Larry Stylinson ao3 one shots.

Cutie and the Boxer

DIS MY FUCKING FAV

Written by:anomalation

Summary:Harry's a flower child recluse and Louis punches people for money on weekends. Or, the one where Harry's asexual and Louis loves him.

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"Yeah," Louis would tell anyone who would hear it. "My dad beat the piss out of me. How do you think I got so good at taking it and giving twice as good as I got? Should stop by to thank the old bastard one day." He's not the only fighter in his circuit with a fucked up past, he knows that, but he's the only one who brags about it.
Partially because of that, he's got a reputation for being one prickly motherfucker. He's not interested in making friends. He goes to fights alone and limps home on his own.
Graffiti, though, is different. It's a team sport. And Zayn is his MVP.
"Anything?" Louis asks. Streetlights and a dark block make him anxious.
"Nothing. They're taking care of a mugging six blocks away. We're cool."
Louis sprays another arc of teal. "Have I ever mentioned that you're my favorite mate?" he says.
"About forty times since I stole this police radio," Zayn says dryly. "And not once before. Use some white to give it dimension." His face looks sharp in the deep shadows, like some comic book hero.
"Then you do it, Mister Fancy-pants Artist." Louis hands over the spray cans and lets Zayn take over. He adds finesse to Louis' scribblings. Kinda like how he carries a knife while Louis just punches people.
"Alright. Can we go?" Louis asks after a moment. "Please? Let's be done. It doesn't have to be perfect."
"No shit, Lou. You decided 'wanker' is the most important thing to write on the wall here, I'm not going for a Picasso," Zayn says in slight exasperation.
"Well, this is the building where that twat who sucker-punched me lives. I'm sorry I don't have any fucking Shakespeare to better convey my hatred, Zayn," Louis snaps, adding a quickly-sprayed penis in red, just out of spite. "Is it pretty enough to sign yet?"
Zayn's his friend because he finds Louis' anger funny instead of frightening. "Fuck off," he says. "He'll know, alright? Can we go?"
"Yeah, let's go." Louis puts the spray can in his pocket. "Let's go."
"Finally."

Louis gets in late – or early, as it were. The sun's just coming up, so he's just starting to be able to see the blood on his knuckles and clothes. There's a lot. It doesn't make him worried anymore, instead inspiring this deep weariness. Like his strength was bled out of him. It'll be back in a day, after he drinks and rests, but most importantly after he showers. He pours rubbing alcohol over all his scrapes and stretches his limbs out. Nothing broken tonight.
He takes about six pain pills before getting into the shower. He falls naked into bed after, and tries to go to sleep. Fuck, he's so tired but he just can't. He plays the fights over in his head until he physically can't anymore and slips into restless dozing, but it doesn't feel good. He's so fucking tired.
It feels like less than a minute of sleep before Zayn's pushing his shoulder. "Get up, mate," he says. Louis doesn't have to open his eyes to know he's smoking; he can taste it acrid in the back of his throat.
"Why are you even here?" Louis murmurs.
"You told me to. You said to get you up so you can see the wanker's reaction to our work of art. And I asked how the hell you know his schedule and you told me to fuck off before you hit me," Zayn recounts calmly. "Come on, mate."
"Jesus." Louis sits up reluctantly.
Zayn huffs out half a breath. "Fuck, man. Shit. Bad night?"
"Good night," Louis corrects. "Fucked them up."
"They fucked you up pretty bad, too, looks like."
"Nah, I'm fine." Louis reaches over and snags a bottle of pills. "Let's go."
"Y'gonna eat something?"
"Does this look like a flat that has food in it?" It's not even a flat, really. It's a dank basement. His front door comes out near some trash cans.
"No," Zayn says. "But we could stop and get something."
"No money. Let's just go."
Zayn smokes more than he eats, so he gives up on that conversation. He and Louis walk to the building in the early-morning sunlight. "Fuck, what time is it? Louis says, rubbing his eye and then swearing under his breath.
"Just before eight, like you asked."
Louis slept for barely an hour. If that. Fuck, though, it'll all be worth it to see the prick stop looking so fucking smug, just for half a second. At least he didn't have to put on a jacket. It's so nice outside, he's comfortable in his cutoff T-shirt and some jeans. Zayn's got on layers, but he always has. Louis intends to look good for the prick. Or to look intimidating, at least. A few more tattoos might help, but too late for that now.
"Could use a drink," he says absently.
"With that hand, I imagine you could."
Louis looks down at his hand and flexes his knuckles. "Y'know, breaking bones-"
"Makes them stronger, yes I know." Zayn lights another cigarette, cupped hand around the end. "You spout that bullshit line all the time. Should never have told you that."
They stop across the street from the graffiti, leaning against the wall next to each other. Zayn lets Louis bum a drag off him, but otherwise they're pretty still and quiet next to each other. "Really is eye-catching," Louis says after a moment.
Zayn snorts. "It's orange and teal, Louis. Of course it is. That was kind of the specific point, wasn't it?"
Louis laughs and shrugs. "Fair."
"Why not just punch him?" Zayn asks after a moment. "If he's such a twat. It's not like you're exactly a pacifist as it is."
"Because he doesn't deserve that. And also because this was more fun. And more fucking embarrassing for him. Prick." Louis taps his knuckles against the brick wall behind them. There's graffiti there too, older and abstract. Color everywhere, the wall, his face, his arm.
A door opens a few feet away from them, but it's not the prick's building so Louis keeps tapping and thinking about color. But someone's walking up to them. "'Scuze me," the guy says.
"The fuck you want, mate," Louis says, not looking up. The guy's wearing weird-ass sandals.
"If you're going to loiter, could you do it elsewhere? I have a class coming, and I'd rather they not be scared off. Oh, is your arm alright?"
"I'm fine," Louis says automatically. "And we'll be gone soon."
"Yeah, but like how soon? Because my class begins in-"
Zayn laughs, his lazy slow one, and murmurs, "Give it a rest, man."
"I'm sorry," the boy says flatly. "I didn't realize you were too busy to speak to someone politely. I'll just call the police."
"Fuck," Louis frowns. "No need to overreact." He looks the kid in the eyes then. Green eyes. Zayn did a tag this color once, on a brown brick wall above a pizza parlor. He's got flowers in his hair, of all things, and he's wearing a flannel shirt open to nearly his navel. "Look, flowerchild. We'll be out here in fifteen minutes, max. Good enough?"
The boy frowns. "My name is Harry. And my class begins in fifteen minutes. That's not enough of a buffer zone. Can you lurk somewhere else?"
"I don't know. I need a good view of that." Louis gestures across the street.
"'Wanker'?" Harry reads.
"No. The door. And 'wanker'," Louis admits.
Harry gives him a long look. "Did you do that graffiti? Is that how you got all scuffed up?"
"Scuffed up," Zayn repeats. "Nice way of putting it."
Louis rolls his eyes. "That's all I am," he says. "I'm really fine."
"Tell that to your face, it's more colorful than the fucking wall, mate."
"So you did do it," Harry says. He's been watching them rather intently. "Is that meant for someone in particular to see? Is that why you're-"
"What we're doing is actually none of your business, if I'm remembering correctly," Louis says frostily. "Go back in and enjoy your little class. We'll leave when we're proper ready."
"Oh no. I'm serious, you have to go," Harry says.
"No," Louis says calmly.
"I wasn't joking, I will call the police."
"I'm not joking now when I say I'll knock you on your ass."
"Oh, is that what that's from?" Harry says, so innocently it's patronizing. "Were you in a fight last night?"
Louis' knee-jerk reaction is to deny it, even though that's exactly the truth. He glances at Harry suspiciously. "I don't know. Who's asking?"
"Me."
"I'm not telling some hippie."
Harry reacts with indignance, adjusting the flowers in his hair. "I am not a hippy," he says. "I'm in touch with nature. And myself. But I'm against recreational drug usage."
"Then we officially have nothing in common," Louis says, with a snort at Zayn.
"We have right here in common," Harry says. "Unless you leave."
Louis sighs. "No, for the last time. Leave us alone, alright?"
"Just hit him and be done with it," Zayn says from behind him. "Jesus, c'mon. Must've scrambled your brain last night."
Harry hears him, but he just stands there and looks at Louis. "Yeah," he says. "Just hit me and be done with it, if you're gonna do it."
So what the hell. Louis hits him. It hurts his knuckles – he shakes his hand out and hisses, "Fuck," long and low. "Fuck all of that about stronger bones, this fucking hurts," he says to Zayn.
But Harry's still standing there. He's got blood dripping into his mouth, but he sounds calm when he says, "Leave. Or I'll call the police and I'll have you for assault."
"Jesus," Zayn says.
"Or." Harry wipes at the blood. "You can come inside and join the class. Those are your options."
"You want me to join your class after I just punched you?" Louis demands.
"It's ten quid to get in."
Louis is too proud to say that ten is pretty much all the money he's got in the world, and he won't have Harry calling the police. So he looks at Zayn. Zayn rolls his eyes. "What kind of class is it, even?" he asks.
"I lead the class in expressive painting," Harry says, steel in his voice. He's a dagger wrapped in flowery cloth and plaid. Ridiculous.
"Jesus." Zayn pulls out his wallet and hands over a tenner. Louis follows his lead, sauntering in the door reluctantly but not too hostile.
Harry follows them inside. "Choose an easel," he says, and walks away.
"What, you don't get an easel?" Louis says to his back.
"No, I'm getting a plaster. You can have one too if you ask nicely."
Louis doesn't know what to do. He sits at an easel and frowns at Zayn. "Missing the prick's reaction," he says.
"Alright. Your call. Reaction or jail time," Zayn says dryly. "Hey, flowerchild. Can I smoke in here?"
"No. Sorry."
"Where did you get the supplies?" Zayn asks. "Expensive, innit?"
"Donations," Harry says, coming back with a first-aid kit. "The paintings get auctioned off for charity, to help pay for the shelter down the street."
Louis feels Zayn look at him. He never stayed at that dumbass place, but Zayn did once. He was miserable there. "Okay," he says. "But what do you get out of this whole deal?"
Harry comes over and puts down the kit on a table next to Louis. "I like painting," he says. "Let me see your hand."
"So let's get the chain of events clear," Louis says. "You told me to punch you, and I did. Then you blackmailed us out of twenty pounds and now want to bandage up my hand."
"Yes." Harry's gaze doesn't waver. His eyes are really weirdly light, on second look. Almost colorless. And big, like Bambi. "Unless you think you can handle an infection. Who knows what diseases I might have. I'm sure you're much safer and more sterile with all that street fighting."
Louis isn't quite sure how to react. Harry's just casual enough to make snapping at him rude, but too sarcastic for Louis to pretend he doesn't understand.
"Give me your hand," Harry says.
Louis obeys.
Slowly, with more care than Louis would expect, Harry wraps his knuckles with gauze and tapes it tightly down. Then, very gently, he puts a plaster over the cut on Louis' temple. "Don't be frightening," Harry instructs firmly.
"You're the one that told me to come in," Louis says.
"Yes. And I'm the one telling you not to frighten my students." Harry walks away calmly and begins setting up supplies.
Louis turns to Zayn. "I don't get him."
Zayn dabs his fingertip in some purple. "Mate, I don't know if you're supposed to. Seems like the whole point, innit?" He makes a small purple fingerprint on his paper. "What you don't get is him, seeing through you."
"Bullshit," Louis says.
"Whatever, mate."
"Why you painting with your fingers?" Louis demands. "That's dumb."
"You're dumb."
"Yeah. Stellar comeback right there. Cheers."
Harry speaks up from the front of the room. "No trash talk in the classroom. This is a safe space."
"My ass is a safe space," Louis mutters rebelliously.
"Your ass is probably six shades of bruises right now, so I wouldn't be too bold," Zayn informs him.
That's a pretty good point. Louis did fall down a lot last night. So he stays quiet through the art class and paints like a good little robot. While Harry visits every other student throughout the hour, he leaves them alone. In fact, he doesn't acknowledge their presence until the end, when it's just them and he's cleaning up. Zayn's painting is, of course, a masterpiece. Louis' is average at best.
Harry sneaks a glance at it as he walks by on his way to the sink. "You use a lot of earth tones and warm colors," he observes.
"Okay."
"Why is that?"
"Dunno. Had enough of the others."
Harry hums, like that's an intelligent comment. "Who's the wanker?" he asks. "That you did the graffiti for."
"My ex."
"Can't be your ex if you weren't together," Zayn murmurs.
"Can't be my friend if you're going to be a self-righteous knob," Louis tells him. "I get to decide what I call him."
Zayn flips him off. "I'm going for something to eat," he says. "Coming?"
"Nah. Should clean up."
"Alright. I'll see you around. Bye," he adds with a wave in Harry's general direction. Harry waves back.
"I could clean up for you," Harry says, like that just occurred to him. "You should go with your friend, it's fine."
"Would love to, but I just gave you my last ten quid," Louis says. He takes his things to the sink and turns on the water, then looks up to find Harry frowning. "What?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean... you can have it back," Harry says after a second.
"Nah, you blackmailed me fair and square."
"It doesn't really cost anything to paint," Harry confesses all at once. "Sorry."
Louis puts his hands on his hips. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah. I guess. I was just kind of..."
"You're a vengeful little fucker," Louis says. "But you still beat me. It's fine." He rinses out his brushes.
Harry stays next to him at the sink, too close for Louis' taste. "It's not fine, what will you eat? Do you have anything to eat? When will you have more money?"
"Dunno. Tonight, probably, I dunno. Don't worry about it, it's fine." Louis gets water on the gauze, which makes his knuckles ache sharply again. "Fuck," he says. "Keep the tenner, it's not a big deal." He's aching to punch something again, already. Like an addict.
"Thanks," Harry hesitates. "I could buy you brunch."
Louis eyes him suspiciously. "Brunch." He puts his brushes in the pot with the rest of them.
"Yes. An in-between meal, breakfast and lunch. Because it's barely ten."
Barely ten but it already feels like a lot has happened. He's so fucking exhausted. "Where I'm from, we just call that breakfast, mate."
Harry just keeps looking at him. "What does that mean? Is that a no?"
"It's..." Louis hesitates. "Uh. Wouldn't say no to a coffee."
Harry takes all the paintings off the easels and stacks them against the wall. "If you're going to have coffee, you should also have some carbs and protein," he says. "So the caffeine doesn't make you jittery. Especially if you haven't eaten today."
"And what's it to you?"
Harry just shrugs. "Y'want an egg sandwich or not?"
Louis is proud and cranky, but he isn't stupid. "Sure, if you're offering."
"I just have to lock up, so... if you wouldn't mind waiting."
"Whatever." Louis spends a lot of time picking at the scab on his arm. It's over his tattoo, the arrow. When it heals, he'll have to get the ink fixed. Zayn will do that for him, at least. Thank God for Zayn.
"I like your tattoos," Harry says after a bit. He's got this gift of being very unhurried in all his movements, just walking about and talking and putting things away with something approaching grace.
"Thanks," Louis says suspiciously. He does some sneaky inspection and sees that Harry's got some tattoos of his own, peeking out of his clothes. Swallows on his collarbones, something on his wrists and on his foot and one of those nautical stars on the inside of his elbow. He probably has a daisy on his ankle or something. Hippie. "You like ink?" Louis says, to be polite. He's hungry.
"Yeah. Nothing in color yet, not brave enough."
Louis hums. Black and white tattoos are more artistic, too, aren't they? He'd ask that if Harry weren't going to buy him food. As it is, he's in no position to goad him.
"Do they mean anything?" Harry speaks up again. "Any of them."
"Some," Louis shrugs. "But most of them are because I just liked how it looked."
Harry nods like he understands. "Right," he says. "The grizzled fighter, with his scruffy face, those scabs and scars and tattoos. Do you fit right in?"
"Suppose I do," Louis says. "In with the lot of them that got beaten by their parents and grew up to do the same to random strangers for cash. I'm a proper lowlife." If only he wasn't so goddamn tired, he'd sound more proud. Maybe then Harry wouldn't give him such an understanding look.
"You just participated in a community art class," Harry says mildly. "Not so low."
"Against my will, and under great duress."
"Okay." Harry comes over with a curious smile on his face. "Your hand alright? Everything alright? Before we leave here."
"Yeah, 'm fine. Your first aid kit can go back into the cupboard."
"I have three, actually," Harry says. Louis looks up in surprise to find Harry frowning at his feet, frustrated. Seems he regrets saying that.
"You like fixing people up?" Louis asks skeptically.
"I'm prepared," is all Harry says. "Come on."
Louis doesn't like being told where to go, so he walks faster and gets a little bit ahead of him. Harry continues ambling along, that dorky ring of flowers still clinging to his curly hair. "So do you do a lot of graffiti?" Harry asks curiously, apparently unable to contain himself.
"Um, not really. Zayn does more, he's kind of famous on the internet. He's really good at the art thing. Did you see his painting? It was badass."
"Yeah. So it was just a special occasion, then? The 'wanker' thing."
Louis smiles accidentally. "Suppose it was."
Harry wanders a little closer, so they're walking almost shoulder-to-shoulder, and Louis' smile is gone. He walks further away and Harry just comes closer. Eventually, when Louis is walking nearly up against a wall, he can't let it happen any longer. He pushes him, one hand on Harry's shoulder so it's not too hard. "What the fuck are you doing, mate?" he says.
"Nothing."
"You know that's bullshit."
Harry smiles, oddly enough, and moves away. "Sorry," he says. "Just checking."
"Well stop it. I'll hit you again."
"I know you will."
"Then don't be a dumbass."
Harry holds his hands up. "I'm sorry, alright? Say something, change the subject." He puts one of his necklaces in his mouth and chews on the charm.
"Why?" Louis challenges.
"Because I want to make conversation. It's friendly. And polite. Don't you have any questions for me?"
"Can they be insulting?"
Harry shrugs. "Maybe. I guess." For the first time since they met, he seems unsure of himself. He's a big lad, all gangly limbed and broad, but he's thin, too. He's small, in a way. He took a punch once. If Louis tried it again, he'd probably bandage his hand for him again.
"So what do you get out of the art class shit?" Louis says after a few steps.
"The joy of charity," Harry answers. One glance at him and it's clear he's fucking with Louis. "Nah, it's just something I enjoy doing. And the instructors get paid."
"What makes you qualified to instruct?"
"Um, my winning personality. Isn't it obvious?" Harry says with half a goofy smile. "Plus..." The smile gets rigid. "Did a lot of that type of thing before. Therapy art. So I guess they figured I'd be good at it."
"Weren't bad," Louis says generously.
Harry gives him a look that's exasperated but not upset. "Alright. Thanks."
"Yep."
"Let's stop in here," Harry points. And of course he'd want to stop here, it's called fucking Avocado. Louis wants to throw up. Or punch him again.
"Are you kidding me?" Louis says with a deep sigh. "Will this coffee be fair trade and organic and shit?"
Harry won't meet his eyes. "Maybe."
"Jesus."
"It'll also be good!" Harry insists. "And they've got really good banana bread."
"Jesus," Louis repeats definitively. "Well. You're paying."
Harry grins at that, and walks into the shop. Louis follows him, hands in his empty pockets. When they're in line, Harry leans in to whisper to him and Louis leans away. Harry still whispers. "So the Ethiopian coffee is really good. Or you could get a latte or something, whatever you want. And then they have egg sandwiches, with like, cheese and that if you'd like."
"I like cheese," Louis says. He'd like anything right now, his stomach is grumbling now that he's awake and functioning.
"Okay. Well whatever you want, just order it. Would you like to eat it here?"
Harry doesn't exactly look clothed enough to sit somewhere and have coffee, but he's not the only one here with the whole hobo chic look. Louis shrugs. "Whatever. Fine."
Louis tears into his food as soon as they get it, barely waiting for a table to sit at. He's starving. It doesn't occur to him that they're not talking until it's been a couple minutes of silence.
"Does it hurt terribly?" Harry breaks the silence. "Your arm and whatever."
His arm and hip and bum, ribs and head. "Not too bad," Louis says with a full mouth. "Used to it. So."
"So you fight people a lot? Like fight club?"
Louis rolls his eyes. "No, not fight club, stupid. Like people bet on us and we get a cut if we win."
Harry looks up at him, judging him silently. "Okay. Why?"
Louis shrugs. "No why."
"Are you a convicted criminal? Or on the lam?"
"What?" Louis is irritated. "No." Possible criminal is exactly what he usually tries to appear as down at the fights, but it's annoying when it happens in real life. He'd like to think he can turn the aura on and off, and the thought that dumb Harry might be better at that is irksome.
"Okay, sorry. It was a terrible attempt at a joke," Harry says. He's obviously lying, probably to attempt to save Louis' feelings. That's somehow even more obnoxious.
"No, it wasn't. But I'm not," Louis says shortly. "Just dumb and not patient enough for a conventional job. Pays the bills most days."
"What about the other days?"
"Well, apparently, I get lads to buy things for me." Louis looks up at him.
Harry looks back for a long moment. "Almost thought you'd thank me," he finally says, sarcastic again.
"That was stupid of you." Louis chews loudly, rude on purpose.
"I guess so."
The coffee really is good, and it's apparently thawing his long-forgotten manners because he feels bad. Harry's weird and a bit slow sometimes, but he's been nice to a fault, and he's being polite. Louis should be able to be polite. Even if the kid probably has at least five potted plants.
"Thank you," Louis says, awkwardly slow. "For the food."
Harry raises his eyebrows. "Oh. Then you're welcome. My pleasure."
"Is it?"
"I'm not sure yet."
Louis does his best not to smile and only succeeds halfway. "You're weird," he says. "What's your deal?"
"Dunno." Harry half-lifts one shoulder. "What's yours?"
"Obvious, innit? Delinquent. Bit of a rough lad, aren't I."
"Are you? You let me keep ten quid and you painted for charity today."
"Isolated incident. And I feel like we had this conversation before." Louis has finished his sandwich and starts in earnest on his coffee. "What makes you feel like such an enigma?" he asks to turn the attention. "Flowerchild with an art class and a flower crown. How many plants are in your flat right now?
"Not fair," Harry sighs. "But four. And only very small ones, or the cats would pee in them."
"How many cats?" Louis says with some alarm.
"Two. What, does that ruin our blazing sexual chemistry?" Harry inquires.
"Sod off. What are their names?"
"Marcus and Peaches."
Louis snorts coffee up his nose. Harry is very offended. "They're good names! Peaches is light orange, and Marcus is an older gentleman."
"You are the worst," Louis tells him definitively. "The worst."
Harry smiles and plays along. "At what?"
"Everything."
"I am not. I'm good at a great deal of things."
"Oh yeah? Who told you that, your mum?" Louis teases, really feeling confident now. They've hit a rhythm of banter all of a sudden. So of course the moment he thinks that it falls flat on its face.
Harry's face flickers, barely a second, and he tries to pick it back up. "Yeah, I guess," he barely manages. Louis can't decide from second to second if Harry's remarkably confident or remarkably good at faking it. "Every night," he recovers shakily. "Good night, love you, you're amazing at many things."
Louis gives him a pity laugh, which probably is worse than not laughing. "Right." But he lets the topic die then, and tries to think of some way to make this better. "Look," he says. "You want me to come to your class again, you can just say so. But I'm not giving you any more money, and you've got to give me something."
"I could make you a casserole," Harry says enthusiastically, then adds after, "but you don't have to come back to class."
"Well, we'll see. I'm just establishing the terms and conditions of my possible return." Louis finishes his coffee.
Harry's still toying with his banana bread. He's had a few mouthfuls at most, and only a bit of his chai tea shit. Louis would be concerned that it's his fault, but it's not like Harry got so skinny by eating a lot. Still, he is concerned. Harry catches him watching. "You can go, if you want," he says. "I eat slow."
"Do I look like I got somewhere to be, mate?"
"I dunno," Harry mumbles. "Not like we've been having a great conversation anyways, figured you just wanted the food."
Louis doesn't say anything for a bit. He watches Harry more. "Are you lonely?" he asks after a second. "Where's your mates?"
Harry shrugs. "Maybe they got lost," he says. "Before they found me."
"Alright," Louis says after a moment, to pick the conversation back up. "So. You've got your cats and potted plants – but only small ones. And you do these art classes. What else do you do?"
"Um..."
"Do you have a real job?"
"Not really."
"Then how do you pay for your cats? And plants?"
Harry shrugs again. Louis figures that means he won't answer.
"So what do you do with all your time, then?" he presses, because he's asked and he wants to know now.
"I garden. And write. And help people learn something, talk to people. I dunno."
Louis gives a short sigh. "Informative."
Harry just looks at him. Clearly, he didn't intend to inform.
"Your flowers from your garden?" he asks.
"What?" Harry didn't hear him.
"The flowers in your hair, are they from your garden?"
"Oh, yeah." He reaches up to touch them. "Are they wilted?"
"No." A little.
"Okay." Harry eats a few more bites, slowly with glances up at Louis to check that he still has his attention. "I work in a bakery," he says then. "But it doesn't pay besides in food. And it's only like, three hours a week."
"Oh. Alright." Louis is pretty sure he's being compromised with, but he doesn't know how to respond. "Nice," he adds lamely.
Harry smiles at him. "Thank you. I smell like muffins sometimes."
"Sweet," Louis teases.
"Most of the time. Sometime we have bran muffins, and those aren't so sweet," Harry says very solemnly.
Louis laughs and flips him off. "Twat."
Harry just smiles at him in response, though, and Louis wants to smile back. "Hey. Sorry I called you flowerchild."
"I don't mind. As long as you..." Harry chews his lip, weighing his words. "I'm not stupid. And I'm not a pushover or anything. So. But I am a flowerchild, and as long as it means just that, it's okay. Is that..."
"Okay, yeah."
"Okay. I mean, not that I'll ever even see you again."
"Come on, sure we will. We'll run into each other," Louis says after a second.
Harry's face lights up – right answer. "Oh."
"Yeah, of course we will. Small city. And I know where you'll be at least on Sunday mornings."
"Where are you?" Harry asks after a second. "Usually. When you fight. Is that all Saturday nights?"
"Yeah," Louis nods. "Other nights too, but Saturdays are the most profitable."
"Most painful?"
Louis shrugs now, and the corner of Harry's mouth quirks up. "That part don't matter much," Louis says.
"Because you're used to it, you said. Right?" Harry's eyes are sharp as he watches Louis. It makes it somehow impossible to give him his usual puffed-up proud answer.
"Um," Louis hesitates. "I guess."
"Well. I think that's impressive. In a sick, weird kind of way."
Louis would be offended, but Harry's smiling at him hoping he understands it's a joke. "Fuck off," Louis says anyways, but he smiles back.
He sits with Harry until he's finished his banana bread, which is nearly an hour. Near the end, he starts thinking Harry's eating slower on purpose, to keep talking to him, but that's a ridiculous notion. The conversation isn't great. It's sometimes witty and fun, but they're still a little awkward. They keep accidentally treading on thin ice and both of them are quick to recoil back to safe space, so it's not bad. It's just odd. And at the end, Harry asks shyly, "Could I have your number?"
"I don't have a phone," Louis tells him honestly. "I'm sorry."
"What? Why?"
"Do you think fighting is a great and dependable way to pay a phone bill?"
Harry pouts a little. "Oh."
"And I don't even know if I'd give you it anyways," Louis says with half a smile. "Don't get ahead of yourself."
"Excuse you," Harry frowns. "I'd charm it out of you, for sure."
"You'd what, wiggle your scarf at me?"
"I don't own a-"
"You do, and don't lie." Louis is smiling bigger. "You'd expose a fetching tattoo or two, braid up some flowers into my hair or something and have yourself a friend, right?"
Harry shrugs and gathers all his trash. "Whatever. I guess I'll maybe see you later," he says, starting to stand.
"Just like that?" Louis stands, body twinging at the movement.
"What else am I supposed to do?" Harry says.
Louis shrugs. "Whatever, I dunno. Ignore me."
Harry smiles at him after a second, but Louis can't tell if it's real for more than a second. "Do..." he begins. "I... thanks. This was fun."
"Yeah," Louis nods. "Thank... you. For the food."
"Will you have something to eat tonight?" Harry asks.
"I'll find something," Louis says. "I've got a couple people who don't want me to starve quite yet so, I'll be okay."
Harry doesn't say anything, but he buys Louis a piece of banana bread, a muffin, and one of the bottled coffees from the cooler. It's a dumbass move, but Louis has to appreciate it for its straightforward, unashamed kindness. He thanks Harry in his head that night, when he eats.

