Chapter Text
For a long while after Harry settled down, Louis just lay there staring at the ceiling. The quiet hum of the air conditioning and Harry’s faint movements as he scrolled on his phone felt almost too loud in the silence.
Louis dragged a hand down his face and sighed quietly, brushing hair out of his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. It’s nothing. Just tension. That was the easiest thought to cling to, the one he kept looping over and over. He was tired. Frustrated. Pent‑up. It had been ages since he and El had been together like that. Not that he’d missed it much — in fact, if he was honest, he hadn’t really missed it at all.
But that was all this was, right? Just a body reacting because it hadn’t been satisfied in a long time. Pure biology. Pure accident. Not because Harry had walked out with damp curls and a low‑slung towel. Not because the boy he claimed to hate had muscles toned from countless matches and that infuriating smirk that refused to shift when he knew he’d thrown Louis off balance.
“Just that,” he muttered under his breath, brushing hair out of his eyes like he could swipe away the thought itself. “Just tension.”
And yet, deep down, in that tiny space where denial hadn’t yet taken root, a thought bubbled — quiet, faint, almost shy: Then why him? Why now?
He didn’t have an answer. Not tonight. So he pulled the covers a little tighter, fixed his gaze on the ceiling, and tried to breathe slower, brushing hair out of his eyes one more time until the sound of Harry’s breathing began to blend with his own.
Maybe tomorrow he’d understand. Or maybe he wouldn’t. All he knew right then was that brushing hair out of his eyes felt like brushing thoughts out of his head, and for tonight, that had to be enough.
The room was quiet except for the low sound of Harry scrolling on his phone, earbuds in and completely unfazed. Louis sank down onto the edge of the bed, pulled out his mobile, and opened the chat with Lottie.
Lou: Got a situation.
Lottie: 👀 What’s happening?
Lou: We’re in a hotel. Semi‑final win. All good. But guess who I have to share a room with.
Lottie: Do I even want to guess?
Lou: Styles. Of course. And it’s one bed. One. Bed. A bloody king-sized one.
Lottie: 😂 No way!! Do NOT kill each other.
Lou: Might kill myself first. He came out of the shower like some sort of Calvin Klein ad.
Lottie: 👀 👀 👀
Lou: Don’t be disgusting. He’s just… annoyingly confident. You’d understand if you were here.
Lottie: Sure, sure. So confident you noticed?
Lou: Piss off. Just making conversation.
Lottie: 👀 👀 👀 Lou…
Lou: What?!
Lottie: Just saying… you sound like someone who noticed a lot.
Lou: Whatever. He’s still a prat.
Lottie: Whatever you say, big brother. Stay safe. Try not to kill him—or kiss him. 😂
Lou: Literally going to block you.
Lottie: 😂 Love you too.
He tossed the phone down beside him and sank back against the pillows, shaking his head like he could banish the stupid smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Harry glanced over, tugging an earbud out. “Everything alright?” he asked, one brow quirked.
“Yeah,” Louis replied quickly, brushing down the duvet like it was suddenly very important. “Just Lottie. Being a pain, as usual.”
Harry shrugged and sank back into whatever video he was watching, and Louis felt a faint warmth crawl up the back of his neck. Not that he was going to acknowledge it. Not tonight. Not ever.
Harry tossed the remote down between them and sank back against the headboard, brushing a palm down the duvet like this was the most natural thing in the world. “We could stick the telly on, kill some time?” he said, voice easy.
Louis shrugged, forcing a neutral expression. “Yeah, alright. Whatever.”
Harry grinned like he’d just won some sort of victory and started scrolling until he landed on some random rom‑com. The opening credits rolled and a cheery, too‑loud pop song blared from the tiny hotel speakers. Harry sank lower, brushing closer until their shoulders were almost touching.
Louis didn’t move. Didn’t breathe for a second. Tried to focus on the screen as some couple met in a coffee shop, but all he could think about was how warm Harry felt beside him. The way the faint scent of shower gel and skin floated between them. The slight shift every time Harry adjusted the bed covers, brushing an elbow or a knee that felt too close.
“Alright, Romeo,” Louis said suddenly, voice sharp as he waved a hand at the screen. “What are we watching? Didn’t peg you for this sort of thing.”
Harry glanced down at him, brushing hair out of his own eyes with an easy smile. “What, you don’t like rom‑coms? Might surprise you, but I’ve got range.”
Louis gave a faint, skeptical laugh and sank a fraction lower, trying desperately not to notice how Harry didn’t move away. Not until a quiet scene came up — soft music, long glances — and Harry’s voice came low and teasing beside him. “You’re alright, Lou?”
