Archive of Our Own

Summer hols are Louis’ favorite and most hated time of year. Favorite because it means a - much needed, in Louis’ opinion - break from students and grading and workshops, and most hated because it means he has nothing useful to do with his time, and his mum knows it.

“Love, can you watch the twins for me this weekend? Dan and I were thinking about taking a trip up to Edinburgh for a few days. His sister doesn’t mind taking the kids, but six is a bit much to ask of someone.”

“Mum, I’m busy,” Louis sighs, plucking at his ratty t-shirt. He’s sprawled out on the sofa in his flat, wearing the same pair of joggers he’s had on for three days, with a bowl of popcorn wedged between his knees and season three of The Walking Dead on the telly. Very pressing matters, the popcorn and the zombies, clearly. Technically he has a web seminar on new classroom technology he’s supposed to be watching, but he has time before it’s due.

“Louis.” Louis winces at his mum’s tone. He’ll be well into his fifties and still cowering at the way she says his name when she knows he’s being smart. “I’m packing up their things and I’ll drop them off on Thursday with a travel cot and plenty of baby food. All you have to do is let them crawl around a bit, take them for a walk once a day, and you’ll be fine.”

“Mum -”

“Thanks love, I appreciate the help, see you Thursday, bye bye!”

Louis lowers his phone to his lap, stunned and a bit confused. He’s fairly certain he didn’t agree to this in any way, but now he’s got two babies - babies, they’re not even a year old, Christ, his flat is a death trap - staying with him for three days, and he’s floundering. He gazes around the room helplessly, not sure whether he should be grateful his flatmate has gone home for the holidays, or pissed that he’s not here to help. In the end, his eye catches on a photo of Niall holding his nephew, whose head is lolling to the side without proper support, and he settles on grateful.

It takes a moment for everything to catch up, but then Louis is up like a shot, scattering popcorn everywhere. Shit, he needs to clean and baby-proof the flat and google ways to entertain 10-month olds and buy curtains so they don’t wake up when the sun rises and does he need one of those bottle warmers, or will his mum remember to bring the one from home? Can he bathe the babies in the sink, or does he need to buy a kiddie pool to set up on the floor? Rattles, he thinks inanely. Bananas.

Fuck, fucking fuck. Louis stops dead in the center of the living room, claps his hands over his eyes, and takes a slow, calming breath, then takes three more for good measure.

“There’s no need to panic,” he announces to the empty room. No need to panic. He’s done this before, he helped raise four sisters before he went off to uni. His mum will bring him everything he needs, she’ll leave him instructions, and everything will be fine. Louis looks around the room with half-wild eyes, noting every sharp corner, every breakable that he needs to put under lock and key.

Everything will be fine.

Everything will be fine.

;;

Everything is not fine.

Louis’ mum shows up an hour earlier than she had planned, a screaming Doris in her arms while Dan unloads all of their things from the boot and starts carrying them up to Louis’ flat.

“Here, take her please,” Jay huffs, holding Doris out to Louis so she can go back and get Ernest. “She’s upset because we forgot her stuffed pig at the house, do you think you could take them to the shops and find her a new one? I’ve put money in the changing bag in case you run out of anything, but there should be plenty of everything.”

Louis just stands there in shock, bouncing Doris absently on his hip while his mum balances Ernest in one arm and a changing bag, a sack of toys, and a buggy in the other. His mum is superhuman.

“We’ll come upstairs and set up the travel cot so you don’t get confused, come on, sweetheart.” She waves him up the stairs, still rattling off, “Sorry to be rushing like this, but we got the times wrong for the flight and we still have to get to Manchester.”

Dazed, Louis follows his mum into his flat and finds Dan already on the floor putting together their bed. Jay sets Ernest down on the carpet so that she can start pulling out little mats with toys stuck to them and a collapsible baby walker that Louis finds highly suspicious. How can something with hinges be sturdy, he wonders, eyeing it mistrustfully. He tries to listen over the sounds of Doris’s crying as his mum and Dan explain all of the food and how to work the bottle heater, but when she waves a sheet of instructions in front of his glazed eyes, he quits listening altogether and focuses instead on trying to get his sister to stop bawling.

He barely registers it when his mum presses a hurried kiss to his forehead and Dan squeezes his shoulders in a half-hug, doesn’t even realize that they’ve pulled the front door shut behind themselves until Doris has calmed down a bit and he notices how quiet the flat has gotten. Quiet. Oh no. Panic clawing its way up his throat, Louis whirls around, Ernest’s name tripping off his tongue. He hasn’t heard a peep from him, God knows what he’s gotten up to, what if he’s managed to find something small that Louis missed and swallowed it, what if he’s fallen into the toilet - did Louis remember to close the toilet lid?

Cursing up a storm, Louis is halfway across the room before movement catches in the corner of his eye, and he turns to find Ernest bouncing quietly in the baby walker, one of the dangling toys stuffed in his mouth as he chews on it contentedly. Louis heaves an enormous sigh of relief, heart slowing down in increments. Bless quiet, happy babies, honestly.

He checks the toilet lid anyway, just in case.

They hang around the flat for a few hours so that the twins can settle in and Doris can sleep off her tantrum before Louis decides to venture outside with them. It’s only a short walk to the shops, so Louis straps them into the buggy, tucks the changing bag into the pouch underneath the seat, and sets off.

The streets are crowded with kids off school, mums out for a stroll with their children, businessmen and women on their lunch breaks. Traffic outside and inside of the shopping centre is always heavy, but even more so during summer, so Louis pauses outside the entrance to prepare himself.

He tries to avoid this place as much as possible, but the distraction will be good for the babies and there’s a toy shop that’s bound to have stuffed pigs, so he’s biting the bullet. The crowd when he pushes the buggy through the door is overwhelming, a barrage of sights, smells, and sounds that have the babies staring around in wonder. It takes a minute to orient himself, then Louis sets off across the cavernous room, dodging shoppers and carts heavy with t-shirts and cellphone cases and remote controlled helicopters.

The toy shop is a cacophony of noise - children laughing and calling to each other and crying all at once, but Louis breezes past them all, past rows of Barbies and toy soldiers, princess dresses and trucks big enough for children to sit in. He passes several rows lined with impressive Lego sculptures and a display of pastel-colored music makers for toddlers before finally coming to the stuffed animal aisle.

“Pigs, pigs, pigs,” he mutters, making his way slowly down the aisle.

He scans the racks of stuffed animals in search of something resembling a pig, and lets out a noise of triumph when he finally spots one. Stopping the buggy, Louis drops down onto his knees and reaches for the little pink plushie, then holds it out to Doris for approval.

“Pig?” he asks hopefully, but she just stares at it for a moment, then turns her head away. Louis’ head falls back on a groan, but he places the pig back on the shelf and selects a different toy at random. “Pony?”

Another negative. Onto the next, then. They go through a series - dog, kitty, dolphin, bear - before Louis finally gets a reaction.

Nose scrunched up in bewilderment, Louis wiggles a bright yellow and black toy at Doris and asks, desperation eking into his voice, “Bumblebee?”

Doris just blinks up at him, but Ernest makes a delighted squealing noise and reaches out for the bee with tiny, wiggling hands. Louis hands the toy over with a shrug and watches, amused, as Ernest smushes the toy to his face and lets out an excited giggle.

“Alright, buddy,” Louis sighs, ruffling Ernie’s sparse hair. “You can have that one, but we’ve got to find Dory a new toy. Any suggestions?”

Ernest doesn’t offer up any ideas, doesn’t even bother pulling the toy away from his face. He just keeps making muffled happy noises and bouncing in his seat, so Louis leaves him be and goes back to the rows of stuffed animals.

He’s sifting through them in search of something he hasn’t tried yet when Doris suddenly leans over the edge of the buggy, stretches a hand out, and says with extreme concentration, “Buh!”

Louis doesn’t know what ‘buh’ means, but he ducks down so that his line of vision matches hers in order to try and figure out what she’s reaching for. Hazarding a guess, he tugs a stuffed tiger out of the pile and starts to hand it to Doris, but she pushes it away and repeats, “Buh!”

“Babe, I have no idea what ‘buh’ means, you need to give me another hint.” He pushes aside more ponies and puppies and pulls out a stuffed football, but she furrows her little brow, so Louis puts it back before she starts to cry.

He’s just about at his wit’s end when he spots it. Eyes on Doris, Louis tugs the stuffed frog out of the pile, heaves a sigh of relief when she claps and shouts, “Buh!”

Louis hands her the frog and pushes slowly to his feet so that they can go pay for the stuffed animals and get out of here, head back to the peace and quiet of his flat.

By the time they make it out of the shop, Doris already has one of the frog’s eyes shoved into her mouth and is chewing on it contentedly. Louis is so caught up watching her that he doesn’t hear or see the little train until it’s nearly upon them and the conductor is shouting, “Excuse me, train coming through, watch your feet please!”

Louis manages to scamper out of the way of the train before it careens into him - not a difficult feat, considering it’s going about two kilometers per hour, but Ernest twists in his seat and stares after the train with wide eyes and his little mouth hanging open in awe. Louis sighs.

“Alright, let’s sit down and have some milk, then we’ll go ride the choo-choo train.”

Louis wheels the buggy over to one of the food kiosks so he can grab a milkshake, then finds a spot on a bench so he can relax while the twins drink milk and chew on gummy snacks his mum tucked into the changing bag. He can see what he thinks is the entrance to get on the train from where he’s seated, so when he hears it approaching, he gathers up what’s left of the snacks and pushes the buggy over to buy tickets for the train. He has to rent seats for the twins that will fit in the compartment, but they’re cushioned, and the moment Louis straps Ernest into his, he hugs his new bumblebee toy to his chest and his eyelids flutter sleepily.