Louis wakes up to another sore morning and Zayn sitting on the side of his bed, smoking. "Jesus," Louis murmurs into his pillow. It smells like sweat, and a little stale vomit.
"Wash your shit," Zayn says calmly. "It's pretty rank."
"Yeah. With what money?" Louis rolls over and digs his hands in his eyes only to wince. "Fuck."
"I love how you can just forget about black eyes. That's a pretty unique skill." Zayn's too loud and alive right now, but he means well. He hands Louis a water bottle. "It's gin," he says. "And vodka."
Louis takes a sip – it is exactly that. "Thanks," he says.
"Take another. Come with me to that art class again, I'll spot you the tenner."
Louis has several long drinks from the bottle now. "Jesus Christ. Really?"
"I like painting," Zayn says. "C'mon."
"Really?"
"Yeah, really. You didn't hate that flower kid, did you? It's not like you'd be doing anything else besides sleeping, taking pills, and grumbling to yourself about how you got robbed last night."
"I did get robbed."
"You made eight hundred."
Louis does grumble. "Should've made fifty more."
"Just don't blow it all on booze and ink this time." Zayn sounds bored, but he leans over and ruffles Louis' hair after a second. "Come on. The kid was nice enough. Think he liked you. Maybe you could consider talking to more than one person outside of the ring."
Louis considers for just a second if he'll tell Zayn about their coffee. "Nah," he says. "He just didn't want to get hit again."
"Right. Well you've got three minutes before I'm dragging you there."
Louis groans deeply and pulls himself together enough to put on a clean-ish shirt and some sweatpants. "Alright," he says. "Let's go."
"That shirt has holes in it, Louis."
"We're not going to high tea with the queen, Zayn," Louis says. "Besides, it's a comic book shirt."
That's probably why Zayn lets him out of the house. He lets Louis have a bit of his cigarette on the way. "Look," Zayn points across the street. The 'wanker' has been painted out. Louis flips the blank wall off. "Do you have a new plan to fuck him up, or are you going to let it alone, for once?" Zayn asks.
"I don't know. Ask me when I'm not half-drunk and exhausted." Louis rubs his eyes. The nights he gets beaten are painful, but the nights he wins are almost worst. More fights, and less adrenaline numbing him. He walks into the classroom dizzy and ready to sleep some more. Four hours wasn't enough.
Without the argument from last time to prompt it, Harry doesn't talk to them right away. He makes his way to their easels eventually, though. He has a long conversation with Zayn a lot about color choices and hierarchy – clearly stalling – and then he comes over to Louis. His hesitance seems to imply nerves, but he attempts to smile. "Hi."
"Hi," Louis says with a tired smile back. Harry's got an orchid behind his ear, and another flannel shirt with a vest underneath today. "How are you?"
"Good. Tough night?"
"Long one."
Harry nods. "But your painting looks nice."
"Thank you. It's abstract. I'm too tired to try hard."
"Well you can sit down, if you'd like. No obligation to try hard." Harry obligingly brings a chair over.
"Thanks," Louis says, already falling asleep again. He wakes up again at a touch on his shoulder. It's Harry, with a cold Powerade from the machine. "This for me?" Louis asks in surprise.
"Yeah. Um. If you want it."
"I do, thank you." Louis opens the bottle and takes a long gulp of it. "My lack of participation is absolutely not a reflection on your teaching skills. You're a great teacher. Very kind."
Harry doesn't smile, but his whole face gets warm. "Don't leave," he says very quietly, so Zayn can't even hear. "Please."
"Yeah, okay."
"Thank you." Harry seems very happy for a bit, but then he goes back to teaching normally. Louis personally feels slighted, at least a little bit. But on the other hand, he definitely looks homeless right now. And Harry bought him a Powerade.
Zayn's painting is a definite masterpiece, Louis observes. It's abstract too, but in a way that means something and makes him feel stuff as he looks at it. Louis is very impressed with it. But Zayn gives it up to Harry happily at the end for the charity auction. "If someone doesn't buy this for hundreds then you shouldn't sell it," Louis says.
"They even buy the crap for hundreds," Harry says. "They'll buy this."
But Zayn shrugs and blushes. "No they won't. Or it doesn't matter, at least. Thanks for the stuff, man, this was good."
Harry grins. "Sure, come whenever you can. There's a class every Wednesday, too, but I don't teach that one. Still, I think they'd be glad to have you, you're very talented."
Zayn scratches the back of his neck. "Whatever, yeah. Thanks. Bye, see you later, Lou." And he kind of slinks out.
"Praise makes him uncomfortable," Louis says. "I think he's got some kind of complex." He downs the rest of the Powerade and stands up, considerably less shaky. "How've you been?"
"Good," Harry says. "Been a while."
"Yeah. Been pretty busy."
"Have you made good money?" Harry asks. "Winning?"
Louis nods, then just shrugs. "Some weeks. I did okay last night."
"So you're going to buy some food for yourself?" Harry says.
"Yeah..." Louis says slowly. He can't figure out why Harry's asking until he remembers that he's a person that's just nice most of the time. "Well, to be honest, I'll probably spend most of it on shit I've been putting off buying."
"Like?"
"Soap. Bog roll. Getting my laundry done. Paying my utility bills. Haven't had running water for a week, lights for three." Louis is so tired. He wants to go home and sleep for years.
"Wow."
Louis spreads his arms. "Welcome to poverty."
Harry hesitates, picking up paintbrushes. "I bet I could probably help you find a job, if you'd like. Like another one, that you could pay the bills with."
"Did you miss the 'not cut out for conventional employment'' part of my life?" Louis asks, dabbing his finger in a spot of red paint. "I don't do jobs. But I'm sure you could."
"Thanks," Harry says, unsure. "Um. But you'll buy food, though, right?"
Louis gives him a long look. "I might not."
Harry frowns. "Why?"
To get more of that healthy banana bread, which was badass. To make awkward conversation some more. But he can't exactly say that. "Nice flower," he changes the subject instead. "In your hair."
"Thank you," Harry smiles.
"Do you grow orchids? Aren't those like, tough to do?"
Harry reaches up to touch it. "Uh, yeah. But I bought this one. Sometimes I do that. I don't like picking my own flowers." Half of that is said quietly, like he's talking to himself.
"What?" Louis says. "Why?
"Well, I always feel kind of cruel. They live so much shorter after I pick them. And they're much happier connected, I think."
"They're happier," Louis repeats.
"Yeah. They've done studies, plants can pick up on your emotions. They're happier if you talk to them and play music for them," Harry says. He glances at Louis after a second. "But that sounds dumb."
"Hell, if anyone would know about the emotions of flowers, I imagine you would," Louis shrugs.
"Oh. Okay." Harry smooths down his hair a little self-consciously. "Um. Would... would you want to see them? My flowers. Sometime."
"Sure," Louis says immediately, but only after Harry adds the last word. "Yeah. Whenever you'd like." Right now, he wants to curl up and sleep somewhere. Not his flat, though. It's dark and gross, a mountain he doesn't feel like climbing today – or ever.
Harry watches him for a while. "You tired?" he says.
"Yeah. Sorry, I'm bad company. But I'm avoiding being in my flat right now, so if you don't mind, I'm gonna stay here while you clean up."
"Oh, that's fine."
"Awesome." Louis leans back to nap some more, but Harry's a little bit charming, wandering around and putting things in order. "I'm not asleep," Louis even says when Harry glances over. "We can talk."
"Okay. Well can I ask why you don't want to be in your flat?"
"Well. It's a bit of a pit. And it involves a lot of work, to make it look respectable, and I don't really feel up for that right now. Ever. So." Louis sighs. "Look, it's just how things happen with me. Get some money, don't really change anything, blow it, poor again. Repeat."
"Oh."
"So I mean... like you don't have to try to change anything. Me."
Harry stands up straight and looks at him. "I wasn't going to," he says, half amused but almost offended, too.
"Okay. Just making sure you don't go after any lost causes."
"Why do you even care, though? Like you could..." Harry shrugs. "Dunno. You could try to get stuff from me. Maybe. Not that you ever would... but like." He's flushed bright red by now, and he's stopped walking around.
Louis rolls his eyes. "I know what you mean. But just because I look like an asshole doesn't mean I'm gonna act like one, alright? I won't fuck with you. Plus, most of the time, I'm really tired. So."
"Oh, alright. Well. If you need to sleep somewhere, then... um, I'm gardening today. And there's chairs, you could sit. In them. And sleep while I garden. If you'd like." Harry shrugs. He shrugs a lot. Louis wonders if that means anything.
"Alright," Louis says.
Harry looks over at him, abruptly surprised. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah, if you were." Louis shrugs back at Harry, who doesn't seem to catch it.
"Oh. Okay. That'd be cool. Do you have money this time? We could pick up some food on the way. If you want."
"Whatever, yeah. Don't have plans to hang out with anybody else." Louis watches Harry for a bit, his careful surprise trying not to look like it. He wants to say something to fix it. "First person you invited over ever or something?" he ends up saying, which is not as sensitive as he'd hoped to be.
"No," Harry says, then adds, "First one in a while."
"Oh yeah?"
"Is that a problem?" Harry says with half a smile.
"Nah, whatever." Louis smiles back. "But you mean you aren't a social butterfly? You don't have a bunch of flowerchild friends with long hair and weird shoes?"
Harry snorts a laugh out his nose. "No. No flowerchild friends. I'm a flowerchild recluse."
"You are?"
"Yeah," Harry shrugs. "I guess." They're quiet for a while, Louis standing when Harry starts to lock up and then meeting at the door. Harry stands and looks straight at him. "You're the first person I've really talked to besides people taking my order at a café and grocery checkout clerks for like, a year," he says.
"How do I hold up?" Louis asks with half a smile.
Harry gives him a long look. "Pretty good," he says. "You don't ask me a lot of personal questions, which works for me. Even if you want me to get you food."
"I never said that."
"Right." Harry grins. "Well. C'mon."
At least they fit, Louis thinks to himself. Him and his tattered shirt and Harry in his raggedy flannel. They look good together.
For all his talk about not talking to anyone, Harry sure is friendly with the shop owner in the ground floor of his flat. He gets them two cups of lemonade and leads Louis up the stairs sipping his.
"So where's your garden?" Louis asks after the third flight. Harry's in better shape – he's a flight ahead, and opening a door.
"On the roof," he says. Sunlight is pouring in through the door, and Louis finally gets it. Harry's got a garden on the roof of his building, so he never has to talk to anybody. And Harry invited him into his sanctuary.
Harry holds the door open for him and watches his face carefully as Louis has his first look around. The rooftop is practically the Garden of Eden. It's beautiful, flower pots and beds and even some trellises and growing vines. Like a fairy wonderland. And in the middle are two deck chairs and a little table under an umbrella. "You can sit there," Harry says. "I'm gonna take care of my tomatoes."
"Okay."
Louis takes one of the chairs. He does doze at first, napping in the warm sun and feeling a bit like a cat. But he can't let Harry be alone now that he knows it's a thing. So he pulls his chair out into the sun near Harry and tries to make small talk even though he despises it.
"So what's with the lonely routine?" he says. "You seem like a nice guy, friendly. Probably have helped an old lady across the street once or twice."
"Am I supposed to not help the elderly?" Harry says with half a smile. Sometime while Louis was sleeping, Harry put on a large straw hat to protect his face from the sun. It's floppy and ridiculous, and endearing.
Louis waves his hand around in the air. "Not the point. Answer the question."
"Um, I dunno." Harry digs around the base of a small tree. "Some stuff happened. And I wasn't really... equipped. To deal with it. So I got this apartment and kind of holed up in here for a while. To figure me out." He digs his knuckles in the dirt absently.
"And you haven't figured you out yet?"
"I don't know. Apparently not." Harry looks flushed, but maybe it's just the sun.
Louis considers for a while, during which Harry weeds the violet patch. "How did you manage to not give me any information with that answer?" he finally asks.
The corner of Harry's mouth quirks up. "Perhaps I didn't mean to say that much. I have only met you twice."
"Good point."
Harry pulls a leaf off a plant and chews it. "Mint," he says at Louis' surprise.
"That's cool. So you're still trying to figure yourself out?" Louis says after a bit. "Yeah? The floppy hats and all, it's a phase?" He's teasing a little now.
"I dunno," Harry mumbles. "Maybe. Maybe not. I'm not trying to figure that out, it's more... internal stuff, I guess." He glances up to check on Louis' face and smiles when he sees it's just a joke. "I really like the gardening, though. It's calming for me."
"Yeah?"
"How the dirt smells, yeah, and the sun. And stuff. I think I read somewhere that it's good to be in the outdoors and stuff. Like, for your body."
Louis smiles at him – he really can't help it. "Alright." He looks at Harry speculatively for a few moments, at his half-rolled up sleeves and warm tanned skin. He's practically some kind of nature spirit. Except he's real and nervous and apparently hurt by something. He's still a fucking enigma. And Louis is starting to find it appealing.
"You want some takeaway?" Louis asks. "I'd like to order some in a bit, we could eat it up here."
"Uh, sure, if you'd like." Harry glances up at him quickly.
Louis sits against the wall around the edge of the roof and toes off his shoes. Harry looks over at his feet. "You have tattoos on the soles of your feet?" he frowns. "What does it say?"
"My mum's phone number. I was convinced I'd be killed one day, and that they'd need to identify my body." Harry laughs, and Louis smiles. "It's true, yeah. None of these are very well thought-out."
Harry giggles and then bites his lip before pulling up his shirtsleeve to show a collection of tiny tattoos near his wrist bone. "Me neither," he says.
"Good, so you get it. I like my dumb ones."
"Me too." Harry sits back on his butt and tugs off his shoes to wiggle his toes through the dirt. He scratches his arm, smearing dirt on it too, and looks over at Louis for a while. "Am I good company?" he hesitates.
Louis nods after a second. "Yeah, really good. Why?"
Harry shrugs. "Dunno. Never been..." He looks over at Louis and links his hands around his legs. He has dirt under his nails and around the edges. "Do you... like me? Like to be friends."
"Yeah, sure. I don't know, whatever." Louis is skeptical by the end of that. He's not sure if he's just been trapped.
But Harry just looks at him and tries to smile. "That didn't sound very sincere," he says sadly. He picks at his nails.
"Oh, no it was, I just... not much of this is anything I've ever... done before."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
Harry bites his lip. "Oh, right. You're like, violent. Or something. Right?"
"Right." Louis reaches one foot out to bump Harry's toes with his own. Harry's got big feet. "And bad at talking. One time Zayn and me hung out for two days without saying anything to each other."
"That sounds nice, actually."
"It was nice," Louis agrees. "But when it comes to talking, and saying shit about wanting to be friends, then I don't know. Dunno what to say. You're... interesting. Though."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, I want to know the shit you aren't telling me."
Harry scoots closer. "Me too," he says. "Does that mean you'd tell me if I asked? Or would you be cryptic too."
"I don't know. Maybe you should ask first."
"Do-" Harry begins, but sirens down below drown him out. Louis motions him closer so Harry scoots in, one foot between Louis' drawn up legs. His eyes are green and warm, like he's soaked up all the sunlight. "When did you start fighting?" he asks curiously.
"Two or three years ago. I was... eighteen? I think. They try to keep younger kids from joining the rings, so."
"Why'd you do it?"
"Money. And I thought I was awesome."
Harry smiles at that. "You don't think you are now?"
"Nah, I know I am. But I'm not as arrogant as before. Going nights hungry and cold does that for you, y'know?" Louis touches the instep of Harry's foot, where he has a tiny purple flower tattooed. "But you've been okay?"
"Yeah. I've got some help, paying my bills. So."
"Oh, that's good," Louis says encouragingly. "Family?"
"Something like that." Harry glances up to make sure Louis' not mad at him for being unclear. "How do you feel, though? Like about... do you like fighting?"
Louis shrugs. "Dunno. I think I like it pretty well by now."
"Uh huh." Harry nods a little. He puts on finger on the little smiley face on Louis' ankle bone. "But I mean, you like hitting people?"
"Yeah," Louis hesitates. "In certain contexts."
"Did you like hitting me?" Harry mumbles quickly.
"I... I guess I didn't feel any particular way about it," Louis says after a moment. "It was instinct, more like. Not any... desire. If that really hurt you, or anything-"
"No, I'm fine. It wasn't that bad. But I wasn't expecting..."
"I'm sorry, is what I was going to say," Louis says. "So. If you'd just let me finish," he adds with half a smile.
Harry smiles at him. "Oh."
"I honestly wasn't thinking that much. It's a shit excuse, but. I promise I don't want to punch you. Okay? Flowerchild?" Louis taps the purple flower again.
"Okay."
"But I would totally punch someone else."
Harry's smile grows. "Okay."
"But enough with me. You still haven't really answered anything. This is no way to have a conversation," Louis scolds, squeezing Harry's ankle.
"What do you want me to answer?" Harry murmurs.
"I don't know. You pick, tell me something."
Harry chews on the corner of his shirt. "Dunno. Do you talk to your family?"
"No. Not since I was sixteen. Do you talk to yours?" he asks, because he thinks Harry wants to be asked.
"Um, no. I don't. Sometimes my mum calls me, but I don't pick up."
"You're mad at her?"
"Kinda," Harry shrugs, falling quiet again. "I don't know. It's complicated."
"I feel that, flowerchild." Louis doesn't feel uncomfortable, even with Harry right here in his space. He wants to pull him in and touch all his tattoos. Harry smells like sunshine.
"Do you want to be friends?"
"Sure as fuck don't want any dumbass conversation about it," Louis says. "But whatever. Sure."
Harry grins. "I'll warn you, I'm pretty weird," he says.
"You think I don't know that? But I'm having a pretty good time here, so."
"Me too." Harry picks at the knee of his jeans. "Um, I've been pretty alone. So when I do something weird, just tell me. Cuz I'd really like to be... your friend. But you don't want to talk about it."
"Nah, but I'd like it to. So. Don't stop gardening on my account," Louis says. "It looks really sick up here, I like it."
"Thanks," Harry smiles. "I work really hard on it."
"I can tell."
Harry looks down and leans forward against his legs. "You scare me," he says very quickly. "But in a good way, I think."
"Thanks for the compliment," Louis says, sarcastic for once. Usually it is a compliment. But from Harry, it doesn't feel like one. Louis actually feels guilty.
"No, it's not the punching thing," Harry promises.
"Are you sure?" Louis says with a little smile.
"Yes, I'm sure. You're just a strong personality, I think." Harry wiggles his toes.
"You're pretty strong too," Louis says. "Confident in yourself, I mean."
"You think so?"
Louis nods.
"I don't feel too confident," Harry murmurs. "I've been focusing on being myself mostly, but I guess that's a way of being confident in and of itself." He's silent for a while, and then glances up at Louis when he realizes he hasn't said anything. "Sorry, that was probably weird."
"Just a little bit." Louis still smiles though, and touches his knee. "You're kind to me, though, so I'll let it slide."
Harry giggles softly. "Would you like to do this again sometime?" he asks all at once. "This is nice."
"You sure I'm not too scary?" Louis teases.
Harry nods immediately.
"Okay. Then yes." Louis wipes dirt off of Harry's jeans and then his hand kind of stays there. Harry smiles and leans in closer.
"Is this weird?" Harry asks after some smiling at the ground. "This... us."
"A little. Which part?"
"The part where you're touching me."
Louis is taken aback. "No... no, that's not weird. Is it? I don't think it is." He pulls his hand back anyways, though, and crosses his arms in against his stomach. "Why would it be weird?"
"Because I've never experienced it before," Harry mumbles awkwardly. "I dunno. It's really easy with you. But like, we're not cuddling?"
"The fuck would we be cuddling?"
"I don't know," Harry says, increasingly panicked. "I'm sorry. I just... I shouldn't have asked, I'm sorry."
Louis puts his hand over Harry's foot before he can get up. "Stop it," he says. "Take a breath. Okay? Breathe."
Harry obediently breathes. Louis uses the time to take a sec and think about it.
"It's not weird," he says after a second. "Because I fucking say so. It's nice. And just because it's different doesn't make it wrong. And you need to calm down."
"Okay." Harry's got pink on his cheeks and ears.
"So come back, flower boy, and talk more. Come on."
Harry grins hopefully and scoots back to his original position, just a little closer. Louis could rest his chin on Harry's knee. "What should I talk about?" he asks.
"I don't know. How long did you stay in school?"
"Didn't go to uni," Harry says. "Probably won't. Did you finish college?"
"Kind of. Stopped going during sixth form, don't know if I passed or not. I bet you were really smart."
Harry's even pinker. "I don't know. I did okay."
Honestly, this whole thing has turned truthful answers into kind of a game. Louis likes feeling like he's beating Harry, and in the process he forgets he's telling him whatever he asks for. So when Harry asks, "Did you ever want to do something else?" Louis answers.
"Maybe. Thought about it. Being a teacher, or a lawyer. Or any shit that people usually become. Even weird shit, like a writer or an actor, whatever." Louis wraps his hand around the back of Harry's foot and taps his heel. "Not for me."
"You'd rather be poor and hungry?"
"Kind of," Louis admits. "I don't know. It's all I've got now, isn't it."
Harry doesn't agree with him, but he stays quiet. Louis likes touching him. He feels like he could have sunshine trapped inside of him, shining out of his eyes and tanning him from inside out. "I won't let you be hungry," he mumbles shyly. "That's just dumb."
"You don't have to do that."
"Right, your lost cause speech," Harry says, with some of that laser-sharp sarcasm that always catches Louis off guard. "Well, that's dumb. I promise I can afford it."
"I'm not just going to show up and eat your shit, though."
"Okay."
"And it's not like I can text you."
Harry shrugs, apparently unconcerned. "We'll see each other. And I'll ask if you're hungry and if you are, I'll buy you food."
"Right." Louis makes an instant resolution to never let Harry buy him food again. But Harry smiles knowingly and Louis has to wonder if he'll get away with it. "But I can buy food tonight, and I will. What would you like to eat?"
"I don't care," Harry says happily. "What do you want? Chinese like you said?"
"Sure. I don't care."
"Well," Harry says after a second, "maybe I could order us some sandwiches. There's a good place next door, and they'll deliver it up here for me. And they're really good. It's all fresh stuff."
"Okay, sure. As long as I'm buying."
Harry blushes. "No, I couldn't."
"Yes, you can and you will." Louis finds himself smiling with nothing but warm affection for him. He likes him. A lot.
Harry wants to be cuddled. He keeps glancing at Louis hopefully and trying to smile. "Um, alright," he mumbles. "What sandwich do you want?"
Louis doesn't want to cuddle, but he reaches out to touch his cheek, the dimple there, and he tucks some springy curls behind Harry's ear. "You pick. I'll have anything. Including the check."
"Fine." Harry ducks his head into Louis' touch and hums happily before he catches himself. "Is..."
"It's not weird unless you make it weird, weirdo," Louis says softly.
"Right. No, I know. Not weird that the street fighter likes to be gentle."
Louis takes Harry's hat off and watches how his eyes catch the light before he narrows them. Harry ducks his head then, and keeps it against his knees. "I'm going to burn," he complains, but he doesn't move.
"You're tan, you'll be fine."
"You're tan," Harry says. He's so warm and sweet, Louis wants to hug him, or get a hug. He wants to bake him into a crisp and eat him with ice cream.
Harry does order them two very delicious sandwiches, and he lets Louis pay only because he promises to make it up to him. They sit on the deck chairs together and eat, make sometimes awkward conversation and then Louis stays to watch the sun go down because Harry asks him to. Their chairs are right next to each other by then, so Harry can lean in against him. He's so happy for any contact, he seems kind of starved for human touch. So Louis touches him.
"I have bug repelling candles," Harry murmurs when the sky is dark blue. "I can light them in a bit, if you want."
"Nah, I should get home," Louis says reluctantly. "I have to clean up."
"Oh."
"But we can do this again sometime later, alright?"
"Okay. Did you like it?" Harry asks, looking over.
"Yeah. Except that I still barely know more about you than I did this morning."
Harry smiles. "I guess."
"You guess. I guess that's exactly what you wanted. But I don't mind," Louis says. He has to sit up to put on his shoes, and Harry follows him up. "I'll get it out of you next time."
"Next time," Harry repeats. "Maybe."
"Okay, flowerchild. I'll see you later."
"Later," Harry smiles when Louis looks at him. "This was nice."
"Yeah it was."
Harry stands when he does, and Louis hugs him goodbye. When they separate, Harry's soft and happy. "Thank you," he says. "Goodnight."
"G'night."
"Good luck with your fighting."
"Thanks, good luck with your flowers."
"Okay." Harry walks with him downstairs and says again, "Goodnight, see ya."
Louis smiles. "Yeah, g'night. I'll be around."
"M'kay. Bye."

