There's a sock hanging off their apartment door.
Louis stops, staring for a second. The straps of his bag are cutting into his palm, and after a moment he sets it down on the entry mat.
Zayn's brought people back to the flat before- of course he has, when you have a perfectly symmetrical face and a plethora of lickable tattoos it's pretty much unavoidable that you're going to get laid- but he usually saves the sock on the door thing for his room, or, when he was really being an ass, Louis' room. The sock on the door of their actual apartment means that he's on the coffee table or up against the fridge or something equally disgusting and unsanitary and that he needs the entire flat for his deranged sexcapades.
Louis tries the handle anyway (he's willing to participate in whatever kinky threesome will inexorably be the result of him, Louis Tomlinson, and his irresistibly luscious bum entering a room full of lust-filled young men, as long as it means he can get to his bed and wine cabinet afterwards.)
No luck. It's locked, which means Zayn thought ahead.
"Well, fuck you too," says Louis to the door.
"You kind of deserve it," says a voice from behind him, and Louis turns to see Niall, who's leaning against the door to the staircase, a strip of bubble tape dangling out of the corner of his mouth.
"Well, thanks for your support, Niall." Louis has the crappiest friends ever in the history of crappy friends.
Niall sucks in another foot of the tape and waggles his eyebrows. "Didn't you just set his kitchen on fire, like, a couple days ago?"
"Yes, and now he's getting me back by shagging in the ashes. I get it."
"Shagging in the ashes? That doesn't found very sanitary," says Niall, garbled around the huge wad of gum in his mouth. "What if it got in one of his holes?"
"One of his holes? How many do you think he has, anyway?" Louis casts a disparaging look to the string of drool dripping down his chin. "Not that it really matters. What really matters is that I'm homeless. Homeless and wineless. He could have at least put the liquor cabinet outside before he sexed all over it."
"I don't think sex is a verb," says Niall helpfully. He chokes a bit, then continues, one cheek bulging outwards. "And I dunno, four? No. Five. Seven."
"What?"
"Holes."
"Niall, I get that you're straight, but you really should have more knowledge about the male body than you do. Look in a mirror sometime."
"No, but really- like, the mouth, and then the butt-"
Louis is beyond done with having this conversation. "Why are you down here, anyway?"
Niall blows a huge bubble and somehow pops it without smearing it all over his face. "M'just leavin'. Off to ceramics."
"I'll come with." Louis grabs his bag and hikes it over his shoulder. "Watch you make pots or whatever. It's either that or go to the library."
"Oh yeah, the one you got Zayn banned from?"
"I think that was you, actually-"
"Hey, man, I wasn't the one who made the noises in the first place. I just recorded them."
"I'm pretty sure that's cyberbullying or something-"
"You know, come to think of it, there's another bad thing you did to poor Zayn in the past couple of days. Can't really blame him for shagging on your stuff, can you?"
"He's not shagging on my stuff." Probably not. Hopefully not.
"Whatever you say, Lou." Niall steps away from the wall and blows a bubble that gets smeared all over his lips. "You can come with me, but you have to pay for your own bus ticket. Not all of us have sugar daddies paying for our every desire."
"Zayn's not my sugar daddy," Louis gripes, coming up to follow Niall out the front door. "He wouldn't even pay for my half of McDonalds the other day."
"You're a needy one, aren't you?"
"I didn't have my wallet on me."
"Maybe it was too expensive for him."
"It was off the dollar menu."
"Still have to pay for your bus ticket, Lou."
It's not until they're two stops down the bus route that Louis realizes, Liam.
He fumbles his phone out of his pocket and sends a text one-handed, the other one fisted in the back of Niall's hoodie to keep him upright with the swaying of the bus at each stop- where r u?
Liam doesn't respond. Louis, being a level-headed human being who is much too sensible to jump to conclusions, most definitely does not worry about it.
It's only when Niall jumps through the doors of the little shop and into the doors of the man waiting beyond them that Louis remembers, and, oh, shit.
