#not even a month into the semester and I’m already forced to hunker down in the library☹️

[7oranges]

Early semester affirmations My brain is normal and equipped for academics. I can and Will do all my readings I will Not fall behind and Not play permanent catch up until finals

[sunfiowyr]

#fictober19 Prompt: 5.  “I might just kiss you.”

Fandom: RWBY

Pairing: Sunflowyr (YangxRen)

Genre/Rating: G

Word Count: 902

FFNet: Link

AO3: Link

A/N: yeahhh im super late on these now but i intend to get through all of them even if i cross into november and beyond

Yang was running behind on her assignments and school work. She had spent too much time out partying and out having fun, so she had decided to hunker down inside her room and force herself to get her work done. This, of course, wasn't exactly going to plan. First, she would get distracted by the music she played in the background only to instead find herself singing along to the lyrics and dancing in her seat instead, her hair flying all over the place. When she realised she was doing this she turned it off with a huff. Then it was her phone that distracted her, looking over at it every few seconds so she could barely get a word down on her paper, so that had to go next.

When Yang had eventually ended up clearing every possible object that could distract her she thought, there was no way she could get distracted now and finally focus on her work. Oh, how wrong she was. Her legs bounced up and down under the table from her heels with the balls of her feet against the floor and her toes curling into the carpet. She played with her pen, clicking it in and out and completely disassembling it and putting it back together multiple times.

The blonde growled in the growing frustration of her situation, she needed to get this done as it was due by tomorrow afternoon and it was already getting pretty late at night but she just could not focus… The anxiety started to set in soon and she pulled out her phone as she gave herself a break from her thoughts. She smiled at her phone when she saw a notification for a text she received almost an hour ago from her boyfriend, Ren, and opened it.

'Hey, how's your assignment going?' It read. Yang smiled, she brought her legs up onto her chair and pulled them against her chest, and typed back a reply with her chin against her knees.

'oh you know' 'havent written a single word in the past two hours' 'so i would say its going pretty well'

She typed her response in three messages in quick succession, her fingers like lighting strikes against the screen. When she looked up at the time she wondered if he would still be awake at this hour. Now this was all she could think of as she stared at her phone, waiting for a reply back. Her toes curled over the edge of her desk chair and she played with her phone while she waited and just as she was about to give up on waiting and put her phone down, it vibrated in her hands.

'I believe in you, I know you can do it Yang.' Ren sent a heart emoji after his message. Yang hugged her arms around her legs and looked at her phone with a half smile. 'Can I really?...' She thought to herself as she typed up her own response.

'i dunno…' 'i just cant FOCUS on it!' 'no matter what i do.'

There was a short pause before Ren replied.

`How about you join in a vc and I help you finish it?'

The thought made Yang giddy and she quickly responded with a short 'yeh, ill get my earphones' before she hopped off her chair and grabbed her earphones from beside her bed and plugged them into her phone. Ren was already waiting in a call for her by the time she sat back down and she pressed the button to join it.

"Hey." Ren greeted.

"Heeyyy…" Yang sighed into her microphone.

"So, what is it you're having trouble with, exactly?"

Ren spent a while helping Yang through the work and made sure she would stay on track, helping her to stay focused. It was well into the middle of the night by the time she had gotten a significant amount of work done and they took a short break every hour or so minutes during that time.

When Yang was finally happy with her work and what she had done, she sat back in her seat and groaned in relief of finally being done. With a long yawn, the blonde raised her arms over her head and stretched, mentally and physically exhausted, then leaned against her desk with her head in her arms like a pillow. She remained in the call and kept talking, not wanting to hang up just yet despite the time and her tiredness.

"...I miss you…" Yang murmured after a few moments of comfortable silence. There was a brief pause from Ren before he responded in kind.

"...I know. It's just a few more months-a year at most-and we'll be able to see each other, though. Just get through this semester and I'll be on the first flight to Vale."

"I don't want to wait a year! I don't even want to wait a week! This sucks!..." She pulled her knees up to her chin again, "Why did you have to go to a different college to me…" She muttered, but he still heard it through her microphone.

