Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Louis is on tour when he first hears about it. It’s all over the news – Harry Styles Attacked By Fan runs in headlines for days. It’s not even just the gossip rags, either. Actual journalists are covering the story. It would have been impossible to avoid hearing about it. Technically, Oli is the one who tells Louis about it, but it’s not exactly being covered up. Harry doesn’t answer Louis’ text asking if he’s alright, but that’s not really surprising. They haven’t spoken for months, and it’s been a lot longer than that since they’ve had a real conversation. The sting of the text going unanswered is still there, less painful than it might have been a few years ago.

It’s not that it’s easy to forget about, exactly. Louis has a whole life outside of One Direction now, though. They’ve all moved on. Touring is still hectic, even if there’s less chaos then there used to be. He has things to do. Shows to play, interviews to attend. So Louis goes on with his life, figuring that if Harry was seriously hurt he would have heard about it by now. He might currently be in the same country as Harry, but being on opposite sides of it puts enough distance between them that putting it in the back of his mind is easy. There’s nothing Louis could do, even if he thought Harry might want him to.

That’s why everything that happens next comes as a complete shock to him.

It’s three a.m. They’re in some abandoned gas station carpark outside of Salem, Oregon. Louis is kicking a football around with Oli, trying to work out some of the restless energy still buzzing through his system after playing a show. This big, empty lot is like every other one he’s been in at three in the morning over the last ten years, with the highway in the distance and the neon signs humming overhead. It’s so familiar Louis thinks he might have actually been in this particular gas station before.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary about it. Everything is good, and he’s laughing at some stupid joke Oli just made, when Oli’s gaze slides over his shoulder. He watches as Oli’s entire body goes tense and still.

“Tommo,” Oli says faintly. The ball rolls behind him slowly as he makes no attempt to stop it after Louis’ kick.

“Oi, you’re letting it get away,” Louis complains. Suddenly, it feels like there’s a bit of a chill in the air. He rubs at his arms, wondering if he should go back into the bus and grab a hoodie.

“Tommo, get on the bus,” Oli says sharply, moving forward with his hand outstretched, like he’s going to physically yank Louis towards the bus as soon as he gets close enough.

Louis frowns at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Louis,” Oli says, sharp and panicked. There’s only a handful of feet between them, but he charges in Louis’ direction. Louis looks over his shoulder, still frowning.

“What the hell,” Louis says out loud. “Harry?”

There’s some distance between them, but it’s unmistakably Harry. Louis would recognize that wild mess of hair anywhere, even if it is shorter than it used to be.

Even from a distance, he can tell there’s something wrong. As Harry gets closer, Louis can see the leaves tangled in his hair, the dirt smudged on his clothes and face, the bloody scrapes on his skin. There’s giant tears in his shirt, and it looks like he’s walking with a limp.

Oli’s gripping his arm, trying to pull him back. Absently, Louis shakes him off. “Yo, Styles,” he calls out. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no answer. Harry keeps getting closer, until Louis can make out the wounded expression on his face, and then he just. Drops down onto his knees on the asphalt, upper body swaying dangerously.

“Shit,” Louis mutters, bolting in Harry’s direction. He slides onto his own knees just in time to catch Harry before he completely topples over, holding him up under the armpits. Harry’s eyes are glassy, not quite all there, and that’s all Louis can make out before Harry’s lunging forward, slamming Louis back against the concrete hard enough to knock the breath out of him.

There’s a sudden, piercing pain in his shoulder. Louis is screaming before he even realizes that Harry’s biting him. His skin gives way to Harry’s teeth, blood streaming down his arm so fast he can see it almost immediately, soaking his shirt. The pain is deep and astounding, black spots dancing in his eye line. He can’t move enough to fight Harry off, pinned under the bulk of his weight, trapped and helpless.

Between one scream and the next, Louis passes out.

He comes to what must be only a handful of seconds later. Half of the tour crew is trying to haul Harry off him. Everything feels spotty and over-sensitive, the bright neon lights above them flashing. Harry’s snarling and fighting, and there’s blood everywhere, all over Harry’s face, under Louis’ shoulder, pulsing out of the wound in his shoulder. God, there’s so much blood, Louis is going to be sick –

“Stop,” Louis says. His voice feels rusty and weak. His body doesn’t feel like it belongs to him as he reaches up to put a hand against Harry’s face. “H. You have to – you have to calm down.”

Harry must be on something. Louis has never seen a drug that makes someone act like this, but it’s the only explanation. This isn’t Harry, out of his mind and violent.

Harry’s gaze focuses a little as he looks back at Louis’ face, pupils dilated, mouth strained as he struggles to form a word, something that might be Louis’ name.

“Yeah,” Louis says. His shoulder throbs, pain cutting through him so deep he can feel it all the way down to his elbow. He thinks he might be losing more blood than his body can take. His head is starting to feel fuzzy, like he might pass out again, and that can’t be a good thing. “S’me, H, you’re alright. Just breathe, yeah? Just – in and out, nice and slow.”

He demonstrates, ignoring the twinge of his ribs on the in. Of all the things that hurt right now, his ribs are the least worrying. People are shouting around them, still trying to get Harry off him, but it’s like Louis’ entire world has narrowed down to just Harry in front of his face, panicked and still out of it.

Harry’s gaze slides down to Louis’ shoulder, mangled and bleeding, and that look starts coming back onto his face, feral and hungry.

“Don’t bite me again,” Louis says sharply, a spike of fear surging through his chest before he forces it back down. He slaps Harry’s face, not gently, and gets his attention back. “Stay with me, alright? What did you take?”

Distantly, he thinks he hears the sound of sirens getting closer. Someone finally succeeds in ripping Harry off him, sudden and violent. Louis nearly throws up from the sudden, blinding pain that follows. For a second, he thinks he’s screaming again, before he realizes that it’s Harry, crumpling down to his knees again, not fighting the hold three of Louis’ guys have on him. It’s an awful, ear-shattering noise. Louis has no idea what he’s doing as he struggles to sit up, crawling back to where Harry is, wrapping his arms around Harry’s back.

“Shh, stop,” Louis manages through suddenly chattering teeth, body gone cold like he’s been dumped into a frigid pool. “Darling – ”

Abruptly, the noise stops all at once. Harry’s eyes roll back in his head as he passes out, dead weight in Louis’ arms, and it’s only a few seconds before Louis follows suit.

This time, when Louis wakes up, it’s to the slow, steady beep of machinery and the sterile scent of a hospital. The light is harsh as he blinks his eyes open, barely taking in the white ceiling tiles while his eyes adjust.

His body feels heavy, sluggish. Drugged, he thinks absently, and it’s not until the edges of a bandage crinkle under his fingertips that he remembers Harry biting him.

“What the fuck,” he says out loud. Harry bit him. Harry bit him hard enough to draw blood. What the fuck.

“Louis,” Oli says. There’s relief in his voice. Louis manages to turn his head enough to take him in, sitting up straight in a chair beside the bed. “Tommo, fuck, we were so worried about you.”

“What happened?” Louis asks. From what he can tell he’s in a private room, empty aside from the two of them and the low noise of a couple of monitors.

“Harry attacked you,” Oli says. “Christ, Lou, what the hell was he thinking?”

That’s not what Louis was asking. He remembers Harry biting him, remembers bleeding all over the place and trying to keep Harry sane enough that he wouldn’t do it again. He doesn’t need any of that explained to him. What he does need to know is the extent of his injuries, and, more importantly, what the fuck Harry was on.

Also what happened to Harry after, if he’s okay, who’s looking after him right now. All of that stuff.

“No,” Louis says, licking his dry, chapped lips. “He – where is he?”

Of all the questions Louis could have asked, it seems like the one that should be at the bottom of the list. Somehow, it’s the one that comes out of his mouth first.

“He’s here,” Oli says. “The paramedics had to sedate him on the way to the hospital, and the doctors had to do it another three times since then. He keeps waking up screaming.”

Water. Louis needs water. He glances around, spots a pitcher on a table beside the bed. Reaching for it turns out to be a bad idea – pain spasms through his entire arm, severe enough that he gasps, clutching at his shoulder as he struggles to breathe. It doesn’t feel as bad as it did when Harry bit him, but it’s awful.

“Let me,” Oli says. There’s something like anxiety in his voice. Louis can’t concentrate on that right now, leaning back against the thin pillow as the pain starts to ebb. Oli hands him a glass of water, and Louis sips at it until it’s half finished before he looks up again.

“What happened to him?” Louis asks finally. He should be feeling a lot more intense about all of this, he thinks. Angry, scared, maybe even resentful. Mostly, he feels numb. The pain in his shoulder, ebbing down to a dull throb, is pretty much the only thing making him believe that this isn’t just some kind of fucked up dream.

Oli hesitates. A cold pit starts forming in Louis’ stomach. “Oli,” he says, gripping the cup with tighter, using both hands. “You have to tell me.”

“They don’t know,” Oli says, sitting back down in the chair heavily, rubbing at his forehead with one hand. “The lab ran his blood for pretty much every drug they could think of, and it all came back clean. The doctor’s working theory is that he’s having some kind of psychotic break, but he hasn’t come out of it for long enough to give them any clues.”

Louis blinks. That cold pit is expanding, heavy and freezing. A psychotic break. That – that can’t be right. Harry’s a lot of things, but he’s never been unstable.

“Is his mum on her way?” Louis asks, swallowing hard. “Gemma?”

“They’re both here,” Oli nods. “They’ve got him on the fifth floor under lockdown while they try to bring him out of it. I don’t think his family has left the waiting room since they got here.”

Since they got here. Louis isn’t exactly sure where they are right now, but he knows that a flight from London to L.A. takes at least eleven hours. More, usually. He can’t imagine that flying to Oregon shaves any time off of that. “How long has it been?”

Again, Oli hesitates. It’s not for as long this time before he’s saying, “You were brought in sixteen hours ago. They thought they were going to have to do surgery based on the amount of blood you lost, but it turns out you didn’t need it, so they just patched you up and put you in here. You’ve been asleep the entire time.”

Asleep. That doesn’t make any sense. Louis usually wakes up every few hours when he’s sleeping, if only just for a few minutes before he’s out again. He hasn’t slept sixteen hours through since – well, ever. Maybe when he was a kid, but definitely not since then.

“And he hasn’t come out of it at all?”

Oli shakes his head. “Just keeps waking up screaming whenever the sedation wears off. The only thing he’s been saying is your name.”

That should probably be one of the creepiest things Louis has ever been told. First Harry appears from the other side of the country, bites the shit out of him, and now he’s screaming Louis’ name in agony? It rattles Louis, but for some reason it doesn’t scare him.

“How did he even get here?” Louis wonders, taking another sip of his water. Harry had been in New York. Him showing up in Oregon, completely alone and out of it doesn’t make any sense.

“Apparently he stole a car somewhere in New Jersey,” Oli tells him. “I have no idea how he knew where to find you, though. Did you text him or something? Or maybe a fan snapped a pic of you somewhere near the gas station and put it up online? I don’t know for sure.”

He stole a car. Harry treat people with kindness stole a car. That is just – insane. Louis is having a hard time wrapping his head around any of this.

“Pretty much the entire hospital is in lockdown,” Oli continues when Louis doesn’t say anything. “Both of your teams are here, fighting about how to handle everything. It’s like a warzone out there, mate. Figured you’d want a say in it when you woke up, though.”

Louis’ head hurts from the influx of information. He can’t make sense of it, and he guesses he’s lucky it’s Oli in here telling him all of this instead of Ryan, who’d be demanding that he make decisions.

“I don’t pay you enough,” Louis says, finishing the water and dropping the empty cup onto the bed beside him. He wants to go back to sleep, but people probably aren’t going to let him do that.

Oli cracks a small smile. “You definitely don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. He plucks at a few wires connected to his chest. “What are these, are they anything important? I wanna use the loo, get myself in order before I do anything else.”

“They were monitoring your heartbeat while you were asleep,” Oli explains. “Think you should be safe to take them off.”

A should be is good enough for Louis right now. He doesn’t wait to get the go-ahead from a nurse, setting about peeling them off one by one, wincing when they stick to his chest hair. “Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna – ” he waves at the loo, “You go grab something to eat or something. Thanks, mate.”

Oli looks at him for a second, gaze assessing. “Alright,” he says reluctantly. “Don’t leave the room though, okay? I’ll be back in ten.”

Louis nods his assent, and Oli leaves. Slowly, he stands up from the bed and makes his way into the loo, pushing the door closed behind him. Once there, he takes a piss and washes his hands. Only then does he let himself take a look in the mirror.

He doesn’t look as haggard as he expected himself to. Pale-skinned, bags under his eyes, yeah, but other than that he looks fine. Normal. Or as normal as he can in a hospital gown, anyway. After he’s examined his face, his gaze drifts down to his shoulder, where he can still feel the throbbing. It doesn’t feel as unpleasant now. That’s something, he supposes. He shucks the hospital gown, letting it pool onto the floor by his feet, and prods at the bandage with two fingers while he casts a quick glance at the rest of his body.

There’s some bruising on his right side, where his ribs had hurt. He’s pretty sure Oli would have told him if he’d broken anything, so it must just be the bruising. There’s also some bruises on his back and his arse when he twists to look, a few faint scrapes here and there that must be from the concrete when Harry knocked him down. All in all, it doesn’t look too bad, so he focuses his attention back on the bandage, peeling it off slowly.

“What,” Louis murmurs to himself. The bandage hadn’t had any blood seeping through it, which he hadn’t thought anything of, but this – this doesn’t make sense. It had felt like Harry had torn out a chunk of flesh when he’d bitten him, and the amount of blood that had gushed out of the wound had definitely given weight to that suspicion.

The bite mark on his shoulder doesn’t look like any of that. There’s no stitches, for one thing. Louis had definitely been expecting stitches, despite what Oli had told him. His flesh doesn’t look mangled or raw. The bite mark is just that – a bite mark in the shape of Harry’s mouth. It does look deep enough that it might leave a scar. The skin is already starting to scab over, though, and that’s the only damage there is.

What the hell.

Poking at the mark doesn’t do anything other than send a brief flare of pain through him. It quickly fades into that gentle throbbing Louis can still feel, and that’s it. Just a soft reminder that Harry attacked him completely unprovoked.

Standing here staring at his own perplexed face isn’t going to do anything, so Louis shrugs the hospital gown back on before he exits the loo. There’s a flimsy paper robe draped over the back of the chair Oli had been sitting on, so Louis puts that on too, making sure his arse is covered. None of his possessions are anywhere to be seen – no phone, no wallet, no shoes. Clearly someone doesn’t want him to be able to walk out of here.

At this point, that’s probably everyone.

Well, fuck them. Louis has never been afraid to do a little bit of walking barefoot. He eases over to the door, pulling it open quietly before poking his head out. At the end of the hall, there’s a group of people congregated. Louis can hear them arguing from here. He recognizes the backs of some of their heads, members of his PR team, his tour manager, some he thinks probably belong to Harry.

If he’s not going to stay in his room, he should at least go over there and start sorting some of this out. There’s something pulling at him, though, an undeniable tug deep in his gut, and instead of doing that Louis slips out of the room silently and down the hall, around a couple of corners, until he finds a lift.

He’s on the second floor. That has to be intentional, separating Harry from him by three floors. Louis steps inside and hits the five button, leaning against the wall as the lift takes him up. When the doors ding open a few seconds later, his feet pull him to the left automatically. The tile is cold against his bare skin, but it looks clean, at least.

Finding Harry’s room is easy. That tug in Louis’ gut is still there, but even if it wasn’t, the security around it would be a dead giveaway. That’s what he sees first, and then a second after that, Harry’s mum. Sitting in a chair just outside of what must be Harry’s room.

“Louis,” she breathes, spotting him at the same time. She rushes towards him, pulling up short like she’s just remembered what happened. What her son did.

Louis smiles weakly. “Hullo, Anne.”

Unbidden, his gaze drifts over to Harry’s room. There’s a window in the wall, the curtains only half-closed. He’s able to catch a glimpse of Harry’s body lying prone in the hospital bed. Louis swallows hard.

“Louis,” Anne repeats, drawing Louis’ attention back to her. “Are you – ” she hesitates, struggling to find the words in a way Louis has never seen from her. “Are you alright, love?”

“Fine,” Louis says. His smile comes a little easier now, a little more naturally. He’s always liked Anne. “He banged me up a little, but it’s no worse than that time he nearly concussed me getting out of his bunk on the bus.”

It’s a lie, one Anne can probably see right through. She doesn’t call him on it, though, gaze fixed on his face. “Right,” she says slowly. “Do your people know you’re up here, Louis?”

Louis is going to answer, he is, except he sees Harry’s hand twitch against the bed through the window, and he forgets what the question is. He drifts closer, pressing a hand against the glass. It’s hard to look at. They’ve got Harry strapped down to the bed, hooked up to a couple of monitors. He looks like a prisoner, and he kind of is, Louis supposes. Even if he woke up completely rational right now they probably wouldn’t take the restraints off him for a bit, just to make sure he doesn’t lose it again.

“Can I see him?” Louis asks, not looking away. If Anne wasn’t here he could probably talk his way past the security guard. If she wanted to stop him, she could. Louis’ pretty sure she still holds Harry’s power of attorney.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea right now, honey,” Anne tells him. Louis barely hears it, watching as Harry’s fingers curl into his palm, the muscles of his arm shifting as he starts to pull against the restraint. There’s no noise bleeding through the door and into the hallway, but a monitor starts flashing, the one measuring Harry’s heart rate. Harry twists against the restraints, surging up as much as they’ll let him, violent and sudden, and their eyes meet through the window.

Harry’s mouth opens around the shape of Louis’ name. The room must be soundproofed – psych ward, Louis thinks absently – but there’s a part of him that knows Harry’s not screaming it. He’s just saying it, over and over, desperate and pleading, pain written all over his face. Everything that’s not Harry has melted away into some kind of a fog, doctors and nurses swarming the bed before Louis even realizes that the door has been opened and he can hear Harry’ voice.

“Louis, please, please, Lou – ”

Louis slips into the room behind the medical staff, elbowing his way through them so he can climb onto the bed. No one tries to stop him, or maybe they do. Louis can’t tell either way. Swings a leg over Harry’s hips and sits in his lap, sliding his hands around the back of Harry’s neck and pressing their foreheads together.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs. Harry’s skin is hot under his hands, damp with sweat. “’m here, darling, shh. Breathe, alright, you’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

He keeps talking until Harry’s breathing evens out, unaware of the exact words that are spilling out of his mouth. He’s half expecting Harry to fall asleep again, but he doesn’t, blinking slowly, gaze fixed on Louis’ mouth.

The beep of the heart monitor has slowed down. It sounds normal again, grinding out a smooth, steady rhythm.

“Louis.” The voice is behind him. Louis’ back tenses, recognizing it.

“Go away, Jeffrey,” he says, taking care to keep the words low and quiet, in the same cadence he’d been using before. Harry’s eyes look less wild now, pain lines pretty much gone from his face, but Louis isn’t going to risk upsetting him again.

“Louis, you need to get off of him and let the doctors check him over.”

“Fuck you very much, Jeffrey,” Louis says, sing-song. He catches the slightest upwards tick to Harry’s mouth, very nearly a smile. “You’re the one who lost him in the first place, I’m taking care of him now.”

Slowly, he reaches for the restraint looped around Harry’s left wrist, about to snap it open. Someone grabs his arm and wrenches it behind his back before that can happen, so sudden that it’s painful. Louis cries out, more from the shock of it than anything. Harry’s eyes go dark again, muscles so tense Louis can feel it in all the places they’re touching. Quickly, fumblingly, he uses his other hand to cover Harry’s eyes so he can’t see anything.

“Louis,” Oli says from behind him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

It’s like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over his head. Louis blinks, abruptly aware of exactly how inappropriate this is.

What the fuck is he doing. That’s a great question.

His arm is dropped out of the hold. Louis rolls his shoulder absently, still covering Harry’s eyes with his palm, and tries to think of an answer. Any answer, really. The longer he sits here in silence the weirder it gets.

“Louis,” Harry says. He sounds calm, rational. Louis looks down at him. “It’s fine, you can let go now.”

Well. That’s as good a plan as any. Louis clambers out of Harry’s lap on shaky legs, about as graceful as a newborn deer. He can feel the weight of every single person’s eyes in this room fixed on him, including the doctors and nurses.

“So,” Louis says, forcing brightness into his tone, looking at the wall above Harry’s head so he won’t have to look at Harry’s face, “There’s a cafeteria in this hospital, yeah? Think I’m gonna go find meself a cup of tea.”

He spins around on his heel, studiously avoiding the eyes of – well, everyone, striding towards the door. He doesn’t feel like himself, flustered and embarrassed, and he’s suddenly so, so grateful that he put that robe on.

“Wait,” Harry says sharply. Blankets rustle, presumably him trying to sit up. Despite himself, Louis pauses, one foot hovering an inch or two off the floor. “Can we – fuck, are these things really necessary? Can we have a minute?”

That seems like an even worse idea than Louis’ attempt to flee. He stays rooted in place, though, waiting for someone to respond.

“Is that really the best idea?” Anne asks hesitantly. “Harry, love, I think you should let the doctors check you over first.”

“It’ll be quick, mum,” Harry promises. “Please, just a minute.”

There’s some murmuring, and slowly, people start to file towards the door. Louis watches them go, unmoving, until they’re alone, just the two of them in this suddenly tiny, cramped room.

“Louis,” Harry says, out of breath and frustrated. He sounds like he’s still struggling against the restraints, and slowly, reluctantly, Louis turns around.

“Harold,” he returns, wishing he was close enough to the wall to lean against it casually. Nothing makes him feel more naked than the way Harry looks at him sometimes.

“Come undo this,” Harry demands, jiggling his wrist impatiently.

Louis raises an eyebrow at him, drifting a little closer. “Do you not remember what happened two minutes ago, or do you just not care?”

“Please,” Harry tacks on like that’ll help him, twisting his wrist again.

Maybe it’s something about seeing Harry like this, confused and frustrated, laid up in a hospital bed, literally tied down to it, that makes Louis give in. Or he’s just even more of a dumbarse than he thought he was.

As soon as his wrist is free, Harry shakes his hand out, curling his fingers into his palm and then releasing them again. “I’m sorry,” he says abruptly, gaze fixed on his hand. “I remember biting you.”

That’s something, Louis supposes. Who knows what kind of conversation this would be if Harry didn’t remember that much, at least. “It’s fine. Hey, you remember that time you gave me a concussion when you kicked me in the head getting out of your bunk?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “That never happened.”

“It did. I was laid up in bed for a week. They wouldn’t even let me get on a lift without being accompanied by Paul. Should’ve sold that story to the tabloids, imagine how much money I would’ve made off it.”

“Can I see it?” Harry asks, cutting through all of Louis’ bullshit with a simple question.

“No,” Louis tells him immediately.

Harry glances down at his other wrist contemplatively, still restrained. “Please.”

Louis isn’t worried. Even if Harry managed to get himself free of the restraints and out of the bed without tripping over himself, Louis could still outrun him. The only reason he hadn’t back at the gas station is because he hadn’t been expecting Harry to bite him. Fucker.

“Would you still expect your face to work on everyone you meet if you weren’t, like, mega-famous?” Louis wonders. “How much of your ego is due to being a celebrity and how much of it is innate?”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top,” Harry says tonelessly.

Louis ignores him. “It’s like you forget that I was there for all of your most embarrassing moments as a celebrity,” he says thoughtfully. “Am I just like a complete blur in your memory or something? Is that why you think that face is going to work on me?”

Harry heaves a giant, aggravated sigh. “Louis. Tommo. Baby. Darling. The light of my short, underwhelming thus far life. Please may I see the bite mark.”

“Your mummy is going to come back in here and yell at us for playing doctor,” Louis says mockingly, but he sits on the edge of the bed, pulling the hospital down far enough that he can start peeling the bandage back.

He’s probably going to need a new one soon. The adhesive on this one is getting tacky from the amount of times he’s taken it off and put it back on.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, eh, sweetheart,” Harry says. He pushes Louis’ hand away, apparently unsatisfied with how fast Louis is doing it, and finishes unpeeling the bandage himself. Then, because apparently Louis never realized that Harry Styles is a disgusting human being, he drags his thumb across the fresh marks.

It reminds Louis of being eighteen again, trapped in a tiny bed together, getting felt up by Harry’s wandering hands only for him to claim it was an accident. It’s been so long since he’s joked around with Harry like this that he literally doesn’t even remember the last time he did it.

“Stop that, that’s so unhygienic,” Louis complains, slapping Harry’s hand down. “First you stalk me, then you bite me until I pass out, now you’re trying to give me an infection? What kind of man are you anyway.”

“Come lie down,” Harry says, leaning back against the bed, tugging at Louis’ upper arm. “You’re tired, yeah? Letting you sleep with me is the least I can do after giving you rabies.”

Louis swings his legs up onto the bed, wiggling his arse into the bit of space left. It’s hard, fitting two fully grown men on a twin bed together, but they make it work, even though one of Louis’ thighs does end up splayed over Harry’s. He leans his head against Harry’s chest, tugging at the thin material of his hospital gown.

“Hey, we match,” he says. He can feel Harry fiddling with his wrist, but he doesn’t have the energy to care. Harry was right about him being tired, which makes no sense because Louis slept for sixteen hours.

“Yay,” Harry says emotionlessly into his ear. He lets go of Louis’ arm, seemingly satisfied with his work.

Louis turns his wrist, finds that it’s been encased in the restraint. He elbows Harry in the ribs half-heartedly. “Oi, I’m not the crazy one here,” he says. Trying to undo it would be too much work, so he leaves it alone for now.

“That’s what they all say,” Harry says, theatrical now. He’s fine. Clearly he’s fine – whatever was happening to him earlier is over now, and they can all relax. This is the person Harry is, tactile and sarcastic, not unhinged and violent. Louis relaxes back against Harry’s chest, shifting his hips so he slides more into Harry’s lap. There really wasn’t enough space for his arse in that tiny sliver of bed Harry left for him.

“Hey, have you watched the latest season of Black Mirror yet?” Louis asks, tapping at Harry’s chest.

“No, don’t spoil it for me.”

Louis settles himself in a little more comfortably and starts describing the plot of the first episode to Harry. Harry groans but doesn’t try to stop him, warm breath ruffling the hair at the top of Louis’ head.

After a few minutes, Harry’s breathing evens out. He’s always been able to fall asleep pretty much anywhere, a fact Louis has a never-ending amount of jealousy for. Louis waits a few more minutes, just to make sure Harry’s really asleep, and then slides out of the bed, thinking that he’ll go see if he can’t hunt down his clothes. Clothes are a good way to get a bit of protection from the world.

“So let me get this straight,” Oli is saying. He’s the only thing standing between Louis and a hallway full of people who want to interrogate him about what just happened. Louis doesn’t know whether it’s better or worse that Oli is the one doing the interrogating. “Instead of staying here alone for ten minutes, you thought that it would be a good idea to go find the person who attacked you in a carpark.”

Louis bobs his head. “Yes. Do you know what happened to my clothes?”

“Right,” Oli continues. “And after you find him, your next best idea is to get in bed with him and undo his restraints, giving him free range to attack you again, and let him put the cuffs on you instead.”

He stops, staring at Louis expectantly. Waiting for some kind of explanation.

“Yup,” Louis agrees. “About those clothes?”

“You got into bed with Harry Styles,” Oli stresses. “The dude who fucked you up so much you’ve barely spoken to him for the last two years.”

Louis blinks.

“You got into his lap,” Oli says. “Tommo, do you see what I’m saying here?”

Louis blinks again. And then one more time, just for good measure. “I – ” he says, faltering. “Shit.”

He’s got nothing. No reasonable explanation for why he did any of that. All of it might have been something he would have done ten years ago, but here? Now? Especially under these circumstances?

“Fuck,” he says faintly. He has to sit. Barely makes it to the edge of the bed before his knees give way underneath him. He buries his face in his hands, covering his eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with me.”

The thin mattress barely dips as Oli sits down next to him, nudging at Louis’ shoulder with his own. “You have unresolved issues with him,” he says like he’s wise or something. Louis scoffs, nudging him back.

“You say that like it’s news or something,” Louis mutters, taking his face out of his hands and straightening his back. “What do you think the chances of us sneaking out of here unnoticed are? We could be on our way and never have to speak of this again.”

“Would’ve been a whole lot higher if you hadn’t lost your mind and went to find him ten minutes ago,” Oli says cheerfully. “Now pretty much everyone on the planet wants to talk to you. The only way you’re getting out of this room unseen is if you jump out the window.”

Louis looks at it contemplatively. They’re on the second floor, but there might be grass on the ground below it. People can survive a second story fall. He’s pretty sure he’s heard about people surviving a fall from higher.

His contemplation would be more serious if he wasn’t pretty sure the glass is shatterproof. He wouldn’t actually end up doing it, but it’d be a nice fantasy to have for a while.

“Fine,” he says, heaving a sigh. “I guess I can be an adult and face my problems or something.”

“Attaboy,” Oli says, clapping him on the back as he gets up. “I’ll go get the first set of monsters, then.”

Louis is going to have to cut his paycheque in half. There’s really no other way around it.

“We’re not going to make the show in Sacramento,” Francis, his tour manager, tells him unapologetically, frowning down at a clipboard in his hands. “We’ll put out an announcement to cancel it in a few hours. You’ll be sick for a day and then we should be back on track to make the show in Las Vegas on the fourteenth.”

“Okay,” Louis says. The bite mark on his shoulder is starting to get itchy. It’s getting harder and harder to resist the urge to scratch at it. “No one noticed Harry traveling halfway across the country? If anyone puts two and two together we’re going to have bigger problems than one cancelled show.”

“His team leaked some rumours that he’s still in a hospital in New York,” Rob pipes up. Louis’ head hurts from the amount of people crammed into this room, and he’s still not wearing proper clothes. As far as days go, this hasn’t been one of his best. “So far no one seems to have spotted him anywhere outside of the city, much less anywhere near Oregon.”

Good news comes in tiny pieces, Louis guesses. It’s something, and at the moment he’ll take what he can get.

“Good,” Louis says. He wishes he had socks, at least. The floor underneath his bare feet is freezing. “Before anyone asks, I have no idea why he sought me out, he didn’t say, and I don’t want to talk about it. If you have any other questions, feel free to keep them to yourselves.”

It’s a little ruder than Louis would normally be to members of his own team. With every minute that ticks by, he’s starting to feel more and more trapped, thinking about the easy, non-confrontational way Oli said fucked you up. It’s been a long time since Louis let himself think about what happened between him and Harry, about years of all the things that happened between him and Harry, and he doesn’t want to start now. Doesn’t want to be confronted by his own behaviour, by Harry’s, by the entire fucking world’s behaviour when it came to the two of them.

“Is that the message you want us to pass onto his mother?” Rob asks, raising his eyebrows at Louis.

Louis refuses to flinch. “I’m pretty sure Anne is more worried about what’s going on with her son right now than she is about me. Now, if this interrogation is finished, can someone please bring me my clothes? I want to get out of here.”

He’s not entirely sure what his face is saying, but whatever it is, it’s enough to get the message across that he really wants to get out of here. Five minutes later, the room is empty of people again.

“You’re not about to have a nervous breakdown, are you?” Oli asks, breaking the silence. “Pretty sure the last thing we need is two popstars freaking out in the same hospital.”

Louis drags a hand down his face, nails scraping at the sharp bristles of his stubble. Maybe he should shave. His skin is starting to feel dry. “No,” he says eventually. “I don’t think so, anyway. I think I’ll feel better when we’re out of here.”

There’s a pit in his stomach again, cold and sharp. Louis wills himself to ignore it, wills his clothes to get here faster. He’s starting to think that he’s going to have to walk out of here barefoot, arse a strong gust of wind away from being exposed for the world to see.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, waiting. Louis’ knee starts to jiggle, the feeling inside of him getting worse.

“Alright,” he says, putting a hand on his knee, trying to stop it. “This is going to sound completely fucked up and crazy, but I think Harry’s screaming again.”

Oli looks at him evenly. “More fucked up and crazy than your ex-bandmate tracking you down in the middle of an empty gas station and mauling you half to death?” he asks skeptically. “Tommo, if you say he’s screaming right now, I’m inclined to believe you.”

It’s not as comforting as Oli is clearly trying to make it.

When Louis doesn’t say anything else, radiating nervous energy, Oli prods, “What do you want to do about it?”

What does Louis want to do about it. He knows what his body wants him to do about it, willing him in the direction of the door, but he has no idea what his brain is trying to tell him. Is his brain even trying to tell him anything? Maybe it’s just that he should get a prescription for some Xanax and move on with his life.

At the end of the day, though, the myriad of ways he and Harry fucked each other up over the years doesn’t make a difference. There’s a part of Harry that’s always going to be that cheeky sixteen year old boy who carried Louis off the stage at the X-Factor, and there’s always going to be a part of Louis that wants to keep him from getting hurt. So it’s not really a decision at all.

“Look, you know I’m always going to be here for you no matter how many times you fall back into him,” Oli says, as gentle as he ever gets. “When you’re ready to leave, I’ll be right here to yank you back out.”

Louis only needs one hand to count the amount of people he trusts to know about the thing between him and Harry. Oli’s always been one of them. He’s also consistently been the person who doesn’t get judgmental when Louis falls back into old habits, so. He already knows that Oli’s going to be there when this all inevitably comes crashing down around him.

Still, it’s always nice to hear.

“Do you know the amount of times I would have had sex with him if it wasn’t for the sound of your voice in my head?” Louis asks, leaning into Oli’s side. Oli squawks and pushes him away hard enough that Louis nearly ends up on the floor.

Louis has always been good at ruining sweet moments. It’s one of his best skills.

This time, he doesn’t rush back up to the fifth floor. He takes his time, finding a pair of paper slippers in a drawer to put on his feet first. At least this way his bare feet aren’t collecting dirt off the floor. It’s not as good as a pair of socks, but it’ll have to do.

On his way up, he contemplates exactly what is going on with Harry. That same feeling he has that’s telling him Harry is hurting is also the thing telling him that the way to make it better is for Louis to get right into his personal space, and that doesn’t make any sense. They’ve been – estranged, for a lack of a better word, for so long now. Harry seeking him out like this, half feral and out of his mind, doesn’t track.

He can hear screaming the second he steps out of the lift. It’s loud, anguished. The sound of it makes Louis’ stomach heave, upset and nauseous. He doesn’t want to be here, but more than that he wants to make the sound stop. It’s like his feet have a mind of their own as they carry him down the hallway.

In the room, Harry’s thrashing wildly on the bed. A couple of nurses are trying to hold him down long enough to get the restraints around his wrists. His screaming has lowered in volume, but not in force, chest heaving with exertion as he struggles. From this angle, Louis can’t tell whether his eyes are open, but it doesn’t really matter. He slips into the room quietly.

“Heya, curly,” he says quietly, not bothering to try to pitch his voice over Harry’s. It doesn’t seem to matter whether Harry can hear him or not. “Having a little tantrum, are we?”

At the sound of his voice, Harry’s screaming stops. His head swivels against the pillow, eyes trying to find Louis in the room. He’s still struggling against the hands anchoring him down, albeit slower now.

“Y’know, if you wanted my attention, there are easier ways to go about getting it than this,” Louis tells him. No one tries to stop him as he slides up to the bed, pressing both of his hands against Harry’s chest. His skin is tacky with sweat under Louis’ fingers, and Louis doesn’t bother questioning why he’s shirtless. With Harry, it’s easier not to question the random nudity.

“Lou,” Harry says like it’s a question. His eyes are dark, mostly pupil, and that’s a little concerning.

“Yeah, babe, s’me,” Louis says, shooting a glance at one of the nurses. “Can you let him go? He’s not going to do anything.”

No one lets go. Louis rolls his eyes, directing his attention back to Harry. “You’re not going to do anything, right? Got all that screaming out of your system, yeah?”

Slowly, almost dumbly, Harry nods. The way he flexes his fingers against the mattress probably isn’t all that reassuring, but the nurses release him anyway.

“You wanna tell us what’s wrong?” Louis asks, keeping his hands against Harry’s chest, just in case he tries to sit up too fast and knocks his head against Louis’ jaw.

Harry swallows, throat bobbing. He puts his hands over Louis’, slides them up to curl around the back of his neck instead. The angle makes Louis strain on his toes uncomfortably, so he puts a knee onto the mattress, helping him balance better. “Hurts,” is all he says.

Louis can’t tell whether Harry’s just being recalcitrant or if he’s actually incapable of putting it into words. Either way, it’s frustrating.

“Hurts where?” Louis asks patiently. It’s a good thing he has a whole host of younger siblings or else he’d been screaming with annoyance right now.

Harry closes his eyes, visibly struggling to get his breathing under control. “Everywhere.”

Everywhere. Well, that’s just vague enough to keep Louis’ tension high. He bites back a sigh, unable to resist pinching the back of Harry’s neck. Immediately, Harry’s eyes fly back open, shooting him a glare.

“You have to tell us what’s going on,” Louis says. He’d gesture to the whole team of medical professionals standing behind him, but Harry’s still got his hands trapped. “No one can help you if you don’t speak up.”

“Do you really think – ” Harry hisses, seething, before he cuts himself off and swallows hard again. “If I knew, I would tell you. Five minutes ago it felt like my entire body was on fire, now I feel fine.”

“Well, there’s some tests they can run for that,” Louis says, glancing behind him. “Right?”

He has to resist the urge to yank at Harry’s hair, just so he loses his cool again. Flustering him has gotten harder over the years, but if Louis tried hard enough he’s pretty sure he could still do it. Now is neither the time nor the place for it, though, so he keeps his fingers loose, trying to lessen the urge.

None of the doctors manage anything more than an unconvincing murmur. Louis doesn’t understand why they all have such weird looks on their faces – they’re used to dealing with addicts and the like, and Harry’s acting like an addict right now. Figuring out what he’s addicted to seems like the first logical step.

“See, you’re going to be fine,” Louis says, turning his attention back to Harry. A wisp of hair slides between his fingers, and he can’t resist the urge anymore, tugging gently. “Have they brought you a meal yet? I have a sudden hankering for some jello.”

Harry closes his eyes, sliding his hands up Louis’ arms, tugging at his shoulder until Louis leans closer. “Promise me,” he whispers into Louis’ ear.

This time, it’s Louis’ turn to swallow hard. He keeps his gaze fixed on the blank wall behind Harry’s head, so he won’t be tempted to look into his eyes. “I promise.”

It’s the sort of promise Louis has no business making. Harry inhales unsteadily and lets him go, though, so he supposes it gets the job done.

A nurse takes Harry for a bunch of tests. The room empties out pretty quickly now that the patient is gone. Louis still feels like he can’t quite catch his breath, though, leaning against the bed unsteadily.

Anne’s still standing there, watching him carefully. It’s a look that sends a deep jolt of grief through Louis’ core, missing his own mum with an acuteness that he hasn’t felt in a while. He misses her every day, but the grief has turned into something more manageable now.

Mostly. There’s a moment or two every few days when it feels like this. And now, apparently.

“No one would blame you if you left, you know,” Anne tells him. It’s non-judgmental, non-assessing, the kind of tone only a parent can accomplish.

For a long time, she felt like a second mum to Louis. It’s the only reason he doesn’t flinch now.

“I would,” Louis says, giving in and sitting down on the bed. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to beg me to stay and help calm him down when he gets all worked up?”

Anne rolls her eyes, crossing the room to sit next to him on the bed. “Louis, that boy is my son and I love him to death, but I also know exactly how stupid he can be,” she says matter-of-factly. “Whatever happened between the two of you, I know that he’s nowhere near as innocent as he claims to be.”

It makes sense, that Harry martyred himself to his mum. Louis had done the same thing, back when –

“Yeah, but you’re supposed to take his side anyway, you’re his mum,” Louis says, leaning into her side despite himself.

“Oh, honey, I’m always on his side,” Anne says. “I just don’t know why you wouldn’t think that I’m also on yours.”

Louis’ eyes well up. He sniffles, loud and embarrassing, and scrubs the back of a hand over his eyes. “Alright, alright,” he mutters. “No need to be all gushy about it.”

Anne laughs lightly, nudging Louis’ shoulder with her own. “C’mon, now, let’s find you some clothes and you can make a decision while you’re a little more clear-headed.”

She stands, leaving Louis no choice but to follow.

The test results all come back clear. There had been a lot of commotion about it, people yelling as they tried to be heard over each other. Mostly people from Harry’s management team, but Louis thought he saw a couple of his own in the mix for some reason. Harry hadn’t said much at all, white-lipped and tight-knuckled, and while the arguments about what do to next were raging on he’d disappeared into the loo.

The shouting was too much for him, and Louis had followed suit. Now, they’re sitting on the floor across from each other, Louis’ back up against the door, listening to the argument go on through the wood.

“So what do you think?” Louis asks, breaking the silence. He nudges at the toes of Harry’s bare feet with his own paper slipper-clad ones, trying to get his attention. “Are the Packers going to do well this year?”

Harry looks at him, raising an eyebrow. “The season has been over for months. Also, since when do you ask me about American football?”

Since never. Louis doesn’t give a single shit about bulky men running around and tackling each other for no reason.

“I’m just trying to have a conversation with you, mate,” he says, kicking at Harry’s foot this time. Harry doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to pull away, or to wince when Louis makes contact.

Harry tips his head back against the wall, mouthing mate? up to the ceiling. Louis kicks him again for good measure, harder this time.

“What do you want to talk about, then?” Louis demands. “Or do you just want to sit here in awkward silence until everyone is done having a meltdown?”

“I came in here so I could have a meltdown by myself,” Harry points out, looking back at him. “No one asked you to force your way in here too.”

If he doesn’t stop Louis is going to be forced to do a lot more than just kick him. He settles for pulling his legs back in against his chest, folding himself up small to try to resist the temptation.

“No one asked you to track me down and attack me either,” Louis says. “You want me to show you that wound again? Pretty sure it’s going to scar.”

Harry flinches, putting his head in his hands. “This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself. Louis waits, but he doesn’t say anything else.

He’s not wrong, either. This really is fucked up. It doesn’t seem like there’s anything either of them can do about it until the doctors get some answers, though, so what’s the point of dwelling on it? All the money in the world couldn’t change their situation right now, and between the two of them, they’ve got enough of it for it to make a difference if it was going to.

“It is fucked up,” Louis agrees. “Also, I never got my jello. Want to sneak out of here and find the cafeteria?”

Slowly, Harry lowers his hands. “God,” he says tiredly. “Sometimes I forget how – ” he waves a hand in the general direction of Louis’ body, “you are.”

It’s only an insult if Louis chooses to take it as one. He bounces up to his feet, tugging at Harry’s limp arm until he staggers up too. “C’mon, then, snookums, let’s go pour about a pint of coffee down your throat and see if it cheers you up.”

Harry groans, but he stops resisting as Louis yanks him out the door.

The cafeteria, as most hospital cafeterias tend to be, is underwhelming. He shoos Harry off towards an empty table in the back before joining the short line to the cashier. It’s strange, he realizes suddenly, that he has no idea what time it is. For all he knows it could be five in the morning. He hasn’t seen his mobile since the gas station carpark, and he can only hope that Oli’s keeping it safe somewhere.

He rattles off a strange combination of food once he gets to the register and is quickly heading off to the table with a tray loaded down. Harry looks up as he approaches, the corner of his mouth quirking up into something like a smile.

“Did you buy out the place?” he asks, tugging the tray closer to him as soon as Louis sets it down. Louis slaps his hand away without even thinking about it, automatic and teasing.

He doesn’t give himself time to freeze, sliding into the seat next to Harry instead of the one across the table. “There’s an order to this,” he announces, as though he didn’t just pick a completely random assortment of food. “Figures that you’d already be trying to do it wrong.”

“An order,” Harry repeats skeptically.

“Yes, an order,” Louis says. “Now, I know what you’re thinking – appetizers first, right? Wrong. Dessert first, Harold. Always dessert first.”

“Dessert?” Harry asks, quirking an eyebrow at the tray. “I’m not sure that anything here qualifies as dessert.”

That’s where he’s wrong. He’s also wrong about a lot of other stuff, but Louis figures he can break that to him when he’s cheered up a bit.

“Dessert,” Louis says firmly. He picks up a container of jello, ripping it open, before doing the same to a package of hot chocolate mix.

Harry groans, trying to grab Louis’ hand. “Please don’t subject me to this.”

Undeterred, Louis dumps the hot chocolate powder into the jello cup, mixing it the best he can with a plastic spoon. “Perfect,” he declares after it’s swished around a few times. “Eat up.”

He thrusts the cup at Harry. Harry looks down at it slowly before looking back up at Louis’ face. “I’m not going to eat that.”

Louis lets his eyes go soft, leaning towards Harry, very nearly into his space. “But I made it just for you.”

Harry doesn’t budge. “I can see what you’re doing, you know,” he informs Louis. “That little trick might have worked on me when I was sixteen, but I’ve had ten years to get used to it.”

That’s as close as they’ve come to talking about any of it in the last few years. Hell, it might be as close as they’ve come to talking about it ever. If Louis let it, the words would probably have a hard impact on his nervous system. He’s stronger than that, though, and Harry doesn’t get to win arguments. Not that this is an argument, but the point stands. Louis wins, because that’s what he does.

“Fine,” he says, throwing himself back in his chair and digging into the concoction with his spoon. Harry props an elbow up on the table, watching as Louis brings the spoon to his mouth. There’s a look of slight disgust on his face that Louis is absolutely relishing.

It doesn’t taste as bad as Louis was expecting it to. He makes a deep, throaty noise of enjoyment, forcing himself to swallow. “S’good,” he says through half a mouthful of mushy jello. There’s so much chocolate coating his teeth he can actually feel it, grainy and wet.

“Really,” Harry says.

Louis smiles at him, not bothering to suck the chocolate dust away. If it was someone other than Harry, he probably would have. Harry’s seen him at his worst, though, and also he literally mauled Louis twenty-four hours ago, so he can take it. “Really.”

“You do know I don’t believe you, right?”

“You can have some if you want,” Louis says magnagmiously, shoving the spoon back in for another heaping. “I don’t mind sharing.”

Committing to the bit is only slightly less excruciating than the feeling of the next spoonful he shoves into his mouth, wet and dry all at the same time. He wants to gag, biting it back for the sake of his audience.

“I don’t,” Harry says. “How about we move onto some of the items that are actually edible, huh?”

“This is perfectly edible,” Louis says, through an entire mouthful of jello this time. He can’t quite force himself to swallow.

“This is why you don’t cook,” Harry says, eyeing the spoon in his hand distrustfully, like he’s thinking about slapping it to the ground.

Louis might let him if he tried. The second mouthful is proving to be way, way worse than the first.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I offending your delicate sensibilities?” Louis mocks, dipping into the cup for a third spoonful. He finally manages to swallow the bite of jello, throat muscles protesting the entire time, and does his best to ignore the leftover powder in his mouth.

“No, but you are chipping away at a tiny piece of my soul,” Harry says, grabbing Louis’ wrist, stopping him from bringing the spoon back up to his mouth. “If I eat this one mouthful of this monstrosity, will you stop trying to disgust me into vomiting?”

That’s a promise Louis might not be able to keep. Still. “Yes.”

Harry looks at the spoon warily before sighing, accepting his fate. He doesn’t let go of Louis’ wrist to take the spoon from him, instead guiding Louis’ entire hand towards his mouth as though he doesn’t realize how weird that is. Louis ignores the squirming in his belly, watching as Harry eats the spoonful of jello, making an even more disgusted face than the one he had already been wearing.

“Yum,” he says dryly, dropping Louis’ hand. Louis remembers how to breathe. “Can we eat something normal now, please?”

Louis has the sudden, blinding urge to smear the rest of the hot chocolate powder on Harry’s face. Just to stop him from looking like – that.

His face is a lot to deal with. Louis, along with millions of teenagers, has always thought so. He can’t imagine a scenario in which he says it out loud, but faced with it now, after so many years of not having to see it every day, it’s hitting him hard all over again.

“Fine,” he says, clearing his throat. “Pizza before – ”

“Pizza before crisps, yes, I remember,” Harry interrupts. Warmth floods Louis’ belly, surging down towards his groin. No matter how firmly he tells it to stop, it doesn’t.

He hates the way Harry’s voice sounds fond. He wishes he could force himself to actually hate it instead of just telling himself he does.

“Order is important,” Louis says sagely. He’s had a lot of practice at ignoring his feelings. It’s pretty much his default by now. Picking up a slice of pizza with one hand, he concentrates on taking a bite from it as neatly as he can.

As far as hospital pizza goes, it’s not bad. The cheese is rubbery, but the sauce is decent. Over all, Louis would give it a five out of ten.

Harry doesn’t move to follow suit. The heat from his body is radiating against Louis’ side, unmistakable. It’s so much harder to ignore than Louis’ feelings.

“Don’t stare at me,” Louis mumbles through his mouthful of pizza. “You’re being a creep again.”

Harry leans into him, chemical scent from all the testing wafting off his body. He smells like hospital, and that’s never an appealing scent. Louis’ stomach doesn’t roil as much as it should, though. Goosebumps raise the hair on his arms, and he wants to shove Harry away almost as much as he wants to pull him closer.

He does neither, remaining still. Harry dips his head, says into Louis’ ear, “Thank you.”

Louis rubs at his arms. He should have insisted that someone find him a hoodie before coming down here. All Harry would have to do is look down to see how much Louis is being affected by him.

Harry pulls away before Louis is forced to come up with a response, picking up his slice of pizza and starting in on it. Louis takes another bite of his own, but he can’t deny the sudden pounding of his heart.

After they’re finished eating, they meander their way back upstairs. No matter how much Louis insists, Harry won’t let him break into any storage rooms, tugging him away with two fingers in the neck of his shirt every time. It’s an intimate, familiar way to touch someone you haven’t talked to in years, Louis thinks, and coming from anyone else he’d be making a giant scene about it. There’s part of him that thinks Harry doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, though. The more Louis thinks about it, the more it seems like Harry’s been running on pure instinct lately. He normally has a better poker face than this.

He’s also been so much more moody and irritable than he usually is, but Louis isn’t hating that right now. Getting under Harry’s skin has always brought him a particular kind of joy.

They walk into the room together, and all heads swivel towards them. It’s a lot emptier now, only one doctor surrounded by all of Harry’s people.

“Wow, it’s tense in here,” Louis comments, tucking his hands into his pockets. He brushes his shoulder against Harry’s, light and intentional. It’s still hard sometimes to remember that he’s the one in charge, and he figures Harry gets that same kind of overwhelmed feeling. Regardless of whatever else they have between them, they have shared experiences. Facing off against people from the label or management has always felt easier when there’s someone backing you up.

“We have to talk about next steps,” a guy wearing a suit tells Harry, casting a meaningful glance in Louis’ direction.

Louis opens his mouth to tell the guy that the cut of the suit isn’t working for him. Like he can sense it coming, Harry nudges him back, leaving their shoulders pressed together. “Okay,” is all Harry says.

The guy looks at Louis again, hesitating. “Look, Louis knows things about me that no one else in this room does,” Harry snaps. “Can we just get over the fact that he’s here, please?”

God, it’s so much worse being attracted to him when he’s pissed off. Louis needs to find a paper bag and stick it over Harry’s head.

Louis smiles smarmily at the guy. He’s pretty sure he’s still got chocolate on his teeth.

“Alright,” the guy says. “Dr. Morgan?”

Ah, the doctor’s got a name now. That’s good. Presumably he had a name before, but Louis had his hands too full to try to figure it out. Literally.

“Right, well, we’ve ruled out the most obvious illnesses,” Dr. Morgan starts. “We’ll let you rest tonight and resume the testing tomorrow. We’ll also have you meet with a therapist tomorrow.”

“A therapist?” Louis repeats, scoffing. “He’s not crazy.”

Harry’s elbow digs into his ribs. Reluctantly, Louis closes his mouth.

“Sounds good,” Harry says, fake chirpy. Louis scoffs again, under his breath this time. He mutters sounds good to himself, mocking. Harry loops an arm around his neck, yanking him closer. It knocks the breath out of Louis long enough for Harry to continue, “I’m pretty tired now, though, so I’d like to get some sleep, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Dr. Morgan says. “We’ll monitor you through the night, of course, but we’ll let you rest. See you in the morning, Mr. Styles.”

He ushers the remaining people out of the room, closing the door behind him. Louis reaches up and tugs at Harry’s arm, loosening his grip enough that he has room to breathe.

“Are you actually tired?” he asks, leaning back against Harry’s chest. Harry doesn’t seem inclined to let him go anytime soon, so he might as well get comfortable. “It’s only five o’clock.”

“It’s after ten,” Harry says, bemused. “Why did you think it was only five?”

Louis shrugs. He took a guess. If he was a little bit off, who cares. “I think you broke my phone when you shoved me into the ground. No one’s broken the news to me yet, but I’m pretty sure they’re just waiting for the right moment.”

“Oli’s got your phone, it’s fine,” Harry says. “Besides, this is a hospital. We passed like ten clocks on the way back up here. You would have noticed them if you weren’t too busy trying to break into storage rooms.”

With a name like storage room, how is Louis expected not to break into them? He could always use more hospital-grade medical supplies for his collection.

“Oh,” Louis says. “For real though, are you actually tired? Or did you just want to get rid of everyone trying to crawl up your arse?”

“You have such a way with words,” Harry says dryly. “No wonder you’re a songwriter.”

Louis pats Harry’s arm, still looped around his neck. “I know, right?”

For a few minutes, they stand there in the relative silence of Harry’s hospital room. Louis isn’t one to over-react to things, but he thinks Harry might be smelling him. So fucking weird.

Eventually, Louis pats Harry’s arm again, a bit harder this time. “So,” he says conversationally. “I’m gonna let you go to sleep, then.”

Harry’s arm tightens. Not quite enough to restrict Louis’ airflow again, almost like a reflex. He doesn’t say anything, but the movement itself is enough. Louis tucks his hand into the crook of Harry’s elbow, leaving it there. “I’ll just find myself a little place to sleep in the waiting room or something. No need for me to be taking up a room anymore, right?”

Harry inhales raggedly and doesn’t respond. It’s getting to be a little much, him all over Louis like this, so Louis wiggles around under his arm, stretching up onto his toes so he can loop his own arms around the back of Harry’s neck, hugging him tight. Their bodies press together, close and warm. Harry’s arm slides down Louis’ back, pressing their chests together even tighter, so there’s no space between them. His other arm follows, clutching at Louis’ back, stooping down so he can press his face into Louis’ neck.

“Alright, alright,” Louis murmurs. He can’t remember the last time they hugged like this. Maybe they’ve never hugged like this. “I’ll stay a bit and put you to bed then, you big baby.”

“Wahh wahh,” Harry mumbles against his skin. Louis can’t help the way he snickers, trying to push Harry back towards the bed. Sometimes Harry is actually funny. Usually not when he’s trying to be, but still.

They watch a film curled up in the too-small bed together for a while before Harry drifts off. Louis slides Harry’s hand off of his hip and then inches his way out of the room, closing the door behind him softly. There’s a row of chairs in the waiting room that look like they’ll do in a pinch, and enough of Harry’s security still around that Louis doesn’t have to worry about people snapping covert pics of him.

He curls up on them, tucking his hands under his armpits to keep them warm, and closes his eyes.

An hour later, he jerks awake to the sound of screaming. He’s barely conscious as he skids back into the room, beating the nurse there, and climbs onto the bed, practically throwing himself on top of Harry.

“Jesus, what the fuck,” he mutters to himself. It’s hard to hear the sound of his own voice over Harry’s screaming. He moves closer, wrapping his arms around Harry’s back.

“We can sedate him,” the nurse offers.

Louis’ blood pressure spikes. “No,” he snaps without turning around. He slaps Harry’s face lightly, trying to get him to open his eyes. “Harry, this nurse wants to stick drugs in your veins. If you don’t stop I think she’s going to do it regardless of what I say.”

Harry doesn’t stop. His muscles are tense and strained against Louis’ body in all the places they’re touching. If he doesn’t relax soon he’s going to burst a blood vessel.

“Hey,” Louis says, pressing his forehead against Harry’s and dropping his voice low. Harry’s not struggling, at least, so he doesn’t bash his head against Louis’ in the process. Small mercies. “H, you gotta calm down for me, darling.”

He grabs Harry’s hand, shoving it up underneath his own shirt. As much as they’ve pretended otherwise over the years, Louis has a pretty good idea of all the things Harry likes, and he’s not above using them to his advantage right now. Immediately, Harry’s fingers flatten against his belly, stroking and curious.

