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home is wherever i’m with you; chapter 11/pt 1.

[prologue] [chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [chapter 7] [chapter 8] [chapter 9] [chapter 10]

based off of this prompt: Louis gives a teacher a blow job at his school, his parents find out and decide to ship him off to a conservative Private School far away. There he meets Harry, who is incredibly innocent and doesn’t really understand the concept of sex. Louis makes it his mission to pop Harry’s cherry, and turn him into a cock!slut. He falls for Harry in the process. (last part is optional.) Louis is 17 and Harry has just turned 15.

rating: mature

The first day home is just a blur to Louis. He’s so exhausted from his trip home that he feels like he hasn’t slept in weeks, his head so heavy it’s like it’s got bricks in it. He’s anxious and tired and shaky because he sort of just - well, not sort of. He’s just actually told Harry that he loves him less than three hours ago and even his timely train ride didn’t really give him a good opportunity to think, mostly because he gets awful motion sickness, especially when he hasn’t eaten since like, yesterday.

When he gets off the train he remembers his conversation with the Harry not two nights ago, the words he’d spoken like they were the most obvious ones in the world. “Your mum might be mad, but she’s still your mum. Of course she’s missed you.”

Of course she’s missed him. She’s had to miss him, it’s been over four months. (Right?)

Naturally (not that Louis likes to admit this often) Harry is right. His mum doesn’t look anything resembling angry when he gets off his train, tired and stumbling into her welcome arms. She smiles and kisses his forehead, offering him something for his head and a bottle of Coke because ‘it helps soothe the tummy, dear’. Louis doesn’t really believe her but he’s never been one to turn down sugar, so.

After he arrives, Jay takes him out to lunch and they play catchup for a while, bonding over tea and sandwiches and Louis feels his resentment washing away as she acts like the mother he’s always remembered her being. (He’d kind of imagined this scene as what he’s titled ‘The Confrontation Scene’.)

Mum,” He imagined himself saying to the woman, who - keep in mind, was currently sour faced and giving him the cold shoulder, still angry about September. “I know you’re mad at me. What I did was irresponsible. But we used to be close, and I’m not the only one to blame here for our relationship turning to crap - you never called, either, not once. I’m hurting, too, okay?” Cue the tears and offers of tissues and heartfelt apologies on her part, ‘I’m so sorry, Lou - I had no idea!” She’d cry.

Instead, the scene plays out differently; a bit less dramatic on his part. “So. How’s the new cat?” Louis asks conversationally, adjusting the loose grey beanie that’d sliding off of his head all morning. He tells himself if Harry’s hair didn’t smell so delicious he’d never let him borrow his hats. “What’s its name…Peter? Jim?”

“Charlie?”

“Yeah, Charlie!”

Jay quirks an eyebrow, grinning unevenly. “Fine, dear. Though, you should probably know, he’s a rabbit. I’d never leave a cat alone with the twins…are you insane?” The older woman laughs, and it’s so familiar and fond that Louis suddenly feels very, very much at home.

»

They arrive back at his house at around two, and it looks exactly the same as he remembers it just, you know, covered in snow. (And obviously it looks the same, but it feels like he’s been away for years rather than a couple months, and his memory has impressed him.) There’s still a failed garden sitting underneath the two front windows, the dark red bricks lining the walls faded and chipping. There’s a thin cobblestone path that leads to his front porch and it reminds Louis of when he was ten and his parents were still trying desperately to work it out, deciding that they were going to add some new ‘renovations’ to the house so they’d have a fresh start. It didn’t get much farther than that.

His sisters are so excited to see him that they charge at him, screaming like fucking banshees while Lottie stands rigidly by the door, crossing her arms and giving him an unimpressed look that says, I’m still angry you left me.

The twins feel differently. “Louis!” Phoebe squeals, the blonde nearly crying with happiness from seeing him for the first time in months. “Are you back for good now?”

Louis clears his throat awkwardly, giving her a half-smile. “Er. No, not this time, Phoebs. Only for two weeks, sadly,” Phoebe pouts dramatically, her tiny face falling into a dark frown. His mother scoops the blonde up into her arms and kisses her cheek. Louis smiles brightly, poking her belly. “Don’t be a grump!” he warns, laughing even though he feels like his head’s about to split open. He forgot how fucking loud it was here.

Louis moves on into the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets in a desperate search for Advil. He blames his headache on the lack of sleep he’s gotten over the past week and tries to drown out their wild screaming, curling his legs up and cuddling into the corner of his sofa, arms wrapped securely around his legs as he stares unblinkingly at the television in front of him. He’d just told Harry that he loved him not six hours ago and suddenly here he was, in Doncaster, hours away from him, like it’d never even happened.

