Fall into your gravity (larry AU by Zarah5)

8

Fall Into Your Gravity - VIII.

They're stuck in a van somewhere between one city and the next, the places all blurring into one another in a way Harry hadn't thought possible when the sheer excitement of getting to travel the US or Europe was almost overwhelming, back when he hadn't realised that he would rarely get to see more than airports and the view from a car window, combined with the insides of studios or concert venues.

Okay, that's not fair. It isn't always this bad, not when they're on tour. Just... One week down, one week to go, and Harry is tired of answering questions like whether he expects his album to place in the top five and what he looks for in a girl.

He's tired in general.

Slouching in his seat, he pulls his phone from his pocket. There are several messages from Louis that he only briefly managed to skim through earlier, and now that he has time, he's fully planning to savour them because Louis never fails to make him grin.

He's barely through the first couple of messages when Niall leans obnoxiously close. "That is totally your Louis smile, mate. You've got it so fucking bad."

"I don't have a Louis smile," Harry protests. He's not that smitten, okay? Except for how he is, but he consciously stopped himself from talking about Louis every five minutes in the course of the last few days, and he's really not that bloody obvious.

Is he?

It's a little insulting how Josh doesn't even bother to look up from his own phone when he says, "Actually, you kind of do have a Louis smile. It's cute."

"Also nauseating," Niall puts in.

"But mostly cute," Sandy says.

"Well." Harry grasps for a clever response and comes up empty-handed. "Okay, but unlike you guys, I received a personal liveticker commentary of the Man U match against Liverpool. So." Actually, Harry meant to watch the match with either the lads or Louis on the phone, but time differences had put it at a point in the morning when their schedule just wouldn't allow for it.

"Let me see," Niall demands, and before Harry realises what's happening, his phone is no longer in his hands.

"That's private." Harry lunges for it, but Niall seeks cover behind Josh and grins, all crinkly-eyed.

"It's footie," Niall says. "How private can it be?"

Um, well. It doesn't start out very private, to be honest, just Louis musing about whether putting Andre Wisdom at full-back truly is a wise move on behalf of Liverpool's manager, admiring Reina's impersonation of a bouncer ('yo, no way are you getting past me') and suggesting that Harry should invest his money in signing a player like, oh, Cristiano Ronaldo for an occasional game of one-on-one which Ronaldo will be contractually obliged to lose -- and no, Louis didn't mean one-on-one to be interpreted in a sexual way because Louis is not willing to share Harry with anyone.

At which point the messages start to deviate. While Harry knows Louis was watching the game in a pub, together with Zayn and Liam who apparently spent the time snogging, it really must have been a pretty disappointing kick if Louis had time to calculate how many corners for either team would equal an orgasm if Harry were with him.

(The answer is: every five corners for Manchester United would entitle Harry to a blowjob, every five for Liverpool would entitle Louis to watch Harry prep himself.)

"Niall," Harry repeats, more insistent, holding out his hand for the phone. "Mine."

Niall's eyes widen at something, possibly the part where Louis explains, in detail, how much he misses Harry's skin -- which is before it turns graphic. "Okay," Niall agrees quickly, "Okay, yes, private." He blinks before he looks away from the screen, a lovely blush spreading from his neck and travelling upwards.

Harry snatches the phone back, and suddenly, it's pretty funny. "Your face," he tells Niall before he bursts into laughter.

It takes only a moment before Niall starts grinning as well, shaking his head. "Remind me not to steal your phone again. Ever. And to buy earplugs for when we're back at home, holy shit."

"I'm not sure you even made it to the explicit bits," Harry says. "Do you want me to read them for you?"

"No," Niall, Josh and Sandy exclaim at the same time.

Still laughing, Harry curls back up in his seat and settles in to compose an adequate reply.

--

It's some point between late at night and early in the morning when Louis' phone wakes him. The ping of a new message jerks him right out of a dream, disoriented for a moment, and his first impulse is to roll over and go back to sleep, but... Middle of the night. Time difference.

Harry.

Groping for the phone, Louis squints at the painfully bright display, waiting for his eyes to adjust before he calls up the message. It is indeed from Harry, and all it says is, 'Can't breathe.'

Louis hits the call button without even thinking about it.

Harry picks up right away, and his first word is, "Sorry." He sounds miserable. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Sitting up, Louis leans his back against the wall and tries to rid himself of the lingering haze of sleep. "Haz, I told you the time doesn't matter. Ialways want to talk to you. What's wrong?"

