Archive of Our Own

The atmosphere inside the grand ballroom of the Savoy was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, champagne, and the quiet rustle of high-society silk. It was the annual merger celebration for Payne Industries, a massive corporate milestone that had drawn the city’s elite.

Louis Tomlinson stood near the entrance, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored charcoal Tom Ford suit. He wore a crisp black dress shirt underneath, the top two buttons casually undone to contrast the sharp lines of his blazer, his hair styled in his trademark effortless fringe. He looked every bit the powerful, untouchable CEO he was, but internally, he was already bored.

"Louis! You made it!"

Liam Payne navigated through a sea of investors, a bright, relieved smile on his face as he approached his best friend. He looked sharp, though a bit flushed from playing the frantic host.

"Wouldn't miss it, Payno. Congratulations on the merger," Louis said, offering a firm handshake and a clap on Liam's shoulder.

"Thanks, mate. Honestly, it’s a madhouse tonight," Liam sighed, looking over his shoulder at a group of board members waving him over. "Listen, I’ve got to go play nice with the German executives, but Niall and Zayn should be here soon. They called and said they're running a bit late—Niall’s wife had a wardrobe crisis, and Zayn’s girlfriend wanted to stop for a smoke on the way. I'm sorry you're on your own for a bit."

"Don't worry about me," Louis chuckled, gesturing toward the back of the room. "I’m going to go find the bar and start drinking away the corporate small talk. Go do your thing."

With a grateful nod, Liam vanished back into the crowd. Louis made his way to the marble-topped bar at the far corner of the ballroom. It was relatively quiet, a sanctuary away from the flashing cameras.

"Double scotch, neat. Whatever your best top-shelf is," Louis told the bartender, leaning his elbow against the cool stone.

While he waited, a sudden rustle of movement caught his attention. Right beside him, a small, elegant black leather designer purse slipped off the edge of a barstool, plummeting toward the floor.

Instinctively, Louis lunged. At the exact same fraction of a second, the owner of the purse bent down to catch it.

Louis’s quick reflexes won. His fingers snapped around the leather strap just before a hand with beautifully manicured, glossy black painted nails could reach it.

"Careful there, love," Louis murmured, his voice a low, smooth purr as he began to straighten up, intending to hand it back with a charming, practiced smile. "Wouldn't want something so pretty hitting the—"

The words died a violent death in his throat.

Louis glanced up, and his breath was completely knocked out of his lungs. Standing in front of him was a vision. The young man was breathtakingly, devastatingly gorgeous. He had thick, bouncy, jaw-length brown curls—defiant and wild, yet perfectly framing a face with high cheekbones and a sharp, dimpled jawline. He was wearing a stunning, fluid silk dress that draped elegantly over his tall frame, the fabric catching the dim lighting of the bar.

Louis was utterly, completely mesmerized. Fuck, he thought, his brain short-circuiting. He is so fucking pretty.

Across from him, Harry froze, his green eyes widening as he looked at Louis. He took in the older man’s sharp blue eyes, the silver dusting the stubble along his jaw, and the sheer, commanding confidence radiating from him in his expensive suit. Harry’s heart did a violent flip in his chest. He had absolutely no idea who this man was, but he was the most handsome thing Harry had ever seen.

Recovering his composure first, a slow, wicked little smirk spread across Harry's plush lips.

"Thank you," Harry said, his voice a deep, slow, hypnotic drawl that sent a shiver straight down Louis's spine. He reached out, his black-painted nails brushing deliberately against Louis’s knuckles as he took the purse back. "Good reflexes. I'd hate to lose my lipstick before the night even properly starts."

Louis swallowed hard, his eyes tracking the movement of Harry's fingers before locking back onto those emerald green eyes. "It would be a tragedy to keep a mouth like yours waiting. I’m Louis."

"Harry," the younger man replied, leaning a hip against the bar, his eyes shamelessly scanning Louis up and down, clearly liking what he saw. "Are you always this chivalrous, Louis, or did I just get lucky?"

"I only deploy the chivalry when the target is worth it," Louis countered smoothly, stepping a fraction closer, completely captivated by the playful, high-tension energy vibrating between them. "And you are definitely worth it. Can I buy you a drink, Harry?"

"Please," Harry purred. "A gin and tonic."

Louis ordered the drink, never breaking eye contact. As the bartender set their glasses down, Harry took a slow sip, looking at Louis over the rim.

"So, Louis," Harry murmured, his tone dripping with playful accusation. "A man who looks like you, dressed like that... shouldn't you have a plus-one tonight? Why are you hovering all alone at the bar? Don't tell me you don't have a wife waiting for you at home."

Louis let out a low, dark laugh, thoroughly amused. "No wife. No girlfriend. No plus-one. I came here strictly for business because a close friend of mine is throwing this massive party. I'm completely unsupervised tonight, if you're asking."

"Oh, unsupervised? That sounds incredibly dangerous," Harry teased, his dimples popping out as his smirk widened. He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice so it was just for Louis. "Because if you're not careful, a guy like me might just try to get into your pants before the night is over."

Louis’s smirk widened, his dark eyes darkening with immediate, heavy heat. The sheer boldness of it turned his blood to fire. "Is that a promise, sweetheart? Because I’m a very busy man, but I can absolutely make time in my schedule for that."

Harry chuckled, a rich, melodic sound. "We'll see how well you behave yourself first."

"I'm on my best behaviour," Louis lied smoothly, his eyes dropping to Harry’s lips. "So tell me, Harry, what do you do when you're not turning corporate galas into your personal runway?"

"I actually just moved back to London," Harry explained, swirling the ice in his glass. "I’ve been away for the last four years studying fine arts and fashion design in France. I literally just got back into the city, which is why I'm here. I had to show up because it’s my dad’s party."

Louis blinked, his mind pausing for a split second. His dad's party?

Before the pieces could fully connect in Louis's brain, a loud, booming voice interrupted them from behind.

"Louis! Harry!"

They both turned. Liam was walking toward them, and this time, he had Niall and Zayn in tow. Niall was arm-in-arm with his wife, and Zayn was laughing at something his girlfriend was saying.

"Ah, I see you two already found each other!" Liam beamed, looking incredibly proud as he clapped Louis on the back.

Louis looked at Liam, then looked at Harry, his brain suddenly hitting a brick wall. Wait.

"Louis, mate, you finally get to meet him," Liam said happily, gesturing proudly to the gorgeous young man in the silk dress. "This is my eldest boy, Harry. The one I’ve been telling you about! He literally just graduated from Paris and got back to London this morning. Harry, this is Louis, my best friend and business partner I'm always talking about."

The room seemed to drop away.

Niall and Zayn waved, offering their congratulations, completely oblivious to the sheer panic and tension suffocating the space.

Louis stood entirely frozen, the colour draining from his face as the realization hit him like a physical blow. Fuck. He had just spent the last ten minutes intensely, shamelessly flirting with Liam Payne's son. He had literally just agreed to let the boy get into his pants. Liam actually had two sons, but Louis had only ever seen the youngest one recently—he hadn't seen Harry since Harry was a lanky, awkward young teenager before leaving for France.

Now, Harry was a fully grown, mesmerizing, breathtaking man in a dress, looking at Louis with a mixture of shock and absolute, wicked amusement.

Harry’s green eyes flashed with a sudden, dangerous realization, a slow, unbothered smirk spreading across his face as he realized exactly who the handsome stranger was.

Louis stared at his best friend's son, his heart hammering against his ribs, his inner voice screaming, Fuck, was I about to sleep with Liam's boy? Fuck me.

"Unbelievable, isn’t it?" Liam beamed, clapping a heavy hand onto Louis’s shoulder, completely oblivious to the fact that Louis felt like the floor had just been knocked out from under him. "Four years in Paris and he comes back looking like a bloody runway model. I still remember when he was just a scrawny lad spilling paint all over my carpets."

"Yeah," Louis choked out, his voice a fraction tighter than usual. He forced his corporate, polished smile back onto his face, though his eyes were practically burning holes into the fabric of Harry’s silk dress. "Unbelievable is definitely the word, Payno."

Harry let out a low, musical chuckle, shifting his weight onto one hip. The movement made the silk drape beautifully over his thigh, and Louis’s eyes tracked it instantly before he could stop himself.

"Lovely to meet you properly, Louis," Harry purred, the sarcasm dripping thick and delicious from his tongue. He extended his hand again, his glossy black nails catching the chandelier light. "Dad talks about you all the time. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name."

"Likewise," Louis muttered, shaking Harry's hand with a grip that was far firmer than necessary. He felt the heat of Harry's skin, the subtle, mocking squeeze the younger lad gave him before letting go.

"Alright, you lot," Niall chimed in, adjusting his bow tie while his wife chuckled at him. "Where’s the real food at? I love you, Liam, but these little tiny burgers on toothpicks aren't gonna cut it. I’m bloody starving."

"They're sliders, Niall, and they're gourmet," Zayn chuckled, leaning against the bar with his arm wrapped securely around his girlfriend's waist. He looked Louis up and down, raising an eyebrow. "You alright, Tommo? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Fine, mate. Just... corporate exhaustion," Louis lied smoothly, clearing his throat.

"Well, I’ll leave you boys to talk shop," Harry said, tilting his head back to toss his thick curls out of his eyes. He gave Louis a look that was pure, unfiltered trouble. "I see a few of my old friends over by the lounge area. Dad, I’m gonna go say hello. See if anyone wants to hit the dance floor."

"Go on, love, have fun," Liam smiled warmly, patting Harry's arm. "Don't drink too much champagne on an empty stomach."

"I'm a good boy, Dad. Always," Harry murmured. But right before he turned to leave, he caught Louis’s eyes. He didn't just look; he stared right into Louis’s soul, his tongue darting out to lick a stray drop of gin from his bottom lip with agonizing slowness.

Louis’s jaw tightened so hard it ached.

As Harry sauntered off, his hips swaying with a confident, effortless grace, Louis felt a sudden, heavy throb between his legs. Fuck. It was a full-on, aggressive boner, pressing ruthlessly against the zip of his Tom Ford trousers. He shifted his stance slightly, crossing his arms over his chest to try and pull his jacket forward.

"So, Louis," Liam started, turning his full attention back to the group, completely unaware that his best friend was experiencing a sexual crisis right next to him. "The European logistics board is pushing for the third-quarter rollout to happen a month early. I told them it’s tight, but if we sync up our tech departments, we can manage. What do you reckon?"

"Yeah," Louis said, his voice entirely detached. His eyes were already drifting across the ballroom, tracking that green silk dress. "Sounds... sounds like a plan, Liam."

"Are you even listening to me, you prick?" Liam laughed, nudging him. "I'm talking about a multi-million pound rollout here."

"I'm listening, I am," Louis managed, forcing his gaze back to Liam. "Just... thinking about the budget allocation. If we rush it, the security protocols might have vulnerabilities."

"That’s exactly what I said!" Niall interjected, gesturing wildly with his drink. "I told the lads in finance that if we don't double-check the server migrations, we're gonna have a right proper mess on our hands. Zayn, back me up here, you know what the data load looks like."

Zayn took a sip of his beer, nodding slowly. "Niall’s right, Liam. We can't just slap a new interface on the old database and hope for the best. It’s gonna take at least six weeks just to run the penetration tests. Louis, your security team would need to oversee the encryption, wouldn't they?"

"Right. Exactly. The encryption," Louis echoed.

He wasn't thinking about encryption. He was watching Harry.

Harry had reached his group of friends, but he hadn't stopped looking at Louis. The younger lad was leaning back against a high table, a fresh drink in his hand—this one with a long, black plastic straw. As Liam, Zayn, and Niall continued to argue about server capacities and corporate timelines, Louis watched in horror and absolute fascination as Harry caught his eye from across the room.

Slowly, deliberately, Harry wrapped his plush, wet lips around the straw. He didn't just take a sip; he kept his eyes locked dead on Louis, his cheeks hollowing slightly as he sucked on the straw with an agonizing, rhythmic slowness that was so utterly filthy, it made Louis’s head spin. It was a blatant, unbothered demonstration. Harry knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew exactly what it was doing to Louis.

Louis’s cock gave a violent, painful throb. A bead of sweat broke out at his hairline.

What the fuck is wrong with this lad? Louis thought, his mind racing in sheer panic. This is Liam's boy. Liam’s literal flesh and blood. No way. Absolutely no fucking way. If Harry were a stranger, Louis would have dragged him into the nearest disabled toilet ten minutes ago and taken him right against the sink. But this was his best friend's son. It was a massive, catastrophic line that he could not cross.

But Harry wasn't playing by the rules. Harry shifted his weight, letting the silk dress cling to his skin, his hand sliding down his own hip as he laughed at something his friend said, his eyes never leaving Louis.

The night dragged on like a slow torture.

The formal part of the evening began, and Liam took to the small stage at the front of the ballroom to give his big executive speech. The crowd clapped, glasses clinked, and everyone began moving toward the buffet and the dining tables. Through it all, Louis was trapped. He couldn't leave—it was Liam's big night, and as his business partner and best friend, Louis had to stay until the formal dinner concluded and the casual "friends-only" after-hours drinks started in the private lounge. He couldn't just vanish without looking incredibly disrespectful.

But the hard-on pressing against his trousers was becoming completely unmanageable. It was throbbing, tight, and making it impossible to stand comfortably.

"Right," Louis muttered during a break in the conversation, his voice rough. "I need a breath of fresh air. Going for a smoke."

He looked over at Zayn, who was currently deep in a conversation with Niall and a couple of senior board members. Louis tapped Zayn's shoulder. "Hey, Z. Fancy a smoke break?"

Zayn looked up, gesturing to the board members with a tight, apologetic smile. "Can't right now, Tommo. I've gotta talk this lot through the API adjustments before they head out. Go on without me, mate."

"Yeah. Never mind. Just a quick one anyway," Louis muttered, turning on his heel.

He practically bolted for the side exit of the ballroom, navigating the crowd while keeping one hand casually tucked in his pocket to mask the prominent bulge in his trousers. He pushed through the heavy double doors that led to the private outdoor terrace at the back of the Savoy.

The cool night air hit him instantly, a blessed relief against his flushed skin. The terrace was completely empty, lit only by the faint glow of the London skyline and the amber outdoor lamps. Louis walked over to the stone railing, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket. His hands were actually shaking a little as he lit it, taking a deep, desperate drag.

He blew the smoke out into the crisp air, rubbing a hand over his face. He was going bloody insane.

He’d always known he was a bit bisexual—he’d never really cared about gender, only ever caring if someone caught his attention and had the confidence to back it up. And fuck, Harry had more than enough confidence. The lad was beautiful. There was no business for a boy to be that jaw-droppingly pretty, blending masculinity and femininity so flawlessly that it made Louis’s knees weak.

Louis took another heavy drag, staring out at the city, trying to force his erection to subside. Get a grip, Tomlinson, he scolded himself. It's Liam's son. You cannot touch him. You cannot even think about it.

Suddenly, the heavy glass door leading out to the terrace clicked open behind him.The clicking of the latch was soft, but in the quiet of the empty terrace, it sounded like a gunshot.

Louis didn't even have to turn around. The cool night air was instantly sliced through by a scent that made his entire body lock up—expensive, rich vanilla, warm and sweet, bleeding through the sharp smell of his own cigarette tobacco. Fuck, he thought, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. It’s him.

He kept his back to the door, staring out at the London skyline, the cigarette glowing a fierce amber between his fingers as he took another desperate drag. He heard the soft, distinct click of heels against the stone, moving slowly, deliberately, until a tall, silk-clad figure leaned against the stone railing right beside him.

"Got a spare one of those, mate?" Harry’s voice was lower out here, a smooth, gravelly purr that wrapped around Louis like a velvet glove. The northern tilt in his words was heavy, thick, and teasing. "Or are you planning on keeping everything to yourself tonight?"

Louis swallowed the smoke, his chest tight. He finally turned his head, his blue eyes hard as he looked at Harry. Up close, under the dim amber patio light, the lad was devastating. His short, bouncing curls were ruffled by the breeze, a few strands catching on his long eyelashes. "You shouldn't be out here, Harry," Louis said, his Doncaster accent coming out rough, clipped, and completely devoid of his usual corporate politeness. "It's freezing. Go back inside to your dad or something."

"Don't care about the cold," Harry murmured, leaning his hip against the railing so he was completely facing Louis. The green silk stretched tight over his thigh. He reached out, his black-painted nails catching the light as he gently tapped the pack of cigarettes resting on the stone. "And my dad is busy. I'd much rather be out here. With you. You look proper handsome out here in the dark, you know that? The suit suits you. Though I bet it looks better on the floor."

Louis nearly choked on his breath, a hot spike of adrenaline shooting straight to his groin. He shook his head, looking away, desperate to redirect the conversation before he completely lost his mind. "Right. Enough of that. Your dad said you’ve been in Paris. Fine arts. What was that like, then? Must have been a massive change from London."

