home is where the heart is (but god i love the english) {l.s.}

just wanna be with you

Louis curses as he trips over a spare shoe in the dark bedroom. He hops on one leg over to his bed before setting himself down on his cushy mattress.

"Fucking 6:00am," he grumbles to himself as he slips on the oversized white t-shirt that lay atop the scrunched up duvet.

Once he finally regains the energy to part ways with the comfy bed, he slides into his bike shorts, jumping as quietly as he can to fit them over his arse. When he relocates the offending shoe, he tries in vain to tie them in the dark before admitting defeat and just letting the laces fly free.

Grabbing his water bottle, keys, cycle shoes, and a hoodie, and throwing it all in his bag, he slowly creeps out into the cold living room, eyes downcast on his untied laces. The sun has barely begun to rise and the morning is perfectly still. Despite the unsavoury moments of his early-morning alarm, this part of the day has always been one of Louis' favourites. The city is barely up, no hustle and bustle to be found, and for once, it feels like no one's expecting anything of him. It's just Louis and the rising sun.

"And where do you think you're going?" a voice rings out from the darkness.

Louis yelps as he skitters back, almost tripping over his loose laces.

"What the bloody fuck are you doing up?" he hisses, watching as Harry stands up from the couch.

"I get up early now because of you," the alpha says nonchalantly. "So you can stop barging into my flat and surprising me during the weekdays."

Making his way to the door, Louis glares at the known intruder. "Well, put on your glasses and look at a calendar then. I don't know if you know this, but today is a Saturday, and I've been in your flat for the past three days anyway."

Crossing his arms, Harry looks back at him. "Is that anyway to treat your host now? I let you into my home, let you sleep in my guest room, and this is how you repay me?"

"It's not my fault there's something wrong with the pipes in my flat," Louis shoots back. "Can we talk about this later? I'm going to be late t—" he cuts himself off and snaps his mouth shut, but the damage is already done.

"Late to what?" Harry asks innocently.

Louis doesn't say a word, continuing to slowly edge towards the door. He wonders if he could make a break for it, but decides against it. Harry would surely catch him while he's waiting for the lift and he's not about to run down a fuck ton of stairs.

He catches Harry looking him up and down and he groans, already knowing that he's been caught.

"You've managed to fool me during the week," the alpha starts. "But yesterday when I went down to the lobby to get my mail, imagine my surprise when the front desk lady asked me for your yoga and spin class recommendations."

"How odd," Louis says weakly. He's so fucked.

"When I asked her what she was talking about, she told me in no exact words that you get up at the arse crack of dawn each day and walk out of the lobby either with a yoga mat or with your cycling shoes," Harry continues his faux-innocent charade.

"She must be mistaking me for someone," Louis protests. "Or maybe she's new. They have new staff here all the time."

"Mmm, no," Harry says in that smug voice of his. "I don't think so. I snuck into your room and saw your equipment while you were in the shower yesterday morning."

Huffing, Louis scowls harder. "That is an invasion of privacy."

"Don't turn this on me," Harry exclaims, stalking closer so that he puts himself between Louis and the door.