Archive of Our Own

HARRY

Tuesday, 1st February  

Harry loves books. He's had his face buried in them since the age of two. His mum always likes to tell him how quickly story time became a moment to let his imagination fly, as he would spend hours going through the pictures and making up adventures. His mum always said that Harry was the one to tell the bedtime story to her and not the other way around. 

Before Harry could read or write, he used to record himself while inventing magic worlds full of made up creatures and stories where his dad was still at home and his sister Gemma never spoiled his fun. He used to dream of unknown cities with underground passages where time and space were different from his own, and he created realities where he never got hurt by the bullies at school and where he always felt happy.

When Harry finally learned to read and write, he always had his nose stuck in his notepad and would always carry it in a green bag full of pens of different colours and a book. When he’d finish writing a new story, he would gather his mum and sister into his room and, sitting on his bed, read it to them, sometimes spending most of the afternoon there. If it went on for long and it was dinner time, he would move them into the kitchen and sit on the counter while continuing to read the story. Sometimes he’d let Gemma leave, as she usually had homework. They were his biggest fans, and he was always happy to share his art with them.

As Harry grew up, his love for books and writing stories never diminished, and his room was full of notebooks and journals full of characters in danger or in love. Always in love. His stories always had a happy ending because writing anything but happiness made him cry. Harry only wanted the best for his main protagonists, always making sure that they had what he never did and suspected he never would.    

Harry's dream was to study in London and move to the big city. He thought he needed to live different experiences to be able to add rich plots and to see the world from a different perspective because Holmes Chapel only had so much to offer and London had endless possibilities. 

Today is his first birthday as a university student. He wakes up very early and makes sure to have his favourite breakfast, a bowl of weetabix with banana slices. He’s wearing his favourite clothes: dark skinny jeans and a dark green jumper with the word “Obsession” embroidered in it. He leaves his hair down; he’s letting it grow, and it’s down to almost under his ears, but he makes sure to have a hairband just in case he wants to put it up in a small bun. He has a backpack on his back, and as always, he’s carrying his journal in his hand so he can write anything that comes to mind whenever he thinks of it.

He's waiting at the bus stop for bus number 43. The bus stop is full of people—students like him who are new to the city or who have lived here all their lives. He lives near Angel Tube Station, which is very busy and has the longest escalator on the Underground network, a fact that Harry finds fascinating. The tube takes you to the centre and is full of people dressed in their best office outfits, but thankfully, the bus is enough to take him straight to class because he loves looking out of the window and seeing the city full of life.

“Fucks sake, mate, I know I said I was going to pick you up!” Harry hears someone next to him say. “But my car broke down, innit? Just told you it's not starting; it makes weird clicking sounds. I’ll have to take it to Liam's. Happy fucking New Year to me!”

The accent captivates Harry, and he's not sure why. Maybe he's feeling homesick, and hearing a northerner makes him soft. The guy keeps talking, telling whoever is on the other side of the phone call that he'll have to take the bus for a few days before the car is fixed.

“I’ll see you there, Z. Sorry about that, lad,” the stranger says when he ends the conversation.

Harry reads his book while he waits, only lifting his head when he sees a red bus coming towards them, but he keeps reading when it’s not the one he needs. The phone guy is jittering next to him, bouncing his leg, and constantly checking his phone. Harry wants to tell him to calm down; if he’s also going to London Metropolitan University, they’ve got plenty of time. But he won’t say anything. He’s shy and a bit of an introvert, and people scare him. Boys scare him the most.

When the bus finally arrives, Harry prepares his Oyster card and holds onto his journal with a firm grip. The doors open, and a few people before him go first, taking the last few seats available downstairs, so he heads to the top floor. He sits and starts reading again when he feels someone sit next to him, and he recognises the black fabric of his jacket.

“Sorry, mate,” the guy says when his elbow bumps into Harry’s.

It’s then that Harry lifts his head and sees him for the first time. His eyes are blue, and his eyelashes are long. When the guy looks at him quickly to nod as an apology, Harry gets lost in the ocean in front of him. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen eyes so blue and with such hypnotising force. His hair is brown and styled on a quiff, leaving his forehead exposed. His skin seems soft and golden, and his jawline could cut paper with how sharp it is. He’s wearing a black bomber jacket and blue jeans. Harry nods back, acknowledging the apology and going back to his book. For the first time in his life, he has no idea what he's reading. The words are dancing on the page, smudged together like a big blob of ink. His mind is invaded by blue, and there’s no space for anything else. But he stubbornly doesn’t close it; he knows he won’t be able to take his eyes off the boy next to him if he does, and he tells himself to get a grip. 

They both get off at the same stop but walk in opposite directions. Harry sighs and feels like he can breathe again since the blue-eyed boy sat next to him. Trying to forget about it, he goes into the literature building and heads to his first class of the day. 

Hours later, Harry is beaming with excitement when he exits the building. He loved every single minute of every single lecture. He already has a few ideas about the next paper he needs to write and is itching to get home so he can start. As he exits the university’s building, he hears laughter—a cackling sound that instantly makes his heart happy. He looks around, looking for whoever it was that put a smile on Harry’s face, and he can’t believe his luck. It’s him, the boy from the bus. He’s surrounded by friends, all laughing and chatting, and Harry feels a pang of jealousy in his chest. He’s never had a group of friends like that. He has Alice and Ben in Holmes Chapel, his best friends from school and who he spent most of his time with. And he used to have Tom, his first kiss, his first ‘ love’, up until they chose universities on opposite sides of the country and decided to break up. He has friends but not a big group, because when you live for your books and your writing, your social life takes a step back, and he’s been buried in a fantasy world since he was very young, so real people have never had a place with him.

Harry observes them for a few minutes. The boy has girls hanging off his arms and boys eating at the palm of his hand, and all he has to do is joke around and be charming. Everyone is looking at him like he hung the moon, and after only five minutes, Harry understands why. He hasn’t thought about him since the first class of the day started, but now his head is full of blue eyes again. When he jumps on the bus on the way back home, he misses a soft black jacket and blue eyes sitting next to him.

Harry's beloved journal sits on his desk while he types on his laptop. He's been researching poetry authors he could write his paper about, and he’s not sure if he wants to dig into the classics or find some contemporary ones. But his mind is somewhere else. He closes his laptop gently and grabs his journal, opening it up on a blank page. 

Wednesday, 9th February 

It’s raining, and Harry is waiting at the bus stop again. There's a sea of umbrellas, and it's hard to see who's who. He recognises some faces from the usual, but there’s some new ones too, all waiting for the 43 to take them to their destination. Harry tries to concentrate on the book he’s holding in his hand and that he is protecting under his green umbrella, but in reality, he’s waiting for those blue eyes to appear like he does every morning, and he keeps lifting his eyes up and looking around. Unfortunately, the bus doesn’t take too long and is already approaching, and Harry is convinced he won’t see the boy today. He puts his book in his jacket's big front pocket and folds the umbrella so he can make space for everyone and get on the bus. He’s the last one to get on, and when he touches his oyster card on the card reader, he suddenly feels someone push him slightly, like they're rushing to get on at the last minute. He turns around, and Harry sees him. The boy is wearing the black bomber jacket and a green Adidas jumper with the hood up, covering his hair. But the blue eyes are there, looking right at him. He would recognise those anywhere.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he says, moving back and pleading for an apology.

Harry smiles at him and shakes his head, as if telling him not to worry. He walks up the stairs, grabbing onto the handrail as the bus starts to move again, and looks for a seat when he feels the boy right behind him, his fragrance strong, like he bathed in aftershave, but also captivating Harry's sense of smell. There’s one available seat at the front, which Harry takes, and he sees the boy sit right behind him. Harry smiles to himself because there are a few empty seats at the back of the bus, but the blue-eyed boy chose to sit close to him. He knows it means nothing, but a boy can only dream.  

The rain makes the windows wet. As a child, Harry used to chase the droplets of water that ran down the glass with his finger and draw smiley faces on the steamed up windows. He refrains from doing anything during the half an hour he’s there but can’t help himself, and before he needs to get off at his stop, he quickly draws one and gets up. He instinctively  looks at the boy and sees him drawing a smiley face on the window as well, and he looks at Harry, smirking. Harry smiles back and walks fast down the stairs before the driver closes the door on him, but he thinks he hears a light chuckle. The bus boy is behind him when he gets off, and just like any other day, they walk in opposite directions, and the boy disappears.

Today, Harry has lunch at the cafeteria because he has class after and has no time to go home. He orders a pasta salad and Coke Zero, and he finds the furthest table he can at the end of the room, close to the toilets. While walking towards it, he sees the bus boy there. He's with a couple of friends, laughing and teasing them, but has no food in front of him.

"Louis, stop, you idiot!" One of them shouts when he tries to feed him some mushy peas with his hands. "You're disgusting, man!"

Harry tries to be discreet, but he's failing miserably; he locks eyes with the boy, Louis, apparently, and he’s incapable of looking away. There’s a loud noise coming from the bar, and Harry snaps out of it and looks down at his plate and then his book, open in front of him. He looks at the words, but he doesn't see them. He doesn't understand what they say, but he refuses to lift his head up, scared that he’ll find Louis’ eyes again. 

Harry stays there, reading for a while after he’s finished with his salad. He’s so engrossed in his book that he doesn’t realise when someone walks towards him. He feels the lightest brush on his arm, and he sees green touch his elbow. It’s almost unnoticeable, but it happens, and he has just seconds to check who it is. Harry turns his head quickly to see a green Adidas hoodie disappear into the bathroom, and he silently gasps. After a minute, Louis comes out and walks back to his friends. Harry can’t stop watching him while he grabs his jacket and his backpack and turns his head, smirking sweetly at Harry. He freezes but still can't look away until Louis and his two friends disappear. He lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, and he gathers all his belongings with trembling hands and heads towards the door and into the building. He still has two more lessons today.

Three hours later, he jumps on the bus, clutching his journal hard to his chest to protect it from the rain and looking forward to writing about whatever happened today. But he’s not sure if he’ll be able to explain it because he thinks he imagined it all. He can’t understand why all these little interactions with the boy are making him so nervous and why they feel so exciting at the same time.

His sister calls him when he is opening his flat’s door, and he puts his phone in between his ear and his shoulder so he can unlock the front door while carrying his journal and his now folded umbrella.

“Sis!” Harry exclaims.

“Hi little brother, how’s my uni student doing?” She replies, and Harry can feel her smile through her voice.

“Just got home; one sec, let me close the door," Harry says while kicking it softly. "Hi, sorry, I just got in."

"Are you still loving it, then?" She asks.

"Of course I am! I've got so many ideas as to what to write. I'm living my dream, Gems. How are you?"

"I'm good. Happy, and coming to London next weekend!" Gemma says excitedly.

