Louis is in love.
He's probably a little too in love for it to be considered healthy, but there's really no helping it when he's got the best spouse in the world. Harry is one of a kind.
"What is this?" he asks when he walks into the kitchen, just off the phone with his mum. He'd spent half an hour assuring her they're both alright, he'll drive safe, and yes, he's packed enough underwear – he's feeling a little worn out, fighting an ache that seems to have settled in his lower back.
Harry's still got his pink apron on, hands clasped behind his back and rocking on his heels. The kitchen is spotless around him.
"It's dinner," he says, and the duh is implied. "You said you were hungry."
"Uh," Louis stammers, taking in the table – the steaming food, the wine. The candles. "I am."
"Good," Harry grins. "Sit down, then."
Louis does, mostly on autopilot. He sees from up close that the tablecloth is dark green, made of heavy fabric that hangs over the edge in thick folds, the kind that Harry usually uses when they've got company he wants to impress. The candlelight breaks through the wine glasses in little segments, painting the table, and Louis is confused.
Harry leaves, presumably to put his apron in the wash, and when he comes back, Louis takes in his clothes – a soft, black jumper and blue jeans. They're different to what he'd been wearing earlier in the day, and honestly, how had Louis not noticed.
"What's all this for, then?" he asks, a little less dazed. He takes in some more detail – the meticulously sharp fold in the napkins, the gleaming cutlery, the plates Harry had gotten from his nan when they moved in here.
"You," Harry answers, with a hint of a smile playing around the corner of his mouth.
"Why?"
Harry grins now, pulls out his own chair across from Louis. His feet immediately lock around Louis's ankle. "Just 'cause," he shrugs. "We're not going to get much alone time until after...you know."
Oh.
Oh.
"And I wanted to, uh," he continues, running a hand through his hair and messing up the curls, "I wanted to do this while it's still ours, you know?"
"Harry," Louis says, and he can feel his voice is about break before it does. "Love. Sweetheart. It will always be ours. Nobody else's."
"I know," Harry mumbles, looking down at his empty plate. He's fiddling with his rings, and his grin is gone. "But we don't know what it'll be like. It could change us, and I—" he looks up, then, and Louis's heart skips a beat at the emotion in his eyes, "I'm scared," he admits.
Louis abandons his seat and rounds the table, crouches down next to Harry's chair. Harry's hand automatically finds one of his.
"So am I," Louis says. "I'm terrified, but look at us. Look at what we've been through, darling, and look how strong we made it out the other end. I'm yours, and you're mine, and this is ours, no matter how many people will want to stick their noses in it."
Harry laughs a little. The candlelight catches his eyes just so, glistening off the tears he hasn't let fall. "I know," he says. "I love you."
Louis nods, and discovers that his own throat is suspiciously tight. "I love you too. I'll look out for you, and you'll look out for me, and we'll be absolutely golden."
"I'm so excited," Harry says. "I know I'm bawling about it, but I really am."
"I know," Louis grins. "So am I. We'll be amazing."
"The next Brangelina, Liam says."
Louis lets a couple of tears fall as he laughs. "Better, even. Remember the first thing you said when we decided this was happening?"
"We'll be able to help so many people," Harry repeats what he'd said all those months ago, in a high-rise office building in LA that was an end and a beginning. "Sounds like I was a bit full of myself."
"A bit," Louis laughs, and squeezes Harry's hand to let him know he doesn't mean a word. "But you were right, too. There are so many people like us out there, and if we help one of them, all of this will have been worth it."
"It's worth it anyway," says Harry, looking into Louis's eyes. He's untucked his hair from behind his ear, and it falls down in silky strands to obscure his face. He looks so painfully young, even after everything. Louis's strong, strong boy. "Just for the two of us. We get to be selfish for a little while."
Louis wants to drown Harry in kisses, tell him that selfish is the last thing he'll ever be, but—he knows what Harry means. He knows, and he feels the same, and Harry knows that in return. "Just for the two of us," he repeats instead, in a whisper so low it can barely be heard over the crackling fire. He kisses the back of Harry's hand. "You and I."
Harry smiles. Louis can tell he's two seconds away from singing the song, so he leans up instead to kiss him.
It's a little wet with the tear tracks on both their cheeks, but Louis doesn't want to stop, if only for the way Harry's stroking his face, with hands shaking and urgent and just a little desperate. He cards his hands through Harry's hair, rubs his back, anything to let him know that they're as okay as they've ever been.