“What?” The word came out too sharp. Too quick. He refused to look at Harry when he said it.
“Just seem… tense.” Harry tilted closer, brushing the words across the space between them. “That or you really hate this movie.”
“Maybe I do,” Louis shot back, but it came out weaker than he meant. His fingers flexed into the duvet as if it could ground him, because every second felt like it pulled tighter. Too tight.
Harry didn’t reply right away. Instead, he sank down beside him, closer now, brushing the faint warmth of a thigh that set Louis’ thoughts spiraling. The room felt too quiet except for the sound of the rom‑com and the slow, teasing drawl of Harry’s voice.
“Or maybe… you’re overthinking,” Harry said quietly, brushing hair from his own eyes and leaning just slightly towards him. Not too much. Not enough to call out. But enough for Louis to notice.
Louis refused to look. Refused to breathe too deep. He sank down further and sank his voice into a low grumble. “Maybe I just want this night to be over.”
“Maybe,” Harry said softly, and didn’t move an inch.
And that was the worst part — that no matter how badly Louis wanted to disappear, he didn’t. Not tonight.
They stayed like that for a long while, silence filling the space except for the soft hum of the television. The rom‑com chattered away like it was in a different world, and in this one, it was just Louis, Harry, and that growing tension that refused to dissipate.
At some point, Harry sighed quietly and sank lower, brushing hair out of his own eyes for the millionth time, and settled down fully on top of the covers. He didn’t seem to notice how every shift pulled him closer to where Louis was perched, leaning like a statue.
Louis kept staring at the screen, desperately trying to focus on anything except the sound of Harry breathing beside him. Tried to ignore the faint warmth brushing across the space between their legs, tried not to notice how the faint glow of the screen lit the sharp lines of Harry’s jaw or the damp curls falling down his forehead.
He clenched the duvet in his hand, swallowing as he sank down just enough to appear like he was “getting comfortable.” But every inch closer felt like pressing closer to a flame, one that refused to burn out.
Then Harry spoke — low, lazy, brushing across the quiet room. “Y’alright, Lou?”
Louis refused to look. Not when the sound of Harry’s voice felt too close, too knowing. “Yeah,” he forced out, brushing hair out of his own eyes like he needed an excuse to move. “Just tired.”
Harry tilted his head slightly, brushing a faint smile across his lips. “Yeah? You sure?” His voice was teasing but soft, brushing closer until his voice was almost brushing the shell of Louis’ ear.
And that was too much.
Louis sank down until he was fully leaning against the headboard, brushing hair out of his eyes like he could somehow swipe away this strange warmth crawling under his skin. Somehow, when he glanced over — just for a second — Harry was still looking at him, gaze soft and unreadable, one elbow resting near Louis’ knee.
“Go to sleep, Styles,” Louis said quietly, brushing hair out of his own eyes again, voice wavering just slightly. “You’re making this too weird.”
Harry didn’t reply. Not immediately. Instead, he sank down further until he was resting against the pillows, brushing hair out of his eyes in that lazy way that felt too confident. Too knowing.
“Maybe,” Harry said softly, brushing hair from his own forehead, voice low enough that it felt like a whisper meant only for the space between them. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
Then he smiled — slow, soft, brushing like a faint warning. And he sank down further until the only sound was the soft hum of the television and the faint sound of their breathing.
Louis sank down too, brushing hair out of his own eyes one more time like that could erase the warmth brushing through him. Like he could forget the faint sting of tension resting between the bedsheets. But he didn’t. Not tonight.
____
The night hadn’t been easy. Not for Louis, not for Harry. At some point, the awkward space between them gave way to gravity, to exhaustion, and to a quiet, mutual surrender. Somewhere between midnight and morning, Harry had shifted closer until the line between “you stay on your side” and “you stay on mine” dissolved completely.
Which was how Louis found himself waking up with a warm weight pressed against his back and a long, toned arm draped over his waist. The room was dim, faint morning light crawling across the floor. He stirred slowly, brushing hair out of his eyes, still half-asleep until he noticed it — felt it.
A solid, unmistakable pressure pressed right against the curve of his lower back.
For a second, he froze, breath caught halfway in his throat. It was too early for this, too quiet for this. But it was happening — Harry pressed tight behind him, long legs tangled with his, breathing slow and deep, hair brushing the back of Louis’ neck. And that pressure…
Louis’ face went hot instantly. His heart thudded. Surely Harry was still sleeping, completely oblivious to the fact that he was pressed right up against him. Surely he didn’t mean anything by it. Surely this was just some morning thing.
