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It’s late when Nick’s shift ends. He hates closing the bar up, having to stay back until three; it makes for a long shift and a tiring day afterwards. Still, he does it because it pays well and if he’s being honest, he’d probably only be at home being morose and listening to self indulgent low-fi R’n’B anyway.
So. He closes up on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays.
Today is a Saturday. Today, instead of turning right and doubling back up the small alley and up to Shoreditch High Street, he turns left, think he’ll walk back all the way to Liverpool Street. It’ll only be about twenty minutes, he likes getting a bit of air in his lungs after working for ten hours in that overheated, underaired bar, so fuck it.
He turns left.
There’s a boy standing underneath a street light just across the quiet intersection, hair playing idly in the wind. He looks young, very young, in nothing but a white t-shirt and black jeans that cling to every line of his legs, despite it being late April. The shirt hangs lazily off his shoulders, grazing against the brick wall he’s leant back on, one foot up against it. His hands are in his pockets, fidgeting slightly as he lolls his head from side to side.
Nick can’t stop watching him. He’s impossibly slow, tantalizing; his skin is almost golden underneath the oddly warm yellow light. Nick wants to touch him; his jaw, his neck, his tiny waist and dip between his back and his bum, arched up off the wall.
“Hi.”
Nick is startled out of his own head by the boy himself, who’s caught sight of him. He smiles, this lax, wanton smile that clouds Nick’s head a bit. He’s not even that drunk, not really, he and Aimee had only had a few while they cleaned up tonight.
God, he’s so gorgeous.
“Hello.”
They’re standing on opposite sides of the road, but they barely have to raise their voices, the streets are quiet. It’s three in the morning; no one’s around, especially not here, the slightly grimier, darker side of the High Street.
“You alright having a look there or d’you wanna come over?”
There’s a tone to his voice, a practiced drawl that Nick knows a little too well. He’s been around a while.
“Boy as pretty as you?” Nick calls back, winking in the splash of streetlight, “not sure I could afford it.”
The boy laughs, he’s going for low and rough but Nick thinks his real laugh should be higher, if his voice is anything to go by. Pretty, even. Pretty, pretty, pretty, that’s all his brain seems to be saying.
“S’after midnight,” he says, almost taunting, “so could do you a deal.”
Nick wonders how many other people he’s used these lines on tonight. Not that he’s judging; hell, he’s worked and breathed Shoreditch for a few years now, he’s got friends working corners like this, even considered it himself a couple of years ago. But this boy…Nick doesn’t know.
“You look cold,” Nick says instead of replying, because he does. He can see the goosebumps on his arm; it’s a biting kind of night and Nick can’t imagine how uncomfortable he must be in just a t-shirt. The boy pulls out a cigarette, flicks his lighter over and over but with no luck; fluid must be out. He throws it on the ground in disgust.
“You wanna warm me up?” he asks with a wink, but there’s nothing behind it. He’s being playful, Nick thinks, he’s not actually propositioning him. Nick has no idea why, but he likes it.
“Funny. Seriously, do you want a jumper?”
The boy blinks across at him, like he doesn’t quite understand the question. “No,” he says warily, “no, I’m okay.”
“You want a light?”
“No,” the boy says again, “thank you, though.”
“S’okay. What’s your name?”
The boy laughs again, lighter this time, pretty.
“Don’t say whatever you want it to be,” Nick says with a smirk, “I’m not taking that as an answer.”
That seems to throw him a bit, Nick feels like he’s preempted a move.
“Louis,” the boy says quietly, “M’Louis.”
“Nick,” he returns, “I work at the bar down there.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling him this, but gestures down the road anyway. Louis gives a little nod.
“You all good, Louis?” he asks.
“Sure,” Louis drawls, “always am.”
Nick nods, smiles. “Okay. Well have a nice night. Put a jumper on, too.”
Louis cocks his eyebrow a little strangely, smiles in Nick’s direction.
“You’re very odd,” he says, and Nick laughs as his breath turns to mist, carries on up the street.
**
On Wednesday, he turns left again. The bar closes at midnight during the week, it’s ten past now, doors finally locked, clean up left for whoever’s opening in the morning. He really was going to go home and try and figure out if he’s going to bother with another semester of his third attempt at a degree. But, well, something comes up.
“Well, hello hello,” he says, on seeing his new favourite person on his new favourite corner. Louis’ lips quirk up in recognition, but he’s less relaxed tonight, Nick can see it in the line of his shoulders; he’s sat up straighter, attentive. He’s like a little meerkat or something, ruthlessly attuned to his surrounds, quick, clever.
“Hi,” Louis says, “you again.”
“Me again,” Nick agrees, “you alright?”
Louis doesn’t say anything, just nods. He seems a little agitated.
“You waiting for something?”
“Client,” Louis says, northern accent clinging to his t’s, “well paying one, too, so if you wouldn’t mind pushing off and—“
A car slows down across the street from them, just for a second, and Louis kicks off the wall, makes to jog over to it. Whoever’s inside it seems to spook, though, and before Louis can get there is roaring off into the night.
“Fuck,” Louis says loudly, watching it go, “fucking hell.”
Nick is frozen to the spot, trying to piece together what just happened. Louis looks furious, stood in the middle of the road with one hand on his hip and one in his hair, gnawing on his lip.
“Fuck,” he mutters again, defeated this time.
“Well, hey, at least you can call it an early night,” Nick says lightly, trying to relieve the tension. Louis’ attention turns from where the car’s sped off back to Nick, storming back to the footpath furiously.
“That was your fault, you prick, what the fuck are you even doing out here, anyway? Come to pick me up for the night? Because if the answer’s no, I’m pissed off.”
Nick blinks. “I just…” he says, “I don’t know. Was on my way home, thought I’d walk past and say hi.”
“Yeah, well, that’s my rent for the week, so,” he says, “hello to you too.”
A silence hangs between them, unsure. Louis sighs after a while, leans back on the wall next to Nick.
“Sorry,” he says finally, “I…whatever. Know you were just trying to be decent.”
This whole exchange has moved so quickly Nick feels like he walked in late; he hates feeling on the back foot. He can see a flicker of worry in Louis’ eyes, though, and all he can think is fix it.
“I,” he starts, fishing around in his back pocket for his wallet. Louis eyes him suspiciously as he draws it out, flicks through the notes in there. He’s got a couple of hundred quid, he went to the ATM today. He doesn’t even think about giving it over to Louis, he feels so awful his blood’s running cold.
“Here, look, take it,” he says, holding out about two hundred quid, “I fucked you over, I’m sorry about that.“
Louis just looks at him a little disbelievingly.
“Take it,” Nick says, “really, I…”
“You what?” Louis asks.
“I just wanna help.”
And he suspects that was the wrong thing to say, because Louis’ face hardens, he pushes Nick’s hand away gently, but firmly; very, very firm.
“I don’t need your help,” he says with a sense of definitiveness. Nick just rolls his eyes.