Zayn sits on his bed and wakes him up – he's better than an alarm clock. "What time is it?" Louis mutters into his pillow. The light hurts his eyes.
"Like eleven. I went to that art class again."
Louis makes half a sound. "Thrilling."
"That kid was asking after you last week. Harry. He wants to meet up with you."
"So?"
"So he said to tell you to go to his place if you want to hang out."
"Okay."
"Just okay? You gonna go?"
"Dunno." Louis burrows his head in. "I have a concussion."
"So you don't want to talk to him? He seemed like he wanted to see you pretty badly." Zayn picks at some paint on his hand. "You friends?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Really?"
"Yes, Zayn, okay? Yes. What else do you want? I feel pretty shitty, and I'd really like to sleep all day."
Zayn gives him a look so intense he can feel it. "No. Nothing."
"Okay."
"Should I tell him where you live?"
"I honestly do not give two shits, Zayn, just let me sleep."
"Okay." Zayn gets up and leaves, as far as Harry knows, and Louis goes back to sleep. Fuck, his head hurts.

It's been a couple weeks since Louis hung out with Harry. It's a Monday – he was beat too badly Saturday night to go to his class, but he still wants to see him. So he just kind of shows up at Harry's building, sneaks up the stairs and steps out onto the roof. It's too bright in the afternoon, and Harry's not up here.
Louis has a brilliant idea after a moment and checks the mailboxes for Harry. There's one H. Styles on the third floor, and that's the door Louis knocks at.
Harry opens the door after a moment, face blank with surprise. "Hi."
"Hey."
"What's going on?"
"Are you busy?"
Harry's in a ripped T-shirt too big for him and something that looks a lot like leggings with a tear in the knee. He even has a scarf tied around his head, to complete the odd picture. "Uh, no..." he hesitates. "Not busy, just kind of unpresentable. And not expecting you. What's happening, is something wrong?"
"No... no, I wanted to see you. Zayn said..."
In the silence, Harry rubs his eyes. He might've been sleeping. "Oh yeah, I remember. What's... so it took you a week to get here?"
"Concussion, beating." Louis shrugs. "We can reschedule if you'd like, but I just wanted to see about it. I dunno. Should I call from a payphone next time?"
"No, no. I'm glad you came, thank you," Harry says after a second, smiling a little. He's got his hands squeezed tight together. "Sorry, I just... nobody ever... just come on in, yeah. Thank you." He lets Louis in and closes the door behind him. "So you aren't... avoiding me?"
Louis looks around the kitchen is in front of him, living and dining room over on his right. It smells like incense and laundry. "What?" he says absently. "No, of course not. Why would you think that?"
"I dunno. You didn't show up, so."
"Concussion, that's all. Not very social. And I'm not great today either, but I can hang out if you want."
Harry winds his hand up in the bottom of his shirt. "Oh. Okay. Should I change? Or... are we going somewhere?"
"No. I dunno, I don't care. I don't look great either, though, so if you change I'll need to." As Louis watches, a little orange kitten creeps towards him. "Who is this?" Louis asks.
"Peaches," Harry says with a helpless smile, entwining his hands further. "She's friendly. Kneel down and say hi, if you'd like to."
Louis kneels and pets the kitten when she comes close enough. He scratches her back and murmurs a hello to her. "How are you?" he asks.
"She's good. Friendly with Marcus. He's under the bed, grumping at me." Harry sounds pretty grumpy himself. "I clipped his nails and he's angry." Louis laughs, but that just annoys Harry. "I'm serious."
"Sorry." Louis holds up his hands. "I'm sorry. That's so adorable, though."
Harry smiles after a second and finally untangles his hands to cross his arms. "Okay. Well, what did you have in mind to do, then?"
"Nothing."
"So you just came over to hang out and do... like, nothing? Like, with me?"
Louis shrugs. "Maybe. If you want, I don't care." He stands back up and looks Harry in the eyes. "Unless you're busy. I can come back."
"No. Now is good. Probably good for me, too. Doing something instead of moping and watching reruns of America's Next Top Model."
"Reruns?" Louis frowns.
"I ran out of new ones a while ago. I'm also watching Masterchef."
"Want me to watch with you?"
"Nah," Harry says after a second of thought. "Let's do something you'd like."
Louis does his best not to smile. "Oh. Well I'm more of a Survivor man myself."
Harry raises his eyebrows. "I haven't watched Survivor."
"Missing out, bro." Louis reaches out to touch him after a second. Just his arm, to see if Harry's as touchy-feely as he remembers. Harry smiles at the contact. "Hey, though. You don't have to change, really. You look fine."
"I look ridiculous," Harry says authoritatively. "I'm only wearing it because I thought no one would see me."
"My shirt isn't any better," Louis points out.
"Whatever, stop it. Can I have a minute?"
"Sure, yeah. I'll wait out here. Make friends with Peaches."
"Her full name is Peaches and Cream, and she likes to be brushed," Harry mumbles. "So. You could brush her."
"I will." Louis sits on the ground and takes the offered brush. Harry scampers off to his bedroom, and Louis brushes the kitten's orange fur gently and slowly. She's a very sweet little kitten, and he wants to rub his face on her.
Harry comes back out and sits next to him on the couch. He's in slightly more responsible jean shorts and a Queen T-shirt. It's adorable. He tucks his feet underneath himself and picks up Peaches to kiss her. "So. Is there a film you want to see?"
"No. To tell the truth, I probably couldn't afford it. And I'm kinda fucked up, my knee." At Harry's look, Louis pulls up his pants leg and shows him.
"Jesus Christ, what can I get you? Do you need some ice?"
"Wouldn't say no to ice," Louis has to admit. Harry jumps up to get it for him and comes back quickly. The ice is wrapped in a dishtowel with tiny pineapples all over it. He sets it over Louis' knee and frowns at him with concern. "It's okay," Louis promises. "It really is."
"It's black."
"I fell weird on it."
Harry is still frowning. "Have you seen a doctor?"
"No. It'll be fine, it's just strained. I'll really be okay, I promise."
"Are you sure?"
"Harry, I've hurt my knee about a billion times. It's been worse than this. I have dislocated it and cracked it and it's been swollen. This is fine, I promise."
Harry puts his head down on Louis' shoulder while he holds the ice in place. "No," he says. "Are you hurt other places?"
He's got a slash on his side and a pulled muscle in his arm, but he doesn't say anything like that. "Nah, I'm fine. Don't worry about it. So what would you like to do? Or whatever."
"Dunno." Harry's so warm wherever he touches Louis, and smooth, even though that feels like a weird adjective. He's not soft, but he's comfortable. And his hair is very soft. "I kind of... don't want to go anywhere. If you don't. We could watch a bunch of DVDs and I could make dinner."
"Okay. If you're sure you want me here, you don't seem super enthusiastic about it," Louis points out.
"I'm sorry. No, I want you here. You just took me by surprise. I was kinda set up for a day of moping and sleeping," he murmurs like it's a secret.
"You can still mope and sleep. Don't let me stop you." Louis slips his arm around Harry in a way he hopes is subtle and tasteful. Not that he knows anything about either of those things. "We could watch something long and dumb. I'm not picky."
Harry shifts to hold the ice better. "Um, so. You just want to hang out with me? I mean, you just came here just to be with me?"
"What part of that is unclear?" Louis says, teasing a little.
"I don't know. Not a whole lot of people are lining up to be around me." Harry's head slips down to Louis' lap, by not-so-accident. He keeps the ice on Louis' knee, though.
Louis puts his hand over Harry's hair. "Now you're just being mopey."
"You treat me nice when I mope," Harry says. "One day I'll get you to cuddle."
"The fuck are we doing right now?" Louis demands, but he scratches Harry's hair because he really does seem out of sorts right now. "So what's making you so sad, flowerchild? Making your petals wilt."
Harry chuckles. "I've just been thinking about a lot of things," he says seriously after a moment. "Not so nice things. And sometimes I need some time to wallow in it. But I need to move on, really. It's just hard sometimes. I'm... I'm kinda fucked up."
That's the first real information he's given Louis. Louis wants to reward that. He pets Harry's hair and rubs his side with his other hand. Harry's shirt is very soft and thin, and he looks so tan underneath it. He looks bite-able. Like warm caramel, melting all over his lap in a sad pile.
Maybe Louis is concussed.
"It's okay," he says. "Where's the remote?"
"Oh, right." Harry sits up and gets it from the coffee table. "Put on whatever you want. Thanks." His orange kitten comes back to squeeze between them and sleep, and Louis watches some weird drama he's never heard of before. His hand keeps moving absently in Harry's hair, almost on its own. Neither of them speak, but they don't need to.
After a couple hours, he decides their pouting has gone on long enough. He turns Harry onto his back by the hips. Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise and looks up at him. "What?" he says, a little nervous.
"Let's go do something."
"Oh. Okay. Like what? Should I change again?"
Louis glares down at him, falsely stern. "Don't even think about it. Unless you want people to ask who your homeless friend is."
Harry blushes. "Okay." He turns a little and settles in happily over Louis' lap, kitten on his stomach. "So what shall we do?"
"Maybe go to the park? Or go to dinner somewhere?"
"No, I want to make dinner," Harry objects softly. He smiles when Louis hesitantly puts his hand back in his curls. "I want to make dinner," he repeats.
Louis can't help himself from giving in. "Okay, dinner is yours. But the park is fine? We can walk around."
"Or we could go to the organic market. So I can get things to cook with. And I could introduce you to Ricardo. He's my avocado guy," Harry says with no trace of irony.
"What is it with you and avocados?" Louis asks, but he doesn't really mean it. He feels too comfortable for having a grown man lying over his lap. Harry's got legs as long as the couch.
Harry looks up at him hopefully, and then takes his free hand when Louis doesn't apparently give him what he needs. Harry puts Louis' hand on his hip, over his sharp hipbone and a sliver of warm bare skin. Louis keeps his hand there, but he looks to Harry for some more guidance of any kind. Harry apparently just wants the contact.
"Okay," Louis says after a second. "Yeah, the market, whatever."
"Can you walk?"
Louis gives him an unamused look. "Shut up, I can walk just fine. Get up."
He doesn't want to get up. "Peaches will be upset," Harry murmurs.
Louis pats his hip. "Yeah. Peaches will be. Come on. I'll be fine." He helps Harry up with a hand on his back, feeling his muscles under his shirt and marveling over his awkward grace.
"Do you want anything before we go?" Harry asks. "I have food and water bottles, and... whatever, I dunno. Whatever you want."
"No, I'm good. Thank you." Louis walks to the door, only to feel Harry wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. "What's this?" Louis asks.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, but for what?"
"Maybe one day I'll tell you," Harry murmurs. "But not now."
Louis reaches behind him blindly to pat his head. "Sure. Okay. Don't forget."
"Won't. Oh, and I should've asked. What do you want to eat? Like what kind of things do you like?" Harry lets go to put his shoes on.
"Um, anything. Nothing weird, like no raw meat, or exotic shit. But I'll eat almost anything. Not picky." Louis smiles at him.
"Raw meat? What do you think I'd feed you?" Harry demands with a curious smile. He toes on his shoes and picks up his keys.
"I don't know."
"Okay. Well, I was going to make pasta. And a salad. And maybe I could make rolls, if you want to be here that long."
Louis shrugs. "Whatever you want. I don't really have any plans. Ever. So."
Harry's eyes go all crinkly-eyed and smiley then. "Oh. So you'd like to just hang out with me a lot? Is that what you're saying?" he says, all joking.
"Maybe. If you want. And if you keep icing my wounds."
"Wouldn't mind that."
"Okay."
Harry treats him like he's a limping baby, and while Louis gets quickly fed up with it, he lets him get away with it. They walk slowly together and talk about Harry's favorite vegetables, since Louis doesn't have any. Harry makes a passionate case for spinach and Louis has to say he doesn't mind too badly. He might even say he even agrees with him by the end. In any event, he gets Louis to agree to a spinach and tomato salad.
Louis gets introduced to all the vendors that Harry apparently frequents. He learns all about picking the best avocado and how to store fresh mozzarella cheese while Harry picks up paper bags of produce and such. Harry even ventures to the meat stall to pick up ground beef for meatballs.
They walk home together too, only now Harry's closer to him. He looks at Louis every three steps and doesn't stop talking, and he beams whenever he manages to make Louis smile. Louis likes hearing him talk, surprisingly. He likes his rambles. And he doesn't even mind bumping into him every few steps. Harry's cheerfulness is infectious.
So they have dinner and then have ice cream, and then they climb to the roof to watch the sun set. Again, they move the chairs right next to each other and lean against each other. They don't talk then, just watch silently. Harry's thumb starts to rub Louis' arm at one point, and Louis scratches his fingertips over his wrist.
"I've never had such a good friend," Harry murmurs to the sky. "I barely know you, and I know that. You're so kind to me."
"You aren't some kind of charity case, dumbass," Louis says. "No friends like this myself, so. Not a... sunset guy. I guess."
"Then what was this?"
"Maybe I'm changing," Louis says after a moment. "Haven't pushed myself too far with the fighting thing. You're expanding my horizons."
"I'm not used to being the influential friend," Harry murmurs. "I think I'm gonna get drunk on the power of it."
"Yeah, and introduce me to what, kale and lobster? Raw meats?"
"Maybe." Harry presses his nose into Louis' shoulder. "You could cook."
"That would be a disaster," Louis says authoritatively. "I don't cook, because when I cook things get set on fire. And cause diarrhea."
"Oh."
Louis adds a question as soon as he can convince himself he should. "Do you want me to cook for you?"
"I want to watch you cook. I think you learn a lot about a person when they cook," Harry says. "Like how organized they are. Or how their mind works."
"My mind is pretty simple, mate."
"Bullshit. Zayn and I can see right through you."
Louis laughs and Harry's head shifts down onto his shoulder. "Oh yeah? Since when? And when did Zayn talk to you about that?"
"About what?"
"About seeing through my shit."
"We never talked about it," Harry says, and he's being honest.
Louis smiles and shuts his eyes for a second. "Dumb. You two are idiots together than. You can't see through shit."
"I can. And I did. I let you punch me."
"Let me," Louis repeats. "Why?"
"Because I knew that after you punched me, you'd let yourself be nice to me. And I was right." Harry sounds unconcerned.
Louis frowns. "That's bullshit. What the fuck? Why would you let me punch you just so I'd be nice to you? That's a terrible fucking idea."
"Hey, no. It wasn't a big deal. It didn't really hurt that bad. And now I've got you. So." Harry shifts his hand up a little bit and links a few of their fingers. "Worth it. And you didn't punch me as hard as you could've."
"I punched you just as hard as I'd punch anybody."
"You did not, don't lie."
"I did," Louis mumbles. "Aren't you cold? I'm cold."
"Mmmm... nope."
"It's getting colder. I should've brought a sweater." Louis can feel himself getting all goosebump-y. "Maybe we should go inside. Come on."
"No."
"But I'm cold."
After a moment, Harry gets up and kneels over his lap, wrapping his arms around Louis' neck. He's radiating heat like he's still basking in the sun, and his head down on Louis' shoulder is so heavy, hair so soft. It's not bad. Even though he's clinging to Louis like a giant toddler.
"Are you cold still?" Harry murmurs against his neck.
"No."
"Well then." He doesn't nuzzle in too much, and it doesn't get weird. They're just two men on one chair, curled up around each other. Harry's fingers are curled up in Louis' hair, his breath warm on his neck. It's nice. He likes the contact, not nearly as much as Harry does but enough to stay there for a while.
Harry moves first. He sits back on Louis' thighs and lets his legs off the edges of the chair. "My feet are asleep," he murmurs. For some reason, he can't look Louis in the eyes right now.
"Okay." Louis doesn't move. Harry reaches for his hands, both of them, and Louis lets him take them. "Why do you like touching?" he asks curiously. "Not in a weird way."
"Only weird if you make it weird," Harry murmurs.
"Right. So what's up with that?"
Harry shrugs, doesn't let go of his hands. "I don't know. It's..."
"Is it just with me?" Louis asks hesitantly. "Or..."
"No. Well, you're the only one I'm near right now, but. I like cuddling. Is that wrong?"
"No, not at all. That's not what I meant. I'm just trying to figure you out." Louis can only see part of Harry's outline in the light from the streets below, but the light catches on his eyelashes and cheekbones. "What makes you tick."
"Um. Well, I just like it. I feel like... I like it. I don't know, I really don't. Sorry." Harry brings their hands up to his lips to kiss the backs of them. "But I like you. You're really awesome for putting up with me and letting me. Thank you."
"It's fine. Just tell me something you doknow."
Harry lets their hands fall back down to the chair. "It did hurt when you punched me," he says. "And it really scared me. Cuz I thought maybe you'd never... you wouldn't be nice to me. Dunno. I'm glad you are, though."
"Me too. I'm a pretty big dick to other people, y'know."
"I know. Doesn't matter. You aren't a dick to me."
Louis turns their hands so he's holding Harry's. "Does matter," he says, barely believing he's saying it. "Just a little."
"Well. Maybe a little." Harry gets up, legs looking particularly endless. He helps Louis up then, too. "Do you want to stay?" he asks. "It's late, and I don't want you to walk home this late, especially when you're hurt."
"I'm not that hurt," Louis says patiently. "And I don't want to put you out."
"Nobody will be on my couch if you aren't," Harry shrugs. "You want to? I'll make breakfast. And you can have as many pillows as you want and a kitten to sleep next to you and maybe wake you up."
Louis can't help smiling. "Fine. Okay. I want three pillows."
"They're yours." Harry holds open the roof door for him and then dashes around his flat getting Louis set up on the couch. He's overjoyed. He even gives him a quilt that's apparently his favorite, greens and blues all pieced together. It's nice. And sure enough, a cat does come to sit on his lap after five minutes, but it's not Peaches.
"Marcus!" Harry says happily. "He's forgiven me."
Louis smiles and pets the big grey tabby. "I imagine he couldn't hold out for long." Harry's gotten him some ice for his knee again and then stands next to his couch for a moment.
"Do you need anything else?"
"No. I'm good. You've been very hospitable, thank you."
"Okay." Harry smiles. "I'll, um. I don't know how much I'll sleep, in all honesty, but you don't have to stay up or anything. Do you need a toothbrush? Or-"
"No, I'm good. Thanks."
"You could eat an apple," Harry suggests. "Nature's toothbrush."
"Okay," Louis says, trying not to sound impatient. "G'night."
"Sorry, yeah. Night." Harry retreats to his room.
Louis does intend to just fall asleep and let Harry do his insomniac thing, but he's a light sleeper. He wakes up when Harry comes through the room to go to the kitchen. He cracks open one eye to check on him after ten minutes of silence and sees Harry sitting on the floor in front of the fridge, door propped open against him. His head is down. Louis closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.
Later he hears quiet music from Harry's room, hears the shower running a few hours later. Louis doesn't get up, except for one final time when he smells bacon and maple.
Harry's in the kitchen, humming. Louis comes up behind him and slings an arm around his waist. "How's your morning?" he murmurs.
"Okay." Harry smiles at him, even with dark circles underneath his eyes. Louis realizes he's had them every time he's seen him, only they look darker now, while he's visibly tired. "Good," Harry corrects himself. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, thank you." Louis rubs Harry's back in a little circle. "Looks like you didn't, though. Or sounded like it."
"Did I wake you?"
"No, no, just sleep light sometimes." Harry nods and looks down and flips the pieces of bacon with tongs. "But what was with the insomnia?" Louis asks after a moment.
"It's not insomnia, it's nightmares," Harry says. "Every two hours, like clockwork. And then I have to do something to calm down. Like shower. Or listen to music. Or something."
"Or sit inside your fridge?" Louis teases.
"Panic attacks. Hyperventilating and hot flashes," Harry says. He chews on his lip while he flips some pancakes. "Sorry."
"No, don't be sorry. Nothing to be sorry for. Could I have helped?"
"I dunno. Did you want to?"
"Yeah, of course. You're my friend."
Harry smiles then. "Okay. Next time."
"Next time," Louis agrees. "Can I do anything for you now?"
"No. Well, eat."
"I shall eat," Louis says. "Thank you."
"Thank you." Harry smiles. "You don't even know what you've done for me."
Louis pinches his bum. "Tell me sometime."
"I will," Harry says. "Maybe next time."

