Chapter Text
The first time Louis sees Harry he’s crying and Louis thinks he’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
He asks his mum if the boy’s an angel and she laughs, tells him to go and ask himself. He’s seven and Harry’s six, and Louis finds himself away from his mum and smiling brightly at the crying boy in the playground who’s just looked up at him.
Louis trips over the boy’s leg, falling on his bare knees.
The boy’s lip quivers. “Oops,” he giggles quietly.
Louis shakes it off, grinning while he stands up. His knees are scraped but he just brushes them off. “Hi! I’m Louis and I wanted to ask if you’re an angel.”
The boy wipes his eyes and smiles, a wobbly tilt of lips. “I'm Harry. I don’t think I'm an angel.” Louis frowns at that, but Harry continues, "Maybe, though! I...I might be. Why did you think I was an angel?”
Louis blushes, suddenly shy, and stares at the ground. “You’re really pretty! Like a girl.”
Harry’s face scrunches up at that, so Louis hurries to apologise. Harry’s cheeks are red and Louis wonders if he got prettier. “It’s okay.”
“Why are you crying, then?” he wonders.
“They have my ball and they won’t give it back,” Harry states, scrubbing at his face again and pointing to a group of four boys currently kicking a football. His voice hiccups on several words, but Louis just ruffles the boy’s hair and sends a questioning glance to his mum. She’s smiling and chatting to a lady who might just be almost as pretty as Harry, holding a girl’s hand.
Louis turns back to Harry and smiles. “I’ll get it for you, angel.”
“Will you please, Louis? I...”
He nods and is blessed with Harry’s eyes lighting up like fireworks he saw last New Year’s Eve, a large smile gracing his face; Louis thinks this is the prettiest thing he’ll look at for a while. Louis then stomps over to the boys who he knows from school and he thinks they look stupid, laughing with each other.
“Excuse me, but that isn’t your ball,” he declares as he reaches them, glaring what he believes is fiercely. It mostly looks like he’s about to cry, but he raises his eyebrows when they don’t do anything and his face is similar to their parent's when they’re in trouble so it spurs them into action.
One stammers, “Is it yours? You can have it back, sorry!”
Louis snatches the ball from the boy who’s grasping it and growls. The boy jumps back. “Don’t touch this ball... Please?”
They all nod and a boy with blond hair apologises. Louis nods as well, smiling as he strolls back over to Harry who is looking up at Louis as though he’s some kind of superhero.
“Here you go, Harry.” Louis holds out the ball.
Harry takes it, mouth spreading in a broad grin. He’s missing two teeth and Louis chooses that moment to finally look at Harry’s eyes again. They're shining with happiness and admiration; Louis’ grin gets bigger and it’s not long until they’re both beaming, mouths stretched wide. Then, quite suddenly, Harry reaches up on his tiptoes to place a soft, thankful kiss to Louis’ pushed-up cheek.
“Thanks, Louis.”
It’s so sincere that Louis blushes again. “It’s okay. Those boys were being…morons.”
That’s when Jay decides to approach with the lady and her daughter, smiles on all their faces, and Louis feels a twinge in his stomach like he knows something bad is about to happen.
“Louis, love, it’s getting late and Harry, his mum and his sister have to go home to Cheshire,” Jay tells him softly.
“But,” he begins because Harry’s as pretty as an angel and he wants them to be best friends. They can’t do that if he and his mum leave, what is she thinking? Louis frowns deeply.
“We have to go too, and I’ve got Harry’s phone number so we can call whenever you want,” Jay responds, voice more solid and Louis knows what that means. Sometimes she’s the meanest...
“Okay, mum,” he sighs, turning back to where Harry's still smiling at him, eyes red around the rim from his earlier tears. “Bye, angel—I mean, Harry?”
Harry’s mum and Jay laugh at that, not knowing it is the start of something that won’t ever stop and all Harry says is, “Bye!”
***
The first time Louis cries about Harry he’s eight, and he’s just thrown his favourite teddy bear at Jay.
“Mum! Why did you have to—have to lose their phone number?” he bawls, tears streaming down his face. He pauses to cough, then his breath hitches in his throat and it’s stupid, why does he care so much? It’s only been a few months, but Louis’ so sad it aches in his belly and he doesn’t understand why. Harry’s only a boy, after all.
