Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Louis wasn't sure how he let Niall talk him into this.

The air was thick with sweat, beer, and whatever cologne the guy behind him had drowned himself in. The stadium was packed, the crowd electric, but Louis felt distinctly out of place.

"You look like you're in physical pain," Zayn commented, leaning back against the bleachers, arms crossed.

"I am," Louis muttered.

He never cared for football. Grown men running around in tight pants, throwing themselves at each other—it should've been gayer than it was. But here he was, because Niall had begged. "Just the first game, Lou, you don't even have to stay the whole time."

Well, Louis was already regretting this.

The game hadn't even started yet, and he was packed into the stadium like a sardine, surrounded by people who actually gave a shit about whatever was happening on the field. He couldn't get over the smell in the air, fried food all around him and to make it worse the guy next to Zayn was screaming before the players had even set up.

"Are they always this loud?" Zayn asked, voice flat as he side-eyed the man beside him.

Louis barely held in a laugh. The guy was built like a fridge, sweating through his oversized jersey, and shouting at full volume as if the players could hear him.

"Let's go, defense! CRUSH 'EM!"

Zayn closed his eyes briefly, like he was mentally calculating if a prison sentence was worth it. "Jesus Christ."

Louis smirked. "I'd switch seats with you, but trust me, I've got it worse."

Zayn glanced at him, unimpressed. "How?"

Louis tilted his head toward the girls to his right. There were four of them, all wearing crop tops and tiny denim shorts, bouncing excitedly as they scrolled through their phones. The second they had walked in, Louis knew exactly why they were here.

"Harry's playing tonight," one of them had whispered giddily.

"I know," another sighed. "Did you see him at the party last weekend? He looked so good."

"I heard he's talking to that girl from Delta—"

"He is not," the first one had gasped, clutching her heart like this was Downton Abbey.

Louis had immediately tuned out.

Now, the game was about to start, and their conversations weren't any more insightful.

"Wait, which one is Harry again?"

"Oh my God, he's number ten, duh."

Louis sighed, turning back to Zayn. "At least the guy next to you actually knows what's going on."

Zayn glanced at the girls. One of them was fixing her lip gloss in her phone camera. He hummed. "Fair point."

Louis slouched in his seat, glancing at the scoreboard. He wasn't completely clueless about football—he knew enough to get by—but he wasn't particularly interested. The only reason he was here was because of Niall, who had somehow guilted both him and Zayn into attending.

"Come on, lads, it's the first game of the season! You don't have to come to another one, just this one."

Louis and Zayn had exchanged a look.

"Fine," Louis had sighed.

Zayn had been less enthusiastic. "I hate that I like you, man."

Now here they were, baking under stadium lights, drowning in noise, all for the sake of their Irish friend.

The players ran onto the field, and the crowd erupted again. Louis watched as the team lined up, scanning for the familiar number.

"There he is," he said, nodding toward the field.

Niall Horan, number 88, wide receiver, and the only football player Louis actually tolerated. He was bouncing on his feet, shaking out his arms, looking focused but grinning like an idiot.

"Alright, let's see if our boy is any good," Zayn muttered.

The whistle blew, and suddenly, everything was moving. Louis tracked Niall as the ball was snapped. He bolted down the field, dodging defenders, his speed more impressive than Louis expected. The quarterback—Harry, obviously—dropped back, scanning the field, then launched the ball.

Louis didn't want to admit it, but it was a good throw.

Niall caught it effortlessly, barely breaking stride before sprinting toward the end zone. The crowd roared as he dodged another defender, then crossed into the end zone without breaking a sweat.

Touchdown.

The stadium erupted.

Louis and Zayn stood up, cheering despite themselves.

"Fuck yeah, Niall!" Louis shouted.

The team swarmed him, clapping his helmet, and Niall's grin was blinding. He turned toward the stands, searching, and when he spotted Louis and Zayn, he pointed at them, clearly gloating.

Louis rolled his eyes but clapped anyway.

"Alright," Zayn admitted. "He's decent."

"I'll give him that."

Unfortunately, their moment of actual engagement was short-lived. Because just as they sat back down, another name was being screamed around the stadium.

"STYLES! STYLES! STYLES!"

Louis resisted the urge to sigh.

Of course.

The golden boy himself jogged back to the sideline, pulling off his helmet and shaking out his sweaty curls. The girls next to Louis squealed.

"God, he's so hot."

"I would die for him."

Louis rolled his eyes, but unfortunately, his gaze lingered on the field.

Harry was the center of attention, grinning as his teammates clapped his back. He stretched his arms above his head, muscles flexing under his tight jersey, and Louis hated that he understood, on a purely objective level, why people lost their minds over him.

Then Harry turned, talking to a teammate, and Louis caught just enough of it to make his jaw clench.

"The only thing sexier than a touchdown," Harry said, grinning, "is a girl in my jersey."

Louis let out a sharp scoff before he could stop himself.

And, of course, it didn't go unnoticed.

The sound wasn't loud, but it was distinct—sharp, unimpressed. Harry's head turned toward the stands, brows furrowing slightly.

And then their eyes met.

For a split second, neither of them looked away.

Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at Harry's lips, like he wasn't used to people reacting to him with anything less than adoration. He tilted his head, as if assessing Louis, and something about the look made Louis' irritation spike.

So Louis did what he knew best—he ignored him.

With a slow, deliberate shake of his head, he turned away, back toward the field.

Zayn snorted beside him. "Think you just made an enemy."

Louis sighed. "Good."

Because if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that he didn't like Harry Styles. And nothing—nothing—was going to change that.

***

Zayn was gagging. Loudly.

Louis rolled his eyes, pushing past a group of people as they made their way down the stands. It was slow-moving, the crowd thick with students trying to beat the rush to the parking lot, and Zayn's dramatics weren't helping.

"I think I touched something," Zayn announced, voice strained like he was barely holding it together.

Louis sighed. "You're fine."

"I am not fine."

Louis turned just in time to see Zayn's arm stretched high above his head, his hand splayed out like it had been dipped in toxic waste. His face was pale, his lips pressed into a tight line.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Louis asked.

"I'm not looking at it."

"Looking at wha—"

"I think it's moist."

Louis gagged instantly. "Don't say that fucking word around me."

Zayn made a helpless noise in the back of his throat. "I swear to God, I think it was him."

Louis followed his pointed chin toward the stands, where Fridge Man—the massive, sweaty guy who had spent the entire game screaming himself hoarse—was still packing up his things. Louis winced.

"You think—?"

Zayn nodded, still holding his arm aloft. "I think it's his ass sweat."

Louis dry-heaved. "Shut the fuck up."

"I'm not exaggerating," Zayn insisted, waving his arm for emphasis.

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're probably overreacting."

"Overreacting?!"

Zayn's eyes flashed with something dangerous. Before Louis could step away, Zayn smeared his damp palm right onto Louis' arm.

Louis screeched. "ZAYN, YOU FUCKING DISGUSTING—"

In his haste to escape the contamination, he stumbled backward—straight into someone's chest.

Strong hands caught him, steadying him before he could completely fall on his ass.

Louis whipped around, already scowling.

And, of fucking course.

Harry Styles.

The quarterback had a lazy, amused smirk on his face, dimples deepening as he looked Louis up and down.

Louis stiffened immediately, stepping away, straightening his shirt, and ignoring the way Harry's hands lingered for half a second before dropping.

Before Harry could say a word, a familiar voice rang through the air.

"LOU!! ZAYN!!"

Louis turned just in time to see Niall jogging toward them, looking like an overexcited puppy.

"Did you see me?!" he asked, practically vibrating.

Louis beamed, relieved for the distraction. "We did, mate. You were brilliant."

Zayn, still scarred from his previous ordeal, reached out and patted Niall's head. "Good job."

Niall grinned like he'd just won the lottery. He was still buzzing with adrenaline, his entire body practically humming with energy.

The rest of the team was trickling out of the locker room behind him, laughing and talking loudly. One of them—a tall, broad guy with a buzz cut—threw an arm around Niall's shoulders.

"C'mon, tiger," he said, grinning. "Burgers on me." He patted Niall's stomach for emphasis.

Niall laughed, but before he left, he turned to Louis and Zayn. "You guys wanna come celebrate?"

Zayn didn't even hesitate. "No."

Niall pouted.

Louis shook his head. "Come to our dorm later if you want to drink."

That brightened Niall immediately. "Okay!"

Louis smiled, stepping back as more players passed by, clapping Niall on the back, congratulating him.

Then Harry spoke.

"Horan, aren't you going to introduce us to your friends?"

Louis didn't like the way he said it.

Didn't like the way Harry's lips curled into a smirk, the way his eyes were fixed entirely on him, like he was something to be assessed, something to be had.

Normally, Louis would have been flattered—Harry Styles was Harry Styles, after all—but something about it felt off.

So he scowled. "Maybe another time."

Then he turned to Niall. "See you later, bub."

Niall nodded, still grinning. "See you later!"

And with that, Louis grabbed Zayn's sleeve and dragged him away, ignoring the way Harry was still smirking after him.

As soon as they reached Zayn's car, Zayn wasted no time before saying, "He so wanted to fuck you."

Louis snickered, climbing into the passenger seat. "Isn't he like... alpha straight beta macho something? Or whatever shit they go around saying?"

Zayn cackled, shaking his head as he slid into the driver's seat. He started the car, drumming his fingers against the wheel. "You know Daniel?"

Louis frowned. "Nerdy Daniel?"

"No."

"Oh! Daniel from the school march band? The one that plays the trumpet or flute or... whatever that was?"

Zayn turned to give him a weird look. "No. What the fuck? Daniel, the teacher's assistant."

Louis' face scrunched up in confusion. "What about him?"

"Got caught sucking Harry off in Classroom B."

There was a beat of silence before Louis gasped, whipping his head toward Zayn. "What?!"

Zayn shook his head as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Man, where do you live? Even I knew about this. People talked about it for, like, three months straight last year."

Louis was still gaping at him. "And you're just telling me this now?"

Zayn shrugged, turning onto the main road. "Didn't think you cared."

"I don't!" Louis said quickly. Too quickly. He cleared his throat. "I mean, I don't, obviously. Just... shocking, that's all. I thought Mr. Football was too busy throwing passes and breaking hearts to get caught with his dick out in a classroom."

Zayn smirked. "Clearly, his time management skills are top-tier."

Louis hummed, drumming his fingers against the window. "So, what, it was some huge scandal? Harry Styles dethroned as campus royalty after getting caught with a TA?"

"Please," Zayn scoffed, flicking his blinker on. "If anything, it just added to his legend. The guy walked onto the field like he just won MVP and a fucking Oscar. Half the team dapped him up for it."

Louis groaned. "God, straight men are so fucking weird."

"Correction—straight men, and Harry Styles."

Louis side-eyed him. "That's a Venn diagram with a lot of overlap." Then, after a moment, "Swing by McDonald's before we head back."

Zayn smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned left heading for the fast food restaurant.

Louis hummed, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "So, what, is he bi?"

Zayn lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Dunno. If I had to guess, he's probably a 'every hole is a hole' kind of guy."

Louis grimaced. "Gross."

Zayn pulled into the drive-thru, rolling down his window. "What do you want?"

"Large fries, vanilla shake, and—" Louis hesitated. "No, wait. Chocolate shake."

Zayn gave him a flat look. "Make up your mind before I leave you here."

Louis waved him off. "Relax, party pooper."

Zayn scoffed but placed their order, pulling up to the window. As they waited, Louis glanced at him, something still gnawing at the back of his mind.

As they inched forward in the drive-thru line, Louis turned his head toward Zayn. "Would you go for him?"

Zayn barely spared him a glance. "Who?"

"Harry." Louis shifted in his seat. "If he—"

"Not a chance," Zayn cut him off immediately.

Louis tilted his head. "Why not?"

Zayn sighed, raising a finger. "First—" He quickly moved the car forward as the line progressed, then turned back to Louis. "He has the biggest mouth ever. Whatever's going on down here—" he gestured vaguely toward his lap, "—would be school knowledge by lunchtime."

Louis grimaced. "As in, what? He brags about who he has sex with?"

"Not brag per se..." Zayn tilted his head as if considering. "I think he just doesn't have much else to talk about. He looks like one of those empty people, you know? Sex this, sex that. Football this, football that. So probably, it's all he ever talks about."

Louis hummed, thinking it over. He supposed that made sense. Guys like Harry had nothing else going for them outside of sports and ego.

Zayn raised a second finger. "Second—I'd probably get an STD. God knows how many people sat on that thing."

Louis barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Always so crude."

Zayn shrugged, rolling the car up to the drive-thru window. "Just stating facts." He grabbed their food and passed Louis his shake, watching as he debated between dipping a fry into it or just drinking it straight.

Then Louis shot him a look, smirking. "I like how you skipped over the fact that you're straight in your reasons why you wouldn't go for him."

Zayn rolled his eyes, shifting the car into gear. "Who knows? It's college."

Louis snorted, but he couldn't argue with that.

They'd met at the start of freshman year when they were randomly assigned as roommates. Louis had been prepared for the worst—a homophobic asshole, an unbearable slob, someone who played terrible music at ungodly hours. Instead, he got Zayn.

Zayn, who barely blinked when Louis had casually mentioned he was gay, only responding with, "This is college. I'm open to exploring."

Louis had laughed, shaking his head. "I'm not open to helping you through that, just so you know."

Zayn had chuckled. "Didn't mean it like that."

And that was that. They clicked instantly, becoming inseparable from the start. Then, somewhere along the way, a little Irish leprechaun had forced his way into their circle, and before they knew it, they were a trio.

They hadn't known about Niall's love for football until later. By then, it was too late to back out—they loved him too much. They made an exception for him, but their general disdain for overly masculine, ego-driven jocks remained firmly in place.

Louis took a long sip of his shake as they drove back toward campus. Zayn glanced at him, amused. "Would you go for him?"

Louis nearly choked. "Hell no."

***

Louis had just gotten comfortable in bed, scrolling mindlessly on his phone, when the dorm room door burst open with enough force to shake the walls.

"Lads!" Niall's voice rang out, bright and buzzing with leftover adrenaline.

Zayn groaned from his bed. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

Louis barely had time to register Niall barreling into the room before he flopped onto the foot of Louis' bed, still in his jersey, his blond hair damp with sweat. His cheeks were flushed, his whole face glowing with victory. He reeked of beer and fries, like he'd stopped by a bar before coming here.

Louis raised a brow. "That good of a game, then?"

"That good of a game?" Niall repeated, scandalized. "Did you see me out there?"

Zayn turned onto his side, cracking an eye open. "Mate, you say that every time you win."

"Yeah, but this time I actually played amazing."

Zayn smirked. "Debatable."

Louis snorted. "Mm, I dunno. I was a little distracted by the ear-piercing shrieks coming from my left every time your quarterback did anything. I might've missed your greatness."

Zayn groaned, rubbing his forehead. "God, don't remind me. I think that girl behind me was trying to rupture my eardrum."

"Shame," Niall said, grinning. "Missed out on my legendary performance."

Louis rolled his eyes. "I saw you, alright? You didn't do half bad."

"Half bad?" Niall gawked at him. "Two touchdowns, mate."

Louis smirked. "Alright, you were decent."

"I was better than decent," Niall huffed. "You're both just bitter because you had to socialize with people who like sports."

Zayn snorted. "Please. You act like we don't like sports—we just hate your sport."

Niall clutched his chest dramatically. "Unbelievable. I bring you to a game, I give you a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and this is how you repay me?"

Zayn stretched, clearly losing interest. "You got your validation, now piss off."

Niall ignored him, turning back to Louis. "Seriously, though. Thanks for coming. Even if you did look like you wanted to die the whole time."

Louis smirked. "That's just my face."

Niall grinned, nudging him with his foot. "Well, still. It was nice having you there."

Louis rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Instead, he nodded toward the door. "You staying or just here to gloat?"

Niall grinned. "Dunno. You got beer?"

Zayn groaned into his pillow. "We're going to bed, Horan."

"Boring," Niall muttered but stretched out anyway, making himself comfortable. "Alright, I'll stay. I deserve to be worshipped a little longer."

Louis rolled his eyes but let his head fall back against the pillow. "Just keep your mouth shut, then."

Niall chuckled. "So boring."

***

The auditorium was mostly empty, save for the small cluster of students sitting on the stage in a semi-circle. Louis was in his usual spot, perched on the edge of the stage with one leg bent, the other dangling off as he flipped through a marked-up script. His red pen hovered above the page, ready to strike at the next clunky bit of dialogue. The others were sprawled around in various states of engagement—some leaning forward like this was the most important discussion of their lives, others clearly just here for the extracurricular credit.

"So, I've been thinking," said Miles, one of the newer members. He sat cross-legged with his notebook in his lap, twirling a pen between his fingers. "What if this time we do something... modern? Like High School Musical?"

Louis stopped mid-annotation. Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

"Absolutely not," he said flatly.

Miles frowned. "Why not? People love High School Musical—"

"Exactly." Louis snapped the script shut. "We are not doing a Disney musical with choreographed basketball moves. This is a drama club, not your personal nostalgia trip."

"But—"

"If you say 'we're all in this together,' I swear to God I will walk out right now."

Miles pressed his lips together and sank back onto his elbows.

"Thank you," Louis said, exhaling as he reopened the script. "Now, as I was saying before my brain was assaulted—our next play needs to have actual substance. And ideally, not require us to attempt jazz squares."

"Then what are we doing?" asked Claire, their lighting designer, who was lying on her back staring at the ceiling like she had already checked out of this conversation.

Louis tapped his fingers on the script. "I was thinking something classic but with a bit of an update. Not Shakespeare—don't get me wrong, I love the drama of it all, but if I have to listen to one more half-arsed monologue where someone thinks 'iambic pentameter' means 'speak in slow motion,' I'll have an aneurysm."

"You mean like Chekhov?" someone suggested.

"Yeah, except not something where everyone dies in the end for the sake of 'artistic tragedy.'" Louis chewed the inside of his cheek. "I'm looking at adaptations, maybe something like The Importance of Being Earnest but with a modern pace. Or even A Streetcar Named Desire with tighter dialogue. Something we can actually pull off well instead of butchering."

"Does this mean you're acting this time?" Claire asked, lifting her head.

Louis scoffed. "Absolutely not. I deal with the scripts, the auditions, the people. The actors act. I only step in if someone dies or has an emotional breakdown mid-production."

"Or if someone suddenly drops out because they got a modeling gig in LA."

"Right," Louis muttered, "like last semester. RIP to my sanity."

The group continued debating, throwing out names of plays that Louis either immediately vetoed or begrudgingly considered. Every now and then, he had to stop and rein in the chaos—like when Jason started pitching Twilight: The Play with full sincerity.

Eventually, they settled on narrowing it down to two choices that Louis would review before their next meeting. He tucked his script under his arm, rubbing at his temples.

"Alright, I think we're done here before my blood pressure spikes. Everyone get out before Miles convinces me to let him do a Grease solo."

"Hey!" Miles protested.

But Louis was already hopping off the stage, heading toward the exit. He needed coffee, sleep, and, most importantly, to never hear the phrase 'get your head in the game' ever again.

Louis adjusted the strap of his bag as he pushed open the auditorium doors, stepping into the quiet hallway. The familiar buzz of campus life filled the space—muffled conversations, the distant hum of a vending machine, the occasional echo of hurried footsteps. He exhaled, relieved to finally be out of that meeting.

As he made his way toward the building's exit, he slowed his pace ever so slightly. Up ahead, near the faculty offices, stood none other than Harry Styles, locked in what looked like a very tense conversation with a faculty member—maybe a professor, maybe a coach, Louis didn't really care to know.

He didn't mean to eavesdrop. Truly, he didn't. But as he carefully passed them, hands in his pockets, he caught bits and pieces of the argument. And well—how could he not listen when it was this good?

"That's ridiculous!" Harry's voice was sharp, frustrated. "What the hell do I need extras for? Can't you see I already have my hands full with football?"

Louis raised a brow. Extras?

The faculty member sighed, their voice carrying the tired patience of someone who had clearly had this conversation too many times before. "We know football is important, but you can't be treated differently from everyone else. We've already been turning a blind eye to a lot of things, but credits are not something we can ignore."

Louis nearly smirked at that.

"Oh, come on," Harry scoffed. "Can't you close another eye on this?"

The sheer audacity of it had Louis biting back a laugh. He could practically hear the exasperation in the teacher's sigh.

"No can do," they replied firmly.

Then came the cherry on top.

"With the amount of stuff my dad pays for at this school, couldn't you just let this one go?"

Louis' steps faltered for half a second. His eyes widened slightly before he forced himself to keep walking, face carefully blank.

Wow.

If he didn't know better—if he didn't have the basic common sense not to get involved in things that didn't concern him—he would've butted into the conversation right then and there. Because seriously?

This was exactly why he couldn't stand Harry's kind. The arrogance, the entitlement, the sheer presumption of it all. From what Louis had gathered, Harry was clearly behind on credits but just didn't want to put in the effort to catch up. Instead, he was standing here, trying to talk his way out of it like the rules didn't apply to him.

Louis shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and kept walking.

***

The second Louis stepped into his dorm room, he was assaulted by a smell so offensively wrong he physically recoiled. He stood frozen in the doorway, nose scrunching as he took a hesitant sniff—then another, just to confirm.

"What the fuck is that?" he muttered, blinking rapidly as if his eyes could somehow decipher the odor.

His gaze swept across the room until it landed on the two absolute disappointments sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV. Niall and Zayn, sitting cross-legged like a pair of unsupervised children, were deep into an intense FIFA match, eyes locked onto the screen as if their lives depended on it.

Louis let the door swing shut behind him. "I swear to God, if something died in here—"

"S'just the candle," Niall mumbled, not even looking up.

Louis blinked. "The what?"

"The candle," Zayn echoed, furiously jamming at his controller. "Niall lit one. Says it's 'ambiance.'"

Louis followed Zayn's nod toward the desk, where, sure enough, a candle flickered weakly. He squinted at the label.

"Why the fuck does it say 'Autumn Harvest' if it smells like hot dog water and regret?"

Niall finally glanced over, frowning. "Oi, it does not—"

"It does," Louis snapped. "It smells like an old man's elbow pit, Niall."

Zayn snorted but didn't take his eyes off the game. "I told him it was a bad idea."

"You didn't tell me shit," Niall argued, jabbing Zayn's thigh with his foot. "You said, 'It's fine, mate, do whatever you want,' in that lazy-ass voice of yours."

"Yeah, well, I was high."

Louis groaned, dropping his bag onto his bed. He wasn't even going to unpack that statement. Instead, he turned back to the abomination burning on his desk. "Put it out. Before it soaks into my clothes, and I go around smelling like seasonal depression for the next week."

Niall huffed but reached over, dramatically puffing out the flame.

Satisfied, Louis flopped onto his mattress and watched as Zayn, looking eerily calm, moved his player down the field. Niall, however, was shifting from side to side like a little kid about to piss himself.

"You're done for," Zayn murmured.

"Fuck off," Niall shot back, fingers flying over the buttons.

A second later, Niall's player stole the ball, cut past Zayn's defender, and—with a sharp click—fired it straight into the goal.

Zayn stilled.

"FUCKIN' HAVE THAT, YOU PRICK!" Niall shrieked, jumping to his feet, arms spread wide like he'd just won the goddamn World Cup. "CALL ME DADDY, ZAYN, CALL ME YOUR—"

Zayn chucked his controller at Niall's shin.

"FUCK!"

Louis cackled, rolling onto his stomach as Niall stumbled, gripping his leg. "That's the most action your leg's gotten in years, mate, stop crying."

Zayn, shaking his head, stretched out on the floor like he'd just fought in a war. "Nah, I'm done. You're cheating."

"How the fuck do you cheat in FIFA?" Niall wheezed.

Louis watched as Niall limped dramatically back to his spot, grinning despite himself. "So this is what you two do all day? Sit in my room, kill my brain cells with olfactory assault, and emotionally abuse each other?"

Zayn smirked. "Pretty much."

Niall, still high off his victory, plopped back down and grabbed his phone. "Oi, by the way, my frat's throwing a party this Saturday."

Louis didn't even blink at Niall's announcement.

"Your frat has a party like every other day," he said flatly, stretching out on his bed.

"Yeah, but this one's big," Niall insisted, waving his phone around as if that made his point stronger. "We're celebrating the first win of the season!"

Zayn, now retrieving the cursed candle from the desk, eyed him skeptically. "And?"

Niall huffed, visibly annoyed. "And you two should come!"

Zayn tossed the candle straight into the trash, dusting his hands off. "Don't say that in that voice," he warned. "Like you actually think you can bribe us into coming."

Louis snorted at that, already feeling the refusal forming on his tongue.

"Come on," Niall whined, flopping onto his stomach and kicking his feet like an overgrown toddler. "Is it so much to ask to have fun with my best friends once?"

Louis simply lifted his arms and made a giant X with them, lips pursed in mock disapproval. Meanwhile, Zayn stood with his arms crossed, silently backing up the protest.

Unfazed, Niall dropped his phone onto the floor with a thud and crawled toward Louis on his hands and knees, the absolute picture of desperation.

Louis curled his lip. "Get off my bed, you animal—"

"Please," Niall groaned, stretching out the word like a dying man.

"No."

"Come on!" Niall rocked back onto his heels, looking between them like a wounded puppy. "What do you two even have to do that's better than this? It's college! You're supposed to live a little!"

Louis sat up, staring at him blankly. "That's exactly what I'm trying to do. Live. As in, not get killed and thrown in a ditch somewhere."

Niall groaned. "Again with that!"

"Don't act like it's crazy," Louis shot back, narrowing his eyes.

"They don't mind gay people," Niall said, but his voice wavered just slightly, his confidence cracking under Louis' unimpressed stare.

Louis simply raised an eyebrow, watching as Niall squirmed under the weight of cold, hard facts.

Niall shifted uncomfortably, then weakly offered, "You're my friend. They wouldn't say a thing."

At that, Zayn flexed his fists, cracking his knuckles with slow, deliberate menace. "Oh, I dare them to say a thing."

Louis laughed quietly, watching his two best friends—the sheer contrast of Niall's earnestness and Zayn's ready-to-throw-hands energy was nothing short of comedy gold.

Niall turned back to Louis, his face hopeful again. "Don't listen to Zayn," he pleaded, reaching out dramatically. "Please, just come this once!"

Louis had to look away because Niall was, annoyingly, too cute when he got like this.

"NO!" Zayn interjected, pointing accusingly. "Don't give in! He's a wicked little witch, and he knows he's too adorable to say no to!"

Niall, without missing a beat, grabbed a pillow and chucked it at Zayn's head.

Zayn caught it with lightning reflexes and looked vaguely impressed. "Alright. That was solid form, I'll give you that."

Niall ignored him and turned back to Louis. "Please."

Louis let out the longest, most suffering sigh in existence, then finally relented. "Fine! But if one of your gorilla teammates gets even an inch too close to me, Niall—"

"—They won't!" Niall cut him off with a triumphant cheer, pumping his fists.

Then he whirled on Zayn with a victorious grin. "Take that!"

.

.

.

Chapter Text

Harry woke up to the feeling of warm bodies pressed against him, limbs tangled beneath the sheets. His head was clear—he never let himself get too wasted, always aware enough to enjoy himself but never sloppy. The sunlight was bleeding through the blinds, casting long streaks of gold across his room, and somewhere across the hall, a door slammed shut.

The blonde curled into his side stirred, mumbling something sleepily against his shoulder. The brunette, half-draped across his chest, let out a soft sigh, her fingers tracing mindless patterns over his abs.

Harry stretched, rolling his shoulders, utterly unbothered. "Gotta get up soon, love," he muttered, voice scratchy with sleep.

The brunette smirked up at him. "Or..." She trailed a hand down his stomach, her fingertips brushing the waistband of his boxers. "I could help you wake up properly."

He hummed, shifting slightly beneath the sheets. Morning wood was nothing new, but having it taken care of? Always a good way to start the day.

The blonde beside him stirred again, blinking sleepily. "Mmm, morning kiss?" she murmured, leaning up towards his mouth.

Harry turned his head, giving her a lazy smirk. "Don't do that."

Her pout lasted all of two seconds before the brunette moved further down, lips brushing his stomach now, and she smirked against his skin, already catching his full attention.

The blonde huffed, rolling her eyes, but settled back against the pillows, seemingly satisfied with simply watching.

Harry let his head fall back against the pillow, smirking.

It was good to be him.

—

By the time he made it downstairs, the frat house was already stirring to life.

The kitchen smelled like burnt toast and questionable decision-making. Someone had spilled what looked like beer on the counter, and the living room was still littered with red solo cups from last night.

Liam was slumped over the kitchen table, head buried in his arms, looking half-dead.

"Jesus, Payne," Matthew, one of their teammates, remarked, opening the fridge. "You look like you haven't slept in a week."

Liam didn't even lift his head. "Try having your room next to his," he muttered, jerking a thumb in Harry's direction.

Harry smirked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Not my fault you've got sensitive ears, mate."

"Sensitive ears?" Liam lifted his head just enough to glare at him. "I could hear you through my noise-canceling headphones. I had to put a pillow over my head."

"Sounds like a you problem," Harry replied, unbothered, taking a sip of coffee.

"You are my problem," Liam shot back before dropping his head back onto the table with a groan.

Niall walked in then, hair a mess, yawning so hard his jaw cracked. He clapped Liam on the shoulder as he passed. "You chose that room the first night, mate. Should've known better."

Liam muttered something that sounded vaguely threatening, but nobody paid him any mind.

Harry leaned against the counter as Matthew grabbed a protein bar, already talking about the party that night. "Gonna be packed," he said. "Coach already gave us the 'no getting caught doing something illegal' speech, but let's be honest, half the team is gonna be sloshed before midnight."

Harry smirked. "And the other half will be getting their dick wet."

"Some both," Matthew added with a grin.

Niall rolled his eyes but didn't argue, pulling open the fridge to grab an energy drink. "By the way," he said casually, popping the tab, "I invited my friends."

Harry barely reacted, but Liam blinked, rubbing his face. "Who? The ones from the game?"

"Yeah." Niall shrugged. "Told 'em they could stay the night too. Put their names on the list."

The list was a list of names that all the brothers knew not to throw out once the party ended. It wasn't uncommon for brothers to put new names in but it usually consisted in girls names.

Harry raised a brow, finally giving Niall his full attention. He opened his mouth to answer when his phone buzzed on the counter, the sharp vibration cutting through the lazy morning chatter. He barely glanced at the screen before exhaling sharply. "Fuck off. Too early for this shit."

Liam, still half-asleep and nursing his coffee like it was a lifeline, arched a brow. "Who is it?"

Harry pushed the phone farther away like it physically offended him. "That professor—what's his name—who's been on my ass for weeks."

Niall, mouth full of eggs, pointed his fork at him. "Your credits."

Harry shot him a deadpan look. "Did I fucking ask?"

Niall just grinned, mouth full. Liam grimaced. "Don't eat like that, mate."

Niall exaggerated an eye roll but kept chewing anyway. "You gonna deal with that?" he asked, mouth half-full.

Liam sat up a little, finally interested. "Wait, what about your credits?"

Harry sighed, already regretting this conversation. "I don't have enough to finish the semester."

A pause.

Liam blinked. "Come again?"

Harry leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "You remember how, before the year started, everyone had to sign up for an extracurricular?"

Liam nodded slowly.

"Well, before this year, football counted as one. But apparently, someone higher up decided that wasn't enough anymore. So now, all the other players signed up for some dumb club, and I didn't, 'cause I figured my dad would fix it." He scoffed, shaking his head. "Turns out, this time, he's 'teaching me a lesson.'"

"Other players, aka me," Aiden, one of their frat brothers, snorted from across the kitchen. "Mate, you wouldn't stop making fun of me for signing up for sculpture. Now ha!"

Harry grabbed an apple and lobbed it at him. Aiden caught it effortlessly, taking a victorious bite.

Liam exhaled through his nose. "So what now?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Dunno. Most clubs are already full, so—"

Liam cut in, "Think the chess club's still open."

Harry turned to look at him, appalled.

Liam hesitated. "Or, uh... maybe not."

Niall, still chewing, mumbled, "Well... I do know someone who runs a club."

Harry glanced at him. "Yeah?"

Niall paused. Then, suddenly, he frowned and shook his head. "Actually—no. That'd be a terrible idea."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Someone who runs what?"

"Nothing," Niall said quickly, waving him off.

"Niall. We're brothers, if you can help me then you should."

Niall groaned, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Look, just sign up for the chess club and suck it up."

Harry smirked, leaning in. "Niall. Sit back down."

Niall exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. "Fine. I have a friend that manages the drama club."

Liam perked up. "Oh, that could work. You probably wouldn't have to act, just do side stuff—lights, moving props. Wouldn't take much time either."

Harry considered it, then nodded. "Alright. Not bad."

But Niall still looked deeply unsure. "Yeah... I don't think he's gonna want you there."

Harry frowned. "Why not?"

Niall winced, whispering, "Just a hunch."

Harry wasn't buying it. "Niall."

Niall sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples. "I'll ask him."

Harry grinned, stretching his arms. "One less problem."

Niall wasn't so sure about that.

***

Louis stepped out of the tiny dorm bathroom, towel-drying his hair, only to stop dead in his tracks.

Zayn was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of Louis' favorite black button-up.

Louis blinked. "Take that off."

Zayn turned, feigning innocence. "Oh, this?" He ran his fingers along the open collar, showing off the sharp edges of his collarbones. "Looks good, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, on me," Louis snapped, storming toward him.

Zayn took a casual step back. "Listen, mate. Have mercy. I haven't gotten laid in weeks. At this point, I barely remember what a vagina even looks like."

Louis grimaced. "For fuck's sake—"

"Oh, but when you go into excruciating detail about your dick appointments, that's fine," Zayn said, crossing his arms. "Double standards, Louis. Shocking."

Louis scowled. "First of all, I don't go into detail. Second of all, that is my fucking shirt. I had it laid out and everything!"

Zayn checked himself out in the mirror, smoothing the fabric over his torso. "It just fits me better, you know?"

Louis made a strangled noise. "You absolute prick." He tried to grab at the hem, but Zayn dodged, laughing.

"Just pick something else," Zayn said. "You've got plenty of clothes—"

"That's not the point! That's the shirt!" Louis threw his hands in the air. "The fit! The vibe! The effortless yet devastatingly sexy energy!"

Zayn grinned. "Exactly. That's why I'm wearing it."

Louis glared. "Take it off."

Zayn put a hand over his chest, pretending to be scandalized. "Louis, you can't just demand that from me. Where's the romance?"

Louis grabbed a pillow from the bed and chucked it at him.

Zayn yelped, deflecting it. "Alright, alright! Jesus. What do I get in return?"

Louis narrowed his eyes. "I don't murder you?"

Zayn hummed, considering. "Tempting. Okay how about I give you something in return then. I can cook tomorrow."

Louis scoffed. "You always cook."

"Exactly," Zayn said with a smirk. "See? I deserve this shirt."

Louis threw himself onto the bed, groaning. "You are the worst person I know."

"And yet, you love me," Zayn said, dramatically unbuttoning the shirt and tossing it at Louis. "Fine. Enjoy your sexy energy or whatever."

Louis caught it midair, victorious. "Damn right."

Zayn rummaged through his half of the wardrobe, finally settling on a fitted white tee. It was also another one of Louis' shirts. "Bet this shows off my arms better anyway."

"Yeah, yeah," Louis muttered, already focused on fixing his hair.

Once the Shirt Debacle™ was settled, Louis took his time getting ready. He wanted to look good—not for anyone in particular, of course.

He settled on a pair of painted-on skinny jeans, low on his hips, hugging his thighs just right. His black button-up—his button-up, thank you very much—was fitted but left slightly open at the top, just enough to tease.

He checked himself in the mirror, turning to the side.

Arse looked good. Perfect.

"Ready, fashion icon?" Zayn called.

Louis grabbed his phone. "Let's go get wasted."

The frat house was absolute chaos.

The moment Louis and Zayn stepped inside, they were hit with the overwhelming smell of beer, sweat, and cheap cologne. The bass from whatever god-awful playlist was blasting shook the floors, and the whole house was packed with people dancing, talking, and making out against walls.

A guy in an American football jersey was chugging straight from a keg while his friends cheered him on. Someone else was already half-asleep on the couch, a red cup balanced on their head like a party trick.

Louis wrinkled his nose. "God, frat parties are so predictable."

Zayn nodded toward the staircase, where a couple was very publicly getting off against the bannister. "And horny."

Louis sighed. "So much secondhand testosterone. It's exhausting."

Then, suddenly—

"Boys!"

A very drunk and enthusiastic Niall appeared out of the crowd, arms open like he was about to hug them both at once.

Louis dodged. "Fucking hell, Niall, pace yourself."

Niall pouted, swaying slightly. "I'm just happy to see my best mates! Took you long enough!"

"We were fashionably late," Zayn said, side-eyeing a guy who nearly spilled beer on his shoes.

Niall grinned. "Well, come on, we've got drinks to drink and a night to ruin!"

Louis shook his head, already regretting agreeing to this. "God help us all."

***

The night was in full swing. Louis took another sip of his drink, the burn sliding down his throat. He wasn't wasted yet, but he was definitely feeling good. Loose.

Zayn, however, was absolutely sloshed.

"You guys are my best friends," Zayn slurred, draping an arm over both Louis and Niall's shoulders as they stumbled toward the back patio.

Louis grimaced, shoving him off. "Christ, mate. You get sentimental when you're drunk."

"But I mean it," Zayn insisted, his eyes slightly unfocused. "If I ever go missing, you two better look for me."

Louis scoffed. "Not if you're still wearing my fucking shirt when it happens."

"Let it go, Tommo," Zayn sighed dramatically. "I look hot in it."

Louis rolled his eyes, but he didn't have time to argue because Niall swayed on his feet and had to brace himself against the doorframe.

"Alright, alright," Louis said, steadying him. "We're going outside before one of you falls over and cracks your skull open."

The air was cooler outside, a nice contrast to the heat of the packed house. Louis took a deep breath, the buzz in his veins settling into something warm and pleasant.

Zayn fumbled in his pocket before pulling out a pre-rolled blunt, holding it up like he was presenting a treasure.

"Finally," Louis said, gratefully accepting it when Zayn handed it over.

"I can't," Niall groaned dramatically, crossing his arms.

Louis raised an eyebrow. "Since when?"

"Since the season started," Niall said, crossing his arms. "We get drug tested randomly, and Coach will have my ass if I get caught with Mary."

Louis and Zayn exchanged a look.

Then, as if choreographed, they both took a dramatic inhale of the blunt and exhaled in perfect unison, blowing the smoke toward Niall.

"You two are evil," Niall whined, shoving them both.

Zayn laughed, handing the blunt back to Louis. "More for us."

"You absolute wankers," Niall said, though he was laughing.

Zayn took another hit and sighed, tilting his head back. "God, I needed this."

Louis hummed in agreement, taking his own drag. The world seemed to slow, everything buzzing around the edges in a way that felt light, easy, right.

"You know what we need?" Zayn said, his words slower now, slightly mellowed out. "To fucking dance."

Niall sighed dramatically. "Jesus Christ. We're doomed."

Inside, the party had transformed in the half hour the were outside.

The living room had turned into a makeshift club, dimly lit with flashing neon lights from some cheap DJ setup. Bodies were pressed together, the music thumping through the floor, everyone moving to the heavy bass.

Zayn dragged both of them straight into the middle of the dancefloor.

Louis was still laughing at something Niall had said when he suddenly heard—

"Alright, lads, watch this!"

Before Louis could even process what was happening, Niall grabbed Zayn's hands and started demonstrating an Irish jig.

Properly.

Like, feet moving ridiculously fast, body unnaturally coordinated, looking straight out of a Riverdance performance.

Zayn tried to keep up but ended up looking like a newborn deer learning to walk.

"WHAT THE FUCK—" Zayn wheezed, his legs flailing in every direction.

Louis doubled over laughing.

"IRISH HERITAGE, MATE," Niall shouted over the music. "KEEP UP!"

"I CAN'T," Zayn cried. "WHY ARE YOUR FEET MOVING LIKE THAT?"

"GENETICS!"

Louis was losing his mind. Zayn looked like he was being exorcised.

Finally, Zayn gave up and bent over, hands on his knees, wheezing. "I fucking hate you."

"Love you too, mate," Niall said happily, still jigging.

Louis couldn't stop laughing. His stomach hurt.

But eventually, they all settled into the music, the alcohol and weed making them loose, free.

Louis rolled his hips, swaying to the bass, letting the rhythm guide him.

And then—as if he could physically feel them.

Eyes on him.

Louis turned his head slightly—and there he was.

Leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on Louis, completely ignoring the ginger girl leaning into him, talking in his ear.

But Harry's eyes weren't on her.

They were on Louis.

Louis smirked.

If he was sober, he wouldn't have entertained this. But right now? He had substances to blame, didn't he?

So he kept moving.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

He dragged out each roll of his hips, tilting his head slightly like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Harry's grip on his drink tightened. His eyes darkened. Louis didn't look away.

Not until Zayn stumbled into him.

Louis huffed, catching his friend before they both fell over. "Alright, mate?" he asked.

Zayn nodded lazily. "Yeah, yeah—just, like, dizzy."

Louis was about to laugh but when he turned back to the dance floor he felt it before he even saw him.

Warmth right behind him. A familiar cologne, mixed with sweat and something else.

Then, hands on his hips. Louis didn't even have to turn around although all he could feel was the breath ghosting against his neck.

"Hey, beautiful."

Louis tilted his head back just slightly and met dark, green eyes.

Harry looked—hungry. Like he wanted to devour him whole.

Louis knew he should move away. He knew he shouldn't entertain this.

But come on, he was high. And drunk. He has that to blame.

So he leaned back, just a little. Enough to feel Harry press against him.

"Didn't think you'd be one for dancing," Louis mused, his voice low.

Harry smirked, his hands tightening. "Didn't think I'd be one for you, either."

Louis chuckled, his body moving lazily against Harry's. "Such a charmer, aren't you?"

Harry's breath was warm against his ear. "I haven't stopped thinking about this ass since I saw it after the game."

"God," Louis snorted, glancing back at him. "You're almost decent until you open your mouth."

Harry barely caught what he said before he grabbed Louis' waist and turned him around.

Louis didn't resist, he turned with that same teasing glint.

His eyes betrayed him, though.

Because they dropped.

To Harry's lips. They were red, bitten.

Harry smirked. "I can still do a lot while keeping my mouth shut."

Louis raised an eyebrow. "Doubt that."

Harry grinned, his fingers dragging slowly over Louis' waist. "Bet I could prove you wrong."

Louis dragged a finger down Harry's chest, teasing. "Not sure what I want."

Harry leaned in.

"Well," Harry murmured, his voice like velvet, "Let me help you figure it out."

Louis sighed dramatically, a teasing little smirk curling at his lips.

Harry thought he had him but then Louis laughed.

Not a giggle, not a shy chuckle—a full, amused laugh.

Harry blinked, slightly caught off guard, but then he grinned. A proper grin, one that made his dimples pop and his eyes glint like he knew exactly what game they were playing.

"What's funny?" he asked, his voice smooth.

Louis shook his head. "Nothing, nothing." He dragged a finger down Harry's chest, his voice mockingly sweet. "You're just—so cute."

Harry's grin twitched, but he recovered quickly. "You don't seem like the type to call me cute."

Louis hummed, pretending to consider it. "You're right." He leaned in, voice dropping just slightly. "You're adorable."

But not in the nice way.

In the way that meant Louis was laughing at him.

Harry's grip tightened on Louis' waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt. He was still grinning, but it wasn't as easy as before.

"You keep laughing," Harry murmured, "but you're still standing here."

Louis arched a brow. "Am I?"

Harry took that as a challenge.

His hands slid lower, deliberate, moving down over the curve of Louis' hips, fingers pressing, sliding, until they settled on his ass. His hands squeezed making Louis suck in a breath.

Because of course Harry did that.

The heat between them sharpened. Harry pulled Louis in, flush against him, until their bodies were fully aligned.

Louis clenched his jaw. He refused to make a sound—because that would be embarrassing—but the press of Harry's hands was firm, warm, and far too confident.

Harry's lips brushed against his ear, his breath hot. "How about," he murmured, his voice all silk and sin, "we take this somewhere else?"

Louis tilted his head slightly, just enough to study him. He could see the anticipation in Harry's green eyes, the way he was already so sure he had this in the bag.

Fucking hilarious.

"You really think," Louis mused, dragging it out, "some half-arsed flirting is gonna get me in your bed?"

Harry's grin faltered.

Louis nearly laughed again.

"Half-arsed?" Harry repeated, frowning like Louis had just personally offended his skillset.

Louis grinned. He had.

"Yeah," Louis said, eyes glinting. "Bit sloppy, if you ask me."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You seemed to like it."

Louis let out an exaggerated "awww," reaching up to pat Harry's cheek. "Adorable."

Harry scowled, pulling back slightly. "What's your problem?"

Louis smirked. "No problem. Just—" He made a vague gesture. "Expecting a bit more from the big bad quarterback."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, so now you have high standards?"

Louis gasped dramatically. "Are you calling me easy?"

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly reconsidering his life choices.

"Look," Harry said, recovering, "I know you like me."

Louis snorted. "Oh? Do you?"

Harry smirked, regaining some confidence. "Yeah. I saw the way you looked at me during the game."

Louis scoffed. "Please. I was looking at the scoreboard."

Harry gave him a dry look. "Right."

Louis folded his arms. "I mean, I know you're Niall's friend. But that's about it."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You seriously don't know my name?"

Louis hesitated. Then, just to mess with him, he tilted his head and said, "Hmm... Henry?"

Harry's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"

Louis shrugged. "Or maybe it's Harold."

Harry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You're taking the piss."

Of course Louis was. Everyone knew Harry Styles. But he'd be caught dead before admitting to that.

"Maybe." Louis grinned. "Maybe not."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What does it matter anyway? It's college. People have fun." He tilted his head. "What, you don't like to have fun?"

Louis' smirk widened. "Oh. You mean sex."

Harry blinked.

Louis leaned in, voice lower, playful. "You're asking if I like sex."

Harry licked his lips. "Well—"

"I do," Louis said. Then, with a pointed look, "Just not with—"

He gestured vaguely at Harry.

Harry's face flickered. His cocky confidence cracked just enough for Louis to see it causing him to bit back another laugh.

"You're a fucking menace," Harry muttered.

Louis grinned. "And you make it too easy."

Harry opened his mouth to answer then frowned when he noticed he didn't have Louis' attention anymore.

Then, out of nowhere, Louis whined.

"My shirt!"

Harry blinked. "What?"

But Louis was already stepping away, completely forgetting him, his focus locked on Zayn.

Zayn, who was currently upside down, chugging a beer like some sort of deranged acrobat—except he was failing miserably, because most of it was spilling down his chest.

And onto Louis' shirt.

"Zayn, you absolute twat!" Louis scolded, reaching out to smack him while Zayn giggled drunkenly, barely coherent enough to register the damage.

Harry watched, a little thrown.

The moment between them? Gone.

Louis was already moving away, muttering something about beer stains.

Harry panicked.

He reached out, grabbing Louis' wrist. "Wait. You're leaving?"

Louis paused. His gaze flicked to where Harry was holding him.

Then Louis gave him one look. A slow, deliberate look at his hand.

Harry got the message.

His fingers unclasped immediately, letting Louis go.

Louis tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement, then sighed dramatically.

"See you around, Henry."

And just like that, he was gone. Louis stomped over to where Niall was laughing at something, his beer half-finished in his grip.

"We're leaving," Louis announced.

Niall pouted instantly, looking genuinely betrayed. "What? Why?"

"Because." Louis glared at Zayn, who was currently trying to wipe himself dry with a throw pillow. "I'm not dealing with this all night."

Niall perked up. "Oh, just stay over! I told the guys you were crashing here anyway."

Louis scoffed. "Not happening."

Niall groaned. "Louuuu..."

Louis ignored him, turning to Zayn—who, still upside down, dripped more beer onto Louis' ruined shirt.

Louis closed his eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out.

"I'm going to my dorm," he said firmly. "Where people respect me."

Niall snorted. "Dunno who told you that, mate."

Louis shot him a look.

Niall held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Go on, then. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yep." Louis reached out, grabbing Zayn by the collar before the idiot could spill more liquid on him.

"Let's go, you menace," Louis grumbled, steering Zayn toward the door.

Zayn giggled, patting Louis' hand. "You love me."

"Not right now, I don't."

Niall waved them off, smirking, and just before they stepped out, Louis glanced back once.

Harry was still standing where he left him.

Still watching.

Still staring.

Louis smirked before walking out.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

The library was meant to be a place of peace and focus, a sanctuary for scholars buried in their books, their fingers stained with ink, their minds expanding with knowledge.

But not tonight.

Tonight, the library was home to an Irish boy on the brink of a mental breakdown, an overworked drama student who had little patience left, and a chain-smoking, sleep-deprived art major who had officially assumed the role of academic enforcer.

Niall groaned dramatically, flopping forward onto his textbook like he had just been shot. "Lads, I can't do this. My brain is shutting down. It's over. This is the end for me."

Zayn, sitting across from him, casually rolled up a piece of paper and smacked the back of Niall's head with it. "Read."

Niall yelped, clutching his head like he'd just been mortally wounded. "Abuse! Actual abuse! Did you see that, Lou?"

Louis, perched on the table with his legs crossed, lazily flipped through his own book. "Yeah, and I support it. Now, get back to work."

"This is illegal."

"No, what's illegal is the way you've avoided studying for the past two months," Louis said, flicking the edge of Niall's book with his foot. "Read the first ten pages. Then you get a break."

"Ten pages?" Niall gasped like he'd been asked to run a marathon barefoot in the snow. "Are you mad? That's an entire novel!"

"It's ten pages," Zayn deadpanned.

"It's basically the entire syllabus."

"It's literally a single chapter."

"My eyes are going blurry," Niall whined, leaning back in his chair and pressing his palms over his face.

Zayn smacked him again with the paper. "Read."

The librarian at the front desk lifted her head and glared in their direction. "Shhh."

Niall pointed accusingly at Zayn. "Him. Shush him. He's the violent one."

Zayn lifted the rolled-up paper threateningly. "Keep talking, mate. See what happens."

Louis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Niall, for fuck's sake, just read."

"I am reading," Niall whined. "I'm just... reading it telepathically."

Smack.

"OW! Jesus, Zayn, I'm going to file a complaint—"

Smack.

"MOTHER OF GOD."

The librarian glared again. "Shh!"

Zayn put the paper down just long enough to take out his phone. The librarian was two seconds away from kicking them out.

"Okay, okay, I'm reading!" Niall lifted his book in surrender, eyes scanning the page like he was a hostage reading a ransom note. "'The concept of supply and demand...'" He yawned. "I don't even know what those words mean. I don't even know who I am anymore."

Louis rolled his eyes. "You're Niall Horan, and you're failing your goddamn business class."

"I am failing my business class," Niall said wistfully, like he was reminiscing about a fond memory.

Louis smacked the book out of his hands.

"Okay, okay! Jesus."

They managed a whole ten minutes of relative silence before Niall suddenly perked up, eyes wide like he just remembered something crucial.

"Oh! I had to ask you something."

Louis, unimpressed, did not look up from his book. "No, you don't."

"I do," Niall insisted. "It's important."

"You're just trying to distract me so you don't have to study."

Niall gasped dramatically. "That's slander."

"It's also true," Zayn added.

"It's not," Niall huffed. "I swear, I actually have something to ask."

Louis narrowed his eyes. "Fine. What?"

Niall hesitated, suddenly looking very interested in the corner of his textbook. "So... hypothetically—"

"No."

Niall groaned. "You don't even know what I'm gonna say."

"Doesn't matter," Louis said flatly. "If it starts with 'hypothetically,' the answer is no."

Niall sighed dramatically. "Okay, fine. Not hypothetically. What if... I had a friend who was interested in joining the drama club?"

Louis frowned. "Who?"

"Well, you see..." Niall scratched the back of his head, avoiding the question. "Thing is, the sign-ups are technically closed, but you are the one who manages sign-ups, and you could make an exception—"

"I don't know..." Louis hummed. "We could use a hand."

Niall perked up. "Yeah?"

"Does your friend actually act?"

"Not exactly..."

Louis narrowed his eyes. "Who is it?"

Niall mumbled something incomprehensible under his breath. "...rry -yles"

Louis raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Zayn smirked, watching Niall squirm. "Speak up, mate."

Niall pursed his lips, then quickly muttered, "HarryStyles."

Louis blinked at him.

Then blinked at Zayn.

Then blinked back at Niall.

And without a second thought, he said, "No."

"Lou," Niall groaned.

"Sign-ups are closed."

"But you manage sign-ups!"

"Closed," Louis repeated, shaking his head. "Want me to say it in French? Fermé."

Niall scowled. "That's not fair."

Louis rolled his eyes, but then something clicked in his memory—something about hearing Harry Styles arguing with that professor in the hallway. His face twisted into a scowl. "Wait. Is this for his credits?"

Niall hesitated. "Uh. No?"

Louis gave him a look.

Niall tried again. "Like, technically yes, but also... no? He just likes theatre."

Louis' glare intensified.

Niall huffed. "Look, Harry's really not that bad. If you go deep, like really deep—"

Louis held up a hand. "Stop. I don't need to hear about you going deep with Harry Styles."

Niall groaned. "I mean, like, personality-wise."

Louis was unimpressed. "Don't care. Already have my hands full. Don't need another headache."

Niall sighed, slumping over his book in defeat. "So what am I supposed to tell him?"

Louis shrugged. "Tell him I said no."

Niall opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Zayn smacked him on the head again.

"Back to work."

Niall groaned, rubbing his forehead. "I hate both of you."

Zayn smirked. "You won't be saying that once you graduate this godforsaken place."

Louis snorted. "Big 'if' on that one."

And as the librarian shh'd them again, Niall let out a long, suffering groan, picked up his book, and officially accepted his fate.

***

Louis and Zayn stood side by side in the dimly lit dorm hallway, staring at the figure in front of their door like it had suddenly materialized out of thin air.

Louis broke the silence first. "Are you also seeing him?"

Zayn, arms crossed, nodded slowly. "Yeah. I see him. Do you see him?"

Louis squinted. "I wouldn't be asking if I didn't."

Zayn exhaled in relief. "Thank fuck. Thought I was hallucinating."

The figure standing in front of their door—Harry Styles, in the flesh—shifted his weight impatiently. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, and his expression flickered between mildly annoyed and deeply regretting every decision that led him here.

"You know I'm right here, yeah?" Harry said, deadpan.

Louis blinked, caught off guard. "Sorry, what are you doing here?"

Harry's jaw flexed. "I came for you."

Zayn snorted. Loudly. Then he turned and walked straight into the dorm, lifting a hand in a mock-salute. "Thank god. I'm not dealing with this."

Before he disappeared, he shot a cautionary glance at Harry, then at Louis, and muttered, "If anything, shout. I'll be here in a sec."

Louis rolled his eyes but gave him a dismissive wave. "Yes, Mum."

Zayn responded by shutting the door behind him, leaving Louis alone with Harry in the hallway.

Louis turned back, raising an eyebrow. "Right, well." He leaned against the door, smirking. "Jeez, we danced together for like forty seconds, didn't take you for the clingy type."

Harry's lips curled into a tight, forced smile. "I think you've got the wrong impression."

Louis tilted his head, feigning surprise. "Oh? So you didn't come knocking on my door at night like some lost puppy?"

Harry's expression darkened. "It's seven in the evening."

"Ominously."

Harry exhaled sharply, like he was regretting this entire conversation. Which, in fairness, he probably was.

Louis tapped the door behind him. "So, tell me. How'd you find out where I live? Been lurking outside my classes? Stalking my socials? Following me home?"

Harry scoffed. "Waterboarded the information out of Niall."

Louis whistled lowly. "Romantic."

Harry scowled. "Why no?"

Louis blinked at him. "Why no, what?"

Harry crossed his arms. "Why won't you let me join?"

Louis made a thoughtful hum before casually replying, "You're not my type."

Harry's nostrils flared. "That's not what I meant."

"Mm. It's what I meant."

Harry clenched his jaw, clearly trying to be patient. "I'm serious. Why not?"

Louis grinned lazily. "Because I have standards, love. And unfortunately for you, I don't let just anyone into my club."

Harry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You're not answering the question."

"Sure I am," Louis said. "I just don't think you like the answer."

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose. "You don't even know if I'm good at it."

Louis tilted his head. "You're right. I don't. But I do know you're only here because you need the extra credit, which means you're not actually interested in theatre. And you, of all people, should understand—I don't have time for teammates who aren't committed."

Harry frowned. "Louis—"

Louis hummed. "Mm, that's my name."

Harry took a deep, slow breath. "I'm being serious-"

"No, no, let me ask you something," Louis interrupted, standing up straight now. "I know nothing about football. Not a single thing. I don't know the rules, I don't know the positions, I don't even know why people voluntarily throw themselves at each other like rabid dogs."

Harry blinked, clearly not following where this was going. "...Okay?"

Louis gestured loosely. "Imagine me waltzing up to your coach, demanding a spot on the team. What do you think he'd say?"

Harry hesitated. "I mean—"

"He'd say no, right?" Louis cut in. "Because I don't belong there. Because I don't care about football. Because it would be a waste of everyone's time." He folded his arms, gaze leveling with Harry's. "So tell me, Henry. If I wouldn't demand a spot on your team, why the hell should I let you onto mine?"

Harry's mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. Then finally, he said "I really need the credits"

Louis gave him a tight smile. "Tough life, innit?"

Harry's fingers twitched at his sides, and for the first time since the conversation started, he actually looked like he had nothing to say.

Louis sighed. "Look, I'm sure there's another club that'll take you. One that wants a star footballer on their roster. But that's not me." He pushed off the door and straightened his hoodie. "Hopefully, this'll be our last interaction. Take care. Hope you figure it out."

Before Harry could say another word, Louis turned, opened his door, and slipped inside—

Slam.

The wood rattled.

Louis exhaled, pressing his back against the door.

A couple seconds later, there were two knocks.

He closed his eyes. Nope. Not dealing with that.

Zayn, who was lounging on his bed, raised an eyebrow. "Are you gonna—?"

Louis waved a hand dismissively. "Crazy man outside."

Zayn nodded in understanding, then went back to his phone.

Harry knocked again.

Louis ignored it.

Eventually, the hallway fell silent.

***

The theater was mostly dark, but the stage lights cast a warm, almost blinding glow over Louis as he sat cross-legged at the edge, script in hand. His fingers tapped against the worn pages, the familiar rustle filling the silence as he skimmed through them.

In front of him, scattered across the front row of seats, sat his group—his cast, his crew, his chaotic bunch of theater nerds.

Claire, their lighting designer, sat slouched with a notebook balanced on her knee, lazily sketching out a lighting concept that Louis knew she'd redo later. Theo, their sound guy, sat beside her, absently flicking through his phone but at least pretending to listen. A couple of others murmured amongst themselves, waiting.

And then there was Miles.

"Alright," Louis said, glancing up. "I've made my decision for this year's play."

Miles immediately sat up straighter, looking entirely too eager. "Can I play the lead?"

Louis snorted. "That's presumptuous."

Miles groaned. "Okay, but hear me out, I had a starring role in Legally Blonde—"

"Oh, were you Elle?" Louis asked flatly.

Miles rolled his eyes. "No, obviously not."

"Then I don't care."

Laughter rippled through the room. Miles threw up his hands. "You're all just jealous of my star power."

Louis smirked. "Sure, mate. You can audition like everyone else."

Miles sighed, slumping in his seat. "Fine. But I just want it noted that if I don't get it, it's because of a conspiracy against me."

Louis smirked. "Obviously."

Claire sighed. "Just tell us what we're doing before Miles starts spiraling."

Louis leaned forward, holding up the script. "Betrayal by Harold Pinter."

A beat of silence.

"Holy shit," Claire muttered. "That's intense."

Miles tilted his head. "Wait, isn't that the play where they, like, ruin each other emotionally?"

"That's most plays," Louis pointed out.

"No, but like—really ruin each other?"

"Correct," Louis said, flipping through the pages. "It's complicated, it's emotionally driven, and it's a challenge. I want something that pushes people this year."

Theo finally looked up from his phone. "Isn't that the one where the scenes happen in reverse?"

Louis nodded. "Exactly. It starts with the aftermath, with everything already fallen apart, and then we go backward. By the time the audience reaches the beginning, they already know how it ends."

A few murmurs of intrigue rippled through the group. Claire looked impressed, Theo seemed resigned, and Miles... well, Miles looked like he was trying to calculate how much emotional damage he'd take if he didn't get cast.

Miles hummed. "It's also very British of you."

Louis gave him a dry look. "That's the best thing you've ever said to me."

Miles gave him finger guns.

Louis ignored it, flipping through the pages again. "Auditions are next week. If you want a role, earn it."

His phone vibrated against the stage floor, the familiar timer ringing out—his reminder that their hour was up. The group took it as their cue to leave, chairs scraping, voices rising as they gathered their things.

Claire shot him a thumbs-up. "Good choice, boss."

Theo groaned. "This means I actually have to pay attention."

Miles grinned as he passed. "I will be your star."

Louis barely lifted his head. "We'll see."

Soon, the theater was empty.

Except Louis.

He stayed, still sitting on the stage, flicking through the script again. His teeth pressed into his lip as he skimmed over a scene—one of the heavier ones, one that required so much restraint it practically begged to be overacted. He exhaled sharply.

Was this the right choice?

Was it too much?

He tapped the script against his knee again, considering.

"...Alright, this is starting to creep me out." Louis didn't look up, still reading. "For how much longer do you plan on standing there?"

Silence. Then, the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps.

A voice—sickly sweet. "When did you notice?"

"Fourteen minutes ago." Louis flipped a page.

Harry hummed. "Impressive."

Louis finally exhaled, tilting his head slightly but still not looking at him. "What do you want?"

Harry's eye twitched. He took a breath, forced a chuckle. "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot."

Louis snorted at that, still not looking up.

Harry clenched his jaw. "Will you look at me?"

Finally, Louis did. And wow, yeah, those were some green eyes. Sharp, intense, irritating. It took him half a second too long to recover, but he did, tilting his head.

"What?"

Harry stepped closer, standing at the edge of the stage, and it pissed Louis off that even though he was on the stage, they were nearly at eye level.

"I shouldn't have come to your dorm unannounced," Harry admitted. "So how about I make it up to you?"

Louis quirked a brow. "How?"

Harry smiled—smug, self-assured. "I'll take you out."

Louis blinked. Then, slowly, he rested his cheek against his palm, watching Harry.

He was serious.

The laugh burst out of him before he could stop it. "No thanks."

Harry's eye twitched again.

He inhaled sharply, like he was really trying to hold in his frustration. "I don't offer dates often."

Louis giggled. "Wow," he said, still mocking. "Fuck, you're so—" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Is there even a word to describe what you are?"

Harry, mistaking the reaction as a good sign, smirked, looking triumphant.

Louis just rolled his eyes. "You're not getting in the club. Piss off."

He stood up, brushing dust from his pants before hopping off the stage.

But before he could walk past Harry grabbed his wrist. "Wait."

Louis froze, blinking down at where Harry's fingers curled around his skin. His hands were big.

Harry's voice was quieter now. "Stop being like this. I'm not just doing this for the credits."

Louis looked at him then, eyes searching, guarded.

Harry's fingers were warm, firm, big. His grip wasn't tight, just enough to make Louis hesitate.

His voice was lower now. "I'm serious. I care about theater."

Louis lifted a brow. "You care about yourself."

Harry's jaw clenched. "And yet, I'm here."

Louis searched his face. "And yet," he echoed, voice softer but no less sharp, "you only care about theater when you need something."

Harry opened his mouth—then shut it.

"Thought so." Louis smiled, slow and cutting. "This might seem stupid to you, but its important to me although you seem not to care. I'm not saying this again, go ask someone else."

Harry exhaled through his nose, letting go of Louis' wrist with a sharp movement.

For a moment, Louis swore he saw something flicker across his expression—something frustrated, something else.

Then—Harry straightened, rolling his shoulders back. "You know what?" He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Fuck this stupid club."

Louis didn't even blink. "Good." He turned on his heel, heading for the doors. "Because you weren't invited."

And with that, he disappeared, leaving Harry standing alone in the empty theater, jaw tight, hands clenched.

***

Louis was on a mission.

Niall had sold him out.

And although Harry had admitted to tormenting the information out of Niall, Louis wasn't feeling particularly merciful. Snitches got stitches, and worse than that—you don't tell your mate's murderer where he lives.

Niall was done for.

Except, apparently, Niall had the instincts of a hunted man because Louis couldn't find the little leprechaun anywhere. He checked the usual places—the library (as if), the dining hall (more likely), the campus quad (possible, if he was feeling brave)—but Niall was gone.

Louis even considered storming into Niall's frat house, but realistically, he doubted he'd survive the testosterone-infested battlefield long enough to actually find him.

So he turned back toward his dorm, planning to regroup.

But then—

A sound.

A suspicious sound.

Louis narrowed his eyes, grip tightening on his bag as he stepped inside.

Zayn was sitting on the floor, controller in hand, looking far too relaxed.

Louis' gaze swept the room.

Zayn barely glanced up. "You're back early."

Louis crossed his arms. "Lesson got canceled." His eyes flickered to the second controller lying on the floor. His lips pressed together. "Why are you playing FIFA alone?"

Zayn, to his credit, didn't flinch. He even had the audacity to shrug. "I like to use multiplayer mode to, y'know... practice."

Louis stared at him.

Zayn let out a nervous laugh. "And, uh... fool around a bit."

Louis slowly looked down at the abandoned second joystick.

His head tilted.

Then he barked, "Where is he?"

Zayn tensed. "Mate, you've had a long day. Maybe you should take a shower, relax, clear your head—"

Louis squinted. "You're deflecting."

"I'm helping you."

"You're lying to me."

Zayn exhaled, standing up. "I think you should go take a shower, yeah? You're going crazy."

Louis sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe you're right."

Zayn nodded encouragingly, already pushing him toward the bathroom. "Exactly, mate, just let it go—"

Louis stopped short. "Wait, I need my clothes."

He turned toward the wardrobe.

Zayn screeched, practically throwing himself in the way. "I'll get them for you!"

Louis blinked at him.

Zayn smiled, too wide.

Louis nodded. "Alright."

Zayn relaxed. "Great, I'll just—"

Louis faked a step away.

Zayn turned.

And Louis pounced.

He yanked the wardrobe doors open—

A feminine scream echoed through the room.

Niall sat curled in the corner, wide-eyed, looking as if he'd just seen God.

Then, desperately he shouted "ZAYN!"

Zayn threw his hands up. "It's done! I can't protect you anymore!"

Louis pointed an accusatory finger. "YOU!"

Niall bolted, making a run for it but Louis was faster, grabbing him by the back of his shirt.

Niall wheezed. "Harry tortured me for it!"

Louis dragged him back. "I don't care what you had to endure, because now you're gonna get it ten times worse."

Niall flailed. "Mercy!"

Louis snorted.

Fifteen minutes later Niall stood in the corner, one foot on the ground, one up, nose nearly pressed against the wall.

Louis paced behind him.

"So," Louis said, arms crossed, "what do you do next time someone waterboards you for information about me?"

Niall, in the voice of a deeply wronged child, mumbled, "I die suffocated."

Louis clapped his hands. "That's right! Now stay there for another twenty minutes."

Zayn sighed from the couch. "You're being dramatic."

Louis rounded on him. "And you're an accomplice!"

Zayn raised his hands. "Oh, come on—"

Louis raised a brow. "You hid him from me."

"I denied you access," Zayn corrected. "That's different."

Louis squinted. Then, with a simple flick of his wrist, he pointed at the empty space next to Niall.

"To the corner," he ordered.

Zayn's jaw dropped. "What? No."

Louis arched a brow and Zayn groaned but reluctantly dragged himself over.

Louis clapped him on the back. "Good. Now you both stay there until I'm done with my shower."

Zayn kicked Niall. "This is your fault."

Niall huffed. "I told you we should've stopped sooner with FIFA."

Louis smirked and strolled off, whistling.

Justice had been served.

***

Louis and Zayn were perched on the metal bleachers, thoroughly unimpressed.

They had been supposed to go to the cinema ages ago, but someone—and by someone, they meant Niall—was still running around like a headless chicken in his football gear.

Louis sighed dramatically, stretching his legs out. "This is tragic. We were promised entertainment, and instead, we're stuck watching Niall sweat."

Zayn snorted. "It's like waiting for a dog to finish peeing so you can go back inside."

They both watched as Niall, looking very aware of their presence, cast a desperate glance their way.

Louis lifted a hand and waved sweetly. Niall, visibly embarrassed, quickly looked away and immediately lost focus.

"Move it, Horan!" the coach barked.

Zayn snickered.

Louis cupped his hands around his mouth. "Yeah! Move it, Niall!"

Niall's head snapped toward them, betrayal clear in his eyes, but he didn't dare stop running.

Zayn shook his head. "Man, this is painful. How long is this gonna take?"

Louis groaned. "Dunno. Hopefully not long."

His gaze drifted to a small group of girls huddled further down the bleachers. They were definitely not here for Niall.

Their eyes were locked on a specific player on the field—one with perfectly curly hair, a cocky smirk, and an unfortunate god complex.

Harry fucking Styles.

Louis rolled his eyes so hard he nearly gave himself a concussion.

Zayn caught the look and smirked. "Jealous, mate?"

Louis scoffed. "Jealous? Of what? A bunch of girls giggling over a human golden retriever with an ego problem? Please."

Zayn hummed knowingly but let it drop.
Then, after another agonizing five minutes, Zayn slapped his thighs and stood up abruptly. "That's it. I refuse to sit here any longer."

Louis watched as he climbed down the bleachers, striding toward the field with purpose. Zayn waved wildly for Niall to come over.

Niall ignored him.

Zayn cupped his hands over his mouth. "Niall! Little Irish lad! Come!"

Niall, very deliberately, pretended he had never met this man in his life.

Zayn gasped, deeply offended. "You fucker! I bleached your hair for you!"

Louis wheeze-laughed, imagining the absolute horror on Niall's face from a distance.

They couldn't see it clearly, but he was certain Niall was plotting Zayn's death at that very moment.

Then, to Louis' surprise, a different player jogged over to them instead.

Louis recognized him—he had seen him around with Niall a few times.

The guy took off his helmet as he approached, sweat dripping from his hair.

His brown eyes settled on Zayn first. "Hey, you good?"

Zayn, to Louis' absolute delight, fumbled.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Absolutely no words came out.

Louis grinned. This was gold.

The guy tilted his head slightly, looking mildly amused before turning to Louis instead. "Did you guys need something?"

Louis, thoroughly entertained by the absolute mess that was Zayn, smiled warmly. "Yeah, we were wondering how much longer this was gonna take. Aren't you guys supposed to be done?"

Zayn, still looking like his brain had short-circuited, nodded dumbly. "Y-yeah. That. What he said."

Louis bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

The guy—Liam, Louis now remembered—glanced between them before answering. "Coach is in a bad mood today. Making us stay a bit longer. Probably about twenty more minutes, then we're done."

Zayn was unusually stiff, like he had been possessed by an awkward ghost. Which was strange because Zayn never loses his cool.

Louis, watching this absolute disaster unfold, decided to intervene.

"I'm Louis, by the way," he said, grinning. Then he pointed to Zayn. "And this is Zayn."

Liam smiled, giving a small nod. "Nice to meet you. I'm Liam."

Then he glanced back at the field. "I should get back. See you guys later."

With that, he jogged off.

Louis turned slowly to Zayn.

Zayn, still stiff, exhaled shakily.

Louis grinned like a menace.

"Oh. Oh. What was that?"

Zayn snapped out of it. "What was what?"

Louis mimicked him, voice high and panicked. "'Y-y-y-y-y-yeah, w-w-w-what h-he s-s-said!'"

Zayn scowled. "I didn't sound like that."

"Oh, mate, you so did."

Zayn tried to play it cool. "Shut up."

Louis smirked. "You fancy him."

Zayn scoffed. "No, I don't."

Louis nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"I don't."

"You do."

Zayn huffed. "I literally just met him."

Louis raised a brow. "And yet, you managed to forget how to speak. Impressive."

Zayn rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the slight pink on his ears.

Louis snickered. "Oh, I love this."

Zayn groaned. "I hate you."

Louis stretched lazily. He stayed silent until Zayn sat back down beside him, still looking a bit dazed.

Louis immediately nudged him with his elbow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "He was hot."

Zayn scoffed, feigning disinterest. "Was he? Didn't notice."

Louis snorted. "Sure you didn't."

Zayn stubbornly looked ahead, jaw clenched, but Louis could see the way his ears were still tinged pink.

He decided to let his friend suffer in silence, but only because the next twenty minutes were going to be excruciatingly long.

They watched as practice dragged on, the players still running drills under the sharp, watchful eye of their coach.

Every few minutes, Zayn would groan dramatically, slumping against Louis like his life was leaving his body.

Louis, already annoyed with their ruined movie plans, leaned in. "You're such a drama queen."

Zayn exhaled deeply. "Louis. I am literally dying."

"Tragic."

"Tell my family I loved them."

Louis shoved him.

Then, finally, mercifully, the players began jogging off the field, heading toward the locker rooms.

Louis spotted Niall passing them, shooting them a glare so vicious it could've set fire to their seats.

Zayn, in true Zayn fashion, gave him a shit-eating grin and two thumbs up.

Louis snorted. "You deserve whatever's coming."

Zayn sighed, resigned. "Probably."

They got up, stretching out their legs as they made their way down the bleachers, aiming to wait for Niall outside.

Only then Louis stepped off and crashed straight into someone.

Someone big.

Before he could stumble back, a strong hand caught his arm, steadying him with ease.

Louis barely had time to register the warmth, the solid grip, the sheer size of the body in front of him before a voice, smooth and maddeningly amused, spoke—

"Sorry, babe."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

If it were anyone else—literally anyone—Louis might've let himself linger, might've let himself enjoy the way sweat clung to flushed skin, the way damp curls stuck to a sharp jawline, the way broad shoulders looked in tight jerseys.

Because, Christ, he liked sweaty hot men.

He liked rough hands and cocky smirks and strong grips.

Just not this one.

He yanked his arm free, scowling. "I'm not your babe."

Harry didn't miss a beat. His smirk curled at the edges. "Could be."

Louis rolled his eyes so hard he saw another dimension. His expression was bored when he answered, "You're not getting in the club."

Harry's smirk dropped instantly. His brows furrowed, just slightly, just enough for satisfaction to bloom in Louis' chest.

But before he could bite back, Louis turned on his heel and skipped over to Zayn, looping their arms together.

"Move it out," he chirped, tugging him forward.

Zayn, who had been watching the whole interaction like a live episode of his favorite reality show, let himself be dragged along, shaking with silent laughter.

Once outside they leaned against Zayn's car, waiting for Niall, the evening air finally cooling down the lingering heat from the field.

Minutes later, the locker room door swung open, and out came a freshly showered Niall, hair still damp, eyes sharp with vengeance.

Without hesitation, he walked up to Zayn and punched him in the chest.

"You fucker."

Zayn flinched, wheezing. "Ow! What the hell?"

Louis, grinning, held up a hand. "No fighting. Let's just go."

But before they could make their escape, another voice rang out—

"Niall!"

Louis groaned internally.

Harry.

And, of course, the walking menace appeared, casually slinging an arm around Niall's shoulders, chewing gum obnoxiously as he grinned.

His still-damp curls dripped water onto Niall's freshly dried shirt, and Louis had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the exasperated look on Niall's face.

Harry popped his gum. "Where are we going?"

Louis scowled. "We are not going anywhere."

Niall, clearly exhausted, rolled his eyes. "The movies."

Harry lit up. "Great! I haven't been to the cinema in so long."

Louis visibly tensed.

Harry turned to him with a shit-eating smirk.

Louis, already irritated, crossed his arms. "You're not coming."

Harry grinned wider.

Niall, sensing the storm brewing, attempted damage control. "Uh, aren't you Liam's ride home?"

Harry blinked, then shrugged. "Oh, yeah. But he'll wanna come, too, then."