Louis wakes up with such a pounding, fuzzy head that he's not sure he's conscious at first. He'll never move again. He's so fucking tired and sore, and his mouth tastes like blood. It's the third day he's woken up like this, third day he's not going to get out of bed except to piss, he can already tell. Getting his head slammed into the concrete has not done much for his clarity of thought.
Someone starts knocking on the door for the dozenth time, and Louis just wants it to stop. He's going to die if there's a second more of sound, he's sure. He wants to be done. He just wants it all to stop.
It falls silent after a moment, and then something touches him. "Lou?" someone whispers. "Are you okay?"
"No," he grunts.
"Can I help you?"
"Kill me."
"I've got Vicodin."
Louis holds his hand out, and gets two pills in his hand and a then a glass of water. He takes them and curls back up under the blankets.
"Louis," he says then. It's Harry, he recognizes the voice. "How do you feel?"
"Hurts. Light hurts. Sound. Can't do this."
"You'll be okay when the pills kick in. We'll talk more then." Harry rubs his back. "Can I sit with you until then?"
Louis can only grunt, but Harry stays anyways. He rubs his back for a while longer until Louis is starting to feel better, and then he gets up. Louis sits up when he can, squinting around the room for Harry. He's at Louis' shitty little stove. Louis digs his knuckles in his eyes and is shocked when it hurts. "Fucking hell," he hisses.
"You're alive," Harry says happily.
"No I'm not."
"Do dead people want to eat egg-in-toast with bacon?"
Louis tries to blink his eyes clear. "I don't know. What time is it?"
"Three in the afternoon. On a Tuesday. Have you eaten since Saturday?"
"No? I don't remember." Harry comes over with a plate and sits down next to him, despite Louis' weak efforts to push him away. "Don't, I smell awful."
"It's okay," Harry says. "Eat. I have some tea for you, too, when you feel like it." He puts the plate in Louis' lap and holds him upright with an arm around him. "Just please eat," he says when Louis tries to fight. "You can shower after, and we'll talk whenever you feel up to it."
"Too nice," Louis mumbles, but he eats. Harry's remarkably soothing. "I'm sorry," he says when he's done.
"No, it's okay. Not your fault you got completely destroyed."
"Hey."
Harry kisses the side of his head and hugs him close. "Hey. Can you get in the shower? You need to clean off your wounds."
"I would love to, but I feel incredibly dizzy, my darling. Incredibly." Louis goes limp and Harry keeps him up. "But I must smell terrible."
"You do," Harry agrees. "But I've smelled worse."
Louis gets in the shower a half-hour later and manages to clean most of himself off before the nausea comes back. Harry has clothes for him to put on and clean sheets on the bed somehow, even though Louis knows he doesn't have another set of sheets in the flat. "What are these from?" he asks.
"You can pay me back later," Harry says with a smile. He even has a new duvet for Louis to curl up under. It's charcoal with maroon triangles. And there are matching pillow cases on his pillows.
"You're miraculous." Louis sinks into the warm sheets and lets Harry wrap him up with another soft blanket too. "Fuck. Can we wait about talking?"
"Yes," Harry says. "Can I cuddle you?"
"Sure," Louis sighs. "Thank you." Harry sets an arm around his middle and his head on the pillow behind Louis', and then he doesn't move or talk. Louis wants to fall back asleep, but it hurts too bad, and not enough. He's starting to think. "Why are you here?"
"Zayn was here yesterday, don't you remember?"
"No," Louis has to say.
"Well, he was. And you told him to fuck off back to hell, so he called me. He said you'd be nicer to me because I'm nicer to you."
"You're a saint," Louis says. "Thank you."
"What happened to you, though?"
"Fight, just a fight. Went spectacularly wrong. Shouldn't have been so drunk. Concussion, whatever. I'll survive."
Harry squeezes him. "You know, concussions actually get worse the more you have. They compound. So you should be careful, you can get some permanent brain damage."
"Thanks, Doctor."
"Nurse Styles, actually," Harry says with a smile in his voice.
"Ass. Doctor ass. That's what you are. I'm in pain. I need alcohol."
"No." Harry pulls him in against his chest. "Let me take care of you, okay?"
Louis thinks about it, and he decides to do just that. He relaxes into Harry's arms and tells him, "You can be in the blankets, too."
"Thank you, yes. I'll be 'in the blankets'," Harry giggles as he wiggles under the duvet. "I brought pizza. Just tell me when you want to eat."
"You're an angel from heaven," Louis says. "I'm indebted to you forever."
"Nah," Harry sighs. And then he falls into complete silence while Louis dozes off again. The Vicodin Harry gave him was really strong, apparently, because he doesn't wake up until it's dark outside. Harry's still wrapped around him.
"Food?" Louis murmurs. He has to nudge Harry to get an answer.
"Oh. Okay. I'll warm it up." Harry pulls himself up on one arm and sits over Louis for a moment. "How does your head feel?"
"Better. A little." Louis turns towards him and pulls him back down. "Not tired anymore. But I'm starting to realize everything fucking hurts."
"I know, I'm sorry." Harry pets his hair. "I'll get you the food."
"Thank you."
Harry brings him pizza and carrots in bed, and a soda water. Then he proceeds to clean up around the flat, using a laundry basket that he's apparently produced out of nowhere.
"You don't have to clean my flat for me," Louis says. Any attempt to speak over a whisper hurts.
"I know."
"Then why?"
"Because you'll feel better if your environment is a little cleaner. And I want you to be okay. I was worried. I'm worried about you when you're not around, like maybe you're picking another fight or something." Harry looks over at him. "I'm sorry if that's weird."
"No, it's okay."
Harry gets the place looking almost presentable before he comes back in bed with him. He sits in front of Louis. "Are you too manly to be bandaged up?"
"I dunno. I just might be."
"Take off your shirt," Harry sighs. "Come on."
Louis takes off his shirt. The only sign of Harry's distress is a tightness in his face. He makes pleasant conversation while he fixes everything up, and he's only gentle and careful. Afterwards, he fixes Louis' hair a bit, and Louis thinks it's weird until he realizes it's his touch thing that he's trying to fulfill. Louis takes Harry's hands in his and squeezes them.
Harry smiles. "What do you need now?" he asks.
"Nothing. You've done fantastic."
"Okay. I can leave, then. Whenever you're ready."
Louis aches all over, but he aches a little less with Harry's hands in his. "How about you stay to be my heating blanket and pillow tonight?" he says. "I understand if you don't want to. I don't have a telly or anything."
"That's okay, I'll stay." Harry basks under Louis' attention, preening like a skinny peacock. He's in shorts and a T-shirt for a tour by the Police ten years before he was born. And he's got one of those headscarves on, too, patterned with roses. "I don't need a telly."
"Are you sure?"
"I am sure. But if you would like to watch my telly, we can go to my flat tomorrow," Harry says with a smile. "And I'll be your full-time nurse."
"Only if you're sure you want to. I don't want you to be put out."
"I want to," Harry says. "I'd like to be around you whenever, really."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Come here." Louis sits against the headboard and Harry puts his head down in Louis' lap. He's really very pretty, curls splayed out over Louis' legs. And he smiles in satisfaction when Louis plays with his hair. "Thank you," Louis says. "I wish I could keep you entertained right now."
"You're doing just fine," Harry smiles.
"Okay." Louis intends to talk more, but he falls asleep sitting up, and he doesn't wake up until morning.

Harry is really a stellar nursemaid. He takes care of Louis without complaint for more than 24 straight hours. He opens his house to him and cooks him whatever he asks for. All he wants in return is to be cuddled, and Louis' reservations about that have long-since faded where Harry is concerned.
They watch films together and snack, and by the time Louis goes to sleep on Harry's couch, he almost feels comfortable. And Harry's been so kind that this time when Louis wakes up to him pacing and attempting to drink water, he gets up and follows him to the kitchen.
"Harry, babe," Louis murmurs. It kind of hurts to see him hunched over, all tense and obviously hurting. Harry's sitting on the kitchen floor again, forehead pressed against the fridge. "Can I do anything?"
"Louis." Harry ducks his head into Louis' neck with a sense of relief. "Lou. Am I okay?" he asks in a tiny voice.
Louis curls his fingers up in the long edges of Harry's hair. "Yes," he says. "You will be. You're going to be okay, and I'll be here."
"My head hurts, I'm too hot. I can't breathe."
"Yes you can, breathe for me. You're breathing well, I'm so proud of you. Why are you freaking out so badly, Haz? Nightmare? You scared?" Louis asks carefully, keeping him close.
Harry holds on to him tightly. "Yes. Yes. I'm spiraling."
"I'm picking you right back up, you're okay. I'm right here. What can make you feel better?"
"Distraction," Harry murmurs.
Louis tries to think. The one thing he manages to think of, he goes for it immediately. He stands up and gets some pieces of ice from the freezer. He puts them on the floor next to him and presses one in the middle of the base of Harry's neck. He thinks it's his clavicle, he muses as he holds it there, cold water dripping down his fingers.
Harry takes a shuddery deep breath. "Oh."
"Do you feel any better?"
"Yes."
Louis puts another in Harry's hand, wrapping his fingers around it. He rubs another over Harry's forehead and then pushes it between his lips. "Suck on it," he says. "Breathe through your nose."
Harry obeys. Louis presses another under the corner of his jaw. "Good," he says. "Just keep breathing for me, mate."
After a bit, Harry bats his hand away gently, crunching the ice between his teeth. "Thank you," he murmurs, wiping his hand on his shorts. "Thank you so much. That really helped. How did you know?"
"Just a guess. The cold helped before." Louis throws the rest of the ice cubes into the sink. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay?"
Harry nods. "If I can get over them, then they're done," he says. "But will you hug me?"
"Of course I will." Louis leans forward and hugs him tightly around the neck.
"Thank you," Harry murmurs.
"It's okay. I'm here for you, I've got you. Can I do anything else?"
"No," Harry says. "I'll be okay."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm okay right now. I'll be okay."
Louis pats his cheek. "Keep saying that and maybe you'll sound like you mean it one day. Come on, what can I do?"
"Nothing. I don't want to tell you."
"Which one is it?"
Harry makes a face. "I don't know. Both, probably."
Louis knows now where not to tread with Harry. He knows that asking would only get him shut down and Harry would pull away. His past is firmly in the "don't ask" area, so Louis just brushes his fingers over his cheek. "Okay. What else can I do for you?"
"Go back to sleep, seriously. I'm sorry."
"Don't be, don't. I like you, okay? I like you a lot. Come sit on the couch with me, try to calm down. Let me lean on you, and I'll hold your hand. How about that? Does that sound okay?"
"Yeah, thank you." Louis takes Harry's hand and leads him to the couch. He sits Harry down and tucks him in before sitting next to him with his head down Harry's shoulder.
Harry holds his hand, as promised, and Louis rubs his hand with his thumb gently. He dozes off a little, because he's seen Sherlock and not thought much of it, as much as Harry's apparently enjoying it. When Harry talks, though, he wakes up for it.
"I got a settlement," he says. "In a court case. Which is how I pay for everything. Or it's part of it, okay?"
"Okay," Louis says.
"I want to tell you things," Harry murmurs. "And you want to tell me things."
"That's right, yeah," Louis says. He's not sure if that's necessarily true, but it's what will keep the conversation moving.
"I want to tell you everything," Harry murmurs. "I want to just talk to you, and feel better about it all. I feel like it would help. But this isn't the time, okay? But when it is the time, I'll tell you."
"You can talk to me," Louis tells him. "I don't have to understand it."
"Nah. You would," Harry says softly. "But thank you." He puts his arm around Louis' shoulders. "I'll try to sleep."
"You don't have to. I'm comfortable here."
"Me too," Harry smiles, putting his nose in Louis' hair.
"Hey," Louis asks after a second. "Where are your cats?"
"They weren't mine, strictly," Harry mumbles. "I was cat-sitting. You smell good."
Louis frowns, but he lets it go. "I smell like blood and medicine."
"Good," Harry affirms, and then falls asleep. Louis smiles at him and falls asleep too, until Harry jerks awake in the middle of the night. He whimpers a little, which wakes Louis up enough to hug him close.
"Baby," he murmurs.
"Lou." Harry tucks his head under Louis' chin.
"Careful with my knee, babe," Louis reminds him. "I've got you."
"You've got me." Harry's voice vibrates against Louis' throat. And just like that, he falls back asleep.
He wakes up at six again, easing out of Louis' arms and apologizing when Louis wakes up anyways. "I'm gonna shower," he says. "Don't worry, I'm good."
"Okay." Louis lets himself be tucked in and sleeps several more hours. When he wakes up, Harry's sitting against the couch, eating a fruit bowl. "Hey," Louis says as soon as he's ready to be conscious. "G'morning."
"Morning," Harry smiles back at him. "I have strawberries and bananas if you'd like some."
"Sure. Just give me a second."
"Of course."
Harry knows by now that Louis has to wake up before he's ready to eat, and he's very accommodating. He eats and reads until Louis nudges his shoulder, and then he gets his food without complaint. He's a good kid. So Louis doesn't question his honesty last night or anything about it, and he just hugs him around the neck and says, "Thanks for cleaning my flat and taking care of me."
"You've taken just as much care of me," Harry says, holding onto Louis' arm. "Thank you. I'd love to have you here as much... as much as you'd like to be here. Really. I like you so much."
Louis kisses his cheek, because it's right and he likes him. But Harry flinches away from him, so Louis pulls back. "Sorry," he says. "I thought... I mean, I like you too."
"No, I know." Harry leans into his arms, holding on with both hands. He's warm as ever. "I know. And it's not that... I mean." Harry kisses his arm. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I would love to be kissed by you. Hypothetical future me, though. I don't want it now. And it has nothing to do with you. But I'm not ready for anything like this."
"Oh, okay." Louis doesn't know if he should let go of Harry, and he doesn't know if he wants to. "Okay. So what should I do?"
"I don't know." Harry gently pulls free and sits on the couch next to Louis. "I like you," he says softly. "I like you so much."
"I know. But can't you see how that's confusing for me?" Louis says helplessly.
"Yeah," Harry agrees. "Yeah, of course. I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry." Louis shakes his head. "I kissed you. I read the situation wrong," he has to say. "I'm sorry. I just thought..."
"Are you even gay?" Harry asks after a second.
"I don't know. Haven't done much either way to prove otherwise, but I don't know. I don't think I only like guys. Maybe I'm... I dunno, bi?" Louis shrugs after a second. "What about you, what do you think?"
"I don't know if I will ever like anybody like that. But I like you. I think I like you. Maybe like that. I don't know either." Harry blushes.
Louis wants to kiss him again, but instead he ruffles his hair. "Okay. Well how about I give you some time before we have to figure this out, alright? I'll go home and spend some time in my very clean flat, and we'll regroup."
"Like you'd come to the class? And we could talk after?"
"Sure, whatever you want."
Harry hugs him. "Thank you. Okay."
"Okay. Then I'll see you in a few days," Louis says, standing and walking to the door. He didn't bring much with himself, so all he has to do is put on his shoes.
"Don't get hurt," Harry says. "I care about you too much."
"I won't. You don't either. I'd say call me, but I'm off the grid," Louis tries to joke.
"Thank you. I'll see you Sunday."
"Sunday," Louis agrees. He's already determined to get really drunk so he doesn't stress out over Harry's decision. And it is Harry's decision. It's just Louis thinks he likes him either way.