"I don't..." Harry inhales in a rush, keeping the air in his lungs for several seconds before he exhales, a little shakily. "Shit."

Louis hums something, content to wait Harry out. The clock informs him that it's shortly before four in the morning, so that makes it... Is Harry in New York right now? Louis isn't good at remembering things like dates or his own schedule, much less that of someone else, but the Metro had a blurb yesterday about Harry traipsing all over the US, and Louis is pretty certain that New York was next on the list.

Which makes it around, what, eleven at night for Harry?

"Just had dinner with Taylor Swift," Harry says without preamble.

"Oh." That's really all Louis has to say. His stomach hurts a little, and he sucks in a breath, staring at the wall without blinking. Is this it? Is this... Louis doesn't expect to keep Harry, those things don't happen in real life, right, but...

But.

"I fucking hated it," Harry whispers, and the pressure on Louis' chest loosens abruptly.

"I'm glad," he says. Then he realises how that sounds and shakes his head even though Harry can't see him, hurries to explain, "Not that you had a bad time, just---I was worried you were breaking up with me, for a sec."

Which, way to reveal his insecurities. Great. Louis really shouldn't be talking to Harry with his brain fuzzy with sleep, his defenses down. The risk of saying more than he should is simply too high, but on the other hand, he doesn't think he would be capable of ignoring a text like the one Harry just sent.

He doesn't know what that says about him, about this thing between them.

"What? No." Harry's voice is loud, unchecked, before he adds in a softer tone, "Absolutely not. No. Louis."

"Well, good." Louis aims for playful and falls short. "Because that would suck, kind of."

Harry is quiet for a second that stretches between them, spans the distance between two continents. When he speaks again, his voice is dark and serious, devoid of even the faintest trace of humour. "Look, as far as I'm concerned, anyone who has you in their bed would have to be really fucking stupid to even look at anyone else. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No." Louis can't help the grin that spreads over his face, and he's sure it colours his words. Here he is, sitting in his bedroom at four in the morning and grinning like an idiot. Jesus, Harry really did a number on him. "No, I don't think you're stupid. And thank you."

"It's the truth," Harry says gruffly. Then he falls back into silence, just the rhythm of his breathing, not entirely steady.

"So you had dinner with Taylor Swift," Louis prompts gently. "Which, by the way, is not a sentence I ever pictured myself saying."

Harry hiccups on a short laugh. "Yeah, it's... Yeah." Again, he trails off.

Crawling out of bed, Louis walks over to the window and pulls the curtains open. The street below lies empty, the streetlamps dotting it with circles of light, and in the opposite building, only one window is illuminated. It belongs to the old man with the tiny, yapping dog and reminds Louis of that lazy morning when he and Harry were waiting to pounce on Liam, Louis making up increasingly ridiculous stories about his neighbours for Harry's entertainment, because he couldn't get enough of Harry throwing his head back in laughter, radiant, his eyes bright and trained on Louis.

A lot of things remind Louis of Harry, these days.

"Hey." Louis keeps his voice light. "Remember that one neighbour of mine, the old geezer who killed his wife? Drowned her in the bathtub and then dissolved the body in acid, secret service training and all? And now he's stuck with her dog, which he never could stand?"

"How could I forget?" It could be Louis' imagination that Harry's breathing comes easier now.

"Well," Louis says. "I think he's killed the dog, too. It's a bit hard to tell from this distance, but the light in his bedroom is on, and there's a very small rug on the floor that wasn't there last time I checked. Same shaggy coat as the dog."

This time, Harry's laugh doesn't die halfway through. "Don't ever change."

"My life ambition is to be Peter Pan," Louis confides. "No lie."

"That's so fitting." Now Harry truly is laughing, the sound curling around Louis like a wisp of smoke. "So who am I, then? Wendy or Tinkerbell?"

Louis considers it, grinning at the nightsky. "Well, you are a bit possessive, so I'd go with Tinkerbell, here. I also believe you're magic, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise."

"Magic and a fairy?" Harry asks, smile shining through.

"That, too. So, little fairy." Louis pauses. "Tell me why dinner with some American country starlet whose name even I know has you in such a mess? Surely the food wasn't that bad."

"The food was delicious." While Harry doesn't sound as miserable as before, all traces of a smile have been erased from his voice. Louis sets his elbows on the windowsill and listens to Harry breathe, waiting for him to continue. It takes a few seconds, then Harry does. "And it's not---Taylor is okay, like, she's very polite? Nice?"