Louis sniffs and Jay moves forward, dropping to her knees in front of Louis, a sympathetic look staining her features. She opens her arms and Louis falls into them, a faint throbbing under his skin. Jay shushes him, breathing softly into his hair and murmuring nonsense, the swell of her pregnant belly touching Louis’.
The baby kicks and Louis gurgles, pushes his face into the curve of Jay’s neck. He breathes in the heavier scent of peach and white sugar with a soft, subtle note of a flowery perfume. She smells like home, like when he walks inside and the sun is streaming through the windows, splashing the furniture, the wooden floor panels, shining through the dust in the air to rest upon photos of Louis and Troy that Jay can’t bear to take down, if only for Louis’ sake.
Louis inhales deeply, breaths quivering, and then Jay says, “If it was meant to be...if you were meant to be friends, baby, you’ll meet again. Like fate, Louis, you’ll meet because fate will want you to.”
A few weeks later, his sister is born.
In later years when he feels sour he’ll think maybe fate is worthless anyway, that you have to will yourself to achieve something and not allow something else to do it for you. Except, fate works for him so he has to be thankful, regardless of his feelings in the darker moments.
***
The first time they hug is actually the second time they see each other, even if Louis is eleven now and Harry must be ten.
Louis’ walking home from school when he spots a glimpse of a boy who looks familiar but isn't wearing school uniform, so he decides to follow him. He pretends he’s an undercover spy and hums spy music under his breath as he rolls and dashes after the boy rather dramatically. When the boy reaches what appears to be his destination (a two-story house that seems really fancy) Louis finally gets who it is.
It’s the boy he met a few years ago; he saved his ball from Tom and some other boys at that park, before Lottie was born. Fizz too, but she was later. Louis tries to remember his name, but he can’t quite find the right one; Henry, Larry, Jerry?
“Harry?” he calls out hesitantly, giving up the pretence of him being a spy in favour of sprinting forwards a few metres towards the boy at his doorway to get a good look at him. The boy turns immediately and his name is Harry because it’s him, eyes wide and greener in the pale light of the afternoon. He's even prettier than Louis remembers, flashes of the boy in random glimpses of memory.
Louis doesn’t even think, just pounces on Harry; Harry wraps his arms around Louis automatically and he breathes, “Louis?” like it’s a miracle.
(Fate, his mum will whisper later to Mark, when Louis’ buzzing with joy and he doesn’t eat the shepherd’s pie on his plate because he’s so busy smiling.)
***
The first time three things happen is a week after that and Louis and Jay are at Harry’s house for dinner. This is the first time they have dinner at one of their houses, the first time they hold hands and the first time they see each other naked (almost). Jay and Anne are laughing about something with wine colouring their lips; Harry’s step-dad is on a business trip (Louis isn’t sure what happened to the first one, but he knows Harry’s step-dad is the reason he lives in Doncaster now, so he’s a little bit thankful) and Gemma’s at a sleepover. Louis’ sisters are at home with Mark and Louis’ just flicked a pea at Harry who is seated next to him.
“Oi,” he frowns, the mischievous glint in his eye giving away his annoyed façade.
Louis knows something is about to happen a moment before it does but he forgets to move out of the way and suddenly there’s a blob of mash potato in his hair. Louis squeals involuntarily and responds by doing the same to Harry.
By the end they’re covered in mashed potato, pumpkin, peas and a sweet sauce coloured of cherries.
Everyone’s laughing and Anne tells the boys to go upstairs to Harry’s bedroom to wash off and change clothes. Harry impulsively grabs Louis’ hand to tug him up the staircase and Louis forgets to let go, or even want to let go.
In the bathroom, Harry takes off his shirt so he can wipe away the red sauce dripping down his front which looks like blood, as though maybe someone has slit his throat, and Louis can’t help but feel a little sick at the though. He takes off his shirt too but Harry has to help him get clean because Harry smeared a large portion of a mix of pumpkin and potato at the base of Louis’ neck and it’s slid halfway down his back.
Harry giggles and Louis laughs, swatting at his hands when they try to tickle under his arms. Harry pulls back his hands only to dive back in with more force, wiggling his fingers in Louis’ armpits. Louis’ so surprised that he gasps and starts flailing, trying to get Harry off him, but he only tickles harder. His stomach starts to hurt with how much he’s laughing and Harry finally lets him go. Louis catches a glimpse of them in the mirror—he’s red and huffing, out of breath, and his new friend is ducking his head a little, smiling and cheeks flushed a pleased pink.
