Red Brick Heart

9

He gets up before Louis wakes up, carefully disentangling their hands and their limbs so as not to wake him, and takes a shower while everyone's still asleep. He runs the water scalding hot and stands there with his hair plastering his face and skin flushing red while he contemplates his fate. On one hand, he is in love with his best friend, so there's at least a small possibility things might work. On the other hand, his best friend is comfortable enough to sleep in his bed and get off on his thigh and make him come in his pants and apparently have no other feelings for him, so that probably means he's got no intention of feeling the same way about Harry for ever and always.

And that's disregarding everything Zayn said to him about Louis, about how he gets off on having straight guys come after him, about how he loves the chase and how this is obviously the only reason he keeps Harry so on edge like this.

It's not exactly the Hollywood movie, butterflies and lovehearts kind of love realisation he'd been – maybe naively – hoping for.

He stays in the shower until the pads of his fingers and the palms of his hands start to go wrinkly, before walking back down the corridors of the silent flat to his room. Louis is still asleep, curled in a ball under the duvet with only his head sticking out the top, and then there it is – that swooping feeling he'd been ignoring for weeks, the one that makes him want to peel off the duvet and climb back into bed, sopping wet hair and all, and cover Louis's body with his own.

"Shit," he breathes, shaking his head, as he vigorously towels off his hair. He's just pulling on his jeans when there's the rustle of sheets behind him and he turns to see Louis blinking blearily from under his little duvet cocoon.

"Morning," he croaks, rolling his shoulders. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep," Harry says, readjusting his necklaces before reaching for his deodorant. He tries to ignore Louis sitting there on the bed, placidly watching him as he continues getting dressed.

"Hungover?"

"Not really."

He pulls a t-shirt and a jumper over his head, and nearly flinches when Louis arrives in his field of vision, hair sticking up in odd directions and looking exhausted.

"Hey." He touches Harry's hip, painfully hesitant. Harry stares hard at the desk, where his phone and iPod are charging. "I'm sorry about last night, OK? That was-"

"Doesn't matter," Harry says, scratching his nose. Louis's hand is still on his hip, and even through the layers of clothing it feels like a smouldering fire.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you," he says quietly. "You're just really easy to wind up. And I – like that."

"Like I said," Harry says thickly. "Doesn't matter. You didn't embarrass me, so...don't worry about it."

He pulls his hand away then, folding one arm across his chest and nodding, though at what Harry isn't sure he can tell. "You're not annoyed with me?"

"Nope," Harry says, though he's not sure whether he is or not, annoyed with Louis for being so irresistible and magnetic and turning his world on its head.

"Hug, then?" Louis smiles in a way that sets rivers of newfound love rushing through Harry's veins, pressure so high he thinks he's going to burst. So far this day is going well.

"Yeah, okay," he murmurs, opening his arms, and then – god, Louis always smells so good, especially when he smells like Harry too, washing powder and musky old cologne and the slight hint of sticky sweet alcohol. He tries not to hold on to him too long but knows he fails, and only pulls apart when Louis's stomach growls angrily between them, making them both laugh.