Harry let out a soft, mocking laugh, a rich sound that rumbled in his throat. He stepped closer, completely ignoring the question. "Are you really trying to ask me about my degree right now, Louis? Truly? While you're standing there looking at my mouth like you want to eat me alive?"

"Harry," Louis warned, his voice dropping an octave, threatening and thick. "I'm serious. Stop the filthy talk. I don't want to hear those bits coming out of your pretty mouth, alright? Just tell me about France."

"France was boring," Harry whispered, taking another step. Now, he was standing entirely too close, completely invading Louis’s space. The scent of vanilla was suffocatingly thick. Harry reached up, his long, elegant fingers brushing against the lapel of Louis’s charcoal blazer, his painted nails tracing the fabric down to his chest. "Too many boys who didn't know what to do with a lad like me. Not like you. I bet you know exactly what to do."

Louis grabbed Harry’s wrist, his grip tight and unyielding, stopping the hand from moving any lower. His body was on fire, his skin tingling where they touched. "Listen to me, you little brat," Louis hissed, his eyes blazing as he stared down into Harry's green ones. "You need to stop touching me. Right now. You're Liam's boy. Do you understand what that means? Liam is my best mate. The last time I saw you, you were a tiny, scrawny little thing running around in muddy trainers. This is weird. It’s wrong. I'm not doing this."

Harry didn't even flinch at the tight grip on his wrist. Instead, his eyes darted down, his gaze shifting from Louis's face, down his chest, down to the front of his tailored trousers. A wicked, victorious smirk spread across Harry’s plush lips.

"Oh, really?" Harry purred, his voice dripping with pure satisfaction. "You say it's wrong, but it looks like your cock didn't get the bloody memo."

Louis froze. He didn't even look down; he knew exactly what Harry was seeing. The massive, throbbing boner was stretching the fabric of his trousers to its absolute limit, a blatant, embarrassing betrayal of his words.

"Fuck sake," Louis muttered, violently shoving his free hand into his pocket to hide it, while using his other hand to drop his cigarette and crush it beneath his shoe. "I'm going back inside. I'm finishing this smoke and I'm going back to the party."

"Don't run away," Harry coaxed, his voice softening, tilting his head with a pout that was completely manufactured to drive Louis insane. He took a step back, his eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp, provoking edge. "What's the matter, Louis? Is it because of the dress? Are you one of those closeted corporate blokes? Or are you just a proper homophobe who can't handle a lad who looks like this?"

The word hit Louis like a bucket of ice water, instantly snapping into a white-hot, furious rage. Homophobe?

"What did you just fucking say to me?" Louis snarled, his vision practically going red.

Before Harry could even answer, Louis reacted on pure, unadulterated instinct. He lunged forward, his hands gripping Harry's waist, and shoved him backward until Harry’s back hit the stone wall of the terrace with a dull thud. Louis stepped right into him, pinning him there, chest to chest, thighs pressing against thighs.

Louis tilted his head up, looking at Harry's face in the dim light, and his anger instantly tangled with a dangerous, suffocating lust. God help me, Louis thought, his mind screaming as his cock gave a violent, throbbing twitch. He is so fucking beautiful—Louis might fucking cum in his pants right here right now.

"Say it again," Louis whispered, his voice a dark, menacing growl against Harry’s skin. "Call me that again, see what happens. There is no bloody point in you being this fucking beautiful if you're just gonna use that filthy mouth to spout absolute rubbish."

Harry’s breath hitched, his chest heaving against Louis’s. His green eyes were wide, dark with sudden, intense arousal, his lips parting as he looked down at Louis.

Louis raised his hand, his thumb catching Harry's bottom lip, dragging across the wet, plush skin with brutal pressure, smearing a bit of the gloss. "Look at you," Louis breathed, his eyes tracking his own thumb. "A proper filthy mouth. Look how needy you are. Just a desperate little brat looking for trouble, aren't you?"

"Louis," Harry gasped, his voice breaking, his hands coming up to grip Louis’s shoulders. "Please—"

Louis didn't let him finish. He smashed his lips onto Harry's.

The kiss was instant chaos. It wasn't gentle; it was a collision of teeth, tongue, and pure, starved desperation. Louis poured all his frustration, all his anger, and all his agonizing restraint into Harry’s mouth, groaning deep in his throat as Harry eagerly opened up for him. Harry’s tongue tangled with his, frantic and wet, his head tilting back against the stone wall as he let Louis completely take over. The kiss grew wilder, crazier, their breaths hot and loud in the quiet night air.

Suddenly, the reality of where they were slammed back into Louis's brain. With a harsh gasp, he tore his mouth away, panting heavily, his lips glistening. "No—fuck—I can't do this," Louis stammered, his forehead resting against Harry's shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. "I can't."

Right against his ear, Harry let out a soft, agonizing, high-pitched moan, his body trembling.

The sound went straight to Louis’s groin, and he felt his cock give a massive, painful twitch inside his trousers. He was right on the edge.

Before he could pull away completely, Harry slid his hand down between their bodies. His long fingers, nails painted black, found the massive, rock-hard bulge through Louis’s suit trousers. Harry palmed him, his grip tight and sure, squeezing the length of Louis’s cock through the fabric.

Louis let out a filthy, guttural groan, his eyes rolling back as his hips instinctively twitched forward against Harry’s hand. The heat was blinding. Everything was moving too fast, getting too hot, too dangerous—

The heavy terrace door swung open.

"There you are, boys!" Niall’s cheerful, boisterous voice cut through the dark like a knife.

In a fraction of a second, Louis ripped himself away from Harry, turning his back to the door and leaning against the railing, his heart hammering in his throat as he desperately tried to smooth down his jacket to hide his front. Harry stumbled back against the wall, his breath ragged, quickly smoothing down the silk of his dress, his cheeks completely flushed.

Niall stood in the doorway, a half-empty pint of beer in his hand, looking completely oblivious to the thick, sexual tension vibrating in the air. "Come on, inside, you slackers! Liam is about to open the top-shelf whiskey in the private room. Everyone’s waiting on you, Tommo. Don't be hoarding the Harry out here all night!"

"Right," Louis cleared his throat, his voice sounding completely wrecked and gravelly. "Yeah. Just finishing up out here, Nialler. Go on, we’ll be right in."

"Good lad! Don't be long, it’s freezing out here!" Niall laughed, turning around and letting the heavy glass door swing shut behind him.

The silence returned, heavy and suffocating.

Louis kept his back to Harry, staring out at the dark city, his hands gripping the stone railing so hard his knuckles turned white. His entire body was shaking. "Harry," he whispered, his voice thick with regret. "I—I’m sorry. I shouldn't have done that. That was entirely my fault. I'm going back inside."

He started to walk past, but Harry caught his arm. Harry’s green eyes were blown out, wide and completely desperate, his chest heaving. "Louis, don't," Harry begged, his voice cracking, entirely dropping the confident, flirty act. He looked small, vulnerable, and completely wrecked in the silk dress. "Please. Don't leave me out here like this. Come with me. Just fuck me, Louis. Please. I don't care where and I won’t tell my dad. Just fuck me, please?."

Louis looked at him, his heart breaking a little at the raw begging in the younger lad's voice, but the image of Liam’s face flashed vividly in his mind. It was too much. The risk, the betrayal—it was a step too far.

"No, Harry," Louis said softly, his voice firm but laced with a deep, heavy sorrow. He gently but firmly pulled his arm out of Harry's grip. "I can't. I'm sorry."

Without looking back, Louis turned and walked swiftly toward the glass doors, pushing through them and leaving Harry alone in the cold, vanilla-scented dark.

🎆💫

The heavy oak door slammed shut behind them, the click of the lock echoing sharply against the quiet walls. Louis didn't waste a single bloody second. He grabbed a handful of Harry’s green silk dress, twisting the fabric into his fist, and smashed him straight back against the nearest wall.

They were in Harry’s childhood bedroom now. The private party downstairs had carried on for another hour, all of them drinking champagne and celebrating Liam’s massive success, but Louis hadn't heard a single word of the corporate chatter. He had just been a man on the edge, watching Harry from across the room, tracking the way the lad’s eyes promised absolute ruin. The moment they managed to slip away into the quiet corridors upstairs, the restraint snapped. Louis had grabbed him by the arm, dragging him down the hallway and straight into the first room they found.

Harry let out a loud, breathless moan the second his back hit the wall. Louis didn't let him breathe. He leaned his full weight into him, trapping Harry’s tall frame, and smashed their lips together in a kiss so savage and hard it felt like their mouths would bleed. Harry tasted like sweet champagne and expensive vanilla, his tongue instantly tangling with Louis’s in a frantic, unhinged rhythm.

Louis tore his mouth away just an inch, his hot breath panting heavy against Harry’s skin. "You don't know me, Harry," Louis growled, his Doncaster accent thick, rough, and entirely untamed. "Poor you, because I'm gonna be so fucking rough on you tonight. You messed with the wrong person, lad."

With a dark smirk, Louis buried his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, biting down hard right against his pulse point.

"Fuck, Louis," Harry cried out, a loud, high-pitched moan bouncing off the walls of the bedroom. His hands gripped the back of Louis’s charcoal suit jacket, pulling him even closer, his hips instinctively rolling forward. "You’re so fucking hot, can’t help myself. I really wanna suck your cock right now."

Louis’s eyes darkened to near black. He reached up, his fingers fisting tightly into Harry’s short, bouncy curls, and tilted his head back with a brutal, steady force. "Yeah? You want it so fucking desperately, don't you?"

"Yes," Harry whined, his eyes blown wide and glistening with tears of sheer arousal, his lips parted. "Yes, please."

"Get down on your fucking knees right now," Louis commanded, his voice a low, terrifying purr as he used his grip on Harry's hair to push his head straight down toward his groin. "Since you wanna act like a fucking slut, I'm gonna treat you like one."

Harry let out another broken moan, his knees hitting the plush carpet without a single second of hesitation. He looked up from the floor, his green eyes locked onto the massive, aggressive bulge straining against Louis’s tailored trousers.

Louis looked down at him, his knuckles white in Harry’s hair. "You want it bad?"

Harry nodded quickly, his chest heaving under the silk dress. "Yes."

Louis fisted his hair even tighter, a dark, possessive thrill rushing through his veins. "So fucking pretty," he muttered, his voice rough. He leaned forward, aggressively pushing Harry's face right against the clothed apex of his thighs, rutting his hard cock heavily against Harry’s nose and mouth through the fabric of his trousers.

Harry let out a muffled whimper, his large hands reaching out to grip Louis’s sturdy thighs, holding onto him for dear life as Louis moved against his face. Louis let out a low, gravelly groan, the friction nearly pushing him over the edge already.

"Take off my pants," Louis ordered, his breath hitching.

Harry’s hands were shaking as he fumbled frantically with the heavy leather belt. He unbuckled it with a loud click, unzipping the trousers and shoving everything—suit pants and briefs—all the way down to Louis’s knees.

Louis’s cock snapped free, thick, fully erect, and a deep, flush red. The tip was already leaking a heavy bead of pre-come. Harry let out a soft, worshipful moan at the sight of it. He leaned in instantly, his tongue darting out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe right up the length of the shaft. He whined at the taste, his green eyes flicking up to meet Louis’s gaze with a wicked, heavy heat.

"Fuck," Louis muttered, his hands clenching into fists.

Harry opened his mouth wide and took the entire length inside his throat in one smooth, practiced motion. Louis gasped loudly, his head tossing back as the sudden, overwhelming wet heat encased him. He looked down, watching Harry's cheeks hollow out, his throat moving effortlessly around the thick shaft. Fuck, this kid can even deep-throat me, Louis thought, his brain completely short-circuiting.

"Your mouth feels so fucking good, Harry," Louis praised through gritted teeth, his fingers digging back into the curls to control the rhythm. "You did this a lot back in France, yeah?"

Harry’s thick eyebrows furrowed slightly at the question, his eyes darkening as he gave a firm nod, never breaking the suction around Louis’s cock.

"Fuck, it’s nice that you practiced and gave me the best one," Louis groaned, a dark, dirty laugh rumbling in his chest as he began to aggressively fuck Harry’s mouth, his hips snapping forward. "Bet you suck me off the best one, didn't you?"

Harry swallowed him deeper, his throat contracting around the head of Louis’s cock. Louis felt the sudden, violent spike of his climax building, the heat too intense to handle. With a harsh grunt, he grabbed Harry by the hair and pulled his cock out of the wet cavern of his mouth before he could ruin the night too early.

He gripped Harry’s upper arms, hauling the younger lad up off his knees until they were standing chest-to-chest again. "Filthy mouth, but you suck so bloody good, yeah?" Louis breathed, smashing his lips back onto Harry’s, tasting his own pre-come on the lad’s tongue.

Harry was a moaning mess, his hands roaming wildly over Louis’s broad shoulders, his body completely pliant. Louis slid his hands down the silk of the dress, finding Harry’s bare waist, and then slid them lower, grabbing a massive handful of Harry’s arse. He squeezed the flesh brutally, making Harry cry out a loud, echoey moan against his mouth.

"Please, Louis," Harry begged, his legs shaking. "Please."

Louis didn't say a word. He turned Harry around and pushed him roughly onto the mattress of the bed. "Turn around, on your fours," Louis ordered, standing over him as he kicked his own trousers and shoes completely out of the way. "Like a fucking dog you are."

Harry whimpered, but the praise and the dirtiness of the words only made him wilder. He crawled to the center of the bed, dropping his forearms onto the mattress and pushing his arse high up into the air, his back arching beautifully.

Louis crawled onto the bed behind him, his eyes tracking the curve of Harry’s spine. He reached down, grabbing a handful of the silk dress and yanking it up over Harry’s lower back to expose his arse. Louis’s breath completely hitched in his throat.

Harry wasn't bare. He was wearing a tight, delicate lace panty. And it was in his favorite color. Red.

"Fuck," Louis growled, the sight making his cock twitch violently. "You really are a slut, aren't you? I love red."

Harry wiggled his hips against Louis’s thighs, a proud, desperate little smirk on his face as he looked over his shoulder. "Fuck me, please. The lube is right besides the nightstand."

Louis let out a low, dark chuckle, reaching over to grab the small plastic bottle. "Even got a lube ready. Were you expecting this tonight, you little slag?"

A sudden, sharp wave of intense possession hit Louis right in the gut. The thought of Harry having this ready for anyone else—the thought of some random bloke back in France seeing him like this—made Louis’s blood boil with jealousy. He squeezed a generous amount of the cold gel onto his fingers, his eyes blazing.

Before he used the lube, Louis leaned over, his tongue darting out to lick a wet, heavy stripe right across the silk of the red panties, pressing his mouth against the heat of Harry's skin.

Harry thrashed violently against the mattress, a loud, shattered groan tearing from his throat. The raw sensation made him crazy, and he instinctively pushed his arse back, digging his hips straight against Louis’s groin, begging for the friction.

Louis couldn't take the torture for another second. He tossed the bottle aside, slating the red fabric of the panties to the side to fully expose Harry’s tight, puckered heat. He grabbed his own throbbing, leaking cock, lining the wet head right against Harry’s opening, teasing him by rubbing it slowly up and down without pushing inside.

"Please, Louis," Harry wept, his fingers burying deep into the bedsheets. "I can't hold it anymore. Just fuck me."

"Take it then, you beautiful little slut," Louis growled.

He slammed his hips forward, buried his entire length inside Harry's tight, burning heat in one heavy, ruthless thrust.

Harry screamed into the pillows, his entire body going rigid as his eyes rolled back. The tightness was unbelievable, clamping around Louis’s cock like a vice. Louis didn't give him time to adjust; he immediately began a brutal, fast rhythm, his hips snapping forward with an unhinged, primitive force.

"Look at you, taking it all like a good boy," Louis panting heavily, his hands gripping Harry's hips to anchor him as he pounded into him. "Such a good, pretty little hole. You were made for this, weren't you? Just a dirty little brat getting completely ruined by his dad's best mate."

Harry was completely overwhelmed, his head tossing from side to side as he moaned loudly with every single hit, his voice breaking. "Yes—ah—yes, Louis, fuck."

"You're nothing but a desperate little slag, Harry," Louis groaned, the degradation dripping thick from his tongue as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming frantic, shallow, and completely wild. "Coming back to London just to get filled up. You love it, don't you? You love being degraded like the little dog you are."

"I do—fuck—Louis, I'm gonna cum," Harry screamed, his body shaking violently as he rode the edge of his climax.

"Cum then, brat," Louis roared. He gave three more massive, incredibly deep thrusts, his own vision going completely white as his release caught up to him.

With a loud, guttural shout, Louis pulled out at the very last second, his hand gripping the base of his cock as he shot a thick, heavy load of cum right across the smooth, pale skin of Harry’s lower back. Harry collapsed onto the pillows with a final, shattered wail, his own release spilling out onto the sheets beneath him as they both lay there, panting and completely wrecked in the quiet bedroom.

The frantic, heavy panting inside the bedroom slowly began to quiet down, leaving only the sound of the rain tapping softly against the windowpane.

