Clear Browser- Take One

Prompt 58 for the 5+1 Times Fest on X.

The five times Louis remembered to clear his internet browser history before letting Harry borrow his laptop and the one time he didn’t.

A/N

Hey! Just a quick hello and a little heads up before you dive in, this fic is short-ish, snappy, and definitely not a slow burn. I wanted something more to the point this time, so don’t expect realism or anything close to how things would actually play out in real life. If that’s not your thing, feel free to skip it…no hard feelings!

Plus , first time of writing a 5+1

Huge thanks to my beta, Katy, who somehow always manages to pull through last minute (😂) and still blows me away with her talent for catching errors and fixing messy flow. Honestly, without your help uploading on the other app (because I’m 100% useless with AO3 lol), I’d be utterly lost. Thank you so much 💙💚

💻💻💻💻💻

The beginning of the end (of Louis’ dignity) hadn’t just arrived; it had been creeping towards him for ages. Not days, not weeks, not even months; it was longer. Deep down, Louis had always known this day would come. He just chose to live in blissful denial, pretending it never would.

Louis and Harry. Harry and Louis. That’s how it’s always been…two names spoken in the same breath, two lives intertwined so naturally that separating them would feel unnatural. Where one went, the other followed. When Louis moved out of his childhood home, Harry was the one hauling boxes up the stairs of his first flat. When Harry got his first job, Louis was the one waiting outside on his lunch break with takeout, insisting they catch up. When Louis needed a last minute plus one to a family wedding, Harry was already adjusting his tie in the mirror before Louis could even ask.

It had always been like that, two halves of something whole, orbiting each other without question. And if Louis has any say in it, that’s how it’ll always stay. At least, he hopes.

Their apartment is warm and well lived in, and just slightly chaotic, mostly because of Louis, that is. It’s a second floor unit in a neighbourhood they both swore was “temporary” but have now lived in for three years. The couch is covered in earthy coloured throw blankets, a half empty coffee mug sits dangerously close to Harry’s laptop, and the faint scent of something sweet lingers from Louis’ last

“ I forgot to pay rent but made brownies ” apology.

They’d moved in together a while ago because it just made sense . Rent was cheaper when split, and neither of them particularly enjoyed the thought of coming home to an empty space.

Harry liked order.

Louis liked company.

It just worked .

Except now, it doesn’t. Not for Louis anyway. Not when he’s made the mistake of falling for his best friend, and it’s getting worse by the day.

It started off as nothing. Just normal best friend things.

Like noticing when Harry got a new shampoo because his hair smelled different and Louis definitely wasn’t thinking about burying his face in it.

Like remembering exactly how Harry liked his tea and feeling stupidly proud when he made it just right.

Like, you know, catching himself staring at Harry’s hands and thinking incredibly inappropriate thoughts before snapping himself out of it.

So, yeah. Nothing.

Until suddenly, it was everything .

Louis wasn’t sure when it got so bad. Maybe it was when Harry broke up with his last boyfriend and moved from sharing a bed with someone else to falling asleep next to Louis on the couch every other night. Maybe it was when Harry started waiting for Louis to get home before eating dinner, as if the meal wasn’t worth having alone. Maybe when they’d been in the same kitchen, inches apart, and Louis had caught himself wondering, just for a second, what it would feel like to close the gap.

Whatever the reason, Louis was spiralling, and his Google search history was proof.

The problem at hand (Or in the Laptop, shall we say) wasn’t just that Louis had a massive, devastating, all consuming crush on Harry. The problem was that he had a habit of Googling things that no best friend should ever Google.

“ How to tell if your best friend would kiss you back.“

“Casual ways to ask your best friend to ruin you in bed without making it weird.”

“Is it still a bromance if you have sex dreams about them?”

“Signs you’re in love with your best friend (and doomed forever).”

Louis had managed to keep his secret this long because, by now, clearing his browser history was less a habit and more a reflex, like breathing, but sneakier. It was practically second nature by now.

Lend Harry his laptop?

Delete, delete, delete !!!

No evidence.

No chance of humiliation.

No reason for Harry to look at him weirdly and say, “ Louis, mate, what the fuck ?“

It had worked flawlessly.

Until that one time, he did indeed forget .

So let’s rewind a little and see just exactly how Louis ended up there.

Clear Browser - Take One

The living room looked the same as it always did at this hour, lamps on, TV murmuring in the background, the quiet click of laptop keys now and then. Every so often, one of them would check their phone. It was easy yet normal. The kind of effortless silence that only came with years of knowing someone.

It was one of those lazy evenings where neither of them had anywhere to be, so Harry was stretched out on the couch, his laptop balanced on his knees, while Louis sat cross legged on the floor, hunched over his own screen.

It should’ve been a peaceful night.

It was a peaceful night.

Until it wasn’t .

Harry let out a frustrated groan.

“Are you kidding me?” he muttered, jabbing at the keyboard before slumping back against the cushions. “My laptop just died!”

Louis barely looked up from his screen.

“Sucks to be you.”

Harry shot him a glare.

“I was in the middle of booking my train ticket for next weekend. The site might time out.”

He closed the laptop and set it aside, then turned to Louis expectantly.

“Can I use yours for a sec?”

Louis froze.

His heart stopped. His fingers curled tighter around the edges of his laptop like never before, because just before Harry spoke, he had been deep in the trenches of a Google search he could never, under any circumstances, let Harry see.

The words still sat bold and accusing in the search bar:

“ The best gay sex positions for beginners.“

And if that wasn’t bad enough, the previous searches still lurked in the tabs, waiting to ruin his life:

“ Best ways to tell your mate they are hot without freaking them out.“

“Why do I keep dreaming about my best friend naked?”

“Is it normal to get jealous when your best friend flirts with other people?”

Louis’ stomach plummeted.

His brain screamed at him to do something, but all he managed was a strangled,

“Uh…”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Dude?”

Louis snapped the laptop shut so fast it was a miracle the screen didn’t shatter.

“Yeah! Yep! Just, gimme a second!”

Harry narrowed his eyes.

“Why do you look like you just got caught watching porn?”

Louis let out a noise that wasn’t quite human.

“I don’t! It’s not… shut up, hang on!”

He twisted away from Harry, holding the laptop at an awkward angle like a goblin hoarding treasure, fingers flying over the keyboard as he frantically cleared his history. He closed every tab, deleted everything, then deleted it again just to be safe.

Harry, still watching him with mild suspicion, propped his chin on his hand.

“If you’re hiding something, now I have to know.”

Louis let out a high pitched laugh.

“I am not hiding anything! I just, I just have private things on here! Work stuff! Taxes!”

Harry’s mouth twitched.

“You haven’t done your taxes in three years.”

“EXACTLY!”

After one last frantic check to make sure nothing could be traced back to him, Louis slammed the laptop shut again, spun back around, and held it out stiffly.

“…Here.”

Harry took it slowly, eyeing Louis like he’d grown another head.

“Jesus, thanks. That wasn’t suspicious at all.”

Louis crossed his arms.

“You’re welcome. Enjoy your completely boring and uneventful train booking experience.”

Harry shook his head, opening the laptop as Louis sat, rigid, watching him like a hawk. He knew he’d cleared everything, but what if he’d missed something?

What if one cursed tab had survived?

What if Harry found something, some trace of Louis’ unfortunate feelings?

Louis held his breath, watching.

Waiting.

Harry squinted at the screen for a moment, then frowned.

“Why the hell is your Google homepage in incognito mode?”

Louis almost blacked out.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly bone dry. He willed himself to stay calm, to act natural, to not look like a man whose deepest, gayest secrets were seconds from being uncovered.

“Incognito mode?” he repeated, voice cracking like a damn pre-teen. He cleared his throat, forcing a casual shrug. “Dunno. Probably just… defaulted to that.”

Harry gave him a slow, knowing look, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Right. Just defaulted to incognito mode.” He drummed his fingers on the laptop, eyes twinkling with pure mischief. “You definitely weren’t doing anything sketchy before I asked for it.”

Louis snorted, but it sounded wildly unconvincing.

“What would I even be looking up that’s sketchy?”

Harry grinned. A shit-eating, evil, too-smart-for-his-own-good grin.

“I don’t know, but you’re acting like you just hid classified government files in there.”

Louis threw up his hands.

“Yes, Harry. You caught me. I’m actually a spy. Congratulations, you cracked the case.”

Harry laughed, leaning back into the couch, but his eyes stayed locked on Louis… amused…. Curious and enjoying this far too much.

“See, now I really wanna know.”

“There’s nothing to know,” Louis shot back, his voice a little too loud, a little too defensive .

Harry just hummed, shaking his head with a smirk before finally turning back to his screen.

Louis exhaled, shoulders slumping in relief.

For the next five minutes, Louis sat there in absolute agony.

He tried to play it cool, to casually scroll through his phone like he wasn’t laser focused on every tiny movement Harry made. Every tap of the keyboard. Every flicker of his expression.

He’d deleted everything. He was sure he had. But what if… what if?

What if some traitorous autofill suggestion popped up?

What if some cursed Google algorithm dug up his past searches?

What if Harry suddenly went, “Hey, Lou, why does your search bar say ‘can best friends accidentally fall in love’?”

He’d have to fake his own death. Leave the country. Change his name.

“Jesus, relax.”

Louis’ head snapped up.

“What?”

Harry grinned at him.

“You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

“I do not!”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“You’re sweating.”

“I run hot, you know that!”

Harry just shook his head, clearly having the time of his life.

“You’re acting so strange tonight. It’s just a laptop, mate.”

Louis forced a casual laugh.

“I don’t care! I don’t care at all! You think I care? That’s crazy! I…”

“Alright, done.”

Louis stared, caught mid-ramble.

“What?”

Harry spun the laptop around, patting the trackpad.

“Finished booking my ticket. See? Totally painless. Thanks for the loan.”

He held the laptop out.

Louis lunged for it, snatching it from Harry’s hands and hugging it to his chest like a lifeline.

Harry blinked. Then smirked.

“You’re so fucking weird.”

Louis scowled.

“And you’re so fucking annoying.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head as he leaned back into the couch, stretching his arms above his head.

“You love it.”

Louis huffed, because he did, and that was the problem.

You see, Harry had been planning to visit Holmes Chapel for weeks, but life kept getting in the way. His mum had been nagging him to come home (in the loving, guilt tripping way only a mother can), and Gemma had demanded they catch up properly instead of just texting memes to each other.

Now that his schedule had finally cleared up, he was heading back for the weekend. Just a quick trip, two days, tops. Long enough to have a few home cooked meals, check in with his family, and maybe let his mum fuss over him a bit (not that he’d ever admit he liked it).

He’d already sorted his train ticket, thanks to Louis’ very suspicious laptop, and tomorrow morning, he’d be off.

It would be a nice break.

A chance to step away. Breathe. Maybe even figure out why Louis had been acting so weird tonight.

Clear Browser- Take Two

The next morning, Harry was gone.

Louis woke to the quiet hum of the apartment, a half drunk mug of tea still on the kitchen counter, and a hastily scribbled note stuck to the fridge:

Back Sunday night. Don’t break anything. Or yourself. –H.

He stared at the note longer than necessary, then yanked it off and shoved it in the drawer where he kept all the little things Harry left behind: ticket stubs, doodles, and even a receipt from their first ever grocery shop as roommates. If that wasn’t pathetic, Louis didn’t know what was.

The weekend dragged. He didn’t realise how much Harry filled up the apartment until he wasn’t there: no singing in the shower, no half finished thoughts yelled from across the flat, and no warmth curled up in their shared blanket fort on the couch.

Louis barely slept. The stupid moment with the laptop replayed on loop in his head like some kind of slow motion car crash. But even more than the embarrassment, it was the quiet he hated most.

Which is probably why, when Sunday rolled around, Louis found himself digging through a box of old junk in the hall closet, looking for the ancient digital camera they used to mess around with back in uni.

It had started as a joke. Harry once said he missed having printed photos instead of everything just floating ‘in the cloud’. So Louis had decided to surprise him by printing some of their best (and worst) moments, framing a few to hang in the hallway.

But of course, the camera’s charger was missing. And what was the only thing that still had a compatible SD card slot?

His bloody laptop.

Which would’ve been fine, except somewhere along the way, in the sleep-deprived spiral of missing Harry and mentally planning the hallway photo wall, Louis had been caught up Googling things like:

“ Cute ways to surprise your best friend without making it obvious you’re in love with them.”

“How to tell if your best mate has been lowkey flirting or is just British.”

“When did I fall for him, and is it too late to unfall???”

So when Harry returned that evening, all sun-kissed and smiling, bags slung over his shoulders, Louis greeted him at the door with forced nonchalance and a camera clutched in his hand like a shield.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a USB-C converter, would you?”

Harry frowned.

“What? Why?”

Louis cleared his throat, already sweating.

“Just trying to get some pictures off this old camera. Y’know. For… reasons.”

Harry, oblivious, toed off his shoes.

“You could just use your laptop, yeah?”

Louis froze. Shit.

Of course he knew this, and now felt like an idiot.

“…Yeah. Right. That’s probably easier.”

“Cool,” Harry said, already padding into the living room. “Wanna do it now? I’ll help. Love going through old photos.”

He had erased everything earlier, right?

Louis considered faking a gas leak.

Instead, he nodded numbly, following Harry in with the camera in one hand and impending doom in the other.

The camera made a little whirring sound as Louis plugged it in, and the screen on his laptop lit up, folders appearing like little ghosts from their youth.

“There we go,” Louis muttered, opening the photo viewer.

Harry flopped down beside him on the couch, their thighs bumping like it meant nothing, like it always had. Louis tensed for a second, then forced himself to relax. This was normal. This was fine.

The first photo that popped up was one from when they were seventeen. Louis had forgotten he’d even taken it, Harry, standing in a dressing room mirror, laughing with a ridiculous bucket hat perched on his curls. Louis was in the background, blurry, but clearly mid eye roll.

Harry let out a bark of laughter.

“Oh my God. This was that weird thrift store on High Street. The one with the faceless mannequins that scared the shit out of you.”

“They were creepy! You can’t tell me you didn’t flinch when one moved.”

Harry grinned.

“That was an employee, Lou.”

Louis snorted, cheeks flushing.

“Still.”

Photo after photo rolled by, some blurry, some poorly lit, but all of them capturing their meaningful moments of a friendship that had lasted longer than most relationships.

There was the one from their first music festival, faces sunburnt, shirts soaked from the summer rain, grinning like idiots. A selfie in a hospital waiting room after Harry sprained his wrist skateboarding (Louis was holding up a bag of frozen peas like a trophy). Another from their first sleepover at Harry’s. An empty pizza box, a deflated air mattress, and Harry sticking out his tongue while Louis flipped the camera off behind him.

Each photo held their connection, a still frame of a love that had grown quietly through the years. They weren’t just memories; they were proof of something real, something unfolding long before either of them had dared to name it. Each photo held a piece of their story; to them, they weren’t just images, they were keepsakes of a history only the two of them truly understood.

Harry leaned in a little closer.

“We look like babies.”

“You had no tattoos there,” Louis said softly, almost without thinking. “Not even that dumb little smiley face on your hip.”

Harry laughed, cheeks tinged pink.

“Shut up. It’s cute.”

Louis grinned, unable to hide it.

“It is.”

He didn’t catch the way Harry’s smile faltered for a second, his gaze dipping as he slipped into quiet thought, like the compliment had landed somewhere deeper than either of them expected.

They kept scrolling. Each picture was a little breadcrumb, leading back through years of shared chaos and comfort. Harry leaning against Louis on a long train ride. Louis asleep on Harry’s shoulder at a movie marathon. A blurry photo taken by someone else, one of those moments where they’d both been caught laughing at the same joke, heads tilted towards each other like magnets. The pictures just kept coming.

Neither of them said anything for a long time.

But Louis felt it. That quiet ache behind every breath. He glanced at Harry, just to see, just to check, and caught him doing the same.

Hmm..

‘ What does intense staring from my best friend mean?’ 

Another thing to Google.

Harry blinked then looked back at the screen, pretending he hadn’t been watching him.

Louis swallowed, his heart doing an uneasy flutter. He closed the photo viewer, leaning back like it cost him effort.

“Well,” he said, trying to be casual. “That was depressing,” Louis stated.

“Why?”

“Well, look at us now; we’re only getting older.”

Harry bumped their shoulders together.

“True, but I still think those pictures are sweet.”

“Don’t get sappy on me, Styles.”

Harry smirked. “Too late.”

Louis smiled, then froze as Harry leaned forward again, reaching towards the laptop.

His heart leapt to his throat.

Not again. Not again. Not again.

“Actually…” Harry said, fingertips grazing the keyboard.

Louis panicked, blurting the first thing that came to mind.

“Wait! I, um, I need to check something first…”

But Harry just reached past the laptop, grabbing the camera cord.

“Just unplugging this before we fry the battery,” he said casually.

Louis blinked.

“Right. Of course. That’s smart. Yep.”

Harry gave him a look.

“You okay?”

“Fine. Just… emotionally compromised by that bucket hat photo. It’ll haunt me forever.”

Harry snorted.

“It was heinous!”

Louis laughed, shakily, as Harry set the camera aside and stretched his arms behind his head with a loud yawn.

Crisis averted.

“So,” Louis said, voice a little rough, trying to sound nonchalant, “how was the trip anyway? Your mum keep you hostage the whole weekend? Or did you go out with friends or anything?”

Harry’s grin softened.

“Didn’t even see her much, actually. She was working the whole time. Said she missed me though, told me off for not bringing you. Said you should have come.”

Louis’ stomach dipped.

Not this time , he thought. Not when I’ve gone and fallen for her son. 

He couldn’t quite imagine the look on Anne’s face if she ever found out her sweet charming Harry had a best friend who spent his nights Googling “ What if you’re in love with your flatmate “ or worse, thinking about pounding into his arse.

“She says hi, by the way,” Harry added, nudging him. “Asked if you’re still single and insufferable.”

Louis rolled his eyes, cheeks betraying him with a flush of pink.

“Tell her I’m thriving, thanks.”

Harry cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

“Thriving? You cried because we ran out of eggs last week.”

Louis elbowed him, harder than necessary.

“Shut up. That was emotional resilience, actually.”

Harry just laughed, stretching again like he hadn’t just sent Louis into another tailspin.

But Louis knew he couldn’t keep dodging these moments forever.

Not when his heart kept storing them like, well… photographs.

💻

The following evening, Harry creaked open his door with a soft groan. He’d only just gotten home from work not long ago, the scent of soap and clean laundry still lingering on him after a quick shower. His room was freshly tidied now, the usual clutter tucked away like he was trying to impress someone, even if he hadn’t said that out loud.

He leaned out, peering into the hallway like a curious cat. It seemed too quiet. 

He opened his mouth, probably to ask what they were doing for dinner, but stopped short.

There he was. Louis was in the living room, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of his laptop, face scrunched in concentration. He was chewing on his thumbnail, one hand scrolling slowly, eyes fixed so intensely on the screen that it looked like he was analysing it.

Harry tilted his head, watching silently.

Louis was mouthing something to himself; Harry couldn’t hear the words, but he looked deeply invested. The screen lit up his face in soft blue, highlighting the way his brows kept twitching in thought. It was weirdly endearing.

Harry smirked, shaking his head as he ducked back inside.

“You’re such a mystery,” he muttered to himself.

Meanwhile, Louis was halfway through an article titled “ How to Tell if Someone is Flirting: Eye Contact, Prolonged Glances, and the Subtle Art of the Half Smile.”

He was spiralling… again.

Was this what he’d become? A man dissecting his flatmate’s eye blinks?

He was about to click through to a second article, “ Flirtatious Body Language: The Unspoken Signs of Attraction ”, when a bright pop-up message appeared on screen.

“ QUIZ: Wondering About Your Sexuality? Take the Test Now!”

Louis stared at it.

The room was quiet. No sign of Harry.

He hesitated… then clicked.

Have you ever had feelings for a close friend of the same gender?

He checked the box: Yes.

Have you ever fantasized about someone of the same sex?

Yes. Harry. Fucking unfortunately, yes.

Do you feel more emotionally connected to people of the same gender?

Do you find yourself drawn to queer media or queer relationships?

Do you feel uncertain or nervous about identifying with a label?

He answered, trying not to overthink it, but also overthinking everything.

Finally, the results loaded.

“You’re gay.”

Louis stared, not even a blink.

The screen added some follow-up fluff: “ Sexuality is a spectrum, and it’s okay to take your time. Embrace what feels true to you. The most important thing is being honest, with yourself, and eventually, with others.”

Louis barely had time to digest it before a banner ad unfurled across the top of the screen.

“HOT LOCAL MEN IN YOUR AREA – CLICK TO CHAT NOW!”

“Jesus fucking Christ…”

“Hey,” came Harry’s voice behind him, casual and too close. “I feel like something spicy.”

Louis yelped, slamming the laptop shut like it had tried to bite him.

“What?!” he gasped, whipping around with wide eyes.

Harry raised a brow.

“For dinner? Something hot. Are you okay with that?”

Louis coughed, clearing his throat three times.

“Right. Yep. Hot. Food. Good. Yeah. Love spice.”

Harry gave him a weird look.

“Lou, is something going on? You’ve been acting out of the ordinary lately. Is something wrong, or are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Louis said, laughing in a very not okay way. “So you are hungry then? Wanna go to the store?”

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly, eyeing him.

“Need a few things anyway.”

Louis stood up way too fast and nearly tripped over the coffee table. He grabbed his keys with shaking hands.

He’d just taken a gay quiz on the living room floor, realised he might be gay and got hit with a porn pop-up. And then Harry strolled in asking for spice. He was truly going to combust!!!

Shit.

Had Harry seen the screen? Why not toss that humiliation grenade right into the middle of his day? Excellent. Fantastic. Just what Louis needed: an anxiety spiral in high definition. Breathe.

But first came dinner prep and the looming ordeal of a grocery run, a test of patience, willpower, and his ability to pretend everything was fine. Would he survive?

Louis told himself, sternly, like a teacher reprimanding a student, that he would not stare this time. He would not get distracted by the way Harry always bites his lips in concentration while reading package labels like they held the secrets of the universe. He would not imagine dragging him into the nearest empty aisle.

He could do that. Right?

…Right?

God, he was so screwed.

💻

The grocery store was buzzing in its usual fluorescent-lit chaos, mums wrangling toddlers, teens browsing snacks, and elderly couples navigating the aisles like it was a Sunday stroll.

To anyone else, it was an average evening shop.

To Louis, it was hell.

