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his hands up the curve of Harry‟s back. He feels Harry‟s warm breath

on his throat just as his hands reach up to tangle in his hair, and he can‟t

do anything but pull Harry‟s head up and kiss him.

A sound escapes him, half-laugh and half-sob, and Harry just swallows

it and gives back his own, crowding close to Louis and curling his

tongue into his mouth with a soft moan. Louis wants him this close

forever, resents every molecule of air that slides between them, hates

whatever made the universe big enough for more than just the two of

them.

Harry pulls back and presses a kiss to Louis‟ chin, moving to dust more

back along his jaw. Louis tips his head back and tries to focus. He

never wants to forget what this felt like, this moment right here.

“I missed you,” Harry mumbles against his skin.

“I love you,” Louis breathes out, because he can.

A shiver goes through Harry. “I love you, too,” he says quietly. He nips

at Louis‟ earlobe, and then continues. “Let me take you home, Lou.”

“Yes,” Louis says. “Please.”

“Liam,” Zayn hisses into his phone. He‟s in a utility cupboard again, a

place to which he swore never to return, but he‟s not supposed to make

personal calls during class time and these circumstances definitely fall

under the heading of extenuating. Even waiting until the break between

two blocks of class after he‟d read Louis‟ texts had been excruciating,

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so there‟s no way he‟s waiting until the end of the day. Needs must.

“I‟ve been trying to get him to see reason for months. What did you say

to him?”

“I dunno,” Liam says. Zayn can picture his shrug. “I just told him how

much I loved you, and how I feel about us, and that seemed to work.”

Zayn is quiet for a long moment, biting down on the back of his hand.

“You have no idea,” he says finally, “how well you are going to get

shagged tonight.”

512

TWENTY-ONE

Even though Harry ducked out of work a few minutes early, the tube is

still completely packed with commuters. There's barely enough room

for them to squeeze onto the same car together, much less sit down, but

Louis could not give less of a shit about it. He'd let Harry shove him

into the basket of a bicycle and pedal him home of that's what it took.

When the doors slide closed, Harry leans back against them and pulls

Louis close, giving him a little more breathing room.

Harry's chin hooks over Louis' shoulder and his arm wraps around his

waist, his other hand reaching out to grab onto the last free free

handrail. When they take the first curve, Louis sways but doesn't

stumble, secure in Harry's arms. He reaches out for the handrail

anyway, though, his fingers sliding over Harry's. He can feel Harry

smile against his shoulder, and he's quietly proud of himself.

Sneakily, Harry slips two of his fingers into Louis' front pocket, like

he's testing the waters, getting reacquainted with Louis' space and how

much permission he still has to it. Louis drags a finger down Harry's

wrist to say yes, and he feels Harry release a breath against him,

rubbing his nose into his hair. That matter settled, Louis sighs and lets

his eyes drift shut, lulled into relaxation by the motion of the tube and

the white noise of the people around him and the warmth of Harry's

body against his.

A particularly sharp turn pulls a screech from the tracks, and Louis

jerks back to alertness. He can hear Harry snickering at how jumpy he

is, is just making a mental note to make him pay for that later, when

he's distracted by noticing a pair of eyes on them. There's a woman on

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the opposite side of the car, leaning against the other set of doors. She's

older, probably in her forties, with close-cropped brown hair, and Louis

isn't sure how long she's been staring at them.

He's prepared to bristle, to shoot her a death glare and leave her a

smoldering wreck, when she smiles at him. She looks fond, and

nostalgic, and endeared, and suddenly Louis is almost overwhelmed by

a wave of vindication. Damn right, strangers are smiling at them on the

tube. They're young and adorable and in love, and now that he thinks of

it, Louis kind of wants to shout about it until everyone within earshot

realizes how wonderful they are. Louis' never been much of a lad for

public displays of affection, but right now he hopes everyone who

looks at them can read it all over their faces. He wants them to assume.

They'll be right.

Seized by the impulse, he cranes his neck back and presses a kiss to

Harry's cheek.

"What was that for?" Harry mumbles.

"Just 'cause," Louis says as he turns back, and he winks at the grinning

woman on the other side of the car.

They get off at Harry's stop and Harry leads Louis up through the

station and onto the street by the hand. The sun is low in the sky, and

the lights are starting to come up on the buildings around them, making

up for all the stars that will be hidden behind clouds and light pollution.

It's not a very pretty street, but it's Harry's, and that makes it the best

thing Louis' ever seen, because he never thought he'd get a chance to

see it.

