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“Harry, come on man. You’re not gonna get anywhere with all the moping you’re doing.”
Niall sweeps a hand through his annoyingly blonde-turning-brunette hair and doesn't even try to remove the huge grin he’s wearing.
“And you’re not going anywhere with that fucking camera phone in my face, mate,” Harry sighs and, once again, pushes the offending machine away.
But Niall doesn't let up. The camera is shoved right back into his face, and so just to humor him, Harry glares up at the thing and lets Niall take a photo.
It’s probably a horrible picture; him leaning on the counter with a furrow in his brow and a slight scowl on his lips, but at least Niall finally puts the camera away and pats harry on the shoulder.
“Cheer up, eh? I know you’re lonely and uh- I mean, just. I can set you up with my mate Zayn if you want-“
“That tan guy who’s obsessed with his quiff? Thanks, but no thanks.”
Harry, although he’s in a shite mood, gives Niall a sad but appreciative smile and strings his apron around his waist. It’s 10AM, after all, people will start to stream in soon.
The place he works is nice enough. Not completely dingy. The walls are a sort of off-white colour and the tables customers sit at are big and round, save for the single-person tables. A few people are regular customers because Southside Restaurant and Cafe is, obviously, also a cafe. There’s coffee and bagels and all that.
A little jingle comes from the front door and when Harry turns his head to see the person, he’s absolutely shocked. A man, probably in his twenties or something, walks in with a phone held loosely up to his ear. His coat is snug around his hourglass figure and a maroon beanie is all askew atop his head of feathery caramel hair. He’s like nothing harry has ever seen before. He’s an angel, honestly.
As the boy walks closer with his eyes glued to the ground, Harry hears not english, but rapid french falling out of his mouth. And that makes Harry feel hot in the cheeks and uncomfortable in his jeans.
“Je dois y aller maintenant, pour le dejeuner. Au revoir,” he mutters and finally his eyes snap up. And really, it’s kind of like one of those stupid love at first sight things. Well, perhaps not love, but.
“Bonjour- err, hello,” he says and Harry sort of just stares some more.
All of a sudden, Niall exits out of the kitchen speaking fast and full of energy.
“Hello! How are you? Can I get you a seat?”
Harry freezes up and gives Niall a ‘what the fuck’ look.
“Niall.”
“Our special today is-“
“Niall.”
“What?” Niall growls and crosses his arms.
“I’ll take this one?” Harry mumbles quietly and the french boy titters quietly into his gloved palm.
“Oh. Oh. Okay, sure thing Hazza!” Niall catches on then, making a scene with that giant wink of his.
Once the Irishman walks away, Harry does his best to calm down and steps a bit closer to the man.
“So, you want a seat obviously? I’m Harry, and I’ll be your server today,” he smiles and gets him seated by the window- his favorite spot, personally.
“Thank you. My name est Louis,” is all he says, and then looks down at his menu, seemingly unaware that Harry is still looking at him. It’s kind of hard not to look though, not when he’s this fucking gorgeous. His eyelashes look like actual perfection.
“Uh, yeah. I’ll let you have some time with that.”
Just before he turns to leave, a tight grip appears on his wrist and he’s stopped dead in his tracks.
“Please will you smile for me?” Louis says quietly in his strong accent, his eyes slightly pleading. It’s kind of weird, the request, but of course Harry listens.
He smiles so wide for Louis that it kind of hurts and he can practically feel his dimples cratering in his cheeks but it’s all for little french Louis.
“There es ah, no light in your eyes Har-ee. No light.” And then he’s waving Harry away (politely of course), and staring down at his menu like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
To say the least, Harry is a bit stunted and it takes a few moments for him to actually stumble away from Louis’ table. Weird french fellow.
Once he goes back to the kitchen, he finds Niall nibbling on some bread.
“That guy’s pretty weird.”
Niall chuckles. “Want me to take over?”
But the thing is, Harry actually doesn’t want him to. What he wants more than anything, really, is to take this foreign boy home and- well, he wants to take him home essentially.
“Nah. I think I’ll survive. He’s really pretty.”
Harry meanders over to Louis’ table once again.
