"I can't believe you talked me into this," Louis grumbles, trying not to stumble as he slowly slides forward. "I hate this."
"You love it," Harry grins from Louis's side, where he's keeping a steady hand on Louis's waist and making sure he doesn't fall on his nose. He sounds awfully sure of himself, and Louis hates that he's right.
It's beautiful out here, even if it is six in the morning and Louis was ready to commit homicide when Harry pulled him out of bed, whispering a happy birthday. The surface of the lake is solid underneath them, frozen into a slab of ice. Their voices echo far into the distance, carried away by the wind, but nobody's there to care. They're alone.
Still, Louis is incredibly shit at skating. He doesn't appreciate Harry being this smug about having one skating scene in a music video.
"Let's go a little bit further, come on," he says and propels himself forward. The tails of his open coat billow behind him.
Louis, feeling remarkably like a baby deer, stops and crosses his arms. "Come and hold my hand, arsehole."
Harry turns around in one fluid movement. He's laughing as he makes his way back to Louis; he looks pale, almost ethereal in the weak winter morning light. Louis feels a little like he's in a fairytale.
Once he's got Harry's gloved hand safely in his, he moves forward with a little more certainty. He tries very hard to not think about all of his weight resting on two very thin blades.
"How do you not know how to skate, anyway?" Harry giggles.
"I know how to skate," Louis retorts, carefully watching his feet. "It's just been a while, is all."
"How long is a while?"
"Dunno," Louis shrugs, "six years?"
In truth, it's probably been even longer. Louis is used to playing footy every day, running around and lifting his knees. This strange fluidity of movement that skating requires feels foreign to him.
It's made a little better by Harry's hands constantly on him, warm and sure and holding him up without making Louis feel incompetent.
"Where are we going, then?" he asks as they slide further and further away from the shore.
"Somewhere," Harry says, mysterious, then bursts into laughter. He steers to the right, turning until they're heading back where they came from, and Louis follows.
They probably spend hours like that, with Harry running away too fast and Louis racing after him until he realises he's on his own. His knees stop feeling like jello eventually, supporting him as he copies Harry's sharp twists and turns. The sparse winter sun comes out from behind the clouds, warming the air of a beautiful Christmas Eve.
It's around eight that other people start showing up, families with red cold-bitten cheeks and children bundled up in coats and scarves. Harry gets that look on his face again, the one he's got every time somebody is being domestic around him. He keeps a light hand on Louis's waist as they skate in circles and diagonals and somewhat straight lines, but his eyes are trained far into the distance, watching a pair of kids no older that six amble onto the ice and fall immediately. He jerks when he sees them hit the surface, like he wants to skate over and help them up.
Louis spots his geography teacher just as they're getting ready to leave. He hasn't seen her in six years, but she doesn't seem to have changed at all – her silver hair is still held up in a meticulous bun on the top of her head, and she carries herself regally, back ramrod straight even though her shoulders are wrapped in a heavy pashmina.
Except now, unlike the last time Louis had seen her, she's also wearing a smile. She's holding the hands of two children, her grandkids, Louis assumes, and gliding across the ice carefully.
"What a small world," Louis mumbles.
"What's that?" Harry asks.
Louis shakes his head. "Nothing, just," he waves a hand, "my old geography teacher is here."
Harry's heard about her. "Is she really?" he asks. "You should go say hi!"
And the thing is, Louis actually contemplates it. It's half wanting to show off, to erase the old hurt, to make her look at Louis and admit that he's worth something; and half desire to go back to his school years, just for a while. Everything has changed around him while he wasn't looking, it seems, but she's still the same.
"I should," he nods. "Can you come with me?"
Harry squeezes his hand wordlessly and follows when Louis takes off. It's only seconds to that side of the lake, and then Louis is carefully tapping her on the shoulder.
"Excuse me," he says, and is shocked to realise how young his voice sounds. "Mrs. Carrigan?"
She turns around, still with a smile on her face. It turns sour when she takes him in.
"Mister Tomlinson," she says, short. "What a pleasure."
Louis holds back a snort. "I'm sorry to barge in on your family time," he nods to the little girls who are looking up at him with wide eyes. "I just wanted to say hello."
He can feel Harry hovering right behind him, waiting on Louis's cue before he does anything.
Mrs. Carrigan's eyebrows shoot up, like they used to every time she would chastise him for not completing his homework on time, but the harsh angles of her face soften a little. "Hello, then," she says. "How are you?"
"Very well, thank you," says Louis, holding his hands behind his back and feeling a little like he's speaking to royalty, someone untouchable. "And yourself?"
