#alienharrry

So far, he’s managed to get all of his belongings into the flat with no problem, boxes upon boxes now piled up in his new living room, and the only thing left to do is what Harry’s been dreading all along—unpacking. In theory, the whole ordeal shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours, but Harry being Harry still finds ways to extend that period of time by knocking over his carefully packed boxes and sending clumps of dust bunnies flying up in the air.

He decides on setting up his bedroom first, dragging the boxes marked ‘bed’ into the biggest of the two rooms. The whole thing is a bit mindless, cutting open boxes, organizing items in piles only to put them all together in the end. He starts to regret his decision of starting life afresh when another hour goes by and instead of tidying up the space that he’ll soon call his bedroom, he’s only managed to make more of a mess.

It’s not until another hour goes by that the room is beginning to look a bit neater. His clothes are either all folded and put into drawers, or placed on hangers and hung in the built in closet at the corner of the room. He’s managed to scavenge for his clean bedsheets to spread on his bed, but he doesn’t see the point in fixing it up all nice since he plans on crashing a little earlier than usual. Beyond the extreme exhaustion the day has brought on, though, is a bit of excitement of what the coming days might bring. He’s looking forward to starting his independent life with the new teaching job he’s managed to snag at the last second, and he can’t stop thanking his lucky stars for all he’s been able to accomplish in the past few weeks—a degree, a new flat, a job; how can he complain, really?

He makes a mental reminder to himself that he needs to set an alarm for tomorrow morning to get ready for his first unofficial day on the job. The teaching gig is what motivated him to get a place in central London in the first place. He’d sort of stumbled upon the place by accident, really, but the pay was great for a first year teacher and the campus was breathtaking, so he isn’t about to gather up any type of bad karma that’ll ruin the experience for him. He’s actually pretty excited. He’s young enough to be able to connect with the teenage population but wise enough to be able to lay down the law, or at least that’s what he wants to think.

No one had ever seen him as the drama type, and truth be told, neither had Harry, but after binge watching too romantic comedies when he was supposed to be working on his GPA in uni and impulsively signing up for a drama class because he needed a few more elective credits, something about the art of acting stuck with him, and passing on that art was suddenly something he wanted to do.

And it isn’t just the acting that draws him, but it’s the stories that are portrayed as well. He loves the buildup of emotion and range of intense feeling, lives for the romance and the cheesy clichés.

Because Harry is in love with the idea of love, even if love hasn’t done much for him.

Harry’s close to dozing off on his sweet-smelling sheets when an idle thought crosses his mind—he should probably put his curtains up. The last thing he wants is to fall asleep and then wake up with the morning rays of the sun threatening to blind him.

Once again, the job is a bit mindless, unfolding the curtains, stringing them onto the rod. But, somehow, Harry still finds himself stumbling into the glass at the sight outside his window. Running right past the park across the street is a boy wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts. The rays of the sun streak his hair in such a way that certain strands of his thick, blond hair are highlighted, the light bouncing from them like a halo. Sweat glistens along the skin of his collarbones, and even from his spot by the window, Harry can see the way the scarlet flush of exertion spreads down the boy’s sternum and up the thick column of his neck.  

As Harry watches the boy continue his run, his fingers loosen around the rod that he’d attached his curtains to, the metal falling to the floor with a loud clamor but the sound doesn’t register in Harry’s brain.

He leans against the window frame with an intrigued sort of smile curling along his lips, barely catching the silhouette of the boy turning the corner.

Harry doesn’t put up his curtains that day, but when he regrets that decision in the morning like he knew he would, he lets himself go with the excuse that he was simply too tired to get up to it the night before.

As he finishes the job, he tries not to wonder whether he’ll see the blond-haired boy run past the park across the street again.

He tries not to think about the fact that when it hits a certain point in the afternoon again, he does.

*

Harry hates Romeo and Juliet.

He realizes that this contradicts his image of the lad who can’t get enough of anything remotely romantic, but that’s the thing. Romeo and Juliet isn’t romantic, it’s a goddamn tragedy—and an awful one at that. The worst part of it all is that it’s the first play they’ve given him to assign to his students and he can’t even protest the damn thing because it’s the first thing that’s in the curriculum.

He pouts all throughout his walk home. The first day of school is exactly a week from now and he needs to prepare some semblance of lesson plans for the month of September with this play that he doesn’t exactly like sitting at the top of the list. As he passes by a quaint little café, his thoughts on Romeo and Juliet disappear, a sudden craving for a piping hot cuppa replacing it.

Sweetz smells like coffee and cinnamon and comfort, just like Harry would expect from a café, and before he knows it, he’s sliding into a booth by the window with his warm beverage sitting on the table in front of him, copy of Romeo and Juliet cracked open to the first page as he begins to take notes in the margins for what he might want to go over with his students.

Teaching high school students isn’t easy—or at least Harry doesn’t expect it to be—and teaching them freakin’ Shakespeare only makes him more nervous for his official first day. By the time he’s gotten through with his drink, he’s only managed to flip through a couple pages of the text with only a bit of understanding of the words.

“If you’re looking for romance, that’s a terrible choice of book, mate,” comes a voice from above him just as Harry’s taking one last sip of his cuppa. Harry nearly chokes when he looks up only to see a familiar head of blond hair. He almost can’t believe his eyes when the boy takes a seat right in front of him because this guy is like sex on legs and he’s sitting with him, it’s almost unreal. “Hi, ‘m Niall,” he says, extending his hand in greeting, but Harry can’t really focus on what’s happening because his eyes are this crazy shade of blue and Harry’s almost convinced that there’s no way that’s a natural color, “and this is actually me usual table so I hope you don’t mind me crashing your little reading sesh.”

“I’m Harry,” he manages through a nervous chuckle, shaking Niall’s hand before withdrawing a beat too soon. “I’m sorry I didn’t know—I’m a bit new here,” he tries to explain, but then Niall is smiling and it’s so bright bright bright that Harry’s is starting to wonder if anything about this boy seems natural because he’s unreal.

“S’alright, mate. I’m just teasing.” Harry doesn’t know how it’s possible for someone to radiate light like Niall does. He’s oozing happiness and comfort, even with beads of sweat dotting his hairline. Harry can’t shake the feeling that something about this lad is familiar—there’s something about the way his bright blue eyes glimmer that has him chasing for a memory that he can associate Niall with, but before he can dwell too much on it, Niall is talking again. “So you’re not from around here then?”

Harry shakes his head. “I moved here because of a job offer. Wanted to work someplace away from home for a bit. Learn to be independent and all that.” He finds himself pushing his empty drink container to the side and shuffling his notes together into a neat pile. “I’m actually from Cheshire,” he says, wondering if that’s giving away too much information to someone who might just be talking to him because he wants him to get the hell away from his table.

Niall snorts before taking a sip of what Harry presumes to be a smoothie, the pastel orange drink whipped to perfection. He tries not to look at the way Niall’s pretty, peachy lips wrap around the straw, doesn’t know why he can’t help but check this bloke out. “Figures why you look so posh,” Niall jokes, and Harry can’t help the chuckle that bubbles from his lips.

“Don’t think Cheshire has anything to do with that,” Harry retorts playfully. “I think it’s the uptight London air getting to me.”

At that, Niall laughs, and Harry feels a strange surge of satisfaction zip through his veins. “You’re a funny one, mate. Harry, was it?” he asks with an endearing tilt of his head and Harry nods. Niall shakes his head with a smile and then his eyes are catching on Harry’s current crisis. “So tell me, Harry, why are you willfully reading this godawful book in a café?”

“Trust me, it’s not willingly.” Harry frowns at the cover of Romeo and Juliet, which is actually just a simple rose on a pitch black background. “I’m actually a drama teacher and this play is the first thing in the curriculum this year.”

“Ahh.” Niall smiles and Harry really wishes he would stop because it makes his insides go all crazy. “The nuances of teaching. I get it.”

“You’re a teacher too?” Harry asks for lack of a better thing to say. He should actually probably get going if the slow melt of the sun over the horizon is any indication, but Niall has this magnetic pull to him that Harry can’t resist.

“Yep,” Niall replies, popping the p, and the sound is a bit loud because his lips are damp from his smoothie, and, no, Harry was not paying attention to his lips. “I’m more of an English man, though.”

They manage to hold a conversation for a few more moments before Harry’s phone is buzzing with a reminder that he needs to complete the rest of his lesson plans. Niall lets him go with a “Hope to see you around, Harry,” pairing his comment with a wave, and Harry returns the sentiment by joking that maybe they can meet again over a proper drink, pointing at Niall’s smoothie with a fake gag. Niall looks affronted but his expression is quickly replaced by a laugh, and Harry really regrets having to leave.

It’s only when he’s across the street and something in him tells him to turn back in hopes of catching a glimpse of Niall through the window that he sees it, the rays of the slowly setting sun catching on his blond tips and adding a glow to his whole being. Harry’s breath hitches in his throat.

Niall is the boy who runs past the park across the street from his bedroom window every afternoon.

*

Harry is nervous.

His first day as the new drama teacher at Kingsbury has him biting on his nails.

On the walk from his car to the teacher’s entrance, he’s managed to stop three times just to check on his hair in other car windows. He knows he really has no reason to be this tense, but there’s still that underlying pressure of wanting to have an absolute perfect first day that’s eating at him. A million and one questions are buzzing through his head: What if they don’t like me? What if I’m one of those really shitty teachers? What if I have an embarrassing moment like my zipper being undone in front of the whole class?

Well. Needless to say, he’s panicking.

He adjusts his messenger bag on his shoulder and heads straight for the toilets as soon as he enters the building. One of the secretaries had given him a tour the other day—but he’d arrived a bit too early so he wasn’t able to meet any other teachers—so he finds the loo quite easily. He thinks he’ll be able to calm down if he was able to splash some cold water on his face.

What he finds in the restroom, however, surprises him.

“Niall?” Harry gets out, his voice raising an octave in wonder. Niall’s standing in front of a stall that’s littered with graffiti with a blue sharpie in his hand—somehow the first thing that registers in Harry’s brain is that Niall’s a leftie—and he looks up at Harry not looking the least bit surprised or guilty because Harry’d just caught him in the act of vandalism. “What are you doing?”

Niall just frowns in disappointment. “Can you believe these kids? High school students and they can’t even differentiate between your and you’re.” He goes back to correcting the offending misspelling, not even acknowledging the fact that he and Harry are actually teachers in the same school. “Terrible,” he mutters under his breath.

Somehow, Harry forgets all about his nerves and why he’d even come to the loo in the first place because Niall’s smiling at him and strolling towards him to give him one of those bro-shakes.

“Harry, mate! Didn’t expect to find you here,” Niall says, and that’s when Harry realizes that Niall’s one of those people who has the uncanny ability to make you feel like you’ve known them forever, when in reality, you’re not even friends.

Harry would very much like to be Niall’s friend.

“You realize you just contributed to toilet vandalism, right,” Harry manages to get out, praying to whatever force in the universe that his bantering approach will earn him brownie points in Niall’s book or something.

Niall, bless his soul, laughs like Harry’s just told the funniest joke he’s ever heard, eyes clenched shut as he throws his head back and cackles with the sound reverberating from his gut. “Really didn’t expect to see you here, mate,” Niall sputters out through his chuckles, and it’s only when Harry finds himself laughing along with him that he realizes that Niall’s just repeated himself. “You look like you’re ready to piss yourself, to be honest.”

Harry huffs out a chuckle. “You have no idea, mate, I’m so nervous.” And the admission feels…nice. It feels refreshing to say something that’s been sitting on the tip of his tongue since the night before out loud.

Niall doesn’t mock him for being a wimp. Instead, his smile softens into something that can almost resemble fondness, his eyes glimmering with something that pulls Harry in and refuses to let go. “You’ll be fine. They’re just teenagers, not monsters.” Niall pats Harry’s back, his hand a warm and comforting weight on the expanse between his shoulder blades. “And it’s drama. You can’t suck that bad.”

Harry’s a bit rattled that Niall actually remembers their conversation the other day. He doesn’t really think he’s anyone worthy of being remembered—because he’s actually quite boring—so for Niall to remember what he does, much less his name, is actually pretty astounding. “I guess,” he acquiesces, trying not to focus on how he and Niall are actually walking so close that if Harry’s hands weren’t in his pockets then their knuckles might’ve actually brushed together.

Niall walks right past Harry’s classroom, pulling Harry along with him, saying, “Hey, I can introduce you to some teachers if that’ll make you more comfortable.” And Harry can’t refuse because Niall doesn’t wait for him to answer before he’s pulling him into the teachers’ lounge. There aren’t many people in there, just a few storing their lunches in the refrigerator and some preparing a cuppa before they have to start their day.

The first person Niall introduces him to is a tall fellow with trimmed brown hair and kind brown eyes. He shakes Harry’s hand firmly as he introduces himself Liam Payne who teaches physics and whose classroom is on the third floor.

“Liam’s just a bit lonely up there, that’s why he always tells people where his classroom is,” Niall jokes after the greeting and receives a playful punch under his chin from Liam.

“You should come with us for drinks on Friday night,” Liam tells Harry once Niall tries to move on to the next person. “Lord knows I’ll be needing it after today. I don’t know why these kids hate physics so much.”

“Because physics is hard, Payno,” Niall—whose last name, Harry’s learns, is Horan, and it’s a bit strange that he didn’t know that when Niall makes him feel like he’s known him forever—whines, a bit pathetically at that.

“Maybe you’re just not good at math, Niall,” Harry chips in, trying to fit into the little teacher cliques he’s already seen forming.

“Exactly!” Liam gleams at him, smile so bright it could probably rival Niall’s, and Harry distantly wonders how he managed to get surrounded by such sunshine people. “Harry over here understands.”

The next person Harry is introduced to is Louis Tomlinson, whose first words to him are, “So you’re the new drama teacher then?” without giving Harry the chance to introduce himself. Louis heaves a rather defeated sigh and Harry frowns in response, wondering if he’s already done something wrong, but Niall notices and gives his arm a nudge, sending him a reassuring smile that tells Harry that Louis’ only playing around. “I’ve always wanted to teach drama, but somehow I got stuck with calculus.”

“Oh, Lou,” Niall interrupts. “Don’t pretend like you hate calculus.”

The bantering goes on for a few more moments until Liam chips in to inform them that the first bell will be sounding in five minutes and they should all make their way to their classrooms before the students start filing in. Niall walks Harry to his classroom and it’s only then that Harry starts to feel the dread crawling up his windpipes again, the nerves feeling like they’re threatening to strangle him.

He takes a deep breath before entering his room, which he’d so meticulously decorated the week before to make it feel more like it was his and not some generic classroom. “You’ll be fine, mate,” is what Niall whispers from behind him, and it’s only when he looks over his shoulder that Harry realizes that Niall’s classroom is right across from his and he could almost laugh at the coincidence.

“Thanks, Niall,” Harry replies with a smile, which then curls up into something resembling a smirk. “Or should I start calling you Mr. Horan?”

Niall doesn’t say anything in response. He just throws his head back and laughs his sunshine laugh before shooting Harry a wink and heading into his classroom, and Harry chuckles to himself before doing the same.

Three minutes and fifteen seconds later—no, Harry was not counting—the first of his students start to file in with a sort of first-day-of-school hype, which is mostly nervous energy, which Harry actually remembers all too well from his own school days. This shouldn’t be so bad, Harry thinks to himself, and then he smiles because that’s exactly what everyone’s been telling him.

“Good morning!” he greets, and the students respond amicably. “My name is Mr. Styles and I’ll be your drama teacher for the year.”

When he starts to hand out the syllabus and the kids actually start to look a bit enthusiastic, Harry feels the worry seep out of his pores as if it was never there in the first place.

*

The first thing Harry learns about having a classroom across the hall from Niall’s is that he is a very loud person.

Even if the door is closed, Harry can still hear Niall yammering on excitedly about whatever piece of literature his class is studying, and Harry doesn’t know if he found it hopelessly endearing or unendingly annoying, especially when he was trying to teach his own class how to understand the language of Shakespeare.

It doesn’t help that the only thing getting Harry through Friday morning is the promise of drinks with the lads in the evening. The first week of school rush has slowed down into a sort of drag, and he can feel the kids getting excited for the upcoming weekend, which means their focus in class hasn’t been the greatest.

His favorite groups of students are definitely the seniors that he has first and last periods. Maybe it’s because he and them are closer in age, or maybe it’s because they’re definitely more mature than their fellow underclassmen, but Harry finds it easier to connect with them than with any other class.

“Alright,” he starts, clapping his hands together once to grab their attention. They might be his favorite group, but he wasn’t about to make that obvious. Besides, they were being a bit too chatty. “I’ll be holding auditions on Monday afternoon for the school play. We’ll be performing, of course, Romeo and Juliet,” he holds up his copy with a wry smile, “at the Winter Showcase, so we have more than enough time to prepare if we start now.”

“But Mr. Styles!” a girl with straight, jet-black hair and a tendency to worry about the smallest things, pipes up, “that’s less than four months from now!”

Harry smiles. “Suzy, it’s more than enough time to prepare. I have faith in you guys.” Harry’s trying to be reassuring but he’s feeling the pull of the weekend too and, really, he can’t wait for those drinks. “The bell’s going to ring in about ten minutes, so I just wanted to give you guys that reminder and that all of you must contribute to the play in some way for a grade. Your audition will be a few lines from a character of your choosing as well as an explanation of why you want to play that character. You can audition individually or in pairs if you so choose, but the sign-up sheets are right outside my door,” Harry points to the door for emphasis, “and I expect to receive one from each and every one of you by the end of Monday.”

He doesn’t receive as many moans and groans as he was expecting by the end of his announcement, for which he’s grateful, and the remainder of the class goes by without a hitch. As Harry’s bantering on with some of them, he can see Niall’s profile from the window of the doors as he’s writing something on his whiteboard. Niall looks over at the last second only to catch Harry staring, and he only waggles his eyebrows and sends him a grin in response before continuing his lesson, and Harry doesn’t even have time to blush.

