Louis' phone is buzzing incessantly next him on his bed. It's been doing that for the last two days, namely since Friday. Louis is currently spread out like a starfish on his bed, drooling into the pillowcase his nose is flattened against. It hurts a bit, but not as much as his heart.
Wow, he's such a sad fucker. He mentally congratulates himself on simultaneously being a fucking idiot and a heartfelt poet.
The buzzing dies out, but Louis knows it will start again in an hour or so. He is not going to answer, however. He's promised himself that he won't.
Harry's been calling endlessly since after the match. He called until it was twelve, then he called once every hour yesterday, and today he's gotten seven phone calls in and it's only two o'clock. Louis glumly sits up, staring out the window. His eyes are half-lidded, hair rumpled. It's pissing down rain outside, it's almost dark and it honestly looks like the world is ending out there.
Maybe it is. Louis wouldn't mind, because who has he got? Niall's ended their friendship, Lottie is giving him the silent treatment, his mum is barely home, Mark is not his Dad anymore, and Harry's... yeah, Harry's complicated.
Louis face-plants back onto the bed. His phone starts buzzing again and he squeezes his eyes shut, moaning into the suffocating pillow.
Don't do it, Louis.
It keeps buzzing.
Don't.
Buzz.
Love yourself.
"Mrkfng," Louis groans, and reaches out to grab his phone.
He wasn't supposed to do this. When he got home from the match last Friday, he just felt so utterly pathetic and lost, all of it crashing down on him when not even Harry wanted to put up with him anymore – Harry who has kind of been his rock these last months. He started thinking. The conclusion that he came to involved feelings.
Lottie might be right; there might be a teeny, tiny chance that she could be.
There has to be a reason he didn't feel completely fucked up until Harry wasn't behind him anymore, hasn't it? There has to be a reason as to why he's felt this miserable since their fight.
But, on the off chance that he does have those kinds of feelings (strange, senseless feelings) for Harry, then those are not be encouraged. Bad, bad feelings. Now that they've been gently acknowledged, they can go back to wherever they came from (hell).
"Mrgff."
"Lou...?" Harry's voice is soft, and perhaps a bit surprised that Louis answered his phone call. His voice is warmer than Louis expected. He thought Harry was calling to fight.
He huffs in answer, the only thing he can manage. It's getting somewhat hard to breathe against the pillow now, but Louis refuses to pick his head up. He turns slightly instead, just a fraction to the side to let in some air. "Talk," he instructs quietly. If Harry's going to yell, then he should get it over with quickly.
Harry inhales on the other side of the line. It's strange how just the sound of it makes Louis' belly knot up. "I want to apologize, Lou," he starts. "Like, for several stuff."
That was literally not what Louis expected. It feels like he stops breathing, everything inside him stopping for a just a second, completely taken aback.
Harry pauses, perhaps to see if Louis is going to say anything. When he realizes that Louis isn't going to, he once again takes a deep breath. "It wasn't fair of me to do what I did before the match. First of all, it wasn't my place to tell you when or how you tell your best friend that you're gay."
"Queer," Louis mutters. Harry's voice is so bloody dark and soft. It could honest to God lull Louis back to sleep, but as it is his heart is pumping in full speed.
"Queer, then," Harry says, and Louis thinks maybe there's a smile on his lips? Is it simply wishful thinking, though? "But, yeah, it wasn't my place. Even though I respectfully think it would be better for you if you did, that is something that is up to you. Like you said, I don't get a say in that." He takes a small break.
Louis doesn't think this is quite real. How in the world have they gotten here? Harry is giving him a genuine, long bloody apology.
"Secondly," he continues. "To bring it up like that before the most important match of the year so far was seriously so fucking idiotic. You didn't need that right then, because the game was what was supposed to be the only thing on our minds, you know? Luckily our team slayed, but still... Also, thirdly," he stops, clearing his throat awkwardly.
It's quiet on the line. Louis frowns, despite the smile that was starting to grow on lips. He knows the little feelings are rejoicing, but they can go fuck themselves. Shoo.
"Harry?" Louis finally asks.
"Okay, shit." He sounds so awkward and a just a little bit pathetic. "This is going to sound fucking strange and don't think this means anything, but um. I've..."
"You've...?"
