"You know that this is pretty much criminal, right?" Harry tells his best friend as the lad jumps back into the car after dropping weed off at Niall's house.

Zayn leers at him, adjusting his seat belt in the driver's seat. "Just because I'm nice and sometimes give you some for free, doesn't make what you're doing anymore legal, you know."

Harry watches him for a second as he starts the car, contemplating. "Can I have two joints?" he asks.

"Why?"

"Louis?" Duh. "Have you seen happy Louis? Happy Louis on drugs is the best thing this world has ever seen. He is like a chipmunk singing carols in a tree in glittery attire. Do I need more of a reason?"

"You're the worst boyfriend ever." Zayn shakes his head, pursing his lips as he navigates out on the road, heading towards Harry's house. "How is it going with that, anyway?" he asks. "How many times have you broken up again?"

Harry scoffs. "Please... They're not breakups. If they were breakups, Louis broke up with me twice just last night. Fights are not breakups. Fights are fights, until Louis' thick head remembers he's in love with me and that we're going to be living together at uni. Then he goes all puppy again."

"Why do you even fight?" Zayn mutters. He has a way of seeming very uninterested, when in all actuality Zayn's interested-face is his face that looks uninterested. If that makes sense. It took Harry two months before he understood that Zayn was his friend.

"Because Louis says I'm high-maintenance, when he doesn't actually think so, and I'm not. "

"You talk way too fast."

"And did you know that Louis thinks he's smart when he tries to hide things from me? As if I wouldn't know the second he starts cooking something up! I know every single one of his facial expressions, and while saying 'No, I did not take your navy hoodie' his eyebrows did not rise that tiny fraction they would have if he were speaking the truth. He is the worst. Honestly, I should break up with him solely because of this." He blinks for a moment. "No, I shouldn't."

"Right..." his friend says. "How's his sister then?" he sighs, obviously trying to change the subject. Harry has a way of talking for too long when it comes to Louis. "She and her boyfriend broke up?"

"She broke up with him, yeah. She's fine. We've beat Louis at night time FIFA three times consecutively. He's very annoyed. He mostly grumbles and goes to bed without kissing me. He's a sour loser. Little grape..." he hums. "Did you know—"

"No, please. Harry."

"Did you know that during summer he trains double the amount he normally does?" Harry frowns. "Maybe he's afraid he won't be fit enough when we start at Manchester... Shit. I should talk to him about this. We should talk more—"

"Okay, Harry," Zayn finally says loudly, cutting him off. "I'm not buying this shit. What is going on? Really?"

Harry shuts up, giving in. He sure talks a lot about Louis, but he isn't a fast speaker. He stares at Zayn's annoyingly deep brown eyes for another moment, until he turns to look out the window instead. "Mum is finishing moving out today," he mutters, head falling back against the seat.

When he was told that she was moving to Cheshire the night before he found out he was accepted at Manchester, it literally felt like the world was crashing down on him. Spending two years with his parents' constant fights, bickering and passive aggressiveness, he somehow still wished that they would stay together. For a while it calmed down, they seemed much less stressed than tense, and at the time he actually thought they had worked things out. Naively, of course. He later found out that that's when they decided to finalize the divorce. Brilliant. Then he had to tell Louis he got accepted to Manchester University Youth Football Program.

It's probably one of the hardest things he's done in his life. Being unequivocally, heedlessly and steadfastly in love with him, it hurt more than anyone will ever know having to tell him that he got accepted to the school that only takes on fifteen players to the program a year, and it would ultimately mean that his dream was shattered to pieces.

Obviously Harry knows that it wasn't his fault, but that doesn't mean it hurt any less. Even though Harry knows his parents, as much as they love him, would never agree to pay thousands of pounds to let him run around after a muddy ball on a "lawn" instead of studying something "proper", he thought for just a second that he didn't deserve it as much as Louis. But he needs the scholarship, even if it at times felt like Louis needed it more, because sure, Harry can study whatever he wants apart from footie because he's got the money, but Louis can't. It's unfair, but sadly that's how it is.

Nothing to dwell on, however. Somehow it worked out. By some fucking miracle it did.