The bell rings in a few more minutes and as his class quickly files out, Harry starts to gather his things to do the same thing. He’s about to walk out when he remembers that he needs to take home his lesson plan binder to put together his lesson for the next class. When he returns, he catches Niall just as he’s about to head out too, and greets him with a clap on his back. “So, how was your week?” Harry asks with a grin, and Niall just shrugs.

“Pretty eventful. Pretty tiring. I can definitely say that I’m in desperate need of a pint, though.” Niall sends him another waggle of his brows and Harry makes a sound of agreement before he starts chuckling. “So,” Niall says, just as they’re turning the corner to head into the corridor that leads into the car park. “Have you heard the news?”

Niall is wearing a sneaky smirk that makes Harry hesitate to ask what he’s going on about. “What news?” he relents, quirking a brow at Niall.

By then, Liam’s caught up with them wearing an exasperated expression, and Niall looks like he’s holding back a laugh at the look that Liam shoots him. “You’ve officially surpassed Liam as the hottest teacher in school,” Niall gets out through relentless giggles, and Harry looks at him in astonishment.

“I dunno about that mate,” he replies, patting Liam’s shoulder. “I hear the girls, and some boys, giggling about you in the hallway sometimes.”

Liam snorts, raising his hands in defense. “Trust me, mate, I’m more than happy to give away the title. S’a bit weird being your students’ crush.”

And Harry just shakes his head as he allows himself to be led out by the first two people he’s managed to befriend in this new environment. He realizes that he’s definitely more at ease than he was at the beginning of the week.

*

Niall is very very very pretty. Harry thinks he’s even prettier in the moonlight than in the sunlight.

Needless to say, Harry is very very very tipsy.

“Haz,” Louis slurs, and Harry can’t really remember revealing his childhood nickname but he’s just going with the flow of the alcohol at this point. “You never really told us how you ended up in London.”

Most of the night was spent sharing their experiences of the week. From first-test panicking to students’ strange attempts at flirting, all of the stories shared had Harry laughing louder than the low alt-rock music floating from the speakers of the tiny—and rather shady—pub. However, as the drinks kept on coming, the night spiraled into drunken attempts at getting to know Harry, and he was all too happy to oblige with the lads’ questioning.

“Well part of the reason is that I needed a job,” Harry says with a laugh as he downs his drink. “And you know, wanting to be independent, trying to get away from ex-boyfriends, those kind of contributed to my decision too.”

Liam groans at that, and Harry’s skin immediately heats up in defense because he, too late, realizes that he’s just accidentally revealed his sexuality and, while he isn’t ashamed of it in any way, he’s not really in the state to properly defend himself if Liam chooses to mock him in any way about it. What Liam says next, though, surprises him. “I feel you with the ex’s. That’s why I moved here too.”

Louis cackles in response. “Oh god. Both of you are too lucky that you didn’t have to spend those first few weeks listening to Liam moan and groan about all of his ex-boyfriends over cheap vodka.”

“Hey,” Liam whines, and this time, they all start laughing. “It was a serious issue at the time.”

“Wasn’t denying it, mate,” is what Louis says next, taking a sip of his choice of poison, and Harry figures that this conversation isn’t going to take a turn anytime soon so he turns to Niall, who seems to be watching him with interest.

This is the exact moment that Harry thinks he might have a teeny, tiny, microscopic crush on Niall, because his bright blue eyes shine with so much honesty and sincerity, and Harry’s never seen anything like it before. “So,” Niall begins, scooting in closer to Harry in the booth so Harry doesn’t have to strain to hear him over Liam and Louis. “Where did ya say ya lived before ya moved ‘ere?”

Harry tries not to focus on the fact that Niall’s accent is a hell of a lot thicker when he’s been drinking and instead tries to focus on giving him an answer. “Cheshire. With my mum and sister.”

“Ah,” Niall nods as he flags down the bartender—who, coincidentally, is also his friend—to send another round of drinks over. “And wha’ about your dad?”

Harry hums over one last sip of his drink. “He and my mum divorced when I was really young. Didn’t really get to see him around a lot after that.”

Niall grunts out what sounds like it was meant to be a laugh, his head lolling backwards to rest on the back of the booth, and Harry wishes he weren’t so damn beautiful in the dim lighting of the pub, wishes that he didn’t have the immense urge to kiss Niall’s soft, peachy lips right then and there. He looks tired, but in the serene way, the comfortable and lovely and endearing way. “The nuances of love,” he says lowly, and Harry can hear from the grogginess his voice has let out that he probably wants to go to sleep.

Harry frowns at that. He doesn’t think love is a bad thing like Niall’s just put it out to be. Because the truth is, Harry is really in love with the idea of love. There’s something magical about the emotions that come with being in a relationships and the words two hearts seem to exchange with each other when the physical mouths aren’t moving. Something enchanting about feeling so strongly about someone else that you forget about yourself sometimes. He can’t imagine someone else not feeling the same way. “What’s love ever done to you?” Harry finds himself asking.

Niall blinks at him, his expression turning blank. “I just,” he sighs and tries to stall by taking a sip of his refilled drink. “I just don’t get it, y’know? Like. I just feel like the whole idea of love is so overhyped.”

Liam and Louis have fucked off to god knows where so Harry thinks it’s safe to scoot closer. “I think,” Harry gets out, voice low and almost sultry, “that you haven’t given love a chance yet.”

Harry can feel Niall’s breaths fanning over his skin when his breathing speeds up ever so slightly, and he can’t help the smirk that curves along his lips at the realization.

And if Harry surprises Niall with a teasing kiss in the car park before they leave in separate cabs, well, then that’s nobody’s business.

*

Niall is way too loud in the mornings.

And Harry is way too hungover.

He doesn’t know why he thought it was the best idea to meet up with Nick, his best friend who was visiting from Manchester, on a Sunday night for drinks when he was already out and about on Friday, but he’s definitely regretting that decision now, because he can barely keep his head up after three cups of strongly brewed coffee and splashing his face with cold water several times.

And it definitely doesn’t help that he can hear Niall chattering on about, of all things, Romeo and Juliet, while he’s trying to teach his freshmen to memorize the lines. It doesn’t help that Niall’s current section is hell bent on laughing so hard that Harry can feel it reverberating in his skull.

Harry knows that Niall can see him through the windows on the doors, mostly because Niall is looking straight at him for no reason at all except to bother him—because Harry is convinced that the little shit knows he’s hungover and is deliberately trying to irritate him. He sends Niall a withering look through the glass, hoping he’ll get the message and shut his class up.

He doesn’t.

They just get louder.

Harry’s going to smash his head into the wall.

“Mr. Horan will you tell your class to be quiet!” Harry all but bellows at the door only to watch Niall throw his head back in his sunshine laugh and ignore him.

His own class is looking a bit afraid of him at the moment and it’s only when the ever-so-quiet Suzy raises her hand that he calms down a little. “Mr. Styles,” she says timidly, hesitating to continue until Harry nods at her. “You realize the doors are closed right?”

Harry sighs. “He was looking right at me when I was yelling at him, Suzy.”

At that, a girl, Priya, who sits in the back and stays out of trouble, pipes up. “So you can see Mr. Horan when you stand there?” she asks, and she sounds like she’s onto something.

Harry shrugs. “Only when he’s standing in the exact same spot,” he replies, but his whole class is too into the situation and they don’t seem satisfied at the answer. “Remember, guys,” he starts in order to distract him, “auditions are still on for afterschool today and tomorrow. I’m still waiting for some of you to submit your sign-up sheets.”

Marcus, the designated class clown—because of course every single high school needs one—clears his throat before raising his hand, which Harry is actually surprised at because, if anything, Marcus was known for his random outbursts. “What if we don’t submit a sign-up sheet?”

Harry purses his lips at that. “That I’ll have to pick a role for you and you may not be happy with my choice.” At that, Marcus silences, frowning a bit petulantly in his seat, and Harry has to huff out a laugh to keep from startling them with an outburst. “If you don’t want to act, remember that there are other roles too. Every part that we went over with the theatre production lesson will be available so I’m sure you’ll find something you’re interested in, Marcus.”

The class seems more at ease with him then, and when the bell rings, signaling the start of lunch, his head feels much better than it did during first period. Harry makes his way towards the teachers’ lounge because a cuppa definitely sounds great right now. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll catch Louis on the way and ask him to prepare it for him. If there’s one thing he’s learned during his time at Kingsbury is that Louis makes a mean cuppa.

Unfortunately for him, the first person he comes across is none other than the blond nuisance that is Niall Horan, a broad, devilish grin curling across his features as soon as he spots Harry. “You look like, shit, mate,” is what Niall greets him with when he catches up to him, his comment paired with a nudge on his arm. “Friday been too hard on you?”

Harry snarls. “More like last night. My friend Nick came over to visit and I got a little too carried away,” he complains petulantly, shoving his hands into his pocket to keep from reaching out to touch Niall’s hair, which looks exceptionally soft today.

Niall laughs, eyes crinkling up in the corners in the cutest way and now Harry really wants to bang his head against a wall because he’s not supposed to have a crush on Niall, it’s unprofessional. “How about we make you a cuppa?” Niall offers, voice lifting in the sweetest way, and Harry thinks that if he kisses Niall right this second that he’ll probably taste sugary sweet and delightful—and that’s when Harry remembers.

He kissed Niall on Friday. At the pub. When they were drunk.

Was he so inebriated that he couldn’t even remember that he did something he’d been wanting to do ever since he first saw Niall jogging past his flat all those weeks ago?

He doesn’t even know if Niall swings that way. He hadn’t even asked.

“Hey, drunkie,” Niall calls, his fingers snapping in front of Harry’s face until he’s snapping back to reality. “Lost ya for a second there,” he jokes, and Harry doesn’t remember what they were talking about.

“Sorry, what?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t look like an idiot.

Niall smiles at him. “I asked if ya wanted a cuppa.” Harry dumbly nods in response just as they’re entering the teacher’s lounge, which, coincidentally, is empty. Great.

All Harry can think about is that he can’t remember how Niall’s lips tasted that night, or how they felt when they were pressed against his. Was it a long kiss? Gentle? Passionate? Sloppy?

He needs to know.

To his surprise, Niall doesn’t make tea, but he somehow manages to whip up two piping cups hot cocoa, topped with whipped cream and everything, by the time he snaps out of his daydream, with the few materials they have available in their lounge. Harry drinks his warm beverage in silence as he listens to Niall yammer on about the latest footie scores and how he can’t believe Louis’ team beat his because that’s just a damn travesty. He watches Niall’s lips move as he talks and tries to remember the kiss so hard that by the end of it, his headache has started up again and he’s more upset than he was when this all started.

When he looks up from his mug Niall’s already looking at him, the corners of his lips pulled up slightly into the smallest of smiles, and Harry can’t understand how everything about Niall is so damn luminous. His 100-watt smile is bright bright bright and his cerulean eyes are blue blue blue and even his damn hair makes him radiant and dazzling and stunning.

“Harry,” Niall whispers, and Harry finds himself leaning closer and closer and closer until he can feel the puffs of Niall’s air fanning over his skin in waves as he breathes. “You’ve got—on your lips—” But Niall doesn’t finish his statement, instead crowding Harry into the table, his long, pale fingers hooking into Harry’s belt loops and his blue blue blue eyes trained on his lips, and Harry has to think to put his mug down before he drops it.

When it happens, Harry’s mind goes blank.

Niall’s lips are soft and a little rough from where the skin is slightly chapped, and his body is warm as he holds himself to Harry as he licks the cocoa off the top of Harry’s lips before going in for a kiss, and that’s when he remembers it. He remembers himself initiating the kiss but Niall leading it until they were pressed against someone’s car, hands unable to figure out where they want to be placed, drunken lips unable to get enough.

But Friday night was different from now. Now, it’s soft and languid and sweet, and Niall takes his time licking into Harry’s mouth and nipping on his tongue. And it’s over too soon and Harry wants to do it again but then Liam and Louis are storming into the lounge chattering on about something and all Harry can think about is that he hopes that this isn’t a one-time thing.

“Hey, Nialler, did you check up on the blog lately?” is what Liam says as he hurries in and closes the door behind him. While Liam looks a bit perturbed, Louis is wearing the sneakiest of smirks, so Harry is a bit conflicted on what to make of the current situation.

Niall hums thoughtfully. “Haven’t really checked up on it in a while, no. Why?”

“What blog?” chirps Harry. He wants to be in the loop too.

They ignore him. “Monty’s posted something new! And it sounds a lot like it’s about someone we know.” Liam sounds cautious but Louis starts laughing about it and Harry’s even more confused.

“Who’s Monty?” he asks, hoping no one’ll ignore him again.

Louis looks to him, signature smirk still etched onto his face as he steals what’s left of Harry’s cocoa. “Short for Montalet. Stupid name really. It’s this person running a blog writing romance stories inspired by people in our school and no one knows who it is,” he explains, and Liam nods along with him.

“We’ve always thought it was a student since they were the ones who started to really talk about it. Not that the person’s identity matters or anything, it’s just a bit of entertainment in our boring teacher lives.” Liam smiles at Niall then, who simply shrugs him off.

“Not too into romance,” he explains to Harry, who only quirks a brow at him. “Although I can appreciate a student writing stories to practice their writing skills.”

Louis rolls his eyes at that. “Niall, you literally teach romantic literature for a living. I don’t understand why you’re such a grump about it.”

Niall isn’t given the chance to respond, though, because the bell is ringing, sounding that they all need to start heading back to their classes to tend to their next section of students. They say their “see you laters” and start to make their way back to their classrooms. Harry notices that Niall is walking closer to him than normal and smiles to himself a bit, not at all feeling like utter crap anymore.

“Hey,” Niall starts, nudging Harry’s shoulder with his own. “What d’ya say about skipping drinks with the lads on Friday and hanging out with me and several terrible film adaptations of classic novels instead?”

Harry doesn’t have to think twice before agreeing.

*

“What is love?” is the first question Harry poses to his first period class, which is one of his all-senior bunches. It’s been well into a month and a half of school and he’s starting to get the hang of things.

No hands go up at first, but when they do, it’s mostly the girls. Harry picks Suzy.

“Love is an intense feeling of deep affection for someone,” is what she says, and Harry has to smile in response because leave it to Suzy to come up with a dictionary definition.

“Alright,” Harry says. “But what does love mean to you?”

The next hand that goes up is Marcus’. “Love is all of those romance stories that Montalet posts on his blog.”

The entire class chuckles at that, and Harry smiles again because leave it to Marcus to crack a joke when he’s trying to be serious. Priya speaks up next. “How d’you know ol’ Monty’s a bloke?” she asks, and she sounds a bit defensive.

“Well,” Marcus starts. “Blokes can write love stories. After all Romeo and Juliet was written by Shakespeare.”

“Romeo and Juliet is not a love story, it’s a tragedy,” says the whole class in unison, and Harry feels an immense surge of pride at that response because they are truly his students and it seems that he’s taught them well.

Niall chooses that moment to peek his head into Harry’s classroom. “Anyone walking by can tell how proud Mr. Styles is of you lot right now,” he jokes, and the whole room rumbles with laughter. Harry rolls his eyes at all of them only to catch Niall waggling his brows at him, gesturing towards Harry’s whiteboard.

Niall’s taken to leaving notes on Harry’s whiteboard recently, these vague, poorly-drawn stick doodles that Harry often has trouble deciphering. Today’s note consists of just one word: tonight! Which, really, is not inconspicuous in the slightest. Harry’s starting to wonder whether their students are starting to think something is going on between the pair of them.

“Well, Mr. Horan,” Harry starts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Since you’re so keen on interrupting my class, why don’t you answer my question. What does love mean to you?”

Harry doesn’t mean to hold his breath as he awaits Niall’s answer, but he does, like whatever Niall may say can have the ability to break him. But Harry knows better and he knows that he and Niall aren’t even a thing so what he says shouldn’t matter, and yet something deep inside his core is telling him that it does. “I think,” Niall says, squaring his shoulders and fixing his blue blue blue eyes on the class, “that love is overrated and is nothing like everyone puts it out to be.”

At that, the entire class guffaws, because leave it to Niall to make them laugh. “Mr. Horan!” crows Marcus. “What do you think about Montalet’s new blog post?”

Niall scoffs at that and Harry’s starting to think that he needs to check out this Montalet’s blog because he or she seems to be the talk of the school lately and Harry feels very left out of the loop. Before he can dwell too much on it, Niall’s saying, “I think he or she is a great writer, but like I said, I’m not into romance.”

Suzy, Harry’s ever-so-perceptive Suzy, looks straight into his eyes and says. “Maybe Mr. Horan just needs to give love a chance. Right, Mr. Styles?”

Harry thinks he might faint. They are being totally and completely obvious. “Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing at Niall before sending a smile Suzy’s way. “Maybe he does.”

*

The crisp autumn breeze curls around Harry’s ears like it’s telling him a secret as he trudges up to the complex where Niall’s flat is. He spots Niall’s car in the car park as he’s heading up so at least he’s sure he’s at the right address.

Something has been stirring in the pit of his core since Niall’s invited him over, like an odd sense of foreboding, and Harry just doesn’t know what to expect of the whole thing. Should he have brought food? Drinks? A film?

No, that’s dumb, he thinks. The only reason he’s been invited was to watch a film.

On a whim, Harry spins around on his heel back to his car to retrieve the bottle of wine someone had given him a month or so ago that he’d never got around to opening. He actually doesn’t even drink wine but he doesn’t want to seem like a rude guest.

By the time he’s ridden the lift up to Niall’s floor and bitten through one of his fingernails, his grip on the wine bottle’s gone white, and he’s too nervous to knock on Niall’s door. He finds that he doesn’t have to, though, because just as a few moments go by, his door is cracking open only to reveal a soft, boyfriend-y Niall dressed in comfy joggers and a warm jumper and Harry’s heart jumps right up into his throat at the sight.

“You just gonna stand out here all night?” Niall jokes, reaching out for Harry’s wrist only to gingerly pull him inside the warm confines of his home. “C’mere, ya nutter.”

Niall’s already got the film put in and a bowl of popcorn and crisps sitting on his coffee table. Harry smiles. “I brought wine,” he says, holding up the glass. “But I have to warn you, I’m not too sure of the flavor of this one.”

