Archive of Our Own

If Harry was being completely honest, it probably wasn’t the best idea to be a world-renowned popstar and an infamous vigilante.

But to be fair, it wasn’t like he woke up one day and decided to sell out deafening stadiums and pull on a mask while sprinting across the parking lot dodging minivans in order to clock a mugger in the face or otherwise.

And if he’s giving full discretion here, it was the monumental boyband stardom that came as a complete surprise.

Ever since he was young, Harry harnessed a strength beyond human limits with reflexes splicing through his synapses like a jackknife. He wasn’t sure where it came from – perhaps some sort of warp in his genetic code that a scientist would absolutely salivate over, or maybe it was from an off prenatal vitamin his mum took.

Either way, he was never too fussed about it. It was part of him. Harry Styles – a boy residing in Cheshire with one mum, one sister and a penchant for lifting items at least thrice his bodyweight.

At least that was how Gemma found out, the only person thus far who knew about his slightly abnormal abilities. Harry still ribs her about the look of utter shock on her face when she caught him hefting up his entire bedframe with one hand to vacuum underneath for rabid dust bunnies after getting scolded by mum for cutting corners with cleaning his room.

“Honestly, Gem, it’s a miracle a spider didn’t weave a web in the amount of time it took you to shut your gob,” Harry routinely chortled, already ducking out of the way when Gemma would swing a fist at his head.

They soon took it upon themselves to test the limits of his super-ness. In short order, they learned how Harry could crush doorknobs, anticipate a wet-willy, sprint across the park and back with barely a breath out of place, and coax Gemma into asking out her longtime crush.

That last one was an accident. Harry’s needling and teasing unexpectedly sparked something deeper inside him that pushed and suddenly Gemma was prancing across the playground towards Johnny who declined her advances as impolitely as only a twelve-year-old could.

Harry still gets a lump in his throat when he remembers the silent tears streaking Gemma’s crumbling face as she ran past him, and later when she refused to open her bedroom door to him for days.

Needless to say, Harry was able to check persuasive charisma (“Call it for what it is, Harry,” Gemma had glared at him from behind her biology textbook. “Mind control.”) off his list of quirks. It was one he took special care to shove away and bar himself from, especially whenever he forgot and someone’s eyes glazed over as they clamored to bend to his will.

“You need to be become a superhero, Harry,” Gemma instructed him as they sprawled out on Gemma’s bedroom floor poring over countless comic books for costumes and catchphrases. “It’s destiny. Why else would you be able to do the things you can do?”

And Harry didn’t really have an answer to that. The whole thing seemed like a cheap deal otherwise. It wasn’t like he could use his talents to become a star track-and-fielder or wrestler or anything athletic or cool.

“It wouldn’t be fair. Plus you’d probably trip over your two left feet anyways.” Gemma had struck down his footballer dreams in one fell swoop.

But a superhero? Harry’s nine-year-old mind latched onto the idea, desperate to flex these weird powers and do something, anything.

And that’s how Harry found himself precariously balanced on their roof’s gutters at one o’clock in the morning. “Gemma, this is way too high – why can’t I just ride around on my bike to look for evil-doers?”

Gemma scoffed, leaning out her window. “You need a vantage point, knobhead. You don’t see Batman riding around on his tricycle when he’s patrolling.” Harry whined at her ribbing and Gemma sighed, “Just try and listen out for trouble.”

Being twelve, Gemma was all-knowing and Harry was helpless against her wisdom. So, he heaved a great sigh and crouched down like an alley cat. He cocked his head to the left and closed his eyes, straining to hear something besides his mum’s light snores from downstairs or Mrs. Whittaker’s bulldog lapping up water from his dish three houses down.

He was about to stomp his foot and demand Gemma to let him back into the house when he heard it – a woman’s startled yelp two blocks over.

From there, it was instinct.

Before he could blink, he had the woman’s purse clutched in his hand, the mugger jogging away and the woman thanking him profusely at his feet. He had stumbled back home in a daze, his senses on overdrive and his blood pounding in his head. Gemma was standing at their front door waiting for him, brown eyes gleaming and expectant.

Harry stared at her, then at his hands, before beaming. “I’m gonna need a costume, Gems.”

It became addictive; patrolling, fighting, saving.

Slowly but surely, Gemma and Harry curated an assortment of costume bits for his super alter-ego regalia. It was – a work in progress.

“This is a Nightwing mask! I can’t wear this, Gems, I’m not Nightwing –  I’m Hazard!”

Gemma ignored him in favor of slapping on the silicone mask, marring a few inches of his identity, before tugging a grey beanie over his signature mop of curls. “Oh, Hazard is it now? Well, it’s all they had at the costume shop, super-bro, so you’re going to have to deal and stick to the shadows for now.”

Harry touched the bottom of the mask where it met his cheekbones, captivated by his reflection in the mirror while Gemma fiddled around with his outfit. It wasn’t much. Just a hat, a mask and some darker clothes. But it was enough to make Harry’s heart thud against his ribcage and arms erupt with gooseflesh, eager to scale skyscrapers and perch on rooftops to survey Manchester’s underbelly.

A handful of years later, he had his own costume, his own alias – and his own notoriety.

As much as he tried to wriggle the name Hazard into the conscious minds of Britain’s citizens, it seemed the local newspapers took joy in coming up with their own spins for the town vigilante. There was Wonder Boy, Cheshire Cat, and the short-lived Britannica after he had schooled a mugger’s grammar in front of the would-be victim who happened to be a teacher at HCCS.

His nightly rounds of justice were kept secret, of course. Given each story arc Gemma and Harry read in the stack of comics they accumulated, it was a foregone conclusion. Don’t reveal your identity if you want to keep your loved ones alive and your body experiment-free.

Not a soul was told, not even mum. Not even when Harry’s door would be continuously wrenched from the hinges (accidentally, of course, usually after a teenaged bender of too many stolen wine coolers). Not even when he could hear Anne’s wavering voice crystal clear from the pub, whispering to her friend how she couldn’t bear to invite Robin over lest Harry and Gemma grew uncomfortable by a new male figure in their lives (in which case Harry would promptly text Robin to drop in for dinner that very night).

Still no one was told, not even when gallivanting in the dark saving little old ladies became stopping armed bank robberies. The first time it happened, it made the nightly news. His blurred figure was captured by a stray, newfangled “smartphone” as he leapt onto the assailant and wrenched the gun from their grip.

His hands hadn’t stopped shaking when he snuck back through his open window. Gemma had been pacing his room, hair mussed and wild and eyes wide as she stared at the streaks of red splattered on his clothes. Her face was as white as his twisted bedsheets, or maybe whiter than his own sallow cheeks. She clutched him tight, dragging him to the bathroom and stripping him of his bloodied hoodie. All the while she whispered feverishly that he had to be more careful, that he shouldn’t be so stupid, that he needed to remember this wasn’t a game anymore.

They threw out the hoodie, stashed it beneath two other garbage bags in the bin outside.

Despite the mounting danger Harry threw himself into, they had a fool-proof system and their sleepy village was none-the-wiser.

It was really the X-Factor, and all that came after, that was the real surprise.

Harry was the designated Bob Hope of the family, endlessly entertaining aunties and cousins and neighbors. He routinely donned his mum’s old maternity clothes and warbled to Elton John with smeared rouge on his cheeks and cherry lipstick on his smile. He scrounged up a band and held concerts at wedding halls and the school cafeteria. He commanded the stage as Elvis, as Buzz Lightyear. He endured Gemma banging on the bathroom door in the middle of his show-stopping shower rendition of The Script’s Breakeven. 

When he looks back, it’s a bit funny to recall how having an actual career where he could sing and prance across stages for real seemed impossible. Never mind how he dove off rooftops without a blink and lifted Range Rovers with just his fingertips so flat tires could be changed. Actually singing in front of an audience with a band and spotlights and applause? Now that was impossible.

Harry kept the X-Factor application locked in his desk drawer for two weeks before finally scrawling out his answers and sliding it into the mailbox without a backwards glance.

And then he got the call.