Of all the places Louis thought he would be right now, in a hospital bed being felt up by Harry Styles wouldn’t have even made the list.

It’s working, though. Harry’s calming down, his other hand moving on its own accord to settle on Louis’ back, keeping him pinned between them. His screaming tapers off into ragged breathing and the occasional bitten off noise.

“Oi, big boy, nothing below the waist,” Louis says, keeping his voice low. Harry’s fingers are toying with the waistband of Louis’ trackies, threatening to slip under. It’s the hand he’s got on Louis’ back, and Louis doesn’t know whether that’s better or worse than if it was the one he’s got on his belly.

“Want your mouth,” Harry whispers, eyes still glazed and unfocused.

There’s a twist deep in Louis’ belly, not helped by the way Harry’s still stroking it. “What a crude compliment,” Louis says mildly. He wouldn’t be saying it if he thought Harry was in any position to actually hear it. Any acknowledgement of it at all is already pushing the envelope a bit too far.

Pain is still framing Harry’s face. Louis knows what he looks like when he’s pain – from stubbed toes to a broken foot and a fucked up wrist, Harry’s face has always looked the same when he’s in pain. There’s no way he could be faking this. There’s no way this is all in his head. Louis doesn’t care what the doctors have been hinting at. Harry’s not crazy – this is real.

“You deserve better than this,” Louis says, stroking Harry’s hair back out of his face. “Wish there was something I could do to help you.”

It’s maybe a little too honest. Oh well. It’s not like Harry is really hearing him anyway.

Harry’s breathing has started to slow down. His eyes are fixed on Louis’ mouth, hands still cradling Louis’ body. Louis hasn’t been paying enough attention to stop Harry’s fingertips from slipping under his waistband, on both his stomach and his back, the touch way more intimate and familiar than Louis has ever given him permission to be.

“Alright,” Louis says, sighing it out more than he means to. He slides off Harry’s lap and onto the bed instead, tugging at the front of Harry’s hospital gown to keep him close. “You’re giving me a fucking workout, you know that?”

He’s done more squats today than he’s done in the last week. If he doesn’t watch it his thighs are going to burn in the morning.

Harry crowds him against the bedrail, pressing his forehead against Louis’. He’s brushed his teeth before bed, at least, so his breath mostly smells minty. Louis can’t say the same, but Harry’s not backing away like he minds.

“Shh,” Harry murmurs. The hand he’s just tucked just above Louis’ arse slides out from his trackies, sliding all the way down his thigh until he can tuck it behind Louis’ knee, tug at his leg until it’s up over Harry’s.

Louis huffs out a quiet laugh. “You’re putting me in a compromising position here, babe.”

Despite his better intentions, his cock twitches. It’s too hard to ignore the way Harry’s putting him exactly where he wants him.

“Shh,” Harry tells him again, pulling him even closer with the hand he’s still got tucked behind Louis’ knee.

“Alright, alright,” Louis says, stroking two fingers down Harry’s jaw. His face is going lax now, pain lines smoothed out. “Go to sleep.”

Harry does. Louis waits a few more minutes than strictly necessary before he slides out of the bed again.

“You can’t keep doing this, you know,” Louis murmurs to the top of Harry’s head. His thighs are already starting to feel the strain of being spread around Harry’s hips, pushed up onto his knees so he’s taller than Harry for once. “I can’t be at your beck and call for the rest of my life.”

Harry stopped screaming a few minutes ago, but Louis is pretty sure he’s not back yet. His breathing is still hoarse and ragged, chest jerking against Louis’ stomach. He hasn’t responded to anything Louis’ said, but he’s also taken it upon himself to put his hands on Louis’ arse, so he’s definitely coming out of it.

Louis sighs, tugging at one of Harry’s knotted curls lightly. Slowly, he sinks back down so he’s sitting in Harry’s lap, easing the strain in his thighs. He’s too tired to feel embarrassed at his state of undress, from running back and forth all night trying to keep Harry from freaking out and from being cooped up in this hospital. He hasn’t been outside in something like two days. Normally, that wouldn’t be a big deal – sometimes he likes to stay in his house for days on end, alright – but right now he’s itching to feel the warmth of the sun on his face.

What’s the point of touring during the summer if you can’t even enjoy the sunshine?

“People are starting to talk, you know,” Louis comments. Harry doesn’t go back to trying to shove his face into his belly, eyes starting to lose some of that glaze. “Lucky they’ve got that whole confidentiality thing going on, otherwise you would have started a whole bunch of rumours again.”

“Yes,” Harry whispers nonsensically, like he’s agreeing. It took Louis a while to figure out that he has no idea what Louis is saying when he’s like this, and that it’s just his instincts reacting to the sound of Louis’ voice.

Still, there’s something comforting about it when Harry starts to respond. Like he hasn’t gotten completely lost in the mess of his own head.

“The paperwork must be a nightmare,” Louis continues thoughtfully, barely flinching when Harry goes from squeezing his arse to sliding his hands up Louis’ bare back so he can roll them over, put Louis under him. “Imagine how many NDAs had to be drawn up to cover this whole thing. They made me sign one about you, you know that? Like I’d want the entire world speculating on what exactly this is.”

He’s been trying not to speculate on it himself. That’s a lot easier said than done when Harry keeps doing shit like this, though, putting his hands all over Louis’ body, hugging him, pinning him down, without even realizing he’s doing it. That sixteen hours of sleep Louis apparently got when they first got to the hospital seems like a lifetime away now.

“Shh, shh,” Harry murmurs, from a place deep in his throat. It’s something he’s been doing for the past couple of hours, and Louis is starting to think that he’s mimicking the way Louis has been saying it at the beginning of Harry’s fits. Once he starts coming back to himself, he hushes Louis the same way Louis has been hushing him, and he seems to only do it when Louis’ voice gets tight.

Louis ignores him, continuing, “Wonder if they made you sign one about me. That way you can’t go running your mouth to Ellen or someone about that time in your life you made me into your human teddy bear. As telly worthy as this story is, it’s not something I want out there for the entire world to see, y’know?”

Harry mashes his face against Louis’ shoulder, mouth wet and open against the bite mark. That does make Louis flinch, back going tense, half-expecting Harry to try it again.

At least there’s a whole bunch of medical professionals around this time if he does. Maybe Louis will be able to get some painkillers before he throws up.

A few seconds pass. Harry’s teeth don’t sink into his skin, and Louis relaxes. Harry’s heavy on top of him, but he’ll take that over having a chunk of his flesh torn out of him.

“Already having a hard enough time explaining this to everyone,” Louis mutters, putting a hand back in Harry’s hair and staring at the ceiling. “Always did let you convince me to do way too much for you.”

That’s the only reason he’s still here, after all. Harry hasn’t actually asked him to stay, but he hadn’t needed to. His face had done it for him, pale, washed out, so much pain written all over it. It had been like Louis was physically incapable of walking away.

Harry’s breathing has gone deep and even for the first time in seven hours. He’s fallen into fitful bursts of rest before, tricking Louis into thinking he was asleep only for him to start screaming a handful of minutes later. This seems calmer, though, more peaceful. More like actual sleep.

“Figures that you’d wait until you were on top of me to fall asleep, you bastard,” Louis says. He’s so tired, and wiggling out from underneath Harry’s body seems like way more effort than he’s willing to expend right now. This isn’t the most uncomfortable position he’s ever slept in, so he closes his eyes, thinking that he’ll take a fifteen minute nap before rolling Harry onto the floor. Just fifteen minutes.

In the morning, Louis wakes up without the weight of another person on top of him. He knows where he is before he opens his eyes. Hasn’t forgotten, despite the warmth flooding his body, the contentment lying in his chest. Slowly, he lets his eyes drift open, taking in Harry’s face. They’re both lying on their sides now, facing each other, and it’s a tight fit in this twin size bed. They’re much too close, close enough that Louis can feel the hard press of Harry’s cock against his thigh.

Resolutely, he ignores the demands of his own. Harry stripped his hospital gown off at some point during the night, and Louis can’t remember whether either of them were conscious for that or not. He’s all warm, mostly naked skin pressing against Louis’ body, just broad enough that he makes Louis feel small, trapped in this bed with him. It’s not helping matters any that Louis didn’t get a chance to put his own clothes back on, both of them stripped down to their pants, so close to being naked that it almost wouldn’t even matter if they were.

They’re still alone in the room. All of the machinery was turned off when Harry kept flailing the sensors off, so it’s quiet. Just the sound of their breathing, in sync and slow. It’s impossible to tell what time it is, but it feels early, the air still around them. There’s a thin sheet pulled up to their shoulders, covering their bodies, and it’s the only thing preventing Louis from freaking out about all of it. Somehow, it’s comforting enough to convince him to lay still.

He watches Harry blink himself awake, a soft, dreamy smile on his face as he looks at Louis looking at him. Louis has the urge to smack him in the face just for looking like that.

“I think it’s time you told me the truth,” Louis says. He keeps his voice quiet, keeping it in line with the stillness of the room.

Harry’s smile drops. He doesn’t shift away, but he looks like he wants to. “The truth about what.”

It’s not a question. Even if Louis didn’t already know his tells, that would give it away. There’s definitely something Harry’s not telling him.

He could push Harry on it. Demand answers, demand to be told everything about what’s going on here. That would probably only lead to them having one of those knock-down-drag-out fights they always do, though, and there’s something inside Louis that’s shying away from that right now.

Louis wets his bottom lip. It’s an unconscious movement, one he only realizes he’s doing when Harry’s eyes drop to watch him do it. “Tell me how it feels.”

“How what feels?”

Harry’s playing dumb. Under normal circumstances, it would make Louis threaten to walk out unless he got the answers he’s looking for, too impatient to play games. He’s still irritated by it, but it’s less than he should be, he thinks. Less than he usually would be. It must be because it’s so early still.

“How it feels when it’s happening,” Louis says. He presses his palm flat against Harry’s bare chest, noticing for the first time that he’s not wearing any of his jewelry. Not even his necklace.

They must have taken it off of him in the ambulance. In case he needed to go into surgery or something.

Harry glances down at Louis’ hand, as though he can see it underneath the sheet. He doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t do anything to move it off his body. “Painful,” he settles on eventually.

Louis waits, but Harry doesn’t add anything else. “Do you remember it after?”

There has to be something that can help them understand what’s going on. Harry stays silent, closing his eyes. He puts his hand over Louis’ on his chest, and for a second Louis thinks he’s going to pull it off, but all Harry does it press it against him harder.

“C’mon,” Louis coaxes. He wiggles closer, figuring that it can’t hurt. “You can talk to me. You used to be able to talk to me all the time.”

Harry makes a low, pained noise. Louis’ heart misses a beat, thinking that it’s going to start again, that the pain is going to come back and all he’ll be able to do is hold Harry through it.

“I don’t – ” Harry starts. He stops, biting at his bottom lip with his eyes still closed. “Can you turn around?”

“What?” Louis asks, not nearly as incredulously as the question demands.

“I can’t talk to you when your face is like that,” Harry says.

Louis bristles, pulling away a bit. “Like what?”

It’s a minute before Harry responds. “Distracting,” is what he settles on.

Distracting. Louis is starting to think that this is a different conversation than the one he thought they were going to have, and he’s not nearly ready to have this one. He acquiesces, turning over so he’s facing away from Harry, expecting Harry to pull back too, maybe even sit up.

Instead, Harry folds himself into Louis’ back, tucking them into each other neatly, touching all the way down their bodies. His toes nudge against the soles of Louis’ bare feet for a second before they’re gone, leaving him breathless and shocked. He doesn’t move as Harry wraps an arm around his belly, pulling him back so there’s not even a millimeter of space left between their bodies.

“Right, because this is so much less distracting,” Louis says, staring at the wall a few feet away from the bed. Harry chuckles against the back of his neck, and it’s so unfair that he can probably feel the rapid beat of Louis’ heart pounding in his chest.

It’s even more unfair that he can feel Harry’s cock again, pressed up against the curve of his arse. It’s still hard.

“It hurts,” Harry says, and for a second Louis thinks he’s talking about his cock. He can sympathize with that, actually. “That’s pretty much what I remember afterwards. It’s like being lit on fire from the inside out and then being thrown in a lake to drown. It’s like I’m clawing my way up, trying to find fresh air to breathe because I’m suffocating from the smoke, from the water, but I can’t.”

God. It sounds awful, and Louis is pretty sure that Harry’s underselling it. “That’s all you remember?”

He can feel Harry’s hesitation and gives him a little wiggle of his hips, just to help him find the words. Harry makes a low, throaty noise that vibrates against the nape of Louis’ neck, and it’s so hard to resist making one back.

“It’s like that,” Harry says finally. “It feels like that until you get there, and then it’s like I can see a bit of light, a way to find fresh air, and then I can breathe again.”

It – it can’t be like that. Louis has been there before Harry’s fits have started, literally been fifty feet away from him, and he doesn’t calm down until he’s literally touching Louis’ skin. He frowns at the wall, thinking.

“How did you find me?” he asks abruptly. “In the gas station, how did you find me?”

“That’s the part I don’t remember,” Harry says. “I just – I was in the hospital after the incident on stage, and then I was with you. I don’t remember anything in between.”

Louis hasn’t been told much of the story from before the gas station, but. It would have taken at least two days to drive from New York to Oregon. Maybe three, depending on how many times he had to stop, if he slept at all. He can’t have been out of his mind for all of it, right? He has to have had at least some moments of clarity in that forty-eight hours. It’s not like he was actually on anything that could have fucked with his brain that much, and Louis knows that he wasn’t having a mental breakdown. Louis knows that.

Harry’s lying to him. He’s lying about something, even if Louis has no idea what that is.

He’s saved from having to decide whether to confront Harry about it or not by Dr. Morgan walking into the room.

“Mr. Styles,” Dr. Morgan greets. “How did you sleep?”

Harry sits up in the bed, the sheet falling down to his waist. It exposes Louis’ torso as well, but he ignores the draft, still staring at the wall.

“Not well,” Harry admits. “There was a lot of pain.” His voice drones as he goes on to explain the night to the doctor, presumably explaining why Louis is in bed with him along the way. It’s muffled, fuzzy to Louis’ ears, and he can’t take it anymore. He sits up, forcing himself over Harry and out of the bed almost in the same motion, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

“I’m just gonna, loo,” he says, and escapes before either of them can say anything to him.

There’s a public loo in the waiting room. Louis slips into a stall before he can get too many questioning looks about his state of undress, slamming the lock closed and sitting down heavily on the toilet.

“What the fuck what the fuck,” he chants to himself, dropping his head into his hands and squeezing his eyes closed. He needs to leave. He needs to get out of this hospital, get back on tour before anything becomes any weirder.

He wishes he could leave. That same tug in his gut that pulled him to Harry’s room in the first place is still there, tugging again even though they’ve only been apart for two minutes. There’s no way Harry could be in pain again already. So far it’s only seemed to be able to affect him when he’s asleep, and he just woke up. There’s no way he’s asleep again already, not with the doctor in there talking to him. Louis can ignore it, at least for now.

Harry lying to him isn’t a surprise. Louis is pretty sure they’ve lied to each other more over the years than is healthy. It’s probably the reason their relationship is so fucked up, them lying to each other about the important stuff. By now, it’s routine. He might actually be more surprised if Harry was ever fully honest with him about anything than he is by the fact that Harry’s lying. This feeling he has doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t get to feel betrayed by it, not when he’s just as guilty of it as Harry is.

Or maybe he does, he thinks, rubbing at the bite mark on his shoulder. Harry threw everything into chaos when he showed up and did that. Maybe Louis does get to feel betrayed about being lied to right now.

He’s so preoccupied with his thoughts that he doesn’t notice someone else has come into the room before Oli is calling, “Tommo? You in here?”

Fucking Americans and their weird stalls. Louis wouldn’t be able to hide even if he wanted to.

“Yeah,” Louis says sullenly, staring down at his feet. Maybe he could have hidden if he pulled his feet up onto the toilet with him. That wouldn’t be too weird, would it?

Oli’s footsteps come closer, stopping outside the door. “Are you actually taking a piss?”

“No,” Louis sighs. “Who told you to come find me?”

The door creaks a little as Oli tries to push it open. “Who do you think told me? Your one true love.”

Louis scowls, kicking at the door hard enough that he sees Oli’s feet jump back in surprise. “You know I hate it when you call him that.”

“I could call him a lot worse,” Oli points out. He knocks at the door lightly a few times. “Do you really want to talk about this here, where anyone could walk in at any moment, or do you want to go for a walk?”

What’s the point of having a mild panic attack if you’re just going to get interrupted in the middle of it?

“I’m not wearing clothes,” Louis says, kicking at the door again, just for emphasis this time.

Oli shoves a stack of clothes under the door. Louis looks at them for a minute before accepting them.

Five minutes later, they’re sitting on a bench just outside the hospital. Oli hands him a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and Louis realizes just how long it’s been since he’s had a smoke.

“Thanks,” he mutters, pulling one out of the pack and lighting it. The first inhale of nicotine has an instant calming effect, giving him something to do with his hands.

“Yeah,” Oli says, watching him. “So, did you decide whether you’re going to leave him or not?”

And now he’s talking about Harry like he’s Louis’ shitty husband or something. Louis takes another drag on the cigarette to give himself a few more seconds to think.

“I’m not going to leave him,” he says finally. Honestly, he wasn’t even considering it as a real option.

“Because you enjoy tormenting yourself?” Oli guesses wryly. “I know it’s not easy for you, being with him again.”

He does know, probably more than anyone. Louis inhales another lungful of smoke, staring at a tree across the carpark. It’d be nice if his mates would stop talking about Harry like he’s Louis’ ex-husband. Maybe one day.

“It’s not easy,” Louis says. “And as much as I want to walk away right now, I can’t leave him when he needs me.”

“Fuck what he needs,” Oli says easily. It’s not as vitriolic as it would be coming from some of Louis’ other mates. “What about what you need?”

Louis takes another drag as he considers. Oli’s the only person who knows what actually went down between them that last time. Or maybe he’s not – Louis has no idea who Harry would have told. If he would have told anyone. If he feels like it’s something he should be ashamed of or not.

“It’s not just him,” he says, still staring out at that tree like it’ll give him answers. “I felt it, you know? When he was feeling the pain, I knew.”

It’s a gross oversimplification for what Louis felt. He did, though, every time. Felt that small pit of anxiety and fear in his stomach whenever Harry woke up screaming during the night, even when he wasn’t close enough to hear it.

“Okay,” Oli says, accepting Louis’ explanation like it isn’t completely bat-shit crazy. “Do you think you’d still be able to feel it if there was some distance between the two of you?”

Does it matter? Louis wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he left, knowing the unstable ground Harry’s standing on. It wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t feel the sensation anymore – he’d still know that Harry wasn’t doing well.

“Alright,” Oli says, reading Louis’ face. He leans into Louis’ side, threatening to send him toppling over. “I’m gonna head out to the bus and grab your bag for you. You gonna be okay for a bit?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, but he doesn’t move from the bench for twenty minutes.

Upstairs, Harry’s alone in the room again. He’s sitting up on the bed, scrolling through his phone, and there’s an IV tip sticking out of his arm. They must have drawn more blood while Louis was gone.

“Hey,” Harry says, smiling uncertainly at him. “You’re back.”

You’re back, he says, because he hadn’t thought Louis was coming back at all. Louis swallows down his initial reaction to that, something loud and screechy. Instead, he says, “Yeah. S’hurt?” nodding to Harry’s arm.

“What, this?” Harry asks, looking down at it. “Not really.”

On the rare occasion Louis has had to have an IV inserted in the past, it’s always been attached to a line of fluids or medication. He’s never seen just the needle and a bit of tubing sticking out of someone’s arm before. He kind of has an urge to poke at it.

“Is there any news, then?” Louis asks, flopping down into the chair beside the bed and kicking his feet up onto it. Harry sighs, digging them out from his side and rearranging them so they’re resting in his lap. He leaves one of his hands on Louis’ left foot, warm and heavy.

“They took more blood,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ foot gently. “Dr. Morgan said that they’re probably going to recommend starting me on some medication after I see the therapist.”

Louis frowns. “What kind of medication?”

Harry shrugs one shoulder. Louis can’t tell whether he knows and he’s not saying, or if he actually doesn’t know. Either way, Louis’ frown deepens.

“Stop that,” Harry says mildly, pinching at Louis’ toes. Louis accidentally kicks him in response, causing Harry to swear under his breath and grab Louis’ ankle, holding it still. “There’s no point in dwelling on it when there’s nothing I can do about it. Might as well just wait until there’s a few more pieces of the puzzle.”

Louis kicks him again, just for daring to be so level-headed at a time like this. He has to use his other foot to do it, but he thinks the sacrifice is well worth it.

“Fine,” Louis says. “So now what, we just sit around waiting?”

Harry shrugs again. “I did spring for a room with a telly,” he offers. “We can watch horrible daytime soap operas?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Louis says, testing the grip Harry has on both his ankles, seeing if he can wiggle them free without Harry noticing. “American daytime telly is so boring.”

He can’t get them free at all. A smarter person would give up. Louis isn’t a smarter person, though, so he keeps on trying.

“That is why I said horrible,” Harry notes. He squeezes Louis’ ankles warningly. “So what do you have in mind, then?”

Louis stops struggling and gives Harry his sweetest smile. Immediately, Harry groans.

“I’m not stealing a nurse’s book,” Harry hisses, trying to push Louis back into the room. “What if she needs it to do her job?”

Louis rolls his eyes, digging his heels in and pushing back. “That’s what Google is for, you idiot. You think anyone reads physical books anymore?”

Harry’s blocking the entire doorway, preventing Louis from making a full escape. They’re being loud, and obvious, and the woman sitting behind the nurse’s station is already staring at them, eyebrows raised like she’s contemplating whether she should call security or not.

If it was anyone other than Harry Styles she was looking at right now, she’d probably already be doing that. Louis is going to use that to his advantage.

“Why are you never on your best behaviour when you go outside?” Harry wonders. He puts his hands on Louis’ hips like he’s going to bodily pick him up and throw him back in the room. Louis wouldn’t put it past him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done something like that, after all.

Abruptly, Louis stops struggling, curling his fingers around Harry’s wrist. “Okay, let’s compromise,” he suggests. “How about you use your charm to distract her and I’ll steal the book?”

That was Louis’ real plan anyway. He’s used Harry’s face as a distraction technique many a time in his life.

“Absolutely not,” Harry says firmly. He’s back in his hospital gown, and it takes a lot of groping to find that sensitive spot on his side that always makes his knees buckle a little when it’s tickled.

“C’mon,” Louis coaxes, taking his hand away before Harry can actually pick him up and toss him back into the room, “If you do this for me I won’t make you do anything stupid for at least an hour. Promise.”

“Your mouth is constantly making promises you know you can’t keep,” Harry says, shaking his head. He’s not nearly as bemused as he’s pretending to be – he knows full well that Louis says a lot of things he’s never going to do.

Louis puts a hand back on Harry’s side, stepping a little closer and looking up at him from underneath his eyelashes. “I’ll read to you for as long as you want,” he offers.

“Why would you think I want that?” Harry asks, but Louis can see the way he’s beginning to break.

God. Sometimes he makes it too easy.

“Because you wank to the sound of my voice?” Louis says, sweet as anything.

It’s probably a bit too on the nose, judging by the way Harry sways forward in the doorway. Louis skitters back a little, keeping himself just out of arm’s reach.

“Because if you don’t I’ll keep annoying you until you want to smack me?” he adds, trying not to give either of them time to dwell on his last comment.

“Who’s to say I don’t already want to smack you?” Harry counters.

Louis scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. “You really want me to answer that? If I do, I’m going to bring up a whole bunch of stuff you don’t want to admit to.”

For a minute, Harry’s silent, staring back at him. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll distract her, but you have to do the actual stealing.”

As if Louis was ever going to let Harry be the one to have all the fun. “Deal.”

It only takes Harry two minutes to charm his way into the nurse’s good graces so completely that she stops paying attention to everything else. Louis snorts, muttering, “Typical,” under his breath.

The nurse is standing up, practically leaning over the counter to get closer to Harry. Harry’s leaning against the counter from the other side, forearms braced on top of it. He’s enjoying the attention, the bastard. No matter how much he claims not to notice when people are flirting with him, he absolutely does.

Oh well. It’s always a good distraction, Harry putting his face to use. Louis takes advantage of it, slipping out of the room quietly, creeping up to the nurse’s station. This reminds him that he should probably find some real shoes – Oli neglected to bring him any when he brought Louis’ clothes. It’s good for maintaining silence, though, and it only takes one quick motion to filch the book. Louis clutches it to his chest and scurries back into the room, swinging the door halfway closed in case the nurse decides to look away from Harry’s face.

He sits on the bed, swinging his legs idly. The book turns out to be some sort of medical journal with a long title he can’t be bothered to actually read. It’s kind of disappointing – he was hoping for one of those steamy Harlequin novels he could read aloud and to see how much he could make Harry blush.

It takes Harry another ten minutes to wander back into the room, hands shoved into the pockets of his cheap cotton robe. Louis took off his paper slippers six minutes ago and balled them up for this exact purpose, hurling them as hard as he can at Harry’s chest. They make contact, bouncing off him and onto the floor. All Harry does is blink and look down at them.

“You were supposed to distract her long enough for me to get the book, not get her to tell you her entire life story,” Louis says.

Harry kicks the paper ball away and wanders closer. “Okay, first off, I always forget how impatient you are, so I’m sorry about that. Secondly, it would have been way too suspicious if I had have just taken off the second you had it. Like, yeah, there’s definitely nothing wrong here!”

He makes good points. “I forgive you,” Louis says magnagmiously, patting the mattress beside him. “You’re still wrong and I’m always right.”

Harry rolls his eyes, sitting down. “Of course, dear.”

It’s exactly the right amount of patronizing to make Louis’ chest ache with fondness. He clears his throat, tapping at the book in his hands with two fingers. “Are you ready for an exciting bedtime story?”

Harry tugs at the book, trying to draw it into his own lap. Louis holds firm and doesn’t let him. “Is this a medical journal?”

“No, it’s Green Eggs and Ham,” Louis says. “The perfect bedtime story.”

“As fascinating as Green Eggs and Ham is, I think I’d rather watch some telly,” Harry says. He’s still holding onto a corner of the book. Louis slaps at his fingers until he lets go.

“Well, your terrible choices lately have led you to being admitted to the hospital, so I’m going to have to overrule you on that one,” Louis says. He stands up, motioning for Harry to get into the bed properly.

Harry makes a face at him, wiggling his way back. “Rude,” he comments, crossing his legs. Louis sits back down, leaning slightly against Harry’s knee.

“‘Fool’s gold?’” Louis starts reading. “‘Why blinded trials are not always best. Blinding is intended to reduce bias but can make studies unnecessarily complex or lead to results that no longer address the clinical question.’”

Only a few sentences in and Louis is already starting to get a little bored. He’s sure this article would be an interesting read for a medical professional, but he never even finished his A levels. Neither of them are really the target demographic for this kind of reading.

Like he agrees, Harry groans loudly, plucking at the neckline of the hospital gown. “Blinded trials, really?” he complains.

Undeterred, Louis continues reading, “‘The essence of blinding is withholding information about treatment assignment from people involved in the trial. Trials in which – ’”

He zones out to the sound of his own voice, reading mindlessly. He’s pretty sure he stumbles over a couple of words here and there, but if Harry notices, he doesn’t say anything. No, Harry’s too busy fussing with the gown, trying to tug the material away from his body, and no matter how hard Louis tries, he just can’t ignore it anymore.

“Oh my god, just take it off already,” he says, exasperated by all the fidgeting.

Harry doesn’t even make a token attempt at asking whether Louis is sure before whipping it off, leaning back against the pillow with a relieved sigh.

This kid and his aversion to clothing. Honestly.

“Have you read enough of that thing yet?” Harry asks, nodding at the journal. “I’m really ready for this to be over.”

Instead of answering, Louis pushes himself up onto the bed, clambering into Harry’s lap and pinning him there with all of his weight. He leans back against Harry’s chest, picking up where he left off. “‘Past, present, and future trials contain vast amounts of important data. If trials without blinding are – ’”

Harry groans again, louder, shifting. He puts his hands on Louis’ waist, rubbing his sides. Louis ignores it. Louis has to ignore it.

“I will literally do anything else you want me to,” Harry says, squeezing gently. “Please, sweetheart.”

It’s like the word has slipped past his lips without him noticing it. Harry doesn’t go around throwing out pet names like Louis does, and him saying one is impossible to ignore. He hasn’t called Louis anything like that for years, and the few times he did, he was either drunk or tired enough that he was basically drunk. This isn’t something Harry does. At least not to Louis.

The only thing Louis can do is keep reading. He picks up again from a place he almost certainly didn’t leave off at. “‘This was a study into an unknown, mystical force called mesmerism and the claims that patients could be healed simply by – ’”

This time, he’s cut off by Harry yanking the book right out of his hands. He screeches, digging an elbow into Harry’s ribs as he tries to take it back. “You uncultured swine!” he shouts. It’s not his loudest shout, but he’s definitely not trying to keep the volume down, either. If Harry wants him to be quiet he’ll have to make him.

“Uncultured?” Harry shouts back, wheezing as Louis lands another elbow in his ribs. Louis successfully twists around, uncaring of whether his knees have landed in Harry’s junk, trying to rip the book away from him by force.

One of them moves, or the other one does, and they fall out of the bed gracelessly. Louis lands mostly on top of Harry, a fact he immediately uses to snag the book and crawl a few feet away.

“Uncultured,” Louis repeats, out of breath and sweating a little. He needs to increase the amount of time he spends at the gym. “Here I am, trying to educate you because you’re dumb, and you don’t even have the graciousness to accept my teachings.”

Harry hasn’t moved from the position he’d landed in, flat on his belly with his face in an arm. His words come out muffled as he says, “You’re uncultured, you brat.”

It doesn’t seem like he has the will to move, so Louis crawls back over, lying down with his head atop Harry’s bare back, and continues reading the article. Harry doesn’t protest anymore, seemingly resigned to his fate. Or maybe just asleep. It’s hard to tell with him sometimes.

“Hey,” Louis says after a few minutes of silence, idly tracing a pattern on Harry’s back. “When’s your therapy appointment?”

As entertaining as messing with Harry is, Louis doesn’t think either of them have forgotten that they’re in a hospital right now. The sooner they get this figured out, the sooner they can go back to their regularly scheduled lives.

“Got rescheduled to tomorrow,” Harry mumbles, still muffled by his arm. “The nurse told me while you were stealing the book.”

Nice of him to inform Louis of this change in plans.

“Okay,” Louis says. If he bit Harry right now, it could be payback for the deep marks he’s left in Louis’ skin. “Do you want to go have lunch with your mum and your sister?”

It’s strange that he hasn’t seen either of them today. Harry probably did while Louis was having his minor breakdown in the loo.

“They went home,” Harry says.

Louis frowns, thumping at Harry’s back with his fist. “What?”

Harry’s family wouldn’t just abandon him like that. Oli isn’t exactly Louis’ family, but he’s the closest thing to it here, and he’s not gone anywhere, despite Louis not actually being the one admitted to the hospital.

“Mum had to go back to do a work thing she couldn’t reschedule,” Harry says. “She’s coming back as soon as it’s finished. Gemma was drawing too much attention by being here, so she went to a hotel with her boyfriend in California, trying to create a bit of a false trail.”

Disbelieving, Louis thumps at Harry’s back again. “But they just – left you here alone?”

Harry turns his head so he’s looking at Louis. “No,” he says, frowning back at him. “They left me here with you.”

For a second, Louis doesn’t remember how to blink. Then his eyes start watering, so he does, blinking entirely too rapidly to be considered normal.

“Don’t start,” Harry groans, but he’s already rolling over, gathering Louis up into his stupidly long arms. They’re still lying on the floor, a completely inappropriate place to lying in a hospital unless you’re having a seizure, and that’s the thought that Louis mushes his face into Harry’s shoulder with.

“Fuck you,” Louis mutters into Harry’s skin. It’s been a long time since he cried on Harry like this, but his body still remembers him as being safe. Someone Louis can get emotional all over without having to worry about the repercussions.

If only he wasn’t a crier. This wouldn’t be something he’d have to worry about at all if he wasn’t a crier.

Harry rubs Louis’ back, hand big and gentle as it strokes it way up slowly, then back down. He doesn’t say anything, seemingly content to let Louis have his fit of vulnerability. It’s nice, actually. Other people tend to babble on, tell him that everything’s going to be okay, that kind of thing. They usually don’t understand that Louis crying isn’t a bit deal. He just gets emotional sometimes, about relatively minor things, and he doesn’t need anyone to talk him through it.

Really, it’s stupid that this is getting to him. So Harry’s family doesn’t see anything weird with leaving him in the hospital with only Louis for company. They lived and breathed the same stale air on busses for five years, this is totally manageable.

Louis makes sure to wipe his damp face on Harry’s shoulder before he pushes himself up. “Let’s go get lunch,” he says, not waiting to see if Harry’s getting up as well before walking briskly out of the room.

After lunch, Francis sidelines Louis on his way back up to Harry’s room. Harry goes ahead with a furrow between his brows, glancing back at Louis one last time before he catches the lift. Francis leads Louis into a room filled with entirely too many PR people for Louis to feel comfortable, and he groans to himself.

This is practically an attack. He steels himself to it, straightening his back so he’s at his full height, and waits for someone to say something.

“You’ve missed two tour dates already,” Francis starts, no preamble or anything. “There’s already been a lot of speculation about what’s really going on, so if you’re going to continue missing shows we need to come up with a better plan than you being sick.”

Louis has to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying tell them I have mono. Speculation is just a nice way of saying that there’s tons of rumours going around about him being on drugs and too fucked up to be able to play. He hasn’t checked his phone recently, but that’s how these things go.

Besides, putting out news that he has mono will inevitably come back to bite him in the arse if people find out he’s been with Harry. When people find out he’s been with Harry. Louis is under no illusions that it’s not going to happen at some point or another. It’s only a matter of when.

“Okay,” he says. “What do you suggest?”

“First we need to know how much longer you’re expecting to be incapacitated for,” Francis says. Louis suspects that the only reason Francis is the one bringing this up is because the PR people in the room are all too scared of him to say anything. He doesn’t see Maggie anywhere, which must mean she’s not here yet.

That, in turn, means that Louis still has time to make some decisions. Probably not much, given that L.A. isn’t that far from here, but a bit of time.

“I don’t know,” Louis says. Then, because he believes in being truthful when it’ll get people off his back, he adds, “As long as it takes. I’m not going to leave Harry when he needs me.”

Maybe it’s something he should have made clear earlier. After all, it’s not unreasonable that any of the people standing in the room right now might expect him to ditch Harry the second he got a chance. They’ve gone to great lengths to ensure there’s no animosity in their public relationship, but personally, privately, both of their teams must be aware there’s reasons they haven’t spoken in years.

“Okay,” Jenna pipes up. She’s an intern the company Louis hired for PR, and probably the one that’s actually going to make it in this business. Slowly but surely, she’s becoming less and less frightened by Louis. Louis is going to miss that when it’s gone.

Ah, it’s been too long since he’s properly frightened the PR interns. Maybe it’s time to drop another scandal.

“People are starting to notice that you and Harry dropped off the face of the Earth at the same time, though,” Jenna continues. “Regardless of how long you’re off tour for, we have to come up with a strategy to deal with that.”

Tell them I have mono, Louis thinks to himself again, forcing down a giggle. If he’s not careful this inane humour he’s finding in the situation might turn into another crying fit.

“Right,” Louis says, folding his arms across his chest. “And I suppose that you also think the best plan would be to come up with a joint strategy with Harry’s team?”

That’s where this must be going, after all. He’s got to give it to her – she took a bad situation and is handling it with surprising grace. Probably more grace than Louis is handling it with.

“Yes,” Jenna says firmly. She doesn’t hesitate even a little.

“Fine,” Louis says, surprising even himself. “Only you, though, and only one of Harry’s people. Can’t have you outnumbering us.”

Jenna smiles at him, a little relieved, mostly friendly. Maggie would be lecturing him by now, so if someone’s gotta kick his arse into making decisions, Louis would rather it be Jenna. He smiles back at her.

He doesn’t warn Harry before showing up with Jenna in tow. Partly because he likes when Harry’s face can’t decide what expression to make, partly because that way Harry can’t say no. If Louis has lost his edge over the PR interns, at least he’s still got one over Harry.

“Harold,” Louis calls, kicking the door all the way open with his foot, “I brought you a visitor!”

Harry looks up from his phone with a quizzical expression. “A fan?” he questions cautiously.

Please. Like Louis would bring a fan to meet him under these circumstances. Isn’t that exactly what they’re trying to avoid?

“Your biggest one,” Louis says cheerfully, holding the door open where it’s trying to bounce off the wall, ushering Jenna in. “She really loves that one song you wrote, what was it, Baby Shark?”

“What is this, 2018?” Harry asks, putting his phone down beside him. “Did I slip into a coma and wake up two years in the past?”

“Yes, Harry, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’re a twenty-six year old living in a twenty-four year old’s body,” Louis says solemnly. “I know how hard this must be for you.”

Harry ignores him, looking at Jenna. “Sorry about him. He has terrible comedic timing. I’m assuming you’re one of his PR reps?”

He’s one to talk about terrible comedic timing. Telling the first part of a joke and waiting a minute to add the punchline isn’t exactly what Louis would call comedy at its finest.

“Yes, Jenna Lee,” Jenna introduces herself. Louis goes to sit on the bed, swatting Harry’s feet out of the way. “We thought it would be best to have a chat with some of your reps and come up with a game plan for all of this.”

It’s a little tactless, saying all of this. Louis likes her more for it.

“Shawn’s around here somewhere,” Harry says, waving a hand. “I’d find him for you, but that would mean inviting him back into my room and I’m just not ready to deal with that yet.”

His smile is disarming enough that Jenna only nods and walks back out of the room, presumably setting off in her search to find Shawn. Louis laughs, pulling his feet up onto the bed and rolling onto his side. He probably crushes Harry’s feet in the process, but needs must.

“Since when are you scared of the PR people?” he asks, resting his head on Harry’s knee and closing his eyes. He’s thinking about taking a quick nap.

“I’m not,” Harry says, putting a hand in Louis’ hair, scratching at his scalp lightly. “Got rid of her for you.”

God, he’s got good fingers. If Louis was a little more tired the head massage might make him tempted to put his mouth on Harry’s cock.

“Don’t do nice things for me,” Louis says. He feels around for the sheet at the bottom of the bed blindly. “Makes it harder to be mad at you.”

Harry’s fingers don’t stop, sliding down to cup the back of Louis’ head briefly before moving on to his neck. “Are you? Mad at me?”

No. Well, maybe a little. It’s hard to be mad at him when he’s got his hands on Louis’ body like this.

Louis sucks at his bottom lip, considering his answer. “Wanna be,” he murmurs, turning his face into Harry’s knee more fully. “Wanna be mad that you need me now when you’ve never needed me before.”

Harry’s quiet, hand resting warm and heavy on the nape of Louis’ neck. Louis can feel his face burning with embarrassment, and he wishes that part of that heat wasn’t also due to his proximity to Harry’s cock.

“I’ve always needed you,” Harry says eventually, just as quiet. Louis squeezes his eyes closed harder, until it’s almost painful.

He’s saved from having to come up with an answer by the sound of the door opening again. Quickly, Louis sits up, trying to will his face into something more presentable. He can’t manage to do anything about the flush, well aware that it probably looks like they were in a compromising position.

“Alright, we think we’ve come up with a short-term strategy to explain your disappearances,” Jenna announces, pointedly not remarking on their appearances. Louis can’t look behind him to see what Harry’s face is saying, if he’s flushed the same way Louis is.

He’s probably not. It can be quite hard to rattle him.

“Lay it on us, then,” Louis says. He has to force himself to concentrate on her and ignore the heat radiating off of Harry’s body behind him.

Jenna lays out a strategy with Shawn chipping in every once in a while. Louis sits there and hopes Harry’s listening, because forcing himself to concentrate isn’t working nearly as well as he’d hoped it would. It probably doesn’t really matter what the strategy is anyway – if people are going to find out, people are going to find out. Louis is kind of surprised the news hasn’t broken already.

“Right, that sounds good,” Harry says once Jenna’s finished explaining.

That’s Louis’ cue, so he pastes on his best smile and adds his agreement. He might have to figure out what the plan is later, but for now he’s off the hook, and that’s all that he cares about.

“Oh, and we’re going to bring you a bag from the bus, Louis,” Jenna adds. “Figured you want to have some of your stuff.”

“Yeah, cheers,” Louis says absently. Harry’s legs are warm against his back, even through the material of Louis’ t-shirt. He doesn’t really notice when Jenna and Shawn leave the room, too many thoughts crowding his head.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Harry says, nudging at Louis’ back with his knee. “You want to read to me from that medical journal again?”

Louis inhales deeply, scooting back until he’s pressed up against Harry’s body. It’s maybe not his best plan of action, considering all the thoughts running through his head, but he knows it’ll distract Harry from his weirdness.

“No,” he says. “Hospital beds don’t really lend themselves to a good night’s sleep.”

It’s not a lie. Louis is tired. It’s just that his exhaustion has more to do with waking up to the sound of Harry screaming every hour than the bed itself.

“Okay,” Harry says, wrapping an arm around Louis’ shoulders, holding him close. “Do you want to take a nap?”

Yes. “No, I’m fine. Could go for a cup of coffee, though,” Louis says. Taking a nap would lead to Harry taking a nap, and Louis doesn’t know if he has the energy to go through another screaming fit right now.

“Alright,” Harry says. It’s a few seconds too late for him not to have wanted to say something else. Louis ignores it, pitching himself face first off the bed, only saving himself from hitting the floor at the last second.

This time, he knows Harry’s behind him when he leaves the room.

Two cups of coffee later, Louis feels more energized, if not less tired. It’s going to be an early night, and that’s something he can’t let himself think about without starting to sweat. Once they make it back up to Harry’s room, he’s immediately whisked away for more testing, and Louis practically sprints out the building to have a cigarette.

He’s still out there forty-five minutes later, chain-smoking his way through what’s left of his pack. The bench he’s sitting on this time faces the hospital, so he sees it when Harry comes out the rotating doors.

Harry heads straight to him, sliding onto the bench so close to him he practically winds up sitting in Louis’ lap. Louis pushes him into a normal sitting position with an annoyed grunt, only to get the cigarette between his lips immediately filched.

“Hey,” he complains half-heartedly. Harry takes a long, deep drag, shoulder still pressed up tight against Louis’ and doesn’t answer. “Thought you were some kind of kale freak now.”

Harry takes another drag, almost burning the cigarette down to the butt. He holds the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds before blowing it back out slowly, still not answering. Louis grumbles some more, lighting another one. He’s only taken one drag off it before Harry steals that one too.

“Do you want your own?” Louis asks, mildly annoyed now. He shakes the pack in Harry’s direction pointedly. Harry still doesn’t say anything, staring straight ahead, shoulders tense. He looks ridiculous like this, legs bare, still in his hospital gown. He’s found shoes, at least, and by the looks of it he can never complain when Louis doesn’t wear socks again.

Now that he’s looking, Louis starts to notice the lines around Harry’s eyes, in between his eyebrows, set at the corners of his mouth. He’s holding himself so rigidly he looks like he’s about to break. Pain, Louis identifies it as.

Forty-five minutes. They were apart for forty-five minutes.

“Oi, fuckhead,” Louis says, knocking his shoulder against Harry’s hard. It causes Harry to finally look at him, even though he keeps silent. “Are you alright?”

Harry nods. Louis doesn’t believe him.

“You know that’s not what your face is saying, right?” Louis asks conversationally. He grabs the cigarette from between Harry’s fingers, stubbing it out. Anxiety is starting to crawl through him with Harry’s lack of responsiveness. He doesn’t want Harry to start screaming, yeah, that’s a given, but more than that he doesn’t want Harry to be in pain.

“C’mon, don’t do this to me now,” he says, swinging his legs up onto the bench with him, turning so he’s facing Harry fully. He pulls both of Harry’s hands into his lap, watching Harry’s head drop to watch him do it. “Harry.”

Nothing. Louis squeezes Harry’s hands between his, all too aware of the way his own heart has started beating faster. That anxiety is quickly working its way towards fear, threatening to overwhelm him.

The only time Harry’s been like this and also conscious, he’d mangled Louis’ shoulder so badly he’s probably always going to have a scar from it. All the other times the pain had gotten to him, he’d been asleep. And they’re in public, where anyone could see –

Louis pushes himself up onto his knees, ignoring the way the slats of the bench dig into his skin through his trackies. He shuffles forward, moving Harry’s arms out of the way so he can drop himself into his lap.

“You’re not going to do this to me right now,” he says firmly, grabbing one of Harry’s hands and shoving it up under his shirt. All the way up, until he can press Harry’s hand to the bite mark he put there. “You’re going to be fine, babe. I need you to be fine.”

Harry’s fingers stroke over the mark gently. His head is still bowed, eyes fixed on the motions of his fingers underneath Louis’ shirt as though he can see it, but he makes a low noise in response. It’s enough to ease the frantic beat of Louis’ heart a little.

“I liked your song,” Louis says, trying to keep Harry from slipping into a pain spiral. Trying to say something that’s going to hold his attention long enough to prevent that. “I never told you when you first released it. That one about fucking a fish?”

Abruptly, Harry’s fingers stop moving. He lifts his gaze to meet Louis’ eyes, incredulous. “The one about fucking a fish?” he repeats. “Why do you have to be like this?”

Louis shrugs, wiggling himself into a more comfortable position on Harry’s lap now that it doesn’t seem like he’s going to lose himself. “Like what? I’m just telling things how I see them.”

Harry frowns at him, using his other hand to pinch at Louis’ hip. “You know that song isn’t about fucking a fish.”

He sounds so offended. Louis smiles sunnily at him. “Right, my bad. The music video about fucking a fish, then. I liked it.”

Harry groans. Without warning, he stands up so quickly Louis actually squeaks, clutching at him so he won’t fall. Louis is expecting them to go down in a tangled heap of limbs, but Harry takes one step, then another. Walking easily enough, despite the way Louis’ legs are banging into his with every step.

“Stop, stop!” Louis shouts, arms wrapped around Harry’s shoulders. His yelling is probably drawing more attention than some dude carrying around another dude while wearing a hospital gown, but Louis wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t commit to his own actions. He doubles down, yelling, “Put me down! I’m sorry, alright, your video wasn’t about you wanting to fuck a fish. I apologize!”

Carefully, Harry sets him down. He brushes some lint off Louis’ shirt, and Louis punches him in the arm. “I lied, everyone knows that you wanted to fuck that fish!”

He takes off across the lawn, lush grass sliding against his toes as he runs. He really needs to put some effort into getting those shoes.

The sound of Harry chasing him brings him back seven years, when things were still normal between them. It fills Louis’ chest with an exuberant sort of glee. The fit of laughter he bursts into is only going to make it easier for Harry to catch up to him, and they’re going to be in so much shit if it turns out anyone’s filming this. Louis doesn’t care. He doesn’t even want to care. Just runs, the wind whipping at his hair, until he stumbles over a loose rock and goes down hard.

There’s no time to get up before Harry’s on top of him, flattening him to the ground. Louis makes a noise into the grass, turning his head to spit out a few loose blades. “Ow,” he groans, playing up the dramatics.

Harry ignores him, pushing his hand against the back of Louis’ neck. Louis doesn’t understand what for – it’s not like it’s forcing his face back into the ground or anything. “Take it back,” Harry demands.

Stubbornly, Louis tries to buck him off. There used to be a time that would work, but apparently it’s long since passed. “Never!”

“Do it,” Harry says. A fistful of grass rains down on Louis’ face, complete with loose dirt. He sputters, trying to spit it out. “There’s plenty more where this came from.”

“Help!” Louis calls, stretching his fingers in front of him, trying to get some leverage so he can roll over, “Help! I’m being – ”

The word attacked doesn’t get to come out. Harry slaps a hand over Louis’ mouth, ignoring the way Louis immediately licks at it. “You’re going to get us noticed,” Harry hisses into his ear. It feels like it’s taking him no effort at all to keep Louis pinned down like this. Louis is already starting to get sticky with sweat as he struggles, and Harry hasn’t even started breathing hard.

Louis gives up on trying to gain leverage. Instead, he reaches up, tugging Harry’s hand away from his mouth far enough to say, “Well, it’s not my fault that you want to fuck a fish.”

This, he thinks, is a perfectly reasonable thing to say. Louis can’t have been the only one to watch that video and think huh. So Harry Styles wants to fuck a fish.

“You are so goddamn infuriating sometimes,” Harry says, the words still low and murmured directly into Louis’ ear. If Louis wasn’t so convinced that Harry’s into fish his cock might have twitched a bit.

Alright, maybe it did. It’s not exactly something Louis can control, now is it?

“Did you get the idea from that fish-fucking movie or have you always wanted to have intimate relations with fish?” Louis asks. He tightens his grip on Harry’s hand, using all his strength to prevent Harry from slapping it back against his mouth. “You can tell me, Harry, I won’t judge you.”

Harry sighs, letting his entire body go limp on top of Louis’. He must have been holding himself up with an arm or something because he’s actually heavy now, weighing Louis down for real. “The fish was supposed to represent you,” he says blandly. “It’s the tale of how I can only stand to be around you when there’s glass separating us. Because you smell terrible.”

Louis laughs before he can stop himself, resting his cheek against the damp grass. Harry’s heavy, but it’s not uncomfortable. Kind of feels like a weighted blanket. Louis could probably fall asleep right here if he let himself.

It’s warm and sunny, and he’s never been so grateful to be in the States before. Somehow, this all feels a lot easier to deal with when the sun is beating down on his skin.

“You’re awfully content to stay on top of me for someone who thinks I smell bad,” Louis says. He runs his fingers through the grass, thinking idly about throwing a handful of it into Harry’s face. It’d only be payback for Harry doing it to him, after all.

“Baby, you know I’m only here because I like your arse,” Harry drawls into his ear, starting off in an American accent and losing it before he’s even halfway through.

The only reasonable thing to do is wriggle said arse in response, so that’s what Louis does. He feels Harry’s breath catch against his neck. “It is a good arse,” Louis agrees. “Everyone says so.”

“Everyone’s right,” Harry mutters. Abruptly, he rolls off, leaving Louis’ back cold and alone. Louis stays on his belly for a few more seconds, shoving unneeded thoughts back into their boxes, before he rolls onto his side.

Harry’s lying on his back, arms folded under his head, squinting up into the sky. The sun is bright enough that he probably can’t see anything, which means he’s only doing it to avoid looking into Louis’ face.

“Well, thanks to that completely unnecessary dirt facial you just treated me to, I need a shower,” Louis announces. He pushes himself to his feet, wiping stray leaves off his clothes the best he can. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” Harry answers. He takes the hand Louis holds out to him to help him up, and he doesn’t try to pull Louis down to the ground again. Louis would have definitely done that if it were him.

“Good, you can give me a piggyback ride,” Louis says. “As payback for trying to murder me with dirt.”

He’s determined not to let this awkwardness linger. If they’re going to be stuck together for the foreseeable future, Louis needs it to be easy. Them going back to avoiding each other and fighting all the time is not going to work with this situation.

“Absolutely not,” Harry says, but he doesn’t try to fend Louis off when he approaches. Even bends down a little so Louis can clamber onto his back, then hoists him up so he doesn’t go sliding down again.

“You make a much better mule than Oli does,” Louis says. It’s true – Oli staggers around under Louis’ weight and pretends he can’t hold him up so Louis will get off him. Of course, half the time that devolves into a wrestling match because Louis knows that Oli can hold him up, but the point still stands.

Harry snorts, setting off towards the main entrance. “That’s because he’s had longer to practice saying no to you. Whenever I do you just whine until I give in anyway.”

Well, yeah. If Louis can’t make Harry do his bidding – Harry, the person who’s probably most attracted to him on the face of the planet – then what’s the point of trying with anyone else?

“Yeah, you’re easy,” Louis nods. He waves to a little old lady staring at their progress from her seat on a bench. “Hello, ma’am.”

“Lovely weather we’re having today, isn’t it?” Harry adds as they stroll on by. The look on her face presumably has something to do with the grown man in a hospital gown giving a piggyback ride to another, seemingly healthy grown man.

Louis snickers to himself. It’s not that funny, but even on his worst day, Harry’s always been able to make him laugh. There’s something comforting about knowing that’s still the case.

When they reach Harry’s room, Louis slides down off his back, making sure to smack him in the arse to thank him for a job well done along the way. Harry barely even flinches at it, too busy looking at the bed.

“What?” Louis asks, stepping around Harry so he can see too.

“Your bag came,” Harry breathes. It’s a tone that’s much too hungry for a duffel bag full of Louis’ clothes, and Louis considers diving on it to protect them for a second.

“Oh, wicked,” Louis says, taking a step towards it. “I hope Oli remembered to pack my headphones. I’m tired of listening to you nattering on about kale.”

Harry fists a hand in the back of Louis’ shirt and yanks him to a stop before he’s managed to take a second step. “I need real clothes,” he says. His tone is desperate, making Louis even more afraid for his bag.

“So tell your people to get you some,” Louis says. The logic tracks, he’s pretty sure.

“They won’t,” Harry says grimly. “I need some of your clothes.”

Louis bats Harry’s hand away, striding over to the bed before Harry can start getting any funny ideas. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re literally paying them to do your bidding, just tell them to go out and buy you some stuff if they don’t want to get it shipped here.”

He grabs his bag off the bed, hugging it to his chest. Harry’s face has gone steely and determined, and Louis doesn’t think it’s overreacting at all to skitter his way to the other side of the bed.

“I need some of your clothes,” Harry repeats, like Louis hasn’t just explained to him why he doesn’t.

“My clothes won’t even fit you, you gigantic freak,” Louis says. His muscles go tense, ready to catapult himself over the bed and make a run for it if necessary.

Like he can read Louis’ mind, Harry widens his stance, makes himself broader so Louis won’t be able to slip past him. “They’ll fit,” he says, determined. “All your clothes are like three sizes too big for you anyway. They’ll fit me no problem.”

“Oi, fish fucker, that’s rude,” Louis says. Harry’s eyes narrow, and instead of trying to make it to the door Louis makes a break for the loo, sliding in and slamming the door before Harry can stop him. He clicks the lock quickly, making sure it takes before taking a step back.

Harry pounds a fist against the door. Louis’ heart is slamming in his chest, inexplicably fast. “I’m rude?” Harry demands. “How is it my fault that you’re tiny and refuse to believe it? And you’re the one who keeps saying I’m attracted to fish!”

His voice is so loud it’s inevitably drawing attention. Louis giggles to himself, crouching down to unzip his bag. He doesn’t bother answering, content in the security that comes from being behind a locked door. He loves it – fucking loves it – when Harry makes a scene like this. He’d almost forgotten that.

The sound of the door swinging open is loud. Louis looks up sharply, so startled that he falls backwards onto his arse. “What the fuck,” he shrieks, so high-pitched he can barely hear himself.

“The lock’s broken,” Harry says. It’s slightly ominous. “I would have told you earlier but I figured you’d pull something like this.”

For a second, Louis stares at him, heart jackhammering against his ribs so fast he’s surprised Harry can’t hear it. Then he grabs the bag and launches himself towards the door, trying to slip past Harry by being too low for him to get a grasp on.

It doesn’t work, and the ensuing struggle leaves them both winded and way less ashamed of their behaviour than they should be. It’s hard to tell who won – Louis ends up sitting on Harry’s back, but Harry’s fully dressed in Louis’ clothes, so. Maybe it’s a stalemate.

They get a cot set up in Harry’s room for the night. It’s across the room from the other bed, but seeing as it’s a hospital room, the distance between the two isn’t that great. Still, Louis catches Harry eyeing it warily as they get themselves ready for sleep, brushing their teeth at the same time in the too-small loo, elbows banging against each other every few seconds.

“What?” Louis asks, after he’s spit and rinsed. “It’s gonna be fine, you know. I’ll be here all night, and I’m amazing.”

“I know,” Harry mumbles, not giving him the same courtesy and saying it through a mouthful of foamy toothpaste. He pauses to spit. “I just – don’t know how much I’m going to be able to sleep tonight.”

Louis is tempted to roll his eyes. Harry has always been able to fall asleep easily, anywhere, anytime. He’s good at napping in a way Louis has always been jealous of.

This isn’t that, though. He’s basically saying that he’s scared to try going to sleep because he doesn’t know how he’s going to wake up. Honestly, Louis is kind of scared too. More than anything, he wants this to be over, and his reasons for that are only partly selfish.