Niall laughs, taking the bottle from Harry’s hands and gesturing for him to have a seat. “You didn’t have to do that, mate,” he says, smiling his sunshine smile as he places the bottle on the table and scoots in next to Harry, reaching over him to get the remote. “But I’m not complaining. There’s never a bad time for alcohol.”

Harry laughs. “So what are we watching?”

Niall hums, gesturing to the CD cases under the coffee table. “Modern day Romeo and Juliet with Leo DiCaprio first,” he says, munching on his snacks. “And,” he turns to Harry to waggle his brows, “if you’re not too tired after that, an older version of Of Mice and Men.”

Harry grins and Niall starts the film. “You said that you’re showing this to your class?” Harry asks, popping a few crisps into his mouth. When Niall nods, he says, “Maybe we should combine our classes then? I think this might be a good one to show my kids too. They’re struggling with relating to the language.”

Niall tilts his head thoughtfully. “Think that’ll be a great idea actually. Kill two birds with one stone, right?”

Harry nods, chuckling. They focus their attention back to the film. Harry’s engrossed in it for a bit until he catches a glimpse of Niall’s desktop right before it switches to the screensaver. The screen that’s just switched off looks a bit familiar, and Harry realizes that Niall was scrolling through Montalet’s blog before he opened the door for him.

“How much d’you know about this Montalet character?” Harry finds himself asking, curiosity getting the best of him. He might’ve scrolled through the first couple of posts to see what all the hype is about, but he hadn’t really had time to read one of the stories with focus and concentration.

If one were simply looking at Niall, his body language might seem nonchalant. But because Harry’s sitting right next to him, their shoulders just barely brushing each other, he can feel the way Niall stiffens the slightest bit. Harry gets the impression that Niall is stalling when he reaches for the bottle of wine to pop the cork open. He takes a swig straight from the bottle before answering. “Dunno really,” he drawls, shrugging slightly. “I know that it’s obvious that the stories are inspired by people in our school but it’s all about love and that’s not really my genre.”

Harry huffs out a chuckle, stealing the bottle from Niall’s grip to take a swig of his own. “Then why was his blog open on your desktop a few moments ago?” Harry retorts, a smirk curving along his lips when Niall stiffens again.

“Because it’s good writing,” Niall gets out nonchalantly. “I can appreciate a good writer.”

Harry doesn’t believe him but he lets him off the hook for now. They watch the film in silence, the only movement from them being to reach for the crisps on the table or take another swig of the wine. Harry doesn’t like to think he’s a lightweight, but the wine is strong, and by the time they’re fighting for the last dregs of the deep burgundy liquid at the bottom of the bottle, Harry’s head is definitely swimming.

Harry’s phone keeps going off. It’s all of his friends from Manchester asking if he’s going to be paying them a visit now that the wedding is coming around the corner. Harry has no interest in attending his ex-boyfriend’s wedding, and he tells Niall just as much when he asks why he’s not responding to the text messages. But Niall only laughs and gives him a reassuring nudge, which has Harry’s cheeks filling with color.

“Do you even like this film?” Harry asks with a laugh, because clearly both of them have lost interest somewhere towards the middle, and because Harry wants to change the subject before they start having an in-depth conversation about his ex.

“Nah,” Niall drawls, leaning into the comfort of his couch, eyes fluttering shut slightly. The lighting makes him look younger because it brings out the pink flush on his skin from the wine and it streaks through his unstyled hair in waves. “’M not into romance. But I’m still gonna show it to my classes.”

And Niall just smells so good and he looks so warm that Harry can’t help but lean into the softness of his jumper. “Not into romance, huh?” Harry murmurs lowly. He trails his nose along Niall’s faint cheekbones, relishing in the way his breath stutters at the slightest bit of contact. Niall melts into Harry’s touch, the smallest sigh bubbling from his mouth as Harry ghosts his lips across the line of his jaw and down the column of his neck. “Are you into this?”

The film is still playing. DiCaprio’s shot someone but Harry isn’t paying attention, instead focusing on the puffs of Niall’s shallow breathing and the way his rosy blush deepens into a scarlet flush, and Niall’s not pushing him away so he takes it as his cue to lean even closer, his hand resting dangerously high on Niall’s thigh. Harry doesn’t think he’s drunk but the wine’s definitely making his head a little lighter than normal and his confidence peaking at a height he’s not sure it’s ever reached.

He suckles and nibbles along Niall’s soft flesh, coaxing sigh after sigh and whimper after whimper from Niall’s pretty lips, and he actually plans on teasing him a bit more until Niall is surprising him by pouncing on him, knocking him onto his back as he crawls in to settle between Harry’s hips and locking their lips together in a desperate kiss.

“Fuckin’ tease,” Niall grits out between kisses—and his voice sounds so wreaked which sends a chill down Harry’s spine because he hasn’t even done anything yet—before he attacks Harry’s lips again and swallows the surprised moan that escapes from him. Before Harry knows it, Niall’s fingers are in his hair and his hips are grinding slow circles into his, and maybe Harry should be embarrassed from all of the sounds coming out of his mouth but he can’t really bring himself to care when everything Niall’s doing is making him feel so fucking good.

Niall’s relentless too. He grinds and swirls his hips in such ways that Harry sees stars whenever he closes his eyes and his pants get tighter and tighter until he can’t keep up with Niall’s ministrations anymore and comes with a low, guttural groan that only makes Niall buck into him even harder.

Harry can’t really feel his legs, but he still manages to manhandle Niall until he’s the one sprawled out on the couch. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Niall’s joggers with a trembling sort of ease, tugging them down his meaty thighs and then scrawny legs only to throw the article of clothing over his shoulder, listening to them fall to the floor behind him in a whisper of fabric.

He’d actually only planned on tugging Niall off until he’s writhing beneath him, but those plans quickly melt away when Harry helps Niall shrug out of his boxers. At the sight of his exposed dick, hard and leaking with precum, two thick veins running up the shaft to his head, Harry’s mouth waters, and he can’t help but spend the next few minutes with his lips wrapped tightly around the head of Niall’s cock and working him until he’s a moaning, writhing mess.

Niall’s naturally very loud, and Harry expects all of the moans and grunts and absent prayers to a million and one different powers, but what he doesn’t expect is for Niall to get almost startlingly quiet when he comes. It’s a sight to behold though, because Niall’s skin is flushed the prettiest shade of scarlet, and his lips are parted in pleasure, eyes fluttered shut as he focuses all of his energy into concentrating on his orgasm.

When he comes down from the high, Harry helps to fix him back into his pants. By now, the end credits are rolling on the screen, and Harry excuses himself to the loo to clean himself up. He can’t recognize himself when he looks into the mirror, all flushed cheeks and wild hair, but he can’t deny the fact that his entire being seems to be glowing. He hopes that Niall doesn’t blame whatever’s just happened on the liquor and tries to pretend it didn’t happen.

His fears are short-lived, though, because as Harry makes his way back to the sitting room to retrieve his phone, Niall’s making grabby hands for him, beckoning him close to his warmth, and who’s Harry to refuse?

“Stay here,” Niall murmurs into Harry’s hair when he’s settled down next to him. He sleepily peppers a slew of butterfly kisses along Harry’s temple, and Harry can’t help but nuzzle closer to the comfort that is Niall. “Maybe we can do that again later too.”

Harry can’t help the delirious sort of giggle that bubbles from his lips, and when Niall starts laughing as well, Harry just pulls him closer and hopes he doesn’t change his mind.

*

Rehearsals aren’t going so well.

Harry wants to pull his hair out.

“It’s like you guys aren’t even trying!” he gets out in his frustration. He’s never been one to use a harsh tone with his students, but they’ve been practicing the same scene way too many times and irritation is beginning to crawl up Harry’s bones. “You realize this is a grade right?” he grits out to no one in particular. “The show is in December and we’re not even halfway through!”

“Mate, we’re trying here,” comes Marcus’ voice, and Harry didn’t realize he’s been pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not easy performing bloody Shakespere. And it’s a love scene. Priya and I don’t even like each other.”

Harry sighs in frustration. “First of all, I’m not your mate,” he snarls, and he knows he’s going to end up regretting this later and he’ll buy the whole class pizza to make up for it. But for now, he’s bordering on livid and he doesn’t know how to stop it. “Second of all, it’s not about how you interact in your personal lives, it’s about playing a role, and right now, both of you are the characters of Romeo and Juliet and you’re supposed to be hopelessly infatuated with each other!”

“Whoa,” comes a voice that Harry knows well. Liam comes strolling in with an amicable smile on his face, his glasses hanging from the collar of his jumper. “Which one of you got Styles’ knickers in a twist?” he jokes, and on any other day, Harry would laugh, but he’s not in the mood so his snarl just tugs on his face even deeper.

“It’s not the time for your jokes, Liam, they’re supposed to be rehearsing.” He runs a frustrated hand through his already disheveled hair. He’s sure his hair must be in a right mess at the moment, and he’s starting to wonder whether he regrets choosing drama education as a major in uni.

“Aww,” Liam coos, and Harry has to refrain from rolling his eyes again before his eyeballs fall out of his eye sockets or something. “Is ickle Harold in a bad mood?” he continues, much to the amusement of the class.

Maybe Harry shouldn’t be projecting his bad mood onto his class, but it doesn’t help that his mum is sending him messages hoping to see him in Manchester over the weekend for the wedding. He doesn’t want to go to the stupid fucking wedding. He doesn’t need to see his ex getting married while he’s slaving away as a single teacher that still gets all pouty at the mere mention of the name Zayn.

“Hey, Payno, Louis’ eating your—” comes Niall bustling into the room, but he pauses when he sees Liam playfully ruffling Harry’s hair. Niall quirks his brows in curiosity, but Harry can tell from the glint in his eyes that it’s mostly amusement than curiosity. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, Styles?” he asks nonchalantly, and the whole class erupts into a fit of laughter.

“Hey!” Harry all but bellows. The beginnings of a migraine are beginning to swirl in his skull. “Not one of you are allowed to laugh until these two,” he points to Marcus and Priya, “get their scene right!”

This coaxes a pout from Priya. “It’s not my fault! Marcus is the one being difficult!” she explains, but Harry’s too irritated for explanations. He realizes that this is not good teacher behavior, but they’ve been working on this scene for four days, and each time it’s like pulling teeth. Harry thinks he has a right to be miffed.”

Before he can open his mouth to say something he might regret, Niall jumps in. “What scene are you lot doing then?”

Priya sighs. “The balcony scene.”

“The balcony scene?” Niall asks incredulously. “We went over that scene a million times in my class too. This should be no problem at all.” Niall strolls up to stand next to Harry and mimics his stance of crossing his arms over his chest.

Beside them, Liam can’t stop laughing. “Looks like you lot are in some big trouble then,” he jokes as he grins at the class.

Niall turns to him with a withering look. “Tomlinson’s eating your cookies in the lounge,” he retorts, and the entire classroom vibrates with the laughter that comes next. Liam leaves with a pout and a muttered ‘bloody hell, Lou’ under his breath, and Harry and Niall turn to the kids with their lips pulled into identical lines. “Like I was saying,” Niall gets out, “it’s really not a hard scene. I don’t understand what the problem is.”

Priya lets out a sound of disapproval. “I don’t want to kiss him!” she says, pointing at Marcus with a snarl on her features, and it’s only then that Harry finds himself holding back a chuckle.

Niall turns to Harry with a quirk of his brow, and Harry’s doesn’t have a good feeling about the look Niall’s just given him. “What shall I swear by?” he says.

Harry’s confused. “What?” he asks, before he realizes that Niall’s attempting to perform the scene with him. Harry frowns for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh. He can’t believe Niall’s just made him Juliet. “Do not swear at all,” Harry says easily, the lines coming to memory like he’s rehearsed it many times, when in reality, he’s only memorized them because they’ve been stuck on this scene for what seems to be ages. “Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry, and I’ll believe thee.”

Niall smiles, stepping back a bit because Romeo’s supposed to be climbing up the balcony. “If my heart’s dear love…”

“Well, do not swear, although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract tonight.” The lines come easily to Harry as he shuffles closer towards Niall, the glint of the sunrays shining through the windows glimmering in his eyes, and Harry’s so fucking enamored. “It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden. Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be.” The class is watching them with rapt attention, maybe even in disbelief, but Harry isn’t even paying attention to them anymore. “Good night, good night! As sweet repose and rest. Come to thy heart as that within my breast!”

Niall’s looking at him like he’s the sun and the moon and all of the stars in the sky, and Harry’s breath catches in his throat. He finds himself leaning closer when Niall speaks. “O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”

“What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?” Harry’s voice drops to a whisper, and he can feel the energy around the room swirling around them, the buildup of it almost maddening, and Harry doesn’t know whether he’s supposed to be expecting a big blowout.

Niall gives him the smallest of smiles. He slowly laces his fingers into Harrys before changing his mind and taking his hand instead.  “The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.”

Harry hears a murmured “whoa” from one of the students, but it’s too late to fall out of character now. “I gave thee mine before thou didst request it. And yet I would it were to give again.”

Niall brings their hands up to hover between their bodies, his fingers a warm weight on Harry’s skin. “Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?”

“But to be frank, and give it thee again.” Harry thinks he’s losing himself in Niall’s eyes. He’s basically just told Niall he’s in love with him. But he has to tell himself that it isn’t real, that it’s just a play. “And yet I wish but for the thing I have. My bounty is as boundless as the sea. My love as deep; the more I give to thee. The more I have, for both are infinite.”

Harry can’t believe his eyes when Niall leans in the slightest bit, warm breath fanning against Harry’s already heated skin, and he doesn’t realize he’s blushing until he hears someone gasping in the back of the room when Niall gives the impression that he’s about to kiss him. And Harry will never admit it but he wants it, is ready for it. But Niall breaks the moment by whacking him on his chest, with an open palm and the energy that had been surrounding them shatters and falters to the ground. “No homo, bro,” Niall jokes, and Harry laughs so loud that it rivals the thunderous rumbles of chuckles from his students.

*

Harry is panicking.

He’s meant to be in Manchester in the next twenty four hours and he’s not even packed.

Hell he’s not even mentally prepared.

All of these thoughts come as he’s in the longue with Niall, Liam, and Louis. Louis’ managed to hook up his Xbox to the lounge telly and he and Liam are busying themselves with playing a round of GTA while the other teachers are too occupied with preparing their afternoon cuppas. Harry’s squeezed onto one of the smaller couches with Niall typing away on his laptop, organizing his lesson plans for the week because he hated doing them over the weekend.

Harry’s too busy fiddling with his fingers as he tries to watch Liam and Louis’ game when he feels Niall scooting over slightly, tilting the screen of his laptop over so Harry can see what’s displayed. It’s a video of a grizzly bear jumping into a pool, and Harry smiles as he feels his own body leaning towards Niall’s warmth. Niall reaches over to tug on Harry’s tie. “What’s got my Juliet so tensed?” he jokes, fingers moving upwards to squeeze Harry’s bun.

Harry chuckles, lightly knocking a fist against Niall’s chin. “Nah, it’s nothing.”

Niall hums before closing his laptop and setting it down on the coffee table where Liam’s feet are resting—which Harry thinks is actually a bad idea because Liam can easily knock it over what with his excitement over the game—but before he can say anything about it, Niall’s ushering him over to the coffee maker.

Harry wonders if he’s imagining the fact that Niall has a hand on the small of his back the whole time.

“Is it about the wedding?” Niall asks when he’s pulling out his mug from the cupboard. All teachers bring their own personal mug and keep it in the lounge and Niall’s has all the colors of the Irish flag.

Harry’s actually surprised Niall remembers that conversation. He’s pretty sure Niall was tipsier off the wine than he was, but he appreciates the fact that he still listens to whatever Harry has to say. “Yeah,” he admits. “I have to be up in Manchester by tomorrow.” He lets out a small sigh when Niall reassuringly grips his elbow. “My mum’s going too so she’s been blackmailing me to make sure I go.”

Niall lets out a startled sort of laugh. “What’s your mum doing in Manchester?”

Harry smiles. “Zayn and I were friends since we were kids so,” he shrugs. “Our mums are very close.”

Niall nods. Harry doesn’t understand how the sunlight always manages to illuminate certain strands of his hair, and he doesn’t understand how Niall just glows all the time. But he does know that his skin radiates warmth from the light emitting from Niall, and he knows that he can’t stop thinking about the way Niall kissed him in this very lounge, all soft and sweet and tender, and then again at his place, hungry, desperate, and passionate. “So are you all packed then?” Niall asks as he starts the coffee maker.

“Nope.” Harry reaches for his own mug from the shelf before browsing the K-cup flavor selections. He decides on espresso. “Don’t really want to go, to be quite honest.” He sees Niall smiling in amusement from the corner of his eye and slides over so his can knock his hips against his. “You should come with me to put me out of my misery,” he half-jokes, but it’s only when the words are out of his mouth that he realizes how good of an idea it is. If Niall agrees to drive up to Manchester with him, then he won’t have to face Zayn alone. He turns to Niall with swift dexterity, grabbing his shoulders. “Niall, will you please be my plus one!”

Niall looks startled, eyes blown with and brows pulled together. “You want me to go to Manchester with you,” he repeats, as if it needs a bit more processing in his brain until he can understand Harry’s question.

“Yes! It’s a great idea,” Harry grins widely, “dunno why I didn’t think of it before.”

Niall scoffs before lifting his mug to his lips to blow on the hot beverage. “You’re crazy, Styles.”

Harry waggles his eyebrows at him. “You’re saying that now,” he says, winking. “But when you’re up in Manchester drinking all the Guinness your little Irish heart desires, you’ll be thanking me.”

*

It doesn’t take long to convince Niall after that.

All Harry had to do was bribe him with more beer and the next thing he knew, Niall was sitting in his passenger seat, belting out Top 40 hits from the radio at the top of his lungs and munching on chocolate covered pretzels.

Since Niall entered the picture a little late, the hotel where Harry has a reservation didn’t have any spare rooms so Niall had to room with him, which, really, isn’t exactly a problem because Harry certainly isn’t complaining. Harry’s been reading up on Montalet’s blog more often, and he’s been finding that Monty writes several different stories but posts them in different parts at different times.

