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spare key that‟s still hanging around Harry‟s neck and pulls him into a

kiss that‟s just this side of too heated for a public place.

They pull apart reluctantly, as the track number for Harry‟s train comes

over the intercom. “Four more weeks,” Harry breathes.

“Four more weeks,” Louis says back, tucking the key back under the

collar of Harry‟s shirt. “I love you. Call me when you get home?”

Harry ducks to kiss him one more time. “I love you too. And I won't be

home, but yeah, I'll call.” And then he goes, heading to the platform.

He only looks back at Louis twice, and Louis admires his restraint.

Then he‟s out of sight, and Louis can feel the absence settling into his

bones, but it‟s all right. They‟re going to be fine. Four more weeks.

616

TWENTY-FIVE

“Does it look even?” Louis says, perched on top of a ladder and lifting

the string of lights higher into the corner.

“I can‟t tell. What do you think?”

Louis rolls his eyes and cranes his neck around. “I can‟t tell, can I,

since I‟m trying to put them up. Come on, make an effort here, it‟s your

party, too.”

“This is not my party. Do not even pretend that any of this is about

me.”

“Well, it‟s your flat, too, anyway,” Louis says, giving up and pinning

the lights in place where they are. He spins around, hands on his hips,

and fixes Harry with a glare. “You‟re no help at all.”

“Excuse me,” Harry says, moving forward to lift Louis off the ladder

and put him down on the ground. “Who‟s handling all of the

refreshments, again? I am the most helpful.”

Louis sighs, stepping back from the ladder to survey the lights. They

are not, in fact, even, but only by a few inches, and Louis figures that

nobody but him will notice. He finds he doesn‟t mind altogether that

much, possibly because these particular lights are straight out of the last

of Harry‟s boxes, the same blinking, multi-coloured lights from his old

flat. Louis likes the way they look around the ceiling of his living

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room, crooked and cheerful. He likes it a lot, actually. He may leave

them up for a while.

Not that he‟s done giving Harry shit, though.

“You‟re lucky the theme of the decorations this year leaves room for

imperfection,” Louis says, poking Harry in the nose. “Can you get the

rest of the lights? You‟re taller.”

“You just want to ogle my arse while I‟m not looking,” Harry teases.

“Got it in one, love,” Louis says with a wink.

Harry grins and then turns around, making a show of pretending to be

put-upon. “Anything for the birthday boy, I suppose.”

As Harry climbs back up the ladder, Louis can‟t help but stand back

and watch, not just the way he looks in those jeans—though that‟s very

nice as well—but the way he looks in Louis‟ flat. In their flat. He only

moved in a week ago, fresh off his internship and ready to start his new

job in Manchester in January, but he‟s already changing things in

noticeable ways.

For one, there are all sorts of fancy new cooking gadgets in the kitchen

that Louis doesn‟t know how to use and—after a mishap with a dessert

torch that ends with him setting his own jumper on fire and which Zayn

will never, ever hear about—is not allowed to touch without

supervision. The bathroom counter is twice as cluttered as it used to be.

The bed is much warmer. It‟s nice, everything that‟s changed, but it‟s

still a lot.

Louis likes it, the way that they're intermingling their lives, but he

won‟t say it‟s always easy. He‟s growing, and he‟s changing, but he

can‟t pretend he doesn‟t still have moments of oh God what am I doing

when he takes stock of all the ways he‟s given up space in his life and

his head and his heart to make room for Harry. The night he first

moved in Louis had to take a walk by himself, to roam around a few

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streets alone and talk himself down before he could come back inside

to a place that was no longer his and his alone. But Harry let him do it,

and understood, and didn‟t push. Standing in their living room,

watching Harry nearly tip off the ladder as he strains to put up lights for

Louis, he doesn‟t feel even a hint of regret.

So it‟s good, and he‟s happy, and sometimes he loves Harry so much

he can't breathe, but that's a lot better than the things that used to

smother him. There‟s a box or two in Louis room that still need to be

unpacked, but for the most part, all the little pieces of Harry‟s life have

been integrated into the flat. They sorted through Harry‟s bits and bobs

and mixed them in with all of Louis‟ bits and bobs, Harry‟s little

wooden Buddha statue next to Louis‟ programmes on the bookshelf,

Harry‟s Gandalf bobblehead standing sentry in front of every season of

One Tree Hill on DVD. Louis had Harry help him pick out their

favourites of Harry‟s photos and then got them framed as an early

Christmas gift, and Harry took over arranging them on the walls all

over the flat since he‟s the one with the eye for composition. They

work well together, Louis thinks. And he has to admit, birthday sex is

even better when it‟s also still-can‟t-believe-I-get-to-have-you-here-all-

the-time sex. They've rechristened every room in the flat, and most of

the flat surfaces, too, just to be sure.