"I'm sorry, Yang… But if you can pull through and make it to the end, I might just kiss you." She could hear the playful smile though his voice and her face turned a dark shade of pink as she buried in into her knees.

"Shut up…"  She said, hiding a smile behind her legs.

[psychospeak-blog]

Won’t Go Slowly // 2

A/N: I promise I’m working on other stuff, too.  Just slightly addicted to this series at the moment.

1

Being in Tyler's house alone was weird.

Not that you were alone, not really, with three large dogs practically constantly surrounding you.

But it was weird to be there in the quiet, especially because 90% of the time you were over there, there was at least one other person hanging around, too, whether it was someone actually there to hang out with him , or if it was a friend just crashing at his place.

You'd actually stayed there a few times on your own though, when you were watching the dogs.  Mostly because it was just easier.  But also because, as he claimed, he didn't want them destroying your place.  

You'd protested that they'd never destroyed anything in their life, but he claimed that they had, you just hadn't seen it.  Which seemed doubtful, but you also hadn't met any of them until they were a few months old, so you supposed it was possible.  And, he also pointed out that the dog hair alone was a mess. You hadn't told him that even though they'd never even been in your house, you frequently pulled their hair out of your vacuum, because Lab hair was so insane that it literally got embedded in your clothing.

It was a small price to pay, really, though.

You typically had no problem making yourself at home when he was there - grabbing yourself a blanket if you were cold, or helping yourself to a drink. But, somehow, it felt different when you were there alone.  In the quiet.  The first time you'd stayed there alone, you'd actually brought yourself meals over, and he came home and questioned you as to why there was no food missing, laughing when you said you already had food made, so you just brought it over. After that, you'd gradually gotten more comfortable.  This time, though, you'd spent the first night there hunkered up with all three dogs in his guest room, ending up watching a comedy special on Netflix, followed by an episode of Stephen Colbert.  

You thankfully got off work early on Friday.  You worked as a an academic advisor at The University of Toronto and, since it was nearing the end of the semester, your work load was really cut down quite a bit.  You still worked throughout the summer, of course, as there were summer students and incoming freshmen, but it wasn't as constant and was also super flexible.  Which was kind of convenient because it pretty much synced up with when Tyler would be back, so you tended to spend a lot of time together in the summer.

When you got back to his place on Friday, you pretty much immediately took all the dogs for a long, leisurely walk, enjoying the shade and quiet of a local park.  When you got back to his place, you decided to bake muffins, especially considering you were definately not cooking tonight.  All of the dogs had gone to sleep except for Gerry, who kept running around and dropping your all over the floor, and you were doing your best to not trip over him or any of the toys while trying to find the ingredients you needed.  Occasionally you picked up a you, tossing it away so he'd go to chase it before coming back.  

You'd turned on "Throwback Hip Hop Dance Party on Spotify, which was your go-to playlist for dancing and baking, and had sung along to "Golddigger" as you mixed the dry ingredients.  "Drop It Like It's Hot" came on next, and you were, well, dropping it like it's hot, squatted down down on the floor, Gerry's front paws in your hands, dancing with him as you sung along.  And then a pair of male legs came right in front of your eyesight and you screamed, loudly, the rest of the dogs coming running in from the other room barking at the same time you looked up to see that the legs were attached to Tyler's dad.  "Shh....boys!" you yelled, but it wasn't really effective over the loud music.  All three of them were barking, running around around the kitchen and looking around for a threat, sniffing Tyler's dad skeptically.  You got knocked over by the force of them around you, falling back onto your butt, reaching up to the counter for your phone and shutting the music off.

"Shh...it's okay," you said, your voice calm this time, trying to pet them all at once, the hair on the back of their neck standing up  and their tails poised, ready for action.  "It's okay, I'm okay."

Two tongues licked your face at once, and then you were pushed down onto the kitchen floor, laying on your back with paws stepping all over you and noses in your face, and on your shoulders, as if investigating that you were indeed, alright.  Finally, you managed to get what had to be at least 250 pounds of dog off you, sitting up and raising yourself to your feet.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he said with a laugh, looking at your face closely, "Tyler didn't tell you I was coming, did he?"

