i 0d2125e00f277ca8 (82 page)

knuckles. "Louis," he says simply, and Louis can't imagine how

someone can fit so many things into any name, much less his.

"And there was this stuff with Niall, too, impossible stuff that you

wouldn't believe if I told you. But that was weeks ago, almost months,"

he says, focusing on the story at hand and not the reverent way Harry's

lips had brushed his skin. "Today it was Liam." Harry's brow furrows

in confusion, and Louis can't blame him. "Right? Liam Payne of all

people. Came to talk to me about something totally different, of course,

basically apologising to me for my own shit attitude, but in typical

handyman fashion ended up finding a whole different problem to fix."

"What did he say?" Harry asks, leaning forward across the table. "Also,

Zayn is going to shit himself."

543

"Oh, I'm aware," Louis says, momentarily thrilled that no matter how

serious the conversation, they'll always make time to take the piss out

of Zayn. He's definitely in love. "He basically just told me about how

they got together, and how sure he had been that Zayn wasn't

interested. Zayn! Uninterested in Liam! And I kept thinking the whole

time, like, God, how could one person have been so completely wrong

about what's going on? How could he have been so certain, and so

dumb?"

"Think I might see where this one is going, now."

Louis lets go of one of Harry's hands to swat at him, but then grabs it

back, pressing his thumb into the soft flesh of Harry's palm. "It was like

a bunch of different things sort of lined up together, I guess. Because if

love was real and worthwhile, and impossible things could happen, and

people could be that utterly, irredeemably wrong, then maybe—then

maybe I didn't have anything to lose by telling you how I felt. Maybe

there as a chance that I'd been wrong, too."

After a moment, Harry clears his throat. "Well. Remind me to thank

Liam. And Niall. And Mike and Stuart."

Raising his eyebrows, Louis says, "It takes a village, apparently." Harry

barks a laugh, and then falls silent, looking at Louis across the table

with his head tilted to the side before opening his mouth.

"Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Of course," Louis says. He's exhausted, but he'll stay up all night if

that's what Harry needs.

"Can I call you my boyfriend?" Harry asks, almost shy and definitely

sheepish, but smiling nonetheless.

It's a simple question, but it makes all of what's been said in the past

half an hour wash over Louis in a wave, overwhelming him for a

544

moment, and when it passes what's left is amazement at how much love

he can feel for one other person. One person has just heard some of his

darkest thoughts, some of the petty and childish insecurities he's been

most ashamed of, the things he'd always thought would make anybody

with half a brain cut their losses and move on, and after hearing all that,

this person is asking him permission to publicly lay claim to him.

Unbelievable.

"Yeah," Louis says in a small voice. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot."

"Okay," Harry says, and his grin is splitting his face in half. "That's—

yeah, I just, that's brilliant. I mean, I always—"

"Me too," Louis interrupts. "Always, I mean. Me too. The whole time."

"Good," Harry says. "Great."

They sit beaming at each other across the table for a moment, and then

Louis feels the adrenaline of the conversation start to slowly drain out

of him. His fight-or-flight instinct has been wailing at the back of his

brain the whole time, and suppressing it has left him fucking exhausted.

It's a good kind of tired, though, like after a long run or spending the

day on the beach or a lot of athletic sex. Which actually happened just a

couple of hours ago, now that Louis thinks of it, so no wonder he's

tired.

"Hazza," he says, stifling a yawn. "Can we—I mean, unless you have

more questions, but—I think I'd like to go back to bed? I promise we

can keep talking tomorrow, I'm just completely wrung out."

Harry's eyes are soft, and he nods. "Yeah, love, I'm tired too."

He shuffles up from the table, taking Louis' hand and tugging him up

too and leaving the pizza box on the table behind them. Harry pulls the

chain on the little lamp balanced on a crate near his bed and the room

goes dark and Louis can do nothing but follow blindly as Harry leads

545

him toward the mattress, trusting that Harry won't let anything happen

to him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks that maybe they should

brush their teeth again, but the idea of doing anything but curling into

Harry's body heat seems unimaginably difficult, so when Harry pulls

him down and kisses him lightly, Louis follows, sighing softly into the

kiss before tucking his head against Harry's chest.

"I feel loads better now," Louis says. "Even though it's arse o'clock in

the morning and my sleep schedule is going to be totally fucked."

"Totally fucked indeed," Harry says in his lewdest voice. Louis elbows

him in the stomach.

"Is nothing sacred to you?" Louis says, mock appalled.

"Only your dick," Harry tells him. He pauses a moment. "And your

arse. And mouth. The holy trinity."

Louis can't keep himself from cracking up at that, even though it's such

typical, terrible, crude Harry humour. Or perhaps because it is. "Love

you," he says, and that still somehow hasn't gotten old.