Louis scoffed. "You don't even know what we're watching."

Harry waved a hand. "I'll like it."

Louis narrowed his eyes. "It's a chick flick."

Harry didn't miss a beat. "My favorite movie is The Notebook."

Louis' eye twitched.

Harry popped his gum again.

Then, without even looking away, he called out, "Oi, Liam!"

Seconds later, Liam appeared, freshly changed into gray sweats and a hoodie, looking like he was ready for bed, not a movie.

Louis felt Zayn clutch his arm.

And he knew.

He just knew by the grip on his arm this was a lost battle.

Louis groaned, already bracing himself.

Harry, still chewing obnoxiously, tilted his head. "Liam, you up for a movie?"

Liam blinked, shrugged. "Sure."

Harry, not breaking eye contact with Louis, grinned. "See? Liam wants to go."

Louis' hands itched to shove him.

Niall, now thoroughly done with this conversation, hesitated. "I mean... if you two are okay with it..."

He glanced between Louis and Zayn.

Immediately, they fell into a silent conversation.

Louis' eyes were firm.

Zayn's were pleading.

Louis narrowed his eyes.

Zayn pouted slightly.

The others looked between them, confused as hell.

Finally, Louis exhaled through his nose, long and defeated.

Zayn grinned triumphantly. "Sure! Come with us."

Louis wanted to throw himself off the nearest cliff.

They quickly sorted out the cars—Louis, Zayn, and Niall in Zayn's; Harry and Liam in Harry's.

As soon as they buckled in, Louis turned to Zayn.

"I hate you."

Zayn just hummed, pulling out of the lot. "You love me."

Louis absolutely did not.

But he did love popcorn.

And if he was going to survive this night, he was going to need a shitload of it.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

The movie theater was packed, filled with the low hum of conversation and the scent of buttery popcorn hanging heavy in the air.

Louis slumped further into his seat, arms crossed, eyes locked on the giant screen in front of him as the movie exploded into action.

He should've known this would backfire.

He lied before about the chick flick thinking it would scare Harry off. It didn't. So when they got in line to get tickets for Bad Boys 2 , the movie they actually were planning on watching, Harry had a smug grin like he knew Louis' plan from the start.

That had been enough to infuriate Louis.

And now here they were, seated in the dimly lit theater, the opening scene playing out while Louis sat between Niall and Zayn, making damn sure there was a buffer between himself and Styles.

Harry sat on Niall's other side. Liam was on Zayn's.

Louis had purposefully positioned himself this way.

And yet, somehow, he could feel Harry's presence.

It was maddening.

Harry had that obnoxious aura, the kind of natural charisma that bled into every space he was in. Even when he wasn't talking, wasn't even looking in Louis' direction, he still felt too there.

The worst part?

Louis swore he could see the smug little smirk tugging at the corner of Harry's mouth out of the corner of his eye.

Ignoring him, Louis focused on the screen, letting the loud action drown out his thoughts. The movie wasn't bad—he actually liked it. But every now and then, he'd catch Harry shifting, leaning back, stretching his arms over his head, just enough to seem at ease. Like he was enjoying this a little too much.

Louis gritted his teeth and refused to react.

When the break came, the lights dimmed up slightly, and the movie paused. Conversations buzzed back to life around them.

He nudged Niall with his foot. "I'm getting more Coke. You want anything?"

Niall, still slouched, barely lifted his head. "Just bring me a bottle of water."

Louis nodded, glancing at the others. Zayn shook his head. Liam did too.

And then—because of course—Harry suddenly straightened in his seat, flashing a too-satisfied smile.

"I'll come with," he announced.

Louis refused to look at him. "Great."

It wasn't great.

He climbed out of the row, stepping over Niall's legs, then Zayn's, moving swiftly toward the exit without another word. But he could hear Harry following, his footsteps far too casual for Louis' liking.

They walked through the dim corridor in silence. The flashing movie posters cast shifting colors over them—blue, red, green—making everything feel slightly surreal.

Louis kept his gaze forward, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, but he felt Harry's glances. The way he kept sneaking looks at him, like he was waiting for something.

Louis ignored it.

They reached the counter, and Louis leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the surface.

"Two Cokes and one bottle of water, please" he told the guy behind the register.

The kid nodded and turned away to fill their order.

Before Louis could even reach for his wallet, Harry moved smoothly, slipping his card onto the counter with an effortless grin.

"I got it," he said.

Louis' fingers twitched. His head turned just slightly toward him, unimpressed.

Harry just smiled, radiating pure charm, like this was some grand chivalrous act.

Louis clicked his tongue but didn't argue. If Harry wanted to throw his money away, that was his problem. Louis would happily let him.

Less money to spend on his end.

The worker moved to fill their cups, the sound of ice clinking against plastic humming between them.

Then, just as Louis thought they'd wait in silence, Harry shifted, resting his cheek on his palm.

"You know," he mused, voice smooth and entirely too confident, "it's funny."

Louis glanced at him, wary. "What is?"

Harry tilted his head. "How much you pretend not to like me."

Louis barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "That's because I don't like you."

Harry beamed. "That's cute."

Louis turned away. "Jesus Christ."

Harry laughed, low and pleased. "You act like I'm the worst thing to ever happen to you, but I bet you think about me all the time."

Louis let out an exasperated sigh. "Will you stop talking?"

Harry tsked. "Don't be like that, love."

Louis did roll his eyes at that. "Save your little pet names for the girls you actually have a chance with."

Harry smirked. "That's the thing, though. I don't want them." He leaned in slightly, like he was about to tell Louis a secret. "I want you."

Louis let out a short, sharp laugh.

Harry grinned like he'd won. "Come on, just admit it. You think I'm charming."

Louis turned, unimpressed. "I think you're delusional."

The worker placed their drinks on the counter, but neither of them moved.

Harry studied him for a moment, then casually said, "You should really let me take you out."

Louis finally turned, raising an eyebrow. "Should I?"

Harry nodded, lips quirking. "Yeah. I think we'd have a good time."

Louis stared at him, unimpressed.

Then he turned back toward the counter.

Harry leaned in slightly. "Come on, say yes."

Louis sighed, slow and exaggerated. Then, finally, he met Harry's gaze, tilting his head.

"Why?"

Harry blinked. His mouth opened slightly, like he hadn't expected to be questioned.

Louis pressed. "Why are you insisting on taking me out?"

Harry recovered quickly. "Because I like you."

Louis didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.

He just cocked his head. "And why do you like me?"

Harry's smile widened. "Because you're beautiful."

Louis' lips twitched. "What else?"

Harry hesitated. Just for a second, then he nodded, as if reassuring himself and said, "Really beautiful?"

Louis actually laughed at that. A short, sharp sound.

Harry had the audacity to grin like he'd won.

Louis turned back to the counter, ignoring the drinks in front of them.

"You don't even know me," he said, voice even.

Harry's brows furrowed. "I want to get to know you, then."

Louis scoffed. "You must think I'm stupid."

Harry's smile faltered. "What? Why?"

Louis turned, really looking at him now.

"What's wrong with me wanting to take you out?" Harry asked, exasperated.

Louis lifted a brow, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure this has nothing to do with your school credits and the drama club sign-ups."

Harry didn't even blink. "It doesn't."

It was so casual. So smooth. And it made Louis' blood boil.

His patience snapped.

He shook his head, letting out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You know, I was humoring you at first," he admitted, eyes darkening. "This was strangely amusing. But now? It's getting ridiculous."

Harry's expression flickered.

Louis didn't stop.

"You don't play with people's feelings like that." His voice sharpened, cutting through the noise of the concession stand. "Say I did believe you. Say I actually thought you were interested and went out with you." He took a step closer, gaze burning. "What would've happened then, huh? You'd use me, get your credits, and go on with your day?"

Harry opened his mouth but Louis didn't let him speak.

"Fuck I hate people like you," he spat. "People who don't think about anyone but themselves." His hands curled into fists. "Everyone else did sign-ups at the start of the year. You had all the time to do it too. But no. Now you want your problem to become everyone else's." He shook his head, disgusted. "And god forbid someone says no to you."

Harry looked genuinely stunned.

Good.

Louis grabbed his Coke and Niall's water bottle off the counter.

Then, voice firm, he said, "I won't say it again—leave me the fuck alone."

And without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, not looking back.

***

Louis sat cross-legged on his bed, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the absolute audacity of the situation.

Zayn. His own bloody roommate. His battle partner against this very nonsense. His fellow hater of all things loud, sweaty, and testosterone-fueled—had switched sides.

Louis pointed an accusing finger at him. "Et tu, Malik?"

Zayn groaned. "Don't be dramatic."

"You've betrayed me."

"Oh my god."

Louis turned to Niall. "First it was just you forcing me to go to these ridiculous games, but now you've infected him? How? How did you do it?"

Niall, sprawled on the floor with an obnoxious grin, simply shrugged. "My charm."

Louis turned back to Zayn. "Since when do you like football, anyway?"

Zayn hesitated. Then straightened. "Since forever."

Louis lifted a brow. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah," Zayn said quickly. "The... uh... scores. The stadium vibe. The..." He trailed off, looking around the room as if inspiration would strike. His eyes landed back on Niall, and he subtly leaned toward him, muttering, "What else?"

Niall whispered back, completely deadpan, "Mate. The sport."

Zayn immediately nodded, eyes going wide. "Yeah, the sport."

Louis stared at him.

Then smirked.

"Oh, please," he said. "If you were any more convincing, I'd swear you were reading off a cue card."

Zayn scoffed. "Shut up."

Louis stared at him. "Right. So what's a first down?"

Zayn opened his mouth. Paused. Then he scowled.

Louis smirked. "That's what I thought."

Zayn huffed. "Okay, fine. Maybe I don't care about the technical stuff, but I do want to go."

Louis waved him off. "You wanna go so bad? Go by yourself."

Zayn's eyes widened in horror. "I can't go alone." Then Zayn flushed. His gaze flickered away as he muttered, "Besides... uh... Liam asked me to come, and I said I would."

Louis' jaw dropped. "AHA!" Louis barked, pointing at him again. "So that's the reason."

Zayn groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

Niall, entirely oblivious, rolled his eyes. "No, of course not." He gestured vaguely at Zayn. "He just wants to see me play."

Louis turned to Niall, unimpressed.

But when Niall turned to Zayn, that smug grin vanished.

His eyes widened in horror.

"You traitor," he whispered.

Louis cackled which made Zayn glare at him. "Drop it."

Louis grinned. "Oh, drop it?" He gestured between them. "Drop the fact that you, oh, I don't know, suddenly love the sport and totally didn't just say yes to Liam without even thinking about it?"

"I feel used." Niall huffed. Zayn shot him a look. "Oh, please. Don't act like you wouldn't do the same for—"

"That's not the point," Niall interrupted. "You lied to me! You pretended you cared about my game when you actually just wanted to go because of Liam."

Zayn opened his mouth. Then sighed. "Okay, yeah, maybe that was part of it."

Niall gasped. "Part of it?"

Zayn groaned, rubbing his temples. "Look, it's not like that."

Louis smirked. "Sure, mate. Not at all."

Zayn ignored him. "I do want to see Niall play," he said. He clapped a hand on Niall's shoulder. "My best friend." Then, dead serious, "The love of my life."

Niall beamed. "Aw, mate, that's so—"

Louis cut in, snorting. "Bullshit."

Zayn shot him a look.

Louis shot one right back.

"But also... yeah, Liam asked me to go, and I said yes, and now I can't back out because that would be weird."

Niall, ever the mediator, sighed. "Look, it's just one game, yeah? It's not like we're asking you to commit to the whole season."

Louis scoffed. "That's what you said last time."

"And look how great that turned out!"

"Did it?"

Zayn scowled. "Will you please just come with me?"

Louis leaned back against the couch. "Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because I already did my one game of the season." Louis gave Niall a look. "That was the deal."

Niall groaned. "Come on, mate."

Louis just shook his head.

Zayn sighed dramatically, then turned to Niall. "Help me out here."

Niall nodded, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, fine. Time to pull out the big guns."

Louis snorted. "Oh, this should be good."

Niall clapped a hand on Louis' shoulder. "Listen. It's a night out. Fresh air. Some drinks. A distraction from your miserable existence."

Louis glared. "Wow. Convincing."

Zayn sighed. "Look, if I go alone, Liam's gonna think I'm desperate. And with no friends."

Louis smirked. "And we wouldn't want that."

Zayn gave him a look. "Lou."

Louis rolled his eyes but Zayn just looked at him with the worst puppy-dog eyes he had ever seen.

"Lou," Zayn said, voice low. "Please."

Louis looked away, sighed and then muttered, "Fine."

Zayn beamed.

Niall whooped. "That's what I'm talking about!"

"But," Louis said, raising a finger, "this is the last time."

Niall grinned. "Yeah, yeah. We'll see."

A beat later, Niall was sprawled out on Zayn's bed, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes as his other hand aggressively tapped at his phone screen. He was muttering under his breath—something about "absolute bullshit" and "how the fuck did he get me from across the map"—completely immersed in whatever game he was playing.

Louis, meanwhile, crouched in front of the mini fridge, peering inside like he was expecting something better to magically appear. He sighed. "Christ, Zayn, I swear you have the worst taste in beer. Like, do you try to pick the shittest brand or does it just happen naturally?"

Zayn, leaning lazily against the desk, took a drag from his cigarette. "It's beer, Lou. It gets you drunk. That's the whole point."

Louis grabbed three cans anyway, popping one open with his thumb before tossing another to Zayn and handing the last one to Niall, who took it without looking up.

Niall took a sip and then—like the topic had been lingering in his head for way too long—blurted, "Y'know, I always thought Zayn was joking about all that 'experimenting in college' stuff."

Louis hummed, taking a long sip of his beer, while Zayn exhaled through his nose. "To be fair, so did I."

Louis lifted a brow. "Oh? So it's just something about Liam, then?"

Zayn immediately scowled. "I didn't say that."

Louis grinned around the rim of his bottle. "It's probably his personality you like, right? So funny, so charming, such a good friend—"

Zayn groaned. "Shut up."

Louis ignored him completely. "—but, then again, it could be something else..." He trailed off, pretending to think before his face lit up in realization. "Ohhh, I know what it is. It's that big, thick di—"

Zayn shoved him.

Louis barely stumbled, just cackled into his drink, while Niall—completely unfazed—continued his game.

"Fuck off," Zayn muttered.

"You fuck off," Louis said easily. "I'm just saying what we're all thinking."

"No one's thinking that but you," Zayn shot back.

Louis smirked. "I think Liam would be flattered."

Zayn groaned again, dragging a hand down his face.

"Oi, shut up, I just lost," Niall muttered, throwing his phone onto the bed before reaching for his beer again.

"Maybe if you stopped playing that stupid game and focused on your real friends, you'd actually win for once," Louis said, deadpan.

"Maybe if you stopped being a little bitch, you'd actually get laid for once," Niall shot back.

Louis' jaw dropped. "Excuse me—"

Zayn snorted, lifting his beer to his lips.

Louis glared at them both before turning back to Niall. "So? Does Liam even like men?"

That caught Niall's attention. He leaned back against the headboard, frowning slightly as he thought. "Well... he was in a relationship a while ago. Some girl—I think her name was Sophia?"

Zayn's shoulders dropped, "So he's fully straight?"

Louis nudged him with his foot. "You never know. He didn't ask me to come, did he? He asked you. Directly. That must mean something."

Zayn exhaled, staring down at his bottle like it had answers. "I don't know."

Louis tilted his head. "You care though."

"I don't," Zayn said too quickly. "It's just—curiosity."

"Sure," Louis said, unconvinced.

"I hate you," Zayn muttered.

Niall stretched, arms over his head. "I could just ask him."

Zayn snapped his head up. "Fuck no."

Niall raised an eyebrow.

"He'll know it's me asking," Zayn said, looking mildly horrified at the idea.

Niall made a considering noise. "He'd probably think it's Lou asking. He's known to be—" Niall flicked his wrist making Louis roll his eyes and shrug.

"Fine by me."

Zayn stared at him. "You don't care if he thinks you fancy him?"

Louis snorted. "Zayn. I literally could not give less of a fuck."

Zayn seemed to think about that. Then he sighed, rubbing his hand over his jaw. "Just... don't be too direct, yeah? Just put it out there. See what he says."

Niall smirked. "I'll be subtle."

Zayn looked deeply suspicious. "That's literally the opposite of reassuring."

Louis grinned, clinking his beer bottle against Zayn's. "Too late now, mate."

And with that, the plan was in motion.

***

The kitchen was a mess, but that wasn't anything new. Beer bottles crowded the counters and someone's socks—socks—were inexplicably draped over the back of a chair.

Harry didn't care. He was too busy munching on crispy bacon, perched on one of the kitchen stools like he owned the place. Which, technically, he kind of did—at least more than half the guys stumbling in and out of this house did. He'd earned his spot here.

Liam sat beside him, looking far too awake for a morning after a party, neatly cutting his bacon with a fork and knife like a psychopath. Matt stood across from them, nursing an energy drink, because of course he was one of those guys who thought caffeine was a substitute for real breakfast.

"I don't get it," Harry muttered, stabbing his fork into his eggs with more force than necessary. "It's a stupid club. It's not like anyone actually gives a shit about the school plays. No one goes to those things unless they're forced to. Why won't he just stop being a fucking prude and let me in?"

Matt snorted, barely swallowing his drink before laughing. "Literally let you in."

Harry smirked down at his plate. "That too."

"So, can't you just seduce him?" Matt asked, smirking over the rim of his can.

Harry snorted, popping another piece of bacon into his mouth. "I tried," he admitted, though saying it out loud stung his pride more than he liked. "Didn't work."

There was a beat of silence.

Aiden, who had just stumbled in looking half-dead, let out a low whistle. "Damn. Didn't think I'd live to see the day Harry Styles got rejected."

Harry rolled his eyes, chewing his bacon aggressively. "I didn't get rejected. He's just—"

"Being a prude," Matt finished for him, grinning. "Right. Because clearly, the issue isn't you, it's him."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Exactly."

Matt just laughed again, shaking his head. "Yeah, okay, mate."

Liam, the traitor, had the audacity to smirk but wisely said nothing as he kept eating.

Just then, Niall stumbled in, yawning so hard his jaw cracked. He opened the fridge door open with a creak as he scratched at his stomach through his hoodie, barely awake, and mumbled, "Mornin'," he grabbed the milk.

"I'm just saying," Matt continued, clearly enjoying himself. "You, of all people, getting turned down? That's huge."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, piss off."

"Does it hurt, mate?" Aiden teased, holding a hand to his chest like he was deeply moved by the moment. "Knowing your legendary charm isn't enough?"

Harry flipped him off before stabbing another strip of bacon with his fork. "It's not even about that," he muttered.

Matt snorted. "Right. Has nothing to do with the fact that you're getting rejected by a twink."

Harry didn't react, but before he could say anything, there was a sharp thud—Matt stumbling back a step as Niall shoved him with a little more force than necessary.

"Watch your mouth, mate," Niall muttered, voice lower than usual, eyes hard.

Matt blinked, caught off guard. He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Jeez, protective much?"

Niall just glared at him before turning away, shaking his head as he grabbed a bowl from the cabinet. "Fucking hell," he mumbled, still half-asleep as he walked around him. "Can't even walk into the kitchen without hearin' shit first thing in the morning."

Harry smirked at that but didn't comment. Matt, thankfully, shut up, choosing to take another sip of his drink instead.

Niall shuffled over to the table, dropping down next to Liam with a tired sigh. He poured himself a bowl of cereal, still blinking sleep out of his eyes. "What are you lot even talkin' about?"

Silence.

Niall frowned at his cereal before looking up, confused. "Hello? Anyone?"

Liam glanced at Harry like you answer him, so Harry sighed, setting his fork down. "Drama club."

Niall groaned, setting his spoon down with an audible clink. "Again with that?"

Harry just arched a brow.

Niall shook his head. "Mate, just get into the chess club and be done with it."

Harry clenched his jaw. No fucking way.

It wasn't even about the credits anymore. It was a principle thing now. He was not about to let some stubborn little drama snob tell him he couldn't do something.

"I'm getting in," Harry muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Liam sighed, rubbing his temple like he was exhausted by the whole thing. "How about, I don't know... being decent?"

Harry frowned. "I've been nice."

Liam gave him a look.

Harry doubled down. "I even complimented him!"

Liam arched a brow. "That's it?"

Harry hesitated. "...Yes?"

Liam sighed like this was the most frustrating conversation he'd ever had. "Harry. You can't just flash a smile, throw a few compliments, and expect him to let you in. You did barge into his meeting like you owned the place."

Harry frowned, remembering the way Louis had looked at him that day—like he was something he'd scraped off his shoe.

Liam continued. "I'm just saying, try a different approach. Maybe try to ask instead of demand."

Harry huffed, leaning back in his chair. "So what? You want me to go beg?"

Liam shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt. Maybe apologise too."

Harry groaned, running a hand through his hair.

This was going to be such a pain in the ass.

Aiden and Matt eventually left, still chuckling about Harry's failure, and the kitchen settled into a more comfortable silence. The only sounds were the occasional scrape of cutlery against plates and Niall crunching his cereal.

Harry was still sulking over his bacon when Niall, mouth half-full, suddenly perked up. "Oh, by the way."

Liam looked up from his eggs just as Niall turned to him. "Any chance you're into blokes?"

Liam froze mid-chew. His fork hovered in the air, his entire body going still as he stared at Niall like he hadn't heard him right.

Niall hummed to himself, he nodded slightly whispering to himself. "Hmm. Maybe this isn't what they meant when they said subtle."

Harry blinked. "Why are you asking him?"

Liam's eyes flicked between them, clearly wary. "Yeah, why...?"

Niall shrugged, waving a hand. "Can't a man be curious?"

Liam opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Harry frowned, interrupting again.

"Is it for your friend?" Harry asked, voice edged with suspicion. His fingers drummed against the counter. "Does Louis want to know?"

Niall shot him a weird look. "Why do you care?"

Harry didn't answer.

Niall narrowed his eyes, studying him. Slowly, he said, "Could be. I just want to know." Then, turning back to Liam, "Anyways, Liam—"

But Harry cut in again, his lip twitching with irritation. "Is this why he's rejecting me? Because he has something with Liam?"

Liam's eyes widened so much they nearly fell out of his head. "I haven't even answered yet."

Niall exhaled sharply through his nose, looking done with both of them. "Or—just hear me out—you're being rejected because he doesn't like you. Stop interrupting me."

Harry ignored him. "But he just met Liam! How could he already be interested?"

Niall rubbed a hand over his face. "Jesus Christ." He took a deep breath, exasperated. "Why do you even care?"

Harry stiffened. His jaw clenched slightly, but before he could think of an answer, his mouth was already moving.

He mocked Niall's voice, high-pitched and sarcastic. "Can't a man be curious?"

Niall stared at him, unimpressed. Then, shaking his head, he muttered, "It's way too fucking early for this." He turned back to Liam, who had gone unusually quiet. "Anyways, Liam—" He stopped mid-sentence. "Liam?"

The chair next to Harry was empty.

They both blinked, then looked toward the doorway, where Liam was already gone.

Niall groaned, throwing his head back. "For fuck's sake."

Harry huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Nice job mate."

Niall glared at him. "You didn't help!"

Harry just smirked, shoving another piece of bacon into his mouth.

Football practice

Football practice was a disaster.

It wasn't just a bad practice—it was a fucking catastrophe. Harry was off his game from the very first snap, missing easy passes, fumbling handoffs, and throwing spirals that wobbled like a drunk toddler on roller skates.

This was unusual. Harry never had bad practices. He was Harry Styles, the golden boy, the star quarterback, the reason this team had a chance of making playoffs. He was the one who made fun of people for having bad practices.

And yet here he was, standing in the middle of the field, arms spread wide, as Coach Walsh screamed his lungs out at him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you today, Styles?!"

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it, scowling. The real answer—because I spent all morning being an insufferable little bitch about the drama club—didn't seem like something Coach would want to hear.

"I dunno, Coach," he said instead, rolling out his shoulder as if that had anything to do with it. "Off day."

"Off day?" Coach's face was turning a lovely shade of purple. "Off days are for kickers! You don't get a fucking off day! You're the quarterback! You run this goddamn offense!"

Harry sighed, tuning out the rest of the rant as he yanked his helmet back on. If he had a dollar for every time Coach gave this speech, he could buy out the entire fucking drama department and force Louis to put him in the club.

Unfortunately, he had no dollars (not with his dad's new tantrum, as he called it) , no extra credit, and no patience, so he jogged back to the huddle.

Niall gave him a side-eye. "You alright, mate?"

Harry muttered something unintelligible, which Niall apparently took as no, because he cleared his throat and took a cautious step back.

"Alright," Harry called, clapping his hands. "Let's run the play again."

The offensive line grumbled, but they got into position. Harry crouched behind the center, fingers itching for the snap.

"Down! Set—"

The ball hit his hands, and he dropped back, eyes scanning the field. His wide receiver, Matt, was open. So was Liam.

His brain short-circuited.

Instead of throwing, he hesitated for half a second—just enough time for a defensive lineman to slam into him at full speed.

He went down hard.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

The field spun above him. His ears were ringing. His ribs ached.

Then, above him, Coach's voice thundered, "Get your head out of your ass, Styles!"

Harry groaned, peeling himself off the turf. When he looked up, Liam was standing there, hands on his hips, staring at him with an expression.

Harry scowled. "What?"

"You're not passing to me."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Piss off."

Liam sighed, rubbing his forehead like Harry was some insufferable child. "Mate, just—sort your shit out."

Harry was sorting his shit out. It just so happened that his shit was trying to avoid Liam as much as possible for no reason whatsoever.

Unfortunately, that plan wasn't working out too well, because two plays later, Liam got open again, and instead of passing to him, Harry did something so stupid, so incredibly idiotic, that the entire team stood in stunned silence for a good five seconds afterward.

He ran the ball himself.

And got tackled immediately.

Coach's whistle shrieked. "STYLES, WHAT THE FUCK."

Harry lay flat on the grass, staring at the sky, regretting every decision he had ever made in his life.

In the locker room

"Maybe you should take a break from being a dickhead for one practice," Niall suggested helpfully, shoving his duffel bag into his locker.

Harry groaned, peeling off his pads. "I'm not being a dickhead."

"You literally left Liam open the entire practice," Niall pointed out.

Harry scowled. "So?"

Niall threw a sock at him.

Harry dodged it, then turned to Liam, who was sitting on the bench, scrolling through his phone like he hadn't just been ignored for the past two hours.

"You're fine," Harry muttered.

Liam raised an eyebrow. "You tackled yourself to avoid throwing me the ball."

Harry had no defense for that, so he grabbed his towel and headed for the showers.

After practice, Harry grabbed his keys and walked straight to his car.

He knew Liam didn't have a ride. He knew. He'd heard him mention it in the locker room.

And yet, as soon as he saw Liam stepping out of the building, looking around for someone to bum a ride off, Harry put his car in reverse and peeled out of the parking lot like he had somewhere important to be.

Niall called him two minutes later.

"Did you just leave Liam stranded?"

Harry smirked at the road. "Maybe."

"You twat."

Harry hung up.

By the time he was halfway home, he was gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles were white.

This was ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous. He was Harry fucking Styles. He had the entire student body wrapped around his finger.

And yet, one irritating, stubborn, infuriating twink was ruining his life.

He didn't even care about drama club! He didn't care about plays! He didn't even care about acting!

But he cared about winning.

And if Louis Tomlinson thought he was going to win this stupid little war, he had another thing coming.

He was going to get into that club, even if it killed him.

His jaw clenched. His fingers twitched against the wheel.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a flower shop.

He sighed.

Grumbling to himself, he yanked the wheel to the side and made a U-turn.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

Louis sat in the middle row, one leg crossed over the other, pen tapping idly against his notebook. The stage lights were on, casting a golden glow over the empty set pieces left behind from their last production. He liked it here—liked the quiet, the way the world seemed to shrink to just him and his thoughts.

Usually, when life felt overwhelming, this was where he ended up.

And today was definitely one of those days.

His mother had called that morning. It had been a short conversation, but that was all it took. Her voice had been strained, light in the way it only ever was when she was trying to keep things from him. When she didn't want him to worry.

But Louis did worry.

He worried about her. He worried about his sisters. He worried about the bills he knew were stacking up back home, about the extra shifts he was trying to pick up at work that still weren't enough.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

Thinking about it wasn't going to change anything.

So he forced himself to focus on the play.

He had been scribbling notes for the past hour, rewriting dialogue and trimming scenes, trying to create a version of Betrayal that wouldn't make the audience want to throw themselves off a balcony. He was making progress, or at least he had been—until the auditorium doors creaked open.

Louis stilled, head snapping up toward the back of the theatre. The bright stage lights made it impossible to see who had come in.

Probably the janitor, he figured.

But then, the footsteps stopped.

A throat cleared.

Louis jumped slightly.

Before he could speak, a bouquet of fresh red roses appeared in his line of vision.

His brow furrowed. "What—"

The bouquet lowered, revealing Harry Styles behind it.

Louis' whole body stiffened.

For a split second, he expected a cocky smirk, some kind of taunt, or maybe a smug told you you'd miss me—but instead, he was met with a dimpled smile.

Which, oddly enough, made him more suspicious.

"...What are you doing?"

Harry held the flowers out toward him. "Fifteen roses."

Louis blinked.

Harry wiggled the bouquet slightly. "It means 'sorry.'"

Louis snorted, eyeing him warily but still reaching out to take them. "Didn't take you for a gardener."

Though, as much as he hated to admit it, the flowers were beautiful. The petals were soft, the scent light and fresh.

Harry chuckled. "That's what the lady at the shop said."

Louis exhaled through his nose, shifting the bouquet in his hands, trying to fight the warmth creeping into his chest.

But his guard stayed firmly up.

He leaned back in his chair, studying Harry. "Alright. Why are you apologizing?"

Harry cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "For showing up at your dorm like that. And—" He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "For being a dick about the club. You were right. I shouldn't have said what I said and I shouldn't have pressed so much about it."

Louis rested his chin on his palm, watching him closely.

It was a nice speech.

A pretty speech.

But something about it felt... off.

Louis had spent enough time around bullshitters to know when someone was just telling him what he wanted to hear. And right now? Harry's voice was just a little too even. His shoulders a little too squared. His words a little too rehearsed.

A gut feeling twisted in Louis' stomach.

So instead of letting himself get drawn in, he sighed and set the flowers down beside him.

Testing. "Alright. Thank you."

That was all he said. Harry blinked at him, waiting. Louis flipped back to his script, pen scratching against the paper.

A beat of silence.

Then— "That's it?"

Louis hummed, not looking up. "Yeah? What else is there to say?"

Harry's smile faltered. "I just apologized."

Louis nodded. "And I accepted the apology."

Another silence.

Then, predictably, "So, about the club..."

Louis' head snapped up.

He scoffed, hopping off the stage. Without missing a beat, he grabbed the flowers and shoved them against Harry's chest.

"Keep this shit."

Then he turned on his heel and walked off.

Harry scrambled after him. "Wait—fuck, okay, I'm sorry, jeez."

Louis whirled around, frustration bubbling over. "Stop saying that! You don't mean a single fucking word you're saying! How the fuck do you apologize and then immediately start asking me for the same exact thing?"

Harry huffed. "I am sorry—"

"No, you're not," Louis cut in, jabbing a finger at him.

"I am," Harry insisted. "About how I acted. But I still really do need to sign up for this stupid club."

Louis huffed, tugging his arm out of Harry's grip. But Harry latched onto him again, pleading.

Louis froze, irritated but—fine, slightly intrigued.

He eyed Harry warily. "...Go on."

Harry exhaled, like he'd just won a small battle.

"Just—try me out," he said earnestly. "I won't be an inconvenience. I'll put in work like everyone else. If you need me to carry stuff, manual labor—whatever. You need extra hands, I need a club. So why not just let me in?"

Louis crossed his arms, unimpressed.

"No."

Harry groaned. "Lou—"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Are you five?"

Harry groaned again, raking his hands through his curls.

Louis smirked. "What happened to being Mr. Popular? Don't you have a million other clubs to pick from?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not ones that fit my schedule."

Louis narrowed his eyes. "And?"

"...And ones that don't make me want to stab my eyes out," Harry muttered.

Louis tilted his head, pretending to consider. Then, finally, with an exaggerated sigh, he gave in, slow and reluctant. "If we're doing this, you follow my rules. No complaining. No slacking off. No bullshit. And I'm not going to attest that you're formally part of the club until the end of the semester. You fuck around, you're out. One chance."

Harry beamed.

Louis looked away immediately, cheeks warming.

Fuck, he hated when Harry smiled like that.

"I won't let you down," Harry said, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Louis scoffed. "Yeah, we'll see about that."

He turned to leave, but Harry stopped him again.

"Your flowers?"

Louis hesitated, glancing at the bouquet still in Harry's hands.

For a second, he considered walking away.

But then—sighing—he reached out and took them back.

He didn't smile, didn't give any indication that it meant anything.

"Monday," he said. "Four p.m. Be late, and you're out."

And with that, he walked away, leaving Harry grinning in his wake.

***

The stadium was loud. That was Louis' first thought as he followed Zayn up the bleachers, stepping over people's feet and trying not to trip on discarded food wrappers. The air smelled like beer, sweat, and something aggressively fried. He could barely hear himself think over the screaming, chanting, and the occasional blast of the marching band.

Zayn, on the other hand, looked completely unbothered—smug, even. He was wearing one of Niall's jerseys (which was funny considering Zayn had spent the entire last game complaining about how ugly the uniforms were). He even had two neat streaks of green face paint on his cheeks, looking way too put together for someone who supposedly didn't care about football.

Louis stared at him as they sat down. "You know, for someone who hates this shit, you look like you're about to start a fucking fan club."

Zayn smirked, adjusting the sleeves of his jersey like it was a fashion statement. "Dunno what you're talking about, mate."

Louis rolled his eyes. "Right. And I'm straight."

Zayn just hummed, unbothered. "Not with that fringe, you're not."

Louis elbowed him, but Zayn barely reacted. His focus was already locked onto the field, scanning the players as they walked out. Louis groaned and settled into his seat, resigned to his fate. He'd come to support Niall, not third-wheel Zayn's painfully obvious crush.

The moment the players stepped onto the field, the crowd erupted. The sheer volume of Styles! chants made Louis' eye twitch.

"Fucking hell," he muttered. "Is this a game or a Harry Styles meet and greet?"

Zayn snickered, but his attention was split—his eyes were scanning the players in search of a specific number.

Louis, meanwhile, stood up and cupped his hands around his mouth. "GO BLONDIE, FUCK THEM UP!"

Niall, already scanning the crowd, spotted them immediately. His entire face lit up as he grinned, raising both thumbs in excitement.

Louis smirked as Niall made an exaggerated show of throwing his fists in the air, bouncing on his heels. One of his teammates nudged him forward, reminding him he had an actual game to play.

Zayn chuckled at the whole thing.

Louis tried to focus, he really did. But the rules of American football were a confusing mess. The players ran, then stopped, then ran again, then piled on top of each other like a dogfight. Half the time, he had no clue where the ball was. He just clapped when the crowd clapped and booed when Zayn did.

At one point, Niall made a sharp run and caught a perfect pass, sprinting forward as a defender came crashing toward him. He barely dodged before getting shoved out of bounds, but it was enough to move the team forward. Liam was behind him so he got shoved as well, though he didn't fall. Louis stood up and whooped, whistling as Niall got back on his feet.

"You see that? That's our friend!"

Zayn nodded approvingly. "Not bad."

Louis smirked when he caught Zayn looking at Liam again. "Bet you wouldn't mind comforting him later after all that rough play."

Zayn elbowed him hard enough to knock him sideways.

The game kept going, the crowd growing wilder with each play.

And then Harry got the ball.

Louis didn't know shit about football, but even he could tell when something important was happening. The crowd held their breath as Harry dodged one defender, then another, sprinting down the field with a terrifying amount of speed.

Louis barely processed the sequence. One second, Harry was weaving past players, and the next, he was in the end zone, scoring.

The stadium exploded.

People were screaming, throwing their arms up, losing their minds.

Harry ripped off his helmet, his sweaty curls a mess, his face flushed from exertion. He was beaming as he jogged toward the bleachers with his teammates, letting them slap his back in congratulations.

Louis, unfortunately, was staring.

His tongue flicked out, wetting his bottom lip as his eyes dragged over Harry's broad shoulders, the way his jersey clung to his torso, the sharp cut of his jaw as he smiled.

Fuck.

Louis hated himself. He hated that Harry was so fucking hot.

He hated that it was so obvious why people lost their minds over him.

Beside him, Zayn was grinning. "You're drooling."

Louis snapped out of it, his whole body tensing. "Fuck off."

Zayn just waggled his eyebrows. "You like him."

Louis scoffed. "I loathe him."

Zayn hummed, unconvinced. "Yeah, yeah. And I loathe the way Liam looks in those tight pants."

Louis smirked, instantly switching the target. "Speaking of which, you've been awfully quiet since Liam tackled that guy earlier."

Zayn didn't even try to deny it. "Listen. I'm just saying, the way he moves? I wouldn't mind being thrown around a little."

Louis made a dramatic gagging sound. "Jesus Christ."

Zayn grinned. "Hey, you started it."

Louis huffed and turned back to the field, definitely not looking at Harry again.

The game continued, the energy only building. The crowd was a chaotic mix of cheers, chants, and occasional insults hurled at the opposing team. Louis was still struggling to understand what the fuck was happening half the time, but at least he wasn't alone—Zayn was equally lost whenever Liam wasn't on screen.

By the time the game was nearing its end, Louis was exhausted just from existing in this environment. But despite the chaos, despite the smell of sweat and beer, despite the fact that he had to be so close to people screaming for Harry fucking Styles—

He had to admit.

It was kind of fun.

.

The night air was cool against Louis' skin as he and Zayn leaned against the railing outside the stadium, waiting for Niall. The crowd was still filtering out, and every now and then, they heard snippets of conversation about the game—mostly praise for Harry's performance.

Louis tried to tune it out. He was still vaguely pissed at himself for staring like a complete idiot earlier.

Zayn, for his part, seemed oddly focused on fixing his hair, using his phone camera as a mirror.

Louis side-eyed him. "You trying to impress someone?"

Zayn lowered his phone with an unimpressed look. "It's called basic grooming."

Louis snorted but didn't argue. He'd let Zayn pretend this wasn't about a certain football player.

A commotion at the entrance caught their attention. The players were coming out, freshly showered, still buzzing with post-game energy. Louis spotted Niall almost immediately, still damp from his shower, hair a mess, grinning like a fool.

Louis didn't think.

The moment he saw Niall, he launched himself at him, arms and legs wrapping around the poor lad like a very aggressive koala.

"MY STAR PLAYER!" Louis shouted, pressing a big, obnoxious kiss to Niall's cheek.

Niall yelped but caught him just in time, stumbling back slightly. "Jesus Christ, Lou—"

"So proud of you, blondie!" Louis declared dramatically.

Niall cackled, struggling to keep him upright. "Get off me!"

Zayn, shaking his head in amusement, ruffled Niall's hair. "Good game, mate."

Niall beamed at the praise, still supporting Louis.

Next to him, Liam and Harry were watching the scene unfold with amusement.

Harry had his helmet tucked under his arm, damp curls a little messy from the shower. He was in his team hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and Louis refused to acknowledge how unfairly good he looked.

Liam, meanwhile, had a lazy smile as he glanced between Niall and Zayn.

Zayn immediately got all shy, shifting slightly behind Niall like Liam wasn't a 6'1" teddy bear.

Before Louis could comment on it, Niall spun in a circle with Louis still clinging onto him.

"Oi—!" Louis yelped, gripping Niall tighter. "Stop or I swear I'll vomit on you."

Niall immediately stopped. "Alright, get off, Satan."

Louis chuckled and let go, feet landing back on the pavement.

"So you do know how to smile."

Louis turned his head sharply to find Harry looking at him, one eyebrow raised, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips.

Louis huffed annoyed. "Fuck off."

Harry just grinned.

Before Louis could come up with a scathing comeback, Niall clasped his hands together, eyes big and hopeful.

"We're celebrating. Please tell me you two are coming this time?"

Liam nodded, his gaze flicking toward Zayn. "Yeah, you should."

Zayn, still looking suspiciously affected, turned to Louis and said, "He says we should come."

Louis shot him a tight smile, then looked back at the boys. "We can't."

Niall groaned. "Oh, come on—"

Louis continued smoothly, "Me and Zayn have a thing."

Zayn's head snapped toward him so fast it was a miracle he didn't pull a muscle. "What thing?"

Louis turned slightly, giving him a pointed look. "You know. Our thing."

Zayn blinked at him, brain clearly short-circuiting. "No, we don't—" He turned back to the others, expression caught between confused and panicked. "We don't have a thing."

Niall rolled his eyes. "It's an excuse."

Liam's brows furrowed slightly, clearly trying to figure out what the hell was going on, but he still smiled politely.

Louis let out a dramatic sigh. "Yes, Zayn. Remember? You better remember, because if we didn't have a thing, then I'd spend the entire time telling a certain story."

Zayn froze.

Louis smirked, his voice lower. "A very fun story. About someone who cried in the bathroom for an hour after his first time because he couldn't get it up."

Zayn visibly paled.

Louis tilted his head. "But of course, I can't tell that story. Because we have a thing. Right, Zayn?"

Zayn made a choked noise. His eyes darted between the others, then back to Louis. Then, with the desperation of a man realizing he was cornered, he stuttered out, "Oh— Oh! That thing. Yeah. Whoa. How could I forget?"

Then, still looking rattled, he turned to the others and blurted, "Well— uh— we'll see you another time, yeah?"

Louis patted his shoulder. "Good lad."

Harry was full-on grinning now, like he was enjoying the show.

Niall, still unimpressed, huffed. "You two are the worst."

Louis shrugged. "You love us, bub."

Niall groaned but then pointed at him. "You better make it up to me."

Louis waved a hand. "Come over later, we'll properly celebrate."

That seemed to satisfy Niall, who grinned and nodded.

As the group started to part ways, Louis turned to Zayn with a smirk. "You're welcome for saving your dignity."

Zayn just exhaled deeply, eyes still a little wide. "I hate you."

Louis patted his back. "Nah, you love me. Now, let's go before Liam figures out you've been making heart eyes at him all night."

Zayn grumbled under his breath, but he followed.

***

Monday came too fast.

Louis had barely had time to recover from the ridiculousness of the weekend—the game, Niall's celebrations, Zayn's pathetic attempt at pretending he didn't have a crush on Liam—before he found himself back in the theater, the dim stage lights buzzing as he sat on the edge of the stage, script in hand.

The club members were gathered in the first few rows of seats, looking up at him expectantly. Some looked excited, some half-asleep (Claire, mostly), and Miles, as always, looked like he had something obnoxious to say.

Louis sighed, rolling his shoulders before speaking.

"Alright, since we're having auditions on Wednesday, we need to talk about who we're actually aiming for when it comes to casting. Betrayal isn't a big ensemble piece, so the people we cast have to actually be competent. And seeing as we all go to this school, our options are limited."

Miles raised a hand. "Oh, so limited. Which is why I think I should play Robert."

Louis barely looked up from his script. "That's presumptuous."

Miles scoffed. "You always say that."

"Because you're always presumptuous."

Sadie, adjusting the clip in her hair, sighed. "I'd like to audition for Emma. I think I could bring something fresh to her character."

"Fresh?" Miles snorted. "What, like a quirky Emma?"

Sadie gave him a flat look. "Like an actual Emma. Not whatever weird, insufferable idea you have of her."

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right, before this turns into a real tragedy—"

"Miles is already a tragedy," Claire mumbled from her seat, rubbing her temples.

"—let's break down what we need," Louis continued, ignoring Miles' offended gasp. "Robert is an authoritative presence but needs to have some emotional depth, which—" he shot Miles a look, "—we will only find through actual auditions."

Miles huffed but leaned back in his seat, accepting defeat for now.

"Emma," Louis went on, "needs someone who can carry emotional restraint, subtlety, and, you know, actual talent."

Sadie lifted her chin smugly.

"And Jerry," Louis continued, flipping a page in his script, "should be played by someone with—"

The door swung open.

The entire room turned their heads in sync. A ripple of discomfort spread through the group.

Harry Styles had arrived.

He stood in the doorway, gym bag slung over his shoulder, confidence practically radiating off of him like he belonged there. Like he hadn't spent the last week begging Louis to let him join.

Louis glanced at him for barely a second before returning to the script in his lap. "Anyway," he said, pointedly ignoring the disruption, "everyone get to work."

Claire, usually unbothered, stiffened slightly, her grip tightening on her lighting sketches. Sadie adjusted her posture but didn't say anything. Julia and Maya exchanged uncertain glances, and even Theo, who rarely looked up from his soundboard, raised his eyebrows slightly.

Miles, for once, didn't have something cocky to say.

There was a brief moment where no one moved—most of the club still blatantly staring at Harry—before Louis hopped off the stage and walked toward him.

He didn't greet him. Didn't acknowledge the way the others were already whispering. Harry flashed a grin, his eyes gleaming with that trademark cocky charm.

"Didn't expect the drama club to be this... chill," Harry remarked, his voice oozing that mix of playfulness and cockiness.

Louis didn't miss a beat. "Get your stuff off the stage. You can't leave your practice gear here."

Harry didn't seem to mind. He walked over to one of the chairs in the corner, dropping his bag with a thud.

"Guess I'm not getting an official welcome, huh?" Harry mused, leaning against the back of the chair and crossing his arms, looking way too comfortable for Louis' liking.

Louis, already walking toward him, muttered under his breath, "I don't have time for your ego today, Harry. I've got work to do." He gestured for Harry to follow him, not waiting to see if Harry did. He did, of course, his heavy footsteps echoing through the space as they moved past the old sets and stacks of props.

Louis gestured lazily. "This is the stage, obviously. But we won't be using it for our final performance because it's small and can't hold a proper audience."

Harry hummed. "Shame. It's got a certain charm."

Louis shot him a look. "That's just the mildew."

Harry smirked. "Romantic."

Louis ignored him.

They moved toward the tech booth, where Theo was adjusting the soundboard.

"Theo," Louis said, nodding toward him. "Sound designer. He makes sure everything doesn't sound like complete shit."

Theo hesitated, then nodded at Harry in the most neutral way possible before returning to his work.

They continued toward Claire, who was adjusting the overhead lights.

"Claire. Lighting designer." Louis gestured at her, his voice flat. "If you mess with her settings, she will kill you."

Claire didn't even look up. "I've done worse for less."

Harry blinked. "...Noted."

Then, they approached the rest of the group.

"Julia, Maya, Sadie—you'll be dealing with scripts and scene pacing," Louis continued. "Omar is handling some of the casting reads, and Miles—"

Harry turned to find Miles sitting very, very still.

Louis smirked slightly. "—Miles is our problem."

Miles scowled. "I hate you."

"Join the queue."

Despite the mild distraction, the unease in the room was still palpable. Nobody seemed particularly thrilled about Harry being there.

Harry, to his credit, wasn't oblivious. His usual smugness dimmed slightly, and his gaze flicked over the group as if he was aware of how out of place he was.

Louis turned back to him, arms crossed. "They're skeptical. Can't blame them."

Harry met his gaze. "I get it."

Louis tilted his head slightly, studying him for a moment.

Then, after a pause, he nodded toward the stage. "Good. Now get to work."

The club still looked a little skeptical, but as Louis made his way back toward the stage, he could already tell that things had shifted.

Harry being here was going to be a problem.

He just didn't know how big of a problem yet.

Louis walked briskly through the winding hallways of the theater, his clipboard clutched firmly in one hand. Harry followed at a slower pace, his long strides making it easy to keep up despite Louis' obvious attempt at losing him in the maze of backstage corridors.

They finally reached the storage room—a dimly lit, slightly dusty space filled with racks of old costumes, stacked prop boxes, and an overwhelming scent of fabric softener mixed with something vaguely antique.

Louis pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside without hesitation, already focused on his checklist. He scanned the inventory sheet, murmuring to himself as he checked off the costumes they had available for the upcoming rehearsals.

Harry followed him in, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"Fuck, finally," Harry muttered under his breath.

Louis barely reacted, too absorbed in his list. "Huh?" he mumbled, eyes still running over the checklist.

A moment later, he felt warm hands settle on his hips.

His brows furrowed.

Then he stilled.

Slowly, he tilted his head slightly, as if trying to confirm what was happening before reacting.

"...What are you doing?" he asked, tone mildly perplexed but not entirely alarmed.

Harry, grinning as if this was the most natural thing in the world, squeezed Louis' hips lightly, fingers pressing through the fabric of his jeans. "Thought we were gonna be bored to death out there. Didn't think you brought me all the way here just to talk about costumes."

Louis blinked.

Then blinked again.

He turned in Harry's loose grip, finding himself practically chest-to-chest with him now. His gaze flicked downward, briefly acknowledging the placement of Harry's hands on his waist before lifting his eyes back up to meet very smug green ones.

"I'm sorry," Louis said, voice painstakingly slow. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, don't act coy."

Louis' stare was blank, unreadable. Then, with a mild huff, he placed a hand on Harry's chest and gave him a light shove. "No, you dumbass. We're checking costumes."

Harry reeled back slightly, utterly dumbfounded. "Wait—what?"

Louis wiggled completely out of his grip and took a full step back, holding up his clipboard like some kind of holy shield.

"We are here," Louis explained, voice laced with patience so thin it might snap at any second, "to check the costumes for holes, loose stitching, buttons missing, and any other actual wardrobe malfunctions that might happen before final fittings."

Harry stared at him as if Louis had just spoken in another language. "So... no—?" He gestured vaguely between them.

Louis' lips curled in a half-smirk, half-exasperated sneer. "No, Harry. No whatever-the-fuck-you-thought-was-gonna-happen."

Harry let out a dramatic groan, running a hand down his face. "Shit. For a second I thought you finally loosened up."

Louis rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, loosened up—by bringing you to the costume storage room in the middle of a Monday afternoon to fondle each other between racks of period-appropriate waistcoats. Makes perfect sense."

Harry smirked slightly at that. "Wouldn't be the worst idea."

Louis groaned, shoving a rack of suits aside. "Shut up and help me."

Harry muttered something under his breath that definitely wasn't flattering, but he still reached for a costume at random.

Louis, still flipping through his checklist, glanced up just in time to see what Harry had grabbed.

A medieval tunic.

Purple. With embroidered gold trim.

Louis snorted. "Yeah. That one screams Shakespeare in the Park."

Harry huffed, tossing it onto a chair. "I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to be looking for."

"Anything that makes it unwearable," Louis said, like it was obvious. "Tears, stains, buttons—"

Harry held up a vest, frowning as he tugged on the buttons. "These don't even open."

Louis barely looked up. "That's because it's a pull-over vest."

Harry paused. Looked down at the buttons he had been aggressively yanking. "Oh."

A slow smirk spread across Louis' face. "Oh," he repeated mockingly.

Harry scowled. "Shut up."

Louis only hummed, clearly entertained, before going back to his own inspections.

Louis would inspect, mutter something about fabric durability, and Harry—mostly clueless about what he was supposed to be checking—would just nod along, occasionally holding up a piece like it was evidence in a crime scene.

"You're actually terrible at this," Louis noted after watching Harry squint at a waistcoat like it personally offended him.

Harry grinned. "I think I'm doing great."

"You just spent five minutes trying to unbutton a vest."

"They're tricky!"

Louis shook his head, pressing his lips together to keep from smiling.

For the next several minutes, the only sound in the room was fabric rustling, the occasional scribble of Louis' pen, and Harry sighing dramatically every time he had to actually do something.

At one point, Harry yanked a jacket off a hanger and sent an entire rack tumbling forward.

Louis jumped back just in time, his eyes widening as the pile of costumes crashed onto the floor.

There was silence.

Then Louis turned very slowly to Harry, who was standing there, unmoved, hands in his pockets, casually chewing gum.

"...What," Louis said carefully, "the fuck is wrong with you?"

Harry's lips twitched. "I was testing the structural integrity."

Louis blinked. Then, without breaking eye contact, lifted his clipboard and smacked him on the shoulder with it.

"Ow—"

"Pick it up," Louis snapped, already stepping around the mess.

Harry muttered something under his breath but begrudgingly bent down, gathering the scattered garments.

As he did, Louis grabbed a waistcoat, inspecting the buttons before making a small mark on his list. He barely glanced up as he added, "Honestly, don't know why I'm surprised you're shit at this. You're not exactly detail-oriented."

Harry, still crouched down, narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Louis shrugged, flipping to the next page. "Just that you don't strike me as someone who checks things thoroughly."

Harry scoffed. "I check plenty of things thoroughly."

Louis finally met his gaze. "Name one."

A beat of silence.

Then Harry grinned, slow and smug. "I could, but you'd probably get all flustered."

Louis just exhaled through his nose. "Jesus Christ, you're exhausting."

"You'll get used to it."

"I won't."

Harry chuckled, finally standing up straight. "You're fun when you're annoyed."

Louis gave him a look.

Harry grinned wider.

They finished up soon after—though Harry's definition of helping was mainly just watching Louis work while occasionally holding up a costume and making unnecessary comments.

By the time they were leaving, Louis was over it.

Harry, however, looked far too pleased with himself.

As they stepped back into the main hallway, Harry stretched his arms behind his head. "See? That wasn't so bad."

Louis scoffed. "Speak for yourself."

Harry smirked, then—before Louis could react—he plucked the clipboard from his hands and scribbled something at the bottom of the checklist.

Louis snatched it back, eyes scanning the paper.

At the very bottom, written in horrifically large, obnoxious handwriting:

"HARRY STYLES—EXCELLENT AT CHECKING THINGS THOROUGHLY."

Louis groaned, flipping the clipboard over to hide the note.

"See you tomorrow, Lou," Harry said, winking before heading toward the exit.

Louis watched him go, eyes narrowing.

Then, under his breath "...Prick."

But as he turned to put his checklist away, he didn't flip the clipboard back over.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

The school library was quiet on Tuesday afternoon—quiet enough that even the hushed whispers of overdue book reminders seemed louder than usual. Louis had claimed a secluded table in a far corner,  he sat across from Harry spreading out his notes and his clipboard as if preparing for a major battle. Today, he was determined to iron out every detail for Wednesday's auditions.

Harry, on the other hand, was struggling.

His cheek was resting against the table, his curls slightly messy from what had clearly been a long-ass practice. His eyes were half-lidded, his fingers lazily tapping against the surface of the table, and he looked about two minutes away from either falling asleep or simply giving up on the night altogether.

His practice gear—wrinkled and sweat-stained—lay in a crumpled pile beside him. It was obvious: football practice had sapped his energy. Yet, even in that tired haze, Harry's eyes occasionally flicked up to watch Louis work, as if he found some strange pleasure in his relentless precision.

Louis, flipping to the next page of his notes, barely glanced up. "So for Wednesday's auditions, Claire thought it'd be best to—"

Louis paused mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noted the way Harry looked. He was too exhausted to protest, though Louis wondered for a moment if he should have insisted on a different meeting time. "Harry," Louis began, voice softening as he glanced up, "I know you're tired from practice. We can talk about the audition details some other time if you need a break."

Harry jolted upright, pushing his head back from the table as if startled by his own response. "No—I mean, it's fine," he insisted quickly.

Louis eyed him. "You sure? You look—" he gestured vaguely at Harry's entire slumped posture, "—like roadkill."

Harry scoffed but shook his head. "I said it’s fine. I like listening to you talk. It's... calming."

Louis blinked.

Then he froze, ever so slightly, before immediately clearing his throat and flipping through his notes. "Right. Well. Moving on, then."

Harry smirked, but it was slow, lazy, and exhausted, like he couldn't even manage his usual cockiness.

Louis pushed past it.

"So, we've decided on Betrayal," Louis continued, glancing up. "Do you know it?"

Harry blinked, then shook his head. "Nope. What's it about?"

Louis hummed, tapping the clipboard. "It's a play by Harold Pinter. The story follows three characters—Emma, Robert, and Jerry—and revolves around an affair. The unique part, though, is that the scenes are told in reverse chronological order."

Harry frowned. "That... doesn't make sense."

Louis raised a brow. "It does make sense. It starts with the fallout—the end of the affair—and then works its way back to the beginning."

Harry still looked unconvinced. "But why would anyone want to watch something when they already know how it ends?"

Louis tilted his head. "That's not the point."

Harry leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, clearly in debate mode now. "It kind of is the point. If you already know how the story ends, what's the point of watching it?"

Louis exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It's not about the ending. It's about the journey."

Harry gave him a flat look. "That's what people say when the ending is shit."

Louis groaned, rubbing his temples. "Christ, you are exhausting."

Harry smirked. "You keep saying that, yet here we are."

Louis shot him a glare before straightening in his seat, taking on his best professor voice. "Alright, let me break it down for your sports-worn brain. It's about suspense. You know the outcome, sure, but you don't know how it happened. The play forces the audience to re-evaluate everything as they move backward, understanding things differently as more details unfold."

Harry squinted at him. "So it's just fancy drama club bullshit."

Louis smacked his arm with the clipboard.

"Ow—fuck, I'm injured, you know—"

"Drama club bullshit?" Louis scoffed. "Mate, your entire life is a football game where people watch you knowing how it's going to end, yet they still show up."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "That's not the same."

Louis smirked. "Oh? You sure?"

Harry opened his mouth. Paused. Closed it.

Then huffed. "Whatever."

Louis grinned, victorious.

Harry slouched further into his chair, rubbing his temples. "So who am I playing in this confusing-ass play?"

Louis blinked. "Who said you were playing anyone?"

Harry's head shot up. "What? What am I, chopped liver?"

"We'll see," Louis said smugly, standing and gathering his things.

Harry muttered something under his breath before exhaling deeply and stretching.

Louis checked his phone, frowning. "It's getting late. And you're dead on your feet."

Harry blinked at him. "I'm fine."

Louis scoffed. "You're literally half-asleep."

Harry stood, stretching his arms above his head before shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well, now I'm awake."

Louis shook his head in disbelief but didn't argue. He packed up the rest of his things, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he moved toward the exit.

Harry lingered. Then, as casual as he could sound, "Have you eaten yet?"

Louis glanced back at him. "Hm?" A moment of silence fell between them as Louis checked his phone. "No, I was planning on eating at my dorm."

Harry hesitated, then bit his lip, his gaze lingering on Louis with a hint of nervousness rarely seen. "I haven't eaten either. Maybe... we could grab something together, and then I can take you to your dorm? I brought my car anyway."

Louis raised a skeptical brow.

Harry exhaled, already shaking his head before Louis could say anything. "Relax, it's not a date. Just food."

Louis hesitated, watching him for a second longer, then shrugged. "Fine."

Harry nodded, satisfied. "See? Look at us. Friends now."

Louis groaned, walking past him. "Absolutely not."

***

The scent of salt, grease, and artificial cheese filled the car as Harry and Louis sat parked in the dimly lit dorm lot, their McDonald's bag crumpled between them on the console. The stereo was on at a low volume, playing some indie playlist that neither of them commented on, and the windows were cracked slightly, letting in the cool night air.

Louis grabbed a fry, aiming for his mouth, but it slipped through his fingers and landed on the leather seat.

"Shit—sorry," he muttered, immediately reaching for it.

Harry, mid-bite into his Big Mac, barely reacted. He chewed, swallowed, and then shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Not the dirtiest this car's gotten."

Louis let out a laugh, caught completely off guard. His nose scrunched up in amused disgust as he tossed the fry into the paper bag. "That's nasty."

Harry smirked but had to take a breath before taking another bite, mostly because hearing Louis laugh like that did something to him that he wasn't in the mood to unpack. Instead, he focused on his burger, swallowing down both his food and whatever that feeling was.

As they ate in comfortable silence, Louis popped another fry into his mouth, glancing at Harry. He snorted.

"You're such a messy eater."

Harry looked up mid-chew, brow furrowing. "I'm not."

"You are," Louis argued, gesturing vaguely at him. "You've got sauce—" He pointed at his own face, then at Harry's chin.

Harry wiped at it with the back of his hand, frowning. "I'm just a manly eater."

Louis rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he dipped another fry into his milkshake and ate it.

Harry, having just recovered from one offense, now made a full-on face of pure disgust. "I don't understand you."

Louis hummed, unconcerned, dipping another fry. "You're not the first to say that."

Harry still looked personally offended. "No, but like—why? Who dips fries in a milkshake?"

Louis shook his head like he pitied him. "It's not as uncommon as you think."

Harry scoffed. "I highly doubt that."

"Besides," Louis added, dipping another fry and holding it out toward him, "it's good. Try?"

Harry jerked back slightly, grimacing. "Get that thing away from me."

Louis wiggled the fry closer. "Come on, Harold."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Did you just full-name me?"

Louis smirked. "Come on, Harold," he sing-songed, pushing it even closer.

Harry leaned back against his seat, lips pressed together. Then, smirking, he mocked Louis' voice from the night before. "What are you, five?"

Louis rolled his eyes and wiggled the fry again, entirely unfazed.

Harry exhaled, clearly unimpressed. "I'll do it if—" He started, pausing for dramatic effect. "—you agree to let me take you out."

Louis deadpanned. "I'm not that desperate for you to try a fry, Styles."

Harry chuckled, tilting his head. "Pity."

Still, when Louis wiggled the fry one more time, Harry sighed like it was the biggest inconvenience of his life—then, with zero warning, leaned forward and took a bite.

Louis pulled his hand back, watching him like a scientist waiting for results.

Harry chewed.

And chewed.

His expression gave nothing away.

Then, without a word, he turned back to his burger and resumed eating like nothing had happened.

Louis' grin widened. "You so liked it."

Harry shook his head immediately. "You're mental."

"You did!"

"Did not."

"Then why didn't you spit it out?" Louis challenged, grinning.

Harry didn't even look at him. "Because I have manners."

Louis burst out laughing, tossing another fry into his mouth.

Harry smirked, pleased, but he didn't say anything—mostly because he was chewing, and definitely not because Louis laughing was annoyingly nice to listen to.

They sat in easy silence for a few moments until Harry, still looking straight ahead, talked. "So... you really don't wanna go out with me?"

Louis exhaled, tilting his head to look at him. "Not this again."

Harry shrugged, his smirk unwavering. "I just think we'd have a good time."

Louis scoffed, shaking his head as he popped another fry into his mouth. "Yeah, I bet you would."

Harry grinned. "You would, too. You just don't let yourself try."

Louis huffed, unimpressed.

Harry leaned back against the headrest, studying him. "Is it 'cause you don't do casual?"

Louis blinked, pausing mid-chew before shaking his head. "I do casual."

That caught Harry off guard. His brows pulled together slightly. "Huh."

Louis arched a brow. "Surprised?"

Harry shrugged, lips twitching. "A little. You've got that whole mysterious, unattainable thing going on."

Louis rolled his eyes. "Fascinating analysis, really."

Harry chuckled before trying again. "Is it 'cause we have a friend in common?"

Louis shook his head, reaching for another fry. "Nope."

Harry frowned. "Because we go to the same school?"

Louis shrugged. "I've hooked up with people from school."

That made Harry pause. His head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. "Who?"

Louis threw him a pointed look.

Harry immediately changed tactics. "When?"

Louis sighed, clearly unimpressed. "Christ, you're relentless."

Harry's grin returned. "I like knowing things."

Louis licked some salt off his thumb, completely unbothered. "Well, you don't need to know that."

Harry tilted his head, eyes flickering over Louis like he was trying to solve some kind of puzzle. "Then why?"

Louis, still licking the salt from his fingers, finally turned to look at him. His expression was calm, unreadable, before he said, "Is it really that hard to believe I'm just not into you?"

Harry's smirk faltered slightly. Just slightly.

He recovered quickly, but Louis saw it.

Harry scoffed, feigning nonchalance. "I mean, not to brag, but I know I'm good-looking."

Louis hummed, grabbing his drink and taking a slow sip. "Never said you weren't."

Harry smirked again, some of his confidence returning. "So?"

Louis set his cup down, brushing his hands off on a napkin before tossing his trash into the McDonald's bag.

Then he looked at Harry, eyes sharp and teasing. "You're just not my type."

Harry's jaw tightened, his fingers flexing against his thigh like he wasn't bothered but also... was.

Louis didn't give him a chance to recover as he crumpled his wrapper and stretched. "Right. I should head in."

He grabbed the door handle, but before he could step out, he paused.

"Oh—nearly forgot."

Harry, who had been sipping on his coke, barely glanced up before a massive stack of paper was shoved against his chest.

He caught it instinctively, then froze.

"What," he said slowly, looking at the brick of a script in his hands, "is this?"

Louis smirked. "The script for Betrayal. Read it."

Harry blinked. "Are you out of your mind?"

Louis rolled his eyes and shoved the papers deeper into Harry's chest. "You don't have to finish it tonight, moron. But by the end of the month? Yeah."

Harry stared at him in horror. "Not even school books are this thick."

Louis sighed, clearly expecting this. "That's because it's a script, not a book. And before you start whining, everyone else has already read it. You're the only one who hasn't."

Harry flipped through the first few pages, his expression darkening. "There are so many words."

"Congratulations, you can read," Louis said dryly.

Harry groaned dramatically, letting his head fall back against the seat.

Louis, smug, hopped out of the car and adjusted his bag strap. "See you at auditions, Styles."

Harry lifted his head just enough to glare at him. "I hate you."

Louis grinned. "No, you don't."

And with that, he slammed the door shut and walked off toward his dorm.

Harry sat there, still holding the script, watching as Louis disappeared into the building.

He exhaled.

Then, muttering to himself, he tossed the script onto the passenger seat and pulled out of the lot.

He was not going to read this.

***

Louis had barely stepped into his dorm before he realized something was off.

The door had been left slightly ajar—not entirely suspicious, but not normal either.

Frowning, he nudged it open. The lights were off, the room dimly illuminated by what appeared to be the warm flicker of... candles?

Louis blinked.

Candles.

They owned candles?

"Zayn?" he called cautiously, stepping inside.

Silence.

The second he was fully in, the door slammed shut behind him.

Louis jumped and whirled around, his heart nearly launching itself out of his chest.

"Z-Zayn?" he tried again, voice slightly wobbly now. "What was that?"

Nothing.

Then—

A hushed whisper: "Niall, this is when you turn on the flash."

A hurried sorry, I forgot came in response, followed by the sharp click of a phone flashlight flicking on.

The light swung forward, illuminating the dark figure standing near the window, their back turned ominously.

Louis froze.

"What the fuck—"

The figure turned, and Louis nearly leaped out of his own skin until he was met with a very familiar, very unbothered pair of eyes.

Zayn.

Wearing a black sheet over his shoulders like some sort of cheap haunted house extra, standing completely still, a cup of tea in his hand.

Louis let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"Guys, what the fuck."

Zayn didn't even flinch.

"Sit," he said, eerily calm.

Louis groaned. "I'm tired."

Before he could turn to leave, hands grabbed his shoulders—Niall's hands—and pushed him down into the chair in the middle of the room.

"Jesus—Niall, what the—"

Niall shuffled back quickly, standing at attention next to Zayn like a loyal foot soldier.

Zayn, now pacing slowly around the room, handed his tea to Niall without breaking eye contact with Louis.

"I heard," he started, voice unnervingly low, "from a little bird—"

"I'm the bird," Niall chimed, raising his hand.

"Shush," Zayn hissed.

Niall lowered his hand.

Zayn continued his slow, unnecessary circling. "That you were with a boy tonight. Past curfew, might I add."

Louis furrowed his brows. "We have a curfew?"

Zayn barked back, "We do now."

Louis snorted, but Zayn didn't waver.

"You were spotted with this mysterious man," he continued, voice dripping with theatrical accusation. "With no valet, no chaperone—"

Louis laughed outright this time. "You've been watching too many medieval movies."

Zayn spun around and shushed him again.

Louis rolled his eyes.

Zayn pressed on. "And to make matters worse," he gasped, clutching at his fake cloak, "you never informed your best friends that you were going on a date tonight!"

Louis, now thoroughly unimpressed, leaned back in his chair. "You've got it all wrong."

Zayn crossed his arms. "Oh? Do explain."

But before Louis could speak, he talked again.

"You must suffer the consequences," Zayn declared.

Louis sighed deeply, looking to Niall for help.

Niall, still holding Zayn's stupid tea, just shook his head solemnly. "He's the judge here, mate. I'm just the enforcer."

Louis groaned and turned back to Zayn. "Turn the lights on."

Niall hesitated, looking to Zayn for approval.

Zayn pondered dramatically, then gave a single nod.

The room flooded with light as Niall flicked the switch.

Louis blinked, adjusting his eyes before glancing around. His gaze landed on the floor, where nearly a dozen small candles flickered in little clusters.

He blinked again. "You lit all these candles for this?"

Niall nodded, very proud.

Zayn, however, sighed dramatically, the black sheet slipping off his shoulder. "Now we're waiting for an explanation."

Louis crossed his arms, unimpressed. "It was just Harry."

Zayn gasped so loudly it could've been heard down the hall.

But beside him, Niall's expression didn't mirror shock. No, his brows pulled together, and his lips pressed into a straight line.

His face had turned serious.

"Louis," Niall started, his tone shifting. "Harry's not—"

But Louis held up a hand, already shutting it down. "It wasn't a date. It was just about the club. It got late, we got food, and he gave me a lift back. That's it."

Niall was still watching him with that same wary look, but he didn't say anything else. Although he did visibly relax.

Zayn, meanwhile, deflated. "Oh."

His eyes flicked between Louis and the candles.

Then, muttering under his breath, "Well. This was underwhelming."

Louis snorted. "Yeah, no shit."

Zayn sighed, finally tossing the black sheet off completely. "Right, well. Since I did all this work, might as well put it to actual use."

Louis frowned. "What?"

Zayn turned to Niall, nodding toward the candles. "Summon Liam."

Niall, completely unfazed, immediately pulled out his phone.

Louis groaned.

He decided he was done with this nonsense so Louis took a towel from his drawer and headed to the bathroom to take a shower.

When later Louis stepped back out of the bathroom, towel slung over his shoulders, hair still damp from his shower, he had barely taken three steps into the room before stopping in his tracks, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Zayn and Niall were on the floor, sitting cross-legged, looking unusually focused. The candles—previously scattered around for their ridiculous interrogation—were now arranged into a heart shape.

That alone was enough to concern Louis, but the real kicker?

In the center of the candles sat a bowl filled with a suspicious-looking liquid.

Louis squinted. "What the fuck are you two doing?"

Zayn, barely sparing him a glance, was reading something on his phone while gesturing for Niall to sprinkle something into the bowl.

Without looking up, he said casually, "A love spell."

Louis stuttered. "W—what?"

Zayn finally looked up, expression completely serious. "Liam hasn't asked me for my number since we first met."

Louis frowned. "...Okay?"

Zayn sighed dramatically, like Louis was being particularly slow. "Since my charm clearly isn't working, I figured I need something stronger."

Niall nodded solemnly and handed Zayn a small clove of garlic.

Zayn split it in half and dropped it into the liquid.

Louis stared.

"...Please don't tell me you're going to drink that."

Zayn shook his head, completely unbothered. "Don't be dumb."

Louis sighed in relief. "Thank go—"

Zayn finished, "Liam will."

Louis froze.

His mouth opened. Closed.

Then, flatly, "And how the hell do you plan on making that happen?"

Zayn turned to him, eyes shining with something far too confident. "That's where you come in."

Louis sighed deeply, rubbing his face with both hands. "Of course I do."

Zayn smirked. "You have a trustworthy face."

Louis snorted. "Since when?"

"Since I need you to," Zayn said simply.

Louis exhaled sharply, arms crossing. "And why the fuck would he drink that?" He gestured toward the bowl, wrinkling his nose.

Zayn, still stirring, didn't look up as he said, "I have a plan for that as well."

Louis looked at Niall, who was carefully adding a spoonful of sugar to the concoction.

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are helping him with this?"

Niall shrugged. "I'm just here for the vibes, mate."

Louis exhaled, hands dropping to his sides. "Right. Okay. Let's set aside the fact that you two have lost your minds—"

"Niall I need more sugar," Zayn said, still stirring.

"—and let's just assume this works," Louis continued, gesturing wildly at the scene in front of him. "Wouldn't it be, I don't know, weird? Say it does work, wouldn't that mean Liam only likes you because of a potion—or whatever the fuck this is?"

Zayn didn't even hesitate. "Don't care."

Louis stared at him. "You don't care?"

Zayn shook his head, expression unreadable. "Whatever it takes for Liam to want me."

Louis sighed, rubbing his temples.

Then, without another word, he turned, climbed onto his bed, and flopped onto his stomach.

"You both need to be institutionalised," he mumbled into his pillow.

Niall patted his back sympathetically. "We know, mate. We know."

Zayn, completely unfazed, added another ingredient to the bowl.

Louis groaned loudly.

He was too tired for this bullshit.

***

The frat house was buzzing.

It wasn't a full-blown party, but it might as well have been. Beer bottles clinked, laughter echoed, and the faint smell of someone burning something in the kitchen lingered in the air. The massive flat-screen in the living room was playing an old soccer game, not that anyone was actually watching. Most of the guys were just lounging, talking shit, and trying to one-up each other on ridiculous stories from past nights out.

Harry sat in his usual spot on the couch, beer bottle balanced on his knee, mind half-tuned into the conversation happening around him. His teammates were sprawled out in various states of relaxation—some sitting on the floor, others draped over furniture like they were part of the decor.

It wasn't until someone turned to him that he actually started listening.

"Oi, Styles," Aiden called lazily from across the room. "You ever end up getting into your little club?"

Harry barely looked up, exhaling through his nose as he took a sip of his beer. "Yeah."

Matthew let out a low whistle. "Looks like Styles still got it."

Harry smirked slightly at that, but before he could say anything, Aiden let out an exaggerated groan and dramatically shoved a ten-dollar bill into Matthew's waiting hand.

Harry frowned.

Then, like clockwork, another guy grumbled something under his breath and tossed a tenner onto the coffee table.

Then another.

Harry straightened slightly, watching as multiple guys pulled money out of their wallets and handed it to Matthew, who was smirking like he had just won the Super Bowl.

His frown deepened. "Okay—what the fuck is this?"

Matthew barely looked up as he counted the bills in his hand. "Bet."

Harry blinked. "A bet?"

Aiden sighed dramatically, slumping down next to him. "Yeah. We had a bet going."

Harry's brows shot up. "On what?"

Matthew smirked, waving the stack of cash in his hand. "On you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course you did."

Aiden slumped further into the couch. "Majority of us thought you weren't gonna bed him."

Harry stiffened slightly, fingers tightening around his beer bottle.

Matthew, ever the shit-stirrer, grinned and said, "I bet you would."

Harry blinked.

"What?"

Aiden groaned again, rubbing his face like he was in physical pain. "Man, I was having fun with the whole Styles getting rejected thing."

Harry's jaw ticked slightly. He glanced around, watching as multiple guys—who were otherwise uninvolved—were handing over their own money, shaking their heads, laughing under their breath like this was all so fucking amusing.

His pride tensed.

He exhaled sharply, taking a long sip of his beer. "Well," he muttered, licking his lips, "we didn't do anything."

That caught their attention.

Matthew raised a brow. "What?"

Harry shrugged, playing it cool. "I said we didn't do anything."

Aiden frowned. "Then how the fuck did you get in?"

Harry stared at him for a beat.

Then, with no inflection, "I just did."

Matthew scoffed. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Aiden groaned in actual disappointment. "That's boring."

"Yeah, well." Harry tipped his beer bottle at him. "Drop it."

Matthew, clearly thriving off Harry's minor irritation, smirked and suddenly reached out to pinch his cheek.

"Aw, someone's moody."

Harry immediately swatted his hand away, scowling. "Fuck off."

Matthew chuckled, but the other guys had already lost interest, recollecting their money and settling back into their drinks.

Harry, though... his ego was bruised.

Because this wasn't how this was supposed to go.

It wasn't supposed to be him getting picked apart like this. He was supposed to be the one winning. He was supposed to be the one people bet on, not against.

And Louis fucking Tomlinson?

He was supposed to be just another name on Harry's list.

Another notch. Another easy win.

Harry took a slow sip of his beer, tongue running over his lips as he stared at the game on the screen—not really watching, just thinking.

