Chapter Text
The flat has never been this clean. Not even close. Every surface gleamed, the floor smelled faintly of lemon cleaner, and the soft flicker of vanilla and coconut candles filled the air. Harry’s favourite scent. Louis hunted down every candle in a ten mile radius that even vaguely matched it, lit them all, then spent half an hour rearranging them.
He was sweating through his shirt. Third one of the day. He started with a black tee, then switched to blue, and now he was in a crisp white one, freshly ironed, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The fabric stuck to the back of his neck anyway. His hands wouldn’t stop moving, tugging at his bracelet, spinning the beads, tapping his thigh, running through his hair, pacing from the window to the kitchen and back again.
Every time a car went by, his heart did this stupid leap like that’s him. It never was.
The bedroom looked like something out of a hotel. He spent way too long in the home goods aisle debating what colour sheets to buy before grabbing the sage green silk ones because, obviously, Harry’s favourite. Now they caught the light perfectly, soft and shiny, and he even did that dent in the pillow thing he saw in magazines. On top, he laid a fluffy cream throw blanket in case Harry got cold.
And then there were the flowers. A huge bouquet of sunflowers on the kitchen table, big enough to look like it was about to fall over. The guy at the shop raised a brow and said, “Cheating apology?”
Louis nearly threw his wallet at him. “You don’t know him, I would never.” he said instead.
The fridge was full for once. He got proper Italian takeaway, something fancy, all the options on the menu he thought Harry might like and garlic bread that came wrapped in foil. Expansive wine, he got both white and red because he doesn’t know which one Harry prefers.
He wasn’t sure if Harry would want to go out or stay in, but either way, Louis had it sorted. If Harry even hinted at wanting to go out, he’d have a reservation booked before he finished the sentence.
He even sorted himself out. Got a haircut that morning, trimmed his stubble. He kept catching his reflection in the hallway mirror, pulling at his shirt, muttering, “You look fine. Calm the fuck down,” only to immediately move a candle half an inch to the left.
The flat smelled good, looked good, felt ready. Everything was perfect.
He checked his phone again. His knee bounced so fast it made the table rattle. He sat, stood, sat again.
He walked another lap around the living room, wiped a perfectly clean surface, and stared at the door like he could summon Harry by sheer force of will.
Every nerve in his body was electric. He couldn’t stop picturing it, the sound of the door opening, the sight of Harry standing there, real and beautiful and his.
Louis’s phone buzzed on the counter, making him jump.
Niall: how’s it goin lover boy
Liam: he there yet?
Niall: tell me u’ve lit candles and put on slow music so u can seduce him properly
Louis groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, thumbs flying.
Louis: go away
Niall: nah i wanna hear about the welcome back sex
Liam: NIALL.
Niall: what?? I’m being supportive!
Louis chucked the phone onto the sofa, face burning. Then he picked the phone back up. Checked the time.
He paced. Sat down. Got up again. Rearranged the throw blanket for the fourth time.
The silence started pressing on him. That too clean smell of lemon and candle wax made him feel like he was choking on it.
He grabbed his phone again before he could talk himself out of it and scrolled straight to Matt’s number.
“Louis?” Matt’s voice came through, calm and warm. “What’s up?”
“Hey. Sorry. You busy?”
“Only mildly pretending to do paperwork. What’s going on?”
Louis laughed weakly. “He’s coming home. Harry. Any minute now. And I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.”
“Big day,” Matt said softly. “What’s making it feel like too much?”
Louis sighed, pacing again. “I don’t even know. I’ve been waiting for this for months, right? And now it’s here, and I feel like I can’t breathe. Like… what if he walks in and it’s weird? What if we’re not the same anymore?”
Matt hummed, the kind of sound that said go on. “You’ve both changed a lot. But different doesn’t have to mean worse.”
Louis snorted. “You’re doing the thing again.”
“What thing?”
“The therapist thing.”
Matt chuckled. “Sorry. You sound scared.”
Louis froze for a second. “I am,” he admitted quietly. “It’s stupid, I know. But it’s been almost a year, and I keep thinking… what if he’s outgrown me?”
