• 12.2 ~ Here for you
The next thing Louis is consciously aware of is the sound of his alarm ringing incessantly in his ear, that fucking annoying Marimba tone that he meant to change but never got round to. He makes a mental note to make sure and change the stupid thing before he actually chucks his phone out the window because of it. He gropes his hand under his pillow and finally retrieves it, shutting the bloody thing up. He squints his eyes at the time at the top of the screen and blurry makes out that it’s five past seven in the morning, or rather, much earlier than Louis prefers to be awake at any given time. The day before, he and Harry had organised that they would get the 8.03 AM train from Kings Cross so they would arrive in Doncaster at about twenty to ten in the morning. This gives his mum a chance to get the kids and anything else she needs sorted out before they landed on her doorstep. They’d arranged that Harry would come and meet Louis at his flat for around half eight or so, meaning they would have enough time to get to Kings and hopefully miss out on the craziest parts of the rush hour traffic, so Louis really has to get a wriggle on. He’d originally set his alarm for quarter to seven but obviously, (being Louis) he’s slept through it and, of course, is running late. Louis has a speedy shower to wake him up a little more, before throwing on the closest pair of black jeans he can get his hands on, a white t-shirt and a denim shirt. He shoves on his Vans and as he’s doing one final check over the bag with all his stuff in for the week, the doorbell rings. Half eight, right on the dot, Louis snorts, checking his phone as he pushes himself off his bed, grabbing his bag and his wallet. Obviously, Harry Styles is very punctual. He adds it to his mental `Things I definitely know about Harry´ list, right next to `his sister is called Gemma and she’s 24´, giving himself a bit of a clap on the back for actually remembering. He was worried he’d lose half of what he knew while he was sleeping, honestly. It wouldn’t exactly be the first time he’d have woken up with absolutely no knowledge of the previous day. Louis does one final sweep over the flat before he goes and when he’s satisfied all the windows are closed and there are no potential causes for a fire lying around (like that one time he’d accidentally left his straighteners on), he grabs his keys and heads to the door, pulling it open with a grin. He’s greeted with a smiling but still quite sleepy-looking Harry Styles, looking very quirky in his skinniest of skinny jeans, a mostly-unbuttoned brown plaid shirt, and one of those weird, wide brimmed hats only farmers would ever really consider wearing perched on his unruly mop of hair. He’s wearing his pointy, Chelsea-style boots that Louis always takes the piss out of for being the same color as vomit, but overall, Harry looks quite well, he looks lovely. Very boyfriendly, Louis supposes. His mum will be pleased, at least, and Lottie will be well impressed that Louis was able to bag someone on Harry’s level.
“Alright, Harold,” Louis says with a nod, pulling the door of the flat closed behind him and locking it up. “You trying to seduce me with your shirt buttoned that low? You’ve already bagged me, mate, sorry to tell you. I’m easy,” Louis winks, pulling at the open part of Harry’s shirt playfully. “You’re on your way to meet the family and everything.” Harry laughs loudly, the hand not holding his ever-present phone shooting up to cover his mouth.
“Shit, you figured out my plan, Louis. I should have known,” he says, head shaking causing his hat to come dangerously close to falling off his head. “I’ll button it up before we get to yours, keep up my angelic boyfriendly appearance and all that.”
“Yeah,” Louis snorts, “Wouldn’t want my mum under the impression I’ve got with some slutty farmer type, God forbid.” They start to make their way down the narrow hall of Louis’ building, a tight squeeze for both of them plus their bags with a week’s worth of stuff in. Harry crows with laughter again, to which Louis has to give him a push and a `Shhh!,´ pointing at the doors of the other flats on the same corridor as his and Zayn’s. It’s only twenty five to eight, and knowing Louis’ neighbors, a lot earlier than most of them tend to rise. Harry seems to realize what Louis means, and quickly makes a zipping motion across his lips, stifling a giggle.
