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Louis rolls his eyes.

It's already noon, so they spend the next hour trying to make

themselves presentable to go out in public. Louis didn't take the time to

pack any actual clothes when he left Manchester, which means he's at

the mercy of Harry's wardrobe. It's easy to share clothes with Harry

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when they're just dealing with joggers and t-shirts and things to laze

about the flat in, but date clothes are a different animal, and Harry is

shaped very differently than Louis is. Finding a jumper that fits him

isn't terribly hard, and he ends up in a dark grey one that is only a little

baggy on him and works fine as long as he pushes the sleeves up to

keep them from covering his hands. Trousers are another matter,

though, and he spends twenty minutes cursing Harry's skinny legs and

love of tight jeans—a thing he never thought he'd have anything but

utmost praises for—before he shimmies into a pair that fits once he

cuffs them at the bottom.

He kicks Harry out of the bathroom to fuss with his hair for a bit but

gives up after a minute or two; if he's being honest, sex hair is not

altogether that different from the way he styles it on a normal day

anyway. Next it's a round of shaving his face and brushing his teeth and

cleaning his glasses diligently before he's ready, giving himself an

appreciative once-over in the mirror.

"Voila," Louis says, exiting the bathroom with a flourish. He holds out

his arms and does a spin, letting Harry see every inch of him. Harry's

still only halfway dressed, but he stops in the middle of doing up his

jeans to applaud.

"You're gorgeous," Harry says.

"Thanks, love," Louis says, taking a little bow. He doesn't know why

he's blushing.

"I like you in my clothes," Harry continues as he does up his fly, and

Louis knows why he's blushing now.

"Like me better out of them," he shoots back, because he's never one to

be outdone in a battle of innuendo. "Are you almost ready?"

"I would be, if somebody hadn't distracted me and then taken ages in

the bathroom," Harry teases.

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"Whoever that person was, he sounds like a man who gets what he

wants," Louis says.

"Yeah," Harry says. "He is."

Louis bites his lip, and Harry goes back to fastening his belt. He's no

stranger to watching Harry get undressed, but it's less common for him

to get a chance to watch Harry put clothes on. It feels quite domestic,

watching Harry build himself up into what strangers get to see. Louis

wonders if this is just one time of thousands to come, if he'll be lucky

enough to get to watch Harry get dressed for the rest of their lives.

That's a big thought to have before lunch, but Louis isn't afraid of it. He

is, however, struck with another idea. He leans down and picks

yesterday's trousers up off the floor, digging his wallet out of the

pocket.

"Haz," he says once he's pocketed his wallet again. "Stay here for a

second."

"What?" Harry says. He looks up and sees Louis crossing the room,

reaching for the door. "Where are you going?"

"Just trust me, yeah?" Louis says. "Stay here and finish getting ready."

Harry looks confused but nods anyway, and Louis lets himself out and

rides the lift down to the first floor. He sits on the front steps of the

building for a few minutes, killing time, until he decides it's been long

enough and stands to buzz Harry's flat.

"Hello?" says Harry's voice over the scratchy intercom when he

answers.

"Hi, it's Louis," Louis says politely. "I'm here to pick you up for our

date?"

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There's a pause on the other end, and Louis can picture the look on

Harry's face, like he doesn't know where the hell somebody like Louis

even came from but he's glad he did. It's a look Louis' seen many, many

times. "I'll be right down," Harry says finally, and the intercom clicks

off.

A minute or so later, the front door of Harry's building opens and Harry

steps out. He's looking rather fetching indeed, dark wash jeans and a

soft cotton shirt under a leather jacket and a worn camera case over one

shoulder, slim and lovely under what little sun London has to offer

today. He's a stunner, and Louis feels incredibly smug that he's the only

one who gets to walk around holding his hand.

"You look great," Louis says, smiling as Harry meets him at the bottom

of the steps.

"Thanks," Harry says. "So do you."

"Have you decided where you'd like to go?" Louis says.

"Yeah, I have," Harry tells him. He reaches over and takes Louis' hand,

slotting their fingers together, and as they turn together to make their

way down the street, Louis realises it's the first time they've held hands

in broad daylight.

It's little revelations like this that are going to make this finally feel

real. It's one thing to hear Harry say he wants to be with him and

believe it, but it's another to experience what that means, to feel the

solid ground of a real relationship under his feet. A long time ago, the

Louis he used to be gave up on all the little trappings of being

committed to somebody else, convinced himself that he didn't want or

care about things like anniversaries or good morning kisses or holding

hands on the sidewalk. But he does want those things, always has, so he

smiles and grips Harry's hand tighter and lets himself be led to the

underground station a few streets over and tries to soak it all in.

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They get off the tube at High Street Kensington and Harry tugs Louis

along by the hand, passing tourists and shoppers and a billion well-

dressed, beautiful people on their way to expensive, exciting things.

Louis eyes them all, daring them to look twice at Harry, to give him a

chance to exercise his new privilege of getting to be possessive of him.

He feels invincible, and punch-drunk, and recklessly, bottomlessly

happy.

Harry picks a posh little cafe with a menu that's half in French and art

on the walls that looks like it's worth more than Louis' car. The servings

are miniscule and plated in ridiculously artistic ways, and Louis teases

Harry mercilessly for picking somewhere so obviously intended to

impress him, but Harry's trying so hard and it's terribly endearing.