“I’m serious, I don’t want anything from you. Take it.”
Louis laughs at that, shakes his head. “See, that’s the problem. If you wanted something, I could take it. I’m not a charity, Nick.”
Nick baulks at that. Fuck, he thinks, you’ve made it worse. Fuck, he also thinks, you remembered my name.
“You can go,” Louis says, “I’ll be fine. Night’s still young, so am I, it’ll work out.”
And Nick feels absolutely terrible, almost considers playing for a blowjob before cutting the thought from his mind. Not that, you know, not that he’s not entirely attracted to Louis. But he’s not doing that.
“You all good, Louis?” he asks.
Louis just laughs again, shrugs a little disbelievingly.
“Sure,” he says, “why not.”
Nick nods, turns to go on his way and hopes to get home before the guilt starts gnawing at his very core.
“Thanks for stopping by,” Louis says dryly, words floating up to Nick like smoke as he walks away.
**
On Friday, Nick turns left. It’s not something out of the ordinary, now, he thinks. Maybe this is his route now, the corner with the pretty boy and the blue eyes. He thinks he might be okay with that.
Louis’ not there.
Nick stops for a moment, dumbfounded. He’s not sure why he’s dumbfounded, it’s not like Louis spends all his hours just standing there. He does have a job to do. He just. He’s never seen this corner without Louis.
It feels, strangely, bare.
A groan goes up from somewhere out of Nick’s line of sight. He wheels around, it sounds like it’s coming from behind him, but it’s not.
He shakes his head a little, turns back to look up the slight hill of the street. He wonders, not for the first time in his life, why he works in one of the dodgiest parts of town. There are about three million pubs in London, and he chose this one.
“Fuck.”
Nick’s heart jumps in fright again, at the almost predatory noises coming from, he assumes, one of the alleys along the street. He pauses, takes a breath. Whatever. He needs to get home.
He walks up the street, past alley after alley. The first is empty, completely, not so much as a dumpster pushed up the side. The second is the back entrance of a fair-to-middling Shoreditch club, music pounding dully out into the street. The third seems to be where half the suburb’s trash is strewn, and God, Nick doesn’t even want to look down there. And the fourth, well.
Down the fourth, a person who is very clearly Louis is on his knees, flickering yellow light illuminating him as he goes down on a guy in the shadows.
Nick’s fucking frozen.
He should move. Rationally, he knows that. He needs to go, now, before Louis sees him and calls on what Nick imagines to be one of his very strong friends from around here to beat the absolute shit out of him. He barely knows him. Nick’s not sure, but watching him suck off a stranger in the street – Nick sees a flash of cufflinks, so, one of those, then – doesn’t seem like the sort of thing set to improve their relationship.
But God. God. Louis’ whole body moves with the motion of it, head bobbing up and down, biceps flexed as he scratches at the wall for support. His thighs strain against the material of those sinfullytight jeans as he moves, little breathy barely-there gasps escaping his mouth every time he takes the guy down fully, which, well, Nick’s given and received and, on his wilder nights, watched many a blowjob in his life, but fuck. Louis’ really good.
And suddenly, he feels really fucking disgusted with himself. He’s standing in the middle of the street, watching a boy he really doesn’t know but is inexplicably entirely enraptured by sucking off some God awful guy who’s making him do it down a dirty little alley.
And just as Nick turns to go – really, he’s leaving, and he’s going to take a long shower and not let himself jerk off just so he remembers not to do this again – Louis’ eyes open for a moment, and flick over to him.
Nick’s seen a significant look sent his way once or twice, or every single day from Aimee, either at work or at home. He knows anger, annoyance, exasperation, disappointment, sadness.
He doesn’t know this. He has no idea what’s playing through Louis’ eyes as he watches Nick but doesn’t stop…well, doing his job, Nick supposes. It’s a dangerous mix of maybe all of the above, embarrassment thrown in there somewhere.
Nick’s not about to stick around to find out. He ducks him head and continues walking up the street, doesn’t slow down till he reaches the station fifteen minutes later.
**
“I don’t usually do that.”
There’s not a lot of preamble. Nick’s awkwardly approached Louis tonight, a week later, and Louis doesn’t seem to be waiting for an invitation to bring it up.
They’re sat on the ground, it’s coming up four o’clock. Louis’ pretty sure he’s done for the night, so they’re just there, interminably. Louis doesn’t quite make eye contact with him though, his voice is measured and small, and Nick doesn’t think he’s ever seen him like this, small. It’s quite easy to miss how little he is, when he’s all lazy laughs and fluttering eyelashes and grand bravado, but he is. He’s a little guy. Nick’s chest gives a protective tug.
“Louis—“
“No, but. I really don’t. It’s just, he didn’t wanna pay for a room.” Prick, Nick thinks, “and, and normally I’d say no but it’s been a cold week. So…you do what you have to do.”
Nick cocks his head, leans back against the wall.
“What does that mean? A cold week?"
“It’s…it’s been cold this week,” Louis blinks, tugging at Nick’s scarf, “haven’t you noticed?”
“D’you want my scarf?” Nick asks automatically, moving to take it off, but Louis stills him with a hand on his shoulder.
“No,” he says firmly.
There’s a beat, a pause.
“So why does it matter if it’s cold?”
Louis smiles a little, perhaps at Nick’s naivety. Nick isn’t the most sheltered of people, but around Louis he sometimes get the distinct impression he knows nothing.
“S’cold,” Louis shrugs, “people stay in. People don’t want to rug up and drive from their lovely family homes in Barnes or wherever the fuck all the way out here. So there’s no money.”
Oh.
“Oh,” Nick says, surprised, “so what do you do in winter?”
Louis snorts, looks at him almost like he’s a teacher looking over the top of his glasses. Nick wonders if he wears glasses. He’d look cute in them.
“Hope I’ve got enough saved up to get through paying rent every Friday,” Louis says, “do dirty shit like…” He stops, drops his head. Nick hates that expression on him, embarrassment. He never deserves to look like that, Nick thinks. He touches his hand to Louis’ arm gently, but Louis pulls away. “…Like that,” he says, and they both know what he’s talking about. “Or, y’know, sell pingers on the side to rich party boys like you.”
His grin is wicked; Nick just rolls his eyes.
“’M’not rich,” he says with a laugh.
“You ever bought drugs off nice looking boys in the street?”
Nick pleads the fifth, and Louis laughs, bright and sweet.
“Then yeah, you’re rich. Anyway. My mate Harry sells ‘em full time. So I help him out in winter, if there’s no work.”
Nick nods.
“Are you making your rent?” he asks suddenly, “do you, y’know, do you have enough?”
Louis smiles, blinks slowly. “M’fine,” he says.
Nick thinks that’s possibly a no.
“What can I do?” he asks softly, their heads leaning into each other almost instinctively against the wall, “let me do something.”
“Nothing,” Louis says, “really.”