Louis is massively hungover Sunday morning, but he didn't get beaten too badly. Skinned elbows and some bruises. He comes in the last five minutes, while everyone's cleaning up and hopefully before Harry can get too nervous.
When Harry sees him, he smiles a little and relaxes in apparent relief. "Hey," he says happily, and wraps Louis up in his arms. "Hi," he sighs again.
"Hey." Louis pats his back. "How are you?"
"Okay. We need to talk."
"Hey, you're alive," Zayn says from the back of the room.
Louis smiles at him. "Yeah, no thanks to you, dickhead."  Zayn flips him off on his way out. "Where should we go to talk?" Louis asks Harry.
"I don't know. I'll do it right now if you want to."
"Okay."
Harry sits on a table, cross-legged, and links his hands together tightly. "Okay. Um. I like you so much, Louis, and I really value your friendship. I love being around you and would really do anything to keep being around you. But I don't want to begin a sexual relationship with you."
"Oh." Louis knew this was a possibility, but it still feels like getting punched in the stomach.
"But I'm not saying I don't want to be... like, with you. I mean, if you were going to ask me out, I'd definitely say yes. I really, really like you. But I'm not ready... I'm not ready for any kind of... I mean." Harry's more nervous than Louis can remember him ever being, hands shaking.
Louis leans forward and links his hands with Harry's. "Don't be nervous," he says. "Just tell me what you want."
"You," Harry says in a small voice. "And I understand how making out would be the next logical step for us, but I can't do that. For me, for myself, it would be bad. You know I'd do anything for you, don't you?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course. I believe you," Louis tells him.
Harry's shoulders slump. "Okay. Well. Even though I'd like to kiss you, I can't. Kissing would lead to more, and I don't want more. I mean, I do want more. But I don't want..."
Louis squeezes his hands. "Don't worry. It's okay."
"It's not okay. You're really special to me, and I just want to make you happy. And it's really hypocritical of me to say things like I want to be around you forever and want to fucking... watch the sunset with you and then not want to be intimate you, but. Both those things are true. Something in me must be broken," Harry says, hanging his head.
"You aren't broken," Louis says. "You don't have to want anything else than what we've been doing just because I kinda want it a little."
"Only a little?"
"Are you offended I didn't say a lot or are you doubting me?" Louis smiles at him. "Trust me, okay? You're awesome, mate. I like you. I like you a lot. Don't have to kiss you."
Harry lets Louis hug him close. He shakes a little bit more, although when Louis asks, "Are you crying?" Harry denies it.
"No! I'm not crying." Although he suspiciously sniffs.
"You aren't broken. Sex isn't... it's just sex. Okay?"
"It isn't just sex, though. It's being close. And we are close. I'd love to be closer. I really like you." Harry scoots closer to the edge of the desk to hug him. "I'd kiss you, if it wasn't... if it was just kissing."
"Yeah? If I asked you out, would you say yes? Just kissing and hanging out. Would you like that? Would it, like. Make you happy?"
"Yes," Harry says, drawing back with a hopeful look in his eyes. "It will, I would, please. Like it. Would you like it?"
"Sure. Not much change to what we're doing, anyways. Only I get to tease you more, and use the boyfriend thing as leverage. If you'd like." Harry looks nervous, so Louis tries to lighten the mood. "Never had a boyfriend before," he says. "No one like you."
Harry hugs him tightly. "Jesus, you're so amazing."
"You are. You're amazing. And you aren't broken, I like you so much. It's okay. I promise it is. Let's get lunch, we can talk later."
"Okay."
Harry seems scared to touch him the whole way home, for all their talk of dating, so Louis doesn't push him. He lets Harry pick the place – Avocado again, it's become their spot – and pays for his own coffee and muffin. When they sit down, Harry's hand brushes Louis'. "Sorry," he says immediately.
"It's okay."
"I'm treating you weird," Harry says. "It's just I don't know how this works."
"Well, tell me something. Let's talk. You don't want sex, is that because somebody hurt you or because it's how you are?" Louis asks, as gently as he can manage.
"I don't know. I mean, somebody did hurt me. But I don't know if it's why. I don't think it is. That feels too... stupid." Harry shrugs, glancing up at Louis. "I'd like to think I'm stronger."
"You're strong," Louis assures him. "I just want to know how to best take care of you. Hated it when you flinched, I never want that to happen again."
Harry takes his hand. "I won't, I promise, I was just so scared."
"Of sex, or of me?"
"Sex, of it turning into sex. I like you, that's not the... no. I just didn't want to lose the best friend I've ever had." Harry sips his iced tea. "I'm not scared of sex. And especially not with you. I just don't want it right now."
"Like you just aren't interested?"
"Yeah," Harry has to admit. "I'm not. It's kinda gross to me right now. I think I'd probably be scared of it with someone else," he decides after a second. "I trust you, though. And I'd like to... I dunno. I want you."
Louis has to smile. "I want you too."
"Does that mean I have to want to have sex with you?"
"I don't think so."
"Okay." Harry smiles, thank God. "But it means that I still want to bite you. Your arms look so nice and strong."
Louis raises his eyebrows. "Oh really?"
"Yeah. Must be from all the punching."
"There's that sarcasm," Louis grins. "There you go. Well. Do you think you're one of those people who just doesn't want sex? 'Cause that would be okay."
"I mean, maybe. I'd probably have sex with the right person." Harry glances up, and Louis would give anything to know if he's the "right person" Harry could envision having sex with.
"Okay."
"I would really like to have you around a lot, though. If you want to be. Hanging out like we were. And kissing sometimes. So I guess that's my... piece to say. Or whatever." Harry shrugs and looks down. "So. Still want me?"
"Course I do. Let's get some food, get some DVDs and a couple pints of ice cream and we'll hang out just like we used to before I got a concussion and kissed your cheek. Okay?"
Harry smiles. "Okay." He stands up and holds his hand out for Louis. They end up walking down the street holding hands and sipping their drinks. "I liked you kissing me," Harry murmurs after a bit. "I was just scared."
"I'll keep that in mind. What do you want to eat? I can help you make it."
"I don't care. What can you even make?" Harry asks, curling up closer. Louis thinks he might trip over him.
Louis pretends to be offended. "Excuse you, I can make many things. I'll make you a fry up. And some good cheese on toast. Or maybe some pasta salad, how about that? You'll love that."
"I do love it," Harry says. "It's my recipe."
"Shut up, I'm trying to pamper you."
Harry rolls his eyes, but he trails behind Louis in the grocery store, still clinging to his hand, and helps remind him what to buy. It already feels like dating, with Harry sipping his iced tea and making faces at him, but it feels a lot like being best friends, too.
Louis carries the bags home and makes Harry food with Harry sitting on the counter helping him. No kissing, even when they're back on the couch together, snuggling. Harry has his hand in Louis' again, doing his best to make holding hands look normal when he's clearly nervous. Louis leans in to whisper, "Y'know, we're allowed to hold hands. Most boyfriends do."
"I know," Harry mumbles, nuzzling against Louis' cheek. His hair is still very soft, his hand gentle around Louis'. "I like being with you," he says. "A lot."
"I like you too. Being with you." Louis interlaces all their fingers and squeezes. "What can I do for you?"
"You've done great so far." Harry turns a little and to cuddle against Louis' chest. He's really adept at making himself small. Louis puts his arm around Harry's shoulder. "I wish... did you mind taking care of me?" he asks.
Louis shakes his head. "Of course not. You take care of me back, I love helping you. You can hold it together for most of the time, I'll hold it the rest of the time."
"I am broken, though," Harry says after a second. "I can't sleep for more than two hours at a time, I freak out sometimes, won't have sex with you-"
"You're caring, you cleaned my entire flat, you take care of me when I'm hurt and you cook like a champ. You give me much more than sex, don't kid yourself. You're a fantastic friend. I can live without having you as a fantastic lover too."
Harry blushes. "Dunno if I'm a fantastic lover," he says softly.
"Would be to me."
"Right," Harry sighs. "But I haven't done anything for years. I'm probably a terrible kisser, too."
"Well, we could find out," Louis says with half a smile. "But that doesn't matter. It was just a joke. My point-"
"I understand your point," Harry promises. "And I appreciate it, thank you." He stands up after a moment, then, and looks back at Louis. "Would you come watch the sunset with me?"
"I would love to." Louis follows him up the steps, a few fingers linked with Harry's.
This time, Harry sits between Louis' legs as soon as he can. He slumps to fit under his chin and then pulls Louis' hands over his stomach. "I see you know what you want," Louis smiles.
"Yeah. Honestly, I was thinking about doing this ever since the first night, but I didn't want you to get the wrong idea," Harry murmurs.
"Nope," Louis says. "I never have any ideas."
Harry giggles, leaning back against him harder. His hair smells like mint. "You asked me out. That was a very good idea."
Louis presses his lips against Harry's hair. "You've gotta tell me if I'm doing something wrong," he says. "I've never tried anything like this. Even with a girl, I never was... I'm just going on instinct, okay?"
"I like it so far."
"Okay."
They watch the sunset in silence together, with Harry tracing the tendons in Louis' linked hands. The sky turns pink, then purple fading into dark blue as the sun goes down. The flowers are beautiful in the fading light, Harry's hair catching the last little bit of light. He's beautiful too.
"You've probably put it together," Harry says after a bit. "I've given you enough dots to connect, and you're not stupid."
"So?"
"So do you want to ask me about it?"
"Ask you about what?" Louis squeezes him closer. "You haven't told me anything. I haven't got any questions. And I'm keeping any possible opinions to myself for now. Okay?"
"Oh." Harry lets out a breath. "What if I never tell you?"
"You don't have to, you know. There's a lot of shit you don't know about me."
"Oh yeah? Like what?" Harry says curiously.
"I don't know. Guess that's why you don't know it." Louis lets go with one hand to comb through Harry's hair. "We'll get there eventually," he says. "I'll let you in. But feel free to take your time."
"Fuck you, I will," Harry laughs, letting Louis pull his head back to kiss his cheek. "I will take my time," Harry continues while Louis has his lips against him, turning in against him. "I'll tell you when I'm ready," he says. "Promise."
Louis kisses his cheek again, because Harry isn't flinching from him anymore. "I will wait as long as you need," he says. "Don't even mention it again if you don't want to, okay? You'll still be my babe."
"Okay." Harry stretches his arms up and behind his head, and ends up hugging Louis close. "Do you want to spend the night?" he sighs happily.
"Are you kidding? I was counting on it. Dork." Louis digs his fingers into Harry's tummy, making him laugh. "Took you this long to suggest it?" he continues. "I think I'm offended, boyfriend, I really do." He presses his fingers in harder, feeling how Harry's stomach is taut and warm. Louis can feel muscles tensing when Harry squirms away.
"Sorry," Harry says, twisting his way onto his stomach to wrap his arms around Louis' chest. "Please stay. I'll beg."
"Don't you dare. I'm going to punch you if you beg, I punch beggars." Louis scratches Harry's back a little. "Don't want to have to punch you."
"Right, okay. Tough guy." Harry snuggles into Louis' arms. He picks his head up to kiss his bicep, and then puts it back down again. "I like how your heartbeat sounds," Harry says after a bit.
"That's weird. Thank you," Louis frowns, but he can't hold back a little smile. He lifts up one arm to comb through Harry's hair some more. It's long and soft, and Harry hums when he does it like a pleased kitten. "You gonna ask me to stop fighting?" Louis asks after a bit.
"Nah. Your life. But I'm not asking when I tell you I'm going to take care of you afterwards." Harry scoots his head around. "Y'know, you should come right here from there one time," he suggests.
"I'm usually drunk," Louis says. "Probably shouldn't. Hopped on a bunch of adrenaline and shit."
"Oh. Like do you think you'd hurt me?" Harry hesitates.
"No, no never. But that's a different me. And I don't want to be that with you." Louis combs through his hair reassuringly. "I mean, not that I want to hide anything from you."
Harry smiles. "Right, no thank you." He cuddles for a while longer, letting Louis play with his hair and hold him closer. "Maybe we could sleep in the same bed," Harry murmurs after a little while. "Would you like that?"
"I would. Would you?"
"I'm not in my bed that often at night as it is. And you'd be right there to hug me when I'm scared. If you want to, I mean, only if you want to."
"I want to," Louis agrees softly. "You're such a sweet boy for me, I'd love to hug you when you're scared. If you trust me enough, I mean. It's a pretty big step, y'know, sharing a bed. We might decide to live together next."
"I'd love to. As long as it's in my flat," Harry says with half a smile hidden in Louis' chest. "Yours isn't big enough for two."
"We'll talk about it. I'm very attached to my shitty flat. But I'm also very attached to you." Louis pets his hair, and then pulls up Harry's shirt a little so he can scratch his warm, smooth back. "You're so, so beautiful," Louis tells him. "What else do you need from me?"
"Needing things from you is probably a little intense," Harry says, words muffled. "I don't want to freak you out by going too fast."
"You won't, you haven't."
"It's also kind of... vulnerable. For me. To need you. 'Cause I haven't needed anybody – or let myself, I mean. For years. People who leave are usually the people I needed." Harry snuggles closer when a cool breeze blows over them. "I needed a lot of people."
"Yeah. But isn't it pretty lonely to not need anyone else?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
Louis laughs in surprise. "Wow, okay. I guess, yeah."
"Well. Just saying," Harry says with what sounds like a bit of a smirk. "I'm your exception and you're asking to be mine, right?"
"Well. That's pretty..." Louis hesitates for several long seconds.
"It's scary, isn't it? To admit it, I mean."
"Suppose it is." Louis kisses his hair. "But yeah. That's pretty much what I'm asking. If you'll have me. What do you need from me?"
"Can you calm me down when I'm panicking? Like you did?"
"I can, and I will. What else works besides ice?"
"Making me focus on my breathing, on moving my stomach with it. And just talking to me, so I can't get lost in an anxiety spiral. If... if I'm gonna need you, then I'll need you to just be here with me most of the time. Just a person here helps. As long as you want to be here, I mean."
"I do," Louis promises. "I genuinely like being here with you."
"Okay." Harry lets out a breath and gets heavier, somehow. They're there in the dark together for a while, just sitting together and cuddling lazily. Louis loves him completely. He should tell him sometime soon.
"Come on, mate," Louis says after a bit. "Let's get inside. In bed."
"Okay." Harry flops around until he's sitting up. When they're standing, he takes Louis' hand and locks all their fingers together. "I'm gonna shower," he says on the steps.
"Okay, I'll wait in the bedroom or something."
"You don't have to."
"Do you want me to be in there with you?" Louis asks doubtfully.
Harry hesitates. That's all he needs to say – or not say – as an answer.
"Okay, then. I'll be in bed. You get through with your shower and then rub your wet hair all over me."
"Ew. You're into some kinky shit, Lou," Harry giggles, twisting awkwardly as they walk down the hall to press his face into Louis' shoulder.
Louis kisses his hair. "I was saving the leather for the three-month anniversary."
Harry won't stop smiling, even as he opens the front door and trips over the doorjamb. "Okay," he finally answers. "Okay. No leather yet."
"Do you have some?" Louis laughs.
"Maybe you'll find out in three months." Louis laughs again and Harry strikes a pose in the bathroom doorway. "I'll be right back," he says. "Thank you. You can play with my phone."
"Whatever."
Harry showers quickly, and when he climbs in bed with Louis, he does get water droplets all over him when he shakes his hair out. "You want to stay up?" he asks. "We could watch something. Or read. Or whatever."
"If you want."
"What do you want?"
Louis usually just sleeps, on nights when he's not out with Zayn, but he doesn't want to tell Harry that. Harry loves talking to him, and Louis loves it too. So he says, "Let's talk. Tell me about your tattoos."
Harry rests his head on Louis' shoulder. "Let's go one for one."
"Okay. You first. Tell me about those birds you've got, the ones on your chest."
"They're actually lovebirds." Harry wraps Louis' hand back around his. "Meant to be together, and happy. And I'm not hitting on you, I swear. That's what I was thinking when I got them. Just... a reminder that there's happiness and love. And I thought they looked good on me," he adds, laughing.
"Lemme see?" Harry pulls his shirt collar down, exposing most of both of them. "They do look good," Louis says. "I like them. I'd kiss them." He hopes that's not crossing the line.
Harry just smiles. "Thank you. Your turn. What's on your chest? I've seen pieces of it, I think. Words, right?"
"Yeah, embarrassing ones."
"Why?"
"Because I was in a tattoo parlor one night, slightly drunk off my ass, and I picked it off a card in the place. You can't laugh."
"I swear I won't."
"Then alright." Louis pulls his own collar down and shows Harry.
Harry reads it aloud. "It is what it is? Wait, really?"
"Shut up. You said you wouldn't-"
"I'm not! I'm saying really because I think I got ink from the same guy. From the same card, even, look." Harry lifts up his shirt and he's got an obnoxiously huge butterfly in the middle of his stomach. "I thought it looked pretty," he defends himself immediately. "I wasn't thinking it through. But wasn't this on that card with your chest piece?" Harry asks.
He's probably right. "I don't remember, I was too drunk. Do you want to go look sometime?"
"Sure," Harry smiles. "But that'd be a pretty crazy coincident."
"Well, we live in the same dozen blocks. Not too crazy. I think it's probably more crazy that we haven't ever met before now."
Harry points at himself. "Recluse."
"Oh, right. Y'know, you don't act like a recluse with me," Louis points out after a moment. "Hard to remember that you're still curling up and hiding from a world that hurt you. You're so funny, though. And charming."
"Charming," Harry repeats.
"Yes, very. You've charmed me, I'm helpless to your charms."
Harry laughs and adjusts his head. "Whatever. I think you're full of shit, but whatever. I've got you in my bed either way, so."
Louis has to laugh too, then, and kisses Harry's wet hair. "Do you want a towel?" he asks. "You'll catch cold."
"I will not," Harry sighs, but he wraps his head up in a towel and lies his head down Louis' lap. "So you've seen two of my tattoos."
"Oh, right. Umm... played a lot of poker, so I've got the four suits on my wrist, just in a row. Here." Louis holds up his wrist. "What do you think?"
Harry rubs over it the ink. "Dumb but cute."
"Hey!"
"I'm being honest. But there's..." Harry pulls his left sleeve up and shows Louis a small cluster of tattoos on the outside of his own wrist, squiggles and letters and tiny little pictures that look like biro doodles. "Dumb but cute could be my motto," he says with a smile.
"It probably is," Louis teases.
"I have a music note on my toe," Harry says, and Louis can't stop himself from laughing again.
"That's literally the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
Harry bites Louis' hand. "You're dumb," he says. "I'm charming."
"They aren't mutually exclusive." Louis kisses his hair. "But your birds, I like them. You're right, they are pretty. You pretty little bird."
Harry arches his back and almost purrs. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, you are. You're my little bird."
"I am," Harry agrees, kissing Louis' tummy. "And what are you?"
"Yours."
"Mine. My boyfriend. C'mere." Harry motions him down as he leans up and then he kisses him straight on the lips, a gentle peck. "You like that?" Harry teases, smile getting lazy. His eyes look slitted, like a cat.
"I do," Louis says, tugging the towel loose to comb through Harry's wet hair.
Harry gives him another kiss, gentle as can be. "I like it too," he murmurs.
Louis looks down at him, and he's self-aware enough to know the feeling in himself is love. "It's okay to be scared of sex, y'know," he says softly. "I wouldn't judge you at all."
"You would a little bit," Harry says, holding onto Louis' hand. "It'd be one of those opinions you don't share, to be kind." His eyes are warm and sad in a way that makes Louis feel empty.
"No, no I wouldn't," Louis promises, squeezing his hand. "It's okay. I promise it's okay. I don't think less of you, and I'm not thinking of breaking up with you, I promise. I promise," he repeats, looking into Harry's eyes. "Okay?"
"No," Harry says, a little childishly. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying," Louis promises. "I am telling you the truth. And you said it yourself, only you backtracked when you thought I might freak out. You think I might not notice that?"
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I'm telling you I don't mind it."
Harry bites his lip. "Well, technically I didn't admit to anything," he faux-whispers. He's got tears in his eyes.
"You do that a lot, dumbass. Doesn't mean that's not true." Louis kisses Harry's forehead. "If somebody hurt me, I'd be scared of it happening again, too. Okay?"
"That's not true, though," Harry says, still tearful. "People hurt you and you hit back. You don't push everybody else away and curl up to play dead."
"Shut up. You were the one who found me in my flat and pulled me out of bed. But besides, that's not being hurt. That shit doesn't hurt me, that doesn't count. I mean something that really hurts."
"What has hurt you?" Harry asks, almost like a challenge.
Louis shouldn't tell him. He isn't frankly sure he can put it into words without laughing at himself. But he tries. He says, "Well. Getting hit doesn't hurt once you're used to it."
"Oh, right. Your parents," Harry murmurs. "Right?"
"Nah, just my dad. But yeah, you're right."
"Did he hit you a lot?"
"Yeah."
"Did that hurt?"
Louis' throat is tight. "Yeah."
Harry nods, chewing on his lip again. "ˆI'm sorry. Did... was..."
"It taught me to hit back," Louis says. "And some parts of it stopped hurting, but other ones never stopped. I'm not better than you for hitting back. It's different ways of handling things. Yours is probably better. You don't hurt other people."
"I hurt myself, though," Harry says softly. "That's not better."
"No, it isn't. I never want you to be hurt, babe." Louis combs through his hair again, and if it wasn't possibly crossing a line, he'd kiss him. "But it's okay to be scared. There's no shame in that, alright?"
"Are you scared?"
"I don't know. I don't know if I'd ever... well, let myself be. But I'm not saying that's healthy, and it's not what I need from you. Okay?"
Harry tries to smile. "There's that word again," he says. "Need. It's dangerous."
"I need you," Louis says honestly.
Harry smiles, eyes still a little damp, and he kisses Louis' hand, his knuckles. They're always a bit bruised up. "Let's try to sleep," Harry says. "Would you mind doing that now?"
"No, that's fine, yeah." Louis lies down next to Harry.
Harry leans up to turn off the lights, stretching to reveal a strip of tanned and inked skin. Then he turns in against Louis. "Do you like to cuddle in bed?" he asks, trying to be properly respectful.
"Yeah, sure." Louis lets Harry decide how to snuggle. Harry tucks himself under Louis' chin and puts his arm around him. He's got a strong arm, even if it's not particularly muscled. Louis trusts him, and more than that, he just likes him. "Wake me up," he says. "When you have a nightmare or something."
"Not a nightmare," Harry murmurs. "Half the time it's a panic attack that wakes me up. Or a bad dream wakes me up but my thoughts keep me up."
"Don't care. Wake me up, alright?"
"Okay. Thank you."
Louis combs Harry's hair away from his face. "You like being hugged?" he asks. "I'll hold you."
"Please, yes."
Louis puts his arm around Harry's shoulders, not quite suffocating him but close. "Wake me up," he repeats.
"I will, I promise I will."
"Okay."
Harry kisses his collarbone goodnight, and then his breathing evens out. If he's asleep or not, Louis isn't sure, but he's calm. He feels relaxed. So Louis kisses his hair and lets himself fall asleep.

Louis wakes up to Harry squeezing him tightly, face pressed into his chest. Before he's awake, Louis is petting his hair. "Baby, it's okay," he murmurs. "I'm here, I've got you."
Harry's crying into his chest. Louis just kisses his forehead and holds him close under his chin. "It's okay," Louis promises him. "I'm not going anywhere, babe. You're okay." He pets Harry and makes soothing noises until he's breathing normally again. "Bad dream?"
"Yeah," Harry lets out his breath. "Yes."
"You too scared to sleep?"
"Yeah."
"Okay." Louis combs through his hair and feels Harry let out a deep breath before finally relaxing a little bit. "Can I do anything for you?" he says softly.
"It's good, you being here. You don't have to do more. I'm gonna try to sleep again, I am." Harry presses in closer.
"It's okay. I'll stay up with you if you want, I'll hold your hand." Louis takes Harry's hand and links it tightly in between them. "It's alright," he says again. "What can I do to help?"
"Nothing, really. Just sleep, I'm okay. You're making it better by being here with me. I promise." Harry squeezes his hand.
"Okay." Louis holds his hand tight until he feels Harry's hand relax when he falls asleep for real. He waits to make sure Harry doesn't wake up again before he lets himself fall asleep again.

Instead of action waking him up again, it's absence; Louis' eyes open when he can't feel Harry next to him anymore. He gets up and starts looking before he's sure he can stand upright. Harry's not in the bathroom, which pretty much leaves the kitchen. Louis finds him with his head in the freezer.
"Haz," Louis says, coming up to him.
Harry pushes his head in further. "Sorry," he mumbles.
"No, it's okay. You should've woken me up, though. Come on." Louis pats his back. "What is it this time? Panic attack?"
"Yeah," Harry ducks his head into Louis' shoulder. "I can't breathe, I can't..."
"Shush, shh." Louis repeats his trick with the ice, pressing ice into both of Harry's palms and closing his hand around it. "Temperature helps?" he asks.
"Any distraction. Especially if it hurts a little bit. Thank you." Harry goes for a grateful kiss. Louis nips his lip, and Harry squeaks. "Hey! What the hell?"
"Distraction," Louis teases.
Harry hugs him. "Thank you," he says, voice deep and sleepy. "So much."
"Don't suppose you can go back to sleep," Louis murmurs.
"Nah, I'm gonna sit up."
"Then I'll sit up with you."
Harry frowns. "No, don't. Go to sleep."
"I won't." Louis crosses his arm. "Not without you."
"You can't do this to yourself," Harry says softly. "It's hard not to sleep, it takes a toll on you."
"It takes one on you too," Louis says. "So I'm going to be in this with you. What can I do to help? Would you like a massage? Or a story read to you?"
Harry gives him an exasperated look. "I'm not a baby."
"Give me suggestions, then," Louis says. "I want to take care of you."
"You can't," Harry shakes his head. "I have to just fight through this. And I don't know if you can help me with it. I'm serious, Louis."
"I am too. How am I supposed to just let you be miserable? Let me help. Just try to go back to sleep, I'll give you a good back massage and you'll drop right off." Louis tries to lead him by the hand into the bedroom, but Harry resists.
"You were serious about the massage?" he says doubtfully.
He is now. "Of course I was, come on. Get in bed. I know, I know I can't expect to change everything just because I'm here. But you've got someone to help you now, so I'm going to do my damn best. Get in the bed."
Louis' authority seems to work as he intended; Harry lets himself be stripped of his shirt and put in bed on his stomach. He groans at the first push of Louis' hands, because Louis won't let himself be gentle. Harry needs to be kneaded into submission and sleep.
For nearly twenty minutes, Louis works Harry's back like dough. He pushes and pulls down the length of him, moving down and up and back down again, until Harry's back is soft and absolutely limp. Louis takes another pass then, as slow as he can, and that one soothes Harry to sleep. After all that time of not saying a word, Louis looks over to see Harry's dozing, a little frown on his face even still in his sleep.
Louis pets him again. "Baby," he says softly. "Good. I'll protect you, I promise."  He falls asleep with one arm over Harry's bare back and his lips on his shoulder.