One story in particular has really stuck with him. The title is ‘Hopeless Hearts’ and it’s the only story on the blog that features a gay couple. It’s definitely different than what Harry’s ever read, but he can’t help but be completely engrossed with it. Monty started posting it about a week ago, and so far it has about three parts, but it’s not until Harry’s catching up on the most recent installment that he realizes that he’s never paid attention to the fact that the way these characters are developed is eerily familiar.

The first boy is a hopeless romantic, who lives, walks, and breathes the word love. Everything he touches, he fills with happiness, his aura exuding light. The other boy is a writer, and he fills journal after journal with words he meticulously strings together to perfectly articulate the love and care and want he feels for the first boy.

The first parts explain their story nicely, with the basic story of unrequited love laced with traces of passion and desire and affection. It’s what drew Harry in. But as he continues to read as he’s sitting on the hotel room balcony, he realizes that he’s been picturing the characters all wrong. The characteristics are hard to miss, the first boy having dark, curly hair with deep set dimples and the second boy having bright blond hair and sky blue eyes.

Harry doesn’t know how he even missed it.

A surge of adrenaline seeps into his blood as he trips over his own feet in an attempt to get up to show it to Niall. His first thought is that he needs to tell him that Monty’s been writing stories about them and they hadn’t even realized it. He doesn’t make a sound when he first steps into the room, and it’s that very step that allows everything to make sense.

Niall’s on his laptop, his screen pulled up to Monty’s blog. But Harry’s had blogs in the past before, and he knows what an admin’s screen looks like, and suddenly, everything starts to click. He understands why Niall was always so against talking about Monty, and why he kept up with his cover too well but his actions too little, understands why Niall was constantly on Monty’s blog even when he so adamantly claimed that romance isn’t his genre.

Because Niall is Monty.

Harry slowly backs out of the room to collect his thoughts. If Niall is Monty, and he’s the one writing ‘Hopeless Hearts’ then that means that he doesn’t know that Harry likes him back. And Harry’s just so hopelessly endeared by it all because Niall really is a secret romantic and he likes Harry but is too afraid admit it to him and Harry thinks that’s the cutest thing in the world.

Maybe this trip will be for the best for both of them.

*

Harry truly doesn’t want to be here.

Leave it to Zayn to throw a huge fucking wedding. Harry can’t even find his mum with the throngs of people scattered everywhere, and he’s pretty sure he’s lost Niall as well. He and Niall’d been sitting together for the ceremony—or they were playing footsies the whole time because Harry didn’t want to look up at his ex-boyfriend getting married—but somehow Harry lost track of him afterwards, and now he’s stuck wandering around like a fucking idiot trying to get to the bar because he needs a drink.

And when Harry gets to the bar he has to laugh because of course Niall would be where the liquor is. By the looks of it, he’s had more than just a few, but he’s still going strong which, Harry kind of admires.

“Harry!” Niall exclaims when he catches sight of him, and by the time Harry gets to his side, he already has a drink ordered and slides it over to him. “Been waitin’ for ya.”

Harry laughs. “Are you wasted yet?” he jokes, tapping Niall under his chin, and he tries to ignore the somersaults his stomach gives when Niall laughs in response.

“Hell no,” Niall replies, arms snaking around Harry’s waist to pull him closer so they can do shots together. “I’m Irish!” And he says it with so much confidence like it’s supposed to explain everything. “Drink up, love,” he tells Harry while offering him a shot glass filled to the brim with god knows what, and Harry doesn’t have to think twice before complying because it’s Niall, and he’s broad and warm and his hand is rubbing circles into his lower back under his blazer and Harry just really wants to kiss him.

But he takes the shot instead, the amber liquid burning all the way down his throat, and he lets it settle into his system for a bit before chasing it down with another.

Harry’s mum chooses that exact time to find him.

“Aww, pumpkin,” she coos when Harry turns around at the call of his name, Niall’s hand falling from his lower back so fast it was as if it wasn’t even there. “I’ve missed you so much,” she says affectionately, bringing him into her arms, and it’s only when she squeezes Harry into a giant, motherly hug that he realizes how much he’s really missed her. “How’ve you been, love?”

Harry holds onto her a bit longer before letting go. “Great, actually,” he says with a smile. “Been really loving it in London.”

She smiles with immense adoration glimmering in her eyes and Harry feels his heart hanging heavy in his chest because he’s missed her so much. He promises himself to call more often when he gets back to London. He can’t imagine her living in their house by herself. She runs her fingers through his styled hair before her attention catches on Niall, who is still sitting by the bar behind him. “And who’s this?” she asks with a smile.

Harry freezes. He should’ve thought this one through.

“This is Niall,” he says automatically, bringing Niall closer with a hand on the small of his back. He didn’t really think about having to introduce Niall to his mum, and he’s been thinking of the Monty stories all day, so what comes out of his mouth next surprises all three of them. “My boyfriend.”

As soon as he’s said it Niall’s body goes tense beside him, and Harry’s eyes widen momentarily before he regains his composure. “Yeah?” Harry’s mum gets out in surprise, her smile broadening once she’s processed that new information. “Nice to meet you, Niall, I’m Anne,” she says, bringing Niall in for a hug, which he returns with just as much enthusiasm. Harry really admires him for keeping his cool under the pressure he’s just put him under.

“Nice meeting you,” he says cordially, and Harry can tell how much he’s trying not to slur his words. “Harry talks a lot about you.”

She laughs. “Good things, I hope!”

Much to Harry’s surprise, his mum and Niall continue a conversation for a long time. They somehow end up sitting on a table on the beautiful country club grounds with the sun slowly slinking beyond the trees and the sky swirling with the colors of dusk. It’s only when Harry’s had enough of shuffling his feet and adding his two cents only to be ignored—and maybe because he spotted Zayn in the distance talking with a couple of his friends—that he pries Niall away to go to the bar instead.

“Uhm,” Niall gets out, laughter laced in his tone when Harry downs yet another mixed drink. He’s lost track of how many he’s had. “Are you planning on getting drunk?”

“No,” Harry slurs. “I’m not even tipsy.”

At that, Niall laughs, because Harry totally proves Niall’s point by tripping over air and into Niall’s arms as they’re making their way across the dance floor to their table, head lolling over to tuck comfortably into the curve of Niall’s shoulder. “I can see that,” Niall says sarcastically, but Harry can hear the fondness in his voice even in his drunken state, and his heart feels as if it’s expanding in his chest at the way Niall tenderly wraps his arms around Harry’s lanky frame.

“Mhm,” Harry hums, pressing one, two, three kisses to the underside of Niall’s jawline leading up to his ear. “Dance with me,” he murmurs, playfully nipping on Niall’s earlobe before giggling manically into his shoulder. Niall complies with a laugh, pressing his lips to Harry’s hair as he softly sings along to the slow song filtering throughout the room through all of the speakers. They dance until the song is over, one with a faster tempo taking its place, and Harry looks up at Niall with bleary eyes. “You should probably take me home before I ruin this wedding with my clumsy drunkenness,” he says groggily.

Niall smiles, skimming his lips across Harry’s hairline. “You’re just saying that because you want to go to sleep.”

A scoff pushes out of Harry’s lips at that. “You know me so well, boyfriend.”

“Of course,” he says, smiling, and Harry distantly wishes that they never have to go back to London if it means staying in Manchester will mean Niall will keep smiling at him like that.

And by the time they stumble their way to their hotel room they’ve probably managed to wake the whole floor, but Harry doesn’t care if it means he gets to push Niall against the door as soon as they’ve gotten inside the warmth of their room, lips hungrily searching for his and hands unable to decide if they want to be curled into his blond locks or busy unzipping his slacks.

He somehow—even with his drunken fingers—manages to do both.

*

Heading back to work on Monday is the last thing Harry wants to do, but he still manages to wake up with his alarm and groan into his pillow as he untangles his legs from Niall’s to get up and start his day.

And despite the fact that he doesn’t really want to go to work, the morning is better than any he’s had in a long time, because when he’s made his way out of the shower, Niall’s already brushed his teeth and is greeting him with a quick kiss before he shrugs out of his clothes and heads in to wash last night’s events from his skin. And when Niall’s gotten ready, Harry’s already prepared his morning cuppa and gives him another kiss in exchange for it.

And if students see them leaving the same car when they get to school in the morning, well, that’s no one’s business.

*

By the time lunch rolls around, Harry’s had enough.

He should’ve probably graded papers before he left for Manchester on Friday because now he’s stuck slaving over them because grades are due in the system in a couple of hours. He’s never been good at making these types of decisions.

He’s just about ready to pull his hair out when Niall comes strolling in. “Aren’t you coming to lunch, Juliet?” he asks playfully, laughing at the end of his question because he’s Niall and he’s stupid like that.

“No,” Harry grumbles, marking another question wrong. He swears some of these kids just don’t study. “I’m stuck grading these tests like a bloody loser.”

Niall looks at him as he leans against the doorframe for a few more moments, and Harry can see the small smile etched onto his features even from the corner of his eyes. It’s because Niall is always so radiant, his bright aura stretching for miles, and Harry knows this because he always feels at ease whenever Niall’s in the same room.

He doesn’t say anything, he just closes the door behind him and turns the lights off, much to Harry’s chagrin. “What are you doing, Niall,” he says dryly, because nothing about him surprises him anymore.

“Giving you a break,” he replies simply, shrugging his shoulders as he reaches out to take Harry’s hands in his, pulling him out of his chair so he can lean against the wall and kiss Harry without anyone seeing.

“My savior,” Harry murmurs, bumping his nose against Niall’s before leaning in for a proper kiss. “Who knew my Monty was such a great partner.”

A gasp works its way through Niall at Harry’s words. He bumps his head against the wall, rolling his eyes and smiling in defeat. “When did you figure it out?” he asks, a laugh threatening to take over his words.

“Manchester.” He takes Niall’s lower lip between his teeth, biting slightly before soothing the slight sting with his tongue and pulling on it before letting go. “So Montalet,” he starts, resting their foreheads together. “Combination of Montague and Capulet? And here I though the t was silent.”

Niall hums. “It does sound better with a silent t,” he admits, hooking his fingers into Harry’s belt loops. “You’re so smart,” he murmurs against his lips. “Can’t believe I underestimated you.”

“I’m a little offended that you did,” Harry says, sighing when Niall leans in to kiss him again.

Niall huffs out a laugh, and Harry kisses him again and again and again just so he can taste the sweetness of it on his tongue. “So what do you say?” Niall asks, and Harry has to think about what he’s asking for a second before he comes up with an answer.

“I say,” he hums, reaching up to twirl his fingers around the soft hairs at the nape of Niall’s neck. “We’re just a bunch of ‘Hopeless Hearts.’

Niall smiles. “Nah. We’re just Niall and Harry.”

There’s about five more minutes left of the lunch period so Harry tells himself to ask the question that he’s been thinking about for the entire morning. “So,” he starts, pulling back a little to look into Niall’s eyes. “Since I never really formally asked, what do you say to being my boyfriend?”

Niall lets out one of his sunshine laughs at that, and all Harry can think about as he giggles along is that he doesn’t even need to turn the lights on in the classroom because Niall’s already illuminated it with his booming, 100-watt laugh. “Of course,” Niall replies, and Harry has to pull him in for one last kiss before he lets him go to his own classroom when the bell finally rings.

And as Harry’s next section of students start filtering in, Harry stands at the front of the classroom so he can easily look through the door windows, angling himself so he has a perfect view of Niall scribbling something on his whiteboard, and all he can think about is how completely content he feels with the way everything’s played out so far.

He has to say, moving to London and taking the position at Kingsbury was probably the best decisions of his life.

*

He lied.

Asking Niall to move in with him was the best decision of his life. Because not a morning goes by where their legs aren’t tangled together, the heat of their bodies merging to form a barrier between their little bit of happiness and the rest of the world.

He gets out of bed and stumbles towards the door, stopping halfway to collect enough common sense to gather a pair of boxers off the floor and pull them up his legs. He always sleeps naked, and he's just lucky his roommate is easy-going enough that he doesn't have to swerve off his usual way of doing things.

It's eerily quiet in the hallway there's one light won't stop flickering. It would be creepy and probably send Harry back into the safety of his room, but he's not awake enough to register that anything's off. The silence and lighting is the same in the communal bathrooms (if not worse), and Harry just stumbles in and towards the urinal. The door hasn't even shut behind him by the time his boxers are down and his dick is in his hand, relieving himself and leaving his tired body soothed.

But it seems he isn't alone. He's shocked out of his exhausted stupor by a throat clearing next to him. His mind is muddled and his eyes are barely open. The cough was startlingly loud in the silence of the bathroom, and it made Harry jump.

Mid stream.

It nearly happens in slow motion, the last drop of pee landing on a pair of bare feet and ankles. The clear, yellow hue splashes gently against tan skin and despite his haziness, Harry's face flames. It's already the most embarrassing moment in his college life, and he's not even awake enough to react properly.

"Oops."

There's a laugh, choked off like it it wasn't supposed to slip out, and it makes Harry's gaze slide up from the stranger's pee soaked ankle. The boy is wearing black boxers and a white Adidas t-shirt. He's got scruff. And a tiny nose with the bluest eyes in the world. His hair is an absolute mess and he looks positively sinful, standing there, hand in his boxers, smirk on his face. "Hi."

Harry doesn't know what to say, how to respond. He's just peed on this boy, who can't be any older than himself, and he didn't even have the sense to apologize. "I," he starts, using his left hand to point at the boy's ankle. "I peed."

Instead of getting angry or looking blankly at Harry for being the idiot he is, the boy laughs, and the sound is beautiful. It has Harry smiling, trying his hardest to distract from the awkward situation he created.

"You did," the boy agrees, pulling his hand from his boxers, where he must've been tucking himself away. Harry tracks the moment. "You didn't even buy me dinner first."

He looks back up at the stranger's face and tries to think of something clever to respond, something smart with just a hint of something sexual. Instead, he smiles, all doe-eyes and dimples, and looks down at his feet. The boy laughs again and then the sound of his footsteps getting further away echo through the empty bathroom

It's 3:36 in the morning, classes haven't even started yet, Harry's got his dick in his hand, and he's just peed on the most attractive guy he's seen since moving in. Maybe if he goes back to sleep, he'll forget all about it.

******

He doesn't forget.

In fact, he remembers quite clearly when he sees him next. It's 4:45 in the afternoon three days later and classes start the next day. All dorm residents are required to attend a meeting to meet the Room Advisor for their hall.

It's crowded in the common room, sweaty freshmen boys littered everywhere yelling about sports and beer, and if he wasn't so used to Niall, Harry would be a bit more annoyed. As it is, the little blonde fireball is off in some corner listing off facts about Guinness and it's origin. The guy he's talking to has no interest, but is at least pretending. Harry doesn't have that kind of strength.

That's why he's off on his own, people watching, and waiting for the damn RA to show up so they could get out of there. It's their last night before classes, and Harry would really like to make sure he has everything he needs. He'd hate to forget spare notebook paper, or pencils, or his fucking book.

His minor panic-attack is cut short by sudden silence in the common room. Up at the front somebody kneels down, digging through an overly disorganized binder. His brown fringe hangs over his face while he pulls out a stack of papers.

He lifts his head up and Harry flushes, the memory flashing through his mind. The boy is not a boy at all, but is, in fact, his room advisor.

Which means not only is he at least 2 years older, but also so completely off limits that it isn't even funny.

Not that that's a problem. Harry's nearly 100% sure that peeing on somebody's ankles kicks you out of their league completely.

"Good morning," he announces from the front of the room, finally standing up. He's wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a black tank top. He looks good, no doubt, but Harry still prefers him with his hand inside his boxers. "My name is Louis Tomlinson, but everybody calls me Tommo. I’m a junior, not much older than you all, and I'll be your Room Advisor this year.

Louis Tomlinson. Room Advisor. A full fucking year.

God help Harry Styles.

******

It's 7:00 in the morning and Harry already regrets signing up for Intro to Photography.

Who needs an intro class? It's photography. As if he didn't already know how to operate a camera. And if he didn't, it's not worth waking up so early just to learn.

His alarm's just gone off and he's debating on whether skipping in the second week is smart or not. It probably isn't, but neither was signing up for an intro class at 7:30 in the damn morning.

He gets up and pulls on the same pair of jeans he wore the day before, because he's young, he's fit, and he hasn't done his laundry since arriving. He throws on a plain black t-shirt, which is probably Niall's, but it doesn't really matter.

The kid has been stealing his boots and sunglasses anyway.

He grabs his bag from the chair at the desk and leaves the room.

It should be shocking how few people are in the halls compared to week one, but it really isn't. His older sister, Gemma, was telling him about how in her last week of Economics 305, only four students showed up. He swore he'd never be the kid to skip classes, but then again, it's 7:08 in the morning, he's on his way to a 7:30 intro class and -

And he's just run into Louis Tomlinson.

"Easy there," he chuckles, grabbing Harry's shoulders to steady him. "One might think you're accident prone."

Harry doesn't know how to react. It's only the third time he's seen Louis - second time face-to-face - and he can't stop making a fool out of himself. Louis let's go, and with the loss of contact he can't think of anything that'll keep the conversation going other than. "M'name is Harry."

Louis laughs, looking amused at the simple introduction. "Well I didn't think it was Amy."

His words register in Harry's mind, but he doesn't get it, and he scrunches his eyebrows.

Louis' smile falls a little and he quickly adds, "Because you have bad aim. Because you peed on me that one time." Harry blushes and Louis must notice because he waves his hand and moves on. "Never mind."

"Aim-y," Harry adds belatedly, smiling deep as the joke catches in his head. "That's hilarious."

More than anything, Louis seems charmed by the simple quality of Harry's humor. He looks on fondly for a moment before shaking his head. "Anyway," he begins. "You didn't have to introduce yourself. I already know who you are. Harry Styles, Room 119.

"You looked me up?" A blush paints across his cheeks as he thinks about Louis looking him up after the night in the bathroom, wanting to know his name.

