Louis is so omega coded in the beginning of this chapter help :0

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The room was still dark when Louis stirred awake. The early morning light was yet to spill through the thin curtains. Instead, the final light of the moon was still casting muted shadows across the small motel room.

Louis moved slowly, feeling the weight of a restless night settle on him. He blinked his eyes open, his muscles sore from the odd position he had fallen asleep in. His mind was sluggish, but the reality of the situation quickly came back to him—the cramped motel room, the one bed, and Harry still lying beside him.

Harry was still asleep, chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. Louis, his body tangled in the sheets, was far too close to him. His arm had draped across Harry's chest at some point during the night, their bodies pressed together as if the space between them had never existed.

Louis froze, eyes scanning Harry's face—his expression soft in sleep. A knot tightened in his stomach. How had they ended up like this? His thoughts were a jumbled mess, but he knew one thing: he had to move.

Carefully, deliberately, Louis flexed his fingers, trying to ease his arm out from where it had somehow ended up brushing against Harry's chest. His eyes darted to Harry's face, just inches away, watching for any sign that he might stir.

Harry's features were soft, far removed from his usual mischief and sly grins. His hair stuck out in wild curls, the faintest crease on his brow from the pillow's edge. Louis swallowed against the lump rising in his throat, forcing himself to look away. He shouldn't be noticing this—not now.

Slowly, he tried again, moving just enough to slide one leg free from their tangle. Just as his muscles coiled for the next cautious shift, Harry's voice broke the silence, rough and languid.

"You're not planning to kill me in my sleep, are you?" Harry muttered, his words thick with sleep but still sharp. "That would just be cruel."

Before Louis could even register the comment, Harry's arm shot out, pulling him closer, his body dragging Louis back into the bed. Louis gasped as he was tugged against Harry's chest, tangled in the sheets, their faces just inches apart now.

"Hey!" Louis blurted, his voice more of a startled whisper than anything else.

Harry's grip was firm, his fingers splayed against Louis' back.

"Mm," Harry hummed, his eyes still half-lidded but gleaming with amusement. "Good morning to you too, sweetheart."

"What are you doing?" Louis slurred sleepily.

"Keeping you still," Harry murmured, his voice rough. His grip didn't loosen. "It's too early for this."

Louis' palms went to Harry's chest, trying to create distance. "Get off of me!" His voice was still raspy.

"Are you always so feisty in the mornings?" Harry teased, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. "It's not even light outside yet. C'mon, back to sleep."

"Not tired," Louis snapped as best he could, squirming against Harry in a futile attempt to free himself. Every movement only seemed to bring them closer.

"Shh. Stay still," Harry complained, eyes closing again. "You're ruining my beauty sleep."

Louis' thoughts scrambled as he struggled to process the proximity—the heat radiating between them, the steady thrum of Harry's heartbeat under his palm. "You can't— what are you doing?"

"Just the same thing that you were doing to me all night," Harry said, voice playful and low. His grip tightened on Louis' waist, holding him there as if he had every right to.

"I wasn't," Louis insisted.

Harry chuckled lowly and Louis could feel the vibrations against his neck. "Wasn't what?" he mused. "Being clingy?" he muttered. "Oh, sure you were. But don't worry, I didn't mind."

Louis squirmed again, trying to get some leverage in his position. "Let go."

"Relax," Harry murmured, his voice low and coaxing. His hand shifted, his palm pressing lightly against the curve of Louis' lower back.

The fabric of Louis' shirt bunched under Harry's touch, his fingers brushing against bare skin. The contact sent a jolt through Louis, sharp and electric.

Louis clenched his jaw, his hands still against Harry's chest but not pushing anymore.

"Always so stubborn, aren't you? How 'bout you stop fighting me for once," Harry murmured, his voice dipping lower. His fingers traced idle patterns on Louis' skin, the touch maddeningly gentle.

"I'm not—oh." Louis' breath hitched as Harry's fingers dipped lower, his thumb pressing against the curve of his spine. "What are you doing?"

"Ah, there we go," Harry said softly, opening his eyes as if sensing Louis' shift. His hand started to move in slow, lazy circles against Louis' back. "You're okay."

Louis' head dropped forward, his forehead nearly brushing Harry's cheek. Louis swallowed hard, his protests dying on his lips. His body, traitorous and weak, melted into the warmth of Harry's touch.

"Harry," Louis breathed, the name slipping out without permission, barely audible.

"Mm," Harry hummed again, his lips curling into a lazy smile. "That's my name, sweetheart. Still sounds so lovely when you say it." He closed his eyes again, his fingers slipped under the hem of Louis' shirt, rubbing tenderly at his bare skin.

The touch made Louis shiver, his muscles tensing briefly before melting under the steady rhythm of Harry's hand. His spine arched, his breath stuttering as Harry's palm pressed against the curve of his lower back.

"Harry," he whispered again.

"I know, sweetheart," Harry said, his tone impossibly soft, his hand never stopping its steady rhythm. "I know. Just relax. Go to sleep, you need it."

Louis' thoughts were a blur of static, complacent under Harry's touch. Every instinct told him to pull away, to break free but he couldn't. Not when Harry's voice was that soft, not when his touch felt like it was erasing every wall Louis had built.

Louis let out a soft, involuntary whine, his head going to rest on Harry's shoulder, his body flush against Harry's.

"That's it," Harry murmured. "Go to sleep," he whispered. "It's still dark out."

Louis felt his breathing even out slightly. "Still hate you," he managed. "Just warm."

"Just warm," Harry repeated, still thumbing Louis' spine. "You're adorable like this."

Another quiet, tired whine from Louis, this one more embarrassed than the last as he tucked his face into Harry's neck.