“You think he could?”
Louis frowned. “What?”
“You think Harry could outgrow you?” Matt repeated, voice soft but steady.
Louis groaned. “Don’t do that thing where you make me hear how dumb I sound.”
Matt laughed. “Can’t help it. It’s the job. But Louis, Elliot told me Harry hasn’t stopped talking about you this whole time. Every check-in, every session, somehow it circled back to you. He’s been working to get back to you. That’s not outgrowing. That’s love.”
Louis blinked fast, throat tight. “I just… I want him to be proud of me, you know? I want him to come in here and see I’ve kept it together.”
“Why does he need to think that?” Matt asked.
Louis frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You said you want him to see you’re okay. But you don’t have to prove you’re okay, Louis. You love him. He loves you. That’s enough.”
Louis exhaled shakily. “Yeah. I know. It’s just—if he sees I’m still a bit fucked up, he’ll think I’m a fraud. And I don’t want that.”
Matt’s smile was audible. “Sounds like you both are nervous.”
Louis chuckled, rubbing under his eye. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Also sounds like you cleaned your entire flat and lit, what, six candles to hide that you’re terrified?”
Louis laughed, a wet sound. “Eight candles, actually. You missed two.”
“Of course you did. Overachiever.”
“Fuck off,” Louis said, grinning now.
Matt softened again. “You’ve done enough, Lou. You don’t have to be perfect for him. He just wants you. That’s the whole point of coming home to you.”
Louis nodded, voice smaller. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“I usually am.”
“Yeah, but don’t get smug about it.”
“I’ll try my best. Now go sit down, stop pacing, and for the love of God, don’t call me during the reunion. I don’t need to hear that.”
Louis snorted. “Piss off. And… thanks. For everything.”
“Anytime. And Louis?”
“Yeah?”
“Breathe.”
Louis smiled. “Trying.”
He hung up and stood there for a moment, the silence softer now. He looked around the flat again—the flowers, the candles, the ridiculous clean floors. His heart was still hammering, but it felt less like panic and more like hope.
He fixed the corner of a pillow. Just in case.
There was a knock on the door.
Louis froze mid-step, heart hammering so hard it made him dizzy. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Another knock.
He swallowed, voice barely coming out. “It’s open.”
The latch clicked, slow and careful.
And then the door swung open.
Harry.
He stood there with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, curls a bit longer now, soft, messy, and falling into his face. He looked different. Older, maybe. Healthier. Broader in the shoulders, like he finally grown into himself.
For a second, Louis forgot how to breathe.
Harry looked around the flat, eyes tracing the candles, the flowers, the too perfect bed visible through the cracked door. Then his gaze landed on Louis.
They just stared.
No one moved. No one said a word. The air was thick with every letter, every sleepless night, every I miss you they couldn’t say out loud.
Louis’s throat burned. “Hi,” he managed, barely above a whisper.
Harry’s lips parted like he wanted to say something, but instead, he dropped the bag. It hit the floor with a soft thud, and then he was moving.
Crossing the room fast.
Louis didn’t even realise he moved too until they collided, breathless, hands everywhere. Harry’s arms came around him tight, pulling him in until their chests pressed together. Louis fisted the back of his shirt, nose buried in the curve of Harry’s neck, breathing him in like oxygen.
He smelled the same. That warm, clean, Harry smell that made Louis’s knees go weak.
“Hi,” Harry whispered, voice deep.
Louis pulled back just enough to see him. His eyes were bright, tired little shadows under them, and his hair curled over his collar. Louis’s thumb brushed one stray curl. “Your hair is longer,” he said softly. “And you—fuck, you look taller.”
Harry gave a quiet laugh, breathy and familiar. “You got smaller.”
Louis snorted. “Piss off.” His voice cracked halfway through it, and Harry smiled.
Louis’s hands came up to Harry’s jaw, thumbs brushing over the stubble there. “You look beautiful,” he said before he could stop himself.
Harry’s breath caught.
Louis’s voice dropped. “Can I—?”
Harry didn’t even let him finish. “Yeah.”