"Oh my God, what? Please come stay with me! My flatmate won’t be around; he's going back to Ireland for his dad’s birthday.” Harry’s brain is already planning things they can do together.

“That’d be great! I’m coming because I’m going to the West End with Jen, but I have Saturday morning and the whole of Sunday free, so...” she says with joy in her voice.

They chat for a while about how things are back home, how the cats are driving their mum crazy by bringing mice inside the house, and about their plans for Gemma’s visit. Once the conversation ends, Harry grabs his journal and a pen.

Friday, 11th February

Harry is off on Fridays, so he wakes up late and reads in bed, writes in his journal, and allows himself to be a bit lazy for a couple of hours. He has breakfast and goes for a walk as the sun is out.

Today, he feels different; he feels like the world is his oyster, like he can do anything. He’s not sure why or how, but he feels powerful and happy, and maybe that weird little encounter at the cafeteria with Louis gave his confidence a boost. He’s been thinking about that moment for a while and he smiles when he does. Because there was no need for Louis to touch him, there was plenty of space for him to walk to the toilet without any contact with Harry, and still, he made sure their arms brushed. The sweet smiles were also unnecessary, unless Louis was trying to tell him something without speaking. 

He lets Niall, his roommate, convince him to go out tonight before he goes off to Ireland for the weekend. It will be the first time he goes out since he moved to London. He doesn’t love going to the pub but he used to let Alice and Ben drag him to parties sometimes and he can admit that they were fun but he's always happy to stay indoors and read, living other people’s lives through words and feeling other people’s pain, not his own. But he feels invincible today, so when he says yes and Niall smiles and hugs him, Harry goes into his room and finds the perfect outfit. He’s wearing his best black skinny jeans with brown Chelsea boots, a white button up with black vertical stripes, with the first two buttons undone, and his cross necklace clearly visible, dangling on his neck. 

“What the hell, H?” Niall says, wolf whistling when he sees him by the front door.

“Is it too much?” Harry asks, blushing. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” 

“This is London, mate; nothing is too much,” Niall says, half laughing and opening the door.

“Yeah but…”

“You look amazing. Promise,” Niall reassures him. In a surge of confidence, he grabs his fedora hat and puts it on his head, and before he can overthink it, he locks the door behind them. 

“Damn,” Niall loudly whispers, winking and smirking at him. “You’re dressed to kill tonight, my friend!”

“Shut up,” Harry murmurs and looks down, trying to hide his blushing cheeks, and hears Niall fully laugh while walking in front of him.

Harry is thankful that the February weather is giving them a break from the freezing cold nights, as the club they are going to has a rooftop and he didn’t grab his warmest jacket. The Queen of Hoxton is located near Shoreditch, and as it’s early evening, they go on the bus, which, funnily enough, is the same bus Harry uses to go to class but in the opposite direction. They hop on the 43 and sit at the back, and Harry thinks about those blue eyes that look at him every morning. 

The bus ride is no longer than twenty minutes and after a short walk, they see the club and the line to get in. They chat while they wait and pay the entry fee before heading to the promised rooftop. The first thing Harry notices is that the music is very loud and there are a lot of people. Some girls are staring at him, and it makes him feel very self-conscious. He hates himself for wearing the hat, wishing he could make it disappear, but Niall insists it looks great on him and that the girls are checking him out, not making fun of him. He doesn’t believe him, but he lets it go.

He’s sadly too used to people laughing at him for how he dresses, what he reads, and how he speaks. He’s always liked colourful clothes, and it never bothered him if they were men or women, but his classmates always used to tease him and tell him he was wearing his sister’s blouses or jeans. He always carried books around, and as much as he loved the classics or bestsellers, he’s always been a sucker for romance, and the kids always made fun of him for reading ‘girl’ books, as they said. Harry always took his time when speaking, and he still does. His pace is slower than the rest because he likes to make his point and his brain likes to think of the perfect word. His voice was deep, even before it changed, and that was also a laughing matter when he was younger. Even the English teacher told him he needed to speak faster as time was ticking and they didn’t have all day. So Harry used to hide in the bathroom or the changing room after gym class and come out before he had to go home. This is how he met Alice and Ben. They were a year above him, and he bumped into them when he was leaving the bathroom on the third floor of his school, and they were about to hide in there too, just so they could miss class. They saw his panicked face, dragged him back in, and spoke to him for ages. They became friends right away, and they always made sure to tell him how gorgeous he looked, how interesting the book he was reading seemed, and how fun he was.

There are tables where some people are eating, with a lot of exterior heaters to help with the cold temperatures, and there’s a big space on one side where there are people dancing. Harry is amazed by the whole vibe, especially the decoration. Niall tells him that the rooftop’s decor changes often, and it seems that February’s theme is Gothic Venice’s Queen’s Masquerade, which has turned the rooftop into a Venetian-style carnival. There’s feather masks, chandeliers, and drapes of velvet alongside hand-drawn murals. The bartenders are all dressed up as gondoliers with striped polo shirts and black trousers, and some have the iconic woven straw hat with different coloured bands, matching the stripes of their top. They find a nice, cosy corner where there’s an empty table and a brown sofa after they order drinks and sit down, admiring the view of the Shoreditch glass buildings and the cloudless night sky.

Harry finishes his drink way too fast, and Niall laughs at him for not knowing how to deal with a fruity cocktail. Harry thinks he can’t be blamed; he’s never really had a cocktail before, the parties he used to go to were full of cheap beer, and besides, he was thirsty. He goes up to the bar to order a new one and is met with a cute bartender. He’s blonde and tall, and his muscular biceps are threatening to burst out of the sleeves of his striped long sleeve polo. His eyes are a gorgeous hazelnut brown, and his stubble seems to be three days old. He’s pretty, but he looks like he wants to eat Harry alive, and that intimidates him a bit. He doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him like that. 

“Hi, can I have the cocktail... Half way to heaven , please?” He's nervous, but he orders the cocktail Niall has been drinking because he had a sip and loved it more than the one he ordered first.

“Looking at you dressed like that is like being half way to heaven, alright... ” The man says in a suggestive voice and grabs Harry’s wrist, immobilising him and pulling him over the counter; their noses almost touch, and Harry feels the man’s breath on his face.

“Excuse me?” Harry asks, scared, and tries to pull back. He feels the bartender’s strong grip still on his wrist, hurting him, and starts to panic.

“Come on, you know what you’re doing with the undone buttons and the fedora hat,” the bartender says. “I’m on break in ten minutes.”

“Good for you,” someone interrupts, peeling the man’s hand off Harry’s wrist and pulling him back by his waist a little. “Are you okay, babe?” 

It’s Louis. Harry thinks he’s dreaming and is unable to respond, feeling very embarrassed by having to be rescued.

“Babe?” Louis repeats, his eyes wide open, begging Harry to understand what he’s trying to do. He is understanding, but he’s also mortified, and his body is taking a while to assimilate what’s going on.

He feels Louis’ hand squeeze his waist, and that brings him back, nodding and saying yes while looking at Louis’ intense blue eyes. The bartender probably makes a snarky comment Harry hardly hears nor cares about, and Louis turns his body, pushing him softly away from the man. When they’re out of the way, Harry stops, and his eyes tear up.

“Hey, hey…” Louis says, letting go of his waist and cupping his face. Harry feels goosebumps all over his neck and arms and slowly pulls away from Louis’ hold before he cries.

“I’m sorry, I’m fine. Thank you for this. Really,” Harry says while walking away, his body half turned, looking at Louis but moving towards Niall and leaving him behind. He can see Louis’ worried face when he turns a second time; Louis is running his hand through his hair and is shaking his head, walking backwards.

He sees Niall happily talking to a girl and thinks to leave him alone and turn around, but if he’s going to go home, he’s going to let his roommate know. Thankfully, Niall only has to look at him for a moment to realise something is wrong, and he apologises to the blonde girl and approaches Harry.

“You alright?” Niall asks and walks towards the exit without waiting for an answer while pulling him by the arm gently.

Harry shakes his head and follows him, but when he’s about to start telling him what happened, he sees Louis heading to the stairs that they were supposed to use and stops. He wants to turn around, but Louis sees him.

“Hey,” he hears Louis say to him. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks again.” Harry feels a light touch on his elbow and sees a beautiful smile on Louis’ face when he looks at him.

“See you on the bus on Monday,” Louis says, still smiling and nodding to Niall, who looks confused at both of them.

They eventually leave the club and move away from the entrance. When they reach the end of the road, away from any prying eyes, Harry suddenly stops and takes a big breath.

“Fuck, that was Louis,” Harry says, laughing anxiously.

“Who’s Louis? Was he bothering you?” Niall asks, looking back as if he could see him. 

“No, God no. He saved me from the perv bartender.” Harry takes a deep breath. “I see him every morning on the bus.”

“Who, Louis?”

“Yeah,” Harry affirms.

“He’s cute,” Niall says.

“He is,” Harry confirms, his eyes betraying him and becoming soft instead of scared.

“Oh, you’ve got a crush on the bus boy!” Niall exclaims, and Harry smacks him on the arm.

“Shush!” Harry yells, looking around and making sure no one hears him. He starts walking again, away from the club and his roommate.

“H, the tube station is the other way,” Niall says, and Harry quickly turns around, his cheeks pink and nervously playing with his cross necklace.

On the way back, Harry tells Niall all about the bartender and what Louis did, still embarrassed that he had to be saved by a stranger. He spirals, thinking about Monday morning at the bus station, and for the first time in his life, he’s considering skipping class so he can avoid Louis.

“You are not skipping class, H. Come on.” Niall laughs. “This Louis guy seems pretty cool if you ask me, and probably into you.”

“He is not into me, Niall. No one is into me, ever,” Harry says with an incredulous look.

“I find that very hard to believe, to be honest.” Niall looks at him like he’s speaking another language, like what he’s saying is absurd.

“Well…”

“I’m straight, but I have eyes, and you, mate, are fit as fuck,” Niall says, opening their flat’s door and throwing his keys in a little basket they have on top of a cabinet in the hallway.  

Harry goes straight to his room and throws himself on his bed, buries his face in the mattress, and screams into it. He regrets going out and makes a deal with himself to never listen to Niall again and stay indoors for the rest of his life. He’s not cut out for socialising, and it’ll be better for everyone if he just reads and writes in his room. Harry doesn’t know how he’s going to face Louis in a couple of days, but he knows a way to calm his anxiety. He grabs his journal and starts writing about the night’s events.

Monday, 14th February

When the alarm goes off, Harry struggles to open his eyes. He stayed up late last night, reading, which was stupid because he was knackered after spending Sunday walking around the Tate Modern and along the river like two tourists. He grabs his phone and presses snooze, something he doesn’t do very often. The next time he hears the alarm, it’s almost his time to leave the house. 

