baby, how we spoon like no one else

by brownheadedstranger

Summary:

Harry comes out to visit Louis in Los Angeles and it's easy, to pretend that things could stay like this.

Notes:

basically, this is a thinly-veiled ode to my hometown.

Of fucking course, Louis thinks, fumbling uselessly through his pocket. It’s become standard practice, as an Annenberg student, to always carry a pen. But go figure that the one time he actually needs one, he comes up empty. 

So Louis asks the unimpressed man next to him, promises that he’ll return the pen as soon as he’s finished. He’d have batted some eyelashes or offered his wallet as collateral, but he’s in a hurry; Harry’s bound to have collected his luggage by now, if the steady stream of people climbing the arrivals ramp is any indication. 

He flips over the piece of paper and writes out CURLY STYLES against his propped up leg. It’s not particularly clever, but with a borrowed pen and a crumpled Masterlube bill, it’ll have to do. He hands the pen back, smiling beatifically to show that he’s a man of his word. 

Barely a minute later, Louis sees him. Harry looks worse for the wear after his flight, with a tired face and messy hair pulled back into a beanie. But Louis’ cheeks go warm all the same and isn’t that just the way. 5456 miles seemed like reasonable distance over the last two years, but all it takes is two seconds for Harry to make Louis’ chest tighten like nothing has changed. 

“Curly!” Louis yells, unable to hold it in. He waves the sign above his head. “Curly, over here!” 

Harry is already smiling before he even sees Louis, eyes sparkling when they finally do make contact. 

And yeah, isn’t that just the way.

***

“So you’re like, proper American now,” Harry says in the car. He already looks at home in Los Angeles, eyebrows waggling playfully from behind his Clubmasters. “Driving on the wrong side and everything.” 

“Have been for two years.” Louis nods proudly. 

“A year and a half,” Harry corrects, because he’s the type to be meticulous over these sorts of things. “And in that case, I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I said I’d forgotten your Yorkshire tea at home.” 

Louis makes a face. “Don’t give me a reason to leave you on the side of the freeway, Styles. Because believe me, I’ll do it.” 

Harry laughs. “Rude. You haven’t even shown me the Hollywood sign yet.” 

Louis pulls his sunshade down. “All in due time.” 

“I have something for you,” Harry says suddenly, reaching into his jeans and pulling out a CD. Leave it to Harry Styles to keep a fucking CD in his pocket. “Can I play it?” 

“If you can figure out my American car.” Louis sticks his tongue out, just to be a shit. 

“It’s a Honda Civic,” Harry says dryly, playing with the controls. “I think I’ll be fine. Oh, here we go.” He turns the volume up, cackling madly when the opening lines to Tupac’s ‘California Love’ start playing. 

“Seriously?” Louis shakes his head, fighting the grin tugging at his mouth. “Of all the songs?” 

“‘In the city, the city of Compton,’” Harry sings, putting the window down and sticking his arm out. “‘We keep it rocking, we keep it rocking.’” 

“We’re not even in Compton,” Louis groans. But he’s smiling in full now. 

“Good,” Harry says, adjusting his seat until it’s reclined all the way. “You have ten tracks of the same exact song to get us there.” 

Louis rolls his eyes, still smiling to himself.

*** 

They don’t make it to Compton. Instead, Louis drags Harry to In-N-Out Burger. 

“Isn’t this a big deal?” Harry asks when they get inside. “Like, a big fucking deal?” 

“A big fucking deal, yeah?” Louis mocks, smirking when Harry frowns at him. “And yeah, you haven’t done California proper until you’ve had a Double-Double.” 

Harry raises a brow. “A Double-Double?” 

Louis sighs. “I’ll order for us. Go find a table.” 

They end up in a booth near the back, and Harry’s eyes roll into the back of his head when he tries the vanilla milkshake. “Holy shit.” 

“Yeah,” Louis says, pushing a tray of food in front of him. “There’s your Double-Double.” 

Their meal is mostly quiet, save for Harry’s occasional murmurs of appreciation. Louis hadn’t accounted for how hungry Harry would be after an 11-hour flight, and he comes back to the table with two new orders of French fries — animal style, this time. 

“This is weird,” Harry whispers, holding up a sauce-covered fry. “And I’ll have onion breath for ages.” 

“But it’s good,” Louis says decisively.

Harry hums his acquiescence. “So. Where else are you taking me?”

Louis throws a fry into his mouth. “I don’t know. How long are you staying again?” 

He can feel Harry’s eyes rolling; he can’t help it if he forgets every time Harry’s mentioned his itinerary. “I leave next Saturday. So not tomorrow, but the following one.”

“Right.” Louis does the math mentally. “So seven days. A full week. How’d you manage that, then?”

“Easter hols.” Harry pauses before eating another fry. “Are you — is this okay? You’re not like, missing classes because of me?” 

“No more than usual,” Louis says easily. “Surely there’s nothing more important than playing your chaperone, after all.” 

Harry bites his lip, cheeks flushing. “I hate when you do that.” 

Louis smiles with all his teeth. “Do what?”

“When you make me seem baby,” Harry says, pouting at the last word. 

“But you are a baby,” Louis insists, swinging his feet gleefully. “Baby Styles, innit, on his first adventure in big, bad America.” 

Harry’s face darkens even more, but years of experience have conditioned Louis from taking it too seriously. Instead, he hooks their ankles together under the table, ignoring the hot wriggle of pleasure in the pit of his stomach from having made contact. Petulance is a good look for Harry, Louis decides, even when he’s pointedly avoiding Louis’ stare. 

“M’eighteen,” Harry mumbles, pulling a fry apart over his tray. “Besides, you asked me to visit.” 

“So you are,” Louis agrees. “And so I did. Because I thought you needed the experience. Never thought it would happen though, if I’m being honest.” 

Harry looks up at him, brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I promised.” 

Louis nods. “That’s true. But.” He glances down at his fingers. “No, I don’t know. I didn’t actually expect you to. LA is far and expensive and all of that. And it’s kind of shit timing, now that you’re preparing for uni and stuff.” 

“Yeah, but.” And then Harry’s hand is on Louis’ wrist, demanding his attention. Louis looks up to find Harry watching him intently. “I promised from day one. And a promise between best mates, right?” 

Louis half-smiles, twisting his hand around to catch their fingers together. It’s easy, after all this time. “Right.”

*** 

The thing is, Louis is in love with Harry. It’s always been like that: quiet and there for as long as he can remember. And funnily enough, that’s only made it worse. 

Because loving Harry is something that never gets easier, never goes away. It’s wild and persistent, much like Harry himself when they had first met in secondary school and Louis had been a goner from the very start. And it’s never changed, the way Louis has to tell himself to look but never touch, because Harry isn’t a friend so much as he’s the best friend Louis has ever had, and those don’t come around too often. 

So they grew up and grew together. Louis had his string of boys and Harry had his string of both and that was that. Neither of them ever really fell in love, as far as Harry is aware. But Louis knows better. Has always known better. 

And America, right, made so much sense. USC offered him a spot and an opportunity to move on and get over the whole thing. Because nobody ever went off to university and came back still pining for their best mate. 

Then his first year — a year of international charges and inopportune Skype calls — ended and he didn’t bother going home. Instead he found an internship with some magazine and stayed the entire summer, because missing somebody only made loving them that much harder. 

But now Louis is two years older and it’s supposed to have gotten better from the time and the distance.  

Supposed to, at least. 

***

The sun is setting when they get over to Louis’ room in Parkside. They’d stayed at In-N-Out for an extra milkshake or two, and now Harry is all lazy limbs and droopy eyelids. But he’s brilliant about keeping it to himself, always smiling when Louis looks over and never letting on about how desperately he might need to sleep.

“This is impressive,” Harry says once they’re inside. “Right posh.”

“Shut up,” Louis says, fond. “Go get washed up in the bathroom. I’ve already left you towels in there.” 

Harry digs around in his bag for a toothbrush and pants. “You don’t, like.” He pauses and stands up. “Just because I need sleep doesn’t mean you have to stay. You can go out if you want.”

Louis rolls his eyes from where he’s spread on the bed. “I know that. But we’ve got an early start in the morning and I stayed up all night writing an essay. Trust me, mate, I’m just as knackered.” 

Harry smiles, satisfied, and drops out into the hallway for a shower. Louis twists into a comfortable position on the bed, stretching out his legs.

When Harry returns to the room, he’s in nothing more than a clean pair of pants. Wet hair sticks to his forehead and his skin is the lightest red from a hot shower. Louis has to hide his own blush into the pillows; it’s been a while since he’s seen Harry like this.

“Where’s your roommate?” Harry asks from where he’s toweling off. 

Louis flips over to stare at the ceiling. “Aiden fucked off for the week, probably with his boyfriend. You can use his bed. Don’t worry; I’ve cleaned the sheets and everything.”

There’s a chuckle as the lights switch off. Louis goes to peel off his jeans just as he feels a dip in the bed and a shower-warm body slide in next to his. His breath catches in his throat. 

He looks over to where Harry’s broad body can barely fit next to his on the twin-sized bed. “Um. Harry?”

“Budge over.” Harry wriggles closer, pushing Louis toward the wall until he’s comfortable. “Aiden’s bed looks boring.” 

Louis lets out a breathless laugh. “Yeah. Because that makes sense.” 

“It does,” Harry insists with the trace of a whine. He lifts a hand to Louis’ chest and makes a disgruntled sound. “Too many clothes.”

“Maybe I like to sleep like this.” But Louis’ voice has gone all uneven; he hopes Harry can’t tell.

Harry snorts. “Fuck off. It’s hot in here.”

And that’s true, even with the air conditioner on. But Louis just groans. “Then go to Aiden’s bed.”

“Shut up and strip, Tomlinson,” Harry says, crowding Louis’ space until he has no choice but to concede.

Once his shirt and jeans have gone over the side of the bed, Louis flips onto his side, staring resolutely at the wall. They used to sleep together like this, well into sixth form. But of course, the beds were bigger and Louis was used to this.

A year and a half apart is more than enough to startle Louis when he feels Harry curl around his back, shifting until their feet are tangled and they’re comfortably slotted together on the bed. There’s a heavy arm slung around his waist and drawing him backward until he can feel soft curls tickling the back of his neck. He freezes for a moment, still watching shadows on the wall.