"Nope," you said trying to force the redness from your cheeks with your mind, "Which means it's his fault, not yours."

He laughed again, holding up what was in his hands, "I was coming to do something on the pool.  Is that alright?" He asked the question like it was your house he was coming to. "Yeah, of course," you said, shrugging.

He went outside, and you went back to your baking, turning your music back on, but a little quieter this time, and you kept your dance moves more G-rated this time.  He came back in as you were taking the muffins out of the oven, setting them on the cooling rack, and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.  "Everything alright?"

"Yep," he said easily, "Smells good in here." You smiled, "You should take a couple with you."

"Oh, that's okay.  You must have worked hard on them." "I can't eat them all myself," you replied honestly.  "And they're best when they're warm."

You sent him off with a couple in a plastic baggie, and then ordered your pizza.  The night went much like the last, other than the half hour you spent debating whether you should download Tinder or Bumble to your phone again.  And then the 15 minutes you spent trying to determine whether Tyler would care if you borrowed his dogs for a selfie to use as your profile picture to show that you were a dog person.

The following afternoon, you were chopping vegetables, because you'd finally decided to get your life together and meal prep seriously (plus Tyler's knives were sharper than yours, so the process went much quicker).  But you kept getting this twinge of pain in your side.  At first, you thought it was because you took all three dogs for a run this morning, which was not as pleasant as it sounded, and assumed you pulled something.  But the pain continued to build and build until it morphed into something familiar that you couldn't ignore any longer.

You called Tyler's Mom as you were cleaning up your the kitchen, stopping every few minutes to bend over, hand clutched at you side, finally stopping and driving yourself to the hospital.

************** You rolled to your side as you heard movement.  It was so dark in your bedroom that you didn't know what time of day it was, and assumed it must be your sister coming over to stay with you for the night.  You heard your bedroom door open and shut your eyes, pretending to sleep.  There was a stumbled, followed by a "shit."

"Tyler?" you asked, opening one eye, your hand across your forehead, seeing him bent over, rubbing his knee where it had likely collided with your dresser.  "Geez, you Seguin men really like to sneak up on people." He laughed. "Yeah, I was really disappointed he didn't have any video footage of that," he said.

You rolled a little more to the other side of the bed, pulling the blankets up tight around you, realizing that you were wearing pyjamas, and hadn't brushed your hair or showered for three days. "What are you even doing here?" "My mom said you were sick," he stepped closer to the bed, " I brought popsicles."

You smiled weakly, thinking that he'd assumed you had strep throat, which you seemed to get once a year, and always knocked you out for a couple of days.  You frowned a little more, shifting onto your side, "how'd you even get in here?" "You gave me a key, remember?" 

You were thinking that you hadn't, but then you recalled that you had given him a key, because he was supposed to take care of your mail when you went to Europe after you graduated with your Bachelor's degree.  Which was four years ago.  "I thought you said you lost it." He shrugged, "I found it."

" Oh," you said quietly, and let your eyes slide shut, like an extended blink. Before you could even fully open your eyes, you felt your bed dip as Tyler pressed his arm on it, leaning over like he was going to ask you something and you made a little noise of pain, seeing him frown with a concerned look on his face as you winced, rolling over away from him.  "That is not something you do to someone who just had surgery," you moaned.

You heard him something but couldn't decipher it, and then felt his hand on your shoulder for a brief second like he want to roll you back over, but thought better of it.  "You had surge

ry?" He asked, disbelief growing in his voice with each word he spoke.   "Yeah," you responded, and you felt him sit down gently on the edge of your bed, near your feet.   " Why...why didn't you call me?"

"I called your Mom," you said.  You'd even double checked as soon as you could that she had the dogs.  She'd even texted you to offer to bring you something, but you assured her you were all set.  

He sighed heavily, "I didn't mean about the dogs, I meant about you."

"You weren't even here, what were you going to do?"   "I could have come home," he said, enunciating each word.  "You shouldn't be alone."

" I'm not alone." He looked around the room dramatically, "You look pretty alone to me."

It should have been funny.  But he looked- and sounded- pissed off.  And you didn't have the energy to deal with him pissed off right now.