He stops dead outside the door, letting the glass swing shut in front of them. He's frozen out there for a good thirty seconds before Niall opens the door and beckons him back in with an almost sinister smile on his face, like he knew the entire time that Louis would have to do this. Louis really, truly has the crappiest friends ever, in the entire history of everything.
"Hi, Harry," he says, and then ducks his head so he doesn't have to meet the other man's eyes, using shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the radiator next to Niall's as an excuse to turn away from his murmured return of a greeting.
He hasn't seen Harry in four days. Four days is also (purely coincidentally, or course) the amount of time that has passed since he and Harry shared a passionate kiss in front of their entire apartment building. (Not that Louis has been avoiding Harry. That would be juvenile. Louis doesn't run away from his problems, he faces them. Like a man. It just so happens that he hasn't seen him since then, and if Louis has been forgetting to charge his phone, then it's not really his fault, now is it?)
And, of course (because life likes to take a dump on Louis on a daily basis) Harry looks really fucking good. He's wearing a fitted band t-shirt, the scoop neck curving just low enough for the very tips of the sparrow wings to peek out. His skinny jeans are clinging to his thighs in a way that dips dangerously close to jeggings territory, and unless it's just a trick of the sunlight in the brief glimpse Louis caught of him then he's wearing just a hint of sparkly golden eyeliner that brings out the flecks in his green, green eyes.
Louis hates him. He really does.
"Aiden, this is Lou," says Niall from behind him, and then he's being spun around from where he's currently hunched over the radiator and turned to face a man wearing a worn burlap smock and a toothy smile. "Louis, this is Aiden. He's our teacher. Louis wants to sit in on ceramics today."
Aiden has a quiff, so that's an automatic strike against him, but he also has a big smile and clay smeared endearingly across his cheekbone, so Louis decides to not immediately hate him. "Hi, Aiden."
"Hey," he says, and holds out a hand to shake, which Louis accepts. His fingernails are caked with clay, the ridges of his knuckles lined with white powder. "I'm glad you decided to stop by! You can come over to my wheel, if you like. I'll be mostly helping other students, but you can muck about in the clay a bit if you like."
"Sounds great," says Louis, smiling. He realizes that they've been holding hands for a bit too long at about the same time that he notices Harry boring a hole in Aiden's skull from where he's digging through a bowl of wet clay on the other side of the studio.
Louis' smile grows sharper, and he draws back his hands to clap them together brightly. "Well, let's get to it, shall we?"
Aiden smiles. Harry punches a hole in a lump of clay.
Louis has forgotten how fun it is to make someone jealous.
It's been a while since he's had someone that actually feels possessive over him (besides Liam, and that doesn't count, because that's less passionate jealousy than constant fretting over whether or not he's keeping Louis from someone who actually wants him) and he's almost forgotten how much he enjoys watching someone turn green every time he touches someone else.
"A little bit much, don't you think?" mutters Niall, passing behind him while going to refill his tub of water.
"Not at all," says Louis, who's in the middle of sticking his hands down Aiden's pants under the pretense of getting a stray lump of clay off his waistband.
"Why are you here?"
Louis looks over his shoulder to see Niall standing in the doorway of the kiln room, holding a wet pot in his cupped hands. "I'm...this is the kiln room. I'm kiln-ing."
"You seem to have a bit of a problem with verbs." Niall's gaze drops to his hands. "What exactly are you kiln-ing anyway?"
"Oh." Louis shows him the square lump of clay sitting on the top shelf of the kiln. "I carved my phone number into clay."
Niall looks distinctly unimpressed. "That's even worse than that time freshman year. Remember?"
"Niall, now is really not the time for traumatizing memories-"
"With that fit maths teacher-"
"Niall-"
"And on the first test, you wrote your number down for every single answer-"
"Niall-"
"And when he handed it back, he'd asked you why every single one of your answers was four hundred thirty thousand something, and I thought you were going to cry-"
"He was dense, it wasn't my fault he didn't know what a phone number was-"
Niall rolls his eyes. "Harry's not happy about this, you know."
Louis resists saying that's the whole point and turns back to the kiln. "Harry has a boyfriend. He's not allowed to be not happy about this."
"You have some major relationship issues to work out, mate."
