When Harry wakes up again, it's to his sister poking him in the face with a cold set of keys and saying, "Jesus fucking Christ, Harry, ourmother had to see this."
Harry opens his eyes, first of all registering that he has a mouthful of Louis' hair obstructing his breathing, he's very cold and very naked, and that Louis' hand is in between his legs, sandwiched between his thighs. Under the blanket, thankfully, but it doesn't help the fact he's half-hard and his sister is here and – oh, god.
"G'way," Harry says, blinking awake. Louis is still dead asleep, nose pressed to his shoulder.
"We've just driven two hours in the snow, came up here to find your door open, you haven't packed, and you've got a naked boy in your bed, so no, I am not going to go away until I get an explanation." Harry squints up at her, trying to shift so he's facing upright but also so he doesn't fall off his bed.
"I told you come in the afternoon," he manages, voice rough as sandpaper. Gemma raises her eyebrows. "It's one o'clock, Harry. We've come straight from Sheffield."
Harry groans, slumping back on the pillow and throwing a hand over his eyes. Louis shuffles in his sleep next to him, hand still cupping his upper thigh, dangerously close to a...dangerously family-unfriendly place.
"We're going to get some lunch. Mum's recovering from her trauma in the corridor. Don't go back to sleep, all right? We'll be back in an hour."
"Whatever," he mumbles, already closing his eyes, and then nearly jumping out of his skin when Gemma empties his water bottle on his face.
"I mean it, twerp," is her parting warning as Harry splutters awake, Louis startled into consciousness next to him as well.
"What – the fucking hell – was that?" he gasps, hitting his arm on the wall as he wipes the water from his face. Harry just lies there, water trickling into his hair as he stares dazedly at the ceiling.
"My charming sister."
"Your sister? What?"
"Apparently I left the door open last night, I don't know how she got in the flat though – oh, gross, did I sleep on some chips?"
Louis' face melts into laughter as he watches Harry pick mushy cold chips off of his cheek, helping him pick some off the pillow and chuck it in the bin. He props his head on his hand, peering down at Harry and pinching his nipple, making him squirm.
"Lou," he says, groaning. "My mum is in the corridor."
"Sorry." He doesn't look it at all, smoothing his hand over Harry's stomach instead, thumb rubbing at his sternum. "Hey. About last night. You, er, remember everything?"
Harry nods solemnly, curling a hand around Louis' bicep. "I remember everything you said. And the chips." He pauses for a second, craning his neck to check Gemma has definitely gone. "And the blowjobs."
Louis' mouth curls into a smirk. "Right. The blowjobs that weren't supposed to happen. Drunk you was very insistent about that for about five minutes."
Harry makes a guilty face, pushing his wet hair out of his face. "Well, I kind of, um, stand by that, you know? I want to take it slow, if we're going to do this, or even if we're not. Just...start it all over again."
Louis nods, shifting so he's now lying face-down on the bed, pressing a soft kiss to Harry's upper arm.
"Yeah. I get it. And you're right, I think, about taking some time to think about stuff. But, you know." He rubs his nose gently against his skin. "If you wanted to come down to Doncaster and stay for a bit, I wouldn't be opposed to that. I've got fuck all to do on New Year's as all my friends are busy, so..."
Harry is about to open his mouth and say what about your party but for once, his brain catches his mouth before it can ruin things and he says, "Yeah. That would be awesome. I'd love to."
"Cool." Louis leans up, brushing his lips against Harry's. "I s'pose I'd better go before your sister beats me up. Give me a text sometime, yeah?"
"Sure." Harry can't help himself; he holds Louis in place, kisses him again, and it takes supreme self-control to push Louis off him with his boner threatening to reach the point of no return.
"Bye," Louis murmurs against his mouth, and then he's climbing off him, barely giving Harry a chance to ogle his bum before he's pulling on his pants and last night's suit. Harry sits up and rubs at his sore head, before saying, "Hey, borrow some clothes if you don't fancy walk-of-shaming."
Louis turns to face him, shirt half done up and trousers unbuttoned. "Harold. I walk of shame with pride."
"Nevertheless," Harry says, reaching over to open his draw and chucking Louis the first t-shirt he grabs, "I won't miss whatever you take. Go for it."