"My mom stayed with me for two days," you said, "she just left this morning.  And my sister is coming over after work to stay with me tonight."

His face seemed to relax a little at that, and you felt his hand over your leg through the blanket, giving your ankle a little squeeze. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" You shook your head, "It was just laparoscopic.  It's just kind if tender if I move the wrong way."

He pursed his lips, still looking down at you, "Was it what you had in high school?" "Yep," you said softly.  You'd had a similar procedure then, when you where first told you'd had endometriosis.

He laid down softly on his side on the bed next to you then, his head propped up on his hand looking at you seriously.  "Are you okay?"

"Mhm," you murmured, but his eyes will still searching yours for a moment, until the alarm on your phone started blaring from your nightstand, and you groaned at the loud noise.  Tyler got up from the bed, and a second later the annoying noise stopped.  

"I need to take my pain meds," you said, easing yourself up on to your elbows. "I'll get them," he said, "where are they?"

You wanted to argue - you really did - because, of course you could get them yourself.  But you were also really tired, so you just gave in.  "In the kitchen." He turned to leave and you laid back down on your back, head against the pillows.  "Tyler?" "Hmm?" "I think they're on the counter by the fridge."

"'K," he said, and you shut your eyes again, recalling what had happened back in high school, the last time you'd been recovering from surgery. For some reason this guy, Chris, had apparently started a rumour that you'd had an abortion, which was absurd, really.  He'd always been pretty annoying, and was totally into Kirsten, which he didn't even hide.  But, apparently, Tyler had completed decked him as Kirsten told you, since you weren't there to see it anyways.  You were pretty certain that he was suspended for a week, and grounded for a month.  You weren't entirely sure if he was just looking for a reason to punch the guy and finally found it, or if he actually morally objected to this guy and was trying to set him straight, but now you couldn't figure out why he hadn't just told his mom what had happened.  Surely she would have at least reduced his punishment.  And you knew that being grounded had pissed him off, because you very clearly remembered him complaining about it every lunch hour, between classes, and during classes.

Now, though, Tyler came back into your bedroom.  He had a glass of what looked like juice in one hand, your stainless steel water bottle shoved under his arm.  You sat up again, holding out your hand, and he pressed the pill into it.  You popped it into your mouth, taking the glass of juice from his hand, swallowing the pill quickly.  You didn't even have time to think about setting it on the nightstand, because he'd already taken it from you, setting it there next to the water bottle he must have set there already.

"Have you eaten today?" he asked, as you were fixing the pillows to lay back down on your back. "Yes," you answered honestly.  Your mom had made you eat some oatmeal this morning before she'd left, and you'd also had a couple of chocolates from the box your good friend, Becca, had dropped by the hospital.

"Do you want me to get you a popsicle?" "No," you said, shutting your eyes, and then adding, "thanks."

You opened your eyes again and he was still just standing there, and you couldn't figure out why he wasn't just leaving.

"Do you want me to help you onto the couch?" he asked, "We could watch a movie or TV or something."

You shook your head, running your hand over your face.  "I just want to sleep." He was shifting his weight back and forth between his feet.  "Yeah, okay.  So, I'll just be in the living room, so just yell if you need anything." "What? Tyler, you don't have to stay."

"It's no big deal.  I'll just hang out until your sister gets here." "I'm fine," you made clear, "do you really think my mom wouldn't be here if I wasn't?"

He was looking down at you, a wrinkle appearing in the middle of his forehead, running his hand through his hair quickly, "Like you've never helped me after I had surgery."

"You would be helping because I just want to be alone," you croaked, and then took a deep, albeit shaky breath, "Seriously, I just want to sleep.  And these pills knock me out anyways."

He said something, and you think it was "yeah" or "okay" but it could have been your name, and your eyes felt both way too try and way too watery, and all you wanted to do was shut them and go back to sleep. And you didn't want anyone there watching you or hovering over you or asking if you were okay.  

To set your point straight, you pulled the covers, hard over your shoulder, rolling away so you were facing the wall, turning your back to him and shutting your eyes and trying not to think of anything.  Finally, you heard the front door shut and, knowing that he left, let out the breath you had been holding, letting the pills make you wonderfully drowsy.