“What the…?” Harry shouts and jumps out of bed, putting on the first pair of trousers he finds and yesterday’s shirt. He splashes water on his face, grabs his keys, and runs out of the door.

The rain is light; it barely wets the floor, and Harry lifts the hood of his jacket up so his curls don’t get too frizzy, and he sprints down the street. He sees the bus stop and the bus getting closer, and he pushes himself so he can get there and not miss it. He’s breathing heavily when the bus driver closes the doors right in front of him, and he frantically knocks, begging him to open them. When he finally does and Harry is able to get in, he says a million thank yous and starts looking for his Oyster card. He pats all his pockets and goes to check his bag, realising he’s not carrying it. Panic sets in his stomach when he realises he’s left his wallet at home after leaving in a hurry, and his face starts to redden, embarrassed under the driver’s stare.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot my wallet at home,” Harry says nervously.

“You’re going to have to get off, mate,” the unfaced driver says.

“Please, I get on this bus every morning. I will pay double tomorrow, but please, I need to get to class. Please, please,” Harry begs while trying to catch his breath and feeling like his legs are giving in after all the running.

“Hi, sorry. Excuse me,” Harry hears someone say while pushing people out of his way from the stairs. “Excuse me, sorry, sorry, if I could just... Thanks. Sorry, sorry.”

Louis is making his way to the front of the bus, apologising to whoever is blocking his way to Harry. People look at him funny, with some not very low whispers coming from the back asking them to hurry up, and some people look at them, curious about what’s going on.  When he’s in Harry’s space, he smiles and looks at the driver, who’s huffing.

“Can I get a single ticket, please?” Louis asks the now annoyed driver while getting his credit card out.

“No, no, please,” Harry says, placing a hand on Louis’ elbow and trying to get his attention. Harry can’t believe Louis is saving him again after rescuing him at the club only two days ago. “You don’t have to. I’ll get off and go home to get my wallet.”

“You’ll be late for class. Let me do this. Please.” Louis smiles at him while paying, and Harry smiles back, positive that it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Louis puts his hand on Harry’s lower back, and Harry feels like he’s going to explode, the warmth of Louis’ fingers on him making him blush. They make their way towards the end of the bus and stand there, facing each other, with their arms touching and their hands holding on to the same handlebar. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” Harry mutters after a few seconds, still blushing.

“You need to get to class. I know you go to uni like me,” Louis says softly, as if he doesn’t want anyone else to hear their conversation.  

“I don’t even have any notepads. I’m so embarrassed. This is literally my worst nightmare.” Harry tries to hide his face from Louis, but he can feel the boy’s eyes on him.

“Hey, no, no, don’t be embarrassed.” Louis puts his free hand on his waist and pulls him even closer, if that’s possible. Harry feels Louis’ strong grip even under all the layers of clothing and feels his breath on his ear, sending his body into meltdown. Harry is a mess, and Louis is making it worse while trying to help.

As if sensing Harry’s discomfort, Louis moves back and stares at the floor. They stay quiet for the rest of the bus ride, only smiling at each other when they get off. It’s then that Harry realises the bouquet of daffodils sticking out of Louis’ jean’s back pocket. He wonders about who they could be for. Maybe a girlfriend? Most probably a girlfriend. It’s Valentine’s Day after all. He looks down and sees one of the flowers lying on the wet ground, probably damaged by all the squeezing between people Louis did when he helped Harry with the fare. Harry picks it up and puts it in his pocket.

When he can’t hardly see Louis anymore, Harry turns around and runs to him, catching him while he’s opening the media building’s door.

“Louis, wait!” Harry shouts, and he sees Louis turn to look at him. "Sorry, I just wanted to say thank you again. That was a very kind thing to do. I will pay you back, but thank you.”

“You are so not paying me back,” Louis says, smiling and nodding his head. "And, how do you know my name?” he asks, smirking.

Harry’s face crumbles; he can hear himself, and he blushes because they’ve never properly met or been introduced, and Harry just went and called him by his name. Louis is smirking at him sweetly, without any malice, and Harry laughs awkwardly.

“I heard someone call you Louis in the cafeteria the other day,” Harry responds, blushing even more.

“Oh, okay. Well, then it’s only fair that I know your name as well, right?” Louis pokes him on the hip, teasingly.

“Harry. I’m Harry,” he says nervously.

“Okay then, see you around, Harry.” Louis winks at him and goes into the building, leaving Harry frozen on the street, unable to move, and incapable of understanding what just happened.

Harry is mortified. Not only had Louis helped him on Friday night with the bartender and just now by paying for his bus fare, but he’d let his name slip out of his mouth like a stupid little boy with a crush. Harry is sure Louis must think he’s the most pathetic human being he’s crossed paths with.

Thankfully, his brain reminds him of a conversation he had with his sister during the weekend, when she noticed something was wrong as soon as he opened the door on Saturday morning.

“What's up?” Gemma asks when she sees her brother's red and puffy eyes.

“Hello to you too,” Harry scoffs, closing the door behind her.

“H, you've been crying.” They both walk to the living room, and Gemma drops her bag on the floor.

“I have not. I'm fine,” Harry tells her, but his body language betrays him when he lets himself fall on the sofa.

“Well, then your February allergies are killing you.” Gemma smirks, but she looks worried.

Harry describes every detail of last night's events and how humiliated he felt. How the bartender grabbed him and how scared he was, even if they were surrounded by people and didn’t really think the man would do anything bad in front of everyone. He tells her how Louis rescued him and how having him hold onto his waist made Harry feel so many new and unknown feelings that he was overwhelmed. And he explains the embarrassment he feels and how worried he is about seeing Louis on the bus again.

“Harry, love, you'll be fine. I can almost assure you that this Louis boy doesn't think anything bad of you,” Gemma reassures him.

“But how pathetic was I that he felt he had to save me? I’m nineteen and have no idea how to deal with a guy being creepy.” Harry's eyes tear up, and Gemma strokes his back to calm him. He leans on to her, and she wraps her arm around him.

"If he thought you were pathetic, he wouldn't have saved you. Do you know how easy it would have been to ignore it? But he didn't, H. He seems like a great guy."

Once he’s in class, he realises the room is almost full already, five minutes before the lesson starts. Out of instinct, Harry checks his pockets before taking his jacket off. He realises he never grabbed his phone or his journal, which feels so strange. It’s then that he feels something soft and wet on his fingertips, and images of the flower lying on the pavement flash in front of him. He takes it out and smiles. The flower is a daffodil, but it’s not yellow. Harry has never seen a daffodil that isn’t yellow. The petals are white, and the ruffled cup in the middle has a pink-orange colour. He brings it closer to his nose and inhales; it has a sweet smell, and Harry curses himself for not being able to search for more information about it. It’s beautiful; it’s perfect, even if damaged, and he doesn’t care that they are meant for someone else. He has this little piece of Louis now and will cherish it forever.

After spending the whole day touching the daffodil in his pocket, the petals are not looking very fresh once he gets home and takes it out. He leaves it on his desk and observes it. The white is not so pure anymore; dirt from his pocket is stuck on it now, and a couple of petals are almost ripped from the centre. All he keeps thinking is that he doesn’t want to throw it away; he wants to keep it, and when he sees his journal sitting on his bed, he has the best idea. Grabbing a piece of wide sticky tape he finds around the house that can only belong to Niall, he proceeds to open his journal and write today’s date. He puts the flower on that same page and carefully sticks it with the tape, making sure it’s secure and won’t fall. Below it, he starts writing what’s in his heart, which turns out to be a lot.

LOUIS

Monday, 14th February

Louis isn’t paying attention to Zayn in the slightest. He can see his friend’s mouth moving, but all he can hear is the sound of his heart in his ears, the feeling of every beat in his chest, and the blood rushing through his body like it’s in a hurry to get pumped in and out again. His mind is full of the curly boy, as he’d been calling him in his head, with his big green eyes and pink lips. Louis is almost convinced he uses some kind of lipstick or gloss because it would be insane if that were his real colour. His mind has been full of Harry since Friday night, and it’s slowly but uncontrollably spiralling. Harry. He’s so happy to finally know his name.

“...and Liam said it’s been ready for days,” Louis suddenly hears. He blinks rapidly and focuses his eyes on Zayn, who’s looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” Louis says.

“You’ve not been listening to me. I’ve been talking for at least five minutes, and you’ve not heard a word. What’s going on?” Zayn asks him, searching for some kind of believable answer.

“Z, I think I like someone. Which is crazy because I’ve only just learned his name but Zayn, he issss…” Louis drags the s as much as he can; he doesn’t want to actually say what he thinks Harry is because he’ll sound insane.

His friend turns his whole body towards him. “Okay, who is this mysterious guy, then?” Zayn asks with a wide smile on his lips.

“I see him on the bus every morning, and he has the greenest eyes and the sweetest smile, and his cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink when he blushes. Honestly, he blushes a lot, and it’s so...” Louis sighs, like the emotions are too big for his chest, and when he looks at Zayn, his grin has taken over his whole face.

“Hold on... the bus? Oh no, you didn’t! Louis!” Zayn laughs hard, catching people’s attention. 

Louis can feel his face burning; he hides it behind his hands and grunts quietly. “Ugh, Zayn…”

“Is that why you’ve not gone to pick up your car?” Zayn whispers, and Louis nods. “Oh my God, mate, Liam is going to love this!”

They both laugh, and Louis hides his face again, but feels somewhat relieved that it’s off his chest. He’s been having big feelings for a while now but hasn’t told anyone, preferring to deal with them alone, seeing as they're so new and he knows nothing about Harry. But now that he's told Zayn, his chest feels lighter, and as embarrassed as he is that Zayn blew his cover, he likes to think he can rely on his friend for support if he crumbles. Because he knows he will crumble. Harry seems too shy to approach with certain intentions, and after witnessing what happened at the club, he’s not sure if he wants to put Harry in a situation where he might feel uncomfortable. 

Louis tells Zayn all their encounters at the bus and the bar, and his friend can’t help but keep grinning. 

“I need to see this perfect boy of yours,” Zayn states, ruffling Louis’ hair. “He’s done a number on you, man! What’s his name?”

“Harry,”

“Styles?” Zayn asks, his frown visible on his forehead.

“What?”

“Is his name Harry Styles?” Zayn asks again.

Louis shakes his head in defeat. “No idea…”

“What’s he studying?”

“Zayn, mate, when I tell you I learned his name minutes ago, I’m not lying. No clue what he does.”

“Well, talk to him tomorrow morning, then!” Zayn hits him playfully on the arm, and Louis grunts again.