“You’ll sleep,” Louis says easily. “If anything I can read you another article from that medical journal to ease you into a state of unconsciousness.”

Harry cracks a small smile, putting his toothbrush down next to Louis’ on the sink. It looks oddly domestic, their toothbrushes lying there like that. “You know what, I think you’re right,” he says. “It’ll be fine.”

Lying in their respective beds on their sides, facing each other, Louis watches Harry slowly blink himself into sleep. The light is off in the room, but there’s still a glow coming in from the hallway that makes it easy to see him. It’s strange how similar it feels to being on a tour bus.

Really, it shouldn’t. It’s an actual room, for one thing. There’s no bunk beds, no risk of hitting your head when you sit up too fast. There’s an actual bathroom, the sterile scent of hospital. Nothing about it is like being on the bus.

Nothing except lying there listening to the calm, even sound of Harry’s breathing, that is.

Louis waits until he’s sure that Harry has fallen deeply asleep before he lets his own eyes close. Sleep overtakes him faster than it usually does.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been before he’s blinking his eyes open again, groggy and disoriented. The room is still dark and quiet. Nothing’s moving, and it takes Louis a few seconds to figure out why he’d woken up at all.

Harry’s still facing him, making it easy for Louis to see the lines on his face. His eyes are still closed, lying still underneath a thin blanket, and he’s not screaming. Those are all good things. He is making noise, though, low, scattered noises of pain. His fingernails are digging into his shoulder where the blanket has slipped off, threatening to draw blood, and Louis is slipping out of his own bed before he’s awake enough to realize what he’s doing.

It must mean something, that Louis woke up before the screaming started this time. He doesn’t have time to examine what, crossing the room in his bare feet and sliding into the bed with Harry.

The movement wakes Harry enough for his eyes to flutter open a bit. “Wha’,” he mumbles, reacting to the presence of Louis’ body in the bed with him.

“Shh,” Louis murmurs, finding his way under the blanket before he turns over, putting his back against Harry’s chest. Harry does the rest of the work, wrapping an arm around Louis’ hip and pulling him all the way back, so their bodies are flush, and he can’t tell whether it was conscious or not. “S’fine, babe, ‘m right here. Go back to sleep.”

“’kay,” Harry says against the back of Louis’ neck, drifting off into sleep without ever having fully woken up from it.

This time, Louis doesn’t wait before letting his own eyes close. He doesn’t worry that the screaming is going to start as soon as he falls asleep – somehow, he knows that it won’t. He also knows that he’s not going to drag himself out of the bed this time.

By the time Louis wakes up the next morning, he feels warm and well-rested. It’s like he hasn’t felt this way in forever, much longer than it’s actually been. He can also feel the press of Harry’s cock against his arse, undeniably hard.

Slowly, Louis opens his eyes. Harry’s face is pressed against the back of his neck, breath warm against his skin. He’s got an arm looped around Louis’ waist, against his bare skin where Louis’ shirt has ridden up, keeping him close. It feels entirely too cozy for the reality of the situation – they’re crammed together in a tiny hospital bed, and someone could walk in at any moment.

He’s pretty sure Harry’s still asleep. He’s also pretty sure that Harry isn’t going to be embarrassed when he wakes up pressing his cock against Louis’ arse. What he isn’t sure of is how he feels about that.

Eventually, he wiggles a little, trying to get Harry to wake up while putting in the least amount of effort possible. “Your cock’s poking me again,” he says once he feels Harry starting to stir.

Harry slips his hand further up Louis’ shirt, stroking his belly aimlessly. “Sorry,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Liar,” Louis mutters under his breath. Either he can lie here and continue to let Harry feel him up, or he can turn around. Louis turns around, shivering a little at the feeling of Harry’s hand sliding across his body instead of lifting up.

Face to face, he could do a lot of things. He could call Harry out on his behaviour, scold him for being so handsy without permission. Could push Harry right out of the bed if he wanted to. Instead, he lets Harry keep his hand low on his back, uncaring that he can still feel Harry’s cock. It’s not like his own is completely soft.

“Did you dream about me?” he asks, fisting his hand in Harry’s shirt. Which is actually Louis’ shirt. It fits Harry better, though, not as baggy around the shoulders, the chest. Louis can admit that in the safety of his own head.

Harry quirks a smile at him, soft and amused. “Always.”

There’s a part of Louis that wants to demand specifics – if they’re sex dreams, whether he dreams about Louis laughing, if he’s serious about it happening all the time. How much he’s dreamed about Louis over the last few years.

“Was it a nice dream?” he asks. From this angle, Harry’s jawline looks so sharp it could cut glass, the barest hint of facial hair growing from a couple of days of not shaving. If they kissed right now it would probably tickle Louis’ skin.

“Lovely,” Harry replies. “You were little and quiet.”

And on his knees, if Harry is serious about him being quiet. Even Harry’s imagination couldn’t make Louis quiet without his mouth being full.

“Did you like me like that?”

Harry tips his head a little closer, eyes fixed on Louis’ mouth. “Like you any way I can get you.”

Louis’ belly squirms. “I dreamed about you too,” he confesses, even though it’s a lie. He doesn’t remember what he dreamed about, only that it was warm and pleasant.

“Yeah?” Harry asks. He rubs at Louis’ back, fingers threatening to dip below his waist. “Was it that dream where I turn into an elephant and won’t stop spraying water at you?”

God, Louis hasn’t had that dream in forever. It was always so fucked up and he could never tell what it was trying to say.

“Yes,” he says. “You were mean to me and now I’m mad at you.”

“Mm, baby, ‘m sorry,” Harry murmurs, voice gone deep. “Want me to make it up to you?”

Yes. Almost more than he wants anything else.

“Could go for some breakfast,” Louis muses, fiddling with a loose thread on the sleeve of Harry’s shirt. Harry’s watching him like he’s going to kiss him, but Louis is safe in the knowledge that he’s not. The only time Harry has ever –

Well. It doesn’t matter.

“Food sounds good,” Harry agrees, but they don’t move from the bed for a long time.

Around eleven, the therapist shows up to take Harry to his appointment. Once he’s gone, Louis sits in the hospital room alone, at a loss for what to do. It’s only been two days, but being back with Harry feels easy. Maybe even easier than it ever was before.

Alone, the reality of the situation comes crashing down around him. Louis is here, willingly confining himself to a hospital room with someone he hasn’t talked to in years, completely fucking up his own tour, and for what? To keep that person safe when he’s the one who –

None of Louis’ choices over the past couple days make any sense. He knows that. He’s well fucking aware of that. Knowing that hasn’t helped him do anything about it, though, and faced with every opportunity he just keeps making the same choices over and over again. So. Maybe it’s time he accepts that he’s going to stick with Harry until this is over and start forcing answers out of him.

He barely notices when Harry comes back about an hour later, therapist still in tow. “Louis?” the therapist says.

“What?” Louis asks, more of a reflex than anything.

“I’d like to speak with you, if you don’t mind.”

Louis frowns, looking at Harry and then back at the therapist. “Why?”

“I think it would benefit both of you if we were to have a discussion,” the therapist says. His tone is encouraging and patient.

Louis narrows his eyes, looking at Harry. “Did you put him up to this?”

Harry narrows his eyes right back. “Stop it,” he hisses and half-turns to face the therapist. “Sorry, can you give us a minute?”

Without waiting for an answer, he grabs Louis’ arm and yanks him into the loo, shutting the door behind them.

“I don’t need to talk to him,” Louis says immediately. He eyes Harry critically. His knees have always been his weak point. Louis could take him out and be out the door before Harry even knows what’s happening.

“I need you to talk to him,” Harry counters, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s blocking the door. That might make escaping a little harder. “Do it for me. Please.”

Well, when he phrases it so politely. “No.”

“Come on,” Harry says. “You know I’m not letting you out of here until you agree to talk to him.”

Standing there like that, he looks like the cocky arsehole he’s always been. Louis throws a tube of toothpaste at him, just because he can. The last scuffle they had didn’t turn out entirely in Louis’ favour, and that’s the only reason he doesn’t follow through on his plan of attack.

Harry lets the toothpaste hit his chest and drop to the floor. Grudgingly, Louis says, “Fine.”

It turns out the therapist’s name is Max. Max. What kind of name is that for a therapist? Shouldn’t he go by doctor something or other?

“So,” Max starts. “How are you feeling?”

Louis leans back in his chair, conscious of his body language and what it might be saying. Very pointedly, he doesn’t cross his arms over his chest. “I’m doing great, thanks for asking. How are you?”

Max doesn’t even deign to raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m well, thank you. I asked to speak to you because I wanted to give you some updates on Harry’s situation.”

It’s very hard not to immediately bristle. “Isn’t there some kind of doctor-patient confidentiality thing? Does that not apply to celebrities or something?”

Maybe Louis isn’t as successful as he thought he would be.

“Everything I’m going to tell you Harry has okayed,” Max says. “He actually asked me to tell you all of this.”

Louis scoffs, curling his fingers into his palms so he won’t sink them into the leather of the armchair. Faux-leather? He can’t tell. “I’ve been with Harry for the last two days. I’ve heard everything the doctors have to say.”

Or not say. Maybe they need to see some sort of specialist to figure out what’s wrong with Harry.

“Have you heard what he has to say about it, though?” Max asks. It’s hard to read his tone. “By the sounds of what he’s told me, he hasn’t spoken to you about his feelings.”

Well. That’s something Louis can’t argue with. They’ve never been good at talking about their feelings, the two of them.

“Alright,” Louis says. “What are his feelings, then?”

“He feels pain when he’s not with you,” Max says. “That part you already knew, I’m sure. He described the pain to me, as he did to you, and labelled it as terrifying. He’s confused and anxious about what’s going on with him, and he feels like he doesn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

“I thought you were going to tell me something I don’t know,” Louis says, barely keeping himself from snapping it. “Don’t you think I’ve tried to get him to talk to me about it? He just keeps avoiding the topic.”

Max folds his hands together. Maybe it’s supposed to make him look non-threatening or something. Louis is still feeling pretty threatened. “Yes, he said. And that’s a pretty big issue, one we can work on with joint sessions, but in my opinion there’s a bigger problem he needs to deal with.”

He pauses. For dramatic effect? Is he serious? Louis is really starting to hate this guy.

“The problem,” Max continues, “Is that all the tests have come back negative. We can’t find anything physically wrong with him, and we’ve just about exhausted all our options on that field. Which leaves us in the place we originally started out in.”

Louis folds his arms across his chest. “It’s not in his head,” he snaps. “I know what he looks like when he’s in his head, and that’s not it.”

“I understand that you believe that,” Max says, holding his hands up, placating. “Regardless of what the cause of his symptoms is, the fact of the matter is that Harry’s mental health is suffering. Medication can help keep his brain chemistry stable until we can figure out what’s going on with him.”

Louis leans forward, putting his hands flat against his knees so he won’t look threatening. The last thing he needs is to get himself banned from this hospital. “He’s not crazy,” he says. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, so angry he feels like he’s spinning out. “How do you explain him travelling across the entire country to find me? How do you explain the way he only calms down with he’s with me? That can’t be in his head.”

“I don’t know the explanation for how he found you,” Max admits. “I had the opportunity to observe the two of you yesterday, though, and I’m not surprised that he can maintain his composure when he’s with you. You’ve become a coping mechanism for him, a place he feels safe, and you encourage that by going running to him when you think he needs you.”

“So what, you’re saying that we’re co-dependent?” Louis asks, rolling his eyes. “We hadn’t even seen each other in two years before this. Maybe you’re the crazy one.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “You’re getting pretty defensive,” he observes. “I’m not criticizing your relationship. I’m merely pointing out a pattern of behaviour that I’ve seen over the past twenty-four hours.”

“I am defensive,” Louis says, the words bursting out of his chest. He gesticulates wildly, not even sure of what he’s pointing to. “We’ve had to defend our relationship to the entire world for a fucking decade! We didn’t even survive that, not really.”

He slumps back in his chair, rubbing over his face with both hands. “We didn’t survive it,” he repeats softly, taking his hands away from his face. “The last time I saw him for any length of time was just after my mum died, did he tell you that? We haven’t been friends for a long time. I don’t know why he fucking – imprinted on me or some shit, but he did, and I’m not going to let him be alone.”

Not anymore. He forces himself to swallow down the last two words. They have too much of a history, him and Harry, to ever be able to explain to some therapist he just met.

“He did tell me,” Max says evenly. “He told me about a lot of different ways the two of you hurt each other over the years. He also told me that you’re one of the people he cares most about in the world, so no, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he went to find you in a time when he was vulnerable and hurting. Co-dependent is the word you used, but I’m not inclined to disagree.”

Louis stands up so fast he pushes the chair back a little. “Right, well, thanks for that. I’ll talk to him about the medication, but I think we’re done here.”

He walks out of the room at a steady, even pace, not running despite the way he wants to. Max doesn’t try to call him back.

Louis makes a quick stop in the loo before heading back to Harry’s room to splash water on his face and get himself under control. He’s still angry, but some forced deep breathing helps a little. By the time he walks back in to the room, he’s managed to plaster a small smile on his face and everything.

The smile is for nothing, it turns out. Harry’s in the bathroom, by the sounds of it. The door is ajar, shower running. There’s a little bit of steam escaping the crack. It all looks perfectly normal.

Louis frowns to himself. Something is off. He goes over to the door, pushing it open all the way with a toe.

Harry’s sitting on the floor of the shower stall, water pounding down on him. He’s still wearing his pants, tight and black, clinging to his skin, otherwise he’s completely naked. His back is against a wall, knees pulled up, elbows resting on them, glaring at Louis through a curtain of wet hair.

“Alright, maybe there is something to that codependency theory,” Louis mutters to himself, stripping down to his own pants before joining Harry in the shower, pulling him into his arms before his arse has even hit the floor.

Harry squeezes him so tight Louis thinks he feels a rib creaking. It only takes a few seconds before he’s just as wet as Harry is, rubbing the broad expanse of Harry’s back with his palm.

“You still all there?” Louis checks. Harry had looked lucid, but what does lucid even mean anymore?

Harry ducks his head, pressing his mouth against the bite mark on Louis’ shoulder. Louis thinks he feels a hint of teeth and tenses, unsure of what to expect, but Harry only grumbles, “Yes.”

God, this is so fucked up. What are they even doing here? The only plan the doctors have left is to medicate Harry until he’s a zombie, and that’s not a plan Louis is willing to accept. Harry doesn’t need medication. He doesn’t know what Harry actually does need, aside from to occasionally touch Louis in semi-inappropriate places, but he knows it’s not medication. Whatever it is, they’re not going to get any closer to figuring out stuck in a hospital.

“Hey,” Louis says, tugging at a wet strand of Harry’s hair. “Let’s go home.”

Harry doesn’t respond, so Louis tugs his head away from his shoulder with both hands, pulling him back up until they’re eye level. “Do you want to go home?” he asks, pressing his forehead against Harry’s.

Slowly, Harry nods. He doesn’t look as lost now as he did when Louis had opened the door. “Okay. Let’s go home, then.”

Chapter Text

The whole going home plan isn’t nearly as easy as Louis had been envisioning. There’s a loud, lengthy argument, his team and Harry’s shouting to be heard over each other, somehow on the same page about Harry staying in the hospital while fighting about it. That lasts until Harry can’t take it anymore and slams himself back into the loo so hard the door rattles, leaving Louis alone with fifteen people staring at him, expecting him to come to terms with staying.

Louis only gets them to agree to the whole leaving thing once he makes it clear that he’s taking Harry even if he has to sneak them out in the dead of the night and flee the country. He’s half-joking about fleeing the country, but if going back to England is what it takes to get them on board that’s what Louis will do.

After that, a whole host of issues come up that Louis didn’t think to see coming.

“You won’t be able to fly,” one of the guys on Harry’s team is saying. Louis has nicknamed him awful mustache guy for fairly obvious reasons. He can’t stop staring at it, longing for a pair of clippers so he can just. Take it all off.

No one should choose to look like that, that’s all Louis is saying. If you’re going to have that much facial hair, it should suit you. Not whatever – this is.

“Wait, what?” Louis asks, tearing his gaze away from awful mustache’s guy facial hair. He has to concentrate. “Why wouldn’t we be able to fly?”

They’re only in Oregon, for fuck’s sake. Louis’ geography has always been a little shaky, but he’s pretty sure that should be a less than eight hour flight. No problem.

“Because we’re famous,” Harry says heavily. It took Louis fifteen minutes to get him to come out of the loo, and he only did it because Louis hugged him into submission. He’s got a look on his face like he wants to disappear back into it.

“So?” Louis says. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve flown incognito.”

He feels like he’s the only one making reasonable points, here. Flying isn’t a big deal. He doesn’t get why everyone is treating it like it is.

He doesn’t get it right up until Harry takes his wrist, curling his fingers around it and putting some pressure on it. “Oh.”

They can’t fly because Harry might have a fit, and if he has a fit it’ll definitely make it into the news. Especially if Louis is there to calm him down. Especially if Louis is the only thing that calms him down.

“So we’ll drive, then,” Louis says. “Easy. Problem solved.”

Harry hasn’t let go of his wrist. Louis swings their arms between their bodies slowly. It helps him not fidget on his feet as much.

“Fine,” mustache man says. “We’ll rent a car and have Josh and Colin take turns driving you back to L.A.”

“No,” Harry says immediately. His grip tightens on Louis’ wrist enough that Louis winces, slapping at him with his other hand.

“No?” mustache man repeats.

Harry loosens his grip a little, placating, but not enough. Louis forces two fingers into the hold, pressing them down until Harry lets go altogether, and then grabs his hand so he won’t run off again. Lacing their fingers together should feel weirder than it does, but he ignores that for now.

“We’ll drive ourselves,” Louis says firmly. “Non-negotiable. If you try to argue we’re going to leave right now and do it anyway.”

It doesn’t matter why Harry doesn’t want anyone else in the car with them. Not right at this very second, anyway. Louis is itching with the need to be out of this hospital, and he’s sure Harry is feeling the same.

“That’s not really the safest course of action,” Jenna says tentatively. It’s a sound, logical statement to make, and Louis can practically feel Harry thinking about it next to him.

“Sure it is,” Louis says. He bangs his shoulder into Harry’s, trying to get his attention. “You’re not gonna hurt me, right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, continuing, “And I’m not gonna hurt him, either, so we’re all good here. Let’s get a car.”

Harry pulls at his hand, forcing Louis to turn to face him. His eyes are big and green and Louis has never wanted to slap him in the face more. “Are you sure about this?” Harry asks quietly.

“Sure I’m sure,” Louis says easily. “You, me, a road trip, what could go wrong?”

“Everything,” Harry mutters. Louis squeezes his hand and pastes on his most convincing smile. If they don’t get out of here soon he’ll be the one who starts screaming.

“So it’s sorted, then,” Louis declares to the room at large. “Just me and Harry. I promise I won’t murder him somewhere between here and California.”

Probably, anyway. He’ll do his best to keep the murder to a minimum. Might not be able to keep that promise if Harry decides to start waxing poetic about the benefits of kale or something, though.

“Okay,” Jenna says, drawing Louis’ attention back to her. “Say that we can all agree to this plan. I think it’s best if you’re followed in another car by security, just in case something happens or you’re recognized. You’re not going to be able to stay in hotels, though. The more you stop in public places, the more likely it is someone’s going to see you. You’re might have to rough it for a couple of nights until you reach L.A, depending on how things go.”

On second thought, maybe staying in the hospital is not as bad as it seems.

It takes a few hours for their people to nail down all the details. Louis takes the opportunity to have one last shower before having to face the wilderness, soaking up as much hot water as he can get in the process. Given that it’s a hospital shower, it’s not nearly as much as he’d like it to be. By the time he emerges, Harry’s lying on the bed with his feet planted on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

Louis really needs to find his shoes. And his phone, for that matter.

“Hey,” he says, clambering onto the bed and poking at Harry’s face, right where his dimple should be. Harry’s head lolls towards him, but he doesn’t try to bat Louis’ hand away. “I’m serious, you know. It’s going to be fine.”

“Sure it is,” Harry says unconvincingly. Louis sighs, letting his hand rest on Harry’s cheek.

“You’re being so emo about this,” he says, scrunching down so he can put his head on Harry’s chest, listen to the beat of his heart. “What happened to that easygoing puppy-loving persona of yours?”

Harry takes it as an invitation to start touching, hands roaming Louis’ back idly, his shoulders. Does he even know he’s doing it, Louis wonders? Did Louis putting himself in this position encourage Harry to touch him? Did Louis do that on purpose?

Codependent, Max’s voice whispers inside his head. Louis forces it away. Now is not the time to confront that particular thread of thought. Not when Harry is all but falling apart. Louis needs him to hold it together for as long as it takes to get on the road. He needs both of them to hold it together at least that long.

“I still love puppies,” Harry says absently, still stroking Louis’ back. The only reason Louis doesn’t shove him off is because it feels nice.

What is it going to be like when it’s just the two of them in a car? They haven’t been alone together for so long. People have been checking on them non-stop for the last couple of days – nurses poking their heads in to take Harry’s vitals, doctors stopping in to discuss his latest test results, members of their respective teams. You’re never really alone in a hospital, no matter how much you might want to be.

It’s 900 miles to L.A. Conservative estimates have it at a thirteen hour drive. That’s a lot of time to spend in a car with Harry. With just Harry. Even if they manage to make it without having to stop for the night, that’s a long time to spend side-by-side.

“Does it hurt?” Louis asks, putting his hand against Harry’s side. He can feel the warmth of Harry’s skin through his shirt, calming somehow. “Right now?”

Harry’s hand pauses against Louis’ back. “No,” he says. It sounds honest.

There’s a thousand more questions on the tip of Louis’ tongue. For now, he swallows them down. He’ll ask them in the car, when the only way for Harry to escape would involve launching himself out of a moving vehicle. Maybe then they’ll finally get closer to figuring this out.

Unless Harry does actually launch himself out of the car. It’s been hard to predict what he’s going to do over the last couple of days. How much he’s going to share, how honest he’s going to be, what lengths he’ll go to in order to avoid the questions.

“Alright,” Louis says. He moves his hand to the bed and uses it to push himself up. There’s no point lying around anymore. “Let’s go, then.”

He starts towards the door.

“Shoes,” Harry calls after him.

Shit.

Getting his shoes meaning tracking down Oli. It’s not as hard as Louis is making it out to be. All he actually has to do is ask Jenna, and she points him in the right direction.

It turns out the hospital has lent them a meeting room to house all their people while they’ve been here. Louis supposes that must have been easier than having twenty guys in suits running around making demands all the time. He barges into the room loudly, scanning it quickly to find Oli and making his way over.

“Did you not to think to put shoes in that bag you packed for me, or were you trying to make sure I wouldn’t be able to leave?” Louis asks. He sits on the table Oli’s at, kicking at his thigh.

“Definitely the second one,” Oli mutters, staring at his phone. It looks like he’s playing some sort of game instead of giving Louis the proper amount of attention. “You’re a fucking flight risk.”

Louis would take offense to that, but. He kind of is a flight risk. “I need shoes and my phone,” he announces. “Harry and I are leaving soon.”

At that, Oli clicks his phone screen off and sets it down, looking at Louis. “I heard,” he says slowly. “Are you sure that’s the best idea?”

God, not him too. This is why Louis hadn’t tried to find him earlier.

“No,” Louis says, because he can at least be honest with Oli. “It’s the best one I’ve got, though, so I’m doing it.”

“Okay,” Oli says simply. “I’m not going to argue with you, but be careful, alright? That bloke has already broken your heart too many times.”

Louis can’t let himself think about any of that stuff. Oli reminding him of it isn’t helping any. “I am being careful.”

It’s maybe a lie. It’s probably a lie. If he was being careful he probably wouldn’t have woken up in bed with Harry this morning.

“Sure,” Oli says, unconvinced. “I packed you another bag of clothes and stuff if you want it.”

“Cheers,” Louis says. Careful. He can start being more careful. It’s probably a good idea anyway.

The car Jenna picked out for them is a silver Toyota Camry. The most popular car in America, she’d explained. Someone had actually sat down to do the research so they could rent the most inconspicuous car possible.

It’s kind of funny. Louis raises his eyebrows at Harry from across the car, standing outside of it, listening to awful mustache guy natter on about the supplies they’d loaded it with. There’s another identical car parked right behind it in the carpark, two security guys already in it. Harry raises his eyebrows back, the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, cocky and amused. There’s a light, low pressure in the center of Louis’ chest he’s trying not to analyze.

“Right, camping gear, food and water, snacks, clothes, got it,” Louis interrupts, holding a hand towards awful mustache guy. He’ll learn his name when that mustache is gone. “Keys, please.”

Harry’s eyebrows go back to their normal position, jaw working as he chews a piece of gum. He folds his arms on the roof of the car as he waits, patient and serene. Louis is going to hit him if he does that obnoxious smacking thing he does with gum sometimes in the car.

Cool metal lands in Louis’ palm. He closes his fist around the keys absently and waves awful mustache guy off. Their route is pre-programmed into the GPS, but he’s loathe to leave while mustache guy is watching them. It doesn’t matter that there’s literally a car waiting to follow them – the illusion of privacy would be nice.

A few seconds after awful mustache guy’s gone, Harry stretches his arm across the roof of the car expectantly, holding out his hand. For the first time, Louis realizes he’s standing on the passenger side.

Bloody Americans. Driving on the wrong side of the road.

“What,” Louis says, just for the sake of being confrontational about it.

“Keys,” Harry says, still patient. He’s lucky that Louis doesn’t whip them at his head.

Louis shakes his head, folding his arms across his chest. “Oh no, you’re not driving, mate.”

Harry raises a single eyebrow at him, still holding out his hand. “You hate driving.”

Like that matters in this situation. “You still ain’t driving, Harold.”

“You especially hate driving in the States,” Harry continues. Someone’s found him a jumper Louis doesn’t recognize, plain black. It fits him better than Louis’ clothes did. Speaking of, Louis probably should have been paying attention when awful mustache guy was telling him about their supplies. It’d be nice to know if Harry has his own clothes back or not.

“I know,” Louis says. Denying it wouldn’t serve any purpose when they both know it’s true. “That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t trust you to drive.”

Harry’s jaw works for a second, soundless, grinding his teeth. God, sometimes Louis forgets how much fun it is to irritate him.

“I’m a better driver than you,” Harry says eventually, keeping it together through sheer force of will. It’d be something to admire if Louis didn’t also know how easy it is to break him.

It’s also something Louis can readily admit to, anyway. “Yeah, normally you are. Who the fuck would be stupid enough to let you behind the wheel of a car in this condition, though?”

Harry breathes out slowly, looking away. “Fine,” he says shortly, straightening up and coming around the car. Louis skitters around the opposite way, just in case it’s a ruse to try to forcibly take the keys from his hand. Harry’s jaw clenches even more at that.

Neither of them say anything as they get the seats adjusted to their likings. Louis snaps his seatbelt into place. He puts the keys into the ignition, but before he turns them he asks, “Are you sure about this?”

The question is abrupt enough to surprise him. He didn’t mean to say it. It’s been on his mind, but he didn’t mean to actually say it.

Harry tips his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. “One more fucking time,” he mutters to himself.

It’s not an answer. Louis slaps him in the chest. “You could go back in there and get the medication.”

A sharp pain tears through his chest as he says it. He grits his teeth, forcing himself to breathe evenly.

“Lou,” Harry says, turning his head against the seat and opening his eyes, “I’m sure.”

Okay, but. “I pressured you into leaving, though. You need to be sure it’s the right thing to do.”

“Louis,” Harry says, reaching out and unbuckling Louis’ seatbelt, hauling him closer with one arm so easily it leaves Louis blinking, “Meds aren’t going to cure whatever’s wrong with me.”

He cradles Louis’ face between his hands, hot and heavy against his skin. “You know that,” Harry says softly. Their heads are so close they’re almost touching, and Louis is twisted awkwardly in his seat to make this work, but he doesn’t care. “I know that. So let’s go, yeah?”

Louis closes his eyes, gripping at Harry’s wrist. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he hates that he knows why.

“Baby,” Harry says, barely more than a whisper, murmured into the air between their mouths.

Louis pulls away, twisting the key in the ignition. “Don’t call me that.”

Forty-five minutes into the drive, neither of them have spoken a word. Louis isn’t too concerned about the actual driving piece – turns out it’s pretty straightforward route. That’s something he can appreciate, humming along to the radio under his breath. The weather is bright and sunny, the traffic’s good, and Harry’s pretending to be asleep.

Louis should have brought some straws to stick up Harry’s nose. See how long he could keep up the act then.

There’s another thirteen hours of driving left. More, probably, because Louis wasn’t joking when he said he doesn’t trust Harry to drive right now. It’s not even really because he thinks Harry will slip into one of those fits, either. Harry has just been – mulish, lately. If Louis lets him behind the wheel who knows where they’ll end up. He doesn’t trust Harry not to lose their security tail.

Any other time, Louis would be all for something like that. He doesn’t live to make his security’s lives difficult or anything, but he does appreciate a bit of a breather. Running away from them is something he does from time to time, even now, when he has more control over his career.

“Hey,” Louis says, casting a glance at Harry. He’s slumped down low in the passenger seat, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses obscuring his face. Louis still doesn’t believe that he’s actually asleep.

He might not have any straws, but he did dump a loose handful of change into one of the cupholders when he got in. He picks up a penny and flicks it at Harry’s chest.

“Really,” Harry says, low and monotone. Louis smiles to himself. Didn’t even have to go for a second coin.

“Are you hungry?” Louis asks. “There’s a rest stop coming up.”

Harry shifts in the seat, looking at the time on the radio. “We left the hospital less than an hour ago.”

“What’s your point,” Louis says, only faking some of the blankness in his tone. It’s not like they ate lunch before they left.

Harry’s looking at him from behind the sunglasses. Louis can tell. “Are you actually hungry? Or did you just want to annoy me?”

“Babe, if either of us is entitled to feel annoyed right now, it’s definitely me,” Louis tells him, changing lanes quickly. Fucking slow drivers.

There’s a deep, dramatic inhale. Louis is tempted to reach for another penny, flick this one at Harry’s face. “Did you want to say something to me, or are you going to just continue being passive-aggressive?”

Nothing gets under Harry’s skin like passive-aggressiveness does. It’s hypocritical, considering how he tends to let things build up until he can’t take it anymore.

“Nope, I’m fine,” Louis says. He speeds up a little, going just over the limit. It’ll be fine. Not like there’s any cops around. “Not like you’ve been forthcoming over the past few days anyway, why should that change now?”

“Pull over,” Harry demands.

“Go fuck yourself,” Louis suggests sweetly. He keeps his concentration on the road in front of him, and he’s pretty sure the only reason Harry doesn’t yank at the wheel to make him is because it’d cause an accident.

He knew he made the right decision by refusing to let Harry drive.

Harry makes a short, aggravated sound. “You’re an alright driver when you’re calm, but when you’re wound up like this you get distracted. Pull over.”

That rest stop is coming up anyway. Louis pulls into a parking spot, shutting the engine off and yanking the key out before slamming his way out of the car altogether. He can hear Harry following him, probably only because he can’t let Louis get too far without having pain. His original plan had been to go into the building, use the loo, maybe grab a coffee, but something about knowing Harry’s directly behind him makes him whirl around instead, shoving at Harry’s chest with both hands.

“I’m not wound up!” he yells. It takes a lot of exertion to push Harry back, but he manages, and keeps shoving until Harry plants his feet into the ground. “You’re just a dickhead!”

Harry grabs both of Louis’ wrists, yanking them down and pinning them to his sides. “Yeah, keep yelling, that definitely isn’t going to cause a scene at all.”

Of all the things he could be worried about right now, his biggest one is that Louis is causing a scene?

He was the one who caused a scene back in Salem, anyway. If Louis was making a scene it’d only be payback.

Louis is breathing too hard to force Harry off, great ragged inhales that aren’t doing anything to get enough air into his lungs. He steps on Harry’s toes anyway, just because he can. “Fuck you.”

Carefully, Harry transfers both of Louis’ wrists to one of his hands. Not carefully enough, though. Louis still manages to punch him weakly in the stomach before he’s caught again.

“Hey,” Harry says, tipping Louis’ chin up with his freed hand. Louis steps on his toes harder, but Harry doesn’t even flinch. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever this is, whatever’s wrong with me, it’s going to be okay. I promise.”

That’s not what Louis is upset about. It’s not even at the top of the list of things Louis is upset about right now. Harry’s condition – whatever the fuck it actually is – is something they can deal with. It’s not ideal, but they can deal with it. Everything else, everything Harry hasn’t told him, everything Harry’s actively hiding from him, that’s what Louis is upset about.

He’s had a lot of practice swallowing his anger towards Harry, though. Years and years of it. And the way Harry’s touching him helps, firm and not remotely hesitant, the way he always has. It’s always gone a long way towards mollifying Louis’ anger. Maybe one day that’ll change, but for now. For now it’s enough. He leans into Harry’s chest, his hands still caught between their bodies, and says, “Buy me coffee.”

Later, when Harry’s not expecting it, when he thinks Louis has calmed down, Louis will pull out the big guns. The eyes, the face, lull Harry into complacency and make him start explaining. If he does it right, Harry won’t even know he’s doing it.

“Okay,” Harry agrees, resting his cheek against the top of Louis’ head, and Louis hates how nice it feels.

By the time they get back on the road, it’s nearing four o’clock. It’s starting to seem like this one day drive is turning into a proper road trip, and Louis isn’t sure how he feels about that. Or maybe his feelings are too complicated to sort through while going ninety on the interstate.

Harry’s been talking since they got back in the car. Not non-stop, and not about anything important. Just idle chitchat about the random thoughts he’s got in his head like he thinks Louis needs the distraction.

It’d be more irritating if the sound of Harry’s voice wasn’t deep and soothing. It’s hard to stay mad at him when his voice is so nice. Maybe that’s why Louis keeps getting these sudden bursts of rage – when Harry’s quiet it’s easier to be angry with him. And Louis is angry with him – so very, very angry with him, for more than what’s happened over the past few days. It feels like he’s got a lifetime of anger sitting coiled tight in his chest, and acknowledging it only makes it worse.

He’s so distracted by all of it, the sound of Harry’s voice and trying to hold onto his anger, that it takes him a while to realize that Harry’s hand is on his knee. Harry’s gone quiet, head tipped back against the seat, eyes closed. He’s still not sleeping, though, tight lines around his eyes, his mouth.

“Really?” Louis asks. “You just hugged me into submission half an hour ago.”

Harry grimaces, not opening his eyes. “I don’t know how it works,” he mutters. “Don’t you think I’d have a better handle on it if I did?”

Actually, that makes a lot of sense. They should figure out how this whole thing works. Maybe not today – the sun’s going to start setting in a couple of hours and they still need to find a place to sleep, set up their tent. Eat dinner too, that would be good. The campsites along their route are all set in the GPS, so all they need to do is pick one that’s close.

Tomorrow, then.

“Well how do you think it works?” Louis asks anyway. Keeping his eyes on the road is so much harder when Harry’s hand is on him. The weight of it is impossible to ignore.

“I don’t know,” Harry repeats. His voice has gotten tighter, more strained, and Louis still can’t stop his eyes from darting down to look at Harry’s hand on his thigh.

This is not sustainable. It’s actually pretty fucking dangerous. There’s nowhere to pull off except the shoulder of the road, though, and that leaves them open to a whole host of other problems.

“Of course you don’t,” Louis mutters to himself. Carefully, he takes one hand off the wheel, grabbing Harry’s and shoving it up his shirt to rest against his belly as quick as he can. Driving one-handed isn’t usually that big of a deal, but Louis doesn’t trust himself right now. “Better?”

When Harry doesn’t answer, he casts a glance at him. Harry’s still got his eyes closed, head back against the seat. He looks a little better, though, a little more relaxed. So it’s a surprise when Harry tilts his head a bit, still frowning, and says, “I don’t – I can’t tell.”

He can’t tell. What does that even mean, he can’t tell? Either the pain is getting better or it’s not. It really shouldn’t be that complicated.

“Tell me a story,” Louis says suddenly. There’s an exit coming up in a few miles. Harry just has to last until then. “Tell me how you decided you wanted to fuck a fish for your video.”

Harry groans, opening his eyes just a bit. His hand is so warm against Louis’ bare skin, distracting. This is not the way Louis wants to die. “There was no fucking in that video and you know it.”

Jesus. There’s something about the way he says fucking when he means it sexually. Louis keeps his eyes on the road, foot pressing against the gas pedal a little harder.

“If you say so,” he says. Harry’s hand slides along his side, wiggling between Louis’ back and the seat. It’s not any less distracting there, but it lessens the grimace on Harry’s face a tiny bit more, so Louis leans back against it, trapping it.

“I don’t know,” Harry says. He’s looking at Louis’ face, pressing his thumb against his own bottom lip like he wants to be pressing it against Louis’. “I didn’t want anyone to be able to say I was interested in a relationship with whoever was in the video, someone suggested it, it kind of just happened. It’s not much of a story.”

Louis takes the exit, searching for the nearest carpark to pull into. For the first time, he notices that Harry’s skin is completely devoid of any big chunky rings or necklaces. “What happened to your jewelry?”

It’s been years since Harry’s gone without all of it, Louis is pretty sure. He doesn’t even remember the last time he saw Harry without it. He knows he must have, because Harry didn’t start off with it, but it’s become part of him now. Part of who he is.

Harry’s hand drops to touch his chest absently. “My jewelry?” he echoes. “Gemma has it. The doctors wouldn’t let me keep it on because of all the tests.”

Louis swings the car into an empty parking space, as far away from any other vehicles as he can manage. He’s barely pulled the key from the ignition before Harry’s trying to haul him over, desperate and pained. Louis fumbles with his seatbelt, failing to get it undone the first couple of tries.

“C’mon,” Harry says, barely more than an anxious whisper, gripping at Louis’ hips, “C’mon, baby, c’mon – ”

“Stop pulling me, my arse is too big for this,” Louis snaps, but he manages, climbing over the console and forcing himself to fit into Harry’s lap. Harry drops his hands to squeeze at Louis’ arse, still not helping, so Louis is forced to fumble around for the lever himself and drop the seat back as far as it’ll go.

“It’s perfect,” Harry says, giving it another squeeze. He’s not as out of it as he usually is, conscious and coherent, so the skin-to-skin contact must have done something for him. He’s still taking liberties that Louis has never given him permission for, though, settling one palm in the middle of Louis’ back and urging him down. He nuzzles at Louis’ throat, breath warm against his skin. “I love it.”

Louis gives him a little slap on the cheek, not hard enough to do any damage. Harry deserves it, he thinks. Deserves way more than a tiny little slap for everything he’s put Louis through. “Don’t talk about my bum,” he orders, less heated than he means to be.

“Okay,” Harry agrees faintly. The order doesn’t do anything to stop him from squeezing it again, hard enough that Louis jolts a little, nearly banging his head against the roof.

“Your hands are too big,” Louis tells him, breathless. He braces a hand against the back of the seat, and he knows, he knows, that he can feel Harry’s cock hardening against his arse.

There’s a rap against the window. “Fuck off,” Louis yells without looking, curling his fingers into Harry’s shoulder. It’s probably just Colin – all of Harry’s security guys have seemed too timid around him to try to tell him what to do. Louis would very much like to have that problem, but instead he has Colin. Huge mountain of a man, deeply logical Colin.

“You know it looks like you’re having sex in there, right?” Colin asks instead of fucking off like Louis told him to.

Louis scoffs, flipping his middle finger at the window. “Like I’d let him put it in me in a car.”

He’s never let anyone put it in him in a car. Harry’s not going to be the person to destroy that record.

Harry laughs softly, hand idly stroking along the curves of Louis’ backside. Louis doesn’t stop him. It feels nice, and if he’s going to be used as a human teddy bear he might as well get something out of it.

Vaguely, he hears Colin sigh and walk away. Good. Louis isn’t going to let anything happen between him and Harry – not now, not ever – and he doesn’t need to be chaperoned like a naughty schoolchild.

“You know this isn’t going to work, right?” Louis asks after a few minutes of slow, thorough petting. He hasn’t looked up to check how coherent Harry is, if he’s still fully with it or not. Somehow, knowing the answer to that would make this a little bit more real.

“It’s working,” Harry insists, sliding his hand up Louis’ back, finally taking it away from his arse. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

So does it only help when Louis is touching him, then? The entire burden is on Louis?

He shakes his head, clearing the thought. “Not that. I mean we can’t keep getting off the road every half hour so you can grope me.”

They’ll never make it to L.A. if Louis keeps letting this happen. Right here, safe and warm in Harry’s lap, that’s not a problem that feels especially pressing. The only thing that makes him say the words out loud is the start of a cramp in his calf muscle.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t refer to this as groping,” Harry drawls, sounding like his normal self again. “Let’s call it extremely platonic snuggling.”

Extremely platonic, right. Because people who are extremely platonic about someone else spend ten minutes groping that someone else’s arse in a car during rush hour. Logical.

“Okay, we can’t keep getting off the road every half hour so you can extremely platonically snuggle me,” Louis amends. If he wasn’t in Harry’s lap, that last part probably would have come out a lot more shrill.

Why is arguing so hard when Harry feels this solid underneath him? Louis gets distracted by a lot of things, but he feels like it’s not fair that he also has to keep getting distracted by this.

Harry’s quiet for a while, rubbing slow, thoughtful circles on Louis’ back. “I know,” he says eventually.

Clearly, he’s not going to be the one to come up with a plan. Louis has no idea whether having some space between their bodies would help with that or not, so for now he stays where he is.

“So let’s find the nearest campsite, then, and spend tomorrow figuring out how we’re going to make it to L.A.,” Louis says.

Harry clears his throat, hips shifting under Louis. He’s still hard. “Okay,” he agrees.

Louis doesn’t get out of his lap until Colin comes to knock at the window again.

There’s a campsite near Eugene. It takes about fifteen minutes to drive there, and the entire time Louis can’t keep his eyes from darting back at Harry, checking to see whether the pain is starting again.

If anything, that really cements it for him. No matter what Harry says tomorrow, what kind of excuses he comes up with, they’re not leaving this campground until they have some kind of idea what Harry’s limitations are. Getting on the road again without doing that would be irresponsible and dangerous.

They sit in the car and watch in silence as Colin and Harry’s security guy set the tents up. Josh, Louis thinks his name is. Or John. Maybe Joseph? Whatever, he can’t remember. It’s still light out, leaving them lots of time to get things arranged to their liking.

“We should probably be helping them,” Harry says, picking at his thumbnail. It’s clean, no nail polish, and Louis realizes they probably made him take that off at the hospital too. Did Harry have an MRI? MRIs require no nail polish and stuff, right?

Asking would only point out how little attention Louis was paying when the doctors were talking. He could hazard a guess and say that Harry already knows that, but he’s loathe to prove him right. In any case, it doesn’t really matter now.

“This is what we pay them for,” Louis dismisses, resting his forearms against the wheel. He gives Colin an encouraging wave when he looks up.

Harry shoots him a look, exasperated, unwillingly fond. Something in Louis’ chest hurts at the familiarity of it. “This is not what we pay them for and you know it.”

Despite the chiding, he doesn’t move to get out of the car. Louis reaches out to whack him in the chest with one hand. “We’re sleeping in separate sleeping bags tonight, you know.”

He’s got the feeling it has to be said out loud. The last thing he needs is to be getting ready to go to sleep only to find Harry in the spot Louis had already claimed for himself.

“I know,” Harry says, pinching at the inside of Louis’ wrist. Louis takes his hand away with a startled yelp. “You’re the one who keeps getting into my lap, anyway.”

Oh-ho. Wow. He’s talking a big game for someone who literally can’t function without Louis touching him. It’d be easy to take offense to, especially given their history, but Louis is delighted, instead.

“Yeah, and you’re the one who keeps getting an erection from it,” Louis shoots back, and climbs out of the car before Harry has a chance to process it.

He’s barely gone five steps before Harry has caught up to him, gripping the neck of Louis’ shirt from behind and pulling him to a stop. “Hey,” Harry says, winded somehow, “don’t blame my cock for how it feels about your arse. This is something you knew a long time ago.”

Louis is starting to feel a little winded himself. He leans back against Harry’s chest. Colin and Josh are almost finished setting up the tents. Soon their illusion of privacy will be over. Deliberately, he wiggles his arse a little, just to feel the way Harry’s breath hitches in his chest.

“Babe,” Louis says solemnly, patting at Harry’s hand where it’s found its way to rest against Louis’ belly, “you need to stop treating your dick like it’s a separate person. I’m pretty sure you’re hurting its feelings.”

He breaks out of Harry’s hold, striding towards the tents. “His name is Marcus!” Harry calls after him. Louis rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop his smile.

Dinner is burgers and chips. Josh goes out to pick it up – Josh, his name actually is Josh, Louis heard Harry call him that – leaving them with Colin. It’s beginning to feel a lot like being babysat, so Louis eats quickly and makes his escape to their tent.

Getting changed for bed is an experience Louis isn’t eager to repeat. Harry follows him into the tent, practically on Louis’ heels, folded up into a corner as he watches Louis undress. Mostly, Louis is long since over the novelty of Harry watching him undress. He used to do it like a stalker back in the band days, somehow always present when Louis was undressing anywhere that wasn’t completely private. It was like he had a fifth sense for it, and Louis had never called him out on it. Now, it’s not so much that Harry is watching him as it is that trying to get changed in a tent fucking sucks. There’s not enough room to move properly.

Under any other circumstances, Louis would be content to just strip down to his pants and leave it at that. Despite what Harry said, he doesn’t trust him not to touch in his current state. So Louis has to put on a clean t-shirt and a pair of shorts to cover some of his skin. Just in case.

Finally finished, he flops back onto a sleeping bag, staring up at the fabric above his head. Is it nylon? What kind of fabric is a tent made out of?

It’s still light enough that they haven’t had to turn one of the lanterns on. Maybe it’s down to the craziness of the last few days, but Louis feels tired enough that he could fall asleep at any second.

Silence ticks on between them. After a few minutes, Louis turns his head, catches Harry still sitting in the corner, one knee pulled up to his chest, chin resting on it, looking at him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, kind of amused. He’d forgotten that Harry gets like this sometimes, lost in his own little world, staring at Louis. Usually Louis’ face, but sometimes other parts of him too. No matter what else was going on between them at the moment, it was always flattering.

“Yeah,” Harry responds, still staring.

Louis holds up an arm and beckons him closer. It’s a decision made out of pure foresight, is all. If he gives Harry a cuddle now, maybe they’ll both be able to get a good night’s sleep. Start fresh tomorrow with well-rested brains and bodies.

Harry doesn’t hesitate, crawling across the ground to lay himself mostly on top of Louis. His head lands against Louis’ shoulder, directly over the bite mark, and Louis doesn’t think that’s any kind of coincidence at all.

“You’re going to sleep tonight,” he says, rubbing wide circles on Harry’s back. “You’re going to sleep in your own sleeping bag, on your own half of the tent, and you’re not going to have any pain.”

The sound Harry makes is almost a laugh. Louis could convince himself it’s a laugh if he tries hard enough. “Is this some kind of mantra or something?”

A mantra is exactly the kind of thing Harry would be into, kale smoothie drinking hipster that he is. If it works, though –

“Yes,” Louis says firmly. Harry’s so warm, radiating body heat. Louis would like to be that warm all the time. “This is going to be our mantra. We’re going to repeat it every night until we find you a cure, and it’s going to work. Say it with me – you’re going to sleep tonight – ”

Harry doesn’t say it with him. He listens to Louis repeating it a few times, though, hand rubbing restlessly at his side. Once Louis is finished and gone quiet again, he says abruptly, “Can you – I think. I think I might be able to sleep if you took your shirt off?”

“Right,” Louis says easily. “And you’d definitely be able to sleep if I took all my clothes off, right?”

Harry makes a deeply annoyed noise, pushing himself up onto an elbow so he can glare down into Louis’ face. Louis smiles up at him, sweet and innocent. It makes Harry’s face flicker for a second, and that means Louis wins.

“I know you’re actively trying to be frustrating right now, but I’m serious,” Harry says. “I think I’ll sleep better if I can touch you for a while first.”

Louis waits a second, then wriggles his eyebrows, over the top and laviscious. Immediately, Harry groans, rolling off Louis and as far away as he can get. Given the fact that they’re crammed into a two-person tent, it’s not very far.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Louis cackles, rolling around until he’s on his knees. His hands hit the top of the tent as he strips his shirt off, making the material ripple. He shuffles over and climbs on Harry’s hips, grabbing both his hands and smacking them against his body. “There, what do you like? Bellies, right?”

He moves Harry’s hands down until they’re curled over Louis’ belly, holding them there. Harry’s cheeks have gone a little red, staring down at his hands. On instinct, Louis looks down too, and immediately regrets that decision.

Harry’s hands are so big, is the thing. They dwarf Louis’ body, encompassing him tenderly. He knows Harry’s strong, that he likes working out in a way Louis has never understood, but all that is so easy to forget until times like this. When the muscles in Harry’s forearms are tense from holding back, refraining from touching Louis the way he really wants to.

Louis swallows. Doesn’t move to take Harry’s hands off his body.

“See,” he says, forcibly cheerful. “You’re so transparent about the things that get to you.”

It’s a joke. It is, Louis swears.

Harry’s gaze flickers up to Louis’ face briefly, unamused. “You shouldn’t try to judge the things I like on other people by the things I like on you.”

“Why not?” Louis presses, shifting his weight just to make sure he has Harry’s full attention. “Bodies are just bodies, right? It doesn’t matter who they belong to.”

That’s something he’s never heard Harry say. It’s also something he’s pretty sure that Harry categorically doesn’t believe. Louis doesn’t even know why he says it. He doesn’t necessarily agree either. To get a reaction, maybe.

“Baby,” Harry says, low and quiet, pressing two knuckles into Louis’ belly, “no one has ever measured up to you. That’s just the way it is.”

Louis should have stolen a stapler from the hospital, used it to force Harry’s mouth shut. There’s no way he’s going to be able to do that now, so he does the next best thing. Flops all the way down against Harry’s chest, putting an elbow into his ribs along the way to distract him a bit. There’s a million words on the tip of Louis’ tongue, things about feelings and thoughts, and he swallows them all back down.

This is the definition of temporary. Once Harry’s cured, they’re both going to go back to living their separate lives, so far apart they might as well be on different continents. Louis isn’t going to admit to things now that he’s never admitted to before. Not after everything Harry’s put him through.

It’s fine. It’s going to be fine.

“Are you mad?” Harry asks softly, resting one big hand on the nape of Louis’ neck. Louis closes his eyes, grateful that Harry can’t see his burning face.

“Why would I be mad?” he asks, curling his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s trackies. Those, at least, Louis knows belong to him. He recognizes them. “Nothing to be mad about, is there.”

It’s a lie. Louis’ heart is stuttering in his chest, afraid Harry’s going to call him on it. He knows his reaction to being called out on it would send them spiraling into a huge argument, one he’s definitely not ready for. Knowing it wouldn’t do any good at stopping it.

Harry doesn’t call him out on it, but he doesn’t say anything else, either. Just strokes long, calloused fingers across the back of Louis’ neck in silence, chest rising and falling steadily underneath Louis’ cheek. Arousal simmers low in Louis’ gut, aching and familiar, and as much as he wants to stay here and soak up the attention, he knows he can’t. Knows how much of a bad idea that is.

He rolls far enough away to grab his phone, stretching his arm across a sleeping bag to do so. There’s enough of a signal out here to queue up something on Neflix, so that’s what he does, selecting a show at random.

“Take off your shirt,” he says, flicking at Harry’s arm without looking at him. There’s shuffling as Harry obeys without question, and then Louis lies back down beside him, curling up on his side facing away from Harry. He has to arrange an extra pillow and the sleeping bag to get his phone to stay propped up. Once everything is suitable, he hits play.

It’s as much of an invitation as he’s going to make it. Harry only waits a few seconds before shuffling back in, the warmth of his chest pressing right up against Louis’ bare back. He noses at the back of Louis’ neck briefly, looping an arm around his waist, and it’s everything Louis has never let himself want from Harry.

This had better work. If it doesn’t, and Louis still wakes up to Harry screaming in the middle of the night, he will have let Harry spoon him half-naked for absolutely nothing. This is going to work.

It has to.

It only takes a few minutes for Harry’s breathing to go slow and even against the back of Louis’ neck. He’s so warm, practically a furnace, and it’d be so easy for Louis to fall asleep here too. Every so often the sound of Colin or Josh’s voices drift in, but otherwise it’s quiet, save for the tinny noise of Louis’ phone. It would be almost relaxing if the circumstances were different.

Louis finishes watching the entire episode without registering what show it is. Only once the credits start rolling does he close the app, leaving his phone screen on for some light. It takes a couple minutes to wiggle his way out from under Harry’s arm, but it’s not particularly difficult. Once he’s out, he crosses his legs, still at Harry’s side, watching him sleep.

“You’re going to get me in so much trouble, babe,” he murmurs out loud, brushing a strand of hair off Harry’s face before covering him with his sleeping bag. He’s not on the inside of it, but Louis didn’t make him fall asleep, so if he wakes up cold that’s his own fault.

Louis retreats to his side of the tent, getting into his own sleeping bag and zipping it closed. Harry’s arm is stretched out towards him, palm up from where Louis left it. It’s nothing, Louis tells himself, reaching out to rest his fingertips against the inside of Harry’s wrist. It’s nothing. Just an additional way to make sure Harry lasts a little longer.

A few hours later, Louis wakes up to the sound of a zipper being slid down. It’s agonizingly slow, one metal tooth at a time, and it’s not nearly as quiet as Harry seems to think it is.

“Harry,” Louis complains half-heartedly, trying to hold the corner of the sleeping bag up against his chest. He doesn’t open his eyes, trying to hold onto the last wisps of sleep.

“Shh, shh,” Harry says, peeling the top of the sleeping bag down just enough that he can work his way inside.

Louis groans, reaching back blindly to smack Harry in the shoulder. “Supposed to be sleeping,” he mumbles. Harry’s still shirtless, but Louis was at least smart enough to put his own back on before letting his eyes close, so his body heat doesn’t feel as intense this time.

“I am,” Harry whispers, pulling Louis tight against his chest. “Shh.”

There’s something very wrong about that statement, Louis is pretty sure. He can yell at Harry just as easily in the morning as he can now, though. He makes a vague, suspicious noise to let Harry know he’s onto him and drifts back off into sleep.

The next time he wakes up, sunlight is streaming in through the thin fabric of the tent, illuminating enough that he can see his own hand in front of his face. He can’t tell whether Harry’s still asleep or not, only that part of him is definitely awake.

Louis makes a low noise and pushes himself back against it before he’s fully woken up. The ground is hard underneath him, but that’s easy enough to forget when his brain is still sleep muddled and fuzzy. Harry’s holding him, arm still looped over his belly, breath warm against the back of Louis’ neck. There’s not a second that passes that Louis doesn’t know who it is behind him.

It feels good, sleepy and languid. He’s seen Harry’s cock plenty of times over the years, has always known how big it is. Before this last week, they’d only woken up in this position a handful of times. Not enough to really know how nice it is, and not for years.

Louis is hard too. Maybe it’s just morning wood. It’s probably not just morning wood. His shirt has been rucked up his back, leaving skin exposed for Harry to press up against. Probably Harry was the one who did it, wiggled at the fabric until it got tangled and left Louis bare enough for his liking. There’s no way to tell, and Louis doesn’t think Harry would admit it if he pressed.

Here, in the early morning light, it’s all too easy to imagine the ways he would let Harry take him. Let Harry roll him down onto his belly, fuck him quick and nearly brutal, get them both off so fast it’d leave their heads spinning. On his back, kissing the entire time, Harry moving his hips exactly right. Letting Louis ride him, cocky smirk playing at his mouth from the way Louis wouldn’t be able to stop himself from making noises from getting it so deep.

Lying here thinking about it isn’t doing any good. The sleeping bag is zipped up, making it a tight squeeze as Louis struggles to turn over, hitching his thigh over Harry’s. He watches as Harry’s eyes open slowly, mossy green and turned on.

“You’re wiggling,” Harry observes. His hand has slid around to Louis’ back, resting low. He doesn’t seem to mind that their cocks are all but pressing together.

Yeah, he wouldn’t. Louis sucks on his bottom lip for a second, one hand pressed up against the center of Harry’s bare chest. Not so much holding him back as holding on.