“Guardians sit in the front five compartments, please,” the ticketing lady announces, once the train has come to a stop before them and the previous passengers have disembarked.

It’s a very cute train, painted in vibrant colors with wide windows in each compartment so that the kids can see out as they ride around. The front five cars are slightly larger, enough that Louis thinks he might be able to sit semi-comfortably, so he hefts a car seat up in each hand and carries the babies toward the very first car, bright green to match the conductor’s compartment.

Louis is too busy strapping the seats onto the bench inside of the compartment to look up when a voice says, “Please make sure you buckle all children in and that loose objects have been put away so nothing is thrown out the windows while we’re in motion. Thank you!”

He waves absently at whoever was speaking over his shoulder, the conductor he guesses, then goes back to tackling the overly complicated buckles on these blasted car seats.

“The train moves at a snail’s pace, for God’s sake,” Louis mutters, hissing when he finally manages to snap the first buckle into place. They go easier after that, and by the time the conductor reappears to check on the status of everyone’s buckles, Louis is settled back on the opposite bench, watching with a dopey smile on his face as Doris suck on her stuffed frog’s eye and Ernest sleeps beside her, bumblebee held loosely in his arms. He loves babies.

“Everything all sorted? Need help with the buckles? I know they’re a bit tricky in this compartment.”

The voice startles Louis out of his daze, and he turns toward the voice to let him know he figured it out. When he catches sight of the owner of the voice, though, his response dies in his throat. Whatever he had imagined the conductor of a children’s train that rides around the shopping centre in Leeds would look like, this is certainly not it.

Leaning through the window, arms folded across the sill, is a green-eyed angel with cherry red lips stretched wide in a smile and dimples flirting in his cheeks. A black conductor’s hat is the only confirmation that this is not some gorgeous stranger who’s come to flirt with Louis through the window of a children’s train, but is just a man doing his job.

“Um,” Louis says eloquently.

“Here,” the man says, pulling open the compartment door and leaning in as far as he can. “Let me check on them and make sure they’re secure.”

Louis flattens himself against the wall so that he can check the buckles on both seats in the confined space and tries very, very hard not to breathe. This stranger - kiddie train conductor, Louis reminds himself, only doing his job - smells like heaven and is radiating warmth that makes Louis want to wrap himself around his lovely, slender back and never let go. Thankfully, the guy squeezes back out the door and settles back into the window before Louis passes out from holding his breath for too long. Self-preservation, he tells himself.

“Everything looks great,” he chirps happily. “I’m Harry, I’ll be your conductor today. The train ride will take about a quarter of an hour, and after a brief break for lunch, the train will leave every half hour, if you care to join us again.”

Conductor Harry ends that last sentence with a wink, but before Louis can process it, he’s gone. He watches through the window that faces the front as Harry clambers into the conductor’s compartment and toots the train’s horn to let everyone know they’re off.

The train ride is incredibly dull, and the steady rocking movement lulls Doris to sleep within minutes, so Louis spends the whole ride staring intently at the back of Conductor Harry’s head. He admires Harry’s hair, a glossy brown that falls in loose curls that dust the tops of his shoulders, and studies the breadth of said shoulders, clad in a black and cream striped shirt that, paired with the black conductor’s hat he’s wearing, remind Louis of the cartoon trains he used to see in shows as a child.

That’s all he can see of Harry, really, but it’s fascinating nonetheless. His hair looks soft, and Louis wonders if his curls would bounce when tugged on. He’d quite like to test that theory, but he’d rather ask permission first, and he’s not quite sure how to phrase that question to a total stranger.

He hasn’t figured it out by the time the train pulls up to the ticketing booth, so he busies himself unsnapping the car seats while Conductor Harry makes his way down the train, thanking everyone for riding and making sure they’ve gathered up all of their belongings. He’s too busy transferring the twins back into the buggy and making sure they don’t wake up to seek Harry out and give his own thanks, even though he would quite like to. Seek Harry out, that is.

He’s just set Doris down and buckled her in when a voice speaks behind him, startling a yelp out of him that he will vehemently deny if asked.

“Everything sorted, then?”

Louis whirls around to find Conductor Harry standing there, hands tucked behind his back and feet pigeon-toed in a pair of shiny, silver-buckled boots.

“Cute boots,” he comments, Harry’s question completely forgotten as he drags his gaze up a pair of long legs clad in the tightest pair of jeans he’s ever seen. Throat a bit dry, he has to clear his throat to ask, “Are those standard-issue for train conductors?”

Harry shrugs, an easy grin lifting one corner of his mouth. “There’s a little leeway with the uniform when you work at a shopping centre.” Harry chews on his bottom lip for a moment, eyes bright on Louis, before he seems to remember that they’re just standing in the middle of the boarding area for the train. Luckily, there’s no one around to observe them staring at each other like fools. Harry coughs awkwardly into a fist, then peers around Louis, asks, “Babies still sleeping?”

“Yeah,” Louis glances over his shoulder. “I supposed I should get them home, eh?”

Harry shrugs. “The train seems to have done the trick, putting them to sleep. I’d say ride again, but I’ve got a break now and the next trip isn’t for an hour.”

“Oh?” Louis can’t help himself. He angles his body toward Harry and smiles, asks a bit boldly, “What do you usually do with a whole hour to yourself in a place like this?”

“Eat lunch,” Harry grins. “That’s usually what people do around this time of day.”

Tilting his head, Louis asks, “Well, Harry, how do you feel about the company of myself and two sleeping babies on your break today?”

Harry’s grin widens and he shrugs one shoulder, forcedly casual. He looks so pretty, so sweet, with his turned-in toes and his hands still clasped behind his back. Louis wants to ruffle him up a little, get to know him, maybe take him home and wreck him. He presses his lips together and suppresses that thought, hopes it doesn’t show on his face.

“I think that would be lovely, but it might be nicer if I knew your name,” Harry teases. “Or is that all part of the mystery?”

“Mate,” Louis snorts, “I’m walking around with a buggy full of babies, there is nothing mysterious about me. I’m Louis.”

Harry grasps Louis’ hand and pumps it enthusiastically. “Lovely to meet you, Louis.”

“Likewise, Conductor Harry,” Louis hums, amused and charmed.

Unbothered by the nickname, Harry leads the way up to the food court and grabs them a spot along the bank of windows while Louis winds his way through the tables and around people waiting in lines. Harry insists on buying Louis lunch, since he basically paid for the twins to take a nap, and comes back from the kiosks with a tray overflowing with fish and chips and two enormous sodas.

“So, Conductor Harry,” Louis begins, mouth full of beer battered fish, “how exactly does one end up the conductor of a kiddie train at a shopping centre in Leeds?”

“Well, Louis, when one goes to uni in Leeds and has off for summer hols, one needs a job to support one’s self. I like driving and I like children.” He shrugs. “It’s an easy, fun job.”

“You like driving and you like children.”

“Yes,” Harry coos, leaning over so he can smooth down Ernest’s hair where it’s cowlicked in the back. “I especially like babies. Are they yours?”

The question takes Louis by complete surprise and he nearly inhales the chip he’s just put in his mouth, has to gulp down some of the soda Harry brought him before he chokes. “Shit,” he wheezes, wiping at his eyes. “No, I’m their brother. Just babysitting for the weekend. No babies for me.”

“I love babies,” Harry sighs wistfully, propping his chin up on his hand so he can gaze down at Ernest and Doris. “Especially twins, they must be so much fun. I want lots of babies.”

“Twins run in my family,” Louis comments, hoping it comes off as casual. He’s only known Harry an hour, he doesn’t want to scare him off by making him think he’s offering to have children with him. Though, if he’s honest, he’s pretty sure he would quite enjoy having children with Harry. Would certainly enjoy making babies with him, anyway, he muses, thinking about those long legs and how they would look wrapped around his waist.

Harry lifts his gaze to Louis’. His eyes are bright, sparkling in the light streaming in through the glass ceiling of the shopping centre. “Do they?” he grins, munching on a chip. “Have any single brothers you can introduce me to?”

Louis kicks out at Harry’s shin playfully and shakes his head. “Sorry pal, Ernie here is my only brother. Got five sisters, though.” He bursts into laughter when Harry wrinkles his nose, then leans forward, arms folded across the table. “Well I’m single.”

Harry hums consideringly, mouth curved up into a beatific grin. Eyes on Louis’, he lifts a piece of fish to his mouth and says in a maddeningly monotone voice, “Good to know.”

;;

The twins wake Louis up at what he is pretty sure is an ungodly hour for a Saturday, but he changes their diapers and feeds them, then crawls after them as they explore the flat and chew on everything they can find, including his fingers, the shoelaces on his favorite pair of chucks, and the television remote. He waits until Doris sprawls out on one of the play mats and lets out a tiny yawn, her nose scrunched up and eyes squinched shut adorably, to pack them into the buggy and head to the shopping centre. He wants to see Harry again, and selfishly wants time alone with him where the babies are not demanding his attention, and what better time is there than naptime?

It’s gray and rainy out today, sidewalks busy with people huddled under umbrellas and wrapped up in raincoats, hurrying to get out of the downpour. He covers the opening of the buggy so the babies won’t get wet and winds his way through pedestrians as quickly as he can. Louis’ shoes are soaked through by the time they get to the shops, so he stops just inside the door and slips them off, tucks them into the little basket underneath the buggy in the hopes that they’ll be dry once they’re ready to leave. It feels a little weird, walking around the mall without shoes on, but he would rather dirty socks than the feeling of walking around in sodden, squelchy shoes.

Embarrassingly eager to see Harry again, Louis doesn’t waste time. He makes straight for the ticketing booth for the little train and transfers the twins to car seats while they wait for it to return and for the children to disembark. Before he even has a chance to lift both of the car seats and carry them to the front compartment, Harry is there, lifting Doris’s carrier and offering Louis a brilliant grin.