His sisters frequently come up to him and tug on his sleeves, beg him to answer their questions and show him pictures, but Louis can’t bring himself to do it because he’s so fucking tired and, fine, maybe he’s being a bit of a drama queen, but he just really, really misses Harry.

The diva declares himself done for the day at around 8 pm, slipping quickly out of the family room and tiptoeing up the long wooden staircase, finding himself in his familiar bedroom. He chucks off his clothes and slides into bed, pulling his soft covers over his head. They smell like childhood, like life before Fulneck. They smell like his old shampoo, cringing inwardly at the fact that it smelled so strongly of vanilla.

Louis really just wishes they smelled like Harry.

»

Louis wakes up to the sound of screaming and really, what’s new. He checks his phone for the time and ends up finding something much better, and much, much funnier. 

Ahh!!! i forgot to call you! i’ve got an excuse tho I promise

Call me tomorrow?

loooooooooooooove you

Oh shit just realized youre probably sleeping. Sorry.

Ignore this…except don’t actually. Call me when you wake up.

Ah i can’t sleep so I’m jst gonna tell you i love you again:) :) :) :)

cause i do

How are you not waking up Ive texted you like 6 times is your phone on silent?

baby i loooooooove youuuuuuuuuuu

come on baby………

baby i love…..

i love only you

My eyes are burning so ill go to bed now x

Louis’ grin somehow grows wider as he dials Harry’s number, idly singing to himself as he listens to the dial tone. The younger boy picks up on the second ring.

There’s a slight rustling, a distant murmur of ‘be right back’, and then, “Hi babe,” his tone bright, incredibly pleased that he’s called. Louis throws himself back into his scattered pile of pillows, closes his eyes as Harry speaks.

“Hey.”

»

“Wake up, fucker!”

Louis jumps awake suddenly, eyes springing open and face contorting in pain, pinned down by a heavy weight on his back. “What the - ” the body moves on top of him, shifting uncomfortably so their knee jabs into Louis’ ass. “For Christ’s sake, ow!”

“Stop trying to push me away! I’m just trying to love you!” The voice sings, wrapping their arms around his neck in an awkward hug. Louis blinks stupidly at the realization that it’s Stan.

The older boy groans, rolling onto his side so Stan falls off him, tumbling away so he has to clutch onto the covers so he doesn’t fall off. “I haven’t seen you in four months and this is how you act! I’m offended, Lou.”

Louis cracks a smile reluctantly, turning over onto his back so he can look up at his best mate. Stan’s smile is loopy, the heavy bags under his eyes look striking against his pale skin and Louis wonders to himself how many cups of coffee the boy has had since he’d woken up that morning.

“I’ve had five cups of coffee,” the other boy states, answering Louis’ unasked question for him, pressing a finger firmly on top of his the feathery haired boy’s nose. “I feel really weird, and twitchy, and tired. Been up with your sisters since like eight waiting for you, so you know - move your arse. Up and at ‘em. Fuck outta bed.”

Louis whines, sitting up reluctantly. “’m up, ‘m up,” Louis mumbles, blinking away the sleep from his eyes, rubbing at them tiredly. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Stan smiles at the shorter boy, grabs either side of his face and pulls him in to kiss his cheek sloppily. “I haven’t,” he says, grinning and sliding off of Louis’ bed. “Missed you, you know. You’re fucking terrible at keeping in touch.”

Louis grunts. “Sorry. Busy, you know.”

“Er. No, I don’t know. ‘Cause you never called,” Stan mutters, frowning deeply. Louis opens his mouth like he’s going to say but Stan interrupts him. “I’m not angry, Lou. Just saying.”

“I know I’m a shit friend—just…I got loads to tell you,” the smaller boy promises, kneeling down and digging through his suitcase in an attempt to find a clean shirt.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, oh. Just not now, ‘cause it’s actually a lot and my brain feels all weird and fuzzy,” He complains, rubbing at his head like it’ll help.

“Alright, well, that’s fine. Your mum’s making pancakes and I’m hungry as fuck, so—”

“Oh my god,” Louis gasps, forgetting his shirt and jumping to his feet.

The boy is out the door before he can say much else.

»

Doncaster can be pretty in the wintertime, Louis decides.

Each shop is uniquely decorated, beautifully made wreaths hanging from their front doors and blinking lights framing the wide glass windows.