“It is me, yeah?” The words spill out of his mouth before he even knows he’s going to say them. He’d almost regret not having thought it through, but if he’s ever going to get answers out of Harry he’s almost certain to be most likely to get them now. In bed together, when Harry seems content just to be touching Louis idly, bare skin against bare skin. When he hasn’t had the time to wake up enough to realize that he should have his guard up.

“Of course it is,” Harry murmurs, easy enough that Louis knows they must be talking about two different things.

The desire to know what Harry’s agreeing to pierces through him, so hard to pull away from.

“You don’t feel it when I’m with you,” Louis clarifies. Neither of them are awake enough to fall down that particular rabbit hole. “The pain?”

Harry’s expression flickers so briefly Louis almost doesn’t see it. He shimmies a little closer, breath catching in his throat at the way Harry’s cock feels pressing against his own. It’d be tenting his pants obscenely if Louis was brave enough to look down, he knows. He’s not above using every advantage he has to get Harry to talk to him.

“No,” Harry says. He slides his hand up Louis’ back, over his sleep rumpled shirt, to palm at the back of his neck, possessive and hot. Louis closes his eyes, forcing himself to breathe through it, and reminds himself that this is the exact reason they never shared beds.

“Nothing, though?” Louis asks, making himself open his eyes again. “Not even a twinge?”

“No,” Harry repeats. A lot of things have changed over the years, in too many ways to count, but Harry has never been a man of few words, and Louis is pretty sure that’s one thing that hasn’t changed.

It’s hard to know whether doing it like this is helping or hindering his efforts. Louis can’t bring himself to pull away any, though, so he supposes it doesn’t really matter much.

“When you’re touching me?” Louis continues. It’s even harder to keep his train of thought when Harry’s hands feel like a brand. Like ownership. “Or just when I’m touching you?”

Clearly it’s got something to do with touch. Being in the same place hasn’t seemed to help, or else Louis wouldn’t have woken up squished into his sleeping bag by another fully grown man.

“I don’t know,” Harry says. “It’s the same, isn’t it? S’not like I’ve been touching you without you touching me back.”

Well. Louis’ first instinct is to deny it, but Harry isn’t actually wrong. It’s also the most Harry has talked about it at all, and Louis isn’t going to deter him by getting confrontational. Not this time.

“In the car yesterday,” Louis says, keeping his voice pitched low so Harry has to stay close to hear him, “it started hurting even though I was right beside you.”

Harry hums his agreement, slipping his thigh between Louis’. Louis catches himself before he gasps, nails sinking into Harry’s skin. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Harry’s talking, sure, but Louis is getting so distracted it might not even matter.

“When does it start?” Louis asks. He can’t look into Harry’s eyes, too afraid of the depths he might see, so he settles for watching Harry’s mouth instead, his cheek, to see if he’s happy or not.

“It doesn’t hurt right now,” Harry says, lips barely parting to let the words escape. His voice comes out so deep that a part of Louis throbs, low in his belly.

It’d be the easiest thing in the world to let this thread of conversation go. Harry’s mouth is practically inviting snogging, pink and slick. He should have shaved at the hospital but he didn’t, the beginning of his stubble prickly and short. Louis thinks he has the start of a beard burn on the back of his neck, right where Harry’s hand is still clasped over, and the thought of feeling it against his face sends shockwaves of heat through him.

Harry probably wants him to let it go. It’s a thought Louis focuses in on, letting his face go soft and sweet, darting a glance up from below his eyelashes. Harry’s cock throbs a little, letting him know he’s on the right path, so easy it’d be laughable if Louis wasn’t slightly breathless.

“But,” Louis starts, licking at his bottom lip, “During the night it started hurting again? You woke me up when you got into my sleeping bag.”

Either it started hurting again or Harry woke him up for nothing. There’s an acceptable answer here and they both know what it is.

“You felt far,” Harry says, sliding the hand that he’d had on Louis’ hip around to palm at his belly, big and warm. Louis sinks his teeth into his lip, trying not to let his eyes flutter closed the way they want to. “I was mostly asleep and you felt too far away. So I fixed it.”

That, essentially, is a no. It’s so far from what Louis had been expecting that he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“You can’t just,” Louis whispers into the air between them, struggling to find the words. “You can’t just sleep with me because you feel like it.”

If he lets Harry start doing that, it’s going to send them spiraling out of control faster than Louis can imagine. This is already so much to deal with. Too much to deal with.

“I didn’t,” Harry says, reaching up to thumb at the corner of Louis’ mouth, the touch so soft it’s barely there. “I needed to.”

He’s so frustrating sometimes. It’d be a lot easier to be annoyed with him if his hands didn’t feel so good.

“Are you being deliberately difficult?” Louis asks. He gives in to the urge to squeeze his eyes closed, can’t stand it anymore. “Thought that was my shtick.”

“It is,” Harry says. Amusement colours his voice, light and happy, and Louis wants him to sound like that always. “I would never try to take that from you, sweetheart.”

So he’s definitely being deliberately difficult, then. That’s okay. Louis has all day to wear him down.

He opens his eyes again, breathing in softly. Harry smells like sleep, stale sweat and unfamiliar laundry detergent. It’s not as off-putting as it sounds. “Buy me breakfast,” he says, looking up at Harry. “Please.”

Harry’s fingers flex against the back of his neck. “Okay.”

After breakfast, they wander into a wooded area of the campsite. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take much convincing to get Colin and Josh to allow them to go by themselves. That’s probably only because there’s no other people around and the wooded area is so small it can’t even be called a park, much less a forest.

“So,” Louis says. He should have made Colin buy a bunch of foam balls along with breakfast so he could throw them at Harry’s face whenever his attention starts wandering. “Do you feel any pain right now?”

They’re standing side by side, so close their hips are nearly touching. Louis already knows the answer to this question, but it seems like as good a place to start as any.

“No,” Harry says. Louis waits, but he doesn’t expand any.

Honestly, it’s getting a little old, having to do all the work to try to figure this out. And for what? So Harry can hold him to his heart’s content? This is not the way Louis is going to live the rest of his life.

“Okay,” Louis says, holding back his impatience the best he can. “You stay there and I’ll start walking away. Tell me when it starts to hurt.”

Harry face twitches, but he doesn’t disagree. Louis starts walking backwards, one step at a time, pausing to watch Harry’s face with every step. A few steps in, Harry crosses his arms over his chest, but he doesn’t say anything. He keeps not saying anything with every step Louis takes, like Louis can’t see on his face that he’s starting to get affected.

When they’re about ten feet apart, Louis stops, folding his own arms across his chest, mimicking Harry’s posture. It’s mostly unconscious, but it has the added benefit of making Harry scowl a little. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Harry bites out.

Louis rolls his eyes, dropping his arms. “This isn’t going to work unless you’re honest with me.”

Seconds go by. The only sounds are the wind rustling through the trees and a bird chirping somewhere high above their heads. Harry’s jaw works like he’s trying to come up with something to say.

“Right,” Louis says eventually, after the silence has stretched on for too long. “If you’re not honest with me right now about how you feel, I’m not going to let you touch me for the next hour.”

He’s not entirely sure it’s a threat he can enforce. If Harry starts screaming again, chances are Louis is going to go to him, regardless of what he says.

Harry exhales heavily, running both hands through his hair before answering. “It doesn’t feel good, alright? When you were right beside me I felt absolutely fine, but when you got a few feet away that started changing.”

Louis stays silent, forcing Harry to continue. “It doesn’t exactly hurt. It’s more like – it’s more like an awareness that you’re not close enough to touch anymore. Almost like an itch. Or a pinprick, maybe. Yeah. A pinprick.”

“So it stings?” Louis asks, frowning. That doesn’t match up to anything Harry told him before.

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. “Not really. It feels like. It feels like an ache before it becomes an ache. Like I know that it’s going to start hurting if you’re away for too long, and the farther you go the more aware of that I am.”

It makes Louis want to go back over to him, despite the fact that he knows Harry is absolutely fine. He can literally see that Harry’s fine. He holds his ground, digging the heels of his sneakers into the soft dirt. “What about yesterday in the car, then? I was a lot closer to you than this.”

Hesitation covers Harry’s face. He shifts his weight to one foot, pressing his thumb to his bottom lip and biting at it. It seems like he’s not going to say anything, so Louis walks back over to him, fitting himself right up against Harry’s body and wrapping his arms around his neck. Harry relaxes inch by inch, slumping down and returning the hug, burying his face against Louis’ shoulder. The same one he left a mark on.

This time, Louis doesn’t tense. There’s something almost pleased squirming through him, making him stretch up onto his toes to give Harry easier access. Just in case he wants –

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly, his breath warm against Louis’ bare skin where his shirt has slipped, “You were distracted, though.”

Distracted. Distracted as in Louis wasn’t paying attention to him and that’s why he started noticing the pain?

God, if it turns out that he only needs Louis to be paying attention to him, Louis is going to take great pleasure out of smacking him senseless. Let that count as paying attention to him.

“No,” Louis croons, stroking his hands down the back of Harry’s neck, across the width of his shoulders. “I’m never too distracted to pay attention to you, love, don’t you worry your pretty little – ”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, a loud noise of surprise escaping his lips when Harry drops his hands to haul Louis up by his thighs. The movement is so easy, effortless. Louis’ head spins a little from it.

Rather than walking anywhere, Harry sits down in the grass. Louis makes a noise, clutching at Harry’s shoulders, expecting to be dropped at any second. He doesn’t hit the ground, thankfully, and the way Harry sinks down is actually quite graceful. Louis would never tell him, but sometimes he’s capable of using all those muscles he’s got properly.

“See?” Harry asks once his arse is on the ground. “I feel great now. How do you feel?”

The smile he sends up at Louis is cheeky. Louis rolls his eyes, forcing it back down with two fingers. “Not impressed,” he informs Harry. “I’m going to start enforcing a no manhandling rule. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should, you know.”

Despite having his mouth forced down into a frown, Harry doesn’t look any less impressed with himself. It’d probably go a long way towards knocking that smug expression off his face if Louis got out of his lap.

Louis doesn’t.

“Fine,” Harry sighs dramatically, clearly for Louis’ benefit. It’s entirely too amusing, and Harry clearly knows it. He’s a fucking ham when he’s not on stage, too.

If Louis is going to sit here, in Harry’s lap, he might as well take advantage of it.

“How did you find me?” he asks. Harry hadn’t told him the truth the last time Louis had asked. Louis is sure of that much. “Be honest. Please.”

The question hangs in the air between them, heavy and demanding. For some reason, it feels like the key to unlocking this whole thing. Like if Louis understands that part he’ll be able to figure out the rest.

“I don’t know,” Harry says. He’s still reluctant, so Louis takes one of his hands and puts it underneath his shirt, lets Harry caress his belly, stroke his side. “I knew your tour schedule, I guess.”

That can’t be the truth. It doesn’t even make sense. The gas station was a half hour drive from Salem. It wasn’t a planned stop, either. They literally just stopped to fill up the tank. There’s no logical way Harry could have known that Louis was going to be at that exact gas station at that exact time.

“You didn’t,” Louis says, pushing Harry’s hand up further, until his thumb brushes across Louis’ nipple. He can’t help the sound he makes in response, entire body jerking at the brief flare of pleasure. “Even if you did, you wouldn’t have known that we were going to be stopped at a gas station at three o’clock in the morning.”

Harry’s staring at the shape of his hand through Louis’ shirt, distracted. The heat in his gaze is bordering on obscene. This might not have been Louis’ best idea ever, but if it’ll get him the answers he needs he doesn’t care.

“I don’t – ” Harry repeats, thumbing at Louis’ nipple again, slower this time. Louis holds back a shiver, rocking down against Harry’s cock in a way he can’t help. “There was something in me that knew how to find you.”

Louis grits his teeth, refusing to let his eyes fall closed. This is something Harry is going to use against him later, he’s pretty sure. He doesn’t know how or when, but it’s going to happen. Louis’ dumbest ideas usually come in the form of letting Harry paw at him.

“Like an instinct?” he presses. If Harry touches him any harder he’ll lose all track of the conversation.

“Mmhmm,” Harry murmurs, still looking down. He uses his free hand to tug at the neck of Louis’ shirt, trying to pull it open so he can have a better view. “Knew I was going to you the entire time I was doing it. Didn’t even want to try to stop myself.”

That’s finally something different than what he’d said at first. It sounds a lot more truthful, too. Louis believes him.

“Did you choose it?” Louis asks him, curling his fingers around Harry’s wrist. It eases the pressure a bit, but he can’t make himself pull Harry’s hand away. “Harry. Did you actively choose to come find me?”

It feels important. Everything feels important right now, though, too-big and fragile. Like it could all come crashing down around them so easily. And it could, Louis supposes. They have too much of a tangled history not to acknowledge that possibility.

Knowing that Harry would be the one to walk away is as clear now as it was five years ago.

Harry looks up at him, thumb coming to a slow, sweeping halt. The look is considering, thoughtful. There’s part of Louis that doesn’t want to hear what he has to say. A yes is almost as bad as a no.

“I didn’t have to,” Harry says. He puts his other hand on the back of Louis’ neck, pulling him in so their foreheads are resting together. Louis closes his eyes, can’t look at Harry anymore. “You were all I could think about. Getting to you was the most important thing in my life.”

Something inside Louis’ chest hurts. The air smells crisp and clean, somehow making it worse. “Why did you bite me.”

It doesn’t come out as a question. That’s okay. Louis didn’t really mean it to.

“Because I needed to,” Harry whispers, hand sliding up even further to stroke over the mark tenderly.

Because why? Louis wants to scream the question at the top of his lungs. Because I needed to is a shitty answer. It’s not even an answer at all, is it.

“You didn’t,” Louis disagrees. Half of him wishes he didn’t feel so safe here, in Harry’s lap. Maybe he’d be able to move if he didn’t.

“I did,” Harry tells him. His fingers are warm and calloused against the mark, touching it like it’s something to be revered. Louis doesn’t understand, and he thinks he wants to. “I can’t explain it. If I hadn’t done it I think I might have died.”

He must be being hyperbolic. He wouldn’t have died from not being able to get a mouthful of Louis’ flesh. He’s not a fucking zombie.

“Because I haven’t done enough for you?” Louis bites out, suddenly furious. “You had to get a mouthful of my shoulder too?”

“No,” Harry says, holding him closer. He presses his mouth to the corner of Louis’ jaw, kissing it. Louis can’t stop the shiver this time, thighs tight against Harry’s hips. “You’re everything. That’s why.”

It’s way too close to being a confession. Louis deflates anyway, sinking back down into Harry’s embrace. His entire body feels tense, like they’re on the verge of something epic, and there’s no way he can let that happen.

“Alright,” he says, clearing his throat. He punches Harry lightly in the arm and rolls out of his grip in the same movement, landing splayed out on his back a few feet away. “You stay over there while I ignore you, and then tell me when it starts to hurt.”

This isn’t a sustainable plan. It’s the only one Louis has got, though, so he has to make it work.

It takes about an hour before Harry starts making low, unsatisfied noises. Louis has mostly fallen asleep among the dirt and pine needles, shaded from the sun by all the trees looming overhead. He’s mostly on autopilot as he beckons Harry over without even lifting his arm from the ground, eyes still closed. He could do with a blanket, but other than that he’s actually pretty comfortable.

“It’s like having a puppy,” Louis murmurs to himself, caught on the edges of a dream. Harry’s heavy as he comes tumbling down to the ground, settling half over Louis like that blanket he’d wanted. “Always needy, bites sometimes.”

Harry’s teeth sink gently into the meat of Louis’ upper arm. Louis jerks, the laughter bubbling out of him unrestrained and happy. The bite isn’t deep enough to break the skin, and as fast as it had started Harry switches to dragging his tongue over it.

“Don’t pee on me,” Louis warns, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair. “You’re already being a bad puppy.”

It’s probably going to leave a bruise, though, that bite. The thought of it sends butterflies through Louis’ stomach, fluttering and nervous.

“’m not a puppy,” Harry murmurs back, sucking at the mark for a few seconds. Louis hisses in a breath, startled and turned on, and can’t make up his mind what to do about it. “Also, of all the things I’ve ever wanted to do to you, peeing was never one of them.”

Louis needs to stop him before he starts listing them all. He’s already let Harry take too much – will literally be walking around for the rest of his life with Harry’s marks on him. He doesn’t need to add hearing the list of ways Harry wants to fuck him to that burden.

“Alright, puppy,” he says, patting Harry’s face a little too hard before wiggling out from underneath him.

Putting some space between them is the only way to deal with the way his heart is hammering in his chest. That’s what Louis does, getting grass and dirt and pine needles stuck to him as he rolls away.

Harry stays where he is, face down on the ground. It’s easy to admire the width of his shoulders from here, a safe distance away. Louis sits up, crossing his legs, and watches Harry breathe for a bit. It’s oddly soothing, the slight rise and fall of his shoulders. Louis could watch him all day, but they have things to accomplish. They literally have places to be.

“So,” Louis starts, throwing a pinecone at Harry’s back. It hits, bouncing off harmlessly onto the ground. Harry doesn’t react. “Do you actually need me to be paying attention to you, or is it good enough to just be touching me?”

In the car, touching him hadn’t been enough. It does seem to be enough when they’re sleeping, though. Harry hadn’t woken him up with the screaming at all during the night. After he’d climbed into Louis’ sleeping bag they’d both slept pretty deeply. If there’s a pattern to all of this, Louis isn’t getting it.

“Sometimes knowing you’re there is enough,” Harry says to the ground. They’re both going to need a shower after this. “Other times I need you to be paying attention. Last night I wanted to bite you again but I figured you wouldn’t appreciate that.”

Louis wouldn’t have appreciated that. He blinks at the revelation, at the casual way Harry tossed it out. First he won’t talk about it at all, now he’s confessing to wanting to bite Louis again? Talk about inconsistency. Louis doesn’t have anything to say to that. He doesn’t even know where to start with that.

Instead, he throws another pinecone at Harry and veers to a different line of questioning. “What did it feel like just now? Did it hurt the same way?”

“How ‘bout we take a nap?” Harry suggests, turning his head a little. The barest hint of his face peeks out from between his arm and the curtain of hair falling down. It’s actually a good thing. That way Louis doesn’t have to look at his face for too long.

Louis pelts him with six pinecones, one after another. “You’re not getting out of this that easily,” he informs Harry. “But if you cooperate a little longer I’ll let you have a belly rub.”

Harry’s head turns a little more, thoughtful expression on his face. “Wait, you’ll give me a belly rub or let me give you one?”

“Does it matter?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow at him. “Either way you’d be into it.”

Because he likes Louis’ belly and he’s a puppy. Louis knew that analogy would stand the test of time.

Harry’s face says that he concedes to that point. He doesn’t need to actually say it out loud for Louis to know it.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, pushing himself up onto his knees and making the awkward shimmy back over to where Harry’s lying. Harry doesn’t move, so Louis is forced to lie down beside him, curled up against Harry’s body the best he can. “You wanna make me happy, yeah? It’d made me really happy if you told me.”

“That’s low,” Harry says. He doesn’t look displeased about it. “Using my feelings against me like that.”

Louis has to do something to get answers. He isn’t ashamed of the lengths he’s willing to stoop to. Also, it’s not like he never used to do things like this before. Harry must have a very selective memory if he’s forgotten that.

“Please,” Louis whispers, reaching out to drag his fingertips along the curve of Harry’s jaw.

Harry sighs, eyes fluttering closed. “You always do this,” he murmurs. It’s hard to tell whether he’s talking to himself or Louis. “It didn’t hurt the same. At first it was like an awareness of the distance between us, but there wasn’t any pain. It didn’t start hurting for a while, and once it did it was tolerable. I probably wouldn’t have even noticed the pain if there was anything else to focus on.”

If Louis was the type of person to use touch as a reward, he’d be doing it right now.

Ah, who is he kidding, he’s absolutely that kind of person. He lifts Harry’s arm enough to wiggle underneath it, fitting his head under Harry’s chin and tucking them together tightly.

“Do you think you can build up some kind of tolerance to it?” he asks, pressing his face against the soft skin of Harry’s throat. Harry swallows, muscles flexing against Louis’ skin. “Like if you hug me for the next ten minutes, could you go two hours without needing to touch me?”

“Could’ve done without the needless explanation, baby,” Harry says, snarky. Louis is gearing up to punch him in the ribs when Harry continues, “I don’t know. I’ll try.”

Louis deflates, flattening out his fist and rubbing Harry’s back encouragingly instead. Harry getting defensive and snide only means that he’s feeling vulnerable. It’s something the two of them have in common. It’s hard for Louis not to react to it, but this must be hard for Harry too. Another thing they have in common.

“You’re going to be able to do it,” Louis whispers, hugging Harry tighter. “Because you’re amazing.”

Harry’s laugh is quiet and a little disbelieving. “Am I?”

Generally, Louis tries not to compliment him too much. It goes to Harry’s head, makes him cocky and satisfied, and it’s even worse that Louis finds all of those things attractive on him. Harry deserves the compliments, sure, but that doesn’t mean Louis is willing to give them.

“I don’t know, occasionally,” Louis says, fiddling with the string on Harry’s hoodie. “You have quite a big head sometimes.”

Harry’s exasperated sigh is much too dramatic for Louis’ minor insult. Louis smiles to himself and knots the string into a complicated mess.

They take a quick break for lunch, returning to their wooded spot afterwards. The sun is at its highest point overhead, beaming down on them even through the shade of the trees. It’s gotten hot out, enough that Harry stripped his hoodie off back at their campsite, leaving him in a simple white vest. His arms are bare, tattoos and muscles on display. Louis has never thought of himself as an arms guy before, but the proof is standing right here in front of him.

He clears his throat, trying to shake the thought from his head. “Alright, so how do you think we should do this?”

“This is your plan, baby, you’re the one calling all the shots,” Harry says, stretching his arms above his head, exposing a dark swatch of underarm hair.

Absently, Louis says, “Don’t call me that,” crossing his own arms over his chest as he tries to think. He supposes Harry’s cooperation is about as much as he can ask for, considering that Harry didn’t want to do this in the first place.

After a minute, when it’s become abundantly clear that Harry’s truly not going to provide any kind of assistance or insight, Louis says, “Okay, well, are there any forms of touching that feel the best?”

He doesn’t need to see Harry’s face to know he’s making an obscene expression. He does, though, and that’s worse. Louis groans, rubbing both hands across his face. “Can you not?” he grits out.

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry says blandly. It’s a point Louis is almost willing to argue – Harry knows perfectly well what his face had been saying for him. Arguing would only delay their progress, though, and it’s been painstaking enough as it is.

“Whatever. If you don’t give me something to work with I’m going to stand here and pinch you for the next ten minutes. Is that what you want?”

“Not particularly,” Harry says. “I guess you could come here and hold my hand.” He wiggles his eyebrows as he says it, making it much more laviscious than it needs to be.

He must be trying to goad Louis into an argument. It’s ridiculously close to working, too.

“Fine,” Louis says shortly, marching himself over to where Harry’s standing. He grabs Harry’s hand, squeezing it much harder than necessary. It’s not an argument, but it’s something.

Harry doesn’t waste any time tangling their fingers together, using their combined grip to pull Louis closer. He’s acting so weird this afternoon. Weirder than he has since this entire thing started, and that’s saying something.

“Will you sing for me?” Harry asks, and yeah, there’s definitely something going on with him.

“Absolutely not,” Louis says firmly. It’s very tempting to lean in just a little bit closer and bite Harry’s bare shoulder, mimic the mark he had put on Louis’.

Singing for Harry, just for him, isn’t something Louis has done in years. He hadn’t even done it for years before the band broke up. He’s definitely not going to do it now. The thought of it alone has made his heart start racing in his chest.

Before Harry has a chance to say anything else, to plead with him until he gives in and does it, Louis changes the subject. Back to something a little more normal. “How does this feel, then? Is it doing it for you?”

He has a second to regret his choice of words before Harry answers. Winces to himself a little. Doing it for you. Jesus. If Louis’ intention wasn’t to give Harry more opportunities to be lewd at him, he definitely failed.

“It’s nice,” Harry says, swinging their hands lightly. “I feel calm.”

Something in the universe is finally giving Louis a break, it seems. It’s only for the smallest things, but he’ll take what he can get.

Standing here holding hands, with the backdrop of fresh air and a beautiful scenic view, is starting to give Louis hives. It’s something he couldn’t have come up with if he was trying to be romantic, and the fact that it’s fallen into place so easily is beyond uncomfortable.

“Alright, let’s see how much time that bought us,” Louis says brightly, ripping his hand out of Harry’s. He doesn’t look back as he scurries a good distance away, afraid that if he does Harry’s going to call him out on the touching having lasted less than two minutes.

Harry doesn’t. Louis walks further than strictly necessary, and by the time he turns around, Harry is sitting down on the ground, legs crossed and head bowed. He looks kind of like he’s meditating, and Louis wouldn’t be Louis if he didn’t seize the opportunity to interrupt that.

“Anything yet?” he calls, leaning against a tree trunk instead of sliding down onto his arse.

“Nope,” Harry says, popping the ‘p.’ He doesn’t look up as he says it, head still bowed so that his hair is falling over his face. It’s not as long as it’s ever been, but it’s got some length to it again. If Louis doesn’t stop looking at him he’s going to wind up with half a hard-on.

“You feel fine?” Louis asks. Keeping the conversation going is one way of keeping himself sane, he tells himself. The deepness of Harry’s voice has nothing to do with it.

“Dandy,” Harry agrees. That deserves a pinecone to the face, at the very least, but Louis is scared that if he bends down to get one his knees will just buckle underneath him. The weight of all his repressed emotions is trying to force him down.

There has to be something they can talk about for however long it takes before Harry starts feeling the pain again.

“What do you want for dinner?”

Harry sighs softly. The wind carries it over, the sound oddly melodic. “I have no idea how it’s always so easy to forget that you can never sit still for longer than five minutes.”

It’s easy because Louis is amazing, that’s why.

“That’s not an answer,” Louis tells him, folding his arms over his chest.

Harry looks up, propping an elbow on his knee so he can rest his head in his hand. “If I tell you a story, will you be quiet for a while?”

It’s mildly insulting. Louis is so grateful for the reprieve he can’t even care. “Only one way to find out.”

Harry’s story is both slow moving and boring. It’s soothing anyway. Louis sinks down onto the ground, hugging his knees to his chest, and listens.

He must fall asleep listening to it. An indeterminable amount of time later, he jerks awake to the feeling of the ground falling out from underneath him.

Except it’s not falling out from underneath him, he realizes as he opens his eyes. He’s slung over someone’s shoulder, the ground bouncing as the person starts walking.

“We talked about the manhandling,” he says. His voice is rusty, but there’s still patches of sunlight on the ground. He can’t have been asleep for that long.

“Yeah, you said you liked it and that I should always do it,” Harry says. “Right?”

He’s too cheerful for Louis’ sleepy state. Louis smacks him in the arse. It is right in front of his face, after all. Harry doesn’t even have the courtesy to jump, though, so the motion is wasted.

“Where are we going?” He thinks it’s a fair question.

“There’s a playground here,” Harry tells him. “Saw it on the way in.”

The ground is starting to bounce a little too hard. Louis smacks at Harry’s hip instead, trying to get his attention. “Put me down.”

Harry doesn’t obey. Louis gives it a few more seconds before he starts shouting. “Help! Somebody help me! I’m being attacked by an overgrown toddler!”

While it’s not his best insult, it is loud and dramatic. Too bad it’s not effective.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re terrible at sitting still?” Harry asks. The world spins again as he sets Louis on his feet. Louis’ hand is moving before his brain consciously tells it to, smacking Harry’s cheek gently.

“Nope, never,” Louis says, and makes his way to the swing set without waiting for Harry to say anything else.

The sun is starting to set, turning the sky pink and orange. It must be dinnertime. It’s only April, and it’s the middle of the week, so the campground isn’t very busy, but Louis has still heard the occasional peal of a child’s laughter throughout the day. The playground is deserted, though, which is probably a good thing. It goes against what they’re trying to accomplish here if they let themselves be spotted so easily.

He sits his arse in the swing, pushing off gently. When was the last time he sat in a swing? He can’t remember.

“Do you think Colin and Josh thought to get firewood?” he asks. Harry’s standing in a sandbox, head tipped up towards the sky, soaking in the last rays of sunlight. “We could roast marshmallows later.”

“I think Colin probably decided not to get firewood so you wouldn’t have a chance to play with fire,” Harry answers without looking at him. “Why do you always forget that people know you?”

Louis sighs, fishing a cigarette out of its slightly crumpled box and lighting it. Colin wasn’t even working for him that one time with the fire. At this point it’s become more of an urban legend than anything. It doesn’t help when the people who were actually there for it keep blowing it into a bigger and bigger story every time they tell it.

Half the time, that’s Louis. Oh well. It is a good story, even if it’s mostly fictional.

“If they haven’t, will you ask them to get some?” Louis asks, taking a drag off the cigarette. He holds the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling. “People fall for your whole charm thing more than they do mine.”

Harry opens his eyes and comes over to sit on the swing next to Louis. He doesn’t push off, boots resting in the dirt. “You’ve seen your face before, right?” he asks conversationally, beckoning at Louis’ cigarette with two fingers. Louis sighs again, deeply unhappy, and hands it over. “All you have to do is blink right and people fall all over themselves trying to do things for you.”

That works on Harry and pretty much no one else. It’s actually kind of amazing, that it still works on Harry, ten years and a drastic amount of over-exposure later. Louis leans over and grabs the chain of Harry’s swing, using it to propel himself sideways.

“Please,” Louis says, kicking a foot at the ground as he careens wildly back towards Harry, sending a spray of loose dirt up his trouser leg. “You love s’mores.”

Harry’s mouth twists, trying to hide a smile by taking a drag off the cigarette before handing it back to Louis. “You’re a brat,” he says mildly. For a second – just for a tiny, miniscule second, Louis forgets how to breathe.

It’s something Harry used to say to him all the time. For the first couple of years, anyway, before it started to taper off as things got harder. He was always right about it, because Louis was intentionally being unruly, and he always said it in this vaguely fascinated tone that always encouraged Louis to keep doing whatever he was doing at the time.

“Is that a yes?” Louis asks, clearing his throat and bringing the cigarette back up to his mouth to hide his face a little.

“Of course it’s a yes,” Harry says, kicking a shoe full of dirt back at him. “We all know who your face works on best. No need to gloat about it.”

I want to kiss you, Louis thinks. It’s far from the first time he’s had that thought. He hasn’t had it in a while, though – something he can attribute to putting some time and distance between them.

It’s going to be a real fucking problem if he keeps thinking it, though. It’s the simplest explanation of why things went wrong between them. Just that one, tiny little thought that grew into something a whole hell of a lot bigger, a whole hell of a lot more complicated. I want to kiss you.

Louis doesn’t get to want to kiss Harry. Not after everything that’s happened between them.

“Campfires and s’mores, oh my,” Louis says quietly, just to distract himself from the obnoxious thoughts in his head. He kicks another pile of dirt in Harry’s direction. “How’s tour going so far?”

If they’re going to sit here, they need to have something to talk about. Something that’s going to distract Louis from the mess of his own head. He might as well make Harry part of the solution instead of just being the problem.

Harry looks at him, rocking the swing gently. It’s not enough to actually move it, just a simple little swish back and forth. “Really?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Louis is very tempted to hurl a handful of dirt directly in Harry’s face. He refrains, nodding his head once. “Really.”

It’s actually not as awkward as Louis thought it would be, making small talk with Harry Styles on a children’s swing set in the middle of nowhere. They catch each other up on their lives, their families. It only takes a few minutes to get past the awkwardness of knowing that this is their first real conversation in two years. Louis is surprised by that. He would have expected it to take a lot longer.

Harry’s almost unbearably funny when he’s relaxed and not thinking about his weird problem. He’s still got that same brand of quirky humour Louis has always had himself. It’s no wonder that they used to get along so well.

Once the sun has completely set and the sky has been dark for a while, Harry stands up. He extends a hand to Louis, waiting for him to take it. “We should go have something to eat. Got a long day of driving ahead of us tomorrow.”

It has to have been at least two hours since the last time they touched, Louis realizes with a start. Harry still looks completely normal, a far cry from the ragged mess he was in the hospital whenever Louis would leave him alone. Maybe he really will be fine. Healthy enough not to need to pull over every fifteen minutes, at least. They didn’t really figure much out today, but somehow things have started looking up regardless.

Louis accepts Harry’s hand, letting him pull him up. They go off together into the dark night, and Louis feels something he might call a sliver of hope if he were a different person.

That sliver of hope lasts through all of dinner, and after a nice chat around the fire with Colin and Josh. Harry sits beside him in a camping chair, hood pulled over his head, not saying much. He doesn’t reach out to try to touch Louis either, so all in all Louis considers it a pleasant experience. Maybe not one he’d like to repeat anytime soon, but pleasant nonetheless.

“Alright, lads, think I’m off to bed,” he announces, brushes stray dirt off his trackies before standing up. He gives Colin and Josh a little wave as he heads towards the tent, knowing that Harry’s right behind him. He can’t hear him, but the looming presence at his back says that’s the case.

Louis crawls into the tent belly first, doing more wiggling than actual crawling. Once he’s all the way inside, he kicks off his shoes, rolling onto his back. He fumbles around until his hand hits the lantern and then turns it on. As he suspected, he sees Harry on his knees, zipping the flap closed.

“Do you feel okay?” he asks, breaking the silence that’s been festering between them since they came back to the campsite. Harry hasn’t said much of anything since coming back, closing himself off like he thinks that will solve any of his problems.

“Yeah,” Harry says. He lies down as far away from Louis as he can get, folding his arms underneath his head and staring up blankly.

Clearly, that’s a lie. Louis props himself up onto an elbow, looking at Harry. A minute goes by with no response. Louis doesn’t wait any longer, fumbling around for his phone and turning on the flashlight, shining it directly at Harry’s face.

“Really?” Harry asks dryly.

“You’re acting weird,” Louis informs him. “Is the pain back?”

Harry turns his face away from the light, closing his eyes. “No.”

He doesn’t look like he’s lying. Louis may have lost his touch for knowing when Harry’s lying, though. It’s hard to tell. He hesitates, trying to think of something to say, still shining the light at Harry’s face.

“Okay,” he says slowly, inching back down to rest his head against the pillow. He puts his phone down between them and stretches out his arm, wiggling his fingers. “You wanna hold hands?”

Harry looks at him, eyebrows raised. “You know you don’t need to coddle me, right?”

He’s definitely being weird. He’s been fine all day, or most of the day, at least, and now he’s being weird. Louis doesn’t understand what happened.

“I know,” Louis says. “If you don’t hold my hand within the next five seconds, I’m going to slap you in the dick.”

Violence, at least, is something Harry expects from him. It’s something he can see coming. Definitely not as weird as whatever it is Harry is doing.

“You’re so bossy,” Harry complains, but he takes Louis’ hand anyway, lacing their fingers together. It’s just as nice as it was before, and Louis wishes he could hate it.

“Why are you acting like that’s something you just learned?” Louis asks. “You’ve known that about me for years.”

Harry squeezes Louis’ hand and then tries to pull him closer. Louis squeaks, sliding across the tent an inch or two before he manages to hold his ground. “Manhandling!” he yelps, intentionally higher pitched than necessary. Harry laughs, trying it again.

This time, Louis stays put. He yanks at Harry’s arm, but doesn’t accomplish anything. “You’re a freak!” he shrieks, trying again. It’s enough to spur Harry into action, lunging at him fast enough that Louis barely has time to make a noise, much less pull away.

“Help,” Louis says, struggling to get out from under the weight of Harry’s body. He knew he should have discouraged it years ago when Harry started hitting the gym regularly. It’s come back to bite him now.

“You’re making it sound like I’m murdering you,” Harry says. At some point during the struggle, he’d managed to flip Louis over, pinning him back down as he was trying to crawl away.

“You are!” Louis calls loudly. He could probably get away if he put some real effort into it. Instead, he settles for some half-hearted wiggling. “Help me, I’m being murdered!”

No one comes to save him. In fact, Louis can still hear the low murmuring of voices outside the tent. What’s the point of having a bodyguard if said bodyguard won’t even help him escape Harry’s clutches?

Harry settles down on top of him, resting his head against Louis’ back. It doesn’t feel like he has to put much effort into holding Louis down, the bastard.

Louis is faced with options, here. He could continue to struggle for a while, until he gets bored with trying to fluster Harry, or he could just give up and accept this as a fact of life. Neither option really sounds all that appealing.

“Hey,” he says, reaching back to smack at Harry’s face blindly. “How hard do you think it would be to ditch Colin and Josh?”

Harry pinches Louis’ hip through his trackies. “We’re not going to ditch them.”

They’ll see about that in the morning. Louis lies there, thinking about breakfast foods for a while, until he starts to drift off.

“Okay,” he says, clearing his throat, trying to slap at Harry’s face again. He misses, doesn’t bother trying again. “Time for bed, then. Go back to your corner.”

“Alright,” Harry agrees easily. Much too easily. Louis frowns to himself, suspicious, and turns his head to watch as Harry shuffles back over to where his sleeping bag is lying.

His suspicion is well founded. Instead of getting into the sleeping bag, Harry picks it up, unzipping it all the way around before making his way back over to Louis.

“No,” Louis says pre-emptively. He’s lying on top of his own sleeping bag, but he clutches at the corners of it just in case. “You have your own designated sleeping spot. Go away.”

None of that works. Harry just rolls him over, taking the sleeping bag out from underneath Louis while he’s spluttering with outrage, and unzips that one too. He’s making some kind of nest or something, arranging everything on the ground in a way that suits him.

Louis folds his hands together on top of his belly, staring up at the roof. “I want to go on record saying that I never agreed to this.”

If he thought it would make a difference, he’d put up a loud and over-dramatic protest. He’s pretty sure none of that would make a difference. It makes more sense to lie here lazily while Harry sets up the makeshift bed.

“You don’t agree to anything,” Harry says absently, yanking the pillow from underneath Louis’ head and adding it to the bed. He sits back on his knees and nods to himself, pleased.

“Your face doesn’t agree to anything,” Louis mutters, just for the sake of being rude. Harry seems to be done fussing with the sleeping bags, so Louis scrambles into the pile before Harry can get the first pick of a spot.

“My face agrees with your face,” Harry says, barely waiting for Louis to settle into his spot before lying down next to him, so close that their sides are touching.

Well. It’s better than waking up in two hours because Harry’s started screaming, Louis supposes. It’s the only reason he doesn’t pull away.

“Yeah it does,” Louis says belatedly, just to hear Harry laugh. Harry obliges, and Louis has to tell his chest not to squeeze like that.

Everything’s fine. This is going to be fine.

As much as he’d like to deny it, Louis falls asleep very quickly. He sleeps well, deep and restful, and only wakes up when a ray of light falls directly onto his face.

It’s not as bright in the tent as it probably is outside. That’s where this beam of light belongs, though. Outside. Not directly in Louis’ face.

“S’bright,” Louis mumbles, feeling around for Harry’s hip underneath the top sleeping bag, trying to hit it.

Harry groans against the back of his neck, laying a heavy arm down on top of Louis’ hand, trapping it at an awkward angle. “Shh, baby. Sleep.”

He might be able to sleep. He’s not the one with a horrendous beam of light directly in his eyes. No, he’s being blocked from that beam of light by Louis’ head. Louis isn’t so lucky.

Rolling over is a lot of effort. It’s not helped by the fact that Harry is unwilling to let him go, clutching at Louis’ belly, then his hips and back as he tries to move. By the time Louis is finished he feels sweaty and irritable, and he doesn’t even want to think about the eight hours of driving he has ahead of him.

God. Maybe they should have agreed to having a driver. Seems like that would make this whole thing a little less complicated.

“Harry,” Louis grumbles, batting ineffectually at Harry’s face. His voice is sleep shot, losing the first syllable altogether. He’s still sleepy, cranky and irritable, and he wants Harry’s attention.

“Sleep,” Harry repeats. His lips barely part as he says it, eyes still closed. He looks like he could fall back into sleep at any second.

Louis bats at him harder, slapping his cheek in the process. “The light,” he complains.

Harry cracks one eye open, looking at him. “What am I supposed to do about that.”

It’s not a question, coming out mildly annoyed and low. Louis huffs, slapping a hand against Harry’s shoulder and using it to push himself up so he’s sitting. He crawls his way out of the little blanket nest Harry’s made them, searching for his shoes.

Harry groans, loud enough that Louis looks over his shoulder at him. “Don’t be cranky,” he says, face still half buried in the pillow. “C’mere.” He holds an arm out, beckoning.

One of Louis’ shoes is peeking out from underneath a shirt. He can see it from where he’s sitting. He stares at it for a minute, considering. Going back would mean letting Harry win. It had been nice and warm under the sleeping bag, though. And Harry would probably hold him for a while longer. Louis picks at his bottom lip, considering.

“Baby,” Harry murmurs, short and already half asleep again. Louis turns around to tell him off, but Harry’s eyes are closed and his breathing is steady and even.

Well. If Harry’s already asleep, chances are he’s not going to remember this conversation later. And if he doesn’t remember it, he can’t wear that stupid smirk he always does when he thinks he’s won something. Louis crawls back over to the sleeping bags stealthily, lifting a corner and sliding underneath the top layer. He curls up with his face tucked into Harry’s chest, and it’s only a second before Harry’s arm slides around his waist.

“This is lovely and all,” Harry whispers, breaking the post-dawn silence, “but I’m not actually asleep. Thought you should know.”

Louis sighs. As much as he’d like to continue lying here in comfort, he can’t allow that comment to slide. With that in mind, he begins an attack.

Finishing his attack on Harry, eating breakfast and breaking down the tents take about an hour and a half. Once that’s all finished, they’re left standing on opposite sides of the car, having the exact same argument they did two days ago.

“I’m fine now,” Harry says patiently, arm stretched across the roof of the car, palm open. “We spent the entire day yesterday figuring out how to make this work. I’m good to drive, I promise.”

Louis tucks the keys back into his pocket, just in case Harry tries to forcibly take them from him. Louis is scrappy, and he’s always considered biting to be a legitimate form of defense, but he doesn’t need to make it any easier for Harry than he has to. “Absolutely not.”

The last thing either of them need is to get into an accident because Harry forgets himself and tries to put both his hands on Louis while he’s driving. Louis doesn’t even want to imagine the headlines that would come out of that. Plus he’d rather, y’know, not die in the process.

“You drove for like an hour before you got bored,” Harry says. By the looks of it, his patience is beginning to wear thin. Good. “You know that’s not going to be a problem for me.”

“I drove for an hour because you literally couldn’t tolerate not having your hands on me for longer than that,” Louis counters. He keeps himself light on his feet, ready to dart around the car the second Harry moves. “You’re mental if you think I’m letting you get behind the wheel.”

Harry rolls his eyes, pulling his arm back into his side. “Fine. I want to go on the record and say that I offered to drive, so I don’t want to hear you complaining in an hour.”

It’s probably only going to take half that before Louis starts complaining. Fucking Americans and their bullshit right side of the road fuckery.

“I’m not a complainer,” Louis says, pulling the door open and getting himself inside so he doesn’t have to watch the completely exaggerated face Harry makes in response.

“Of course you’re not,” Harry says faintly. Louis ignores him and starts the car.

Driving is, by and large, very boring. Louis has always preferred sitting in the passenger seat. When he’s driving he has to pay attention to the road, the speed limit, any obstacles. He doesn’t get to take in as much of the view as he would like, and that’s always been a problem for him.

Nonetheless, it’s what Louis has to do, so he does it. It’s not a particularly hard drive, and it’s made tolerable by Harry flicking on the radio and singing along. The song is something quick and catchy, something Louis knows most of the words to but can never remember the name of. After a few bars, he joins in.

It’s weird, singing with Harry for the first time in years. It doesn’t have the same feeling as being up on stage with him, but there’s something undeniably familiar about it. Homey. Actually, it’s sort of better than performing ever was. They had to be tight and in control on a stage, but in a car when it’s just the two of them, they make a competition out of who can make the weirdest sound. It’s easy. Fun. Feels very much like hanging out with his best mate.

The thought is kind of sobering. There was a time, a long, long time ago, when he would have called Harry his best mate. Even then, it was a lie, borne out of an inability to find a word that would have fit better. What they had was never really friendship.

“We should get snacks,” Louis says suddenly. He’s well aware that it’s a distraction from his own thoughts. “What kind of road trip is it without snacks?”

Harry’s head swings to look at him. His eyes are obscured behind a pair of dark sunglasses. Louis has no idea where he got them. Or when he got them, even. He doesn’t remember Harry having them at all yesterday. “Thought we were supposed to be lying low.” He says it with an American accent, one so terrible Louis has to roll his eyes and cover his laugh with a hand.

“Why are you like this,” Louis complains. Harry grins, unrepentant. “We can just wear hats or something. It’ll be fine.”

“Except for the part where Colin tries to strangle you with his bare hands for wandering into a shop in the middle of nowhere without telling him,” Harry says. He slumps down further into his seat, knees spreading wide. It’s almost impossible not to look at his crotch when he’s putting it on display like that.

Louis taps his fingers against the wheel, trying to concentrate on the road. “Do you think you need me to be alive for this whole thing to work?” he wonders. “Or could you just drag my lifeless corpse around and that would be good enough?”

For a minute, Harry’s silent. “Why,” he starts eventually, “are you like this? That’s the real question, I think.”

It’s a good question, Louis is pretty sure. His, not Harry’s. Mostly, it doesn’t seem like Harry needs him to be conscious to keep the pain at bay. It tracks that Harry also doesn’t need him to be breathing for it to work. Just needs to have Louis close enough. The proximity is all he needs.

“That,” Louis tells him, “is not a yes.”

Harry sighs dramatically. His knee jerks, banging against the door. It’s hard to tell whether it’s just a muscle spasm or whether he needs some contact, so Louis holds his right hand out until Harry takes it, lacing their fingers together.

“You definitely need to be alive,” Harry says. “You may be little, but I’m not dragging around your dead body for the rest of my life.”

Try as he might, Louis can’t jerk his hand free and keep the wheel steady at the same time. It’s a shame, too. He was going to slap Harry directly in the dick. “Oi, you’re not allowed to insult me size,” he says primly.

“It’s not an insult,” Harry says easily. “S’just a fact, isn’t it?”

Louis considers driving them off the road and into a tree. Just for a second, but he considers it. As it stands, he’ll have to have his payback when they stop.

At the next rest stop, Louis pulls into a parking spot close to the building. As soon as he turns the ignition off, he unbuckles his seatbelt, and then leans over to slap Harry in the dick before he can react. Then he scrambles out of the car, laughing to himself, and runs away before Harry can start thinking about chasing him.

The little convenience store inside the rest stop isn’t so much a whole shop as it is a couple of aisles of items. Louis takes his time perusing them, gathering up an armful of goodies along the way. He’s almost finished by the time Harry finds him, out of breath and flushed.

He doesn’t stop a respectable distance away, walking up directly behind Louis and wrapping his arms around his waist, nuzzling his face against the back of Louis’ neck. Louis ignores him, caught between choosing Cheetos and Doritos.

Ah, what the hell. It’s a road trip, and it’s not like he doesn’t have the money for it. He picks up a bag of each, stuffing them precariously into the crook of his elbow.

“You hurt my cock,” Harry murmurs into his ear.

So much for not drawing attention to themselves. Harry’s just lucky that they’re the only two people currently examining the snack aisles and that Colin and Josh are watching out for them.

“I’m so sorry,” Louis says dryly. He looks down at his armful of snacks, considering. There’s a good amount there, but will it be enough? He should probably grab a few drinks, too. There’s a case of water in the boot, but who wants water on a road trip? Crazy people, that’s who.

“You don’t sound very sorry,” Harry says. He follows as Louis walks to the fridge holding the drinks, bumping up against his back with every step.

“Oh, that’s because I’m not,” Louis says. He wiggles out of Harry’s grasp and turns around, depositing the load of snacks into Harry’s arms so he can grab the drinks. Harry takes them, waiting so close that Louis can still feel the heat radiating off him. “Do you want juice or soda?”

“Lemonade,” Harry says absently. Louis can feel him staring, so he wiggles his bum a little as he reaches for the drinks. They head up to the counter to pay. Louis spots one more item and tosses it onto the counter, just in the nick of time.

After that, the driving does go a little better. They manage to drive a couple hundred miles with minimal interruptions, only stopping a few times for some physical contact. Harry doesn’t look nearly as worn down as he has over the past few days, smiling more, seeming happier.

Somewhere outside of Redding, they stop for the night. Like yesterday, it’s fairly early still, giving them time to get settled in their campsite. The sun is still up by the time they’ve got the tents set up and a fire started. Colin goes out to pick up their dinner this time, leaving Louis and Harry alone with Josh.

It’d be a good time to get to know him a little, express their appreciation for Josh making this trip with them. It’s the least of what they could do, especially under the circumstances. Louis is sure that Harry’s going to give Josh a nice bonus, as Louis is going to do with Colin, but appreciation also goes a long way.

Instead, Louis disappears into their tent, beckoning at Harry to follow before he goes. Harry does, leaving the flap unzipped.

“I got something for you,” Louis says, rooting around in his bag until he finds what he’s looking for. Successful, he holds up a bottle of nail polish for Harry to see.

It’s nice, watching the smile spread slowly across Harry’s face. He sits down in the middle of the tent, facing Louis. “You got that for me?”

Well, yeah. It’s not like Louis got it for himself. His nails are too short and bitten for polish. “Yeah. You wanna put it on?”

“Sure,” Harry says, reaching out for the bottle.

Louis ignores him, giving the bottle a quick shake and shimmying closer before he uncaps it. He hadn’t had much time to peruse the options at the shop, so he’d grabbed the sparkliest one he could find. It’s a dark purple, chock full of glitter. He taps at his knee, gesturing for Harry to rest his hand there.

“C’mon, you know I have a steadier hand at this than you do,” he says. Instantly, he’s reminded that he doesn’t know if that’s actually true anymore. He used to be better at applying nail polish than Harry was, courtesy of younger sisters, but who knows what’s happened in the last five years. Harry could be a nail polish expert by now and Louis would have no way of knowing.

Harry doesn’t protest, his palm warm and wide as he places his hand on Louis’ knee. Louis draws the brush out, tapping the excess polish off before he gets to work.

It’s a weirdly familiar routine. Louis has done this many times for his sisters, sure, but he’s also done it plenty of times for Harry. How long has it been, though? Six, seven years? Louis doesn’t remember when he did it for the last time. It feels like he should.

“Sick colour choice,” Harry says, breaking the silence. Louis casts a quick glance up at his face, catches Harry looking at him way too intently.

“Thanks,” he says lamely, looking back down at what he’s doing. He smudges the polish too far and gets some on Harry’s skin. Before it can dry, he wipes it off with his own thumb, cleaning up the edges and scrubs his fingers against his shirt.

“That’s going to stain, you know,” Harry points out. His fingers are warm, long, dexterous. Louis sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and tells himself to stop noticing.

“You can wash it for me when we get to L.A.,” he says. He’s finished with Harry’s first hand and switches to his second.

Remembering why he decided to do this in the first place is hard when all his brain wants to think about is how big Harry’s hands are. How enormous they look against Louis’ knee. How strong they are, guitar calloused and rough. Louis doesn’t remember being this attracted to Harry’s hands the last time he did this.

Louis finishes Harry’s nails on autopilot. He picked up the polish at the shop because it was something they could control. Harry might not have his jewelry, and he might not have his usual clothes, and he might be suffering in a way he never has before, but he can have painted nails. It’s one of the few things they can control right now. And if they can control it they should, right?

“Okay, all done,” Louis says, forcibly injecting some cheer into his voice. He scrambles away, leaving Harry to wave his hands dry, and digs through his bag for a clean shirt.

In the middle of trying to find a clean shirt among the dirty ones he’s shoved back into his suitcase, Louis comes across a package of cigarettes.

“Wicked,” he says to himself, fishing it out from between a pair of socks. He opens it, meaning to take one out and light it, but there aren’t any actual cigarettes in the pack. “Fuck, that’s even better.”

“What is?” Harry asks distractedly. He’s still waving his hands gently, trying to dry the polish.

Louis holds up the package so Harry can see it. “Oli packed me some weed.”

Even looking down, Louis can see Harry roll his eyes. “Of course he did. Why do you sound surprised by that?”

It’s not a surprise so much as Louis just hadn’t known it was there. If it was meant to be a surprise, it’s an excellent one. Louis is going to take advantage of it.

The car is pleasantly warm, toasty. Louis’ whole body feels relaxed and heavy, the scent of smoke lingering in the air all around them. He’s not completely baked, but he’s definitely had enough that he’s in no condition to drive.

It’s a good thing they’re not driving, then. They have all the time in the world.

“This is nice,” Louis says softly, barely parting his lips.

Harry chuckles, fingers stroking slowly across the skin of Louis’ belly, underneath his layers. “That’s because you’re like a kitten. Put you somewhere warm, where the sun is shining, and you’re good to go.”

Kittens also bite. Louis would twist around and remind Harry of that, but that whole warmth thing is dead on. He can’t help it that Harry put them into a supremely comfortable position. It wasn’t Louis’ idea to get in the backseat and get high. People think Harry’s the good one, but he’s just as corrupt as Louis is.

“Grr,” Louis mumbles, making a half-hearted claw with one hand. If Harry hadn’t propped a pillow behind his head before leaning back against the door, this probably wouldn’t be so comfortable. Sometimes he really does think of everything.

They fit surprisingly well, too. Harry’s got one foot up on the seats, the other planted flat against the floor, leaving just enough space for Louis to lie back against him, curled up with his own feet up against the window. It’s comfortable, cozy, and if anyone interrupts them Louis might seriously consider murdering them.

“Was that supposed to be the sound a kitten makes?” Harry asks. He’s still sweeping slow, soft circles against Louis’ belly. It feels so good Louis’ eyelashes flutter a bit. “If it was, you really need to spend more time around cats.”

Louis turns his head just enough to nuzzle against Harry’s bare bicep. He is wearing a shirt, but it’s just a vest. Louis doesn’t understand how he isn’t cold all the time. “Meow,” he whispers, just to hear Harry laugh again.

“Alright, you can be a cat if you want,” Harry relents. Although Louis didn’t need his permission, it’s nice all the same. “Sweet little kitty.”

Maybe Louis is higher than he realized. It’s the only explanation for why the statement sends a pleased flutter through his belly. He’s the farthest thing from sweet and he knows it. Hearing Harry say it with such conviction, even if he is talking about Louis being an animal, makes him want to believe it. Makes him ready to believe it.

It’s a good thing Harry’s not looking at his face. Louis is too high to control the expression on it. He doesn’t know for sure what it’s saying, only that it’s something sappy. Way too sappy for the type of relationship they have.

It’d be easy to let himself believe that they’re dating. Just for a minute, just right here in this car. That the circumstances that have thrown them together aren’t obscenely fucked up and that they can be normal people for once. Just the two of them in the backseat of their car, getting high together.

Maybe they could have worked if they were normal people.

“What kind of animal would you be?” Louis asks, turning his head a bit so he can look up at Harry’s face. “If you were an animal instead of a human.”

Don’t say you want to kiss him, Louis tells himself firmly. He doesn’t think he’s high enough to be blurting things out without consciously wanting to say them, but he’s not going to risk it.

Jesus, he never thinks these things through. He should have known that the thought would be in his brain, just waiting to be said out loud. Getting high with Harry was a bad idea. Sucks that it still feels so comfortable. Oddly familiar for something he hasn’t done in like seven years.

Harry hasn’t stopped touching him, hands familiar and possessive against Louis’ bare skin. He feels broad against Louis’ back, big enough to hold him like this and not have Louis think about slipping off the seat.

“Um,” Harry says. “I want to be able to say something clever and understated, but the only animal I can think of right now is a dog. So dog, I guess.”

He would make a good dog. Clever and loyal and he likes it when Louis scratches his scalp. “What kind of dog?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, so patient. Louis turns around a little more, eyes catching on the dark shadows of Harry’s stubble.

Louis reaches up to trace his fingers along Harry’s jawline, short hair prickling against his fingers in the process. “You need to shave before you start growing a real beard.”

Pointedly, Harry rubs two fingers against Louis’ cheek, using the hand he’s not got on Louis’ belly. “Since when do you have something against facial hair?”

Obviously, Louis doesn’t. Half the time his own facial hair is a result of him just being too lazy to shave. And it doesn’t look bad on Harry, not really. To be perfectly fair, Louis is pretty sure that nothing would look bad on Harry’s face. His stupid, symmetrical face. Disgustedly, he reaches up to push at said face. “You’re ugly.”