“Made up your mind yet?”
“Oui. French vanilla latte -don’t mock me, english boy- and spaghetti. With a lot of cheese.” Louis gives a gentle smile and his eyes sparkle, apparently unlike Harry’s.
Harry smiles back. Hopefully his eyes are bright enough this time, he thinks. “Your wish is my command, mate.”
“Is it- erm, can you join me?”
Harry looks around the restaurant. More people are streaming in and Niall’s bustling around hurriedly. He undoubtedly needs Harry’s help, but.
“Yeah. I can.”
~~
2 scones, a plate of cheesy spaghetti, and a french vanilla late (with extra whip cream) later, Louis tells Harry that he should probably pay and go home because he must ‘call his maman’ or whatever.
Louis stands up to go to the till and on a insane, probably stupid impulse, Harry blurts, “it’s on the house, Louis.”
And then Louis looks puzzled. “What house?” He says, and god, Harry could die right then and there.
“Um, it’s free. You don’t have to pay.”
The look Louis gives to Harry then- that look is one that Harry could take a picture with using Niall’s dumb phone. That look is worthy.
~~
Louis comes back the next day, looking cuter than ever with his maroon skinny’s and hugely over-sized ivory knit jumper.
He has black wire framed glasses and a quirky little smile that’s making his eyes crinkle and when Harry trips on his way over, Louis lets out this beautiful, loud noise that’s better than any other laugh Harry’s ever heard.
“Hello, Louis,” Harry mumbles with a blush and bites the back of his knuckles. You’re totally winning him over, Harry, way to go.
“Bonjour, ‘arry. Could you join me again?”
Before he answers, he thanks whatever god there is that Louis came now when it’s slow and quiet, because otherwise Niall would have a second aneurysm.
“‘Course.”
“Merci. Can I have a bagel and tea with no milk or sugar?” Louis asks once he sits down at the one-person table (that Harry’s brought another chair up to). They’re kind of close together, and Harry is kind of buzzing.
Once Harry returns from getting Louis’ things, he sits down fast enough for his chair to skid even closer to Louis but no one’s complaining.
“So are you here on vacation or?” Harry asks, wondering why he didn’t ask this question yesterday.
“Mhm. I go back in seven months. Were you born here?”
“No. The States. I fake this accent so tourists like yourself feel like you’ve experienced the full London experience.”
Louis’ eyes go wide. “Really?”
“No. I was born in Cheshire.”
“Twat,” Louis says, and it sounds quite weird coming from his mouth and Harry’s sure he said it because he picked up on the lingo, but it’s cute.
After a while of chatting, Louis randomly murmurs “I’m glad.”
“Glad about what?”
“That your accent is real, because it is really, very hot.” Harry’s jaw drops, and then, “but don’t tell my boyfriend back home.”
“Oh. I… oh. You have a boyfriend?”
“No. just wanted to see how you’d react. Want to go to dinner and a film later?”
Probably if Louis wasn’t there, Harry would jump out of his seat and scream and knock over tables with joy but Louis is there so he smiles wide. “Yes.”
~~
They’ve been dating for a few months when Harry propositions that Louis just live in his flat until he goes home. It’s cheaper and they spend every waking hour together anyway, so. Louis says yes.
The day he moves in is a rather sweet one, and after he’s unpacked and Harry’s made them dinner, Louis is exhausted and he drags Harry into their room (god, that’s great to say) and sleeps on his chest. When Louis wakes up at around 3am, he pokes harry in the cheek and they kiss languidly and slowly and intimately until they fall back asleep.
And maybe when Anne asks who is the boy that’s sitting on Harry’s lap in his Facebook picture, he says, “my boyfriend.”
Louis is cuddly and Louis is happy and Louis is hot, especially when he’s shyly getting harry off with his hand under the covers or singing loudly in the shower. It’s hard for Harry to think about what life was like without the boy in his life. So he doesn’t.
They go out every weekend and once, Niall convinces them to go out with him and get proper wasted. So they do, and Louis gives Harry the best blowjob of his life in the loos. He takes all of Harry down his throat immediately and swallows when Harry shouts and comes in his mouth.
~~
Their first time starts out innocently enough.
