Chapter Text
The flat’s completely empty now, devoid of everything that has ever made it feel like home. The walls have been stripped bare, to rooms have been cleared of all their furniture. Louis is sitting in the middle of what used to be the living room, where the couch was just hours ago, and feels oddly emotional at the sight. There are two years worth of memories and stories in that place, moments he’s afraid to forget once he won’t have all the reminders held in between these walls.
There are the pencilled lines on Emma’s bedroom walls from the time she and Ronnie decided to imitate Zayn’s art, the splinters on the kitchen’s tile from when he broke half of his appliance trying to cook a romantic dinner for Harry, the specks of blood he never managed to remove from the bathroom’s sink from when Emma sliced her finger helping Harry cut vegetables. There’s the bump on his bedroom’s door from when he accidentally banged his elbow against it while Harry sucked him off very eagerly and the wine stains on the carpet from when he knocked over the coffee table in his haste to fuck Harry.
He loves the new house, doesn’t regret buying it. And he knows it will feel like home once they’ll have unpacked everything and started living there properly. It already feels like a little like home, to be honest. He bought it with Harry, is going to live in it with Harry. And it’s perfect for them. But it will never witness any of the moments this flat did.
Like the week Harry casually mentioned Emily needing him to move out of the flat to extend the café every day, until Louis couldn’t take it anymore and told him to just move in with him already. Truth be told, he had been planning to ask him anyway but was waiting for the perfect occasion. Emily retired a couple of months after the café reopened, leaving it to Harry and Jade.
The day Emma called Harry Papa for the first time, bringing happy tears to his eyes. Emma had freaked out when she’d noticed Harry crying, thought she’d done something wrong and started crying too. Harry had hold in his next sob long enough to tell her that he was crying happy tears because he loved her so much, loved her like she was his own daughter. Louis had shed a few tears of his own and made sweet love to his boyfriend that night.
The night Harry proposed and made him cry with his stupidly endearing speech about love at first sight and fate. He’d come home to find Harry waiting for him in the living room, surrounded by candles and soft music. He’d opened the box in his hand to reveal a cake iced with the words “Marry me, please?” and Louis had laugh so hard it’d brought tears to his eyes. And then he’d started talking, telling him about how he’d noticed him weeks before they actually talked and how he was convinced even then that they’d end up together, how he’d never stopped believing it in spite of all the bullshit because there’s a legend about people being some sort of two pieces puzzle and he’d known the first time he’d laid eyes on him that they’d fit perfectly together, that he was the second piece to his puzzle. Louis had laughed and cried and shoved him and kissed him.
But the new house will become their home and it will hold so many memories, a lifetime of stories will be written on these walls. There will be their first night as a married couple and their first fight as a married couple and their first night of make-up sex as a married couple. There will be the first time they’ll bring their baby home and all the sleepless nights after that, their first words, first steps. There will be Emma’s first boyfriend coming over for a proper introduction to her fathers, which could lead to the first time they’ll have to hide a dead body. There will be good moments and bad moments and in-between moments. And he can’t wait for them all.
Louis hears more than he sees Harry walk into the room, his steps echoing in the emptiness surrounding them. He looks up to see his fiancé standing next to him, a soft smile on his lips and a hand held out. Louis’ eyes fall onto the silver band on his finger and he pictures the white gold ring he’s going to slid in its place in just about two weeks, the one identical to his own in all aspects except the words engraved inside of it. Yeah, he can’t wait.
He takes Harry’s hands and lets himself be pulled up, chuckling when he crashes against his chest. He laces their fingers together, leans onto his tiptoes and kisses him. He feels Harry smiles against his lips and he wants to linger, wants to make love to him on this floor and have him make love to him on the kitchen’s island, to bid farewell to the place. But they don’t have time. Niall, Liam and Zayn are waiting for them outside, probably arguing over whose music they’re going to play in the moving van. Niall will win. He always wins. No one can resist him. He pulls away and squeezes Harry’s hand, smiling wider than ever before.
“Let’s go home.”