Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Manchester rain had a way of making everything look dramatic — streets shimmering silver, cars moving like ghosts through the blur, people rushing with hunched shoulders and umbrellas turning inside out.
Louis wasn’t usually one for dramatics. He’d had enough of that in Doncaster, thank you very much. But here he was, twenty seven, or close enough, trudging through another grey morning, his shoes already soaked, muttering at himself about why the hell he’d moved to this bloody city in the first place.
That’s when he saw it.
Coffee Style.
Louis stopped dead on the pavement, rain dripping off his fringe as he squinted at the glass storefront. Golden letters curled across the window like they thought they were clever. Inside, warm amber light spilled out, a world away from the dreary street. Hanging plants, wooden tables, soft lamps glowing against the fogged glass — it looked like a bloody Pinterest board had exploded inside.
He huffed a laugh under his breath. Coffee Style? What kind of name is that? Catchy though. Annoyingly catchy.
His stomach gave a low growl. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon — shifts at the hospital had a way of swallowing hours whole — and honestly, he was tired of vending machine crisps. And maybe… just maybe… he was tired of feeling like Manchester was nothing but concrete and corridors.
So he pushed the door open.
A bell chimed overhead, soft and inviting, and suddenly he was wrapped in the smell of espresso and cinnamon. Warmth pressed against his skin like a blanket. The space buzzed with quiet chatter, cups clinking, chairs scraping against scuffed floorboards. Plants trailed from beams above, flowers brightened tabletops, the kind of little touches that made the place feel lived in, cared for. Safe.
Louis wasn’t sentimental — not anymore. But the atmosphere tugged at something buried deep. Something he didn’t let himself think about too often.
He joined the short line, eyes flicking lazily over the counter. A young woman worked the till, smiling at the couple ahead of him. She couldn’t have been far along, maybe five months pregnant if Louis had to guess. He was a doctor, after all — his brain clocked details like that automatically. She radiated calm, laughing as she handed over their change.
And then Louis saw him.
Behind the espresso machine, curls spilling loose around his face, was a man wearing a floral shirt that was unbuttoned just enough to make Louis’ pulse stutter. His black jeans looked practically painted on, hugging every line of his hips and thighs as he leaned casually against the counter.
Louis’ first thought was not appropriate for public consumption. His second thought was even worse.
The man —Hipster, Louis caught from the way the girl at the till called his — laughed at something a customer said, his dimples flashing like they were lethal weapons. He flirted easily, tossing charm around like confetti, and the older woman working beside him just shook her head fondly. His mum, maybe? Hard to tell.
Louis rolled his eyes, lips twitching despite himself. Of course. Flirts with anything that’s got legs. Figures.
When it was his turn, the pregnant girl smiled warmly at him. He ordered a flat white, trying not to glance at the floral shirt stretching over broad shoulders, the curls falling forward as Hipster bent to adjust something under the counter.
He told himself it was just coffee. Just a new café. Just a decent spot in a city that still didn’t feel like home.
But when he left a few minutes later, rain still pelting down outside, Louis found himself glancing back through the glass at the man behind the counter, laughing at something with those ridiculous dimples on full display.
And despite himself, he made a mental note: Come back.
Not for the name.
Not even for the coffee.
For the eye candy Hipster in the floral shirt and painted-on jeans.

A week later, Louis was buried in charts, halfway through a shift that felt like it would never end. His brain was fried, his scrubs wrinkled, and he’d already downed two cups of hospital sludge he wouldn’t dare call coffee. He was looking forward to nothing more than the sandwich waiting in his locker.
His next patient’s name was Gemma Styles. Familiar, somehow, though he couldn’t place it.
He straightened as the door opened and a tall brunette walked in, glowing in that particular way expectant mothers did. Then he remembered the girl from the Hipster looking café. Louis offered his practiced doctor-smile, professional and warm. Right. Just another appointment. Just another day.
Except then someone else followed her in.
Louis’ heart lurched like it had been drop-kicked.
It was him.
The bloody hipster barista. The one with curls and a floral shirt burned into Louis’ retinas. Dimples. Black jeans. Painted-on bloody jeans.
Louis blinked hard, schooling his features into something neutral as jealousy spiked sharp in his chest. Of course. Of course the gorgeous bastard had a girlfriend. Wife? Pregnant, even. It stung more than he cared to admit. Anger too — directed at Harry.
Hipster, who apparently had this woman — girlfriend? wife? partner? — pregnant, yet still flirted shamelessly with anyone and everyone in front of her. Louis had seen it with his own eyes at the café, and now the memory stung all over again.
Louis nodded stiffly as they settled into the chairs. “So, Gemma,” he began, flipping open her file, “twenty-eight weeks, is that right?”
She smiled, resting a hand on her stomach. “That’s right.”
Meanwhile, Louis could feel the heat of that Hipster’s gaze, even as he pretended to scribble notes. It was infuriating — the nerve of the man, checking him out right there, in front of his pregnant girlfriend. Louis’ jaw tightened. His blood boiled with words he knew he shouldn’t say but was two seconds away from spitting out anyway.
And then Gemma asked.
She pointed at the man, who was smirking at something on the floor tiles like he had a secret. “My brother here can’t wait to find out if it’s a boy or a girl so he can start shopping properly. When can we find out, doctor?”
Louis blinked. The words hung in the air like a lifeline.
Brother.
Not boyfriend. Not husband. Brother.
Relief hit him so hard he almost laughed. Almost. He caught man’s eye then, and the dimpled grin that spread across his face was downright sinful. Louis’ stomach twisted traitorously.
“Well,” Louis said, clearing his throat, “we should be able to confirm at your next scan. Patience is a virtue.”
Gemma rolled her eyes, man snorted, and Louis busied himself with the file before his mouth betrayed him.
Louis told himself that was the end of it. Just another patient, just another day. Except it wasn’t.
Because a few days later, he found himself back at Coffee Style. Once, then twice, then again — each time telling himself it was for the coffee, though the vending machines at work had never seemed quite so offensive until now.
And every time, there he was.
Harry Styles. Was his name. Long hair, floral shirts, jeans clinging indecently to long legs, dimples flashing at Louis every chance he got. The man flirted like it was a reflex, tossing compliments and cheeky remarks like sugar packets, and somehow Louis was always the one catching them.
Sometimes Gemma was there too, laughing at their back-and-forth, stirring the pot. Louis couldn’t decide if she was an accomplice or an instigator. Probably both.
Either way, it was trouble. The kind Louis knew he should avoid. The kind that made him keep coming back for more.

If there was one thing Niall loved more than food, it was dragging Louis into trouble. And if there was one thing Liam loved, it was enabling him. Which was how Louis, exhausted from a double shift, found himself shoved through the door of a pub instead of into his flat like he’d planned.
“Oi, don’t look at me like that,” Niall grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’re celebrating. New city, new job, new life. You’re practically thriving.”
“Thriving?” Louis snorted, loosening his coat. “I’m knackered, my social life is non-existent, and my flat still smells like paint. That’s not thriving, Niall. That’s surviving.”
“Semantics,” Liam said smoothly, sliding into the booth with a pint already in hand.
Louis narrowed his eyes at both of them. “Traitors, the pair of you.”
But as the evening wore on, the pub’s chatter and clinking glasses wrapped around him, softening the sharp edges of his mood. He was almost relaxed when it happened.
When he walked in.
Harry bloody Styles.
Louis’ pint paused halfway to his mouth, his breath catching. Harry looked… different out of the café. His curls were looser, shirt tighter, jeans still offensively perfect. And of course, he was draped across some bloke who looked like he’d just stepped off a Gucci runway, all sharp cheekbones and perfect.
Louis’ jaw clenched. His stomach twisted. He had no right — absolutely no reason — to feel anything, but jealousy burned hot and fast in his chest anyway. Again. He tried to tune back into Liam’s story about a nightmare patient, but his eyes betrayed him, darting again and again across the pub.
Harry leaned in close to runway-boy, dimples flashing, lips brushing his ear as he laughed at something. Louis’ pint hit the table harder than necessary.
“Uh-oh,” Niall said, noticing. His grin was wicked. “Lou’s got his eye on someone.”
“I do not,” Louis shot back instantly, too quickly, too defensive.
Liam smirked, following his gaze with embarrassing ease. “Oh, you definitely do. And—hang on—” he tilted his head, squinting, then broke into a knowing grin. “Oh my god. You mean Harry?”
Louis froze. “You know him?”
Niall barked a laugh loud enough to turn heads. “Course we do! Everyone knows Harry. Half the hospital staff lives in his café. Flirts with the nurses, remembers everyone’s order, walks around like he’s God’s gift in floral shirts.”
Louis flushed hot, dragging a hand down his face. Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.
“Didn’t think you’d be the type to fall for him, though,” Liam added, smirking over his pint.
“I’m not,” Louis snapped. Too fast again. Too sharp.
Both of them just laughed, clinking their glasses together while Louis sat there fuming — with jealousy, with frustration, with himself. He had no claim, no reason, and yet he couldn’t stop staring across the pub, couldn’t stop watching Harry’s dimples light up at someone else’s smile.
And when Harry’s eyes flicked up — catching his, lingering for a beat too long — Louis felt it like a spark straight down his spine.
Bloody hell. He was in trouble.
Louis’ jaw was still tight, eyes locked on Harry across the pub, when Niall leaned back in the booth with the kind of grin that spelled trouble.
“Y’know what’d be fuckin’ brilliant?” Niall said, his Irish lilt dripping with mischief. “We should invite them over. Kill two birds with one stone. Lou gets eye-candy up close, and we get front-row seats to the circus.”
Louis nearly choked on his pint. “You can absolutely fuck off, Niall. That’s not happening.”
Liam smirked over the rim of his glass. “Why not? Would save you the trouble of staring like you’re about to commit a crime.”
“I’m not staring,” Louis snapped, too quick, too sharp. He dropped his pint onto the table with a thud. “And even if I was, there’s fuck all to talk about. Far as I can see, he’s clearly taken. Swanning around with Mr. Gucci Runway, dimples flashing like he’s God’s bloody gift. Good for him.”
Niall raised a brow, still grinning. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Tommo.”
“Jealous? Don’t be a twat. I’m not fucking jealous. I don’t even want a boyfriend. Not now, not ever again. You two know that better than anyone. After Bailey? No, thanks. I’ll die happily alone, cheers.”
Liam exchanged a look with Niall, smug bastards that they were. “Uh-huh,” he said slowly, dragging the syllables out like he was speaking to a toddler. “And yet you’re about two seconds away from storming over there and demanding to know his entire romantic history.”
Louis glared. “I’m not—” He cut himself off, teeth grinding. “You’re both wankers.”
Niall leaned in, eyes sparkling with evil delight. “So that’s a yes to inviting him over then?”
Louis groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “If you so much as wave in his direction, I’ll strangle you with your own fucking shoelaces.”
“Jesus, someone’s touchy.” Niall’s grin only widened. “Alright, alright. No strangling. But admit it, Lou. You’d fuck him.”
Louis’ cheeks burned hot. “I would not!” he hissed, even though his brain was already screaming I absolutely fucking would.
And across the pub, as if the universe itself was mocking him, Harry Styles looked up again — dimples on full display, eyes catching Louis’ and lingering just long enough to make his stomach flip.
Liam let out a low whistle. “Oh yeah. He’d fuck you too.”
Louis wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
Louis should’ve known. He should’ve bloody known.
The second Niall stood up from the booth, announcing he was off to the loo with a grin far too smug for a man needing a piss, Louis felt it in his bones. Trouble. Pure, unfiltered trouble.
“Niall,” Louis warned, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you dare—”
But Niall was already weaving through the crowd, whistling like butter wouldn’t melt in his gob.
Liam chuckled into his pint. “He’s gonna do something stupid.”
“No shit,” Louis muttered, dragging a hand down his face. His stomach twisted, a cocktail of dread and anticipation. “That gobshite’s got betrayal written all over him.”
And right on cue, when Niall reappeared, he wasn’t alone.
Louis’ pint nearly slipped out of his hand.
There he was. Harry bloody Styles, curls messy and shining under the pub lights, floral shirt open just enough to make Louis’ throat dry, dimples flashing as if he knew exactly how much damage they could do. And beside him, Mr. Fucking Jawline — sharp enough to cut grass, or glass, or Louis’ last shred of sanity.
“Alright, lads!” Niall sang, sliding back into the booth with the self-satisfaction of a cat that had brought home a dead bird. “Look who I found loitering’ by the bar.”
Harry’s eyes locked on Louis instantly, grin widening. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Doc.”
Louis’ brain short-circuited. Oh for fuck’s sake, the man remembered him. His chest warmed and his hackles rose all at once.
“Small city,” Louis muttered, trying for casual, failing miserably.
Niall elbowed him under the table, whispering far too loudly, “Smooth, Tommo. Real fuckin’ smooth.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Louis hissed.
Harry laughed, dimples deepening. Of course he bloody laughed. “Mind if we join you?” he asked, already half-sliding into the booth. Mr. Jawline followed, looking like he’d stepped straight off a Gucci catwalk and into Louis’ personal nightmare.
Liam raised a brow, smirking knowingly. “Plenty of room.”
Louis wanted to throttle both of his best mates. Instead, he plastered on his most neutral doctor-face, ignoring the heat creeping up his neck.
This was hell. Absolute hell.
Hell with dimples.
Harry slid into the booth like he owned it, curls bouncing, grin devastating. Mr. Jawline — up close, even worse — followed right after, cool as you like.
“I’m Zayn,” the man said, voice smooth, accent rich. He held out a hand across the table.
Louis shook it, trying not to look like he was silently calculating how sharp Zayn’s jaw could slice bread.
“Liam,” Liam said with a polite nod. “That’s Niall, and you already know our Louis.”
Harry’s smirk deepened at that. Louis shot Niall a death glare across the table.
Conversation stumbled at first, the awkward shuffle of strangers thrown together. But Zayn leaned back, sipping his pint with ease. “So, what kind of doctors are you lot?”
“Cardiology,” Liam replied smoothly. “Heart doctor.”
“Paediatrics,” Niall said proudly. “Kid wrangler.”
Louis lifted a brow, resigned. “Obstetrics and gynaecology.”
Zayn’s lips curved. “So… you’re the baby doctor, then.”
Louis rolled his eyes. “Cheers. That’s me.”
Zayn chuckled. “Good man. I’m a music teacher. Bit less blood and screaming in my day.”
Before Louis could answer, Liam tilted his head, the smuggest look on his face. “And how long have you two been dating?” He nodded toward Harry and Zayn, innocent as a bloody vicar.
Louis nearly choked on his pint, heat flooding his neck.
But instead of nodding or confirming Louis’ worst nightmare, both Harry and Zayn burst into laughter — loud, unfiltered, nearly doubling over.
Zayn wiped at his eyes. “Mate, you think us? Nah.”
Harry leaned forward, dimples carved deep, eyes sparkling as they caught Louis’. “I mean, don’t get me wrong — Z’s fit as fuck. But not my type. And besides—” he threw an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, “—we’ve been best mates since nappies. He’s practically my brother.”
Relief shot through Louis so quick it nearly made him dizzy. He masked it with a scoff, taking a long drink from his pint.
Niall, of course, was grinning like Christmas had come early. “So what is your type then, Harry boy?”
Harry’s eyes slid back to Louis, deliberate, slow, lingering just long enough to make Louis shift in his seat. His grin widened. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Louis muttered under his breath, “For fuck’s sake,” and stared into his pint like it might save his life.

Louis’ stomach had been grumbling since 10 a.m., and by the time his lunch break rolled around, he was ready to eat the hospital curtains. Which, apparently, was why Liam physically hauled him out of the building with a lecture about “real food” and “not living off vending machine crisps.”
So of course, where did they end up?
Coffee Style.
Louis sighed as they joined the queue, the warm buzz of the café wrapping around him whether he liked it or not. Plants, cinnamon — all of it softening the edges of his exhaustion. He hated how much he didn’t hate it.
From behind the counter came the inevitable soundtrack: Harry Styles, king of flirtation, turning the charm dial up to eleven for the couple ordering lattes. His laugh carried, smooth and easy, dimples flashing as if they had their own gravitational pull.
Louis scoffed, leaning toward Liam. “See what I mean? Even if Harry is single as fuck, that’s exactly why I want nothing to do with him. He flirts with everyone. Whole bloody room could be on fire and he’d still be asking someone about their star sign.”
Liam smirked. “Mhm.”
When their turn came, Liam ordered for both of them, claiming Louis would just pick the least nutritious thing on the menu. The woman at the till, kind smile and sharp eyes, wrote it down and handed them their number.
“That’s Anne,” Liam muttered as they stepped aside.
“Anne?” Louis frowned.
“Harry’s mum.” Liam’s grin widened. “Help around sometimes .”
“Of course she does,” Louis muttered, feeling his ears heat for no goddamn reason.
They sat in a corner booth, and when the food came, Louis practically inhaled his sandwich and fries. It was good. Too good. The kind of good that made him forget, briefly, to be annoyed about anything else.
He was licking salt from his fingers when Harry appeared at their table, leaning against the edge like he owned the entire café — which, annoyingly, he did.
“How was it then?” Harry asked, voice lilting, eyes flicking to Louis with a grin.
Louis swallowed, wiped his mouth on a napkin. “It’s really good, actually. What’s in it?”
Harry rattled off a list of ingredients, ending with a casual, “...and avocado.”
Louis froze, narrowing his eyes. “Are you fucking with me?”
Harry blinked, caught off guard. “...What?”
From across the table, Liam completely lost it, collapsing into laughter loud enough to turn heads.
“Jesus Christ,” Louis muttered, glaring at him.
Harry’s brows knit, dimples twitching like he was holding back his own laugh. “Are you allergic to avocado, Doc? Should I be worried you’re about to go into anaphylactic shock in my café?”
“Not allergic,” Liam finally wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Our Lou just fucking hates it. Won’t touch the stuff. We’ve been mocking him about it for years.”
Louis threw his hands up, already exasperated. “Because it’s fucking vile, that’s why! It’s slimy as hell, like someone mashed up soap and called it food. And don’t even get me started on how it’s the trendiest shit of all time. Everyone and their nan wants it on toast, in smoothies, smeared on their bloody face like it’s some miracle cure. It’s a con, Liam. A green, mushy, tasteless con!”
For a second, Harry just stared at him — curls messy, dimples twitching like he was holding back a laugh. Then he leaned closer, grin slow and devastating.
“God, Doc… if you can feel that strongly about avocado, what else are you holding back on? Makes me wonder about all your other life choices.”
Louis blinked, thrown completely off guard. His brain short-circuited, warmth curling treacherously in his chest even as he tried to scowl.
He stabbed the last fry like it had personally offended him. “Fuck me.”
Harry’s smirk sharpened, dimples in full effect. “That’s one life choice I could get behind.”
Louis choked. Liam wheezed so hard he nearly slid under the table. like it wasn’t And just as Harry straightened to leave, Louis swore he heard it — soft, almost muttered under Harry’s breath meant for anyone but himself
“Prefer the other way round better ”
Louis froze. His ears burned. His pulse crashed.
Harry winked, sauntering back to the counter like he hadn’t just casually announced he’d rather be fucked than do the fucking.
Liam was still laughing, clueless. But Louis? Louis was fucked. Royally, absolutely, irreversibly fucked.

That night, Louis lay flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers. The hum of the city outside seeped through the cracked window — car horns, distant laughter, Manchester never bloody sleeping.
He should’ve been asleep hours ago. He had rounds in the morning, charts waiting for him, patients who deserved his full brain and not the half-wreck he currently was. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw him.
The curls, the painted-on jeans, the smirk that somehow made Louis feel like he was the punchline and the secret all at once. The way his voice dipped soft when he teased. And fuck, the casual little slip — Prefer the other way round better —like Harry Styles hadn’t just shattered every wall Louis had built around himself with few careless words.
Louis groaned, dragging a hand over his face. It’s just flirting. It’s just banter. He’s like that with everyone. That was what he told himself. That was what he wanted to believe.
But when Harry’s eyes had lingered on him across the pub, when he’d leaned in close at the café, when his mum had smiled at them like they weren’t strangers… it hadn’t felt like nothing.
It had felt like the beginning of something Louis wasn’t sure he had the guts to let himself want.
His mind drifted back, unbidden, to hospital corridors in Doncaster — too-bright lights, the antiseptic sting in the air, the weight of exhaustion that never really left. He remembered the way his mum had looked after treatment, fragile but fighting, how he’d sat by her bed for hours because the thought of leaving her side felt unbearable.
And then… coming home.
Louis swallowed hard, turning onto his side, sheets twisting around him. He could still see the light spilling down the hallway, hear the laugh he knew too well, feel that sick drop in his stomach as reality snapped in half. His home. Their home.
Louis shut his eyes against it, jaw tightening. Even now, years later, it still clawed at him in the dark.
The world had dropped out from under him in that moment. His mum was ill, his dad was crumbling, Louis had been giving every ounce of himself to hold it all together — and apparently it hadn’t been enough.
He told himself it was why he’d stopped believing in forever. Why he kept his heart buried under work and sarcasm. Safer that way. Cleaner.
And yet.
Harry Styles, with his curls and painted-on jeans and stupid, devastating dimples, had already slipped through a crack in the Armor.
Louis groaned, rolling onto his side. Would it really be so bad to give himself one last chance at being happy? Just one?
When he falls asleep that night The curly-haired hipster was not far off his mind.

Chapter Text

“Break time,” Harry declared, tugging at Gemma’s sleeve as she tried to stack cups behind the counter.
“Harry, I’m fine—” she started, but he cut her off with a look.
“You’re seven months pregnant, Gem. Sit your arse down before Mum comes out here and has both our heads.”
Gemma huffed, but let him herd her toward the little staff table tucked into the corner of Coffee Style. She lowered herself into the chair with a dramatic sigh, hands smoothing over the curve of her belly. Harry dropped down across from her, already nicking a chip off the plate Anne had shoved at them as if she’d been waiting for him to intervene.
The café hummed around them, post-lunch rush quiet settling in. Soft chatter, the hiss of the espresso machine, light filtering through rain-streaked windows. Plants dangled from beams overhead. Coffee Style was everything Harry had wanted when he’d opened it — warm, cozy, a little pretentious, just hipster enough to make the hospital staff feel like they’d stumbled into a Pinterest board.
It was his pride. His baby. His everything.
And he played his role in it well: Harry Styles, twenty-five, shameless flirt with a floral shirt and a smile that could get a discount out of the tax office. Nurses swooned, regulars lingered, delivery drivers left grinning. He flirted with anyone and anything that walked through his doors. Everyone knew it. Everyone expected it.
And that was the point, wasn’t it? Keep it light, keep it shallow, keep it safe.
Harry shoved another chip in his mouth, flicking his eyes toward the door just as the bell chimed. He didn’t need to guess who it was. He knew.
Dr. Louis Tomlinson.
The hot doc. The sarcastic one. The one who’d been coming in nearly every day these last few weeks, pretending Harry’s flirting was an annoyance when Harry had already clocked the spark of amusement in his eyes. Tough face, sharp mouth, but Harry could feel it — Louis liked the banter. Maybe even looked forward to it.
Gemma caught him looking. Of course she did. Big sisters always did.
“So,” she said casually, sipping at her water, “are you going to ask him out?”
Harry nearly choked. “Ask who out?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You know who. Dr Louis. You’re different around him, Haz. I can see it.”
Harry laughed it off, leaning back in his chair. “You’re imagining things.”
“I’m not.” Her tone softened, hands rubbing over her stomach again. “You should give it a chance. You deserve to be happy again.”
The words landed heavy, the way they always did when she went there. Harry picked at a fry, staring at the table. “Gem…”
“You’re young,” she pressed. “It’s okay to let yourself live again. And don’t tell me you don’t want it — I know you do. I see the way you look at me like this.” She gestured to her belly with a wry smile. “You want your own one day.”
Harry stayed quiet. What could he say? That she wasn’t wrong? That he did think about it sometimes, late at night when the café was closed and the streets outside were empty? That he wanted the noise, the chaos, the love — but he couldn’t bear the thought of opening himself up just to lose it all again?
By the time he locked up and go home, the silence always felt heavier than he liked to admit. The café was his baby, his everything, and once its doors were shut, the quiet was a reminder of what he didn’t have. What he’d promised himself he wouldn’t risk again.
So he just gave Gemma his usual shrug, a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This café’s my baby. That’s enough for me.”
Gemma must have seen something in his face, because — to Harry’s relief — she let it drop.
Instead she leaned back, rubbing her belly with that smug little smile she’d perfected. “Anyway, we need to start training someone to cover me once the baby’s here. I’m thinking at least a year off. Maybe more, depending. I’ll still handle the accounting from home — no way am I trusting that bit with anyone else — but the day-to-day, the orders, someone’s got to step in.”
Harry chewed thoughtfully on a chip, nodding. She was right. As much as she pretended she could do everything, Gemma deserved the time off. She’d earned it. And Harry could handle the café, sure, but not entirely on his own. He hated admitting it, but he needed backup.
“We’ll find someone,” he said. “Someone who won’t burn the place down when you’re not looking.”
She laughed, shaking her head. Then her eyes softened as her hand drifted to her belly. “This little boy is already kicking like mad. I swear he’s going to come out dribbling a football.”
Harry smiled faintly, the words tugging at something warm inside his chest. They already knew, of course, but hearing her say it out loud never failed to hit him in a different way. A boy. His nephew.
“Poor kid doesn’t know what he’s in for,” Harry said lightly, stealing one of her chips before she could swat him away.
“Yeah.” Her hand rested protectively over her bump. “I can already tell he’s going to be a handful. Like his uncle.”
Harry snorted, but warmth threaded through the ache in his chest. He was going to be an uncle. A boy. The thought both terrified and thrilled him.
He’d even gone with Gemma to a few appointments — sat through the scans, listened to the doctor’s reassurances, stared at blurry images of tiny hands and feet that already felt like a miracle. And every time, part of him had hoped — ridiculous, really — that Louis might walk in. That maybe fate would toss them into each other’s path outside the café, give Harry an excuse to see what he was like when he wasn’t behind his sarcastic wall.
But Louis never showed. Apparently, he was on the roster, technically, but never assigned to Gemma’s case.
So that was that.
Harry sighed, forcing himself back to the present as Gemma reached over and stole one of his chips. They’d find someone to train, they’d figure the café out, and Harry would keep being… Harry.
Flirting, smiling, laughing.
And trying very, very hard not to think too much about a certain hot doctor.

Harry loved to cook. Not many people knew that about him. Customers saw the coffee, the pastries, the charm — but in his own kitchen, with music humming low and spices filling the air, Harry felt steady. Creating something from scratch made sense in a way nothing else did. It was control. It was comfort. It was love, in the quietest form.
That night he’d made a lemon and herb roast chicken, veg tossed in olive oil and thyme, and a pan of garlic potatoes that crisped just right. He plated his own, then paused.
Because a few days ago, Louis had said it. Offhand, grumbling to Gemma: I’m a rubbish cook. Mum’s food spoiled me. Now it’s takeout or canteen slop most nights.
He thought about Louis going home after twelve-hour shifts, eating soggy chips from a paper box, and before he could talk himself out of it, Harry pulled down a container and filled it. He slipped it into the fridge for the next day, not even trying to justify it.
The truth was, it had become a quiet habit. An extra cookie. A free cupcake. Something slipped into Louis’ order, like it was nothing. But this — this was dinner. Harry’s cooking. And that was different.

The next morning, Louis came in before his shift, hair damp from rain, shoulders hunched in his coat. He was chatting with Anne, who looked far too pleased with herself for how much she fussed over him.
“Louis!” Harry called, sliding a flat white across the counter. And then, almost as an afterthought, he pulled out the container from beneath. “Oh, and this.”
Louis frowned, brow arching as he took it. “What’s this?”
Harry smirked. “Dinner. Made roast chicken last night. Thought you could use something better than canteen sludge.”
Louis blinked, like he hadn’t expected Harry Styles — Mr. Flirt-With-Anything-With-Legs — to hand him homemade food. “You cooked this?”
Harry tilted his head, curls brushing his cheek, grin smug but a little shy underneath. “I’m not just a pretty face, Doc.”
Louis stared at the container, then back at him, something unreadable flickering across his expression. “I…mm..Thanks,” he said finally — and it wasn’t the throwaway thanks he usually muttered. It was softer. Like he meant it.
Harry’s chest tightened. He covered it with a grin and a wink, but as Louis walked out into the drizzle, clutching the container like it was fragile, Harry felt it.
Something had shifted.

Saturday nights at Anne’s were routine. They closed Coffee Style a bit early, and Harry headed over to his mum and Robin’s for dinner. Normally Gemma was there too, with her bump and her sass and her endless lists of baby things to buy. Tonight, though, she was out with her girlfriends, shopping and having one last hurrah before the baby came.
So it was just the three of them. Anne, Robin, Harry.
Dinner was lovely, as always. Anne never half-did anything in the kitchen — roast Lamb, potatoes crisped just right, veg done the way Harry liked them. Robin poured the wine, telling ridiculous stories from his week — the neighbour who’d locked himself out of his house again, the way the dog down the lane insisted on carrying its own lead to the park. Harry threw in lighter tales from Coffee Style — the regular who always ordered a “skinny flat white” and then asked for extra whipped cream, or the time one of the new baristas nearly flooded the counter with milk froth.
They laughed. It was easy. Familiar. Home.
And then dessert came out — apple crumble, warm and golden, with cream on the side. Harry was halfway through his first bite when Anne set down her spoon and said, too casually, “So… how’s Louis?”
Harry froze. His head snapped up. Both Anne and Robin were watching him, patient and curious.
“Mum,” Harry scoffed, trying for breezy. “What do you mean, how’s Louis? You see him as much as I do.”
Anne raised a brow, the kind of look that had cut through his excuses since he was a kid. Robin leaned back in his chair, hands folded.
“Son,” Robin said gently, “we want you to be happy. You’re still so young. A lifetime is too long to stay single if that’s not what you really want. If it is, we’ll respect it — you know that. But… we also know how much you want more.”
Harry dropped his gaze to his lap, throat tight. He could feel it — the sting in his eyes, the heaviness pressing on his chest. He swallowed hard and nodded, still staring at his hands. “I’m scared, Mum,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I can… lose myself again.”
Silence fell, soft and heavy, broken only by the faint clink of Anne’s spoon against the bowl as she set it down.
Then Anne reached across the table, resting her hand over his. Her voice was gentle but sure. “Haz… losing is part of life. It doesn’t make the love you had any less real. It doesn’t mean you failed. It means you were brave enough to feel it in the first place.”
Harry’s throat closed.
Anne’s eyes softened, but her words stayed steady. “What if you let yourself be brave again? What if, instead of focusing on the pain of what you lost, you opened the door to something great? You don’t know what’s waiting for you unless you try. And yes, it might hurt. But it might also be everything you’ve been wanting, deep down, even if you’re too scared to say it out loud.”
Harry blinked hard, tears threatening to spill. He nodded again, not trusting himself to speak.
Anne squeezed his hand, smiling through her own tears. “It’s okay to find love again, Baby. You deserve it. And it’s okay to be scared. But don’t let fear be the thing that keeps you from living.”
Robin nodded firmly beside her. “She’s right, son. You’ve got too much life left to spend it hiding.”
Harry laughed weakly, shaking his head as he wiped at his eyes. “Christ, you two. Didn’t know dessert came with a bloody intervention.”
Anne chuckled softly, her thumb brushing over his hand. “Every good meal does, sweetheart.”
And Harry, sitting there with apple crumble cooling in front of him and his mum’s hand warm on his own, let himself cry. Quietly, carefully. For everything he’d lost. And for the terrifying thought that maybe — just maybe — there was still something left to find.
Harry pulled on his coat after dessert, kissing his mum’s cheek and pulling Robin into a hug. “Night, Dad,” he said softly. Robin clapped him on the back before letting him go.
Before Harry could reach the door, Anne appeared from the kitchen holding a small container. She pressed it into his hands as she hugged him tight.
“Here,” she said. “Take it with you. For him.”
Harry blinked, pulling back just enough to frown. “Mum—”
“I know you’ve been cooking for him.”
His ears burned hot. “I— it’s not—”
“Save it,” Anne cut him off, swatting at his shoulder with a look that could still reduce him to a teenager. “You’re a shit liar, Harry. Always have been.”
Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Ah, God. Kill me now.”
Anne just laughed, giving him one last squeeze before waving him toward the door. “Give it to him, H.”
Harry wanted to argue. Wanted to protest. But instead he tucked the container under his arm, muttered a grumpy “goodnight,” and stepped out into the cold.
And walking home with his mum’s words still echoing in his chest, Harry thought maybe dying of embarrassment wasn’t the worst way to go.

Harry hadn’t seen Louis in three days.
Three. Long. Fucking. Days.
Not that he was counting. Not that he cared. Except he did — enough that every time the bell above the café door rang, his chest gave a little kick of anticipation, only to sink again when it wasn’t him.
By day three it was pathetic. The nurses came in, the porters came in, even a whole gaggle of med students came in, but not Louis. Harry pretended it didn’t matter, that it was all the same, but the empty space in the corner booth felt louder somehow.
It wasn’t until later that afternoon when Niall and Liam breezed through the door, still in scrubs and grinning like idiots, that Harry got his answer.
“Afternoon, Haz!” Niall chirped, leaning on the counter like he owned the place. “Two BLTs, extra chips. And a brownie if you’re feeling’ generous.”
Harry rolled his eyes but got to work, side-eyeing them both. “Where’s your shadow, then? Thought Tomlinson was glued to your side.”
Niall’s grin widened, all sharp teeth. “Oh, Louis? He’s got a few days off. Went home to Donny to see his parents.”
Harry’s chest dropped like a stone. Of course. Time off. Home. Parents. Just… gone.
“Not fun, huh?” Niall added, far too perceptive for Harry’s liking.
Harry busied himself with the sandwiches, muttering, “Didn’t ask.”
But his hands were tight around the knife, his jaw clenched a fraction too hard, and from the look Liam gave him — quiet, knowing, steady — Harry knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

When Zayn said he was inviting himself over for “girls night in ” Harry thought he was joking.

He wasn’t.
By the time Harry got home, Zayn was already in his kitchen unpacking sushi and a bottle of his favourite wine, tossing a packet of face masks onto the counter like it was a declaration of war.
“Mate,” Harry groaned, toeing off his boots, “you’re ridiculous.”
“You love it,” Zayn shot back, already pouring glasses.
And maybe Harry did. Maybe it had been a long time since they’d done something so stupid and easy. By the time the movie was on, masks plastered across their faces, sushi spread out on the coffee table, Harry found himself laughing harder than he had in weeks.
Halfway through, though, the laughter slipped. Harry’s attention drifted. His chest felt heavier than it should’ve, his head somewhere else entirely.
“You’re moping,” Zayn said suddenly, not looking away from the screen. “What the fuck’s going on with you?”
Harry snorted, reaching for another piece of sushi. “I’m not moping.”
“Bollocks,” Zayn muttered. Then, after a pause, he added dryly, “So Louis still hasn’t asked you out?”
Harry froze, chopsticks halfway to his mouth.
There it was again. Everyone with their bloody two cents about him and Louis. Gemma. His mum. Robin. Now Z. He was sick of it — sick of the knowing looks, the nudges, the whispers. Whatever this thing with Louis was, it wasn’t anyone else’s business.
He huffed, dropping the sushi back into the tray. “Christ, not you too.”
Zayn said nothing, just sipped his wine, letting the silence stretch until Harry felt like his skin was buzzing. Then Zayn nudged him with his elbow.
“Why don’t you ask him out, then?”
Harry whipped his head around, eyes wide behind his mask. He slapped a hand to his chest in mock horror. “Z. What kind of girl do you think I am?”
Zayn cracked up, nearly spilling his wine. “A dramatic one.”
Harry grinned despite himself, shaking his head. But later, when the laughter had faded and Zayn had nodded off against his shoulder, Harry stared at the ceiling and thought about it. About Louis. About asking. About the terrifying, thrilling idea that maybe — just maybe — he wanted to.

The next couple of weeks were chaos. Good chaos, but chaos all the same.
Gemma’s due date was creeping closer by the day, which meant they were knee-deep in applications and trial shifts, trying to find someone capable of holding the café together while she took her well-earned year off. Anne kept reminding Harry he couldn’t do everything himself. He knew that. Didn’t mean he liked it.
Between that and the steady stream of hospital staff, students, and regulars, Harry barely had a moment to breathe. But somehow, without fail, he always found time to cook. Not just for himself anymore — but for Louis.
It had become routine now. Extra portion in the container, tucked into his bag, slid across the counter with Louis’ morning coffee like it was no big deal. And Louis, sarcastic little bastard that he was, had stopped pretending it didn’t mean anything.
One morning, Harry watched Louis unwrap the container at a corner table, fork diving in without hesitation. He hummed appreciatively, which Harry pretended not to notice while he wiped down the counter for the fourth time in five minutes.
“This is ridiculous,” Louis muttered finally, shaking his head. “If you keep feeding me like this, my one-hour run is gonna have to turn into two.”
Harry blinked. “You run?”
Louis looked up, smirking. “Every morning, when I can. Hospital schedule permitting. Clears my head.”
Harry nodded, trying to keep his face neutral. But his brain the traitorous fucker had already gone there. Running. Stamina. Muscles working. Sweat slicking tan skin. Tattoos flexing and shifting with every stride.
Other kinds of stamina.
His mind supplied images he had no business thinking about while standing in his café Louis flushed and breathless, shirt sticking to his back, thighs taut, tattoos inked against golden skin glistening with sweat. That mouth sharp with sarcasm most of the time, parted now with gasps.
Harry nearly groaned out loud.
He yanked his gaze back to the counter, forcing his hands to move, scrubbing at a perfectly clean surface like it had personally offended him.
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath.
Louis glanced up from his container, one brow arched. “What was that?”
Harry nearly dropped the rag. “Nothing,” he blurted, too fast, too loud. “Absolutely nothing.”
Louis smirked, suspicious, but went back to his food, fork scraping the bottom of the container. Harry ducked behind the espresso machine, praying to any higher power that the blush creeping up his neck wasn’t obvious.
Because the truth was, he hadn’t thought about anyone like that in years. And now here he was, in broad daylight, at his own café, fantasising about a tan, tattooed doctor’s stamina.
Fucking hell. He was doomed.

Niall breezed into the café mid-morning, all scrubs and cheeky grin, ordering his usual coffee and something sugary enough to rot his teeth.
“Cheers, Haz,” he said, drumming his fingers on the counter. “Hey, you know Louis? Poor bastard’s having’ an absolutely crazy day today. Said he had a headache since the morning too.”
Harry froze, mug halfway to the machine. “Headache?”
“Yeah.” Niall shrugged, already eyeing the pastry case. “Said it when we were scrubbin’ in earlier. Looked like he hadn’t even had breakfast. Anyway—two brownies, yeah?”
Harry made the order, nodded at all the right times, but the words stuck in his chest long after Niall left. Headache. No breakfast. Crazy day.
By lunch, Louis still hadn’t come in. No flat white, no sarcastic grumble about hospital food, no smirk when Harry slipped him an extra cookie. Nothing.
And Harry couldn’t sit still.
So after the lunch rush, he ducked into the café kitchen, ignoring Gemma’s raised brow as he started pulling ingredients from the shelves. “What’re you doing?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Harry muttered, boiling pasta, throwing garlic into the pan, stirring with more force than necessary.
Gemma smirked, leaning against the counter, her bump leading the way. “You’re cooking for him, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” Harry snapped, adding sauce, plating quickly. He brewed Yorkshire tea — proper, strong, just how Louis liked it — and poured it into his spare flask.
When he tucked everything into a bag and headed for the door, Gemma called after him, sing-song sweet: “Have fun, Haz!”
He flipped her off over his shoulder. “Fucking siblings,” he muttered, pushing out into the Manchester drizzle with Louis’ lunch in hand.
Finding Louis wasn’t hard. Harry knew half the hospital staff by now — years of serving them lattes and muffins meant a network of friendly faces pointing him down the right corridors. After a couple of wrong turns and one very unimpressed consultant glaring at him for loitering, he finally found him.
And Jesus Christ, it wasn’t fair.
Louis stood in his scrubs, leaning over a crib, two nurses by his side. He was scribbling something on a chart, voice low and calm, then handed the notes off before cooing softly at the baby. His face softened in a way Harry hadn’t seen before — professional, yes, but something more. Something that made Harry’s chest squeeze.
This man. Not fair. Too fucking hot in scrubs.
Harry’s heart lurched when Louis finally looked up. Their eyes met across the room, and instantly Louis’ brows furrowed.
“Harry? Is everything okay? Is Gemma alright?”
Ahh, this man. Even worried, he was perfect. Harry’s dimples flashed as he shook his head. “All’s well. Don’t worry. Niall just said this morning you were having a long-ass day, and then you didn’t come by for lunch, so…” He lifted the bag and flask in his hands. “I brought you something. Pasta and tea. Yorkshire. Just the way you like it.”
Louis blinked, stunned, before stepping closer. He reached out and took the food with both hands like it was something fragile. His throat worked, eyes glassy, like he might cry.
“No one’s ever…mm done anything like this for me before, H,” he whispered. “I don’t even know what to say.”
Harry’s grin softened, dimples still there but gentler now. “You don’t have to say anything. Just hope you enjoy it. And take it easy, yeah?”
Louis opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked down at the container, shaking his head slightly, still in shock.
Harry started to back away, giving him space. “Alright then. I’ll leave you to it.” He gave a little wave, turning to head back down the corridor.
Louis just nodded, clutching the bag like it was something precious. His lips curved into the smallest smile, but he didn’t trust himself to speak.
And Harry dimples still playing at his cheeks as he walked away.
Harry had only made it a few steps down the corridor, dimples still faint on his cheeks, when he heard it.
“Harry.”
He froze. Turned.
Louis was closer now than he’d been a moment ago, steps carrying him forward without him even seeming to notice. His hair was a mess, scrubs wrinkled from hours on shift, eyes tired but burning in a way Harry had never seen.
Before Harry could ask what’s wrong, Louis blurted it out.
“Go out with me.”
The words hung in the sterile hospital air, sharp and desperate, like they’d been torn straight from his chest.
Harry blinked. His mouth opened, closed. What?
Louis’ jaw was tight, his hands clenched around the bag Harry had given him like it was an anchor. “I mean it,” he said, softer now but no less fierce. “Go out with me. I don’t… I don’t know what this is, but I don’t want to ignore it anymore.”
Harry’s heart slammed so hard he thought the nurses down the hall could probably hear it. His tongue felt heavy, his brain short-circuiting between yes and no and holy fuck.
For months he’d been telling himself he couldn’t. That it wasn’t safe. That he’d never let himself fall again. And now here Louis was, tired and scruffy and beautiful, asking him for exactly the thing Harry had sworn off.
He swallowed, forcing air into his lungs. “Louis…”
Louis shook his head quickly, like he already regretted it, already bracing for rejection. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have—”
Harry cut him off, voice steadier than he felt. “No. wait.”
Louis stilled.
Harry’s chest ached, his nod still hanging in the space between them when something twisted in his gut. He couldn’t leave it there. Not this time. Not when the ground already felt like it could vanish beneath his feet.
He swallowed, stepping that fraction closer, lowering his voice so it was just for Louis.
“Listen, Doc… I’d love to go out with you. More than I should admit.” His dimples flickered, then faded, leaving something sharper in his eyes. “But if this is just you trying to… pay me back for the food or the tea or whatever, then don’t. I can’t do that.”
Louis blinked, startled.
Harry pushed on, his throat tight. “I don’t… I don’t do this shit anymore. I don’t play games, I don’t do half measures. And I’m not letting myself get my hopes up if it’s all one-sided. So if you’re asking me out because you feel like you owe me something..” he shook his head, voice rougher now, “then forget it.”
The silence was heavy. Harry hated himself for even saying it, hated how naked it made him feel, but he’d rather rip himself open now than bleed slowly later.
Louis just stared at him, unreadable, container still clutched in his hands like it was more than food, like it was proof of something bigger. His jaw worked, his eyes fierce.
“I’m not asking you out because of the food, Harry,” he said finally, steady and low. “I’m asking because it’s you. Because you make me feel something I didn’t think I could anymore. And I don’t want to keep pretending.I don’t.”
Harry’s breath caught, chest loosening in a way he hadn’t expected. His lips twitched into the smallest smile. “Alright then.”
Louis’ answering grin was tired but brilliant. “Alright then.”

Chapter Text

Louis couldn’t believe the words had actually left his mouth. Go out with me. Christ. Out loud, in the middle of the bloody maternity ward, like he didn’t have a filter. His heart was still pounding against his ribs, his palms clammy around the container Harry had given him.
And then Harry had stepped closer, not enough to touch, but enough that Louis could feel the heat between them. Enough to make it impossible to breathe properly.
The things Harry said after… those hit harder than Louis expected.
If this is just you trying to pay me back for the food… I can’t do that. I don’t do this shit anymore. I won’t let myself get my hopes up if it’s one-sided.
The honesty in Harry’s voice gutted him. For all the grins and flirting and dimples, this was real sharp edges and scar tissue, laid bare in a hospital corridor that suddenly felt too quiet.
Louis wanted to argue straight away, to blurt out that it wasn’t about the food, it was never about the food. That it was the way Harry saw him when no one else did, the way his laugh softened the edges of Louis’ hardest days, the way those fucking dimples made him forget every reason he had for staying guarded.
So he said it. As steady as he could. It’s not about the food. It’s you.
Now, standing there with Harry watching him like he was something fragile and worth fighting for, Louis felt something uncoil inside him. Something he hadn’t let himself feel in years.
Terrifying. Liberating. Both.
He was still exhausted, still running on fumes from a twelve-hour shift, but for the first time in a long time he let himself smile properly smile and mean it.
Finally, when his shift ended and he slid into his car, the silence hit him like a wall. No monitors beeping, no nurses chatting, no patients needing him. Just the quiet.
And that’s when the words really landed.
He’d asked Harry Styles out.
The curly-haired, dimpled menace who’d been slipping past his defences for weeks. The words had just fallen out of his mouth like he had no control over them, like someone had reached into his chest and yanked them free.
Now, sitting alone in the dark car park with his hands tight on the steering wheel, Louis felt it. The panic. The thrill. The weight of what he’d done.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, forehead dropping against the wheel. “What the actual fuck have I done?”
His chest was buzzing, his heart refusing to slow. He needed grounding. He needed his mum.
So he pulled out his phone and hit her number.
Only when she answered, it wasn’t just Jay’s voice on the other end. She and Dad were already mid-call with Lottie of course they were. Louis could hear his sister’s laughter crackling down the line, probably half a world away, living out her flight-attendant dreams in some hotel room.
“Lou!” Lottie shrieked. “Finally remembered we exist, have you? Thought Manchester swallowed you whole.”
“Not yet,” Louis muttered, already breathing easier just hearing them all. No secrets, no walls, not with them. Never.
And before he knew it, the truth tumbled out — how he’d met Harry, how the banter had become habit, how the food and the stupid dimples had chipped at every layer Louis had built around himself.
“And tonight,” Louis said, voice thin with disbelief, “I asked him out.”
Silence lasted all of a second before Lottie cackled so loudly Louis had to lower the volume in his car . “Oh my God, Louis William Tomlinson, you’re gone. Absolutely gone. The hipster barista’s done you in.”
“Shut it,” Louis groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Mum’s voice was softer, steadier. “Harry, is it? He sounds like he makes you smile, love. That’s all we want for you.”
Dad hummed in agreement. “About time, son. You’ve carried enough on your own.”
Louis’ throat tightened. “You’re meant to calm me down, not gang up on me. I’m losing my mind here. I’m taking him out. I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Wear clean socks and undies,” Lottie said without missing a beat. “And don’t be a knob.”
Louis laughed despite himself, but his chest eased too. Wrapped up in their teasing, their love, he felt steadier.
Whatever came next with Harry terrifying, thrilling, impossible Harry he knew one thing for sure: he wouldn’t be facing it alone.

It slipped out before he could stop it. Go out with me. He’d actually said it.
And now, sitting in the staff lounge on break with Niall and Liam, the words were still circling his head like vultures.
“So you finally asked him, eh?” Niall grinned, stuffing crisps into his mouth. “About bloody time.”
Louis rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. “Didn’t mean for it to come out. Just… happened.”
Liam’s expression softened. “That’s usually how the important stuff does.” He leaned forward, tone steady. “You two will be good together, Louis. You balance each other.”
That brought a real smile to Louis’ face. Small, honest, warming him from the inside.
“Ah, for fuck’s sake,” Niall groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “Just marry him already. Give him all your babies.”
Louis, still half lost in thought, missed the sarcasm in his voice. He sighed. “Don’t even know if Harry’s a carrier.” Allmost to him self.
The room went silent.
When he looked up, Niall was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.
“Excuse me?”
Louis’ ears burned. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it literal. Just I mean, I don’t care if he can or not, it doesn’t matter. Bailey wasn’t a carrier either and I..” He stopped, scowling when he caught the glint in Niall’s eye.
Niall smirked, leaning back in his chair. “You’re a OBGYN, mate. You’ll figure it out. You know your way round those things. You always do.” He winked.
Louis groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re a fucking arsehole.”
“Correct,” Niall said cheerfully.
Liam chuckled, shaking his head. “Mate, you’re already so gone it’s not even funny. Just…” His tone gentled, the teasing slipping away. “Be careful, yeah? Don’t rush it. Let it grow.”
Louis nodded, quieter now. “Yeah. I know.”
But still, beneath the banter, beneath the warnings, the thought of Harry his smile, his dimples, the way he’d shown up for him tugged at Louis’ chest. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to fight it.