Harry pouts, lips tugging down at the corners. Louis doesn’t find him attractive at all. “That’s mean.”

“If you shave off your ugly facial hair, it might help,” Louis tells him, patting Harry’s face in solidarity. Or maybe not solidarity. Something close, though.

Harry catches his hand before he can do it again, holding it still. “Do you actually not like it or are you just taking the piss?”

“It’s giving me beard burn,” Louis says, the words coming out of his mouth before he can stop them. Oh well. At least it wasn’t something about Harry’s mouth. That would be proper embarrassing.

There’s a slight pause before Harry says, “What?”

Well, in for a penny, as they say. “On the back of me neck and shoulders.” He gestures vaguely, waving a hand nowhere near his back. “You rub your face against me when you sleep.”

“I do?” Harry asks. He tugs at the neck of Louis’ hoodie, trying to pull it open so he can see inside. “I didn’t know that.”

Louis doesn’t even make a token attempt to wiggle away, letting Harry examine his back and shoulders. It’s not exactly a rash, the skin a little scuffed up but not red and irritated. “That’s because you’re asleep,” he says wisely.

Harry’s laugh is short and quiet. He runs his thumb over the marks lightly, almost teasingly. Louis wiggles forward a bit before it can turn into proper tickling, making a high-pitched, squeaky noise that only makes Harry laugh some more. “Thanks for that, baby.”

He’s not stopping. Louis has no choice but to lean back again and grab at Harry’s hand, folding their fingers together. He presses their joint hands against his stomach, closing his eyes. His head spins for a minute, slow and lazy, before everything settles back into that soft haziness he was feeling earlier.

“I’m gonna buy you a razor,” Louis grumbles, turning his face into Harry’s arm again. He smells nice, somehow, even though he’s only been using the same cheap little bars of soap Louis has. “Gonna get all rashy from you putting your face all over me.”

If Harry put his mouth against Louis’, Louis probably wouldn’t mind the beard burn that would give him. He’s just saying.

“It’s fine,” Harry says, rubbing his chin against the top of Louis’ head. Louis’ hair protects him from feeling most of it. Ha. “I’ll rub some lotion on you if you want.”

Okay, first of all. “We don’t have any lotion. And even if we did, I wouldn’t trust you to rub it on me.”

“What?” Harry squawks. “Why not? I’m trustworthy!”

Louis opens his eyes just so he can roll them and uses the way his feet are braced against the window to push his arse back against Harry’s body. “Tell that to your cock.”

Maybe if he wasn’t high, he wouldn’t have pointed it out. It feels like Harry’s cock is fully hard against his arse, thick and straining. Louis doesn’t know how he’s been ignoring it.

Actually, that’s a lie. He totally would have pointed it out if he wasn’t high.

There’s a bit of a pause. Louis thinks it’s Harry trying to come up with something to say, except when he does say something, it’s completely unapologetic. “Sweetheart, my cock has never lied about its level of interest in you. You know this.”

Well, Louis supposes that much is true. He doesn’t remember how they got to this topic, though.

“Tell it thank you,” he murmurs, closing his eyes again. He lets go of Harry’s hand, trusting that Harry’s arm will stay wrapped around his waist by itself.

It does. Louis hums to himself, satisfied.

“You could tell it yourself, you know,” Harry says.

Lazily, Louis elbows him. “Don’t dirty talk me. I’m very comfortable right now and I’d hate to have to ruin that in order to slap you in the dick again.” Besides, dick slapping is only fun when he’s sober. He’s way too lazy when he’s high to put in the effort it requires. Mostly the running away is too much for him when he’s been smoking.

Don’t get him wrong, he’ll still do it if he has to.

“Fine,” Harry mutters, playing up his sulkiness. To appease him, Louis holds his hand again. Very pointedly, he doesn’t tell Harry that he wants to find out what his mouth tastes like. He can’t tell whether it takes more or less effort now.

Oh well. That’s something for sober Louis to worry about later. Maybe in the morning.

In the morning, sober Louis doesn’t worry about it. At least, that’s what sober Louis tells himself. Harry doesn’t mention anything about last night, and that makes it easier to pretend that nothing had happened. That they’re still the same two people who haven’t spoken in years, who fucked each other up so badly that they can barely look each other in the eye anymore.

They are still those same two people. Something between them has shifted, though, and if Louis isn’t careful things are going to start blowing up in their faces.

The next five hours of driving are relatively uneventful. They stop a couple of times to use the loo and grab some snacks, but other than that it’s been a quiet drive. Harry hasn’t had an episode all day, hand either attached to Louis’ knee or his own hand. It’s actually been kind of nice. The landscape leaves something to be desired as they pass it, but Louis supposed that they can’t have it all.

At the moment, he’s just grateful that Harry seems to be doing better. It feels like he can’t really ask for more than that right now.

It’s still light out when they decide to stop for the day. Louis has been having a cramp in his calf muscle on and off for the last couple of hours. Despite Harry’s offers to drive, he thinks it’s better to stop while they’re ahead and has Harry text Colin to see where there’s a camping ground close by.

Pointedly, he ignores the fact that they could have driven a lot further. They probably could have made it to L.A. today if they had have kept going. It’s just that cramp in his calf. That’s the only reason Louis decides to stop.

They get their site quickly, and for a while Louis pretends to be helpful about setting things up. He’s not sure anyone believes him, but he keeps up the act just in case. They eat, and then it’s only about five o’clock. Louis doesn’t feel tired now. He’s pretty sure Harry doesn’t feel tired either.

The sun is going to start setting soon. It’ll probably be a while before it starts getting truly dark out. Louis can’t remember the last time he watched the sun set. He can’t remember the last time he meant to watch the sun set.

Now is as good a time as any. Louis grabs the sleeping bags from their tent, shaking them out before laying them on the ground. He sits down directly in the middle of it, leaning back on his elbows and watching as the sky turns pink and orange.

Harry’s been chatting to Colin and Josh for at least half an hour. Louis stopped listening when the conversation turned to American sports. He doesn’t need that kind of negativity in his life.

It only takes a few minutes before the conversation dies down and Harry’s standing at the edge of the sleeping bag. “What are you doing?”

“Knitting a scarf,” Louis says dryly. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Admitting that he’s a little miffed, even in the sanctity of his own head, is making him a uncomfortable. It’s just – Harry’s been on him like glue since the hospital. Hasn’t willingly left his side for more than fifteen minutes at a time. He’s been sitting at that rickety old picnic table with Colin and Josh ignoring him for – Louis takes a glance at his phone – forty-five minutes. It’s disconcerting, how disconcerting that is. It’s taken him less than a week to get used to having the full force of Harry’s attention on him again.

There’s definitely something fucked up about that. That, at least, is something Louis is well-versed at ignoring.

“It’s coming along very nicely,” Harry says obediently, kicking his shoes off before sitting next to Louis. “Can I join you?”

It’s a little late to be asking. He’s already here, taking up way more than his fair share of the sleeping bag. Louis considers knocking him over and taking the entire thing back. Just for a second.

“If you have to,” he says, shifting to get more comfortable. His hip ends up pressing against Harry’s through no fault of his own.

“Thanks, baby,” Harry says quietly, barely more than a whisper.

Louis leans into him, just so he won’t have to hold his own body weight up anymore. It’s been a long day, and he’s tired. “Don’t call me that.”

This time, Harry doesn’t even pretend to apologize. He wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulders, rubbing at his bare arm briskly. “Are you cold?”

Louis could make a big deal of it. Harry isn’t allowed to be calling him that. He’s even less allowed to be ignoring Louis when he tells him that. It’s a fight they’re going to have to have sooner or later, especially with Harry picking up the frequency of which he says it. He’s been saying it more and more without being out of his mind, and Louis can’t continue to let it slide.

He lets it slide. “A little, yeah.”

Instead of doing the normal thing and getting him a jumper from their bags, or even using the second sleeping bag Louis brought out with him to wrap around his upper body, Harry unwinds himself from Louis and pulls his own jumper off over his head. He hands it to Louis without saying anything, clearly expectant. Louis stares at it for a second, all too aware of how strange of a move it is.

In the end, he takes it and puts it on. It is one of his jumpers, he justifies to himself. It’d be weirder if he wasn’t willing to put on his own clothes. Especially after admitting he was cold. So. It’s really the only choice he’s got.

“Thanks,” he says faintly. The jumper already smells like Harry, somehow, warm from his body. Louis grits his teeth and tells himself to ignore it. It’s nothing. It has to be nothing. It’s not allowed to be something.

Harry doesn’t answer, hugging him close again, chin resting against the top of Louis’ head. It’s a position he can’t see Louis’ face in, at least, so Louis allows himself the luxury of closing his eyes for a minute, breathing it in. This situation is quickly getting out of hand, and he knows he needs to put a stop to it. Create some boundaries, some rules. Something. Anything, really.

Instead of doing any of that, he sits there while the sun finishes setting, huddled up against Harry’s side. The crackle of the fire hits his ears every once in a while, the odd sound of an animal or an insect nearby, but other than that it’s quiet. Peaceful.

As it starts to get dark, stars start becoming visible. Louis looks up at them, daydreaming about nonsense for a minute. He can feel Harry watching him, eyes fixed on the side of Louis’ face. It’s a nice, cared for feeling, one Louis isn’t used to.

“Do you know the names of the stars?” he asks suddenly.

Harry squeezes him a little before he answers. “Like, the constellations? Some of them, yeah.”

He could be lying about that. Louis sits up straight, pushing Harry’s arm off his shoulders. He gets up onto his knees, prodding at Harry’s chest. “Lie down.”

Harry doesn’t even bother asking him what for before doing it, flopping down onto his back and spreading his limbs akimbo. He looks ridiculous. Louis spares a second to really take it all in before slapping at Harry’s knee until he widens his legs, making space for Louis to lie down as well. Head resting on Harry’s chest, looking up at the sky, he feels at ease. Safe.

Those are the kinds of thoughts that get him into trouble. He shakes his head to clear them a little, but there’s no use denying it. It’s always going to be the truth.

“Okay, so you see that one?” he asks, pointing up at the sky with one hand. There’s a cluster of stars in that general direction, one that looks suspiciously like an actual constellation he might have seen in a book once or twice. Harry lifts his own hand, trailing it up along Louis’ arm until it’s over Louis’, pointing in the same direction. “That one, yeah. That one’s called Ursa Canis Lupus. You see how it’s shaped like a dog?”

Harry turns his hand over, fingers trailing along Louis’ skin. “Ursa Canis Lupus,” he repeats. His chest rumbles against Louis’ back as he talks. It’s a nice feeling. “I don’t see it.”

“Okay, look,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s wrist and changing the direction he’s pointing in just a fraction. “These seven stars here, you see it? There’s the head, the body, and the tail.”

There’s absolutely no dog up there. Or maybe there is, but it’s definitely not anywhere close to where Louis is pointing.

“Oh, now I see it,” Harry says, clearly lying through his teeth. Louis bites back a laugh, nodding his head.

“Exactly. This constellation was named after a great ancient Roman dog warrior named Felix Julius Caesar the seventh.”

“Felix Julius Caesar the seventh,” Harry says. He’s laughing a little even as he says it. “What happened to the first six?”

That’s a good question. Luckily, Louis doesn’t need to come up with an answer for it. He pulls Harry’s arm down to rest against his belly and starts telling a grand, epic, entirely untrue story of Felix Julius Caesar the seventh.

“That’s not the story I’m telling right now, Harold,” he says primly. Harry’s hand is warm and casual even through the two layers Louis has got on. “Anyway, as I was saying, Felix Julius Caesar the seventh was an epic warrior. He started off as a measly stray dog and quickly rose through the ranks during the Great Rat War of – a year that’s been redacted, the war was that bad.”

“The Great Rat War?” Harry interjects.

Louis ignores him and keeps going. “One day, at the height of the war, Felix was sent on a harrowing solo mission. He knew he would face great obstacles during this mission, and accepted it with grace. If he was successful, he would retrieve the prized dog sword that would help bring an end to the war that had been raging on for years.”

“I thought you said the war only lasted a year,” Harry mutters. Louis elbows him and keeps going.

“Throughout the mission, Felix faced several dragons, a lava monster, and at least three trolls. Each obstacle he passed awarded him a new skill that he would use against the final test.”

Harry pins Louis’ arm back down against his stomach, sneaking his hand into the pocket of Louis’ hoodie. “Wait, is this about a Roman warrior dog or some kind of fucked up children’s story?”

Grudgingly, Louis allows his arm to be captured. Lulling Harry into a false sense of security always requires a degree of patience Louis seldom has. They’ve got nothing but time now, though. Maybe he can manage it.

“Both. Now shut up and let me tell the story without your constant interruptions. Honestly, it’s like you think this is a conversation or something. As I was saying, Felix gained a ton of new skills as he set out to accomplish his mission. Finally, on the eve of All Saintly Dogs day, he came face to face with his final challenge. There, looming over him, was a giant stone cat.”

He pauses for dramatic effect. Exactly as intended, Harry says, “Stone?” in a put-upon, vaguely childish tone of excitement.

God, Louis loves when he does that. No one has ever gone along with his ridiculous stories the way Harry has. Possibly that makes them both idiots.

“Stone,” Louis confirms. The stars twinkle above them, pretty and far away. “Almost like a gargoyle, except in cat form. And cats, naturally, are Canis Lupus’ greatest enemy. So Felix knew right from the start that this would be a battle for the ages. And it was, the two of them exchanging blows, kicks and scratches. Try as he might, Felix couldn’t seem to get the upper hand on the Great Cat Warrior. He took hit after hit, becoming bloodier and weaker with each one, until he fell into a large puddle at the bottom of a very small hill. Lying there, he lamented all of his life choices that led him to that very moment.”

“This isn’t another one of your stories where everyone dies in the end, is it?” Harry asks. “I’m not in the mood for one of those.”

He’ll be in the mood for whatever Louis tells him to be in the mood for. This hadn’t been one of those stories, but now he’s tempted to turn it into one.

Alas, a truly great storyteller doesn’t sell-out their ending just because some curly haired prat is being obnoxious. Louis will stay the course.

“Quiet,” he demands, wriggling a little. Harry’s breath hitches audibly and he falls silent, which is the exact result Louis has been going for. “As Felix is lying there, facedown in muddy water, he remembers all the skills the previous battles had taught him. Leaping up, he combines all those newfound skills, turning them into something even newer, something even better, and attacks the Great Cat Warrior with gusto. In the end, Felix defeats the Great Cat Warrior, but it turns out that all the skills he thought were going to help him were actually completely useless. The thing that actually defeated the Great Cat Warrior was the water on Felix’s paws from lying in that muddy puddle. Felix takes the prized dog sword back to Rome, where he ends the war by impaling it in a giant oak tree.”

For a minute, Harry’s silent. Louis wiggles a little more, turning his head so he can make out Harry’s expression. Finally, Harry asks, “Is there supposed to be some kind of moral to this story? If there is, I’m totally missing it.”

“Of course there is,” Louis says, scoffing. He turns all the way to face Harry, planting his elbow on Harry’s chest to help him. Harry looks up at him, amused, and sometimes Louis really can’t take the way his face looks. Now is one of those times. “The moral of the story is that you should always listen to me and that I’m always right.”

Slowly, a smile spreads across Harry’s face. It’s a smile that’s clear about being grudging, about being reluctant. Louis helps him force it back down with two fingers. Their faces are close enough that he could count Harry’s individual eyelashes if he wanted to. Or his beard hairs. Not that Louis wants to.

“Of course you are, sweetheart,” Harry says. “That’s what I love most about you.”

Now that Louis has turned over, Harry’s hand is resting low on his back, just above the swell of his arse. It’s so distracting that he barely hears what Harry is saying, unable to force his attention away from the feeling. It’s not even like Harry’s pressing down or anything. His hand is just resting there, as innocent as a hand just above the arse can be. He must not realize he’s doing it.

If he does realize he’s doing it, that’d turn this into an entirely different situation. At this point, it doesn’t really matter whether he knows he’s doing it or not. Louis has to believe that he doesn’t.

“Good,” Louis says, forcing himself to turn around again and settle back against Harry’s chest. “It’s your turn to tell me about one now.”

There’s a bit of a pause, Harry’s hand stroking idly against Louis’ belly, over his hoodie, before he points up at the sky randomly and starts talking. It takes a couple minutes before Louis can breathe properly again.

Louis is browsing the crisp aisle in a gas station when he hears it. Honestly, it’s his own fault for forgetting. It’s just – Harry has been doing so well lately. There hasn’t been a single incident. Not even the hint of an incident. Louis hadn’t even been thinking about it when he’d pulled up to the pump. Harry had been asleep for the last two hours, the tank had been nearing empty, and Louis had just gotten out of the car. Waking Harry up hadn’t even crossed his mind.

The screaming is loud enough that Louis can hear it inside the building. He drops everything he’d been holding right onto the floor and bolts for the door, panic racing through him. His heart is slamming against his ribcage, adrenaline pounding in his veins. It’s a short walk to the car, only parked outside. It feels like it takes forever to get there, shoes slipping against the concrete like the ground is much wetter than it actually is.

He sees Colin and Josh out of the corner of his eye, right behind him. He reaches the car and yanks the door open, diving inside face first. He has to scramble over the console to reach Harry, and he really should have thought this through, but there wasn’t time for thinking. There was only time for reacting.

“Harry,” he says. It comes out sounding as desperate as he feels, and maybe it’s because Harry’s been so stable lately. Maybe him seeming normal over the past few days has lulled Louis into a false sense of security. “Harry, you’re fine. You’ve gotta stop screaming.”

He probably bruises Harry’s thighs in his efforts to get into his lap. The car is too small for all of this, the two of them cramped together in the passenger seat. For once, Harry doesn’t do anything to help him, his entire body stiff underneath Louis’. It doesn’t do anything to lessen the panic in Louis’ chest. If he’s not careful, they’re both going to end up way worse than they are right now.

With that thought in mind, Louis takes five seconds to breathe, ignoring the way Harry’s still screaming. He can’t help Harry if he can’t breathe properly, he tells himself. Vaguely, he’s aware of someone else getting into the car with them and pulling the door closed. He casts half a glance over his shoulder just to make sure it’s not someone random, and re-focuses on Harry when he sees it’s Josh.

“Please, babe,” Louis says. He’s got his knees on either side of Harry’s legs, so he manages to brace himself when the car starts moving. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

He thinks Harry’s screams might have lessened in volume, but they haven’t stopped. They haven’t even come close to stopping, actually. His chest is jerking against Louis’ with the force of them, pain and anguish written all over his face. This isn’t working the way it did before. It doesn’t seem to be helping him at all.

“I’m right here,” Louis says. He strips his shirt off over his head without thinking about it, hurling it into the backseat. “H, I’m here. I’m here.”

Harry is solid and uncooperative. Louis can’t get his shirt off of him, so he gives up halfway through, yanking one of Harry’s hands up and pressing it against the mark on his shoulder. “Please,” Louis says, hating the way his voice is trembling, “Please, Harry – ”

It must be enough to knock some kind of consciousness into Harry. He stops screaming, but his eyes don’t open, face still wracked with pain, and Louis doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to help him.

“I need you to be okay,” Louis says, tipping his forehead against Harry’s and closing his eyes. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until tears start dripping off his face.

“Baby,” Harry whispers. Louis can’t convince himself to open his eyes and check whether Harry is coherent or not, clinging to him like he’s the one in pain. All the emotions he’s been trying to shove back down since this whole thing started feel like they’re going to leak out of him, and he doesn’t know how to make anything better. How to make anything easier.

How does anything get better after something like this? Is that even possible? Once Harry’s cured of whatever this is, where does their relationship go? Do they go back to basically being strangers who never talk again? Do they text for a while before things taper off and they pretend like that’s normal? How can they keep pretending like any of this is normal?

It takes a while before Louis realizes that their roles have pretty much reversed. Harry’s murmuring nonsense in his ear, rubbing his hand up and down Louis’ back, rocking him from side to side a bit. It feels a bit like being babied, and under any other circumstances Louis would make it clear exactly how much he doesn’t appreciate it.

As it is, he can’t bring himself to put even an inch of space between them. The car’s not moving anymore, and he has no idea how long that’s been the case for. It doesn’t feel safe here, too exposed by the glass windows, by the public setting.

“Baby,” Harry repeats after a few more minutes. He’s still rubbing Louis’ back, hand big and warm against Louis’ bare skin. “Come on, let’s get into the backseat, yeah?”

Stubbornly, Louis shakes his head, never lifting it off Harry’s chest. It feels like he’s the one with someone wrong with him, not Harry, and he doesn’t know how to deal with that. It’s not panic he’s feeling, exactly. It’s more like uncertainty and desperation.

It doesn’t even make sense. Louis isn’t exactly looking at a clock, here, but he’s pretty sure this one didn’t last as long as some of the others had. There’s no reason for him to be freaking out like this.

Ignoring his refusal, Harry reaches down and opens the door. He pats Louis on the bum once. “C’mon, sweetheart. Out.”

Louis doesn’t move. He’s not even sure whether his legs are still working. He tries to say something, but the words just get stuck in his throat. Maybe it is a little bit of panic.

“Hey,” Harry says, cupping Louis’ face with both hands and tilting it up. Louis looks at him resentfully, curling his fingers into the front of Harry’s t-shirt. “It’s five seconds, alright? Two breaths and it’ll be over.”

The statement only makes Louis more resentful. Clumsily, he clambers out of the car, taking great care to ensure his knee lands directly on Harry’s dick in the process. If Harry says anything about it later Louis is just going to claim that he didn’t realize he did it in the first place.

Harry’s right, though. He gets out of the car the second Louis is standing on solid ground, slamming the passenger side door closed and pulling the back one open. Louis waits for him to get in before climbing in after him sullenly. The entire thing only takes a few seconds.

Louis wants to open his mouth and tell Harry not to talk to him like that. Maybe even give him a bit of a lecture about it. Louis gives great admonishing lectures, especially to someone like Harry who always sits there and takes it in solemn silence. Instead, he leans back into Harry’s chest with his entire face, closing his eyes. The world feels too big, too bright, and he needs a few minutes before he can deal with it again.

“It’s okay,” Harry says, rubbing Louis’ back again. Louis turns his head a little and opens one eye long enough to see that the front seat is entirely empty. They’re alone again. “You’re taking such good care of me, baby, let me just take care of you for a bit.”

It’s nowhere near as mollifying as Harry seems to think it is. Still, Louis inhales deeply and says, “Okay.”

They sit there, and he lets Harry rub his back until he falls asleep.

When he wakes up again, his body feels cramped and uncomfortable. They’re still in the same position in the backseat. Louis’ eyes feel swollen from crying, face itchy and uncomfortable. He doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep for. He doesn’t want to know.

Eventually, he pushes himself up, sliding onto the seat instead of staying in Harry’s lap. Harry’s awake, watching him carefully.

“I’m fine,” Louis says shortly. “We don’t need to talk about it.”

He doesn’t even know what he’d say if Harry tried to make him. Nothing about what just happened is fine. Louis’ chest still feels raw and tender, and the last thing he wants to do is examine his feelings.

“Okay,” Harry says. “Let me drive.”

This again? This, right now? It’s the last thing Louis would have expected him to say after what just happened.

“No,” Louis says tiredly, rubbing at his eyes. He feels like he needs to splash cold water on his face, try to get some of the swelling down. God, he hates crying.

“Louis,” Harry says. His tone is serious. Louis sighs and takes his hands away from his face, looking at him. “It’s not that much further to L.A. Just let me finish the drive, alright? You need a break.”

Louis hesitates. Harry’s not wrong – it’s probably only about an hour, an hour and a half to L.A. And Louis has done more driving over the last few days than he would have liked. But Harry’s still unstable. He just proved that.

“Look, I promise that I’ll stop if I start feeling the pain again,” Harry says. There’s no parts of their bodies touching anymore. Louis misses the warmth. “Just let me do this for you, alright? I need to do this for you.”

Louis’ lips are dry. He licks at them briefly and thinks. “Okay,” he settles on.

“Okay,” Harry says. There’s no mistaking the relief in his voice.

Louis would love to be able to say that he jerks awake with a start. That he realizes he’s fallen asleep and instantly knows he should regret it. That he wakes up coherent and able to take back control of the situation.

He doesn’t. No, Louis wakes up slowly, with the vibrations of the car still humming under his cheek where it’s pressed up against the window. He wakes up peacefully, drifting slowly out of a pleasant dream. It’s a long, slow process. His brain takes several minutes to come back online, and when it does, his first thought isn’t oh fuck where are we. It’s could go for a snack right about now.

He doesn’t even realize something’s wrong as he watches trees pass by. All trees look the same in California, don’t they? He doesn’t know enough about Californian foliage to know that something’s off just by that. For a minute, he stares out the window, awake but not alert, slowly registering the soft hum of Harry’s voice singing along to the radio. Harry’s right hand is resting on top of Louis’ thigh, fingers splayed out wide, covering a lot of flesh. Louis stares at it for a minute, chin tucked against his chest, before rolling his head to look at Harry proper.

That’s when he realizes. He sits up properly, glancing out the driver’s side window. “Where are we?”

“California,” Harry tells him cheerfully. His fingers flex against the inside of Louis’ thigh, a dead giveaway that he’s lying.

Well. Maybe he’s not lying about them still being in California, but he’s definitely not telling the truth, that’s for sure.

“Are we still on route to L.A.?” Louis demands, knocking Harry’s hand off his thigh. Harry only gets those kinds of privileges when he’s being good.

A few seconds pass in silence. “Yes,” Harry answers belatedly.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Louis informs him. “Pull over. Right now.”

He knew he shouldn’t have let Harry drive. Are Colin and Josh even behind them anymore? He wouldn’t put it past Harry to try to lose them.

“There’s nowhere safe to pull over right now,” Harry says, foot steady on the gas. He doesn’t slow down even a little.

Anger surges up in Louis’ chest. He doesn’t try pushing it back down. If there’s ever a time to be appropriately angry, it’s now. “Harry. Where are we.”

“We’re still in California,” Harry says easily. “Just a little off course is all.”

A little off course. What exactly is a little off course? California’s a big fucking state and Louis has been asleep for – he glances at the clock – at least two hours. Maybe more.

“Harry,” Louis says sharply, slapping lightly at Harry’s hand where it landed on the console, “Pull the fuck over.”

His better judgment had been telling him something like this would happen, but Louis had ignored it. He’d ignored it because he actually does really hate driving, and he’d wanted to believe that Harry would keep to the route the GPS had set for them. He’d ignored it because Harry had seemed so earnest, so sincere. So much like he’d wanted to take care of Louis.

Wanting to believe something has always been one of his biggest downfalls.

Harry takes his time answering. “I’m not going to do that. We’re almost there, anyway.”

Louis’ muscles strain with the urge to reach over and yank at the wheel, force Harry to pull over. He doesn’t, because that’s obviously a very dangerous thing to do, but for a second he wishes he was reckless enough. “Almost where?”

He can’t force Harry to pull over, and he can’t start screaming because it might distract Harry enough to get into an accident. Without those two options, he doesn’t know what to do. Accepting this isn’t something he wants to consider as an option.

“You’ll see,” is all Harry says. Louis could ask a thousand more questions, but he’s got a feeling he’s not going to get a satisfactory answer to any of them. Instead, he slams himself back against his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at the road in front of them.

As soon as the car stops, he’s going to explode. Actually, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. He might just start screaming and refuse to stop. It feels like he’s got at least five minutes worth of screaming in him. If he can’t put words to what he’s feeling, he might as well use his voice.

True to Harry’s word, he does pull over a few minutes later. There’s nothing special about the spot – he’s literally pulled off the road and onto the shoulder. There’s nothing here. Not even signage about something being near here.

“What the fuck,” Louis says, turning to look at Harry.

Harry’s already getting out of the car, seatbelt unbuckled before he’s even pulled the keys out of the ignition. He doesn’t give Louis a chance to catch up, disappearing into the trees lining the road.

Acute panic starts to form in Louis’ chest. It’s something he has to try to push back, scrambling to get his own seatbelt undone and out of the car. He practically falls flat on his face as he tries to get out, foot getting stuck along the way.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he shouts into the air. A car pulls up behind theirs on the shoulder, but before he can start to worry about that too, he recognizes Josh sitting behind the wheel.

“Hurry up,” Harry’s voice floats back to him. Before Louis can think it through, he’s grabbing a rock from the ground and hurling it into the trees with as much force as he can muster.

The only sound is it hitting the ground again, a good distance away. Louis can’t decide whether it’s a good thing that he hadn’t managed to hit Harry or not.

“What’s going on?” Colin asks, getting out of the car.

Louis looks at him for a second before looking back in the direction Harry had disappeared. “Fuck you,” he screams, uncaring of how childish it seems. He turns his attention back to Colin, shrugging one shoulder. “Harry’s being a fuckhead again.”

Colin raises his eyebrows, shoving one hand into his jacket pocket. “Do you want me to go after him?”

Kind of. If only so Louis doesn’t have to be the one dealing with Harry’s shit all the time. He knows how unrealistic that is, though, so he swallows it back down and shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says curtly. None of this is Colin’s fault, but Louis is having a hard time getting his voice to convey that.

He doesn’t listen to Colin’s response, stalking off in the direction Harry had disappeared into. It’s warm outside, the sun beating down through the trees, and that makes Louis angrier. Fuck California for being bright and sunny. He misses England and the more frequent rain. Rain would match his mood right now.

“Harry Styles,” Louis shouts, wandering through the trees without a clue of where he’s going. He can hear Harry crashing loudly through the brush somewhere up ahead, probably doing it on purpose so Louis will follow him. “I’m going to kill you!”

“Alright, baby,” Harry’s voice comes floating back. Louis grits his teeth, curling his fingers into his palms at his sides, and marches faster. The sooner he catches up to Harry the sooner he can make good on his threats.

“Don’t call me that!” Louis yells, and then proceeds to list every brutal way he’s going to cause Harry harm. None of them get a response from Harry.

It’s only a couple more minutes of walking before the trees give way to a clearing. The clearing comes on so abruptly Louis doesn’t even see the water for a second, stretching out in front of him. It takes him even longer to notice the waterfall, so filled with rage that he doesn’t hear the noise of it.

Harry’s stopped a few feet in front of him, shoes already off, toes digging into the sand. From this distance, there’s something undeniably striking about him, clad in a black t-shirt and a pair of slightly too short trackies. It’s almost enough to make Louis forget about his anger for a second.

Almost.

“Hey, arsehole,” Louis says loudly, bending down to scoop up a handful of sand and hurl it at Harry’s back. It doesn’t make contact, but the action itself is enough to make him feel a little better. “You wanna turn around and face the consequences for your actions?”

If he tries hard enough, he can ignore the fact that Harry brought him to a waterfall. It’s picturesque, and somehow entirely deserted aside from the two of them. Under different circumstances, it might be romantic.

There’s no romance between the two of them, though. There’s a whole lot of other stuff, but there’s no romance.

“It’s pretty, yeah?” Harry asks, ignoring Louis’ question altogether. He seems content to stand there in his bare feet and look at the view, so if Louis is going to get any answers he’s going to need to shake them out of Harry.

“Do you have brain damage or something?” Louis demands, shoes sinking into the sand as he walks towards Harry. “This could be considered kidnapping, you know.”

The second he’s close enough, Harry reaches out and loops one arm around Louis’ shoulders, pulling him right up against his body. “Would you just be quiet for a minute and appreciate the view?”

Purposefully, Louis stumbles a bit, pressing his heel into Harry’s foot. Harry doesn’t comment on it, merely righting him again like it’s nothing.

“No,” Louis snaps. He’s thinking about throwing an elbow so Harry will know exactly how unimpressed by all of this he truly is. “What are we doing here, Harry?”

“Swimming,” Harry says. His voice has taken on a dreamlike quality that has Louis doing a double take, trying to make sure that he’s not going to slide into a fit. It’s never happened like this before, but for all they understand about it, it’s entirely possible that it could.

Harry takes a step away and yanks his shirt over his head. As reasonably as he can under the circumstances, Louis says, “We don’t have bathing suits.”

The look Harry shoots him over his shoulder is bordering on obscene, definitely suggestive and leering. “Since when has that mattered?”

They’ve never gone skinny dipping together. Literally not even once. Louis doesn’t know why Harry is acting like they have. Like getting naked together is something they make a habit of when it’s definitely not.

“It’s always mattered,” Louis says sharply. Harry turns his attention back to stripping, effectively dismissing him. It’s an action that makes Louis’ skin prickle with irritation, enough that he reaches out to shove at Harry’s shoulder.

He only misses because Harry’s somehow already naked, moving forward to wade into the lake. Louis watches him go, stricken speechless for what some people might say is the first time in his life.

Harry’s not as pale as Louis was expecting him to be. Or maybe it’s just the way the sunlight is streaming down over him, making him look more tanned than he actually is. Whatever the case, it’s distracting enough that Louis stands there in silence until Harry is waist deep in the water.

Colin and Josh have caught up to them now, standing a few feet behind Louis. Josh sighs and mutters something under his breath. Hopefully it’s something unflattering. Louis can’t be the only one annoyed by this situation.

“Are you coming?” Harry calls to him. Water is rippling against his body as he moves deeper, walking backwards now so he’s facing Louis.

Louis folds his arms across his chest and plants his feet firmly into the ground. “Absolutely not,” he calls back. He’s not a lunatic. He’s not going to get into a random lake somewhere in California without a single stitch of clothing. Especially not when the only other person in said lake is Harry Styles, who is equally as naked as Louis would be.

Doing that spells disaster. As much as he might like to joke otherwise, Louis doesn’t actually try to make things harder for himself than he has to.

“Why not?” Harry asks. The water is nearly up to his shoulders now. A lot less of his skin is exposed, and it’s easier to breathe. “Since when have you been a chicken?”

A chicken? What is this, secondary school? Louis isn’t going to be baited into taking his clothes off just because some rich arsehole is daring him to.

“The water feels nice,” Harry says, tipping his head back to get his hair wet. “It’s warmer than I thought it would be. I know how you are about cold temperatures.”

Louis narrows his eyes at him, hugging his arms against his chest tighter. He’s not as easily baited into things as he used to be.

“It’s a shame you’re too afraid to join me,” Harry says conversationally, moving his hand and sending a spray of water up into the air. “It must be because you’re getting older. That’s what happens when people start aging, right? They start getting too scared to try new things?”

Oh, this bastard. Louis is stripping before he knows it, shedding his clothes into the sand angrily. He’s going to regret that later, he’s pretty sure, but for now he’s too fueled by the simmering of his gut to care. Harry knows exactly what to say to get to him, and as conscious of that fact that Louis is, he still finds himself wading into the water completely naked.

It’s much colder than Harry said it was going to be. Louis’ feet are barely submerged before his teeth start chattering. If he wasn’t entirely too conscious of the fact that he’s naked, he would probably turn around and put his clothes back on again. As it is, he’s already given everyone enough of an eyeful, he thinks, so he wades deeper, hugging his arms to his chest again.

Harry’s already backing away. It looks like he’s treading water now, submerged up to his mouth. The reasonable thing for Louis to do would be to yell insults until he runs out of them, and then return to the shore.

Louis is going to try to drown him. It’s the least of what Harry deserves.

Okay, maybe not drown him. Harry’s head is definitely going underwater, though, that much is a certainty.

Harry’s watching him approach, no longer backing away. His hair is wet on top of his head, plastered down around his face. It’s not doing anything to make him less attractive.

“Do you get off on torturing me or something?” Louis asks. The words slip out of his mouth without him meaning them to. He has to act quickly so they won’t sound like something he really means. “Why are we here, Harry.”

It’s less of a question than it should be. Even to his own ears, he sounds exhausted. Harry arches an eyebrow at him, floating a little closer. Louis’ feet are still touching the ground, mud squishing between his toes. He stops moving, holding his arms to his chest below the water. It doesn’t feel as cold anymore.

“Because,” Harry says vaguely. He keeps coming closer, until his feet must be back on solid ground, looming over Louis. Louis tips his head up to look at him, squinting to see his face properly through the glare of the sun.

“Because why,” Louis asks. He can’t remember the last time he was this patient. Before all of this started, maybe. Harry hasn’t done anything to deserve his patience, especially not in the last couple of hours. Louis is only here out of guilt.

He’s only half expecting it when Harry reaches out to touch him. Wet fingers trail gently down his neck, over the slope of his shoulder, travelling slowly down his arm. It’s a soft, intimate touch, but it’s not like Harry is touching his mouth, or his arse. Louis allows it, standing still while water sloshes around them.

“Because,” Harry repeats, and Louis thinks he’s going to stop there again. “Because it’s beautiful, and so are you.”

Louis has to force himself to roll his eyes, pushing Harry’s hand away. “You’re so cheesy,” he says, turning away to look at the waterfall. It’s probably on the small side, as waterfalls go. They’re standing closer to it now, so the noise of it is louder, interrupting the tranquility of the air. Between that and the distance to the shore, it’s alarmingly easy to pretend that it’s just the two of them here. That there aren’t two bodyguards waiting for them on the beach.

Somehow, he knows Harry’s coming closer and throws an elbow back to stop him. The cuddling is tolerable when they have all their clothes on, but Louis isn’t going to let him do it naked. There has to be a line somewhere, and that’s where he’s going to draw it.

“It’s not cheesy,” Harry argues, stubborn to a fault. Louis forces himself to ignore the rapid beating of his heart, staring at the cascading water. It is pretty, at least, giving him an excuse to refuse to meet Harry’s eyes. “It’s the truth.”

“Whatever,” Louis says. He wants to move away, but that would give away too much, he’s pretty sure. That would let Harry see something Louis isn’t ready for him to see.

“Hey,” Harry says, looping an arm around Louis’ shoulders and pulling him backwards so abruptly Louis loses his balance. He falls back, into Harry’s body, and doesn’t have time to struggle before Harry is continuing, mouth set against Louis’ ear, “It’s true. Wanted to show you something as pretty are you are.”

Maybe Harry is expecting him to melt. Louis has seen plenty of people fawn all over Harry when he uses one of his lines. It’s ridiculous. Half the time he doesn’t think Harry even realizes they’re lines at all. No one should be allowed to have a face like that and also be genuinely charming at the same time. Completely fucking ridiculous.

“So what you’re saying is that it wasn’t the fish you wanted to fuck, it was the water?” Louis asks. It feels like his voice is a split second away from trembling, and he doesn’t know why. It’s just a fucking waterfall.

“Can you be serious for a minute?” Harry asks. He pulls Louis closer, and for some reason Louis doesn’t step away. “I’m trying to tell you how much I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

Louis doesn’t wanna hear it. He hooks his hands around Harry’s arm and then hesitates, not pulling it down. “I don’t need you to wax poetic about it.”

He’s saved from having to decide whether to pull Harry’s arm off of him by Harry moving it himself. He steps away from Louis’ back. It’s a motion so gentle Louis can barely feel it with the water surrounding him.

“I know,” Harry says. “You don’t need anything from me anymore.”

By the time Louis has steeled himself enough to turn around and look at him, Harry has swum away, cutting through the water with clean, even strokes. He’s heading towards the waterfall, and maybe if it was bigger, that’d be worrying. Tumultuous waters and all that. Here, it’s not. The water is calm and even, not deep enough to be concerned about a riptide or anything like that. Louis isn’t worried about him.

He is angry, though. It’s not a surprise – he’s been angry for so long he’s grown tired of it. It feels like it’s eating him up inside, more than it ever has before, and he’s done letting things go.

“Hey,” he shouts, and start swimming in the direction Harry’s gone off in. He gets a mouthful of water for his troubles, spitting it back out again quickly. Saying anything else isn’t a good idea until he’s standing again, so he concentrates on cutting the distance between them.

Harry’s sitting in the water, closer to the beach. Water is lapping up around him, sloshing against his chest. He looks despondent, head tucked down, arms clearly braced against the ground to prevent himself from moving. Louis doesn’t feel sorry for him.

“Look at me,” Louis demands, getting his feet back under him. He stops a few feet away from Harry, still too conscious of his nudity to get any closer. “You don’t get to be moody and desolate, alright? You rattled my entire life when you showed up in that gas station.”

Harry looks at him, face blank. “I know.”

He’s not getting it. Of the two of them, Louis is the one with reason to be angry. So Harry feels some pain if he’s been away from Louis for too long. Louis is the one who has to keep cuddling him, who has to hold him together every time Harry starts falling apart, who has to be there for him after Harry was the one who –

“Fuck you,” Louis says, splashing water in Harry’s direction. He’s not standing close enough for it to hit him, so it just disappears back into the lake. “That’s not an apology.”

Harry’s looking at him steadily, still wearing that same blank expression on his face. “Do you want an apology?” he asks heavily, running a wet hand through his hair.

An apology isn’t exactly what Louis wants. He can’t find the words to say what he wants. His chest is heaving despite his lack of movement, and he wants –

An apology is the least of what he wants.

“I can’t deal with you sometimes,” Louis says. The words come out of his mouth without thought. They hang awkwardly between them, too honest by far. Harry doesn’t react, still just staring at him, droplets of water sliding down the side of his neck from where he’d pushed his hair back, and Louis.

Fuck it. Louis is entitled to some space after the last week. This time, he’s the one to swim away, kicking off deeper into the lake. Once he can’t touch the ground with his toes anymore, he kicks his legs up to float on his back, closing his eyes against the glare of the sun. He’s probably going to get a sunburn, and that’s another thing he can blame on Harry.

He shouldn’t be surprised when Harry’s fingers wrap around his ankle. He shouldn’t be, but he still jerks and nearly flips himself over in the process. Harry’s hand pressing lightly against his thigh is the thing that steadies him. It’s almost enough to convince Louis to open his eyes and kick Harry in the face.

“I am sorry,” Harry says. Louis squeezes his eyes closed harder and tells himself that it’s just because of the sun. “I never meant to fuck up your life like this.”

Louis is completely naked. The water is doing nothing to cover him even when it spills over onto his front. His dick is out, and the only reason he doesn’t feel self-conscious about it is because he can feel the way Harry’s eyes are fixed to the mostly healed bite mark on his shoulder.

It’s hard to figure out whether he should be offended that Harry’s not checking him out. It’s literally the perfect opportunity, with Louis on his back in the water, hand on his ankle to keep him from drifting away. If Louis was the type to drift away from other people, it’d be the perfect metaphor.

That’s always been more Harry’s deal than his.

“Okay,” Louis says eventually. What else can he say to that, really?

“Okay,” Harry echoes. “You have a really pretty bellybutton.”

Louis’ eyes shoot open. His flailing is instinctual and nearly drowns him, but he succeeds in kicking Harry in the shoulder during the process. Instantly, it makes him feel better, so he tries to do it again, intentionally this time. Harry grabs him before Louis can make it connect, unwilling to let Louis have this one even though he just said that he knows he’s got shit to apologize for. It shouldn’t make Louis mad. No one wants to get kicked in the face, right? That’s only rational.

It makes Louis so fucking mad. Incensed, he struggles harder, content to make them both drown if that’s what it takes. He must have floated closer to the beach while he wasn’t paying attention, though. Harry’s got his feet planted firmly enough that Louis can’t accomplish much of anything while he’s still on his back like this. And Louis knows, okay, he knows that over the years Harry has gotten bigger and stronger than him. Mostly it’s not something he lets himself think about. He’s got no advantages here, in the water that’s keeping him weightless and afloat.

No physical advantages, anyway. Louis has never been one to fight fair, and before he can think of the thousands of reasons not to, he reaches down and squeezes Harry’s cock.

Harry deflates fast enough that his head actually disappears beneath the surface, letting out a strangled groan along the way. Louis nearly gets pulled down with him, letting go of Harry’s cock at the last second.

It’s not like he thinks Harry’s actually drowned. He knows Harry’s a strong swimmer. He doesn’t resurface right away, though, giving Louis time to right himself in the water, treading it until he can get his toes to reach the ground. A few seconds later, Harry comes back up, spitting out a mouthful of water.

“You,” he starts, chest heaving, a couple feet away from Louis, “are a fucking cocktease.”

With that, he swims away, fast enough that Louis wouldn’t be able to catch up to him if he tried. Louis stares after him, mouth slightly open, equal parts offended and amused. He watches as Harry swims right up to the waterfall, disappearing underneath it.

It only takes him a split second to decide that Harry doesn’t get to make that kind of remark and then just leave without giving Louis a chance to counter it. He’s swimming towards the waterfall before he makes a conscious decision to, not as fast as Harry had but still efficient.

When he reaches it, he takes a deep breath before ducking under the fall of water. There’s a cave of some sort sitting behind it, not very deep. Harry’s sitting on a rock, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. It’s a position that obscures his cock. Not that Louis is noticing.

“I have never been a cocktease in my life,” Louis says. Harry jerks, hands falling down to his lap. Louis is irritated enough that he doesn’t even consider trying to cover himself up, giving Harry the chance to look at him completely naked for the first time in –

Actually, it might be the first time ever.

“Baby, you’ve cockteased me so many times it’s like I pay you for it,” Harry says. He’s looking, now, unashamedly checking Louis out with long, slow sweeps down his entire body.

Louis bristles, squaring his shoulders. “Name one time I’ve ever done that.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at him, more mocking than it is questioning. “You really want to open that particular can of worms?”

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to,” Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest. It doesn’t do anything to cover his nudity, but that’s okay. The way Harry’s looking at him, appreciative and heated, is enough to diminish any insecurities Louis might have had.

“Alright,” Harry says, dragging his gaze back up to Louis’ face. “You mean aside from every time you’ve sat in my lap over this last week?”

The only reason Louis had sat in his lap at all is because of Harry’s screaming. Doesn’t count.

“You wiggle, you know,” Harry says conversationally. His tone is hard to decipher. Louis can’t tell whether he’s amused or frustrated. Maybe he’s both. “Much more than necessary. And don’t give me any shit about trying to get comfortable – you do it on purpose and you know it.”

Louis opens his mouth to deny. Harry cuts him off, continuing, “You did it before, too,” in a steady voice. “You did it regularly for like, the first three years. I can’t even remember the amount of times you’ve ‘accidentally’ touched my cock in passing. You get flirty and suggestive and then run away the second it gets too intense for you.”

By the end of his speech, there’s no longer any doubt about whether he’s frustrated or not. He’s gripping his hands together in his lap so hard his knuckles have turned white. “Do you know how many times you’ve given me your fuck me eyes? I don’t, because I literally can’t count that high. You’re sweet, and you’re needy, and you’re also a horrible tease.”

It’s almost too much information to process. They stare at each other in silence for several long, ticking seconds. Harry’s breathing hard, shoulders heaving, eyes gone dark green. He looks exactly like someone who just tried to assassinate Louis’ entire personality, and Louis –

Louis is back to being angry again.

“Do you understand how offensive this is?” he demands, throwing his arms out again, talking with his hands as much as with his voice. “For you to just come in here and call me a cocktease – ”

Harry interrupts him again, standing up from the rock. He doesn’t come any closer, swaying a little in the sand. “Do you understand what you’re like?” he demands right back. “Five fucking years of that, and then nothing. And now you’re right back to doing it again, and you’re about to do my head in.”

Louis throws a handful of sand at him. “Fuck you,” he snarls, bending down to scoop up another. Harry tackles him before he can grab it, slamming him down into the sand with his full body. He’s only trying to prevent Louis from flinging it into his face, Louis is pretty sure.

Unlike all the other times Harry’s tried to pin him down, Louis is actually angry. His struggle is much more vicious this time, using his elbows and his knees. Every tool he has at his disposal, really. Harry must not be putting his all into it, because it’s pretty easy for Louis to slip away, spinning around on his knees so he doesn’t put his back to Harry.

“I’m not a cocktease,” Louis says. He’s giving Harry a chance to take it all back, even if he doesn’t mean it when he does.

Harry gazes at him evenly. “If you weren’t, we would have had sex by now.”

There’s a sharp pain in Louis’ ribcage. It’s almost impossible to ignore. He presses his hand against it, looking at Harry’s face. His stupid, gorgeous face, the same one Louis has been attracted to for ten years. Not for the first time, he wishes he could control what his body is turned on by.

“If you call me that one more time, I’m going to punch you in the face,” Louis warns him.

A beat of silence ticks by. “Cocktease,” Harry says, mouth forming the word much more obscenely than necessary.

Louis lunges for him, knees slipping against the sand. He’s going to make good on his threat, break Harry’s nose or something, show him how much of an arsehole he’s being. Harry catches him before he can finish falling, hauling him upright. It puts Louis in the perfect position to deliver that punch. Instead, he slams their mouths together, and hates that he’s the one who made the first move.

They’re kissing, wet and desperate. Louis’ chest aches, trying to press closer. Harry’s mouth tastes like lake water, a little salty from the crisps he was eating in the car before Louis accidentally fell asleep. It’s a rough, brutal kiss, and Louis needs so much more of it he can barely breathe. He’s already hard, has no idea of when that happened, and can’t resist the urge to stick his hand down to check if Harry is too.

Harry is. His cock is firm and hot in Louis’ hand, straining to fit against his palm the second Louis touches it. He’s so big. Logically, that’s something Louis already knew. Half the world already knows that, and none of them needed to see it. He starts stroking automatically, big cock in his hand just begging to be touched, and who is Louis to say no to that?

Breaking away from the kiss with a strangled moan, Harry grips Louis’ wrist, halting his movement. “Don’t try to prove something to me.”

His grip only gets tighter when Louis tries to move his hand again. It’d be a more efficient refusal if he didn’t kiss Louis again in the same breath, biting at his bottom lip, trying to tug his mouth open. Louis’ knees try to spread right there in the sand, thighs trembling from how much effort it takes not to let himself go slutty and wanton.

“I’m not,” Louis says, out of breath. He feels dazed and turned on, the sound of the waterfall matching the jagged beating of his heart. “I don’t need to prove anything to you.”

He rubs the thumb of his free hand against the head of Harry’s cock, hot and wet against his fingertip. He doesn’t need to prove anything to Harry, that’s true. He still wants it in him.

“So why now, then?” Harry demands. It’s challenging, like he thinks there’s some part of Louis that’ll shy away from it if he just says the words out loud. Like he thinks there’s any part of Louis that doesn’t think Harry’s cock is pretty enough to have wanted it for years.

“Because I want to,” Louis spits out, curling his other hand around his own cock. The movement drags Harry’s attention down, eyes fixed on the way Louis starts jerking himself off. The last thing he owes Harry is an explanation. If Harry doesn’t want this, it’s fine. Doesn’t mean Louis isn’t going to get himself off, though.

“You want it?” Harry repeats, flicking his gaze back up to Louis’ face. Louis can barely pay attention to the way Harry’s watching him, knees threatening to give out from underneath him. The pleasure of his own hand is so intense, so much more than normal. It’d be even better if he was on his back, if he didn’t have to worry about tipping over.

Louis makes a low, hungry noise of agreement. They’re so close he can smell Harry, the salty tang of sweat where the soap-scent has worn off, overwhelming and addictive. He feels like he’s out of his mind already, so close to coming just from this. It doesn’t make any sense. He can’t get his head to stop spinning.

Harry kisses him again instead of responding. It’s all teeth and tongue, not gentle in the slightest, and Louis doesn’t realize he’s being knocked over until he’s already on his back in the sand.

“Alright, baby,” Harry’s saying, low and fierce. Before Louis can call him out on it, Harry’s gathering up both of their cocks in one big hand, all heat and pressure. He loses all the breath in his lungs the second Harry starts stroking, making so much noise he’s not sure that the sound of the waterfall is capable of covering it.

It’s already hard to breathe. The way Harry starts kissing him doesn’t help matters any, possessive and thorough, tongue clashing against Louis’. He’s wanking them quickly, efficiently. Louis’ toes are already starting to curl, nails digging into Harry’s shoulders. The best he can do is hold on and let Harry get them off. Every time he tries to move he just gets knocked back into the sand, held down by the weight of Harry’s body, and he likes it so much he can barely stand it.

“Let me – ” he tries, blinking his eyes open again, twisting his mouth away from Harry’s so he can gasp the words out.

“No,” Harry says, free hand coming up to turn Louis’ head back towards him, taking his mouth again. He holds him in place to kiss him some more, fingers gripping his chin, licking back into Louis’ mouth like he owns it.

He doesn’t, Louis reminds his traitorous body. It’s hard to believe himself when he’s reacting like this, easy and malleable like he’ll bend whichever way Harry wants him to. Everything feels good, the way Harry’s touching him, the way Harry’s kissing him. Even the way the sand feels against his bare skin, a gritty reminder of where they are.

He’s going to come. He can barely get a breath in, much less manage to warn Harry of it. He squirms, hitching his thigh up around Harry’s hip, giving him more space to work. Abruptly, Harry tears his mouth away from Louis’, ducking down to suck gently at the bite mark he’d put on Louis’ shoulder, and that’s all it takes. Louis is coming, so hot and desperate it feels like his brain is melting.

Maybe everything does melt. He might pass out for a few seconds, body going lax against the ground. Harry’s still sucking at the mark, making Louis’ heart hammer unnecessarily against his ribcage. He doesn’t bite again, though, seemingly content with deepening the bruise instead of tearing it open. Just as Louis’ brain starts coming back online, Harry comes, cock still pressed up against Louis’, adding his own filth to the mess already covering Louis’ belly.

It seems like the orgasm was just as good for him as it was for Louis. He takes his time with it, the head of his cock rubbing his come into Louis’ skin, only the corner of his mouth pressed up against the mark as he turns his head to watch himself do it. It’s obscene, unnecessary, and if he hadn’t come five seconds ago, Louis would be getting hard from it.

All the reasons having sex with Harry is a bad idea come crashing back. The afterglow hasn’t even had a chance to fade yet, overshadowed by how stupid he is to have let this happen. To have made this happen. As much as he’d like to pretend otherwise, Louis can’t deny that he’s the one who hurled them towards this.

It takes him a few minutes to realize that Harry’s murmuring words against his skin, mouth wet and open against Louis’ shoulder. For the most part, they’re just nonsense words, stuff about the way Louis feels, how pretty he looks covered in Harry’s come. It’s exactly the type of debauchery he would expect to fall out of Harry’s mouth.

Somehow, there’s still something warm and tender about it. As hard as Louis tries, he can’t ignore that. He lies in the sand for a few more minutes, Harry still mostly on top of him, until he’s gathered up enough determination to push him off. Without a word, Louis rolls to his feet, ducking back under the waterfall and kicking himself off towards the beach. When he gets there, he doesn’t have enough energy to be embarrassed about his nudity, accepting his clothes from Colin and struggling into them while he’s still wet.

He doesn’t look back to see if Harry’s followed him.

It takes about half an hour before Harry meets him at the car. Louis is sitting on the hood of it, knees drawn up to his chest. It’s a very protective stance, he knows, and he can’t make himself uncurl from it.

Harry’s hair is still wet, starting to curl at the ends. “Hey,” he says, uncertain, hands shoved into his pockets like he thinks that’s somehow making him look like less of a threat than he actually is.

Louis pushes himself up, curling his fingers into his palms to hide the way they’re trembling. His heart hasn’t stopped pounding in his chest, loud and familiar, trying to tell him things he doesn’t want to hear.

“Get in,” he says tersely, pulling open the driver’s side door. He doesn’t have the keys. He doesn’t even know where the keys are, but he’ll be damned if he lets Harry get back in the driver’s seat. Making that mistake once is one too many times.

“Lou,” Harry says softly. “Don’t – shouldn’t we talk about it?”

Louis doesn’t look at him. If he looks at him, he’s going to scream, and if he starts screaming he’s not sure he’s going to be able to stop. “We’re not going to talk about it,” he says firmly. “And if you try to make me, I’m going to leave.”

Permanently, he means. And he does fucking mean it. He’ll leave Harry on the side of the road if he has to, but they’re not going to talk about it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the way Harry’s shoulders deflate. “Okay,” he says softly, opening his own door and getting inside. Louis refuses to feel guilty. He has absolutely nothing to feel guilty for.

In the car, the silence only lasts for about ten miles. It’s not Harry who breaks it.

“You’re making me feel guilty,” Louis says abruptly. He hasn’t been able to stop himself from white-knuckling the wheel like he’s afraid something’s going to hit them the second he blinks.

“I’m just sitting here,” Harry says flatly. He’s got his sunglasses shoved back onto his face, fingers laced together in his lap. He doesn’t look comfortable, but that matches the way Louis feels, at least.

“I have nothing to feel guilty for,” Louis continues like Harry hadn’t spoken. “You’re the one who – you did all the work.”