"For God's sakes. I'm not in a relationship. We kissed once."
"Whatever. Hey, check out my pot, the handle is shaped like a hotdog."
Half an hour later, when the little hamburger timer on the shelf across the table dings and Aiden says, "Alright, guys, that's it for today," Harry is the first to leave, wiping down his wheel in record time and disappearing out the door before Louis has even extracted his hands from his pile of clay.
Louis scowls- he was hoping for some dramatic confrontation, honestly, the least Harry could have done was stalk over and give Aiden a talking-to or punch him or something- and scrubs his hands under the sink before catching up with Niall, who's loitering by the door, chatting with a pair of girls who obviously haven't spent enough time with him to know that he's a total douche who eats too much.
"C'mon, Ni, let's go," says Louis, and drags him out the shop, leaving him only enough time to call out hurried goodbyes to the girls before the door slams shut behind them. (If they show any further interest in Niall, Louis is going to have to show them his pictures of Niall's snapback collection.)
"Why are you in such a rush?" asks Niall. "Louis? Louis, you're not even listening to me, are you."
Louis cranes his neck back. He can just see a tall figure standing under the awning of a shop a little ways down the street, curls illuminated by the sunset. He has his phone out, but he doesn't appear to be texting, just standing there staring at the screen. "Um."
Niall follows his gaze and rolls his eyes, and is just about to say something when a voice from behind them says, "Lou! I was hoping to catch you!"
They turn to see Aiden, beaming at them. He has a burlap bag over his shoulder with one corner of his apron peeking out of it, and his hands are clean. "I was just wondering- I usually go grab a cup of coffee after a class, want to come with?"
Niall coughs awkwardly. "Well. I'll be...I'll be off then. See you later, Lou. Or not."
Louis pretends he missed the leer Niall sends him with that last sentence.
He looks up at Aiden, who's standing in front of him, looking hopeful. Aiden is hopeful that Louis will say yes to a date because Aiden likes Louis. Aiden is a respectable citizen. He teaches pottery classes on weeknights and he has a cat and a mortgage and he probably has never set anything on fire just for the hell of it. If Louis says yes, they'll go get a cup of coffee, and maybe even try a sip of each other's cups. He doubts they'll kiss, but maybe Aiden will brush his hand with his thumb under the pretense of reaching for the sugar, and they'll both send shy smiles at each other. Maybe that night Aiden will text him, saying that he had fun and that maybe they should do it again sometime? and Louis will say, sure and add a couple xxs on for good measure because he is British and that is how he shows his love.
Maybe, Louis thinks, and out of his peripheral vision sees Harry turn around the corner at the end of the street and vanish behind a building.
"Sorry, Aiden, gotta run. Really nice meeting you, though!" says Louis, and turns to run down the street after where Harry disappeared, leaving Aiden standing there with a bemused frown and a baked square of clay with nine digits carved into the top.
Louis sends Zayn a text the first time he ducks behind a lamppost two streets over.
im following haz through the city and he doesn't know im here
He gets a text back a few minutes later, when Harry turns around to pick off a flyer on the sidewalk and Louis has to throw himself under a parked car.
ok
Sometimes Louis wonders what he would do without Zayn and his always eloquent advice.
If Harry catches a bus or hails a taxi, Louis is pretty much screwed (he can't exactly board the same bus as Harry without him noticing, and he's pretty lost, so being left alone on the sidewalk doesn't seem like a very attractive option.)
Harry does not catch a bus. Harry does not hail a taxi. Harry keeps walking.
Louis mumbles excuses to people he bumps into and makes sure to keep close enough behind Harry that he doesn't lose him in a crowd, but far enough behind that if Harry were to suddenly whip around he could duck down behind someone taller than five foot five and completely disappear. (He's finally found an advantage to being small, it seems. He should really write this down.)
He texts Liam as he crosses yet another intersection against the walk signal.
im stalking fire boy i think uve been rubbing off on me payne
Liam does not respond. Louis frowns and texts again.
do u not even care about me anymore liam ur the worst fake bf ever
He almost runs into a tree checking his phones for messages and is forced to elegantly sidestep into a bush. Looking up, he realizes that they're in the little park in the very middle of the city, the one square half-mile of dirt-covered concrete with a tiny forest and lots of picturesque woodland benches perfect for high-school make outs and homeless men.