Louis lay on his back for a moment, his chest heaving as the adrenaline finally started to drain from his system. The fog of pure, unadulterated lust began to clear, and as he looked over at Harry, a sudden wave of tenderness hit him right in the chest. Harry was curled on his side, his face buried in the pillows, his shoulders shaking slightly as he tried to catch his breath. The red lace panties were pushed to the side, and the pale skin of his lower back was still smeared with Louis’s spilled release.

Louis rolled over, his movements entirely different now—slow, deliberate, and incredibly soft. He reached out, his hand gently settling on Harry’s bare hip.

"Harry," Louis murmured, his Doncaster accent dropping into a low, raspy whisper that was completely stripped of all the harshness from before. "You alright, love?"

Harry let out a small, tired whimper, shifting his head so his green eyes could peek out from behind his damp curls. He looked incredibly young, vulnerable, and completely spent. He gave a tiny, slow nod. "Mmm. Fine. Just proper jelly, Louis. Can't move my legs."

A soft, affectionate chuckle rumbled in Louis’s chest. He leaned over, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to the crown of Harry’s head, right into those soft curls. "You did so good for me, sweetheart. I know I was rough on you. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Harry whispered, a small, tired dimple appearing on his cheek as he reached back to weakly pat Louis’s thigh. "Loved it. Told you I could handle you."

"Yeah, you're a brave little thing, aren't you?" Louis smiled, his fingers tracing gentle circles over Harry’s hip bone. He looked down at the mess on Harry's back and frowned softly, feeling the immediate urge to take care of him. "Come here. Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? I’m gonna run you a proper warm bath."

Louis slid out of the bed, not even caring about his discarded suit. He walked into the en-suite bathroom, turning on the heavy brass taps of the large clawfoot tub. He tested the water with his wrist, making sure it was perfectly warm, before pouring in some of the expensive lavender bath oils sitting on the ledge.

He walked back into the bedroom, where Harry was still huddled under the covers. Louis gently pulled the duvet back, scooping the younger lad up into his arms. Harry let out a soft gasp, instinctively wrapping his long arms around Louis’s neck, burying his face in the crook of Louis's shoulder as he was carried into the bathroom.

Louis lowered him into the warm, foaming water with absolute care, as if Harry were made of the finest porcelain. Harry let out a long, luxurious sigh as the heat hit his aching muscles, sinking down until the bubbles covered his chest.

Louis pulled up a small wooden stool, sitting right beside the tub. He picked up a soft washcloth, soaking it in the warm water, and gently began to wipe away the sweat and the remnants of their mess from Harry’s shoulders and chest.

"So," Louis started softly, his eyes fixed on the cloth as he washed Harry’s skin. "Paris. Did you really hate it, or were you just saying that to get a rise out of me?"

Harry leaned his head back against the rim of the tub, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the feeling of Louis caring for him. "Didn't hate it," he murmured, his voice slow and heavy with exhaustion. "The school was amazing, truly. Met some brilliant people. But it’s... it’s not home, is it? Everyone there is so proper, so serious about fashion. Missed the rain. Missed the loud, messy pubs. Missed my family."

Louis paused, rinsing the cloth in the water. "And Liam missed you. He talks about you constantly, Harry. Every single board meeting, he finds a way to bring up his lad in Paris. He's proper proud of you."

Harry opened his eyes, looking up at Louis with a soft, slightly guilty expression. "He’s gonna hate me if he finds out about this, isn't he? He’s gonna hate both of us."

Louis’s chest tightened, a heavy weight settling in his stomach. He looked down at his own hands, his thumb tracing the rim of the tub. "He won't hate you, love. Never you. You're his boy. If he's angry at anyone, it'll be me. I'm the one who should've known better. I'm the adult here, your dad's best mate, and I completely lost my head the second I saw you."

Harry reached a wet, painted hand out of the bubbles, gently resting his fingers over Louis’s knee. "Don't say that. I wanted it just as much. I provoked you on purpose, Louis. I wanted to see what would happen if I pushed the powerful, untouchable CEO to his limit."

"Well, you found out, didn't you?" Louis smiled softly, placing his hand over Harry’s wet fingers, squeezing them gently. "You're a proper menace, Harry Styles. Absolute trouble."

"Only for you," Harry whispered, his eyelids drooping heavily as the warmth of the bath and the exhaustion of the night began to fully catch up to him.

Louis spent the next ten minutes quietly washing Harry's hair, carefully rinsing the curls with a cup of warm water, making sure no soap got into his eyes. Harry completely melted under the touch, sighing softly every time Louis’s fingers massaged his scalp.

"Right, come on then, sleepyhead," Louis whispered, grabbing a large, fluffy white towel from the rack.

He helped Harry stand up out of the tub, wrapping the towel securely around his tall frame. He gently dried him off, tapping the soft fabric against Harry’s skin with immense gentleness. He guided Harry back into the bedroom, where he had quickly flipped the stained sheets over to the clean side while the bath was running.

Harry practically collapsed back onto the bed, his body heavy with sleep. Louis pulled the thick, warm duvet all the way up to Harry's chin, tucking him in tightly. Harry buried his face in the pillows, his curls still damp and smelling faintly of lavender.

Louis sat on the edge of the mattress, looking down at him. He reached out, using his fingers to gently brush a few stray curls away from Harry's forehead.

"Louis?" Harry mumbled, his voice barely audible, his eyes completely closed now.

"Yeah, love?"

"Will you stay?" Harry whispered, his hand weakly twitching beneath the covers as if looking for Louis's hand. "Just... until I fall asleep. Please."

Louis’s heart softened completely. He shifted his position, leaning his back against the headboard, and let his hand rest gently on top of the duvet over Harry's shoulder. "I'm right here, sweetheart. Go to sleep. I won't go anywhere."

Harry let out one final, contented sigh, his breathing instantly slowing down into a deep, rhythmic pattern. Within minutes, he was completely dead to the world, looking peaceful and utterly beautiful in the dim light of the bedroom.

Louis stayed exactly where he was for another twenty minutes, just watching him breathe, his mind a chaotic whirl of guilt, fondness, and an intense, lingering affection that he knew was going to complicate everything. But looking at Harry now, he couldn't bring himself to regret a single second of it.

Slowly, carefully, so he wouldn't disturb the sleeping lad, Louis slid off the bed. He quietly picked up his discarded suit pants, shirt, and blazer, pulling them back on and adjusting his clothes until he looked like the polished CEO again. He walked over to the side of the bed one last time, bending down to press a final, feather-light kiss to Harry's warm cheek.

"Goodnight, Harry," Louis whispered into the quiet room.

He turned, walked silently across the carpet, and opened the door. He slipped out into the dimly lit corridor, closing the door behind him with a soft, barely audible click, leaving Harry to dream in the quiet dark.

🎆💫

The first few weeks back in London were a right proper misery for Harry.

Instead of the triumphant homecoming his dad had envisioned, Harry spent his days wandering around the vast, quiet corners of his family’s estate, looking like a ghost in his own life. The gorgeous, confident lad who had commanded the Savoy ballroom felt entirely hollowed out. Most of his time was spent staring at the blank screen of his phone, his thumb hovering over the keypad, a heavy, aching knot tightening in his chest.

Fucking idiot, he’d scold himself, tossing the phone onto his bed in frustration. Why didn't you just ask for his bloody number?

He started second-guessing every single second of that night. In the dark of his bedroom, the doubts would creep in, cruel and relentless. He wondered if he’d just been a bit of fun for the older corporate man. Maybe to Louis, he was just a temporary distraction—a quick, exotic fix of Paris fashion and red lace before returning to the serious, untouchable world of high finance. The silence from Louis felt like a loud, definitive rejection.

But across London, inside the sleek, glass walls of Tomlinson Holdings, Louis was doing the exact opposite. He was completely losing his mind.

Louis had thrown himself into his work with a terrifying, aggressive focus. He was pulling sixteen-hour days, burying his head in spreadsheets, budget allocations, and international market reports until his eyes burned from the glow of his computer screen. He did it on purpose. He did it because the second he let his mind drift for even a fraction of a second, his senses were instantly assaulted by the memory of rich, expensive vanilla. He’d close his eyes and see a flash of vibrant red lace, or he’d hear the echo of a high-pitched, shattered moan bouncing off the walls of Harry’s bedroom.

He gripped the edge of his desk, his Doncaster accent coming out in a rough, frustrated mutter to the empty office. "It’s for the best, Tomlinson. The silence is a good thing. It keeps you safe. It protects your friendship with Liam. You don't touch his lad again."

But fate, it seemed, was a right proper bastard.

Liam was determined to get Harry integrated into the London elite. Since Harry had agreed to take a three-month break to settle back into the city before officially joining Payne Industries as a head designer, Liam wanted him building connections.

"You need to network, love," Liam told Harry over breakfast one morning, adjusting his tie. "It’s not just about drawing pretty clothes. You’ve got to know the people who fund the factories. There’s a corporate mixer tonight at the Shard. I want you there with me."

That mixer was the first time they crossed paths again.

The moment Louis walked into the VIP lounge and caught sight of Harry standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass, wearing a stunning, tailored white trouser suit with a sheer lace blouse underneath, his heart nearly stopped. Harry turned, his green eyes locking onto Louis, and the air between them instantly turned to static.

They didn't even make it through the first hour of networking. A heated, stolen glance across the bar, a subtle nod from Louis toward the private elevators, and ten minutes later, they were tearing each other’s clothes off in the disabled toilets of a restricted floor. It was savage, frantic, and desperate, both of them burning with weeks of starved denial.

Yet, when it was over, and Louis was gently fixing the collar of Harry’s blouse, smoothing down his wild curls with agonizing care, Louis still refused to give him his digits.

"We can't be doing this properly, Harry," Louis whispered, his voice rough as he adjusted his own tie in the mirror, purposefully keeping his eyes away from Harry's pleading face. "It's a mistake. If we swap numbers, it escalates. It reaches a point where we can't look your dad in the eye. Let's just leave it as it is."

But it didn't stop. Over the next month, there was a second gathering—a private charity auction. Then a third—a dinner at Niall's place where they had to torturously pretend they hadn't had their fingers inside each other the week before. By the fourth corporate dinner, the pattern was set. Every single time they were in the same room, the tension would build until it was a physical ache, ending in a breathless, secret hookup in dark corridors, luxury cars, or empty offices.

By the fifth or sixth meeting, after a particularly intense encounter in the executive boardroom of Louis’s own building after everyone else had left the gala below, Harry finally broke. He was sitting on the edge of the massive mahogany table, his legs dangling, his dress pulled up around his waist while Louis gently wiped his thighs down with a wet handkerchief.

"Give me your number, Louis," Harry pleaded softly, his voice cracking slightly as he looked down at the older man. "Please. I can't keep doing this guessing game. It’s killing me."

Louis stopped, holding the cloth, his jaw clenching. He looked up at Harry, seeing the raw, genuine emotion swimming in those emerald eyes. Louis knew he should say no. He knew this was the exact boundary he needed to protect. But looking at how beautiful and utterly wrecked Harry was for him, he couldn't do it anymore.

"Fine," Louis muttered, pulling his personal phone from his jacket pocket and tossing it into Harry’s lap. "Put it in. But don't go calling me while I'm in board meetings with your dad, you little menace."

Harry let out a breathless laugh, typing his number in with his green-painted nails shaking slightly.

For Harry, this wasn't just about being horny. It wasn't some silly, thrilling little game of playing with fire. He was completely, irrevocably falling for the older man. And it was ruining him for anyone else his own age.

Lying there against Louis’s chest after they’d finished, Harry found his mind drifting back to the boys his own age he’d slept with back in Paris or during his university days. It had always been a right proper disappointment. The lads his age would look at him in his dresses and his painted nails, and they’d treat him like a dirty little secret. A casual hookup to brag about to their mates, or a prize to use and discard when they were bored.

He remembered a lad named Julien back in France. They’d just finished a messy, frantic hour in Julien’s flat, and the second Julien came, he’d instantly stood up from the bed, pulling his boxers back on without a single glance at Harry.

Harry had lain there, completely bare and shivering in the cold Parisian air, looking up at him. "Julien? Are you... you're not staying?"

Julien had just shrugged, looking for his car keys on the desk, his voice completely cold. "Got class in the morning, mate. Plus, my roommates are coming back. You should probably head out soon anyway."

Harry’s chest had tightened, a deep sense of shame washing over him. "That's it then? We don't... we don't talk?"

Julien had let out a scoffing, annoyed laugh, turning around at the door. "What else do you want from me, Harry? We had a laugh, didn't we? Don't go making a massive thing out of it. It’s just sex."

They never did aftercare. They’d leave the minute they were done, leaving Harry to clean himself up in the dark, feeling like an object rather than a human being.

But Louis... Louis was completely different.

Even though Louis could be an absolute, savage monster in bed—pinning him down, biting his skin, calling him a filthy little slut and taking him with a brutal, unhinged power that left Harry completely breathless—the absolute second the storm passed, a switch flipped inside the older man.

Louis would instantly transform into this fiercely protective, incredibly gentle caretaker. He’d lift Harry up in his strong arms, ignoring the way Harry’s sweat or pre-come might ruin his expensive Tom Ford suits. He’d carry him to the bath, gently testing the water to make sure it wouldn't hurt Harry's sensitized skin. He’d take a brush and meticulously work through the tangles in Harry’s short curls, whispering soft, encouraging things in his thick Doncaster drawl.

"Alright, love? I didn't hurt you too bad, did I?" Louis would murmur, his thumb gently wiping a stray tear from Harry's cheek as they sat in the warm water. "You were so good for me, sweetheart. Proper beautiful."

"You were a bit rough, Lou," Harry would tease weakly, leaning his head against Louis's broad shoulder.

"I know, I know. I lose my bloody mind around you, lad," Louis would whisper, pressing a tender kiss to his temple. "But I've got you now. I’m right here."

Louis would stay with him. He’d wrap him in warm towels, tuck him into whatever bed or couch they’d claimed, and he’d hold Harry’s hand or stroke his hair until Harry’s breathing slowed and he fell completely asleep.

This was exactly why Harry was utterly ruined. This was exactly why he had fallen so deep and so hard. Louis wasn't just using him for his body or the thrill of the crossdressing. In the quiet, gentle moments after the chaos, Louis actually respected him. He valued him. He treated Harry like something incredibly precious and rare, shielding him from the coldness of the world. And Harry knew, with a terrifying certainty, that he would never want anyone else ever again.

🎆💫

The shift happened so gradually that neither of them really saw the tipping point until they were already over the edge.

It wasn't just secret, frantic half-hours in disabled toilets or empty boardrooms anymore. It had bled into something else entirely. Louis started picking Harry up from quiet corners of the city, away from the flashing lights of the West End, driving them out to the countryside or to tiny, tucked-away restaurants in North London where the tables were candlelit and the staff didn't ask questions. They’d sit for hours, talking about everything and nothing—Harry’s sketches, Louis’s chaotic childhood in Doncaster, the way the London rain looked against the glass.

They weren't official. There had been no big chat about labels, no "will you be my boyfriend" moment, because the shadow of Liam still hung heavy over both of them. But they were deep in it.

Back at the Payne estate, Liam was starting to notice. "You’re out a proper lot lately, aren't you, love?" Liam had asked one Sunday morning, looking up from his newspaper as Harry walked into the kitchen, looking thoroughly exhausted but wearing a soft, secret smile. "Who’s the lucky bloke then? Anyone I know?"

Harry had swallowed his sip of tea, his heart doing a little flutter. "Just some guy, Dad. Met him through a few art friends. Early days, you know how it is."

Liam had just chuckled, shrugging it off. "Well, bring him round for a pint when you're ready. Just glad you're settling in."

Liam didn't suspect a bloody thing. Why would he? In his mind, Louis Tomlinson was his single, workaholic best mate who spent his weekends reviewing quarterly budgets. And Louis played the part perfectly. When he and Liam grabbed drinks, Louis would casually mention he was "seeing someone new," keeping the details so vague and mundane that Liam just assumed it was some high-society woman Louis would eventually get bored of.

But tonight, there was nothing corporate about the way Louis was looking at Harry.

They were sitting in the living room of Louis’s private penthouse in Wapping. The curtains were left wide open, showing the lights of the Tower Bridge reflecting over the dark Thames. Harry was curled up on the massive plush sofa, his long legs tucked under him. He was wearing an oversized, incredibly soft cream-colored knit sweater that belonged to Louis, the hem falling over his thighs, and his nails were painted a soft, glossy lilac.

Louis walked back into the room holding two glasses of red wine. He’d already shed his suit jacket and tie, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing the tattoos on his forearms. He sat down close, sliding his arm along the back of the sofa so Harry could instantly lean back against his chest.

Harry did, sighing happily as he took his glass, his short curls brushing against Louis’s jaw.

"Alright?" Louis murmured, his Doncaster accent soft, low, and completely laced with that private tenderness he only ever saved for the lad in his arms. He pressed a gentle kiss right to the side of Harry's neck, lingering there until Harry shivered.