Harry grasps his hand again to lead him to his bedroom, letting go when he has to rummage through his drawers to find them both t-shirts and pants. Harry ends up in a plain blue shirt, Louis in a long sleeved white one and they have matching grey sweatpants, neither bothering to put shoes back on.
Harry gives Louis a pair of thick woollen socks to pull on over his feet, because the floors are cold and Louis forgot to put socks on. The socks have little kittens on them and Louis nudges Harry who shrugs and says they’re his favourite.
There is a moment when they only have underwear on that Louis stops and wonders if Harry will ever get any prettier, stomach feeling fluttery. Harry must notice his pause because when Louis glances back at him there's a sweet pink blush high on his cheeks.
Louis also wonders if maybe his skin tastes sweet, too.
***
The first time they sleep together it’s two in the morning the next day, because Louis refused to leave and Harry has a spare bed in his room. And now Harry wakes to Louis whimpering quietly, curled up to make him look like a ball under his blankets across the room.
Harry lays there for a couple of moments, wondering if it would be okay for him to join Louis, because they are both boys after all and Louis might not be comfortable with that. But then a loud rumble of thunder and by a sharp crack of lightning makes Louis cry out softly. All it takes is a split second of hearing Louis in pain and Harry’s tripping out of his bed to go to his friend’s. Anything else doesn’t matter because Louis who helped him out all those years ago is crying and maybe he can help. Harry kicks the abandoned guitar on his way and hops around in the dark for a few moments, flapping his hands in an attempt to spread the pain or wave it away—something, he’s not actually sure.
When the pain subsides to a soft throb, he asks, “Louis? I... Can I sleep with you? Do you...mind?”
Louis shuffles out from under his blankets, his eyes filled with unshed tears and the night making them look black like ink. There is more lightning and Louis’ eyes have a moment of being blue and absolutely terrified.
“I, um, I—I, I’m, please.”
Unbeknownst to Harry, Louis feels like a princess being saved from the evil dragon.
So Harry climbs in. He’s facing Louis, so he can see tear tracks illuminated by the quiet wash of moonlight. Louis’ halted in his hiccupping, though he does flinch sometimes at a roar of thunder and Harry understands because he used to be afraid as well, until his mum soothed his fears with a story about the stars and the rain:
Way before you and me, there were two stars who were in love. These two stars loved each other so much, and though they were so close the gap between them was still there, seemingly larger than the rest of the sky altogether. That didn’t matter to the stars, because to them there was a string that tied them together, that kept them in the sky and allowed them to be light. They promised each other that no matter what happened or how large the distance was between them, they would always love the other.
Up above, fate was trying so hard to push the two stars together, though it was impossible, and they kept failing to make contact. Every time fate became more and more sad that the stars could not become one, because it was obvious they were supposed to be, just that something had happened and they had split, essentially the idea of soul mates. Do you know what soul mates are, love? They’re two people who belong together forever and ever, and even past then.
One night the sun had moved behind the moon, when the stars should be in the sky and very bright, and because there was extra light in the sky the stars were not visible. The sun was only there for a few moments before fate pushed him away, and when the stars came back the two stars were no longer separate, instead they had merged and exploded. They lit up the sky for a few seconds with their love, much like the sun, before disappearing into the darkness of the sky.
Fate was sad for just a moment, a few tears falling down to the earth. Then fate realised what had happened and shouted with joy, tears of joy now forming instead.
Fate was so inspired by this flash of light caused by the joining of the two stars that it was decided should any two people in love want to be together that the tears of happiness should fall, the shouts of joy should be rumbled, and a light should strike the earth, all in favour of showing the world that somewhere there are two people who are in love so very much that wish to be near each other.
So don’t be scared, Harry, love, the thunder and rain is just fate being so excited that there is love, real true love, and the lightning is just an imitation of when the two stars joined into one, a sole being bursting with light. If you look hard enough, you can probably see the stars shining brighter than the others.
Harry decides to tell Louis this and they end up giggling halfway through when Harry can’t remember the next bit and drawls out the word before trailing off. They try and make up alternate ending, each sillier than the last in their hushed whispers like if they are any louder someone will hear. After that Harry sings a song, a stupidly soft lullaby that makes Louis’ eyes droop shut, so it also becomes the first time Harry sings to Louis.