"Err–"
"For fuck's sake, spit it out." Louis rolls his eyes.
Harry inhales an amount of air that probably could fill an entire balloon. "I've got your back."
Oh.
Louis rolls over, leaving the phone resting beside him on the bed. Inhale, exhale. No, this is so not good. Not good at all. Louis was so supposed to keep composed so the annoying butterflies in his stomach would starve to death in lack of Harry related things to feed on. It's been two days and Louis' already handed them a silver plate of what they want.
Using the words of Blair Waldorf: Louis loves God's all creatures (kind of), but these butterflies need to be murdered. There is no such place for them here. Do they not understand that they're unwanted? Undesired. Detested. Go away.
Although, Louis can't exactly blame them despite his animosity towards them; after all, here he is, putting the phone to his ear once again.
"Erm," Louis says. He coughs. Harry's quiet on the other side of the line, but Louis can hear him breathing. He can almost picture him covering his face in embarrassment. "So... I'm going to hang up now? And then you'll call again and we'll pretend it never happened."
"Okay, good."
They're quiet for another moment. "But I'll know, okay," Louis can't help but add before he quickly terminates the call.
Dear goodness.
He calls Harry up again. "So, do you want a blowjob or something? Because I'm kind of bored."
Because I miss you.
Once their second phone call has ended, Louis crawls off the bed. He eyes himself in the mirror, and just like a couple of months ago he thinks he resembles a fluffy pigeon a little too much. His hair is ruffled and standing on end, his eyes puffy. He looks almost the same as he did then, though maybe his cheekbones are a little more prominent, the angles of his face sharper. He's older.
You can't really see it, but he's also queer and probably not-so-much-hates Harry Styles. Strange things.
Walking downstairs he's shirtless, only in a pair of sweats and sports socks, figuring Harry's going to undress him later anyway. He rubs his neck, feeling a slight ache as he's been sleeping strangely these last nights.
"Oh," he says when he comes into the living room, having heard voices from there. Lottie and Jay are sitting on the couch, snuggled up in blankets. They're watching Ice Age and if it weren't for the fact that Lottie hates him and Harry's coming over, Louis probably would have joined them. "You're home?" he asks his mum.
Jay smiles up at him, for once looking well rested. "Yes," she says. "Did you forget, honey?"
"Yeah, I guess." He sinks his hands into the pockets of his sweats, pursing his lips. Sid on the TV screen just realized everyone has left without him, and Louis watches him converse with the huge mammal as his eyebrows knit. Harry will be coming over and Louis didn't think his mum would be home today. There's no way he can just sneak him upstairs without her noticing, and unlike Harry's parents Jay actually knows that he and Harry aren't very friendly. Weren't. Anyway.
"What're you frowning for?" Jay asks.
"Oh, nothing. Just tired, I think." He can feel Lottie watching him, but she looks away when he meets her eyes.
"Well, you've had the entire day to wake up, darling. Grab some breakfast, will you?"
He mumbles an answer, heading to the kitchen. It's still pouring outside, raindrops smattering against the windows. There's still hot tea water in the pot so Louis makes himself some, strategically choosing a larger cup because he knows from experience that Harry will drain half of it before Louis gets a chance to let it cool.
He spreads some butter on a piece of toast, but opts for some ham on top because Harry isn't that fond of meat. Louis won't succumb to him more than he already has, because just the fact that he knows that isn't ideal. Sometimes it feels like he knows Harry too well, yet other times not quite at all.
The knock on the door comes soon enough – Louis hadn't even given cancelling their plans a single thought – and he leaves his tea and toast on the worktop. He trudges into the hall, opening the front door to a dripping Harry.
He's in a coat, navy hoodie sticking up around the collar. His curls are a little damp, but the dimples in his cheeks are prominent as he steps inside, shrugging off his jacket. He smiles down at Louis who keeps himself composed, trying not to smile back too widely.
"Hey," he says timidly, and the way his hands reach for the fabric of Harry's hoodie almost seems automatic. He fists the sides of his shirt, bringing him closer. Harry drops his jacket onto a nearby chair and steps out of his wet shoes, proceeding to wind his arms around Louis' neck.
The hug is tentative, but warm. Louis all of a sudden wants to apologize too, but his eloquence with words is lacking deeply. He hopes he can put across some of it in actions. He doesn't want Harry to be upset with him either.
