Chapter Text
*
“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage” – Lao Tzu
*
“Will you stay the fuck still?”
Harry rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at Louis, and Louis digs his elbow into the soft pudge of Harry’s tummy in retaliation. Harry yelps and nearly ends up throwing Louis to the floor, just about managing to catch him in the nick of time.
It’s a miracle they ever get anything done, honestly.
“That hurt,” Harry whines, but he doesn’t get the chance to say anything more before his face is assaulted with a huge, fluffy powder brush. If his eyes were open, he’d see Louis rolling his own.
“Well, maybe if you just stayed still,” Louis replies haughtily. “Honestly, how am I meant to give you cheekbones if you’re twitching?”
“I had to scratch,” Harry pouts. Louis tuts, swapping his powder brush for a smaller one, then reaches for his blush palette. He takes a moment to choose which shade will compliment Harry’s look best, eventually settling on a soft peachy one, then dips his brush in it, tapping away any excess.
“Do you think professional models break character when they have to scratch?” he drawls. “What on earth would Kate Moss say?”
“She would probably ask why on earth I’m letting some angry little pixie put make-up on me at half seven in the morning on a Saturday,” Harry retorts. “I know that I, a professional model, am also wondering the same thing.”
Louis snorts. He really loves to wind Harry up about everything to do with modelling, partly because it’s one of his favourite hobbies to wind Harry up anyway, but also because sometimes he can’t quite get his head around the fact that he’s dating someone who models for a living. He shouldn’t doubt it, because he knows how beautiful Harry is (he does wake up to him every morning, has done for practically four whole years now) and he knows how well Harry can wear his clothes, whether it be a tailored suit, a pair of sinful jeans, or even a rough old hoodie and a pair of joggers on Sunday mornings. His boyfriend has always been a sight to behold, but now they’re actually getting somewhere in both their careers and it’s quite exhilarating to know they’re both becoming successful after all these years of wondering why they bothered.
However, even though he’s done make-up on many a professional model, been paid by the BBC to lead their make-up team for their latest period drama, and graduated top of his class at Cosmetology school, he’s still got a lot to learn.
Hence he’s here, at seven thirty-six on a Saturday morning, practicing a new look (ombre blush and lips) on his boyfriend’s face. It’s winter and the sun isn’t even close to being up yet, so he has to practice under their shitty electric lights (not like their flat is dingy and dark at the best of times).
There’s just one corner of their living room where Louis gets amazing light, and he ended up roping Liam into helping him rearrange the whole room once he’d realised this. Their sofa is now at a rather odd angle, and everyone who comes to visit is forever stubbing their toes on it but Louis has the perfect little set up to practice. He loves it.
This afternoon, he’s got to present this new look to the staff at Lanvin (fucking Lanvin), and if he pulls it off, they’re going to put him on their permanent books and take him on as a full-time artist. It’s a lot of pressure, and ordinarily Louis himself wouldn’t be awake at all this time on a Saturday, but needs must. He’d elbowed Harry out of bed with the promise of a good, long blow job to say thank-you, and now here they are.
“You’re doing this because you love me,” he answers, puckering his lips and making squelching kissy noises.
“And to get my dick sucked.”
“And to get your dick sucked,” Louis sighs. “But mainly because you love me?”
“Do I?” Harry hums aloud, tapping his chin a few times as he pretends to think about it. “I don’t recall.”
“If you want to go near my arse ever again, I swear to god…” Louis starts to grumble, but Harry smirks and wraps a gentle hand around Louis’s wrist, tugging him onto his lap. He gets a pink smudge of powder across the arm of his sleep t-shirt, but he pays it no mind.
“Hey,” he says softly, leaning forward enough to peck Louis just once on the lips, quick and soft. “Don’t be so pouty. Do you have any idea how bloody proud I am of you?”
Louis squirms and looks down at the mole on one of Harry’s collarbones. He wants to lick it and not answer because he’s always been complete rubbish when it comes to praise from Harry. “No,” he mumbles after a second. “No, you never said.”
Just because it makes him rubbish doesn’t mean he’s not a sucker for it.
“I am the proudest,” Harry tells him, and there’s a sternness to it that makes Louis glower with pride but also want to squirm away because how can one person be so proud of you? “You literally… Jesus, Lou, you’re going to wow their fucking socks off today and you’re gonna be the best make-up artist the world has ever seen one day, I just know it.”
“Shut up,” Louis mumbles, hiding his face in Harry’s neck. “You have to say these things.”
“I’d be saying them even if I didn’t,” Harry hums, and yeah, Louis is in love. “Now give me another kiss before you put that lipstick on me.”
Normally, Louis would sigh and pretend that kissing Harry was some kind of hardship, but today he’s just so jittery and nervous that he practically throws them both off the chair in his bid to get his lips on Harry’s. Harry kisses back with a smile, strong arms holding Louis to him easily, and by the end of it Louis’s lips feel swollen and puffy. He squawks when he pulls back and looks at Harry’s, any soppiness or panic apparently forgotten as he shrills, “how am I meant to put lipstick on those? Fuck, Harold, put me down now, I need lip scrub.”
He flaps out the room dramatically, but they both know Louis’s just a bit shit when it comes to being serious and never knows the right words to say, so he tends to go for the sarcastic, over the top shouting route. He knows Harry can see right through this, but there are times when he’s grateful his boyfriend just lets him be.
Even now, digging through the bathroom for a lip scrub he probably doesn’t have, Louis knows he doesn’t have to say it for Harry to know how important his words are to him. It’s always been that way for the pair of them, from back when they were both pissing about through university, to when they were making serious decisions about their lives together, to when they both took every penny of savings they both had and pooled them together in order to buy their dingy little flat in Elephant and Castle. Harry’s always been the older of the two in many ways, taking care of the finances and repairs and stuff because Louis’s complete shit at maths, or sorting out schedules for them both (and reminding Louis regularly that no, they can’t spend all day in bed just fucking, we both have shit to do and it’s a Tuesday). But Louis’s always there, helping in whatever ways he can, and yeah, they might be slightly louder ways than normal, but who even cares for normal these days?
Some would argue that it’s not normal for a lad his age to be as obsessed with make-up as he is. But for him it’s not an obsession, it’s a fascination, and something he loves enough to make a career out of. It’s more than just a few pots of pigment or pans of powder – it’s art as far as Louis is concerned. It’s making people feel a million dollars in just a few short steps. It’s experimentation of the highest order. It’s having fun. And it’s also (maybe selfishly, maybe not) something that he loves because he’s really rather good at it.