"Are you asking me?"

"No." Harry snorts softly. "No, I mean, she is. It's just, like, my manager suggested it because it's obviously good publicity, and with the secret girlfriend rumours flying around? And, I mean, it was my choice, obviously, like, I could have said no and didn't because I thought it would maybe protect us."

So, okay. Louis' boyfriend is having dinner with someone else to protect their relationship, and fuck, that's... twisted, somehow. Louis isn't quite sure how to feel about it, and it doesn't help that it's the middle of the night and the city lies dormant, little distraction in the form of traffic noise or blinking lights.

"I understand," he says eventually. Because he does, or at least he understands Harry's reasoning; he just doesn't think he fully understands a world in which it is apparently normal for two young people to go on a date with the sole purpose of providing a photo opportunity for paparazzi.

Also, Harry is so famous that Taylor fucking Swift would date him for publicity. In theory, Louis shouldn't be surprised when Harry is likened to Justin Bieber, but---Jesus, it doesn't fit in with the boy Louis is dating, a boy who snuffles in his sleep and sometimes laughs so hard he spits out whatever he's drinking, whose voice goes raspy when he's aroused and who fits against Louis like no one else ever has.

Fuck.

Louis swallows around the sour taste of panic in his mouth. "But Taylor Swift knew it wasn't for real, right?"

"Yeah, of course. I don't think she felt like I held up my end of the bargain, though." Harry's tone is both sheepish and defiant, and Louis can easily picture the stubborn tilt to his mouth, the frown line between Harry's brows. "I just... God, I just can't lie for shit."

"That's not a bad thing, Harry." Louis inhales, lets the statement hang in the air before he adds, "You know that, don't you?"

"I don't know. I guess." Harry laughs, but it's helpless, sad. "It can be a bad thing in my line of work, you know. Like, I can't even act like I'm enjoying myself for the time it takes to have dinner. How the hell am I supposed to lie about you?"

"You don't have to," Louis says quickly, the sour taste back in his mouth. It feels as if the walls of his room are pressing in on him, but when he fixes them with narrowed eyes, everything is still and silent. "No one's asking you about me, so why would you have to lie?"

"I..." Harry clears his throat. "Yeah. You're right. You're right."

"Of course I am," Louis says with a bravado he doesn't feel. Harry doesn't call him on it, though, and for a minute or more, they're just breathing, falling into a rhythm that Louis thinks he could fall asleep to, the phone pressed to his ear.

Harry is the one who breaks the silence. His voice is so quiet that Louis has to strain to even hear him. "Hey. Do you think we could... I know this is ridiculous and, like, don't ever tell anyone because I'll be so embarrassed? But do you think you could... I haven't been sleeping so well, like, with the stress and all, it's been hard to wind down, and I..."

"You want me to stay on the phone?" Louis suggests, and whatever panic he was feeling leaves him in a rush, all tension seeping out of his body. "I can do that. I'd love to. I was thinking the same."

"You were?" Harry sounds cautiously delighted, a little disbelieving.

"I was." Louis leaves no room for doubt in his voice. "Genius minds and all that shit, I guess. Just, um." He kind of hates himself for even thinking it, but... He'd insisted on paying his share of the rent for the boat which they took for a spin on the Thames, and, well, he checked his account balance yesterday. So.

"Um?" Harry repeats.

"Am I paying the charges for this being a call to the US? Shit, sorry. I'm sorry, Haz, it's just---"

"It's just that you refused to let me pay for the boat, you little prick." Harry snickers. "Told you so."

Against his will, Louis finds himself grinning. "Shove your smug where the sun don't shine, sweetheart. It's nothing I can't handle, but a phone bill of two-hundred pounds or whatever might be the final straw. I'm a growing boy, I need to eat."

"I question the growing part," Harry tells him, still blatantly amused. "I'll call you back, though. Okay?"

"I might not pick up," Louis threatens, but his tone makes it clear that he doesn't mean it even a bit. When it comes to Harry, Louis is beginning to think he's simply incapable of saying no.

He doesn't see why he would want to.

--

There are strikes at Charles de Gaulle airport and, like an infection, they spread to affect the whole of European air traffic. By the time Harry's aeroplane gets a slot for take-off, the half-day he planned on spending wrapped up in Louis' arms, in his smile and warmth, has dwindled down to nothing, leaves him with just enough time to change his clothes and get to the Alan Carr show in time to tape his appearance.