Finally, the early-morning chaos of London and one angry taxi driver later, they just about manage to make it to Kings Cross in time to hop on the 8:03 AM train that’ll take them up north. The train journey lasts roughly an hour and forty minutes, depending, and it’s a journey that Louis has made loads of times over the years, either from when he was a teenager and he was travelling the opposite way, going up to visit big scary London with his mates, or more recently, travelling from London to see everyone back home during the holidays. They manage to find an empty seat and pile in, sitting on opposite sides from each other beside the window. Louis takes out his earphones, plugging them into his phone, fully planning on listening to Coldplay’s new album and sleeping for the majority of the hour and a bit journey. He smiles as he sees Harry doing the same thing, phone in his hand, probably texting one of the millions of people he never seems to be able to be out of contact with. Louis leans his head against the window, watching the people on the platform disappear as the train rounds the corner and out of the station. He sighs, his breath fogging up against the cold of the glass on the window, and closes his eyes, settling down to nap. When he wakes up, he’ll be back in Doncaster, back in the tiny station that was his way of getting away from there in the first place. `Thank fuck it’s only for a week´, is really the only thing Louis can think of before he’s drifting off, the sound of Coldplay’s `Magic´ in his ears. Getting back to London can’t come quick enough, really, and they’ve only just left.
When Louis wakes up, it’s to his right arm feeling very numb from where he was sleeping on it and to Harry shaking his knee rather violently from across the table. Louis blinks confusedly up at Harry, who’s already standing and reaching their bags down from the overhead racks.
“Finally!” Harry says, sounding exasperated, glancing down at where Louis is still sitting tucked in behind the table. “Been trying to wake you for about five minutes, you’re a really heavy sleeper, did you know that?” He sets Louis’ bag on the table in front of him and hooks his own soft leather one over his shoulder, fixing the position of his ridiculous farmer hat on his head. “Anyways, we’re here, and if you don’t hurry your arse up we’re gonna end up being taken back to London with the train.” Louis gives himself a shake, actually registering Harry’s words, and then takes a glance out of the window. Yup. Definitely Doncaster. Same tiny, industrial station waiting for them to get off the train, probably the same grumpy old men working there since Louis was a teenager. Louis sighs, resigning himself to the fact that this week is going to happen no matter how long he actually takes to get off the train, grabs his bag, and follows Harry. As soon as they’re on the platform, Louis can see something almost like a ripple pass through the people on the same side of the station as them, and he immediately knows why. It’s Harry. Louis snorts, glancing at all the grannies lining the walls of the station who are openly staring at Harry, his unbuttoned shirt, his tattoos, his hat. Louis is very, very certain half of the people in the station have never come across someone like Harry before in their life, and if that thought doesn’t perk him up just a little bit as they wander through the station, Harry seemingly oblivious and commenting on silly things like the magazine covers in the window of the newsagents shop, then Louis doesn’t know what will. Really, Doncaster (or his mum, for that matter) doesn’t know what’s going to hit it. Maybe, just maybe, this week won’t be that bad after all.
When their taxi pulls up outside of the modest semi-detached house that the majority of his childhood was spent in, Louis takes it all in. It’s a little different to when he was here last at Christmas, his mum has put huge pots of flowers all round the outside, already starting to bloom in the mild spring weather, and there’s one of those colorful plastic windmills blowing steadily in the light breeze stuck in the center of the garden, no doubt put there by one of the twins, but really, apart from that, everything is more or less the same. The same curtains in the windows, same Fiat Punto that his mum has had for ages parked in the driveway, same swingset propped up in the back garden, poking over the same green fence that’s been there from when they first moved in. It’s all very familiar. It’s all very much what Louis wanted to get away from- the monotony, the safeness of it all, so, so different to London. He always feels this way when he comes home, and he knows it. Remembers the feeling every time his taxi has pulled up for the past four or so years, but this time, it’s different. It feels very different- not as suffocating. This time, he has Harry with him, and that in itself makes everything different. Louis comes back to himself as the taxi driver makes an impatient sort of noise, and hands over some cash with a distant/
“Thanks, mate- keep the change,” before climbing out of the back seat of the cab and joining Harry round at the boot where he’s grabbing their bags. Harry hands Louis his sports bag and shoulders his own leathery one as the cab pulls off down the cul-de-sac. They stand for a minute, Louis’s hand wrapped tightly around the strap cutting into his shoulder. He feels like everyone in the street can hear how loudly his heart is beating. There’s a thick silence between them, heavy until Harry breaks it. He reaches out and unwinds Louis’ hand from his bag, holding it tightly in his own.