Louis kissed him.
It started soft, careful, the kind of kiss that said I missed you, I’m still here, don’t you dare leave again. Then Harry’s fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer, and the kiss deepened. Slow but desperate. Not the wild kind they used to share, this was steadier, fuller, like they were relearning each other.
Louis’s hands roamed, over Harry’s shoulders, the back of his neck, down to his waist, gripping tight. Harry made a soft sound, almost a whimper, and Louis swallowed it with another kiss.
“Missed you so much,” Louis murmured between kisses, breathless. “So fucking much.”
Harry nodded against his lips, breathing ragged, fingers clutching at his shirt.
Then Louis felt it, wetness on his skin.
He pulled back just enough to see. Tears streaked Harry’s face, catching the candlelight, and he was still smiling through them like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Louis’s chest twisted painfully. “Hey. Hey, love, look at me,” he whispered, brushing the tears away with shaking thumbs. “It’s okay. You’re home. With me.”
Their foreheads pressed together, both of them breathing too fast, hands still clutching like they were scared to stop.
Louis whispered again, softer. “You’re here.”
Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. “I’m here.”
Louis kissed him again, slower, deeper. Just mouths moving together, no rush, no fear. Harry’s tears still wet against his skin, but neither of them cared.
They stayed like that, tangled up in the middle of the clean, candlelit flat, the rest of the world outside the door.
After a while, Louis murmured, almost to himself, “Thank you for coming back.”
Harry smiled, thumb brushing under Louis’s chin. “Was always gonna.”
He pulled back a little, eyes flicking around the flat again. The flowers. The candles. The too-perfect throw blanket.
“Did you—” he started, voice cracking halfway through. “Did you do all this for me?”
Louis blinked, trying for a straight face. “Nah, I just like living one candle away from burning the place down. Keeps things exciting.”
Harry sniffled out a small laugh, confused and crying at the same time, which somehow made Louis’s chest hurt even more.
Louis’s lips softened into a smile. He reached up, cupping Harry’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing under his eyes where the tears kept spilling. “Of course it’s for you,” he said quietly. “Everything I’ve done these past few months was for you.”
Harry’s throat bobbed. His eyes went all glassy again. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured, voice shaking a little. “The flat looks beautiful. You look beautiful.”
Louis’s stomach did a weird flip. “Shut up,” he mumbled, smiling as he said it.
Harry laughed, breath catching halfway through. Louis leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, quick, soft, like he was testing it.
“Hey,” Louis murmured, brushing another tear away. “Why are you crying, hmm?”
Harry gave a helpless little laugh, rubbing his eyes with his hand. “I don’t know,” he said, voice cracking. “It’s just—fuck, it’s a lot. I’m not sad. I’m just… really, really happy.”
Louis’s smile trembled. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”
They both let out little shaky laughs. Then Louis stepped back, just far enough to take him in properly.
Harry was wearing loose jeans ripped at both knees, a soft white tee with a faded print, sleeves rolled up enough to show his arms. On his wrist sat a blue beaded bracelet, the matching one to Louis’s green.
It was all so different from how he used to dress. No tight pants, no deep v-necks, no effort to prove anything. Just Harry. Comfortable. Free.
“You look good,” Louis said, voice soft but proud.
Harry smiled shyly, wiping under his nose. “They let me go shopping,” he said. “Told me to get something that wasn’t skinny jeans or sweats.”
Louis’s heart squeezed. He could hear what Harry wasn’t saying, that he didn’t need to be anyone’s version of himself anymore.
Harry’s eyes flicked up suddenly, like he just remembered something. “Oh, your jacket,” he said. “I brought it back. It’s probably filthy though, I should’ve washed it first.”
Louis barked out a laugh. “Yeah, we’ll wash it. But you won’t be needing it anymore.”
Harry frowned. “Why not?”
Louis smirked, eyes softening. “Because you can wear whatever you want from my closet now.”
That did it. Harry’s face crumpled again, tears spilling as he laughed. “I don’t think your clothes will fit me,” he managed, sniffing through a grin.