When Louis leaves several hours later, he’s wondering if maybe it’s okay to like boys, and that becomes another first, just one that Harry doesn’t know about.
***
The first time they nearly kiss it’s in Louis’ bedroom (at least, the first kiss that’ll count). They’ve been laughing at pictures of dogs for an hour and a half, leaning their chins on their hands right in front of a laptop, and they’re now twelve and thirteen and practically inseparable. They’re like stars in each other’s company and like the moon and the earth when they’re not because wherever they are they seem to gravitate towards each other.
Louis closes the lid when the battery gets low, pushing Jay’s laptop down the bed so it’s in a safer position. They lie on their sides facing each other, hands propping their heads up; their breaths smell like chocolate and Louis can hear popping candy in the back of Harry’s throat.
Louis blinks his eyes shut in a moment of tiredness, worn out from laughing so hard and too much wasted energy. He opens them when he feels warm breath on his cheek. He sees Harry's eyes first, happy and tired. Then he sees his nose, broad but not too broad, nostrils flaring a little. Then Louis finally looks at his lips, plump and cherry.
He’s glowing in the warm light of midday.
They lean in subconsciously and their eyelids are fluttering nearly at the same time, and then.
Then Harry sneezes on Louis.
Their eyes blink open and Louis looks so shocked that Harry starts to laugh.
***
The first time Louis tells Harry he maybe likes boys in the way he also likes girls too, they're both at the same secondary school. Harry’s in the year below Louis, though he's been deemed cool enough to sit with Louis’ friends, which become his friends by default with idle chatter and creating inside jokes.
Harry’s thirteen and Louis’ fourteen, fifteen in a few months, and all their other friends are getting girlfriends. Louis isn’t, and because Louis isn’t Harry isn’t. (He’s not copying Louis; he’s actually very independent, he just doesn’t want Louis to be alone—at least that’s what he tells the sharp jabs of distaste at the thought of girls hanging over Louis.)
“I think I like boys Haz. Like, like boys—girls too, like.”
“Really?” Harry asks, eyes slightly wider because he’s just remembering all the times he’s changed in front of Louis, all the times they’ve shared a bed. It’s a little startling.
Louis’ face is flushed and, “Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Up until now Harry’s been fine with getting naked in front of Louis, with sharing the same bed as him when they’re almost naked. The thing is, he can't find a reason that he shouldn’t be fine with it now; Louis’ still the same Louis and so what if he likes boys and girls? Harry doesn’t even know who he likes at the moment.
“Okay.”
“Yeah?” The surprise in Louis’ blue eyes is nearly palpable.
Harry smiles and he’s still the prettiest thing Louis’ seen, even with the dorky hair. “Sure. Love you, Lou.”
***
The first time Louis gets bullied for being bi isn’t necessarily what he’d call bullying (this is worse) and is two days after he comes out officially which is a year after he’s told his mum and Harry. He’s fifteen now, and he felt like the time was right, like now would be better than later because what if something happens to him and he’ll never get to tell everyone? Like what if he gets hit by a car and he never gets to tell Harry he like-likes him? If maybe people think that the girl he dated for a while was his true love and says something awful about their love at his funeral?
So. There’s currently a group of seniors who look like they're about to kick his stomach and face and arms and legs and head and anywhere he exists, and Louis doesn’t know what to do because he never thought this’d happen to him. This only happens in the movies, right?
“Little faggot, what do you wanna do? Do you wanna suck my cock, huh, twink? Fucking fairy, you're disgusting, a fucking abomination,” a very large boy sneers and something deep inside Louis stutters; it’s maybe his heart.
And Louis may be fifteen and bisexual, but he’s not weak, at least not vocally, so he sneers back, “Oh, what, I’m the abomination? Have you seen your hair? You’ve shaved off the front and left the back and you look like a fucking fish, honestly.” The boy looks taken aback and Louis rolls his eyes, proud until the end. “What, are you hurt? Do you want mummy to come and kiss it better? Don’t get upset because you look like a fucking troll. I’d never suck your dick, by the way. There’s probably nothing to suc—”
Then the boy’s fist is flying out and colliding with his head, and he’s falling and falling and falling, which is not at all like the movies; he’s supposed to kick their arses or summat, not feel pain in every part of his body. There are more hands and feet, and Louis aches and burns in such a way that feels like he’s been thrown off a cliff into raging seas. The sound of a stalling car is filling his head along with the blood in his mouth and the voices are still swearing.