He hates himself for feeling almost teary-eyed over such a small thing. Just, fuck. He's exhausted.

When he texts Louis to let him know, Louis' reply is almost instant. ':( I totally baked a cake for you . Maybe this is a sign I should not be allowed near an oven .'

Some of Harry's desolation melts away, just like that, with a simple text from Louis. 'You baked for me??'

'Well,' Louis' response says, and Harry can picture him shifting his weight with a sheepishly mischievous grin. 'I made Liam bake because that's better for everyone . I helped, though ! Tasted the batter and all .'

I love you, Harry thinks.

It should feel big, monumental, but really, it just seems inevitable. He slumps in his seat and, after a moment, he smiles even though he knows his agenda leaves him only one night with Louis, bad planning whisking him off to Germany tomorrow, but...

But it is one night with Louis, and that's already more than Harry might deserve.

--

For all that Harry really only wants to get to Louis, he forces the urge down and stops to pose for some pictures and sign a few posters, steering clear of the professional autograph hunters in favour of the actual fans, the ones who make it all possible.

When he hops in with Frank, the sky is already darkening. Harry waves while the car pulls off the kerb, smiling for the cameras pointed at him, and it's only when they're out of sight that he sinks back into the upholstery, the smile staying with him.

"Home?" Frank asks, catching Harry's gaze in the rearview mirror. He shakes his head before Harry gets a chance to reply. "No, forget it, I'll drop you off at Louis', no?"

Harry feels his smile widen. "Yeah. How did you know?"

Which is a good question considering Frank and Louis haven't even met. Then again, Frank was involved in the convoluted plan that had to be built around Louis sort of picking Harry up from the airport, more than two weeks ago. In addition, Niall doesn't have a subtle bone in his body once he actually trusts someone, so he probably spilled the whole story at some point.

"Your smile," Frank tells him. "You've always been too easy to read, lad. Makes me worry about you sometimes, if I'm perfectly honest."

"I know." Harry sighs, but the prospect of seeing Louis in just a few minutes means he can't really bring himself to care. He closes his eyes, lets the hum of the engine soothe the buzz that always follows him after a public appearance.

His eyes fly open when Frank accelerates sharply, the car jumping forward. They make it past a traffic light just as it turns red.

Harry blinks because this? Is not typical behaviour for Frank. "What was that?"

"Thought there was a car following us." Frank glances in the rearview mirror, his wrinkled face still concerned. "I might be seeing ghosts, don't mind me. Probably seen one movie too many."

"Okay," Harry says slowly. He sits up a little straighter, keeps watching the road and counting down the minutes to Louis' place.

By the time Frank turns into Louis' street, Harry has stopped glancing back because Louis. Louis, Louis, Louis. There's no parking space available in front of the house, so Frank drops him off around the corner, motor idling while Harry grabs his bag from the trunk, already packed for his next trip.

"See you tomorrow," Harry calls, and Frank salutes him before he drives off.

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Harry makes his way back to Louis' door, tugging his beanie deeper over his hair when a group of people approaches on the other side of the road. They pass without sparing him a glance, but just as Harry lifts a hand to ring Louis' bell, he thinks he sees something move out of the corner of his eye.

When he turns his head, it's only a car driving past slowly, probably looking for a parking spot.

Okay, this is not the time to grow paranoid.

Hitching the bag up higher, Harry presses the bell to Louis' flat, shoves his hands in his pockets and grins when the door buzzes almost right away, as if Louis had already been waiting. Harry nudges it open with his hip, glances back over his shoulder and doesn't see anything.

He takes the stairs two at a time.

--

"You," Louis begins the moment Harry comes into sight, flushed cheeks and enormous smile, and Louis loses his train of thought.

"Yes?" Harry says. "Me?" He takes the last step and then he doesn't stop, just keeps walking until he's all up in Louis' space, their bodies slotting together, Harry's legs caging Louis, crowding Louis back into the flat with the door falling shut behind them.

Harry isn't usually this assertive, his mouth a determined curve, fingers digging into Louis' waist, and Louis thinks this might be something Harry needs right now, the feeling of control. He's not about to deny him.

Never about to deny him.

Standing on tiptoes, Louis blinks against the artificial light in the entrance area and allows Harry to claim his mouth, parts his lips for Harry's tongue and lets Harry set the pace of their kiss, lets him take over completely. Harry towers over him, the spicy hint of his aftershave wrapping around Louis, and it takes several minutes before Harry's hold loosens, kisses slowing, easing into something less desperate and more gentle.

