i 0d2125e00f277ca8 (85 page)

gingerly takes the camera out of Harry's hands. "Watch."

There are people passing by them on the path left and right, and Louis

picks out a young woman with blue hair and her nose stuck in a

paperback. She's also got a camera of her own around her neck and

looks exactly like the type of friend Louis imagines Harry probably has

around here, so he figures she won't be averse to helping the cause.

"Excuse me," he says, stepping into her path. She looks up from her

book, seeming a bit annoyed at being interrupted, and Louis winces.

"Terribly sorry to bother you, but would you mind taking a picture of

me and my boyfriend?"

The word is out of his mouth before he even knows he's saying it, and

then suddenly he forgets all about the woman in front of him because

his heart is in his throat and his ears are ringing. He turns back to Harry

instinctively, checking his reaction, and Harry's beaming at him like

he's never been happier in his entire life, so he figures it's okay.

564

"All right," the woman says, yanking Louis back to reality. She tucks

her book under her arm and extends her hand for the camera.

"Thank you so much," Louis says, passing it to her. He hurries back to

where Harry's standing and puts an arm around his waist.

"Boyfriend," Harry whispers in his ear. Louis just squeezes Harry's

waist and smiles for the camera. He doesn't even think about trying to

hide anything. He knows the pictures will probably show every bit of

sappy, nauseating, lovesick happiness on his face in unforgiving detail.

Good. Let them.

"Three, two, one," the woman says, and Louis hears the sound of the

shutter as she takes the picture. "Okay, one more."

She counts off again, and this time Harry turns his head and plants a

kiss on Louis cheek just before she takes it. They both thank her about

a dozen times as she gives the camera back to Louis and continues on

her way, and Louis turns back to Harry and slips the camera over his

head.

"Boyfriend," Harry says again, wrapping his hands around Louis' on

the camera strap.

"Yeah, boyfriend," Louis says, and he loves the way the word feels on

his tongue almost as much as he loves the way Harry's face lights up

every time he says it. He gives the strap a little tug and steps backwards

toward the grass. "Come on."

Harry tucks the camera back in the case and follows, and they settle

down in the grass underneath a tree, Harry's back leaning up against the

trunk and Louis nestled between Harry's sprawling legs. Louis pulls

one of Harry's hands into his lap so he can hold it between both of his

own, and they sit like that for a while, talking in low voices to each

other, breathing each other in. Harry still smells like Harry, like fabric

softener and strawberry shampoo and grass and boy, and Louis

565

memorises everything about it. He wants to wear it everywhere he

goes.

The day's getting later and the weather is starting to get greyer and

colder, and Harry hugs Louis tight against his chest when he feels him

shivering at a gust of wind. Louis takes advantage of the moment and

lolls his head back onto Harry's shoulder, burying his nose in Harry's

hair and leaving his neck immediate and exposed. Harry takes the bait

and leans down to kiss a slow line down Louis' throat, making him

shiver all over again.

Louis turns in Harry's arms enough to get one hand on the side of

Harry's face and then kisses him properly on the mouth, tracing his

thumb over Harry's chin, letting it slide up to feel the place where their

lips meet. Harry kisses him back openly, completely, and Louis turns

around fully now so that he's sitting cross-legged between Harry's

thighs. He was chilly a minute ago, but with one hand pushed inside

Harry's leather jacket and the other in his hair, it's hard to remember

any of that.

"Hang on," Harry says, breaking the kiss. "Bloody tree. Here, scoot

back."

Louis laughs as Harry rubs the back of his neck, sliding his bum

backwards in the grass to give Harry more room. Harry leans forward

and grabs Louis around the waist before rolling them down and

backwards together. It takes a bit of rearranging to get into the position

Harry wants, but finally Louis balances out on Harry's chest with Harry

laid out flat on his back beneath him.

"This is quite cozy for the park," Louis says, tracing his fingers over

Harry's hipbone.

"Worried about traumatising someone's nan with our wanton displays

of passion?" Harry says, grinning.

566

"Nah," Louis says. "Just, we've never snogged where anybody could

see before. At least not sober."

Harry slides his hands up Louis' back, rubbing circles in the fabric of

his jumper. "See them over there?" Harry says, tilting his head to the

right. Louis follows Harry's line of vision to another young couple

across the way, a boy and a girl, wrapped up in each other in the grass.

"Snogging in the middle of the park. It's what you're supposed to do

with your boyfriend when you're young and stupid."

"Well, you're definitely young and stupid," Louis teases, and Harry

laughs and sticks out his tongue.