A fast food place across the way is still open. Without saying anything, Nick stands up and dusts his hands on the back of his jeans, jogs over the road. When he comes back two minutes later, he’s got a couple of kebabs in his hand, two bottles of Coke in the other.
“Here,” he says, holding one out to Louis, “take it. Eat something, please.”
Louis shakes his head. “I don’t want it.”
Nick gives him a long, disparaging look.
“You’re not going to owe me anythi—“
“Nick,” Louis says, “no. I don’t need your help.”
Nick just shrugs, defeated, sits back down. He leaves Louis’ between them and starts munching on his own.
“Oh,” Louis says quietly a minute later. When Nick turns to him, he’s smiling up at the sky, like it’s just told him a secret.
“What is it?” Nick asks.
Louis scoots in closer, until their heads bump together, points up at an indiscriminate point above them.
“See that?” he asks, “that’s Orion’s Belt. Can’t always see it from here. S’beautiful,” Louis breathes.
And Nick thinks he likes a boy who knows the stars.
**
On Wednesday, and on Friday, Louis’ isn’t there. Nick doesn’t go looking for him.
On Saturday, Nick turns the corner and is met with absolute bedlam.
“Harry,” a voice says, panicky and high, and Nick realizes it’s Louis. He’s not stood up against the wall, though, he’s crouching down, hands raking through the hair of a boy lying sort of haphazardly against the wall, “Harry, c’mon, open your eyes. Don’t be a prick, open your goddamned eyes.”
There’s a silence for a few moments, before the sound of skin slapping skin; Nick guesses Louis’ hand and the boy who is apparently Harry’s face.
“Yeah, mate, that’s it. C’mon, sit up for me,” he coos, a little more relaxed, “c’mon.”
“M’okay,” Harry slurs, sounding decidedly not okay, “s’fine. M’gonna be fine.”
“You’re such an idiot,” Louis whispers, sound playing out through the street, but it’s fond, scared, “Jesus Christ, Harry, if you can’t sell it all just tell ‘em to give you less. This is gonna keep happening if you go back with half your fuckin’ supply every week.”
“I know,” Harry murmurs; Nick sees him sit up a bit straighter and hock up a mouthful of blood, spitting it onto the footpath, “I know. M’sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Louis says quietly, “you just scare me, Haz, I can’t—“
“Who the fuck’s that.”
And well, Nick needs to become stealthier if he’s going to insist on eavesdropping on the goings-on of Louis’ life, because he’s not really into the suspicious, distrustful eyes he sees to be garnering lately.
“Oh,” Louis says, turning to look at him, rolling his eyes, “that’s Nick. Hi.”
“Hi,” Nick says, crossing the street, “everything okay?”
Harry smiles up at him, looking a little doped out. “We’re fine,” he says, “we’re always fine, aren’t we Lou?”
Louis gives him a dubious little look.
“Fine, fine, fine,” Harry chants, and Nick hasn’t yet tried his hand at a medical degree but he’s thinking concussion, “we’re fine. You’re fine,” he says with an exaggerated wink, voice dropping all low and cringefully sleazy, slapping Louis on the ass as he inspects Harry’s wounds. Louis just rolls his eyes, drags Harry’s hand back up.
“Hands where I can see ‘em,” he says dryly.
“Are you Louis’ boyfriend?” Harry asks loudly, slurring, looking up at Nick again. Nick raises his eyebrows, doesn’t quite know how to answer, but Louis just laughs for him.
“No, Harry, don’t have one of them, remember? Nick,” he says, flicking his eyes up, “probably best if you go, mate, I don’t want Harry to—“
“It’s okay,” Nick says hurriedly, “do you need anything?”
“No,” Louis says, “no, we’re good.”
“I think you should take him to the—“
“I got it Nick, it’s okay.”
“But.”
“Nick,” Louis says loudly, “for fuck’s sake, can you—“
“S’he giving you trouble?”
Louis and Nick pipe down straight away, the only sound is Harry singing himself a little song as he stares at his own fingers. If Nick didn’t know any better, he’d say he was sampling a few of his own wares, but the bruises all across his face say otherwise.
Besides, Nick has more important things to think about, like the very dangerous voice of the very strong-looking boy with four arrows down his arm who’s walking towards them.
“No, Li, it’s all good,” Louis says, “he’s…he’s a friend of mine. Nick, Liam, Liam, Nick.”
Liam looks at Nick very coolly, flicks his eyes down to Louis and Harry for a second.
“I’ve not seen you around before,” he says, dangerously nonchalant. Nick wonders if it’s just him or if everyone in Louis’ life is this protective of him, this unwaveringly intense.
“Yeah,” Nick chokes, trying to remain calm, “yeah, I—‘
“What the fuck.”
And Nick doesn’t have time to even blink before he’s pushed back against the wall by a tangle of blonde hair and very strong arms and a look he’s sure could kill.
“Did you fuckin’ do that to him?” the new addition to this clandestine little group yells in Nick’s face, jolting him by the scruff of his shirt, “you fuckin’ wanker,” and he’s Irish, Nick thinks as the breath’s shaken out of him, he’s about to die at the hands of an Irishman, his father’s going to be so ashamed, “don’t fuckin’ touch—"
“Zayn,” Nick vaguely hears Louis call as he starts seeing stars, arm pressed against his throat, “can you come and control your boyfriend, please.”
Nick has no idea what’s happening, but a few seconds later the pressure on his fucking windpipe is released as the boy is all but dragged off him by a guy Nick’s fairly sure was crafted in a lab somewhere.
“Oi, moron,” he says, pressing a placating kiss to the blonde’s cheek, “if he punched Harry out, d’you really think he’d stick around?”
The boy opens and closes his mouth for a few seconds, before his brow furrows.
“Oh,” he says, “yeah. Didn’t think of that. Sorry mate. I’m Niall, by the way, nice to meet you. You a friend of Lou’s then?”
He holds out a hand, and Nick shakes it for no other reason than he’s fucking terrified he’ll be king hit in the face if he doesn’t.
“Yeah,” he half-squeaks, because this lot are mental, “I—“
“Nick,” Louis says, and Nick looks down at him, at the amused little smile on his face, “get out of here. We’ve got it. Thank you, though.”
“I—“
“Nick,” Louis says, and fuck, Nick isn’t arguing again, lest a burly Welshman decides he’d make a nice addition to a list of out of their depth hipsters killed in Shoreditch, or, you know. Something.
“Yeah,” Nick says, and then, absurdly, “bye,” like they’ve just caught up for coffee.
He turns and nearly trips over himself getting up the street.
**
“My friends liked you,” Louis says a week later, as Nick stands on the corner with him for a few minutes.
Nick snorts, takes a drag of his cigarette before offering it to Louis. Louis refuses.
“Sure,” he says, “s’Harry alright?”
Louis smiles, shakes his head with a fond sort of exasperation. “Yeah, he’ll be okay,” he says, “pretty face all banged up, but he’ll be fine.”
They stand there for a moment; smoke snaking around them.