"Missed you," Harry mumbles.

"Same here, Haz." Louis laces his hands behind Harry's back and grins up at him, the wall solid behind him and Harry smooth and long-limbed against his front. Fuck, life is good. "You have no idea."

"Yeah?" The corners of Harry's eyes crinkle.

"Absolutely." For emphasis, Louis pulls him into another kiss, and this time, Harry is content to follow Louis' lead, pliant and open, trusting.

When they separate eventually, Harry is smiling, rubbing a thumb over his own lips as if to test whether they're swollen. It's such a little gesture, but it makes all the blood in Louis' body rush south, makes him swallow around the need that sits thick in his throat.

"So," Harry asks. "What was it you were saying, before?"

"You expect me to think?" Louis stares at him, so beautiful, warm and honey-coloured even in the cool lamplight. "I mean, now?"

Harry's laugh rings clear and true, and there is no way Louis is not moving back in to capture the sound before it even leaves Harry's mouth, claiming it for his own. "You," he tells Harry when he pulls back, "are not allowed to leave this flat, ever. All I hear are stories about girls camped out in the rain just so you'll wave at them, and I do not like it."

"Now who's Tinkerbell?" Harry asks, dimples on full display.

Louis pokes his cheek. "I don't have the curvy hourglass figure."

"Well, maybe not, but..." Grabbing Louis' bum, Harry nudges their noses together, so close that his smile blurs. "You do have some nice curves, it has to be said."

"Sexual harassment," Louis exclaims, widening his eyes. "What a shame that Zayn and Liam aren't here to witness my plight."

"We're alone?" Harry's smirk is one of the hottest things Louis has ever seen. He wants to rub off against it, come all over Harry's face and oh, wow, this train of thought didn't take long to derail.

"Yes." He tilts his hips forward, pressing against Harry. "We are very alone. Zayn and Liam say hi and pretend they're giving us some privacy, but I really just think that's code for having sex in Zayn's car."

"Nothing wrong with sex." Harry's voice has gone dark, his pupils wide, vaguely drugged.

"Nothing wrong at all," Louis confirms. He sneaks a hand between their bodies to cup Harry through his trousers. "Unless you want cake first?"

"I want you first," Harry says and that, yeah, Louis can live with that. Clasping Harry's wrist in a tight grip, he twists away from the wall, tugs Harry sharply in the direction of his room. Harry follows without hesitation.

--

On his way back from the bathroom, Louis pokes his head into the kitchen to find out who's already rummaging around in there and, more importantly, if there is tea. As far as Louis is concerned, tea and mornings are like Romeo and Juliet, only without the poison and the families hating each other and the dying.

Come to think of it, it isn't a very good comparison.

It turns out that the person traipsing about the kitchen is Liam -- which is not much of a surprise since only the impending apocalypse would force Zayn out of bed before nine, and since Harry was still curled up in Louis' bed, loose and sleep-warm, when Louis went to relieve his bladder.

Liam raises one brow when he catches sight of Louis. "Good night?"

Glancing down his own chest, Louis notices the obvious purple mark on his hip. Huh. "Pretty good," he confirms, and a lesser person than Liam -- say, Zayn -- would probably tease Louis about how he is incapable of controlling the grin from spreading over his face.

"Yeah, so subtlety never was your strong suit," Liam says, gently mocking, and oh, the pain. Clearly, he's been corrupted by Zayn's evil ways.

"I don't know if I like what being in a steady relationship has done to you," Louis says. It's a lie because in the last two weeks, Liam has been smiling more than he might have in the entire last year, but hey, Louis doesn't appreciate being teased. He's the one who teases, not the other way around, thank you very much.

He grabs two mugs off the shelf and shakes his head, pinching Liam in passing. "You used to be such a sweet boy, Payne. What happened?"

"Life?" Liam lifts the teapot in a wordless offer and alright, just for that, Louis is willing to forgive him any and all sins, mockery included. He waits for both mugs to be filled before he takes them back, one in each hand, and nods in the vague direction of his room.

"Excuse me, I hope I'm being expected."

Liam waves him off with a broad smile.

When Louis ambles back into his room, he finds Harry bent over his desk, Louis' laptop open in front of him. For a second, Louis is distracted by how Harry is casually naked, the morning sun that shines through a gap between the curtains glinting on his bare shoulders and in his curls, and Louis wants to follow the ripples of his spine down to the curve of his arse.