He glances around to see Harry turning down the path ahead of him. Hurrying to keep up, he almost crashes into a mother pushing her kid in a stroller, and opens up his messenger to text Liam again.
where r u why rnt u responding
liam i need u
Still not responding. Louis hates when people aren't paying attention to him.
liam i want u
No response. Louis frowns and jumps out of the path as a biker goes whizzing by without looking away from his phone.
i want u and ur big dick
i want u to put ur big dick inside me and fuck me til it hurts xx
or i can suck u off first
hey liam did u know i have no gag reflex? Xxxx
have u ever been rimmed before bc let me tell u
Louis crashes into something warm and solid, sending his phone skittering to the ground.
"Sorry, sorry!" He drops to his knees, scooping his cell phone from the dirt path. "Wasn't looking where I was go..."
His voice trails off as he looks up to see Harry Styles staring down at him, looking distinctly unamused.
Louis lets out a girly shriek that he will later deny and scrambles back a few feet, looking up at Harry in horror. "Hi! Harry! Wow, this is such a coincidence, both of us, in the park, at the same exact time! Isn't fate a funny thing?"
"You've been following me," says Harry. It's not a question.
"What? That's ridiculous. That's silly!" Louis stands up, stumbling a bit, and rights himself on a nearby bench. "Why would you think something like that?"
"No, I mean, you've been following me. I saw you twenty minutes ago."
"Oh." So much for his stealth. "In my defense, I was distracted."
"By texting?" Harry casts a dubious look down to the dirt-smeared phone in his hands.
"Sexting, actually." Damn. Damn him and his big mouth. "What I meant was- not sexting, per say, more one-sided sexting, which isn't technically sexting, probably. I mean, the other person wasn't responding-"
Harry's face is unreadable. "Is there any reason in particular you've been following me around for half an hour when you haven't talked to me for four days?"
"Um. No reason, really, none in particular. I need a new hobby. There was nothing good on TV. I want to know what you do in your free time. I didn't mean to say that last one."
"You ramble quite a bit, don't you?" Harry turns abruptly, continues walking down the path. "Fine. You want to know what I do in my free time? Follow me."
They stop at the Big Oak.
The Big Oak is in the center of the park, and it's the oldest tree in the city, which isn't saying much. The plaque at the bottom says one hundred-fifty years, but Louis is fairly sure he can remember it being planted when he was a young child.
"So...you have, like, a tree fetish or something?"
Harry turns to stare at Louis. "No. Unlike some, I don't flirt with everything and everyone I come into contact with."
"If this is because of the stupid phone number plaque thing-"
"You practically gave him a hand job over the pottery wheel-"
"I bet you wish I'd give you a hand job over the pottery wheel-"
"Of course I wish that!" Harry curls his hands into fists and stuffs them in his pockets. "God damn it, Louis, you're so confusing! Is there something wrong with me? Why have you been avoiding me?"
Louis stares at him blankly. "You actually wanted a hand job?"
Harry reaches down, burrowing his long fingers into the moss by the roots of the tree. "Louis, I'm fairly sure that everyone you've ever met wants a hand job from you. I'm also fairly sure you've given it to a good percent of them, too."
Louis' lip curls back in a snarl. "And you're upset because I haven't- what the hell are you doing?"
Harry doesn't look up from where he's digging around by the roots of the tree. "You'll see."
It's dark and it's starting to get chilly and Louis is standing here watching a man dig under a tree in the city park when he could be in some quaint coffee shop somewhere getting familiar with a piping hot tea. "Will I?"
"Yes," says Harry, standing. He sounds smug. "Watch."
They both stare at the base of the tree. Louis lasts a good thirty seconds before he has to ask, "What am I watching for, exactly?"
"You'll see," Harry repeats, and that's when the first orange flame licks up the bark.