"Perfect." Harry whispered, turning his head slightly so he could look up at him. "The pasta was brilliant. Didn't know you had it in you to actually cook something that didn't come out of a takeaway box."

"Watch it, you cheeky brat," Louis chuckled, his thumb coming down to gently pinch Harry’s chin. "I’ll have you know my mum taught me a proper few things in the kitchen. Just don't go telling Payno, yeah? He thinks I live on black coffee and cigarettes."

Harry smiled, his dimples popping out, but the mention of his dad made the smile soften into something a bit more tentative. He set his wine glass down on the coffee table and shifted so he was properly facing Louis, straddling Louis’s lap with his knees resting on either side of his hips. The knit sweater bunched up, exposing the soft skin of his thighs.

Louis didn't hesitate. His large, warm hands came down to rest on Harry’s waist, his thumbs rubbing soothing paths over his hips. He just looked at him, his blue eyes entirely soft, taking in the sight of Harry looking so safe in his space.

"You're proper beautiful tonight, Haz," Louis said softly, his voice completely genuine, devoid of any lines or corporate polished bullshit. "Really."

Harry’s cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink. He reached out, his lilac-painted fingers gently tracing the collar of Louis’s shirt, his voice dropping into something serious, almost breathless. "I love you, you know. I know I’ve said it before, and I know you get all quiet when I do, but... I do, Lou. I really do."

The room went quiet, save for the hum of the city outside. Louis’s chest tightened, a heavy, aching warmth spreading through him. He didn't say the words back—not because he didn't feel them, but because every time he thought about saying them, the absolute gravity of what they were doing, the risk of it all, choked him up. He wasn't ready to let the full weight of it land yet.

Instead, Louis leaned up, his hand sliding into the back of Harry's soft curls, tilting his face down. "Come here," he whispered against Harry’s lips.

The kiss was entirely different from the savage, frantic ones they shared in secret corners. This was slow, deep, and agonizingly gentle. Louis parted his lips, his tongue tasting Harry with a soft, worshipful stroke that made Harry let out a quiet, trembling whine. Harry melted into it, his hands moving up to cup Louis’s sharp jawline, his thumbs smoothing over the stubble there as he drank Louis in.

Louis pulled him closer, pulling Harry’s weight entirely onto his chest, his hands sliding under the knit sweater to feel the bare, warm skin of Harry’s lower back. He squeezed gently, making Harry open his mouth wider, the kiss turning deeper, wetter, full of a quiet, heavy passion that left them both lightheaded.

When Louis finally pulled back just an inch, their breaths were coming a bit faster, their lips wet and flushed. Louis didn't let him go far; he just began peppering soft, sweet kisses all over Harry's face—his eyelids, the tip of his nose, the deep dimple on his cheek, and down to his jawline.

"Lou," Harry gasped out softly, his eyes closed, his head tilting back to give Louis better access. "You're being... you're so soft with me."

"Cuz you're precious.” Louis muttered against his skin, his voice thick and rough with emotion. He meant it. Outside this flat, he had to be the tough, unyielding CEO who didn't let anyone get close. But in here, with Harry in his clothes, smelling like that sweet vanilla, Louis felt entirely stripped bare. "Don't know what you've done to me, truly. I’m a right proper goner."

Harry opened his eyes, green locked onto blue, looking a little dazed. "Then stay a goner. Don't go back to being the scary boss man tomorrow."

"Have to make the bread, don't I? Someone's got to fund your expensive fabric addiction," Louis teased gently, his thumb wiping a bit of stray moisture from the corner of Harry's mouth. He looked at Harry for a long, quiet moment, his expression turning incredibly soft, almost wistful. "I think about it, you know. Asking you properly. Being able to just walk down the street and hold your hand without looking over my shoulder."

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. "Do you? Truly?"

"Yeah," Louis whispered, his accent thick. "I do. More than I probably should. We’ll figure it out, Haz. I promise you. Just… give me a bit of time to sort it in my head, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned down to press another soft, sweet kiss to Louis’s lips, lingering there until they were both smiling into the kiss. "Take all the time you need, Lou. Can wait."

🎆💫

The event was the annual British Security Consortium Gala at the Grosvenor House Hotel, a massive, black-tie affair that basically required every tech and security mogul in the country to show up and flex their capital.

The main ballroom was a glittering sea of diamonds, tuxedos, and champagne towers. Louis’s firm had reserved one of the prime tables right near the stage, sharing it with Liam, Niall, and Zayn. For weeks leading up to it, the group chat had been relentless. Louis had dropped hints months ago that he was seeing someone, and the boys hadn't let him live it down. They wanted to meet the mysterious person.

The problem was, that person was Harry.

So, Louis did the only thing he could do to protect the secret: he hired a corporate PR model named Cynthia to be his fake date for the evening. He paid her a ridiculous amount of money to wear a stunning red dress, sit at his table, and pretend to be the woman he’d been secretly seeing.

"Alright, you lot," Niall grinned, adjusting his bow tie as he sat down, his wife laughing at him. "Finally, the bachelor of the group brings a proper bird. I thought you were making her up, Tommo, just to get us off your back."

"Shut it, Niall," Louis muttered, keeping a tight, practiced smile on his face. He sat with his arm casually draped over the back of Cynthia’s chair, his Doncaster accent completely smooth. "Told you I was busy. Didn't have time to be parading her around every weekend."

Liam chuckled from across the table, taking a sip of his wine. Beside him sat his wife, and next to them was Harry. Harry was wearing a beautifully tailored, gender-fluid velvet suit in a deep burgundy, a sheer black lace shirt underneath, and his nails painted white. His curls were perfectly styled, but his face was an absolute mask of cold fury. His green eyes were fixed entirely on Louis’s arm resting near Cynthia’s bare shoulders.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Cynthia," Zayn’s girlfriend said warmly, leaning across the table. "Louis has been proper cagey about you. We were starting to think he had a secret family or something."

Cynthia gave a flawless, rehearsed laugh, leaning slightly into Louis’s side. "Oh, you know what he's like. Always buried in his work. I practically had to drag him out tonight."

Louis forced a chuckle, his fingers lightly brushing Cynthia’s shoulder to play the part. From the corner of his eye, he saw Harry grip his champagne flute so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Right, let's do some shots before the boring speeches start," Niall proclaimed, waving down a waiter carrying a tray of tequila. "Get us proper loosened up. Come on, Cynthia, let's see if you can keep up with the Doncaster lad."

"Oh, I think I can handle a few shots," Cynthia smiled, looking up at Louis playfully. "Can't I, babe?"

"You do alright, love," Louis murmured, his stomach twisting into a sickening knot. He caught Harry’s eye just for a fraction of a second, and the sheer, burning betrayal in those green eyes nearly made him break character right then and there.

The shots were passed around. Everyone grabbed a glass.

"To Liam’s new contract, and to Louis finally getting a bit of romance in his life," Zayn toasted, raising his glass. "Cheers, lads."

"Cheers!" the table echoed.

Harry didn't say a word. He threw the shot back with a dangerous, aggressive motion, slamming the empty glass onto the white tablecloth a bit too loudly. Liam blinked, looking over at his son. "You alright there, Haz? Steady on, love, the night’s barely started."

"Fine, Dad. Just thirsty," Harry said, his voice entirely flat, cold, and dripping with a sharp, Northern bite. He didn't look at his dad; his eyes were locked dead on Louis. "Nice to see you so attentive tonight, Louis. Didn't know you had a romantic bone in your body, given how... cold you usually are."

The table went slightly quiet for a beat. Niall raised an eyebrow, picking up on the sudden, heavy static in the air.

Louis’s jaw tightened, his blue eyes hardening as he stared back at Harry. "I'm attentive when the company's worth it, Harry. You know how it is. Business and pleasure. Have to keep things balanced."

"Right, of course," Harry scoffed softly, a bitter, mocking little smile playing on his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his lace sleeves sliding up his forearms. "Must be proper exhausting though, isn't it? Keeping up appearances. Playing the dotting boyfriend when everyone knows you're usually entirely unsupervised."

Louis’s heart did a violent, panicked thud against his ribs. The word unsupervised was a direct throwback to the night they met at the Savoy. The kid was playing a dangerous, reckless game right in front of his father.

"Harry, don't be rude," Liam scolded gently, though he looked more confused than angry. "Louis's just enjoying his night. Leave him be."

"I'm not being rude, Dad. I'm just making conversation," Harry murmured, his eyes never leaving Louis. He watched with pure jealousy as Cynthia leaned over to whisper something in Louis’s ear, and Louis had to nod and press a quick, fake-affectionate kiss to her cheek to keep up the charade for the rest of the table.

Harry let out a sharp, breathless laugh, looking away toward the stage, his chest heaving under his velvet suit. He looked completely miserable, completely furious, and utterly heartbroken.

"So, Cynthia," Niall’s wife chimed in, trying to break the sudden tension. "How long have you two been official then? Because Louis hasn't said a bloody word to the boys."

"Oh, a few months now," Cynthia lied smoothly, giving Louis a sweet look. "It's been a bit of a whirlwind, really."

"A whirlwind," Harry repeated under his breath, just loud enough for Louis to hear over the chatter. He picked up his champagne glass, his black-painted nails tapping a frantic, angry rhythm against the crystal. "How lovely for you both."

"Harry, seriously, that’s enough," Liam’s wife, Sophia, muttered, her voice dropping into a sharp, embarrassed whisper as she glared across the table at her son. Her face was flushed with a proper corporate mortification. "I don’t care if you've had a bad week, you don't speak to your father's best friend like that. Especially not in front of his guest."

Harry didn't back down. He just leaned back in his chair, his jaw set in a hard, stubborn line as he stared right through Cynthia, completely ignoring her presence. "I'm just asking a few questions, Mum. Didn't know Louis was so fragile he couldn't handle a bit of banter."

"It’s not banter, lad, you're being bloody rude," Sophia snapped, her eyes flashing with real anger now. She pointed a manicured finger toward the exit of the ballroom. "Go out into the lobby and clear your head. Right now. I won't have you ruining Liam’s night with this childish attitude."

"It’s alright, Soph, honestly," Louis interjected quickly, his Doncaster accent tight, his chest aching at the sheer, miserable look that flashed across Harry's face for a split second. He gently squeezed Cynthia’s hand under the table, purely to keep up appearances, though it felt like acid in his veins. "Lads his age are always a bit cynical about this stuff. Don't worry about it."

"No, Louis, it’s not bloody alright," Sophia insisted, turning her head back to Harry. "Out. Go get some air before I lose my temper properly."

Harry stood up so fast his chair screeched against the floorboards. His green eyes were completely glassy, swimming with a thick layer of furious, hurt tears that he was desperately trying not to let fall. He looked at Louis one last time—a look of pure, unadulterated betrayal—before turning on his heel and storming away, his burgundy velvet jacket disappearing into the crowd toward the lobby doors.

Liam let out a heavy, exhausted sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at the empty space his son had just occupied. "Sorry about that, Louis. Truly. And sorry to you as well, Cynthia."

"Oh, don't worry about it at all," Cynthia smiled sweetly, playing her part flawlessly. "Family dinners can be intense, I get it."

"He’s just been in a right proper mood all day," Liam muttered, taking a defensive sip of his beer. "To be fair to the lad, I think he’s a bit stressed. I’ve been badgering him for weeks to bring that new bloke he’s been seeing. Kept telling him, 'Bring him to the gala, Haz, let us meet him,' but Harry just shut it down. Said the guy was too busy with work. I reckon they’ve had a massive row or something, and he's taking it out on everyone else."

Niall let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Ah, young love. A proper nightmare, isn't it? Remember when me and the missus had that massive blow-up before the festival three years ago? I spent the whole night throwing back tequila and shouting at the barman."

"You did, you were a right terror," Niall's wife laughed, swatting his arm.

Louis sat entirely frozen, his heart hammering a frantic, agonizing rhythm against his ribs. A massive row. Too busy with work. It felt like a punch to the throat. Harry had been trying to bring him, and Louis had forced him to stay in the dark, only to show up with a paid model. Louis’s eyes kept darting toward the ballroom doors, his mind completely leaving the table. He wanted to bolt. He wanted to run out there, grab Harry in the quiet corridor, and hold him until those tears stopped. But he was trapped at the head table.

"Anyway," Zayn spoke up, shifting the energy as he leaned his elbows on the table, trying to save Louis from the awkward family drama. "We should probably talk about the infrastructure panel tomorrow, Liam. Have you seen the brief the consortium sent over? They’re pushing hard for the new data regulations."

Liam nodded, instantly switching back into his corporate mindset, glad for the distraction. "Yeah, I saw it. It’s a right mess, Z. They want us to standardize the cloud encryption across all mid-level firms by the end of the fiscal year. It's completely unrealistic for the smaller suppliers."

"It’s a joke is what it is," Niall chimed in, leaning forward. "They think you can just press a button and migrate a whole database without any downtime. I told the lads in our logistics department that if we force the third-quarter rollout under those terms, we’re going to have massive security vulnerabilities. Louis, what’s your team saying about the backend integration?"

Louis blinked, tearing his thoughts away from Harry’s tear-filled eyes with a massive effort. He cleared his throat, forcing his professional, steady voice to return. "We’ve run the numbers, Niall. If we use the standard consortium protocols, the latency spikes are going to crash the legacy servers within the first forty-eight hours. We need to lobby for an exemption, or at least a six-month extension for the migration phase."

"Exactly," Zayn agreed, tracing a pattern on his wine glass. "But the board is terrifyingly stubborn this year. They’ve got the government contracts dangling in front of them, so they’re breathing down everyone's necks. If Payne Industries doesn't sign off on the compliance paperwork by Friday, they might freeze the joint venture allocations."

Liam frowned, his expression turning serious as he looked at Louis. "We can't let that happen, Tommo. That venture is funding the entire tech design department Harry’s supposed to be taking over next month. If the capital gets locked up in compliance disputes, the whole rollout stalls."

"I know, Liam," Louis muttered, his voice sounding incredibly hollow to his own ears. He reached for his wine glass, taking a heavy swallow just to give his hands something to do. Every laugh from the surrounding tables, every clink of silverware felt like static in his brain. "I’ll have my compliance lead draft a formal counter-proposal by tomorrow morning. We’ll show them the risk assessment data. They can’t ignore the numbers if the financial liability is on them."

"Good lad," Liam nodded, looking relieved. "Knew I could count on you to sort the heavy lifting."

As the conversation drifted into the minutiae of corporate tax incentives and server capacities, Louis sat there, his arm still mechanically draped around Cynthia's chair, feeling like the biggest monster in London. His blue eyes kept tracking the grand double doors of the ballroom, wondering if Harry was out there in the cold night air, entirely alone, weeping because of the fake life Louis had built to hide him.

"So, babe," Cynthia murmured, her voice dripping with a perfect, practiced sweetness as she leaned her head against Louis’s shoulder, her manicured fingers gently tracing the lapel of his tuxedo. "Are we staying for the after-party, or can I convince you to sneak away early?"

Louis forced a tight, dimpled smile, his Doncaster accent coming out entirely smooth though his chest felt hollow. "We'll see how long Liam's speeches drag on for, love. Might have to play nice for a bit longer."

Niall let out a loud, mocking scoff from across the table, tossing a bread roll at Louis. "Oh, give me a bloody break, you two! Save the lovebird act for when you're back at your flat, Tommo. Some of us are trying to eat our steak without gagging."

"Don't listen to him, Cynthia," Zayn chuckled, raising his glass. "Niall’s just jealous because his missus makes him sit through these things completely sober now."

The table erupted into easy laughter, and Louis played his part perfectly, leaning down to press a quick, fake-affectionate kiss to Cynthia’s temple. "She's alright, Niall. Just keeping me on my toes."

But internally, Louis was completely sick to his stomach. Every time he closed his eyes, he didn't see the glittering ballroom or the paid model beside him; he saw Harry. He saw the way Harry’s green eyes had filled with thick, furious tears right before he stormed out. The image was burning a hole in his brain, making it completely impossible to focus on the corporate chatter around him.

"Right," Louis muttered, suddenly pushing his chair back. His voice was a fraction too tight. "Need a breath of fresh air. Going for a quick smoke break."

He prayed to God that Zayn or Niall wouldn't offer to join him. Luckily, Zayn was already deep in another conversation with Liam about the cloud infrastructure contracts. Louis offered a brief, polite nod to Cynthia, turned on his heel, and practically bolted for the side exit of the grand ballroom.

The cold London air hit him like a slap in the face as he stepped onto the terrace of the hotel, away from the flashing cameras and the noise. His hands were actually shaking a little as he pulled a cigarette from his silver case and lit it. He took a long, deep drag, blowing the smoke out into the dark night, trying desperately to calm the frantic hammering in his ribs.

He finished the smoke in record time, his eyes scanning the perimeter. When he walked around the far corner of the balcony, near the shadowed entrance of the hotel gardens, he saw him.

Harry was leaning against a stone pillar, his burgundy velvet jacket pulled tight around himself. His head was bowed, his long curls hiding his face, but his shoulders were shaking violently. He was sobbing, his breaths coming in ragged, painful gasps.