At four in the morning, Harry wakes up again. He whimpers, and sits bolt upright at once, in a bit of a panic. That wakes Louis, who tries to pin him down before he knows what he's doing.
"Sorry," Harry whispers, sounding miserable.
"No, it's okay," Louis says, rubbing his eyes. They feel almost gritty with sand.  Waking up every few hours is taking its toll on him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just can't sleep."
"Okay. Just tell me what's going on. Is it really nightmares every couple hours? You got nightmares that bad, babe?"
Harry nods. "And... bed doesn't feel like a safe place to me, most of the time. A little more with you here. But not in general. I can't just sleep, it doesn't feel like I can. Even on the couch, I can't."
"I wish I could make you feel safe, but if you're telling me I can't, then I believe you. Can I hold you?"
Harry hunches his shoulders. "To be honest, anyone touching me right now would make me feel like peeling off my skin. Even you, I'm sorry."
"That's okay." Louis really wants to fall back asleep. "I wish you didn't feel like you had to do this alone," he says. "But if you really would like to be left alone, I'll leave you alone." He reaches out slowly to tuck some hair behind Harry's ear, very gently. Harry leans into the touch. "If you don't feel safe at home, we can talk about moving," Louis says gently.
"It's not this flat or anything," Harry says sadly. "Just beds in general." He looks down at his toes, eyes pale in the lamplight. "And you can't do anything. I do have to do this alone, at least right now."
"So you're telling me completely honestly to leave you alone? To be clear."
"Yes," Harry says, looking at him with softness in his eyes. "Thank you."
"I'm here. Wake me up if you need to," Louis says as he's lying back down. "Don't turn the light off, everything's fine," he adds before Harry can act.
"You sure?"
Louis turns onto his side, facing away from Harry and the light. "Yeah," he says. "Good luck, babe."
"Thanks." Harry shifts a little, then covers Louis more securely with the blankets. "You're so..." he begins. Louis doesn't hear the end before he falls asleep.

When Louis wakes up for good in the morning, Harry's still sitting, just sleeping with his head on his knees. Louis smiles at him for a bit, and then he sits up and kisses Harry's hair. "Come on, sweetheart," he whispers, and tries to uncurl Harry to let him sleep for real.
Harry clings tightly to his own knees for a little bit, and then he seems to realize it's Louis and cuddles into him. "'M awake," he murmurs. "I'll make you breakfast, gimme a sec."
"Shut up, no. Go to sleep," Louis smiles at his dazed blinking. "Come on, lie down. I've got you. Just take a little nap, I'll make your food for you."
"Don't go."
"Okay, I won't. Just lie down for me."
Harry flops down in sleepy petulance and allows himself to be covered with the blankets. Louis sits inside the curve of him, near his stomach, and pets his hair. It dried into a wispy mess during the night, and Louis tries to sort it out for a few minutes while Harry snores lightly.
When Louis tries to get up, Harry grunts, but he doesn't say anything. He yawns, and snuggles in more. Louis does make him breakfast, cuts up a lot of fruit and puts it prettily on a platter. He makes him some whole wheat toast and puts natural peanut butter on it, and then a cup of his favorite tea.
He brings it all to Harry in two trips. When Louis comes in the second time, Harry's siting up and rubbing at his eyes with one hand. "Hey," he mumbles, voice rough.
"Hi," Louis smiles at him. "Good morning. Are you a little bit more rested?"
"Yeah," Harry smiles back, bleary-eyed and dopey. "What did you do?" he asks accusatorily. "You've bamboozled me."
Louis grins at him and kisses his cheek. "Dumbass. Just say thank you."
"Thank you," Harry says sincerely. "You're so wonderful to me."
"I am your boyfriend."
"No," Harry shakes his head. "Even before that."
Louis can feel his cheeks heating up. "Shut up and eat your berries," he says.
"Okay." Harry meekly does so, but he keeps giving him those soft, kind looks that make Louis feel melted. "I like you," he says happily near the end of his breakfast. "I really like you."
"Like you too," Louis says briskly, and kisses his temple.
"Kiss my face," Harry says, sticking his lips out. "Please. You can kiss my lips."
"Oh, alright. I was trying to respect your boundaries or whatever," Louis tells him, leaning in to kiss his lips as requested. "Show you I meant what I said."
"I know, I do," Harry promises. "But I'm not scared of kissing. I like kissing, especially kissing you. You're the only person... I mean, you're so special to me. And special means kissing. To me."
Louis smiles. "Me too," he says. "Thanks for telling me."
Harry nods at first, but then he gets this insatiably curious look on his face and Louis knows he's got a question to ask. "How are you so good with this?" he asks after a second. "I'm not always... mentally well. And you're just treating me like I'm a normal person, and that you're never frustrated with me."
"What?"
"I'm serious. Haven't you ever thought about punching me again?"
"Fuck no, I'm not an asshole. I only punch people that I don't know that well," Louis says uncomfortably. "You're fine."
"No, Lou, I'm really not," Harry says seriously. "I mean, thank you. But don't humor me. I'm not okay. And you're willing to just deal with that?"
"Yeah," Louis shrugs. "Of course. Everyone has to deal with something. You're nice. And you buy me food. To me, that's just as important."
"As mental health?" Harry demands.
"Yes. Stop it. Aren't you happy that I like you?"
"Too happy. You like me too much."
"I do not. You're... you are..." Louis hesitates. He doesn't know if he has the words for this. "I could've never run into you, and the thought of that is just... it's horrifying. You're a good friend – great, I mean."
Harry nods, chewing on his lip. "Okay," he says, letting himself smile. "I've never doubted your honesty," he offers.
"Thank you." Louis leans in and presses his forehead against Harry's. "You're safe with me," he says. "You're always safe with me. I'll beat the shit out of anything for you. I don't care if you're insane."
"That's dumb," Harry says. "You have to care."
"I don't."
"Then I haven't told you enough."
Louis kisses him to stop him, mainly, but Harry clings to him and kisses him passionately. "Stop it," he says when they separate. "Stop. Trust me."
"I do," Harry says into his neck. "I trust you. We're good together, I'm just overthinking it."
"You are." Louis gives his cheek a long kiss and then hugs him. "So what are we going to do this week? As boyfriends."
Harry smiles. "We could go to a film. Or the park. I have to garden more."
"I'll be here as much as you like."
"Okay."
"Okay," Louis repeats teasingly. Harry kisses him again, and Louis figures his week won't be too bad.

They're together Saturday morning, after another night stayed over at Harry's flat. They hang out like this a lot, a lazy day in bed together, because Louis wants Harry to like his bed, and also he just loves holding him. Harry's a little skittish still, but he relaxes into Louis' touch more and more.
"I'm gonna have to leave," Louis murmurs into Harry's neck. "Fighting tonight."
He keeps expecting that to be an issue, but it never is. "M'kay," Harry murmurs. "Would you come over tomorrow? Since I know you won't take yourself to the hospital if you need it."
"I would, if I actually needed it," Louis objects. "But I'll come over, yeah. Order us some pizza, we can have a night in."
"Every night with me is a night in," Harry points out, letting his own hand brush over Louis' arm. "Wouldn't you like to go out? How about we go out, not like I'd be sleeping anyways."
"No, little bird," Louis says. Even though the nickname feels odd in his mouth, he loves Harry's blushing reaction. "You need to sleep," he continues. "You can go out all night when you sleep all day, like me."
Harry sticks out his lower lip. "Not fair. You sleep all the time."
"Well, now I do, yeah. You're like having a teething baby, I swear. And I would know, I've had little sisters."
"Always falling back on the sisters in an argument," Harry says under his breath. His eyes are sparkling when Louis looks at him, though, and he cackles wickedly when Louis digs him in the ribs indignantly. "You do, though! As if some little girls give you absolute authority in all domestic matters," Harry scoffs. "As if."
"It kind of does. There were four of them, did I mention that too many times before?" Louis retorts.
"You did a couple times," Harry says softly, scooting down the bed to tuck his head under Louis' chin. "Four. And you said there's a set of twins. But that's all you've given me."
"Well. Gotta save something for the rest of the relationship," Louis teases, just a little bit. He brings his hand up to Harry's hair and cradles him close.
"I've got a sister," Harry says in a tiny voice.
Louis doesn't let himself hesitate. "She pretty as you?"
"Prettier." After a moment, Harry wraps his arms around Louis, snaking one under him to completely circle his waist.
"Why didn't you tell me your sister is Posh Spice?" Louis kisses his hair.
Harry fakes a laugh, and falls very suspiciously silent. "You'll come back, though," he finally says. "Right? Sunday night, you'll come back. You don't mind me too terribly."
"No, Harry. I don't mind at all." Louis squeezes him close. "I'm coming back."
"Okay."
Harry's in a clingy quiet mood right now, which isn't all too unusual. Louis knows how to deal with it now. He lets himself be silent and strong for his boy. There's time for everything else later.

Zayn sees Louis fight that night and walks him home afterwards, though with Zayn it seems like he just happened to be walking the same way. He smokes and doesn't speak for a while. "Pretty vicious out there, man," he says eventually. "Never seen that from you."
"Then you haven't been looking close enough," Louis says flippantly, wiping blood from his lip.
Zayn doesn't address his boldfaced lie. "Something wrong tonight?" he asks.
"Nah," Louis shrugs. "Just wasn't in the mood to lose. Going to see Harry tomorrow, after that art class you love so bad."
"Ah."
"What the fuck does ah mean?" Louis demands.
"Nothing in particular. Do you like him?"
"I... yeah. He's a great lad. A little odd."
"More than a little," Zayn snorts, and Louis has to snort with him.
"Well, yeah. But he's very well-meaning."
"You just like him 'cause he's bought you food again, hasn't he?" Zayn teases.
Louis smiles. "No," he says. "I dunno, I think we've clicked. In a weird way."
"Hmm."
"What the fuck does hmm mean, now?" Louis demands.
"It means... good. You're lonely. And he looks lonely too." Zayn shrugs and lights another cigarette.
"Well, what about you?" Louis asks, nudging his shoulder.
Zayn's smile is lit up by only his cigarette. "I'll survive," he says dryly. "Not like you're great company for me anyways. You pout and threaten me when I beat you at anything."
"Hang out with him sometime," Louis suggests. "He's like a dumb kitten or something. He just wants to curl up with you on the couch and eat."
"And you do that?"
"Sometimes. He's convincing."
Zayn smiles just a little bit, and Louis smiles back. He knows Zayn isn't judgmental, even if he does judge.
"Enjoy that art class," Louis says after a bit. "He loves it."
"Okay. I'll see you around."
"Yeah."
Louis lets himself in and showers before going to bed, so he doesn't get blood on the sheets Harry gave him. He sleeps until the sound of a scuffle in the alley outside wakes him around noon, and then he manages to get up and out the door in just fifteen minutes.
On his way to Harry's, he picks up a coffee and a tea, and a couple pastries for them as well, and then he tries not to regret everything when he's standing in front of Harry's door. He feels ridiculous. But when Harry opens the door and beams, Louis decides it's worth it. For Harry, almost everything is worth it.
"Hey!" Harry says happily. He's got flowers in his hair again, a loose crown over his curls. His eyes are sparkling. He's got on another flannel shirt over a thin T-shirt, and Louis notices how covered up he stays usually.
"Hi. You look pretty," Louis says, leaning in to kiss him.
Harry's chest puffs a little bit with pride. "Oh," he says, sounding dazed. "Thank you. What's this for?"
"I'm trying," Louis says. "Flowers from your garden?"
"Yeah. I was gonna go up there in a little bit, actually, if you'd like to?"
"Sure."
"Yeah, okay." Harry takes his tea and lets Louis inside. "Thank you," he says again. "How did your fighting go? Did you win a lot?"
"I did good, yeah," Louis smiles. "Notice how not hurt I am."
"I have noticed, I love it," Harry says, a little flushed. "Do you need anything?"
"No I'm good."
"Good." Harry kisses him again, holding him with gentle big hands on Louis' sides. "I was worried about you," he confesses. "Very."
"Don't worry," Louis says. "I'll be fine."
"Alright." Harry smiles a little. "Um, tonight. Would you like to come out for dinner? I'd buy. I think it'd be fun."
"Sure. I'll need time to go home and get dressed up, though."
"No, you left your blazer here, remember? Last time we were gonna go out."
"Well. Don't you have all the answers," Louis grins. "Okay. Then let's go out."
"Then let's." Harry kisses him again. Louis honestly isn't sure any time away from Harry is worth the boringness of separation, but Harry's joy when he's back is so gratifying. "Never leave," Harry says after a little more snogging. "I miss you too much."
"How did you survive your life before the last couple months with me?" Louis teases.
"Wasn't doing too well," Harry murmurs into the crook of his neck. "But you're a bit of a shit sometimes, just so you know."
"Fuck you," Louis frowns, but he kisses his hair all the same.
"It wasn't an insult," Harry promises. "You bought me tea."
"And thus bought your love, did I?"
Harry hums. "Might need another tea."

It's been nearly six months of hanging out with Harry when Louis decides to take a next step for them. It comes out when they're walking in the park, over the snowy paths. "Hazza," Louis says awkwardly, breath misting in the air.
"Come out with it," Harry says, swinging their connected hands. "What's on your mind, babycakes? You've been weird all week."
"I'd love to move in with you," Louis says after a bit. "I mean, we're hanging out so much anyways, it doesn't really... it doesn't make sense for me to go home most nights only to come back. And I swear I don't mind you not sleeping. I won't get up with you every time, if you're uncomfortable. But I want to be there for you, and I want to make you breakfast in the morning."
"Okay," Harry says after just a second. "Sure."
"Just like that?"
"Well. I... yeah. Why, should I have not said yes right away?" Harry asks.
"No, I'm glad you did, I just thought you maybe were a little too nervous, still. About me, and like my commitment. And if you need more clear guidelines, about what is or isn't okay for me to do while we live together, that's okay." Louis falls silent in frustration after a bit. He's not sure how this goes into words.
Harry walks a little closer, tall and hunching to look smaller, always smaller. "I like you," he says. "I trust you. So I don't need much more. You're a good person. And you care about me."
"I do. So you're totally comfortable with this?"
"Yes," Harry says. "We can talk boundaries after you've moved in."
"Okay. Well. I just have a few things to grab, if that's alright. We could do it now?"
"Sure. If... I mean... if you don't think I'm too much to deal with. I mean I know deciding to live with me means you don't think so, but."
"I don't think you're anything too much. You're awesome. That's what I think."
Harry smiles in a bit of a sad way. "Thank you," he says. "You're awesome too. So we'll get your things."
"Yeah, babe. Let's do this."
Harry's all smiles for the short moving process. He's happy and loving and nothing but attentive, but there's something disturbingly sad in his eyes that Louis doesn't understand. Like this is something Louis doesn't know is a bad idea. In fact, knowing him that's exactly what it is. But Louis lets him think he's gotten away with his lie by omission.
When bedtime rolls around, Harry gives him nervous glances until Louis addresses it. "What's wrong?" he asks.
"I'm not going to be able to sleep any better," Harry begins.
"I know, I don't expect-"
"Because I'm scared of being hurt in my sleep. That's how it happened before. That's why I keep waking up at night. And I do feel safe with you, but knowing there's someone there is honestly terrifying. But I want you here, and I want you to be happy."
"Okay," Louis says after a moment. "Thank you."
"But I'd love to start out the night with you. And I apologize in advance for waking you up."
Louis plants a gentle kiss on the top of his cheek. "No," he says. "Don't apologize. I adore you. Get in bed with me, come on. There's nothing I'd like more."
Harry's silent throughout their whole bedtime routine, up until they're curled up together in bed, him inside Louis' arms where hopefully he feels something approaching safe. "You, um," he begins. "You know I never think you'd hurt me, right? You know that?"
"Yes, of course. I mean. If you're telling me that then I absolutely believe it," Louis says after a moment.
"Okay." Harry snuggles in against him. "Good. Because I know you'd never... it's just." He's silent, trying to decide if he can say something. "I'm struggling," he finally gets out, "with a lot of things, sometimes. Like PTSD and knowing if something's real or not. My feelings and stuff. But I hope that never means you forget too."
"Isn't it hard to know who you can trust, then?" Louis asks.
"Yes," Harry says. "But I know you love me. And you'd never hurt me. So I trust you anyways. We were friends first. What, have I said something wrong? You've gone stiff."
"No, nothing wrong," Louis says after a moment. "I do love you."
"Oh." Harry hesitates. "You do?"
"I do. I love you a lot, I've loved you for... ages, probably," Louis says, and he kisses Harry's hair. "I didn't know how long it would take to be able to tell you. Didn't know how to bring it up."
Harry opens his mouth, but doesn't get anything out for a good few minutes. "You're sure I'm not too weird?" he finally says.
"Never too weird."
"God," Harry sighs. "I don't know why I believe you, but I do. I shouldn't."
"Just as long as you do, little bird. I love you so much." He pets his hair, moving a few strands as gently as he can. "So much," he repeats. "Can't think of anyone I love more."
"Really?"
"Not a single one."
"Your family, I'm sure." Harry says, trying to smile.
"Nope. Don't have a family."
"You don't?"
"No. Dad hit me, Mum let him, and the rest think I'm a fuckup. So. Not much reason to love that lot. Love you, though. So fucking much. Who needs a family anyways, when I've got you caring for me?"
"And kissing me," Harry says, a smile in his voice.
"Yes, and kissing you," Louis repeats. "Didn't get that from my sisters."
"Ew," Harry says agreeably. He shifts a little. "Love you too, by the way," he says after a few minutes. "You're incredible to me. Bit of a hero."
"I never took my GCSEs, I don't have a single qualification for any kind of skilled job, and I'll probably be grungy and poor for most of my life. You're saying that's hero material?"
"I told you I'm mentally ill," Harry giggles, and Louis kisses him.
"You're a dumbass," he says. "Thanks a lot."
"Love you."
"Love you," Louis agrees. "But more importantly, you're an amazing friend, and I like how you are. I love how you are."
"You can't love me," Harry murmurs to himself. "You barely know me."
"I don't know a lot about you, but I know you," Louis says. "I know enough to love you. Do you think you'll be able to sleep alright at first?"
"Yeah. I'll do my best."
"If there's anything I can do, then you're going to wake me up, understand?"
"I understand." Harry cranes his neck to nuzzle in under Louis' jaw, smelling him and then kissing him. "I'm safe with you," he says.
"You're very safe with me. Remember how strong I am?"
Harry snuggles in closer. "How could I forget." He's being sarcastic, but he does end up sleeping within five minutes. He looks a little exhausted all the time. This is good for him. So Louis sleeps as well as he can and prepares himself to wake up several times and love it.

Louis wakes up before Harry does for once. He senses him tensing, he thinks, or something close to that. Harry's twisting in his arms, so Louis wakes him up by tapping his side. "Little bird," he murmurs, because Harry will recognize that.
He does. He clings to Louis and starts gasping as soon as he's awake. "Lou, Lou," he whimpers.
"I'm right here, baby," Louis says. "I'm right here."
Harry whimpers a little, and Louis leans down to kiss his lips as gently as he can. "I love you," he says. "Remember? I love you a lot."
"Right. Yes." Harry turns over onto his back and Louis keeps his arm over his waist protectively. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything is good," Louis assures him. "You're okay." He combs his hair away from his face and kisses his forehead. "Everything's great, alright? I'm here with you, and I love you."
"Okay," Harry curls up smaller, threading his legs between Louis' and cuddling in against his chest. "Can, um. Cover me up."
"Alright, I've got you." Louis wraps their blankets tight around Harry, lifting him a little to get it under him too. "You're covered up, you're safe," Louis murmurs to him, and fixes his arms just a little tighter. "Can you sleep a little bit more for me, birdy? I'm not going anywhere."
Harry makes a small noise, but he doesn't otherwise react. Louis waits a few minutes to check his face. Harry's sleeping again, a little uneasily, but he's asleep. Louis holds him tighter and lets himself sleep again as well.
He still wakes up a few hours later to Harry sobbing in the bathroom, trying not to be too loud. Louis knocks on the door before going in. Harry's on the floor, sitting with his back against the tub. "Hey, Hazza," Louis murmurs, leaning down to put his hand on Harry's hair. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know. Nothing. I just feel terrible. Scared. But not of anything in particular. I'll be back, I will, but I think I might throw up so I want to stay in here for a bit."
"Okay. Do you want me in here?"
"No, go to sleep. It's okay. You said you didn't need to wake up every time, and this isn't anything you can help me with." Harry reaches up to link hands with him for a second. "Thank you. Go to sleep."
"Alright."
Louis doesn't fully drop off until he feels Harry crawl in bed too, putting his arm around Louis and snuggling in. "Love you," Louis tells him.
"I love you too, Lou." Harry puts his head so close to Louis' that his hair tickles Louis' neck, but Louis doesn't tell him to move away.

Louis blinks his eyes groggily, trying to figure out what time it is. He twists around to see Harry sleeping peacefully next to him. He has circles under his eyes even in his sleep, lavender like bruises, and he has just a hint of a frown creasing his forehead. Louis turns over to face him and just looks at him for a while. Harry's so pretty, and always so perpetually warm. He's like a sun-kissed little angel, with long eyelashes and delicate features. He looks so young and yet still so masculine.
He doesn't know how he'll ever express how he feels about Harry and all his contradictions. He wants to protect him and also feels like Harry would protect him too if he asked.
After a while, Harry takes a deep breath in and wakes up. First he sniffs, and then he swallows, and then he cracks open his eye. "Hi," he says in his scratchiest morning voice. "Morning."
"Good morning," Louis smiles. "How are you?"
"Rested," Harry says in surprise after a moment. "I slept."
"You did."
"I had a good night," Harry murmurs, nuzzling in against Louis. "Haven't had one in months." He lifts his head up to kiss Louis' shoulder then, and settles back in with an air of being perfectly content right now. "Must know I'm safe with you even in my sleep."
"I hope so. But I won't be angry if it was mostly a coincident, either."
Harry smiles a little, like he's still too tired to give a real one. "What would you like for breakfast?" he asks. "I'll make it for you."
"You don't have to."
"I like to. I like cooking. Especially for my boyfriend." Harry fishes one hand free of the blankets and puts it on Louis' cheek. His fingers are especially hot. "I love cooking for you," he repeats. "I like showing you I care."
It's so blatantly sincere that Louis can't have any other response besides the one he has. "Then cook for me," he says. "I'd like some pancakes, if you don't mind."
"Don't mind," Harry smiles. "Chocolate chips?"
"Is that even a question?"
Harry laughs and rolls over onto him. "I love you," he says. "You're the best. What did you call me last night? Birdy?"
Louis shrugs. "Dunno. In the heat of the moment, some things were said. Hopefully comforting things." He smiles at Harry, and Harry smiles back.
"Comforting," Harry agrees.
"Good." Louis is content to just look at him, with his sleepy green eyes and the barest hint of freckles over his nose and smooth cheeks, curly hair tinged with gold at the edges. He's practically summer incarnate, even with the room chilly and the window nearly iced over. It's the dead of winter and his boyfriend is the sun.
"What are you looking at?" Harry smiles after a bit.
"My boyfriend and chef, lying about like he's some kind of model," Louis teases, leaning in over him to kiss him and brush their noses together. "Tell me about you. Anything," he says quietly.
Harry blurts his words out. "I don't think I'm particularly interested in sex. Like ever. I'm not saying I won't, but it's not... I don't know." Harry bites his lip. "Well this has turned into more, but I mean. This is important for you to know, if you're going to live with me. I don't think I'm interested."
"Okay."
"It's just I just kept thinking I'll change, that I can change for you, because I love you more than anything, but I'm not changing. And it's been bothering me for a while, because I feel like I got you under... under false pretenses. Or something. I don't know how much sex I'm going to be interested in ever, for the rest of my life." Harry sits halfway up and takes Louis' hand, looking him square in the eyes. "I love you and want you to be happy more than anything, but I don't think I can change this about myself. I'm sorry."
Louis considers his answer carefully. "First of all, don't be sorry," he says. "I love you. Sex..."
"Don't lie to me," Harry says, scooting around to sit with his legs crossed. Louis sits up too. "I mean, I'm sorry, I don't mean it that way. But I know it's important and that you enjoy it. Of course everyone enjoys it. And I'm not even saying I won't enjoy it maybe. But I won't want it."
"Okay. I won't make you do anything."
"I know," Harry sighs, a little exasperated. "That's not what I meant. I... okay. How do you feel about it? About waiting for probably a while until I'm ready to."
"I feel like... like we're not there yet. Is that stupid? I feel like sex isn't on my radar for me and us right now. I'm not asking for it. So maybe we don't have to stress out just yet. Okay?"
"Okay." Harry leans in to kiss him. "If you're sure. Sorry about the big conversation and everything."
"Nah, it's okay. I'm sure."
"This is the weirdest fucking relationship I've ever been in," Harry murmurs.
Louis kisses him again, and pulls him in for a hug with his arm around his neck. He takes a deep breath of him, of the scent of his sleepy sweatiness and traces of his mint shampoo. "Me too," he says. "But I don't care."
"So. Pancakes."
Louis laughs. "Right, sure. Can I come along?"
"Sure," Harry smiles. "I'll even let you have some chocolate chips."
"You're a right angel, aren't you," Louis grins back. "Come here, angel." He kisses him again, combing through his long hair at the base of his neck. "You liked me calling you birdy?" he asks softly.
"Yeah," Harry murmurs. "Makes me feel like these." He taps his bird tattoo under his shirt.
Louis pulls Harry's collar aside and kisses the bird on the right. "Think he looks like you, anyways," he tells him. "I like it."
"I like you," Harry says, and then as almost a correction, "I love you."
"Love you too. Come on."
"Okay." Harry takes his hand happily, and makes him some very nice fluffy pancakes that they eat on the couch, feeding each other bites. This is what they enjoy right now, more than any sex.