But that didn’t help the way every nerve felt like it was burning. The way every breath felt too loud. The way every tiny shift of Harry’s body pressed him closer until it felt like too much and not enough, all at once.
He risked a glance down, brushing hair out of his own eyes as quietly as he could, swallowing as Harry sighed in his sleep and buried his nose a fraction closer between Louis’ shoulder blades.
“Christ,” Louis whispered under his breath, brushing hair out of his eyes like it could wipe away the heat rising in him. “What the fuck am I doing?”
He didn’t move, didn’t shift away, didn’t shove Harry off like he probably should have. Instead, he lay there for a long moment, swallowing down the whirlwind in his chest, brushing hair out of his eyes one more time before brushing it roughly down the side of his shorts. Like that could somehow make this feel like anything other than… whatever this was.
And then he sank down just slightly, resting a hand on the edge of the bed and brushing hair out of his eyes again like a nervous tick. Letting the warmth of Harry pressed close wash over him for one quiet morning, long enough for him to wonder — really wonder — why this felt so right when every part of him had always claimed it was wrong.
He lay there for a moment longer, heart beating too quick for the silence of the room, trying to make sense of it all. He knew this was wrong—or at least, it was supposed to be. Everything he’d ever told himself about Harry Styles and where the line was had started to blur somewhere between exhausted whispers and the warmth of skin pressed closer than he meant to allow.
But despite the sting of guilt crawling faintly in the back of his mind, one thing refused to shift:
This was the best he’d slept in ages.
Harry was solid and warm and calm behind him. The slow, even rise and fall of his chest felt like an anchor in the quiet morning air. Somehow, pressed like this, tangled up in a way he refused to name, Louis felt… safe.
Safe, when he hadn’t felt that in a long time.
He drew in a long breath, brushing hair out of his eyes like it might help him think clearly, then sighed and sank down just a fraction more. The room was still, faint morning light sneaking in from between the blinds, the clock reading 6:30. Too early for any of this.
“Just a bit longer,” he thought, brushing hair out of his eyes one more time and swallowing down the sting in his chest. Whatever this was, whatever it meant, he wouldn’t give it words. Not yet. Not now.
He closed his eyes slowly, breathing in the faint, warm scent of Harry at his back, brushing hair out of his eyes one more time as if to ward off the thoughts chasing themselves around his head.
Then he let himself relax, just for a moment. Let the weight and warmth lull him under. Let himself drift back to sleep, pressed close to Harry in a silence he refused to name aloud.
____
BREAKFAST SCENE — HOTEL CAFETERIA
Niall sank down into the chair, brushing hair out of his eyes as he glanced at the clock for the hundredth time. The plate in front of him was half-finished, but his focus was elsewhere.
“Have any of you seen Louis or Harry?” he asked, voice rising just enough to be heard. “They weren’t down for breakfast when I came in.”
Zayn shrugged lazily, leaning back as he sipped his tea. “Probably still in bed. We didn’t exactly have an early night.”
Liam smirked, brushing hair out of his own eyes as he glanced towards the door. “That, or they killed each other already.”
Niall snorted, brushing hair out of his eyes as he shook his head. “Nah, if they were going to kill each other, we’d have heard the commotion.” He waved a hand towards the ceiling. “They’re probably still in bed. Might have gone down the ‘one bed’ route.”
Zayn nearly choked on his tea and started laughing. “Imagine. One bed and a shirtless Styles? That’s like a bad rom-com in the making.”
Liam shrugged, grinning. “Well, we won’t know until we investigate, eh?” He pushed back from the table as breakfast service came to an end, brushing hair out of his eyes. “Come on. Let’s make sure they’re alive.”
Niall was already grinning wildly as he got to his feet. “Or we walk in and find ‘em spooning. Either way, it’ll be worth it.”
⸻
UPSTAIRS — LOUIS & HARRY’S ROOM
The three of them made their way down the quiet corridor, muffled giggles and teasing remarks filling the space. When they finally stopped in front of the room, Zayn waved for silence, brushing hair out of his eyes for the hundredth time.
Liam pressed an ear to the door. “All quiet.” He glanced back at the others, smirking. “That means one of two things: they’re still out cold, or…”
“Or what?” Niall wheezed, brushing hair out of his eyes and grinning like a maniac.
“Or,” Liam replied slowly, brushing hair out of his eyes for effect, “there’s some serious rom-com energy going on in there.”
“Right,” Zayn said, brushing hair out of his own eyes as he pulled out a room key he’d swiped earlier. “Only one way to find out.”
With a soft click, the door was unlocked. The three of them pushed it open and poked their heads in.
