Never Be /l.s.

chapter 3: winter

Louis wakes up the next morning with a horrible crick in his neck, his entire body sore, and a larger than life nearly 6' tall man tangled up beside him, shirtless and snoring.

He stretches, remembering last night's events, and his stomach turns when he thinks about the way Harry hadn't been able to stop staring at him, so intense, gaze burning, or the way he'd thrusted into him with no abandon, just desperate to get them both off. It was so unbearably hot, a steady and relentless buildup of months leading up to that very moment, and Louis can't think of anything other than Harry.

That, and getting up and showering. His muscles ache and he feels disgusting.

He slides out of Harry's embrace slowly as to not wake him up, stepping over Harry's clothes on the floor beside the bed. Harry rolls slightly, groaning and reaching out, falling silent and still once more.

When Louis gets a good look at himself in the mirror in the bathroom, his first reaction is to punch Harry directly in the face. Why did he find it necessarily to go hog wild on his neck? Is this kid fucking serious? He touches the purple bruise, dragging his finger across it, and it actually hurts. And Jesus Christ, his hair is flying in a million different directions, courtesy of Harry fisting his hands into it when he was fucking into him over and over again.

Louis swallows heavily as he turns on the water in the shower. He looks like shit, he feels like shit, and fuck, if he hasn't been this happy in a long while.

It's been a full month of wanting nothing but Harry's hands and mouth and eyes on him, necessary for his wellbeing, and now that he's had it, he knows he isn't ever going to be able to stop thinking about it. It's the longest he's wanted someone in recent years, mind focused and unwavering, and Goddamnit, it isn't just physical. How could it be when Harry is Harry ?

In all the times he's obsessed over being with Harry in his own head since Halloween, it never even came close to how it really is; it's better . The events of last night left him feeling unraveled, mind and body open, giving Harry complete and total access. And for weeks , Louis had tried not to entertain the idea that Harry was feeling the same - even though he'd had a tiny inkling Harry was probably on the same page - but now that it's happened, now that he knows Harry wants him as thoroughly and as deeply as Louis does... There's no questioning it anymore. There's no turning back. It's overwhelming; it's a relief.

After he stands under the hot water and steam for what feels like a small eternity, he makes his way back up the stairs with his towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of water dripping off the ends of his hair, trickling down his back. He creaks open his bedroom door in case Harry is still sleeping, but he's sitting up in Louis' bed, sleepy look on his face, hair a disaster.

"Hi," he murmurs, running his fingers through his curls.

Louis smiles. "Hello."

Harry smiles back. "Sleep good?"

"Minus the British oaf breathing down my neck all night, yeah, it was good."

"Hm. You should probably have a word with him about that."

"I intend to."

"He'll probably just argue that you smell really good and you're warm and he wanted to be as close to you as possible."

Louis rolls his eyes, but he can feel his face heating up. "Get your own bed, Styles." He turns and starts rifling through his drawer, looking for a pair of jeans to put on. He's about to drop his towel, but he can almost feel Harry's eyes on him. "Are you... Gonna keep staring."