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speakers buzz tinnily.

"I'm not, babe," Louis says, still laughing. "I'm in London, with Harry,

and we're, um, together now. Or again. Whatever, we're together.

Properly."

There's a moment of stunned silence, until Zayn recovers his wits.

"What happened?" he demands frantically. "Oh my God, tell me

everything, Louis, right now, I'm going to fucking kill you for making

me wait."

Louis can't help but cackle just a little at that, because, well, torturing

Zayn is great and he's happy and everything in his life is wonderful

right now. "I imagine Liam told you about our conversation, yes?" he

says.

"Of course," Zayn says, because they probably have developed two-

person true love telepathy by this point. "By the way, he stopped by the

school office and told them that you'd started suddenly projectile

vomiting and had to go to hospital, so you owe him."

"I owe him double, actually," Louis says, letting out the breath he

hadn't realised he'd been holding to hear that he wasn't going home

unemployed. "That whole conversation we had, about the two of you,

well, I just kind of—took it to heart a bit. Decided to do something

about it."

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"And by that he means he turned up at the studio where I work and told

me that he loved me," Harry chimes in.

Another moment of silence, and then there's the muffled sound of Zayn

screaming into something, probably a pillow or his own hand. Louis

slaps a hand over his face. His best friend, despite everyone's insistence

on calling him "mysterious," has the emotional control of a thirteen-

year-old. Harry's grinning like an idiot, and Louis feels loved all at

once in so many different ways.

"Yeah, um, we talked it all out last night, and it's all right now," he goes

on over the sounds of Zayn having a fit on the other end of the phone.

He's fiddling with Harry's hair as he talks, pushing it off of his face, and

Harry mouths I love you at him. "Are you okay there, Zayn?"

There's a pause, and when Zayn finally speaks again, his voice is thick.

"I'm just really happy for the two of you. I love you both so much."

"Zayn..." Louis says. "Are you gonna cry?" It's becoming increasingly

likely that Louis actually died yesterday and the events of the past

twenty-four hours are actually just his reward in heaven.

"Shut up!" Zayn says petulantly, trying and failing to hide the sound of

sniffing. "You don't know what it's been like! You two are absolute

shitheads, and I've had to deal with it, and now it's done. These are

tears of purely selfish joy and relief."

"Deep breaths, Zayn," Harry says, amused and fond. "Hey, is Liam

there?"

"He's in the shower," Zayn tells him, perking right up.

"Promise me you'll thank him for me?" Harry says. "With blowjobs.

But also with words."

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"Oh, that has been taken care of," Zayn says. "Trust me. „Spose it

couldn't hurt to double-check, though. You know, just in case," and

Louis can hear his smirk over the phone.

"Okay, Zayn, you do that," Louis pops in. "I love you, but I'd like

Harry to myself now."

"I bet you do," Zayn says, and Louis doesn't have to see him to be able

to picture the ridiculous, cartoonishly suggestive thing he's probably

doing with his eyebrows right now.

"Yes, exactly," Louis says.

"Wait, Lou, before you go..." Zayn says just as Louis is reaching for the

phone.

"Yeah?"

"I just, I'm really proud of you, Lou," Zayn tells him, his tone serious.

"I want you to know that."

Louis feels something warm in his chest spreading out to the ends of

his fingers, and he's glad Zayn isn't here to take the piss for the look on

his face right now. Harry squeezes his hand, and Louis clears his throat

a little before responding. "Thanks, Zayn."

"Now take care of each other, or I'll kill you both," Zayn says. "I mean

it, I'm not dealing with this again."

"Got it," Louis laughs. "Bye, babe."

"Bye!" Harry chips in. Zayn tells them both goodbye and hangs up, and

Louis is left alone with Harry again.

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"Idiot," Louis says fondly, moving his phone to the floor.

"Which one of us?" Harry asks.

"Both," Louis says, smiling a little despite himself. He pokes at Harry's

chest. "You're just my idiot with benefits."

He lets Harry gather him up into a grinning kiss, warm and soft in

slept-in clothes and messy sheets. He still hasn't gotten over how good

it feels to kiss him again, or how much better it is now, now that he

doesn't have to worry about holding anything back.

After a little while the kissing slides into just holding each other, faces

close and legs tangled together, and Louis loves this too, loves being

able to be as gentle as he wants without having to justify or hide

anything. He's not so used to it yet that it doesn't feel like he's getting

away with something.

"I missed you so much," Louis says.

Harry's hands squeeze tighter around Louis' shirt, and he mumbles

back, "Me too."

Louis pulls back, feeling boneless and dizzy from having Harry so

close and so vulnerable. "Wanna know what I missed the most?"

"Sure," Harry tells him.

He brings one of Harry's hands up to his mouth, holding it open with

both of his own. He presses a kiss to his palm, and then one of each of

his fingertips, before turning it over and kissing each of his knuckles in

turn.

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"I missed your hands," he says as he does this. "I missed your fingers. I

missed your wrists."

"That's more than one thing," Harry says softly.

"I missed your smart mouth," Louis says, leaning up to kiss that too. He

kisses Harry on the tip of his nose, on the underside of his chin, on the

lids of his eyes. "I missed this. And this. And this."