But any positivity deflates when Louis pats his shoulder. "Don't flatter yourself, Freshman. I know all of my tenants." And then he's walking away, leaving Harry embarrassed because not only is he going to be late to class, but there's no way in hell Louis Tomlinson would see him as anything more than the freshman boy who peed on his ankle.

*******

It's 6:54 in the evening and Harry's classes are out for the weekend. He only has one essay due by Sunday night, but it's already halfway done and about a moment of pride in his life, which basically writes itself.

He and Niall and sitting on their respective beds, tossing an old Nerf football back and forth. Niall's going on about some girls that rejected him in the science building the other day, and Harry's just enjoying the mild buzz he has going.

Niall's just caught the shit throw Harry barely managed when there's a knock at the door. The two stare at each other until Harry eventually sighs and stands up to answer it. Although he instantly regrets all of his life choices when he opens the door and Louis Tomlinson is standing behind it.

“Good evening, boys,” he greets, smiling widely and holding a clipboard. “I’m here for a surprise room inspection.”

The sound of Niall’s body hitting floor sounds from behind him, meaning he’s probably rushing to hide the alcohol they’d spent the night demolishing.

Well, Niall demolished it.

Harry sipped daintily.

Harry’s eyes widen, in an extremely obvious way, and it has Louis squinting his eyes and attempting to peek around Harry’s body.

He’s not sure what Louis sees, but he has a smirk settling lazily across his mouth, so Harry turns around, hoping everything is safe. Instead, he feels his heart drop when he sees Niall, crouching halfway underneath Harry’s bed, 4 beer cans resting next to his knee as he hastily puts them away.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Horan.”

Niall jumps, and bangs his head against the boards of Harry’s bed with a hiss. He goes still and then starts backing up. \

Harry wants to make a comment about how natural he is on all fours, but ultimately decides that he’s too drunk and it’s too inappropriate, especially with Room Advisor Louis Tomlinson in his doorway.

“Tommo,” Niall greets, sounding so much more excited than he should be, kneeling on the floor in front of his RA with alcohol in his possession. “Thirsty?”

Harry snorts out a laugh as he holds the beer up, looking as innocent as ever, and Harry should probably be scared as hell, but he’s buzzed and things are looking pretty damn funny right about now. He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, but Louis looks amused at the gesture as well.

Louis takes a small step into the room and closes the door behind him. He looks around a bit before his eyes settle on the dresser.

He walks over and pulls open the top left drawer, which is where Niall keeps his underwear and socks. After less than 30 seconds of searching, he surfaces with a small bag that Harry distinctly remembers telling Niall not to keep in the room.

“Shit!”

“Niall, you fucking idiot,” Harry hisses, running a hand down his face. His buzz has been effectively killed, as has his future, probably. “I told you not to keep it here.”

Niall huffs, still on the floor, face looking the slightest bit more red than a moment ago. “I didn’t know they would do more than a surface check.”

“It didn’t help that there’s beer out in the open, Niall.”

“Boys, boys,” Louis’ light voice breaks through. “You are aware that the legal drinking age is 21, correct?” Harry’s pulse stops. “And unless one of you has a medical card, so is the possession of marijuana.”

“Tommo,” Niall chuckles nervously, running a hand through the front of his hair. “We can just look past this, right?”

Louis’ eyebrow raises. “Certainly not, Mr. Horan.” Harry cringes. He can see his education flash before his very eyes, and he realizes abruptly that only a month in college isn’t going to look very impressive on job applications. “And to insinuate I would do so is insulting to my professional integrity.”

Niall’s mouth drops open and he starts fervently shaking his head. “I- I didn’t mean - ”

“Whether you meant it or not is beside the point, and I’ll have to put ‘resistance of punishment’ on your write-up.” He jots something down on the clipboard and Harry can physically feel sweat running down his face. “You’ll be on thin ice for the next few months,” he warns them. “That is, if you don’t get expelled.”

The room is silent, save for Harry’s heavy breathing. It feels like the dorm is ten times smaller than usual, with more air and less ventilation. Sweat is prickling at every inch of Harry’s skin, and Niall doesn’t look to be in a much better position.

Louis’ eyes are narrowed at the two boys as the stillness sweeps the room. He continues to look serious for only a few more seconds before crinkles form at the corners of his eyes.

A wide smile sweeps across his face.“I’m fucking with you!” He snorts, smiling widely as he watches Harry and Niall flounder for a reaction.

Harry’s too stunned to feel the relief. “Honestly, you freshmen are so easy.”

“I don’t - ”

“‘Course ya don’t, Styles.” Louis sticks the small bag of weed into his pocket and walks over to Niall, grabbing one of the beers and popping it open with his thumb.

He takes a swig and then grimaces. “This is terrible.” He hands it back to Niall. “Make sure you hide your contraband better next time, boys. Don’t embarrass yourself. Make it a challenge.”

He walks towards the door and Niall asks, “What about my weed?”

“Marijuana is illegal, Mr. Horan.”

He walks out of the room. And despite having only exchanged a maximum of 15 words with his RA, he feels flushed, and confused, and aroused, and there’s something seriously wrong with him.

******

The next time he see Louis, It's 11:14 at night and Niall's got a girl in the room. He'd be angrier at his roommate, but the girl was really nice and Niall's not exactly what you would call a ‘Ladies' Man.’

Neither is Harry, but there's a valid excuse for that.

So Harry's sitting outside of the room, scrolling down his timeline, waiting for the two to finish. Harry has no clue how long that could take. Niall’s got some pretty good stamina with his hand, but for all he knows, the boy has no control with actual women, so it could be anywhere from 10 minutes to 2 hours, and all Harry really wants to do is go to sleep. He’s got a 9 am class and he can’t afford to be up too late.

He’s looking at some article about Disney Princesses and Gender Norms when Louis strolls down the hall, doing his nightly check. One minute Harry’s looking at a picture of Princess Jasmine, and the next he’s seeing a pair of Vans stopped directly between his legs.

“Good evening, Mr. Styles.”

“It’s night,” is the first thing to leave Harry’s mouth.

Louis hums and looks at his phone. “It appears it is,” he agrees. “Past curfew even.” Harry nods along, not realizing that Louis’ hinting at anything. “So what are you doing out of your room?”

“Niall brought a girl back.”

Louis goes silent and Harry’s not sure if he’s gotten Niall in trouble or if he even cares. It’s late, and he’s tired, and Louis Tomlinson always pops up at the worst times. If he’s not peeing on the man, he’s mopey or clumsy or drunk. God, he’s such a mess.

Louis foot gently kicks against the side of his shoe. “C’mon, freshman.” Harry looks up to see Louis turning around and walking down the hall. Confused, Harry stands up, slips his phone in his pocket, and follows Louis down the hall.

They walk in near silence, only the sound of their footsteps and the occasional outburst from a room keeping them company. They keep walking until Louis stops in front of Room 101. He knocks on the door and waits until it opens.

Behind the door is somebody that has Harry dry-swallowing. He looks like Beckham, but sweeter, which is kind of a weak spot for Harry. The guy looks at Louis, and then to Harry, and then back at Louis. “Are there still empty rooms on the third floor, Li?”

The guy, Li, apparently, averts his eyes to Harry and then sighs. “You can’t give away rooms, Tommo. It’s against the code.” Almost immediately, Harry’s attraction is gone.

“It’s just for tonight, and the kid needs a room,” Louis explains.

Harry’s stomach drops at the word ‘kid.’

He’s not a kid, he’s a grown adult. A grown adult, capable of consenting to sex. So hearing Louis degrade him with such a throwaway term hurts more than it hasn’t any right to.

Li just sighs and closes the door.

Harry swears he can hear Louis calling the guy a prick under his breath, but he can’t be sure. They just stand there for a minute, and Harry’s not sure if he should start walking back to his own room just yet. He’a pretty embarrassed that Louis only sees him as the poor freshman with terrible luck, and the fact that it’s being shared with one of Louis’ RA friends really has him sweating.

The door opens back up and Li appears again, not looking like he wants to share any information at all. “108 and 314 are open.”

“Thanks, mate.” Louis briefly claps his hand on Li’s shoulder and they walk off.

The door shuts and Louis groans. “I hate that guy.” Harry doesn’t know what to say. “Liam’s a nice guy and all, but he’s crazy strict about the rules,” he explains. “If he was your RA, you’d already be written-up twice. Once for the alcohol and another for being out past curfew.”

Harry’s a pretty good student. He doesn’t get written-up often - at all, actually - and the threat of being put so close to dorm expulsion just for two simple mess-ups (both entirely Niall’s fault) has him sweating. “So you’re the cool RA?”

“You could say that,” Louis hums, a serene smile stretching across his face.

They continue walking in silence to room 108. Harry’s just happy that he doesn’t have to go up to the third floor. It’s entirely too far to have to commute from in the morning. Especially with his track record of being something less than graceful when he’s still in a sleepy haze.

He also hopes the RA of room 108 won’t mind that Harry sleeps naked. There’s no chance in hell that a room change - thanks, Niall - will ruin Harry’s comfort for the night. Sleeping in clothing - being confined - is the worst torture in the world.

Harry’s thoughts are cut short when they stop in front of room 108 and Louis uses his master key to open the door. The room is a single, with only one bed that’s crammed pretty tightly in there. There are no sheets or blankets or pillows on the bed, it’s stripped bare, but Harry couldn’t possibly care less.

He sighs (grunts) in relief and stumbles into the room, his hands already pulling his shirt off by the collar.

“What are you doing,” Louis’ laughing voice asks from behind him. “There aren’t any blankets in here.”

“I’m exhausted, Louis,” he sighs, pulling the shirt over his head. “I would sleep in the bathroom at this point.”

Louis hums. “I wouldn’t do that, Styles. Somebody might pee on you.”

Harry laughs despite himself and starts reaching for his belt.

“Hey,” Louis says, louder than he should at this time of night in such a small space. “Why do you call me Louis?”

Harry’s raises an eyebrow, hands seizing on the buckle. He’s confused. “Well that’s your name.”

“But everybody calls me Tommo.”

“I - ” he starts, not sure what the correct answer would be. “I’m not sure.” His face is coloring, he can feel it. Red staining his cheeks at being put on the spot. “I- I could call you Tommo, if you want.”

Louis smiles and shakes his head. “Don’t,” he insists. “It wouldn’t sound right from you.”

Harry isn’t sure whether to feel happy or upset at that. Either way, it has Harry smiling half-heartedly.

He is quite sure what he’s supposed to do about his crush on the RA, but it’s getting really hard to ignore lately. Especially when Louis’s dropping his eyes down Harry’s torso - Harry’s naked torso. His hands flex instinctively on his belt buckle with the urge to reach out and touch Louis. Or himself. Either would be nice, really.

“Louis,” he hears himself whining. The older boy snaps his gaze up to Harry’s face, looking confused and a bit wide-eyed. Harry isn’t sure what he wants, he just knows that it’s Louis. And the two aren’t that close together, but he just wants to feel Louis against him. In any way. “Can I kiss you?”

Louis looks down at Harry’s lips like he’s going to say yes, but then every moment since they walked into this stupid room melts off his face and he laughs. “Keep dreaming, Styles. Don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

With that, he’s out the door and Harry feels like crying. He locks the door and throws himself on the bed, still in his pants, shocked that he’s made such a fool of himself.

He doesn’t sleep well at all that night, despite his early class. He tosses and turns and thinks back to what went wrong with Louis, and why he ever thought he stood a chance. It’s got to be the worst night in the of his college life.

Not only did he embarrass himself for a third time, but it's become more clear now than ever that Louis Tomlinson is totally, completely, off limits.

******

He doesn’t see Louis for a while. It’s only a week and a half, but it feels like an eternity. He’s honestly upset that his last exchange with Louis was such an embarrassing show of rejection. Every day that passes without seeing Louis has Harry feeling worse and worse, sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of doubt he’s fallen into.

When he finally does see him - 7:21 in the evening - it’s following a knock on the door and a refusal to answer on Niall’s part. Harry’s been down enough lately and the last thing he needs is to lose an argument with his roommate.

He opens the door and he’s met with Louis and the clipboard again. Holding in his sigh of relief (or annoyance), he smiles blandly. “Evening, Tommo.”

Louis’ brow furrows, looking bemused, and he opens his mouth to say something when Niall slams himself in front of Louis. “Hey, Tommo,” he laughs. “Come on in and see if anything’s wrong.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow and walks slowly into the room. Harry quietly shuts the door behind him before going over to his bed. He takes a seat and watches as Louis observes Niall’s side of the room.

“So I’m looking for anything off?” Louis asks, noting Niall’s head nod. “And it’s on your side of the room.”

“Sure is.”

Harry leans against his headboard and closes his eyes, listening to the ruffling of fabrics and the slams of drawers and cupboards as Louis searches for the little bag of weed Niall is trying to hide from him. In less than 5 minutes, Louis’ searched Niall’s entire side of the room and is huffing.

“I’ll give it to you, Horan,” Louis tells him. The bed squeaks, and Harry glances over as Niall sits downs smugly. “You’ve outdone yourself with this.” His roommate looks proud, but then his face drops, and it must have something to do with wherever Louis’ eyes go.

Harry can’t see, but he’s guessing Louis’ found the bag.

He’s right. Louis leans forward and grabs the baggie out of Niall’s hoodie pocket.

“Shit,” Niall breathes. He looks so shocked that Louis’ found it that Harry starts to laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, bro.” Louis’ laughing too. “You never hide it on yourself. What were you thinking?”

“Well it was on my side of the room.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” Louis laughs again, shaking the bag around. “Honestly Styles, train your roommate better.” He grins and then goes to leave the room.

Louis pauses in the doorway, turning around and staring directly at Harry.

He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but must think better of it, and leaves.

******

Harry is drunk. It’s Friday... Or Saturday. Yeah, Saturday. It’s 1:14 am, and Harry is obliterated. He’s seeing sounds and hearing smells. The fact that he’s found his way to the communal bathrooms from his dorm room is amazing. Although he must not have been as covert as he thought because as he was walking (stumbling) to his room (the wrong way), a door opens and a disgruntled looking Louis comes storming out.

“Tommo!”

Louis shushes Harry and pulls him into his room, closing the door behind them. “Where did you think you were going?”

“Ooh,” Harry sings, ignoring Louis and toying with his collar as he leans against him for support. “I’m in Louis Tomlinson’s room.”

Louis sighs and tries to get Harry to stand up straight, but Harry  isn’t having any of it. He slumps even further against him. “Tell me, Tommo,” he mumbles quietly. “Is this where all the magic happens?”

“Styles,” Louis sighs, pulling him into a more sturdy position. “You need to lie down.” Harry nods enthusiastically. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Yes,” Harry all but moans at that, and Louis has to close his eyes for a minute. Because, god, it sounds so filthy in Harry’s deep, slow voice.

When he’s gotten himself under control, he helps Harry across the room and lies him down on the bed.

Louis tries to pull the covers over him, but Harry kicks them off petulantly and instead tries stroking his hands over any part of Louis that he can reach. “Louis,” he mumbles, trying to grab onto the collar of Louis’ shirt.

Louis grabs his hands and pushes them back onto own chest, ignoring Harry’s quiet, tantalizing mantra of ‘Louis, Louis, Louis.’ Eventually, Louis’ forced to acknowledge it. “What, Harry?”

“You know what you should do?”

“What’s that?”

“You should touch me.”

Louis’ breath stutters and it has Harry giggling. Harry takes the opportunity to grab Louis’ hand and bring it down his body. Down the path. Harry’s only half hard, a nice, nonpersistent chub that feels like it was meant to be in Louis’ grip.

There’s a moment of paralyzing stillness and then Louis’ hand starts moving, rubbing slow circles over his zipper, occasionally cupping, but mostly circling. It’s the kind of unrushed pleasure that Harry loves when he’s drunk or high. It has him rolling his hips up to meet Louis’ palm, the pressure eliciting slight whimpers and soft gasps. His cock is harder than it had any intention of getting past the third drink of the night.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Louis says. His voice, though quiet, is entirely too loud and devastating in Harry’s position. “This isn’t right, Harry.”

“But it feels so good,” Harry gasps, eyes closing when Louis rubs the tiniest bit harder than before. “Please don’t stop. Please.”

He feels like he could be close soon. Just another minute or so and he could feel that telltale tightening in his abdomen, that building pressure deep in his gut.

But instead of continuing, Louis pulls his hands away, effectively pulling a groan of protest straight from Harry’s throat.

“Louis,” he croaks reaching up to grab Louis’ hand and try to guide back down. “Louis, please.”

“Harry,” Louis tries, murmuring as he pulls his hand away, but it just has Harry whining and going after Louis’ hands and arms and stomach. “I don’t think - Harry.” At the tone, Harry mewls and plants his hand next to his head on the pillow. “Whining is no way to get what you want,” Louis chastises. “And throwing a tantrum isn’t getting you anywhere, baby.”

“But Louis,” Harry tries, rolling his hips into the air, hoping for the friction they both know isn’t coming. “Touch me.”

“I don’t think you deserve it,” he fights back, finding an odd sort of pleasure in the way Harry pouts. “You’re being very pushy. Very ungrateful, Haz.” The nickname comes out of nowhere, but the two boys are too preoccupied to make anything of it.

Harry shakes his head in protest, but Louis shushes him. “I don’t think I’m going to touch you anymore.”

“No!”

“And I don’t think you’re going to touch yourself either.” Harry’s eyes widen at that, and quicker than Louis ever thought possible, tears start welling together in the corners. “Instead,” he continues, doing his best to ignore Harry’s sniffling. He’s about to let himself be guilted into compliance. “Instead, I’m going to flip you over and you’re going to hump the bed; get yourself off like the desperate, needy boy you are.”  

Harry moans loudly, letting Louis roll him over, clenching the sheets in his fists. “Louis,” he pants, rubbing down against the bed immediately, nearly sobbing at the pleasure. The feeling of the mattress pushing against his clothed cock is the relief he needs. The slide is on the rough side, but Louis’ slow tease had him leaking enough to ease the burn.