Who knew that one class learning how to do costume make-up at university would change his entire life around?
In short, Louis Tomlinson is going to take over the make-up game today, he is. He’s going to conceal and contour and blend so well that Lanvin have to hire him, and he’s going to get that internship he’s worked almost his whole adult life so. And even though he’s not going to say it’s all down to Harry, a lot of it is down to Harry. They’re a team and Louis would hate to do this without him.
So with that in mind, he grabs some product or other from their bathroom cupboard (not lip scrub, but whatever. Semantics) and goes and crawls back into Harry’s lap, where he attacks him with more eyeshadow and lip products until they both absolutely have to leave.
He comes home about nine hours later buzzing out of his skin, then spends the night licking the most expensive champagne they can afford out of the dip of Harry’s collarbones, paying special attention to his favourite mole.
He’s in. And this is only the very beginning.
*
In a way, Louis’s quite grateful that his and Harry’s careers took off in tandem. When Harry was first spotted by the talent scout they were both still in university, and now it’s been eighteen months and he’s doing amazingly well for a young, talented model. His first job modelling for Topman was a great beginning, because it helped in getting his name out there, and then the fact that there were modelling scouts for some huge name companies sitting in the audience was just the icing on the cake.
That was also the day that Louis had been spotted, even though neither of them saw it coming and were actually in the midst of a huge fight when Harry took to the runway. And yes, okay, perhaps Louis had been a little foolish and taken advantage of Harry’s trusting nature when he’d decorated Harry’s eyelids with lots of purple glitter, but hey, it had worked. He doesn’t let himself regret it, and thankfully neither does Harry, even though Louis hadn’t seen him that angry in a long time.
That was just before Christmas, and now it’s late March and things have really picked up for the pair of them work-wise. Harry’s got several more photoshoots coming up over the next few weeks for summer catalogues and billboards, and even though Louis missed February’s London Fashion Week, he’s got meetings and practice sessions galore, prepping him and a couple of other young interns for London Fashion Week in September. They’ve made it clear that, for the time being, they’re only prepping them for the local one (no point in sending amateurs overseas to work Paris or Milan, which Louis supposes is fair enough) but there is potential in all three of them. He’s the only male, which doesn’t surprise him, but the other two girls – Danielle and Gracie – are lovely, super talented, and they’ve become fast friends.
His internship likes to keep him on his toes, and it’s not uncommon for him to be given a make-up assignment to complete over a weekend where he’ll have to come up with a look to go along with a certain suit or dress that Lanvin want to showcase, but he revels in it. All his friends accepted years ago that sometimes they just have to be Louis’s guinea pig.
“I can’t just practice on one face,” he always says when his mates ask him about it, and tonight is no different. “I need variety.” He narrows his eyes. “Even if only one of you gives me the chance to practice on darker skin, but anyway.”
“You’re welcome,” Zayn calls from across the table, his mouth full of chips. Louis grins and raises up his pint.
“So what’s your newest look going to be?” Perrie asks excitedly. Louis loves Perrie and her enthusiasm, so he turns to her and pretends that everyone else at the table doesn’t look a bit bored.
“Well, I’ve got to devise a look that brings a pop of colour to an LBD look,” he explains. “I’m thinking though, I should keep the colour fairly minimal, work a strong brow and contour, then a bright red lip. I don’t think you can beat a bright red lip.”
“I don’t even know what half those things you just said mean,” Liam confesses from his other side, so Louis throws a balled up napkin at him.
“I have contoured you before,” he drawls. “But you’ve got the brows all on your own.”
“Is that a good thing?” Liam wonders aloud, rubbing his index finger over them curiously.
“It’s good for you, but not when I need to practice,” Louis says, voice dripping with a sarcastic sweetness. “Luckily for you and me, your girlfriend’s brows are exceptional, and as such she’s my first point of call for brow practice.”
“Aw, cheers, Lou,” Sophia says from Liam’s other side, clinking her glass against his. “You have very nice eyebrows too.”
“I should hope so,” Louis laughs. He sits back in his chair and then turns his head, looking for where Harry’s disappeared to, spots him at the bar. “Let me tell you, Harold over there has got such bushy fuckin’ brows, but I’m not allowed to bring my tweezers anywhere near them, apparently.”
“Doesn’t he have to get them plucked for shoots and stuff?” asks Liam.
“Yeah, but he even when I’m doing his make-up I get batted away,” Louis says with a pout. “Honestly, sometimes you just need to pluck some stray hairs before you blend.”
“Poor lad,” Liam mutters. Louis flips him off, then leans happily into Harry’s side as he slides back into the booth, setting a fresh pint down for Louis in front of him. “Louis here was just insulting your eyebrows, Haz.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Louis scoffs, but Harry just snorts and squeezes Louis’s shoulder.
“He hates my eyebrows, what can I do?” he says, throwing his free hand up in the air. “But there’s no way in hell I’m letting him near my eyebrows after what happened last time.”
“What happened last time?” Perrie asks, swatting at Louis from across the table. “You didn’t tell us you’d done something?”
“When has he not done something?” Harry says dryly, then kisses a pouting Louis on the cheek. “He just got a little too tweezer happy, that’s all.”
“They grew back,” Louis scowls. “And anyway, you couldn’t tell for ages, could you?” He settles back and folds his arms with a smug smirk. “I am wicked with an Anastasia Brow Wiz, I will have you all know.”
“I had to go to shoots with two halves of an eyebrow,” Harry carries on. “I tried to make out like I’d had to have them plucked like that for a previous shoot, but my portfolio isn’t that big.” He pats Louis on the head, which makes Louis scowl again. “Lucky for me, my baby is a wiz with a brow pencil.”
“That’s not… that’s what it’s called,” Louis sighs, necking the last of his old pint before resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. Everyone else is either catcalling or cooing at Harry and he flips them all off. “You’re all dicks.”
“And you’re Harry’s baaaby,” Zayn laughs, reaching across and poking Louis in the cheek. Louis hits him. “Ow.”
“I am two years older than you,” Louis says, ignoring the way Zayn is rather dramatically rubbing his hand in favour of poking Harry in the chest. “If anything, you are my baby.”
“This is not an argument I am going to sit through,” Liam says, covering his ears. Louis just sighs and slurps at his lager. “You two are fucking gross.”
“Hey,” Harry says, pretending to be affronted, but this argument happens nearly every time they all go out drinking together. “It’s not my fault Louis’s so short and is automatically…”
“Excuse you,” Louis squawks, pulling away from Harry and shifting up the booth towards Liam. “You are fucking dumped, mate. I’m not fucking short, I am…”
“You are not five nine,” the entire table choruses in unison, then they all burst out laughing. Louis hates literally all his friends, except Niall. Niall is wonderful and Louis misses him.
