The Baby Whisperer (Larry Stylinson)

Keep You All To Myself

Louis wanders back from the bathroom and slides onto the barstool as Niall unloads the tray of freshly washed glasses and stacks them at the rear of the bar. He's come here with a purpose but he is struggling to summon the courage required to broach the subject. He just desperately needs to talk to someone and Niall is essentially his only real friend in town, aside from Harry, and Louis definitely can't discuss this with him.

It's been three weeks since that night he'd gone over to Harry's and things have continued to escalate, well, in Louis' head at least. They still have their morning cuppas each day but now that it's properly winter they've moved permanently inside. At around seven every morning Louis just lets himself in through the front door, because yes, he has his own key to Harry's house. Harry had said it just made sense—apparently, that's what neighbours do in the country—Louis had just nodded along in agreement when Harry had handed it to him on a keychain with a little silver horse. It was all kinds of endearing and Louis didn't have the heart to say it was decidedly not what he'd done with any previous neighbours.

They chat and drink their tea and Louis takes Luna off Harry's hands so he can get himself, and the house, in order. He feeds her a bottle, changes her, and then they lay down together on the thick rug in front of the fire while she has some tummy time. It's all incredibly domestic and lovely and a great way to start the day but Louis is rapidly going out of his goddamn mind.

Harry is just... everything he's ever wanted. He's funny and smart and the most gorgeous man he's ever laid eyes on. He's a bright ray of sunshine on a dreary day, a breath of fresh air to fill his lungs, kind and caring and the most wonderful father. Louis wants to care for him and spoil him and come home to him and be with him every spare second of the day. He thinks about him constantly, wonders what he's doing when he can't be with him, and has to physically restrain himself from leaping out of his car at the end of the day and bursting through the door. He wants to hold him and kiss him and run his fingers through his soft curls and scratch his scalp and rub his feet. He wants to peel his clothes off and worship his body for hours before sinking inside him until their beings become one and they're gasping into each other's mouths as they come over and over again.

He's obsessed and more than a little bit in love and if he doesn't do something about it soon he's going to fucking explode.

The problem is, Louis doesn't want to ruin this beautiful friendship they've developed. He'd never forgive himself if he upset the balance and pushed Harry for more if it's not what he wants. Maybe Harry isn't ready. Maybe he doesn't feel the same way about Louis. Maybe Louis has imagined every glance, every blush, every brush of their fingers, every everything .

So, yeah. He really needs to talk to someone.

That's how he finds himself at Niall's pub, sitting at the bar and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He picks at the damp coaster under this beer tries to work out how to phrase the question. Niall must sense his internal turmoil and beats him to the punch, planting his hands on the bar and looking at him with an exasperated expression. "Alright, Tommo. That's it. You've been here nursing that beer for an hour. Just spit it out, would you?"

Louis looks up and grimaces. "I uhm..."

"You. Uhm. Yes?" Niall asks expectantly.

"Shit," Louis sighs. "This is ridiculous. Look," he says and steels himself. "I want to ask Harry out. Like. Out , out. On a date. Dinner maybe? Or a picnic? Or-"

Niall chuckles, cutting him off. "Oh, thank god!" He shouts, throwing his hands in the air.

Louis pulls back, slightly affronted at his friend's reaction. "What?"