“It’ll be fine,” he says, giving Louis’ hand a squeeze. “Calm down. Breathe. How’re we meant to pull this off if you’re gonna fuck it up as soon as we get through the door, hmm?” Harry reaches out to pull Louis’ chin up from where it’s tucked into his neck, forcing Louis to look into his eyes. “I promise I will be the best boyfriend ever. The best, but I need you to promise me that too, yeah? We’re gonna be a team this week.” He lets go of Louis’ chin and shoots him a warm smile, checking his hip with his own. “Go on then. Promise me. Then we’ll go inside and give our Oscar-worthy performance and your mum will fall so in love with me she’ll try to steal me and get us to run off into the sunset together.” Louis can’t help but laugh at that, can’t help but be charmed by Harry and just how willing he is to cheer him up. How willing he is to do anything to help. He looks up at Harry again, smile evident on his face.
“Okay,” Louis takes a deep, calming breath and exhales. “Okay. I promise. I’m gonna be the best boyfriend you’ve ever seen, you’re not even going to know what hit you, Styles.” Harry laughs then, eyes crinkling, very obviously relieved Louis’ come out of whatever little slump he’d got himself into.
“Oh, I’m ever so glad. Can’t wait to be showered in presents then, so far you’ve been less than impressive. I’ll be expecting one of those champagne baths when we get in, your mum can wait.” Louis reaches out and flicks Harry on his shoulder.
“Oi! Shut it. If you’re lucky you’ll get a cup of tea and be happy. Drink it in the bath if you want, I don’t care.” He pulls at the buttons on Harry’s shirt, still flapping open happily. “Now, get yourself buttoned up and respectable looking, you’re meeting my mum, not the owner of the local brothel, Harold and we’ve got to hurry up, been standing in the middle of the road like a right couple of loons. I'm surprised my mum hasn’t noticed us and been out to find out what we’re at.” Louis positions his bag so it’s sitting comfortably, squares his shoulders and sets off towards the house, Harry coming behind and buttoning his shirt as he goes.
Before Louis even manages to knock on the door, it’s flung wide open, that familiar smell of home hitting him square in the face, a mix of his mum’s cooking and whatever Yankee candle she has burning somewhere in the house. Louis grunts as a small pair of arms are thrown around his middle, and then laughs as another pair comes to join them. Two blonde heads are buried into his middle, giggling profusely, each gripping as tight as the other.
“Alright Pheebs? Dais?”, Louis asks faux-nonchalantly, before quickly reaching down to poke each of the twins in the side, making them release him to try and wriggle away, indignant `Hey's´ flying everywhere.
“Where’s mum, then? And Lottie and Fizz?” Louis asks eventually, after another round of hugs and kisses. As he speaks, his mum comes wandering into the hall, drying her hands on the apron she has tied around her waist. The exact same pink, flowery apron she always wears. Louis thinks he won it for her at some kind of school fair years ago. She has one of those fond mum smiles on her face as Louis gets up from where he was kneeling on the carpet. He gives each of the twins a rub on the back, before turning to face his mum properly. As much as he really hates coming home, he actually really kind of loves it too.
“Hi, mum,” he says, smile spreading.