“You know the sun loses a billion kilos a minute,” Louis says, “literally, a billion. And it’s got, like, five billion years left in it. Cool, isn’t it?”
Nick agrees with him that it is, indeed, cool, and realises he’s never seen Louis in the daylight.
**
“Hi,” Nick says on Friday night, leaning back on the wall next to Louis, bag hanging from his shoulder, “what’s going on?”
Louis shrugs, smiles up at him. “M’bored,” he says, “bored, bored, bored.”
He is inexplicably eating a Twizzler.
“You want some?” Louis offers, and Nick just snorts.
“No,” he says with a smile, “tempting as a half eaten sweet is, no, I’m okay.”
Louis grins, scans the street almost on autopilot.
“Why’re you bored?”
“Good Friday.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah.”
Nick should call his mother, and pretend he had fish for dinner tonight.
“And why does our Lord and Saviour being hung up on the cross affect you?” Nick asks. It’s not malicious; Louis just laughs, nudges him.
“People are busy, y’know, at Church, or whatever.”
Nick just snorts. “Church?”
“Yeah,” Louis says, “with their families. Difficult as it may be to believe, most people who come to the middle of Shoreditch to pay for sex aren’t the most morally upstanding citizens you’ve ever come across.”
Sharp, clever, quick; Nick thinks this might be his favourite Louis. He laughs, nudges him back.
“You want a book?” he asks, fishing around in his bag until he pulls out his dog-eared copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. He’s just finished it again. Louis raises his eyebrows.
“Didn’t take you for an Oscar Wilde type of guy.”
It’s Nick’s turn to be a little thrown, at that. “Oh yeah?” he asks, “who did you think instead?”
Louis smirks. “Jodi Picoult, maybe,” he says, “Nicholas Sparks. Nothing too taxing.”
“Fuck off!” Nick cries, echoing through the damp streets, “you’re such a snob!”
Louis nods, grins up at Nick. “Yeah,” he says, “unabashedly so.”
Nick rolls his eyes, bites the inside of his mouth to stop himself smiling.
“D’you want it?”
“Why would I want a book, Nicholas?”
Nick sighs. “Said you were bored.”
Louis laughs, runs his hand over it, flicks the little dog-ear of the front cover.
“No,” he murmurs, “thank you, though. I know some pretty good stories, anyway.”
“Oh yeah?” Nick asks, “like what?”
Louis chances a glance up at the sky, searches through the stars again.
“When two pieces of metal touch in space, they’re permanently welded together,” he says, “’cos there’s no atmosphere between them, up there, no oxidisation. So they just stick.”
Nick is so, overwhelmingly fascinated by this boy.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, nodding his concession, “that is pretty cool.”
“Uh huh. And you know if you put Saturn in water, it’d float?”
“Bullshit,” Nick says. He knows it’s entirely true, but that’s okay. He likes the indignant little look on Louis’ face, likes the way he gears himself up to argue. If he has to pretend not to know something to make him talk, he can deal with that."
“S’true!” Louis says, “it’s density is lower than water. So if you, like, had a glass of water a few hundred kilometers across, and you put it in, it’d be like an icecube.”
Nick laughs at that.
“We’re moving at five hundred and thirty kilometers an hour,” Louis muses, eyes all lit up, and Nick doesn’t think he’s bored anymore, “we’re just. We’re hurtling around, out of control. So that means after a minute we’re, like, nineteen thousand kilometres away from where we were. No one’s driving it, it just happens. And we’re all okay.” He smiles down at his shoes for a minute. “Kind of nice, isn’t it?”
Nick nods. “Why do you like space so much?” he asks.
“Cos it’s bigger than everything else,” Louis says, “it’s bigger than the biggest thing any person can possibly imagine.” He laughs, a little, at that. “Makes me feel safe,” he says, and oh, Nick thinks that candid, shy, Louis, might just be his new favourite.
**
“You want a bite?” Nick asks, holding out his slice of pizza.
Louis just rolls his eyes, tells him his jeans are dirty, and that he should get them dry cleaned, they’re Italian, Nick, put them in a washing machine and I’ll kill you.
**
“I went to HMV today,” Nick says, conversational, a week later.
Louis smiles, shivers against the early May cold.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, “what’d you get?”
Nick fishes around in his bag till he pulls a CD out. It’s David Bowie’s Hunky Dory, and Louis laughs.
“Bowie?” he asks, “why?”
“S’got Life on Mars on it,” Nick shrugs, “thought you might like it.”
Louis closes his eyes for a second, smiles, before looking back at Nick.
“I have this album, you know,” he says, “I am twenty, I didn’t come down in the last shower.”
“Yeah, what, you’ve got it ripped off Mediafire?” Nick challenges, and Louis shrugs. “Take it,” he says gently, “I want you to have it. Reminds me of you.”
Louis shakes his head. “No,” he says, “c’mon, stop trying to give me things all the time. I don’t want that,” he says quietly, “I don’t need that.”
Nick shrugs, puts it back in his bag.
“There is, though, you know,” Louis says after a minute, wind picking up.
“Hmm?”
“Life on Mars. Bet you ten quid.”
Nick laughs, shakes his hand to seal the deal.
**
Nick just wants to see how far this no favours thing goes.
“Gum?” he asks nonchalantly, holding the packet out to Louis.
Louis shakes his head, even though he’d been complaining about the taste in his mouth for the last hour. It’s four in the morning, Nick doesn’t really ask Louis questions about work all that often, but it doesn’t take a genius.
“Just take it, Louis, God,” Nick says, “s’worth about three cents. You’re not going to be greatly indebted to me, or whatever the fuck.”
Louis shakes his head again.
“Why not?” Nick asks suddenly. He never asks. “Why won’t you let me—“
“Let you what?” Louis bites back, loud. “Let you help?”
Nick opens and closes his mouth. Shit.
“I don’t need your help,” Louis says evenly, “that’s why I do this, don’t you get it? I don’t need anyone.”
“Okay.”
Louis blinks. “Okay.”
They sit in silence for a moment.
“It’s not really helping, though, is it?” Nick pushes, “I mean. Gum, a fucking CD, a bite of pizza. Oscar Wilde. It’s just…it’s nothing, Louis, it’s friendly. It’s okay, to take those things.”
Louis smiles, pushes himself off the wall.
“You don’t get it, do you?” he asks. Nick doesn’t say a word. “I can say no to you. I can say no and still pay my rent, and not get hit in the face, and not…whatever, Nick. I like being able to say no to you. It means…” he trails off.
“What, Lou?” Nick asks.
“It means you’re more than just one of them, if I don’t take things from you,” Louis says finally, gesturing to the street. Nick knows what he means. “That it’s not, y’know, some weird fucking infatuation, or some sick mentality like all of them that if they give me shit it’ll be more than a quick fuck in a motel.”
Nick flinches. Louis rarely talks like this, he’s delicate, doesn’t like telling Nick these things.
“So I like being able to say no to you,” Louis says softly, “it, y’know. It means something to me.”