Louis sits on the bench with the bouquet of daffodils on his lap while he waits for his mum. She’s been down from Doncaster to attend a course for a couple of days, and he still hasn’t seen her. They agreed to meet up for lunch before she took the train back home. Not wanting to leave her empty handed on Valentine's Day, he ordered her favourite type of daffodil from a special flower shop in Columbia Road Flower Market, and he’s been carrying it all day. They’re not in the perfect state they were in first thing in the morning, but it’ll have to do. He can see there’s one flower missing, and he pulls the lonely stem, hoping his mum still likes it, even if they are in urgent need of water.

Louis sees her approaching him and stands up, eager to wrap his arms around her. He misses his mum like crazy; being away from home is not as easy as it seems or as good as he’d like it to be sometimes. Yes, he has good friends here and people to hang out with and his friendship with Zayn and Liam keeps him sane and grounded. But he misses the familiarity of home, the streets he's walked on all his life and the little corners he knows so well and enjoys getting lost in. Louis wishes he could see the same faces that he was already bored with or go into the shops that are his safe place. There’s no homemade Sunday dinner or homemade scones that his mum bakes perfectly. There are no warm hugs in the morning or forehead kisses when he's tired. No hot chocolate with marshmallows if he’s feeling under the weather, or his childhood blanket when he’s cold while watching TV. He’s obviously making his own traditions in his flat, which he shares with Zayn, and he loves that Liam joins them more often than not. He enjoys the freedom of not having to tell anyone where he’s going or with whom, and he likes being able to walk around the house in his boxers without a care in the world. But he’s a mama’s boy, and finally hugging his mum again after more than two months is making him feel a little bit emotional. He doesn’t want to let go, and it's his mum who pulls back, cupping his face and looking at him up and down, like she’s making sure he’s all there, no limbs missing.

“Oh, I’ve missed you, baby!” she whispers when she's hugging him again, even tighter now.

He breathes her in and mumbles. “Me too, mum, me too.”

He’s still holding on to the bouquet and hands it to her with a grin when they let go. Just seeing her smile makes the trouble of ordering them, collecting them the day before, and carrying them all day worth it.

“My favourite,” she says, her eyes watery and flicking her gaze from Louis to the flowers.

They have lunch at this tiny little Italian restaurant off the main road and chat for hours. She tells him all about how well his sisters are getting along at school and how her new boyfriend adores them. Louis met him for Christmas, and he looked like a very nice guy who seemed to worship her, help her around the house and with the girls, and take her out on dates every once in a while. 

Louis’ relationship with his mum is special. It was just the two of them for a long time before Lottie came along, and they forged a unique bond. She worked a lot, always taking extra shifts at the hospital when Louis’ dad left them one summer night. She tells the story with a smile on her face now, but Louis still remembers when the tears wouldn’t stop for hours every time they were at the shops and a nosey neighbour asked about him. Jay, Louis’ mum, was always gracious and polite and repeated the events of the night that she became a single mum like a robot. She had to listen to them say, “Oh, but you looked adorable together,” or “Are you sure you didn’t do anything to upset him?” when, in reality, his dad did the most cliché thing in the world and told her he was going to the shops for cigarettes and milk and never came back. She waited for two hours before she started packing all his bags and left them outside their front door. Their relationship wasn’t in a good place, and she had a feeling he’d left for good, so in a very badass move, she called her mother-in-law and told her to come pick up his stuff in the morning. From that day on, it was just them against the world. 

Louis takes her to Kings Cross Station, where her train to Doncaster leaves from. They still have a bit of time, so they find a coffee place to get a latte and a cup of tea and have a last little chat before she gets on the train.

“I think I have a crush on someone, mum,” Louis says as soon as their bums touch the chairs.

“Oh, darling, that’s good!” she exclaims a little too loudly.

Louis cocks his head, not convinced. “Is it, though?”

“I don’t know; you tell me...” she whispers, placing her hand on her son’s arm.

“I don’t know. He’s gorgeous, but he seems really shy, and he gets overwhelmed a lot. He’s always at the bus stop reading his book when I get there. He’s carrying books and a journal all the time, and he seems like the type to get lost in stories more often than not. When it rains, his eyes—mum, his eyes—are this beautiful green and the reflection of the water makes them sparkle. And his hair…my God, the curls sometimes are all over the place but I saw him at a bar a few days ago and he had a hat on and I swear I stopped breathing for a second when I saw him.” Louis suddenly stops talking and looks at his mum’s grinning face. “What?”

“This is not a crush, darling.”

“Mum, you’re not helping,” he tells her while rubbing his face with his hand a few times.

“Baby, this boy of yours—”

“Not mine, mum. Very far from being mine,” he chimes quickly.

Jay smiles and pats his arms. “Well, this boy, you really like him.”

“I do.” Louis covers his face with his two hands, embarrassed, and he moves his chair so he is closer and can hug her. It feels good to almost curl up against his mum and feel her familiar warmth.

“Go for it; the worst thing that can happen is that he says no, darling,” she whispers in his ear. And he knows that. He knows that if he took a chance and it went sideways, he’d probably never see him again. All he’d have to do is get his car from Liam’s garage and drive every morning like he used to. But he doesn’t like the idea of not seeing the curly haired boy again; he doesn’t think it’s fair that he’d have to go without seeing those pink lips or green eyes every morning or just look at him from afar when Harry thinks Louis isn’t watching. But Louis is watching, because observing Harry has become his favourite thing to do.

The time to say goodbye to his mum comes by too fast, and he sighs deeply when she crosses the barriers and he loses her in the sea of people trying to reach their train. 

Tuesday, 15th February

Louis wakes up to the excruciating sound of his phone ringing. He curses himself and especially his mum, who’s always told him to have his phone’s sound on at night so he can hear it if she ever calls him for an emergency. He hates it because then shit like this happens. His friends call him before his alarm goes off, and he has to answer because they know he’ll hear it.

“Liam, you better be dying,” Louis says after checking the caller ID on the screen with his eyes half open and his phone resting on the side of his face while his head is still on the pillow.

“When are you coming to get your car? It’s been two weeks, mate. It’s been ready for ages.” There’s a weird silence between them before Louis hears someone’s laugh coming from the living room. Liam tries to shush it but to no avail and Louis knows exactly what’s going on.

“Oh, very nice, Zayn. Very, very nice. Ha ha ha… Both of you think this is so fucking funny, uh?” That makes them laugh even harder and Louis hangs up, turning on his bed and closing his eyes. 

He runs to the bus station and can see a mop of curly hair already there, looking down. As always, he finds Harry reading, holding the book with one hand. He wonders if he should say hello and if the boy will think he’s annoying or too forward. But he also worries about what Harry will think if he doesn’t say anything after Louis had paid for his bus fare and spoke to him for a bit. While his thoughts are loud and anxious, Harry lifts his head up, and his eyes land on Louis, like he could sense him approaching. A beautiful, dimpled smile draws on the curly boy’s face straight away; his eyes light up, and he closes the book instantly.

“Hey, you,” Louis whispers, knocking his elbow against Harry’s and smiling.

“Hi, good morning.” Harry is holding his book and journal with both hands, his arms stretched in front of him and he returns his gaze there after speaking.

There’s a moment of silence between them, and Louis is trying to come up with a topic so they can keep talking, but Harry beats him.

“Thank you again for yesterday; you saved me. Turns out yesterday’s class was super important, so it was great that I was able to be there,” he says timidly. 

“Oh, great! I’m glad, then. No need to thank me,” Louis says with a smile.

“I’ll repay you; let me get a ticket for you or something.” The pleading look in Harry’s eyes shouldn’t be as endearing as it is, and Louis feels his insides flutter.

“No, you won’t get me a ticket, Harry; don’t be silly. I have a travel card anyway. It was my pleasure,” Louis argues, and they both smile shyly at each other.

“I said a ticket or something.” Harry’s voice is soft and deep, and his pink cheeks show Louis that he’s almost embarrassed.

“What's something, then?” Louis asks curiously.

“I don’t know... a coffee? Tea?” Harry's self consciousness shows on his face, and he instantly looks like he regrets it when his eyes won’t meet Louis’.

“Alright then, coffee sounds good,” Louis murmurs as soon as the bus stops in front of them, and they both look for their Oyster cards.

They find a couple of empty seats at the back of the bus after nearly tumbling onto each other while walking up the stairs. When Louis looks at Harry, he finds him already looking back, and he smiles but turns his head towards the window, where their eyes inevitably meet again. The silly grin doesn’t leave their faces for the whole trip, and when it's time to get off, they wave at each other at the same time before heading in different directions. 

“I think Harry asked me out this morning,” Louis tells Zayn when he sits next to him at the cafeteria. 

“Go on, Harry!” Zayn exclaims, and Louis shushes him by putting his hand over his mouth.

Zayn licks Louis’ palm, and he wipes it on Zayn’s shoulder with a disgusted face while telling him to keep it down.

“Didn’t you say he was shy?” Zayn asks him.

“He didn’t ask me ask me …but yeah. We’re going for a coffee at some point.”

“Awww, happy for you, mate.” Zayn bumps his shoulder with Louis’ and laughs. “When can I meet this mysterious Harry, then?”

“Why? So you can scare him away? Yeah, no!” Louis laughs, shaking his head.

But fate is not on his side, and a few minutes later, Harry walks into the cafeteria and stands at the counter to, presumably, order some food. Louis has a moment of doubt and hopes Harry won’t see him, but it’s Zayn who, surprisingly, spots him first.

“Ah, look. That’s the guy I was telling you about. Harry Styles.”

“That’s Harry,” Louis mumbles, his eyes locked on the curly boy.

“Yeah,” Zayn replies.

“No, I mean that that’s my Harry,” Louis repeats, and Zayn’s smile grows on his face. And God, it feels so nice to say, my Harry, even if he’s not his.

“Oh.”

“How do you know my Harry?” Louis asks, but before he can answer, Zayn is calling him over, and Louis wants to hide under the table.

Harry seems surprised but walks quickly towards them and sits right on the seat in front of Louis. Harry’s tray has a salad bowl, a banana, and some water on it. He timidly smiles, and Louis just wants to hug him to relax him.

“Hi Zayn, hi Louis. I didn’t know you knew each other,” Harry says, and he leaves the tray on the table after taking his journal from under it and placing it on his lap. He pats it twice before he looks happy that it’s safe there, and his gaze is back on Louis. “Hi,” he says again. 

Louis is mesmerised by this boy and can sense Zayn’s judgy eyes for him being completely endeared.

“We’re housemates, actually,” Zayn says when Louis doesn’t say a word.