Then, lazily, with just the right amount of smugness, he leaned back against the couch and stretched his legs out.

"Don't worry," he murmured, taking another sip. "I'm working on it."

Matthew's smirk widened. "Oh, are you now?"

Harry hummed noncommittally, lifting his bottle in a lazy toast.

Aiden, looking amused again, nudged him with his elbow. "Careful, mate. Might actually end up liking him if you're not careful."

Harry scoffed. "Not bloody likely."

Matthew grinned. "We'll see."

Harry rolled his eyes and took another sip of his beer.

No, they wouldn't.

Because that boy was just another game to win.

And Harry always won.

***

Louis wanted to die.

Dramatic? Maybe. But given the situation, completely warranted.

He stood stiffly outside the football locker room, his grip tight around the thermos in his hand, his body radiating secondhand embarrassment before anything had even happened yet.

Behind him, Zayn was tucked around the corner, watching from his very not inconspicuous hiding spot.

Louis shot him a pleading look, one that practically screamed let's call this off and pretend it never happened.

Zayn, the traitor, only glared and jerked his head toward the door, silently ordering him to get on with it.

Louis sighed, gripping the thermos tighter.

The voices of the players were already seeping through the doors, loud and rowdy as they finished changing. It was only a matter of seconds before they started filing out.

When the door finally swung open, the first few players barely spared him a glance, though he felt the stares. He figured they recognized him as Niall's friend, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable.

Niall came out next, immediately clocking Louis standing there with his stiff posture and pained expression.

He sighed knowingly. "You're really doing this?"

"Shut up," Louis hissed under his breath.

Finally, Liam emerged from the locker room, and unfortunately for Louis, Harry was right beside him.

The second Harry spotted him, his smirk was immediate. "Changed your mind about that date, love?"

Louis barely spared him a glance. "Hush. I'm not here for you."

Harry placed a dramatic hand over his heart. "Wow. That actually hurt."

Louis ignored him and turned to Liam, only to look back at Zayn's hiding spot—

Except Zayn had dipped.

Coward.

Louis sighed before refocusing on Liam, clearing his throat. "I'm here for you."

The words hung in the air.

Liam smiled politely. Harry, on the other hand, turned to glare at him, eyebrows furrowing like he had just been betrayed.

Louis ignored that too.

He lifted the thermos, clearing his throat. "Uh, so. I heard you have a sore throat."

Next to him, Niall whispered under his breath, "This is so embarrassing."

Louis kicked him in the shin.

Niall yelped.

Louis tightened his smile, handing the thermos to Liam. "It's not gonna taste good, but it's effective. Make sure to drink it all."

Then, quickly, he turned to Niall, gripping his arm. "Great! Now let's go—"

Before they could flee, a blur of movement caught Louis' eye.

Zayn.

Crouched by the corner again, eyes sharp, mouthing, watch him drink it.

Louis glared.

"What the fuck," he muttered under his breath.

Harry and Liam both looked at him weirdly, following his gaze—only for Zayn to vanish once again.

Louis sighed deeply, pasting on a strained smile. "Sorry. Habit of talking to myself."

Liam, still processing what was happening, blinked at the thermos in his hands. "Uh... do I drink it now?"

Louis gave him a sharp nod. "Yeah. I need the thermos back."

Harry was awfully quiet.

For the first time, Louis wished he wasn't. He wished Harry would talk and distract them all from this pitiful encounter, but strangely he was just glaring at the floor.

Liam hesitated before unscrewing the lid. He lifted it to his lips and took a sip.

Immediately, Niall grimaced—he knew exactly what was in that drink.

Liam spluttered, coughing violently, his face twisting in disgust. "Do I have to drink it all?"

Louis winced, giving him his best puppy eyes. "You don't like it?"

Liam, alarmed, quickly wiped his mouth and shook his head. "No! I mean—of course I like it!"

Louis narrowed his eyes.

In a display of pure survival instincts, Liam forced himself to gulp it all down.

His throat bobbed, every swallow looking painful.

Once he was finally done, he handed the thermos back to Louis with a strained smile, looking like he had just survived actual torture.

Louis felt bad.

Harry, meanwhile, cleared his throat.

"And what about me?" he said, looking deeply offended.

Louis turned to him, unimpressed. "What about you?"

Harry tilted his head. "I also have a sore throat. Where's my thermos?"

Louis stared at him.

Then, calmly, "Why is your throat any of my concern exactly?"

Harry huffed.

Liam—poor Liam, who still looked slightly ill—cleared his throat again and said, "Right... We should head out."

Louis nodded immediately. "Yeah. Good idea."

He grabbed Niall's arm. "See you later."

And bolted.

The second they rounded the corner, Louis turned to glare at Zayn—who was still crouched down like an absolute idiot.

Zayn popped up giddy, eyes shining. "Did he drink it?"

Louis sighed deeply and nodded.

Zayn fist-pumped the air. "YES! YES!"

Niall snorted, giving him two enthusiastic thumbs up. "I'll tell you if he says anything about you tonight."

Louis mumbled, mostly to himself, "I'm sure Liam will never look at me the same way again."

Zayn, still buzzing with excitement, clapped him on the shoulder. "Nah. You did great."

Louis just groaned.

He really needed to change friends.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

The theater was quiet.

For now.

In about fifteen minutes, the chaos would begin—students filtering in one by one, some confident, some visibly shaking, all trying to impress him (and now Harry, apparently).

Louis exhaled deeply, tapping his pen against the stack of audition papers in front of him. He was seated in the middle of the first row, back straight, focus sharp.

Harry, on the other hand—

He was slouched in his seat beside him, looking bored out of his mind, head tipped back against the chair, legs spread like this was the most excruciating thing he had ever been forced to endure.

Louis barely spared him a glance before going back to his notes.

A few minutes passed in silence before Louis finally asked, "Did you read the script I gave you?"

Harry groaned immediately. "Are we really starting with this?"

Louis didn't look up. "We are."

Harry sighed dramatically, stretching his arms above his head. "Yeah, yeah, I started it."

Louis raised a skeptical brow, still not looking up. "And?"

Harry shifted in his seat, pulling out his phone as he spoke. "It was... cool."

Louis stopped tapping his pen.

Then, flatly, "Cool."

Harry nodded, scrolling through his phone with one hand. "Mhm."

Louis finally looked at him. "What did you like so far?"

Harry hummed, still scrolling.

There was a pause.

Then—

"I like how Robert demonstrates his inability to express his feelings and seriously address the situations he finds himself in. When he—"

Louis squinted.

Then deadpanned, "Are you reading off the internet?"

Harry immediately put his phone down, shifting in his seat. "No, I'm not."

Louis let out a slow, suffering sigh, resting his cheek on his palm. "Harry..."

Harry grinned innocently.

"Did you actually read a single page?" Louis asked.

Harry groaned, letting his head fall back. "But it's boring! I tried reading the first page and it doesn't make sense! Like—who's this Pinter guy? What's he got to do with the story? Who is he? And what does him being a drama writer have to do with anything?"

Louis blinked at him.

Then again.

Then, in a slow, disbelieving voice, "Oh my fucking god."

Harry frowned.

Louis stared at him, eyes wide. "You stopped at the biography of the author?"

Harry's mouth opened slightly.

Louis gaped. "That's—you didn't even look at the script! That was just the introduction of who wrote Betrayal!"

Harry gasped, suddenly enlightened. "Oooh." He nodded. "Well, that makes way more sense now."

Louis groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I hate you."

Harry grinned. "No, you don't."

Louis looked back down at his sheets. "Please just start reading it? I need you to at least know what we're doing."

Harry huffed. "Fine, fine."

"Before tonight, preferably," Louis muttered, mostly to himself. "Because now you have no idea who people are even auditioning for, which means you're zero help to me."

Then, under his breath, he added, "Can't believe I'm saying this, but I should have asked Miles."

Harry immediately perked up. "Oi, I can do better than Miles."

Louis snorted. "Doubt it."

Harry, suddenly determined, whipped out his phone. "I'll look the character up right now."

Louis chuckled and shook his head, refocusing on his notes. "You do that, Harold."

Harry scowled but stayed quiet, actually reading for once.

By the time the first students arrived, Louis had switched into full business mode.

He was focused.

Pen in hand, notes ready, eyes sharp.

Harry, in contrast, was sitting sideways in his chair, one leg tucked up, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. He was only half paying attention, occasionally scrolling through his phone, then looking up when it seemed like something mildly interesting was happening.

The first audition was a disaster.

A girl named Emily came in with way too much enthusiasm, practically yelling her lines at them.

Harry, unimpressed, leaned toward Louis and whispered, "You should hire her for an action movie."

Louis shushed him.

The second person, a guy named Jacob, was the complete opposite—so stiff it felt like they were watching a hostage situation.

Harry smirked. "Blink twice if you need help, mate."

Louis kicked him under the table.

The third audition—

A nightmare.

A boy named Kyle forgot his lines halfway through and, instead of trying to improvise, just... stood there, staring at them like a deer in headlights.

Harry, barely holding in laughter, nudged Louis. "This is fucking painful."

Louis nodded, rubbing his temples.

By the fifth audition, Harry was entertaining himself.

A girl named Sophia came in, looking terrified.

She stuttered through the first few lines, then froze completely.

After an unbearably long silence, Harry cleared his throat and loudly whispered, "Line."

Louis had to physically smack his own knee to keep himself from laughing, giggling behind the paper.

By the time they reached the last few auditions, Louis was drained.

Harry?

Harry looked amused as fuck.

"Well," Harry stretched, tossing his script onto the table. "That was... something."

Louis sighed deeply. "Theater kids are exhausting."

Harry grinned. "That's your problem, love."

Louis shot him a glare but was too tired to argue.

Instead, he started gathering his papers, already thinking about the work ahead of him.

Harry watched him for a second, then leaned back, hands behind his head.

"So," he mused, smirking. "Be honest—how much better would this have gone if you just let me play the lead?"

Louis exhaled slowly, then deadpanned—

"I'd rather die."

Harry cackled. Louis just smiled shaking his head.

A beat passed, where Louis looked thru the names of the people auditioned. He let out a slow breath, staring down at his list with a tired expression.

"Well," he muttered to himself, pen tapping against the paper, "let's just hope more people show up to the next audition."

He didn't even want to count how many people they had to work with. He was already dreading the callbacks.

As he spoke, he didn't notice how Harry had gone quiet beside him.

Harry was slouched in his chair, head tipped back, arms lazily crossed, but his gaze was fixed directly on Louis.

Louis frowned.

"What?" he asked, glancing at him.

Harry hummed, a soft "Mmm" that didn't clarify anything.

Louis blinked, then instinctively touched his face, pressing his fingers to his cheeks. "Is there something on my face? Is it red? I tend to get a bit red when I'm focused."

Harry shook his head, voice calm and even.

"You're just really beautiful."

Louis' fingers froze against his skin.

For a second—just a second—his brain short-circuited.

But then, before anything could settle, before anything could make him flustered, before he could even process it properly—

He focused on Harry's tone.

Right.

It wasn't nervous. It wasn't hesitant or shy or even teasing.

Harry Styles was used to this.

Saying things like that meant nothing to him.

After all, he had told Louis he liked him less than twenty-four hours after meeting him. It was just a game to him, wasn't it?

Louis let his hand drop from his face, shaking his head slightly as he went back to his list, pretending like he hadn't heard a thing.

Harry didn't comment.

When Louis finished checking his notes, he neatly stacked them, slipped them into his bag, and stood, stretching his arms above his head until his back popped.

He sighed. "Finally done for the day."

Next to him, Harry yawned, stretching his arms out as well.

"I'm starving," he declared. "Let's grab a bite."

Louis rubbed his eyes. "Where?"

Harry hummed, thinking for a second, then smirked. "Kinda craving Subway."

Louis made a tired noise of agreement, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Fine. I'm down."

And that was how, for the second time that week, Louis found himself in Harry Styles' car.

***

The smell of Subway filled the car, lingering between them as they ate in comfortable silence. The parking lot lights buzzed faintly above them, flickering slightly, casting a dim yellow glow over the lot. Louis sat with one knee tucked up against the dashboard, unwrapping his sandwich, while Harry leaned back in his seat, lazily chewing.

Outside, past the windshield, a boy and a girl walked side by side toward the dorm buildings.

Harry watched them, gaze following their slow stroll. "She's gonna invite him up."

Louis took a bite of his sandwich, looking at the couple with mild interest before turning back to Harry. "I don't think she will."

Harry chewed, smirking. "Bet?"

Louis arched a brow. "Okay. Bet."

So, they watched.

The couple stopped outside one of the buildings. They talked for a bit, their body language casual, but the boy was definitely leaning in, trying to get closer. Then, as expected, he went for it—tilting his head down slightly, moving in for a kiss.

But the girl stopped him.

Louis immediately beamed. "Ha!"

Harry winced, sucking in a breath through his teeth. "Oof, that must hurt."

Louis chuckled as the guy awkwardly pulled back, visibly flustered. The girl, however, smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek before stepping inside.

Louis giggled. "Pay up, loser."

Harry rolled his eyes, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled tenner, slapping it onto Louis' thigh. "Such a manly laugh."

Louis shoved him, snatching up the money. "Shut up."

Harry chuckled, taking another bite of his sandwich.

For a moment, there was nothing but the quiet sound of them chewing, the occasional rustle of paper wrappers, and the distant chatter of students walking to and from the dorms.

Then Louis swallowed a sip of his Coke and turned to Harry. "Meant to ask this sooner, but—" He tilted his head. "You've got an accent."

Harry hummed, still chewing.

"You're not from Florida, are you?"

Harry shook his head, mouth still full as he mumbled, "British."

Louis' face lit up. "Me too!"

Harry grinned, finally swallowing. "Yeah, no shit. Your accent's too strong to be from here."

Louis nodded. "Yorkshire."

"Manchester."

Louis took another sip of his drink. "Is your family here, then?"

Harry nodded, but his response was more subdued this time. "Yeah. My dad's originally from here. Moved to England for my mum, but... eventually, they decided to move back when I was a freshman in high school."

Louis hummed, wiping his fingers on a napkin. "Must be nice, having them close by."

Harry stiffened slightly.

It wasn't obvious, but Louis was good at reading people—he saw the way Harry's jaw tensed, how his fingers absentmindedly crinkled his sandwich wrapper.

Harry let out a strained chuckle. "Yeah."

He didn't say anything more, and Louis decided not to press.

"What about you?" he asked.

Louis shrugged. "My family isn't here. I came just for uni, but I spent the rest of my life in England."

Harry nodded. "You wanna go back there? After you're done?"

Louis hesitated for a second, thinking. "I don't know," he admitted. "England's too rainy for me, but I don't know if America is for me either."

Harry tilted his head. "What's wrong with America?"

Louis snorted. "Besides the obvious?"

Harry smirked, licking some sauce off his thumb. "Yeah, besides that."

Louis shrugged. "Dunno. It's just... different. Feels too big sometimes."

Harry nodded, watching him. "Guess it's nice, though, having options."

Louis hummed, finishing off his drink. "Yeah." He tossed the empty cup into the bag of trash.

Harry cleared his throat and switched topics entirely.

"So, you coming to tomorrow's game?"

Louis blinked at him. "Huh?"

Harry shrugged, still toying with his wrapper. "The game. You coming?"

Louis shook his head. "No."

Harry frowned. "Why not?"

Louis sighed. "It's just not really my thing. I go from time to time to support Niall, but that's about it."

Harry hummed. "Then come to support me."

Louis blinked at him again, caught off guard. "What?"

Harry shrugged, acting nonchalant as he picked at his sandwich. "You could come support me this time."

Louis stared at him, a little suspicious. "The entire stadium is there to support you."

Harry shrugged again. "Yeah, but I want you to be there for me."

Louis squinted at him, waiting for a punchline.

None came.

In any other scenario, Louis would have made fun of him immediately, but something about the way Harry said it—not cocky, not teasing, just matter-of-fact—made him hesitate.

So instead, he just snorted, leaning back against his seat. "What? Like your personal cheerleader?"

Harry grinned. "Something like that."

Then, more seriously, he tilted his head slightly. "So? Will you?"

Louis hesitated.

Harry poked his cheek. "Oh, come on."

Louis swatted his hand away. "I'll think about it."

Harry smirked. "And how will you let me know, exactly? I don't have your number."

Louis scoffed. "Wow. Smooth transition there, Styles."

Harry chuckled, wiggling his phone in front of him.

Louis rolled his eyes but took it anyway, quickly typing his number in before handing it back.

Harry glanced at the screen, then smirked at him. "I'm texting you so much, just so you know."

Louis huffed, crossing his arms. "I will block you."

Harry laughed, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Louis yawned, stretching his arms before reaching for his bag. "Alright, I should head out before Zayn comes up with another ritual."

Harry quirked a brow. "Ritual?"

Louis waved him off. "Long story."

Harry smirked. "Should I be concerned?"

Louis scoffed, opening the car door. "For me, yeah."

Harry chuckled, watching as Louis stepped out.

Before he closed the door, Louis looked back inside. "See you tomorrow."

Harry's smirk grew. "At the game?"

Louis groaned. "I said I'd think about it."

Harry leaned back, pleased. "I'll take that as a yes."

Louis rolled his eyes but didn't argue.

With that, he shut the door and walked off, pointedly ignoring the way Harry watched him go.

***

Louis' phone had been vibrating nonstop since the early morning. He groggily reached out, squinting at the brightness of his screen.

Harry: Come have breakfast with me.

Louis rubbed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and typed back:

Louis: I just saw you last night. Enough of your face.

A second later, another text popped up.

Harry: :(

Louis rolled his eyes.

Then another.

Harry: :(((

Louis let his phone fall onto his chest, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Then a final message:

Harry: Come on. I'm craving Starbucks for breakfast.

Louis: Then go with your frat mates.

Harry: It's not the same thing.

Louis ignored it.

A minute later.

Harry: Come on. Fresh croissants. It's on me.

Louis groaned.

Louis: Ugh. You're so annoying.

Louis: Ok.

Harry: Pick you up in fifteen ;)

And that was how Louis found himself sitting at a Starbucks table across from Harry Styles, wondering how the hell he ended up here.

Harry was grinning, his iced coffee sweating against the plastic cup. A chocolate croissant sat in front of him.

Louis eyed it before frowning. "It's too early for an iced coffee."

Harry shrugged, taking a sip. "It'll probably hurt my stomach."

Louis smirked. "Which is perfect on game day."

Harry gasped, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. "You're joking, but I have a ritual."

Louis groaned. "Not you too."

Harry ignored him. "I always get Starbucks, same breakfast. Then I run five laps on the running track—always the second lane, never the others."

Louis blinked at him. "Why?"

Harry shrugged. "Superstition. Then I have lunch at exactly one fifteen. Usually chicken, but it doesn't really matter what."

Louis chuckled, shaking his head. "You're mental."

Harry grinned. "Oh, I'm not finished. I also only enter every room with my right leg first, never the left."

Louis snorted, sipping his coffee.

"And," Harry continued, voice getting lower, "an hour before the game, I go onto the empty field and sing The Winner Takes It All."

Louis wheezed. He had to cover his mouth as he giggled. "That can't possibly work."

Harry lifted a brow. "Have I lost a game yet?"

Louis rolled his eyes. "I don't know. Have you?"

Harry leaned in slightly, voice conspiratorial. "Not once. Except last year by mid-semester. And you wanna know what happened that day?"

Louis arched a brow.

"They were out of croissants at Starbucks."

Louis outright laughed.

Harry looked smug. "See, I'm not making it up."

Louis shook his head, smirking. "What if I took this information and sold it to the opposite team?"

Harry squinted at him. "Oh, you wouldn't."

Louis hummed playfully, still smiling.

Harry leaned back, sipping his iced coffee. "No, you're doing this with me today."

Louis blinked. "What?"

Harry grinned. "You heard me."

Louis scoffed. "Like I have nothing better to do, right?"

Harry looked at him pointedly. "You don't."

Louis didn't even bother to defend himself. He just sighed.

"Fine," he muttered. "What are we starting with?"

Harry's grin widened. "First, we finish breakfast."

After finishing their food, they walked back to Harry's car, parked in the campus lot. Louis didn't know why he was following Harry into this.

Harry had been... growing on him.

Not romantically, obviously.

Not even as a proper friend, really.

But—something.

Somewhere between a reluctant truce and an annoying, persistent, but somehow tolerable presence.

So, when Harry drove them to the track, Louis didn't even question it.

Until they got out of the car.

Until Harry stretched.

Until Harry tied his laces.

Until Harry cracked his neck like he was about to go into battle.

That was when Louis started having a bad feeling.

And that was when Harry casually said, "Alright, five laps."

Louis blinked.

"What?"

Harry looked at him like he was stupid. "Five laps. Second lane only."

Louis made a disgusted face. "Oh. You meant you."

Harry clapped a hand on Louis' shoulder. "We."

Louis gagged. "No, no. No. I don't run."

Harry pulled him forward. "Come on."

"Absolutely not!" Louis dug his heels into the ground, but Harry dragged him toward the track like some kind of overexcited golden retriever.

Louis flailed. "I didn't agree to this! I thought I was observing your weird cult rituals, not participating in them!"

Harry grinned. "It's more fun this way."

"For who?!"

"Me."

Louis hissed as Harry shoved him onto the second lane.

Harry smirked. "It's just five laps."

Louis stared at him, deadpan. "If I die, I'm haunting you."

Harry chuckled. "You won't die."

Louis side-eyed him. "You can't know that."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You'll be fine. Now start running."

Louis groaned, rubbing his hands down his face, before finally giving in.

"Fine." He stretched his arms with minimum effort. "But if I pass out, I'm suing you."

Harry laughed, and with that, he took off jogging, looking entirely too at ease with himself.

Louis sighed dramatically before he begrudgingly followed.

This was going to be the worst.

-

Louis was whining.

Loudly.

Harry had expected this, of course. But still.

"Lou, you need to move," Harry sighed, tugging Louis along as they jogged the track. "Or these five laps might just become five hours."

Louis grumbled something under his breath but finally started running.

Well.

Running was a strong word.

Harry sprinted ahead, and barely a few strides in, Louis was already gasping for air.

Then—

Louis collapsed dramatically onto the track, sprawled out like a fallen soldier.

"My lungs," he wheezed. "My lungs are on fire."

From a distance, Harry yelled, "Oh, get up!"

Louis just shook his head, hand draped over his forehead like a Victorian woman in distress. "Go ahead," he rasped. "Don't wait for me. Just leave me here. I'll lay down and hopefully die."

Harry, on his second lap already, rounded the track and skidded to a stop next to Louis, hands on his hips, glaring down at him.

Louis gave him a weak thumbs-up from the ground.

Harry groaned and hoisted him up.

"Come on, Louis."

"No," Louis groaned, dead weight in Harry's grip.

"Come on," Harry whined, giving him another gentle shake.

Louis let out the most dramatic sigh ever recorded in history but finally got to his feet.

Harry exhaled. "Okay, maybe don't do five laps. But at least finish one."

Louis blinked at him. "What do you mean finish one? Didn't I do, like, three?"

Harry stared at him. Then turned to look back at the starting point, which was—concerningly—not far at all.

"You ran for two minutes and then got on the floor."

Louis pursed his lips. "...Oh. Well. That's embarrassing."

Harry shook his head, amused, before taking off again. "Come on, one lap, Tomlinson."

Louis groaned loudly but followed.

It was truly humiliating when Louis finally finished his lap, only to watch Harry complete his third.

As Harry passed him, Louis held up a hand for a high five. "You go, Styles!"

Harry smirked and slapped his hand mid-run.

At Harry's fourth lap, Louis decided it was time to be supportive.

He threw his arms in the air.

"GIVE ME AN S!'"

Harry kept running, laughing under his breath. "Oh my God."

"GIVE ME A T!'" Louis continued, forming the letter with his entire body.

"Louis—"

"GIVE ME A Y!'"

Harry lost his rhythm, stumbling slightly as he giggled. "Stop."

Louis grinned. "GIVE ME AN L! GIVE ME AN E! GIVE ME AN S!"

Harry was actively struggling to breathe from how hard he was laughing.

Louis beamed, holding his arms out. "STYLES!!"

Then, he switched modes, pretending to hold a radio mic in front of his mouth.

"And here we have Styles, running for the end zone. The crowd is on their feet! Look at him go! No one is near! He's doing it! He's doing it! Aaaaaaaand—"

As Harry finally reached the end of his laps, Louis screamed, "HE DID IT!!"

Harry collapsed onto the grass, panting, as if he'd just won the World Cup.

Louis ran over, giggling, before crouching beside him, still holding the fake mic.

"What do you have to say to the press, Styles?"

Harry pretended to take the imaginary microphone, still breathing heavily.

"Well," he huffed, wiping fake sweat from his forehead, "I'd like to thank my friends and family watching from home. I'd like to thank my coach, who always believed in me, and most of all, I'd like to thank my lucky charm, the one and only—"

Louis leaned in and whispered, "If you don't say me—"

Harry chuckled, voice still breathless, then grinned.

"Louis Tomlinson!"

Louis laughed, dropping his hands. "You're so weird."

Harry giggled, running a hand through his hair. "Says you."

Louis just shook his head, plopping down next to him, both of them panting under the morning sun.

He had to admit, this was kind of fun.

Louis glanced at his phone.

"Oh," he muttered. "It's too early for lunch."

Harry nodded, stretching out on the grass, one arm lazily resting behind his head.

Louis looked back down at him. "Alright then, I guess I'll see you at lunch—"

Before he could even stand, Harry reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"Let's just hang until then," he said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Louis gave him a pointed look. "Is this going to be an entire day with you?"

Harry just grinned, dimples deep and devilish.

Louis groaned.

Harry sat up, dusting his hands on his joggers. "We could go to mine. Hang there."

Louis stared. "At the frat house?"

Harry shrugged like it wasn't a big deal.

Louis squinted at him. "You do realize that place is basically a mosh pit of testosterone, right?"

Harry snorted. "Not always."

Louis sighed. "No. But we could go to mine. Zayn isn't there anyways, he had lessons this morning."

Harry nodded, standing up and dusting himself off. "Fine by me. But I need to shower first."

Louis grimaced. "Yeah. Please do."

They drove back to Harry's frat house. Louis, wisely, stayed in the car.

There was no way in hell he was willingly stepping into a place that probably smelled like sweat, beer, and Lynx body spray.

Harry was quick. He was back in less than fifteen minutes, hair damp, wearing a fresh hoodie and joggers, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

When he slid into the driver seat, he adjusted his bag and said, "Brought my gear since I won't be coming back here later."

Louis just rolled his eyes as Harry drove off.

Harry looked around as soon as they entered.

Louis just sighed and toed off his shoes. "You act like you've never been in a dorm before."

"Yeah, but yours looks different."

Louis gave him a look. "Because it's clean?"

Harry snorted but didn't deny it.

He walked toward the wooden shelf standing against the wall, his eyes dragging across the stupid amount of books Louis had stacked there.

"I've never seen this many books in a room," he said, genuinely surprised. "Are these all school books?"

Louis plopped down onto his bed, shaking his head. "No. Mostly novels."

Harry made a face. "Ugh."

Louis rolled his eyes. "Don't ugh books. Have you even tried reading one?"

Harry turned to face him, hands on his hips. "I read."

"Does Twitter count?"

"Shut up."

Louis smirked. "You should give it a try."

Harry already started shaking his head. "Nope."

Louis pouted, leaning forward. "You're making me do this stupid ritual for you, but you won't even try reading a book for me?"

Harry sighed loudly, running a hand down his face like he was being tortured.

Then, reluctantly, "Fine."

Louis beamed.

He got up, walked over to the shelf, and scanned through his collection.

After a few seconds, he pulled out a book and turned to Harry with a grin. "This one."

Harry squinted at the title. "The Picture of Dorian Gray?"

Louis nodded, climbing back onto the bed and handing it to him.

Harry took it but still looked skeptical. "What's it about?"

Louis crossed his legs. "It's about this beautiful young man named Dorian, who's so obsessed with staying young and perfect that he makes a deal—his portrait will age instead of him, so he never has to face the consequences of his actions."

Harry blinked, staring down at the book.

Louis tilted his head, watching him closely.

Harry stayed silent for a few seconds before giving a slow nod. "Huh."

Louis wondered if maybe Harry felt offended by the description, but before he could say anything, Harry slipped the book inside his bag.

"I'll try it," he said simply.

Louis smiled at that. "Good."

They sprawled out on Louis' bed, legs tangling slightly as they scrolled through their phones.

Harry was flicking through a list of best movies of all time, groaning every few minutes at ones he didn't agree with.

Louis was messaging Zayn.

Louis: I'm alone with Harry in our dorm. If I go missing, avenge me.

Zayn immediately replied.

Zayn: Make him fall in love with you first. Then make him suffer.

Louis huffed out a laugh making Harry glance over. "What?"

"Nothing."

Harry narrowed his eyes before going back to his phone.

They spent the next hour just talking.

Louis told Harry about the time he had to fill in for a lead actor in high school last minute and completely forgot his lines, so he just made up a monologue on the spot. Harry told Louis about the time he accidentally tackled the referee instead of the opposing player, and the guy threatened to sue him.

By the time lunchtime rolled around, they were comfortably lying next to each other, Harry playing with the loose string of Louis' pillow, Louis tapping his fingers against his stomach.

Then Louis' phone vibrated.

He groaned, stretching his arms above his head before grabbing it. "It's nearly lunch."

Harry grinned, getting up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Alright, let's go."

Louis exhaled dramatically but followed.

***

The restaurant was warm, filled with the scent of spices, roasted garlic, and fresh naan. It was small but cozy, with golden light fixtures hanging from the ceiling and the soft hum of Bollywood music playing in the background.

Louis and Harry sat across from each other in a booth by the window, menus untouched because they'd already decided what they wanted the moment they walked in.

They both ordered chicken with seasoned rice and a side of curry.

When their food arrived, Louis happily dug in—until Harry stopped him mid-scoop with a pointed look.

"No, no, no," Harry said, shaking his head. "You have to put the curry under the rice."

Louis tilted his head. "What?"

Harry gestured to his own plate like it was obvious. "Move the rice aside, put the curry on the plate, and then put the rice back on top."

Louis blinked at him. "That doesn't make any sense."

Harry exhaled dramatically. "Lou, please. Do you want me to lose today?"

Louis snickered at that but sighed, relenting. "You're mental, but fine."

He did as Harry instructed, dragging the rice to the side before pouring the curry onto the plate, then carefully covering it back up.

Harry nodded approvingly as he did the same with his own meal.

Louis watched him with amusement before taking a bite and humming in approval.

Harry caught the satisfied look on his face and grinned smugly.

"See?" he said, taking a bite. "Told you."

Louis rolled his eyes but kept eating.

An hour before the game

The stadium was still.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the horizon, casting long golden shadows over the empty field.

Louis sat on the grass, arms wrapped loosely around his knees, while Harry stood a few feet away, rocking on his heels.

The silence between them was comfortable. The air smelled like freshly cut grass, faint sweat, and the lingering spices from their lunch.

Then, Harry turned to him with an expectant look.

"Sing with me?"

Louis snorted, shaking his head. "You're on your own, mate."

Harry rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Instead, he tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and began singing The Winner Takes It All.

Louis bit his lip, hiding his laughter behind his hand. "You're so off-key."

Harry nudged him with his foot. "Shut up."

He resumed singing, louder this time, his voice echoing across the field.

Louis rested his chin on his knees, watching him.

There was something unexpectedly nice about Harry's voice.

It was rough in places, but soothing all the same.

And he looked beautiful like this—his curls catching the sunlight, his dimples appearing every time he grinned between lyrics, the way he shut his eyes as if he was actually feeling the song.

Louis wondered if this was what all the people who got with Harry thought.

If they too knew these sides of him—the ones Louis was seeing today.

Was this just part of his usual charm?

Or was it just Louis?

He didn't want to wonder too much, but he was only human.

And sometimes, his mind drifted.

He understood why people fell for him.

Not that he did, of course.

But he just... understood.

***

By the time Louis finally made it back to his dorm, he was exhausted.

It had been an entire day with Harry Styles.

And while it wasn't as horrible as he expected, it was still draining.

He considered staying for the game, but the moment Harry left for pre-game training with his teammates, Louis quietly slipped away.

He had thought about telling Harry, but the guy looked so focused, so in the zone, that Louis figured it was best to just let him be and maybe text him later.

Besides, it wasn't like Harry actually cared if he was there or not.

Right?

When Louis entered his dorm, he yawned, stretching his arms above his head.

Zayn was lying on his bed, scrolling through his phone, but looked up when Louis walked in.

"You going to the game?" Louis asked, tossing his bag onto his desk.

Zayn shook his head, glaring at his screen.

Louis frowned. "Why not?"

Zayn scoffed, locking his phone and tossing it onto his pillow. "Liam didn't invite me."

Louis blinked. "You don't need an invite to go. You could just go see Niall."

Zayn gave him a look. "Come on, Lou. You know I don't actually care about football."

Louis sighed and sat down next to him. "I take it the spell didn't work?"

Zayn, despite his mood, let out a laugh and ran a hand down his face. "That was so stupid."

Louis chuckled, nudging his shoulder. "Yeah, it was. But, hey, at least you tried."

Zayn sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

Then Louis softened. "You really like him, huh?"

Zayn shrugged, but it was half-hearted. "I don't even know why. I never actually thought I'd be into a bloke. I used to just say it for the sake of saying it. But Liam..." He exhaled sharply. "He's got something."

Louis nodded, lying back on the bed beside him.

"I get it," he murmured. "Sometimes we fall for people we don't want to fall for."

Zayn huffed out a laugh. "Poetic."

Louis rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

They were quiet for a few moments before Louis added, "But I don't think he's completely uninterested."

Zayn turned his head toward him, eyes narrowing. "You think so?"

Louis nodded. "Yeah. I mean... He asked you to come to the game last time, didn't he?"

Zayn chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Yeah, but—what am I supposed to do about it?"

Louis gave him a pointed look. "You could just go for it."

Zayn snorted. "Yeah, no thanks. I like my dignity intact."

Louis rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "Come on, though. What's the worst that could happen?"

Zayn glared.

Louis lifted his hands. "Fine. But, listen... If you don't want to be too direct, just test the waters. Ask him to hang out—alone. Don't call it a date or anything. Just spend time together and see how he acts."

Zayn groaned, rubbing at his face. "I don't have the courage for that."

Louis smirked. "Then we orchestrate it."

Zayn squinted at him. "What?"

Louis sat up, gesturing with his hands. "We all hang out, right? You, me, Niall, and Liam. Then at some point, Niall and I dip, leaving you two alone."

Zayn stared.

Then, slowly, his face lit up. "That... That could work."

Louis chuckled fondly. "Glad to be of service."

Zayn grinned and clapped him on the back. "Alright, stop being nice, it's weird. Let's eat."

Later that night, Louis stepped out of the shower, running a towel through his damp hair.

He had barely sat on his bed when Zayn, still scrolling through his phone, casually announced, "Niall called. Said they won. He's coming by later."

Louis grinned at that. "Good. I hope he's intolerable about it."

His phone dinged.

He reached for it, expecting a text from Niall, but instead found a message from Harry.

Where are you?

Louis paused.

There was something about it that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

He quickly typed back:

Left. Was tired.

A minute passed, then another.

He figured maybe that was it. Maybe Harry wasn't going to respond.

Then another text came in.

Was looking for you but didn't find you. You could have told me.

Louis bit his lip.

He hesitated, then typed back a quick:

Sorry.

He figured that would be the end of it.

So, in an attempt to lighten the mood, he added:

Niall said you won. Looks like the ritual works after all.

Harry replied almost immediately.

Yeah.

That was it. Just a single-word response.
Louis frowned. Was he... angry?

He debated just letting it go, but something about the way Harry responded made him feel oddly guilty.

So, after a few moments, he reluctantly typed:

Are you mad?

This time, the reply came slower.

Would you care if I were?

Louis quickly typed: No.

Then groaned, deleting it, because—fuck—that wasn't true.

So, feeling slightly embarrassed, he retyped: just a little.

A beat passed.

Just a little.

Louis stared at his screen, hating himself when his fingers betrayed him and typed:

I promise I'll be at the next one.

As soon as he hit send, he regretted it. Though not as much when he saw Harry's reply.

Yes!! :)))

Louis let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

And—oh, fuck—his cheeks were heating up.

That was... totally weird.

So, before he could think too much about it, he locked his phone, tossed it onto his pillow, and rolled onto his stomach.

Zayn looked up. "Everything good?"

Louis groaned into his mattress. "Shut up."

Zayn smirked but didn't push.

He'd get it out of him later.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

Louis should've known this would be a disaster the moment Harry Styles walked in with his usual swagger, acting like he owned the place.

To be fair, Harry was at least trying to take things more seriously today. Louis could tell because, for once, he wasn't actively disrupting the meeting by talking over people or making dumb comments about the weird smell of the theatre storage room. But that didn't mean he was anywhere near ready for what Louis had planned for him.

Which was exactly why Louis planned it.

He wanted to see Harry struggle.

"Alright, listen up," Louis called out, standing at the front of the stage with his clipboard in hand. "Since we have auditions next week, I want us to go over some scenes today. Get a feel for the dialogue, the pacing, the emotion—" He stared pointedly at Harry, who was halfway through peeling the label off his water bottle.

Harry blinked, then lazily pointed at himself. "Me?"

"Yes, you." Louis set his clipboard down. "Since you so kindly neglected to read the script until, what was it? Last night?"

Harry shifted. "Last morning, actually."

"Oh, well, in that case—" Louis rolled his eyes, then handed him a script. "Come up here. You and me."

Harry hesitated. "Again?"

"Yes, again." Louis turned to the rest of the group. "We're going to do a cold read of Betrayal—specifically, the argument scene between Robert and Emma."

Miles let out a dramatic sigh. "God, this play is so depressing."

"It's realistic," Louis corrected.

"It's dull," Miles muttered.

"You're dull," Louis shot back.

Miles gasped, clutched his chest, and whispered, "Wow."

Harry, meanwhile, was flipping through his script with a confused frown. "Wait, which one's Robert?"

Louis sighed deeply. "The husband."

"Right, and who's Emma?"

Louis stared at him. "Me."

Harry perked up immediately. "Oh, fun."

Louis tilted his head at him. "Try to keep it in your pants, yeah?"

Harry grinned. "No promises."

The others groaned loudly, and Louis pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting this. "Alright, let's focus." He turned to Harry and squared his shoulders. "I'll start. You just follow my lead."

Harry adjusted his stance, serious for all of two seconds before clearing his throat dramatically. "Got it. Let's act."

Louis ignored that. He took a slow breath, then recited his line. "'How long?'"

Harry furrowed his brows, glancing at the script. Then, he put the script down and—Louis swore to God—crossed his arms and delivered the line in the most emotionless voice he had ever heard.

"'How long?'"

It was so bad.

Miles snorted. Claire winced. Someone in the back coughed in discomfort.

Louis blinked at him. "I—was that a question or an announcement?"

Harry frowned. "It was... acting."

"It was not acting," Louis said. "It was reading. Like a first grader forced to read aloud in class."

Harry sighed, flipping the script over dramatically. "I knew you were gonna be mean about this."

Louis exhaled sharply. "Fine. Do it again. But this time, actually sound like you care."

Harry straightened his shoulders, cleared his throat, and delivered the line again.

"'HOW LONG?!'"

Everyone jumped.

Claire actually dropped a prop she was holding. Miles choked on his water.

Louis stared at him. "Jesus Christ, we're not performing for the deaf, Harry."

Harry gestured broadly. "You said to care!"

"I didn't say to yell like you just found out your dog got hit by a car!"

Miles wheezed. "I think my soul left my body."

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "I don't get it. You said to add emotion—"

"Yeah, emotion. Not trauma."

Harry groaned. "Fine, you show me, then."

Louis huffed but turned back to the script. He inhaled sharply, settled into the role, and spoke smoothly. "'How long?'"

Harry watched him closely. "'Years.'"

Louis lifted his chin slightly. "'Years?'"

Harry exhaled, voice somewhat softer now. "'Yeah.'"

Louis nodded. "'And you didn't think to tell me?'"

There was a pause—a beat too long.

Harry blinked, shifting slightly. Then, with the most awkward, robotic tone ever, he muttered, "Uh... no."

Miles wheezed. Louis stared at him in silence, then slowly turned to face the others. "You see what I'm dealing with here?"

Harry scowled. "Oi, that wasn't that bad."

"That was pitiful."

"I panicked!"

Miles clapped dramatically. "Give that man an Oscar."

Harry flipped him off.

Louis sighed and rubbed his temples. "Okay, look. You need to feel the words. Imagine you just found out your best friend stabbed you in the back, or the worst thing you can imagine—"

Harry smirked. "So you rejecting me over and over?"

Louis rolled his eyes. "You do that."

Harry grinned.

The others snickered, and Louis ignored them. "Alright, again."

Harry tried. Really, he did. And, to his credit, he improved a tiny bit. He wasn't great, but at least he didn't sound like a malfunctioning AI bot by the end of it.

And when the reading was over, the others actually gave him a round of hesitant applause.

Miles leaned back in his chair and nodded. "Damn, Styles. Didn't know you had that in you."

Harry smirked. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

Louis rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like how you got into college."

Harry gasped. "Wow."

The others laughed, and Harry nudged Louis with his foot as he passed by, grinning.

Louis ignored the way his stomach twisted slightly at that.

Instead, he picked up his clipboard and moved on.

Though, Louis did not expect to be ambushed.

He was standing near the edge of the stage, flipping through his clipboard, deep in thought. His pen tapped idly against the paper as he skimmed through the names from the first audition. His brows furrowed, lips pursed slightly. He wasn't sure if he'd found the right people yet—maybe if he looked at the notes again—

Then, hands circled his waist.

He startled, body tensing as he felt a solid warmth press against his back. A chin rested lightly on his shoulder, breath warm against his neck.

His fingers tightened around his pen.

"What—" He coughed, twisting his head slightly and coming way too close to Harry's face. Their noses nearly brushed, and Louis could see the hint of amusement dancing in Harry's green eyes. "What are you doing?"

Harry just looked at him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, as if he was thinking something over. Then, casually, he murmured, "Nothing. Don't you hug your friends?"

Not like this, he thought. But he didn't say it.

Instead, he cleared his throat and managed a stiff, "Uh, yeah."

Harry hummed in response, looking down at the clipboard in Louis' hands. His arms were still wrapped around Louis' waist, loosely but still there, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Busy?" Harry asked, voice close enough to send a slight shiver down Louis' spine.

Louis swallowed and forced himself to focus. He would not let himself be affected by this. Not by Harry Styles of all people.

He hummed in return, keeping his eyes locked on the clipboard as he said, "Narrowing down the names from the first audition. But I'm still not sure—"

His voice hitched slightly when Harry nuzzled his neck.

Oh, fuck off.

Louis stiffened instantly, heart pounding in his chest. Was this normal? Did Harry do this with people?

(He probably did. Harry was ridiculously touchy.)

"Are auditions on Wednesday again?" Harry asked, as if nothing was happening.

Louis forced himself to breathe and nodded. "Yeah, but you won't have to come."

Harry frowned slightly. "Why not?"

Louis barely managed to focus on his words. "I'll ask Miles—"

Harry pinched his side.

Louis yelped, jerking slightly forward. "Harry!"

Harry grinned against his shoulder. "I'll come."

Louis huffed, twisting his head to glare at him, only to find Harry's face still way too close. His green eyes were filled with mischief, but there was something else there too. Something Louis did not want to analyze.

He stared, voice a bit strained. "But you won't even read the script. How can you help me?"

Harry hummed again. "I'll read it."

Louis narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Uh-huh."

Harry tilted his head, arms still firmly around Louis' waist. "Trust me, will you?"

Louis let out a deep sigh. "Fine."

A beat passed before Harry talked again.

"Oh, you weren't lying."

Louis blinked, confused, until he felt Harry's fingers brush lightly against his cheek.

Harry grinned, tapping his fingers against his skin. "When you focus, you do turn red."

Louis froze.

It was casual—just an observation, really—but his skin burned where Harry touched him. His heart skipped a beat, and for the first time, he wasn't sure if the heat in his face was actually from concentration.

Shit.

He looked away quickly, clearing his throat. "Yeah. It's a habit."

Harry hummed, seemingly pleased by that answer.

Louis wiggled out of his grip, stepping forward to put space between them. He turned, pointedly not looking at Harry, and straightened his clipboard. "I have stuff to do," he muttered, brushing off invisible dust from his shirt.

Harry's smirk lingered, but he didn't argue.

"Alright I'll leave you to it. I'll see you next week."

Louis huffed, turned on his heel, and walked off before Harry could see the way his ears were still burning.

***

The plan was simple. Drag Liam out for a group hang so Zayn could finally get some one-on-one time with him.

The problem?

Harry Styles.

Louis hadn't even wanted to invite him, but when they asked Liam, he mentioned he was already hanging out with Harry that evening. And if they didn't invite Harry, it would have been weird. Suspicious, even.

So now, instead of a smooth, foolproof plan to give Zayn a shot with Liam, they were here—standing outside a neon-lit arcade, with Harry grinning at Louis like he knew this was ruining his life.

"You ready to get wrecked, Tommo?" Harry taunted, rolling his shoulders like he was about to enter the ring instead of an arcade.

Louis scoffed, cradling the cup of tokens in his hands. "In your dreams, Styles."

"Funny you'd say that actually," Harry mused, tapping his chin. "I do wreck you in my dre—"

"Jesus Christ." Louis turned on his heel and stormed toward the air hockey table before Harry could finish that thought.

Louis shoved a token into the first machine he saw—an ancient Street Fighter knockoff. "I assumed you were here to babysit Liam."

"Don't worry, sweetheart." Harry leaned against the machine, crossing his arms. "I can multitask."

The suggestive tone in which he said it made Louis fake a gagging noise as the machine booted up. "Disgusting."

Behind them, Niall was stuffing his face with nachos, oblivious, while Zayn was already trailing Liam like a lost puppy, awkwardly hovering near the basketball hoop game as Liam tested a few shots.

The plan was still in motion—somehow, some way, they just had to get Harry out of the picture.

"Okay," Niall said, wiping cheese off his chin. "So who's ready to get their ass handed to them in air hockey?"

Louis smirked. "Say less."

Harry stepped forward. "Yeah, I got this."

Louis held up a hand. "Oh, no, no, no. You and me, Styles. Right now."

Harry arched a brow. "Oh? Now you want to play with me?"

"I want to annihilate you."

Harry grinned, dimples and all. "Hot."

Louis groaned, dragging him toward the air hockey table before he could say anything else.

It started with air hockey.

It should have been easy.

But then Harry somehow managed to win by one point—one stupid point—because Louis was distracted by Niall screaming about a broken claw machine.

Louis was not having that.

Louis smacked the puck so hard it bounced off the table. Harry barely dodged it, laughing as it whizzed past his ear.

"Oh, feisty," Harry mused. "I like it when you get all aggressive."

"God I wish I could make you shut up for a second."

Harry grinned, dropping his voice lower. "I can think of a few ways."

Louis inhaled sharply. "Stop."

He dragged Harry to the basketball game, fully intending to crush him.

Harry won. Again. Louis wanted to scream.

"Alright," Louis huffed, arms crossed. "Race cars. I will destroy you."

Harry, who looked entirely too pleased with himself, just leaned in and smirked. "Babe, you couldn't even reach the gas pedal last round."

"Fuck you."

They played.

Harry won.

Louis hated his life.

He stormed away from the game, ignoring Harry's laughter behind him, and immediately bought another round of tokens.

"Jesus, Lou," Niall snickered, appearing beside him. "You gonna let him live?"

"Not a fucking chance."

"What is the plan here?"

Louis turned sharply. "Murder."

Niall snorted, tossing a fry into his mouth. "Well, before that, we need to get him away from Liam."

Louis sighed, scanning the arcade. "Yeah, I know—but how do we make it look natural?"

Behind them, Zayn was still lurking near Liam, looking absolutely pathetic.

"Christ," Niall muttered. "That's painful to watch."

Liam, entirely oblivious, was focused on a stupid whack-a-mole game, slamming down with so much enthusiasm that Zayn was just standing there, nodding at him like he was impressed.

Louis had to do something now.

He turned back to Harry, who was now counting his winning tickets like he was fucking king of the arcade.

And then it hit him.

"Styles," Louis said, stepping forward. "Think you're good at everything?"

Harry barely looked up. "I know I am."

Louis smirked. "Bet I can beat you at DDR."

Harry stopped. Blinked. "Dance Dance Revolution?"

Louis shrugged. "Unless you're scared?"

The bait was set.

Harry squinted at him. "You want me to believe you can outdance me?"

Louis tilted his head. "Are you going to let me believe that?"

Harry rolled his shoulders, smirk widening. "Oh, you're on, Tomlinson."

Louis turned to Niall, muttering, "Go get Zayn."

Niall sprinted toward Zayn and Liam while Louis casually led Harry to the DDR machine, tossing him a smug grin as he picked the fastest possible song.

Game fucking on.

.

"Alright, mate," Niall said, grabbing Zayn's shoulders. "This is your moment. We got rid of Harry, now get in there."

Zayn looked panicked. "What do I say?"

"Literally anything."

"I can't—"

"Zayn."

Zayn took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay."

With all the courage he could muster, Zayn finally stepped forward.

Liam was still at whack-a-mole.

"Hey," Zayn said, clearing his throat. "You're really good at that."

Liam looked up, surprised. "Oh—uh, thanks!" He rubbed the back of his neck. "My sister and I used to play this all the time. She always beat me, though."

Zayn's heart stuttered. Cute.

"That's—uh. That's cool."

Silence.

Zayn internally screamed. Liam awkwardly chuckled. "You wanna play?"

Zayn nodded way too fast. "Sure! Yeah! That'd be—uh—fun."

Niall, watching from a distance, whispered, "Painful."

.

By the time Louis finally won a game, Harry had beaten him in literally everything else.

And Harry was not letting it go.

"So what's the scoreboard now?" Harry mused as they walked through the arcade. "Oh, right—I'm crushing you."

Louis shoved him. "Fuck off."

Harry gasped, clutching his chest. "Is that any way to talk to the man who just humbled you?"

Louis rolled his eyes. "You didn't humble me."

Harry grinned. "Didn't I?"

Louis exhaled dramatically. "This is the worst night of my life."

"Aw, babe." Harry slung an arm around his shoulders. "You love it."

Louis shoved him off. He looked around, moving thru the place trying to find something he could beat Harry on.

He stopped in front of a row of old-school arcade racing games, hands on his hips as he turned to face Harry.

"This is it," he declared, stepping aside to dramatically gesture at the Fast & Furious racing simulator. "This is the one. The game where I'm about to humble you."

Harry raised a skeptical brow. "This is the game you think you can beat me at?"

Louis scoffed. "No. This is the game I know I'm gonna beat you at." He stepped into the seat, adjusting like he was settling into a Formula 1 car. "See, you drive on real roads, Styles. This?" He gestured at the flashing screen. "This is about instincts. Reflexes. Art."

Harry hummed, still unconvinced as he slid into the seat beside him. "Alright, let's make it interesting, then."

Louis, already gripping the wheel, barely glanced at him. "Money again?"

Harry shook his head. "Nah. Something else this time."

Louis turned to him with raised brows. "What, then?"

Harry smirked, stretching his arms over his head before leaning forward. "You know how in football we have conference weekends and non-conference weekends?"

Louis blinked. "I understood like two words of that."

Harry sighed dramatically. "Alright, let me explain it to you like you're five."

Louis rolled his eyes. "By all means."

Harry relaxed into the seat, spinning the wheel lazily. "Okay, imagine it's the World Cup—"

"Oh, now I understand," Louis muttered sarcastically.

Harry ignored him. "At first, you play a bunch of games that don't really matter because even if you lose one, you still have a second chance. But when you move on, it's win or go home—lose, and you're out."

Louis nodded slowly. "Alright, what does that have to do with this?"

Harry smirked wider. "The next game that actually matters is in four weeks. It's at an actual stadium, not at our school. It's bigger, more important—"

Louis waved his hand impatiently. "Get to the point, coach."

Harry chuckled. "If I win, you wear my jersey to that game."

Louis froze.

The neon glow flickered across Harry's face, highlighting his smirk as he leaned back like he'd already won.

Louis blinked. Then blinked again.

"... Why?"

Harry tilted his head, smug. "I want to see you in it."

Louis' stomach twisted.

It wasn't that weird—he and Zayn had worn Niall's jerseys before for big games. But this was Harry Styles.

People would see. People would talk.

The way people lost their minds over Harry was different. He was the guy. The star quarterback, the one everyone either wanted to be or be with. If Louis wore his jersey, it wasn't just support—it was a statement.

He could already hear the whispers.

Since when is he with Harry?
Do you think they're hooking up?
Shit, I knew Styles was into guys—
Louis? No way.

He suddenly felt like he was burning up.

"You're overthinking it," Harry said, watching him carefully.

Louis scoffed, voice a little too high. "I am not."

Harry leaned closer, voice lower. "So what? You scared you're gonna lose?"

Louis narrowed his eyes. Please.

Harry's smirk widened. "Then bet's on?"

Louis hesitated, his fingers tightening around the wheel.

His gut told him to say no. But his pride refused.

"... Fine," he said, lifting his chin. "But if I win, you buy me Starbucks for a week."

Harry shrugged easily. "Done."

Louis turned back to the screen, heart thudding. "Prepare to be humbled, Styles."

The countdown began.

"Three..."

Louis cracked his knuckles, eyes locked on the screen.

"Two..."

Harry leaned forward, looking annoyingly relaxed.

"One... GO!"

Louis slammed the pedal, gripping the wheel tightly as he took off. He maneuvered through traffic like a pro, taking a sharp turn flawlessly.

Harry, of course, was annoyingly good.

Louis hated how effortless he made it look, one hand on the wheel, steering smoothly.

"This is bullshit," Louis gritted out as Harry overtook him.

Harry chuckled, eyes still on the screen. "Not so confident now, are you?"

Louis clenched his jaw. "This isn't over."

He tried to push forward, barely dodging a truck, but Harry was still ahead. The finish line was getting closer—Louis gunned it—

But right before he could take the lead, Harry—

"NOOOOOO—"

Harry's car slid across the finish line first.

Louis slammed his hands on the wheel. "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!"

Harry threw his arms up in victory. "Take that Tomlinson!"

Louis turned to him, pointing an accusing finger. "You cheated!"

Harry, still grinning, leaned in. "Can't wait to see you in my jersey."

Louis' stomach flipped.

His cheeks burned.

He hated how smug Harry looked. Hated how his voice sent a shiver down his spine. Hated that, deep down, he was already imagining wearing the damn thing.

Harry just smirked, leaning closer. Louis shoved him away. "Let's just find the others before I strangle you."

As they walked off, Louis swore he heard Harry hum We Are the Champions under his breath.

He was never living this down.

***

As they walked toward the food court, the group had naturally split into two.

Liam and Zayn had fallen slightly behind, caught in conversation—well, mostly Liam talking while Zayn nodded and looked like he might spontaneously combust.

Louis and Niall, on the other hand, shared a knowing look. Then Louis, ever the instigator, cleared his throat.

"So, Harry," he started, casual as ever. "You reckon your friend might be into guys too?"

Harry stopped walking.

Louis and Niall kept going, but when Louis realized Harry wasn't following, he glanced over his shoulder.

Harry stood there, squinting at him, looking like Louis had just asked him to solve a complex math equation.

"... Why do you keep asking questions about Liam?"

Louis shrugged. "Can't a man be curious?"

Harry ignored that, stepping closer, his expression slightly tight. "Are you planning on asking him out?"

Louis blinked, frowning slightly at Harry's tone. It was off—too direct, too sharp for something that shouldn't concern him.

"And what if I were?" Louis asked, tilting his head. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Harry scowled and resumed walking, passing Louis without another word.

Louis narrowed his eyes, huffing as he caught up. "Just answer the question, Harry."

But Harry kept his glare fixed on the floor, his jaw tight. "I'm not telling you."

Louis groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Harry, come—"

"He snores," Harry interrupted suddenly.

Louis faltered. "What?"

"Liam," Harry said, still walking. "He snores. Really loudly. You don't want to share a bed with someone like that."

Louis snorted. "Who said anything about sharing a bed? Jesus, I'm just asking."

Harry shook his head like he was disappointed. "Oh! And did you know he hates beans? Despises them. Which, frankly, is unacceptable for us Brits."

Louis raised an eyebrow. "Actually, that's a good thing. I hate beans, too."

Harry waved a dismissive hand. "Did I say hate? I meant love. He loves beans. Puts them on everything."

Louis barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous."

Harry hummed, then turned to him, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just looking out for you, love."

Louis, caught off guard by the casual pet name, reached out and pinched Harry's cheek. "Aww, are you jealous?"

Harry swatted his hand away with an exasperated noise.

They walked in silence for a few beats before Harry sighed, glancing to the side like he was debating something. Then, not meeting Louis' eyes, he muttered, "I could arrange something, I guess... if you really wanted to."

Louis gave him a sideways glance, skeptical.

Harry cleared his throat. "I don't know for sure, alright? Liam's never been with a guy. But..."

Louis nodded slowly. Then he said, quieter, "Thank you. But I'm not really... It's not about that. I was just curious, is all."

Harry glanced at him, hesitant. "You're not...?" He trailed off before continuing, "Do you not want to go out with him? It just seemed..."

Louis shook his head. "No, not really. Frat boys aren't my type."

Harry visibly perked up at that, smirk creeping back. "Then what is your type?"

Louis hummed, pretending to think. "I like kind men."

Harry snorted. "Boring."

Louis ignored him. "Appearance matters, sure, but it's not the main thing for me. I've got a thing for kind people. If I had to pick... someone taller than me. I like feeling smaller than my partner."

Harry made a little hmm sound.

"Definitely confident," Louis continued. "Very kind, too. Like, a gentle giant."

Harry hummed again. "Good to know."

Louis side-eyed him. "And you?"

Harry hesitated before shrugging. "I don't really date, but... I guess someone good-looking. Obviously."

Louis snorted. "Obviously."

But then Harry went quiet for a moment, fidgeting with the ring on his finger.

Then, softer, he added, "Someone who can love me."

Louis tilted his head, something shifting in his chest. "That's not a type, that's... kind of the main requirement for a relationship."

Harry shook his head, gaze flickering toward the ground. "Not always."

Louis frowned, but before he could ask, Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sometimes you're with someone, but they don't actually love you. Not the way you want them to." His voice was quieter now, a little raw. "It's miserable, mostly."

Louis stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words.

But then Harry shook his head, cheeks pinking slightly, and forced a chuckle. "Dunno why I'm making this complicated. Someone funny, cute, brown hair, light eyes, shorter than me—preferably."

Louis narrowed his eyes.

Harry continued, grinning now. "Bit of a nerd. Has an incredibly boring hobby, like, I don't know... theatre?"

Louis stiffened.

"But it's fun, because he makes it fun," Harry added, voice lilting. "Mmm, what else—"

Louis shoved him. "Shut up."

Harry laughed, stumbling slightly. "That's about it."

Louis bit back a smile, looking down at his feet. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck.

"You need to stop joking like this," Louis muttered. "Someday I might actually believe you."

Harry hummed, noncommittal.

But he didn't say anything more.

***

As the days passed, Louis found himself spending more and more time with Harry. It wasn't intentional—at least, that's what he told himself. It just happened.

They studied together in the library, even though Harry was an absolute menace who would rather talk Louis' ear off than get any actual work done. They lounged around in Louis' dorm when Zayn was out, Harry sprawled on his bed like he owned the place, flipping through one of Louis' books with zero interest but refusing to admit it.

Louis told himself it was just convenient. Harry was around, and they got along surprisingly well. That was all.

But the truth was—Louis was growing a soft spot for him.

It wasn't anything romantic, not really. But he found himself looking forward to their conversations, to Harry's texts, to the way he could always make Louis laugh even when he was in a mood.

And then there was the other thing.

The thing Louis didn't let himself think about too much.

Harry wasn't exactly known for his self-restraint. Girls used to come and go, and Louis had heard the rumors even before they started spending time together.

But lately, there had been nothing.

No whispers of new flings, no stories about some girl sneaking out of the frat house in the morning. If Harry was seeing someone, no one knew about it.

Louis liked to think—stupidly—that maybe that meant something.

But the rational side of him knew better.

Harry Styles didn't do relationships. He liked to chase. He liked the game.

And Louis? Louis was the only one who hadn't given in.

It was probably a matter of pride for Harry at this point. That was the only reason he kept up the flirting—the teasing touches, the cocky smirks, the way he leaned into Louis just a little too close sometimes.

Still, Louis couldn't deny the attraction. It was something he felt deep in his bones.

Sometimes, it was too much.

There were moments—when Harry looked at him a certain way, or smirked just so, or stood too close after practice all sweaty and warm—when Louis physically had to force himself to step back.

He was so sexually frustrated that some days, he didn't trust himself around Harry at all.

And the worst part?

Harry knew.

He had to know. No one could be that confident without knowing exactly what kind of effect they had on people.

But Louis wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he affected him.

So he ignored it. Brushed it off as nothing. Because at the end of the day, Harry wasn't serious about him. If Louis ever gave in, Harry would win, and then what? Louis would be just another story.

But sometimes, when Harry showed him these other sides of himself—the quieter ones, the thoughtful ones, the ones that made Louis wonder if there was more to him than just football and flirting—he couldn't help but think about it.

What if?

He never let himself answer the question.

Currently, Louis was on his way to the football field, checking his phone as he walked.

Harry had texted earlier.

Harry: I have practice.

Louis: lol ok ?

Harry: cold

A few minutes later, another text.

Harry: Come by when I finish?

Louis: What am I, your personal cheerleader?

Harry: *You're my lucky charm :( *

Louis had snorted at that.

Louis: What do you need me for if it's just practice?

There was a beat before Harry replied.

Harry: I like watching you on the bleachers while I play.

Louis had felt his face heat up at that and immediately typed: creepy.

But that's how he ended up here.

He arrived a bit late, leaning against the railing, watching the players on the field. His eyes immediately found Niall, then—without meaning to—Harry.

Niall spotted him first and waved excitedly. Louis waved back, just as Harry turned in his direction.

For a second, Harry looked like he was about to jog over to him—until his coach grabbed him by the collar, snapping, "Pass, Styles!"

Louis chuckled as Harry shot him a sheepish look before getting back into position.

Practice ended not long after, and as Niall passed Louis on his way to the locker room, he threw his arms around him in a sweaty hug.

Louis groaned, pushing at his chest. "Ugh, get your disgusting body off of me."

Niall cackled but let go, ruffling his hair for good measure before jogging inside.

Then, before Louis could react, Harry walked right up to him and kissed his cheek.

Louis' entire body flushed.

Some of the players whistled at the sight, making Louis scowl. Harry just grinned, the picture of smug satisfaction.

"See you in a sec," he said, already backing toward the locker room. "Then we'll go eat."

Niall, overhearing as he changed his shoes, turned around with an excited, "Oh, thank fuck, I'm starving."

Harry's smirk dropped. He turned to glare at him. "Who invited you?"

Niall narrowed his eyes. "Uh, Louis is my best friend. You back off."

Louis rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "I'll be waiting for you both outside. Don't take forever."

Harry sighed dramatically as if he was the one being inconvenienced, but his grin never left his face as he jogged after Niall.

Louis exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers against the spot on his cheek where Harry had kissed him.

Fucking Harry Styles.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

Louis didn't know when this became a habit.

He used to prefer studying alone. Needed silence. Needed focus. Needed an environment where he wasn't constantly being distracted by someone tapping a pen against their book or—God forbid—chewing too loudly.

Yet here he was, sitting on his bed, watching Harry Styles read.

To be fair, Harry was surprisingly quiet when he was actually interested in something.

Louis had his own notebook sprawled across his lap, highlighting passages he knew damn well he wasn't going to retain because, every now and then, Harry would let out an exaggerated sigh or mutter something under his breath about "this fucking book, man."

Louis tried to ignore it. Tried.

Until Harry made a noise that was something between a gasp and a scoff, snapping the book shut dramatically.

Louis barely flinched, too used to him by now.

"What?" he asked, not looking up.

"This—this fucking book," Harry said, shaking it like it personally offended him. "You mean to tell me this bloke just gets away with all this? Just—" He made an exasperated motion. "Living his life, doing whatever he wants, no consequences? How does he sleep at night?"

Louis snorted. "I dunno. Probably with silk sheets and a stupidly expensive pillow."

Harry made a face. "Unbelievable. Tell me this has a good ending. I see myself in him, and that's...concerning."

Louis' smirk faltered. He swallowed and glanced back at his notebook, trying to push down the guilt bubbling in his stomach.

"You and Gray are two different people," he said simply. "You choose your own ending."

Harry squinted at him, like he wanted to ask something, but then sighed. "That doesn't sound promising at all."

Louis just smiled at him tightly and then groaned, tossing his pen onto the bed. "I'm tired of studying."

Harry leaned back against the pillows, stretching his arms over his head. "Then take a break."

Louis yawned, closing his book. "Yeah, I think it's time."

They sat in silence for a moment, the air between them thick with something comfortable—something Louis was starting to crave more often than he'd like to admit.

Without thinking, his fingers drifted to Harry's curls, threading through the soft strands mindlessly. Harry let out a small hum of approval, closing his eyes briefly as he melted into the touch.

"We have auditions tomorrow, yeah?" he murmured.

Louis hummed in confirmation, still toying with the curls at the nape of Harry's neck. "Told you, though—you don't have to come. Miles offered anyway."

That made Harry's brows furrow. His hands found Louis' waist, tugging him down toward him with a lazy strength.

Louis gasped, barely catching himself on one hand to keep from fully collapsing on top of Harry.

Harry's eyes were open now, staring up at him. "Why do you keep insisting on that?" he asked, voice softer but pointed. "Do you not want me around or something?"

Louis chuckled, trying to ignore the way his heartbeat picked up. "Something like that."

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was a small pout forming on his lips. "You're always so mean to me."

"Am I?" Louis teased, resuming his absentminded petting of Harry's curls.

Harry nodded dramatically, his fingers slipping just under the hem of Louis' shirt, tracing lazy circles against the skin of his waist.

Louis bit his lip at the touch. Bad idea. Because Harry's gaze immediately dropped to his mouth, and everything in the room seemed to shift.

Louis tried not to react, but fuck, it was hard when Harry's touch was so featherlight yet purposeful.

Harry tilted his head slightly and leaned up, noses brushing together. "So pretty," he murmured.

Louis' throat went dry.

Say something. Say anything.

He couldn't. He could feel Harry's breath against his lips, minty and warm. He knew he should move. Should push him away, crack a joke, do something to break whatever the hell this was.

Instead, he just sat there, hovering, waiting.

Harry's fingers pressed slightly harder into his waist, his lips barely parting, like he was about to say something—

The door slammed open.

Louis panicked. He launched himself off the bed so violently that he tumbled straight onto the floor with a loud thud.

Zayn stood in the doorway, mid-chew on a handful of crisps, looking mildly unimpressed.

"Doors open when you two are in here," he said, voice flat, pointing at Harry.

Harry just grinned sheepishly from the bed.

Zayn then turned to Louis, still sprawled on the floor. "Why are you on the ground?"

Louis groaned, massaging his back. "I like it better down here."

Zayn hummed like he wasn't convinced. Then, as if nothing had happened, he shoved another crisp in his mouth and said, "Niall's coming in an hour. Emergency conference."

Louis frowned, glancing up at him. "What kind of emergency?"

Zayn waved a hand dismissively and looked at Harry. "Private emergency conference."

Harry chuckled, standing up and grabbing his hoodie from where he'd discarded it earlier. He pulled it on, ruffling his curls in the process.

"Don't worry," he said, throwing a smirk at Louis, "I had to go anyway."

He lingered for a moment, eyes scanning Louis' face, before he bit his lip, like he was fighting the urge to say something. Instead, he just hummed, tucking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"See you tomorrow?" he asked.

Louis, still flustered, still very much on the floor, cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah."

With one last glance—one last look that lasted just a bit too long—Harry left.

Louis exhaled loudly, dragging a hand down his face making Zayn peer down at him.

"Suspicious," he said simply, then walked off.

Louis let his head thud back against the floor.

He was so fucked.

***

The three of them sat in a circle on the floor of Louis and Zayn's dorm, illuminated only by the dim glow of a few candles left over from Zayn's last love spell attempt (Louis still couldn't believe that was a real thing that happened).

Louis sighed, already regretting his involvement in this mess. "I can't believe I canceled plans for this."

Niall, who was sipping on his beer, snorted. "You had no plans."

Louis glared at him. "I still had better things to do."

But Zayn was on a mission. Standing in front of a hastily set-up blackboard—which, and this needed to be addressed, where the hell did he even get a blackboard?—he picked up a piece of chalk and started writing.

"This—" he dramatically pointed to a line on the board, "is where me and Liam stand at the moment."

Louis frowned. "Hold on. Where the fuck did you get that?"

Zayn ignored him.

"This—" he continued, dramatically drawing another much higher line, "is where we should be."

Then, for his final masterpiece, he drew two stick figures lying in bed together, one of them marked with an 'L' and the other with a 'Z.'

"And this," he concluded, stepping back and gesturing like it was a damn art exhibit, "is where I NEED us to be."

Niall choked on his beer, trying to hold in his laughter.

Louis, completely deadpan, nodded. "Ah yes. Stickmen on a board. The epitome of romance."

"Zayn," Niall said, setting his drink down and gesturing vaguely at the board, "is that meant to be you and Liam in bed? Because that's some artistic interpretation."

Zayn genuinely looked offended. "First of all, yes, it's us in bed together. Secondly, fuck you both, I'm an artist."

"Okay, but... why are the stick figures naked?"

"Because I'm manifesting."

Louis choked on his drink. "I'm actually concerned."

Zayn ignored the haters and moved dramatically in front of the blackboard, arms crossed.

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "Zayn. Babe. This is ridiculous. Just ask him out."

Zayn let out a wounded noise, stomping his foot like a petulant child. "I don't want to!"

Louis threw his hands in the air. "This is getting embarrassing."

"No, you don't understand!" Zayn whined, dramatically leaning on the blackboard. "As of now, my various efforts have failed," he admitted grimly.

He turned and wrote out a list:
•    Acting like a cheerleader at his games? No reaction.
•    The love spell? Fucking nothing.
•    Arcade date that he didn't know was a date? A disaster.

Louis raised a hand like he was in class. "Yeah, um, was it even a date if we were all there and he had no clue?"

Zayn whipped around, eyes narrowed.

Niall gasped dramatically. "Louis! Have some tact!"

Louis sighed, rubbing his temples. "Zayn, I love you, but none of this is working."

Niall, who had been watching Zayn spiral with mild amusement, suddenly perked up. "Do you have Liam's number?"

Zayn grinned. "Yeah, he asked me for it the other day."

Louis and Niall exchanged a look.

"Good," Niall cracked his knuckles, an evil glint in his eye and took Zayn's phone. "We're getting to the bottom of this. Tonight."

Zayn suddenly looked nervous. "Wait, wait, wait—what do you mean we?"

Louis clapped him on the back. "You gave us your phone. You forfeit all rights to your decisions."

Zayn's eyes widened in horror as Louis and Niall sat him down on the floor.

"Oh, fuck no."

Zayn immediately lunged for the phone, but Louis tackled him down while Niall started scrolling through Zayn's messages with Liam.

Niall suddenly gasped. "Did he send you a nude?"

Zayn screamed and snatched the phone back so fast it could've shattered the sound barrier.

"What?! WHERE?!" he yelled, frantically scrolling.

Louis cackled, realizing Niall was just fucking with him.

Niall collapsed onto Louis' shoulder, crying with laughter. "Mate, I'm kidding!"

"You don't joke about things like that!" Zayn huffed, grabbing his phone back to double-check anyway.

Louis patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry, babe. It'll happen eventually."

"Don't lie to me just to make me feel better."

Finally, after a lot of cursing and Niall swatting Zayn's hand away, they got back into Liam's messages.

Niall started typing.

Zayn (Niall): hey liam! u free this weekend?

Zayn panicked, lunging for the phone again. "NO, NO, NO, NO—"

Louis yanked him back, groaning when Zayn elbowed him in the ribs in his attempt to break free.

Niall, who was thoroughly enjoying himself, ignored the chaos and hit send.

Zayn froze, horrified. "You traitorous bastard."

They all stared at the screen, watching the dots appear.

Then Liam responded.

Liam: yeah! why, what's up?

Louis hummed. "Okay. That's promising. Now let's escalate."

Niall nodded, typing again.

Zayn (Niall): i was wondering if u wanted to go out, just the two of us? like dinner or smth?

The dots appeared again.

Then Liam's next text popped up.

Liam: as in... a date?

Zayn gasped dramatically, hyperventilating, and immediately tried to abort the mission.

"ABORT. ABORT. WE CAN'T COME BACK FROM THIS."

Niall, grinning like a villain, dodged Zayn's flailing hands and held the phone up.

"Louis, hold him down please."

Louis, laughing but committed to the bit, wrapped his arms around Zayn from behind, keeping him pinned.

Zayn yelped, elbowing him again, but Louis was determined. "It'll be easier if you just accept your fate."

"STOP, YOU FUCKERS—HE'S NOT ANSWERING."

"Oh my god, send it!" Louis yelled.

Niall, grinning maniacally, hit send.

Zayn (Niall): yeah, a date :)

Zayn screamed into his hands, fully ready to perish on the spot.

For a whole minute, Liam didn't answer.

Zayn, now fully convinced his life was over, collapsed dramatically onto the floor. "That's it. My life is over. I hate both of you. I should've never trusted you."

They all stared at the phone.

Two minutes passed.

"I'm going to pass out."

Three minutes.

"I'm deleting all social media."

Liam: sure! does Sunday at 7 work for you?

The room went silent.

Zayn sat bolt upright, staring at the screen. "I can't believe this. I can't believe this— am I dreaming? I love you guys so much."

Louis and Niall high-fived as Zayn launched himself onto them, tackling them in a victorious hug.

Louis sighed, grinning despite himself. "Jesus Christ. That was the most stressful thing I've ever done."

Niall wiped an imaginary tear. "I feel like a proud father."

Zayn was still clutching his phone, absolutely beaming.

"Holy fuck," he muttered, staring at the message again. "I have a date."

Louis, leaning back, smirked. "Yeah. And now you have 24 hours to not fuck it up."

***

"I watched it like five times. Six if you count right now."

Harry's voice was far too gleeful, and the moment Louis heard the faint, tinny sound of his own voice playing from Harry's phone, he groaned in pure mortification, dropping his head onto his crossed arms on the library table.

"Stop it."

He could hear it—his fourteen-year-old self belting out a painfully dramatic rendition of There Are Worse Things I Could Do for a Grease casting video.

Harry did not stop.

In fact, Louis heard the click of him pressing play again.

"Harry!" he whined, slamming his forehead against his arm.

Harry chuckled, nudging him with his elbow. "Aw. Look at you."

Louis risked a peek, just in time to see Harry point at the screen with a shit-eating grin.

"You had a real TWINKle in your eye."

Louis snorted despite himself, lifting his head just enough to give him a flat, unimpressed look. "Ha ha. Such a comedian."

Harry grinned proudly, clearly very pleased with himself. "But seriously," he said, pausing the video, "you were so precious. The fringe. The suspenders. Bet you got bullied."

Louis rolled his eyes, propping his chin up on his hand. "Don't let that fool you. My sass kept me alive."

Harry laughed, setting his phone down, finally giving Louis a break from his personal hell. "I can imagine."

Louis sighed in relief, stretching his arms out in front of him. "Can't believe you don't have any embarrassing videos of yourself posted somewhere."

Harry's smirk faltered.

Then he smiled, but it was smaller this time. "My dad would've had my head."

Louis frowned, immediately catching on to the shift in his tone.

He tilted his head slightly, intrigued. "Why?"

Harry usually didn't talk much about his family.

And Louis knew better than to pry, but whenever Harry did offer a glimpse, he made sure to listen.

Harry exhaled softly, running a hand through his hair. "Your family's different," he said, looking down at the table, fidgeting with a napkin. "From what you've told me. They're... supportive. Kind. Like you."