You woke again in a daze, like you had been every couple hours, but this time you heard snoring and your bed felt way too heavy and warm, and you weren't exactly sure where you were.  You opened your eyes tentatively to see Marshall laying down by your feet and you let out a little laugh in disbelief.  You turned over, reaching for the water bottle that was on your nightstand, and piece of paper covered with an unmistakable scrawl set under it and you read it as you took a few sips. I left him food and water in the kitchen.  Call me if he starts being a shit.  I'm serious. You smiled, setting everything back onto your nightstand and sitting up, rubbing your knuckles along the dog's snout until he opened his eyes, staring back at you.  You patted the bed next to you as you laid back down, and Marshall got up, turning in a circle before curling up against chest.  You were still smiling as you set your head back down against your pillows, resting your arm over him and petting him absentmindedly, running fingers through his fur as you fell back to sleep.

[cherrystreet]

"should we just search romantic comedies on netflix and see what we find?" so, i totally come to you with every fic idea that pops into my head. but like, i reeeally need little snippets of the times harry and louis decide to put on netflix. like, after takeout arrives or for movie night with the lads or to pick a new show to watch because they just finished the office (us version this time). or even when they're bickering and get passive aggressive over what to watch for said movie night

This is a little different than what you wanted but that’s only because I don’t know how to write domestic pieces so I hope this is okay and ily xx

It didn’t start as a routine.

The first time it happened, it was a Tuesday night filled with too much homework, the October weather already too cold for Harry’s liking. The blinking cursor on a blank Word document seemed to be mocking him, laughing at his inability to form a cohesive thought after working nonstop for the past four hours. Eventually, he abandoned his endless string of papers, walking aimlessly around his apartment for the better part of an hour in an attempt to find something better than writing 5,000 words on Game Theory. Nothing jumped out at him, so he continued to shuffle around, sighing obnoxiously, until his roommate Sam hollered from the other room, “If you don’t cut it with those pathetic noises, I’m going to punch you in the throat.”

Harry frowned. “I’m not even being loud,” he yelled back.

“Shut up and do your homework.”

“But my brain is fried–”

“Harry, enough.”

“Ugh.” He kicked off his shoes and slumped down onto the couch, staring at the clock as the minute hand steadily ticked forward. Somehow, watching time was more appealing than reopening up his laptop and forcing himself to write another word.

Sam was right. Absolutely pathetic.

“What should I do?” he asked after a few minutes, eyes nearly glazed over.

“The fuck should I know,” Sam replied, finally appearing around the corner. “Go down to the Hub.”

“It’s too cold out for that. And it’s raining.”

“Order some food.”

“I don’t have any money on me.”

“Watch a movie.”

“Nothing good is on.”

“How would you even know?! The TV is off!”

Harry shrugged. “Gimme your Netflix password. Maybe new stuff has been added.”

“Will you finally stop talking?”

“Maybe.”

Sam reached for the remote to the TV. “Thank God.”

 It took about 17 minutes of “Chopped” for Harry to send out a text to everyone he could think of, a simple Come over. Everyone’s here. He didn’t want to sit alone, just wanted to unwind with the company of some friends. Sam was clearly no help, just kept yelling from his bedroom to keep the volume down, that “some people actually take their classes seriously, Harry.” And saying that everyone was already gathered together wasn’t technically a lie. Sam was there. And his fish. And the cast of “The Office,” currently streaming from the main TV in the living room.

Whatever. Semantics. People would be there shortly. People to talk to him and not tell him to shut up.

Twenty minutes later, Louis was standing in front of Harry, sweatpants too big and glasses smudged.

“Shut up,” he said, tugging on his hoodie strings. “What is this?!”

So much for that, Harry thought. “What?”

“You said people were here. It’s just you.”

“Is that so bad?”

“If I wanted to spend the night doing nothing and listening to someone drone on and on about nothing, I’d put on a Bob Ross special.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Bob Ross is extremely talented…”

“Bob Ross is dead. And boring. And he never would have tricked me into coming here on a shitty Tuesday night under false pretenses.”

“I thought other people would show up!” He squished deeper into the couch cushions. “You gonna leave?”