Noises are flooding out of his mouth, and his hips are aggressively riding against the sheets. It’s like his hands can’t grip enough of the fabric, and everything feels like too much. It doesn’t feel as good as Louis’ weighted palm against him, but it’s something, and knowing that Louis’ watching has his hips stuttering forward with renewed aggression.

“How does it feel?” Louis asks, reveling in the muted gasp Harry breathes in response. “Are you close, baby?” Harry nods and bites into the sheets, not trusting himself to keep his pride if he lets himself talk. “Are you gonna be good and let me see you cum?”

Harry nods again and starts riding the mattress harder, wishing he had something more solid to rub against, something like a pillow, or stuffed animal or a thigh - Louis’ thigh.

“Nnngh,” The thought of riding Louis has Harry’s hips thrusting forward at a breakneck pace as he closes his eyes and sobs into the sheet. He feels himself pulsing into his underwear and holds himself tensely as he rides the high.

When he’s finally come down, he slowly releases each of his muscles, melting into the bed. By the time it’s safe for him to move, he’s already drifting off. He can hear Louis finishing himself off and pouts.

But he’s far too tired to even open his eyes, let alone get Louis off, so he hums contentedly, snuggles further into the mattress, and lets everything fade to black.

******

When Harry wakes up, his head is pounding, he’s got a nasty taste in his mouth, and there’s a suspicious warmth spread across his back. He’s hungover, clearly. And he’s in bed with somebody else.

He turns around and sees Louis sleeping peacefully behind him. All of the memories from the night before come flooding back, a tidal wave of shame crashing over him like a tsunami.

So he does the adult thing

He sneaks out.

******

Harry’s not the best at avoiding his problems. But he somehow manages to avoid Louis for a relatively long time. Well, relatively long when every second feels like an eternity.

It’s 8:38 in the morning, not 24 hours after the big fiasco that was Harry sneaking out of Louis’ room in a cloud of utter shame. Harry’s awake, but hasn’t yet gotten out of bed; instead, he’s enjoying the peacefulness of the room, since Niall’s out doing a project for his Astronomy class. Astrology. Anatomy.

A class.

His peaceful morning comes crashing down to the figurative sound of breaking glass and the literal sound of three harsh knocks on the door. Harry gets up as slowly as time allows, and makes his way over.

He isn’t surprised to see Louis standing at the door, but it makes his stomach churn all the same. “Tommo,” he greets with a wry grin, trying to ignore the uncomfortable furrow of Louis’ brow. “How can I help you?”

“I think we need to talk,” he answers, pushing Harry into the room and closing the door behind him. Harry rolls his eyes; talking was what he was trying to avoid, but he goes over to his bed anyway and takes a seat.

Louis paces for a minute before turning back to Harry. “You do remember Friday night, right?”

Harry tries to keep a straight face, to come off aloof, like Friday was just a mistake, but then he remembers how desperate he looked, making Louis touch him, and then humping his bed all in a drunken stupor so intense that he couldn’t even keep his eyes open. He snuck out in the morning, not even considering the fact that Louis was sober and would very clearly remember the night before.

Harry blushes, looking down. He could feel every wave of shame and arousal spreading over him and it wasn’t helping him keep his cool. He nods, but ultimately stays quiet.

“And?”

He winces, not liking that Louis’ tone is on par with that of a parent or a teacher. “I’m sorry,” he manages to get out. “I didn’t mean to put you in that kind of position. I…”

Louis steps closer, but Harry still refuses to look up. He just wants to forget the whole thing happened, but now it’s coming back to haunt him. The bed next to him dips as Louis sits down. “Harry,” he starts, hesitantly placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry jumps. “You didn’t put in me in any position,” Louis explains. “And I’m sorry that you thought you did.”

“Lou-”

“I took advantage of you, and because you were drunk you think that it was your fault.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “You didn’t take advantage of me,” he explains, looking up at Louis’ face. “I wanted it. I initiated it.”

“But you were drunk,” Louis continues. “You were drunk, and I’m in a position of power over you. I should’ve said no.”

“But you didn’t,” Harry points out. Because Louis didn’t. He went with it. They slept together, and Louis wanted it. “You didn’t say no.”

Louis ruffles his hair, looking small and frustrated, and it’s probably the cutest thing Harry’s ever seen. “I should’ve though.”

“Well, do you regret what happened?”

“Professionally, I do,” Louis confesses. “Being an RA is keeping my tuition low enough that I don’t have to ask my mom for help. But personally, I...I don’t think I do.”

And that was all Harry needed to hear. Ever since he’d first met Louis in the bathrooms, he’d stopped himself from pursuing him for fear of rejection. But now that he knows Louis wants this, wants him, it completely changes the game.

Every romantic comedy he’d ever seen is dancing behind his eyes. Every story of falling in love despite the odds is burrowing itself deep in Harry’s mind. Different ways they can keep their relationship hidden but lively. How keeping it a secret will keep it hot. He can feel himself smiling, that the promise of a relationship is right around the corner.

He leans forward, pushing his lips against Louis’ in excitement. But the boy doesn’t respond, just sits there as Harry captures his bottom lip between his. Noticing the lack of a response, Harry pulls away confused. “What’s wrong?”

Louis gives Harry a sad smile, and his heart sinks. “We can’t be anything.”

“What does that mean?” Harry’s puzzled as to why Louis would tell him he doesn’t regret it, admit his attraction, and then just reject him. “I’m Harry, you’re Louis. We don’t have to have a label.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Louis answers. “We aren’t allowed see each other in a more than platonic way. I’m your room advisor.”

“You took pot from Niall,” Harry’s getting worked up, not liking the excuses. “You put me in an extra room when Niall sexiled me. You aren’t exactly a stickler for rules.”

“If we got caught-”

“We wouldn’t!” His heart is beating like crazy and he can feel sweat forming at his hairline. “Why are you saying no to me?”

“Harry,” Louis tries, but Harry doesn’t want to hear it. He just wants Louis.

“I’m not letting you say no,” Harry fights back. He’s finally got Louis where he wants him, and there’s no force on earth that can make him go back to pining and making a fool of himself. It was a long road to discovering Louis’ feelings and he can’t do it again.

“You can’t just force me-”

“I think it’s time for you to go, Louis.” Louis’ confused. Harry’s reacting in seperate ways all at once and it’s giving Louis whiplash. So he goes. He walks out of the room trying to wrap his head around Harry’s behavior. The boy is confusing, but Louis hope this means Harry will just let things go as they’re meant to.

It doesn’t.

******

Nick Grimshaw isn’t exactly anybody special. He’s just a DJ that Harry met in his Intro to Photography class. He’s a senior, but he started school a year late, so he’s 24. But he doesn’t mind the age difference between Harry and himself, and flirts accordingly. Harry’s always thought of it as nothing more than friendly banter, but lately it’s been more heated from Grimmy’s end, which is exactly why he’s a perfect pawn for Harry to use against Louis.

It’s 10:48 and curfew is rapidly approaching. But honestly, they’re in college and having a curfew is just really juvenile - or so Grimmy says. Harry’s supposed to be locked tight in his room in less than 12 minutes, but he’s staying out, breaking the dorm’s rules, on purpose. He’s hoping Louis will catch him flirting with Grimmy and realise that Harry’s valuable, and that he’s lucky to have him waiting.

Grimmy’s telling him about new-old album he’s been listening to. Harry finds him fascinating, he likes the same type of music and always has something relevant to say. He really enjoys Grimmy’s company, and Intro to Photography is his favorite class, if only because it means making fun of the professor with Grimmy. His only problem is that Grimmy clearly wants more, which would be great if Louis would happen to it. But for now, Harry feels kind of gross for throwing himself at this older guy just at the chance that somebody else could see.

But desperate times call for desperate measures.

“-They sound The Kinks, only with talent,” Grimmy’s explaining his setlist for his radio show on the campus station. Harry would normally be hooked on every word, but right now he’s too occupied with constantly looking down the hall to see if Louis’ coming.

He’s not.

Harry sighs, but goes back to listening to Grimmy. He’s still going on about his playlist, and Harry really wants to care, he does. It’s just…

Louis turns around the corner. He’s carrying a clipboard, and Harry assumes he just did a few room checks before curfew. Instead of greeting him, Harry leans heavily against the wall in Grimmy’s space. He bites his lip and looks up through his eyelashes. He still isn’t listening to a word coming out of the older man’s mouth, but he does recognize the smirk forming at the way he’s acting.

And if it’s fooling him, that must mean-

“Nick!” Harry’s attention snaps back to Louis, who’s grinning widely at the tall man, clipboard forgotten at his side. “What brings you to student housing?”

“Tommo,” Grimmy chuckles, and Harry’s suddenly confused. How do they know each other? “I’m just here to teach young Harold here the art of music.”

Louis laughs, but quickly hides it by looking disgusted. It’s not hidden well by the way the glee in his eyes is showing. “You’re going to turn him into a dirty hipster like yourself?”

“Consider it community service.”

They’re technically talking about Harry, but the boy feels left out. He brought Grimmy here to help him make Louis jealous enough to make a move, yet here he is, taken the attention for himself, and not even considering Harry.

“Do the community a service, and take your terrible music away from here.”

The two older boys are laughing, and in an act of desperation, Harry hums lightly and runs his finger down Grimmy’s forearm. He notices, obviously, and turns his attention back to Harry. “Sorry, baby.”

He winces a little at the pet name, but hides it when he looks up and sees confusion written all over Louis’ face. “Right,” he rasps. He clears his throat and continues. “Unless you’re staying the night here, You gotta be out by 11.” Harry goes to talk, but Louis flashes him a look. “Guests are actually supposed to be out by 8, but I know you don’t mean funny business.”

Grimmy laughs and leans down to pick his bag off the floor. “I guess I should head out then.”

“No!” Harry grabs Grimmy’s arm as he’s turning and both of the boys look confused by his stopping. “I just mean that you can stay the night.”

It’s only to make Louis jealous. Harry can risk a little bit of awkward kissing if it means getting Louis to accept that they should be together.

Grimmy smiles sadly at Harry and his own grin drops. “I’d love to, kitten, but I have the show early in morning. I should get back to mine.” He leaves after that with a kiss to the top of Harry’s head and a palm on Louis’ shoulder. And then he’s gone.

It’s awkward between Harry and Louis for a minute. Both standing around, waiting for the other to make a move. But then Louis smirks, a dirty, feral smile that has Harry’s stomach dropping. “So you and Nick, huh?”

“ Yeah,” Harry croaks, mouth dry at how badly his plan had failed. “No,” he changes his answer. “I don’t know. He likes me.”

“I’m sure he does.”

And fuck if that doesn’t piss him off. Instead of making Louis jealous, he just ended up looking immature and pathetic. Next time, his plan has to be thought out. He has to bring out the possibility of a relationship the same way they got together the first time: sexual tension. And then maybe Louis will finally give in. But for now…

“Curfew, Styles.”

******

This time Harry has it planned out. It starts with him on his bed, subtly rubbing himself through his trousers. Every time Niall’s back is turned, or his eyes are closed, or he’s focused on the television, his hand is harshly feeling himself up with a hand on his cock or a tweak of his nipples. In less than 15 minutes, Harry’s completely hard, straining in his pants, and completely desperate to be touched. He’s panting, and has a thin line of sweat lining his foreward. He could probably get off if he tried hard enough, but he had a plan.

When he felt he was ready, he started bugging Niall about if the boy could go out, if he could find somewhere else to be for the night. He shrugged him off and refused to leave, going as far as to throw a pillow at him and tell him just “do it” already. And instead of listening like he normally would have, he picked up his phone and dialed Louis, telling him that they were having a fight and they needed a mediator.

His voice was wavy and he was panting, still ridiculously turned on at the idea of Louis seeing him so worked up. It probably sounded like he and Niall were getting physical - and not in the fun way - but maybe that would just have Louis rushing over fast.

Not that that’s what he planned…

Niall had gone back to his game by the time Louis came around, probably forgotten about Harry and his need to be alone. Harry had kept teasing himself on his bed, keeping himself hard, probably leaking by now, just hoping he wouldn’t lose control to the pleasure.

The knocks come and Harry springs off of his bed, falling over his own legs to get to the door in a sweaty panting mess. He opens it and it takes a minute for his eyes to focus on Louis, which is probably not a good sign for keeping himself together long enough to start a fight.

“You called about a fight?”

Harry nods aggressively and smacks his lips together, trying to wet them enough to talk, but the words won’t come out, especially when Louis’ brow quirks up and his gaze drops down to Harry’s crotch where he’s shamelessly bulging against the seam.

“You called Tommo?” Niall’s voice comes from the inside, outraged. He’s probably incredibly confused over why Harry’s being such a prick over getting the room to himself, but Harry has a plan and it needs to work out this time. “Just wank already, Haz. I shouldn’t have to leave.”

“Niall-”

“Wait,” Louis voice is exhausted. His eyes are closed and he looks like he’s ready to punch both Harry and Niall in their cocks, therefore stopping this argument from happening ever again. “This is about sex?”

“No,” Niall fights. “This is about Harry trying to kick me out of my own room-”

“I always give you privacy, Niall!”

Niall opens his mouth to continue arguing, but Louis holds his hand up. It’s late, Louis was ready for bed, and he’s sick of petty fights between roommates, but this is own of the dumbest ones he’s faced yet.

“Niall,” Louis starts, voice calm against the storm in his eyes. “Go back to your game.” He points to Niall’s bed where the controller is sitting, and the blonde happily marches over. “Harry,” he turns around, and tries to look the flushed boy in the eyes. It’s hard, with the glazed over look he’s getting in return. “Go take a shower, and get yourself off.”

Harry makes and noise, but no move to do as Louis said, only shaking his head. Louis raises an eyebrow, shocked that Harry’s making it this difficult for poor Niall just to make a point to Louis.

“I can’t.” He’s near silent, every bone in his body tensed and making it impossible for him to do anything other than shake and try his hardest to get enough energy to stumble out “F-fingers.”

Louis echoes “Fingers?” He’s stuck, not sure of what it means. “What do you mean ‘fingers’?”

Harry shakes his head again. He’s strung so tight, and having Louis attention on him is keeping him harder than ever, shaking with the effort not to start rubbing off against the fucking door.

“Oh my god,” Niall shouts. It makes Harry jump, and even just the friction from the movement against the zipper has Harry crying out. “I’m fucking leaving.” Both boys look over and Niall’s game is turned off, the controller resting on the floor where it was thrown in haste. “Disgusting.”

It isn’t until he’s stormed out of the room, backpack and hoodie in hands, that Louis gets it. He gasps in a shallow breath and drops his gaze back down to the front of Harry’s pants. “Harry.”

He doesn’t respond, can’t respond. He’s embarrassed that Niall saw, but it makes it all the more thrilling that somebody witnessed how desperate Harry was for Louis. He reaches his hand down and squeezes himself just for a fraction of relief. It’s amazing, has him whimpering and squeezing harder, brazenly, as Louis watches.

“L-Louis,” he moans out, eyes fluttering closed. “Please.”

There’s nothing for a moment, no noise, no movement, no reaction. But then Louis clears his throat and his has Harry opening his eyes, only to see an utterly bored look on his face. The red flooding Harry’s face in pleasure turns into shame (which helps nothing to flag his erection).

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be a good boy and stop fucking around.”

Harry’s whimpers at how casual Louis sounds, how unimpressed he looks with Harry’s stunt. If he knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t have gotten himself so worked up. Instead of making him irresistible to Louis, he just made it impossible for him to try and persuade him into giving Harry a try.

Louis walks up to him and grabs his hand, taking it off of his crotch. “Stop while you’re ahead, Styles.”

Louis walks out of the room at 10:21 at night, Harry’s hard as a rock, and he sobs into his pillow, 3 fingers deep, thinking of the bored look Louis gave him as he called him a good boy. He doesn’t even realize his plan failed until he wakes up, sweat sticky and covered in cum with Niall yelling about decency.

******

It’s 6:18 in the morning and Harry’s just so tired. He stripped down and went to the communal bathrooms in just a towel to shower and get ready ready for classes. But for some reason, the drains of two showers are clogged and the other three are being used, with each having a line at least 2 boys long. It’s ridiculous, and way too fucking early.

Harry doesn’t know what to do at first. He doesn’t want to stand naked in line waiting for a shower that will probably be cold with the frequency of its users. He doesn’t want to stand in line at all, but he needs a shower. Lately he’d started going to the gym more often to deal with all the excess energy he’s got floating around. His twice a week bumped up to four times. He’s never been more sore, and he’s never smelt worse.

He really needs a shower.

He doesn’t realize where he’s walking until he’s knocking on Louis’ door. And dammit, he knows it’s really fucking early, but he’s cranky, and just wants a shower. For some reason, Louis is actually awake at this awful hour, but he doesn’t look too happy about it when he opens the door.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Styles?”

And that hurts a bit, but he’s not going to let it faze him. It’s not even 6:30, and he really just needs to shower. “Two of the drains are clogged and I need a shower.”

“That’s a janitorial issue,” Louis snaps. And next thing he knows, the door is slammed shut in his face.

This wasn’t even a part of the plan, but now he’s embarrassed, and instead of heading back to the bathroom, he goes to his room and goes back to sleep. His professors won’t miss him, and he really needs to sleep the day away.

******

Halfway through the semester, all of the tenants are called into a meeting with their RA. Harry’s floor has a call time for 1:30 in the afternoon. Harry shows up right on time, and purposefully picks a seat way in the back. He’s started to feel weighed down by his crush on Louis. Every time they pass in the hallways, he flushes red, just knowing that with every intimate, vulnerable moment Harry’s had since starting college, Louis’ seen them, and wants nothing to do with him.

At first, it was hot, knowing that Louis’ was hard to get, but he’s beginning to think that it’s not a play, and maybe Louis used the rules because he didn’t want Harry. Maybe he’s straight. Maybe he’s not, and still doesn’t want him.

Louis starts the meeting only a few minutes late, not that it was expected for him to be on time, and brings up every issue in the book. He talks about Dorm Guidelines, and curfew, and proper bathroom etiquette, and if he makes eye contact with Harry as he’s discussing properly sharing a space with your roommate, he pretends not to notice.