“Hi Lou”, his mum says, advancing forward, twinkle in her eye. “Missed you.” She finally reaches him and gives him a tight hug, adding one of her signature eyeball-busting squeezes in there. It’s one of those hugs that makes Louis glad he comes back home every time, no matter how many times he thinks he won’t. His mum pulls away, and if possible, the smile on her face gets even wider as she says:
“And you must be Harry!” And, well. Shit. Harry. In all of the commotion and beautiful family reunion stuff, Louis had kind of forgotten that he’d left Harry stood on the doorstep behind him, resigned to holding both of their bags, just watching. He kind of wants to burst out laughing, because really, he’s already kind of fucked it up and they were literally just in the door, but instead of laughing, he just sits there, in shock, as Harry seems to come to life. He’d dropped both of the bags he was holding and is already inside the door, hand outstretched and pulling Louis’s mum in for a kiss on the cheek.
“Yes, I’m Harry, it’s so, so lovely to finally meet you Mrs. Tomlinson. Louis’ told me loads about you and the kids. Congratulations on the two newest additions, by the way. You’ve got your hands full.” Harry’s got this huge smile on his face, eyes bright and crinkled at the edges, with his hands clasped in front of him primly, the absolute epitome of charming boyfriend. Blimey, even Louis would be fooled if he wasn’t the perpetrator of the grand plan they’re about to pull off. Maybe Harry wasn’t just bullshitting, maybe he really was going to be the very definition of the perfect boyfriend like he’d promised. Louis’ mum clearly seems to be charmed too, because when Harry pulls back she’s smiling very wide indeed, head set at that curiously fond angle she seems to favor when one of the girls is telling her about what they did at school that day.
“Well, thank you very much, Harry. It’s lovely to meet you too, finally.” She gives Louis a very pointed look at that, before turning back to Harry. “And none of that ‘Mrs’ stuff, please call me Jay. I’m not that old just yet. Ernie and Doris are upstairs sleeping at the mo’ actually, but you’ll meet them later, along with the other little monsters I’m sure. You’ve just seen Daisy and Phoebe, wherever they’ve wandered off to, and Fizzy and Lottie are upstairs somewhere, much too mature to show their faces yet, I suppose. You know how they get.” She laughs at that, and Harry joins in very convincingly. Evidently, Louis needs to up his game if he wants to keep up the whole `boyfriends´ charade on the same level as Harry. As Harry falls back beside Louis, obviously satisfied he’d won Louis’ mum over inside less than ten seconds, Louis reaches out a hand and wraps it around Harry’s waist, tucking his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans with what he hopes is a relaxed smile on his face. Louis can feel, rather than hear, Harry make a pleased little noise. Obviously, he did the right thing. His mum seems to notice his movements, and she tries (and fails) to disguise her face going all soft as she turns back towards the kitchen and says,
“Anyways, I’ve made spag bol as an early lunch, your fav, Lou, so you boys can head on upstairs to Louis’ room and get freshened up and whatnot. That train journey wouldn’t have been very pleasant, I imagine. You’re probably starved. Food’ll be ready in about fifteen, twenty minutes.”
“Thanks, mum,” Louis says, unhooking himself from Harry and throwing both of their bags over his shoulder, “Sounds brill. Down in a minute.” He heads off towards the stairs, Harry following him after throwing one last beatific smile towards Jay. Louis jumps the stairs two at a time like he always used to, and takes a right as he reaches the top. They pass Lottie and Fizzy’s room, the door firmly closed and plastered with posters and pictures of whatever boyband is big at the minute, music blasting from the inside. Next is Daisy and Phoebe’s room, all very pink and sparkly, a bold `NO BOY’S ALLOWED’ penciled on colored paper and stuck along the top of the door. Louis hears Harry’s muffled snort as they pass, and turns around to shoot him a grin.
“What’s so funny? They’re absolutely right. Boys are awful creatures.” Harry raises his hands in mock-surrender, laughter in his voice.