Their first Saturday officially living together is their first awkward moment together. Louis is overly aware that Harry will watch him leave to fight tonight, and Harry seems to be picking up on his apprehension. He doesn't say anything for a while, choosing to watch Louis instead.
Louis brings it up for dinner. "Hey, um. So I won't be back until late," he says. "Usually around five am or so."
"Oh," Harry says at first. "Uh, alright. Just..." He has to clear his throat. "Just in time for my third wake-up of the night," he finishes with half a smile.
"Sorry. I don't want to leave you like this."
"Nah, I'll be fine. I survived for most of my life. I'll be okay tonight."
"I'll shower before I get in bed, so I don't bleed on everything. And I'll give you whatever I manage to make, alright?"
"You don't have to. Settlement money, remember?"
"That's – sure." Louis nods. "Yeah. Sounds good. Try not to worry, okay?"
"I won't," Harry says. "It's honestly kind of easier that you can't call, so I don't have to worry when you don't. So. Have fun. Do good. Or, well, I suppose. I'm proud of you, absolutely."
Louis does his best to smile back. "Nice, okay. You're really chill about this."
"Considering everything else you do for me, this isn't a big deal," Harry says wisely, chewing a large mouthful of potato. "Don't stress."
"Okay, Mister Cool. Won't stress. Not stressing."
Harry giggles informs him that the potatoes, chicken, and cheese will give him long-lasting energy for his fights, and serves him some chocolate cake. "Short initial burst," he says by way of explanation, and Louis laughs and kisses him.
Maybe this will work after all.

Louis is a little drunk when he gets home – he tried to restrain himself, but now really isn't the time to not be himself. So he's halfway to plastered, honestly, when he gets to Harry's flat. He lets himself in with the key Harry gave him that hangs around his neck, and he makes his way almost steadily to the bathroom.
The lights are on in the bathroom. Harry's hunched over the toilet, clearly just finished throwing up. "My turn," Louis jokes, wiping his nose. It's just stopping bleeding.
"Hey, babe," Harry rasps, trying his best to smile with tears in his eyes and hair plastered to his forehead and neck.
Louis kneels down – only wincing a little bit – and puts his arm around Harry's shoulders to draw him closer. "Hi, love. What's wrong? Bad night? Sorry, I don't smell great right now."
"Me neither," Harry says mournfully, putting his head down on Louis' shoulder. "Did you do good?"
"Did alright. Little more than five hundred. Just some ribs hurt, don't worry. What about you, how are you? You doing alright?" Louis asks, even though it's clear he isn't. He's shaking, covered in a thin layer of sweat and fragile as a baby bird.
"I'm alright," he says anyways, predictably. "Um. Not the best night. But I'll be okay. I can get you some plasters if you want."
Louis is already shaking his head. "Nope. No tending to me. You get in bed, I'll bring you some toast and tea, and then I'm gonna shower. You need to rest and settle your stomach, little bird." He kisses Harry's sweaty temple.
"I'm okay, though," Harry complains weakly.
"You aren't," Louis says firmly. "Get in bed. You mind me being a little smashed? Will that be a problem for you, I mean?"
"No," Harry smiles. "Love you."
"Love you too, babe. Anything on the toast?"
"I have some preserves."
"Okay." Louis kisses him and helps him up. "Go on, I'll be right there."
Harry's snuggled up in the sheets looking very miserable by the time Louis gets to him. Louis is glad he has the presence of mind to bring a wet cloth with him too, to wipe Harry's forehead down and cool the back of his neck. And then he wipes off his lips too, because he loves his lips.
"Eat something, baby," Louis tells him. "Come on. Just having something in your stomach will settle you."
"Alright. Thank you. I am going to tend to you, though," Harry says with a little smile. "After the shower. I'm going to patch my boy back up."
"Okay, babe. Stay in bed until then. Okay?" Harry nods, so Louis kisses his forehead. "Sorry for my booze breath."
"I swear it's fine," Harry says with a real smile. "Cute how self conscious you are right now, though. Go, shower."
Louis rolls his eyes, but he does just that. And he has to say, showering the dirt and blood off feels a lot better with Harry there in the next room. He pulls on a shirt before he's completely dry, like always, and half-dries his hair, but he brushes his teeth, and then he gets to get in a warm bed next to Harry. It's nice.
Harry's munching dejectedly on his last piece of toast. "I don't know why I threw up," he says unhappily. "I don't usually. Maybe nerves or something. I was worried about you a little bit."
"I won't live with that guilt," Louis says, only half-joking.
"Shut up," Harry giggles. "Don't be an ass. I'm saying I should be fine, though. Sorry for the trouble. What should I do for you?"
"Nothing. Everything can wait for morning. Drink your tea." Louis pulls Harry in against his side – the one that doesn't hurt – and kisses his damp hair.
"I don't like waking up without you," Harry says after a little bit. He leans over to put his mug on the bedside table and then smiles at Louis. "That's probably weird to say. But I was thinking it."
"Not weird. Why do you think I asked to move in with you?"
Harry smiles bigger at that, and snuggles in against Louis' chest after he's turned the light off. "We're awesome best friends," he says.
"We aren't just friends, we love each other," Louis says softly. "We can be in love without having sex, y'know."
"You really think?"
"Yeah. Absolutely."
"It's just." Harry takes a deep breath that's shaky enough to remind Louis he's not great right now. "It's just this all feels too platonic to be in love. If that's not too technical right now."
Louis frowns. "Do you feel platonically towards me?"
"No, no. Not even a little bit. I'm in love with you. But it's like, doesn't that usually mean sex, and pressure to have sex? Not necessarily from you or anything, just like... pressure from society." Harry huffs out half a laugh. "I sound so fucking weird."
"You do not. And if you want, I can pressure you some, so you feel more comfortable with this if that's what you need," Louis says, laughing a little and kissing near Harry's eye.
"No, no. I just... no sexual elements to our relationship is exactly what I'm comfortable with, and I'm very happy with it. But I still don't believe you are," Harry finally says. "Don't worry. It's my problem, not yours."
Louis kisses his cheek. "Your problems are mine. We can talk about it. But how about for tonight, we're awesome best friends who kiss a lot and are in love with each other. And that's damn perfect."
"Sounds good to me," Harry sighs happily. "Now let me sleep."
"Sorry, sorry."
Louis' bones are aching, and his knuckles hurt. He's got Harry, though. And that's more than enough. Fuck, maybe for forever. That's what he falls asleep thinking. That and that Harry snuggles like a pro.

Sunday morning waking up with Harry's sweet face next to him on the pillow is incomparably fantastic. Louis is cuddled against Harry's chest, and he doesn't mind it at all. Harry's got just enough meat on his bones to be comfortable, and Louis never wants to move.
He knows Harry's awake when he feels his hand drag gentle circles over his back. Harry's got very nice long fingers, and it feels good. "Hey," Louis says after a bit. He runs his hand over Harry's chest to his side and holds him close.
"Hey, big strong man." Harry moves Louis a little bit up.
"Unfair, you're too awake and I'm not enough. Don't tease." Louis flicks Harry's nipple. "How are you? Been awake long?"
"Good. And no, I've only been up a little while. You're so pretty."
Louis smiles and scoots up to kiss Harry's chin. "What's this?" he demands. "A little stubble? Are you finally growing a beard?"
"No," Harry giggles. "I need to shave, I look a bit like a pervert."
"Wispy mustache and all." Louis kisses him on the lips. "Love you anyways, though. You want to make me breakfast?"
"Yeah, love to. Give me just a bit. I have to patch you up. Take your shirt off, tell me what's wrong with you," Harry says gleefully. "Show me."
Louis rolls his eyes, but Harry should get some privileges he'll enjoy out of this whole situation. He takes off his shirt while Harry bounds off to get the first aid kit. "Hate to disappoint, I only have a bit of injury for you," Louis teases.
Harry smiles anyways, and dabs at his scrapes with antiseptic just as happily. "Stop wincing," he orders when Louis pulls his hand away. "You're supposed to be used to this." But he kisses his knuckles in apology afterwards.
"Shut up," Louis sighs. "I'm okay, come on. Breakfast."
"Can I make you a coffee cake?" Harry suggests. "Banana and brown sugar. A bit of a wait for it, maybe an hour."
"Sure, I'll wait. I'm sure you'll shove some fruit down my throat anyways."
Harry giggles and then gives him a long speech on antioxidants and how they affect the healing process. Louis scoffs at it, and then pounces on him.

After a while, Louis does his best to think of other solutions for their intimacy concerns. He loves Harry, he wants him to feel loved and special and cared for. But without sex, it's frustrating trying to find other ways to be physically close like that. Louis thinks he has a possible solution, though.
He ducks out for a bit, while Harry's at his counseling, and gets a few things for his idea. Then he sets up, laying a clean sheet over the bed and setting his purchases and a cup of water on the bedside table.
Harry comes in when he's finishing up, dropping his keys on the table by the front door. "Hey, darling," Louis calls. "How was it?"
"Good. We did some good work," Harry says, but he sounds tired. He comes into the bedroom and kisses him before falling into a long hug. "So tired, though. But how are you?"
"Good, thanks. I have an idea."
"For what?"
"For making you feel loved and everything. All you have to do is lie face-down on the bed shirtless. And pants-less too, if you feel comfortable."
Harry shrugs. "Sure." He strips down without question and flops down on top of the clean sheet, head on his arms.
"No questions?" Louis asks curiously, as he unwraps his supplies.
"Nope. I trust you."
Louis does his best to deserve that trust and not stare at Harry's bare bum. He's only seen him naked in a few glances, and he loves it. "Mind if I give you a love bite?" he asks, kissing the back of his neck and sitting on top of him.
"Go for it."
Louis sucks a few bruises into the top of Harry's shoulders, watching them bloom like roses after. He leans over and gets what he bought then, and starts.
Harry shivers at the first touch of the paintbrush. "What's that?" he asks.
"Paintbrush," Louis tells him, mixing some blue and green. "Gonna make you a work of art. More than you already are."
"Oh."
Louis got himself a bunch of different brush sizes and textures so it's interesting for Harry to feel, too. He tags Harry's back with his signature at the top, and then he adds a representation of Harry's swallows over a colorful field of psychedelic swirls. He paints over the love bites too, tingeing them blue and orange and pink. Harry keeps tensing a little at the different sensations, and at the end, Louis runs his fingers over the dry paint curiously.
"How's it feel?" he asks at the end.
"Good," Harry sighs. The paint on his back ripples a little with his movements. "Are you done? Would you take a picture?"
"I'd love to, where's your phone?"
"Pocket."
Louis gets up and fetches it for him, then takes a picture after covering up Harry's bum. "I'll wash it for you too, whenever you want," Louis tells him, combing through his hair.
"I don't want you to wash it for a while," Harry says. He reaches back to touch some of the dried paint. "What did you paint?"
"It says, um. It's your bird tattoos, but bigger," Louis mumbles, suddenly embarrassed. "In teal and orange and stuff. Cause you're mine. My bird, I mean."
Harry's got tears in his eyes as he turns to hug Louis. "Thank you," he says happily. "This is so kind of you, I'm so happy. It was a really great idea."
"Good, you're welcome." Louis kisses him. "I love you."
"Love you, thank you. I'm going to check on my pot roast."
Louis watches Harry carefully for the rest of the day, watches him walk around shirtless and with a little smile on his face. The paint cracks a little bit as it dries, but it's not about how it looks. Harry clearly feels so special, and Louis loves that he made that happen. They aren't even touching, and Louis already feels closer to him.
"Would you come with me to the shower to wash me off?" Harry asks after dinner. "Pretty please?"
"Absolutely, babe." Louis kisses his cheek and runs his fingertips over Harry's back. "This has been so fantastic," he says on the way to the shower. "Should we repeat this later?"
"Yes. One hundred percent." Harry turns on the water and strips to step in, his back to Louis. "Can you reach it from out here?"
"Yeah." Louis puts his arm over Harry's shoulder and kisses the nape of his neck before he starts washing. "Love you," he murmurs. Gently, he starts to wash and peel off the dried paint while Harry stands with his head bowed. This feels intimate too, picking paint off of Harry's warm, smooth back and rinsing it off. He can smell Harry's wet hair and soap, the faint scent of the paint, and Louis loves this too.
When he's done, he kisses Harry's wet shoulder again. "Okay, babe. Should I leave you alone now?"
"Um. Maybe not. Would..." Harry turns a little, and Louis sees he's completely hard, just from that. And he looks torn, unsure if he should ask for what it sounds like he wants to.
"Would... would you like me to get you off?" Louis asks very softly.
"Yes," Harry whispers.
"Okay, that's okay." Louis reaches around, slowly so Harry can stop him if he wants to. Harry doesn't stop him, though, so Louis wraps his hand around his cock and pulls him off. Harry leans back against him, and Louis wraps his other arm around his waist. He kisses his cheek, too, tells him he loves him, and that seems to be what brings Harry over the edge. Harry's trembling as he comes, and Louis hangs onto him tightly, stroking him a few last times.
Harry turns to hug him tightly. Even though he's dripping and naked, Louis hugs back. "We'll need to talk," Louis says, "I know we do. Would you shower first?"
"Yeah. But we don't have to talk much." Harry scratches his arm. "Um. That was good. It was nice. But it doesn't mean I've changed my mind?"
"No, that's not what I want to talk about," Louis says with a little smile. "I know that, I love you. I mean we need to talk about if you want more of that later, if you want to go further, if you would enjoy something more... mutual."
"I'm sorry-" Harry begins.
"No, babe, that's not what I meant. I'm happy if you're happy. We just have to talk, okay? You do your best to think and I'll try to understand you. Does that sound good?"
"Okay. Yeah." Harry's got water flattening half his hair and flowing over his face, but he's smiling. He kisses Louis' cheek temporarily goodbye.
Louis makes himself coffee and Harry tea while he's waiting. He adds sugar to Harry's, milk and sugar to his own, and then he brings both into the bedroom. Harry's already in bed, hair everywhere. He's shirtless again, tattoos on display, and Louis is in love with that, and him.
"Can I talk first?" Harry suggest after a second.
"Yeah, babe, go ahead. Here." Louis brings him his tea and sits next to him with his own hands wrapped around his coffee mug. "Okay. Fire."
Harry takes a sip and sighs. "Alright. Well, that was wonderful, thank you. First of all. I really do love being close to you, and that was perfect. But I don't want to... I mean, just. I'd do that for you, for sure. Any time. And I'd give you a blowjob. But I never want anyone's dicks going in anyone else's ass. Mine or yours. I'm not comfortable with that at all. It's, um. Triggering for me. Is that..." Harry's got tears in his eyes again that he wipes away quickly.
"It's okay, I promise it's okay." Louis gives him a tight one-armed hug and a little kiss. "Hey, look, you aren't losing me over anything you say right now, I swear it. What's triggering mean, though?"
"Like, triggers some of my mental... like, things. Bad memories and stuff. And honestly, I don't like how it hurts. I don't want it to hurt, when we do sexual things next time. If that's okay, I mean. I hate that I'm calling all the shots when you're also a person with desires," Harry says shakily, wiping his eyes again.
Louis keeps his arm around Harry's shoulders. "That's alright, baby bird. I love you so much, the last thing I'd ever do is hurt you. You're so right to tell me the things you're uncomfortable with, yeah? That's exactly what I want to know from you. Your rules."
"But what about you? Don't you have rules?"
"I won't do anything you don't want," Louis says after a second. "Never. And I would like to do something later on, eventually. Sexual, I mean. But on your terms. And at your pace."
Harry does his best to smile. "Those are shitty rules," he says thickly.
"Shut up. Those are my rules. I'm not going to do anything you aren't enjoying one hundred percent. Period."
"Okay," Harry gives in, leaning against him. "Thank you."
Louis kisses his temple. "It's alright, I promise. Tell me, is it just cocks? Or do you not want anything in you at all?"
"I don't know," Harry sighs shakily. "I think... maybe I could do a couple fingers? Or something small. And I don't know if I could put anything in you. Do you like that a lot?"
"Not particularly," Louis shrugs. "Dunno. Never been a bottom all the way. I won't miss anything, that's for sure. If you can find something you know you want, then that's alright. I'll try it. But if you don't want to, you don't have to."
"I don't like the sex part," Harry says. "I mean... I don't mind it. But what I like is being close to you. So I might like it in time, I suppose."
Louis tilts their heads together. "Okay," he says. "That's okay. You wanted it today, didn't you? I read that right?"
"You did," Harry agrees with half a smile. "I like you taking care of me."
"Evidently," Louis teases a little, and he kisses him. "Don't you dare ever be scared of telling me the truth about what you want and like in the bedroom. Okay? That's important to me."
Harry adjusts to lean his head on Louis' shoulder and takes a sip of his tea. "Because you love me, don't you," he says softly.
"Yes, I do."
"The painting was a great way to be close," Harry adds after a moment. "What a good idea. How did you come up with that?"
"Thinking about how we met." Louis pets his wet hair. "How beautiful you are."
"I could, um. I'd like you to kiss me other places," Harry suggests. "Not, um. Not dirty places, I mean. But just, like. My legs. And stuff."
Louis picks up his hand and kisses the side of Harry's wrist. "Okay. We can do that. We can have another time to be intimate and try that out."
"Thank you, that'd be fantastic."
"Okay. I'll mark it on the calendar or something. I love you, okay?"
"Yeah, I know you do." Harry kisses his cheek. "Thank you. What would you like for dinner?"
"Whatever you've got, I'm not picky."
Harry hums and falls silent for a while. He wraps up in a duvet after a bit, and Louis grabs him a sweater to pull on. "Thanks," Harry says. "You wanna talk about anything?"
Louis shrugs. He leans against Harry and lets Harry pat his side. "What's the deal with those cats?" he finally asks. "The ones you were fostering or whatever."
Harry laughs. "Oh. Those were therapy cats from my counselor, but I didn't want to tell you that. That's weird to think, that I wasn't telling you things."
"You still aren't telling me things. But I know what you mean."
"How about I make hot chocolate tonight?" Harry suggests. "And I can kick your ass at Mario Kart."
Louis laughs. "Okay. Fine. But I reserve the right to cry and punch you."
"Fine." Harry smiles. "But I'll punch you back."
He wouldn't, though, and that's what Louis loves about him.

They live together throughout the winter and into the spring. They haven't had sex, and Louis firmly believes that they never will.
But it's okay. Harry gives him hand jobs in the shower and a blowjob for his birthday, but more than that they do weirder things. Louis spends an hour kissing Harry's thighs, sucking bruises into them and then dragging his teeth over them until Harry comes over his stomach.
More important than the sex is everything else, though. Louis gets a Christmas present and a birthday present for the first time in years and almost cries. Harry has someone to pamper and look after, so he's happy as well. He says taking care of someone else distracts him from things that hurt. So Louis stays home from fighting the week between Christmas and New Year's and cuddles with Harry under a blanket.
"Do you want to go out for New Year's?" Louis asks a couple days before. They're still under a blanket together, as they've spent much of the day. "Zayn usually has something fun at his place."
"No. Not really. Um. Why, do you want to?"
"Yeah. I mean, what's New Year's if you don't get absolutely smashed?"
"You get absolutely smashed on a weekly basis," Harry says with half a smile. "But I'll come out with you if you'd really like."
Louis grins and kisses him. "Okay. Sick. I promise we'll have fun."
"Right, yeah." Harry cuddles closer to him, and Louis slips a hand between Harry's thighs to hold him there. He loves that, and Louis kind of does too. "You sure I'll be, like. Welcome there?" Harry asks hesitantly after a bit. "I'm not your usual crowd."
"Oh." Truthfully, Louis hadn't even considered that. "Well, if they have a problem with you, then I'll fuck them up. Don't worry. I love you."
"Will there be a problem?" Harry asks after a second.
"No, babe. People don't fuck with me and mine. And you're mine." Louis kisses him. He feels so fucking protective at the thought of someone hurting Harry, even though Harry probably can take care of himself. He's tall, and strong in a lanky way.
Harry wriggles closer while Louis is thinking, and Louis kisses his hair. "I would like to go out with you," Harry says. "I'm sure you'll be a great protector."
Louis gently pushes him down onto his back and crawls over him to kiss the inside of his arm, the soft underside of his bicep. Harry smiles and lets him, flexing and relaxing his arm muscles as he shifts. Harry's armpit is smooth from when he shaved it earlier this month. Louis tickles his short little hairs after a bit, and Harry giggles and clamps his arm down around Louis' hand. "Fuck you," he smiles.
Louis wiggles his fingers from where they're trapped, and Harry laughs more even as he's trying to wiggle away. "What the fuck, Lou, come on," he grins and distracts Louis with a kiss, which turns out to be a very good strategy.
"I could kiss you forever," Louis says after a bit.
"I know." Harry smiles with crinkled up eyes.
Louis kisses the wrinkles by his eyes. "You're so dumb," he says. "Flower in your hair and all. Dumbest little flowerchild."
"Whatever." Harry lets Louis lift up his other arm to kiss some more, over the tattoos there. That's another one of Harry's dumb little tattoo clusters, leading to that star on the inside of his elbow. Louis kisses all five points of them. And bites just one. "Hey," Harry squeaks, squirming. "Careful. That's sensitive."
"As if everywhere else on you isn't?" Louis stops, though, and kind of lets himself down on Harry's chest to rest. Harry sets his arms around Louis, hands linked at the small of his back.
"Is this alright?" Harry asks softly.
"Yeah," Louis says. He has to say, he appreciates some comfort from somebody like Harry who he can absolutely trust. He understands now the merits of a good cuddle. "I love you, baby," he says after a bit.
"Love you."
"You feel good?"
"Yeah."
"Would you still feel good if we go out?"
Harry considers before answering. "Yeah."
"Then okay."