Louis stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.

"My mum's alright, I guess," Harry muttered, rolling the napkin between his fingers. "But my dad... he always expected a lot. Stuff like that? Posting videos online?" He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Out of the question."

Louis' stomach twisted.

Apprehensive, he asked softly, "Did you have, like... a rough childhood?"

Harry hummed, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. "Not necessarily. I mean, I was the typical kid who got signed up for every sport. Expected to excel at all of them."

Louis' frown deepened. "But why?"

Harry hesitated, twisting the napkin tighter.

Then, for the first time, Louis saw something in Harry's face that he never had before.

Nervousness.

Harry Styles was never nervous.

Louis sat up straighter, paying full attention.

"I was never the smart type," Harry admitted finally. His voice was quieter, more subdued. "Or, well—my dad thinks so."

Louis' chest ached at that.

Harry let out a breathy chuckle, but it lacked amusement. "School wasn't my thing. Never was. Never really understood it the way other people did."

Louis narrowed his eyes, already offended on Harry's behalf.

"So, early on," Harry continued, "my parents decided sports were the only way I'd succeed." He gestured vaguely. "Turned out they were right, I guess."

"That's not true."

Harry blinked, glancing at Louis, caught off guard by the sudden conviction in his voice.

Louis shook his head firmly. "That's complete bullshit."

Harry looked surprised at first, then shrugged, brushing it off. "It's not a big deal—"

"Yes, it is," Louis interrupted, determined. "You're smart. Just like everyone else. You weren't born with some disorder that made you less intelligent than other people, Harry."

Harry's cheeks turned pink, but he looked away, still not convinced.

Louis pressed on.

"Who says that about a primary schooler? That's dumb!" he scoffed, feeling his own anger rise. "Your parents should've believed in you more. You can't keep thinking like that."

Harry frowned slightly, uncertain. "I mean... I'm good at football. I can do the plays. The strategies. The positions. But that's about it."

Louis huffed, exasperated. "That's intelligence. What? You think being smart is reduced to remembering History dates or a chemical formula?"

Harry stayed quiet.

Louis poked his arm. "You ever seen me try to understand football?"

Harry finally cracked a small smile. "No, but I imagine it'd be painful to witness."

Louis laughed, nudging him. "Exactly. And I bet a lot of people can't do what you do either. You make game plans. And your team always wins. That's because of you, isn't it?"

Harry hesitated, then nodded subtly.

Louis pointed at him, finger touching Harry's temple. "See? Smart."

Harry's neck turned red, and Louis felt a small rush of victory.

Then, to lighten the mood, he sighed dramatically. "Besides, I don't compliment people often. Take it while it lasts."

Harry let out a breathy chuckle, looking down at his hands, a soft smile playing on his lips.

***

"I'm so done with this."

Louis dropped his head onto the table, dramatically banging his forehead against the clipboard in front of him.

"This is hell," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "I didn't sign up for this. Torture, I'm telling you."

Next to him, Harry yawned loudly, arms stretching behind his head. "I dunno," he mused, tapping his pen against his knee. "I'm kinda having fun."

Louis snorted, sitting up to glare at him. "You're lying through your fucking teeth."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I am. When can we leave?"

Louis rubbed his face tiredly, blinking at the large group of students still waiting to audition. He should've expected this—word had spread that Harry Styles was picking people for the play, and apparently, that meant every theatre kid, casual theatre enjoyer, and probably half the school wanted in.

"When people stop coming," Louis repeated for the eighth time, voice monotone, flipping his clipboard.

Harry groaned, dramatically falling back against his chair, making it wobble dangerously. "You've been saying that for hours."

"It's been two hours."

"Exactly. Hours."

Louis rolled his eyes, rubbing at his forehead. "You are the worst company for this. Do you ever shut up?"

"Do you ever stop being mean to me?" Harry shot back, slouching deeper in his seat.

"Do you ever stop being annoying?"

Harry huffed. "You're annoying."

Louis sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair, tiredly listening as another student began reciting a monologue. He was about two seconds away from putting his own head through the table when he felt Harry lean in, whispering in his ear, way too close for comfort.

"Wanna ditch?"

Louis flicked his pen at him, hitting him square in the chest.

Harry gasped, grabbing his heart dramatically. "Abuse."

Louis simply rolled his eyes again. "Suck it up."

Another five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Then—

"Louis."

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply before turning to Harry.

"What?" he hissed.

Harry blinked innocently. "Are we done yet?"

Louis' eye twitched violently.

Before he could snap, Claire approached, giving him a knowing look.

"Louis," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's been two hours. Me and Miles can take over. You should go."

Louis stared at her, debating. Normally, he wouldn't have left, but...

He looked back at the still ridiculously long line of people waiting to audition.

And Harry. Who was now full-on pouting at him. Like a fucking puppy.

Louis groaned, stretching his arms above his head. "Fine," he muttered, nudging Harry, who had started slipping down his chair like an actual child.

Harry perked up immediately, rubbing his eyes. "Thank fuck." He grinned, throwing an arm around Louis' shoulders as they walked out.

Louis grunted, nearly stumbling. "Jesus, you're heavy. Stop leaning on me, you're gonna make me fall."

Harry just smiled. "Mmm. Tiny."

Louis pinched his bicep, making Harry yelp and immediately drop his arm.

"Ow, fuck!" Harry rubbed his arm, glaring at him.

Louis simply smirked. "Mmm. Weak."

Harry pouted, massaging his arm as they continued walking toward the parking lot.

When they reached Harry's car, Louis walked straight to the driver's side, completely unprompted.

Harry frowned, raising a brow. "What are you doing?"

Louis turned, innocently gripping the handle. "Can I drive?"

Harry slowly tilted his head. "You don't have a license."

Louis scoffed, folding his arms. "Who told you that?"

Harry threw him a look. "The way you drove at the arcades."

Louis rolled his eyes. "Who cares? It's, like, five minutes to my dorm. Just let me."

Harry shook his head, crossing his arms. "No way."

Louis stepped closer, pouting dramatically. "Pleaaaase."

Harry scoffed, unaffected. "That's not gonna work. There's literally nothing you could say to make me agree to this."

Louis huffed, stepping even closer, he got on his tip toes clutching Harry's shirt, looking up at him with wide blue eyes.

"Please?"

Harry's jaw tensed, his eyes flicking away, then back down at him.

He licked his lips. Mumbled, "Fuck."

Louis grinned.

Harry sighed deeply, defeated, and handed over the keys. "One time, Louis. One."

Louis snatched them immediately, grinning wider. "Uh-huh. Sure."

Harry simply groaned, rubbing his face before getting in the passenger seat.

Louis hopped into the driver's seat, thrilled, adjusting everything like he actually knew what he was doing.

Harry watched him suspiciously.

"...You actually know how to drive, right?"

Louis grinned at him, turning the key in the ignition.

Harry's suspicion increased.

The drive was a mistake.

The moment they left the parking lot, Louis nearly ran over a curb.

Harry screamed, gripping the side of the door. "LOUIS, WHAT THE FUCK?"

"Oops." Louis chuckled nervously, straightening the car.

Harry clutched his chest, breathing deeply. "I can't believe you just 'oops' nearly wrecking my car."

"I didn't wreck it!"

"You almost did!"

Louis rolled his eyes, turning onto the road. "Relax."

Harry scoffed, still gripping the side of the seat like his life depended on it.

A car honked behind them, and Louis swerved slightly, cursing.

Harry screamed again.

Louis grimaced. "Shit, okay, okay. I got it."

Harry rubbed his face aggressively. "Pull over."

"I've got it!"

"PULL OVER."

"No."

Harry groaned loudly, bracing himself as Louis took a turn way too fast, making the tires squeal.

"WHY ARE YOU DRIVING LIKE THIS!"

Louis grinned, turning the music up.

Harry stared at him in horror.

"Jesus Christ, you're enjoying this."

Louis simply wiggled his eyebrows.

Harry breathed deeply, closing his eyes. "Fuck I'm too young to die—"

Louis laughed, pulling into the dorm parking lot, braking slightly too hard.

Harry jerked forward, cursing under his breath.

When the car finally stopped, Harry sagged in relief, immediately unclipping his seatbelt.

"I am never letting you drive anything ever again."

Louis smirked, tossing him the keys. "Best five minutes of your life, though."

Harry glared at him, shoving the keys into his pocket.

As they got out, Harry pointed at him threateningly.

"Never again."

Louis grinned, walking toward the dorm. "Oh, Styles." He looked over his shoulder, smugly. "I'll make you let me drive again."

Harry grumbled under his breath but couldn't help but smile as he followed him inside.

By now, it had become a habit.

Before this, Harry would just drop Louis off, waiting for him to step inside the building before driving off. But at some point—Louis wasn't sure exactly when—it shifted.

Now, Harry walked him up to his dorm door.

Louis wasn't sure why.

He also didn't think it was necessary—it wasn't like he needed an escort across campus. But...

He didn't complain.

It was quiet as they reached his door, only the faint buzz of the hallway lights and the distant chatter from down the hall filling the space.

Louis turned to Harry, rubbing his eyes, muffling a yawn into his palm.

"Thanks for the ride," he murmured, voice a little softer than usual.

Harry just smiled, hands deep in his hoodie pockets, looking at him with an expression Louis couldn't quite place.

It made something warm settle in his chest.

He hated it.

Clearing his throat, Louis shifted on his feet, gripping the strap of his bag.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked casually.

Harry scrunched his nose. "Probably not. I've got classes all morning. Then practice."

Louis nodded, ignoring the slight twist in his stomach. Not a big deal. It wasn't like they had to hang out every day.

"Alright," he said, pushing the door open. "Goodnight, then."

Harry didn't move, still watching him.

Then he smirked. "Gonna miss me?"

Louis let out a breathy laugh. "Yeah, sure. I'll cry myself to sleep."

Harry grinned. "Knew it."

Louis rolled his eyes, stepping inside. "Night, Styles."

"Night, Louis."

Louis shut the door, shaking his head to himself.

Annoying. So fucking annoying.

_________

"And then I left the band! Me!" Zayn whined, throwing his hands in the air. "You all kept going, and I was left by myself."

Louis blinked at him, unimpressed, barely listening as he propped his elbow on the armrest and rested his cheek against his fist. His gaze drifted lazily to Niall, who was walking back out from the bathroom, hair still a mess from sleep.

Niall squinted, rubbing his eyes. "What's he blabbing about?"

Louis yawned, stretching his arms over his head. "Hell if I know."

The second Louis yawned, Niall did too, groaning as he flopped down on the couch next to him. He turned back to Zayn, who was still pacing dramatically, and muttered, "Wait—is this about that nightmare you had last night?"

Zayn gasped, eyes wide. "How'd you know?"

Niall snorted. "Got woken up by your whimpering. Was this close to suffocating you with a pillow."

Zayn huffed, crossing his arms. "See, this is why I left the band."

Louis, still watching him with the same bored expression, tilted his head. "What band? What the fuck are you talking about?"

Zayn screeched. "My dream?! Have you not been listening to me? All of you went on without me, and I was left behind!"

Across from them, Niall sat with a deadpan look, mouthing, He's insane.

Louis rolled his eyes, gently peeling Zayn off him. "Right, drama queen. We survived the band breakup. Can we move on now?"

Zayn sniffed, still pretending to be wounded.

Louis took another deep breath, stretching as he stood up. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table before turning to Niall. "Don't you have an early class today?"

Niall's reaction was immediate—he looked away. "No."

Zayn's eyes narrowed. "James."

Niall still didn't look up.

Zayn got to his feet, standing with his hands on his hips. "Horan. Niall Horan. Niall James Horan—"

"We got it, mate," Niall groaned.

Zayn wasn't done. "Are you trying to lie? Young man, you better not be skipping your classes."

Niall groaned, deflating. "It's not fair! When you two wanna skip, you just do it! I have the same right!"

Louis snorted. "Yeah, because we're not failing. Unlike someone."

Zayn clicked his tongue. "Come on, up you go, Nialler."

Niall huffed. "I'm putting my foot down! You're not my mother!"

He turned to Louis for support. "And you're not my father!"

Louis barely batted an eye. "Liar, I'm totally daddy material."

Zayn paused mid-step, wrinkling his nose. "Why am I the mother in this relationship?"

Louis scoffed. "Duh. Because I wear the pants in this house."

Zayn squinted at him. "Sorry, what?"

Louis smirked. "You heard me, Malik—"

Zayn turned to Niall and sighed, "See what you've done? Now we're divorcing."

Niall rolled his eyes.

Now, Louis got serious, pointing a stern finger at Niall. "Alright, get up, get it together. You're not skipping. Move it."

Niall crossed his arms. "I said you're not my— fuck! Fuck, Zay—stop! I said stop, fuck, I'm getting up!"

Zayn, unimpressed, had reached over and pinched Niall's ear, dragging him up by it like an offended mother in a sitcom.

Niall squawked in protest but ultimately had no choice but to suffer.

Louis smirked, watching them leave as Niall desperately tried giving him the best puppy eyes he could muster. It did not work.

Just as Louis settled back into bed, debating what to do with his now-free morning, his phone vibrated.

He bit his cheek, already having a very strong feeling about who it was.

Harry: Lou.

Louis barely had time to click into the chat before another message came.

Harry: Louis.

Louis shook his head when the next one came.

Harry: Lewis.

He huffed, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

Louis: Harold.

Another message immediately popped up.

Harry: Are you busy?

Louis bit his lip, glancing at his desk, where his very neglected literature assignment sat waiting for him. He had planned on finishing it today, but...

It seemed a bit desperate to even think about, but when you get into a routine of seeing someone every day, you kind of miss them when you don't.

Louis cleared his throat awkwardly at himself. Not that he missed him, of course.

Louis: Might be busy. Why?

Harry: What do you mean? You either are or you're not.

Louis: It depends.

Harry: On what?

Louis: Who's asking?

Harry: Harry Styles.

Louis: Ew. I'm busy.

Harry: :(

Louis chuckled fondly. Before he could type another message, his phone started ringing.
He huffed but answered, immediately saying, "Who said you could call me?"

What he didn't expect was the deep, raspy voice that came through the phone—thick with sleep, groggy in a way that made something twitch in Louis' sweatpants.

Harry mumbled, "Was tired of texting. So, are you busy?"

Louis exhaled, squeezing his thighs together on instinct before answering. "No. Why?"

There was some shuffling on the other end, then Harry's voice—quieter, almost shy, which was very unlike him. "Do I need a reason? Can't we just... hang out?"

Louis smiled softly at the ceiling, deciding to tease him. "So clingy," he murmured. "We haven't seen each other for three days only."

A smooth laugh came through the speaker, and Louis closed his eyes, steadying himself against the sound.

Then Harry said, "Can I come over?"

Louis clicked his tongue, still teasing. "Knew it was all a plan to get inside my pants. Who told you Zayn left?"

Harry chuckled. "That really wasn't the reason." Then, smugly, "But if it's an offer..."

Louis snorted. "Shut up. Fine, come over. I don't feel like leaving my dorm today anyway."

"Lazy," Harry accused.

Louis rolled his eyes. "Not lazy. It's just— oh fuck off I don't need to explain myself."

Harry sounded amused. "Sure, sure."

Then, "Alright, I'll be over in thirty, maybe thirty-five, minutes. Still gotta shower, clean up... Unless you want to taste my morning breath."

Louis giggled, a soft sound escaping him, before catching himself. "Why would I taste anything that has to do with you?"

He could hear Harry's smile through the phone as he sang, "You never know."

After they hung up, Louis groaned, rolling out of bed.

He shouldn't care, but he still found himself tidying up a bit.

Not that Harry would mind.

But still.

***

"What about kinks?"

Louis barely looked up from his phone, where he was scrolling through a list of books he was telling Harry about. He blinked, slow and unimpressed. "What?"

Harry smirked, settling back against the pillows, legs crossing lazily at the ankle. "Kinks. What turns you on?"

Louis stared at him for a long moment, trying to determine if he'd actually heard him correctly. Then, slowly, he asked, "Did you hit your head?"

Harry frowned. "No? Why?"

Louis exhaled, setting his phone down. "Because I was talking about books. Books, Harry. Where in this conversation did you feel like transitioning into a fucking kink discussion?"

Harry grinned. "I mean, aren't we getting to know each other? What better way than this?"

Louis narrowed his eyes. "Me and Niall have been best friends for years, and I've never asked him about his kinks. What the fuck."

Harry clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Boring."

Louis huffed and kicked his shin. "Next time call someone else then, if that's how you want your 'hangout' to go."

He grabbed his phone again, scrolling through his list, but Harry only chuckled and reached for him, wrapping his fingers around Louis' wrist to tug him toward him. Louis barely moved, resisting the pull.

Harry's smile only deepened. "Stop being stubborn, I was joking, hun."

Louis rolled his eyes but let himself be dragged into an awkward, one-sided hug, Harry's chin pressing against his shoulder. After a beat, he sighed and let himself relax.

Harry hummed against his hair, glancing over his shoulder at his phone. "So, what were you saying? About The Sorrows of...?"

Louis finished for him. "The Sorrows of Young Werther."

Harry tilted his head. "Is it good?"

Louis nodded. "It's on my favorites list."

Harry pursed his lips. "Yeah, but does it have a happy ending?"

Louis tilted his head slightly, considering. "Depends how you see it. But I guess... no."

Harry groaned, pulling back slightly. "Didn't I tell you not to recommend anything sad to me again?"

Louis chuckled softly, still scrolling. "I didn't recommend it. But it's good, and I think you should read it. I have the paperback somewhere."

A beat passed, then Harry, quieter now, asked, "What's it about?"

Louis adjusted his position on the bed, resting against the headboard as he thought for a moment. Then, he glanced at Harry and began.

"The Sorrows of Young Werther is basically a novel written as a collection of letters from the protagonist, Werther, to his friend Wilhelm," Louis explained, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the seam of his sweatpants. "Werther is this deeply emotional, passionate guy, and he falls completely, hopelessly in love with a woman named Charlotte."

Harry tilted his head. "So it's a love story?"

Louis let out a soft, almost amused huff. "Not really. That's the thing—it's unrequited love. Charlotte is already engaged to another man, Albert, and she loves him. She cares about Werther, but not in the way he wants her to."

Harry frowned, shifting slightly. "Sounds miserable."

Louis chuckled. "Yeah, well, Werther definitely thinks so. He's incredibly intense. He romanticizes suffering, almost like he needs his emotions to be tragic. He immerses himself in poetry, nature, and all these grand ideas about love and art, but at the end of the day, he can't cope with the reality that Charlotte will never be his."

Harry frowned. "So what does he do?"

Louis hesitated, watching Harry carefully before he answered. "He spirals. He convinces himself that life isn't worth living if he can't have her. Eventually, he borrows pistols from Albert, writes a final letter, and—" Louis made a small motion with his fingers. "—he kills himself."

Harry inhaled sharply, his frown deepening.

Louis shrugged. "That's why it's called The Sorrows of Young Werther. The whole book is about his pain, his longing, his inability to move on. It's beautiful, in a way—very poetic, very introspective—but also..."

"Depressing as hell," Harry finished flatly.

Louis smirked. "Yeah. Kind of."

Harry frowned. "I don't like it."

Louis raised a brow. "You haven't read it."

"I don't have to," Harry argued. "I know I won't like it."

Louis sighed. "It's not that bad. It's... realistic. A bit extreme, sure, but the emotions—"

Harry shook his head. "No. It's..." He exhaled, rubbing at his jaw, clearly displeased. "I hate books like that."

Louis raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably but didn't answer right away. His lips pressed together, his jaw flexing slightly.

Louis didn't push. He just waited, watching as Harry finally let out a quiet sigh and muttered, "It's just... too much."

Louis hummed, tilting his head. "Too much?"

Harry nodded, glancing away. "Yeah. Like—I get that it's supposed to be emotional, and that's the point, but... I don't know. Unrequited love, that's just..." He shook his head. "That's a hard pass for me."

Louis watched him, taking in the way Harry's fingers fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie, the way his gaze flickered downward like he was embarrassed to even be speaking.

"But there are worse things than unrequited love," Louis said softly.

Harry let out a quiet, breathy laugh, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't know," he admitted, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake something off. "I've always viewed love... a certain way, I guess."

He cleared his throat, shifting against the pillows, his cheeks tinged pink. "I mean—uh, I just think... not everyone is worthy of it, you know? Not just anyone should get to have it."

Louis tilted his head, watching as Harry fidgeted with the strings of his hoodie.

"To trust someone with your heart," Harry continued, voice quieter now, more measured, "it's—important. Like, one of the most important things you can do." He exhaled through his nose, still not looking at Louis. "And if you give it to someone who doesn't want it..."

He hesitated. His fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve.

Louis could see the struggle—the way Harry fought with the words, the way they felt raw in his mouth before he even said them.

"It must hurt," Harry finally finished, voice quiet. "A lot."

Louis swallowed, something tight forming in his chest.

Harry exhaled again, then forced a small, almost awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know," he mumbled, shaking his head. "It's just... something I don't want to experience."

Louis blinked not really knowing how to answer, Harry spoke again, mumbling, "When I read, I kind of—sometimes, I see myself in the protagonist. And when something bad happens, like someone leaving, it's not just like oh, that sucks for the character—I physically feel it, like it's happening to me."

His voice got quieter. "It's stupid, I know that but..."

Louis barely realized he'd put some space between them. He wasn't even sure why. It wasn't fear, or discomfort, but something... else. Something that made his heart pick up a little too fast.

Harry looked shy. His fingers twitched against his thigh, and when he glanced at Louis, his cheeks were tinged pink, like he'd just realized how much he'd given away.

Louis, still watching him carefully, finally spoke.

"That's... not stupid," he said softly.

Harry swallowed.

Louis hesitated, then reached for his wrist, squeezing it gently. Then he tried for a light tone. "Noted. No sad books for you, then."

Harry exhaled, some of the tension slipping from his shoulders. He nodded, glancing down at their hands. "Yeah. No sad books."

Louis let go of his wrist, watching him carefully before nodding once.

"Alright."

***

Louis sat across from Harry, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. If Harry noticed, he didn't show it—focused instead on his notebook, pen tapping lazily against the page, skimming over words Louis knew weren't sinking in.

Louis hadn't said a word since they sat down. He couldn't. His jaw was clenched too tightly, his throat burning with words he wouldn't let himself say.

They were supposed to study. That's what he told himself. Just helping Harry with his philosophy readings because Harry was struggling and Louis remembered enough from last year to lend a hand. That was it. That was the reason they were sitting out here in the quad, pages flapping in the breeze, the sun warm overhead.

But it wasn't. Not anymore.

Because half an hour earlier, Louis had made the mistake of going to the bathroom after class—nothing unusual, just a quick stop before meeting Harry. But the men's was closed for maintenance, so without thinking, Louis had ducked into the girl's bathroom to grab some paper towels. In and out, that was the plan.

Except it wasn't. Because just as he'd torn a few sheets from the dispenser, the door swung open. Voices echoed. Laughing, talking, and then—crying.

Louis froze in the stall, heart hammering. He couldn't leave. Couldn't announce he was there without making it worse. So, he waited.

And he listened.

It wasn't supposed to be any of his business. He knew that. But it became his business the second he heard the words fall from her mouth. The second he heard Harry's name.

The girl's voice cracked, trembling as she spoke to her friend. Talking about a party. About weeks ago. About how she thought it meant something—how he'd looked at her like she was the only one in the room. How afterward, he'd laughed, kissed her, said he'd call.

Except he didn't.

She texted. She called. She waited. He ignored her. And when she tried to talk to him today—face to face—he didn't even remember her. Looked right through her.

Louis sat there frozen, blood boiling, fists clenched so tightly around the paper towels they tore.

And now—now here they were. Harry sitting across from him, oblivious. Still grinning that stupid grin, flipping through his notes like nothing had happened.

Louis couldn't stop staring. Couldn't stop seething.

It wasn't anger. Not exactly. It was something else entirely—something deeper, uglier. A sickening twist in his stomach at the way Harry moved through life so easily, leaving people behind like they were nothing. Like that girl's tears didn't matter.

He hated him. Hated him more in that moment than he ever had. He doesn't want to compare himself to that girl, because that would just be incredibly stupid. They were friends, if that, but Louis couldn't shake the feeling.

Because Harry had dragged him into this—into his world, into his orbit—and Louis, stupidly, stupidly, let himself get close. Let himself start to believe Harry was different now. That maybe... maybe there was more to him.

But there wasn't.

He was still the same. Still the guy who made people fall for him just to toss them aside when it stopped being fun.

And Louis? Louis was no better for sitting here helping him—pretending any of this was normal.

The philosophy book in front of him blurred. His nails scratched against the paper, jaw tight enough to crack.

Harry shifted, finally sensing something was off. His gaze flickered up—just for a second—but he didn't say anything.

Of course, he didn't.

Louis almost wished he would. Wished he'd ask what was wrong so Louis could finally say it. Finally tell him exactly what he thought of him.

But Harry just went back to his notes, head bowed, pen tapping.

"How do you do it?" Louis' voice broke the thick silence between them, harsh and sudden.

Harry blinked, startled, looking up from his notebook. "What?"

Louis didn't give him a chance to clarify. He said it again, slower this time. "How do you just... crush someone, and live on?"

His heart raced in his chest, breath shallow as he stared at Harry. It sounded dramatic, he knew it. It was dramatic. But he meant every word. Besides, he was a drama student. It was to be expected.

Harry frowned, his shoulders stiffening. "What are you on about?"

Louis scoffed. "You left a girl crying? I heard her talking in the girls' bathroom, before you ask I wasn't supposed to be in there but I was and I heard it. She was crying, you know? Full-on crying about you. Said it's been weeks since some party, and she's been texting, calling, trying to get you to acknowledge her fucking existence."

Harry blinked at him, brows furrowing deeper. "I—what? I don't even... Louis, I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't remember," Louis spat, and really he doesn't know why he's acting this way. "Of course, you don't. You just... move on, don't you?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Louis kept going. He couldn't stop now. "You don't even try to remember her. Because why would you? It's not like she mattered, right? How do you do this."

Harry's face hardened. "I never promised I'd call her," he said finally, voice flat. "I don't know which girl you're talking about but I know that's the truth because I never make promises to anyone I sleep with. Ever. It's complicated enough."

Louis rolled his eyes. "Oh, so she's just lying then? She made it all up, huh?"

"Maybe," Harry shot back without blinking. "I don't know. I barely remember that night." He leaned back, arms crossing lazily like the conversation was boring him. "And honestly, why the fuck do you care so much?"

"Because she's a person!" Louis burst out, hands flinging in the air. "With fucking feelings, Harry! How can you just... humiliate people like this and go on with your life like nothing happened?"

Harry's jaw ticked, but his tone stayed frustratingly calm. "It's not my job to coddle people, Louis. I'm not their boyfriend. I'm not their therapist. We both know what a one-night stand is. If they go home expecting something more, that's on them."

Louis stared at him, stunned. "You're serious."

Harry shrugged, gaze cold. "What's your point?"

"My point," Louis growled, voice dropping low, "is that you're a fucking asshole."

Harry's nostrils flared. "Yeah? And what? You suddenly think you're better than me?" He scoffed. "God, Louis, stop playing fucking therapist. You're not gonna fix anyone. You sure as hell aren't gonna fix me."

"That's not—" Louis exhaled hard. "That's not what this is. I don't care about fixing you. I care because what you're doing is wrong. It's disgusting, Harry. Treating people like they're disposable—like they're nothing."

Harry barked a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "And what do you want me to do? Send them flowers after? Write them a fucking apology letter?" He leaned forward, eyes sharp. "I never lied to any of them. I've never told anyone this was more than what it was. If they wanted something else, that's their problem, not mine. I don't owe them shit."

"You don't owe anyone basic respect?" Louis hissed. "You don't owe someone you slept with the decency to even remember their name?"

Harry's jaw clenched, his voice dropping. "No. I owe myself the honesty of knowing what I want. I'm not gonna fake something just because someone wants it from me."

Louis stared at him, chest heaving. "You're unbelievable. You know that? You sit there like the world owes you everything and give nothing back."

"And you need to mind your fucking business," Harry snapped. "Stop acting like you're some moral compass for everyone around you. You're not better than me, Louis. You're just judging because it makes you feel superior."

Louis flinched, mouth tightening. "I'm judging because someone has to. Because what you're doing is cruel, Harry. It's fucking cruel and it's wrong."

"And what are you gonna do about it, huh?" Harry's eyes burned. "Gonna give me another lecture? Gonna cry about it? You don't know shit about me."

"I know enough," Louis bit out. "Enough to know that one day, it's gonna be you. You're gonna wake up and realize no one cares about you either. Because people like you burn every bridge they have until they're standing alone."

That made Harry falter—but only for a second. "I'm fucking tired of you treating me like there's something wrong with me," Harry snapped, his voice cutting through the air sharp enough to make Louis freeze. "You say you don't judge me because I have a sex life but then you turn around and say shit like this." He gestured vaguely, jaw clenched. "What does it even matter to you anyway? Why the hell are you butting in?"

Louis stared at him, the breath caught in his throat. "Because it pisses me off," he hissed. "It pisses me off how you just walk around like none of it matters. Like people aren't even people to you. You have no fucking morals, Harry. None." His voice trembled, not from fear, but frustration. "And it's confusing because... behind closed doors, you're—" Louis faltered, jaw tightening, "you're nice."

Harry scoffed, an ugly sound. "Closed doors? With who? You?" He laughed bitterly, like the thought alone was laughable. "Just because we hang out from time to time, you think you know me? Get over yourself."

That—that—made Louis falter. Made his mouth go dry. Because for a second, he couldn't tell if Harry regretted the words or if he meant them. And maybe that was worse.

He swallowed thickly, eyes dropping to the table. What the fuck was he thinking? Really. Acting like they were friends. Like they'd been building something that... mattered.

The thing was, Louis didn't know why he cared so much. Maybe it was just who he was—someone who couldn't help but care. Because in his world, friends looked out for each other. Called each other out when they fucked up. And yeah, maybe Harry wasn't a friend after all.

Maybe he'd let himself forget—let himself believe this thing between them was more than what it was.

Louis took a deep breath and stood up, gathering his things with trembling hands. If Harry noticed, he didn't say anything—just sat there, annoyance written all over his face.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, voice sharp and irritated like Louis was the one being dramatic.

Louis didn't look at him. Didn't flinch. Just shoved his notebook into his bag and zipped it up slowly.

He wasn't hurt—fuck no—he wasn't hurt. That'd be ridiculous. He was just... done. Done thinking there was something to salvage here. Done forgetting who Harry Styles really was.

Louis exhaled slowly, steadying himself, then threw his bag over his shoulder. He glanced at Harry once—just once—and the words were right there on his tongue. Fuck you. Fuck this. But instead, he said nothing at all.

He just walked away.

And if Harry called after him—Louis didn't hear it.

***

Louis knew he was being petty. Knew it because, unlike some people, he was emotionally intelligent. Could pinpoint his own faults, his own mood, and call it by its name. That being said—he didn't give a single shit.

He was livid. Embarrassed. Humiliated.

If anything—at least the girls Harry fucked and ghosted got something out of it. Got to feel wanted for a night, got to be someone for him—even if just briefly. Louis? Louis got rejected as a friend.

Was it even a rejection? Did Louis even want to be Harry Styles' friend in the first place?

The answer was unclear, muddied by pride and that goddamn fight. Still, Louis had made up his mind—if he was going to be petty, he'd be brilliant at it.

"Do it again," Louis called lazily, not bothering to look up from his clipboard. "You've put it down wrong."

The prop—an admittedly heavy wooden bench—hit the stage floor harder than necessary, echoing through the empty theater. Harry was glaring daggers at him, shoulders tense, drenched in sweat, shirt clinging to every hard-earned muscle.

"I already moved it," Harry ground out, his voice low, strained. "You told me to put it there."

Louis flipped his clipboard over, pretending to double-check a sketch that didn't even exist. "Yeah, well. I changed my mind." His tone was infuriatingly nonchalant.

From the corner of his eye, Louis saw Miles glance between them warily. Miles had sense—knew better than to interrupt when Louis was in this mood.

Harry's jaw clenched hard enough Louis could hear his teeth grind. "Louis—"

Louis cut him off, waving a hand. "Hold that thought." He turned to Claire, sweet smile pasted on his face. "Did you hear back from the store?"

Claire blinked, startled. "Uh—no. Not yet. Don't know why it's taking this long."

Louis sighed dramatically, tapping his pen against the clipboard. "Of course not. Because why would anything go right today?" He took a slow, exaggerated breath. "Guess I'll have to go down there myself. Fantastic."

When he turned back, Harry was still standing there—shoulders squared, fists clenched, mouth pressed into a thin, furious line.

Louis feigned surprise. "Oh. Right. You're still here." He blinked innocently, then smiled—all teeth. "If you don't like this, you could always leave."

Harry's eyes darkened, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Louis shrugged, head tilting. "Which one is it, Styles? Move the props or quit the club?" His voice was saccharine sweet, but the challenge was loud and clear.

The silence stretched long—taut as a wire ready to snap.

Miles audibly swallowed but stayed quiet. Claire shuffled her clipboard against her chest.

Louis didn't care. Let Harry glare. Let him snap. Louis was done pretending Harry Styles got to walk through life without consequence.

⸻

Turns out, the plan backfired.

Louis knew the second he caught himself staring.

Harry, sweat dripping down his temples, moved the bench with ease, shoulders flexing, jaw clenched. The grey shirt clung to his back like a second skin and—Louis could admit this much—he hadn't expected Harry to actually listen.

That was mistake number one.

Because once Harry was done, instead of glaring or snapping, he hooked his fingers into the hem of his shirt, dragging it up and over his head. Louis' breath caught. The sound that threatened to leave him was so embarrassing he had to bite his tongue to keep it in.

Oh. Fuck.

Harry wiped the shirt across his neck, down his chest, over his abs—abs. Defined and glistening, like the universe was mocking Louis for daring to think he could win.

His jaw clenched. He forced his gaze away because this was not a loss. No. Harry couldn't hear his thoughts. He didn't know Louis was seconds from combusting.

Until Louis peeked—just to check—and caught Harry smirking.

That smug, victorious grin that made Louis' stomach twist. Harry knew. Bastard.

Louis cleared his throat—loudly—and forced himself to sound bored. "Good, Styles. You can leave it there."

Harry visibly relaxed, groaning out a relieved, "Finally." He looked ready to collapse.

Louis almost let him enjoy the moment. Almost.

"Actually," he added, just as Harry reached for his water, "head to storage. There's more to sort."

Harry froze. "Storage?"

Louis turned, expression angelic. "Yeah. Problem?"

Harry's jaw ticked. He hated storage. The cramped, musty room with thick air and cobwebs. Louis knew it. Planned it. And Harry was too proud to back down.

"No," Harry gritted. "No problem."

Louis hid his smirk as he led the way. He heard the deep inhale Harry took the second they stepped inside—that smell, the one Harry always complained about—but no words. Good.

"There," Louis pointed. "That pile stays. This one, sort through."

They worked in tense silence, dividing props, stacking boxes. Louis kept stealing glances—at the way Harry's brows furrowed, at his shirtless back, muscles shifting as he moved. He hated himself for noticing.

Then came the smaller box. High up. Louis should have asked. Should've let Harry grab it. But no—fuck Harry.

He dragged the ladder over, climbing with a stubborn huff. Tugged once. Twice. The box wouldn't budge.

"Leave it," Harry muttered without looking.

"I got it," Louis snapped.

One more tug—too hard—and the box came free, but so did Louis' balance.

His stomach flipped. A startled yelp left his throat. He barely had time to think before strong arms caught him—Harry grunting, steadying him with practiced ease.

Louis landed against him. Chest to chest. Breath caught. Their faces inches apart. Harry's brows were drawn, eyes soft and worried as he muttered, "Careful."

Louis blinked. Shit. He scrambled off, cheeks burning. "I'm fine. Didn't need your help. But... uh... thanks. I guess."

Harry snorted, turning back to his boxes. "You really have a way of making people regret helping you, Tomlinson."

Louis huffed, glaring at Harry's turned back—thank god he couldn't see his face.

He crossed his arms, refusing to admit his heart was racing.

"Whatever," Louis muttered. "Just finish your part."

And he tried not to think about how good it felt to be caught. Or the way Harry had looked at him.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

Turns out, their petty argument from a few days ago had silently morphed into something else. Louis wouldn't even call it a proper fight because there hadn't been yelling or any dramatic end. No grand turning point. Just... a quiet shift.

They stopped talking. That was it.

Louis hadn't thought it would stick, honestly. He figured Harry would text, or maybe he would. But the days passed, and the silence settled. Like both of them waited the other out, stubborn to the last breath.

If anyone asked, Louis didn't care.

Which was, of course, a lie. But Louis was a liar, so yeah—didn't care.

He was so lost in his own head he nearly missed the teasing voice calling out, "Come on, milk boy. Get to work."

Louis blinked, brows furrowing as he turned to Niall, who sat on a stool next to Zayn, grinning wide. The nickname only made Louis glare.

"I'm gonna start charging you if you keep calling me that."

Niall snorted, unbothered, leaning back against the counter like he owned the place. "Right. And how's that different from the fifteen free yogurts you've made me this week?"

Zayn chuckled, eyes glancing over at Louis—warmer, more careful. He could tell Louis wasn't really there, mentally. "You good?" he asked, voice quieter.

Louis shrugged, hands busy adding gold sprinkles onto Niall's frozen yogurt. "Yeah." He passed the cup over, watching Niall's face light up.

But Zayn didn't buy it. "Louis."

Louis sighed, resting his hands on the counter. "I just... I think I need to pick up more shifts. Rent's coming and—" He cut himself off.

Zayn made a low sound, thoughtful, but didn't push. Louis was grateful. Because there wasn't a solution Zayn could offer, not really.

The weight had been sitting heavy on Louis' chest since the morning he called his mum. He hadn't meant to ask. Hadn't meant to get involved, but when she let it slip—when she laughed soft and said, "You know how it is, Lou, money's tight as always" Louis felt that same hollow pit open up.

He loved his siblings. Would die for them. But sometimes he just wanted to scream. Why keep having kids if you can't afford them?

And wasn't that the most selfish, disgusting thought he'd ever had. He scrubbed a hand over his face like it'd wipe it away.

"I'm fine," he muttered instead, not sounding convincing even to his own ears.

Niall was too busy digging into his yogurt to notice the shift, but Zayn watched him carefully.

"Anyway," Louis cleared his throat, forcing his voice light. "How's it going with Liam?"

Zayn blinked, caught off guard, but took the bait—knew what Louis was doing.

"We've been talking a lot, actually," he confessed, trying—and failing—to sound casual. "I'm excited for our date Sunday. Though..." he shrugged, biting his lip, "I'm kinda nervous."

Niall, mid-bite, mumbled around a mouthful of frozen yogurt, "You've got nothing to worry about. Liam's fucking gone for you."

Zayn turned, snatching a napkin and scolding, "Don't talk with your mouth full, you feral animal." He dabbed at Niall's chin like a mother would a messy toddler.

Louis watched the exchange, a small, genuine smile curling at the corner of his lips. "Niall's right, though. It's Liam. You'll be fine."

Zayn exhaled, the nerves still in his eyes, but he nodded gratefully.

Niall finished his bite, gulped, then grinned wide. "You know what I worry about?"

Louis blinked, already tired. "God, what now?"

Niall pointed his spoon at him. "Your sex life."

Louis stared flatly. "Cheers, mate."

Niall shrugged, unapologetic. "I'm serious. Zayn's about to get it this Sunday—"

Zayn choked. "That's not—! Shut the fuck up, Niall!" His face burned red, his voice high with protest.

Niall waved him off, grinning. "Whatever, mate. You're getting laid. Meanwhile, I get it every day." He smirked smugly, even though they all knew that was a lie.

Louis rolled his eyes. "Would you two leave me out of this?"

But Niall leaned in, eyes glinting with mischief. "Nah. 'Cause I'm starting to worry. At this rate, Lou, you're gonna need to get deflowered again if you wait any longer."

Zayn barked out a laugh. "Who the fuck gave you anatomy classes?"

Niall grinned. "I don't need 'em. All I need is Louis giving me the green light and I'll find him a sexy bloke to shag. Tall, muscled, maybe a bit rough 'round the edges—his type."

Louis snorted, unable to hold back a chuckle. "Right. I'll let you know if I need you acting as my pimp, yeah?"

Niall winked, "Just say the word, sweetheart."

But the laughter eased, and Zayn's eyes lingered on Louis a beat longer. Without warning, he stood, rounding the counter. Louis frowned, startled, he knows he must look especially silly with the stupid cow hat still perched on his head.

Before Louis could ask, Zayn wrapped his arms around him, tight and warm.

Louis tensed—only for a second—then melted into it, resting his forehead on Zayn's shoulder.

Zayn's voice was soft, barely a whisper. "It's gonna be fine."

Louis shut his eyes as he felt a kiss pressed gently to the top of his head.

And then, predictably, Niall groaned and stood. "I don't know what this is about, but you're not hugging without me."

Louis huffed a watery laugh as Niall crashed into them, wrapping his arms around both. "Jesus Christ," Louis mumbled, but his hands came up anyway, holding onto his stupid friends.

The three of them stayed there for a long beat, their little corner of the world tucked safely in that frozen yogurt shop.

Louis breathed in deep, stubbornly ignoring the sting behind his eyes. He'd never admit it, but fuck—this meant everything.

***

"You shouldn't do that," Louis muttered, voice low but sharp as he rubbed his temple.

Niall scoffed, perched smugly on the grass, spoon in one hand and the cinnamon container in the other. "Oh, piss off, Lou. Everyone's done it. You're just scared I'll win."

The sun was warm overhead, campus buzzing around them with the kind of rare energy that came from a good-weather day. Zayn had invited Liam, which naturally meant Harry tagged along too. And that was fine, Louis supposed — fine because they hadn't exchanged a single word since their fight. Fine because Harry had barely looked his way. Fine.

They were all settled lazily on the grass, Niall had brought cinnamon. A bet, of all things. Zayn had casually laughed during a video about the cinnamon challenge, calling it stupid — said no one in their right mind would survive it without choking. And instead of laughing it off like normal people, Niall got it in his head to prove him wrong. Zayn leaned back on his elbows, unimpressed, while Liam looked vaguely entertained. Harry lounged nearby, sunglasses on, but Louis could feel him watching.

Niall grinned, waving the spoon. "What's the worst that can happen?"

Louis exhaled sharply, annoyed. "You choke, dumbass. You suffocate."

Niall snorted. "Says who?"

"Says me," Louis shot back. "Jesus — it's common sense, Niall. You know your throat can—"

A low, derisive snort cut him off. Louis stiffened instantly, head snapping toward the sound.

Harry.

Of course.

Leaning lazily on one arm, curls a mess, mouth pulled in that goddamn smirk. "Of course mighty Louis knows everything."

Louis blinked, brows furrowing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry shrugged, barely glancing his way. "Nothing. Just — you always act like you're better than everyone. It's exhausting."

The jab was petty. Childish, even. But Louis felt it like a slap. He stared, something ugly curling in his stomach.

"Go on then," he bit out, teeth clenched. "If I'm wrong, do it. Maybe you'll choke and die. Wouldn't that be something."

Harry's eyes darkened. For a beat, no one spoke. Then, slowly, Harry reached out and ripped the container from Niall's hands.

"Fucking dickhead," he muttered, grabbing the spoon, filling it  and without a second thought tipping it straight into his mouth.

Louis sat frozen, stomach plummeting. For a second, nothing happened.

Then, Harry coughed. Hard. Gasped. His face contorted, hands flying to his throat.

"Harry?" Louis choked, heart lurching as he scrambled upright. "Shit—Harry?!"

His whole body moved on instinct — forgetting pride, forgetting the fight. Panic shot through him, sharp and cold.

Niall burst out laughing.

And then, so did Harry.

Harry doubled over, wheezing with laughter, tears in his eyes. "You're—oh, fuck—you should've seen your face, Lou—"

Niall clapped his hands, howling. "Holy shit — he actually thought you were dying!"

Louis stood frozen, chest heaving, vision swimming.

Harry wiped his eyes, still grinning. "Told you — it's nothing. You're all idiots."

Zayn chuckled under his breath. Liam didn't even bother hiding his laugh.

Louis didn't laugh.

Didn't smile.

Didn't say a word.

He shoved Harry — hard — enough that Harry stumbled back, the smile falling from his face.

"Louis?" Harry blinked, confused.

Louis grabbed his bag, jaw clenched, face pale. "Fuck off."

Niall sat up, laughter dying. "Lou—come on—"

But Louis didn't wait. He swung his bag over his shoulder and turned, walking fast, head down.

"What the fuck—" Harry mumbled.

Niall sighed, scratching his head. "Guess I'll buy him a beer later or something," he muttered to Zayn. "Before we hit yours, yeah?"

Zayn hummed. "Yeah...he'll get over it."

But Harry's gut twisted. He couldn't shake the way Louis had looked: panicked, scared. Not just pissed off.

Without thinking, Harry shot to his feet. "I'll see you guys later," he mumbled, patting Liam's shoulder absently as he took off after him.

It was stupid, really. Running after someone like that. But Louis' face — fuck, his eyes — they'd keep him up at night if he didn't. So he figured really, he's doing this for himself. Right.

"Louis!" Harry called, voice tight. But the smaller boy didn't slow down. If anything, he walked faster, shoes hitting the pavement hard.

Harry caught up easily, grabbed Louis' wrist. "Wait—Louis—"

Louis yanked his arm back, spun around, and shoved Harry again. "Don't touch me!"

Harry's chest heaved. "It was a joke—"

"Fuck off, Harry!" Louis snapped, voice cracking. "Who the fuck jokes like that?! I thought—fuck—"

Harry reached out again, hands catching Louis' wrists before he could shove him a third time. "I'm sorry."

Louis stared, breathing hard, lips trembling. "You're such an asshole."

Harry's mouth opened but all he caught was the way people were slowing, turning, watching. Curious. Whispering.

Louis noticed too — he saw the eyes, the whispers — and cursed under his breath. Harry yanked him hard by the arm, ignoring the protest, dragging him toward the nearest door he could find.

"Hey—what the fuck—"

Harry shoved him through it, slamming the door shut behind them. The space was cramped — barely a storage room, maybe the size of a shed — dust lingering thick in the air. But Harry didn't care. He just needed the world out there to stop watching.

"It's a storage room, calm the fuck down," Harry snapped, breathing hard. He planted himself in front of the door when Louis tried to turn around and leave. "No. Just—listen."

Louis shoved at him, but Harry didn't budge. "Get out of my fucking way."

"Will you listen first?!" Harry shouted back, flushed and frustrated.

Louis stopped — barely — his chest heaving. "Fine," he bit out. "Talk. Say whatever stupid shit you dragged me in here for."

Harry swallowed hard, suddenly feeling every inch of the suffocatingly small room. He glanced at Louis, at his red cheeks, the furious glint in his eyes, at his pouty lips and really Harry shouldn't feel as turned on as he did at the moment.
Guilty. He meant guilty.

"I'm sorry, alright?" Harry blurted, rubbing a hand down his face. "I thought it'd be funny. That's it. It was just a joke."

Louis laughed — cold, humorless. "Oh, a joke. Yeah, Harry, fucking hilarious."

"I didn't think you'd react like that!" Harry defended. "I didn't think—"

"Yeah, you didn't think. Typical," Louis snapped.

Harry exhaled, staring at him. Louis was flushed, eyes still glassy, chest rising and falling — and Harry's mouth went dry. The guilt was there, somewhere, but so was... something else.

He reached up before he could stop himself, hand hovering, meant to be comforting but when his fingers brushed Louis' cheek, Louis flinched.

"Don't touch me," Louis hissed. "Open the fucking door."

Harry's jaw clenched. "Fine." He spun around, grabbed the handle, and twisted. Nothing happened.

A beat.

Harry frowned, jiggled the knob. Pushed once. Twice. Laughed nervously on the third try. "Uhm..."

Louis' eyes narrowed. "What the fuck are you doing now?"

Harry glanced back, a sheepish tilt to his lips. "It's... uh. Locked?"

Louis blinked. "No. Try again."

Harry tried. Harder. Rattled the door. "It's... I swear it's— fuck, it's jammed or something."

Louis closed his eyes, breathing in. "You dragged me in here, for this, and now we're stuck?"

"I didn't know it locked automatically!" Harry rubbed his face, chest tight as he watched Louis sink down onto the floor, back against the wall, legs drawn in.

Louis let out a shaky breath and muttered, "Fucking hell."

Harry cleared his throat, trying to ignore the twinge in his chest. He could see Louis' hands trembling , barely but it was there, and the weight of it hit him full force. Proper guilt this time, not the usual half-assed version he laughed off.

"Hey," Harry started, voice quieter now. He stayed by the door, leaning his head back against it. "You need to calm down. It's... It's not a big deal."

Louis snapped his head up, eyes sharp. "Not a big deal?"

Harry winced. "I mean, we're not stuck forever. They clean the classes, yeah? Every two periods. Someone's bound to open it."

Louis scoffed, head falling back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "Right. And in the meantime, I just... what? Breathe the same air as you and wait to kill each other?"

Harry's throat bobbed. "That wasn't... I didn't plan for this."

Louis huffed a bitter laugh. "No shit."

The silence stretched thin, taut between them. Louis kept his eyes stubbornly on the door, refusing to meet Harry's gaze.

Harry cleared his throat. "I'm sorry."

Louis snapped, voice sharp. "You've said that already!"

Harry flinched, then his jaw set. "You know what? Fuck you! Be like that, see if I care."

Louis whipped his head toward him, glare searing. "And you ask why I won't accept your apologies?"

That shut Harry up. He looked down at his hands, picking at his cuticles, lips pressed into a sour line.

"I'm sorry I'm not as perfect as you are," he mumbled, bitterness bleeding through.

Louis clenched his jaw. "Is that what you think this is about?" he bit out, voice low and dangerous. "You fucking... fuck. I hate you so much."

Harry scoffed, looking up through his lashes. "Sure you do, babe."

And there it was — back where they started. The air thick with resentment, anger simmering just beneath the surface. Louis didn't bother answering, just stood up abruptly, eyes darting around the cramped space.

Harry frowned, pushing himself up. "What are you doing?"

"Getting the fuck out of here," Louis growled. "I'm not risking two hours locked up with you."

Harry leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "It's a storage locker, Louis. There's no way out."

Louis spun around, eyes wild. "Shut the fuck up and let me try."

Harry rolled his eyes but stayed silent as Louis grabbed the broomstick and started banging on the door — hard enough that Harry flinched. Dust rained down from the ceiling, but the door didn't budge.

Next, Louis dropped the stick and crouched down, fiddling with the lock. It was hopeless — Harry could see it. But he didn't say a word. Not yet.

After minutes of furious attempts, Harry finally spoke, voice bored. "Just stop it. You're being ridiculous."

Louis snapped his head toward him. "If it wasn't for you we wouldn't be here!"

Harry laughed bitterly. "For what? Trying to be fucking nice? Trying to apologize because you wanted to act like a little bitch who can't take a joke?"

The words hung in the air like a slap.

Louis didn't think, just shoved him hard. "A joke? That was a joke?" He shoved him again. "Oh right, let me pretend to suffocate and call someone a little bitch for fucking caring! You absolute fucking asshole!"

Harry caught him this time, fingers wrapping tight around Louis' wrists, tugging him forward until their chests brushed.

"I apologized. What else do you want me to do? Frankly, this is your fault."

Louis gasped, struggling. "My— my fault?" He yanked at his wrists, trying to pull free.

"Stop being such a pain," Harry hissed, but truthfully, all he could see were Louis' lips. Pretty, pink, bitten, mouthing curses he barely heard anymore.

He was dizzy, too far gone, drowning in the sight of him — flushed, panting, furious. Pretty blue eyes. Pretty long eyelashes.

"Are you even listening to me?!" Louis barked, breathless.

Harry blinked slowly, dazed. "Yeah... yeah." He licked his lips, gaze dropping. Louis' gaze dropped as well, barely a second but Harry caught it.

And fuck, were they always this close?

His nose brushed Louis' barely, but enough. He felt Louis stiffen.

Louis' voice wavered. "What... what are you doing?"

Harry's breath was hot against his mouth as he rasped, "What does it look like I'm doing?"

He saw Louis swallow hard, throat bobbing. Harry could feel him trembling, or maybe it was him.

"Let me go right this instant, Harry. Take your hands—"

Harry shook his head slowly. "You really need to learn when to shut the fuck up."

Louis opened his mouth to argue but it never came. Harry crashed forward, smashing their lips together.

It wasn't soft. Wasn't gentle. It was teeth clashing, lips parting with wet, desperate sounds, Harry's fingers bruising into Louis' hips as he pushed him back against the cold wall.

Louis gasped into his mouth, hands caught somewhere between shoving and clawing at Harry's shirt.

Harry groaned, low, deep, needy and kissed him harder. Wet, messy, breathless. Tongues sliding, fighting. Louis tasted like anger, frustration, and something Harry couldn't name but would chase for the rest of his life if he had to.

Louis pulled back for air, gasping, but Harry chased him, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, tugging until Louis whimpered.

"Fuck... fuck you," Louis panted, voice breaking.

Harry smirked against his lips. "I'm trying, babe."

Louis growled, fisting Harry's shirt, dragging him back in — because god help him, he didn't want it to stop.

Not now.

Possibly not ever.

Harry licked deep into Louis' mouth, slow and filthy, tasting him like he'd been starving for this, like he wasn't sure he'd ever get another chance. Louis tasted sweet, like that ridiculous orange lip balm he wore and something else entirely. Bitter, furious, Louis.

Harry groaned low, breath hitching in his throat as Louis finally gave in. Not soft, not tender, but messy. Louis kissed like he fought, rough, teeth clashing, hands yanking, no real care if it hurt.
It made Harry dizzy.

"Fuck—" Harry breathed against his mouth, only for Louis to fist his curls and pull, hard. Harry hissed, his hips jerking forward on instinct.

"Shut the fuck up," Louis snarled, breathless, but his lips were already back on Harry's. Biting, licking, like he didn't know how to stop himself.
Harry was half laughing into it, half moaning. "You're so—" he started, but Louis caught his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard enough Harry's knees nearly buckled.

Harry groaned, voice breaking. "Jesus, Lou—"

Louis shoved him back against the wall, breathing hard, lips red and shiny. "What?" he spat, his tone sharp but his eyes dark — pupils blown wide.
"Isn't this what you wanted?" Louis growled. "Shut me up, right? Go on, fuckin' try."

Harry's jaw clenched, his hand snaking down to grab Louis' waist, yanking him closer until there was no space left. "Don't tempt me, sweetheart," he breathed, eyes dropping to Louis' lips again.

Louis snorted, but it came out shaky. "You wouldn't last."

"Oh, fuck you." Harry kissed him again, bruising, biting. Their teeth clashed, Louis swearing into his mouth.
Louis grabbed a fistful of curls and tugged again, making Harry groan loud, chest pressed flush against Louis' smaller frame.

Harry couldn't help it. His mouth slid down, wet kisses against Louis' jaw, nipping along the edge until he found the sharp line of his neck.
"Fuck—" Louis gasped when Harry sucked there, hard enough it'd bruise. He wasn't gentle, didn't even try to be.

Louis shoved him again, but it was weak — his head falling back to give Harry more room, betraying himself completely.

Harry licked over the mark, grinning against his skin. "Still hate me?" he taunted, voice wrecked.

Louis snarled, his hands grabbing at Harry's hair again, dragging his face up. "I loathe you."

"Yeah?" Harry breathed, lips curling. "Funny way of showing it."

Louis didn't answer — just bit at Harry's jaw, harder than necessary, dragging his teeth down to his neck next. Harry gasped, whole body shivering. "Fucking hell," he groaned.

"Shut up," Louis spat against his skin, but his tongue followed, soothing where he'd bitten.

The air felt too hot, the small room suffocating. Both of them breathing hard, cussing low, hands gripping wherever they could — tugging, bruising.

"I really, really do," Louis hissed, nose brushing Harry's jaw, lips ghosting over his ear.

"You say that," Harry panted, hands squeezing Louis' hips tight. "But you want me."

Louis shuddered, biting his lip bloody. "Fuck off."

Harry grinned, teeth flashing and Louis ragged him back down, lips crashing together — biting, panting, scratching. Like fighting, but worse. Like they didn't know how to stop.

And maybe they didn't want to.

***

Things shifted after that kiss — not exactly how one might expect, no dramatic fallout or confrontation. No angry texts, no loud arguments. Just... this.

Louis wasn't avoiding Harry. God, no. He wasn't the kind of person who'd hide from someone, let alone Harry Styles, the stupid, frog-faced quarterback who somehow thought everything in life had to revolve around him.

Still.

Louis found himself in the bathroom — again — pressing his back against the door, breathing quietly as he listened.

Zayn's voice drifted in from the other side, calm and collected. "Told you, mate, he's not here."

There was a pause. Then Harry's voice, lower, irritated. "Then where is he?"

Zayn didn't skip a beat. "How the fuck should I know? Do I look like his babysitter?"

Louis squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head at the way his lips twitched. The nerve of his body to react like that. Like Harry wasn't being a pain in the ass just outside the door.

Harry let out a heavy sigh, and Louis could picture it perfectly: brow furrowed, jaw tight. He knew that face. Too well now. Knew that scowl he pulled when things didn't go his way.

"You said that yesterday, Zayn," Harry muttered. "Every time I show up, he's not here. Funny how that works, huh?"

Zayn let out a tired laugh. "Yeah, real funny. Maybe take the hint, mate. He's busy."

There was shuffling — Harry shifting his weight, probably running a hand through his stupid curls, Louis could almost feel the irritation radiating through the door.

Finally, Harry grunted. "Fine. I'll be back."

The door slammed shut, leaving behind a heavy silence.

Louis waited another beat, then another — just to be sure — before he slowly opened the bathroom door.

Zayn sat on the couch, arms crossed, a raised brow ready and waiting. "You're gonna tell me what the fuck this is about sooner or later."

Louis shrugged, trying to play it off, but the heat crawling up his neck was hard to ignore. "Nothing to tell."

Zayn snorted. "Yeah. Right."

—

Next time, Louis wasn't so lucky.

He should've remembered, should've known, that Harry, in all his stupid persistence, wouldn't just give up.

It was after his Literature class. The hallway was half-full, students milling about, the usual post-lecture chatter filling the air.

And there he was.

Harry. Leaning against the wall across the hallway, arms crossed, hair a mess like he'd run his hands through it too many times.

Louis froze mid-step, textbooks pressed to his chest as their eyes met.

Harry's lips tugged into a smug little smirk, the kind that always made Louis want to slap him and kiss him in equal measure.

Panic flared in Louis' chest. And before he could even think, his body moved — turning on his heel, bolting in the opposite direction.

"Louis! Louis!"

Harry sounded offended, but also — fuck — surprised.

Still, he ran after him.

And what the hell was Louis thinking? Outrunning Harry Styles? The guy who barely broke a sweat running laps while Louis nearly collapsed after one?

His bag thumped against his side, lungs already burning as he weaved through students. But it was useless. Stupid. Pointless.

Harry caught him within seconds.

Big, calloused hands wrapped around Louis' wrist, yanking him back hard enough that Louis stumbled.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" Harry growled, his chest heaving, face flushed from the chase.

"Let me go," Louis whined, breathless, twisting in his grip.

"Not a chance," Harry shot back, his green eyes blazing now, annoyance painted across every inch of his face — though there was something else there too, something like smug satisfaction. "What the fuck, Louis?"

Louis opened his mouth — ready to snap, yell, something — when another voice cut through the moment.

"Styles!"

They both turned — a professor was striding towards them, waving him down.

Harry stiffened. "Now?"

"Won't take long," the professor promised, stopping beside them. "I've been looking for you."

Harry sighed heavily, glancing back at Louis. Their eyes locked, and Harry's jaw tightened like he wanted to say something else — but he didn't.

Instead, his grip slackened.

And Louis, unsurprisingly, took his chance. He yanked free and bolted again.

Harry didn't chase this time. He just stood there, chest still heaving, jaw clenched as he watched Louis disappear down the hallway without a second glance.

He knew Louis would run. He expected it. But fuck, it didn't sting any less.

The professor cleared his throat awkwardly. "Shall we?"

Harry nodded stiffly. "Yeah."

But his eyes stayed glued to where Louis had vanished, long after he was gone.

***

Louis really didn't want to go.

He sat on the edge of his bed for a solid ten minutes, just staring at the floor, debating if maybe he could fake sick. Or fake dead. Or simply move cities. That would be easier than having to walk into the frat house and pretend like everything was fine. Like nothing had happened. Like Harry Styles hadn't grabbed his waist and kissed him like he meant it—only to shove him away just as easily.

He'd agreed to go days ago, before the fight, before the kiss. Before things got... blurry.

And now, Zayn and Niall were both texting every ten seconds in the group chat, which meant if he didn't show, they'd know something was up. And the last thing Louis wanted was for them to start asking questions. So he put on the tight black jeans that made his ass look decent, shoved on a shirt that clung to his chest in a flattering way, and told himself it was fine. It was just a party.

He could handle Harry for one night.

The second he stepped into the frat house, though, he knew he'd been lying to himself.

It was packed. Music thudded so hard through the floorboards he could feel it in his chest. The scent of beer and sweat clung to the air, people dancing and grinding and shouting over the music. Bodies everywhere, heat pressing in from all sides.

Louis scanned the room, but didn't immediately see him. Thank fuck.

"Liam's inside," Zayn said, appearing at his side with a hopeful smile. "I'm gonna go find him, yeah?"

Louis nodded quickly. "Yeah. Go. I'll find Niall."

That was a lie. Louis made a beeline for the kitchen.

He didn't even hesitate. The second he spotted the shot glasses, he was downing three in rapid succession. Vodka. Tequila. Something blue and ominous. He didn't care.

If he was going to endure this night, he needed to forget. Not just the kiss, but the way Harry's eyes had softened after. Like he wanted to say something. Like he didn't want Louis to go.

No. Tonight was about forgetting.

Maybe Niall was right. Maybe he just needed to get laid. Two birds, one very attractive stone.

Fueled by determination and half a shot too many, Louis strutted his way to the makeshift dance floor. The bass vibrated through his body, lights flashing across faces, strangers pressed together in the dark.

He started to move, hips swaying to the beat. Alone. Unbothered. Confident. It didn't take too long to spot eyes on him.

A guy stood across from him, lit in warm red. Tall, dark blond hair pushed back messily, green eyes framed by thick lashes. Sharp jaw, smirk already in place.

He made his way over, moving through the crowd until he was right in front of Louis, their bodies just a breath apart.

"Hey"

"Hi" Louis tilted his head, playful. "You look familiar."

The guy smiled. "I know you."

Louis blinked. "Oh yeah? What's your name?"

"You'll have to try and remember it." the guy teased, voice smooth as sin.

Louis squinted at him, lips twitching. His mind was foggy, but there was something about the guy's grin that triggered a memory.

The guy stepped closer, brushing their shoulders. "I'll give you a hint. Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Lit 101."

Louis' eyes widened. "Oh my god. Ashton?"

Ashton chuckled, clearly pleased. "There we go. I'm the one who always sits in the back corner. Same chair. Every class."

Louis laughed, nodding. "Right. I've seen you."

Ashton's gaze swept over Louis slowly. "Yeah, I've seen you too."

Louis bit back a smirk. "We've never talked."

Ashton's hands hovered at his hips. "Shame." He leaned in. "Can I?"

It was bold. It was hot.

Louis nodded, and Ashton slid his hands to his waist, pulling them closer as they danced.

Louis' heart thudded in his chest, but he forced his body to move with the music, letting Ashton guide them. It felt good—being wanted, being admired. He could do this. He needed to.

"How come you never came to talk to me if you were interested?" Louis asked, tilting his head.

Ashton chuckled, brushing his thumb against Louis' hip. "You're always in a rush. First one out the door when class ends."

Louis snorted, rolling his eyes. "Sounds like me."

They danced like that for a while—pressing in, leaning close, voices low in the thick heat of the party.

Louis felt it before he even looked his way, somehow he knew. The eyes on him were familiar. Heavy. Burning.

Still, he tilted his head slightly, glancing across the room.

Harry.

Of course.

He stood by the far wall, cup in hand, half-listening to a girl under his arm. He wasn't looking at Louis anymore, but he didn't have to. Louis could feel him. It gave him a strange sense of deja-vu, though the last time this happened the didn't know each other yet.

He could feel the tension in his shoulders. The way he gripped the cup too tightly. The way his jaw twitched when Louis leaned into Ashton a bit more.

Ashton frowned, following Louis' gaze. "You okay?"

Louis blinked, quickly forcing a smile. "Yeah. Fine."

Then, without thinking, he pressed himself tighter against Ashton's body, hands sliding up his chest, lips brushing the edge of his jaw.

If Harry wanted to watch, fine.

Let him.

.

Somewhere along the night, things shifted.

Not in an obvious, sudden way, it was subtle at first. A look here. A smirk there. The kind of thing you'd miss if you weren't paying attention.

But Louis was paying attention.

It started the second Ashton kissed him.

His lips were warm and eager, and for a moment, Louis let himself relax into it. Let himself forget why he was doing this in the first place. Ashton's hands on his waist felt good. The lights blurred pleasantly. He was finally letting go, feeling a little dizzy—in a nice way.

Until they pulled apart and, out of habit, Louis' eyes wandered across the room again.

Straight to that same corner he'd checked at least twenty times already.

Harry was kissing the girl.

The one who'd been under his arm all night. His hand rested just above her hip and his mouth moved against hers in a way that looked... intentional.

Louis froze. The haze from the kiss dissolved in a snap.

He didn't know what they were doing. What either of them were doing. But apparently now it was a competition. Some unspoken, ridiculous game they were playing in front of everyone.

And it only got worse from there.

Louis pressed closer to Ashton, tilting his head, letting his lips brush along his jaw just for show. Harry, in turn, turned the girl around and started grinding on her like they were in a music video.

Louis kissed Ashton again, this time a little messier. A little more for show. When he peeked back up—because of course he did—Harry had his lips on the girl's neck.

Most of the time, when they were both kissing, their eyes met. Always for a second too long. Like they were checking if the other was watching. Like they needed the other to see it.

It was insane. Louis felt like he was going absolutely mental.

He needed a drink.

Pulling away from Ashton, he placed a hand on his chest. "Wait here, yeah?" he said with a smile that was mostly habit by now.

Ashton nodded, looking dazed and tipsy and perfectly happy to wait.

Louis slipped through the crowd, heading straight for the kitchen. He didn't want more shots. His body didn't do well with hard liquor—he'd learned that the messy way before. Vodka turned him into an angry drunk. Tequila made him an embarrassing one. What he needed was wine. Wine made him feel like sunshine. Wine made him calm, maybe even a little flirty in a way that didn't feel like he was spiraling.

He opened one of the upper cupboards—he remembered Niall saying that's where they kept it. "We never use it at parties," he'd said once, "but I know you're a wine snob, so I put a couple bottles up high just in case."

God bless him.

He found it tucked at the back, a dark bottle with a fancy label he couldn't pronounce. Perfect.

Except it was sealed with a cork. And he didn't have a corkscrew.

Louis tried twisting the top with his hand, even though he knew it wouldn't work. The cap wouldn't budge. His fingers slipped against it, and he was seconds from trying to use the edge of the counter or something equally stupid when a voice behind him cut through the noise.

"Leave it. You'll hurt yourself."

Louis stilled.

Of course.

He turned slowly, already rolling his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me."

Harry leaned casually against the doorframe, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed like he owned the place, technically he did. His curls were messy, lips a little swollen, and he was still too far away and somehow too close at the same time.

"Just saying," Harry said, voice infuriatingly calm. "You look like you're about to pop a vein."

Louis gave him a look. They stared at each other, the thrum of the party muffled by the walls of the kitchen, though the bass still pulsed faintly under the floor. Louis gripped the wine bottle a little tighter, jaw tense.

He didn't want to talk to Harry.

Especially not like this—half drunk, full of jealousy, and painfully aware of how swollen Harry's lips were.

"Let me do it," Harry offered, voice still too casual.

"I'm good," Louis replied quickly.

"You're not."

"Harry—"

"I'm just trying to help."

Louis didn't even flinch when he opened the drawer and grabbed a knife.

He wasn't about to waste his night looking for a corkscrew or even answering Harry—not when he was already tipsy, already irritated, and had already spent the last hour watching Harry shove his tongue down some girl's throat like it was a fucking competition.

So when he wedged the knife under the cork, ignoring the voice behind him, it felt justified.

"Louis," Harry said, voice low, already sounding annoyed. "Leave it."

Louis didn't even glance at him. "It's fine."

"I said stop." Harry's voice sharpened. "Just hand it over—I'll fix it for you."

Louis scoffed, tightening his grip on the knife. "Don't you have a girl to go suck on?" he muttered, eyes narrowed in concentration. "I know what I'm doing. Fuck off, Harry."

"Why do you always have to be so difficult?" Harry snapped, stepping closer. "You're going to hurt—"

But the words died on his tongue.

Because in the very next second, the knife slipped.

There was a sharp, wet sound—metal gliding too quickly—and then a hiss of pain as Louis dropped both the knife and the bottle, the wine sloshing violently before rolling off the counter and crashing to the ground.

"Shit!" Louis gasped, eyes wide as he clutched his hand. A thin, red line ran across his palm, already bleeding. It wasn't deep, but it was angry and raw—and God, the sting.

He whimpered. Actually whimpered. How fucking embarrassing.

He expected Harry to mock him, but when Louis looked up, there was no amusement on Harry's face. Just a sharp frown, a hint of concern.

"Idiot," Harry muttered, stepping forward. He looked down at the mess—the wine puddling at their feet, glass shards glinting under the dim kitchen light—then back at Louis' hand.

Louis bristled. "I can clean it—"

"Go wait in my room," Harry interrupted, already reaching for the broom by the pantry. "I'll clean this up, then I'll clean up your hand."

Louis blinked. "I don't need—"

Harry cut him a look. Just one. It shut Louis right up.

He swallowed thickly, shoulders tensing. "I don't even know where your room is."

Harry was already sweeping up the broken glass. "End of the corridor upstairs. Door on the right. It's got 'Styles' written on it. Try not to bleed on the banister."

Louis rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Not this time.

He lingered for a second, watching Harry crouch down to sweep the glass, sleeves pushed up, curls falling over his forehead. Louis exhaled, and with a muttered, "Fine," turned on his heel and headed for the stairs.

His hand throbbed with each step, but the ache in his chest was far worse.

Louis made it up the stairs, muttering curses under his breath and his hand throbbed, warm and wet. He found Harry's room quick enough. The frat house was as chaotic as ever downstairs—music pounding through the floorboards, indistinct voices, muffled laughter, the occasional squeal of someone either too drunk or too excited. But up here, it was quieter.

He hesitated for a second in front of the door. Styles was written on a cheap piece of tape stuck crookedly onto the wood. Louis rolled his eyes.

Inside, the room looked exactly as expected. Football posters on the walls. A large jersey framed and hanging above the bed—number 10, his name in bold. A half-empty bottle of cologne sat beside a nearly overflowing laundry basket. The carpet was surprisingly clean, but the desk was a mess of notebooks and water bottles and protein bars.

Louis wandered aimlessly, brushing his uninjured hand along the edge of a shelf stacked with trophies. He snorted. Of course he had a trophy shelf. His fingers paused as they brushed over the sharp edge of one—his injured hand flinching instinctively when the pain pulsed again.

He hissed softly, pulling back, and shook his head. Stupid. This whole night was stupid.

The bed creaked slightly as he sat on the edge of it, leaning back on one hand while trying not to look like he was bleeding all over Harry's rug. He was still admiring how perfectly on-brand the room was when the door opened.

Harry walked in, first aid kit in hand, hair messier than before and curls damp at the tips like he'd rinsed his face downstairs. His gaze fell on Louis immediately, eyes flicking down to his hand before lifting back to his face. He sighed.

Louis looked away.

Neither of them spoke as Harry walked over and dropped the kit on the bed. He sat next to Louis with a heavy kind of silence, not touching him yet but close enough that their knees brushed.

Louis didn't offer his hand. "Just give me the kit," he muttered. "I can do it."

Harry ignored that. Instead, he reached over, impatiently tugging Louis' wrist into his lap, palm up. Louis' jaw tightened, but he didn't pull away this time.

"You're such a pain in the ass," Harry muttered as he opened the kit, grabbing a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton. "Your stubbornness is literally why we're here."

Louis bit his tongue, refusing to flinch at the sting as Harry dabbed at the cut.

"I said I could do it myself," he repeated, even though it was weaker this time. Petty.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Sure. You gonna bandage it with your teeth?"

Louis exhaled through his nose. His hand stayed still on Harry's thigh, fingers curled slightly. The silence returned for a beat before Louis blurted, "Wouldn't want to keep your girl waiting."

Harry didn't even look up. He kept working, quiet for a second. Then, "I'm sure she's fine waiting. Just like your boy downstairs."

Louis felt heat rise in his cheeks and didn't know if it was irritation or guilt. He flinched when Harry pressed too hard, and Harry finally glanced up.

"Sorry," he murmured, not sounding smug or sarcastic. Just... tired.

Louis watched as he wrapped the bandage carefully. Harry's hands were warm, movements steady and practiced. It made something in Louis' chest clench.

"You never come to these parties," Harry said suddenly, not looking at him.

Louis shrugged. "Wanted to get laid. Figured this was the best place to do it."

Harry's grip on his wrist tightened slightly.

"That what you were doing back there? With him?"

Louis glanced at him, catching the way Harry's eyes lifted to meet his. "Yeah. Wasn't it obvious?"

Harry said nothing, just finished fastening the bandage. Then he looked up again. "You weren't trying to annoy me?"

Louis stood, suddenly restless. He walked towards the door as if to get out, jaw clenched. "Why would I—why would that annoy you?"

"For the same reason you're pissed about me and Sarah."

Louis scoffed, turning his back to the door, the tension between them thick in the air. "Oh, now you're starting to remember names?" Harry rose from the bed, his movements deliberate, closing the distance between them. He stopped just inches away, his presence overwhelming.

"Figured I'd try. Someone was being a pain about it." Harry's smirk was small, humorless.

Louis crossed his arms. "How thoughtful of you."

"It's pissing you off," Harry said, still calm, still too close. It wasn't even a question, that's how sure he sounded.

"Get over yourself," Louis muttered. "As if I care who you kiss or fuck."

Harry tilted his head. "Is that why you kept looking at us?"

"You were looking at me and Ashton too," Louis shot back.

"Ashton," Harry repeated with a sneer. "What a shit name."

"It's not. Harry is a shit name."

Harry's jaw clenched, and his gaze narrowed. "Getting defensive over your boyfriend now?"

"He's not my boyfriend. And fuck you."

They were nose to nose now, breathing the same air, the tension thick and stupid and so goddamn charged Louis could hardly think straight.

"Are you begging?" Harry whispered, his breath hot on Louis' mouth.

Louis' breath hitched. His fingers curled in the fabric of Harry's shirt. He didn't even realize he was leaning in.

"As if I'd ever beg you for anything, you asshole." he said.

Harry smiled, slow and maddening. "I bet I could make you."

Louis swallowed hard.

"I'd make you beg and it wouldn't even take me too much" at that Louis nearly pushed him back.

"You're so full of yourself, not everyone wants you."

Harry just seemed amused as he looked at him, and again he repeated just as sure as the first time "I would. And I'd take my time with you too," Harry went on, voice low and intimate, like they were already in bed, like Louis already belonged to him. "You're stubborn, so it wouldn't be easy, but I wouldn't stop. I'd touch you until you couldn't take it anymore. It wouldn't matter for how long, hours, even. I'd lick you open, tease you until you're trembling."

Louis' eyes widened, his face flushing.

Harry's hand reached up, fingers brushing against Louis' neck, his thumb resting over his pulse. "Yeah, you'd like that," he said softly. "I knew you'd be the type. And you'd come just from that. Just from my tongue."

Louis felt a wave of shame and arousal wash over him.

"You'd be begging for it, and I'd still hold back. Maybe I'd do it right here, on my bed."

Louis was frozen, pulse wild.