There’s a voice, fierce and loud and intense. It sounds very much like Harry and Louis nearly dies because Harry’s his angel.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he shouts, and he’s fourteen but he doesn’t sound that young and then there are some other noises (ah fuck, lads, let’s run, can't go back). Louis doesn’t know what’s happening because his eyes are squeezed shut and he’s curling himself into a foetal position on the hard ground. He might be crying but he can’t really tell, can only think of how he should’ve been prepared and how pretty Harry was that very first day.
Really, that’s all Louis ever seems to think about; Harry’s bottle sea-green eyes opening glassily as he wakes up, Harry’s stupid fringe, Harry’s pink lips, Harry’s cheeks flushed with the chill of the air, Harry eating pancakes with lemon slices and sugar, Harry watching cartoons on Sunday mornings, Harry teasing Gemma when she stares after her crush on the bus home. Harry, it is, mostly.
A few moments later someone’s there, caressing his hair, whispering, “Louis, babe, please open your eyes. It’s mum, it’s me, baby, please, it’s okay.”
“Wh-where’s Harry?” Louis stutters out.
Harry’s there, hugging him, saying, “Lou, Louis, it’s me, we’re okay,” and his chest bursts along with any sliver of pride he has left because then he's sobbing into his best friend’s shoulder.
His mum is touching them both very gently, coercing them to stand up and get Louis in the car to take him home. Harry doesn’t let go of him, meaning Jay has to buckle them both in. Louis’ hands are shaking when he manages to pull away on the drive and each breath in hurts, but he just lets his body shudder. Harry grabs onto his hand and holds it with two of his, his palms clammy and soft.
It turns out they really only left a few bruises, but even when they fade in time the bruises are more than skin deep and Louis feels them for a long while afterwards.
***
The first time Harry thinks about Louis’ lips is a week after that. Blueberry syrup is staining his mouth a purple shade from the snow cone, his lavender lips framing such a gorgeous, crooked smile.
From then on, it’s hard for Harry to stop. (Louis’ lips are his addiction.)
***
The first time they don’t talk to each other for a week after they’ve become friends is when Louis is sixteen and tells Harry he has to study so he can’t go the movies with him. Harry says he’ll study with him but Louis counters this by saying Harry’s a distraction and he won’t get anything done with him there.
Harry tells him fine, he’ll see him later, and he doesn’t see Louis later because he avoids him like his cat avoids water. Harry finds out that Louis was really going on a date with a boy he met over the weekend when he was working, which would’ve been fine except Louis lied.
Harry doesn’t reply to Louis’ chat messages, doesn’t answer his phone calls, doesn’t talk to him at school; he doesn’t even look at him for the entire week, except for the one time Louis grabs his jaw and forces Harry’s head around to look at Louis’ face. Harry had just stared blankly, turned up the volume on his iPod and waited for Louis to let him go before he stood up and walked away, going to the bathrooms and just breathing.
(It isn’t a good week for either of them, but that’s also the first time Louis kisses another boy:
“Can I kiss you?” the boy asks, fluttering his eyelashes sweetly.
“Yeah,” Louis breathes and the boy is wet and apricot—it’s just like kissing a girl but with the brushing of a sharper jaw, and when they pull away from each other Louis may just wish the eyes he saw were green not a blue similar to his own.
“So, next week I’ll pick you up Friday?” Jack (the boy who isn’t Harry) questions with a grin as bright as the streetlamps illuminating the street.
“Of course,” Louis responds, smiling back a smile that makes his eyes shine and his face light up but punctures a hole in his chest.)
(Jack is the first boy to break Louis’ heart.)
Eventually, Harry goes to Louis’ to demand an apology to get over this dumb fight and Louis meets him halfway, stumbling over sorry’s like they were a new word he’d learned.
***
The first time they get drunk together is fun and a little frightening for Louis. It’s at some stupid school party, only a few months after Louis’ first kiss, but it’s insane. Harry turns out to be quite a lightweight and maybe it’s because he’s still fucking fifteen but he’s sparkly-eyed, red-mouthed and pink-cheeked within the first hour, smile wide enough it should be hurting his face. They’re surrounded by people their age and older, red cups and alcohol and sweaty people dancing and Harry’s in love with it all.