And then he auditioned.

And then everything else came careening forward like a runaway freight train that he could only feebly cling to and hold on for dear life.

Throughout it all, he kept his nightly patrols under-wraps from his new bandmates, handlers and thousands upon millions of fans and spectators. Harry took painfully detailed measures to make sure his two worlds never overlapped.

But that didn’t mean there weren’t a few glitches in the matrix. 

“Harry! Is there any particular reason why you’ve got a police scanner in your pants drawer?”

Harry whipped his head around from where he was poking at the fajitas sizzling on the stove, eyes wide. He quickly lowered the heat and sprinted to where Louis’ voice rang out from inside his bedroom.

Four years and a handful of months had passed since Louis leaped into Harry’s arms and the subsequent blur of unprecedented fame began. And even in the maelstrom of cameras and lights and screams and adrenaline, Harry found himself ensnared in Louis. He couldn’t help but be drawn in, curling himself around Louis like a needy feline even on his best days and finding himself in constant awe over the older boy’s wit and charm.

They found an orbit within one another, whether racing through the X-Factor’s corridors – breathless and cackling, bright eyes and double-timed hearts – or laying intertwined on Louis’ bunkbed and whispering into each other’s clasped hands how much they wanted.

“Do you think we’ve got a shot?” Harry had murmured, watching Louis’ pensive brow in the sliver of moonlight.

Louis had shifted closer, breath sweet and voice softer than Harry had ever heard it. “Course we do. There’s no way you’d ever be anything but incredible, Hazza. Reckon that’ll rub off on the rest of us.”

He was smirking, teasing, but Harry shook his head minutely, throat going taut. “M’nothing without the rest of you. S’why I’m not up there alone.”

“You listen to me, Harry,” Louis had suddenly grabbed his hand tight. Harry startled, peering up at the spitfire in Louis’ eyes, his mouth firm even as his thumb swept over Harry’s knuckles. “You aren’t nothing. You’ll never be nothing. If anyone tells you differently, they can fuck right off, alright?”

Harry wasn’t quite ready to stop wallowing, though, not when it made Louis hold his hand this tight.

He gave him a wry smile instead. “Even Simon?”

“Especially Simon, you git,” Louis spat. “And if you can’t tell them to fuck off, I will. I’m particularly good at that, me.”

Harry let out a breathy giggle and allowed himself to pull Louis’ hand closer. They were quiet for a moment, content to be motionless for once. Harry could hear the rest of the boys snuffling in their sleep and the way Louis’ nose whistled slightly with each breath.

He wriggled closer, heart skipping at Louis’ amused, sleep-slow grin. “And after this? You’ll still – do that?”

Louis gently tugged his hand from Harry’s grasp to snake an arm around his bony shoulders, snatching him to his chest. “Curly, there’s never gonna be an after with you and me. You’re stuck with me, for better or worse.”

Harry’s nose was crushed against Louis’ clavicle. His curls were matted to his forehead and Louis’ cold toes were poking hard into his calves. It was all a bit sweaty, to be honest. But Harry had never felt more settled, at peace, to be still and be held.

“For better,” he slurred, sleep pulling him under, Louis’ answering smile a secret pressed into his hair.

Harry, for the first time since the earliest flicker-beat of his power pulsed beneath his breastbone, had wanted to tell someone – Louis – everything. He wanted to show Louis his might and then relinquish it all so he could pin himself against Louis’ chest and press his ear up to his heartbeat.

He wanted to be a singer, a performer, a savior.

But he also wanted Louis.

Instead, he got an almost. A whole bunch of almosts.

Harry could close his eyes and picture it like a silent Elizabethan tragedy – times when the words were right on his teeth, ready to spring forth as he and Louis snuggled up on the couch in their shared flat watching music video countdowns, Louis’ bare feet nestled under Harry’s thigh; times when they were huddled backstage at a nameless arena, breaths mingling and faces close, and Harry could feel himself leaning in to finally shatter the last distance they held from each other; times when he caught Louis’ gaze lingering on his lips, bruised and raw from biting back all the declarations in his gut, and offered nothing; times when Harry nearly, could’ve, wanted, almost –

But then he would feel the back of his neck prickle and he’d dash to secure the mask over his face, taking a flying leap out his window into the gullies and chasms of London’s most dastardly. When faced with the horrid macabre that humans would dare to indulge in, Harry couldn’t imagine ever subjecting Louis to a world where he could get hurt for loving him. What use was his strength, his charisma, his reflexes, when they couldn’t save Louis from Harry himself?

So, Harry hushed his heart.

They remained as codependent and freakishly in tune as ever, but Harry braced himself as he stammered to Louis how he wanted to see what it was like to live on his own, in his own flat. The words barely escaped his throat, crawling their way out of a lump the size of England herself, as Louis stared at him in disbelief. A streak of hurt flashed in his eyes before he blinked them rapidly and nodded almost frantically (“Of course, Haz, I get it. No, no, I’m not mad, could never be with you. You’re almost nineteen, time to spread your baby bird wings, after all.”).

The move was supposed to give Harry a more solid boundary between Louis, his heroics and his yearning.

Fat lot that did, Harry absently mused, skidding into the threshold and seeing Louis rifling through his boxers to pull out the police scanner with a flourish.

They were both still burrowed into each other’s pockets. Harry still found himself draping his long limbs across Louis’ couch to steal the remote and switch whatever football highlights reel Louis was glued on over to the Great British Bake-Off. Louis still groped through Harry’s cabinets looking for his particular brand of teabags to dip into his self-proclaimed mug (the blue speckled one with a chip on the handle). They both still had keys to each other’s flats on their keyrings, capped off blue and green.

It was a miracle that Louis never walked in on Harry hopping around on one foot trying to wrench Hazard’s infamous spandex from his sweat-drenched skin.

“Erm,” Harry glanced from the police scanner to Louis’ quirked brow. “For research.”

Louis snorted and began fiddling with its buttons. Harry inwardly groaned. It took him forever to get the settings just right to detect incidents occurring outside his intuitive range. “Looking to join the academy then?”

Harry tried for aloof; he crossed his arms as he leaned back against the doorframe and shrugged. “Just found it interesting, I guess. Can’t be too careful in this neighborhood.”

“Sure, sure, we all know how dangerous Primrose Hill can be,” Louis rolled his eyes. He twirled the scanner around, punching a few more buttons when suddenly he whipped his head back up to Harry with a devious smirk. “Ohh, wait, I get it…”

Harry fisted the sleeves of his t-shirt at his elbows, heart panging despite himself. “Mm?”

“Hate to break it to you, mate, but I don’t think Hazmat is looking for a sidekick anytime soon,” Louis said loftily, eyes twinkling. “His loss, really. Your peachy bum would look smashing in spandex.”

There was a record scratching somewhere in Harry’s head, but all he could muster up was a small squeak. “Hazard.”

Superb priorities, Harry slow-clapped to himself. He tightened his fists further, palms sweating.

“Right, right,” Louis drawled. He nestled the police scanner back amongst Harry’s delicates (Harry’s heart seized briefly when he suddenly remembered the black lace panties he’d stashed in the back of the drawer after he had bought them on a rosy-cheeked whim).

Louis sauntered back over to where Harry was hunched with a fond smile, reaching up and mussing his curls. Harry couldn’t help but lean into the tousle, fingers loosening on his sleeves. Louis’ eyes were warm as he pat Harry’s cheek. “We all need a dream, Hazza. No shame in that.”

Harry gave him a half-grin and finally shook himself, pushing the paranoia back down his gullet and finding his words. “Does your dream have something to do with my pants drawer, Lewis?”

Despite the papers declaring him incessantly flirtatious with a permanent oily leer, this had always been Louis’ game to win. It was a torturous form of chicken with various levels of tameness and vulgarity that knocked Harry’s heart sideways either way.

Louis gave his cheek one last mocking pat – and maybe it was a trick of the light or Harry’s own ardent wishful thinking, but Harry could swear a dainty flush dusted Louis’ cheeks – before he said without missing a beat, “Research.”