"I'd make you loud," Harry murmured. "Loud enough the whole house would hear. You'd love that, wouldn't you? Knowing they all could hear what I'd be doing to you."

Louis' chest rose and fell sharply. He wanted to laugh, to insult him, to kiss him.

"And only after all that begging," Harry continued, his voice a low growl, "I'd give it to you. Hard and fast, just like I know you'd want it."

Louis' heart pounded in his chest, his breathing ragged.

He said, "Harry..."

Harry leaned in, nose brushing Louis' cheek. Louis' hands trembled slightly where they gripped his shirt.

Why isn't he kissing me?

Then, like he'd heard the thought loud and clear, Harry pulled back just a little and shook his head. "Won't," he said simply. "Don't want to taste him on your lips."

Louis blinked. His breath caught.

Harry stepped back, just enough to let the moment fracture.

The silence between them stretched. Louis opened his mouth, unsure what he wanted to say, but before Harry could speak again, he turned sharply on his heel and left.

Harry didn't follow.

He just stood there, staring at the spot where Louis had been. Though the smirk was no longer on his face.

.

.

Chapter Text

"Welcome to CowGurt, what can I—" Louis' bored voice cut off mid-sentence, dying in his throat the second his eyes landed on the last person he expected — Harry Styles.

There he was, standing at the counter, eyes already trailing lazily over Louis' uniform — the stupid apron, the even stupider cow-printed hat with the ears. His grin curled slow, amused, like he was taking his sweet time drinking it all in.

"Didn't know you even had a job," Harry smirked, leaning forward. "Are those... cow ears?"

Louis flushed, cheeks flaming hot. He cleared his throat and forced his eyes down to the register. "What can I get you?"

Harry didn't answer, just sat down heavily on the stool, resting his cheek on his palm with a sigh. "Louis... I'm not joking. We need to talk."

Louis ignored him, or tried to. "Can I recommend the Tropical Paradise? Fresh fruit and—"

"Louis."

"Or, you're an athlete, so... did you know we've got protein shakes? Not just frozen yogurt. Though—" Louis wrinkled his nose, "they're proper shit. Tried it once."

That earned a breathy laugh from Harry. "Probably shouldn't say that out loud to customers, love."

Louis' lips twitched, couldn't help it, but he shrugged and finally asked, "So... what'll you be getting, then?"

Harry hesitated, eyes lingering on Louis a second too long. It's not like he forgot why he came here, but he found he wanted to keep that smile on Louis' face so he played along for now. "What d'you usually get?"

Louis huffed, scrunching his nose. "Wouldn't know. I just... throw random toppings together. 'Cause I can."

Harry's grin widened. "Then I'll have whatever you're having."

Louis shook his head, already turning to the machine. "Suit yourself."

It was quiet for a bit as Louis worked, making two — one for himself, one for Harry — hands moving out of habit, Harry watching him with a softness Louis pretended not to notice.

When Louis slid Harry's cup toward him, Harry took it but didn't eat right away. "You always work alone?"

"Weekdays? Yeah. Shop's small. Not much foot traffic. On weekends, someone else comes in." Louis shrugged, eyes on his yogurt. "It's alright and works between school and the club."

They ate in silence. Comfortable enough that Louis almost forgot why Harry was there — until Harry set his spoon down, the sound loud in the quiet space.

"Louis," he said softly. "Can we talk now?"

Louis stiffened. Then nodded, still not meeting his eyes.

"Can you look at me when we talk?"

Slowly, Louis lifted his gaze. Fine. He could do that.

Harry exhaled like that alone eased something tight in his chest. "There's no need for us to... tiptoe around each other because of... a kiss."

Louis' jaw ticked. He wanted to correct him — that wasn't a kiss. That was a fight, a fuck-you with teeth and tongue and frustration. Not only that, what he said at the party too. But he kept his mouth shut. Let Harry talk.

"And that's... not even why I came looking for you." Harry paused, gathering himself. "I've been thinking. About our fight. Uh, about the girl talking about me and of what I said." He glanced down, fiddling with his spoon. "I'm... not used to people calling me out. Not used to... friends, really. Not like this."

Louis blinked. His chest felt tight.

Harry pushed through, voice low. "I snap. I get defensive. I know I was a dick, and... I'm sorry. Lately, we've been spending so much time together it freaked me out a little, and the first chance I got, I lashed out. But..." He looked up then, green eyes earnest. "I do value this. Us. Whatever it is. I don't want to keep fighting."

Louis swallowed hard. Looked away. "I wasn't... trying to butt in. Or make you feel like shit. That's just... what friendship is to me."

Harry stayed quiet, listening.

"If Zayn fucks up, or Niall, I tell them. I'm not fake. I don't... sit back and watch people I care about fuck up without saying something. Doesn't mean you have to live up to me or my expectations. But friends call each other out, yeah? And tell each other when they're proud, too." Louis smiled faintly. "Maybe I was harsh. But it wasn't to hurt you. You can ask Niall too, he'll tell you. I've made that same speech to him."

Harry's throat bobbed. His fingers twitched like he wanted to touch Louis but held back. "I missed you."

Louis bit his cheek, looking down. "Me too."

It hung between them, warm and quiet.

Louis cleared his throat, trying to lighten it. "So... how'd you know I worked here?"

Harry's lips curled into a smirk. "I have my ways."

Louis blinked. Somewhere, in the distance, he swore he heard a faint Irish scream. Niall.

But right now, he didn't care. He knew he'd deal with him later. Because things, they, felt... okay.
He didn't think too hard about the way his heart stuttered when Harry smiled at him. Or the way his stomach fluttered when Harry kept looking, like he wasn't ready to leave just yet.

For now, it was fine.

***

"Louis, please—"

"I said do it."

Niall turned dramatically to Zayn, eyes wide, bottom lip wobbling. "Zi. Please. Make him reason."

Zayn, leaning against the doorframe of their dorm, immediately whistled and looked up at the ceiling like it had suddenly become fascinating. "Huh? Is that a new spider web?"

"Zayn!" Niall whined, panic creeping into his voice. "This is going to ruin me. Louis—I said I was sorry!"

Louis, arms crossed and utterly unmoved, stood like a judge on the edge of a metaphorical courtroom. Except this courtroom was the shared hallway of their dorms, and the defendant was currently naked except for one strategically placed hand.

"You betrayed me, Niall. Twice." Louis' voice was cool and calm and terrifying. "Second time in a row. Next time you feel like selling me out, just remember—"

"He threatened me!" Niall cried, but Louis bulldozed over the protest without blinking.

"—you'll think twice about it."

It had all started after his genuinely lovely, albeit slightly derailing, talk with Harry. Louis had made peace with a lot in those fifteen minutes. His past, his pettiness, and the fact that he still wanted to climb Harry like a tree. But once he'd come back from work, his inner peace was obliterated the second Zayn had greeted him with a quiet, "He found you then?" and Niall had cackled from behind his ice cream spoon.

Niall had known.

Niall had sent Harry to his job.

That little bitch.

Which is what led them to this moment: Niall Horan standing fully naked in the hallway outside their dorm door, cupping his bits and mumbling every single prayer he knew from primary school.

A long time ago, the three of them had made a pact: betrayal would be forgiven, but not freely. Whoever betrayed one—or both—of the others would have to suffer a consequence, chosen by the wronged party. Louis had a flair for drama.

So he'd chosen the ultimate humiliation: a naked sprint down the length of the dorm corridor.

It was tradition. Sacred. Binding.

"You've already seen me naked!" Niall argued, like that somehow helped.

"Yes," Louis snapped. "I have. And Zayn has. But not them," he gestured vaguely to the rest of the unsuspecting dorm population, "and they are about to get a show."

Niall peeked out the door again and let out a high-pitched gasp. "Oh my God, there's so many people out there! Like actual people! Breathing and alive and fully clothed!"

"Yes, thank you, that is how society works," Louis deadpanned.

Niall turned back toward them, desperation carved into every line of his face as he screeched, "I haven't even bleached my hair down there, they'll know I'm not a real blonde!"

Zayn snorted at that, and Niall snapped his head around, betrayed all over again. "Oh, now you can hear me?"

Zayn immediately stopped laughing, eyes darting away again like maybe if he looked hard enough, a portal to another universe would open and suck him in.

Louis, meanwhile, was unfazed. "The longer you hold this off, the longer it'll take me to open the door when you come back. Hop, hop, little leprechaun. This'll teach you."

"You are a monster," Niall grumbled, still cupping himself like his life depended on it.

"Cow ears, Niall!" Louis shouted, arms flailing in renewed betrayal. "He saw me wearing fucking cow ears! That was humiliating! We agreed to never tell anyone ever!"

"You looked adorable!" Niall argued.

"And you knew I was hiding from him," Louis hissed.

Niall paused. "Oh, so you admit you were avoiding him!"

Louis straightened his spine. "Strategically hiding. Doesn't matter. You sold me out. So go."

Niall turned to Zayn one last time, eyes wide and pleading, the kind of expression usually reserved for orphans in Dickens novels. "Please. Zaynie. Just this once."

Zayn finally turned towards him, a smirk on his face. "You'll be great, mate. Just channel your inner Channing Tatum. Magic Mike the hell out of it."

"You're all sick," Niall muttered.

Then, with a heavy, dramatic sigh worthy of a soap opera death scene, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hand still planted firmly over his crotch.

Louis and Zayn peeked out the door, heads poking into the hallway like cartoon characters. There was a brief pause.

"OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" Niall roared, and suddenly he was sprinting down the corridor, pale arse catching the overhead lights like a beacon of justice and regret.

Louis nearly choked as Zayn braced himself against the doorframe, laughing so hard he was crying. The entire corridor was chaos now, a mix of shouting, laughter, and the distant sound of Niall screaming.

Somewhere ahead, a gasp echoed down the hallway.

"Told you!" one girl said, not even hiding her glee. "His hair's way too blonde to be natural."

***

Zayn was pacing. Back and forth like his life depended on it, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt until Louis was sure the fabric might rip. He'd tried on three outfits already — all of them plain shirts, mind you — and yet every time he turned to the mirror, he made a face like he was being forced to walk into his own funeral.

Louis was seated lazily on the arm of their couch, sipping from his iced coffee, while Niall sprawled across the floor on his stomach, legs kicking in the air as he scrolled on his phone.

"Zayn," Louis drawled, "if you change one more time, I'm gonna sew you into the next shirt so you're stuck with it."

Zayn groaned, fingers dragging down his face. "It looks wrong. I look wrong. I look like a fucking— I don't even know. A scared little kid."

"You are a scared little kid," Niall chimed in without looking up. "Except older. And hotter. You're gonna be fine, mate."

"Easy for you to say," Zayn snapped, his voice cracking. "You're not the one going on your first—" he stopped himself but Louis caught it.

"First what?" Louis pressed, voice softer now.

Zayn sighed, shoulders sagging. "First date with a guy." He swallowed, voice quieter. "Ever."

That made Louis get up. He stepped forward, hands coming to rest on Zayn's arms to still him. "Z. It's just Liam. It's still a date, yeah, but it's just Liam. Same guy you've been flirting with for, like, weeks now. You're gonna have fun. You might even kiss, huh?" He smirked teasingly.

Zayn groaned, tipping his head back dramatically. "God, don't say that. That makes it worse."

Niall snorted from the floor. "What's so scary about that? You kiss him, you fuck him—if it's shit, we drink about it. If it's great, we still drink about it. Win-win."

"Thank you, Horan," Louis said, deadpan. "For your ever-so-valuable wisdom."

Zayn managed a weak chuckle, finally cracking a smile as he shook his head. Louis reached up, ruffling his styled quiff until Zayn batted his hands away half-heartedly.

"You look good, Z," Louis added, sincere now. "And if Liam doesn't know how lucky he is, then fuck him. We'll go out, get drunk, and find you someone else with nice hands and puppy like eyes."

That pulled a real laugh from Zayn. "You're an idiot," he muttered, but his shoulders finally dropped, the tension easing from his frame.

Niall was already standing, grabbing his bag. "Let's go, Z. You can drop me off at the frat while you go get your man."

Zayn flipped him off but grabbed his keys. "Pray for me," he muttered as he left.

Louis smirked. "God can't help you now."

The door shut. The apartment fell silent. Louis was halfway through debating if he wanted to nap or wallow in his own loneliness when there was another knock.

For a split second, his heart clenched. "Zayn forgot something already?"

But it wasn't Zayn. It was someone else.

Harry Styles stood at the door, leaning casually against the frame like he hadn't been blowing Louis off — or chasing him down — for the last week. His curls were damp, a hoodie thrown over what Louis knew was probably a sleeveless shirt, and his eyes — annoyingly green, Louis hated to admit — trailed lazily over Louis' frame.

Louis froze. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Harry grinned, that stupid dimple deepening. "Liam's out. Zayn's out. Niall's out. Just passed the two down the stairs. Figured you'd be here getting bored out of your mind." He shrugged. "So, I took pity."

Louis scoffed. "Hard choice, bored to death or forced to endure your ugly face all night."

Harry's smirk widened. He stepped forward without invitation, crowding Louis until the smaller boy instinctively stepped back. Strong hands caught his waist, tugging him forward until Louis' hands were pressed against Harry's chest.

"My ugly face, huh?" Harry murmured, voice low, teasing. "That what you really think?"

Louis blinked up at him, flustered, lips parting to fire back some sharp reply — but Harry was already moving, brushing their noses together before pulling back like it didn't just send Louis' heart into overdrive.

"Figured," Harry hummed, turning like he hadn't just pulled Louis' soul out through his mouth. He plopped down on Louis' bed, kicked off his shoes like he owned the place, and sighed contentedly. "What are we watching?"

Louis blinked at him, mind still catching up. "You're insane."

Harry just rolled his eyes and sank further into the pillows like he had no plans of ever leaving. Louis exhaled, borderline dramatic, and grabbed his tablet from the nightstand.

He sat on the bed, keeping a very deliberate, very obvious distance between them. Not leaning on Harry's side like usual. Not brushing their arms. Not even letting their knees touch — which, considering the size of the bed, took actual effort.

He'd been feeling weird lately. Off. Like his skin buzzed whenever Harry was too close. Like his thoughts scrambled anytime Harry so much as looked at him for more than three seconds. So distance was good. Distance was smart.

Harry, of course, read right through him like a goddamn psychic.

He smirked, all slow and knowing, and leaned back into the pillows like this was his bed, stretching out like a smug little bastard. He tilted his head, eyes dropping low before dragging up Louis' body — not even subtle about it. Just full-on slow-raking gaze with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Louis squirmed slightly, suddenly way too aware of how warm it was in the room. His neck prickled hot. He fiddled unnecessarily with the tablet volume.

Harry's voice dropped, all honey and trouble. "Just come here. It's not like I bite. Unless, of course..."

He let the words hang there, the implication thick enough to choke on.

Louis shifted, glaring. "Stop that."

Harry's eyes twinkled with faux innocence. "Stop what?"

"You know what. Stop it."

Harry stared at him for a beat, smirk curving slow like he was debating how far he could push it. He looked so amused by the whole situation that Louis had to fight the urge to slap him. Genuinely.

Then maybe kiss him. Then slap him again.

Then maybe ride him.

Then slap him one last time for good measure.

Louis had officially lost the plot. He was going insane. He was clinically unwell.

Harry finally broke the silence with a sigh so dramatic Louis could feel the eye-roll in it. "Okay, fine," he said, tone softening. "Just come here."

Louis hesitated.

Slowly, carefully, like he was easing into enemy territory, he leaned back against the pillows, his side brushing Harry's. Just enough to be casual. Normal. Chill.

He pulled up the Netflix homepage and muttered, "You better not start narrating the plot again."

Harry grinned, already inching closer. "Only if it's a romantic comedy. I do a stellar inner monologue."

Louis groaned. "I will push you off this bed."

"Please do," Harry said, turning to face him fully. "I'd love to see you try."

Louis opened his mouth to argue but got distracted by the way Harry's hand shifted, grazing his wrist. It was so subtle, probably not even intentional.

"Pick something already," Harry said, glancing at the screen. "Not another depressing war documentary, please."

Louis clicked on the first mindless movie he could find and prayed to every god that existed for the strength not to look down at Harry's hands again.

.

Louis just couldn't deny the attraction.

He'd tried, obviously. It was basically his full-time job at this point. But it felt like losing a war he started ages ago — and now he was just bleeding out quietly while Harry sat on his bed like it wasn't his fault.

And yeah, maybe Louis used to think that crossing that line with Harry wouldn't ruin everything. But it was different because back then they were nearly strangers, now they were something. Friends. Close ones. Their friends were friends. They had routines. Inside jokes. Shared snacks. They hung out without even planning it anymore.

Which meant now he really couldn't cross that line. That would be insane. Suicidal, even. He'd become the idiot who slept with his mate and ruined everything.

Unfortunately, none of that stopped his body from reacting like a teenage boy watching his first R-rated movie.

Harry wasn't helping. His hand had been casually resting on Louis' knee for the past fifteen minutes. Every now and then, it'd shift higher, just a bit, like Harry didn't even realize what he was doing. But Louis knew. Louis felt it in his spine.

Louis had already thought about Niall's pale ass twice to not pop a boner. He was dangerously close to a third.

When Harry's fingers absently tapped against his thigh during a quiet scene, Louis snapped.

"I'm thirsty," he muttered, standing up. Harry smirked, "I can tell you are." and okay, Louis hates him.

He stared at him for a long, withering beat. "Ha ha. Never knew you were a comic, Styles." Harry just snickered at that so Louis gave him the finger over his shoulder without looking back.

He needed water. Ice water. Maybe a cold shower. Maybe to shove his head into the freezer and stay there until his brain stopped imagining Harry's mouth on his neck.

Honestly, he wasn't even sure what the hell he was doing anymore.

***

Zayn's fingers tapped a restless beat against the steering wheel as the car rumbled down the street. The sun was dipping low, golden light casting long shadows across the dashboard. He was dressed in a dark button-up, sleeves rolled to the elbows, rings on his fingers — casual, but calculated. Like he hadn't spent twenty minutes debating between this shirt and a cream one before cursing both and choosing the one Niall hadn't seen him wear three times already.

"D'you think I'm the first guy he's ever gone out with?" Zayn asked suddenly, eyes flicking toward the road, then to Niall in the passenger seat.

Niall hummed distractedly, scrolling on his phone. "Hm?"

"I mean—he's my first, but if I'm also his first, it's... I dunno. What if he realises it's not for him halfway through dinner?" Zayn's fingers resumed their tapping. He frowned and glanced over. "Niall. Are you even listening to me?"

Niall blinked up, sheepish. "Yeah, sorry. I'm listening. Don't be so nervous. As far as I know, Liam's never dated a guy before, but he's definitely into you. And Liam's not the type to lead someone on for fun. He's like... honor code in human form."

Zayn gave a half-smile, the tension easing from his shoulders just a little.

"Okay. Yeah, that helps. A bit." He looked down at his shirt, adjusting it unnecessarily. "Do I look alright though? It's not too much, right? Not—like, overdressed? Or underdressed? Just... dressed?"

Niall didn't answer. He was staring out the window, unfocused.

Zayn sighed, exasperated. "Ugh, Niall! Come on. I'm spiraling here, help me."

But before he could go further, Niall spoke. "We passed Harry on the way down."

Zayn blinked, confused. "Yeah? I was there, too. What's your point?"

Niall shifted, still not looking at him. "Him and Louis've been getting close."

Zayn arched a brow. "Louis says they're friends."

Niall hummed again, noncommittal. "Yeah. I'm not sure."

Zayn frowned. "You think there's something more? No way. Harry's not even Louis' type."

Niall let out a slow breath. "I just hope it's not like that."

Zayn turned left, one hand still drumming lightly. "Why? I thought you were mates with him. You don't like Harry?"

Niall shook his head quickly. "Nah, he's... he's a good lad. Fun, loyal. He's just not..." Niall scratched his cheek. "He's not the kind of person you'd want to give your heart to, you know? And I just don't want Louis to do something stupid."

Zayn turned to look at him, brows lifting, tone accusatory. "Do you know something I don't?"

Niall laughed, fond and tired. He reached over and pushed Zayn's face back toward the road as the car swerved slightly. "Jesus, eyes front, Malik. And no, I don't know anything. Just a gut thing. We've known Louis a long time. He gets messy when it comes to feelings."

Zayn pursed his lips, the thought gnawing at him.

Before he could respond, Niall pointed ahead. "Oh—here we are."

Zayn pulled up to the curb outside the frat house, parking with a jerky, nervous stop. His palms were a little sweaty. Fuck.

Niall turned to him, smile softening. "You'll be great. Just... be yourself. Don't overthink. And don't talk about cryptocurrency or, like, plants or whatever weird thing you're hyperfixated on this week."

Zayn gave him a deadpan look. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

With a smirk, Niall leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Zayn's cheek. "Good luck. Go get your man. I'll go yell for him."

Zayn watched him hop out, walking up to the porch with a grin like he owned the place. Zayn took a deep breath, glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror, and ran a hand through his hair.

He could do this. Right?

Right.

He just hoped Liam thought so too.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel again, this time slower. He could hear Niall's voice from inside, calling out for Liam, something about "your date's gonna leave your ass here if you don't hurry up!" followed by Liam shouting something back that Zayn couldn't quite make out.

Finally, the door swung open and Liam stepped out, tugging his jacket on, his hair a bit windswept, cheeks pink. He looked... good. Like really good. Casual, comfortable, confident. Zayn's heart thudded hard once before settling into a soft, steady rhythm.

Liam spotted him immediately and grinned, wide and boyish, the kind of smile that made Zayn's stomach flip. The eye contact was broken when he stumbled over the edge of the step.

Not dramatically, just a tiny misstep—but enough for Liam to let out a small, sheepish laugh as he caught himself and looked up again, eyes crinkled with embarrassment.

Zayn smiled.

The nerves didn't vanish completely, but they softened into something warmer. Something less sharp.

Yeah.

He could do this.

***

"I can't believe you had wine gums hidden here this whole time and never gave me any," Harry said around a mouthful, sprawled comfortably on Louis' bed like he paid rent. "I haven't had these in forever."

Louis, who was half-distracted wiping off his desk with a sock he pretended was a rag, looked over. "Yeah, they're my favorite. Mum brings them whenever she visits from England."

Harry pointed a gummy at him, eyes wide. "Tell her to bring me some too."

As if summoned, Louis' phone buzzed across the mattress. He leaned over and snorted. "You can tell her yourself."

Harry looked confused, until Louis turned the screen toward him. The name "Mum" blinked brightly on the FaceTime caller ID.

Harry choked immediately on the gummy he was chewing. "No—absolutely not—"

But Louis was already swiping to answer. "Hi, Mum."

There was immediate rustling and a flash of ceiling before Jay's face appeared way too close to the camera, just one nostril and a blur of hair.

"Mum, how many times have I told you," he said, sighing, "you can't keep the phone this close to your face. I can't see you."

Jay pulled back and smiled brightly, finally in frame. "Hi, baby. Are you busy?"

Louis shook his head. "Not really."

From somewhere in the background, the distinct sound of chaos: drawers slamming, someone yelling something about a top being "too boring."

"What's all that noise?" he asked, grinning.

Jay sighed dramatically. "Lottie has a date. She's being ridiculous about what to wear. Fizzy won't lend her anything."

Harry snorted behind him, still quietly chewing on a wine gum.

"Oh, is Zayn there?" Jay asked suddenly. "Let me say hi."

Louis glanced at Harry, who had immediately paled. He shook his head frantically.

Louis squinted. "Wait a sec, Ma." He muted the call and turned to Harry. "What's wrong?"

Harry shifted, frowning. "I'm not good with parents."

Louis smiled fondly despite himself. "Idiot. It's my mum. She's going to love you. Besides," he added, nudging him with his elbow, "you wanted the candy. You don't get wine gums without a little social payment."

Harry chewed nervously on his bottom lip, eyes darting between Louis and the phone. "I don't know..."

Louis moved to sit beside him, shoulder brushing Harry's. "C'mon."

After a pause, Harry nodded.

Louis unmuted and cleared his throat. "Sorry. Uh, no, it's not Zayn. It's Harry."

Jay's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh! Harry. That's the guy Zayn told me about!"

Louis side-eyed him. "What did I say about you and Zayn talking behind my back?"

Jay waved a hand, unconcerned. "Oh, hush. Where is he? I want to see him. Enough of your grumpy mug."

Louis snorted and turned the phone slightly, revealing Harry — who was, much to Louis' surprise, visibly shy. He ducked his head a little, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Hi, Mrs. Tomlinson," he said politely.

Jay beamed. "Oh, Louis didn't tell me he had such a handsome friend! Call me Johannah, dear."

Louis rolled his eyes. "Harry wanted to ask you something."

Harry gave him a glare sharp enough to peel paint. Louis just smirked and nudged the phone closer.

Jay tilted her head, expectant. "Yeah? What is it, hun?"

Harry cleared his throat again, avoiding the camera. "I don't actually know what Louis is talking about."

There was a small pause.

"Mum?" Louis prompted.

Jay blinked a few times, eyes wide. "Sorry, dear. Your friend is distracting." Then, as if remembering something, she turned off-screen. "Lottie! Come here a second!"

"Mum!" Louis groaned.

Harry chuckled quietly beside him.

Lottie finally appeared, popping into view with her hair half-done, an exasperated expression on her face. "I don't have time, Lou. Fiz is—" She froze, eyes landing on the screen. Her tone changed instantly. "Oh. Hi there."

"Hi," Harry said, a little flustered now.

Louis snatched the phone back toward himself, annoyed. "Stop that immediately."

"Oh, shut it," Lottie whined. "No one wants to look at your ugly face. Turn the phone back around."

"Oh piss off. He doesn't need a bigger ego than he already has," Louis grumbled.

Harry pinched his side and Louis yelped.

From offscreen, Jay shouted again, "Fizzy! Come here and look at Louis' handsome friend!"

"Oh my God—bye, Mum." Louis ended the call before any more damage could be done.

He let the phone drop onto the bed and turned to Harry with a dramatic sigh. "Can you believe them?"

Harry was still smiling, soft and a little dazed, like he couldn't decide whether to be embarrassed or smug.

Louis squinted at him. "Oh, come off it. As if you're not used to compliments."

Harry shrugged, but his grin widened. "It's different." He sat back against the wall, legs stretched out and one hand still loosely clutching the bag of wine gums. His other hand pressed over his stomach. They didn't say anything for a few seconds, Harry's gaze far away, still focused on the screen even though the call had ended.

"You look so much like your mum," he said softly, voice quieter now, stripped of the usual teasing edge.

Louis glanced at him, caught off guard by the softness. "Yeah," he nodded, brushing his fingers along the hem of his own shirt absentmindedly. "We all do. Especially the twins. Phoebe and Daisy." He paused, smiled a little to himself. "Spitting image."

Harry nodded like he was committing their names to memory. "Your family looks fun."

Louis tilted his head, smile tugging wider. "They are." He shifted slightly so he could face Harry better. "They do this thing, during holidays — especially Christmas and Easter. Big games, like full-on competitions. We call them the Tomlinsons Olympics."

Harry's eyebrows rose, eyes glinting with amusement. "Tomlinsons Olympics?"

"Yeah," Louis laughed. "It's serious business. We split into teams, design banners, have categories — physical games, creative ones. Last Christmas, we had to build a gingerbread house blindfolded. Nearly knocked my own sister unconscious with an icing tube."

Harry grinned. "Sounds like chaos."

Louis shrugged proudly. "It is. But the good kind."

Harry let out a small exhale, and Louis caught the shift in his expression. His smile softened into something more wistful.

"Sounds like... everything I used to imagine holidays should be," Harry said, almost too quietly. "I've always wanted something like that."

Louis watched him, a gentle weight settling behind his ribs. "What are holidays like for you?"

Harry looked down, fingers twisting the corner of the candy packet. "We don't really—" He paused, shrugging. "It's standard, I guess? We spend Christmas Day together. Mum makes food, we sit at the table, talk a bit. No big traditions, no games. No—gingerbread warzones."

Louis didn't say anything, just nodded, letting him go on.

"You know how in films," Harry added, lips twitching, "they're always baking together, decorating cookies, wrapping presents with bows that match the tree theme? That stuff? It's dumb, but I always used to wish for that. Just... something."

He laughed softly, not bitter, just quietly resigned. "Something like your Tomlinsons Olympics. I never even thought about that being real. Sounds amazing."

Louis' heart tugged painfully in his chest. He didn't speak — just unlocked his phone, tapped into his Notes app, and turned the screen toward Harry.

Harry blinked. "What's that?"

"Write it down," Louis said simply.

Harry looked at him like he was speaking a different language. "What?"

"Everything," Louis said. "Anything you've ever wanted to do. Big, small, stupid, complicated — doesn't matter. Stuff like cookie decorating, gingerbread battles, whatever you want. We'll do them before the year ends."

Harry stared at him for a second too long. "Lou, I wasn't trying to—"

Louis nudged him with his knee, not looking at him. "Just write."

Harry looked down at the phone in his hands. He was chewing on his bottom lip like he didn't want to let the hope show too much, but Louis could still see it. That quiet flicker of excitement.

"You'll do them all?" Harry asked finally, glancing up through his lashes. His voice wasn't teasing now. Just tentative.

Louis wanted to say something realistic — something like "depends what's on the list" — but he couldn't bring himself to undercut the moment.

"All," he said.

Harry blinked again, clearly taken aback.

"To make it fair," Louis added, clearing his throat and grabbing his own phone, "I'll write some too. Things I've always wanted to do. So it's like... a shared bucket list or something."

That seemed to convince Harry. He nodded slowly, curling his legs under himself and pulling the blanket around his lap like he needed something to ground him.

"Alright," he said, half-smiling. "Shared list."

Louis opened a new note, titled it L and H bucket list, and held it up for Harry to see.

Harry laughed. "Alright."

They both fell quiet, phones in hand, thumbs typing slowly. Every few seconds, Louis would glance over and catch Harry reading something back, brow furrowed in thought. A few times, Harry looked up and caught Louis watching him — each time, Louis looked away fast enough to pretend it didn't happen.

But he could feel it.

That fond, careful thing that had been growing in his chest since the night at the party. Since Harry bandaged his hand, since they stood too close in the kitchen, since Harry whispered things he wasn't ready to think about just yet.

Maybe he was losing that war.
Maybe, deep down, he didn't want to win it anyway.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

Liam was stretched out on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on his phone when the door creaked open.

He glanced up, already exhaling sharply. "When will anyone in this house learn how to knock?"

Harry leaned against the doorframe, unbothered. "Relax, you're not doing anything worth knocking for." He stepped inside, "Just came to remind you—practice's starting an hour earlier today."

Liam groaned, dragging a hand over his face, but raised a lazy thumbs-up without moving from his spot. "Got it."

Harry didn't leave. He stood awkwardly near the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like he was debating something. When Liam finally noticed the stillness, he glanced up again.

"You need something?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah. I just..." He rubbed the back of his neck, then wandered a few steps into the room, like gravity was pulling him in against his will. "Can I ask you something? Something... personal."

That made Liam sit up slightly, brows lifting in surprise. He wasn't used to seeing Harry like this — serious, hesitant. It made him straighten instinctively, like something might be wrong.

"Sure, mate. What's going on? Everything alright?"

Harry shook his head, then after a second he walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, hands clasped in his lap. "Yeah, no, I mean—no, nothing's wrong. It's stupid, just—" He blew out a breath. "Just a random question. About you and Zayn."

Liam's eyebrows rose even higher, but he nodded. "Okay."

Harry looked up, his expression awkward. "How did you... know? That he liked you?"

Liam blinked. Then, after a beat, he laughed. "You? Harry Styles, needing help figuring out if someone likes you?"

Harry flinched at the teasing, his face pinching into something sheepish. "Yeah. Right. Stupid question. Forget it—"

"No, hey—" Liam held a hand up, his own smile fading. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to take the piss. Just surprised, is all."

Harry didn't respond right away. Liam watched him fidget with the hem of his hoodie, shoulders tense.

"Well," Liam said after a pause, softer now, "I didn't really know. Not at first. It just... kind of happened. We started spending more time together. At first it was nothing, just casual. Then suddenly, it wasn't."

Harry looked up, interest piqued.

"Like," Liam went on, "he started asking me to come places with him. Things he didn't need help with, that he could've done alone. Or with one of his best mates. But he asked me. Just... excuses to hang out, I guess. And I kept saying yes."

Harry nodded slowly, absorbing it. Then he asked, more carefully this time, "How did you make him understand you were serious about him? I mean... with your reputation."

Liam tilted his head at that. "What reputation?"

Harry shrugged, mouth tugging awkwardly. "I don't know. Don't we all have one here? I'm not judging, just... nothing's worse than mine, right? I just meant like, how did he trust you?"

Liam sat up fully, back against the headboard. "I mean, I don't really sleep around. Not much anyways. So I guess that helped because I don't really have a reputation to begin with."

Harry's eyebrows pulled together. "Oh."

"But it's fine if you do," Liam added quickly. "Doesn't mean people can't trust you. It just means... it might take a bit more effort."

Harry nodded slowly, teeth tugging at his lip, thinking. "This isn't about anyone, by the way," he added quickly. "Just curious."

"Right," Liam said, clearly not buying it.

A silence settled between them. Harry's fingers drummed against his knee, like he wanted to say something else but was wrestling with it.

Liam let him sit with it for a second before offering, casually, "You know... Louis isn't the type to judge."

That made Harry freeze. His head snapped up a little too fast. "Who—what? Why would you say that? This has nothing to do with him."

Liam blinked, lips twitching like he was trying to hold back. "Sure."

Harry stood abruptly. "Whatever. Thanks for the talk."

He got halfway to the door before turning back, blurting out, "But... if you were someone who did sleep around, and you wanted someone to trust you... what would you do?"

Liam tilted his head. "You mean like, show you're serious?"

Harry nodded, avoiding his eyes.

"Well," Liam said slowly, "I guess... first, stop sleeping around. At least for a bit. If you want to prove someone means more than the others, you show it."

Harry nodded, biting his lip again.

"And then..." Liam tapped his fingers against his knee. "I'd talk to them. Figure out what they think. Some people don't care about that stuff. But if they do, you show them you're serious. Compliment them — but not about their appearance. Little things. The way they talk about their favorite show. The fact they organize their Spotify playlists alphabetically, Zayn does that by the way. Shit like that."

Harry gave a tiny huff of amusement.

"Gifts help too," Liam added. "Not expensive ones. Just thoughtful. Something you heard them mention once, and they didn't think you remembered."

Harry's expression softened, thoughtful now.

"And above all," Liam said, tone warm, "you stick around. You show up for them. Not just once. Again and again."

Harry was quiet for a long moment. Then he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"Good luck," Liam added, warm and sincere.

Harry paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame.

"Was just curiosity," he muttered.

"Right," Liam said again, still smiling.

Harry disappeared down the hall.

***

Louis rubbed at the sore spot on his shoulder as he stepped into the dorm, already picturing his hoodie and the leftover pasta waiting in the fridge. His feet ached, his back was killing him, and all he wanted was ten minutes of silence and a horizontal surface.

Instead, he came to a dead stop halfway through the door.

Niall was on the floor. Fully naked. Lying face-down on what looked like a large white bedsheet spread across the room, head resting on his arms like he was posing for a particularly deranged version of Titanic. Zayn stood beside him wearing gloves and an apron, holding a spray bottle like it was a surgical tool.

Louis blinked. Took a careful step back.

Both of them looked up.

"Oh!" Zayn said brightly. "Perfect timing."

Louis stared. "Perfect timing for what?"

Zayn peeled off one glove and strode toward him with purpose, holding out a second pair of gloves — the kind you see on tanning salon infomercials, slightly shiny and disturbingly ominous.

Louis didn't move. "Zayn," he said slowly, "why is Niall naked in our room?"

Niall lifted his head from the floor, grin stretched wide across his flushed face. "Heya, Lou."

"Heya?" Louis echoed. "You're naked."

Niall just shrugged — or tried to — which mostly resulted in his shoulders wiggling against the sheet. Zayn kept holding out the gloves.

"Come on," Zayn said, impatient now. "Put these on. We've got a schedule."

Louis eyed the gloves warily but took them, sighing like a man preparing for his own execution. "Why are these tanning gloves?"

Niall piped up, still comfortably nude. "Show him."

Zayn grabbed his phone from the desk, tapping quickly before holding it out. Louis squinted at the screen — a photo posted to the campus gossip page. There, clear as day, was Niall from the back, standing outside by the dorms, clearly naked, his ass clumsily blurred. The caption read:

"Unidentified male spotted lounging naked outside the dorms.
For safety, curfew will be enforced at 9 PM.
Please stay vigilant."

Louis blinked. "You're kidding me."

"Not that," Niall muttered, "look at the comments."

Louis scrolled to the comments. Most of them weren't even concerned about the "pervert" aspect. They were arguing over whether the guy in the photo was really Niall Horan from the football team.

Some confirmed it.

Most, however, were more concerned with something else entirely.

"Bro's so pale he looks like a ghost."
"Naked Casper, is that you?"
"Someone get that lad some sun, please. I'm begging."
"Is it possible to be translucent?"
"Bet his arse reflects light at night."
''Whitest ass I've ever seen. Blurring was unnecessary."

"I've been violated," Niall said, voice serious. "My reputation's in tatters."

Louis bit his lip to keep from laughing, handing the phone back.

"Right," he said. "And... this has to do with me how?"

Niall huffed dramatically, folding his arms. "Get to work! I'll show them Casper. Zayn — get the tan!"

Zayn saluted like a soldier and grabbed back the spray bottle of instant tan that he previously set down.

Louis stared at the gloves in his hand. "I'm not sure fake-baking yourself like a rotisserie chicken is the answer, mate."

Niall turned his head to look at him dead in the eye, voice dropping low. "Naked. Casper."

Louis looked at Zayn, expecting some help but he looked as serious as Niall did, "They called him translucent Lou." Zayn exhaled shaking his head.

"I'm reclaiming my image," Niall huffed. "By next week I'll be so tanned no one will even remember I'm Irish."

Louis rubbed a hand down his face, then looked at the gloves in his hands. "I worked an eight-hour shift. I've been standing since nine. And now I'm tanning your arse?"

"Come on," Niall coaxed. "You owe me for... something. I'm sure of it."

"We had a fight just yesterday," Louis muttered.

"Water under the bridge," Niall replied cheerfully.

Zayn was already kneeling, spritzing a generous amount of tanning mist into his glove like this was a perfectly normal Tuesday. "Let's go."

Louis groaned, dropping his bag by the bed and crouching beside him with a martyr's sigh. He sprayed his glove once, eyeing the bronze sheen with suspicion.

"Are we doing... everything?" he asked, hesitant.

Niall turned his head slightly, met Louis' gaze, and said, very seriously, "Every. Thing."

Louis sighed, rubbed his gloved hands together, and got to work.

Fast-forward twenty minutes later, and Louis was seriously questioning every life decision that had led him here.

Louis sat cross-legged on the floor, gloved hands hovering hesitantly over Niall's very naked backside. Zayn was crouched beside him, spraying slow, even layers of tan over Niall's left cheek with an unsettling amount of professionalism.

Louis stared at the scene for a beat longer than necessary before muttering, "Man, I know we're friends, but I never thought there would come a day I'd be this close to your asshole."

Niall's voice came out muffled against his folded arms. "Are you getting everything? Don't even think about cheating, I'll know if you miss a spot!"

Zayn rolled his eyes, shifting his weight as he smoothed the tan down. "You're welcome, by the way. For this moment of pure brotherhood."

Louis grimaced, lightly patting more tanning mousse onto Niall's lower back. "Is this even safe to put there? I feel like we haven't researched this well enough."

Zayn snorted. "Probably not. Besides, I doubt anyone will ever look this up close. Unless you have butt sex, like Louis."

Niall immediately giggled into his arm. "Butt sex."

Louis threw him an unimpressed look. "Ha ha. I'm not the only one now, am I?" He fake-smiled sweetly at Zayn, who immediately flushed a violent shade of red.

"Haven't... uh... haven't done that yet," Zayn mumbled into his chest, ears practically glowing.

Niall barked out a laugh. "Ha! Yet. Still a butt virgin."

Zayn narrowed his eyes, then promptly squeezed Niall's back extra hard, making him yelp.

They worked in mostly silence for a few more minutes—well, silence aside from Niall's occasional hums and vague mumbling about even coverage—until Zayn broke it.

"Do you guys think this counts as cheating?" Zayn asked suddenly, frowning down at his handiwork.

Louis hummed thoughtfully, still smoothing the tan into Niall's lower back. "I mean... you are touching another man's butt crack."

Zayn shrugged, unconvinced. "Yeah, but... it's just Niall."

At that, Niall's head shot up indignantly. "Just Niall? Excuse you! Do you know how many people would pay for—" He made a move to sit up, but Louis immediately shoved him back down by the shoulder.

"Pipe down, Casper," Louis said, shaking his head. "We're doing you a favour."

They ignored Niall's grumbling as Louis said, "I say ask Liam. Leave it up to the boyfriend to decide if you've technically cheated via spray tan."

Zayn hummed, pleased. "Will do. When we finish this. Also, not my boyfriend... yet. We've only went out on one date. We'll need a plan on how to move forward later, by the way."

He clapped his hands together once. "Alright, Horan. Other side."

With a loud, dramatic sigh, Niall rolled over onto his back, grinning up at them like the most unhinged Greek god to ever grace a marble floor.

"Go on, ladies," he said, wiggling his brows and spreading his arms like he was waiting to be serenaded. "Have at it."

Louis stared at him for a beat. "I feel like I'll need to bleach my hands and eyes after this."

Zayn just snorted, grabbing the tanning bottle again. "Don't think that'll be enough, mate."

Louis shook his head, muttering under his breath as he got back to work. "Could've just gone to the beach, you know. Done this the natural way."

"No we couldn't," Zayn said immediately, not even looking up. "This one gets redder than a boiled lobster if he stands outside for more than twenty minutes."

Niall nodded solemnly. "Besides, it's cold as fuck out. I'd lose a toe."

Louis let out a long, defeated sigh. "Alright, fine. Let's just get this over with."

***

"And I'm a great listener," Harry kept going proudly, shifting on one of the beat-up chairs next to Louis.

Louis hummed distractedly, pen scribbling quickly over the budgeting sheet spread out on the table in front of him. He was counting expenses for the next show, muttering numbers under his breath as he double-checked totals.

Harry leaned back, arms crossed, watching him. "Wait, no," he corrected himself, frowning thoughtfully. "I'm not a great listener. But with you, I am. Not everyone. Just you."

Louis, still bent over his papers, didn't even glance up. "That's great, Harry," he said, voice flat, ticking something off his list.

Harry huffed, offended. "Am I talking to a wall?"

Louis sighed heavily, finally dropping his pen and lifting his head. He looked Harry dead in the eye. "I'm listening. See? I'm a great listener too." He spread his hands wide in mock patience. "What do you want now?"

Harry pointed at him like he was making an important revelation. "No, did you hear what I said? I'm not a great listener. I just... listen to you."

Louis blinked at him, unimpressed. "Alright. Makes sense. I'm not boring."

Harry grinned, pleased, and leaned forward like he was about to deliver news of national importance. "So! I know you love Grease, so—"

Louis immediately wrinkled his nose. "Loved," he corrected. "Past tense. I said in high school I used to love Grease. See? You're not even a great listener so you're bothering me just to spout nonsense."

Harry's mouth opened in surprise. "Oh." He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. "So you don't like it anymore?"

Louis sighed again and turned his body slightly, giving Harry his full attention like he was dealing with a particularly persistent child. "It's not that I don't like it. I just don't care for it much anymore. Why?"

Harry shifted in his seat, visibly fidgeting, biting his bottom lip like he was physically trying to stop himself from blurting something out. "So, uh... say someone got you a signed copy of Grease. Like, the original cast recording. Which, by the way, is very hard to find. Limited editions, collectors' stuff, real serious business—anyway, let's say someone got it for you as a gift. Would you like it?"

Louis squinted at him suspiciously. "Uh... I'd probably resell it?" he said slowly, dragging out the words. "Why? Planning on gifting me one?"
He snorted at his own joke, leaning back in his chair, and watched as Harry's face turned a very specific shade of red that Louis hadn't seen often.

"What? No, of course not," Harry said quickly, clearly flustered as he fidgeted nervously with his sleeves.

"Good," Louis replied simply, leaning back in his chair. He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Is there anything else you need my attention for, Styles?"

Harry's shoulders visibly slumped, his voice tinged with genuine offense as he muttered, "If I'm bothering you so much, just say that."

Louis blinked slowly, tilting his head in mock confusion. "I did say that, a couple of sentences ago. Missed that, Mr. Great Listener?"

Harry's lips tightened as he looked away, muttering under his breath, "I don't even know why I bother with you."

Louis' attention drifted as Miles passed by, obviously avoiding eye contact. "Miles," Louis called, waving him down, "take Harry with you, would you? Give him something useful to do."

Miles shook his head vigorously, quickening his pace. "Absolutely not. Had him for the past half-hour, mate. He's all yours now."

Louis groaned in frustration. Spotting Claire, he tried again. "Claire? Can you—"

"Don't even think about it, Tomlinson," she shot back immediately without even glancing up from her script.

Harry stood up abruptly, turning to face the room in exaggerated disbelief. "Hello? Are you all serious right now? Does literally no one want me around?"

Louis shook his head, returning his attention to his papers. His voice softened slightly, teasing but gentle. "Sorry babe, just busy. Promise I'll listen to all your nonsense in a second."

Harry sighed dramatically, sinking back into the chair and crossing his arms, eyes narrowed petulantly but unable to hide the slight upward twitch of his lips. For the next twenty minutes, he sulked silently, watching Louis work intently, his eyes trailing the precise movements of Louis' fingers as he wrote.

Finally, Louis exhaled, neatly folding the papers and sliding them into his bag. "Alright," he said with an easy smile, rising to his feet and stretching. "Let's go eat?"

Harry nodded immediately, relief evident as he got up and stretched too, arms raised high above his head.

They made their way out of the room, Louis walking ahead while Harry lingered behind as they rounded the corner. Louis paused, turning back with an amused look. "You coming?"

"Yeah, just a sec," Harry called softly. He reached into his bag, pulling out a small, light blue packet. He stared at it for a moment, a flash of frustration crossing his features before tossing it into the trash bin with a quiet mutter, "Stupid."

He jogged forward to catch up, slipping into step beside Louis, who offered him a curious side-glance but said nothing more as they continued down the hallway.

.

They sat parked under a flickering streetlight, the leftover wrappers from their fast food haul crumpled between them. Harry tossed a fry into his mouth lazily, then wiped his fingers on a napkin before digging into the side pocket of the seat.

"Alright," he said, pulling out a small notepad. "How about favorite color?"

Louis raised a brow, leaning back against the seat. "Don't think I have one."

Harry frowned, flipping open the pad like he was genuinely offended. "Who doesn't have a favorite color?"

Louis shrugged. "You do?"

"Of course I do," Harry said, like it was obvious.

Louis turned slightly toward him, smirking. "Which one, then?"

Harry smirked back, eyes glinting. "Easy. Blue. Like your eyes."

Louis snickered, reaching for another fry. "Yeah? How many times have you used that line, and how far's it gotten you?"

Harry's smile widened like he couldn't help himself. "Many times. Very far."

He looked so smug Louis could only roll his eyes, but then Harry seemed to catch himself as if remembering something. He shook his head quickly, cheeks flushing just a little. "Never. I meant never said that before. Not far. Because I never said it."

Louis tilted his head, eyeing him. "You're acting weird. Why are you acting weird?"

Harry ignored the question, flipping a page on the notepad. "Come on, pick a color."

Louis narrowed his eyes. "I feel like you're pressuring me into saying green."

Harry gasped dramatically. "Isn't that great? Mine's blue, yours is green. Perfect."

"No," Louis protested, sitting up straighter. "That's not what I said—"

"I said that's great!" Harry cut him off loudly, scribbling something down on the notepad.

Louis leaned over, trying to peek. "C'mon, you've been writing in that thing for ages. What're you doing?"

Harry snapped the pad shut and held it just out of reach. "Just... remembering stuff."

Louis blinked, frowning. "Why are you—why would you want to remember any of this?"

Harry didn't answer right away. He just tucked the notepad into his backpack in the backseat, then shifted gears entirely. "Me, Liam, and Niall are going out for drinks tonight. Pretty sure Liam invited Zayn too. Check with him if you want. Wanna come?"

Louis, still a little thrown, nodded automatically. "Yeah. Of course."

Harry smiled, this time smaller, almost sheepish. He reached for the radio, fiddling with the dial until a familiar song hummed low through the speakers. Louis sank back into the seat, letting the hum of the car and the warm buzz in his chest carry him the rest of the way home.

***

The bar was packed, loud with students shouting over cheap music and pitchers of beer. Their booth was crammed with half-empty glasses, sticky menus, and a few scattered napkins already soaked through.

Zayn leaned forward, voice raised slightly over the noise. "So say I touched someone's butt crack—would that bother you?"

Liam blinked at him slowly, a shot glass halfway to his mouth. "What?"

Louis, already snickering into his drink, added helpfully, "It's important to know that it was Niall's."

Liam set his shot down with a soft clink, tilting his head like maybe he could make sense of the conversation if he just looked at them from a different angle. "I'm sorry, I don't think I'm understanding this correctly."

Zayn waved a hand impatiently. "Come on, answer the question."

Liam frowned, trying to follow. "Why did you do that?"

Before anyone could answer, Niall loudly cleared his throat and puffed his chest out. "Now that you ask— noticed anything different?"

Harry, without missing a beat, said, "Yeah. Why are you orange?"

Niall glared at him, affronted. "This is called wizard—"

Louis coughed, "Windsor—"

"—Windsor tan," Niall corrected grandly. "It's a color. It's supposed to look like this."

Harry leaned back, giving him a once-over. "Mate, you should get your money back. Whoever did that did a shit job."

Liam raised a hand, voice sharp with confusion. "Can we get back to Zayn touching someone's privates?"

Louis frowned. "Not someone. Niall's."

Zayn pointed an accusing finger at Harry. "You take that back! You know how hard it is to tan someone when they keep moving? Also, I wasn't the one who picked the color. That was him." He jabbed a thumb at Niall. "Don't pin this on me. Or Louis. He helped too."

Harry turned slowly to Louis, ignoring Zayn completely. His brow furrowed like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You did what?"

Liam, louder this time, said, "Can someone give me a real answer?"

Zayn shrugged like it was obvious. "Had to tan him."

Liam stared. "Who would even see that?"

Louis groaned, throwing his hands up. "Thank you! I've been saying that!"

Zayn leaned forward, undeterred. "Come on, Liam. Your answer?"

Liam looked vaguely horrified but said slowly, "I guess... not? Just—maybe don't anymore? Let Louis do it."

Harry snapped his head around to glare at him. "Why? Why would he do it?"

Louis held up his hands. "How about no one does it anymore, and this just be a one-time thing?"

.

The night air was cool, cutting through the leftover buzz of alcohol in their veins as they stumbled out of the bar. None of them had driven — a mutual, unspoken agreement made before the night even began — so they set off on foot toward the dorms, Niall draped between Liam and Zayn like a sagging sack of potatoes.

Zayn, wobbling a little himself, tugged at Niall's arm. "Told you not to drink so much. Why do you always do this?"

Niall slurred pitifully, "I drunk to forget."

Liam, ever the patient one, pulled Niall up better and asked gently, "Forget about what?"

Niall's eyes crossed slightly as he mumbled, "My orange tan? Harry was right all— fuck, I'm gonna throw up."

Zayn gasped, letting go instantly and making Niall stumble forward. Liam shot him a look and quickly steered Niall to the side of the street, crouching with him as he heaved into the bushes.

Louis and Harry followed a few steps behind, hands stuffed in their pockets. Harry shook his head, chuckling. "He always drinks so much."

Louis chuckled too, though there was a hint of worry in his glance toward Niall. "Yeah. It's 'cause he's Irish but he won't admit Florida weakened him. So he drinks to prove himself, then he gets sick. Happens every time."

Harry laughed under his breath at that, the sound warm and familiar.

Once Niall had emptied his stomach and looked marginally more alive, they resumed walking.

Louis nudged Liam lightly. "You two should get going. We'll get Niall to the dorm. You'll get back way too late if you walk us there and then leave."

Harry shrugged easily, answering before Liam could. "I don't mind."

Louis turned to look at him, only to find Harry already watching him. A weird flutter stirred in Louis' stomach, and he quickly looked away, muttering, "Alright then." He could feel the slight blush rising in his cheeks and cursed internally when he caught Harry's smile widen knowingly.

When they made it to the dorm, they wrestled Niall out of his shirt and pants, somehow managing to tuck him into Zayn's bed without waking him properly.

Louis stretched out his arms. "I can sleep on the floor."

Zayn shook his head, still slightly flushed from the night. "'M fine with sharing if you want."

Louis nodded, relieved. "Alright."

Liam glanced at Niall, whose eyes were closed, already breathing heavily. "Next time we go drinking, we're putting him on a limit. I don't care."

Louis chuckled, grabbing a blanket from the foot of the bed. "Good luck with that."

Liam shook his head but leaned in to give a quick, shy kiss on Zayn's cheek, leaving Zayn looking adorably stunned.

Turning to Harry, Liam said, "Let's go?"

Harry nodded, glancing back at Louis. "Yeah. Coming." His eyes caught Louis', who was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.

"I'll see you tomorrow at practice?" Harry asked, hopeful.

Louis scrunched his nose. "Will I have to sit there for two hours just watching you three run around?"

Harry grinned down at him. "Something like that."

"Yeah you can forget that" Louis sighed heavily when Harry's lips twitched downwards. "I guess I might come by the end if you really want me to."

Harry shrugged, the smile once again playing on his lips. "I'll take what I can get."

"Harry, come on," Liam called again from the door.

Harry rolled his eyes dramatically. "Coming." He turned back, flashing them all a crooked grin. "Night, Lou. Night, Zayn."

Then, louder, he shouted over his shoulder, "Night, Niall!"

From the bed, Niall mumbled something completely unintelligible, making them all chuckle quietly as the door swung shut behind Harry and Liam.

Louis kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed properly, grabbing the spare blanket Zayn tossed his way.

"Night, mate," Zayn mumbled, already half-asleep.

"Night," Louis said back, voice low.

Niall snored loudly from the other side of the room.

Louis rolled his eyes fondly, pulling the blanket up "Night Niall"

***

Louis sat perched on the far end of the bleachers, back leaning against the concrete wall, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles along the seats. His laptop balanced on his thighs as he typed the last few sentences of an essay he'd been putting off all week. Every now and then, he'd glance up toward the field, catching sight of Harry pulling stupid faces at him in between drills.

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head fondly before dropping his gaze back to the screen.

On the field, Niall lagged behind the others, dragging his feet across the grass. Louis didn't blame him; after the night they'd had, it was a miracle he was even upright. He grimaced sympathetically as he watched Niall trip over nothing, then went back to finishing the conclusion paragraph.

As he clicked through the final checklist for his assignment, his mind wandered to the conversation he'd had with his mum that morning. With a sigh, he closed the essay tab and pulled up Skyscanner, typing in flight options to Manchester for Christmas break.

When the prices loaded, he groaned, slumping further against the wall. "Fucking hell," he muttered. "Eight hundred dollars."

He grumbled to himself as he started filling out his information, cursing the airline industry and his wallet in equal measure.

Movement caught his eye, and he glanced up just in time to see Harry jogging toward him, sweat slicking his curls to his forehead. Louis instinctively looked away, focusing hard on the booking form and definitely not on the way Harry's shirt clung to his chest.

Harry grinned at him as he reached the bleachers, grabbing the railing and pulling himself up to sit casually on the edge near Louis' feet.

Louis arched a brow at him. "Shouldn't you be using your break to drink some water or something?"

Harry shrugged, still a little breathless. "It's fine. I'll do it in a sec. What are you doing?"

"Finishing an essay," Louis replied, flicking his eyes back toward the field where the rest of the team was gathered by the benches.

"How's Niall holding up?" he asked, tone lighter.

Harry grimaced. "Coach isn't too happy."

Louis snorted, about to make some comment about Niall's constitution, when Harry shifted closer, lowering his voice.

"Uh—can we talk for a sec?"

Louis blinked at him. "Aren't we talking right now?"

Harry gave a crooked smile, then swung his legs over the railing, hopping down and walking up a few steps to sit properly by Louis' feet.

"Yeah, but, like..." Harry trailed off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Louis tilted his head, shutting his laptop with a soft click. "How long's your break?"

Harry glanced toward the field. "About ten minutes. Then we have another half hour of drills."

Louis nodded, shifting so he could see him better. When Harry didn't say anything else right away, Louis nudged his shin lightly with the toe of his shoe.

"So? What d'you want to talk about?"

Harry took a breath, gathering himself. "So, uh—Saturday," he started, voice casual but his hands fidgeting slightly, "there's this thing I heard about."

Louis raised a brow, curious. "Yeah?"

Harry scratched the back of his head, glancing out at the field before looking back at Louis. "It's, uh... a drive-in cinema thing. You pull up in your car, watch whatever movie's playing. Probably a Disney one."

Louis hummed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Thought we could, you know... go," Harry finished, his voice softer now.

Louis blinked, thrown for a second. Go where? he thought stupidly, and then immediately caught up.

Oh.

Still, he kept his expression neutral. "Like, all of us?" he asked, voice even.

Harry shook his head. "No. Just... us."

Louis' stomach gave an involuntary flip, but he masked it by picking at the fraying seam of his jeans.

"Is this casual?" he asked, careful not to let too much show.

Harry shrugged, his grin tilting a little lopsided. "It's whatever you want it to be."

Louis nodded slowly, heart thudding harder than he wanted to admit. "Alright,"

But before he could overthink it, Harry blurted out, "But I'd like it to be a date."

Louis' eyes widened a little. "What?"

Harry's smile turned sheepish but firm. "A date," he repeated. "I want it to be a date. But—" he hesitated, "—I'm giving you an opening, so you can choose."

Louis swallowed around the sudden tightness in his throat. His mind whirred with every reason he shouldn't say yes, shouldn't risk it.

Friends. Friends. Friends.

The alarm bells clanged through his mind, loud and insistent.
He bit down on his bottom lip, suddenly indecisive, even as Harry's smile seemed to dim slightly with every second he stayed quiet.

Louis forced himself to say it, even though his throat felt tight. "I don't want to fuck our friendship up, Harry," he said, voice lower than he meant it to be. "If it's just for fun..."

He hated how vulnerable he sounded, hated that he had to look away to even get the words out.

Harry's voice was quick, rushed. "It's not—" he said, leaning forward a little. "It was. At first. But not anymore. It's—different now. But if you don't want to, it's fine. We can just go and the others can come too."

Louis kept his gaze on the field for a second longer, feeling Harry's words sink into his chest.
A beat passed.

He cleared his throat, "...A date sounds nice."

Harry's face lit up instantly, he smiled at him, so open and stupidly sweet and Louis had to duck his head, pretending to swipe some imaginary dust off his jeans to hide the heat crawling up his neck.

A whistle from the field cut through the moment, sharp and demanding. Harry pushed himself up with a groan.

"Break's over," he said with a grin, brushing the back of his hand against Louis' knee lightly before jogging off.

Louis watched him go, laptop still closed on his lap, heart hammering against his ribs.

He shook his head at himself, chuckling under his breath, and opened his laptop again.

Not that he'd be getting any work done now.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

Louis was indecisive.

Painfully, annoyingly indecisive.

He didn't know what to do about his and Harry's date because, in his friend group, everything was shared.

It was an unspoken rule. Whatever it was—love, heartbreak, a stupid crush, or a ridiculous scheme—they talked about it with each other. Zayn did it when he pined over Liam. Niall did it when he fell for that exchange student, Barbara, last year. It resulted in heartbreak when she had to move back, but still.

And yet, here Louis was, keeping his mouth shut.

Harry Styles.

He still wasn't sure what the fuck he was doing.

It wasn't that he was embarrassed, exactly. That felt unfair to Harry. But everyone knew who Harry was, he was the guy people warned you about. A player. Someone who could flirt his way into anyone's bed, and then go about his day like nothing happened.

Louis liked to think he was smarter than that.

And yet, he was here, debating whether to go on this date.

He already knew Niall would not approve. Zayn would give him that look, to say that he was against it but didn’t know how to say it. And Louis... Louis didn't know if he could handle that right now.

So, he decided he'd go.

He'd go, and if nothing gave him a red flag, he'd tell his friends about it. Maybe. Eventually.

It still didn't feel good to lie, though.

So, when they'd asked him what his plans were for the night, he told them the truth—sort of.

"I'm going on a date," he'd said, carefully choosing his words. And when Niall had immediately demanded a name, Louis just shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "I'll tell you later," he said, brushing it off. "Just, let me—let me figure it out first."

That had been enough to satisfy them, but barely. Now, laying on his bed, he realized he was overthinking again.

He groaned, rolling onto his stomach and clicking open his chat with Harry.

Louis: How should I dress?

A beat passed.

Then his phone buzzed.

Harry: Anything, you’ll look good either way.

Louis blinked, his cheeks immediately burning before he could even process why.

Oh, fuck off.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He debated ignoring it, but then he answered.

Louis: Ew, cheesy.

Harry replied instantly.

Harry: Something warm.

Louis stared at the message longer than necessary, his heart doing something stupid and annoying.

He threw on a hoodie—green Adidas, soft and comfortable. Something easy. Casual. This was just a drive-in movie.

Nothing else.

He texted Harry to not come up to the dorm, mostly because he didn't trust Niall or Zayn not to interrogate him on sight.

When he stepped outside, he expected to see Harry's usual car. But instead a white pickup truck was parked there. Louis stopped in his tracks, squinting at it. "What the fuck is that?"

Harry leaned against the driver's side door, grinning. "Borrowed it from Aiden. Thought it'd be better for the drive-in—y'know, we can sit in the back, eat, watch the movie properly."

Louis opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "You asked your frat mate to borrow his truck... for this?"

Harry shrugged, playing with his keys. "Yeah?"

Louis hated how warm that made him feel. Because fuck. That was... thoughtful.

"Right," he said, nodding. "Good idea."

Harry grinned, opening the passenger door for him.

Before Louis could get in, though, Harry held up a hand. "Wait, actually—one sec."

He jogged to the trunk, fumbling around for a moment before coming back, his dimples deep and prominent. Then, he held out a bouquet of roses.

Louis blinked. For a second, he didn't move.

Harry wiggled the bouquet slightly. "Didn't really know which were your favorite, but you can't go wrong with roses, right?"

It was bigger than the last one.

Louis' throat felt weirdly tight.

He hesitated, staring at the flowers, counting them without really meaning to. Twenty-four.

Was there meaning behind this one too?

Before he could spiral too hard, Harry nudged them toward him.

"Take them, Jesus," Harry muttered.

Louis did, clearing his throat, forcing himself to act normal.

"Thanks," he mumbled, brushing past him into the truck.

Harry shut the door after him, jogging around to the driver's seat and getting in.

For the first time in a long time, Louis didn't know how to act. He kept his eyes on the window as they drove, trying to slow his racing mind. Harry was a flirt. That's what this was. That's all it was.

They were just shy because it was the first time they were alone on an actual date. That's all.

But then Harry turned up the radio, singing along to an old song like he wasn't the least bit nervous, and Louis glanced at him, taking in the sight. His messy curls, the curve of his lips as he hummed, the way he tapped his fingers on the wheel.

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, Louis allowed himself to just be.

He let himself feel just a little bit hopeful.

Louis adjusted his seatbelt, the bouquet of roses still sitting awkwardly on his lap. He turned them over in his hands, fingers brushing against the soft petals. Harry was already humming along to whatever song played on the radio, tapping the steering wheel with his fingers like this was any other night.

Louis was trying not to think too much into this. But fuck. It was hard.

The flowers, the borrowed pickup truck, the blanket in the back—it all felt too thoughtful.

"Twenty-four," Louis murmured, mostly to himself.

Harry glanced at him, eyebrows raised as he turned down the music slightly. "Huh?"

Louis cleared his throat. "The roses," he said, still not looking at him. "You got me fifteen last time. Any particular reason you doubled it?"

Harry drummed his fingers against the wheel, like he was pretending to think about it. "Dunno," he said casually, but the small smile playing at his lips told Louis otherwise. "I'm not apologising this time?"

Louis huffed, shaking his head, looking out the window so he wouldn't let himself smile.

"Did you ask the florist again?"

Harry scoffed, pretending to be offended. "I'll have you know, I am now a flower expert so I didn’t need to ask."

Louis snorted. "That right?"

"Mm-hm," Harry nodded solemnly. "Ask me anything."

Louis glanced at him, amused. "Alright. What do these mean?"

Harry was quiet for a beat. Then, confidently, he said, "That, I won't say."

Louis giggled, covering his mouth. "Acting shy now? You?,"

Harry grinned triumphantly, clearly very pleased with himself for making Louis laugh. "I'm not shy."

Louis shook his head. "Alright."

The drive wasn't long, but the atmosphere felt different. A little softer. A little unsure. It wasn't like their usual banter, where Louis could immediately brush things off. There was something lingering in the air, in the way Harry's fingers drummed a little too fast against the wheel, in the way Louis kept fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie.

When they arrived at the drive-in cinema, Louis was surprised by how packed it was.

"I thought this was a niche thing," he muttered, watching as Harry slowly maneuvered through the lot, trying to find a good spot.

Harry snorted, turning the wheel. "Yeah, you and every other couple in the city, apparently."

Louis blinked, ignoring the word couple.

He watched as Harry expertly reversed into a spot, making sure the back of the truck faced the massive screen.

Louis reached for the handle.

"Stop right there," Harry squinted at him, pointing accusingly.

Louis laughed, pausing mid-motion. "Harry, I don't need you to open all my doors."

Harry ignored him completely, getting out and jogging to his side before swinging it open dramatically. "I want to."

Louis rolled his eyes but stepped down, only for Harry to reach for his waist and help him up onto the back of the truck.

"You know I can do it myself," Louis huffed as Harry grinned.

"Are you sure short pants?" Harry teased, not letting go until Louis was fully settled.

Louis kicked him in the shin.

Harry yelped, dramatically gripping his leg. "What the hell—?"

"That's what you get."

Louis got comfortable on the cushions Harry had set up, stretching his arms above his head before settling against the soft pillows.

When he looked back at Harry, he noticed him pulling out two food containers.

Louis tilted his head, genuinely curious.

"What's that?"

Harry popped open the lid and smirked. "Food."

Louis narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, I can see that. But from where?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I made it."

Louis stared before laughing, loud and disbelieving. "What? Are you trying to food poison me?"

Harry placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "How dare you doubt my culinary abilities?"

Louis grinned, peering into the containers. "Didn't realize your hidden talents went beyond throwing a ball around."

Harry nudged him, "I have many hidden talents, thank you very much."

Louis picked up a fork and took a bite, humming approvingly. "Mm. It's actually good."

Harry smirked. "Told you."

Louis leaned back against the cushions, popping another bite into his mouth. "Alright, Styles. Maybe you have a few redeeming qualities."

Harry gasped, clutching his chest. "Oh my god, was that a compliment?"

"A one time compliment," Louis said, pointing his fork at him.

They ate comfortably, conversation flowing naturally as the movie started.

They both turned to the screen, only to realise it was The Princess and the Frog.

Louis immediately snorted, Harry groaned, "Are you kidding me?"

Louis just grinned, looking at Harry's side profile. Something clicked.

"Wait." Louis squinted at him, looked back at the screen then again at him.

Harry turned his head, confused. "What?"

"What the hell. How did I not see this sooner?"

Harry sighed. "What?"

"You have such a frog face."

Harry whipped his head around. "Excuse me?"

Louis bit his lip, trying to suppress a laugh. "No, seriously, now that I think about it—you and Naveen—"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Harry shoved him, laughing.

Louis cackled, dodging. "I mean, not in a bad way."

"Right," Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing his drink. "You're just mad you have a rat face."

Louis gasped, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. "How dare you."

Harry just grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners.

They finished eating, stacking the containers to the side before settling back under the blankets.

Louis curled up to Harry's side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Harry, very pleased, immediately draped his arm over Louis' shoulder, tugging him closer.

Louis rolled his eyes at that, but his smile softened, hiding it against Harry's hoodie.

.

The movie had long since reached its climax, but Louis had stopped paying attention somewhere between Tiana's big transformation scene and the warm weight of Harry's fingers lazily playing with his hair.

It was mindless—gentle tugs at the ends of his strands, fingers curling absentmindedly, occasionally smoothing them down as if he was trying to memorize the texture.

Louis didn't think Harry even realised he was doing it.

"You know," Harry murmured suddenly, voice softer now that the night had settled in. "I don't know if I'd stay a frog for someone."

Louis snorted, tilting his head to look up at him. "You wouldn't have to. You're already a human-sized frog face—” Harry gasped, scandalised. He didn’t let Louis finish his sentence as his fingers immediately dug into Louis' sides, wriggling mercilessly.

Louis yelped, squirming violently under his touch as laughter erupted from his throat.

"H—Harry! Stop it!" Louis gasped for air, half giggling, half shrieking.

Harry just grinned. "Take it back."

"No—!" Louis kicked his legs, twisting in Harry's hold.

"Take it back," Harry threatened, fingers relentless as they squeezed at the ticklish spots on Louis' waist.

Louis cackled, half-heartedly trying to push Harry off, but his grip was unmovable.

"Okay—okay! You're not a frog—!" Louis wheezed, hands clutching at Harry's hoodie. "You're—you're—"

Harry paused his attack, raising a brow. "Yeah?"

Louis tried to catch his breath, chest heaving.

"Fuck I can't even lie."

Harry's eyes darkened playfully, his fingers twitching and Louis realised his mistake immediately.

"Harry— NO!"

But it was too late. Harry lunged again, fingers jabbing at his ribs.

Louis shrieked, tears forming in his eyes as he laughed uncontrollably, body twisting to escape.

"I— I hate you!" Louis kicked out, barely missing Harry's shin.

"Mm," Harry hummed grinning, finally relenting, but keeping his hands on Louis' hips.

Louis panted, glaring at him weakly. "You're losing points."

Harry's brows lifted, amused. "Points?"

Louis nodded, still catching his breath. "Yeah. I have a point system for my dates. Zayn came up with it."

Harry smirked, his fingers lazily tracing small circles on Louis' waist.

"Mm. How many do I have now?"

Louis bit his lip, still giggly from the aftermath of the tickling.

He hummed, pretending to think, then lifted nine fingers.

Harry tilted his head. "Is that good or bad?"

Their voices had dropped, the moment shifting into something else entirely.

Louis met his gaze, his own breath slowing slightly.

"...Good."

Harry's fingers twitched against his waist.

His hand slid up slowly, skimming over the fabric of Louis' hoodie until it rested gently against his cheek.

Louis didn't move.

He felt the soft drag of Harry's thumb along his cheekbone, his gaze flickering briefly down to his lips.

Louis' own lips parted slightly, his breath catching.

"How many points..." Harry's voice lowered even further, their faces barely inches apart.

His thumb skated down to the edge of Louis' jaw.

"...for a kiss?"

Louis' chest tightened. His own gaze flickered down to Harry's lips. Harry was so close, so effortlessly close.

His dimples barely visible, his eyes holding an anticipation that made Louis' stomach turn.

Louis swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

"...Can't afford it yet."

Harry smirked like he expected that answer.

He didn't move away, just stroked Louis' cheek once more before finally pulling back just slightly.

Louis cleared his throat, shaking off the feeling that had settled deep in his ribs.

He glanced at the screen, only now realizing the movie had already ended.

The lot around them had started to clear out, people packing up their cars, chatting softly as they got ready to leave.

Louis forced himself upright, stretching his arms. "It's, uh. Getting cold."

Harry just smirked, watching him carefully.

"We should go," Louis added quickly.

Harry tilted his head, still looking far too smug.

"...Yeah. Let's go."

The drive back was easier.

The weight of first-date nerves had lifted, leaving behind something comfortable, something light.

Louis had worried—briefly—that spending a night with Harry like this would change things, would push them into unfamiliar territory. But now, with the radio playing softly between them, it just felt like them.

Like Louis teasing Harry about his awful song choices.
Like Harry winking at Louis whenever he caught him singing along.

It was familiar, but new, and Louis found himself smiling more than he meant to.

As they pulled into the dorm parking lot, Louis stretched his arms above his head with a quiet groan.

"Ugh, I'm so full," he sighed.

Harry chuckled, shifting into park. "Just means you liked my food."

Louis turned to him with a lazy smirk. "Was decent."

Harry scoffed, reaching for his gum and popping a piece into his mouth.

They sat there for a moment, neither of them making the first move to leave. The radio hummed in the background, and Louis absentmindedly traced patterns on the bouquet in his lap.

Harry let his head roll back against the headrest, tilting his gaze toward Louis.

"So," he drawled, chewing lazily.

Louis raised a brow, not looking up. "So?"

Harry smirked. "Did I make the points for a second date?"

Louis snorted, finally turning his head to him.

"You must have really liked it if you're already asking for seconds."

Harry hummed, shifting in his seat, watching Louis a little too intently.

He chewed his gum slowly, letting his gaze drop just slightly before flicking back up.

"Always want more when it comes to you."

Louis bit back the way his breath hitched, rolling his eyes instead.

"Shut up, Styles."

Harry just chuckled, reaching for his door handle. "Can't help it."

When they reached Louis' door, he turned the handle, peeking inside briefly before turning back to Harry.

"Zayn's asleep," he murmured, voice softer now that the hallway was dim.

Harry nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Louis hesitated, then looked up, "I had a good time tonight."

Harry's expression shifted, his dimple peeking out with a slow smile.

"Good," he murmured. "I was hoping you would."

They stood there for a beat, the silence settling comfortably between them.

Then Harry rocked back on his heels, lips twitching. "So, second date?"

Louis huffed a laugh, gripping his flowers tighter.

"You're so impatient."

Harry tilted his head, eyes flicking lower again.

"I just like you."

Louis definitely felt his cheeks warm up, but he rolled his eyes, turning back toward the door.

Then, before he could think too much about it, he paused.

Biting his lip, he turned back one last time.

Stepping closer, he rose onto his toes, fingers curling slightly into Harry's jacket.

And before Harry could say anything, Louis pressed a warm kiss to his cheek.

Harry stilled.

Louis lingered just long enough to feel the way Harry's breath hitched before stepping back.

Then, quietly, he said,

"Goodnight, Harry."

Harry blinked.

"Uh—night, Lou."

Louis grinned, stepping back into his dorm and closing the door behind him.

He took a deep breath, his heart racing just a little.

After shutting the door, Louis didn't move right away. He leaned against it, heart still racing slightly, lips twitching as he heard the sound of Harry's footsteps retreating down the hall.

Then, with a breath, he pushed off the door and turned toward his desk.

The bouquet was still clutched in his hands.

He glanced toward Zayn's bed—still asleep, good.

Quietly, he moved toward his dresser, pulling out the old glass vase he usually reserved for the rare occasions someone gave him flowers. He didn't receive them often.

He filled it with water in the small dorm sink, setting it down carefully before unwrapping the bouquet. The roses were beautiful, deep red with soft petals that practically glowed under the dim lamp on his desk.

He ran his fingers over them absentmindedly, before placing them into the vase, arranging them delicately.

Only then did he step back, biting his lip.

A thought struck him. Reaching for his phone, he quickly typed into Google, fingers hovering slightly before pressing search.

It loaded. Louis blinked down at the screen.

His breath caught, his lips parting just slightly.

A warmth bloomed in his chest, slow and steady.

Carefully, he locked his phone and set it aside, turning back to the flowers.

He shook his head to himself, exhaling softly.

"Twenty-four roses: You're always on my mind."

***

The library was almost painfully quiet, the only sounds being the occasional muffled whispers and the gentle turning of pages. That peace, however, was currently disrupted by Niall Horan's exaggerated sobs.

Zayn leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed as he observed the scene in front of him. Louis sat on the table itself, legs dangling, looking at Niall with a bored expression as the blond buried his face dramatically into his folded arms.

"Why is it," Zayn sighed, running a hand through his hair, "that our study session has turned into a full-on therapy session?"