Louis has to drag Harry out at one a.m. because Jay wanted them home an hour before, and even though Louis is pleasantly buzzed he has enough sense to know she’ll be mad and Harry’ll be hungover. Harry’s giggling and biting his lips too red, eyes bright and alive. They stumble home to Louis’ slowly, Louis trying to hurry Harry’s slow dawdle into something quicker. Eventually they get there; just before Louis opens the door, he pauses and turns around to tell Harry to be quiet, in case he’d forgot he has four sisters, a mother and a step-father inside.
Harry’s staring at him and then he grins, cherry red and gorgeous, and steps forward. Louis steps back and Harry continues until Louis’ back is on the door and Harry’s body is pressed up against his. Louis takes a moment to notice that Harry’s taller than the last time he checked, then flicks his eyes back to Harry’s face.
Harry’s not grinning anymore. His eyes look a little wild and his eyelids glow golden under the invading wash of moonlight. They flutter, casting ebony shadows across his cheeks which are still flushed heavily, probably not just because of the cold biting at their skin. Harry’s breath smells like beer and Louis thinks his lips may be hovering just over his own. He’s wishing Harry would fall forward just a little so he could finally know what he tastes like, feels like. Almost as if he knows and wants to tease, Harry tilts his head and goes for a cheek kiss instead. It’s sloppy and wet, sticky with liquor and missing Louis’ cheek in favour of the corner of his mouth.
Harry sighs and fumbles to clutch at Louis’ hand. “You’re the best, Lou. I love you.”
Louis’ breathing deep and slow. His tongue slips out to wet his lips and tastes Harry in the corner. “Thank you, I suppose. Love you too.”
***
The first time Harry does something about the questions he has involving his sexuality that have plagued him ever since he was thirteen is a long year later. By then Louis has a ‘secret’ girlfriend and has been distancing himself from Harry and forming closer friendships with their other friends such as Niall (straight as Harry pretends to be) and Zayn (straight but bendy).
Harry knows Louis has a secret girlfriend, but she isn’t a secret to anyone else in their school, just Harry very exclusively, and this makes Harry angrier than the distance, the lack of phone calls and chat messages and even waves in the fucking hall.
He doesn’t understand why everyone is trying to hide the fact Louis has a girlfriend, but more importantly he doesn’t understand why he wasn’t the second person Louis told (Louis’ mum would have been the first). Harry had figured they were the best of best friends, that it was the two of them against everything else, but. Apparently not.
Obviously somewhere along the bumpy fucking road they’ve travelled down to get to the point they are now, Harry has missed the memo that he and Louis aren’t the kind of friends to tell each other everything anymore. Or, come to think of it, anything.
And shit, that really hurts Harry; it hurts him enough that he barely feels upset when the girlfriend he had for three weeks breaks up with him (she was self-centred in the worst way and kept talking about how much she wanted to kiss a boy in his twelfth year). With her gone and happily trailing after the boy she so very much fancies, Harry indulges in some good old fashioned moping and wallowing.
It’s following the helpless wallowing that the thoughts of Louis’ lips begin to creep back into his head. They’re so constant and always at the front of his mind that when Louis approaches him at school after their fourth time of not talking to each other for a week, Harry finds himself glaring at him. Louis’ lips take up too much fucking space in his head to be insignificant now, to be random thoughts that make Harry think about kissing them, and fuck that. Fuck that.
“What do you want, Louis?”
Louis scowls back, rubbing at the stupid spikes of his hair between his fingers which Harry will come to know as a nervous gesture. Louis’ eyes flash with something, something sad and awful, before they harden again. He straightens his back a bit and he huffs. “Harry, can you stop staring at me like you can’t wait for me to talk to you and you're mad that I won’t? It’s really creeping me out, like. Sorry, mate.”
Harry stands immediately because he’s done, and he doesn’t know if he ever wasn’t to begin with. If Louis wants to be an even bigger dick than he has been all week, if he wants to make an arse of himself then Harry isn’t going to hang around and watch him shatter every inch of their friendship.
“You know what, Louis? You can go fuck yourself. Just because you have some fit, mysterious girlfriend who everyone else knows about but me doesn’t mean that I'm looking at you because I’m waiting for you to talk to me. I’m not desperate enough for that, Louis. I don’t know what you’re doing or what you think you’re doing, Lou, but you’re acting like a right prick. So, you know, fuck you and all that. Or, rather, don’t.”