They end up snogging for a while there, nothing too heated, just gentle

kisses and Harry's hands on Louis' waist. It does make Louis feel young

and stupid, and maybe he spends plenty of time feeling stupid, but he

hasn't really felt young in years. Harry reminds him, sometimes, that

he's only twenty-six, that there's still so much ahead of him. He thinks

that's part of the reason why Harry was the only one who could open

him up when nobody else could, because he's the only one who makes

him feel like the story of his life wasn't written by the time he turned

twenty.

They're interrupted by the sound of Harry's stomach growling noisily,

and Louis has to break off to laugh at that, because it's so funny and so

typical.

"Sorry," Harry says, covering his face with one hand. "This is what I

get for trying to be posh."

"It's all right," Louis says. "We'll find somewhere better for dinner,

yeah? Somewhere with actual food."

"Actually, um," Harry says, thumbing Louis' ribs through his jumper,

"as much as I am enjoying this date, it's starting to be really difficult to

see you in my clothes and not want to get you out of them right now."

567

Louis grins. "Well, I'm flattered, but I don't put out on the first date."

"That is a lie," Harry laughs, and Louis swats at his shoulder. "Look,

what do you say we stop at Tesco's on the way home, and I'll make you

a gigantic dinner," he leans in close to Louis ear, "and then I'll eat it off

of you."

Louis swallows. "That sounds like an excellent plan."

In Tesco's, Louis takes great joy in trying to sneak things into the

shopping basket without Harry noticing, slipping in marshmallows and

feta cheese and one very out-of-place loaf of French bread. Harry

always catches him and puts the smuggled goods back on the shelf,

shaking his head but smiling, but by then Louis will be halfway down

another aisle, looking for another way to make Harry laugh. It feels like

they've been doing this for years, and under the fluorescent lights and

surrounded by cans of soup Louis feels as at home as he's ever been.

He helps Harry carry the shopping on the tube, plastic bag cutting into

his hand. He butts his head against Harry's shoulder affectionately as

the train takes a curve.

"What?" Harry asks, looking down at him.

"Nothing," Louis says, and does it again.

When they get back to Harry's flat, Louis tries to beg off and claim he

needs a shower, but Harry drags him into the kitchen. "You're helping,"

he says in a tone that brooks no argument. He hands Louis a package of

snap peas. "Drain these in the colander, would you? It's under the sink."

Louis looks at the sink. "Is that the thing with holes in, then?" he asks,

and Harry groans.

568

After Louis manages to burn a panful of rice, Harry puts him on

washing-up duty, cleaning the things Harry hands him as Harry does all

of the actual cooking. Louis hates washing dishes, but he amuses

himself by flicking water at Harry periodically while he does

something involving several frying pans and significant amounts of

steam. At one point, Harry snaps and pins Louis up against the sink,

kissing him with oven-mitted hands on either side of his face. "Stop

being a twat," he says against Louis' mouth.

"Never," Louis grins, and Harry grins back.

He does lay off a bit, though, and instead starts belting Katy Perry

songs in his most obnoxious voice until dinner is ready. It turns out that

Harry's put together some sort of delicious stir-fry concoction, all rice

and beef and vegetables and delicious sauce in portions that make a hell

of a lot more sense than what they dealt with at lunch. Louis can't help

but stuff his face in a way that's probably less than attractive, but Harry

just seems pleased he's enjoying it.

When they're finished, Louis moves to clear the table, but Harry stops

him. "If you want, you can go take that shower while I make dessert,"

he says, his hand curling around Louis' wrist, and who is Louis to say

no to that? He makes his way to the bathroom and strips off, stepping

under the spray happily as he imagines what sort of ridiculous thing

Harry is putting together. Probably some sort of elaborate pastry with

chocolate filling or something. He could have a souffle secreted about

his person somewhere, for all Louis knows.

After he rinses off, he steps out of the shower and towel dries before

walking back out into the flat with just a towel wrapped around his

waist. Harry is leaning against his kitchen counter, idly tossing a can of

whipped cream in his hand. He shrugs when he sees Louis.

"I was going to try to do something impressive," he drawls, "But then I

thought, you know, you already love me, so. Shall I just eat this off you

instead?"

569

"Yeah, that works," Louis says, and then drops his towel. He runs to the

bed, and Harry is right behind.

570

TWENTY-THREE

Sunday morning is grey and rainy, which does nothing to make Louis

want to leave the warmth of Harry‟s bed when he groans awake. Even

when he‟s only been up for about thirty seconds, he still knows what

Sunday means. He has to leave today, has to go back to Manchester

tonight and back to work tomorrow, and while everything about his life

is easier now with Harry in it, he can‟t pretend he isn‟t dreading

walking away.

Shifting around in the sheets, he realises that he‟s alone. Rolling over,

he rubs a hand over his eyes and sees Harry bopping around the

kitchen. “Morning, sunshine,” Louis says, voice gravelly from sleep,