This is a massive oneshot that took on a life of it’s own. Whatever is written is in italics, so you know. Please, please tell me what you think, because this took me a seriously long time.
It started off way back when they’d only been living together for two months or so. Harry and Louis were absolutely, completely, fucking inseparable. So naturally, when one went out without the other, it was a slight issue for both. They missed each other like crazy, not that they’d admit it. Even little things, like when Harry went out to a club when Louis was going to stay home and sleep anyways, or when Louis went out to get ice cream while Harry stayed in bed to nurse a hangover. Each time, they felt kind of lonely, kind of…codependent. And they were, in a sense, codependent. Okay, let’s be real, they were insanely dependent on each other, constantly wanting more time together, never getting sick of being there, tucked into each other’s sides, whispering jokes and promises and ridiculous things that just screamed I seriously cannot live without you.
And they couldn’t. So when Louis was awoken one morning by a phone call from Zayn, begging him to come over and help set up his new tv (because “I can’t do this by myself, I’m a weakling and Liam’s an ass, Niall’s off getting food and let’s face it, Harry will break the thing before it’s out of the box!”) he felt bad leaving his best friend alone for the day. He was still asleep when Lou poked his head in the door, snoring lightly, the sunlight hitting his face in a kind of adorable way.
And he couldn’t just leave him there. He couldn’t wake him either. And he couldn’t text him, because Harry was always losing his phone around the house, so he’d never get the message. Louis knew that technically, he had no obligation to let Harry know where he was going. Technically, he should have just left him there and gone out without caring. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
He rummaged through the kitchen drawers until he managed to find a piece of paper, and then had to spend a good five minutes finding a working pen. After scribbling in circles until the ink began to work properly, he wrote out a message, smiled, and taped it to the wall outside their bedrooms.
I went out to help Zayn with his stupid new tv, so feel free to stop by if you want, IDK how long I’ll be there. Love you.
They never spoke about the note, but when Harry did indeed stop by Zayn’s later on, there was a knowing smile on his face, and for whatever reason, he looked at Louis in an adoring way. Louis liked that.
The next time a note was left, it was Harry, a week later. He was going out to get some groceries with Paul as a guard/protector/human wall against fangirls, and Louis was in the shower. Harry damn well knew he could leave Louis a text, because the older boy never lost his phone, and was checking it nonstop. But Harry loved the note Louis had left him. It had been oddly domestic and sweet and- No, Louis was just his best friend. Any more feelings and things would get messy.
Yet he still took the note that he had put in his drawer, flipped it over and wrote a message of his own.
I’m off to get some groceries with Paul, anything you’d like? Text me if you think of anything. I should only be gone an hour, unless we get mobbed by girls. Love youuuuuu!
PS: I should be excited about girls mobbing me, but I’m fucking scared, mate.
And okay, he left out the part where he was only scared because Louis wouldn’t be there, and maybe he wasn’t even interested in those girls at all. But those were thoughts that would stay in his head, and not get out, because his world would collapse if they did.
But halfway through his shopping trip, he got a text from Louis that wiped those thoughts from his mind and put a large grin on his face. LouBear: Get me some cookies, yeah? Oooh, or get some ingredients and make me them instead? Cause you loooovee meeee! xx So Harry did just that, grabbing everything he needed, and proceeding to go home, blare some music and dance while he made chocolate chip cookies, grinning when Louis slipped his arms around his waist.
And the notes kept coming, as the months went on. Soon they were leaving pads of paper and rolls of tape on the counter, pens scattered around the house, used all the time. It became a bit of a game, really. Who could write the cheesiest note (Hey honey, I’m being called out to help Niall get food or something, make sure to miss me, baby cakes! I love you xoxoxoxoxoxo –Your LouBear), who could put it in the most ridiculous place (Harry, and he managed to tape it to the ceiling above Lou’s bed by using a step ladder), and soon it became incredibly normal for them.
Hey Hazza darling,
I’m at Liam’s, cause apparently he got in a fight with Danielle, that bitch (okay so maybe it wasn’t her fault, whatever), so yeah I’ll be over there with ice cream and The Notebook and etc etc.