"Because," Niall lifted his head just enough to glare at them, his blue eyes shining suspiciously, "both of you went on dates. One of you with the love of his life, and the other with god knows who, while I was left alone. Utterly alone."

Louis rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "You're the one who always says you don't want a relationship."

"That's because I'm twenty!" Niall practically wailed, slumping back onto the table. "Who wants to be tied down now?"

"Then why," Louis drawled, leaning forward slightly, "are you crying?"

"These are happy tears," Niall insisted, voice muffled by his arms. "I'm not tied down. I can have fun with whoever I want. I've got a whole bed to myself. It's perfect."

Zayn leaned closer, whispering, "He's tearing up."

Louis leaned in as well, whispering back, "I know he is."

"Oi!" Niall lifted his head, looking indignant as he caught their expressions. "I'm just saying... it'd be nice to have someone to share all that with sometimes."

Louis softened, reaching over to ruffle Niall's blond hair. "To be fair, a lot of girls want you. You just act like a jackass most of the time."

Zayn swatted Niall lightly on the back. "We love you, Nialler, but honestly... that frat house is ruining you. You're turning into a heartbreaker."

Niall groaned and rested his head on the table again. "Is it wrong to want to have fun?"

"Course not, mate," Louis said, gently stroking his hair. "Just be nicer about it, yeah?"

Zayn nodded, adding in a mock-stern voice, "Bad Niall. Stop making girls cry."

Louis snorted, unable to contain his laughter. "We raised you better than this."

Niall rolled his eyes, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he mumbled, "You two are the worst fake parents ever."

The librarian looked at Louis and Zayn and pointedly shook her head. "I swear, every time you three come in here, I regret working here."

Louis flashed her a grin. "Would you regret it less if we brought you coffee next time?"

The librarian narrowed her eyes, muttering, "Just... keep it down, yeah?"

Zayn chuckled at that. Niall fake sniffled again, though he stopped seconds later.

A girl passed by their table, and Niall immediately perked up, flashing his signature cocky smirk. "Hey."

She giggled but barely slowed her pace before her friend nudged her forward, shaking her head.

Zayn groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "There's no saving you."

Niall turned to him with a glare. "What? I was just being friendly!"

"Friendly?" Zayn snorted. "Mate, you practically undressed her with your eyes."

Louis wasn't paying attention to their usual back-and-forth, his focus instead on his phone. He and Harry had been texting earlier, mostly about The Picture of Dorian Gray—Harry was mere pages from finishing it and was currently cussing Louis out.

There's no hope for me now! Harry had texted, followed by an aggressive string of emojis.

Louis smiled as he typed back. Again, you and Gray are two different people.

Harry's response came immediately. I hate bad-ending books.

Louis shook his head fondly. Is it a bad ending if the character was fucked up to begin with?

He pocketed his phone, turning back to Niall and Zayn—only to find them both staring at him, identical teasing grins on their faces.

He frowned. "What?"

They didn't say anything, just kept looking at him with knowing smirks.

His phone buzzed again.

Where are you? Harry had sent.

Louis quickly typed back. Library.

A second later, another message: I'm close by. Coming.

Louis smiled to himself, tucking his phone away again.

That was a mistake.

"Oh, come off it," he groaned, catching the way Niall and Zayn's smirks widened.

Niall poked his cheek. "Who was that?"

Zayn waggled his eyebrows. "Was that the mysterious date?"

Louis scoffed, crossing his arms to hide his very real blush. "It was no one."

"Oooh, it was him," Niall drawled. "Caught you."

They both started teasing him at once, their voices overlapping, poking and prodding at him until Louis was on the verge of threatening violence. He was saved—momentarily—by a voice calling across the library.

"Louis, where are you?"

A chorus of loud shhhs rang out as the librarian whipped her head up with a glare.

Louis groaned when he saw Harry round the corner, completely unbothered as he grinned at him. His face lit up when he spotted Louis at the table.

"Moron," Louis scolded when Harry approached, shaking his head. "You don't shout in a library."

Zayn smirked. "Like you noticed. Do you even see anything with those heart eyes?"

Louis froze, laughing awkwardly. "Guys."

Niall continued like he hadn't heard him. "I bet he sees everything pink. Louis, do I look pink to you?"

Harry draped an arm over Louis' shoulders, amused. "What are you talking about?"

Louis coughed loudly, shoving at his arm. "Ignore them. They're deranged."

Zayn grinned at Harry. "Louis was texting the mysterious date."

Harry raised a brow, intrigued. "Mysterious date?"

Niall nodded, taking over. "Yeah. The fucker went out with a guy Saturday but refuses to tell us who it is."

Zayn leaned in conspiratorially. "Caught him texting him just now. All giddy and heart-eyed."

Harry looked down at Louis, his smirk growing. "Was he now?" He turned back to Zayn and Niall. "Heart eyes and all?"

Zayn nodded eagerly. "We're going to find out eventually."

Louis laughed awkwardly, waving them off. "You guys are seeing things."

Harry tutted, shaking his head. "Oh, come on. They can't both be imagining it." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "You must really like him."

Louis' face was on fire. He was going to kill them all.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to sound casual. "Something like that."

Harry hummed, then—just to make things worse—pressed a soft kiss to Louis' temple. "Good to know."

Zayn threw him a look, unimpressed. "Stop flirting with him, mysterious guy wouldn't like that."

Harry laughed, pulling back. "Wouldn't he?"

Niall rolled his eyes. "Gross."

Zayn checked his phone and groaned. "Alright, up. Nialler, history philosophy class awaits."

Niall let out a dramatic whimper. "God, kill me now. Why did I ever sign up for that class?"

"Because you're an idiot," Louis supplied helpfully.

Niall groaned louder, rubbing his eyes as he stood. He patted Louis' head and dabbed Harry up. "See you later, losers."

As soon as they were gone, Harry turned to Louis with an amused, large grin.

Louis exhaled heavily, glaring at him. "What? Piss off."

Harry rested both hands on either side of Louis' thighs as he sat on the table. "Be nice."

Louis rolled his eyes, but the warmth in his cheeks hadn't completely faded.

Harry tilted his head. "So, did Claire and Miles finish auditions?"

Louis nodded, playing with the strings on Harry's hoodie absentmindedly. "Yeah, all done. Claire's going to pick from the list I made."

Harry hummed. "Did Miles get the lead?"

Louis chuckled. "No, but I managed to get him a role, at least."

Harry's brows lifted. "Who?"

"Jerry."

Harry smirked. "Oh, the lover."

Louis blinked, surprised. "Oh. You actually did your homework."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I'm halfway through."

Louis asked softly, "Do you like it?"

Harry nodded. "I don't like Robert, but yeah." Then, after a beat, "I want you to lend me another book."

Louis nodded, distracted by the way Harry took his hand and kissed the back of it. His voice was softer when he said, "Not a bad ending, though."

Louis smirked, quirking a brow. "Can't promise that. That'd be spoiling."

Harry huffed. "Fine."

Louis tilted his head. "Don't you have a lesson right now?"

Harry shrugged, clearly unconcerned.

Louis sighed, shaking his head. "Move it, Styles. Go."

Harry groaned dramatically. "But we're never alone."

Louis gave him a look. "Move."

Harry huffed again, but as he backed up, he smiled. "Fine. I'll come over tonight, then. Zayn's going out with Liam anyway."

Louis nodded. "Yeah, alright."

Harry leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "See you later."

Louis watched him go, rolling his eyes—but not before touching his cheek, smiling to himself.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

The drama club was in full swing today, everyone moving around like ants trying to restore order after auditions. Props had to be put back, set pieces had to be repositioned, and costumes needed to be sorted. It was a mess, but Louis had a system. And for once, Harry was actually following it without a single complaint.

Louis had been waiting for the moment Harry would groan about the manual labor, but it hadn't come yet. He'd been lifting, pushing, and moving things all afternoon, wiping sweat from his forehead every so often, but still doing everything Louis asked.

Now, as Harry pushed a heavy rack of costumes toward the storage room, Louis held the door open and said, "Alright, now take out the one with the suits."

Harry exhaled, wiped his forehead again, and nodded. "Alright, boss."

Louis chuckled. It was funny how naturally that nickname came to Harry, full of fondness unlike the pissed sarcasm he'd use time ago. He leaned against the doorframe, watching as Harry walked deeper into the storage room, his head tilting as he scanned the rows of costumes.

When Harry found the right one, he gripped the rack and turned to Louis. "You know, I'm doing all this work, and you're just standing there . Seems unfair."

Louis smirked. "Maybe you need to work on your stamina."

Harry scoffed, "Didn't I run five laps while you collapsed after one?"

Louis rolled his eyes, stepping forward to shove Harry's shoulder. "Fuck off."

Harry caught his wrist before he could pull away, pinching his side in retaliation. Louis let out an involuntary yelp, twisting away immediately.

Harry grinned. "Oh? Ticklish?"

Louis glared at him. "I will kill you."

Harry only laughed, shoving the rack forward again.

The rest of the drama club was bustling around them, lifting things and setting up, but Louis noticed that Miles and Claire kept glancing at Harry. Their skepticism toward him had been obvious in the beginning, but it was slowly fading now. Maybe seeing Harry actually putting in the work was helping.

At one point, Miles passed by, holding a stack of fabric and muttering, "Huh. Didn't think Styles actually knew how to work."

Harry smirked. "Didn't think you actually knew how to mind your business, Miles, seems I was right."

Miles shot him a look before walking off, and Louis fought back a laugh.

They worked for a while longer, Harry lifting things he had no business lifting on his own, clearly determined to prove a point.

After about an hour, Louis finally relented. "Alright, I think we're good for today."

Harry sighed in relief, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up slightly, revealing toned abs beneath it. Louis quickly looked away.

"You hungry?" Harry asked, rolling his shoulders.

Louis considered it. "Yeah, actually."

"Come with me, then."

Louis narrowed his eyes. "And where are we going?"

Harry smiled, all dimples and charm. "To eat? I just told you. You're unusually slow today."

Louis scoffed, shaking his head. "Fuck you."

"Planning on it." Harry pointed out, already moving toward the exit.

And, well. Louis didn't know how to answer that.

***

Back at his dorm, Louis wouldn't shut up.

Harry barely had time to kick his shoes off before Louis started ranting.

"How could they not advise us that the main theatre wouldn't be available for the final show? Now what am I supposed to do? Just magically find another stage out of nowhere? What kind of—"

Harry sighed from where he was sprawled on Louis' bed. "It's still half a semester away."

Louis stopped pacing to shoot him a glare. "Do you know how—"

Before he could launch into another tangent, Harry reached out, grabbed his wrist, and clamped a hand over his mouth.

The muffled protest that followed was both indignant and deeply unimpressed. Harry just sighed contentedly, adjusting his grip to keep Louis from immediately biting him. "Finally," he muttered, as if he'd just silenced the world's greatest nuisance. "This is what I'm talking about. Peace."

Louis' eyebrows furrowed, his glare only deepening. He made another muffled noise, something that suspiciously sounded like fuck you. He tried prying Harry's hand off but Harry was stronger, and Louis quickly realized he wasn't winning this fight.

So, he huffed and gave up.

Harry smirked, pleased. "If I take it off, will you stay silent?"

Louis paused before he gave a slow, reluctant nod.

Harry, still skeptical, narrowed his eyes before finally moving his hand away. Louis immediately glared at him, but to his credit, he didn't keep talking.

"See?" Harry teased. "That wasn't so hard."

Louis rolled his eyes and shoved him half-heartedly. Harry took that as an invitation to pull him down onto the bed, his arms wrapping around Louis' waist in one swift, self-satisfied movement.

"Get off," Louis grumbled, squirming for all of two seconds before settling against him.

Harry just hummed, pressing a warm kiss to the side of his head. "Relax. We'll figure it out. We still have time."

Louis sighed, resting his cheek against Harry's chest, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall beneath him. The room was comfortably quiet for a moment.

Then, Louis lifted his head slightly. "I just remembered—are you nervous for Sunday's game?"

Usually, games were on Friday nights, but Louis remembered Harry telling him this one was special. An important game. He remembered because Niall was insufferable about it last year.

Harry, who had been playing with the ends of Louis' hair, shook his head. "I'm never nervous."

Louis snorted. "You're lying."

Harry huffed out a laugh before conceding, "A little." His voice was softer now, more honest. "Don't wanna disappoint."

Louis' brows pulled together. "Disappoint who?"

Harry's fingers stilled. "Everyone," he admitted.

Louis tilted his head to look up at him. "Your team?"

Harry nodded, still tracing gentle circles on Louis' back. "Yeah. They believe in me a lot." A beat of hesitation. "And, you know, the whole school's coming."

Louis hummed, absorbing that. Then, carefully, "Will your family be there? I know Niall's is."

Harry's hand stilled against Louis' back, the action made Louis immediately regret asking.

Harry let out a small, wry laugh, but there was something distant about it. "What do you think?"

Louis bit his lip, shifting uncomfortably. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked that."

Harry exhaled, his grip tightening around Louis. "No, it's fine. They won't be there." His voice was steady, but Louis felt the weight behind it. "They'll ask me about it later, though. Probably."

Louis shifted to press a lingering kiss to Harry's jaw. "I'm sorry."

Harry's green eyes flicked down to him, searching. "What for?"

Louis exhaled, brushing his fingers over the hem of Harry's hoodie. "I just feel bad."

Harry held his gaze, then shook his head. "Don't." His voice was firm, but gentle. "I'm happy. I have my friends. I have you. It's fine."

His hands slipped under Louis' shirt, cool fingers against warm skin, absentmindedly tracing slow, soothing patterns along his lower back. Louis shivered slightly at the feeling—the contrast of warmth and cold, the way Harry's rings pressed lightly against his spine.

It felt too nice. Too intimate. He let his eyes flutter shut, melting into the touch.

Harry's voice was lower now, almost a whisper. "What are you thinking about?"

Louis swallowed, his fingers tightening around the fabric of Harry's hoodie.

He forced a small, breathy laugh, tilting his head up. "Nothing."

Harry narrowed his eyes, clearly not convinced, but he didn't push. Instead, his hands continued their slow exploration, his breath warm against Louis' temple.

Louis hated how much he liked it.

***

Locker rooms smelled of sweat, soap, and the faintest trace of something citrusy from the body wash someone had stolen from their dorm shower.

Most of the boys were still in the showers, steam filling the space, water running, laughter echoing off the tiled walls.

Harry, already showered and halfway dressed, sat on the bench beside his locker, tugging on his socks. He was quick about it. Louis was waiting for him.

Well—waiting for Niall.

And he wasn't alone either. Zayn was with him.

But still.

Harry didn't think about it too much as he reached for his shoes. That was, until Matthew walked in, a towel slung dangerously low on his hips, smirking like he knew something Harry didn't.

"Your boy toy is here," he said casually, running a hand through his damp hair.

Harry glanced up, brows furrowing. "Who?"

Matthew gave him a pointed look. "How many do you have?"

Realization dawned, and Harry just huffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh. Louis."

Matthew plopped down beside him, drying off his chest. "Yeah. Did I win my bet yet?" He barely looked up as he said it, like it was just another casual conversation between teammates. "The boys put a deadline on it, you know."

Harry chuckled, but it felt a little forced. He bent down to tie his shoelace, keeping his voice light. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Matthew confirmed, tossing his towel onto the bench and turning to grab his clothes.

Before Harry could respond, Aiden, overhearing from across the room, snorted.

"Don't be stupid," he said, shaking his head. "Can't you see he likes him?"

Harry's back tensed, but before he could shoot him a glare, Matthew cackled.

"Ohhh," he said, drawing out the syllables. "Is that why he spends his mornings reading now?" He turned to Harry, mocking. "Star quarterback isn't helping anymore?"

The room erupted in laughter.

Harry, never one to let his pride take a hit, forced out a smirk.

"Fuck off," he said easily, tugging on his other shoe. "You know I don't date."

Liam, sitting a few lockers down, stilled at that.

Harry ignored it.

Matthew, unbothered, simply shrugged. "Shame. I was almost rooting for you."

Harry exhaled through his nose, standing up as he finished changing.

"Keep your money on you, Matty," he said, voice smooth and full of confidence. "I'm working on it."

Matthew let out a low whistle. "And here I thought we lost you."

Harry didn't respond, not even when he felt Liam's gaze on him again. Curious but mostly disapproving.

The conversation abruptly cut off when the shower turned off, and Niall stepped out, toweling his hair.

Everyone immediately shut up.

Harry tried not to look as desperate as he felt, but it was hard when his eyes kept flicking toward Niall's face, searching for any sign that he'd overheard the conversation. A furrow of the brow, a twitch of confusion, anything.
It was pathetic, really, how much he wanted and needed to see Niall clueless.

And maybe that should tell him something.
Maybe it did. He just wasn't ready to hear it.

He released a breath when Niall merely blinked at him, confused by the staring, then pulled a stupid face and wiggled his eyebrows like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Harry barked out a breathless laugh, relief washing through him so fast it almost made him dizzy. He forced his gaze away.

Because if there was one person in this entire locker room he didn't want getting the wrong idea—it was him.

The chatter in the room quieted, everyone seemingly remembering themselves. Someone coughed. Another snapped their locker shut with a sharp clang.

Niall padded across the tiles, opening his locker and pulling out a pair of sweatpants. He glanced around at the silence, then raised a brow.

"What's up, lads?" he asked, voice rough from the hot water and the early hour.

Harry stood quickly, slapping Niall's back with a little too much force. "Nothing," he said, steady and smooth, practiced like a line from a play. "Let's go."

Niall shrugged, tugging on his shirt. "Right behind you."

And just like that, the conversation was over. Shut down. Buried.

But the echo of it clung to Harry's skin, as real and heavy as the sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

***

The pub was dimly lit, a soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the space. The air smelled of stale beer, fried food, and a hint of cigarette smoke from the patio outside. The five of them had managed to squeeze into a booth in the corner, though at this point, only Harry and Liam were sitting properly—Liam nursing his whiskey, Harry stirring a cocktail straw through his mostly empty glass.

Louis, Niall, and Zayn were huddled together at the edge of the table, tangled limbs and slurred laughter making them look like a drunken, chaotic pile of friendship. Niall, half-drunk and fully entertained, was grumbling about their latest obsession with what they called his "Leprechaun dance."

"I'm tellin' ya, it's unethical," Niall declared, waving his hands dramatically. "This is a traditional Irish jig! My ancestors would be fumin' if they saw this shite."

Louis snorted, slumped against Zayn as he poked Niall's cheek. "Move it, Blondie, show us what you got."

Niall scowled, but against all odds, he still clambered to his feet, swaying slightly before attempting a few wobbly steps of what was indeed a very poor rendition of an Irish jig.

Zayn shook his head in disappointment, sighing heavily. "That's embarrassing. Your ancestors are rolling in their graves."

Niall squinted at him, suspicious. "Oh, you wanna play the ancestor game, mate? 'Cause I can."

Zayn straightened up, challenging. "Bring it on, white boy."

Niall scoffed. "White boy? You're one to talk. What kinda Pakistani can't handle spice?"

Zayn gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "Oi! That's a low blow!"

"Oooh," Niall smirked, smug as ever. "It burns, doesn't it?"

Louis groaned dramatically, turning to Zayn. "He's got a point, mate."

Zayn pouted. "Why must you always take his side?"

Niall, still standing, put his hands on his hips. "Yeah, Lou, that wasn't very nice."

Louis gaped at him, affronted. "What? You—ugh!"

Without another word, he turned to Zayn, gripping his face between both hands. "You know you're my favorite, Zaynie."

Zayn grinned, practically melting as he threw his arms around Louis. "You're my favorite too!"

Niall gasped, offended. "What about me?"

Zayn turned to him, deadpan. "You have an ugly face."

Louis burst out laughing as Niall scoffed. "Ugly face? That's rich coming from you!"

Zayn rolled his eyes and turned back to Louis, pressing their cheeks together as he patted his face. "But Lou has a pretty face. So pretty I could kiss it!"

Before Louis could reply, Liam, who had been silently sipping his whiskey this entire time, calmly interjected, "Please don't do that."

Zayn blinked as if noticing Liam for the first time. "Oh! I forgot you were there!"

Liam sighed, unimpressed. "I figured."

Harry chuckled, watching the chaos unfold in front of him, but his laughter halted when Louis turned to him, wide-eyed, drunken curiosity all over his face.

Harry raised a brow. "What?"

Louis chuckled under his breath, shuffling closer. He all but flopped against Harry's side, resting his head on his shoulder. "It's true, y'know."

Harry tilted his head down, amused. "What's true?"

Louis hummed, voice muffled against the fabric of Harry's jacket. "Niall has an ugly face."

Harry barked out a laugh, glancing at Niall, who flipped them both off. "Good to know."

Louis poked his side, giggling. "You do not."

Harry smirked, letting his fingers trace a slow circle on Louis' back. "Well, I'm glad we established that."

Louis hummed again, content, rubbing his face further into Harry's shoulder.

Harry chuckled, pressing a warm hand to the side of Louis' cheek, stroking absentmindedly. "Y'know, you should drink more often. You're nicer when you're drunk."

Louis just huffed, completely at ease against him. "I'm always nice to you."

Harry scoffed softly, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against Louis' back. "Mmm, debatable," he murmured.

Louis lifted his head slightly, blinking up at him with hazy, drunken amusement. Before he could argue, Harry leaned in, pressing his nose into Louis' hair.

Harry inhaled subtly, letting the soft, fruity scent linger. He remembered Louis complaining once—how most shampoos smelled too artificial, too chemical, so he always opted for something natural, something sweet. It somehow was always peaches.

Harry liked that.

He was about to say something teasing, maybe tell Louis he smelled good enough to eat, but Louis suddenly tensed under his touch, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

Louis squinted. "What are you doing?"

Harry, still a bit tipsy but not enough to not know what he was doing, hummed against his scalp. "You smell good."

Before Louis could react, someone cleared their throat loudly.

Harry turned his head, blinking blearily to see Niall standing there with a tight smile. Looking much more sober than a moment ago.

"Oi, Lou," Niall said, tone casual. "Come get another pint with me, yeah?"

Louis perked up instantly. "Yeah, yeah, let's go." He shot up, almost stumbling before catching himself, oblivious to the tension in the air.

Harry barely had time to process what was happening before Louis was already dragging Niall toward the bar.

But not before Niall shot him a look.

Not just any look—a warning look.

Harry, still slouched in the booth, watched them go, rubbing the back of his neck with a quiet chuckle.

Well. That was interesting.

.

The night did not end as they expected since it ended with a very sulky Harry.

Louis could feel it before he even turned around, the weight of his frown heavy in the air as he sat on the edge of the bathtub, arms crossed, dripping attitude.

"This is your fault," Harry grumbled, voice low and petulant.

This was the aftermath of what took place twenty minutes ago. What happened was that Louis was very persistent. Too persistent.

And, frankly, Harry should have known better than to give in to anything Louis insisted on when he was in this state.

It had started with Louis clinging to Harry like he was the last stable surface on earth, his words slurred and warm against his chest. "M'tired," he mumbled, his breath carrying the unmistakable weight of cheap beer and poor decisions.

Harry looked down at him, amused. Louis' hair was a bit flattened on one side, his cheeks flushed a stubborn pink, and he'd been blinking like the air itself was too bright. "Yeah? That's what happens when you go pint-for-pint with Niall like it's a goddamn competition."

Louis hummed against him before abruptly perking up, eyes lighting with a mischievous glint. "Carry me."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Carry me," Louis insisted, voice thick with drunken stubbornness. He wound his arms tightly around Harry's waist, clinging like some clingy backpack. "You're strong. Big, burly football man. You've got all those muscles, might as well put them to use."

Harry sighed like the weight of the world had just landed on his back. "Louis. I'm not carrying you up an entire flight of stairs."

Louis squinted at him. "Why not?"

"Because it's stupid, and dangerous, and I don't want to die."

Louis gasped, scandalized. "You don't trust me?"

Harry gave him a look. "Not even a little bit. I don't trust you when you're sober let alone when you're not."

"Pleeeease," Louis drawled, drawing out every syllable like it was an incantation. "Harold. Please."

And that was the exact moment Harry knew he was doomed.

"Fine," he huffed, rolling his eyes. "But you have to stay still, yeah? No squirming, no kicking, none of your usual bullshit. Just—let me get us up there in one piece."

Louis, in all his drunken honesty, had nodded solemnly. "Mmhmm. Won't move an inch."

That was a lie.

Because the moment Harry hooked an arm under his thighs and lifted him bridal style, Louis immediately started squirming.

At first, it was little shifts—nothing too concerning. But then the giggles started. Then the kicking. Then the absolute chaos of Louis deciding that this was, in fact, a game.

"Louis, stop—"

"You're so strong," Louis nuzzled his neck, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck and tugging, which only threw off his balance more.

"Louis."

"Imagine if you dropped me right now," Louis snorted, pressing his forehead against Harry's temple, warm breath fanning his cheek.

"I won't need to imagine that if you keep this up, I will drop you," Harry growled, gripping him tighter, taking another shaky step up.

Louis snickered, clearly not taking him seriously. "No, you won't."

And then—as if he had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike—Louis kicked his feet out, his entire weight shifting unpredictably in Harry's grip.

Harry felt it happen in slow motion. His balance wobbled. His foot caught the edge of a step. Louis let out a squeaky, "Oh, shit—"

And then Harry landed hard, straight on his back, with an obnoxiously loud thud. Louis was laughing, pleased to know falling on Harry made his own fall not hurt. He wasn't so pleased when he saw Harry's pained expression.

That's how they ended up here, Harry sitting on Louis' bathtub while Zayn, Liam and Niall played Fifa on Zayn's bed.

Louis sighed through his nose, unscrewing the cap of the numbing cream. "I'm sorry you fell."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You made me fall."

Louis gave him a flat look as he squeezed some of the cream onto his fingers. "I'm sorry you think I made you fall."

Harry huffed dramatically and made a grab for the cream, clearly intending to do it himself, but Louis was faster. He shoved Harry's shoulder just enough to push him back down onto the edge of the tub, keeping him in place.

"Let me do it," Louis said, voice softer than before.

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose but relented, though his pout deepened.

Louis carefully spread the cream over the scrape on Harry's elbow, his fingers light, delicate, as if he was afraid to press too hard. Harry watched his face instead of his arm, studying the way his bottom lip jutted out in concentration, how his lashes clumped together in damp spikes. He looked ridiculous. And soft. And unfairly pretty.

"You're such a big baby about injuries," Louis muttered. "How are you even a quarterback?"

Harry scowled. "That's it—"

Louis barely glanced up, cutting him off with a smirk. "Okay, okay, jeez, I'm sorry."

A pause. Then, softer, smugger:

"Man-child."

Harry narrowed his eyes, his glare sharp and amused. "Kiss it better, then."

Louis scoffed. "It's covered in cream. I'm not licking your elbow."

Harry's smirk widened. Before Louis could react, his arms circled his waist, tugging him down onto his lap.

Louis gasped, hands gripping Harry's shoulders to keep himself balanced. "Oi! What—"

"Then kiss somewhere else," Harry murmured, his fingers stroking lazily against Louis' hips.

Louis raised a skeptical brow, though his voice wavered slightly. "That wouldn't be kissing it better, would it?"

Harry grinned up at him, his dimples deep. "I don't see how it wouldn't help."

Louis rolled his eyes, but he was flustered, and he hated that Harry could tell. He could feel the warmth blooming in his cheeks. He huffed, shifting slightly, and muttered, "I don't kiss after just one date."

Harry tilted his head. "That's a lie. You told me you've had casual hookups before."

Louis hummed, dragging his fingers through the damp curls at Harry's nape. His voice was calm, measured. "Is this a casual hookup?"

Harry stilled. His hands flexed slightly where they rested on Louis' waist.

Slowly, he shook his head.

"Then," Louis whispered, lips curling into a smirk, "I don't kiss after one date."

Harry groaned, dramatic as ever, and before Louis could stop him, he leaned forward and bit his shoulder.

Louis yelped, shoving at him. "Man-child!"

Harry only chuckled and pressed a slow kiss to the spot he'd just bitten, as if in apology.

He tilted his head up, his expression softer now. "Don't you want to go out with me again? I thought we were going good."

Louis sighed, pulling back slightly to look at him properly. He was still idly playing with Harry's curls, his fingers gentle against his scalp. "To be honest with you, Harry?" He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I don't trust you yet."

Harry blinked, thrown off by the sudden honesty. His grip on Louis' waist loosened just slightly, his brows furrowing.

"Why?" His voice was quiet.

Louis hummed, considering his words. He could feel the way Harry was watching him, studying him, but he didn't look away.

"I have an eye for people," Louis finally said. "And I'm not usually wrong. So I'm not gonna lie and say I had a good feeling about you when we first met—because I didn't."

Harry's jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

Louis exhaled. "Some of those thoughts have changed now. I'm getting to know you, and I do like you." He paused. "But there's... something I can't quite put my finger on yet. And until I understand what that is, I can't fully trust you."

Harry still didn't speak, his fingers twitching against Louis' sides.

Louis shrugged, casual despite the weight of his words. "Everyone knows you don't date. I don't care about gossip, but even I know that. So I think I have the right to be careful. Wouldn't you?"

Harry's gaze flickered with something unreadable. He took a moment before answering. "I guess that's fair."

He hesitated. Then, softly, "I won't hurt you, I pro—"

Louis pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him.

Harry blinked in surprise.

Louis gave him a pointed look. "Don't promise that yet. I haven't asked you to, so don't do it. I can hear from your voice that you're not sure about it, so don't say it just to say it. It's not fair to me."

Harry's lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He just looked at Louis, thoughtful, something hesitant and conflicted behind his eyes.

Finally, after a long pause, he sighed.

"That's... very mature."

Louis simply shrugged. "I'm just honest."

Harry let the silence stretch, his fingers idly tracing patterns against Louis' hip as he stared past him, lost in thought. Then, without much preamble, he asked, "Do you think I'm immature?"

Louis blinked, tilting his head. "What?"

Harry exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if he was bracing himself. "Because I sleep around. What do you think about that?"

Louis frowned slightly, not expecting the conversation to take that turn. He stayed calm, though, shifting so he could look at Harry properly. "I don't think about you sleeping around."

Harry scoffed, but there was curiosity in his gaze. "You don't?"

Louis shook his head. "No. Why would I? I have no right to, and I don't see why I'd need to. It's college, Harry. Everyone does it. I did. Zayn did. Niall still does. It's not something to judge people for."

Harry hummed in response, tapping his fingers absently against Louis' side. "So it's not a bad thing?"

Louis sighed, rubbing at his temple. "Of course not. What's bad is wanting something and lying about it."

Harry frowned at that, his grip tightening slightly where his hand rested on Louis' waist. "What do you mean?"

Louis considered his words carefully before answering. He wasn't trying to call Harry out—not exactly—but there was something about this conversation that felt significant.

"I mean, I'm open to both things," he said, voice even. "I could go for something casual. I could go for something serious. But the one thing I always am—always—is honest about it. It's the fair thing to do, both for myself and for the other person."

Harry was quiet, watching him intently.

"If someone tells me up front that they only want something casual, fine. At least I know what to expect. If someone says they want something serious, then I'll approach it knowing that too. But I won't waste my time on someone who pretends they want one thing while actually wanting another. Because that's not just a little white lie. That's leading someone on. That's selfish."

Harry swallowed, and Louis could feel the shift in his body—like he had gone still, waiting for something.

"And what if they don't know what they want?" Harry asked quietly.

Louis searched his expression. He wasn't sure if Harry was talking in hypotheticals anymore.

"Then they need to figure that out before they involve someone else," Louis said simply.

A heavy pause settled between them, charged with something unsaid.

Harry nodded once, slow and thoughtful, but he didn't say anything more. And louis really thought their conversation was over until Harry opened his mouth again. His voice was quiet as his fingers traced idle circles on Louis' thigh. "What do you think about frats?"

Louis snorted. "You're really asking me that?"

But Harry didn't smirk, didn't roll his eyes. He just held Louis a little closer, gaze steady. "I'm serious."

Louis frowned slightly, tilting his head. "Why are you asking me these questions?"

Harry sighed, resting his cheek against Louis' shoulder. "When you explain things, or answer my questions... you're very detailed," he murmured. "You have a nice way of speaking. You explain things well. I told you this before, I like listening to you."

Louis blinked, a little thrown. He hid his surprise with a small hum, then shifted. "Well, if we're going to do this, we should at least do it outside. Don't know why we're still in the bloody bathroom."

He made to get up, but Harry tightened his hold, keeping him in place.

"No, can't hold you there." Harry muttered.

Louis furrowed his brows, about to ask why when he heard the distant murmur of voices from the living room. Right. The others.

Louis huffed but settled back, adjusting himself on Harry's lap. "Fine, but you better pay attention."

Harry's hand stayed on his thigh, warm and steady. "I always do."

"You're lucky I'm sobering up." Louis took a breath. "The concept of a fraternity, on its own, isn't bad. It's nice, in theory. A group of people forming a close-knit community, looking out for each other, living together, making memories. That sounds good, doesn't it? Harmless fun, a built-in family of sorts."

Harry hummed in agreement, his fingers still tracing along Louis' skin, listening intently.

"But the reality is... that's not what they are."

Harry frowned slightly, but Louis didn't give him a chance to interrupt.

"You and I both know that normal people, the general public, don't trust frat boys. And they're not wrong to feel that way."

Harry stiffened a little, brows furrowing. "You know most of what we say is just jokes, right?"

Louis gave him a pointed look. "Is it?"

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it, frowning deeper.

Louis exhaled. "That's the thing, Harry. Maybe it starts as a joke. Maybe it's harmless at first. But when you constantly talk about, for example, women in a certain way, you eventually start seeing them that way. It's not just words—it shapes how you think, how you act. That's why frat culture is toxic. It reinforces the worst behaviors under the guise of 'tradition' or 'brotherhood.'"

Harry scoffed, voice defensive. "We're all adults, Louis. The people who hook up with us know what they're getting into. It's mutual. If anything, we're using each other."

Louis narrowed his eyes. "Harry, if you're just going to argue with me instead of listening, I can stop right now."

Harry hesitated, then sighed. "Go on."

Louis studied him for a moment before continuing. "It's fine to have fun. But the problem is when you stop seeing the people you sleep with as actual human beings. When it becomes about numbers, status, bragging rights."

Harry didn't say anything, so Louis pressed on. "And I'm not just pointing fingers at you. I've had this conversation with Niall before. Hell, Zayn and I have scolded him multiple times. He never listens. But it's because this culture—this mindset—is so ingrained. Fraternities shape the people in them, and not always in the best way."

Harry exhaled through his nose, rubbing at his jaw.

Louis continued, "And it's not just about sex. Frats make fun of education, too. Like you lot love to act as if people who actually give a shit about school are the weird ones. You think you're smarter because you don't waste time behind a book."

Harry frowned, about to protest, but Louis raised an eyebrow. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Harry said nothing.

Louis sighed. "For example, I love theatre. But to people like you, it's lame. Stupid. You even said so the first time we spoke. Yet somehow, running around a field in tight pants chasing a ball is seen as respectable, while other interests aren't?"

Harry rubbed a hand over his face. "I didn't mean it like that—"

Louis cut him off, voice quieter now. "I know. But it's the way it comes off. And the way people around you think, and the way it rubs off on you. The whole culture is just—off. It brings out the worst in people."

Harry swallowed, nodding slightly, his mind clearly elsewhere now.

Louis sighed getting up, stretching. "Anyway. You asked, I answered." He glanced down at Harry's face, then softened slightly. "I don't dislike you—or Niall—because you're in a frat. I don't judge you personally for it. But I don't agree with the whole thing. That's just my opinion."

Harry nodded slowly.

Louis smiled faintly, yawning as he held out his hand. "Don't think too much about it. Come on, we should go back before they start asking questions."

Harry took his hand, letting Louis pull him up, but he didn't say anything. His mind was still elsewhere.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

Louis' fingers curled tightly around the hem of the jersey, his palms damp. He wasn't sure if it was from nerves or the heat of the stadium, the thick air swirling around him, filled with the buzz of anticipation.

There were so many people. Too many.

He had been to one of these games before—last year, when he came to support Niall—but this felt different. This time, the weight of the stares was tangible.

Louis could feel them.

He wasn't being dramatic, the moment he and Zayn walked into the stands, eyes flicked to him, whispers following. He knew what they were all looking at. The deep red jersey clinging to his torso, the golden number standing out in bold across his back.

Harry's jersey.

Zayn, meanwhile, seemed entirely unfazed. He was buzzing, practically bouncing as he scanned the field, already hyped up before the game had even started. He wore Niall's jersey, of course. Liam had offered him his, but Zayn had turned him down, not wanting to upset Niall. He promised to wear Liam's next time, though.

Louis wished he had that kind of certainty.

Instead, he just sat stiffly on the bleachers, the plastic cold under his palms as he took a deep breath and tried to force himself not to care. It was just a bet. Just a game. Just a jersey.

Except everyone around him seemed to be treating it like something else.

On the field, the players started emerging from the tunnel, the opposing team first. They looked... massive. Thick, built, and radiating confidence.

Louis swallowed. Shit.

Then, the home team stepped out.

The energy in the stadium shifted instantly, the student section roaring with excitement, banners waving wildly. It was impossible to miss Niall, his blond hair stood out even from the stands. But unlike usual, he wasn't playing up for the crowd, wasn't doing some ridiculous dance or making funny faces at them.

His focus was sharp.

And then Louis spotted Harry.

Even from here, he could see the tight set of his jaw, the way his muscles flexed under the floodlights, his grip tense around his helmet.

The weight of expectation was heavy.

Louis exhaled slowly, adjusting himself on the bleachers as the game finally started.

The first few plays were fast and brutal.

Louis wasn't going to pretend he understood all the rules, but he knew enough. The tension in the air was thick, both teams pushing aggressively. The opposing team was strong—fast, too—but their defensive line was aggressive, making it difficult for Niall to get anywhere.

On a third down, Niall finally broke through, dodging a tackle, and Zayn screamed.

"Run, my little leprechaun!!"

Louis cackled, his laughter getting him a few odd looks from the surrounding crowd. But he didn't care—because on the field, Niall was flying down the sideline, arms pumping, cutting through defenders like a damn magician.

He made it fifteen yards before he got tackled.

"Damn," Louis winced.

Zayn shook his head. "So close. Bet that bruises, I'll check it when we see him later."

The game pressed on. The opposing team was good. They landed a solid touchdown in the second quarter, the crowd groaning as they took the lead. But soon after, Niall got the ball off a slant route, managing to bulldoze his way through the line before launching it downfield.

Straight to Harry. Louis held his breath.

Harry leapt, fingers outstretched, catching the ball mid-air before landing heavily and taking off. His speed was almost unnatural, cutting past the defensive backs with precision, unstoppable.

The stadium erupted when Harry crossed into the end zone, the sound deafening.

Zayn grabbed Louis' shoulder, shaking him. "That's your boy!"

Louis shoved him off, face warm. "Shut up."

But he couldn't deny it—there was something thrilling about watching Harry on the field, completely in his element.

The rest of the game was tense. The teams were evenly matched, trading touchdowns and field goals until the final quarter. With just a few minutes left, the score was 21-21.

The atmosphere was electric.

Louis could see it, how much Harry wanted this win. He almost thought it would end in a tie when, finally, the moment came. The ball was snapped.

The offensive line held firm, giving the quarterback just enough time. He faked a handoff, scanning the field, before launching the ball—a perfect spiral—deep down the sideline, to Harry.

Harry sprinted. His legs were a blur, cutting across the field, defenders closing in fast. The pass was high, almost too high—Louis thought for a second it might be out of reach— but Harry jumped. A full, extended leap, fingertips just grazing the ball before pulling it in—his body twisting mid-air before landing with a hard thud into the end zone.

Silence. A beat.

The stadium exploded.

Louis felt himself jerk forward as Zayn grabbed him, shaking him wildly. "HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!"

There was a deafening mix of screams, cheers, and chants of his name.

"Styles! Styles! Styles!"

It echoed through the night, rolling over the field like a wave, carrying the energy of every single person in the stands.

His teammates swarmed him, slapping his back, gripping his helmet, shouting celebrations in his ear, but Harry barely registered any of it. His focus somewhere else.

Louis held his breath, a proud smile pulling at his lips as he watched Harry glance around, scanning the crowd until he finally found him.

Louis swore he could feel the exact moment their eyes locked.

Harry grinned, wide and unabashed, his dimple popping, his curls damp against his forehead as he tilted his head, catching his breath.

Louis barely realized he was smiling back until he saw Harry's gaze flicker down, catching sight of the jersey stretched over his frame.

Something in Harry's expression shifted—his tongue darted out, wetting his lips, his grin turning more private, more pleased—before his teammates yanked him back into their celebrating huddle.

Zayn buzzed excitedly next to him, shaking his arm. "Holy shit, did you see that?! He fucking did it!"

Louis nodded, his chest warm. Yeah. He did.

Zayn was already moving, bouncing on his feet. "I can't wait to see Liam! He must be so happy!"

Louis smiled at that, watching as the teams eventually lined up to exchange handshakes before heading toward the locker rooms.

The crowd started spilling out, students rushing to celebrate, but Louis stayed in place, stretching out his arms with a small sigh.

His phone buzzed.

Harry: Liam & Niall are riding with Zayn. Wait for me by my car, I'll be quick.

Louis frowned at the message but sent a quick thumbs up, tapping Zayn on the shoulder.

"I'm leaving with Harry."

Zayn gave him a knowing look, smirking like he wanted to say something, but Louis coughed, nearly blushing, before rushing out, muttering something about the drama club.

Zayn rolled his eyes, amused. "Right. Be safe."

Louis did not want to think about what that implied, so he just hurried toward the parking lot, slipping through the dispersing crowd.

When he finally reached Harry's car, he leaned against the door, waiting—only to hear his name being called moments before Harry barreled toward him, beaming.

Before Louis could react, Harry's arms were around him, lifting him off the ground in one smooth motion, spinning him slightly.

"Harry!" Louis yelped, laughing into Harry's shoulder, catching himself by gripping onto him before he could tip over completely.

Harry leaned back, his breath still fast, and pressed a warm, lingering kiss to Louis' cheek.

"My lucky charm."

Louis giggled, trying to steady himself. "You were amazing!"

Harry finally set him down, hands still gripping his waist, looking down at him, eyes bright and twinkling under the parking lot lights.

"Fuck," Harry murmured, still breathless, his voice thicker, lower. His eyes dragged down Louis' figure, drinking him in. "You look so fucking good in my shirt."

Louis hated how shy he became with Harry. Hated it.

He didn't want to be soft with him, didn't want to get all fluttery, but it was impossible when Harry looked at him like that.

Before Louis could snap out of it, Harry leaned in again, pressing another kiss to his cheek— slower this time, lingering.

"Come on, let's go."

Louis blinked, stepping into the car as Harry opened the door for him. "Where are we going?"

Harry slid into the driver's seat, starting the engine. "Your dorm."

Louis raised a brow. "Aren't you supposed to be celebrating? It was a big game."

Harry shrugged, effortlessly casual. "Rather be with you."

Louis turned to the window, cheeks burning, willing his stomach to stop doing stupid things.

He really, really needed to get a grip.

.

Louis still wanted to celebrate Harry, even if the idiot didn't deserve it.

Which was why, when they got back to his dorm, he insisted on at least having a couple of beers.

He should've known better.

Because barely fifteen minutes later, he was scolding Harry as he peeled his soaked jeans off his legs.

"You are the actual worst," Louis huffed, glaring at him. "This is what I get for trying to be nice. Beer? You don't deserve beer."

Harry was laughing, sprawled across the bed, watching with zero remorse as Louis kicked his jeans toward the laundry basket.

"It was an accident," Harry grinned, clearly not sorry at all.

Louis rolled his eyes, turning back toward him—only to see Harry's face had changed completely.

His grin had faltered, his chest rising and falling a bit quicker, eyes suddenly glued to him.

Louis frowned, raising a brow. "What?"

Harry inhaled sharply, not answering.

Louis followed his gaze, looking down at himself—at Harry's jersey, his jersey, hanging loose over his bare thighs.

He let out an exasperated sigh, crossing his arms. "You share a locker room with at least fourteen other naked guys, Harry. You've seen worse."

Harry didn't look convinced.

Instead, his Adam's apple bobbed, his fingers flexing against his knee.

Louis snorted, shaking his head as he grabbed his beer again, plopping back down next to him on the bed. He finally had a moment of peace, bringing the bottle to his lips—

Except it didn't last long.

Because Harry grabbed his wrist, yanked him forward, and pulled him onto his lap.

"Jesus," Louis grumbled, adjusting himself, scowling at Harry's usual antics. "Would you stop manhandling me every time—"

His voice cut off the second he felt Harry's mouth on his jaw.

A warm, wet drag of lips, followed by teeth, biting, then sucking, Harry's breath heavy as he kissed down the slope of Louis' throat.

Louis' hands clutched at Harry's shoulders before he could think better of it, a sharp inhale escaping him when Harry's fingers dug into his thighs, kneading, spreading, gripping like he was starving.

"Fuck," Harry murmured against his skin, voice low, wrecked. "I knew you were gonna look good in this, but—" He nipped at the sensitive spot beneath Louis' ear, dragging his tongue over it. "This is something else."

Louis opened his mouth, about to tease him, but then Harry shifted, and Louis' breath hitched, eyes going wide.

Because Harry was hard beneath him. So, so hard.

Louis could feel it, pressing hot and insistent against the inside of his thigh, and it sent a jolt of heat straight through him.

As if to prove his point, Harry rolled his hips up, grinding against him, drawing a deep groan from both of them.

Louis' fingers curled, gripping the fabric of Harry's hoodie tightly, trying to steady himself.

"Ah—" he gasped, flustered, overwhelmed, but Harry was still kissing him, dragging his lips down his neck, sucking at his pulse, and then Harry's lips brushed his ear, his voice wrecked, pleading.

"Wanna kiss you."

Louis shivered.

"Fuck," Harry exhaled, pressing his forehead against Louis' temple. "Wanna kiss you so bad, Lou."

"Ah— second date," he shuddered, Harry groaned against him. His eyes pleading, "Louis, please."

Louis' stomach flipped, his fingers twitching on Harry's shoulders.

Harry—Harry Styles, Mr. Cocky, Smooth-Talker, Never Begs For Anything Styles—was literally begging.

He could bet no one ever heard him do so, and God, it was a shame, really, because Harry sounded so fucking beautiful begging like that.

Louis gulped, his entire body hot, his hands slightly unsteady as he pulled back to look at him.

Harry's pupils were blown, his lips flushed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he waited, hoped, wanted.

Louis licked his lips, nodding.

That was all it took. Harry immediately closed the distance, crashing their mouths together, kissing him deep, desperate, hungry.

Louis barely had time to process it, barely had time to do anything but melt, his hands sliding into Harry's hair as he let himself be taken apart by the way Harry kissed him.

And fuck.

Harry could kiss. The kiss wasn't hate driven, there was no tension like the first they shared so he finally felt every press of Harry's lips, mind focused solely on him.

Louis understood now.

Understood why people talked. Understood why people kept coming back.

Because Harry Styles kissed like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Like he'd studied every single way to ruin someone with his mouth and was applying all of them right now.

It was a messy, eager, all-consuming thing, Harry licking into his mouth, tilting his head to deepen it, pulling him closer, tighter, his hands warm, large, touching everywhere.

Louis let out a quiet whimper when Harry sucked his bottom lip, teasingly, slowly, before biting down, just enough to make Louis' stomach drop.

Louis gasped, and Harry swallowed it whole, drinking it down, his hand cupping the back of Louis' neck, holding him there as if he never wanted to let go.

Louis barely had time to react before Harry's hands were under his jersey, rough palms grazing over warm skin until his thumbs found his nipples. A sharp gasp slipped from Louis' lips, his head dropping forward as he swayed against Harry, the touch electric and immediate.

Harry grinned against the curve of his neck. "You like that," he whispered, cocky and breathless all at once.

Louis didn't bother denying it. Couldn't, really—not with the way he was grinding down lazily, chasing friction like it was the only thing keeping him upright. The world felt sticky and slow, every inch of him humming under Harry's hands, Harry's mouth, Harry's everything.

A soft groan rumbled from Harry's chest when Louis rolled his hips harder, the solid press of him undeniable beneath the fabric. His grip tightened at Louis' waist, guiding him down again with purpose, and the little noise that punched out of Louis was embarrassing—if he'd had the energy to care.

"Fuck," Louis breathed, as Harry's mouth dragged lower, lips brushing the shell of his ear before latching onto the spot just under it, sucking hard enough to make Louis twitch.

He let Harry tug the jersey off over his head, shivering as cool air licked at his flushed chest. The next thing he felt was Harry's mouth closing over one of his nipples, hot and wet and teasing.

Louis jerked, a startled moan tearing from his throat as his hands scrambled for purchase, fingers twisting in Harry's curls.

"Jesus Christ," he hissed, breath shaking.

Harry just chuckled, tongue flicking lazily before sucking again, deep and slow. "Still tastes like peaches," he muttered, like it was a fact he was filing away for later.

Louis whined, breath catching, his hips stuttering as he rocked down harder. He couldn't think. Could barely breathe. Harry's hands were everywhere—dragging down his back, gripping his ass, anchoring him. Their cocks rubbed together through damp fabric, sticky and slick where their underwear clung, the friction maddening.

"God—" Louis gasped, his voice barely holding together as he pressed their foreheads together, sweat dripping down his spine.

Harry's response was a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, all tongue and teeth and moaned curses. Louis pressed his forehead to Harry's, panting against his lips. "This—" He swallowed thickly, feeling the way Harry was still moving beneath him, grinding up in slow, deliberate strokes. His whole body felt like it was on fire. "Just this once, we're doing this once," he managed to murmur. "Because you won."

It nearly sent Harry over the edge. He groaned, low and wrecked, rolling his hips up with more urgency, pulling Louis down to meet him. Louis clutched at his shoulders, panting, each grind sending another jolt of heat down his spine.

Their bodies moved in sync now, desperate and messy, underwear clinging like a second skin as they rutted against each other. The wet drag of cock against cock, trapped between them, was maddening.

"Fuck, Lou," Harry choked out, his head dropping back, sweat beading at his hairline. "So fucking good."

Louis moaned, helpless now, his thighs trembling with every thrust. His orgasm was building fast, thick in his gut, curling tighter with every press of Harry's hips. He tried to hold back, tried to bite his lip, but the moment Harry groaned his name, voice rough and desperate, his whole body tensed.

Louis gasped, back arching as he came hard, his orgasm tearing through him so intensely it made him shake. His breath came out in harsh, stuttered moans, his body shuddering as the pleasure wracked through him, soaking the already-damp fabric of his underwear.

Harry swore, hands tightening where they gripped his ass as his hips bucked up one, two, three more times before he let out a deep, broken moan against Louis' throat, his cock pulsing beneath him as he came.

They collapsed into each other, breathless and soaked, everything hot and tangled and real.

A thick silence hung between them, save for their heavy breathing. Harry's hands softened on Louis' hips, sliding up and down in slow, soothing strokes as Louis let himself slump against his chest, body still thrumming in the aftershocks.

After a moment, Louis groaned, lifting his head, his cheeks flushed as he took in the mess between them.

"Fuck," he muttered, shaking his head as he let out a breathless laugh. "I haven't done that since high school."

Harry huffed out a laugh too, tilting his head down to press a lingering kiss to Louis' sweaty cheek. "We should've done it sooner," he murmured, voice still rough with pleasure.

Louis rolled his eyes but didn't pull away when Harry nudged his nose against his temple, his lips brushing over his jaw in soft, lazy kisses.

"You taste so good," Harry mumbled, eyes flicking down between them, lingering on the sticky, damp mess on Louis' briefs. His tongue flicked out over his bottom lip as his fingers ghosted over Louis' thigh, voice dropping lower.

"Gonna taste you next time."

Louis shuddered, stomach clenching as his skin prickled with heat all over again. He swallowed, clearing his throat before shaking his head. "I should shower," he muttered, shifting to climb off Harry's lap.

Harry smirked, stretching out lazily beneath him. "Together?" he offered, winking.

Louis scoffed, tossing a half-hearted glare over his shoulder as he stumbled toward the bathroom. "Wait your turn," he said, snatching a towel from the chair. "Then you can shower."

Harry chuckled, watching him disappear, head tilted like he was already planning the next time he'd get Louis to fall apart under him.

Louis closed the door behind him, gripping the sink as he took a steadying breath. His mind was a mess of memories—Harry's hands, Harry's cock, Harry's hot mouth against his skin.

Fuck—he'd really enjoyed that.

And worse? He already wanted more.

Louis turned on the tap, the sound of water filling the silence. But just as he was about to get in the shower, something clicked in his mind. He opened the bathroom door again, steam already curling behind him, and peeked his head out, damp fringe falling into his eyes.

"Oh, by the way," he said casually, "we'll need to swing by yours after this."

Harry, still sprawled on the bed and clearly half out of it, blinked up at him. "Huh? What for?"

Louis smirked, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "I've got plans. You'll need black clothes."

.

The street was quiet at this hour, the kind of late night stillness that made every sound echo twice as loud. A faint breeze rustled through the trees lining the old service road, and the dull orange glow of the streetlamps cast flickering shadows across the crumbling brick wall of the abandoned post office.

Louis adjusted the hood of his black hoodie and turned to Harry, who stood next to him with arms crossed and a thunderous frown carved into his face.

"Come on," Harry muttered, tugging at Louis' sleeve. "Let's go back home. This is so fucking stupid."

Louis rolled his eyes and batted his hand away. "You wrote it on the list. You can't chicken out now."

Their outfits matched embarrassingly well—both in dark jeans, scuffed black trainers, and oversized hoodies. Louis' had a rip at the hem. Harry's looked freshly washed. They blended into the night like misbehaving shadows.

"I'm not chickening out," Harry hissed, glancing around like the trees might sprout security cameras. "I'm nineteen. I shouldn't be doing this stuff."

Louis groaned. "Chicken Styles."

Harry gasped, offended. "Take that back."

"Nope," Louis said, popping the 'p' with glee. "Chicken. Styles."

Harry shoved him in retaliation, and Louis stumbled a step, laughing as he steadied himself. "Come on! It's not like what we're doing is actually illegal."

Harry gave him a look, unimpressed. "Yes. It is illegal. It's literally vandalism."

Louis pointed at the wall behind them, already covered in layers of faded tags, crude drawings, and declarations of teenage love. "Look around, Styles. People have been vandalising this place since before you were born. It's basically a community art board. This is the least adventurous thing I've done all week."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You wanted to do it on the university gate. You're insane."

"Whatever," Louis shrugged. "We didn't. We're here. So start spraying, Styles. Or I'll rat you out if the police come."

Harry's eyes widened in horror. "The police could catch us?"

Louis didn't answer—just chuckled as he shook his can of spray paint, the rattle echoing in the empty street. Of course he only said it to frighten Harry, he knew they weren't around and even if they were no one would probably care. He stepped toward the wall and, with the kind of focused mischief only he could pull off, started painting his name with confident, practiced strokes. The letters looped in a way that looked almost elegant, even under the circumstances. Just like Zayn had taught him.

Harry hesitated a second longer before giving in with a groan. He shook his own can, letting it rattle violently in his hand before stepping beside Louis.

"Move off," Louis said, sticking his tongue out at him. "You've got your own wall."

"I want to add 'and Harry' under yours," Harry replied, nudging closer.

Louis smirked but did shift to the side. "Cheesy, cheesy Styles."

Harry didn't deny it. He just started painting beneath the 'Louis,' his handwriting sloppier, more angular. Spray mist puffed into the air, the soft hiss of the nozzle oddly soothing in the still night.

They worked in relative silence, trading smug grins and half-hearted insults. Harry paused occasionally to examine his handiwork, nose scrunched in concentration, while Louis crouched low, adding a small heart next to his name just to be annoying.

Their fingers were sticky with paint, and Louis had a smudge of black under one eye like a war stripe. Harry was sweating lightly despite the cool air, his sleeves pushed up, exposing the veins on his forearms as he shook the can one last time and stepped back.

"Alright," he declared. "That is a masterpiece."

Louis grinned. "Yeah, well, mine's better."

Then he froze, eyes snapping toward the alley behind them.

"Do you hear that?"

Harry turned sharply. "What—?"

Louis bolted. "Fuck, run! It's the guard!"

"What?!" Harry's voice cracked as he spun around. "There's a guard?!"

Louis was already sprinting down the sidewalk, laughing like a man possessed. Harry cursed under his breath and took off after him, paint cans clinking in his hoodie pocket.

They didn't stop until they were four blocks away, hidden in the shadows of an alley between a closed bakery and a run-down barbershop. Harry was bent over, hands on his knees, panting. "Fuck. Louis. What if he—what if he reports us?"

Louis was doubled over, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Harry furrowed his brows, confused only for a few seconds before his expression turned to one of annoyance  "There was no guard, was there?"

Louis cackled harder, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "You should've seen yourself! Oh my God! Fuck I've never laughed so hard in my life."

"Not funny," Harry grumbled, still catching his breath.

Louis, still grinning like an idiot, stepped forward, cupping Harry's cheek with paint-stained fingers. "Aw. Were you scared of the big bad guard?"

Harry looked away, but his ears were bright red.

"Alright, alright," Louis said, wiping his thumb gently across Harry's jaw. "How can I make it up to you, Chicken Styles?"

Harry groaned. "Stop calling me that."

But the moment he said it, his eyes lit up like he'd just solved a puzzle. "Actually... I know how."

Louis raised a brow. "Go on."

"Say this was a date."

Louis blinked. "It wasn't."

Harry tilted his head, stepping closer. "I came to pick you up. We spent the night together. We hung out. It was a date."

Louis crossed his arms. "No, it wasn't—"

"You said you wanted to make it up to me," Harry said, insisting. "Call it a date."

Louis sighed. "Alright. Fine. But I don't see what you get out of it."

Harry bit his lip, gaze dropping to Louis' mouth. "I get a date kiss."

Louis blinked again. "You sneaky fuck."

Harry grinned. "So?"

"You don't get any," Louis said, though his arms had already wrapped around Harry's neck. "So far, this date's been awful."

Harry leaned down, brushing their noses together. "I think it's been great. Only thing missing is food. But I can solve that."

Louis raised a brow. "There are no shops around."

Harry smirked, a dangerous glint in his eye. "No, but I have something you can eat."

Louis gave him a flat look. "Like hell this is a date."

Harry burst out laughing and nudged their noses again, warm breath mingling in the space between them. "Come on, Tomlinson. Kiss me."

Louis rolled his eyes. "You're so annoying."

Harry dipped closer, whispering, "I'm waiting."

And Louis—who had never had much self-control around him anyway—pressed his mouth to Harry's.

It was slow. Warm. Harry's hands slid down to grip Louis' hips, squeezing softly, pulling him closer until their bodies touched from chest to thigh. Louis sighed against his lips, tilting his head just enough to deepen it, and Harry responded like he'd been waiting for this exact moment all his life.

The street was quiet again, graffiti still drying on the wall around the corner, the memory of adrenaline still buzzing in their veins.

But here, in the dark, wrapped in each other, it didn't feel criminal at all.

***

Louis let out a long, drawn-out sigh, pressing a sheet of paper to his face in pure exasperation.

Harry was truly exhausting.

Currently, he was engaged in a petty argument with Miles, one that Louis could already tell was a trap. And yet, Harry—big, competitive, doesn't-think-before-he-acts Harry—had walked right into it.

It had started with something simple. Miles had casually mentioned that there was too much stuff to move from the stage and that it was a two-man job. He'd said it lightly, with a knowing smirk, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

Harry, of course, had taken the bait immediately.

"Bet I could do it all myself," he had declared, squaring his shoulders.

Miles had only shrugged, clearly unconvinced. "Yeah? I dunno, mate, looks pretty heavy."

That had been all it took.

And now, here they were—Harry lugging props, equipment, and even Miles' share of the workload across the stage like a human forklift, while Miles stood smugly off to the side, arms crossed, not lifting a single finger.

Louis had seen the setup a mile away. He could have intervened. Should have. But, honestly? Harry deserved it for being so damn stupid.

From his spot near the stage, Louis tilted his head, watching Harry grunt and flex through the last of it, sweat clinging to his forehead. He sighed again, shaking his head. Stupid, lanky, sweet football player.

With only one box left, Louis had had enough.

"Alright, enough of this," he called out, clapping his hands. "Miles, grab that last box. Harry, you idiot, get down here."

Harry, grinning in triumph, hopped off the stage, wiping his hands on his shirt. Louis already knew what was coming. That cocky, dimpled, know-it-all smirk.

But then, just as Harry turned to Miles, his confidence faltered.

Miles' smirk was wider than ever. Amused. Pleased. Relaxed. Not at all like someone who had lost.

Harry blinked, looking between them, confusion written all over his face. "Wait—does he not understand that he lost?"

Louis gave him the driest look imaginable. "Oh yeah, he lost," he said, voice laced with sarcasm. "Poor Miles. He had to stand there while you did both his job and your own. What a pity for him."

From the stage, Miles snickered.

Harry's mouth fell open in horror.

Louis couldn't help the small flicker of fondness curling in his chest as he watched realization dawn on Harry's face.

His favorite big, dumb quarterback.

Harry pointed a finger at Miles, then turned back to Louis, spluttering. "You mean—I did all of it—for nothing?"

Louis sighed, shaking his head. This man.

"I told you to go to the storage room half an hour ago, but did you listen? No. Instead, you let yourself get tricked by a theatre kid." He folded his arms, unimpressed.

"But we bet!"

"Tell me, Harry, if someone bet you to jump off a cliff, would you?"

Harry's expression changed instantly—that smirk returning, his lips curling as he stepped in closer, hands easily finding Louis' waist.

"If I get you as a consolation prize," he murmured, leaning down, "I might."

Louis was unimpressed.

...Well. Mostly.

Unfortunately, Harry had learned exactly how to read him these past few weeks. The faintest blush, the quick glance away—he caught everything.

And he used it against him mercilessly.

Harry hummed in satisfaction, tilting in closer, his lips brushing against Louis' temple as he murmured, "My lucky charm."

Louis wrinkled his nose at that, pushing at Harry's chest with zero real effort. "You've gotten strangely sweet these past weeks," he accused. "Why?"

On cue, Harry's lips found his temple again, lingering, before he whispered against his skin, "I like you."

Louis froze.

Not froze-froze, but froze in the way that made his heart stutter, his fingers twitch slightly against Harry's shirt, his body reacting before his brain could catch up.

Still, he kept his voice steady as he tilted his head up, lips twitching. "Why do you like me?"

Harry grinned, quick, confident. "You're very beautiful."

Louis let out a sharp snort. "Of course."

Harry's hand reached up, fingertips grazing the frame of Louis' glasses, tracing lightly over the metal. "I love when you wear these," he said, softer this time.

Louis blinked. "I barely do."

"You should," Harry murmured. "You look soft."

Louis huffed, but his gaze flicked around the room. The others were still working, focused, barely paying them any mind.

So, just because he could, just because he wanted to, he tilted his chin up, lips puckering slightly in invitation.

Harry's smile widened as he leaned in, meeting him halfway.

The kiss was short, barely a brush of lips, but warm, lingering, filled with something unspoken.

Louis liked it all the same.

***

Louis was sprawled across his bed, fingers lazily turning the page of his book when he heard the distinct sound of keys fumbling at the door.

His eyes flicked toward it, but he didn't move. It couldn't be Zayn—he had class for another hour. So, when the door creaked open and a familiar mop of blond hair poked in, he wasn't surprised.

Niall.

Louis smiled, amused. Niall had been given a spare key to their dorm last year, and he certainly made use of it whenever he pleased.

"Where's Zayn?" Niall asked, already toeing off his shoes at the door.

Louis yawned, placing the book down on his chest. "Class. He'll be back in an hour."

Niall nodded in acknowledgment before, without a single warning, he leaped onto the bed, landing squarely on top of Louis.

Louis yelped, loudly, the wind nearly knocked out of him as an elbow dug right into his ribs.

"Fucking hell, Niall—"

"Shhh," Niall mumbled, already burrowing in.

Louis rolled his eyes, fully ready to shove him off, but before he could, Niall shifted, nuzzling into the crook of his neck with a contented sigh.

"Wanna cuddle."

Louis sighed deeply but still opened his arms anyway, letting Niall settle comfortably against him.

Niall immediately let out a pleased hum, curling into his chest like a goddamn house cat, all soft and clingy.

Louis couldn't even pretend to be annoyed.

He absentmindedly ran his fingers through Niall's hair, ruffling it slightly, as Niall exhaled, exhausted.

"Such a fucking long week," Niall groaned. "Coach went heavy on us. I don't think I feel half my muscles anymore."

Louis hummed in response, pressing a lazy kiss to Niall's head. "Harry told me."

"Yeah?"

Niall looked up at him then, brows slightly raised, blue eyes a little too knowing.

"You've been spending an awful lot of time with him," Niall noted.

Louis stiffened just a little but kept his voice casual. "Yeah. I like his company."

He hesitated for a split second before adding, "We became friends."

Niall didn't say anything at first.

He only sighed, his nose scrunching against the fabric of Louis' t-shirt as he pressed a soft kiss to his chest—something he did absentmindedly when he was deep in thought.

Then, quietly, he said, "I'm not telling you what to do, Lou. But... be careful, okay?"

Louis frowned slightly.

"Be careful?" he echoed, watching Niall carefully.

Niall shifted a little, propping his chin on Louis' chest. "I'm not saying... bad things about him," he said, voice slow, deliberate, like he was choosing his words carefully. "Harry's... a good person, in his own way. But... just—" He sighed, visibly struggling to explain himself.

Louis swallowed.

"We're friends," he started.

Niall cut him off gently.

"Friends... or more," Niall said. "Whatever it is. Just... please be careful, Lou, okay?"

Louis paused, something heavy in his chest.

He nodded slowly.

Niall sighed in relief, settling back down against him, his hand finding the hem of Louis' shirt to grip onto it loosely.

Louis pressed another kiss to his friend's hair.

"I will," he murmured.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

Louis had made a decision.

Space. He needed space from Harry.

It wasn't a dramatic realization, no cinematic moment of clarity—just a slow, nagging feeling that crept up on him every time he caught himself smiling at his phone or lingering too long in Harry's touch. After his conversation with Niall, he knew he'd let himself slip. He wasn't being cautious. And if there's one thing Louis has always been, it's careful.

But not with Harry.

And that was the problem.

He still didn't trust him—not fully. Not in the way he should if he was going to let himself...fall. And what happened the other night? That was proof of how careless he could be. How easy it was to let go.

He wasn't naive. He knew how Harry was. He knew people talked and, although he didn't care about gossip, he did care about the truth buried underneath it. He could tell himself he was different, that Harry was different with him, that the teasing and the touches and the way he kissed him actually meant something.

But did it? Or was Harry just good at making people feel that way?

Louis didn't want to find out the hard way.

So he needed space.

Except Harry didn't seem to notice.

Or maybe he did, and he just didn't care.

Louis felt a kiss press to the side of his neck, strong arms circling his waist from behind. Harry, of course.

His breath was warm against his skin as he murmured, "What are you thinking so hard about?"

Louis didn't turn in his arms like he usually would. Instead, he sighed, staying still, staying firm. He just hummed, voice even when he answered, "Nothing."

Harry kissed his jaw this time. "Must be something," he pressed, his voice teasing, but gentle. "Your face is reddish."

Louis turned. Finally. Faced him. Let him kiss his cheek. His nose. But just as Harry leaned down again, Louis' voice stopped him.

"What game are you playing, Styles?"

Harry tilted his head, genuine confusion in his eyes. "What?"

Louis just sighed, shaking his head as he pulled out of Harry's arms. Niall was making him paranoid.

"Come on, we have stuff to do."

Harry frowned but followed him without protest. They were at a professional costume shop for the drama club, needing to commission the final costumes now that casting was confirmed. Louis, as always, had everything meticulously planned.

Louis was in his element. He stood at the counter, speaking confidently to the salesman, flipping through his sketches. He'd come prepared with exact drawings for each costume, complete with fabric notes and precise measurements he had personally taken from every cast member.

Harry wasn't even listening.

He just watched.

Louis, focused and precise, biting his lip as he made a note on the clipboard. Louis, gesturing as he explained his vision, his expression lighting up with passion. Louis, exasperated when the salesman suggested something ridiculous, shaking his head, muttering under his breath.

Harry leaned against the counter, still watching.

"Y'know," he said, breaking the silence, "Has anyone told you how hot you look when you boss people around?"

Louis didn't even look up. "Harry."

"What?"

"Don't talk."

Harry grinned.

***

Harry sat at the kitchen table, a sandwich in front of him, half-eaten and forgotten. The room was still, save for the soft clink of silverware as Liam finished his own meal across from him. Harry, usually animated, was quiet today, his thoughts swirling, lingering on the familiar face he could never seem to get out of his mind—Louis.

Liam chewed thoughtfully, casting glances at Harry every now and then as the silence stretched on. Finally, Harry broke it, his voice slightly more irritated than he meant it to be.

"Are we going out tonight?" Harry asked, pushing his plate aside and leaning back in his chair, trying to distract himself from the frustration building up in his chest.

Liam took a moment to swallow, then shook his head, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Can't. Zayn wants to check out some art exhibit, though honestly, I don't really know what it's about," he replied with a shrug.

Harry groaned, running a hand through his hair. "But you're always with him," he complained, his tone playful but edged with something more.

Liam shot him an unimpressed look, narrowing his eyes. "Says who? You've never complained about it before." His gaze flicked over to Harry, his expression softening. "Why? I thought you'd be with Louis tonight."

Harry stiffened instantly, the thought of Louis, even just the name, instantly pulling him into a tighter coil. "Why would I be?" he asked, his voice more defensive than he intended.

Liam raised a brow, clearly not buying it. "Be like that," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "I just figured you two were getting along."

Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair, dropping his fork onto his plate with a soft clink. "Grumpy. Can't. Louis has... something with the club tonight."

Liam cocked his head, confused. "So? Aren't you part of the club too?"

Harry grumbled under his breath. "Louis forbid me from coming any closer to the club for at least three more days," he said, a sense of disbelief in his voice. "Said he had enough of me. Me! What the hell?"

Liam chuckled, shaking his head. "I wonder why."

Harry frowned, running a hand over his face. Liam's expression softened, but his voice was serious. "Things going good between you two?"

Harry shrugged, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks as he shifted in his seat. "Yeah, I guess... I mean, I like the chase."

Liam raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "Is that all this is? A chase?"

There was a long pause. Harry looked away, his gaze drifting out the window as if the answers were hidden somewhere in the sky. He didn't want to hear it, didn't want to confront the growing feeling in his chest that maybe Liam was right. "What else could it be?" Harry finally said, voice quieter than before.

Liam sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Stupid, stupid Harry," he muttered under his breath. Harry didn't respond, though the words stung more than he let on.

"You know me," Harry said with a slight chuckle, but it was empty. "I told you—I don't date."

Liam's voice was firm now, as he locked eyes with Harry. "Does Louis know this?" he asked bluntly. "Did you tell him?"

Harry straightened, instantly defensive. "He never told me he wanted something serious either. I asked him out a couple times, so what?"

Liam shook his head. "This is bullshit."

Harry tensed. "What the fuck is your problem?"

Liam leaned forward, his voice dead serious. "You're leading him on, Harry. You know you are. You think it's fine because technically, the word 'relationship' never came out of your mouth. But it's still leading someone on."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Liam pressed on, voice getting louder. "You're making him think it's something it's not. He's not like you, Harry. He's not some random hookup. He cares about you."

Harry's jaw clenched. "Christ, when did you become so nagging?"

Liam leaned back in his chair, a look of utter disappointment on his face. "You're really going to ignore it? You're going to break his heart, and for what?" He let out a long breath. "You're my friend, Harry, but I can't watch you do this to him."

Harry stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He could feel the heat of anger rising in his chest. "How is it my problem? I never promised anything!" He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Liam or himself.

Liam stared at him, shaking his head slowly. "He trusts you, Harry. You don't get it. And you're playing games with him. You're being selfish."

Harry scoffed, throwing himself back in his chair. "This is giving me a headache,"

Liam's face didn't change. "I'm being serious."

"Yeah, well, I'm not joking either."

"You're going to break Louis' heart."

Harry froze.

Liam didn't stop. Didn't let him brush this away. "How is that fair, huh?" His voice was calm but firm, eyes locked on Harry's. "You don't want a relationship. Fine. But Louis is our friend now. If this was just about sex, there are so many people on this campus that would be happy to fuck you. Why him? Why someone who isn't like that?"

Harry's jaw clenched. "Oh, fuck off, Liam."

"No. Answer the question."

Harry stood up, chair scraping loudly against the floor. His blood was hot, his patience short. "You're a fucking hypocrite. You never had a problem with me doing this before."

Liam's eyes darkened. "Because Louis is a friend, Harry!"

Harry let out a sharp breath, running both hands through his hair. "I'm done with this conversation."

Liam scoffed. "Of course you are."

Harry's words faltered, his gaze flicking around the room. "He knows how I am. He knew this when he agreed to go out with me. The whole school knows. If he thinks he's different, that's his fault."

Liam's eyes narrowed. "You don't mean that." His voice was quieter now, but it carried more weight than Harry had expected. "You don't mean any of that."

Harry didn't answer. Instead, he just turned, heading for the door, every step feeling like it was leading him further away from something he wasn't sure he understood. He heard Liam call his name, but he didn't turn back.

***

The sky was a rare shade of clear blue, and the sun, unusually warm for this time of year, bathed the campus in a golden hue. It was the kind of day that begged for lazy lounging rather than productivity, but Louis and Zayn had convinced themselves they would study regardless. Niall, on the other hand, had only agreed to join under the condition that he got to have a beer in one hand while his textbook lay forgotten in the other.

The three of them sat sprawled on the grass, books scattered around them, though only two of them were actually reading.

Louis was hunched over his notes, scribbling something down, while Zayn glanced up from his book to shoot a glare at Niall.

"Niall," he warned, voice slow and edged with impatience, "it's a good day. I really don't want to have to bring out Abusive Zayn."

Niall made a face. "Why is that even a thing?"

Without looking up, Louis answered, "Because that's the only thing that seems to work with you."

Niall groaned dramatically. "But it's so nice out. We could be doing something fun."

Zayn's eyes narrowed. "Niall. Stop fucking around. You're falling behind."

Niall sighed and reluctantly flipped the page in his book.

Louis, without missing a beat, deadpanned, "Go back to the page you were on, you didn't read it yet."

Niall's jaw dropped. "How the fuck do you—"

"Niall." Zayn's voice was sharp.

Grumbling, Niall turned back to the previous page.

Five minutes passed before the first interruption came.

A soft press of lips to Zayn's head.

Louis looked up just in time to see Zayn freeze, his cheeks pink, as Liam stood over him, looking pleased with himself. Louis had never seen his best friend blush like that, so he wasn't annoyed.

Though before he could even register that moment properly, the air was knocked out of him as something heavy—and familiar—landed straight onto his back.

"Jesus Christ—" Louis groaned, already knowing exactly who it was without needing to look.

The weight shifted, a familiar scent filling his nose, and sure enough, when he turned his head slightly, he was met with the sight of unruly curls and dimples.

Harry grinned down at him, still half-draped over his body. "Hi, pretty."

Louis rolled his eyes, trying (and failing) to pry Harry off.

"You big gorilla," he grumbled, pushing at Harry's shoulder. "Get off."

Harry only smirked, staying right where he was, resting on his knees now instead of fully on top of Louis. "No thanks. I like it here just fi— FUCK!"

His yelp echoed across the grass as Niall pinched his ear, tugging him off of Louis with no mercy.

"He said get off," Niall grumbled, his grip unrelenting.

Harry groaned, rubbing at his now sore ear. "Jesus, ow. What the fuck, man?"

Niall, unbothered, cracked open another beer.

Louis smirked at the interaction, rubbing his own ribs where Harry had just flattened him.

Niall turned to look at Liam, who just sat down beside Zayn "Why are you two here?"

Liam, looking amused, said, "We were out to eat and spotted you lot while walking back."

Zayn hummed in response, promptly shutting his book.

Niall glared. "Oh, so you're done studying now?"