Louis' left dazed in the most shocking way and his mouth parts because Harry doesn't swear, not unless he's stubbed his toe or bitten his tongue (also because the Lou hurts more than anything else he said because it slipped out and it was venomous).
Harry runs his eyes over Louis’ body, flicking back up to his face before he sighs and leaves Louis with his mouth gaping open. He walks away from him and over to find Nick.
Nick’s the only other ‘out’ person in their school Harry knows of; he’s tall and has funny hair with soft skin and a snappy personality. Harry finds him in the school’s main quad, leaning against an orange brick wall surrounded by people Harry thinks of as his followers who are all indie and hipster-posh and better than you.
The sun is halfway across the sky, bathing Nick in light, and he may not be as gorgeous as Louis is in the sun but he’s nearly halfway there. Harry has thoughts of every kindness Nick’s ever shown him swimming through his mind, every moment they’ve spent together where Harry thought huh. (Harry looked it up on the family computer and it told him he was pansexual. His stomach twisted, his breath caught in his throat giddily as he mouthed the word soundlessly because there was a name for it and other people felt it too.)
Nick spots Harry walking towards him before anyone else does and, okay, it looks a little weird because Harry’s growing his hair out and there are a few springy curls surrounding his face and his face is in a soft smile and he’s moving very quickly. He raises an eyebrow in a perfect, plucked arch. A few of Nick’s friend’s turn to Harry, the better than you look is immediately carved into their faces.
When he’s close enough Nick’s mouth opens to say something, but Harry’s lips are on his and swallowing the sound before it can escape, along with a surprised sort of squeak. It takes Nick a moment to realise what's happening before a low growl rumbles through his throat and he grabs Harry’s hands which have moved to rest on his hips. He flips them so that Harry’s being shoved against the wall as Nick curves his back and takes, tasting like cigarettes and cranberries. The way he kisses reminds Harry of newspapers with the pages creasing and crinkling, smooth and familiar yet entirely new.
He also reminds Harry that newspapers can be ripped into perfect horizontal strips and he wonders whether or not he will be left in the same way, ready to be shoved under a pile of sticks to burn.
Harry makes a small sound, helpless and needy, because apparently he likes being pushed around. But, not one to particularly like losing control, he takes hold of Nick’s roaming wrists and then Harry has Nick’s hands pinned to the wall and he’s shoving a leg between Nick’s, and. Well.
Louis stares across the distance as Nick wraps his fingers around Harry’s fingers and pulls him away. He watches as they disappear away from prying eyes, but then the image is blurred because there are tears in Louis’ eyes and nothing’s okay, as if it ever was.
Harry gets his first handjob from a boy and leaves the school’s dirty toilets with his first boyfriend. From then on, Nick dresses Harry in tight shirts and tight pants and fixes his hair up occasionally and sometimes pairs it with those awfully fake hipster-nerd glasses, but Harry looks good in them, so he wears them when he feels like it. Whatever. At least Nick isn't stealing parts of him he’s not ever going to give back.
(Nick’s only going to use them.)
***
The first time Harry has anal sex, Nick is as good as he can be. He talks him through it, rasping out pratty things Harry doesn’t pay attention to. Nick spends a long time prepping him, using his long fingers to stretch Harry out. It burns, but every time Harry makes a sound of pain he adds more lube and when Nick finally pushes in Harry doesn’t cry like he thought he would. Then Nick starts moving and Harry isn't sure how to handle such a good feeling so he scrunches his eyes shut and lets a throaty noise escape his mouth, hands reaching up to grab at Nick’s hips and squeeze.
Nick’s hips stop moving six and three quarter minutes later, his come flooding the condom and shouting out so loud Harry is thankful Nick’s parent’s aren’t home. Harry comes too, with Nick’s fingers circled around his cock, in bright static waves of pleasure and thick ropes of come to paint their chests as though they’re two canvases.
It’s good, it is, but the thing is ever since Harry shut his eyes he’s been seeing Louis’ face against his eyelids, Louis’ thighs and his lips and his teeth and his stomach and his arms, and Harry became lost in the idea that it was Louis moving in and out of him.
He’s just glad he was too overwhelmed with sensations that he didn’t say Louis’ name out loud.
So.