Nick’s chest swells at that.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay.”
Louis leans back against the wall.
“Footprints and tyre tracks from astronauts stay on the moon forever,” Louis says absently, like he’s telling Nick what he had for dinner, “there’s no wind, no air. So they just…stay. Forever.”
Nick brushes his hand over Louis’, turns and follows his gaze up to the sky.
**
Louis’ drawn, pinched, the whole next week. It makes Nick nervous.
“Get out of here,” Louis says softly, shivering against the cold, always shivering, “I’ve got a client.”
“This late?” Nick asks. Louis closes his eyes, he’s tired, Nick thinks, and nods.
“Yeah,” he says, “it’s…whatever,” he settles on saying, too exhausted or unwilling to explain, “c’mon. I’ll see you later.”
Nick goes.
He’s not there on Wednesday night, but it’s so, so fucking cold, and Nick knows he’ll only be in a t-shirt, the thin white one, maybe the Rolling Stones one, maybe the Columbia Records one. Nick sighs, pulls his coat off, then his jumper, and leaves the latter on Louis’ corner.
When he comes back two days later, it’s still there, untouched, little note pinned to it.
Not a charity drive, Nick. X
Louis’ looking gaunt, thinner, more tired than usual. Nick doesn’t ask, doesn’t know how, doesn’t want Louis pushing him away. So instead, he just listens, to the words on Louis’ tongue, the chatter of his teeth, the scrape of his nails across the material of his jeans.
He talks in abstracts, more and more often now, little things that Nick doesn’t really need to reply to.
“Do you ever think that what it’d be like if the planets were out of order?” he says one night, “if we could get to Neptune, but not Mars?”
Nick hasn’t ever thought about that, it hardly matters.
“I’d like to go to Neptune,” Louis murmurs, “I reckon it’d be alright.”
Distant, Nick realises, Louis is distant.
And when Nick asks him as he stands to go, you all good, Lou? he’s not sure he believes the reply anymore.
**
“You all good, Lou?” Nick asks. He’s only stopping quickly tonight, chatted for a few minutes but he’s tired and he needs to go.
“Sure,” Louis says, “off you go. You look exhausted.”
Nick smiles at that, at Louis, despite looking like he has the weight of the world and a couple of other planets on his shoulders lately, looking out for Nick.
He touches Louis’ arm gently and leaves. As he gets to the High Street, he goes to pull his phone out of his back pocket, but it’s not there.
Fuck, he must’ve left it behind the bar.
With a sigh, he turns back down, walks quickly through the night. Fucking damn it, he’s going to miss the one thirty bus, the last one, and now he’s going to have to blow out on a cab.
“Shit.”
There’s a muttered expletive and a crash from an alley Nick’s walking past. He jolts, scared out of his mind at the noise; it sounds like metal hitting asphalt.
There’s a figure down the end of the small street, muttering shit, shit, shit, to himself.
“Louis?”
The figure jumps back at Nick’s voice, walks into the light of a street lamp. It’s Louis alright, a little gaunt, eyes a little too grey for Nick’s liking.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Louis asks, “did you follow me here?”
“No,” Nick says, “no, I left my phone at the bar…is that your stuff?”
He gestures to a bag and a pile of mismatched items sitting next to a dumpster. Louis folds his arms.
“No,” he says, defiant. It doesn’t hold, Nick isn’t buying it.
“What are you even doing down here?” he asks, walking towards Louis. Louis closes his eyes for a second, sets his jaw.
“Fuck off,” he grits out, “Nick, I swear to God, can you fuck o—“
“Oh my God,” Nick murmurs, ashen, peering around him, “Lou,” he says quietly, “Lou is that a mattress?”
Louis doesn’t say anything, just casts his eyes down, looks away from Nick standing in front of him.
“Fuck off,” he says again. He sounds exhausted, little.
“Louis,” Nick says, “you should’ve told me.”
Louis’ eyes are burning with that same expression that night in the alley. It makes Nick want to cry, selfishly.
“Yeah, right,” Louis says roughly, “so you could’ve gotten all saviour-y on me. It’s fucking temporary, Nick, it’s not a big deal. Please just go.”
“S’why you’ve been all different lately,” Nick murmurs to himself, “shit. What…what happened?”
Louis looks up at him, eyes big and wide and vulnerable, just for a moment. Nick’s heart clenches. This fucking beautiful boy, all alone, here, and Nick didn’t even realise.
He’s good at hiding, Nick thinks.
“I took my work home with me,” Louis says, voice low, dripping in sarcasm but scratched up, “like an idiot. It’s like, the one fucking rule. Everyone there, y’know,” he says, “well. It’s pretty dodgy. But it’s the one fucking rule, and they always find out. Landlady, y’know.”
“Yeah,” Nick breathes, barely, because he’s so full of this terrible fondness that he thinks he can’t breathe.
“So,” Louis says, “I’m…here, for a bit.”
“Louis,” Nick says, “come home with—“
“Don’t, Nick,” Louis spits, batting Nick’s hand off his shoulder, “don’t fucking say it. Please.”
“Louis.”
“No.”
Nick closes his eyes. “Where are your friends?” he asks quietly, “Harry? The other ones who were around that night?”
Louis shrugs. “If they’re in London, they live there,” he says, “so. Not an option. I don’t know where Zayn is, Niall. They disappeared a while back.”
“You’re tired.”
Louis huffs out a laugh. He doesn’t deny it.
“Louis—“
“No, Nick,” he says again, taking a little step back.
“Listen,” Nick says roughly, and Louis flinches at the tone in his voice. It makes Nick’s stomach twist, that, so he forces himself to calm down. Gentle, he thinks, be gentle with him. “Hey. Louis. You’re my friend, yeah?”
Louis doesn’t confirm or deny, just sort of smiles.
“If one of your friends was sleeping here and you could get them off the street, you would, right?”
Louis swallows.
“It’s different,” he says, eyes big and desperate, “I don’t…fuck, Nick, why do you have to make it so hard? I don’t want to owe you anything, don’t you get that yet?”
His eyes are wet, Nick notices, although he looks like he’d rather die than let a tear spill over. He blinks them back furiously.
“You won’t,” he says, “promise. You can leave before I wake up. It’s gonna be cold tonight, Lou, really cold. Please?” he asks, “just tonight. C’mon.”
Louis doesn’t say anything. He shivers, involuntarily, against the cold, and without thinking Nick takes his coat off, wraps it around his shaking little shoulders.
“C’mon,” Nick murmurs into his hair, wrapping an arm around him firmly. He pulls Louis close into his side, and Louis sort of melts into him, into his body heat.
“Fuck,” Louis croaks, like he’s angry at himself. Nick doesn’t say anything, just rubs his thumb into his shoulder as they walk, turning up the street.
Nick doesn’t get his phone.
**
When they get to Nick’s flat, he finds himself to be inexplicably nervous. Louis was quiet in the cab, curled up on the other side of the back seat, resolutely not looking at Nick.