“Good morning, Louis, it’s nice to see you again. Back for the twins’ £5 nap?”

Louis follows Harry to the train and climbs into the front cart so he can secure Ernest’s seat, aims a wink at Harry over his shoulder and says, “They were asking about you, how could anyone say no to these faces?”

Harry ducks his head, teeth clamped down around his bottom lip to try and hide a smile. He helps Louis buckle Doris’s car seat into the compartment, their fingers tangling together over the clasps. Louis’ skin tingles everywhere they’re touching - hands, shoulders, the press of Harry’s forehead against his own as he ducks down to make sure everything is secure in the small space.

He’s gone entirely too soon, and Louis looks up to find him framed in the doorway, cheeks flushed and conductor’s hat askew. Louis’ fingers itch to fix it, to tangle in those loose curls and see what sort of response he would get if he tugged a little. Harry looks away, though, down the line of the train and breaks the tense silence with a raspy, “Well, I should go make sure everyone’s boarded and secured. But, um.” He turns to Louis again, drops his gaze to his feet and asks, “Is there a reason you’re not wearing shoes?”

Louis wiggles his toes and answers, nose scrunched up in disgust, “Wet shoes. Anyway,” he shrugs, “barefoot feels better.”

“Hmm, true,” Harry agrees. “Everything bare is better, isn’t it? Sometimes, especially in the summer, I wish I could just be naked all the time.”

Louis’ eyes go wide and he chokes on absolutely nothing, suddenly bombarded with ideas of what Harry looks like underneath that billowy button-up and his skin-tight jeans. With a wink and a cheeky grin, Harry is gone.

Louis sighs and collapses into his seat, head tipped back against the wall. He can hear Doris babbling quietly to herself and the soft, even breaths that mean Ernest is already asleep, and he begins to second-guess that interaction and whether or not it was flirting. Maybe Harry is just friendly and likes to overshare. He feels a bit like an idiot for just showing up like this again. He wonders if Harry sees through this (of course he does, Louis scoffs, who wouldn’t), if he thinks Louis is a creep or if he likes that he came back, if he’s flattered and wants to spend his lunch break with Louis again. Maybe even more than just his break, Louis thinks. Hopes.

Louis spends the train ride losing spectacularly at trivia to Niall in between texts with his mum and internal debate over whether or not he should just go ahead and ask Harry on a date. He’s so immersed in his conflict that he doesn’t even realize the train has come to a stop until there’s a tap on the door and it opens to reveal Harry’s face, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“Everything alright in here?”

Louis looks around, confused and disoriented. His eyes hurt from looking at his phone screen in the darkness of the compartment for so long, but he can see that they’ve stopped beside the ticketing booth, can see the shopping centre bustling around them and hear the loud, indistinct buzz of conversation once more. He shakes his head to clear the cobwebs, then leans forward in his seat so he can start undoing the clasps on Ernest’s car seat.

“Yeah, sorry. Didn’t realize we’d stopped. We’re alright, you can keep going if you need to.”

There’s an amused tilt to Harry’s mouth as he ducks into the car with Louis and says, “No need, you’re the last ones off the train. You’ve been sitting here a while, Lou.”

“Oh. Whoops?” He offers Harry a sheepish grin that slides into something softer when Harry knocks their elbows together. “So, you on lunch break now?”

Harry hums in response, long fingers undoing the buckle on Doris’s seat with a deft sureness that has something Louis can’t quite place rumbling around in his belly. He thinks it has something to do with kids, with the knowledge that Harry has experience taking care of them, that he wants children of his own, that he’s entirely too lovely and it’s entirely too easy to picture a future with him, despite only having known him for a day. He might already be in too deep.

He clears his throat in an attempt to clear those images from his traitorous brain and says, “Well, I believe it’s my turn to buy you lunch.”

“Lou,” Harry begins to protest, but Louis shakes his head and pushes Harry backwards out of the compartment, then hands Doris’s carrier out to him without even thinking.

“Nope, no arguments. There’s a bowl of pho with your name on it, and I’m paying, whether you like it or not.”

Louis catches Harry’s pleased grin as they head toward the ticketing booth to move the babies back into their buggy. Doris stirs with a whimper as Harry sets her gently in the seat, but falls right back asleep as soon as he puts her stuffed frog back in her arms. Louis can feel Harry watching him as he tucks Ernest carefully back into his spot, and he thinks about how they must look as they stroll toward the elevators and the food court, two young guys walking close, pushing a baby buggy through a crowded shopping centre. He sort of hopes they look like a couple, wonders if Harry hopes so too.

;;

Louis debates whether or not he should go back again on Sunday. On the one hand, this is his last chance - his mum and Dan are picking the twins up in the evening and he’s much too big to ride the train by himself once they’re gone. On the other, though, he’s burned through his already weak excuse that the train puts the babies to sleep more effectively than he can, and while he thinks that he and Harry have become quite friendly, that they’ve flirted, even, he doesn’t want to come on too strong.

Oh, who is he kidding, Louis scoffs, rolling onto his back and pushing himself up off the floor so he can go put some jeans on. Everything about his and Harry’s two-day courtship has been rushed and the very definition of ‘coming on too strong,’ and nothing Harry has said or done has indicated that he isn’t as interested in Louis as Louis is in him. So Louis pulls on a pair of skinnies and a t-shirt and brushes his fingers through his hair to give it some semblance of order, then gathers up the twins and wheels them along the now-familiar path to the shops.

The woman at the ticketing booth gives Louis an embarrassingly knowing look when he gets to the front of the line, but he forgets it instantly when he turns around and finds Harry standing by the first train compartment, neck craned as he scans the crowd expectantly. Louis tries to fight back a grin, but it’s no use, especially not once Harry spots him and a beaming smile spreads across his face.

Excitement flutters ridiculously in his belly as he approaches the train, and something soft bursts in his chest when, as soon as he’s within hearing range, Harry breathes, “Hey, Lou. I was hoping you’d show up again today.”

Shrugging nonchalantly, even though he knows his dopey grin belies the casualness of it, he says, “I couldn’t deny the twins their favorite activity on their last day with me, what kind of big brother would I be?”

Something flickers across Harry’s face at that, but then he’s back to his lovely, cheery self as he helps Louis clamber into the compartment with the bulky car seats. He sounds regretful when he squeezes back out the door and says, “I have to go check on the rest of the train. See you after the ride? Today is halfsies for lunch, and I’ve got my eye on a naan roll.”

Louis only just manages a nod before Harry is off with a parting smile and a pat to the compartment door.

Time flies way too fast for Louis’ liking. Before he knows it, the train ride is over and the two of them are seated at a small table in the food court, twins sleeping peacefully in their buggy beside them and steaming naan rolls in hand. Harry attacks his naan roll tongue-first and leaves Louis dizzy with how big his mouth is, how much he can fit in there and how enthusiastically he goes at phallic-shaped food items.

He never thought a shared curry would leave him hot and flustered, but he leaves the shopping centre that afternoon with a simmering buzz of arousal low in his belly and a mad scramble in his brain for excuses to go back and see Harry.

He ends up sending the twins off with his mum and Dan a bit reluctantly that evening, then sprawls out on his sofa with The 100 on the telly (a recommendation from Harry), green eyes and cherry red lips on his mind, and disappointment dragging at his limbs.

;;

“It was so sweet of you to invite us up for the day, darling,” Johannah beams, squeezing Doris between them as she presses kisses to both of Louis’ cheeks. “I’ve been meaning to visit Trinity since it opened, but just never really found the time.”

Louis shrugs off the thanks as he ushers everyone into the flat for some water and snacks before they go. He doesn’t really deserve it, considering the fact that he’s only invited them because he’s got ulterior motives. He’s been trying to think up reasons to go see Harry all week, reasons that actually sound valid. The best he’d been able to come up with before this one was ‘the naan roll was really delicious,’ but it sounded weak even to his own ears.

No, this is much better, though he still isn’t quite sure how he’s going to manage some time with Harry without his mum finding out and realizing exactly what this is all about. He needs to come up with a game plan.

It’s beautiful outside, so they take their time walking to the shops. Louis supervises while Daisy and Phoebe each hold one of the buggy’s handles, so the walk is more stop than go, but Louis’ stomach is twisting and turning with nerves and he finds that he doesn’t really mind. The longer they draw this out, the longer he gets to preserve some semblance of dignity - not that he has any left, after last weekend, and not that he really puts much stock in it when the end result could mean Harry permanently in his life, but.

But he’s still working on his plan, and it’s not going very well.

Luckily, it turns out he doesn’t have to come up with one on his own, because the moment they step into the shopping centre, Daisy spots the train and starts begging their mum for a ride.

“Darling, that’s for little babies,” Jay protests, but Louis cuts in smoothly with a hand on either of the girls’ shoulders.

“It’s alright, mum, I’ll take them. You go on with the girls, we’ll find you after.”

“Oh. Well, alright, if you’re sure. If they get bored, just call me. Thanks, sweetheart.” She slips some money into his hand, then waves them off.

The woman at the ticketing booth is still the same, and she purses her lips when she spots Louis in line.

“He’s been looking for you,” she says by way of greeting.

“What?” Louis chokes out, not sure whether to be embarrassed or pleased.

She doesn’t clarify, though, just raises one eyebrow and hands him his change, then turns her attention to the next person in line. Louis herds the girls over to the side to wait for the train to arrive, and tries to act casual when he sees it approaching.

“Right, girls,” Louis says, crouching down so they can hear him better in the loud shopping centre. “If you want me to ride with you, we need to sit in the front. Do you want to do that, or do you want to ride the train alone?”

Daisy and Phoebe look at each other for a moment, conversing silently, then turn to him at the same time and shrug. “You can sit with us,” Phoebe says graciously.