"Have you forgiven me?" Harry murmurs into his hair, just behind his ear.
Louis humbly nods, forehead pressed against his shoulder. He shouldn't have been that angry in the first place. Harry was probably right about him being able to make his life easier, but either way Harry can't tell him when to share something this personal. Louis has a bit of a blockage when it comes to deep things. They're so far down on the list of things he can cooperate with.
Harry's fingers are soft when they brush through the hair at Louis' nape. His hands are always so bloody gentle. His arms leave Louis' shoulders and his warm hands smoothly slide over his skin, gripping his waist. The touch is gentle, yet firm and possessive, almost. Not in a showy way, but the grip is natural and firm, like it's supposed to be that way. Louis ignores that last thought solely for the sake of his own sanity.
Harry squeezes his waist, bringing their lower bellies together. His lips feather-lightly brush along his jaw and Louis almost closes his eyes. He could get lost in this. He could quite literally let Harry take him right here. He can imagine him taking him apart. They've never even done that and he's fairly certain Harry doesn't like doing that sort of thing. Maybe someday, though.
"Mum's home," he finally manages to get out. Harry instantly leans away, leaving several inches of space between them. Louis is as relieved as he is disappointed. He keeps his fingers clutched around the excess material of Harry's shirt, not letting him get too far away. "Sorry, I forgot."
"It's okay. Should I go?"
"No," Louis says, just as his mother calls from the living room.
"Honey, who's here?"
"Err, fuck. C'mon." He gently grabs Harry's shirtsleeve, pulling him with him toward the living room. Harry's footsteps are slow, perhaps he's a bit nervous, but he comes with, staying close to Louis' side when he stops at the entrance of the room.
"Oh, hello." Jay greets, surprise evident on her face.
Louis bites his cheek, refusing to give in to the hotness building up the back of his neck. "Mum, this is Harry."
"Hello, Mrs. Tomlinson," Harry greets politely, waving awkwardly where he's standing. Jay looks at Louis at first just for a moment, obviously confused. Of course, she knows his and Harry's relationship has changed a lot this year – just from watching the footie matches anyone could tell, but it's not like Louis has been completely honest.
It feels so incredibly strange introducing Harry to his mother. Harry's been here countless times while she was sleeping, and he's sucked Louis off and given him handjobs in the middle of the night. It's been months.
Jay starts to get up, untangling herself from Lottie and the blankets, but Harry interrupts. "No, no, it's fine. Don't get up. It's okay, we don't want to bother you. We were just going to say hi." Harry gives Louis quick glance, and he nods in confirmation. "Hi," he adds. Louis' entire stomach flip-flops.
"Yeah, we're headed upstairs," he says, clearing his throat.
Lottie scoffs conspicuously loudly, and Louis' eyes flicker to her in alarm. She isn't looking at him though, only keeps on an indignant frown, eyes on her nails. Harry's hand is hovering over the small of Louis' back, keeping him settled.
Louis' mum nods, giving them a small smile. Louis in relief realizes she might accept Louis' simple introduction, however, he's quite certain there will be interrogating questions later.
"See you later," Louis says, grabbing Harry's sleeve again. He remembers his breakfast just on the way up, and drags Harry along, back into the kitchen.
"Does she hate me?" Harry asks, grimacing a little.
Why do you care? The question is automatic in his head, but it doesn't feel right. It's strange, but the question isn't warranted anymore. Not at all.
"No," Louis says instead, leaning against the counter. "She's probably just confused."
"Yeah," Harry nods, taking Louis' teacup out of his hands, gulping down at least a third. Louis bats at his tummy.
"Mine," he sighs, but doesn't take it back. He takes a bite of his toast instead, looking up at where Harry's nose is buried in the big cup. "How come your parents weren't surprised?"
It's a bold question, really bold, and he can see Harry tense up instantly. Why don't your parents know me as your mortal enemy? Why don't they come to your football games? Why didn't they know you're captain?
They never talked about this. Louis ate Harry out instead. Clearly they're good at avoiding heavy subjects. But Louis is asking now, and meanwhile he waits for an answer Harry takes another gulp of the hot tea, shoulders stiff.