Harry lets them into the building and Louis can feel the static electricity

buzzing in the air between them, but they're stuck on the lift with an

assortment of strangers, so all he can do is lean his shoulder against

Harry's and wait for the little number five to light up on the panel above

the doors. They're off down the hall as soon as the doors creak open,

and this is it. He grins, unable to contain it anymore and bounces along

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next to Harry, happy just to be with him, to feel his body next to him

and know that it's real. Harry's here. That's the happiest thing he can

think of.

"Fair warning," Harry says as he unlocks the door. "My flat isn't

much."

"That's what you said about the last one," Louis reminds him, "and I

liked it just fine."

Harry gets a funny little frown on his face, and he says, "This one isn't

like that one was."

The door swings open, and Louis steps inside as Harry shuts it behind

him. The flat is tiny and the only furniture is the battered dining set and

the mattress on the floor, but those are the only things it has in common

with Harry's old flat back in Manchester. There are no lights around the

ceiling and no scarves on the window, no soft sounds of music or

cupcakes on the counter, and all around him, the grubby walls are

completely, utterly bare. Louis looks around the floor and sees a pile of

boxes shoved into one corner, labeled with things like "bits and bobs"

and "homey touches" in a handwriting that Louis thinks probably

belongs to Harry's mum or sister. They haven't been unpacked.

The one on the top is open, like maybe Harry started trying to sort

through it all at some point but gave up. Louis can see photographs and

paintings and vinyl records peeking out of it, things he recognizes from

Harry's walls. The photo of the four of them at the carnival is sitting on

top.

Louis looks up at Harry, who is watching him look at the boxes and the

empty walls, and he doesn't know what to say. He feels sobered

suddenly, brought down a bit from the giddiness of being with Harry

again, now that he's confronted with the storm damage.

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Harry just shrugs, shaking his hair out of his eyes. "It just didn't feel

right," he tells Louis. "Putting it all back up. It would have felt like a lie

to pretend like this was home."

"Haz," Louis says, and the emotion in his own voice almost takes him

by surprise. He wraps his arms around Harry's neck gently, standing up

on the tips of his toes to kiss Harry's forehead when he bows his head.

Harry slides his arms around Louis' waist and lets Louis cradle his head

against the side of his neck, hands buried in his hair.

It's been a little more than a year since he met Harry, and in that

moment, holding Harry in the doorway of a flat in London that barely

even looks like it's been lived in, every single one of those days catches

up to him.

"I'm sorry," Louis says again, but this time he's not the only one, this

time Harry says it at the same time. Louis chokes out a teary laugh at

that, feeling Harry do the same against his neck.

"You know, it's not always about you," Harry teases. "My job isn't

quite what I thought it would be, and I miss my family and the lads,

and sometimes—I don't know, it's easy to feel lost here sometimes.

There's lots of reasons it doesn't feel like home." He rubs between

Louis' shoulder blades gently. "But yeah, you were the biggest one.

Doesn't make it your fault, though."

Louis loosens his grip a little, letting his hands slide down to Harry's

shoulders, and Harry lifts his head and kisses Louis again. It starts as a

smile and then melts into something deeper, Harry's tongue swiping

across the inside of Louis' mouth. It feels brand new and achingly

familiar all at once, the way time has passed and so little has changed.

Except things have changed, Louis wants them to change, and he pulls

back from the kiss, resting his forehead against Harry's. "It feels like it's

my fault," he says quietly, feeling small.

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"Hey," Harry says, cupping his hand around the back of Louis' neck

and pulling him back to look at him properly. "There were things I

could have done, okay? I'm kind of an adult, too, y'know, you don't

have to put all of it on you. I wasn't apologising just for fun." He

scratches gently at Louis' scalp with his blunt nails. "We can talk about

this, if you want."

"Do you want to do that now?" Louis says. It feels like it's important to

ask this. It feels like it's important to talk every part of this through,

because they spent so long not doing it, and he won't let that happen

again. It's still an effort for him, nowhere near second nature, but it's

not as hard as he thought it would be. He moves one hand down to pull

Harry's other hand away from his hip and lace their fingers together.

"Do you want to talk? About everything? We can do that."

Harry considers him for a moment, eyes warm. "I do want to talk about

all of that," Harry tells him. "I want to talk about everything. But right

now, I really don't want to stop kissing you, if that's okay." He leans in

close, pressing their foreheads back together, and Louis feels Harry's

free hand slide down to his hip, right at the waistband of his trousers.

"Can you promise me that you'll still be here? After?"

"I promise," Louis says without hesitation. "Anything. I promise."

"Thank God," Harry says, and then he's pulling Louis by the waistband

back towards the mattress. It takes all of three steps to get there, and