Louis holds the shirt over the trousers, giving Harry an amused look as he says, "And what am I meant to wear on bottom, eh? I can't fit into any of your jeans, beanpole."
"I've got some trackies, um, somewhere," Harry mumbles, hand rummaging blindly in the drawer, before Louis reaches down to stop him.
"Hey. It's fine. I don't mind." Harry scrunches up his nose as Louis cups his jaw with his free hand and nuzzles against his cheek. "Get up and get packing. Don't worry about me."
"Mmm," Harry mumbles, watching him as he dresses, grabbing his phone and wallet from the desk before blowing him a kiss. Harry waves at him until he's gone, before sighing heavily, rubbing his head and staring at the mess he's made of his room. He doesn't last two seconds before Liam appears in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, shirtless and carrying a – is that a bandana?
"Now, I might still be a bit drunk," he says, as Harry guardedly pulls the sheets over his lap to conceal his boner and Liam steps into the room, "but I believe what just happened here was I let your mum and sister into our flat, somebody screamed, and then Louis walked out of your room wearing last night's clothes and looking pretty pleased with himself."
"Um." Harry rubs his nose, trying to paint an innocent look on his face. "That might, technically, be correct."
"Are you two..." Liam does a complicated gesture with both hands that leaves Harry feeling weirdly dizzy.
"Um. Dunno. Maybe not just yet. But we'll see."
Liam gives him a violent thumbs up, bandana hanging from his fist. "Awesome, mate. Hope it all works out. I don't know where your family's gone, by the way."
"They ran away," Harry says with a sigh. "Don't fancy helping me pack, do you, Li?"
"Not really, man. Anyway, I've got a guest waiting for me in my room, so..."
Harry snorts loudly. "Get in, mate. Well done."
Liam gives him another thumbs up, swaying slightly – he does look a bit drunk still – before disappearing back into the corridor.
Harry stares at his mess. It's going to be a long day.
Fortunately, by the time Gemma and his mum come back he's showered, cleaned up all the chips and packed everything away, and even though his mum gives him A Look, he quickly apologises before she can say anything and hugs her tight, and they don't mention it. It feels weird saying goodbye to everyone – well, it's not everyone, since Perrie and Zayn can't be roused and apparently Jade went back with some rugby guy last night – but since he's going to see them all at Louis' party, it's a little more reassuring. He falls asleep almost straight away in the car on the drive home, and to his surprise once they get back Gemma offers to help him carry his stuff upstairs.
"You feeling all right?" he asks, as she takes his bag and slings it over her shoulder, her own travelcase in the other hand.
"Yeah, fine," she says airily, and Harry frowns all the way upstairs until she dumps his bag on the bed and sits down cross-legged on the bed.
"So," she says, looking up at him. "You said you and Louis weren't a thing."
Harry stares at her. "Um-"
"I'm not thick, Harry, and I'm not blind either, though that's not to say I wish I had been for this morning's events. He's the one you've been obsessing over, right?"
Harry sighs. "I wouldn't say obsessing-"
"How long have you been sleeping with him? You do know how boys are, right? I don't see why not, you are one, but if you're in love with him and he's just sleeping with you because you're quote unquote just mates having fun-"
"Gem," he says, sitting down next to her and toeing off his boots. "I can explain. Please?"
"This better be good," she says, sitting back against the wall. Harry takes a deep breath, and decides to tell the whole truth.
It takes quite a long time – their mum comes up with tea halfway through, and then sits in on the rest of the discussion, making Harry significantly tone down the sexual mentions – and once he's done it's dark and he's very hungry, but it feels better to have them know. His mum and his sister have always been the ones who he's always trusted to come to for advice, and he isn't sure he quite realised how much keeping this from them had affected him.
"Oh, baby," Anne says, when he finishes telling them about what had happened the previous night, collecting up his empty mug of tea and setting it on top of the dressing table. "Come have a cuddle. It's all right."
He leans into his mum's embrace gratefully, and then he gets a hug from Gemma too, which weirdly only serves to make him think he's just had a break-up than potentially starting a relationship. They order Chinese and watch Corrie and Harry doesn't think about anything but his family for a good few hours, which is what he'd been hoping for. A bit of perspective, that's all he needs.