Sometimes, if you avoid looking at the dirty slush covered streets before you, the bare white trees can seriously look like something from an online wallpaper gallery.

It’s so weird how things fall back into place. To the way they used to be in a matter of hours. Louis hasn’t been home in months and already he feels like he hasn’t left, wandering around his local shopping area with Stan like it was last year again.

The two walk cautiously on the icy sidewalks, trying to get some last minute Christmas shopping done before the stores close early for the holidays. They don’t really talk much. It’s so cold that their fingers feel numb and their teeth are chattering violently, and it’s difficult to speak at all with their scarves wrapped up to their noses.

If they do talk, it’s when they’re inside, while they’re trying to look for items that don’t look like they’re on clearance (even though, they obviously are).

The hardest person to shop for so far had been Lottie, who wanted a large variety of beauty products which were all out of her age range, including one particularly vile item called orgasm blush, and er, no, he was definitely not going to buy that for his thirteen year old sister. The fact that she even knew what an orgasm was just…disturbed him deeply.

“Is the goal of it to make her look like she’s just had an orgasm?” Stan asks him, his genuine curiosity giving Louis yet another reason to skip makeup as an entirety and opt for a nice scarf instead.

They’ve just decided to stop at their local Starbucks, buzzing and loud with chatter and the angry hiss of a large espresso machine, when Harry texts him for the first time that day.

And, of course. He’s being adorable again.

Thought I’d let you know I just declined a cup of coffee for one of Yorkshire tea instead. I miss you too much…

Louis feels his heart flutter obnoxiously in his chest, like it always tends to do when Harry says stupidly cute things like that to him. He bites his lip to stop from smiling and responds quickly, turning the other way in line so Stan can’t see his screen while he types.

Soooo romantic. How does it taste?

The line he’s stood waiting in moves at a sluggish pace, and Louis suddenly feels overheated in the crowded heat of the café. His phone buzzes again and he checks it too quickly to come off as nonchalant.

You make it better, but it’s close enough. I’d almost forgotten what you tasted like. what your tongue tasted like anyways… :)

The older boy whimpers slightly, annoyed and desperate (and Jesus, he’s horny).

Louis had been an idiot to think Harry wouldn’t try and be cheeky with him now. He clears his throat uncomfortably, tucking the phone away in his back pocket and prays Stan hasn’t noticed the dark red blush staining his cheeks yet. When he orders a plain hot coffee instead of his usual tea, Stan does nothing but make an impressed face, like he hadn’t been expecting it.

His expression turns into something much more like concern when the boy spends over five minutes at their table in a concentrated silence, trying to get his coffee just right, taking a few sips out of it every couple of stirs to test the taste. “Ugh,” He would groan. “Almost.”

“Lou,” Stan says warily after a few moments, taking a sip of his espresso.

“Yeah?” He asks, making a bitter face as he swallows the hot liquid, not yet used to the overpowering taste of it.

“Are you going to tell me about this guy by yourself or do I have to force it out of you?”

“Excuse me?”

“I haven’t seen you try this hard to like something since year nine,” Louis blanches. “Remember when you started watching rugby because Ethan liked rugby?”

“Er, no - we’re not talking about that,” Louis says seriously, shaking his head.

Stan flutters his eyelashes, puts on a ridiculously girly voice when as he mocks the older boy, “It’s probably the most pointless sport I’ve ever watched, but it’s just like overwhelming how hot Ethan looks in his uniform -”

“First of all - ” Louis protests loudly, sitting forward in his seat. “Just because I was fifteen and desperately liked boys not mean I talked like I had no male parts,” his face flushes deeply as he speaks, embarrassed merely by the thought of him acting that way pathetic over anyone. “And second, I’d sort of like to forget every aspect of that fucking relationship, so if from here on out you could just never bring it up - like, ever again, that’d be super.”

“Well, I know I’m right,” Stan says flatly. “The one time I’ve ever seen you drink coffee was when you accidentally drank your mum’s, and that was like a year ago. If I remember correctly, you ended up spitting it out on the kitchen floor because it allegedly ‘tasted like rat poison’.”

Louis rolls his eyes, shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “You know, I have been away at a boarding school for four months. What makes you so sure it’s not just a habit that I’ve picked up while being there?” He asks, crossing his arms defensively. Stan stares at him, expression bored. ‘I’m not buying it,’ it says.

“Ugh. Whatever. I was going to tell you about him eventually, but then, I dunno. Breakfast and shopping and just running around, and…it’s so fucking cold outside. I figured I’d do it when Hannah got home, but, fuck it, I’ll just tell you now.” He says busily, shaking his head. “His name’s Harry.”