Because Harry was doing normal things.

And Louis? Louis was losing his goddamn mind.

He stood frozen in the middle of the condiments aisle, watching as Harry inspected a bottle of Sriracha, twisting the cap with his thumb, brows furrowed in focus.

Louis blinked.

It’s just sauce, he told himself. He’s not doing anything weird. That’s not sexy. You’re being mental.

But then Harry shook the bottle, strong, firm, purposeful, and Louis had to grip the shelf behind him for support.

His eyes trailed him in a daze, watching as Harry reached up to grab something from the top shelf, shirt lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of soft skin above his waistband.

Louis looked away, then immediately looked back.

Harry dropped the item into their basket and turned, grinning.

“Why do you look like that? You’re red like a tomato mixed with a beetroot.”

Louis cleared his throat, voice strangled.

“What? No, I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

Harry hummed.

“You sure you’re not coming down with something? You’re very… pink-ish.”

“I run hot, remember.”

Harry raised a brow, clearly amused, and went back to comparing cans of chilli.

Louis wanted to die.

He stood still as Harry tasted grapes from the produce section, licking his thumb before picking up another one. Louis almost groaned.

When Harry leaned over the freezer to grab a bag of frozen chips, Louis stared at the way his jeans hugged his thighs.

They shouldn’t be legal.

And when Harry chose to “live dangerously” for once and open a pouch of yoghurt to eat while browsing, he licked a smudge of yogurt from his knuckle and bam… it was game over.

Louis spun around, nearly knocking over a promotional tower of rice crackers. He muttered an apology to an old lady who gave him a judging look and wheeled her cart far away from the apparent gay disaster in aisle six.

They made it to the self-checkout. Harry did the scanning while Louis bagged items, focused very intently on not looking at Harry’s hands.

He failed.

“Alright,” Harry said once they were outside again, the evening air brushing cool against their skin.

“Back to our charmingly dysfunctional flat?”

Louis let out a strangled laugh.

“Can’t wait.”

Harry glanced over, eyes curious but fond.

“Are you ….”

“Peachy.”

Harry stopped walking.

“You’re not being weird because of earlier, are you?”

Louis froze. “Earlier?”

“When I said I wanted something spicy.”

Louis almost dropped the shopping bag.

Harry smirked.

“You looked terrified. Like I was gonna say you were the spicy thing. God, it was like you thought I’d said I was gonna eat you or something, bloody hell!”

Louis’ jaw dropped.

“What, no! You’re an arsehole.”

Harry laughed, loud and beautiful in the dim light of the car park.

And Louis wanted to do nothing more than scream, ’ Because I would’ve said yes!’

Yeah, it was a quiet drive home.

Back in the flat, the bags hit the counter with a satisfying thud. Louis busied himself unloading, trying not to watch the way Harry leaned on the bench, ankles crossed, scrolling his phone like he hadn’t just driven Louis to the brink of insanity over frozen chips and chilli sauce.

“Alright, chef,” Harry said, setting his phone aside. “What’s the plan?”

Louis blinked. “Plan?”

“For dinner,” Harry grinned, stepping closer. “You did say you’d cook. Or were you lying to me in the condiment aisle?”

Ah, the condiment aisle, a place of true torment, where Harry absolutely said a hundred things Louis didn’t register, too distracted by the way he bent at the knees like a damn commercial for desire, holding up hot sauce bottles like they were lingerie options. God, he can only imagine what else he could have agreed to unknowingly.

Louis looked at the ingredients: Sriracha, noodles, spring onions, chicken.

“I… uh, no. Um, ok, I can make something.”

Harry clapped his hands.

“Excellent. Show me what you’ve got, Gordon.”

Louis turned to the stove to hide the blush creeping up his neck.

He chopped the vegetables first. Harry leaned on the counter, watching. Louis could feel it. Every time he sliced something, every flick of his wrist, every move, it felt like Harry was watching with far more intensity than necessary.

Or maybe that was just his own imagination playing up again.

“You’re good at that,” Harry said suddenly, leaning against the counter with a grin.

Louis glanced up, brow raised.

“At what?”

“Chopping. It’s kind of hot, actually.”

The knife slipped from Louis’ fingers and clattered onto the cutting board.

“Christ, Harry!”

Harry laughed, circling around the bench to pick it up.

“What? I’m just saying, there’s something weirdly sexy about watching you manhandle a zucchini. Geez, relax,” he said, handing it back with a laugh. “Didn’t know compliments were that dangerous.”

Louis grabbed the knife back, eyes narrowed.

“You are so annoying.”

Harry leaned in, just close enough for it to feel intentional.

“And yet, here you are… blushing over a courgette.”

“I’m not blushing.”

Harry smirked.

“No? Must be the steam from all your… sizzling knife skills, then.”

Louis rolled his eyes, cheeks undeniably warm. “I swear to God.”

Harry winked, backing off with a chuckle.

“Careful, Lou. Keep being cute, and I might have to compliment your sautéing next.”

Louis turned back to the stove, dumping the chicken into the pan, ignoring the way Harry’s eyes were still on him.

The sizzle filled the space between them because that’s all he could handle at that moment.

He added sauce, stirred, and tried to act normal.

Harry stepped closer, just a little. Close enough for Louis to smell his cologne – clean, woodsy, something soft and far too enticing.

“You always cook this much when I’m around?” Harry asked quietly.

Louis shrugged, stirring with extra force. “Just wanted something hot, remember?”

“Mmm.” Harry’s voice was low, a little smug. “I do like it hot.”

Fucking hell.

It was the way he said it, low and casual, like it meant nothing, that absolutely wrecked Louis. The spoon slipped from his hand, clattering against the sink with a metallic crash. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He just stood there, pulse hammering, like a man who’d been struck and yet hadn’t figured out if it hurt or felt fucking incredible.

Behind him, Harry let out a quiet chuckle and said, “You alright, mate?”

“Perfect,” Louis gritted, spinning to grab the bowls, heart thudding in his throat.

Harry helped serve, annoyingly calm. They sat on the couch with their bowls balanced in their laps, the telly playing something neither of them paid attention to.

The silence stretched. Louis stabbed the chicken with his fork with unnecessary focus. He glanced over.

Harry was already watching him.

Their eyes met. Held.

Louis looked away first.

Harry smirked into his bowl.

And Louis realised with growing horror: dinner was not going to cool anything down. Harry was doing it on purpose, he was sure.

💻

They were halfway through dinner when it happened.

Not the food, though that was dangerously spicy thanks to Louis’ heavy hand with the chilli, but the moment, the one that tipped everything just a little too far, came out of nowhere.

Harry had his head thrown back laughing, something about Louis being “the tiniest little spice chef he’d ever seen”, before he licked his thumb slowly and added, “Bet you’ve had hotter things between your lips, yeah?”

He said it like it was nothing. Casual and teasing. Like he didn’t just detonate a fucking bomb in the middle of Louis’ body.

Louis stopped, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth.

Harry didn’t even notice at first, still grinning, still smug.

“What? I’ve just never seen someone moan over food like that. You always make it look like something filthy, tongue flicking, lips all shiny… it’s obscene, really, it’s like watching explicit foreplay.”

Louis made a noise, a strangled sort of cough like he’d forgotten how to breathe. He quickly set his bowl down and tugged the throw blanket a little higher in his lap.

Harry finally turned to look at him, brow furrowing. “Okay, that is it. What is wrong? We always joke about things like this.”

“Nothing,” Louis said, too quickly, too sharply. His voice was tight and clipped.

Harry narrowed his eyes, sensing something he couldn’t quite name.

Louis didn’t meet his gaze. He couldn’t.

Because no, he wasn’t fine, and everything was wrong.

He was rock hard, blushing furiously under a blanket, and rapidly losing his grip on the carefully built wall between best friend and something else entirely.

Harry blinked, confused by the sudden shift. “You sure? That wasn’t even my filthiest innuendo.”

Louis muttered something that sounded a lot like “ fucking kill me ” under his breath.

“What’s wrong with you?” Harry said, nudging him with his elbow. “You’ve been weird all week.”

“I’m not weird.”

“You’re twitchy and awkward and…wait.” Harry leaned back, squinting slightly. “You need to get laid.”

“I’m going to my room.”

“What? Why?”

Louis stood up fast, adjusting his hoodie strategically as he grabbed the empty plates. “I’m tired. I cooked. I’m done.”

Harry’s brows furrowed, concern replacing the teasing in his tone. “Louis, c’mon, did I say something outta line?”

“You always do!”

“Hey,” Harry stood, following a step before Louis shot him a sharp look.

“Don’t,” Louis said, voice low and heavy with something Harry couldn’t decipher, which felt odd in itself.

“Just…don’t.”

He turned and left the room without another word.

Harry stood there alone in the glow of the TV screen, the silence ringing in his ears.

He didn’t understand.

They joked like this all the time. He’d always been flirty, always pushed Louis’ buttons. Louis gave it back just as hard…until now.

Now, he was gone, vanished behind a door, and Harry was left wondering what the hell he’d done to ruin the best part of his day.

Louis had shut his door too hard.

It wasn’t intentional, but the sound echoed through the flat like a declaration, one Harry couldn’t possibly misinterpret.

He paced his room, fingers tugging at his hair. His skin was hot, flushed, and embarrassed, and he was hard in his jeans, and he hated it. Hated this.

“This is stupid,” he muttered to himself, collapsing on the bed and staring at the ceiling. “This is bullshit.”

It had been a stupid look. A stupid word. A stupid smirk. Harry had said something sexual, and Louis’ brain had latched onto it, and decided to throw a sexual fit. And the worst part? He felt it. Physically.

That tight pulse in his stomach. The burn.

He was painfully hard.

Over that man, who is his best friend.

His best friend who had no idea.

Or maybe he did. Maybe Harry knew something had changed and was just being nice, trying not to embarrass Louis by pointing out how gross he was being.

“Get a grip,” Louis growled, yanking a pillow over his face.

Because this? This wasn’t him.

He wasn’t this guy. He wasn’t the creepy mate who got turned on because his friend picked up a chilli pepper earlier with strong fingers.

But every look, every laugh, every touch, it was all starting to feel different. Too different.

And it was ruining everything.

Harry sat on the couch alone, arms folded across his chest.

He stared at the closed hallway, brow furrowed.

Louis had just… stormed off.

And Harry didn’t get it. Not really.

They’d always joked around like that. Teased each other. Flirted? Maybe a little, but it had never felt wrong. It had always been fun. Easy as well, like it was natural.

So why was Louis suddenly pulling away?

Did he say something out of line?

Was he too much?

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing deeply.

He missed him already. Missed that ease between them. And now he just felt… off. Like he was standing in the shell of their friendship, and Louis had taken the spark with him when he left the room.

Later that night, Harry came out of his room to grab a drink. The flat was quiet. Louis still hadn’t come back out.

Harry noticed the laptop still sitting on the coffee table.

He paused.

Just… stared at it.

It’s just a laptop, he told himself.

Just a stupid, old laptop.

But the temptation crept in, quiet and sinister. Louis had been so weird about it. So cagey.

What was he hiding?

Harry sat down.

Just to check his emails, maybe. Something innocent.

The moment he opened the lid, the screen lit up with the login prompt.

Password protected.

He scoffed under his breath. Of course.

Without thinking, his fingers moved.

“CurlyTop94”

Enter.

Click.

Are you serious? He blinked. Louis had used the same password since they were fifteen.

Harry’s heart thudded. The cursor blinked at him.

He could do it. He could check. One click into the browser, one scroll through the history, and he’d have answers. He could know.

But…

His hands froze.

No.

It wasn’t right. Not like this.

He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose, fingers backing out of the browser tab.

Instead, he opened a blank Word document and hovered for a second.

Then he started typing:

“ Whatever I said or did, I’m sorry…. ”

He saved the file as “ important.txt ” and closed the lid gently.

Maybe it’d buy him some grace or at least a moment to breathe. He swallowed hard, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked away, hoping like hell it didn’t come back to bite him.

Because Louis wasn’t just curiosity. He was gravity, dangerous beautiful gravity, and Harry had been circling too long not to get pulled in.

But this… whatever this was becoming, it couldn’t be reckless. Not with Louis. Not when every look, every breath between them already felt like it could set the whole thing on fire.

It had to be deliberate. It had to mean something, or it could possibly destroy them in the most exquisite way.

💻

Louis blinked awake with a dry mouth and a throbbing guilt pounding right behind his eyes. The sun was too bright, the house eerily silent. He stretched slowly, bones cracking as he sat up, and something gnawed at him. A weird, creeping unease low in his gut.

He got up, dragging himself down the hall, scratching at his stomach through his shirt. When he stepped into the lounge, he froze, realising why he had felt that way.

The laptop was sitting on the lounge.

Exactly where he hadn’t left it.

His stomach dropped like a lead weight.

“Oh, fuck me.”

He approached slowly, like it might detonate, then dropped onto the couch in a rush, flipping the screen open.

There it was.

A blank Word document, cursor blinking.

Whatever I said or did, I’m sorry.

Also, dinner was lovely. I stand by my opinion; tiny chefs are still the best chefs in the world. Even when they’re weirdly obsessed with the number 28, the colours blue and green and chicken wrapped in parma ham. 

— H.

Louis exhaled a shaky laugh, clutching the side of the laptop like it might save him from a nervous breakdown. But then, then the panic hit again.

Had Harry seen anything?

He yanked up the browser faster than a man checking a lottery ticket. Tabs: none. History: clean. Bookmarks: blessedly boring.

Oh right. He’d cleared it all before they started cooking last night.

“Thank fuck.”

His whole body sagged with relief. The tight coil in his chest loosened by a degree. And then, as if hit by a freight train of shame, Louis flopped backwards and stared at the ceiling.

Jesus Christ.

He was losing his goddamn mind.

This wasn’t Harry’s fault. Not even a little. It wasn’t Harry’s fault that Louis had turned into a sleep-deprived, hormone-driven lunatic with a compulsive need to Google phrases like “ is it normal to want to sit on your best friend’s face?”

He groaned loudly, dragging his hands down his cheeks.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Harry had always been flirty. Playful. That was their dynamic. That was what they did. And Louis had never been this affected. But now? Now it was like every look, every laugh, every offhand innuendo was fuel to the fire that was burning him alive from the inside out.

And he was the only one melting.

He’d been a dick last night. Snapping. Storming off. Leaving Harry sitting there, confused and quiet, probably wondering what the hell he’d done wrong.

Louis sat up slowly, rubbing at his chest like he could press the regret down.

He’d have to fix this. Start with an apology. And maybe breakfast. And maybe, maybe, he could manage not to get hard while Harry stirred his tea.

Maybe .

Clear Browser - Take Three

The days that followed were… strange.

Even after Louis’ awkward apology, the one he’d tripped over, half mumbled while burning toast and avoiding Harry’s eyes, things hadn’t really gone back to normal. Harry didn’t yell or accuse him of anything, didn’t storm off or demand answers. But the silence that settled between them said enough.

Harry had closed off.

He started staying late at work. He left early in the mornings without their usual banter in the kitchen. And when he finally came home at night, and despite Louis waiting with dinner and trying to act casual like nothing had happened, Harry just offered a tired smile and carried his plate into his room.

He didn’t ask Louis to join. Didn’t crack jokes or put on a film. Just ate alone, shut his door quietly, and didn’t come back out.

Louis couldn’t sleep.

Couldn’t eat.

Couldn’t focus on a damn thing.

The air in the house felt like it was holding its breath.

So today, he’d made a decision.

Today, things were going back to normal if it fucking killed him.

He came home from a frustrating workday and kicked off his shoes at the front door, determined to find Harry and talk, really talk, about whatever wall had gone up between them.

Only he didn’t need to go far.

Harry was right there in the lounge room, spread out on a yoga mat in the middle of a downward dog. Tight yellow lycra pants clung to every curve of his body. His tank top had ridden up, revealing a strip of toned stomach, and the way his shoulder blades flexed with every slow, controlled breath made Louis shiver.

Louis stopped dead.

Well.

He was fucked .

Utterly, completely fucked.

Harry glanced up mid stretch, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple.

“Hey.”

Louis opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Tried again.

“Hey.”

A beat passed.

Harry dropped into child’s pose and pushed upright, sitting back on his heels, breath evening out.

“You alright?”

“I was gonna ask you that.” Louis tried to sound normal, but his voice cracked on the ‘ask’. He cleared his throat and looked away.

“You’ve been a bit… MIA.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah. I know.”

It was awkward and tense, and neither of them addressed why.

Louis swallowed, then rallied. He wasn’t going to lose his best friend over something as stupid as sexual tension and a dumb misunderstanding. He forced a grin, cocked his head at the yellow lycra.

“Those pants are a crime against nature.”

Harry looked down at himself and snorted.

“Geez, you said that like you didn’t stare at my arse the second you walked in. Plus, you only wished you looked this good in banana yellow.”

Louis rolled his eyes and flipped him off. He wasn’t going to overthink whether Harry had caught him staring or was just being a shit on purpose.

This was them.

Banter, rudeness, and flirting – that definitely “wasn’t” flirting.

Business as usual. Right?

“Please. I’ve seen tighter curves on a soggy pillow.”

Harry barked a laugh, loud and genuine, head thrown back, and just like that, the tension cracked open.

It wasn’t fixed. Not really.

But they were back to banter.

And that was something.

“Take out?”

💻

The car hummed beneath them, the engine a lazy purr as the drive-thru speaker crackled like it was clinging to life.

Louis squinted at the menu board, blinking like the words were in another language.

“Wait…hang on. I want the… is that the one with bacon? No. Wait, yeah. Yeah, the double one. But not the triple; that’s too much. Or is it? Shit. Harry, what’s that one you always get with the—”

He trailed off because Harry wasn’t listening.

In the passenger seat, Harry was leaned back with his phone held low on his thigh, thumb scrolling lazily. His grin was wide, lips curled like he’d just read something filthy or hilarious. Probably both.

Louis turned back to the speaker. “Can I get, uh, just, one sec, sorry.” He wound up the window and leaned towards Harry. “What are you smiling at like that? It’s making me nervous.”

Harry didn’t even look up.

“Just a text.”

Louis tried not to bristle.

“From who?”

That earned him a glance.

“Nosy much.”

He wasn’t wrong. Louis was nosy. Painfully so. Especially now. Especially with the way Harry’s whole face had lit up, eyes soft, dimples out, neck flushed. Louis stared a second too long before turning back to the menu and putting down the window.

With his voice stiff, he said, “Right. Fine. I’ll get the one with bacon. Just the meal. No drink.”

He ordered for both of them while Harry kept grinning at his phone, thumbs still tapping. When he finally locked the screen, Louis noticed the way he hesitated, like whatever had been said was still lingering in his head.

Curiosity buzzed in Louis’ chest like static.

He tried not to care. He really did.

But he couldn’t stop glancing at Harry’s phone like it might answer all the questions he was too much of a coward to ask.

Louis passed the food into the passenger seat, trying not to huff as Harry took his time putting his phone down.

“Bit rude to sext while your driver is starving to death,” Louis muttered, unwrapping his burger with more force than necessary.

Harry raised a brow, taking his fries.

“Who says it was a sext?”

Louis side-eyed him. “That smile? Your face looked like you just got invited to a threesome with a Michelin star and a pornstar.”

Harry chuckled, chewing a fry.

“You think I’d smile for less than that?”

Louis scoffed, biting into his burger with vengeance.

“Takes nothing to get you going, Styles. Bet a soggy chip could get you to blush.”

Harry just grinned wider, eyes glinting.

“Only if it said something dirty.”

Louis choked on his next bite.

Harry laughed like it made his day, then turned to the window, leaving Louis to stew in the warmth creeping up his neck. He told himself it was the heat from the car. From the burger. From anything else.

The rest of the drive was quiet, but not tense. The radio hummed low, and the smell of fries filled the car. Still, Louis kept catching himself glancing at Harry’s phone every time it buzzed on the console.

💻

Back at home…

Louis tried to play it casual. He really did.

He flopped onto the sofa like everything was fine, like he wasn’t two seconds from grabbing Harry’s phone and solving the mystery himself. But Harry strolled into the kitchen, still half smiling at his screen like some damn heart-eyed emoji had taken over his body.

“So,” Louis said, a little too brightly, “good meme or hot stranger?”

Harry didn’t even look up.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been smiling at that phone like it’s gonna kiss you goodnight. I just wanna know who I’m losing your attention to.”

Harry snorted.

“Jealous?”

Louis paused.

“Maybe. I used to be your favourite flirt. Now I’m just your burger chauffeur.”

Harry leaned against the counter, phone still in hand, but finally lifted his gaze.

“You’re always my favourite. But this meme did make me choke on my drink, so…”

Louis narrowed his eyes.

“A meme. You’re taking the piss.”

Harry tossed his phone onto the counter and walked over, grabbing his drink. “Not even. It was a cat hanging off a curtain rod with the caption: ‘Me clinging to my last shred of dignity after texting him first.’ I lost it.”

Louis blinked. “You were giggling like that… over a dignity cat?”

Harry smirked.

“Relatable content, mate.”

Louis dropped his head into his hands.

“I genuinely hate it here.”

But Harry was laughing, and that was enough. The tension softened, just a little.

Still, Louis made a mental note to track down whoever kept making Harry grin like that. You know… just in case.

💻

Louis woke up startled, sunlight stabbing through his blinds like it had a personal vendetta.

“Shit.”

He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over yesterday’s jeans and muttering curses as he shoved his head through the wrong hole in his shirt. His phone screen flashed 8:47 a.m., and his meeting started in thirteen bloody minutes.

He stumbled into the kitchen while still trying to wrangle his shoelaces, only to stop dead in the doorway.

Harry was there.

Shirtless.

Barefoot.

And chewing slow, deliberate bites of avocado toast like he was in a fucking commercial for Whole Foods. His curls were a mess, eyes still sleepy, and his tattooed chest caught the light just so, all golden skin and stupid glistening collarbones.

Louis forgot how to breathe.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

All those thoughts he’d sworn he’d banished, burned, buried, and exorcised with wine and denial came roaring back with a vengeance. Thoughts about Harry’s back muscles, his hands, his mouth. Things Louis definitely couldn’t be thinking of on a Monday morning before coffee.

Harry looked up, lips twitching like he knew exactly what he was doing. He raised the half eaten toast.

“Want some?”

Louis blinked, caught in the sound of his own heartbeat, and then grimaced. “I’d rather chew on the contents of a bin behind a sushi shop.”

Harry laughed.

“Still dramatic before ten, I see.”

