+
Harry is nothing if not prepared.
He spends the better part of a day writing down any questions he has for Zayn—before school, during lunch, during plan, as much as he can get away with—and eventually filling up three whole pages with them. Then he goes back through and crosses out the questions that are either too personal, too dumb, or unanswerable. It leaves him with a couple solid talking points, but he still has Louis look it over before they head out the door.
The car ride over to Haven has Harry jittery. He's staring out the window and jumps when Louis lays his hand over Harry's.
"Don't worry so much," Louis says. "It's just like talking to a friend. I mean, I hope you can be friends anyway, since you're both important to me."
Harry nods stiffly, trying to remember that Eleanor liked him just fine, so Zayn probably will too.
"Is he, like, nice?"
Louis laughs. "Yeah, H, he's nice, or I wouldn't be his friend."
"Right," Harry says, shaking his head. "Sorry, I just. I swear I'm not this bad at meeting new people, but you wouldn't know that because the first time I talked to you, I started going on about sexual preferences, which you never asked about, and when I met Eleanor, I gave her a heart attack, and—yeah."
"Oh, come off it. If you hadn't said what you said when we met, we wouldn't be here right now!"
Harry pouts. "Well, I'd like to think that we would've found our way anyhow."
Louis smiles so hard that his eyes crinkle. He waits until they're at a stop light before leaning over and kissing Harry on the cheek. "Me too, love."
Haven is still empty by the time they get there, not opening to the public until later that night. The sheer fabrics that separate the great room into more manageable sections are pinned up to the wall, making it look impossibly larger. There are a few people roaming around, using sponges and buckets of soapy water to clean the tables and equipment; others replacing the cases on pillows, cleaning the bar, or vacuuming.
If Harry had any doubts about the cleanliness of Haven, they're all gone now.
They spot Zayn easily, fussing over what looks to be some kind of swing. Harry doesn't want to ask.
"Oi!" Louis calls, gaining the attention of much of the cleaning crew. It's a testament to how often Louis is here that none of them bat an eye at him. Zayn stands up from his crouched position, a small smile on his face as he approaches the two of them. "This is Harry."
Up close, Zayn is gorgeous. He's got almost-black hair and a dark beard that suggests power, while his doe-eyes and less than dominant stance do anything but. While Harry observes Zayn, Zayn is doing it right back, making Harry blush under the scrutiny.
"Hello," Harry attempts to smile. "It's nice to meet you."
Zayn hums in nonchalant agreement. "Let me just finish this, then we can talk."
He turns back to the swing without another word. Harry looks at Louis to make sure this is normal, that Zayn doesn't just hate him on first sight. Louis squeezes Harry's hand reassuringly.
They go sit at one of the nearest couches, watching idly as all these people work to clean up the literal orgy that happened here last night. It's certainly not a job you could proudly tell your mother about.
When Zayn is apparently satisfied with the swing, he makes his way over to the couch across them and rests with his arm over the top, giving them both a nod in greeting.
"So, this is Harry," Louis says again. "I told him we should come here because, one: I want you to meet him, and two: He's got some questions, if that's okay?"
Zayn finally cracks the hint of a smile at Harry, and he feels accomplished, though he didn't do anything.
Harry assumed that Louis would have told Zayn everything already, so he's surprised when Zayn asks, "Questions about what?"
Feeling like a child, Harry looks to Louis for assistance.
"Zayn, man, what do you think, considering we're sitting in the middle of a BDSM sex club?"
Harry wants to hide, embarrassed about asking a near-stranger these things. He puts his head down, fiddling with the numerous rings on his fingers while he waits for someone else to say something. When he feels Louis nudging his arm, he looks up to see Zayn waiting expectantly.
"I can try to help with anything," Zayn says. "If you're with Louis, though, you probably know more than you think you do."
+
Haven is about to reopen for the night, and Harry's mind is whirring at full speed. He imagines little men inside his brain, filing away all this new information for safe keeping, moving frantically because of the workload.
Zayn gave him answers to all the questions he needed to ask, everything from "What does subspace feel like?" to "Have you ever had to red-out during a scene, and how did you feel after?".
Knowing that Zayn was once just as unsure as Harry is now makes Harry feel infinitely more empowered and ready to try new things.
Louis left the two of them alone to talk once he saw that they got along well enough. Harry thinks that if he met Zayn elsewhere, they probably wouldn't become friends, but now they have more than a few common interests—Louis counting as one of them.
Either way, it's nice to talk with someone who knows what Harry is feeling, in a way that Louis can't. And now Harry has some foresight into how it would feel to do something more intense, if he wanted to. As time goes on, he thinks it's becoming more of a possibility.