“Okay. And?” Stan pushes. “What’s he look like?”

Louis shrugs, smiling stupidly. “Like, the cutest, hottest, most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” He replies easily.

“Besides me, you mean?” Stan asks, cocking an eyebrow.

Louis snorts. “Yeah, besides you.”

»

On Thursday, Louis’ whole family goes skiing, and he hasn’t gone in so long he sort of (definitely) feels like an idiot when he actually forgets how to get off the fucking ski lift. It’s fun for about an hour before Louis gets hungry and he can start to feel his brain rattling around in his head from all the times he’s fallen.

(Also, there’s no WiFi, which sucks because halfway through the trip he falls and twists his ankle and he’s just sitting there for three hours doing nothing but drinking hot chocolate and playing Fruit Ninja on his phone.)

On Friday, it’s Louis’ actual birthday, though he doesn’t feel any older.

Actually, he feels the same as he did on Thursday, and all the days before that, except for the fact that his ankle is slightly less swollen and he has this terrible feeling of mangled anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

Stan and Hannah take him out to a bar after his family’s dinner and it’s actually incredibly fun, because no one is really there for his birthday, but tomorrow’s Christmas, and most people are there to get drunk with their families or their girlfriends.

When Stan shouts that it’s Louis’ eighteenth birthday, the entire bar cheers in celebration, and he feels the happiest he’s been since he got there. (He guesses it’s the alcohol.)

At the end of the night all three end up back at his house, piled on top of the covers and giggling madly into his pillows, trying not to wake his mum. Stan stumbles off to the bathroom and Louis’ almost positive that the crash he’s just heard was him falling into the bathtub, but he’s too lazy to actually get up and check.

Hannah’s already asleep, snoring lightly with her arms loosely wrapped around his pillow and high heels still tightly secured on her tiny feet. He thinks it seems nice, the whole idea of sleeping right now, but every time he closes his eyes and tries drifting off he gets this weird feeling in his chest like he’s missing something.

He realizes soon that he is.

“Hannah?” Louis asks lightly, nudging the blonde to his left. “Is my phone in your bag?”

“Nyeah.”

“Where ‘sit? Your bag, I mean.”

Hannah shrugs and turns away from him, curling up under his covers. “I think…I put it on your couch. Downstairs.”

Louis curses, rolling his eyes and falling back on the sheets. He’s not confident with his whole…ability to walk at the moment. “Do you…remember if anyone texted me?” He asks, looking at the ceiling.

“Yeah. Loads. From Harry.”

Louis’ head snaps to glare at the girl beside him. Her hair is falling out of it’s loose bun, knotting in the back, and her lipstick’s smudged.

“Wha—Hannah!” He squeaks, poking her in the back so she squirms wildly. “Why didn’t you tell me!”

She laughs softly, throwing her arms up in the air. “I tried to, but you were all like—not now, Hannah. It’s my song!” She giggles again at the thought, her imitation of him, albeit much manlier than Stan’s, completely terrible. “Fucking love Katy Perry! - One day I want to meet Bruno Mars - absolute legend!”

Louis groans, rubbing at his temples. “I’m the worst.” He says. Hannah moans quietly to herself and it sounds like she’s agreeing with him.

It’s silent for a couple minutes, and Louis thinks she’s fallen back asleep until he’s being jostled back to consciousness very suddenly, eyes snapping open to meet her own. “Hey,” she whispers urgently, eyes wide and excited and crazy blue. Louis looks startled. “It’s three in the morning.”

“…so?”

The girl smiles and rolls to the foot of his bed, pushing herself up on her forearms so she sits back on her heels. Louis watches her from his spot like she’s insane. “So? Merry Fucking Christmas, Lou!”

—-

By Tuesday, Louis is completely packed, room cleaned and tidied like it was when he’d first arrived. He’s got Harry’s gift wrapped, hidden carefully in his carry on, paranoia getting the best of him as he checks on it every couple of hours, just to make sure it hasn’t disappeared or turned into dust or whatever.

Louis’ sitting at his kitchen table, dressed in a pair of grey joggers and Harry’s purple Jack Wills hoodie (which, by the way, he has worn for probably half of the time he’s spent at home) and eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. His mother has gone all quiet and sappy and every time he mentions leaving—do you remember when exactly my train leaves, mum? do you know where my new pair of toms have gone to? mum, do you know what the weather’s gonna be like tomorrow?—his mother just chokes up and leaves the room, holding back a sob as she yells back, “Don’t ask me! You’re an adult now!”