“I miss Niall,” he announces with a scowl. “Niall would never treat me this way. Why does Ireland have to be so far away?”
“Niall would be at the forefront of the teasing and you know it,” Sophia crows.
“Now, now, leave my baby alone,” Harry drawls before tugging Louis back under his arm. Louis doesn’t put up much of a fight. “Just let him dream.”
“You know what,” Louis shouts over the cackles and jeers, “when I become rich and famous, none of you will be invited anywhere. Especially not you.”
“That’s a filthy lie,” Harry says, and pulls a funny face. “I am your sweetheart, your angel face, the love of your…”
“You’re dumped,” Louis says firmly, crossing his arms.
“At least then Louis won’t wake you at arse o’clock in the morning to paint your eyelids,” Zayn points out. Harry hums an agreement, nods, then takes a huge slurp of Louis’s pint.
Louis hates his friends and he hates his boyfriend, but he supposes they do have a point.
They end up staying in the pub until last orders, at which point Harry’s had one too many glasses of Merlot and Louis really needs a wee. They end up dashing home in the rain, running through puddles and using Harry’s expensive leather satchel as a poor substitute for an umbrella. They’re giggling as they clip up the stairs, bodies pressed as close as they can be while they both rummage for their keys at the same time, hips bumping as they try to slide them into the lock.
Louis hurries straight for the loo when they get inside, stripping off his wet jumper and dropping it on the bathroom floor. When he comes back out Harry’s naked save for a pair of socks. Louis grins.
“Hey there,” he says, going for coy but he ends up having to cover his mouth as a hiccup escapes. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Harry matches his grin and walks across their bedroom to join him, resting cold hands on Louis’s bare hips once he’s within reach. “You’re warm,” he says in response, then pulls his half-dressed boyfriend into a clumsy hug. “It’s a shame you dumped me, you know. We could be having such great sex right now.”
Louis snorts and turns them around so they both topple onto the bed, Harry on the bottom and him straddling him as best he can. Harry yelps in surprise but manages to keep a hold on Louis enough to join their lips together once they’ve stopped bouncing up the mattress.
“We can still have great sex,” Louis mumbles against his mouth, pushing himself up on his arms so he’s bracketing Harry in. Harry grins up at him and runs his hands up Louis’s chest. “I hear break-up sex can be pretty fab.”
“Oi, dickhead,” Harry says, expression going from merry to affronted. “That kind of talk isn’t going to get you laid.”
Louis’s still laughing. “Oh, baby,” he coos, nudging his nose against Harry’s cheek. “You know I’m only teasing.” He kisses him, the lightest brush of lips over his cheek, then down to his jaw, then ghosting across his soft mouth. “Like I know you were teasing when you said I was your baby. We all know you’re my baby.”
Harry audibly swallows. “I am your baby,” he says, light and breathy. “I’m your baby, and you’re mine.”
“Hmm,” Louis hums in response, moving up to pin Harry’s arms above his head. Harry goes easily, pliant under Louis’s touch, and they both know he could push Louis away and off him easily, but he never does. “Tell me, baby, what would our friends think if they saw you go like this?” He kisses him again. “My baby, my six foot manly, rugged, baby boyfriend, all laid out and ready for me to take?” Another kiss. “Or am I still the baby? Are you going to take me tonight?”
Harry lets out something akin to a whimper. “N-no,” he breathes, then tries to move his hips up against Louis’s body. He’s already halfway to hard, and he’s sweating a little. Louis’s tempted to lick it off. “No, I’m not.”
“You’re not, are you?” Louis says slowly, gently, running a finger down the centre of Harry’s hot chest. “I’m gonna be the one taking you, aren’t I, little angel?”
“Yeah,” Harry says, not much louder than a whisper. His damp hair is sprawled across the pillow and Louis moves forward to tangle a hand in it, tugging Harry’s head up for a sloppy kiss.
“Beautiful boy,” he murmurs against the sharp angle of Harry’s jaw. “My beautiful, beautiful boy. Would never leave you, never, never, never…”
“Lou,” Harry moans, hands settling on Louis’s hips, fingernails digging into his flesh. “Lou, come on, want it.”
Louis smirks and kisses him again, then leans back and settles on top of Harry’s thighs, hands moving down to unbutton his jeans.
On nights like these, when both of them are a little alcohol-muddled and giddy with it, they tend to make it quick and dirty, one fucking the other so the headboard is smacking against their damp-stained wall and the neighbours can be heard yelling at them to shut the fuck up. Louis loves fucking Harry like this, partly because recently they haven’t had a lot of time to fuck in general, but also because Harry’s normally quite quiet in bed, all breathy moans and soft whines, but when Louis takes him like this – a little rougher than normal, hard and fast and relentless, he gets beautifully loud. Pornographic, one could go so far to describe it as. He knows their group of mates did enough times when they all lived together.
They don’t bother with condoms anymore either, so it’s relatively quick and easy for him to finger Harry open before he flips him over carefully and slides into him. His pace is sloppy at first, but once he’s picked up a rhythm and he’s got Harry in a comfortable enough position that he can fuck back and meet his thrusts, it’s over pretty quickly. Harry wanks himself off in time with Louis’s thrusts and he comes all over his fist just seconds before Louis’s own climax hits him and he nearly loses his balance. He manages to pull out before his knees give way and he slumps against his pillow, rolling a still-panting Harry over and curling him under his arm even though he knows he’s probably going to leak on the bedsheets.
Oh, well. Tomorrow’s Saturday, they can change them then.
And by they, he means probably just Harry.
“That was good,” Harry snuffles into his shoulder. Louis can’t help but snort, pressing a kiss into Harry’s sweaty skin. “You fucked the tipsy right out of me.”
“Bless,” Louis pretends to coo. “God, I love you.”
“I love you too,” Harry hums sleepily. He kisses Louis’s neck then rolls over so he’s on his own side of the bed, but still facing Louis. Louis pouts. “But if I stay cuddled against you like that I’ll never go for the piss I quite desperately need.”
“Charming,” Louis says dryly, but he untangles his hand from Harry’s and watches him clunk ever so gracefully into their tiny ensuite. He’s still wearing his socks, Louis notes disbelievingly. “Oi, Haz. Can you bring my toothbrush out with you?”
“Sure,” Harry calls back over the sound of his piss hitting the toilet bowl. “Do you not need a wee though? You’re always meant to piss after sex, you know. Good for your gonads or something.”