Louis waits until he hears the train pull to a stop and the voices of children talking excitedly before he stands up. He knows Harry is probably finished with the disembarking kids and is watching the new round approach, and even though it’s only been five days, it feels like it’s been ages since they’ve seen each other and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit worried about how Harry will react. He doesn’t want the train to fill up, though, so he takes a deep breath and turns around.

Just as always, Harry is standing by the conductor’s compartment, one arm resting on top of the roof while he watches everyone board the train. He’s still wearing his black conductor’s hat and his painted-on jeans, but he has on a pink and white striped shirt today that makes his cheeks look even rosier, his lips redder. He’s even prettier than Louis remembers, and his chest aches a bit.

Hands only shaking a little, Louis settles them back on the girls’ shoulders and leads them slowly over to the first set of compartments. Harry doesn’t see them as they approach, is too busy watching an incredibly pregnant woman help her children onto a cart at the back of the train with what Louis thinks is a touch of envy in his eyes. Harry has mentioned wanting children a few times over the course of their meals together, along with the fact that he’s studying neonatal nursing and spends as much time with his nephews as he can.

Louis sighs. Smart, kind, funny, and obsessed with babies. They really are perfect for each other.

He doesn’t realize that he’s completely zoned out until Harry finally turns and sees them, concern written across his face, though Louis has no idea why. Confusion flickers in Harry’s eyes, followed by surprise, but before he can say anything, one of the twins stamps her foot angrily. Blinking himself out of his daze, Louis looks down and realizes that the girls are squabbling over which color compartment they want to sit in, the pitch of their voices rising rapidly, even over the din of the shopping centre.

“I want the blue one,” Daisy insists, pointing at the second compartment.

“But the blue is too dark,” Phoebe pouts. “The yellow one is nicer, I want to sit in the yellow cart.”

Louis opens his mouth to intervene, but Harry cuts in smoothly, bending over so he can chat to the girls more easily. “Hello ladies,” he says with a grin. “My name’s Harry, I’m the conductor for this train. What are your names?”

Daisy and Phoebe exchange wary glances, but Harry is too pretty, his smile too disarming, and Phoebe is the first to give in.

“I’m Phoebe,” she says, a hint of petulance to her tone. “Please tell Daisy the yellow cart is the best one.”

“Well, Phoebe and Daisy, I think all of the colors are wonderful, but since each of you likes a different color, why don’t you compromise?”

The girls blink at him for a moment, not sure how to respond, then Daisy sighs wearily, as if Harry’s asked some enormous task of her.

“What kind of compromise?” she asks, eyeing Harry suspiciously.

Harry flicks a glance up at Louis, eyes sparkling, then says, “Why don’t you let your dad choose?”

The girls shriek with laughter, and Phoebe giggles, “He’s not our dad, he’s our brother!”

“Oh,” Harry gasps in mock horror, slapping a hand over his mouth. “I’m so sorry! He just looks so old and responsible!”

Louis shakes his head, amusement bubbling up in his throat. Harry is ridiculous, honestly. The girls have forgotten about their argument over the colors of the train completely, though, and are putty in his hands.

“He’s not very old,” Daisy concedes, looking up at Louis with consideration. “Are you ‘sponsible?”

Louis shrugs and meets Harry’s eyes, doesn’t care that everything he’s feeling for Harry is probably written blatantly across his face. “I’m very good at pretending to be.”

The sarcasm floats right over Daisy’s head, bless her, and she sighs. “I guess he can choose the color, then, but only if he doesn’t pick red. I don’t like red.”

“Very well,” Harry agrees gravely, as if they’ve just come up with the answer to world peace. He straightens up so he can talk to Louis, eyes still twinkling with mischief. He looks like he’s stepped right out of a Disney film. Louis is a little bit in love. “You’re allowed to pick the color, but no red. So, Louis, what will it be?”

Louis hums consideringly, tapping a finger to his mouth like it’s a very big deal. He knows exactly which compartment he’s going to choose, and he thinks Harry does, as well.

“Well girls,” Louis sighs, “I think that since you couldn’t choose between blue or yellow, we’re going to have to go with...” He pauses for effect, then announces, “Green!”

“But that’s the very first cart,” Phoebe points out, looking unsure.

“The first cart is the best cart, though,” Harry informs them, crouching down so they’re on eye level. “You get to sit right behind me, and I can tell you about all of the shops as we drive around. It’ll be like a special tour. Sound like a good deal?”

Louis feels his heart flip over in his chest when Harry holds a hand out to each girl and they give him enthusiastic high-fives.

“Thank you,” he mouths as Harry straightens back up, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. Harry nods, then, with a wink, turns on his heel and heads off down the row of compartments to make sure everyone is ready to go.

It’s not until they’re squeezing themselves into the little green car that Daisy puts a hand on Louis’ knee and asks, “Louis, why does Harry know your name?”

“Oh.” Louis’ brain shorts out and he cannot for the life of him come up with an excuse.

“Is he your friend?” Phoebe asks, kicking her feet up onto the bench across from her. Daisy mimics the movement, and Louis shakes his head. His sisters are a bunch of monkeys.

“Well, sort of,” he concedes, not quite sure if they’re reached official friend status yet.

Daisy’s voice is completely innocent when she asks, “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No!” Louis chokes out, shocked at the question.

“Why not?” Daisy insists, poking Louis in the side. “He’s pretty. I want to braid his hair.”

“Yeah, why not?” Phoebe puts in, eyes wide. Louis’ sisters are a bunch of menaces.

He’s just about to answer, tell them that he and Harry barely know each other, so they can’t be boyfriends yet, when a voice parrots from the window, “Yeah, why not?”

Louis’ heart drops into the pit of his stomach and he turns his head slowly to find Harry leaning in to look through the window. There’s a shit-eating grin on his face and his eyes are glittering, even in the shadow of the compartment. He shines so bright, like a brilliant star. Louis can hardly breathe.

He flounders for a moment, mouth opening and closing, so Harry twirls a lock of hair around his finger and continues, “You know, if you wanted to see me again, all you had to do was ask. No need to kidnap two little girls just for an excuse.”

The twins begin to giggle and Louis’ mouth falls open in shock. What a minx. Flustered, he fumbles out, “Well, you could have asked me to come back for another ride.”

Harry’s eyes are bright, his smile the picture of innocence, when he says, “Actually, I prefer to do the riding.”

Shit. Shit. Louis glances quickly at the girls, never more grateful for the age difference between them and their primary school vocabularies than now. Face red, Louis manages to choke out, “We’ll get to that, I’m sure.” Harry’s expression brightens and they stare at each other for one long, loaded moment before Louis realizes they’re probably supposed to be moving by now and says reluctantly, “Don’t you have a train to conduct, Curly?”

Shrugging, Harry ducks back out of the window so he can look down toward the end of the train, then leans back in to say, “Looks like we’re all full up, we’ll have to continue this later.” He raises an eyebrow at Louis, adds, “This isn’t over, Tomlinson.”

He’s just disappeared out of view to get into the conductor’s compartment when impulse seizes Louis and he squeezes around Daisy to be closer to the window, calls out, “Harry, wait!”

Harry’s face reappears back in the window not a moment later, eyebrows raised and a half-smile already curving the corners of his mouth.

“Go out with me,” Louis says breathlessly. It’s not a question. A grin spreads across Harry’s face, so big it looks painful, and he nods eagerly.

“Yeah, alright. Yes. Absolutely. Details after, though, I have to get to work.” He thumbs over his shoulder at the front of the train, but Louis isn’t done yet.

He shoves a hand out the window and grabs at the sleeve of Harry’s button-up before he can disappear again, yells, “No, wait! Come here a second, you forgot something!”

Harry looks a bit confused when he reappears in the window, but he’s still beaming, and his voice is high and uneven when he asks, “What is it?”

“This,” Louis responds, then he tugs Harry bodily through the window and crashes their lips together.

A chorus of ewww’s go up from the twins, but Louis doesn’t even hear them over the sound of his heart thundering in his ears. Time, train, sisters forgotten, he brings his free hand up to tangle in the ends of Harry’s hair. It’s even softer than he expected, and when he gives it a little tug, Harry shivers and his mouth falls open on a gasp. A bolt of heat races down Louis’ spine, but before he can do anything more, Harry is pulling back with a pained groan.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, that was not the reaction Louis was expecting. Did he move too fast? Did he hurt Harry? He’s about to ask, is about to push the compartment door open and climb out to make sure he’s alright, when Harry claps a hand over his face and says, “Don’t look at me like that, I have to work. You can’t just.” He flaps a hand at Louis. “Do this! I have to go back to work now, we’ll continue this later.”

His eyes lock on Louis’ mouth, lips swollen and parted as he fights to catch his breath. Louis flicks his tongue out to wet them, relishing in the way Harry groans again and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fuck,” he whispers, just loud enough for Louis to hear. Louis feels inordinately pleased with himself for eliciting this reaction from him. Harry’s eyes slide open again and he fixes Louis with one bright, hungry glare before whirling around and climbing clumsily into the conductor’s seat. He toots the horn a bit too loudly, then brings the train’s engine to life and starts them off on their short trip around the shopping centre.

Harry tells the girls about the different shops, as promised, somehow managing to make what should have been a very boring tour entertaining and riddled with silly jokes and puns. Louis tips his head back against the wall of the cart and just listens, happiness and excitement thrumming in his veins. It’s still early, Harry doesn’t have a break for another hour or so and Louis should probably eat lunch with his family anyway, but they’re leaving before dinner and Niall is still in Ireland for the summer.

They’ve only known each other a week, haven’t spent more than a handful of hours together, but Louis knows that Harry is kind, that he works hard and treats people well, that he’s funny and beautiful and that they have the same goals. And maybe that’s not enough, maybe there’s still a long way to go, but Louis has a good feeling about Harry, about where this relationship is headed. This one is going to last.