Louis rolls his eyes and Lottie snorts from across the room, tossing him one of his small black Toms with a smirk stuck on her face. “This is what you’ve left me to deal with,” She mutters, shaking her head.

Later Jay will come back, a wad of tissues clenched in her hand and an apology at the ready. “I’m just going to miss you so much,” she tells him, wrapping him in a hug that cuts off his ability to breathe. “You’re my best friend, you know? It’s not the same here without you.”

Louis pulls away slowly, untangling himself from her tight hold so he could breathe. “I’m gonna miss you too, mum,” He says, plastering a tight smile on his face. “But it’s not all that bad. You’ve got the girls and your job and…Charlie. I’m no use anyway. More of a diva than Lottie is, if I’m being honest.”

“You always were more interested in shopping than she was.”

Louis laughs, shrugging. “And now all I’ve got is my uniform and pajamas. Think of it a blessing. Like, for your wallet.”

His mother sighs heavily, hugging him again. “Oh, shush. I don’t care much about money, Lou. The house just isn’t the same without you in it.”

And Louis wishes then that he could tell her how much he wants to come back, how much he’d give anything to skip his train and stay there with his family and friends and act like the past four months hadn’t even happened. But they did happen, and they meant everything to Louis. He’d never want to change what he’d done in September because if he hadn’t he’d never have met the boys and he’d never have met Harry and he never could’ve known how possible it was to fall in love again, even after your heart has been absolutely shattered by someone else.

His mother is staring at him, though, looking like a mess as she wipes away her running mascara with a shaky finger.

“I know, mum,” Louis says, instead. “I wish I could stay, too.”

»

Louis drums his fingers nervously on the headrest of the seat in front of him, whistling quietly to himself as he watches the cars outside of his window pass by. It’s only 11:30 now, but he’d been up since four in order to catch his train. He’s sitting cross legged in the cramped space of his seat, clad heavily in a pair of black pajama pants and an enormous puffy coat that no person should wear in public, though it had seemed like a good idea when it was pitch black outside and beginning to snow.

He knows he looks bad. Well maybe not bad, but tired. He looks tired and groggy and the bags under his eyes are practically the same size as the ones carrying his clothes.

Louis’ not really worried all that much, though. Harry has been texting him so frequently since he woke up this morning that he’s pretty sure he’d be happy to see him in just about anything. Or, you know, nothing.

8:49 am: Just got here, where are you?

9:14 am: Loooooove you. Also where are you? X

10:03 am: Niall ate all the leftover breakfast, hope you weren’t hungry…?

10:45 am: Liam and Niall are cuddling. I want you here now :(

At this point, every time his phone buzzes, Louis has this automatic reaction of a nervous, manic giggle. Louis bites at his lip, peering out of his window to distract himself, bored out of his mind. He wonders what Harry looks like right now. Wonders if Harry smells and tastes exactly as he remembers him. Wonders how he had managed to go ten days without him, because he currently feels like he can’t wait another second sitting here, needing he gets his hands on him.

The driver waves a hand in his face, quickly pulling him out of his thoughts. “We’re here, mate,” he tells him as Louis pulls one of his headphones out.

Louis’ practically shaking when he leans over to rifle through his bag, finding his cell phone and texting Harry quickly.

pulling into the drive now, get your arse outside.

When the car stops Louis has lost all ability whatsoever to suppress his giddiness. He thanks the driver breathlessly when he finally manages to yank both of his suitcases out of the backseat and hopes he doesn’t seem weird when he just stands there and waves, waiting for him to pull out and leave. Somewhere behind him he can hear the sound of the front door swinging open and Louis glances over his shoulder. It’s all happening sort of quickly and really, he needs a moment to compose himself because he can’t seem to breathe.

Harry looks amazing, all tall and curly and smiling and just really, really fucking excited to see him. He’s running to him despite the fact that there’s ice on the ground, and he doesn’t stop or stall once even though Louis isn’t budging from his spot.

The older boy isn’t totally dense. He knows that this is generally the part where he should start running too, the part where he should throw his arms out dramatically and just kiss him - but his chest feels tight with anxiety and his heart is racing so fast he thinks he might actually throw up and running is a hard thing to do when your knees feel as weak as his do right now.

Harry nearly knocks him over when he reaches him, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and lifting him into the air so—after he flails uncertainly in the air for a moment—his legs wrap securely around the taller boy’s hips. Harry’s breathing heavily and it feels warm on his face, smells like coffee and toothpaste and Louis knows he tastes like it too.