Louis groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, pleased that Harry can’t see his smirk. “All that money on a fancy Bachelor’s of Science and you don’t even know why you’re meant to piss after sex,” he tells him. “It’s to prevent UTI’s, you idiot.”
The toilet flushes and Harry’s head appears around the corner, bottom lip jutted out. There’s a smear of toothpaste on his chin. “Hey,” he says slowly. “I got my degree in geography, not biology.”
“Don’t I know it,” Louis says, standing up and traipsing into the bathroom, where he gives Harry’s meaty hip a sharp pinch. “Come on you, budge up. I want my post-coital cuddle.”
Harry grins around a mouthful of foam, spitting it into the sink and then dropping his toothbrush into the cracked mug they use as a holder. He slides past Louis and back into their bedroom, so Louis brushes his teeth quickly and has a quick wee anyway, then flicks off the bathroom light.
“You have toothpaste on your chin,” he tells Harry as he scrabbles into bed and under the covers. Harry stretches to turn off the main light then flops back onto his pillows. Louis licks his finger and wipes it off, then settles himself against Harry’s back. “Mmm, you smell like sex.”
“I am sex personified,” Harry mumbles. Louis doesn’t need to look at his face to know he’s grinning. “I am a highly sought-after model with a gorgeous face and a lean body, according to the casting director at the last shoot.”
Louis bites back the slight hint of jealousy that shoots up his spine at the thought of someone else calling Harry gorgeous and meaning it, and instead just kisses his shoulder blade. “He wasn’t wrong, whoever said that,” he says softly. “My gorgeous boy.”
“Love you,” Harry says, drawing one of Louis’s hands up to his lips and kissing it. “Night, Lou. Saturday tomorrow, ain’t it? I can make you bacon for brekkie.”
Louis grins and rubs his nose across the back of Harry’s neck happily, any envy already forgotten because Harry loves him so damn much. “I’d like that a lot,” he whispers. “Love you too, my baby.”
“I’m your baby,” Harry sing-songs quietly, tugging Louis’s arms a little tighter around him, and it’s the last thing Louis hears before he falls asleep with a content little grin on his face.
*
It’s been a long time – too long, in Louis’s humble opinion – since he and Harry have both been around on a Saturday morning with nowhere else to be that day. The only thing pressing is that Louis’s got his make-up look to work on, and as Harry has a shoot on Monday they can’t order an Indian takeaway and pig out during the evening, but whatever. Louis has his boy and his bed, and that’s enough for him.
He wakes up around half ten, and it’s almost surprising to him that Harry’s still asleep next to him. Harry’s always been an early riser, but he’s had rather a busy week, what with his new workout routine, his meetings all over London regarding their new billboards, and his part-time job as a bartender running over a couple of evenings. Louis can’t wait for him to quit that job because he knows how much Harry hates it (and he also hates that he can’t go to sleep without knowing Harry got home safely), but cash has been a little tight recently.
Having said that, the contract Harry’s just re-signed with Topman comes with a pretty hefty paycheque, and Lanvin aren’t exactly paying him poorly either. Hopefully within the next couple of months they’ll be a little better off, and Louis can start feeling less guilty when he buys the branded cereal or a bunch of flowers to surprise Harry with. It’s a start, anyway.
Their little flat could really do with some help as well. It’s nothing a lick of paint and a couple of days of solid DIY won’t fix, but in all honesty neither of them can really be bothered. It’s not a very big flat – nothing more than their bedroom, the biggest room in the house, with a cramped ensuite bathroom attached, then a kitchen/living/dining area that holds little more than a sofa, an overstuffed armchair Harry fell in love with and got for free on Gumtree, a too-big telly (“for the footie,” Louis had insisted), and Louis’s little make-up corner the only notable furniture. Their oven top is cracked and their microwave never heats food properly, and Louis couldn’t even tell you the last time they defrosted the freezer but it’s theirs.
It’s their little corner of London, their little corner of the world, and Louis would truly happily live in a shitter place if it meant he still got to live in the city with his best mates and his boyfriend and his make-up. He loves his life as it is, even if they do get their electricity shut off quite regularly because one of them forgets to pay the bill and sometimes they can’t afford to go to the pub on a Friday night because Harry’s bought something a little out of their price range for a shoot or Louis’s splurged on a new palette. That’s life, and they’ve come to accept it along with each other’s little quirks.
Harry’s really warm, sprawled on his back with the duvet ruched up to his bare chest. He’s got one arm tucked on top of the covers and the other curled around the top of Louis’s pillow, so Louis reaches out to lace their fingers and curls a little more into Harry’s side. Harry’s arm comes down easily and Louis tucks it around himself, resting his hand on Harry’s chest and teasing at the hair lightly.
“I was promised bacon, you know,” he mumbles into Harry’s nipple. He’s not really bothered – Harry does deserve his sleep, after all – but it makes him giggle all the same when Harry snuffles a little and breathes out a yawn, blowing his morning breath right in Louis’s face. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”
“And a good morning to you too,” Harry mumbles tiredly. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet. His free hand moves clumsily over towards Louis, but he can’t seem to find him and his face scrunches up in sleepy annoyance. “Oh, where are you?”
“Right here, love,” Louis says softly, then shifts a little closer, rolling over gingerly so they can meet in the middle, Louis’s back pressed up against his chest. Harry hums and then hooks his chin over Louis’s shoulder, sliding his palm down to rest on Louis’s belly.
“Hello,” he mumbles, then makes a happy noise as he rubs his nose into the base of Louis’s neck. “I’ll make you bacon in a minute.”
“I’m only teasing,” Louis grins, settling back into Harry’s warmth. “If you wanna sleep some more feel free, love.”
Harry takes a long, sleepy inhale. “Yeah, but you know I hate wasting the day just sleeping,” he moans quietly. “Plus I need to get in a workout before noon, really. Time’sit?”
“’bout eleven, I think,” Louis tells him reluctantly. He wants to stay in here until they absolutely have to leave, his aching bladder and rumbly tummy and Harry’s workout plan be fucked. “Don’t go yet though.”
“Couldn’t if I tried,” Harry says, kissing him softly. “Sooo cuddly.”
“Yeah,” is Louis’s lame reply, but he’s tired again all of a sudden and it’s just so lovely to be curled up in Harry’s embrace that he doesn’t think he really needs coherence. He just needs his boy and a kiss, and maybe bacon in a little bit.
He’s practically dozing when he feels Harry shift a little, and he whines loudly and clumsily tangles their fingers together again, loath to let Harry move. He lets out an even louder whine when Harry untangles their fingers with a sigh, kicking the covers off his long legs before he rolls out of bed.