The words feel heavy on his tongue, unfamiliar. He doesn't talk like this, ever, but somehow, it seems important to get this one right.
"Quite alright," she says, with a curious tilt to her head. "I'm going into retirement after the spring semester."
Before Louis can come up with a response that's not outright rude, one of the little girls clears her throat. She's not that little, Louis realises as he looks closer – it's just the fluffy winter jacket and hat that make her look small.
"Excuse me," she says, adorably polite even as her voice shakes. "You're Louis Tomlinson."
He smiles at her. "That I am. What's your name?"
"I'm Annabelle," she says. "And that's Lily," she points to the other girl, who Louis assumes to be her sister. "We think you're really cool."
Harry snorts somewhere behind him, and Louis can't help a little chuckle of his own. Acutely aware of Mrs. Carrigan's sharp eyes on him, he goes down on one knee, wobbling all the way.
"Can I tell you a secret?" he asks, looking into her big, big eyes. They're bright with excitement, and a second pair soon joins them as Lily lets go of her grandmother's hand and stumbles closer to listen in.
"Of course," says Annabelle, hushed.
"Well, the secret is," he trails off, leaving room for a pregnant pause, "I'm not very cool at all."
He's had wittier moments, but the girls still seem delighted, pressing their gloved hands to their faces as they giggle.
"Honestly," Louis says, solemn. "I'm rubbish at skating, for example. Almost fell right on me bum this morning."
They giggle some more, and Louis risks a sneaky glance at Mrs. Carrigan. She's looking pointedly into the distance, but she seems to have softened just a little more. Louis counts that as a win.
"You seem really good at it," Lily says suddenly, shy as she delivers the compliment.
"Thank you," Louis smiles. "I have a very good teacher." He jerks his chin in Harry's direction, winking at them both. They look over to where Harry's drawing circles in the ice with his skates, and he waves at them with a silly smile.
"Is that Harry?" Annabelle whispers. Her eyes have gone ever rounder.
"That's Harry, yes. D'you want to say hi?"
"Oh, can we?"
In lieu of a response, Louis calls out to his fiancé. He comes gliding up to them like an elegant crow, all billowing coat and the scarf draped over his shoulders that serves no actual purpose.
He introduces himself to Mrs. Carrigan first, holding out a friendly hand. Louis watches as some more of her reserve melts away in the face of Harry's dimply, boyish charm.
"Hello," he says to the girls then, and plops down on the ice right next to Louis. "I'm Harry."
Louis bites down on his stupid grin. It's been four years, and he should not find every single thing Harry does endearing anymore, but, alas, here he is.
"We know," Annabelle nods solemnly. "Louis told us."
Harry throws his head back, delighted, and laughs.
Louis is about to start in on more conversation, thoroughly charmed by the brash little girls, but Mrs. Carrigan's voice interrupts him.
"Girls," she says, and Louis has a sudden flashback to her standing in front of the class, listing the fifty US states, "it's almost time to go." She doesn't sound unkind – not like she did when Louis would throw spitballs instead of studying the South Equatorial Current and pass notes halfway across the class.
Annabelle nods at that, and takes her sister's hand. "Could we take a picture with you? Lily really wants to, but she's shy."
Harry jumps in immediately, "Oh, there's nothing to be shy about. We're silly, honestly. Look," and he pulls a face.
It has the desired effect – Lily giggles, gliding a little closer on her blue skates.
"Of course you can take a picture," Louis tells Annabelle in the meantime. "Do you have anything to take it with?"
She nods. She lets go of Lily's hand and slides instead to Mrs. Carrigan, tugging on her sleeve. "Nana," she says, "come take our picture."
"What do you need a picture for?" she asks, brisk. Louis feels two inches tall.
Annabelle blinks. "I want to remember meeting Louis and Harry from One Direction. And I want to remember how nice they were."
Louis quite possibly blushes. Harry, who is engaged in a lively conversation with Lily, only grins wider.
Mrs. Carrigan sighs and, to Louis's surprise, takes a phone out of her coat pocket. Louis turns around to face her, Harry next to him, and they wait until the girls have positioned themselves between the two of them.
"Ready?" Mrs. Carrigan asks, and just as she presses the shutter button, Annabelle hugs Louis tight around the neck and presses their faces together. Louis is surprised for a split second, and then he bursts out laughing – what a picture that must be. Mrs. Carrigan has blackmail material now.
They take another one, with all of them grinning and holding still this time, and then Louis gets a kiss on both cheeks and a thank you before the girls zoom away across the lake, whooping.
It takes Louis a while to regain his balance, his old man knees creaking as he struggles to get up.