Louis chuckled, pulling him back in until they were pressed together again. “We’ll make it work, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “We’ll make it work.”
Harry’s lips found his again. Louis smiled against his mouth, fingers sliding up the back of Harry’s neck.
Harry pulled away after a moment, their foreheads still pressed together. “Is it alright if I… take a shower?” he asked quietly, almost shy.
Louis blinked, surprised by how gentle Harry sounded. “Yeah, sure,” he said, brushing his thumb along Harry’s jaw. “You don’t need to ask, you know. This is your home too. You can do whatever you want.”
Harry let out a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll get there,” he said softly. “Just… need a bit to adjust, yeah?”
Louis’s heart ached a little at that. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Take your time. There’s clean towels in the cupboard by the sink.”
Harry nodded, giving him one last quick kiss before heading off. Louis watched him go, his chest tight but warm.
A few minutes later, Harry padded back into the living room, barefoot now, curls a little messy. He was holding a folded towel against his chest, looking hesitant in the doorway.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Would it be okay if I left the bathroom door open while I’m in there? Not all the way, just… I wanna hear you. That you’re still out here.”
Louis stood, crossing the room slowly. “Yeah,” he said, voice low and sure. He tilted Harry’s chin up and kissed him again, soft, reassuring, a promise. “Everything you want is fine with me, Harry. Always.”
Harry smiled, small and grateful, eyes glassy again. “Okay,” he whispered. Then he leaned in for one more kiss before heading toward the bathroom, the door left cracked just enough for Louis to hear the water start running.
Somehow, Louis just knew it wasn’t going to be a quick shower. Louis could picture it perfectly, Harry just standing there for ages, letting the steam wrap around him, testing every single product Louis had there.
He stocked the bathroom with things just for Harry. Sweet-scented shower gels, vanilla, honey, and almond milk, the kind the women at the animal shelter swore by. He also found the exact hair products Harry used back at the facility, because one of them told him that curl hair care was a science. “Once you get it right, you never mess with it,”. So Louis didn’t. But if Harry wanted something else, he’d go out first thing tomorrow and get it for him.
He wandered over to Harry’s bag while the sound of running water filled the flat. It was heavier than he expected. When he unzipped it, he found soft jumpers, airy shirts, jeans in shades lighter than Harry used to wear. Some floral prints. Some pastel. All new. Harry was definitely experimenting, finding himself again, and Louis felt something warm settle in his chest at the sight.
Near the bottom, tucked neatly between the clothes, were the letters. Every single one Louis sent. Still folded, some edges worn, one or two with faint creases that looked like they been held too tight. Louis sat back on his heels, a bit thrown. It hit him harder than he expected, the proof that the past year actually happened. The waiting, the missing, the hoping. It was real. And now Harry was back.
“Lou?” Harry’s voice floated from the bathroom, a little echoey through the half-open door.
Louis blinked, quickly closing the bag. “Yeah, I’m right here!”
“Okay,” Harry called back, voice soft.
Louis smiled to himself, shaking his head. God, he missed that voice.
He grabbed his phone, opened the group chat with Liam and Niall, and typed, He’s back. He looks beautiful. Everything’s gonna be alright. He added a little heart emoji before tossing the phone aside.
In the kitchen, he took out two wine glasses and set them on the counter, but didn’t open the bottle yet. He wanted to wait until Harry was out of the shower.
A few minutes later, the sound of water stopped. There was quiet movement, the soft squeak of the towel rack, and then, Harry.
He stepped out of the hallway with just a towel around his waist, skin still damp and flushed from the heat. His curls dripped little trails of water down his chest, longer than they are when dry, brushing his shoulders now.
Louis let himself take it in. Harry had definitely grown into himself while he's been away. Muscles a little more defined, shoulders broader, arms stronger. Louis wondered if Harry planned to grow his hair out even more.
Louis froze mid-step, just staring for a moment too long before shaking himself out of it. “Sorry—shit, sorry,” he blurted, looking away quickly even though his face was already warm.
Harry grinned, a dimple showing. “It’s okay,” he said, voice lower now, amused. “You can look. I want you to look.”