“G’night, Lou,” Harry mumbles, breath hot against Louis’ shoulder blade.

Louis relaxes by a fraction. “Night, H.” 

*** 

Waking Harry in the mornings has always been a challenge. But as it turns out, he’s even more unmovable when jet-lagged. So Louis rolls out of bed, already half hard from the way Harry had been pressing on him all night, and into a hot shower for a lazy wank. Once he’s gelled his hair, he grabs untoasted bagels from the dining hall and brings them back to throw repeatedly at Harry’s head until he wakes up.

They hit the freeway two hours later than planned, but that’s fine.

“Hazza and Lou go to Malibuuu!” Harry screams out the window as soon as they’re roaring down PCH. “Oh my god,” he says, turning to Louis. “Malibu Lou. You’re Malibu Lou!”

Louis frowns, his expression stormy and out of place against the cloudless skies outside. But Harry is bright and happy and here in California with him, a burst of energy where there had been nothing before. And he’s giggling — honest to god giggling, and fuck it if Louis doesn’t end up giggling, too. 

“That’s not fair though,” Louis says, glancing over at Harry through his sunglasses. “I can’t call you anything. And Malibu Lou. That’s like, demeaning almost. Like calling me Malibu Ken or summat.” 

Harry laughs again, some of it getting lost in the wind blowing through the car. “Malibu Ken is fit, all right?” 

Louis snorts, watching as Harry turns down the radio so that they can hear each other better. It doesn’t make much of a difference, what with the windows down and everything. But he can see the way that Harry seems to radiate pure fucking joy, and Louis would hate him if he didn’t happen to love him so much.

“Besides,” Harry says, kicking his flip-flopped feet onto the dashboard, “if you’re Malibu Ken, I can be your Malibu Barbie.” 

“Now that sounds about right,” Louis says brightly, yelling like a madman when Harry reaches over to pinch his side. 

*** 

When they get there, Louis’ cheeks are worn from laughing and Harry’s hair is a windblown architectural mess sitting on top of his head. They nudge and shove into each other the entire walk down to the beach. It’s surprisingly busy even for the first weekend in April, or perhaps because of it. Summer is just around the corner, and with salt in the air and his best mate at his side, Louis can nearly taste it. 

They find a spot between two families; close enough to the water that they would still be able to keep an eye on their things if they both went for a swim. Louis sets up their blanket while Harry takes off his tank top and wiggles his toes in the hot sand. For a pale northern boy, Harry seems so at home in the Californian sunshine, and it would be so easy to believe that this could be their life for more than this weekend.

But Louis swallows the thought. Can’t ask for more when he’s already received so much. 

“Now I see why you’re so tan all the time,” Harry says, glancing out at the beach. 

Louis peels his own shirt off. “Make no mistake, Styles; this is au naturel.” 

“You’re a Donny boy through and through and your cosmetic tricks can’t fool me,” Harry says, stretching his arms and exposing the menagerie of tattoos hidden there. “I think I’ll have a swim. You coming?” 

Louis shakes his head and holds out a bottle of sun tan lotion. “Have to stave away the Yorkshire paleness somehow.” 

Harry rolls his eyes with a muttered, “Suit yourself,” before running down to the water, milky limbs flailing in every direction on the way down. People stare, but Louis pays them no mind.

Later, after having half dozed off without even realizing it, Louis wakes up to water dripping onto his back, and he’s pretty sure he’s only slightly burnt. He flips over and finds Harry standing over him, grinning wildly before shaking his hair around and getting Louis wetter. 

“You’re a fucking menace,” Louis crows, batting at Harry to keep him away.

“And you’re boring.” Harry drops down next to him, careful to keep his sandy toes away from the towel. “I thought this was quality Malibu Ken and Malibu Barbie time. Not nap time.” 

“They’re one in the same,” Louis says, pinching Harry’s cheek for the hell of it. “And what more could you want? Haven’t you already had your swim?” 

Harry pouts, widening his eyes in a way that’s worked on Louis all these years. “I want to go surfing.” 

Louis stares at him blankly. “Surfing?” 

“Surfing.” Harry nods. “You’re always going on about it. I’d suggest having lunch first, but our sandwiches have gone all soggy in the ice.” He frowns over at their cooler. 

“Brilliant,” Louis says, rubbing at his eyes. “We don’t even have wetsuits, H.” 

“We’ll rent some then.” Harry points to a shack down further on the beach. “C’mon, over there. Teach me your ways, Lou, pleeease.” 

Louis groans, but it’s all for show, because he knows there’s no point in arguing with Harry. Least of all when he gets hyped up and excited, his body buzzing with potential energy. 

“Come on,” Harry pushes, voice bordering on impatient. 

Louis stands up, cracking his back on the way. He’s always had a hard time saying no to Harry. 

*** 

The stupid shack is all out of surfboards by the time they get there, so they’re forced to use body boards instead. Louis is only somewhat crestfallen, lamenting the missed opportunity to see Harry’s failed attempts at standing and balancing out on the water. But Harry isn’t deterred, all happy grins when they’re handed their boards and wetsuits. 

“Look, Lou.” Harry holds it up, amazed. “It’s practically a surfboard, but for your body.” 

Louis snorts. This is the boy he’s chosen to pine over uselessly. “Well that’s why it’s called a body board, innit.” 

Harry swats at his arm with his board before running down frantically to the water and forcing Louis to chase after him. They look out of place: two schoolchildren running on the sand amidst a sea of college coeds and retirees on vacation. But they’re cackling wildly as they go along, and Louis figures that’s not a bad thing.

Boarding is an entirely different story, if only because Louis’ theories regarding Harry’s coordination prove correct, after all. It takes all of thirty seconds before a rogue wave or a slippery hand ends with Harry losing control of his board and plunging headfirst into the water. Louis wipes out several times himself, though that’s more to do with his uncontrollable laughter than any real absence of skill. 

“Oh, Haz,” Louis tries after Harry comes up with a mouthful of water. “M’sorry, really, I am, but — ” But then he’s laughing again, up until Harry spits right in his face. 

The rest of the afternoon goes on like that, with Harry’s determination to ride one fucking wave and Louis’ shoddy attempts at encouragement. By the time they get out of the water, half of the beach has cleared out and they’re walking back to the shack, arms thrown around each other’s shoulders. 

“I got better, really,” Harry swears as they pack up the car. 

Louis thinks about this. “Maybe compared to Zayn, who couldn’t find his way out of a wading pool to save his life. But compared to me…” He trails off, gloating as Harry pouts after him. 

“We’ll go to the beach a second time. Give me another chance,” Harry begs, sliding into the passenger’s seat. 

Louis starts the engine. “Maybe. I’ll think about it,” he says, turning up the heat. “And take this fucking CD out of my stereo before I murder you.” 

*** 

They end up on Louis’ bed with a bag of take out from the Taco Bell across the street. He’s lucky that Harry isn’t particular about his food, even while on holiday. It doesn’t take much to please Harry, Louis thinks, when it comes to things like this. 

“Oh hey,” Harry says mid-taco. He reaches over the bed for his rucksack. “This reminds me.”

Louis scrubs his mouth with the back of his hand. “Taco Bell reminds you of something?” 

Harry gives him a look before pulling out a camera. Louis instantly recognizes it as Harry’s step-dad’s, an old film one they had used from time to time before being able to afford digital ones of their own. 

“No, no,” Louis says, preemptively holding out his hand to block his face. “None of that, least of all while I’m eating.” 

“Louis,” Harry whines, batting uselessly at his arm. “Come on, I want it to be authentic!” 

“And you think authentic means taking pictures of me with my face in a taco?” Louis asks, scooting up the bed to get away from him. 

Harry shakes his head, smirking. “Please. Like your face has ever gotten anywhere near a taco.”

“Oi!” Louis cries, actually reaching over to punch Harry in his shoulder. But Harry takes advantage of the moment to snap a photo, and Louis hides his face away once he realizes what’s happened. 

“You’re the absolute worst,” Louis moans, his complaints muffled by his pillow. “I demand all copies and negatives once this week is over.” 

“Never.” Harry takes a proud bite out of his chicken quesadilla. “I’m keeping these pictures until the very day I die.” 

*** 

Their second day is meant to be a full-on tour of Los Angeles. So Louis only hits the snooze button twice on his phone and wakes up at 10:45, spitting out curls when he wakes up with his mouth in Harry’s hair. His suite is quiet — most likely hungover from last night’s parties — when he slips out to the dining hall in his bed shirt, trackies, and socks. When he gets back with toast and fruit, Harry is already awake and waiting. 

“M’sore,” Harry complains, catching one of Louis’ oranges midair. 

“That’ll be your lack of balance coming back to get you,” Louis says, jumping aside when Harry swings a leg at his arse. “Behave, you.” 

Harry smirks. “What’s the plan today, boss?” 

“I’m thinking the Farmers Market first,” Louis says, sitting down at his desk. 

“The market,” Harry repeats blankly. “We have enough of those back home, don’t you reckon?” 

“Ha, ha.” Louis sticks out his tongue, backing away when Harry reaches over to pinch it. “And no, this one’s great. It’s a landmark and world class tourist destination,” he says loftily, repeating the words straight from the Internet.

Harry flings an orange peel at Louis’ forehead. “If you say so.” 

*** 

It’s just gone twelve when they get to the Market. It’s busy, if the parking lot is anything to go by, which isn’t all too surprising for lunchtime on a Sunday. Harry mutters something under his breath about Camden and Borough and Louis has to twist a finger in his gut to remind him that LA is a place entirely different from London and doesn’t he realize he doesn’t even live in London, the dolt. 

They meander through the crowd for the first half hour to build up an appetite. Louis tugs Harry behind him, dragging him into every souvenir shop and forcing him to look through every ridiculous knockoff item on display. By the time they’ve reached the opposite end of the Market, Harry has a chipped magnet shaped into a woman’s bust; a dusty and pixilated postcard of Marilyn Monroe on the beach; and an LA snow globe — absent of any snow, of course.

“Your mum will love them, trust me,” Louis insists, drawing Harry into his side by the waist. He tells himself it’s to keep Harry from getting lost; he’s very scatterbrained that way. 

“Then maybe I’ll swing by Jay’s and give them to her instead,” Harry drawls, eyes alight. “I’m sure she’d give the magnet off to Daisy and Phoebe to play with.” 