They spend the meal catching up, with Louis telling Harry all about

community theatre and the new school year and Harry telling Louis all

about his internship and the weird artsy friends he's made since he

moved to London. Louis has him explain the basics of photography to

him, general terminology and what the industry's like, that sort of thing.

He's decided that this time around he's going to be just as invested in

every part of Harry's life as Harry is in his, and that starts with asking

these questions. Harry seems thrilled to share as much of it with Louis

as he can, and Louis finds himself nodding along eagerly, caught up in

Harry's infectious enthusiasm.

Once they've split dessert and Louis has paid for the meal, they head

back out onto the sidewalk together.

"Sorry about the restaurant," Harry says, twitching with his hair. "I

wanted to take you somewhere nice, but um, I've never actually eaten

here before. Gemma likes it?"

He offers Louis an apologetic smile, and Louis just shakes his head and

laughs. "It's fine. To be honest, I didn't really care about the food."

"Yeah, me neither," Harry says. He takes a step forward, reaching up to

slide a hand to the side of Louis' face. "So, since you've bought me

lunch now, is it all right if I kiss you?"

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"Mmm, such a gentleman," Louis says, pulling Harry in closer by the

waist. "Yes, you may kiss me."

Harry smiles and presses their lips together, and it's sweet and innocent

and perfect, right in the middle of the sidewalk with the sounds of

London all around them. They keep it short, like a proper first kiss, and

it almost feels like one. It feels like a first something.

"Where to next?" Harry asks him, close and soft. "You pick."

Louis considers for a moment before pulling Harry down the street with

him, dodging a small herd of schoolchildren in knee socks. The weather

is doing him the tremendous favour of holding out for this date, and

Louis intends to take full advantage.

So they wander into Kensington Gardens hand-in-hand, bypassing the

Palace and taking the road toward Hyde Park. He'd pictured Harry here

before, when they were apart, and he wants to be able to picture the two

of them here together.

There are dozens of other couples out today, sitting on benches with

their arms around each other, coasting on side-by-side bicycles,

crouching down by the edge of the pond with their children to feed the

ducks. Louis finds himself smiling at them, wanting to run up to them

with Harry like a five-year-old with a new toy and show them that,

look, he's got love too, he's one of them, he gets to be happy after all.

He doesn't, though, because he's not actually five, or mental, or keen to

have Harry look at him like he's either. But still, for a long time it was a

feeling he'd stopped believing he'd ever have again, and it nearly

knocks the wind out of him.

They carry on down the path toward the Serpentine, swinging their

hands between them and talking about everything from primary school

to their mums to football to reality television. It feels so good that this

hasn't changed between them either, that they can fall right back into

the easy rhythm they always had with each other. Louis really has

missed this part of their relationship just as tremendously as he missed

the rest, and it feels like he's got his best mate back.

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They're just having a laugh over the whole kissing booth debacle of last

autumn's fair, competing to see who can do a better impression of

Zayn's annoyed face, when Louis decides to just say what he's thinking

for once.

"I wanted to kiss you that night," Louis confesses, and Harry looks up

at him through his eyelashes. "At the fair. Well, I mean, I wanted to

kiss you the minute I saw you, but when we were on the Ferris wheel

that night, I wanted to kiss you so badly I thought I was going to die,

and that's when I knew I was in trouble."

"Are we playing that game, then?" Harry says, grinning ruefully at him.

"All right. The carwash. I came up with that idea to try to impress you."

Louis laughs, remembering how excited Harry had been about putting

it on and the look on Zayn's face when they'd sprayed him with the

hose. "Really?"

"Yeah, I was planning on taking my shirt off or something, but then the

Zayn thing happened. I was trying to impress you with that too.

Because I was stupidly in love with you and I knew it already," Harry

says with a flippant hand gesture. "Your turn."

Louis thinks for a minute, trying to pick out a good one. "I wanted to

have sex with you that night we snuck onto the pitch to play football."

"Already told me that," Harry says. "Boring."

"Well," Louis says, lowering his voice and slipping two fingers into

Harry's back pocket, "I never told you that I went home that night and

had a wank thinking about it as soon as I got through the door."

"Louis!" Harry crows, clapping his hands like this is the best thing he's

ever heard. He reels Louis in by the sleeve and kisses the side of his

neck while Louis laughs and pretends to try to fight him off, kicking his

feet ineffectually against the ground. "Dirty bastard. I love it."

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They go on like that for half an hour, trading stories of all the times

they wanted to do or say something to each other but never did. It's

incredibly freeing, Louis finds, to finally get all of these old things off

his chest, to turn them into a thing to laugh about with Harry. This is

how they're going to fix things, one piece at a time.

They cross Serpentine Bridge together and Harry lets go of Louis' hand

to pull out his camera half a mile later. He takes pictures of dogs and

children in the grass and Louis beside him, sometimes when he's

mugging for the camera and sometimes when he's not paying attention

at all, just talking or watching the people around them. Eventually

Harry tugs on Louis' arm to get him to stop, having decided that he

wants a picture of the two of them together in Hyde Park.

"It's film, so there's no way to review the pictures," Harry says, turning

the camera toward them and holding it out at arm's length. "We'll just

have to hope for the best."

"I've got a better idea, actually," Louis says. He reaches out and