i 0d2125e00f277ca8 (80 page)

fast. He's so close to him that Louis can feel his breath on his face when

he speaks. "I need--with me, Louis, I'm so close and I need to make

you--" he trails off, chest heaving and eyes staring desperately into

Louis'. Louis nods, and it's not far off now as it is anyway.

Louis means to reassure Harry, to tell him that he wants to come, has

wanted to make him come since he walked into the photography studio

and wants to come with him, but when he opens his mouth what comes

out instead is, "I love you."

Harry's eyes fly open, unimaginably green up close. "Say it again," he

says weakly.

"I love you," Louis says, loosening his still-tight hold in Harry's hair

and petting at it distractedly instead. He's amazed that he even has to

say it, feels like it's blazing from his eyes, like it's seeping from his

skin, like the fact that he loves Harry can be seen from space.

Eyes squeezing closed, Harry lets out a fragile sound, his rhythm

faltering again. His hand is still sure on Louis' cock, though, and Louis

can feel sparks rising behind his eyes.

530

Louis presses kisses to his chin, his cheekbones, his eyelids. "I love

you," he says again, and he doesn't think he's crying but there's a lump

in his throat.

Harry shudders and groans one last time, and Louis feels him come hot

and pulsing inside him, and the realisation that hearing the words I love

you from his mouth just made Harry come sends Louis over the edge

too, shaking through it with his hands on Harry's face. Harry collapses

next to him, his arm sliding underneath Louis' waist to hold him as

close as he can, and all Louis can do is bury a shout in Harry's shoulder

and wait out the aftershocks.

As they fade, Louis realises he's still talking, mumbling "I love you, I

love you, you're mine and I love you," into Harry's sweaty hair, "I love

you, I'm never going to leave you, I love you," desperate to put his

hands everywhere and prove it to Harry.

"Lou," Harry gasps, and his body seizes up again in Louis' arms.

"You've got me, you've got me," Louis says, nuzzling up under Harry's

chin and keeping his legs tight around his waist.

"I love you, too," Harry says in a ruined voice, and Louis has never

believed someone so much in his life.

They stay like that for what feels like forever, completely spent and

unable to move. Louis can feel Harry shaking in little erratic bursts, and

he doesn't know if he's crying or still feeling it, or if it's both. He rubs

his hands up and down Harry's back, lets the sweat gather up in his

palms, and the only thought in his mind that makes any sense is the

thing he's said a thousand times today, the thing he's been thinking and

not saying for a year.

After a few more minutes of soft touches and softer words, Louis

disentangles himself and walks on shaky legs to Harry's bathroom to

get a wet flannel. When he returns, he cleans Harry off first, delicately

wiping across his flushed forehead and neck before taking care of

531

himself. By the time he's done he can barely move, and Harry is laid

out flat on the destroyed sheets, eyes glazing over.

Louis tosses the flannel in the direction Harry threw his shoes and curls

up beside him, pulling the sheets up over them and tucking himself in

against Harry's chest. He's exhausted, and it's not just because of the

sex. Louis Tomlinson has had a big day.

He feels one of Harry's arms wrap around his waist, and he wills

himself not to relax into it immediately and drift off quite yet. His head

is a mess of post-sex haze, but he's got one last thing to say.

"Harry," he says. "Don't fall asleep yet."

"Mmm?" Harry grunts.

"Just one more thing," Louis tells him. "When we wake up, we're

talking. Okay?"

"Okay," Harry agrees sleepily.

"I mean it," Louis says, poking Harry in the ribs. "We're going to talk

about this, and don't you dare leave this bed until we have."

"Okay, okay," Harry says with a laugh in his voice.

"Okay," Louis concludes, satisfied. And then, because he can, and

because it's not just something he feels during sex and he needs Harry

to know that, he adds, "I love you. Again."

Harry turns onto his side a bit, facing Louis and ducking his head to

bump their noses together. "Well," he says, stifling a yawn. "I love you,

too. I did before, and I do now, and I will when we wake up. And most

likely while we're asleep as well. So, there."

532

"I'll take it," Louis says, and he kisses Harry goodnight.

For a few disorienting moments before Louis opens his eyes, he thinks

he's back in January the first time he slept over at Harry's flat in

Manchester, Harry's body spooned up against him and his fingers

grazing the floor where his arm is hanging off the mattress. It's not

surprising. He's had this dream before, come back to this place in his

head more times than he can count. He'll wake up soon and it'll all be

over, and he'll go back to missing Harry.

Then he feels Harry stroking his hair, and the memories of the last

twelve hours of his life come churning back to him. He opens his eyes,

and it's dark outside instead of the soft morning light of his memory,

and when he rolls over Harry's there, real and warm and looking at him

fondly.

"S'you," Louis says blearily, blinking into wakefulness and nosing

against Harry's neck.

"Hey, love," Harry says, speaking softly as he accepts Louis' kiss on the

side of his jaw. "I know I'm supposed to stay in the bed, but I've been

waiting for you to wake up for half an hour and I've really got to wee."

Louis laughs sleepily, rubbing his nose against Harry's shoulder. "How

romantic."