Harry finds himself zoning out. There’s only so many different ways to feign interest, and after a while, the acting gets boring. So he zones out, probably falls asleep with his eyes open, staring at a spot on the wall, which- If he looks closely, it kind of resembles Steve Buscemi… Huh.

He only refocuses when the sound of a binder slamming snaps him out of it. Looking up to the front of the room, Louis’ leaning against the collapsable table, glaring in his direction. If anything, Harry can pretend it’s the stoners from 124 that are just down the row. But they’re paying attention, so he puts on an apologetic look as Louis goes back to talking about food in the common room.

The meeting goes on for longer than anybody really expects. Louis pretty much the chillest RA in the building, and everybody knows that, so the fact that he’s being so serious is a shock. And just when everybody thinks the meeting is over, Louis starts taking questions.

Harry zones out.

Sort of.

He starts making snide comments under his breath. It’s like Louis’ turned him into this bitter piece. He doesn’t feel very motivated and everything makes him angry. Especially dumb questions being asked by freshmen that don’t know anything.

A familiar voice piques Harry’s interest. He looks up to see Niall standing.

“I was thinking that maybe we could have a small party in the common room soon,” a couple of whoops sound, and a hand stretches out to tap Niall’s back, causing the blonde boy to laugh. “We could celebrate the fact that we’ve made it halfway through the semester.”

Harry doesn’t know what comes over him, but the suggestion has him rolling his eyes and snorting. “A whole 8 weeks,” he comments bitterly. “What a fuckin’ accomplishment.”

It gets eerily quiet after that, and Harry looks up to see Niall frowning at him along with the rest of their floor. From the front of the room, Louis’ glaring and snaps. “This is a safe space, Mr. Styles. Being negative isn’t going to help anybody and if you aren’t here to be productive, I’d like you to leave.” When Harry doesn’t immediately make an attempt to even react to his words, he adds. “Now, Mr. Styles.”

The day’s barely even started, but it’s already been a long one, and Harry’s far too exhausted to fight back; instead, he rolls his eyes and leaves the room, mopily heading back to his room.

The day’s barely even started, but it’s already been a long one, and Harry’s giving up on Louis.

******

Harry avoids Louis, successfully.

******

It’s been a long three weeks of nothing. Harry leaves for class early and sneaks back in either while Louis’ got classes of his own, or after curfew altogether. Some nights he stays at his sister’s place off campus just to avoid any possibility of seeing the older man. His sister hasn’t questioned him, and it doesn’t look like she’s going to, so Harry’s taking cover while he came.

It’s been a long three weeks of nothing, but it’s easy enough, and despite the inconvenience of having to work his schedule around avoiding Louis, it makes Harry feel the slightest bit better. Sometimes he’ll almost run into the man or hear him down the hall, and it’ll get his heart pumping, but it’s not as bad as it used to be.

Of course that’s when it all comes crashing down.

It’s 1:15 in the morning - way past curfew - and Harry’s just started feeling confident in his pattern. He’s managed to not even cross paths with Louis in 8 days, and they’ve not been in the same vicinity in 4. Harry’s been crashing at his sister’s more frequently, taking cover on her lumpy couch, feeling more like a college kid than ever. Unfortunately, he ran out of clean clothes and had to come back to grab a new handful, along with some detergent.

He’s only wearing sweatpants as he enters the building, afraid to even touch the shirt he’s been wearing repeatedly (he wore it to the gym earlier in the day, and Harry fears that even the deepest bleaching can’t help it). It’s dark, every third light is on, dimmed low in case of an emergency. Nobody’s out of their rooms, not even the occasional adventurer daring to use the bathroom. It’s just Harry…

Clumsy Harry…

It’s late, is the thing. It’s late, and he hasn’t even been in the building in 4 days. He’s used to the short halls of Gemma’s actual apartment. So when he goes to make the turn blindly, he crashes into a wall, head first. And it hurts, yeah, but Harry’s determined not to bring attention to himself. So he stands quickly and sprints down the hall, head throbbing a bit but nothing too bad.

And he almost gets away with it. He’s only one hallway from the alcove where his room is hidden, and it’s beautiful how easy it was. Except it’s not. Because just as he’s passing by, the door to Louis’ room opens.

It’s like a movie, the way the two of them stop and look at each other, both clearly on their way to do something separate. Harry, in only his sweatpants, and Louis, sleep-soft with tired eyes. Neither makes a move, not breathing a beat too long or even blinking. It’s dead silent until Louis’ eyes drop down Harry’s torso and he’s breathing out a tortured “For fucks sake,” and pulling Harry into his room, shutting the door behind him.

It’s a flash of movement after that, hands rushing, a shirt flying, skin on skin, a tug of hair, and Louis’ mouth is on his, bodies flushed together. Harry’s mind hasn’t even caught up with seeing Louis in the hallway, so when it finally hits him that they’re kissing, that Louis’ indulging him, a moan rips it’s way out of his throat, and he’s shoving Louis against his door, hearing the loose wood rattle against the hinges in return.

Harry’s not exactly inexperienced when it comes to sex - he’s been with a few - but he’s young and enthusiastic, and he’s licking into Louis’ mouth like it’s his job, trying to taste every bit of him that he can. He keeps trying to go faster, harsher, but Louis’ lips are slow and calculating, going against Harry’s determined pace to make it gentle. To make it worth doing.

Eventually, Louis’ coaxing works and Harry slows down, positively melting into the other boy, loving how easy it was to give up control and let Louis take the reigns, let him ease the hurry and turn it into something a lot less lust induced.

“Thought your little stunts would work, didn’t you,” Louis breathes once he’s taken his lips off of Harry’s. “Thought you could tease me and then avoid me.” Harry shakes his head, ready to protest, but Louis doesn’t let him, biting Harry’s bottom lip and pulling on it, causing the younger lad to whimper and forget what he was previously going to say.

They go back to kissing and Louis guides Harry backwards slowly, walking him to the bed before lying him down. He’s hovering over Harry, scooting up so they’re completely on the mattress, and Harry’s heart is racing. The last time he was here, he had one of the best drunken orgasms of his life.

Speaking of, he’s been so busy focusing on Louis’ lips on his and the feel of their bodies gliding together, he didn’t realize the effect it had on him, his sweatpants tenting up, a damp spot slowly growing on the front. But best of all is the effect it’s having on Louis, the weight of his cock now persistent on Harry’s thigh, barely moving as Louis trails his lips down Harry’s jaw.

And Harry would be fine with it, lazily making out and rubbing off against each other, but it’s been so long of chasing after the enigma that is Louis Tomlinson, and Harry just really wants to taste his cock.

As Louis’ distracted, sucking a bruise into Harry’s collar, he flips them, putting Louis underneath him as he claims his mouth. Louis’ squeal of surprise only spurs him on, turning the kiss back into the rushed clash of teeth that it was when they’d first started.

At any other time, Harry could spend hours just lazily making out. But now, with Louis finally under him, he’s desperate for something, anything, to happen. And if Louis won’t make the first move, completely content with Harry’s lips on his, then Harry will do it.

He starts by slowly kissing down the boy’s neck, slowly progressing down until Louis catches wind and his hips stutter upwards with a sharp Oh fuck. Harry hides his smirk and rushes down the rest of Louis’ body.

He peels down the other boy’s pants and boxers, marveling at his cock. It isn’t huge by any means, only average, but it’s thick and flushed and so pretty. It’s kind of a general rule that dicks shouldn’t be good looking, but this one…

It really is.

It's been a long three weeks of nothing. But in only sixty minutes, with his mouth and heart full to the brim…

Suddenly, he was everything.

******

Things continue like that for a while.

They meet up and fuck around in private. They meet up in between classes and after curfew. One risky trek had them in Liam Payne’s room, Louis blowing Harry against the closet door during dinner time. It nevers goes farther than hands and mouths, marking skin and burning pleasure, but it’s the most sexually fulfilled Harry’s felt since he first discovered wanking.

******

It’s 9:39 and Harry’s not as drunk as he looks. It’s not even past curfew, and yet, here is is, being yelled at for how “unbelievably plastered” he is. It’s a ridiculous over exaggeration, and even Niall is giggling and how dumb the guy sounds.

It’s Liam Payne, and he’s not even the proper RA to be executing their punishments. Which, if they got technical, a Room Advisor has no jurisdiction if they didn’t get drunk on school property, which they didn’t. They even waited until they were mostly sober to come home. The only problem was the smell of liquor on their clothes and slight stumble to Harry’s already clumsy gait.

So they’re getting yelled at. Being talked down on about the law, and expulsion, and Harry’s honestly so done. He knows that being tipsy without a proper source could do nothing but put a warning on their record, which would probably disappear without other infractions. So he’s giggling with Niall, watching him get red and angry at the freshmen.

Eventually, he stops yelling and sighs, rubbing his hand down his face, stopping to wipe at his eyes. “I’m too tired to deal with this,” he say, sounding wrung out, and that only has Harry laughing harder. “Go see Tommo, so he can deal with you.”

Harry wants to ask what’ll happen if they just go to their room instead, after all, it’s not like he’d know. But going to Louis’ room isn’t exactly something he feels like avoiding anytime soon.

When the boys get to Louis’ room and explain the situation through their giggles, Louis sends Niall away. And Harry’s not sure how it happens, but he pulls him into the room and tells him to strip and lie down on the bed. Harry’s not even drunk, but he sure as hell feels it.

“What am I going to do with you, baby?” Louis’ looking down at him, naked, save for his boxers, and stretched out on the bed. It’s not the first time alcohol has led him to Louis, and it’s not the first Louis’ taken charge like this, but it’s the first time Harry feels completely at mercy.

And he’s really getting off on it.

His cock is hard and leaking on his stomach where it’s peeking out of his boxers. He hasn’t been hard very long, probably sporting up just after Niall went back to his own room and Louis gave him the look. But it doesn’t matter because when he’s with Louis, time doesn’t exist and life feels like it could go on forever.

“You keep breaking rules and you were so mean to poor Liam,” Louis’ lecturing him, still fully dressed, and Harry really shouldn’t be as turned on as he is. “You just keep disappointing me.”

“No!” Harry sits up to protest Louis’ scolding, but just as quickly, Louis is there with a hand to his chest, pushing him back down.

“Be good, Harry.”

Harry whimpers and wonders when his life took a dramatic enough turn that he’s being punished by his sort-of boyfriend for getting kind-of drunk off campus. He’s not complaining, not at all. He’s just wondering, and silently thanking god.

“I think we should just get down to the punishment,” Louis says, noticing the faraway look in his Harry’s eyes and the way his cock won’t flag, not even the slightest bit, possibly even getting harder. “Take off your boxers.”

Instead of staying to watch, Louis turns around and walks away, which is wholly confusing for Harry, but he ignores it to obey the instruction. He takes his underpants off and sets them down near his jeans by the side of the bed. He’s just lying back down when Louis’ returning to the bed.

He’s got something in his fist, and when he sets it down, Harry can clearly see that it’s a condom and lube, and it sparks a guttural moan out of his body. The farthest they’ve gone with fingers is and occasional graze during a blow job, or that time they tried phone sex and Harry got two fingers in before it was game over. So seeing Louis with the lube, ready for punishment, has Harry seeing stars.

Louis strips down. He’s got a steely expression on his face, not faltering once, not even to listen to the steady noises flowing from Harry. If it weren’t for the visible throb of his cock as he approaches the bed, Harry would think he wasn’t interested.

But he really fucking is.

“Why don’t you spread your legs for me, baby?” Louis’ at the foot of the bed, slowly crawling his way up. Harry spreads his legs, letting out a soft sigh as he grips his calves and makes him bend his legs. “Look at how pretty,” he comments, sliding his hands up Harry’s thighs.

Harry feels defeated, throwing his head back. He’s looking at him so intimately, and with the alcohol flooding through his veins, everything feels more intense than it should. They’ve not even started, and Harry’s already defeated.

It’s going to be a long night.

The sound of a cap being opened precedes a cold, wet finger against his rim. Harry moans more out of shock than anything else. Louis’ finger isn't even inside him yet, just slowly circling the rim, and it already feels so good. Louis’ sitting on his heels at the end of Harry’s body, one hand gently prodding his hole and the other rubbing intimately into his thigh.

Louis’ index finger is pushing into his hole, feeling thick and determined. Harry moans quietly, fingers gripping the duvet tightly, but otherwise not moving much. He's doing his best to behave because he knows that with him being slightly intoxicated and this being their first time, every moment is fragile.

Louis rests his finger for a minute, letting Harry adjust, but the younger boy cants his hips up, wanting more. Louis slowly glides it in and out a few times before pulling his finger out completely and returning with a second, easing the pair in with such a cautioned speed, Harry doesn’t know if he’s actually moving

He spends the next four minutes opening Harry up at such a pace that has the boy trying to curl in on himself. It’s painstakingly slow, and it has Harry’s cock throbbing against his stomach, needing to be touch, needing to pushed.

“Please,” he pants. “I need more.”

Louis nods, taking out the three fingers he’d worked up to and wiping them off on the duvet, raving internally over the barely audible sigh that he makes from the loss. He grabs the condom and slides it on haphazardly, his hand slipping on the first try. He’s no virgin (they’ve discussed past partners during their late night, post-coital cuddle), but it’s still a stressful situation. Not his absolute first time, but their first time.

Louis slips into Harry with no rush, taking his time as not to hurt the younger man. It’s a tight fit, but they both manage to get through it, with only a little bit of pain. Not that they mind.

“That alright, baby?” Louis asks, placing his left hand next to Harry’s head to hold him up, using the right one to keep a firm grip on Harry’s waist, so he doesn’t get too twitchy in the stillness.

Harry nods and tried to wiggle, but Louis’ grip is too tight, so he groans impatiently. “Move.” Little tremors are already visible in his tummy as he’s trying to keep himself settled. Louis pulls his hips out, feeling the bare drag of his cock against Harry's walls. It's still so early into it and he's still not loosened up; he's still in the first stages of tightness and it nearly has Louis seeing stars. He pulls out until just the head is resting inside, and he holds the position, watching Harry fight the urge to throw himself down, to get the cock back in him.

“Faster,” Harry begs, but Louis stops, doesn’t immediately thrust back in, and watches Harry’s teary eyed reaction to the slow moving. It’s almost adorable how pouty he is when he doesn’t get what he wants.

Louis fucks him slowly, ignoring the sobs and whines and pleads for more and harder and faster. All he can focus on is how close to Harry he feels, the boy beneath him moaning so prettily, opening up and just letting him take him.

When Harry comes, it’s with a silent cry, Louis hand on his cock and his own fisted into his hair. It doesn’t take long for Louis to follow him over the edge, but when he does, he bites onto the younger boy’s shoulder and grunts out his name.

The aftermath isn’t pretty, a used condom not quite making into the garbage, and Harry’s tummy covered by his own spunk. The room smells like alcohol, sweat, and skin, and Harry’s pretty sure he may have pulled a muscle.

So no, the aftermath isn’t pretty. But it’s still the best night of Harry’s life.

******

November hits with a torrent of rain and cold weather and sickness. Niall’s gone home for the weekend, leaving Harry alone. It would normally be something to celebrate, but he’s incredibly sick. There’s supposedly a party going on just off campus, and as much as Harry was dying to go, he’s too busy dying in general.

He’s spent his day in bed watching old Friends episodes, praying that if he sneezed hard enough, all the mucus would leave his body and he could finally breathe again. Needless to say, Harry wasn’t feeling particularly sexy. And that’s exactly why he’s been avoiding Louis. They were supposed to meet up after Harry’s 9 am class, but he didn’t go.

To Louis or to class.

He’d feel bad about it, but every word he says is lined with snot and a sense of shame. If he blows his nose one more time, the skin’s going to peel right off, rubbed raw by the shitty tissues he stole from the common room. He didn’t not pay for this quality.

Harry’s debating on whether to click ‘Continue’ on his Netflix when a knock sounds at his door. Harry knows who it the second it occurs. It’s nearly curfew and he hasn’t moved from his bed all day. There’s only a 2% chance that it isn’t Louis, and Harry’s not taking that bet. He yells a congested “Come in!” and watches the door handle turn.

… Maybe they should get a lock.

Louis walks in with a confused frown on his face. Harry doesn’t blame him; he’s dodged his calls all day after skipping out on one of their meetings. But when Louis takes in the used tissues, and the sad sack of a man curled under a comforter, he immediately understands. Without saying anything, he smiles sadly and backs out of the room.

Despite how disgusted Harry feels, and how unattractive he knows he looks, he wants Louis back. He spent the whole day (in)actively avoiding him, but now that he’s seen him at his worst, all he wants is to be cuddled and pet.

He decides to put on an old Disney movie and try to fall asleep. It’s Friday, and he doesn’t have class until Tuesday, but staying up late doesn’t sound like it’d be in his best interest in this condition.

He’s 42 minutes into the movie, and his door handle turns. Harry’s not even close to sleep, but he’s too exhausted to care if it’s a burglar. If there’s somebody here to loot their goods and kill him, Harry’s cool with it. The pounding behind his eyes is enough for him to wish for death.

But it’s not a murderer/burglar/wish granter. It’s Louis, and Harry groans out, rolling his head into his pillow. “Go ‘way!”

Louis’ doesn’t really laugh, just makes a cute huff and closes the door. He stands at the side of Harry’s bed and waits until the boy rolls back over and looks at him. It takes a little, but when he does, Harry’s heart stops.

It doesn’t stop because he’s angry or surprised or excited. It’s stops because it’s 11:16 at night, he’s bedridden in sickness, and Louis’ standing there, soft smile on his face and a container of chicken noodle soup in his hand.

His heart stops because in the darkness of the room, with only the light from his laptop and Louis’ grin, Harry thinks he could love Louis. Maybe not now…

But soon.

******

All good things have to end. And all good things for Harry have to end in the worst of ways. It’s 5:32 in the morning, and he woke up on early for a very specific reason. It’s a Saturday, and there’s no way anybody has classes, meaning that he and Louis can fool around in the shower without getting caught.