;;

Louis looks around the living room, eyes wild and panic creeping slowly into his chest. Two hours. They have two hours to pack and get to the airport, and they haven’t even started. Whoever decided that getting married, moving house, and leaving for their honeymoon all within the space of three days was a good idea needs a solid slap to the back of the head. That person is probably him, but the point still stands.

“Harry!” He shouts, not quite sure where Harry even is. Last he saw him, he was sorting through the cookware in the kitchen, but he thinks he hears rustling coming from upstairs, hopes that means he’s found their box of summer clothes and is folding some of it into their suitcase. He wonders briefly if he can convince Harry to pack his old conductor’s hat, just for kicks.

There’s no response from Harry.

Shaking his head, Louis skirts his way around stacks of boxes and random pieces of furniture they haven’t found places for yet. There are even boxes on the stairs, things that need to go upstairs but didn’t make it before they lost their momentum and collapsed onto the floor at the top of the stairs for a break and giddy, breathless handjobs.

Louis makes it to the top of the stairs having managed to only stub his toe once - a small victory - and finds Harry in their bedroom, dancing along to music playing through his earphones while he stacks clothes into a suitcase that’s open on their bed. Louis leans against the doorjamb and watches him for a few minutes, despite the fact that time is rapidly running out. It just hits him, sometimes, that this is his life, that Harry is his. This wonderful, miraculous boy he’s known just ten short months, this boy he met on a kiddie train. This boy he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with.

He has to peel himself away when his shoulder finally begins to ache, forces himself to turn and walk down the hall, away from the temptation of Harry shaking his booty to what is probably Beyonce. Since Harry is working on their clothes, he shuffles into the bathroom to pack up some toiletries.

They haven’t even had a chance to unpack their bathroom, he remembers with a groan as he steps into the small room. There are boxes stacked inside of the bathtub, full of towels and washcloths and Harry’s robes, bags littering the floor that are stuffed with bottles of skin and hair products, shampoo and spare bottles of lube. Louis attacks one of the bags at random. They need sunscreen, body wash, toothpaste. He doesn’t mind using whatever shampoo the resort provides, but he knows Harry will want his own shampoo, likes it better when Harry use his own, himself. It smells of apples and honey, smells like home.

He has a small pile of toiletries building on the vanity, is digging through another bag in search of the sunscreen he knows is in there somewhere, when he hears rattling. With a frown, he shakes the bag again, starts pawing through the contents in search of the source. They sorted their medicine cabinet before they moved, packed it into its own box in case they needed anything before they managed to finish unpacking, so he has no idea what this could be.

He finds the bottle at the bottom of the bag, buried beneath a pot of bath salts and several tubes of lipstick Harry has collected. Confused he pulls the bottle out, holds it up to the light so he can read the label, and promptly drops it on his foot with a gasp.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, staring down at the bottle with wide eyes. His heart is hammering in his chest and he feels dizzy, lightheaded. His voice is hoarse when he tries to shout, “Harry.”

He clears his throat and tries again, stoops down to pick the bottle back up and stumbles blindly out of the bathroom and down the hall.

“Harry,” he chokes, tripping through the bedroom doorway and nearly crashing into Harry’s back. He throws a hand out to grasp Harry’s hip, wheezes, “Harry.”

Harry is smiling when he turns to face Louis, is still humming along to whatever he was just listening to. There’s a purple jumper in his hands, for some reason, even though it’s summer and they’re going to be on a tropical island. His expression dims a little when he registers Louis’ wide eyes and harsh breaths, and concern is thick in his voice when he asks, “Louis? What’s wrong?”

Louis holds the bottle up to his face wordlessly, watches a range of emotions flick across Harry’s face. Concern, confusion, understanding, amusement... longing? Louis understands nothing. “Harry,” he croaks, “what -”

Harry sighs and nips the bottle out of Louis’ hands, tilts it so that he can study the label, a simple yellow sticker with big, blocky pink letters spelling out ‘PreNatal multivitamin’. “Louis, I’m not pregnant.”

Louis stops breathing. His head is still spinning and it takes a minute for that to sink in, for him to understand what Harry is saying. Voice weak, he repeats, “Not pregnant.”

“No,” Harry whispers. His shoulders slump and he tosses the bottle over his shoulder. Louis watches it hit the mattress with a rattle and roll a bit before coming to a stop, tilted perfectly so that the word ‘prenatal’ is facing him.

“Harry,” he starts, throat tight. Harry’s face looks drawn, eyes shuttered and the lines of his body tight.

“It makes my hair and nails healthy,” Harry explains with a shrug. Louis can see right through the casual gesture. “It’s packed with vitamins and minerals. And maybe I figured, just in case...”

He looks away for a moment, teeth sunk into his bottom lip, and Louis’ heart aches. They haven’t even discussed when they want to start having kids yet. He’s always known they wouldn’t wait long, doesn’t want to wait long, but they haven’t even know each other a year and Harry hasn’t even started his nursing career yet, he didn’t think...

“Anyway,” Harry says with a forced laugh, finally meeting Louis’ eyes again. “They can’t hurt, right?”

He turns away, then, back straight and shoulders thrown back, but Louis doesn’t miss the way his hands tremble when he sets the folded jumper carefully in the suitcase.

“Harry,” he tries again.

This is important, he thinks. This feels important, like something they should talk about sooner rather than later, but Harry just aims a quick glance over his shoulder and says, “It’s fine, Louis, I promise. We’ll talk about it later. Come on, let’s finish packing. We have to leave for the airport in an hour.”

Everything feels off, though, and Louis can’t make himself move. He feels rooted to the spot, eyes glued to Harry’s back as he flits around the room gathering swimming trunks and vests, sandals and a few of his sheer button-ups that he loves to wear so much. After a few minutes, Harry stops at the foot of the bed and tilts his head at Louis. His expression is fond and exasperated, as if nothing is amiss.

“Lou,” he sighs, padding over to where Louis is standing and looping his arms around Louis’ neck.

Louis settles his hands on Harry’s hips and squeezes at the softness there, an automatic gesture that has a genuine smile settling in the corners of Harry’s mouth. Harry knocks their foreheads together and tugs gently on a lock of Louis’ hair.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and Louis feels something inside of him settle.

Just a hiccup, he thinks. They’re alright. They’ll talk about it later, they’re only twenty-four and twenty-two, they have plenty of time. They will always be alright.

“Let’s finish packing, yeah? We have a flight to catch, two weeks of sun and surf and sand in uncomfortable places.” Harry’s voice pitches to a throaty whisper. “If you think I’m letting you go two weeks without fucking me on the beach, you’re wrong.”

Louis chokes out a laugh, and the last of the tension finally leaves his body. Ridiculous, he thinks, winding his fingers into Harry’s hair and tugging, reveling in the way Harry’s eyelids flutter and his lips part on a sigh. Ridiculous, wonderful, perfect boy. His boy.

He doesn’t think about the vitamins again until they’re 10,000 meters in the air. Harry is asleep, curled up into a ball in his seat with his head against the window and Louis’ hand clasped between both of his and tucked between his thighs.

Louis studies the curve of Harry’s back, the way his hair curls against the nape of his neck, the dark smudges underneath his eyes. It’s been a long three days. Married on Saturday, in the new house on Sunday, on a plane to Jamaica on Monday. He thinks about their house, about the bright, open kitchen that blends right into the dining area and living room, about the little garden at the back and the four bedrooms staggered between the second and third floors.

His mum had laughed when they’d told her how many bedrooms it had, asked, “You’re two people, newlyweds, what do you need all that space for?”

Louis breathes out a long, unsteady breath. ‘For family to visit,’ they had said at the time, ‘so you’ll have a place to sleep.’ He shakes his head, laughing to himself. His family lives less than an hour away, they don’t need to spend the night. He doesn’t want guest rooms, he wants nurseries and children’s rooms. He wants Harry in the living room, rounded belly bared as he does pregnancy yoga, wants little babies with blue eyes and curly hair, wants the patter of tiny feet on the hardwood floors and family footie matches in the back garden, and he doesn’t want to wait at all.

Unbuckling his seatbelt with trembling fingers, Louis fits himself to Harry’s back and tucks his chin into the crook of his neck so he can whisper in his ear, “Harry. Harry, love, wake up.”

Harry makes a vague mumbling noise that vibrates against Louis’ chest. His grip on Louis’ hand tightens and he grumbles, "'M sleeping."

"I know, darling," Louis whispers, peppering kisses along his jaw. "I just want to ask you something."

Harry snuffles, then twists around so he can blink up at Louis, eyes bleary and heavy-lidded. "What's wrong, Lou?"

Shaking his head, Louis smooths Harry's hair back from his face, swipes a thumb across the curve of his cheekbone. "Nothing is wrong," he whispers. "I need to ask you something. It's important."

"What is it?" Harry asks, a frown creasing his brow.

Louis sucks in a breath, holds it nervously for a moment, then says all in a rush, "Have babies with me." Harry's mouth falls open in shock and Louis continues, "Now. I don't want to wait."

“Lou -”

“I mean not right now, obviously, we’re on an airplane, but I’m tossing that box of condoms you put in the suitcase as soon as we touch down.” Harry’s eyes are wide, every trace of sleep gone, as he stares up at Louis wordlessly. Louis barrels on. “I have a good job, you’re starting yours when we get back, we have a house with plenty of space, we can do this. Harry, say something.”

Harry just stares up at him for a moment, eyes luminous in the dim over-heads, then he hooks a leg around Louis’ hip and says, “Three boxes.”

Louis blinks, confused. “What?”

“I packed three boxes. Of condoms,” he clarifies with a shrug and a shameless, flirty smile.

“Three,” Louis chokes. “Haz, that’s like a hundred condoms.”