For the first time ever, he‟s got a co-host for his annual Christmas-

meets-birthday extravaganza, and perhaps Harry is not quite the

socialite that Louis is, but he‟s surprisingly good at party planning.

Even when he was still in London, Harry was calling bakeries and

comparing Yelp reviews on different caterers and texting Louis ideas

for themes full of exclamation marks in the middle of the day. It‟s a

good thing, because Louis may not have attempted a production this

term, but he did manage to land the lead in the modern retelling of A

Christmas Carol his community theatre decided to put on, and their run

only ended a couple of days ago. He could have managed it on his own,

but he would have enjoyed it a lot less.

The whole cast of the show is invited tonight, and Louis can admit that

he‟s nervous. He wants these people to like him, wants to keep them in

his life after the show‟s done. Now that he‟s branching out more he‟s

realizing how much he‟s missed being social outside of work. Niall and

Zayn and Liam and Harry and Stan obviously will always be top of the

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list, but he needs to be more generous. The rest of the world deserves

its share of Louis Tomlinson too.

Once they‟ve finished with the lights, they move on to finishing up the

rest of the flat. All the furniture is shoved and stacked into their

bedroom to leave the rest of the apartment open for dancing, and they

tack little branches of mistletoe over every doorway in the flat. That

part leads to a bit of distraction, but Harry is determined to prove his

worth as a party planner, so he calls a mistletoe moratorium until

they're done setting up the refreshments. Duchess perches on the top of

the refrigerator and yowls periodically, eyeing Louis like she knows

what he‟s got in mind and will be damned if she‟ll allow it to come to

pass. It‟s no use. The dress code this year mandates something that

lights up, and Louis is getting that blinking LED collar on her if he has

to sacrifice an arm.

He does eventually manage to get the collar on Duchess after he and

Harry have taken care of all the last-minute things, and then it‟s time

for them to get themselves dressed. It‟s become sort of his favorite

thing since that time in London, watching Harry get dressed, and Harry

catches him smiling at him as he straightens his light-up bowtie in the

mirror. He pulls Louis in by his braces—covered in little lights to

match—and gives him a smiling kiss that tastes like the cookies he‟s

been sneaking. What can he say? Thematic apparel is his greatest

weakness.

Once again, Niall is the first to arrive to the party. He‟s DJing again,

and this year Louis‟ party is quite the hot ticket, since he promised

house music by The Craic on the invitations. He comes at both Harry

and Louis with a flying tackle as soon as he‟s through the door,

shouting in their ears, and Louis thinks that if anybody in the world is

happier about him getting back together with Harry than he is, it‟s

Niall. Once he‟s given them each a huge sloppy kiss he‟s off to work

setting up his equipment, the bottoms of his high-tops flashing different

colours with every step.

Zayn and Liam show up next, Zayn with his arms covered in glowstick

bracelets and Liam sporting a blinking jumper that plays “Frosty the

Snowman” tinnily if you press a button. They‟ve been over a few times

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recently, usually bringing Bo over to try to get her socialised. Duchess

has gotten great amusement from lurking in high spots and then leaping

down on Bo from above, and thankfully, so far Bo has just decided that

Duchess is her new favorite playmate, following her all over the flat.

This time, though, Zayn and Liam show up without their furry

dependent.

Zayn immediately goes over to badger Niall about music selections as

Niall slaps his hands away from the turntable, and Liam starts quizzing

Louis about if they have enough cups and does he need any help and is

he sure having this many lights plugged into one outlet isn‟t going to

blow a circuit breaker.

“As if that could stop us,” Louis says, and flicks the light switch to

plunge the flat into darkness before plugging in the lights. Suddenly the

room is blinking and flashing and glittering like the world's most

festive nightclub, lights of every colour playing over their faces.

“Sick,” Niall says, and then pulls on his earphones.

Once the clock strikes eight, the revelers start pouring in through the

front door, bottles of alcohol and cases of beer and a thousand blinking

lights in tow. Everyone has a hug and a congratulatory shout for him as

soon as they arrive, and many of them greet Harry the same way, bless

them. Stan‟s got on a top hat and matching jacket lined with lights

when he arrives, and he hugs Louis so hard Louis thinks me might have

a couple of bruised ribs.

Most of the cast and even some of the crew from his community theatre

turn up, as well as a large portion of the faculty from school and the

Doncaster crowd, plus some new additions—a few of Liam‟s mates

from the firehouse, a random assortment of artsy types Harry

befriended at uni, Zayn's editor. Louis loses track at some point after

his third drink, but he‟s sure he can‟t have possibly sent this many

invitations.

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Before long people are overflowing onto the balcony and out the front

door, all the way down the stairs. Niall has to turn up his music—