Harry’s knuckles go a little whiter, matching Louis’. “I’m the one who got us off, you mean,” he says calmly. Louis doesn’t understand how he can be so calm right now. The entire world has been turned upside down, and Harry’s just sitting there like none of it is even affecting him.

“Yes,” Louis says vehemently. “You did that, not me. You goaded me into making the first move, and then you finished it.”

He knows how unfair it is as he says it. It’s too late to take the words back, though, and he’s not sure that he wants to. He lets them hang in the air between them, heavy and accusing.

Harry’s silent for so long that Louis starts to think he’s not going to respond at all. Then, as Louis is opening his mouth to spit more angry words at him, Harry says, “If that’s what makes you feel better about it.”

For some reason, it cuts deep enough to silence Louis. He closes his mouth, staring at the road in front of him, and doesn’t respond.

The next hour passes in relative silence. It’s not the longest stretch of time they’ve driven since starting this journey. They have to backtrack, make up for the detour Harry took them on, and after that they’re back on their way to L.A. They can still make it tonight if Louis really pushes it.

The closer they get, the more Louis can’t stop thinking about what happened. There’s not that much driving left. Harry’s little detour hadn’t actually taken them too far off course. They’re going to get to L.A. sooner or later, no matter what speed Louis drives at.

It feels like everything’s going to be different in L.A. Louis can’t put his finger on why. Maybe it’s knowing there’s millions of people in the city. The chances of someone seeing them together rise the closer they get, after all. It’s not like this car has tinted windows or anything. All it would take is one red stoplight and the right person looking. It would be infinitely easier to explain their proximity if they had been publicly in contact over the last few years, but they hadn’t. There’s nothing to be done about that right now, either.

Harry’s fine for most of the drive. They stop for gas once, where Louis avoids Colin’s careful questioning like it’s his job, and then they’re back on the road. He only needs to brush his hand against Harry’s a few times to keep him calm. They only exchange a few words at the gas station, and other than that it’s silent.

They don’t find a place to spend the night until it’s already gone dark. Louis would have kept driving all night if there was any part of him that thought he wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel. This time, Harry gets out of the car the second it’s parked to help Colin and Josh set up the tents. Louis stays where he is, watching them move around their campsite.

It’s not the sex that’s really the problem here. Harry’s always been good at no-strings-attached sex. Louis – well, not so much, but it’s been known to happen. It’s not even the fact that it was sex with Harry. Louis would be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about it countless times over the years. It’s just – here, now. In this situation. When nothing makes sense and Harry’s hurting and stripped down to his core, when Louis doesn’t know what to do to make anything easier.

Was it inevitable? The question rattles around in Louis’ brain as he watches the lads finish setting up the tents. It feels like something he’s unable to answer.

As soon as they’re done, Harry disappears into the tent. He hasn’t brought anything with him, no sleeping bag, no change of clothes, nothing. So he’s just lying there, on the cold, hard ground by himself. Louis is tempted to let him stew in there all alone, but it’s nearly ten o’clock, and the faster they go to sleep, the earlier they’re going to get up in the morning. So.

Louis gets out of the car and drags all their supplies over to the tent. He makes sure to make a lot of noise as he does, both to irritate Harry and to remind him that there’s another person here he should be thinking about. He kicks the flap that Harry had left unzipped open, shoving everything inside messily.

“Come help me,” Louis demands, crawling in after the bags. He’d been right – Harry is lying on his back in the middle of the tent, arms folded under his head, staring up at the roof. He turns his head to look at Louis blankly for a second before getting up.

They work in silence, setting up the sleeping bags and getting changed. It’s heavy, almost oppressive, that silence. Louis has never handled quietness well. It’s taking a lot of effort to bite his tongue now. If he knew what was going to come out of his mouth if he opened it, he might not be trying so hard to hold it back.

If. He’s thinking in a lot of ifs right now. If Harry didn’t need him to be close, Louis would switch tents with Josh. If Harry didn’t need him at all, Louis would go back to his tour. If Harry hadn’t shown up in the first place, he wouldn’t be here at all. There’s too many hypotheticals for his brain to deal with.

He gets into his sleeping bag in silence. They’re on opposite sides of the tent, as far away from each other as they can get without being outside. It’s the first time in days that they haven’t joined their sleeping bags. A few feet away, he can hear the shuffling as Harry does the same, and then the lantern goes out, leaving them in near pitch blackness.

Curled up on his side, facing away from Harry, Louis thinks about the waterfall. About the desperation and longing he’d felt. About how good Harry’s hands had felt. About how long it’s been since he’d had sex without having to worry about his partner leaking something to the media. It’s not something Louis has ever been able to take for granted. It’s not something Harry has ever been able to take for granted, either, although he seems to worry less about it than Louis does.

You knew it would be good, his brain whispers to him. That, at least, is something Louis can admit to. Of all the ways he’s imagined having sex with Harry, he never doubted that it would be good. That it would be something worth having more than once.

They’re never going to be satisfied with only having it once. It’s only a matter of time until it happens again. Louis feels certain of that much. So isn’t it better if it happens out of desire, not out of anger and frustration?

Mind made, he sits up. His eyes have adjusted to the darkness, so he can see the lump of Harry’s body across from him. He wiggles out from the sleeping bag without bothering to unzip it, crawling unsteadily across the ground. It feels like it takes forever to get there, heart starting to beat faster in his chest, but in reality it’s only a few feet. It can’t have taken longer than a couple of seconds.

Harry doesn’t react as Louis unzips his sleeping bag. His hand is steady as he does it, unwavering. He pushes the zip down as far as it’ll go without having to bend to reach the bottom, and then slides in next to Harry. Harry’s eyes are open, watching him warily as Louis makes himself comfortable. He makes no move to stop Louis as he flattens his palm out on Harry’s belly, inching his fingertips below the band of Harry’s pants.

“Are you awake?” Louis whispers. They both know Harry is. It makes Harry crack a smile, though, the edges of his lips turning up.

“You sound like you’re coming onto me,” Harry whispers back. He hasn’t done anything to push Louis away, despite the way Louis treated him earlier. It must mean something, but Louis is too tired of thinking to try to figure it out.

What he needs right now is to be able to stop thinking. He’s pretty sure Harry can help him with that.

“I am,” Louis says, inching his fingertips down a little lower. Not enough to actually touch anything important, short hair prickling against his palm as he waits for Harry’s reaction.

Harry’s hand covers Louis’, pushing it down a bit more. A few more centimeters and he’ll be able to touch Harry’s cock. “Are you sure?”

Louis wets his bottom lip, unable to stop himself from glancing down, trying to see. It’s too dark in the tent for him to be able to catch a proper glimpse of anything. “Yes.”

He can feel Harry watching him, eyes fixed on Louis’ face. It’s already starting to get hot in here, the material of his shirt sticking to his back. Stripping it off would probably go a long way towards cooling him down. “Are you sure?” he echoes belatedly.

There were a million different ways Harry could have stopped him if he didn’t want this too. Still, Louis thinks it’s best if they’re vocally on the same page. If Harry doesn’t want him, it’s only Louis’ ego that will be crushed.

Instead of answering, Harry tips Louis’ chin up with two fingers and kisses him. It’s a slow, languid kiss, matching the way Louis’ body feels, heavy and molten. He finishes reaching down, gripping Harry’s cock in his fist, relishing the way he’s already hard. There’s nothing like knowing one of the most attractive people in the world is so turned on by him that all it takes to get him hard is the tiniest bit of touching.

“What do you want?” Harry asks, fingers still holding Louis’ chin gently. He’s propped up now, leaning over Louis on an elbow. Louis hadn’t even noticed that he’d been moved onto his back.

“You,” Louis says, the word coming out of him dreamily before he can stop it. He doesn’t have a chance to get flustered by it, distracted by the glint of Harry’s smile in the near darkness.

“Good,” Harry says softly. “I want you too. But what, specifically, do you want?”

Louis hadn’t thought this through. They don’t have any lube, and they definitely don’t have condoms. That really narrows down their options.

Like he can read Louis’ mind, Harry laughs a little, kissing him again briefly. “There’s plenty of things we can do,” he promises. “God, you really like being fucked that much that you can’t think of anything else?”

Louis can’t help the way he flushes, blood rushing to his face. It’d almost be insulting if Harry didn’t say it so tenderly, like it’s something incredible instead of something on the verge of being maligning. He’s grateful for the darkness, for the fact that Harry can’t see it.

“What do you want?” he asks, turning it around. He’s not the only one here. Harry can have some say in how he wants this to go. It might be the only time Louis lets him.

Something flashes across Harry’s face, so brief Louis has no chance of reading it. “I asked you first,” is what Harry says. Somehow, Louis knows it’s not what he was thinking.

“We’re not going to play that game,” Louis says breathlessly. He’s got Harry’s cock in his hand, so he puts it to good use, dragging his fist all the way up, squeezing at the head. “You’re the one going on about all the things we can do, why don’t you just choose one of them?”

If it wasn’t so dark, Louis would have sworn that Harry’s eyes go a little bit darker. He realizes, abruptly, that he just gave Harry free reign to do whatever he wants to him. The thought makes his own cock throb, trapped beneath two layers because Louis thought it would be safer, for some reason.

Safety is overrated anyway. Who needs it.

“You gonna give me anything I want, baby?” Harry asks, bending his head to mouth at Louis’ neck. His tongue is hot and wet, drawing shapes against Louis’ skin, and Louis doesn’t know that he’s ever wanted to be fucked so badly in his life. God, he hates that his body likes Harry’s cockiness so much. It makes it so much harder to deflate his ego an inch or two.

“Not anything,” Louis manages. He presses his thighs together, unsure of whether to be grateful that Harry’s not between them or pissed off.

Harry brushes his fingers at the bite mark on Louis’ shoulder. It feels deliberate, intentional. Like he’s trying to say that Louis let him put it there in the first place.

Louis really fucking didn’t. He’s pretty sure arguing about that right now would only derail them from his main agenda, which is getting off. And he doesn’t want to be derailed.

“Okay,” Harry says easily. “You could sit on my face.” He wiggles his eyebrows, laviscious and over the top, something Louis can see even in the dim light.

Louis shoves his hand into Harry’s face, pushing him away. He tries very hard to ignore the instant, swelling surge of arousal sweeping through his entire body. As much as he doesn’t want to let himself think about it, the images slide through his brain, one after the other. Thighs spread wide, knees digging into the hard ground. The way Harry’s tongue would feel, wet as it licks him open. How good he’d be with his mouth. How determined he’d be to make Louis feel good.

“No,” Louis says. It doesn’t come out as strongly as he’d like it to, but it doesn’t sound weak, either. So. That’s good.

He can’t sit on Harry’s face. He wants to. The temptation to give into the offer is strong. Harry hasn’t even tried to coax him into it and Louis is already having a hard time turning it down. It’s just – Louis knows himself, alright? He knows what he’s like when he’s getting eaten out. Knows how loud he can get.

The last thing he needs is Colin and Josh listening to the noises he makes when he’s getting eaten out. Quite literally the last thing he needs.

“C’mon,” Harry says, curling back in. He’s coaxing, now. Louis can’t stand him. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

Of course Louis will like it. The problem isn’t him not liking it. The problem is him liking it too much.

Louis clears his throat, putting his hand back on Harry’s face. He doesn’t push him away this time, stroking the stubble Harry’s got going on. He really needs to shave. “Next offer.”

If Harry says it one more time, Louis is going to give in. He knows he will.

“Fine,” Harry says. He shifts, wrapping one big hand around the side of Louis’ knee, using it to tug his thighs open. He slides between them, and even though they’re both still wearing all their clothes it already feels so good. “Could put my mouth on your cock instead.”

Louis pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, sinking his teeth into it. He’s so glad it’s too dark for them to be able to make each other’s faces out properly, so Harry can’t see the wanton, desperate look he’s wearing. He wants that too, and while it doesn’t have the same extent of the problem, it’s still there. He thinks Harry might suspect that.

“Get off,” he says abruptly, letting his lip pop back out, spit slick and a little swollen. He pushes at Harry’s chest until he complies, giving Louis enough space to turn over.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks. There’s a bit of amusement in his voice, but mostly he just sounds warm and turned on.

This would be a good time to have light. Briefly, Louis considers finding his phone to turn the flashlight on. He dismisses the idea just as quickly. It’d be good, though. He knows Harry’s always wanted the chance to admire his naked arse for real. For longer than the scant seconds he might have caught a glimpse of it over the years.

Louis turns his head a bit, making out the shape of Harry’s body sitting beside him, almost close enough that his knee is touching Louis’ side. “Know you’ve always wanted my arse,” he says. Harry inhales so sharply Louis has to take a second to smirk to himself before he can continue. “Gonna give you a chance to rub off on it.”

He’s so convinced that he’s gotten the upper hand that he doesn’t see it coming when Harry reaches out to squeeze his arse. He’s not gentle about it, big hand getting a solid grip and not letting go. Louis gasps, high in his throat, and turns his face back into the pillow to try to bury it.

“I do want it,” Harry says. It sounds like the simplest thing in the world when he says it like that. He uses his other hand to tap at Louis’ hip, not relinquishing the grip he’s got on Louis’ arsecheek. “Lift up a second.”

Louis does. Harry strips his sweatpants down quickly, efficiently. He’s well-versed in this exact movement, it seems. Louis does his best to ignore it. There’s a few seconds before Harry slots himself back in between Louis’ spread legs, all hot, naked skin pressing against Louis’.

“Shh,” Harry murmurs in his ear. Abruptly, Louis realizes how loud he’d been, noises spilling out of him without him realizing it. “They’re gonna hear you.”

The thought makes Louis’ cock throb, insistent, demanding. He rocks his hips down against the soft material of the sleeping bag, unable to stop himself. Not that he tries very hard.

“Unless you want that,” Harry continues. He’s a big, heavy weight on top of Louis’ body, pinning him down. He doesn’t waste any time, hands stroking Louis’ sides, sweeping across his hips. “You want them to hear you, baby? Hear how much you want it?”

“No,” Louis manages. His voice sounds shaky, overwhelmed. He pushes his hips back, trying to regain a little bit of control. “Shut up.”

Harry’s mouth is pressing against the back of Louis’ neck, hot and open. Louis fists his hands in the sleeping bag, pushing back harder, trying to get Harry’s cock somewhere better. Somewhere it won’t feel like it’s just bumping up against him aimlessly.

“Alright,” Harry whispers. He’s barely quiet for three seconds before he’s continuing, “God, you’re so gorgeous. Never thought you’d let me have this.”

Louis’ brain tries to shut off. He doesn’t know what to say to that, scrambling for a response. Harry barely gives him time to breathe, one hand on Louis’ arse, tugging him apart gently. He slides his cock in the space he’s created, and Louis’ vision goes white around the edges.

He knows how much noise he’s making, high pitched and whimpery. He can’t seem to stop himself, pushing back as Harry pushes forward, their hips rocking together in unison. It’s a little on the dry side, only helped by the sweat between their bodies, and it feels so good Louis might be crying a little.

“You’re gonna make me come if you keep sounding like that,” Harry grits out. He covers Louis’ mouth with one big hand, hips thrusting faster. The head of his cock snubs against Louis’ hole, blood hot and leaking, and it’s not going to take much more for Louis to lose it.

Louis sinks his teeth into the meat of Harry’s palm, squeezing his eyes closed. He has to wiggle a hand down between his hips and the ground, curling his fingers around his cock. Everything feels so hot, pinned down with nowhere to go, letting himself get used by Harry. It’s so close to being the real thing, Harry’s cock sliding between his arsecheeks, pressure firm against his hole. For a second, Louis lets himself wish that they had lube. That they could do this for real.

It’s hot, hard to breathe between Harry’s hand and the pillow. Somehow, that makes it even better. Louis strokes himself faster, noises muffled by Harry’s hand but not completely inaudible. Pleasure is running through him, tingling all the way down to his toes, getting more intense the faster Harry thrusts.

“Sweetest fucking boy,” Harry groans, tearing his hand away from Louis’ mouth, replacing it with his own mouth. He kisses wet and biting, tearing Louis’ mouth open with his teeth before plunging his tongue inside. The head of his cock presses against Louis’ hole again, threatening to slip inside, and Louis starts coming, gasping against Harry’s tongue.

His eyes get a little wet from the force of it, making a mess of the sleeping bag underneath him. His toes go numb, curling. He rides it out, hips still rocking weakly as the last bit of come pulses out of him.

“Did you,” Harry says, voice deep, gravelly. He pushes a hand under Louis’ belly, feeling. “God, you’re incredible.” He kisses Louis again, so forceful all Louis can do is lie there and take it, letting Harry use his mouth the same way he’s using his arse.

Almost using his arse. Because he’s not inside, Louis reminds himself. Coming down from the high of his orgasm is hard when Harry’s still pinning him down like this, cock hard and slipping between Louis’ arsecheeks. Making him wet, filthy. He can’t do anything to help Harry like this, either, held down, trapped. Can only let Harry lick into his mouth like he owns it, both of them desperate and needy in different ways.

It’s only a couple more minutes before Harry’s coming too, hot, wet pulses soaking Louis’ arse, over his hole. His own cock throbs a little at the feeling, trying to decide whether it’s enough to get him hard again. He knows he’s whimpering into Harry’s mouth, soft, shallow noises he can’t stop. Harry rides out his orgasm with his cock still sliding against Louis’ arse, kisses slowly getting sweeter, gentler.

He’s not done, though. There’s a fingertip stroking through the mess Harry’s made, exploring and slow. Louis’ limbs feel pleasantly heavy, brain sluggish like it’s trying to turn off. That’d be a bad idea, he knows, but he can’t remember why.

“Love you like this,” Harry says, whispering the words into Louis’ mouth between kisses. Louis should be starting to feel a crink in his neck from how long he’s been holding it like this, but he only feels floaty and warm. The words are like a summer’s breeze against his skin, fleeting and caressing. His breath hitches as the tip of Harry’s thumb pushes into him, wet with come.

A thousand words run through his mind. Yes and please and deeper and more. Not a single one is even remotely similar to stop. He lies there taking it, letting Harry murmur filthy praise against his mouth, pushing his come into Louis’ hole, making soft, needy noises in response until Harry kisses him some more.

It’s a long time before Harry lets him up. Louis still feels lost somewhere in that hazy warmth of sex, digging his nails into Harry’s shoulders as he rolls him over, unashamed of his clinginess, his neediness. He doesn’t let Harry go far, keeps their bodies connected as Harry uses what feels like one of their shirts to wipe the come off Louis’ belly. He puts his head against Harry’s chest, listening to the still-rapid beat of his heart. He’s tired, but he doesn’t want to fall asleep just yet, surrounded by the warm glow of how hard Harry tried to give him everything he needs.

It’ll feel different in the morning, Louis is pretty sure. He’s not relishing the thought of waking up and finding out exactly how it’s different.

“My back’s wet,” Louis whispers eventually. He curls his fingers into Harry’s side, holding on while Harry shifts to check.

“It is,” Harry whispers back. He pushes himself up onto an elbow, enough that he can reach over Louis and snag the other sleeping bag.

Once Harry’s arranged it so it’s lying mostly flat, Louis crawls into it. Harry’s right behind him, fitting himself up against Louis’ back. It feels like it did that first night, both of them squeezed into a single sleeping bag, no space between their bodies. It feels like there’s no way Harry would be able to leave him without Louis noticing.

“Goodnight,” Louis says. He barely hears Harry say it back before he’s asleep, head cradled on Harry’s arm.

Louis is awake early the next morning. At some point, Harry had rolled onto his back, half out of the sleeping bag. His arm had still been trapped under Louis’ head, fingers probably numb. When Louis had woken up, his sleep-addled brain had figured that Harry was cold. He’d been moving before he realized it, leaning off the arm he’d been using as a pillow and pushing it down against Harry’s side, rearranging the sleeping bag so more of it was covering Harry’s body. Harry had mumbled something but hadn’t woken up, and they’re still lying in the same position now.

It’s been a few hours, Louis thinks. He’d drifted in and out of sleep for a while, catching the tail ends of dreams before waking up fully. It’s getting light out, the sun starting to shine enough to make out the various lumps of their clothes strewn around the tent. They’re both still naked, and Louis has come dried to his skin in a few places. He can’t be sure that Harry does too without feeling him up, and he’s not quite ready to face him in the light of day.

So what comes after having sex with your ex-bandmate twice? Louis doesn’t know. He’s not freaking out about it or anything, but. God, of all the ways he’s thought he might have sex with Harry, ten years down the line in northern California, in a tent, was never on the list.

It seems inevitable that they’re going to do it again. Louis puts a hand against the center of Harry’s chest, flattening it out. His hair is soft and sparse. Louis rubs his fingers through it, closing his eyes. They’d been reckless last night. Completely careless. They both know better, and neither of them had said a word about it.

“Morning,” Harry says, voice rough from sleep. He puts a hand on top of Louis’, stilling it. “Are you alright?”

It’s strangely direct. Louis bites at the inside of his cheek, opening his eyes but not casting a glance up at Harry’s face. “Are you clean?”

It’s a question he should have asked yesterday. Actually, scratch that. He should have kicked Harry right in the face the second he started playing with his come. It’s not that Louis thinks Harry has something – he doesn’t get around as much as people like to believe. Or at least, he didn’t use to get around that much. Whatever. He still gets his, and when he does he’s careful about it. Used to be the champion for safe sex, back in the day.

Still. Louis has to ask.

Harry’s hand goes tense on top of Louis’ for a second. “Yes,” he says quickly. “I – fuck. Yes. I’m sorry.”

Louis believes him. He still lets Harry continue babbling rather than cut him off. “I’m clean, I promise. I’ll get you my last test results as soon as I can. I’ll do the testing again as soon as we’re in L.A. I shouldn’t have done that, though, especially not without asking you first. I don’t know what got into me.”

He’d wanted to get his come up Louis’ arse one way or another, so that’s what he did. It’s really not hard to figure out what happened there.

It’s good enough, at least for now. Louis sits up, swinging one leg across Harry’s hips and settling down on his lap. He bends down, hands planted on either side of Harry’s head, and kisses Harry good morning. Everything that had felt impossible five seconds ago melts away, leaving the slightly sour taste of Harry’s mouth, the way his cock is already starting to thicken up against Louis’ bare arse. He wiggles back against it, only half intentional. Either the world doesn’t feel as big as it did an hour ago or Louis feels more equipped to handle it now. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Louis pulls away before it can get too heated. Harry’s got a hand cupping his jaw, and Louis has no idea when he put it there. He’s reminded, suddenly, that they’re both naked, and stretches his arms over his head, fingertips brushing against the top of the tent as he does.

Harry licks at his bottom lip, staring up at Louis. There’s no mistaking his facial expression, turned on and willing. “What was that for?” he asks. His voice has gone deep and gravelly. Louis represses a shiver, shrugging one shoulder.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, patting Harry’s cheek gently and then rolling off of him to get dressed. It feels like Harry’s gaping at his back, so Louis gives him an extra shimmy of his hips before he escapes out of the tent altogether.

At the first gas station outside of the campground, Louis pulls over. They’re not even back on the highway yet, and he can see Colin and Josh giving him questioning looks from the other car. Louis just shrugs apologetically at them, mouths a couple of random words to make it seem like he’s got a valid excuse, and disappears into the shop.

It only takes him a couple minutes to grab what he needs. Supplies in hand, Louis strolls up to the cashier, setting them down with a bland expression. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t been recognized, but if he’s wrong he’s not going to give this teenage boy anymore of a reason to blast their interaction all over social media.

He heads back to the car, bag in hand. Harry’s not even looking at him through the window, the prat. He hasn’t said anything about the sex since he got out of the tent a couple of hours ago, but he’s been especially tactile today. A lot less hesitant about the way he touches Louis, or how frequently he does it. Louis doesn’t know whether he’s aware he’s doing it or if it’s some kind of extended reaction. He’d be lying if he said he minds either way.

Once he’s sitting behind the wheel again, he tosses the bag into Harry’s lap, nearly knocking his phone out of his hand. “Happy birthday,” he says brightly, putting the key into the ignition.

“Aw, thanks, you shouldn’t have,” Harry says dryly. “Only two months too late, too!”

He makes a show of tearing into the bag, the fakest expression of excitement Louis has ever seen on his face, only to stop abruptly once he realizes what’s actually in there. “You bought this,” he says, dumbfounded.

“Yep,” Louis agrees, starting the car.

Harry swallows so loudly Louis can hear it, the plastic of the bag crinkling in his hands. “You went into a gas station and just. Bought this.”

It’s a good thing he never had to apply to universities. Louis doesn’t know whether he would have gotten in with logic like this. “That’s generally what people mean when they say they bought something.”

“Because you want to have sex,” Harry says faintly. “With me.”

Louis glances over at him for a second. “You’re really making me start to rethink that decision.”

Harry clears his throat, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning into Louis’ space. Louis sits patiently, not reacting. “You wanna have sex with me,” Harry repeats, curling his hand around the back of Louis’ head and turning him so they’re face to face.

This close, it’s impossible not react to the scent of him, cheap soap and whatever detergent the laundry service had used the last time Louis’ clothes had been washed. He smells overwhelmingly familiar, even without the expensive cologne he normally wears. Louis has to close his eyes in the face of it, bringing his own hand up to grip Harry’s wrist, resting against the side of his neck.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” Harry says, more of a warning than a request. Louis tips his chin up to meet it. They kiss slowly, lazily, definitely unhurried, and he barely thinks about what would happen if someone saw them.

“Alright,” Louis says eventually, pushing Harry’s face away. “Save the rest of that for later.”

He starts up the car and pulls out of the parking space, ignoring the soft, sweet way Harry’s looking at him. Maybe he’ll let himself think about it later, when he’s almost asleep so his dreams will be good. Maybe.

For a second day in a row, they actually make good progress towards L.A. By the time they stop in Yuba City, they’ve been driving for about three hours.

Of course, Harry’s pretty much been staring at him the entire time, eyes fixed on Louis’ face. He’s been touching, too, squeezing the inside of Louis’ thigh, holding his hand whenever Louis isn’t using it. They’re casual, intimate touches, ones that are annoyingly easy to get used to. It would be very easy to pretend that everything between them is fine, that they’re actually the new couple Harry is acting like they are.

When they stop for the night, Harry is quick to jump out of the car and start helping to set up the tents. Louis stays where he is, focusing on breathing evenly. He didn’t expect Harry to react like this. It’s possible he should have, but he didn’t. He thought it’d be something fun, something easy that neither of them would have to overthink. It’s just sex, after all, and they’ve both had their fair share of it. He’s listened to Harry fuck people through entirely too thin walls, for fuck’s sake. This is just sex.

It doesn’t feel like just sex. It’d be easier to tell himself that it does if Harry wasn’t – this. Excited and happy and a lot brighter than he’s been in the last week.

Maybe Louis should take it back. He could play it off as a particularly mean-spirited prank. He’s pretty sure Harry would believe that.

He doesn’t want to take it back. There’s an entire list of reasons running through his head about why he should, but he doesn’t want to. It might end up being the single stupidest, most selfish thing Louis has done in his entire life, but he’s going to into that tent and have sex with Harry Styles. Sitting here is just prolonging the inevitable.

Louis gets out of the car and strolls over to where Colin is sitting in a camping chair. He takes the seat next to him, stretching a foot out to nudge at the fire pit. “S’mores tonight, do you think?”

A few feet away, Harry and Josh are arguing about the proper place to set the second tent. It’s a stupid fight, one that speaks more to familiarity than actual disagreement, and it’s easy enough to ignore. What’s not so easy to ignore is the look Colin’s giving him. Wry, trying to decide whether to be amused or not.

“Sure,” Colin says. “If you’re still awake by the time it’s dark, we can do s’mores.”

There’s a sly, knowing lilt on the way he says awake. And that pretty much answers the question about whether they’d been overheard last night.

“Have I told you lately that you’re fired?” Louis asks, kicking dirt in Colin’s direction. “Because you’re definitely fired.”

It’s actually kind of liberating, knowing that someone outside the tiny little bubble of him and Harry knows about – well, him and Harry. Makes him feel better about the fact that he’d bought condoms and lube at a random gas station somewhere in California.

“Yeah, yeah,” Colin says, kicking dirt back at him. They chat about nonsense for a while, and Louis absolutely does not watch the way Harry’s back flexes as he threads tent poles through their hooks.

He absolutely doesn’t.

They do s’mores later, after it’s gotten dark. The fire crackles in front of them, marshmallows roasting on sticks. Louis has been doing his best to ignore Harry, chatting with the lads, cleaning up after yet another fast food dinner, getting changed into warmer clothes. He makes sure to take his time with everything, pretending to be oblivious to Harry’s anxious fidgeting. Whenever it seems like Colin and Josh aren’t looking, he drops a hand into Harry’s lap, ‘accidentally’ brushing against his cock. Every time he does it, Harry sucks in a long, slow breath, and doesn’t stop staring at Louis for the next five minutes.

Eventually, Louis gets tired of making Harry wait. It’s nearly eleven, and Harry’s been pretty patient about it, all things considered. Louis would be a much worse person than he actually is if he made him wait any longer.

“Time for bed, I think,” he says. He fakes a yawn, accompanied by a real stretch, and pushes himself to his feet. He doesn’t wait to see Harry’s reaction, strolling over to the tent.

Harry’s right behind him anyway, practically stepping on Louis’ heels as Louis crawls into the tent. If he sways his arse way more obnoxiously than necessary, well, that’s between him and Harry, isn’t it.

Louis falls onto the mound of bedding arranged in the center of the tent, stretching a little more before rolling onto his back. He kicks his shoes off, nearly hitting Harry in the thigh in the process. “You’re eager,” he tells Harry, for no other reason than he wants to. If Harry’s already starting to get hard, it’s not showing, sweatpants not tented obnoxiously at the front.

And it would be obnoxious if he was. Louis is reminded of how Harry’s cock had felt last night, big and thick as it slid between his arsecheeks, a promise of something yet to come.

“If I’m eager, it’s only because you spent the last eight hours teasing me,” Harry says. He grips one of Louis’ ankles, peeling his sock off and tossing it behind him. It’s way sexier than it has any right to be. Louis’ cock twitches a little, interest starting to build. “You know exactly what you’re doing with your whole – ”

He gestures loosely at Louis, one hand still holding his ankle. It’s impossible not to appreciate the way he looks right now, on his knees in their tent, broad shouldered, big hands. He looks capable of giving it to Louis exactly the way he wants it.

“My whole what?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows. He kicks his other foot up pointedly, holding it still while Harry takes that sock off too. “My whole amazing personality?”

Harry raises his eyebrows right back, playful. “I was gonna say arse, but you do have an amazing personality too.”

“Excuse you, no one told you that you could talk about my arse,” Louis says, mock offended. He’s not expecting it when Harry uses the hold he’s got on Louis’ ankles to yank him up into his lap, arse resting against Harry’s thighs. Louis yelps, twisting in Harry’s new, more secure hold.

“God, I can’t wait to know what you’re going to be like when you can make as much noise as you want,” Harry says wonderingly. He slips his hands under Louis’ back and hauls him up before Louis can come up with a response.

Somehow, he manages to make their mouths meet without either of them chipping a tooth, despite the strength and maneuvering he’s got to use. Louis is reluctantly impressed. He is absolutely not going to tell Harry that.

It should be an awkward position, all of his weight resting on Harry like this. Any thoughts of that fly out of Louis’ head the longer Harry kisses him for, deep and easy like he’s had plenty of time to think about it. He’s a good kisser. Knows how to use his tongue, when to use it. Louis already knew that.

“Come on,” Louis says, turning his head and breaking the kiss before he’s ready for it. He already wants to turn back, let Harry kiss him some more. He also wants to have sex. “Hurry up.”

Harry sucks a mark into the column of Louis’ throat before he responds. “It’s important to me that you know I’m only obeying because I have a vested interest in your arse and not because you told me to.”

God, it’s ridiculous that he’s still so hot even when he’s spouting nonsense like that. Louis wants to slap him in the face.

“You’re a fucking – ” Neanderthal, is how that sentence was supposed to be finished. Instead, what comes out is a high-pitched squeak as Harry tosses him back onto the blanket mound.

Louis barely has time to fight his way out of the mess he’s landed in before Harry’s on him again, hands hot and determined as he yanks Louis’ shirt up over his head. Seems like he’s in a rush to get Louis naked, and that’s something he can’t complain about. He kicks his trackies off helpfully as Harry shoves them down at the waist, and then suddenly he’s lying there naked.

“Baby,” Harry breathes, all wandering hands instead of getting his own clothes off. Louis tolerates it for much longer than he should before kicking at Harry’s side.

“Get naked,” Louis demands.

Harry obliges so fast Louis would have missed it if he had have blinked. He’s unnaturally good at stripping, Louis thinks to himself. Probably practices in his spare time.

“Hi,” Harry says suddenly, pressing his palm against Louis’ shoulder, directly on top of the bite mark. “You’re very pretty, and I’d like to spend ages telling you all the things I think are gorgeous about you, but I’m gonna need you to turn over right now.”

That’s – random. Louis blinks up at him, uncomprehending. It’s a look that makes Harry smile down at him, soft and sweet. Louis is just relaxing back into the blankets when Harry does it for him, shoving his hands underneath Louis’ hips and turning him over forcefully.

“What the fuck,” Louis complains into a pillow, vision temporarily blinded. He pushes himself up onto his elbows just in time to have his hips hauled up, thighs spread enough that everything must be on display. It’s unsettling, and rude, and before he has time to complain about this unfair treatment there’s a lube slick finger circling his hole.

Louis’ brain gets a little hazy. He shifts, pushing back against the pressure. Seeking out more of it. He doesn’t have to wait, Harry’s fingertip inching into him immediately.

“Ah,” he breathes out softly. Harry doesn’t hesitate, slipping his finger all the way in quickly, easily. It feels thick, hot. Filling him up.

“Yeah?” Harry asks. He presses a kiss between Louis’ shoulders, open-mouthed with a hint of teeth. Louis’ cock throbs. “Wanna give you another.”

It’s not really a question. If anything, it’s a statement. Louis nods anyway, sharp and jerky, and can’t manage to get anything out of his throat that isn’t a soft whine. He only has a second to think about whether it’s too soon before Harry is slipping in a second one, lube slick and demanding.

“Jesus,” Louis hisses into the pillow. Harry’s fingers are curling inside him, searching, and it takes him no time at all to find what he’s looking for, pressing against his prostate. “Fuck.”

Harry slots himself up against Louis’ back without taking his fingers out. He’s warm and heavy, completely naked, and he feels so good Louis considers telling him to put it in. Just – right now. With barely any prep.

“Baby,” Harry says, the drag of his voice against Louis’ ear almost as slow as the drag of his fingers inside Louis’ hole, “you feel amazing. Wanna keep you like this forever.”

Louis huffs out a strained laugh, pushing back against Harry’s hand. Like he’s being obliging, Harry moves his fingers a little faster, with a little more purpose. “Just full of your fingers? Don’t even wanna get your cock into me?”

The pressure of a third finger circles at his hole, teasing. Harry doesn’t put it inside, scissoring the two he’s already got going instead. Louis gasps, face sinking back down against the pillows for a second. He can feel how pink his face has gotten already, sweat sliding down his neck as he strains to hold himself up.

“Mm,” Harry murmurs, dragging his tongue along the shell of Louis’ ear, languid like he’s got all the time in the world. “Gonna get my cock into you.”

He punctuates the statement with a jab of his fingers directly against Louis’ prostate. Louis can’t even respond, too busy choking on a moan. He clenches his eyes shut, willing himself not to come. He’s not going to come on Harry’s fingers like this is his first time. He’s not.

Convincing his body of that is a lot harder than it should be. He knows he’s making way more noise than he should be, especially given where they are, but he can’t get himself to stop.

“You want another one?” Harry asks, kissing at the corner of Louis’ jaw. Louis nods, thighs trembling, and arches his arse up against Harry’s body.

“Please,” he says. His voice has gone thin and raspy, and he doesn’t care if it’s going to be too much too soon. He wants it, wants Harry’s fingers, his cock.

Harry listens, drawing his fingers out and pushing back in with three. Louis gasps, an almost hiccupy noise, and has to put a hand down to palm at himself. It feels too good not to, three fingers almost enough to make him come. It would be enough to make him come if he wasn’t determined to get Harry’s cock instead.

“Such a pretty hole,” Harry says, pulling his fingers out for a minute. It feels like he’s looking, and it’s enough to make Louis flush, grateful that Harry can’t see his face. “Never seen an arse as lovely as yours, you know that?”

It’s a question he doesn’t need Louis to answer, obviously, pushing his fingers back in before Louis can draw the breath to try. He doesn’t know what he would say to that, even – thanks for the obscene compliments about my arse? There’s really no words.

“Fuck me,” Louis says. It comes out mostly garbled by the pillow, so he turns his head a little and says it again. “Fuck me, c’mon.”

Instead of pulling his fingers out, Harry presses them in a little deeper. “Already? Are you sure?”

God, he’s such a fucking tease. Louis is going to have to be very careful from now on, or else he’s going to find himself being fingered for half an hour at a time. The thought isn’t as off-putting as he needs it to be right now.

“Yes,” Louis grits out, pushing back again. It’s unfair, really, how good Harry is at this. He’s got long, dexterous fingers, strong and capable of giving people orgasms. “Now, Harry.”

His voice wavers a little as Harry presses his fingers against his prostate again. It’d be so easy to get distracted by it, to allow Harry to completely take over. Decide how Louis is going to come and when.

He can’t let himself do that.

“Okay,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ arsecheek with his other hand. “Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

It’s not really whatever Louis wants, he thinks to himself as Harry pulls his fingers out. There’s a second of rustling, presumably Harry putting the condom on. Harry’s been pushy and demanding since this whole thing started, and he hasn’t stopped just because they’re having sex. In fact, Louis is pretty sure he’s holding back on how pushy and demanding he wants to be. The thought is a little bit of a turn on. He doesn’t want to examine why.

“That’s right, whatever I want,” Louis mutters, distracting himself from the thought. “Give me what I want.”

Harry laughs a little from behind him, the sound warm and familiar. Louis’ chest threatens to squeeze his heart until it pops. “Yes, baby,” Harry says, playing at obedience, and Louis doesn’t believe him for a second.

That disbelief is hard to hold onto when he feels the head of Harry’s cock pressing against his rim. It already feels big. Louis licks at his bottom lip, reminding himself that he needs to be quiet. Colin doesn’t get paid enough to hear him get fucked. No one gets paid enough for that.

Maybe he could pay Harry to do that, Louis thinks as Harry starts pushing in. He’s not exactly going slow about it, pace holding steady. It gives Louis just enough time to drag in a breath, though, shaky and unsteady as it is. It takes him a second to realize that he’s making noise, sharp and unconscious.

“Shh,” Harry says. His hands had been on Louis’ hips, holding him still. They slide up his sides before changing paths, running down his arms and curling close to Louis’ face. The heat of his chest is pressed right up against Louis’ back now, so close there’s no space left between them. He rocks his hips in a little more, all of his cock buried inside Louis’ hole. “You don’t want them to hear you, do you?”

It’s a little chiding. A little hot. Louis bites at Harry’s forearm, sinking his teeth into Harry’s skin because he can’t control himself, overwhelmed by how good it feels. He tilts his hips back, demanding. If he took his mouth away from Harry’s arm, he’d probably be begging.

“Shit,” Harry says on half a breath. His cock pulses inside Louis’ hole, hot and thick. One big hand comes down to wrap around Louis’ thigh, tugging at it until Louis slides down a little more, almost fully on his belly. “Yeah, sweetheart, just like that. Gonna give you what you need now, alright?”

The only sound that comes out of Louis’ mouth is some kind of whimper, slurred and quiet. It’s muffled by Harry’s arm. Louis grips at it with both hands, holding it close and closing his eyes against the onslaught of feeling. Harry takes the noise as assent, holding Louis’ hip as he starts to move.

Right away, it’s good. It’s so good Louis doesn’t know how he lived so long without it, without Harry’s cock filling him up like this. His fingernails dig into Harry’s arm, probably leaving bruises, and he can’t pull his mouth away. He’s getting Harry’s arm wet with saliva, practically drooling from how good Harry’s giving it to him. Short, hard thrusts, barely pulling his hips away at all before slamming back in. It’s not going to take much for him to come. It’s barely going to take anything for him to come.

“That’s right, baby,” Harry says, equal parts encouraging and filthy, hips working harder. He’s nailing Louis’ prostate on every stroke, sending shivers of lightning up and down his spine. “Take it just like that for me. Just like that.”

He continues talking, babbling the same kind of nonsense. Louis can’t take it, trapped between the pleasure of getting fucked so well and Harry’s dirty talk. He has to let go of Harry’s arm with one hand to grab at his cock, jerking himself off messy and uncoordinated. It’s almost too quick when he feels it coming, his orgasm building up throughout his body. He clenches down around Harry’s cock, only half a thought given to helping him, stroking himself faster, noises buried against Harry’s arm, and comes into his own hand.

Harry leans into him a little harder, giving it to Louis a little deeper. He’s kissing the back of Louis’ neck, sucking marks into his skin. Louis makes another noise, weak and needy for it, letting himself get used the way Harry wants to do it. It doesn’t take much longer for Harry to come, all over him and around him, shoving his cock into Louis’ hole as deep as it can get and holding it there for a few long, endless seconds.

For a while, they lay there like that, breathless and spent. Louis’ head is swimming with haze, his entire body gone heavy and boneless. He can’t muster up the energy to tell Harry to get off, even as Harry’s cock starts to go soft inside him. It still feels pleasant, filling him up, and for a second – just for a second – he lets himself wish that Harry could have done it bare.

“You,” Harry says eventually, kissing the side of Louis’ neck tenderly, “are incredible.”

With that, he pulls out, leaving Louis’ hole fluttering and empty. He doesn’t have the emotional energy to feel embarrassed about how open it leaves him, lying there naked and used. Harry doesn’t leave him alone for long, getting rid of the condom before he’s back, pulling Louis out of the wet spot. He drags one of the sleeping bags along with them, setting it up awkwardly one-handed before pushing Louis into it.

“Hey,” Harry says, hovering over him slightly. “Are you alright?”

What a time to ask, right after he’s fucked Louis stupid. Louis isn’t sure he’s capable of saying anything other than yes.

“Uh-huh,” Louis says, reaching out with one hand and grabbing at Harry’s shoulder, trying to pull him closer. “’m cold.”

It’s mostly a lie. It is on the cold side in the tent, but Louis is still sweaty enough from exertion that he can’t feel it yet. He just wants Harry to lie with him for a while. Until the morning, maybe. He doesn’t think that’s too much to ask.

“Okay,” Harry says quietly. He pushes Louis’ sweat damp hair back, off his forehead, and swipes half-heartedly at the come drying on his belly with a t-shirt before giving up, joining Louis under the sleeping bag. He presses his forehead against Louis’, looking down at his mouth. “Can I kiss you for a bit?”

Louis is going to fall asleep within the next five minutes, guaranteed. He murmurs his assent anyway, barely audible in the air between them. Harry kisses him softly, gently, full of emotion that’s too complex to detangle. It reminds Louis of before. The very first time.

Before he can think about it too much, Louis falls asleep. He dreams of being happy, of being loved.

In the morning, Louis wakes up to Harry staring at him. He can feel it without even having to open his eyes, heavy and considering. Still clinging onto the last wisps of sleep, he reaches out and pets at Harry’s face.

“You know all those jokes people make about you being an alien?” he asks, eyes still closed. His voice comes out rusty, worn. Almost sounds like he was sucking cock last night instead of getting fucked. “This is the reason why.”

He can feel the corner of Harry’s mouth curling up against his fingertips. He’s kissed that mouth. At this point, it’s safe to say that he’s kissed that mouth a lot.

“Me lying here is why?” Harry asks skeptically. Louis can still feel the way he’s smiling, though. There’s no disputing that.

“You watching people sleep,” Louis explains. “It’s something only an alien or a serial killer would do. And I don’t think you’re smooth enough to be a serial killer.”

“Or,” Harry says, turning his head just enough to brush his mouth against Louis’ fingers, almost a kiss. “And hear me out, here, or I’m just watching you sleep because I think you’re beautiful.”

God. He’s so disgustingly sappy. Louis hates it.

“Don’t try to butter me up, Styles,” he warns. “I’m not gonna have morning sex with you.”

His hole clenches at the thought, remembering what it felt like last night. Being pinned down, full of Harry’s cock. He definitely wants to have morning sex with Harry.

“No one’s asking for that,” Harry murmurs. It feels like he’s inching closer. “Just telling you how pretty you are.”

What a fucking lie. Louis is pretty sure that if Harry thought there was any chance that he could get it, he’d be begging to be allowed to fuck Louis again right now.

“You’re a liar,” Louis says, opening his eyes. Harry’s smiling at him, completely unashamed. It’s too bright for this time in the morning, radiant. He pushes Harry down onto his back and slings a leg over him, settling into his lap easily. He bends down to kiss Harry before he can refute it.

It’s a soft, sweet kiss. Harry grips at Louis’ thighs, holding him in place. Louis could do this for ages, safe and just the two of them. He wants to keep doing this forever. He knows himself, though, and he knows that kissing is going to lead to him wanting more. And he knows that they could easily spend all day in this tent, fooling around.

It’s only another few hours until L.A. They could stay here and keep having sex on the hard, uncomfortable ground, or they can get in the car and spend the day driving so they can have sex on a bed. Louis wants to find out what it’s like to have sex with Harry on a bed.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks, breaking the kiss and sitting up again.

“Absolutely,” Harry says. He’s still holding Louis’ thighs, fingers curling into his skin gently.

Louis rolls his eyes, wiggling back against Harry’s cock pointedly. “I meant are you ready to leave, not are you ready to have sex.”

Rather than looking crushed by disappointment, Harry looks amused. “That’s the question I was responding to, baby.”

That’s another lie. Calling him out on it would derail their entire morning, though. Maybe Louis will save that for the car.

“Sure you were,” he says, and kisses Harry once more before rolling off to get dressed. If that once more turns into four more, well. No one’s going to tell.

Chapter Text

That warm, morning-after glow hasn’t faded from Louis’ chest by the time they’re standing at the car, ready to get back on the road. Harry’s across from him, at the passenger side, arms resting on the roof of the car instead of getting in.

“Do you want me to drive?”

Louis laughs incredulously. “Are you kidding me? The last time you drove we ended up backtracking a couple hundred miles. You can’t be trusted.”

Harry nods along solemnly. It’d be much more believable if his dimples weren’t cratering his cheeks. “Right,” he says. “Last time I was at odds with myself, though, and I was trying very hard to resist the urge to kiss you. I don’t have to resist that urge anymore.”

“Are you saying that your version of trying to resist the urge to kiss me includes driving me to a romantic, secluded waterfall and then making a move?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. “Seems kind of counterproductive to me.”

He twirls the keys around on a finger. Harry watches him, shoulders tense like he’s expecting them to go flying at any second. He probably does. He’s never had much trust in Louis’ aim, and Louis doesn’t know why. He has impeccable aim. If his aim has happened to hit Harry countless times over the years, the problem is him never asking whether Louis was aiming for him or not.

Louis was. Only about half the time, though.

Harry rests his chin on top of his stacked fists. He’s wearing a simple black t-shirt underneath a light jacket, clothes that don’t belong to either of them, and if Louis wasn’t attracted to him he’d be jealous of how good he looks. Instead, he stands there and appreciates it.

“Well,” Harry says slowly, even slower than he normally talks, “It’s not my fault that your face looks like that.”

As far as compliments go, it leaves something to be desired. Louis can’t help feeling flattered anyway. He tosses the keys directly at Harry’s face, only mildly perturbed when Harry catches them. Turns out that a compliment can really go a long way.

They’ve been driving for about three hours now. Louis always forgets how good of a driver Harry actually is until he’s in the car with him. He’s relaxed, confident and almost unthinking about it, and that makes Louis relax in turn. He can sit in the passenger seat and nod along to the radio, stare at the scenery as they pass it. It’s much more relaxing than having to drive.

It also gives him a lot more time to think. Right now, he’s thinking about the weight of Harry’s cock hidden behind the gray sweatpants he’s wearing. They’re on the thin side, threatening to expose the shape of it if he shifts, and Louis has been thinking about that for the past twenty minutes.

They should have had lazy morning sex before leaving the tent. So what if Colin and Josh would have been even more unable to look them in the eyes than they currently are. That would have been an acceptable consequence.

“What?” Harry asks with half a laugh, casting a glance over at Louis. It’s been quiet in the car for a while, save for the noise of the radio. It’s given Louis plenty of time to think about Harry’s cock. Even just his fingers. Louis could get off on just Harry’s fingers, he’s pretty sure. Last night, he almost did.

“Nothing,” Louis says belatedly. He slides his left hand onto the center console, where Harry’s hand is resting, and plays with the fine hair on his arm.

He can feel the way Harry’s still looking at him and turns the caress into a light pinch. “Oi, eyes on the road, arsehole. Don’t make me revoke your driving privileges.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry murmurs, refocusing his attention. The brief interlude hasn’t done anything to refocus Louis’.

Still thinking about Harry’s cock, Louis drags his fingers up Harry’s arm, until they’re resting in the crook of his elbow. His skin is soft here, like the skin behind his ear. Louis rubs his thumb over it slowly, shifting so more of his body is facing Harry’s. He thinks he catches Harry’s cock twitch in his trackies, which is interesting. Trying to see if he can get the same result, he does it again.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks. He’s not laughing anymore, but he doesn’t sound irritated, so Louis does it a third time. He doesn’t catch anymore twitches.

Even so, the simple action has focused most of his attention on Harry’s cock. He’s looking down at Harry’s lap, conspicuous about it, and he can’t make himself stop. Doesn’t care to make himself stop.

“What did I tell you about focusing on the road?” Louis asks. A muscle in Harry’s arm twitches under his hand, fascinating enough to draw his attention for a second. Just for a second, before it’s back on Harry’s cock.

He knows he’s not imagining the way Harry’s cock has started to push against the crotch of the sweatpants. That’s the beginnings of an erection right there, and Louis can work with that. Forgetting about the thread of their conversation, he slips his hand into Harry’s lap, squeezing at his cock.

“Jesus fuck,” Harry swears. He grabs Louis’ hand, yanking it off before he can get much more than a quick feel. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

He’s holding Louis’ wrist in a vicelike grip against his chest, well out of harm’s way. Louis doesn’t try pulling out of the hold, but he wants to. See how far he could push it before Harry gets really frustrated and decides to do something about it.

The thought makes his mouth water. Pictures himself on his knees on the side of the road, Harry’s cock filling his throat, facefucking him fast and rough, almost making him choke.

“Wanna suck you,” Louis says softly, dipping his eyes back down to the outline of Harry’s cock. There’s no mistaking the twitch this time. “You know I’ll make it good.”

Harry’s hold doesn’t loosen any as he pulls Louis’ arm up towards his mouth, kissing the inside of his wrist quickly. “As much as I want that, it’s probably the most unsafe thing we could possibly do.”

Louis exhales slowly, pulling his knee up onto the seat with him and turning so he’s facing Harry even more. “You’re always going on about how great of a driver you are.”

Harry shoots him a look, somehow both amused and unamused at the same time. “I’m a good driver when you don’t have my cock in your mouth. Guaranteed I’ll crash into a tree within the first five seconds if we try that.”

“Fine,” Louis says, yanking his hand out of Harry’s hold and turning to face the window. “Guess you’ll never get to know what my mouth feels like.”

Harry reaches across and takes Louis’ hand again, tangling their fingers together this time. “Baby, I’m sorry I don’t want to get us into a fiery crash by letting you give me road head,” he says solemnly. “I’ll make it up to you later by letting you sit on my face.”

How crude. Louis yanks his hand free again and punches Harry in the ribs. He doesn’t say no.

“Oh, McDonald’s,” Louis says, leaning into Harry’s side and pointing out the driver’s side window. “Let’s stop there.”

Harry pushes his hand down. “How about no,” he says.

It’s not unexpected. Louis has been pointing out every drive-thru they’ve passed for the last fifty miles. He’s not particularly hungry, but he could go for a cold drink. Mostly he’s just doing it to be annoying.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, turning his hand over so he can squeeze at Harry’s fingers. “I know you could go for a coffee.”

They did have a late night, after all. Louis doesn’t say that quite yet. He’s saving it for when he really needs to pull it out.

Harry sighs, attention still fixed on the road. “If I do, are you going to stop trying to irritate me?”

Probably not. Irritating Harry is one of Louis’ favourite things in the world. He can be hard to rile up, going along with whatever Louis throws his way, but once he gets there it’s truly a sight to behold.

“Of course,” Louis agrees. “Just need some caffeine in me and I’ll be golden.”

Harry sighs again, but he flicks on the blinker and changes lanes. It takes a few minutes before they pull into the carpark, and once they do Louis realizes something.

“Oh, you can’t pull up to the window looking like that,” he says, slapping Harry’s arm.

Harry pulls into a parking spot, leaving the car idling. He looks at Louis with a sort of bemused look. “Like what? This is just what I look like.”

“Exactly,” Louis says, vindicated. “Your face is too recognizable.”

Stupid Harry and his stupidly recognizable face. Louis really wants a tea now too. If he doesn’t get it there’s going to be hell to pay.

Harry makes a face at him. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”

Louis looks at him, considering.

Five minutes later, Harry’s ordering at the speaker. Louis is sitting beside him, both hands clasped over his mouth, trying to hold in his laughter. The accent Harry is using started off American and is quickly devolving into something kind of Scottish, somehow.

It doesn’t make any sort of sense. Harry’s actually pretty decent at an American accent. Louis has no idea why he can’t seem to hold it now. It’s only made funnier by the hoodie Louis made him put on, hood pulled up over his head. He’s wearing sunglasses and has a baseball cap stuck on over the hood. All in all, he looks ridiculous. Louis loves that he went along with it so easily.

They inch up towards the first window. The second the car passes the speaker box, Louis loses it, nearly doubling over with laughter.

“What are you laughing at?” Harry asks, still using that Scottish accent. It’s gotten even thicker now, barely understandable. Actual tears are forming at the corners of Louis’ eyes.

Louis gasps in a breath and manages to get himself a little under control. By the time he straightens up, Harry’s wearing a tiny smirk, staring directly ahead despite the fact that they haven’t moved in the last two minutes. “You’re awful,” he tells Harry, and strains against his seatbelt to lay a kiss at the corner of Harry’s mouth.

“I’m awful?” Harry repeats. “I buy you food and drinks, and I’m awful? Disgraceful.”

He says it all in that same accent, looking at the car in front of them like he’s going to lose it if he has to look in Louis’ direction instead. Louis slides his hand down Harry’s arm until he can link their fingers together, squeezing Harry’s hard. Before he has time to say anything, it’s their turn at the window. Harry hands the cashier cash, thanks her with an American accent, and drives on to the next window.

“I told you that the hoodie was a good idea,” Louis says, satisfied. He leans back in his seat as they wait for their food. “Imagine what her reaction would have been if she recognized your tattoos. Disgraceful.”

Harry turns his head to look at Louis, and repeats, “Disgraceful!” back to him in – is that supposed to be a Welsh accent? Louis honestly can’t tell. Regardless, it cracks him up again, and that sends Harry into a fit of laughter. They get their food, and have to pull into a parking spot to get themselves back under control.

Louis can practically feel Colin judging him from the other car. He doesn’t care.

It isn’t until they start getting close to L.A. that things begin to change. Louis hasn’t spared much thought for Harry’s condition recently. He’s been too busy laughing, or admiring the length of Harry’s fingers, or actively having sex with him. Things between them have been easier than they’ve been in nearly a decade, and Louis hasn’t had much time to rethink any of it.

That’s a lie. He’s had plenty of time to rethink their entire relationship. He just hasn’t wanted to. This, the way things are between them right now, is much more fun that constantly fighting or avoiding each other. It’s a lot less stressful, too.

About forty miles outside of L.A., things start changing, though. Harry’s still driving, and it’s not like they’ve been talking every minute or anything, but he gets quieter. Much quieter. Almost as quiet as he’d been in the hospital. His left hand is tense on the wheel, and nothing Louis has said has relaxed him any. And Louis has said a lot of shit in the last hour, ranging from mildly amusing to deeply profound. Harry hasn’t really responded to any of it.

This is different from his pain-filled, stressed out behaviour. Louis has had enough of that behaviour to last him a lifetime. It feels like it’s been burned into his brain, what Harry looks like during those times, how he acts. Even how he speaks. This is something else, and Louis doesn’t know what.