Louis’s eyes flicked back up, his throat tightening a little as he met Harry’s gaze. There was no shame in it anymore, no teasing edge. Just quiet confidence.
“You… you look…” Louis trailed off, shaking his head and smiling awkwardly.
“Hot?” Harry offered, voice teasing but gentle.
Louis chuckled, finally letting himself speak. “Yeah. You look… perfect. Honestly. Fuck, I missed you so much.”
Harry stepped closer, towel still low at his waist, fingers brushing against Louis’s hand. “Then don’t stop looking,” he murmured.
“Never,” he whispered, leaning in for a quick kiss. Another, and another, quick kisses pressed between laughs and shaky breaths, as if they were testing the water of being together again.
Harry shifted slightly, tugging the towel tighter around his waist. “I should probably… go get dressed,” he said, voice low.
Louis nodded but didn’t let go of his hand.
Harry smiled softly, giving Louis’s hand a squeeze before letting go just enough to step toward the bedroom. “Okay… I’ll be back,” he said, disappearing behind the door.
“Feel free to put on whatever you want,” Louis called after him, staying in the living room. He listened to the faint sounds of drawers opening, hangers clinking, clothes rustling. Harry was exploring, making the space his own.
Then the noise stopped. Silence. Louis waited. A little longer.
Finally, he stood and walked to the bedroom, knocking gently on the slightly open door. “Harry?”
No answer.
He pushed it open slowly.
Harry was lying in bed, tucked fully under the sage green sheets. The color made his eyes pop, catching the soft candlelight. Louis froze for a beat, unable to look away.
He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing Harry’s hair off his forehead. “You’re alright, love?” he asked softly.
Harry leaned into the touch, eyes half-closed, letting Louis’s fingers run through his hair. “Yeah… sorry,” he murmured. “You made the bed look so comfy, I just… wanted to lie down for a bit. Didn’t realize how tired I was.”
“That’s okay,” Louis said gently. “You can stay in bed if you want. No schedule here, remember? You get up when you’re ready.”
Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, soft hums of contentment slipping out as Louis kept running his fingers through his hair. “Actually… is it okay if I sleep?” he asked quietly. “I’m really tired, and it’s… so comfy.”
Louis smiled softly. “It’s alright. You can rest now.”
A quiet hum answered him.
Louis leaned back slightly, brushing a hand along Harry’s shoulder. “Do you want the bed to yourself tonight? I can—”
Before he could finish, Harry grabbed him. “No,” he said firmly, still half-lidded. “I slept without you long enough. I want you here.”
Louis felt warmth flood his chest, heart tightening. “Okay,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss Harry’s forehead. “I’ll blow out the candles, change, and I’ll come right back.”
Harry let out a sleepy little sigh, snuggling further into the sheets.
Louis went back to the living room, blowing out all the candles. The sudden smell of smoke hit him and made his need for a cigarette spike.
He bent down and grabbed Harry’s shoes from where he left them in the hallway, placing them neatly on the rack next to his own. The size difference made him grin quietly to himself, shaking his head.
He wandered into the kitchen, eyes landing on the two wine glasses he set out earlier. They wouldn’t be used tonight. He sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
Opening the fridge, he saw all the containers with the food he planned to eat with Harry. Everything so neatly arranged, ready to make the night feel special. He grabbed a pint of ice cream instead, along with a beer, and headed back to the living room.
Sliding the window fully open, he took a long sip of the beer before lighting a cigarette. Smoke curled lazily into the night air. He knew it was selfish, but he couldn’t help the prickling disappointment crawling under his skin.
He was looking forward to dinner, sitting together, talking, eating something nice. Harry didn’t even seem tired before his shower. And now he was tucked in bed, already asleep. Louis wanted to be petty about it, but he didn’t dare.
He took a slow spoonful of ice cream, chewing deliberately, letting the cold sweetness distract him. He was mad at himself. Harry was right there, happy and resting, and that should be all that mattered. Not the food they didn’t get to eat, not the plans he made for the night. Harry’s needs came first. He wanted to sleep, and Louis had to respect that.