“Staaay,” Louis cries pathetically, rolling over and giving his best puppy eyes. Harry just snorts as he reaches for his can of deodorant on top of their dresser. “Let’s have sex. That can be your workout.”
Harry laughs and bends down to give Louis a quick peck on the lips. “I wish it worked like that, darling,” he says, pulling back and wiping his lips. He’s still gloriously naked and Louis tries to grab at his bare thigh to tug him back to the mattress, but he’s too quick. “Oi, stop. I’m just gonna do, like, half an hour today, I can’t be arsed for much more.”
“What are you gonna do?” Louis asks, propping himself up on his elbows as Harry digs around in their dresser for boxers and his running gear. “How long are you gonna be?”
“I’ll probably only run about five miles, to be fair, I’m feeling lazy,” Harry says as he bundles his hair up into a bun. Louis snorts.
“Feeling lazy, my arse,” he grumbles, rolling over and shimmying the duvet higher up his body. “If you were feeling lazy you wouldn’t be leaving me, you git.”
“I love you too,” Harry sing-songs, then Louis feels the bed dip as he props his feet up on the mattress to tie his shoe. “I’ll be like forty-five minutes.”
“Forty-five?” Louis squawks indignantly. “You said half an hour half a second ago.”
“Yeah, but I’m not Usain fucking Bolt,” Harry remarks. “I’ll be home soon, sweetheart. Think of me if you jerk off.”
“I’m gonna be thinking of Liam,” Louis mumbles petulantly, then yelps when Harry flops on top of him and starts kissing him all over. “Ow, Harry, you great lump. Clean your teeth.”
“Tell me you looove me,” Harry presses, long fingers tickling up Louis’s sides. Louis tries not to squirm but it’s not really working. He’s ticklish as all hell and Harry knows it. “Promise me you’ll have a wank to the thought of me running, all sweaty and panting and…”
“Smelly?” Louis interjects. Harry rolls his eyes and kisses him again, then hops off the bed. “Get out of here, you fucking loser. Go and run and leave me here to die.”
“I can’t believe you’re so dramatic,” Harry sighs, then he leaves the room with a fleeting wave.
“You’re definitely making me bacon when you get back now,” Louis yells, but the front door slams and cuts him off mid-sentence. “Bastard.”
Harry’s gone for fifty-two minutes, and Louis is ready for blood. He’s had a wank and a shower and a grumble to himself, and now he’s sat in front of the telly, cross-legged and cross-armed with some property show playing away on BBC2. He’s wearing Harry’s favourite jumper and Harry’s favourite shorts (just to spite him for leaving him), and if he does say so himself he is looking extra cuddly today. It’s just a shame there’s nobody here to give him the cuddle.
He hears the key turn in the lock, but doesn’t make a move to greet Harry, because he knows the door will probably get stuck and Harry will have to open it again. It’s a long process these days, getting into their flat.
“Honey, I’m home,” Harry calls once he’s inside, and Louis bites back a grin when he hears him grunt as he kicks his trainers off. He pads through to the bedroom first, probably presuming Louis is still in bed, then Louis hears the clanking of the pipes as he turns on the tap.
He doesn’t see him in the flesh until about ten minutes later where he re-emerges all clean teeth and damp hair and wearing only a hoodie and a pair of old pants. He’s scratching lazily at his hip as he flops down onto their sofa, nearly upending Louis over the side. Louis tries to fight off his embrace, but he’s powerless because Harry smells really good and he’s all warm and fluffy and soft. He’s finally getting his cuddle, too.
“I went to Tesco Express for you,” Harry hums into his neck. Louis squeals happily and rolls over, taking Harry’s face between his hands and settling against the pillows to smile up at him. “I bought bacon because we didn’t actually have any, and eggs, and bread and I even splurged on Lurpack butter. I was feeling adventurous.”
“My hero,” Louis grins against his lips. “My baby.”
Harry laughs and kisses Louis a few times quickly, a few short pecks that have them both grinning. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and lets him pull him upright, then they both shuffle into the kitchen area, Harry grabbing the Tesco’s Bag for Life on the way.
“Do you want a big sandwich?” Harry asks as he starts stacking his purchases onto the kitchen counter. “Or eggy bread with bacon on the side?”
“Big sandwich with lots of runny yolk,” Louis says, rubbing his hands together before he hoicks himself up onto the counter. “And brown sauce.”
“Your wish is my command, my princess,” Harry says, pretending to bow before he turns on the grill. It clunks into life and they both pull a face. “We should probably get this fixed, you know.”
“We should probably just move flats,” Louis states matter-of-factly, but they both know they can’t; despite their increased paycheques they don’t have anywhere near the amount of money they would need for a better flat in London. “I hear Kensington is nice this time of year.”
Harry laughs. “Oh, babe. I wish we could, I really do. That’s, like, goals.”
“One day,” Louis says with a shy smile, swinging his legs up and down, “when I’m a famous make-up artist to the stars and you’re the new Kate Moss, then we’ll live in Kensington.”
“Deal,” Harry says with a giggle. “I can’t wait, babe.”
“Me neither,” Louis grins. “Can we get a water bed?”
“God, yes,” Harry says dreamily. “We’ll get a three bedroom flat, with a huge master suite for us, then a make-up room for you and one we can use as a walk-in wardrobe for me.”
“Oh my god,” Louis groans, letting his head loll back as he thinks about it. “My make-up room would be so great, fuck. Think of how many mirrors and drawers and…” He cuts himself off to smirk over at his boyfriend. “Think how much more make-up I’d need to buy to fill it.”
Harry laughs as he sets the bacon under the grill, then moves over to wrap his arms around Louis’s shoulders. Louis curls one hand into the back of Harry’s hair, the other resting loosely on his bicep. “Same with me and clothes,” Harry says. “Clothes rails all around, so many huge mirrors so I can make sure I look good from every angle.”
“As someone who has seen you from quite literally every angle, I can confirm you’re pretty damn hot,” Louis says. Harry giggles and knocks their foreheads together.
“I love you,” he says softly. “I can’t wait to have it all with you.”
“I love you too,” Louis replies gently. “And ditto. I can’t wait for us to make it. And we’re gonna make it, aren’t we, Haz?”
Harry knocks their hips together. “You are,” he promises. “You’re unbelievably talented, Lou, you know that? Like, I don’t understand anything about make-up but whenever I see you work I know how much you love it and how focused you are and how much of a perfectionist. You’re just brilliant.”