Louis didn’t reply. He couldn’t. He was too busy mentally undressing him. Again .

He muttered something incoherent and bolted out of the kitchen, socks slipping on the floor, thoughts in complete disarray.

Behind him, Harry called out, voice low and full of mischief.

“Careful, mate. Wouldn’t want you tripping and ending up on your knees for me.”

Louis slammed the door in response.

💻

He was never going to survive this house. Not with Harry walking around half naked, and grinning at his phone like he was in love. Not with Louis pretending he didn’t notice the late night texts lighting up Harry’s screen; or the way he’d duck into his room to answer them. It wasn’t any of his business, and that was the most frustrating part. Because suddenly, it felt like it was.

Louis had started clocking every time Harry smiled at his phone. Every chuckle, every sudden mood swing, every vague “just a friend” when Louis asked who it was. It shouldn’t bother him. But it did.

It really, really did.

“Hey,” Harry said casually as he walked into the lounge, stretching his arms over his head. “Mind if I use your laptop again? Just for a sec.”

Louis, mid sip of his cuppa tea, nearly scalded his throat. He lowered the mug slowly.

“What for?”

Harry blinked. “Just…something. Quick thing.”

Louis raised an eyebrow.

“Something like what?”

Harry tilted his head, frowning lightly.

“Mate… Since when do you care?”

Louis shrugged, too fast, too loose.

“I don’t. Was just asking.”

Harry didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned against the doorway, studying him.

“It’s nothing sketchy. Just a file I need from my cloud. My phone’s being weird.”

Louis hummed.

“Weird how?”

Harry’s brows pulled together.

“Why are you acting like I’m trying to hack the Pentagon?”

“I’m not,” Louis said sharply, then tried to soften it with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just wondering what you’re doing that my laptop’s suddenly the love of your life.”

Harry gave a short laugh, but it was wary now. “Alright. What’s this about? You’ve gone full interrogation mode.”

“I’m just asking a question.” Louis crossed his arms.

Harry narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t ask just anything. You dig. You pry. Usually with a smirk, not a scowl.”

Louis looked away, jaw tight.

“Forget it.”

“No, seriously,” Harry pushed. “Did I do something?”

Louis snorted. “What could you possibly be doing, huh?” Then, when Harry just stared, he waved a hand. “Fine. Whatever. The laptop’s in the lounge. Go nuts. Actually wait, just give me a sec. I’ve got stuff open.”

Harry shrugged, easy and oblivious.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna take a quick piss then.”

Louis took advantage.

He bolted from the lounge the second Harry left the room, laptop clutched to his chest like a bomb. He scrambled to clear tabs, delete cookies, and close articles titled ‘ Is it gay to fantasise about your best friend in the kitchen? ’ and ‘ Why do I want to kiss someone I’ve known forever? ’ and a bookmarked BuzzFeed quiz titled “ What Kind of Queer Are You? ”

His fingers were shaking by the time the desktop was clean. His chest tight. His head full of everything he wasn’t ready to admit.

By the time Harry reappeared, Louis had just clicked the lid shut, tossed it back onto the couch, and made himself look as casual as humanly possible.

“All yours,” he said, a touch too quickly.

Harry hesitated when he saw Louis’ face. He has known Louis a very long time. He is guilty of something; he is sure of it.

“You’re being weird again,” he said as he stepped forward, grabbing it.

Louis muttered, “So are you.”

“Jesus,” Harry muttered, shaking his head as he walked off with it. “You act like I’m cheating on you.”

Louis’ heart slammed.

Harry didn’t mean it. Obviously. But it still hit like a brick to the chest.

💻

It was well past midnight when temptation hit. Louis finally slipped back into his room after grabbing some water, the door creaking slightly as he eased it shut behind him. The house had fallen into that unsettling stillness that only comes with the dead of night. There were no humming appliances, no footsteps overhead, just an eerie, pressing awful silence. It wasn’t peaceful. Not really. It was the kind of quiet that wrapped around him, amplifying every thought bouncing around in his head until they felt deafening.

He stared at the laptop on his bedside table like it might bite him, like the moment he touched it, it would unleash something he couldn’t take back.

He shouldn’t check.

He really, really shouldn’t.

His fingers hovered above the lid, hesitating. Logic screamed at him to leave it alone. To go to sleep. To stop overthinking. But curiosity had a way of curling around his resolve, loosening it like thread.

He opened it anyway.

The glow of the screen lit up his face. His heart was thudding now, not from excitement but from dread. The kind that settles deep in your chest, knowing you’re about to cross a line you can’t uncross.

Still, he moved the cursor with a shaky hand, searching for the last thing Harry had opened.

Harry had logged out, but Louis knew exactly how to dig; he’d done it before, and clearly, morals were for people who didn’t have a rapidly growing jealousy complex.

He went to the browser, found the recently closed tab list, and clicked without thinking.

A loading bar spun… and then there it was.

A website.

“Custom novelty gifts…personal messages on socks, mugs, and underwear.”

Louis blinked. Then blinked again.

He clicked around more. One tab had a half completed order form. The shipping address was their flat. The product?

A pair of boxers.

Black.

Gold lettering.

With a custom message in all caps:

“MY FLATMATE IS A PAIN IN MY ARSE.”

There was even a little note option that read, “Gift wrapping? Yes, please.”

Louis covered his mouth, a huff of laughter slipping out before he could stop it. He didn’t know if he wanted to cry or scream or kiss Harry senseless.

Because what was that?

It wasn’t romantic. But it wasn’t either. It was weird and dumb and kind of hot? And Harry hadn’t told him? Louis should’ve been relieved it wasn’t sexts or dating apps or anything that would validate his paranoia.

But now he just felt more confused than ever.

What the hell did it mean?

He flopped back on the bed, laptop slipping to the side.

Of course Harry was out there secretly buying novelty underwear like a menace. Of course.

Louis stared at the ceiling, cheeks hot.

“God, I hate you,” he muttered to no one, to himself, and to the entire universe.

And yet, even as he lay there, swamped in confusion and mild arousal, he couldn’t help but smile.

Because, yeah, maybe Harry was hiding things, but so was he.

Clear Browser - Take Four

The afternoon had drawn out like warm toffee, sticky and sweet. They’d ended up sprawled out on a picnic rug at the edge of the park, chips between them, iced coffees going hot in the shade. Harry had his sunnies on and that ridiculous wide brimmed hat he’d insisted on buying “for sun safety, obviously”, and Louis hadn’t stopped grinning for an hour. Everything was easy again. Natural. Whatever weirdness had been clogging the air between them the past few weeks had lifted, replaced by something close to what they’d always had… except warmer, flirtier, and hotter under the collar.

Louis kicked his bare foot at Harry’s leg.

“You’ve got chip dust all over your shorts.”

Harry looked down.

“That’s flavour for later,” he joked.

Louis snorted.

“That’s a hygiene violation.”

“Please. You’d lick it off.”

Louis choked on his coffee.

“I’d what?”

Harry smirked behind his straw.

“You heard me.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I’ve seen you do worse.”

“Name one time.”

“That burrito at 2am? You made out with it.”

Louis flung a napkin at him, nearly toppling his coffee. Harry batted it away with mock offence, their laughter ringing out between the trees. It was good, so good that Louis forgot to guard himself. Forgot to brace. Forgot that things like this never lasted.

He only remembered when the man showed up.

He saw him from the corner of his eye first: tall, well dressed, and tanned like he hadn’t worked a real job in years. Sunglasses pushed back in his hair, bright grin like something out of an underwear ad. He strolled over with the ease of someone who knew he’d be welcome, gaze fixed on Harry.

Harry sat up, brushing crumbs from his chest, and the smile that lit his face made Louis’ stomach turn.

“Luca,” Harry said, surprised but unmistakably pleased. “Hey!”

Luca. Of course his name was Luca.

Louis’ body went taut. He tried to relax, but the rug suddenly felt like sandpaper under his thighs. He gave them space and shifted off the mat to pretend to check his phone, but his ears stayed tuned.

They didn’t touch, not really, but the energy was there, familiar and flirty. Harry laughed at something Luca said and tipped his head in that way he did when he was charmed. Louis felt like someone had dumped cold water down his back.

He didn’t hear much, just enough to want to punch something.

“See you tonight then,” Luca said, touching Harry’s arm as he turned.

And then he was gone, off with a wink and a wave, leaving a trail of expensive aftershave and confusion behind him.

Louis hummed, noncommittal.

“Friend of yours?” He kept his tone breezy, eyes still on the trees.

Harry nodded, brushing his hands on his shorts. “Yeah. We worked together last year. He’s… around a lot lately.”

Louis glanced at him then, sharp.

“Yeah, I got that vibe.”

Harry blinked, caught off guard.

“What’s that mean?”

Louis shrugged, turning back to his phone.

“Nothing. Just didn’t realise you were so busy these days.”

Harry squinted.

Silence.

Louis hated that he wasn’t good at pretending. He hated even more that Harry didn’t explain what “tonight” meant. Dinner? A date? A hook up? His stomach twisted.

He shoved the remaining chips back into the bag.

“We heading off or what?”

Harry blinked, caught off guard.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Louis didn’t speak the whole walk back to the car. He let Harry drive and sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms folded like a sulky kid. The silence felt thick, but not the good kind. Not the kind they used to share.

And Harry… Harry kept stealing glances, biting his lip like he wanted to ask what the hell was going on.

But he didn’t.

Later that night, Louis heard Harry before he had seen him. There was soft music drifting from the bathroom, the sound of the hairdryer going, drawers opening and closing. It was late, just past eight, and Louis was on the sofa, pretending to watch some mindless action movie. The takeaway from earlier sat untouched beside him. His eyes were fixed on the hallway.

Harry walked out a moment later, dressed in black jeans that clung a little too well and a button down shirt rolled at the sleeves, just tight enough across the chest. His curls were styled back but still artfully messy, and he smelled faintly of citrus and something darker. Cologne.

Louis stiffened. Literally  

Harry paused near the mirror to check his appearance again, tugging at a cuff, then glanced towards Louis.

“Don’t wait up, no idea what time I will be home.

Louis didn’t even look at him.

“Didn’t realise you had plans.”

“I mentioned it earlier. Luca?”

“Right. Luca.” The name came out like a curse. Louis finally turned, the remote clenched too tight in his hand. “The one from the park.”

Harry blinked, surprised at the tone.

“Yeah? We’re just grabbing a drink. Nothing wild.”

Louis scoffed.

“You dressed like that for ‘nothing wild’?”

That stopped Harry in his tracks.

He turned fully now, arms folding over his chest, brow furrowed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Louis stood up, too fast, his adrenaline kicking in.

“It means you’ve been secretive as hell lately, disappearing off to God knows where, hanging out with guys you don’t introduce me to, acting like I’m some flatmate you tolerate instead of…” He cut himself off.

Harry stared at him.

“Instead of what?”

Louis clenched his jaw.

“Forget it.”

“No,” Harry said, stepping forward. “Say it.”

Louis barked a humourless laugh.

“What do you want me to say, Harry? That I wait up every night like some fucking housewife hoping you’ll eat dinner with me? That I lose sleep trying to figure out if I’ve done something wrong when really it’s just you playing footsie with mystery men in the park and lying about it?”

“I didn’t lie about anything,” Harry snapped. “Jesus, Louis. I told you who he was. We’re friends. That’s it.”

“You said he’s around a lot lately,” Louis shot back. “Yeah, I remembered that part.”

Harry’s voice rose.

“What do you think is happening? That I’m sneaking off behind your back? Why the hell would I need to lie to you?”

Louis didn’t answer, eyes locked on the floor.

There was a heavy silence. Harry’s next words were low but cut deep:

“Have I done something wrong, Louis? Just fucking say it.”

Louis hesitated, and that hesitation was all Harry needed.

“Fine,” Harry said, voice tightening. “You know what? I’m getting sick of this attitude you’ve been throwing around all week. You’ve been moody and short and biting my head off every time I so much as breathe near you. Either you tell me what’s going on or you stop treating me like shit, because I don’t deserve this.”

Louis looked up finally, eyes wide but glassy, like he didn’t know how to explain it without confessing everything.

Harry didn’t wait.

He stormed towards the door, grabbing his jacket on the way. “Don’t wait up,” he muttered, yanking it open and stepping into the night.

Louis stood frozen in the middle of the lounge, heart hammering in his chest, the click of the latch behind Harry ringing louder than any slammed door ever could.

Louis stood frozen for a while, staring at the empty space Harry had just vacated. The tension didn’t fade; it intensified, settling into the room like dust on glass. He finally moved, shoulders tight, crossing to the counter where that sad excuse for a “healthy” takeaway bag sat like a smug little insult.

He yanked it open, took one look at the grilled whatever the fuck, and scoffed out loud.

“Fuck this rabbit food.”

Of course Harry would order something sensible. Something green. Something he thought Louis should try because it was good for him.

Fuck Harry.

No, fuck this whole thing.

Louis chucked the bag towards the bin and pulled out his phone, stabbing at the screen with more force than necessary. If Harry got his smug little quinoa, then Louis was damn well getting chips and a burger dripping with shame and grease. Comfort food. Food that hugged your arteries and whispered, “We die like kings.”

He wasn’t even properly hungry.

But emotional sabotage via delivery service? That was something he could get behind.

When the Uber Eats guy arrived 20 minutes later, Louis buzzed him up. The knock came quick, and Louis yanked the door open without thinking.

The delivery boy, barely older than a teenager, smiled politely, holding out the bag and drink. “Sorry, they were out of Pepsi, so is Sprite okay?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Louis muttered, taking the bag too fast.

The Sprite slipped.

It hit the floor with a loud plastic thud, fizz hissing from the loose lid as it spun wildly in a circle, like it was trying to escape the entire situation. A puddle began to spread across the tiles.

“Shit…” the boy reached down, panic in his voice, “Sorry, I…”

“Are you kidding me?” Louis snapped. His tone was sharp, unrecognisable. The kid froze.

Louis caught himself too late.

The boy blinked at him, face crumpling slightly, and without another word, turned and hurried back down the hall.

Louis stood there, chest heaving, fist clenched around the paper bag like it might save him.

It didn’t.

He closed the door, locked it, and stared down at the Sprite trail leaking its way towards the rug.

He hated himself instantly.

“What the fuck was that?” he muttered to no one, scrubbing a hand over his face.

That poor kid. Just doing his job. Now he’s probably thinking Louis was some psycho loser alone on a Friday night, rage bursting over a £3 drink. And fair enough, he wasn’t wrong.

Louis dropped to his knees, grabbed the roll of paper towel, and started cleaning the mess, angry at the puddle, angry at himself, and especially angry at the tight sting in his eyes.

When he finally slumped onto the sofa, burger half squashed in its wrapper and already cooling, he didn’t even bother turning the TV back on. Just sat there, chewing, chewing, chewing like each bite was a punishment.

Then he reached for the laptop.

Because, of course he did.

It was automatic now, and maybe it was petty, maybe it was a way to feel like he had some kind of control again, but he opened it and started typing anyway.

First, just out of habit. But then, with purpose.

“How to tell if your friend is secretly dating someone.”

The results came up quickly. Lists, quizzes, “15 subtle signs”, articles with stock photos of grinning couples holding coffee cups.

“How to tell if someone is dating someone else (and not telling you).”

That one made him grimace. But he clicked it anyway. Skimmed bullet points.

Less time for you.

Acting secretive.

Looking at their phone too much.

Dressing nicer.

Smiling at texts.

He slammed the laptop shut with a groan.

It wasn’t helping.

He was acting insane. Fully, spectacularly mental. This wasn’t him. He was acting like someone watching their ex strut into brunch holding hands with a literal underwear model while he sat in the corner with bed hair, yesterday’s hoodie, and a latte that tasted like betrayal.

And for what? A maybe date? A “see you tonight” with some walking cologne advert? He rubbed his hands down his face, groaning.

“Get it together, you absolute maniac,” he muttered to himself, flopping dramatically back onto the couch. “You’re not in a rom-com, Louis. You’re in hell. With avocado toast and fucking bright yellow yoga pants.”

With a sigh and no willpower whatsoever, he flipped it back open again.

This time he typed: “ How to make someone fall in love with you (instead of whoever they’re dating).”

He winced just reading it. That was a new low. The results were worse, with more listicles, terrible advice, “Be your best self” and “Listen to them talk about their day.”

Oh, brilliant. Revolutionary.

“Why not just wear a flashing neon sign that says ‘ jealous idiot ’?” he muttered, dragging his fries towards him, eating angrily now, stabbing them into the ketchup like it had personally wronged him.

It was only after he refreshed Google a few more times and read a Reddit thread titled ‘He left me for his coworker; what now?’ that Louis dropped the burger and leaned back on the couch.

He was out of control.

He knew it. And the worst part? He couldn’t even pretend this was Harry’s fault.

It had never been Harry’s fault.

Louis reached for his phone without thinking, needing something, anything, to ground him. Distraction. A dopamine hit. Maybe TikTok. Maybe…

Nope. He opened Instagram.

His thumb hovered. Harry’s icon was right at the top of the story bar, glowing with that infernal coloured ring.

He hadn’t even seen it yet.

Louis swallowed.

He didn’t open it.

Didn’t dare. He already knew what he’d do: screenshot it, zoom in, stare at blurry backgrounds, and psychoanalyse who Harry was with or whether his shirt was unbuttoned one more than usual. He’d ruined enough of his own night. He wasn’t going to stalk Harry on top of it.

Still, he smiled.

Because in that tiny, shameful moment of clarity, he finally saw it all for what it was.

This wasn’t about Harry.

This was him.

He was the one acting like a jealous boyfriend when they weren’t even, well, anything. Harry had done nothing wrong. No lies. No games. Just living his life and being, well, gorgeous and charming and everything Louis had clearly not handled well.

And that was on Louis.

He dropped his phone face down and leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling like it held answers.

He’d apologise tomorrow. Or at least try to act normal. Fix things… AGAIN.

But tonight, he was going to sit here with his half eaten burger, his rapidly congealing fries, and the knowledge that he’d officially become that guy .

And he wasn’t sure if he was more mortified… or just sad.

💻

Louis woke up feeling like a slightly overcooked scrambled egg, warm, soft, and mildly confused about his existence.

Still in his boxers, hair an unruly mess, he stumbled into the kitchen, flicked on the kettle, and began cracking eggs into a pan like he was hosting a low budget cooking show. A bit of butter, a sprinkle of salt, a flick of the wrist like he wasn’t dead inside.

He farted. Loudly. Then scratched his arse, mid stir.

That’s when it hit him.

He hadn’t heard Harry come home.

He paused, spatula hovering in the air. No creaky door, no clatter of keys, no gentle thud of footsteps. Just silence all night. The kind that prickled at the base of his neck now. Was he even home? Or had he…?

He shoved the thought away and finished plating the eggs, sitting at the counter and eating alone like some sad little breakfast orphan. His own chewing sounded too loud in the quiet flat.

Right. Enough moping.

He took a shower, wrestled his hair into something vaguely acceptable, picked out an outfit that said, “I’m fine, and also hotter than anyone you could’ve possibly gone home with,” and was just digging through the key bowl near the front door when…

Click.

The sound of a door opening down the hall.

He froze. The air went still.

Footsteps padded out, and then there he was. Harry. In rumpled clothes, hair a bit of a mess, face still soft with sleep and…

Jesus Christ, was he hungover?

“Morning,” Harry croaked, voice low and rough.

Louis blinked.

“You’re home.”

“Yeah…” Harry squinted against the light. “Head feels like it’s been personally steamrolled.”

Louis stared. That wasn’t normal. Harry didn’t usually drink much. That was Louis’ area of expertise, being the messy one, the one that got tipsy on a Tuesday and made bad life choices. Harry was the grounded one. The reliable one. The parental one.

And yet here he was, clearly on struggle street, reeking of regret and possibly tequila.

“You okay?” Louis asked, cautious.

Harry just nodded and looked him up and down, eyes dragging from Louis’ hair to his boots like he was scanning for damage.

Louis squirmed. “What? Is there something on me? Do I look bad?”

Harry blinked, then gave a crooked, almost shy smile. “No. You look great.”

Louis didn’t know what to do with that, so naturally, he flushed like an idiot and promptly tried to act cooler than he felt.

“I’m off to the mall,” he said, jangling his keys. “Retail therapy. Apparently it’s good for broken egos and bruised pride.”

Harry chuckled softly, then winced at the sound.

“Good luck with that.”

They didn’t mention last night.

No apology. No rehash. Just silence. It was becoming a bit of a habit, letting their arguments collect like dust bunnies under the rug, never addressed, just kicked further out of sight.

Louis paused at the door, hand on the knob. He glanced down the hall. Harry hadn’t said anything about Luca. No mystery man followed him out. No second toothbrush or awkward shuffling in the background.

He was alone.

And Louis hated how much relief that brought him.

💻

The door clicked open and Louis stumbled in backwards, arms overflowing with shopping bags and the remains of a way too expensive juice that had already started spilling down his wrist.

The second he stepped inside, his heart stopped.

There, in the middle of the living room, standing far too close to danger, was Harry. His fingers were lightly resting on the laptop. Louis’ laptop. The one he’d left on the edge of the coffee table. The one he definitely hadn’t cleared from last night’s descent into stalker mode hell.

“What are you doing?!” Louis practically shouted, voice high and shrill like a kettle on the brink.

Harry jumped, spinning around in surprise, his hand jerking back like he’d just touched a hot stove. “Jesus, Louis! I didn’t even hear you come in.”

Louis stood frozen, his bags digging into his arms, his breath catching in the base of his throat. He blinked once. Twice.

Harry grinned.

“Relax. I was just moving it out of the way.”

“Mm.” Louis squinted at him suspiciously, jaw tight.

“Still paranoid around the laptop, huh?”

Harry chuckled, and it was unfair how soft the sound came out, how non threatening, how deeply charming it sounded. The dimples were out in full force, and Louis hated how quickly his shoulders dropped, how his panic leaked out through an exhale that came too fast.

“You’re still in delulu land, then, I see,” Louis muttered, marching forward before Harry could see the way his eyes kept flicking to the screen like it was going to light up and scream;

GOOGLE HISTORY: OBSESSED LOSER EDITION.

“Come on, mate,” Harry teased, stepping forward to meet him. “Give me a couple of those before your arms fall off.”

Before Louis could protest, Harry was already taking a few of the bags, brushing their hands together in the exchange. Louis bit his lip and looked anywhere else, mostly so he didn’t say something like, ‘I’m in love with you,’ and also, ‘Please stop standing near the laptop.’