He thought about calling Carly, maybe Matt, just to vent a little, but what would he even say? “Hey, Harry went to bed, and I’m upset about that”? This was Harry’s first night with a place to call home after who knows how long, and Louis’s disappointment sounded selfish, petty as hell.
He shook his head, feeling a little ridiculous. He needed to be grateful, Harry was here, he trusted Louis enough to tell him exactly what he wanted. Tomorrow, they would have the rest of their life waiting for them, dinners, conversations, lazy mornings, together. Tonight didn’t have to be perfect. That was all that should matter.
He finished his beer, taking one last drag from the cigarette. He leaned back against the windowsill and let himself smile softly. Harry was home.
Louis woke up slowly, blinking against the morning light leaking through the curtains. For a second, everything felt calm, warm, right. Then something hit him as wrong.
He reached out, half-asleep, hand brushing against cold sheets. Empty.
His heart dropped.
He sat up immediately, chest tightening as his eyes darted around the room. The duvet was messy, the pillow still faintly indented where Harry’s head been. But no Harry. No clothes on the floor, no sound of the shower. Nothing.
“Shit,” he breathed.
His chest went tight in that annoying, familiar way, the one that told him his brain was already spiraling before he even had a chance to think it through.
Harry was gone.
He rubbed at his face, trying to steady his breathing, but it didn’t stop the panic from crawling higher. The thoughts came one after another, loud and messy. Maybe Harry wasn’t comfortable sharing a bed after all. Maybe he went to sleep on the sofa. Or maybe he couldn’t sleep and Louis didn’t wake up to help him through it. Or maybe, Louis’s stomach twisted hard, maybe he decided it was all too much. Maybe he packed his bag quietly and left before the sun came up.
“Don’t be stupid,” Louis muttered, his voice shaky as he raked a hand through his hair. “He wouldn’t just—” He stopped mid-sentence. He didn’t even believe himself.
His mind jumped straight back to last night. Harry’s head tucked against his chest, curls brushing Louis’s chin. His breathing slow and heavy. The warmth of him, the way Louis held on, Harry out cold, barely able to keep his eyes open. He didn’t even said goodnight, just mumbled something that Louis couldn’t make out before he went completely still again.
Louis tried not to let that sting. Tried not to be childish about it. He wanted that soft moment before sleep where they would whisper quietly, maybe kiss some more, slow and tired, until they drifted off together. He imagined waking up to Harry warm against him, lazy morning smiles and words.
But no. None of that happened.
Instead, the bed was cold.
His brain wouldn’t stop. Maybe Harry gone back to his old habits, run away before things got too real. Before Louis could hurt him. Or before Harry could hurt Louis.
He hated how fast his mind went there. How automatic it was.
Louis froze when he heard it, the faint sound of water running somewhere beyond the door. The kitchen tap.
He let out a shaky sigh, shoulders dropping. Harry was here.
Or he was being robbed.
Either way, it was enough to make his heart slow down a little.
He pushed the covers back and climbed out of bed, dragging a hand through his messy hair as he padded toward the kitchen.
When he turned the corner, there he was, Harry, barefoot, standing by the sink. He was still in the clothes he worn to bed, hair tied up in a loose bandanna.
Louis couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his mouth. Harry looked soft like that.
“Good morning,” Louis croaked, rubbing at his eye. “When did you wake up?”
Harry turned, and the smile slid right off Louis’s face. There it was, that look. Sad, guilty, fragile.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Louis asked, stepping closer.
Harry’s voice was quiet. “I ruined our night.”
Louis frowned, crossing the little space between them. “Harry, what are you talking about?”
He set the dish towel down, hands trembling slightly. “I woke up before you,” he started, words coming out haltingly. “Wanted to make us breakfast, you know? Thought it’d be nice, staying in bed, having coffee or something.” He gave a little smile that didn’t look like a smile at all. “And then I saw the wine glasses on the counter.”
Louis’s chest clenched.