Louis had faced plenty of chaos before, screaming patients, frantic emergencies, even the occasional dad convinced Google knew more than his medical degree. But nothing, nothing, compared to standing on Harry Styles’ doorstep with a bloody bouquet of flowers sweating on his passenger seat.
He’d rehearsed lines the whole drive over. Casual ones, funny ones, even a cheesy compliment or two. But all of it evaporated the second the door swung open.
And there he was.
Harry leaned lazily against the frame, curls tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed, leopard-print shirt hanging open enough to show a sinful slice of chest, layered chains glinting like they were in on the joke. Rings decorated nearly every finger, one thumb hooking casually at his waist like he had all the time in the world.
Louis’ brain short-circuited. Words? Gone. Breath? Also gone. What came out instead was a tragic, strangled noise that made Harry’s mouth twitch, dimples threatening but not quite there.
“Well, Doc,” Harry drawled, eyes sweeping over him with zero shame, “don’t you look like trouble I wouldn’t mind getting into.”
Louis blinked, mouth opening and closing like an idiot, while Harry just grinned wider.
“Cat got your tongue?” Harry teased, head tilting, curls brushing his cheek. “Or is it my shirt? Can’t say I blame you she’s a bit distracting, innit?”
That did it. Louis snapped out of his daze just enough to shove the flowers forward like a shield. “These—uh—these are for you.”
Harry’s eyes softened immediately, smile blooming full dimple as he took them, rings brushing Louis’ knuckles with deliberate slowness. “You’re a right gentleman, aren’t you?” he murmured. Then, after a beat, he smirked. “Didn’t think doctors still made house calls.”
And finally, finally, Louis found his voice smirk tugging at his lips as he fired back, “Didn’t know I was turning up for a bloody fashion show tonight. Could’ve warned me to bring me sunglasses, with all that shine.”
Harry actually flushed, pink creeping over his ears as he fiddled with a ring. “Shut up,” he muttered, though the grin gave him away. “Thanks for the flowers, Doc.”
And Louis thought, with smug satisfaction: Gotcha.
Louis gripped the wheel a little tighter as they drove, reminding himself to be himself. If this was going to mean anything, if Harry Styles was actually going to let him in, Louis had to give this everything. No half-measures.
Conversation trickled easily, light and unforced. Harry talked about his day at the café some bloke trying to order an “oat flat black” and swearing it was a real thing and Louis laughed, throwing in a sarcastic comment here and there. He talked a little about work too, about Niall stealing his crisps on break, Liam pretending to be the ward’s moral compass. Harry hummed and asked questions, genuinely listening.
By the time they reached the restaurant, Louis’ nerves had softened into something steadier.
The hostess smiled as he gave his name, then led them up the stairs to the rooftop terrace. The evening air was warm, the city sprawling below them, fairy lights strung between planters glowing softly against the dusky sky.
Harry’s eyes lit up, and Louis caught it. “This is gorgeous,” Harry murmured, looking around. “Why the hell haven’t I been here before?”
Louis shrugged, a little smug. “Because you needed me to show you. Place has good memories for me. Figured it might work some magic tonight.” He glanced sideways, lips twitching. “Hope you like it.”
Harry smiled, slow and genuine. “I already do.”
They sat, menus opening, but it didn’t take long. Harry ordered a glass of wine, Louis a pint. Food choices came easy too, but it was the conversation that really flowed.
Harry leaned his chin on his hand, curls slipping into his face as he asked, “So. Why OBGYN? Why’d you want to be a doctor That kind of a doctor?”
Louis leaned back, thinking. He’d been asked this before — in interviews, by colleagues, even nosy relatives — but never in a way that made him actually want to answer. Harry had that effect.
“Truth is,” Louis began slowly, “I always thought I’d end up in paediatrics. Always liked kids, y’know? Figured helping them grow up healthy was the most meaningful thing I could do.”
Harry tilted his head, studying him. “And yet, here you are… catching babies instead of chasing after them.”
Louis laughed, shaking his head. “Exactly. But then med school happened, and I started my rotation in obstetrics. And it hit me. The whole process — watching a body create something so… so precious — it was like magic dressed up as science. Every time, I’m floored. The way cells divide, organs form, a heartbeat flickers to life inside someone else…” He trailed off, eyes bright with quiet awe. “It’s endlessly fascinating. It’s this reminder that the human body is capable of creating the most extraordinary thing in the world.”
Harry went soft at that, his smirk gentling into something more tender. “Blimey, Doc,” he murmured, dimples peeking out. “Didn’t realize I’d need tissues for this conversation.”
Louis rolled his eyes, though his lips tugged upward. “Point is, paediatrics felt right at first. But OB-GYN… it just grabbed me. And it never let go.”
Harry grinned then, leaning in, voice dropping just enough to tease. “Can’t say I blame you. Getting to be there at the start of life itself? That’s rock-star doctor stuff.”
Louis huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well. Someone’s got to do it.”
Harry only smirked, eyes gleaming in the candlelight.
“What about you, then? How’d the café happen?” But then he added, almost shyly, “By the way, have I told you that place looks gorgeous? So welcoming. Feels like you’ve bottled a bit of comfort and put it in a cup.”
Harry’s smirk was immediate, dimples flashing like he knew exactly the effect he had. “Well, thank you, Doctor,” he drawled, drawing out the title just enough to make Louis roll his eyes. “Since you asked…”
And then Harry leaned back, curls falling into his face, voice softening as he slipped into story mode. “It started with Gemma, actually. Back in high school, she worked part-time jobs for pocket money and hated every minute of it. Made her miserable. And me? I always loved cooking. We used to joke that someday we’d open a restaurant — she’d handle the business, I’d handle the food. It was all talk, really, a bit of fun between us.”
Louis watched the way Harry’s eyes lit up, the fondness tucked into every word as he said her name.
“But then,” Harry went on, “Gemma went off to uni for business and accounting. And she said, ‘Why don’t we actually do it? For real.’ I laughed at first, thought she was joking. But she wasn’t. We talked to Mum and Dad, and they said they’d back us — as long as we both committed. Gemma to her degree, me to culinary school. They’d even help fund it.”
Harry’s mouth curved at that, almost sheepish but proud, too. “Dad’s a business guy himself — owns a car dealership — so he understood. He and Mum were supportive, and… well, one joke turned into a dream, and the dream turned into what you see now.”
Louis felt a pang of something warm in his chest as he listened. It wasn’t just the words, it was the way Harry told them, his whole body animated, like the café wasn’t just bricks and beans and chairs, but a piece of his soul he’d built with his sister. And Louis thought — no wonder the place felt so welcoming. Harry had poured himself into it.
“Bloody hell,” Louis murmured before he could stop himself. “Remind me never to underestimate you again.”
Harry smirked, leaning closer with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Oh, Tomlinson, you’ve only scratched the surface.”
And Louis knew — the night was only just getting started.
Harry wasn’t shy about the questions. They just kept coming, easy and curious, and for some reason Louis didn’t feel the usual urge to dodge. Something about Harry’s presence made it simple — like honesty wasn’t a trap but a choice.
“So,” Harry said, twirling the stem of his wineglass between his rings, “as far as I can gather, you’re a proper family man.” He paused, then blinked suddenly. “Oh, fuck, I don’t even know how old you are.”
Louis smiled, shaking his head. “Twenty six. Turning twenty seven on Christmas Eve.”
Harry’s grin softened, curls falling into his face. “That’s special. My little Christmas angel.” He leaned back, raising his glass. “I’m twenty five , by the way in case you were wondering. Still a baby compared to you.”
Louis snorted, lifting his pint. “Cheeky bastard.”
Harry winked, dimples flashing. “What can I say? I like older men.”
Louis rolled his eyes, but warmth crept up his neck anyway.
Harry leaned forward again, tone lighter. “Back to my question then. You’re a dreamboat in scrubs how come you’re still single?”
Louis let out a nervous laugh, fiddling with the rim of his glass. “That took a turn.” He hesitated. “Feels like it might be a bit heavy for a first-date topic. no?”
Harry’s hand reached across the table, warm over Louis’, grounding. His dimples were gone now, sincerity written clear in his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Really. But you should know… I might flirt like it’s my job, but dating? I don’t do it much. At all, actually. I’m all in or not at all. And I’m here because I genuinely like you, Louis.”
Louis’ breath caught. He nodded, exhaling slow. “Yeah. Me too. I don’t date much either. Haven’t… haven’t really done it in over three years.”
Harry, being Harry, let the seriousness hang just long enough before he tilted his head, dimples breaking through again. “So… who broke your heart, Doc?”
Louis groaned, though the way Harry’s grin softened it, he couldn’t even be annoyed. “You don’t make things easy, do you?”
Harry winked. “Wouldn’t be me if I did.”
Louis toyed with his glass for a long moment before letting out a slow breath. “Alright. You wanted to know? Here it is.”
Harry didn’t move, didn’t push just watched him with those steady green eyes, dimples hidden now, nothing but quiet patience.
“I met Bailey in med school,” Louis began, voice low. “Didn’t get together until years later ran into him again at the hospital back home in Donny. It felt easy then. Familiar. My mates never liked him, Niall and Liam, they saw things I didn’t, I guess. But I was… I don’t know, young and convinced I’d found my forever.”
He swallowed, throat tight. “Then Mum got sick. Cancer. Everything stopped. She’s the strongest person I know, but those treatments nearly broke her. Dad was wrecked, Lottie flew back from wherever she was, and I… I couldn’t leave them. Had to be there. Had to keep us together. You know what I mean?”
Harry nodded immediately, voice gentle. “Yeah. Of course.”
Louis pressed on. “Toward the end of her treatment, things got bad. Real bad. We thought we were losing her. We were camped at her bedside, day and night, just trying to keep her going. Then one night I went home…” He trailed off, jaw clenching. “And I walked in on Bailey. Balls deep in one of our coworkers. In our home. Didn’t even look guilty. Just said I wasn’t giving him enough attention.”
Harry’s hand tightened slightly around his glass, but he didn’t interrupt.
Louis let out a sharp breath, forcing the words out. “That was it. I left that night. Packed a bag, moved back in with Mum and Dad. Stayed there until she finally got the all-clear. Cancer free.” He paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Best words I’ve ever heard.”
He glanced back at Harry, shoulders lifting faintly. “After that… I couldn’t stay in Donny. Not with him still working at the hospital. Not with all the memories. So I put in for jobs up here. Close enough to home, but far enough to breathe. Plus, Niall and Liam were already here. Made sense.”
Harry hadn’t looked away once. His eyes were soft, but fierce too, like he wanted to climb across the table and shield Louis from every bit of it.
Louis let out a shaky laugh, trying to break the weight of it. “So yeah. That’s the story. Three years later and here I am. First date in forever, sitting across from a man with too many rings and a bloody leopard shirt, wondering what the hell I’m doing.”
Harry finally smiled then, dimples showing, his voice warm but steady. “You’re being brave. That’s what you’re doing.”
And for the first time in years, Louis let himself believe he might be.
“So you never dated after that?” Harry asked gently once Louis had finished.
Louis shook his head, staring down at his pint. “No.” His voice was quiet but sure. “Didn’t have it in me.”
Harry hummed softly, then bless him changed the subject, letting Louis breathe again. He leaned back, sipping his wine, a small smile on his lips. “You know, Robin’s not my biological dad. My real one fucked off when I was two. Never saw him again. But Mum met Robin a few years later, and…” Harry’s eyes softened, rings tapping against his glass, “he’s been the real deal ever since. We love him. Me and Gemma had a bloody great childhood, thanks to them both.”
Louis smiled, warmth stirring in his chest. The weight in the air lifted, replaced by something easy, steady.
Dessert came sticky toffee pudding for Harry, cheesecake for Louis and they lingered over it, conversation flowing light again. They talked about Gemma’s bump, about Lottie’s chaotic travel stories, about how Louis apparently had the worst taste in films and Harry was already planning to “educate” him with a proper movie night.
When Louis paid the bill and they stepped back into the warm night air, something settled deep in him.
The drive back was quiet but comfortable, the city lights flickering past. Harry sat in the passenger seat, humming under his breath to whatever was on the radio, curls brushing his cheek, fingers toying with his rings.
By the time Louis pulled up outside Harry’s place, the thought hit him sharp and clear.
He felt right.
And he hadn’t had that in a very, very long time.
Louis walked Harry up to the door. He wanted to reach for Harry’s hand, to feel those rings press against his skin again, but before he could, Harry slipped his fingers through his like it was the most natural thing in the world. Warm. Steady. Certain.
“Thank you for a great night, Lou,” Harry murmured, dimples tugging at his cheeks. “I really enjoyed it.”
Louis’ chest squeezed so tight it almost hurt. He found his voice, low but honest. “Yeah. Me too.”
Harry hesitated, teeth worrying at his lip before he rushed out, “I know I should wait, but… I won’t sleep tonight if I don’t ask. Will you go out with me again? Whenever we can make it work.”
For a heartbeat, Louis just stared at him, every wall he’d ever built rattling under the weight of how badly he wanted to say yes. And then fuck it. He wasn’t going to hold back anymore.
He stepped closer, smirk tugging at his mouth. “Of course I will, Curly. Honestly, after tonight, I’d be mad not to. You looked..” Louis swallowed, eyes flicking over the mess of curls, the glint of chains at his throat, the sparkle in those green eyes. “..you looked bloody gorgeous tonight. Nearly knocked me on my arse when you opened the door.”
Harry blinked, pink blooming across his cheeks even in the dim porch light. He ducked his head, curls falling forward, dimples deepening as though he couldn’t quite hide how much the words hit.
Before Louis could do something truly reckless, like kiss him stupid right there on the doorstep, he leaned in just enough to brush a quick kiss against Harry’s cheek. The heat of it lingered on Louis’ lips, sweeter than he’d expected.
“See you tomorrow, Haz,” Louis said, stepping back with a grin he couldn’t contain. “Good night.”
Harry’s smile softened, almost shy, but his eyes shone. “Good night, Lou. And… text me when you get home safe, yeah?”
Louis’ heart thudded, lighter than it had in years. Warmth spilling through him.

Chapter Text

Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his parents so over the moon about him. The second he’d admitted the date with Louis had gone well, Anne had been all dimples and watery eyes, and Robin had clapped him on the shoulder like he’d just scored a winning goal.
And Gemma? Christ, Gemma hadn’t let up since.
She teased him any chance she got, slipping comments about “Doctor Dreamboat” into every conversation until Harry was ready to bury himself in the stockroom. Even when she wasn’t working, she texted him stupid gifs, little reminders that she knew far too much about her baby brother’s love life.
That afternoon she perched at the café counter with a smoothie, smirk painted on her face. “So, Haz, I’ve been thinking. You should take him bowling. Or maybe a gig. Or..”
Harry groaned, cutting her off. “Gem, I don’t need you wasting your brain cells on me. I know what we’re doing.”
Her brows shot up, sass cranked to maximum. “Oh yeah? What’s your grand plan then, Romeo?”
There was no way out of it. Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m going to cook for him.”
Gemma stilled. Then her mouth split into a wicked grin. “Ohhh. You’re finally getting some.”
“Jesus Christ.” Harry dragged a hand down his face. “For fuck’s sake, Gemma, mind your fucking business, will you? You know me well enough I’m not going to do that. We hardly know each other yet. Besides…” his voice softened before he could stop it, “Lou’s a proper gentleman.”
Gemma’s grin melted into something gentler. She stepped closer, cupping his face in both hands like she’d done since they were kids. “You know I’m teasing, right? I’m just… happy you’re happy, H.”
Harry’s chest loosened, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. I know.”
They hugged it out right there behind the counter, smoothie sweating on the wood, the café buzzing around them. And Harry thought, not for the first time, that Gemma wasn’t just his sister, she was one of his best friends.

After their first date, something shifted not with a bang, but with quiet ease.
They texted as much as their schedules allowed, which wasn’t nearly enough given the hours Louis pulled at the hospital and the chaos Harry managed at the café. Still, every spare minute seemed to find a message. Harry sent him atrocious jokes that made Louis groan and type you’re insufferable. but the truth, buried between sarcastic emojis, was that he loved every single one. Harry knew it too.
The other change was food. It wasn’t just the occasional portion anymore; it was constant. Tupperware containers tucked into Louis’ hands at the café, soups and pastas left at the hospital reception with his name scrawled across the lid. Harry had made it his personal mission to make sure Louis never touched a vending machine or sad hospital takeout again.
“You’re ridiculous,” Louis muttered one night after finding a neatly packed dinner in his bag.
Harry had only grinned, dimples deep through the phone line. “You’re welcome. Can’t have my Doc running on crisps and shit coffee.”
Their friends noticed. Niall teased mercilessly, Liam less so but still smirking. Even Gemma raised an eyebrow when she spotted Louis leaving the café with yet another container. “You two are like an old married couple already,” she quipped.
But it didn’t bother them. Not at all.
They’d agreed to take it slow, not to rush. Neither of them had done this dating thing properly in a long time, and they both knew better than to sprint before they could walk.
Still, Harry couldn’t help thinking sometimes steady was better than fireworks. Sometimes steady was exactly what he’d been waiting for.
One afternoon, Louis ducked into the café between shifts, still in scrubs, hair mussed from the day. Harry was behind the counter, curls tucked under a bandana, grinning the second he spotted him.
“Alright, Doc,” Harry said, sliding his flat white across. “If I could nick you for a date this week, when would you be free?”
Louis thought about it, flipping his phone over. “Sunday. Anytime.”
Harry’s grin widened, but he tried to cover it with a mock-serious tone. “Don’t get too excited it’s not like I’m taking you to Paris. Just… my place. I’ll cook you a proper meal.”
Louis leaned over the counter, lips quirking. “Harry Styles, are you inviting me to your house?”
Harry’s ears went pink, but he rolled his eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”
Louis smirked, then leaned in close enough to press a kiss against Harry’s cheek, lingering just enough for it to count. “I’d love that. Doesn’t have to be dramatic, yeah? I like the simple things. As long as I get to spend time with you, I’m fine.”
Harry blinked at him, dimples slow to form this time, softer, more vulnerable. “You’re gonna ruin me, Doc.”
Louis only chuckled, stealing his coffee off the counter. “Sunday, then.”
Harry nodded, a little dazed, and Louis walked out into the street with a grin tugging at his lips.

Harry wiped his hands quickly on a tea towel and rushed to the hallway, catching his reflection in the mirror. Shirt buttoned, curls tamed as best as they could be. Not bad, he thought, before opening the door.
Louis stood there in comfy clothes dark joggers and a soft jumper, casual but still somehow breathtaking a bottle of red wine in hand.
“Hey, Lou.”
Harry pulled him into a hug without hesitation, and Louis kissed his cheek in greeting. “Hey, love. Smells delicious in here.”
Harry grinned, dimples flashing. “Thanks, Lou.”
“So,” Louis said, stepping inside and slipping off his shoes, “what’s on the menu?”
“Lasagna, homemade garlic bread, and salad on the side,” Harry recited proudly.
Louis lifted a brow, clearly impressed. “Look at you. Need a hand with anything?”
“All done,” Harry said, waving it off. “Just need to throw the salad together. But, tour first.”
Louis chuckled. “Alright then. Show me around, Curly.”
Harry led him through the hallway into the main living area, gesturing grandly. “So this is the heart of the house open-plan kitchen and lounge. Bit of a pain to keep tidy, but worth it. Got the sofa over there dangerously comfortable, so don’t sit down unless you’re ready to stay the night..”
“Noted,” Louis said with a smirk, earning himself a playful shove to the shoulder.
Harry grinned, pointing toward the sleek black-and-white kitchen. “That’s where the magic happens. All those meals I’ve been sneaking you? Right there. Got a little island so I can pretend I’m on MasterChef while Zayn heckles me from a stool.”
Louis laughed, shaking his head. “Figures.”
They moved toward the staircase, Harry gesturing upward. “Up there’s the loft bedroom. Bit weird with the railing, but I like it. Makes the place feel open, y’know?”
Louis tipped his head back to glance at it, clearly impressed. “Bloody hell, Styles. Didn’t think you’d be so fancy.”
Harry shrugged, suddenly shy, fiddling with one of his rings. “It’s not much. Just… my space. Feels good to come home to.”
Louis’ eyes softened as he looked back at him. “Yeah. It suits you.”
Harry’s chest warmed at that, a blush creeping up under his curls. He clapped his hands together, breaking the moment before it got too heavy. “Right, tour done. Salad time. Then we feast.”
Louis chuckled, following him into the kitchen. “Lead the way, Chef.”
Something Harry relished about them already, even this early on was how easy it all felt. Conversations rolled on without effort, and the banter was endless. Louis always had a comeback, always had a smirk waiting, and Harry loved it. The laughter filled all the quiet spaces that used to feel too heavy, and suddenly everything seemed lighter.
Dinner went down in a blur of jokes and chatter. Louis declared the lasagna “fucking brilliant” and the garlic bread “to the point, Styles, no notes.” Harry had grinned so hard his cheeks hurt.
After they’d eaten, they cleaned up together Harry washing, Louis drying, the two of them bumping shoulders and laughing like they’d been doing it for years. Then, with the kitchen spotless, they finally moved to the living room.
“As promised,” Harry said, scrolling through Netflix, “the most tragic part of me.”
Louis raised a brow, lounging on the sofa. “What, your taste in films?”
Harry smirked, sinking down beside him. “Exactly. Prepare yourself for the Notebook.”
Louis groaned dramatically, but his eyes were bright. “Pathetic.”
“Oi,” Harry said, nudging him with his shoulder. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve ugly cried through it.”
Halfway through the film, Harry paused it to grab dessert. From the kitchen, he brought back a tray brownies warm from the oven, scoops of vanilla ice cream melting at the edges, and a bowl of fresh strawberries.
Louis blinked, clearly impressed. “You baked?”
Harry set it down between them with a shrug, suddenly shy. “Don’t act so surprised Lou. Told you I can cook.”
Louis bit into a brownie, eyes fluttering shut. “Alright, I take it back. You might actually be dangerous.”
Harry grinned, dimples flashing as he leaned back into the sofa. “Told you.”
The film rolled on, forgotten for a moment, while the two of them shared dessert and laughter, the air warm and easy around them.
After dessert, they started the film again, bowls abandoned on the coffee table. Half an hour in, Louis tugged at Harry’s sleeve, pulling him closer until Harry toppled half onto his chest.
“C’mon, love,” Louis murmured with a grin. “I don’t bite.”
Harry laughed, dimples flashing, but he didn’t fight it. He let himself settle into the crook of Louis’ arm, the steady thump of his heart under his ear. By the time the credits rolled, they were fully tangled, Harry tucked against Louis like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“So?” Harry asked, tilting his head up, grin smug. “Still think it’s pathetic?”
Louis sighed, dramatic as ever. “Alright, fine. It was a good movie. Win for you, Styles.”
Harry chuckled, a little too pleased, and nestled back against him. But Louis’ voice came again, softer this time.
“I was wondering…”
Harry groaned playfully. “Ah ah, sounds dangerous.”
Louis pinched his cheek, making him squeak. “Don’t sass me, Curly. I’ve got a feeling there’s more to this charming Harry Styles than everyone sees. And I can’t help but notice…” He paused, thumb brushing over Harry’s jaw, voice low and careful. “…unlike in the café, you’re a little shy here. Am I right, love?”
Harry froze. Not because it was wrong but because it was too right. His chest ached at how gently Louis said it, how he didn’t push, how the question came wrapped in warmth instead of pressure.
And for the first time in years, Harry felt something inside him loosen. His heart swelled, too big for his ribs, and he thought, Christ, this man could ruin me.
But all he said, voice small against Louis’ chest, was: “Yeah. You’re right.”
And he’d never felt safer.
Louis didn’t push. He just held Harry a little tighter, thumb brushing lazy circles over his arm, letting the silence sit until Harry was ready to fill it.
Harry drew in a shaky breath. “Remember I told you I haven’t dated for almost five years?”
Louis nodded, quiet.
“Yeah. Well… Jamie and I were together for about four years.” Harry’s voice was steady at first, though it felt like his chest was caught in a vice. “He was a really good guy. Kind. My parents loved him. We… had everything planned out. He was studying to be a teacher, and I was in culinary school. I’d already decided I wanted the café. After school, we were going to get married. We wanted kids. The whole bloody dream, you know?”
Louis’ hand tightened over his, not in pity, but in quiet understanding.
Harry swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling. “And then one night… he and his family were driving to London. They never made it. Car crash on the motorway. His mum, his dad, Jamie…” His throat closed. “They died on the spot.”
The words cracked in the air between them, too heavy, too final.
“His older brother survived,” Harry went on, softer now, the words tumbling out because if he stopped, he might never start again. “But he couldn’t stay. Packed up and moved to Japan. Said everything here was too full of ghosts. And I… I didn’t blame him. Because for a long time, it felt like that for me too.”
Louis didn’t speak. Didn’t try to fix it, didn’t rush to fill the silence. He just kept his arms wrapped around Harry, steady as stone, warm as home.
And for the first time in four years, Harry let himself say Jamie’s name out loud without choking on it.
Harry exhaled slowly, pressing his cheek against Louis’ shoulder. “It was so hard, you know, Lou. After Jamie. I had to do a lot of therapy. I think this… this Harry Styles persona came out of all that. Kind of a coping mechanism.”
He let out a soft laugh, almost embarrassed. “Flirty, loud, cheeky, easier to be that than to be the shy kid who lost everything. And hey, it’s good for business too.”
Louis’ hand rubbed gently over his arm, grounding him.
“I’ve always been shy,” Harry admitted. “But what happened with Jamie… it changed a lot in me. Made me scared to put myself out there again. For the longest time, the café saved me. It gave me something to pour myself into. It’s my baby.”
His voice softened, but the edge of hurt was still there. “And then with Gemma when her baby’s dad fucked off the second he found out she was pregnant that just put me off men even more. Felt like… what’s the point? Ah and my biological dad too. They leave. They always leave.”
Harry fell quiet, his chest heavy, until he turned his head just enough to catch Louis’ eye. His lips curved into a wry smirk, dimples flickering.
“Until one hot doctor comes along.”
Louis huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes but smiling all the same.
Harry felt the tightness in his chest ease, just a little.
The movie had long since ended, but Harry hadn’t moved from the warmth of Louis’ arms. His chest felt tight, but not in that suffocating way he’d grown used to over the years in a way that felt terrifyingly alive.
“I really, really like you, Lou,” Harry murmured into the quiet. His throat worked as he forced the words out. “I think I’m willing to give you, give us a chance. If you want that too…”
“I never thought I’d get this close to something real,” Harry confessed softly, almost shyly, eyes flicking away before finding Louis’ again. “It’s only our second date, I know, but… with you, I’ve got a really good feeling. Like maybe this could turn into something more. And that” he let out a shaky laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck, “that feels like a pretty big deal for me.”
Louis tipped his chin up, meeting his eyes with a softness that nearly undid him. “I’d love that too, love,” he said, steady and sure. Then, quieter, almost shy, “I’d love to have my own family one day.”
Harry’s heart lurched. He wanted to ask God, he wanted to but the words stuck like glue in his throat. His brain spun, wheels turning so loud Louis must have felt it.
“Haz,” Louis whispered, tilting his head with a knowing smirk. “I can see your wheels turning. What is it?”
Harry’s face burned hot. His palms were damp where they rested on Louis’ jumper, and every instinct screamed at him to laugh it off, change the subject, hide.
But he’d promised himself no more masks. No more running.
So he swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “Are you… are you a carrier, Lou?”
The words hung between them, fragile and electric. Harry’s cheeks were crimson, curls falling into his eyes as he braced for Louis’ reaction. Louis didn’t even flinch when Harry asked it the shy, whispered question that carried so much weight. He just kept stroking his thumb over Harry’s hand, steady.
“No, darling,” Louis said softly, his voice sure. “I’m not.”
Harry held his gaze, green eyes wide and unblinking. For a moment Louis thought that was the end of it until Harry let out a shaky breath and whispered, “I am.”
He could fell Louis’ chest tightened.
Harry didn’t look away, didn’t give him time to fill the silence. “I’m a carrier, Lou.” His voice was quiet, but steady now, a kind of bravery in it. “And I’ve never said that out loud to anyone . Not since Jamie. You’re the first.”
Louis’ heart ached, but not from fear. From the sheer courage it must’ve taken Harry to say it, to stare right into his eyes as if daring him to flinch.
He didn’t.
Instead, Louis cupped Harry’s cheek, thumb brushing over the warm skin flushed crimson. “Haz,” he murmured, soft but certain, “thank you for telling me. That doesn’t scare me off. Not even close.”
Harry’s eyes shimmered, his dimples tugging faintly as if he wanted to believe him, wanted to trust it.
And Louis made sure his voice left no room for doubt. “If anything, it just makes me like you more. Because you trusted me with it.”
They stayed curled up for a while longer, Harry pressed into Louis’ chest, Louis’ arm looped tight around him like he belonged there. Neither said much they didn’t need to. The steady rhythm of Louis’ breathing, the warmth of his jumper under Harry’s cheek, it was enough.
Eventually Louis shifted, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s hair. “I should go, love. Got an early start tomorrow.”
Harry’s chest squeezed. He didn’t want to let go yet. Not of this, not of him. He tightened his hold just slightly, face still tucked into the crook of Louis’ neck.
“Will you kiss me, Lou?” Harry whispered.
Louis didn’t hesitate. He tilted Harry’s chin up and closed the gap, lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow, deep, and devastatingly gentle.
Harry melted into it, hands curling in Louis’ jumper, his whole world narrowing to the warmth of that mouth, the sure press of lips against his. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hungry. It was steady, certain, saying more than either of them could put into words yet.
When they finally broke apart, Harry’s forehead rested against Louis’, his eyes fluttering shut. He felt lighter, freer, like something that had been locked away in him for years had just cracked open.
That kiss had said it all — I see you. I want you. You’re safe with me.
And Harry thought, dazed and breathless: maybe this really was the start of something.

Harry shut the door behind Louis, back pressed against the wood as his chest rose and fell. His lips still tingled, his heart still hammered, and his brain was spinning so fast he thought he might be sick.
He’d kissed Louis. Louis had kissed him back. And it wasn’t just a kiss. It was everything Harry had tried to convince himself he’d never want again.
He needed to talk to someone.
The first thought was Gemma, but he shoved it aside almost instantly. Gemma was brilliant, but she was heavily pregnant and needed her sleep. His mum and Robin were out of the question too — he didn’t want to wake them, didn’t want to unload when they had their own lives to worry about.
Which left one person.
Zayn.
Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, phone glowing in the dark as he typed.
Drop by the café after work tomorrow?
Simple. No details. Z would get it. He always did.
The three little dots appeared almost instantly, then: Yeah. What’s up?
Harry stared at the screen for a beat, then typed back: Just need you. I’ll explain tomorrow.
Another reply came: Alright. Don’t lose sleep over it, Haz. We’ll talk.
Harry set the phone down, curled under the covers, and finally let out the breath he’d been holding all night.
He’d talk to Zayn tomorrow. For now, he let himself drift off with Louis’ kiss still lingering on his lips.

The kettle had just clicked off and Harry was halfway through his first tea of the day when he heard his front door open.
Only one person would have the audacity.
Sure enough, Zayn appeared in the kitchen a second later, a paper bag of pastries in hand. He didn’t even bother with hello. Just marched over, plucked the mug out of Harry’s hand, and set it down on the counter.
“Alright,” Zayn said, sharp but fond. “Spill. Couldn’t wait till after noon. I’ve got work. So for once in your fucking life, Styles, talk and talk fast, yeah? None of your slow-as-molasses shit.”
Harry blinked at him, curls messy, mouth half-open. He hadn’t even said a word yet.
Zayn raised a brow, already unpacking croissants like he owned the place. “Don’t just stand there gaping. I didn’t drag my arse here at eight in the morning to watch you brood into your tea.”
Harry groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “Jesus, Z.”
“Haz,” Zayn warned, smirk tugging at his lips. “Croissant’s yours if you spill. If not, I eat it.”
Harry slumped into the nearest chair, staring at the pastry like it held all the answers. His chest was still buzzing from last night, lips still tingling. He wanted to laugh, to cry, to run, to cling.
Finally, with a sigh, he lifted his eyes to his best mate. “I kissed him.”
Zayn’s smirk widened, smug and knowing. “About fucking time.”
Harry’s fingers worried the edge of the pastry bag, his eyes fixed on the table. He could feel Zayn’s gaze on him, sharp but patient, waiting.
“Z…” Harry’s voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. “You know how big this is for me. I haven’t. not since Jamie.”
The air shifted. The name hung heavy between them, familiar and fragile.
Zayn’s smirk faded, his jaw tightening. He didn’t need reminding. Jamie had been his mate too. He’d been there in the aftermath, holding Harry up when he could barely stand, sitting with him through nights that seemed endless. It had been a dark time for all of them.
Still staring at his lap, Harry forced the words out. “I know it’s just the second date, but… he might be the one, Z.”
Silence. Then, slowly, Harry lifted his eyes and saw Zayn’s glistening, wet at the corners.
“Ah, Babe…” Zayn’s voice was rough, but soft. “I’m so fucking happy for you.”
Harry swallowed hard, chest aching as Zayn stood and pulled him into a hug. He clung back, burying his face into Zayn’s shoulder.
“You know,” Zayn murmured into his neck, “Jamie would want this for you. He’d want you happy.”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, nodding into the crook of his best mate’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Yeah, I know.”
And for the first time in years, saying it didn’t feel like betrayal. It felt like breathing again.

Chapter Text

Louis woke to his phone buzzing against the nightstand. He groaned, dragged a hand across his face, and answered without looking.
“’Lo?”
“OMG, Lou! You forgot to check the time.”
His heart lurched. “What time is it?”
There was a pause, then a laugh. “Ah, let me check the time…ah it’s almost six a.m. Don’t you have to go to work?”
Louis groaned louder into the phone. “You better have a fucking good reason for calling me at arse o’clock in the morning, Charlotte.”
“Oh, Lou, wait, let me check my flights again.” The sound of rustling papers and typing filled the line. “Yes! Okay, so next week, I’ve got a layover in London. Just over forty-eight hours. Mum and Dad are coming down, so you have to come too. Haven’t seen you in, like, three months.”
Louis rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up. “I’ll have to check my roster, but text me the dates and I’ll try and make it.”
“Good. You’d better.”
They slipped into easy chatter after that, the kind only siblings could have teasing, comfortable, layered with affection. And then, of course, Lottie pounced.
“So. Tell me about Harry.”
Louis snorted, burying his face in his pillow. “What about him?”
“Oh, don’t play coy with me. I can hear it in your voice, Lou. You’re different.”
Louis sighed, but he couldn’t stop the little smile tugging at his lips. “He makes me feel… at ease. Like I can just breathe around him. I never had that with..” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.
“With your dick of an ex,” Lottie finished for him. “Yeah, I know. He never deserved you anyway. But this Harry? Sounds like a good one. Can’t wait to meet him in real life.”
Louis rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, his chest warm. “Yeah. Me too.”

Harry ☕️ (Haz): Morning, Doc 🌞
Harry ☕️ (Haz): Did you sleep well? Or did you dream about me again 😏
Louis 👨‍⚕️: Morning, Curly.
Louis 👨‍⚕️: You’re insufferable.
Harry ☕️ (Haz): So that’s a yes then 😂
Louis 👨‍⚕️: No. I dreamt I finally got a proper lie-in without you nicking half the duvet.
Harry ☕️ (Haz): Bold of you to assume you’d ever get the duvet back once I’ve got it 👀
Louis 👨‍⚕️: Christ. Remind me why I’m putting up with this?
Harry ☕️ (Haz): Because you like me.
Harry ☕️ (Haz): A lot.
Louis 👨‍⚕️: 🙄 Shift started at 7, Haz.
Louis 👨‍⚕️: I’ll see you later sometime today, yeah? Need to get ready for rounds.

When Louis finally checked his phone again, it was almost past 10. Harry had left a handful of new messages:
Harry ☕️ (Haz): What time’s your lunch today?
Harry ☕️ (Haz): Think you can sneak out for some fresh air?
Harry ☕️ (Haz): Got a little surprise for you 👀
Louis grinned at his screen, thumbs flying:
Louis 👨‍⚕️: Lunch around 12. Got a bit over an hour.
Harry replied instantly.
Harry ☕️ (Haz): Perfect. Meet me by the lawn next to the main cafeteria?
Harry ☕️ (Haz): You’ll be able to find it, right Doc? Or do I need to send you a map? 😂
Louis 👨‍⚕️: I’ll manage just fine, smart arse.
Before slipping his phone back into his pocket, Louis smirked to himself and quickly edited Harry’s contact — swapping out the little bunny for a coffee cup and changing his name to Haz.

Louis spotted him straight away.
Harry sat on the grass, loose jeans and a faded band tee hanging off his frame, curls braided back into two neat French plaits that somehow made him look even more unfairly handsome. He was typing furiously on his phone, long fingers flying, a small picnic mat spread beneath him with what looked like a little hamper at his side.
“Hi, love,” Louis called as he approached.
Harry looked up, dimples popping instantly, and Louis couldn’t help himself. He reached down, poked one with his finger, then leaned in and kissed him on the lips before settling beside him.
That was new. Ever since their night at Harry’s, it felt like something had flipped now they kissed all the time, any chance they got. And Louis loved it.
“What’s all this, Haz?” he asked, gesturing to the mat, the hamper.
Harry shrugged, grin easy. “It’s a nice day. Thought I’d surprise you. Change things up a bit.”
Louis’ heart clenched. “I love it.”
Harry started unpacking, pulling out containers and setting them between them: a beef stir-fry with rice, neatly cut fruit on the side. Louis’ stomach growled instantly.
As Harry worked, Louis leaned in, eyes tracing over the braids. “Love your hair today,” he said, soft but sincere.
Harry ducked his head with a shy smile. “Gemma did it this morning.”
“Tell her she’s bloody talented,” Louis said, digging in once Harry handed him a container. One bite in, his eyes widened. “This is incredible. You keep feeding me like this, Haz, I’ll never bother cooking again.”
Harry laughed, dimples flashing. “like you ever bother cooking?”. Well he has a point.
Between bites, Louis asked, “How come you’re out at lunch, anyway? Thought the café had you chained up.”
“Mum and Gemma practically kicked me out,” Harry said, rolling his eyes fondly. “We’ve got a new lad trying out for Gem’s spot while she’s off, and she wanted to see how he’d handle the lunch rush. Apparently, I was getting in the way.”
Louis chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course you were.”
They ate a little more in comfortable silence before Louis glanced up, remembering. “Oh speaking of family. Lottie’s got a layover in London next week. Mum and Dad are going too. I’m planning to head down on my day off, spend a bit of time with them.”
Harry’s face softened instantly, eyes warm. “That sounds perfect, Lou.”
Louis smiled around his fork, feeling that steady warmth spread through him again. Harry’s food, Harry’s dimples, Harry’s quiet thoughtfulness. It was all so simple, and somehow it was everything he’d ever wanted.
When the food was finished and the last strawberry eaten, Louis leaned back on his hands with a little sigh. “Ah, speaking of my diva of a sister,” he started, smirking. “The other day I was in the shops because Lottie swears there are certain things she can only find in the UK. She sends me these bloody lists, insists she doesn’t want to waste her precious time off tracking down mascara or face masks or whatever else she’s run out of.”
Harry chuckled, eyes glinting. “Sounds about right.”
“Anyway,” Louis went on, reaching into his scrub pocket. “While I was at Boots grabbing half the skincare aisle for her, I found this.” He pulled out a tiny bottle of nail polish, holding it up so it caught the sunlight. A pale, iridescent green shimmer.
Harry tilted his head, curls falling into his face.
Louis’ lips curved. “Reminded me of your eyes. So I had to get it.”
Harry’s face went pink, dimples popping, his whole body lighting up like someone had flicked a switch. “Lou…” he breathed, voice soft.
Louis shrugged, playing it off but unable to stop the smile tugging at his mouth. “You don’t have anything on right now, do you?”
Harry shook his head, some loos curls bouncing.
“Can I put it on you, love?”
Harry nodded furiously, sticking his hand out like a kid offering a sweet.
Louis laughed, shaking his head as he took Harry’s hand gently in his own. “You should know, I’m a bit out of practice. Used to do this for Lottie all the time, but it’s been years.”
Harry’s eyes softened, watching him closely as Louis twisted the cap open. “Don’t care. Want you to do it.”
Louis’ chest warmed as he carefully painted the first nail, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. Harry sat impossibly still, dimples threatening as he fought a smile, letting Louis hold his hand like it was something precious.
And for the first time in a long time, Louis realised he wasn’t just falling for the dimples, or the curls, or the cheeky banter. He was falling for this the quiet, simple moments that felt like home.

Louis finished his shift early, clocking out at three. He hadn’t seen Harry all day, though one of his colleagues who practically lived at Coffee Style had delivered him a neatly packed lunch with Harry’s handwriting on the lid. Eat this, Doc. No excuses. It had made Louis grin like a fool through the rest of his rounds.
Now showered and changed, he didn’t even think about going home first. He had to see his boy before leaving.
The café was quieter than usual when Louis pushed the door open. Harry was tucked into a corner table, curls piled into a messy knot, a steaming mug by his elbow and his laptop open in front of him. His admin face on brows furrowed, lips pursed, like he was fighting with spreadsheets instead of coffee beans.
Harry looked up as the bell above the door chimed. The pout started instantly. “Lou.”
Louis’ chest squeezed at the sight. He crossed the room quickly, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Harry’s lips. “Hey, Haz.”
Harry barely let him straighten before mumbling, pout deepening, “I’m gonna miss you.”
“I know,” Louis admitted, hand brushing against his jaw. “Me too, love.”
For the last couple of months, they’d seen each other almost every day. him going to London would be the first time they’d be apart since they’d started dating properly.
“Thank you for lunch,” Louis added, smiling as he brushed his thumb over Harry’s cheek. “Delicious as always.”
Harry’s lips quirked into a dimpled smile.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” Louis promised. “Friday I’ve got a late shift — I’ll come straight from London, okay? If I’ve got time before, I’ll pop in and say hello.”
Harry nodded, curls falling into his eyes.
Louis glanced at the time and sighed. “I better head out before rush hour starts, darling.”
They hugged, tighter than necessary, Harry burying his face into Louis’ neck.
“Gonna miss you,” Harry said again, muffled.
Louis pressed a kiss into his curls. “I’ll text you every chance I get. Promise .”
Harry pulled back just enough to kiss him again, slow and lingering. “Enjoy your time with your family. Just… text me when you get to the hotel, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Louis said, smiling even as his chest ached. “I will, love.”
And with one last squeeze, he tore himself away, already counting down the hours until he’d see Harry’s dimples again.
By the time Louis made it to the hotel in London, his parents and Lottie were already there. He barely had time to drop his bag before he was pulled into hugs first Mum, then Dad, then Lottie squeezing the life out of him.
“God, I’ve missed you,” Jay whispered, holding on a second longer than usual. Louis breathed her in, safe and steady. After everything the chemo, the nights by her bedside, the fear of losing her these moments together weren’t just nice. They were sacred.
They all knew it. Which was why every hug lingered, every smile came easy, and every laugh over dinner was that bit louder.
They sprawled in the hotel room for hours, tea mugs and biscuits scattered across the table, swapping stories. Lottie had them in stitches with tales from her flights a passenger who’d tried to stuff a live parrot in his carry-on, another who’d fallen asleep mid-proposal over the intercom.
It wasn’t long before the conversation shifted, though. Jay’s gaze lingered on Louis, soft but knowing. “You look really well, love. Even with all the shifts at the hospital.”
Louis’ ears went pink. He ducked his head, fiddling with his mug. “Might have help with that.”
Lottie pounced instantly, grinning wide. “Harry help?”
Mum’s brows lifted. “Harry?”
Louis sighed, though the smile tugging at his mouth gave him away. “Yeah. He’s… he’s something. Never lets me near vending machines or dodgy takeaway anymore. Always packs me food. Looks after me.”
Mark chuckled, eyes warm. “He sounds lovely, Lou. Can’t wait to meet him.”
Louis felt his chest swell.
Then his mum leaned forward, eyes glistening. “Does it feel right, Boo?” she asked gently.
He couldn’t even stop the smile. “So much.” His throat thickened as he said it, and by the time Jay blinked, there were tears on her cheeks.
“Mum,” Louis said softly, squeezing her hand.
She only smiled through it, shaking her head. “Happy tears, love.”
“Alright, enough mush,” Lottie cut in, waving her phone. “Show me a picture. Now.”
Louis hesitated, scrolling through his camera roll until he found the shot he’d snapped at their picnic on the hospital lawn. Harry sitting cross-legged on the blanket, hair braided back, laughing at something Louis had said.
He handed it over.
Lottie took one look and practically screamed. “Oh my GOD. Mum, look at him. he’s so fucking hot. And cute. Like a cupcake. A hot cupcake!”
“Lottie,” Louis groaned, burying his face in his hands.
But Mum had already leaned in, cooing softly. “He really is beautiful, Lou. He looks kind.”
Mark nodded, smiling at the photo. “You two look good together. Properly good.”
Louis peeked up, cheeks blazing but heart full, because hearing them say it — seeing them smile about Harry — made it all feel even more real.

Dinner had been easy and warm, full of chatter and laughter spilling over their plates. Afterward, they’d walked the streets of London as a family, taking in the glow of the city at night. Eventually, Mum and Dad stopped at a corner, exchanging a knowing glance.
“We’ll head back to the hotel,” Jay said, giving Louis a quick squeeze. “You and Lottie have some time together.”
“Don’t stay out too late,” Mark added with a smile.
Which of course meant do exactly that.
So Louis and Lottie wandered until they stumbled across a tucked-away jazz bar, the kind of place that smelled faintly of red wine and old wood. They snagged a little table near the stage, ordered a bottle to share, and before the first glass was half gone, Lottie leaned forward, eyes sparkling.
“Right,” she declared, resting her chin on her hand. “Give me the Goss now. I need all of it. Don’t you dare leave anything out.”
Louis laughed, shaking his head, but the wine and the music loosened his tongue. He told her about Harry.how he’d met him, how he was all dimples and cheek at the café, how the banter had become habit. He told her about the picnic, the lasagna, the little ways Harry never let him go hungry, how he’d taken to slipping food into his hands like it was second nature.
And then, because he couldn’t not, Louis told her Harry’s story too. About Jamie. About Gemma. About how all of it had shaped him into this shy, brave, flirty contradiction of a man.
Lottie’s eyes glistened more than once, though she tried to hide it behind her glass.
Finally, Louis let the last bit out almost in a whisper. “He told me he’s a carrier.”
Lottie’s head snapped up, catching it instantly. “Oh my God, Lou.” Her eyes widened, then narrowed into a grin. “He can carry all your babies too? What are you waiting for? Why aren’t you married to him yet?”
Louis laughed, loud and carefree, the sound echoing over the low hum of saxophone. “Christ, Lotts.”
But his chest felt warm, full, and lighter than it had in years.
They stayed until nearly dawn, talking and laughing, drinking good wine and spilling old stories and new dreams. And Louis thought, not for the first time, how much he’d missed this his sister’s chaos, her heart, the way she saw straight through him.
Louis made sure to text Harry every couple of hours. Nothing fancy, just quick little check-ins: a photo of Mum laughing at something Dad said, a snap of Lottie pulling faces in the shop mirror, a random street musician strumming guitar in Covent Garden.
Every time, Harry replied fast, like he was waiting for it. Cute family. You look good. Wish I was there.

The next morning, Louis called him before they all headed out again.
Harry’s voice was still gravelly with sleep, curls a mess. “Gonna miss your face today,” he mumbled.
Louis chuckled softly, warmth pooling in his chest. “Miss yours too, love.”
“Gonna be a busy one,” Harry added with a sigh. “No Gem today, her legs are swollen, so Mum’s making her rest. Place will be chaos.”
“You’ll manage,” Louis said firmly. “You always do. Text me if you get swamped, yeah?”
Harry hummed, quiet, then softer: “Can’t wait till you’re home.”
Louis smiled, heart aching a little. “Me neither, Haz.”

Lottie was in her element, dragging Louis through the fancier end of Oxford Street and beyond glossy windows, polished marble floors, shops with more staff than customers. She claimed she “needed perfume for work” and “boots that could survive turbulence,” but Louis knew it was just her excuse to snoop around London’s high-end boutiques.
He trailed behind her into one of the sleeker shops, barely paying attention, until something caught his eye.
A shirt.
Sheer, soft, with a delicate pattern that managed to be bold and elegant at the same time. The kind of piece that wasn’t just clothing it was a statement. And it screamed Harry Styles.
Louis stopped dead, staring at it. He could already see it: Harry in that shirt, curls loose, rings glittering, smiling that devastating dimpled smile because he’d know exactly the effect he was having.
Without thinking twice, Louis picked it up and brought it to the till.
When he slipped the bag into Lottie’s pile of shopping, she narrowed her eyes immediately. “Alright, What’s that?”
Louis smirked, trying to play it off, though his ears burned. “That’s no one’s business but mine.”
Lottie’s laugh echoed through the shop, drawing a few curious looks. “Oh my God, Lou. Harry is gonna love it. You buying him designer sheer shirts now? Jesus Christ. Naver thought I would see the day”
Louis chuckled, shaking his head, but his chest felt warm and fizzy all at once. Because he couldn’t wait to see Harry’s face when he handed it over and, better yet, to see Harry wearing it.
That night, before heading out to dinner with his family, Louis shot Harry a quick text. How’s my Haz holding up? Miss your face. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
No reply.
He frowned at his phone, but then Lottie swept him into conversation about Mum and Dad’s next anniversary apparently, they were planning some big trip to Africa, and before long he was too busy laughing at her commentary on “hot safari guides” to think about it.
By the time they made it back to the hotel and crawled into bed, it was late. Still no reply from Harry. Louis stared at the screen for a minute, then set it down with a sigh. Haz had warned him it was a busy day without Gemma; he’d probably just fallen asleep.
“See you tomorrow, Curly,” Louis muttered to himself before switching off the lamp.

Morning came with sunlight streaming through the curtains. Louis rolled over, stretching, still groggy. No alarm set just a lazy breakfast planned before heading back to Manchester.
After the loo, he finally reached for his phone. Two unread messages lit up the screen, both from Harry.
The first, time-stamped 3:07 a.m.:
Harry ☕️ (Haz): Lou, we came to the hospital. Gem’s having the baby.
The second, 5:12 a.m.:
Harry ☕️ (Haz): I know you’re asleep, but I wanted you to know she had the baby. They’re both well. You’re the first person I wanted to tell, so yeah. Sorry for texting so early, I know you’re not even home yet. But… see you today?
Louis’ breath caught.
His heart thumped against his ribs, and before he could stop it, he was grinning so wide his cheeks ached. Harry in the middle of one of the biggest night of his life had thought of him first.
Clutching his phone, Louis whispered to the empty room, “Christ, Haz.”
As soon as Louis finished reading Harry’s texts, he hit call. It rang out. No answer.
His chest felt tight with impatience. He dressed quickly, ran a hand through his hair, and forced himself down to breakfast with the family.
The moment he sat, he blurted it out. “Harry’s sister had the baby.” His smile gave him away. “I might head out a bit earlier than planned.”
Before anyone could answer, his phone buzzed in his hand. Harry.
He answered in a rush. “H?”
Harry’s voice was breathless, bubbling with joy. “Hey, Lou. Oh my God, Lou, he’s so, so cute. I might just steal him from Gemma.”
Louis laughed, relief flooding him. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s sleeping. We’re with her.” Harry’s voice softened, but the excitement never dipped. “Will you come visit?”
Louis hesitated. He knew not everyone liked visitors straight after giving birth. “Will Gemma be alright if I come?”
“Of course, Lou. Drop by if you’ve got time before your shift. Please.”
Louis’ lips curved. “Okay. I’ll let you go, don’t want to waste your time with your family. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”
Harry exhaled, warmth spilling through the line. “Yeah. Missed you, Lou.”
“Missed you too, Haz.”
The call ended, and Louis turned back to the table to find his whole family staring at him with matching smirks.
“What?” he demanded.
Jay shook her head, smiling knowingly. “You’re proper gone for that boy, Boo Bear.”
Louis groaned, covering his face with his hand. “I might head out a bit earlier than planned.”
Lottie snorted into her tea. “Yeah, we figured.”
The table erupted into laughter, and Louis couldn’t even argue. Because they were right. He was gone. Properly, hopelessly gone.