They set the bags down on the kitchen table, the silence between them just starting to stretch when Harry gave him a soft smile.

“You wanna do something today? Go out or chill, whatever.”

Louis turned, blinked, and tilted his head.

“You’re feeling better, I see.”

Harry shrugged.

“I’ve had four glasses of water and a Berocca. I’m practically thriving.”

Louis scoffed but smiled, heart still thudding. No mention of last night. No Luca. No fights. Just Harry being casually hot and devastating and way too close to his most humiliating online search history.

“Gimme a sec,” Harry said, already turning. “Let me just check what’s on at the cinema. Could be good to—”

“No!” Louis said, practically lunging forward as Harry reached again for the laptop.

Harry froze.

“What the hell?”

“I mean,” Louis cleared his throat, trying to claw his voice back down into something normal, “you don’t need my laptop. I’ll just… grab my phone. I have the Hoyts app. Way easier.”

Harry stared at him for a long beat, eyes narrowed, expression unreadable. Louis could feel the sweat prickling under his collar, anxiety crawling up the back of his neck.

Finally, Harry backed away with a casual shrug.

“Alright. You’re very… passionate about cinema apps. Good loyalty points or something?”

Louis let out a nervous laugh that sounded more like a dying bird, already snatching the laptop from the coffee table with too much speed, pretending to “set it aside” as he clutched it to his chest.

“Be right back,” he mumbled and practically sprinted down the hall like his life depended on it.

Because, in a way, it did.

The second his bedroom door clicked shut, Louis dropped onto his bed, flung open the screen, and frantically started deleting everything. Gone was How to tell if someone is secretly dating someone and hiding it from you. Gone was Does jealousy mean I’m in love? and how to tell if your best friend is in love with you or just likes your face.

Click. Delete. Clear. Close.

By the time Harry called out “Everything good?” from the other room, Louis had returned the laptop to casual, safe, pre-breakdown status and was clutching it like it had never betrayed him.

“Yeah!” he shouted back. “All good. Just, uh… checking emails.”

Totally normal.

Totally not insane.

As he made his way back to the living room, laptop now safely shut and tucked under one arm, Louis allowed himself a breath.

But just one.

Because Harry was still there, sprawled on the couch now, legs wide, that damn smile tugging at his lips. And Louis knew, no matter how much he tried to hide it, to delete it, to deny it. He was in trouble.

Deep.

Big.

Dimples level trouble.

💻

It had been Louis’ idea to go to the mall beforehand, even though he had already been. Because, well, retail therapy doesn’t have an expiration date, but it was Harry’s suggestion to cap it off with a movie. They were both carrying bags now; Harry had somehow been roped into holding two of Louis’ shopping bags, although he hadn’t complained once, and they wandered through the bright, air-conditioned corridors towards the theatre.

“Alright, let’s see,” Louis said, stopping in front of the giant screen with all the film listings. “I vote something stupid. Maybe a rom-com. Or like… an animated dog who wants to be a pastry chef. No thinking required.”

Harry snorted.

“Tempting. But I already booked the tickets.”

Louis turned to him sharply.

“You what?”

Harry just grinned and produced two paper tickets from his jacket pocket like it was nothing.

“You just decided for both of us? Fascist.”

“You’ll survive,” Harry said, smug. “Come on, I’ll get popcorn.”

Louis grumbled under his breath but followed him anyway. Of course, he let Harry pay for everything, including an absurdly large popcorn, two drinks, and a pack of Maltesers that Louis shoved into his hoodie pocket immediately like some sort of cinema raccoon.

It was only when they were walking into the screening room, their shoes sticking slightly to the floor, that Louis read the ticket properly.

“Wait…this is the horror film. You hate horror.”

Harry shrugged, a little too casual.

“Maybe I’m growing as a person.”

“You screamed during Coraline , Harry.”

“It’s a deeply unsettling film, and you know it.”

Louis laughed and nudged his shoulder as they found their seats in the middle of the row. The cinema was only half full. It felt oddly intimate, like the two of them were sharing something secret in the dark.

They settled in just as the lights dimmed. Louis wriggled in his seat, draping his legs out with his ankles crossed, and shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth. He didn’t miss the way Harry shifted beside him, suddenly hyper focused on the previews.

Halfway through the actual film, Louis was practically vibrating from holding in his laughter. The movie wasn’t even scary; it was over the top, full of cheap jump scares and gory visuals that looked like ketchup and Play-Doh. But what had him giggling was Harry.

Because Harry was trying .

He was sitting there, jaw tight, posture rigid, pretending to be unaffected while his hand kept twitching towards the armrest every time the music turned ominous. He was sweating. Like, noticeably. But his face was a picture of stubborn stoicism.

Louis leaned in close and whispered,

“Do you want to hold my hand, Grandpa?”

Harry side-eyed him, smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Piss off.”

“I mean it. You look like you’re about to cry.”

“Shut up.”

But Louis didn’t shut up. He kept leaning closer, barely watching the film, choosing instead to study Harry’s profile in the bright flicker of the screen. His lashes cast little shadows under his eyes. His lips were pressed tight but occasionally softened into a smile at Louis’ commentary.

There was one moment, a particularly ridiculous scare involving a haunted toaster, where Louis burst into laughter, trying and failing to muffle it with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“You’re ruining the vibe,” Harry said, but he was laughing too now, eyes crinkling as he leaned towards Louis.

They ended up pressed shoulder to shoulder, sharing popcorn, their knees touching, neither one moving to fix it.

At one point, Louis felt the brush of Harry’s pinky against his own on the armrest. It lingered. Neither of them said anything.

It was subtle. Barely anything at all. But Louis’ breath caught in his throat.

Because that was new.

The movie carried on. Someone’s head got chopped off. A ghost girl screamed. Louis didn’t care. His entire brain was consumed by the warmth beside him, the slide of Harry’s knee against his, the way their bodies had subtly leaned into each other over the last hour like magnets giving up the fight.

Harry laughed at something Louis whispered, something stupid probably, and when he turned to reply, their faces were close . Too close. Close enough that Louis could smell the butter on Harry’s fingers, the faint citrus of his shampoo, and see the tiny mole near his jawline.

And Harry didn’t back away.

For a second, it felt like the air between them shifted. Like they were teetering on the edge of something.

Louis stared at him, wide-eyed. His heart was pounding. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. And Harry…

Harry looked happy.

Relaxed. Flushed from laughing. Staring back at Louis with something soft in his eyes.

And then a scream on screen broke the moment.

Harry flinched. Louis burst out laughing again.

They finished the movie still leaned together, still grinning in the dark. The credits rolled, and they didn’t move. Not right away.

“You survived,” Louis teased.

“Barely,” Harry said, stretching with a wince. “I might need therapy.”

Louis laughed, nudging him one last time as they stood and filed out with the others. Their hands brushed again in the crowd, and this time neither of them pulled away.

It was good.

Too good, Louis thought. Warm and easy and light in a way that made his chest ache with something he didn’t want to admit.

And as they stepped out into the harsh light of the mall, the world rushing back in with a blast of cold air and noisy teenagers, Louis already knew it: he was in deep.

He was in way too deep, but now a new question had entered the equation… Was Harry too?

💻

The drive home started like everything else had that day, teasing, light, golden. The kind of evening that felt wrapped in bubble wrap, safe and unreal.

Louis had his feet up on the dashboard, fiddling with the radio as Harry pulled out of the cinema carpark. He kept skipping every song Harry tried to settle on, even if it had only been playing for three seconds.

“Seriously?” Harry asked, glancing over at him. “Can we listen to one full song? Just one. That’s all I ask.”

Louis grinned wickedly. “Your taste is so pedestrian, Haz. My ears are too posh for Coldplay.”

“Coldplay is universally beloved,” Harry argued, smacking his hand away from the screen. “They played at the Olympics. That’s basically law.”

“Yeah, and so did Mr Bean. Your point?”

Harry gasped in mock outrage.

“Take it back.”

Louis rolled his eyes but smirked.

“Not a chance. Try something with a bit more – oh god, is that Ed Sheeran? No. Absolutely not.”

They were halfway into a very heated debate about whether Harry was secretly a closeted Sheerio when the car screen lit up, silencing the music entirely.

Incoming Call: Luca.

And just like that, the laughter drained out of Louis.

His stomach dropped. Something bitter rose in his throat, something cold and ugly, and his fingers twitched away from the stereo screen.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Unbelievable. Truly. Who was this guy? Some kind of evil time wizard with impeccable timing?

Harry’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. Louis could feel him hesitate, that indecisive air radiating from his posture. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, jaw ticking. He didn’t reach for the button right away, like he might just ignore it.

Louis hoped he would. For some reason that made no logical sense, he hoped Harry would just hit “decline”.

He didn’t.

Instead, Harry exhaled and tapped the screen.

“Hey,” he said. The car filled with Luca’s voice immediately, amplified and echoing slightly through the speakers.

“Hey!” Luca replied, chipper and warm. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, glancing at Louis quickly and then back at the road. “Just seen a movie… with a friend.”

Louis looked out the window, jaw clenched. That word. Friend. Felt like a knife sliding under his ribs.

There was a pause on Luca’s end, then a low chuckle. “So, about last night. I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“I’m driving,” Harry cut in quickly, voice sharp in a way Louis rarely heard. “Can I call you when I get home?”

Another pause. “Yeah, sure. Talk then.”

The call ended with a beep, and silence flooded back in.

Louis didn’t say anything. Just stared hard at the dark blur of the road, arms folded over his chest. His earlier laughter felt like it had happened hours ago.

Harry kept his eyes on the road. Said nothing either.

The music started up again, the same song from before, something soft and catchy, all melody and emotion. But it felt wrong now. Too gentle. Too romantic. Louis reached for the stereo and switched it off entirely.

Harry let him.

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Not quite comfortable. Not quite angry. But definitely not the same.

“A friend .”

He wasn’t even sure why it stung so much. Or…no, that was a lie. He knew exactly why.

Harry let one hand hang lazy on the wheel as Louis watched the passing streetlights strobe across his cheekbones like it was a bloody film. He didn’t know what he was trying to read in Harry’s profile, regret, guilt, indifference, but whatever it was, it wasn’t giving him anything useful.

When they got home, Harry was the first to kick off his shoes and head straight for his bedroom. “Gonna shower,” he called over his shoulder, already halfway down the hall, voice loose and scratchy like he was more tired than he let on.

Louis stood there for a second in the entryway, house keys still dangling from his fingers, shoes half on. His eyes followed the way Harry’s door clicked softly shut, and a part of him, a dumb, nosy, hormonal part, wanted to press his ear to the wood and listen. Not because he expected anything sordid, but because the silence was driving him insane. And because he wanted to know if Harry called Luca back.

Instead, he stomped into the kitchen and did something he never did. Something that usually only Harry did when he was restless or annoyed: he cleaned.

Not just the passive, half assed kind of cleaning Louis sometimes did when he was on the phone. No, this was full on, aggressive, ‘ I’m spiralling and the only thing I can control is this countertop ’ kind of cleaning.

He scrubbed the already clean benchtop. He reorganised the spice rack even though they only ever used five spices total. He wiped down the fridge door and cursed every damn fingerprint smudge he could find. Then he stood back, hands on his hips, and stared at the gleaming kitchen like it had just confessed its sins.

It felt weird. Doing something Harry would normally do. Like wearing someone else’s shoes. Too tight, too big, just…off.

Water trickled faintly from down the hall, a steady noise behind the walls. Louis told himself not to tune in, not to care, but his ears betrayed him, clinging to every creak of the pipes. Was Harry on the phone? Was he laughing with Luca again? Was he… happy? Louis didn’t want to know. And yet, he did.

“God, quit it,” Louis muttered to himself, flinging the dishcloth down.

He sat down at the kitchen table and stared at his phone. Then, just to distract himself, he reached for his own laptop. Not because he had anything to do, but because he needed to be doing something that wasn’t obsessing over what might be happening behind Harry’s door.

He opened the browser. Forgot he’d left the tabs open.

Jesus.

“ Is it sabotage if I want him to be single?” “Tips to win over someone who’s already taken (hypothetically).” “What to do when you’ve caught feelings like a moron.”

He groaned out loud and nearly recoiled from the screen. “Alright, we’re done with this shitshow,” he muttered, deleting the tabs one by one and clearing his search history like he was scrubbing away evidence of a murder.

Even reading the titles made him want to throw himself into traffic. What was he doing? Stalking, spiralling, self-sabotaging. It was like his entire personality had become some tragic CW drama character. The messy one. The jealous one. The one nobody picks.

He leaned back in the chair and closed the laptop with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

That’s when he heard it.

Muffled, distant… Harry’s voice. Talking.

Louis froze.

It was faint, too quiet to make out words, but clear enough that he knew Harry wasn’t just singing to himself or talking to the cat they didn’t have. He was on the phone.

Louis sat completely still, breath caught in his throat.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Just sat there, listening, as the distant sound of Harry’s voice filtered down the hallway and tried not to care who was on the other end, even when he already knew.

💻

The following morning, the bathroom door creaked open with a gust of steam, followed by the soft thud of Harry’s bare feet against the hallway floor. Louis heard the towel being yanked off the hook and the quiet muttered curses as drawers opened and shut in a rush.

It was way too early for this much chaos, especially on a day Louis had off.

He lay face down in bed, one arm flopped across the pillows, hair sticking up in wild directions. He’d woken up at six, thanks to a neighbour’s dog losing its mind, and had refused to move since. Now he heard Harry rushing around like a stressed out whirlwind, huffing in frustration, muttering under his breath as he half ran from room to room.

Then the door to Louis’ room banged open.

Louis didn’t even lift his head.

“What?”

Harry sounded breathless.

“I slept in. I can’t find my phone; the ringer’s off. Louis, please, I really need to get to work, and my laptop’s still in the shop. Can I use yours for the day?”

Louis didn’t flinch. Didn’t twitch. Didn’t even roll over.

“Yep,” he said flatly, voice muffled by his pillow.

Harry blinked from the doorway, towel tucked around his waist, hair still damp and curling in loose waves across his forehead.

“Really?”

“Mmhm.”

No hesitation. No passive aggressive comment. No sassy suspicion or dramatic reluctance. Just… Yep?

Harry stood there, confused by the lack of drama. He was practically braced for a snarky remark or, at the very least, a grumbled warning about “don’t open any tabs” or “don’t go digging around my hard drive unless you want trauma.” No weird suspicious activity, nothing.

Instead, Louis lay there like a deflated balloon, entirely uninterested.

Harry hesitated.

“Thanks?”

Still no response. Louis didn’t move a muscle.

Taking the permission at face value, Harry tiptoed into the room and crossed to the desk, grabbing the laptop like it might snap at him. He glanced over his shoulder once.

“Are you…”

“I’m fine,” Louis cut him off sharply, finally rolling onto his back. His voice was even but hard, with no trace of his usual flair. Just tired and cold.

Harry lifted both hands in surrender, like he’d accidentally walked into a minefield.

“Okay. Message received.”

He didn’t push further; he knew better. Instead, he backed out of the room with the laptop tucked under one arm and disappeared down the hall again, the sounds of him scrambling for clothes and keys resuming in the background.

Louis sighed.

Not dramatically. Not loudly.

Just… a long, slow exhale.

Because it wasn’t worth it anymore. Whatever this crush had been, whatever childish fantasy had wormed its way into his chest, it was starting to rot. He was tired of feeling like a stupid lovesick teenager, tired of the jealousy, the second guessing, and the stalking. He was tired of Luca’s name being a trigger. Tired of thinking everything Harry did was some cryptic clue in the never-ending game of does he or doesn’t he?

Let Harry use the laptop, his mind had said. There was nothing to find now anyway. Louis had wiped the evidence clean. If Harry did find something weird, it’d be old files, memes, or maybe that half written angry letter he never sent to a Zara customer service rep three months ago.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Because Louis had finally admitted to himself, this crush, this mess, this… longing? It needed to stop.

It had to.

💻

Louis had spent the day pretending not to panic.

And to be fair, he was… sort of successful.

Sure, there was a moment around midday when he chewed half a pen lid to death and imagined Harry clicking through his search history.

‘ How to delete browser history permanently ’

‘ Does a dick up the bum hurt?’

‘ What does cum taste like?’ 

But then he remembered he’d already wiped everything clean. Thoroughly. Methodically. Paranoid-ly.

Still, even with that knowledge, a little sliver of unease buzzed in his chest all afternoon. Not quite a panic. Not the full tilt, anxiety crash out he would usually ride into the early hours. But just… a low-level hum of dread. Like walking around with your shoelaces untied and knowing it’s only a matter of time before you trip kind.

But he didn’t trip.

Harry had texted once:

“Thanks again x”

And nothing exploded. The Earth kept spinning. The sky didn’t fall.

And yet, Louis still didn’t know what possessed him to do what he did later.

Their home was calm again by evening. The shower still fogged the bathroom mirror. Louis had come out wrapped in a towel, hair damp and wild, padding barefoot across the tiles. Harry had showered first, then sprawled on the lounge in a hoodie and loose joggers, flicking through TV options with the remote.

It was all very normal. Weirdly normal.

Harry looked up as Louis entered the room and passed him the closed laptop with a gentle, “Thanks again for this, really. You saved me.”

Louis nodded, sinking down beside him with a beer.

“No worries.”

He took a swig and opened his phone.

And for some reason, maybe because he still felt unsteady or maybe because he wanted to feel like he was in control of something, anything, he tapped open the app store and downloaded Tinder.

The little flame icon loaded in his palm like a dare.

He didn’t know why he did it. Honestly, he didn’t even care if it went anywhere. But something about the simple act of signing up, of putting himself out there, even if it was just into the abyss, felt like a weird kind of defiance. Like proving to himself he wasn’t stuck waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen.

As he began to type in his name and select a profile picture, he could feel Harry glance over.

And then he heard it.

A soft, uncertain voice.

“…Tinder?”

Louis didn’t look up. Just shrugged like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“Yeah. Figured I should put myself out there or whatever.”

He didn’t see Harry’s face. Didn’t catch the way his brow furrowed slightly or the way his fingers tightened just a little on the remote. But he heard the pause.

A silence that lasted half a second too long.

Then a quiet, “Right.”

That was it. No teasing. No jokes about swiping left on creeps or right on weirdos. Just… “Right.”

Louis kept tapping through the app setup, pretending not to notice the subtle shift in energy between them.

But a part of him, deep in his chest, registered it. The flicker of something unspoken passing through Harry’s voice. Something too close to disappointment to be anything else.

They watched TV like normal after that. But it wasn’t normal. Not really.

Because now there was a ghost of a conversation hovering between them. And Louis didn’t know what to make of it.

To top it off, Harry went to bed early.

Way earlier than usual. So early, in fact, that Louis barely noticed at first; he was too wrapped up in a late night rerun of MasterChef and a half eaten bag of jelly snakes. But when he glanced at the clock and realised it was barely 9:45 and the lounge was already quiet, the absence of Harry’s usual background hum hit him like a subtle, unwelcome breeze.

He didn’t mention it. Didn’t ask. Just tossed another jelly snake into his mouth and stayed up until almost 1 a.m., mindlessly scrolling TikTok and watching people make elaborate pancakes he’d never in his life attempt.

When he finally climbed into bed, he didn’t even think about Tinder. Didn’t remember it existed. His phone stayed untouched on the bedside table as he rolled into the sheets, exhaled deeply, and slipped into sleep without even a passing thought about likes, matches, or digital flames.

It wasn’t until two days later, trapped in the least glamorous moment of his adult life, that he remembered. He had gone to the bathroom at work because today he was bloated. Louis was constipated. Spectacularly, embarrassingly constipated. Bent forward on the grim little toilet cubicle at work, elbows resting on his thighs, regretting every cheese toastie he’d eaten that week. His stomach was tight, his pride was lower than the seat beneath him, and he figured if he was going to be stuck here a while, he might as well scroll.

He fished his phone out of his pocket with a grunt, unlocked it, and there, like a flare in the night, was Tinder’s little red notification badge.

28 notifications.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, the echo of it bouncing off the toilet walls.

Curious (and desperate for distraction), he opened the app. Half of them were messages from Tinder itself: “ Someone super liked you !” “ You’re on fire !” “ Boost your profile now!” and the other half were… well, unimpressive.

People he wouldn’t look at twice. Bios that made him recoil. One guy had a tarantula on his shoulder. Another had listed “alpha vibes only” under his hobbies.

Still, Louis found himself slowly starting to take it more seriously. He updated his profile, added a second photo, clarified what he was not looking for (no weird group situations, no crypto bros, no guitars in profile pics) and began swiping.

Left.

Left.

Right.

Ooh, cute smile.

Left.

Left. Dear God, why is there always one holding a fish?

Right.

He lost track of time. Lost track of why he even opened the app. Somewhere between the fourth “no thanks” and seventh “maybe on a lonely Tuesday”, he got a match.

Just a regular bloke with decent hair and a dog in one picture.

Not bad.

Louis smirked. And it was that smirk, the quiet curl of satisfaction in the middle of a miserable afternoon on a bog-standard toilet, that marked the beginning of the end.

That night, he came home excited. Not because of anything special, but because Tinder had worked. People had liked him. Chosen him. Said yes to his face and his stupid little bio and his bad taste in jumpers. He made dinner absentmindedly. Barely noticed that Harry wasn’t home. Ate on the lounge with his phone tilted just slightly, swiping as he chewed.

By the time he crawled into bed, he was in deep.

Swiping. Matching. Swiping again. It didn’t even matter anymore if the guys were his type. It was the rush. The ping of dopamine. The ridiculous ego boost of being wanted.

So many people. So many yes’s. It felt good.

He turned off the light. Then turned it back on again. Phone back in hand. Swipe, match. Swipe, swipe, match. It was like gambling; he was flicking through faces with military precision now, barely thinking, just operating on instinct.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Left.

Right.

Flick.

Flick.

Dimples.

Curls.

Green eyes

Double yes!

Oh.

Oh no.

His thumb had already moved before he fully processed it. The image blurred away into the stream of profiles, but his heart slammed to a halt.

Was that… Harry?

His breath caught in his throat.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Was his heart beating? The silence of the room grew deafening as the screen stayed still for a split second, an eternity in Tinder time.

Then it happened.

“You’ve Matched!”

The words blinked up at him.

“ YOU’VE MATCHED !”

Louis didn’t scream.

He internally combusted.

What the fuck just happened?

Clear Browser- Take 5

The next morning, Harry acted completely normal.