Feel free to stop by the cry-fest!
Love you sweetie pie!
Although, it did waste a lot of paper, and Harry wasn’t at all surprised when a mini whiteboard suddenly appeared on the wall in the hallway, and Louis said nothing about it, just smiled that adorable smile, and left the room with a half wave. Doodles appeared on there as well, carrots and smiley faces and a nice set of boobs that both of them denied they’d put on there when Niall asked (although it was indeed the both of them that collaborated on it), and soon it was very much theirs.
Notes varied, little messages, and each got more and more…lovey dovey, you could say. The word ‘mate’ disappeared, replaced by ‘babe’ and ‘honey’. It was friendly, all in a day’s fun, but it got carried away and neither made a move to stop it. Harry left more and more ‘xoxoxo’s when Louis got a girlfriend, hating the fact that he no longer had those blue eye’s attention.
I’m off to see Gemma, I’ll text you, yeah? Do the laundry, you lazy ass! I can imagine you giggling right now, love. You giggle a lot.
Anyways, I’ll go before this gets too clingy, cause y’know, I love you ;)
-Your HazzaBear xoxoxoxoxo
What Harry did like, the only upside to Eleanor, was the fact that even though Louis went out more and more, his little messages were cuter and cuter. Each one contained an apology, as if Harry deserved his attention and not El, and even though that wasn’t true, even though Harry knew that wasn’t true, he liked the feeling.
But the overwhelming jealousy grew within him, pulsing there and making him irritable sometimes. As well as that, the sadness was a lot. He hated when Lou got home and raved about a date, hated when he talked about kissing her, or banging her, or whatever the fuck else he felt like talking about. And harry couldn’t find the energy to be mad, not even frustrated. Instead, he was just…sad.
One night, Louis went out to see Eleanor, leaving when Harry was in the shower, and he finally gave in. He finally cried when he read the message, and the adorable hearts beside it. He finally, finally just broke, and stared at the familiar scrawl, hearing Louis’ sarcastic voice, imagining his cute smirk as he wrote it.
I’ve gone out to see El, she wanted to shop or something weird but I mean, I am the best boyfriend ever, so I’ll go ;) Think you could get your bum off the couch and clean your room? Oh and mine? Cause you love me, right? You dooo love me, right Curly? You’re smiling right now. I know you are.
I’ll be back later, and I’ll bring you some sweets because, like I said, I’m the best. I love you babes, and I’m sorry I’ve left ya.
And it was the BooBear that got him, the fact that Louis hated that nickname, hated it so much, barely let even Harry use it, and then he went and signed his name like that? That was…too much. Too much for Harry to deal with.
And that’s how Louis found him, sitting against the wall in the hallway, legs pulled against his chest, weeping. He couldn’t keep up the game anymore, couldn’t lie, couldn’t flirt or laugh it off. Just couldn’t. And all because of some fucking note.
“Harry? Hazza come on, tell me, please.” Louis begged, for the dozenth time, starting to tear up too.
“I love you.” Harry managed to squeak, but immediately knew Louis didn’t get it.
“I love you too, now tell me what’s wrong!” Louis told him, and he sighed. He was tired. He didn’t bother to lie.
“This is what’s wrong. This. The fact that you go out with Eleanor, love Eleanor, date Eleanor. Not me. I want you to love me the way you love her. But you won’t. And you never will and then you just had to go and sign ‘BooBear’, had to literally stomp on my heart…I can’t do this anymore, Lou. I can’t.” Harry cried, a choked sob escaping him.
Louis furrowed his eyebrow and then as realization dawned on him, backed away a little in shock. Harry didn’t bother trying to beg, or plead, or cry.
When Louis left silently, padding to his room and locking the door with a click, Harry wiped down the board with his sleeve and grabbed the marker.
It seemed, even then, he couldn’t just leave without writing a note.
Harry spent the night at Niall’s, occasionally sobbing into his shoulder, choking out the reason why, and then being comforted by the Irish boy, who tried to convince him he was better than Louis, didn’t need Louis, could have anyone he wanted. But all Harry wanted was Louis.