Chapter Text

The hospital room was chaos in the best possible way.
Gemma was propped up in bed, pale but glowing, her hair tied back and a tiny bundle cradled against her chest. Mum fussed over her like a mother hen, adjusting blankets that didn’t need adjusting, while Robin hovered nearby, trying to figure out how to work the bloody hospital kettle.
Harry couldn’t stop grinning. His cheeks hurt, his chest ached in the best way. Every time he looked at his nephew, his nephew. his heart flipped over. He was perfect. Tiny fists, soft whimpers, the faintest scrunch of a nose.
“Harry, sit down,” Gemma muttered, smiling tiredly. “You’re pacing.”
Harry froze mid-step. “Am I? Sorry. Just..he’s so…” He trailed off, dimples popping as he stared at the baby again. “So fucking cute, Gem. I might actually steal him.”
Gemma laughed, then winced slightly. “You’d have to fight me for him.”
“Not a fair fight,” Harry said, but gently reached out to adjust the blanket around the baby’s tiny head. “Look at him, Gem. He’s perfect.”
Anne was wiping her eyes again, and Robin had finally produced a cup of tea for her, though most of it had sloshed over the rim.
It was wonderful, but exhausting, and after a couple of hours, Gemma was dozing, baby tucked safe in the bassinet by her bed.
“Come on, love,” Robin said softly, laying a hand on Anne’s shoulder. “Let’s let Gemma rest. We’ll head back for a bit. H can stay here.”
Anne leaned over to kiss Gemma’s forehead before brushing Harry’s curls back like he was still twelve. “Don’t forget to rest yourself too, sweetheart.”
Harry rolled his eyes but kissed her cheek. “Go on, Mum. I’ll be fine.”
When they left, the room finally quieted, the low hum of machines and Gemma’s even breathing filling the space. Harry sank into the chair by the bed, eyes flicking to the baby in the bassinet.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and whispered, “Welcome to the world, little man. You’ve got no idea how loved you already are.”
And, though he’d never admit it out loud not yet, he couldn’t wait for Louis to meet him.

Harry was lost in it. the weight of his nephew in his arms, the tiny noises, the perfect little scrunch of his face. He couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop grinning. His chest felt too small for the swell of it.
The soft creak of the door pulled his eyes up. And then there he was.
Louis. Fresh from London, still windswept from the drive, already changed into his scrubs, ready for his shift. In his hands, he carried the biggest bunch of baby’s breath Harry had ever seen.
For a second, Harry forgot how to breathe. “Oh my God… Lou came.” Harry wisped.
Louis’ smile was soft, steady. “Of course I did, love. Sorry it took forever.”
Harry’s throat went tight, dimples threatening even as his eyes burned. He nodded down at the bundle in his arms. “Come look. He’s so, so cute.”
Louis glanced at Gemma still asleep, worn out and set the flowers carefully on her bed. Then he crossed the room, leaned down, and kissed Harry like it was the most natural thing in the world. Quick, soft, but enough to make Harry’s heart stutter. Their eyes lingered after, holding, speaking without words.
For one dizzy second, Harry wanted to say it, I can’t wait to have a baby with you one day. Too soon. Way too soon. But Louis’ gaze was warm, knowing, like he already understood.
The baby let out a tiny noise, pulling them both back. Harry chuckled, brushing his thumb over the soft blanket. “Do you want to hold him, Lou?”
Louis nodded, eyes wide. Harry shifted carefully, passing the baby into his arms, slow and deliberate. He watched as Louis stared down at the newborn, awe written all over his face, cradling him like he was holding the whole world.
And then Louis looked up, eyes shining, and whispered, “Be my boyfriend?”
Harry blinked. Mouth dropped open. For a heartbeat, the words didn’t register. “What?”
Louis swallowed. “Be my boyfriend. I know it’s too soon and all, but..”
Harry cut him off, hands cradling Louis’ face before he could talk himself out of it. “Of course, Lou. I’d love to be your boyfriend.”
Their lips met, careful and tender, as if the kiss could hold all the words they weren’t ready to say out loud. When they pulled apart, their foreheads stayed pressed together, Harry’s grin unstoppable, his chest aching in the best way.
Louis leaned in again—
And someone cleared their throat.
They both whipped around to find Gemma awake, smirk firmly in place. “Well,” she rasped, eyes sparkling, “isn’t this bloody precious?”
Harry groaned, face burning as he buried it in his hands. Louis only laughed, still cradling the baby close, and Harry thought, dazed and completely gone, boyfriend.
Louis shifted carefully, passing the baby back into Harry’s arms. He leaned over Gemma’s bed, handing the flowers to Gemma and pulling her into a gentle hug.
“How’s everything been?” he asked softly.
Gemma smiled, tired but glowing. “Good. Bit rough, but worth it. Mum’s been fussing like mad, obviously. But we’re fine.”
Louis nodded, eyes soft. “I can see that. I’m Sure you did amazing, Gem.”
She squeezed his hand, then glanced between the two of them, mischief lighting up her face. “So… boyfriends?”
Harry’s cheeks went hot, and he blinked at her. “Gem..”
“Yep,” Louis cut in smoothly, sliding a hand along Harry’s back in a warm, steady touch. He looked so bloody sure of it Harry’s heart nearly burst.
Gemma grinned. “You two are too cute, you know that?”
Harry groaned, hiding his smile in the baby’s blanket, but Louis only chuckled, thumb drawing absent circles at the base of his spine.
They chatted a while longer — Gemma filling them in on the whirlwind of the last 24 hours, how quickly things had escalated, how relieved she was that everything had gone smoothly in the end.
Finally, Louis tilted his head. “So… does he have a name yet?”
Gemma’s smile softened as she looked over at her son. “Yeah. Theodore Styles.”
Harry’s chest squeezed. Hearing it aloud made it real in a way nothing else had. Theodore Styles. His nephew.
Louis leaned down, brushing a fingertip gently along the edge of the tiny blanket. “It suits him.”
Harry looked at him, dimples flickering through the exhaustion and joy. And for just a moment, holding Theo close, Louis’ hand warm against his back.
The room was quiet for a moment, just the soft hum of machines and Theo’s tiny breaths in his crib. Then the door opened again, and in came Anne and Robin, their eyes immediately landing on Louis.
Louis straightened a little, about to greet them. Probably with some polite doctor line but Harry wasn’t having it.
He gently set Theo back into the crib, turned to face his family, and lifted his hand. “Wait.”
Every head in the room snapped toward him in confusion.
Harry cleared his throat, dimples threatening as he fought to keep a straight face. “Mum, Robin… I want to formally introduce you to my boyfriend, Dr. Louis Tomlinson.”
The silence lasted all of half a second.
Gemma groaned dramatically, flopping back into her pillows. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Haz, really?”
Anne and Robin, on the other hand, burst out laughing. Anne’s eyes shone as she shook her head fondly.
Louis rolled his eyes, though his cheeks flushed pink. “Just Louis is fine H. Dramatic much?”
“Always,” Harry shot back with a grin.
Anne crossed the room and pulled Louis into a tight hug before he could protest. She whispered against his ear, “I’m so happy he found you, Louis.”
Louis’ voice was soft but sure when he replied, “I’m the lucky one, Anne.”
When Robin followed, clapping him on the back, Harry swore he’d never seen his stepdad smile so wide.
And as Harry watched Louis standing there scrubs slightly rumpled, cheeks pink, smiling at his family like he belonged his chest ached with something big, something terrifying, and something absolutely right.

Time had a way of slipping by.
Before either of them really noticed, weeks had turned into months of stolen hours and slow mornings. Dates that bled into nights on each other’s sofas, cooking dinner side by side, movie marathons that ended with one of them asleep on the other’s chest.
The sexual tension was always there, simmering just under the surface every kiss a little hungrier, every brush of fingers down a spine sparking heat. But they never let it tip too far.
In the early days, Harry had told him straight out, I want to really know you before we get tangled up in everything else. Louis had agreed immediately. They’d both been burned before, neither wanting to ruin something good by rushing it.
Now, though… now Harry felt ready. He wanted Louis in every way, and not just in his kitchen or curled up on his sofa. But he had no bloody clue how to bring it up.
On a rare Sunday off, they decided to keep things simple. no plans except breakfast at one of Louis’ favourite spots. Theo was three months old now, the café was finally steady with the new staff, and Harry could actually breathe again.
He stirred his tea absentmindedly, watching Louis butter his toast with that concentration that always made Harry smile. Something bubbled up in his chest, and before he could stop himself, he spoke.
“Hey, Lou?”
Louis glanced up, eyes soft. “Yeah, baby?”
Harry cleared his throat, nerves buzzing. “You know… I noticed Niall came into the café a few times last week. Didn’t seem like himself. Is he okay?”
Louis sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. It’s that boy of his, Shawn. You know how it’s always been on again, off again? Well, Shawn finally came out properly, which was brilliant for them both. But now his management’s piling on. They want his album done and him out on tour ASAP. Stressing him out. Stressing Niall out too.”
Harry’s heart twisted. He’d always liked Niall. cheeky, loyal, solid. Seeing him unsettled wasn’t right. “That’s rough.”
“Yeah,” Louis agreed, sipping his coffee. “They’d planned some proper time together after he came out, but looks like that’s gone out the window. Ni’s putting on a brave face, but it’s eating at him.”
Harry reached across the table, brushing his fingers lightly against Louis’. “You’re good to keep an eye on him, love.”
Louis smiled, squeezing his hand once. “Course. He’s family.”
Harry tilted his head, curious. “So… what is Shawn, then? Like, a singer?”
Louis smirked. “You might even know him. Shawn Mendes?”
Harry nearly choked on his tea. “Oh my God, yes! Of course I know him.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, Lou. You never mentioned that.”
“How’d they even meet?” Harry asked, eyes wide with surprise.
“They go way back,” Louis said. “Uni days. Shawn was just playing in pubs back then. We ran into him on one of those rare nights out we managed in med school. He and Niall just… clicked, you know? Been in and out of each other’s lives ever since.”
Harry’s brows shot up. “That’s mad.”
Louis nodded, eyes soft. “I’ve got faith in them. They’ll end up together, I’m sure of it.”
Harry smiled at that, a warmth spreading in his chest. The way Louis talked about love steady, sure, hopeful it made Harry’s heart squeeze. He couldn’t help but think he wanted that kind of certainty with Louis, too.
It had been one of those perfect days.
The kind where nothing monumental happened, but everything felt charmed anyway. They wandered through the market hand in hand, Louis teasing him mercilessly over the basket of organic, gourmet bits Harry insisted on buying.
“Who the fuck spends six quid on olive oil, Haz?” Louis laughed, stealing a kiss against his cheek as Harry tried to look indignant.
“People with taste, that’s who,” Harry shot back, though he was already smiling too hard to sell it.
Every moment felt easy, natural, threaded through with kisses and pet names and the quiet kind of joy that made Harry’s chest ache. He was sure of it now he was falling for this man. His perfect Lou.
By the time dinner was cooked and eaten, they were side by side at the sink, sleeves rolled up, water running as they washed the dishes together. Louis hummed softly under his breath, something careless and familiar, and Harry thought, If I don’t say it now, I never will.
He dried his hands on a tea towel, heart thundering, and blurted, “Lou… I think I’m ready. To, um—” He swallowed. “To take us to the next level. Intimate, I mean.”
Louis stilled, eyes flicking to him, steady and warm. “Yeah?”
Harry nodded quickly, curls falling into his face. “I haven’t been on birth control in a long time, but… I want to start again. If we’re going to do this.”
Louis’ lips curved, soft and reassuring. “Baby, we can do that if you want. But I’m happy to use condoms. Whatever makes you feel safe.”
Harry shifted, nerves twisting in his stomach. It wasn’t just that. It wasn’t that at all. “I…” He faltered, struggling to find the words, cheeks burning.
Louis touched his wrist lightly. “Hey. Don’t hold back with me. I’m a doctor after all. don’t be shy. Its all part of human nature, Say what’s on your mind.”
Harry’s throat went dry. He looked up, meeting Louis’ eyes, and whispered, “When we do… when we finally have sex, I want to feel you. No barriers. Nothing in between us.”
The words hung heavy in the quiet kitchen, raw and terrifying, but also honest.
Louis’ eyes softened, something fierce and tender all at once shining there. He didn’t answer right away just stepped closer, brushing his thumb along Harry’s jaw, letting the silence stretch between them like a promise.
Finally, Louis’ voice came, low and steady. “Of course, my love.”
Harry’s chest nearly gave out with relief. His lips twitched nervously, and before he could stop himself, he blurted, “I… might’ve bought the pills already.”
Louis’ brows shot up, then he smirked. “You horny bastard.” He shook his head, amused. “What am I going to do with you?”
Harry laughed, cheeks blazing. “Hopefully a lot.”
Louis chuckled, then pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth, voice softer now. “Not tonight. I want to make it perfect for you Love. Okay?”
Harry nodded, heart thudding. “Okay.”
And as Louis pulled him into his arms, Harry thought he’d never been more grateful for patience, for love, for the chance to get it right this time.

The perfect day came exactly a week later.
Harry had been counting down, nerves and excitement twining in his chest like live wires. That afternoon, while Louis was finishing his shift, Harry finally sent the text he’d been working up the courage for.
Harry ☕️: Since you’ve got a late shift tomorrow… fancy a sleepover tonight? 😉❤️
He stared at the screen, heart hammering. Please get the hint, Lou.
The reply came quickly:
Louis 👨‍⚕️: 9ish ok?
Harry grinned, nearly dropping his phone when the second message popped up:
Louis 👨‍⚕️: Can’t wait, love.
It was happening.
Louis would be coming around nine, which gave Harry a few hours to prepare. He forced himself to eat something simple, knowing Louis would have grabbed dinner at the hospital. After, he set about making everything as close to perfect as he could.
Candles dotted the bathroom counter, flickering softly. He dropped one of his favourite bath bombs into the tub, the water turning a shimmering blue-green, steam curling around the edges of the room. The scent of sandalwood and something sweet filled the air, soothing but charged with anticipation.
In the bedroom, he smoothed the sheets, nerves prickling at his skin. Every detail mattered. He wanted Louis to walk in and feel cared for, wanted him to know how much this meant. How much he meant.
By the time the clock ticked past eight-thirty, Harry was pacing the living room, curls tied back, rings catching the light as he fiddled with them nervously. His heart raced at every sound from outside, waiting for Louis’ knock.
Tonight, he thought, taking a deep breath, is the night.
Louis kissed him hello at the door, still in his scrubs, smelling faintly of soap and hospital and him. Harry’s breath caught instantly. He couldn’t help it the words slipped out before he could stop himself.
“So fucking hot,” he muttered against Louis’ lips, cheeks flushing even as his hand slid up to cup his jaw.
Louis grinned, dimples deep, kissing him again, slower this time. “Missed you too, Darling.”
Harry lingered in the kiss for a moment, then pulled back just enough to breathe, nerves buzzing under his skin. “You want anything? Eat, drink, tea?”
Louis shook his head, brushing his nose against Harry’s. “Maybe later. Still full from dinner at the hospital.”
Harry smiled, relief flooding through him. That made things easier. No delays, no stalling. He squeezed Louis’ hand, excitement sparking in his chest. “Come on, love. Got something for us.”
Louis raised a brow, curious, but let Harry lead him inside, shrugging off his coat as Harry tugged him down the hall toward the bathroom.
Louis smirked “Yeah? Show me, then.”
His heart racing as Louis stepped inside and froze. The candles, the steaming tub, the water shimmering blue-green.
Harry bit his lip. “Like it, Lou?”
Louis looked at him like he’d hung the stars. “Romantic as fuck, my love.”
But Harry wasn’t thinking about romance, not only. He was thinking about finally seeing Louis bare. About being bare together.
“Come on,” he said, voice low. “Before it gets cold.”
Louis arched a brow, but when Harry reached for his scrub top, Louis didn’t stop him. Harry pushed it up slowly, dragging his palms over warm skin, chest, ink, muscle. Louis shrugged it off and went straight for Harry’s t-shirt, tugging it over his head in one sharp move.
They kissed again, deeper this time, both of them fumbling for the waistband of the other’s clothes. Harry shoved at Louis’ trousers, moaning when he felt the heavy press of him through his briefs. Louis groaned when Harry’s cock brushed against his thigh, already hard.
“Christ, Haz,” Louis muttered against his mouth, “so needy.”
“Been thinking about this all week,” Harry gasped as Louis yanked his joggers down, leaving him in nothing but damp boxers. “Fuck, Lou—”
Louis hooked his thumbs in the waistband and dragged them off, slow enough to make Harry squirm.
“There you are,” Louis whispered, hand wrapping around him once, making Harry choke on a moan. “So hard for me already.”
Harry tugged at Louis’ briefs in return, desperate to get him naked, and when they hit the floor, his breath stuttered. Big. Fucking huge.
“Lou…” His voice cracked, pupils blown. “You’re—fuck—”
Louis kissed him again, swallowing the words. “You’ll take me, baby. Gonna open you up nice and slow.”
By the time they slid into the tub together, skin flushed and slick, Harry’s back against Louis’ chest, he could feel him pressed hard against him under the water. Just the drag of it made Harry whimper.
“Need you, Lou,” he gasped, grinding back shamelessly.
Louis’ laugh rumbled in his ear, filthy and fond. “Patience, Haz. Gonna prep you right. Can’t have my boy falling apart too fast.”
Harry shivered, head lolling back, already wrecked by the promise in Louis’ voice.
The water lapped warm and fragrant against Harry’s skin as he settled back against Louis’ chest. Strong arms wrapped around him instantly, pulling him in close, and Harry let out a shaky sigh.
Louis’ mouth found the side of his neck, soft kisses at first, then wetter, hungrier. “Fuck, can’t wait to you taste you,” he muttered against damp skin, teeth scraping lightly.
Harry squirmed in his lap, the thick weight of Louis’ cock pressed firm against his lower back under the water. Even through the heat, even with the bath bomb’s slick swirl between them, Harry could feel every inch of him.
He gasped when Louis’ hands slid up his chest, broad palms covering him, thumbs brushing over his nipples. The sharp jolt of pleasure made Harry moan, head falling back onto Louis’ shoulder.
“Sensitive here, yeah?” Louis’ voice was a low growl, almost amused.
Harry whined, twisting as Louis pinched gently, rolling the hardened buds between his fingers. “F-Fuck, Lou, yeah—”
Louis kissed along his jaw, smiling against his skin. “Pretty boy. Falling apart already and I haven’t even touched your cock.”
Harry was a mess, rutting back against him in the water, shameless. His own hand slipped down, wrapping around himself, but Louis caught his wrist, stopping him.
“Not yet, baby,” he murmured, holding Harry’s hand against his thigh instead. “Want to take my time with you.”
Harry groaned in frustration, but Louis soothed it with another kiss, this one deep and slow, tongues sliding together until Harry was dizzy.
Their slick bodies shifted in the tub, skin dragging, heat building. Louis’ free hand slid lower, teasing along Harry’s stomach, then under the water, brushing over his cock just once, making Harry cry out.
“Christ, Lou,” Harry gasped, thighs trembling, “I’m gonna lose it if you keep teasing.”
Louis chuckled darkly in his ear, biting softly at his lobe. “Good. I want you wrecked for me. All night.”
Harry shivered, clutching at Louis’ forearm as their mouths met again, wet and filthy, water splashing faintly around them as they ground together.
And with every touch, every kiss, Harry knew there was no going back. He wanted all of him tonight, tomorrow, forever.
By the time Louis had him spread out on the bed, Harry was already trembling, every nerve strung so tight he thought he might break. His curls were damp against his forehead, lips kiss-swollen, chest heaving with need.
Louis kissed him once, slow, before sliding lower, fingers slick, teasing at his rim.
“Relax for me, baby,” Louis murmured against his throat. “Let me get you ready. Gonna open you up nice and slow.”
Harry nodded, already panting. But when Louis pushed the first finger in, his back bowed off the sheets, a strangled moan breaking free. The stretch burned, sharp and hot, but Louis’ other hand was firm on his chest, thumb brushing circles over his nipple until the sting melted into pleasure.
“Good boy,” Louis praised, fucking his finger in and out lazily. “Look at you. So tight already and I’ve barely started.”
Harry whimpered, thighs trembling. By the second finger, his breath was coming in broken gasps, nails clawing at the sheets.
“Fuck, Lou—”
“Shhh,” Louis soothed, pressing kisses to his jaw even as his fingers curled deep, brushing that spot that made Harry see white. “Taking me so well, Haz. So fucking greedy for it. Can’t even talk, can you? And I’m only using my fingers.”
Harry tried to answer, but all that came out was a wrecked sob. His whole body shook, stars bursting behind his eyes every time Louis crooked his fingers just right.
When the third finger slid in, Harry’s head fell back, a cry tearing out of him. He was gone, undone, tears pricking hot in the corners of his eyes.
“Jesus Christ, you’re dripping for me,” Louis groaned, pumping them in deep. “So wet and open. You’re gonna let me ruin you, aren’t you, baby? Gonna let me fuck you till you can’t remember your own name?”
Harry’s throat worked, but no words came out just a desperate whine.
Louis grinned against his neck, voice filthy. “Yeah, you will. You want it so bad you’re shaking. Look at you, my perfect little mess.”
When Louis finally pulled his fingers free, slick and glistening, Harry whimpered at the loss.
“Ready for me, Haz?” Louis’ voice was wrecked now, deep and needy.
Harry nodded frantically, eyes wild. “Need you. Now. Please, Lou—fuck me.”
Louis lined himself up, leaning down to kiss him hard as he pushed in. The stretch was brutal, splitting Harry open, and he cried out, nails digging deep into Louis’ shoulders.
“So fucking tight,” Louis groaned, teeth gritted. “Jesus, Haz. Gripping me like you were made for my cock.”
Harry moaned, head thrashing, the fullness making him dizzy. “Big. So big, Lou—fuck—”
Louis stilled, brushing his thumb over Harry’s cheek tenderly. “Tell me if it’s too much, baby. I’ll stop.”
Harry shook his head violently, clinging to him. “Don’t stop. Need it. Need you. Fill me up, Lou.”
That was all it took. Louis’ restraint shattered. He pulled out halfway and slammed back in, making Harry scream his name.
“That’s it,” Louis panted, thrusts growing faster, harder, relentless. “Take it, Baby. Take all of me. Fuck, you feel unreal.”
Every drive of his hips hit that spot dead-on, sparks exploding behind Harry’s eyes. He sobbed, legs locking around Louis’ waist, dragging him deeper.
“Look at you,” Louis growled, forehead pressed to his. “Falling apart on my cock. You love it, don’t you? Love me splitting you open, making you mine.”
Harry choked on a moan, his voice breaking. “Y-Yeah—fuck, Lou—yours, all yours—”
Louis’ hand tangled in his curls, holding him still as he fucked into him harder. “Say it again.”
Harry sobbed it this time, desperate and ruined. “Yours. I’m yours. Fuck, I’m—”
His orgasm tore through him, shaking him to the core, spilling hot between their bodies as his walls clenched down tight. The pressure dragged Louis over too. he buried himself deep with a guttural groan, spilling inside, kissing Harry hard through every spasm.
They collapsed together, wrecked and gasping, sweat-slick and trembling. Harry lay beneath him, throat raw, every nerve buzzing like a live wire.
Louis pressed a kiss to his temple, still pulsing inside him, voice hoarse but soft. “That’s it, love. Took me so good. I’ve got you.”
Harry could barely form words, but he managed to whisper, dazed and wrecked: “You ruined me, Lou.”
Louis chuckled darkly against his skin, kissing his damp curls. “Good. You’re mine . You were made to be mine, Haz. Every fucking inch of you.”
Harry didn’t doubt it for a second.

Harry padded back from the kitchen in nothing but one of Louis’ hoodies, a plate in his hand. Louis was sprawled against the pillows, hair damp with sweat, chest still glistening. He looked unfairly good for someone who’d just ruined Harry within an inch of his life.
“What’s that?” Louis asked, voice rough but teasing.
“Fuel,” Harry said simply, climbing back into bed and plopping the plate on Louis’ lap. “Pastries I made the other day. You’re gonna need energy if I want a round two out of you.”
Louis snorted, breaking off a flaky corner. “You think I’m the one who needs energy?” He chewed, smirking as he watched Harry lick butter off his thumb. “I run ten miles for fun, Haz. I’ve got stamina for days.”
Harry rolled his eyes, stealing the rest of the pastry and shoving it into his own mouth. “Show-off. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Louis leaned over, kissed the crumbs from Harry’s lips, and whispered, “Guess I’d better prove it then.”
Harry’s stomach flipped, and not just from the sugar.

Chapter Text

Time slipped by in the easiest ways.
Sleepovers blurred together until Louis had clothes in both their flats, his aftershave on Harry’s bathroom counter, one of Harry’s hoodies permanently in his own wardrobe. Harry’s rings and hair ties turned up in Louis’ kitchen like they belonged there.
It felt natural. Scarily natural.
And if their sex life was any indication, things were more than just working. It was thriving hot, filthy, insatiable. Weeks in, and Louis still couldn’t keep his hands off Harry, and Harry never hesitated to crawl into Louis’ lap and beg for more. They’d gone from hesitant kisses to nights that left Louis’ legs shaking from how hard Harry could ride him. The sex was addictive, but the closeness after tangled limbs, whispered “love yous,” Harry drooling on his shoulder at 3 a.m. that was what Louis cherished most.
Of course, their mates had noticed.
Niall had been the first to say something, of course. Over pints one night, he gave Harry a long, knowing side-eye when Harry stifled yet another yawn.
“Mate,” Niall snorted, shaking his head, “you look like you’ve not slept in a week. Someone keeping you busy?”
Louis nearly choked on his drink laughing, while Harry went red all the way down his neck.
Liam wasn’t far behind. “We’ll take that as a yes.”
And Zayn, the menace leaned back in his chair, smirk wicked. “So are you two actually in a relationship, or just competing for who can fuck the other senseless first?”
Harry practically slid under the table, groaning, “Oh my God, Malik shut the fuck up.”
Louis, being the little shit he was, just grinned, arm slung possessively around Harry’s shoulders. “Why choose, mate? We’re thriving at both.”
Niall groaned into his pint. Liam bit down on his laugh. Zayn actually cheered.
Then, just to twist the knife, Zayn added, “Makes sense, really. Haz has always had that look about him. Bet he’s a right little bottom, yeah?”
Harry went scarlet, choking on his drink. “Zayn!”
Louis didn’t miss a beat, leaning in with a smirk absolutely filthy. “Not just a bottom. My bottom. And the prettiest one you’ll ever see.”
Niall groaned into his pint. Liam muttered, “Jesus Christ.” Zayn doubled over laughing, nearly spilling his drink.
Harry buried his face in his hands, groaning, “I hate you all.”
Louis just kissed the top of his curls and grinned wider, smug as anything.

Christmas was coming fast, and with it his birthday. They hadn’t talked about holiday plans yet, part of Louis was nervous to bring it up, but he knew he needed to. His mum had already hinted, her warm voice down the phone: “Tell Harry he’s more than welcome, love. We’d love to meet him.”
Louis wanted that too. He just needed to say it face to face.
They were meant to go to a movie tomorrow, and Louis figured that would be the right time to bring it up.
That night, curled in bed, he thumbed open his messages. Harry’s contact name lit up at the top of the screen — My Love ❤️ — and the sight alone made him smile like an idiot.
Louis 👨‍⚕️: Hey, love. Just checking, are we still on for tomorrow, or are you pulling a diva move and standing me up? 🎬👀
The reply came a few minutes later:
Harry ☕️: Might have to rain check, baby. Gem asked if I can babysit Theo for the day so she can actually get her Xmas shopping done.
Louis grinned, already picturing Harry with Theo on his hip.
Louis 👨‍⚕️: That’s alright. Can I crash your babysitting gig instead?
Harry ☕️: Do you really want to hang out with babies on your day off? Thought you had enough of them at work 🤭
Louis bit his lip, shaking his head at the screen before typing back.
Louis 👨‍⚕️: As long as I get to spend the day with you, I don’t care what we’re doing. Theo’s just a bonus. ❤️
There was a pause, then Harry’s typing bubble appeared again.
Harry ☕️: …God, you’re gonna kill me, Lou. See you tomorrow, my love.
Louis set his phone down, warmth blooming in his chest. A day with Harry and Theo? That sounded perfect.

Gemma shoved Theo’s bag into Harry’s hands with the exasperated grace only a new mum could manage. “You two have fun. Don’t make out in front of him. poor baby doesn’t need trauma this young.”
Harry went scarlet instantly. “Gem!”
She winked, kissed Theo’s chubby cheek, and bolted. “Good practice for you both!”
And then it was just the three of them.
Louis cooed down at Theo, who gurgled happily in his arms. “Alright, mate. Looks like it’s boys’ day, yeah?”
Harry’s heart melted on the spot. Seeing Louis with a baby, even if it wasn’t their baby, was enough to make his knees weak.
They spent the day sprawled on the living room floor with a pile of toys Gemma had brought, Louis making ridiculous faces until Theo shrieked with laughter, Harry taking endless photos because it was too bloody precious. At one point Louis even strapped Theo into his carrier and jogged a few laps around the flat, declaring, “Start ‘em young, Haz!”
When Theo’s little eyelids started drooping, Louis scooped him up and rocked him gently, humming low and steady. Harry stood in the doorway with his chest aching, two steaming mugs in hand.
“Hey,” he whispered, padding over once Theo had fully settled. He handed Louis a mug, their fingers brushing. “Hope we can have this with one of our own someday, Lou.”
Louis looked up at him, eyes soft and lips quirking into that dangerous grin. He sipped his tea, winked, and murmured, “Just one, darling?”
Harry nearly dropped his mug, cheeks burning, dimples flashing despite himself. “You’re impossible.”
“Mm,” Louis hummed, leaning over to kiss him quickly quiet, careful, not to wake Theo. “But you love me anyway.”
Harry glanced at the baby sleeping soundly against Louis’ chest and thought, God help me, he’s right.

Theo had barely left with Gemma before Louis clapped his hands together. “Right. Officially pizza night.”
Harry laughed, shaking his head as Louis scrolled his phone to order. “You’ll use any excuse, won’t you?”
“Damn right,” Louis shot back, grinning as he sprawled onto the sofa. “Theo day, Christmas in few weeks, it being sunday… all valid reasons for pizza.”
An hour later, they were curled up together under a blanket, half-empty pizza boxes scattered on the coffee table, some trashy reality show droning in the background. Harry’s curls were damp from a quick shower, his feet tucked under Louis’ thighs. He looked so at home it made Louis’ chest ache.
Louis picked at a crust, trying to sound casual. “So… I was talking to Mum about Christmas plans.”
Harry hummed, eyes still on the screen. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m planning to head home on the twenty-second. Maybe the twenty-third if the roster’s tight. Lottie’ll be there too.” He glanced over, heart thumping. “Mum said you’re more than welcome to come along. They can’t wait to meet you.”
Harry blinked, finally tearing his eyes from the telly.
Louis held his gaze, steady but careful. “But listen, don’t feel pressured. I’d never want to drag you away from your own family Christmas. It’s just… it’s out there, yeah? Totally your call.”
The silence stretched, only broken by the faint shrieks of someone getting dumped onscreen. Harry chewed his lip, clearly thinking it over. Then he tilted his head, dimples flickering. “If we can make it back here for the twenty-fifth… will that be okay? That way we can celebrate with both families.”
Louis’ chest loosened, warmth flooding through him. He reached out, lacing their fingers together. “Of course it’s okay, Haz. I can’t take too much time off anyway with the holidays being mad. We’ll make it work.”
Harry smiled, soft and sure. “Then I’d love to come.”
Louis squeezed his hand tight, unable to stop himself. “I love you, Harry. And I promise, my family’s going to love you too.”
Harry’s face went pink, his grin lighting up the whole room. And with Harry’s head resting against his shoulder, Louis thought he’d never been so certain of anything in his life.

Time blurred in the run-up to Christmas. Between shifts at the hospital, shopping runs with Lottie on FaceTime barking orders from some airport lounge, and Harry’s café being rammed with holiday parties, the days slipped past in a rush of tinsel and exhaustion.
Harry, of course, had thrown himself into Christmas like a man possessed. His flat looked less like a home and more like Santa’s bloody workshop, fairy lights strung in every corner, garlands on doorframes, candles flickering everywhere. Louis had teased him mercilessly.
“Think you missed a spot,” he’d said the night before, pointing at the bathroom. “Why not put a tree in there too?”
Harry had just smirked, dimples deep. “You love it anyway.” And Louis, annoyingly, did.

They were set to leave for Doncaster on the 23rd, back in Manchester on the 25th to spend the day with Harry’s family. Louis woke that morning to an empty, cold side of the bed. Harry had been up for a while.
Dragging himself to the kitchen, Louis stopped dead. A tray of cinnamon rolls, his favourite sat cooling on the counter, alongside a neat pile of Christmas cookies and, unbelievably, what looked like a Christmas pudding. And Harry was at the stove, whisking eggs like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Louis slipped behind him, wrapped his arms tight around his waist, and kissed his neck.
Harry yelped, nearly dropping the spatula. “God, Lou! You trying to kill me?”
Louis laughed into his skin. “Good morning, baby.” Then, softer, “Didn’t we talk about this? Why are you overdoing it? My parents are going to love you. You don’t have to bribe them with food. You’re already knackered from the café, I know you are.”
Harry flicked the burner off, turned in his arms with that cheeky grin that undid Louis every time. “Good morning to you too, handsome.”
Louis rolled his eyes. “Deflection.”
“I can’t turn up empty-handed to your parents’ house on our first Christmas,” Harry argued, dimples flashing. “Where are your manners? I know they’ll love me regardless” he gestured down at himself dramatically, “I mean, look at me.”
“Of course,” Louis muttered under his breath, biting back a smile.
Harry leaned in, kissed him softly, lips tasting faintly of cinnamon. “And, for the record, I’d be doing all this even if I stayed home for Christmas. So don’t stress, Lou.”
Louis rested his forehead against Harry’s, heart stupidly full. “Not stressed. Just… already in love with you, and I’d quite like you not to burn yourself out before you’ve even met my parents.”
Harry’s grin softened into something shy, something that made Louis’ chest ache. “Worth it.”

It wasn’t a long drive, just over an hour to Donny. but needless to say, Harry was asleep about ten seconds after they hit the motorway.
Head tipped against the window, curls falling across his face, soft little snores slipping out. Louis glanced over more than he probably should’ve, lips twitching. Idiot. A warm, golden ache spread through his chest.
He loves him. God, he loves this man so much. Still didn’t know what he’d done to deserve Harry Styles falling asleep in his passenger seat, cinnamon rolls in the backseat and all.
For most of the drive, Louis just let him sleep, music playing low, the road rolling by in a steady rhythm.
When Doncaster finally came into view, he reached over and brushed his knuckles gently down Harry’s arm. “Haz. Wake up, love. We’re nearly there.”
Harry stirred, blinking blearily at him, voice rough with sleep. “Already? Thought I just closed my eyes…”
Louis chuckled, heart squeezing at the sight of him. “Yeah, you lasted about ten seconds, mate. Come on, sleeping beauty. Time to meet the fam.”
Harry yawned wide, stretching in the seat, rings glinting in the weak winter sun. He gave Louis a sheepish grin. “Worth it if you keep looking at me like that.”
Louis rolled his eyes, but his chest swelled all the same. They’d already said I love you weeks ago, but somehow moments like this still knocked the air out of him. Because it wasn’t just words. it was cinnamon rolls in the morning, Harry drooling against the car window ten minutes into the drive, the way his whole face softened whenever he looked Louis’ way.
“I always look at you like that, love,” Louis murmured, reaching across to squeeze his hand.
Harry laced their fingers together, dimples flashing even through his yawn. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
Louis smiled so wide it almost hurt. For once, there were no nerves twisting in his gut, no doubts circling his mind. He was finally bringing his boy home, and he was nothing but excited for his family to meet the man he already loved with his whole heart.
As soon as the front door swung open, Jay and Mark were there in the hallway, eyes bright, arms already open like they’d been waiting all morning.
Louis slipped an arm around Harry’s waist, pride swelling as he said with a grin, “Mum, Dad this is my gorgeous boyfriend, Harry.”
Harry’s cheeks went pink, dimples flashing as Jay swept him straight into her arms. She hugged him fiercely, curls crushed against her shoulder, and her voice was thick with affection. “Welcome, love. It’s so good to finally have you here. Louis hasn’t stopped talking about you.”
“Mum,” Louis groaned, though the warmth in his chest nearly bowled him over.
Mark was next, pulling Harry in with the kind of hug that said you belong here already. “It’s about time we met you, son,” he said warmly, clapping him on the back. “We’ve heard nothing but good things, and I can see they were all true.”
Harry’s smile was soft, eyes glassy as he muttered, “Thank you for having me. Really.”
Then Jay pulled Louis into her arms, kissing his cheek, before Mark followed with his own hug firm, grounding, full of love. When he leaned back, Mark’s hand settled on Louis’ shoulder, his voice quiet but sure. “You’ve done well, son. You look good. Happier.”
Meanwhile, Harry was juggling all the food he’d insisted on baking. A tray of cinnamon rolls, a stack of Christmas cookies, and the Christmas pudding balanced precariously in his arms as he followed Jay into the kitchen. As predicted, the moment she saw what he’d brought, she praised him to high heaven.
“God, Harry,” Jay laughed, setting the dishes down. “This all looks incredible. You didn’t have to”
“But I wanted to,” Harry said simply, dimples flashing. “It’s Christmas. Feels wrong to turn up empty-handed.”
Louis couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes fondly. Typical Harry.
“Come on,” Louis said, eager, tugging Harry’s hand. “Let me give you the grand tour.”
He led him through the familiar rooms, the sitting room full of mismatched cushions and family photos, the kitchen that always smelled faintly of cinnamon and roast dinners, the back garden where he and his sisters had spent summers kicking footballs until dusk. Harry lingered at every photo on the walls, pausing to grin at Louis’ awkward teenage haircuts and the little-kid versions of him with Lottie.
Finally, Louis pushed open the door to his old bedroom, freshly made up with clean linens and a couple of thoughtful touches clearly added for Harry’s stay. A spare jumper folded neatly on the chair, a vase of holly on the windowsill.
Harry turned in a slow circle, curls bouncing, eyes soft. “It’s perfect, Lou.”
Louis leaned against the doorframe, watching him take it all in. For the first time, it wasn’t just his family home anymore. With Harry here, laughing in the middle of it, it felt like the start of something bigger. Something permanent.
They spent the afternoon around the table, conversation flowing easily. Jay and Mark asked about Harry’s family, and Louis had to bite back a smile watching him light up. He couldn’t stop talking about Anne, Robin, Gemma and of course, Theo. He told stories about babysitting, about Theo’s laugh, about how Gemma had teased them for “practicing.”
Jay listened like she’d known Harry forever, eyes warm, smile soft.
After lunch, Louis and Mark headed out to the shops one last mad dash for bits they needed for Louis’ birthday dinner and Christmas Day. The shops would be chaos, but once Lottie got home, Louis wanted nothing more than to spend every minute together as a family.
Harry stayed behind, offering to help Jay in the kitchen. Louis hesitated, worried for a second, but Harry just leaned over, kissed his cheek, and said, “Go on, love. We’ll be fine.”
And he knew they would be. The way Jay was looking at Harry already well, Louis had a sneaking suspicion his mum might just end up loving Harry even more than she loved him.
Just past six, Lottie burst through the front door, wheeling her suitcase with one hand and gesturing wildly with the other.
“Bloody hell, Lou,” she said before he could even take the bag off her, “the house looks lush! Those lights outside? Spot on. Dad, did you finally let Mum have her way with the giant reindeer?”
Mark laughed, hugging her. “Course I did. It’s Christmas.”
Louis rolled his eyes, dragging her suitcase down the hall. “Come on, diva, let me get this inside before you trip over it. Where’s Mum?”
“In the kitchen,” Mark said. “With Harry. Dinner’s nearly ready.”
Lottie froze mid-step, eyes lighting up like Christmas had come early. “Oh my God. Yes. Let me see the man who stole my brother’s heart!”
“Lottie!” Louis yelped, dropping her bag and jogging after her. “Behave yourself!”
“Always, brother,” she called over her shoulder, which everyone in the family knew was code for absolutely not.
By the time Louis caught up, she’d already flung the kitchen door open and promptly gasped like she’d seen a celebrity.
Harry was there in a pale yellow jumper and white jeans, sleeves pushed up, laughing with Jay over something on the stove. He turned to smile at Lottie, dimples out in full force, and she clutched her chest dramatically.
“Oh my actual God, Lou,” she announced. “He looks like a fucking Disney prince. Where did you even find him?”
“Lottie!” Louis and Jay barked at the same time.
Jay gave her a sharp look. “Where are your manners, young lady?”
Harry, ever the charmer, stepped forward with a warm smile, hand half-outstretched. “You must be Lottie. I’ve heard loads about you.”
Before he could close the gap, Louis swooped in between them, glaring at his sister. “Lottie, meet my boyfriend, Harry. Hands off.”
Lottie smirked, folding her arms. “Relax, Lou. I only said he looked like a prince. I didn’t say I was going to nick him.”
Harry chuckled, dimples flashing again, and Louis groaned. God help him, dinner was going to be chaos.
Dinner was chaos, of course. A simple spread pasta, salad, garlic bread, and wine but with Lottie at the table, nothing was ever truly simple.
She launched into a dramatic retelling of her last flight, gesturing wildly with her glass as she explained how she “single-handedly kept an entire row of drunk businessmen from starting World War III at 35,000 feet.” Louis rolled his eyes; Mark howled with laughter.
Then she leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Honestly, can’t wait for these two weeks at home. I fully expect to be spoiled rotten by Mum and Dad. Like, feed me, praise me, worship me I deserve it.”
Harry chuckled, sipping his wine.
And then came her pièce de résistance. “By the way this garlic bread? Like something out of this world.”
Jay smiled knowingly. “Ah, that’d be Harry. He made it.”
Lottie froze, fork midair. Then she gasped, hand to her chest, full theatre mode. “Harry, my darling, is there any more of you wherever you came from?”
“Charlotte,” Louis groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shut the fuck up and apologise to my boyfriend right now.” He turned to Harry, rubbing his cheek gently, muttering, “Sorry, baby. She’s a loose nut, that one.”
Harry, of course, was eating it up, dimples out in full force. “It’s fine, Lou. I’m flattered.”
Lottie sighed dramatically, then grinned. “Alright, alright, sorry. And thank you, Harry, for looking after my brother so well. And feeding him. God knows he never eats properly when left to his own devices.”
“Oi,” Louis muttered, but Harry just laughed harder.
After dinner they all pitched in to clean up, and with a long day behind them travel, reunion, and laughter everyone drifted off to bed early, saving their energy for Louis’ birthday the next day.
Upstairs, in Louis’ old room, they slipped into bed. Harry curled close, whispering against his jaw, “I love your family. They’re perfect.”
Louis’ heart squeezed. “They love you back just as much, Haz.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Harry tilted his head up, voice low and wicked. “Well, I’m also so fucking horny right now. Can I suck you off, Lou?”
Louis gasped, full dramatics. “Under my parents’ roof, Harold? Have you no shame?”
Harry’s answering grin was downright sinful. “None at all.” Harry purred, sliding down the bed before Louis could protest again.
“Haz—” Louis tried, but his breath hitched the second Harry tugged the duvet down, exposing his hard cock straining against his briefs. Harry pressed a kiss just above the waistband, wicked and teasing, and Louis’ whole body jolted.
“Shhh,” Harry whispered, hooking his fingers under the fabric and pulling it down agonizingly slow. “Be quiet for me, yeah? Don’t want Mum and Dad walking in while I’ve got your cock down my throat.”
“Jesus Christ,” Louis hissed, already fighting for control as his cock sprang free, flushed and aching.
Harry looked up at him through his lashes, curls falling into his eyes, and wrapped one long hand around the base. He licked a slow stripe from root to tip, tongue curling around the head, and Louis nearly bit through his lip to hold back the moan clawing up his throat.
“Fuck, Haz”
Harry hummed in response, the vibration shooting straight through Louis’ spine as he swallowed him down, lips stretching around the thickness. Hot, wet, filthy.
Louis’ fingers scrambled for the sheets, knuckles white as Harry bobbed his head, cheeks hollowing, tongue swirling just under the ridge of his cock. The sounds obscene, slick, wet filled the room, and Louis had to slam a fist over his own mouth to keep from crying out.
Harry pulled back just enough to smirk, his lips glistening. “You taste so good, Lou. Gonna make you cum so hard you’ll forget your own name.”
Louis groaned, hips jerking, already undone. “Fuck me, Love, you’re gonna kill me”
“Not yet,” Harry whispered before sinking down again, deeper this time, until his nose brushed Louis’ stomach. His throat flexed around him, and Louis saw stars.
“Fucking hell,” he gasped, thighs trembling, fighting not to buck up into that sinful mouth.
Harry’s hands pinned his hips down, strong and steady, holding him in place while he worked him mercilessly. Every flick of his tongue, every swallow, was designed to wreck him and it was working. Louis could feel the orgasm burning hot, building too fast.
“Haz—Haz, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”
Harry just moaned around him, sucking harder, and that was it. Louis came with a muffled cry into his fist, spilling hot down Harry’s throat. His vision blurred, chest heaving, every muscle taut as Harry swallowed him down, not spilling a drop.
When Harry finally pulled off, lips swollen, chin shiny, he licked his lips with a wicked grin. “Fuck, Lou. That was delicious.”
Louis was still shaking, hair plastered to his forehead, voice wrecked. “Christ, Haz… lemme return the favour, yeah? Can’t leave you—”
Harry kissed him, slow and messy, tasting of himself. When he pulled back, his voice was low, smug. “No need.”
Louis blinked, dazed. “What?”
Harry smirked, dimples sharp, eyes dark. “Sucking my hot doctor boyfriend off? Yeah, that was enough. Don’t you worry about me.”
Louis groaned, dragging him down for another kiss. “You’re fucking insane.”
Harry just grinned wider against his mouth. “And you fucking love it.”

Chapter Text

It was officially Louis’ birthday.
Harry lay there for a moment in the early stillness, watching Louis sleep. head tipped back, mouth open, the faintest snore rattling in his throat. His heart swelled so full it almost hurt.
Yesterday’s introductions replayed in his mind. Meeting Jay and Mark properly, sitting in the kitchen with Jay while they cooked, laughing over garlic bread at dinner. It had been easy in a way Harry hadn’t expected. Warm. Like slipping into a family he’d known his whole life.
Lottie had been a storm all on her own, dramatic and cheeky, and Harry couldn’t help thinking how much she reminded him of Gemma. Different in their details, but the same fierce love for their brothers, the same wicked glint in their eyes when they teased. Their families, he realised, were more alike than he’d thought — stitched together by laughter, banter, and love that ran bone-deep.
And God, had he felt welcome. More than welcome. Like Jay already considered him part of the fabric of the house, like Mark’s steady hug had folded him into something bigger. It was a strange and beautiful thing to belong so quickly, so easily.
Now, waking up here on Louis’ birthday, Harry wanted to make the morning theirs before the rest of the house stirred.
Louis had insisted he didn’t want a fuss. “It’s Christmas week, Drling. Don’t go over the top. We’ll swap something small for the joy of it, yeah? Keep it simple.”
Of course, Harry couldn’t do that. Not when it was their first birthday together. Not when it was Louis.
So he’d tucked a little something away in his bag, waiting for the right moment. And now, with Louis snoring beside him like the most beautiful idiot alive, Harry knew the moment had come.
He slipped from the bed, padded into the bathroom to splash his face, then crept downstairs. The house was quiet, still heavy with sleep. Quickly, quietly, he put the kettle on and made Louis’ tea exactly how he liked it, strong Yorkshire, no sugar, just the barest splash of milk.
Balancing the mug carefully, Harry padded back up the stairs, heart thudding.
Today was Louis’ day. And Harry wanted it to start with love.
Back upstairs, Harry set the steaming mug carefully on the bedside table, then quickly pulled out his phone.
Family Chat 👨‍👩‍👧‍👦
H: Last night went so well. Can’t wait to tell you all when we’re back.
It didn’t take long for a reply to ping through.
Gem: We’ll call later to wish him happy birthday. Give him a squeeze from me till then x
Harry smiled, tucked his phone away, and reached for the little gift bag he’d hidden in his overnight case. Not yet first, Louis.
He leaned over the bed, taking in the sight of his boy still out cold, lashes dark against his cheeks, lips parted, snoring softly. Harry’s heart clenched. Birthday prince.
He started waking him the only way he knew how by pressing soft kisses across his face. One to the tip of his button nose. One to each eyelid. One across the curve of his cheek.
“Lou,” Harry murmured between kisses. “Morning. Come on, birthday boy. I made you tea.”
That got him. Louis stirred, lashes fluttering before his blue eyes cracked open, voice thick and gravelly with sleep. “What time is it?”
Harry grinned, brushing back a stray tuft of messy fringe. “It’s your birthday o’clock, Doc. Come on, before your tea goes cold.”
Louis let out a low groan, burrowing further into the pillow. “Don’t boss me around today. It’s my birthday.”
Harry laughed, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough. What do you want then, hmm?”
Louis’ lips twitched into a sleepy smile. “Gimme kissy.”
Harry’s chest ached with how easy it was to love him. “Always,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss him again, slow and sweet, as the first light of Louis’ birthday filled the room.
“Alright, drink your tea before it goes cold. We’ve got a big day ahead,” Harry said, handing Louis the steaming mug.
Louis accepted it with a sleepy smile. “Thank you, my love. I love you.”
Harry’s chest squeezed. “Love you too, Lou.”
Louis took a few sips, set the mug back on the nightstand, and stretched, hair sticking up in every direction. Harry’s heart skipped. He reached under the bed, fingers brushing the little box he’d hidden.
Suddenly, his stomach flipped. Nerves. Bloody hell.
“Um, Lou?” Harry’s voice cracked. “I… got you a present?”
Louis blinked at him, brow arched. “Are you asking me, or giving me, H?” he sassed, dimples flickering.
“Bastard,” Harry muttered under his breath.
Louis smirked, setting the mug aside properly before cupping Harry’s face in both hands. “Baby, I said no gifts for my birthday.”
“I know,” Harry rushed out, throat tight. “It’s nothing fancy, I swear. Just… here.” He shoved the box into Louis’ hands before he could lose his nerve.
Louis gave him a steady, searching look before flicking open the lid. Inside, resting on soft fabric, was a single, gleaming silver key with a letter L key Chan.
His eyes snapped up to Harry’s. “Darling… wa—”
“Move in with me?” Harry blurted, hope tumbling out all at once. “I mean, you’re at mine most nights anyway, and if you think it’s too soon that’s fine, you can keep the key and take your time, but I’d love it if you ..”
“Yes.” Louis cut him off with a firm, shining smile. “Thank you, my darling. I’d love that. Thank you for trusting me with a key to your home.”
Harry’s throat tightened. “You will?”
Louis laughed softly, pressing their foreheads together. “As you said, Haz . I’m at yours most nights anyway. I might as well.”
Harry’s heart nearly burst. “Well, it’s ours now. Happy birthday lou”
“Ours,” Louis repeated, rolling the word around like a promise. “I like the sound of that. Thank you my darling”
They kissed soft, slow, then deeper, until Harry was laughing into Louis’ mouth, Louis grinning like an idiot against his lips. They were young, they were in love, and it was Louis’ birthday. The whole day stretched ahead of them, but right now, Harry didn’t need anything else.
The knock on the door was more like a battering ram.
“Booooddyyy siblings!”
Louis groaned instantly, burying his face in Harry’s shoulder. “Fucking hell, Lotts…” he muttered, already knowing exactly who it was.
Harry bit back a laugh, dimples tugging at his cheeks as he stroked a hand through Louis’ messy fringe.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she fired back. “Are you two decent, or am I about to be traumatised?”
Harry bit back a laugh, dimples threatening. Louis rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can come in!”
The door flew open, and there she was, all dramatic energy and bags in hand. “Well, well, well,” she declared, eyes sweeping the room. “Brother, happy birthday morning. And Harry, handsome as always.”
Harry flushed pink as she launched herself at Louis, hugging him tight and planting loud kisses on his cheeks. “Love you, brother. Happy birthday!”
“Love you too, menace,” Louis laughed, wrinkling his nose as if to wipe off her lipgloss.
“Here,” Lottie said, thrusting the bags into his hands. Out came two bottles of Tom Ford, each a different scent, and a pair of sleek Ray-Bans Harry had definitely seen Louis eyeing online.
Harry couldn’t help smiling as Louis’ eyes lit up. “Lotts, thank you. These are perfect.”
“Of course.” She grinned, then turned predator sharp. “So. What did lover boy get you? Show me.”
Before Harry could fumble for words, her gaze landed on the little box still sitting on the nightstand, the silver key glinting.
“Ohhh.” Her gasp was theatrical. “And what does that mean?”
Louis’ fingers slid through Harry’s, squeezing. “Means Harry asked me to move in with him.”
Harry’s cheeks burned hot, but the rush of pride in his chest drowned out the nerves.
“Awwww!” Lottie squealed, climbing right onto the bed to smother them both in another hug. “I’m so happy for you! You’re absolutely disgusting in love.” She straightened up, pointing at them like she was delivering a royal decree. “Get married soon, yeah? I need babies in my life.”
Harry laughed so hard he toppled sideways into the pillows, while Louis groaned into his hands.
“Come on,” Lottie sing-songed on her way out. “Mum and Dad are waiting downstairs. Don’t keep the birthday fuss waiting!”
The door clicked shut, and Harry turned back to Louis, still red-faced but smiling wide. “Your sister’s insane.”
Louis leaned close, bumping their foreheads together with a grin. “Yeah. And now she’s your problem too, love.”
Harry laughed, thinking of Gemma instantly. God help me, they’d be unstoppable if those two ever teamed up. The thought of Gem and Lottie in the same room was both terrifying and, he had to admit, a little brilliant.