Louis wanders back over to them right around the time when Haven starts opening their doors to the public again. Zayn glances backwards and sees him, turning back to Harry and saying, "I should probably get going. Have Louis give you my number, yeah? Was nice to meet you."
Harry smiles with a nod. Louis goes and stands behind Harry, hands digging into his shoulders soothingly. He leans down and kisses the side of Harry's neck, making him giggle and twist away, saying, "Lou, that's rude."
"Rude how ?" he asks incredulously. "Look around you, tell me what building you're in."
Harry laughs again, standing up off the couch and stretching. "Do you have to be home soon?"
Louis taps his lip, an apologetic expression already forming. "Kind of do, love. I've been putting off grading these papers for a while, and I said they'd be handed back tomorrow. But if you want to stay awhile, I can pick you up again later?"
"No, no," Harry says. "A night in sounds nice. I can help."
Later, when they're both settled on the couch with a stack of mostly poorly written essays, a steaming mug of hot coco in their hands, Harry tentatively says, "Can I ask something?"
Louis sets down his pen instantly, nodding.
"Have you blindfolded anyone?"
It's been on his mind since he talked with Zayn, something he called sensory deprivation. Zayn said it's the most intense feeling he's had, without eyesight or hearing, at the complete mercy of his dom. The thought of it has been stuck in Harry's head, being so alone yet taken care of, the image playing in his mind on a loop.
Louis says, "Yeah, 'course I have. Is that something you want to try?"
Harry tries to look down at the paper to distract himself, but the words are blurry. "Maybe, yeah. I—Also, like. Maybe earplugs?"
Louis raises his eyebrows. Harry gets the feeling that he's not judging, just surprised, but it makes him blush either way. Louis seems to be waiting for Harry to continue, so he says, "I think it might be nice. With, like, if you tied my hands up and then I couldn't see or hear—I don't know, maybe it's stupid."
His heart speeds up, shaking his head in an attempt to drop the subject. Louis has probably done so much worse, so much more extreme, and Harry is here making this simple act sound like a big deal.
"Harry, love, come on," Louis whispers, tipping his chin up to see his eyes. "It's not stupid. Nothing that you ever ask me about is stupid. What's making you upset? It's a perfectly valid idea."
Harry bites his lip and tries to keep up contact with Louis' eyes. "I just feel like a baby sometimes. This isn't even some kind of wild BDSM thing, but it still makes me nervous, and I guess I still worry that you will look down on me for not knowing what I'm doing."
Louis frowns. "I don't know how else to make you understand," he says, rubbing a thumb over Harry's cheek bone. "I like you for you, not because of your sex knowledge, for God's sake. I want to know every idea that passes through your mind, everything that you like and don't like, anything you even briefly consider trying. And I don't want you to worry about telling me things, because I'll never judge you for this. I promise, babe."
Harry takes a deep breath to calm himself, knowing that he needs to stop assuming things about Louis without asking first. "Right," he says. "Thank you."
Louis kisses his forehead, and then leans back a bit further, cozying into his original position. "And for the record, sensory deprivation is no joke. It's easy to get trapped in your own thoughts and not know how much is too much, so it's really important that you tell me exactly how you're feeling if we try it. The first time, I'll probably have to take out your earplugs a couple times—I know, it ruins the mood, but your safety is more important than a scene, you know?"
"Of course," Harry nods. "I'm—I'm so glad that I chose you. I can't imagine doing any of this with someone else."
Louis' lips fold up into a fond V shape. "What else did you and Zayn talk about?"
Harry shrugs. "Nothing much, nothing I would really want to try. He said, like, he's been a sub without sex before, which was kinda cool. Have you ever?"
Louis, surprisingly, shakes his head. "I haven't," he says. Harry's eyes go wide upon realizing that he's finally found something that Louis is inexperienced in as well. "What kind of stuff? Because that's a whole new area."
"I don't know," Harry giggles. "It's not really something I want. But I figured you'd know, since you've done practically everything."
" Everything . God, Harry, you make me sound like a sex addict," Louis laughs. His tone becomes more sombre as he says, "I've never actually taken any of my subs home. You're the first."
Harry sits back against the couch and tries to comprehend this. How is it possible that Louis—who has been doing this for years, who is such a good dom, who is also romantic and sweet and perfect—hasn't lived with a sub before? "You mean, like, ever?" Harry asks.
Louis nods with a laugh. "Yeah, ever. I guess there was one time, I was dating this girl, and we didn't live together, but she would come over a lot. She was a sub, but we broke up before we ever tried anything like that."
For as much as Harry knows Louis, he realizes that they still haven't had the intentions talk. The one where they talk about past relationships, what went wrong, and what they want out of this one. Harry doesn't think now is the best time to ask these things, when they've each got stacks of papers to grade, but the words are slipping out of his mouth before he can stop them. "Why did you break up?"