The next night, he went home. Louis wasn’t there. The message, the painfully simple two words, was still on the whiteboard, taunting him. He stormed past it and locked himself in his room, blaring music and sometimes breaking things like his lamp, his chandelier, his clock.
Louis heard the crashes. Louis, who hated himself, hated the situation, hated…everything. He heard the loud noises, the breaking of glass, the blaring Coldplay and the sobs that were louder than the chords. But he didn’t move from his place under the covers, curled into a ball, ignoring the calls from El, the texts from Liam, even the emails from his mum. He ignored the world for a week.
That week was the worst for both of them. They tiptoed around each other, barely speaking, barely making eye contact. In fact, they avoided each other like the plague within their flat, but only left when necessary. And when they did, despite the incredibly crazy situation they were in, they left a note.
Gone to get groceries.
Or worst of all,
Those messages were fucking terrible.
Slowly but surely, they drifted apart. No more knowledge was passed between them, no smirks from across the stage, no lingering stares in interviews. Fans noticed, and so did management, but they never dared to ask. Not even the boys did, but Niall must have filled them in because Harry saw the pitying looks Liam shot him, and slight glares Zayn shot Louis. Louis wasn’t oblivious, Harry knew that the older boy was aware. But he said nothing. Everyone said nothing, and somehow, that was worse.
Two weeks went by like that. Two weeks of deafening silence, but still leaving those goddamn stupid notes, because they didn’t know how not to.
And soon it became too much. Harry was sick of it, so sick of it. They no longer watched movies, no longer made dinner, no longer talked or so much as looked at each other. But Harry knew Louis did indeed look at him, when he thought he couldn’t see. And he did the same, tracing Lou’s features from behind, wishing, wanting, needing. To the point where he left and went clubbing purely for a distraction, purely for the girls and guys that would throw themselves at him, and he would just go wherever, whenever, and hook up in hopes of forgetting. Forgetting all the bullshit. He didn’t even want to be with Louis anymore, didn’t need to be with him. He just needed his best friend back.
So maybe that was what pushed him to go into the hallway late at night, wipe down the barely used board and write two words.
And he knew exactly when Louis read it when he heard a crash.
Louis had gotten home from a date with Eleanor, a date that hadn’t gone well, one that he’d been distracted during (like usual) and barely heard a word she rambled on about. And then he he’d passed the board and frozen, seeing those two words, and had just…snapped.
Harry shouldn’t be sorry. This was his fault, all his, and the fact that Haz, perfect Haz, thought he had any blame at all, was enough for indescribable emotions to bubble over, tears to start, and a whimper to escape as he tore the whiteboard off the wall and threw it to the ground.
And he sat there. Because he couldn’t handle it. And he knew Harry had poked his head out of his door, saw him, and then retreated inside again. And for just a second, he thought that was it. It would stay like that forever.
But Harry walked back out again, right past him and out the door. Dropping a folded piece of paper as he went. Louis unfolded the crinkled note carefully, and read through his pathetic tears.
I miss you, Lou.
And fuck, did he not miss the other boy, sosososo much.
So he grabbed the whiteboard off the floor, spent a good fifteen minutes trying to put it back on the wall (he ended up using some duct tape because he wasn’t a miracle worker, come on), wiped it clean and wrote something in the hopes that Haz might see it when he got back.
I miss you too, Hazza.
Harry saw the note when he got home, stumbling backwards with some random guy attached at the lips, hands in hair, lovebites on skin, breathless groans escaping them. He saw it, saw those words, and froze up. But Louis still didn’t want him, still loved Eleanor. So he took that guy to bed, aware that Louis could probably hear him moaning, and let the stranger (Jeff? Joey? He couldn’t remember, nor did he care) fuck him in the darkness of his room.
The guy was gone when Harry woke up, and Louis was standing in his doorway, biting his lip.
"Hi." Harry said, taking the plunge.
"Hey." Louis muttered softly. "I…I really do miss you."
"I miss you too." Harry replied, getting out of bed and slipping on boxers. He was aware that Louis essentially glared at the bruises on his neck, bright pink and purple splotches, reminders of a stranger’s mouth sucking there.