Harry has a boyfriend now, and a pretty damn good one at that. Though Louis claims Harry is high-maintenance, Harry knows he secretly loves every second of their time together. Kisses on doorsteps, hand-holding, snogging sessions during lunch period while school lasted, and a dick up Harry's arse, are things Louis is rather accommodating with. All of this, and they have yet to have had a proper date.

"How do you feel?" Zayn wonders.

Harry shrugs, pouting down at his fingers. "Good? Bad? How am I supposed to feel?"

"I don't know, mate."

A good thing amongst the bad, is that Louis knows exactly how Harry feels. He's been through what Harry is going through, and while Harry can't share the experience with anyone, as his sister isn't here to do it with him, Louis has been a solid rock.

He still remembers showing up on Louis' porch that Sunday afternoon, tears in his eyes. Zayn was away for the weekend to visit his cousins, and truth be told, Harry doesn't have that many friends. Sure, there's Ed, but he can't really talk to him like with Zayn. Louis was his last—honest to God his absolute last—choice of person to go to, but Harry needed a distraction and Louis is good at those.

No wonder, Harry thinks now, because Louis is a champ at avoiding problems for as long as he possibly can.

But Harry had just been sat at home, stuck the entire Sunday trying to revise for a stupid quiz he had the next day, with his parents yelling able to be heard through the entire house. He had gone down to try to ask them to quiet down for just a moment, but it only escalated and ended with Anne grabbing Harry's hand and telling his father that they were leaving right then. Instead, Harry was the one leaving, jogging down the sidewalk away from his own home. It was fucked up. In hindsight, he's more angry at the situation than he was then. Then he was just sad.

Louis' house always felt so foreign to him in the beginning. There were traces of multiple people everywhere, stuff on the floor, beds unmade, the staircase creaked, and there were so many toothbrushes in the bathroom Harry always seemed to find more each time he counted. At times it felt like it was the only place he could relax. No parents hanging over his head wondering if he'd done his homework yet, or if he wanted to check out some business universities during the weekend. There was no fighting or yelling.

As much as Harry loves his own sister, they were never that close. Seeing Louis and Lottie bounce off each other, hug and kiss one another, made him feel like there was a bond between them. He hasn't felt like there's a bond between him and his sister in a long, long time.

All in all, Louis' home felt warm. And he let him stick around. When he had work and Lottie was out he let him stay in his room, read books, do homework, or sleep. He wanked once. It was strange. He doesn't think he should tell Louis about it.

Around the time that Louis and Niall's friendship was at its worst, Harry thinks his and Louis' friendship really started evolving. Louis needed someone, and they were both already practically living in each other's pockets. As much as Louis doesn't see it, Harry was there all the time. He told his mum Zayn needed help with homework at nights, that he went for early runs in the morning, or that he was staying late at a friend's so he just decided to crash there. Eventually he straight up told her he was sleeping at his boyfriend's.

It came to a point where he was sitting at the kitchen table in Louis' house one morning, alone with a cup of tea and wearing nothing but sweats, when Lottie came down and decided to have a talk with him.

"Do you believe you live here, or something?" she asked, squinting in a way that almost shouted 'Louis'.

Harry swallowed down the tea that really was too hot, a little taken aback. "No?" He'd never really had a private conversation with her, as Louis had always been around when she was.

"You've been drinking my favorite tea." She sat down on the chair at the opposite side of the table, eyes accusing.

"Oh." Harry's mouth turned round as his eyes flickered between her and the cup right in front of him.

"Why?" she asked, eyes still narrowed.

"Because it's the best tea?" he said apprehensively.

She regarded him for a moment more, leaning back in her chair. "You're not all bad, Styles."

After that, morning tea with Lottie became a bit of a thing. Then when she had to get ready he'd go back upstairs and sleep for fifteen more minutes, until Louis would wake up and panic because he only had twenty minutes to shower and get to school. It was a pretty routine, for a while there.

Now, morning tea usually comes with Louis' sister and his mum, ever since she got a promotion at her job and is at home a lot more. At first Louis was apprehensive about the whole ordeal. A morning only a week or so after graduation, Louis came down to the kitchen, finding the three of them in stitches, and instantly went into defense mode. He squinted suspiciously, like he always does in that displeased manner with his arms crossed, and asked if they were making up conspiracies. It took him a week until he accepted that that was how it was going to be from then on. He grumbled. Now that Harry thinks about it, Louis has a way of seeming very displeased in general, even though he secretly is very, very pleased.