Then Louis notes the rather smug edge to Harry's smirk and glances past him at the computer screen. And, oops. So the picture Louis had taken of Harry, that morning after the party, might have been the last thing Louis looked at before putting his notebook in standby mode.

"Enjoy looking at me, then?" Harry asks, all unabashed glee, and Louis sets the mugs down and drapes himself across Harry's back, slinging an arm around Harry's waist to pull him closer.

"Eh, maybe a bit." Louis presses an open-mouthed kiss to Harry's shoulder blade. "You can't prove a thing, though."

Harry twists his head to catch Louis' mouth, pulls back to say, "I set this as your desktop background."

"Narcissistic."

"Nah." Harry's smile is clear in his eyes. "Maybe I enjoy you looking at me, is all."

"Alright, then." Louis lets his fingers wander down Harry's stomach, scratching lightly at the trail of dark hair that starts just below Harry's navel. "I think we can come to a compromise, here. But anyway, is that why you turned on the computer when we could just stay in bed until they come pick you up?"

"No, I'm actually..." Harry shifts back against Louis, and Louis is very certain that the way Harry's bum presses against Louis' crotch is not an accident. "I was looking for part one of the verdict."

"Verdict?"

"The UK album charts," Harry clarifies, sounding slightly distracted.

Oh. Shit, yes, Louis totally forgot about that. Harry told him that while the UK album charts come out every Sunday night and will thus be available this morning, the US Billboard charts aren't published until Thursday, and how he would much prefer just knowing everything at once rather than dragging out the suspension.

"Did you already check?" Louis asks.

Harry bites his lip, shakes his head. "No."

"Nervous?" Reluctantly, Louis peels himself away, moves to Harry's side in order to study his face.

"No," Harry says, too quickly. Then, when Louis tilts his head and merely continues to watch him in silence, Harry's shoulders sag. "Yeah. A lot. What if people hate it? I mean," he drops his gaze, words tripping over each other, "apparently, pre-sales were promising, and the critiques were mostly good? Like, there will always be people who don't like what I do, but mostly it was good, just, like, what if my fans buy it and then they don't---"

Louis jerks him into a kiss, nipping at Harry's bottom lip until Harry opens up to him, sinks into it. Starts responding.

Only when Harry is limp in his arms, clutching at Louis' waist, does Louis let him go. "Just so you know," Louis says, touching the corner of Harry's mouth, "I'm really very much in love with you."

There's this endless, frozen moment when Harry stares at him, his eyes huge. Then his chest rises on a deep breath and he reaches for Louis, a smile exploding across his face. "Me too," he mumbles, barely coherent, his eyes fixed on Louis' face.

Something in Louis' chest loosens, expands. "Yeah?"

Harry's smile is brilliant. "Yeah," he says, and then he's the one to move in and erase all space between them. Louis spares a vague thought for the whole album charts thing, but if Harry is content to stay just like this, pressed together with two mugs of tea cooling on the desk, Louis is not about to object.

He definitely isn't about to object when Harry slides up onto the desk, pushing the notebook further back, and parts his thighs for Louis to step in between them.

--

Louis hates watching Harry pack. Or, no, that's not quite true because he is perfectly happy ogling Harry's jeans-clad arse as Harry crouches down to stuff yesterday's clothes into his bag, it's just that, well.

It's that Harry's packing.

In Louis opinion, that can only ever be a good thing if Harry is in a hotel room and packing so he can take a flight back to London. Instead, Harry's off to Germany, where his album shot straight to number one just like it did in the UK, along with top five positions in several other countries. Which, Louis is happy for him, he is. He just wishes Harry could stay a while.

Sprawled on the bed in only his boxers, Louis taps his pillow in time with the music from the radio. Harry glances over, a smile flitting over his face. Louis smiles back. "So, hey, I should probably know this because I'm sure you told me, but when will you be back again?"

Zipping up his bag, Harry straightens, pushing a hand through his tangled hair, his cheeks still a little flushed. Absently, Louis wonders how he will show up in the pictures the paparazzi will take at the airport, whether he'll still seem as freshly fucked as right now, even with his t-shirt hiding the marks on his stomach. It's a delicious look on him.

"Actually," Harry starts, before he trails off, walking over to join Louis on the bed.

Louis props himself up on his elbows and tilts his head. "That sounds ominous. Are you breaking up with me?"

"It's the sex," Harry says, tone dry. "You just don't give me enough orgasms."