“Hi,” Louis says, beaming widely as he throws his arms over Harry’s neck and pulls him closer, pressing their foreheads together. Harry smiles back, tangling his fingers through the smaller boys soft locks before kissing him meaningfully.

Harry sighs into his mouth, hugging his waist tightly. Louis’ got his hands on either side of his face, holding his jaw tightly as he licks hotly into his mouth. The younger boy moans, his fingers pushing deeper into Louis’ hips. “You look gorgeous.” He manages, a whine escaping from the back of his throat when Louis tugs at his hair.

The smaller boy snorts because he most definitely does not look gorgeous, slapping his chest (which he realizes belatedly—is bare), and pulling back from him breathlessly. “I love you,” he mutters.

Harry makes an embarrassing noise, hiding his face into the crook of Louis’ neck and breathing out shakily, “Love you, too.”

Louis’ buzzing, a permanent smile stuck on his face.

(He thinks about how ridiculous it is that he’s practically turning into an icicle in his multiple layers, yet Harry’s shirtless and still radiating enough warmth to melt him completely.)

They kiss for a long time, or maybe actually just a couple of minutes, though Louis can’t really tell because he’s currently got himself wrapped around the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen and he’s kissing him back, desperately, like he thought he’d never see him again.

Harry sets him on the ground after a moment and bends down to tug his suitcase over his shoulder, leaning over again to kiss him lightly.

“So. I’ve got a few little, “warnings" before we go inside,” the younger boy tells him as they make their way toward the porch. Louis nods, grabbing for Harry’s hand and tangling their fingers together.

“Okay, so, first: Zayn’s sick—dunno what with, but he’s claiming it’s terrible. Anyways, he’s super cranky. Second: I might’ve…accidentally let Niall have some of my coffee, so he’s, er—a bit hyper. And third: Danielle and Liam had some sort of fallout. He’s not really talking much about it, though.”

Louis raises his eyebrows suddenly, shocked. “Liam and Dani? Seriously?”

“Yup. Asked if she was coming tomorrow night and he nearly burst into tears.” Harry tells him, his voice lowering as they near the screen door. “Ni and I have been trying to act all happy and everything, like, watching funny movies and making him hot chocolates and feeding him a never ending amount of crap food. But he’s just so fucking mopey.”

Louis makes a face. “Do you think I should run to the market and get him a box of tampons real quick?” He asks, lifting an eyebrow. “I feel bad I haven’t brought any gifts to his pity party.”

Harry cackles, stops himself abruptly, clapping a hand over his mouth. “For the love of God, Louis, please don’t say anything like that to him.” Louis juts his head back, covering his chest with his hand. “I just - Liam would do anything just to see one of us smile. So, like, be sensitive. Yeah?”

“Be sensitive?” The older boy repeats, pulling a shocked face. “Please, Harold. My middle name is Sensitive.” He assures him, his expression still hurt. “Louis Sensitive Tomlinson.”

“How fitting.” Harry rolls his eyes, pushing his suitcase against the large wooden stairwell.

Louis smiles cheekily, squeezing at Harry’s hip teasingly as the younger boy unzips his jacket.

“Louis?” A sudden voice calls from the other room, the Irish accent unmistakably belonging to Niall. “Is that you I hear whispering all secretively in my foyer?” He asks, his tone curious. Louis rolls his eyes and follows the echo of the Irish lads cackle, Harry close behind.

“The one and only,” Louis announces lazily, wandering into the comfortable environment of Niall’s living room. The blonde sits perched on the arm of the couch, watching him excitedly as he slides across the wood paneled floors.

“My uncles name is Louis,” Liam says, popping his head up from behind the couch cushions. “Nice pajamas.”

“Shut your mouth, Payne. My mum got these for me.” The older boy responds, flicking the sweaty skin of Liam’s forehead before throwing himself onto one of the plush leather loveseats. Harry hovers awkwardly next to the arm of the chair and Louis figures from the fact that his butt is already warm Harry had been sitting there earlier. Louis smiles up at the younger boy, tugging him down so he sits sprawled over his lap, long legs intertwining with Louis’ smaller ones. He doesn’t think he can manage not touching him right now.

“So how’re you lads?” Louis asks airily, hands placed comfortably on Harry’s hips.

Niall smiles and laughs for no reason whatsoever, throwing his head back like Louis’ just told the greatest joke he’s ever even heard. “Fucking awesome!” He cries, flinging himself so he’s laying on top of Liam’s lap. Liam smiles down at the boy, petting his head comfortingly.