Louis’s heart completely broke. The restraint he’d been forcing himself to keep all night just evaporated. He walked over slowly, his footsteps soft against the stone.

"Haz," Louis whispered, his accent dropping all the polished, corporate edge, leaving only a raw, heavy tenderness.

Harry flinched, his head snapping up. His face was a right proper mess—his cheeks were flushed, his eyes bloodshot and swimming with fresh tears, a stray track of black mascara smudged near his temple. The minute he saw Louis, his grief turned into instant, white-hot fury.

"Don't," Harry choked out, pushing himself away from the pillar, his voice thick with tears. "Don't you dare come out here and 'Haz' me, Louis. Go back inside to your bloody girlfriend."

"Harry, listen to me, please," Louis stepped closer, his hands coming up defensively, his voice soft and pleading. "It’s not what you think. It's a charade. You know that."

"I don't care if it's a charade!" Harry shouted, his voice cracking as he slammed his hand against the stone railing. "Why did you have to hire someone, Louis? Why? If you didn't want to bring me, fine! I get it! You could have just told my dad that your plus-one couldn't make it. You could have come alone. But you hired a proper model. You brought her to our table."

"I had to make it believable, Harry," Louis reasoned, taking another step forward, entirely unbothered by Harry’s yelling. He just wanted to touch him, to calm him down. "The lads have been badgering me for months about the person I've been seeing. If I showed up alone after all that talk, they would’ve started digging. They’ve known me for over ten years, Haz. If I'm faking something, they can spot it a mile away."

"So you had to be all sweet with her?" Harry wept, his black-painted nails digging into his own palms. "You had to drape your arm around her? You kissed her cheek, Louis! Right in front of me! The other lads weren't even doing all that affection with their partners tonight, they were just talking shop. You didn't have to do that."

"I did," Louis groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, his Doncaster drawl sounding deeply tired. "Because I'm a shit liar, Harry. If I don't go all in on the act, Liam notices. He knows how I behave when I actually like someone."

"Oh, so you like her now, do you?" Harry spat, his chest heaving under his velvet suit. He tried to push past Louis, to storm off into the gardens, but Louis caught him by the waist, pulling him tightly against his chest.

Harry started trashing around, his fists weakly beating against Louis’s broad shoulders, scolding him through his tears. "Let go of me! You prick! Let me go! You've proper ruined me, you know that? You're a monster."

Louis didn't let go. He held him firmly, his grip fiercely protective but incredibly gentle, absorbing every blow until Harry’s strength gave out and he just collapsed against Louis’s chest, weeping into the lapel of his tuxedo.

"I've got you," Louis whispered, his fingers winding into Harry’s curls, gently stroking his head as Harry sobbed. "I’ve got you, love. I’m sorry. I hate seeing you like this."

"Then why do you do it?" Harry whimpered, his voice broken as he clutched at Louis’s shirt. "If you just wanted a bit of fun, Louis... if you just wanted a one-night stand or a secret fuck buddy, you should’ve told me. You shouldn't have taken me out on those proper dates. You shouldn't have cooked for me, or brought me to your private flat, or held me until I fell asleep. You shouldn't have made me open my heart to you if I’m just a secret you’re ashamed of."

Louis felt a painful squeeze in his throat. He cupped Harry’s face in his hands, tilting his head up so green eyes had to look into his blue ones. "Hey. Look at me. Don't you ever say that. It’s not just a fuck buddy thing, Harry. You know it’s not. I bloody love being with you. I like you a proper lot, more than I’ve ever liked anyone."

"Then why don't we just tell him?" Harry begged, fresh tears spilling over his eyelashes. "Why don't we just go back inside right now, walk up to my dad, and tell him we’re together? I want to, Lou. I’m tired of hiding."

"No," Louis said instantly, his voice firm, his grip on Harry’s face tightening slightly. "We're not doing that. If anyone is telling Liam, it’s going to be me. Not you."

"Why?" Harry asked, a bitter laugh tearing from his throat. "Because you're scared?"

"Because I'm protecting you, you idiot." Louis snapped softly, his accent thick. "Liam loves you more than life itself, Harry. If you walk in there and tell him you're sleeping with his thirty-four-year-old best mate, he’s gonna think I manipulated you. He’s gonna be furious, and it’s going to ruin your relationship with him. I won't let you carry the blame for this. I need you to just give me some more time to figure out how to tell him properly. Not now."

Harry stared at him, the hurt in his eyes slowly hardening into a cold, dark realization. He stepped back, pulling out of Louis’s embrace entirely.

"More time," Harry repeated, his voice dropping into a flat, quiet whisper. "Right. It’s not about me at all, is it, Lou?"

Louis blinked, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't want to tell him because you know the second Liam finds out, he's gonna break his friendship with you," Harry said, the words cutting through the air like a knife. "And you can't have that, can you? Because Payne Industries and Tomlinson Holdings have that massive joint venture project rolling out next month. You don't want your precious multi-million pound rollout ruined over me."

Louis froze, his face going entirely pale. The accusation felt like a physical blow to the chest. "What the hell would you think something like that for? Are you mental, Harry? You think I care about a bloody infrastructure project more than your safety? More than how I feel about you?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," Harry whispered, his voice completely dead, all the fight leaving his body. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, his black-painted nails catching the dim light. "You're a businessman, Louis. You always put the numbers first. I'm just... I'm stupid for thinking I was any different."

"Harry, don't walk away from me," Louis pleaded, reaching out, his voice cracking with a rare panic. "Haz, stop."

But Harry didn't listen. He turned on his heel, his burgundy velvet suit disappearing down the steps into the dark, quiet hotel gardens, leaving Louis standing entirely alone on the terrace.

Louis let his hands fall to his sides, staring into the empty dark, feeling a profound, heavy misery wash over his entire body. He was completely, utterly wrecked.

🎆💫

The week following the gala was a right proper nightmare for Louis.

He’d tried texting Harry the very next morning, his fingers trembling over the screen as he typed out a long, messy apology—completely throwing his usual corporate pride out the window. But the message hadn't gone through. No blue ticks. Not even a single grey one. When he tried to ring the lad, it went straight to voicemail after one half-ring.

The little brat had blocked him. Completely cut him off.

Louis had spent days pacing his office, staring out at the Thames, feeling a suffocating mix of panic and misery. He wanted to drive straight down to the Payne estate, storm up the stairs, and force Harry to talk to him. But he couldn't. Liam was splitting his time between the office and working from home to prepare for the rollout, and showing up at the house unannounced, demanding to see Liam's eldest son, would have raised every bloody red flag in the book.

So, Louis was trapped in a hell of his own making. Until Thursday afternoon, when Liam called him out for a quick lunch at a quiet pub near their corporate headquarters.

They sat in a dark corner booth, two pints of Guinness resting on the wooden table. Louis was barely touching his food, his thumb mechanically tracing the rim of his glass, his blue eyes dark with exhaustion. He wanted to ask about Harry so badly his chest ached, but he knew he couldn't. How could he possibly know that Harry hadn't been seen around the house or the office for a week without looking proper suspicious?

Thankfully, fate decided to give him a break. Liam let out a heavy, tired sigh, slumping back against the leather booth and rubbing his face with both hands.

"I tell you what, Tommo," Liam muttered, his accent thick and heavy with fatherly exhaustion. "I am proper worried about Harry. The lad's completely fallen apart, and I haven't a bloody clue how to fix it."

Louis’s entire body went rigid. He forced himself to take a slow, deliberate sip of his pint to mask the sudden panic flooding his veins. "Yeah? What’s up with him then? Still stressed about taking over the design department?"

"No, it’s not the work," Liam sighed, shaking his head. "He’s gone, mate. Packed a bag on Monday and took off for a trip to Ibiza. Said he needed to get out of London for a week and a half. I just let him go because honestly, seeing him look that depressed... it was breaking my heart, Louis. Sophia’s been a right mess over it too."

Louis swallowed hard, his stomach twisting into a painful knot. Ibiza. For a week and a half. At least he knew where the lad was, but the thought of Harry entirely alone and miserable across Europe made him feel physically sick.

"A trip, eh?" Louis forced his voice to sound casual, playing the part of the concerned best mate. "Fucking hell. Did something happen at the gala then? He seemed a bit... right proper prickly the other night, didn't he?"

"That’s the thing, I don't know," Liam groaned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "You know how he was when he first got back from Paris. He was all happy and sunshine, hummed while he was making breakfast, always rushing out the door late at night with this little secret smile on his face. Me and Sophia knew he was seeing someone. But now? He's completely miserable. It’s like the light’s been switched off."

Louis gripped his pint glass a fraction tighter under the table. "Did he... did he tell you what happened? Did they have a row or something?"

"He won't say a bloody word, Louis! That’s what’s driving us mental," Liam muttered, his voice laced with genuine frustration. "Sophia tried to corner him in the kitchen before he left. You know what she’s like—proper fiercely protective. She was practically begging him, saying, 'Haz, love, just tell me who this man is. Did he do something to you? Did he hurt you?' But Harry just shut down. He won't even tell us the bloke's name."

"Nothing at all?" Louis asked, his voice low, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Naught. All he ever said over the last month was that the bloke was 'proper busy with work' and that they had to keep things quiet. That's it," Liam said, running a hand through his hair. "I don't even know if they were officially dating or if it was just some casual casual thing. But Harry doesn't get like this over casual, Louis. He had a couple of boyfriends back in France, but it was always just light, easygoing stuff. He's been gay since forever, so we're used to the boy drama, but he’s never... he’s never been shattered like this. I just want him to be safe, you know? Safe and happy in London. And seeing him look that hollow... it's bloody killing me."

Louis looked down at his beer, the guilt sitting like a lead weight in his chest. He was the reason Liam's son was shattered. He was the "busy corporate man" who had hidden Harry away and broken his heart. Hearing Liam talk so warmly about wanting his son to be happy made Louis feel like a right proper monster.

"Listen, Payno," Louis started softly, clearing his rough throat as an idea formed in his head. He needed a way in. He needed a way to bridge the gap the second Harry got back. "You know how lads can be at that age. They don't always want to talk to their mums and dads about their love life. It feels too intense, don't it?"

Liam looked up, blinking. "Yeah, suppose so. But who else is he gonna talk to?"

"Well," Louis said, leaning in, forcing a relaxed, comforting smile onto his face. "During the family gatherings, Harry's always seemed proper comfortable chatting with me about stuff. Art, music, whatever. You know I don't have kids of my own, but I'm always looking after my teenage nephews and nieces when they have these right proper breakdowns over their little partners. I'm used to the drama."

Liam’s eyes lit up slightly with hope. "You reckon he'd talk to you?"

"Might do," Louis nodded, his Doncaster accent steady and reassuring. "Sometimes it's easier to spill your guts to an older bloke who isn't your dad, yeah? Less judgment. When did you say he’s landing back in London?"

"Next Thursday," Liam said instantly, a relieved smile finally breaking through his stressed expression. "On the evening flight. Fucking hell, Louis, if you could have a proper chat with him, just check in on him and see if this bloke did something dodgy to him... it would be a massive weight off my shoulders. Truly. Sophia and I are just at our wits' end."

"Don't worry about it, mate," Louis murmured, reaching across the table to clap Liam’s shoulder, though the irony of the gesture felt like a knife in his ribs. "Leave it with me. The second he's back, I'll find a way to get him on his own and have a proper talk with him. We’ll sort it out."

"Thanks, Tommo. Proper lifesaver, you are," Liam smiled, finally taking a proper drink of his Guinness.

As Liam switched the conversation back to the logistics of the third-quarter server migrations, Louis sat there, his mind completely reeling. He was more miserable than he’d ever been in his entire life, the weight of the secret suffocating him. But through the darkness, a small, fierce spark of determination ignited in his chest.

🎆💫

Thursday morning arrived, and Louis hadn't slept a bloody wink the night before.

He’d purposefully cleared his entire schedule, handing over his corporate calls to his second-in-command and taking a rare day off. He didn't care about the market shares or the joint venture meetings today; he only cared about the lad who had been haunting his every waking thought for the past week and a half.

Before heading out, Louis had shot a quick text to Liam.

[Louis: Got a rare day off today, mate. Thought I’d swing by the house and see if I can catch Harry, see if he’ll open up to me a bit like we talked about.]

Liam had replied almost instantly.

[Liam: Life saver, Tommo. I’m stuck at the office all day with the compliance team, but Sophia’s at home. She knows you're coming. Good luck, lad.]

When Louis pulled his car up the long driveway of the Payne estate, his chest felt completely tight. He killed the engine, took a deep, steadying breath, and walked up to the massive front door. Before he could even knock, Sophia opened it, looking incredibly weary, her eyes dark with a mother’s worry.

"Oh, Louis, thank God you're here," Sophia breathed, stepping aside to let him into the grand foyer. She offered him a weak, grateful smile. "Liam called and told me you were coming by to try and have a chat with him. Honestly, we’re at our wits' end."

"Hey, Soph," Louis murmured, his Doncaster accent soft and respectful as he stepped inside, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. "Yeah, Payno mentioned he was proper worried. Thought I’d see if I could get the lad to talk. How’s he been since he got back from Ibiza then?"

Sophia let out a heavy, defeated sigh, leading Louis toward the grand staircase. "Awful, Louis. Truly. He got back last night and went straight up to his room, and he hasn't come out since. He’s locked himself in. I tried bringing him some tea and toast this morning, but he just shouted through the door for me to leave him alone."

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning to look at Louis with an apologetic, pleading expression. "He might be a bit aggressive with you, Louis. He’s been proper rude to me and Liam, just completely lashing out. Please don't take offense, love. He's just... he’s clearly hurting so much, but he won't tell us a bloody thing. Just be a bit patient with him, yeah?"

"S'all good, Soph, don't worry about it," Louis reassured her, his heart breaking a little more with every word she spoke. "Lads get like that when they're proper going through it. I won't take it personally, promise. I'll just see if I can get him to loosen up a bit."

"Thank you, truly," Sophia whispered, squeezing his arm before leading the way upstairs. "He's just down the hall on the left."

They walked down the carpeted corridor until they reached a heavy oak door. Sophia stepped forward, knocking gently against the wood. "Harry? Harry, love, can you come out for a second? Please, just open the door for a sec, sweetheart."

There was a long, heavy silence from inside the room. Sophia knocked again, her voice cracking slightly with emotion. "Please, love. Just for a minute."

A key turned sharply in the lock, and the door swung open.

Louis’s breath trapped right in his throat. The lad standing in the doorway looked absolutely nothing like the glamorous, confident Harry he knew. Harry loved his clothes—he loved his tailored velvet suits, his sheer lace blouses, and his beautiful silk dresses. But today, he was wearing a faded, oversized grey sweatshirt that swallowed his frame, and matching baggy sweatpants. His short curls were a wild, tangled mess, his eyes were violently red and puffy, and his face was entirely pale. He looked utterly hollowed out.

Harry looked at his mum, his jaw tight, but then his green eyes shifted past her shoulder and landed dead on Louis. Every ounce of exhaustion on Harry's face instantly hardened into a sharp, defensive mask.

"Mum," Harry muttered, his voice incredibly raspy and thick from crying. "I told you I wanted to be left alone."

"I know, love, I know," Sophia said gently, stepping back a bit. "But Louis is here. He’s taken the day off, and he’s come all this way just to talk to you. Can you please just meet him? Just have a little chat with him, for me?"

Harry’s gaze fixed onto Louis, a dangerous, hurt static crackling in the air between them.

Sophia looked between the two of them, sensing the sudden shift in gravity. "Right, well... I'll leave you two alone then. You can go into the study or stay in here, whatever you want. Thank you again, Louis." She gave Louis a final grateful nod before turning and heading back down the stairs.

The second Sophia’s footsteps faded, Harry gripped the edge of the door, his knuckles turning white as he started to slam it right in Louis’s face. "Go away, Louis."

But Louis was faster. He shoved his foot into the frame, his hand flying out to catch the heavy wood, forcing it open.

"Baby, please," Louis whispered.

The word slipped out of his mouth before he could even stop it. It was the first time he’d ever called Harry that. The first time he’d ever let the sheer, unfiltered depth of his affection show without hiding behind jokes or corporate boundaries.

Harry froze, the word hitting him like a physical blow. A fresh wave of thick, heavy tears instantly flooded his green eyes, spilling over his cheeks as his lip began to tremble violently. "Don't," Harry choked out, his voice cracking completely. "Don't you dare call me that. Don't call me that when you're—when you're hurting me like this."

Louis didn't say another word. He used his strength to push the door fully open, stepping inside the bedroom, and shut the heavy oak door behind him, turning the lock with a sharp click.

The second the door was locked, Harry completely broke down. He covered his face with his hands, his broad shoulders shaking as a loud, messy, agonizing sob tore from his throat. He looked so incredibly small in his baggy clothes, just completely falling apart in the middle of the room.

Louis didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, his arms wrapping tightly around Harry’s waist, pulling the taller lad firmly against his chest.