Louis’ face falls. “You’re a monster, Styles.” 

Harry grins and wraps his arm around Louis’, too, his hand squeezing just above the hollow of Louis’ hip. 

Louis leads them both to his favourite spot: a little Brazilian grill with a line out the door stretching all the way around the corner. Harry rumble-groans at the sight, but Louis insists that the food — the garlic beef, in particular — is well worth the wait. 

“Can’t I just get a burger?” Harry whines into Louis’ ear. 

“Don’t be a child,” Louis admonishes. But he pats the small of Harry’s back to show he doesn’t really mean it. “I saw Camilla Belle in line here once, you know.” 

Harry looks up at him, chin propped up on Louis’ shoulder. “Is she the one in that Taylor Swift song?” 

Louis shrugs. “Anyway, you’re in the company of celebrities. Bask in it.” 

Harry snorts, his breath tickling Louis’ neck. Louis bites down on his smile. 

This way, held together like this with their arms around each other, he can pretend that they’re — more than they actually are. It’s easy, really, surrounded by real couples and families. The world keeps spinning, it’s a normal Sunday at the Farmers Market, and it’s easy.

Easy is nice. 

They’re sitting down twenty minutes later in the upstairs seating area, plates full of leafy greens and colourful vegetables to balance the pile of char-grilled meats. Harry seems more than satisfied with his first bite, and Louis resists the temptation to say I told you so.

*** 

“It’s a Sunday,” Harry says disbelievingly, staring out at the patch of traffic ahead of them on the freeway. “Where the hell is everyone going?” 

Louis shakes his head and pushes his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose. “The laws of traffic don’t need to make sense in this city.” 

Harry huffs impatiently, reclining his seat and folding his arms across his chest. The camera is sitting on his lap now, holding inside of it several new pictures from their trek along the Hollywood Walk of Fame. “Do we really need to get cupcakes?” 

“We’re not going for the cupcakes; we’re going for the ice cream,” Louis reminds him gently. “And besides, it’s not as if we can do anything about it now. We’re stuck on the bloody I-10. There’s no way to get out even if we wanted.” 

Harry turns to look longingly out the window, out over all the rooftops, the palm trees, and the smoggy horizon. “But surely these cupcakes aren’t worth the two hour wait? That’s — nobody would do that back home, ever. It’s mad, that’s what.” 

“Then don’t think about it as two hours waiting for cupcakes,” Louis says, staring out at the road and praying for some movement. “Think of it as spending two hours with your very best mate. That should help.” 

Harry is quiet about this at first, the gears moving around in his head. Then, “That does, actually. Thanks.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Of course, you twat.” 

“My very best mate,” Harry echoes, grinning dopily at him. 

Louis takes a deep breath to keep from blushing or something stupid like that. Instead, he reaches over to run several fingers through Harry’s hair. He massages the scalp lightly, just above his ear, to show most of how he feels. It seems to work when Harry leans easily into the touch and sighs happily. Things like this are always reassuring; it tells Louis that in spite of the miles, the years, or whatever else in between, he’ll always know Harry and how he works best. 

“But, like,” Harry starts thoughtfully, eyes still closed under Louis’ ministrations. “Can’t we just listen to my CD again? I miss it.” 

“Never,” Louis says sternly. 

Harry frowns. “Doesn’t this country play anything other than the same fucking Usher song over and over again?” 

Louis drops his hand down to pat at Harry’s wrist consolingly. 

“No,” Louis says very seriously. “No, it doesn’t.” 

*** 

The line isn’t too unreasonable by the time they get to Sprinkles, and certainly not two hours worth of a wait. But it’s still long enough from where they fall in line, their appetites still thankfully quelled from the barbecue. Harry isn’t too fussy while they stand on the sidewalk, waiting in the shade of the next-door yoghurt place. In fact, he’s rather wrapped up in the sights, with his eyes wide and glazed over as he takes in the full poshness of Beverly Hills around him. 

“I’m going to move here one day,” Harry declares, ogling a silver sports car that drives by. 

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says, fondly squeezing Harry’s elbow. “Dream big, babycakes.” 

Harry just grins at him, draping another one of his arms across Louis’ shoulders. It’s almost frightening how naturally this comes to them now, Louis thinks. “We can do it, you know. You and me. We can pool our resources together.” 

“Yeah, we just need to get rich first,” Louis says, chuckling. 

“‘Oh let’s get rich and buy our parents homes in the south of France,’” Harry sing-whispers into Louis’ hair, and Louis can feel the smile there. “‘Let’s get rich and give everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance.’” 

Louis is already smiling himself and he has to clear his throat to speak properly. “How about we focus on buying ourselves a home in Beverly Hills first?” 

“But you’ll do it with me?” Harry asks lazily as he sniffs Louis’ hair. He sniffs Louis’ hair and Louis has shivers going up and down his spine. “‘You and I, you and I, you and I.’” 

“I, erm.” Louis stands straighter, ignoring the way Harry’s weight still presses into him. “Yeah, sure. Definitely.” 

Harry kisses the top of his head. “Excellent.” 

When they get to the counter inside, Louis’ cheeks still haven’t stopped burning bright red and Harry has been decent enough to keep from commenting on it. Louis orders for both of them, since Harry couldn’t possibly be trusted to do it on his own, and the girl working the register visibly swoons when Harry mutters his thanks. 

Figures that even in this country, Louis thinks, Harry has a way of charming everybody he meets. It must be just one of those things. 

They sit down with their desserts, perched on the windowsill that the shop turns into a bench when it’s sunny enough outside. Harry stares down at his red cone and red velvet cupcake-infused ice cream, watching it warily as though it might be pretending to be something it’s not. 

“Jesus, Harry,” Louis says once it’s gone on for more than a minute. 

Harry frowns once before taking a careful lick. Louis could pinch him for turning this into an unnecessary drama. So he does.

“Ow,” Harry yelps, rubbing the welt on his arm with a soothing thumb. 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Well?” 

Harry smirks, obviously attuned to how mad he’s making Louis. But finally, “It’s really fucking good, okay? Worth the wait.” 

This time, Louis doesn’t hold back. 

“I told you so.” 

*** 

“So what is this now?” Harry asks as they board the orange rail car. Outside, the sky is a brilliant shade of pink, the way it only ever gets just before a spectacular sunset. 

Louis slides next to him on one of the wooden benches. “Haven’t you ever seen (500) Days of Summer?” 

Harry watches him skeptically from the corner of his eye. “Yes. Why?” 

“Oh come on, love,” Louis says just as the car lurches and begins its ascent. “Even you couldn’t possibly be that thick.” 

“I’ve just paid fifty cents for this rickety old thing,” Harry says, just loud enough for the only other people in the car — a father and daughter pair — to look over. “The least you can tell me is our final destination.” 

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds proper ominous,” Louis muses, grinning devilishly. “Doesn’t it?” 

Harry sighs. 

*** 

After nearly fifteen minutes of waiting off to the side for the couple to finally fuck off, it’s their turn at the bench. But before Harry can take his seat, Louis grabs him by the elbow and pulls him back so he can properly see the plaque screwed onto the back. 

“‘Days (95) and (488),’” Harry repeats aloud. “‘Tom’s favorite place becomes one of Summer’s too.’” He looks up at Louis. “Shit, you weren’t kidding.” 

“Well, obviously,” Louis says, like it’s plain to see. “Come on, let’s have our turn.” 

They sit there for a while, silently looking on at the explosion of colour above the parking garage in front of them. It’s late enough that most of Angels Knoll is empty, and they’re pleasantly undisturbed by any other people who might be looking for a chance at the bench for themselves. The nighttime prowlers aren’t due for another hour or so, and when Louis says that much aloud, he’s certain that he doesn’t imagine the way Harry seems to inch even closer to him. 

Harry rests his head on Louis’ shoulder, flyaway curls tucked just beneath his ear. “This is nice. Thanks.” 

Louis swallows. “I treat you right, Haz. Don’t let them tell you otherwise.” 

He nearly jumps when he feels Harry’s hand slide down, working its way in the gap until their fingers are laced properly. Louis thinks he might stop breathing. 

“Never,” Harry says. 

Louis just squeezes tight, hoping that it’s more than enough to say what he can’t. 

*** 

The next morning brings about a mild stomachache from yesterday’s junk, so Louis plugs in his tiny percolator and drops Yorkshire teabags into two of his favourite mugs from home. While the tea steeps, he shoots off a quick email to his Monday professors about his failing health. Just to cover all his bases. 

When he throws the teabags out, Louis nudges Harry awake in the side with his toes. He can’t help the helpless sort of laugh he makes when Harry stares up at him with bleary eyes before reaching out with grabby hands, clearly having spotted the mug in Louis’ hand. 

“Tastes like home,” Louis remarks from where he’s sitting at his desk. 

“Feels like home, too,” Harry adds, inhaling some of the steam from his mug. “Thanks to you, of course.” 

Louis doesn’t know what to say to that, so he opts for silence instead. He sips around a bit of fuzz floating at the top of his tea. From the corner of his eye, he sees Aiden’s made-up bed and he wonders if it was meant to stay that way all along.

Suddenly, Louis is startled by the sound of a shutter clicking, and he instantly glowers when he sees Harry’s wide grin and the camera in his hands. 

“You’re a fucking shit,” Louis says, mustering as much heat as he can into one sentence. 

But Harry seems unaffected. “You seemed so…soft,” he offers, waving a hand into some gesture that’s meant to represent softness. “And it was good lighting, so.” He shrugs, reaching over to the windowsill for his tea. 

“All the negatives, Styles,” Louis reminds him darkly. “All of them.”

“I want to go to the beach,” Harry clips, as though he’s just remembered. “I dreamt about it.” 

“The beach? Again?” Louis sets down his mug. Already, his stomach is feeling better. The power of Yorkshire tea, honestly. 

“Yes, again.” Harry sits up straighter so the blanket falls and gathers in his lap, just beneath the long expanse of his bare torso. Louis has to remind himself not to look so intently. “A different beach, this time. It almost seems like a waste to be in California — in LA — without going to as many beaches as possible.” 

“You’re a tyrant,” Louis says, pointedly looking away when Harry stumbles out of the bed in nothing but his pants. 