"Holy shit," says Louis, and takes a step back. The flame catches. The bark around the base crackles, and the trunk starts to smoke at the flames lick their way upwards. Harry watches them with a huge smile spread across his face.
"Holy shit," says Louis again, and then looks wildly over at Harry. "You- you don't even have any matches!"
Harry wiggles his fingers, looking absolutely delighted. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
"How did you do that without any matches?"
"It's just so gorgeous." Harry looks absolutely serene, any stress or anger leftover from his argument with Louis washed from his face by the glow of the flame. "I could watch it forever."
The first branch catches, sending the leaves going up with a sharp hiss. A spark flies from the branch to the tree next to it.
"Harry?" Louis takes another step back, and another, but still feels the heat searing across his face. The bark at the base of the tree is starting to blacken and peel off, in long, flaming curls.
"Yes, Louis?" Harry still doesn't look away from the fire.
"Shouldn't we...run?"
"Yes, sure. Soon." Harry sounds peaceful. "Just give me a minute."
Louis gives him ten seconds before he's tugging on his arm, yanking him backwards. "Harry, c'mon."
The first branch goes crashing to the ground. Harry gives a heartfelt sigh of contentment and turns to follow Louis.
They've only reached a bench in the other ring of the park when Louis turns and shoves Harry in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards. His knees catch the edge of the bench and he folds, sitting down with a thump.
"You just started a forest fire, you asshole! For no reason!"
Harry looks up at him with innocent green eyes. "You know my reason."
"'I like fire' is not a good enough reason for setting an entire forest on fire!" It's strange, towering over Harry like this. Louis isn't sure if he likes it. "What if you kill someone?"
Harry shrugs. "By the time the flames reach them, they'll have had enough time to get away. Someone's probably already called the fire department."
"You sound pretty confident for someone who could be going to jail tomorrow for manslaughter."
Harry stares up at him. "You're so boring."
"What?" Louis has been called many things over the years. He's been called a jerk and a bitch and a whore, he's been called a slut and a motherfuckin' douchebag and a two-faced slimy-skinned liar, he's been called ugly and fat and obnoxious but he's never, ever been called boring. "I am not boring."
"Yes you are." Harry reaches up, grabs two fistfuls of his jacket. Louis looks down to his hands and then back to his face.
"I am very exciting," he says, and if his voice cracks a bit then nobody has to know. "Some might even call me thrilling."
"Are you," says Harry, and gives his jacket an experimental tug downwards.
Louis lurches forward a little, one of his hands coming out to brace himself on Harry's shoulder. "Harry," he says, and it's supposed to sound like an admonishment but it comes out sounding more like a plea.
Harry smiles, and then pulls him in all the way.
Their lips meet softly. Harry's are already slightly parted and Louis bites a bit at his lower lip a little, making Harry's mouth fall open in a quiet groan.
The kiss instantly becomes heated. Louis clambers onto the bench without breaking the kiss, bracketing Harry's hips with his thighs and curling two hands into his thick head of hair. The curls feel silky between his fingers, and Louis can't help but entangle his hands further and tug, just to feel the taut stretch of the ringlets in his hands.
Harry groans again and tips his head back, allowing Louis to dip his tongue into his mouth in a slow, dirty rhythm that he mimics with his hips before he even realizes it, rolling down each time his tongue flicks across the back of Harry's teeth.
Louis tears away, Harry following his mouth. He pulls Harry's hair until his head is forced back onto the headrest and dips down to suck a biting kiss into his neck, making Harry arch up against him.
Harry tastes sweet and smoky all at the same time, like glazed doughnuts and campfires. He's delicious. Louis wants to lick him all over.
"Not so boring now, am I, fire boy?" breathes Louis into Harry's throat. Harry whines, and Louis leans back up to kiss him again.
He snakes a hand in between them, running his fingers over Harry's belt buckle and then grinding down hard on the bulge under the zipper with the heel of his hand. Harry's head falls back as he groans, the sound almost drowned out by the sound of crackling fire and sirens in the distance.
"What was that you were saying earlier?" says Louis, panting just a little, sucking his lower lip into his mouth as he watches Harry's face, his half-hooded green eyes and the way his mouth falls open a little more every time he grinds his hand down. "That you wouldn't mind me giving you a hand job?"