“I can see that,” Louis notes, focusing his attention on Zayn, who was currently lying wrapped in a cocoon of blankets on the couch across from him. “What about you, Zayn? You sick?” Zayn makes a noise of acknowledgment, “mm.”

“What happened? You share one of your makeup brushes and catch something? That happened to one of my sisters before.”

Niall cackles in response but Zayn remains unamused. “Go fuck yourself,” he mumbles, turning over to stuff his face into the cushions.

“Yet your personality still manages to shine brighter than the sun,” Louis murmurs, grinning when Zayn flips him off weakly, arm falling by his side with a thud. Liam cracks a smile and Harry’s chuckling, the feeling of it vibrating against Louis’ chest.

“So, how’s this all working?” The oldest boy asks. “Like. Who’s even coming tomorrow? Just us, or - “

“Thinkin’ around 30 or so people. Hoping we have enough food. You brought booze, righ’?”

“Well, yeah, just. Probably not enough for 30 people. You do know I’m poor, don’t you?”

Niall snorts, shrugging carelessly as he mutters, “I’m sure more people’ll bring stuff,” and turns back to the TV, hand buried in a box of Gold Fish as he focuses his attention on some terrible sitcom his sisters watch.

Louis cringes. “What is this?”

i-fucking-Carly,” Zayn moans into his hands. “Allllllll day long.”

Niall ignores him. Liam sticks his chest out. “I quite like this show. The brother, he’s funny. Spencer.” Harry fidgets impatiently on top of him, squeezes his thigh gently like he’s urging the older boy to do something.

“Hey Ni?” Louis says, trying to sound casual. “Mind telling me where my room is? I think I want to, uhm. Unpack.” Niall’s eyes stay glued to the TV, head lolling on Liam’s lap. “Like…now.”

Harry sits up straighter, patting Louis’ thigh. “Actually, Lou, it just so happens we share a room,” he says, maybe too loudly. “Perhaps I could help you?”

“Well, that’d be lovely, Harry, thank you.”

They get up quickly, realizing with some sort of satisfaction that none of the boys actually cared if they got up and left. 

Something takes over the younger boy. He feels crazed with want, like now that he’s had another taste he just needs more. He grabs Louis around the waist and hauls him upward on to the kitchen counter, so quickly his head nearly smacks backwards into the cabinets. Harry’s eyes widen, ready to apologize when Louis surges forward and kisses him, grabbing either side of his face to pull him closer. Harry steps fully into the v of his legs, warm hands moving their way up the length of his thighs. 

“Upstairs,” Louis manages, fingers curling into the dark haired boy’s curls. “Now.” Harry nods once, trying to last as long as he can without them actually having to stop kissing. “Ow!” Louis breaks apart from him, hand covering the back of his head as Louis actually does smack his head against the wall this time. Harry winces at the sound of it.

“Sorry.” He whispers, fumbling his way through the narrow hallway, deciding to let Louis down. 

The older boy snakes his arms around Harry’s neck, pulls him in for a for a quick kiss. “S’fine. You can make it up to me later.”

»

The house is empty, filled only with the noises of the TV and the slight rustling of Harry moving around in the kitchen. Louis’ lounging tiredly, growing colder each minute the younger boy is away from him, desperately clinging to a fuzzy blanket that he’s found on the ground.

Harry looks focused when he shuffles into the living room, an unusually large bowl of ice cream tucked between his forearm and his stomach and a mug of hot chocolate cradled in either hand. Louis furrows his eyebrows, smiling unevenly as he tosses his blanket aside and gets up so he help the younger boy.

“I was gonna try and bake you a cake, but.” Harry sighs, expression glum as he leans down awkwardly to drop the large plastic bowl down on the side table. “I guess Niall’s uncle is on some sort of diet for his ‘high cholesterol’ or whatever. So all they’ve got is Nutri-Grain bars and green tea, which, you know. No thanks.”

Louis holds his mug and watches as Harry moves back and forth across the living room, gathering all the scattered remotes and blankets and bringing them back to the loveseat like he’s trying to nest with them or something. Louis knows he just won’t feel like getting up later, though. He’s thinking idly to himself how very nice Harry looks at the moment, baggy joggers hanging low on his hips and tight v-neck stuck to his chest (which had become oddly defined in less than two weeks, or had he just not noticed before?) when he thoughtlessly takes a gulp of his hot drink, gasping loudly in response and sticking his tongue out of his mouth like it’ll help.

“Ow, fuck that’s hot - !”

