Play the Odds

5 - March

March

Kiss nine hundred happens as Louis greets Harry after his Elizabethan Lit class, the same place where they always meet, the corner of the pavement between the library and the English building.

There’s no fanfare, no excited announcement of a race to the finish like Harry expected so long ago. They’re lagging behind schedule, thanks to Harry drawing this out as long as he possibly can, and only adding about every third kiss to his tally sheet. He doesn’t know how Louis hasn’t already finished, unless he’s doing the same thing and not counting all of his kisses, but he doesn’t want to ask and draw attention to it when he’s getting what he wants.

Or, at least, getting what he wants in theory.

He wonders what would happen if they just… didn’t end the bet. If kiss number one thousand wasn’t the last one, or even a special one, because they would know more would come after it.

He wonders what would happen if this just kept going.

Maybe forever.

897 - 900.

_______________

“Your total is-”

“I know what my total is, young man,” Mrs Bagman says, sniffing. “I’ve been coming here a very long time, you know.”

“Of course, Mrs Bagman,” Harry grins, taking her exact change. He hands her the printed receipt and she tucks it neatly away in her purse, just like always. Harry’s just about to wish her a pleasant evening when a familiar voice rings out.

“Hazza!” Louis calls, smiling widely. “And Mrs Bagman, hello.”

“Oh, hello dear,” Mrs Bagman flutters, withered cheeks going pink. “Here to see Harry?”

“If only,” Louis sighs dramatically. “I’m here for bread, we’re all out.”

“No we aren’t,” Harry frowns. “I brought some home yesterday.”

“Oh,” Louis says lightly. “I meant tea.”

“I bought you tea three days ago.”

“Frozen pizzas, then,” he tries, smile strained now. 

“We’ve got two already.”

“Salt.”

“No, don’t think so.”

“I am here for something,” Louis huffs, poking Harry right on the name badge, “and we don’t have it, because we’re out of it, and I will bring it back up here and you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

“Okay,” Harry says slowly. “Good.”

Louis spins on his heel and marches away. Harry turns back to Mrs Bagman, who has packed her things away but, since there’s no one waiting for her to move, has settled in to watch.

“He’s an idiot,” Harry mutters, watching Louis duck down different aisles.

“He missed you,” Mrs Bagman says knowingly, eyes twinkling behind her glasses.

“He’s here to bother me.”

“He’s here because we wanted to see you, but didn’t want to wait until he had an excuse.”

Louis stomps back up to Harry and holds out the items he’d hunted down: naan bread, eyedrops, a tin of sweetcorn, and three pears.

“We need all this?” Harry asks, eyebrows raised.

Louis’ eyes narrow. “Yes. We do.”

Harry pinches back his smile. “Okay. Sure, I can-”

“I don’t have any money,” Louis says over him. “So. Can you pay for these when you check out?”