It goes on like that for hours, languid and lazy and endless kisses and

Louis spreading Harry out naked and telling him exactly what he

missed about every inch of his body. He spends ten minutes on Harry's

stomach, telling him how much he missed balancing plates of takeaway

on it when they were in bed and seeing the muscles there through his t-

shirts and feeling it tense up against him when Harry was about to

come. He spends another ten on Harry's thighs, pushing them apart and

running his fingertips over every inch of them, kissing them up and

down until Harry is trembling on the mattress. He bites on Harry's ear,

licks the cut of his pelvis, kisses every single bruise he left on Harry's

skin the night before. And he saves the tattoo for last, because it's his

very favourite part.

Harry rolls him over and returns the favour, telling Louis how he

missed the crinkles by his eyes and shape of his biceps and curve of his

arse. He spends five minutes complimenting the shape of his ankles, of

all things, and then is delighted to discover Louis is ticklish there. He

blows raspberries against the back of Louis' knees and whispers sweet

nothings against his soft belly, and Louis isn't used to being

complimented like this. Maybe six months ago the thought of being

laid on his back in the morning light and listening to someone say

lovely things about every part of his too-small, too-curvy, imperfect

body would have sent him into a fit of anxiety, but today he can

surrender to it. He accepts everything Harry has to give him, lets Harry

touch him wherever he wants.

They get each other off slowly, teasing up to it for a long time,

touching with slick fingers and open mouths until it's too much.

Finally, Louis gets Harry on his back and grinds down against him

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languidly, the two of them rubbing together filthily. The blush on

Harry's face goes halfway down his chest, and he looks up at Louis

glassy-eyed and grinning as he puts both his hands on Louis' arse and

ruts against him. It's good, and it makes Louis laugh, which is even

better, and when they eventually come they go over the ledge together,

breathing hot into each other's mouths and spilling onto Harry's

stomach.

They lie there a moment, still touching each other softly like they both

need to reassure themselves that the other is still there. "It's still fun,

you know," Louis says into Harry's chest. Harry makes a little confused

noise, and Louis clarifies. "Doing this with you. It's still fun. Always

has been."

"Yay," Harry says, in a tiny wrung-out voice, and Louis feels very

pleased with himself indeed. Harry clumsily strokes Louis' hair, more

patting at it than anything else, and Louis leans into it happily.

Everything is fun with Harry. He wants to do everything with him.

Suddenly, he thinks of something that they've never done. Something

they need to do right now, and Louis thinks he owes it to Harry to do it

the right way this time. He wants to show Harry he's in it for real this

time around, and that starts at the beginning.

"Need to wee," Louis says, climbing off of Harry's chest. "Back in a

tick."

He shuts the bathroom door behind him and counts to thirty in his head

before he pulls out the phone he snuck in with him. Harry's name is

long gone from his recent calls list so he has to dig him up out of his

contacts, but he's still there, no matter how many times Louis

considered deleting the number over the past few months.

He hits send and soon Harry's phone is blasting Arcade Fire from the

other side of the door while it rings a few times on Louis' end of the

line. There's the sound of rustling sheets and the clink of Harry's belt

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against the floor—must have left it in his jeans—and then Harry picks

up.

"Hello?" Harry says, sounding bemused.

"Hi, Harry," Louis says, chewing on his lip to keep the smile out of his

voice a bit. "This is Louis Tomlinson, from work. You gave me your

number?"

There's a second or two of hesitation, but Harry catches on quickly

enough. "Yeah, I remember," he says. "How are you?"

"I'm great, thanks," Louis says. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't call sooner. I

should have called as soon as I got your number, but to be completely

honest with you, I was a bit scared."

"That's all right," Harry says gently.

"Thanks," Louis says. He keeps his voice light and conversational,

committing to the bit. "Anyway, I think you're quite charming, and I

was wondering if you'd like to go out for lunch with me today?"

He can feel Harry's grin through the phone, and he doesn't bother trying

to contain his own anymore. "Are you asking me on a date?" Harry

says.

"Yes," Louis says. "I'd very much like to take you on a date, if you're

interested."

"That sounds brilliant, actually," Harry says.

"Excellent," Louis says, surprised by the relief he feels at Harry's

response even though he already knew what the answer would be.

"Why don't I pick you up around one at yours, and we'll go somewhere

together? You can pick the place, I'll treat."

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"Okay, I'll think of something," Harry says. "Can't wait."

"Neither can I," Louis tells him, and he means it. "See you soon."

He ends the call and leans back against the sink, giving it a minute

before he goes back to Harry. He wonders if this is exactly how the

conversation would have gone if he had actually done this, if he had

just mustered up the nerve to ask Harry out properly when he first met

him. It's funny, how the two of them keep doing this whole thing

backwards. He figures it's probably a little fucked up that he had to go

through this whole year before he finally got to the place where he can

ask Harry out for lunch, but he's done beating himself up about it. It's

just their weird, roundabout way of figuring out how to love each other,

and maybe there's a lot he would change, but what matters is that

they're here now. And God, do they deserve it.

Harry's waiting on the other side of the bathroom door when he opens

it, and he pulls Louis straight into a kiss.

"You asked me on a date," he says, smiling against Louis' cheek.

"Yes, I did," Louis says, trying not to sound overly satisfied with

himself and failing miserably. He puts his hands on Harry's chest and

pushes him back gently. "Which means you can't kiss me now, because

it would be quite scandalous if we kissed before our first date."

"Right," Harry says, schooling his face into a stern expression as he

pulls back. "I shall not impugn your virtue."

"Thank you very much," Louis says. Harry gives him a little salute, and