Too normal, actually. He was whistling softly to himself as he made toast, sipping coffee while checking the weather on his phone, even humming along to some obscure indie track playing from the speaker in the kitchen.

Louis watched him from the hallway, frozen halfway to the bathroom with his toothbrush still in his mouth. His eyes narrowed slightly.

Not a single weird glance. Not a single “Hey, I saw something interesting last night…” Nothing. Just normal Harry being… Harry .

Which could only mean one thing.

“Notifications must be off,” Louis muttered to himself around his toothbrush. The moment the words left his mouth, his stomach twisted.

The match.

That fucking match.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about it all night. He’d barely slept. And now, standing here while Harry stirred sugar into his tea like they hadn’t just matched on a dating app meant for strangers , it felt surreal. It felt wrong .

Was he supposed to bring it up? Casually mention, Hey, weird thing, remember when I said I was putting myself out there? Turns out I swiped right on your face. Ha ha…want a cuppa?

No. Absolutely not.

He needed to do something. He needed to delete the app. Burn it from existence. Pretend it had never happened.

But just as he reached for his phone, about to nuke the whole disaster, he heard Harry’s voice drift in from the lounge, low and relaxed.

“Yeah, nah, it’s been good. Just… yeah, working, trying to get things sorted,” Harry said softly.

Louis paused at the edge of the hall.

A moment of silence. Then another.

Harry chuckled.

“No, it’s fine, Luca. You don’t have to apologise again. It’s forgotten. Seriously.”

Louis’ hand clenched around his phone.

Luca .

Of course.

That fucking guy again. Unbelievable timing. Perfect jawline. Just there , somehow always present in the periphery of their lives.

Louis knew he shouldn’t care. But that didn’t stop the tightness in his chest or the way his pulse fluttered with irritation.

He backed away before he could hear any more, turned on his heel, and went straight to his room. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he opened Tinder and stared at the screen like it might combust in his hands.

Just delete it. Do it. No big deal.

But his finger hovered.

What if Harry had seen the match and was just too weirded out to bring it up?

Or worse, what if Harry hadn’t seen it yet but would? And if Louis deleted it now, would that make it worse?

Still, the panic won. It always did.

He pressed and held the icon until the app wiggled.

Then he hit “delete”.

It was done. Wiped. No more swiping. No more digital disasters. No more Harry’s face staring back at him from a fucking dating app.

Louis let out a shaky breath and tossed his phone onto the bed, letting it land face down like he couldn’t stand to look at it anymore.

💻

Louis stood by the window with a cup of tea in hand, hoodie sleeves dangling past his knuckles, still shaking off sleep.

Harry emerged from the hallway, dressed casually for once, still towel drying his hair as he crossed into the kitchen.

“Morning,” he mumbled, yawning.

Louis nodded.

“You’re up early for someone who doesn’t work today.”

Harry smirked.

“Yeah, I’ve got a thing later. Work stuff. It’s boring.” He paused, hovering near the fridge, then turned back toward Louis.

“Actually, do you mind if I use your laptop later? I’ve gotta join this stupid team meeting thing, and mine is, well, as you already know, still not fixed.”

Louis felt his stomach twist. But he forced his face to stay neutral.

“What time?”

“Just after dinner probably. Eight-ish?”

“Yeah.” Louis nodded, taking a careful sip of tea. “Sure.”

“Legend,” Harry grinned, before grabbing an apple from the bowl and wandering off like he hadn’t just unknowingly triggered a twelve hour countdown in Louis’ brain.

Because now Louis had to clean his digital life once again. But more than that, he had to figure out why the hell he still cared.

He deleted the app. He WILL clear everything. At least this time he had notice, at least.

But the real issue here, the one he couldn’t just backspace, was what it all meant. What had that been? The match. The swiping. Harry’s face flashing across his screen like some cosmic punchline.

Had Harry seen it too?

Was it intentional?

A joke?

Louis sat on the edge of his bed later that morning, phone in hand, staring at nothing. His thoughts swirled, unhelpful and relentless. He kept replaying every moment from the past few months where he’d thought maybe, just maybe, Harry liked him back. The way he sometimes looked at Louis when he laughed too hard. How his touches lingered a second longer than they had to. The nights they fell asleep on the same couch, shoulders pressed close, Harry’s hand grazing Louis’ knee as if he’d forgotten to move it.

But then again, maybe Louis had imagined all of it. Projected his feelings onto a friendship that had never really crossed that line.

He rubbed a hand over his face.

Why the hell had Harry swiped right on him?

Why match if it didn’t mean anything?

By the time the sun began to set, Louis had nearly driven himself mad thinking about it, his nerves taut, his chest hollow, his mind spinning with possibilities he knew better than to indulge. Because what if it was nothing? What if Harry had seen it, and was planning to laugh about it later? Or worse, never bring it up, because he didn’t want to hurt Louis’ feelings?

The only thing worse than being a joke… was being a pity swipe.

No, he wasn’t going to think about the Tinder match. He wasn’t going to think about Luca. He definitely wasn’t going to think about the possibility of Harry swiping right back .

Nope.

He was fine.

Totally.

💻

Louis is curled on the couch, blanket over his legs, phone in hand but not really scrolling. He hears Harry’s door open and watches as he strolls out in track pants and a worn tee that clings to his chest just enough to make Louis notice. Louis tries not to stare, but of course, he does.

Harry plops onto the other end of the couch, stretching his long legs out with a sigh. Their knees almost touch.

“Thanks for leaving the laptop on my bed, by the way. I really appreciate you letting me use it so much lately.”

Louis hums.

“Least I could do, and no worries; you were too occupied with your boyfriend anyway.”

Harry’s head snaps toward him.

“My what?”

Louis smirks, eyes still on his phone.

“Luca.”

“Oh my god…” Harry groans, flopping his head back against the cushion.

“Luca has a fiancé, Louis.”

Louis raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t look like it when he was practically undressing you with his eyes out by the car.”

Yeah, Louis had, unfortunately, been treated to that little spectacle through the window not too long ago.

“He wasn’t…Jesus,” Harry laughs, but it sounds slightly forced. “He was giving me notes. That’s it.”

“You seemed real smiley about it.”

“Because I’m polite?”

Louis shrugs, pretending to scroll.

“Mmm. Just thought maybe you two had a thing.”

“We don’t,” Harry says firmly. Then, quieter, “You’d know if I did.”

That makes Louis glance up, but Harry’s already looking away, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket.

The silence stretches between them, but it’s not uncomfortable. Their knees brush again. This time, neither of them move.

Harry suddenly shifts, resting his arm along the back of the couch behind Louis.

“You’re annoying sometimes, you know.”

Louis smirks.

“And you’re easy to rile up.”

Harry turns his head, eyes flicking over Louis’ face.

“Only when it’s you.”

And Louis doesn’t know what to say to that. He just knows his heart is beating too fast, and he has no clue what the hell it means.

💻

The following evening, Louis didn’t know how it had happened, how he’d gone from quietly making himself a cup of tea to having Harry pressed up beside him on the kitchen counter. He was teasing him about his choice of biscuits like they were back in college again, never thought they would be having the same argument they once had when they were younger, but here they were.

Harry was perched on the edge of the bench now, swinging his feet slightly like a kid, eyes lit with amusement as he flicked one of Louis’ biscuits off the tray.

“Seriously, rich tea? You’re like… a hundred years old.”

“Says the bloke who drinks peppermint tea like he’s on a spa retreat,” Louis replied, snatching the biscuit back. “Don’t come for me just ‘cause you’ve got no taste.”

Harry grinned and poked his tongue out.

“I’ve got excellent taste. You should know that by now.”

There it was again, that thing. A flash of something in Harry’s tone, in his expression, like the words meant more than they should’ve. But it passed too quickly, swallowed up by the ease of his laugh as he reached for a mug.

Louis took a slow breath and turned back to his tea, ignoring the way his stomach had twisted.

“You’ve got a fiancé’s taste, apparently.”

Harry blinked at him.

“What?”

What the hell was he doing? Louis couldn’t let it go. In his defence, the words had just tumbled out, ones that were meant to stay locked inside his head, not thrown into the world like that, into Harry’s space.

“Luca.” Louis stirred his drink with slightly more force than necessary. “He’s practically been floating around you like a lovesick puppy. Thought maybe you’d changed your mind about the whole ‘just friends’ thing.”

Harry let out a sharp laugh.

“For fuck’s sake, Louis. Again with Luca?”

“What? You’re the one who said I’d know if you had a thing.”

Harry pushed off the bench and walked a few steps away, then turned back with a crooked smile and something unreadable in his eyes.

“You would. But you don’t.”

That sat to sit heavily. Another hidden message?

Louis folded his arms.

“So you’re just naturally flirty with all your friends?”

Harry smirked.

“Only the annoying ones.”

That earned a real eye roll from Louis, but it didn’t explain why Harry’s voice had dropped half an octave, why he was looking at him like that, like he was waiting for something.

Like Louis was supposed to get it.

And maybe he was.

Maybe that was the problem.

They’d always had banter. That easy, fast-paced rhythm they fell into without trying. But lately, it felt… sharper. Closer. Louis couldn’t stop noticing things, like how Harry’s gaze always landed on Louis’ lips, or how his fingers brushed Louis’ lower back when they passed each other, or how he called him “Lou” now, soft and low, like it meant something in this new deeper tone.

It was messing with Louis’ head.

He took his mug and retreated to the couch, needing space. But of course Harry followed, curling up beside him with his own drink and stealing the remote like he always did.

“What are we watching?” he asked, tucking one leg under himself.

Louis shrugged.

“Whatever. Not arsed. Put on anything.”

Harry flipped through the streaming apps with one hand, the other casually resting on the back of the couch behind Louis. It didn’t touch him, but Louis could feel the heat of it. The awareness made his skin prickle.

They ended up watching some terrible reality show Harry loved, something with hot people yelling at each other on an island, and Louis tried to focus, tried to just enjoy the stupid drama and ignore the way Harry kept shifting closer, laughing at Louis’ commentary, letting their knees knock together without apology.

It was harmless.

It had to be harmless.

Until Harry yawned, long and dramatic, and dropped his head against Louis’ shoulder.

Louis went still.

“Are you serious?”

“Mm,” Harry mumbled, warm breath ghosting over Louis’ neck. “You’re comfy.”

“I’m not a fucking beanbag, Harry.”

Harry chuckled but didn’t move.

“You smell good.”

Louis blinked.

“Huh?”

“Your hoodie,” Harry said, like it was obvious. “It smells like you. Clean and warm and, like… I dunno. Nice.”

Louis stared at the TV, heart hammering, completely lost.

This wasn’t platonic. It couldn’t be.

But then Harry yawned again, shifted slightly, and closed his eyes like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like resting his head on Louis’ shoulder was nothing.

Louis sat there frozen, tea cooling in his hands, too afraid to breathe in case Harry noticed his pulse racing.

He told himself not to read into it.

Harry was touchy. Always had been. Maybe this was just another version of that.

Maybe .

But when Harry’s fingers brushed the side of Louis’ thigh, slow, warm, and definitely deliberate. Louis didn’t flinch. He didn’t move at all.

And he had no idea what the fuck it meant.

💻

Harry had been up and gone before the sun even touched the windows, the scent of his shampoo lingering faintly in the bathroom like a ghost. When Louis finally woke, the house was already spotless, counters gleaming, and not a dish in the sink. It was too perfect, but not a comforting kind of clean. The type of clean Louis used not long ago himself. Harry was stressed?

Louis went to work like normal. Had his coffee, answered emails, and laughed at a joke someone made in the breakroom. Everything looked the same. Felt the same. But it wasn’t. He couldn’t work it out.

Somewhere between lunch and his third meeting, the text came through. Just three words.

“You don’t know.”

No context. No follow-up. It was like a sentence left dangling over a cliff, waiting to fall. Louis had stared at it for a good minute, brow furrowed, heart skipping like it had missed a step.

He’d typed back:

“Wot are you on about?” trying to keep it casual, like he always did when Harry got cryptic. But the message stayed unread. Hours passed. Nothing.

By the time he got home, the lights were low, and the house smelled like lemon and fish. Harry had made dinner, green vegetables and salmon. Louis swallowed down the instinctive urge to gag and smiled instead, like he always did.

“Thanks, this smells lovely, H,” he said, voice a little too bright.

They ate mostly in silence, the clink of forks against plates louder than anything else. Harry’s eyes were focused on his food, his jaw tight, chewing like he was trying not to say something. Louis kept glancing up, waiting for the conversation that never came.

When the dishes were done, Louis wiped his damp hands on a tea towel, still unsettled. He stood there in the kitchen for a moment too long, listening to the quiet.

Then, from the lounge, Harry’s voice called out, calm, even, but distant.

“You wanna watch something?”

Louis blinked, heart stumbling again. Something was wrong. He could feel it in the way Harry’s tone didn’t quite match the words.

“Yeah,” he called back, forcing lightness into his voice. “Sure.”

But as he walked towards the lounge, the chill in his spine told him this night wasn’t going to end with a simple episode and lights out. Something was waiting.

Something was coming.

But when Harry greeted him with that beautiful wide smile as he stepped into the room, Louis told himself he was probably just overthinking.

But no soon as he sat down, Louis had to make it very clear to himself that tonight was going to be chill. Just one of those harmless, casual evenings on the couch with his ridiculously attractive flatmate, watching something forgettable on Netflix and not, under any circumstances, thinking about how Harry’s sweatpants were hanging just a little too low or how his arm kept brushing Louis’ thigh every time he laughed.

It was going fine. Better than fine, actually.

Harry seemed like he was back to his normal self. The banter had been sharper than usual, filled with that flirty kind of sarcasm that Harry definitely thought was still platonic, but Louis was spiraling, again. And Harry had fallen asleep about an hour ago, head dropping lightly to Louis’ shoulder, breath warm on his neck.

Louis hadn’t moved.

He told himself he stayed still out of politeness. Definitely not because it felt… nice, yet so dangerous.

And then Harry sighed and shifted in his sleep.

And dropped his hand.

Right.. Onto.. Louis’..crotch.

He froze.

It wasn’t a grab. More like a sleepy, innocent flop of the hand that just so happened to land directly over his junk. Palm down. Warm. Broad. Resting there like it belonged.

Louis let out a tiny, strangled sound.

“Okay,” he whispered to no one, “this is fine. Totally fine.”

It wasn’t fine.

His brain short circuited. His dick absolutely did not. It twitched like a traitor under the weight of Harry’s hand, which, by the way, had started to move. Just slightly. Just enough to make Louis genuinely question whether this was some elaborate dream sent by a higher power to test his already shaky sanity.

And then Harry snuggled in, like some clingy human furnace, nose brushing Louis’ neck, his hand now dangerously close to something Louis had zero control over anymore.

Louis hissed in a breath through his teeth.

‘I cannot believe this is my life, he thought . ’ This is how I die. Boner homicide.’

The pressure of Harry’s palm was suddenly impossible to ignore, and Louis swore if Harry’s thumb twitched even once, he was going to self explode.

“Right,” Louis said to himself, voice breaking slightly. “That’s it.”

He reached out and gently shook Harry’s shoulder.

“Haz. Hey. Wake up.”

Harry stirred slowly, blinking against the light of the paused TV, his lashes fluttering as he looked up, still half dreaming.

“Hm?” he mumbled, sleep dazed and smiling a little. His eyes were warm and soft and sweet and, no, absolutely not, Louis was not getting lost in them. Not tonight.

Louis cleared his throat, struggling to keep his voice casual.

“Think it’s bedtime, yeah?”

Harry blinked again, then sat up fast, realizing where he was and how very close they were.

“Oh, fuck, sorry, did I fall asleep? What time is it?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

Louis didn’t answer right away, still recovering from the ghost of Harry’s hand over his hard on. “Yeah. You were out for a while. I didn’t want to wake you… until your hand tried to file a restraining order with my jeans.”

Harry frowned, confused.

“What?”

Louis waved a hand.

“Nothing. Just…bed. You…. Go.”

Harry stood up, still drowsy and clearly missing every beat of tension.

“Right. Thanks. That show, though, God, I have no time for that show or the people on it. What a shit show.”

Louis snorted. “Same. Totally over it.”

The show had ended over 40 mins ago.

Harry shuffled off towards his room, scratching his stomach while yawning. Louis just sat there, dazed, brain melted, jeans uncomfortably tight, and heart screaming something he didn’t want to translate.

Sleep? No way.

Louis had climbed into bed about twenty minutes ago, but sleep had made a point of avoiding him. His body was still buzzing from earlier, from Harry’s hand, from the way Harry had looked at him in those blurry seconds after waking up, from the smile that had lingered.

And then he’d just wandered off like it meant nothing. Like it didn’t send Louis’ nervous system into full, catastrophic meltdown. Like it hadn’t made him physically ache. Harry had no idea the pain he was causing by simply doing… well nothing.

Louis stared into the darkness, one arm behind his head, the other resting just under the covers, fingers twitching against his bare stomach.

He should’ve said something.

Should’ve made a joke.

Should’ve done something.

Instead, he let Harry sleep on him for an hour with his hand basically spooning his cock, and now he was stuck in bed with a semi and a full blown identity crisis.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, dragging his hand up and through his hair.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think about it.

Except, of course, he was thinking about it.

It started with a reimagined version of the moment, Harry’s hand dropping, but instead of Louis waking him, Harry blinked up at him sleepily and left it there, flexed it a little, smirked even. Whispered something cheeky, like “ Want me to move it, or nah?“

That did it.

Louis sucked in a breath, slid his hand lower, under the waistband of his boxers, and let himself drift.

He thought about Harry looking up at him with that soft, sleepy face, that open smile. Then thought about Harry crawling into his lap, mumbling something like “ Might as well, since we’re already here … ” and kissing him slowly, lazily, like he’d been waiting all this time for Louis to say yes.

He stroked himself steadily, slow at first, just enough to feel it, the tension, the longing, the unbearable weight of wanting Harry for so long and never having him. His breath hitched as the images sharpened, no longer vague suggestions but vivid fantasies that made his toes curl beneath the sheets.

He imagined Harry’s warm hands sliding up his chest, fingers spreading over his skin, rougher than they looked, claiming every inch like they’d done it before and wanted to do it again. Louis arched slightly into the touch that wasn’t really there, desperate for it to be real.

Then came Harry’s curls, messy and soft, brushing against Louis’ stomach as he kissed a line lower, his mouth trailing heat over his skin. Louis gasped, hand tightening around himself as he pictured Harry between his thighs, that boyish grin flashing up at him just before his tongue dipped low, teasing, tasting, owning him.

“Fuck…” Louis breathed out, head tipping back.

Harry’s laugh echoed in his ear in his mind’s eye, low and wicked,  like he knew what Louis wanted, knew he was the only one who could give it to him, and he’d been holding out just to see Louis break. And break he did, hips lifting off the bed as the fantasy swelled, as Harry’s mouth wrapped around him in his mind, lips slick and greedy, fingers digging into his thighs to keep him still.

Louis bit down on his knuckle to muffle the sound that tore from his throat, eyes screwed shut, hand working harder, faster, chasing the high he’d imagined a thousand different ways. He was so close, his whole body strung tight, nerves alight like fireworks as Harry whispered in his ear, low and breathless: “ You’ve always wanted me, haven’t you, Lou ?“

Louis came with a stifled groan, thighs trembling, toes curling, heart racing like he’d actually touched him. His body curled slightly as he rode it out, breathless and desperate and so annoyingly in love with someone who didn’t even know.

Or did he?

He lay there panting, flushed and dazed, staring at the ceiling like it could ground him.

But it didn’t.

Louis blinked, his heart still racing. His gaze slid sideways, and caught on the door.

It WAS open.

Not wide open, but not latched either. Just… ajar.

His breath stalled.

Had it been open before? Had he closed it when he came in? He always closed it. Especially when…

Louis sat up in a panic, grabbing tissues and cleaning himself quickly. He threw them in the bin with Olympic precision, then padded to the toilet and stood there trying to remember, water glass in hand.

The door had clicked shut, hadn’t it? He was pretty sure he’d closed it.

Had Harry…?

No. Surely not.

He drank from his water glass and returned to bed, slipping under the covers slowly, eyes flicking back to the door. He didn’t get up to close it.

Instead, he stared at the gap until he eventually fell asleep.

Clear Browser - Oh No!

4 days later. 

It was late.

Too late.

Louis had no business still being up at this hour, and yet, here he was with his laptop propped up in front of him, deep in another spiral of questionable Google searches.

Harry was lounging at the foot of the bed, scrolling through his phone, half paying attention to whatever Louis was doing. The room was dim, illuminated only by the glow of Louis’ screen and the soft light from the bedside lamp. It was comfortable, like always. 

But Louis was wrecked.

He hadn’t slept at all the night before.

Not after seeing Harry’s dick in full, glorious, high definition.

It had been an accident. A horrible, scarring, life altering incident.

But, if he were being honest (not that he ever would), it was one he’d gladly relive in a heartbeat.

He’d walked into the bathroom to grab his toothbrush, completely unaware that Harry was still inside. And then, boom. Full view.

Harry, naked.

Harry, wet.

Harry, very, very well endowed.

Louis had malfunctioned. His brain had crashed. He’d made a noise that sounded like a dying seagull, slammed the door shut, and promptly spent the rest of the night in super horny town.

 He’d gotten himself off more times than he could count. The best thing about having a vivid imagination, and Harry being impossibly fucking hot, was that getting there was easy. Harry waking him with his mouth, Louis bent over and taken hard against the shower screen, that cock, that big, perfect fucking cock, had become the backdrop to every fantasy Louis couldn’t quite shake.

Which, unfortunately, led to his current situation the following night, with once again googling absolutely unhinged shit at 3 a.m. He had literally turned into a man who had completely lost control of his life.

His body felt like lead. His head was foggy. His eyes burned from exhaustion, and his limbs were heavy with fatigue. He needed to sleep. He really, really did.

So, without thinking, he set the laptop aside and stood up to stretch.

That was his first mistake.

Because the second his feet hit the floor, Harry moved.

“I just need to search for one thing and then I’m off to bed. Why are you so tired anyway? We always stay up this late on the weekend?”

Louis’ brain didn’t even register the words. He was too busy lifting his arms over his head, stretching out the knots in his back, yawning so hard his jaw cracked.

Which meant…

He didn’t see Harry reach for the laptop.

Didn’t realize what was happening.

Didn’t remember what was still open on the screen.

By the time his sluggish, sleep deprived brain caught up, it was too late.