When he gets into bed that night, he's just plugging his phone in to charge when a message buzzes on the screen.
hope u had a safe trip home. I am also now back in the loving arms of my family.got glitter in my hair already haha ! miss you xxx
He settles back on his pillows, the angle a little awkward where the lead is sticking out his phone as he waits a few moments before replyingyeah made it back fine. Nothing beats dinner cooked by mum! :) miss you too .xx
Definitely not ! Chicken pie for me, it was proper tasty. Your nearly as good cook as my mum though to be honest xxx
They don't stop texting until one in the morning, Harry's face aching from how much he's grinning and thumbs aching from all the typing.
So much for his perspective.
Over the next few days the theme continues: he spends more time glued to his phone than usual, which results in a lot of unexpected missiles thrown at him by Gemma. He's pelted with a cushion, a shoe, a chocolate bar, an apple and an almost-full-capacity handbag before he realises that yes, maybe he's not entirely paying attention to the world outside his phone: when he goes to the pub to meet up with some of his old friends from school it's a real challenge to stop his itchy fingers wandering to the back pocket of his jeans every time it vibrates with a new text.
They all take his coming out very well, and it's so heartening that Harry gets very drunk and stumbles home incredibly cheerful; he gets in bed but the world is spinning too much to sleep, so he grabs his phone and dials Louis' number.
"Hello?"
"Hullo, Lou," Harry says, sinking back under the covers. "I miss you."
"Is everything all right?" Louis sounds worried, and then laughs out loud. "Oh my god, are you drunk?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. I like getting drunk with you." Everything is a bit soft and hazy, and his mouth is a little dry and his eyes are droopy, but he knows if he falls asleep the world will tip up and he'll fall straight out of bed. "The world's all tippy, Lou."
"Oh my god." Louis won't stop laughing. That isn't very helpful. "Did you get drunk with your mum? Few too many mulled wines?"
"No," Harry says, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand and pulling the duvet up over his head. "With m'friends. It's not funny. I have friends." He pauses for a second, considering all the mulled wine he's drunk. "Mulled wine was very nice though."
"Oh, Harry, I'm sure it was. I'm sorry." Louis sounds like he's trying to stop himself from laughing. "It's half twelve, you know? I was just about to go to bed."
"Sorry," Harry mumbles, trying to tuck himself up in his duvet. "I'll leave you alone now."
"No, stay on. I like hearing you talk."
Harry snorts, grinning into his pillow. "What's happened to you? I don't know you. You've changed, man."
"Rude." There's a little silence, when Harry's wine-fuzzy head just concentrates on the soft sounds of whatever Louis is doing on the other end of the phone: little sharp huffs of breath, the rustle of fabric.
"What are you doing?" Harry asks, biting the inside of his cheek.
"Getting changed for bed." There's a little pause, and then Louis adds, "Why, are you going to ask me what I'm wearing?"
"No," Harry says slowly.
"Do it. Ask what I'm wearing."
"Um." Harry swallows dryly, shifting a little on the mattress, the drunken synapses in his brain firing belatedly and telling him this might end up well for him. "What are you wearing?"
"At this moment," Louis says grandly, before there's another rustle of fabric and a small thump, "nothing."
Harry turns his head into the pillow, groaning unexpectedly loudly. He hears Louis laugh.
"What about you, sweet drunk Harold?"
"Nothing," he mumbles, closing his eyes, legs falling open almost involuntary as his cock perks up a little.
"Well," Louis says breathily, "isn't that a great shame."
"I don't know how this works, exactly," Harry blurts out, stupidly. "I don't, um. Think I'll be very good at it. Also, um. I thought...the thing, I thought we weren't."
"We don't have to," Louis says quietly, though Harry can hear his breath hitch like it does whenever Harry gets a hand on him, like he's just wrapped his fist around his dick and is going for it anyway. "I don't want to feel like I'm taking advantage or anything. But, you know. You've got a really great voice, Harry. All slow and sexy."
Harry flushes hard in the hot air where he's trapped under his duvet.