“Thanks,” Louis says shyly, but he pushes Harry’s face away teasingly. “You’re very kind.”
“I’m honest, babe,” Harry laughs. “There’s no way just anyone could do what you do. You’ve got such a passion for it, I love hearing you talk about it.”
“But you just said you don’t understand it,” Louis says with furrowed brows. It’s never been an issue, really, because ultimately Louis’s still going to talk about it anyway, but Harry just shakes his head, still starry-eyed.
“Teach me,” he says with a shrug. “You should help me learn.”
“Really?” Louis asks sardonically, patting Harry on the cheek. “You want to learn about make-up?”
Harry shrugs again. “It’s not the same with, like, clothes and stuff, is it? You know what looks good on you, so you wear it. You wear what you’re comfy in and you wear what’s practical and that’s your thing. I do the same, but my taste is, um, well, perhaps a little more expensive than yours.”
Louis snorts. “I am aware.” He squirms a little in Harry’s hold, very aware of how intently Harry’s looking at him. “I mean, I could show you some of the basics, you know? How to do your base, how to put lippy on, how to work out what colour to go for, that sort of thing.”
“Mmm, yes please,” Harry says with a grin. “It would be nice to know what you’re doing to your face whenever you get ready in the morning. You know, what’s worth you taking so long.”
“Oi,” Louis protests. “I do, like, super minimal make-up on myself. It takes me like twenty minutes max, you twat.”
“Teach me then,” Harry says again. “Make me understand.”
So that’s how Louis finds himself sitting cross-legged on the floor of their living room, a belly full of breakfast sandwich and a lapful of some of his favourite products and brushes. He’s commandeered two mirrors from their bedroom and bathroom, and he’s got one for himself and one for Harry so they can see what they’re doing without having to squash.
“So you start with a foundation,” Louis says simply, holding up a little bottle from one of his favourite drugstore brands. “This one is the one I use most days on myself, and it’s just to even your skin tone, give yourself a nice base to work on.” Harry nods. “But first, before we put that on, we’re going to start with a primer.”
“A what?”
“A primer,” Louis repeats, picking up a sample size tube of Benefit’s Porefessional primer. He got it in a goodie bag once and he’s never felt like he could splurge on a full tube. “This is to minimize your pores, and it also helps make your make-up stay on all day and not crease on your skin and stuff.”
“But why doesn’t it last all day anyway?”
“Babe, it’s not a load of magic potions,” Louis laughs. “It’s not indestructible. It fades and moves and creases, so we just need to give it a little bit of help in staying in place sometimes.”
“Okay,” Harry says, taking the primer from Louis and unscrewing the lid. “So how much of this stuff do I need?”
“Not that much,” Louis shrieks, snatching the tube back off Harry before he empties half the bottle onto his fingers. “Jesus Christ, that’s, like, four quid you’ve just poured onto your fucking hand.”
“What?” Harry says incredulously. “How much?”
“Lucky for you this is a sample size, but fucking hell, Harry,” Louis grumbles, taking Harry’s hand so he can collect some of the product onto his own fingers. “You’re a knob.”
“I didn’t know,” Harry whines. Louis just shakes his head. “Okay, now what?”
“Be really light,” Louis says, then starts dabbing the primer on his own face, making slightly exaggerated hand motions to show how slow and gentle Harry should be. “Just blend it into your skin really gently because otherwise you’ll waste the product and you’ll go cakey, which isn’t the look we’re going for.”
“Right, right,” Harry says, trying to mirror Louis’s motions, but Louis knows he’s going to be heavy handed and miss bits of his face, bless him. “How’s this?”
“Fine, babe,” Louis grins, squeezing his knee with his clean hand. “Is all the product off your hands now?”
“Yeah,” Harry nods.
“Right, give me the back of your hand,” Louis instructs. Harry does so, and Louis puts one pump of the foundation onto it. “This is so you can control how much you’re adding to whatever bit of your face, you see?”
“Okay,” Harry says, then goes to dip his finger into the foundation, but Louis bats it away. “What now?”
“Use this,” Louis says exasperatedly, handing over a Beauty Blender. “And do it like this.” He dabs his own sponge in his foundation and starts to bounce it into his skin, making sure it’s well blended. “You don’t want it to look like you’re wearing foundation, see? So this way, it should look a lot more natural.”
“But you always say make-up isn’t here to make you look natural,” Harry says, bouncing the sponge almost comically against his skin. Louis rolls his eyes.
“Babe, there’s a difference between, like, bold silver eyes and bright red lips looking unnatural and your base looking unnatural. You want your base to look natural, and everything else is enhanced to the max. That’s the general gist, anyway.”
“Okay,” Harry says, ever accepting. Louis grins and then reaches for his concealer. He pushes himself up on his knees and unscrews the lid, then smears the concealer underneath Harry’s eyes like he’s done a hundred times before.
“Blend that in now,” he instructs. “Basically the key to good make-up is blending. You can’t really ever do too much blending.” He sighs. “It’s where me and Lottie get into scraps with make-up mostly, because she just never blends enough. And you know, not that there’s anything wrong with how she does her make-up, because if she likes the way it makes her look then that’s fine, but, like, I just want her to blend.”
Harry cackles. “I take it you telling her that didn’t go down too well.”
Louis rolls his eyes. “I love her to pieces, but she’s just so bloody stubborn.” He throws his hands up. “But what can I do other than encourage perfect blending in all my make-up looks and hope she takes the hint.”
“Bless,” Harry says, then asks, “so what now after concealer?”
“You need to set everything with a powder,” Louis instructs. “Here, take this one and this big brush and just go all over your face, especially your undereyes. That needs to be set really well or else it will crease.”
Harry’s brows furrow rather adorably. “Crease?” he asks. “But I thought the primer stopped that.”
“Oh, good boy,” Louis says happily, leaning forward to give him a proud kiss. “You’re right, it does, but this just acts as, like, an extra barrier, I guess. Plus it’ll make it easy for the rest of your face make-up to sit on top.”
“Right, okay,” Harry says, then dips his brush in the powder, a translucent cloud of fallout getting all over Louis’s trackies. “And just on like this?”
“Yeah, babe,” Louis grins, doing the same to his face. “’Atta boy.”
“This is fun,” Harry notes with a grin. “And not as hard as I thought it might be.”
Louis smirks. “Oh, baby. We’re only on the easy bit. You’ve now got to bronze your face without looking like you’ve slapped yourself with the whole palette.”
“How hard can it be?” Harry scoffs, reaching for the ELF palette and angled Real Techniques brush that Louis’s chosen for the occasion. “What, so I just put bronzer on my cheekbones, right?”