-

It wasn’t the first time Harry had been caught out in a compromising position. He’d always had little slips here and there, but ones that could usually be brushed off (“How quirky of you, Haz.”). But as the grind of endless touring, hotel-hopping and studio booking reached an unyielding cacophony, Harry’s exhaustion gave way to more brow-raising circumstances.

It didn’t help that his alter-ego had been slowly gaining more recognition due to larger feats of heroism. The notoriety raged like an inferno. London was entranced, swooning with every robbery stopped, gun smashed and child saved. And like anything in the age of Twitter and 24-hour news cycles, the speculation of his identity was rampant.

Not to mention he’d inevitably rounded up his own fanbase – Hazzers, one would have it – that was doggedly committed to memorizing his every move and passionately lamenting his completely covered face.

It had gotten to the point where Harry created a dummy Twitter login to follow the update accounts and make sure they never came too close to the truth. His phone was constantly buzzing with notifications of where he was allegedly spotted flipping off balconies when in reality he was sitting next to Louis watching Space Jam for the nth time and trying to ignore the prickle nipping at his neck for once.

Triple-checking his phone and keeping his alias at arm’s length could only do so much when the stresses of touring the world twice over eventually made his concentration crack.

Given his house key and genuine nosiness, Louis was privy to most of the more questionable antics in Harry’s flat. There was the newspaper Louis found on Harry’s kitchen counter spread open to the (highly exaggerated) article about Hazard’s involvement in breaking up a drug ring. And then there was the Hazard_Updates Twitter notifications Louis spotted lighting up Harry’s phone like fireworks on the tour bus.

There was even an instance of Louis rummaging through Harry’s room to find a jumper to wear and fishing out an old Nightwing mask that Harry had been meaning to toss out but ended up tossing in a random drawer to deal with later.

Louis raised his eyebrows higher with each happenstance while Harry stuttered and stammered out flimsy explanations.

It wasn’t until Louis caught him reading yet another Sugarscape dossier on Hazard’s possible connection to the celebrity world (the article didn’t even come close at all, but Harry still had night sweats about it for a week), that he finally deemed the curious case of Harry’s fixation solved.

“You’re a Hazzer!” Louis crowed with an absurd amount of glee.

Harry jumped, phone flinging out of his hands and skidding to Niall’s feet across the tour bus.

“W-What?”

“I can’t believe how obvious it was the whole time,” Louis continued, oblivious to Harry blanching while Niall picked up the phone to scroll through the story himself. “You’re following this bloke’s every move. You’ve got alerts on your phone and a replica of his old mask and everything! You’re a fanboy.”

There wasn’t a hint of malice in Louis’ tone, just pure giddiness at solving a riddle, but Harry felt his hands quiver all the same. “I-I mean, erm. He’s alright, I guess. I was just – seeing what all the fuss was about.”

There was a quake in his voice, soft and rushed, and Louis paused. He swiveled towards Niall who was lightly guffawing at the article before looking back at Harry, mistaking Harry’s fidgeting and inability to meet his eyes for shame.

“Hey,” Louis bent down and rubbed at Harry’s shoulder. “Absolutely nothing wrong with that. A little hero worship is good for everyone, innit?”

Harry smiled back shakily, the expression feeling too waxy on his lips as he forced himself to nod. Louis nodded back, satisfied, and turned to Niall again and dove forward to retrieve Harry’s phone. The ensuing scuffle was a good distraction as Harry slowly stood and made his way to the back of the bus toilets.

As soon as the door clicked behind him Harry heaved, toppling forward and clutching the sink, shoulder blades jutting out like knives and head hung low. The air felt stale and chalky as he sucked in and out with a wheeze, sweat beading at his temples.

Too sloppy, too close.

The porcelain groaned under his grip.

He had to get better, had to stop being so careless.

Tiny cracks shattered under his fingers and slithered through the sink’s basin, snapping Harry into focus. He yanked his hands off, scrambling away until his back hit the door with a sharp bang. Harry clenched his teeth, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as he forced himself to breathe in, out.

This was fine.

No one knew. No one was hurt.

Harry could play the part of a fanboy just fine, no problem. 

Totally fine.

-

It all came to a head in the most absurd way possible.

Harry had dragged himself home from the studio with circles underneath his eyes dark enough for their own constellations. He collapsed into bed, groaning loudly at the luxurious quilt cocooning him from the entire world. He snuffled into his pillow, whimpering at how his back pinched from crouching like a Gargoyle at the soundboard all day. With a deep sigh, Harry hugged his pillow longingly and let sleep take him.

It must’ve been only ten minutes later when his neck prickled so sharply Harry jerked up from his bed with a yelp. With bleary eyes and a whine threatening to erupt from his scowl at any moment, Harry tugged on Hazard’s suit with a huff and went about his duty.

It wasn’t the worst fight he had the joy of enduring, but exhaustion was making his punches veer off and his reflexes sluggish. Harry’s lip split after he failed to duck in time from a roundhouse kick and groaned, already dreading the narrowed glare he’d get from Lou when he would try and explain it away as severely chapped lips.

The day, or night, was saved in the end and Harry could barely keep his eyes open on the journey back to his flat, feet slipping on the railing for a brief second as he hefted up his window frame and tumbled inside his bedroom once more.

Limbs akimbo, Harry laid face down on his mattress, too tired to peel off his suit, and passed out for a good twelve hours.

The next morning, it was absolutely everywhere.

You Won’t Believe Who Was Spotted Leaving Harry Styles’ Primrose Hill Pad!

There was a pap. A bloody pap had been stationed outside Harry’s flat, right between his petunias.

His phone was already buzzing off his nightstand with the amount of urgent texts and calls wondering what the actual fuck was going on and for how long. Running his hands over his face and bemoaning his entire existence, Harry spotted a message from Gemma within the fray.

Congratulations on your new boyfriend.

God, yeah, alright. Harry threw the covers off himself and began fussily peeling off his spandex on his way to the shower. This must be what all those Freddy Krueger blokes went through, Harry pondered gloomily, this living nightmare thing. Harry stepped into the spray and groaned as he rolled his shoulders, muscles sore and overstretched.

Maybe it would all blow over in a day or two –  Harry scoffed at himself before the thought even finished baking. Britain’s most famous popstar and only superhero shacking up? It was a gossip rag’s wet dream. Harry scrubbed at his hair, thoughts racing. The narrative was already built thanks to the fevered speculation already clogging the newsbeats. Harry would just have to – play along.

“Lothario Harry Styles bags a superhero,” Harry sighed grimly. “Not even Hazard’s super-strength stood a chance.”

His phone was reaching critical mass when he finally dared to wander back over and take a looksee at the carnage. He was about to Facetime Gemma to start hatching a game plan and maybe cry a little when Louis’ contact picture lit up his phone like a nova.

“Shit. Shit, fuck, bugger,” Harry snatched up his phone and stared at it. You’re the One That I Want was blaring in a severely mocking pitch while Harry’s thumb hovered over the call button.

“Okay, here goes. You’re going to tell the love of your life that you’re loved up by – you. Normal.”

Harry hit accept and held his breath.

“Harry, what the fuck?!” Louis was already cackling. “This is brilliant! What are the odds Hazard was jumping off his number one fanboy’s roof, yeah? Picture is a bit blurry so it could be a robber coming to steal your knickers, but either way you’ve definitely caught your hero’s attention now.”

Harry’s breath hitched, struck silent. God, he was going to have to say it out loud.

“Too bad there’s no way he was making a house call to Britain’s favorite Harry since he knows he’s got to save his voice for Wembley,” Louis leered, voice light and lilting. Harry could imagine him flitting through his kitchen preparing a cuppa as he giggled at all the super-euphemisms reporters were already churning out.

“Louis,” Harry didn’t even have to fake the gravity in his voice, low and serious. Halting.

The tinkering faded on the other end of the line, Louis’ movements slowing. “Hazza?”

Harry blinked back the sudden wetness clinging to his eyelashes, overwhelmed. He couldn’t raise his voice higher than a whisper, lungs constricting. “I was going to tell you.”