"I try," Harry says. He squeezes Louis' hip and then rolls out of bed and

pads to the toilet, naked as the day he was born.

Louis lies there, staring at Harry's unpacked boxes and blank walls, and

has never felt happier in his entire idiot life. He lets the day come back

533

slowly, watches it play out all over again in his half-asleep brain. There

were so many ways this could have gone, but it went this one. For once,

when it really mattered, things went right.

After a moment he calls out after Harry. "Time is it, Hazza?"

"Bout half ten at night," Harry says. "We passed out. I'm going to

shower, you want to join?"

"Be right there," Louis says, stretching before he rolls off of the

mattress and follows Harry into the bathroom.

They brush their teeth to get rid of the taste of sleep, bumping

shoulders and jostling for space in the mirror, and then kiss lazily in

Harry's unbelievably tiny shower, hands slippery as they rediscover

bruises they left earlier. Louis exalts in the feeling of not agonizing

over things before he does them, of not second-guessing himself every

thirty seconds. When he wants to rest his head against the damp skin

between Harry's shoulder blades, he does it. And when he wants to roll

up his towel and snap it at Harry's arse, he does that too, because he

might be changing but he hasn't changed that much.

"Cheeky," Harry says, rubbing where the towel hit him. "I'm hungry,

do you want food?" Louis stomach rumbles, answering for him.

Harry rummages through his clothes and gives Louis a pair of football

shorts and a worn cotton t-shirt, categorically refusing to give him any

pants. Louis starts tickling him as punishment, and then Harry grabs his

wrists, and they end up kissing for twenty more minutes on top of

Harry's clean laundry. Finally, he lets Harry up, and they end up in

Harry's kitchen—or what passes for a kitchen, anyway—staring into his

refrigerator.

"Why don't you have any food?" Louis asks, incredulous. "What do

you live on?"

534

"I guess I haven't been cooking as much," Harry says, scratching his

head. "Haven't had the time. Been ordering in a lot." He reaches into

the bottom shelf and pulls out a cardboard box. "Cold pizza?" he offers

with a grin.

So that's their midnight breakfast, cold pizza right out of the box with

their bare feet entangled under Harry's table. They chew in contented

silence, Harry occasionally reaching across to steal Louis' crusts and

munch on them. Louis looks at him, shirtless with a little bit of sauce

on his chin, and thinks, safe.

He clears his throat a little awkwardly, and Harry looks up. "So," Louis

says, kicking lightly against Harry's shins. "We should talk, yes?"

Harry swallows and nods, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Yeah, I think—I think that would be good," he says. "I mean, I have

questions, but—"

"That's okay, you should have questions, I—"

"No, but, I just want to say," Harry pauses, picking his words carefully.

"I want to be with you. That's not gonna change, no matter what you

say. I have questions because, because I want us to figure out how to be

together right this time. So, I guess, I just want you to know that

anything you want to tell me, you can."

Louis reaches across the table and takes his hand, because what else

can he do? "Okay," he says. "Thank you. And just to be clear, I want to

be with you, too. I'm sure I said something like that yesterday, but. In

case you forgot."

Harry grins. "I didn't forget."

Ducking his head, Louis squeezes his hand. "All right. Good. So, um.

Do you want to just ask me things? Because I'm honestly not sure

where to start."

535

"Okay," Harry says, taking a deep breath. "Did you want me to stay in

Manchester?"

"Yes," Louis says, amazed he even has to ask.

Harry blinks a couple of times but doesn't look away. "Why didn't you

ask me to?"

"Because," Louis says, sighing, "I thought you wanted to be here, that it

would make you happy. I thought that if you wanted to stay, you

would. I didn't think there was anything I could offer you to convince

you to stay if you wanted to go."

This time Harry reaches across the table, taking Louis' other hand in

his. "Louis, I don't—"

"It's all right," Louis says. "I don't—that's not what I believe anymore.

Not really. But you need to know what I was thinking then."

Harry nods, but he still looks stricken. "That makes sense. Can you—

do you want to ask me stuff, too? I don't want this to be an

interrogation."

Louis had prepared to answer for everything he'd done, but he hadn't

thought about questioning Harry in return. Now that he thinks of it,

though, there are some gaps he'd like filled. "Why didn't you tell me

you were applying for the internship?"

"Yeah, that was my fault," Harry says, hanging his head. "I fucked that

up. I never told you I was applying because it was in the middle of the

musical and you were about to work yourself to death, and I didn't want

to stress you out more, but I shouldn't have blindsided you with it. I

should have at least waited until after the cast party to tell you, Jesus

Christ."

536

"Would've been nice," Louis says, raising an eyebrow. Harry laughs

ruefully and continues.

"You're right. I'm really sorry about that, I couldn't have handled it

worse. I guess I just didn't realise how upset you'd be? I honestly never

thought I'd be going to London without you, or at least without trying

to do long-distance, so I hadn't been thinking of it as a bad thing for us.

It was such a long shot anyway that I never thought about the details

until I actually got it, and then I just assumed you would come with

me."

"You thought I was going to move to London with you?" Louis says,

incredulous. "Harry, I love you, but my life is in Manchester. Even if I