“Hey,” he says eventually, tugging at Harry’s hand where it’s pressing down against his knee. Traffic is starting to build up, congestion getting heavier. Louis hasn’t been paying much attention to the road signs, but that’s a sure sign that they’re getting close to L.A. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Five days ago, he wouldn’t have asked that question. Five days ago, he wasn’t letting Harry give it to him, either, though. Things change.

Harry startles a little, like he hadn’t felt Louis’ touch. He casts a glance over at Louis and gives him a quick smile. It doesn’t come anywhere close to meeting his eyes. “Yeah, baby, I’m good. Are you good?”

What a fucking liar. It’s like he’s not even trying to sell it. Louis chews on his bottom lip, considering what he should say in response.

Nothing has changed, is the thing. At least, nothing has changed in the last two days since they started having sex. If anything, Harry’s gotten more stable over that time. Turns out that the only thing he needed was to be allowed to put his cock in Louis’ arse. Who knew.

Alright, Louis is mostly joking about that. There’s no denying that it seems to have helped, though.

Faced with the uncertainty of not knowing what to say, Louis reverts back to old habits. “I’m good.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s definitely not the truth, either. Louis is fine, sure, but he doesn’t believe that Harry is, and that’s dragging his mood down a little. He doesn’t know what to say about it, though, or how to say it, so he says nothing at all.

The drive continues. As they inch closer to L.A., they talk less and less.

It’s around seven o’clock in the evening by the time they reach Harry’s house. As Louis gets out of the car in the driveway, he realizes he’s never actually been inside. At least, he hasn’t been inside this particular house of Harry’s. He doesn’t even know when Harry bought it.

The thought is kind of startling. It’s not a surprise that he hasn’t seen the inside of Harry’s house before. It’s just – something he hasn’t thought about in years. All of a sudden, it seems like the myriad of ways they’ve fallen out of touch with each other over the past five years are surging up, reminding him of things that he lost. Things that could have been, in an alternate universe, maybe.

All of it is off-putting enough that it’s making him nervous and twitchy. He’s pretty sure Harry has noticed, the set of his shoulders rigid and uncomfortable looking even from here. Harry’s standing outside the other car, one hand tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants, talking to Josh in a low voice. He hasn’t unlocked the front door yet, leaving Louis no choice but to loiter around and wait for him.

For a second, Louis thinks about making a run for it. He’s gotten Harry this far, back to his house, and Harry hasn’t had an episode in days. Maybe he’s fine now. They’ll have no way of knowing until they test it out again.

If he runs, it’ll make him look like a coward. Like he’s abandoning Harry halfway through. Louis can’t decide whether those are things he’s willing to live with.

If he runs, there’s every chance that Harry will chase him down. Whether it’s here, in his own driveway, or halfway across the country again. Halfway across the world, even. Louis could go back to England and he’s pretty sure Harry would still be able to track him. It’s a thought he hasn’t had before, one that sends a hint of a shudder down his spine.

He really doesn’t have much of a choice. He knows he’s not willing to face the embarrassment that would come if he ran and Harry did follow him, so he stays put, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the car.

It feels like it takes forever for Harry to finish up his conversation with Josh and wave him and Colin goodbye. Only when Harry starts walking up the driveway does Louis push himself up and stalk towards the door, irrationally pissed off. He doesn’t say anything as Harry reaches past him to unlock the door, slipping past his arm and into the house.

A house is a house, no matter whether Louis has been in it before. He leaves Harry to get their bags from the boot and goes to find the kitchen. What he could really do with is a stiff drink, but he settles for rummaging through the cupboards and pouring himself a glass of water.

He drinks it standing at the counter, staring at Harry’s kitchen table. It looks like an antique, made of some kind of classy, polished wood, much too big for one person. He’s probably had sex on that table, Louis catches himself thinking.

Harry wanders into the kitchen as Louis is refilling his glass from the tap. He’s a big, brooding presence. Louis can feel him even with his back turned.

“You have a weird house,” he tells Harry abruptly. It feels like he hasn’t used his voice in years rather than the minutes it’s been.

Harry’s laugh is uncertain and short. “What?”

Louis shuts off the tap and drinks his second glass of water before answering. He does it slowly, sipping at it, looking down at the empty sink. Once he’s finished, he sets it down and turns around. “You have a weird house,” he repeats, enunciating this time. “Have you fucked someone on that table?”

He doesn’t mean for the question to leave his mouth. Once it does, he finds that he wants to know the answer anyway.

Harry’s eyebrows furrow as he matches Louis’ pose, leaning against the wall. “Why are you asking me that.”

It’s not really a question, the way he says it. His voice is already so monotone most of the time that it’s really telling when he starts to sound angry. He’s starting to sound angry now.

“Maybe I just want to know where your dick’s been,” Louis says, challenging. He’s picking a fight, and he knows it. He just can’t seem to stop.

Harry pushes himself off the wall, stepping into the kitchen properly. Louis plants his feet into the floor and refuses to move. “You don’t care where my dick has been,” Harry says, dismissive. “You’re just being stroppy for no reason.”

Stroppy. Louis can’t help himself about that, either – he immediately bristles, folding his arms across his chest again. It makes him look way too defensive, and he hates it. “You don’t want to see me being stroppy,” he warns. “This is nothing.”

Harry comes right up to him, bracing his hands against the counter on either side of Louis’ body, practically leaning into him. “You think I don’t know what it looks like when you’re stroppy and ridiculous?” he asks softly. “Baby, I’ve always paid way too much attention to you for that to be true.”

Louis is having a very hard time not sagging into the counter. His body wants to, so easy for a couple of sweet words it’s ridiculous. He curls his fingers into his fists so sharply his nails leave indents in his skin. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” he demands, holding onto his anger for no other reason than it feels like he needs to. “Because it sure as shit doesn’t feel like one.”

He puts his fists against Harry’s chest, about to shove him away. Get some distance between their bodies.

“No,” Harry says, cradling Louis’ face between his hands like it’s nothing, like this is something they do all the time. The panic welling up in Louis’ chest is not rational, not logical, and he has no idea where it’s coming from. “It’s just the truth.”

He’s looking down at Louis like he wants to kiss him. Like he’s got a whole bunch of feelings in his chest. Like Louis is something special.

Louis shoves him away, ducking underneath the arm Harry reflexively reaches out to grab him with. “I’m gonna have a shower,” he calls over his shoulder, already making a hasty retreat up the stairs. He doesn’t stick around to hear Harry’s reply, and he definitely doesn’t stick around to see if Harry will paw at him some more.

Upstairs, he has to open three doors before he finds the loo. Then, he has to open another two before he finds a linen closet with towels in it. He doesn’t really feel the need to shower, but it’s as good a way as any to keep a little distance between him and Harry. At least for the next half hour. He figures he’s got at least that long before Harry comes looking for him.

He turns the taps on and spends a couple minutes getting it to the right temperature. Instead of getting undressed, he stands on the tile fully clothed, staring blankly at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t look any different than he normally does. He might actually look a little less exhausted than he normally does.

It feels like he should look different. Everything that’s happened lately feels like it’s been life altering, and yet here is, with the same old face looking back at himself. He doesn’t know what to do with any of it. He’s pretty sure Harry doesn’t, either.

Shaking it off is hard. Louis manages to get himself undressed and into the shower, soaping up on autopilot. Before he knows it, he’s stepping out again, fresh and clean.

And naked. Because instead of bringing his bag up with him, Louis ran away. Slowly, he dries himself off, contemplating putting his dirty clothes back on just so he won’t have to step out into the hallway naked.

Doing that would essentially be the same as screaming in Harry’s face that something is wrong. Louis has no doubt that Harry has followed him upstairs. He’s probably lying in wait somewhere, and if Louis were to emerge wearing his pre-shower clothes, it would send up instant red flags.

Whatever. It’s not like Harry hasn’t seen him naked plenty of times by now anyway. Plus Louis is going to wear this towel, so it’s not like he’ll be truly naked. He squares his shoulders, leaves his dirty clothes in a pile on the floor for Harry to deal with later, and opens the door.

The hallway is completely empty. Louis’ shoulders sag a little, even though he knows he should have been expecting it. It’s not like Harry would have been waiting for him to finish showering in the hallway. That would have been ridiculous.

He needs clothes. That’s the very first thing he needs. Clothes. Clutching the towel around his hips, he yells, “Harry?” towards the direction of the stairs.

Harry doesn’t answer. In the ticking silence of the second floor, Louis can’t tell whether he’s being ignored or if Harry just didn’t hear him. Both options seem likely, which may just be Louis’ brain messing with him.

Christ. Maybe he does need a little bit more space than this. It feels like he’s going crazy.

Faced with the options of either standing in the hallway wearing only a towel or going searching for clothes, Louis chooses the latter. He hadn’t come across the master bedroom in his earlier search, but it’s easy enough to find since he’s already opened most of the doors. It’s the only place he knows for sure that clothes are going to be. If Harry’s still downstairs, the last thing Louis wants is him coming up here and finding him like this. For some reason, it feels a lot different to be nearly naked in Harry’s space than it did in the neutral grounds of a tent.

Louis opens the door to the bedroom and goes inside. It’s exactly what he would have expected Harry’s bedroom to look like – furniture made of dark wood offset by a pale yellow paint on the walls, bright pops of colour accenting the room in paintings and throws. It’s a strange mix of eclectic and fashionable.

It’s very hard to ignore the temptation to rifle through all of the drawers, find every secret Harry might be hiding in here. It’s been a long time since he allowed himself to give in to that particular urge. Even now, in the face of whatever their new normal has become, he doesn’t want to let himself do it. Instead, he heads over to the dresser, pulling out a t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants at random. He puts them on quickly, only dropping the towel from around his waist at the last second.

As it turns out, that was a good decision. Harry’s voice is deep and drawling, coming from behind him. “Goddamn do you look good in my clothes, baby.”

Louis’ cheeks heat a little. He crouches down to scoop up the towel from the floor, folding it unnecessarily between his hands before he finds something to say. “You think I look good in anything.”

He can’t avoid turning around any longer without giving Harry a reason to be suspicious, so he does, folding his arms across his chest with the towel still between them. He cocks an eyebrow in Harry’s general direction, just to sell it a little more.

“Well,” Harry says slowly, so obvious that he’s hitting on Louis it might be funny if Louis were in any other mood, “That’s because you do.”

Such a simple statement shouldn’t be making Louis’ heart rate rise like this. He does his best to ignore it, curling his bare toes against the hardwood floor to give himself something else to concentrate on.

“Flattery’s not going to get you anywhere,” he says. Two minutes ago, he felt trapped. By this house, by Harry, and especially by Harry’s bedroom.

Now, he wants Harry to pick him up and toss him onto that bed. He wants it so badly he has to swallow to keep himself from asking for it.

“I know,” Harry says. “It’s not flattery, though. It’s – ”

“The truth,” Louis finishes with him, forcing himself to roll his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time. Now, are you going to offer me a drink or what?”

“Sure,” Harry agrees. “Can I have a shower first, or are you so desperate for some alcohol that you need me to wait?”

This time, the eye roll comes easily. Some of the weirdness has shaken off, enough that he can cross the room and shove his towel against Harry’s chest. “Fine,” he says. “I can’t promise that I’m not going to rifle through all your things while you’re in there, though.”

Harry grabs the towel before it can drop to the floor, fingers brushing against Louis’ hand. “I wouldn’t expect anything else,” he says. He grabs Louis’ wrist before Louis can move past him, tugging him in close.

When he doesn’t say anything else, staring down at Louis’ face, Louis has no choice but to look up. “What,” he says, quieter than he means to.

“Nothing,” Harry says, but his face isn’t agreeing, expression complex and vivid. There’s no way Louis can decipher it.

He pushes himself up a little, initiating a kiss. Harry doesn’t hesitate to kiss back, fluid and graceful about it. They stand there for a long time, snogging in the doorway of Harry’s bedroom. Eventually, Louis is the one to break it, pushing Harry back gently and wandering down the hallway before he can second think it. Before he lets himself start thinking that having sex right now is a good idea.

Louis has had plenty of worse ideas. He picks up his pace until he’s downstairs, far enough away from Harry that he feels safe. Then he goes to find himself a drink.

It hasn’t been a long time since Louis has had a few drinks. Two weeks ago, he was on tour, and he’d usually celebrate a good show with a drink or two afterwards. For some reason, it feels like it’s been forever. Way longer than it actually has. His body is reacting like that, too. He’s only on his second drink and he’s already starting to feel tipsy.

He’s sprawled out on a big, comfy couch in Harry’s living room, taking up as much space as possible. Harry had come down before Louis had even finished his first drink and made him another, something fruity and delicious. Louis is holding it close to his chest now, sipping out of it occasionally with the straw Harry had popped in it.

The alcohol is helping him feel relaxed. Harry’s sitting on the couch with him, letting Louis rest his head in his lap as he scrolls through the telly looking for something to watch. Louis wiggles his toes where they’re propped up on the armrest, thinking about asking Harry to go find him a pair of socks. It’s not really cold in the house, but Louis’ toes have always been prone to feeling like ice blocks.

“Pick something already,” Louis complains, pulling his feet down and stuffing them in between two cushions. If he made Harry get socks, he’d lose his pillow. Sometimes he’s got to have priorities.

“Hush, you,” Harry says mildly, pinching Louis’ bottom lip between two fingers, still scrolling endlessly through the channel menu.

Louis bites at his fingers. If Harry’s going to put them so close to his mouth he has it coming. Harry doesn’t pull them away, prying Louis’ mouth open until Louis huffs and rolls over, careful not to spill his drink in the process.

“I’m not going to suck your fingers,” he informs Harry, staring at the telly.

Harry strokes his thumb along the curve of Louis’ ear, soft and sensual. Louis sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, pressing his thighs together, and tries to ignore it. It feels unbearably good. If Harry did it long enough it could probably get Louis to suck his cock.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Harry says. His voice is soft, kind of dreamy. He’s absolutely not paying attention to the telly anymore. Louis sets his drink down on the floor and reaches back blindly to take the remote from his hand. If he wants to sit there and stare at Louis’ face, Louis can at least watch a film while he does it.

“Alright, then, good talk,” Louis says. It takes him less than a minute to find something to watch, and then he can set the remote down in favor of his drink.

The channel he settled on is halfway through one of the Marvel films. Louis honestly couldn’t say which one – Harry’s still petting him, big hands stroking slow paths down the back of his neck, just under the collar of his shirt, and then back up again. It’s incredibly distracting. Louis is having a hard time not reaching down to palm at his cock, already starting to thicken up in his borrowed sleep pants. It’s intentional. It must be intentional, right? There’s no way Harry’s just sitting there not even realizing what his hands are doing.

Louis takes another long sip of his drink to distract himself. He can’t concentrate on what’s going on in the film, even though he must have seen it a hundred times by now. He thinks it might be one of the Avengers ones, but beyond that he doesn’t know. He feels like getting naked and letting Harry give it to him again.

Actually, so what if he does that? It’s not going to be any different here than it was in the woods. It’ll probably be more comfortable, too. Harry has a lot of plush surfaces in his house.

“Harry,” Louis says, aware that he’s breaking the silence rather suddenly, “Are you trying to seduce me into having sex with you?”

He reaches up to still Harry’s hand, covering it with his own. Harry’s wearing a couple of his rings, now, and Louis doesn’t know whether they’re rings he had here or whether Gemma sent them to him. It feels like something he should know.

“I mean,” Harry starts, squeezing gently at the back of Louis’ neck. Louis’ entire body threatens to melt into the sofa. “If you want to have sex, I’m definitely not opposed.”

That is not an answer to Louis’ question. In fact, it’s directly avoiding have to answer the question. Louis definitely notices the wording.

He pushes the straw to side and finishes the rest of his drink in one big gulp. Then he puts the glass back down on the floor, pushing it out of the way so neither of them will step on it when they get up, and turns so he’s lying on his back. Harry’s gazing down at him, hungry and unashamed of it. Louis scratches at his belly, and if his shirt happens to ride up while he’s doing it, that’s not his fault. He can’t be blamed for that.

“You didn’t answer the question,” he says. “I’m not some random interviewer you can charm into not noticing that you never answer any questions. You have to work a little harder than that with me.”

Harry puts his hand on the strip of skin Louis had bared on his stomach, resting it there like it belongs. “I do want to have sex with you,” he says easily. “I wasn’t, however, trying to seduce you. My seduction methods involve a lot more dancing and a lot fewer clothes.”

It’d be easy for Louis to tell himself that the mood is spoiled. He’s seen Harry’s version of dancing many times. He’s been emotionally scarred by Harry’s version of dancing way too many times to count.

“Please don’t do that,” he says. “I’ve been hit by a stray elbow too many times to consider that sexy.”

Harry makes an offended face at him, over the top and ridiculous. If Louis were sitting up, he’d probably kiss him. He isn’t sure if he’s glad that he’s not.

“Fine,” Harry says, trailing his hand farther up Louis’ shirt, unabashedly groping him. Louis pulls a knee up so his foot is resting flat against the couch cushions, trying to hide how turned on he is from a stupid, simple act. “You wanna up upstairs and sit on my face?”

When he says it this time, it’s not accompanied by the ridiculous eyebrow thing he did in the tent. It seems like a serious offer.

Louis raises his eyebrows, ignoring the flush he can feel on his face. Hopefully he’s tan enough that it’s not noticeable. “Why would I want to do that?”

It doesn’t crush Harry’s spirits like he’d half hoped it would. Harry’s always had a thick skin, especially when it comes to Louis’ bullshit. It’s strange, how easy that has been to forget. Harry only slips his hand up higher, thumb brushing across one of Louis’ nipples, too slowly to be anything other than intentional.

“Because,” Harry says. “Because I wanna eat you out.”

Well. That’s very direct, isn’t it.

“Again with the whole not answering the question thing,” Louis says. Harry’s hand is getting too distracting. Louis sits up, making Harry’s hand fall down to his lap in the process. He doesn’t move away, arse pressed up against the outside of Harry’s thigh. “That’s something you want, not something I do.”

Quickly, Harry hooks an arm around Louis’ chest, pulling him back into his lap. Louis makes a noise, one that’s entirely too squeaky for him to admit to, clutching at Harry’s arm. His heart is pounding in his chest, adrenaline and arousal in equal parts.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks softly. He feels like he’s getting hard under Louis’ arse. Louis can’t help the way he wiggles a little. “I think you’d like it. You’ve had it before, yeah?”

Louis’ face is burning. He’s not going to sit here discussing his sex life with Harry. Not because he’s embarrassed – he’s really not fucking embarrassed. He’s had a great sex life, and he has been rimmed before. Many times, actually. And he already knows he likes it. He doesn’t need Harry to prove it to him.

“Do you know what you are?” he asks conversationally, rising up onto his knees so he can resettle in Harry’s lap with a leg on either side of his thighs, bearing down on his cock like he would if they were fucking right now. “You’re very nosy, babe.”

He kisses Harry before he can open his mouth to make some sort of lame pun, grinding down in his lap. It almost feels like the first time they had sex, albeit with more clothes in the way.

He’s not expecting it when Harry grips him by the backs of the thighs and stands up, sudden and strong. The kiss breaks as Louis makes another high-pitched noise, clutching at Harry’s shoulders and instinctively looking over his own. “Where are we going?” he demands breathlessly.

The kiss hadn’t gone on that long and he’s already like this. Louis really doesn’t have anyone but himself to blame.

“We’re gonna go to the bedroom,” Harry says. He doesn’t seem to be in any danger of dropping Louis, but Louis holds on tighter anyway. Just in case. “The way you’re avoiding saying whether you want it or not tells me that you do. Am I wrong?”

It’s the wrong question to ask if he doesn’t want Louis to be contrary just for the sake of it. “You’re always wrong. You’re wrong about everything. You probably spell your own name wrong because you never finished school.”

Harry’s taking the stairs now, cautious and careful. That’s good. Louis will kill him if he drops him, especially if he does it on the stairs. That seems like it would really hurt.

“You never finished school either, baby,” Harry reminds him. He’s nearing the top of the stairs and doesn’t seem to have exerted himself at all. Whatever his workout regime has been lately is really working for him.

“Yeah, but I’m smarter than you,” Louis says breathlessly. Thinking about Harry in the gym, sweat glistening as he lifts weights or runs on the treadmill or whatever the fuck it is he does, isn’t doing anything to help him stay on track.

If he keeps thinking about all that, he’s going to let Harry eat him out. That would be fine if it was anyone else. Literally anyone else.

With Harry, he’s pretty sure he would cry. And he’s not ready for that. He’s not sure he’s ever going to be ready for that.

“I know, sweetheart,” Harry agrees, so easily Louis narrows his eyes. That’s suspicious.

He must have distracted himself thinking about what would happen if he let Harry eat him out. He didn’t notice Harry making it into his bedroom until he’s being tossed on the bed, hard enough that he bounces a couple times before coming to a stop.

Shit. He really needs to work on stopping himself from getting distracted so easily. Harry’s going to win if he keeps this up.

“How many times have I told you about the manhandling?” Louis asks, scrambling up into a sitting position. It feels safer that way, despite the fact that he’s on Harry’s bed. Despite the fact that Harry brought him here for the express purpose of having sex.

Actually, for the express purpose of putting his tongue up Louis’ arse. They can still have sex. Louis wants to have sex. He just doesn’t want – that.

It feels like a lie, telling himself that. He does his best to ignore it.

“At least twice,” Harry says sagely. He’s entirely too attractive here, in the familiar space of his own bedroom, flipping on the light and moving through the room with ease and purpose.

“Way more than twice,” Louis says, crossing his legs. “Don’t think you’re getting away with it, mate. This is me choosing to let it go. Where’s your lube?”

Harry can be distracted. That, at least, is something Louis knows with surety. Harry isn’t as easily distracted as he is, but it’s not exactly hard to redirect his attention. Louis is a fucking master at doing that.

“I’ll get it later,” Harry says dismissively, pulling his shirt off over his head quickly. He spins a finger in the air. “Turn over, baby. Lemme see that beautiful arse.”

It’s a line straight out of a porno. Louis laughs mockingly to cover up how the words travel through his body directly to his cock. Just in case, he folds his hands in his lap, covering his groin. “Keep talking like that and you’re not going to get laid at all.”

Maybe later he’ll have a chance to examine exactly why Harry’s terrible porn talk is turning him on so much. It’s not something he can give his full attention to right now.

Harry’s sigh is long and dramatic. Louis’ cock isn’t the only thing that’s throbbing. “Fine,” Harry says, brilliantly theatrical. “Will you at least take off your shirt?”

Louis leans back against the pillows and cocks an eyebrow at him. “Thought you liked seeing me in your clothes.”

“I do,” Harry says. He takes the few remaining steps necessary to drop to his knees at the side of the bed, putting a big hand on Louis’ knee. Louis glances down at it and then back up at Harry’s face, eyebrow still raised. “I like seeing you naked just as much, though.”

He tugs at Louis’ knee, trying to get him to unfold his legs. Louis resists for a few seconds, just to see how long Harry will keep at it, before giving in. When he does, Harry immediately ups the game, pulling Louis right off the bed and onto the floor with him.

“Ugh,” Louis complains, winding his arms around Harry’s neck. “We just talked about the manhandling.”

Harry smirks at him, reaching down and covering Louis’ cock with one hand through his clothes, giving it a light squeeze. “Feels like you like it to me.”

Louis has to dig his fingers into Harry’s bare back to keep himself from making a noise, slutty and wanton. It does absolutely nothing to knock the look off Harry’s face. They both know that he likes it. Protesting isn’t going to get Louis what he wants.

What he wants. He wants what Harry is offering, but he knows he can’t let himself have it. So what else does he want? The answer seems obvious.

“You think you know what I like?” Louis asks, all but a whisper in the space between their mouths. It has the exact response Louis intended it to. Harry’s eyes immediately drop down to his mouth, watching the way Louis shapes the words. “We screw around a handful of times and you think you know all the things I want?”

Harry squeezes the backs of Louis’ thighs, urging him to slide up into Harry’s lap. Harry settles down onto the floor properly once he does, holding Louis there with one arm curled around his back, close to touching his arse. There’s a perfectly good bed right there, and yet here they are again, on the floor. It makes Louis want to laugh.

“I think,” Harry starts, rubbing the thumb of his other hand over Louis’ shoulder almost obsessively, “I think that you’re pretty and very obviously trying to distract me into forgetting that I want to eat you out.”

He’s meeting Louis’ eyes now. Louis could read his face if he wanted to, Harry’s expression open and honest.

“Mmhmm,” Louis murmurs, grinding down against Harry’s cock, half a distraction and half because he desperately wants to, “I know you want to.”

“Do you not want to?” Harry asks, turning his head to kiss at Louis’ arm, soft and fleeting. “If you don’t want it I’ll stop asking.”

It’s the easiest out Louis has ever been offered. Just tell Harry to stop and he will. One word would suffice. Louis wouldn’t have to offer an explanation, wouldn’t have to soothe any hurt feelings.

He doesn’t want to say no. Can’t bring himself to say it. He wants Harry to keep asking, to keep offering. He wants to give in and let Harry do it.

“I’m gonna let you put it in me,” Louis says, winding a strand of Harry’s hair around his finger and giving it a gentle tug. “Gotta put me on the bed first, though, babe.”

He leans in, trying to go for a kiss. Harry holds him back, moving faster than Louis was expecting with a hand cupping his chin. “Do you want me to stop asking?”

Louis doesn’t mean to let out the breath he’d been holding so dramatically, leaning his forehead against Harry’s and closing his eyes. “I want you to stop asking if you should stop asking.”

It’s unfair, the way Harry’s cock hasn’t softened any under his arse. It’s so distracting. Louis wants it in him, wants Harry to fuck him. Wants Harry to put him on the bed and make all the decisions for a while. It’s even more unfair that he knows how dangerous that line of thinking is. Louis has never been good at being the responsible one.

“You have to tell me,” Harry says softly, almost pleadingly. “I can’t read your mind, baby.”

God, Louis needs Harry to stop calling him that. It makes his cock throb, makes his hole clench up around nothing, empty and aching for it. It’s too much for this fleeting thing between them, too sweet, too loving. It might end up being the thing that cracks him open.

“I told you what I want,” Louis says, voice cracking a bit. “Can’t that be enough?”

“Just this one thing,” Harry says, holding Louis’ face between both his hands now. “I just need to know this one thing, sweetheart, I promise.”

Admitting that he likes it when Harry asks is too hard to say out loud. It feels worse to let Harry believe that he’s been pushing too hard, or that he’s trying to get something Louis doesn’t want to give him. Louis licks at his bottom lip, considering.

“You can ask,” he whispers, opening his eyes. “I’m not gonna say yes.”

Harry’s staring at him, eyes green and attentive. He looks like he’s trying to decipher what Louis is saying, as though it’s some kind of code. “Do you want me to ask?”

For once, he doesn’t look cocky. Louis tips his chin down, brushing their lips together. Harry doesn’t take the bait, waiting him out. It’s awful, how patient he can be.

“I want you to fuck me,” Louis says, grinding down on Harry’s lap again. This time, he’s rewarded with a hitch of breath and Harry’s fingers flexing against his jaw. “I want to come on your cock. Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” Harry says. Shocked, Louis pulls back, until he can see Harry’s face clearly. “I want it all with you, Louis, and it’s fine if you don’t, but you have to tell me.”

Louis’ stomach twists sharply, panic rising through his entire body. He has to force it back down before it can overwhelm him. Harry’s just talking about sex. That’s all.

“Just tell me if you don’t,” Harry says, pleading. There’s no mistaking his tone now.

“I want you to ask,” Louis says. The words feel like they’re being ripped out of his chest, too honest by far. “Now shut up and put me on the bed.”

“Okay,” Harry says, agreeing easily, but he doesn’t, tugging Louis’ face back in and kissing him, slow and deep.

It’s too emotional by far. Louis doesn’t pull away, lets Harry kiss him as much as he wants. As sweetly as he wants.

It takes a long time before Harry’s ready to put him on the bed. Louis’ thighs have started to ache from the strain of being spread so wide for so long. He’s not the one to pull away, though, tangling his tongue with Harry’s, kissing him back. When Harry does move, he does it slowly, pulling back and running his thumb across Louis’ bottom lip almost obsessively before getting up. He lays Louis on the bed carefully instead of tossing him, climbing up after him. It’s sweet, and intimate, and Louis can already tell that this is how he’s planning on the sex going.

Louis rolls out from underneath him before he can get settled. Quickly, he strips, tossing his clothes off the side of the bed. “Lube,” he demands, pushing at Harry’s shoulder until he lies down on his back.

Wordlessly, Harry stretches his arm out, pointing at the nightstand. Louis leans over, fumbling through the drawer until he comes up with a half-empty bottle and a condom. He rights himself and looks back at Harry, catching Harry palming himself through his trackies. He meets Louis’ gaze steadily, clearly unashamed of the way he’s touching himself.

“You’re the worst,” he tells Harry, flicking the cap open.

“Am I?” Harry asks, holding his hand out. Presumably, he’s reaching for the lube.

Louis ignores him, shuffling his way back onto Harry’s lap and wetting his own fingers. “Yes,” he says, gritting his teeth as he reaches back and pushes the first finger in. It doesn’t hurt – he’s doing his best to ignore how good it feels. The whole reason he’s not letting Harry do it is because he’ll take too long, make it feel too good. He can’t go and do the exact same thing.

“You – you have a filthy mouth,” Louis continues, not knowing where he’s going with it. Harry’s holding him by the hips loosely, seemingly content to lie there and let Louis finger himself. Louis isn’t falling for it.

Harry looks entirely too amused, hair tangled against the pillows. “I’ve been told,” he says solemnly, like he’s not lying there like some kind of goddamn – sex god or something.

Jesus. One finger in and Louis already can’t think straight. He sets about fingering himself open quickly, adding a second finger and then a third not too far behind that one. It’s mechanical, and he can’t stop thinking about how different it’d be if it was Harry’s fingers. How good it would feel.

It’s good enough. Louis pulls his fingers back out, shuffling backwards a bit. Harry’s still touching himself through his sweatpants, hand unmoving. He’s frowning a little, furrow between his brows. “That’s not enough,” he objects.

“Yes it is,” Louis says, swatting Harry’s hand out of the way and yanking the waist of his pants down. His cock springs up, hard and flushed. Louis bites at his bottom lip, reaching out for it.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, grabbing Louis’ wrist. He doesn’t stop Louis from curling his fingers around his cock, though, controlling the pace Louis touches him at.

“I know my body, Harry,” Louis says, flicking his thumb across Harry’s cockhead. “Your cock is not going to break me.”

He shimmies down, all shoulders about it so Harry has something to watch, and drags his tongue down Harry’s shaft. Harry tastes like skin, vaguely salty.

“Jesus fuck,” Harry groans, fingers tightening around Louis’ wrist. “Christ, baby.”

Heat surges through Louis’ gut. He does it again, laving his tongue from root to tip. He sucks the head of Harry’s cock into his mouth, keeping his touch as teasing and light as he can. Harry’s hand slides down to cradle the back of his head, encouraging and firm. Louis could spend all day doing this, sucking Harry’s cock. It’d be easy, especially with the way Harry’s babbling praise above his head, filthy and sincere.

Instead, he pulls his mouth off. His lips already feel slightly swollen and used. He has to swallow hard before he can roll the condom on and slick Harry up with lube, getting himself back into position.

“Stay still,” he says, voice quivering a little. He plants a hand in the center of Harry’s chest, keeping him down.

“Promise,” Harry whispers. He’s looking up at Louis, eyes dark and hungry. Louis sucks in a breath, lining them up before he starts sinking down onto Harry’s cock.

Like this, he can control the pace. It was supposed to be easier than giving Harry all the control. He tries telling that to his body, but it doesn’t seem to want to get the memo. His pulse is racing, entire body hot and molten, trying to melt down onto Harry’s cock. He goes down a little faster than he means to, taking inch after inch of it until his arse is flush against Harry’s thighs.

“Want me to,” Harry’s whispering, volume of his voice dropped so low Louis can barely hear him even when he tunes back in, “Baby, you want me to?”

He’s got his hands curled around Louis’ hips, holding him steady. Louis is sitting on his cock, full of Harry’s dick, backs of his thighs pressed against his calves. He can’t pay attention to the words coming out of Harry’s mouth when he’s got this much cock in him.

“No,” Louis says, breathy. He shifts a bit, testing, and digs his fingernails into Harry’s chest when Harry rocks his hips gently. “Stay still.”

If Harry moves, Louis is going to come. His cock is standing firm against his belly, begging for a hand on it. He can’t take being the one who has to do all the work if Harry’s going to move.

“Okay,” Harry says, less convincing than he was before. “You look so good like this.”

Gently, he touches Louis’ belly, knuckles sweeping along Louis’ skin. Louis closes his eyes, presses his hand down against Harry’s chest harder, and starts to move. It’s barely going to take him any time at all to come, but before then he can at least make it feel good for Harry. He bounces a little faster, breath stuck in the back of his throat at the way Harry’s cock presses against his prostate. Harry’s voice is washing over him, murmuring filthy praise. It’s a lot to take. It’s too much to take.

“Shut up,” Louis says, voice cracking. He takes his hand off Harry’s chest and reaches out blindly, until his fingers cover Harry’s mouth. He bounces faster, stripping his cock with his other hand. He can’t help the noises falling out of his mouth every time he comes all the way back down, so full it almost hurts.

Abruptly, he comes to the realization that he doesn’t want it like this. He slows to a stop, sitting in Harry’s lap, and opens his eyes. Harry’s looking at him, flushed and sweaty, waiting for Louis to say something. Do something.

Louis – doesn’t. Harry reaches up, circles his fingers around Louis’ wrist, and pulls his hand off his mouth. “Baby,” he says, touching Louis’ side with his other hand, as though he thinks Louis is looking at anything other than him. “What – do you want to stop?”

Stop, he says, like Louis can’t feel the way his cock is throbbing inside his arse. “You can’t say things like that,” Louis says. He has trouble to get his voice to come out firm instead of soft and dreamy. Honestly, he doesn’t succeed.

“Like what?” Harry asks. He raises his knees a little, supporting Louis’ back. It has the added effect of pushing his cock into Louis a little deeper, and Louis doesn’t think that was an accident.

“Like – like how pretty I am,” Louis says. His voice cracks some more. It’s starting to sound like he’s going to start crying, and he can’t make it stop. “How good I feel.”

It feels like he can’t catch his breath, like all his senses are overloaded. Normally, he likes riding cock, knows he looks good doing it and gets off on the guy underneath him getting off on the visual as much as the feeling. He doesn’t know what feels so different about this time.

Harry doesn’t look confused. Louis would really appreciate a look of confusion right now. He can’t sort through what’s going on in his brain. He knows Harry can’t, either.

“I can’t,” Harry says. He sits up before Louis can pull his hand free to hold him down, the motion easy. It makes his muscles ripple. Louis swallows, has a hard time looking away. “Wanna tell you. Could tell you so much more than that.”

That doesn’t make any sense. Louis doesn’t get a chance to say anything about it before Harry is kissing him, tender and sweet. He’s holding Louis’ face between his hands, cradling him, and stuffed full of cock like this, the only thing Louis can do is melt into it. He kisses Harry back hungrily, demanding more than Harry is giving. Doesn’t realize that Harry’s moving them until his back hits the mattress.

“Like this, sweetheart,” Harry says into his mouth, urging Louis’ legs up around his back. “Like this, yeah?”

It’s a question, one Louis could say no to. He could make Harry pull out and get back into his lap, start riding him again. He could put a stop to it altogether. Instead, he nods, ankles crossed behind Harry’s back, begging into his mouth, “Please, please – ”

Yesterday, he would have been ashamed of it. Hell, three hours ago he might have been ashamed of it. Something between them feels fragile now, though, on the edge of breaking. He clutches at Harry’s back, eyelashes wet with tears, and doesn’t know why he’s crying. Doesn’t even know when he started crying.

“Yes,” Harry murmurs between kisses, starting to move. His pace is steady, thrusts shallow, never pulling too far out. “Yes, baby, I know, I swear. Goddamn light of my life.”

Louis isn’t paying attention to the words, can’t keep his eyes open as Harry fucks him with smooth rolls of his hips. Pays even less attention as Harry curls a hand around his cock, starts stroking him. He can hear himself making noise, so much noise, raw and deep, and then he’s coming so suddenly he blacks out a little. Only a little. Harry keeps fucking him, picking up his pace but never pulling more than halfway out, pressing kisses against Louis’ lax mouth. It only takes him a little longer before he’s coming too, cock pressed in deep and staying there.

He hasn’t stopped kissing Louis. He’s still talking, murmuring occasional words against Louis’ tongue between kisses. They’re less filthy now, a whole lot sweeter. If Louis had the emotional capability to feel anything other than well fucked right now, he’d probably be blushing.

Eventually, Harry pulls out, taking off the condom with a quick flick of his wrist and pitching it over the side of the bed. He gathers Louis up into his arms before he lies back down, kissing the side of his neck.

“Should’ve put it in the bin,” Louis says, curling up against Harry tighter. His entire body feels good, like there are still waves of pleasure rolling through him. There’s not. He’s pretty sure there’s not.

“It’s fine,” Harry dismisses, rubbing a hand between Louis’ shoulders. “I’ll get it in the morning.”

He better. Louis doesn’t want to trip on it when he gets up. Brained by a used condom. What a way to go.

“Are you thinking about slipping on it?” Harry asks after a few seconds of silence. Louis’ eyelids are starting to droop. He’s going to fall asleep soon.

“No,” he denies, curling his hand up and tucking it against Harry’s chest. He feels good like this, warm and solid. Safe.

Harry laughs softly, clearly not believing him. “Okay. Have I told you how amazing you are?”

How is he not tired? That’s the real question here. Louis only did like, half the work, and he’s so tired he might pass out instead of fall asleep.

“Once or twice,” Louis says, resting his cheek against Harry’s arm and closing his eyes. “You can tell me again if you really feel the need to.”

He can’t stop his smile, tucking it against Harry’s skin. He’s pretty sure Harry still knows it’s there as he starts talking. That’s how Louis falls asleep – to the sound of Harry’s voice washing over him, praising him.

He’s slept in much worse conditions.

In the morning, Louis wakes up to soft rays of sunlight shining across his face and bare upper arm. He wakes up to Harry’s half of the bed already cold and empty.

For a couple minutes, he lies there with his eyes still closed. He’d been expecting to wake up still in Harry’s arms. It had felt like a foregone conclusion after last night.

Maybe expecting is the wrong word to use. He’d just thought that Harry would have been reluctant to let him go. Louis may have been particularly needy last night, but so had Harry. That’s something he definitely wasn’t imagining.

Getting up is going to stop the myriad of thoughts running through his head. It’s probably the only thing that’s going to stop it. So that’s what Louis does, sliding his feet onto the cold floor and searching through the mess of bed linen to find his clothes. Harry’s clothes. The clothes he’d been wearing before they had sex.

As he heads down the stairs, he still feels kind of peaceful and light. Sex has never really done that for him before. Amid all that, he feels needy, and that’s definitely a feeling he’s familiar with. He finds Harry in the kitchen, hands braced against the stovetop as he stares at the kettle, waiting for it to boil.

He’s only wearing a pair of shorts, hanging low on his hips. His back is bare, hair loose and unbrushed against the nape of his neck. Even with his back turned, he’s probably the most attractive person Louis has ever seen. Louis sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, looking his fill before he starts crossing the cool tile floor. He wraps his arms around Harry’s chest, hugging him from behind.

Harry startles, jerking a little. He puts a hand over Louis’, squeezing. “Morning,” he says, voice rough. Louis’ cock throbs, starting to go from half hard to all the way there. “You want tea?”

Normally, that would be a stupid question. Louis almost always wants tea. Right now, he wants sex more. He bites at Harry’s back, sliding his hand down into Harry’s shorts, curling his fingers around his cock. Harry’s cock is soft and silky in his hand, already starting to fatten up. Louis sucks in a breath, the smell of Harry’s body wash familiar even after all these years. He closes his eyes, pushing his face against Harry’s back harder and keeps breathing it in.

“Jesus, baby,” Harry mutters, low and turned on. He stands there, letting Louis wank him, for about a minute before he’s tugging Louis’ hand out of his shorts and turning around. He doesn’t waste any time, getting his hands around the backs of Louis’ thighs and hauling him up, shoving him onto the counter. “You’re a fucking menace to society.”

He kisses Louis before he has a chance to answer, immediately making it deep and dirty. Louis’ thighs open on their own accord, giving Harry space to get up between them. It already feels different than it had last night, fast and frantic. Harry’s cupping the back of his head, the strength of his hands obvious and vital, trying to angle Louis’ hips right to grind up against him.

It doesn’t have to be fast. They have nowhere to be, no one around to try to hide from. Louis finds himself matching Harry’s pace regardless, breathing fast against Harry’s mouth and letting Harry move him however he wants. This wasn’t what he intended when he came down here, but he can’t make himself regret it, even as Harry’s kisses turn biting. He tries to reach down into Harry’s shorts again, jerk him off, only to get his hand pulled away.

“Like this,” Harry says, breathless and demanding, tugging Louis closer. His arse is hanging half off the counter, only keeping his balance by crossing his legs behind Harry’s back.

Harry’s already moving, grinding their cocks together. They’re both only wearing one layer, obvious and intentional, so the movement is easy and fluid. Louis locks his arms around Harry’s neck, doing his best to match the pace Harry’s setting.

“Fuck,” he says, trying and failing to catch a breath. Harry’s jostling him so hard it would be uncomfortable if it didn’t feel so good, rocking into him with short, sharp thrusts. The pressure is enough, friction of his pants moving against his cock enough. It’s going to get him off.

“Shh, shh,” Harry says, hissing it out from between his teeth. It almost sounds ridiculous. Louis would laugh, except Harry’s stopping, suddenly. So suddenly Louis makes a raw, unselfconscious noise in response, trying to get Harry to move again.

Harry puts an arm around Louis’ back, lifting him up off the counter an inch or so, and yanks his pants down with his other hand. They get stuck at Louis’ knees, can’t go any farther with Harry’s body in the way. Harry’s quick about shoving his shorts down and taking a step back to finish yanking Louis’ off, leaving them both naked from the waist down. He gets right back to it, lining them back up, cock pressing up against the underside of Louis’, and starts thrusting again.

“Fuck me,” Louis breathes out, high and wanton. It’s mostly words falling out of his mouth rather than an actual request. He wouldn’t be opposed if Harry took him seriously, though.

“Like this,” Harry murmurs, wrapping a hand around both of their cocks easily. “Shh, sweetheart. Just like this.”

His strokes are longer and lazier than his thrusts had been. They’re still fast, a tight pull up and down the shafts of their cocks. It doesn’t feel as frantic now, allowing Louis’ heart to calm down a bit. Just enough that he can finally catch that breath. He opens his mouth to say something, only to get cut off by the invasion of Harry’s tongue.

Well. That’s just as good as anything that was going to come out of Louis’ mouth. He sucks on Harry’s tongue, digging his nails into Harry’s back, and lets Harry stroke him, kiss him. Touch him however he wants to touch. If Harry would wait for two minutes, they could find some – olive oil or something, make the glide a little smoother. Louis can’t tear his mouth away long enough to suggest that.

It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s only a couple more minutes before Louis is coming, spilling over Harry’s tight grip. Harry’s only a few seconds behind him, lifting Louis right off the counter with the force of it. He slicks up Louis’ belly, his cock, making a mess of them both.

“Christ,” he sighs into Louis’ mouth, tugging Louis off the counter. He sinks down onto the floor slowly enough that Louis doesn’t feel like he’s about to be dropped, holding him tightly along the way.

“If you were a little more patient, we could have gotten some oil,” Louis says. The tile is cold against his knees as he straddles Harry’s hips, keeping as much of his skin off the floor as possible.

“You’re one to talk about patience,” Harry says, drowsy and almost nonsensical. He’s got a hand around the back of Louis’ neck, trying to pull him down.

Louis doesn’t bother resisting, folding himself down so he can put his head against Harry’s chest. They can rest here for a minute, he reasons. There’s no need to go anywhere else. “I’m just saying, you’re not as much of a sex god as you think you are.”

“Baby,” Harry says, drifting a hand through Louis’ sweat-damp hair down his back, “Shh. Please.”

Louis has half a mind to strike up a full conversation just to see how far Harry would be willing to go to indulge him. Harry has good hands, though, and he’s stroking Louis’ back so nicely. Louis can wait a few minutes before he does anything else.

Harry spends the rest of the day alternating between disappearing for long stretches of time and being right up in Louis’ face. It wouldn’t be so bad if any of this felt at all normal, but it doesn’t. Louis spends the day trying to adjust to Harry’s house, to where everything is, to what it feels like being here. Every time Harry leaves him alone abruptly, he’s left wondering what the hell he’s doing here.

So far, he hasn’t come up with a good answer. The more time he spends sitting on Harry’s couch, all by himself, the more he regrets ever getting into the car with him in Salem. It feels like Harry doesn’t need him anymore. It feels like Louis could walk out the front door and Harry wouldn’t even know he’s gone until he decided to go to bed.

They shouldn’t have had sex. That’s what this all boils down to. They shouldn’t have had sex.

“Get a grip,” Louis mutters to himself, rubbing both his hands over his face.

“Talking to yourself again?” Harry asks. Louis hadn’t heard him come into the room. He startles when Harry drops an arm across his chest from behind the sofa, mouth right up against Louis’ ear.

Jesus. Maybe he should go outside and get some fresh air. He doesn’t know what else to do to help. His options are kind of limited.

“You know me,” Louis offers lamely. The telly is on, but he has no idea what’s playing. Something’s gotta give. Something has to give. He can’t keep going like this. Harry hasn’t had a fit in days – maybe it’d be better if Louis left.

“Are you bored?” Harry asks. He’s touching Louis easily, unconsciously, like he’s got a claim of some sort to Louis’ body. Louis’ skin itches with the desire to pull away.

“Do you need me to stay?” he asks abruptly. He doesn’t get up, but Harry’s touch falls away regardless.

Slowly, Harry comes around the couch so he’s looking at Louis’ face. Louis meets his gaze head on. He hadn’t meant to actually say the words, but now that they’re out there he doesn’t regret them. He’s got a tour to get back to. A life. Neither of them have spent any time on social media, but there’s no doubt that there’s plenty of speculation going around. Both of them disappearing from their tours at the same time isn’t exactly inconspicuous. Putting off this conversation any longer than they already have isn’t going to do either of them any favours.

“I want you to stay,” Harry says, sitting on the coffee table and taking one of Louis’ hands between his. His face looks earnest, honest.

It makes Louis’ back tighten. He doesn’t know why. Of all the answers Harry could have given him, he wasn’t expecting that one.

He lied. He knows why.

“That’s not what I asked,” Louis says. His voice is steady, and he has to be grateful for that. The last word he’d use to describe how he’s feeling right now is steady. “Do you need me to stay?”

His voice wavers a bit on need. It’d be all too easy to let the reality of the situation come crashing down around him. Desperately, he holds it at bay.

“Yes,” Harry says simply. For a second, it seems like he’s going to leave it at that. One word. One syllable. Not even the slightest iota of an explanation.

Louis has no idea what to do with that. He’s starting to feel more lost by the second.

“Do you even know how much I want you?” Harry asks eventually. His voice is rough, and he drops Louis’ hand in favour of putting both hands on Louis’ knees, sliding them up the insides of his thighs. “Half the time I don’t know whether it’s the same pull it’s always been or if the desperation I feel is something new, something I can’t explain.”

That doesn’t make any sense. Louis’ lack of comprehending must be showing on his face. Harry sighs, squeezing his handfuls of flesh. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Louis doesn’t. He blinks at Harry, trying to convey that. Harry’s sigh is more rueful this time. “I need you,” he says. “If you walked away I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from hunting you down.”

“How do you know that?” Louis asks, leaning forward. It puts him directly into Harry’s space. “You’ve been fine for days.”

He feels confrontational. Almost like he wants to fight. No, definitely like he wants to fight. It’s not one of his better qualities.

“I’ve been fucking you for days,” Harry says bluntly. “Nothing quells the pain like getting my hands on you. If you leave, I’m going to be right behind you. I don’t know if I could stop myself from preventing you from doing it in the first place.”

Put like that, he’s making this sound like a prison sentence.

“You know what I think?” Louis asks, leaning back again. “I think you’re lying to me again. I think you’ve gotten complacent, that you’ve gotten used to me being here, and you’re too scared to find out if you still have pain when I’m not.”

He stands up, nearly tripping over one of Harry’s feet in the process, and takes a few steps away from him. “I think I should leave,” Louis continues, working himself up with every word that passes his lips. He gestures to the door. “I think I should go right now and see where that gets us.”

Harry’s turned to keep looking at him, but he hasn’t gotten up. He’s still sitting on the coffee table, hands braced against his thighs. The look on his face isn’t exactly calm, but it sure as hell isn’t agitated, either.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Harry says quietly. His knuckles turn white as he grips at his thighs harder. To keep himself from standing up? Louis can’t tell. “I want things to go back to normal. I want to be able to take a walk without needing to have you by my side. I want a lot of things, Louis, but right now I just can’t have them.”

He’s making the bare minimum of eye contact, mostly looking over Louis’ right shoulder. A cold, dark pit starts forming in Louis’ stomach. It’s never been more obvious that Harry is lying. He’s got most of his normal tells under control – or, at least, the tells he used to have five years ago – but these are things he can’t hide.

He’s lying. There’s no doubt in Louis’ mind.

“I’m going to bed,” Louis says abruptly. “I’m going to sleep in one of your guest rooms, and if I wake up and you’re there I’m not going to be responsible for my actions.”

Without waiting for Harry’s response, Louis spins around on his bare heel and makes for the stairs, keeping his pace rigid and even. He’s not running away. This is an argument he intends to continue. Just – later. After he’s had some time to process the shock of knowing with certainty that Harry is lying to him.

Louis doesn’t actually expect to be able to fall asleep. The bed in Harry’s guest room is plush and comfortable, but so is every hotel bed Louis has slept in for the past decade, and he has trouble falling asleep in them. He shouldn’t be able to fall asleep knowing how close Harry is, how rocky things are between them.

Somehow, he does. He wakes up to a dark room, slightly overheating with all the blankets piled on the bed, still pissed off. He doesn’t realize why he’s woken up until he rolls over and sees Harry standing in the open doorway, staring at him.

“God, what time is it?” he groans. There’s no clock in here, and he can’t be bothered to reach for his phone on the nightstand. It might be dead anyway. He didn’t plug it in to charge before going to sleep.

As his eyes start adjusting to the dark, he can see the way Harry’s gripping at the doorframe with both hands, eyes a little wide. His breathing looks laboured, shoulders moving erratically with it.

Well fuck then.

“Three,” Harry says. His voice is rough, almost completely shot. “Four. I dunno.”

He sways a little, still standing in the doorway. It looks like it’s taking a lot of effort to stay upright. Louis refuses to feel sympathetic.

“Thought I told you that I was going to hurt you if you came in here,” Louis comments. The blankets are still pulled all the way up to his shoulders. Harry’s shoulders are bare, shirtless and shoeless, wearing only a pair of shorts. It takes Louis right back to the morning, in the kitchen. The arousal he felt then is still present. Despite everything, he still wants Harry.

“Yes,” Harry agrees nonsensically. He seems like he’s at a loss for words, staring at the lump of Louis’ body like he can see it through the layers of blankets. He’s definitely not all there, holding onto the last bits of his self-control so hard Louis can actually see the way his knees are buckling.

He probably wants to come in and sink his teeth into Louis’ flesh again. That’s the vibe Louis is getting from this. Trapped in the bed, with Harry between him and the door, the only other exit is a window on the other side of the room. There’s no way for him to get to it without alerting Harry to that potential course of action.

Louis doesn’t particularly feel the need to do that anyway. Maybe it’s the exhaustion set deep in his bones. Maybe he’s gotten too used to their current situation. Whatever it is, he doesn’t even make a token attempt at moving his arse from the bed.

“I’m not going to have sex with you,” Louis says. Harry blinks, slow and dreamy. It doesn’t seem like he’s listening to the words coming out of Louis’ mouth. “I decided that I hate your cock and I’m going to bite it off if you put it near me.”

Harry only blinks some more, unresponsive to the threat. Even if he was listening, he probably wouldn’t believe it. Louis doesn’t want the taste of blood in his mouth if the alternative is cock. He thinks a lot of people would agree with him.

Slowly, so Harry doesn’t mistake him moving for some kind of threat, Louis sits up, pushing the blankets down to the end of the bed. He’s mostly naked, only wearing a pair of pants, so the cool air of the room rushes around him, making his skin prickle with goosebumps.

Rubbing them away would only draw Harry’s attention to how unclothed he is, so Louis doesn’t. He folds his hands together in his lap, pressing his toes down against the mattress. It gives him a bit of clarity, somehow, that extra pressure. He was never going to let Harry suffer indefinitely, but he feels more willing to put an end to it now.

“Come here, then,” he says, being careful to keep his hands tucked together in his lap. The invitation doesn’t need to be any more welcoming than it already is. “If you need it that bad, you can have it.”

He kind of wishes he was offering sex. Sex has made things infinitely more complicated between them, but at least with sex they both know what they’re getting. There’s none of this uncertainty.

Harry doesn’t respond, standing still in the doorway. His face has gone tense, lined with pain, and Louis doesn’t even know if he can hear him anymore. That’s the thing that makes him uneasy, heart rate picking up in his chest. He’s not scared of Harry biting him the way he was in the hospital, but he definitely doesn’t want to go through all of that again.

“Harry,” he says, keeping his voice low, lulling. This time, he stretches a hand out, beckoning Harry closer with two fingers. “C’mere, babe. Need you t’keep me warm.”

Having all of Harry’s attention laser focused on him is a thrill Louis has tried to forget time and time again. It brings back a surge of memories, some bad, some good. He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about all of this now when he hadn’t thought of it in years, or even in the hospital in Salem. Harry’s behaviour is the same as it was then.

When Harry still doesn’t move, gripping the doorframe so hard there’s a slight crack as the wood starts giving way, Louis pushes himself up onto his knees, extending his entire hand to Harry. For some reason, it feels important that Harry come to him rather than Louis getting off the bed. Something about it feels safer.

“Darling,” Louis says, exhaling softly, struggling to keep his balance on the plush mattress. “I need you to come over here, alright? I’m cold and you’re like a furnace. I’ll even let you spoon me naked.”

To emphasize his offer, he hooks two fingers into the waistband of his pants, tugging them a little lower. Harry’s eyes flick down, watching. He’s starting to get noticeably hard, tenting out the crotch of his own pants. Louis bites on his bottom lip, breath caught in the back of his throat. It feels so much different, acknowledging Harry’s arousal. Before, he’d tried to ignore it. He’d had varying degrees of success, made much harder when they were stuffed together in a tiny hospital bed with Harry’s erection riding his arse. It’s impossible to ignore now, the reality of Harry wanting him. Of Harry wanting to fuck him.

“You want that, yeah?” Louis asks, shuffling towards the end of the bed on his knees. It feels like there’s miles between them rather than mere feet.

Harry makes a noise low in his throat, taking one step forward. He hasn’t let go of the doorframe yet, so he only moves an inch or two, shoulders tense and straining. It looks like he’s either going to deflate and sink down onto his knees or launch himself forward and attack. It’s impossible to tell which one it might end up being.

“Harry,” Louis says, sinking down so his arse is brushing against the bed, still supporting most of his weight with his thighs, “Are you even listening to me right now?”

“Yes,” Harry says. His voice is deep, no less rough that it was a couple minutes ago. Slowly, he lets go of the door, starting to drift closer. The answer isn’t nearly enough to convince Louis that Harry is all there. He’s still nearly non-verbal, speaking the bare minimum.

For a second, Louis wonders what would happen if he set Harry loose in the world. What he’d do. It’s like he’s reacting to all of his baser instincts, giving into them instead of holding back. It says something about the connection between them that he searched for Louis instead of doing anything else. Louis’ spine prickles thinking about it.

“Right,” he says, focusing his attention back on Harry, who is still drifting closer. The slight, meandering steps he’s taking would be a good way to get under Louis’ skin in a different situation. “What do you want, then, babe?”

As Harry starts getting closer, Louis can see the look in his eyes. He was sort of expecting it to be glazed, distant. It’s not. No, it’s – wild. A little feral, if Louis had to pick a word. There must be something about his fear response that’s broken, because Louis doesn’t feel afraid. His heart is beating fast in his chest, but he doesn’t feel afraid.

Harry doesn’t respond. He’s getting close enough now that Louis starts moving backwards on the bed, up towards the headboard. “You want me to get naked, sit on your dick?”