Harry’s eyes flicked toward the counter. “Then I opened the fridge,” he said, voice cracking. “You got us food and I just went straight to bed like an arse. Didn’t even think to ask if you had plans for us.”
Louis stepped closer, heart squeezing. “Harry—”
But Harry wasn’t done. His breathing picked up, eyes glassy now. “You had a whole dinner planned, didn’t you? And I just— I didn’t even ask. I didn’t think. I was just tired and selfish and—” He stopped himself, swallowing hard. “You must’ve thought I didn’t care. I’m sorry.”
Louis felt his stomach twist. “Harry, no, it’s fine—”
But Harry shook his head fast, cutting him off. “It’s not fine. You went through all that effort and I didn’t even notice. I always do that, don’t I? You try so hard and I just—” He stopped, pressing his hand to his eye like he could hold the tears back. “I’m sorry.”
Louis’s stomach turned over. Harry was home less than a day and already upset. Already blaming himself.
And all Louis could think was please, not again.
He stepped closer, his hands finding Harry’s waist. He guided him back gently until Harry’s back bumped against the counter.
Harry looked at him, a tiny flicker of surprise in his eyes that melted into something warmer. He got the hint straight away and hopped up onto the counter, legs parting easily so Louis could step in between them.
Louis rested his hands on Harry’s thighs for a second.
Harry leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for a beat.
“It’s okay, you know,” Louis said gently. “You didn’t ruin anything. I don’t mind.”
Harry’s eyes flicked open again, searching his face. “You’ve gotta be honest with me,” he said, voice steady but soft. “No more pretending things don’t bother you, alright? I need that from you now.”
Louis nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “You’re right,” he said after a moment. “I was a bit disappointed last night.”
Harry’s eyebrows pulled together, guilt flashing across his face, but Louis didn’t let him interrupt.
“I was excited, you know? Thought we’d spend the evening together, eat, talk, just… be.” He huffed out a quiet laugh. “But it’s not like I was angry. I just felt like I didn’t get enough time with you, that’s all.”
Harry’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of Louis’s shirt.
Louis continued, voice softer now. “But I get it. I remember what it’s like, finally being home, and all your body wants to do is crash. I get that. And I mean it when I say it’s okay. I want you to tell me what you need, yeah? Always. I’m not upset about it anymore.”
Harry nodded, still looking guilty, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just keep thinking… you made it so perfect. The candles, the flowers, the wine, God, Lou, you even cleaned. It was supposed to be this beautiful night, and I ruined it before it even started.”
Louis tilted his head, stepping closer until their foreheads almost touched. “Harry—”
But Harry wasn’t done, his words tumbling faster. “We were supposed to sit and talk and drink and go to bed together and I fucked it—”
Louis leaned in and kissed him. Not deep or heated, just enough to make him stop.
Harry stilled instantly, breath catching against Louis’s mouth.
When Louis pulled back, he kept his hand on Harry’s face, thumb stroking his cheek. “That’s the thing you don’t get yet,” he said quietly. “We can do whatever we want now. If you want, we can light every candle in this place right now and drink that whole bottle of wine for breakfast.”
Harry let out a small, surprised laugh.
Louis smiled too, brushing his nose against Harry’s. “Or we can crawl back into bed and sleep ‘til tomorrow. Doesn’t matter. One night doesn’t mean anything, yeah? We’ve got time now.”
Harry nodded slowly, shoulders relaxing as the tension melted out of him. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched again.
“Yeah,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “We’ve got time.”
Louis slid his hands down to Harry’s hips and tugged him a little closer to the edge of the counter. Harry’s legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him in until their chests were pressed together.
Louis let out a quiet breath and Harry’s hands slipped under his shirt, fingertips brushing over his back, tracing the lines of his spine.
The touch made Louis hum, leaning in like he was about to kiss Harry. But instead, he dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck.
Harry’s skin prickled immediately, goosebumps breaking out across his arms. Louis smiled against his skin and kept going, trailing more kisses along his neck, slow, lazy ones, occasionally letting his teeth catch gently before soothing the spot with his tongue.
Harry shivered, one hand sliding up into Louis’s hair, holding him there.