“I’m not arguing with that. It's just- I dunno, kind of funny to see their rooms all done up like that. Only girl I lived with was always older than me, so I never really got to see all this stuff. It’s cute.”
“Oh,” is all Louis can really think to say. He’d never really appreciated the aesthetics of his sisters’ door before. Maybe he should start. “It is cute, in’t it?” They’ve reached Louis’ room, the final door down the right of the hall. Louis is actually surprised that his room hasn’t been turned into some kind of fancy nursery for the twins yet, but he supposes they’re still probably sleeping in his mum and Dan’s room because of how young they are. He wonders if maybe his mum just wasn’t really ready to change his room, yet. Like it was the final frontier of `Yeah. He’s gone´, or that she maybe thought he’d eventually come back. Either way, he doesn’t particularly want to think about it. Louis opens the door and walks in, Harry following behind. As predicted, the room is still the same as it was the last time he was here, meaning it’s essentially the same as it was since Louis was twelve years old and they’d last got it decorated. There’s still the same old peeling Green Day posters plastered on his wall, the same bookshelf in the corner beside the window covered in peeling Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle stickers, even the same faded Manchester United bed sheets. His mum has obviously been in and done a bit of dusting and hoovering ready for them coming, the smell of furniture polish still heavy in the air, the absence of any dust bunnies on the floor. Louis takes another step into the room, drinking it all in like he does every time he comes home. It’s weird. Like another part of himself. This room is so busy. Filled with all sorts of useless crap and knick-knacks. Back in London, his room is all cream everything. Minimal furniture, easy to keep clean. No hassle. Louis watches as Harry takes a somewhat hesitant step in after him, eyes lighting up curiously as he glances around the room. Louis heads for the bed, throwing down the two bags and immediately taking off his shoes. He sits on the edge, watching Harry.
“See you’re a United man, then,” Harry says from where he’s stood by the bookcase, nodding towards the bed where Louis is sitting. “Just as well, ‘cause if you weren’t I’m afraid that would've been grounds for an automatic breakup. So.” Louis laughs, one hand rubbing at his neck where it’s still sore from sleeping on the train.
“Always have been, always will be. Rovers too, ‘course, actually got one of my first jobs at the Keepmoat, s’only about fifteen or so minutes away. Worked at one of the burger stands, bit shit, but the money was okay.” Harry nods as he reaches out to pick up something from one of the shelves of the bookcase. He moves back and Louis catches a glimpse of what it is, one of those generic `Well Done! You tried!´ participation medals from a local football camp he did one summer when he was about seven. When he was much younger, that medal was his pride and joy. When he got a bit older and realized it wasn’t actually for anything, he’d wanted to put it in the bin. He actually did, one day. He remembers, they were only playing football out in the street, and his team had lost spectacularly. He was never a great loser, and had immediately stormed into the house in a huff, found his medal and chucked it into the wastepaper basket under his desk, not even sparing a second thought for it. Then, one day when he was cleaning his room after being ordered to by his mum, he discovered it sitting in the exact same place it was in before, like nothing had happened. It was obviously his mum who had fished it out of the bin and put it back, knowing Louis better than anyone, but still, Louis never had the heart to get rid of it after all that, even when he did an almighty clear out before moving to London. He loved that little medal, it was almost like a good luck charm. He hid it in his blazer pocket when he’d taken his GCSE’s and A-Levels. Harry, obviously unaware that Louis was off in a world of his own, had already set the medal down and had moved on to looking through the books in the bookcase, running his fingers along the spines.
“Oh, that’s a good first job. You’d meet interesting people that way, I suppose.” And oh, yeah. Louis had been talking about working at the stadium. He tunes back in properly, now, watching Harry make his way down the bookcase. He’s taken out one of those Penguin Classic books that’s been there for years, and is peering at the inside cover, a shaky `LOUIS´ written in blue pen.