He finally looks up. "Football... is like." He purses his lips, eyes locked on the teacup. His voice is strange when he continues. "It isn't important."
"But you love football," Louis murmurs, brows knitting together.
"But it's not important enough."
Louis is about to disagree; football is the most important thing on the planet, Louis' life relies on it for Christ sake. He's also pretty certain that it's one of the few things Harry genuinely loves, but Harry hands Louis back the cup after that and turns around, efficiently putting an end to the subject.
Louis can tell, though. He can tell those words aren't Harry's. Louis boxes this away, because it's obvious that Harry doesn't want to talk about it. Louis isn't up for a fight; he just wants a calm day in bed to be entirely honest.
He picks up his toast, and pushes at the small of Harry's back to direct him towards the stairs. His shoulder blades seem tense, posture a little stiff as he walks. Louis' hand instinctively softens, simply resting there comfortably.
As they get out in the hallway, Louis' hand has slipped in under his shirt, fingertips light at the bottom of Harry's spine. They're just about to head up when Jay calls from the living room. Louis sighs, peeking into the room, Harry still at his side.
"Before you go and disappear upstairs, I was going to tell you today," she sends a small look Harry's way, but continues. "In two weeks the girls and I are going away for the weekend. Just Lots, Fizzy and I. We're heading to a spa, get some relaxing and bonding time in, you know? Just us girls."
Louis purses his lips, eyebrows going up and down in a single movement. "Lovely." His hand curls into a fist under Harry's shirt. Family bonding. How cute. Sounds brilliant.
"Honey?" Jay asks, but Louis only walks upstairs, Harry not far behind him.
Louis dumps the teacup and half-eaten toast on the nightstand, before he digs his hands under a pillow and flattens out on the bed. He hides his face in the soft pillow, breathing slowly. He feels when the bed dips, Harry crawling up on the bed. He sneaks a glance; Harry's curled his knees to his chest, back resting against the headboard.
"Tired?" Harry asks.
"Hmm."
"Have you slept all day?"
"Hmm."
Harry's voice is low and gravelly, and it sounds as if he's been in bed all day too. Louis feels him shuffle a little – then his light fingertip is tapping on his back. The touch is simple, just a small brush of skin against his, a little contact, completely delicate. It starts as almost just a little scratch, but goose bumps pop up Louis' back when Harry's finger slides upward, continuing to move in tiny circles.
It's a little wonderful.
"You've got a birthmark under your shoulder blade."
"I know."
"Haven't seen it before," he murmurs. His fingers trace down Louis' spine, the sensation calming yet making his pulse tick faster. Stupid feelings. Die. Harry's fingers still for a moment, Louis closes his eyes.
"Don't stop."
His fingers gently start moving again, making up random patterns as they go. They stray to Louis' side once, making his belly jump.
"Ticklish?" Harry wonders, and Louis thinks there might be a smile on his lips.
"Little," he murmurs back. He lets out a long sigh, squeezing the pillow closer to his chest.
"You okay?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Do you want to watch a movie?" Harry wonders, hand flattening out over Louis' spine.
Before Louis can answer there's a knock on the door. "What?" he calls, rolling over on his side.
Surprisingly it turns out it isn't his Mum bothering him, but Lottie. He sits up quickly when she walks in, Harry's hand falling away. "What are you doing here?" he asks. She hasn't spoken to him in what feels like ages (it's a couple of days, but whatever).
Lottie crosses her arms, hip popped as she speaks. "I want to go for a drive. Can we go?"
Louis hesitates. This is completely unexpected and coming out of nowhere. She hasn't shown a sign wanting to patch things up with him. Both of them are quite good at holding grudges – they're Tomlinsons after all – but hey, they've also never been good at not being friends. On one hand, he's extremely tired and a day in bed watching movies with Harry would have been perfect, but on the other, he doesn't want to skip an opportunity to make up with Lottie. She's his sister after all, even if she said some horrible things to him.
"So," Lottie says when he hasn't answered in a moment. "Do you want to go or not?"
"Okay," he nods. "Harry, get me the shirt over there, thanks."
"See you downstairs," Lottie mutters and leaves the room.
"Can I come?" Harry asks, reaching towards the floor, fetching the simple, grey shirt Louis discarded last night. "This smells a bit," he remarks.
"Well, you're not going to be smelling me are you?"