All Louis could do is watch on in horrid slow motion.

Harry’s fingers quickly brushed the trackpad before the screen flickered awake, revealing Louis’ latest, catastrophic, unedited, undeleted Google search:

“  How do you tell your best friend you want to kiss him stupid and let him fuck you senseless without ruining your friendship? Or that I love him endlessly?“ 

Silence.

A vacuum of silence. The kind that sucked all the air out of the room and left behind pure, undiluted horror.

Louis felt it happen in real time. The exact moment Harry’s brain registered what he was seeing. The way his breath caught. The way his spine snapped straight. The way his ears flushed crimson.

Harry made a sound, a broken, guttural, possibly dying sort of sound that ripped straight from his chest. It wasn’t a gasp, not quite a choke, but something caught between the two, like his body had betrayed him before his brain could catch up.

Louis had never heard him make that noise before.

And he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to hear it again.

He couldn’t decipher what it meant. Was it anger? Confusion? Betrayal? Hurt?

Flattered?

No. Absolutely not. There was no way that was the case.

He erased that thought immediately. That was just wishful thinking.

Because Harry sees.

Harry reads.

Harry knows.

Louis had already stopped breathing, he is sure of it, well he wasn’t entirely sure but the right signs were there. His entire body had gone stiff. His heart slammed against his ribs. His vision had narrowed. He could literally see his own demise unfolding before him.

His soul had no doubt evacuated his body in full force!

And then… Harry spoke so quietly. 

“…What?”

Louis made a high pitched noise, something not human. Not of this earth.

“SO-” he yelled, panic setting in. He lunged. Ripped the laptop from Harry’s hands and slammed it shut so hard it was a miracle the screen didn’t shatter. 

“THAT’S ENOUGH OF THAT! I am ready for bed.”

Harry didn’t move. Didn’t even try to take the laptop back. He just sat there. Staring.

His ears were red. His face was red. His entire goddamn soul might have been red.

“You typed that?” he asked, voice half strangled, half curious.

Louis let out a hysterical laugh. 

“Haha, WEIRD, RIGHT? Google is CRAZY these days! You type one thing and suddenly it’s recommending all sorts of shit!”

Harry blinked at him. Stunned. Stupefied.

“You typed that,” he repeated.

Louis’ hands tightened around the laptop like it could somehow save him. 

“DID I? Who knows! Could’ve been anyone, really! Internet gremlins! A hacker, even!”

Harry didn’t even blink.

Louis panicked harder.

His feet began hitting the floor like he was ready to sprint. 

“Okay, WELL, this has been fun, but I gotta..uh..leave! Yeah! Things to do! Places to be! Away from here!”

Harry was too stunned to stop him.

So, as expected, Louis did the only thing he deemed appropriate, and he bolted.

Absolutely fled his own bedroom like a man escaping a crime scene, which, in hindsight, was stupid as fuck.

This was  his  room.

Where the hell was he even going? What was he supposed to do, sleep in the hallway?

He barely made it a few steps down the corridor before panic had him pivoting right back around.

When he re entered the room, Harry was still exactly the same, same look, same stance, same damn frown.

Louis cleared his throat, awkward and forced, and somehow, that was what finally snapped Harry out of his trance.

Without a word, Harry stood abruptly, grabbed his stuff, and walked out, no eye contact, no hesitation. He pulled the door shut behind him with a soft but definitive click.

Louis stood there, staring at the closed door, feeling like the world had just ended.

His stomach twisted. His throat burned. He wanted to cry.

Because he was pretty fucking sure that their friendship, the one built years in the making, built on late night talks and effortless trust, had just received its death certificate.

Rest in peace, Harry and Louis.

💻

As dawn broke over the city, Louis found himself at work earlier than he had ever been in his entire professional life. The streets had been mostly empty during his commute, the office building quiet and dim when he’d entered. He’d fumbled for the light switches, the unfamiliar sensation of being first in the office sitting uncomfortably on his shoulders.

Throughout the day, he volunteered for extra tasks, inserted himself into meetings that barely required his presence, and meticulously reorganized his filing system, anything to extend his hours at the office. When everyone else began packing up to leave, Louis made a show of being deeply absorbed in his computer screen, muttering something about “deadlines” whenever a colleague bid him goodnight.

The office gradually emptied, the overhead lights switching to their dimmer evening setting. Louis stayed until the cleaning crew arrived, their puzzled glances making it clear how unusual his presence was at this hour.

Only when the building felt truly empty did he finally shut down his computer, his movements deliberately slow as he packed his bag. The weight of what awaited him at home pressed down on his shoulders as he made his way to the parking garage.

Rather than heading directly home, Louis found himself pulling into the parking lot of a small fish and chips shop. The familiar smell of fried food greeted him as he pushed open the door, the bell jingling overhead.

“For here or to go?” asked the server behind the counter.

“Here,” Louis replied quickly, though he’d normally take his food home. Anything to postpone the inevitable.

Settling into a corner booth with his meal, Louis picked at his food, appetite nearly nonexistent. The scene from that night replayed in his mind on an excruciating loop. Harry’s face, the widening of his eyes, the parting of his lips, the color draining from his cheeks. Was it shock? Disgust? Disappointment? Louis couldn’t be certain, and that uncertainty gnawed at him.

Tears threatened to form, burning behind his eyes, but Louis swallowed hard, forcing them back. He’d already cried enough on his drive to work, hidden in his car in the parking garage. He wouldn’t break down in public.

He tried to eat, but each bite seemed to expand in his mouth, becoming difficult to swallow. The fish grew cold on his plate as he sat there, scenarios playing out in his mind of what might await him at home.

Harry sitting silently on the couch, refusing to meet his eyes.

Harry’s belongings hastily packed into suitcases by the door.

Harry gone completely, leaving nothing but empty drawers and vacant closet space.

The thought tore at something deep in Louis’ chest. Years of friendship, perhaps the most important relationship of his life, potentially destroyed in a single moment. All because he couldn’t keep his feelings to himself. All because he’d misread signals that weren’t there.

After nursing his soda for nearly an hour, Louis finally accepted that he couldn’t delay any longer. He disposed of his barely touched meal and returned to his car.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to drive home. Instead, he cruised aimlessly through town, taking unfamiliar turns down residential streets, driving past closed shops and darkened parks. The city gradually quieted as the night deepened, streets emptying of traffic and pedestrians.

It wasn’t until he glanced at his phone, battery warning flashing at 5%, that Louis realized it was nearly 1 AM. Exhaustion had begun to settle in his bones, his eyelids growing heavy. He needed to face whatever awaited him at home.

The house was dark when he pulled into the driveway, no welcoming lights left on. Louis sat in the car for several minutes, gathering his courage before finally turning off the engine and making his way to the front door.

Inside, the silence felt oppressive. He flicked on a light, half expecting, hoping, even, to see Harry sprawled on the couch, asleep while waiting up for him. But the living room was empty, the cushions undisturbed.

Louis made his way to the kitchen, dropping his keys on the counter. That’s when he spotted it, a small piece of paper sitting on the kitchen table. His heart sank as he picked it up, immediately recognizing Harry’s handwriting.

“  Gone away for a few days.“

That was it. No explanation, no destination. None of the warmth that usually characterized their notes to each other, no “see you soon” or the familiar large X that Harry typically scrawled at the bottom of even the most mundane grocery lists.

Louis stood in the kitchen, note clutched in his hand, the silence of the house pressing in around him. Where had Harry gone? To his mum’s place? That seemed the most likely option. Or maybe to Luca’s flat? The thought of Harry seeking comfort from someone else, confiding in them about what had happened between them, made Louis’ stomach twist painfully.

Too exhausted to think about it anymore, Louis dragged himself to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth mechanically, avoiding his own reflection in the mirror. He shed his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor instead of placing them in the hamper as he normally would.

In his bedroom, he didn’t bother turning on the light. He simply pulled back the covers and slipped between the cool sheets, immediately rolling to face the wall.

“Stupid fucking laptop.” he muttered. 

💻

Day one without Harry felt interminable.

The apartment echoed with silence. No kettle whistling. No shower running. No Harry humming those soft, off key tunes as he moved through his morning routine. Louis found himself standing in the kitchen, mug in hand, waiting for the familiar sound of Harry’s bedroom door opening that never came.

Work provided little distraction. Louis moved through meetings like a ghost, nodding at appropriate intervals, offering nothing beyond what was strictly required. Colleagues shot him concerned glances, but no one asked what was wrong. Perhaps his face said it all.

He drove home slowly that evening, no longer in a rush. The apartment would be empty when he arrived.

His phone sat heavy in his pocket. Several times throughout the day, Louis had pulled it out, Harry’s contact information illuminated on the screen. His thumb hovered over the message field, but what could he possibly say?  Sorry I ruined everything? Sorry I can’t be just your friend anymore? Sorry I read everything wrong?  Each potential message felt more pathetic than the last.

In the end, he put the phone away.

That night, Louis slept on the couch, some mindless reality show playing in the background. The thought of returning to his bedroom, with its lingering memories of that reveal felt unbearable.

Day two brought no messages from Harry.

Louis checked his phone obsessively, the screen lighting up every few minutes as he pressed the power button. Nothing. Not even a perfunctory text to say where he was or when he might return.

The silence felt significant. In all their years of friendship, they’d never gone this long without communication. Even during their worst arguments, one of them always broke first, sending a silly meme or a simple “you’re still an idiot but I miss you” text.

But this was different. This wasn’t an argument. This was Louis fundamentally altering the nature of their relationship with his online confession.

That evening, Louis found himself standing in the doorway of Harry’s bedroom. He hadn’t entered, that would be crossing a line, even now, but he stood there, taking in the rumpled bed sheets, the half empty glass of water on the nightstand, the sweatshirt draped over the desk chair. All signs of a life temporarily on pause, not one permanently abandoned. He hopes. 

Louis took slight comfort in that thought as he retreated to the couch for another night of fitful sleep.

By day three, anger began to seep in around the edges of Louis’ despair.

“You could at least let me know you’re alive,“ he muttered to his phone, still devoid of notifications from Harry. The silence felt increasingly like punishment, and Louis vacillated between feeling he deserved it and feeling resentful that Harry couldn’t at least acknowledge what had happened.

Louis finished work early and found himself wandering through the grocery store, habitually reaching for items Harry preferred, that particular brand of yogurt, those specific apples, the tea only Harry drank. Each time, Louis caught himself, returning items to the shelves. What was the point? He had no idea when, or if, Harry would return.

That night, Louis finally returned to his own bed, but sleep remained elusive. He found himself staring at the ceiling, remembering Harry’s face that last time, the shock, the silence, the way he’d turned away. Louis had spent years keeping his feelings contained, and in one impulsive moment, he’d let them spill over.

He reached for his phone, opened their message thread. The last exchange was so painfully mundane, Harry asking if they needed more milk, Louis confirming they did. How quickly normalcy could shatter.

Louis typed out a message:

   I’m sorry. Come home when you’re ready. We can forget it ever happened.

His thumb hovered over the send button for several long moments before he deleted it character by character. The silence continued.

Day four without Harry felt like existing in limbo.

Louis moved through his morning routine mechanically. The apartment no longer felt like his home but rather some strange halfway place, not quite empty enough to be abandoned, not alive enough to be inhabited.

Louis and Harry. Harry and Louis. Now it was just… Louis.

The thought circled in his mind as he navigated through another workday on autopilot. How had he never realized how intertwined their lives had become? How had he not seen that pulling at that thread, his feelings, might unravel everything?

By evening, the emptiness of the apartment had become unbearable. Louis pulled a bottle of wine from the rack, a nice one they’d been saving for some special occasion. Well, this was special in its own miserable way. Four days of soul crushing silence certainly deserved commemoration.

One glass became two, two became the entire bottle. Louis felt the warm numbness spread through his limbs, dulling the sharp edges of his thoughts. He scrolled through his music library, past their shared playlists, landing on his own private collection of melodramatic breakup songs.

He cranked the volume as the opening piano notes of Celine Dion’s iconic ballad filled the apartment. The song, so perfectly, pathetically appropriate for his situation, pulled a bitter laugh from his throat that quickly dissolved into something closer to a sob.

“ All by myself, don’t want to be, all by myself, anymore.” 

Wine glass in hand, Louis began to dance around the living room, his movements uncoordinated but emphatic. He belted out the chorus at full volume, eyes squeezed shut, free hand pressed dramatically to his chest. The performance was equal parts self mockery and genuine heartache, the alcohol allowing him to fully embrace the melodrama of his situation.

Mid spin, mid note, Louis opened his eyes and froze.

There, leaning against the doorframe, was Harry. His eyebrows were raised, arms crossed over his chest, and a small smirk played at the corner of his mouth. He looked tired, a shadow of stubble darkening his jaw, but undeniably, wonderfully present.

“Missed me then?” Harry asked, his voice light but carrying an undercurrent of something Louis couldn’t quite identify.

Louis stood motionless in the center of the living room, wine glass tilted dangerously in his limp hand, music still blaring around them. His mind raced, trying to process Harry’s unexpected appearance and even more unexpected reaction. What did that smirk mean? Was he mocking Louis? Amused? Relieved?

The alcohol that had seemed like such a good idea an hour ago now left Louis feeling vulnerable and unprepared. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Upon seeing Harry in the doorway, Louis freezes momentarily before panic takes over. The realization of being caught in such a stupid state sends him into motion. He hurriedly sets down his wine glass and begins frantically gathering his belongings from around the living room, magazines, phone charger, and his goddamn laptop. Switching off the music.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, confusion replacing his initial smirk.

Louis can’t bring himself to answer, his mind locked in survival mode. He moves frantically around the room, collecting the wine bottle and other possessions, preparing to retreat.

Harry watches him for a moment, understanding dawning on his face. He’s known Louis long enough to recognize when he’s spiraling.

As Louis brushes past him, arms full of hastily gathered items, Harry gently catches his arm, fingers wrapping lightly around his wrist.

“Lou. Please don’t go.”

The touch sends a jolt through Louis. Harry’s hand on his skin feels different now, like it’s charged with a new meaning. Louis keeps his eyes fixed on the floor, unable to look up.

“I’m sorry, H. I don’t, I…I shouldn’t have, oh my god, I didn’t mean…” The words tumble out, disjointed and desperate.

Harry tugs him gently, turning Louis to face him. With nowhere else to look, Louis finally raises his eyes to meet Harry’s gaze, those beautiful green eyes locking with his.

“Don’t finish that sentence, please,” Harry says softly, a sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “It’s alright, Lou. Everything is alright, okay?”

The words hang between them, simple but profound. Harry knows exactly what Louis needs to hear, what they both need in this moment. Not a discussion of feelings or boundaries, but reassurance that underneath it all, they’re still  them  . And no google search web browser would ever ruin that.

Louis manages a small nod, the tightness in his chest easing slightly. He pulls away from Harry’s grasp and continues towards the kitchen to put away the wine bottle.

Harry follows, watching as Louis reaches for the wine rack. “Not sharing? Wow, that is rude,” he comments, his familiar teasing tone helping to ease the tension.

Louis pulls down another glass and pours a generous amount for Harry. Meanwhile, Harry glances around the apartment, taking in the state of disarray that has accumulated during his absence.

“My god, trust you to not keep the place in order,” Harry says, shaking his head. “Did you let a bomb off in here or something?” He wrinkles his nose. “And what is that damn smell?”

Louis hands him the glass of wine, not mentioning the container of takeout that’s been sitting in the bin for three days. All that matters right now is that Harry is home and Harry isn’t mad. They’re talking, and if not everything is fixed, at least nothing seems irreparably broken.

💻

Louis stirred slowly to consciousness, the late morning light filtering through his partially closed blinds. His head throbbed with a dull ache, the unmistakable reminder of last night’s wine. For a blissful moment, he existed in that hazy state between sleep and wakefulness, where reality hadn’t quite settled in yet.

Then it all came rushing back.

Harry, standing in the doorway. His own embarrassing Celine Dion performance. The panic. The conversation that followed.

Louis groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Had all that really happened? He listened carefully, detecting faint sounds from somewhere in the apartment, movement, the occasional clink of something being set down. Harry was still here. It hadn’t been a wine induced hallucination.

After a deep breath and a silent pep talk, Louis dragged himself out of bed. He caught his reflection in the mirror, hair sticking up in multiple directions, eyes puffy, wearing the same t-shirt he’d had on yesterday. Fantastic. He quickly ran his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it and brushed his teeth, trying to mentally prepare himself for whatever awaited him beyond his bedroom door.

What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was the sight that greeted him when he finally ventured into the living room.

There was Harry, in all his glory, cleaning the disaster zone that the apartment had become during his absence. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt that had no business looking that good on anyone, paired with those ridiculous gray joggers he’d owned for years. His hair was pulled back into a small bun, with several rebellious curls escaping to frame his face. A light sheen of sweat gave his skin a glow that was frankly offensive for someone doing household chores.

Louis nearly swallowed his tongue.

Harry, his best friend, his roommate, the subject of his mortifying non approved google confession, was currently bent over their coffee table, his joggers stretched tight across an ass that belonged in a museum dedicated to human perfection. Louis’ brain stopped, a dizzying heat rushing through his body as he watched a drop of sweat trail down the back of Harry’s neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his obscenely thin t-shirt.

This wasn’t fair. This was psychological warfare.

When Harry reached up to dust the top shelf, his shirt rode up to reveal a strip of tanned skin and the defined lines of his lower back. Louis had to physically restrain himself from making a sound that would have been entirely inappropriate for a Saturday morning. Or any time of day, really.

The sunlight streaming through the windows seemed determined to highlight Harry like some divine being, catching on the angles of his cheekbones, illuminating the green of his eyes, making his skin look like it had been dusted with gold. His biceps flexed as he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot on the window, and Louis felt his mouth go dry. Those arms had hugged him countless times, casually draped over his shoulders during movie nights, playfully wrestled him to the ground during their ridiculous fights, but seeing them like this, muscles working under sun kissed skin, felt like a revelation and a torture all at once.

Harry hummed something under his breath, completely oblivious to the effect he was having. He bent down to pick up a stray sock (Louis’, undoubtedly), and Louis had to grip the doorframe to steady himself. It wasn’t just that Harry was objectively, devastatingly attractive, it was that Louis had spent years carefully compartmentalizing those thoughts, pushing them down so deep that they only surfaced in dreams or moments of weakness. And now, post confession, it was like a dam had broken. Every suppressed observation, every ignored impulse, came rushing to the surface with a vengeance.

Louis stood frozen, caught between the overwhelming urge to devour the sight before him and the desperate need to retreat before he did something stupid, like cross the room, spin Harry around, and finally, finally find out if his lips were as soft as they looked.

Fuck. This was going to be impossible.

His first instinct was to retreat to his room, perhaps barricade the door and emerge in approximately……… never. 

But no, he was an adult. He could handle seeing his best friend cleaning without having a meltdown, regardless of how unfairly attractive said friend looked while doing it.

With a courage he didn’t entirely feel, Louis continued his journey towards the kitchen, attempting to appear casual and not at all like a man having an internal crisis.

Harry glanced up as Louis entered, a smile breaking across his face. 

“There he is. Thought you might sleep through the entire weekend.”

“Not all of us have the energy of a spring chicken at…” Louis squinted at the clock on the microwave, “…eleven thirty in the morning. Christ.”

Harry chuckled, bending down to sort through some magazines on the coffee table. The movement offered Louis a view that nearly sent him stumbling into the kitchen counter.

“Coffee’s fresh,” Harry said, straightening up and nodding towards the pot. “Figured you might need it after your… performance last night.”

Harry winked. 

There was a teasing lilt to Harry’s voice that made Louis’ stomach do a complicated flip. Was that… flirting? Or just their usual banter? Louis couldn’t tell anymore, his radar completely scrambled by recent events.

“You’re a saint,” Louis muttered, making a beeline for the coffee. He poured himself a generous cup, focusing intently on this simple task rather than on the way Harry was now reaching overhead to dust the ceiling fan, his entire body extended in a line that belonged in an anatomy textbook about perfect proportions.

After taking a fortifying sip of coffee, Louis cleared his throat. 

“So, um, where did you go? These past few days, I mean.”

What the fuck. He actually said it. Out loud. God, he hates himself. Maybe too much sleep really does rot your brain, there’s no other explanation.

Harry’s movements slowed. He lowered his arms, dust cloth dangling from one hand, and turned to face Louis. 

“Oh, um, I went to my mum’s,” he said, a slight hesitation in his voice. “She says hi, by the way.”

Louis nodded, unsure what to say next. An awkward silence threatened to descend, but Harry quickly broke it.

“Hey, do you know where that special cleaner is? The one we use for the stone countertops?”

“What special cleaner?” Louis frowned. “I didn’t know we had a special cleaner.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness to the gesture. “Of course you didn’t. No wonder this place looked like it did when I got back.” A smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “Well, get your laptop out and Google it.”

Louis went rigid, coffee mug frozen halfway to his lips. 

Did Harry just..? Was he referring to..?

Harry’s smirk widened into a full grin, watching Louis’ reaction with undisguised amusement. 

“Too soon?”

Louis stood there, utterly flabbergasted. Were they really doing this? Making jokes about ‘The Incident already’ ? Was this a good sign, Harry being so comfortable with it that he could tease? Or was this Harry’s way of dismissing it, making light of something that had torn Louis apart for days?

“Oh, um,” Louis stammered, completely lost as to how to respond.

Harry’s expression shifted, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. 

“That was in bad taste, sorry. I shouldn’t have said it and…” He stopped abruptly, pointing towards the hallway. “I’m gonna get started on cleaning the bathroom.”

With that, he turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving Louis standing in the kitchen, coffee cooling in his hands, utterly bewildered by whatever had just transpired between them.

💻

As lunchtime rolled around, Louis found himself standing in front of the open refrigerator, staring blankly at its contents. The cool air washed over him, a welcome relief from the heat that had been building inside him all morning watching Harry clean. Every domestic task had somehow become an competitive sport in seduction, Harry wiping down countertops with careful, circular motions, Harry reaching to dust high shelves, his body stretching into impossible lines, Harry on his hands and knees scrubbing at a mysterious stain on the floor, his back arched in a way that should be not be on repeat in Louis’ mind.

Louis had retreated to his room twice already, using flimsy excuses about emails and phone calls, when in reality he’d just needed to catch his breath and remind himself that this was still just Harry, his best friend, his roommate, the person who’d seen him at his absolute worst and stuck around anyway.