"Babe," Harry says quietly, extending a hand to help Louis up, and Louis gladly takes it. He doesn't let go when he sees Mrs. Carrigan glide closer. He's suddenly too scared to face her alone.
She stops in front of them, eyes the same colour as the ice underneath her feet, and lets her gaze linger on their intertwined hands in a very obvious way. Louis feels a stirring in his stomach, all ready to fight for Harry and himself. It's become instinct.
Mrs. Carrigan, however, doesn't say anything. She pockets her phone, pulls her pashmina closer around herself, and with arms crossed across her chest and a deep wrinkle in the middle of her forehead, she smiles.
Then again, "smile" might be too strong a word – but Louis definitely sees the corners of her mouth pull up and stay as she regards him the same way she used to when he'd ask for permission to go to the toilets and not come back for the rest of the lesson.
"Thank you," she says, in the end. Harry squeezes Louis's hand. "That made them very happy."
Louis fishmouths a little as he tries for polite. "It's our pleasure," he says. "The least we can do, really."
"They've been trying to convince their mother to take them to a concert of yours," she divulges. "You are going on tour next year, correct?"
Louis has to spur his brain a little, trying to remember his 2015 schedule. Of course you're going on tour, idiot, said brain supplies helpfully.
"Yes," Harry jumps in before Louis can embarrass himself. "We'll be touring the UK in the autumn. We could get you tickets, if you'd like."
Right, yeah. Tickets. Louis should have thought of that.
"Could you really?" she asks, skeptical.
Louis's brain to mouth filter must have had enough of the situation and fled, because the next thing he lets out of his big, big mouth is: "Well, it is our concert." Once the alarm bells start ringing, he manages to tack on: "It shouldn't be a problem at all."
To his never-ending surprise, Mrs. Carrigan doesn't snatch him and carry him back to secondary school to chain him up at his desk, or whatever it is he'd thought she would do. She smiles again, quite easily, and brighter this time.
"Very well, then. I shall be in touch."
"We'll look forward to it," says Harry, ever polite.
"Yes," she says. "Now, if you'd excuse me, I have to go control my granddaughters." She skates backwards, a little further away. She catches Louis's gaze, and there's something in her eyes that Louis doesn't quite recognise – has never had aimed at him, not from her.
Something like respect, maybe.
"Happy Christmas, Mr. Tomlinson," she nods. "Mr. Styles."
Louis feels some of his muscles relax, and he musters up what he hopes is a genuine smile. "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Carrigan."
She turns then, and glides away from them. Louis lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"That was, uh. Intense," Harry says. He's still holding Louis's hand in his, tight, keeping him from shaking apart even if Louis wanted to, and he really, really loves Harry.
"That's one way to put it," he agrees, and pulls on Harry's sleeve until he gets the idea and shuffles closer on his skates. Louis uses the opportunity to snuggle into his side, seeking his warmth. "I'm...kind of glad that happened."
"Get any closure?" Harry asks, gentle and right to the point. He's never one to beat around the bush, not with Louis.
Louis chuckles and shrugs. "Dunno. It felt good, though. And I'm glad to see she's nice, outside of school."
He feels a little tired, suddenly, and not just from the exercise. It's already well past nine, and their family is definitely awake, wreaking havoc as everyone tries to help get dinner ready.
Harry laughs, small and soft, into Louis's hair. "Ready to go home?"
"Think so," Louis yawns. "We've still got to find our shoes."
And they do, eventually, gliding along the shoreline until they spot the path they took to the lake. Their shoes are still there, lined up neatly next to each other, courtesy of Harry. Louis smiles at the image; it reminds him of their own house, of when they kick them off after a long day and have an evening cuddle on the sofa.
"Hey," he says, pulling on Harry's hand before he can amble off the ice.
"What is it?"
Louis grins. He drags Harry to him by the hand, leans up, and kisses him. It really is the best thing in the world, he thinks as he pecks Harry's bottom lip, savouring the taste of strawberry lip balm and winter morning and his favourite boy; doesn't matter if it's between the walls of their home or out here in the open, with somebody's eyes burning into Louis's back and wind in his hair.
"Love you," he presses into Harry's mouth along with one last peck, and enjoys Harry's dazed green eyes blinking back at him.
"Love you too, Lou," he says, only a little confused. Louis strokes his cheek and leads them back to shore.
Harry cranks up the heating in the car on the way back, and Louis stretches out his frozen toes. The streets are white and bright and empty, fairy lights on even in the sunlight, and Louis thinks he can smell the mince pies in the air already.
"What a beautiful day," Harry says as he pulls into their street, his head turned to Louis.
Louis smiles. What a beautiful day, indeed.