Louis groaned and kicked Harry’s shoes out of the way as he climbed onto the couch beside him. “No. I came all the way here.”

“It’s, like, a nine minute walk…”

“Yeah, nine minutes in the wind and rain. You better have food as compensation. And why the fuck are you watching the British version of ‘The Office’? Why do you hate yourself? Give me the remote.”

Harry shook his head, standing up to grab snacks, wondering how constant abuse was the better alternative to staring idly at the wall.

The following Tuesday, Harry turned in his biochemistry assignment early, cracking his knuckles as soon as he his submit. It felt good to get rid of a week’s worth of studying, to not have to look at it anymore, and he slipped out of his jeans and into his most worn pair of pajama pants, the hole in the knee stretching with every wash. It didn’t take long for the couch to mold perfectly to his body, the apartment warm and quiet, Sam out for the evening. It was relaxing. It was welcoming. It was. Not what Harry wanted.

“Hey, I’ll order pizza,” he said through the phone’s receiver. “Dominos, if you want it.”

“I always want it,” Louis replied. “Cheap shot.”

“Pepperoni?”

“Ugh, Harry, can’t Steve Carell wait? We know what happens.”

“But it’s my favorite episode and I wanna watch you watch it.”

“I’ve seen it before.”

“I’ve never seen you watch it, though. Lou, they have a fucking benefit for rabies. Rabies. I need to see your face when Michael donates a giant check to a disease that’s already been cured.”

“Oh my God,” Louis snorted, but Harry could tell he was wearing him down. “Alright, whatever, fine, but make sure it’s extra cheese with the pepperoni.”

 Seven days later, Harry did much less arm twisting, just casually mentioning they were up to the start of season five. Louis texted back, Don’t start without me. I’ll know if you’re lying.

Harry sucked in his cheeks, smile worming its way out, anyway. Wouldn’t dream of it.

The last Tuesday of the month, Louis was knocking on Harry’s door without bothering to ask if he was busy. Harry let him in graciously, snacks already on the coffee table and blankets on the arm of the couch.

And just like that, Tuesday became Harry’s favorite day of the week.

It’s been five months since Harry and Louis created their non-date date night, and they’ve gone through nearly everything on the Netflix list that moderately sparks their interest. Comedies, dramas, documentaries, musicals… They’ve watched them all, not too picky, hunkering down together to enjoy a casual night of TV. And neither one of them got bored of it, never asking to cut the night short or go out to do something else. Harry loves having the time to unwind, loves the fact that he has something so comfortable to count on, loves Louis’ company more than just about anything.

And that’s why he snaps when Louis doesn’t show up on Tuesday night in late March, the Netflix home screen nearly burned onto Harry’s retinas, waiting for Louis to walk through the door and pick the movie. He taps his fingers along his thighs, annoyed, wondering where the hell he could be. Nine o’clock comes and goes, as does ten o’clock, and by 11:30, “The Holiday” playing quietly in the background, Harry is less angry and more concerned that something horrible has happened. Louis doesn’t answer his phone the second time Harry calls him, or the third, but he does by the ninth, beyond irritated when he picks up.

“Harry, what the fuck,” he says, his voice tight. There’s a lot of background noise but Harry can’t figure out where he might be. “You had better be fucking dying.”

Harry skims his finger along the frayed edge of the blanket, suddenly embarrassed. “No, but, like, where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m at Ian’s. Is that why you called 100 times? Are you for real?”

“Why aren’t you here?” he says stupidly, his face hot. Who’s Ian? He hates him, regardless. “‘m watching Cameron Diaz try to seduce that hot British guy…”

“Jude Law?!”

“Yeah, him, and, like–”

“Harry, you called me nine times to talk to me about Jude Law.” It’s not a question.

“No,” he starts, “I didn’t. I called you nine times to ask why you stood me up.”

“Did we have plans?”

Harry looks down at his lap. “I mean, not verbal ones, but you always come here on Tuesdays and you’re not here now and–”

“Ian wanted to get a drink before he headed to Spain for the rest of the semester,” Louis says, cutting him off. “I didn’t think I needed to cancel a stupid friend hangout to do that. You’re kind of acting like a crazy boyfriend.”