He feels Harry's echo rumble in his chest, and feels very much at peace.

546

TWENTY-TWO

Louis hates mornings. He hates them. He hates having to drag himself

out the warmth of his bed and pretend to be happy about it, hates how

bright the lights of his kitchen always seem when he's making his first

cup of tea, hates having to deal with traffic on the way to work. Once

for a project in uni he wrote an entire five hundred word monologue on

how much he hated mornings, in iambic pentameter. If there were an

organization against mornings, Zayn would probably have to fight him

for presidency.

He thinks, as he slowly blinks awake to the sight of Harry lying next to

him again, that maybe he could be persuaded to change his stance on

the issue.

"Good morning," Harry says.

"It is, isn't it?" Louis says, smiling. He noses down into the pillow,

feeling the warmth of the way Harry's looking at him just as much as he

feels the blanket tucked around his shoulders. Harry drops a kiss on the

top of his head and folds Louis in closer to his chest. Louis thinks he

could probably stay like this forever.

The thing is, though, he can't. The warmth, the fondness, Harry—that

can all stay. That will stay for good if Louis has anything to say about

it. But it's Saturday morning now and he has to deal with at least some

of the other parts of his life before things get too out of hand.

547

"You're thinking again," Harry says, and Louis can tell he's trying to

stay light, but there's a little note of concern underneath it. It's going to

take work to convince them both that this is for real, that they don't

need to be afraid that every moment of hesitation is somebody about to

cut and run.

"It's okay," Louis says, leaning up to kiss Harry again. "Everything is

still good. I'm just thinking that I really need to turn my phone back

on."

Harry groans a little. "Do you have to?" He pouts at Louis, tracing his

fingers over the curve of Louis' hip.

"As much as I would like to do this for a living," Louis says, reaching

down to palm the back of Harry's hand, "I do have an actual job I need

to see about. Your arse does not offer health benefits."

Harry grins wolfishly, squeezing a little. "I have been reliably informed

otherwise."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Hush," he says, rolling out of Harry's octopus

arms. His bag is slouched in the corner, exactly where it's been since he

shrugged it off and kicked it out of the way last night. So far away. "It'll

only take a minute."

Harry makes a grumpy face at him but relents, and Louis gets to his

feet and pads over to his bag. He fishes his phone out of the bottom and

wanders back over to the mattress.

"I kind of left in the middle of work and didn't bother to find a

replacement, so I'm not really sure what to expect," Louis says. He sits

back down at Harry's side and stares down at his phone, bracing

himself for what might be waiting for him on it.

Harry grins, leaning his head against Louis' knee. "You know, for

somebody who hates romantic comedies, you're kind of living one."

548

"I don't hate them so much anymore," Louis admits. He catches the grin

spreading across Harry's face. "Oi, don't look so pleased with yourself,

you little shit."

"To me you are perfect," Harry says without a trace of irony, and God,

Louis would smack him if he could stop feeling so stupidly lovesick for

more than five seconds.

"Quit distracting me," he says. He takes a deep breath and powers up

his phone.

Thirty-six. He has thirty-six missed calls from Zayn.

There are several text messages too, most of which he imagines are also

from Zayn, demanding answers in all capital letters and lots of angry

emoticons, but he doesn't have time to go through them all. Louis

should probably call him now before he goes into cardiac arrest, if he

hasn't already. It's hardly nine in the morning according to the clock on

his phone, and historically that would have meant Zayn was nowhere

near the realm of the living on a weekend, but Liam's an early riser and

it's starting to rub off on Zayn. Louis figures he'll probably be up by

now. He shows Harry the missed calls, snickering, and then calls Zayn

back, switching the phone to speaker and putting it down on the pillow

between them. It rings only once before Zayn picks up.

"About fucking time you called me back, arsehole!" Zayn shouts down

the line immediately. "Where are you? I have been off my fucking head

since yesterday, I swear to—" Louis can't keep a straight face anymore,

and when he starts laughing Harry does too. Zayn's voice shoots up an

octave. "Is that Harry?"

That sets them off again, and it's upwards of thirty seconds before

either of them can catch their breath long enough to answer. "Hi,

Zayn," Harry finally says, smirking like a kid caught with his hand in a

jar of sweets and feeling pretty pleased with himself for getting there.

He sticks his tongue out at Louis, and Louis wants to kiss him all over

his big dumb beautiful face.

549

"Oh my fucking God," Zayn says. "Oh my God. Are you two—Louis—

did you—explain! Explain yourselves, Jesus Christ, please. My heart

can't take the suspense."

Louis looks at Harry, who just nods silently, letting him take the lead.

"Well, darling," Louis says. "Your mum and dad are getting back

together."

"Don't fuck about, Louis!" Zayn shouts so loud and so shrill that Louis'