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arms around Harry‟s neck, and Harry picks him up off the floor and

spins him around a couple of times before setting him dizzy back on his

feet.

“It was so good!” Louis shouts.

“It was!” Harry agrees, giving Louis one of those big goofy open-

mouthed smiles he does.

“Yes, it was!” someone says behind him, and Louis spins around to

find Zayn standing there grinning back at him. He throws himself at

Zayn too, too giddy to hold anything back, and Zayn staggers but

returns his hug just as hard. A sudden impact has both of them rocking

to one side, and based on the cackles in his ear and the pale arm across

his field of vision Louis assumes that it‟s Niall who‟s just launched

himself on top of them.

“Get in, Tommo!” he yells, clinging to their shoulders. “Smashed it!”

The three of them disentangle giddily, and then Harry is back, pulling

all of them into a four-person huddle.

“If I had any booze on me,” he drawls, “I‟d propose a toast. But as I

don‟t, let‟s just all agree that Louis is brilliant, the show was brilliant,

and we‟re brilliant for helping.”

“Hear, hear!” Zayn says, pressing an affectionate kiss to the side of

Louis‟ head.

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“It‟s not over yet,” Louis says, still trying to catch his breath. “There‟s

still tomorrow night. But—but it was good, and I didn‟t die, and I

suppose you lot had a hand in that. So thanks.” The words aren‟t much,

but he can feel himself grinning uncontrollably and sees it mirrored

back on the others‟ faces.

Niall whoops a laugh and pulls Louis into what was probably intended

to be a noogie but ends up being more like an aggressive cuddle. “First

round‟s on me!” he crows. “You‟ve been an uptight bastard for weeks,

and the only way I‟m going to forgive you is if you get royally pissed

and puke in a toilet tonight.”

Louis wouldn‟t mind some chemical alteration, to be honest, but

tonight isn‟t going to be the night for it. “Sorry, Nialler, I‟ve gotta help

everyone clean up here,” he says, ignoring the boys‟ groans. “And then

I‟ve got an appointment with a bed.” He meets Harry‟s eyes and feels

some of his exhaustion lift. “Or a mattress, anyway,” he grins, and

revels in the way Harry‟s expression changes from happiness to

anticipation.

“All right, you heard the man, get moving, get moving,” Harry says,

pushing at Niall with mock urgency. Niall protests, squawking

something about the kinds of men who value getting laid over quality

time with friends and alcohol, but Zayn leads him away with promises

of getting utterly smashed on their own. Louis has the best friends ever.

The post-show clean-up happens in a blur, Louis directing his cast and

crew with a slightly manic glee and trying not to be constantly,

buzzingly aware of Harry always in his field of vision. Louis always

feels high after a performance, even if it wasn‟t technically him

performing, and right now all he wants to do is gush about his kids and

then work off some energy on Harry‟s body. Normally he doesn‟t have

that much trouble keeping his hands off him—okay, not a lot of

trouble—but right now it‟s torture. Harry‟s right there, but completely

untouchable with a couple dozen amped-up teenagers running around.

Louis feels like he can‟t stay still, can‟t relax with how happy he is, and

the only thing he can think of that will calm him down is getting his

hands on Harry‟s skin.

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Thankfully, everyone is so antsy and full of energy that clean-up goes

relatively quickly. Louis is sure he made some sort of inspirational

speech at some point, something thanking everyone for their hard work

and pumping them up for the final show on Saturday night, but he can‟t

for the life of him remember what it was. With Harry dragging him out

a side door into the carpark, it doesn‟t feel particularly important.

There are still parents and students everywhere, so they slide into

Harry‟s car without a word. Louis is practically vibrating in his seat,

and if he doesn‟t want to jump Harry in a moving car then he needs to

distract himself somehow. He starts talking at top speed about the

show, about the performances, about how fucking perfect the costumes

looked, and before he knows it they‟ve pulled up in front of Harry‟s

flat.

Harry puts the car in park, but neither of them move to get out. This is

the first time they‟ve really had any privacy since this morning, and the

adrenaline still pumping in Louis‟ veins wants to do something about

that. He unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches over to graze his fingers

over Harry‟s forearm, teasing a little.

“D‟you wanna go inside?” Harry says, cheek dimpling on one side like

he already knows the answer.

“Not quite yet,” Louis says. “I‟ve only just gotten you alone, haven‟t I

then?”

“You have,” Harry agrees.

“Isn‟t this romantic?” Louis says coyly. “You. Me. No students around

to tell their parents or report us to the administration.”

“God, I love it when you talk dirty,” Harry says, grinning, and then he

pulls Louis into his lap and kicks the seat back.

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They kiss like that for a while, dizzy drags of lips and tongues, riding

the high from opening night and all the best parts of the past week.

Louis feels like he‟ll never get sick of the way Harry wants him

anywhere, anytime. The last time he‟d gotten felt up in somebody‟s car

before he met Harry was probably fooling around with the boy down

the street back when he was seventeen, but it‟s become a normal part of

his life lately. There‟s something playing on the radio, one of Harry‟s

bands, and the way the windows start fogging up around them feels

familiar and comfortable, a reminder that nothing with Harry has been

like anything he‟s felt for a long, long time.

Finally Louis breaks off and reaches behind himself to pull the keys out

of the ignition, smiling against Harry‟s lips as the engine goes quiet.