And now he’s here, in his apartment, and it’s the first time Nick’s seen him off the street.
He looks impossibly little, hovering in Nick’s door and hanging his coat up gingerly.
“You can come in, you know,” Nick says lightly, flicking the TV on low, “eat whatever you want, watch anything.”
Louis doesn’t really respond, just nods.
“You’ve a nice place,” he says, “that’s what people are s’posed to say, right?” He shoots Nick a brave little grin and Nick realizes, in that moment, how hard this must be for Louis. Because if the roles were reversed, he’d sure as hell be detesting every second of this.
“Hey,” Nick says gently, “I’m gonna get you a towel and some clothes. Want to take a shower?”
Louis, again, doesn’t seem to know what to say. So, that’s it, Nick has appointed himself In Charge of tonight.
“You’re taking a shower,” he says firmly, fossicking around in his linen cupboard and pulling out a towel, “bathroom’s just down the hall, I’ll find you something to sleep in, I don’t know if—“
“Nick?”
Nick stops talking, turns back round to Louis and throws him a towel.
“Yeah?”
Louis takes a breath, smiles. “Thanks,” he says quietly.
“All good, Lou,” he says back, “we’re all good.”
Louis walks down the hall and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and Nick lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He finds him a jumper and an old pair of sweats to sleep in, flicks the electric blanket in the spare room on. Spare room is maybe too kind of a word for a shoebox containing his old bed, but whatever. He’ll take it
He heats up some Chinese leftovers while Louis’ in the shower, flicks around channels. He only realizes he’s nodded off half an hour later when he wakes up, TV too loud and food completely cold again.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, standing up to find Louis.
“Lou,” he says, stumbling a little to the spare room, “Lou, are you oka—“
He cuts himself off, smiles a little at the sight in front of him. Louis’ out cold, hair damp on the pillow, Nick’s far too big jumper hanging off his shoulders. He’s curled up under the duvet, out like a light, and Nick’s not about to wake him for love or money.
He flicks the lights out and closes the door gently, pads across the hall and into his own room.
**
Louis’ long gone when he wakes up. There’s a note stuck to the fridge – thank you, for everything, xx, a load of washing with the clothes Louis’d worn in the drier, the bed all remade.
So, this was a stopover, then.
Louis refuses to come home with Nick again after that night. He’s all lazy vowels and wicked grins the next Wednesday when Nick sees him, but there’s something else, too. It’s an honesty, almost, an unspoken acknowledgement that Nick probably knows more about him than he’d really like.
“You don’t even have to talk to me,” Nick says, “seriously, I don’t mind. I just want you to be okay.”
“Nick,” Louis drawls, almost bored, “I’m fine. I was just fucking exhausted, y’know. I’m fine, I swear.”
Nick looks at him dubiously.
“Where’re you sleeping?”
“Salvo’s. Gave me a bed for a bit, till I find somewhere. Seriously, please, don’t worry. I’m okay.”
There’s a pause, it sits between them, and Nick realises there’s nothing he can do.
“You know that the Big Dipper isn’t really a constellation,” Louis says slowly, “it’s an asterism.”
“And what’s that?”
Louis tells him, and he tries not to think, you all good, Lou?
**
It is a Tuesday night – one of Nick’s blissful days off – almost two weeks later, when there’s a tapping at his door, small, like the beak of a bird.
He sighs, flicks the telly off and stands at the door, unimpressed.
“Who’s’it?” he asks boredly, brow furrowing when there’s no reply.
“Who’s there?” he asks, and at the same time as he’s half shouting his door down, a small voice murmurs from the other side.
“It’s, it’s me. Louis.”
And Nick doesn’t think he’s ever pulled that door open so quickly in his whole goddamned life.
Louis’ shivering, on his doorstep, eyes wild and panicky, breathing hard.
“Louis,” Nick breathes, “shit, are…are you okay?”
Louis doesn’t say anything, just stands there like he can’t quite believe he’s here, like he’s not sure how he got from point A to point B.
“Come in,” Nick says, pulling him inside gently, “c’mon, it’s freezing, come and warm up.”
“I shouldn’t’ve come here,” he croaks, it’s the first thing out of his mouth. And suddenly Nick feels like he can’t breathe, because Louis’ so young and little and lovely and tonight he’s shaken to his core, and Nick doesn’t know how to deal with that.
“Hey,” he says, trying to calm Louis’ shaky breaths, “hey, hey, hey. It’s alright. You can come here whenever.”
Louis shakes his head, presses a hand to his mouth. He’s all locked up, folded arms and legs together and shoulders a little hunched and Nick just wants him to lose all that tension, wants to help him.
“No, no, I can’t, I…fuck, I shouldn’t be here,” he says, voice wobbling and rasping, “shit. Shit.”
And Nick knows, now, that his average-at-best words aren’t going to do the job tonight. He’s not about to let Louis run off into the night like this, so instead he does the only thing he can think of.
He pulls him in close, presses his head to his chest gently and runs his left hand up to his head, cradles it there for a moment, fingers carding through Louis’ hair. He lets his right wrap right around Louis, holds him close, feels his breath stutter out over his chest.
“Are you hurt?” Nick murmurs, whispering the word into his hair. It’s small, secure, and he thinks Louis senses that too. He lets himself fall against Nick, lets himself be held for a moment.
“No,” Louis says into his skin, “not much. Nearly. But no.”
“Okay,” Nick says, hearing the relief in his own tone, because God help him he has no idea what he’d do if he found out Louis was hurt but he knows it wouldn’t be pretty, “okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”
He decides he likes the way his hand can span nearly the whole part of Louis’ back where his waist cinches in, likes that he feels he can protect him.
Louis is still for a few precious seconds before he pushes back against Nick’s hands, fists his own into Nick’s t-shirt. He’s breathing hard again, eyes lit back up with that dangerous, frenetic energy, and before Nick can tell him to slow down, he crushes his lips against Nick’s, hard and erratic. Nick staggers back a little, lets himself be kissed for a few seconds until he realizes what’s happening, pushes Louis off him.
“Lou,” he pants, “Louis, what’s going o—“
“Shut up,” Louis says, kissing Nick quickly. He’s fast, frantic, “you want me, don’t you.”
He pushes up onto his toes to kiss Nick again and his calves are shaking, Nick can see. He pushes Louis back down again, hands on his shoulders.
“You do, right? Properly. You want me properly.”
“Louis—"
“Say, it, Nick. Please,” he rasps, “just say it.”
He seems to deflate after that, little outburst crumbling around him, and as though he has nowhere else to go be buries his head in Nick’s chest, takes a deep breath.
“I think you’re wonderful,” Nick murmurs, pressing his lips to Louis’ head gently, “I think you’re fantastic.”
They stand for a few moments, breathing hard, until Louis lifts his head.
“Come with me,” Nick says quietly, taking his hand, “c’mon, you’re freezing. Jump in the shower, okay?”