Now, as he examined the haphazard collection of food in their fridge, leftover takeout containers, half empty condiment bottles, a suspicious looking cucumber, Louis had to admit defeat. He wasn’t a chef by any standard, and his mind was too preoccupied to think creatively about whatever edible combination he might conjure from these ingredients.

“Mmm, what ya making?“

The words, low and drawn out, came from directly behind him, so close Louis could feel warm breath caressing the sensitive skin of his neck. The voice sent an electric current racing down his spine, goosebumps erupting across his arms.

What the fuck was happening?

Sure, they’d always had a certain dynamic, playful banter that occasionally crossed into flirtatious territory, jokes with double meanings, but this felt different. 

This felt deliberate. Aimed? Testing?

Before Louis could formulate a response, he felt it, Harry’s palm, warm and solid, pressing against the middle of his back. The touch alone would have been enough to take him out completly, but then the hand began to move, sliding down his back with agonizing slowness. There was nothing accidental about the movement, nothing that could be misconstrued as merely friendly. It was sensual, intentional, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

When Harry’s hand finally came to rest in the curve of Louis’ lower back, just above the waistband of his sweatpants, the world seemed to stop spinning. Neither of them moved. Neither spoke.

Louis couldn’t think, couldn’t process what was happening. His body felt simultaneously frozen and on fire, caught in a paradox of immobility and overwhelming sensation.

After what felt like an eternity, Louis awkwardly stepped to the side, breaking the contact between them. He cleared his throat, trying to sound unfazed, knowing he was failing miserably.

“I don’t know what to make,” he managed, his voice betraying him with a slight tremor. “Any ideas?”

Harry’s expression flickered, something like disappointment crossing his features before it was replaced with a sad smile. 

“Sure, I’ll whip us up a chicken salad, if I can pull enough items that are not tainted.”

Louis retreated to the living room while Harry prepared their lunch, needing the space to collect himself. 

What was happening between them? Was Harry just messing with him? Was this some kind of test? Or was it possible that…  no  . Louis wouldn’t let himself go down that road, not when he’d spent four miserable days convinced he’d ruined everything.

Twenty minutes later, they were settled on the couch, plates balanced on their laps, an awkward silence stretching between them. Louis pushed the food around his plate, his appetite diminished by the knot of anxiety in his stomach.

“This is good,” he offered lamely, gesturing with his fork.

“Thanks,” Harry replied, equally stilted. “I added a bit of that fancy mustard you like.”

They ate in relative silence after that, the clink of forks against plates the only sound in the room. When they finished, Harry collected their plates and set them aside on the coffee table.

“Want to watch something?” he asked, reaching for the remote.

“Sure,” Louis agreed, far too quickly. The prospect of sitting in continued silence was unbearable.

Harry scrolled through their options, finally settling on some mindless action movie they’d both seen before, safe territory. As the opening credits rolled, Harry shifted on the couch, settling in closer to Louis. Then, as naturally as he had done hundreds of times before, Harry curled into Louis’ side, head resting against his shoulder, one arm draped casually across Louis’ middle.

The familiar position felt suddenly, intensely different. Every point of contact between their bodies seemed charged with new significance. Louis could feel the warmth of Harry’s breath through his t-shirt, the weight of his arm a delicious pressure against his abdomen. He remained rigid, afraid to move, afraid to breathe too deeply.

“You feel so warm,” Harry murmured the familiar words, his voice a low rumble that Louis felt as much as heard.

Louis stilled completely. There was no way Harry couldn’t feel the rapid pounding of his heart, the way his body had gone tense.

“Yeah,” he managed to respond, his voice little more than a whisper.

“Yeah,” Harry repeated softly.

The movie played on, neither of them paying any attention to it. The silence had morphed from awkward to something heavier, laden with unspoken words and suppressed desires. It stretched taut between them like an elastic band pulled to its limit, ready to either snap or recoil with devastating force.

Finally, Harry sat up, turning to face Louis directly. His expression was serious, determined in a way that made Louis’ stomach drop.

“We need to talk.”

Four words. 

Four fucking awful words that no one ever wanted to hear. Louis felt a cold dread float through him. This was it, the conversation he’d been dreading. Harry was going to let him down gently, explain why they could never be more than friends, maybe suggest that Louis find a new place to live.

“We don’t have to,” Louis said quickly, desperately. “Really, it’s fine, we can just..”

But Harry was already shaking his head. 

“No, we do. I’ve been thinking..” He stopped, frowning. “I mean, these past few days at my mum’s, I was really..” Another pause, another false start. “The thing is, when I saw your browser history, I didn’t expect..” He groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Fuck, why is this so hard? I had it all planned out what I wanted to say, and now I’m just..”

Louis watched in bewildered fascination as Harry, normally so articulate, dissolved into a jumbled mess of incomplete sentences and frustrated gestures. Harry, who could charm anyone with his slow, thoughtful way of speaking, was suddenly tripping over his words like..well how he himself normally would.

“You know what?” Harry finally said, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Fuck it.”

And then Harry was surging forward, his hands coming up to cradle Louis’ face, and before Louis could process what was happening, Harry’s lips were on his.

For one frozen moment, Louis couldn’t react, his brain unable to comprehend that this was actually happening. But then Harry made a small, desperate sound against his mouth, and something in Louis broke wide open.

He kissed back fiercely, years of suppressed longing pouring out of him all at once. His hands found their way to Harry’s waist, pulling him closer, needing to eliminate any space between them. Harry’s thumbs stroked over his cheekbones, tender even in their urgency, as if Louis were something precious he was afraid might shatter.

The kiss was everything, magnetic, electric, cosmic. It was like finding a missing piece Louis hadn’t realized was gone, like coming home to a place he’d never been before. It was both familiar, the scent of Harry’s skin, the shape of his body, and entirely new, the softness of his lips, the taste of him, the small sounds he made when Louis’ tongue slid against his.

There were sparks, yes, but also something deeper, a recognition, a rightness that resonated in Louis’ very bones. Like their souls had known each other across lifetimes, like they’d been meant to find their way to this moment all along.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and dazed, Louis kept his eyes closed for a moment, afraid that if he opened them, he’d discover it had all been a dream, that Harry wasn’t really there, gazing at him with wonder and desire and something that looked dangerously close to love.

And now they were in the  after  , yeah, that awkward part, the part everyone hates. 

Harry began fidgeting and picking at the hem of his hoodie, Louis’ hoodie actually, avoiding his eyes and contemplating whether what he just did was the right thing. 

Louis cleared his throat. 

“You okay?”

Harry didn’t look up. “Yeah.”

“Right.” Louis leaned back, folding his arms. “Because you’ve barely looked at me since we just…”

“I have,” Harry cut in, quick and quiet. “I’ve looked at you. I’m just…” He stopped, took a breath, ran a hand through his curls. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Louis’ throat went tight. 

“You regret it?”

“What? No. God, no.” Harry finally looked at him then, properly, and the weight of that stare nearly undid Louis. “I don’t regret it. I just…” He sighed. “I wasn’t planning on doing anything. Not tonight. Not  ever  , really.”

Louis blinked, heart stuttering. 

“Good to know,” he said quietly, the words landing like a stone between them.

Harry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. 

“Christ, Louis. That’s not…no. That’s not what I meant.”

Louis gave a sharp, humourless laugh. 

“Then what did you mean? Because from where I’m standing, it kind of feels like you’re speaking in riddles.”

Harry stood up abruptly, like the tension in his limbs couldn’t sit still another second. He started pacing, shoulders tight, breath short.

“I’m trying, okay?” he said, voice tight. “I’ve been trying to figure this out in my head for days, and now you’re looking at me like I’m some asshole and I….fuck. Okay, okay. Let me just, can I say this? Can I just say something without you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re preparing to be disappointed.”

Louis swallowed. 

“I am.”

That stung, making Harry momentarily flinch. But Louis didn’t take it back.

Harry sat again, this time turned towards him fully, fingers threaded tightly.

“As I said earlier, I went to Mum’s,” his voice steadier now. “To think about what I saw. About what it meant. About how long I’d been pretending I didn’t already know.”

Louis went still. 

“Know what?”

“That you… liked me. Like that.”

Louis opened his mouth to deflect, to joke, to throw some self deprecating line into the middle of the conversation, but Harry pressed on.

“When I saw the laptop, saw the tabs, everything just…clicked. All the things that didn’t make sense, they suddenly lined up. Every time you looked at me too long, every time you got weird when someone else flirted with me. The little digs, the jokes… I thought they were just our usual, but…” Harry blew out a breath. “God, Lou. I felt so stupid for not realising sooner.”

Louis could barely breathe. His voice was tight, almost brittle.

“So you ran away.”

Harry gave a slow nod.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I needed space. To figure out if saying any of this… how I felt, would destroy everything.”

Louis swallowed hard. His throat burned.

“So… you hate me now?”

Harry winced, like the words physically hurt. He didn’t like that Louis’ mind went straight there, but he kind of expected it.

“What? No. God, no. Quite the opposite.”

Louis blinked.

“Wait. What?”

Harry’s smile was soft, barely there, but it cracked something open in Louis. There was no smugness, no teasing, just something honest and trembling at the edges.

“You heard me,” Harry said, his eyes holding steady, unflinching.

“You…” 

Louis licked his lips, voice low. 

“You like me?”

Harry’s eyes didn’t leave his.

“I think I’ve liked you for longer than I even realised.”

And now Harry finally got to get  his  release. To say all the things he has had bottled up.

“I’ve liked you. For ages actually. Maybe since that second week we moved in. Definitely since you made me tea during your flu and told me you were  ‘a generous angel of mercy who demands nothing in return but eternal praise and maybe a back rub.’”

Louis barked a startled laugh. 

“That’s what did it?”

“No. That’s just when I knew I was fucked.”

Louis looked at him, properly now, heart racing in his chest like it was trying to claw its way out. 

“I thought you were going to make fun of me.”

“For the browser thing?”

“Yeah. Like…  ‘God, Lou, get a grip, get off those dating apps.  .’”

There it was. Addressing the tinder issue.  He stopped as he too realised. 

“You swiped on me.” Louis said smugly. 

“I did,” Harry admitted. “Not because I didn’t take it seriously, but because I was terrified. I saw it and thought, ‘Oh. I’ve got no excuses anymore. This is real. I can’t hide behind jokes and letting someone snag you up.”

Louis looked at him for a long, long beat. 

“And now?”

Harry reached out, thumb brushing over Louis’ knee. “Now I just want to try with you. Carefully and slowly. Because we’re shit at all this. But I think we might be better than we think.”

Louis exhaled a breath.

“So you don’t want to run again?”

“No,” Harry laughed. “I want to stay. If you’ll let me.”

Louis nodded. Swallowed hard. 

“I want that too.”

Then, just for good measure, Harry added with a half smile,

“And for the record,” His voice was a little lower, “your dating profile was kind of hot.”

Louis narrowed his eyes. 

“Kind of?”

Harry smirked, a blush creeping in anyway.

“Weird seeing your face pop up, but… it was good wan—” He cut himself off, eyes widening. “Never mind.”

Louis let out an incredulous groan and buried his face in his hands.

“Oh my God, Harry!”

Not that Louis had any right to judge, his own solo sessions probably outnumbered Harry’s by a landslide.

“I’m just saying,” Harry laughed, nudging him with his shoulder. “I swiped didn’t I?”

Louis peeked out from behind his fingers, giving him a glare that didn’t quite stick.

“You’re such an idiot.”

Harry bit his lip, a flicker of nerves softening his grin.

“Yeah. But… I like you too.”

And there it was. Uneven. Awkward. Not rehearsed or perfect, but real. And finally, finally out in the open.

Louis stared at him, open mouthed. 

“No you don’t.”

Harry gave him a look. 

“Don’t start.”

“No, I mean—” Louis rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “You don’t have to say that just because you saw the… you know.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“The public declaration of thirst in your search history?”

Louis groaned again, pulling a cushion into his lap. 

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.” Harry nudged him again. “And I’m serious, Lou.”

Louis went quiet. There was too much happening in his chest. Butterflies, panic, something that felt like hope, and all of it twisting up together like a knot he wasn’t sure he could undo.

“You really like me?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Harry’s smile dimmed to something softer, sincere. 

“Yeah. I really do. I didn’t say anything because… I didn’t think you could actually TRULY like me back.”

“This is insane.”

“Says the guy who had a full blown breakdown over whether or not I’d seen his Tinder thirst trap.”

“That wasn’t…!” Louis started, then sighed. “Okay, fine, it kind of was.”

They both laughed, but Louis looked away quickly, fidgeting with a thread on the cushion. “It’s just… I’ve wanted this for so long. I don’t know what to do with it now that it’s real.”

Harry’s voice was quiet. 

“We don’t have to do anything. Not yet. I just wanted you to know. And… I wanted to know if it was okay to feel it. To want something more.”

Louis looked at him then, finally, said.

 “It’s more than okay.”

They sat in the silence for a moment, the weight of everything finally lifting, the air around them charged and tender.

“I can’t believe you found my profile hot,” Louis murmured after a beat.

Harry grinned. 

“Mate, it was the crop top pic you added. That did me in, not gonna lie.”

Louis smacked him with the cushion. 

“You’re never ever getting laid now.”

Harry caught the pillow mid swing and leaned in, eyes bright but his voice so seductive.

“We’ll see.”

And just like that, Louis couldn’t stop smiling.

💻

Louis padded down the hall barefoot, hoodie sleeves bunched in his fists, still trying to shake the sleep from his body. The flat was quiet, sunlight spilling in through the kitchen window in warm golden streaks. He was halfway to putting the kettle on when he heard Harry’s voice, low, softer than usual, from just outside on the little balcony.

He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the sliding door was cracked open, and Harry wasn’t exactly whispering.

“No, Mum, I’m serious. We talked. Properly this time.”

A pause.

“I know. I just didn’t want to jinx it… yeah. We talked. Properly. I told him I liked him and he said it back. I still can’t believe it either.”

Louis froze in place, heart thudding.

Harry trailed off for a second, and Louis felt the nervous twist in his gut coil tighter.

“Yeah,” Harry said, and Louis could hear the smile in his voice. “We’re gonna give it a go. Slowly, yeah. But it feels good. It feels like… I don’t know. Like I finally did the brave thing.”

Louis took one quiet step back. He didn’t mean to listen, not really, but something about hearing Harry say it out loud, to someone else, made it real in a way last night hadn’t.

He turned and went back towards his room before Harry could see him. His face was warm, chest buzzing with something light and ridiculous and fucking hopeful.

Later, over toast and coffee, Louis sat across from Harry at the tiny table, pretending he hadn’t heard a thing. But he couldn’t stop smiling like a fool every time their eyes met.

Harry squinted at him over the rim of his mug. 

“What?”

Louis shrugged, grinning. 

“Nothing. You’re just… in a good mood.”

Harry raised a brow. 

“You saying I’m usually miserable?”

“Maybe.”

Harry smirked. 

“Well, this time I’ve got reasons.”

Louis took a bite of toast, casually leaning back. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Harry’s foot nudged his under the table. 

“But I’m not telling you why.”

Louis rolled his eyes, but his foot stayed where it was, pressed lightly to Harry’s. 

Neither of them moved it.

And just like that, the air between them filled with that heavy, electric tension again. Not the awkward kind, this time it felt like it had somewhere to go.

Harry set his mug down and studied Louis. 

“Are you free later?”

Louis looked up from the magazine he definitely wasn’t reading. 

“Depends. Free for what?”

Harry grinned. 

“Lunch. Somewhere decent. I thought we could get out of here for a bit.”

Louis raised a brow. 

“Like… a date?”

Harry scratched the back of his neck, shy. 

“If you want it to be.”

Louis stood, tossing the magazine aside. 

“I want.”

Harry’s face lit up like it couldn’t help itself. There was a pause, just long enough for their eyes to linger, and then Harry grinned and grabbed his jacket. Louis watched him fumble with the sleeves, pretending not to smile too hard. It was weird, wasn’t it? How something so simple could feel like a seismic shift. A maybe date with your flatmate shouldn’t feel this monumental. And yet, here they were.

💻

They ended up at a small café near the strip of shops Louis liked. It had mismatched chairs and chipped teacups, but the food was great, and the vibe felt easy, until Louis noticed someone standing across the street, waving.

Luca.

Of course.

Harry followed Louis’ gaze and straightened in his seat. 

“Oh. Him.”

Luca sauntered over, the usual too perfect hair and that slightly smug smile. 

“Harry! Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Louis held back an eye roll.

Harry stood, casual but deliberate, and said, 

“Yeah, just grabbing lunch with my boyfriend.”

Louis blinked.

Harry turned and gave Louis a soft, confident smile before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips, lingering just a little longer than was strictly necessary.

When he pulled back, Louis’ cheeks were burning, but his grin was unstoppable.

Luca looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. 

“Oh… right. That’s… new.”

“Very,” Harry said, then added with a perfectly polite smile, “But good.”

After Luca awkwardly walked away, Louis chuckled under his breath. 

“Boyfriend, huh?”

Harry sat back down, smug. 

“Too soon?”

Louis laughed, foot nudging Harry’s under the table.

 “Not even a little.”

💻

Louis blinked at the door Harry had just walked out of, chest a little tight. He didn’t know what he expected, maybe a kiss, maybe even just a lingering look. Something before going to bed. But Harry had left with barely a word, and now Louis was left feeling stupid for wishful thinking.

He sighed and laid back against the pillows, trying to will away the disappointment starting to spread through him like slow heat.  Too much, too soon,  he told himself. They’d only just voiced this thing between them for god’s sake, what did he really expect?

But then…footsteps. Not fading away down the hall, but getting closer.  Returning  .

Louis sat up.

And there he was. Harry, standing in the doorway again, arms full of pillows, looking sheepish and defiant all at once.

“I really don’t like your pillows,” he said, like it was the most obvious explanation in the world.

Louis laughed, startled and warm, heart tripping over itself. 

“I’m sorry. You…what?”

Harry shrugged, tossed his own pillows dramatically onto the bed. 

“They’re lumpy. Flat. I deserve better.”

Louis was still laughing when Harry peeled off his shirt in one slow stretch, exposing the warm lines of his torso, the faint freckles scattered across his chest. He tossed the shirt onto the floor like he’d always done, but now it felt different. Louis couldn’t stop staring.

He stood at the edge of Louis’ bed in nothing but his briefs, hair messy from the day and cheeks slightly flushed. The low lamplight hit him just right, skin honey golden, toned but soft in all the places Louis had spent years trying not to notice.

And now, he couldn’t look away.

Louis swallowed hard. 

“You always undress in other people’s bedrooms like this?”

Harry smirked, climbing into bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. 

“Only when I plan on staying.” 

His voice was quiet, teasing, but there was an edge underneath it. A seriousness that curled in Louis’ gut like a lit match.

They lay there for a moment, side by side, the air buzzing between them. Louis could feel the heat coming off Harry in waves. He was close, so close, and Louis wanted to say something, anything, but then Harry turned towards him, propped on one elbow.

“You’re staring.”

Louis laughed, nerves flickering through the sound. 

“Can you blame me?”

“You can kiss me, you know,” Harry said softly.

And as if those words were true. Louis would never believe it. But he also didn’t need to be told twice.

When they pulled apart, both panting, Louis could only stare at him.

“This is real?” he asked, voice shaky.

Harry nodded, cheeks flushed. 

“Yeah. And if you keep looking at me like that, I’m never going to sleep tonight.”

Louis smirked. 

“Good. I wasn’t planning to, either.”

He reached up, fingers trailing along Louis’ jaw, and kissed him. It was slower this time, deeper. A kiss that said they weren’t in any rush, even as their bodies betrayed them, already tense and eager beneath the sheets.

Louis’ hand slid down, fingers splaying over Harry’s hip, pulling him closer. Their legs tangled, the brush of skin against skin sending sparks up Louis’ spine. Harry’s breath hitched as Louis’ hand settled lower, fingertips grazing just above the waistband of his briefs.

“You’re killing me,” Harry murmured, lips brushing over Louis’ cheekbone.

Louis pressed his forehead to Harry’s, their noses bumping. 

“Yeah? You think you’re not doing the same to me? You’ve been walking around this flat half naked since, well, forever.”

Harry laughed and shifted, his thigh sliding between Louis’ legs, dangerously close,  deliberately  close. The friction made Louis groan, soft and wrecked. Their bodies fit too well. Like they’d been doing this forever, like they were made for it.

Harry kissed him again, slower this time, tongue sliding into Louis’ mouth with devastating confidence. His hands explored Louis’ sides, his back, like he was mapping him out by feel alone. Louis couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop chasing the warmth of his skin, the shape of him under desperate palms.

When Harry shifted again, moving to straddle Louis’ thigh, Louis stilled, his breath caught in his chest. Harry’s weight settled over him, grounding and electric all at once.

“You okay?” Harry whispered, voice low, eyes wide, dark and vulnerable.

Louis nodded, dazed. 

“More than okay.”

Harry smiled, slow and shy, and dipped his head to kiss the corner of Louis’ mouth, then lower, across his throat, his chest. Louis’ hands trembled as they moved down Harry’s back, tracing the curve of him, the strength. He knew exactly where this was heading, had dreamed about it a thousand times, but now that it was real, it felt bigger. Heavier. Better.

Harry shifted again, pressing down just enough to make Louis gasp. It wasn’t rushed, there was care in every touch, every breath, every subtle grind of hips, but the heat between them was unmistakable. Tension pulled taut like a wire between them, snapping with every kiss, every sigh.

“I want this,” Harry whispered, forehead pressed to Louis’. “I want you.”

Louis exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years. He curled his fingers into Harry’s hair and pulled him into a kiss that said everything he couldn’t.

And when Harry moved lower, Louis let him.

The feeling of Harry’s mouth around his cock was nothing like Louis had imagined, it was so much better. Those plush, sinful lips wrapped around him with nothing but lust and determination, the heat of Harry’s mouth sending shockwaves through his entire body. His tongue flicked and circled the sensitive head, careful in a way that Louis, when he looked downwards, saw nothing but perfection. He nearly came right then, the pleasure sharp and too overwhelming.

He groaned, one hand tightening in Harry’s hair as he forced himself to pull away, breathing hard. “Not yet,” he rasped, even though every nerve in his body screamed at him to let go.

With a growl of restraint, Louis flipped them over, pinning Harry to the bed. He kissed his way down with purpose, stopping at his belly button before tapping him to turn over. He went straight for his ass cheeks, spreading Harry open with firm hands before diving in with his tongue. 

He’d done the research, multiple tabs’ worth. He knew what he was doing. Mostly. And he felt… semi confident.