“It’s not stupid and that’s not…” He starts to argue, but stops himself short, his heart racing in his chest. He knows he’s being irrationally angry and insane and, well, idiotically jealous, and now that Louis’ had to go ahead and say the B word, it’s ricocheting through his brain like live wire, sparking and hot. The thing is, they’re not boyfriends, because that’s not a line they’ve ever crossed, but just about everything they do - Tuesdays and otherwise - might argue that fact. They meet each other after class for coffee, they call each other on Sunday mornings, they spend school breaks at each other’s homes. Harry carries Louis’ backpack, Louis buys Harry dinner, they steal one another’s clothing… They share a fucking blanket on Harry’s Goddamn couch every single week, their knees brushing together, sending shocks up Harry’s spine, Harry unable to stop himself from stealing a series of unsubtle glances at Louis’ profile, his cheekbones, his lips. Fuck. His temple throbs and he does his best to swallow around the lump in his throat. Boyfriend. “Okay, yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

Louis breathes through the phone for a beat too long. “I’m safe. I wasn’t kidnapped. I just… We’ll hang out later, alright?”

He doesn’t sound angry anymore, but Harry feels too antsy to keep talking. “Yeah, later. Bon voyage to Ian. I’ll see you this weekend or something.”

“Okay,” he replies. “Or something.”

Harry hangs up the phone with a thousand words on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows every single one of them and wills himself to stop thinking about the fact that he’s gone and lost his mind over his best friend spending the night out with a guy who isn’t him. He should be here on this couch, thigh pressed up against Harry’s, and this is not the way it was supposed to go. None of it was.

He must doze off at some point, because the next thing he knows, there’s a bang on the door, followed by a tinny voice mumbling, “Please let me in. I’m tired and cold.”

Harry flicks on the hallway light and pulls open the door as quickly as his body will allow himself to, finding himself face to face with a pink-cheeked Louis. “Lou, it’s…” He looks over at the clock. “Two in the morning.”

Louis shrugs, worming his way inside. “Yeah, well. I’m two hours late for our date. Sorry about that. You still watching ‘The Holiday’?”

He bites back his smile, body feeling like it’s deflating. “Finished it earlier. Should we just search romantic comedies on Netflix and see what we find?”

“That… Sounds like the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

Harry snorts, closing the door behind him and follows Louis into the living room. Louis’ already making himself comfortable on the couch, yawning. “Then what do you suggest?”

“We haven’t checked out the horror genre in a while.”

“Yeah, for a reason.” He sits beside Louis, lets Louis drape his legs across his lap. Like a magnet, his hand immediately goes to grip Louis’ ankle. “I get nightmares.”

Louis looks up at him from under his lashes, blinking slower than usual, and it makes Harry’s stomach twist. Maybe he’s tired. Maybe it’s something else. “Big baby.”

“Yeah,” he says, smirking, thumb drawing circles across Louis’ skin. “That’s me.”

Neither of them say anything else, nor do they move, and Harry’s trying to find something to say that isn’t something clicked for me tonight, but Louis speaks first, licking his lips.

“Sorry I stood you up,” he says softly, grabbing for the remote and selecting the first title on the menu, not looking at Harry. “I was a dick about it.”

Harry shrugs, inching his way closer, watching the way the screen’s colors dances across Louis’ face. “It’s alright. Just missed you.”

He can actually hear Louis swallow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Louis nods, biting at his bottom lip. He’s nervous. Harry exhales once he notices. “Can I stay over tonight?”

Harry isn’t sure what the implications are behind his question, or why Louis’ bothering to ask when he’s never asked before - usually just passes out on the couch or on Harry’s bed, curling up into a ball on the edge of the mattress - but it’s clear something has changed, based on the way Louis is looking up at him. He’s never looked at Harry like that before.

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, “Lou, whatever you want.”

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, doesn’t remember leaning in, but then there’s just breath between them, and then not even that, just skin on skin, warm and sweet and entirely too perfect. And Harry has no idea what’s playing on the screen in front of them, but it’s decidedly his new favorite film.