The silence was deafening. Harry brought a knuckle up to his mouth and bit down, hard.

“Harry, what are you,” Louis cut himself off before speaking slower, disbelief coloring every syllable, “Are you telling me this shite is for real?”

“Not shite,” Harry mumbled around his knuckle, squeezing his eyes tight.

“No, no, yeah, of course I didn’t mean it like that, I just,” Louis trailed off, voice smaller than Harry had ever heard it. “I just – didn’t know.”

Harry nodded, eyes still closed to the world and to this conversation, wishing he could rewind back to when Louis jumped into his arms on the X-Factor stage and instead lifted him clear above his curly-mopped head so that Louis would’ve always known what he could do. Maybe even just rewind back to all the times he almost kissed him under the darkness of the X-Factor dressing rooms, the arena hallways, their shared living room. Just so Louis would’ve at least known that it was always him and no one else that Harry could ever possibly want.

But the band played on, two boys at a loss for words.

Harry took a breath and plunged beneath the undertow. “Yeah, I’m – I’m sorry I never said anything. It all happened so fast and I didn’t know if it was ever going to be a thing and then it just was – ”

He was word vomiting, he couldn’t stop word vomiting.

“I wanted to tell you so much,” Harry whispered, the truth of it aching in his chest. “I wanted to tell you everything as soon as it started, but – he said not to say anything, to anyone. He’s probably right pissed about this whole thing – ”

“He can bloody well deal with it,” Louis suddenly snapped. “You’ve had to stomach these vultures for the past four years so Hazmat can put up with one pap shot that he barely showed up in. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Harry was fish-mouthing, not expecting the ferocity lacing Louis’ tongue. Before he could gather any semblance of a response, Louis repeated, softer. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t tell me, but you have nothing to apologize for, love.”

Harry’s breath hitched, the double-entendre striking him dead in the solar plexus.

“But hey,” Louis’ voice rose, brighter. “Congrats, curly! Making each dream into a reality, yeah?”

There was a hollow ring buried in Louis’ cheer and Harry could do nothing but clutch the phone and keep wishing for one more almost. “Yeah. Getting them all sorted.”

Louis hummed; Harry could hear him resuming his tea and wanted nothing more than to blurt out everything once and for all, no matter how betrayed Louis might feel afterwards.

“He’s got himself a catch, Harold,” Louis mused, faint and far away. “And now you’ve got your very own someone. Happy for you, mate.”

Harry sighed shakily, hoping it came off love-struck rather than heartbroken. “Thanks, Lou. We’ll be swinging from the rooftops soon enough.”

Afterwards he rang Gemma, hopelessly forlorn. “This is awful, Gems. You should’ve heard him, it was like I was twisting a knife through his stomach.”

Gemma tutted in sympathy, only slightly distorted from the speakerphone, and Harry could imagine her petting his hair just like when they were younger. “Was he mad?”

“No, he was perfect,” Harry buried his face in his arms, belly-up on his bed where he hadn’t moved for a good two hours. “Resigned, maybe, but supportive. Fuck, Gemma, what do I do?”

“You play along and ride it out for now, and then you break-up with yourself. And then you make sure you’re never photographed hanging from your gutters again like a pillock.”

Harry groaned and smothered himself.

For the next few days, that’s what he did – played along. Already well-versed in the art of cryptic tweets, Harry figured a cheeky, ham-fisted lyric would be enough to confirm things without giving a proper statement.

Needless to say, the Hazzers imploded and sent endless hearts and squeals and flails into his Twitter replies and DMs. Harry could only watch with a fascinated type of horror as the tabloids went into a tailspin, printing his tweet across front pages and ruminating over how long the torrid affair of British stardom had been going on.

Liam, Niall and Zayn all ribbed him relentlessly over it in good old fashioned brotherly affection. There were endless innuendos thrown his way right alongside happy grins and hair tousling.

“Cheers, Hazza, you’re finally a kept man.”

“Happy for you, buddy.”

Louis hung back. He was all stiff lips and unsure hands when Harry squeezed himself between Louis and the armrest like always, stubbornly insisting he fit while inwardly worrying over how it took longer than usual for Louis to melt against him.

“Hazzy,” Louis mumbled to Harry’s left a few days later while they waited for the Capital Hits interviewer to come bustling in.

“Erm, yes-y?”

Louis snorted, turning his phone screen towards him with a wry grin. “That’s what they’re calling you two.”

Harry scanned Louis’ phone screen, the #Hazzy Twitter feed gleaming bright.

And then his eyes snagged on one last tweet drowning in the ether before Louis pulled his phone away.

There had to be a tumbleweed stuck in his molars, Harry’s mouth was so dry. He looked back up at Louis to find him sliding his phone in his pocket with a smile not quite reaching his eyes, “S’cute, yeah?”

He could only manage a half nod in return before the interviewer clambered into the room with a stack of index cards and a glint in her piercing eyes, zeroing in on Harry.

The line of questioning came as no surprise. It only took 3 minutes of volleying before the interviewer leered at him, red lipstick stark against her white teeth. “You’ve been causing quite a ruckus in the entertainment world and beyond, Harry. First the photograph of a certain wunderkind leaving your flat, followed by your tweet – tell us, are you and Hazard an item?”

All eyes snapped to him. Louis’ gaze burned hot behind his skull as he carved his face into the Harry Styles™ smirk. It felt sharp on his lips as he drawled, “M’never one to kiss and tell.”

The interviewer’s guffaw clanged like rusted bells, “A bit too late for that I’m afraid. You two are on the front page of every newspaper this side of the Atlantic so why not let us in on your little secret?”

Harry’s hackles raised, the wording too close for comfort and the dismissal too patronizing. That part himself deep inside was festering and prodding at his tongue, and for the first time in years, he gave in to the pull.

“Well, then it wouldn’t be much of a secret, so let’s just leave it at that, yeah?” Harry smirked wider and pushed, watching with reluctant satisfaction as the interviewer’s brown eyes glazed over. Already nodding before he finished speaking, her gaze remained unfocused and smile empty as she pivoted swiftly.

Harry startled at a chaste touch to his shoulder, whipping around to find Louis staring straight ahead, looking for all intents and purposes engaged in the interview.

His hand stayed on Harry’s shoulder, though, so light Harry was sure he was imagining it. But then Louis pressed down, rubbing along the muscle tenderly until Harry finally released the lungful trapped in his chest, tension flooding out of him.

He wasn’t asked anymore questions.

-

The next few weeks were a study in sanity.

With coaching from an increasingly exasperated Gemma, Harry started letting himself be caught suited up leaving his flat in the dead of night. The paps didn’t even bother to leave their flash off and Harry had to navigate gutters and balcony railings with flashbulbs popping off between his eyes.

He always darted out too quick for anything more than a blurry shot, spiteful.

There were more tongue-in-cheek tweets sent out to the Hazzy fandom with corny superhero-laden symbolism. Gemma gagged and Harry agreed.

He even made a couple Instagram posts when he was feeling particularly creative. Harry staged a few mundane black-and-white shots with some Hazard references sprinkled in here and there, observing the Likes rack up with a speed that broke the sound barrier.

Through it all, Harry made sure to keep everything vague enough for deniability, but also for Louis’ sake after he overheard him venting to Zayn four hotel rooms down from his own.

“I must be the world’s biggest knob. After all those times I found weird Hazmat shit in Harry’s flat or caught him in lie after lie… Of course he’s seeing that bloody clown. God, Zayn, I just. I never got my shit together, you know? I thought I had time. I had so many chances to get it right and now he’s besotted over Superman’s second cousin twice-removed.”

It took everything in Harry not to break down the door and press his lips to every inch of Louis’ dejected face.

The whole thing was exhausting and it was mostly because he could see what it was doing to Louis – Louis who was supportive as ever, even as his smiles turned brittle and laughs became dry. Harry want to throttle whatever was hurting Louis so deeply, so mercilessly.

And for the first time, it was himself.