"I can change," Louis exclaims, clasping one of Harry's hands in both of his and fluttering his lashes. "I will break my vow of celibacy until marriage, if that's what it takes."

"I love you," Harry tells him, as if now that they started saying it, he can't repeat it often enough. Because Louis is not actually a teenage girl, he beams only a little. Okay, a lot. But it's only the sixth time he's heard it, not that he's keeping count, and also, only Harry is there to see it and won't ever tell anyone. Right?

"Just so you know..." Louis licks a stripe across the back of Harry's hand, and Harry snatches it away, sticking out his tongue. He moves back when Louis tries to catch the tip of it, and Louis laughs, rolls onto his back. "Okay, if you ever tell anyone how mushy we are, I will have to kill you."

"Deal," Harry says. "I mean, I'm embarrassed on our behalf. And, like, what I was going to ask before you distracted me---"

"I'm very distracting," Louis interrupts, "it's true."

Harry continues without missing a beat. "---is, like, you have this introduction day at Guildhall tomorrow, right, but then you don't actually have to be anywhere until a week on Monday?"

"How do you remember my schedule better than I do?" Louis asks.

"Because I'm organised?" Harry suggests. "So, okay, I have some things in Germany tomorrow and on Wednesday morning, but then I get a few days off, hard to believe as it is. And I've always wanted to spend a bit of time in the Bretagne because, like, there are those pictures of high cliffs and with the changing tides and all. I don't think it'll be crowded even in summer, and you could teach me some surfing?"

Louis works his way through the string of words. "You're asking me to take a holiday with you? In France?"

"Brest has a small airport, and there are no direct flights, but I checked, okay, and..." Harry leans forward, smiling, his eyes bright and that telltale flush still staining his cheeks and making it hard for Louis to concentrate. "Even with a layover in Charles de Gaulle, you could be there by Wednesday evening if you leave in the afternoon."

"That sounds..." Louis takes a deep breath and holds the air in his lungs for a moment before he exhales. Fuck, he wants that. The idea of escaping with Harry for a few days, nothing but them and the Atlantic, God. "Amazing. It sounds amazing, Haz."

Harry darts in for a quick kiss, keeps his eyes open throughout. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Louis confirms. Then he sighs and looks away. "It's just that I can't."

Harry's response comes with a notable delay, and when he speaks, his voice is small. "Why?"

"Poor student, remember?" Louis laughs, but it doesn't sound convincing even to his own ears. His head is filled with stupid useless thoughts of high waves and the taste of salt on his lips, falling asleep with Harry wrapped around him and the rhythm of the ocean in his ears, and it's not fairthat Harry put the idea out there.

Without warning, Harry crawls on top of him, cupping Louis' face in his huge hands. "It was an invitation, Louis."

"No." Trapped by Harry's fingers, Louis has a hard time looking away, so he doesn't. "You can't just fly me in to France for an extended weekend.Harry."

"Why not?" Harry frowns, the way he does when Louis refuses to share his food and fuck, Louis isn't good at refusing him anything when he looks like that, sad and pitiful.

"Because I'm not Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman." Louis reaches up to cover Harry's hands with his own. Harry's elbows are braced on either side of Louis' head, and with Harry's body pressing him into the mattress, Louis is tempted to cut this conversation short in favour of snogging Harry until they're both breathless and rutting against each other, but this, okay, this is actually important. Louis is trying to make a point, here. "I won't let you slap a credit card on the counter and dress me in new clothes."

A small grin tugs at Harry's stupidly kissable mouth. "Trust me, I have no interest in you wearing more clothes than you absolutely have to."

"Not funny," Louis protests, although he can't quite bite down on his answering grin. Maybe it is mildly funny, whatever.

"Come on, it was funny," Harry tells him. "At least a little, right?" He shifts, one leg sliding in between Louis' thighs, but the amusement in his expression fades once a quiet second has passed. "I want to treat you, Lou. You're not taking advantage of anything when I want to do this, when Iwant to spend time with you. Why are you fighting me every step of the way?"

"Because we're equals in this relationship, Harry." Twisting his arse off the mattress, Louis rolls them over to reverse their positions, coming to loom over Harry. The way Harry sucks in a quick breath and then swallows, throat moving with it, is highly distracting and almost makes Louis forget the point he was trying to get across. "Equals, okay? I want to contribute my fair share."