Louis nods, wordless, and let’s Nick push him gently into the bathroom, clothes and towel in his hands.
When he emerges, wearing Nick’s very favourite Dr. Dre t-shirt and the same grey sweatpants from last time, he stops sort of awkwardly in Nick’s doorway. Nick’s on the bed, texting Pixie, when he sees him.
“Hey,” he says, voice softening, “how’re you feeling?”
Nick drops his phone on the bed, looks at Louis for a long moment. He’s still, not shaking against the wind for once in his life, and Nick likes it. The clothes are too big for him and his hair is damp but his skin is bright, clean. He looks so small, though, gaunt still.
“Okay,” Louis murmurs quietly, but his voice is shaky. Nick can’t even imagine what it is that’s broken him like this, but he’s not about to ask. Louis’ll talk when he’s ready, he imagines.
He holds out his arms, forgoes words for now, beckons Louis over, if he wants it.
And, looking lost and tired and trembling a little, Louis steps onto the carpet, and climbs up onto Nick’s bed.
“I won’t keep coming back,” he says miserably, quiet, “I promise. I promise. Just tonight, I promise.”
He’s so far away, Nick thinks, sitting opposite him. He’s so far away and suddenly Nick wonders when someone last took care of him, last gave him a hug and told him it would all be okay. He’s twenty, seems pretty seasoned at what he does. Nick wonders, all at once, why he’s ended up here; London, that corner, Nick’s flat.
“Hey,” he says, leaning forward and tilting Louis’ chin up, “hey. In my wealth of experience, things kind of feel a bit better after a cuddle.”
Louis laughs, a little tearfully, tired.
“Yeah?” he croaks, and Nick nods.
Without a word, he nods back, and when Nick tugs gently on his wrist he lets himself be dragged to where Nick’s sat up against the headboard, fitting himself in between Nick’s legs.
It’s nice, Nick thinks, and for the first time all night the line of Louis’ body relaxes, he curls his back against Nick’s chest and lets his head drop.
Nick wants to kiss him. He’s wanted to kiss him since he first turned left, and now, with him here and warm and pliant in his lap, he just wants to feel his lips on his own, softly, slowly. But he doesn’t. It’s not the night for it, he doesn’t think. Louis doesn’t need someone shoving his tongue down his throat right now, he needs this. So Nick just lets him nuzzle into his neck, presses his lips to Louis’ temple, his hair, his cheek, softly, lets his lips ghost over the skin other people neglect, he thinks.
He wants to do this forever. Wants to kiss all the inches other people don’t until Louis’ covered in care and fondness and whatever’s stirring inside Nick’s chest from his feathery fringe to his little ankles.
Louis falls asleep in his arms, and Nick doesn’t move all night.
**
He’s gone when Nick wakes up. There’s a load of washing on, a mug washed up on the side of the counter, drip-drying.
There’s a note, too.
Sorry.
**
Louis isn’t on the corner on Wednesday, or Friday, or Saturday.
Nick pops down on Monday and Tuesday, just in case he’s purposefully avoiding the nights Nick works.
The corner is empty; the streetlights don’t have anything to catch.
By Saturday, Nick still hasn’t seen him. He thinks he sees a flash of the strong boy with the arrow tattoos one night, walking past the bar, but he might just be imagining it.
“You all good, babe?” Aimee asks him one night, pulling a beer for a depressingly alone guy sloshed up the back.
Nick can’t help but huff out a humourless laugh.
“Sure,” he says, “I’m fine.”
He starts to think he maybe shouldn’t’ve believed Louis all those times he said the same thing.
**
Nick turns right on Wednesday.
It’s cold and late and fuck it, he doesn’t need the walk to Liverpool Street. He’ll get the Overground from Shoreditch.
He flicks through the timetables on his phone, there’s one in twelve minutes that he might be able to make and—
Shit.
He stutters out a breath as someone knocks headfirst into him, slamming into his chest.
“Christ, mate, could you fuckin’ watch where—“
Louis stops talking as soon as he locks eyes with Nick.
“Fuck,” he says, paling.
Nick’s forgotten how to speak.
“You’re okay,” he says finally, “Jesus, I’ve been losing my mind, Louis.”
“Sorry,” Louis breathes, “I. You know, thought you might be sick of me, or whatever. So I—“
“Fuck,” Nick says, and he doesn’t even think about it before he pulls Louis in, crushes him to his chest. He wonders if Louis can feel the way his heart rate is skyrocketing.
Louis just laughs into his chest, a little awkwardly.
“Are you okay?” Nick asks, “after, y’know, whatever happened, are you—"
“Yeah,” Louis says gently, “just a bad night. Just a bad client. I’m okay.”
“You promise?”
Louis rolls his eyes. “Yes, Mum,” he says, breaking out of Nick’s arms, “Harry got evicted too, so we found a place. We move in in, like, a week.”
“That’s great,” Nick smiles a little breathlessly, relieved, “that’s fantastic.”
Louis just snorts. “What are you, my social worker now?” he asks dryly, and God, Nick’s missed him so much. He’s okay, he’s in one piece, he’s here.
“Can I do anything?” he asks before he can stop himself, “can, can I get you dinner, d’you need somewhere to stay till next week, do—“
Louis laughs, presses a hand to Nick’s mouth quickly.
“Not a charity, Nick,” he says, “remember?”
Nick wraps his fingers around Louis’ wrist, moves his hand shakily. He doesn’t let go.
“I know,” he says, “if you were, I’d be feeling all smug and impressed with myself, y’know. Like when I give five quid to that guy at King's Cross.”
Louis rolls his eyes. “And how do you feel now?”
Nick pauses. “Worried, mostly,” he says, “just worried.”
“You shouldn’t be,” Louis says softly, “I’m okay.”
“Also a little bit ridiculously in love with you,” Nick says quietly, running a hand down Louis’ cheek, “but you know. Neither here nor there.”
He doesn’t know what makes him say it. He thinks, though, that it’s the way his chest has unclenched itself for the first time in two weeks.
Probably, that’s it.
“Nick,” Louis says, like the wind’s been knocked out of him, “Nick.”
“I—“
“You don’t want me,” he says, “I promise, you don’t. I…I’m not good,” he murmurs.
“Yes, you are, actually, so.”
Louis can’t help but smile, but it’s sad, Nick thinks.
“Nick. I sleep with—“
“I don’t care,” he says simply, because he doesn’t, “never have. Not once.”
“You will though,” Louis murmurs, “everyone ends up caring, eventually.”
Nick wonders who that refers to. Past boyfriends, friends, family. His heart hurts, sometimes, looking at Louis; this is one of those times.
“Not me.”
“I can’t just quit, you know, when, when you start getting annoyed by it,” he says, not locking eyes with Nick, “that’s not an option.”
“I don’t need you to quit."
Louis does look up, at that, at the simplicity in Nick’s voice.
“I don’t have anything,” he croaks, “you don’t…why do you make it so hard? I can’t give you anything.”
