Love is a Word (You Gave it a Name) l.s

Ten Days to Christmas

"Can we watch the snow? Can we watch it dance and blow, warm, in our blankets?"
                    - tyler knott gregson

*

Touching down in London is absolute bliss. Louis quite literally steps out of the jet, slips, and falls on his arse, and he doesn't even give a fuck – there's something about the air, dirty and freezing cold as it is, that smells of home.

"Alright?" an amused voice asks from above him.

Louis looks up. Harry's wearing sunglasses, for whatever reason, and his bun is falling apart on one side, probably because he'd slept all over Louis on the plane.

"Fine," Louis huffs, trying to hold onto the last shreds of his dignity. Harry has seen him in much more embarrassing situations, of course, but Louis can hear the click of the camera they've hired, and he'd rather not make a complete tit of himself in front of everyone who opens the paper tomorrow. "A little help?"

Harry grins, one of those soft, beautiful ones that Louis loves. He's happy to be home too, Louis knows, can see it in the relaxed line of his shoulders and tucked into the corner of his smile. He reaches out a hand, his anchor hovering right in front of Louis's nose; Louis is still not used to being this close to him outside, in plain view of anyone.

By the time Louis is back on his feet and trying to get the worst of London's trademark sludge snow off his joggers, the other boys have sleepily staggered off the plane. They've only got one car waiting for them, as per special request from Niall, and Louis only grumbles a little when he piles in. This is the last they'll be seeing of each other for a good two weeks – he can handle not going straight home for once.

"Alright, lads," Niall, arguably the most awake out of all of them, shouts as soon as the car gets rolling. "Gather 'round."

Louis raises an eyebrow. He is very gathered, sitting half in Zayn's lap and half on Liam's legs, leaning against Harry with his feet propped up against the window.

"What is it?" Zayn asks, the only one willing to indulge Niall at all times.

Niall digs into his pocket. He pulls out what looks like a handful of shredded napkins from the plane and gives them a ridiculous grin. "Secret Santa!" he announces.

A unanimous groan ripples through the car. Then, unanimously, all of them reach into Niall's open palm.

It's pointless to try to resist him, really.

Louis, ever a competitor, shoves Zayn and Liam's hands away to get there first. He grabs the piece of napkin that looks the least handled. Harry, it says, in handwriting so atrocious it can only belong to Niall. Nice. Lucky hands, Louis has.

"What's secret Santa about, then?" Liam asks, frowning at his napkin before he balls it up and throws it out of the window.

"Presents," Niall looks at him with one eyebrow raised, willing him to keep up. "Good ones, too. Tommo will promise to not get us any more of them blowup sex dolls, and booze is off the table. Let's get creative, lads."

Niall is actually so fucking weird. Louis loves him, God, does he ever, but he'd still give anything to know how his brain works.

Still. A creative present for Harry should not be an issue.

Like he knows Louis is thinking about him, Harry shifts, knocking elbows with the lads until the two of them are side by side. He looks tired even in profile, heavy bags under his eyes and a pronounced wrinkle that runs between his eyebrows. His voice has been giving him trouble lately, too, and Louis can't wait until he gets to tuck him into bed and light up all his fancy candles.