-

It had been a solid month of Harry jumping through hoops and weaving his double-life together with enough subtlety to avoid suspicion. Between the influx of crime and the slog of tracklisting Four, Harry was one thousand percent ready for the monthly LouisandHarry movie night. There were only so many times he felt blissfully normal nowadays. The yearn blossomed uncontrollably in his ribs as Saturday drew closer.

“So what film are we going to stuff our faces to tomorrow, Lewis?” Harry grinned over at Louis as they walked out of the studio, shoulders jostling together. “Are you going to finally let me introduce you the cinematic masterpiece that is You’ve Got Mail?”

Louis laughed, eyes crinkling as he playfully shoved Harry’s haughty mug away. “In your absolute dreams, cheeseball.”

The wonderful squirmy feeling was back in Harry’s veins at Louis’ teasing. It had been so long since they had proper banter that Harry had nearly forgotten how lovely the warmth felt as it swept over him.

“Actually,” Louis dropped Harry’s gaze, eyes unable to meet anything except the rows of cars ahead of them. “I’m heading out with some of the lads tomorrow night.”

A sour, awful feeling swooped through Harry’s stomach. “Oh, but. That’s our movie night.”

It sounded so childish, but Harry had nothing else.

“You’ll be alright though, yeah?” Louis finally turned to him, slapping his upper back. “You can still have movie night with your caped crusader and, hey, maybe he’ll even let you pick for once.”

Harry laughed a little too loud, jerking his face away so Louis couldn’t see the hot tears brimming. It was the latest blow-off in a string of canceled plans and careful avoidances. If it wasn’t movie night, it was Louis begging off Harry’s invitation to come over for homemade antipasta. If it wasn’t that, it was Louis passing on watching the latest GBBO episode with Harry only for him to overhear Louis’ commentary about that night’s failed bakes with Niall.

It wasn’t like Louis had ever been malicious or rude. They still cuddled together more often than not on the sofas backstage. They still giggled together and hung out together. But Louis had taken a step back, assuming Hazard would fill it.

And despite the sting of it, Harry couldn’t fault Louis for doing something that Harry should’ve done for them a long time ago.

It was the healthier choice for Louis to go out to clubs and move on from their will-they-or-won’t-they waltz. It was the better choice for Louis to find his own someone like he believed Harry had found and deserved.

It was the safer choice to step outside their orbit.

-

“You’re a mess,” Gemma’s unimpressed face stared up at him from his iPhone screen.

Harry squawked, offended, but continued to scrape the bottom of his pint of Chunky Monkey. “You’re a terrible sister. Here I am helpless and alone on a Saturday night while the only boy I’ve ever loved is probably grinding up on some uni stud thinking I’m over here making out with myself.”

“May I repeat: A Mess.”

“Oh, sod off,” Harry rolled his eyes and stuck his spoon in his mouth, determined to sulk.

Gemma continued to paint her nails offscreen. “Maybe you should consider doing the same. Go out, have a few cocktails, be the Dancing Queen.”

Harry scowled. “The Dancing Queen is only seventeen. I’m twenty.”

“You’re well-seasoned, then.”

Harry sighed, swirling around his melting ice cream. “Think I’m just going to have a quiet one tonight. Maybe have Ryan Gosling keep me company.”

“Just make sure he’s Crazy Stupid Love or The Nice Guys Ryan Gosling and not Blue Valentine, and I’m sure you two will have a lovely evening together,” Gemma quipped, her smile lopsided like his own.

They rang off shortly after and Harry proceeded to carefully balance the ice cream tub on his stomach before picking up the remote to scroll through Netflix.

The Notebook, tried and true, was up and loading when he heard it.

The prickle cracked and fizzled on the back of his neck and Harry could picture it all in his mind in violent, vivid Technicolor – it was a bar, a nondescript alleyway outside, raised voices rumbling in the dark. Nothing too serious or unusual. It was most likely just a petty disagreement between two lads fueled by one too many rounds.

But Harry suddenly jerked forward, upending his entire pint of ice cream onto his velvet couch because that was Louis’ voice shouting “No!” with absolute venom.

Heart careening into his ribcage, Harry blurred at the edges as he sprinted to his laundry basket.

The Notebook’s opening notes wafted through his flat as he tugged on his suit with military precision and leaped out the window without a single breath.

It barely took a minute for him to reach the bar. Harry’s bared teeth nearly splintered when he pinpointed a man crowding into Louis’ space in the alleyway.

There was an unlit cigarette still hanging loosely between his fingers, forgotten, as Louis’ brow furrowed darkly and he snarled. “I told you, I’m not fucking interested, mate. Get the fuck out of my face.”

And Harry, he didn’t even think – the sharp hiss seeped out of his curled lip when he slammed the chav up against the brick wall. He flexed his hand, hot-flamed pleasure licking up his spine as he watched the man’s eyes widen at the feel of Harry’s fingers wrapping around his windpipe like a vice.

“I’m going to let go and you’re going to run,” Harry seethed and pushed, pushed, pushed until the man’s eyes clouded in an impenetrable fog, his knees buckling with his desire to bend to Harry’s every whim.

Harry unwrapped his fingers and the man gasped out a stuttering breath before clambering out of the alley and into the night.

Breathe in, breathe out.

There was nothing left for Harry to do but turn around and face the mountain of silence at his back. His mind tumbled over itself, a thousand thoughts echoing because how the fuck would he even begin to navigate this? Because – this was it. He was going to turn around and face Louis in the mask and there was no way Louis wasn’t going to know –

Harry slowly turned and before he could take a much-needed gulp of air, Louis was cornering him and practically spitting in his face, “What the fuck was that? Are you touched in the fucking head?”

Harry gaped hopelessly. “You needed help – ”

But Louis trampled right over Hazard’s gravelly baritone that Harry unconsciously slipped into, “I didn’t need anything, especially not from you. I’m not some fucking damsel so save the roleplay for Harry.”

Harry’s head was spinning, axis tilted. He reached out, instinctively touching Louis’ arm to right himself, like always. “Louis – ”

Louis yanked his arm out of Harry’s grasp, but leaned right into his face, blue eyes like stone. “Funny how you show up now in the dark when you’ve been secretly fucking my best friend for months.”

Harry, just. There was a hysterical cackle building somewhere deep inside him at the sheer absurdity that this had all become. Louis looked ready to wring his neck for his own virtue, jabbing a finger at Harry’s chest. “Have you been enjoying it? Sneaking out of his window every night for your fucking glamour shot?”

And then Louis – pushed him and if Harry wasn’t so utterly gob smacked he would revel in the zing that tingled down his spine and warmed his groin. “You can’t even give him the decency of showing your face and telling everyone that you even care about him. He fucking adores you and you’re here breaking up a fucking bar fight when he’s at home alone waiting for you like some jacked up Gone with the Wind bullshit? When you know how much he loves movie night?”

Louis shoved him again, harder. “You’re using him for fucking page six rags and you don’t even know what you have, you fucking tosser.”

One more push and Harry’s back hit the wall, heart clenched somewhere up in his throat. Louis’ eyes were blue spitfire ready to smoke him out and Harry wondered – briefly – how fucked up it was that he was chubbing up at Louis defending him from himself.

He flickered his silent stare to Louis’ lips, cherry red and still slick from the pints he knocked back earlier in the night. He was so close, close enough for Harry to tilt his head if he dared and crumble the distance that had remained since the beginning – since the first time in the bungalow when Louis straddled his hips and held Harry’s arms above his head, braying at him with a winsome grin to squeal “Uncle!”.

Harry had nearly keened then, feeling his wrists pinned to the grubby carpet and knowing he could break away so easily with the monumental strength lurking in his bones. But there, just the two of them tangled together, Harry had felt so beautifully powerless.

And then he had blinked and found Louis still staring down at him wordlessly, their hips still molded together. Harry had panicked in all his sixteen-year-old glory and knocked their heads together to break the spell. Louis’ moans and curses followed him as he flew across the room yodeling like a banshee, Louis right behind him with a bruised forehead and a grin.

But now.

Now, Louis was caging him and Harry had no desire to ever break free.

