don’t anymore. I love New York. I always will. But everything I need right now is here,” he says. “And my job right now is actually a lot of fun. I’ve started—” Louis pauses to laugh at himself.

“What?” Harry urges him, full on grinning now.

Louis pushes his fringe to the side. “I’ve started designing kids clothes. Baby clothes too. Just in my spare time, it's like I can't stop. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal. But I’m used to working on menswear. I’m used to big markets and all that. And now I’ve taken up this interest in the smallest market possible.”

“But you like it,” Harry says, just to be sure.

“I love it,” Louis says. “Every day they bring kids in to the office. It’s so weird working with kids as models. They’re all ridiculous and silly but, I don’t know, it’s fun…and I want to keep doing it. At least for now.”

When Harry smiles, his eyes crinkle and it causes a tear that’s been building up to spill over onto his cheek. He wipes at it with the sleeve of his jumper. “That’s really great,” he sniffs.

Louis knows it’s not just about the job. Or how much fun he’s been having there.

It’s about them having the chance to be together indefinitely. And that’s what makes Louis’ eyes fill with tears too.

“Fuck,” he says, removing his glasses to swipe his sleeve over his eyes.

Harry laughs and puts his face in his hands. “This is ridiculous,” he says, his voice muffled.

“Crying in a bloody tea shop,” Louis adds, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to make them stop. “These people must think we’re crazy.”

“We are. Crazy about each other,” Harry singsongs.

Louis rolls his eyes. “God. I think it’s bed time for you, Harry.”

“Are you planning on joining me?” Harry wiggles his brows.

Louis calls for the check because Harry’s getting progressively obscene, Louis still feels like crying, and there’s a bed in London with their names all over it.

> > > < < <

Of all the stupid things Louis has ever done, this would have to take the cake, the pie, and everything else.

Louis leaves the fucking ring at home.

He’s been building up to this moment forever, planning it down to the very second. It’s why he was so adamant about them celebrating New Year’s with their families all together.

Because when the clock struck twelve, Louis was going to pop the question and make 2015 the best year of Harry’s life.

But he leaves. the ring. at home.

When he regretfully informs his mum and Harry’s mum, along with Charlotte and Gemma, who are all congregated in Harry’s family’s kitchen, Anne offers to let Louis use one of her husband’s rings.

“He has something simple that I think would work for now,” Anne says.

Gemma has stopped laughing long enough to say, “No, you can’t propose with someone else’s ring. Unless it’s an heirloom or something. Otherwise it’s bad luck.”

And Charlotte stops laughing to agree with her.

Louis feels like a proper tit. He glances at Harry, who’s on the balcony showing his younger cousin how to safely hold a sparkler and Louis wants nothing more than for this to be the night.

But then Gemma makes a pouty face at him. “Cheer up, Lou,” she says. “Grab the tequila and we’ll party like you did propose.”

When his mum and Anne snicker, Louis accepts that he will be the laughing stock of New Year’s Eve. It’s fine. There are worse fates.

At midnight, everyone throws up a cheer and puts their novelty noisemakers to use. The fireworks being broadcast on the TV from all over the world are even louder. Harry grabs Louis’ face and gives him a kiss that might not be appropriate with little children around. He kisses him until Louis’ eyes slip closed and he wraps his arms tight around Harry’s waist.

“Happy New Year, babe,” Harry says when he pulls away.

Louis grins. “Happy New Year.”

As promised, the little kids are put to bed as soon as the fireworks finish. And that’s when Harry, Louis and his best friend, Stan, Gemma, her boyfriend, and Lottie start in on the tequila.

They crank up some music, including this really odd remix of Auld Lang Syne.

Louis doesn’t know how much he has to drink. But the stars start doing this trippy swirling thing whenever he moves and he feels unreasonably brave, like he could just do anything, maybe even stretch his arm all the way up, grab a star, and use it to propose. He thinks Harry might like that.

He looks at Harry who’s sitting beside him laughing at Gemma chasing her boyfriend, Rob, with a sparkler. Someone honestly should stop them because that can’t be safe.

But Louis is too busy looking at Harry. He’s just so beautiful. Brighter than every firework in the sky tonight. And Louis is so in love with him, it actually hurts. Or maybe that’s just the tequila burning his throat. But whatever, he’s so in love.

“I want to marry you,” Louis says. God, he’s so drunk, he doesn’t even think to panic once he’s said it.

Harry chuckles. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s do it.”

Harry thinks he’s joking or something. Louis understands because it’s probably hard to take anything seriously right now.

“I mean it,” Louis mumbles anyway.

Harry blinks at him and his mouth drops open in this way that is so fucking adorable, Louis wishes he could take a picture. In fact, yeah, he might. He starts digging around in his pocket for his phone and Harry must think he’s going for a ring because he gasps. “Oh my god. Are you proposing to me? Louis, I’m so drunk.”

“No,” Louis says. Harry’s face falls. “I mean, yes. I want to marry you. But I forgot the ring.”

This is not something they should be discussing while drunk. Louis just can’t seem to shut up.

“No, you did not,” Harry sputters and then dissolves into laughter.

Louis is offended for maybe two seconds before he starts laughing too.

“Oh my God,” Harry barks, his head tilted back, his curls all wild and swaying gently. “You forgot the fucking—Holy shit.”

“I did,” Louis says.

Harry makes a choking sound. “The champagne just came out my nose,” he whines and giggles again and he just keeps laughing.