The offers get a flicker of interest from Harry. He hits the end of the bed and puts a knee up onto it, climbing up. Louis’ already fast pulse skyrockets, scrambling backwards until his back hits the headboard. “Say something,” he demands.

He’s having a very hard time remembering that he’s not actually prey. Fuck, who would have guessed that all of Harry’s baser instincts would make him so looming and quiet? That serial killer stare he’s got going on right now will haunt Louis in his nightmares.

It actually won’t. Louis can admit to himself that he’s seen that particular look aimed at him plenty of times. At one point in his life he was used to it. He’d forgotten its intensity over the years, though.

“Wanna put my mouth all over you,” Harry says, deep and rumbling. It’s the longest thing he’s said since Louis woke up.

It’s not at all shocking that it’s what he went with. Louis raises an eyebrow at him, pulling his knees up to his chest and folding his arms on top of them. It might not be the most fierce position, but he feels safe. Comfortable. “Are you going to tell me something I don’t already know?”

Harry gets close enough to put his hands on Louis’ calves, squeezing them lightly. He’s starting to look a little more sane, a little less like he’s going to lose his mind. “Wanna bite you again.”

Alright, maybe Louis was a little too quick in thinking that Harry’s coming back to his senses. That’s not something a normal person would say. A vampire, maybe, but not a normal person.

“Right, well, I’m not going to let you do that,” Louis says. His knees want to fall open, let Harry take up the space between them. If Harry hadn’t just announced that he wants to rip Louis’ flesh apart he might have done it, too. “No use crying about it.”

Harry slides his hands up to the backs of Louis’ knees and tugs a little, testing. “Please,” he says softly. Louis can’t tell whether he’s with it enough to know what he’s saying.

“No,” Louis says. It doesn’t come out quite as firm as he means it to. “Come lie down, you can cuddle me. You should feel lucky I’m even letting you have that.”

For a while, Harry’s quiet. Louis keeps his knees locked, refusing to give in to the pressure. The seconds tick by, and it’s getting harder to remember why he was angry at Harry in the first place. Does it really matter if Harry was lying to him? By now, the amount of shit they’ve lied to each other about should feel commonplace. One more thing isn’t going to break them.

“Can I touch it?” Harry asks eventually. At first, Louis thinks he’s talking about his arse, or maybe his cock. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that Harry’s been staring at the bite mark on his shoulder.

Instantly, he tenses up. It’s been less than two weeks since that day in the gas station, and he’s already mostly forgotten about the mark. He thinks about the actual bite sometimes, the way Harry had looked just before he did it, the effect it seemed to have on him. The mark, though – that’s something Louis forgets about unless he’s looking at it in the mirror.

“No,” he bites out, covering it with one hand. “Don’t ask me again, Harry, I swear to god.”

Anxiety is rushing through him, hot and frantic. He felt calm up until now, like he could handle anything Harry threw at him. He definitely doesn’t feel like that anymore. He feels like he literally backed himself into a corner, unable to escape without making it obvious what he’s doing.

Christ. Now he remembers why he was mad at Harry.

Harry draws back, giving him space to breathe. He retreats to the end of the bed, settling down cross-legged, still staring at Louis. The light shining through the open door from the hallway is enough to illuminate his face, making his expression entirely too easy to read. Desperate, mostly yearning. The pain is still there, but it’s not overpowering him like Louis has seen it do before. There’s no reason for Louis to give in to his demands. No reason at all.

“Sorry,” Harry says, the word coming out as a soft, sweet whisper. It doesn’t make Louis want to murder him any less.

Louis licks his lips, folding his arms across his chest now that there’s a bit of distance between them. Confrontational is so much easier to manage when Harry’s not actively touching him. “Why do you want to touch it.”

The cold air is starting to get to him again, rising goosebumps along his arms. He wants to pull one of the blankets back up to cover him, but he thinks doing that would push Harry into action. And Harry’s being relatively still, sitting at the end of the bed. Louis isn’t going to risk it.

“I’m not sure you want to know the answer to that,” Harry says heavily. His eyes haven’t moved from their target, locked onto the bite mark.

“I’m not sure I do either,” Louis agrees. It might be the most direct thing he’s said all night. “Not knowing isn’t helping anything, though, so you might as well tell me.”

He can feel Harry’s hesitation. It’s annoying. He doesn’t want to be able to feel it. “Do you want to know something I do know?” he asks, barely keeping the irritation out of his voice. Maybe he only succeeds at making it milder than it actually feels. Whatever. “I know that if you don’t tell me, I’m absolutely not going to let you touch me. Telling me might not change that, but not telling me definitely won’t.”

“Because you feel like you’re mine when I touch it,” Harry says. He doesn’t make eye contact, but at least it’s finally an answer. It feels like Louis has been waiting for one forever.

“I’m not yours,” Louis says without thinking about it. The words are true, but he probably could have delivered them more gently.

Harry sighs, toying with the edge of a blanket for a second before pushing it in Louis’ direction. Louis takes it, careful not to let their fingers meet, and pulls it up over his shoulders. It doesn’t do anything to make that stupid mark feel any less prominent. “I know,” Harry says.

“I’ve never been yours,” Louis continues. He feels even more confrontational now than he did before, as though Harry’s confession has shaken something loose. “I wasn’t yours even when I could have been, Harry. Biting me doesn’t do anything to change that.”

Desperately, he tries to reign it back in, sliding down until his head hits the pillow. “I’m going to sleep,” he announces to the room at large, making sure that the only thing peeking out from underneath the blanket is his head. “You can stay if you want, but if you touch me I’m going to kick you in the face.”

The dramatic declaration is met with silence. Louis shifts, moving around until he’s lying in a comfortable position. Resolutely, he closes his eyes. The light from the hallway isn’t so bright that it will prevent him from sleeping.

He can’t sleep. He can feel the weight of Harry’s stare on him, like he’s admiring Louis’ naked body rather than looking at a vaguely human shaped lump under a pile of blankets. It’s not unsettling. It feels familiar, all encompassing. The only reason he can’t sleep is because Harry hasn’t touched him yet. He hasn’t even tried to touch him. What would have been normal a couple years ago is so far from it now. Harry had that awful, pain-filled look on his face when Louis first woke up. Louis is having a hard time believing that simply being in the same room as him is enough to make it go away. It hasn’t been before.

He holds out as long as he can, counting the seconds in his head. He barely makes it to a hundred before he’s whipping the blankets down to his hips and sitting up.

“Does it hurt?” His voice comes out flat, almost uninterested. If it had been intentional, he would be proud of it.

“Yes,” Harry answers. His voice is slow and morbid. He doesn’t elaborate.

Louis might be forced to kill him. He shouldn’t be the one having to do all the work. If Harry needs something, he can ask for it like a big boy. Louis knows he’s perfectly capable of it.

“How much?” he demands. The part of him that doesn’t want to hurt Harry wants to get on top of him and ride his cock. It’s not so much a dilemma as it is an annoying fact.

Harry hasn’t moved, still sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed. He looks at Louis, considering. “If you want to punish me, it’s not like I’m going to die if I don’t get to touch you.”

That hadn’t been what Louis was thinking. He is now, though. He thrusts a single finger in Harry’s direction, holding it up mid-air. “You have one more chance to give me an answer that doesn’t make me want to strangle you.”

If Harry doesn’t say something true, something real, Louis is going to kick him out of the room. That, or he’ll get up and walk out the front door for real. Something. Anything to put an end to Harry’s weirdness.

“I don’t know what you want me to say here, baby,” Harry says. His hand twitches in his lap like he’s trying to suppress the urge to reach out and squeeze Louis’ ankle. “It hurts, and I want to touch you. I want to hold you. I don’t know what’s going to happen if I can’t.”

“Fuck you,” Louis bites out. He scrambles out from under the blanket and launches himself at Harry. Instead of toppling backwards off the edge of the bed, Harry catches him, hands warm and steady on Louis’ sides. “You’re so goddamn irritating.”

Fully seated in Harry’s lap, Louis puts both hands in Harry’s hair and kisses him. It’s brutal, tongues and teeth clashing, hot and angry. He doesn’t know which one of them he’s trying to punish. After a minute, he tears his mouth away, slapping a hand over Harry’s to keep him from spouting something filthy.

“Don’t talk,” he says. He wants to close his eyes, lean his forehead against Harry’s and breathe for a second. Just long enough to gain some perspective. “I’m tired of hearing you talk. You can come to bed as long as you don’t talk.”

After a second, Harry nods. Louis exhales slowly before he gets up, getting back under his safe mound of blankets. Harry joins him, easing into the space Louis has left empty like he thinks Louis is going to change his mind if he goes too fast.

Louis might. He’s reserving his right to change his mind about any of this.

As quiet as Harry is being, it’s like Louis can read his mind anyway. Or maybe it’s just his body language Louis is reading. He’s lying on his back, stiff and only half covered by the blankets, not touching Louis at all. Not even their arms are touching. Louis laid down first, so that’s entirely Harry’s fault. He refuses to take any responsibility for it.

“You’re stupid,” Louis says, rolling onto his side, facing away from Harry. He reaches back blindly and tugs on Harry’s arm until he gets the hint, crowding up against Louis’ back. “If you don’t tell me things, I can’t help you.”

He pulls Harry’s hand up to press against the bite mark. Harry exhales against the back of his neck slowly, deep and shuddering. His fingers spread out wide, covering the mark entirely. It feels way too good for simple spooning.

“I know,” Harry says, the words damp against Louis’ skin. His other hand covers Louis’ bare belly, pulling him back so they’re pressed together even tighter, tip of his pinky sliding under the waist of Louis’ pants. Louis still isn’t going to let him have sex tonight, but fuck if it doesn’t feel good. “I’m sorry.”

Is he really? Louis can’t tell. He doesn’t know how much it matters, either. Harry can say he’s sorry all he wants, but until he starts talking it’s not like anything has actually changed. They’re still in the same situation, adrift in a sea of confusion, not any closer to figuring anything out.

Louis still thinks that Harry taking the medication isn’t going to help. He doesn’t know if Harry still believes that. Or if he ever really believed that. It feels like he should ask.

He’ll do it in the morning. They’ve been through enough today. He’ll let Harry have this for the night, their bodies close and comfortable, and bring it up in the morning. It can wait until then.

Harry’s still there when Louis wakes up. He’s kind of surprised by that. After their row last night, he was expecting Harry to be down in the kitchen or something, pretending to be busy. The fact that he’s not, that Louis can still feel the heat of his body pressed up against his back, is mildly concerning. It had only taken him a week to get used to the way Harry’s been drawing back from fighting with him, preferring to let Louis have the last word. And sometimes the first word, and the middle ones, too.

He didn’t used to be this complacent. During the first couple of years as a band, they’d had big, loud rows fairly regularly. Harry can give it as good as Louis can, and he hadn’t shied away from it back then. The fights had distracted them from the myriad of things between them, things that got stronger over the years instead of fading away. It hadn’t been a healthy coping mechanism, probably, but for a while it had gotten them through the pressure and the attention. Right up until it didn’t. Until distancing themselves became easier.

The fights became less frequent as time passed, but they didn’t stop altogether. When they had them, they were still explosive, all-encompassing. Harry had never tried to prevent one, or not take part in it. Doing that now, trying to keep the peace, is the biggest sign of guilt Louis has ever seen. He’s spent the last week trying to ignore it.

“Hey,” Harry says once he realizes Louis is awake. His voice is sleep rough and dry. He props himself up on an elbow, leaning over to kiss Louis good morning.

It definitely feels like a good morning kiss, sweet and brief. Louis is returning it without thinking about it, head turned in Harry’s direction. Their situation is impossible to forget, but it’s at the back of his mind until Harry pulls back a couple of inches, looking down at him. Louis could read his expression if he really wanted to, fond and something else. He doesn’t want to.

“You look unfairly pretty in the morning, you know that?” Harry asks softly. It’s a sentiment Louis could return. He doesn’t. He lies still as Harry strokes his thumb across the edge of Louis’ jaw, eyes fixed on the place he’s touching. “I’m gonna go make us some breakfast.”

He kisses Louis once more before he rolls out of bed, short and pleasant. Louis rolls over to watch him leave the room, frowning. That wasn’t normal behaviour. That wasn’t a normal look.

There’s nothing he can do about it until he gets dressed, arms himself against that kind of look. Louis lies in bed for a few more minutes, giving himself a chance to prepare mentally. It feels like he’s going to need it.

He doesn’t get a chance to bring it up. The look, the weirdness, the medication, the fact that Harry’s been lying to him. None of it. Every time he gears himself up to it, Harry distracts him. At first, it’s with breakfast. Harry’s made a fry-up, complete with all of Louis’ favourites.

Okay. It’s just breakfast. This conversation can wait until after breakfast. They eat, but it’s not in silence. Harry tells a long, meandering story, one that the punchline is actually worth waiting for, and has Louis in stitches by the end of it. He almost forgets that they have to have a conversation at all.

The rest of the day goes like that. Harry distracts him from bringing any of it up every time Louis is ready to, telling dumb, useless stories, convincing Louis to play games with him, watch telly, do a couple of chores. He’s funny, and it’s not like Louis hadn’t known that before, but right now he hates that he finds Harry’s stupid jokes funny. He hates that he keeps getting flustered by the way Harry’s been looking at him, openly admiring. He hates that Harry’s house is so comfortable, that it feels lived in and normal for Louis to be here. He hates the casual, intimate ways Harry keeps touching him. He especially hates that he keeps reciprocating those touches. The kisses. He hates how good everything feels.

“Think I might have a football lying around here somewhere,” Harry’s saying, facing the counter as he makes them tea. He’s one of the few people Louis trusts to make his tea, always puts the right amount of milk in. “We can bring it out into the garden after dinner, what do you think?”

He looks at Louis over his shoulder as he says it, popping teabags into a couple of mugs. That look is on his face again, so much deeper than how he should be looking at Louis.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Louis says abruptly. He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen like he’s frozen there, unable to move.

“Like what?” Harry asks, laughing. “This is just my face, baby.”

Louis can’t laugh it off. He can’t shrug it off anymore. This has been going way too far. Louis can’t let it go on any longer.

“You look at me like I’m the goddamn love of your life,” Louis says. His heart is pounding erratically in his chest. “You need to stop. This isn’t some kind of – fucking epic love story or something. This is just a fucked up situation neither of us had a choice in.”

The smile slides off Harry’s face. He turns back around and reaches out to flick the kettle off before turning to face Louis, arms rigid at his sides. Almost like he’s trying to seem unthreatening.

Louis isn’t sure he’s ever felt more threatened by Harry than he does right now.

“I might not be yours,” Harry says, “but you’re sure as hell mine.”

With that, he turns and walks out.

For a minute, Louis stays rooted in spot. Harry’s words echo through his head, so loud they’re pounding. Parts of his body feel numb. Other parts feel so sensitive it hurts.

He snaps himself out of it before it can go on for too long. Harry doesn’t get to be the one to walk away. Not this time.

Louis stomps in the direction Harry had gone in, slamming the patio door open. Harry hasn’t gone far, standing in the grass of the garden in his bare feet. Couldn’t have gone far even if he wanted to. His head is bowed, sunlight streaming down over him like he’s some kind of fairytale hero. He’s not. Louis would know.

“You don’t get to walk away,” Louis shouts, striding right up to Harry and shoving at his chest with both hands. “After all the shit you’ve pulled lately, Harry, if one of us is going to walk away it’s going to be me.”

He shoves at Harry’s chest again, pushing him back a step. He can feel the way his eyes have gone wet with tears. Being an angry crier is the fucking worst. Louis isn’t going to let it stop him.

“Okay,” is all Harry says, letting Louis push him. It only makes Louis angrier.

“Don’t just say okay,” he says, seething. “You don’t get to say shit like you’re the love of my life and then just walk away. You’re a fucking prick.”

By the end of it, he’s screeching more than he’s shouting. His face has gone red and blotchy, so unattractive that he definitely doesn’t want to catch a glimpse of himself in a mirror. The sunlight feels too hot against his skin, like it should be raining instead.

“What do you want me to say?” Harry asks. His hands twitch at his sides like he’s repressing the desire to catch Louis’ wrists, make him stop shoving him. Louis hates that. “I’m not going to take it back.”

“Stop walking away!” Louis says, back to shouting now. He shoves at Harry harder, trying to send him off balance, make him fall. Something. Anything to distract himself from the hot flood of tears trying to gush out of his eyes. “The last time you walked away, you kissed me goodbye!”

He’s properly crying now, tears of frustration and anger. Hurt. He stumbles a step or two backwards, wiping angrily at his face. When he looks back at Harry, Harry’s staring at him. Not shell-shocked, not quite, but something close to it. It’s something they’ve had five years to talk about. Plenty of time to have brought it up if they wanted to.

Neither of them have.

“We going to talk about that?” Harry asks, slow and careful.

Louis scrubs at his face some more, trying to get himself to stop crying. It’s not really working, and he feels too furious to try something else. “You kissed me goodbye,” he repeats.

It had been the only time they’d ever kissed. The only time they’d ever kissed, and Harry had done it and then walked out of Louis’ life. Louis has hated him for it for five years.

Harry inclines his head slightly, agreeing. “I know.”

That’s not an excuse. That’s not even a reason.

“You don’t – ” Louis has to stop and suck in a deep breath, knees threatening to buckle under his own weight. “You’re not even going to defend yourself?”

Feelings that he’s been trying to suppress for ten years come rushing back, threatening to drown him with the force of them. Things he’s tried not to let himself think about, things he’s actively worked at not thinking about. It’s overwhelming, heavy. He wants to sink down to the ground and bury his face in his arms, scream until his lungs give out.

“I can’t,” Harry says simply. Louis waits for him to add something more. He doesn’t.

That kiss had been as cruel as it had been life altering. The day after their very last performance as a band, at that New Year’s Eve show, they had all said their goodbyes in a hotel room. It had been a dramatic, weepy affair for all four of them, kind of a last hurrah of sorts. They had all gone back to their individual rooms to pick up their bags, and that had seemed like the end of it. The end of the band.

Harry knocking at his door twenty minutes later had been unexpected. Louis had let him in. The door had shut behind him, closing out the rest of the world, and that was on Louis. The rest of it wasn’t.

It’s been so long Louis doesn’t remember exactly how it happened. It hadn’t been sudden, he knows that much. It’s not like one minute they were talking and the next they were kissing. Gradual. It had been gradual. He remembers standing in the room in his bare feet because he was in the middle of changing his shoes when Harry had knocked. He remembers Harry getting closer, the way Harry had cupped his face in his hands, looking like the world was ending. He remembers the anticipation building, remembers watching Harry’s lips move as he talked, said a much more intimate goodbye than the one he’d said to Louis earlier.

He remembers that it hadn’t just been one kiss. They’d stood there, in the middle of Louis’ hotel room, kissing for the next half hour. It had been a slow, thorough kind of snog, heartfelt and too emotionally invested for the ways they had hurt each other over the years. There had been something gentle about it, something fragile. It was achingly tender.

Even then, it had felt like goodbye. Harry had come to Louis’ room, sought him out, and kissed him goodbye. It had been their first kiss, and at the time it had felt like their last one, too. If it wasn’t for this whole pain-situation, it probably would still feel like that.

It’s been five years, and Louis is still angry about it. He’s not even close to being over it.

“You walked away, Harry,” Louis says, jabbing a finger in Harry’s direction. He’s crying again, can’t seem to stop himself. “You’re the one who made that choice. You made that choice twice over, and I’ll never forgive you for it.”

Harry left him. Harry left him twice. Louis would have stayed in that band for years, and he would have been happy about it. Harry knows that. Hell, everyone knows that. Harry was the one who first brought up the idea of a hiatus at all. He’d gotten Liam and Niall on board fairly easily. Louis had been the last holdout. He hadn’t wanted the split. Harry had broken up the band, and then he’d broken Louis’ heart.

Harry’s silent, watching him from his position in the grass. It looks like he wants to run away, just bolt out the front door and never come back, regardless of the fact that this is his house.

“You left me,” Louis says. His voice cracks in the middle, the well of emotion he’s been trying to hold back surging up out of it. “Why did you leave me.”

It’s a question as much as it isn’t. He can’t control his crying anymore, sinking down onto his arse on the patio stones and burying his face in his hands. It’s a loud, hiccupping sort of crying, snotty and unattractive. Desperately, he tries to claw it back, tries to catch a breath that doesn’t sound like a sob. He doesn’t want Harry to see him crying. Not anymore.

Harry stays where he is. Louis can see the tops of his feet through his tears, his toes. That stupid tattoo he’s got on the big one.

“Because I couldn’t take how it felt anymore,” Harry says eventually. Louis has to strain to hear him over his own ragged breaths. “Loving you was never easy, Louis.”

There he goes again with the whole love thing. If he ever really loved Louis, platonically or not, he wouldn’t have fucked him up so badly. Wouldn’t have spent ages in that hotel room kissing him goodbye, knowing that he was about to walk out.

“No,” Louis says eventually, getting himself more or less under control. He wipes his face on his shirt, ignoring the roughness of his voice. “You don’t get to use that as an excuse, Harry. What we had was never love. We were fucked up, and we fucked each other up way too much for that.”

Harry’s looking at him evenly, not a hint of wetness in his eyes. Either he’s a way better actor than Louis has given him credit for or everything about this is another lie.

It definitely feels like it should be raining.

“I knew when I was sixteen,” Harry says. It’s almost conversational, the way he’s talking. It makes Louis want to scream. “It felt almost fanatical back then. I was obsessed with you and all the evidence was right there for the entire world to see. The feeling settled into something less chaotic over time, but it was always love for me. You knew that.”

Louis knew no such thing. Their relationship has always been complicated, and yeah, there’s always been something between them that ran deeper than friendship, but Harry never loved him. That’s something Louis has always believed. He had to believe it.

“I didn’t,” he says, folding his arms across his chest and looking at Harry from his position on the ground. They’re far enough apart that Harry doesn’t look impossibly tall. It only makes Louis feel a little less defensive.

Harry rolls his eyes. Just once, and quickly. Louis bristles even more. “I spent an entire week telling you that you were the light of my life when I was eighteen. And on occasion since then.”

That’s – okay, Louis remembers that. At the time, it had been flattering, entirely overwhelming. It had also been weird, feeling like Harry had figured something out that Louis wasn’t even letting himself think about. Convincing himself that Harry was only joking around was hard, but Louis had done it.

Mostly he’d done it.

“So what,” Louis spits out. He can’t manage to uncurl from his overtly defensive position. “That kind of shit isn’t the same as telling me that you think we’re – soulmates or whatever.”

His heart is beating erratically in his chest, out of control. He’s not crying anymore, but he doesn’t feel any better.

“Not soulmates,” Harry corrects. “But if I could make myself fall out of love with you, I would have done it a long time ago.”

It’s hard to breathe under the weight of that admission. That – Louis doesn’t know what to do with that. What can he do with it? No matter which way he looks at it, they’re still stuck here together. There’s no getting out of this situation.

Harry exhales slowly, a little raggedly. He rubs a hand across his face and says, “Can we be done talking about this now?” up at the sky.

Yes. They can be done talking about it. Without a word, Louis gets up and goes back into the house.

Louis locks himself in the spare bedroom and sits down on the bed to think, mind still reeling. He literally locks the door before he sits down. Harry might have a key for the door somewhere, but the illusion of privacy makes Louis feel better.

He texts Oli, only half thinking about what he’s doing. he told me he’s in love with me.

Oli’s reply comes a handful of seconds later. are you surprised?

Yes. It feels like he shouldn’t be, but Louis is surprised. Shocked. Shaken down to his fucking core. He doesn’t want to keep thinking about it, but he can’t make himself stop. Harry’s in love with him. Harry says that he’s been in love with him for nearly the entire time they’ve known each other. That’s not the kind of thing Louis can get over quickly.

wanna murder him, he texts Oli back. If there was ever an appropriate time to tell him something like this, it would have been after that kiss in the hotel room. Not five years later, when Louis can only flee if he feels like being chased halfway across the country. This isn’t fair.

His phone vibrates in his hand. Louis looks down at it. you shouldn’t be, you know. he’s been very obvious about you since day one.

Trust Oli to be absolutely no help. Louis hurls his phone at the pillows before flopping down onto his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Harry hadn’t asked him. He told Louis his own feelings like he was laying out facts, succinct and to the point, but he hadn’t asked Louis about his own. That little fact is rattling around in Louis’ brain, threatening to unhinge him completely.

There’s a knock at the door. Louis startles, sitting up so abruptly his head spins. He squints at it, trying to make sure he turned the lock properly. “I don’t want to talk to you,” he says without raising his voice. If Harry can’t hear him, that’s not Louis’ problem.

“I have to show you something,” Harry says through the door.

Instantly, Louis thinks it better not be your cock. He doesn’t know why. Harry’s cock should be the last thing on his mind right now. “What is it.”

Harry sighs deeply, audible even from this distance. The wood of the door creaks, probably him resting his weight against it. Louis has half a mind to sneak over there and open it so he falls flat onto his face. “Just open the door, Louis.”

Fine. Louis bites his tongue against the instinctive no that wants to come out and gets up. He yanks the door open as quickly as he can, but Harry’s bracing himself and he doesn’t fall through. Damn.

For a second, all Harry does is look at him. He’s gripping the doorframe with both hands, a heavy, exhausted expression on his face. It’s a look he used to wear when they were at their worst. The familiarity of it sends a tight spiral of anguish through Louis’ chest before he can force it down.

He’s not going to let himself cry again. Not in front of Harry, anyway.

“She gave me this,” Harry says. Louis hadn’t even noticed him holding a crumpled sheet of paper in his left hand. It’s so balled up that it’s practically invisible.

“Who?” Louis asks, but he thinks he gets it. There’s a sinking pit in the bottom of his stomach that tells him he already knows the answer to that question.

“The girl who attacked me,” Harry says. Slowly, he lets go of the doorframe and uses both hands to smooth the paper out before extending it in Louis’ direction.

Numbly, Louis takes it. For a second, he can’t bring himself to look down at it, searching Harry’s face for every last ounce of guilt and shame. He finds plenty.

Having confirmation of being right all along has never felt so shitty. He knew Harry was lying to him this entire time, and instead of confronting him about it, Louis continued to let him get away with it. For what? In order to keep the peace?

He turns around and goes back to the bed, sitting down on it heavily. He flattens the paper against his thighs and looks down at it. Scrawled across the page in handwritten letters, there seems to be a message followed by a set of an instructions.

A tear drips down Louis’ cheek, splatting onto the paper and smudging the ink a little. He sniffles, wiping angrily at his cheek to get rid of the residual wetness, and takes a deep breath to try to get himself under control. He reads the damn paper.

May your heart find what it has long since yearned for. To be bound to one another shall be both a blessing and a curse. No longer shall you have to walk alone.

Underneath, in a different handwriting, seems to be instructions on how to break the spell. Curse? Whatever the fuck this is. Louis stares down at it for a long time, reading the words over and over again.

“How long have you had this for?” he asks, picking his head up and looking at Harry.

Harry swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Lou,” he says.

Louis squeezes his eyes closed, clenching the paper in his fist. He thinks he hears it tearing a little. “How long, Harry.”

“Josh found it before they took me to the hospital in New York,” Harry says. His voice is quiet, defeated. “He says he gave it to me after they cleaned me up and that I read it, but I don’t remember any of that. I don’t remember finding it until after seeing the therapist in Salem.”

Knowing is worse. Louis swallows against the hard lump in his throat, opening his eyes again. “How did you find it.”

Harry hesitates. Louis stays quiet, refusing to give him anything to work with. He’s going to get answers. He’s going to get every single answer Harry has, then they’re going to try these instructions, and then Louis is going to leave.

“It was crammed into my phone case. Josh gave me my phone at the hospital, and eventually I noticed the edge sticking out.”

Breathing has never been so hard. Louis concentrates on his, trying to keep it even. He could ask why Harry kept this from him for so long. He’s pretty sure Harry would answer.

What good would that do, though? What kind of answer could Harry give him that wouldn’t be as devastating as everything else he’s said today? There’s nothing Harry can say to make any of this better. It doesn’t matter if he thought the note was some kind of hoax, if that’s what his reason is. What matters is that he hid it from Louis.

“Okay,” Louis says. He stops for a second to rub his eyes, wiping away the excess moisture. “We’re going to do this – what the fuck is this, some kind of spell? We’re going to do it, and then I’m going to leave.”

“I – ” Harry starts.

Louis stands up, pointing a shaking hand at him. “I don’t want to hear whatever you’re about to say,” he interrupts.

Harry shuts his mouth. Louis slams his shoulder on his way out of the room.

It only takes about ten minutes to gather all the supplies the spell calls for. Actually, it might only take two. Harry does the fetching while Louis closes himself in the loo, turns the tap on, and screams into a sink full of water.

He almost feels like he’s going to throw up. Everything hurts. He wants to be out of here, wants to be free of Harry. He didn’t ask for any of this. Having it all put on him isn’t fair and he doesn’t want to have to deal with it.

When his tantrum is over, he straightens up and looks at himself in the mirror. His face is dripping wet, cheeks blotchy, eyelids a little swollen from all the crying. He looks like shit. He doesn’t know how Harry could ever have looked at him like this and thought yeah, I want a piece of that.

Methodically, he washes his hands in the sink and proceeds to dry himself off. His shirt is damp in places from the water that dripped down onto it. He could do with a fresh one. He could do with an entire change of clothes, actually. Everything he’s wearing right now is Harry’s. Harry took his bag when they got here, and he hasn’t returned it.

Oh well. Maybe Louis will sue him for it later. The thought makes him break out into hysterical laughter that only stops when he pinches his own arm.

He’s as ready as he’s ever going to be. He squares his shoulders, nods at himself in the mirror, and turns to go.

In the living room, Harry’s set everything up. He’s sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, head buried in his hands. If his shoulders were moving any, Louis might think he was crying. They’re not. He’s not.

“Let’s get started,” Louis says sharply. He joins Harry on the floor, sitting cross-legged a couple of feet in front of him. The instructions on the page are all a blur in Louis’ mind. He must have read them at least five times after Harry gave it to him and he can’t remember a single one.

“Okay,” Harry says. He clears his throat before he looks up, tucking his hair behind his ear. He doesn’t seem nervous so much as he seems sad.

Whatever. Louis doesn’t care.

“What’s the first step?” he asks. He folds his hands together in his lap so Harry won’t see how much they’re shaking. He’s never had a particularly good poker face, but he puts his best one on now. There’s no way this is going to take longer than half an hour. Just half an hour, and then Louis can be out of here. Thirty minutes. That’s it.

Harry clears his throat again, index finger gently touching the paper laid down on the floor in front of him before pulling it away. “It’s a blood ritual,” he says. His voice is a lot stronger than Louis’, barely letting any emotion through. “The girl who attacked me clawed up my arm when she did it, so it looks like it has to be reversed through blood as well. I’m supposed to cut my palm and rub my blood on the mark on your shoulder.”

None of that is information Louis had before. He swallows a frustrated scream, squeezing his fingers together. Harry hadn’t even told him that the girl had drawn blood. His arm had looked normal from the very first time Louis had been coherent enough to notice in the hospital. It might explain something about why the bite mark on his own shoulder has healed so much. When Harry bit him, it felt like it had almost gone down to the bone. Louis shudders a little, thinking about it.

He can be mad at Harry later. Right now, they need to concentrate on getting this done.

“Great. So what do we actually need to do?”

Harry picks up a lighter and a knife. Silently, he flicks the lighter to life and holds the flame close to the steel blade, sterilizing it. Equally as silent, Louis watches him do it.

It’s so stupid. Why the palm, of all places? A small cut somewhere else could produce the same amount of blood while hitting fewer nerves. Along the same lines, do the instructions specifically say that it has to be the palm? Louis can’t remember. Selfishly, he stays quiet about it. It’s not like a single cut isn’t going to heal. Harry deserves the small amount of pain for hiding this from him for so long.

Knife sterilized, Harry flicks the lighter off and drops it down onto the floor. He picks up the paper and holds it out to Louis. “Can you hold this? I need to read some words as I do it.”

Louis takes the page, holding it at an angle Harry will be able to see. Quietly, almost under his breath, Harry starts murmuring the words, squinting in concentration. It doesn’t sound like English. It might not be English. Towards the end, Harry rises up onto his knees, shuffling closer to Louis, and uses the knife to make a shallow cut on his palm. Louis holds his breath as Harry leans forward. Harry pushes his shirt out of the way, and covers the bite mark with his bloody hand.

It doesn’t feel like anything. Just the warm, wet pressure of Harry’s palm against his skin. Louis stays still, looking up at Harry as he finishes the last of the chant, hand pressed against Louis’ shoulder the entire time.

It might just not feel like anything for Louis, though. Harry’s gone ashen-faced, lips barely parted as he finishes saying the rest of the words. As soon as he’s finished, Harry sinks down onto his arse, hand sliding off of Louis’ body in a way that smears blood down his shirt. Head bowed, shoulders heaving, Harry goes quiet.

Louis waits for a minute. Nothing happens. His toes are starting to go numb from the way he’s sitting. “Did it work?”

He was expecting pain. Experiencing none is a little unsettling.

“I don’t know,” Harry says, head still bowed. Louis can’t see his expression, but he doesn’t hear any pain in Harry’s voice. So that’s a good thing, right?

Louis looks down at his bloody shoulder, contemplating. “Did you do it wrong?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry says. Slowly, he shuffles back, sitting down on the floor and pushing his hair out of his face. He gets blood all over the place in the process, smearing it in his hair and along his jawline. It doesn’t really do anything to make him less attractive.

If he didn’t do it wrong, why did it look like there were so many instructions on that page? Belatedly, Louis realizes that he’s still holding it in his hand and looks down to check.

Nope. The instructions are pretty simple. Clean knife. A few candles lit around the room, which Louis hadn’t noticed until now. A cut to the palm – and it does actually specify that it needs to be the palm – and the press of bloody flesh to a spot on the other person’s body that calls to be touched. The wording is a little fancier than that, but that’s what it boils down to. As long as Harry said the words right, it doesn’t seem like he could have screwed it up.

There’s a hollow pit deep in Louis’ belly. He doesn’t think it has anything to do with the ritual.

“Okay,” he says. He takes one last long, hard look at Harry, and it doesn’t change his mind. “I’m leaving now. If the pain comes back, you can call me. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear from you.”

Louis forces himself up to his feet and leaves Harry sitting in the middle of his living room. He doesn’t look back.

He’s mostly numb on the drive to LAX. The rental car had still been sitting in Harry’s driveway, keys by the door. Louis had grabbed his wallet and phone, and then he’d gotten in the car. He’d driven on autopilot, listening to himself breathe and not thinking about anything except how much longer he was going to be in the car for. He finds a spot in the carpark, pulls into it and shuts the engine off.

He hadn’t even stopped to find a flight. Fuck, he hadn’t even stopped to figure out where he was going. The place he used to have in L.A. was sold a long time ago. He could stay in a hotel for the night while he figures out what he’s doing, he supposes. The entire city feels burnt to him now, though.

Harry hasn’t called. Louis has checked his phone five times since he pulled into this parking spot. Harry hasn’t called. The pit in Louis’ stomach has grown, threatening to overtake him. Belatedly, he realizes that his fingers are shaking. He needs a cigarette. Fuck, does he ever need a cigarette.

There was half a pack tucked into his bag before Harry had taken it. Louis hasn’t even thought about smoking over the last couple of days. Hadn’t felt the need to. It’s burning through him now, anxiety and twitchiness like he’s never felt before.

He’s calling Oli before he realizes what he’s doing, phone pressed up against his ear so hard it’s going to leave a mark. Like he knew Louis would be calling, Oli answers on the first ring.

“He told me he loves me,” Louis says, resting his head against the steering wheel and closing his eyes. He might be crying again. “He told me he loves me, and he didn’t ask how I felt.”

Oli’s breathing is loud in his ear. “How do you feel?”

Louis is definitely crying again. It’s a softer, subtler crying than earlier, but there’s no mistaking it. “I love him.”

He doesn’t have to think about it. The amount of time he’s spent trying not to think about it means it’s etched into his brain like it’s a scar. Loving Harry has always been a heavy weight, one that only got heavier with time.

“I know,” Oli says. Somehow, it’s comforting. Oddly reassuring. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Louis hangs up. Oli doesn’t call him back, too used to Louis’ dramatics after a lifetime of friendship. Liam or Niall would have tried to talk him through it, but Louis didn’t want to put them in the middle of this. They already spent five years in the middle of all his shit with Harry. They deserve to be free of it now. One of Louis’ other friends might have tried, but the reality is that Oli is really the only one who can kick Louis’ arse into gear when he needs him to.

What is Louis going to do about it. That’s the real question, isn’t it. What does he do about someone who loves him so fiercely it’s capable of making him uncomfortable? What does he do about someone who put himself through two weeks of pain and suffering just to be close to Louis again? What does he do about ten years of history they can’t escape, no matter how badly they might want to?

Their problem was never a lack of feelings. They’d been flirtatious from the start, obviously interested in each other. No, their problem had always been the fame, the pressure of getting to know each other under a microscope of thousands of eyes on them, falling for each other and not wanting to do anything to fuck up their careers. Eventually, it had started feeling more like a prison than a relief, all of those feelings.

Louis is pretty sure he knows the answers to all of his questions. He knows what he should do, what he wants to do. He also knows that he’s terrified of doing it.

He has to wait at Harry’s door for a few minutes before Harry answers. It’s only been a couple of hours since Louis left. Traffic was L.A. typical and Louis didn’t take his time, despite the fear in his stomach.

Harry answers the door looking run-down and ragged. There’s still blood in his hair and on his shirt, his trackies where he must have wiped his palm after Louis left. The sight reminds Louis that he’s still got blood on his own shoulder and shirt.

It makes him laugh. He has to cover his mouth to try to hold it back a bit. Faced with Harry, he doesn’t know what he was thinking. It’s surprising that he didn’t get pulled over, driving like this. That would have been something to explain to the police, why a celebrity is driving around L.A. covered in blood.

Harry blinks at him, uncomprehending. “Louis,” he whispers. His voice is shot, like maybe he’s been screaming. He reaches out to touch him.

Instinctively, Louis slaps his hand away. “You couldn’t have showered?” he asks.

Harry blinks again. A bit of the glaze in his eyes fades away. Maybe he was drinking. If Louis hadn’t been driving, he definitely would have been drinking. “You came back,” Harry breathes.

Louis did come back. There’s really no denying that. He kind of wants to, wants Harry to suffer a little more.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “How serious were you when you said that I’m the light of your life?”

The answer isn’t really that important. Mostly, he’s stalling, trying to find the right words for what he wants to say. A little time has cemented Harry’s words in his brain. They feel like they fit there now. Louis believes him.

“Entirely,” Harry says. He hesitates for a second before adding, “I think – I probably would have given all of it up if it meant having you.”

Would haves and probablys aren’t going to do them any good now. The only thing it does is send a pang of hurt through Louis’ chest. They didn’t handle any of their shit right, but giving up their careers, their passions, wasn’t the answer either.

“Okay,” Louis says. “I’m in love with you too.”

He waits. Harry doesn’t react. “Did you hear me? Have you been drinking?”

Harry blinks again, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear out some cobwebs. “What? No, I haven’t been drinking. I heard you. I just – ”

He stops, staring at Louis’ face like he’s trying to memorize it. “Just what?” Louis prompts.

Harry shakes his head, stepping out of the house and wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck, hugging him tightly. It isn’t until Louis feels the hot rush of tears against his skin that he realizes Harry’s crying.

A part of Louis relaxes. It’s something deep inside him, something he wouldn’t be able to control if he tried. He curls his fingers around Harry’s biceps, holding him in place. Harry was implacable when he was telling Louis his feelings. Even during the ritual, he didn’t seem rattled. For most of this, he’s been steady. Part resigned, part accepting. Whatever. Louis doesn’t know. Harry getting emotional now, right when Louis needs him to the most, is the thing keeping him from regretting his decision to come back.

“Alright, alright,” Louis sighs, patting Harry’s hip. “Can we take this inside before someone sees us?”

Without releasing his hold, Harry starts shuffling backwards. It leaves Louis with no choices other than following him or getting choked. Wisely, he chooses to follow, stepping in time with Harry and kicking the door closed behind them. Harry stops in the middle of the foyer, mouth pressed against the side of Louis’ head. It must be an awkward position for him, hunched over like that. He’s not showing any signs of wanting to move, though.

“Hey,” Louis says, pulling back enough that he can see Harry’s face properly, his red-rimmed, watery eyes, the look on his face, disbelieving, cautiously optimistic. Louis doesn’t feel at all bad that he’s about to ruin it. “I’m still angry with you, alright? I don’t think I’ve ever been more angry with you. You don’t get a pass just because I have feelings for you.”

Like he can’t stop himself, Harry puts both his hands back on Louis’ face, holding it. Louis rolls his eyes, not bothering to hide it. “You’re in love with me,” Harry says. It’s almost a correction.

Okay. It seems they’re going to be stuck on this for a while. Louis hooks his hands over Harry’s forearms, holding onto him. “Yes,” he agrees patiently. “I’m also very mad at you.”

The anger is hard to hold onto when Harry’s touching him like this. It feels reverent, like he thinks Louis is something to be cherished. The look on his face matches that sentiment. Louis is starting to suspect that it all adds up to meaning they’re not going to get anywhere anytime soon.

“I know,” Harry says. “But you’re in love with me.”

This time, Louis’ eye roll is a lot more irritated. He tugs at Harry’s arms, trying to pull them down. “Yes,” he repeats. “If you’re just going to stand around going on about it, can we at least move this up to the loo? We both have blood all over us.”

A nice, hot shower might also help get Harry’s brain back online. If he keeps going on like this, Louis will have no choice but to leave him for someone who isn’t stuck in a loop.

“Yeah,” Harry says. He clears his throat and drops his hands from Louis’ face. “A shower would be good.”

He doesn’t seem inclined to move. Louis tangles their fingers together and leads the way. They go up the stairs slowly, side by side. By now, he’s familiarized himself with the layout of Harry’s house. There’s an ensuite attached to the master bedroom, and that’s the one Louis takes them to. He starts getting undressed first, figuring that Harry will follow his lead.

Harry does, reaching past him to get the water running first. Louis steps in without bothering to check the temperature first, immediately gritting his teeth against the cold. It warms up quickly, though, before Harry has even finished stripping.

It’s a good shower, one of the ones with double showerheads. Louis stands directly under the warm spray and closes his eyes, letting the water stream over him. He feels it when Harry steps in, crowding right up against Louis like he thinks he has that right now. Like he thinks he has all the rights.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asks. His voice is pitched low, barely audible over the sound of the water.

Louis keeps his eyes firmly closed. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know,” Harry says. Tentatively, he touches Louis’ side, the press of his hand light and slightly unsteady. “I know, and I know we’re going to have to talk about – everything, I guess, but first can I kiss you?”

Louis opens his eyes. They have ten years worth of fucked up shit to talk about, ten years of repressed emotions, of cruel arguments, of tears and pain. That’s not to say there wasn’t good stuff, of course – he doesn’t think he could have fallen in love with someone if there was no good stuff – but the bad stuff is the stuff they need to talk about.

“Yes.”

Harry doesn’t waste time, pressing Louis back against the wall. Louis barely has a second to hiss at the feel of the cold tile against his skin before Harry’s slanting his mouth down over Louis’. The kiss is desperate, warm and all consuming. Louis tips his head back for it, nearly getting water up his nose in the process.

How long has it been since they kissed? Less than twenty-four hours, probably. It feels like a lifetime. Maybe that’s just because so much has happened since then, though.

After a few minutes, Louis pushes Harry back with an unsteady hand. Harry’s cock is hard against his thigh, has been since a few seconds in. He seems to content to ignore it, intent on kissing Louis until their lips are swollen.

“We need soap,” Louis says, voice cracking a bit. He’s hard, too, and he’s having a much harder time ignoring it. “Shampoo. Need to be clean.”

It doesn’t make much sense. Harry’s staring at him rather than doing anything helpful, so Louis turns around to fetch the shampoo himself. Immediately, Harry’s arms slide around his waist, hugging him from behind. Louis wants to laugh. He doesn’t do a very good job at biting back his giggles.

Harry presses an amused sound of his own into Louis’ wet hair, standing there unmoving as Louis thumbs the shampoo open and pours some out onto his palm. “What?”

God, Louis loves him. He’s never really tried to deny it to himself, trying to avoid thinking about it instead. He’s known for years that he loves Harry. For the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel heavy.

“Nothing,” Louis says, turning around and reaching up to scrub the shampoo through Harry’s hair. Harry’s hands slide with him, resting on Louis’ hips. “How do you feel now? Did the ritual work?”

“I feel like I love you,” Harry says. Louis sighs, but it’s hard to bite down on his smile. “I dunno. It’s hard to tell when you’re right in front of me.”

Louis finishes working the shampoo through Harry’s hair and gestures for him to rinse it out. Harry does, tipping his head back into the spray. Louis sets about washing his own hair, fingers getting caught against a couple of knots in the process. “How did you feel when I was gone?”

He’s careful not to look at Harry’s face as he asks. Harry deserved it, sure, and at the time Louis felt like it was his only option, but that doesn’t mean he wants to see Harry’s expression when he thinks about it. Their situation is still complicated, regardless of whether Harry’s better or not.

“Like my heart was breaking,” Harry says. Pretty clearly, he’s trying to keep his tone factual. Louis appreciates that. “I wasn’t really thinking about anything else.”

Okay. It’s not an answer that helps them any, but it sounds like the truth. They’ll figure out the rest of this curse stuff later. It’s not like they don’t have the time.

“Okay,” Louis says. He turns around to rinse his hair out. “Wash the rest of your body, I’m not going to do it for you.”

“I’ll do yours,” Harry offers immediately.

Louis laughs, soaping himself up quickly. If they stay in this shower much longer, he’s going to end up getting fucked. He’s not sure that he trusts Harry’s emotional stability enough for shower sex right now. “Just wash yourself, you wanker!” he shouts. His voice bounces off the tile, loud and booming.

“Christ, baby, okay,” Harry says. There’s barely suppressed laughter in his voice and the slick sound of him starting to obey. “You don’t need to yell.”

Clearly Louis does need to yell. Harry hadn’t been moving until Louis started yelling. Yelling has always been a tactic that works on Harry, though, so Louis isn’t really surprised.

Unsurprisingly, Louis finishes first. He pushes past Harry to get out and gets his arse squeezed in the process. Naturally, he wiggles it a little in response, and escapes out into the bedroom dripping wet while Harry presumably gapes at his back. He doesn’t bother putting on clothes, drying himself off haphazardly with a t-shirt draped over the back of a chair. Then he gets into Harry’s bed, making himself nice and comfortable, and waits for Harry to finish.

It only takes a minute or two before the water is shutting off. When he emerges, Harry’s mostly dry, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair dripping down onto his shoulders. Louis draws the covers up to his chin and blinks at him, making sure it looks sweet and innocent. He knows there’s no way Harry is fooled, but it makes him smile anyway. Makes them both smile.

“You’re fucking cute,” Harry tells him. It comes out as some sort of dreamy sigh. He crosses the room quickly, joining Louis on the bed and trying to pull the covers down.

Louis holds fast. “I know,” he says. “I’m naked.”

Harry’s smile widens, turns a little dirty. It’s kind of impressive how much he’s holding back – Louis knows that he wants to filthify that smirk. “You don’t say,” he drawls, tugging a little harder. Louis lets the covers slip down a couple of inches, exposing his neck.

“You meant it when you told me I’m the light of your life?” Louis asks. Harry stops pulling, curling his fingers around a fistful of blanket and lying down on his side, facing Louis. He reaches out with his other hand, cupping the back of Louis’ head. Their faces are close together, enough space between them that only their knees are touching.

“Hundred percent,” Harry whispers. “Even on our worst days. Especially on our worst days.”

Warmth floods Louis’ belly. The words don’t magically make everything better, don’t make up for the way Harry lied to him about not knowing what was going on, but they go a long way. They have time to work through all of their issues. They earned that time.

Harry’s starting to look a little sad again, damp-eyed. Louis doesn’t have the words to explain everything that’s going through his head right now, the things he knows they have to work on, the things that are already working for them. He does know one thing he could say that would get most of it across, though.

“You still want me to sit on your face?”

Instantly, Harry licks at his bottom lip, like some kind of Pavlovian response. Louis wonders if he even knows he’s done it. “All the goddamn time.”

Well. That’s a rousing yes. And Louis is freshly clean, so if there was ever a time – “You better not be terrible at it. If you’re terrible at it I don’t know if this relationship is going to work.”

The second the words come out of his mouth, he worries that it’s too soon to be joking about something like that. Harry’s known him for ten years, though, and all he does is quirk an eyebrow, saying, “Baby, you know I’m not going to be terrible at it.”

There’s no way Louis could know that. They never made a habit of discussing their sex lives with each other, even when things were good between them.

He knows it.

“Okay,” he says. He lets go of the blankets, lets Harry peel them down until he’s fully bare again. Harry falls onto his back, making grabby hands in Louis’ direction. It’s not even remotely sexy. Louis snorts, taking Harry’s hands and shuffling up onto his knees. He’s already starting to get hard again. “Don’t let me fall.”

It’s a stupid request to make. Harry promises anyway, guiding Louis up to hover above his head. Turns out not putting on clothes was an excellent idea. Louis is full of them.

Harry’s confident with his hands, spreading Louis open before he’s even fully in position. Louis’ breath hitches in his throat, knees on either side of Harry’s head, gripping at the headboard with both hands. He opens his mouth to make some kind of joke, anything to ease the tension in his stomach, only for Harry to choose that exact moment to start licking at him.

The sound that escapes Louis’ mouth instead is nothing short of pornographic, startled and high-pitched. Harry doesn’t stop, tongue slick and hot as it swipes directly against Louis’ hole. Louis’ thighs tremble, weight bearing down harder. It doesn’t faze Harry, hands wrapped around Louis’ thighs, holding him up.

“Oh my god,” Louis gets out. He has to bury his face against his arm, still gripping at the headboard like he’ll die if he lets go. Harry is good at this. He makes quick, sweeping moves, convincing Louis’ hole to open up for him, start letting him get his tongue inside too. Louis’ face is flushed, hair starting to stick to his temples with sweat. Maybe it’s everything put all together, but he’s pretty sure he’s not going to last long.

Harry’s tongue eases back long enough for him to murmur, “Yeah, sweetheart,” before he gets right back to it, licking broad strokes with a renewed vigor. The hint of his stubble is rubbing up between Louis’ arsecheeks, scraping and hot. Louis is suddenly, abruptly very glad that he couldn’t convince Harry to shave it.

Something about his voice has always done it for Louis. He’s tried very hard not to let it get to him over the years, tried to ignore the hot fluttering in his belly whenever Harry would whisper into his ear. He doesn’t have to do that anymore, and it’s getting to him more than ever. His cock throbs, desperate and wanting.

Louis is making noise, teeth sinking into his own arm because he can barely stand how good it is. He shifts, curling his fingers around his cock and starts stroking himself, messy and uncoordinated. Harry pushes his tongue against Louis’ rim a little harder, sinking inside. Everything gets even hotter, until Louis can’t take it anymore. He chokes out a word, some kind of warning, maybe, and squeezes his cock, coming.

Harry licks him through it, until Louis can’t take it anymore and has to push himself up onto his exhausted knees. Harry’s hands are still gripping his thighs, trying to pull him back down. Louis’ cock twitches, trying to stay interested despite the fact that he’s just come.

There’s no other option but to slap at Harry’s shoulder. That’s what Louis does. It turns into more of a swat, ebbs of satisfaction still rocking through him gently. “Okay, good job,” he tells Harry, figuring that one compliment won’t go to his head too badly. His limbs feel shaky and sensitive, and it’s not going to take long before he’s ready to sleep.

“Thanks, baby,” Harry says, squeezing his handfuls of flesh. There’s something unbearably smug in his voice. It’s still fucking attractive. It’s hard to be angry at him when he’s so fucking attractive.

Louis shuffles down, wiping the come on his hand on the corner of the sheet. He sits himself in Harry’s lap, grinding down against his hard cock once, just to make sure he has his attention. “I’m very attracted to you,” he tells Harry.

Harry raises an eyebrow at him, pulling the corner of his mouth in with his teeth. “I should hope so,” he says, gone posh again despite the fact that he’s still hard and his mouth tends to get a lot dirtier when he’s hard. “You’d have been having an awful lot of sex with me if you didn’t.”

He’s lucky Louis doesn’t smack him again. He has it coming.

“You’re annoying,” Louis says matter-of-factly. He turns around, swinging his leg over Harry’s hips and kneeling on the bed beside him. He bends down, taking Harry’s cock into his mouth. It’s easy. Harry’s so hard his cock is standing straight up, at attention. He’s barely gotten his mouth past the head before everything is spinning.

It takes him a minute to realize the spinning is because Harry’s moving him. Louis gets a face full of duvet and turns his head to spit it out. Just barely, he can see the blur of Harry’s arm moving as he wanks himself off.

“Just like that, baby,” Harry murmurs. It sounds more like he’s talking to himself than to Louis. It sounds like all he needs Louis to do is lie there and look pretty.

Louis is excellent at lounging around looking pretty. It’s one of his greatest, easiest qualities. Still, he arches his back a little, pushing his arse back. Harry’s hand hits his cheek gently as he jerks himself, wet smear of his cockhead slipping against Louis’ skin for a second before pulling back.

“Jesus,” Harry groans. A finger presses against Louis’ hole gently, almost slipping in. The sound of skin-on-skin doesn’t stop, so it must be Harry’s free hand. “Fuck, I love you.”

Louis smiles against the cool linen. He’s not going to lie, only having to lie on Harry’s comfortable bed and do absolutely nothing is a good way to have sex. He might convince Harry to do it like this more often in the future. “Good,” he whispers.

Harry lets out a strained chuckle, two fingers pressing against Louis’ hole now. His saliva is mostly dry. There’s no way he could get them both in there without having to stop to find the lube. Louis wouldn’t protest either way.

“Yeah,” Harry manages. “It’s good, you’re good. You’re so good, baby, wanna make you happy forever.”

How sappy. Louis wriggles his arse a little, giving Harry something even better to look at. It must be exactly what Harry needs. He inhales sharply, and then there’s the warm, wet pulse of his come all over Louis’ arse.

Louis relaxes back into the bed, spreading his arms out and closing his eyes. Good. Harry’s done, they can sleep now. Talking can wait until the morning. Or the afternoon, maybe. He can probably be convinced into morning sex if Harry tries hard enough.

Harry’s fingers are still stroking over Louis’ hole. Louis doesn’t understand why until the tip of one slips inside, wet with Harry’s come.

“Really?” he asks with a sigh, turning his head so he can look at Harry over his shoulder. “You’re really obsessed with your own come, aren’t you.”

Abruptly, Harry stops, looking down at his hand. He’s flushed and sweaty, and Louis loves him. Even if he is currently fingering his come into Louis’ arse.

“Sorry,” Harry says, easing his finger out. He clears his throat and adds, “I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

Louis narrows his eyes, rolling onto his back. Harry doesn’t look like he’s lying. Maybe there’s still some vestiges of the curse left. It’s another thing they can figure out in the morning. “Sure,” he allows, still kind of suspicious.

Harry lies down next to him, despite the way Louis’ head is at the foot of the bed and all the pillows are up at the top. He slides a hand along Louis’ ribcage, until it’s resting over his heart. “It’s not so much about my come as it is my come being in you,” Harry tells him.

Well then. Louis already suspected that, but it being confirmed makes him flush anyway. “You’re a dirty bastard.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. His hand is a steady, comforting weight on Louis’ chest. “You like it.”

Louis does like it. He’s not denying that. He turns onto his side, sliding his pinky through Harry’s necklace and looking up at him through his eyelashes. “How much am I the light?”

It’s a question that doesn’t make sense. Harry rubs a thumb across Louis’ jaw, soft and exploring, before he answers. “Like you’re the goddamn center of the universe.”

Alright. Louis can work with that. He wiggles a little closer, hooking his thigh up over Harry’s. His heart is beating pleasantly fast in his chest, warm and wonderful. “I love you.”

Harry’s answering breath is shuddering. He holds Louis closer, tighter. “I’m so fucking glad.”

They still have issues they need to work through, ten years of hurting each other and lashing out to talk about. A lot of obstacles are still in their way, from their respective tours to figuring out whether the curse is really broken or not. For now, Louis stays where he is, wrapped up safe and happy in the arms of the person he loves. All of that can wait until the morning.

They have time.