“You’ve got nothing to say?” Louis leaned in closer, fisting his collar brutally, and hissed. “You fucking coward.”

And Harry, he just. He surged forward, closed the distance and pressed their lips finally, finally together.

Louis’ lips were thin and slack with shock, and Harry had to force himself not to take-take-take. Instead he nudged his head upward, capturing Louis’ mouth with a gentle tug, pressing in close and sliding their lips together. Harry felt his body aching to curl inwards, to fit itself closer to Louis in all the ways he had grown too broad to hide seamlessly.

Harry gave Louis’ bottom lip a small kitten lick before he pulled back and pecked his gaping mouth once, twice.

“Louis,” Harry whispered, voice rough as he blindly reached down between their bodies to find Louis’ hand and held on as tight as he dared. “You’re right. I am a coward. I – ”

The spark of Harry brushing over Louis’ knuckles had Louis bursting into motion, “What the fuck – ?!”

This time Harry caught Louis’ wrists as his body jerked away and reeled him back, thumbs stroking his pulse points. “Louis, it’s me. I know this is fucking crazy and I’m sorry I’m such a complete dillhole, I know, but it’s me, Harry. It’s not – I’m dating, well, me.”

Harry risked letting go of Louis’ right wrist in order to tug his mask up and over his face, curls matted to his forehead and cheeks blotchy. He instinctively angled his body away from the alley’s opening, letting the shadows sweep over his face and hide him apart from Louis who stared with wide eyes. He exhaled roughly, but otherwise remained silent and still.

Harry gulped, throat dry and knots braiding his intestines. “No one knows. It’s not just – I thought I was doing the right thing.”

He swallows again, harder. “I thought I was protecting everyone, but I was hurting you and – ”

Harry paused, breathed in hard, but couldn’t stop his hands shaking. “I have to be selfless, right?”

Louis didn’t answer, but his eyes – ghoulish shadows from the backdoor's light casting them a seawitch’s blue – traced over every freckle and pore on Harry’s face like he was seeing it for the first time, ruddy with sweat and nerves and all.

“I need to protect everyone,” Harry choked out, pleading. “That’s what all the comics said, what Gemma said, and I know that, but – fuck, I – I want to be selfish, I want you. God, I want to be –”

Yours.

The word got caught in Harry’s bobbing throat, but Louis beat him to it. “Harry.”

Harry pressed his lips together, grinding his teeth to stop himself from bubbling over. He lowered his head a moment – breathe –  before glancing up sheepishly.

“Yeah?”

Louis gently tugged his other wrist from Harry’s sweaty fingers and slid both hands beneath Harry’s jaw, cradling him. “Just checking.”

And kissed him.

The world shifted under Harry’s feet, the cosmos caught somewhere between Louis’ mouth and Harry’s heart as Louis coaxed him open and trickled inside – filling him, swallowing him whole. Harry pressed closer, frantically trying to blur and disappear until all that was left was LouisandHarry, their mouths sliding together, lips raw and pulsing. Louis gasped as Harry gripped him tighter – careful, so careful, as tight as he could – throwing his head back and breaking them apart only for Harry to latch onto the underside of his jaw, nibbling and nuzzling and suckling I was here into the skin.

Louis sifted his fingers through Harry’s curls before suddenly hooking and pulling. Harry moaned wantonly, voice cracking as he panted breathlessly at the sting. Louis watched him shudder with hooded eyes and then crashed their lips together again, again. Teeth clacked, lips catching in staccato heartbeats (mine-mine-mine, yours-yours-yours). And Harry couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think – it was everything, it was nothing, it was just LouisandHarry stretching on and on and on – until Louis pulled back and hovered at Harry’s bottom lip for a small eternity before kissing him gently one last time.

Harry was still wheezing, unable to catch his breath or get a grip on his racing heart, when Louis clasped his shoulders with a loud smack and shook him a bit. “What the ever-living fuck, Harold?”

He shook him just a little harder. “Who, what, where, when – why?”

He was smiling though, a little in disbelief but mostly in fond exasperation. It was a familiar look, one that Harry had missed dearly and deeply.

His heart settled back into his chest, thumping loudly. “All valid questions, but – I think I should answer them somewhere a bit more private than next to a dumpster behind Walrus & Carpenter.”

Louis snorted and let him go, stepping back; Harry very nearly whined at the loss. “Right. Well, you go and trapeze your way back to yours and I’ll fetch myself a cab.”

Harry nodded quickly, belly already plunging with nerves, but his clammy hands were nothing compared to the glee thrumming through him at being able to do this – to share himself with somebody and maybe have something completely his.

He tugged down the mask once more and turned to do exactly what Louis instructed when Louis’ voice rang out around a sly smirk, “I know it’ll be hard since you’re still in your honeymoon phase, but do try to keep your hands off yourself before I get there, yeah?”

The mask did absolutely nothing to hide Harry’s thousand-watt grin.

-

Harry practically pole-vaulted through his window in a frenzy, tearing off his suit and scrambling to tug on some joggers and a t-shirt. He was suddenly and inexplicably embarrassed at being caught flouncing about in spandex by a cute boy (a boy his heart had been yearning for since he was sixteen, a boy who nearly decked him thinking he was jerking himself around, but still).

Harry zipped around, flinging his costume back into the laundry basket and despairingly yanking at his hair so it wasn’t a complete disaster from being shoved under unforgiving spandex. He rubbed his cheeks, trying to rid the bashful rosiness, but to no avail. He was cursed to remain Bambi-eyed and cherubic-cheeked.

Not five minutes later, the buzzer went off and Harry tripped over himself to get to the door fast enough before Louis realized this whole thing was absolutely fucking mad and raced for the hills.

But when he swung open his front door, there he was.

Louis watched him from the threshold, hair damp from the drizzle outside, lips still puffy pink and eyes soft. 

“Erm, here, let me – ” Harry reached out for Louis’ parka, clinching it with two hands when Louis handed it over. For a brief moment, he felt lost as they stood there between the doorframe.

Harry never thought he would get to this part, explaining to a loved one who he was, completely. For all of Harry’s showmanship and sharp-eyed ambition and love for the spotlight searing across his skin, he had always feared being too much.

And this was, just. It was a lot.

It was going to be a lot.

Harry worried the swishy material between his fingers, eyes vacant and thoughts spinning before Louis took pity on him and nudged his shoulder. “You going to steal it for a cape?”

Harry started, looking down at the parka he’d been wrinkling with his white-knuckled grip like he forgot it was ever there. He glanced back up at Louis’ small smile and twinkling eyes, breathing out a laugh and beckoning Louis inside with a flush high on his cheeks.

As they made their way inside, a swell of violins and vehement declarations of love swept through the flat from Harry’s television. Noah and Allie had been tirelessly working through their differences since Harry abandoned them. He rushed over to mute their Southern twangs and turned around to find his upended Chunky Monkey right where he left it to congeal on his velvet cushions.

Louis doesn’t say a word, but Harry felt his mirth doing a merry foxtrot behind him as Harry hurried to wipe off the sofa as best he could. He plopped down, surrendering.

Harry anxiously pulled at the drawstring of his joggers, counting down the million seconds of silence while Louis settled in next to him. Their shoulders brushed. A clock was ticking somewhere in one of the guestrooms, keeping track of just how far the quiet stretched as he searched for words, any words at all.

Finally, Harry peered over and met Louis’ questioning gaze. He nodded to himself. Alright, just like a plaster. He bit his lip, then nodded again.

Fuck, he was a bobble-head. Louis was sitting on his ice cream-stained couch, lips still flush from Harry planting one on him in an alley after revealing himself to be Hazard after Louis tore him a new arsehole for being a dick to, well, himself, and Harry was reduced to nodding along like a godforsaken bobble-head.

Harry stopped.

Breathed in.

Out.

Here goes.

“So, yeah.”

There was a beat of terse silence and then Louis was swinging his head back and howling, loud cackles bursting out of him like cracks of a whip.

“You – You’re a fucking superhero who was rumored to be dating yourself and you’ve somehow kept it secret from literally the entire planet and that’s your big, rousing speech?”

