Cupid's Defence

Chapter 8

viii.

Of all the good ideas Louis had ever had, agreeing to break into Lyvoninsky HQ was not one of them.

Admittedly, kissing Harry was also on the list. Because between the anxiety of this doomed trip and his stinging face, Harry's lips were all he could fucking think about.

He hoped Harry could feel it too, if only to just...Not be alone in feeling it. To not feel as though his brain was fucking with him, again. To tell himself that it was perfectly normal to want to kiss someone twice in twenty-four hours. To say that it was just a phase that made him fantasise about Harry's jaw for the entire journey. Or imagine what would be like to bite his lip.

Harry had to snap him out of it. Because otherwise, they were toast.

"Louis," Harry spoke, and it was weird seeing him speak in another body: in another tone, "You are dreaming of the day."

"Daydreaming," Louis blinked, rapidly, "I-- Yeah."

Harry frowned. "You should not do that whilst driving."

Louis pulled the car to a stop in the car park, and rested his head against the wheel. "I shouldn't. You're-- completely right."

An expression of surprise hit Harry's face, as if he had not expected the criticism to land. "Are you alright, Louis?"

"I just--" Louis blinked, rapidly, "This is weird."

"It is?"

It's weird because I want to kiss you, all of a sudden. Constantly. And it's even weirder because I've never wanted to kiss you before. And fucking hell, you took me to paradise last night, and I can't help but wonder what it would be like to feel that again...

"You--" Louis looked away, "Having a weird face. A different one, I mean."

Yeah, right. His hands began to tremble.

"It's just a weird situation to be in," he conceded. And fuck, he wasn't lying. Going into the headquarters of the people who were suing them...Was ludicrous, not to mention wrong, and unsafe, and unreal...

"I am here with you," Harry said, and it was his real voice again, "Do not forget that."

His voice was so solemn Louis had to take a breath, or two, just to let them sink in. Then, he nodded.

"Okay," he said, and Harry reached over, and squeezed one of his shaking hands.

"Louis," he spoke, solidly. "It will be okay."

"It-- yeah," Louis drew in a sharp breath, "Yeah. So, we...We, uh..."

He struggled to find the thought he was chasing, for a moment. Harry holding his hand had a lot to do with that. It was reminding him, painfully, of Harry's hand on his knee the night before, squeezing it as they kissed...

Louis looked up, and Harry was still looking at him, patiently so. The eye contact shocked him into proceeding.

"We need to think of names."

"Bart." Harry said, instantly.

"...Bart?" Louis blinked, "You want to be called Bart?"

Shock hit Harry's expression. "Is it...Not a good name?"

"No," Louis laughed, "I just...I don't see where it came from."

"On the television in the living room," Harry explained, blinking, "There is a programme that comes on when the sun begins to set. It is about people with square, pointed heads, and one of them is called Bart."