"You too," he mumbles, free hand tugging on his bottom lip, wishing Louis was here right now, wishing they could have the conversation they desperately need to have, so he can give himself to him, once and for all. "But, um. I mean it. We need to, like, think about things. This isn't going to help."
There's a little pause, and then Louis says, "Sure, yeah. I understand. Sorry about that."
"It's OK. It was pretty hot. We could do it again, some other time. When I've not had so much wine."
Louis laughs, soft and wonderful. "Right, yeah. Besides, my sister is in the next room and we've got pretty thin walls."
"Hah. Same." Harry closes his eyes again, just briefly, feeling a warm wash of drowsiness overtake him. He wishes Louis were there. It's just not the same sleeping without being squashed into a wall. "'m tired, Lou."
"Go to sleep, I'll speak to you in the morning. We should Skype, I want to see what you're room's like."
"Mm. Good idea."
"Night, Harry."
"G'night." He's so tired all of a sudden he just lets the phone fall away from his ear, letting the wave overtake him and wash him away. When he wakes up he's got his phone squashed against his cheek, but the call's still on, all seven hours, thirteen minutes of it, because Louis never hung up and neither did he. His heart clenches at the thought.
"Hello?" he mumbles into the handset. There's nothing for a long time, until a sleepy voice replies, "Just checking you didn't die during the night, that's all."
"I wasn't that drunk," he whispers in reply.
"No, I know. Still, it's the next best thing to being there with you."
"Oh." There's a long silence, Harry's finger dancing over the End Call button. "Um, can I hang up now or would that be rude?"
Louis' laugh will never fail to put a smile on his face. "Go ahead. Promise I won't hold it against you."
"I'll text you later after I've finished my shift at work," Harry says, staring at the picture of Louis looking back at him from the screen – a stupid drunk picture they'd taken one time when they'd got back to the flat and sat in bed talking until five in the morning, Louis' eyes red and puffy, tongue stuck out as wide as it would go, hair mussed up from where they'd been wrestle/tickle fighting.
"Go for it. Speak to you later, Haz."
"Cool." He's about to do it before he blurts out, "Um, thank you. For staying on the line. It was...nice to wake up to that."
"All right," he chuckles, the line going static as the duvet covers rustle on the other end. "I'm gonna go back to sleep now, so you can hang up if you want. But, you know. You too. Bye."
"Bye," Harry says, and when he hears Louis' echo he hangs up. For some reason he feels an acute stab of loneliness at the fact he can be so close to Louis and then immediately lose him, like snapping an ephemeral string, and now he's just cold and alone in his childhood bedroom with only the sound of next door's toilet and the boiler ticking over keep him company.
You need to talk to him, his mind reminds him as he rolls over and groans into the pillow.
Christmas arrives in a whirlwind of tinsel and baubles and frantic wrapping, which is especially traumatic with Gemma flicking him on the ear every time he abandons wrapping to reach for his phone: in the end she has to confiscate it from him, and he'd swear he was the older and she the younger every time she smirks at him, "So how's Louis?" She's got annoyingly fast reactions so he never manages to catch her and pin her down in time.
"I hate you," he grumbles, once they're done wrapping their joint present for Des and she finally gives him his phone back. She sticks her tongue out at him. "Go suck a dick."
"I'll leave that to you," she calls after him, and he shuts his bedroom door behind him with a loud sigh. Louis' last text just reads skype ? so he grabs his laptop from his bed and opens it up as he replies, yeah, gimme 2 seconds.
When Louis answers his call, the first thing he says is "Happy Birthday!"
Louis grins. "Thank you. I'm so old."
"Nah, that's not 'til you're 25," Harry says, smiling back. "How's your day so far?"
"Good, good. Loads of presents, which was excellent. Going for dinner tonight with mum and the girls and my grandparents. Oh, and apparently I'm getting a secret birthday party on New Year's eve, you secret-keeping little fucker."
Harry's grin could probably be seen from outer space. "Yeah, your mate Stan invited me and everyone from the flat."
"What a twat," Louis says, shifting where he's sitting propped against a wall, flicking his fringe out of his face. "He let me believe all my bloody friends were going to leave me alone on my birthday, that nobody gave a shit, and then bam, 12 o'clock this morning, I get a Facebook invite to my own birthday. Just as well I never made any plans for New Year's."