Louis’ birthday with his family was exactly what Harry had hoped for and somehow, even more.
Jay fussed over him from the second he came downstairs, piling his plate with breakfast and kissing his Hair. Mark cracked dry jokes across the table that had Louis groaning, Lottie rolling her eyes, and Harry laughing into his tea. It felt easy, warm, like he’d been here all along.
And apparently, if you came to Doncaster at Christmas, there was one non-negotiable tradition: ice skating.
So off they all went. Jay, Mark, Lottie, Louis, and Harry bundled up in scarves and mittens. Harry had been sure he’d be alright. He was wrong. He was the clumsiest one out there by a mile.
Louis, though, stuck to him like glue, steadying hands at his waist, laughing but never letting him go. Every time Harry wobbled, Louis caught him. Every time Harry muttered “bloody hell” under his breath, Louis grinned like Harry was the best thing he’d ever seen.
Harry felt overwhelmed with love, in the best way.
Of course, he still managed to fall straight on his arse and drag Louis down with him. They landed in a heap on the ice, both groaning and laughing, while Lottie nearly screamed with laughter from the sidelines, snapping photos as fast as she could. “Oh my God, you two are pathetic!” she howled.
By the time they all had enough, cheeks flushed and fingers numb, Mark and Jay headed off to find a table. Louis went to queue for hot chocolates and snacks, while Harry and Lottie returned the skates.
“Alright, let’s go help Lou,” Harry said once they handed their boots back, tugging his gloves on. But when he tried to move, Lottie grabbed his arm, stopping him cold.
Her eyes had narrowed; daggers aimed across the rink. “Oh, hell no.”
Harry followed her gaze — Louis was still in line, but someone had stepped up to him. Two people, actually. Harry couldn’t see Louis’ face, but the tension in his shoulders was clear.
“Who’s that?” Harry asked, puzzled.
Lottie’s jaw clenched. “That cunt. Have no fucking shame, showing his face here.”
Harry’s stomach flipped. “What? Who—”
“Bailey,” she spat, already moving. “Give me your hand, Haz.”
“What—”
“Now.”
Before Harry could think, she yanked his hand, slid one of his rings off his rose ring and shoved it onto his wedding finger. “There. All you have to do is play along.”
Harry barely had time to process before she was dragging him across the rink.
As they got closer, he caught Louis’ voice, tight but steady. “Yeah, well… I’m here with my—”
“Here, Lou!” Lottie interrupted brightly, striding up like she owned the place. “I brought your fiancé back!”
Harry didn’t hesitate. Sliding right into the role, he stepped up to Louis, cupped his jaw, and kissed him too much for public, but not nearly enough for the smug satisfaction thrumming through him. “Hey, love,” he murmured as he pulled back, deliberately casual. “Missed you.”
Louis’ eyes flickered, instantly catching on to whatever game he and Lottie were playing. Without missing a beat, he slid his hands to Harry’s waist, kissing him back. “Missed you too.”
When they both looked at Bailey, his expression was unreadable, but his voice cracked just a little. “You… got engaged?”
Louis only shrugged, squeezing Harry closer. “I mean, look at him. How could I not?”
Lottie grinned like a cat, grabbing Harry’s hand and flashing the ring in Bailey’s face. “Pretty, isn’t it? Hope you have a good day. Now, see you never.”
Bailey’s face fell, but Louis didn’t waver.
The second they were out of sight, though, all that tension snapped. Lottie doubled over with laughter, cackling so loud people turned their heads. Louis bent at the waist, shaking, and Harry wasn’t much better breathless, tears stinging their eyes.
But when the laughter faded, Harry couldn’t help glancing at Louis, really looking. His cheeks were flushed, curls mussed from the cold, but his shoulders had dropped, his chest rising and falling steady. Still, Harry had to ask.
“You okay, love?” My voice was softer than He meant, concern slipping out before He could rein it in.
Louis straightened, met my gaze without a flicker of doubt. “I’m fine, Haz. Really. He’s dead to me. has been since the night I found out he was cheating. That was it. Done. Whatever I thought I had with him, it’s nothing now.”
The certainty in his tone hit Harry square in the chest.
He shifted then, squeezing Harry’s hand, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “I’ve moved on. Found the true love of my life. That’s what matters.”
And Harry saw it clear as daylight written all over him. He meant it. No ghosts, no shadows, no lingering hurt. Just Louis, looking at Harry like Harry was it.
Harry swallowed hard, dimples threatening even as His throat tightened. Christ, how did he get so lucky?
Before Harry could speak, Lottie slung an arm around Louis and snorted. “As I said he’s a cunt. Always was. Never liked him anyway.”

That night, Louis’ birthday was exactly what Harry hadn’t realised he’d been missing simple, messy, full of laughter and love.
No fancy restaurants or grand gestures. just all of them crowded into the Tomlinson’s kitchen with cartons of Thai takeaway, wine bottles scattered across the table, and a chocolate cake Jay and Harry had iced that afternoon, after Mark and Louis had done the last-minute shop the day before. The whole house smelled of cocoa and spice, of warmth and family.
Louis’ grin was blinding when they lit the candles, cheeks flushed pink as Lottie sang obnoxiously loud and off-key, dragging Harry into it until they were all howling with laughter.
After the Dinner and cake, Harry and Jay stayed behind in the kitchen to tackle the dishes. It was quiet, warm water running, Harry stacking plates while Jay dried.
After a moment, Jay glanced at him, her smile soft. “I’m glad Louis found you,” she said simply. “He’s so happy, Harry. Glowing. And that’s down to you.”
Harry’s throat tightened, heart catching in his chest. He shook his head quickly, voice low but certain. “No, Jay. That’s down to you and Mark. You raised a wonderful man. He’s… he’s actually perfect. I’m the lucky one.”
Jay’s eyes softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “Funny. That’s exactly what he says about you.”
By the time they finished up, the rest of the family had already set up in the living room. Since it was Christmas Eve, Lottie declared it “only fair” they all curl up for a Christmas movie. So they piled into the lounge with more wine, blankets tangled, Harry tucked at Louis’ side with his head on his shoulder, and watched the kind of cheesy holiday film that had Lottie shouting commentary at the screen.
By the time the credits rolled, Jay and Mark kissed them all goodnight, wishing Louis another happy birthday and promising: “See you bright and early for Christmas morning.”
Harry followed Louis upstairs, heart full and certain this birthday hadn’t just been special for Louis. It had been special for him too.

Now Harry hadn’t meant to. Really, he hadn’t. But as soon as Louis shut the bathroom door and the shower hissed to life, Harry’s brain stopped behaving. Scrolling mindlessly on his phone only made it worse. the thought looping over and over. It’s been more than forty-eight hours. More than two bloody days.
He was hard before he even moved.
The idea hit fast, reckless, and he was on his feet before he could talk himself out of it. Quietly, he padded across the room and pushed open the shower door.
Steam billowed out, curling against his skin. Louis turned, surprised, water running in rivulets down his chest and abs, curls plastered dark against his forehead.
“Darling,” Louis said, brows raised. “What’s going on?”
Harry swallowed, already breathless. “Lou… you haven’t fucked me in more than forty-eight hours. I’m so fucking horny. and its your birthday”
Before Louis could even answer, Harry surged forward, kissing him filthily, teeth and tongue and desperation. Louis groaned, hands gripping his hips, kissing back hard until they broke apart, panting.
“What’s gotten into you, Haz?” Louis asked, voice rough.
Harry smirked, eyes blown wide. “I’ve got a very hot boyfriend. Sue me.”
Louis laughed low in his throat, shaking his head. “You’re going to be the death of me, love. Let’s get you to bed, yeah? But you’ve got to be quiet.”
Harry shook his head, already palming Louis’ cock, feeling it swell against his hand. “No, Lou. Fuck me here. Right now.”
“Haz” Louis’ voice cracked, torn between exasperation and want. “I don’t want to hurt you. We need lube, I need to—”
Harry cut him off, stroking him harder, pressing filthy kisses along his throat. “Already did. Prepped myself.”
Louis froze, eyes darkening. “You… what?”
Harry grinned, wicked. “Put my fingers up my ass. Thinking of you. Under your parents’ roof.”
Louis swore under his breath, jaw tight, cock twitching in Harry’s hand. “You dirty little thing. You fingered yourself for me here? Can’t get enough, can you?”
Harry bit his lip, nodding eagerly. “Need you, Lou. Please. Fuck me.”
Something in Louis snapped. He spun Harry around, pressing him to the fogged glass, chest flush to his back. “Fine. You want filthy? You’ll fucking get it.”
Harry moaned when Louis pushed inside, slow at first, stretching him so deep Harry’s knees buckled. “Oh fuck, Lou—”
“Quiet,” Louis growled, grabbing a fistful of Harry’s wet curls, yanking his head back just enough. He snapped his hips forward, hitting Harry’s prostate dead-on, and Harry cried out loud, body shaking.
“Good boy,” Louis rasped, thrusting harder, filth dripping from his lips. “Bent over in my parents’ shower, moaning like a slut. You love it, don’t you?”
Harry could only whimper, mouth open against the glass.
Louis shoved two fingers between his lips, pressing down on his tongue. “Suck. Keep that mouth busy so you don’t wake the whole bloody house.”
Harry moaned around his fingers, the sound vibrating in his throat as Louis pounded into him, cock dragging perfectly over that spot again and again until Harry’s vision blurred. Water poured down over both of them, steam clouding, skin slick.
Every thrust was brutal, Harry’s body arching back into it, nails clawing the wet glass. Louis yanked his hair tighter, fucking him harder, relentless.
Harry was gone, whimpering around Louis’ fingers, tears mixing with the water on his cheeks. “So good,” he garbled, muffled. “So full—fuck—Lou—”
Louis groaned, deep and feral. “Look at you. Taking me like you were made for it. My pretty boy. My filthy boy.”
Harry came with a strangled sob, cock untouched, clenching hard around Louis until his whole body shook. Louis followed with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside him, holding him tight against the glass.
For a moment, the only sound was the water and their ragged breathing.
Louis kissed the back of his neck, voice hoarse. “You’re insatiable.”
Harry grinned, spent but smug. “Told you. Haven’t been fucked in forty-eight hours. Practically torture.”
Louis chuckled against his skin, still buried deep inside him. “Never letting you go that long again.”
After they washed properly. Louis making sure to scrub him down like the smug bastard he was. Harry stayed behind for what Louis had dubbed his “twenty-step night routine.” By the time he was finished, skin glowing and curls damp, Louis was already under the covers, scrolling on his phone with a lazy grin.
Harry slid into bed beside him, leaning close. Louis muttered something under his breath. “Little shit, for fuck’s sake.”
Harry blinked, smiling softly. “All good, love?”
Louis didn’t answer right away. He just shoved his phone practically into Harry’s face. “Look at this.”
Harry squinted. It was Lottie, in her bedroom, sitting cross-legged on her bed with headphones on, grinning and giving a thumbs-up to the camera.
“I don’t get it,” Harry admitted, tilting his head. “It’s just Lottie. What’s the—”
“Read it, Harold,” Louis cut him off, eyes blazing with amusement.
So he did.
The caption read:
“My brother’s home for Xmas with his hot boyfriend. little did they know, his bathroom and my bedroom share a wall. At least someone’s getting some 😉 Merry Xmas, all!”
Harry’s stomach dropped. His face went crimson. “Oh. My. God.”
And then he saw the tags. She’d tagged Gemma. Niall. Liam. They’d all seen it. Fuck.
To make matters worse, Liam had gleefully tagged Zayn in the comments, writing: “Mate, you can’t miss out on this. Pure gold.” Underneath, there were already about fifty comments jokes, fire emojis, laughing faces.
Harry groaned into his hands. “Fuck, Lou.”
Louis only laughed, setting his phone down and turning to him with a smirk that could kill. “Merry Christmas, baby.”
Harry shoved his face into Louis’ chest, muffled and mortified. “I hate your sister.”
Louis kissed the top of his head, still laughing. “Nah. You love her. Admit it.”
Harry groaned louder. This family was going to be the death of him.

Chapter Text

Louis rapped his knuckles lightly against the frosted glass of Dr. Corden’s office door, the sound sharper than he meant it to be. His stomach fluttered with nerves.
The head of maternity had scheduled a meeting with him for reasons entirely unknown. No hints, no explanations just a slot in his calendar and a “see you then.”
Louis adjusted the cuff of his shirt, trying to look casual, though his mind wouldn’t stop running through possibilities. He’d been careful, meticulous in his work since moving to Manchester. Patients were thriving, colleagues friendly, his rotations steady. Still being summoned by the department head without warning never failed to make his heart tick faster.
From inside came the muffled “Come in,” and Louis took a deep breath, pushing the door open.
Louis was greeted by the familiar, worn smile of Dr. Corden. He’d always admired the man steady, fair, someone who carried authority without ever needing to raise his voice.
“Dr. Tomlinson,” Corden began, gesturing toward the chair across from his desk. “How’s the year treating you so far?”
Louis sat, forcing a light smile, trying not to show his nerves. “Well, since we’re only a few weeks into it, I’d say so far so good, sir.”
Corden chuckled softly. “Good. Then I’ll go straight to the point.” His expression shifted, thoughtful. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but Dr. White our deputy head is looking for a transfer in a few months’ time.”
Louis had heard whispers, of course, though he hadn’t thought much of them. He nodded carefully.
“So,” Corden continued, “that means we’ll need to fill her position. And I thought you’d be a good fit.”
For once in his life, Louis was speechless. His mouth went dry, and when he finally found words, they came out halting. “Well—ah—I… Are you sure, sir? I’m still new here, and—”
Corden lifted a hand, cutting him off with that same calm certainty Louis had always admired. “I don’t take these things lightly, Dr. Tomlinson. I know the staff who work under you are happy. I’ve read excellent feedback from patients. And..” his mouth tugged into a smirk, “I’ve already spoken to your previous hospital. I have my ways. They had nothing but the highest praise for you.”
Louis swallowed hard, pulse thudding in his ears.
“It’s yours, if you want it,” Corden said, giving him space to breathe. “There will be training you’ll need to undergo over the next few months if memory serves, it’s in Scotland. I can email you all the details. You don’t have to give me your word now. Sleep on it. Let me know in a couple of days.”
He leaned back, his gaze kind but steady. “I think it would be a great opportunity for you to grow as a doctor.”
Louis must have been dreaming. None of it felt real.
He rose, shaking Corden’s hand firmly, his voice catching. “Thank you, sir. I’ll… I’ll think about it and come back to you by tomorrow afternoon.”
Walking out of the office, he felt weightless and heavy all at once. This — this was everything he’d worked for. And yet, all he could think was how Harry’s face would light up when he told him.

It was just past one in the afternoon when Niall and Liam turned up, both grinning like they had some scheme cooking.
“Lunch?” Liam asked, already knowing the answer.
Louis smiled, pocketing his phone. “Yeah, come on then. Not often we all get an hour free together.”
The three of them cut across the hospital car park, chatter easy and stupid. Liam had some rant about a consultant who thought the sun rose out of his arse; Niall was still fuming that the coffee machine on his ward had finally given up the ghost. Louis laughed, tossing in the odd jab until his ribs ached.
By the time they pushed open the doors to Harry’s café, the familiar rush of warmth hit Louis square in the chest.
A few things had changed for him here. He didn’t queue anymore, not really. Harry always made sure there was food waiting, and if Louis was lucky, a mug of tea the way he liked it too. Which of course meant Niall and Liam had dubbed Harry the perfect housewife.
Louis never let that one slide. “You fuckers are just jealous,” he’d sass back every time. And judging by the way Harry looked after him, Louis figured he wasn’t wrong.
Today, Harry was at the counter, curls wild, rings flashing as he scribbled an order, listening to a customer with that intensity Louis knew well. Robin spotted him first, though, beaming from behind the till.
“Afternoon, son,” Robin greeted warmly, waving him over.
“Afternoon, Robin. How’s it going?” Louis asked.
“Business is good.” Robin winked. “I’ll get your food. Let Haz finish up and I will send him over, alright?”
Louis’ chest softened. “Thanks, Robin.”
A few minutes later, Louis had his food in hand and tucked himself into their usual corner booth. Niall and Liam soon joined, trays clattering, and the three of them dug in.
They chatted, laughed, swapped stories from their mornings. Louis joined in, smiling, but the whole time the memory of his meeting with Dr. Corden buzzed at the back of his mind like a secret too big to hold.
He hadn’t told them yet. He hadn’t told anyone. He wanted Harry to be the first to know.
So he let his friends chatter on, nodding along, and held that warm, unreal feeling close to his chest.
They were nearly done with their food when Harry finally appeared, curls bouncing, cheeks flushed from the café rush. Louis expected him to slide into the empty chair beside him but of course, Harry being Harry, he bypassed it completely and dropped straight into Louis’ lap instead.
“Missed you, Lou,” Harry murmured, kissing him full on the lips before settling in like he belonged there. Which, Louis supposed, he did.
Louis’ chest softened instantly. He cupped Harry’s jaw, pressing another kiss to his lips. “Missed you too, darling. I love you.”
Harry’s eyes sparkled, and when Louis glanced down, his gaze caught on the silver band around Harry’s knuckles. The promise ring Louis had slipped onto his finger over Christmas, in the quiet privacy of his childhood bedroom before they’d gone down to his family. Harry had cried then in true Harry fashion and he hadn’t taken it off since. Louis bent down, kissing the ring gently.
“Have you eaten, love?” Louis asked softly.
Harry nodded, burying his face into the crook of Louis’ neck, curls tickling his skin.
“Darling, we talked about this,” Louis murmured, stroking his back.
“I know, I know,” Harry sighed. “Just, I’ve got paperwork to do soon. I’ll eat then. Want to cuddle you for now.”
Louis smiled into his hair, heart aching with fondness. He tilted his head, lips brushing Harry’s ear as he whispered, low and teasing, “Have I made you tired this morning, love?”
The image hit him immediately. his run finished, sweat dripping down his chest, only to find Harry stretched out on his yoga mat, already hard and needy, begging to be fucked right there. Heat rushed through Louis at the memory.
Harry stiffened in his lap, breath catching, clearly picturing the same thing. “Lou,” he whispered, voice warning and needy all at once. “Not here.”
Louis smirked, satisfied, only for Liam to stand abruptly, chair scraping. “Alright, I’ve got to scrub in for surgery. I’m off.”
Niall pushed his plate away with a groan. “Yeah, and I definitely didn’t sign up for a live strip show on my lunch break. I’m coming with ya, man.”
Louis laughed, tucking Harry closer against him. Harry only blushed, dimples flashing, but he didn’t move an inch.
As soon as Niall and Liam disappeared out the door, Louis gave Harry’s waist a squeeze. “Baby, I’ve got to tell you something.”
Harry pulled back, curls falling into his eyes, curiosity sparking. “Sounds serious, Lou.” He slid off Louis’ lap at last, plopping into the chair beside him, turned fully toward him.
Louis chuckled at the dramatics. “Nothing bad, Haz. Promise.” He took a steadying breath, then let it out. “Dr. Corden pulled me into his office this morning. Said with Dr. White transferring out, they’ll need a new deputy head in maternity… and he wants me to take it.”
Harry’s eyes widened, dimples popping as his whole face lit up.
Louis rushed to add, “It’d mean some training up in Scotland over sometime, and more responsibility, but… I think it’d be good, yeah? For me. For us.”
Harry’s hand was on his instantly, squeezing tight. “Lou, that’s amazing. Of course you should take it.” His voice wavered with pride. “I’m super bloody happy for you. You deserve it. They’d be daft not to offer.”
Louis felt heat climb up his neck, but he couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his lips. He glanced down at their joined hands, thumb brushing over Harry’s promise ring. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Harry said firmly, eyes shining. “Decently take it, love. No question.”
For once, Louis let himself soak it in the recognition, the possibility, and Harry’s unwavering belief in him.
Louis gave his word to Dr. Corden the very next day. The training would be in March, just a week in Scotland, but the idea of stepping into the deputy role already had his friends buzzing with excitement. Niall had tried to convince him to sneak Harry along, but in the end it didn’t make sense. Louis would be busy sunup to sundown, and Harry had his own load to carry with the café, especially with Gemma still on leave.
So instead, they started dreaming about something better. Something just for them. Their anniversary.
Harry’s eyes had gone wide one night when he said it: “Disney World.” The way he’d lit up, curls bouncing as he explained rides and fireworks like he was still a kid himself. Louis couldn’t say no, even if New York was at the top of his list. In the end, they decided they’d do both. A trip to the U.S., some Disney magic for Harry, some city wandering for Louis, and a handful of stops in between.
When Louis told his parents and Lottie about his promotion, he tried to play it off casually —“Oh, by the way, Dr. Corden asked me to step into the deputy role when Dr. White transfers out.”
The reaction was immediate. Jay’s eyes welled up, pride written all over her face. Mark sat taller in his chair, nodding with quiet satisfaction. And Lottie, of course, shrieked so loudly Louis had to pull his phone away from his ear.
“LOU!” she yelled. “That’s bloody amazing! Look at you, all boss-man doctor now.”
“Lottie,” Louis groaned, though he couldn’t stop his smile.
Jay reached for the camera, voice wobbling. “Oh, love, we’re so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard, and you deserve this more than anyone.”
Mark added firmly, “She’s right, son. You’ve done well. And don’t argue with me about it.”
Louis felt his throat tighten. He’d spent so long just… surviving. Getting through med school, getting through Bailey, getting through his mum’s illness. To hear his family so proud and to feel Harry’s hand squeezing his knee off-camera, grounding him it nearly undid him.
They carried on, fussing and congratulating him until Louis had to laugh them off, cheeks pink, just to get them to move on.
That was when he let another thing slip. “Oh, yeah, we’re planning on the States for our anniversary.”
Jay beamed, Mark clapped his hands.
“Tell me the dates,” Lottie demanded instantly, grinning like the cat who got the cream. “I’ll sort the tickets.”
Harry started to protest, dimples showing. “Lotts, you don’t have to..”
“Harry,” she cut him off with a roll of her eyes, “it’s for my family. Hardly costs me a thing with the staff discount. Leave it with me, alright?”
Harry blinked, cheeks pink, then smiled soft. “Alright. Thank you, Lottie.”
They ended up chatting about birthdays then, Lottie already plotting when she could fly over next.
And when Harry in his ever-generous way invited Jay and Mark to come over anytime, it struck Louis all at once: the two families hadn’t met yet. Not properly.
“Maybe for Harry’s birthday,” Jay suggested warmly.
Harry’s grin nearly split his face. “That’d be perfect.”
“Not me this time,” Lottie pouted. “I’ve already had a long stretch off for Christmas. But soon. And when I do, I’d love to meet Gemma in person.”
Louis laughed, heart light as he looked at the screen full of people he loved and then at Harry, sitting beside him, eyes sparkling. This. This was the life he never thought he’d get.

Louis couldn’t believe it was Harry’s birthday today and finally, his parents were here so they could meet Anne, Robin, Gemma, and little Theo. It felt like only yesterday they’d rung Jay and Mark, inviting them down so the two families could finally meet properly. Now, sitting here in this restaurant with everyone gathered together, it all felt both surreal and completely right.
Louis had expected nerves. He’d expected awkward silences or polite small talk. Instead, the Styles and Tomlinson clans meshed like they’d been doing this for years.
Anne and Jay were in their corner of the restaurant, conspiratorial, trading war stories about raising stubborn kids with too many opinions. Robin and Mark were arguing about garden soil and football fixtures like old mates at the pub.
And then there was Gemma.
“So,” she said, far too casually, bouncing Theo in her lap, “did Louis ever tell you about Harry’s orange hair phase? Tried to bleach it himself at fourteen. He glowed in the dark for about a year.”
Harry groaned and buried his face in Louis’ shoulder. “Gem, I swear—”
Jay perked up immediately. “Orange, you say?”
Mark was already laughing. “Sounds about right. Our Lottie once tried to give Louis a haircut when he was twelve. He looked like he’d wrestled a hedge trimmer and lost.”
“Dad!” Louis barked, face flaming.
Harry peeked up, dimples fighting their way through, watery with laughter. “At least you didn’t get called Traffic Cone Styles for a year.”
Louis pressed a kiss into his curls, smirking. “Still would’ve snogged you, even then.”
“Gross,” Gemma stage-whispered, though her smile betrayed her.
By the time they made it back to Anne and Robin’s for cake, the room was buzzing with warmth. Off-key singing filled the kitchen, candles dripping wax down the sides of Harry’s chocolate cake. He blushed furiously but his eyes were lit with joy.
When the crumbs were cleared and mugs of tea handed round, Louis cleared his throat, nerves buzzing low in his stomach.
“Got one more for you, love.” He handed over a small velvet box.
Harry frowned, curious, then flipped it open and froze.
Inside was a vintage Cartier Tank watch, the leather strap dark and supple, the dial timeless and elegant. Louis’ heart kicked seeing the way Harry’s breath hitched.
“Louis,” Harry whispered. “No. This is—this is too much.”
Louis shook his head, firm but soft. “It’s not. You deserve it. I wanted you to have something lasting. Something that’s yours. Like… every time you check the time, you’ll know I’m yours, too.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open, his curls falling forward as his eyes went shiny.
“Jesus Christ,” Gemma muttered, dabbing her eyes dramatically with a napkin. “He’s crying again.”
“Not crying,” Harry croaked, already blinking furiously.
“Yes, you are,” Jay said fondly, wiping her own tears.
Mark leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Bloody hell. Between you and Louis, you’re like twins to our Lou and Lottie. Chaos, tears, and more drama than anyone asked for.”
“Oi!” Louis barked, but the whole room erupted in laughter, Harry included.
Harry slipped the watch onto his wrist, still trembling. It sat there perfectly, like it had always belonged. Then he leaned over, arms wrapping around Louis’ neck, voice breaking against his ear. “You’re going to ruin me.”
Louis kissed his temple, murmuring back, “Good. That’s the plan.”
From the sofa, Gemma hollered, “Someone get a picture before he short-circuits!”
“Gem!” Harry groaned, hiding his face in Louis’ shoulder. But his laughter, watery and helpless, told Louis everything he needed to know.
This was his boy. His forever.

Harry was still laughing about something Gemma had said when Louis shut the door behind them. One second later, his back was pressed flush against it, Harry’s mouth crashing into his like they’d been holding their breath all bloody day.
It wasn’t gentle. It was teeth and tongue, the kind of kiss that bruised. The kind that said I need you now.
Louis groaned into his mouth, clutching Harry’s hips hard enough to leave marks. “Fuck, Haz. You’re gonna wreck me.”
Harry only smirked against his lips, breath hot. “Birthday boy’s prerogative.”
That did it. Louis grabbed him under the thighs, hauling him straight to the bedroom. Harry clung to him, laughing breathlessly, curls bouncing, that new Cartier flashing on his wrist like some filthy crown jewel.
By the time Louis got him on the bed, he wasn’t thinking anymore. Just kissing, biting, devouring. He tore Harry’s shirt off, shoved his jeans down, and dropped to his knees like a man starved.
“Spread for me,” Louis growled, dragging his hands down Harry’s thighs. “Wanna taste my birthday boy.”
Harry’s laugh cracked into a moan the second Louis’ mouth touched him. He was already trembling, already gasping his name, one hand clutching the sheets and the other tangled in Louis’ hair.
“Fuck—Lou—” Harry’s voice was wrecked, head thrashing against the pillows. Louis only groaned in response, eating him out like it was salvation, like he could never get enough. Harry writhed under him, every filthy sound spilling from his mouth winding Louis tighter and tighter until his jaw ached and his cock throbbed with it.
When Harry finally came apart, voice breaking, Louis held him down, licking him through it until he was sobbing his name.
Louis kissed his way back up, lips swollen, chin slick. “Perfect,” he rasped against Harry’s jaw. “So fucking perfect.”
Harry’s fingers grabbed his face, pulling him into another messy kiss. “My turn,” he panted, eyes blown black. “I’m not done. I want to ride you.”
Louis groaned so loud it rattled the bed. “Jesus Christ, Haz.” He flipped onto his back, dragging Harry with him. “Come on, then. Show me what my birthday boy wants.”
And Harry did.
The second he sank down, Louis nearly lost it. “Fuck—H—you’re so tight—” His hands clamped around Harry’s waist, trying to hold him still, but Harry wasn’t having it. He set the pace, rolling his hips, riding him like he’d been waiting all day for this, face flushed, curls damp with sweat.
Louis’ chest heaved, his head tipping back against the pillows as Harry rode him harder, faster, the sounds filthy, the rhythm relentless. Every slam of Harry’s body against his made Louis see stars.
“You’re mine,” Harry gasped, grinding down with a wicked grin. “Say it.”
Louis was gone, moaning helplessly, eyes fixed on the gorgeous mess above him. “Yours. All fucking yours.”
Harry’s smirk faltered into a desperate cry as Louis thrust up to meet him, both of them losing control, pounding into each other until the room shook.
When release finally hit, it was like falling apart together Harry collapsing onto his chest, Louis wrapping him up, both of them shaking, clinging, kissing through the wreckage.
“Happy birthday, Darling,” Louis whispered hoarsely, kissing the damp curls stuck to Harry’s forehead.
Harry laughed weakly, voice rough. “Best fucking present of my life.”

The day Jay and Mark were set to head back to Doncaster, Harry insisted on doing a proper brunch at the flat. Their flat, now because even though it still felt strange to say, Louis had been living there since Christmas, and the space had taken on both of them: Harry’s plants in the windows, Louis’ running shoes by the door, their laundry hopelessly tangled in the basket.
Harry went all out, of course. Fluffy pancakes, fruit piled high, eggs, bacon, strong Yorkshire tea. He fussed over the table like it was the Ritz until Louis had to drag him down into a chair.
Jay and Mark loved it. Loved the place, too Harry’s flat had always been cozy, but now it was littered with touches of Louis, too, and Jay made a point of saying so. “Feels like a proper home, this. The both of you in it.”
After eating, Harry kissed Louis’ cheek, thanked Jay and Mark for coming down, and headed to the café for the lunch rush, leaving Louis behind. “Have some time with your mum and dad,” he’d whispered before slipping out the door.
It wasn’t often Louis had them all to himself anymore. The quiet felt good. Familiar. He made them another round of tea, and when they were settled, Jay reached across the table, her hand warm over his.
“Tell us, love. You’re happy, aren’t you?”
Louis’ throat tightened instantly. He swallowed hard, then nodded. “Yeah. I am. Proper happy, Mum. Harry… he’s it. sounds mad too soon, but I think he’s it. The one.”
Mark’s smile deepened, eyes soft but steady. “Doesn’t sound mad to me. He’s good for you. Anyone can see it.”
Louis exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “I never thought I’d get this. After everything, after Bailey… I thought maybe that was it for me. But Harry, he makes it easy. He makes me feel like I don’t have to hold myself together all the time. Like I can just be.”
Jay’s eyes welled instantly. “Oh, my baby. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. Someone who sees you. Someone who loves you right.”
Louis hesitated then, chewing his lip, but he wanted them to know. He trusted them with all of it. “I told Lottie when we were in London, but I haven’t told you guys yet. H… he’s a carrier.”
Jay gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, tears spilling over. “Oh, Louis. He is made for you, isn’t he?”
Louis blinked fast, emotions crowding his chest. “Even if he wasn’t, Mum. Even if he couldn’t—he’d still be it. He’d still be the one.”
Mark cleared his throat roughly, his voice thick. “You’ve done well, son. Better than well. We couldn’t be happier for you.”
They sat in silence for a long moment, just the sound of Jay’s quiet sniffles and the clock ticking on the wall. Louis leaned back, tea forgotten, his chest full to bursting. For the first time, it felt real. Settled. He wasn’t just surviving anymore. He was building something. Something that would last.

Harry sat cross-legged on the bed, curls tied up messily, watching Louis fold clothes with an expression that was equal parts pout and plotting. Every time Louis dropped another shirt into the suitcase, Harry huffed like Louis had personally offended him.
“You’re packing like you’re moving out,” Harry grumbled, arms folded.
Louis smirked, leaning over to kiss the pout from his lips. “It’s seven nights, Love. Not forever.”
Harry kissed back, but the pout didn’t budge. “Feels like forever.”
That did Louis in. He set the shirt down and pushed Harry back against the pillows, kissing him until the whine in his throat turned into a moan. Clothes forgotten, they distracted themselves in the only way they knew how slow, messy kisses, hands roaming, Louis laughing into Harry’s mouth when he muttered something about unpacking him all over again.
When they finally pulled apart, flushed and breathless, Louis tucked Harry’s curls behind his ear. “Gonna miss you too, you know.”

The day of his departure came far too soon. Louis had barely finished a brutal night shift, his body buzzing on exhaustion and nerves, when Harry bundled him into the car. One hand stayed tight on Louis’ thigh the whole way to the airport, thumb tracing idle patterns like he couldn’t bear to let go.
At the drop-off lane, Harry parked and sat in silence for a moment, curls falling into his face, dimples nowhere to be found. His eyes were already misty. “Wish I could come too.”
Louis reached out, cupped his jaw, tilted his face up. “I know, baby. But you’ve got the café, and Gem, and Theo. You’d be bored senseless in Scotland while I’m stuck in lectures all day.”
Harry sniffed, trying for a laugh. “I’d find ways to entertain myself. Still, seven nights.”
Louis kissed him once, then again, slow and firm, like he could press a promise into him. “I’ll call. I’ll text. You’ll probably be sick of me before I’m back.”
Harry shook his head, eyes shining. “Never. Just… come back to me, yeah?”
Louis swallowed, chest tight, and nodded. “Always.”
The announcements inside the terminal pulled at him, sharp reminders that time was up. He hefted his bag from the boot, gave Harry one more lingering kiss that tasted of salt and goodbye, then turned toward the sliding doors.
When he glanced back, Harry was still there behind the wheel, watching him with that soft, aching smile the kind that would follow Louis onto the plane, into the hotel, into every quiet moment of the next seven nights.
Always, Louis thought, clutching the strap of his bag tighter. Always back to him.

The hotel was nice enough a little impersonal, but clean, quiet, and only five minutes’ walk from the conference centre where his training sessions were held. After he’d unpacked that first night, Louis propped his phone on the desk and FaceTime Harry, giving him a quick tour of the room.
“See?” Louis said, flipping the camera toward the wide bed and neatly folded towels. “Perfectly fine. No need to worry.”
Harry’s dimple popped, teasing. “Looks lonely without me, though.”
Louis rolled his eyes, though his chest warmed. “Don’t start, Haz.”

The first couple of days were a blur. Endless workshops, meet-and-greets with other doctors from across the UK, and dinners with new colleagues that dragged long into the night. He soaked up the knowledge, pushed through the small talk, and by the time his head hit the pillow each night, he was drained.
But no matter how late it got, he still rang Harry. Good night calls had become their ritual kisses pressed to screens, whispered I love yous, Harry’s laugh spilling into the dark like a balm.
By the third night, though, Louis knew he was showing it. His shoulders ached, his eyes were gritty, and when Harry’s face filled his phone screen, curls tied back as he curled on their sofa with a mug in hand, the first words out of Harry’s mouth were:
“You look rough, my love.”
Louis huffed a laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. “Didn’t sleep well. Even this bed’s comfortable enough. Just… not the same.”
Harry tilted his head, soft and knowing. “Miss me, then?”
“Course I do.” Louis hesitated, then admitted, “Miss your cooking too. Feels ridiculous saying it when the restaurants here are fine, but… nothing tastes right without you. Guess I’ve gone soft. Spoiled brat now.”
Harry’s laugh rang through the speaker, bright and fond. “Damn right you are. Spoiled rotten. And you love it.”
Louis leaned back against the pillows, a tired smile tugging at his mouth. He really did.
By the time the fourth afternoon rolled around, Louis was done in. He’d pushed through another full day of lectures, endless coffee cups, and more name tags and polite handshakes than he could stand. His head throbbed, a dull, insistent ache behind his eyes, and all he wanted was ten minutes with his eyes closed before he rang Harry.
Ten minutes, that’s all.
He didn’t bother undressing, didn’t even toe off his shoes. He collapsed onto the bed, face first, phone still in his pocket. He’d call Haz in a bit, let him know he was alright, hear his laugh, let the tension bleed out of his shoulders.
Just ten minutes.
The blackout curtains kept the room dim, the hum of the air conditioning low and steady, and Louis’ body gave up the fight almost instantly. Sleep dragged him under before he could think twice, heavy and dreamless.

Hours later, his phone buzzed where it had slipped between the sheets, screen lighting up with Harry’s name over and over.
But Louis didn’t stir.

Chapter Text

Harry tried to tell himself not to panic. Really, he did. Louis had texted that morning before training, a simple Good luck, love. Miss you already x. He was probably buried in lectures, maybe went to dinner with his new colleagues.
He’s fine. He’s fine.
But by the time the clock blinked past half-eight and his phone was still dark, Harry’s stomach was twisting itself inside out. His mind kept pulling him back four years ago, unanswered calls, hours of silence, and then the worst possible news.
He pressed his palms to his eyes, breathing hard. Not again. Not him.
Finally, he caved. He rang Zayn.
“Babe? It’s late, what’s—”
“Can you come over?” Harry’s voice cracked, embarrassingly thin. “Lou’s not answering. It’s past eight-thirty, and I—please, Z, I just—I can’t—”
“I’ll be there in twenty.” No hesitation, just Zayn’s calm voice cutting through the panic. “Hang tight.”

Zayn showed up with takeaway, bless him, and Harry tried to eat a few bites, but everything sat like stones in his stomach. By the time Zayn reached across the table and gently took the fork from his hand, Harry was trembling.
“He’s probably asleep, mate,” Zayn said softly. “Or still out with his course group. You know how these things go.”
Harry shook his head, throat tight. “That’s what I told myself before. With Jamie. And then—” He couldn’t even finish, bolting for the loo to heave up what little he’d managed.
When he came back, pale and shaking, Zayn didn’t say you’re overreacting. He just wrapped an arm around him on the sofa and let him tremble.
They tried calling Louis again. Straight to voicemail. Zayn even rang the hotel, but the receptionist’s voice was firm: “I’m sorry, we can’t share guest information.”
By the time it neared eleven, Harry was on the edge of unravelling. Zayn managed to coax him into a blanket, put on some film, and eventually drifted off himself, head tipped back against the couch.
Harry couldn’t sleep. His eyes burned from staring at the TV without seeing it. His chest was too tight, his hands restless. Finally, he pulled out his phone, searching the news, desperate for answers.
And then his blood ran cold.
A headline. A crash. Not far from where Louis’ hotel was.
“Fuck,” Harry whispered, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
The headline blurred as his stomach flipped. He bolted, crashing into the bathroom again, knees cracking against the tile as he vomited until his throat burned.
But it wasn’t enough. The memories surged up hotter, louder. Four years ago. Jamie’s name lighting up his phone and then silence. Hours of silence. And then the call that ripped his life in two.
Harry’s chest clamped shut. His hands clawed at his throat, gasping, choking. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Just noise, fire, panic.
“Haz!” Zayn’s voice broke sharp across the flat. The next second he was there, kneeling on the bathroom floor, grabbing Harry’s wrists. “Haz, look at me. Look at me, mate—”
Harry couldn’t. His eyes rolled, his body shaking so hard his teeth clacked.
“Fuck.” Zayn swore under his breath, voice cracking. He pulled his phone with one hand, the other still on Harry’s shoulder, and jabbed at the screen.
“Anne? It’s Zayn. You need to come. Now. He’s—he’s not breathing right, he’s—just come.”
Harry barely registered the sound of the door crashing open minutes later, Anne’s voice cutting through the haze like broken glass.
“Oh my baby.” She dropped down beside him, tears spilling as she cupped his face. “Harry, love, breathe, please. I’m here.”
Robin was there too, his hands steady but urgent, pressing against Harry’s chest like he could force the air back in. “H, in and out. Just like that. You’ve done it before.”
Harry clawed at Robin’s shirt, sobbing hard enough his body convulsed. “He’s not—he’s not answering—Jamie—Jamie—”
“Shhh.” Anne pulled him in, rocking him against her, whispering into his curls like he was a boy again. “This isn’t then. This is different. You’ve got us. You’ve got him. Breathe, my darling, breathe.”
Zayn sat behind them, eyes wet but voice steady, keeping count, coaxing Harry through every breath until the lock on his chest loosened just enough for him to suck air in.
When he finally managed it, he was shaking, skin clammy, mouth tasting of salt and bile. He croaked out the words, raw and broken: “There was a crash. Near his hotel. He’s not—he’s not answering—”
The silence after was brutal. Anne’s hand flew to her mouth, Robin’s jaw tightened, and Zayn looked like he’d been punched.
Robin spoke first, voice low but firm. “Son, he’s probably asleep. Phones die. People miss calls.”
Harry shook his head violently, tears streaming fresh. “Not him. Not Louis. Not when I’ve called a dozen times. I can’t—I can’t sit here waiting.” He shoved upright, nearly stumbling. “I’m going to him. Scotland. I know where he’s staying.”
Anne’s hand caught his wrist, trembling. “Harry—”
But Zayn stood too, steady now, making the choice for all of them. “I’ll go with him. He shouldn’t be alone.”
By the time dawn touched the horizon, Harry was on a plane with Zayn at his side, his whole body hollowed out. He wept quietly into his sleeve, a broken tap with no way to shut it off. Every mile that carried him closer to Scotland hammered one thought into his chest:
If he’s gone, I’ll break too.
By the time the taxi pulled up outside the hotel, it was nearly four in the morning. Zayn handled the fare while Harry sat slumped against the seat, eyes raw and body hollow, every muscle aching from the hours of sobbing.
“Come on, Haz,” Zayn murmured, coaxing him out of the car with a firm arm around his waist. “Nearly there.”
Harry shuffled along numbly, letting Zayn lead him through the lobby, into the lift, down the carpeted hallway. His mind was static. Just one thought, pounding over and over: Please be alive. Please be alive.
They stopped in front of Louis’ door. Zayn glanced at Harry. “What’s the number again?”
Harry whispered it, voice cracked beyond recognition.
And then Zayn started banging. Hard. Sharp knocks that echoed down the corridor. Harry pressed himself to the wall beside the door, curling in on himself, fresh tears spilling unchecked. Every second of silence stretched like an eternity.
“Louis!” Zayn barked, pounding harder. “Open the door, mate!”
Harry covered his face with his hands, breath hitching, body trembling like he was about to collapse. “He’s not—he’s not—”
“Don’t, Haz,” Zayn said, though his own voice was tight. He hammered the door again, louder, relentless.
And then finally—
The handle clicked.
The door swung open.
And there stood Louis, hair rumpled, eyes bleary with sleep, still in yesterday’s clothes. He squinted into the hallway, confused.
“Zayn? Baby?” His voice was rough, low with sleep. “What the fuck?”
Harry didn’t hear the rest. His body moved on instinct, launching forward, crashing into Louis’ chest with a sob that tore out of him like it broke something inside. His arms locked around Louis’ neck, shaking, clinging as if he’d vanish if he let go.
Louis staggered back a step, arms coming up instinctively to hold him. “Woah, woah—Haz, baby, what—what’s going on?”
Harry’s answer was muffled into his shirt, but the words still tumbled out, desperate, wrecked. “You didn’t answer. There was a crash—I thought—God, Lou, I thought I’d lost you.”
Louis froze, then tightened his grip, pulling him impossibly closer. His own voice cracked now, thick with guilt and disbelief. “Oh, Haz. I’m here. I’m alright. I just—fuck, I fell asleep. I’m so sorry, love. I’m here.”
Harry only wept harder, soaking his chest, fingers tangled tight in his shirt. Louis kissed his curls over and over, whispering apologies, promises, anything to anchor him back.
Behind them, Zayn leaned against the doorframe, relief etched across his tired face. “Jesus Christ, mate. Answer your fucking phone next time.”
Louis nodded over Harry’s shoulder, still rocking him gently. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”
But Harry couldn’t hear anything else. All he could feel was Louis’ heartbeat against his cheek, steady and alive.
Alive.
Finally.

The next time Harry opened his eyes, he was tucked in a comfortable bed, sheets warm and soft around him. He blinked blearily, not sure how much time had passed minutes, hours, he couldn’t tell. But when his gaze focused, the first thing he saw was Louis.
Louis, sitting right there at the edge of the mattress, staring at him with worry carved into every line of his face.
“Morning, baby love,” Louis whispered.
That was all it took. Harry burst into tears again, shoulders shaking, throat tight.
Louis pulled him straight into his arms, holding on like he’d never let go. “I’m so sorry, love. It’s all my fault. I’m here, I’m here…”
Harry clung to him, soaking in the steadiness of his touch, until the storm passed enough for him to breathe. He reached up with trembling fingers, tracing the lines of Louis’ face, the curve of his jaw, the furrow between his brows. “I thought I lost you, Lou. Did you know there was a crash. Not far from here.”
“I know,” Louis said softly. “Zayn told me.”
The memory hit like a brick, sharp and awful. Harry gasped, panic lacing back in. “Oh my god, Lou where is he? I just passed out and he—”
“Don’t worry, Haz,” Louis cut in gently. “We got him a room. He’s fine. Probably asleep himself by now. But not before giving me an earful.” A small, guilty smile tugged at his mouth.
Harry groaned, covering his face with both hands. “Oh my god. I totally overreacted, didn’t I?”
Louis shook his head instantly. “No. It’s alright, love. We all get it. It won’t happen again, I promise. I was just so tired, had a headache… thought I’d close my eyes for ten minutes before calling you. Next thing I knew, I was dead to the world until someone was pounding on my door.”
He kissed Harry gently then, soft and grounding. “I love you so much, Haz. I’m so sorry.”
Harry’s chest squeezed, his tears quiet this time. “It’s okay, Lou. I just… I have to make sure you’re okay. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Good thing you don’t have to find out,” Louis whispered, kissing him again. “I’m here. Not going anywhere.”
Their little bubble was broken by a knock on the door. Louis eased away, muttering, “Must be breakfast.”
A waiter wheeled in a trolley, silver lids steaming. Louis signed for it, closed the door, and turned back with a gentle smile. “You must be starving, love. Come on, let’s eat.”
Harry rubbed his eyes, finally noticing the light filtering through the curtains. “What time is it?”
“Almost nine,” Louis said, setting the trays on the table.
Harry frowned. “Lou… your training starts soon. Why aren’t you getting ready?”
Louis gave him a look like he’d grown a second head. “What, you think I’m going to leave you here after last night? Not a chance.”
Harry sighed, heart aching in a different way now. “Lou. This is really important for you. It’s your last two days. You can’t miss them just because I was dramatic. And Zayn, he needs to get back to Manchester too, doesn’t he? He’s missing work because of me.”
Louis hesitated, jaw tight, but Harry reached across the table and caught his hand. “Please. Eat with me, and then go. I’ll be fine. Promise.”
It took coaxing, kisses, a thousand reassurances, but finally Louis agreed. They ate breakfast together, trading more apologies and pressing kisses between bites until Louis was smiling again.
And when he finally left, Harry wrapped him up tight at the door, whispering one last I love you into his ear. Louis kissed his curls, promised to call at lunch, and finally forced himself down the hall toward the conference centre.
Harry lingered in the quiet room after the door clicked shut, the sheets still warm from where Louis had sat, the smell of him clinging everywhere.
He sat back on the bed, pulled Louis’ pillow close, and breathed in. His chest still ached, but the panic had eased now, replaced with a steady thrum of love and longing.
Two more nights, he told himself. Just two more, and Louis would be back where he belonged in his arms, in their home, safe.
Thankfully, Zayn had already updated his family and their friends on the whole mess. Gemma. Anne and Robin. Even Liam and Niall. Everyone knew now that Louis was safe.
Harry still felt awful about it, though. Guilty to his bones. He’d dragged them all into his panic, put Zayn through hell, and made his family relive the grief they’d carried after Jamie. As he sat in the plane seat heading back to Manchester, he made a quiet promise to himself: once Louis was home, once things settled, he’d gather them all at theirs. Cook for them, host properly. Something to show them he didn’t take their love for granted.
When the wheels hit the runway, Harry turned to Zayn, throat tight. “Not sure what I’d do without you.” His voice cracked, and he pulled Zayn into a hug so fierce it nearly knocked the breath out of him. “Thank you. For being there. For not letting me drown.”
Zayn squeezed him back just as tight, his voice low but steady. “It’s what friends are for, Haz. Don’t thank me for that.”
By the time Harry reached home, his phone was buzzing. He rang Anne immediately, heart pounding, and nearly cried again at the relief in her voice when she answered. She and Robin had kept the café ticking over with Gemma’s help, and she insisted he take the day off.
“Sleep, Harry,” she said firmly, love thick in her voice. “You’ve carried enough for the last 48hrs. Let it go for a day.”
Harry hung up, leaning back against the sofa cushions, eyes prickling. He was exhausted, still raw, but so, so grateful.
Two more nights, he thought again. Just two more nights, and Louis would be home.