Zayn merely shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself.

Louis sighed and shook his head, looking down at Harry, who was now pouting at him from where he sat on the grass, tilting his head with those ridiculous puppy eyes.

Louis scowled, but it held no real bite. "You're so annoying."

Still, he let Harry settle his head on his knees, fingers automatically threading through his curls.

Harry grinned, looking smug as he murmured, "You look so beautiful in the sun."

Louis' fingers momentarily faltered in his hair, his cheeks heating up before he forced himself to play it cool.

Glancing at their friends—who, luckily, were distracted—he looked back down at Harry, absently stroking his curls.

Harry puckered his lips, nudging Louis' knee expectantly.

Louis gave him an unimpressed look.

Harry pouted harder.

Louis merely mouthed, spoiled, the word laced with more fondness than he'd ever admit.

Harry yawned, stretching slightly where his head rested in Louis' lap.

Louis, still absently carding his fingers through Harry's curls, glanced down and murmured, "Tired?"

Harry nodded, letting out a quiet hum. "Yeah. Had to stay behind with Coach before lunch, going over plays."

Louis hummed in acknowledgment, his fingers never stopping their soothing movements. "Mmm, captain work?"

Harry snorted softly. "Yeah, something like that."

Louis tilted his head, studying him for a moment. "What else did you do?"

Harry blinked up at him, thinking. "We talked about the next game. Mmm, Joan—do you know him?"

Louis shook his head.

"He's our defensive end," Harry explained, shifting a little to get more comfortable. "Really good at what he does, but he's been limping since the last game. Coach isn't sure if we should let him play. We don't really have anyone else who covers his position as well as he does, but if he plays on an injury, it could get worse."

Louis hummed thoughtfully, letting that sink in, his fingers gently stroking through Harry's curls.

Harry exhaled, his eyes slipping shut for a second before he mumbled, "Sorry, it's probably a bit boring."

Louis shook his head immediately. "No, it's interesting. I didn't know you were in charge of all this. Thought the coach made all the decisions."

Harry cracked one eye open, glancing up at Louis before reaching for his hand, playing with his fingers idly. He looked over at their friends, making sure they weren't paying attention, then quickly pressed a kiss to Louis' knuckles before murmuring, "Coach takes the final call, but I have to meet with him a lot. That's why I get slips when I miss lessons."

Louis nodded, watching the way Harry's fingers intertwined with his own. "Is it tiring?"

Harry shrugged, his thumb tracing patterns over the back of Louis' hand. "Sometimes. But I really like it. When we win, it's not just about how I played or how the team played that day. It means the planning was right. That what we worked on actually worked."

Louis hummed, considering that. He let a moment pass before he asked, "And why do you think?"

Harry blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Louis smirked slightly. "Why do you think your planning is almost always right?"

Harry hesitated, fidgeting slightly. "I dunno," he mumbled.

Louis nudged him gently. "Do you think any of your teammates could do it?"

Harry hesitated again, looking like he wanted to avoid the question.

Louis nudged him again, firmer this time.

Finally, Harry sighed, muttering, "Not really."

Louis tilted his head, studying him. "You're usually so confident, most times even too much. Why are you being shy now?"

Harry scoffed, pushing at Louis' knee to hide his embarrassment. "Shut up."

Louis grinned, then softened. His fingers traced lightly through Harry's hair again as he murmured, "It's because you're smart."

Harry huffed, rolling his eyes.

But Louis continued. "You're intelligent enough to not just focus on yourself during matches and practices. You focus on your teammates. You know where they're best at, and you're able to make plays that actually work. You're why your team wins every time."

Harry's cheeks tinted pink. He scoffed again, shaking his head. "You read too much into stuff."

Louis smirked, poking at the pink in his cheek. "Ooooh, am I making you blush?"

Harry swatted his hand away, grumbling, "Fuck off."

Louis just laughed, fingers still in Harry's curls, secretly delighted at how easy it was to make Harry flustered.

_____

A month and a half passed, dragging them closer to the end of the semester. With Christmas break looming, finals came crashing down on everyone like a weight no one was ready for. Even Niall, usually the poster boy for chaotic denial, hadn't uttered a single complaint during their group study sessions—something so unheard of that Louis made a note of it in his phone just to remember it happened.

Louis, for his part, was hanging by a thread. The final performance of Betrayal was scheduled for the last week of the term, right after finals, and he'd officially entered his director-gremlin era. There were sticky notes everywhere. He talked in monologues. He corrected people's posture at lunch. His dreams were narrated in stage directions.

And yet, somehow, the one person worse off than Louis was Harry.

Harry, who had taken "I can handle it" to suicidal levels of optimism. Between final exams, football practice, team captain duties, and helping out with the play's tech side—all while refusing to drop anything—he was averaging four hours of sleep and one mild existential crisis per day. Louis had tried talking him into stepping back from the drama club more than once, suggesting he focus on football and school instead, but Harry had just shaken his head and said, "Don't want to leave you hanging." Then promptly showed up the next day carrying set pieces like a human forklift with under-eye bags deep enough to swim in.

The worst part was they barely had time for each other. They saw each other every day, sure—during meetings, rehearsals, and library cram sessions—but never alone. Never in the soft, slow, quiet way they'd started to get used to. It wore on them. Harry was moodier than usual, short-tempered in a way he tried to hide behind jokes. And Louis, though he pretended not to also be bothered, had grown quieter too—more withdrawn, almost guarded.

Harry felt it like an ache in his ribs.

Still, in the rare quiet moments Harry found lately, usually at night somewhere between the third cup of coffee and the fourth existential crisis, he'd come to three disturbing realizations.

The first was tragic in a uniquely hormonal way: Harry couldn't believe he had wasted so much time—weeks of golden opportunity—without ever getting Louis under him. Or over him. Or anywhere near his face, really. He hadn't gone down on him once. Not once. What kind of boyfriend material was that? He should be arrested. What was he doing playing moral support tech boy when he could've been buried in Louis' thighs? Honestly, unforgivable.

The second realization was harder to process. It came to him one night while brushing his teeth, when he paused mid-spit and stared at himself in the mirror.

He hadn't hooked up with anyone else.

Not since Louis.

And what was worse, or maybe better, was that he didn't want to. He hadn't even thought about it. Not in any real way. The last time he kissed someone that wasn't Louis was at that frat party, and even then, he'd only done it to piss Louis off.

That girl didn't matter. No one else had, not since Louis sat across from him with those glasses and that permanent air of disdain, arms folded like a challenge Harry couldn't help but rise to. He'd lost interest in anyone who wasn't Louis before he even admitted to having interest in the boy.

The third realisation was the scariest of all.

He didn't mind.

In fact, he liked it.

He liked the idea of waking up and only thinking about one person. Of having someone to show off to and lean on. Someone whose opinions mattered more than the crowd's applause or his teammates' dumb bets. Someone who made him feel seen and not just looked at. He liked knowing that Louis would be annoyed when he was late, but would always wait up anyway. He liked the way Louis said his name when he was tired, soft and a little hoarse, like it was second nature.

He liked... only wanting Louis.

The thought didn't cage him like he thought it would. It didn't choke or restrict or box him in.

It set him free.

All those years thinking monogamy was a trap, a chain, a sacrifice. Turns out, it wasn't suffocating at all. It was... easy. Comforting. He didn't want to be with anyone else. Didn't even want to want anyone else.

And he hadn't even had sex with Louis yet.
They'd only done things once. Underwear on. Clumsy. Desperate. Hot as fuck, yes, but still... incomplete.

Which meant whatever he felt, whatever this was, it had nothing to do with just sex.

And that scared the absolute shit out of him.

But he wasn't going to tell anyone. Not even Liam.

No, Harry wanted to keep this for himself. Just for him and Louis. It felt too delicate, too new to hand over to the world. So when his teammates asked him—like they always did—about the bet, about whether he was still "winning," he just shrugged and smirked, pretending he was still playing the game. The deadline would come soon anyway, just before finals. Once it passed, he'd say he lost, say Louis wasn't interested, and everyone would move on.

No one would have to know about his real feelings.

No one but the person who actually mattered.

Which brought him to now—blinking blearily at the words on his textbook, the words swimming into one another until they looked like IKEA instructions. He blinked again, vaguely aware of someone poking his cheek.

Right where his dimple would be.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Louis asked, voice soft and amused.

Harry turned, blinking slowly. He was met with a crooked smile and fingers hovering dangerously close to his face again.

"Wanna eat you out," Harry said.

The finger froze mid-poke. Across the table, Liam choked on his water.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

"This is a good moment," Liam said, voice strained, "to remind you that you're not alone."

Zayn tilted his head, unimpressed. "I genuinely don't know if he's joking anymore. Louis, when are you reporting him for harassment?"

Niall yawned loudly. "Yeah, when will you?"

Harry scoffed, scandalized. "Oh, come off it. If anything, I'm being very generous. I'm offering a stress-reducing service."

Niall grinned. "I'm also stressed. Are your services open for the whole group?"

Harry gagged dramatically. "Absolutely not. That was a one-person offer."

Louis blinked, clearly trying to get his brain back online. "Wow," he muttered. "Just... wow Niall. Every time I think Harry's reached the limit of gross things to say, you come along and prove me wrong."

Niall's grin widened. "So let me get this straight—Harry offering me his 'services' is disgusting, but if he offers them to you, it's fine?"

Louis narrowed his eyes, but Niall plowed ahead, wiggling his brows. "Mmm. Careful, Lou. Your subtlety is slipping. That 'mysterious date' of yours is starting to look less mysterious."

Louis immediately flushed, looking away as Harry coughed next to him, suddenly very interested in his economics notes. "Anyway," he mumbled, "we were talking about... bounded rationality?"

Liam chuckled under his breath as Zayn poked him, brows furrowed. "Am I missing something?"

Liam leaned over, kissed Zayn's head, and said with an affectionate sigh, "Nothing, love. You'll get it soon enough."

Zayn frowned. "I refuse there to be insides jokes without me in them."

Louis didn't say anything—just bit the inside of his cheek, blush still blooming high on his cheeks as he tried to refocus on his textbook.

His hand was still resting on Harry's knee under the table.

***

Eventually, they'd both had enough.

The silence between them had grown too loud, the unspoken tension too thick to keep pretending they were fine with only fleeting touches and hallway glances. So Louis, quiet but deliberate, asked Zayn if he could have the dorm for the night—something he hadn't done in months. He didn't need to say much. Just hinted at the fact that the guy he was dating wanted to come over and that it couldn't happen at his place.

Zayn didn't question it. He only blinked, tilted his head, and said he'd crash at the frat with Liam for the night. If anyone asked, Niall would say he invited Zayn over for drinks. Liam wasn't ready to be open about them yet, and none of them would push. They understood. No one commented about how, conveniently, Harry wouldn't be at the frat that night either.

To say Harry was grateful didn't quite cover it.

He arrived late that night, fresh from an extended practice. His body ached in places he didn't even know could ache. He hadn't even gotten the chance to properly change out of his training gear. But none of that mattered the moment he stepped into the dorm and saw Louis waiting for him, arms crossed but face warm, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

"Hey," Louis said, his voice soft in a way that didn't match how tired he looked.

Harry didn't answer. He just stepped forward, dropped his bag, and wrapped his arms around Louis. Their lips met in a soft, grateful kiss, and Harry let out a low, satisfied groan when Louis' fingers kneaded gently at the tight knots in his back.

He rested his forehead against Louis'. "I can't wait for this semester to be over."

Louis smiled against his skin, pressing a kiss to his jaw before letting his hands resume their slow, deliberate work. "I know," he murmured. "You're exhausted. I know you want to help with the play, but... please consider taking a step back?"

Harry groaned—not from relief this time—and pulled away slightly, brows knitting in protest. "We've had this talk, Lou."

Before he could say more, Louis kissed him again, firm and persuasive.

"I know. But just—please? Consider it. You've been such a big help, but you spend all day at practice or in your coach's office. Finals are coming, and you've still got the drama club on top of it. You're running yourself into the ground."

He sighed, forehead creasing. "I feel like death, and I don't have football on top of everything. Please, Harry. Just... think about it."

Harry stubbornly shook his head, jaw tight. Louis let out a soft, frustrated huff—but this time, it was Harry who leaned in and kissed him, slow and reassuring.

"Baby," he murmured against Louis' lips, "I'm tired, and I probably stink. Let me shower, yeah? Then we can get into bed. I want to be with you tonight. Don't wanna spend it arguing."

Louis grumbled under his breath—"I'm not arguing, I'm worrying"—but still, he stepped back and let Harry move toward the bathroom. As Harry disappeared behind the door, Louis crouched to unzip his bag, pulling out clean clothes and laying them neatly on the bed.

Ten minutes later, Harry emerged in nothing but a towel, steam curling out into the room behind him, curls damp and sticking to his forehead. He smelled like soap and shampoo and sleep. He paused when he saw the folded clothes waiting for him, the low hum of Louis' voice drifting from the kitchenette.

Domestic.

That was the word that came to mind. And somehow, it didn't scare him.

He changed quickly, pulling on his joggers, about to shrug into a shirt when Louis reappeared, carrying a plate with a couple of sandwiches balanced on it.

"Don't put that on yet," Louis said, nodding toward the shirt in Harry's hand. "Eat first, then I'll give you a massage."

Harry grinned, something quiet and fond blooming in his chest. He padded over to him, catching Louis by the waist once he sat the plate down.

Louis yelped softly, startled by the touch—but more startled by the look on Harry's face. Soft. Gentle. Almost too much.

"You're being weird lately," Louis murmured, frowning.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, smile still lingering as he pressed his thumb to Louis' cheekbone.

"Yeah," Louis said again, voice quieter this time. "It's like... I don't know. Like you're different."

Harry tilted his head. "Different how?"

Louis flushed, avoiding his gaze. "Forget it." But Harry pressed on, thumb still on Louis' cheek, "Like what Lou? Louis shrugged, looking away. Harry decided to guess.

"Like I like you?"

Louis didn't answer. Just shrugged again, fingers fidgeting with the waistband of Harry's joggers. Harry had seen Louis in so many moods—snarky, defensive, teasing, flirtatious—but never quite like this. Quiet. Unsure. Shy.

"You know that already," Harry said, his voice soft. "You know I like you."

Louis looked like he wanted to say something. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, finally, deflected.

"Come on, Styles. Let's eat."

They ate cross-legged on the bed, Harry dramatically over-praising Louis' sandwich-making skills, and Louis rolling his eyes with every compliment. But the tension had melted. Louis relaxed again, the flush fading from his cheeks, his shoulder brushing Harry's every so often.

Afterwards, Harry stretched out on his stomach, groaning as Louis straddled the backs of his thighs and began working his hands across his shoulder blades. The oil was unscented, just something Zayn had once bought for sore muscles, but under Louis' hands, it felt like magic. He worked in slow circles, thumbs digging into the knots. Harry groaned in relief when Louis found the tight spot beneath his shoulder.

"Yeah, right there, Lou."

Louis kept going, working the oil deeper into his skin, kneading over his neck and the curve of his spine. But ten minutes later, Harry tensed beneath him.

"This is torture."

Louis frowned. "What? I thought you were enjoying this."

"I was," Harry muttered, shifting awkwardly. "Just... can't stand another minute without looking at you."

Louis blinked, startled, as Harry rolled them with one swift motion, pressing Louis into the mattress and settling on top of him.

"Oh, piss off," Louis muttered, rolling his eyes, but his fingers were already threading into Harry's curls.

His bottom lip jutted out just slightly, like it always did when he wanted a kiss but didn't want to ask for it. Usually, Harry would tease him for it—but tonight, he just didn't have it in him.

He leaned down and kissed him.

It started soft—tentative—but deepened quickly, Harry's hand cradling Louis' jaw, his tongue sliding over Louis' bottom lip until he opened up with a soft gasp. Louis parted his legs just enough for Harry to settle fully between them, their bodies aligning like they'd done it a hundred times before.

Harry kissed him again. And again. Three short, deep kisses, one after the other, before pulling back just slightly to breathe. Louis' lips were pink and swollen, and Harry couldn't resist leaning down to give him one more, quick and lingering.

Louis stared at him, something unreadable in his expression.

"I don't want you to freak out," he said suddenly, voice quiet. "But I—I..."

Harry waited, watching as Louis swallowed and started again.

"This isn't a game for me," he said. "I've never... fuck, I don't know why I can't find the words. I'm sorry, I'm just so nervous about all of this."

He let out a dry chuckle that held no amusement.

Harry nodded, brushing his thumb along Louis' cheek. "I won't freak out," he whispered. "Tell me."

Louis hesitated. Then, finally, he let himself say it.

"I really like you, Harry."

Harry smiled, slow and genuine—but then his brows furrowed.

"Why are you saying it like it's a bad thing?"

Louis' expression faltered. He shrugged again. Looked away.

And Harry didn't push. Not this time.

He just leaned in, kissed him gently, and whispered, "I won't hurt you, Lou."

There was a pause. Then Louis looked at him again, something trembling in his eyes.

"You promise?"

Harry nodded, their foreheads pressing together.

"I promise."

.

.

.

Chapter Text

Despite the mountain of things on his plate—practice, finals, the play—Harry still somehow found time to spiral.

It crept up on him in the quiet moments, slipping in between the rush of responsibilities and the few, fleeting seconds of stillness. It wasn't like he wanted to fall apart over this. It wasn't like he had time for it. But there it was anyway, lodged somewhere behind his ribs, gnawing at his thoughts like a loose thread he couldn't stop pulling.

This thing with Louis.

He didn't even know what to call it.

Which was kind of the problem.

Harry had never done this before—not really. Not with any real weight to it. Sure, he'd kissed people, hooked up, flirted his way through half the campus. But he'd never... liked someone like this. He'd never been with someone who made him want to skip parties just to sit next to them on a crappy dorm bed and talk about books. He'd never wanted to be known before.

And the irony wasn't lost on him—that he, of all people, was the one caught in the what are we? dilemma.

He used to scoff at people who had these conversations. Used to call it "The Talk" in the most dramatic tone possible, like it was a disease. Something that clung to people too deep in to realise they were already drowning.

But now?

Now he was wondering what the fuck he and Louis were. And worse, wondering if Louis ever thought about it, too.

He didn't want to ask outright. He didn't want to seem desperate. He didn't want Louis to figure out just how inexperienced he really was, how much this mattered to him. That kind of truth felt too naked. Too risky. And Harry couldn't risk Louis pulling away, not when he was just starting to let him in.

So he sat on it. Let it rot quietly in his chest.

Until one evening, the words slipped out before he could stop them.

They were sitting in the library, tucked in a corner table with notes and highlighters scattered between them. The others were off at evening lectures, so it was just the two of them, a low hum of conversation surrounding their quiet little bubble.

Harry had been trying to focus—he really had. But Louis kept tapping his pen against his bottom lip, brows furrowed in concentration, and Harry's mind wandered. First to how kissable his mouth looked. Then to the fact that he had absolutely no idea what they were doing.

And then, out of nowhere, he blurted:

"Would it bother you if I went out with someone else?"

Louis slowly looked up from his study book, blinking as he processed the words. His eyes flickered around the library, scanning for any sign that he'd misheard before settling on Harry.

"...What?"

Harry cleared his throat. "I just—would it—"

Louis cut him off, his voice calm but firm. "I heard what you said."

There was a pause. A long, stretched-out silence where something inside Louis coiled uncomfortably, an ugly, unfamiliar feeling twisting in his gut.

His voice was slow, careful, calculated. "Are we exclusive?"

Harry's mouth opened and closed. "No... yes! No?"

Louis rested his cheek on his palm, letting out a soft huff of laughter. It wasn't amused. "No, we're not," he said plainly.

Another pause. Louis stared at Harry in silence, searching his face for something—anything—to explain what the hell he was trying to do.

"Do you want to go out with someone?" he finally asked.

Harry looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "It's just a question."

Louis exhaled sharply, a bitter taste in his mouth as he looked at his study book. "I can't do this right now," he muttered, pressing his fingers into his temple. He took a steadying breath, willing himself to stay calm. "I guess you can. We're keeping our options open."

Something flickered across Harry's face, his posture straightening slightly. "We? Options?" he echoed, perking up as if this was suddenly a game he was losing.

Louis tilted his head, studying him like he was a puzzle he was finally figuring out. "I didn't think we needed to," he said, voice edged with something sharp, "but maybe I was wrong."

Harry's brow furrowed. "I didn't say that," he said quickly. "I was just asking. Why, do you have someone in mind?"

Louis didn't answer. He just stared. He decided to ignore that question.

"Why did you ask me that?"

Harry shifted in his seat, fingers tapping restlessly on the table. "I was just curious." His voice carried a defensive edge now. "Why do you sound irritated?"

Louis snapped before he could stop himself. "Why do you think?!"

The words landed heavy between them, the quiet hum of the library swallowed by the weight of his voice. Louis clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face to cool his temper.

Harry's expression darkened, his voice cutting through the tension. "I thought we could talk about stuff like this," he said, frustration leaking into his tone. "You always answer my questions. I thought—"

Louis let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Are you— In what world did you think asking that, after we just talked about my lack of trust in you, was a good idea?"

Harry's nostrils flared. "Your lack of trust in me is not my problem," he bit out. "I did nothing to you. If you're insecure, that's not my fault."

Louis slammed his book shut. The sound echoed in the quiet library, making a few heads turn. He stood abruptly, shoving his chair back. His breath was steady, but his hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Fuck you, Harry."

Harry's eyes widened slightly, as if the words had stunned him, but Louis was already turning away.

"Where are you going?" Harry called after him, voice quieter, tinged with something that almost sounded like regret.

Louis didn't answer.

Harry debated whether to leave it alone.

He scoffed, rolling his shoulders back, telling himself it didn't matter. Louis would come back—they always came back. And if he didn't? Well, so be it. See if he cared.

That didn't explain why he was already fumbling to shove his chair back, heart hammering in his chest as he moved to run after him.

Louis wasn't rushing, but his steps were purposeful, sharp. Still, Harry was faster.

"Louis, wait—" Harry's voice was hoarse, slightly breathless. "Fuck, please—Lou—"

Louis halted so abruptly that Harry almost crashed into him. His breath came heavy, but not from exertion. From frustration.

When Louis turned, his face was tight with anger, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

"I'm stressed, Harry." His voice came out sharp, unfiltered. "My exams are coming up, I was at the theater until one in the fucking morning yesterday, and I've been studying for hours today." His breath was shaky as he exhaled. "The last thing I needed was your bullshit."

Harry took a step back, but Louis followed, closing the distance, his words spilling out with unrestrained frustration.

"Insecure, you say?" He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Fuck."

Harry opened his mouth, but Louis was already going on.

"I'm trying to be a good person here, Harry. I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, to not judge you for things that aren't my business. But I can't be a hypocrite and pretend the rumors don't bother me."

His voice cracked slightly, but his expression didn't waver.

Harry swallowed, jaw tensing. "Louis—"

"Of course they fucking bother me!" Louis cut him off, his voice rising. "Of course I have to protect myself! Because who's to say I'm any different from the people in your past?"

Harry's mouth opened again, but no words came out.

Louis scoffed, his head shaking. "And you don't even care."

"I do care—"

"No, you don't," Louis snapped, voice trembling with pent-up frustration. Louis' breathing was ragged, his eyes burning as he went on. "I never asked you for anything, Harry. Not once. I never begged you to take me out. I never went after you."

His voice rose as he jabbed a finger into Harry's chest.

"You did!"

Another shove.

"Again and again and again!"

Harry stumbled slightly, caught off guard.

Louis let out a shaky breath, his hands curling at his sides.

"And now you ask me fucked up questions like that," Louis spat, his voice thick with disbelief. He shook his head, his throat tightening as he hissed, "How did you want me to answer, Harry?"

Harry just stood there, watching, listening, trying to form words, but Louis didn't give him the chance.

Louis' voice softened—just a fraction—as he continued, his hands trembling.

"Did you want me to say, yeah, sure, go ahead—fuck around—I'll be at home waiting for you like a fucking idiot?"

Harry's stomach twisted.

Louis exhaled sharply, his expression unreadable.

"We're not exclusive. We both know that." His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. "I never asked you to be. It's too soon. I'm not even sure what this is."

Louis swallowed, his throat bobbing, and for a moment, he looked tired. "Whatever Harry, if you want—"

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted, reaching out without thinking.

Louis moved to pull away, but Harry's fingers caught his wrist, gentle yet firm.

"Wait, listen to me." Harry's voice wavered slightly, desperate in a way that felt foreign.

Louis stilled, looking down at Harry's hand on his wrist before meeting his eyes again. He didn't tug away. Not yet.

Harry swallowed, his grip loosening but not falling away completely. "I've never done this before." His voice was lower now, softer. "And sometimes I just, I say things without thinking. I don't—" He huffed, looking away for a beat before finding Louis' gaze again. "I don't know how to do this."

Louis' brows furrowed slightly.

"I've never cared for someone the way I care for you," Harry admitted, voice quiet but raw. "And I don't know how to handle it, because it's new to me." His fingers flexed around Louis' wrist. "I've never even been in a proper relationship before, so I— I don't know the steps. I don't know what I'm doing. But I didn’t want to tell you because I feel like a child when it comes to this, I didn’t want you to see how inexperienced I am."

Louis inhaled deeply, studying him.

Harry's words tumbled out faster now, as if afraid Louis would walk away before he could get them all out. "So I fuck up. And I will fuck up again. And I— I don't want to—" He stopped, his breath catching slightly. His voice was barely above a whisper when he said, "Louis, please listen to me. I really don't want this to end."

Louis seemed to still at that, softening slightly he says, "Harry, love you're panicking. I never said we're over. We're having a fight and I'm irritated with you but that doesn't mean things end at the first problem."

Harry felt something in his chest loosen just enough to let him breathe again.

Louis' voice remained steady as he continued, "But don't downplay my worries. If I confide in you about somethings, a vulnerability, and you throw it back at me in a petty argument? I won't forgive you for that."

Harry swallowed thickly, nodding.

"Don't call me insecure just because I've been honest about my concerns," Louis went on, his grip tightening slightly. "I told you—I am honest in everything I do. With my friends, my family, and especially in my relationships. Don't use that against me."

Harry let out a breath, nodding again. "I'm sorry," he murmured, meaning it.

A beat of silence passed.

Then, hesitantly, he added, "I still want to talk about this."

Louis raised an eyebrow but didn't pull away.

Harry wet his lips, running a hand through his curls. "I like talking to you. You don't judge me when I ask things. And maybe I shouldn't have asked that—"

Louis interrupted him, this time his tone softer. "You wanted to know if we were exclusive. And I would have answered that."

Harry's brows knitted together.

Louis sighed, his irritation easing just a fraction. "You just used the wrong words, Harry. Or maybe you wanted to know what my reaction would be instead of just asking me outright."

Harry winced, because yeah, that was probably true.

Louis shook his head but reached for Harry's hand, lacing their fingers together. His touch was warm, grounding.

"Come on," he said, tugging him forward. "Let's go. I'll answer your questions."

.

They sat cross-legged on the carpet beside Louis' bed, a bag of crisps between them and an untouched bottle of water at Harry's side. The dorm was quiet except for the occasional sounds coming from the corridor.

Harry picked at a loose thread on his sweatpants, glancing up at Louis before clearing his throat.

"Alright," Louis said, stretching his legs out. "Let's start. Questions."

Harry hesitated, shifting slightly where he sat.

Louis narrowed his eyes, catching the faint pink dusting his cheeks. "What's that look for?"

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "This is all a bit weird. I'm not used to talking about this stuff."

Louis tilted his head.

Harry continued, "Like, having to say things out loud?" He huffed, glancing at Louis with a lopsided smile. "It's a bit embarrassing."

Louis snorted. "There's nothing embarrassing about it." He nudged Harry's knee with his own. "Come on, it's a good thing. Talking. Being honest."

Harry let out a breath, nodding slowly. "Yeah. I guess."

Louis hummed, watching him. "Alright then, what's first?"

Harry picked at the label on the water bottle before finally asking, "What exactly are we doing?"

Louis exhaled, tapping his fingers on his knee as he thought about it. "Well," he started, "We're dating."

Harry nodded.

Louis continued, "And we're... probably moving a bit faster than normal because we have mutual friends. We already spend a lot of time together, so there's none of that awkward 'getting to know each other' phase where you're slowly introduced to the other person's world."

Harry considered that. "Yeah. That makes sense." He paused. "It does feel like we're rushing a bit."

Louis' gaze flickered to him. "Does it scare you?" There was a hesitance in his voice, a carefulness that made Harry sit up a little straighter.

Harry was quick to shake his head. "No—I mean, yes, but not in a bad way." He ran a hand through his curls, exhaling. "I like it."

Louis studied him for a beat before nodding, accepting his answer.

Harry licked his lips before asking, "Why don't you trust me?"

Louis blinked. "You've already asked me this."

"I know," Harry said, "but..." He sighed. "I trust you. So shouldn't it go both ways? How is this supposed to work otherwise?"

Louis swallowed, his throat tight. He dropped his gaze to his fingers, twisting them anxiously. Finally, he forced himself to speak, his voice soft but steady, tinted with hesitation. “I do trust you… that you wouldn’t be with someone else. You’ve never given me any reason to doubt that. I’ve never even seen you interested in anyone else.” His voice softened further, almost shyly, “So yeah, I trust you on that level.”

He paused, his cheeks warming in embarrassment, knowing he had more to say but struggling with how to say it. Harry remained silent, eyes wide, patiently waiting.

“I guess—” Louis sighed, adjusting his position to find more comfort, although comfort felt impossible at this moment. “Since I’m asking you to be honest, it’s only fair that I am too. My fear is—and please understand, I know it’s irrational…” He rushed that last part, anxious not to offend. “When I say I haven’t given you a reason not to trust me, I mean since the very beginning. You know exactly why I’m here, Harry. There’s no hidden agenda. I was never secretly interested. Hell, at first, I didn’t even want you around. The only reason we're here right now is because you forced me to get to know you—"

Harry scoffed. "Forced you."

Louis chuckled gently, meeting Harry’s eyes briefly before quickly looking down again. “Let me finish,” he pleaded softly. “You insisted I get to know you. You persisted, and somehow I did and—” He paused, heart quickening at the admission. “I really liked what I saw. I still do.”

He let the confession hang in the air, thick and delicate at the same time. He drew a shaky breath, continuing cautiously, “But the difference is, you know for sure my intentions are genuine. I’ve never hidden that. But me… I don’t have that same certainty with you.”

Harry’s expression shifted, concern and guilt flickering across his features. Louis quickly raised a hand, gently stopping any protest.

“Wait. Please, just let me finish this,” Louis murmured gently, trying to gather his thoughts. “My insecurity, as you called it—” Harry flinched slightly, eyes flicking downward with shame, but Louis shook his head reassuringly. “It’s been on my mind from the start. Like, what if you’re just doing this for the credits, or as a challenge? Maybe when I rejected you the first few times, you just decided to change tactics.”

He paused, struggling against the lump in his throat. “I know you, Harry. Deep down, I know you’re kind, and I truly don’t believe you’d deliberately hurt me. That’s why I say I’m trying to trust you. I’m getting there, I just… I need more time. That’s all.”

Harry’s mouth opened, but Louis gently squeezed his hand again, silently begging for patience.

“I’ve tried hard not to listen to the rumors or dwell on your past because it’s not fair to you. But when I hear things—people hurt by you, people who felt played—it gets hard. I start wondering which version is the real you. I keep trying to separate the you I’ve grown to care about from the person people talk about.” Louis’ voice trembled slightly. “It scares me sometimes, trying to figure out if what we have is real or if I’m fooling myself.”

Harry looked down, the blush on his cheeks no longer from embarrassment, but from shame. It tugged at Louis’ heart painfully, prompting him to close the distance between them. Slowly, deliberately, Louis shifted until his legs draped comfortably over Harry’s thighs. His fingers tangled gently with Harry’s, thumb stroking over Harry’s knuckles soothingly.

“This isn’t meant to hurt you,” Louis whispered earnestly, leaning slightly closer. “I just wanted to finally be completely honest with you. This fear has been stuck inside me for so long. But the more time we spend together, Harry, the more I trust you. I swear, I’m getting there.”

Harry drew Louis’ hand upward gently, pressing his lips softly against the back of Louis’ knuckles, lingering for a moment before murmuring against the skin, “I wish I’d met you sooner.”

Louis’ nose scrunched adorably as he smiled shyly. “I don’t think you would’ve liked me then. I was weird.”

Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head affectionately. “No, I would’ve liked you. I’ll always like you, Lou.”

Louis rolled his eyes, ducking his head with a playful groan. “Ugh, get off, you sap.” Despite his teasing, warmth blossomed deep in his chest.

After a beat, he remembered Harry’s original question. Feeling a bit exposed he decided to lean forward, resting his head on Harry’s chest and gathering all his courage he spoke, “Back to your question. Do you want us to be exclusive?”

The room went quiet again, the silence stretching gently. Harry’s voice finally came, quiet, tentative, hopeful, “Like… boyfriends?”

Louis bit his lip, face still hidden against Harry’s chest, heat blooming across his cheeks as he whispered shyly, “Something like that.”

Harry shifted slightly, lifting Louis’ chin gently until their eyes met again, his own cheeks flushed warmly, mirroring Louis’. “I—yeah. Yes, Lou. I would like that. Very much.”

Louis couldn’t stop the gentle smile that tugged insistently at his lips, shyly ducking his gaze away again. “Okay,” he breathed softly, his voice almost a whisper.

Harry tilted his head, his gaze flicking down to Louis' lips.

Without thinking, he cupped Louis' jaw and leaned in, capturing his lips in his own.

Louis inhaled sharply through his nose, momentarily caught off guard, before melting into the kiss. Harry's mouth was warm, soft but insistent, his tongue teasing at the seam of Louis' lips until he parted for him.

Harry deepened the kiss, tilting his head as he tasted him, his hands slipping to Louis' waist and pulling him impossibly closer.

Louis sighed against his lips, letting himself fall into the feeling, into the warmth of it, the weight of Harry's hands on him.

Harry's breathing slowly steadied as he parted gently from Louis' lips, eyes fluttering open to see Louis staring up at him with a soft, slightly dazed smile. He felt warmth bloom in his chest, a tender, quiet moment wrapping around them like a protective bubble from the outside world.

"We're okay, right? You're not mad anymore?"

Louis shook his head, licking his lips "No, we're fine."

He brushed his thumb softly along Louis' cheek, watching as Louis leaned into the touch, eyes half-lidded and content. Unable to help himself, Harry murmured softly, "You busy later?"

Louis shook his head, raising a curious eyebrow as he relaxed further into the pillows. "No, why?"

Harry smiled, leaning down to press a gentle, lingering kiss against Louis' bare shoulder, savoring the faint scent of his skin. "Remember how you said we were gonna watch the copy of your Grease performance from high school?"

Louis' eyes widened dramatically, getting out of his daze. "I never said that," he protested vehemently, shifting slightly beneath Harry. "Believe me, I'd remember, because I live every single day hoping to find and burn that DVD along with every copy ever made."

Harry chuckled, the sound warm and affectionate as he brushed his nose against Louis' temple. "Come on," he coaxed, lips curving into a teasing smile. "You know how much I keep watching that audition video of yours. I'm desperate to see the real thing."

Louis rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, his cheeks flushing a delicate pink despite his playful indignation. "Harry, that's literally never going to happen. Like ever."

Harry pouted dramatically, softening his gaze to one of exaggerated heartbreak. Louis looked unimpressed at first, but his resolve visibly weakened when Harry jutted out his bottom lip even further. Louis' gaze flickered from Harry's pleading eyes down to his lips, a quiet sigh slipping from him.

Unable to resist, Louis leaned forward, pressing a gentle, fleeting kiss to Harry's exaggerated pout. "Forget it, Styles," he whispered softly, though the resolve in his voice had noticeably dimmed.

"Oh come on, please?" Harry groaned, shifting closer, arms tightening gently around Louis' waist, pulling him into a comforting embrace. His voice was soft, filled with quiet sincerity. "I just want to see you perform. It's special to me."

Louis stared at him a moment longer, eyes searching Harry's face for signs of teasing. But he found only earnest affection, a vulnerability Harry rarely let slip past his playful facade.

Eventually, Louis sighed softly, giving in. "Fine," he murmured, though he sounded far less annoyed than he intended. "Where do you want to watch it? Here?"

Harry hesitated for a brief moment, biting his lip thoughtfully before shaking his head. "Actually, I was thinking mine?"

Louis frowned slightly, uncertainty flashing across his features. Noticing the hesitation, Harry gently added, "I mean—Zayn's going to be here, right? And I... I want us to have some privacy." His voice grew quieter, more vulnerable. "I want to hold you, Lou, do all that cheesy stuff. I want us to be together in bed without constantly worrying about someone interrupting."

Louis studied Harry's earnest expression, his heart softening at the gentle honesty reflected in Harry's eyes. Yet there was still a visible hesitation lingering.

"Hey," Harry pressed gently, stroking Louis' hip with a comforting thumb, "I promise, no one's gonna bother you or ask questions. Niall will probably be there too, so if you'd feel more comfortable, you can just say you're coming over for him."

That seemed to ease Louis' concern, his shoulders relaxing visibly as he considered it for a final moment. Eventually, a small smile touched his lips and he nodded, reaching up to lightly trace Harry's jaw "Alright,"

.

The frat house was oddly quiet for a Saturday evening, the usual chaos muted to a dull hum as Harry stood in the living room, tension evident in every line of his body. His voice carried an edge, something between anxiousness and authority, as he said, "Alright, Louis is coming over. Seriously, guys, I need you all on your best behaviour."

Joha raised his eyebrows from where he lounged on the couch, sending Harry an amused thumbs-up. Across from him, Matt groaned dramatically, letting his head fall back against the cushions. "Don't even remind me about him, Styles. I doubled my money on you. You were supposed to win me that bet, and now you're losing it for me."

Harry snorted dismissively, though his jaw tensed slightly. "Nobody asked you to place bets on my personal life in the first place."

"Oh," Joha said slowly, drawing the word out. "Someone's backing out."

Harry stiffened visibly. "I'm not backing out," he snapped, defensive and sharper than he'd intended. "I'm just saying, you lot are the ones who made it into a bet—not me."

Aiden sauntered into the room, chuckling softly as he observed Harry's discomfort. "You're definitely backing out, mate."

Harry rolled his eyes, irritation blending with a flash of vulnerability he quickly tried to mask. "I wasn't in on it to begin with."

Aiden feigned a cough, grinning knowingly. "Someone caught feelings."

"I never said that," Harry retorted too quickly, heat rising uncomfortably up his neck.

Matt's laughter cut through the room, mocking and unapologetic. "Aw, are you in love, Styles?"

Aiden swatted him. "Shut up. Who cares? It's a stupid bet anyway. And the only one losing anything would be you."

Matt mock-sobbed, theatrically pressing a hand over his chest. "A hundred dollars down the drain."

The others laughed, but Harry felt cornered, the sound harsh in his ears. "It's not like that," he insisted, frustration leaking into his tone. Their sceptical expressions only spurred him on further, pushing words out of his mouth before he could reconsider them. "Come on, you seriously think I caught feelings?"

"Harry—" Aiden's voice held a warning, sharp and urgent, but Harry didn't heed it.

"What?" Harry pressed stubbornly, the vulnerability raw in his voice. "You know why I joined the club in the first place, it’s not like I asked to be there you know I had to. The bet just added a bit of fun. So stop acting like I—why are you all looking at me like you've seen a ghost? You're that surprised by—"

"You fucking piece of shit."

Harry spun around so fast a sharp pain shot through his neck. He barely managed to stammer, "What—?" before Niall stormed towards him, rage blazing in his eyes. Harry had no chance to prepare before Niall's fist collided sharply with his jaw, sending him stumbling back in shock. He'd barely regained his balance when Niall swung again, knuckles connecting solidly with Harry's right cheek, pain blossoming sharply under his skin.

Instinct overtook reason, and Harry's fist shot out, landing a punch that split Niall's lip open, blood trickling immediately. The room exploded into motion, bodies diving between them to keep them apart, voices raised in confusion and panic.

Aiden and Joha grabbed Niall, holding him back as he struggled, furious and unrelenting. "You disgust me, Harry! He trusts you, you fucking bastard—Aiden, let go of me!"

Before Harry could even process Niall's fury, a soft, painfully familiar voice echoed from the doorway. "Hello? The door was open—I tried to call out but no one came, so I let myself in, I hope that's—"

His voice was so gentle compared to the noise, so soft it might have been imagined. But it cut through Harry like a knife.

Louis stepped into view, freezing immediately as his eyes took in the chaos. His gaze landed on Harry, worry erasing any trace of casual confidence from his face. He rushed to Harry's side, cold, gentle fingers brushing softly over the swelling bruise on Harry's cheek, making him flinch involuntarily.

"Oh my god, Harry, what happened?" Louis' voice shook slightly, confusion evident.

"Get off him, Lou," Niall snapped bitterly, breathing heavily, "Get away from that bastard."

Louis turned sharply, his face contorting into anger as he registered Niall's own bloodied lip. "Was it you?" Louis demanded sharply. "What were you thinking, why—"

Niall shoved roughly against Aiden, finally breaking free, voice shaking with anger and betrayal. "Why don't you ask him, Lou? Ask him how long you were just part of a fucking game."

Louis stilled, his hand frozen against Harry's cheek, confusion flooding his eyes as he slowly turned back towards Harry. "What?"

Harry's voice cracked desperately, pleading with Niall. "Please, Niall, let me tell him—"

But Niall's eyes were cold, furious, betrayed. "Don't even speak to me, Styles." He reached out, gripping Louis' arm and pulling him roughly upright. "Come on, Lou."

Louis stumbled slightly, eyes wide with disbelief, flicking between Niall and Harry, searching for answers Harry wasn't fast enough to provide. Something clicked behind Louis' eyes, the confusion rapidly shifting to realisation, then hurt.

"Louis—" Harry whispered, the weight of guilt heavy in his voice.

Louis only shook his head slowly, an unreadable expression settling over his features. He allowed Niall to lead him away, stepping numbly towards the door. Just before disappearing, Louis glanced back one last time, heartbreak clear as day, before he turned and walked out, leaving Harry standing in stunned silence, the fracture he'd feared now painfully real.

.

The dorm room was silent, but not peacefully so. It was the kind of heavy, oppressive quiet that seeped into the bones, making the air thick and difficult to breathe. Louis moved mechanically across the room, his movements precise but detached, as if he were operating purely on autopilot. His eyes were focused downward, deliberately avoiding the sympathetic, worried gazes that followed him from across the room.

Niall sat stiffly on Zayn's bed, shoulders slumped forward, head bowed slightly in shame and discomfort. His lip was split and swollen, a thin line of blood still fresh at the corner despite his constant dabbing with a crumpled tissue. Every once in a while, he winced slightly, both from physical pain and the guilt that gnawed at him relentlessly.

Standing in front of him, Zayn watched closely, arms folded tightly across his chest, expression unreadable except for the slight crease of worry between his eyebrows. After a long silence, Zayn finally exhaled softly, the sound feeling deafeningly loud in the heavy atmosphere.

"Seriously, Ni," Zayn murmured, voice gentle yet carrying an undeniable reprimand. "What the hell were you thinking? Picking a fight with someone twice your bloody size?"

Niall's brows knitted together instantly, his eyes flashing defensively as he opened his mouth to protest. Before a word could escape, Louis stepped forward abruptly, silencing them both as he pressed a damp cotton pad directly against Niall's injured lip without gentleness.

Niall hissed sharply, jerking his head back. "Jesus, Lou! That fucking hurts."

Louis didn't even blink, didn't allow himself the indulgence of compassion. "Yeah?" he snapped, voice tight and brittle. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before acting like a caveman."

Niall fell silent immediately, chastised, dropping his gaze to the floor. His fingers twisted anxiously in his lap, the quiet guilt radiating from him palpable enough to fill the entire room. Louis continued to dab at the wound, movements precise yet coldly distant, as if the task were nothing more than a nuisance he was eager to be done with.

Zayn cleared his throat softly, sensing the fragile state Louis was in. He chose his words carefully, voice lowered to a comforting pitch. "Louis, look—"

Louis straightened abruptly, his eyes flickering away. "We don't have anything for your lip here," he interrupted, not looking directly at Niall. His tone was clipped and strained. "I'll check at the front desk for a lip patch."

"Louis," Niall tried again, softer now, voice edging toward pleading.

But Louis had already moved toward the door, hands trembling slightly as he gripped the handle, turning away from them before Niall could finish. The door clicked softly shut, the finality of it echoing louder than a slam.

Left alone, Niall exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping even further as the weight of what he'd done pressed down on him. He didn't dare look at Zayn, didn't want to see the disappointment that he knew would be evident in his friend's eyes. Or so he thought.

After a long moment, Zayn sighed quietly, easing himself onto the bed beside Niall. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, voice gentle but probing. "You alright?"

Niall shook his head, eyes staring blankly at the floor. "It's my fault."

Zayn's head snapped around, eyes narrowing. "What are you on about? Stop spouting shit."

"It is," Niall insisted, voice cracking under the weight of his admission. He lifted his head finally, anguish clearly etched in his features. "I could tell something was happening between them. I could see it—everyone could. And I didn't say anything. I didn't ask. I didn't try to stop it. Even though I know what kind of person Harry can be."

Zayn frowned deeper, a twitch in his jaw. "That's not on you. He fooled all of us, alright? I would've never expected it either. Yeah, Harry's got a reputation, but he—" He hesitated. "He seemed different with Louis. It felt like he really cared. So I thought... maybe it was just a crush. A stupid crush that would pass. I didn't think Louis actually—"

"I wish it was just a crush," Niall muttered bitterly. "I wish he didn't care that much."

The door clicked open softly again, cutting through their quiet contemplation.

Louis entered quietly, holding a small tube of antiseptic ointment and fresh cotton pads in his hands, expression carefully blank. He didn't meet their eyes, movements deliberate as he set the items beside the med kit on the bed. He busied himself immediately, fussing with something unnecessary in his closet, refusing to let the moment settle or allow any opportunity for them to address what had happened.

Niall and Zayn shared a quick, uncertain glance. They both recognized Louis' coping mechanism—burying himself in trivial tasks, hiding behind a facade of normalcy. Yet neither could find the words to break through it, both wary of making things worse.

Louis didn't say anything for a long while.

He just stood there with his shoulders drawn tight, head bowed slightly as he fastened the last clasp on his bag. His fingers trembled faintly, but he moved like he was late for something—like if he stopped moving, even for a second, the whole fragile performance would fall apart.

When he finally spoke, his voice was thin and too steady.

"Alright," he said. "I've got a lot to do. I'll head to the club."

Zayn opened his mouth, voice gentle. "Lou—"

But Louis steamrolled over it, not looking at either of them.

"Miles ordered the wrong bloody costumes again," he said, with a hollow sort of laugh that scraped its way out of his throat. "I told him—I told him—off-white, not eggshell. They're not the same. Not even close. But does he listen? No. He never does. Thinks I won't notice, like I don't know every detail of this play backwards."

He moved around the room like someone rewinding a memory too fast, his bag thumping against his side as he bent to collect a notebook, shoving it in with more force than necessary.

Niall stood slowly from Zayn's bed. "Louis—come on, I know you're not really—"

He cut himself off as Louis finally looked up.

Just for a second, Louis met his gaze—and that was all it took. His expression cracked, eyes too wide, too glassy, like he was barely holding something back. A quiet, trembling edge of please don't make me talk about it.

Niall's breath caught. He sighed and glanced at Zayn.

Zayn, to his credit, didn't hesitate. "Yeah?" he said casually, forcing levity into his voice. "They're two completely different colours. Obviously. You should go make sure Miles doesn't ruin the whole show."

Louis blinked. Relief passed over his face in a flash, almost imperceptible if they didn't know him. His shoulders dropped half an inch.

"Yeah," he mumbled, eyes flicking away. "I'll—I'll go now."

He moved toward the door, steps quick but not frantic, like he was afraid if he stayed a moment longer, his mask would crumble right off his face.

Neither of them tried to stop him.

And that was the kindest thing they could've done.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

A/N: it won’t let me add it in the notes but for future reference when they talk about roses, numbers and meanings I’ll be linking where I get the meanings from. That’s because if you look it up some of the meanings change depending on the site! So if you press right here it’ll take you there!

Louis had managed to keep himself numb since the moment he walked out of the frat house.

It had been surprisingly easy at first, with Niall's bleeding lip serving as an immediate distraction, then Miles' insistent mistakes at the club providing another welcome excuse to shove the swirling storm of emotions to the back of his mind. He had stayed for hours—far longer than necessary—busying himself with mundane tasks, rearranging props, meticulously sorting costumes, double-checking every tiny detail, anything to delay the inevitable moment when he would finally be forced to confront reality.

But eventually, everyone else had filtered out, leaving him alone in the empty theater, surrounded only by silence and shadows. He had moved slowly, switching off each light one by one, until the entire club was submerged in darkness. It was in that final, quiet emptiness that the numbness he'd clung to so desperately slipped away.

Suddenly, every carefully ignored thought crashed back into him with ruthless clarity.

Louis felt like he was suffocating, a painful ache spreading through his chest, tightening around his heart until it felt impossible to breathe. The humiliation burned the sharpest—how had he, of all people, let himself fall into such a predictable, pathetic trap? He had spent years pitying those who got caught up in men exactly like Harry Styles, men who played with hearts as casually as they played football. And yet here he was, utterly devastated by the same type of arrogant, selfish player he'd always sworn to avoid.

He could almost hear Harry's laughter now, mocking him from a distance, the sound cruel and taunting inside his own head. Every moment between them replayed mercilessly, every gentle touch, every tender kiss, every whispered promise that had felt so sincere at the time. Each memory he had once cherished now felt twisted, poisoned by the truth that it had all been nothing more than a game.

Louis couldn't even bring himself to think about their first date—the roses Harry had shyly handed him, the way his eyes had sparkled beneath the dim drive-in lights, the lingering warmth of their almost-kiss. The pain of that memory was still too raw, too real. He had to admit, bitterly, that Styles knew exactly what he was doing. Harry knew precisely how to make someone feel special, how to make them believe in a sweetness and sincerity that simply didn't exist.

He felt foolish for believing in something deeper beneath Harry's cocky facade. Harry had always been selfish, arrogant, notorious for his reputation as a heartbreaker. Louis knew that better than anyone. But still, he had convinced himself there was more, that there was something genuine behind the practiced smirks and easy charm.

How stupid had he been.

Louis' phone had remained off, shoved deep into his pocket. Part of him refused to face Harry's inevitable calls and messages—if there even were any. A more cynical part wondered if there had been no attempts to reach out at all, whether Harry had moved on just as easily as he had stepped into Louis' life in the first place. Had Louis been nothing more than a pawn from the very beginning? Did any of it mean anything?

When he finally reached the dorms, exhaustion weighing heavy on every limb, Louis stopped short. Two figures stood just inside the front gates, locked in a heated discussion beneath the glow of a streetlamp. He immediately recognized Zayn, arms crossed defensively, frustration etched across his features. The other figure had his back turned, but Louis didn't need a clearer view to know it was Liam.

Louis took a deep, shaky breath, willing himself to slip by unnoticed, desperate for the solitude of his room. But before he could move, Liam turned abruptly, spotting him immediately. His eyes widened, and he stepped toward Louis, urgency written plainly on his face.

"Louis," Liam called, stepping forward with urgency in his voice. "Can I talk to you?"

Zayn reached out, catching Liam's arm with a sharp shake of his head. "Liam, don't—"

But Liam shook him off gently, determination clear in his expression. He stepped closer to Louis, cautious but sincere. "Louis, please, just let me explain—"

Louis flinched, exhaustion making his patience paper-thin. He raised a hand, stopping Liam in his tracks. "Don't."

Liam paused, brows knitted in distress. "I swear, Louis, I didn't—"

"It doesn't matter, Liam," Louis interrupted sharply, his voice cracking slightly as he fought to maintain his composure. "Whatever you're going to say—it just doesn't matter."

Louis stopped, gaze flicking between the two of them. Zayn's eyes were already on him—dark and stormy, like he'd been holding back a storm all evening. Liam looked equally desperate, though for entirely different reasons.

Louis tilted his head slightly, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. "Are you two fighting?" he asked, voice flat.

Zayn didn't even wait for Liam to answer. "He knew," he said tightly. "He fucking knew about it, Lou. And he didn't say anything."

Louis barely reacted. He just nodded, a small, resigned dip of his chin. The numbness was creeping back in, seeping into his bones, making everything feel muffled.

Liam took a step closer, his face pleading. "It's not what it looks like. I mean—okay, I know it looks bad. But I swear, Louis. I swear I didn't say anything because... because I know Harry. And I know you know him too. He wasn't acting, not with you. That's the only reason I didn't say anything. The bet—it wasn't even his idea. He never even placed one."

Louis kept his eyes on him, unreadable. He didn't flinch. Didn't nod. Didn't say a word.

Zayn scoffed, sharp and bitter. "You have some fucking nerve," he snapped at Liam. "That's your defense? 'He didn't mean it'? You should've said something. You don't get to act like you were just waiting for things to magically go right."

Louis raised a hand, quietly cutting him off.

"Don't fight over this," he said, his voice calm. "It's not your mess to fix. And for the love of God, Zi—kiss and make up. The puppy eyes are killing me."

Zayn looked genuinely affronted, like he wanted to deny it but couldn't. He crossed his arms tighter and stared stubbornly at the pavement instead.

Louis ran a hand over his face, feeling every hour of the long day catch up with him. His voice lowered as he looked between them, something fraying at the edge of his composure. "I'm going in. I'm tired."

Liam moved like he wanted to reach out, but stopped himself. "Louis, I'm sorry. I should've said something."

Louis just shrugged, not looking up. "I just want to go to bed. Please."

Liam looked crushed, his shoulders dropping with the weight of Louis' rejection. Still, he nodded slowly, stepping back to give Louis space. "Alright. Just—Louis, I'm sorry."

Louis didn't respond, didn't even glance at either of them as he pushed past. He climbed the stairs quickly, each step heavier than the last. When he finally reached his door, fumbling the key into the lock, he allowed himself one last, shaky breath before stepping inside and closing out the rest of the world.

What he didn't expect was to see a lump on the floor beside his bed. He blinked once, then again, taking in the sight of Niall curled up with a pillow under his head, an old hoodie bunched beneath him like a makeshift blanket.

For a moment, Louis just stood there, stunned. Then he let out a breath—half a sigh, half a laugh—as he leaned against the doorframe, exhaustion catching up with him all over again.

"Jesus, Niall," he murmured.

Despite the words, there was something undeniably fond in his voice.

He padded across the room and knelt beside him, gently nudging his shoulder. "Hey," he said softly.

Niall blinked up at him, bleary-eyed and blinking like he'd just been pulled from a deep dream. "Hey," he whispered, voice scratchy with sleep. "You just got back?"

Louis nodded and kept his voice low. "Yeah. Why are you still here?"

Niall rubbed his face with one hand, sitting up halfway. "Because I'm seriously contemplating murder," he muttered. "And orange is so not my color. D'you mind if I stay?"

Louis' lips twitched despite himself. "No," he said gently. "Of course not."

He ran a hand through his hair and stood again, voice even softer as he added, "But don't sleep on the floor. Come on, we can share."

Niall didn't argue. He just nodded and crawled into Louis' bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. By the time Louis came back from changing into an oversized shirt and clean sweats, Niall was already half-asleep again, blinking lazily from under the covers.

Louis smiled at the sight. "Scoot over," he said, nudging him.

Niall huffed a laugh and shifted, holding the blanket up with one hand so Louis could slip in beside him.

They lay in silence for a while. The kind of silence that only comes after a long, terrible day—comfortable and weighted. But even that didn't last forever.

Louis let out a soft chuckle, barely more than breath. "What are you doing? I can feel you breathing down my neck."

Niall grinned into the pillow. "Come on, I know you want to."

Louis rolled his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

But before he could shift away, Niall reached for him, one arm curling around his waist and tugging gently until Louis gave in and rested his head on Niall's chest. The steady beat of his heart was immediate, grounding. Louis shut his eyes.

There was a beat of quiet before he whispered, "I might cry a bit."

Niall's reply came instantly, teasing but tender. "Well, you're the head of the drama club. It's the least I'd expect."

Louis let out a watery laugh, his voice wobbling. "Yeah? Expected worse?"

Niall didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Louis' forehead, warm and sure.

And that was it.

That was all Louis needed.

His chest shuddered as the tears came, silent and aching with everything he'd been holding in since the second he stepped away from Harry in that house.

Niall didn't say anything else. He didn't try to fix it, didn't tell him it would be okay.

He just held him tighter, steady and solid. A safe place to fall.

And in the dark, silent room, Louis finally let himself feel everything he'd been desperately holding back.

***

"Where's Harry?"

Louis snapped his head up, heart immediately stuttering in his chest as his gaze focused on Claire. "What?" he managed to choke out, the question tumbling from his lips far more unsteady than he'd have liked.

Claire sighed, tapping her foot impatiently, arms folded tightly over her chest. "Harry," she repeated, slower this time, watching Louis closely. "Why isn't he here? There's a ton of stuff that needs moving from backstage into the theatre."

Louis frowned, forcing himself to concentrate, willing his heartbeat to slow enough that he could form coherent thoughts. "What do you mean? Isn't he helping Miles with the picture rails?"

Hearing his name, Miles wandered closer, brows drawn together. "What? Harry? Yeah, he's been helping me with that."

Claire looked momentarily baffled, and Louis opened his mouth to clarify when Theo's voice broke through the confusion from the corner of the room. "Uh, he can't be helping you with that because he's been helping me move the stage luminaires every time he's been here."

The four of them stared at each other, confusion evident. Louis' pulse quickened, a sinking feeling creeping into his stomach. "Hold on," he said slowly, the realization dawning cold and unpleasant. "You've all been having him move heavy stuff for you every single day since he joined?"

His voice was colder than intended, sharper around the edges, and the three exchanged guilty looks. Claire shifted uncomfortably, her gaze dropping to her shoes. "I didn't know he was helping anyone else," she admitted softly.

Theo nodded quickly, shamefaced. "Yeah, me neither. I thought he was just being helpful."

Louis' heart clenched painfully in his chest. "And rehearsals? Scripts? How did he have time for that, too?" he asked tightly, already suspecting the answer.

Miles rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, guilt written clearly across his face. "We...uh, we never really asked him to join those. He's—well, he's a football player, Lou. I know he's your friend, but honestly, what could he contribute?"

Louis stared at Miles, stunned. His jaw tightened, voice rising with incredulous anger. "What about when we voted on scenes and parts to include? Did none of you ever even bother to ask for his opinion?"

Miles shook his head slowly, regret evident but too little, too late. Louis felt sick, his throat tightening as he realized just how completely Harry had been excluded.

"So," Louis continued, his voice quieter but filled with a fury that seemed to hum beneath his words, "he's been coming here every day, balancing football, school, and this club, just to be treated like a pack mule because you all decided he was too dumb to contribute anything worthwhile? Is that seriously what you're telling me?"

Claire swallowed visibly, her eyes shining with shame. "I'm sorry, Louis. I genuinely didn't know."

"What do you mean you didn't know? I asked you. I asked you to make sure everyone voted and only then to tell me the results. Fuck, and he must have thought I was the one to tell you not to let him partecipate. And what about the scenes I split for each of us to revisit? Did he not get his?"

Claire awkwardly looked at her hands as she spoke, "I— well, I did that. Uh, his share. To be fair I don't think he minds—" she paused when she sensed Louis' glare "—or, not? I'm sorry."

Theo nodded quickly, trying to remedy the tension in the air. "I'll apologize to him personally. Really. Claire, come on, let's go move that stuff ourselves."

Louis watched them retreat, the anger still simmering in his chest. But alongside it was something else—something raw, something painful he desperately didn't want to acknowledge. He shook his head, trying to dislodge it. He couldn't afford to feel sympathy for Harry, couldn't let himself care. Not anymore. They probably were right anyway, if it had all really been just a game then all that Harry confided in him with had been a lie as well. Some twisted way to make himself look vulnerable so Louis would lower his guard.

He stayed seated for another half hour, pretending to busy himself with tasks he couldn't quite focus on. Eventually, he sighed, pushing back his chair. "Claire," he murmured, trying to keep the exhaustion from his voice, "I'm not feeling well. Can you handle locking up?"

She nodded immediately, concern flashing briefly across her face. Louis didn't stick around to let her ask any questions.

Outside, the cold air bit sharply at his cheeks, and he tugged his jacket tighter around himself, desperate for some kind of comfort.

"Louis."

The familiar voice sent his heart skittering again, and he turned sharply to see Harry standing from the pavement where he'd been waiting, eyes wide and anxious. Louis felt frozen, unable to speak, unable to move as Harry stumbled over his words.

"I-I didn't know if you wanted me to come in, so I waited. Can we talk?" Harry's voice was rough, tinged with something achingly vulnerable.

Louis steadied himself, forcing a coldness into his tone that felt foreign. "I have nothing to say to you."

Harry's face fell, the hurt evident, and Louis had to look away, had to move past him. But Harry was quicker, stepping into his path. "Please," Harry said again, voice cracking. "Please, baby, it's not what you think. I wasn’t pretending. You have to believe me. I told you things I've never told anyone, you can't think that was fake."

Louis stopped again, breath catching. The pet name was almost enough to undo him—soft and familiar and far too cruel coming from the same mouth that let him be humiliated.

He clenched his jaw and repeated, "I told you, I have nothing to say to you."

Harry looked like he wanted to collapse. "Just let me explain, please," he begged.

Louis didn't move, but he didn't walk away either. Maybe because a part of him needed to hear whatever pathetic excuse Harry was about to give. Needed to see how far he'd twist himself trying to spin it into something soft.

Harry took the silence as permission.

"You knew from the start that I joined the club for credits," Harry said. "I never lied about that. But the bet... the bet wasn't mine. The guys made it up when you first rejected me and I wasn't even aware of it at first. It was about whether you'd fall for me, if I could get you—"

Louis scoffed, looking away.

"I know how it sounds," Harry rushed. "But I didn't even take it seriously. Just… when they assumed I lost, I said something dumb like, 'It's not over,' and... and it just kept going. I played along, yeah. I did. And that was fucked up, but Lou, I wasn't using you. I just didn't know how to get out of it without making it worse."

Louis' voice was sharp when it came. "You were worried about making it worse for you."

Harry flinched.

"I told you things too," Louis said, low and shaking now, something cracking beneath the surface. "Things I don't talk about. I let you in. And all your friends were watching, weren't they? Laughing about it. Watching me walk around with your jersey, knowing the whole time it was just some pathetic joke. God, thinking about it now I must have looked so fucking ridiculous."

Harry took a step forward. Louis stepped back.

"Please," Harry said again. His voice was rough now, fraying at the edges. "You know me. You must know I care about you. Everything we had—I swear it meant something. I never expected to feel this way. I didn't want to feel this way."

"Wow," Louis whispered, eyes stinging. "That's comforting."

Harry shook his head like he was trying to clear it. "You changed everything. I wasn't pretending with you. I wanted all of it. I still do."

Louis let the words settle for a moment before speaking. "Is that it? Can I leave now?"

Harry swallowed hard but nodded, clearly trying not to fall apart.

Louis turned, then paused. He looked over his shoulder.

"You know it's not about the bet, right?"

Harry looked confused.

Louis' voice dropped to something quiet and tired. "You keep saying it wasn't your idea, that you didn't come up with it. Like that's supposed to fix everything. But it doesn't. The truth is, I could've handled a bet. I could've handled it if you came clean, if you told me the truth yourself.

"What I can't handle is how you let them talk about me. How you stood there, laughed along with them, while they called me a joke. How you let them reduce me to some silly gay kid who was dumb enough to think you actually gave a shit."

Harry's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"You were supposed to be different," Louis whispered. "Even when I was scared, even when I didn't know what we were, I thought you were good. And now I just feel stupid."

He looked down at his hands, fists clenched so tightly they trembled. When he looked back up, his eyes were shining but unreadable.

"I know you expect me to put myself in your shoes, to try to understand you. But I can't do that, Harry. I can't because I would've never done that to you in the first place," he said simply. "I would've defended you in front of anyone. Always."

Harry didn't speak. He looked gutted.

Louis took a slow breath, trying to steady his voice. "You chose to protect yourself instead of me. That's the problem. That's why this hurts so much. But don't worry, you'll get your credits. You can still come to the club, or not—I don't care anymore."

He turned away again, this time for real.

"Now I really don't have anything else to say to you," he said, and walked off into the cold, leaving Harry standing in the shadow of everything he broke.

***

The sun had already started dipping behind the buildings when Louis shifted the cake box from one arm to the other, his fingers curling around the base as he adjusted his stance. He glanced at Zayn beside him, who stood casually with a bottle of cheap champagne under his arm and an impatient twitch in his jaw.

"What's taking him so long?" Zayn asked, craning his neck toward the building's entrance. "I'm about to start drinking this straight from the bottle."

"I don't know," Louis muttered, adjusting his grip again. "But this cake is starting to feel heavy, and I swear if we have to pretend again that we were never here—"

Zayn snorted. "What, and eat the whole thing ourselves? You'd love that."

Louis didn't deny it. They were waiting for Niall, who'd just gone in for his final oral exam—the last hurdle before winter break. It was the kind of test where you knew the results right away, and while Niall had studied harder than Louis had ever seen him do anything, he also had a charming habit of panicking mid-sentence and forgetting his own name. So the odds were... unclear.

But then, through the stream of students flooding out the front doors, a mop of sweaty blond hair emerged, and both boys instinctively held their breath.

Niall looked like he'd run a marathon. His button-up was half-untucked, his hair a mess, his face flushed from either nerves or joy—it was hard to tell at first. But when he caught sight of them, his expression transformed, lighting up with something wild and beautiful.

"I passed!" he shouted, practically leaping down the last few steps. "I made it! I fucking made it!"

Louis let out an unfiltered cry of relief and joy, just as Zayn, without hesitation, shook the champagne violently and popped the cork like they were on the podium of the F1 finals. The bottle fountained up, dousing Niall, who screamed and laughed at the same time.

"I can't believe it! I made it, oh my God!" Niall repeated, stumbling toward them with outstretched arms.

Louis grinned so wide his cheeks hurt as he caught Niall in a careful one-armed hug, mindful of the cake, while Zayn wrapped around them from the other side. They held each other in a tight, damp pile, joy buzzing around them like static.

Zayn pressed a kiss to Niall's champagne-soaked curls. "I knew you'd make it, bub. So proud of you."

Niall beamed and then squinted at Louis' hand. "Wait, is that a cake?"

Louis froze, looking down at the box in his hand. "Uh, yeah. Just—hold on." Without further explanation, he spun around and jogged toward Zayn's parked car, muttering under his breath as he cracked the door open.

Niall raised an eyebrow. "What the fuck is he—"

Louis returned moments later with a second cake box, barely hiding the sheepish look on his face as he handed it to Niall. "Alright. Open this one."

Niall lifted the lid and squinted. Written across the frosting in Louis' jagged handwriting were the words: Knew you'd ace this!

His eyes narrowed. "What was on the other one?"

Zayn, very deliberately, said, "Some things are better left unknown."

Niall shrugged. "I'm gonna eat it anyway."

"We're eating two whole cakes?" Zayn asked in horror.

Louis blinked. "We've done that before."

"We did?"

"Yeah, remember when I won that cake raffle and gave you and Niall each one?"

Zayn's brow furrowed. "That never happened."

Louis shrugged. "It did. I gave yours to Niall to deliver."

There was a beat of silence.

Niall coughed loudly. "We're getting sidetracked. The cakes are gonna melt."

Zayn gasped, turning slowly toward him. "You fatass! You ate my cake?!"

Niall squeaked and darted back toward the car.

Later, back in the dorm, the three of them sat on the floor surrounded by napkins and half-devoured cake, their stomachs full and their laughter still echoing faintly in the room.

Louis clutched his stomach and groaned. "Fuck. This shit is so good."

Niall moaned through a mouthful. "If you're full, give me the rest."

Zayn, licking frosting off his thumb, tilted his head. "Alright, I need to address the elephant in the room."

Louis and Niall both looked at him.

Zayn cleared his throat and asked, perfectly serious, "Is Harry's dick really as big as they say?"

Louis choked on his cake.

Niall shook his head slowly. "I don't think that was the elephant you were supposed to bring up."

But Louis was already laughing, chest shaking, the sound cracking something open in him for the first time that day.

"I wouldn't know," he said through a grin.

Niall blinked. "Wait—seriously? You’ve never…?"

Louis shrugged. "No. We, uh... we dry-humped once. That's about it."

Zayn made a soft, "Oh."

Niall was quiet, and Louis suddenly felt self-conscious under their gaze. He picked at the edge of his paper plate and tried to sound casual. "D'you think he wasn't, like... attracted to me? I know it was all a game but... he never pushed for more. Didn't even try. So maybe I just wasn't his type. Maybe I'm like, not that attractive?" he trailed off, voice tightening,

Zayn reached out and slapped the back of his head.

"Ow!" Louis yelped, swatting him away. "What was that for?"

"Last time I hear you talk like this. I would never have an ugly best friend, except for Niall but I couldn't work with much there."

Niall gasped smudging cake on Zayn's cheek and Louis' chest ached in that vulnerable way that told him Zayn meant it. He blinked down at his lap.

Niall, thoughtful, tilted his head. "Do you care?" he asked softly. "If he didn't find you attractive?"

Louis hesitated. Then he gave another noncommittal shrug. "I mean... he's known for hooking up with half the school. But not even a single try with me?" He gave a brittle laugh. "Kinda says something, doesn't it?"

Niall didn't answer right away. He looked like he was thinking too hard, jaw clenched and fingers frozen mid-bite of cake.

Louis nudged him gently. "Ni? You okay?"

Niall blinked back to the present. "Yeah. Sorry. Just spaced out for a sec." He sat up straighter and added, "Anyway, are we opening that second cake or what?"

Louis laughed again, but the ache didn't go away. Still, it felt a little better having them with him. Even if nothing made sense, even if it still hurt, at least he wasn't alone.

Zayn had just finished wiping the frosting off his fingers when he leaned back on his elbows and said, "Okay, there's another elephant in this room."

Louis and Niall both groaned in perfect unison.

"No, no—don't even start," Zayn said, wagging his fork. "This one's about you." He pointed directly at Niall, who blinked mid-bite, cheeks full of chocolate cake.

"Me?" Niall mumbled through a mouthful, swallowing hard. "What did I do now?"

Zayn raised an eyebrow. "In my econ class today, everyone was talking about a... 'bawl'? Something this Sunday? You're kind of my main connection to sports. You wanna tell us why everyone seems to know about it except your so-called best mates?"

Louis, licking frosting off his thumb, frowned. "Bowl?" he repeated slowly. "You're not talking about, like... soup, right?"

Niall flushed, sitting up straighter as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh. Right. Uh." He scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah. It's, um. We qualified last Friday. It's a big deal but—Saturday, you know, everything sort of went to shit. I didn't really think it'd be... the right time to bring it up."

Louis tilted his head. "So it is important?"

Niall nodded, and now that the topic was out, his eyes gleamed with uncontainable excitement. "It's called the Holiday Bowl and we're playing in San Diego. It's not like a national championship or anything, but it's our biggest game this season. Not every team qualifies, you have to win at least six games, and if you make it it boosts your team's rep for next year. There's a trophy, MVP title, the whole lot. It's kind of awesome."

Zayn let out a soft whistle. "That's what Liam mentioned last week," he said. "Didn't give much detail, but I remember him saying his family's making a six-hour drive."

Louis' gaze sharpened slightly. "Wait—everyone's families are coming?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Niall said, chewing on his thumbnail now. "It's the final game of the year. Coach invited everyone's families. My parents are driving there. Joha's folks aren't, but only because they're in India. Otherwise, it's kind of a big thing." Then he perked up. "Oh! That reminds me—who's doing the honours?"

Louis chuckled at the term. "Me, obviously. I'm wearing your jersey. I even washed it, which you should appreciate."

Zayn scoffed, eyeing them both. "Guess that means I'm stuck wearing peasants clothes, huh?"

Louis smirked. "Oh please. We all know whose jersey you want to wear."

Zayn's eyes narrowed, and he looked away "Like hell I am"

Louis nudged him gently. "Come on. I told you, Zi, make up already. I know you've been putting me first this whole week, and I love you for it, but it's really not necessary. I know Liam's heart was in the right place, even if he didn't handle it well."

Zayn let out a long breath through his nose, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

"You're too nice sometimes," he muttered, not unkindly.

Louis shook his head. "You've been avoiding him for a week. Another week will pass until this game, then another two for Christmas break. Do you really want to spend a month pretending you don't miss him?"

Zayn didn't answer at first. His hand twitched, like he was thinking about grabbing his phone, or maybe just squeezing something to let the pressure out. Louis waited patiently, giving him space. Niall watched quietly, lips pursed around his fork.

Finally, Zayn gave a quiet nod. "I'll... think about it."

Louis nodded back, satisfied but not pushing further. He turned his attention back to the second cake, knife gliding through the frosting with practiced ease.

And as the others started talking about travel plans and where the Holiday Bowl was being broadcasted, Louis kept his head down, eyes focused on the cake. He tried not to think about whether Harry will be the only one without a family cheering him on.

_________

"Are we going to talk about it?"

Louis froze mid-stroke, the paintbrush hovering just above the thick, glossy lettering of Niall Horan, our MVP. His fingers tensed around the handle, a drop of gold paint trembling at the bristle's edge. The room smelled faintly of glue and acrylics, the floor scattered with glitter and poster scraps, all the chaos of a sentimental surprise for Niall. But none of it could distract him now.

He blinked down at the glittery cardstock, voice low. "Is this about, uh... Styles?"

Zayn scoffed, tossing his marker down with a little too much force. "He's Styles now?"

Louis looked up sharply, his glare automatic, but Zayn didn't meet it. His arms were crossed tight over his chest as he leaned against the wall, face unreadable.

Louis sighed, setting the brush aside. "Zayn..."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Zayn asked, quieter now. Not accusing—just hurt. "Did you think I'd judge you?"

Louis hesitated, biting down on his lip. "I... I don't know. Maybe? You know, I always had this... gut feeling. That something was off. That there was something I wasn't seeing." He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't think it was a bet or some scheme for credits or whatever. I thought—maybe he just liked the chase. And when that was over, he'd get bored. I guess that felt easier to stomach."

Zayn didn't say anything, but his expression softened.

Louis kept going, voice thinning out. "I never really felt secure in it. Not completely. That's why I didn't tell you. It felt like if I said it out loud—if I let anyone else know—it'd become real. And if it fell apart, I'd have to watch everyone look at me like they knew it would. Like they pitied me."

His voice cracked at the end, and he turned his face away, blinking fast.

Zayn moved closer, sitting down cross-legged on the floor beside him. He rested a hand on Louis' arm, rubbing a gentle circle with his thumb. "I get that. I do. I just wish you hadn't gone through all of that alone."

Louis nodded slowly. "You're right. I just didn't want anyone to see me like this."

Zayn glanced at him. "I do hate seeing you like this. And I know you don't like talking about it. But you need to, you need to let it out before it eats you alive. Otherwise, you're gonna carry it with you everywhere."

Louis was quiet for a beat, then turned to face him fully. He pulled his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them. "I keep thinking about everything," he said, almost in a whisper. "All the little moments. The way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't watching. How he'd bring me coffee without asking. The way he laughed at my stupid impressions even when no one else got them. It's all just... there, on a loop in my head."

Zayn's chest ached just listening to it.

"It's been a week," Louis continued, "but it's not getting better. Because I can't make sense of it. I can't connect the version of Harry who kissed me on the corner of my mouth when I was half-asleep, who called me 'baby' like it meant something, to the version that let his friends mock me behind my back. That let them laugh at me. Like it was some sort of joke."

His voice cracked again. He swallowed hard. "I feel so fucking stupid. I used to sit at his practices, just to see him smile at me from across the field. Thought maybe it meant something. Now I wonder if they laughed about that too."

Zayn's grip tightened slightly on his arm.

"I know, okay? I know this is university and maybe it was stupid to believe in anything long-lasting. But I thought—I really thought it could be different. That maybe, just maybe, someone like him... could want someone like me. And I know how dumb that sounds."

