"God, Louis." Lily huffs. "Would it kill you to be a little humble?"

"Two things," The cheerleader swipes on a thin layer of mascara. "One, this is coming from you, the same girl who has her name plastered on everything she owns, so what? No one can steal it?" Louis licks his lips. "And second, have you met me?"

"Fuck you. I just hoped for some, I don't know... character development?"

"The hell you think this is?" Louis adds a light coat of blush to his cheeks. "Listen, honey, I do what I want and I dare you to try and stop me."

"I won't try to stop you, but I'll call Harry."

"What is he? Your secret weapon?" Louis props a hand on his hip. "I'm immune to his curls, try again."

"Bullshit. I see you eyeing them all the time. I know that you dream of fucking those little curls on his head."

"I'm not a hair-sexual." Louis blinks. "I'm harry-sexual."

"Why do I feel like Harry's used that line on you."

"Because he has."

"So, you're plagiarizing?"

Louis lets out a frustrated huff and crosses his arms. "This is why mom and dad never got you that pony for your fifth birthday!"

His younger sister raises both her brows. "No. We don't live on a farm, ass-wagon."

That was when Harry stepped in, he had been listening for a while now. His weird little fedora on his head and his face immediately changing from happy to bewildered when he heard Louis' response.

"With a face like yours, I would say we do."

Harry gently pulls on Louis' wrist. "Why don't we go find a seat? Okay? Okay, come this way." He resorts to picking Louis up and propping the cheerleader on his hip. The cloudless sky was a mix between dark blue and pale orange. There were a light breeze and the faint smell of barbecue and burning wood from the torches set around the designated tables. Harry ended up carrying Louis to a table by the stage and sets the boy on a chair. "Well, that was wank."

Louis was a little feisty thing. He pinches Harry's nose when the older boy makes a move to stand up. "What?" Harry's voice was nasally.

"You aren't going anywhere." Louis' manicured nails were incredibly close to Harry's face.

The football player tries to pull away but Louis doesn't release his poor nose. So, instead, he pinches Louis' nose too. "Then, you aren't going anywhere either." Now they would both be nasally.

It was well into the luau. They had finished eating, Louis the last one. Always the last one because he was the slowest eater. Louis was still sat at the table when his family had gone to the dance floor with the performers.

Harry sighs, watching his mom and dad dance, embarrassingly so. Louis takes a long sip of his drink. Harry sighs again.

"You can go dance if you want." Louis turns his head and gives Harry a short glare. "Or stay here and steal all the air from me with your sighing."

Harry slouches. "I want to dance with you."

"I'm eating."

"And, that's why I'm waiting."

Louis can't keep his annoyed expression on much longer. "You sap." He elbows Harry. "God, you're adorable."

"Your relationship gives me whiplash sometimes." 

Harry looks over at Ioane, he was at the table next to them, sipping on a red drink. "Same."

For the remainder of the time Louis spent eating, Harry and Ioane were talking, which surprised Louis a little, to be honest. He can only go by what Harry told him, their clean slate. It was nice to see Harry and Ioane get along, but seeing Harry being the jealous shit he is was hot.

Too bad Louis can only have one or the other.

Maybe >:)

The moment Louis set down his fork, he was being yanked to the dance floor. "Harry!"

"You put your hand here," the football player sets his hand on his shoulder. "And I put mine here," he goes to hold Louis' waist. "And we hold hands."

"I don't like this way of dancing." Louis wrinkles his nose. "Do this." He places both his hands on Harry's shoulders and sets the latter's on his waist. "There we go."

Harry fish mouths. "We're supposed to leave room for Jesus."

"Hey, are you dancing with me or Jesus?"

"You?"

"Exactly." Louis licks his lips, clearly struggling to slow dance to the soft live music playing. The other people were dressed in their floral clothing and tropical shirts, they have also slowed to match the beat, and the loud talking has lowered to small intimate conversations.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see their families, Louis' siblings going back to the table as their parents stayed on the dance floor. As he moves to get a better look at his dad, George gives him and wink and thumbs up when he sees how close Harry is to Louis. Nasty old man.