Well, until this summer. Harry has never seen Louis like this. He's happy. He's like a completely new person—relatively—and for the first time he seems genuinely free. Watching him smile makes Harry's entire belly flutter, because his smile is unstrained, nothing weighing him down. The change is so prominent, and Harry couldn't be happier for him.

Zayn stops the car outside Harry's house. There's a moving truck just outside, three shirtless men loading boxes into it. If it weren't for the fact they were representing the end of Harry's family as a complete concept, he would have spent a moment praising God for what a pleasant sight. As it is, it's not pleasant at all.

"Call me later, mate. If you can tear yourself from quiffy quifferson for just a moment to hang with me."

Harry frowns at him. "You're wearing a quiff right now."

Zayn looks at him. "You're no fun."

Harry snorts, sighing as he opens the passenger door. "See you."

Zayn salutes him before he closes the door, and Harry starts strolling up to the house, hanging his duffel bag over his shoulder. He walks inside, maneuvering through the sea of cardboard boxes filling up the entire entrance. He knows his dad isn't home. He's at Harry's grandma's for the weekend, as he didn't want to be here when Mum left. Harry knows they've already said their goodbyes—they even hugged and shared a last peck, wow—so it won't be that unsettling when he comes back and the house is half empty.

Harry knows his mum is somewhere in the house, but he doesn't feel like talking. He heads upstairs to return some of his clothes, because as it appears more and more of his stuff seem to end up in Louis' room. He is going to spend the weekend here, since he doesn't want his dad to be alone when he comes back from Gran's.

When Harry walks inside his room, he stops in the doorway. "So, you're here," he notes, arching a surprised, albeit pleased, brow.

Louis is sprawled on his stomach on the bed, facing the windows, only in jeans, no shirt. His skin is smooth and golden, shoulders buffer than they were a few months ago. This sight is so much better than the three men outside. Harry—insert loud groan—loves Louis' back.

"Oh, hello," his boyfriend says casually, throwing a look behind him before returning to his book.

Harry opens his mouth. "Is that a face mask?"

"It's against pores."

From what Harry managed to see, there is a thick layer of green goo across his nose. He drops the bag on the floor before walking over and spreading out on the bed. He crawls up to Louis, burying his nose into the small of his back. His skin smells like vanilla and honey, and just a little bit salty from the summer warmth. He could eat him up. (Words like that go in the category of things he doesn't say when Louis can hear.)

"And you decided to do that here?" Harry murmurs against him, lips brushing his skin and making him shiver. He's soft and firm at the same time, shifting slightly under Harry's weight. He reaches a hand back, scratching Harry's scalp for a short moment in greetings.

"Lottie gave it to me and I was bored, so I came here. Your mum made me cookies." His voice is slow, as he's probably reading as he speaks.

Harry turns his face, leaving his cheek pressed against Louis' back. "She made you cookies? How does she even have time for that?"

"Think she wants me to like her more."

Probably a lost cause. Well, Harry knows Louis doesn't hate her, but he also knows he isn't too fond of her either. They're okay, though.

"So," Louis says then.

"What?"

"So do you think I'm pansexual or not?"

Harry frowns in confusion, hand cupping Louis' side over his ribs. "Why?" he asks tentatively, placing his chin against his back.

He doesn't need to imagine how Louis rolls his eyes, because it's simply in the way he talks. "Because I'm asking? Does that make sense to you, sweetheart?"

This is the first time Louis has mention anything of the sort, but truthfully Harry isn't surprised because Louis always does this—acts as if he's had an entire conversation with Harry about the matter when in reality that conversation most likely happened in his head.

Harry purses his lips. "Why do you think you're pan?" he wonders.

"Because I was watching those guys out there and I didn't feel a thing."

"You watched them?" Harry presses his chin harder into his back, making him shift in discomfort. "You have a boyfriend, Lewis," he murmurs.