Harry scrunches his nose and asks, completely serious, “Do you think I should have packed four? I almost did.” Louis can’t breathe. Harry shrugs again, face lighting up like a beacon when he says, “Oh well, it’s not that important anymore, anyway, is it?”

He kicks his feet out excitedly and lifts his hands, wiggles his fingers at Louis in a come-here gesture. They’re on an airplane, crammed into two narrow seats, but Louis has never been able to say no to his boy and he never wants to, certainly not when it comes to this. He shuffles around in his seat so that he can lean over Harry. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, and he knows the armrest must be digging into Harry’s back, but he doesn’t complain, just accepts Louis’ weight with a happy sigh and wraps his arms around him.

Louis cards his fingers through Harry’s hair, sitting up a bit so he can look down at Harry, see the expression on his face. He looks so happy, crowded into an uncomfortable airplane seat with Louis on top of him, so content.

“I love you,” Louis whispers.

Harry tightens his grip on Louis, hitches his leg higher on Louis’ hip, and asks, “What are the chances I can convince you to get this started in the airplane toilet?”

;;

Jamaica is gorgeous. The weather is beautiful, sunny and breezy, and their cabana is right on the beach. There are loungers and a hammock out front, there’s some snorkel gear in the closet, and Louis has a football tucked up underneath one of the chairs in the little dining area. The resort boasts a spa, a restaurant and bar, and a freshwater swimming pool and hot tub, as well as shuttles to some of the island attractions, but Harry and Louis have seen and used none of it in the three days since they’ve arrived.

“Tell me again,” Harry breathes. Louis watches, mesmerized, as he pulls a rubberband off his wrist and whips his hair up into a little bun. A few wispy locks escape the bun and frame his face, but Louis likes them. They glow in the bright afternoon sun streaming in through the open windows, give him something to tug on.

“Harry Tomlinson,” Louis says dazedly. “You’re - we’re going to have babies.”

Eyelids fluttering, Harry shifts in Louis’ lap, thighs flexing around Louis’ waist as he sinks down on his cock a bit more. Louis slides his hands up to grip Harry’s hips, trails his fingertips across the laurels inked there, then up over his stomach to trace the butterfly. He settles his palms flat against Harry’s belly, and Harry’s head falls back on a groan as he sinks down the rest of the way, until he’s seated in Louis’ lap.

Harry rocks his hips in maddeningly slow circles while he adjusts, belly soft underneath Louis’ hands. He tries to imagine what it’ll be like once Harry is pregnant, belly rounded and firm. He slides a hand up to thumb at one of Harry’s nipples, watches the way Harry’s entire body shudders, and wonders if being pregnant will make Harry even more sensitive. He hopes so. Harry is already so sensitive, so responsive, he can’t wait to see how many times he’ll be able to make Harry come.

“You know,” Harry says conversationally, as if he’s not slowly driving Louis mad with his slow, rocking movements, “I was reading up on the best way to get pregnant with twins.”

Louis can’t even say he’s surprised. He still remembers their very first conversation, sat in the food court at Trinity Leeds with the twins asleep beside them. “And?” he asks, spreading his fingers wide so he can grip Harry’s sides and urge him to move a bit faster.

“And - oh.” His head falls back on another moan when Louis cants his hips up, fucking into him with short, shallow thrusts. His voice is high and breathy, a bit strangled, when he continues, “Dairy products and - sweet potatoes.”

Harry drops his hands to brace them on Louis’ stomach, then lifts himself off Louis’ cock and sinks back down in one smooth move that has Louis’ head spinning. Louis braces his feet against the bed for leverage so he can meet Harry halfway. He loves this, loves being able to see Harry above him, cheeks flushed and hair a mess, chest heaving as he works himself on Louis’ cock. Harry is always so hungry for it, loves riding him. Louis thinks he could probably convince Harry to ride him on one of the loungers outside later, so they can at least enjoy the beach in some respect.

Harry’s voice comes out in short bursts when he pants out, “The vitamins are... good too. Folic acid,” he finishes with a gasp, grinding down against Louis as a shiver ripples up his spine. “Right there, Lou.”

Holding onto Harry, Louis fucks him harder, tries to keep the angle steady so that he brushes Harry’s prostate with each thrust. Helpless, desperate, Harry leans his weight on his hands and just takes it. A flush is working its way down his chest and he’s getting louder and louder, but Louis doesn’t care - their neighbors are spaced far enough away that he doesn’t think they’d be able to hear, but if they can, let them listen. He’s here on his honeymoon and the sounds Harry’s making are beautiful.

“Louis,” Harry whimpers. His elbows are trembling with the effort of holding himself up and his cock is hard and flushed, leaking at the tip. Louis lets go of Harry’s hips so he can wrap a hand around his dick and tug in counterpoint with his thrusts. Harry’s fingernails dig into Louis’ stomach with each jerk of his hand, until he’s sure he’ll have marks later, and it doesn’t take long for Harry to come, arms nearly giving out as he streaks up Louis’ chest.

Louis sits up so he can wrap his arms around Harry, hold him while he shakes through the aftershocks. Harry doesn’t wait, though, he just loops trembling arms around Louis’ neck and starts to rock his hips in tight circles that have Louis’ toes curling into the blankets and heat sparking behind his eyes. He’s already close, but everything feels heightened like this, with Harry’s hands in his hair and Harry’s mouth covering the pulse point in his neck, Harry tight around him and heavy in his lap.

He lets Harry do all of the work like this, just holds on tight while Harry slowly quickens his pace, while everything coils inside of him until he feels like there’s a live wire beneath his skin, burning him up. He crushes Harry against his chest, can feel the rumble of Harry’s groan when he comes, so hard he feels like he’s shaking apart. Harry doesn’t move for long minutes after, just sits there in his lap with Louis still inside of him while their heart rates slow and the roaring of Louis’ blood in his ears subsides.

Chest no longer heaving, Louis reaches up blindly and tugs the ponytail holder out of Harry’s hair so it tumbles down around his shoulders and Louis can wind locks of it around his fingers until Harry is practically purring in his arms. His brain is a hazy, jumbled mess and his limbs feel like noodles, but the breeze filtering in through the open windows feels like heaven on his sweat-tacky, overheated skin and the air smells of salt and sunshine, and they haven’t been in the water once since they arrived.

“Harry,” he whispers. Harry doesn’t bother lifting his head from where it’s resting on Louis’ shoulder, just responds with a grunt. “Haz, we should go swimming.”

Harry makes a vaguely disgruntled grumbling noise, and Louis laughs and pokes him in the side.

“Come on, Curly, we’ve been here three days and haven’t left the cabana. Let’s go swimming, aren’t you sore?”

Harry tips his head back so he can look at Louis through slitted eyes. His lips curl up into a contented smile and he mumbles, “I love the pain.”

Heat twists in Louis’ belly, but he shakes it off, lifts Harry bodily off of him and tosses him down onto the bed. Harry squeaks in protest, bouncing on the mattress, but Louis scrambles off the bed before he can wrap his gangly octopus limbs around him again and dashes toward the door, completely naked and covered in Harry’s drying come.

“If you want my cock again, you’re going to have to catch me,” Louis yells, pulling the door open and running out onto the sand.

Harry’s noises of protest are drowned out by the sound of waves crashing on the shore within seconds. Louis takes a moment to look around at the blissfully empty beach before running right into the jewel-bright surf. The water is so clear he can see his feet, even in water up to his knees. Louis stops and stares down at it in wonder, watches the white sand swirl up around his toes as the waves flow in, then recede when they flow back out.

He’s too busy watching a school of sea robins dart closer and closer to his feet, curious about these strange objects anchored in the surf, to hear Harry’s feet slapping against the sand, or the sound of him kicking up water before he crashes into Louis’ back and sends them both tumbling into the ocean, limbs flailing. Louis comes up sputtering and finds Harry right beside him, doubled over with wet hair in his eyes, giggling hysterically.

“You are such a menace,” Louis growls, then tackles Harry back into the water. They’ve landed shallow enough that the water just rushes up around Harry’s head, and they lie there for a few minutes, catching their breath and staring quietly at each other. Harry’s eyelashes are stuck together in little spikes, the water is swirling his hair around his head with every wave, and his cheeks are still flushed from sex and from running down the beach, and he has never looked more beautiful.

Louis swipes his thumbs across Harry’s cheeks, ducks down to brush a salty kiss across his lips, and whispers, “I love you. I can’t wait to start a family with you.”

Harry’s answering smile is like the sun breaking from behind the clouds. His eyes scrunch up into happy little half-moons and he parts his legs so Louis can settle between them, closes his thighs around Louis’ hips with a shrug. “You know, as much sex as we’ve had the past few days, I might already be pregnant.”

Louis purses his lips and ruts against him slowly, asks, “You sure about that?”

Harry arches his back, tightens his legs around Louis’ waist and wraps his arms around him, holds him close. Louis can feel his cock hardening against his belly, can feel Harry’s hips working languidly against his own as the water rushes around them.

“I mean, we should probably keep trying, just in case.”

Louis can’t quite help his smug grin. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, ducking down for a kiss.

Harry arches up into it eagerly, fingernails scraping against Louis’ back, and Louis spares a thought for what would happen if someone stumbled upon them, even though this is meant to be a private stretch of beach. But then Harry wiggles around underneath him and their dicks slide together, slick from the water and just enough pressure, and he doesn’t think at all.

;;

The first thing Louis is aware of when he wakes up is that it’s Sunday and the sun hasn’t even come up yet. The second is that he’s in his own bed, but he’s alone. He won’t be able to get back to sleep without knowing where Harry is, so Louis blinks the sleep from his eyes and slips out of bed.

The chill of autumn has crept into the house, turning the floors frosty. Louis tugs on the nearest item of clothing he can find - one of Harry’s discarded t-shirts - and slides his feet into a pair of Vans, then makes his way out into the hallway.