Harry was dead to the world, curled into Louis’ pillow, when something icy brushed against his cheek. He groaned, swatting half-heartedly, and tried to burrow deeper under the covers.
Then he heard it.
“Darling, wake up. I’m home.”
His eyes snapped open, bleary and disbelieving. For a split second, he thought he was dreaming, because standing right there light on the nightstand spilling gold over him was Louis.
Louis fucking Tomlinson. His Louis.
In sinful black skinnies clinging like a second skin, an artfully fitted black tee, long trench coat slung perfectly across broad shoulders. His hair styled up, jaw sharp enough to cut glass. And in his hand? The biggest, most ridiculous bouquet of flowers Harry had ever seen.
“What the actual fuck?” Harry croaked, voice scratchy from sleep. “Am I dead?”
Louis only laughed, that beautiful, laugh Harry had missed more than air. He bent down, brushed Harry’s curls off his forehead, and pressed a kiss to his mouth. Soft, warm, grounding.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Louis whispered against his lips. “I’m home. Wake up.”
Harry melted instantly, kissing back greedily before tugging him closer. “You’re home,” he breathed, voice breaking. Then, needy and half-whining: “What time is it? Come to bed and fuck me, please.”
Louis smirked, eyes glittering. “Gladly, baby. But first you need to get up. It’s almost five. We’ve got to go.”
Harry blinked at him, utterly dumbfounded. “Five in the morning? What the fuck, Lou? How are you even here early?”
Louis only shrugged, smug bastard, and dropped the flowers into Harry’s lap before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. “I’ll answer on the way. Right now, get dressed. Wear something warm. I’m taking you out on a date, Haz.”
Harry groaned, dragging himself out of bed. “Where the fuck are we going at five in the bloody morning?”
Louis shot him a grin over his shoulder, already tugging him toward the wardrobe. “Have some faith in your fit-as-fuck boyfriend, will ya?”
Harry clutched the flowers to his chest, heart thundering, cheeks aching from smiling too hard. When Louis pulled him in again, whispering, “I fucking missed you, baby doll,” Harry nearly burst into tears all over again.

Harry tugged on his jumper, still yawning, while peppering Louis with questions. “How are you even home early? Last I heard, you were off charming your new doctor mates over dinner.”
Louis smirked as he adjusted his coat, maddeningly casual. “Had to take you out, didn’t I? Changed the ticket, Couldn’t wait another bloody second.”
Harry blinked at him, floored. “You’re insane.”
“Mm,” Louis hummed, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips, “but you love me.”
Harry kissed him again just because he could, still not quite believing Louis was here, warm and solid and his. “I do. God, I do. But, I’ve got the café—”
“Taken care of,” Louis cut in smoothly, smug as anything. “Anne and Robin insisted. Said if anyone deserves a day off, it’s you.”
Harry froze; and then kissed Louis so hard he nearly toppled them both. “I don’t deserve you.”
Minutes later, they were in the car, dawn just starting to smudge pale streaks across the horizon.
“Lou, where are we going?” he pestered for the fifth time. “If it’s five a.m., it better not be Tesco.”
Louis chuckled, eyes on the road. “Patience, Haz. Not a long drive. And it’s a surprise. Don’t ruin it for yourself.”
Harry huffed, but when the car slowed to a stop and Louis pulled into a wide field, his mouth fell open.
“Lou,” he breathed, voice breaking on the single word.
Spread out before him were a dozen, maybe fifteen, hot air balloons, each one glowing golden against the deep indigo of the still-dark sky. Their baskets lined up in neat rows, burners roaring to life with bursts of fire, the sound whooshing and echoing in the crisp morning air. The grass sparkled with frost underfoot, and groups of people bustled about, laughter and chatter floating on the breeze.
But Harry barely noticed them. His eyes were fixed on the sight the enormous silk domes swelling with light and heat, colours glowing like lanterns in the night. Reds, oranges, blues, each one shimmering as if the stars themselves had dipped low to kiss the earth.
It was warm and breathtaking, romantic in a way Harry could never have imagined. Like standing at the edge of a dream.
“Oh my God,” he whispered, fingers gripping Louis’ hand tight. “Lou… are you serious? This is—this is so beautiful. I can’t—”
Louis turned to look at him, his smile soft and steady, eyes full of warmth. “Told you it’d be worth waking up for, baby.”
Harry’s chest ached so sweetly he thought he might burst.

The balloon ride felt like something pulled out of a dream. Just him and Louis, wrapped in scarves and gloves, the basket swaying gently beneath them as the burner roared above. Below, the patchwork of fields glistened with frost, rivers winding like silver ribbons, little towns still asleep under the pale dawn sky.
And then the sun crested the horizon.
Harry’s breath caught. Gold spilled across everything, washing the clouds in blush and fire. Louis’ face glowed in it, curls lit up, eyes sparkling as he raised his champagne flute with that perfect smirk.
“To us,” Louis said simply.
Harry clinked his glass against his, throat too tight to say anything clever. “To us,” he echoed, and meant it with everything in him.
They sipped, and somewhere between laughter and kisses, Harry realised: he couldn’t believe this was his life. This man, this love, this ridiculous, beautiful date at five in the bloody morning. Every little moment Harry knew he’d carry them all, stitch them into the very fabric of himself. Because Louis wasn’t just his love. He was his home.
By the time the balloon touched down in a wide meadow, the world was fully awake. A breakfast spread waited for them fresh pastries, fruit, tea steaming in porcelain cups. They sat in the grass, shoulder to shoulder, eating like they had all the time in the world, sneaking bites from each other’s plates. Harry leaned against Louis’ shoulder, laughing when a crumb stuck to his dimple, kissing it away before Louis could swipe at it.
It was only when they were driven back to the start, climbing into the car again, that the mood shifted. The kind of shift that prickled heat under Harry’s skin, low and insistent.
Harry twisted in his seat, watching Louis as he buckled up, trench coat falling open to reveal that sinful black tee. “Thank you,” Harry said softly, sincere down to his bones. “That was the most amazing date ever, Lou. You’ve ruined me for life.”
Louis glanced at him, dimples flashing. “Good. That was the plan.”
Harry’s lips curved into a wicked grin, voice dipping low. “Speaking of plans… you remember what you promised me this morning, don’t you?”
Louis hummed, playing innocent. “Can’t say I do.”
Harry leaned closer, breath hot against his ear. “You promised me your cock, Tomlinson. And I’ve been hard all bloody morning, sitting in that basket, thinking about riding you when we got back.”
Louis choked on his breath, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. “Harry…”
“Mhm?” Harry smirked, sliding his hand over Louis’ thigh, fingers teasing dangerously close. “I think it’s about time you made good on that promise. Don’t you?”
The growl Louis let out was enough to make Harry shiver.

Chapter Text

Having all their friends under their roof felt… good. Like the house was finally alive in a new way.
It was the first time Liam and Niall had been round, so naturally Louis took it upon himself to give them the grand tour.
“Right,” he said, sweeping an arm dramatically as he led them upstairs. “Guest room, loo, and…” He paused outside the last door with mock solemnity. “…our bedroom. No commentary, thank you very much.”
Of course, Liam smirked anyway. “Hope you’ve put all of Harry’s lacy knickers away, mate. And packed the sex toys. Don’t fancy being traumatised today.”
Niall snorted so hard he nearly choked, wheezing as he clung to the banister.
Louis groaned. “You’re a grown ass man, Payno.”
“And a doctor at that,” Liam replied, holding up a finger like he was teaching class. “Which means I’ll survive the trauma.”
Louis shoved him lightly toward the stairs. “If you two are quite finished, I’d like to show you the rest without needing bleach for your brains.”
The tour wrapped up with fewer interruptions (though Niall still snorted every time Louis said “this is where the magic happens” about literally anything). By the time they came back downstairs, the smell of garlic and rosemary had filled the whole place.
Harry and Zayn were in the kitchen, plates steaming, moving in perfect rhythm as they set everything out: roast, salad, garlic bread, and a half-dozen sides because Harry never did anything halfway.
“Jesus, Haz,” Niall said, sliding into a chair and eyeing the spread. “You trying to fatten us all up?”
“Wouldn’t hurt you,” Zayn deadpanned, stealing a bit of potato off a tray before Harry swatted him away.
They all sat down, compliments spilling as they dug in.
“This place is gorgeous,” Liam said between bites, giving Harry an approving nod.
“Proper home,” Zayn added with a rare, warm smile.
Niall leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling. “Hope you haven’t shagged on the table, though. I’d like to enjoy my food in peace.”
Harry coughed violently into his hand, choking on nothing, curls bouncing as he tried to cover his red face.
Louis, of course, swooped in to rescue him or maybe to stir the pot further. He leaned back, smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, Horan, I can’t promise anything. Guess you’ll just have to pick a seat and hope for the best.”
The table erupted into laughter, Harry’s groan only making them howl harder.
And Louis sat there, dimples deep, heart full. His boy, their friends, their home. This was everything.
Conversation turned easy, full of laughter and overlapping voices. At one point, Harry, dimples deep, leaned into Louis’ side and said brightly, “Oh — tell them about the trip, Lou.”
Louis rolled his eyes affectionately but couldn’t stop grinning. “We’re heading to the States for our anniversary. Haz wants Disneyland, of course.”
Niall let out a bark of laughter. “Figures. I can see him with mouse ears already.”
Harry threw a grape at him across the table. “Shut it. It’s going to be magic.”
Louis squeezed his hand under the table. “And New York . Bit of exploring, some sightseeing. We can’t wait.”
“Sounds unreal,” Niall said warmly, then brightened. “Speaking of, Shawn and I are doing really well, by the way. He’s dropping his album later this year, and he’ll be coming to the UK on tour next year. You lot are all invited.”
Harry clapped for him, dimples flashing, genuinely excited, while Louis felt a flicker of pride too. Niall deserved someone steady, and it sounded like things were finally falling into place.
Liam groaned dramatically. “Great. Niall’s all coupled up, and Zayn and I are still single as fuck.”
Zayn just smirked, raising his glass. “Tragic, innit?”
Louis smirked, biting back the dozen cheeky comments on the tip of his tongue. He could’ve teased them mercilessly but for once, he kept it to himself, just enjoying the warmth of the moment. Their little found family, messy and loud and happy.
And across from him, Harry curls wild, cheeks pink from laughing, eyes sparkling looked at him like he was the luckiest bastard alive.

Nearly three months as deputy in charge of the maternity ward, and Louis was thriving. Proper thriving. Not that it was rainbows and butterflies all the time; he’d already found himself in a handful of sticky situations that made him doubt himself. But Dr. Corden had been nothing but supportive, and before Dr. White left, she’d loaded him with all the information and tips she could. It made the transition smoother, and Louis had settled into the role like it was always meant to be his.
Life felt full. Balanced. He had a job he loved, his family was healthy, and then there was Harry the bright, curly-haired centre of it all. Their anniversary trip was just around the corner, nearly three weeks away together. Just the thought of it made Louis buzz with excitement, that soft anticipation curling in his chest.
Some mornings, if their schedules lined up, they drove in together. Harry with a travel mug of tea, Louis tapping the steering wheel to whatever song Harry put on, the air full of laughter and easy domesticity. Today had been one of those mornings, and Louis was already looking forward to the drive home.
By the time his shift ended, the clouds had rolled in, and rain had begun to fall in soft, steady sheets. Louis didn’t mind. He liked the hush of it, the way the world seemed to slow down. Pulling into the familiar street, he spotted the glow of Coffee Styles, golden light spilling through the big windows, warming the grey evening.
There were still twenty minutes until closing, so instead of honking or texting, Louis parked the car and ducked his head against the drizzle, walking toward the café. The bell above the door chimed as he pushed it open, the scent of coffee, sugar, and Harry wrapping around him instantly.
The café was quiet when Louis pushed open the door, the kind of quiet that always settled in before closing. Ruby was wiping down the counter, another barista stacking chairs at the far end. All perfectly normal.
What wasn’t normal was the scene in the corner.
Harry sat at one of the tables, curls falling forward as he leaned across toward someone Louis didn’t recognise. The man’s shoulders were trembling; his hand pressed to his eyes like he was trying to stop tears.
And then Louis’ stomach dropped.
Harry reached out, curling his hand over the man’s, steady and warm. He spoke softly, so softly Louis couldn’t make out a word and then, God help him, Harry reached up and wiped a tear from his own cheek too.
Louis froze. For a heartbeat, the whole world tilted sideways. History threatened to crash down on him again nights he’d come home to Bailey’s lies, the sting of betrayal still fresh after years. No. Harry wasn’t Bailey. He knew that. He knew that.
But Christ, what the fuck was happening? Harry and some bloke in the corner, both crying, whispering low, touching hands like it was something secret?
Louis’ chest squeezed so tight it hurt. He couldn’t breathe in the scent of coffee anymore without feeling sick. Couldn’t stay standing there with Ruby only a few feet away, pretending this wasn’t tearing him in two.
Before his brain could catch up, his body made the choice for him. He turned on his heel and bolted back through the door, rain spitting against his face as he stumbled toward the car. His hands were shaking by the time he gripped the steering wheel, his mind racing faster than his heart.
He wanted to believe in Harry. He did. But the image of those joined hands, those tears, played repeatedly, cruel as hell.
Louis sat in the car, fingers white-knuckled on the wheel, watching the rain lash harder against the windscreen. He tried to breathe through it in, out, again but his chest still felt like it was caving in. The thought of going home without Harry ripped at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to drive off either. So he sat there. Waited. Counted every bloody second.
Fifteen fucking minutes.
He was just about to mutter fuck it and pull out when the passenger door flew open. A rush of cold air and rain spilled in as Harry bolted inside, curls damp, cheeks flushed pink.
“Sorry, sorry! It’s pissing it down,” Harry muttered, breathless, slamming the door shut. He leaned across, pressing a quick kiss to Louis’ cheek. “Hi, Lou.”
Louis didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Just stared ahead, jaw tight.
It took Harry a beat to notice. Then he did. His brow furrowed, his hand reaching tentatively for Louis’ arm. “Lou? What’s wrong?” His voice softened immediately, worry flooding his tone. “Wait have you been crying? Oh my god, love, what happened?”
Louis swallowed hard. His throat burned. He knew Harry wouldn’t betray him, not like that, but the image was still there, seared into his mind: Harry’s hand covering someone else’s, tears between them.
“I came in,” Louis rasped finally, forcing the words out. “I saw you. In the corner. With… whoever the fuck that was.” He turned then, eyes wet, voice breaking. “You were holding his hand, H. Both of you crying. Who was he?”
The silence that followed stretched sharp as glass. The rain hammered harder against the roof. And Louis sat there, staring at Harry, waiting for an answer that he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear.
Harry took a deep breath, let it out slow. His fingers twisted in his lap before he finally looked up, steady but soft.
“That was Andy,” he said quietly. “Jamie’s brother.”
Louis’ stomach dropped. Fuck.
“Remember I told you he moved to Japan?” Harry went on, voice wobbling just slightly. “Well… he got back here about a week ago. Just to sell his parents’ house and settle in Japan for good. He’s found someone there.”
Louis blinked, shame prickling hot under his skin. He felt like a right dick, sitting there stewing in jealousy when Harry had been sitting with ghosts.
Harry sniffled, scrubbing a hand over his face before continuing. “He came in to say goodbye. And… to visit his family.” His voice cracked, just a little. “The graves. It still stings sometimes, you know?”
Louis’ chest squeezed tight, watching the man he loved unravel so gently in front of him.
Harry went on, words spilling slow and careful. “We got to talking about his parents. And Jamie. That’s why he was crying. And then… then he asked me if I’d moved on.”
His green eyes lifted, glimmering in the dim light. “Told him about you. Showed him pictures of us.”
Louis’ throat burned. He reached across the console, hand trembling as he cupped Harry’s jaw.
After a moment of silence, Harry whispered, “He said Jamie would’ve been happy for me.” His lashes clumped with tears, his voice breaking as he wiped at his eyes.
Louis couldn’t take it anymore he leaned across, kissed him hard, swallowing both their tears. “Course he would, love,” Louis murmured against his lips.
Louis couldn’t stop himself apology after apology spilled out as he kissed Harry’s cheeks, his temple, the tip of his nose. “I’m so fucking sorry, Haz. Should’ve trusted you, should’ve—”
Harry cut him off with a soft laugh, brushing his thumb under Louis’ eye where the tears had dried. “Lou. Stop. S’alright. You asked. I told you. We’re good.”
Still, Louis kissed him again, slow and lingering, before pulling back with a firm nod. “Right then. No cooking for you tonight. I’m taking you out.”
Harry’s brows shot up, mischief already brewing. He let his gaze drag shamelessly from Louis’ messy hair down to his navy scrubs, biting his lip. “But Lou… you’re in scrubs.” His dimples carved deep as he leaned closer, whispering like it was scandalous. “You know what that does to me. You could just take me home. To bed.”
Louis barked out a laugh, rolling his eyes even as his ears burned. “Now, now, my love. You’ll have me, alright. But first—” he winked, squeezing Harry’s thigh, “I’m feeding you.”
Harry groaned dramatically, tipping his head back against the seat. “Fine”
“What do you fells like tonight” louis asked.
Louis smirked, watching him think it over like it was a life-or-death decision.
Finally, Harry perked up, eyes bright. “Curry? Please? Haven’t had a proper one in ages.”
“Curry it is,” Louis said without hesitation, already reaching for the ignition. He glanced sideways at Harry, voice softening. “But after that, baby, you can have me any bloody way you want.”
Harry’s answering grin was wicked, dimples deep. “Careful what you promise, Doc. I plan to hold you to it.”

The little curry house they ended up in was warm and buzzing, full of clinking glasses and the smell of spices that made Louis’ stomach growl. Harry had insisted on ordering half the menu, dimples flashing as he bargained with the waiter for extra naan “just in case.”
They were halfway through sharing a plate of samosas when Louis noticed it Harry’s eyes kept darting across the restaurant. Not in his usual nosey, people-watching way. This was different. Focused.
Louis followed his gaze and spotted her. A very pregnant woman, sat with her partner, laughing as he tried to wrestle open a stubborn soda bottle.
Louis looked back at Harry, who instantly flushed, caught out.
“You want anything else, Haz?” Louis asked casually, popping a bite into his mouth.
Harry shook his head, curls bouncing, but his cheeks were still pink.
Louis smirked. “I can practically hear your brain wheels turning, baby. Go on. Out with it.”
Harry shifted in his seat, lowering his voice as if the whole restaurant might hear. His eyes flicked back toward the woman before landing on Louis again. “That would be the dream, right? One day?”
Louis’ heart squeezed. He knew what Harry meant, but he wanted him to say it. “What are you saying, H?” he asked gently.
Harry toyed with the edge of his naan, dimples nowhere to be seen now, just his wide, earnest eyes. He swallowed. “To have a family. One day.” His voice was so quiet Louis barely caught it.
Louis reached across the table, threading their fingers together. Warm, steady. “You want to have a baby, Haz?”
Harry’s gaze lifted, locking with his. There was no hesitation, just that quiet honesty Louis had fallen so hard for. “One day soon, maybe. But… not right now. I’m not ready to share you.” His cheeks went crimson at his own words.
Louis’ chest felt too full, like it might burst. He squeezed Harry’s hand, voice low. “Glad we’re on the same page then, love. Soon, yeah. Not yet.”
Harry’s smile returned then, small but real, curling the corners of his mouth as he squeezed back. And Louis thought curry, chaos, or candlelight he’d give Harry that dream one day.
The curry had warmed them both through, the chatter easy, but Louis hadn’t missed the way Harry’s eyes kept darting, that soft flush every time their knees brushed under the table. By the time they got home, the tension was a living thing between them.
“Shower?” Harry suggested, voice too casual, curls bouncing as he tugged Louis’ hand toward the bathroom.
Louis didn’t need telling twice. Steam filled the room quick, the water hot as Harry stripped, pale skin flushed, his tattoos catching the light. They took their time, hands sliding slow over each other’s bodies, washing away the day. Harry pressed close, soap-slick and smiling, kissing Louis under the spray until Louis’ cock ached against his thigh.
“Bed,” Louis rasped against his lips, tugging the towel around his waist as they stumbled out, half laughing, half desperate.
By the time Harry hit the mattress, towel loose, he was already a mess pupils blown, lips swollen, chest rising quick. Louis knelt between his legs, kissing him breathless, then sliding down, teasing Harry with little licks and kisses until Harry was writhing.
“Relax, baby,” Louis whispered, slicking his fingers with lube. He pressed one in, slow, watching Harry gasp and arch, his curls sticking damp to his temples. “Let me get you ready.”
Harry whined, clutching the sheets as Louis worked him open, one finger becoming two, then three, scissoring, stretching, brushing that spot that made Harry cry out. Louis never looked away, drinking in every sound, every twitch.
“You’re gorgeous like this,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to Harry’s chest, sucking a nipple until Harry shivered violently. “Fucking mine.”
Harry’s whimpers grew higher, more desperate, his thighs trembling as Louis curled his fingers just right. When Louis finally pulled them free, Harry let out a strangled moan at the emptiness, already reaching for him.
“Need you,” Harry gasped, voice cracking. “Please, Lou—inside me. Now.”
They’d gone slow tonight, kisses deep and lingering, their bodies moving together like they had all the time in the world. Louis was buried inside him, their chests pressed close, every thrust deliberate, dragging moans from Harry’s throat that went straight to his cock.
“Lou,” Harry breathed against his mouth, the word cracking halfway through. “So good… don’t stop—please don’t stop.”
Louis kissed him quiet, tongues brushing, his hand gripping Harry’s hip to hold him steady as he rolled into him repeatedly. Each push drew a whimper, Harry clutching at him like he couldn’t bear an inch of distance.
“Fuck, baby,” Louis rasped against his ear, the heat coiling tighter in his stomach. “You feel unreal—tightest cunt ever. You were made for me, Haz. Only me.”
Harry whimpered at the words, his legs locking tighter around Louis’ waist. He tipped his head back, curls sticking to his flushed skin, voice breaking on a desperate sob.
“Y-you’re in so deep,” Harry gasped, trembling, his hand searching until he caught Louis’ wrist. He dragged it down, lower, pressing Louis’ palm flat against his belly.
“Feel it,” Harry whispered, eyes wet, voice high and wrecked. “That’s you, Lou. Your cock’s right here, filling me up.”
Louis groaned, nearly undone just from the sight of him like this wild, trembling, utterly his.
Harry’s eyes locked on his, glassy and pleading. “One day,” he panted, lips trembling, “I’ll be carrying your babies just like this. All full of you. Can’t wait—fuck—”
Louis saw stars. His whole body seized, the sound torn from his throat raw and guttural as he spilled inside Harry, his hips stuttering. At the same time, Harry broke apart beneath him, clenching tight and sobbing out his name as he came untouched, his whole body shaking violently against Louis’.
They clung to each other through it, gasping into each other’s mouths, kisses messy and wet and desperate. Louis kept his hand pressed over Harry’s stomach, holding him there, whispering into his skin between frantic kisses.
“My boy,” he groaned, voice shaking, “my beautiful boy. You’re mine, Haz. Always mine.”
Harry’s tears streaked hot down his cheeks, but his smile was blinding, blissed out and full of love. “Always,” he whispered back, kissing him like he meant it.
They collapsed together, tangled in sweat-slick limbs, both wrecked and trembling but unwilling to let go, Louis’ cock still buried deep inside him as though even their bodies refused to separate.
For a long time, there were no more words, just breath and touch and the unspoken truth between them: they were everything to each other.

Chapter Text

The morning of their flight started with Harry’s lips on Louis’ skin. Soft little kisses across his cheekbones, his nose, the corner of his mouth, until Louis finally groaned, cracked one bleary eye open, and muttered, “Christ, Harold, it’s too early.”
Harry only smiled, curls flopping in his face as he kissed him again. “Too early to kiss the love of my life? Don’t think so.”
Louis rolled onto his back with a grin that betrayed him instantly. “Alright, fine. But only because you called me the love of your life.”
By the time they were bundled into the taxi with their suitcases, Harry was practically vibrating. It was their first big trip together, and he couldn’t stop fidgeting, talking about what snacks they should buy at the airport, which rides he wanted to drag Louis on at Disney. Louis listened, amused, his hand resting steady on Harry’s thigh the whole way.
At the terminal, Louis took charge, pulling their bags with a quiet confidence. Harry trailed behind, still buzzing, until something felt off.
“Uh, love?” Harry tugged on his sleeve. “Think we’re going the wrong way. British Airways check-ins over there.”
Louis didn’t even slow his stride. “I know where I’m going, Harold.”
Harry blinked, confused, following him around a corner only to stop dead when he realised exactly where Louis had led them. The glossy sign above their heads read: British Airways First Class.
Harry’s jaw dropped. “Louis. Are you being serious?”
Louis turned to him, smug smile firmly in place, and stole a kiss before Harry could splutter any more. “Swear down, I’ve got nothing to do with this. It’s all Lottie. She does this all the time. Don’t worry costs her nothing.”
Harry groaned, half embarrassed, half glowing, muttering under his breath, “Bloody Tomlinson’s.”
Louis just laughed, tugging him closer by the hand. “You love us really.”
And he did. Harry leaned in against him as they joined the short line, still shaking his head in disbelief, but dimples deep and eyes soft. Louis pressed a kiss to his curls, letting himself sink into the warmth of it.
Because he knew something Harry didn’t. Something Harry couldn’t even dream yet. This trip was going to change everything.
The champagne had barely been poured before Harry was gawking like a kid in a sweet shop. He’d flown plenty before, sure, but never like this never in first class, where the glasses clinked softly and the seats turned into beds, and everything gleamed like it had been polished just for them.
Louis smirked over the rim of his glass, watching him take it all in. “What’s that look, Curly? Already planning on getting used to this?”
Harry rolled his eyes, but the dimples betrayed him. “Maybe. Don’t tempt me.” He sipped at his drink, eyes flicking mischievously before settling, soft, thoughtful. “Actually, I was thinking…”
Louis groaned dramatically, leaning his head back against the seat. “Oh no. This sounds serious.”
“Shut up.” Harry nudged him with his foot, curls bouncing as he turned to face him properly. “Listen, okay? So… in, like, almost three months it’s your birthday. And Christmas. Even though the last one feels like it was about five minutes ago.”
Louis hummed, acknowledging it with a nod. The last months had been a whirlwind his promotion, the training, the café busier than ever. Harry wasn’t wrong; time had blurred.
Harry fiddled with his napkin, eyes hopeful. “Do you think your parents might consider coming down to Manchester this year? For Christmas and your birthday, I mean. We could do your birthday at ours. Properly. All of us together.”
Louis tilted his head, considering it. He could practically see Harry’s heart in his eyes, wide and earnest. After a beat, a smile tugged at his lips. “Big fat chance they will, Haz. Especially since your mum and mine can’t seem to go a day without chatting. Didn’t they spend mum’s birthday at some fancy spa? The four of them, like best mates.”
Harry laughed, the memory warming his chest. “Yeah, they did. Mum wouldn’t shut up about how Jay had her in fits of giggles the whole time.”
“And Lottie,” Louis added with a snort, “calling herself Theo’s godmother when she came down at Easter. Didn’t even ask Gemma, just announced it like it was law.”
Harry grinned so wide it hurt. “Gemma didn’t even argue. Think she liked the idea.”
They both laughed, the sound easy, familiar, filling the quiet hum of the cabin around them.
Louis reached over, catching Harry’s hand in his, thumb stroking lazily across his rings. “We’ll talk to them when we get back home, yeah? But I reckon they’ll be more than alright with it.”
Harry squeezed back, heart full. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Louis’ grin softened, dimples deepening. “Something tells me the mums will have it all planned before we even finish asking.”
Harry let out a happy little sigh, leaning his head onto Louis’ shoulder as the plane rumbled higher into the sky. And for a while, everything felt perfect like home was right there with them, no matter how far they flew.

The first week of their trip was nothing short of magic. New York was loud and alive in a way that seeped into their bones, the city wrapping around them with its flashing lights and endless energy. For Louis, it was overwhelming and exhilarating in equal measure; for Harry, it was like walking through one of his daydreams, every corner begging for a picture, every moment too good not to capture.
Times Square was their first stop. They arrived at dusk, the sky fading but the neon already buzzing, billboards so bright it felt like midday. Harry was practically bouncing, tugging Louis by the hand, making him stop so he could take a dozen photos of them selfies with the chaos behind them, Louis smirking while Harry flashed his dimples like he belonged on one of the giant screens above. Louis pretended to groan, but he leaned into every shot, his hand sneaking to Harry’s waist every time.
Later, they wandered through the streets, stopping at a tiny pizza joint that claimed to have the “best slice in New York.” Grease and cheese dripping onto flimsy paper plates, Harry moaned dramatically after the first bite. “This is life-changing, Lou.”
Louis raised an eyebrow, taking his own bite. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, love. It’s just pizza.”
Harry pointed at him with the crust. “Not just pizza. New York pizza.”
Louis rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling at Harry’s pure joy.
Central Park was their calm after the chaos. They strolled hand in hand, stopping to watch buskers play violins under stone bridges and kids race tiny boats on the pond. Harry insisted on renting a rowboat, nearly tipping them both into the water with his dramatics, while Louis laughed until his stomach hurt. A sweet older woman offered to take their photo, and Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’ shoulders, pressing his cheek to his temple. That picture he decided instantly would end up framed on their wall.
The museums had Louis in his element. At the Met, he lost himself among ancient artifacts, eyes bright as he rambled about history and meaning. Harry didn’t understand half of it, but he watched Louis instead. the way his hands moved as he explained something, the light in his eyes when he was excited. He took a sneaky picture, later captioning it on his private Instagram story: Smartest, sexiest man alive. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.
Broadway was Harry’s domain. He dragged Louis to see a musical front row, of course, because Harry wouldn’t settle for less. Louis had pretended to groan about it, but by intermission, he was leaning forward in his seat, utterly captivated. “Alright,” he whispered as the curtain fell for the break, “I’ll admit it. This is brilliant.”
Harry grinned, smug. “Told you so.”
The nights were their Favorite. Dinner after dinner in tucked-away restaurants French bistros with too much wine, rooftop bars with skyline views that stole their breath, cozy Italian trattorias where Louis teased Harry for spilling pasta sauce down his shirt. They lingered long after dessert, drinking wine and kissing between candlelight, the city’s hum fading into background music to their own little bubble.
One night, they stumbled out of a wine bar tipsy and happy, Harry laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes as Louis tried to hail a cab in his most dramatic Yorkshire accent. “Excuse me, sir, could you kindly drive me and my tipsy princess home?” he shouted. Harry shoved him, still laughing, before pulling him into a kiss right there on the sidewalk.
They took too many photos, of course. Harry’s phone was nearly full by the end of the week selfies of them in every spot, blurry candids of Louis trying to hide behind menus, shots of Harry pretending to pose like a model in shop windows. Louis pretended to complain, but every time Harry asked for “just one more,” he leaned in willingly.
By the time they boarded the train for their next stop, both were exhausted but glowing. New York had given them noise and food and laughter, but most importantly, it had given them memories that already felt stitched into the fabric of their love story.

If New York had been all glittering lights and city buzz, California was something else entirely sun-soaked, golden, wide open.
San Francisco was their first stop, and Harry fell in love instantly. The hills nearly killed Louis’ calves, but Harry thought the pastel houses and cable cars were “romantic as fuck.” They biked across the Golden Gate Bridge, wind whipping Harry’s curls while Louis shouted dramatic complaints about the incline. Harry just laughed, dimples flashing, and stopped mid-ride to kiss him at the top, the whole bay stretching out behind them. They wandered Fisherman’s Wharf for clam chowder in sourdough bowls, Louis making faces while Harry tried to feed him seafood.
Los Angeles was a different kind of magic loud and a little wild, but Louis admitted it had its charm. Harry dragged him to all the tourist spots: the Walk of Fame, the Hollywood sign hike, Rodeo Drive where Harry absolutely insisted Louis try on sunglasses he had no intention of buying. They ate tacos from a food truck that had Louis declaring them “better than half the Michelin-starred stuff I’ve had,” and Harry teased him for licking salsa off his thumb in the middle of the street.
Nights in LA were spent tangled in sheets at their hotel, because every time they made it back to the room, Harry seemed determined to test the limits of Louis’ stamina. Louis let him, happily, because nothing in the world compared to Harry gasping his name.
But Malibu, Malibu was something else entirely. Their last night on the West Coast, they walked barefoot along the sand, the Pacific crashing silver in the moonlight. Harry had gone quiet, hand tight in Louis’, curls blowing in the breeze.
Back at their rented beach house, Harry couldn’t seem to keep his hands off him. The night turned feverish fast kisses messy, clothes tossed aside in the dark. Louis ended up flat on his back, stars glittering through the open window, Harry between his thighs like he was worshipping him.
“Fuck, Haz—” Louis choked when Harry swallowed him down, wet heat tight around his cock, tongue working him like he’d been made for it. Louis’ hands scrambled in his curls, hips jerking helplessly.
Harry just hummed, sinful, eyes flicking up like he knew exactly what he was doing to Louis. When he pulled back for air, his lips were swollen, slick, voice wrecked but smug. “Want every drop, Lou.”
Louis’ laugh broke on a moan, his head falling back against the pillow. “At this rate, my dick might fall off, love.”
Harry only grinned, diving back down, obscene slurps filling the quiet room. It didn’t take long before Louis was spilling down his throat, swearing breathlessly, body shaking apart under Harry’s sinful mouth.
When Harry finally crawled up his body, lips shiny, eyes soft and wild all at once, Louis couldn’t stop kissing him deep and messy, tasting himself on Harry’s tongue.
They lay there afterwards, sweaty and tangled, Harry pressed tight against his chest. And Louis thought not for the first time that he’d never been loved like this. Never been consumed and cherished all at once, never had someone who could make him feel like home and ruin him completely in the same breath.
Harry, for his part, thought the exact same thing. He’d never loved like this before. And he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop.

The final week of their U.S. trip was pure magic. Disneyland had been Harry’s dream, and Louis swore he’d never seen him so alive. curls tucked under Mickey ears, dimples on full display, bounding from ride to ride like he was ten years old again.
Harry declared at least three times a day that it wasn’t fair. Louis strutting around in shorts and a tank top, lean muscles tanned and glowing, looking every bit like he owned the park. “How the fuck am I supposed to control myself,” Harry had hissed one afternoon in the queue for Space Mountain, “when you look like that?”
Louis had only smirked, slipping a hand low on Harry’s back. “Baby, have you not seen yourself in the mirror? You’re the hottest bloody hipster I’ve ever seen, and you’ve somehow managed to pull off Lottie’s ‘Disney princess cupcake’ vibe at the same time.”
Harry had flushed scarlet at that, but truthfully, he was in his element skipping down Main Street, face lit up with pure joy, dragging Louis toward cotton candy stalls and churros, insisting they take a million pictures. And Louis? Louis found himself enjoying it far more than he’d expected. Disney really was the happiest place on earth, he decided. Especially with Harry by his side.

Harry woke to the soft rustle of paper and the faintest scent of roses. He blinked his eyes open, curls a mess, only to find Louis standing at the foot of their hotel bed holding the biggest bouquet of red and white roses he’d ever seen.
“Morning, love,” Louis said softly, setting them down on the little table by the window. He leaned over the bed, pressing a slow kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Happy anniversary.”
Harry’s heart squeezed so tight it almost hurt. “Lou… you didn’t—”
“Course I did,” Louis interrupted with a grin, tugging the sheet down just enough to kiss the tip of Harry’s nose. “Flowers for my boy on our day. Nothing less would do.”
Harry groaned into his pillow, his dimples giving him away when he whispered, “I love you so much, you sappy bastard.”
They ordered breakfast in bed pancakes dripping with syrup for Harry, a full English for Louis and lingered under the covers long after the trays had been cleared, kissing lazily, scrolling through the photos they’d taken the past two weeks. It felt like the world had slowed down just for them, the morning sunlight slanting golden across Harry’s skin.
By the time evening fell, they’d wrung every drop of magic out of the park rides, snacks, photo ops with characters Harry insisted on (“Lou, you have to hug Pluto, you’ll regret it if you don’t!”).
And then the fireworks began.
Harry was dressed in a pale-yellow button-up, the top few buttons undone, white jeans hugging his long legs, Mickey ears perched jauntily in his curls. Sunburned and glowing, he looked like he’d stepped out of a dream.
Louis, meanwhile, wore black skinny jeans, a soft white tee under a denim jacket, his hair pushed back just so. Understated, but Harry couldn’t stop looking at him all day, muttering about how it was unfair Louis could make casual look that sexy.
When the first firework cracked across the sky, Louis’ heart thundered. He took Harry’s hands, pulling him slightly out of the crowd, the castle glowing blue and gold behind them.
“Haz,” Louis started, his voice steady though his palms were slick, “I never stood a chance, you know? From the minute I stepped into your café and saw you, curls and dimples and attitude, I was gone. And somehow, without even trying, you managed to rip down every wall I’d built around my heart.”
Harry’s breath caught, tears already shining.
“I never thought I’d feel this way again,” Louis continued, his voice breaking just slightly. “But you… you make me want everything. I can’t imagine a life without you in it. You’re my best friend, my love, my home.”
Harry was crying now, little gasps escaping him, hands trembling in Louis’.
Louis dropped to one knee, pulling the small velvet box from his pocket. The ring caught the glow of the fireworks — rose gold, shaped like two delicate figures holding up a luminous pearl. Dramatic, unusual, perfect. Just like Harry.
“Harry Styles,” Louis whispered, every word soaked in love, “will you marry me?”
Harry let out a choked sob, both hands flying to his mouth before he nodded frantically. “Yes. Oh my god, yes. Yes, Louis, of course I will!”
Louis slid the ring onto his shaking finger, and Harry threw himself into his arms just as the sky erupted in colour. They kissed, hard and messy, fireworks bursting above them, the crowd’s cheers fading into nothing. For that moment, it was only them.
Back at their hotel, Harry stared at the ring like it was spun from starlight. His hand shook as he turned it, pearl catching the lamplight, the delicate figures holding it up like it was the whole world.
“I’m never taking it off,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. He cupped Louis’ face between both hands and kissed him again, slow and reverent, like he was breathing him in.
They made love like it was the first and last time all at once tangled together in sheets and each other’s arms, whispering I love you’s between gasps and kisses, celebrating in the only way that ever felt right. Every touch was a promise. Every kiss, a vow.
Later, curled together with Harry sprawled across Louis’ chest, he snapped a quick photo of his hand the ring glittering against his flushed skin and sent it straight into the group chat.
Both of their phones nearly caught fire.
Gemma: WHATTTT
Lottie: ABOUT BLOODY TIME, YOU SODS
Anne: 😭😭😭 so happy for you, my boys
Niall: ohhh my god you did it congrats lads 🥂
Zayn: fucking finally. knew it.
Liam: love you both. so happy.
Jay: Oh my loves, I can’t stop crying. Louis, I’ve never seen you so happy. Harry, thank you for loving my boy the way he deserves. You’re part of us now, always.
Harry read that one twice, throat tight, eyes blurring. Louis reached for the phone, reading it over his shoulder, and for once even he didn’t have a cheeky comeback. He just pressed his forehead to Harry’s temple and let himself breathe through the wave of emotion.
“You’re mine now,” Louis whispered against his skin.
Harry tilted his head back just enough to meet his eyes, shining even brighter than the fireworks had. He twisted the ring once more on his finger and smiled.
“Always was, Lou.”

The morning after the fireworks and the ring, they packed their bags and boarded a short flight west. Still riding the high of their engagement, still touching each other like they couldn’t believe it was real.
Vegas was everything people promised and more loud, bright, gaudy, and alive. The strip seemed to hum under their feet as they dragged their suitcases through the heat, neon flashing above them.
And maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was just them, but that night, they did something reckless. Something thrilling. Something only the two of them would ever know for now.
The next morning, hungover on adrenaline, they sat side by side in a tiny tattoo studio just off the strip. Louis picked an arrow, sharp and clean, etched into his skin as a promise he’d never forget that day. Harry, cheeks pink with nerves but dimples showing, chose a compass. “So I’ll always find my way back to you,” he said, voice soft enough that only Louis could hear.
Neither of them explained further. They didn’t need to.
What happened in Vegas would stay in Vegas. at least, until the time was right. But the ink was there to remind them forever.

Chapter Text

The days after they got back blurred into one another. jet lag, unpacking, Louis sneaking kisses in the kitchen whenever Harry grumbled about laundry, café rushes, and evenings curled up on the sofa. Their trip already felt like some golden dream, tucked away between them like a secret no one else could touch. But real life had a way of pulling them forward.
Theo’s birthday arrived before Harry even had time to breathe. One year. One whole year of that little boy, and Harry couldn’t remember what life looked like before him. Gemma’s home was crowded with balloons, gifts piled everywhere, and Theo at the centre of it all, chubby cheeks sticky with cake, babbling happily as if the whole party was his idea.
Harry adored him. Every roll, every giggle, every tiny hand reaching up. He’d die for that kid a thousand times over. Which made it sting even more that Theo’s dad never cared. Never tried. Harry caught himself watching Theo blow spit bubbles with Robin on his knee and had to bite down hard on the bitterness curling in his chest. Because how could their father turn his back on this? On Gemma, on him, on family?
It wasn’t fair. It would never be fair.
Later, when the cake was cut and Theo was drowsy in Gemma’s arms, Harry slipped beside her, bumping her shoulder gently. “He’s perfect,” he said softly, staring at his nephew’s sleepy little face.
Gemma smiled, tired but glowing. “Yeah. He is.”
Harry swallowed, throat tight. He couldn’t help it. the words came out raw. “I hope with all my heart, Gem, that you find someone one day who makes both of you happy. Who doesn’t run. Who doesn’t ever make you feel like you’ve been left behind.”
Gemma blinked at him, eyes wet suddenly. For a second, Harry thought she might brush him off with a joke. But instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder, whispering, “I hope so too, H. I really do.”
Harry wrapped an arm around her carefully, pressing his cheek to the top of her hair. And in that moment, surrounded by laughter and family and the faint hum of Louis’ voice chatting in the kitchen, Harry decided something quietly, deep in his bones.
He would always be there for Theo. Always be there for Gemma. No matter what their dad had done. Harry would be the opposite. He’d never let them feel abandoned again.

Just like that, it was Louis’ birthday again. Harry couldn’t believe how quickly time had gone three months since their engagement, and still every morning he caught himself staring at the ring on his finger like it might vanish if he blinked too long. Sometimes it still felt like a dream.
But birthdays were real, and this one was all about Louis.
Harry had spoiled him rotten, of course. Breakfast in bed (cinnamon rolls and tea, because Louis would kill him if he forgot), flowers delivered to the flat, and a brand-new leather jacket Harry knew he’d look devastatingly good in. But the real gift wasn’t from him alone. Louis’ whole family had come down to Manchester Jay, Mark, and Lottie to celebrate properly, hosted in Harry’s and Louis’ place.
The flat had never been so full. Gemma was there with Theo, who had instantly charmed Jay by trying to grab her earrings with chubby fists. Robin and Anne came too, bringing wine and stories, and before long their little home was buzzing with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of glasses.
It felt like a family. not his family, not Louis’, but theirs. All together.
At dinner, between teasing Louis about turning another year older and passing Theo around like the crown jewel, the talk turned to the wedding.
“Beach wedding?” Mark asked with a raised brow, sipping his pint. “That’ll be one for the books.”
Harry blushed, fiddling with the edge of his napkin, but Louis only grinned, dimples flashing. “We’ve talked about it loads. Summer next year. Gives us plenty of time to plan, and the weather should be decent.”
“Decent?” Lottie gasped dramatically. “It’s going to be bloody perfect, Louis. You two on a beach in the sun.it’s practically a rom-com waiting to happen.”
Anne and Jay exchanged a look, both misty-eyed already. “It feels too far away,” Anne admitted softly. “But I suppose it gives us something to look forward to.”
“It does,” Jay agreed, squeezing Mark’s hand. Then she turned to Harry, her smile gentle. “You’ve made my boy so happy. I can’t wait to see you both walk down that aisle.”
Harry had to look away, cheeks flaming, because the sheer love in her voice was enough to undo him completely. Louis nudged his knee under the table, giving him a secret grin that said he felt the exact same way.
The night rolled on with wine and cake, Theo babbling happily until he fell asleep on Robin’s shoulder. There was laughter over old stories. Lottie spilling some particularly embarrassing childhood moments that had Louis burying his face in his hands while everyone else roared.
And through it all, Harry couldn’t stop stealing glances at Louis, his Louis, surrounded by all the people who loved him most. He looked radiant, blue eyes sparkling, and Harry’s chest ached with the sheer joy of it.
Later, when everyone had gone or gone to bed, Harry curled up with Louis in their room, pressing kisses to his cheek, his jaw, his neck. “Happy birthday, my love,” he whispered. “I hope you know just how loved you are.”
Louis smiled, pulling him close until their foreheads touched. “I do. Because of you.”

It had been a long time coming. all five of them finally out together, celebrating properly. Between work, shifts, and life in general, there hadn’t been a real night where it was just them: Louis, Harry, Zayn, Liam, Niall… and now Shawn, down visiting Niall for a few days.
So here they were in a low-key Manchester club, tucked in a booth with too many cocktails and just enough loud music to keep things easy. A little celebration of everything at once: Niall and Shawn going strong, and finally, finally acknowledging Harry and Louis’ engagement.
Harry was mid-sip of his second cocktail when Liam leaned forward, smirking.
“So, H, where did your husband disappear to?”
The word hit like a bullet. Harry choked on his drink, coughing so hard he nearly sloshed it down his shirt.
“My what?” he croaked, eyes wide.
Zayn snorted into his glass. “Come on, Haz. You two were basically married long before the ring. You act like it anyway.”
Harry let out a shaky laugh, his heart hammering, only managing, “Lou went to the loo.”
As if on cue, Louis appeared, sliding back into the booth, cheeks flushed from the warmth of the club. Harry looked right at him, dimples daring to show, and blurted, “Ah, here’s my husband now.”
Louis froze mid-sit, brow arched. “Your what?”
Harry smirked, shrugging like it was the most natural thing in the world. “My husband.”
Zayn tipped his glass toward them. “See? What did I tell you. Old married couple.”
Louis rolled his eyes, but the pink climbing his cheeks gave him away. “You lot are impossible,” he muttered, though he slid an arm around Harry’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to his curls anyway.
The night carried on with laughter, teasing, and more drinks than Harry usually allowed himself. At some point, they all stumbled onto the dance floor, lights flashing, music pounding, and Harry could feel Louis behind him hands possessive on his hips, mouth brushing his ear.
“Call me your husband again,” Louis growled low, hips grinding.
Harry laughed breathlessly. “Thought you didn’t like it.”
“I fucking love it.” Louis bit his neck gently, and Harry swore his knees nearly buckled.
Minutes later, Louis tugged him out of the club, ignoring odd looks from their friends. By the time they tumbled into the backseat of Louis’s car, Harry was already tugging at Louis’ shirt, lips locked with his.
“Fuck, Darling,” Louis groaned as Harry straddled him, riding him hard and desperate, the windows fogging instantly. They came messy, frantic, laughing into each other’s mouths like teenagers sneaking around again.
When they finally stumbled back into the club, flushed and rumpled, Niall took one look and burst out laughing. “Oh, Jesus Christ. You two couldn’t even last one night out, could ya?”
Liam shook his head, smirking. “Honestly pathetic.”
Zayn raised his glass in salute, eyes glinting. “At least they’re consistent.”
Harry buried his face in Louis’ shoulder, mortified but glowing all the same.
As the night wore on, though, between the jokes and the drinks, Harry couldn’t help but notice something else. The way Zayn’s eyes lingered a little too long on Liam. The way Liam’s laugh was always softer when Zayn said something. Subtle looks, glances that carried weight.
Harry tucked the thought away, biting back a smile. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe… maybe there was something there.
And honestly? He kind of hoped he was right.

The first week of January felt like a blur. back to the café grind, Louis juggling endless shifts, the house slowly filling with birthday gifts and stray pine needles from the Christmas tree they still hadn’t taken down. It was ordinary, quiet, and somehow Harry loved it even more for that.
They were out doing groceries on Louis’ one blessed day off, Louis pushing the trolley with his sleeves shoved up, tattoos peeking out, while Harry trailed alongside with a basket full of veg and bakery bread, he swore he needed. Louis kept teasing him, slipping packets of biscuits back on the shelf, and Harry pretended to pout every time.
Somewhere between the frozen aisle and the checkout, Harry cleared his throat, fiddling with the strap of his tote bag.
“Lou?”
“Mm?” Louis didn’t look up, scanning labels like a man on a mission.
Harry hesitated, then blurted, “Do you think… something’s going on between Zayn and Liam?”
That made Louis glance up, brow furrowed. “What d’you mean, love?”
Harry shifted his weight, cheeks pink. “I don’t know. I’ve just… noticed. The way they look at each other sometimes. Like, softer than usual. And Z always seems to have some kind of grin ready when Liam talks. I just—” He trailed off, embarrassed at how nosy he sounded.
Louis chuckled, giving the trolley a push. “I can’t say I’ve noticed, H. But now you’ve said it…” He hummed, thinking. “I mean, Liam did mention he had plans for his day off last couple of weeks but never told us what he did. Could be nothing, could be something.”
Harry perked up a little, eyes wide. “So, you think I’m not just imagining it?”
Louis smirked, tugging him closer by the sleeve. “I think you might be onto something. I’ll ask Niall.if anyone’s clocked it, it’ll be him. He’s a nosey sod.”
Harry laughed, relief loosening his chest. “It’d be good though, yeah? If it was true?”
“Yeah, love,” Louis said softly, pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s temple right there in the middle of the aisle. “It’d be bloody brilliant. They both deserve a bit of happiness.”
Harry leaned into him, heart warm, already picturing it. If he was right, it wouldn’t just be him and Louis who’d found their happy ending. Maybe their little group was finally settling into love stories of their own.

Chapter Text

Louis’ phone nearly vibrated itself off the kitchen counter. The group chat, “The Idiots + Haz” as Niall had so helpfully named. it was blowing up with notifications. He wiped his hands on a tea towel and unlocked it.
Niall 🥃:
RIGHT YOU LOT LISTEN UP
Niall 🥃:
Shawn’s London show. 3rd of April. You’ve all got PLENTY of notice so don’t give me that “work” bollocks. I want every single one of you there. No excuses.
Niall 🥃:
Gemma and Lottie are invited too. If they can make it. More chaos the better.
Liam 🏋️‍♂️:
Jesus, Ni. It’s 8 in the morning. Calm down.
Zayn 🎨:
He’s shouting like we’re deaf.
Harry 🐇:
We’ll be there, Ni. Right, Lou?
Louis 👨‍⚕️:
Yeah, course. I’ll tell Lotts to work her flights around it. She’ll love the excuse.
Niall 🥃:
Fucking brilliant. Family reunion in London. I expect tears. And pints.
Zayn 🎨:
He’s already planning to cry into his Guinness.
Liam 🏋️‍♂️:
So… do we talk stag do yet or is it still too early? 👀
Louis groaned out loud, rubbing a hand down his face. Predictable.
Harry 🐇:
Too. Early.
Louis 👨‍⚕️:
Way too early. We’re not getting married till July. Calm yourselves.
Niall 🥃:
July?? That’s basically TOMORROW.
Zayn 🎨:
I’ll start scouting strip clubs.
Harry 🐇:
Z!!!
Louis 👨‍⚕️:
Behave. You’re not organising fuck all.
Liam 🏋️‍♂️:
Good call. Last time Z organised anything, he got us thrown out of the hotel.
Zayn 🎨:
Worth it tho.
Louis chuckled, shaking his head at his screen. He could already picture Harry’s dimples as he typed furiously from across the room, curls bouncing with indignation at Zayn’s jokes.
Niall 🥃:
Alright, alright. Forget stag dos for now. Just everyone put APRIL 3RD in your diaries. I’ll personally drag you to London if I have to.
Harry 🐇:
Fine. But Lou and I are NOT sleeping in your hotel room again, Ni.
Louis 👨‍⚕️:
Yeah, last time was traumatic enough.
Niall 🥃:
Oh grow up. You loved it.
Louis snorted, tucking his phone away. Their lot would never change. But at least now, for once, the chaos was the good kind.