Naturally, Louis continues on like nothing happened, head still in his book. "And then I remembered watching girl porn and I didn't feel anything either. So then gay porn came to mind, and I thought that was pretty cool if I was imagining—" He rolls over, making Harry slide off him. "Because... Then I look at you and..."

He trails off, eyes lingering on Harry's face before slowly taking in the rest of his body where he's splayed out on the bed by his side. His mouth is just a little bit open, eyes soft with adoration.

Harry should not be this endeared by him when he's got green cream over his face, but his stomach still flutters and his heart feels too big for his chest. He remembers seeing Louis watch him like this before they were officially together. It made his entire stomach swoop, and made it hard for him to breathe, because he just looks so sincere and completely head over heels. It scared him in the beginning, because Louis' actions felt so far from what his eyes were conveying. Right now it only makes his heart beat faster and makes him want to scream 'I love you' at the top of his lungs.

"Harry-sexual sound pretty good to me," he breathes, voice tight as his eyes linger on Louis' bare stomach, the small happy trail leading into his jeans...

"You're so full of yourself," Louis snorts.

Harry swallows and bites his lip, yearning starting to build in his lower regions. "I could be full of you."

Louis guffaws. "Where is your shame!"

"Haven't got any."

"As if I didn't already know."

Harry reaches out with grabby hands until Louis succumbs. He sits up and scoots forward on the bed, until Harry can cup his face and kiss him. Harry likes doing that, because then he can keep Louis close for as long as he likes.

Louis deepens the kiss, tongue gently nudging Harry's bottom lip. His lips feel like they always do; soft, thin, and delicious. Harry instantly accommodates—like always—and opens his mouth, simultaneously trying to pull Louis on top of him. Louis does that thing where he pretends Harry is annoying and sighs, but it only takes him a second to follow.

Harry spreads his legs, Louis easily fitting himself in between. Harry loves this feeling, Louis pressing against his crotch, hands squeezing his arse or pressing his thumbs to his nipples, his movements deliberate and sure.

His nose nudges Harry's jaw, and he promptly exposes his neck to let Louis suck a hard kiss just below his jawline. He fits his arm around his waist, pushing at the small of Harry's back to have him arch up. Harry inhales, lifting his hips as Louis rolls his down.

They both exhale, sounds of pleasure escaping them. "Lou," Harry breathes, fingers sinking into his hair at the back of his head. "I want," he mumbles, and Louis instantly keens, a sound of agony mixed with desire slipping past his lips.

The phrase has become a bit sentimental to them. The words mean Louis burying his face in Harry's neck, pressing a tiny kiss to his pulse point, or Harry squeezing Louis half to death, or gentle kisses before going to sleep. Or like this, moaning lowly and holding on, close, close.

Louis pants softly in his neck, placing another kiss there. Harry arches up again, stomach jumping with the chill when Louis' hand sinks into the back of his jeans. Harry closes his eyes, anticipation warm in his tummy as he waits for his hand to sink lower. Louis stops.

"I've just realized something," he says.

Harry opens his mouth to complain, but then... "You're still wearing the face mask."

Louis nods.

"Do I have green stuff all over my neck?"

"Yes."

He makes a displeased noise, body going slack under Louis', head falling back against the bed. "Yeah, no. We're not having sex now."

Louis rolls off, stretching his arms above his head, yawning. "Wasn't aware we were having sex?"

"You don't catch up on anything, do you?"

Louis snickers. "I thought I was making you come in your pants, but..." He shrugs, eyes twinkling.

Harry reaches out where he lies on the bed, hand cupping the side of Louis' neck, index finger touching his jawline. He brings him in close, lips just an inch apart. "You're taking me out on a date tonight," he murmurs. "And afterwards you're going to fuck me."

He grins as Louis visibly swallows, eyes instantly sliding down to Harry's lips, nudging them together, just brushing.

"Wait," Louis says lowly, frowning. "When you say 'afterwards' you mean...? I thought our dates meant fucking already."

"That's why you're taking me out on a real one. A date."

"Your mum leaves at six."

"I know, but after. The only date we've had was on my birthday, Lou, and it barely counts." Louis' face instantly turns apologetic. "No," Harry says, pushing a finger to his lips, shushing him before he's even said a word.