"Just get another."
"Fine, pick one then."
Harry stands from the bed, yawning as he walks over to the dresser. He starts rifting through the top drawer. "Can I come then?"
"Oh," Louis says, cheeks suddenly burning. "Sorry, I didn't ask. I thought you wanted to since, you know, last time was... fun." Fuck, it's warm in here. Harry doesn't seem to notice anything though, still looking through the drawer. Louis looks away, awkwardly patting the duvet below him.
"Right," Harry finally says, walking back over and holding up a black t-shirt with a white Adidas print. "Here, stand." He holds up the shirt.
"Are you dressing me?" Louis asks.
"Just slip your arms in, will you? You're so bloody slow."
Louis grumbles, but nevertheless reaches up and lets Harry slip the shirt down over his body. He pats his shoulders gently, before he grabs his forearms and drags him up from the bed. Louis sighs, following easily. He stumbles into him when he stands and it almost scares him how easily Harry fits him into his side, keeping him upright.
Louis coughs awkwardly, but lets Harry's arm rest around his waist as they walk downstairs. It's nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing.
They meet Lottie downstairs, and Louis completely ignores how she looks at Harry's arm fitted around him. He knows what she's thinking, and yeah, he's thinking it too. However, it's nothing.
They get on the road. It's tentative and somewhat stiff. The rain is pissing down, smattering against the windows, clouding Louis' sight. He mumbles instructions and Lottie grumbles answers, while Harry sits silently in the back. Louis wonders why he even wanted to come. Being in an environment filled with palpable tension isn't exactly how Louis would want to spend his Sunday.
It's not until Lottie starts to wholeheartedly ignore what Louis' saying that the suffering silence breaks. When he clearly orders her to turn left, she stomps the gas and continues strictly forward.
"What are you doing, Lottie?" he asks sternly. She doesn't answer, and Louis starts to worry. He glances back at Harry, who seems a little uncertain as well. "Right, just take the next left then and we'll go back."
When they reach the next crossroad, Lottie turns right. She hits the gas, and Louis grips the edges of his seat, eyes wide. "Lottie! What are you doing?"
She doesn't answer, and neither does she slow down. She keeps her eyes on the road, hands tight on the wheel. She is driving way too fast, and Louis doesn't trust her to take them wherever they're going safely.
"Hello?! Where the hell are we going?" he demands, cringing as the scenery flashes by. "Lottie! Stop the car."
"No," she says evenly.
"Charlotte! I have a responsibility of what we're doing here. You need to listen to me, if you don't this could end seriously badly. This isn't okay!"
It's dead quiet in the car, not a sound coming from the back either.
"Pull the fuck over."
"Nope."
Louis looks up, wincing as he spots an approaching car farther down the road. "You better stop this car right now," he growls. They're most definitely going to die. Lottie isn't that bad of a driver, but she lacks of experience and he doesn't trust her at all. "I'm never driving with you again."
Lottie slows down a little as they pass the other car, Louis' heart rate already running too fast. He looks over his shoulder, catching the look of Harry leaning back in his seat, looking white and nervous. Christ. Louis is about to yell when he suddenly sees the sign with the street name on. Water flies up by the curb when Lottie runs through a puddle.
"No fucking way," he says, voice tight. "I cannot believe you."
"I'm not sorry, Lou."
"Fucking traitor," he hisses. This isn't okay – this isn't fine. Especially not in front of Harry. Louis would never in a million years thought that Lottie would do something like this to him. Fuck, he should have known. Of course Lottie suddenly hadn't forgiven him and decided she wanted them to be friends again. It should have been obvious that something wasn't right, but then how was he supposed to know she'd do something like this? He closes his eyes as Lottie slows down, turning into a smaller street. "Stop the car," he says, voice low this time, hand covering his eyes.
"No."
"Charlotte–"
"I don't care what you say."
Louis raises his voice. "It doesn't matter what you do, okay? This isn't going to happen. It's not up to you, do you not understand that? Everything isn't going to be fine if you lock us in a room for a few minutes. It doesn't work that way."
His sister doesn't answer, so Louis stares palely out the window. This isn't fine.
Eventually the car comes to a jerky stop down the street. The house where they've stopped is in red bricks, the windowpanes white and it looks too proper, too fresh and new. Lottie shuts off the engine, taking the key out and stuffing it into her pocket.