There, tangled under the covers, was the scene that would haunt their group chat for weeks: Harry was still soundly asleep, long arm wrapped protectively around Louis, face buried in the back of the smaller boy’s neck. The duvet was half-draped across their legs, and the room was warm with soft morning light.
Niall slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh, brushing hair out of his eyes as he waved wildly at the scene. “What did I tell you? Spooning! It’s like a bloody Nicholas Sparks film.”
Zayn smirked, brushing hair out of his eyes like he was trying to stay composed. “I might faint. Might also send a photo to the group chat. Purely for… posterity.”
Liam sighed, brushing hair out of his eyes as he shook his head, still grinning. “We’re never letting them live this down. Never.”
Then, as quietly as they came, the three of them pulled the door shut, grins plastered across their faces and the sound of suppressed laughter echoing down the hotel corridor.
“Looks like ‘one bed’ didn’t kill ‘em after all,” Niall said, brushing hair out of his eyes and slinging an arm over Zayn’s shoulder.
“More like it brought ‘em closer than any match ever could,” Liam added, brushing hair out of his eyes as he glanced back towards the room.
“Closer?” Zayn said, brushing hair out of his eyes like he was wiping away a tear of laughter. “Try ‘winning goal’ closer.”
With that, the three of them headed off down the hallway, plotting the stories they’d tease the lads with for the rest of the trip.
____
The second time he surfaced from sleep, it felt… different. Not groggy and panicked like earlier. This time it was slow, languid — the kind of waking where you’re aware of how warm the bed is, how soft the sheets feel. He sighed quietly and shifted, brushing hair out of his eyes as he blinked.
And then he noticed Harry.
Harry was sitting cross‑legged on the bed, shirtless, scrolling lazily through his phone. The morning light caught the ridges of toned abs and broad shoulders, highlighting faint droplets still clinging to the skin from an earlier shower. His curls, slightly damp, framed his face as he smiled down at the screen.
Louis felt that odd swoop in his stomach — that same one he kept telling himself meant absolutely nothing. The longer he watched, the harder it was to pretend that Harry wasn’t… well… unfairly fit.
He swallowed, brushing hair out of his own eyes, and sank down a little deeper into the pillow. Jesus. Get a grip, Tomlinson.
Harry glanced down and smiled, brushing hair out of his eyes too. “Morning, Lou,” he said quietly, voice still a bit rough from sleep. “You finally awake?”
“Uh, yeah,” Louis mumbled, brushing hair out of his eyes like he always did when he felt flustered. “What time is it?”
“Just gone ten.” Harry set the phone down beside him, brushing hair out of his eyes as he shrugged. “We missed breakfast. The lads tried to come find us, apparently.” He smirked, brushing hair out of his eyes again, brushing the slight curl out of the way like he knew it would have some sort of effect. “There might be… evidence in the group chat.”
Louis frowned, brushing hair out of his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. “Evidence?” he asked slowly, voice wary.
Harry gave a low laugh, brushing hair out of his eyes like it was second nature. “Niall sent a picture. The three of ‘em came in earlier, found us like this.” He waved vaguely between them. “Apparently, we’re ‘cute’ when we cuddle. According to Zayn.”
“Cuddle?” Louis felt the warmth rise in his cheeks instantly, brushing hair out of his eyes like it could somehow erase the evidence. “We weren’t cuddling, we were —”
“Yeah, okay.” Harry winked, brushing hair out of his eyes like he was enjoying himself. “I don’t make the rules. The lads have decided. Might be too late for denials now.”
Louis groaned, brushing hair out of his eyes like he was trying to physically erase the blush spreading across his nose. “Fantastic. Just what I needed — Niall and Zayn making this a thing.”
Harry shrugged, brushing hair out of his eyes like it was no big deal. “Could be worse.” He smirked. “At least you didn’t try to kill me in my sleep, eh?”
Louis gave a short laugh despite himself, brushing hair out of his eyes like he was brushing away the tension. “That was Plan A. Might save it for another night.”
Harry winked, brushing hair out of his eyes with a lazy smile. “Woah another night, Lou take me on a date first.”
Louis face reddened “You know i didn’t mean it like that.”
Standing up, Harry pulled on a shirt and offered a hand down to him. “Come on. Let’s get some packing
before the lads write another chapter about us in the group chat.”
Louis took the hand, brushing hair out of his eyes like he always did when he felt the sting of a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Whatever this was… it felt complicated. But for now, for this morning, he decided he didn’t mind it at all.