It’s always been a secret kink of his to be in public, or at least semi-public, and fool around. Louis was kind enough to indulge him, but only under the specific case where nobody else would be awake. And that’s exactly why Harry set a damn alarm just to get naked in the showers with with his kind-of (what are they?) boyfriend.

He’s on his knees with Louis cock halfway down his throat, one hand is clutching harshly at Louis’ thigh, the other is fisting his own dick, hoping the water doesn’t make him lose his grip. Louis’ hands are wound into hair, pulling and guiding him, letting soft sighs and muted moans fall from his lips. But no matter how quiet they try to be, it doesn’t matter when the curtain rips open and Liam Payne is standing there, mouth agape, looking torn between pulling them out of the shower and screaming in horror.

He ends up throwing the curtain shut, but his footsteps don’t sound. Harry pulls off of Louis and stares up at him, eyes wide and unknowing on what to do. He’d considered every possibility of where the relationship could end up, but getting caught shockingly wasn’t one of them.

“Stand up,” Louis croaks. They’ve both gone soft in a frighteningly short amount of time. “I’m in trouble, not you baby.” It still doesn’t make Harry feel better; in fact, it makes it worse, knowing that Louis’ going to be taking the fall.

“Lou-”

“Stand up, Haz.”

Harry stands and the water turns off. Harry wants to talk, wants to do something to make the situation better. He doesn’t know what to say, though. In 30 seconds he went from feeling his best to feeling his worst. Louis should be panicking, but he looks calm, and Harry’s not sure if that should reassure him or make him fear what’s to come.

The boys grab their towels, wrap them around their waist and exit the showers. Liam’s leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. He looks like the perfect picture of authority, which shouldn’t be possible for a junior in college, probably majoring in being an uptight douchebag.

“Louis,” he starts, but breaks off to shake his head with a sigh that sounds so fake Harry has to resist rolling his eyes. “I should’ve seen this coming, and I’m disappointed that I didn’t.”

Louis exhales audibly and looks down at the ground. “Li-”

Louis’ cut off by the sound of a door outside slamming, making all three of the boys jump. “We should take this elsewhere,” Liam decides. “Why don’t you and-” He cuts out and laughs. “I don’t even know this kid’s name.”

“It’s, um, Harry. Uh, Styles, sir.”

“Um Harry, Uh Styles,” Liam mocks. “Real nice, Tommo.” Harry’s face flames at the assault, but his heart drops when Louis doesn’t say anything, just avoids eye contact. “Why don’t you go to your room, Mr. Styles? Tommo, get changed and meet me in mine. We need to talk.”

He walks out out of the room and Harry feels sick. Louis’ going to be in so much trouble and it’s all his fault. “Louis-” he tries. He doesn’t get to finish, though. Louis’ shaking his head and walking out of the bathroom. “Louis, please.”

“You’re fine, Harry,” he assures, not even taking the time to realize that Harry feels anything but alright.”I’m just gonna go fix this. And everything will be fine.” Harry nods, but doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have it in him to question Louis. Louis, who looks so sad, but so determined. He just has to trust him.

So he goes back to his room and gets dressed. He ignores the confused look Niall gives him, and throws on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, too distracted to actually try. He doesn’t know how long he sits in his room before curiosity gets the best of him, but it can’t be long because as he slowly opens his door, he sees Louis rounding the corner.

He follows him on the short walk down to Liam’s room, vaguely remembering the walk from when they fooled around in his room for a laugh. Although, it’s not very funny now that they’ve been caught.

Louis walks into the room and Harry slowly approaches, putting his ear to the door, almost immediately recoiling when the yelling kicks in.

“- you thinking, Tommo?” Liam’s voice kicks out, and Harry can’t stand the thought of Louis having to be yelled at.

“I was thinking that nobody would be awake.” It’s not the right response, according to Liam’s scoff. “What were you even doing in there anyways?”

“I just got back from the gym-”

“At 5 in the morning?” If it wasn’t such a fragile moment, Harry would be laughing at how outraged he sounds, but it is fragile, and a laugh could ruin this whole thing for them.

“Don’t change the fucking subject, Louis,” Liam snaps back. “It’s against the rules to be with a tenant. You’re in a position of power over these boys, man. You’re better than this.” He’s gone from angry to exasperated and his voice is softer now. “What’s so special about him?”

From how light his voice is, Harry doesn’t know if he wants to hear Louis’ reply. It’ll officially establish what they are, and he’s not sure if he wants verification just yet. On one hand, If Louis’ just hooking up with him, he’d rather know before he gets too deep. But if he’s truly into Harry, he wants to move further.

But it’s neither of those things. And by 6:02 in the morning, Harry’s heart is completely broken.  

“It’s not like we’re dating,” Louis starts with. “It was just a stupid mistake and the kid was desperate enough for it.” If he would’ve stopped there, Harry would’ve been fine. He could’ve come to terms with the fact that they’re going nowhere, but he keeps going. “I had a lapse in judgement, Liam. It happens to the best of us. I’d give back any of the time we spent together just to keep this quiet.”

And it is quiet. It’s silent enough to hear a pin drop. It’s silent enough that Harry can hear the tears forming in his eyes. It’s silent.

Until Liam sighs and Harry can feel how commiserative he’s being. “I believe you, Tommo. And I like you, so i won’t write you up.” Harry’s happier than he should be that Louis isn’t getting written up, but even hearing the truth couldn’t stop his feeling for Louis. “But you have to stop seeing the kid.”

“That won’t be a problem,” he reassure, further breaking Harry’s heart. “One mistake isn’t going to fuck up my title, Liam, I swear.”

Harry walks away after that, too upset to continue listening. This isn’t the first time he’s decided to be done with Louis, but it’s the first time it truly sticks.

******

He manages to successfully avoid Louis for a while. He cries a lot, not that it’s a surprise; Harry’s always been very emotion. Usually it’s made him desirable and admirable, but now it has him hiding constantly. He’s sleeping on his sister’s couch again, where she doesn’t ask what’s wrong and let’s him mope freely.

He doesn’t got to his classes on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. Logically he knows that there’s a very slim chance that he’ll actually run into Louis, but it’s a chance he doesn’t want to take. He’d rather miss a few classes and eat all of his sister’s boxes of macaroni.

It’s a quiet few days, but on Friday, he has to go into class to take an exam worth 40% of his grade. So he stops crying, picks his books up from home, and goes to class.

It’s when he’s on his way home that he nearly bumps into Louis. The boy is talking to Niall just outside of the Student Service Center. He knows Niall sees him, can see the elevation in his eyebrows and the way he immediately starts talking excitedly to Louis. Harry thanks his lucky stars that he has Niall in his life and turns around, taking the long way back to Gemma’s.

******

Harry’s home for once. It’s 10:45, and he’s grabbing clothes. He was sure to bring more with him this time around, but even larger numbers run out eventually. Niall’s out with a girl, agreeing to let Harry have the room to look around. But as he’s swapping out the last few outfits, there’s a knock at the door.

And Harry knows exactly who it is.

He contemplates ignoring him, but he knows that he’ll just barge in after three failed knocks. Besides, it’s been a while and he needs to face Louis once and for all. To just end it. He opens the door and Louis looks…

Well, he looks tired. There are bags under his eyes and they don’t have the usual shine that they do. He looks up from his clipboard and smiles sadly, looking back down. But Harry’s face must’ve registered in his head because he’s immediately snapping his gaze back, breathing out a soft Harry.

He doesn’t know how to react; neither of them do. They stand silently, just watching each other, Louis with wonder and Harry, contempt. He’s angry, is the thing. He wasted time and effort pursuing him and ignoring him in such a way to make him desirable to Louis, but in the end, he’s still just a desperate kid that ‘wants it enough.’ And it has him fuming.

Louis’ the first one to react, and it’s with a smile. “I’m so glad I caught you,” is how he starts, looking caught between distraught and starstruck. “You don’t have to hide,” he assures the first year. “I talked with Liam and he’s not writing us up.”

Harry snorts. He can feel the bitterness rising inside. A thousand responses are flooding inside of his head. “I heard,” he settles with. “I’m happy you got your way.”

Louis’ girn dims down, shrinking into a bemused frown. “What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, the urge to strong to resist. The little ticks that are making him look childish are also the ones that are keeping him from crying. They’re keeping him from bawling his eyes out in front of the man that broke his heart.

“I mean that I’m glad you fuck up your precious title,” Harry snaps. “I’m glad that your lapse in judgement and my desperation didn’t screw up your reputation. Tommo.” Louis looks even more confused at the words. There are a few keywords in there straight from the mouth of the man himself, but it doesn’t look like it’s sparking anything. So Harry finishes, “I heard you talking to Liam that day.”

And that brings him to attention. All the ignorance wipes off of his face and it’s replaced with a cloud of regret. “Harry,” he breathes, reaching out to touch Harry’s arm. He dodges the touch and looks away. “You weren’t supposed to hear that-”

“But I did.”

“No, you don’t understand.”

And maybe Harry didn’t. Maybe he misheard the conversation or overlooked a hidden meaning. Maybe he missed the point, but he didn’t miss the way that Louis’ careless words had his heart in shambles.

“I think you should go.” Harry waits for Louis to walk away, but the boy opens his mouth to speak instead. There’s nothing he can say to fix the mess he made, so Harry shuts the door in his face.

It’s the end.

And he’s done.

******

Louis comes by but Niall sends him away, and he calls but Harry rejects the calls and deletes the texts without reading. It’s the third time since August that he’s tried avoiding Louis, and he’s gotten to be somewhat of an expert. He’s got their schedules working opposite of each other, and he’s never in his room when Louis could be around. It’s gotten to the point where’s he’s mostly never near the boy. But sometimes he sees Louis, and when he does, he changes route; he may miss a couple classes, but it’s worth it.

It has to be worth it.

******

It doesn’t feel worth it.

After a while he stops seeing Louis around. He stops calling and texting and coming by. There hasn’t been a room check in a week, and it’s strange. Harry doesn’t know how to react. He’s been able to stay in his own room with no intrusions from Louis, and it’s not as relaxing as he would’ve assumed. It’s almost like Louis’ given up on him.

Harry deflates. He should’ve seen it coming, but it still hurts.

*******

It’s 2:55 in the afternoon and Winter Break is starting soon. They have two more until classes end for the semester, and Harry’s looking forward to it. It’s been a messy few weeks and he can’t wait to go back home and spend days upon days in front of the fire listening to his mom sing.

Ever since the day in the showers, college has gotten to be less of an adventure. It’s a drag to force himself out of bed everyday and into class. He;s not saying that he wouldn’t have had fun without previous motivation, but he is saying that once motivation is lost, it’s hard to find inspiration elsewhere.

Harry’s in the student bookstore looking for a title to write an essay on. It has something to do with psychology or psychiatry. Harry doesn’t really know. All he knows is rows up rows of overpriced literature and it’s driving him mad. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for, and all of the names being thrown at him are frustrating to no end.

And on top of the cake that is Harry’s Disaster Day™ Harry’s pretty sure he can see Louis over in the School Apparel section. He looks the same as usual, maybe even a little better. Brighter. Although that could be Harry’s mind making things up to torture himself. He can fool himself into think he’s moved on, but seeing Louis in person, smiling, living life freely…

Well it’s clear he hasn’t moved on.

As if he can hear Harry’s inner turmoil, Louis looks up and locks gazes with Harry. Like every other time they’ve made eye contact, Harry can feel his entire body reacting, a pleasant throb of endearment. Harry is so gone for this boy.

Louis smiles at him, which is the first shock. But the real kick in the face is the way that Louis, still grinning, turns back to the sweatshirt he was looking at. He didn’t attempt to speak to Harry or make things better or even look angry.

He looked settled.

And as lovely as it is that Louis’ so chill about everything, Harry feels like shit. Because when he was avoiding Louis, at least there was still a possibility of fixing things, but now that Louis’ done too, it’s really over.

It’s really real.

******

It’s 10:34 at night and Harry’s putting the final touches on his essay. He doesn’t even know what he’s writing anymore. The deadline is so close that as long as he has 1500 words, he couldn’t care less what he sends out. Every word he writes bleeds into the one before it, and there’s no doubt in his mind that it’s the worst work he’s done since kindergarten.

Niall’s fast asleep on his bed. His essays were finished two days ago, and he’s gotten to spend the weekend in peace. Which has been a bitch for Harry to deal with. Niall in general is pretty awful, but nothing’s worse than Niall when he’s smug.

A knock sounds at the door and Harry thinks nothing of it until he realizes the time: nearly curfew. The only person dumb enough to be walking around this late, this close to deadlines is there for one thing.

Room Checks.

Harry nearly trips over his own feet in the haste to get to the door. He answers it excitedly, but almost immediately frowns when it isn’t Louis behind the door. It’s some kid with red hair who smells like weed and looks bored.

“Can I help you?” Harry finds himself asking.

“Hey, bro,” the guy grins. He looks way too laid back for Harry to feel even remotely comfortable. “I’m Ed,” he introduces himself. “Your previous room advisor requested a switch in floors, so for the rest of the year, I’ll be your RA.” His words race through Harry’s head, pounding through him like a bad hangover on a Tuesday morning. “But don’t worry,” the guy, Ed, reassures when he sees Harry’s face. “I’m just as cool as Tommo.”

He doesn’t even finish saying Louis’ name before Harry’s pushing him out of the way and stomping his way down to Liam’s room. He’s the only one who knows where Louis is, and right now, Harry needs to see him.

He’s livid. He’s probably felt every emotion possible for Louis at this point, but he’s never felt anything as extreme as his animosity to Louis Tomlinson at this moment. His blood is pulsing through him and he can feel his footsteps in his neck. Nothing makes sense past the rotten taste in his mouth.

How dare he.

He doesn’t even stop walking when he gets to Liam’s room, just throws himself at the door and starts pounding his fists. There’s no reaction for a second, but then there’s a groan and the sound of springs moving. He woke Liam up…

Good.

The upperclassman opens the door with an angry pull and grimace on his face. And he can try with all his might, but Harry will always be ten times angrier than him. This is his breaking point.

“Where’s Louis?” Harry’s not wasting time. If he gives himself even a second to think about it, he’ll calm down, and that’s the last thing he wants. “What room is he in?”

Liam scoffs. “You’re the reason he moved, kid,” he growls, and even though Harry knows it’s the truth, it doesn’t stop him from narrowing his eyes. “Why would I tell you?”

Harry doesn’t know what’s taken over him. He’s been through too much shit because of Louis and he needs to give him a piece of his mind. And this human trash bag isn’t going to stop him just because he thinks he’s in charge. “Give me,” Harry snarls, “his fucking room number!” Along with his words, he throws a heavy fist against the flimsy wooden door.

Liam challenges him with a look before turning around and walking back into his room. He doesn’t shut the door, which is a good sign, but there’s no force on earth that’ll make him follow.

When he returns, he mutters, “314” before the door is slamming in his face.

It’s two floors up and even with curfew so close, Harry’s going up. He doesn’t know what happens, just lets his feet carry him to room 314. He feels like a child throwing a tantrum, and maybe his is, but it’s a tantrum worth throwing. Bc he’s angry and he know’s why, and he know’s it makes sense, but it still feels useless.

And it proves useless when he gets to Louis’ new room. He knocks, but just as there are footsteps leading up to the door, All of the tension and anger and passion taking ahold of Harry flood out. And leave him feeling sad.

Just… sad.  

“Harry?”

Harry had a million angry things he wanted to say. He wanted to rip through the wall that’d been built between them and attack Louis. To throw his anger and contempt into the ring and tear it down. He wanted to fight.

But instead, all he can do is quietly ask, “What did I do wrong?” Louis doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares on confused, lip twisted as he watches Harry. “What could I have possibly done to make you hate me so much?”

“I don’t-”

“You changed floors, Louis!” his voice is breaking, tears trying to crack through. He can only hold onto his dignity for so long. “What am I supposed to think when you call me a desperate kid and then change floors to get away from me?” He knows he’s about to cry, but he has to get the words out. “What am I supposed to think?”

His voice cracks halfway through and it has Louis smiling, he looks like he doesn’t quite get what’s happening, but he’s smiling a sad smile. He looks every bit as confused as he does endeared. He shakes his head once and then he’s kissing Harry.

Their lips touch and Harry gasps. It causes Louis to chuckle and murmur “Idiot” before he’s leaning back in and claiming his lips again.

Harry’s confused. Thousands of questions are running through his head and his hands keep twitching, not knowing what to do. But he tries not to focus on either of those things, and instead gives all his attention into tasting Louis’ mouth. The last time he got to do this, it was in a shower at 5 in the morning, and everything crashed down afterwards.

Louis’ pulls away for air, but immediately returns. This time, Harry lets it last a few moments before pulling back. He dodges Louis’ third attempt and questions “What just happened.”

“I kissed you.”

“But you hate me.”

And Louis laughs. “I could never hate you,” he smiles, hand rushing up to push the hair off of Harry’s forehead. “I kept trying to explain to you that I actually really like you.” He ignores the confused look on Harry’s face and trails his fingers down his jawline. “I only told Liam what I did to get him off my back.”

And it makes sense. It does. But Harry’s been running the words through his head for a month and it always feels so real. Like there was no way words that meant nothing could hurt so much. He tries to find a reasonable way to explain that “You called me desperate,” he croaks instead.  

“You are desperate,” Louis laughs, taking in Harry’s pout. “You’re always desperate for it. But so am I, and that’s why it works.” He takes his hand off of Harry and lets it hang loosely by his side. “I wish you’d never had to hear what I told Liam. I wish i didn’t have to say it, but we weren’t careful, Haz. I had to save us.”

“Louis,” Harry understands, he does. And he hates himself for ever questioning Louis intentions. It should’ve been obvious that the words were never meant to be heard by anybody, and the fact that Harry couldn’t sense that is insane. “I’ve been really stupid.”

It has louis laughing, high and airy, and it makes Harry’s heart clench tightly, every bones in his body pulsing with emotion. “I have too,” he admits. “But I love you and I never want to be the reason for your downfall.”  

Harry nods before his words register and he blinks, stunned. “You love me?”

“I don’t see how i couldn’t be.”

******