They talk all through their lunch. Louis is eating a tuna sandwich Zayn had ordered for him before he arrived, and Zayn seems to be enjoying his chicken wrap. Harry is slowly getting through his salad, but he’s talking so much that it looks like he forgot his food was there. He's telling them about the poetry paper he’s writing and how he’s finding his first year. They ask him about life back home, and he beams when talking about his sister and how much he misses his mum. Louis swoons when the boy tells them he’s finding London a bit intimidating, and he seems to get emotional when he says he’s looking forward to spending the weekend visiting his family soon. Louis is surprised, in the best of ways, at how chatty Harry can be when he’s relaxed.

“Alright guys, I’ve got to go,” Zayn says after a while, and Louis looks at him, widening his eyes. “I’ve got to meet Liam, but I’ll see you later, Lou, yeah?” he tells Louis, bumping their fists as they always do. “And Harry, see you in class tomorrow, right?”

Harry nods, confirming, and in seconds they are alone. They both laugh at the same time, and that seems to calm the nerves and tension.

“Are you going back to class?” Louis asks, and Harry shakes his head. “Want to have that promised coffee now?”

“Sure yeah.” Harry gets up nervously and grabs his journal, but it falls on the floor, sliding down underneath the table and landing at Louis’ feet.

When Louis looks, the journal is wide open under his chair, and he can see Harry’s writing all over it. What surprises him the most is the white and pink flower that takes over one of the pages. It’s undoubtedly the same daffodil he gave to his mum the day before, and the memory of the lonely stem in the bouquet flashes through his head. He doesn’t want to invade Harry’s privacy, so he quickly closes it, feeling the worn out leather of the covers with his fingers, and gives it back to Harry, who runs a hand over it like he’s making sure it’s intact. Their eyes meet, and Louis sees the worry in Harry’s eyes. 

“I didn’t see anything,” Louis lies, hoping the boy relaxes.

“Liar,” Harry replies softly, and they both laugh. 

Louis’ heart is beating fast because—what does it mean? Why is it important enough that Harry has it in his journal? His head is almost spinning, and he finds himself nervously walking alongside Harry. As they are still near the university buildings, they see a lot of people they know, and there’s a lot of “bye, see you tomorrow” and “no, no more classes. All done!” while trying to get away to enjoy a more quiet setting. 

They walk along Upper Street until Harry stops in front of Benita Bakery and looks at Louis. 

“I see this place from the bus every morning, and I’ve always wanted to try it,” he says.

“Let’s go then,” Louis says, putting a hand on Harry’s back and encouraging him to enter the cute coffee shop.

There's pastel de nata and mini brioches, cinnamon rolls and slices of banana bread, sourdough baguettes, and cupcakes, and Louis’ overwhelmed by the variety but understands why Harry wanted to try it.

“Hi boys, what can I get you?” a young woman asks, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

“Do you know what you want, Harry?” Louis asks, but the curly boy is deep in thought. He’s pinching his lower lip with two fingers, and his eyes keep moving, looking at all the pastries, cakes, and mini treats in front of them.

“There’s so much to choose from,” Harry mumbles, and the woman smiles proudly.

“Can you give us a minute, please?” Louis requests with a fond grin and turns to Harry. “Do you want us to get different things so we can share them? That way, we can try it all, or a lot, anyway.”

Harry’s eyes find Louis', and they brighten up at the thought. He lets go of his pinched lip and runs his hand through his hair a couple of times. “Oh, that’s a good idea, actually. Should we do that?” 

Louis smiles at him, thrilled that he made Harry so excited, and looks at the woman, who understands and approaches them. 

“Ready?” she says, and Harry smiles and nods happily.

“Yes,” he replies, looking at Louis for confirmation. He nods and takes a small step back, giving Harry all the power to choose.

They end up with a cinnamon roll, a chocolate croissant, a white chocolate croissant, a slice of banana bread and another of carrot cake, a mini brioche with avocado that Louis tells him he won’t be touching, “but please, get it for yourself if you like it,"  a mini baguette with goat cheese and tomato, and a couple of pastel de nata because they both want a whole one. Harry orders a cappuccino and Louis a latte, and they take it all to a table at the end of the shop. It has white walls and stoney floors, and there are plants hanging from the flower pots on the walls. The ceiling is made out of glass, and they can see the blue sky from where they’re sitting, making the light shine on Harry’s eyes and bring out the green like never before.

“Wow, this light makes your eyes so blue, Louis,” Harry says first, and Louis blushes.

“Would you believe me if I told you I was just thinking how this light makes your eyes greener than ever?” Louis confesses and sees that it’s Harry’s turn to blush. 

They cut everything in half except the avocado brioche and both pastel de nata, which they move to the side. They make a game out of it, eat each half at the same time, and rate it. It’s a fun way of getting to know each other and letting go of any shyness that still holds them back. They joke and tease, and even if they mostly agree that everything is delicious, Louis makes fun of him for liking avocado, and Harry threatens Louis with putting some on his nose, but Harry seems to understand how much he dislikes it and refrains. He’s enjoying this funny and carefree Harry that he never gets to see on the bus. He still remembers the sad and hurt looking Harry at the bar, and he definitely prefers this one, who hasn’t stopped laughing and talking since they met at the cafeteria.

When Louis’ back at his house, he can’t stop smiling. The mirror hanging on the wall in the hallway shows him that the biggest grin is painted on his face. His mouth is curved upwards from ear to ear, and he’s surprised to see his eyes shine so brightly. 

“Louis,” he hears while still staring at himself. “Mate, you alright?”

Louis turns his head towards the voice and sees Liam standing by the kitchen door, which is the first room down the corridor. He has his arms crossed in front of him and is leaning on the door frame with an amused grin.

“I’m fine. I’m great, even,” Louis says, and he rubs his hands on his face with a chuckle. “I’m great.”

“Who got you smiling like that?” Liam asks, and the smirk in his face reveals he already suspects who the culprit behind Louis’ happiness is.

He tells Liam all about their impromptu coffee date. Dare he say date? It felt like a date sometimes with all the laughing and sharing food at the bakery. He doesn’t know what Harry thinks about it, but he’s sure he had a good time. He seemed happy, open, and not intimidated, like he’d seen him before. His eyes shone brightly when they spoke, and he seemed very interested when he was listening to Louis tell him about his younger sisters and how he’s a mama’s boy. Harry let his guard down and spoke about some of his fears when he first moved to London, but explained that meeting Niall was easily the best thing that happened to him. He got a bit emotional when he remembered the first night at their flat, and Louis could really see the admiration Harry felt for his flatmate. 

“Do you think you guys will meet up again?” Liam curiously wonders, and Louis shrugs his shoulders.

“I mean, tomorrow at the bus stop like every morning, yeah.” Louis knows that’s not what his friend is asking but tries to avoid an answer and Liam’s eyes.

“Do you have his number?”

“I do not, but it’s cool.” He thought about asking Harry for his phone number, but his anxious thoughts got the better of him, and even if Harry seemed relaxed and happy and not the shy boy from the bus Louis had first met, it scared him that asking for this would be too much for Harry. He knew he wanted to, and he knew he would eventually, but not just yet.

“Louis,” Liam says.

“What? Look, he’s shy and sweet, and it’s taken me forever for him to be comfortable enough to have a proper chat. I don’t want to jinx it.” Louis smiles and shrugs his shoulders again, as if saying it is what it is .

Wednesday, 16th February

When Louis gets to the bus stop, the 43 is there and a lot of people are already getting on it. He can’t see Harry’s curls anywhere and he internally pouts at that. The bus is so packed that he decides he’ll get the next one, even if he’ll be late for his first class. He leans back, bending his right knee and resting his foot and back on the wall behind him, and takes his phone out to scroll through Instagram. When he hears the bus leave, he lifts his head and sees Harry standing there, looking at him.

“Oh, hey,” Louis says before it gets too awkward as they stare at each other, smiling. “Were you late, too?”

“There was no space; I wasn’t sure where all these people came from. Maybe there’s fewer buses today,” Harry replies, shrugging his shoulders while walking closer to Louis and standing next to him.

“We’re going to be late,” Louis mumbles after a minute of silence.

“I know,” Harry mumbles back with a sigh.

They wait for another four minutes in comfortable silence and when the next bus arrives, they’re the first ones to get in. Harry is holding onto his journal, tapping the leather cover with his fingers. Louis remembers what he saw the day before and how intrigued he still is at seeing his flower inside. 

“Is this like a journal?” Louis bravely asks.

Harry nods and instinctively traces the writing on the outside. 

“Do you write on it every day?”

“I try,” Harry says, “but sometimes I forget.”

Louis can’t take his eyes off Harry’s hands, nervously touching the cover and running his finger through the side of the pages and the writing and drawings on the brown leather. His fingers are long, and his nails look very well taken care of. “Does it help?” he finally asks.

“It calms my brain. I dump it all here, and the sadness isn’t as bad anymore. And the happiness increases because I can reread and relive it.” Harry smiles, and Louis wants to poke his dimple.

They don’t speak for the rest of the journey, only smiling at each other when their eyes meet every once in a while. They’re also silent when they walk down the stairs, and Louis just doesn't want to say goodbye to Harry just yet, but he knows they are both in a hurry. They’re both standing at the bus stop; the bus is long gone, but they seem hesitant to separate.

“Well, I better go. Class started five minutes ago.” Harry says, pointing behind himself, which is the way he needs to go, and slowly moving back.

“Wait, Harry,” Louis hears himself say. “Can I have your number?”

Harry opens his eyes wide and blushes, but he’s nodding as he steps closer. He looks at Louis’ hands while he’s unlocking his phone and grabs it when Louis hands it to him. Louis sees his hands shake a little, nerves overtaking Harry, and for a moment he feels bad. What if he didn’t feel like he had the option of saying no? What if he really doesn’t want to give such a personal detail to Louis? But he tells himself he needs to trust that Harry wants this as well, that he wants their friendship to blossom further, and having each other’s phone numbers feels like the most natural step.

“I’ve sent a message to myself, so I have yours,” Harry says, and they both smile timidly.

“Great, speak soon then,” Louis says, wiggling his phone, and they both turn and walk in opposite directions like they always do.

Friday, 18th February

Louis is studying in his room when he hears the front door slam shut. He chuckles at how moody Zayn can get sometimes, and he keeps reading, trying to understand the ins and outs of contracts in the music industry for Music Industry Law. After a minute, he hears footsteps approach his room and a faint knock on the door.

“Since when do you knock, Z?” Louis shouts, looking at the still closed door.

It opens very slowly, and before he knows it, Harry’s brown curls are all he sees. “Oh, Harry, hi!”

“Sorry, I hope it’s alright that I’m here. Zayn said it was okay to come see you,” Harry says, still holding onto the door’s end and half of his body out of Louis’ sight.

“Of course, yeah. Wanna come in?” he asks, looking around and making sure his room isn’t the usual mess.

Louis gets up and moves some books from his bed. Harry gets close and seems hesitant to sit, but Louis pats the duvet and laughs.

