Your name comes up a lot when I talk to my mum (oh I think she can tell)
Harry/Louis | PG-ish | 1178
AN: This is based upon this tweet which I unashamedly teared up at. Also, I have no idea as to timelines etc so I apologise for any inconsistencies and such. This is the first thing I've written in over two years so, it's going to be creaky and gross. Title from Out On The Town by fun.
It’s that delicious time during the night where those who are awake are unsure whether it is late or early, and those who aren’t don’t really care, because they’re currently experiencing the languid protection from these sort of questions that sleeping affords.
Harry sleeps under the duvet in his hotel room, body folded up like the number five, arms anchoring the duvet to his torso. Mind blank, face peaceful, body relaxed and free of tension.
A pair of familiar arms wrap around him from behind, fingers slipping under the duvet to rub against the warm, warm skin of Harry’s stomach. (He should probably have wear marks there from the amount of times Louis’ thumbs have rubbed against the thin layer of residual body fat that puberty hasn’t finished with yet). A cold nose bumps into the tendon that runs the length of Harry’s neck, causing him to shudder slightly and squirm in his sleep, body rolling minutely as a soft weight folds itself around the length of Harry’s body. Louis’ legs are drawn in and up and pressed flush against Harry’s, knees bending as his hard kneecaps gently slot into the soft flesh of the underside of Harry’s knees (the popliteal fossa, Louis would recall from his Phys Ed A-levels, if he were conscious and aware of his actions). Louis’ bare feet, cold from an hour of wandering aimlessly around on the cool wooden floors of his hotel room are the final part of the two-piece puzzle that slots together so perfectly, and his frozen toes press into the arches of Harry’s soles as he twines his ankle around Harry’s. Awoken by a sensation akin to walking on ice, Harry grumbles into his pillow and shifts his feet so that Louis’ are pressed between the mattress and his own.
“I’ve told you before, Lou. If we’re going to snuggle you need to be wearing socks.” His lips brush against the soft material of his pillow, words distorted and muffled with sleep. He slides his arms down and under the duvet, lining them up and over the top of Louis’ and across his waist, fingers slotting into the gaps between Louis’ whilst his thumbs rub circles into the soft crease where the flesh and bone of Louis’ thumb joins his hand. A hot huff of air escapes Louis’ mouth, ruffling the corkscrew curls there as words slip out of Louis’ mouth.
“I ate them all,” Louis says conversationally, dipping his head slightly so the length of his nose is pressed against Harry’s neck, which stiffens at his words.
“You ate them all,” Harry echoes, his confusion clouded with sleep and enhanced by amusement.
“Yeah well the washing machine wasn’t working so I really had no other option,” Louis breathes onto the nape of Harry’s neck, as if it were the most natural and logical thing in the world. (The breathing-onto-the-nape-of-Harry’s-neck part is, just not the words coming out of Louis’ mouth).
Harry’s brow furrows; Louis’ not making sense, even by his own ridiculous standards. It’s ridiculous and Harry is far too tired to try to figure out the inner machinations of Louis Tomlinson’s sleep-addled brain, so he says ‘Well we’ll have to get you a pair of special snuggle socks then’ and closes his eyes. He can sort all of this out in the morning, but for now the warm tides of sleep lap at his toes (or maybe that’s just Louis’ warmed-up feet; the sensations are very similar), and Harry just wants to succumb to the pull of the tide.
“But they taste the best of all”, Louis whispers, his lips brushing against the fine hairs at the very top of Harry’s back. Harry shakes his head slightly, as much as the pillows will allow, and Louis’ parted lips press against smooth, warm skin. Harry squirms slightly, his back arching and hips pushing back against Louis’, reminding him that Harry’s not the only one who sleeps naked. (How could he forget, really?).
“I don’t want to hear you complain about your inevitable morning wood tomorrow,” Harry whispers, a small smile pressed into the pillow. “You’ve only got yourself to blame.”
Louis huffs against Harry’s neck. “You really make no sense sometimes, Hazza.”
Harry’s smile widens at the irony and Louis presses a kiss to the nape of Harry’s neck as Harry whispers “Goodnight.”
And Harry drifts off to sleep, the two boys curled around each other like quotation marks, a conversation that made sense even when the content didn’t.
Harry awakes some hours later to an exhale of hot air against his ear.
“Harry,” Louis whispers, his voice croaky with sleep. “Why am I in your bed?”
Harry scrunches up his eyes and presses back into Louis, the two quotation marks bleeding together to become one.
“Because, sock-breath, you came in here in the middle of the night-slash-morning babbling nonsense and in dire need of a cuddle.”
Now it’s Louis’ turn to scrunch his eyes. “It’s too early for snark. And I don’t remember.”
Harry rolls his eyes, followed by his whole body so that he faces Louis. “I think you forget that you’re a serial sleepwalker. Sometimes I think you need pyjamas that say ‘My name’s Louis and I’m lost’.”
Louis pouts, his nose scrunching up and brushing against Harry’s, whose face splits into a shit-eating grin when he glances down beneath the duvet.
“Morning, wood,” Harry giggles, silently congratulating himself for predicting it. This isn’t the first time it’s happened post-sleepwalking-induced snuggle.
“It’s actually a penis.”
“You’re a penis.”
“And they say you’re the funny one.”
“The people will believe what they want to believe, Curly.”
Harry opens his mouth to retort, but his insult is drowned out by the incredibly irritating sound of his ringtone, which he hadn’t bothered to change from the preset tone.
“Change that or I’m divorcing you!” Louis hollers over the noise, as Harry scrambles to answer, shooting Louis an amused look as he sees who’s calling.
“Hi Jay,’ Harry smiles, raising his eyebrows at Louis. ‘Yeah, good thanks, how are you?...Yeah, yeah, he’s here, but I know you’d much rather talk to your favourite son.”
Harry laughs and then yelps as Louis tackles him, wrenching the phone out of his hand, his knees pushing into Harry’s thighs as he pushes himself away from Harry and off the mattress, walking towards the bathroom and cackling with glee at his victory.
“Hi Mum. No I’m not ignoring you, I just sleepwalked into Harry’s bed last night and my phone’s still in my room...”
Louis’ words become indistinguishable once he closes the bathroom door, and Harry snuggles down under the duvet, wrapping himself up like a burrito. He closes his eyes and allows his thoughts to slow as he attempts to go back to sleep before his best mate returns and inevitably disrupts his quiet.
Louis always seems to disrupt Harry’s quiet, but Harry doesn’t mind as much as he thinks he probably should.