"You don't sound too happy about it."
"I am, I just hate surprises," Louis says, and Harry swears he's pouting just a tiny bit. "Oh. I've got your Christmas present, by the way."
"You do?" Harry feels a terrible tug of guilt in his chest. "Um, I never got you one, what with – everything going on-"
Louis rolls his eyes at him. "Don't worry about it. Your present can be turning up at my party." He shifts again, the screen tipping, before saying, "So, did you still want to come up and visit me?"
"Yeah, definitely," Harry says, way too quickly. "Um, if that's what you wanted to do, of course."
"Why don't you come up the day before the party? I can, like, show you around a bit. My shitey home town." He pauses for a second, biting his lip. "Also, maybe, we could have a talk about some stuff. Some things I need to apologise for. To clear the air, you know, before anything...before other things happen."
Harry sits up straighter against the wall, nodding. "Yeah. I think that would be good. Yeah."
"Good." Louis smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Harry listens as he lists off what he got for his birthday and how little revision he's done – "we've got basically a whole month until exams, it's fine," – but all he can think of is before other things happen, as if there is a possibility of things happening, and he knows it's probably the best Christmas present he'll get this year.
"It's forecast snow tonight, so be careful," Anne says, as he's coming down the stairs a week later. She's got her arms folded and a worried frown on her face like he's about to depart for the Antarctic.
"Yes, mum," he says dutifully.
"The sat nav's in the glove compartment if you get lost-"
"I'm sure I'm capable of following signs," Harry says, holding his palm out for the keys. She doesn't budge. It's Robin who hands them over in the end, planting a kiss on Anne's forehead before saying, "He's a big boy, love, he'll be all right. You've got your phone, Harry?"
"Always," he says, pulling it out from where it's tucked into his sleeve. He raises his eyebrows at his mum. "I'll be fine. Really. It's not like I'm meeting a strange man off the internet for a date. He's my best friend."
Gemma appears at the top of the stairs, wrapped in a towel, and spots him standing on the bottom step. "Oh, you're off then. Goodbye, you curly loser, and don't have too much sex unless he's made an honest man out of you."
"Gemma!" He flushes bright red, and Anne pops her head around the corner to stare, giving his sister a rare moment of complete embarrassment.
"Oh – god – I didn't realise – goodbye," she says hastily, before returning to her room as quickly as she'd arrived. Harry stares at his mum and Robin, at a loss for what to say.
"Well," Anne says, glancing at his bag, "you do have supplies, then?"
"Goodbye," Harry says firmly, wrenching the front door open before stopping on the steps and going back inside to give both of them a hug and a kiss. "Sorry, didn't want that to be our last conversation if I end up in a ditch tonight-"
"Harry!"
"Yes, yes, I know, I'm not – look, goodbye, I love you, and I'll be fine. And, um, yes I do have...the necessary supplies," he says, willing his blush to go down. He stares his mum right in the eye, but she just smile and pats him on the arm.
"OK. Good luck, sweetheart. Drop us a text whenever."
"See you next year!" Robin calls out, and then Harry is definitely going, throwing his bag in the passenger seat before climbing in the driver's side. It's been a while since he drove, but it's not exactly something you forget, though it is a little unnerving with his mum and stepdad watching him hawkishly as he backs out of the drive. He remembers which pedals are which, which is a good start, he supposes.
It feels weird to be driving up to Manchester and not go back to uni, even though he's only done the journey once: he plays his music, probably too loud, to distract himself from the nerves settling in his stomach, and stops off at a service station to get McDonald's and switch the sat nav on about halfway to Sheffield, putting in Louis' post code as he chomps away on a bacon double cheeseburger.
It's properly dark by the time he gets back on the road, the lights of the passing cars almost soothing, and he switches it so he's listening to Ed's playlist on repeat. He's never been to Doncaster before but on first glance as he enters the town, it's like a lot of other Northern towns he's seen, unspectacular in the dark, though the trees lined with Christmas lights and the decorations hanging off the terraced houses do give it some charm.
