And then a bit

IX

Men du tog mig til side og sagde du skal vide
Det her kommer ikke hver eneste dag
Og hvis du bare giver slip så stikker det af
Det er de ord der hænger ved mig nu
For hvis ikke os hvem skulle så ku'
(Marie Key – "Uden Forsvar")

CHAPTER IX:

So they only have one day to recuperate from their trip to Thailand before the day of their first show, the beginning of their first tour in two years. That might not be all that smart, probably, but Louis wouldn't trade it for anything, even if he is rather awful at dealing with jet lag. Besides, the first day of tour always means that everyone is buzzing with energy, like they might actually be breathing in adrenaline instead of air. So Louis might be fucking knackered now, but he's quite sure that once he wakes up tomorrow morning, he'll be more than ready to kick off their world tour in style.

The bed dips next to him as Harry crawls in, sliding up behind and spooning him. He yawns into Louis' hair, places a kiss on the back of his neck, and Louis is just about to say goodnight when he speaks.

"I think I want to get a tattoo."

Louis huffs out a laugh, because Harry's saying it like it might actually be a surprise to him that he wishes to ink himself, when really he's probably more surprised that it's taken him this long to get something new. "Oh?" he says, instead of voicing those thoughts, waiting for Harry to elaborate.

"Yeah— I mean, yeah. Yeah. Uh, not really sure what though. Something small, I think. Just a little one."

"Hmm," Louis hums non-committally, burying his face further into the pillow, until he suddenly remembers something he'd read on twitter yesterday. "Actually," he says, hesitating, "Uh, I read this tweet yesterday where, like fans were wondering why we hadn't gotten any matching tattoos since we became public..." He trails off and waits for Harry's reaction, unsure how to continue.

"Oh?" he inquires, after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah, I mean, like... we don't have to do anything about, but like. Maybe just a little thing would be nice? Just as mates. Just something platonic, it doesn't even have to have anything to do with each other, we just need everyone else to draw that conclusion, and—"

"Lou," Harry cuts him off, laughing. "Louis. I'd like that, really." He pulls Louis against him a little tighter and it almost hurts, but in the very best way. "Solves my problem of not knowing what to get too."

Louis nods his head, unsure if Harry can even see it in the darkness of the room, but knows he must hear the rustling of the sheets if nothing else. One of his hands move to Harry's wrist where it's resting on Louis' tummy, thumbing over the words that he last had inked into the skin there. It lingers on the three dots that Louis is the artist behind, pressing his thumb into them with light pressure.

"Actually," Harry says, drawing out the word and speaking even more slowly than usual, "I was just thinking, like, uh. We're just talking small tattoos, right? Like, so, uh, maybe we could draw one for each other? Like something small, just. Something us, you know?"

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Louis asks.

"Well, if you draw a little something that'll remind me of you, and I'll do the same, and then we'll get them as tattoos?"

Louis can't help the grin that spreads across his face. "You do know I can't draw for shit, right?"

Harry swats his shoulder with exaggerated exasperation. "That's not the point, Louis. I'm not asking Zayn, I'm asking you, I know I'm not going to get a bloody Picasso piece—"

"Mate, have you seen Picasso's paintings? Like the bloke is good, whatever, but you do not want to get that on your body, trust me."

Harry huffs in slight annoyance, retracting the arm that has stayed on Louis' shoulder. "You could just say if you think it's a bad idea, I—"