By the end of January, Louis knew he was losing the battle. The flu had him cornered. sore throat, pounding head, every muscle aching and yet he still told himself he could push through. He was a doctor, wasn’t he? He’d seen people walk into A&E looking ten times worse and manage.
Louis texted him before crashing that night:
Louis 👨‍⚕️:
Home early. Not feeling well. Might be the flu. Taking meds. Golden by tomorrow. Promise x
Except, by the time Harry came through the door later, Louis knew he wasn’t golden at all. He was practically welded to the sofa, eyelids too heavy to open, bones aching too much to move.
“Lou?” Harry’s voice was soft but urgent as he crouched down, fingers brushing at Louis’ hair before pressing a cool palm to his forehead. Too hot. Way too hot.
Louis cracked one eye open and croaked, “Let me die in peace on the couch.”
Harry huffed out a laugh, though his worry was plain. “Honestly. Doctors really are the worst patients.”
Louis groaned, rolling to bury his face in the cushion. “You’re hilarious, Harold. Really.” His voice was wrecked, raspy, and Harry only shook his head, fond and exasperated all at once.
Harry slipped an arm under his shoulders. “Come on, love. Let’s get you to bed.”
Louis let his eyes flutter shut again, words slurring as sleep tugged him back under. “I love you very much. Don’t ever forget that.”
Harry spent his birthday playing nurse. Tea, soup, damp flannels, rubbing his back when he coughed. Louis hated it. He hated that Harry’s big day. the day he wanted to spoil him rotten was reduced to Louis shivering under three blankets and sneezing every five minutes.
By the time the fever broke, Louis was sulking, curled into Harry’s chest and whispering, “I’m sorry, Haz. Ruined everything.”
Harry kissed his curls, firm and certain. “Lou, I don’t give a toss about a party. I just want you well.”
But Louis couldn’t let it go. His chest ached with guilt, and even more with love. “At least let me take care of the honeymoon. Please. I’ll make it perfect.”
Harry tried to argue, of course. He always did when Louis got stubborn. But in the end, he sighed, eyes soft, and pressed a kiss to Louis’ temple.
“Alright. It’s yours. You sort the honeymoon.”
Relief and warmth flooded Louis at once. “Good. Because you deserve perfect, love.”
Harry just smiled, pulling him tighter. “Already got it.”
Louis let his eyes slip shut, weak but full of love.

Gemma being back at the café felt like a godsend. Harry finally had some breathing room again, and with the wedding only three months away, that space was everything. Every time he looked at Louis, he could see it.the buzzing energy, the light in his eyes, the way he’d start grinning mid-sentence just at the thought of it.
They’d found the perfect place: Lusty Glaze Beach, tucked away in Cornwall. Harry had fallen in love with it instantly, the wild cliffs, the golden sand, the waves crashing in the background. It wasn’t just a venue; it was a dream. And since it was a bit of a drive, they decided to make a whole weekend of it. A proper celebration, not just a single day.
Harry couldn’t wait. He could already picture it: barefoot dancing in the sand, Louis in his suit with the sea wind in his hair, their families laughing together under fairy lights strung across the beach. It gave him butterflies just thinking about it.
Of course, he’d tried to get Louis to spill about the honeymoon plans more than once. “Come on, Lou, just a hint,” Harry had teased, trailing kisses along his jaw. But Louis only smirked and shook his head.
“Nope. You’ll find out when it’s time, Harold. And you’ll love it.”
Harry groaned every time, but secretly, he adored the mystery. If Louis was this determined, it was going to be something unforgettable.
Most of the big things were nearly finalised now the guest list, the menu, the band. Harry’s heart skipped every time he realised how close it was, how real. Three months. Just three months until Louis Tomlinson was his husband.
And it wasn’t just the wedding they were buzzing for. Niall had texted the group chat almost hourly about Shawn’s upcoming concert in London, and the excitement was infectious. Even Lottie was flying in for it.and Harry was nearly certain she was more thrilled about the chance to go dress shopping while she was here than she was about the actual show.
Harry laughed just thinking about it. Family, music, their wedding, their future. everything felt like it was aligning. And he couldn’t stop smiling.
He couldn’t wait to marry Louis.

Harry had been carrying it around for weeks. Maybe months. At first, he’d told himself it was just the buzz of getting engaged, the rush of planning the wedding, of dreaming too big too fast. Surely the feeling would settle down. Surely, he’d wake up one morning and it would be gone.
But it hadn’t. If anything, it had only grown stronger.
And now, sitting in their London hotel room, Louis watching him with those sharp, knowing eyes, Harry couldn’t dodge it any longer.
“You’ve been super quiet the whole ride,” Louis said, tugging Harry into his lap on the sofa, hands warm and grounding at his waist. “Everything alright, baby? Is all the wedding planning getting to you? Do you need me to help with something?”
The guilt hit Harry square in the chest. Louis had been nothing but supportive steady, patient, taking every detail in stride. And here he was, making him worry.
“No, Lou.” Harry’s voice was soft, barely a whisper. He stared at his hands, twisting his rings. “I… I kind of have to tell you something. I thought it would go away, but it hasn’t.”
Louis froze, his whole body going still. His brows furrowed as he searched Harry’s face. “Fuck, Haz — you’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
Harry’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What? Are you mad? Second thoughts about marrying you? Did you hit your head or something?”
Relief flashed over Louis’ face, but it was quickly replaced with irritation. “Don’t be a little shit. You’re worrying me, Harold. Not the time for smartass comebacks.”
Harry sighed, cheeks flushing hot. “Okay, okay. Sorry. It’s just—” He paused, suddenly shy in a way he hadn’t felt in years. “I think I’m ready?”
Louis raised one brow, lips twitching. “You’re ready? You’re telling me, or asking me? Ready for what, exactly?”
Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the nervous smile creeping onto his face. “Don’t make me say it.”
Louis leaned closer, voice low. “Baby love. Just say it. It just me.”
And so, quietly so quietly Louis had to lean in to hear him Harry whispered, “I think I’m ready to have a baby.”
For a long moment, there was silence. Harry’s heart hammered so hard he thought Louis might feel it through his chest. Then Louis’ voice, softer than Harry expected: “And you’ve been feeling this for a while now?”
Harry nodded quickly. “Since the States. Since we got engaged. I thought it was just excitement, but it hasn’t gone away.”
“And you didn’t tell me until now because…?” Louis’ tone was gentle now, coaxing.
Harry fiddled with the hem of Louis’ shirt. “Because I thought it was just me being silly. Or impatient. But, Lou… I’m not. I want this. So bad.”
Louis’ lips parted slightly, his eyes softening as he studied Harry’s flushed, earnest face. “Baby, we’re like two months away from the wedding. You think you can wait till the honeymoon?”
Harry shook his head so fast his curls bounced. “No. Lou, I’m so fucking high on baby fever, I wanted a baby like five months ago.”
Louis laughed, the sound low and warm, head tipping back against the sofa. “Christ, Haz. You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“I’m serious,” Harry whined, but there was a grin pulling at his mouth now. “I want this. With you. If it happens before the wedding, then fine. We can tell our kid one day: ‘You were there, in mummy’s tummy, the day your parents got married.’”
Louis’ eyes darkened at that, his hand sliding up to cup Harry’s cheek. “Mmm. I like the sound of that.”
Harry’s heart thundered in his chest. He leaned into Louis’ touch, but the question burned on his tongue, hot and terrifying. His voice cracked when he finally whispered it:
“So… is that a yes then? Is it ok if I stop taking the pill?”
Louis blinked, the softness in his gaze steady, but Harry’s nerves twisted tighter. His thumb brushed over Harry’s lips again, soothing, but Harry still pressed on, voice breaking.
“Are you sure you’re ready, Lou? Because if you’re not if this is too soon—I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m pushing you into something you don’t want. I need us both to be ready. Otherwise, it doesn’t feel right.”
For a beat, Louis was quiet. The silence stretched, long enough for Harry’s stomach to drop, panic clawing its way up his throat.
Then Louis’ lips curved into that wicked, devastating smirk. “Harry,” he murmured, leaning close, voice rough, “I’m more than ready. Just imagine it—” His breath ghosted hot against Harry’s ear. “You are walking down the aisle, glowing, full of my baby.”
Harry let out a guttural moan, one he couldn’t stop if he tried. His whole body trembled at the thought, heat flooding through him.
“Yes, baby,” Louis rasped, nipping at his throat, “you like that idea, don’t you?”
Harry gasped, his head falling back, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, Lou—yes.”
Louis chuckled darkly, kissing him filthy, biting at his bottom lip until Harry whimpered. “Then let’s stop talking and start trying, hmm?”
What followed was a blur of heat and hands and desperate moans, the kind of sex that bordered on madness. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, couldn’t slow down even if they wanted to. Once, twice, three times by the time Harry was trembling and wrung out, Louis only smirked and pulled him back under again.
Three times baby making. As Harry calls it. Three fucking times before the show.
By the time they stumbled into the venue, flushed , they’d barely managed to shove themselves back into something resembling respectable clothes. Harry’s curls were a disaster, his lips swollen, and Louis had the kind of smug glow about him that screamed exactly what they’d been up to.
They made it into their seats just as the lights dimmed, Harry clutching Louis’ hand tightly in the dark, heart still racing.

Harry was practically vibrating in his seat. Not just from the buzz of the arena, the roar of the crowd, or even from the way Louis’ hand was resting hot and firm on his thigh but because for once, all their people were here. Together.
Lottie had flown down, Gemma sat on his other side, and Theo was happily tucked away with the grandparents for the weekend. They were all in the special guest area Shawn had arranged, with the best view in the house.
Niall was buzzing like a live wire, bouncing in his seat and grinning wide. “You lads don’t even understand tonight’s gonna be unreal.”
Shawn stepped out on stage to deafening screams, waving like he couldn’t quite believe it either. The first few songs flew by in a rush of lights and music, and then he paused, his voice softer when he spoke into the mic.
“This show’s a really important one to me,” Shawn said, eyes sweeping the crowd before landing very deliberately in the direction of their box. “And there’s a very special someone here tonight. I’ll tell you more about them later.”
The screams went wild, but Harry didn’t miss it. the way Zayn and Liam shifted in their seats, closer together, like magnets snapping in place.
Harry leaned toward Louis, lips brushing his ear. “You see how close they’re sitting?” he whispered.
Louis smirked. “I see it, baby.”
Before Harry could say more, Lottie leaned across Gemma, eyes wide with mischief. “Oi, Haz. You clocked it too, yeah? Our resident broody boys look like they’re about two seconds away from holding hands.”
Gemma snorted, sipping her wine. “About bloody time, if you ask me. They’ve been making goo-goo eyes for months. Painful to watch.”
Harry choked on a laugh, burying his face briefly against Louis’ shoulder. His fiancé (God, he loved calling him that) only kissed the top of his curls, grinning knowingly.
The music swelled again, Shawn launching into another track, but Harry’s mind kept drifting back to Zayn and Liam. their knees brushing, shoulders pressed, whispering close like no one else in the world existed.
Harry squeezed Louis’ hand, heart light, a little giddy. Because maybe… maybe they weren’t the only ones in their little circle who’d found it.
Maybe love was catching.
The arena quieted as the opening chords of a softer song floated out, Shawn standing still at the mic, eyes scanning the crowd like he was trying to find words.
“There’s someone here tonight,” Shawn began, his voice already tight with emotion. “Someone I’ve actually known for a long time. Back when I was scraping by, playing in bars, he was there. We just… clicked.”
The fans screamed, some already piecing it together, and Harry felt his chest tighten. Niall, sitting forward, was already dabbing at his eyes with a napkin he’d nicked from the drinks bar.
Shawn smiled softly. “We’ve been on and off for ages, mostly because my work kept me across the pond. Meanwhile, he’s here saving kids’ lives, making the world better while I’ve been chasing stages.”
The cheer that went up nearly shook the floor.
“Yeah,” Shawn laughed, voice a little shaky, “he’s bloody smart, too. Not sure how he puts up with me, but he does. And I’m so proud to call him mine. This last song’s for him.”
The arena roared, a tidal wave of support, and Shawn glanced toward the guest box. His eyes found Niall first, and with a grin, he blew him a kiss.
Niall absolute menace caught it with both hands, clutched it to his chest dramatically, and winked. Harry nearly fell out of his chair laughing, and even Louis snorted, shaking his head. “Never seen the lad like this.”
Harry’s heart swelled, eyes misty as he leaned against Louis. “Suits him, though.”
He turned to glance back at the others and froze.
Because there, a few seats down, Liam and Zayn weren’t pretending anymore. They weren’t whispering or leaning too close with excuses. They were kissing. Properly. Soft and sure, like it wasn’t the first time.
Harry blinked, heart racing, then nudged Louis hard. “Lou,” he hissed, wide-eyed.
Louis followed his gaze, then grinned like the cat who got the cream. “Well, fuck me. Ziam’s real.”
Harry sat back, dazed, the music swelling around them. Love was everywhere tonight on stage, in the crowd, right there in their little corner of the world.
And for once, it didn’t feel like too much. It felt perfect.

Backstage was buzzing, the afterglow of the show still in the air. Niall was practically vibrating, arm slung around Shawn’s shoulders like he’d never let him go again.
“You smashed it, lad,” Louis said, pulling Shawn into a quick hug.
Niall beamed, looking at Liam cheeks pink. “I’ll talk to you personally later, Li,” he added with a pointed look, smirk sharp. “Get all the dirty details, you know.”
Liam groaned. “Jesus, Nialler.”
“Oi, don’t ‘Jesus’ me, you’ve been snogging him in the guest box all night. The jig’s up.”
Zayn only smirked, dark eyes glinting, arm slung casual but protective around Liam’s waist. “Can’t blame me, mate. Look at him.”
Harry laughed so hard he nearly dropped his water bottle, clinging to Louis’ arm. Louis kissed his temple in amusement, dimples deep.
Shawn grinned, clearly not fazed by any of it. “See you both at the wedding,” he said smoothly, nodding at Louis and Harry. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Niall puffed up proudly. “Obviously, he’s my plus one.”
With hugs and quick selfies, they bid their farewells. Niall disappeared with Shawn, still buzzing like he’d just run a marathon, and the rest of them spilled out into the cool London night, stomachs growling.

Dinner was a blur of laughter and nosy questions, everyone leaning in as Liam and Zayn finally caved.
“Less than three months,” Liam admitted sheepishly, fiddling with his fork.
“But pinning for months,” Zayn added smoothly, smirk softening into something gentler. “Just… wanted it for ourselves a bit, before the world got hold of it.”
There was a moment of quiet understanding at the table. Louis squeezed Harry’s hand under the table, and when Harry glanced at him, Louis’ eyes were warm. They knew that feeling keeping something precious just between them until it was strong enough to share.
Of course, the moment didn’t last long.
“Well,” Lottie declared, tossing her hair with dramatic flair, “now that the boys are sorted, Gem’s, it’s your turn.”
Gemma blinked, wine glass halfway to her lips. “My turn for what?”
“To find your soulmate,” Lottie said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on, London’s right there waiting. We’re going out.”
Gemma groaned. “Lotts—”
“Nope. Non-negotiable. Let’s see what London has to offer.”
Harry buried his face in Louis’ shoulder, laughing helplessly. Gemma shot him a glare, but her lips were twitching.
Eventually, Gemma and Lottie stood to go, promising shopping trips for wedding dresses before heading home. The rest lingered a while longer, full and happy, the night humming with the kind of easy warmth that only came when everyone was exactly where they were meant to be.
And for Harry, watching Louis laugh across the table with his friends, ring glinting on his finger that meant everything.

Chapter Text

By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, the wedding weekend had officially begun. Lusty Glaze beach sparkled in the summer light, waves rolling gently against the sand as staff bustled about, preparing the space for tomorrow’s ceremony. It felt like magic waiting to happen.
Guests and family were due to trickle in throughout the evening, but Louis and Harry were already there eager, restless, hearts pounding with anticipation. They had dreamed about this for months, and now it was finally here.
Harry, however, had only one thing on his mind: the cake.
No amount of reassurance from Louis, Gemma, or either of their mums could talk him down. He was adamant that he was making it himself with a little help, of course. The layers had been baked and iced back at the café, and now the finished cake was on its way in a delivery van, carefully boxed and secured.
The second the van pulled into the drive; Harry was out of the car before Louis even had time to park properly.
“H!” Louis called, jogging after him as Harry practically sprinted toward the van, curls bouncing in the sea breeze. “For fuck’s sake, can you please calm down? It’s just a bloody cake. You’re stressing, and it’s not good.”
Harry turned, eyes wide, ready to argue, but Louis closed the gap between them in two strides and caught him by the waist.
“Darling,” Louis said firmly, brushing his thumb against Harry’s side. “Please. Relax. You’re stressing me too.”
Harry huffed, chest rising and falling fast. But then he shut his eyes, forced himself to take a long, deep breath, and muttered, “Okay. Okay, I’m good. Still want to see if it survived the drive.”
Louis softened, lacing their fingers together. “Fine. Let’s check. But if it’s in pieces, we’ll just serve it with spoons and call it rustic, yeah?”
Harry shot him a look but couldn’t quite bite back a laugh.
When the driver opened the back doors and the cake stood there, tiers stacked tall and perfect, Harry finally let out the breath he’d been holding since breakfast. “Oh, thank God.”
He moved immediately to help lift it out, but Louis stepped in front of him, one hand on his chest. “Oh my God. Let me do that. You are unbelievable.”
Harry huffed again, lips pursed but finally let Louis and the driver carry the cake inside. He followed closely behind, arms folded, muttering about how no one trusted him with his own creation.
Louis just glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. “Because you’d cry if you dropped it, and I’m not marrying you red-eyed and covered in buttercream.”
That earned him another huff but also a small smile.
With the cake safely tucked into the venue’s walk-in fridge much to Harry’s immense relief there was finally a chance to breathe. By late afternoon, both families had arrived, the last few cars pulling in as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon.
Liam and Niall were among the first to sweep Louis into hugs, both insisting that as co–best men, they were fully committed. “Two for the price of one,” Niall joked, clapping Louis on the back. “More chance at us actually remembering the rings.”
Louis smirked. “As long as your duties are done, I don’t care if you flip a coin for who hands them over.”
Harry, meanwhile, wrapped Zayn into a hug that lasted longer than either would admit. Zayn had been steady through every wobble, every panic, and Harry couldn’t imagine having anyone else by his side. Liam and Zayn were going strong, quiet smiles and shared glances giving them away, while Niall was buzzing about Shawn’s arrival in the morning.
By the time twilight painted the beach in soft pinks and purples, the rehearsal dinner was in full swing. Tables had been set up right on the sand, fairy lights strung overhead, wine flowing as plates of food were passed around. The laughter carried on the sea breeze, stories spilling freely, the kind that stitched the past to the present.
Mark, glass in hand, leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You know, when Louis lived at home, he’d always pester Jay and me for extra driving practice. Never mind that I’d just sat down after a twelve-hour shift — ‘Dad, fancy a spin?’”
Jay rolled her eyes but smiled fondly. “And then he’d argue with me the whole way about how he knew the roads better than I did.”
Harry laughed, squeezing Louis’ thigh under the table. “Explains a lot, that.”
But the biggest laughter of the night came when the infamous med school story surfaced.
“Ah, yes,” Liam said, smirking as he raised his glass. “The night of our final results. Lou here rings his mum, sobbing down the line — ‘I’ve failed, I don’t know what to do with myself.’”
Niall nearly spat his wine. “Proper Oscar-winning performance. Had the whole house in stitches.”
Louis groaned, covering his face with one hand while Harry leaned into his shoulder, wide-eyed and delighted.
Mark took over, shaking his head with the memory. “So of course, Jay, Lottie, and I pile into the car. Drive to London as soon as he hangs up the phone because our boy’s life is apparently over.”
Jay’s voice was sharp but teasing. “Only to arrive and find the whole house absolutely shit-faced, celebrating. Our son? Dancing on the coffee table, bottle of vodka in his hand.”
The table erupted with laughter, Harry nearly choking on his drink.
“I could’ve disowned him on the spot,” Jay continued, eyes narrowing at Louis across the table though her smile gave her away. “Do you have any idea what you put us through that night?”
“I missed a party because of you!” Lottie chimed in dramatically, throwing her napkin at her brother. “My friends are still talking about it, by the way.”
Louis raised both hands in surrender, cheeks pink. “Alright, alright, I was a dickhead. Happy?”
Mark grinned into his glass. “Just promise us you won’t pull anything like that tomorrow.”
Harry snorted, pressing a secret kiss against Louis’ shoulder when no one was looking. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him in line.”
The sound of waves, the glow of the fairy lights, the warm buzz of wine and laughter it all wrapped around them like a blessing. Tomorrow was the big day, but tonight was perfect, too.
As the evening wore on, the laughter softened into quieter conversation, wineglasses half-empty, the fairy lights above twinkling against the darkening sky. Louis felt a weight shift against his shoulder and glanced down.
Harry. His curls tickled Louis’ jaw as his head lolled heavier, eyes fluttering in that slow fight against sleep. He was trying, bless him, blinking hard like it might help, but it was obvious he was done for.
“Hey,” Louis murmured softly, brushing his knuckles over Harry’s knee. “You good, my love?”
Harry nodded lazily, dimples pressing into his cheeks as his lips curled. Too tired to form words but smiling all the same.
Louis’ heart ached with affection. “Alright then, let’s get you to bed. Big day tomorrow.”
That earned him another dimpled grin, Harry’s voice slurred with sleep but so full of joy. “Can’t wait to call you husband, Lou.”
The words tumbled out in front of everyone, casual as anything and yet Louis swore he felt his chest burst wide open. Around the table, a chorus of teasing awws and chuckles followed, but Louis only had eyes for the boy practically melting into his side.
He stood, tugging Harry up with him, fingers interlaced. “Right, you lot. I’m taking this one to bed. Needs his beauty sleep and all.”
But just as they turned, Gemma’s voice cut in, sharp as a bell. “No, you’re not.”
Louis blinked at her. “Sorry?”
“Tradition,” Gemma said matter-of-factly. “H sleeps with us tonight. You don’t see the bride before the wedding.”
Lottie chimed in immediately, grinning wickedly. “Exactly. Bad luck otherwise. He’s with us.”
The table went quiet, everyone waiting for Louis’ reaction. He stared between them, deadpan. “You’re joking.”
“Not a chance,” Gemma replied, smirking now.
Louis turned to Harry, who shook his head quickly, curls bouncing, squeezing Louis’ hand tighter. He looked about two seconds away from hiding behind Louis entirely.
“Absolutely not,” Louis declared firmly, pulling Harry closer to his side. “We don’t sleep well apart, and I don’t want us tired tomorrow. Fuck the tradition.”
“Louis—” Gemma tried again, but Anne cut her off, voice calm but resolute.
“Gemma. Let them be. If they don’t sleep well apart, let them stay together. Last thing we need is two grumpy boys at the altar.”
Harry peeked out from behind Louis, pulling a ridiculous pouty face at Gemma like a cheeky child getting away with something. The table erupted in laughter.
Gemma huffed, throwing up her hands. “Fine. But don’t blame me if the universe smites you.”
“Cheers for the concern,” Louis shot back dryly, pressing a kiss to Harry’s curls.
Jay stood then, smiling fondly at both. “Alright, my boys. Off you go. Get some sleep tomorrow’s your big day. Love you both so much.”
A chorus of goodnights followed as Louis guided Harry away, their hands still tangled tight. And as they disappeared back toward their room, the glow of fairy lights fading behind them, everyone left at the table wore the same expression amused, but undeniably softened.
Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

By the time Louis and Harry emerged from their villa, the sun was high, and the clock was edging toward eleven. There was no rush the ceremony wasn’t until the afternoon but already the air buzzed with the soft hum of family voices, cousins chasing each other across the lawn, and Theo’s delighted giggles echoing from the garden.
Theo, toddling proudly in his tiny little suit trousers and suspenders, was technically the “four boy” — a title he repeated repeatedly in his almost-two-year-old lisp. Louis thought he’d never seen anything cuter. The way Theo’s face lit up every time he spotted him made his chest ache in the best way.
Harry and Gemma disappeared into the reception tent to fuss with the cake final flowers to tuck here and there, Gemma muttering about balance while Harry squinted and adjusted petals. Louis could hear their laughter from outside, and he caught himself grinning just listening.
When they finally stepped back out, Harry dusting his hands dramatically, everyone gave a collective whistle. “Done and dusted!” Harry announced with a flourish.
Louis leaned in, pressing a kiss to his curls, and murmured just for him, “You’re incredible.”
They all gathered for a light lunch together, family and friends spilling across long tables under the canopy. Niall was holding court, cracking jokes, while Liam pretended to be exasperated. Theo climbed into Louis’ lap at one point, babbling about “my cake!” which earned a round of fond laughter.
Eventually Gemma nudged Harry’s shoulder. “Right, time to get going. We’ve got to get you to the other villa. Can’t keep the grooms waiting on each other.”
Harry groaned but pushed his chair back, standing reluctantly. “Alright.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Louis’ head. “See you on the other side, love.”
Louis stood too, wrapping him in a quick hug, not caring about the teasing whistles that rose immediately. He could hear Lottie’s voice over the din, loud and exasperated: “They’re unbelievable. Honestly. How do they function at work like this?”
The groans and eyerolls around the table doubled when Robin chuckled and said warmly, “Cut them some slack. It’s their wedding day. Ah, to be young and in love.”
Louis ignored them all, tugging Harry back gently. “Wait, baby. I’ve got you something.”
Harry blinked. “What?”
Louis glanced at Liam, who bent down to retrieve a small bag from under the table and slid it discreetly across. Louis reached inside, pulling out a delicate chain strung with tiny pearls. The sunlight caught on them, making them glow softly.
“It matches your engagement ring,” Louis explained, holding it up so Harry could see. “Thought it might go with your outfit tonight.”
Harry’s face crumpled instantly, tears springing to his eyes. “Oh my god, Lou. it’s so pretty. Of course it will.” His voice wobbled, and he tried to laugh through it as he wiped at his cheeks.
“Turn around, love.”
Harry did, curls tumbling forward as Louis fastened the clasp at the nape of his neck. Then Louis gently turned him back, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, letting his eyes linger. “Gorgeous.”
Across the table, both Jay and Anne dabbed at their eyes with tissues, Lottie swiping at her own cheeks.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Zayn muttered into his wineglass, though his smirk betrayed him. “It’s too early for this, you lot.”
The laughter that followed softened the tears, and Louis pressed one last kiss to Harry’s cheek before letting him go, watching him walk away with Gemma, pearls glinting against his throat. His heart was thundering already, and the day hadn’t even truly begun.

The scene looked like it had been plucked out of some dream. the beach softened by golden light, the sea a quiet hush behind them, and rows of white chairs filled with family and friends. Lanterns swayed gently in the salt breeze, the flowers twined around the driftwood arch swaying too, as if even nature knew it was part of something sacred.
At the very centre stood Louis, barefoot in soft sand, his tailored linen suit a pale cream that made his skin glow, a single flower pinned neatly to his lapel. His hands flexed at his sides, jaw tight. He looked every inch the groom, but also a man about two seconds from bursting.
To his left, Liam and stood as best men, Also Niall in the middle their outfits nearly identical to Louis’, pale and effortless, toes in the sand. Liam looked calm, steady the anchor one hand pressed lightly to Niall’s shoulder as if to ground him. Niall, on the other hand, was pale as his suit, clutching the ceremony notes like they might run away. “I can’t believe I’m the one marrying them off,” he muttered under his breath, and Liam only chuckled, whispering something that made him roll his eyes but breathe a little easier.
Across from them, Zayn stood on Harry’s side, his suit cut the same way but in a slightly darker shade, a subtle twist that set him apart. His expression was cool, hands folded loosely in front of him, but his eyes told the truth sharp, proud, protective. He kept flicking glances toward the villa, waiting for Harry.
The crowd stirred as laughter bubbled through the rows. Lottie, perched near the front with her camera already half-raised, had cupped her hands to her mouth. “Looking sharp, brother!” she called, earning a ripple of chuckles from the guests and a fond roll of Jay’s teary eyes.
Further down, Shawn sat close with Niall’s family, gaze fixed firmly on Niall like he was the only person on the beach. His pride was written so plainly across his face it almost made Louis laugh, except his chest was too tight for anything but shallow breaths.
Because everyone was waiting. Waiting for the moment. Waiting for Harry.
And Louis could feel it too. every nerve ending alive with the anticipation of seeing his boy, walking barefoot down the aisle with Anne on one side, Robin on the other, and Theo toddling ahead, scattering petals as the most chaotic flower boy in history.
Louis dragged in a shaky breath, eyes fixed forward. He couldn’t look back. Because the moment Harry appeared, he knew it would undo him completely.
The music shifted, soft strings drifting over the crash of the waves, and the entire crowd turned their heads.
That was it. The signal. Harry was on his way.
Louis’ breath caught before he even saw him. His bare toes curled in the sand, his hands flexing at his sides. And then —
Theo toddled down first, basket in hand, scattering petals in a chaotic trail that made the front row laugh softly. He took his role as flower boy very seriously… until he got distracted halfway down, stopped to inspect the sand, and had to be gently nudged along by Gemma from the sidelines. The guests melted at the sight, phones snapping quietly despite Lottie’s earlier promise that she was the only one allowed to film.
And then Harry appeared.
Anne and Robin each held one of his arms, walking proudly at his sides, their faces glowing with joy. But Louis barely saw them. His eyes were locked on Harry.
Loose waves of long hair brushed his shoulders, crowned with a delicate halo of flowers. Around his Head, gleaming in the afternoon light, was the pearl necklace Louis had given him just hours ago, proudly displayed above the open collar of his cream suit. The fabric was soft and flowing, cut perfectly to his shape, his bare feet sinking into the sand with every step.
He looked like something unearthly. An angel.
Louis felt the air rush out of his lungs, his vision blurring as tears pricked his eyes before he even realised, they were there. A gentle bump to his shoulder made him start, and when he glanced sideways, Liam was holding a tissue out discreetly, murmuring, “Breathe, mate.”
Louis let out a shaky laugh, swiping at his cheeks, but he couldn’t look away. Couldn’t even pretend to calm down. Because Harry. His Harry — was glowing, walking toward him like he belonged to this exact moment, like the sea, the sky, and the golden light had all been waiting just for him.
At the same time, Harry’s heart hammered in his chest. The décor, the arch, the flowers. it was everything he’d dreamed, the fairy-tale scene he’d once only dared whisper about. But none of it compared. Not to Louis.
Barefoot, sun-kissed, the cream suit hugging his frame just right, a single flower tucked into his lapel. Louis was devastating. Beautiful and solid and impossibly his. Harry swallowed hard, his throat aching with tears he hadn’t realised had formed, because how could he be this lucky? To marry Louis Tomlinson, the man who looked at him like he was the miracle?
When they reached the altar, Anne kissed Harry’s cheek, Robin pressed a hand to his shoulder, both glowing with pride as they handed him over. Harry hugged them tight, tears catching in his lashes, before turning fully to Louis.
And just like that, the world stilled.
Two boys, bare feet in the sand, standing at the edge of forever.
Harry and Louis stood facing each other, hands clasped tight, both grinning like idiots.
“Hi,” Harry whispered, dimples flashing through his tears.
Louis drew in a deep breath, his thumb brushing over Harry’s knuckles. “You are so beautiful, Harry. You have no idea.”
Harry’s cheeks pinked as he smirked back. “You don’t look half bad yourself, doc.”
Louis huffed, rolling his eyes affectionately. “Cheeky.”
Behind them, Niall made a very dramatic show of clearing his throat, his expression somewhere between exasperated and murderous. When the grooms turned toward him, he raised one sharp eyebrow and shook his head.
“I cannot believe this,” he muttered, loud enough for half the guests to hear.
“Sorry Ni. Harry said with a cheeky grin.
Louis smirked, utterly unrepentant. “You’ll be fine, Irish. Let’s do this.”
The crowd chuckled, settling back into their seats as Niall huffed again and shuffled his notes. He looked out at the rows of guests, lifted his chin with mock dignity, and began.
“If anyone here doesn’t know me — which, frankly, is a crime — my name is Niall Horan. I was a best mate of Louis Tomlinson’s until about twenty minutes ago. That’s when I was ‘upgraded,’ as he called it, to officiate this bloody wedding. Splendid, yeah?”
The crowd laughed, warm ripples of amusement rolling through them. Harry and Louis tried to smother their smirks, knowing exactly what was coming.
“But here’s the thing,” Niall continued, squinting dramatically at the paper in his hands. “Unfortunately, no one will actually be getting married today.”
The crowd erupted into immediate whispers and shocked glances. Zayn leaned toward Liam, wide-eyed, while Gemma and Lottie both gasped theatrically, their hands flying to their mouths. Anne frowned in confusion, clutching Robin’s arm tighter.
Niall, the bastard, let the silence stretch just long enough before grinning wickedly. “Because ladies and gentlemen and you too, Theo, mate our dear friends Harry and Louis have been married for the last ten months.”
The gasp that went up could’ve rivalled the crash of the waves.
“What?!” Jay’s voice rang out first, sharp with disbelief. “Louis William Tomlinson.what have you done?”
Lottie and Gemma burst out laughing, nearly doubled over, while Anne clapped a hand to her chest. “Harry! Oh my god!”
Robin just blinked, torn between amusement and disbelief, while Mark let out a booming laugh. “Well, I’ll be damned. Match made in bloody heaven, I’d say.”
Louis winced, looking toward his family. “Sorry, Mum. We really didn’t plan it. It just… happened.”
Before Jay could launch into another round of scolding, Harry piped up, hand pressed over his heart. “It was my idea, really.”
That softened the blow immediately, Jay covering her mouth as her eyes brimmed with tears. “Oh, my baby…”
Liam shook his head, pointing a finger at Louis. “You sneaky bastard.”
Zayn muttered, though there was no real heat in it, “Unbelievable. I mean, believable, but still.”
Niall, of course, was grinning smugly, basking in the chaos. “And you know what the kicker is? He told me about it only twenty bloody minutes ago. Said it was because I’ve got a big mouth.”
Lottie and Gemma howled at that, while Harry and Louis shared a helpless look, both biting back laughter.
Niall sighed dramatically, shaking his head as he shuffled his notes again. “Alright, alright, you lot. Settle down. They might already be married bloody Vegas, eh? What happens in Vegas doesn’t always stay there, apparently. but they’re still going to exchange rings, say their vows, and let me have my moment of glory. So, if you’d all kindly shut up, we’ll get back to the fairy tale.”
The crowd burst into warm laughter, the tension breaking into joy again. Harry squeezed Louis’ hands tighter, dimples deep, whispering, “Told you they’d lose it.”
Louis smirked back, utterly in love. “Worth it.”
Harry sniffled, dimples showing even through his tears as he glanced out at the crowd, then back at Louis.
“I, uh—” he laughed nervously, shaking his head. “I didn’t write anything down. Because I know exactly what I want to say.”
Louis tilted his head, eyes soft, hands warm in Harry’s.
Harry leaned in slightly, speaking quieter now, though his words carried in the hush. “Remember the first day I talked to you? At the café? Well… what I never told you is that I’d noticed you before.”
Louis’ brows flicked up in surprise, and Harry paused, lips twitching. “Not your face, though.” He bit back a grin. “It was your bum. Saw you walking out with your tea one morning, and I thought bloody hell. Then the next day, I saw your face. And it all made sense.”
The entire crowd erupted in laughter. Jay gasped, while Mark nearly choked on a laugh. Lottie was doubled over, Gemma clapped a hand over her mouth, and even Anne giggled behind her tissue. Robin shook his head with a smile on his face.
Louis covered his face with his free hand for a second, ears red. “You are unbelievable,” he muttered, voice cracking with laughter.
“Omg, Haz,” Liam called from behind Niall. “They’re just perfect for each other.”
Niall, ever the showman, fanned himself dramatically. “My god, this is gold.”
Harry only smirked, eyes sparkling as he turned back to Louis, squeezing his hands tighter. “Alright, jokes aside. I can’t believe I get to call you my husband in front of everyone now not just at home. You’ve made me laugh, made me cry, made me braver than I ever thought I could be. I love you with everything I have, Lou. And I can’t wait for our forever.”
His voice cracked on the last word, tears brimming, but his smile was so wide, so full of love, it nearly knocked Louis off his feet.
Niall arched a brow, smirking as he stepped aside. “Alright, big shot. Floor’s all yours.”
Louis’ gaze locked instantly onto Harry’s those impossibly green eyes, shimmering with tears and sunlight all at once. He took a deep breath, lips parting.
“No paper?” Harry teased, dimples flashing even through his watery grin.
Louis rolled his eyes fondly. “Do you mind?”
Harry huffed a laugh, cheeks pink, and the crowd melted at the easy warmth between them. Louis gave his hands a squeeze, then turned fully toward him, voice soft but steady.
“I’m not going to repeat what I said when I proposed to you,” Louis began, and Harry’s breath caught. “But you know… when we were in Vegas, and you spotted that dodgy Elvis Presley lookalike you turned to me with that sparkle in your eye and said, ‘Do you fancy getting married today?’”
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd, though Harry’s shoulders shook with something heavier, his lashes already damp. Louis’ voice grew rough, thick with emotion as he went on.
“In that moment, Darling, I knew you weren’t just my fiancé. You were my soulmate. You were made for me. every smile, every stubborn little quirk, every bit of you.” His voice wavered as his thumb brushed over Harry’s knuckles. “And today, I’m handing you everything I am —my heart, my soul — for you to keep safe. I’ll love you, protect you, and fight for us until the very last breath I take.”
Harry’s face crumpled, dimples lost in the tears streaking down his cheeks as he dabbed at his eyes with the tissue Liam had slipped him earlier. A chorus of sniffles echoed through the crowd. Anne clutching her chest, Jay and Robin brushing at their eyes, even Zayn blinking rapidly and looking away like the sun was suddenly far too bright.
Louis leaned closer, voice dropping into a whisper meant for Harry but loud enough for the world to hear. “It’s you, Harry. Always has been. Always will be.”
The beach seemed to exhale with them, waves rolling in soft applause as the entire crowd dissolved into happy tears.
Niall cleared his throat, shuffling his papers with mock seriousness. “Alright then… time for the important bit. You may now exchange the rings.”
The crowd quieted as Zayn stepped forward with a small smile, pressing the simple gold band into Harry’s hand. Harry’s fingers trembled only slightly as he slid it onto Louis’ finger, the sunlight glinting off the metal as it settled perfectly into place. Louis’ throat bobbed, eyes never leaving Harry’s.
Then Liam handed Louis the other ring. With slow, steady hands, Louis stacked the band neatly on top of Harry’s engagement ring, kissing it reverently before looking back up, eyes shining.
“Perfect,” Louis whispered.
Niall sniffed dramatically, flipping his notes closed. “Well then. By the power vested in me by absolutely no one, but I don’t give a toss. I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss.”
Harry barely let the words land before he groaned, “Fucking finally. Been dying to kiss you for hours.”
Louis laughed, pure and unguarded, before Harry dragged him close and pressed their mouths together. The world exploded in cheers, applause, whoops, and laughter. Phones were raised, flashes went off, hands clapped until they stung.
And still, they kissed. Long and deep and a little too much for the front row, but neither cared. It was their wedding. Their forever.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and grinning, Louis’ hands were still locked around Harry’s waist. Harry cupped Louis’ face, thumbs brushing his damp cheeks.
“Ready, my love?” Louis whispered, low enough for only Harry to hear.
Harry’s eyes sparkled, mischief and love rolled into one. “Yeah. They’re going to lose their shit, Lou.”
Louis chuckled, kissed him once more quickly, then turned his attention downward. And before anyone could process, Louis bent and pressed soft kisses to Harry’s tummy gentle, lingering, almost reverent.
A ripple of confusion swept the crowd. Cameras clicked wildly.
Anne shot up from her chair, hand clasped over her mouth. “Oh my god. Oh my god!” she chanted, tears spilling down her face.
Jay’s jaw dropped, her hands trembling as she gasped for air. “Louis William Tomlinson!”
Mark blinked rapidly, stunned into silence. Robin murmured, “Well, bloody hell,” while Liam clapped a hand over his face, tears streaming even as he laughed.
Zayn’s cool façade finally cracked; he untucked his chair, standing with wide eyes, though pride glittered just beneath the shock.
And Niall sweet, overwhelmed Niall threw his papers in the air with a strangled laugh. “That’s it! I give up! I can’t with these two!”
Louis rose again, eyes locked only on Harry’s, their families’ stunned faces fading into nothing. He pressed his forehead to Harry’s, voice thick with joy.
“It’s done, husband,” Louis whispered.
Harry beamed, green eyes swimming with tears as he pulled him close once more. “It’s us. Always.”
And with the sea roaring behind them, family still gaping, and love burning brighter than the golden horizon, Louis kissed him again their secret no longer a secret at all.
The applause still thundered around them when their families descended like a hurricane, sweeping them up in love.
Anne and Jay went straight for Harry, smothering him in kisses, hands cupping his cheeks and brushing away tears that hadn’t even finished falling. Both were crying openly, their joy spilling as fast as their words.
“My baby,” Anne choked, peppering Harry’s face with kisses.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Jay sobbed, hands cradling Harry’s jaw before sliding down to rest over his tummy. She rubbed gently, reverently, her tears dripping onto his cream suit. “Look at you…”
Harry laughed breathlessly, overwhelmed and glowing under the storm of affection, letting himself be pulled into their arms. Lottie and Gemma weren’t far behind, their squeals carrying over the clapping, already tugging at Harry’s hands and fussing over him like he might break.
Meanwhile, Louis found himself wrapped in a crushing hug from his dad, Mark’s voice thick as he whispered against his ear, “You’ve found yourself a true match, son. You have no idea how proud we are right now.”
Louis’ chest burned, tears spilling freely now as he clung to his dad. “Thanks, Dad,” he managed, voice breaking.
But before he could breathe, Jay appeared again, tugging him by the arm with wild, teary eyes. “Louis William Tomlinson. what…? I can’t believe you. oh my god, I almost died! I’m so, so happy, boo.” She collapsed into his arms, sobbing against his shoulder.
Louis smiled through his own tears, kissing the top of her head. “Sorry, Mum.”
“No, you’re not,” she sniffed, pulling back just enough to search his face. Her hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs swiping at the wetness there. “Tell me. how far is he?”
Louis’ grin was radiant as he glanced over to where Harry was surrounded by Gemma, Lottie, and their friends, all fussing over him, Harry blushing pink under the attention. His voice was soft but proud when he said, “First trimester’s just over.”
Jay pressed a hand to her heart, overcome again. “Well… he’s in good hands, isn’t he?” She smoothed a hand lovingly over Louis’ face, kissing his cheek before pulling him into another fierce hug.
Around them, the rest of the guests surged forward laughter, cheers, hugs, and congratulations raining down on them until the air was nothing but warmth and joy. Zayn clapped Louis’ shoulder with a rare grin.
“Honestly, Tommo, I didn’t think you two would last this long without popping out a baby,” he deadpanned, though his eyes gleamed with mischief.
Louis barked out a laugh, swatting at his arm. “Cheers, mate. Real supportive.”
Niall chimed in, already giggling. “Nah, he’s right. I had money on this happening way sooner. I’m impressed.”
Louis groaned, dragging a hand down his face while Harry just blushed and ducked his head, laughing softly into his curls.
“Oi, leave them be,” Liam cut in, looping an arm around Zayn’s waist with a grin.
Zayn smirked at him, arching a brow. “You’re too soft, Li.”
“Soft?” Liam shot back, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s temple. “Nah. Just not daft enough to wind Lou up on his wedding day.”
The group cracked up, Louis shaking his head with a grin, Harry clinging to his side and muttering, “They’re never letting us live this down, you know.”
Louis only kissed the top of his curls, smiling. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
And just like that, the music shifted, the golden light stretched longer across the sand, and the celebration rolled on. Their secret was out, their forever sealed and now, it was time to party.
The sun had slipped beneath the horizon, leaving behind a velvet sky pricked with the first stars. Lanterns floated above like little golden moons, swaying in the warm breeze, and the tables glowed with candles and flowers. Barefoot guests laughed as they moved between tables, plates full of food, drinks clinking in the air.
For the first time all day, Louis allowed himself to rest his palm openly over Harry’s tummy, brushing his thumb there every so often no secrets now, only love. Harry leaned into him, blissfully content, cheeks flushed from champagne and laughter.
Their sisters were the first to break the spell.
“Hey, lovebirds,” Lottie called as she strolled over with a glass in hand, eyes sparkling. “You’re not off the hook. Brunch tomorrow, we want details. All of them.”
Gemma appeared beside her, balancing a very sleepy Theo against her shoulder. The little flower boy was clinging to her neck, eyes half-closed, curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. Gemma smirked at her brother over Theo’s head. “That’s you, baby bro. You and Louis the sneakiest of sneaks.”
Harry just blushed, grinning sheepishly as Louis kissed his hair.
The food was rich and plentiful, laughter filling the air. It was easy, joyful everything they’d wanted.
Then the clink of glass cut through the noise. Robin stood at his table, smiling softly, and the crowd quieted around him.
“I know,” he began, voice steady but warm, “we said no speeches tonight. But there are things I can’t leave unsaid.”
Harry’s throat tightened immediately. He already knew and he’d blame the tears on hormones, but it didn’t make them burn less.
“I’m Robin,” he said simply, “Harry’s stepdad. And Harry is my only son.” He glanced down at Harry, his own eyes shimmering. “Your mum and I — we couldn’t be prouder of the person you’ve become, Harry. And we wish you all the joy in the world with your little family.”
Harry covered his mouth, already sniffling, leaning helplessly into Louis’ shoulder.
Robin turned then, gaze landing firmly on Louis. “And you, son. From the beginning, I knew you’d change Harry’s life. The day you came to ask Anne and me for his hand; we couldn’t have been happier. I welcomed you into our family then… and I do it again tonight, in front of everyone. Welcome to the family, Louis.”
Louis swallowed hard, tears brimming as Robin smiled. “I truly believe you’ve found your soulmate in our boy. And nothing makes me happier.”
The crowd erupted into applause, glasses raised high, and Harry’s tears finally spilled free, his laugh breaking through them. Louis kissed his temple, whispering, “He’s right, you know.”
Harry only nodded, clinging tighter, overwhelmed and glowing all at once.
When the music shifted and the lights dimmed just slightly, the call for the first dance came. To everyone’s surprise, it wasn’t a DJ track that filled the air. it was Shawn. Fresh off the madness of his world tour.
“Thought I’d borrow the spotlight for a bit,” he teased, and Niall’s face went scarlet as the crowd cheered. Then Shawn began to play, soft and sweet, his voice wrapping around the night air like velvet.
Harry and Louis stepped onto the sand, barefoot, arms curling instinctively around each other. The world disappeared as Shawn sang, lanterns swaying overhead, the tide keeping rhythm behind them. Harry pressed his forehead to Louis’ temple, whispering little things only he could hear, while Louis held him close, guiding him in slow circles.
They danced until their feet ached, until laughter bubbled up between kisses, until the night blurred into nothing but music and light. By the time the last chord faded, the applause was deafening, but all Harry and Louis knew was each other.
Later, back in their villa, the night still clung to them. salt air, laughter, the faint ache of joy. Harry disappeared into the shower, humming under his breath, determined, he’d said with a cheeky grin, to “end the night properly.”
But the second he emerged, curls damp and skin glowing, he barely made it to the bed before he collapsed face-first into the pillows. Out cold.
Louis stood at the foot of the bed, laughing softly, shaking his head. “Hopeless,” he murmured, climbing in beside him.
He kissed Harry’s temple, then bent lower to press another kiss to his tummy, tender and unhurried. Curling around his husband, Louis pulled the covers tight, wrapping Harry in his arms like he’d never let go.
“Goodnight, my loves,” he whispered. And with that, Louis fell asleep too, the sound of the sea carrying them both into dreams.

Chapter Text

Harry woke with a start, the sunlight barely creeping through the curtains. His first thought was not sweet or poetic, but sharp and panicked.
Shit. Fucking shit.
He groaned, covering his face with his hands. I fell asleep. On my husband. On our wedding night.
He remembered coming out of the shower, damp curls dripping onto his shoulders, still buzzing from the high of the party. He’d crawled into bed, ready to make the night perfect. And then… he must have been so tired he’d simply knocked out cold. Who does that? On their wedding night, of all nights?
Harry sighed, rolling onto his back. In fairness, since falling pregnant, his body had been dragging him out of bed at six nearly every morning. Morning sickness had been his cruel alarm clock for weeks. though now, with the first trimester behind him, it had eased. Not gone entirely, but better. He still had to get up constantly, though. His bladder had no mercy.
With a quiet huff, Harry carefully untangled himself from Louis’ arms, smiling a little as he glanced at his gorgeous, sleeping husband. Bare skin against cream sheets, one arm thrown across Harry’s pillow. Louis was all soft lines and warmth in the morning light.
Harry padded off to the bathroom, rubbing his tummy out of habit, grounding himself in the steady comfort of the little life inside him. He did what he needed to do, splashed some water on his face, then slipped quietly back into bed.
Curled against Louis again, Harry sighed. The panic still pressed in, though. I can’t believe I fell asleep on him. On our wedding night.
His gaze drifted down. Louis was still asleep, chest rising and falling steadily, looking far too peaceful. And, as usual, he was sleeping without a stitch of clothing on. Harry bit his lip, heart tugging between nerves and desire.
Maybe… he could make it up to him.
He shifted closer, fingers brushing lightly across Louis’ stomach, then up to his chest. Louis stirred faintly but didn’t wake. Harry’s lips curved in a mischievous smile. Slowly, softly, he began to trail kisses across Louis’ skin, letting the warmth of his mouth linger. He always loved the way Louis felt beneath him, solid and familiar, the kind of comfort that made him weak in the knees.
Louis’ breathing changed, heavier now, and Harry dared to press closer, lips teasing, leaving heat in their wake. A quiet sound slipped out of his own mouth a hum, low and wanting.
Louis shifted again, his lashes fluttering as he started to wake. His voice, rough with sleep, broke the quiet.
“Darling… what’s going on?”
Harry stilled, caught between nerves and heat, green eyes flicking up to meet Louis’ half-lidded gaze. Mischief and love warred in his chest as his lips hovered over Louis’ skin.
Harry stilled at Louis’ voice, caught red-handed, but the mischief in him wouldn’t let go. He tilted his chin up just enough to meet those sleepy blue eyes, and the corners of his mouth tugged into a sly grin.
“Making up for last night,” he whispered, voice low and husky.
Louis’ brows lifted, still heavy with sleep. “Last night?”
Harry sighed, resting his chin lightly against Louis’ chest. “I fell asleep on you. On our wedding night. God, Lou, who does that? I feel awful.”
For a moment, Louis just looked at him, blinking slowly, before his lips curved into a soft, knowing smile. He brushed his thumb across Harry’s cheek, gentle as the morning light.
“Love,” Louis murmured, voice tender, “do you really think I’d be upset just because you were so tired you fell asleep? Baby, you’re carrying our whole world. I’m not worried, not angry. not one bit. We’ve got the rest of our lives, Haz. So please, don’t worry.”
Harry’s throat tightened, eyes stinging at the calm sincerity in Louis’ words. He pressed a quick kiss to Louis’ chest, whispering, “I don’t deserve you.”
Louis chuckled softly, tilting Harry’s chin so their eyes met. “Other way around, darling.”
Something melted inside Harry then. the guilt, the nerves, leaving only warmth and that insistent pull of desire. His lips curved into a mischievous smile. Slowly, deliberately, he began trailing kisses across Louis’ skin again, his hand smoothing down the familiar lines of his stomach.
Louis let out a low sound, his breathing shifting, heavier now. His fingers slipped into Harry’s curls, grounding him as his lashes fluttered.
“Darling,” Louis rasped, the word caught between warning and need, “what’s going on?”
Harry glanced up, green eyes molten, full of mischief and love all at once. “I just want you,” he admitted softly. “All of you. I always do.”
Louis’ lips parted, his chest rising sharply as he pulled Harry closer. “Then come here,” he whispered.
And Harry did, surging up to kiss him slow, deep, and hungry, the kind of kiss that promised what words couldn’t. A kiss that left Louis groaning softly into his mouth, wrapping him up tighter.
The morning melted into heat and laughter, into whispered pleas and breathless promises, until the world outside the villa didn’t exist.