Zayn shook his head. "It doesn't. You don't sound dumb. You have the right to want those things, Lou."

Louis looked down at his hands. "I didn't even realise how far in I was until it ended. I— I really lo-liked him. I mean, I really liked him."

Zayn raised a brow at the shift. "Liked or loved?"

Louis blinked, his voice catching in his throat. "I don't know. I can't tell if it was love. Maybe it was. I just—can you even love someone if you never really knew them?"

Zayn hesitated, then said, "But you said he never went with anyone else while you were seeing each other?"

Louis shrugged. "He said that, yeah. But I mean... he could've lied. There weren't any rumors, but maybe he just asked people to keep quiet. Or maybe he only kept things tame so I'd trust him more. I don't know." His voice faltered again. "Thinking about it makes my head hurt."

He rubbed at his temples and looked at the half-finished poster. "We should finish this. And change. We'll be late."

Zayn didn't argue. But as Louis picked up the brush again, he glanced over and said softly, "For what it's worth... Liam really believes it wasn't all fake. He thinks Harry actually cared."

Louis didn't answer and his silence said enough. That he wanted to believe that. That some part of him still did.

But wanting something and trusting it were two very different things.

So instead, he said nothing at all.

And kept painting.

***

"Lou! Zayn! My boys!"

Niall's mum appeared through the dense crowd, her arms immediately opening wide, a radiant smile lighting her face as she hurried toward them. Louis felt a burst of warmth in his chest as he and Zayn simultaneously moved into her embrace. Her familiar scent enveloped him, bringing forth a wave of comforting nostalgia that momentarily eased the tension in his shoulders.

Behind her trailed Niall's father, Bobby, who gave Louis a hearty ruffle of the hair, his eyes crinkling with fondness as Louis laughed softly. "Been too long, lad," Bobby said affectionately, his voice gruff with genuine warmth. "Had to come see our boy play. Where's he hiding?"

Zayn chuckled, shaking his head. "They arrived about an hour early, something about inspecting the grounds. No idea what that even means, honestly. But we probably won't see him until after the game."

Maura visibly deflated, her lips turning down. "Aw, we wanted to wish him luck! Bobby, I told you we should've left earlier."

Bobby rolled his eyes dramatically, his hands raised in mock surrender. "I was sitting in the car an hour before you finally decided to join me."

Maura shot him a playful glare. "You don't think this—" she gestured to herself "—just happens, do you?"

Zayn laughed lightly, eyes twinkling as he said sincerely, "Well, you look beautiful, Maura."

She beamed at them both, warmth returning as she gazed lovingly toward the bustling entrance. Her expression fell slightly again at the sheer number of people lined up. "It'll take forever to get inside."

Louis shook his head quickly. "Oh no, family and plus-ones have a fast lane entrance at the back. Come on."

The relief was palpable as they followed Louis, weaving swiftly through the crowds toward the private entrance. Once inside, Louis' breath hitched slightly at the sheer magnitude of the arena. Cameras swept over the vast stadium, the roar of the gathering crowd filling the air. The massive screens flashed with excitement, music booming from the speakers, making Louis' heart pulse in his chest. It felt surreal, something he'd only seen on television before.

Forty minutes later, as the players finally emerged onto the field, a deafening eruption of cheers filled the arena. Louis' and Zayn's faces lit up simultaneously at the sight of Niall, nerves forgotten as their pride burst forth. Louis remembered the anxious call earlier, Niall's voice trembling with nerves, claiming he wasn't sure he could handle it. Seeing him now, standing tall despite his anxiety, was enough to nearly bring tears to Louis' eyes.

Throughout the intense match, Louis' attention wavered inevitably toward Harry. Despite his internal scolding, his eyes seemed drawn to Harry's every move, tracing the precise, practiced steps, the determined set of his jaw, the effortless grace with which he navigated the field. Louis allowed himself these stolen moments of vulnerability, eyes softening when the screens captured Harry's concentrated expressions or fleeting smiles. In those quiet, unnoticed intervals, Louis let himself feel. No judgment, no audience. Just his heart, quietly aching for what it knew it shouldn't want but did, desperately.

The game was fierce, gripping every spectator's attention. Both teams showcased exceptional skill, each moment holding the audience captive. The opposing team—Leonard Cape's team, as Louis quickly learned from the shouted chants and signs—was vicious, fast, and precise. Cape was tall and lean, with a buzz cut and an annoyingly self-assured gait. His passes were sharp and clean, and the coordination on the other team was impressive. Yet something intangible separated Harry's team from Cape's squad. Louis could see it clearly now—the strategy Harry had passionately spoken about during their late-night conversations, his voice soft and earnest as he detailed play formations Louis barely understood but now saw executed flawlessly on the field. Leonard's team was strong, skilled, and swift—but Harry's team moved as a single entity, coordinated with an instinctive precision, fueled by trust and understanding. This slight edge grew into a defining advantage.

By halftime, Zayn and Bobby left to fetch refreshments amidst Maura's contented sighs. Her eyes shimmered with pride as she looked at Louis. "I'm so proud of him, you know. When Niall first mentioned football, we thought it'd be just another hobby. But now look at him—do you think he has a future in this?"

Louis nodded firmly, sincerity coloring his tone. "Absolutely. There might even be scouts here. Niall's making a name for himself. He's incredible."

Maura beamed, squeezing Louis' hand gratefully. After the second quarter the teams had a twenty minute break and Louis' eyes drifted back to the field, to the tight circle of players sitting around Harry, whose intense, earnest expression showed clearly even from a distance as he animatedly discussed strategy. The coach's hand on Harry's shoulder spoke volumes, an unspoken pride that resonated deeply within Louis.

The third quarter began with renewed intensity. The hits were harder, the plays more aggressive. One of the opposing team's players was taken out with a leg injury that made the entire crowd flinch. There was a hushed moment, followed by polite applause when he was helped off the field. But the tension didn't ease.

Harry took a bad fall in the third, shoved just as he released a pass. Louis' breath hitched as Harry rolled once, then jumped to his feet, shaking it off. His face didn't so much as twitch. But Louis could see it. The way he flexed his shoulder, the slight limp he tried to disguise.

The fourth quarter was chaos.

With only minutes to spare and the scoreboard reading 27 to 21 in the opposing team's favor, every pass became vital. The stadium was roaring, people on their feet, the energy a living, breathing thing.

Niall caught a pass and darted down the sideline, weaving past two defenders. The crowd screamed. He gained fifteen yards before he was tackled, hard and clean. Louis winced, gripping the edge of his seat.

Harry called the formation. The team snapped into place.

Niall lined up right, feinted left, then bolted, pulling defenders with him. Harry spun, dodged a tackle, and launched the ball with a perfect spiral downfield—twenty yards, maybe more.

The ball arced high, cutting through the lights, and for a split second, the world stilled.

Harry caught it.

Louis didn't even register himself standing. The stadium exploded. The scream tore itself from his throat involuntarily as Harry crossed the end zone, the ball still clutched tight to his chest.

Zayn shouted something that was lost in the noise. Bobby was on his feet. Maura was crying. Louis was breathless.

He barely registered the scoreboard flipping. 28 to 27.

The game ended moments later.

Niall was shown on the screen—red-faced, crying, his hands on his helmet. Bobby stood and bellowed, "That's my son!" so loudly Louis thought the whole section heard.

Zayn laughed, pulling him into a hug, and Louis felt something inside him loosen. For a moment, he was just happy. Stupidly, incredibly happy.

They stayed for the post-game ceremony, watching as the trophy was brought out. The whole team gathered for a picture. Amidst their celebration, Louis caught sight of Harry, holding the trophy aloft, a radiant, genuine grin illuminating his face, dimples appearing deeply etched with joy. Louis' heart ached with the bittersweet weight of it all, the joy on Harry's face both beautiful and painful.

He didn't realize how long he'd been watching until people began to rise from their seats.

The VIP area was bustling when they arrived. Zayn led the way to where Niall had said to meet. Louis spotted him first—still damp with sweat, tears dried on his cheeks, beaming from ear to ear.

"My baby!" Maura cried, pulling him into a hug.

Bobby clapped his back. "You did good, son. Real good."

Louis and Zayn swarmed him next.

"So proud of you, babe," Louis said, pulling him in.

Niall bounced. "Did you see that pass? The one before the break? I swear that was the best I've ever done."

Zayn and Louis assured him they saw every second.

Zayn eventually glanced around. "Is Liam here?"

Niall nodded. "Yeah, somewhere. Coach made us all come here first. We've got twenty minutes before locker room."

Zayn said he'd go find him, disappearing into the crowd. Maura invited them all to dinner—a steakhouse nearby to celebrate. Louis smiled and nodded, but something gnawed at him.

As Niall blushed and soaked in his family's praise, Louis' eyes scanned the room. Families were gathered like little constellations. Each player surrounded by laughter, hugs, chatter. Clusters of warmth, everyone's family looking like a little bubble from player to player.

Louis couldn't ignore the nagging feeling for longer, "I'll also... I'll go look for Liam as well."  They didn't really pay him mind so he moved off. He looked around blaming it on his curiosity and eventually he reached a quiet part of the room.

He glanced at the end of it and there, on a bench with a trophy between his legs, sat Harry Styles.

Although the trophy rested between his knees, he wasn't looking at it. His gaze was set a few feet ahead, on Aiden's family. Aiden's dad had him in a headlock, ruffling his hair as he yelped and tried to wriggle free.

Harry didn't smile. He didn't laugh. He didn't even look away.

His hand twitched on his thigh. The other gently traced the edge of the trophy.

Louis stood frozen.

He bit his lip, hard. He didn't know why he was walking. His legs were moving without permission. He moved slowly, hesitantly, weaving through the quiet edges of the room until he was right in front of him.

Louis' chest tightened unbearably, yet he couldn't walk away. Harry startled slightly when Louis cleared his throat, eyes widening in shock and disbelief.

"Uh, hi," Louis said awkwardly, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry stammered softly, "Hi."

Louis swallowed. "I just... uh, I just wanted to say that, well, you played very good it, I, we uh, everyone saw you play and you— you all deserved this win. So congrats."

Harry's surprise was evident. After a beat of silence where Louis contemplated just leaving altogether, Harry smiled, a small genuine smile, dimple showing. "Thank you, Louis."

An awkward silence lingered before Louis murmured, "That was all uh... I'll go back to Niall now."

Harry quickly blurted, voice hesitant, "Do you have plans after?"

Louis' heart constricted at the hope in Harry's voice. "Yeah, with Zayn and Niall's family. Celebrating."

"Oh," Harry whispered, quickly masking disappointment with a forced smile. "Right, of course. Sorry, shouldn't have asked."

Louis turned away, hesitated, then quietly moved off, fighting the overwhelming urge to glance back, to comfort, to soothe. But he couldn't, his heart too battered and pride still stinging.

He forced himself to forget Harry's hopeful look, to not think about weather Harry really didn't have plans and would just drive back home alone after this. If he'd treat it as any usual night, although he just won the biggest game of the season. To wonder if he'll have that same pained look on, that same longing as he watched the families around him.

He willed himself to forget all about it to avoid crying because no matter how much Harry had hurt him, he'd never want to see those pained eyes on him again.

Yet despite everything, as Louis walked away, he couldn't erase the image of Harry alone on that bench, clutching his victory with nobody there to share the moment, his hopeful expression etched permanently into Louis' memory, haunting and heartbreaking.

______

"All right, next question." Liam cleared his throat, squinting at his notes. "What were the members of American militias often called?"

Harry, who was already halfway collapsed onto Liam's dorm bed, blinked slowly as he tried to drag the answer from somewhere in the back of his overwhelmed brain.

"Minatem?" he guessed weakly, the syllables clumsy on his tongue.

Liam glanced at the page in front of him, lips twitching. "Aw, you were close. It's minutemen."

Harry let out a loud groan and let his full weight fall back onto the mattress, one arm flopping over his eyes. "I give up," he mumbled, voice muffled by his sleeve. "Fuck this stupid exam. I'm not taking it."

"Yes, you are," Liam said, nudging Harry's thigh with his knee. "Come on, you're not that bad. You just get lost in the names. It's all the weird 18th century shit."

Harry mumbled something unintelligible that vaguely resembled stupid American history, and Liam chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Come on, Harold. One last question, yeah?" Liam tapped the paper. "Promise, it's the final one."

Harry groaned again but shifted to sit up, running a hand through his curls and sighing like the world was ending. "Alright, fine. Shoot."

Liam didn't look down at his notes. He kept his eyes on Harry instead, and with a quiet, deliberate tone, said, "What do you intend to do with Louis?"

Harry blinked, the words catching him off guard like a slap to the face. His posture stiffened instantly, eyes darting to Liam's with disbelief. "Pretty sure that's not gonna be on the exam," he said, his voice dry and a little too tight.

"Could be," Liam said with a soft smile, tilting his head. "Might be the most important question of them all."

Harry stared at him, then looked away, his shoulders slowly curling inward. His voice dropped. "What can I do?" he murmured. "Nothing."

Liam raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

Harry let out a shaky breath and stared down at his hands, picking at the hem of his sweatshirt. "I explained myself," he said. "He listened. He didn't have to, but he did. And when I finished, he made it clear he didn't want anything to do with me. That's it. End of the story. I can't force him to change his mind. And honestly..." He hesitated, voice cracking at the edges. "I should've never expected anything different. He's way too much for me anyway."

Liam didn't interrupt. He let the words settle, watching as Harry tried — and failed — to compose himself.

Harry scratched the back of his neck, avoiding Liam's gaze entirely now. "I think," he said quietly, "that maybe what Louis expected from me was to be like Niall."

Liam blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You've seen how Niall acts when it comes to Louis." Harry's voice was bitter, heavy with guilt. "He's always got his back. Always. If anyone so much as jokes about Louis the wrong way, Niall's there. Remember that time with Matt at the start of the year? The second he said something sideways, Niall was in his face."

Liam nodded slowly.

Harry kept going, his voice low and tired. "Even this time... he didn't hesitate. Not once. Just punched me. Defended Louis without thinking twice."

He finally met Liam's gaze, eyes dark and glassy. "I didn't do that. Not once. I stood there and let people say shit about him — let them laugh, bet on him, mock him behind his back. And I—I didn't stop it. I said my share too." He swallowed hard, his voice breaking a little. "He deserved someone who would have fought for him. Not someone who stood there pretending it was easier not to care."

Liam looked down at his notes for a second before folding them in half and setting them aside.

"I don't think you should give up," he said gently.

Harry laughed, bitter and sharp. "I'm not giving up. I'm accepting reality. It's the least I can do. He deserves better than me, and I've already taken enough from him. I don't want him to look at me and feel anything but peace."

Liam tilted his head. "But you love him."

Harry choked on his own breath, coughing as he fumbled to respond. "What? L-Love? Who said anything about—"

"Please spare me the denial," Liam said dryly, unimpressed. "You're doing that thing where your voice goes up an octave. It's pitiful."

Harry rolled his eyes, but the blush was already creeping up his neck. "I've never said that," he muttered.

"You didn't have to," Liam said. "Anyone with eyes can tell. Except maybe Louis, but he's got a lifetime subscription to doubting himself, so."

Silence fell for a moment.

Harry picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, lips pressed tight.

After a long pause, Liam leaned forward slightly and said, "You're taking the easy way out again."

Harry's head snapped up. "What?"

"This," Liam said, gesturing between them. "You, sitting here convincing yourself it's too late. That you don't deserve him, so you shouldn't try. That letting him go quietly is the noble thing to do."

"It is the noble thing," Harry shot back, frustrated. "What do you want me to do, Liam? Grovel? Chase after him like a pathetic mess? He told me how much I hurt him. How disappointed he was. He looked at me like—like he didn't even recognize me."

"You should grovel," Liam said, not unkindly. "You should do something. Because you did fuck up. But at the same time you have to be selfish too, you have to fight for him despite everything because no matter how much you want everyone to believe you don't care, I know you do."

Harry stared at him, jaw clenched.

"You said you've never had anything like this before, yeah?" Liam asked softly. "So don't let it be the one thing you let slip because it scared you."

Harry closed his eyes, letting the words sink in like stones in water. He stayed like that for a moment, hands trembling slightly in his lap.

Finally, Liam said, "Just make sure whatever choice you make is one you can live with later."

Harry didn't answer.

***

Three days.

Three short, relentless, agonizingly fast-approaching days until the final show—and Louis felt dangerously close to unraveling completely.

Everything had begun falling apart one small disaster at a time, each problem more frustrating than the last. He'd gritted his teeth and forced himself to accept Miles' ridiculous mistake with the colors—off-white and eggshell, Louis could swear he'd explained the difference ten thousand times. He'd pushed down the bitterness when their beautiful large theater, the one they'd been promised for months, had suddenly become unavailable, forcing them into the cramped, shadowed auditorium with its peeling paint and uncomfortable seating, utterly ruining his carefully envisioned set design.

But then, just when Louis thought he'd hit rock bottom, his leading actress for Emma, had walked in looking like death warmed over. Feverish, voice nearly gone, she'd tried to reassure him weakly—"I'll be better by Friday, promise." Louis hadn't had the heart to believe her, staring helplessly at the girl who was supposed to carry the entire production on her fragile shoulders. He'd briefly considered the backup actress, but even the thought had sent him spiraling—the chemistry was off, the energy was wrong, the timing impossible.

It felt like some cosmic joke, a sick prank the universe was pulling on him for a second year in a row. Last year, the lead actor had moved away abruptly, leaving them stranded. This year, Louis wondered bitterly, maybe he'd been cursed to relive the same nightmare.

And now, standing outside the back of the theater in the frigid December air, pacing restlessly while he argued heatedly on the phone about forty missing plastic chairs the parish had promised them, Louis felt himself cracking under pressure.

"You can't be serious," he snapped into the phone, hand gripping his hair so tight it hurt. "They're literally plastic chairs—I'll come and get them myself, for fuck's sake!"

The indifferent voice on the other end muttered something about insurance and transport policy, and Louis bit back a scream. "They're chairs! Plastic chairs—do you think I'll set them on fire? What possible damage—hello?"

He pulled the phone away, glaring incredulously at the screen as it flashed CALL ENDED.

"I can't fucking believe he hung up on me," Louis whispered furiously to himself, eyes burning with exhaustion.

"Uh...are you okay?"

The hesitant voice made Louis' heart stutter painfully in his chest. He turned slowly, his stomach twisting into knots as Harry stood there awkwardly, one hand gripping the sleeve of his hoodie, the other shoved deep into his pocket. Louis forced himself to maintain a neutral expression, fighting down the ache that bloomed in his chest at the sight of him.

"Splendid," he replied coldly, voice dripping sarcasm. He turned back to his phone immediately, already searching online for anywhere else that might miraculously provide forty chairs in three days' notice.

Harry shifted, clearing his throat uncertainly. "I—um, I wanted to talk," he said softly. "I've...I've been doing some thinking, and—"

"Oh?" Louis interrupted, fingers moving furiously across his screen. "You know how to do that now?"

He missed the wounded look on Harry's face—the slight flinch, the way his expression dimmed. If Louis had been looking, he might have softened, guilt creeping into his chest. He knew better than anyone that Harry was sensitive about his intelligence. But at that moment, Louis was exhausted, frustrated, and angry—he simply didn't have the patience to care.

Harry swallowed visibly, stubbornly continuing. "Yeah. And I just—I wanted to explain. Again. Properly."

Louis finally looked up, incredulous. "Haven't we done that already?"

Harry's face fell slightly, confusion flickering through his eyes. "What?"

Louis scoffed bitterly. "Somewhere between when you started your stupid game and when it all came crashing down, I think we've talked enough."

Harry stepped forward instinctively, voice shaking slightly. "Don't call it a game—please, Lou, it wasn't—"

Louis let out a hollow, humorless laugh. "Bit late for that now, isn't it?"

Harry shook his head desperately, frustration and sadness written across his face. "I told you it wasn't like that, Louis. You know that. You know me better than—"

"I don't know anything," Louis cut him off sharply, eyes blazing. "And honestly, Harry? I really, really don't care anymore."

Harry's breath caught audibly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Lou..."

Louis tightened his jaw, forcing his gaze to remain cold and detached. "I'm tired. I'm done, Harry. I've had enough. I'm done pretending there's something salvageable between us. Because while your friends bet money on me, laughed about me behind my back, thought it was hilarious—I bet my heart. And guess what?" Louis laughed bitterly, though it sounded broken even to his own ears. "I fucking lost. And I'm not doing it again."

Harry stepped closer, his desperation clear, voice raw with emotion. "Louis, please—"

Louis stepped back immediately, voice hard. "No. Respect this, Harry. I've given you enough, haven't I? Respect my choice to let go. Just leave me alone."

Harry visibly faltered, shoulders slumping as if Louis had physically struck him. "I don't—Louis, I don't know how to do that," he whispered brokenly, voice so soft Louis nearly missed it. "I don't know how to just—pretend it never happened. You might, but I can't. I—I don't know what to do."

For a moment, Louis almost broke. Almost reached out. Almost let himself crumble under the sheer intensity of Harry's pleading gaze. But he couldn't. He couldn't trust this—couldn't trust Harry. Not again. Not after everything. He had to remind himself that Harry was good at acting, that he did for months and this was no different.

"You'll have to," Louis forced himself to say softly, eyes cast down to hide how they burned. "We've known each other, what, a few months? It's not that deep. This semester's almost over anyway. I'll still sign you up for the credits. After that, there'll be no reason for us to see each other."

Harry's voice broke as he whispered, "So that's it? We're just—over?"

Louis took a shaky breath, eyes still firmly fixed downward. "There was never a we in the first place, was there?"

He turned quickly, not daring to look back as he moved toward the theater's back door.

"Louis," Harry called out weakly behind him, desperation tinged with panic, as if it were his last chance slipping away.

Louis hesitated just briefly at the door, his hand trembling slightly on the handle. He didn't look back as he whispered softly, voice almost too quiet to hear:

"Please just let it go, Harry."

And then he stepped inside, the heavy door swinging shut behind him with a deafening click, cutting off whatever Harry might have said next.

Louis leaned against the cool wall of the empty corridor, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he took several shaky breaths. His chest felt hollow, empty yet impossibly heavy at the same time, grief and exhaustion blending together into an ache he couldn't bear.

He knew this was the right decision. It had to be. But knowing that didn't stop the unbearable pain twisting sharply in his chest.

.

When Louis finally reached the dorm that night, every bone in his body seemed to beg for rest. His shoulders were aching, exhaustion dragging his feet against the worn carpet. He stifled a yawn against the sleeve of his sweater, thoughts clouded and his heart heavy with the day's relentless disappointments. All he wanted was to crawl under his covers and disappear.

But just as he turned to climb the stairs, a gentle voice called his name, stopping him in his tracks.

"There you are," Valery, the dorm's receptionist, said lifting a hand to wave him closer. "I've been looking for you all day."

Louis sighed quietly, confused. "Is something wrong?"

Valery just smiled softly, beckoning him towards the front desk with a subtle nod. Louis hesitated briefly before reluctantly following her. She moved around the counter, ducking beneath the desk to retrieve something that immediately made Louis' heart stutter.

A bouquet of roses.

Not just any roses—deep red, vibrant, and so familiar that it made his breath catch sharply. He swallowed hard, the familiar ache spreading in his chest. Without consciously meaning to, he counted them immediately. Fifteen.

"I believe these are yours," Valery said gently, already moving to hand them over.

Louis reached out, accepting the bouquet automatically, fingers trembling slightly around the wrapping paper. But just as he started to pull them closer, she ducked down again.

"Oh, and there's this one, too," she added as she placed another, slightly larger bouquet next to the first.

Louis blinked, startled. His mouth went dry, confusion quickly turning into dread as he stared at the second bunch of roses, clearly larger. The petals were soft, vibrant, perfect. His pulse began pounding in his ears, anxiety simmering just beneath the surface of his skin.

He didn't even have time to count before Valery ducked yet again, and this time emerged holding a third bouquet—much smaller this time, just three roses, their deep color almost painful to look at under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the lobby.

"They came in this morning," she explained softly. "It was going to take too long to find your room key to drop them off upstairs, so I just kept them down here until you came back."

Louis nodded numbly, his chest painfully tight. His voice sounded distant even to himself. "Thank you."

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his thoughts raced, refusing to quiet down. Valery, noticing how overwhelmed he suddenly seemed, kindly picked up one of the bouquets and offered a reassuring smile. "I'll help you carry these upstairs."

Louis murmured another quiet thank you, gathering the two other bouquets and slowly climbing the stairs, eyes fixed firmly ahead, though he couldn't stop himself from counting the roses in the bouquet he carried: twenty this time.

He knew he shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But he had already spent enough desperate nights researching flower meanings after their first date to recognize instantly what fifteen roses meant: I'm sorry. Just like the first ones Harry got him.

And though he hadn't checked the others yet, dread pooled deep in his stomach because he knew he would. He knew he couldn't stop himself, because this was Harry, and Harry was always a weakness he couldn't resist.

When Louis finally reached their room, the familiar sound of water running from the bathroom greeted him, the knowledge of Zayn's presence oddly comforting. He set down the flowers carefully on their small table, heart twisting painfully as he stared down at the red petals, rich and vivid even in the dim lighting.

Louis felt the burning behind his eyes, a tight, relentless ache that threatened to spill over. He blinked rapidly, fighting against tears he didn't want to cry. But it was useless. Because Harry Styles was cruel. Cruel and reckless with Louis' heart. Even when Louis was trying so desperately to move on, Harry's presence found a way to linger, clinging to Louis like a phantom pain he couldn't shake.

When Zayn emerged from the bathroom, towel slung around his shoulders, his eyes immediately softened with understanding. Louis knew he must look pitiful, standing there staring at flowers like they could somehow answer the questions swirling painfully inside him.

Without a word, Zayn moved closer, wrapping an arm around Louis' shoulders and gently pulling him into a comforting embrace. Louis finally let himself crumble just a little, burying his face against Zayn's shoulder, his voice shaking, quiet, vulnerable.

"I hate him," Louis whispered, brokenly. "I hate him so much, Zi."

Zayn simply held him tighter, fingers rubbing soothing circles on Louis' back, offering him silent support.

The rest of Louis' self-pity didn't last long—not outwardly, at least. He wiped his eyes after a few moments, forcing a tired smile onto his face and mumbling something about being fine now. Together, they decided the flowers belonged in the bin, because really, that's exactly where Louis' heart felt right now: tossed away, discarded without second thought.

But late that night, hours after Zayn had fallen asleep, Louis lay wide awake, restless, unable to keep his eyes off the shadowed outline of the bin. Eventually, frustration surged through him until he found himself quietly getting up and retrieving the bouquets one by one, each stem heavy in his hands with a painful, guilty ache.

He barely registered Zayn stirring awake, blinking sleepily at him through the dim moonlight.

Wordlessly, without needing any explanation, Zayn got up and began silently searching for something suitable to put the roses in, too. Louis felt a sharp pang of gratitude and shame in equal measure, appreciating that Zayn didn't press him for answers he wasn't ready to give.

Together, they eventually settled on an odd assortment: a tall, mismatched vase they rarely used, a large drinking cup from the kitchen, and finally, a glass carafe for the smallest bouquet.

It was only after carefully placing each rose in water, arranging them with quiet reverence, that Louis finally felt able to breathe a little easier, something in him softening at the sight of the vibrant flowers filling the small dorm room with warmth he shouldn't want.

When Louis finally climbed back into bed, sleep was slow to come—but it did come, eventually, soothed by the quiet presence of Zayn breathing steadily in the bed beside him, and the lingering scent of roses he didn't dare let himself name the meaning of.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

They say rain brings blessings. Most people Louis knew hated it, but Louis had always found comfort in the rhythmic pattering against roofs and windows, a soft soundtrack to his daydreams. He didn't think he could appreciate it more than he already did—until ticket sales soared because of it, the downpour steering everyone indoors and straight to their theatre.

Despite the setbacks—the misordered costumes, the smaller venue, even the fear that their lead actress might be bedridden—everything had somehow fallen into place. Louis felt a swell of pride so intense it almost knocked him breathless as he glanced around the auditorium. It was packed, every seat filled with eager faces. Not a single person looked bored or disengaged. He was so caught up in his triumph, his heart soaring with every applause, every laugh at just the right moment, that he missed the one set of eyes that hadn't left him since the lights dimmed.

Those soft, green eyes tracked every subtle reaction Louis made, every proud smile, every anxious twitch of his fingers. But Louis didn't see the tender gaze fixed solely on him. Didn't see the longing, the regret, and the quiet adoration written plainly across Harry's face. Louis was too busy marveling at the stage, at how his vision had finally come to life, to notice the love and quiet heartache reflected back at him from across the darkened room.

By the time the curtain fell and the cast took their final bow, Louis was openly crying—tears of sheer joy mingling with overwhelming relief. It had all been worth it, every late night, every frustration. The applause seemed to shake the walls, vibrating straight through to Louis' bones.

Usually, nights like this ended with laughter and drinks at a nearby bar. But with the storm raging relentlessly outside, plans were postponed. Zayn had left earlier that day for break, and Niall was stuck in bed nursing a fever. Louis didn't blame him—Niall never missed a show, so if he had, it was serious. Louis resolved silently to visit him the next day, determined to squeeze in one more goodbye before he himself flew home.

With costumes hung and props stacked for tomorrow's final cleanup, Louis stepped outside, immediately shivering at the bitter cold. Rain lashed at his jacket, soaking through to his skin almost instantly. He cursed himself for not borrowing Zayn's car, feeling the sharp bite of regret as he stared at the flooded pavement.

"Lou?"

Louis turned sharply at the familiar voice, heart stuttering uncomfortably when he met Harry's hesitant gaze. "Are you not going home?" Harry asked softly, concern knitted in his brows.

Louis glanced away, heart squeezing painfully. "Yeah."

Harry stepped closer, faltered, then spoke gently. "Is Zayn picking you up?"

"No," Louis murmured, forcing himself to sound indifferent. "He's away."

Harry's frown deepened, worry clear. "You can't walk in this. Let me drive you. You're on my way anyway."

Louis wanted to scoff, to point out the blatant lie and tell him I'm on the other side and we both know that, but the storm was worsening, and truthfully, he dreaded walking alone. Silently, he nodded and followed Harry to his car, each step heavy with an awkward tension that made Louis' heart pound harder.

The short drive was painfully silent, loaded with memories Louis desperately wanted to forget— he almost wished he had just walked home instead. Being in Harry's car reminded him of things he really didn't want to think about. Carefree laughter, whispered jokes... his hands clenched nervously against his thighs, deliberately avoiding Harry's profile in the dim lighting.

Harry eventually broke the silence, voice tentative. "So...you're leaving soon?" and Louis would have laughed at the awkwardness if the situation wasn't bad enough, wanting to point out how Harry knew that already, he was with him when he booked the flight.

"Two days," Louis muttered, voice tight.

"The year's gone quick, hasn't it?" Harry's voice sounded strained, forced casualness failing miserably.

"Yeah," Louis said quietly, unable to manage more.

"When will you be back?"

Louis hesitated, then softly replied, "After Christmas break."

A heavy silence settled again before Louis found himself reluctantly asking, "You going home, too?"

Harry's fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, voice low. "Just for Christmas Day. Coming back right after."

The tension stretched taut until the dorm came into view, Louis nearly bolting from the car the moment it stopped. A hurried thank-you left his lips, barely audible. But Harry followed, shadowing him through the rain to the dorm's entrance.

Just as Louis turned to dismiss him, Harry's voice, rough with urgency, stopped him. "Lou, I know you don't want me around, but...I can't let you go back to England without at least trying again."

Louis sighed deeply, turning slightly to face him, annoyance clear in his features. "This is really getting old, Harry."

Harry shook his head urgently, stepping closer. "Did you get the flowers?"

Louis tilted his head, expression unreadable as he replied flatly, "Yeah, why are you asking—"

Harry interrupted, a frantic note in his voice. "And? Did you look up—"

Louis let out a loud, frustrated groan, cutting Harry off. "Oh, for fuck's sake! I'm asking you for the last time, Harry—leave me alone. Don't talk to me, don't send me flowers, just don't. Our only reason to hang out was the club. Now that's done, we have no reason to interact anymore—"

Harry's voice cracked slightly as he pressed, "Is that really what you want? For us to never speak again?"

"Yes!" Louis nearly shouted, losing his patience. "That's what I've been asking for days!"

Harry scoffed, disbelief coloring his tone. "Fucking bullshit. I know I fucked up, Lou, but we can fix this. I know we can. Just give me a chance."

Louis felt his irritation spike, a sharp edge to his voice as he said, "You must be out of your mind. I'm trying to be civil, I have been since the start but now you're really pissing me off."

Harry took another step closer, desperation evident in his eyes. "I don't know what I have to do to prove how genuine my feelings for you are, Lou. Just listen to me—"

When Louis moved away without answering, Harry caught his wrist gently but firmly, eyes pleading. "Fuck, stop running away! I will sit here all night if I have to, I'm not playing Louis!"

Louis nearly laughed at that and his voice came out colder now as he replied, "Sure. You do that. I don't care, Harry, my answer won't change."

Harry's gaze softened despite the pain in his expression. "I'm only asking for a few minutes—"

Louis shook his head sharply, pulling his wrist from Harry's grip. "No. Goodnight, Harry."

As soon as Louis reached his room, he released the heavy breath he'd been holding. Exhaustion tugged at every fiber of his being, but he refused to let Harry ruin tonight. The day had been perfect from start to finish, and he wouldn't let this taint it.

Determinedly, he willed himself to erase Harry Styles from his thoughts—at least temporarily. With his departure for England looming, he felt a tentative sense of finality, perhaps this distance would finally allow him the peace he desperately needed. Harry couldn't follow him overseas, and the comfort of his mother's home would shield him from any lingering heartache.

Louis showered, the warm water offering momentary comfort as it washed away the day's tension. Afterward, he took his time changing, meticulously completing his skincare routine, savoring the quiet routine as if it could soothe more than just his skin. Finally slipping beneath the covers, he closed his eyes, waiting to hear the sound of Harry's car driving away.

Yet, sleep eluded him. After an hour of tossing and turning, Louis' mind stubbornly refused to let go. The lack of Harry's car engine starting, normally familiar, felt conspicuously absent. Although he parked further away this time, a nagging feeling settled uncomfortably in Louis' gut.

He spent another fifteen minutes thinking about how it was normal, it's not like he'd always hear Harry's car drive away and even then he did take a shower so it was likely Harry had left by then so he didn't hear it.

He knew it was ridiculous—utterly childish, even. Thank God Zayn wasn't there to witness him spiraling. But Harry had a track record of stupid, impulsive decisions, and Louis couldn't shake off the irrational worry that Harry might actually still be out there in the rain. The thought alone was pathetic enough to keep him from checking.

But twenty more restless minutes convinced him otherwise. With a groan, Louis got up, grabbing his blanket around himself as he muttered under his breath, descending the stairs. "Of course he's not there. Who would be so stupid? It's not like we're in a movie. He'd get hypothermia."

Reaching the entrance, he squinted through the darkness, sighing with relief when he saw no sign of Harry. "It's been nearly two hours, he's not that stupid."

But something made him pause, reconsidering. Determined to end his anxiety, he jogged out to the front gate. His relief shattered when he spotted a figure sitting slumped on the wet pavement, utterly drenched and shivering violently.

"Oh my fucking—Harry, you absolute psycho!" Louis yelled, stumbling toward him. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Get up!"

Harry looked up, teeth chattering, but managed a weak, triumphant smile. "I—I knew you'd come out. Though I thought you'd show up about an hour ago."

"Shut up," Louis hissed, heart thudding painfully in his chest as he wrapped his blanket around Harry's shaking form. "You're freezing—have you completely lost your mind?"

He guided Harry swiftly inside, worry now drowning his anger. His arm tightened protectively around Harry's waist as he felt the violent shivers racking his body. "Fucking idiot," he murmured, leading Harry up the stairs and into his room.

Harry dropped onto Zayn's bed, sniffling miserably. Louis hurried into the bathroom, turning the shower on hot before returning. Harry sneezed, looking up with a watery gaze and a sheepish smile. "See, told you—told you I'd wait."

Louis glared at him, worry etched deeply in his face. "Shut up. Just shut up. Fuck—I don't even have clothes for you, nothing I own will fit your giant ass."

Harry's eyes softened as he sniffled again. "Do you still have any of my hoodies? Or joggers?"

Louis froze momentarily, recalling the drawer filled with Harry's belongings—clothes loaned and never returned, memories Louis had tried to bury. Swallowing hard, he shrugged stiffly. "I'll check. Just...get in the shower."

Harry stood slowly, still shivering and sniffling as he obediently moved toward the bathroom, giving Louis one last, lingering look before disappearing through the door. Louis watched him go, his heart pounding wildly against his ribs. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before moving to find Harry's forgotten clothes, his mind racing with emotions he wasn't ready to confront.

When Harry emerged from the bathroom, steam drifting gently behind him into the cool dorm room, Louis had already laid out a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie—both unmistakably Harry's, folded neatly at the edge of the bed. Louis tried his hardest not to stare too long at the way the borrowed towel clung around Harry's waist, droplets of water tracing paths down his chest. His face was flushed and his eyes heavy, yet somehow he still managed to look infuriatingly attractive.

Shaking himself out of that embarrassing train of thought, Louis quickly handed Harry the clothes. As Harry dressed quietly, Louis busied himself by preparing some tea, hoping to chase away the chill that was clearly still clinging stubbornly to Harry's bones.

In the minutes of tense silence that followed—broken only by Harry's occasional sniffles and Louis' anxious stirring of tea—Harry finally admitted softly, "I might not have thought that through."

Louis shot him a disappointed glare, one that barely hid the genuine worry simmering beneath his skin. "You think?" He shook his head, frustration leaking through his voice despite his efforts to remain calm. "What were you even thinking? What if I didn't come back out—what then? God, you're already getting sick. We're definitely getting you checked first thing in the morning."

Harry looked down, appropriately sheepish, embarrassment colouring his cheeks a deeper pink. Louis frowned deeper when he noticed the way Harry was still shivering slightly.

"I turned the heat up," Louis said softly, standing up abruptly and pulling open a drawer to grab another hoodie. "Are you still cold?"

Harry shrugged lightly, confusion clear on his face. "I...I feel hot? But my body's still shivering. I don't get it."

Louis sighed deeply, concern tightening around his chest. He moved slowly towards Harry, carefully raising his hand to gently press it against Harry's flushed cheek. Harry looked startled at first but quickly relaxed into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. Louis' heart skipped uncomfortably, warmth pooling rapidly within him. He cleared his throat awkwardly, forcing himself to focus. "I can't really tell yet," he murmured, letting his fingers linger on Harry's overheated skin a moment longer than necessary.

Harry hummed softly, almost a sigh, and Louis reluctantly withdrew his hand. He stared at Harry, heart beating a little too quickly, before asking quietly, "Why didn't you at least sit in your car? Actually, why did you even do this in the first place?"

Harry sneezed into his sleeve before answering sheepishly, "Wasn't dramatic enough, I guess. Also—" He paused abruptly, eyes suddenly wide and focused on something across the room. A slow, warm smile spread across his lips.

Louis glanced around, confused. "What?"

"You're keeping them," Harry said, voice a touch breathless.

"Keeping wha—" Louis' gaze landed on the roses he'd carefully arranged earlier, and his cheeks immediately burned bright red. "Oh," he muttered, flustered, avoiding Harry's gentle, teasing gaze. "Well, the flowers are innocent, aren't they? Why would I—" He groaned softly, huffing out, "Oh, come off it. Stop looking at me like that."

Louis moved to stand, eager to escape to the kitchen under the guise of making more tea, but Harry's hand caught his own, tugging him back softly. Louis turned slowly, heart stuttering painfully at the tender look in Harry's eyes.

"You know," Harry murmured quietly, "if you want me to leave, I will. You've already done so much, I—I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Louis bit the inside of his cheek, debating fiercely with himself before finally relenting, voice hesitant, "Is there anyone at yours who can look after you?"

Harry let out a weak scoff. "I don't need someone to babysit me. I can handle myself." At Louis' pointed glare, he sighed softly, admitting quietly, "But no. The guys I would have asked left this morning."

"You wouldn't ask Niall?" Louis prodded confused.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, his hand still gently holding Louis'. "We're not exactly on speaking terms, you know. Besides, he's got something himself—pretty sure he's down with a fever too."

Louis nodded slowly, remembering his promise to check on Niall. His voice was quiet yet firm when he finally said, "Then I can't let you go back alone. Just stay here tonight." He slipped his hand away before Harry could respond, quickly moving to busy himself with making more tea, desperately ignoring the quiet, grateful gaze following him.

Later in the night, Louis grew increasingly concerned as Harry's fever worsened. His skin became flushed and damp, yet he continued to shiver beneath the layers. Harry stubbornly protested when Louis tried to coax off the second hoodie.

"Harry, come on," Louis pleaded softly. "It'll help, you're sweating like mad."

Harry mumbled something unintelligible, clearly exhausted, and Louis sighed patiently, gently gripping the hem of Harry's hoodie. "Come on, just for a little bit? You'll feel better. I promise I'll give it back if you're too cold."

Reluctantly, Harry sat up just enough to let Louis pull the hoodie over his head, grumbling quietly, "This wasn't exactly how I pictured you taking my clothes off."

Louis rolled his eyes affectionately, carefully laying him back down and gently placing a fever-reducing patch on his forehead. "Is your throat sore too?"

Harry nodded weakly, his eyes barely open now. Louis rose quickly, returning with a bottle of water and a spoonful of honey. "I don't have any medicine for your throat, but honey usually works for me."

He sat gently at the edge of the bed, tenderly feeding Harry the honey before tipping the water carefully to his lips. He knew Harry could probably manage himself, but he found himself unable—or perhaps unwilling—to pull back now.

Seeing Harry's eyelids fluttering sleepily, Louis whispered softly, "You should try to sleep. I'll go to bed now too. Wake me up if you feel worse, alright?"

Harry nodded faintly, already drifting. "Thank you, Lou," he murmured, voice thick with sleep. "Night. I love you."

Louis froze, his heart thundering painfully. He stared at Harry's figure curled vulnerably under his sheets, breath caught painfully in his chest. He tried to remind himself that Harry was delirious, sick, and likely didn't even realize what he was saying. It wasn't real—it couldn't be.

Yet his chest burned and his throat tightened. For one agonizing moment, hope blossomed dangerously within him. Louis forced himself to take a deep, shuddering breath, gently pushing down the swell of emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

Because he had to remember—remember the bet, the humiliation, the sting of Harry's betrayal.

He had to remember that Harry wasn't his to love, no matter how desperately his foolish heart might wish otherwise.

.

The next morning came slow, heavy, like the rain hadn't stopped falling all night. The sky outside Louis' window was a dull, sullen gray, but it was nothing compared to the shade on Harry's face. His fever hadn't broken. If anything, it had gotten worse.

Louis had been awake half the night, getting up to check on him, pressing the back of his hand to Harry's flushed cheeks, coaxing him to drink water in the dark. By the time morning settled in, Louis looked only marginally better than the boy lying in his bed, and at least he didn't feel like he was burning alive from the inside.

Harry, on the other hand, hadn't moved much. His hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat, and though he was visibly hot, his arms clutched the heavy blanket around his shoulders like a lifeline. Louis sighed for what felt like the tenth time that hour.

"Harry," he said gently, standing by the bed with a bowl in one hand and a cool washcloth in the other. "Please. I need you to at least sit up, yeah? I made you breakfast. You need to eat something so I can give you the Tylenol."

Harry's response was a muffled groan from beneath the covers. "M'cold," he mumbled, voice gravelly and thick, barely audible.

Louis closed his eyes for a beat and tried again, more patient this time. "No, Harry. You're not. You feel cold, but that's the fever talking. Your body's reacting to the shock, but you're overheating. You're drenched in sweat."

He crouched beside the bed and tried to peel the blanket down a bit. Harry tugged it higher in response.

Louis stared at him, lips parted, fingers twitching like he wanted to throttle him and hold him close all at once. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, edged with frustration. He decided it was time to play a little dirty, "Didn't you say you'd do anything? Just last night, you said that. You told me you'd do anything." His voice faltered just slightly. "I'm asking you this one thing, can't you do it?"

It took a moment, but those words seemed to cut through the fog. Harry stirred under the blanket, blinked at him slowly with glassy green eyes. Then, without a word, he nodded and sat up, the blanket falling off his shoulders at last.

Louis released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "Thank you," he murmured, setting the bowl down beside him.

"Will you come to the hospital with me?" he asked gently, his tone hopeful but steady.

Harry shook his head weakly. "Don't need a hospital."

Louis didn't argue. Not this time, since they've been over this for what felt like hours. Instead, he lifted the bowl again and gave him a look that made Harry open his mouth without protest. It was oatmeal—bland and warm, something Louis had looked up at dawn after googling what to eat without risking to vomit. He fed him a spoonful, then another.

After a few, Harry turned his head away. "Not hungry anymore."

Louis frowned. "Two more bites, then you can take the medicine. Please."

Harry relented with a small nod, and Louis fed him again. After that, he handed him the water and the tablets, watching closely as Harry swallowed both down. He wiped his forehead again, this time slower, fingers lingering just a little too long.

"I'm gonna run out for a bit," Louis said eventually, standing. "Just groceries, the pharmacy. And I want to check on Niall. Do you want anything?"

Harry looked up at him like a kicked puppy. "You're leaving?"

Louis' heart ached. "Only for a little while. I won't be long. But if you throw up or feel worse, you call me, alright?"

Harry hesitated, then rasped, "Can you bring some clothes? I'm... I'm sweating through everything. Feel disgusting."

Louis gave a small nod. "I'll bring some clean stuff."

He stood there for a beat, staring, memorising Harry's pale face, the way his curls clung to his forehead, the way his eyes followed him even as he turned to go. And then, with a soft click of the door, he was gone.

.

As soon as the door shut, Harry rolled over and fumbled for his phone on the bedside table. His hands were still shaking slightly, but he managed to tap the screen and scroll to Liam's name.

It rang three times before Liam picked up, his voice groggy. "Hey, how—"

"It worked!" Harry hissed, triumphant despite the mucus in his throat. "The plan worked!"

There was a pause on the other end. "What plan? Harry. What are you—" Liam's voice changed tone instantly, alarmed. "You fucking psycho. Tell me you did not get ran over just so you could end in the hospital and he'd come to you! You irresponsible shit—"

"No, no! Chill!" Harry interrupted. "Not that plan. I told you that was emergency-only. Ugh, Liam get back on track we're not there yet. I'm talking about the first one."

"Tell me it's not the kidnapping." Liam sighed deeply, "Just— whatever it is tell me you did not just kidnap Louis. How many times have I told you he would not think of it as a romantic getaway but the authorities would be—

"Liam."

"Harry."

"Just—shut up. I'm talking about when I said I'd pretend to be sick so he'd take pity on me."

"You're pretending to be sick?" Liam asked, dubious.

"I wish," Harry groaned. "I didn't mean to get sick, honestly. I thought waiting out in the rain would be romantic. You know, sad boy, wet hair, flowers in hand— except for the flowers because I couldn't really do that again— but he took nearly two hours to come out and I just... yeah. The rain didn't exactly work in my favour."

"Fucking hell," Liam muttered. "So it wasn't even a plan. You just stayed out in a storm like a dramatic moron, got yourself genuinely sick, and now poor Lou has to deal with you."

Harry scowled, "Who's side are you on?"

Liam snorted. "Yours mate, yours. So, how's it going?"

"Good!" Harry coughed violently, voice breaking. "I mean I feel like shit but, more positively, Louis doesn't look like he wants to claw my eyes out so I'd count it as a win."

There was a pause. Then, gently, Liam asked, "So what's the plan now? Are you staying until tomorrow?"

Harry exhaled shakily. "No, I'm gonna pretend the fever broke tonight. Go home. He has a plane to catch tomorrow so he'll need to sleep well tonight. Besides, I don't want him worrying while he's flying out."

A beat of silence passed where Harry stared at the roof, he sighed, "He's so kind. So kind, Liam. I'm scared that I might be wrong, that he's not better with me. Maybe I'm not as good to him as we think. He deserves to much and all I've managed to do so far is hurt him, and despite that he still took me in, stayed up with me all night. I don't get it."

"You don't have to get it," Liam said gently. "Sometimes people care about you even when you don't think you deserve it. But you've changed, H. You really have. And you've been trying. I think that counts for something."

Harry swallowed thickly, eyes burning. "But when does trying become... too much? When does it stop being something good and start being a fucking nuisance? I mean—fuck, maybe I'm pushing him. Maybe I'm reading it all wrong and I'm just harassing him at this point."

"Then you try one last time," Liam said. "But this time, you make sure you give it everything. If you like him—"

"Love him." Harry's voice cracked. "I love him so fucking much."

Silence again, then Liam replied, steady and sure. "Then make sure he knows that."

***

"I don't like this," Niall muttered, arms folded tight across his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. His scowl was deep enough to leave permanent lines on his face, and he didn't even bother pretending it was about anything else. He watched, unimpressed, as Louis folded a hoodie into the duffel bag resting open on the bed.

Louis didn't look up. "There's nothing to like or hate," he said flatly, grabbing a couple of t-shirts next. "He's sick. I'm helping him. That's it."

Niall's frown deepened. "He's taking advantage of you again."

Louis groaned, more out of exasperation than denial. "Oh, give him a break," he said, shaking out a pair of sweatpants before folding them. "He really is sick. I wouldn't be doing this if he weren't."

"I'm sick too," Niall shot back, indignant. "I don't see you playing nurse with me."

That made Louis finally glance up, eyebrows arched with amusement. "Aw," he said mockingly sweet. "Do you want me to come rub your back and spoon-feed you oatmeal too? Is that what this is?"

Niall gave him a flat, unimpressed look. "Do not touch me."

Louis, of course, reached forward and squeezed both his cheeks with one hand like he was three years old.

"Louis!" Niall yelped, swatting his hand away with force. "You're such a menace."

"Yeah, yeah." Louis zipped up the side pocket of the bag.

Niall stayed quiet for a beat, then rubbed at his temple like Louis had personally caused his headache. "I'm just worried, alright?" he muttered. "I know you. I know what he does to you. And I don't want you to get hurt all over again just because he coughed in your direction."

Louis softened. He didn't say anything at first, just tugged the zipper closed slowly. Then he turned to face him, expression gentler. "Don't be," he said. "It's not like that. I'm not... falling into anything. He's genuinely ill. He needs help. I'd do the same for you or Zayn."

Niall still didn't look convinced. "To be fair," he said after a moment, "and I'm not saying this to fuel whatever this is—these past few days he did look..." He shook his head. "Ugh, never mind. This is giving me a headache. Just... be careful, alright?"

Louis stepped closer and nudged him with a smile. "I will."

There was a pause, and then Louis tilted his head. "How are you feeling now? You looked half-dead yesterday."

Niall shrugged. "Mostly fine. Bit of a cold. Nothing dramatic."

Louis hummed and wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug before Niall could protest. "Gonna miss your stupid face," he said into his shoulder. "Two weeks without your whiny voice might just kill me."

"Fuck off," Niall said, voice muffled. "This is exactly why I say Zayn's nicer than you."

Louis scoffed. "You say that because you don't hear him when you're not around. Did you know yesterday he said we should form a duo and kick you out of the group?"

Niall pulled back with a raised brow. "Yeah? And what did you say to that?"

Louis shrugged with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Told him I was contemplating it."

Niall snorted. "Please. You two would crawl back in two days. And that's pushing it."

"Two days?" Louis laughed. "You're overestimating us."

Niall grinned as Louis lifted the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Alright," Louis said, backing toward the door. "Take care of yourself, yeah? Don't be stupid. Take meds before you travel—if you wait 'til you're dizzy again I swear to God I'll revoke your man card."

"Yes, mum," Niall replied dryly.

Louis had just walked out the door when Niall called out again.

"Oh, and Lou?"

Louis paused, glancing back.

Niall smirked, leaning casually against the frame. "Maybe wait 'til he's not contagious to kiss him, yeah? You really don't wanna catch that."

Louis choked on his own breath, spinning around so fast he nearly dropped the bag. "What—"

But Niall was already gone, laughing as he disappeared down the hall like a coward.

Louis stood there for a second, flustered, staring at the now-empty space. Then he muttered under his breath, "Fucking menace," and headed out the door with a half-smile tugging at his lips.

.

When Louis stepped back into the dorm, the first thing he noticed was the faint sound of a pot simmering. He froze. His eyes narrowed instantly as the scent of something tomato-based hit his nose—and not in a good way.

He turned the corner into the kitchen, only to find Harry—hood still up, both sleeves rolled to the elbows, standing weakly at the stove with a wooden spoon in hand.

"What the hell are you doing up?" Louis asked, voice sharp with disbelief. His frown deepened when Harry turned around with a sheepish smile—one that barely reached his tired, red-rimmed eyes.

Harry shrugged, like it was no big deal. "I'm feeling better," he said, clearing his throat. "Wanted to make you lunch."

Louis didn't move. "Why are you doing that?" he asked, eyes flicking to the pot suspiciously. "I went grocery shopping specifically so you wouldn't have to do anything. I told you to rest. What is that even supposed to be?"

Harry looked down at the bubbling mess and winced. "Pasta?" he offered, right before sneezing violently into his elbow.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Louis groaned and dropped the bag of groceries on the counter, storming toward the stove. "Turn that off. Right now. That's not even food anymore, that's a biohazard. You can't eat that. You'll throw it up in twenty minutes." He moved to shut the burner off himself, but Harry stood his ground.

"I'm feeling better, I told you," Harry said again, trying to sound convincing but failing miserably when his voice cracked and he swayed slightly on his feet.

Louis' voice lost its edge as he stepped closer. "Ba—" He paused, catching himself just in time. "Harry," he corrected, softer now. "You're shivering. Look at you. You had a 39-degree fever this morning and now you expect me to believe you're suddenly okay? Come on."

"I'm just a bit cold," Harry muttered defensively, wrapping his arms tighter around himself.

Louis stared at him, then gestured with both hands. "You're wearing two hoodies. Jesus."

There was a beat. A shift.

Louis inhaled, his hand twitching like he wasn't sure whether to reach out or fold it back. "Are you..." he started, more quietly. "Are you uncomfortable here? Is that why you're trying to leave even when you're clearly not well? Did I do something wrong?"

The hurt in his voice wasn't intentional, but it cut through anyway. Harry's head snapped up instantly.

"No!" he said, too loud, too fast. "No, no, not at all, Lou. You've been—God—you've been amazing. I mean that. You didn't sleep all night to help me. You've done more than anyone else would've and I can't thank you enough. I just—" He stumbled over his words, voice softer now. "You have a flight tomorrow. You need rest too. I'm trying to help, not stress you out."

Louis didn't say anything. He just stepped forward, nudged Harry out of the way with a firm hand on his hip, and turned the stove off himself.

"Don't worry about me," he said, already pushing Harry gently by the shoulder. "I'm fine. Just do what I tell you and go back to bed."

Harry blinked as Louis started herding him toward the bedroom, but didn't fight it.

"I called a doctor on the way here," Louis said, breath short from juggling both the groceries and his frustration. "Since you don't want to go to the hospital, which—whatever. He said the fever's going to get worse over the next couple days. It's common with weather exposure and your immune system's in the gutter right now."

Harry sighed but Louis kept going, tone clipped and controlled like he was reciting from memory. "You'll feel cold because your body's overheating and trying to cool down. But layering up only traps the heat and makes it worse. You'll start sweating like mad when it finally breaks, and even then you'll still need to keep one layer on to keep the temp steady. It'll be very uncomfortable and you'll have to stay hydrated but I can take care of that—" Harry wiggled his brows at that and Louis only threw him an unimpressed look.

They made it to the bed. Louis sat him down and pulled the covers over him with a practiced touch.

"As I was saying, you'll need to drink a lot, fresh air every once in a while—but not by yourself because you will get dizzy. And if your fever spikes past thirty nine again, we're going to the hospital, no matter what you say. If your ears start hurting, tell me. Could be a secondary infection."

He paused, looking at Harry, who was half-listening, half-sinking into the pillows, but still alert enough to catch the tension in Louis' jaw.

Then, quieter, Louis asked, "If I took you home tomorrow morning, would someone be there to take care of you?"

Harry nodded once. "Yeah. Till Christmas."

Louis stilled. "That's not enough. Christmas is in two days."

Harry hesitated, then looked away. "They're leaving the morning after. My sister's got a trip planned with her friends. My parents are going abroad."

Louis blinked. "Oh."

It was barely a sound. Just a breath of surprise wrapped in disappointment. He opened his mouth again—then shut it just as quickly when Harry shifted uncomfortably under the covers.

He wanted to ask. Wanted to say why can't they stay? Why make plans without you when they barely see you? But he didn't. It wasn't his place.

He bit down hard on his tongue and looked away, thinking through the options. He thought about maybe bringing Harry home with him, but a nine hour flight with him in this state wasn't just risky—it was cruel. At the same time, leaving him here alone... that didn't sit right either.

Harry must've sensed it. He reached out and squeezed Louis' hand gently, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

"You've done enough," he said softly. "Really. I can manage for a few days. I'll call you if anything happens."

Louis stared down at their joined hands. "I won't be able to reach you. I'll be on the other side of the world."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, but I'm sure an ambulance will."

"Not funny."

Harry's smile dropped. "I'm serious. I'll be fine, Lou. Don't worry."

Louis didn't answer. He just exhaled through his nose, steadying himself before he finally stepped back.

"Alright," he said, clearing his throat. "I brought you some clothes. Take a quick shower and change into them. Not too hot, not too long—the steam'll make you dizzy."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Louis cut him off, deadpan. "I'll eat your pasta. Happy now?"

Harry's eyes twinkled, satisfied. "Very."

Louis rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched—just barely—at the corner. Then he turned and headed for the kitchen, already planning what dry, bland, fever-appropriate thing he'd feed this idiot next.

.

They were sitting on the floor, their backs against the couch. The TV was off, the room quiet except for the soft hum of the radiator and the occasional scrape of a fork against ceramic. Louis balanced a chipped plate of pasta on his knees, still warm from the pot Harry had abandoned earlier. Across from him, Harry hunched over a bowl of rice Louis had prepared, slowly spooning it into his mouth, though his posture suggested he wasn't tasting much.

His voice was raspy when he spoke, but there was a lilt to it—something softer than before. "I think my favorite part was when Robert started questioning her about the letter."

Louis looked up, chewing slowly.

Harry sniffled, his voice steady despite the congestion. "Like, the way he kept pretending it was just small talk. But you could feel it, right? That tension? When he was like—'oh, didn't Jerry use to write you all the time?' Like he was subtly reminding her he knew Jerry first. That they had this whole bond, all those letters... until they weren't there anymore."

Louis nodded, lips tugging into something faint. "Yeah. It's clever."

He twirled his fork in the noodles, eyes still on Harry. "What about your least favorite part? Was there something that didn't land?"

Harry leaned back against the couch with a quiet groan, his knees pulled up, bowl balanced on his lap. He thought about it, eyes wandering the ceiling. "The ending," he admitted after a beat. "But I don't think the reason I didn't like it was for how it was performed. I've just never liked how the script ends in general, since I read it the first time. It feels incomplete."

Louis tilted his head. "Because it starts at the end," he said, more to himself. "And ends at the start."

Harry hummed, watching him now.

Louis tapped his fork against the edge of the plate, speaking slowly, like he'd had this thought many times but never said it out loud. "So we see all the damage first. The affair, the lies, the resentment. And then it walks us back to where it all began. To when things were still untouched. Whole. And by the time we get there, it's too late. You already know it all falls apart."

He set the plate down gently, brushing his fingers on a napkin before continuing. "It's like if you watch a film about someone getting diagnosed with cancer. And instead of seeing them fight it, survive or not, you watch everything that happened before. Their life before the illness. Their relationships, their choices. And then the film ends with the diagnosis. With the moment everything changes. But you never find out if they make it. It just ends with the beginning of the fall."

Harry stared at him, visibly intrigued. "Do you like that?" he asked. "Not knowing how it ends. Is that why you chose Betrayal?"

Louis gave a small shrug. "I don't mind it." He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them loosely. "I picked it because it was different. Not a lot of plays do that." Then, after a pause, he gave a dry chuckle. "Maybe I should've taken it as a sign. Bit of foreshadowing. Feels like this year, Betrayal won't just be the name of a play in my life."

Harry frowned at him. "Not funny."

"It's a little bit funny," Louis said, grinning despite himself.

Harry didn't respond right away. He looked down into his half-empty bowl, stirred the rice absentmindedly with his spoon. Then, voice quiet but certain, he said, "I'm sorry."

Louis shrugged slowly, not really knowing how to answer.

He took another bite of pasta, chewed slowly, then placed the plate down beside him on the rug. His gaze drifted toward Harry again, studying his profile in the dim light. The lines around his eyes, the tired flush on his cheeks, the faint chapped red of his nose. And the way his lashes fluttered as if bracing for something—rejection, maybe.

Louis propped his chin on one knee, his voice quieter now. "You confuse me."

Harry blinked, eyes flicking over. "What?"

Louis tilted his head. "You do. You've always confused me. Since the very start."

Harry frowned slightly, unsure if it was an insult.

Louis sighed and kept going. "Sometimes you do things that make me think one thing. But then you say something else. And they don't... they don't line up." He paused, biting the inside of his cheek. "Every time I think I've got you figured out, turns out I don't. Even now. I thought I knew what all this was, what you were thinking—but then you look at me like that and..."

He trailed off, shaking his head as if the words had run dry in his throat.

Harry leaned in slightly, brow furrowed. "Like what?"

Louis felt the déjà vu hit him like a soft ripple—this exact moment, this exact question. The heat under his skin, the breath caught behind his teeth. He looked away.

"I should check some things," he said, abruptly rising to his feet. "For my flight. Tomorrow."

He didn't wait for a response, just stepped over the pasta plate and disappeared out of the room, leaving Harry sitting in the glow of the lamp, staring at the spot Louis had been like he was still trying to understand what just happened.

And maybe, Louis thought bitterly as he shut the door behind him, maybe that was the whole problem.

Neither of them ever knew what the other truly meant.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

Louis woke with a start, blinking groggily into the darkness as a strange, choked sound reached his ears. For a moment, he couldn't tell if it had been part of a dream or something real—until he heard it again, muffled but unmistakable. A guttural retch followed by the sound of something hitting porcelain.

He sat up, rubbing at his face with both hands. The clock read 6:03 a.m., a red blur of digits in the low light. Still early. Too early for anything, really. The air in the room was cool, the kind of still silence that clung to winter mornings. But the moment he turned his head, he noticed the space on Zayn's bed was empty.

"Harry?" His voice was scratchy, sleep-drunk.

When there was no answer, he pushed the covers back and got up, feet quiet on the floorboards as he padded toward the bathroom. The door was open. The light was on. And there, slumped in front of the toilet, was Harry.

He was sickly pale, in a way that made Louis' stomach twist. His curls were damp against his forehead, and his shoulders jerked forward weakly as he coughed into the bowl. One hand clutched a wad of toilet paper and the other was braced against the edge, knuckles white.

Louis didn't hesitate. He dropped to his knees beside him, hand immediately stroking along Harry's spine in slow, grounding circles.

"I'm right here," he said softly, the way you'd speak to a scared animal. "You alright? Do you feel like you're going to go again?"

Harry gave a weak nod, eyes glistening. "...leave?"

That made Louis freeze. His hand stilled, breath caught mid-inhale. "What? Why?"

Harry winced, barely able to meet his gaze. "Gross—," he whispered, like it was something shameful, though he couldn't finish his sentence before he pitched forward again, groaning as his body rejected what little was left in his stomach. Louis looked away, gaze focused on the floor tiles, but his hand never stopped moving across Harry's back.

When it was finally over, Harry sagged back onto the wall, using the toilet paper to dab at his mouth. He looked like hell—eyes bloodshot, cheeks hollowed, lips chapped from fever. And yet, when he spoke again, his voice was less broken and more defeated.

"How the fuck am I supposed to win you back like this?" he asked, quietly, and his voice was so genuinely upset that it startled Louis, a surprised breath leaving his chest before he let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "Shut up," he said gently, brushing a hand across Harry's sweaty curls. "Don't worry about that right now."

Harry gave a humorless snort but didn't pull away.

"Can you stand?" Louis asked after a pause. "Or do you wanna brush your teeth here first?"

"Teeth first," Harry murmured.

Louis got up, fetching Harry's toothbrush he'd packed yesterday. He ran it under the tap, added toothpaste, then knelt again and handed it over. Harry took it with shaking fingers and awkwardly leaned over the toilet, brushing in slow, tired motions.

Louis didn't say anything, just waited. And when Harry was done, he helped him up carefully, one arm around his waist as he led him back toward the bed.

"When did you start feeling sick?" he asked as he settled him down, pulling the covers back up.

"An hour ago," Harry murmured, blinking slowly. "My stomach hurts."

Louis frowned. "Why didn't you call for me?"

Harry turned his face into the pillow, eyes closed. "You have a flight. I didn't wanna wake you."

"Stop thinking about me," Louis said, almost scolding. "I told you, let me help you—oof!"

He yelped when Harry reached out suddenly and tugged him down into the bed, arms winding around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I know you hate me right now," Harry murmured, voice rough. "And I don't get why you're doing all this, but thank you."

Louis barely had a second to process the sudden proximity, the warmth of Harry's arms around him, before the next words knocked the breath from his lungs.

"Oh," Harry added softly, like an afterthought. "And happy birthday, Lou."

Louis blinked. Once. Twice. His throat felt tight, like something had gotten caught there. His eyes stung in that annoying way they did when emotions got the better of him.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to see Harry's face. "You know I don't hate you," he said, voice quieter than he meant it. "I wish I could. But I can't."

The honesty in it cracked through the quiet like thunder.

And before he could let it sit too long—before he could ruin the moment by saying more—Louis stood. He cleared his throat, smoothing down his shirt.

"I'll get you some water," he said. "Forgot today was my birthday," he added with a small, self-deprecating laugh, already turning for the kitchen.

His heart was thudding in his chest as he left the room.

.

Midway through the morning, the dorm was heavy with silence, broken only by the soft crackle of the heater and the occasional rustle of sheets as Harry shifted restlessly. He'd managed to nibble on a few crackers — not much, but enough to let Louis breathe a little easier. The fever still clung stubbornly to his skin, though, and the bedsheets were soaked with sweat by now.

Louis had stripped the bed earlier and changed the linens, working quickly and gently, pretending not to notice the way Harry had curled in on himself, looking both mortified and defeated.

"I'm not grossed out," Louis had said firmly, brushing the damp hair off his forehead. "Don't do that."

Harry had only hummed in response, not convinced.

Still, Louis couldn't shake the tight knot in his chest, especially when the thermometer beeped again and flashed the same high number. He'd called the doctor in a quiet panic, pacing the room with his phone pressed tightly to his ear. The man on the line had calmly reminded him what he'd said yesterday — that the fever was likely to peak before it finally dropped. It was still on track. Still expected.

He had also recommended something mild for Harry's stomach, and Louis didn't hesitate — he'd thrown on a coat, ignored Harry's protests from the bed, and left with a muttered promise to be right back.

When he returned, he nearly dropped the pharmacy bag right at the door.

Harry was dressed, hoodie zipped, shoes on, hair wet like he'd just come out of the shower.

"What are you doing?" Louis snapped, voice slicing through the quiet.

Harry turned around, clearly caught, but still had the nerve to offer a soft smile, eyes tired and red-rimmed. "I feel so much better," he said, and Louis hated how forced the cheer in his voice was. "I think it's time for me to go."

Louis stared at him. He didn't move for a beat, just stood there holding the pharmacy bag like it might ground him. Then, slowly, he set it down on the counter, turned back toward Harry, and glared. "How many times do we have to go through this? Lay down."

Harry's smile faltered. "It doesn't matter," he said, defensive now. "Seriously, I don't wanna be a burden. Your flight's later today. It's stupid for me to still be here."

Louis moved toward him, face unreadable, and pushed lightly on Harry's chest until he sat back on the edge of the bed. "Don't worry about that," Louis said tightly, bending to untie his shoes. "It got delayed."

There was a pause.

Harry blinked. "What?"

Louis didn't look up, didn't meet his eyes as he placed the shoes back by the door and grabbed the water bottle and blister pack from the bag. "The flight. Got delayed. Something with the weather."

"Oh," Harry said. "Like... an hour?"

Louis didn't answer.

Harry's brow furrowed. "Louis?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Harry's voice grew confused. "How are you supposed to leave if they didn't even give you a new time?"

Louis didn't answer. He just handed Harry a pill and half, then sat beside him, resting his elbows on his knees as he waited for Harry to swallow it.

Harry downed it with a sip of water, then held the cup in his hands as if it gave him something to focus on. "You're still leaving today, though, right?"

Louis' eyes flicked to the side, refusing to meet his. "Maybe."

There was a beat of silence. "But it's your birthday."

Louis let out a soft laugh, teasing. "You afraid I'm expecting a present?"

Harry shook his head quickly, his eyes wide. "No, I just— I'm sorry your flight got delayed. I hope it's just for a couple hours."

Louis finally looked at him then, "It's okay," he said, voice softer now. "You're still sick anyway. I wouldn't have made it through nine hours on a plane knowing you were like this. I... I do care about you, you know."

His cheeks flushed immediately after the words left his mouth, and Harry, stunned, seemed to mirror the reaction — face pinking, eyes dropping. Louis cleared his throat and stood abruptly, "I'm gonna take a shower."

He didn't wait for a response, just turned and walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

The steam from the shower had already begun curling around the edges of the mirror, but Louis didn't move to get in. Instead, he sat on the closed lid of the toilet, phone pressed to his ear with one hand, the other anxiously worrying at the edge of his nail until the skin stung. The water roared behind him, a distraction and a cover.

When Zayn finally answered, Louis let out a breath that came out shakier than he intended.

"Lou, babe," Zayn greeted warmly. "Happy birthday! I tried calling you earlier—did you just wake up?"

Louis closed his eyes. "Thanks, Zi," he murmured, voice already strained. "No, I... it's complicated."

There was a pause, and Louis hurried to fill it. "It's kind of urgent but—can you just... not ask any questions right now? I'll explain later, I promise. But I need to ask you something and I need you to be honest. Please."

He heard Zayn's quiet hum of agreement, and Louis pressed on, quick and nervous.

"You told me Liam thinks Harry's being genuine, right? That he believes him?" He swallowed thickly. "Can you tell me why he thinks that? Or—or maybe ask him again? And text me or call me back or something? I just—fuck, I feel so stupid, Z. I feel like I'm falling for it again, and I don't know if that makes me pathetic or completely mental or both, but I swear I'm not imagining everything, right? It can't all be in my head. A game wouldn't go on for this long, not like this, not with the way he—"

He cut himself off, chest tightening. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm saying. I think I love him. I think I've been in love with him for a while and just didn't want to admit it to myself because it's fucking humiliating." His voice cracked, desperate and exhausted. "He played me. He made me feel like I mattered and then let it blow up in my face, and yet I'm still here. Still taking care of him. Still wanting to—fuck, I don't even know what I want anymore."

He heard his own voice spiral, the words coming too fast, too messy. "Is that pathetic? Do you think I'm pathetic? Because I do. I want to curl into myself and disappear. This is so embarrassing, Zay."

He barely registered that his cheeks were wet until Zayn's voice cut gently through the static in his brain.

"...Are you crying?"

Louis let out a choked laugh and pressed his arm over his eyes. "Of course not," he sniffled, his voice muffled and unconvincing. "Who do you take me for?"

Zayn sighed softly on the other end. "You are crying," he started, voice soft. "Alright, Lou. Listen to me. I don't think you're pathetic. Not even close."

Louis pressed his knuckles against his mouth, trying to steady himself.

"You're in love," Zayn continued, gentle but firm. "And yeah, what happened was fucked up. I'd still love to strangle Styles a little for it, if we're being honest. But I believe Liam when he says Harry's being genuine. And not just because Liam's stupidly forgiving—but because it makes sense."

He paused, as if making sure Louis was still listening. He was. Every word.

"Think about it," Zayn said. "If this were still about the bet or the credits or whatever the hell it started as—why would he still be trying now? What would be the point? He's not earning anything from this anymore. And I don't think this is fun for him. Not even a little."

Louis closed his eyes again, trying not to fall apart all over again. Zayn's voice was steady, grounding.

"And I know you, Lou. You're smart. You're guarded for a reason. But the way you were with him? I saw it. You were happy. You let yourself be open with him in a way I haven't seen in a long time. At first, yeah, I thought it was just a stupid uni crush too, but now...? I think it's real. And I think deep down you know that too."

There was a beat, and Louis didn't realize he was crying again until a tear slipped down his chin and landed on his bare thigh.

Zayn's tone softened. "And look, this is uni. People fuck up, and sometimes they do horrible shit trying to impress their friends or prove something or protect themselves. Doesn't mean you have to forgive him—but it also doesn't mean you can't."

Louis let out a shaky exhale.

"If your gut is telling you something... if your heart is—then maybe you should listen. Not because it's easy, but because sometimes, even when it hurts, love is still worth it. You'll only know if you ask. And whatever you decide, babe, we're with you. Even if you decide to dump his ass and cry about it for a month. We'll stock the wine and start roasting him in group chat immediately."

Louis laughed weakly, a sound that cracked in the middle. "Thanks," he murmured, sniffling again. "I really wish you were here."

"I know," Zayn said, soft. "But I'm just a call away. Always."

The line fell quiet for a beat, both of them just breathing.

Then Louis whispered, "I will never forgive him. If he breaks my heart again, I will never forgive him."

***

Louis pounded on the dorm door again, frustration lacing his voice as he yelled, "Let me in, asshole! I've been stuck out here for thirty minutes! What the fuck are you even doing in there?"

From the other side came a muffled shout followed immediately by a sneeze. "I told you—just—" Another sneeze echoed through the door, making Louis sigh deeply, both irritated and helplessly amused. "Just wait a few more minutes!"

Louis groaned loudly, tipping his head back against the cool wood of the door, arms crossed tightly against his chest. Harry had insisted Louis retrieve something from his car—urgent, he'd claimed—but the moment Louis stepped out, the door had swung shut behind him, locking him out. It didn't take a genius to guess what Harry was up to, especially given the suspicious inquiries earlier about the leftover glue and cardboard from Niall's poster. Still, Louis couldn't shake off the gentle anxiety buzzing under his skin.

"Harry," Louis tried again, softer this time, worry creeping into his voice despite himself. "What if you faint and I can't get back inside? You shouldn't even be out of bed, the doctor specifically said—"

He didn't get to finish. Without warning, the door swung open, causing Louis to stumble forward with an ungraceful yelp. He righted himself quickly, cheeks flushed and heart pounding as he met Harry's triumphant, albeit slightly pale face.

Harry's grin was mischievous, though exhaustion lingered in the corners of his eyes. "That's not entirely true," he defended lightly, voice scratchy but warm with affection. "The doctor did say I could get fresh air. Standing is just part of the process."

Louis rolled his eyes dramatically, stepping into the dorm and brushing past Harry, though his hands itched to check the heat he could practically feel radiating from him. Before he could say anything more, Harry stepped forward, gently cupping Louis' cheeks and lifting the corners of his mouth into an exaggerated smile.

"It's your birthday," Harry whispered softly, his thumbs warm against Louis' skin. "You're not allowed to be grumpy today."

Louis batted Harry's hands away, the warmth lingering on his face. He sighed deeply, fondness tugging at his heart despite himself. "How are you actually feeling, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes, exasperated but clearly touched by Louis' concern. "Stop worrying about me for once, Lou. Can you just pretend it's your day and not mine? I'm fine—look." Harry spun dramatically to demonstrate his well-being, only to wobble unsteadily, immediately pitching sideways.

Louis lunged instinctively, arms catching Harry around the waist as he scolded him softly. "Fucking idiot." But there was no bite behind his words, only tender exasperation.

Harry leaned into Louis briefly, his voice softer as he murmured, "I promise I'm alright, just got a bit dizzy." He straightened slowly, his gaze hopeful and excited as he nudged Louis gently towards the main area of the room. "Come on, I want to show you something."