Louis folds his arms and just watches. “You know what? I might just sit out on this one,” he hums. “But you’re right, yeah. Aim for your cheekbones and blend upwards.”
Tongue poking out in concentration, Harry squints right up close to the mirror as he (really quite awfully) applies bronzer to his right cheekbone. There’s no finesse to it at all, and he completely ignores Louis’s direction and ends up smearing it nearly down to his jawline. The more he fucks it up, the more forlorn he gets, and by the end of his attempt it does look rather like someone has just grabbed the compact and run it down his face.
“Louis, what the fuck?” he moans, tilting his head and whining loudly as he looks at the mess that is his cheek. “How do I fix this?”
“You don’t, darling,” Louis says, laughing as he leans back to grab his make-up wipes. “Oh, babe, I’m sorry but we’re gonna have to start again.”
“I tried,” Harry says glumly, not looking at Louis even as he crawls over and starts to gently wipe at his cheek. “I did what you said.”
“I know, sweetheart, but I really mean it when I say you have to have a light hand,” Louis says gently. “Also, it does take a lot of practice. It took me ages to get bronzing right. It’s the one bit of make-up I’ve always struggled with.”
“I’m sorry I wasted your stuff,” Harry mumbles, bottom lip jutting out. He sounds genuinely really sad, so Louis drops the wipe and shuffles forward even more so he can climb into Harry’s lap.
“Eh, it happens,” he says, tugging Harry’s arms around his shoulders so he’s being cuddled. He kisses Harry’s now clean cheek. “I don’t even want to know how much product I’ve wasted over the years on failed attempts and shite looks.” He shivers a little in Harry’s hold as Harry’s hot breath ghosts over the back of his neck in a sigh. “Baby, I’m serious. It’s fine. We can go again if you want.”
“I knew it wasn’t going to be, like, easy, but I didn’t think I’d fuck up that bad,” Harry mumbles, so quiet that Louis has to strain to hear him. “I don’t want you to be annoyed at me.”
Louis leans back against Harry’s shoulder and turns his face into Harry’s cheek, then moves his hand up to rest on the other side of Harry’s face, where he pats it a few times. “Not annoyed, you big ol’ drama queen,” he reassures. “Amused, but definitely not annoyed.”
“Maybe you should just keep to practicing on me,” Harry says, and he finally tightens his arms around Louis himself, boxing him in and pressing his nose into Louis’s soft hair. “I don’t think I’ll ever be any good, really.”
“Don’t be a prat,” Louis tells him sternly, but there’s the hint of a smile creeping at the corners of his face. “You’re fine, sunshine. You’re a bit clumsy and heavy-handed, I’ll give you that, but that’s why you’ve got me, the greatest make-up artist in all the land, to be your teacher. I’ll be very thorough.”
He can feel Harry’s grin and so he turns a little, pressing a sloppy kiss to Harry’s jaw.
“Wanna watch a film instead?”
“A bit, yeah,” Harry says, but when Louis makes the move to stand he keeps his grip firm. “I’d rather do that than make a tit of myself any more than I have.”
“You’re not a tit, you tit,” Louis sighs, rocking them from side to side gently. “You’re not very good at make-up, granted, but if you were you’d be beautiful and talented and I couldn’t match up to that.”
Harry snorts. “Are you calling me untalented?” he grumbles lowly.
“At make-up, yes,” Louis says. “It really is a case of practice makes perfect. I was so shit when I first started, you know. The thing, or shall I say the person, that made me good was you, if we’re being really sappy and gross and honest about it.”
“What?” Harry asks. “How does that work?”
Louis chuckles quietly, letting his eyes flutter shut as he thinks about him and Harry three or so years before, fresh-faced teens just starting a relationship, who only knew that they were in love with one another and that was that. That Christmas, Harry had forked out for a Naked palette for Louis, and even now Louis still remembers it as the best present he’s ever gotten. It was his first item that didn’t come from the drugstore, the one piece that he’d secretly wanted ever since he started watching make-up tutorials at night tucked under the covers on his iPad or in between lectures. And then Harry had spent nearly forty quid on that one single product for his birthday, which felt like loads when they were skint students, and they hadn’t even been going out that long. Louis still has it, probably won’t ever throw it out unless he and Harry call it quits, and it’s still his go-to palette even though he’s hit pan on half the shades and it’s probably a bit manky.
Back then, when everything was a lot more confusing and a lot less concrete, that gift had meant more to Louis than anything. Partly because Harry – young, sweet, baby-faced Harry who he loved like he’d never loved another – had bought him that present and it felt like a promise, almost; but also it was that that led onto their conversation about Louis even daring to pursue his interest in make-up in the first place. It still sticks with Louis now, just how supportive Harry had been even after only having dated a few months at that point.
Harry would follow him to the ends of the earth, and that’s scary because he didn’t think he could ever love and be loved in the way he and Harry do. It’s frightening but also invigorating, and he grips his boy a little tighter when he thinks for a split second what could have happened if he hadn’t been assigned a bedroom in Flat 7, Block 24.
“I love you a lot, you know,” he says instead of answering Harry’s earlier question. “And I’m really fucking lucky to have you. I feel like I don’t tell you enough, but, like, you’re my entire world and you make me so happy. I’m so glad I picked someone as supportive as you.”
Harry makes a pleased sound in response, nudging his nose against Louis’s cheek and kissing him on the apple of his cheek. “I love you too, angel,” he hums into Louis’s skin. Louis doesn’t want to leave his lap ever. “So much, Lou.” They pause for a second, just taking the time to hold each other, because Louis hugs and kisses him every day but it’s been a while since he’s sat with him and let himself be wrapped in a hug so tight, so all-encompassing, that he feels like he could live and die this way.
But then Harry speaks up again, voice curious and timid, almost.
“I wanna know how I helped,” he says, nudging Louis again gently. “Come on, tell me.”
“Oh, must I?” Louis pretends to whine. “It’s embarrassing and sappy and cliché and…”
“I don’t care,” Harry says. “That’s basically what we are anyway. The model and his make-up artist lover, living together in a dingy flat clinging to any chance they have to make it.”
Louis groans. “I am not a lover; I am your fucking boyfriend who you were talking about proposing to not long ago.”
Harry snorts quietly. “Offer still stands, you know. I’ll propose the second you’re ready for me to.”
“Harold, I love you, I really do, but we can barely afford branded food, let alone an engagement ring.”
“Point taken,” Harry says after a pause. “But I’m serious about it, I hope you know that.”