"Louis," says Harry, like it's all he knows.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Louis jerks back so hard that he falls off the bench, landing on the ground with a hard thump. He whips his head around to see a man in a red jogging suit staring down at him, his face dripping with sweat, a cell phone flipped open in one hand.
"Um," says Louis.
Harry gives what sounds like a strangled gurgle.
"I-" the jogger looks behind him, to where a burning branch is currently crashing to the ground. "It's- have you noticed the forest fire?"
"I did, yes," says Louis.
"Well, I mean, unless your dream is to die having semi-public sex- which, I mean, if it is, more power to you- I would recommend you grab your boyfriend and run," says the jogger, and sprints away from them down the path.
"He's not my boyfriend," shouts Louis after him, and then turns to Harry, who appears to be in a catatonic state, staring up at the sky with glassy eyes.
"Come on, Styles," says Louis, and gets a grip under his armpits, yanking him upright. "For God's sakes, you're the pyro here, I shouldn't have to rescue you from a fire."
Harry gets to his feet, still staring blankly at Louis. He looks absolutely obscene, his puffy lips ridiculously swollen, eyeliner smeared across his cheekbones, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed, skin-tight trousers tenting hugely in the front.
"Come on," repeats Louis. "Run."
They run.
The taxi ride is awkward.
The driver doesn't look very happy when they clamber into the back- sweaty and smelling of smoke, both with very obvious erections straining at their jeans- but Louis appeases him with a down payment and a promise that the trip isn't too far.
It takes ten minutes to get back to their apartment. They spend it in utter silence, staring out their respective windows. Louis watches a fire truck speed by and contemplates breaking the window and diving out just so he doesn't have to face Harry back at their apartment.
Louis pays the cab driver- Harry still doesn't say a word- and climbs out of the taxi without a backwards glance, setting out towards the building.
"Louis."
He turns. Harry's standing there, his hands in his pockets.
"Sorry, Harry," he says, not quite sure what he's apologizing for, and turns away to head back to his apartment alone.
Their door is sock-less, which is good, Louis supposes.
He lets himself in, setting down his back in the hall with a thump. There's off-tune whistling drifting from the kitchen, so Louis drags himself towards it, pausing to glare at his reflection in the hall mirror and will his hard-on to die down already.
Zayn's at the sink, washing a bowl and whistling the theme to Hello Dolly. He's in only a pair of bright blue boxer shorts and striped slipper socks, and there are bruises bitten all over the smooth skin of his neck and chest.
"You've been with Harry," he says, without turning around.
Louis blinks. "What, you read minds now?"
"You smell like smoke," says Zayn, and finally turns. There's a little quirk to his slightly swollen lips like he can't stop smiling, and he looks so well fucked that Louis hates him more than a little bit.
"Good lay?" says Louis, heading to the fridge. He freezes with a hand on the fridge door when a sudden thump sounds from deeper in the apartment and turns incredulously to face Zayn. "A good lay that's still here."
Zayn shrugs. "He fell asleep, and I felt bad waking him up. Don't scare him too badly, he was sweet."
"Sweet enough for a round two? Do I need to leave?" Louis has had enough sexual frustration over the past couple of weeks without hearing a live porn show from the next room.
"Nah, he'll just be leaving." Zayn snaps a dish towel at his ass. "Help me dry."
"Let me brush my teeth, my mouth tastes like smoke," Louis groans, and trips his way into the hallway to the bathroom, flicking the light on with the heel of his hand. He very purposefully does not look at his reflection as he turns the tap on and splashes water against his sweaty skin.
There's a knock on the door. It could only have belonged to Zayn's guest, because Zayn never would have knocked. (Zayn and Louis have very little concept of things like Personal Space or Privacy.)
"Come in, I'm just washing up," calls Louis, and turns the tap off with a squeak.
There's no answer, so Louis rolls his eyes- a timid one, this one- and reaches up to pull the door open. His jaw drops.
"Hey, Louis," says a very sheepish Liam Payne.