“My first job was at a bakery in Holmes Chapel,” Harry continues blithely, flicking through the yellowing pages of Gulliver’s Travels. “It was great, if anything broke or crumbled, we got to eat it. Think I only just got rid of the weight I put on working in there last year, to be honest.” He puts the book back, stands up and takes another glance around the room, reaching out to smooth one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle stickers down. "I was a master of the accidental pastry drop, even though I think all the old ladies who worked in there knew what I was up to. Barbara loved me, always told me I was her favorite and gave me cherry tarts to take home with me.” He makes his way over to Louis, flopping down on the bed beside him and taking off his hat. He’s got a serious case of hat-hair, all of it flattened at the top of his head, his curls forming full ringlets all focused around his ears. Louis wants to reach out and fluff it all up, get it all back to normal. Instead, he says,
“I can just imagine what you’d be like in a bakery filled with old ladies. I’m sure Barbara’s got some tales to tell.”
“Oi!” Harry lifts the football-shaped throw pillow lying on the bed and chucks it at Louis’ belly, “I won’t have you slandering Barbara’s good name. She’s a saint, that woman. Her and her cherry tarts.” Louis laughs and lies back on the bed so only his torso is stretched out, his feet dangling off the end and his knees folded at the edge. He gives a sigh as Harry pulls off his boots.
“Is it weird being back? Here, I mean,” comes Harry’s voice, quiet like a secret. He sits beside Louis, legs folded up under him, fingers playing with the frayed hem of his jeans. Louis exhales.
“A bit. I don’t really like coming back, but it’s more like, the thought of it?” He glances up at Harry through his eyelashes, “I dunno. Once I’m here it’s okay. I like seeing everyone and stuff, but like, I can’t wait to go home either. London is my home, I mean. Doncaster’s just, shitty and stuffy. I don’t like being here for very long.”
“I get it,” Harry says, eyes wide. “It’s the same for me with Holmes Chapel, and it’s literally not even half the size of Doncaster. Least you had a bit of variety," Harry pokes Louis’ side playfully with his toe, voice joking. “Uni was like a godsend for me. I never knew that many people could be in the one place, to be honest. In my first lecture I think there were more people there than were actually in Holmes Chapel. It was mindblowing.”
“Mmm, I remember that feeling too. Crazy,” Louis says softly, running his hands across the little hills that have formed in the sheets, just as his mum’s shout of `Lunch! Ready! Now!´ comes up the stairs. Louis stretches one final time before pushing himself up off the bed. He sorts himself out, pulling his jeans up and fixing his t-shirt and then turns around, expecting Harry to be right behind him, ready to head downstairs. Instead, Harry’s sitting in the exact same position he was before, legs crossed, eyes looking mischievously up at Louis. Louis can hear the thundering steps of his sisters rushing down the stairs from behind the door.
“What’re you at?” Louis asks, hand held out in a question. “C’mon lazy, mum doesn’t take very kindly to having to shout more than once. Didn’t you hear the herd of elephants that just flew down the stairs?”
“Give us a pull up, then,” Harry replies, grin wide and his hand outstretched towards where Louis is standing. “I'm gonna start treating you like my own personal slave. It can be a form of payment for my services.”
“Oh, is that right?” Louis says with a laugh, advancing forwards and hauling Harry up from the bed and onto his feet.
“Yup. That’s exactly right,” Harry says, now stood right in front of Louis. They’re very close, closer than Louis ever remembers being before, even when they were at work, or out on a night out. He can almost see each individual eyelash of Harry’s, could reach up and press his finger right into the dimple in his cheek. He’s just as pretty up close as he is from far away. Not really fair at all, Louis thinks. A nice body and a nice face to boot.
“Personal slave, eh? Well, I suppose that’s only fair, then,” Louis breathes. He realises, probably much too late to avoid making it not weird and stilted, that they still haven’t moved. They’re still right in each other spaces. Louis makes to take a step backward, an apology already sitting on his tongue, when he feels Harry’s hand on his wrist, stopping him from moving.