“And you’re a god,” Harry replies, smacking a wet, openmouthed kiss to Louis’ cheek.

He tries for a suitable response, but by the time he’s unfrozen long enough to get one out, Harry is already out of the room and in the bath. 

*** 

Huntington Beach is decidedly busier than the one in Malibu, if only because it doesn’t have the luxury of being serviced by one road and one road only. But it is a weekday, which Louis assumes can only count in their favour when they find a parking spot on the street within reasonable walking distance to the beach. 

“I like this one better,” Harry decides, already taking off his sandals in preparation for the sand. “More palm trees.” 

Louis laughs. “I’m pretty sure that’s actually not the truth.” 

Harry shrugs. “Wanna race?” 

But before Louis can respond, Harry is already tearing ahead of him, his feet kicking up sand in his wake. At least this time, they’re not dragging along a heavy cooler, and Louis actually manages to catch up and tackle Harry into the sand. Several groups around them take notice and cheer them on, and Louis crows with victory when he pins Harry down beneath him. 

“The sun is hitting you just right from this angle,” Harry says breathlessly, gazing up at Louis. “Sort of wish I had my camera right now.” 

Louis flushes and rolls off of Harry immediately, fumbling with their beach bag instead to hide his face. “Don’t get any funny ideas, you,” he says weakly, laying the blanket out.

But he finds his resolve tested once more when Harry takes his shirt off and drops onto his stomach, looking over his shoulder expectantly. 

“Yes?” Louis asks, quirking his brow. 

“I want to tan,” Harry says simply. “Put lotion on my back, won’t you?” 

Louis’ mouth goes dry. “Seriously?” 

Harry frowns, almost like he can’t quite understand the joke. “How else should I go about doing this?” 

And that, well, that makes perfect sense. So Louis manipulates his expression into something blank and unreadable as he reaches over for the sun tan lotion, trying his hardest in his mind to keep this from turning into something that it very obviously isn’t. But with the softness of Harry’s skin out and available to him like that, it’s nearly impossible to keep his mind from wandering to where it isn’t allowed. 

He — can’t, is the thing. And he knows that, knows that perfectly well. He’s had it rehearsed in his mind, practiced over and over again that this, them, HarryandLouis can’t extend into anything else. Even with the last two days behind them — and fucking hell, only two full days — none of it means anything. Because when it comes down to it, Harry lives in England, Louis lives in LA, and they’re each other’s best mates. 

There’s nothing else written beyond that.

Still, that doesn’t keep Louis from taking his time applying the lotion onto Harry’s back. He drags it out evenly, smoothing it across his skin with utmost care. It needs to be meticulous, Louis reasons, and when he finally finishes up, he goes as far to the opposite edge of the blanket as he can manage. He had planned on tanning, but he figures he’s had enough by now. More than enough. 

He keeps his attention on a book for school, and when Harry stands up some time later to go for a swim, Louis rejects the invitation and lies there instead: book on his face, heart in his throat. 

***

California is certainly doing Harry favours because he is definitely browner when he returns to their blanket, but that’s a thought Louis keeps privately to himself. After toweling off, Harry suggests lunch and then maybe a walk around the area before coming back to the beach. Louis has no complaints. Hell, he would probably do anything Harry asked at this point, so he nods before rolling off to pack their blanket. 

Louis hears Harry snap a photo on his camera, but he doesn’t say anything about it. 

They have lunch in the Ruby’s at the end of the pier. It’s basically a repeat performance of Harry’s first meal in LA, with burgers, fries, and a milkshake each. But they switch burgers midway through, and Louis focuses hard on his plate when Harry hooks their ankles together under the table before sending him a cheeky wink. 

Afterward, they’re still just hungry enough that it’s well within reason to travel down the pier to the Jamba Juice on Main Street. Louis orders an Aloha Pineapple while Harry orders a Mega Mango, and Louis wonders what it might be like to kiss the mango from off Harry’s lips. 

“You okay?” Harry asks once they’re heading back down to the beach. 

Louis nods. “Definitely. S’nice out, innit?” 

Harry smiles, but there’s a touch of caution there that Louis doesn’t miss. Shit. “Yeah, it is.” 

They’re stopped by a rogue volleyball that veers their way, and Harry is just quick enough to jump up and catch it. The girl that comes running in their direction is wearing nothing but her swimsuit, of course. 

“Thanks for that,” she says, smiling at the pair of them. Louis returns the gesture, albeit closed-mouthed. 

“No problem,” Harry says, adjusting the headband keeping his curls out of his face. “You might want to keep an eye on that next time out.” 

The girl is visibly intrigued. “Not from around here, are you?” And also very simple, Louis decides. 

Harry laughs all bright and tinkly, the one that reels them in if he hasn’t already. “You’re observant. And nah, me and my mate are Englishmen.” Louis goes easily when Harry drags him over, arm fastened securely around his waist. 

“Huh,” she says, sizing them up closely. She’s looking specifically their points of contact, Louis realizes. He tries wriggling away, but Harry won’t have it. “Anyway, several of my friends and I are on spring break, if you want to join? If not, that’s cool, too.” 

Harry looks over at Louis, asking wordlessly with his eyes and Louis could laugh because this is so cliché. But their bodies are tucked together carefully, his warmth sliding seamlessly into Harry’s, and he would be a fool to say no like this. 

“Sure,” he says, eyes zeroed in on Harry’s. “Might as well.” 

*** 

Volleyball comes easily enough, even for a sport neither of them has practiced much. They get put on opposing sides, naturally, and it becomes awkward enough playing with a bunch of shirtless coeds that Louis and Harry are eventually forced into taking their shirts off, as well. 

“You’re not pale,” says a guy on Harry’s team. “Aren’t you supposed to be pale?”

Louis tries very hard not to spike the ball into his face. 

He lasts two full games before claiming exhaustion and sitting down on the sidelines. Harry keeps playing, and he winks in Louis’ direction every time he scores a point. Louis has to sit on his hands to physically keep himself from playing Harry’s personal cheerleader. 

After the third game, Harry joins Louis on the sand, wrapping an arm around the small of his back. This time, Louis is painfully aware of the way their heated skin is touching, and the way that several of the girls are watching them with amusement in their eyes. Louis, on the other hand, isn’t very amused.

“I’m a bit knackered,” Louis says, standing up. “Think I might head down and nap in the sun. You can stay if you want.” 

He turns around and heads off without bothering to say goodbye, or wait for Harry. 

*** 

That night, Louis tells Harry that he has a last minute journal entry to finish for one of his English classes, and that he should probably just head to bed without him. Harry pauses before nodding. He climbs into bed and curls up under the sheets while Louis sits at the desk, staring at a blank sheet of paper. 

When Louis finally slides in next to Harry, it’s the first time all week that they haven’t fallen asleep wrapped up around each other.

*** 

Any plans Louis might have had to sleep in and laze around in bed are immediately dashed away when he wakes to someone poking him in the cheek. Repeatedly. Repeatedly and urgently. 

“Lou. Lou. Lou.” 

Louis slowly wakes, his senses still clouded and hazy but clear enough to see Harry standing over him and smell the shampoo in his hair and the coffee on his breath. Christ, he’s had an entire morning and Louis can barely string together words in his current state of mind. 

“Haz.” He smacks his lips together, slowly coming to terms with the fact that he’s still in bed. Through the window, he can see that the sun has barely risen, if it has at all. “Harry, what the fuck?” 

Harry grins, pleased, almost like this is the reaction he had been hoping for. “Lou. It’s 6 am.” 

Louis blinks, wanting very much to believe that he hasn’t heard correctly. “Excuse me? It’s 6 am and you’re awake…why? Better yet, you’ve woken me up, why?” 

Harry pokes him in the cheek again and Louis is very tempted to bite his fucking finger off. That would teach him. 

“I’ve been doing some Googling,” Harry says, like that makes any sense. 

“Right now?” Louis groans, shifting away because he’s starting to realize how awful his breath must be. “It’s 6 am, like, 6 in the morning, and you’re Googling?” 

Harry sighs, exasperated. “No. Well, I mean. Just once to make sure, right, and I’ve decided — I want to go hiking.” 

Right about now would be the perfect time for Louis’ mind to short circuit. “You want to go hiking?” 

“To the Hollywood sign,” Harry confirms, nodding. “I’ve done my research and, like, you’re supposed to get there early to beat traffic, first off, but also because you don’t want to hike under direct sunlight because that’s bad, apparently. So right now is the perfect time. If we leave soon, that is, and you get out of bed. I have directions and everything, so we’re ready to go. Or, well, nearly.” He looks down mournfully at Louis’ supine position. “Are you getting up, then?” 

Louis takes a moment to process this new information, and he can almost find it in himself to appreciate the extent of Harry’s preparedness. Harry has always been like this, always been ready and raring to go for things that he ends up taking a particular passion for, and Louis might even find it cute if it weren’t for the fact that the sun isn’t even out because it’s 6 in the fucking morning. 

“Lou?” Harry pokes him again and Louis just deflates in defeat. “Louis, come on.” 

Louis groans, loud and drawn out. 

“Oh my god,” Harry says, half laughing. “Louis, I want to get a parking spot, so get the fuck up.” 

*** 

The sun is out but the air still has a chill to it by the time Louis and Harry hit the trail. Theirs is the only car parked at the bottom of the dusty hill, and Harry has the decency to look ashamed when Louis shoots him a dirty look. But he’s up now, and he’s actually always meant to do this, so this is the perfect excuse to finally get around to it. And it’s not like Aiden would have gotten his lazy arse out of bed for this, so Louis figures that his company isn’t too bad, either. 

They hike silently for the first forty-five minutes, each of them taking in the scenery at their own pace. Twice, the backs of their hands brush, and Louis has to look down at his feet. When he looks up, Harry is smiling for whatever reason, and Louis is jealous of how easy it’s always been for him. 

Once they hit another fork in the trail, Harry asks for Louis’ permission to take a picture of him. The thing is, he’s not camera shy. But Harry gets to go back home with that stupid camera, and all the pictures and memories inside of it. And — something about that just doesn’t seem fair to Louis. Harry gets to go back to England with physical evidence, and Louis gets to lie awake at night, wondering if maybe there wasn’t something more. 

But then again, these things haven’t always been fair. And if there’s anyone in the world that got to have it all, Louis would rather it were Harry. 