Louis chortled, snorting attractively, and Harry couldn’t help the wide grin unfurling on his face, couldn’t help but squirm happily at Louis taking the piss out of him like always. “It’s like you’ve never seen any Batman film, ever. Come now, Harold, surely you’ve got a climatic soliloquy in there somewhere.”

He poked at Harry’s ribs and Harry almost didn’t feel it past the thrill of relief and joy that someway, somehow, they were still them.

Still LouisandHarry.

No powers, no kisses. Best friends.

He twisted away from Louis’ quick fingers. “Erm, no, I mean. It’s not like some massive thing. Or, well. It is, I suppose, but it’s not like I fell into some toxic sludge and became Superman or summat.”

Louis laughs, eyes dancing, and Harry grins wider. “I’ve always been like this. Just… Harry, really. Gems and I thought it would be cool to play superhero and I was just saving cats and stuff. But then it just got, like, so big.”

He didn’t miss how Louis’ eyes dropped quickly to his crotch and darted back up without remorse. Harry felt a slow heat pool in his lower belly even as he gave Louis’ legs a half-hearted kick. “I mean, it just kind of happened? And then X-Factor happened and I got stuck doing both ‘cause I can’t, like, ever imagine giving it up. Singing and saving people.”

Harry tipped his head back on the sofa’s headrest, peering over at Louis as his body curled toward him like a magnet. Louis smiled gently, reaching up and tugging a stray curl. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan trapped in his lungs. “Feels right.”

Louis hummed, light fingertips sifting through Harry’s hair. “You do realize that no one in the world can possibly be this lovely, right? No one is this good.”

Harry felt boneless. He could only lean further into each caress and shake his head. “M’not.”

Louis slid his hand down to cup his cheek, thumb brushing the corner of Harry’s eye as he blinked them open slowly. He watched Louis watching him, barely stopping himself from rubbing his face into Louis’ open palm.

“You are. You save people. And then you go up on stage and you make them happy.”

Louis glided his hand lower, sharp blue eyes following the path of his fingers as they found the parted corner of Harry’s lips, breath catching. “You give everyone everything.”

Louis paused, watching Harry’s eyelashes flutter and chest rising with quick puffs. His entire body bent toward Louis like a prayer – God, dear God – and Louis swiped his thumb across Harry’s bottom lip, dragging the flesh down, down, down.

“So you can give yourself this.”

Harry gasped, lungs fit to burst and he was falling, falling, rising –

“If, I mean,” Louis’ voice was abruptly small, searching. “If you want this. Me.”

Harry couldn’t even begin to control the fire leaping up his spine and slithering up into his veins. But he made sure he caught Louis’ eyes before he tilted his head down and slipped Louis’ thumb past his lips, suckling the sweet taste slowly. He hummed, perfectly sated, swirling his tongue around the tip reverently. He always, always wanted –

A desperate groan warbled through him; he trembled when he heard Louis’ sharp inhale and it made him suck even harder.

“Harry – ”

His name echoed like a hymn in Louis’ mouth. “Harry, I need you to say, tell me – ”

Harry brought his head back up in a daze. He let Louis’ thumb slowly slide out of his maw with a slick pop, a string of spit clinging to his bottom lip.

Harry knew this part was important.

He heaved himself out of his lust-struck haze and buried his head in the warm crook of Louis’ neck, lips tracing the words against Louis’ rabbiting pulse. “Do. I’ve always, I’ve wanted – God, Louis, forever.”

A wounded noise broke high in Louis’ throat, awestruck, as he lifted Harry’s face out from his neck so he could scatter a thousand tiny kisses along Harry’s sharp jaw, his bobbing throat, his flushed chest. There were stars bursting behind Harry’s eyelids – blue, green, white – and he shoved his hips forward, grinding down onto Louis’ hard length and whimpering with each kiss to his goosebumps.

Louis’ hand stroked the curve of Harry’s hip, fingers dancing along the arc of an inked laurel. “Shh, love, you’re alright,” he gave a small peck to Harry’s slack mouth, “Let’s take you to bed, yeah? Let’s give Allie and Noah their privacy.”

“You,” Harry gasped, head swimming as his cock throbbed. “You remembered their names.”

Louis’ laughter followed them as they stumbled into Harry’s bedroom, tossing their clothes to the floor, and toppled onto the mattress. Harry landed on his back spread out like a Madonna, hair wild and wrists already crossed above his head. Louis watched his chest rise and fall in quick hummingbird breaths, his moth fluttering, gaze like a white-capped tempest.

Straddling him, knees quote-marking Harry’s shallow thrusts, Louis splayed his hand across Harry’s chest. His pinky and thumb brushed against inked feathers.

“You’re my someone,” He whispered low. Harry whimpered, the word budding in his chest. “You’re my best friend, my best everything, Haz.”

Harry closed his eyes, so warm and so full that he couldn’t stop the tears rolling down chin. Louis wiped them away and cradled his jaw, bending forward to kiss him again, again, tongue slipping inside and tasting every plea and confession Harry had hidden behind his teeth for years.

“I want to give you everything you want, baby, can I do that?” Louis hovered above his parted lips.

Harry nodded, curls flopping into his glassy eyes, “Yes, yes, please, Lou.”

The vowels punched out him, each one more frantic than the last, and Louis hushed him, promised him, “Okay, Hazza. I’ve got you, love. What do you want?”

There was no verbal answer Harry could possibly give.

He wanted to kiss him; he wanted to blow him. Harry wanted to go to the movies with him and buy an extra-large bucket of popcorn because he knew Louis would refuse to buy one himself but his hand would inevitably sneak across Harry’s lap and dig into the kernels fifteen minutes into the film. Harry wanted to slow dance with him; he wanted to write bangers and ballads with him. Harry wanted to make him smile until his eyes crinkled and he wanted to make him feel loved, so absolutely loved, more so than anything in this world, or this life or the next one, or the one after that.

He wanted, he wanted, he wanted.

“Just,” Harry breathed out, staring up at nothing but blue, “Please just – hold me down, just a little, if that’s alright?”

Louis immediately pressed him more firmly into the bed, smothering Harry’s rolling hips. “Of course it’s alright, anything. Just want you to feel good, baby.”

Louis thrust forward, cock searing and hard and perfect as it grazed Harry’s own length. He groaned, wrist flailing at his side until Louis grabbed it and pinned him, and Harry wailed.

“Fuck – ”

“I’m going to open you up now, alright?” Louis slowly slid down Harry’s body and settled like molten lava between Harry’s hips. “If you don’t like something, tell me and I’ll stop, alright?”

Harry nodded mutely, sputtering on a gasp at the velvet drag of Louis’ lips along his inner thigh. He spread Harry’s knobby knees apart and held them down as far as years of yoga would allow. Harry hissed when Louis nipped, teasing. He whined with abandon when Louis lapped and suckled at the purpling flesh, circling a finger around his puckered entrance. Brushed the spot over, and over. Harry wriggled, pushed his hips down hard and chased the chaste touch.

Louis chuckled, warm breath fanning over his cock.

“Should’ve known you’d be a greedy little tart.”

Harry blushed bright and hot, a moan crackling in his mouth at Louis’ goading. “Wouldn’t have to be if you’d just – get on with it.”

Louis grinned up at him with a wicked gleam, “Not sure what rom-com you’re quoting, love, apologies.”

Even with his flushed cock bobbing insistently and muscles coiled, Harry bubbled over with laughter – giddy and light and warm – and was about to retort how it was from a deleted When Harry Met Sally scene when Louis’ finger suddenly slid inside.

Harry keened, cadence high and sweet, and Louis forced his lower body still, holding him tight.

Harry’s heels jutted into the mattress, toes curling.

A swell whipped through Harry’s bones, shaking him apart, silencing his own latent strength. It was addictive, the burn of his unused power and of Louis’ tireless fingers working through Harry’s body with a tenderness that left Harry’s eyes soft and wet.

Louis leaned back to quickly grab the discarded condom and lube, and Harry huffed at the loss.