"Can we…I just need you to be my friend again. I need you." Louis struggled to say, and Harry smiled.
"I need you too. We’ll always be best friends Lou, even if we’re racing around a retirement home on little scooters." Harry teased, smiling.
Louis laughed, bright and beautiful laughter and it was oh so perfect, what he’d been wanting, missing, needing.
"Can I hug you?" Harry asked timidly, unsure of where the boundaries were.
"Since when do you need to ask? Thought you were Harry Styles, take what you want when you want it. Or at least, I’m pretty sure that’s who you were to that guy last night." Louis quipped, and just like that, normality was restored.
"Shut up, asshole." Harry winked, banter flowing as if it never stopped.
He pulled Louis into a tight hug, nearly lifting the older boy off his feet with his height difference, and revelled in the scent that was part vanilla, part coconut shampoo, and something so Louis that it took his breath away. Maybe those feelings hadn’t left.
"So, fucking guys now huh?" Lou teased as they walked to the kitchen, both of them purposefully ignoring the whiteboard.
"More like they’re fucking me, but yeah." Harry laughed, and grinned when he saw Louis raised a scandalized eyebrow.
And for the next few weeks, everything was amazing again. They talked about everything, teased each other, got drunk together. It was all the same, somewhat painfully, but still so much better than the silent weeks they now dubbed the ‘days of idiocy that will never be repeated’. But they never spoke about what Harry had confessed. Never discussed the fact that the younger may have been in love with the older, who was his best friend, who also had a beautiful girlfriend that he loved. Except he didn’t really love her. But out of fear, that topic would never be breached.
Notes were a good thing again. They were left nearly every day, long messages, filled with nicknames, ‘xxx’s and apologies.
Hey Hazza Dear,
I’m gonna go see Zayn, yeah? I’m pretty sure he knows what happened…did you tell him? Not that I care. Would you like me to pick up some dinner on the way home? Nandos or something, babe? Let me know!
Love you, and so glad we’re best friends again.
-Chop Suey xxxxx
A bigger board was bought by Harry an hour after that, as he felt the need to write out longer letters, doodles and hearts scattered around them.
I’m off to see Caroline. I might not be here when you get back, IDK. And yes, I told Niall so I assume he opened his big Irish mouth (in between mouthfuls of food I’m sure) and told everyone cause he sucks like that. Eat whatever you want, I aint your mum!
Love you too, and yes, let’s never ever do that again.
After that, they were Harry and Louis again, Larry Stylinson as the fans would call them, ‘those idiotic lovebirds’ as the boys would. Harry cooked them breakfast like he’d always done, and Louis did the laundry. They lounged about and gossiped and soon interviews were full force whispering, smirking and laughing again. Concerts changed too, their performances back to being cheeky, pinching each other’s bums and leaning close to mutter jokes and innuendos.
They were perfect again. Except, not really. There was still the whole Eleanor isn’t me thing, and it hung above them like a cloud, always there, occasionally heavier than before, but never wanting to be breached. That was, until Harry opened his mouth without thinking one night in front of the television.
“How are things with Eleanor?” He asked on a commercial break, feet tucked up beside him and his head on Louis’ shoulder.
He felt the older boy tense up, and began to panic. But he got an answer, thank god.
“Good.” Louis replied simply, and for a second, Harry thought he might end it there.
There was a long pause, and Harry saw Louis reach out and mute the tv with the remote.
“Except it’s not.” Lou muttered, and Harry pulled away to look at him in surprise. “Good, I mean.”
“What’s wrong? I mean, I understand if you don’t want to say, especially to me cause of…well, you know. But I’m here to listen, even if it’s just you bitching about her. In fact I’d like that.” He added with a small chuckle.
“I’m sure you would.” Louis smirked and hold on, did he just acknowledge what had happened?
“So…she’s boring. I mean, I like her, yeah, but I don’t love her. At least I don’t think I do. She’s sweet and pretty and everything I should want but…I don’t know.” Louis finished lamely, looking down.