“I know you are, treacle,” Louis says, bringing Harry’s open palm to his mouth and kissing it. “And I love you for all your gorgeous promises and sincerity and shit.”
Harry buries his face into the back of Louis’s neck, presses his lips against his skin, and blows a long, wet raspberry that has Louis yelping and ends with them rolling around on the floor wrestling until Louis’s head collides with the end of the sofa and Harry feels so guilty that he scoops him up in his arms and blows him on said sofa.
He tells Harry a little more about the whole Naked palette thing later that night, when it’s dark and he’s back in Harry’s hold, but a little less self-conscious than he was earlier because Harry’s sleepy and fucked out and only half listening, bless him. When Louis’s finished with his story he gets a kiss and a sleepy mumble of “my lovely make-up angel.”
Louis’s not going to stop giving him shit for that tomorrow, but right now he’s happy to fall again, soft and warm and happy against Harry’s chest, safe in the knowledge that Harry thinks he’s an angel.
*
The next few weeks are super hectic, but Louis’s LBD look goes down a storm with his sort-of boss, a stern but mostly lovely older lady called Keira. He’s pretty proud of himself too, but he makes an effort not to look too smug because Gracie’s look got rather shot down, and Danielle’s was greeted with a rather tight-lipped smile.
“Where did I go wrong?” Gracie whines once they’ve all been dismissed for lunch. She buries her face in her hands and nearly gets whipped cream from her huge mug of pity hot chocolate in her hair. Louis moves it into the centre of the table for her. “I spent ages working out how to get all those blues to blend so seamlessly. And fucking hell, you two both had stronger contours than me, why did she say mine was too much?”
“Honestly, I think it’s because she has a crush on Louis,” Danielle says with a hint of bitterness, stirring her latte a little too vigorously. “He can do no wrong, I swear.”
“No, hang on a minute,” Louis says indignantly. He adds the smallest splash of milk to his tea then says, “The whole point is matching the look to the outfit, right?” The other two nod. “Well, what I did was take it back to the beginning. So a little black dress is classic, yeah, but it’s classic in its simplicity. So you want a make-up look that’s classic in its simplicity, if that makes sense.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Gracie says, blinking a few times. “I didn’t really think of it like that.”
“Our job, shit as it sounds, isn’t to make the make-up the star of the show,” Louis says. “With a brand like Lanvin, the focus always has to be on the clothes, doesn’t it?” The others nod. “So we’ve got to add, like, the subtleness that ties the whole look together. The focus can’t be on the make-up.” He coughs awkwardly. “Which, no offence, Grace darling, but it kind of was with that blue eye look.”
“No, no, I know,” she grumbles. “You’re making a lot of sense right now and I hate you for it.”
Louis blushes and looks down at his lunch, ripping the lid off his overpriced Starbucks salad. He’d much rather have a McDonald’s, but the busy London lunch rush and them having a Starbucks practically next door to the office leaves him with… whatever this is. “It’s only because I live with a model, I swear,” he says, stabbing at a piece of avocado. “If I didn’t have Harry and his obsession with the subtleties and stitching and shit I never would have thought of it.”
“Why is my boyfriend a fucking mechanic?” Gracie whines. “He couldn’t give less of a shit about my job.”
“Why didn’t Jade give me any kind of a warning about that?” Danielle grumbles. “She’s a fuckin’ model too.” She slurps at her coffee. “It’s pretty cool that both our partners are models, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Louis agrees with a grin. “I need to meet Jade again. I can’t believe how small this world is.”
“Innit,” Danielle agrees, cutting her panini in half. “We should go on a double date or something.”
“Um, hello?” Gracie says with a pout. “What about me? I wanna come.”
“Well, we should do it anyway,” Louis nods, looking at Dani then back to Gracie. “I’d love to meet Josh too.”
“Well, then, we should do something one evening next week,” Dani says. “It’d be nice to hang out outside of the office, get our other halves in on it too.”
“That’s settled then,” says Louis. “I’ll check with Haz about dates next week and let you know.” He wrinkles his nose. “Because trust me, you don’t wanna meet the fucker when he’s on one of his juice cleanses or doing this, like, weirdly regimented diet thing before a shoot. He’s stressed out and snappy and hungry.”
“Bless,” Dani laughs. “Jade just does, like, an odd amount of exercise videos and drinks a lot of green tea.”
“Yesterday Josh ordered like thirty quid’s worth of Domino’s and I got one slice,” Gracie chips in dryly, which makes them all laugh. “Dickhead. I don’t know why I bother.”
“Find yourself a nice model, darling,” Louis grins around a cherry tomato. “Harry lets me practice make-up on him all the time and I also get to wear St. Laurent on the regular these days.”
“So where’s Harry modelling at the moment?” Dani asks curiously. “Is he still at Topman?”
Louis nods. “Yeah, kinda. He’s dividing his time between billboard shoots for them and then he’s actually doing a little bit of runway work for Lanvin at the moment.” He sips his tea. “You know he did that really short walk at the London Fashion Week just gone?” They both nod. “Well, he’s hoping to get something a little more, um, permanent with them.”
“Ooh,” Gracie coos. “Is it looking positive?”
Louis shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know if he knows, if I’m honest. You know how difficult it is to tell with these things.”
“True,” Gracie notes. “The only thing I’m sure of at Lanvin is that Keira is in love with you.”
“Now, now,” Louis tuts. “Maybe I’m just bloody good.”
“Cocky git,” Dani hums. “We all know you’re the best out of us. No need to rub it in.”
Louis ducks and pretends the compliment doesn’t make him grin. He stuffs another bite of avocado into his mouth. “Awww, thanks, guys,” he says instead, swallowing then wrapping an arm around Dani’s neck, pressing a sloppy kiss onto her cheek. “I love you both, you know. You’re both crazy talented too and I’m so glad I got put with you.”
“Creep,” Dani says, batting him away, but she’s also grinning.
“But we’ll definitely have to do something next week,” Gracie says. “We should start a group chat on Whatsapp.”
“We should,” Danielle squeals, and pulls out her phone there and then. “What shall we call it?”
“Lanvin Losers,” Gracie pipes up, just as Louis says, “two gays and a redhead.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Danielle hisses, narrowing her eyes at Louis. “Why are you the worst?”
Louis smirks. “You know that’s the name you’re going for, don’t you?”
“Unfortunately,” she groans. “Right, it’s made.” She locks her phone, then her eyes go wide when the screen flashes to life with a message and she sees the time. “Oh, bollocks, time to go. Let’s go make up some more faces then, shall we?”
They trudge back to the building slowly, Louis grinning smugly all the way there.
*