"Louis," she says seriously. "Dad's in there, Fizzy too. I'm going inside. I highly suggest you do, too. Harry, you can come as well."
Louis doesn't answer, only stares straight out the window in front of him. The raindrops are gathering in heavy lumps against it, the sound making Louis' head spin instead of making him feel calm like it usually would. The car is too quiet, tension so heavy it's palpable. Somebody cut could it with a knife, or stick a needle through it and something would explode.
"So," Lottie murmurs after a few minutes, voice a tad softer. She reaches out and touches his arm. "Are you coming?"
He turns to face her, looking her dead in the eye. "Not a fucking chance in hell."
He doesn't flinch when her face falls, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She looks down, her hair covering her face as she undoes her seatbelt, opening the car door. "Screw you, Lou," she whispers, before getting out and slamming the door in his face.
God.
Louis leans back in the seat, closing his eyes. He doesn't want to watch Lottie knock on the front door and walk inside, knowing that Mark is in there. Louis doesn't want to be here. The air feels suffocating, like someone's draining the vehicle of all air.
"Can't fucking breathe in here," he swears after a long moment, thick with tension. He rips the seatbelt off and jumps out of the car. The rain wets his face instantly, and he pulls the hoodie over his head. The pavement outside the brick house's yard is gravelly and the puddles are growing. Louis' sneakers get sodden quickly as he walks around the car, leaning against the side.
Fucking God.
He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. His hands are locked in fists in the pocket of his hoodie. Fuck. He can't do this. He's right in there. His dad – no, stepdad, who isn't even his fucking stepdad anymore. Just Mark. Who isn't anything anymore. Not in relation to Louis anyway.
He hears the car door open, but he doesn't want to look up. By now Mark surely knows he's out here, perhaps he's already gazing out the window at him.
Louis couldn't turn around, he could never bear to face him. What would he say? What would he do? There's no possibility of a good outcome. The only plausible outcome is Louis being left feeling like something equivalent to being run over by a truck.
His hoodie is cold and wet all the way through. Why does everything have to be so fucking hard?
He groans, leaning back and facing the sky. Cold droplets land on his skin as he hears the sound of Harry's footsteps stopping next to him. His arm brushes against his, leaning back against the car by his side.
Louis wonders if he's going to say anything, if he's going to ask what the hell is going on. Louis wouldn't know what to answer.
"I knew that your parents had split," Harry says lowly, voice almost vulnerable for whatever reason. "I didn't know it was this complicated."
"Yeah, well," Louis mutters, surprising himself with how even his voice is. "It is." He glances to his right. Harry's eyebrows are knit, mouth pressed together in a line, corners of his mouth pointing down. His shoulders are too stiff. He's blinking too fast.
"Is it, like, how–" He cuts himself off, shaking his head and his voice has gone rough. "I don't–"
Louis tries not to think, just say the words calmly. Explain it. "He's not my dad. Not really. When I was little my mum remarried and Lottie was born. They got divorced before last summer started."
It's been almost a year, he realizes. It feels like a lifetime. They used to be family, proper and all.
"He's, um. I used to call him 'Dad', but he's not. He didn't want me." He clears his throat. "Well, it took him six months to realize he might after all. So..." Louis kicks off the car, jumping up and down once, trying to gather some warmth. His eyes are not wet. It's rain.
Harry looks up finally, meeting his eyes. "Did you know before?" he whispers. "Could you feel it before they told you?"
He knows why Harry is asking, how can he not? There's a reason Louis can't stand being around Harry's parents – it reminds him of how his own home used to be like before it happened. Harry knows it's coming, he must.
Louis takes a careful step forward. "Of course I did."
Harry presses his lips together once again, inhaling deeply. His cheeks are bitten by the hard-hitting wind, the apples pink, and eyes shiny.
Louis speaks slowly. "Even though we're opposites, we're not that different, Styles."
Harry nods. Reality check; they've both got dysfunctional families. In Harry's case it just isn't official yet.
It's all too similar. Louis' dad hasn't been to a single one of Louis' footie matches this season. He used to be at every one of them, cheering him on and giving him pep talks and discussed the match with him afterwards. Not anymore.
"Does it still hurt?"