“Yeah you do. You just don’t wanna say it.” Harry replied, catching on quickly. He wasn’t stupid.
“How did you…?” Louis trailed off, raising an eyebrow.
“You have a tell. I know when you’re lying, Louis, I know you better than anyone.” Harry smiled.
“I…okay, fine. I just…I keep wanting her to…be more like you. I keep wanting her to make some stupid joke, or a bad pun, or laugh like an idiot when there’s a number 69 somewhere but she doesn’t, and I know it’s stupid but I just…I want that. I want everything that…that is you.” He sighed, and Harry felt his heart soar.
“But I can’t breakup with her. I mean, I love her. Okay, no, I don’t, but I should. I should love her. I can’t hurt her, it would be daft. I should…stay with her, right?” Louis asked, and though Harry felt his stomach drop, he managed a weak smile.
“I can’t decide for you.”
“Yeah, you really could. My life would be a whole lot easier.” Louis mumbled, avoiding Harry’s gorgeous green eyes.
“You know I fucking hate her, so I’d be ecstatic if you left her. But if you don’t, I’ll stick by you. You’re my BooBear after all.” Harry laughed, and settled back into Louis’ chest.
And it was as if the conversation had never happened, the topic had never been breached, his feelings towards the younger boy had never gotten out. Somehow, that was worse.
The next day, he woke up to the smell of bacon, and music from the kitchen. Surprisingly, there was still a new message on the upgraded whiteboard.
I’m making you pancakes. Can El make you pancakes? Nuh uh.
Come and get this deliciousness!
PS: You look at your hands when you lie. That’s your tell.
And Louis had just grinned hugely, ignored the ache in his chest about how true the first line was and how obvious the feelings were behind it, and instead went and hugged Harry from behind with a shout of “Guess who!?”
They fed each other bites of pancakes and they both tried to ignore how couple-y it was, and how much that hurt.
For about a week, everything was fine. Messages were more frequent, written as they passed the board, not just when they went out. They’d reply to each other in different colors, and giggle when they saw the other read it, and occasionally blush at the crudeness of it.
So if guys fuck you, then does that mean you’re the girl in the relationship? You’d look lovely with some makeup on!
You’re a fucking asshole that’s what.
I’m going to call you Harriet now.
Fine then Louisa, no problem here.
I went there.
DON’T MAKE ME SNAP MY FINGERS IN A Z FORMATION.
What are we doing and what have we become?
IDK, but it’s hilarious.
That, my friend, is true.
I could be more than a friend, you know.
And Louis had felt himself pale when he read that message, emotions flooding through him. God, why did he have to go and write that? Why did he go and ruin what they’d had the last few weeks? Things had been good, great even. And now Harry had to go and be that lovable, innocent idiot he was and write that.
But it struck a chord. Because while Louis felt dread hit him, long buried butterflies flitted in his stomach. Not once, ever, had he felt that with Eleanor. But Harry, with one messily scrawled line, had turned him into a blushing teenage girl?
Well that must have meant something. So he replied.
And Harry wasn’t surprised to see the short answer, not at all really, so he said nothing and things went on as normal, at least as normal as they could be, with the knowledge that the boys wanted each other, could potentially have each other, but didn’t.
I’m going shopping with Zayn, I need some new clothes. He said something about wanting shorts for Australia or something, but I still have your old ones and I still love them so they shall remain ;)
Anywho, I’ll be back later, yeah? Text me!
But when Harry got back the flat was dark and silent, and he thought maybe Louis had left, maybe he’d gone out with El or something, so he hung up his jacket, toed off his shoes and padded down to see the whiteboard. He felt his heart stutter.
I broke up with her.
With that, Harry rushed straight to Louis’ bedroom, and opened the door quickly. But it was empty, lights off, bed bare. Furrowing his eyebrows, he walked across the hall to his own bedroom, and on a whim, checked inside.
Louis was curled up with the covers around him, eyes dry but still sad, Love Actually playing on the tv.
“Hi.” Harry mumbled.
Louis’ head snapped towards him, gorgeous blue orbs darkening. “Hey, love.”
“You…did you want me to…” Harry stuttered over his words, inwardly cursing himself.