Louis wipes his custom-made Burberry sleeve under Harry’s nose. “Stop laughing at me,” he pouts.

Harry presses his lips together in an attempt to do so. But it doesn’t work. Eventually Harry becomes too drunk to remember exactly why he’s laughing, which Louis appreciates. If he weren’t so drunk himself, he thinks this would all be way more embarrassing.

“Louis,” Harry mumbles, a little later when they’re curled up on the floor in the living room. The only light provided is from the fireplace and the moon cutting in through the blinds. Everyone else has gone to sleep. Louis thought Harry was asleep too and he’d been getting there himself.

“Yes, love?” he murmurs back.

“Ask me again when I’m sober.”

Louis blinks and looks at him. Harry’s eyes are shut. He exhales this sleepy sigh and his breathing grows even. Louis trails his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip.

“I will,” he says.

> > > < < <

At five in the morning, Louis wakes to go to the loo and fetch a glass of water. He’s still dizzy from overdoing it with the tequila and champagne. He thinks he should maybe find something for Harry to change into instead of wearing those jeans. He digs around in the bag he packed for them both this morning and pulls out his smaller bag of toiletries in hopes of finding some paracetamol too.

He begins to reach inside and freezes, his fingers hovering over the red box tucked next to his aftershave.

He can’t remember packing it in here. It’s not exactly the best place to hide anything. But earlier yesterday morning in their hurry to catch the train to Holmes Chapel, it’s quite possible it slipped his mind.

But it doesn’t matter now. He grabs for the box, dropping the bag back in with their clothes, and pops it open just to be sure. Moonlight refracts on the smooth surface of the platinum band, sitting prettily in its velvet perch.

Louis snaps the box closed. He knows it’s too early. And even though his mum has already gone back home, he knows he should probably wait at least until Harry’s family wakes up. But he can’t. He doesn’t want to wait any longer than he already has.

He sits cross-legged beside Harry, watching his face for a moment. He pops the box open again and slides the ring out. He gently lifts Harry’s hand into his own.

“Harry,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

Harry’s eyes twitch but stay closed.

Louis kisses his hand again, giving it a little shake. “Haz, can you wake up?”

Harry hums. It’s a good thing Louis will only ever have to do this once. Because so far he thinks he’s done a shit job of it. He happens to be holding Harry’s left hand and his ring finger is just waiting there. So Louis slips the ring onto his finger.

It’s not like he didn’t already say yes. Granted, they were drunk. But still it counts. Louis studies the ring on Harry’s hand until his eyes start to prickle. He takes a breath.

“Harry. I need you to wake up for me, please?” Louis murmurs.

“Wha’s the matter?” Harry groans.

“Just want to show you something.”

Harry’s eyes open into unhappy slits. “Show me what?”

Louis doesn’t answer because the ring is right in front of Harry’s face. He just waits for him to notice.

And then Harry blinks, and raises his head a bit, scrutinizing their joined hands closely.

“Louis,” Harry says. “What—”

“Marry me?” Louis says. Harry’s eyes go wide. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Wherever you go, that’s where I want to go too.”

Harry sits up, the blanket slipping down his shoulders.

“You are my constant star,” Louis exhales quietly. Harry makes a sound like a whimper. Louis smiles, “You are. So…please, Harry, will you? …Marry me?”

And right then Harry’s face crumbles and he shuts his eyes and ducks his head. “Sorry, just give me a second—” he murmurs, covering his face with his free hand.

Louis laughs. “Could you maybe say ‘yes’ and then cry?”

“Yes. Fuck, yes, of course, I’ll marry you,” Harry says, pulling Louis closer. "Of course."

When they kiss, Louis’ cheek and the tip of his nose grow wet from Harry’s tears. But he doesn’t mind at all. Louis must start crying at some point too because Harry starts wiping his thumb over his cheek.

They go from just hugging each other tightly, to kissing softly. Then Louis’ tongue swipes over Harry’s lip ring and Harry makes a needy sound that changes the nature and intent of every touch thereafter.

They grab all the blankets scattered around the floor. Louis gets the lube and a condom from his duffle. And they snuggle up together beside the fire, using the blankets to cover themselves from view.

Harry fucks him for the first time. He’s gracious and eager and committed to making Louis feel as good as possible. And he does. Each time he rocks his hips forward, Louis tells him so. He urges him on with his fingers tangled up in his hair and his legs locked around his waist and Harry gives it better than Louis could ever ask.

“I love you,” he grits out. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Harry buries his face in Louis’ neck. “Love you too,” he murmurs.

Louis thinks Harry might be crying again, and when his vision begins to cloud with tears, he doesn’t bother to stop them from flowing freely either. He turns his face into Harry’s hair to muffle his voice, conscious of being too loud, especially when the pleasure gets to be too much.

They press their lips together fiercely to keep from moaning loud when they come and intertwine their fingers and fall asleep whispering promises of forever.

> > > < < <

In the summer, they return to New York and get married on the rooftop of the bar where Louis first heard Harry sing.

Zayn coordinates the ceremony and reception, combining classic wedding styles with a touch of punk rock. They all wear Burberry because Louis is nothing if not loyal. Liam calls in his team of photographers. Niall brings a DJ.

And Harry and Louis say “I do” under a sky full of stars and amidst the friends and family they hold dearest.

Years later, whenever Louis thinks back on the city, he finds it hard to remember anything else that’s happened there.

Aside from the fact that it’s where Harry saved him.