“Shall we?”

Harry keeps his arms around Louis on the lift, hugging him back into

his chest as the gears shudder and creak. They stumble down the hall

together, and Louis turns his head to the side and catches Harry‟s

mouth with his own for a moment before sliding out of his arms so that

Harry can get his keys out and let them in.

They leave a trail of their clothes on the floor from the door to the

shower and get in together, as has become the routine over the past few

days. Normally Louis would leave it until morning, but it‟s been such a

long day and he‟s got wood glue in his hair, so he lets Harry wash it out

for him while he nips at Harry‟s wet collarbones. They get each other

off like that, just Louis‟ muttered curses bouncing off the tiles and a

couple of slippery handjobs, enough that they no longer feel like they

need to fuck right away.

Once they‟ve toweled themselves off, Louis slips into a clean pair of

boxers and one of Harry‟s t-shirts while Harry pulls on a pair of joggers

and gets a box of biscuits down out of the cabinet. Harry sits down on

the mattress, and Louis follows after him, pausing for a moment to

stand over the boy in front of him, his soggy curls and bare shoulders.

322

Louis tilts his head to one side, considering. “I want to have sex with

you,” he says.

“Cool,” Harry says through a mouthful of biscuit.

Louis kneels down on the mattress and crawls over to Harry, taking the

box from his hands and setting it down on the floor next to them before

climbing into Harry‟s lap.

“But,” Louis says, “I‟m all excited and happy and I want to talk more

about the show first. Can we talk more about the show first?” Louis

doesn‟t know why he‟s asking permission, since he‟s never asked

permission to talk anybody‟s ear off before, but Harry just smiles and

nods so he figures it doesn‟t matter.

And so Louis picks up right where he left off, every cue his kids nailed,

every harmony that stayed on pitch, every time the audience laughed or

applauded in the right places. He knows he‟s probably starting to repeat

himself by now, but Harry seems happy to indulge him even though he

witnessed the whole thing, and he even chimes in with his own

observations and compliments about Louis‟ directing that make Louis‟

grin so big his face hurts.

He interrupts himself periodically to kiss Harry some more or spend a

few minutes grinding down on his lap, half to show Harry he hasn‟t

forgotten his promise and half because he just wants to. When you‟ve

got permission to touch somebody as unbelievably fit as Harry is, it‟s

frankly hard not to want to put your mouth on him all the time. It‟s nice

to talk to him like this, to tell him all the mundane little things filling up

his overcrowded head, and then to get to kiss him whenever he feels

like it. He likes that a lot.

Somewhere past the forty-five minute mark, though, he starts to feel a

little less wired. His back is aching, and he‟s sure that if he could just

lie down for a few minutes, he‟ll be fine.

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“Can we lie down?” Louis says into Harry‟s shoulder. “Just for a

minute, I promise.”

Harry obliges, leaning back onto the mattress and pulling the blanket

up over them. Louis settles into his side and carries right on, talking

about how fabulous his Rizzo was and how much the crowd loved her.

It goes on for another thirty minutes, and then Louis starts to feel his

eyes getting heavy, and he promises himself only one more. One more

thing, and then sex. Five more minutes.

That resolution lasts exactly three minutes, until he starts drifting off

mid-sentence.

“Okay,” Harry says, kissing Louis gently between the eyes. “Let‟s go

to sleep.”

“Nooo,” Louis says, although the word is muffled by a gigantic yawn,

which does nothing to help his case. He reaches down for Harry‟s

elastic waistband. “I‟m a man of my word. C‟mon, budge up.”

“You‟re tired, we‟re sleeping,” Harry says, pulling Louis onto his chest

and holding him there. Louis huffs, but Harry‟s not letting go and he is

tired, so he settles for biting Harry half-heartedly on the chest.

“Fine,” Louis says. “But tomorrow night, we‟re going to go back to my

flat where there‟s a proper bed, and you are getting the best sex of your

life, Styles. I mean it. You‟ve been warned.”

Louis feels a quiet, fond laugh rumble up through Harry‟s body, and

Harry leans down to rub his nose against Louis‟ damp hair. “I look

forward to it.”

“Mmm,” Louis says, closing his eyes and nestling his face down into

the side of Harry‟s neck, “you‟d better.”

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Tomorrow, he decides, in those few unguarded moments between

awake and asleep. Tomorrow, after the show, he‟ll tell him.

Louis wakes up with his face stuck to Harry‟s bare chest by his own

drool. So that‟s his life these days.

Harry‟s already awake, thumbing through something on his phone

while he strokes Louis‟ hair with his other hand. There‟s a little crease

between his brows like he‟s frowning at something, and Louis thinks

maybe the screen is a little too bright in the dim light of the flat.

“Time is it?” Louis mumbles, stretching his legs out and letting his feet

tangle up with Harry‟s.

“Almost eight,” Harry says. “Sorry if I woke you up, my brain‟s still on

school schedule.”

“„S‟all right,” Louis tells him. “Needed to get up early today anyway.

First show‟s at one.”

“Oh my God,” Harry says with mock alarm, looking up from his

phone. “You mean you only have five hours to make it to school?

Whatever shall we do?”

“Hush,” Louis says, swatting at Harry‟s chest ineffectually. “I happen

to be very dedicated to my craft.”