“Sure,” he says, striking a pose. “But make sure you get my good side.” 

“Twat,” Harry mutters, shaking his head, but it comes out fond. Louis slides his hands back down to his sides and, for lack of anything better to do, just smiles. 

Harry is smiling, too, by the end of it, and he wrings an arm around Louis’ elbow for the remainder of their hike up. It makes walking uphill somewhat harder, but that’s okay. “That’s my favourite one yet, I think.” 

“I love how soppy you get,” Louis says, pinching Harry’s cheek. He’s aiming to tease but falls just short of the mark. 

Harry doesn’t say anything, just tightens his hold on Louis.

***

“This is it?” Louis asks. He’s trying his hardest to hide his disappointment, yet failing horribly. For all that he’s expected, he’s not prepared for the fence between him and the back of the Hollywood sign. 

But Harry, on the other hand, is awed. And that’s just been him, for as long as they’ve known each other. It doesn’t take much to impress Harry, and Louis thinks that that’s actually pretty special. Besides, he’s more focused on Harry’s expression than he is with the sights around them. 

“This is it,” Harry says, winding several fingers through the chain link fence. He turns away from the sign to look at Louis. “Lou, isn’t it great?” 

Louis has always had a hard time lying to Harry. The right question, he’s always thought; all it would take was the right question and Louis would have no defense. But it’s never come around; probably never will, so instead he settles for simpler things like this. And he’s already smiling before he can properly answer. 

“Yeah,” he says, eyes still locked with Harry’s. “Amazing, yeah.” 

Harry smiles softly. “Thanks for taking me here.” He reaches between them to grab Louis’ hand, tangling their fingers. “Love you, Lou.” 

Louis squeezes their fingers together, lips drawn into a tight smile. “Love you too, Haz.” 

Harry beams at that and looks back at LA sprawled in front of them, holding onto Louis for several more moments before letting go and digging through his rucksack. 

“What do you say to another picture?” Harry asks, offering him the camera sheepishly. 

Louis just nods. “You this time?” 

Harry sidles up close to Louis and hands him the camera. “Both of us.” 

Louis bites down on his lip. “Both of us, eh?”

“And you have to take it,” Harry says warmly, holding on tightly around Louis’ waist.

“Why me?” Louis asks, glancing over at Harry and pouting. “You’re the one with the longer limbs.” 

Harry shrugs, ducking down to nose lightly at Louis’ temples. “S’just something that you have to do.” 

Louis shivers and stares down into the lens of the camera, momentarily frightened that it might see everything and leave it there for Harry to discover later on. But then Harry digs his fingers into Louis’ side, and that’s enough to spur him into action. 

“All right.” Louis holds the camera up at arm’s length, aiming it at their faces. “Now, I can’t promise greatness or anything.” 

Harry huffs a laugh and angles himself so that he’s smiling directly at the camera. Louis does the same thing, struggling to smile and count down from five at the same time. 

“Three…two…one…” 

At the same time he presses down on the button, Louis feels Harry’s lips against his cheek, and he nearly drops the camera in response. But then Harry is pulling away, just as quick as he’d swept in, and smiling that same smile that Louis had seen yesterday with those girls at the beach, and a million other times before that. It makes his stomach flip-flop, and he clenches his hands into fists just for something to do. 

“Never mind,” Harry says, taking the camera from Louis and already putting it away. “That’s my favourite one, definitely.” 

*** 

Harry is kind enough to let Louis nap when they get back to Parkside. He even joins him for the first hour, nuzzling into Louis’ side and breathing in his air before rolling out of bed and back outside, his sense of adventure hardly satiated. When Louis wakes up again, it’s to Harry sneaking into the room and offering him a coffee frappuccino from Starbucks. 

“You’re, like, having fun, yeah?” Louis asks, sitting cross-legged on his bed. 

Harry blinks, looking up from where he’s on the floor and flipping through Louis’ movie collection. “What, today?” 

Louis waves a hand in the air. “No. I mean, more like, everything so far.” 

“Oh.” Harry tilts his head the way he only ever does when he’s confused. “Yeah, of course. It’s been brilliant so far.”

Louis lets out a sigh of relief. “Good. Yeah, that’s, that’s good. Just making sure.” 

Harry raises his eyebrows. “And what about you? Are you — I mean, is this good for you?” 

“Yeah,” Louis says quickly, nodding. “It’s been. Yeah, it’s a blast. I’m, um — I’m glad you’re here, H.” 

Harry brightens visibly at that, the lines of his shoulders relaxing. He holds up the DVD for The Amazing Spider-Man. “I haven’t seen this yet.” 

“Come on up, then.” Louis pats the space next to him on the bed, positioning his laptop in the gap between them once Harry clambers up. 

They’re about two-thirds of the way into the movie — The Lizard has just infiltrated the high school — when Louis gets a text from Ellie, a girl in one of his seminars.

“Hey, Haz?” 

Harry doesn’t look away from the computer screen. “Yeah?” 

“What do you say to a party later tonight, maybe?” Louis asks, wary. He doesn’t, like, want to force Harry into anything, and he rarely ever goes out himself these days because of work or pure laziness. But it could be a good time and quintessentially American, if that’s even a thing.

Harry shrugs, sparing him a quick smile before going back to the movie. “Sure. Sounds good. Party and bullshit and all that, yeah?” 

Louis snorts. “Thanks, Rita.” 

Harry wrinkles his nose. “Biggie, actually.” 

Louis rolls his eyes because with Harry, there’s always a difference. He fixes a response for Ellie to tell her that they’ll be there. 

*** 

As it turns out, the party isn’t so much Ellie’s party as it is a combined party on the floor of Ellie’s apartment complex. Which is fine, Louis thinks, if it weren’t for the fact that he hasn’t seen Harry in half an hour. Or that he hasn’t been able to find a full can of beer since getting there. Or that being sober, without Harry, is definitely not on his list of Best Things To Do Ever. 

Louis manages a vodka shot and the corner of a pot brownie in one of the back apartments before setting off to find Harry. The music is loud and obnoxious — one of those dreadful Pitbull songs this time around — and he really just wants to get back to his room. Maybe throw in another movie or something. 

First, he has to find Harry. 

Which isn’t too hard, apparently, because Louis finds Harry in the apartment over, propped up against a wall and surrounded by a group of girls with his arm around one of their waists. 

Louis freezes in the doorway, unsure of where to go. He hadn’t considered what it might mean if Harry wanted to pull, and now that it looks like more and more of a possibility, he certainly doesn’t want to get in the way. Frankly, the thought is a bit nauseating, though that might be more to do with the contents of his stomach than anything else. 

So he makes to back out, fairly confident in Harry’s ability to find his way back in the morning or, at the very least, to ring him on his cheap mobile rental — 

Until Harry is calling out his name and waving him over. Fuck. 

“Hey, Haz,” Louis supplies, carefully intruding on their circle in the corner. “Made a few friends, did we?” 

“Oh he has an accent, too,” says one of the girls, looping her arm around Louis’ and smiling sloppily at him. “My name is Tori.” 

Louis glances over at Harry, who seems thoroughly amused. “I’m Louis.” 

“Your accent,” Tori says, stumbling heavily into his side. “I like it.” 

Harry laughs, fuzzy and slow like it gets when he’s drunk. “I like it, too. Better than mine, I think.” 

Louis frowns. “That’s a lie.” And for whatever reason, the other girls find that funny enough to laugh.

“We were telling Harry to come back to the DG House with us,” Tori slurs, resting her blond head against Louis’ bicep. “Delta Gamma,” another girl confirms when she sees Louis’ confusion. 

“Ah, I see.” Louis looks over at Harry, who winks at him. Harry is red cheeks, shiny lips and glassy eyes, and even in this shit lighting, Louis thinks he’s kind of beautiful. 

“But he kept mentioning a Louis,” one girl says, pronouncing it with the s and all.  

Louis catches Harry’s eye again, takes note of his shrug and sheepish grin. Unfortunately, he’s nowhere near drunk enough for this. He pats Tori’s arm consolingly before twisting away, taking a sort of wonky bow that he’d probably be more embarrassed about in broad daylight. Oh well.

“As fun as this all sounds, m’afraid I’m off,” Louis says, deliberately avoiding Harry’s stare. “Tired and such. But play nice with Harry, won’t you?”

The girls giggle expectedly, and Louis steps away to leave before he feels someone holding him back by his elbow. When he turns around, it’s Harry. It’s always Harry, standing there and looming over him as though he’s always been this tall. 

But Harry has always been able to make him feel small, Louis thinks, regardless of height. 

Harry salutes them — salutes them — and gets away with it because he’s Harry, of course. Louis wonders if they know his real age, know that he’s in sixth form with plans to go to uni in England and live a perfectly normal life away from them in England. Louis figures it’s something that they should know. 

“We’re both off,” he says, subtly dropping his hand to Louis’ waist. Right where it had been on some other girl only seconds ago. “Got things to do in the morning. Maybe next time?” 

They express their share of disappointment, naturally. But all it takes is one smile from Harry and a kiss on the cheek for each of them to make it all better. Louis just shakes his head, staring at the ground, until Harry is right behind him and leading them out of the party. 

The walk down Hoover Street is as quiet as it ever gets past midnight on a weekday. Harry stays close to Louis, trailing just behind him, and his breathing is all that Louis can hear. 

Campus is dead, but Louis has always liked it this way. He remembers early freshman year, wandering about after dark and searching uselessly for stars in the sky with a heavy heart from missing home. 

From missing Harry. 

They get into the room just before one o’clock, and Louis doesn’t even bother with washing up or brushing his teeth. He strips down to his pants and slides into bed, leaving enough space next to the wall for Harry to slide in. His mind is spinning and he wonders how he could feel so drunk from having had so little. 

After switching the light off, Harry follows him. But instead of slotting up bone for bone and curve for curve behind Louis, Harry just pats his hand in a semblance of good night and lays flat on his back, their shoulders touching. 

The moment is thick and charged with something. But then Harry sighs like it’s gone, and it isn’t until his breathing has evened out that Louis realizes he’s asleep. 

*** 

5:03, the clock reads when Louis wakes again. It’s not like he’d slept easily to begin with, but now he’s definitely awake. 

