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They break apart and Harry just stares at him, looking amazed, and is

about to say something when the doors slide open with a hiss. He grabs

Louis‟ hand and his suitcase. “Come on, we want to get seats together,”

he says, and the two of them hurry onto the car.

Louis manages to snag the last two adjacent seats, staring down a pair

of businessmen and elbowing through a gaggle of teens. Harry lifts

their suitcases up into the compartment, and then slides into the

window seat, putting the armrest up so there‟s nothing between them.

Louis stands there in the aisle for a second, just taking it in, looking at

Harry looking back at him. He can‟t stop smiling.

He drops down into the seat and fits under Harry‟s arm like a puzzle

piece, and they‟ve only been back in the same place for about ten

minutes but it already feels normal again. It feels just as much like

coming home as getting on a train to Doncaster. Louis shifts around,

rearranging Harry‟s ludicrous limbs until he‟s comfortable with his

head on Harry‟s chest. He reaches to play with Harry‟s necklaces as

they wait for the train to move, sliding the chains between his fingers

like he‟s always liked to do, but he stops short when he see what‟s

hanging from one of them. Running his fingers over it carefully, he

confirms that it is what he suspected: the spare key to his flat.

His eyes flick up to Harry‟s. He‟d think it was a nice gesture, but Harry

hadn‟t known he would be here. “You—do you wear this all the time?”

he asks hesitantly.

Harry just shrugs, looking only a little nervous, and plays lightly with

Louis‟ hair. “Don‟t wanna lose it,” he says finally, and his voice is

steady but Louis can feel his heart pounding in his chest.

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Louis tips his chin up and catches Harry‟s mouth in a careful kiss. “I

love you,” he says reverently, letting the key drop and moving to twine

his hand in Harry‟s. They stay like that a moment, just curled into each

other as the train leaves the station. “Even if that is the cheesiest thing

I‟ve ever heard in my life,” Louis says finally, and the the woman in

the seat in front hushes them as they both burst into laughter.

The ride to Doncaster passes fairly quickly with Harry by his side

drawling on and on about nonsense. It‟s kind of amazing that even with

all the time they spend attached to their phones or computers these days

they still haven‟t run out of things to say to each other, but Louis

supposes that‟s how to tell when something‟s made to last. By the time

they‟re pulling into the station in Doncaster, Louis has almost forgotten

to be nervous about what comes next.

Harry hasn‟t, though, judging by the way he starts compulsively fixing

his hair every fifteen seconds as soon as the train whines to a stop.

Louis reaches for his hand to stop him from scalping himself and finds

it clammy and tense.

“Are you joking?” Louis says, only letting go of his hand to get out of

their seats and grab his suitcase. “Harry. It‟s my mum. She already

loves you by default because I‟m actually bringing someone home for

once. As long as you tone down the nudity and avoid sending anyone to

hospital, she‟s going to adore you.”

“I can‟t help it,” Harry says, following Louis off the train and onto the

platform. “You know I‟ve never met anyone‟s parents before,

actually.”

“Really?” Louis asks, looking behind him. He reaches out and grabs

Harry‟s hand again and leading him through the station and out to a

bank of taxis. “Well, I promise to be gentle with you.”

When the door to his house opens, they‟re greeted by an indeterminate

number of screaming teenagers, one of whom launches herself at Louis

and nearly knocks him over. Okay, maybe “gentle” wasn‟t the best

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word, but Louis can‟t be fussed when he‟s surrounded by the people he

loves the most in the world. “Get off me, you monsters!” he shouts

loudly, holding tight to Harry and pulling him inside. “Help! Help! I‟m

being attacked!” he yells as dramatically as he can, smiling as his mum

comes down the stairs.

“Give the boys some space,” she says, pulling the twins away from

where they‟ve swarmed around Harry and gathering Louis into her

arms. “Missed you, love,” she says, and Louis holds her tight. “Now,

who‟s this, then?” she asks, turning to Harry, as if Louis hasn‟t told her

everything there is to know. Louis feels a sudden surge of affection for

her, that she‟s so determined to do this right.

Harry holds out his hand. “Harry Styles, ma‟am,” he says. Louis‟ mum

shakes his hand, and Louis can tell by the smile playing around her

mouth that she‟s as endeared by Harry‟s attempt at seriousness as he is.

“Very nice to meet you. Thank you for inviting me to visit your lovely

home.”

“I didn‟t invite you, Louis did. Without my permission, I‟ll add,” she

says. When Harry blanches, she can‟t keep from laughing. “Oh, God,

I‟m joking, sweetheart. How have you not got a thicker skin hanging

around with my son?” she asks. “Come on in, make yourself at home.”

Harry relaxes a little, relieved, and Louis loves them both so much he

could sing.

They drop their stuff in the living room and get ushered into the

kitchen, where the girls sit around the table with them and start

quizzing Harry while Louis‟ mum gets started on dinner. Harry makes

several valiant efforts to offer help, but gets smacked away from the

stove every time with a dishtowel. Instead, he sits down and holds

Louis‟ hand under the table and answers questions about how old he is

(twenty-four) and what he does for a living (clean up after other people,

mostly, right now) and if he has any younger brothers (no, sorry, just an

older sister). Louis does absolutely nothing to help him, but Harry

holds his own pretty well under the onslaught, and Louis can see his

mum smiling in the kitchen.

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Dinner is chaos, as per usual, fourteen arms trying to reach across for

the salt or pass the salad, and Louis thinks it must be strange for Harry,

who grew up with one older sister in a much larger house. He seems to

be enjoying himself, though, having lost some of his nervous stiffness

from earlier, and Louis thinks having the distraction of half a footie

team‟s worth of teenage girls probably helps.