Harry started lashing out instantly, just like Sophia had warned. He tried to twist away, his hands pushing aggressively against Louis’s chest, his pink nails digging into Louis’s shoulders. "Get off me! I hate you, Louis! I bloody hate you!" Harry wept, his voice raw and furious as he thrashed against the hold. "Why are you here? Why didn't you come and find me? You left me alone for a week and a half! I was entirely alone in Ibiza, crying my bloody eyes out, and you didn't even try to text me!"

"You blocked me, Haz," Louis murmured, his voice incredibly soft, refusing to match Harry's aggression. He just held him tighter, absorbing every shove, his head resting against Harry’s collarbone as he kept his grip fierce and protective. "I tried, baby. I swear to God I tried. I rang you the morning after the gala and it went straight to voicemail. I wanted to drive down here so bad it was driving me mental, but your dad was home, and I couldn't risk him seeing me like this. I had to wait until he told me you were away."

"I wanted you to find a way!" Harry screamed softly, his strength finally giving out as he stopped fighting and just collapsed into Louis, his hands gripping the fabric of Louis’s jacket as he buried his face into the older man's neck, sobbing hysterically. "I missed you so bloody much, Lou. It was a right proper nightmare. I hated it."

"I know, love. I know. I'm so sorry," Louis whispered, his Doncaster drawl thick with his own unshed tears. He moved his hands up to stroke Harry’s back, his fingers gently winding into the wild, tangled curls at the nape of his neck. "I’ve been completely miserable without you, Haz. Haven't slept a wink. I’m so sorry I let you think I didn't care."

Harry sniffled loudly, his chest heaving as he pulled back just an inch, looking down at Louis with a dazed, heartbroken expression. "You've proper ruined me, you know that? I went to Ibiza... I went there to try and forget about you. I actually tried to find another bloke, Lou. I went to the clubs, and I tried to find someone else to just... to fuck the feelings out of me. I wanted to erase you."

Louis’s jaw tightened, a sudden, sharp pang of possessive jealousy hitting his chest, but he kept his expression gentle. "Did you?"

"No!" Harry wept, shaking his head violently, fresh tears flying from his eyes. "I couldn't do it! I’d look at them and they weren't you. They didn't have your voice, they didn't look at me like I was precious, they didn't... I didn't want anyone else's hands inside my pants, Louis. I only want you. And it makes me so mad because you don't even care."

"I do care, Harry," Louis said firmly, his hands moving up to cup Harry’s flushed, tear-stained cheeks, his thumbs gently wiping away the moisture. "Don't you ever say I don't care. I'm completely a goner for you, lad."

Louis leaned up, his lips finding Harry's in a desperate, deeply emotional kiss. It wasn't a sexual make-out; it was slow, heavy, and full of a quiet, pleading devotion. Louis parted his lips, tasting the salty tears on Harry’s mouth, his tongue stroking Harry’s with an agonizing tenderness that made Harry let out a soft, broken whine.

But after a few seconds, Harry gently pulled his head back, his hands resting on Louis’s wrists, stopping the kiss. He looked at Louis with a deeply sad, cynical expression.

"Don't," Harry whispered, his voice trembling. "I don't... I don't want to be with you right now, Lou."

Louis blinked, his heart sinking. "What do you mean, love?"

"I—it feels like you're just using it to quiet me down," Harry said, a bitter, quiet sob escaping him. "It feels like... it feels like I'm the only one who's completely in love here, and you don't love me enough. You like having me in your bed, and you like taking me on those quiet dates where no one can see us, but you don't love me enough to be brave, Louis. You don't love me enough to face my dad."

Louis felt the words slice straight through his chest, leaving a gaping, bleeding wound. He stared at Harry, seeing the absolute conviction in those green eyes that he wasn't loved. It was the most miserable feeling in the world.

"I love you, Harry," Louis broke, the words ripping from his throat, raw and unpolished, entirely stripped of any corporate posture. His thumbs brushed fiercely over Harry’s damp cheeks. "I do. I bloody love you, you thick item. Don't you dare think otherwise."

Harry let out a sharp, cynical laugh, his head snapping back as he tried to pull out of Louis's grip entirely. "No. No, you don't. Don't say that to me now, Louis. Don't use those words just because I'm breaking down in front of you."

"I mean it, Haz!"

"If you loved me, you’d act like it!" Harry shouted back, his voice cracking violently as he finally wrenched himself free from Louis’s hands, taking a desperate step away until his back hit the edge of his writing desk. He stood there, his chest heaving under that massive, baggy grey sweatshirt, his black-painted nails digging into his own palms. "If you really loved me, you wouldn't keep pushing me into dark corners. Every single time I try to bring up my dad, every time I say we need to be honest, you shut me down. 'Not now, Harry. Give it time, Harry.' I'm sick of it, Lou! I'm proper sick of feeling like a dirty little secret you're ashamed of!"

"I'm not ashamed of you!" Louis yelled back, his Doncaster accent turning sharp, a rare flash of his own frustration breaking through his gentle demeanour. He took a heavy step toward Harry, his hands out. "I'm trying to navigate a bloody minefield here, lad! You think this is easy for me? You think I like watching you walk away from me at gala tables?"

"Then why did you bring that girl, Louis? Why did you have to play the doting boyfriend right in front of my face?" Harry’s eyes filled up with fresh, burning tears, his lower lip trembling as he lashed out, grabbing a pillow from his unmade bed and hurling it blindly at Louis’s chest. "You care more about that stupid project! That’s what this is! You're terrified that if Liam finds out you’ve been sleeping with his son, he’s gonna pull Payne Industries out of the joint venture. You don't want your precious multi-million pound rollout ruined because of me! Admit it!"

Louis caught the pillow against his chest, dropping it to the floor without taking his eyes off the younger man. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped. "That is a right proper load of bollocks, Harry, and you know it. Why would you even say something that nasty? You think I give a toss about a server migration contract over you? I’m trying to protect your relationship with your dad. Liam loves you, Haz. If he thinks I took advantage of you—"

"I’m an adult, Louis! I’m twenty-two!" Harry screamed, thrashing his arms in the air, his voice vibrating with absolute agony. "I can make my own bloody decisions! But you won't let me, because you're a coward! You’re a corporate coward who calculates every single risk, and I’m just... I’m the liability you’re trying to manage!"

"Harry, stop it. Just calm down for a second, love," Louis pleaded, his voice instantly dropping back into that fiercely protective, low register as he saw how violently Harry was shaking. He closed the distance between them, ignoring the way Harry tried to shove his chest away. Louis caught Harry’s wrists, pinning them gently but firmly against the younger man's hips, forcing Harry to look down at him. "Look at me. Look at me, Haz. Breathe. You're gonna make yourself sick, lad."

"Get off me," Harry whispered, his strength entirely spent, his head falling forward until his forehead rested against Louis’s shoulder. He was sobbing again, the anger draining out of him, leaving nothing but a hollow, broken shell. "Just get off me, Lou. I can't do this anymore. I mean it. I’m proper done."

Louis kept his grip gentle, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the insides of Harry's wrists. "What do you mean you're done? We can sort this, baby. I promise you, we will."

"No, we won't," Harry choked out, pulling his head back, his green eyes entirely dead and serious. "I don't want to meet you like this anymore. If you're not serious about me—if you're not ready to be a proper partner to me in the daylight—then I don't want to see you at all. I’ll focus on my own life. I won't even join my dad's company next month."

Louis blinked, a cold dread pooling in his stomach. "What are you talking about? That design head position is yours, Haz. Your dad built it for you."

"I don't care," Harry said flatly, wiping a tear from his cheek with a shaky hand. "I’ll tell him I want to continue my studies. I’ll pack my bags and go back to France, or go to Italy for a post-grad. I’ll do anything to get out of this city if staying here means being your secret little plaything. If you're serious about me, Louis... we go downstairs, or we call my dad right now, and we tell him the truth. Together."

Louis felt a massive pressure building in his chest, the gravity of the entire situation choking him. He looked at Harry’s pale face, his heart aching, but the rational, protective instinct in his brain still screamed that a sudden, panicked confession while Liam was stressed at the office would blow their entire family dynamic to pieces.

"Haz... I will talk to him," Louis muttered, his voice thick with a miserable desperation. "I swear to you on my mother's grave, I will tell him. But not today. Not while he’s losing his mind over the compliance audits. Just let me find the right moment next week—"

"No," Harry interrupted, his voice dropping into a cold, hard whisper that froze the blood in Louis's veins. He pulled his wrists completely out of Louis's slackened grip and took a step back, creating a massive, empty chasm between them. "No more next weeks, Louis. I'm not playing your corporate waiting game anymore."

Harry pointed a trembling, pink-painted finger toward the locked bedroom door.

"I'm giving you three days," Harry said, the finality in his Northern bite cutting through the quiet room like a blade. "Three days to sort this out in your head. Either you tell my dad by Sunday night, or I'm telling him myself that I'm leaving the country to go back to school, and you will never see me again. Now get out of my room."

Louis stood entirely frozen in the middle of the bedroom, staring at the lad he loved more than life itself. He wanted to reach out, he wanted to beg, he wanted to use his hands to soften the hard line of Harry's jaw, but the cold, unyielding look in those emerald eyes told him that if he pushed any further right now, the thread would snap completely.

🎆💫

The rest of Thursday night and all through Friday morning, Louis was a right proper manic mess. He paced the floorboards of his office and his house, completely ignoring the stacks of compliance paperwork on his desk. His mind was doing ninety miles an hour.

Harry’s words—that three-day ultimatum—were ringing in his ears like a bloody alarm bell. He had to tell Liam. There was no two ways about it now. But every time Louis tried to schedule a proper meeting, Liam’s secretary shot him down, saying Liam was completely buried in emergency board meetings until the weekend.

Louis knew he couldn't wait until Monday. Sunday night was Harry's deadline, and if he didn't fix this by then, Harry was gone. Back to France, back to Italy, completely out of his life.

So, Louis made a executive decision. On Friday afternoon, he sat at his desk, loosened his tie, and shot Harry a text.

[Louis: I’m doing it this Saturday, Haz. At the consortium charity gala. Your dad’s completely booked solid before then, so I’m gonna grab him private after the main speeches. We’ll have a few proper drinks, get a bit tipsy so the edge is off, and I’m gonna tell him everything. I promise you. Just please don't leave.]

Across London, inside the Payne estate, that single text message completely changed the atmosphere.

For the past twenty-four hours, the house had been dead quiet, thick with a heavy, miserable tension. But the minute Harry’s phone buzzed and he read those words from Louis, it was like the bloody sun had finally broke through the clouds. The tight, defensive knot in Harry’s chest loosened for the first time in weeks. Lou was actually going to do it. He was going to be brave for him.

By Friday evening, Harry finally unlocked his bedroom door. He washed his face, brushed his curls properly, and walked down to the dining room for family dinner wearing one of his favorite silk blouses—a soft, flowing cream number—and his lilac nail polish.

Sophia and Liam were already sitting at the table, looking proper miserable themselves, until they heard the door click open and saw Harry walk in with a tentative, soft smile on his face.

Liam practically dropped his fork, his eyes going wide. "Fucking hell, look who’s decided to join the living. Alright, love?"

"Yeah, Dad. Proper starved, actually," Harry murmured, his voice still a bit raspy as he slid into his usual chair. He reached for the basket of bread, his dimples peeking out just a fraction. "What are we having then?"

Sophia let out a breathless, emotional laugh, her eyes instantly welling up with relief as she reached across the table to squeeze Harry’s hand. "Oh, thank God, Harry. You look... you look like yourself again. We’ve been worried absolutely sick, sweetheart."

"I’m sorry, Mum," Harry said genuinely, looking down at his plate, a lovely flush creeping up his neck. "I was just... I had a lot on my mind. Was being a bit of a dramatic brat, wasn't I?"

"A bit?" Liam chuckled, though his voice was thick with a father’s deep relief. He exchanged a knowing, incredibly grateful look with his wife. "Lad, you were a right terror. But listen, I am just so bloody glad you're feeling better. I can actually breathe now."

Liam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, a massive grin on his face. "I tell you what, that Tommo is a right proper miracle worker, isn't he? The second he takes a day off to come have a chinwag with you, you’re back to your usual sunshine self. I knew I could count on him to sort you out."

Harry bit his inner cheek to keep from laughing out loud, his heart doing a violent, happy flutter at the mention of Louis. "Yeah. Lou... Louis is proper good at talking people down, I suppose. We had a very thorough chat."

"Well, whatever he said to you, I'm buying the bloke a twenty-year-old bottle of whiskey to say thanks," Liam said, shaking his head with a grin. Then, he paused, looking at Harry hopefully. "Since you’re feeling up to it, love... there’s that other major consortium function this Saturday night. It’s the annual charity auction at the Dorchester. I was going to tell you to stay home and rest, but... would you join me? It’d mean a lot to have you there, especially now that you’re doing alright."

Harry’s green eyes flickered, thinking about Louis’s text. Saturday night. The gala. That was exactly when it was all going to happen.

"Yeah, Dad. I’m all good," Harry smiled softly, his fingers tracing the edge of his wine glass. "I’ll definitely come. Wouldn't miss it for the world, actually."

"Brilliant! That’s my boy," Liam beamed, completely oblivious to the real reason behind his son's sudden change of heart. "We'll get a bit tipsy, bid on some overpriced art we don't need, and just enjoy the night. Sophia, you wearing that dark blue dress?"

"I am," Sophia smiled warmly, her eyes never leaving Harry’s face, just soaking in the sight of her son looking happy again. "And Harry, you should wear that beautiful black lace suit you designed in Paris. You look absolutely stunning in it."

"I will, Mum," Harry murmured, his secret smile turning into something deep and full of anticipation.

🎆💫

The Dorchester ballroom on Saturday night was a bloody spectacle. Crystal chandeliers hung low from the gilded ceiling, casting a warm, expensive glow over hundreds of corporate executives, tech moguls, and high-society couples. A live string quartet was playing somewhere near the grand ice sculptures, their music blending into the heavy, echoing hum of hundreds of loud, posh voices and the constant, crisp clink of champagne flutes.

Liam, Sophia, and Harry arrived first, taking their places near the center bar. Harry looked absolutely breathtaking—he’d taken his mum’s advice and wore the black lace suit he’d designed in Paris. It was tailored perfectly to his lean frame, the sheer lace sleeves showing off the tattoos on his arms, his curls swept back, and his nails painted a fresh, glossy black.

Niall and his missus walked up a few minutes later, followed quickly by Zayn and his girlfriend. They were all laughing, swapping quick greetings, until Niall suddenly paused, his eyes darting past Liam’s shoulder toward the grand entrance.

"Blimey, look who it is," Niall chuckled, nudging Zayn. "The corporate monk himself. But wait... where’s the bird?"

Louis walked down the marble steps entirely alone. He was wearing a classic, razor-sharp black tuxedo, his hair pushed up, his hands casually shoved into his trouser pockets. But he didn't look like a man enjoying a gala. His face was a bit pale, his jaw clenched tightly, his blue eyes entirely focused on their little group.

"Louis!" Sophia greeted warmly as he approached the table. "You're on your own tonight? Where’s Cynthia then? I thought she was coming."

Louis forced a small, practiced dimple to show, his Doncaster accent completely smooth as he grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. "Evening, Soph. Evening, lads. Nah, Cynthia’s not coming tonight. We’ve... well, we’ve actually called it a day, to be honest."

Liam blinked, looking proper shocked. "Fucking hell, Tommo, already? You two looked proper tight at the hotel the other night."

"Yeah, well, appearances can be a bit deceiving, can’t they?" Louis muttered, taking a slow sip of his drink. He made sure to keep his voice entirely casual, shrugging his shoulders as if it didn't hurt his soul to say the words. "It wasn't really that serious anyway, if I'm being completely honest with you lot. Just a casual thing. We had a proper chat yesterday and realized we just... we want different things out of life, don't we? She’s focused on her modelling contracts abroad, and I’m buried in the firm. It got a bit dramatic toward the end, so we just thought it was best to part ways before it got messy."

"Ah, mate, I’m sorry to hear that," Zayn said genuinely, clapping Louis on the shoulder. "You alright though?"

"Guys, please, I’m completely fine," Louis chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "It’s really not a massive deal. Trust me, it’s for the best. Back to the bachelor life for me."

"Well, her loss, Tommo," Niall grinned, lifting his glass. "More time for you to buy us pints on the weekend then, innit?"

The lads erupted into easy, comfortable laughter, shifting the conversation to Niall’s weekend golf plans, but Louis completely checked out. The tension in his chest was so thick he could barely breathe.

Because right across the little circle, Harry was staring dead at him.

Harry hadn't said a single word since Louis walked up. He was leaning against the high-top table, his black-painted fingers tracing the rim of his champagne glass, his green eyes locked onto Louis with a look of pure, agonizing anticipation. His face practically screamed: This is it. You dumped the fake girl. This is the day you promised. The sheer hope radiating off the lad was terrifying.