Louis lives on one of these streets, a narrow, almost one-way road lined with low 1950s semi-detached council houses, in varying states of upkeep but mostly cheery with luminous Christmas decorations. He parks off of the drive of number 78, where there's a dark Opel Meriva next to a small silver Vauxhall Corsa, palms suddenly sweaty. Even though he has the text open on his phone with Louis' address on, he's still faintly paranoid that he's got the wrong place, but the moment is short lived when the front door opens, golden light spilling out onto the unkempt garden when Louis waves at him.
Harry grins, waving back and grabbing his bag off the passenger seat, quickly unhooking his iPod and, after a moment's thought, the sat nav as well and shoving them in his bag as he gets out of the car, locking it and meeting Louis halfway up the garden path in a big hug. Louis smells like washing powder and also kind of like cinnamon, and Harry hugs him as tightly as he dares, closing his eyes and burying his face in his neck.
"Thought you'd driven into a ditch for a while there," Louis murmurs, hands resting on his sides. "Thought you said you'd be here at seven?"
"Well, I stopped for McDonald's," Harry replies, as Louis pulls back from him, their condensed breath mingling between them. Louis huffs a sigh and rolls his eyes.
"Oh, did you. Mum's got some shepherd's pie kept warm in the oven for you. Hope you're still hungry."
"She didn't have to-"
"No, but that's what mums are for, innit? C'mon, let's get you inside, I'm bloody freezing."
Harry follows him back towards the house, noting that Louis is just wearing socks under his baggy trackies even though the path is overgrown and damp with rain. Inside the Tomlinson house is quite a lot of mess – children's toys and clothes and too many pieces of furniture in every room, a huge overflowing coat rack by the door with a rather large pile of mismatched shoes underneath – "Just shove your shoes anywhere, not like anyone in this house has got flippers the size of yours," – and the whole place smells like girl. Harry isn't quite sure, now he thinks about it, how you quantify the smell of 'girl' but this definitely smells of it. A mixture of sweet perfume and clean clothes and flowery shampoo and – Harry's going a bit out on a limb here – probably hormones.
"You look scared," Louis says, leaning against the stairs as Harry shakes his boots off.
"No," he lies. "Just, it's cool to see your house."
"It's like a bomb site at the moment. Mum apologises, but the twins had some friends round today so she hasn't had time to clean."
"Putting words in my mouth again, sweetheart?"
Harry looks up to see who can only be Louis' mum, smiling at him and standing next to her son.
"Mrs Tomlinson, hi-" He stumbles forwards, one boot still on, to give her a kiss on the cheek.
"It's Jay, please. Lovely to meet you again, Harry. You must be starving, darling, I've got some dinner left for you in the kitchen-"
Harry is about to open his mouth and say no, it's fine, when he catches Louis' expression as he's tugging off the last boot, and instead says, "That would be great, thank you so much."
"Not a problem. I'll just grab it out of the oven, come in whenever you're settled. Did you want something to drink? Tea, coffee, we have all the flavours of squash that Robinsons has ever made-"
"Um. A cup of tea would be great, thanks."
She beams at him before disappearing into the kitchen, and then it's just him and Louis again. He jumps onto the first step of the stairs, motioning for Harry to follow. "C'mon, you can dump your stuff in my room. I'm sleeping on the sofa, so, don't worry about any of that stuff."
Harry can't see Louis' face as he's speaking, just follows him up one flight of narrow stairs and then the next. They emerge on a small sloped-ceilinged landing, a door on either side: one is resolutely shut, the other leads into what must be Louis' room. Harry follows, drinking in everything he can: the football posters on the walls, the crowded desk, the piles of clothes in front of the freestanding wardrobe. He's got a double bed, though one side is pushed up against the wall, a collection of football trophies lined up on the windowsill above the bed.
"It's a bit of a mess," Louis says eventually, perching on the end of the bed, "but, y'know. Would you expect anything else?"
"No, not really," Harry says, with a smile, before putting his bag down by the door and folding his coat over it. He goes to sit down next to Louis, both just staring at each other, and he's so happy because this feels different – good different, different in that there's promise in Louis' eyes.
"Hi," Louis says, smiling at him before dropping his gaze to his lap. He's still grinning. Harry shifts his leg so their knees are knocking.