“Hug me and promise to hold me all night? Yeah. That would be nice.” Louis said, barely a whisper.
Like it was his instinct (it was, really) Harry was across the room in seconds, snaking under the duvet and curling his arms around Louis, who clutched at his shirt somewhat desperately. He tried not to be happy, because after all Louis might have been sad, but he couldn’t help the little smile that formed on his lips as Lou pressed a kiss to his neck.
“Are you sad?” Harry asked simply, biting his lip as he pulled away, keeping his hold around Louis’ waist, to look the older boy in the eyes, faces rather close.
“I…should be. But I’m not. I think I’m sad that I’m not sad. You know?” Louis asked softly.
“Yeah, I know.” Harry reassured him, and kissed his forehead lightly, trying to control himself.
They were silent for a little bit, occasionally meeting each other’s eyes, as well as scanning their cheeks, hair, nose, lips. Harry realized he might have been staring at Lou’s perfect pink lips a little too long when they pulled into a tired smirk.
“You never could lie, Hazza.” He said, wavering on the edge of a whisper.
“And you?” Harry questioned.
Louis’ eyes flickered down to Harry’s lips, and though he blushed, his gaze stayed there.
A beat of silence followed, before Harry took a shaky breath. He knew it was a risk, knew it was a dangerous move. But there was no alternative, at least not in his mind.
“You can kiss me if you want.” Harry whispered, so quiet that he wasn’t sure if he’d even said it.
“Yeah.” Lou breathed.
And Harry couldn’t help but smile as Louis closed the gap, softly pressing their lips together. Nerves zinged and butterflies danced, but nothing mattered because their mouths were finally against each other, moving sweetly and gently like they were the only two in the world.
It didn’t last long, but it was fairly perfect. Their tongues never made a move to press forwards, and their hands didn’t budge from their torsos.
“Love you.” Harry murmured when they pulled away, a little breathless. His green eyes were sparkling, and Louis’ blue ones had brightened.
“Yeah.” Louis whispered, and curled into Harry’s chest.
They fell asleep like that, and when Harry awoke the next morning, Louis was gone. He felt his stomach drop as dread washed over him. He’d made a mistake. He’d been so stupid, so utterly daft…
But when he pulled himself out of bed and padded into the hallway, a grin formed on his face.
Don’t think I regret last night because I don’t. I just went to the gym, needed to clear my head, you know? But I do not regret it, Hazza. I love you so much.
That said, I need some time to think. Just give me a few days, yeah? I’m just kind of confused, and the only thing I do know for sure is that I need you.
I’ll be back soon, and you better be here waiting for me. You always are, after all.
And Harry did wait for him. He waited until he got home, when they snuggled on the couch and watched tv with a cuppa. He waited that night, when Louis wordlessly snuck into his bed to cuddle, but nothing more. He waited the next day too, when Louis acted as if nothing had changed. Harry waited for nearly a week, constantly being a perfect best friend, cooking them dinner and singing softly like he knew the older boy loved.
And his waiting paid off six days later, when they returned home from some interviews. They’d been filled with banter and smiles and lingering stares between the two boys, stares that surely hadn’t been missed by the fans, and yet they didn’t care. Harry hopped straight in the shower after kissing Louis on the cheek, tired from the long day out. Once he’d somewhat dried his hair, he tied the towel around his hips and walked out into the hall, only to find a message.
Well hello there babes,
We’re going to play a little game. (Yes I know I sound like a serial killer, oh well) So you’re going to follow my instructions for the sake of romance, yeah?
1. Go to the kitchen and make me us both a cuppa.
2. Also grab some food.
3. Take the stairs beside the lift and go all the way up to the roof.
4. I’ll be waiting.
I love you more than you know.
-Your Louis xxxx
A huge smile overtook Harry, dimples showing. He slipped on a pair of shorts, not even bothering with a top because it was warm weather, and he was far too anxious to waste any time.
He did as he was told, making two cuppas and grabbing a box of Oreos as well. He managed to figure out a way to carry it all, and then exited the flat by kicking the door shut. Harry found the stairwell, which he’d never even noticed, and walked up it slowly in the hope of not spilling anything. Once he reached the top he was fighting off a grin, and pushed the door open carefully.