When they finish the food, Harry insists on doing the washing up,

which means Louis has to get up and help him. “Can you not make me

look quite so bad?” he whispers, elbowing Harry hard in the side at the

sink. “My mum‟s going to trade me in exchange for you if you don‟t

watch it.”

Harry laughs and flicks water at him, but of course it‟s only when

Louis retaliates that his mum shouts, “Louis, behave yourself,” from

the other room. Typical.

After that they move to the living room for family game night, which

Louis fondly remembers hating all through his adolescence. It‟s fun

now, though, especially watching Lottie sulk and check her phone

every time their mum‟s looking the other way. They split up into teams

for Pictionary, and Harry and Louis hold their own for quite some time,

but Louis is 100% sure that Harry throws the game when the twins

have a chance to beat them. It‟s not like they don‟t have enough

advantages already, with their freaky twin bond thing.

Still, it‟s cute, and a good way to end the night, and Louis is fantasising

about giving Harry a thank-you blowjob when his mum speaks up.

“So,” she says, ushering the girls upstairs to get ready for bed. “I was

thinking Harry could take the downstairs sofa, and Lou, you can sleep

in the TV room.”

The two of them exchange looks. Louis had figured it‟d be hard for

them to get any alone time, but not getting to at least share a bed with

Harry their first night together in weeks is not going to be fun. Harry,

though, ever eager to please, shoots Louis a quieting look and says,

“Fine by me! Do you think I could borrow some sheets?” Louis is

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going to give him a noogie for being a suck-up the second he gets him

alone.

He does exactly that when they‟re brushing their teeth in the bathroom,

and then gives him a minty kiss. “I‟ll see you in the morning,” Harry

says, giving him a squeeze on the arse, and Louis watches him go down

the stairs before he moves to the TV room.

Nestled in amongst the pillows, he stares at the ceiling, tossing and

turning and trying to get comfortable. He sleeps alone every night at

home, but this is different. He can practically feel Harry downstairs,

that same sort of itchy feeling he gets in the back of his mind when he

knows someone‟s watching him. He grabs his phone from where it‟s

charging on the floor. He doesn‟t want to text Harry, doesn‟t want to

make things worse for him, so he pulls up Stan‟s number.

seeing hazza for the first time in weeks and have to sleep apart bc we‟re

at mums. this blows. feel bad for me x

A few minutes later, the phone buzzes back.

go the fuck to sleep lou xx

Louis snorts, and then tries to follow Stan‟s advice. It‟s hard, though,

and he feels the lack of Harry in his arms like a phantom limb. He‟s

about to start literally counting sheep when he hears the creak of

footsteps on the stairs. Harry‟s head appears above the banister, hair

rumpled from being in bed, and he has a sheepish expression on his

face. “Couldn‟t sleep,” he whispers. “Don‟t want to break the rules,

but…” he trails off, shrugging.

“What kind of girl do you think I am?” Louis whispers back, grinning,

and starts budging over to make room for him. Harry tries to squeeze in

next to him on the sofa, but between Louis‟ ridiculous arse and Harry‟s

ridiculous legs they can‟t get comfortable. “Fuck this,” Louis says, and

starts shoving all the pillows off the sofa. They go to sleep like that,

curled up in a pile of cushions and blankets on the floor, and Louis

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wakes up with a crick in his neck but feels more well-rested than he has

in a long time.

Harry‟s blinking awake at the same time. “Morning,” Louis says,

tugging on an errant curl, and Harry smiles at him sleepily. They go

through their morning routines in the upstairs bathroom, and Louis

can‟t put into words how much he enjoys watching Harry shave next to

him while he washes his face. It‟s good. It‟s really good.

Downstairs, there‟s the sound of the front door opening, and Louis

hears his mum‟s voice say, “What are you doing in my garden this

early in the morning, Stan?”

“Morning, Ms. T!” says Stan, who, Louis confirms with a glance over

the bannister, is in his house. What the hell. Harry looks to him for an

explanation, but Louis hasn‟t got one. “Smells amazing in here, simply

fantastic. Are those pancakes?”

“Yes, they are, and if you‟re looking for Louis, he—” his Mum stops

short when she sees Louis coming down the stairs with Harry in tow.

She‟s standing at the kitchen counter next to the stove with a spatula,

and she puts a hand on her hip when Louis offers her a small wave.

“Well, look who didn‟t sleep on separate sofas after all.”

“Sorry, mum,” Louis says, and behind him Harry mumbles a sheepish

apology of his own, but she‟s smiling at them like she thinks it‟s cute,

so Louis figures they‟ll get away with this one.

“Morning, Lou!” Stan says, sounding altogether too cheerful.

Suspicious. “Morning, Harry! Why aren‟t you two dressed yet?”

“What?” Louis asks. Stan gives him a face that Louis‟ seen millions of

times in their long history of mischief-making, usually accompanied

with an elbow in his ribs to remind him to go along with the story.

“Yes, what?” Louis‟ mum echoes.

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“Oh, Louis wanted me to take Harry and him out for breakfast.

Bonding and all that rot,” he tells her.

Harry mouths what? at him, and Louis mouths back who fucking

knows?

“All right,” Louis‟ mum says after a moment of consideration. “Just

have them back by lunchtime.”

“Will do, Ms. T,” Stan says. He turns back to Harry and Louis. “You

lads should go put on some proper trousers if you expect me to be seen

in public with you.”

Louis has no fucking clue what he‟s on about, but it‟s Stan, so he

figures there‟s a plan of some sort that he‟s not privy to yet. He pulls

Harry back upstairs and they change quickly, meeting Stan down by the

front door and following him outside.

“The fuck are you doing, Stan?” Louis asks as soon as the front door is