He stares up at the ceiling, counting the days and moments left. It’s Wednesday now, technically, which means two full days until he drops Harry off at LAX. This time, Harry is the one leaving, and Louis never realized how hard it must be, to be the one that stays behind. He left so mindlessly those two summers ago, determined to leave everything behind that he had hoped, for so long, to keep. 

But now Harry is here, and that’s just it. Louis tries, sure, but he always ends up right where he started. Close to Harry. Close, but never close enough. 

Louis shuts his eyes, considers another way to keep from going home this summer. It’s the coward’s way out, but it’s the only way out. 

“Lou,” comes Harry’s sleep-heavy voice a beat later, startling him from his thoughts. 

His muscles tense up on instinct, and he hopes he hasn’t given himself away already. 

But then, “Lou, you’re awake.” It’s not a question. 

Louis sighs, and any hope for falling back into a fitful sleep is completely lost now. “Hey, H. Did I wake you?”

Harry grumbles under his breath, squirming on the bed until he’s on his belly with his leg thrown over Louis’ and their bodies pressed together. Louis inhales sharply; very aware of the way Harry’s hand has found its way to his sternum. They haven’t slept like this in a long time. 

“Not really,” Harry admits, yawning. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

“Oh yeah?” Louis winces at how gone he sounds. “Still drunk?” 

Harry huffs a laugh through his nostrils. “Wasn’t drunk to begin with. Thought I would have to guide you back to the room. I haven’t forgotten what you were like at home, you know.” 

Louis laughs too, and wants to tell him how much he’s changed. But he hasn’t. Not really. “I wasn’t drunk, either.”

Harry shifts, just enough for Louis to notice that they’re sharing the same pillow now. “Oh. Cool.” He moves closer, breath lingering against Louis’ ear. “So what’re you doing up?” 

“Thinking,” Louis rasps automatically. “I. Um. What do you want to do today?” 

“Dunno.” Harry’s fingers start drumming a private beat against Louis’ chest. “What about you?”

Louis lets out a shuddering gasp when he feels Harry’s cold nose press against his cheek. “Dunno, either. Lame, right?” 

Harry smiles. “Lame, yeah,” he says. And then he’s moving closer and, yes. 

Louis’ eyes snap shut instantly, his brain frying from the sensation of Harry’s lips fitting against his. It’s awkward at first, their bodies slanted at different angles, and it tastes like stale alcohol more than anything else. But then Harry responds with a hand firm on Louis’ hip and the other one at his jaw, shifting them so that they fit just right and then it’s good. Louis sighs into Harry’s mouth, muscles relaxing all at once; he hadn’t even realized how tightly wound he had been. 

“Hey,” Harry breathes, drawing back. He’s looking down at him, a speck of gold in the green from the streetlamp outside. 

“Hi,” Louis replies, just as breathless. He places a hand on Harry’s cheek, cupping there briefly, before sliding it through Harry’s curls and pulling him back in. Both of them are smiling and their teeth clink together, but it still works because it’s them. 

They kiss like that, moving quietly in the dark and getting a feel for each other’s bodies, learning more about what they thought they had already known so well. 

Louis needs to draw back, needs to take a breath, but at the same time he can’t bring himself to stop. He wants to memorize the feel of Harry kissing him and bearing him down into the mattress; the feel of his body pinned down under Harry’s weight. The urge doesn’t leave him, only makes him want to take everything that Harry has to offer. Harry can go home with his pictures. But this. Louis can keep this. 

Their kisses stay chaste, save for the occasional flick of Harry’s tongue against Louis’ swollen bottom lip. Harry is clutching onto him tightly, both hands having moved to Louis’ neck to hold him there. And it’s fine, perfectly fine that way, until Harry moves just the slightest bit and Louis can feel the hot outline of Harry’s cock against his thigh. 

And that’s just enough for Louis to pull back and blink up at Harry, who’s staring down with wide, dazed eyes. Louis smiles, his cheeks on fire, and slides a knee up just so, until they’re pressing together and Harry gets the hint. 

“Oh,” Harry gasps, eyelids fluttering. “I — oh.” 

Any voices in Louis’ head and any doubts that maybe Harry wasn’t as into this as him vanish instantly, just as Harry swoops back down to snog him properly. His fists are bunched up at the front of Louis’ shirt now, pulling up like he can’t get him any closer. And it’s brilliant to be wanted like that, even physically, so he responds the only way he knows how by arching his back and rolling their hips, earning a deep moan from Harry. 

Louis grins into their kiss, redirecting his attention to a mission for more friction. Harry catches on quickly, bearing down into him so that their cocks rub against each other, even in their pants. But Louis whines impatiently, wanting more. Needing more. 

He shoves a hand between them without preamble, reaching into Harry’s pants and pulling out his cock. Harry shudders on top of him, his shoulders trembling, and Louis kisses his slack lips until he’s helping by thrusting into Louis’ hand. 

Louis is so close already, coming undone at the mere sight of Harry shaking above him. But then Harry is tugging Louis out of his pants, too, and then they’re working together, frantically, and not even kissing so much as panting into each other’s mouths. And it’s sloppy and uncoordinated, both of them too high on each other to really care. When Louis comes, it’s with a breathless whimper, and he barely has any time to feel embarrassed about it before Harry is swearing under his breath, burying his face in Louis’ neck and joining him over the edge. 

They lay there for a moment, sweaty and slick against each other. Harry rolls off of him, wiping his hand on the sheets and sighing happily. Louis makes a face but wipes off on his pants before pulling them up. When he looks over, Harry’s face is right there beside his. 

“Good?” he asks, voice rough like sandpaper.

And if it hadn’t just happened, Louis might not believe it. But he smiles, eyelids heavy, and says, “Yeah. Really good.” 

That’s all Harry needs to hear before moving over and hooking his chin on Louis’ shoulder. They need a shower and possibly a conversation, but that’s the furthest thing from Louis’ mind as he slides his fingers between Harry’s and falls asleep, dead to the world. 

*** 

It’s 10:30 when Louis opens his eyes again and this time, Harry isn’t there beside him. But any fears he might have are immediately relieved by the sticky note he finds on his chest.

Went off on a mission for snacks and souvenirs. Be back by 1. Go to your class! – Love, H xx  

Louis lies in bed for several more minutes, grinning stupidly at the ceiling, before jumping out of bed and taking Harry’s advice. He trusts that Harry knows what he’s doing out there. And more likely than not, he’s probably off roaming the campus, walking up to random groups of strangers and asking to take their pictures or something wonderful like that. He’s kind of amazing that way. 

Going to his classes, as it turns out, is a wasted effort when all he can think about is Harry and earlier that morning and Harry. Louis tries to keep his thoughts from turning too dirty, but now that he’s actually gotten his hand around Harry Styles’ cock, he can’t really be helped. And it’s not, he figures, such a bad thing. 

When he gets back to the room at half past one, Harry is already there, spread out on the mattress with his head on the pillows and his hand in a bag of crisps. He looks up at Louis, smiles sheepishly, and offers him a handful. 

“Crisp?” he asks, sitting up and messing with his hair. “It’s chicken and waffle flavoured. Not too sure I’m fond of it, though.” 

“That’s because it’s chicken and waffles,” Louis says dryly, standing at the edge of the bed. He hesitates for a moment before dipping down and kissing Harry on the cheek. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Harry replies, sounding awed. His cheeks have bloomed pink. “How were classes?” 

Louis shrugs, falling into place beside him. “The same. Probably could have had more fun with you, though.” 

Harry ducks his head, beaming stupidly into his shirt. Louis would laugh at him if he probably didn’t feel the same. Like a tightness in his chest, but in a good way. So he grabs his hand instead and entwines their fingers together. 

“Right,” Harry says, clearing his throat. He’s staring down where their hands are resting on his knee. “So. Um. Should we talk?” 

Louis shrugs. He doesn’t really see the point. “Did you mean it?” 

Harry looks up to stare at him. “Did I mean to get you off?” He giggles, squeezing Louis’ hand. “I don’t think I could have done it accidentally, Lou.”

He rolls his eyes, digging a finger into Harry’s side until he squirms. “No, you twat. I meant…you know.” 

“I — yeah.” Harry bites down on his lip, unexpectedly bashful now that Louis gets a chance to really look at him. “Yeah, of course.” 

Louis feels relief settle in his chest, in his bones. He lifts their hands up to kiss Harry’s knuckles. “Me too.” 

And that leaves Harry looking stunned, like he hadn’t been expecting that. Louis makes it his personal goal to never have Harry look at him like that again. “We’re good?” Harry asks. Blinking up at Louis with doubt in his eyes, he looks the picture of innocence. 

So Louis just has to lean over and kiss it all away. 

“We’re good,” he agrees. 

*** 

Everything for the rest of the afternoon goes like a page from a book, and it’s like even the hours of the day have taken on new meaning now that Louis can be with Harry like this. After spending most of that time in bed, Harry pulls out of Louis’ arms long enough to suggest going down to Santa Monica Pier. 

“To watch the sunset,” he says very seriously, pinning Louis down by his shoulders. “I like doing that with you.” 

And it’s moments like these that make Louis wonder where Harry came from. 

Harry begs to drive, whining and pouting and tugging petulantly at Louis’ arm. Louis would find it adorable if it weren’t so distracting, and he has to physically peel Harry from off his back before getting into the car. 

“I’m not dying in the passenger’s seat, Styles,” Louis says, firmly avoiding Harry’s round eyes. “No, no, no I won’t.”

“You’re no fun.” Harry flicks him in the elbow. “I’m good behind the wheel. A natural, even. All the girls tell me so.” 

Louis absently pecks the side of his head before starting the engine. “But nobody fills that seat quite like you do, babe.” 

Harry snorts, but his pleased smile is telling enough. 

They go on the West Coaster first, partly to get it out of the way but mostly because Louis just wants an excuse to hold Harry’s hand. As their rackety old car makes its ascent, Louis feels Harry tense next to him, and so he places a hand on his thigh and squeezes there, once, for encouragement. Harry looks at him and Louis wishes he had the camera to keep Harry like this forever: uneasy grin and wild curls tossed around with the Pacific stretching on for miles behind him. It’s perfect.

Louis ruffles Harry’s hair when they get off. “You didn’t die after all.” 

“Thanks,” Harry intones darkly. But Louis can tell he means it. 