“Come sit, Harry. Promise I don’t bite,” Louis says.

“Well…” Harry whispers, his face bright red but with a determined look on his face.

“Oi, you cheeky! Who are you, and where’s the shy boy I met on the bus?” Louis asks him, laughing. 

Harry’s burning face doesn’t ease, and he's hiding it behind his spread out hands while shaking his head in disbelief at what he’s implied. Louis loves it. And it's then that Louis knows that his feelings are reciprocated and that he’s not alone in this. But he also knows that he still needs to be careful because, as forward as this comment was, Harry seems guarded and vulnerable, and the last thing he wants is to spoil it before he has a real chance. 

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks him when he’s calmer and back to his usual skin colour.

“I’m good. Bit of a headache this morning still, but better now; that’s why I was studying,” he replies, pointing at his abandoned computer that sits on the desk.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you... I just bumped into Zayn in the library, and I asked about you. Thank you for your text yesterday, by the way.”

On Thursday, Louis woke up with a terrible headache. He felt like his brain was going to explode, so he stayed home and missed his bus ride with Harry. He sent him a text because he worried Harry would get paranoid and think his absence was because of him. He’s not usually this self centred but as they’ve been talking so much lately and just exchanged numbers, he stressed. So he let Harry know he was staying at home.

They move their conversation to the living room, where Zayn is, and the three of them talk about everything and nothing. By the time someone rings their front door bell, they realise it’s already dark outside. Zayn gets up and opens the door, and Liam enters the flat with two boxes of pizza and a few beers in a bag for life.

“Oh, hi,” Liam says, looking at Harry surprised. “ Sorry, didn’t know you guys had company, but we can share the pizza.”

“Payno, I forgot you were coming with dinner! This is Harry. Harry, this is Liam with our dinner. Wanna stay? Pizza, beer, maybe FIFA or Netflix... ” Louis explains the Friday night plan and hopes Harry agrees.

“I’m actually meant to be having a very similar night with Niall,” Harry says. “Niall’s my roommate,” he clarifies to Liam, who’s walking towards the kitchen.

“You could tell him to join us!” Liam yells, and Louis smiles because he knows Liam is doing it so Harry doesn’t have to leave and they can all get to know him better. He appreciates his friend.

And this is how, an hour later, Niall’s sitting on the sofa next to Harry with a beer in his hand and some garlic bread he brought in in his mouth. He’s laughing at what Zayn is saying, and Louis’ heart is full. Everyone seems happy to have found each other.

A game of FIFA turns into a cushion fight, and Harry is busy making sure no one knocks the beer bottles out, so he picks them up and runs into the kitchen, laughing. Louis follows him, unsure of the reason, and they are suddenly alone, their friends' laughter filling the house. Harry’s dimples are out, his green eyes shining like two precious emerald gemstones, and as he leaves the bottles in the glass recycling bag and quickly turns, Louis grabs his waist and steadies him. Harry’s breath hitches and they lock eyes. It would be so easy to kiss him now. But Louis panics and lets him go, disappointment showing on Harry’s face. Before he can do anything about it, Harry leaves the kitchen, and the moment is gone. 

Liam sits on the floor, telling Harry and Niall a childhood story that Louis and Zayn are bored of hearing, so Louis is distracted studying Harry’s facial expressions when reacting to the madness and chaos that Liam apparently was as a toddler. The curly boy is sitting on one end of the sofa and is smiling. His arm is half raised, his hand on its way to cover his mouth, but it’s not moving, expectant, and as if he can hear the story better if he’s frozen in place. Louis can see Harry’s whole face morphing from a faint and amused smile into a cackle that bounces off the walls of his living room. He's so endeared. He feels Zayn’s eyes on him and turns to check if he’s indeed under his friend’s scrutiny. And he is, but the fondness in Zayn’s eyes melts his heart, and he nods at Louis as if he approves of Louis’ obvious crush.

They end up playing a few more rounds of FIFA, and Louis wins three of the five games. Harry’s rubbish at it and only plays one round, choosing the role of cheerleader instead. Every time Louis wins, Harry seems to get closer to him after high fiving each other in celebration, and after his third and final win, their legs are pressed together with no intention of moving away. Harry laughs at Niall being a sore loser and moves back, resting his head on the sofa with a hand on his mouth. Louis is also resting his head on the back pillows and  can’t take his eyes off him. He knows he’s being very obvious, but he can’t help himself. When Harry calms down and stops laughing, he turns his head and smiles, aware of how evident Louis’ stare is.

“Hi,” Louis whispers.

“Hi,” Harry whispers back. “Thank you. This is so much fun.”

They’re in their own little world, murmuring thank yous and my pleasures to each other while the other three decide to start the game again. But Louis doesn’t care about FIFA or his friends. All he sees is Harry. Harry’s eyes, Harry’s eyelashes, Harry’s skin, Harry’s hair, and Harry’s mouth. It’s right there. Harry’s lips are only a few inches away, and his eyes don’t want to look elsewhere. They’re pink and a little bit chapped, and Harry chooses to lick them at the same time as Louis does.

“Louis,” Harry mumbles, and Louis takes a deep breath. He moves his right hand towards Harry’s face and brushes his cheek with his thumb and index finger. Harry closes his eyes and sighs, and Louis sees the smallest smile appear on the boy’s lips. He doesn’t know what Harry’s thinking, but it can’t be that bad if his lips are curving upward in a tiny smile, so he relaxes.

The boys choose that moment to be very loud and ask them a question, so they snap out of their trance, blinking rapidly and putting some distance between each other. But if Louis is honest, he doesn’t hear a thing they ask or say because, while Harry happily replies and engages in a conversation with them all, all Louis can do is feel his fingers tingling from the memory of Harry’s delicate skin.

HARRY

Monday, 21st February

Harry usually prefers studying in the comfort of his home, but he knows Niall’s having people around for a group project, and he doesn’t want to intrude. So he’s planning on spending the afternoon in between books at the library.

But first things first, Harry thinks. Before he immerses himself in the world of fantasy writing, he opens up his journal and finds an empty page. Sometimes he likes to review previous entries, enjoying the still fresh memories of events and anecdotes that made it into his precious and secret book. He goes back all the way to his birthday, the first day he ever saw Louis, and remembers how nostalgic hearing his voice was, the northerner accent shortening the distance between him and his home. He also remembers, especially as it’s written in a different colour, how mesmerised he was and how intrigued and hypnotised he felt when he saw Louis’ blue eyes for the first time. 

He reads through every entry since they met and recognises a pattern; Louis is always the first thing he talks about. It could be because he always sees him very early, but he knows, deep down, that the boy has been his main thought since he first landed eyes on him. He knows that the words he writes hide an overwhelming care towards his new friend, and he feels quite at peace with it because he’s managing, he’s conquering the fear of making friends and opening up, and he recognises a pull towards Louis that he's never felt but hopes is reciprocated. 

He’s starting to believe that Louis also feels it—that it wasn’t just in his head that they almost kissed on Friday. But nerves overtake him because if this is going to happen, and he hopes it does, he’s going to have to speak to Louis about it.

Harry has never had sex. He was with Tom for only a few months before they decided it was better for everyone that they didn’t keep each other from enjoying university life because their relationship was nice and sweet, but there was no love. There was a lot of care and respect, and they got a little bit intimate with the odd blowjob here and there, but that was pretty much all the experience Harry had when it came to sex. 

Harry turns the page, and the peculiar daffodil is there in all its glory. He still doesn't know who those flowers were for and is scared to ask. He suspects Louis knows about the flower in his journal; his face was pure shock when it fell on the cafeteria floor, and he seemed nervous when he handed it back. But he hasn’t mentioned it, and they had a brilliant day after, so he’s sure it didn’t scare him away. 

“Harry Styles, you’re not studying,” he hears spoken into his ear in a soft whisper. Harry instantly closes the journal with a loud thud that resounds through the whole room, and Louis moves back quickly. “Easy, I’m not snooping.”

Harry starts to sweat. His whole body feels hot and sticky, and his heart is beating so hard that he’s sure Louis can hear it.

“Whatcha doooooing?” Louis asks, and Harry snaps his head towards Louis quickly.  

“Oh, I love Isabella!” Harry says a bit too loudly, and a few people look at them funny. “You like Phineas and Ferb?”

“Of course I do; come on!” Louis replies, pretending to be offended but grinning hard. 

Phineas and Ferb is a cartoon on CITV that follows the adventures of two stepbrothers during the summer and all of their inventions. Harry used to love it when he was younger, and he can’t say he doesn’t stop flicking the channels if it happens to be on TV sometimes. It’s fun and funny, and he loves that Louis loves it too.

“What are you doing here, Lou?” Harry asks when he turns his head to look at him. The nickname came about when they were playing FIFA on Friday and seems like it's here to stay. 

“I asked first,” he says. “But if you must know, I was looking for you; Niall told me you weren’t home,” Louis says, sitting on the chair to Harry’s left.

“You could have texted me,” Harry murmurs.

“I did, you silly,” he says. “But when was the last time you checked it?” 

Harry doesn’t remember. He's been sitting here for the last twenty minutes, and before that, he was in class, so it’s probably been two hours since he paid any attention to his phone.

“Was about to study,” Harry suddenly says, running his fingers through the leather of his journal. There’s a pause, and Louis’ eyes are locked on his hands on the journal, and Harry thinks that he can actually hear Louis’ brain thinking. “Spill.”

“What?” Louis looks at him, surprised. It’s then that Harry realises Louis is chewing gum and smells of peppermint.

“If you want to know, you’re gonna have to ask me.” Harry looks at him nervously but determinedly and crosses his arms in front of his chest, waiting for Louis.

Louis blushes and shakes his head slightly. “Is that one of my flowers in your journal?” he softly asks, avoiding eye contact.

“What if it was? Would that be okay?” Harry’s voice is barely a whisper, but he’s looking straight into Louis’ eyes, even if the boy isn’t.

“Yes,” Louis quickly responds. “I saw a lonely stem and took it out before I gave the bouquet to my mum.”

Harry chuckles and releases a long breath he didn’t know he’d been holding since the start of the conversation.

“Your mum…” Harry murmurs while staring at the distance. It was his turn to avoid Louis’ gaze.

Louis smiles. “Yes, H, my mum.” They look at each other and their knowing grins speak volumes. “Do you want to get out of here?” 

Harry nods enthusiastically and grabs everything he has scattered on the table before he gets up and Louis lets him walk out of the library first.

It’s dark outside and the light rain is unpleasant. Harry is carrying his books and journal inside a tote bag and he keeps it pressed on his chest so it doesn’t get too wet. They’re walking towards the bus stop in silence and once they reach their destination, they both speak at the same time.