Louis raises his eyebrows, so Harry says, "Hey, I told you about Caroline and the saggy tits debacle," while tapping his mermaid tattoo for emphasis.
Louis rolls his eyes. "Well, nothing tops that story! She was already into being a sub, and I wasn't a dom yet. She wanted someone experienced, so I really don't blame her. I imagine it would take away from the effect if you have to instruct someone on how to punish you."
Harry nods, reassuring himself that, once again, Louis doesn't care that he's inexperienced. It's a different situation. "So does that mean you're, like, bi?"
They haven't talked about this before, either, not that it would matter to Harry. It's still good to know, though, like if you dated someone for months and still didn't know their favorite color.
Louis blinks a few times, nodding. "Yeah, I am. That's not a problem, right? You wouldn't believe how many people have actually gotten fussy over it."
Harry giggles. "Trust me, I know. I am too."
"Oh," Louis smiles. "I've never actually dated anyone bi before."
"Those bisexuals, " Harry whispers conspiratorially, croaking his voice like a middle aged woman. "You better keep an eye on them, might replace you!"
Louis pulls what Harry has taken to calling the "Harry face" because he's only ever seen Louis do it to him. It's full of fond and laughter, his eyes crinkles and lips scrunched. He is radiant, the sunlight put to shame by Louis' light.
The words are stumbling out of Harry's mouth before he's even had time to process them. He hadn't even known it was true until he's said it, the "I love you," tumbling out on it's own volition.
Louis freezes, his eyes widening while he stares into Harry's own. "You—"
Harry licks his lips nervously, not wanting to backtrack because, even if Louis doesn't feel the same way, it's true. He loves Louis.
"I—" Louis stutters, opening his mouth and then hesitating. "It's, I want to say it back, I do, I just need a little time."
Harry heart sinks, repeating the phrase in his head over and over. I love you, I love you, I love you . Why would he say that already? They haven't been dating long, not long enough to warrant a confession like that. Why doesn't Harry think before he speaks? "That's, yeah. I understand," Harry says, because he does. It's not Louis' fault that Harry is such a hopeless romantic. "I'm sorry."
"Harry," Louis sighs, his eyes soft. "I care about you so much. I think about you more than I think of anything else, I dream about us being together years down the line, and it's a huge relief that you feel strongly about me too. I just want to make absolutely certain that I feel it too, you know? I want us to be on the same page."
Harry swallows the lump in his throat. "Of course, I get it."
Silence falls between them, apart from Louis anxiously tapping his pen on his binder.
"Should I go?" Harry asks gently. He wants to give Louis space, and he doesn't particularly care for sitting in this stilted quiet any longer.
Louis sets all his papers down on the coffee table in front of them, picking up the one's on Harry's lap too. "Please stay," he says, moving closer so his head rests between Harry's neck and shoulder. He puts his arms around Harry's broad chest in an anchoring way. "I don't want to make this weird, Haz."
Harry blushes. He really, seriously shouldn't have said anything. This wouldn't be happening if he'd kept his mouth shut.
Louis kisses his flushed cheek and then lays his head flat again. "You were telling me something, before. That Zayn told you about."
"Yeah, it's—Let's just not," Harry wants nothing more than for his embarrassment to fade, or better yet, to go back in time and prevent himself from doing what he did. "Can we just go to bed? I'm really—" he fakes a yawn, closing his eyes slowly for emphasis. "Tired."
Louis frowns, but doesn't argue. He just helps Harry stand up, a hand around his lower waist as he leads him to the bedroom.
"I'm probably going to finish up those papers," Louis says, brushing his fingers through Harry's hair when he's all settled under the covers. Harry tries to memorize the feeling in the hopes of getting a decent night sleep without Louis to cuddle up with. "Is that okay?"
"Will you come to bed after?" Harry asks, a hint of pleading in his voice.
"Of course," Louis nods, kissing his forehead. He pauses before standing up, looking as if he doesn't know what to do with himself. He turns towards the door, whispering, "Goodnight, love."
When he's gone, Harry finally allows himself to panic. Has he ruined everything? Has he come across too clingy, too invested, where Louis isn't? Will Louis break up with him over this?
Harry refuses to let himself feel even more childish about this, so he brushes back the stubborn tears in his eyes and buries his face in the pillow.
His mind is blank as he hears the heater switch off, basking the room in an uncomfortable silence. Harry can only hear the sound of his own shaky breathing, and the distant shuffling of papers coming from the living area. He perks up when he hears Louis say, "Hello?"
Harry nearly replies back until he realizes that Louis must be talking on the phone.
"El," Louis says. "Are you busy?"