"Who is?"

Harry looks down at Louis. "What?"

"Who is the nasty old man?" Louis asks. "You always say things aloud. God, be careful what you say."

"No one is nasty." Harry brushes off his father's gross weird motions of approval.

"I can be nasty," Louis mutters without much of a thought. A mischievous glint passes through his eyes before he's going up on his tippy toes so his lips are right next to Harry's ear. "I can be dirty for you, daddy."

Harry was going to pass out—from the heat, from Louis, from Louis' words, from Louis' mouth, from Louis' ass. "Fuck. I hate you." Harry tightens his hold on the boy's hips. "You fucking suck."

Louis nibbles on Harry's neck. "I'll only suck you, daddy."

A few moments later, and a few thoughts of dead kittens and grandpa dicks fucking donuts—Harry's boner was gone and so was his appetite for dessert. After Louis stepped on Harry's foot for the tenth time, he finally spoke up. "Can you even dance?"

The look Louis gives him is offended. "I'm the cheer captain."

Harry blows a raspberry. "No shit, dude."

"Fight me, you whore."

Harry cackles. "You're cute when you can't dance."

"You're ugly when you're cute."

"Oh, how I love when you don't make sense." Harry sing songs. "You are so beautiful, Anthos."

"I thought you were supposed to wait 'till you found a flower that was right for me."

Harry hums. "I feel like I can't do that. All the flowers are beautiful and unique, and so are you. You don't deserve the name of one flower because your existence can't be narrowed into one specific little thing."

"Thankies." Louis' face is overcome with heat. "I think I really like poetic Harry." The blue-eyed boy's cheeks having a faint red glow and his lip disappearing between his teeth, and Harry was there to just admire him.

The two of them were curled up in bed, the luau long over and the house incredibly quiet. The dull sound of the television humming as the faded crash of the waves on the shore filed through the window.

Harry lets out a content sigh, curling his arm around Louis' waist as the half-asleep boy snuggling into his bare chest. The faint glow of the television framing Louis' face almost too perfectly. Over the point of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, while his half-opened eyes struggled to watch the movie playing.

"Sweetums." Harry's voice is quiet.

"Hazza baby." Louis yawns.

"Babydoll."

"Bae." The boy sighs.

"Anthos, I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Louis slowly raises his head, with a tiny quirk in his brow. "That's a whole lot of years."

Harry squints. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He says again, this time more serious. "I'm determined to keep you in my arms for the rest of my life."

"What if you lose both your arms tomorrow?"

The green-eyed teen pouts and tightens both his arms around Louis' shoulders, yanking the boy tightly into his chest. "Then, I will hold you until then."

"Harry. Harry." Louis shook the boy's arm. "Harold."

He only got a groan in reply.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Why can't it just wait?" Harry barely opens his eyes. "It's fucking three in the morning."

"Oo, it's the devil's hour. Do you want to play with my Ouija board?"

That had Harry sitting up so fast they knocked heads. "You have one—you brought it?!"

Louis blinks several times and rubs his forehead. "What? No." It's quiet for a few moments. "Obviously I wouldn't bring mine, it's old and I found it in our basement, too delicate. Weird how I found another one in the basement here, huh."

Harry chokes on his breath.

"Anyway." the cheerleader fixes his eye-mask. "Call me Bitchouis."

"What?"

"Call me Bitchouis Bitchilliam."

"Oh my god."

"Call me Bitchouis Bitchilliam Bitchomlinson."

"I'm going to cum in all your socks that you'll have none left."

Louis squints. "If you cum in another one of my fucking Gucci socks—"

"Not only Gucci, honey. All your socks." Harry glares, though he can't see much of Louis in the dark. "Your Versace, Prada, Fendi—everything."

"You wouldn't."

Harry scoffs. "Try me. Apparently, I identify as a sock-sexual and I will fuck all your socks."

"It's nasty that you sound proud of it."

"Wake me up at three again, and your feet will be cold for the rest of your life."

"Harry, no!" Louis frowns. "Stop it."

"If you don't have any socks left by the end of this vacation, it's not on me sister."