Harry's smile is sudden, as if he's just been handed a lovely gift. His voice is low and serious. "Yeah, we're equals. But don't you get that for me, a hundred pounds is a lot easier than it is for you?" He waits a beat before he continues. "Which means that in order for things to be equal, it shouldn't be about numbers, but about how much it means. Like, it would be fair if I pay for your flights and our lodgings, and you pay when we shop for groceries."

Louis opens his mouth to contradict Harry's line of reasoning, then closes it again. Already, he can see Harry's eyes lighting up, so utterly and breathtakingly lovely in the soft light that makes it through the curtains, stretched out beneath Louis, everything about him long and warm.

Shit, Louis is so gone for him.

Dropping his head to Harry's neck, Louis sighs, nodding against Harry's skin. "Okay, that actually made sense."

"Hey." Despite the protest, Harry's voice is bright with laughter. "I do make sense! I'm clever."

"You have your moments," Louis allows. "But what you just said, you really thought about this, haven't you?"

Harry slings both arms around Louis' back, his fingers splaying over Louis' naked skin, casually possessive. His answer is slow, carefully chosen like so much of what he says. "I thought you'd fight me on it, so I drafted my sister into working on my argumentation."

"Your sister?" Louis asks, lifting his head off Harry's neck.

"She says she wants to meet you sooner rather than later," Harry tells him, smiling, and he's really just... God, he's impossible, radiant, really and truly irresistible, so Louis kisses him until Harry's phone startles them apart.

"One day, when you least expect it, I will drown that fucking thing," Louis growls. With a show of reluctance, he rolls off Harry and watches as Harry silences the phone, pushes to his feet and stands in the middle of the room for a moment, clearly trying to compose himself. The bulge in his trousers is rather obvious.

Turning his head, Harry catches Louis' gaze. "Bretagne," he says. "I'll book the tickets and text you the details."

"Bretagne," Louis confirms, as if they're chanting some kind of mantra.

For several seconds, they grin at each other like idiots. Then Harry snatches up his bag, grabs Louis for a quick kiss and dashes out of the room.

--

When Harry peeks out the door, the van is idling on the kerb, plenty of parking space now that business hours keep many of the cars and their owners away from home. To Harry's surprise, it's not just Paul and Joanne who are already seated, but also all of Harry's band, present and accounted for, sprawled in the back seats even though it would have made more sense to pick Sandy and Dan up last.

That would have cost Harry about ten minutes with Louis, though. He suspects that it's the reason for this deviation from routine.

He really fucking loves these people.

Bright sunlight washes over Harry when he steps out onto the road. He grins, waves at the others and doesn't immediately notice that there is a camera pointed at him from behind the windscreen of a parked car.

Shit. Fucking... shit.

This is not supposed to happen, it's fucking... It's not fair, and Harry freezes, feels his throat close up as he stares at the glassy eye of the lens for a second before he rushes forward, hops into the car.

"Paps," he says by way of a greeting, and Paul swears while Frank is already putting the van into gear, pulling off before the door has even really closed behind Harry. Not that it make a difference anymore, now.

"How did they know?" Harry asks no one in particular, and he focuses on pushing down the sick knot in his stomach, breathes through the pressure on his chest.

Niall's arm around him doesn't really help, but Harry leans into it all the same. There is nothing but deafening silence for a minute, the engine buzzing in Harry's blood and behind his forehead. Then Niall says, quietly, as if he barely dares to even put it out there, "You know how security in our building keeps a log of who comes and goes, and when? The night before we left for the US, with Louis staying over, that might---"

"No," Harry cuts him off because this, he doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't even want to think about the possibility of the press having an in to his... his home. That would be like...

No. Just no.

Niall doesn't reply, just pulls Harry a little closer, Josh shifting on Harry's other side to drape his legs over Harry's lap. Slowly, the shivering sensation in Harry's limbs dissipates.

This is not the end of the world. Yes, he was caught sneaking out of Louis' place in the morning, but whatever speculation this will cause... It's going to be just that: speculation, something that will die a slow death if they simply wait it out, no acknowledgment that the rumours even exist because that would only fuel them.

Harry refuses to consider what this might mean for the trip to the Bretagne.

Instead, he pulls out his phone and types a quick message for Louis. 'Lou, I was papped coming out. Might be a bit hectic for you for a couple of days? Just say no comment and things will calm down. They don't have anything, not really.' He hesitates before he adds, 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll call as soon as I can.'

He sends the message and then tucks his phone away, leans his head on Niall's shoulder and tries to stop his thoughts from spinning. It's just the jerky motions of the car that make him feel sick, as if he needs to throw up any moment.

It's nothing.