It was warm and breezy, sun setting and casting pink and orange rays across the sky in a show of color. It was stunning. But it was nothing, nothing at all, compared to the way Louis looked, sitting on a patio chair, shadows being cast over him beautifully. His eyes were twinkling where they gazed out past the buildings around them, a look of contentment settled on those gorgeous features.
“Hey there serial killer.” Harry somewhat teased, in hopes of making the atmosphere a little less tense.
But the look in Louis’ eyes said something different.
“Hey. Um, lemme help you with those, yeah? Then come sit down, we need to talk.” Louis instructed, taking a cuppa off Haz and directing them to an area where he’d lay down a blanket. Harry sat cross legged, and Louis tucked his feet in beside him, taking a deep breath.
“So?” Harry breached.
“So I wanted to tell you something. I don’t know if you know this, but when I get attached to someone, need to say something important, I freeze up. So I figured that if this all started with a note, maybe it should end with one. Not that this, us, is ending. Just…ugh, just read this, yeah?” Louis stuttered and flushed an adorable pink as he handed Harry a crinkled piece of paper.
Hazza shot him a questioning look, but unfolded it nonetheless and smirked at the familiar scrawl.
There are literally so many things I could apologize for in life. For taking some kids box of crayons in kindergarten, for snapping off the head of Phoebe’s Barbie doll, for not calling my mum enough. Hell, even for that one time I yelled at you and the boys all because I was angry about some stupid hate mail I’d gotten. But the one thing that I regret the most, out of my entire twenty years, is hurting you.
You mean so, so much to me. I can’t live without you. Those few weeks where we didn’t talk? Worst time of my life. I felt like I was dying, suffocating. I missed you so much. And lately…lately I’ve been missing you again. But in a different way than before.
This time, I miss what I only had for all of a minute. When I kissed you, I felt like…like I was fucking flying or something equally as cheesy and stupid. You give me butterflies, Hazza, and nobody has ever done that before. When I saw that you’d written on the whiteboard that you could be more than my friend, I just got this…perfect picture.
And I realized something. If we’re not sitting beside each other on our couch, sharing kisses and whispers and maybe even wearing wedding rings five years from now, there’s something wrong. I want everything with you. I want to wake up in your arms, and to shower you with gifts. Also, sex, cause, you know, sex.
But the point is, is that I realized why I hated hurting you so much. Everyone knows I love you, more than anyone else I’ve ever met. But…I also love you, love you. If you understand.
And hopefully this letter wasn’t too stupidly dumb or overdone because I have a feeling you’ll be smirking by now like the cheeky fucker you are, and I’ll be beet red. But that’s okay cause you need to know, Hazza.
I need to know.
Will you be mine? Do all of that with me? Cause if you agree to put up with all my bullshit, I can make it so, so worth it.
I love you, you idiot.
-Louis, the guy who will hopefully be your boyfriend in about a minute.
Louis bit his lip nervously as Harry red further and further down, green eyes glistening, lighting up and beaming. His smile grew steadily, more and more until he was grinning, adorable dimples showing on his cheeks.
When Harry finally looked up, Louis was crying with nerves, and Harry was crying with…well, Lou didn’t know.
“So? Um…yeah, that was cheesy as fuck, and really stupid but I mean, I just really love you and-”
“Shhh!” Harry interrupted.
“Did you just shush me?” Louis asked in mock outrage. “I’m pouring my heart out and my best friend decides to shush me!”
“I’m pretty sure that your boyfriend is allowed to shush you.” Harry corrected, and Louis thought he felt his heart stop.
“So that’s a yes?” He asked meekly, small smile twitching.
Harry simply reached down to grab the paper, flipped it over and took the pen conveniently sat right beside him.
A year later after a night out with Zayn, Louis came home to little notes all around the house, with arrows leading him to the bedroom. He opened the door to find his boyfriend there, with the whiteboard that Louis hadn’t even realized was gone in his hands, simple message scrawled across it.