_____
Louis slung his bag over his shoulder and followed Harry out of the room, their footsteps soft on the hotel carpet. The quiet of the morning was still lingering around them, a calm before the storm of the day ahead.
Harry walked just a little ahead, his casual stride relaxed but confident. Louis tried to match the pace, not wanting to be left behind but also not quite ready to speak yet. The tension between them still hummed quietly beneath the surface, but for now, it was manageable.
As they reached the elevator and stepped inside, Louis caught a glance at Harry’s profile — calm, unreadable, the kind of person who always seemed a step ahead. Louis couldn’t help the flicker of irritation mixed with something he wasn’t ready to name.
When the doors slid open on the lobby floor, the familiar voices of the others carried over. Niall, Zayn, and Liam were already there, sprawled on couches and chairs, their easy camaraderie filling the space.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Niall teased with a grin, eyes lighting up as he spotted them.
“Bout time,” Liam added, standing up to offer a friendly nod at Louis.
Zayn smirked, leaning back casually. “Thought you two got lost in that room or something.”
Louis rolled his eyes but smiled anyway, the warmth of the group softening the edges of the morning’s awkwardness.
Harry slid in beside Louis on the couch, giving him a subtle glance that was almost a smirk. Louis felt the familiar flicker of nerves and tried to push it aside.
“So,” Niall began, “how’d the morning go? Sleep well in that tiny room?” His eyes flicked between Louis and Harry with obvious amusement.
Louis groaned inwardly but shrugged. “As well as it could, I guess.”
Harry chuckled quietly, the tension between them melting just a little as the group settled into easy conversation, the wait for the coach turning into something unexpectedly comfortable.
____
The coach doors closed behind them with a soft thud, and the lads began scattering down the aisle, grabbing seats and settling in for the journey. Louis hesitated for a moment, then made his decision without overthinking it — he slid into the seat beside Harry.
The moment Louis sat down, a few heads snapped around. Niall’s eyebrows shot up, Zayn smirked knowingly, and Liam gave a slow, amused smile. The teasing started almost instantly.
“Oi, Louis, picking the comfy seat or just giving Harry a hostage situation?” Niall laughed, shaking his head.
Harry shot Louis a quick, playful glance, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Didn’t need a hostage, mate. Just figured he needed some company.”
Zayn leaned over, voice low but loud enough for the others. “Or maybe Louis finally admitted Harry’s the only one who can put up with him.”
Louis smirked, shrugging with a mix of nonchalance and something like relief. “Maybe I did. Maybe stability is exactly what I need right now.”
The group burst into good-natured laughter, but Louis felt something shift inside. Sitting here, beside Harry, with all the noise and chaos around, he realized maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe Harry was the steady anchor he hadn’t known he was searching for.
As the coach pulled away from the hotel, the chatter and teasing continued, but Louis tuned most of it out, focusing instead on the quiet presence next to him. For once, the noise didn’t feel like an assault — it felt like belonging.
The hum of the engine and the low chatter from the rest of the lads wrapped around them, making their row feel like its own little space. Harry sank down a bit, brushing a hand over the back of his neck before leaning closer to Louis.
“So… am I finally off the ‘you’re the worst person alive’ list?” Harry asked, voice soft enough that it was just for the two of them. “Are we friends now? Do you… I dunno, like me at all?” The faint, hopeful tilt of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Louis didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced over slowly, brushing the tip of his tongue across the inside of his cheek as if weighing how to respond. The silence stretched long enough for Harry’s confident exterior to slip. A faint blush started crawling up the tops of his ears.
“Maybe,” Louis drawled eventually, voice low and teasing. “Maybe I just tolerate you because I’ve got no better options.”
Harry gave a shy laugh and shrugged, brushing a hand down the thigh of his joggers. “That’s still… something, right?”
Louis shifted in his seat, leaning closer until their shoulders brushed. The teasing smirk softened as he spoke. “I’m joking, Harry. You’re alright. We’re… kinda friends, I guess.” He glanced down for a second, brushing the edge of a smile with a thumbnail. “And, if I had to pick someone tolerable to be stuck with, you’d be at the top of the list.”
Harry looked over sharply, blinking like he hadn’t expected that. The hint of red that had been creeping across his ears bloomed into his cheeks, and he broke into a shy, almost disbelieving smile. “Kinda friends, huh?” he said quietly, brushing hair out of his own eyes as if trying to cover the colour rising there.
“Yeah.” Louis shrugged, leaning back into the seat like it was no big deal, brushing his knee just slightly against Harry’s as if to punctuate the point. “Kinda friends.”
And for the rest of the ride, the quiet between them felt a lot like understanding.