By late morning, Harry and Louis finally tore themselves from the comfort of their villa. Fingers laced together, they walked back toward the main house, bracing themselves for what they knew was coming.
They’d promised themselves once the wedding dust settled, once the secret was out, they’d give their families the whole truth. They owed them that much.
The beach was quieter now, the guests long gone, leaving only the core of their world: Anne and Robin, Gemma with little Theo still drowsy in her arms, Jay and Mark with Lottie beside them, and of course Liam, Zayn, Niall… and Shawn, who was clearly making the most of his days off with Niall curled happily at his side.
The moment Harry and Louis appeared, barefoot and sun-warmed, their families rose as one. Arms opened, smiles bloomed, and they were pulled into a wave of hugs and kisses, warm congratulations renewed all over again.
It was almost enough to lull them into thinking they might get away with it. Almost.
Because as soon as they’d settled at the long table under the shade, mugs of tea and plates of fruit pushed toward them, Anne leaned forward, eyes sparkling but sharp.
“Well,” she said, her tone gentle but unmistakably firm. “Let’s talk, shall we? We all have so many questions for you two.”
Harry felt Louis stiffen just slightly beside him, and he squeezed his hand under the table, dimples flickering nervously.
Jay crossed her arms, though her smile betrayed her affection. “Starting with why in the world you thought running off to Vegas and keeping it from us was a good idea.”
Lottie smirked from her seat, lifting her phone like she might record it all. “This should be good.”
Zayn arched a brow, leaning back coolly. “Yeah, lads. Spill.”
Even Liam, ever the peacemaker, couldn’t hide his curiosity. He nudged Louis with a grin. “Might as well, mate. No wriggling out now.”
Harry blew out a breath, meeting Louis’ eyes. They both knew there was no point stalling. This was the moment to explain everything.
Harry glanced around the table; cheeks flushed under the weight of so many expectant eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, dimples flashing nervously.
“Alright, fine,” he said. “Here’s how it happened.”
His mind flicked back instantly to the day after Louis had slipped the ring onto his finger, the two of them wandering together down the wild streets of Vegas. Neon lights blazed even in daylight, music thumped from every doorway, and Harry remembered how impossibly happy he’d felt. Engaged. To Louis.
And then they’d seen him — Elvis. Or at least a man dressed like him, strutting in his white jumpsuit, shades gleaming, scarf draped around his neck.
Harry had turned to Louis with a smirk. “All I had to do was look at him,” he said now, recalling it like it had been yesterday. “And Lou, he knew exactly what I was thinking.”
Across the table, Louis groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Don’t you dare—” he muttered, but the grin gave him away.
Harry laughed, eyes crinkling. “I told him, only if he wanted to. And well… obviously we both had the same idea.”
The memory rushed through him. their shared grin, their laughter, the ridiculous blur of paperwork and Elvis’ deep drawl echoing vows neither of them could quite believe they were saying. And yet, it had felt so right.
“So yeah,” Harry finished, his dimples deepening. “That’s how it happened.”
The table burst into laughter, the tension breaking instantly. Lottie shook her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You two are sickening. Honestly. But…” her voice softened, “it makes me want what you two have.”
Jay leaned across, nudging her gently. “It’s not all that bad, Lotts. Just look at your brother he’s glowing.”
Harry ducked his head at that, his hand finding Louis under the table, their fingers intertwining effortlessly. He was glowing. And so was Louis.
Robin set his glass down softly, his voice calm, almost casual. “Alright then… but why keep it to yourselves? Just asking, no hard feelings.”
Harry looked up, meeting his stepdad’s gaze. Robin’s eyes were steady, kind — one of the coolest souls Harry knew. He wasn’t judging, just curious.
Louis squeezed Harry’s hand under the table before answering. “Honestly? It just excited us,” he admitted with a small smile. “It was ours. Something just for the two of us. until it felt like the right time to let everyone else in.”
Harry nodded, dimples flickering, relief washing through him at Louis’ words. That was exactly it. Their secret hadn’t been about hiding it had been about holding something precious close, just for a little while.
From across the table, Niall let out a sharp laugh, pointing at them. “So that’s why you two got those tattoos!”
Harry blinked, startled, while Louis raised a brow. “What?”
“The arrow and the compass,” Niall said, smirking triumphantly. “Makes a hell of a lot more sense now, doesn’t it? Married in Vegas, permanent ink the same bloody day…”
“well, the next day actually” louis sassed.
The table erupted into laughter, Lottie nearly choking on her juice, Gemma shaking her head with fond disbelief. Harry covered his face with his free hand, dimples deep even as his ears went pink.
Louis only smirked, leaning back in his chair. “What can I say? We’re sentimental like that.”
Harry barely had time to sip his tea before Lottie leaned across the table, eyes shining through the tears she was still dabbing away.
“Okay, tell us about the baby then!” she blurted. “I can’t believe I’m going to be an aunty. It’s making me all soft. I’ve never cried this much in a span of twenty-four hours.”
The whole table burst into laughter, even Harry, the tension breaking instantly.
Louis, of course, spoke first. with that trademark smirk. “Well, you all know how babies happen, so there’s that.”
Liam groaned, covering his face. “We know, mate, but do tell us how this happened to be. When and how?”
Louis raised a brow, sass dripping from every word. “Have you no shame, Payno?”
That only made Gemma lean forward, grinning wickedly. “Oh, please. Do enlighten us, lovebirds. how did you find out?”
Harry shot Louis a look, his dimples twitching despite himself. “We need a new family and friends, Lou.”
Louis chuckled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “You’re right, darling.”
Louis sighed dramatically, but the way his hand drifted to Harry’s bump was soft, instinctive. “If you really must know, my husband here” he squeezed Harry’s side for emphasis, “was nagging me for weeks about this vegan Italian place he’d been desperate to try.”
“That’s a thing?” Shawn, cut in, blinking. “Never seen one of those, and I’ve lived in L.A. for years.”
“Right?” Louis shot back, delighted. “Sounded dodgy to me too. Exactly my thoughts. But I gave in, and off we went. Honestly, the food wasn’t terrible.” He wrinkled his nose. “But Harold here had his eye on the tiramisu the second we sat down. Me? I stuck to some vegan gelato or… whatever. That tiramisu, though? Tasted like dirt.”
Harry shook his head indignantly. “It did not taste like dirt.”
“Darling,” Louis said sweetly, “you nearly poisoned yourself.”
More laughter rippled around the table as Louis carried on. “Anyway, on the way home, he complains he’s bloated. We blamed the tiramisu. Next morning, I’m woken up by doors slamming, feet pounding… and there he is, head in the toilet. Swearing it was that bloody tiramisu again. Meanwhile, I find out he’d brought the leftovers home to eat later!” Louis threw his hands up, exasperated. “Asked me to bin it because he couldn’t look at it without gagging.”
“I maintain it was a very unfortunate tiramisu,” Harry muttered, though his grin gave him away.
Louis smirked. “So, I tell him to stay put, go to grab some water—”
Harry cut in, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. “And my husband materialises a pregnancy test out of thin air.”
The table howled.
“Not out of thin air,” Louis protested.
Liam raised his brows. “Mate, you’re an OBGYN. You just carry those around in your back pocket or what?”
Harry tipped his glass toward him. “Thank you, Li.”
Louis threw him a look, but his grin betrayed him. “Point is, when I told him he was being dramatic, he said, stop blaming the tiramisu and do the bloody test. And turns out…” His voice softened as his eyes met Harry’s. “He was right.”
The table erupted again, half with laughter, half with cheers, but Louis only leaned into Harry, hand curling over his, both glowing.
Anne, still blinking back tears, softened her tone. “We understand why you wanted to keep the wedding to yourselves, but why the baby?”
Harry’s heart squeezed when Louis unconsciously rubbed over his stomach that little habit that always made Harry melt.
With a sigh, Louis explained, “He had really bad morning sickness. It hit like clockwork started around six and didn’t fade until ten. For three months straight, he was panicking he might lose the baby because it was that bad.”
Anne’s eyes widened. “Goodness, how come we never noticed?”
Harry set his cup down, shrugging softly. “Well since Gemma is back, I could start shifts later blaming on wedding planning . By the time I showed up, the worst of it had passed. And Lou…” He smiled fondly, nudging his husband. “Lou was there with me the whole time. Every trick in the book. He even carried ginger lollies in his pockets for me.”
At that, Louis slipped a hand into his trousers and pulled out a little Ziplock bag, shaking it with a grin.
The whole table cooed, laughter and aww’s rippling through the group.
Zayn smirked, shaking his head. “Well, good thing your husband’s trained to do all this pregnancy stuff. Gyno and all.”
Harry laughed, cheeks pink as Zayn added with a knowing look, “So that explains why you said you were on a wedding diet. No alcohol, no late nights, all that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said with a dimpled grin, making the table roar with laughter all over again.
Harry had just finished laughing at Zayn’s dry comment when Louis leaned back, smirk tugging at his lips. “You lot want to know something funny? The first time Harry told me he was ready for a baby, he was so high on baby fever I thought he’d lost it.”
Harry groaned, covering his face. “Lou…”
“Oh, come on,” Louis chuckled, turning to the table. “It was five months ago, when we were in London for Shawn’s show. He sat there grinning like a fool, telling me, ‘I’m ready, let’s do it now.’”
The table erupted into laughter. Shawn strummed the edge of the table dramatically, smirking. “My influence, clearly.”
“Oi,” Niall nudged him with his shoulder, laughing. “Don’t go taking credit for baby Tomlinson.”
Harry giggled, cheeks pink. “I did get a bit carried away…”
“Bit?” Louis teased, eyes sparkling. “You were practically buzzing with baby fever.”
“Alright, alright!” Harry ducked his head, hiding against Louis’ shoulder as the table roared with laughter.
Jay wiped at her eyes, grinning through the chaos. “When are you due, love?”
Harry lifted his head just enough to answer, voice soft. “Mid-January.”
Mark’s face split into a broad smile. “Ah, can’t wait. We’ll come to you for Christmas this year, then. No way we’re dragging you lot down to us.”
Robin nodded firmly. “We’ll throw the best Christmas and of course, Louis’ birthday too.”
Gemma leaned forward, arching a brow at Harry. “You’re off cooking duty this time, little bro.”
Harry opened his mouth, only for Jay to cut him off, wagging a finger. “No buts, sticky. No cooking for you, mama.”
Harry’s cheeks flushed scarlet, a shy smile tugging at his lips as he tucked his head back onto Louis’ shoulder. Louis kissed the top of his curls, grinning proudly.
“So,” Niall piped up, tugging Shawn closer, “do you know what you’re having yet?”
Harry shook his head, and Louis answered for both. “Not yet. We’ve got the scan after the honeymoon.”
Shawn smirked knowingly. “Are you sure about that? Or are you two just following a pattern and trying to surprise everyone again?”
The table howled with laughter, Harry giggling into Louis’ shirt. Louis shook his head, still smiling. “No, mate. We really don’t know. Last scan we went to, I thought I might be able to see something, but I couldn’t. So, we’ll find out at the next one.”
The table hummed with excitement, the air warm with love and laughter.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Harry Tomlinson had learned in the past week, it was this: the Tomlinson were impossible to crack.
He’d tried everything. Sweet coaxing, dramatic pouting, even offering certain… Favors in the dead of night. But Louis had not budged. The honeymoon destination remained a mystery.
Harry had even gone for the obvious weak spot Lottie. Surely, she’d spill. Except she hadn’t. Not once over the wedding weekend. She’d smiled, winked, and turned her phone screen away like a professional spy. Bloody Tomlinson’s, Harry thought with a sigh. And I’m one of them now, aren’t I?
Which is how he found himself at the airport, still clueless, suitcase wheels rattling along as Louis guided him toward the check-in desk. Harry eyed his husband suspiciously. “Warm weather, you said. Beach shorts, you said. That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Louis replied, infuriatingly smug, his hand warm around Harry’s.
But then they breezed through the first-class line, and Harry’s brows shot up. He tugged on Louis’ arm, dimples threatening. “This is Lottie’s doing, isn’t it?”
Louis smirked, leaning in close. “You’re part of the family now, love. Perks included.”
Harry’s heart thumped so hard it almost drowned out the boarding announcements. He grinned helplessly, green eyes shining. God, I love him.
Louis tried not to laugh at the look on Harry’s face. equal parts suspicion and delight, curls bouncing as he whipped his head toward him in disbelief.
He’d been planning this for months, ever since Harry’s birthday. That day, he’d been laid low with some bug, forced to cancel all the special things he’d arranged. Harry had been gutted but refused to let Louis feel guilty. And Louis had sworn he’d make it up to him.
The honeymoon had been his promise. His secret. His gift.
Harry had tried every trick in the book to pry it out of him. sultry looks, cheeky bribes whispered under the covers, even turning those green eyes on Lottie in the hopes she’d crack. But Louis had held firm. The surprise was worth it.
Now, standing in the glow of the departures lounge, watching Harry practically vibrate with excitement as he clutched his passport, Louis felt his chest ache with love.
He reached over, brushing his knuckles over Harry’s jaw. “Trust me, Haz. You’re going to love it.”
And when Harry smiled at him, dimples deep, eyes sparkling like he already did.Louis knew he’d never needed the surprise at all.
So, when they finally sank into the plush chairs of the airport lounge, Harry gave it one last shot. He tugged on Louis’ sleeve, curls flopping into his eyes.
“Just tell me, Lou,” he pleaded, lips jutting into a pout. “Please. I’ll go mad if I don’t know.”
Louis leaned back, passport in hand, smirk firmly in place. “Spain, Haz.”
Harry froze, blinking rapidly. “Spain?”
Louis chuckled, watching the dawning excitement spread across Harry’s face. “Beach, sun, the whole lot. Told you to pack the shorts, didn’t I?”
Harry let out a squeal that drew amused looks from the people nearby, then threw his arms around Louis right there in the lounge. “Spain,” he whispered, dimples aching from how wide he was smiling. His honeymoon. With Louis.
The flight itself was pure luxury. first class seats thanks to Lottie’s connections, reclining into beds, food menus that read like poetry. Not that Harry got to enjoy it without interference. Louis hovered over him constantly, checking what he ordered, intercepting glasses of wine, sliding him water instead.
“Lou…” Harry groaned, dimples twitching.
“Don’t ‘Lou’ me,” Louis muttered, nudging the water bottle into his hand. “Drink.”
Take-off was worse.Louis clutching Harry’s hand like the plane might split in half, rubbing circles into his palm. And when they landed, Louis was straight up, insisting Harry stretch and walk slowly down the aisle.
Harry didn’t mind, especially when an elderly woman stopped him halfway, her face kind and knowing. “You’re glowing, dear. How far along?”
Harry’s whole body lit up. He barely had a bump yet, but he couldn’t resist telling her. “Just past the first trimester,” he said proudly, rubbing his stomach.
The woman chuckled. “I guessed. Your partner’s been fussing over you every five seconds.”
Harry laughed, dimples deep. “Well, he’s a professional. Can’t help himself. Keeps making me drink water and walk to stretch my legs”
Louis turned back at that, smirk softening into something tender. “Just looking after my loves, that’s all.”
The woman cooed, patting Harry’s hand. “You two are adorable.”
Harry couldn’t stop smiling as they walked off the plane, Louis’ arm around his waist.

The car pulled up along a winding coastal road, sunlight spilling golden over the sea. And then the villa came into view.
Harry gasped, hand flying to his mouth.
It was perfect. Nestled right on the shoreline, the whitewashed villa sat against the endless blue of the Mediterranean. Its terracotta-tiled roof was sun-kissed and weathered, giving it a rustic, lived-in charm. Wide wooden doors opened straight onto a terrace that seemed to blur into the sand. Just beyond, a sparkling pool glimmered like liquid turquoise, framed by pale stone and shaded by climbing greenery. And past that, only a few steps away, the beach stretched out, the waves rolling lazily under the afternoon light.
The whole place smelled of salt and rosemary, warm and wild and utterly private. Wooden loungers and wicker chairs were scattered around, a hammock swaying gently in the breeze, as though waiting for them. It wasn’t a resort; it wasn’t polished or glossy. it was better. Real. Raw. Beautiful.
Harry turned in a slow circle, curls bouncing as his wide eyes drank it all in. “Lou… where did you even find this place?”
Louis stood in the doorway, smug grin softening into something tender as he watched Harry glow with excitement. “Lots of research, love. Wanted it to be special.” He slipped an arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him close. “And the best bit? Comes with a personal chef on call. No cooking for you.”
Harry laughed, leaning into him, dimples deep. “You think of everything.”
Louis kissed the curls at his temple, his hand brushing instinctively over Harry’s stomach. “Only the best for my baby… and our baby.”
They stood together on the terrace, staring out at the sun glittering over the waves, both exhaling at once as though they’d just stepped into a dream.
After the long journey, they’d barely dropped their bags before collapsing into the villa’s soft linen bed. The sound of the sea through the open windows lulled them into a blissful nap, the kind of sleep that left them tangled together, warm and safe.
When Louis woke, Harry still curled against him, he slipped away quietly and made a quick call. The chef, Linda, arrived not long after. a kind middle-aged woman with a sun-warmed smile. Louis greeted her on the terrace, explaining softly, “My husband is pregnant. I’m a bit protective about what he eats.”
Linda’s smile only widened. “You’re in good hands. We’ll use nothing but the freshest, local, organic produce. You won’t have to worry.” She even left a chilled jar of homemade lemonade in the fridge, promising it would help with any lingering nausea. Louis thanked her with his whole heart.
When Harry finally stirred awake, Louis coaxed him outside. They ate tacos at the little wooden table on the terrace, the tortillas warm, the fillings bright and fragrant with herbs. Harry made a delighted hum at the first bite, curls messy from sleep, eyes glowing in the golden sunset. Louis, meanwhile, poured him a glass of lemonade, insisting he drink slowly between bites.
By the time dinner was cleared, they had no plans left but to simply… be. The evening was balmy, the sound of the sea constant and calming. Harry stretched out on a lounger, bare toes brushing the warm sand, while Louis settled beside him, one arm draped across his waist.
The world seemed to pause just for them the beach quiet, the lanterns Linda had strung around the terrace swaying gently, the pool reflecting starlight. Their laughter came easy, small conversations melting into soft silences. Harry leaned into Louis’ side, his curls brushing his jaw. Louis kissed them absentmindedly, fingers tracing patterns over Harry’s arm, then lower, circling unconsciously over his stomach.
Harry tilted his head up, green eyes catching the last of the sunset glow. The look was enough to steal Louis’ breath.
The kiss deepened until both were breathless, grinning against each other’s mouths like they were teenagers again. When Louis finally pulled back, Harry tugged at his hand with a mischievous smile.
“Come on,” he whispered.
They wandered down to the shoreline, bare feet sinking into warm sand. The night was hushed except for the soft hiss of the waves and the distant hum of cicadas. Lantern light from the villa flickered faintly behind them but ahead stretched nothing but silver sea under the moon.
Hand in hand, they waded into the shallows. The water wrapped around their ankles, then their calves, then higher warm and velvety, as if it had been waiting just for them. Harry laughed, tipping his head back, curls dampened by sea spray.
“God, Lou, it’s perfect,” he murmured, letting go of his hand to float back a little, arms out, eyes closed. The moonlight kissed his skin, making him glow in a way that stole Louis’ breath all over again.
Louis moved closer, sliding his arms around Harry’s waist in the gentle surf. “Not as perfect as you,” he whispered, kissing his temple, then lower, brushing his lips across the curve of his smile.
They lingered like that, the sea lapping around them, kisses slow and unhurried, touches soft but charged with the promise of more. The water seemed to buoy them, carrying their laughter and sighs into the night.
When they finally returned to shore, dripping and sandy, they didn’t bother with towels or clothes. Finally in the bathroom Steam curled through, clinging to the tiled walls, the scent of saltwater fading as Louis’ hands worked slowly over Harry’s skin. They took their time rinsing the sea from each other, warm water running over curves and lines already mapped in memory. Harry laughed softly when Louis flicked suds at his chest, but the sound broke into a gasp when Louis leaned in, kissing the spot instead.
“Lou…” Harry breathed, head tipping back against the wall.
Louis kissed him again, slower this time, lingering at his collarbone before drifting lower. His tongue brushed teasingly across Harry’s nipple, drawing a sharp, shivery sound from him. Harry’s hands flew into Louis’ damp hair, tugging him closer.
“God, I want you,” Harry whispered, voice cracked with need. “Please, Lou… make love to me. These hormones—fuck” He cut himself off with a whimper when Louis sucked lightly, teeth grazing just enough to make Harry arch against him.
Louis chuckled, lips still at Harry’s chest. “So needy,” he murmured, voice low and dark with affection. “Don’t worry, Baby. I’m going to take my time with you tonight.”
Harry shivered, clutching him tighter, words barely forming. “Lou…”
Louis lifted his head just enough to press a slow kiss to Harry’s mouth, his thumb rubbing gently over the swell of his tummy. “Think you can cum more than once tonight, darling?” he whispered against his lips.
Harry’s green eyes were wide, glassy with want, his voice so soft it was almost a plea. “Yes.”
He pressed him gently but firmly against the tiles, hands gliding over Harry’s wet, soft skin, careful around the bump. “God, you feel incredible,” Louis growled, lips brushing Harry’s neck and collarbone. Harry moaned, tilting his head back, hands clutching at Louis’s shoulders. Louis slowly traced kisses down Harry’s chest, teasing at his nipples with teeth and tongue, eliciting shivers and moans. “You gonna make me lose it, baby.” he murmured, voice low and filthy. Harry whined, hormones making him desperate.
Then Louis dropped lower, spreading Harry’s thighs gently. His tongue flicked against Harry’s swollen, sensitive hole, circling, licking, teasing, tasting him completely. “You taste so good… so fucking perfect for me,” Louis whispered, lips and tongue working relentlessly. Harry gasped, hips pressing forward, unable to hold still, hands tangling in Louis’s hair.
Louis hummed around him, sucking lightly, flicking his tongue with precision, taking care to keep Harry comfortable, supporting him with his hands on Harry’s thighs and hips. “Cum for me, Harry… I want to hear you,” he growled, dirty and demanding.
Harry shuddered, cry breaking out as waves of pleasure tore through him. Louis didn’t stop, tasting every quiver and shiver, milking every inch of his orgasm. Finally, Harry sagged against him, panting, his body trembling. Louis lifted him gently, pressed a soft kiss to his temple, hand brushing over the bump. “You okay, baby?” he murmured. Harry could only nod, breathless, a satisfied, dazed smile on his face.
Harry’s body was still tingling from the shower when he tugged Louis toward the bedroom, eyes dark and needy. “Take me to bed… fuck me, Lou,” he whispered, voice trembling with want. Louis didn’t need another invitation. He grinned, lifting Harry effortlessly, kissing him deeply as he carried him to the bed.
Once on the soft sheets, Louis eased Harry down gently, kissing every inch of his damp skin, lingering at the curve of his belly, careful around the bump. “You’re mine forever,” Louis murmured, voice husky, pressing his forehead to Harry’s. Harry gasped, fingers threading through Louis’s hair, pressing him close.
Louis lined himself up, teasing the tip before slowly sliding in, letting Harry adjust to him. “So good… you feel amazing,” Louis groaned, starting slow, deep strokes that made Harry cry out, arching into him. Louis’s hands cradled Harry’s hips, supporting him, one palm brushing gently over the bump, grounding them both.
They moved together, a perfect rhythm of lust and love, moans and whispers filling the room. “I want you… all of you,” Harry breathed, pressing himself into Louis, curling his legs around him. Louis leaned down, kissing him, biting softly at his shoulder, murmuring filthy praises as he fucked him, letting Harry ride every wave.
Harry’s hands roamed, pulling Louis closer, gripping him tight as pleasure built. “Fuck me harder, Lou… don’t stop,” he gasped, voice dripping need. Louis obeyed, thrusting deep and slow, then faster, each movement a mix of raw passion and tender care.
Finally, Harry’s body tensed, shuddering, calling out Louis’s name as he came with a trembling cry, Louis Cumming inside him, murmuring love and lust at once. Louis held him close, rubbing his back, kissing his hair, grounding him gently. “You’re perfect… so fucking perfect for me,” Louis whispered, as Harry clung to him, breathless, heart pounding, utterly satisfied.
Harry was still trembling from the second round when Louis’s eyes darkened with mischief. He leaned close, brushing damp hair from Harry’s forehead, whispering, “You ready for something new, baby?” Harry shivered, breath catching. “I… yeah… yes, Lou,” he gasped.
Louis eased out of him slowly, letting Harry’s hips sag back against the sheets. Then, without warning, Louis bent down and lowered his mouth to Harry’s still-sensitive, abused hole, licking slowly, expertly, tasting him in a way Harry had never felt before. Harry’s eyes flew open, a sharp cry escaping his lips. “Oh… fuck, Lou… baby… it hurts—ahhh!” he screamed, hands clutching the sheets, body trembling.
“Do you want me to stop, Darling?” Louis murmured, voice rough but tender.
“No… god… no, Lou,” Harry gasped, hips jerking, “I’m not sure if I have any cum left, but… it feels so, so good…”
Louis didn’t hesitate. His tongue worked relentlessly, sliding deep, licking every inch, while his free hand teased and pinched Harry’s nipple, sending jolts of sensation through him. Harry’s moans grew louder, shaking with overstimulation, pleasure and pain mingling as Louis continued without pause.
Finally, Harry’s body tensed, back arching, a scream tearing from his throat as he came for the third time that night. Louis didn’t stop, milking him through the orgasm, tasting him fully, his hand still playing with Harry’s sensitive nipple. Even a few drops of cum fell from Harry’s cock, marking the intensity of the release.
When it was over, Louis lifted his head, pressing a gentle kiss to Harry’s temple. “You okay, baby love?” he murmured, hand resting protectively over the bump. Harry could only nod, chest heaving, a mix of exhaustion and bliss painted across his face. “That… was… oh my god… Lou,” he breathed, still trembling.
Louis grinned, kissing him again. “Three times tonight. You did so good, baby,” he whispered, arms wrapping Harry close as they sank into the soft sheets, finally spent, satisfied, and utterly entwined.

The days in Spain blurred into something golden and endless, each one softer and sweeter than the last. Linda, their chef, came and went with a quiet smile, always checking in. “Any cravings today, baby mummy?” she’d ask, her eyes twinkling as she made sure Harry’s fruit basket was always overflowing with the freshest figs, peaches, and berries. Louis never stopped thanking her. especially when she slipped in lemon drops and ginger candies, just in case.
Most afternoons were spent wandering the coastal paths, hand in hand, the Mediterranean stretched wide beside them. Louis arranged for a couple’s massage just outside their villa, the sea breeze brushing over their skin as the sun dipped low, painting everything in rose-gold light. Harry had melted under the touch, but Louis only had eyes for him. his soft sighs, the way his curls tickled the edge of the towel, the glow that came from deep inside him now.
They took a wooden train through the countryside one morning, Harry pressed against Louis in a sheer, flowing shirt that caught every beam of sunlight. Louis could barely keep his hands to himself, whispering wicked promises in his ear until Harry swatted him away with a laugh, cheeks pink but eyes bright with want.
Nights were for discovery lazy, hot, romantic, sometimes under the stars, sometimes tangled in linen, sometimes daring and new. They tried everything, laughing and loving their way through positions and ideas neither had spoken aloud before.
And then came Saturday. The last day of their honeymoon.
The sun beat down on the villa pool, the water sparkling as Harry swam lazily, muscles glinting under the light. Louis sat at the edge, legs dangling in the water, phone in hand, typing away, enjoying the rare quiet of the afternoon. He looked up when he felt a shadow move over him and saw Harry emerging from the water, dripping wet, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes dark and mischievous.
Without a word, Harry stepped between Louis’s legs. Louis snapped his phone shut, curiosity and a flicker of heat running through him. “Okay… darling?” he asked, trying to sound casual, though his pulse had already spiked.
Harry just smiled slyly. One smooth hand slipped inside Louis’s swim trunks, cupping him, and with deliberate ease, he freed Louis’s thick, hard cock. Louis’s breath caught instantly, stars practically exploding behind his eyes as Harry leaned down, mouth opening over him.
Harry had always loved taking Louis, and it showed the way he teased, licked, and sucked him, savouring every inch of his length. Louis felt the hot, wet pressure of Harry’s mouth, felt him swirling his tongue over the sensitive tip, sliding him deep into his throat with practiced skill. Harry’s lips were soft, tight, and utterly relentless, and Louis couldn’t even form coherent words, just moans and gasps escaping as waves of pleasure crashed through him.
Every movement, every subtle grind of Harry’s hips against him, drove Louis further toward the edge. He marvelled at how confident, hungry, and in control Harry was, yet how tender the way he always looked up at Louis with adoration even while taking him with such feral desire.
Finally, Louis’s legs shook, hands gripping the pool edge as he spilled into Harry’s mouth. Harry swallowed every drop, teasing and sucking until Louis’s body went slack, completely spent, eyes rolling as he tried to catch his breath. Louis blinked, still stunned, voice hoarse. “What… what was that for?”
Harry smirked, water dripping from his hair, eyes sparkling with lust and love. “Just because I can,” he said, leaning close to kiss him lightly, “and… because I’m horny. Also… you look so fucking hot, and you’re my husband.” He winked, playful and sexy, and Louis’s pulse jumped again, heart hammering.
Louis could only laugh, shaking his head, still too stunned and electrified to respond properly, as Harry climbed onto his lap with a teasing grin, the heat between them far from over.

Chapter Text

It felt like they’d pressed a fast-forward button the moment the plane touched down in Manchester. Real life had come rushing back in, lists and errands and baby prep stacked taller than the hospital where Louis spent half his days. But somehow, between the chaos of work and house hunting and everything else they made it work.
The best part? Harry looked radiant. Morning sickness was finally behind them, and in its place was a healthy glow and a bump that made Louis’ chest ache every time he caught sight of it. His husband, his love, carrying their whole world.
And today… today they’d find out.
Well, he’d find out.
That had been the deal. Harry had laughed through his pout when Louis reminded him, “Love, I’ll know the gender before the technician even says a word. Comes with the territory, yeah?” And Harry, with his green eyes and stubborn streak, had finally agreed as long as Louis promised to keep it secret until the gender reveal and baby shower their families were already busy planning.
So here they were, walking hand in hand into the softly lit scan room. Rob, the senior technician, greeted them warmly. “Alright then, let’s see this little one.”
Harry lay back, shirt pushed up, bump bare and beautiful. Louis sat at his side, gripping his hand, heart hammering like he hadn’t done this a thousand times before for other families. But this was their family.
The moment the image flickered onto the screen, Louis felt his throat tighten. He didn’t need Rob’s narration. he knew exactly what he was looking at. The tiniest shift of anatomy, unmistakable to his trained eye. His vision blurred for a second, mist pricking the corners, but he bit the inside of his cheek and forced his face neutral.
Don’t give it away. Don’t give it away.
Rob carried on kindly, pointing out the heartbeat, the spine, tiny fingers curled into fists. “Well, your baby looks very healthy,” he said with a smile.
Harry exhaled shakily, his dimples flashing. “Thank God.”
Then Rob leaned back, glancing between them. “Do you want to find out the gender today?”
Louis’ poker face cracked. He glanced down, blinking too fast, and Harry caught him instantly.
Harry’s laugh filled the room, bright and teasing. “You already know, don’t you, Lou?”
Louis could only nod, dabbing at his misty eyes with the tissue Harry shoved at him.
Rob raised a brow, curious, and Louis chuckled through the lump in his throat. “See, my husband here is a gynaecologist. So, he must have spotted it right away. But he’s sworn to secrecy until the party.”
Rob grinned, clearly charmed. “Well then. Congratulations, both of you.” He printed off a handful of pictures, the grainy but miraculous little body frozen in black and white.
The car ride home was chaos in the best way. Harry had the photos spread across his lap, turning them this way and that like some sort of codebreaker.
“Alright,” Harry declared, squinting at the grainy image. “This one’s giving me girl vibes. Look at the curve of that spine—very elegant.”
Louis snorted, keeping his eyes on the road. “Spines don’t give off vibes, love.”
“Fine.” Harry shuffled to the next picture, frowning thoughtfully. “But this one… definitely a boy. Look at that head. That’s a Tomlinson head if I’ve ever seen one.”
Louis bit the inside of his cheek, fighting his grin. “A Tomlinson head?”
“Yes!” Harry waved the photo dramatically. “Big, round, stubborn. Just like you.”
Louis finally laughed, shaking his head. “You’re mad.”
Harry grinned, dimples deep, green eyes shining as he tucked the photos back into the envelope. “Madly in love with you, maybe. But mark my words, Lou I’ll figure it out before the shower.”
Louis reached over at the next stoplight, squeezing Harry’s knee. “Good luck with that, Haz. But even if you did… I’d never tell.”
Harry huffed dramatically, though his hand slipped over Louis’ and held tight. “Bloody Tomlinsons. Keeping secrets.”
Louis just smiled, his chest aching with love. Ours. Our secret. Our baby.

They were full and lazy after dinner; the kind of meal that made Louis want to stretch out and never move again. Now he lay sprawled on the sofa, head pillowed in Harry’s lap, curls brushing Harry’s stomach as strong fingers worked soothing circles into his scalp. The telly hummed with some reality nonsense Louis wasn’t really following, though Harry’s occasional giggles told him enough.
Louis’ eyes had slipped shut, body humming with contentment. This was his heaven Harry’s warmth beneath him, the faint scent of lemon on his shirt from dessert, the safe rhythm of fingers threading through his hair. His breath was just beginning to slow into that half-sleep when Harry’s voice cut through the haze, soft but laced with that telltale weight.
“Lou?”
Louis hummed, eyes still closed. “Mm?”
There was a pause, then a gentle tug at his hair. not enough to hurt, just enough to make him blink awake. He cracked one eye open, squinting up at Harry’s wide, nervous smile.
“What was that for?” Louis mumbled, voice thick with drowsiness.
Harry shrugged, all faux innocence. “Wanted your attention.”
“You had it already,” Louis muttered, turning his face into Harry’s stomach, content to stay there forever. “Go on then, love. What’s so important you’d wake me when I was nearly out?”
Harry’s fingers stilled for a beat before he drew in a deep breath. “I was thinking… I want you to deliver our baby.”
Louis’ eyes shot open properly, sleep vanishing in an instant. He twisted to look up at him, jaw slack.
Harry, still rubbing his tummy unconsciously, added softly, “At home.”
For a long moment, Louis could only stare. His brain ran through all the words he wanted to say, none of them forming in the right order. Shock wasn’t even the right word. he should’ve expected this, really. It was so Harry. Hipster, romantic, dramatic. Still, Louis sat up slowly, heart thumping against his ribs.
“What the fuck, love?” he said, not unkindly, but with the sharpness of someone blindsided. “Are you serious?”
Harry’s brows drew together, a flicker of offence crossing his face. “Why wouldn’t I be? You do this every day, Louis. If I trust anyone in this world with this, it’s you.” His voice cracked, earnest and certain all at once.
And God help him, Louis felt it. the pull of that trust, heavy and beautiful, pressing down on his chest until he thought he might cry. But this was different. This wasn’t a patient he could detach from. This was Harry. This was their baby.
Louis dragged a hand down his face, breathing out hard. “Darling… can I think about this?”
Harry didn’t answer right away, just fixed him with those green eyes, wide and unwavering.
Louis pressed on, gently but firmly. “I know one thing, Haz — I’ve seen way too much to feel easy about doing this at home. Even if I’m the one… I’d only be at peace if it were in a medical facility, with every tool and safety net around us. And I’m not even sure if I’d be allowed to deliver where I work, given… well.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “Conflict of interest, they’d call it.”
Harry stayed quiet, searching his face.
Louis reached out, covering the hand Harry had resting on his bump. “Let me talk to someone first. Please give me some time, yeah?”
The silence stretched for a beat, then Harry nodded, slow but steady. His voice was quiet. “Alright. But I meant what I said, Lou. If it’s you, I’ll feel safe.”
Louis swallowed against the lump in his throat, his thumb rubbing gently over Harry’s knuckles. “I know, baby. And that means everything. Just… let me find out the right way to make it happen.”
And as Harry leaned forward to press their foreheads together, Louis knew he’d move heaven and earth to try.

The house was buzzing before they’d even managed to greet everyone. Both families had shown up in full force, and the garden had been transformed. Gemma and Lottie had insisted they’d handle decorations, which really meant they’d hired a company after one too many arguments about balloon colours. Now the back garden looked like something out of a magazine. arches of pastel balloons, streamers trailing in the breeze, a big table laid with food Anne and Jay had outdone themselves on.
Even little Theo was part of the show, toddling toward the balloon garland every five minutes like it was a personal mission to liberate as many ribbons as possible. Mark and Robin kept taking turns scooping him up, distracting him with biscuits or pointing out butterflies while he wriggled furiously to get back to his target.
And Lottie, naturally, had made a dramatic entrance, declaring, “I would never miss my god-baby’s shower!” only for Louis to roll his eyes and mutter, “You’re not the godmother, you idiot.” She’d only smirked and linked arms with Gemma, both of them glowing with pride at how well the decorations had turned out.
Their friends were dotted about the garden, plates in hand, laughter easy. At one point, Niall had leaned over and asked, “So, how’s the house hunting going?”
Harry, perched on the edge of a deck chair, one hand unconsciously rubbing his bump, answered with a sigh. “Still looking. Nothing we really like yet. If we don’t find the right place before the baby comes, we’ll just keep them in our room in a bassinet.”
Zayn raised a brow. “Practical.”
Harry added with a cheeky grin, “My husband is very particular about what he likes.”
Louis only smirked, leaning down to kiss the curls at Harry’s temple. “What can I say? I have very high standards.”
Harry rolled his eyes, but his dimples gave him away.
The late-afternoon sun cast everything golden, the garden humming with chatter and clinking glasses. And Louis kept catching himself staring at Harry, in loose linen trousers and that white lace shirt that caught the light with every movement. His bump was soft and prominent now, his cheeks flushed with happiness, his curls wild and perfect.
“God, you’re pretty,” Louis found himself saying for the fifth time that afternoon, voice low but not low enough.
Harry gave him a warning look, swatting his arm. “Stop making me horny in front of our families, you menace.”
Louis only grinned, utterly unrepentant.
Almost everyone had placed their bets by now, most of them loudly insisting Harry’s glow meant it was a girl. Only Liam, arms folded and smug, was holding firm on boy. Louis kept his own expression carefully neutral, the secret tucked tight behind his ribs.
The garden was a ring of faces, sun-warm and expectant, phones and cameras pointed like a hundred tiny suns. Theo had been bribed into staying put with a biscuit; Lottie was already filming, whispering into her phone about how she’d known; Gemma had tears in her eyes; Jay and Anne were holding hands like it was a church service. Everything smelled of lemon cake and late summer grass.
Gemma laughed from somewhere behind the balloons. “Come on, hot shot, don’t keep us waiting!”
That broke the tension. everyone chuckled, the air warm with joy.
Louis turned, eyes finding Harry immediately. His husband stood glowing in white linen, curls haloed by the late sun, one hand resting on his bump like it was second nature now. The sight nearly undid Louis right there.
“You ready, Mama?” Louis teased softly, because that was the little name they’d started to use in whispers, the one that made Harry’s dimples show every time.
Harry’s smile spread wide, green eyes glassy. He nodded once. “Go on, Lou.”
Louis bent down, pressed a kiss against Harry’s bump, and then pulled the pin.
The smoke bomb hissed and flared to life, and in an instant the garden filled with brilliant, curling clouds of blue.
Cheers erupted all around them whoops, clapping, Lottie squealing like she’d won the lottery, Jay covering her mouth with both hands, Anne bursting into happy tears. Liam punched the air like he’d known it all along.
But Louis saw none of it. His eyes were only on Harry.
Harry gasped, both hands flying to his belly, eyes wide as the smoke wrapped around them. “A boy?” he breathed, voice high and breaking. “A boy, Lou?”
Louis laughed, tears blurring his vision as he pulled Harry into a kiss. “A boy, my darling. Our boy.”
Harry sobbed out a laugh, pressing his forehead to Louis’. “Oh my God. I can’t believe it. I love you so much.”
And even as their families rushed in around them, hugging and cheering and crying, Louis only held on tighter. His boy. Their boy. Their whole world wrapped up in the swell beneath his husband’s hand.

The conversation with Dr. Corden had been easier than Louis expected. He’d walked in braced for red tape, for a flat no, but instead his boss had leaned back in his chair, listening quietly while Louis explained. Harry’s request, his hipster streak, his stubbornness, the trust he’d placed in Louis.
“As long as your husband remains low risk,” Dr. Corden had said finally, “it shouldn’t be a problem. But…” He’d raised a hand before Louis could get carried away. “I wouldn’t recommend a hospital birth. Too many rules, too many restrictions. You’d be tied up in red tape the whole time, and you wouldn’t have the freedom you or he are after. Look into birthing centres. They’re safer than a home birth, more relaxed than a hospital, and with your credentials, they’ll let you step in. You’ll have more control of the situation.”
Louis had felt the knot in his chest loosen at that. For the first time, he could picture it being both Harry’s husband and his doctor in a setting that gave them the best of both worlds.

Now, curled up on their sofa at home, Louis watched Harry stroke his bump absentmindedly as he half-read something on his phone. Louis cleared his throat softly. “Haz? Can we talk about the birth?”
Harry set the phone down immediately, eyes bright with curiosity. “Go on, then.”
Louis shifted closer, one hand sliding over Harry’s. “I spoke to Dr. Corden. Told him what you wanted.” He hesitated, searching Harry’s face. “He said it’s possible — me delivering. But a hospital won’t work. Too many hoops. And at home…” Louis exhaled slowly. “At home I’d never be able to switch off that part of my brain. I’d be half your doctor, half your husband, and fully terrified of something going wrong.”
Harry’s expression softened, the corners of his mouth lifting gently.
“So,” Louis went on, “what we can do is look into birthing centres. They’re designed for low-risk births, much calmer than a hospital. And they’d let me… well. Do what I do best.” He squeezed Harry’s hand. “That way, love, I can just focus on you. On the baby. On us. Without worrying I’ve dragged you into something unsafe.”
For a moment Harry was quiet, thumb brushing over Louis’ knuckles, green eyes locked on his.
Then he smiled that soft, slow smile that still knocked Louis sideways. “That’s all I wanted, Lou. For you to be the one. If that’s how we can make it happen, then that’s what we’ll do.”
Relief surged through Louis so hard he nearly laughed. He leaned in, kissing Harry’s curls, then his forehead. “Thank you, darling.”

Chapter Text

Louis picked him up from the café after his hospital shift, the car still carrying the faint smell of hand soap and coffee. They had a parental class at the birthing centre tonight, and Harry was buzzing. he’d been counting down all week. Tonight’s session was all about labour and delivery, and even though Louis did this for a living, he’d insisted on coming along, saying, “There’s always something to learn. Those midwives are brilliant.”
Harry was still fumbling with his seat belt when his phone lit up with the estate agent’s number. “Hang on,” he murmured, pressing the speaker button so he could lean over and kiss Louis’ cheek at the same time.
“Mr. Tomlinson?” the agent’s chipper voice filled the car. “We’ve just had a property come on the market yesterday. hasn’t even been advertised yet. Thought of you immediately. Interested in a look?”
Harry glanced at Louis, raising a brow. Louis gave a small nod, calm as ever, one hand resting on the steering wheel.
“We’ve got a Appointment tonight,” Harry said into the speaker, “but if we can swing by in about two hours…if you can?”
“Perfect,” the agent said, clearly thrilled. “I’ll meet you there.”
The call ended, leaving the quiet hum of the car again. Harry tucked the phone away and turned to Louis with a grin. “Hi, darling.”
Louis smirked, eyes flicking briefly from the road to Harry’s face. “Hi yourself. You excited for class?”
Harry nodded quickly, pressing his hand to his bump as if the baby could feel his enthusiasm. “So excited. I know you know all this already—”
“Oi,” Louis cut in, squeezing his knee affectionately. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again. those midwives know more tricks than anyone or any book. Bet I’ll come away with something useful for work.”
Harry’s heart swelled. It was ridiculous, maybe, to be this giddy about breathing techniques and labour positions, but he loved that Louis wanted to do it all with him. Not just as a doctor, but as his partner. His husband.

The birthing centre smelled faintly of lavender and new paint; the chairs arranged in a loose circle. Couples murmured quietly as the midwife began her introduction, explaining what to expect in labour. Harry perched on his cushion, hand resting over his bump, Louis cross-legged beside him, leaning forward with genuine attention.
And as usual, Louis lit up the room without even trying. He asked thoughtful questions, nodded along earnestly, and when the midwife demonstrated breathing techniques, he copied them right there, exhaling dramatically enough to make the group laugh. Not in a way that showed off, not really. Just that natural, easy charm of his.
Harry caught the way people looked at him. This handsome, clever man who somehow made everyone feel comfortable. And God, he was so bloody proud. Proud that Louis wasn’t above learning from others, proud that he wanted to do this as a partner, not a doctor.
The Midwife clapped their hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright,” they said cheerfully, “let’s pretend your partner’s about to go into labour. What’s the first thing you do?”
Louis’ hand shot up without hesitation. “Panic quietly,” he said, straight-faced, “then realise I’m the doctor… and still panic anyway.”
The whole class burst out laughing. Even the instructor had to bite back a grin.
Harry groaned, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”
Louis only grinned wider. “What? It’s called professional consistency.”
The laughter rolled on, and Harry couldn’t help it. his exasperation melted into something softer. Show-off, he thought fondly. My show-off.


When they pulled up outside, Harry and Louis shared a look across the car. The house stood quietly at the end of the street, double story, its windows catching the late afternoon light. Not flashy, not shouting for attention. but welcoming. It felt lived in, somehow, even with the for-sale sign staked neatly in the grass.
Harry swallowed, his hand slipping into Louis’. “Shall we?” he asked softly.
Louis squeezed back, dimples showing. “Let’s.”
Callum, the estate agent, was already waiting by the gate, papers tucked under one arm. He greeted them warmly, launched into the basics, but Harry barely heard him. he was too busy taking in the front of the house, the wide porch, the freshly painted exterior. It already looked cared for.
Inside, the first thing that struck him was the light. Windows everywhere, tall and generous, filling the rooms with warmth. The kitchen was bright and modern, white counters and pale wood, the kind of space Harry could picture himself in instantly.
“Renovated recently,” Callum explained. “And they painted the whole place less than a year ago. Current owners have already moved out.”
Harry nodded absently, fingers tracing the smooth edge of the counter. He loved it. the openness, the way the sun touched every corner. The living area was the same, wide and welcoming, perfect for lazy afternoons with family.
They couldn’t see much of the outside from there, but when Callum slid open the glass doors, Harry stepped out and felt his breath catch. The backyard stretched deep, more than enough space for barbecues, for running feet, for life.
“Big enough for a pool,” Louis murmured almost to himself, eyes already scanning the space with that calculating, quietly excited look that made Harry’s chest ache.
Downstairs there was a small guest room with its own bathroom. Harry smiled immediately, picturing Gemma or Lottie staying over, or one of their mums fussing after the baby. There was even a tidy little office nook, tucked neatly away but open enough for Louis or him to work without being hidden.
Upstairs, the master bedroom sealed it. High ceilings, a wide balcony that overlooked the garden, and a bathroom big enough to feel like a retreat. Harry stepped out onto the balcony, the view stretching open before him, and for a second, he could see it. their baby in a bassinet by the window, Louis curled up with him on lazy mornings, the two of them building their life here.
His chest tightened with a quiet certainty he didn’t dare speak aloud.
When he turned back, Louis was standing in the doorway, soft and steady, eyes full of something that told Harry he felt it too.
Harry didn’t say anything. He only tucked the feeling away, warm and insistent, as if naming it out loud might make it disappear. He really, really liked it.
But outside, the sky had already turned dark, the garden fading into shadows. The warm glow from the kitchen spilled out behind Callum as he flipped through his folder. “Take your time,” he told them kindly. “No rush. Sleep on it. Let me know.”
Louis nodded, always cautious, always careful. “We’ll be in touch.”
Back in the car, Harry leaned his head against the window, watching the house grow smaller in the side mirror. His heart was still pounding, visions of bassinets and barbecues and lazy Sunday mornings trailing after him like smoke.
Louis reached over, sliding his hand across Harry’s thigh, grounding him. “You liked it,” he said softly.
Harry hummed, dimples flickering even as his chest tightened. “More than liked.”
Louis smiled, eyes on the road. “Good. Then we’ll think on it. If it’s meant to be ours, it will be.”
Harry turned his head to watch him, love swelling so fierce it almost hurt. Yeah, he thought, tracing circles over his bump. It will be.

