Caught [l.s] (boyxboy)

IM Done

hey you guys. 

please read this author's note, i'll try to keep it short, but catfish is in the second round of the bromnace awards. which is insanely cool. caught didn't make it but that's okay, it's still really great that catfish is in and i'm super super excited. i really don't have high expectations for the outcome of this because the other stories i'm up against are all by Larry_Lashton, who has like ten times the audience i do, and Married to a Larry Shipper is the only other one. and that book is insanely hilarious. but if you could please go vote for me it'd mean the world and i just appreciate every single one of you who already has, whether it be in this round or the previous one. it's really doing a significant amount already, bringing in new readers and attention, which is exactly what i had been hoping for.

also, please don't freak out every time a chapter (like the last one) has a sort of... anticlimatic? ending. it's not the end of the book. the end of the epilogue will be the end of the book. you'll know.

this is such a fucking plot twist, oh my god, i hate myself, hahahaha

__________

Louis planted the seed last week. Everything feels right, goddammit, and he'd like it to stay that way. Forever, actually, would be preferable. 

He's just begun to accept the fact that he's sappy, incurably so, as Harry hums to himself on a rainy Sunday afternoon while he slices strawberries over a blender. "Bananas too?"

"No. Keep it simple." Louis has convinced Harry to make him a smoothie. Harry quite literally has agreed to do anything for Louis, actually, but it took some persistence to drag him from their cocoon of warmth (which also doubles as their bed, sure) and into the kitchen. "Strawberries."

"But that's boring," Harry insists. "There's so many things you could put in a smoothie, Lou. Kiwi. Peaches. Blueberries, Lou - there could be blueberries."

"Harry."

"Mangoes. Pears."

"Who puts pear in a smoothie?"

"I dunno," he huffs, spinning around on his socked heels - stumbling a bit, but that's okay - to look at Louis seriously. "A pear enthusiast."

"You are so ridiculous." Louis rolls his eyes. Harry rolls his back, exaggeratedly, and pokes his tongue out at Louis. "Blend, Styles."

"Get up and do it yourself." Harry's tone means business, but his dimples are carved in his cheeks and his eyes tell Louis that, yeah, he'll make his smoothie. He'd do anything for Louis, didn't you know? "Not your fucking maid."

And if the thought of Harry in a skimpy maid outfit doesn't amuse Louis, he doesn't know what will. "Really?"

"Really really." This teasing banter thing they do, Louis really loves it. He loves the way they make jabs at each other and the way they end up giggling like schoolgirls at the end of it. He loves the way Harry smiles at him and the little crease that forms in between his eyebrows when he feigns offense, the way he throws his head back and laughs and the way they more often than not end up whispering promises of their affection in between sweaty - well, pretty fucking gross, if Louis is being honest - and soiled sheets hours later. Louis could write a story about it, maybe even a novel if he's lucky. But Harry has always been better with words than him. 

"But, you're standing right next to the blender. It's. It's all the way over there." Louis pushes some fringe from his face, blinking innocently at Harry's sour expression. "Be a dear. C'mon."

Harry pretends to consider this for a moment. He's shirtless, cross necklace rising and falling with the steady tempo of his inhales and exhales. A pair of joggers hang loosely off his hips, feet bare and hair mussed. Louis loves this Harry. He loves carefree, relaxed Harry. But then again, he loves professional, styled Harry too. He loves Harry in general, did he mention that? "Alright. But you have to ask nicely."