Caught [l.s] (boyxboy)

Epilogue.

:(

im sorry this got delayed so much, by the way, i felt like shit on friday and then yesterday just sn hsjf i was busy and i wanted this to be good so i didnt want to rush through finishing it, y'know. 

i'm gonna post a final author's note after this (sniffling) because i don't want you to have to read a 500 word sad goodbye if you don't want to. 

my next story is already posted; it's called Phonetics. so if you want to read more from me, definitely go check that out. it's gonna be good. lots of nerdy, smartass louis and cheeky harry - also they're in sixth form, which is the bomb in itself - plus you'll learn a bunch of new words and it will be a fun experience ok so get over there right now (please)

BUT IF YOU DON'T READ MY A/N'S THIS IS FOR YOU: I'M TYPING IN CAPS TO GRAB YOUR ATTENTION, HELLO. THANK YOU FOR READING MY STORY. YOU ARE AMAZING. 

____

"It's your move, Lou."

Louis briefly takes a moment to examine his tiles. He's got no vowels - fantastic - and a series of frustratingly useless letters. 

"Can I just quit now?"

"No, you have to make a word."

Louis slumps in his chair. "I can't make a word."

"Sure you can. What are your tiles?" 

"Like I'd tell you." Harry is unnaturally spectacular at Scrabble. Louis resents this. He also resents himself for allowing Harry to pick this game every fucking time, but it's either Scrabble or chess; Louis has an even greater hatred for chess. 

"How am I gonna be able t' help, then?" Harry asks seriously, every now and then glancing from the board to his own tiles. Louis imagines he's planning to pull a long, sophisticated word that Louis has never heard of out of his ass and win. He doesn't think he'd mind, because Harry winning would wrap up the game and end his suffering. He's quite the drama queen, actually.

Louis cocks his head. "I don't want you to help. I can figure it out on my own, thank you."

After a few more seconds of squinting and scratching his head, he pathetically adds an F to Harry's bee. 

"That was a terrible move, mate."

"Okay, well, you can shut up," Louis says in the least threatening tone he's ever used in his entire life. Harry's daughter looks between them carefully, observing, and Louis thinks she's beginning to become more and more like her father every single day.

"Loui-"

"Yes, I know. Language."

"My turn now?" Paisley asks impatiently. Louis finds it embarrassing that he's losing to a five year old, especially since she barely understands how to play the game in general. She can't seem to grasp the fact that the words she's spelling have to be real, and Harry's gentle reminders go right over her curl covered head. Louis is starting to love this little girl. Sue him.

"Yes," Harry mutters, brow furrowed cutely as he stares hard at his tiles. Louis can practically see the gears turning in his head. He bites his lip and adverts his gaze. 

"Hey, wait. It's past eight o'clock." The incredulous look Harry gives to the clock as Louis says this is so adorably hysterical that Louis has to take a moment to calm the laughter bubbling in his throat. Paisley groans and rubs her eyes with her little hands, feet swinging and hitting the table leg as she scoots her chair out.

"Goodnight, Mr. Louis," Paisley murmurs as Harry's hand gently leads her from the kitchen, and Louis smiles at her as she leaves. Mr. Louis was the result of Harry trying to teach Paisley the polite way to address somebody - and of course, being Harry's daughter, she had taken her own spin on the entire concept. Zayn was now Mr. Zayn, and Gemma was now Ms. Aunt Gemma. Louis laughs weakly into his hands, because fuck, is he in too deep.

By the time Harry returns, Louis has wandered through the kitchen and found himself a biscuit and is sipping at some water.  He sets his glass down, however, because he knows what's coming just based on the look on Harry's face. Large hands cup his cheeks and a warm pair of lips press briefly to his own, and yeah, he thinks he could get used to this.

"Finally," Harry breathes, as if he never gets a break from his daughter - which he so does, Louis should know - and as if it's been four thousand years since he last kissed Louis - which again, is not true, because he distinctly remembers otherwise. 

They're not together, honestly, they're not. They just kiss occasionally. Sometimes they exchange hand-jobs, but, it's totally platonic. They're taking things slow. And, when Harry's fingers thread through Louis' own to pin him to the refrigerator door, he lets out a breath of his own. 

Nothing exhilarates him as much as Harry's touch.

"I've got to get home soon," Louis mutters quietly into the comfortable silence; Harry's free hand pauses in it's path up to Louis' waist. They know it's coming every time Louis visits. It's been a few weeks, and Louis still has not gotten used to the fact that he can come and kiss Harry anytime he wants to. 

Harry shakes his head. "Stay."

"I - I can't, Paisley. It'll confuse her, we can't, we have to give it more tim-"

"Louis?"

"Yeah?"

"Please, stay. Don't worry about her, we'll tell her you and I had... a sleepover."

Louis laughs, but it fades as quickly as it had come. Harry looks him in the eye and all Louis can see is the love that he knows Harry feels and, well, it's not even scary anymore. Because Louis has his boy back. And that's all that matters, isn't it?

"Alright, I'll stay."

He knows inside that this is probably a rash, bad, stupid idea, but he can't seem to care when Harry beams at him. He knows deep down inside that he's missed Harry since the second he walked out their front door. He knows deep down inside that he can never let him go again, not for anything or for anyone. He knows deep down inside that Harry and his daughter are a package deal now, he knows he can't have one without the other. But he knows that he's ready this time. 

Harry makes it all worth it.

And someday, Louis can only hope that they'll be back where they were before - restless, young, stupid, and in love with the idea of being in love; some days they'll fight and cry and scream until their voices crack, and that's okay too. Sometimes they'll be so angry at each other that they won't speak, and some days they'll be too wrapped up in each other to leave. But Louis will take the ups and the downs, he'll take it all, he promises.

He'll take every last second of it until the day he dies.

Harry's smile is bright enough to lead the way home, Louis thinks, and luckily for him, Harry is his home. Harry is his heart and his eyes and his everything, really, he's his life. His love. His hate. His anger and his bitterness and his heartbreaks all tied up into one person. He loves him. He never will stop, he realizes, he never can stop.

But as Harry's fingers brush against his own, as Harry laughs softly into his ear, as Harry's cologne clouds his senses, he knows where he belongs.

Fin.