They go on the Scrambler and then Pacific Plunge after that, and both rides leave Harry feeling woozy and a little green in the face. Louis holds him close, petting his hair and leaving whispered secrets along his jaw line. Harry leans into it each time, and Louis thinks that he quite enjoys this. 

“You’re too pretty and delicate for these parts,” Louis says when they’re sitting on a bench for a breather. 

Harry frowns, bottom lip sticking out gently. “I am not. I’m strong and manly and, like, macho.” 

Louis pats his knee sympathetically. “Dare to dream, love. I’m not the one in need of a time out.” 

“You’re mean now that you’re getting kisses,” Harry says sullenly, crossing his arms on his chest. 

Louis just shrugs, smiling privately. 

On the way to the Sea Dragon — Harry’s choice, because everything up until now had been too bold to start with — they split a thing of candyfloss. Louis’ hands are sticky by the end of the queue and Harry unabashedly sucks Louis’ pinky into his mouth, winking cheekily at a pair of high school girls watching interestedly. 

“M’not about to give a free show,” Louis says, sliding into a seat at the back of the Dragon.

Harry kicks at his ankle and whispers lowly. “Well, good thing I haven’t invited them back to the room tonight.”

Louis flushes from the implication. Instead of replying, he screams a little too loud at the highest point of their upswing: exhilarated and feeling like he could fly. 

***

They hang around the games for a while, giving Harry’s stomach a chance to settle. Harry lingers over by the Long Range Basketball stand, finally in an environment better suited to his strengths. Louis stands behind with his arms folded, admiring the view of a very frustrated Harry Styles. 

“God — fucking — shit,” Harry growls, managing to offend several passersby with children. 

“A little competitive with ourselves, are we Haz?” Louis smirks, getting an obscene amount of joy from riling him up. 

“This is rigged,” Harry insists, shooting another ball and stomping grumpily at the ground when it bounces off the rim. “Like, I’m being cheated.” 

The teenager working behind the counter just stares, unimpressed. 

“I’m fairly sure you’re not,” Louis says calmly. “This is all down to your skill. Or your lack of it, I dunno.” 

“Don’t — ” Harry starts, before turning around and marching over to Louis. He grabs him roughly by the shoulders and hauls him in for a bruising kiss, laughing hotly into Louis’ mouth seconds afterward. “Don’t,” he repeats, laughing again and heading back for a basketball. 

Louis stumbles backward a little, stomach doing somersaults. It’s a weird feeling, but he likes it. 

Five minutes later, they walk over to the soft serve station, stuffed lion dangling in Louis’ arms and a smug smile on Harry’s face. 

*** 

“I feel like I can see everything from here,” Harry comments once they reach the highest point of the Pacific Wheel. “Like, I’m sure I could see as far as home, if I tried hard enough.” 

Louis shivers from the sea breeze. It’s dark out now, and he’s a little sore with himself for forgetting a jumper. “Wrong coast, Haz. And wrong ocean entirely.” 

Harry rolls his eyes and nuzzles closer to Louis. “I know. Only making jokes.” 

“Leave those to me,” Louis says, draping an arm along the back of their seat and moving to kiss Harry’s hair. 

But Harry changes positions at the last second, lifting his head to catch Louis’ lips in his. Louis shocks into it, somehow still surprised at how good and comfortable this feels. But he melts and grants Harry access, humming contentedly from the hot sweep of Harry’s tongue. It’s a little too heated for an evening on the Santa Monica Pier, but they’re high up in the air right now and he can’t be arsed to care, really.

And it sucks, how easily Louis can settle into this and pretend that he can afford to be careless with Harry. Because he can’t, not when there’s still a flight to catch on Saturday. 

But thinking about that right now, when everything else is so good, feels wrong somehow. 

So he stops thinking. That’s okay. 

*** 

Later, when they’re in bed and sated and the blankets are pulled up to their naked shoulders, Harry pokes at Louis’ calf with his toes. Louis flops over, still held tightly in Harry’s arms. 

“What?” he asks, eyes cloudy with the prospect of sleep. 

Harry smiles softly and moves closer to Louis, brushing aside his fringe. “I had fun tonight.” 

Louis blinks. “Good. Me too.” He sighs happily, shutting his eyes to chase sleep. 

“Yeah, so.” He feels Harry nudge their noses together, eyelashes blinking against his cheek. “Hey. Lou.” 

“Mm,” he grumbles, eyes still closed. 

“I want to go to Disneyland.” 

Louis huffs a breath through his nose. “Right. Okay. Disneyland.” 

Harry hums. “Yeah, Disneyland.” 

“Okay,” Louis whispers, squirming closer and nosing at Harry’s neck. “Okay, sleep now.” 

Harry laughs and kisses him once on the nose. 

*** 

In the morning, they travel early to Disneyland. 

Traffic getting through Anaheim outside the park is miserable, and tickets are expensive as all hell. But Harry had woken Louis up eagerly, still very serious about last night, and there was no way Louis could deny him that excitement. 

“Mickey ears, Lou.” Harry had come up to sit on top of him, straddling Louis’ thighs. “Mickey ears.”

And Louis doesn’t tell Harry he loves him then, he just can’t, so he bites down very hard on the inside of his cheek and rolls his eyes instead. 

The park is buzzing with tourists and the sun is crawling up the sky by the time they get through the turnstiles. Harry drags Louis down Main Street, USA, going on and on about the horseless carriages and how the air just smells like cookies and candy. Before they get very far, Louis buys him Mickey ears with “Haz” embroidered in gold, and his wallet might suffer for weeks after Harry leaves but it’s absolutely worth it to see the look on Harry’s face.

They walk hand in hand toward the Sleeping Beauty Castle, at which point Harry pulls his camera out and demands a picture. This time, Louis forces Harry to take it, planting a wet kiss on Harry’s cheek just as the shutter goes off. The mouse ears fall lopsided on Harry’s curls and Louis readjusts it for him. 

It’s so nice already and it’s only morning. 

“This is fucking nuts,” Harry says on a hushed whisper, mindful of the children in the Star Tours queue. “Can’t believe my mum never took me to the one in Paris.” 

“That’s because I’m better than Anne,” Louis says with a wink.

Harry pinches him in the side and pecks him at the corner of his eye before he can get too stroppy about it. “I’ll be sure to tell her that. She won’t be too pleased.” 

“Yes, well.” He tugs on one of Harry’s ears — a real one, not a mouse one. “There’s never any pleasing you Styleses.” 

Harry smiles, all pink upturned lips. “Now that’s a lie.” 

On Space Mountain, Harry has to tuck his ears away for safekeeping. In the dark, he winds his fingers through Louis’ and doesn’t let go until they’ve come to a complete stop and they’re forced to separate just to get out. 

They go on Autopia, where Harry can finally fill his need for American driving, before marching over to the Matterhorn and It’s A Small World, which is significantly creepier than Louis had planned for. They stop for a quick but overpriced lunch in Mickey’s Toontown, eating at Daisy’s Diner where they’re surrounded by families and cartoon characters. Harry seems so at home here, and Louis finds that he isn’t all that surprised. 

Harry sheepishly stalks Minnie Mouse until she agrees to a picture and Louis takes the piss for a full ten minutes afterward, only stopping to kiss the pout from Harry’s lips. 

Later, they get Fast Passes for Big Thunder Mountain Railroad and Splash Mountain in Frontierland, and end up spending their time ambling through New Orleans Square, where everything smells like spice. Harry is pleasantly surprised to find that the Haunted Mansion isn’t actually all that scary, and he ends up speaking like Jack Sparrow for at least fifteen minutes after getting off of Pirates of the Caribbean. Louis asks if he should bother getting him a pirate hat as well, but Harry just laughs him off and makes Louis promise to be his wench instead. 

“It’s hot as bollocks,” Louis groans when they’re in Adventureland waiting for the Indiana Jones Adventure. “I’m sweaty. Like, my shirt is sticking to my back.” 

Harry pats Louis’ back absently. “I want a funnel cake.” 

Louis pinches Harry’s little belly. “Ickle Hazza, always needing food.” That earns him a light smack to the side of his head. 

“I’m not the one sweating on my rolls,” Harry says sweetly, hip bumping him. “Am I?” 

Louis just frowns and wipes his sweaty forehead on the back of Harry’s neck. 

*** 

After a long day in the park, they make their way out to Downtown Disney. Harry pulls Louis through the crowd of middle school children and crowds him up against a counter in Wetzel’s Pretzels, nosing at his cheek until it’s their turn to order. The cashier, an old woman with kind eyes, smiles at them and gives them an extra tub of caramel free of charge when they ask. 

“Americans are nice,” Harry muses when they’re halfway through their pretzel, sitting on a bench outside the House of Blues. 

Louis reaches over to poke Harry’s dimple. “I reckon she just liked your face.” 

Harry turns to him with round eyes and a bit of salt at the corner of his mouth. “Hmm?” 

“And what a nice face it is,” Louis snorts, pinching his cheek. 

Harry scowls and makes to bite Louis’ finger. “I won’t have you treating me like this.” 

“Like what?” Louis asks innocently. 

“Oh, you’re — ” Harry just shakes his head and looks down, eyes sparking from under his fringe. “You’re frustrating, Tomlinson.” 

Louis bounces where he’s sitting and leans close to Harry. “Yeah, but you love it, right? Like, it’s proper cute?” 

“You’re proper something,” Harry hums, moving over to kiss him once, twice. 

At 9:15, they wander over to the crowd gathering near a railing overlooking the street. And precisely ten minutes later, the night sky explodes with the first firework. 

“Shit,” Louis whispers under his breath. 

Harry doesn’t say anything. Instead, he steps closer to Louis and slides an arm around his waist so that they’re pressed flush together. Staring up at the sky, Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, lights flashing across both their faces. There are kids squealing excitedly nearby — one of them might actually be crying — but Louis can’t focus on much beyond the fireworks. 

Just the feel of Harry solid and sturdy beside him. 

***

Louis lies awake for most of the night, despite being so bone-tired. Harry sleeps like a rock beside him, arms wound tightly around Louis’ middle and his head like a weight on Louis’ chest. He might even be drooling, if the slight dampness on Louis’ shirtfront is anything to go by, but he doesn’t think much about it. 