“Harry?”

No answer. He checks the office and the bathroom, the spare bedrooms in case he’s been wandering around and fell asleep in one of the spare beds, or decided to rearrange furniture or something, but there’s no sign of him. Louis heads downstairs to check the kitchen, see if Harry is watching TV, or maybe decided to sit outside and watch the sun rise, but he isn’t in the living room, the kitchen, the TV room, or the back garden.

Louis is just about to go back upstairs and get his phone when he hears a key turn in the lock on the front door. It swings open to reveal Harry, bundled up in a hoodie, beanie, and the fluffy boots Louis got him last winter to wear around the house. His nose and cheeks are pink from the cold and there’s a Tesco bag in his hand.

“Hazza?”

Harry whirls around from where he’d been locking the door, hand on his heart and eyes wide with shock. “Oh my god, Louis. I didn’t think you’d be awake, why are you up?”

“You were gone,” Louis says simply, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. He thinks it is. “Why did you go to Tesco at four in the morning?”

Harry bites his lip and shuffles the bag nervously from hand to hand. It doesn’t look like there’s very much in it. “I couldn’t sleep,” he says quietly. “I had a... feeling.”

“A feeling,” Louis repeats slowly, confused. It takes a minute for his sleep-addled brain to catch up, but then his eyes go wide and his heart rate picks up triple-time, and he whispers, “Oh.”

“I only bought one, but I left a message for the doctor. I think -” He stops and takes a step toward Louis, swallows audibly in the still silence of the room.

“Hey.” Louis closes the rest of the distance between them and gathers Harry into his arms, chafes his hands up and down Harry’s back. He’s trembling. “Even if you’re not, it’s okay. It’s only been a few months since we started trying, it doesn’t always happen right away.”

“I know,” Harry mumbles, face buried in crook of Louis’ neck. “But I really want to be right.”

Louis thinks back to the expression on Harry’s face as he watched a pregnant mother help her children onto the train in the shopping centre last summer. “I know you do. Come on, love, let’s go upstairs and take the test.”

They climb the stairs in silence, Harry’s hand gripping Louis’ tightly. Louis sits on the vanity in the bathroom and watches Harry unwrap the test with shaking hands. He picks the box up to give Harry a bit of privacy while he tugs his joggers down, but there isn’t much text to read and the sound of Harry taking the pregnancy test never comes.

When Louis looks up, Harry is frowning down at himself, looking adorably frustrated. Louis sets the box aside and slides off the counter so he can stand next to Harry, ask quietly, “H?”

“I don’t have to pee,” Harry grumps. Louis tries to stifle his laughter, but it slips out anyway, and Harry turns a frown on him, whines, “Louis!”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m not laughing at you, I promise. Come, I’ll make you a cuppa.” He pokes Harry gently in the belly, pleased when he gets a small smile out of him in response. “Let’s fill that bladder up.”

It’s still dark out, night pressing against the windows as they trek toward the kitchen for some tea, but Louis doesn’t want to break the spell by turning on lights. He flicks on one lamp, just enough light to see the kettle and find the mugs and tea. He grabs the biggest mug they have for Harry and flicks the kettle on, then pushes everything aside so he can hop up onto the counter and beckon Harry closer. Harry crowds in between his spread legs and Louis tugs him in against his chest, tosses his beanie aside so he can card his fingers through Harry’s hair.

“Louis,” Harry whispers, muffled against his chest. “What if I’m not pregnant?”

Heart twisting at the melancholy in Harry’s voice, Louis pulls back a bit so that he can cup Harry’s face in his hands and look him in the eye as he says, “If you’re not pregnant, I will take you upstairs right now and not let you out of bed until we are 100% sure there is a bun in your oven.” Harry groans, but a reluctant smile breaks across his face and he giggles when Louis continues, “I don’t care if it takes a month, a year, I’m willing to make the sacrifice. We’ll have our groceries delivered and we can pay Zayn to cook for us.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “Zayn is my best mate, and even I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’m going to tell him you said that,” Louis murmurs, leaning in to kiss Harry on the tip of his nose.

The kettle clicks off, then, so Harry shuffles aside to let Louis prepare their tea. They carry the mugs upstairs while the tea steeps, and Louis steers Harry into their bedroom so they can relax while they drink it. Harry sets his mug down on the bedside table, then moves over to the wardrobe to strip down to his pants. Louis watches him fold his jumper and joggers meticulously, studies the curve of his spine, his soft hips and coltish legs as he bends to tuck the clothes into their respective drawers. Once he’s closed the wardrobe door, though, he doesn’t come back to bed. Instead, he turns sideways to inspect himself in the mirror.

Louis tilts his head and watches, mug clasped between his hands, as Harry sucks in his stomach, then pushes it out. His body has always been a fascinating mixture of lean and soft, but he’s even softer now. There’s a gentle slope to his belly, a little pouch that wasn’t there before, though it could just be from the diet he’s adopted after reading up on the best way to conceive twins.

He calls out to Harry when he starts pouting and poking at his own belly forlornly. “Come to bed, babe, your tea is getting cold.”

Harry gives his stomach one last pat, then takes a running jump onto the bed and fits himself to Louis’ side. He noses behind Louis’ ear and mumbles, “Lou, I’m cold.”

“Well, you took your clothes off, you dummy! Drink your tea, it’ll warm you up. Come on, you have a stick to piss on.”

Giggling, Harry grabs his mug off the table and clinks their cups together, toasts, “To fertility.”

“To middle of the night cravings and increased sex drives,” Louis grins, lifting his mug to his mouth. “Drink up, me hearties, yo ho.”

Harry snorts, spilling tea on the blankets, but he just shrugs and gulps half of it down without taking a breath. They lay in bed for a while after, legs tangled underneath the blankets and clasped hands resting against Louis’ chest while the run rises, filling the room with light. Louis has almost drifted off when Harry’s grip on his hand tightens suddenly and he whispers, “Lou, I need to pee.”

Louis’ heart lodges itself in his throat, along with a sense of urgency that thrums in his veins. He stays calm, though, follows Harry slowly to the bathroom and seats himself on the vanity again while Harry takes the test. Louis swallows thickly when Harry sets the test on the side of the sink with a trembling hand, doesn’t say anything while he washes his hands and dries them.

Harry’s voice quavers when he whispers, “The box says it takes three minutes. I thought maybe the longer ones would be more accurate.”

Louis just nods and holds his arms out for Harry, wraps himself around him and presses his lips to Harry’s thundering pulse while the minutes tick down. Louis’ heart skips when he feels Harry’s mouth stop moving in count against his shoulder once the three minutes are up. He works a hand up into Harry’s hair and tugs him back so their eyes can meet, asks, “Hey. Are you ready?”

Harry shakes his head rapidly, eyes wide with something akin to fear. His throat clicks when he swallows, and his voice is reedy, weak when he whispers, “I can’t - can you look?”

“Of course.” He pets a hand through Harry’s hair one more time, then lets go, twists around so he can grab the test off the side of the sink and hold it up to the light. The extra light isn’t necessary. There, displayed on the little screen in small, black letters, is the word ‘pregnant.’

“Harry,” he breathes. He can feel laughter bubbling up in his chest, light and giddy, and he turns the test to face Harry, to show him.

Harry has to grab his wrist to hold it steady, Louis’ hand is shaking so badly, but he drops it with a gasp almost immediately, presses both hands over his belly in wonder.

“You were right,” Louis laughs, tossing the test into the sink so he can hop off the counter and wrap his arms around Harry, lift him up and spin him around.

Harry squeaks and bats at Louis’ arms, legs flailing as he shrieks for Louis to put him down. “Put me down, Louis, you’re making me dizzy!”

He’s laughing when Louis sets him down, and there are tear tracks on his cheeks that Louis kisses away in between nonsensical praise and whispered ‘I love you’s.’

“I have a meeting tomorrow at school until noon, don’t you dare schedule an appointment without me.”

“I would never,” Harry reassures him, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck and resting their foreheads together.

Louis closes his eyes and squeezes Harry closer, overwhelmed with happiness.

“Hey, Lou.” Harry’s voice is just a whisper. Louis opens his eyes and meets Harry’s, vision blurry from proximity, but it doesn’t matter. He can see everything he needs to see. “We’re having a baby.”

;;

Louis is running late. He’s running late because the headmistress, of all people, was late to work this morning, pushing training back a half hour, and now he has approximately twelve minutes to get to Harry’s doctor’s appointment and he has no idea where the office is.

As luck would have it, it turns out that the doctor’s office is just down the street, and Louis slips into the waiting room with a surprising seven minutes to spare. He spots Harry in the back corner, dressed in a pair of pale pink scrubs, curled up on a loveseat with a magazine in his lap. Louis drops onto the sofa beside him, startling Harry out of his reverie.

“What have you got there?” Louis asks, tilting his head so he can see. “Oi, Styles, don’t you think it’s a bit early for that?”

“It’s Tomlinson,” Harry sniffs, clutching the magazine to his chest. “And no, it’s not too early to at least be thinking about how we want to decorate the nursery. Look at this one,” he sighs, flipping to a photo of an ocean-themed nursery, with pale blue walls and a mural of a kelp forest behind the crib. The shelves are lined with stuffed animals shaped like sea creatures and the mobile hanging above the crib is all whales.

“It’s very pretty,” Louis agrees. “We can look at ideas online later, we have time before we need to make a decision.”

Harry sighs, “I know. I’m just so excited.”

He tosses the magazine into the bowl on the table, then leans back against the sofa and tugs his scrubs top up so he can peer down at his belly. It’s only been a day since he last looked, he’s barely showing at all past a slight thickness, but he pats his stomach happily anyway. Louis watches him, charmed by Harry’s enthusiasm.