Later that night, when the house was quiet and they were curled up in bed, Harry finally asked the question that had been bouncing around his head since they’d driven away.
“What did you really think about it Lou?” he murmured, tracing small circles over Louis’ chest.
Louis hummed, thoughtful. “Well… it ticks almost all our boxes. Kitchen’s already modern enough, open plan, big backyard.” He paused, lips brushing Harry’s curls. “We could make it look like a home. I think it’s got a lot of potential.”
Harry nodded against him, his chest fluttering. “Callum said he’s opening it up for inspection this weekend. Do you want to go see it in the daytime?”
Louis smiled, easy and steady. “Yeah. Might as well. No harm in looking again.”
They fell quiet after that, the sort of soft silence that only comes when both of them are drifting close to sleep. But Louis still shifted down, resting his cheek against Harry’s bump. His voice dropped into that tender tone he saved only for their son.
“Goodnight, Bubble,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Harry’s belly. “Mummy and Daddy can’t wait to see you, you know. You’ve already changed everything.”
As if on cue, the baby kicked, gentle but sure. Louis laughed quietly, eyes sparkling as he kissed the spot again. “See? He agrees with me every time.”
Harry’s throat tightened, love swelling so sharp it nearly stung. He smoothed a hand through Louis’ hair, whispering, “He loves your voice.”
Louis looked up, and the smile he gave Harry was soft enough to undo him completely.

The café was buzzing at lunchtime, the clatter of mugs and the hiss of the coffee machine blending into the usual hum of chatter. Harry was halfway through frothing milk when he caught sight of Louis stepping through the door, still in scrubs from his morning shift, hair a little mussed, eyes bright.
Louis leaned on the counter, exchanged a quick hello with Ruby who was cleaning a table, then turned his attention to Gemma, who was manning the till. “Mind if I steal Harry for a bit?” he asked.
Gemma arched a brow, lips twitching. “Last time I checked, he’s your husband. Why are you asking me?”
Louis rolled his eyes. “Because it’s lunch rush, smart-arse. I’m asking if you’ve got enough staff to cover him, not for your blessing.”
Gemma laughed, waving him off. “We’re fine. Go on, then. Take him.”
Harry set the milk jug down, wiping his hands on his apron as Louis came around the counter. “What’s going on?” he asked, watching the way Louis’ grin tugged at one corner of his mouth.
“Come on,” Louis said, slipping an arm around his waist and tugging him toward the door. “We’re going for a ride.”
Harry narrowed his eyes, amused. “Where?”
Louis only kissed his temple, already guiding him outside. “You’ll find out in ten minutes.”
Exactly ten minutes later, Louis pulled up at the curb and Harry’s breath caught. There it was. The house from last night, glowing softer now under the early afternoon sun. The windows gleamed, the brick looked warmer, and somehow it felt even more welcoming than it had in the dark.
“Lou…” Harry started, turning wide eyes toward him.
Louis was already out of the car, circling around to open Harry’s door with that smug, infuriating grin. “I know you’re dying to see it again,” he said simply. “Callum’s waiting for us inside. Come on, love.”
Harry huffed a laugh, his heart thumping as he let Louis help him out. Smart-arse man, he thought, though his chest felt like it might burst with affection.
Inside, the difference was night and day. Sunlight poured through the kitchen windows, pooling golden across the counters. The open-plan living space felt alive now, bright and airy, like it had been holding its breath until today.
Harry moved slowly through each room, curls brushing his cheeks as he turned this way and that, imagining life folding into every corner. He ran his fingers along the edge of the counter again, peered out into the yard where the grass shone green under the sun. Louis murmured something about where the pool could go, his voice reverent and thoughtful. Upstairs, the master bedroom seemed even bigger now, the balcony overlooking the garden a promise of mornings to come.
By the time they stepped back outside, Harry didn’t need to ask. He looked at Louis and saw the answer written in his eyes.
Louis took his hand, warm and steady. “We’ll make it ours,” he said softly.
Harry’s throat tightened. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
And just like that, with Callum grinning and flipping through paperwork, they closed the deal.
Their home.
The place where their son would take his first steps, where Sunday mornings would stretch into laughter and lazy kisses, where life, their life would really begin.

The house papers were signed. The deal was done. Their house.
Harry still couldn’t quite believe it. When they got home that evening, Louis had picked up a bottle of sparkling juice, and Harry’s Favorite Thai take out. They sat cross-legged on their bed, the food spread between them, laughter spilling over at the thought of being homeowners.
“Can you imagine us decorating?” Harry giggled, curls falling into his face as he nudged Louis with his foot. “You’ll have opinions about every bloody curtain rod, won’t you?”
Louis only smirked, dimples deepening. “I’ll have opinions about you, sitting in the middle of the chaos, looking too pretty for your own good.”
Harry rolled his eyes, but warmth fizzed through his chest. Later, when the containers were stacked away and the room was quiet again, Louis pulled him close, pressing kisses into his curls, his jaw, his lips. Harry melted instantly, letting himself sink into the warmth of it.
Before long, Harry found himself straddling his husband, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of Louis’ hips. His fingers threaded through Louis’ hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. His growing tummy illuminated in the soft light. He sank down onto Louis’s cock slowly, a shaky moan tearing from his throat as he stretched around him. Louis’s eyes rolled back, hands clutching Harry’s hips tight.
“Jesus, fuck, baby,” Louis groaned, gaze glued to Harry’s body. “Look at you… tummy round, tits so full, bouncing on my cock like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice was rough, filthy, but full of awe.
Harry whimpered, starting to ride him with urgency, hips snapping down, his own cock dripping against his belly. “God, Lou… you feel so good, stretching me open… I can’t stop,” he gasped, bracing his hands on Louis’s chest as he moved.
Louis sat up, one hand cradling Harry’s back, the other gripping his swollen chest, fingers teasing his sensitive nipple. “These tits, baby… fuck, they’re perfect. So soft, so full… can’t wait to see you feeding our baby with them.” He bit gently at Harry’s neck, groaning against his skin. “But right now, they’re mine.”
Harry cried out, riding him faster, moaning with abandon. “Lou… fuck, I’m your slut… can’t get enough… want you deeper.” Louis grabbed his ass, thrusting up to meet each bounce, making Harry scream with every snap of their bodies.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Louis growled, kissing Harry’s chest, sucking his nipple into his mouth while driving into him hard. “Glowing, dripping for me, hole swallowing my cock like you were made for it.” Harry’s body shook, pleasure overwhelming him as he rode Louis harder, chasing his orgasm. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m Cuming!” he cried, spilling hot over his own belly, clenching down tight around Louis.

The sight of him falling apart, tits bouncing, tummy glistening, cock dripping had Louis tipping over the edge too, groaning Harry’s name as he spilled deep inside him, holding him tight, trembling.
They collapsed together in a sweaty, sticky mess, Harry still straddling Louis, both panting, hearts racing. Louis kissed his swollen lips, brushed a hand reverently over his tummy, and whispered, “You’re mine, Harry. All mine. My perfect husband.”
Harry smiled tiredly, glowing and spent. “Yours. Always.”

Baby shopping had already turned into a whole production. What Harry thought would be a quick trip for a pram and a cot spiralled into Louis insisting on reading every single product review, Gemma tossing pastel onesies into the trolley, and Harry himself wandering glassy-eyed down the aisles, half in awe and half in shock at how many different types of bottles existed.

When it came time to move into their new house, Harry had braced for chaos. boxes everywhere, endless errands, and far too many opinions in one room. But it turned out to be easier than he’d imagined.
Mostly because Louis’ parents had staged a complete takeover.
With Robin helping Gemma at the café and Anne busy most days looking after Theo, Jay and Mark had practically swooped in like a well-organised moving crew.
“We’re retired,” Mark had declared, waving off any protest, “and spend half our days digging around in the bloody garden anyway. We might as well put that energy to good use.”
Jay had nodded firmly, already pulling out a notepad. “Save your days off for when the baby comes, Boo,” she’d said, kissing Louis’ cheek while jotting down a to-do list that could rival a military operation. “We’ll come over and help you move.”
Harry had tried. Once to argue his case. “I can carry boxes,” he’d insisted, rubbing his bump like that might make him sound more convincing.
That earned him a look from Robin, who was busy sorting Allen keys into neat piles. “You’ll be helping plenty by staying out of the way, Harry. Best thing you can do is stick with Gemma at the café. we’ll handle moving and assembling furniture.”
Louis had nearly fallen over laughing, clapping Robin on the back. “You hear that, Haz? Doctor’s orders. well, Dad’s orders. And he’s right. You’re not lifting a bloody finger.”
Harry pouted but secretly didn’t mind. It was nice, being fussed over, nice to know the heavy lifting was handled. It gave him space to daydream about how the nursery would look, where Bubble’s cot would go, how their life would settle into the rooms of their new home.
And every time he caught Louis’ eye across the chaos. sleeves rolled up, hair falling into his face as he carried another box. Harry thought, God, I’m so lucky.

They’d settled into the new house just in time. Harry already eight months along, the baby restless and kicking as if he wanted to make his presence known every hour of the day. Some nights, the only thing that calmed him was Louis’ voice, low and steady as he rubbed circles into Harry’s stomach and pressed endless kisses across the bump. Harry would sigh into the pillows, half-exasperated, half-melting, while Louis whispered promises their son couldn’t yet understand.
Louis was going to miss it, he knew. Miss the curve of Harry’s body, the glow in his cheeks, the miracle of watching their child grow day by day. Even when Harry groaned about swollen ankles or sighed at how slowly he was moving now, Louis only thought he’d never seen him more beautiful.
They hadn’t had their friends over yet. Christmas and New Year had scattered everyone. Liam was taking Zayn home for the holidays, Niall had flown off to Canada to spend New Year with Shawn, and Harry and Louis felt like life had pressed fast-forward. Between the house, the baby, and everything else, the days blurred into one long rush of preparations and quiet nights.
Harry was slowing down more with each passing day, needing Louis’ massages on his feet and back just to get comfortable. They’d talked baby names endlessly, tossing ideas back and forth, but nothing had quite stuck.
Then, one morning, just a few days before Louis’ birthday, Harry woke to find his husband already awake, propped up on one elbow and watching him.
Harry mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. “Weird much? Staring at me like that.”
Louis only smiled, reaching out to brush curls from his forehead. “Just admiring my baby mama.”
Harry snorted, shifting closer as best as he could with his bump between them. “You’re cheesy this morning.”
Louis only hummed, his hand sliding instinctively down to Harry’s stomach, warm over the swell. He went quiet for a moment, then said softly, “It’s Ellio.”
Harry blinked at him. “What?”
“Our little bubble. His name’s Ellio.” Louis’ eyes were faraway, dreamy. “I think I was dreaming about it.” He glanced back at Harry, searching. “You like it?”
Harry huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes but unable to stop the smile tugging at his mouth. His hand came up to cradle Louis’ cheek. “You are unbelievable.” He paused, tasting the name. “Ellio Tomlinson.”
The sound of it settled between them like it had always been meant to be there.
Harry smiled softly. “I like it.”
As if in agreement, the baby kicked beneath Louis’ hand. Both of them laughed, hearts swelling.
“Well, there you go,” Louis whispered, leaning down to kiss Harry’s bump. “He approves.”

Christmas had turned into a blur of wrapping paper and laughter; their new house filled with the warmth of family. Louis’ parents had come early to help Jay wrestle a turkey into the oven, Robin was in charge of drinks, and Gemma and Lottie had taken it upon themselves to “style the place properly,” which really meant filling every spare corner with fairy lights.
Harry had pulled on his new jumper for the occasion. grey knit with Hands Off stretched in bold letters across his bump. It got the reaction he expected.
“Oh, come on,” Lottie groaned, plopping onto the sofa beside him. “Why does Louis get to touch it all the time and I can’t?”
“Yeah,” Gemma chimed in, smirking as she passed Theo a gingerbread man. “Seems a bit unfair, Haz. Sharing is caring.”
Harry rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Because he’s the father of the baby,” he shot back, patting his bump with mock seriousness. “And also, the reason I can’t even move properly right now, so he’s earned it.”
The room erupted in laughter, Louis’ crinkles’ by the eyes full display as he leaned down to press a kiss against Harry’s temple.
And then came Louis’ birthday, folded right into the Christmas chaos. Everyone had insisted Harry not lift a finger. he was grumpy about it, of course, because apparently, he wasn’t even allowed to carry plates in his own house. But he’d managed one thing: Louis’ favourite chocolate cake.
“Made it myself,” Harry declared proudly as he carried out the cake, the rich smell of chocolate filling the room. The frosting was smooth, glossy, decorated with shavings and a few careful swirls that showed his practiced hand. He’d even piped Happy Birthday, Lou across the top, neat and clean, with a little heart dotting the I.
“No one can tell me I didn’t contribute,” he added, dimples flashing.
Louis’ eyes widened, the grin tugging at his mouth softening into something more tender. “You made this?” he asked, as if he couldn’t quite believe it, even though Harry’s bakes were always flawless.
Harry rolled his eyes fondly. “Don’t sound so surprised. I own a café, remember?”
Lottie let out a dramatic sigh. “Imagine having a husband who bakes like that and still complains about swollen ankles.”
Louis’ eyes softened immediately, his grin wide as he kissed Harry right there in front of everyone, not caring about the whoops and wolf whistles. “Best birthday gift I’ve ever had,” he murmured.
Harry ignored the noise around them, ignored the teasing from their sisters, ignored Robin humming “get a room” under his breath. All he saw was Louis, glowing with laughter, chocolate cake waiting on the table, family gathered in the home they’d built together.
And in that moment, with their son wriggling under his jumper and Louis’ hand warm on his back, Harry knew he’d never been happier.

Chapter Text

By the first week of January, the chaos of Christmas had settled, and the New Year’s haze was lifting. The Tomlinson house was finally quiet enough to breathe. the decorations packed away, boxes from the move mostly cleared, and a rhythm of family life beginning to take shape.
Harry was heavy now, due in just a few weeks, his belly round and prominent beneath the soft jumpers he favoured. The baby was lively, especially at night, and though Louis’ voice and gentle hands could still soothe him, Harry found himself shifting slower by the day. Not that it dimmed the light in him. if anything, the glow seemed brighter, softened by anticipation.
There was one thing, though, that Harry would never admit to anyone but Louis: he was insatiably, embarrassingly horny. Some days he could laugh it off, other days it left him begging Louis to come home early, whispering into the phone with flushed cheeks until Louis gave in. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but Louis never teased him for it. only loved him through it, in all the ways Harry needed.
Tonight, though, wasn’t about that. Tonight was about friends.
It would be the first time they’d all gathered in the new house. After weeks of scattered holidays. Liam and Zayn with Liam’s family, Niall in Canada with Shawn. they were finally back together. The boys had been pestering for a housewarming since the day Harry and Louis moved in, and now the timing was perfect: one last celebration before Bubble made his arrival.
Louis had been clear about one thing. “No cooking, Haz. Not a chance.” He’d kissed Harry’s temple that morning before heading to the hospital, dimples flashing as he promised, “I’ll pick up takeout on my way home. You just put your feet up.”
And so, the house waited, warm with soft lighting, cushions piled high on the sofa, and the faint smell of Harry’s favourite candle drifting through the air. The table was cleared, ready for bags of food to be unpacked and shared. Their new home was about to echo with laughter and teasing, filled with the people who’d been there since the very start.
Harry settled back against the cushions, one hand rubbing absent circles over his bump, the other scrolling idly on his phone. Outside, headlights swept across the street. their friends arriving, voices already carrying as car doors slammed and laughter floated closer.
Liam and Zayn were the first to arrive, bundled in from the cold with a bottle of wine and a bag of crisps they’d clearly grabbed last minute. Harry ushered them in with a grin, waddling a little more than he liked, but glowing all the same.
Not five minutes later, the doorbell rang again, and in tumbled Niall, cheeks pink from the air, grin wide. He stopped dead in the entryway, eyes landing on Harry’s bump.
“Oh my God, Haz. you’re about to pop, aren’t ya?”
Harry rolled his eyes fondly, rubbing his stomach. “Cheers, Niall.”
“Where’s the big shot, then?” Niall asked, craning his neck toward the kitchen.
“Still on the way,” Harry said. “Picking up the food. He didn’t let me cook, sorry boys.”
Niall snorted. “Cook? H, you’re crazy. Of course you’re not cooking.” Then his grin softened. “Go on then, can I feel?”
Harry hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
Niall’s hand pressed gently against the curve of his stomach, and right on cue, Bubble gave a little kick. Niall’s eyes lit up. “Oh, would ya look at that. Strong one already.”
The door opened again, and Louis swept in with arms full of takeaway bags, shaking the cold from his hair. “Alright, lads,” he called, dimples flashing. “Hope you’re hungry.”
They gathered around the table, unpacking containers of curry, chips, and naan, the house filling with the smell of spice and warmth. Conversation flowed easily. stories from Liam and Zayn’s Christmas with Liam’s family, Niall laughing about freezing his arse off in Canada with Shawn.
Inevitably, talk circled back to the baby. Harry sat back with a plate in his lap, one hand on his bump, listening as Louis admitted, voice soft but teasing, “I’m going to miss this belly when it’s gone.”
Liam grinned knowingly. “Ahh, in no time there’ll be talk of baby number two.”
Harry shot him a look, dimples flashing with sass. “Oh yeah? You volunteering to carry it?”
The room broke into laughter, Zayn clapping Liam proudly on the back. “My man,” he said with a smirk, earning an eyeroll from Liam but no real denial.
Niall, of course, couldn’t resist throwing in a few more cheeky remarks. about how they’d better get used to sleepless nights, how Harry would be running the café with a baby strapped to his chest, how Louis would be the softest dad alive. Each one made Harry roll his eyes, but the truth was he wouldn’t trade this noise, this love, for anything.
Their house was warm, their family whole, and their friends were here. The Tomlinson’s were exactly where they were meant to be.

Harry:
Louuuu 😩
Harry:
I’m so uncomfortable right now. Tired. Horny. Don’t know what to do.
Louis:
…is this a booty text?
Harry:
🙄 I’m 8 months pregnant, EVERYTHING I send is basically a booty text at this point.
Louis:
That’s not how that works, love.
Harry:
If you can’t come home, I’m just gonna have to use my dildo.
Louis:
Excuse me?! At my workplace?? You’re threatening me while I’m in clinic?
Harry:
Not a threat. A promise. 😏
Louis:
Can’t count how many times you begged for my cock while I’m at work. Do you know how unfair that is?
Harry:
So what’s the point of being married to a doctor if I can’t beg him to come home and sort me out?
Louis:
Harry Edward Tomlinson.
Harry:
Don’t full name me, Louis. I can’t help it. 😩 It’s your fault anyway.
Louis:
My fault??
Harry:
Yes. You made me pregnant. You did this to me. Now come home and deal with the consequences.

By the time Louis finish work and came home.it was so quite in the house, dropping his keys on the counter before heading toward their room. The sight that greeted him made him bite back a laugh. Harry sprawled across the bed, fast asleep, curls a mess, one hand over his bump. Beside him, on the duvet, lay the abandoned dildo.
Louis shook his head fondly. This man. I can’t.
He thought about waking him, but the love in his chest was too soft to spoil Harry’s nap. Instead, Louis slipped into the shower, letting the day wash off his skin. When he came back, towel slung around his hips, Harry was still in the same position, chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.
Sliding into bed beside him, Louis gently lifted the toy and set it on the bedside table, then laid a hand over Harry’s bump, rubbing slow circles. “Time to wake up, love,” he murmured, kissing the curve of his stomach. “If you sleep much longer you won’t get any rest tonight.”
Harry stirred, lashes fluttering before he blinked himself awake. “Lou…” His voice was thick with sleep, soft and petulant. “You didn’t come.”
“I know, baby. I’m sorry.” Louis stroked his cheek, lips twitching into a smirk. “Did you… sort yourself out, my love?”
Harry huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “No. I gave up. Too hard to do it myself.”
Something tender pulled in Louis’ chest. He tucked curls behind Harry’s ear. “Oh, my poor love. How can I help?”
Harry stayed quiet, lips pressed together, before whispering, almost shy, “My chest is sore. My ankles too. I feel bloated… restless.”
Louis kissed his forehead, his voice low and coaxing. “What can I do for you, baby?”
Harry swallowed, eyes glistening a little as he whispered, “Touch my tits, Lou… please.”
Louis groaned, pupils blowing wide. “Fuck, baby, you know I can’t say no to that.” He pushed Harry back against the pillows, hands sliding over the swell of his chest. “Look at these perfect tits… so full, so sensitive. All mine.”
He leaned down, wrapping his mouth around one nipple, sucking deep, tongue circling the swollen bud while his other hand pinched and rolled the other. Harry arched off the bed, gasping, clutching Louis’s hair.
“Oh god, Lou… yes… fuck, don’t stop,” Harry moaned, hips shifting, cock already dripping against his tummy.
Louis growled against his skin, sucking harder, tugging with his teeth just enough to make Harry cry out. “That’s it, baby. Milk these tits for me. You love it, don’t you? My mouth on you, my hands squeezing every drop of pleasure out of you. God, you’re so fucking hot like this. swollen, leaking, about to pop, and still my perfect slut.”
Harry whimpered, body trembling, his cock twitching helplessly. “I can’t—fuck, Lou, I’m gonna cum, just from this!”
Louis pinched his nipple hard, sucking deep on the other until Harry screamed, body shaking as he came untouched, spilling across his chest and belly, the orgasm ripping through him from nothing but Louis’s mouth and hands.
Louis pulled back, lips shiny, smirking darkly as he licked across Harry’s chest. “You just came from me playing with your tits, baby,” he purred, kissing him hungrily. “So dirty, so perfect See? All you needed was me.” He kissed Harry’s swollen lips, slow and deep, before whispering against them, “Always me.”

That evening, the house was quiet, the only light spilling from the kitchen where Harry had curled up at the table, sipping slowly at a mug of tea. Anne had stopped by with a pot of homemade soup, fussing as only a mum could, pressing kisses to Harry’s curls and reminding him for the tenth time that he needed to rest more.
Harry had laughed, dimples flashing, though Louis could see how heavy he was tonight. Every step slower, every sigh deeper.
Anne lingered by the door as she pulled her coat back on, casting one last look toward her son. Harry had dozed off in the armchair, curls falling over his forehead, one hand resting protectively over his bump. He looked peaceful. but also exhausted.
Anne’s brow creased. “Is it just me,” she asked softly, “or has his tummy dropped quite a bit?”
Louis glanced over, following her gaze. He nodded, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his mouth. “No, you’re right. It has,” he said quietly. “Feels like it might happen soon. He’s been moving a bit slower, sleeping more. Just… different, y’know?”
Anne hummed, her throat tight. “He’ll be alright, won’t he, Lou? He just looks… tired.”
Louis reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I know. I feel like he’s almost there,” he said, voice steady but soft. His eyes drifted back to Harry, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. “But I’ve got him. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you posted.”
Anne’s eyes glistened, pride and nerves mingling as she stepped forward and pulled Louis into a hug. “You’ll be a great father, you know,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Louis pressed his chin to her shoulder, blinking away the sudden mist in his own eyes. “Thanks, Anne.” He pulled back with a small smile, “Means the world.”
Anne left soon after, the front door clicking softly shut behind her, and Louis stood for a moment in the quiet house, soup warm in his hands, love heavy in his chest. Something was coming. he could feel it. But he wasn’t afraid. He had Harry, and soon, they’d have their boy.

It was late, the kind of late where the house was silent, shadows soft across the walls. Harry had been tossing for what felt like hours, trying to wedge pillows here and there, shifting from side to side, but nothing brought relief. His body was heavy, restless, and exhaustion tugged at his eyes, though sleep wouldn’t come.
Beside him, Louis stirred. he always did, as if their bodies were wired to the same rhythm. He blinked blearily, voice low and rough. “Darling… you alright?”
Harry groaned, flopping onto his back. “Can’t sleep, Lou. Can’t find a position that doesn’t feel like hell.”
Louis sat up properly, the haze of sleep slipping off him like a coat. His eyes sharpened, doctor mode switching on in an instant. He studied Harry carefully, voice gentle but precise. “Any pain, baby?”
Harry slowly pushed himself upright, planting both hands on his hips as he rose to his feet. A little sound slipped out, half frustration, half relief, as he rolled his shoulders. “Mmm… lower back’s tight,” he admitted, shifting his weight.
Louis hummed softly, already scanning him from head to toe, worry and focus blending on his gaze. But before he could speak, Harry caught the look, dimples flickering despite the heaviness in his body.
“You know,” he said, lips curving into a cheeky grin, “you’re really sexy when you slip into doctor mode.”
Louis blinked, momentarily thrown, before letting out a breathy laugh. He shook his head, rubbing a hand down Harry’s back. “Trust you to flirt with me when I’m trying to work out if my husband’s in labour.”
Harry’s grin widened, though another low groan pulled from his throat as his hand pressed into the small of his back. “What can I say? Multitasking.”
Louis’ smile softened, though the focus never left his eyes. He could feel it. something was starting.
“You sure that wasn’t just indigestion?” Louis asked, voice low and half-teasing as he rubbed slow circles into Harry’s lower back. He’d been awake long enough now that the sleepy edges had cleared; the clinician in him was awake and thinking in lists.
Harry folded himself a little straighter, breath hitching. “Nope. That was a proper one. Different shape to the others.” He tried to sound casual and mostly failed. “So… what’s next, doc?”
Louis looked over, eyebrows lifting. “Well, love. I think it’s happening. Let me have a feel. We’ll do a quick check, see where you’re at. If your cervix is opening, I’ll know, and then we can decide if we’re staying home for now or heading to the birth centre.” He kept his tone light but steady, the kind of voice that made everyone else feel like things were absolutely under control.
Harry’s grin was wicked even as he winced. “Ah, sexy check time. Fingers in me, doctor?” he teased, hitting Louis with a ridiculous, affectionate look that made the whole room soften.
Louis rolled his eyes and laughed, the sound cutting the tension into something manageable. “You are impossible,” he said. “And yes, I’ll check. Then I’ll give you a massage, some pain relief if you need it, and we’ll try and get some sleep. This could take a while, Hazza we’re in for the long game.”
Harry gave him a half-laugh, half-cry, then folded himself into Louis in a small, steadying hug. “Okay. Bring it on. Let’s get Bubble home.” His voice snagged on the last word, soft with love. “I love you, Lou. So much.”
Louis pressed his forehead to Harry’s for a beat, feeling the familiar swell of protectiveness and something like awe. “I love you too. I’ve got you. I’ll be with you the whole way.”
He did the check with quiet efficiency clinical, calm, professional. and then immediately shifted back into being the man who smelled of soap and lemon, who tucked a curl behind Harry’s ear and pressed a kiss to his temple.
“Right,” Louis murmured, slipping off his cardigan to drape it over Harry’s shoulders. “You’re contracting regularly, love, and you’re sitting at about two centimetres dilated. That means things are starting, but we’re not rushing yet. This is still early labour.”
Harry blew out a shaky breath, leaning into Louis’ chest.
“So, what now?” he asked, voice pitched between nerves and exhaustion.
Louis’ hand smoothed over his back in slow, steady circles. “Now we keep you comfortable here at home for a bit. Warm compresses, back rubs, maybe some pain relief to take the edge off. If things step up quickly, we’ll head straight to the birth centre. For now…” He kissed Harry’s temple again, whispering against his skin. “For now, we breathe together and get you through this one step at a time.”
Harry nodded into his shoulder, the reassurance grounding him more than the words. With Louis guiding him, he felt like he could manage anything.
Louis kissed his temple and murmured, “You’re doing so well, my love. So perfect.”
After the check, after the list of next steps, after the practical reassurances, Harry relaxed a fraction, the panic turned into action. They were a team, and the long night that might follow suddenly felt less huge because they were doing it together.
“Right,” Louis said finally, voice soft. “I’ll get you settled, heat, massage, meds. Then we’ll try for a bit of sleep. I’ll be here the whole time. If anything changes you say the word and we go.”
Harry closed his eyes and smiled into the dark. “Deal. And Lou?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For being my idiot, and my doctor, and my husband.”
Louis laughed quietly and kissed his hair. “Always. Now try and nap for me, you daft, horny lump.”
Harry snorted as a contraction eased, and despite the nerves the room hummed with a warmth that felt more powerful than fear. The night had started; they had each other; they had a plan. For now, that was everything.

Harry jolted awake to a sharp, twisting pain in his back, eyes flying wide. “Fuck,” he hissed, gripping the sheets.
Next to him, Louis stirred instantly, his instincts wired to Harry’s every move. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Almost four,” he mumbled after a glance at the clock. His voice softened as he leaned closer. “All good, my love?”
Harry’s laugh was sharp and humourless. “Not fucking alright, Lou. It hurts.”
Louis nodded once, no panic, just steady focus slipping into place. “Alright. We’ve talked about this, yeah? You wanted to try unmedicated for as long as you can. So, we’ll stick to the plan.” He pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple, then padded off to the kitchen. Within minutes he was back with a hot pack, pressing it gently to Harry’s lower back. “Here. And you need water, Haz. Sip for me.”
Harry groaned but took the glass Louis held out. His eyes softened a little, guilt creeping in. “Sorry for snapping.” He caught Louis’ hand, brushing a kiss over his knuckles. “Give me a bit, yeah? Then you can check me.”
Louis smiled faintly, rubbing circles over Harry’s back. “Take all the time you need, baby.”
While Harry tried to breathe through the next contraction, Louis slipped into the hallway with his phone. He called the birth centre first, giving a calm update, his voice brisk and professional. “Two centimetres last check, contractions sharper now, four a.m. Still coping at home. I’ll keep timing and let you know if things change.” The midwife on call reassured him they’d follow his lead but told him to come straight in if anything shifted.
Next, Louis rang his mum. Jay answered, voice thick with sleep. “Boo? Morning, all good?”
Louis leaned against the wall, lowering his voice. “We’re still home, Mum. It’s starting, but slowly.”
Jay hummed, already awake now. “We’ll come soon, alright? Bags are packed just in case.”
“Take your time,” Louis said gently. “You know it’ll take a while.”
There was a pause, then Jay’s voice cracked into something softer. “He’s in good hands, isn’t he? You’ll take care of him, Lou.”
Louis’ chest tightened. “I promise, Mum. Always.”
When he hung up, he scrolled quickly to Anne’s number. She answered on the second ring, already teary. “Louis? Oh, sweetheart, is it— is it happening?”
“Starting,” Louis confirmed, keeping his tone even. “Slow but steady. He’s okay.”
Anne sniffled audibly. “Look after my baby, please. Promise me.”
Louis swallowed, his throat thick. “I promise. He’s safe with me.”
When he stepped back into the bedroom, Harry was leaning over the pillows, hot pack pressed to his back, breathing hard. Louis slipped in behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist, whispering steady encouragement against his curls. “I’ve got you, love. We’ll do this together. One step at a time.”
The next contraction left Harry bent over the pillows, sweat dampening the curls at his temple. Louis stroked his back, murmuring softly, “You’re doing so well, Haz. Just breathe for me.”
When it eased, Louis pulled on his gloves, voice gentle but steady. “Alright, darling. I need to check you again. You ready?”
Harry gave a tight nod, biting his lip. This time the exam was more uncomfortable. the pressure sharper, his body tensing despite himself. Louis kept his gaze fixed on Harry’s face, his voice anchoring him through it. “Breathe, baby. That’s it. In… and out. Almost done.”
Finally, Louis slipped his fingers off of Harry, offering a smile that was both professional and deeply personal. “Well, my love… you’re at five centimetres.” His eyes softened. “That’s halfway. You’re incredible.”
Harry sagged against the pillows, relief flickering across his face. Louis brushed a curl back and asked gently, “What do you want to do now? Head in, or something else first?”
Harry’s voice was small but firm. “Can we walk around a bit? Just… not lie down.”
“Of course,” Louis said, kissing his forehead.
He helped Harry up, moving slow, steady, his arm an anchor around his waist. In the living room, Louis put on soft music low, swaying melodies that filled the space without overwhelming it. He guided Harry into his arms, and together they moved, rocking gently side to side.
Each time a contraction rolled through, Harry buried his face against Louis’ shoulder, breathing in and out, his fingers clutching at the fabric of Louis’ shirt. Louis held him close, murmuring steady encouragements, rubbing circles into his back until it passed.
When Harry’s breathing steadied again, Louis tilted his head down to press a kiss to his damp curls. “You look so beautiful, Haz. I love you more than anything.” He slipped a hand over Harry’s bump, his voice dropping into something reverent. “Be gentle with your mummy, Bubble. We can’t wait to hold you soon.”
Harry’s lips curved faintly against his chest, even though the haze of pain, and together they kept swaying. husband and husband, waiting for their son.
By the time the sky had begun to pale, Harry was gripping Louis’ arm with every contraction, sweat dampening his shirt as he breathed through the pain. Just before seven, Louis made the call. it was time. The drive was quiet except for Harry’s soft groans, Louis murmuring steady reassurances from the driver’s seat, one hand always reaching to touch Harry when he could.
At the birthing centre, their midwife Helene was already waiting. She ushered them in with warm efficiency, her voice calm and grounding as she led them into the birthing suite. The room glowed softly, dim lights and warm tones making it feel more like a retreat than a clinic. Candles flickered, the air hushed but welcoming.
Louis gave a quick briefing, his professional voice slipping in despite the worry etched into his face. “Last check was four a.m. he was at five centimetres. Contractions are stronger now, full force.”
Helene nodded, then crouched by Harry’s side, her hand gentle on his arm. “Harry, love, how about we do a check now and see how far you are?”
Harry shook his head, voice breaking as another contraction surged. “No— I want Lou. I want him to do it.” His grip tightened on Louis’ hand, eyes wide and wet. “I can’t. it’s so bad, Lou. I can’t.”
Louis cupped his face, kissing his temple over and over. “You can, darling. I’m right here. Just breathe with me.”
Harry whimpered, words tumbling in broken pieces. “Do you think— gas? Please?”
Louis pressed a kiss to his damp curls. “Yes, love. Gas is fine. whatever you want. Let’s get you settled, then we’ll do the check. One thing at a time.”
With Helene’s help, Louis guided Harry through, the mask offered and Harry clutching it like a lifeline. Louis stayed pressed to him, murmuring encouragements until Harry’s breathing slowed again.
When the check was finally done, Louis’ face softened, pride and awe flooding his features. “Eight centimetres, Haz. You’ve done incredible.”
Harry let out a shaky laugh, tears slipping free. “Still not staying in that bed.”
Louis exchanged a glance with Helene, who smiled warmly. “Then we walk,” she said. “Whatever keeps you moving.”
Louis slipped an arm around Harry’s waist, supporting him as he paced slowly around the room, each contraction met with whispered love, kisses pressed to his curls, and steady hands holding him up. And through it all, both Louis and Helene encouraged him strong, proud, utterly devoted as Harry moved closer to meeting their son.
Louis’ hand hadn’t left Harry’s lower back for what felt like hours, his palm moving in steady circles, the rhythm as much for himself as it was for Harry. He rocked with him through each contraction, holding him upright as Harry clutched at his shirt, the sound of his breathing and the hiss of the gas mask filling the dimly lit room.
He’d done this countless times before. Countless patients, countless partners holding hands, countless babies brought into the world. But this. this was different. This was his husband, the love of his life, his everything. Every cry, every wince, every shudder of pain carved itself into Louis’ chest until he felt hollowed out by it. He knew he was doing everything he could massaging, grounding, reminding Harry to breathe. but still it felt like not enough. He wanted to take the pain himself, to shield Harry from all of it. And he couldn’t.
He must’ve let it show, because he felt a worn but steady hand settle on his shoulder. Louis turned his head and met Helene’s eyes. She gave him a look of quiet understanding, one professional to another, but softened by something more.
“Daunting, isn’t it,” she said gently, “to be on the other side of it for a change?”
Louis let out a shaky breath, the truth breaking out of him before he could stop it. “Yes. It’s. it’s hard to see him like this.” His voice was rough, almost unrecognisable to his own ears.
Helene’s gaze softened even further, her hand giving a reassuring squeeze. “I understand. I delivered my daughter’s baby two years ago, and I can still remember the feeling. It’s impossible to explain, isn’t it? But I promise you this—” She nodded toward Harry, who was leaning heavily against Louis, the gas making his eyelids flutter, the pain written across every line of his body. “—you’re doing enough. More than enough. You’re doing great, Louis. Really.”
Louis swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in his eyes. He pressed his lips to Harry’s damp curls, whispering words Harry might not even hear through the haze, but he said them anyway. “You’re so strong, Haz. I’m so proud of you. We’re so close, baby.”
Harry groaned softly, lost in the gas and the waves of pain, but his hand still sought Louis’, squeezing weakly. And Louis held on tighter, grounding himself in that small, stubborn strength, determined to see Harry through to the end.
The contraction hit like a wave, stronger than before, leaving Harry trembling against Louis’ chest. Louis steadied him, hands firm at his waist, eyes flicking up to Helene across the room. She read the look instantly and rose to her feet.
“Might be time to get the towels out,” Louis said quietly, his voice steady even as his heart pounded.
Harry’s head dropped against his shoulder, his voice ragged. “Fuck Lou, I think I need to push.” His grip tightened, knuckles white on Louis’ shirt. Panic rose in his eyes. “Oh my God, I can’t do this, Louis, I fucking can’t.”
Louis’ calm never wavered. He cupped Harry’s jaw, made him look up. “Yes, you can, baby. You’ve come all this way. Just tell me how you want to do this. Do you want to hop on the bed?”
“Fuck no,” Harry spat, shaking his head, curls plastered damp to his forehead. “I don’t— I don’t know. Can I do this standing up?”
Another contraction surged, bending Harry forward with a guttural sound. Louis pressed close, murmuring into his ear. “Yes. You can hold onto me, love, and push. Helene will be right here to catch our boy.”
But when it eased, Harry’s head snapped up, eyes blazing through tears. “No. You. I want you to get the baby out.”
Louis’ breath caught, but he nodded instantly, no hesitation. “Okay, darling. Then I will.”
Helene’s voice was steady, practical. “How about this. Harry, turn around and lean on the bed. Louis can be right behind you. We’ll get towels down, and you’ll have the support you need.”
“Yeah,” Harry gasped. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
Louis moved fast but gentle, guiding Harry to the bed, arranging him so he could grip the frame for support. Towels were spread on the floor in practiced motions. Louis crouched down, his hand smoothing over Harry’s trembling thigh, then rising to rest against the taut swell of his stomach.
Harry groaned low, shaking his head. “I can’t do it, Lou. I can’t.”
Louis pressed his forehead to Harry’s hip, voice soft but firm. “Yes, you can. Listen to me. I’ve got my hand here, I’ll feel everything. When the next contraction comes, I’ll tell you when to breathe, when to hold, when to push. You’re not alone for one second.”
Helene crouched close, her calm presence a safety net just behind Louis. But all Harry saw, all Harry heard, was Louis.
“You’re safe, Haz,” Louis whispered, kissing the stretch of skin beneath his palm. “You’re strong. And you’re about to meet our boy.”
Harry’s whole body trembled, his grip fierce on the bedframe, but his green eyes locked on Louis’ face. “Don’t let go,” he rasped.
Louis squeezed his hip, gaze burning with love. “Never. I’ve got you, baby. Always.”
The room had shifted into a rhythm of its own: Harry’s cries and gasps, the low murmur of Louis’ voice, and Helene’s calm instructions weaving through the storm. Each contraction brought Harry forward against the bedframe, Louis right there behind him, grounding him with steady hands and whispered encouragements.
“Breathe, Haz,” Louis murmured, forehead pressed against his damp curls. “That’s it, love. In through your nose, out slow. I’ve got you.”
Harry groaned, knuckles white against the wooden rail. He felt like his body was splitting open, fire running through every nerve. But in the blur of pain, there was Louis. his rock, his anchor. Every word, every touch poured love into him, reminding him he wasn’t alone.
“Alright, Harry,” Helene’s voice cut gently through the haze, calm and firm. “With the next contraction, we’re going to push, okay? When I tell you, not before.”
Harry nodded frantically, tears streaming, chest heaving. “I can’t—Lou, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Louis whispered fiercely, kissing the curve of his temple even as Harry shook. “You’re the strongest person I know. And you’re bringing our son into the world. I’m right here. Always.”
The contraction built again, ripping through him, and Helene’s steady voice guided him: “Now, Harry. Push down, love. That’s it. Big push.”
Harry bores down with everything he had, screaming through the effort, Louis’ voice threading through his cries. “That’s it, baby. You’re incredible. Nearly there.”
And then Louis’ voice cracked, breaking into awe. “Oh my God Haz, baby his head’s out.”
Harry sobbed, body trembling violently. “It fucking hurts Lou, it hurts—”
“I know, I know,” Louis soothed, pressing desperate kisses to his thigh, rubbing his back with trembling hands. “But listen to me—we’re almost there. So close. You’re going to hold him so soon. Just couple more, my love.”
Helene crouched close, her voice steady but urgent. “Good work, Harry. His head’s out, so now I need you not to push until I say, alright? Just breathe through this part.”
“You’re so close, Haz. You’re so, so close. Just breathe. I’m right here.”
It took only a few more pushes. raw, guttural, desperate. before the room filled with the sharp, miraculous sound of a baby’s first cry. Louis’ hands trembled as he guided their son into the world, his voice breaking as he whispered, “Ah, sweetheart… welcome to the world.”
Harry sobbed, body shaking, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. Louis moved quickly, careful and steady, lifting the tiny, wriggling body up and placing him against Harry’s chest.
Their son screamed, slick and furious, while Harry clutched him as though he was made of glass. His whole face crumpled, dimples lost beneath the tears streaming freely down his cheeks. “Oh my God, Lou. look at him. He’s perfect. Don’t let him go. my legs, they’re about to give out.”
Louis wrapped his arms around them both, supporting Harry from behind, his chin pressed to his shoulder. “I’ve got you,” he swore, voice shaking with emotion. “I’d never let go. Not for a second. I love you so fucking much. both of you.”
For a long moment, time stilled. It was just them. Louis holding Harry upright, Harry cradling their son to his chest, their hearts hammering in sync as the baby’s cries softened into small, hiccupping sounds.
Finally, Helene’s gentle voice threaded into the moment. “Louis… when you’re ready, we’ll need to cut the cord. Then we can get Harry onto the bed to rest, and we’ll carry out the rest of the care.”
Louis kissed Harry’s temple, his voice still rough. “Love, do you want to cut it?”
Harry shook his head quickly, eyes still fixed on their son, overwhelmed. “No. you do it. You brought him into the world. You do it, Lou.”
Louis swallowed hard, his throat thick, and nodded. “Alright, Darling. I’ll do it.”
He kissed his husband once more before turning back to their boy, ready to finish what they had started together.
Harry was finally settled on the bed, pillows propping him up, his body trembling with exhaustion. Helene moved quietly around them, tending to the last of the aftercare, while Louis sat close with their son tucked safely in his arms.
Harry couldn’t take his eyes off them. Louis’ big, careful hands stroking their baby’s cheek as if he were made of porcelain, Louis’ tears dripping freely down his face. With effort, Harry reached out and brushed them away, thumb soft against damp skin.
“Happy tears?” he whispered.
Louis’ laugh came out broken, thick with emotion. “Very happy,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss Harry’s hand. His voice cracked again, quiet and desperate. “Thank you. Thank you, my love. And… marry me?”
Harry tried to laugh, then winced, hissing through his teeth. “Lou fuck, don’t make me laugh right now. We’re already married, remember?”
Louis huffed, smiling through his tears. “Then marry me again. Please.”
Harry’s lips curved, his heart aching in the best way. “I’ll marry you a million times.” Their lips met, shaky but sure, sealing it in the hush of the room.
Their son stirred then, fussing against Harry’s chest. Instinctively Harry rocked him, murmuring soft nonsense, but Louis’ voice cut gently through. “Maybe he’s hungry, love.”
Helene, still tidying, glanced over. “Do you want me to help with the latch, or Louis, do you want to give it a try?”
Louis chuckled softly as he eased off the bed. “That’s more your specialty, Helene, but I can try.” He turned to Harry, his tone shifting into something tender. “Ready for his first feed, baby?”
Harry nodded, nerves and wonder in his eyes. It took a little patience, a few tries, but finally their son latched, small cries turning into steady suckles. Relief and awe swept the room all over again.
Helene finished her work with quiet efficiency and gave them a warm smile. “I’ll leave you to it. Call if you need anything.” She slipped out, closing the door gently behind her.
The silence that followed was thick with peace. Louis climbed back onto the bed, curling close, his hand brushing Harry’s curls back from his damp forehead. He looked into Harry’s tired, shining eyes, his voice breaking all over again.
“You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered. “You’ve no idea.”
Harry rolled his eyes faintly, though his smile betrayed him. “Lou, I’m still bleeding, I smell like sweat, and I feel disgusting. I need a shower. I’m fucking gross.”
Louis shook his head, brushing a kiss to his temple. “Don’t care. You’re beautiful to me. You’re brave. You just brought our son into the world and now you’re feeding him. Haz, I’m so, so grateful for you. For both of you.”
Harry leaned his head against Louis’, their son warm between them, and in that moment the world outside didn’t exist.

When Harry blinked awake, the first thing he saw was sunlight spilling through the window, soft and golden. The second thing was Louis.
His husband sat in the rocking chair by the window, shirt gone, tattoos and tanned skin on full display. Their son lay sprawled tiny and perfect against his chest, both looking like they’d been sculpted for this exact moment. Louis’ eyes were half-closed, his chin resting lightly on their baby’s soft head, and he swayed gently with the chair, almost asleep.
Harry’s heart clenched. How did I get so lucky?
But Harry being Harry… he couldn’t resist. His voice was a whisper, teasing but reverent. “You look so fucking hot like this. All your tats out, our son on your chest. Suits you, Lou.”
A lazy dimple appeared as Louis cracked one eye open. “Are we flirting already?” His voice was low and rough, the kind that went straight through Harry.
“Not flirting,” Harry said, dimples flashing back. “Just posting the facts.”
Louis’ smile deepened, and he leaned his head back against the chair. “Well, did I mention the part where there’s no sex for six or more weeks, darling?”
Harry groaned dramatically, flopping his head back against the pillow. “Well, damn. That’s cruel.”
Louis chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the baby’s head. “Patience, love. Think of it as… delayed gratification.”
Harry gave him a mock glare, though the sparkle in his green eyes betrayed him. “I’ve just pushed out your child, and you’re sitting there, half-naked, looking like that, and telling me patience?”
Louis smirked, rocking gently, his gaze warm and mischievous all at once. “Exactly. Consider it payback for all those months of you torturing me in see-through shirts.”
Harry huffed but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. “Fine. But don’t think I won’t hold this against you later.”
Louis’ laugh was quiet, filling the room like music, and between the two of them banter, baby, love it felt like forever had already begun.

By late afternoon, the Tomlinson’s were home. Their own bed waiting, their house humming with the kind of quiet that only comes after something miraculous. Harry sank gratefully into the sofa, Ellio curled against his chest, while Louis fussed around. checking blankets, adjusting pillows, making sure water and snacks were within arm’s reach.
The doorbell rang not long after, and then their families poured in, bringing with them the comforting chaos of home. Jay and Mark first, arms laden with food containers, Jay already misty-eyed before she’d even set eyes on the baby. Anne and Robin weren’t far behind, their smiles glowing, offering hugs and warm kisses as if they’d been holding themselves back all day.
Harry, still in his soft jumper, cradled Ellio close as the grandparents gathered round. “Everyone,” he said, voice thick with pride and disbelief, “meet Ellio Tomlinson.”
There was a beat of silence, then the room erupted in soft gasps, coos, and the kind of laughter that only comes with pure joy. Jay pressed her hands to her mouth, tears spilling freely. “Oh, Boo, he’s perfect,” she whispered to Louis before kissing his cheek. Anne, already reaching out to stroke Ellio’s tiny hand, sniffled openly. “Harry, Louis. he’s beautiful. You’ve given us the most precious gift.”
Gemma crouched by the sofa with Theo perched on her hip, his big eyes wide as he pointed. “Baby!” he announced proudly, which earned a chorus of laughter. Harry guided him closer, letting Theo peek at Ellio, and the toddler clapped with delight.
Lottie’s voice came through on video call next, propped up on the coffee table. She was still in uniform, clearly between flights in Australia, her cheeks streaked with tears as she waved furiously at the screen. “I can’t believe I’m not there. look at him, oh my God! He’s gorgeous. I’m crying, I can’t stop crying. I swear the minute I touch down in London, I’m on your doorstep.”
Louis only smiled, his arm slipping around Harry’s shoulders as he kissed the top of his curls. “You better,” he teased, his voice soft, eyes locked on their son. “He’ll be waiting for his Auntie Lottie.”
The room settled into a rhythm of chatter, food being unpacked, baby passed gently from arm to arm while Harry rested against Louis’ side. Gratitude hung thick in the air. the kind that felt heavy and light all at once.
Harry, tired but glowing, had Ellio back in his arms when the conversation circled to the birth. He shifted, pressing a kiss to his son’s downy head, and gave Louis a sidelong smile that made his dimples flash.
“You know,” Harry said proudly, “Lou delivered him. My husband brought our son into the world with his own hands.”
Jay pressed her hands to her face. Mark clapped Louis on the shoulder. Gemma grinned so wide it looked like her face might split.
Anne, however, was the fastest across the room. She threw her arms around Louis with such force he nearly stumbled, Ellio squeaking faintly in protest before Harry hushed him again. “Thank you,” Anne choked out, clutching Louis tightly. “Thank you for taking such care of my baby. I knew you would. but still. Thank you.”
Louis hugged her back, a little dazed, tears pricking his own eyes. “He was incredible, Anne. So strong. I just… caught him. Harry did everything.”
Harry rolled his eyes affectionately, shaking his head. “Don’t listen to him downplaying it. I couldn’t have done it without him. He was my rock.” He looked at Louis again, green eyes soft and shimmering. “The whole way through, he never let go of me.”
Anne sniffled and squeezed Louis tighter, while Jay gave him a watery smile. “You’re a good man, Boo. Better than good.”
Louis cleared his throat, suddenly overwhelmed, and tucked himself back against Harry on the sofa, arm sliding protectively around both Harry and Ellio. Harry leaned into him, murmuring with a cheeky grin, “See? I told you they’d all love you even more now.”
Louis kissed the side of his head, whispering, “Only thing that matters is you two.”

When the house finally quieted. dishes stacked, blankets folded, their mums hugged tight at the door. it was just them again.
Harry and Louis curled together on the sofa, Ellio sleeping soundly in his bassinet beside them, tiny breaths soft and steady. The air smelled of baby lotion, home, and happiness. a kind of peace Harry hadn’t known he’d been searching for until now.
Louis’ arm was draped around his shoulders, strong and safe. He pressed a kiss to Harry’s curls and murmured, “This is everything I ever dreamt of you know. Having a family of my own.”
Harry tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well then, Dr. Tomlinson, you’d better get used to it. Because I’m thinking a few more of these little ones wouldn’t hurt.”
Louis laughed under his breath, forehead resting against Harry’s. “You’re lucky I love you more than life itself, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Harry smiled softly, brushing his thumb along Louis’ jaw. “I know,” he whispered. “And I love you right back.”
Ellio stirred, letting out a tiny sigh before settling again. Louis reached over to adjust the blanket, pressing a gentle kiss to his son’s head. When he looked back at Harry. his husband, his home. his chest swelled with quiet certainty.
Their little family was only just beginning. The future stretched before them, full of laughter, late nights, and love in all its loud, beautiful forms.
And maybe someday, their story would keep going. just like all the best ones do.