“H, I…”

“Look, Lou…”

They giggle simultaneously, and Harry gestures for him to continue. “Please, you go first.”

“I like you, Harry. I like you, like you; you know what I mean, right?” Louis asks and Harry blushes and hopes Louis understands that, yes, he knows exactly what he means. “I think you’re gorgeous and so sweet, and I just love spending time with you. I don’t want to upset you or stress you, but I do like you a lot.”

Harry‘s head is spinning, his mind is at full speed, and he wants to run away and hug him all at once. Louis is looking at him with heart eyes; he keeps flicking them from the floor to Harry, and Harry is melting. This boy is so adorable, and Harry is so scared. He feels so much for him, but he’s also terrified of those same feelings. He wishes he could give himself to Louis in a heartbeat, without hesitation, but he needs time. He needs time to come to terms with what he’s feeling. He needs time to understand what his feelings imply if he tells Louis. And he needs time to decide what he’s ready for. 

“I like you, too,” Harry finally says, and Louis exhales, like he’s been holding his breath. “But I’m not very experienced, and I’m scared.”

Louis steps in front of him and holds both his hands. “That’s fine, love. I’m not in a hurry.”

In a moment of bravery, Harry moves his hands around Louis', and they end up lacing their fingers together, and they both move forward a bit, which brings them so much closer to each other. It’s then, when they’re touching, that it becomes real, and he can’t think of any reason to wait any longer; all he wants to do is kiss Louis. And he knows Louis wants to kiss him, but Harry just told him he was scared, so as the respectful boy that he is, he won’t make a move unless Harry does. That thought makes him take one last step forward and bring them impossibly close. There’s no doubt in Harry’s mind that he’s seconds away from feeling Louis’ lips on his, so he closes his eyes after staring at Louis’ mouth for a few seconds and pushes himself enough that Louis understands, and they meet halfway. Their lips don’t move, but Harry is already in heaven. The kiss is chaste and quick, but enough to know that he wants to do it again, so they go back for more, and this time their mouths move, the rhythm slow and tender, and Louis lets go of Harry’s hands and holds him by the nape of his neck. Harry feels Louis’ fingers on his hair, and a small whimper escapes his mouth. This is what he’s been missing all his life. This is why he was scared of opening up, because he’s never had this before. But now he does, and he’ll be damned if he lets it go. Louis’ tongue licks Harry’s lip, asking for permission, and Harry grants it without doubt. The taste of peppermint takes over Harry’s taste buds, and his tongue desperately searches for Louis’. They dance around each other, not wanting to untangle. Their breaths mix, and Harry just can’t let go. His hands are on Louis’ back, and they press against his coat, not wanting the moment to end. 

They’re still kissing when the bus approaches the stop, and they laugh when they realise, separating enough to grab their Oyster cards and getting on it under the knowing grin of the bus driver, who tells them how cute they are and makes them blush uncontrollably.

They don’t kiss while they’re on the bus, but their smiles are so wide, Harry worries they might split their faces. 

The bus arrives at Angel Station, and Harry doesn’t want Louis to go. He wants to kiss him again and again, Louis’ flavour having turned into his favourite. But he knows it’s better this way. He knows there’s a lot they need to talk about and a lot he needs to think about. So they share a hug, a soft kiss, and wave goodbye.

Saturday, 26th February

Harry is waiting for Niall to get ready. They’re going to Louis and Zayn’s house for dinner and a few rounds of FIFA again. Liam offered to pick them up after work, so they should have another ten minutes before he arrives, but Harry is anxious to get there. He hasn’t seen Louis much besides their bus journeys to class this week, and he’s itching to see those beautiful eyes. They’ve kissed a few times when meeting at the bus station and when they said goodbye when they had to go their separate ways. They spent an afternoon together on Wednesday in the library because they both had assignments to finish, and they held hands under the table while pretending to read. It was sweet and exciting and Harry didn’t want to let go.

Liam honks and Harry hurries Niall outside their flat.

“Nice car, Li,” Niall says while opening the door and letting Harry get on the back before he lets the seat move back again and sits down next to Liam. 

“Ha, funny story but I’ll let Louis tell you,” Liam responds, and he turns his head to check if there are any cars coming. When he sees there’s none, he accelerates and they’re on their way.

The drive is less than ten minutes long so Harry has hardly any time to stress and be anxious. Before he knows it, they’ve arrived, and he needs to get out of the car. He’s not sure why he’s so nervous but he feels his palms sweat and he needs to pee again, even if it's the last thing he did before leaving his house.

“Hey, hey, hey…hello, welcome, welcome,” Zayn says, moving to the side and letting them all walk inside their house, leaving their shoes by the shoe rack before going into the living room. “Louis’ almost ready; he said he’ll be out in a sec.” 

The house smells delicious. A mix of tomato sauce and spices and herbs, and Harry quickly finds out they’re having spaghetti bolognese courtesy of Zayn, with a choice of parmesan or cheddar cheese to top it off and a side of homemade garlic bread.

Harry excuses himself and locks himself in the bathroom, where he pees, but also gives himself a minute to calm his nerves. When his heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to come out of his mouth and he opens the bathroom door, he finds Louis waiting for him, leaning on the wall.

“Hi,” Louis whispers, his smile relaxing Harry.

Harry smiles back. “Hey.”

“Don’t you look nice?” Harry hears Louis say, but all he can feel is the boy’s hands on his hips, holding him right in front of him. “Hi,” Louis repeats, their lips brushing.

“You’ve said that already.” The murmur is almost inaudible because their lips are so close, but Harry smiles wide when he hears Louis’ soft chuckle.

“Cheeky, Styles.”

And then they’re finally kissing again. They’re finally kissing properly, not chaste or fast but slow and tender, and their tongues run freely in each other’s mouths, with want and faint moans escaping their mouths.

Harry moves back, almost scared of how much he wants Louis, and looks down to his feet, which he can’t see because their bodies are so close, touching from their hips all the way down to almost their toes. 

“Sorry,” Louis mumbles shyly. “Got excited.”

“It’s fine; it’s lovely. I just need to slow down a bit.”

Louis nods, smiling again, and holds his hand. 

“Let’s go have some dinner with those nutcases,” he says, and Harry melts because Louis is so sweet and respectful, and Harry feels so safe that all he wants to do right now is push him inside his room and throw him on his bed. But he won’t because he’s a coward and their friends are waiting for them.

The conversation flows while they eat the gorgeous food Zayn cooked. Harry has stuffed himself with garlic bread. “It’s my weakness,” he says.

Harry’s had a couple of beers when Liam speaks. “Oh, Niall and Harry loved my car,” he says with a look that intrigues Harry and tells him there’s some kind of story behind it. “Louis?”

It all clicks then, like in a movie where the main character has flashbacks and time stays still. 

But my car broke down, innit? “Oh my God,” Harry whispers to himself, but Liam, who’s sitting to his left, turns his head, looks at him, and smirks. “Louis, is the car yours?

Louis’ face can’t go any redder even if he painted it, and Liam bursts out laughing, followed by Zayn, who elbows him on his side. “Go on, mate, your secret is out.”

“Yes, it is,” Louis finally says, embarrassed.

“Has it only just been fixed?”

Zayn starts speaking when Louis doesn’t respond. “No, no, no, dear Harry.”

“No, the car has been fixed for weeks,” Louis chimes in, looking at Harry with a smile. “But you know...”

“Oh.” Harry instantly understands what he means, and he’s left speechless. Has Louis been taking the bus just so he could see Harry? Just so they could meet at the bus stop and ride together? “Oh.”

The atmosphere in the room is thick, and Louis is still looking at Harry, but he’s not sure he sees him. Their eyes are locked on each other, and Harry doesn’t think either of them are breathing. All of a sudden, Harry sees the other boys stand up; the noise of the chairs moving back makes it evident, and distant giggling goodbyes are being said, but he turns his gaze to Louis, who seems like he hasn’t realised their friends are gone. It’s only when the front door closes that it snaps them out of their little world and makes them realise they’re alone, both of them looking around the room.

“Sorry if it’s a lot,” Louis says softly. “But I just love our morning bus rides so much.”

Harry gets up, and Louis follows his movements with his eyes, and when he grabs his hand and pulls him up, Louis easily lets him. They stand very close, their fingers linked together in one hand, the other cupping each other’s faces, and they kiss. They kiss for all those times they’ve wanted each other but weren’t brave enough to do it. They kiss for every day they’ve dreamed about doing it but were afraid. They kiss because it’s the only thing they want to do, because it’s all they’ve been missing in their blossoming friendship, and because it feels too nice not to be doing it. Harry wants to kiss Louis all the time, all day, every day.

He doesn’t realise they’re moving until they’re in front of Louis’ bedroom door. They’ve been kissing for so long, hands all over each other, that he started walking backwards, and he wasn’t aware. Louis looks at him, grabs the door knob, and Harry understands this is him asking if it’s okay to go inside and potentially do the kissing on the bed, so he nods because yes, it’s more than okay. But there’s a small but.

“Louis,” Harry murmurs in between kisses, their lips almost sealed and hardly any air to breathe. “Lou, I'm… I’ve…I’ve never done this before.”

There’s a moment of silence—a moment where Louis stops and moves back. “That’s okay. That’s okay,” he repeats, reassuring Harry while stroking his arms. “We don’t have to do anything; you tell me how far you want to go, yeah?”

“I want to go far, like far, far,” he chuckles. “I want it so much. I just want to get there slowly.”

Louis smiles and opens the door, pulling Harry inside and walking towards the bed. They stand there until Harry sits down, and Louis follows. Harry’s heart is beating so fast it’s hurting his chest, but Louis’ soothing hands on Harry’s face slow it all down and make it all worthy.

Harry lays on the bed, and Louis is towering over him. Louis’ lips are red and swollen, and Harry can only assume he looks just as ruined as him. “H, are you okay? You’ll tell me if you’re not, right?”

“Of course,” Harry responds in a whisper. “Are you okay?

“Oh, I’m nervous. I want this to be good for you.” The chuckle Louis lets out fills up the four walls they’re on, and Harry grins.

“It will be good. It’s already so good, promise.”

Harry doesn’t know how long passes. He doesn’t know if it’s daytime or if the darkness of the night has taken over the London sky All he knows is that Louis’ hands are all over him; his shirt came off a few minutes ago, and his bare chest has been invaded by Louis’ curious and eager fingers pinching his nipples and his mouth kissing every inch he can find. He feels his wet tongue swirl around his belly button and slowly make its way down, where the waistband of Harry’s trousers is. Simultaneously, Louis’ fingers find the button of Harry’s jeans, and before Harry realises it, Louis is pulling them down his legs, making Harry lift his bum, and they’re off him, throwing them by his side. He feels Louis’ hands on his thighs, his gentle strokes calming his racing heart. Harry’s nervous, but there is nothing he wants more than Louis on his skin. 

