Your Name is Tattooed on my Heart || L.S

Chapter Ten

The week flew by for Louis. He and Harry were in great moods, looking forward to their trip to Doncaster. On Monday, he’d resigned from Cuppa. His boss was sad to see him go, but everyone was supportive and excited about his internship. Tuesday, Liam, Zayn, and Niall had joined him and Harry out for drinks to celebrate. Wednesay, he’d gone out with his long-neglected uni friends, and as expected, Harry fit seamlessly into their world of cheap drinks and 3 a.m. kebabs. Thursday, he’d gone by the radio station to fill out paperwork, popping on air for a few minutes to announce that he was officially employed by Radio One. The show’s Twitter mentions had exploded at that, excited fans even made Intern Louie a UK-wide trending topic. It was extremely flattering and a bit daunting. He’d tweeted out a spelling correction of his name from the show’s Twitter account, and promised to make a personal account soon.

They decided to skip their Friday lectures, and although Harry had made no objection when Louis suggested it, he couldn’t help but think he wasn’t the best influence. Everything in Harry’s life had become less organised since Louis entered it, including his flat. Louis had more than a few articles of clothing crammed into the wardrobe and chest of drawers (folded and hung by Harry), shoes lined neatly along the wardrobe floor, toiletries in the bathroom, and he’d even taken over the bedside table on the side he slept. There was little enough room already, with some of Zayn’s stuff usurping storage space, and Louis felt a twinge of guilt every time he brought over something from his own flat. It was just so much more convenient to keep things at Harry’s.

Harry claimed he didn’t mind, that he found housework relaxing (a concept that baffled Louis), and that there was plenty of room. The one time Louis tried to take his clean laundry home, Harry scooped it out of his arms and told him not to bother. He tried to do his part; accompanying Harry to the launderette, paying for his fair share of washing powder and food, and keeping them in perfectly-brewed tea. In fact, he was just finishing off his morning cup and debating drinking Harry’s, who had yet to come claim his, but decided to give him one more chance.

He went to the bedroom and lingered in the doorway, absentmindedly stroking the stretch of skin above the waistband of his pants, watching Harry pack his bag for the weekend. Harry stood nude; a thoughtful expression on his face as he folded a pair of jeans Louis had never seen him wear.

“Your tea’s getting cold. You cooking breakfast or do you wanna stop at a restaurant? We’ve got time to spare,” Louis said.

“In a minute,” Harry mumbled.

“Can I put some stuff in your bag?” Louis said, wandering over. “Mine’s full.”

“You’ve already packed enough clothes for a week, much less a weekend,” Harry said.

Louis bit his shoulder in protest, but Harry didn’t even flinch. “What do you even need to bring? You wear the same thing every day.”

“Just in case,” Harry said vaguely, patting Louis’ cheek when he bit him again.

Louis got in his face and sneered exaggeratedly, playing a bully. “Look here, you little pipsqueak—”

Harry’s eyes lit up with amusement, flickering from Louis’ sleep-rumpled hair to his snarled upper lip.

“—hand over the bag and no one gets hurt,” he growled.

There was a pause, as if Harry was too overwhelmed with delight to even function, and then he roared a battle cry, grabbing Louis around the waist and throwing him onto the bed.

“Aah!” Louis shouted, flailing as Harry climbed atop him. He bucked up, trying to upheave him. “Get off me, you curly fatso!”

Harry’s giggles were shrill and breathless; a goofy, crooked grin on his face as he wrestled Louis down, pinning him by his wrists.