Harry comes home after a long day of work to find Louis giggling and playing with bubbles in his bath. He thinks that if it was anyone else but his boyfriend he’d be annoyed, but it is him, so. Harry climbs in silently and leans back on Louis’ chest, curling his shoulders in so he just fits. Louis coos and drags his blunt fingernails across Harry’s chest—which gives him a serious case of goosebumps—but he doesn’t mind. Harry soon finds that his body is reacting to Louis’ touch in a way that isn’t all too innocent, and whimpers just loud enough for it to be heard in the small room.
Harry looks up to see Louis looking down at him in a way he’s never really seen before. Sure, he’s seen one like it when he’s giving Louis a messy handjob but this one seems different.
So Harry says, “I want to make love to you, Louis.”
~~
Harry’s deep, deep inside of Louis, and Louis is whimpering and probably the most responsive person Harry’s ever been with. The only difference between Louis and a pornstar is the fact that Louis’ moans are 100% genuine and not forced. Not to boast at all, but Harry can move fairly fast and knows exactly where to aim his thrusts. He hits Louis’ prostate with every pound and the poor smaller boy starts to lose all coherent speech.
“Je vais venir,” he moans, dragging out each word and that makes Harry thrust into him so much harder, so hard that Louis yelps and fists the sheets. Harry fucks him deep, hard, and Louis is screaming, writhing, begging plaire, plaire, plaire, oui. And if it’s not the hottest thing in the world, Harry doesn’t know what is. Each thrust drives filthy, hot noises out of Louis’ pretty little mouth and Harry laps at the sweat gathering at the nape of the smaller boy’s neck.
“God yeah, Louis, fuck you’re amazing,” Harry pants and even goes as far as to slap him lightly on the side of his bum.
Louis gasps, chokes out a “Ha-arry,” and then he’s splattering out his orgasm all over his stomach and the sheets, tightening hellishly tight around harry’s cock but it feels so good.
It takes a few more thrusts but then Harry’s coming too, shooting into Louis’ ragdoll-like body with a “fu-fuck, Louis!” into his ear.
After their first time, they have sex non-stop. They fuck against the wall, on the kitchen counter, on the balcony, for Christ’s sake. One of the best fucks they have, though, is in the laundry room.
Harry walks into their flat on light feet, hoping to surprise his adorable boyfriend with a hug. He hears happy humming coming from the laundry room and walks over as quietly as his gangly, awkward body will allow him and the sight he finds is probably the hottest he’s ever seen.
Louis is leaned over at the waist, completely naked save for his tight briefs, pulling out his astronomical amount of clothing from the washer. His knees are bent the slightest bit, him being very flexible but he’s not a gymnast for God’s sake, and the curve in his back is enough for Harry’s pants to tighten. Louis snaps up and begins to tuck the wet clothes into the dryer set atop of the washer, still humming his happy tune and unaware that Harry is practically getting off to the view.
“Je reve en enfer
Plus j’ai mal et plus j’espere
Plus tu pars moins j’y vois clair,” he sings quietly, twitching his hips to the left and the right and for a moment Harry forgets that he has a raging hard-on in his pants and feels nothing but love and affection for his quirky little boyfriend. It leaves soon enough, however.
Harry slinks forward and finally allows himself to touch Louis, placing his hands on his hips and his boner onto Louis’ clothed bum.
Louis freezes up and then relaxes back into his touch, all while Harry is licking along his ear and whispering, “don’t stop dancing babe, I quite like your moves.”
Things escalate from there pretty quickly.
Other days, Louis just leaps into his arms naked the second Harry gets through the door.
So, yeah, they’re pretty happy. Until they’re not.
They both know they want more out of each other, but the thing is, they don’t know exactly what. And that fact makes Harry a little snappy and Louis a little irritable, but at the end of the day they would apologize and crawl into each other’s arms.
Harry always knew that Louis’s visit to London wasn’t permanent. That fact would always nag him and tell him to like, stop, because if he gets in this too far he’s going to just be screwed over. It seems like a bat of his eyes and it’s 6 months later- one month before Louis is gone back to Paris. The sensible thing to do would be to cherish every last moment they have together and kiss each other and make love and promise to stay together through Skype and stuff, but Harry isn’t computer-savvy and they know that it just wouldn’t work out. So then mostly they snuggle and cry and hold each other so close that Harry can practically feel the love they haven’t expressed to each other yet.