"Hey."
"So, um. I thought tomorrow we could, like. Have that talk? Before everyone gets here for the party." Louis glances up at him, and Harry nods. "There's this park I used to go to for a kickabout when I was younger. Well, it's a field, really. But it's nice and big and there aren't usually many people there. So." He wrinkles his nose, and Harry watches his hands as his fingers drum restlessly on his thighs. "We could even take the football and have a bit of a kickabout."
"It wouldn't be much of one, you know how crap I am."
"I don't mind," Louis says, slowly reaching his hand over so it curls around Harry's. He can feel his heart jump to his throat, pumping wildly. "This, um, OK?"
"Yeah," Harry murmurs, before laughing a little and saying, "Is this weird?"
"I don't think so, I just don't want to, like. Mess it up," Louis says quietly. Harry looks up from their folded hands and sees the genuine concern written as if in bold over Louis' face.
"You're good," he says eventually, and he's just about to lean in and kiss him when Jay shouts up the stairs, "Louis, Harry's tea's getting cold, get down here!"
Louis sighs, untangling his hands. "Yes, mum, be right down!" He stands up, rolling his eyes at Harry. "Mothers, eh? C'mon. I hope you're ready for a fuckton of questions. My sisters are the chattiest little girls you could ever wish to meet."
"I think I'm prepared," Harry says, grinning, following him downstairs.
Louis is right: almost the exact moment he sits down at the kitchen table with his dinner, two curious faces appear at the door, and within five minutes they're sat at the table opposite him and Louis, asking him approximately every question anyone could wish to ask, but Harry loves it. They're funny, bright girls, just like Louis and his mum, and it's only when they're ushered away to bed that he and Louis get to be alone again. Louis rolls his eyes when Harry does his own washing up, sitting with his legs crossed under him at the table, and they spend the rest of the evening sitting a careful distance apart on the sofa while watching TV with Jay.
"I'm heading up now," she says, at half ten. "I know it's not very cool of me to say it, but don't stay up too late, you've got plenty of time for that tomorrow. The spare duvet's in the airing cupboard, Lou. Sleep well, boys."
She gives them both a kiss on the cheek, and Harry can feel his heart start beating harder as soon as her footsteps die down on the stairs, some old American rom-com playing on the TV. He's got one elbow rested on the back of the sofa so that if he stretches his fingers, he can just about brush Louis' arm, and about a minute after Jay leaves he does so: softly touching his knuckles to the bare skin of Louis' upper arm, skin warm and soft. He watches for Louis' reaction: the corners of his mouth quirk up into a smile, tongue flitting out to wet his lips, and so he does it again, no more than a light touch.
"I think it's your bedtime now, Harold," Louis says, after ten more minutes of this, and Harry relents, giving up even though his body is thrumming with want. He gets up, watching as Louis makes a show of turning off the TV and rearranging the pillows on the sofa, blinking hard when he comes up to him, so close their toes are touching, and places a hand flat on his stomach.
"G'night," Harry mumbles, eyes fixed on Louis' lips as he sways involuntarily closer.
"Night, Harry."
"Um." Harry bites his lip. "Goodnight kiss, maybe?"
The words are barely out of his mouth when Louis curls a hand around his jaw and kisses him, warm and sure, once, twice, again and again. Harry opens his mouth and catches Louis' tongue the last time, hands squeezing his waist, and it all feels so intoxicatingly good he almost wants to forget about everything and just lay Louis out on the sofa and blow his brains out.
"Goodnight," Louis breathes, lips shiny and pink, their foreheads still pressed together. "See you tomorrow. Sleep well." They kiss one more time, and then Louis' fingers are pressing on Harry's hips, guiding him out of the room and up the stairs as he lingers by the airing cupboard.
He gets undressed – leaving his underwear on as he's a guest in a house full of children – and climbs into Louis' bed: it's much more comfortable than the uni beds but it smells just like the first time he'd slept in Louis' bed, the sheets soft and worn. He buries his face in the pillow, allowing himself a creepy moment to absorb Louis' smell before closing his eyes, and he falls asleep almost straight away – he's always had a knack of being able to sleep anywhere. It feels like no time at all when he wakes up, very confused, to the sound of quiet disturbance in the room: he opens his eyes to see Louis in his pyjamas, sleep-ruffled and scruffy, trying – and failing – to inconspicuously open the curtains.