There's a certain look that Louis goes for when he goes out. He wears jeans with the bottoms ripped up and a sleeveless black T-shirt under a leather jacket, sleeves pulled up and neckline far enough down that some of his tattoos are visible.
It doesn't even occur to him that Harry is unfamiliar with the dress code.
"Hey. Does this look okay?" Harry asks, stepping out of the bathroom.
He's in tight dark jeans and some yellow Converse, with a white T-shirt and a flannel over it – one of Louis' favorites, actually, dark blue and black. Instead of a headscarf, he has a beanie pulled over his hair. It's really toned down from his real personal style, but Louis knows he'll still stand out.
"You look beautiful, baby bird," he says. "Come here." He tugs Harry in by the edge of his flannel shirt and kisses him. "Feel good?"
"Yeah," Harry smiles. "Can we hold hands?"
"Sure, part of the time." Louis takes his hand now, and makes sure they both have their keys and wallets. "Ready to go?"
"Yeah, lemme get my coat."
They walk there with their hands linked, Harry looking down at the snow dusting the sidewalk. He only says one thing. "Babe, um. How late do you think we'll stay out?"
"Probably one or two, if that's alright with you."
"Sure, yeah."
Louis kisses him when they're at Zayn's building. "It'll be fun," he says.
"Right," Harry answers dryly. "I'm sure they're all really friendly towards gay people that look differently than them."
Louis doesn't know how to answer, so he doesn't. He leads Harry inside.
They're in there all of three seconds before Louis can feel in his bones the difference between Harry and these guys. Harry's got gentleness in his soul, as tall and strong as he is. Even Louis isn't as fierce as he used to be. Harry's changed him, for the best, he thinks. But Louis is abruptly and sternly nervous about this, so he takes him to the kitchen and finds them some drinks.
"Where's Zayn?" Harry asks under the music.
"Patio, probably. Crowds freak him out."
Harry nods. Their hands aren't connected anymore, but he stays close as if they were. They talk to a few people and drink some stuff, but Louis is overly aware that this is not as fun as it used to be. They don't belong here.
They talk to Zayn, and drink some, eat some pizza when someone orders it. Harry can apparently pick up on the fact that Louis doesn't want to hold his hand or kiss him, so he doesn't, but he's still amiable. He smiles well enough at jokes, makes some of his own and doesn't look at all like he's as uncomfortable as Louis knows he must be.
It makes him feel a little better when Louis kisses him at midnight; he lengthens it and grins at him after. "Happy New Year's," Harry murmurs.
"Yeah. Let's get outta here." Louis takes Harry by the hand and gets them out of the flat. "Did you have fun?"
"Well enough," Harry bobs his head. "You?"
"Uh. Yeah. But I don't want to go anywhere where you aren't comfortable. And where we can't be comfortable together. Maybe you should pick the next event. A garden party or something." Louis takes his hand again, and Harry lights up like the sun.
"Alright."
"Tell me something. Why do you like me touching you so much?" Louis asks, words tumbling out quickly because of the drinks. "You always get so happy."
Harry shrugs, fixing his collar up and pulling his beanie down further. "Dunno."
"No, really. Even in the beginning. What does it mean for you?"
"Dunno." Harry walks a little closer.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Dunno. I'll think about it."
"Do you know what I'm talking about?" Louis pushes a little bit.
Harry nods. "I think so. But I don't know the answer. I'm a little too drunk I think. But you were the first person to touch me since everything happened. So maybe that's it. I forgot it could be nice."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yes."
They're both silent in a thoughtful kind of way for several minutes, until they're back at his building and walking up the steps. "You like me touching me because I'm gentle with you?" Louis asks after a bit. "And what, it like grounds you a little bit?"
"Nah just connects me. To you. To everything. Makes me feel like I'm worth something, too. You being nice to me."
"Why's that?"
Harry shrugs, and stumbles. "Uh. You're, um, my compass. Moral compass. And you being nice makes me think that maybe I should be nice. To me."
"Wait. I'm your moral compass? I punched you when I first met you," Louis says gently, squeezing his hand. "I've never held a job."
"You're good," Harry says. "You're strong and committed to your values, and you're reasonable."
It's odd, to hear Harry thinks of him like that, but Louis' stomach feels warm and good. "Am I?" he asks faintly. "Do my best. Especially where you're concerned. I do love you quite a bit."
"You are. You're so good," Harry says, and the alcohol has got to be kicking in a little more because he sounds so clumsy in his sincerity.
Louis pulls him in to kiss his hair. "Okay. Come on, let's get you in bed."
"I'm your little bird," Harry murmurs. "Yours."
"You are mine," Louis agrees. "Nobody's going to hurt you anymore. Not with me here. Not one person."
Harry follows him meekly enough, doesn't speak again until Louis is helping him in bed. As soon as Louis is in bed, Harry wants to snuggle him. He puts his head in Louis' lap and wriggles like a happy puppy when he gets petted. "Y'know why I spoke to you that first time? At the coffee place, I mean," he says.
"Why's that, pretty boy."
"Because I had a gut feeling. I felt like you might like me. And I wanted you to like me so badly." Harry's eyes are closed.
"Yeah?"
"So bad," Harry repeats. "Needed somebody to like me. So maybe I could like me a little more. Soon. And it's working a little bit. Because I'm a genius. And you like me, don't you?"
"Of course I do."
"Yeah, of course."
Louis smiles at him and tugs off the beanie to touch Harry's hair. "But babe, why don't you like yourself?" he asks. "You're wonderful."
"I don't feel wonderful. I feel like a disgusting trainwreck that nobody should love," Harry says with shocking clarity. "I feel like I'm awful. But you change how I feel a lot."
"I hope I make you feel perfect, because you are."
"No, I'm not. I'm so not."
"Well. I love you anyways. I'm not perfect either."
Harry smiles and cracks open his eyes. "Goodnight," he says. "I love you too."
"Goodnight." Louis turns off the lights and scoots down. Harry scoots with him, and falls asleep with his head on Louis' stomach.

Louis wakes up a little hungover, but Harry doesn't seem to feel anything at all. When Louis wakes up, he finds Harry staring at him. "Hey stalker," Louis rasps.
"Hi," Harry smiles. "I love you."
"Love you too." Louis cups Harry's cheek and smiles at him. "Said some things last night."
"I know." Harry's smile turns sad. "What do you think?"
"I want to know what you meant, but I'm not asking if you don't want me to."
Harry scoots up a little, and takes Louis' hand. "Ask."
"Why do you feel so disgusting? Why do you need me to make you feel good?"
"Because. My mother is the one who's paying me this settlement money. Her and her old boyfriend. She didn't do... anything. It was him, and his friends. But I guess, it turns out she knew about it. But." He has to stop because he's crying so hard, and Louis pets his hair.
"Birdy, you don't have to go on."
"No I do. I want you to know. She knew and she, um. Decided that she loved him too much to make him stop. But she confessed, to the police. So I'm..."
Louis sits up and moves, lets Harry's head fall onto the bed so he can curl up next to him and hug him tightly. Harry cuddles in under his arm and whimpers with tears. He's shaking so hard, Louis wants to crush him under something heavy, just to help. It's the beginnings of another panic attack, Louis realizes, so he tries to fend it off.
"You're okay, you're really okay, love. I've got you now and you are so safe right now. I love you so much. Come on, come here." Louis kisses Harry's cheek until Harry stops hyperventilating and nudges to meet the kisses with his own lips. "Tell me, what are the last five letters of the alphabet?" Louis asks. "Say them backwards for me."
"Z Y X W V," Harry says almost automatically.
"Okay and then start at P."
This time it takes him longer to come up with them. "P O N M L."
"Good. Very good. Are you breathing?"
"I'm breathing. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you..."
"Didn't make me do anything," Louis reminds him. "I love you. And I so appreciate how much you're telling me. I love how open you're letting yourself be, okay? I love it, I love you."
"You've changed so much for me," Harry says softly. "You say so many nice things that are perfect."
"I'm glad I've changed," Louis declares. "You're worth it. And I was a bit of a twat before. Kind of... directionless."
"You have direction now?" Harry teases, very gently.
"In a way. I know I'm going to stay with you. And I'm going to spend my life making you feel safe. Bit of direction for a person."
"Thank you." Harry kisses him. "Thank you so much. Thank you."
"Shut up, stop it. Make me the best hangover-fixing breakfast ever, and then we can talk about thanks."
Harry flips up both middle fingers, but two minutes later, he's cooking eggs and toast happily in a big sweater and two pairs of socks. "Bacon?" he calls to Louis.
"Is that even a question?" Louis hops up on Harry's back and watches him make breakfast from up there. "Hey," he says, trying to sound just as casual. "If you ever want to tell me more, I'll listen. But I don't want you to go through that all again in your head just for me. Only if you need it. I don't need to understand it, even. Okay?"
"Okay, Lou. Thanks."
"Alright. Conversation over. Let the feasting begin."

For their one-year anniversary, Harry makes plans for them. He asked specifically for the privilege, so Louis lets him. When the night comes, he finds himself at a fancy Italian restaurant. It's upscale and romantic, and Louis feels completely outclassed.
"Way to fucking intimidate me," he mumbles.
Harry grins. "I told you to dress up."
"Wow. Alright. Since when is this us? You got a big question to pop me or something?" Louis demands, laughing a bit.
"Well. In a way. Ever thought about a matching tattoo?" Harry says outright.
Louis raises his eyebrows. "Um. With you, right?"
"I would certainly hope so," Harry snorts, chewing on some very impressively good bread. "Yeah, with me."
"You want one?"
Harry smiles, nods and looks down at his own arm. "The star, here," he says. "It's a dumb... I got it to match this guy."
"Another guy?" Louis demands, in mock but slightly real frustration.
"Yeah. I was like, sixteen. It was literally a few weeks after I met him. But I was... desperate." The tips of his ears are pink, but he continues doggedly. "I was desperate to be shown that I was loveable and valuable, so I got it to match this guy I was seeing. I thought it'd make him... well, it scared him off. I guess."
Louis has to laugh a bit, and links his hand with Harry's. "That's adorable," he says. "I'm very sorry that happened, but that's so cute. And it looks good on you, at least."
"Yeah. At least that," Harry snorts. "It was dumb."
"Well. You're a little dumb. But I love that."
Harry gives him a very stern look. "Dumbass," he says. "You're the worst. I'm buying you food again! Why are you being mean?"
"I'm not being mean, I'm telling you the truth. Isn't that what you want from me, little bird?"
Harry chuckles. "I just want one thing," he says, eyes sparkling.
"What?"
"Promise you won't graffiti my building if we break up."
"Moot point. We'll never break up. But hypothetically... I mean. No. No promises," Louis decides.
Harry laughs again, full-body and sincere. "Fuck you," he says. "Love you."
"Love you too, fucker." Louis takes a bite of his bread and chews it for a while. "Sure," he finally says. "I'll get a tattoo for you. What do you want me to get?"
"Would you think about... maybe a compass?" Harry says shyly. "'Cause I said you're my compass, and you are."
"And what would the matching be for you?" Louis asks.
"I don't know. What am I for you?"
"Change. And home."
"Like a ship," Harry says after a moment. "You guide me, I give you something to guide."
Louis nods after a moment. "Yeah, yes. Good."
"So..."
"Ship and compass," Louis says, slightly skeptical. It's cliché.
Harry's eyes get starry, though. "Yes," he says. "Would you?"
Louis loves him so much. "Of course," he answers. "Absolutely. You're my ship. I'm your compass. I love you."
"Cool." Harry tries to distract himself with reading his menu. "Could we split a pizza?" he asks after a bit. "Please?"
"What? I don't know, that's a lot of commitment," Louis says doubtfully.
"Fuck you," Harry smiles. "I'm getting sweet corn."
"You're getting nothing of the sort."
"Watch me."
Louis finds himself doing just that.

Louis wakes up to find Harry sleeping under his arm. That in and of itself isn't too unfamiliar of an occurrence now, after more than three years. Louis remembers thinking that Harry seems particularly well-rested.
He lies in bed with Harry until he wakes up too. That's his habit, to make Harry feel better about bed because he still never feels completely safe. Plus, then Louis gets to kiss his sleepy face, skim his hands up Harry's sides before Harry's awake enough to bat his hands away and complain.
Eventually, Harry blinks his eyes open and yawns. Louis hugs him closer for a second. "Hey, babe, g'morning," he says softly.
"Hmm." Harry kisses his collarbone. "Hey."
They snuggle for a little bit, and then Harry says it. "I didn't wake up once last night, y'know," he murmurs.
"What?" Louis demands, pulling back to look Harry in his eyes.
Harry's eyes are sparkling. "Yeah."
"For real? Baby, that's amazing. Congratulations, sweetheart."
"For the first time in almost six years, I think," Harry nods. "Isn't that fantastic?"
"Yes." Louis kisses him. "Congratulations."
Harry snuggles in against Louis' chest and kisses him briefly. "I love you," he murmurs. "I love you so much."
"Love you too, baby bird. Let me make you breakfast, okay? To show you how much I love you. And how safe you are. And loved." Louis pets Harry's hair. He's still skinny and lean, even in his twenties, and Louis loves his gentle heart so much, with all the fierceness in his own.
"Okay," Harry murmurs. "Can you make me pancakes?"
"Of course I can make you pancakes, pretty boy. And I think we should do a lot with all this new energy," Louis smiles, kissing Harry's forehead. "What would you like to do?"
"I'd like to work out with you," Harry says after a moment. "I want you to teach me to hit and fight. Would you do that?"
"Well... yeah. Sure, if you really want me to. But wouldn't that be a little stupid? I don't want to hurt you or anything."
"Obviously don't hurt me," Harry says indignantly. "There's a middle ground."
Louis sighs and squeezes him tighter. "Okay," he says. "We'll try it. Let's get out of bed, first. You should get some food in you."
"Okay. But if we're going by your handbook, shouldn't we get drunk and not eat?" Harry teases, kissing Louis' lips to lessen the impact.
"Twat," Louis frowns anyways.
"Sorry, sorry. I love you."
"Love you," Louis says, because he has to. He adores him. "Now c'mon, pancakes and working out."
It's a pretty dumb day, Louis wants to think, but the fact of the matter is he's excited about it. He thinks it'll be fun, to share the only piece of himself that Harry still doesn't have that much access to. So he dresses in some torn-up shorts and a shirt and turns to face Harry.
Harry's in basketball shorts and a torn off tank-top. It's pretty, to see the big ship on his arm and everything else that means something to him inked on his body. "You used to cover up from me," Louis says.
"Yeah," Harry nods, and he bounces on his toes. "So what now?"
"Let me see a fake punch. Punch... this. This pillow." Louis holds it up.
Harry punches the pillow, right-handed, and Louis smiles a little. "Okay, good. Can you put a little more of your weight behind it? Push off your back foot." Harry tries it again, and Louis shakes his head. "Babe, no. From your shoulders, okay? Don't have to look pretty. Just put as much of you behind it as you can, and then jump away after. Most important."
"Okay," Harry nods again. He's a great student for Louis, and his next punch is acceptable. "Not like boxing," he observes.
"No, baby. It's more like... well, a fight. Yeah. Come on, now, we'll fake it." Louis puts his fists up and lets a breath out, reminding himself to take it easy before faking a punch at Harry's shoulder.
Harry not only slips away, he gets out his own retaliatory punch to Louis' gut, gentle as a kiss. And he grins so big after that, says, "Baby, I thought you guys were supposed to be tough."
Louis throws another punch and hits Harry's arm, then ducks in, wraps his arms around his waist and drives backwards a few steps. "You'd be on the floor," he says.
"No fair, I didn't know that was allowed," Harry complains as Louis gently punches his hip.
"Suck it up. Street fighting, baby. No rules."
Harry reaches out to punch back, and Louis doesn't take the hit to get close again, he ducks it because his love is the one punching. Their matchup quickly devolves into ducking away from each other at a surprisingly quick rate. Harry's smiling the whole time, and Louis eventually drops his hands and draws him into a tight, sweaty hug.
"You know you lost," Harry murmurs to him.
"Shut the hell up. I love you." Louis squeezes him tight, because words are coming out that he's been trying to hold in. "You're so impressive in every way. And I never ever want to see you hurt or knocked around. Never. It's killing me to know you were hurt when I couldn't help."
Harry wraps his arms tightly around Louis. "Okay," he says. "I'm gonna go for a run. Too much energy."
"Okay. Shower will be free for you when you're done."
"Thanks."
Harry still draws away sometimes, like now, when the emotion and past gets too much. Louis has learned to let him go, give him time. So he showers and dries off and gets himself some pretzels to snack on until Harry can make himself come back.
About an hour later, the door opens and Harry comes in. Louis knows he'll be taking his shoes off carefully, lining them up by the door, and then he'll come in. And Harry does. He's sweaty and worn-out, clearly, hair tied back but still damp. He promptly does a bunch of jumping jacks and then gets down and stretches on the floor. Then he flops onto his back.
"Going hard today, baby," Louis observes.
Harry doesn't say anything. He throws his arm over his eyes and pants for a while, and Louis tries to leave him alone. He doesn't say a word for as long as he can, and thankfully Harry talks first.
"I haven't slept the night through since it started, actually. When I was eleven," he says, eyes still shut. "I dream of his face, and his hands, and I'm sorry, maybe he ruined me for you because when I think of sex, all I can think of is it hurting worse than I can ever describe. I think that's changed me forever, and I'm sorry you have to deal with that. Me."
"You know I don't care about the asexual thing," Louis begins.
"Not that. I'm talking about the assault."
"Don't-"
"It destroyed me," Harry says, quiet but clear. "I'm not who I should be. I wish I could be better for you, and I wish I could be not broken for you. But my mother gave up on me and somebody she says she loves broke me. So this is what you've got."
"It's okay," Louis says quietly. "I love what I've got."
Harry continues like he didn't hear him. "I hate myself for not stopping it sooner. I should've fought, I should've... I... I'm just not good enough. I'm awful, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just... I miss who I was. I wish you could know that me." He only stops because he's crying so hard.
Louis gets out of bed while Harry's talking and pulls him up by the hand to hug him as he is, sweaty and sobbing. "I love you," he says. "You know I love you so much, you're so good and kind and you are good enough, I swear to you. Baby, don't be sorry, please, don't be. I love you so much."
"No, let me go on," Harry cries. "I haven't told you anything, I can't stand it."
"Shush," Louis says firmly. "Stop it." He hugs Harry tightly to his chest and repeats himself. "Stop it. You have told me a lot of things. Do you hear me? A lot. You tell me things. And I don't need you to relieve trauma to prove to me how much you love me."
Harry keeps crying, his nose snotty, and Louis holds him. "I love you," he murmurs to him fiercely. "I love the you I've got right now, with all my heart and for all my life."
"No, but this isn't me." Harry's words are barely distinguishable through the sobs ripping out of his chest. "It's not me, I'm not me. I just want to be me again, I'm not me." And he keeps crying hard into Louis' chest, shuddering so hard he can't breathe.
Louis doesn't know what he can do to help with this, so he just holds him tightly. He puts one hand over Harry's stomach so he can feel how hard his sobs are shaking him. "Breathe," he says. "Breathe, before we do anything else. Deep breaths, c'mon. You know the drill."
Harry's already breathing easier, calming himself down because he hates being worked up. He can't stop himself from crying, though, as fast as he tries to wipe the tears away. Louis hugs him close and tries to make soothing sounds as he pats Harry's side reassuringly. After a little bit, Harry turns his face in against Louis' shirt and keeps crying.
"I'm not myself," Harry gets out. "I'm not, I used to be... better. Dumb, but better. I wish I were better for you."
"Okay." Louis kisses his hair. "It's okay."
"I know you love me now, and that you love being with me," Harry continues miserably. "But you don't know what you could've had, what we could've been. And I'm... mourning. The loss of that. My innocence, I guess. It hurts that I can't be everything I want to be for you."
Louis kisses his forehead and lets Harry link their hands tightly. "I'm sorry."
"I haven't told you anything," Harry mumbles unhappily. "Not about the important stuff. I haven't, I haven't. You don't even know."
"I don't need to know. I hate seeing you like this, baby bird. I'm not going to make you so scared just to know some pointless facts, alright? But to be honest, if you want me to punch the shit out of your mum and her boyfriend, I will. In a heartbeat." Louis means it so completely, because he's filled with such intense rage on Harry's behalf. He doesn't know if he could stop himself.
Harry cries against Louis' shoulder for a while, still shuddering and clinging to him so desperately. And when he's just sniffling and letting out shaky deep breaths, Louis says "Tell me about how you think you should be. Tell me. But there's nobody I'd rather have than you, the you in my arms."
"Me," Harry repeats. "You love me."
"I do, I love only you, and you completely." Louis kisses him again and lets Harry pull free a bit to wipe his face off with his sweaty shirt. Then Harry pulls it all the way off and tosses it a little ways away.
"I know," Harry sighs. "I know, I'm just still sorry. I used to be..., well, like fun. I used to be fun and goofy and trusting, and I thought I was a lot more charming than I actually was. I thought I was really good at karate."
"That, I have to see," Louis smiles.
Harry shakes his head, giving Louis a watery smile in return. "No, never. It's horribly embarrassing, I'd fight dumb stuff like a teddy bear. And a cup."
"Can't believe I've missed out on that!" Louis says, prodding Harry in the side.
"Glad you did," Harry murmurs, leaning back in against Louis and letting him cradle him close. "I was dumb."
Louis holds him for a bit, and then nudges Harry's face up so he can kiss his lips. "You have told me a lot," he says. "You push yourself every moment for me, with what you'll share with me and what you're comfortable with physically. I love you for that. Okay? Don't, please don't torture yourself over this."
"I torture myself over just about everything," Harry says quietly.
"That's dumb. Don't do that. You're amazing, you're beautiful and fantastic and I love you. So much. Okay? They're... they're despicable. They make me sick. But you're strong and amazing, and you have nothing to be ashamed of, alright? Not a damn thing."
"Okay,"
"You deserve everything good. Friends who love you just as much as I do. A good job that makes you happy, a cat of your own. A whole fucking garden full of the prettiest flowers just for your hair."
Harry's crying again. "Okay."
"I love you so much, baby." Louis kisses his hair again, a couple times. "Please don't torture yourself on my behalf, little bird. I love you. I am so happy with you. And us."
"Me too, I'm happy." Harry wipes his eyes one last time. "Thank you, I'm happy. Are you happy with you and me?"
"So happy," Louis repeats. "Yes. You fulfill me."
Harry blushes deeply red and cries some more. "Thank you. Okay. I'm gross and I'm sorry, I've made your shirt gross too, but I'm gonna go get in the shower."
"Don't be sorry," Louis says. "I have a lot of shirts. I've only got one you."
"Thank you," Harry sniffles. "Would you give me a back massage after I'm done in the shower?"
Louis smiles. "Absolutely, my darling. I would love to. Okay?"
"Okay. I love you."
"I love you too. Go."
Louis definitely has to change his shirt, with all the snot and tears soaked in, but he doesn't mind a bit. Harry's dealt with bloodstains from him, and even on a bad night, throw-up. They're kind of gross sometimes, and grossly in love all the rest of the time. Louis thinks that's kind of fitting.