Louis didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he leaned in closer, one hand resting at the small of Harry’s back to keep him pressed against him.
“Harry?” Louis breathed, voice low.
“Yeah?” Harry whispered, tugging lightly on his hair, head tilting just enough to give Louis more room.
Louis paused, lips still hovering over his skin. “Just… making sure you’re alright.”
Harry’s fingers tightened in his hair, gentle but firm, pulling him closer. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice low. “More than alright.”
Louis’s lips curved into a smile, still pressed to Harry’s throat. “Good,” he said quietly, “you don’t know how much I missed you.”
Harry blinked, his fingers slipped out of Louis’s hair just long enough to cup the back of his neck properly, thumb brushing over the edge of his jaw. “I think I do,” he said , voice soft but sure.
Louis moves when Harry’s fingers curl under his chin, a silent tug that brings him up and out of the warmth of his neck. Their faces hover close for a second, breath mingling, eyes darting between lips and eyes again, and then Harry kisses him.
It’s soft, slow, like they both forgot how to rush. Their mouths fall into each other easily, lazy and tender. Harry’s lips drag against his like he’s trying to memorize him all over again, every sigh and shaky inhale caught between them. Louis’s hand slides up to cup the side of Harry’s face, thumb brushing his cheek, while Harry’s arm tightens around his waist until they’re pressed together, chest to chest.
Then Harry pulls back, breathless, his mouth still hovering close enough for Louis to feel the ghost of it when he speaks.
“We should stop before this goes too far,” he says softly, voice half-raspy, half-regretful. He leans back a little, adjusting his pants with a quiet, embarrassed laugh.
Louis’s gaze flicks down automatically.
And oh. Oh. That’s what Harry means.
He looks back up, flushed but smiling, heart beating so fast it almost hurts. “We can, if you want to.” he asks quietly.
Harry exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he admits, eyes darting away for a second before finding Louis again. “I do. Just… not yet. If that’s okay.”
Louis nods immediately, he leans in and kisses Harry again, gentle this time, barely a brush of lips, just enough to seal the moment. “Everything you are comfortable with is okay,” Louis speaks against his mouth. “Thank you for telling me.”
Harry’s breath catches, and Louis can see the relief flicker across his face, the quiet kind that comes from being understood without judgment.
Harry’s thumb traces a slow line along Louis’s jaw, stopping at his bottom lip. “Can we just… kiss some more?” he asks quietly, like he’s checking if he’s allowed to want that. Then he grins, small and cocky. “I’m too tall to be the one sitting on the counter anyway.”
Louis huffs a laugh, his hands still resting at Harry’s waist. “Then get off it, baby.”
Harry hops down, landing in front of him, and now Louis has to tilt his head to look up. It shouldn’t make him blush, but it does. Harry grins, properly this time, teeth and dimples, the kind that makes Louis’s chest ache.
“Fuck you,” Louis mutters, shaking his head, a smile threatening to break through.
“I know you want to,” Harry says, smug and soft all at once. His voice dips, lazy and teasing. “But I told you… not yet.”
Louis bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to grin. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, pretending to sound annoyed, but they both know he isn’t. He never really is with Harry.
Harry hums, closing the gap between them until their noses brush. “I’m going to be all over you,” he murmurs, eyes flicking between Louis’s mouth and his eyes. “I just need a bit more time.”
Louis’s chest tightens. He wants to say something stupid like take all the time you want or I’m not going anywhere, but the words stick in his throat. So instead, he just breathes out, soft and real. “Okay.”
And then Harry kisses him again.
They stumble a few steps back, mouths never parting, until they hit the wall and somehow they’re in the living room.
Louis presses Harry back against the sofa, hands on his face, kissing him until he can’t think straight.
When they finally break apart, Harry’s breathing hard, eyes a bit glassy, but there’s a softness there that wasn’t before. Louis brushes his thumb over his wet lip, smiling faintly. “We’ll take it slow, yeah? However long you need.”
Harry nods. “Want more kisses,” he says quietly. “Don’t stop.”
Louis chuckles, leaning in again. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”