Harry deeply wishes that he could be asleep right now. Surely Louis is about to tell Eleanor all about how he's planning to leave Harry, and he would rather not hear it.
"No, Harry's asleep right now. Look, I don't know what to do. He told me he loves me," there's a pause, where Harry doesn't dare to breathe. "Of course I love him back. God, I didn't say it back, and now I'm kicking myself. My brain just short-circuited and the only thing I could think was ' it's too soon ', but, El, I love him. Is that crazy?"
Harry's heart jumps into his throat, pumping erratically while he waits for more information. Seconds stretch to minutes, where all Harry can hear is Louis' nervous hums. Eleanor must be giving him a long speech. Eventually, Louis whispers, "Yeah. Yeah, you're completely right. I just keep worrying that he's going to regret settling down so quick. Like yes, he loves me now, but what about next year, when he remembers that I'm still fucking old?"
Harry pulls an indignant face, wishing that Louis was right here so he could tell him that Louis isn't old, and that he should have a little more faith in Harry. In any case, Eleanor says something that makes Louis laugh, a light sound that gives away his underlying anxiety. All Harry wants to do is wrap him up tight and cling to him like a koala—he thinks they both would benefit from a good cuddle.
Harry doesn't want to let on that he was listening to their conversation, so he waits until he's sure that Louis is off the phone with Eleanor before softly calling, "Lou?"
The footsteps come quickly, Louis showing up in the doorway. "Yeah, baby?"
"Um," Harry didn't properly think this through. "I just—Wanted you here."
"Haz," Louis smiles. He crosses the room and crawls onto the bed, curling up under the blankets with him. "You're not very subtle."
Harry's cheeks burn. "I don't—What?"
Louis kisses his neck, up to his cheek. He pushes the blankets down and straddles Harry, leaning down and whispering in his ear, "I love you."
If Harry thought he was happy with Louis before, it's reached astronomical heights now that he knows his feelings are reciprocated. The butterflies in his tummy increase tenfold as Louis surges up and connects their lips. "I'm sorry I didn't say it before," he says. "I love you."
"You're not old," are the only words that Harry can conjure up. "Twenty seven's not old."
Louis makes a 'humph' noise, his eyes scrunched up unhappily. "Tell that to the kid who dressed up as Peter Pan for Halloween every single year, because he didn't want to ever grow past the age of eighteen."
Harry can't tell how much of Louis' fears are said jokingly or are real, actual insecurities that Louis has. He's never thought anything of Louis' age, except that he doesn't like how Louis doesn't like it. "Come on, no kid wants to grow up. But it's a good thing, means you're smarter and you've seen more, and you've got money to take me on dates... Buy me clothes..."
Louis snorts, "On a teacher's salary? Tell you what, I can take you to Goodwill and we'll buy whatever your heart desires."
Harry beams. "I was only joking, but if you really want to take me to Goodwill, I have been wanting a nice Hawaiian t-shirt."
Louis rolls his perfect blue eyes, scruffy cheeks pulling into his signature V shape. "And I thought I was the old man around here."
"Hey," Harry drags out. "Hawaiian t-shirts are always in style. They're a classic. And anyways, you're the farthest thing from old. You know what would be old? If you need Viagra."
Louis opens his mouth in horror as Harry laughs. "If I ever need to take Viagra, just kill me."
"Did you ever watch Queer as Folk?" Harry giggles. "With—With George Shickle, when he has a heart attack while fucking Emmett?"
A flicker of confusion passes over Louis' face before he's suddenly laughing along. "Yes! Yes, and then Emmett has to yell through the whole plane because they got stuck!"
Harry's cheeks puff up with happiness. Though the scene in the show may not have intentionally been funny, he's happy that Louis seems to think it is too. "Right! Just don't let that happen to you, baby. I don't care to find out what it feels like for someone to die inside me."
"H, Harry, I just thought something awful," Louis warns, biting his lip mischievously. "Like, what if you were blindfolded, right, and had earplugs in. And I fucking died. What if I just died, and you didn't know."
Harry gasps and smacks Louis on the arm. "Don't make me think that!" he still dissolves into giggles again anyway.
"I'm sorry," Louis says. "Won't happen, though, I promise. Can you imagine, though? Us being in our eighties, still having kinky sex?"
It's supposed to be a joke, but Harry gets hung up on the eighties part. "You think we'll be together that long?"
Louis startles and stays silent. "Well," he says slowly. "I mean, yeah? Is that crazy?"
"Then I'm crazy too," Harry sighs happily, resting his hands on Louis' hips. Louis seems to just realize that he's still straddling him and leans down slightly. Harry can feel his breath on his cheek as he says, "Because I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."
Neither of them mention that it's dangerous to confess something like that so early. And, thank god, Louis doesn't tell Harry that his sappy statement rhymes.
*