“Almost there, love,” Louis fumbled with the foil, fingers shaking.

Harry breathed in, out. “I know. You’ve got me, Lou.”

Here now and always, always.

Louis smiled down at him, eyes shining. “And you’ve got me, yeah.”

He hoisted Harry’s long legs over his shoulders and ran a calming hand up and down Harry’s quivering thighs. Louis breathed in deep and grabbed hold of his cock, lining up and nudging in slightly.

He snapped his eyes back down to Harry who was already looking right back, green and blue and the entire Earth in their gaze. “Ready?”

The whisper was small, hushed. It was four years and eight months. Countless almosts.

Harry squeezed his legs around Louis and pushed his heels into his back, coaxing him forward with a thousand promises. “I’ve got you.”

Louis nodded and then he pushed and suddenly Harry could feel him everywhere.

He choked out a gasp, hands scratching and scrambling in the sheets as Louis slid further and further inside, stoking a wildfire in Harry’s lungs. The lamplight cast warm shadows across their faces, slicing their moans and sharp rasps, and Harry wondered if this is what the Greeks wrote about all those millennia ago – of God and Love and Art and Louis.

Another slow push and their pelvises kissed hello.

And before Harry could come up for air, Louis bent him in half, catching Harry’s wrists and trapping them to the mattress tight – so tight –

He was powerless, wonderfully human, in Louis’ grasp.

A small eternity passed, Harry slowly falling apart piece after piece, and then Louis snapped his hips back and up.

Harry could only grit his fists, pulse leaping underneath Louis’ palms and eyes rolling back, as Louis thrusted them forward, headboard slamming. They were so close, closer than Harry could’ve ever yearned and wished for during those nights he lay beside Louis in their hotel room, imagining and marveling.

One day I’d like to meet your mouth.

Louis grinded his hips slow, barely pulling out on each thrust, knitting them together.

“God, Harry, you’re so fucking – you’re perfect – ”

Harry mewled, neck arching back with a wet gasp.

“So perfect, so good for me, baby – ”

Yours, Harry wanted to whisper back.

Yours, Harry wanted to cry out and scream and swear.

But Louis heard him anyway, Harry turning his head and kissing the wrist that anchored him. Yours.

They began stuttering out of rhythm, Louis chasing his release with a choked moan. Harry almost ripped his hands out of Louis’ grasp so he could reach up and swaddle him to his sweat-slick chest and feel him come apart. Instead, Harry memorized the awe sweeping across the angles of his face, his cheekbones, his lips, his wide incredulous eyes. Looking back at Harry like he couldn’t believe he was allowing him to feel this good, this complete.

Louis came with Harry’s name breeching his lips, spilling inside him and panting hard.

They lay there, lungs constricting and limbs entwined. Harry clenched around him, never wanted to let go, milking Louis hard enough that he whimpered lowly. Finally easing back, Louis slipped out inch by inch until he could properly brush over the corner of Harry’s cherry-pink lips.

Harry whined, low and needy, while Louis disposed of the condom. His cock ached, hard and heavy against his hipbone, pre-cum painting his laurels pearly white.

Hours or seconds later, Louis ran his hands over Harry’s tangled curls, brushing them away from his temples where it’d gone tacky. “How can I make you feel good, love? How do you want to come?”

Harry shook his head back and forth, curls like a gnarled halo around his head. Words weren’t enough. He couldn’t possibly decide when the answer was everything, he wanted everything.

“Yours,” he whispered brokenly, hips tilting up off the bed. “Want to be yours, Lou.”

“Always were, baby,” Louis murmured, smile fond. “Gonna give you something now, alright? Just gonna turn you over, just like this.”

Louis gently guided Harry onto his belly and spread his legs apart. Harry was already babbling, tiny “oh, oh, oh’s” falling out of him at just the burn of his cock rutting up against the mattress and Louis’ hands worshipping the swell of his bum.

“Wanna eat you out, baby, is that okay?”

His hands felt huge and warm on him, calluses scraping lightly as Louis traced over the dip of his spine. Harry’s mouth fell open in a silent whine, pushing back into Louis’ palms. “Please, please, yes.”

“So polite,” Louis praised and Harry could feel the curve of his smirk on his skin before Louis lifted up his hips, spread his cheeks and licked a long, broad stripe.

Harry sobbed, knees buckling, only Louis’ hands and mouth holding him aloft. His insides were a nova, Louis’ tongue luring an entire galaxy into his veins with every swipe and lave. It was so dirty, so wonderful, so gorgeous, and Harry couldn’t stop his hips from bucking wildly, humping his cock into the sheets. The friction was rough and biting and Harry hiccupped wetly each time Louis’ tongue slid into him again and again.

Harry barely registered how Louis began to ease a finger into him until the world abruptly went white. Struck silent, trembling – every deity swelling through him. And then Louis brushed his prostate again and Harry yowled, back arching violently and thrusting into Louis’ mouth and Louis took it, gave it back to him, gave Harry everything –

“I want to see you, I have to see you, Harry – turn over, love,” Louis babbled urgently, already grabbing Harry’s gyrating hips and maneuvering him. “There we go, look so lovely, always so lovely, baby.”

Once Harry was fully on his back, Louis let out a small moan at the sight of him. Eyes dewy, curls tangled and nipples pebbled, lips open wantonly. Harry thrust his cock into the air, aching for friction, the head fiercely pink and slick. Louis soothed him quietly, fingertips soft on his ribs, but Harry jerked and shuddered from the touch.

“Lou, Lou – ”

Louis leaned down between Harry’s quaking legs, enveloped his entire body and held him there. Stars shattered in Harry’s eyes, pupils blown so wide only a sliver of green reflected the light. Sliding his hand over the tip of Harry’s cock, Louis slicked his palm up with dribbling pre-cum and began pumping Harry’s shaft in long, hard strokes.

“You’re so wet, baby. Feel so good, don’t you?”

And Harry couldn’t form words, couldn’t remember them; his voice cracked on another moan as Louis gripped him just right, held him steady.

He could so easily buck out of his fingers, turn them over with a twitch of his arm and ram against Louis and rut without a pause in his breath. But he couldn’t even bear the thought of escaping this.

Louis’ sharp gaze pinned him – overpowered him.

Sweat clung to his upper lip, breath hot with each labored exhale, but Louis was relentless as he jacked him off. His hand was a blur, thumb swiveling over his slit just so in a way that made Harry break open wide.

“Come for me, love,” Louis urged him, beckoned him.

And Harry did; would always, always follow wherever Louis wanted him to go.

He gasped once more, muscles seizing, before a guttural moan overtook him as Harry came long and hard over Louis’ hand, his belly, his heaving chest.

Louis coaxed him through it, touch soft and light before the hurt bleared over the precipice of pain-pleasure. Harry couldn’t stop the soft mewl that warmed his throat when Louis’ hand left him, only to cup his cheek and guide him toward lazy, tender kisses.

“Harry, fuck, you’re so,” Louis nattered on, peppering kisses on Harry’s lips and over his wet cheeks. “You’re so – ”

He clung to him, tugged him so close that their bodies spilt over the boundaries of skin and bone and blurred together. “You’re so much.”

Harry purred, his heart full. For once too much sounded like just right.

Louis kissed him again, sucking softly on Harry’s bruised bottom lip. They lay there in a tangle of limbs, content to touch and feel and wonder at how they fit so perfectly together.

Harry was half-way to a sated sleep when Louis finally lifted his head from Harry’s chest. “So, does super-strength mean you could technically fuck me up against the wall?”

Harry barked out a laugh, clutching Louis and rolling them over to bury his head in the crook of his neck. He nosed at the tender purpling skin there, spellbound, before grinding his hips down cheekily.

“Easily.”

Louis bit back a groan, throat sore but smirk positively devious. “I think this is the part where I say prove it.”

Harry nuzzled at the baby tendrils of hair at Louis’ temple. “Pretty sure it’s the part where I do, over and over again.”

He lifted his head and found Louis smiling back at him, eyes crinkling. “Super.”