"What's going on?" Harry asks, struggling upright. Louis jumps at his voice, pressing a hand to his chest.
"Oh, fuck. You scared me. Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you, but it's bright as fuck in the living room and I can't sleep. It's snowed," he adds, nodding to the window. Harry sits up, peering out of the window to see that it has indeed snowed, a thin white blanket covering everything in the back garden. The sky is washed with the palest pinks and orange, and everything's very still.
"What time is it?"
"Far too early," Louis says, eyes puffy when he looks down at him. Harry doesn't even need to consider it before throwing back a corner of the duvet. "Mum will kill me."
Harry shrugs. "Blame it on me."
"Harry-" he protests, but he's already walking towards him, and Harry opens his arms when he climbs under the covers, pulling him into his chest and spooning up close behind him. Louis always wriggles so much when he's trying to get comfortable, but he'll be an absolute dead weight when he's asleep, so Harry carefully manoeuvres his arms so they don't go numb before Louis finally settles.
"No funny business," he murmurs, muffled by the pillow. Harry just laughs, poking him in the stomach.
"Noted. Sleep, Lou. Sleepy sleep."
"Caveman," Louis huffs, but he must fall asleep, because when Harry wakes up again it's with Louis pressed warm heavy against his front, whistling as he breathes and with one arm slung over his waist. For a moment Harry's confused as to why he's awake, and then there's another knock on the door.
"Harry, sweetheart? Are you awake?"
"Yeah," he calls out, after a moment of panicked indecision, and then the door's opening and Jay comes in, wrapped in a fluffy dressing gown. She's holding a cup of tea, and narrows her eyes when she spots Louis with his head pillowed on Harry's chest. Harry hurriedly lifts his arm from where it had been loosely curled around Louis' shoulders, trying to look as innocent as possible.
"Louis," she says lowly, and Harry's feels his eyelashes twitch against his chest as he blinks awake. "I thought we agreed-"
"Urgh, I know," he sighs, lifting his head off Harry's chest and rubbing at his eyes. Harry lets his hand fall back onto the pillow, fingers gently brushing Louis' lower back. "It's so bright in the living room with all the snow I couldn't sleep. So I came back up here. We didn't do anything." Harry watches as he stares Jay, and then she just sighs and rolls her eyes.
"Whatever you say, love. Here's your tea, Harry, sorry it's a bit cold. You-" she says, as she puts Harry's tea down on the bedside table and pokes Louis firmly in the shoulder "-can make your own."
"Mum," he whines, and she slaps him playfully on the head.
"None of that, you're twenty-one, you can make your own tea. What did you want for breakfast, Harry? The girls are having scrambled eggs and bacon, but we've got pancakes, we've got cereal-"
"Can I have scrambled eggs too?" Louis asks, shifting so he's sitting upright now. Jay perches on the end of the bed, sighing at him and squeezing his foot. Harry can't help but smile a little; it's all so domestic, so natural, and Louis' mum treats him like he's a piece of the furniture already. It's kind of absolutely wonderful.
"I asked Harry, didn't I?"
"I'll have whatever's easiest, it's fine," Harry says.
"Scrambled eggs it is then," Louis says, with a big smile, blowing a kiss at his mum. "Love you mummy."
"One day your cheekiness is going to get the better of you," she warns with a laugh, getting up. "All right, scrambled eggs. How much toast and bacon do you want, boys?"
"Two pieces of toast three slices of bacon pleeease," Louis says promptly.
"Um, same, if that's all right, thanks."
"Sure. Come down whenever you're ready. I'm dropping the girls off at nan and granddad's about ten and then you'll have the house to yourself. And remember, I want it all spotless by Wednesday, yes?"
"Of course," Louis replies, and then she's gone again. Harry grabs his tea – it's a little cold by now, but still good – and settles back against the wall. Louis sits back next to him, knocking his shoulder against Harry's. "Gonna be a good day, I think."
"Yeah," Harry says, grinning into his tea. "Hope so."