"All the time."
Harry nods. Then he shakes his head. "Why is everything shit?"
"Yep. It always is, isn't it?" He shakes his head as well, chuckling. "It's even fucking raining."
"Bloody perfect."
"Your hair is wet."
"Well, you look like a drenched puppy, babe."
Babe. Again. He's said it before. "Drenched puppy?"
"Yes."
"Does that mean you find me cute then?" He arches a brow and takes the remaining steps forward, leaning against Harry. His jeans are wet, and their thighs flush against one another feels cool.
Harry purses his lips. "Do you know what people do in the rain?
"Yeah?" He winds his arms around Harry's neck, trying to accommodate to his attempt at a distraction. They tend to be very good at those, the distractions, so when Harry's hands go to Louis' hips it's to have him arch into him. Louis comes easily, warmth swimming through his body despite the horrible weather as he puts his chest against Harry's. "What do they do then?"
"I'll give you a guess," Harry murmurs, eyes locked on Louis' lips.
Louis smiles, standing on his toes, making their chins bump. He purses his lips once, just a little but it's enough to let their lips touch. "I don't know, tell me."
Harry' nose slots against his, cheek pressed against cheek. "Show you," he murmurs softly, pushing their lips together.
If Louis could describe how it feels getting kissed by Harry like this he'd probably have better English grades. As it is, his grade is pretty low so there will be no extravagant descriptions. He can feel it in his toes though. Harry sends a wave of hotness through his body by his plush lips alone. Louis could do this for hours; Harry's tongue warm in his mouth, simply sliding with his, licking the roof of his mouth, his lips sucking Louis' swollen. It's a good distraction, it really is. Louis' breath is heavy within moments, and Harry's hands tighten on his back.
"You're so wet," Harry murmurs, fists clenching around Louis' hoodie.
Louis snorts a laugh, throwing his head back, cackling. "You did not just say that, love."
Harry eyes him for a moment, leaning in so their lips are still touching. Then he gets it, and groans. "I meant your jumper," he moans, hugging him close and kissing his jaw.
"I know," Louis grins, leaning up to put his mouth on Harry's again.
They kiss until Louis is fairly certain they'll both get hypothermia. Harry's cheeks are too cold against his and it's starting to feel like he's holding on to Louis' body for warmth rather than sexual interests.
"Are you okay?" Louis giggles, thumbs stroking Harry's neck on either side.
"Let's get inside the car, yeah?" Harry says, shivering almost violently.
"Okay," Louis has time to say before Harry tightens his arms around his waist and lifts him up, walking around the car without much effort. "Oh my god," Louis laughs, face pressed to his neck. He smells so perfect. Fuck everything, he could just stay hidden there for the rest of the day.
Harry steps onto the sidewalk, still carrying him and opens the door to the backseat. Then he has to actually let Louis go, but they crawl in, shivering in their wet clothes. Harry's curls are sticking to his temples and cheeks, his lips the only things about him still looking warm. Harry's hands are pale and shaking, and he blows hot air onto them. Louis leans to his side, trying to steal some worth.
"This wasn't good," he says.
"Excuse you, my kisses are excellent."
Louis bats at him. "I meant the standing in the rain part. Imagine if both of the team's captains are sick for the semi-final game."
Harry watches him for a moment. "Are you nervous?"
"Yeah," Louis admits quietly. Harry is on his right, closest to the sidewalk, but Louis stares out the window, at the house on Harry's side. Harry follows his gaze, the car quiet and a little cold.
"Me too," he says slowly.
They fall into a comfortable silence, both of them simply staring at Louis' former stepfather's house. Louis has no idea after how long it happens, but eventually Harry takes Louis' hand where it's resting on top of his thigh. They don't say anything, Louis doesn't protest and neither does he feel the need to. When they're alone everything is fine.
They stay there, fingers linked on top of Louis' leg for the rest of the time they wait. Eventually Harry closes his eyes, head leaning back against the seat. He looks like he could fall asleep any moment, but Louis can't tear his own eyes from the house.
His dad is in there, his sisters as well, and he can't help but wonder if he shouldn't be in there too.
When Lottie finally stomps back to the car, Harry has fallen asleep and their hands are warm. Louis squeezes Harry's once before finally letting go. They drive home in complete silence.