The response was immediate, Harry gasped, hips jerking, thighs trembling as Louis devoured him with wet, open mouthed kisses, his tongue dragging in slow, tantalising strokes that made Harry writhe beneath him.

When Louis slipped one finger in, slick and gentle, Harry moaned like he was coming undone. Louis added another, then a third, working him open with careful concentration, murmuring filthy praise against his skin. It was preparation, yes, but it was also worship.

And Louis planned to take his time.

Louis paused at the brink, just long enough to take in the sight of Harry beneath him as he flipped back over to his back, flushed cheeks, tousled curls splayed across the pillow, chest rising and falling with anticipation. His heart thudded in his ears, not from hesitation, but reverence. He wanted to remember this, to let Harry stop him if anything didn’t feel right. But Harry didn’t pull away. Instead, their eyes met, and for a long moment, they said everything without a single word. 

Louis smiled, tender and almost shy. He could feel the weight of everything they’d been through gathering between them, making the air thick, almost sacred.

Harry, of course, ruined it, in the best way.

“What’s the matter, Lou?” he murmured, mouth twitching into a smirk. “Need to Google what position feels best?”

Louis huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. “Nah,” he muttered, shifting closer, “Just trying to remember which one’s gonna make you still feel me tomorrow.”

Harry barked out a laugh, but it quickly turned into a sharp gasp as Louis pressed in, slowly at first. His breath hitched. His fingers clenched at the sheets. “Shit,” he muttered, eyes fluttering closed.

“Don’t go soft on me now,” Harry teased breathlessly, his voice already thick.

Louis didn’t. He drove into him harder, hands gripping Harry’s hips as if anchoring himself. The slick sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, along with Harry’s broken cries of his name.

“God, Lou..yes..fuck..”

The rhythm built, rough and hot and unrelenting, Louis’ sweat dripping down his brow as he moved. Harry kept pushing back to meet him, greedy and shameless, every sound falling from his lips spurring Louis on.

It wasn’t just about lust, it was relief. It was the maddening ache of having wanted each other so long and finally, finally getting to feel it all.

Louis was unraveling.

The sight of Harry beneath him, flushed, panting, pupils blown wide with pleasure, sent a shudder through his entire body. Every soft sound Harry made, every twitch of his hips and clench of his fingers against the sheets, was a new level of torture and bliss all at once.

Harry gasped, back arching off the bed, as release took him, head thrown back, lips parted, chest painted in white. Louis felt it like a jolt to his own spine, like the universe narrowing down to this singular moment of shared heat and trust and something dangerously close to reverence.

He gripped Harry’s hips, fingers digging into soft skin, and buried himself deep with one final thrust. His climax hit hard, a full body ache as he moaned against Harry’s shoulder, his breath stuttering. There was nothing held back, no space left between them.

When he finally stilled, both of them trembling, Louis remained there for a moment longer, pressed close, chest to chest, as their heartbeats began to slow in sync. He kissed Harry’s temple softly, reverently, and whispered his name like it was something sacred.

As he carefully pulled out, he caught the slow, warm spill of himself and felt a flush creep over his skin. It was messy. Intimate. Honest.

And it didn’t scare either one of them one bit.

They lay cosied up together in the aftermath, the sheets pushed down around their waists, skin flushed and covered in sweat. The room had gone quiet except for their breathing, the occasional shift of limbs, and the sound of something neither of them could name, contentment, maybe? Or it could have been the slow, stunned realization that they’d just crossed the line they’d tiptoed around for far too long.

Louis’ cheek rested on Harry’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath his skin, the soft thump of his heartbeat slowly calming. He could feel Harry’s fingers tracing light circles along the back of his shoulder, almost absentmindedly.

They didn’t speak for a while.

It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just full. Like silence finally had a purpose.

Then Harry let out a tiny, breathless chuckle.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice still hoarse and worn, “that’s definitely gonna hurt.”

Louis blinked, then lifted his head, brows raised. “Are you, did you just review the sex like it was a gym class injury?”

Harry grinned at the ceiling, looking far too proud of himself. 

“Just saying. I may need to ice something tomorrow. Gonna be sore.”

Louis let out a bark of laughter when he finally caught the reference from earlier and dropped his head back down against Harry’s chest, shaking with it. 

“You’re such a dick, a funny one though.”

Harry hummed. 

“And yet, here you are. Worn out and clinging to me.”

“You’re the one that walked into my bed like it was your birth right,” Louis shot back, but there was no heat to it,  just affection. He curled in a little closer, brushing his fingers along the edge of Harry’s ribs. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Harry tilted his head to kiss the top of Louis’ messy hair. “Didn’t hear you complain once, actually.”

Louis snorted. 

“Didn’t sound like you were complaining earlier either mister! ”

Harry peeked at him with a lazy smirk. 

“Well, I was trying to be polite. But since you ask, I think I saw God somewhere around the fourth thrust.”

Louis laughed, full and unrestrained.

 “You’re such a drama queen.”

“Mm, maybe,” Harry hummed, “but im your drama queen.”

Louis rolled his eyes but his smile softened as Harry leaned in, brushing his nose against Louis’ cheek before kissing him, slow and unhurried.

Louis smiled, eyes slipping closed, heart full and unsettled all at once. Because this, whatever this was, felt like the start of something real. Messy, maybe. A bit terrifying.

But  right  .

Louis lazily traced patterns over Harry’s stomach, grinning when Harry flinched a little at the touch.

They eventually fell asleep, limbs entwined and hearts steady, like they’d been falling asleep together for years. And maybe, in all the ways that mattered, they had.

💻

The next morning came far too quickly.

Louis woke to the smell of coffee and the clatter of a spoon. He shuffled into the kitchen in just his boxers, blinking against the sunlight to find Harry already dressed, sipping from a mug and looking like sin in a button up and slacks.

“Morning,” Harry said, voice still a little rough with sleep.

Louis walked right up to him, leaned in, and whispered, “You’re lucky I’m letting you leave the house looking like that.”

Harry grinned over the rim of his cup. 

“You’re lucky I’m not filing a noise complaint about last night.”

Louis grabbed an apple from the counter and winked. 

“You loved it.”

“Oh, I’m still walking funny.”

They kissed at the door, a softer one this time.

“ You will be tomorrow too.”

💻

At work, Louis kept checking his phone, smiling like an idiot every time a new message lit up the screen.

Harry: I keep thinking about your bed. And how I didn’t wanna get out of it.

Harry: Also, pretty sure our neighbour heard us this morning, if his face was anything to go by in the hallway. Sorry.

Harry: Not sorry.

Louis: Haha, You’re such a menace.

Harry: A menace who likes your stupid face.

Louis smiled down at the screen, heart warm and fluttering as he typed back:

Louis: Can’t wait to get back to you. Tonight, my bed, round three?

Harry: Darling, I’m already counting the hours.

💻

Louis sat cross legged on the lounge, half a dumpling hanging out of his mouth, the Chinese takeaway container balanced precariously on his knee. The telly was on, the volume a little louder than usual since Harry wasn’t home. He was chomping away when the front door suddenly opened.

Harry stepped in, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door, slipping his jacket off with a practiced shrug. His hair was windswept, cheeks a little pink from the cool evening air. He glanced towards the couch, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

“You didn’t wait for me?” he said, lips tugging down as if genuinely offended.

Louis’ eyes went wide, a guilty look flashing across his face as he froze mid bite. 

“Shit, sorry! I was starving. Today dragged like a corpse on crutches.”

Harry stared at him, then burst out laughing. 

“You’re such a big back.”

“Rude!” Louis mumbled around a now mouthful of noodles.

Harry kicked his shoes off and crossed the room in a few long strides. He crouched in front of Louis, hand bracing on the couch beside his thigh.

“Oh and,” he murmured, voice low now. “Was the day dragging because you were waiting for this?”

Before Louis could answer, Harry leaned in and kissed him, slow, deep, like he had all the time in the world and was making a point of using every second. The taste of soy sauce and spring onion mingled with the warmth of Harry’s mouth, and Louis felt it in his whole chest, the way something soft and heavy bloomed there, like a secret finally let loose.

Everything had shifted. The way their bodies naturally found each other, the easy gravity of it. Louis’ hand slid instinctively into Harry’s hair, thumb brushing his cheek, and his heart thudded like it was trying to catch up to the moment.

When Harry pulled back, his smile was crooked. 

“Better?”

Louis let out a shaky breath, dazed and grinning. 

“You’re gonna make me choke on my food in a minute.”

Harry flopped down beside him with a satisfied hum, picking up his own container and a pair of chopsticks.

“Can’t believe you didn’t wait, “ he mocked once again. “You’re lucky your cute,” he said, casually nudging Louis with his knee.

Louis smirked, stealing a bite of Harry’s food. “And you’re lucky I didn’t eat your food too!”

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Romance is dead.”

But Louis looked at him then, really looked, and thought:  no, it’s not. It’s sitting next to me in socks and a creased work shirt, stealing dumplings and kissing me stupid.

💻

Later that evening, Louis was already flopped across his bed in the most dramatic sprawl, a towel twisted on his head like some sort of deranged turban and a paperback novel propped against his knees. His skin was still pink from the hot shower, the scent of citrus and something suspiciously herbal wafting faintly from his moisturiser. He was deeply invested in chapter twelve of his mystery novel, well, mostly. His concentration had begun to listen to Harry finishing up the dishes and now heading in.

“Gonna hop in the shower real quick.”

Louis peeked up just in time to see Harry enter tugging his work shirt off over his head. His back flexed with the motion, broad and golden and still slightly flushed from the long day. Louis shamelessly ogled him, gaze trailing lower as Harry unbuckled his belt and shoved his trousers down, wincing a little as he stepped out of them.

Louis’ brows drew together. 

“Still sore?”

Harry rolled his eyes and muttered, 

“Maybe a bit.”

But then, Harry turned around, and Louis lost it.

He burst into laughter, a sound so sudden and loud it startled Harry, who paused, hands on his hips and brows raised in confusion. Louis couldn’t breathe, doubled over in bed with his book sliding to the floor, absolutely wheezing.

“What? What’s funny?”

Harry looked down at himself. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary… until Louis pointed, face red, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Harry looked behind him, then finally realised.

“Oh. These.” He grinned and spun around so the words printed on the back of his novelty boxers could be read clearly: 

MY ROOMMATE IS A PAIN IN MY ASS.

Louis wheezed louder, collapsing fully back onto the bed. “You absolute idiot. Where the hell did you get those?”

Harry, laughing now too, gave a mock bow. “Online. Bought them months ago. Figured it was only a matter of time before prophecy fulfilled itself.”

Louis bit back a grin, remembering the moment he’d seen the order come through weeks ago. Of course, he’d never tell Harry, some secrets were too good to share. But still, wasn’t it uncanny how the universe worked? A random joke, a pair of novelty briefs… and now, somehow, they were here. Together. Like the punchline had been waiting all along.

“That is so crazy, you have no idea,” Louis said between breaths, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. “And weirdly prepared. You planned this?”

“Manifested it,” Harry said proudly. “Now, I’m going to shower while you recover from your laughter induced asthma.”

Louis wiped his eyes, still chuckling, as Harry sauntered into the bathroom, boxers riding low on his hips, cheeky message still very much in view.

“Don’t take too long,” Louis called, reaching down to retrieve his book. “I’ve got some very aggressive cuddling to finish when you get back.”

Harry poked his head around the bathroom door. 

“Just cuddling?”

Louis winked. 

“Well. For now.”

And God, the smile Harry gave him in return could’ve lit up the whole room.

“ Oh, and mum’s coming over for dinner tomorrow.”

Louis smiled automatically, he adored Anne, always had. But something about hearing that now sent a strange flutter through his chest. Not bad, not exactly, just… different. This was new. Before, he’d just been Harry’s roommate, his best friend. Now? Now he was the man sleeping next to her son, kissing him slow in the kitchen, stealing his hoodies, and, yeah, making him limp the next day. 

Meeting up with Anne used to be easy. Now it felt like meeting the mother of the man he was falling for.  HAD  fallen for. It brought an all new meaning and Louis didn’t know how he was going to handle this. 

💻

The house smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and Harry was humming some soft tune under his breath as he pulled a tray of cookies from the oven. He set them on the stovetop to cool, then peeked over towards the living room where Louis was furiously wiping down the coffee table…  again  .

Harry chuckled to himself. Louis had already vacuumed twice and sprayed the counters with enough cleaner to probably melt the laminate. The pillows had been fluffed within an inch of their lives, and he’d even cleaned the top of the ceiling fan.

“Alright, Martha Stewart,” Harry teased as he stepped out of the kitchen, brushing his hands off on a tea towel. “The Queen’s not coming, just my mum.”

Louis didn’t stop. He was scrubbing the side of the couch now with a damp cloth, eyebrows furrowed like it’d personally offended him.

Harry walked over and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing his cheek to Louis’ shoulder.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

Louis stiffened slightly, then relaxed. “Yeah. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied with a shrug, still wiping.

Harry didn’t believe that for a second. 

“No reason. You just look… stressed or something.”

Louis turned and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, his lips lingering a bit longer than casual. 

“Really, I’m good.”

Harry smiled and nodded, letting it go. But he clocked it. The way Louis’ shoulders were tighter than usual, the way he kept fussing with things that were already spotless.

Louis was  not  good.

He didn’t say anything, just gave Louis a little squeeze before stepping away to let him continue spiraling. Sometimes Louis needed to pretend everything was fine before admitting it wasn’t. Harry knew better than to push.

Still, he couldn’t help but grin. The boy who used to leave his laundry on the stairs for three days was now polishing their fruit bowl.

Anne was going to love this.

💻

The doorbell chimed sharply through the stillness of the house, slicing clean through the tender hush that had settled between them. Louis had been mid kiss soft and slow, his fingers resting just above Harry’s hip when the sound broke them apart. Harry pulled back, lips parted slightly, eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile that made Louis feel like the air had thinned.

“That’ll be Mum,” Harry said, voice low but warm with anticipation. He brushed a thumb over the corner of Louis’ mouth before stepping away, already heading towards the door.

Louis lingered behind, dragging in a steadying breath as he listened to the distant sound of the door unlocking. He heard Anne’s delighted exclamation before he saw her, followed by the telltale creak of the floorboards as she threw her arms around her son. The hug was long, bone deep, Anne always hugged like she meant it, like she hadn’t seen you in years even if it had only been days.

Then she turned to Louis, and without hesitation, pulled him into an embrace just as tight. Her perfume, a soft mix of lavender and something warmer, maybe sandalwood, clung to him as she squeezed his shoulders.

“Oh, my boys,” she said with a fond sigh as she stepped back, eyes dancing between them. “It’s good to be here.”

Louis smiled, trying to keep his nerves under wraps. Her welcome was genuine, but something about the way she held his gaze a moment too long made him wonder. Could she tell he had stalked her son and sexualised him in more ways than one? Did mothers just know these things?

The kitchen glowed in the afternoon light, the countertops gleaming from Harry’s half hearted cleaning spree earlier. They settled around the table like they always had, coffee cups steaming, Anne’s bag tossed casually in the corner, laughter flowing without any real direction.

They chatted about the weather (unseasonably warm for this time of year), about the ridiculous new neighbor who insisted on singing opera in his backyard, and about Anne’s latest shifts at the clinic. She talked about the long hours, the patients who tested her patience, the coworkers who didn’t carry their weight, but all with that familiar mix of frustration and affection that she’d perfected over the years. It was comforting, almost disarmingly so.

Louis found himself easing into the rhythm of it. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t pretending. The affection between him and Harry was no longer a secret he had to carry around like a hot coal, burning through his hands every time someone looked at them too closely.

Anne excused herself after a while, claiming she needed the bathroom and promising to return in time to supervise Harry’s inevitably disastrous chopping technique. The moment she was out of sight, Harry was on his feet, crossing the kitchen in two strides. Louis had just picked up the coffee mugs to rinse when he felt familiar arms slip around his waist, drawing him back against a warm chest.

“See?” Harry murmured, voice a breath against the shell of his ear. “Told you she’d be fine.”

Louis didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He just let himself melt into Harry’s touch, eyes slipping closed for one long second. It felt safe. Real.

Then…an unmistakable throat clear.

Louis whipped around so fast he nearly knocked the cups straight into the sink. Anne was standing in the doorway, wiping her hands on her pants, eyebrows slightly raised, but her mouth curved in a smile that was, thankfully, more amused than anything else.

“Well,” she said, letting the word hang just long enough to twist Louis’ stomach. “You two look very sweet together.”

“Mum,” Harry groaned, hands thrown in the air. “You promised you wouldn’t say anything.”

Anne just chuckled, waving him off like a fly. “I’m just saying. I’ve got eyes, haven’t I?”

Louis flushed, but Anne’s tone was so light, so unbothered, that the moment deflated before it could grow awkward. She turned the conversation with expert ease, diving into a detailed description of a new sauce recipe she’d found in a magazine in the waiting room at work, complete with vigorous hand gestures and very specific opinions about garlic.

They transitioned into prepping dinner, Harry and Anne bickering affectionately over the chopping board while Louis handled the garlic bread. It was all so domestic it made his chest bloom.

But somewhere between Anne critiquing Harry’s knife skills and teasing Louis for forgetting to preheat the oven, something shifted, just slightly. A glance, maybe. A moment where her gaze lingered on Louis too long. A smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

It wasn’t overt. Nothing he could put his finger on. But it was there.

He caught her watching him more than once, her expression unreadable, her smile just a little too measured. When their eyes met, she didn’t look away, but there was something in the way she blinked slowly, like she was processing more than she let on.

Still, Louis pushed the thought aside. He was being paranoid. Harry had said she’d be fine, and everything so far pointed to that being true. They were laughing, cooking, teasing each other like always. If Anne had any reservations, she certainly wasn’t voicing them.

And yet… a flicker of something, barely there, lodged itself in the back of his mind. Not suspicion. Not concern. Just… curiosity.

He shook it off as they set the table and Anne poured wine for herself, humming softly as she moved around the kitchen like it was her own. Everything felt good. Safe. Right.

But Louis couldn’t quite ignore the feeling that somewhere behind Anne’s warm smile and easy words, something else, something quieter, was quietly ticking over.

The evening rolled out smooth and unhurried, like something they’d done a hundred times before. They cooked through bursts of laughter, knocking into each other as they reached for utensils and smearing flour across the bench. Anne stood at the helm with a tea towel over her shoulder, issuing instructions like a sergeant, half serious, sharp eyed, and grinning the whole time.

Harry had flour on his cheek, courtesy of a minor mishap with the garlic bread, and Anne couldn’t stop shaking her head fondly every time he tried to explain how it wasn’t his fault. Louis chimed in just enough to tease but mostly stayed quiet, letting the comfort of the moment wash over him. Anne’s laugh echoed through the kitchen like it belonged there, like it always had.

They finally sat down to eat, passing plates and stealing bites before the food had even properly cooled. Anne regaled them with a story about a woman at work who claimed her cat could predict minor earthquakes. Louis nearly choked on a bite of pasta when Anne mimicked the woman’s wide eyed sincerity, complete with dramatic hand gestures and a straight faced impression of the cat. Harry laughed so hard he had to set down his fork, wiping at his eyes.

Louis had forgotten how easy it was with her. How Anne always brought this sense of grounding into a room, like nothing could truly be wrong as long as she was seated at the table.

However, Anne was up to something. Louis couldn’t prove it, couldn’t point to one single thing in particular, but the signs were there. The way she moved through the kitchen, all casual chatter and bossy charm, was textbook Anne, but every so often, she’d toss him a look that had mischief written all over it. Not accusatory, not even curious, just smug in the way someone is when they’ve already solved the mystery and are waiting for everyone else to catch up. She kept sending him on pointless little errands, pass the salt, grab that bowl, check the oven even though the timer hadn’t gone off, and each time he turned back, she’d be smiling to herself like she was holding in a laugh. It wasn’t cruel. If anything, it felt like she was enjoying a private joke at his expense. He just didn’t know where it was heading yet.

She’d known him since they were teenagers. But there was something about tonight… something underneath those smiles. Louis noticed it, sure, but he chalked it up to his own nerves, or maybe just her joy at seeing Harry happy.

Eventually, the plates were cleared, and the kitchen began to return to order. The dishes were done (mostly by Louis, with Harry drying and Anne “supervising” with a glass of wine in hand), the leftovers packed away, and the final crumbs wiped from the countertops. The night had stretched out in the most perfect, ordinary way.

When it was time for Anne to leave, Harry walked her to the door, arm looped around her shoulders. Louis followed close behind, tucking his hands into his pockets, the contentment of the evening humming in his bones.

Anne turned at the threshold, her coat slung over one arm, her car keys jangling in the other. She hugged Harry tightly again, murmuring something Louis couldn’t quite catch but saw written in the soft smile on Harry’s face. Then she reached for Louis, pulling him into a hug that lasted longer than expected.

“You boys behave,” she said, eyes twinkling. “And text me when you’ve eaten all the leftovers so I know you’re not starving.”

Louis grinned. 

“Promise.”

She turned and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door gently closed behind her, but just before it clicked shut, Louis’ voice rang out behind her, playful and bright.

“Oi, Anne, before you go, what was the name of that sauce again?”

The question echoed casual and tossed a little like a joke. Harry snorted quietly behind him. But Anne, Anne stopped dead in her tracks, her hand still on the banister outside. She turned back slowly.

And then she gave him  that  smile.

That knowing, wise, cheeky as hell smirk that only a mother could deliver, brows slightly raised, eyes glinting like she was about to drop the punchline of the year.

Louis’ stomach dropped.

It hit him in that moment, sudden and electric, that she knew. She knew. Somehow, somewhere in the midst of flour dusted laughter and stories about earthquake cats, she’d known. Harry told her  everything  .  

Every glance, every gentle nudge, every smirk had been deliberate tonight.

His cheeks went hot so fast it felt like he’d been slapped. Harry made a confused noise behind him, but Louis barely heard it. His eyes were locked on Anne.

She tilted her head, and for a heartbeat, she didn’t say anything.

Then…..she said it. So casual, yet in a playful way he had never heard before. 

“I dunno Louis, 

GOOGLE IT

  .”

💻💻💻💻💻💻

A/N

Thank you for taking the time to read and support my work. Your continued interest in these stories, no matter how light hearted or unconventional they may be, truly means a great deal. I hope this one brought you some enjoyment, and I’m grateful to have you along for the journey.

Until next time, take care and happy reading.💙💚