“It’s not hard, actually,” Nick says, all dry authority, “it’s quite simple. And in the words of someone very close to us both,” he says with a smile, leaning down and whispering in Louis’ ear, eliciting a giggle from him, “I don’t need anything from you.”
“You’re an idiot,” he murmurs against Nick’s cheek. Nick grins, kisses Louis’ jaw as he stands back up.
“Hey,” he says, tilting Louis’ chin up a bit, “can I kiss you?”
Louis’ eyelashes flutter at the question, he smiles all prettily, like he’s just been given a present.
So Nick doesn’t, really doesn’t, expect Louis to shake his head.
“No,” he says, before registering the look on Nick’s face, “no, no, no,” he says hurriedly, “not no. Just…not like this. Not when I’m about to go and fuck some guy in a motel two blocks away, not on a street corner."
Oh, Nick thinks, okay.
“If we do this,” Louis says, resolve slipping, “I want it to be….” he trails off, can’t find the words, “fuck, d’you know what I mean?”
Nick nods, soothes him with a small smile. “Of course,” he says, “of course.”
“Soon,” Louis says, brushing a finger curiously over Nick’s lips, “soon. I have to, fuck, I have to go,” he says, checking his phone for the time.
“That’s okay,” Nick says, “I’ll see you. Promise.”
“Yeah,” Louis says, sidling past Nick but walking backwards, as though he doesn’t want to look away, “hey, you want to know something cool?” he asks, voice a little raised.
Nick can only imagine.
“Sure,” he calls back, over the sound of a car.
“Andromeda’s gonna crash into the Milky Way soon,” he says loudly, voice bouncing off the walls, “well, I say soon. Give it a billion years. But when it happens…”
He trails off, moves his hands in a mushroom cloud motion.
“Just two trillion stars. Crashing together,” he says, little smile growing.
And Nick has no idea what he’s talking about, what Andro-whatever even is, but he doesn’t mind. He likes the sound of it.
**
When Nick finally does kiss him, it’s a week later at Nick’s apartment.
He’s coming over at eleven, Nick wants to take him to breakfast-brunch-lunch, whatever he wants, really. Nick’s not ever really gone on a daytime date, but they both work nights, so. He doesn’t mind, knows it’ll be fun either way.
His heart still sort of folds in on itself when Louis knocks, louder than last time.
He looks so, so sweet. Nick wants to build a fucking plaque outside his door, to mark the day he actually got real life hearts in his eyes.
Louis, by some miracle of God, is dressed properly. He’s in a big sweater that kind of drowns him, in the most endearing way possible, jeans red and cuffed, absurdly sockless even though it’s all but winter now. He smiles, bites his lip, as Nick opens the door, blue eyes glinting happily.
“Hi,” he says, a little nervous, Nick thinks.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Nick says dryly, closing the door behind him, “sorry it’s such a mess, I was trying to find—“
He’s cut off, quite successfully, by Louis’ lips on his, tingling and cold. He doesn’t miss a beat, though, just smiles as Louis surges up to meet him and swoops a hand down low on Louis’ back, fingers entwining with his sweater. God, Nick thinks for what feels like the four hundredth time, he’s so gorgeous, soft from the press of his lips to the curve of his hips, but his arms and legs firm, taut as the press up into Nick. If he’s not the most perfectly proportioned boy on the planet, Nick doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go on with his life.
Louis bites at his bottom lip playfully, grinning into the kiss as Nick prises his lips apart further, tongue flicking into Louis’ mouth. He doesn’t want to push it, but Louis pushes up onto his toes, all adorably frustrated at not having enough leverage, and Nick thinks fuck it, kisses him properly, little grazes of teeth and curling tongues and yeah, Nick’s really glad he bumped into this boy again.
He pulls back for no reason other than he thinks he might actually die if he doesn’t take a proper breath in the next five seconds.
“Hi,” Louis says, “y’know. Again.”
Nick laughs, a little dazed. “Hello yourself. We can go out, if you want, but—”
“No,” Louis says, “no, no, no.” He pushes Nick back by his chest, properly inside now. “Let’s just stay here for a bit.”
And Nick is absolutely fine with that.
Nick’s had a few boyfriends in his life who’ve been remarkably good kissers. He likes a good kiss, fancies himself somewhat of a connoisseur.
Apparently, though, he was yet to try the Bollinger of kisses before he met Louis.
They’ve been at it for an hour, Nick thinks, although it feels like a fucking year. Louis’ just perched on his lap like a little kitten, kissing him till he feels half dead. They’re both ridiculously hard; Louis grinding into his lap with a little more urgency as the minutes tick by, but they’re not in a rush. Quite spectacularly, they’ve got the whole day.
“Nick,” Louis murmurs, teeth grazing his earlobe, “Nick.”
Nick doesn’t answer, too overcome with Louis’ voice and his teeth and his bum in his lap.
“Nick, if you don’t get your cock out in the next five seconds I’m going to break something.”
That gets his attention.
“Yeah,” he says breathlessly, “yeah, okay.”
Louis’ hands move to his fly, slowly, and just before they settle on his dick, hard and pressing against the zipper, Nick remembers something.
“Shit,” he groans, grabbing Louis’ hands before they can go any further and he doesn’t have the willpower to stop him, “no, wait.”
“Why?”
“I,” he stutters out, sitting up properly. God, he’s not even come yet and he feels distinctly fucked out, disoriented, “I have a thing. For you. That I was gonna be all romantic about. But then. Well,” he says, and Louis just laughs, kisses him softly.
Nick thinks Louis might just like him.
“So c’mon then,” he says, “sweep me off my feet.”
Nick rolls his eyes, blessedly doesn’t have to move to get it off the table next to them because he thinks he really might cry if Louis gets off his lap.
It’s an envelope, Nick knows it doesn’t look like much, but he thinks Louis’ going to like it.
“I swear to God,” Louis says slowly, face suddenly unsure and guarded, “I swear to God, if there’s money in here, I’m out.”
He’s not joking, either. Nick just rolls his eyes, settles his hands on Louis’ waist, kneading at the skin there slightly.
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” he says, “just open it.”
Louis looks nervous as he tears it open, Nick can feel his heart rate picking up, and suddenly he wonders if he’s done the right thing, if it’s too soon, if Louis’ going to hate it.
He needn’t worry. Louis’ face lights up…well, like a star, Nick thinks, somewhat soppily, considering what’s on the piece of paper in Louis’ hand.
“You bought me a star,” Louis says quietly, small little smile on his lips but big, impossibly big, in his eyes. Nick thinks that’s where it counts. He watches as Louis scans the certificate, all big and official and his face, Nick wants to take a photo, or a thousand, because he wants to make Louis look like this forever.
“I,” he says finally, “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Nick says, pulling him closer, kissing him and listening to the little moan that escapes Louis’ mouth as their cocks press together through all these fucking layers of clothing, “just enjoy it.”
And yeah, Nick’s never made a better decision than turning left.