“Good?” Louis checks, lifting his head from in between his legs after kissing the inside of his thigh.

“My God, yes,” Harry breathes out, and Louis grins.

Louis’ mouth is on him again, and Harry closes his eyes, enhancing the sensation by a million. He’s been hard for a while, and when Louis’ hand finds his cock, his breath hitches right away. Holding his breath, he grabs the sheets beneath him in an attempt to stay grounded and present, but Louis’ strokes on his cock are increasing in speed, and Harry feels the known feeling of an orgasm building in the pit of his stomach. The fact that it’s not himself inflicting the wonderful sensation makes him feel like the buildup is stronger than ever. Even though Harry's had a handjob before, this feels like the first time. Everything with Louis feels like the first time. He loses himself, lost in the unmeasurable pleasure, and by the time he’s coming into Louis’ hand, he feels they’ve been together for days. And it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Louis doesn’t seem to think it’s enough either, because not long after Harry’s cleaned himself up and they’re chatting on the bed with all their limbs tangled up under the covers, Harry feels Louis’ hands move slowly towards his ass, grabbing his bum cheeks and moving Harry forward so their whole bodies are touching from head to toe. Louis kisses his neck while Harry’s still getting used to the hands behind him, but the feeling is so nice—so intimate but so pleasant—that he lets himself enjoy it. When Louis’ fingers hover over his rim and lightly brush it, Harry freezes. 

“Is this okay?” Louis whispers in his ear. “Do you want me to stop?”

Harry shakes his head, not sure he can talk right now. But Louis moves his head slightly back so they can look into each other’s eyes.

“Harry,” he says, firm but kind.

“No, don’t stop, don’t stop. Just be careful; go slowly.” Harry knows he will.

“Always, love.”

Louis untangles himself from Harry and searches for something on the bedside table for a moment, leaving Harry cold without his touch. The sight of a condom and a tube of lube on the bed makes it all so real now that he feels nervous.

“Shit, okay,” he says more to himself than anything.

“Babe, we don’t have to.”

“No, please; I want it. I want you so bad.” Harry quickly holds Louis’ arms and moves them to his own body so that Louis understands he wants to be touched. Louis chuckles and complies.

Despite him having reached an orgasm mere minutes ago, his dick is ready again. Louis is kissing him everywhere; his body is overdosing on tenderness, and he’s starting to feel impatient. As if Louis senses his eagerness, he slowly opens Harry’s legs and lifts them up a little, so he pushes his hips up and his hole is exposed. He hears the lube tube opening and raises his head to look between his legs to find Louis pouring some on his fingers, which are quickly on him, cold and wet but easing the stretching sensation immediately. Harry has played with his hole before, but this is like nothing he’s ever experienced. He’s never been brave enough to go too deep, but Louis is sinking his finger all the way, inserting another when he feels Harry can take it. The scissoring movement is completely new to him, and he feels like he could die of pleasure right now, even if he knows this is just the beginning and that there should be more to come. Louis keeps checking on him with wandering looks, and Harry keeps nodding, reassuring him that he’s having a blast and that he’s doing everything right.

“Turn around for me,” Louis whispers while he’s gently pushing Harry’s legs to the side. Together, they move his whole body, and he ends up with his belly pressed against the bedsheets. Louis slides his arm across Harry’s belly, and with a rapid movement, he pulls him up, and Harry’s bum is now very close to Louis’ face. 

“Ready, love?” Louis asks while he’s sliding off his trousers and boxer at the same time, throwing them to the other side of the room.

“Yes, ready.” Harry’s voice is shaky but filled with more excitement than fear, and he takes a deep breath. “Ready.”

He hears Louis open the condom wrapper, and for a few seconds, they’re not touching. Harry embraces the break because it’s all very overwhelming, and it’s also so good and hot. He’s about to have sex for the first time with the boy of his dreams; he needs a minute. But Louis’ hands are on him quickly, and he feels the tip of Louis’ dick on his rim, wet and sliding in slowly.

“Holy shit,” Harry whispers to himself.

He feels so full, in the best of ways, with the stretch reminding him of what he’s doing and keeping him grounded. 

Louis is being gentle; he knows. The delicate thrusts feel incredible. He hopes Louis is having a good time as well, and it’s then that he hears him moan, a guttural sound that surrounds Harry, and he lets go of any inhibitions he’s had until then. Their groans and moans fill up the room, and the sound seems to bounce off Harry as he welcomes the pleasure.

“You good?” Louis asks in between thrusts. “Feel good?

“Yes, yes… harder, Louis, harder,” Harry murmurs; he doesn’t trust his own voice.

And the next thrust sends him to heaven; he feels like his soul leaves his body. Louis keeps going and going. The smacking sound of their bodies coming into contact with each other invading his ears, the sweat running down his arched back, and the tingling feeling of Louis’ hand on his spine are becoming too much, and Harry feels his orgasm wanting to escape from him as he grabs his own cock and starts to stroke it fast.

“Louis, I’m clo… so close…  I’m,” Harry pants, not really able to articulate words properly.

Louis keeps pounding into him, and before Harry can really prepare himself, they’re both coming, almost at the same time, and Louis falls on him, his erratic breathing in Harry’s ear. Harry has goosebumps all over his body; he feels come stuck on his belly, and he has a sweaty Louis on his back, trying to catch some air. Perfection.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis finally says.

“Good fuck or...”

“What? Were you not here with me a second ago?” Louis questions in between breaths while discarding the condom carefully on the floor.

Harry laughs and turns when Louis gives him space so he can flip his body and be face-to-face with him. Gorgeous and magnificent Louis, who he just had sex with and wants to do it again and again, forever if possible. And the thought doesn’t even scare him because he knows he would choose him to be his first time and time again.

“Was it good? Are you okay?” Louis worryingly asks.

Harry smiles and kisses him softly. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”

Louis kisses him hard, the passion melting Harry into the mattress, and they smile at each other for what feels like an eternity. Yes, Harry could easily do this forever.

They clean up and put some underwear on before they head to the living room for some water and some food. All the exercise has left them starving. Thankfully, there’s left-over spaghetti, and Louis heats up a couple of plates for them when they hear a ping on Louis’ phone. He grabs it and laughs. “Motherfucker,” he whispers while blushing.

“What? Who is it?” Harry asks, getting closer to Louis and wrapping his arms around his waist but not wanting to look over his shoulder just in case it isn’t for him to see.

“Look,” Louis says, showing him the phone screen while he turns around.

Zaynie: When you’re done banging each other, let us know and we’ll come back.

Zaynie: or, if you want to join us, we’re at The Shakespeare having a pint.

They both blush but also laugh, and they hug and kiss sweetly. Harry buries his face in Louis’ collarbones, leaving small kisses.

“Do you want to go?” Harry asks him after their lips separate.

“Nope, let them suffer a bit more, and we’ll text them later,” Louis says. “For now, I just want to hold you.”

Harry smiles and kisses him again. Yes, he can really, really get used to this.

LOUIS

Sunday, 27th February

Louis wakes up to the sound of someone opening and closing doors in the house. He remembers Zayn saying something about working at the cafe Sunday morning and feels a little bit bad that they texted the boys late but he also knows they’re happy for them because Zayn sent him a text telling him so. He’s so lucky with his friends; they’re so supportive of anything to do with him, and he only hopes they know he supports them back as well. 

“Babe,” he whispers in Harry’s ear, having moved those delicate but unruly curls from his face first. “Baby,”

“Mmmmmm.” is all the sound Harry makes.

Louis kisses his temple. “I thought maybe we could go to the flower market.” 

Harry’s eyes open instantly, and he’s nodding like a child who’s been asked to go to Disneyland.

Louis chuckles, endeared. “Alright, let’s go then,” he says before kissing Harry again, the boy melting on his arms.

They decide to walk, wanting to enjoy the rare sunny day with a cup of coffee and a pastry in their hands while they talk and kiss. They hold hands when they’ve finished eating, and Louis can’t think of anything else but the boy next to him. He can’t imagine not spending the day surrounded by flower stalls and the warmth of Harry’s lips against his. He knows he’s being an absolute sap, and he’ll have a talk with himself when he comes down from this high, but for now, he’s enjoying being next to Harry.

Once they turn onto Columbia Road, he can already smell the mix of flower fragrances and see Harry’s eyes light up. There are people everywhere; the different stalls can be seen in the distance. He has a plan; he’s not sure it’ll work because those daffodils are rare and he hasn’t ordered them, but sometimes the woman at the flower shop has them or any other special daffodil besides the typical yellow ones, so he’s crossing his fingers. 

Harry let’s go of his hand and stands in front of a huge tulip display in one of the first stalls. His eyes are bright, his mouth is half open, and Louis laughs when he feels his hand searching for Louis’, like he needs him to stabilise himself in the presence of this beauty. What Harry doesn’t know is that Louis only has eyes for him; none of the flowers they’ll see today will ever match the beauty that is lightly and awkwardly holding onto his fingers. To the beauty that Harry’s eyes are, the green competing with every stem, keeping the flowers up right. Yes, he’s a sappy mess right now.

They finally manage to find Louis’ favourite flower shop in between the mass of people admiring and buying gorgeous flowers for themselves or loved ones. When they stop, Harry looks at him, intrigued.

“Are we going in?” he asks, pulling Louis’ arm slightly. Louis nods and starts walking.

Harry enters the shop first and looks like a kid in a sweet shop. There are flowers of every type and every colour, but they specialise in daffodils, which Harry seems to have clocked because he stops, turns around, and looks at Louis incredulously. “Lou,” is all he manages to say.  

Louis shyly smiles and locks eyes with Lola, the florist.

“Hi, darling. Are you wanting more flowers for mum?” Lola says with a big smile. “I have her flowers, you know? I ordered a bunch because they’re just so pretty and sell so well.”

“Actually, they’re not for mum this time,” Louis tells her, and he turns his whole body to face Harry, who’s looking at him like he hung up the moon, the stars, and the whole damn universe. He loves having this effect on the boy.

“What?” Harry asks, shocked.

“Want some of those flowers, baby? You seemed to like them,” he smirks, and Harry swats him on his arms.

Lola prepares the most beautiful bunch for them, and Louis hands it to Harry when they’re outside. Harry instantly brings the flowers to his face and sighs.

It might be the brightness of the day, but he swears Harry’s green eyes are shining more than ever. Or it could be that his sweet, sweet boy is emotional and he’s tearing up. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. Because whatever it is, Louis can confirm that as much as the pink centre and the white petals of the daffodil shine beautifully under the February sun, no one and nothing is more beautiful than the boy smelling the flowers in front of him right now.