A week before Louis’ due home he tells Louis he’s in love with him. It’s kind of a spur of the moment thing; when Louis is trying to teach him how to say sexual things in french and then it just kind of happens.
“Me frapper sur la table? Is that it?”
“Err- no. You just said ‘punch me across the table'.”
Harry snorts. “I’m in love with you.”
Louis snorts back. “I know. I’m in love with you too.”
~~
Harry decides that when he’s with Louis, he’s a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy. Without even thinking or asking any sort of permission, he blurts, “I’m coming to Paris with you.”
And, as kind of expected, Louis says “I know you are.”
Harry packs straight away after that, shoving pretty much every belonging he owns into his suitcase and not even thinking about Niall or Anne or Gemma or anyone, just Louis. Once he’s all packed he figures he has around 6 days to sell the flat, and then sets off to call his friends and family.
Niall takes it pretty bad. He cries and sniffles on the phone and says “but you’re my best friend, all I have,” over and over and Harry can’t help but feel so bad. He promises to call every day and visit whenever possible, and that seems to calm him down.
His mum says “this boy must be everything to you,” and then cries mostly because she’s so happy her son is happy.
Louis holds him through it all and after tells him that his flat in France will be big enough for the two of them.
“My neighbors do not like how often I set off the fire alarms, so they bring me treats and things over. Also, you are going to be cooking mostly.” Louis trails his fingers down Harry’s chest and then back up, batting his eyes prettily. Harry guffaws and wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s slim waist and kisses the top of his head, humming and rocking them back and forth. He’s happy.
~~
10 Years Later
“Dar-Darcy! Not so close to the fire, love!”
“Bah,” the 2-year-old Darcy squeals, rolling back towards her dads.
The thunderstorm that rolled in happened to be a great thing for the family (or just Louis, mainly), because Harry and Darcy were afraid and cuddled into his sides for safety.
“Harry,” Louis says after they’ve set up the candles for light and huddled in front of the fireplace.
“Yeah, baby?”
“I love you so much.”
Harry’s stomach flutters. Even after years upon years upon years of being together, Louis can still make him squirm and feel like a teenager despite his 32 years. “I love you too, Lou.”
They nibble on the muffins their neighbors had brought over and watch their little girl play, hearts thumping with delight and eyes shining with love. This is the definition of happiness for them both.
Darcy squawks again and stumbles up to them with a photo album in her tiny hands, and then plops it atop their laps.
“What did you find, baby girl?” Harry asks and gently pries the album from her clutches. “An album?”
“Da!”
“Should we look in it?”
“Think we should,” Louis answers, and so Harry opens it and smiles at what photo is pressed inside.
Darcy flips the pages to one in the middle, and stuck in is a photo of them in the hospital room when Harry broke his arm biking, and the other is of them holding Darcy in front of the Eiffel tower. The album doesn’t have a specific genre of photos, but that’s what makes it nice, Harry supposes.
Flipping through some more pages, there’s photos of Niall lounging in their flat when he came over for a visit, and Eleanor in the hospital room when she delivered Harry and Louis’ baby, and them all in the Styles’ home with Anne and Gemma. There’s a photo of Harry kissing Louis’ cheek, there’s a photo of Louis on Harry’s back downtown, and finally, there’s a photo of Harry- in the cafe?
“It- oh my god, that is a horrible photo,” he gasps and tries to cover it but Louis shoves his hand away.
“Such a brooding husband I have,” Louis snickers.
The photo inside is the one Niall took all those years ago in that dingy old restaurant, the place that they met.
“That day. I met you that day,” Harry whispers. “I had no idea what luck was coming to me.”
And really, what normal gay couple would they be if they didn’t cry and hold each other tight with their little girl in the middle? Not a very good one.
“You guys are my life,” Harry mumbles and Louis holds them that much closer, that much tighter and Harry swears that moment is paradise.