Louis felt a massive wave of cold panic hit his stomach. He was completely, utterly confused. His brain was spinning out of control. How the fuck am I supposed to do this? he thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. How was he supposed to pull Liam aside, his best mate of over ten years, get him a bit tipsy, and say: 'Oh, by the way, Payno, I've actually been shacking up with your twenty-two-year-old son behind your back for months now. We're completely in love, I've been sleeping with him in empty boardrooms, can we be together please?'

It sounded bloody insane.

"I'm telling you, Louis, you're a proper lifesaver," Liam’s voice suddenly broke through Louis’s panic, pulling him back to the reality of the table. Liam was beaming, looking at Louis with so much affection and trust it made Louis feel physically sick. "Look at him over there. The lad’s a completely different person tonight. On Thursday he was locked in his room looking like a ghost, and now he’s wearing his favorite lace suit and actually smiling."

Louis swallowed the dry lump in his throat, his accent tight. "Yeah? Glad to see he’s... glad he's doing better, Liam."

"It's all thanks to you, mate," Liam insisted, lowering his voice a bit so the girls wouldn't hear over their own chatter. He clapped Louis on the back, his expression deeply grateful. "Whatever you said to him during that chat on Thursday, it proper sorted him out. Sophia was saying this morning she’s never seen anyone talk Harry down like that. You've got a real knack with him, Tommo. I mean it, thank you. I was losing my bloody mind thinking some dodgy bloke had broken his heart."

Every single word coming out of Liam’s mouth felt like a physical knife twisting deeper into Louis’s gut. The guilt was completely suffocating.

He looked over at Harry again, who gave him a tiny, encouraging nod, his eyes shining with a beautiful, desperate trust. But for the first time since this whole thing started, Louis felt a sharp, heavy spike of pure regret.

What the fuck have I done? Louis thought, his knuckles turning white around his champagne glass.

Harry was twenty-two. Yes, he was an adult. He could make his own choices. But Louis was thirty-four. He was the older man. He was the executive, the mature one, the best friend who was welcomed into this family’s home with open arms. He should have known better. He should have had the bloody restraint to walk away the first night at the Savoy. But he hadn't. He’d given into his own selfishness, his own absolute neediness for the gorgeous lad, and now he had created a giant, catastrophic bomb that was about to blow his best friend's heart to pieces.

"Right," Niall shouted, entirely oblivious to the heavy, dangerous static suffocating the table. He gestured toward the grand ballroom doors where the auctioneers were taking their places. "The main event’s starting, lads. Let’s get inside and see how much of Liam's money we can spend on some terrible modern art."

"Come on then," Liam laughed, wrapping an arm around Sophia's waist. He turned to look at Louis and Harry. "You two coming? Louis, you better sit next to me, I need you to tell me if I’m overbidding on that tech security package."

"Yeah, Liam," Louis murmured, his voice sounding completely hollow to his own ears as he watched the group start to move toward the doors. "Right behind you, mate."

Harry lingered back for a split second, letting the rest of the family walk ahead. As Louis stepped up beside him, Harry’s lace-sleeved arm brushed against Louis’s jacket, his voice a tiny, breathless whisper full of intense anticipation. "Tonight, Lou. Right after the main bidding. I can't wait."

Louis didn't look at him. He couldn't. He just kept his eyes fixed on Liam’s retreating back, his chest tight with a miserable, terrifying dread as they walked into the grand ballroom. The clock was officially at zero.

The charity auction dragged on for what felt like bloody decades. Louis sat through the entire thing like a statue, his pint completely untouched as the numbers blared over the speakers. Across the table, Harry kept his green eyes anchored to him, a silent, burning countdown that made the sweat break out on the back of Louis’s neck.

When the main event finally wrapped and the crowd dispersed into the late-night after-party mixer, the volume in the room soared with drunken corporate laughter. Niall and Zayn were already three sheets to the wind, loudly debating some ridiculous golf handicap, while Sophia laughed along with their wives.

Louis looked at Liam, who was knocking back a gin and tonic, looking completely relaxed. Then he looked at Harry. Harry’s jaw was set, his arms crossed over his black lace suit, giving Louis a sharp, expectant look that said: Now. Or I’m booking the flight.

Louis’s chest tightened so violently he thought he might suffocate. He couldn't lose the lad. He was madly, completely ruined for him.

"Liam," Louis said suddenly, his Doncaster accent cutting through the table's chatter. It was a fraction too sharp, a fraction too loud.

The whole table went quiet for a split second. Sophia glanced up, her eyebrows raised in surprise, because Louis was never the type to interrupt a conversation with that sort of heavy tone.

Liam blinked, turning his head. "Yeah? What’s up, Tommo?"

"Can we... can we go somewhere quiet?" Louis muttered, his hand gripping the edge of the high-top table so hard his knuckles turned white. "Need to have a word with you. Outside. Bring your drink."

Liam’s easy smile faltered slightly, his corporate radar instantly picking up on the shift. "Yeah? Sure, proper serious, isn't it? Everything alright with the firm?"

"Just... come outside, mate," Louis said, not giving him a choice as he turned on his heel and walked toward the grand terrace doors.

Liam followed him out into the crisp, cool London night air. The terrace was completely empty, the distant hum of the city traffic below the only sound. Liam leaned against the stone balustrade, taking a sip of his gin. "Alright, Louis. You’re proper spooking me now, lad. What’s going on? Is the joint venture compromised?"

Louis didn't answer right away. His whole body had started shaking—a fine, violent tremor that started in his fingers and crept up his arms. He reached into his tuxedo jacket with clumsy, desperate fingers, pulling out his silver case. He tried to light a cigarette, but his hand was shaking so badly the flame kept missing the tip.

"Fucking hell, Tommo, you're literally vibrating," Liam said, his face falling into genuine concern. He stepped forward, taking the lighter from Louis's hand and sparking it for him. "Look at you. The last time I ever saw you this disturbed was ten years ago when we did our first major investor presentation to the consortium board. And even then, you weren't this bad. What is it? You can tell me anything, mate. We’ve been through the trenches."

Louis took a massive, frantic drag of the fag, blowing the smoke out quickly, his chest heaving. "I can't... I don't even know how to say it, Liam. I'm proper terrified."

Liam let out a soft, understanding chuckle, completely misreading the situation. He reached out, rubbing a reassuring circle on Louis’s shoulder. "Hey, steady on. Is this about Cynthia? Is that why you broke it off? Listen, mate, if you're heartbroken over her, or if you realize you want someone else... I can introduce you to some proper lovely birds. Sophia’s got loads of friends in—"

"It's not a bird, Liam," Louis cut him off, his voice raw, his accent thick and rough as he stared at the glowing orange tip of his cigarette. He took another fast hit, trying to anchor himself. "I actually... I love someone else. Completely a goner."

Liam raised his eyebrows, looking pleasantly surprised. He leaned back against the stone, taking a drink. "Oh. Well, blimey. Didn't expect you to be sharing your love life with me tonight, but alright, mate. Who is it? Who’s the lucky gentleman then? Didn't even know you fancied lads, to be fair."

"I don't care about gender, Liam. Never have," Louis muttered, his smoking getting faster now, his heart banging like a trapped bird in his ribs. "I just... I date whoever I like. Whoever catches my heart."

"Fair play, lad," Liam smiled warmly, entirely supportive. "So come on then. Who is this gentleman? Do I know him?"

Louis closed his eyes. The moment of impact was here. He threw the half-smoked cigarette over the railing and took a deep, shaky breath, looking dead into his best friend's eyes.

"The guy Harry’s been hiding from you..." Louis whispered, his voice trembling violently. "The bloke who's been 'too busy with work'... it’s me, Liam. It’s been me this whole month."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Liam’s smile didn't just fade; it completely vanished. He froze, his gin and tonic hovering halfway to his mouth, his eyes staring at Louis as if trying to process a foreign language.

"What?" Liam breathed.

"It’s me," Louis spilled out, the dam breaking as the words tumbled out of him in a desperate, panicked rush. He started pacing, his hands gesturing wildly. "We met at the Savoy gala a few months back. I didn't even know he was your son, Liam! He looked so bloody different in his evening wear, and we just... we had a connection. We hooked up. And then when I found out he was your lad, I tried to stay away, I swear to God I tried. But we kept running into each other at the dinners, and we couldn't help it. We started going on proper dates. We’ve been making out at my flat, spending hours just talking... and I fell for him, Liam. I fell so fucking hard."

Liam remained entirely still, his face an unreadable mask.

"And the reason... the reason he’s been a proper mess this week," Louis choked out, his voice cracking as the immense weight of the guilt finally broke him. A hot, burning tear spilled over his eyelashes, blurring his vision. "It's because of me. I was a coward. I was so fucking scared you’d think I was manipulating your son behind your back, or that you’d pull out of the joint venture, so I hired that girl for the gala to hide it. Harry got so angry and hurt because I was keeping him in the dark. I’m so sorry, Liam. I’m so fucking sorry. He's twenty-two, he's an adult, but I'm older. I should've had the bloody restraint, but I couldn't. I love him. I really, really love him."

Louis covered his mouth with a shaking hand, a ragged sob slipping through his fingers. He stood there, a powerful CEO entirely reduced to tears, waiting for his best friend to punch him in the jaw or walk away forever.

Liam let out a long, slow, heavy sigh. He walked over to the small patio table, set his drink down with a soft clink, and turned back to Louis.

But he didn't look angry. He just looked incredibly relieved.

"Fucking hell, Tommo," Liam breathed, a soft, breathless laugh escaping his lips as he shook his head. "You absolute idiot."

Louis blinked through his tears, completely stunned. "Liam?"

"You're crying? You're actually crying over my lad?" Liam asked, stepping forward and clapping both of his hands firmly onto Louis’s shoulders, shaking him gently. "Mate, I've been dying of curiosity for a month trying to figure out who the mystery man was! I’ve never seen Harry look that bloody happy in his life, hummed around the house like a proper schoolgirl. I was terrified it was some dodgy, old corporate predator who was going to use him and toss him away. Turns out it's just my workaholic best mate who’s completely whipped for him."

Louis stared at him, his mouth slightly open, his Doncaster accent entirely dazed. "Are you... are you serious, man? You're not mad?"

"Am I mad that my best mate loves my son and treats him like gold?" Liam smiled, his eyes full of a deep, genuine warmth as he gave Louis’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "Louis, listen to me. You can't force love, can you? It just happens. And if Harry thinks you’re the one who makes him happy, then why the hell would I stand in the way of that? I’ve never seen him so vibrant until he started seeing you. I just wish you’d told me earlier, you berk! Save us all the bloody drama."

Before Louis could even digest the massive wave of relief crashing over him, the terrace doors suddenly swung open with a loud bang.

Harry burst out onto the balcony, his black lace sleeves fluttering, his green eyes wide with panic. He’d clearly been spying through the glass and assumed the worst when he saw Louis crying.

"Dad, stop! It’s not Louis’s fault!" Harry cried out defensively, rushing forward and putting himself directly between Louis and his father, his chest heaving. "It’s my fault, alright? I’m the one who flirted with him first at the Savoy. I practically threw myself at him! Louis just took the fall for me because he was trying to protect the project, so don't you dare be mad at him—"

Liam just burst out into a loud, booming laugh, covering his face. "Oh, give me a bloody break! Look at you two, proper dramatic, the pair of you."

Harry froze, blinking at his dad, completely bewildered. "What?"

Liam reached out, pulling Harry into a quick, warm side-hug, his smile incredibly fond. "Love, it’s okay. It’s completely okay. Does he make you happy?"

Harry’s green eyes flickered to Louis, who was wiping the last of his tears away, a soft, breathless smile finally breaking across his sharp features. Harry swallowed hard, his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. "Yes. Proper happy, Dad."

"And do you love him?" Liam asked softly.

"Yeah," Harry whispered, his voice full of a quiet, intense devotion. "I really do."

"Then you guys can be together, simple as that," Liam beamed, letting go of Harry and looking between the two of them. "I’m just glad it's you, Louis. Honestly, I'd rather it be my best mate who I know will look after him, instead of some random, old corporate bloke from the West End."

Louis let out a breathless, emotional chuckle, his hand reaching out to instantly lock his fingers with Harry’s black-painted ones. He squeezed tight, his Doncaster accent full of its usual playful grit. "Oi! Watch it, Payno. I’m not that bloody old, am I? Only thirty-four."

"Compared to my lad, you're a proper ancient relic, Tommo," Liam teased, picking his drink back up and winking at his son. "But he’s your problem now. Come on, let’s go back inside and tell Sophia before she marries you off to another model."

As Liam walked back toward the ballroom, Harry turned completely into Louis’s space, a massive, brilliant dimpled smile breaking across his gorgeous face. He wrapped his arms tightly around Louis’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder. "You did it," Harry whispered, his voice thick with a happy tear. "You were brave for me, Lou."

"Told you I was a goner, didn't I?" Louis murmured against his curls, holding him fiercer than ever in the bright, beautiful light. "Never letting you go now, baby."

🎆💫

Three months after that chaotic night at the Dorchester, the London rain was drumming a steady, peaceful rhythm against the glass of Louis’s Wapping penthouse.

Everything had changed since Liam’s summer garden party. Louis could still remember the way his heart had hammered when Liam had stepped up to the microphone, a pint in hand, and casually announced to the entire gathering of family, friends, and corporate partners: “And a proper massive shout-out to my best mate Louis and my lad Harry, who’ve finally stopped sneaking around and decided to be official. Took 'em long enough, the berks.”

Everyone had taken it brilliantly. Sophia had shed a few happy tears, Niall had demanded Louis buy a round of shots to celebrate his retirement from the bachelor life, and Zayn had just smiled, completely unsurprised. Since then, the secrecy was entirely gone. They had walked red carpets together, attended consortium galas hand-in-hand, and Harry didn't have to stay hidden in the dark anymore.

But as much as Harry loved the glamour of being out in the light, the moments he treasured most were the quiet ones. Like tonight.

The penthouse living room was warm, lit only by the amber glow of the fireplace and the distant city lights. Harry was curled up on the massive plush sofa, completely relaxed. He was back to wearing his favorite things—a stunning, oversized silk shirt in a soft pastel pink that slipped off one of his broad shoulders, and dark shorts that exposed his long, smooth legs. His nails were painted a glossy emerald green, matching his eyes.

Louis walked in from the kitchen, having abandoned his corporate suits hours ago. He was wearing soft cotton joggers and a worn-out white t-shirt, his hair loose and messy. He didn't say a word as he approached the sofa. He just moved Harry’s long legs out of the way, slumping onto the cushions, and instantly pulled Harry right down onto his lap.

Harry let out a soft, melodic laugh, his dimples popping out beautifully as he adjusted his frame, straddling Louis’s thighs and wrapping his long arms around the older man’s neck. "Alright, Lou? Proper clingy tonight, aren't we?"

"Shut your lovely mouth," Louis murmured, his Doncaster accent thick, low, and heavy with that private softness he only ever used in this room. His large, warm hands instantly found their home under the silk shirt, resting against the bare skin of Harry’s lower back. His thumbs rubbed soothing, slow circles there, making Harry sigh and melt completely against his chest. "Missed you today, didn't I? Had to sit through six hours of data integration compliance audits wishing I was looking at your pretty face instead."

"Mmm, poor Tommo," Harry teased softly, his green eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned down, brushing his nose against Louis’s jawline. He smelled like that rich, expensive vanilla Louis was entirely addicted to. "I was busy at the studio all day. Designed a proper gorgeous lace gown. Wanted to show you the sketches."

"Show me later," Louis whispered, his blue eyes darkening with a heavy, sweet affection. "Come here first."

Louis reached up, his fingers winding gently into the soft, clean curls at the back of Harry’s neck, tilting his face down to meet his.

The kiss was everything the readers hadn't seen enough of—slow, deep, and utterly worshipful. Louis parted his lips with a soft gasp, his tongue sliding over Harry’s with a tender, languid rhythm that made Harry let out a quiet, trembling whine. There was no rush, no panic, no looking over their shoulders anymore. It was just pure, heavy devotion. Harry leaned all his weight into Louis, his black-painted fingers clutching at the shoulders of Louis’s t-shirt as he drank the older man in, his heart doing a frantic, happy dance in his ribs.

When Louis pulled back just a fraction to catch his breath, his lips were flushed and wet. He didn't let Harry go far, peppering soft, sweet kisses all over his face—his eyelids, his hot cheeks, and right on the deep dimple that showed when Harry smiled.

"You're proper precious, Haz," Louis muttered against his skin, his voice thick with raw emotion. He shifted his hands up, gently cupping Harry’s face, his thumbs wiping away a bit of stray moisture from the corner of Harry’s lips. "S'perfect, this. Having you here. Safe."

Harry opened his dazed green eyes, a beautiful, soft look on his face as he rested his forehead against Louis’s. "I love you, Lou. So much."

Louis’s chest tightened with a profound, dizzying warmth. He smiled, his dimples breaking through his stubble as he leaned up to press another soft, lingering kiss to Harry’s mouth. "I love you too, baby. Proper mad about you, you thick item. Don't know what I'd do without you now, truly."