The stars are back in Harry's eyes when they pull apart, his fingers reverent on Louis's cheeks.
"Can you imagine doing that on stage?" he asks.
Louis grins at him, lets all of what he's feeling show right there on his face. "Really?"
Harry shrugs, butting their foreheads together gently. "Just once. Wanna know what it's like."
Louis thinks he knows where Harry's coming from. There's nothing quite like being on stage, feeling like he's going to shake apart with nerves and high on adrenaline at the same time, and there's nothing quite like kissing Harry, the butterflies in his stomach that make Louis feel light enough to fly.
He pretends to think about it. "There might be quite a few scandalised parents." Harry pouts. Louis pecks his bottom lip, just because he can. "Don't mind them, though. Only have eyes for you anyway."
"You're ridiculous," Harry giggles, returning the peck and lingering. His lips are so soft Louis barely feels them on his, and he tastes like the dinner he's probably been tasting as he cooked.
"You know," Louis says once he's back in a crouch, looking all the way up at Harry. "I kind of want to propose to you again, while I'm down here."
Harry's grin brightens. "For the seventh time? Really?" he asks, and of course he keeps count."
"Never enough," Louis shrugs. Harry's hand is still in his, a little warmer than before, now that the fear's been chased away. Louis brings it to his lips again, pressing a kiss to the cross. "Harry Edward Styles. It's been a couple of months since I last did this, so forgive me if I'm a little rusty..."
Harry's got his free hand over his face, laughing, but Louis can see him looking through his fingers.
"We've accomplished a lot as a couple. We've been together for four years, and we definitely hold some sort of record for how many times we've had people walk in on us having sex."
"Niall's been counting," Harry interrupts. "We should ask him."
Louis knows he's not expected to have an answer. He shuffles closer to Harry's chair instead, taking weight off his knee. "My point was going to be, I love you very much. I also kind of definitely want to have your babies, so, um. Marry me?"
Louis thinks it says something about him that he's never done the serious proposal thing right – the first time had been in January two years ago, when Harry had finally come home, and Louis threw himself around his neck and asked him through what he won't ever admit were tears. There was also that time they snuck out to the zoo incognito and Louis was strangely charmed by a pair of monkeys picking bugs out of each other's fur. And that time on the tour bus after they won a round of FIFA together and the lads wouldn't stop teasing.
So, yeah. Louis is not the best at proposing seriously, but Harry tells him he's alright anyway. He always says yes, at least.
"If you insist," Harry says, and Louis suspects he feels the same shivery warmth spill through his veins. That's love, he'd said years ago, seventeen and leaning over the breakfast table to give Louis a kiss. This is where they've been going, swimming against the tide with everything they had, and they've finally arrived. "I'll marry you. We should probably start planning that, by the way."
Louis smiles, leans up for another kiss. He's been feeling the same since his mum's wedding – like that's exactly what he wants, a warm day spent outside with his friends, his family, with Harry, so happy he'll be walking on air. This'll be us, he'd whispered to Harry when he caught him stealing cakes from the smorgasbord. Soon.
"After the tour," he says. "We'll leave the songwriting to Liam and jet off for a honeymoon."
"It's a deal," Harry says, and seals it with a kiss.
They finally get to eating, then, and Harry frowns a little when he realises the meat has gone cold. He sticks it in the oven for a few minutes, and it's only then that the scent of it registers with Louis.
"Marmite chicken? Really?"
"It's your favourite," Harry says defensively, like Louis is attacking him for cooking his favourite meal.
"You know it is," says Louis, and he crosses the kitchen to cage Harry in against the counter. "Thank you, love."
"You're welcome."
Louis gives him another kiss, and another, feeling like he can't stop now that he's professed his love twenty times over on their kitchen floor. Harry welcomes him with a smile and a warm embrace.
"You know," he leans to Louis's ear, "we should take this to the bedroom after we've actually eaten. We're going to be sharing a house with six children come tomorrow."
"Like that's ever stopped you," Louis smirks, thinking back to all the visits they've paid his mum over the years. Harry used to be insatiable – not that he's much better now, once he gets going.
Harry gasps in mock offence and swats Louis on the bum with a kitchen towel. Louis runs away shrieking, straight for the living room, and jumps all over the furniture while Harry tries to grab him.
The chicken burns just a tad. It's still the best thing Louis has ever eaten.