“You know, I was reading about how soon you can feel the baby moving. Most sources say between sixteen and twenty-five weeks, especially with a first pregnancy.” He takes Louis’ hand in his and settles it on his belly, covers it with his own. “I did some calculations. We were in Jamaica thirteen weeks ago, so if I got pregnant right away, I could be as much as thirteen weeks along.” His eyes are wide with excitement when he looks up at Louis and says, “That means we could feel the baby move as soon as three weeks from now.”

Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s temple, buries a smile in his hair. “The doctor will be able to tell us all of that.”

Letting go of his hand, Harry turns to face Louis on the sofa and tucks himself up under his arm, curled into a ball against Louis’ side. “Hey, Louis,” he whispers, tipping his head back to look up at him. Louis hums and brushes a kiss against Harry’s forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I’m really happy.”

Warmth washes over Louis and he tips Harry’s head back, draws him into a kiss. He keeps it short, since they’re not alone in the waiting room, but Harry makes a noise of protest when he draws back, fists a hand in the front of his jumper and tries to pull him back in. Before he can kiss him again, though, one of the doors swings open and a nurse steps out and calls, “Styles? Tomlinson?”

“That’s us!” Harry shoots to his feet, jittering nervously as the nurse shows them through to one of the exam rooms.

The nurse shuts the door and turns to Harry, grins and says, “Alright, Harry, we’re going to need a urine sample, then I’ll need to take some vitals, and Dr. Hampson will be in shortly after that.”

Louis paces while Harry disappears to the toilet, then hovers while the nurse takes his blood pressure and temperature, listens to his heartbeat. The doctor shows up while the nurse is still listening to his heart, a woman with kind eyes, a nose piercing, and a Stone Roses shirt on underneath her lab coat. Louis likes her immediately.

“Hello, Harry, Louis, I’m Dr. Hampson. How are you feeling?”

“I’m wonderful,” Harry beams, shaking her hand. “How are you?”

“I’m great, thank you. We have the results of your test, congratulations, Mr. Styles!”

“It’s Tomlinson,” Harry mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Louis to hear. He tries to mask his snort with a cough, but the look Harry shoots him tells him he wasn’t very successful. Dr. Hampson doesn’t seem to notice.

“Could you lie back for me, Harry? I’m just going to do a quick physical to make sure you’re in good health, then we can do an ultrasound, see if we can determine how far along you are and send you home with the first photo of your baby.”

Louis hangs back while Dr. Hampson examines Harry, trying not to grit his teeth when she has him untie his scrubs and pull them down a bit so she can feel his stomach. She listens to his heart again, tests his reflexes and goes over both of their family medical histories for Harry’s file, then finally, finally rolls out the ultrasound machine.

Harry is practically vibrating as he whips his top off and lays back, and he holds a trembling hand out for Louis’, twines their fingers together and squeezes when Louis steps closer. Louis plays with Harry’s hair with his free hand, more to calm himself down than Harry.

“Alright, this is going to be a bit cold,” Dr. Hampson warns before squirting some ultrasound gel onto his belly. She uses the wand to spread it around, then turns the machine on and a grainy, sepia-toned image flickers onto the screen.

It all looks like squiggles and blobs to Louis, but the doctor moves the wand around like she knows what she’s looking for, and after a few moments, she stops and says, “Aha! There we are.” She points to a small brown blob right in the center of a lighter brown blob. “There’s your baby.”

“Shit,” Louis breathes. It doesn’t look anything like a baby to him, but it’s there, right there on the screen, and he’s having a hard time taking it in. But then the doctor tilts the wand to the side, and suddenly -

“Oh! I can see the head!” Harry gasps, clapping a hand over his mouth.

“There’s the head,” Dr. Hampson agrees, pointing toward the bottom of the vaguely baby-shaped blob. “And there are the feet. Judging by the development, I’d say you’re at about twelve weeks.”

“Is there -” Harry starts, hesitating only a moment before continuing, “is there only one baby?”

“It looks like it, but we can check just to be sure.” Dr. Hampson moves the wand around to the side of Harry’s belly, pressing in just a bit so she can angle the wand for a varied view, but they only see the one. “Only one this time, sorry love.”

Harry’s face falls a bit, but he listens attentively while the doctor tells him which vitamin supplements he should take and what he should and shouldn’t eat and do. Louis would wager he already knows all of this, but he listens as well and takes mental notes, knows that Harry will try to get around the suggestion that he cut back on his work hours, and that he’ll probably still try to sneak out for morning runs. He’ll have to keep an eye on him, make sure he follows the doctor’s orders. Louis won’t have anything happen to his baby - Harry or the one in his belly.

“I’m going to take your chart up to the front, don’t forget to make your sixteen week appointment before you leave.” Dr. Hampson picks Harry’s chart up and heads over to the door. “It was lovely meeting the both of you, I’ll see you next month. Feel free to call me if you have any questions.”

Harry pulls his top back on slowly once she’s gone, mouth set into a pretty pout. Louis sighs, fondness and exasperation evident in his voice when he says, “Darling, don’t you think one baby is enough for the first time?”

Harry just shrugs petulantly as he re-ties his scrubs trousers.

“Just think,” Louis murmurs, pushing Harry’s hands away so he can settle both of his over his belly. “We’ll be able to give this baby so much attention on its own. We’ve never had a baby of our own, it will be so much easier to learn with just one.”

“I suppose,” Harry grumbles, letting Louis finish tying his trousers and straighten his shirt.

The walk home is quiet, just their hands clasped between them, swinging back and forth with each step. It’s chilly out, but it’s warm their house when they step inside and shed their jackets and shoes. Harry moves toward the kitchen automatically, ready for some tea, but Louis has to stop him when he reaches for the kettle.

“Hey, no caffeine, remember? We’re going to have to pick up some caffeine free tea for you.”

Harry wrinkles his nose, but he opens one of the cupboards and pulls out a basket of loose tea bags and starts to rummage through them anyway. “We might have some left from when my mum and Robin stayed with us last month. Ah.” He lifts up a red packet and holds it up to the light streaming in through the window, announces triumphantly, “Caffeine free English breakfast.”

He flicks the kettle on with more enthusiasm than is probably due, but he’s smiling again, at least. Louis settles down in one of the chairs at their little table and beckons Harry over, watches him as he approaches. The sun lighting the room is weak, but the hazy gray quality sets Harry’s skin aglow. He looks like an angel in pale pink scrubs. Louis can’t wait to get his hands on him. He wiggles his fingers at Harry, urging him to move faster, grabs at his hips as soon as he’s within range and tugs him closer, so that he’s standing between Louis’ splayed legs.

“You are very beautiful, you know that?” Louis asks, looking up at Harry as he grips the hem of his shirt and pushes it up, up, until Harry gets the hint and takes it off.

Louis drops his gaze to Harry’s stomach, still deceptively soft, and leans in to press a kiss right above his belly button. He can feel Harry’s sharp intake of breath against his lips, the reflexive flutter of his muscles. He can’t wait until he can feel movement coming from their baby. Their baby. Suddenly deliriously giddy, Louis peppers kisses all over Harry’s belly, ignoring his giggles and attempts to push him away. Instead of pulling back, he just wraps his arms around Harry’s thighs and redoubles his efforts, covering every centimeter of Harry’s stomach with kisses.

“Louis!” Harry shrieks, fingers tangled in his hair. “Louis, your beard tickles, please!”

He decides to show Harry a little mercy and abandons his belly so he can bite down on one of his love handles, closes his mouth around the spot and sucks a brilliantly red mark into his skin that leaves Harry clutching at his head rather than pushing him away, trembling with want, rather than laughter. Louis pulls back to admire his work, thumbing over the bruise blooming against his pale skin.

“Hey,” he murmurs, looking back up at Harry. Harry’s eyes are dark and his hair is falling around his face in loose waves as he watches Louis intently. “Are you happy?”

Harry doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shakes Louis’ grip off, then clambers clumsily into his lap and wraps his arms around Louis’ shoulders, buries his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and rests his forehead against Louis’. His voice is barely more than a whisper when he says, “I’ve never been happier than I am right now.”

Pleased with Harry’s answer, Louis tips his chin forward for a kiss, loses himself in Harry for a few long moments. He’s just sliding his hand down the back of Harry’s trousers when Harry pulls back and says, a cheeky smile on his face, “Anyway, I read that you’re more likely to get pregnant with twins if you’ve already been pregnant before.”

“Harry,” Louis groans, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “We don’t even have the one yet and you’re already planning the next.”

Harry shrugs and slips his hands down the collar Louis’ jumper, fingers trailing down Louis’ spine, then back up, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “It doesn’t hurt to plan ahead.”

“Harry please, just promise me, no more sweet potatoes,” Louis begs.

“But the studies have shown -”

Louis tips his head back and says firmly, “Haz, I will have a dozen babies with you until we get a set of twins if it means I don’t ever have to eat or smell another sweet potato.”

“Well, I don’t know about a dozen,” Harry grumbles, pulling one hand out of his jumper so he can pick at a bit of lint on Louis’ shoulder. “The gene runs in your family, strong enough for your mum to have two sets in a row, I don’t see why it would take that many tries.” He looks back up at Louis suddenly, fingers twisting in his jumper. “I mean, I still want at least five, even if we do have twins next.”

“Five,” Louis laughs.

“Maybe six,” Harry corrects, eyes squinted in thought. “You know, to even it out so no one gets left out.”

“Six,” Louis says faintly, pulling Harry closer, so their chests are pressed together and he can feel Harry, half-hard already, against his belly. “Well,” he sighs, slipping his hand down the back of Harry’s scrubs so he can grip his bum, admire the way Harry’s eyelids flutter and his head falls back a bit as he ruts lazily against Louis’ belly. “I guess we’re going to need a bigger house.”