This is Harry’s last full day. And it’s incredible how fast the week has gone by, more incredible still to consider everything that’s changed since Harry first landed. Everything flashes like a dream in Louis’ head, and he’s sure it’ll be nice to look back and think about all of it maybe one, two, five months down the line. But right now, it aches everywhere. And Louis knows this isn’t how it’s supposed to feel, not with Harry still next to him. 

Harry sighs in his sleep, smacking his lips once, and Louis can’t help but smile. And that’s just the best way to describe this whole experience: can’t help it. 

Maybe it’s stopped being a problem with Harry. He can’t tell yet. 

When morning comes, it comes far too quickly, and Harry rolls heavily onto Louis until they’re perfectly stacked. Louis huffs a laugh and struggles uselessly under Harry’s weight. Harry, on the other hand, just cups Louis’ face between his huge hands and ducks down for a deep kiss. 

Their mouths are sour, but Louis isn’t about to turn this down. So he holds on tight, sneaking his hands under Harry’s shirt and skimming the warm surface of his back. They stay like that for several minutes, sharing the same breath between slow lips. 

It isn’t long before Louis hooks his feet around Harry’s knees, digging in with his heels to draw him closer so that they’re rutting lazily. Harry moans, and Louis breathes it in. 

“Anything you want to do today?” Louis asks when they’re in the dining hall. He’s swirling his spoon through a bowl of cereal, not hungry enough for much else. “End the week with a bang, maybe?” 

Harry shrugs, popping a strawberry into his mouth. “S’long as you’re there.” 

Louis stares down at his fingers. “I can’t — ” He inhales sharply and when he finally looks up, Harry is watching him, confused. Shaking his head, he says, “You’re like, everything to me. You know that, right? Everything, Haz.” 

Harry’s eyes flash, like he understands now, and his chin crumples. In their private booth in the corner, it’s like all the air has been sucked out. 

The words are there but Louis doesn’t say anything; neither of them says anything. 

Instead, he shuts his eyes and reaches out over the table, groping blindly, until his fingers find Harry’s. 

*** 

Sixpence None The Richer’s cover of ‘There She Goes’ is playing in the car as they drive down Sunset Boulevard. Harry is humming along and tracing patterns against the window, the sun catching in his sunglasses. Louis keeps his sights on the road ahead, not really sure of their destination. But he doesn’t think he’d survive just sitting in the room for the rest of the day, so this is fine too. 

“What do you want to do?” Louis asks for the third time since getting in the car. 

“This is nice,” Harry says once the song trails off. He looks over at Louis and smiles, closed-mouthed. “Driving is — good I guess, because the roads here are bigger? Everything back home feels suffocating.”

And Louis chuckles, because he remembers the feeling all too well. 

“Oh, you’re going to have to send me copies,” he says suddenly. “Of the pictures.” 

Harry nods slowly. “I thought you wanted the negatives. All the negatives, if I remember correctly.” 

“I figured I’d let you keep those,” Louis says with a wink. “S’not fair, is it, to hide all those pictures of myself away? Too beautiful for that.”

“And vain,” Harry adds with a laugh. 

“Oh, tell my family that I’m alive,” Louis says after a beat. “My mum, you know. She worries. And I’d like her to think that I haven’t ditched everything and, like, fucked off to Mexico.” 

Harry snorts. “You wouldn’t last a day. Remember that one time at Alice’s? With the tequila?” 

Louis grimaces, retching. “Don’t remind me. I’m still recovering.” 

“You’re miserable when hungover,” Harry says fondly. 

“You would know.” Louis smiles against the sun. 

Harry unbuckles his seat belt to lean over the console and kiss Louis on the cheek like he couldn’t wait to do it. “I know you best.” 

Louis sighs as Harry sinks back into his seat and the stereo changes to Born And Raised. “Yes, you do.” 

*** 

After driving for the rest of the afternoon, they pull into a gas station. Louis goes in, grabs two orange sodas and a bag of pretzels, and throws them into Harry’s lap in the car. 

“I want to go to Griffiths Observatory,” Harry says, nodding. 

Louis starts the engine. “Cool.” 

They get lost on the way, since Louis has only ever been there once. Even then, he’d been stoned out of his mind with his resident advisor and half of his floor. Harry laughs when Louis tells him the story, and everything is easy enough that he can ignore their early wake-up call for the airport in the morning. 

Driving through the hills is an endeavour, mostly because Louis’ car doesn’t handle winding roads all that well. And the sky is only getting duskier, so they roll to a slow enough speed that several cars behind them start honking. 

A space opens up on the side of the road, just at the bottom of the hill leading up to the observatory. They hike up with the rest of the night crowd and Harry jumps over puddles to keep his white Converse from getting muddy. As they cross into the main parking lot, Harry grabs Louis’ hand and holds on tight. 

Spotlights shine on the observatory, a silhouette against the purpling sky. Tourists are still wandering about, most of them gathered on the knoll or around the Astronomers Monument, and Louis has to step aside to keep from knocking into any of the children running around.  

It’s funny, Louis thinks, to have an observatory in a city where the light pollution is so heavy. Still, it’s a breathtaking view all the same, with the Hollywood Hills framing the horizon and the rest of Los Angeles unfurled beneath them: a patchwork of winking lights. He looks up at the sky where the stars don’t hang, and considers what it might be like to come back under happier circumstances. But now that he’s come with Harry, it’ll be hard to disassociate the experience from the emptiness of staring out, helplessly, into the night. 

Harry is quiet as they walk around; his vice grip on Louis’ hand is the only indication that he’s still there at all. Louis figures this is it, this is the moment, and leads them off to a space by the railing facing the Hollywood sign, one that nobody else seems interested in occupying. 

Louis drops Harry’s hand, and Harry doesn’t even flinch. But he does keep his stare on Louis, deep and imploring even in the dark. He loses his breath a little, but tries to keep it together long enough to say what he needs to say.

“I, um.” Louis smiles in spite of himself, already off to a good start. “Summer for me starts mid-May. Around the 15th. I can come home around then.” 

Harry scoffs and it’s an ugly sound. “Yeah, right. Heard that one before.” 

“Hey.” Louis’ fingers twitch, too tempted to reach out for Harry. “I promise.” 

Harry stares at him, unimpressed. 

Louis sighs. “I’ll try.” He stares down at his feet. “I mean. I don’t know anything for certain. Who knows what internships might pop up, if my old one would be interested in bringing me back — I don’t know. I still have to figure out housing — ” 

“Lou.” 

He looks up, eyes searching Harry’s. “Yeah? What?” 

Harry leans in then, hands gentle when they find their way to the back of Louis’ neck. He waits the briefest of moments before bridging the gap to kiss him. And it doesn’t feel like a goodbye kiss the way that Louis expects it. It’s deeper and sweeter the way the others have been; the way Louis should’ve kissed Harry all week. 

“Lou,” he repeats against Louis’ lips, desperate. 

But Harry must sense the doubt there, because he keeps kissing like he’s starved for it, and doesn’t back away until Louis is clutching at Harry’s hips and begging for air. 

“I love you,” Louis breathes when they break off, and Harry laughs — or sobs — brokenly. 

“I did something stupid,” Harry gets out. And. That’s not the reaction Louis had expected. 

“Oh,” he says, feeling foolish for ever expecting anything else. But then Harry is towing him in for another kiss, shorter this time, and then he’s smiling. 

“I love you too. Always have.” Harry seems surprised that it even has to be said. “But I…” 

Louis doesn’t have a chance to focus on that first half. He tugs at Harry’s arm. “What is it?” 

“You’re like, the worst, basically.” Harry shoves his fringe to the side the way Louis has seen him do countless times before. “Because you’re my best mate and I should have been happy for you, that you’re in school and getting internships in America and doing us proud and everything.” 

Louis feels his face redden. “Thanks. I mean — ” 

“Shut up, you’re not allowed to talk,” Harry clips, but he’s grinning in earnest now. “So yeah, happy and whatever — but fuck, Lou. You leave a mark wherever you go, did you know that?”

Louis is at a total loss of anything to say, which works out rather well, given that he’s been banned from speaking full stop. So he just stares, cheeks burning. 

“And like,” Harry laughs, glancing up at the sky and back. “I missed you. Still do, as a matter of fact. So much that I jumped on the first flight to LA when you asked.” He bows his head. “I thought you’d outgrown me.” 

And that’s so far from the truth that Louis has to speak. He reaches over for Harry’s wrist. “No, Haz. God, no, never.” 

“I know that now,” Harry says. “But I didn’t know that when I applied to UCLA.”

“When — what?” Louis backs away to look at Harry properly.

Harry’s eyes sparkle, reflecting the light behind them. “I applied to UCLA. To other American schools, too. USC even, but I’m not as smart as you apparently.” 

Louis stares. 

“I got fucking accepted.” Harry shakes his head, awestruck himself. “And I did something stupid, Lou. I paid out of my arse for a cab to go visit on Wednesday while you were in class and — I said yes. This morning, as a matter of fact. I said yes. I start fall quarter.” 

Harry pants out the last half of it in one breath, shoulders heaving and eyes wide as saucers. And Louis can’t bring himself to say anything because it’s not real, it’s not a thing worth raising his hopes over. 

But he said it, didn’t he — Harry said it and now there’s a fall quarter to look forward to, a brand new future with Harry where there hadn’t been anything before. This is fucking gigantic. 

“You’re — ” Louis runs his hands through his hair. “America? You?” 

“America,” Harry confirms, laughing for real now. “Me. And you. Whatever you end up doing this summer — I’m coming back for you. Because you’re done running away, you’re fucking done.” 

Louis starts laughing with him, eyes almost shut entirely from how hard it’s slamming out of him. 

“I’m done,” he repeats, dazed. “Fuck.” 

Then Harry’s hands are on the small of Louis’ back. Louis breathes him in, fingers spanned across his chest. This feels different, now. New. 

“Just needed a reason to say yes,” Harry says belatedly, not really focused on the conversation anymore. 

And there’s a discussion they need to have, possibly after they’ve gotten back to the room and he’s helped Harry with packing. Maybe after they’ve kissed a bit and cuddled a whole lot, too, under the sheets because Harry’s toes get cold. But — there’s time now. They have time that they’ve carved out of nothing and that’s just fucking excellent. Wonderful. Brilliant. 

Louis noses at Harry’s collarbone. “I can think of several reasons,” he says on a whisper. 

Harry chuckles into Louis’ hair. “Only needed the one.”