“Managed to find some ice cream in the fridge downstairs though,” Harry goes on busily, walking back over to the smaller boy. “They’ve got ice lollies down there as well, if you want some - ?”

Louis shakes his head insistently, setting the mug aside and sitting back down cross legged on their new found favorite chair. “This is good,” he says, patting his lap. Harry smiles after him, gripping his large mug carefully as he sits in the space between Louis’ legs. They shift until they’re comfortable, Harry ending up sideways, legs hanging lazily over the arm of the seat and curly head nuzzled into the older boys neck. Louis’ legs are sort of curved around Harry’s, one underneath his knee and the other hooked over his calf. 

Louis reaches over the larger boys shoulder for his hot coco, the silver band of his bracelet shining wonderfully. Harry grabs his wrist before he can reach his cup and kisses the pale skin there. 

“Do you like it?” He asks expectantly, giving the older boy a hopeful expression. He looks like a puppy.

“I love it, Harry - did I not make that clear enough when I nearly attacked you?”

Harry exhales a laugh, shrugging. “I guess I just like hearing you say it.”

“Well, I love it. It’s gorgeous, and it’s shiny, and it doesn’t pinch my skin, and I’ll think about you every time I look at it,” Louis places his palm on Harry’s chest, taps his finger on the spot where he feels his heart beating. “How’s my gift fitting in, then?” He asks.

(It’s a necklace. Not very creative on his part, and Louis could nearly laugh at the fact that they’d both ended up buying each other jewelry, but Harry almost started crying when he opened it, and he’s glad that he didn’t laugh at the girly gift wrapping.)

“It’s getting along very nicely with the others,” He tells him, referring to the two other necklaces he’s got on already. Louis likes that it’s not obvious. They don’t need them to be flashy or noticeable, just enough so when they look down they’re reminded of one another. 

“Mine’s a bit lonely,” Louis says, pouting sadly.

“Maybe I should’ve gotten you new suspenders. There’s always two of those, at least.”

A laugh bubbles out of the older boys throat. “Very good observation, Hazza.”

Harry smirks, looking up at the ceiling and batting his eyelashes. “What can I say.”

“You’re perfect,” the older boy mutters, leaning forward to cup his jaw to kiss him quickly. “Now feed me.”

The younger boy meets his eyes, biting at his lip. “Can I ask you something first?” Louis scrunches his nose uncertainly (‘it’s gonna melt soon, Hazza,’), though he ends up nodding anyways. Harry fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt when he starts, trying his best to keep his voice steady, confident. “If - if I asked you to be my boyfriend…how would you feel about that?”

Louis tenses noticeably, the pads of his fingers pushing into Harry’s skin softly. “Er.”

“I’ve just - I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. We’ve said I love you to each other, but yet I still (still) can’t call you my boyfriend. It just all seems very backwards, doesn’t it? I mean, I’ve never dated anyone before, but I love you so much and I want to be able to and I can’t because it’s really sort of a mutual decision, I can’t just go around saying it, I know, but -”

“Yeah.” 

“I - what?” 

“Of course I want to be your boyfriend,” Louis tells him, and he’s smiling like it’s obvious. “Did you think there was actually a chance I’d say no?”

Well.

Harry laughs but it’s airier than it usually is, more like a really heavy sigh of relief. “I didn’t know if you wanted to put a label on it or not.”

“I’d fly to the fucking moon if you asked me to, Harry. Being your boyfriend is something I don’t have to think twice about.” 

The younger boy’s smile is beautiful, pouty lips almost unnaturally red, eyes a color green Louis’ never seen on anyone else before. He’s beautiful, Louis thinks, wondering how he’s gotten so lucky.

Harry inhales and it’s shaky, turning a dark shade of pink. “Do you still want that ice cream, or - “ he asks, shifting forward so he’s on his knees, tightly fisting at the soft material of Louis’ jumper. “‘cause I kinda just wanna kiss you right now,”

“I honestly do not give a shit about the ice cream,” Louis tells him, leaning forward to kiss him deeply. “Let’s just stay like this, yeah?” 

Preferably forever, the older boy thinks, contentedly sighing into his mouth. That’d be nice.

————

uhm. so this wait was ridiculous. i can’t even blame any of you if you’re seriously mad at me, but i’ve been so stressed out lately and it’s taken me forever to get out of this weird funk that i’ve been in. let it be known that i redid this chapter and edited it probably 80 times, so if it was terrible and you’re like omg that was so fucking terrible, just keep in mind it could’ve been like, sosoososososo worse.

ok if you actually are still reading this thank you so much. part 2 will be up soon.

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