“Wait,” Harry says, intense stare boring straight into Louis. Louis doesn’t think he’s even breathed, never mind blinked the whole time they’ve been stood there. “I have an idea. Just- let me- if you just-” Louis is confused to say the least, Harry doesn’t really make sense at the best of times, but now his thoughts seem even more erratic than usual, an intense look of concentration on his face, almost like he’s making a very difficult decision. Louis makes to step back once more but is stopped again by Harry’s hand coming round to rest on his hip, pulling him in. Louis moves easily, almost in a trance, fascinated by whatever Harry seems to be attempting, stepping into the space between Harry’s legs, glancing up at him from beneath his fringe. Suddenly, Harry’s kissing him, proper going at it, teenage-snogging. His hands are rifling through Louis’ hair like no tomorrow, and he’s biting at Louis’ bottom lip like he’s not eaten for a week. Louis is- well. He’s shocked to say the least. He’s so shocked, in fact, he doesn’t react in the slightest. His body stays limp out of some kind of weird instinct as Harry licks all over him and messes up his hair. He barely has time to even register what has happened, doesn’t have time to actually think about what’s going on and respond accordingly, until Harry’s stepping back, huge, Cheshire cat grin on his face. Louis is still in shock, evidently, because it takes him a good fifteen seconds to actually give his head a shake and come back to life, Harry laughing behind his hand all the while.
“What the fuck,” is the first thing that comes to mind, "was that? Jesus! Give me a bit of a warning next time, at least!' Louis is well aware of how his voice is really more or less bordering on hysterical, the shock still not worn off completely. He’s surprised his mum hasn’t called up asking what that squeaky noise was, honestly. Harry laughs then, a proper belly-laugh, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.
“Oh my god, your face, Lou! That would've been worth the slap I thought I was gonna get just to see that face.” Harry’s face suddenly completely changes, obviously seeing that Louis isn’t as amused as he is by what’s just happened, and he stops his laughing and reaches out to hold onto Louis’ forearms in that way he’s fond of doing.
“Shit, you’re not annoyed, are you?” he asks, sounding much more worried than he did a second ago. “I just thought if we- like, if we went downstairs and looked like we’d been snogging up here the whole time your mum would've- fuck, I’m sorry, Lou”
“Oh,” is all Louis can say, really. He brings a hand up and rubs around his mouth. He’s sure it’s just as red and bitten looking as Harry’s is, and his hair must be just as messed and ruffled as Harry’s too, if not worse. He supposes what Harry had been doing was a good idea in theory. The execution left a lot to be desired though, clearly. “No, no, I’m not angry, shut up,” Louis says with a shaky laugh. He supposes he can see the funny side of it now the shock has worn off. Maybe he should really be thanking Harry for putting so much effort in, they hadn’t even really discussed the likelihood that they’d probably have to kiss, or something along those lines, eventually. “I'm just shocked, you scared the shit out of me, Haz. Bit of warning before you start slobbering all over me next time, yeah?” Harry seems to breathe a sigh of relief, grin coming back onto his face as he lets go of Louis’ arms.
“Oh thank fuck, I thought you were actually gonna slap me. Okay, warning next time, I promise.” Louis smiles at him, letting him know there’s nothing to worry about, it really was just that he was shocked. He kind of wishes Harry had of just told him he was planning on kissing him, maybe they could’ve went about it the proper way instead of Louis just standing there like a muppet, they could have made it look really convincing. It’s not like Louis would've said `No, thanks but no thanks, mate´, really. They head downstairs after that, because they’d already kept everyone else behind on their lunch by a good five minutes, if not more, and seriously, if Louis’ mum didn’t already think they were upstairs snogging, she certainly would when she saw what both of them looked like when they appeared downstairs. Which, really, now Louis thinks about it, is probably a good thing. That Harry Styles is quite clever, in a way.
Dusja, hun eerste kus,
ging niet helemaal zoals Harry gepland had haha
En ik heb vandaag gym en ik haat gym ugh.