Harry giggled, the sound vibrating against Louis’s chest. He nestled his head down into the crook of Louis’s neck, his fingers lazily tracing the tattoos on Louis’s forearms. Louis kept his arms wrapped fiercely around him, his chin resting on top of Harry’s wild curls, gently rocking them both side to side in the quiet, warm room. They were completely, irrevocably in love, and for the first time in their lives, the whole world knew it—and it was absolute perfection.

🎆💫

It’s somewhere around three in the morning, when Louis woke up. The penthouse bedroom was completely pitch black, the only sound being the heavy, steady patter of cold rain against the glass. Automatically, Louis shifted his weight, his long arm stretching out across the massive bed, his fingers searching for the familiar, comforting heat of soft skin and wild curls.

Nothing. The sheets on Harry’s side were completely cold.

Louis blinked his eyes open, his brow furrowing in the dark. He rolled over, his voice rough and gravelly with sleep as he called out softly into the empty room. "Haz? You in the loo, love?"

No answer. Just the quiet hum of the heating system.

A sudden, sharp prickle of unease hit Louis's chest. He sat up, shaking the sleep from his head, and reached for the nightstand. His fingers wrapped around his silver lighter. He didn't bother flicking the lights on—he just struck the wheel, the tiny, dancing orange flame illuminating the dark bedroom as he slipped out from under the heavy blankets.

He padded out into the hallway, his bare feet silent against the hardwood floors. "Harry? Where you at, lad?"

As he rounded the corner into the expansive living room, he caught sight of the floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading out to the private terrace. The door was cracked open just a couple of inches, letting a sharp, freezing gust of London wind cut through the flat. And there, standing right against the stone railing in the freezing dark, was Harry.

The lad was completely wrapped up in their heavy white goose-down duvet, looking like a giant, tragic cloud against the backdrop of the glittering city lights. His short curls were blowing wildly in the wind, his head bowed down.

Louis’s heart softened instantly, his Doncaster accent dropping into that fiercely protective, gentle register. He flicked the lighter shut, tossing it onto the sofa as he slid the glass door open fully and stepped out into the cold.

"Fucking hell, baby," Louis murmured, his voice incredibly soft as he closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms right around the outside of the duvet, pulling Harry’s wrapped-up frame back against his chest. "What are you doing out here freezing your lovely bollocks off, eh? It’s three in the morning."

Harry didn't move. He didn't let out one of his usual cheeky giggles. He just leaned his head back against Louis’s shoulder, a heavy, ragged sigh escaping his lips. Even in the dim light of the terrace, Louis could see the pale, sharp line of Harry's jaw was completely tense.

"Haz?" Louis asked, his brow furrowing as he shifted, sliding his hands inside the folds of the duvet to find Harry's bare, warm waist. He turned the lad around so they were facing each other. "Look at me, love. What’s wrong?"

"Naught, Lou," Harry whispered, his voice incredibly raspy, his green eyes darting away to look at the dark Thames below. "Just couldn't sleep. Brain wouldn't shut up."

"Don't give me that load of bollocks," Louis said gently, his thumb coming up to press against Harry’s chin, forcing his head up so green locked onto blue. Harry’s eyes were glassy, swimming with a thick, heavy layer of unshed tears. "You’ve been crying. I can see it. Talk to me, baby. What happened?"

"I can't," Harry choked out, his lower lip trembling violently as he tried to pull away, burying his face deeper into the massive duvet. "I’m proper embarrassed, Lou. I don't... you're gonna think I'm disgusting."

"Hey, stop that. Look at me," Louis ordered softly, his voice leaving absolutely no room for argument. He caught Harry’s wrists through the blanket, guiding him back inside the flat and sliding the glass door shut to lock out the cold. He led Harry to the massive sofa, sitting down and pulling the taller lad right onto his lap.

Harry sat there straddling Louis’s thighs, the duvet pooling around his hips, leaving his bare chest and shoulders exposed in the warm amber light of the room. He looked so fragile, his head bowed, his broad shoulders shaking with a quiet, miserable sob.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Louis murmured, his hands sliding up to cup Harry’s flushed face, his fingers stroking gently through his messy curls. "There is absolutely naught you could say to me that would make me think you're disgusting. I bloody love you. Now spill it."

To quiet the lad's panic, Louis leaned up, pressing a slow, heavy, grounding kiss to Harry’s trembling lips. He parted his mouth, his tongue stroking Harry’s with an agonizingly sweet tenderness, tasting the salty tears that had started to fall. Harry let out a weak, broken whine into the kiss, his hands coming out of the duvet to clutch desperately at the fabric of Louis’s t-shirt, completely melting into the older man's strength.

When Louis finally pulled back just an inch, his lips wet and flushed, he kept his hands firmly on Harry's cheeks. "Talk to me, baby."

Harry swallowed hard, a fresh sob tearing from his throat as he finally broke. "It's... it's Julien, Lou. The bloke from Paris. The one I told you about before."

Louis’s jaw tightened slightly at the name, but he kept his voice entirely gentle. "Right. What about him, love?"

"He rang me tonight," Harry wept, his green eyes wide and terrified as he looked down at Louis. "On my old French number. He... he said he’s been seeing all the press about us. He saw the photos of us at the galas and the charity auctions. And he... he told me he wants me back, Lou. He said he finally realizes he wants to date me properly now because everyone in London is talking about how brilliant I am."

Louis let out a dark, cynical scoff, his Doncaster accent turning sharp for a split second. "Well, he can go take a running jump, can't he? You're with me."

"I told him that!" Harry cried out, his hands shaking against Louis's shoulders. "I told him I have a boyfriend and that I’m completely in love with you! But then... Louis, he got proper nasty. He started threatening me. He said if I don't leave you and come back to Paris, he’s gonna put out all these... these slot pictures and videos he took of us when we were shacking up back then. He said he’s gonna send them to you. He wants to show you 'how much of a dirty little slut' I am."

Harry covered his face with his black-painted nails, his chest heaving under the silk shirt as he wept thoroughly. "He said he’s gonna tell you I slept around a proper lot in France. That I was just a casual hookup for everyone. He wants to ruin us, Lou. He wants you to think I’m just... trash."

Louis sat entirely still for a beat, a cold, dangerous fury vibrating through his veins. But looking up at the broken, terrified lad on his lap, the anger instantly dissolved into pure, fierce protectiveness. He grabbed Harry’s wrists, pulling his hands away from his face, and pulled him down into another deep, unhurried make-out session.

This kiss was deeper, full of a fierce, possessive passion. Louis’s tongue swept into Harry’s mouth with a dominant, reassuring power, capturing his lips entirely, showing him without a single word exactly who he belonged to. Harry let out a breathless gasp, his legs tightening around Louis’s hips as he straddled him closer, his heart hammering violently against Louis’s chest.

When Louis finally broke the kiss, his blue eyes were dark, blazing with a quiet intensity. He smoothed Harry’s curls back from his forehead, his voice completely steady.

"Listen to me, Harry," Louis said, his accent thick and definitive. "I don't give a bloody toss about what you did in France. You hear me?"

Harry blinked through his tears, looking dazed. "But... the pictures, Lou. The videos. If he sends them—"

"If he sends them, I'll have my corporate legal team destroy his entire life before breakfast," Louis cut him off flatly, a cold, professional smirk playing on his lips for a fraction of a second. "I'm a tech CEO, baby. You think some little French prick can blackmail me? I'll have his servers wiped and a harassment injunction slapped on him so fast his head will spin. He won't dare release a bloody thing."

Louis shifted, his hands moving down to grip Harry’s waist firmly, pulling him even tighter against his lap. "And as for you sleeping around? Haz, you were single. You were twenty-one, living in Paris, trying to find your way. I don't care about your past, love. Everyone's got a past. I only care about who you’re coming home to at night. And right now? You're in my flat, wearing my clothes, and you're my boy. That’s all that matters to me."

Harry stared at him, the heavy terror in his green eyes slowly melting away, replaced by a massive, overwhelmed wave of love. "You truly don't care?"

"Not a single bit, you beautiful idiot," Louis murmured, a soft, dimpled smile finally breaking across his face. He leaned up, pressing a sweet kiss to Harry’s nose, then to his jaw, then down to the soft skin of his neck where Harry let out a breathy, relaxed sigh. "You're safe with me, Haz. I told you that before. Nobody touches you, and nobody threatens you while I’m breathing. Alright?"

"Alright," Harry whispered, a small, wet smile finally breaking through his tears, his dimples peeking out in the dark. He wrapped his arms tightly around Louis’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder. "Proper brilliant, you are, Lou. Truly."

"I know, love," Louis chuckled softly, his hands rubbing soothing paths over Harry’s bare back under the down duvet. "Now let's get you back to bed before you catch a proper cold. I need my favourite boy warm so I can keep kissing him until morning."

The slow, heavy rhythm of the rain outside was entirely drowned out by the thick, warm heat filling the penthouse bedroom.

Harry let out a breathless, broken whine as Louis shifted his weight, his broad chest pressing firmly down against Harry’s back. With Harry lying flat on his stomach and Louis heavy on top of him, every single movement felt agonizingly slow, deep, and thick with an overwhelming amount of pure emotion. There was no rush, no panic—just a beautiful, lazy friction that made Harry’s entire body vibrate with a fierce, dizzying love for the older man.

"Louis—" Harry whined a bit louder, his black-painted fingers clutching desperately at the tangled white sheets beneath him as another slow, deep thrust hit just the right spot.

"F—fuck, baby, love when you whine," Louis groaned, his Doncaster accent rough, raspy, and completely undone by the sound. He leaned down, his mouth right beside Harry’s ear, his hot breath brushing against the damp curls there. "You have no idea how good you feel, do you? Proper ruining me, Haz."

Harry tilted his head back, his neck arching beautifully until his head landed right against Louis’s shoulder. Louis didn't waste a second. He pressed his lips to the long, elegant line of Harry's neck, licking the warm skin before biting down firmly, ensuring his marks would be left clear and bruising in the morning light.

Harry moaned louder, the sound echoing off the dark walls. There was something about this position—the absolute, heavy weight of Louis pinning him down, the slow, possessive drag of it all—that sent him straight to the moon. It was so fucking romantic. Louis had always been a beast in bed when he wanted to be, but this soft, slow rhythm was doing things to Harry’s head. Vanilla was usually a bit tame, but when it was with Louis, vanilla was the best bloody thing in the world. Everything with Louis was perfect.

"Feels good," Harry moaned out, his fingers twisting tighter into the cotton sheets.

"Yeah? Yeah, baby?" Louis replied against his skin, his teeth pulling gently at the column of Harry's neck, making the younger lad moan even louder as the pace began to pick up, obviously trying to chase the mounting orgasm. "I love you. My pretty boy," Louis moaned, fucking faster now, his hands sliding down to grip Harry’s hips, anchoring him to the mattress while he kept his mouth buried in his neck.

Harry’s breath hitched, his chest heaving as the heat between his thighs built into a frantic, electric static. "Love you more, Lou—fuck, daddy."

"Fuck," Louis groaned, a sharp, ragged sound cutting from his throat. He paused his hips for a split second, his forehead dropping against Harry’s shoulder blades. "You can't call me that when I'm trying to make love to you, baby. You're summoning my beast, aren't you?"

The pace instantly shifted, getting harder, the slow romance melting away into something fiercely protective and demanding.

Harry let out a needy, breathless moan, his head tossing on the pillow. "Vanilla’s boring."

"Fuck. You always want it rough, don't you?" Louis panting, a dark, possessive chuckle vibrating through his chest as he hit him deeper. "I fucked you hard enough this morning you can't walk, baby, and now you want more?"

"Love when you fuck me till I can't walk," Harry moaned out shamelessly, his cheeks flushed a brilliant crimson in the dim amber light. "Your cock is fucking good, Lou. Love your cock."

Louis let out a heavy, undone groan, his grip on Harry’s waist tightening until his fingers left faint red marks. "Ride me. Want to see your pretty face, Haz."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He shifted fluidly beneath the older man, turning over and straddling Louis’s thighs in one smooth, sweeping motion. His long legs framed Louis's hips, his pastel silk shirt hanging open, completely exposing his bare, beautiful chest.

"Fuck. The prettiest," Louis muttered, his blue eyes blown out entirely black as he looked up at the lad sitting over him.

Harry felt a sudden wave of shyness hit him under that intense, worshipful gaze. He aligned himself carefully, teasing the tip against his opening for a torturous second, before letting out a loud, high moan as he sank completely down onto Louis's length, burying him inside. Both of them groaned out loud, eyes closing as the sheer tightness of the connection nearly made them lose it right then and there.

Harry started to ride him, his hips moving with a frantic, desperate speed, his curls flying wildly around his face. It was fucking hell—so fast, so intense, the friction driving them both straight to the edge. Louis was definitely going to come anytime soon, his hands reaching up to grip Harry's thighs to try and control the brutal depth of it.

"Look at me," Louis ordered, his voice a gravelly whisper.

Harry forced his eyes open, his green gaze locked onto Louis’s blown-out blue ones.

"So ah—pretty, Harry," Louis moaned, his chest heaving as he watched the lad's lips part.

Harry blushed a deep, furious pink, his head ducking slightly. "S—stop."

"Is my pretty boy getting shy? While fucking himself on my cock, eh?" Louis teased, his accent thick with a wicked, loving grit. Suddenly, he bucked his hips upward with a powerful, sharp thrust.

Harry moaned out loud, his strength completely zapped as his head fell forward, landing heavily against Louis’s broad chest. "D—don't do that."

"Yeah? Why not? Gonna come fast when I do this while telling you how pretty you look, love?" Louis said, thrusting upward again and again, his hands moving up to cup Harry’s burning cheeks, forcing him to look down at him.

"F—fuck, Louis, so good... feels so good," Harry sobbed out, completely ruined by the double friction.

"Yeah, baby? Love my cock?" Louis muttered, his own breath hitching as he kept up the brutal, upward rhythm.

They were both so fucking close. Louis looked down between their bodies and saw Harry’s cock twitching violently, completely slick and ready to snap.

"Lou, please—" Harry begged, his voice cracking with a desperate need.

Louis didn't say another word. He reached down, his large hand wrapping firmly around Harry’s length, stroking him with a fast, heavy rhythm that matched the frantic bucking of his hips. Harry’s head tilted straight backwards, his throat arching as a loud, continuous string of broken praises poured from Louis’s lips.

"That's it, look at you... proper beautiful mess for me, Haz. Best thing I've ever seen, you are. So good, baby, take it all."

"I'm close, Lou," Harry moaned out, his body shaking violently.

Louis stroked even faster, his own release hitting him like a freight train. "Come for me, baby. Want to see my pretty boy cum."

And Harry did. He let out a loud, echoing scream as his release splashed everywhere across their stomachs, his body entirely locking up. A second later, Louis let out a deep, guttural groan, his hips bucking one last, desperate time as he came thick and heavy deep inside of him.

The silence returned to the room, thick and heavy, broken only by their ragged, synchronized breathing. Harry collapsed forward, his entire body dead-weight as he fell flat against Louis’s chest, his face buried in the older man’s neck, completely spent.

Louis immediately wrapped his strong arms around Harry’s trembling back, holding him fiercely against his heart. He didn't move for a long time, just letting his lips press soft, lingering kisses into Harry’s sweat-damp curls.

"Fucking hell, Haz," Louis whispered, his voice thick with an immense, soft adoration as his fingers began to trace lazy lines down Harry’s spine. "Proper took the wind out of my sails there, lad. You were absolutely magnificent. My beautiful boy. Best in the world, you are."

Harry let out a weak, happy chuckle against Louis’s skin, his fingers lazily curling into the fabric of the pillows. "Stop—I hate you."

"No you don’t, love." Louis murmured softly.

After a few minutes of quiet resting, Louis gently shifted, helping Harry slide off his length with a soft groan. He didn't let the lad get far, immediately pulling the heavy duvet up and over both of their naked, sticky bodies to seal out the winter chill. He reached for a soft towel from the nightstand, gently wiping them both down with practiced, tender care, his movements incredibly slow and gentle.

"Alright, baby? Not too cold?" Louis asked, tossing the towel aside and pulling Harry back into his space.

"Mmm, perfect," Harry mumbled, his eyes already half-closed from the sheer exhaustion of it all. He shifted easily, laying his head down right on Louis’s extended, sturdy arm, using his shoulder as a pillow. One of his long legs tangled back over Louis’s thighs, anchoring them together.

Louis smiled in the dark penthouse, a deep, full-hearted feeling settling into his chest. He reached up with his free hand, his fingers slowly stroking through Harry's damp curls, detangling them with a lazy, soothing rhythm.

"Go to sleep then, pretty boy," Louis whispered, his voice the softest thing in the city. "Gonna take you out on a date tomorrow.”

Harry let out one final, contented sigh, his breathing flattening into a deep, peaceful slumber against Louis’s chest as the rain continued to wash over London outside