You like to preach with a vodka in your mug

Chapter four

"What do you want for your birthday?" Harry mumbles as he gives up fiddling with his hair. Louis told him fifteen minutes ago that it looks good and the more he touches it, the more he'll mess it up and Harry hadn't believed him. "I already have your Christmas present idea but I don't know what else you want. Usually you rattle on about something."

"I do not."

"Last year all I heard about in November and December was how you wanted a new stand for your guitar."

"That's because it broke."

"Yeah but you still went on about it." Harry shakes his head and looks expectantly at his hair. It clearly doesn't fall the way he wants it to because he starts tugging harshly at it until Louis steps in and grabs a hold of both of his hands and kisses the top of his head.

"Get dressed and come back to your hair."

Harry huffs but does as Louis suggests anyway.

"So do I need to break something of yours so I can buy you a new one?"

"Go for it."

Harry giggles and throws his shirt at Louis once he'd taken it off.

"Come on," Harry whinges, "there's gotta be something you want to give your loving, adoring, clueless boyfriend a hint at."

"There's one thing you could do, not buy." Harry's ears prick expectantly. "Talk to someone, honestly I don't mind who, about how much you drink."

"Lou," Harry frowns dully, "I do not have a problem."

"What time did you start drinking today?"

"How do you know I've been drinking?"

"I don't need to ask anymore."

Harry rolls his eyes and giggles before turning around and opening his wardrobe doors. He stays silent as he looks through to find a nice shirt and trousers and contemplates a sheer shirt before putting it back and pulling out one with colourful birds on it.

Forgetting he needs to get dressed himself, Louis stares at Harry for a little. He's acting less garish than he usually does when he's tipsy and Louis thinks that maybe he misjudged him. Harry pulls a face at him in the mirror when he sits down to do his hair again and Louis pulls one back but he's surprisingly normal.

"I didn't drink until I got home from work," Harry beams as he delicately combs through his curls with a round brush (Louis had teased him when he first got it, saying he looked like an old lady; Harry had made a joke about teasing combs), "so half four."

"You did your whole shift without anything?"

"Yeah. I had a banging headache but it was fine." Harry shrugs before pouting at his hair and begging Louis to help him. "See, not addicted."

"Well, if you have to say you're not addicted," Louis tusks, earning himself a dull look from Harry. "Okay, what are we doing with hair, Mr Grumpy Pants?"

"Just," Harry shrugs, "something."

"Mohawk it is."

Harry rolls his eyes but cracks a smile. Preening into Louis' touch, Harry revels in getting his hair done and promises Louis good head later on once he's done. Louis kisses him – maybe dishevelling his hair a bit in the process – and tells him he'll hold him to that. He won't but Harry salutes him and starts picking out which trousers would match the best.

By the time they're ready to go, they've made Anne and Robin late. Technically, they're meant to arrive half an hour early to double check the room and the food and all that but they won't need half an hour for that: twenty minutes will suffice just fine. Twenty minutes is also enough time for Harry and Louis to make out in the empty smoking area until some random guy they don't know, presumably from another event, lights a cigarette and watches them intently. They call it quits and head back inside, where they bump into Robin, who says he was just coming to look for them. Good timing, Harry would have been teased if he was caught snogging Louis.