Fine Line || L.S.

Always, Only Ever, You

Harry looked at himself in the mirror, feeling better than he had in days. It was finally Thursday. He can't remember the last time he had been so excited for a Thursday.

He had a fresh shave, his hair was washed, and he was wearing bottoms that weren't designed to be slept in for the first time in days. He put on his rings, finding the rose ring Louis gave him when he turned 22 in a jewellery case he had brought from his house to his and Louis's old house, which he had virtually been living in.

He wore a pink sweater, one he knew Louis had never seen and made sure the house looked as good as it could. Harry's efforts in cleaning the place up had surely been effective—the floor looked clean, the couch's pillows looked good as new, and the emptiness the two of them felt their first night back was melting away.

The biggest change, what Harry was most excited for Louis to see, was that their pool had been refilled. Harry knew it was January, and days warm enough to jump in were scarce, but the guys who maintained their pool when they lived there were available, and the sight of the empty pool became a bit too sad for Harry to bear.

Louis had done his fair share of preparations, too.

Clean shave and a haircut, his fringe short like he knew Harry liked, (although Louis could have shown up with the longest fringe he ever had, and Harry would still see hearts), and a pair of jeans that Harry had previously described as, "a true asset to our relationship."

Louis looked at himself in the mirror and thought about the first night he wore those jeans, when he, Harry, Zayn, and Niall went clubbing in Barcelona, and when they got back to the hotel, both he and Harry were drunk off their asses, Harry's cheeks perfectly rosy and his eyes stuck on Louis, not a word went un-slurred between them.

Harry sat down on the hotel bed in the darkroom, city lights filtering in through the sheer curtains, and reached for Louis, slurring his words, "Where are you?"

"I'm trying to take off my jeans," Louis said, trying drunkenly at his belt.

"Forget about it," Harry told him, reaching for him, almost grabbing him by the waist.

"I don't want to fall asleep with my jeans on," Louis protested, avoiding Harry's reach.

"You must be dense," Harry sighed.

"I'm not fucking dense," Louis protested, alcohol fueling the feigned rage behind his response.

"You must be dense," Harry repeated, messing up considerably the pronunciation of 'dense,' "because I'm offering to take off those jeans for you."

"It's harder than it looks," Louis replied, somehow tripping on his own feet, as he swayed drunkenly by the end of the bed.

"I'm going to rip those pants off your nice little ass," Harry said, almost darkly, but with a signature goofy smile on his face, reaching again.

That time he found Louis, grabbing the bottom hem of his t-shirt and pulling him close.

"Ahh!" Louis exclaimed jokingly, falling into Harry's lap, the world spinning around him, "what is it with us and threatening to rip clothes off?"

But Harry didn't answer, as he was too busy kissing Louis' neck, with no great deal of accuracy, sloppily leaving marks which would undoubtedly show in the morning. And that question was the last real thing Louis said all night, as Harry did get the pants off him, and touched nearly every square inch of his man's body.

Louis hoped they still provoked the same reaction in Harry, and his wearing them was surely purposeful.

He had gone and bought all the materials they needed for spicy pork rice bowls, save the kimchi, which Harry insisted he provides and had it between two large cooler bags. Along with the two cooler bags, Louis packed an overnight bag.