A low chuckle from Harry. "Okay sorry, sweetheart," he murmured against Louis' hair, rubbing a hand down his back. "Not adorable," he promised. "Still stubborn. Still incredibly annoying."

Louis hummed softly in approval, his grip on Harry's T-shirt tightening as he settled into sleep.

"I know," Harry whispered.

For a long time, they stayed like that, the room quiet save for the faint rustle of sheets and the steady rhythm of their breathing.

The next time Louis woke, the room was bathed in soft morning light. The sun streamed through the curtains, casting golden patterns across the bed. For a moment, he was disoriented. Last night's events hovered on the edge of his memory.

Then, slowly, he felt Harry's weight shifting beneath him.

Louis barely had time to process it before he found himself on his back, Harry pinning him gently to the mattress.

His eyes flew open, wide and startled as he stared up at Harry. Harry's hands bracketed Louis' shoulders, his weight careful but firm, holding him in place.

"Relax a little more, sweetheart," Harry said, his voice a low purr. His lips quirked into a teasing smile as he looked down at Louis. "I'll shower first."

Louis stared at him, his mind spinning as Harry pushed off the bed with his usual effortless grace. He stood, stretching briefly before grabbing his things and disappearing into the bathroom without a backward glance.

Left alone, Louis lay frozen on the bed, his body still warm from where Harry had been. His heart pounded in his chest, his breaths shallow and uneven. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind a chaotic mess of thoughts and feelings he couldn't begin to untangle.

Through the door, Harry submerged himself under the soft spray of the showerhead. He ran a hand over his face before reaching out his palm to steady himself against the wall. He took a breath, running his fingers through his wet hair.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the memory of Louis pressed against him. The quiet intimacy of his voice, the way his name had sounded as it slipped from Louis' lips like a prayer. Harry.

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back and let himself get lost in the steady flow of the water.

***

The diner was quiet except for the faint clatter of dishes and the low hum of conversation. Morning sunlight filtered through the dusty blinds, casting long stripes of light across the cracked vinyl booths. It smelled like coffee and fried eggs—a strange comfort in an even stranger situation.

Louis sat stiffly across from Harry, his elbows resting on the sticky table, a cup of untouched coffee in front of him. His damp hair was still drying from a hurried shower back at the motel, and he kept glancing out the window as if expecting someone to recognise them.

Harry, on the other hand, was utterly relaxed. He was leaning back in the booth with one arm stretched across the backrest, his other hand casually stirring his coffee with a spoon. He wasn't wearing his usual paint—just a pair of dark sunglasses and an easy, confident smirk.

"This place has charm, doesn't it?" Harry drawled, breaking the silence.

Louis snorted softly, finally wrapping his hands around his coffee cup. "If by charm you mean grease stains and suspiciously cheap pancakes."

"Exactly." Harry grinned, lifting his coffee for a slow sip. "Feels almost... normal, doesn't it?"

Louis glanced at him, brow furrowing. "Normal?"

"Yeah." Harry gestured loosely between them. "You. Me. Breakfast. No explosions, no capes. Just two people."

"That's one way to spin it," Louis muttered but his lips twitched into a faint smile despite himself.

The waitress appeared then, setting down two plates of pancakes and syrup with a practised lack of interest in either. Harry offered her a charming "thank you, darling," which earned him a raised eyebrow before she wandered off.

Louis didn't miss the way Harry's grin grew wider at the dismissal.

Louis rolled his eyes. "You're the worst," he said, shaking his head as he picked up his fork.

"Am I?" Harry shot back, cutting into his pancakes with precision. "Or are you just bad at admitting you're enjoying this?"

Louis huffed but he didn't answer, instead focusing on his food.

For a while, they ate in companionable silence. Louis found himself glancing at Harry more than he wanted to—watching the way he ate like he didn't have a care in the world, like he hadn't spent last night tangled in Louis' space, stealing more than his share of the blanket.

"Something on your mind, sweetheart?" Harry asked suddenly, not looking up from his plate.

Louis quickly looked away, stabbing at a piece of pancake. "No."

Harry hummed, unconvinced. He reached for the syrup, pouring it slowly over the last of his pancakes. "You're quiet this morning," he noted.

"Maybe I just don't have anything to say to you," Louis replied, but the bite in his tone was half-hearted.

Harry chuckled, finally pushing his plate aside and leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Oh, I doubt that," he said, his sunglasses sliding down his nose just enough for Louis to see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

Louis didn't respond. He sipped his coffee, willing the heat in his face to go away.

It wasn't just the way Harry looked without the mask—although that was distracting enough. It was his actions. The way he'd handed over the drive with no strings attached. The way he'd offered Louis the bed even if it meant cramming himself into a chair all night. It was those fleeting moments of care that left Louis more off-balance than anything else.

When Harry stood to pay the check, Louis was surprised by how much he didn't want the moment to end. There was something about the quiet, about the normalcy, that felt... almost safe.

And when Harry held the door open for him on the way out, tossing a casual "Don't get used to it, sweetheart," over his shoulder, Louis couldn't help but smile.

***

In the motel, the silence between them was thick with unspoken words, the tension from the night prior still hanging in the air.

Louis sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting on his knees, elbows tense. He could feel Harry's presence, even without looking at him. Harry had gone into the bathroom to clean up, leaving Louis with his thoughts. Thoughts that circled back to Harry—always back to him.

Every time Louis thought he had his head straight, something else happened. Harry's words, his touch, the way they'd interacted on the job—it was all slowly wearing away at the walls Louis had built around himself. His thoughts shifted and he couldn't ignore it anymore. The way Harry had been pulling him closer—physically, mentally—wasn't just a game.

Louis finally exhaled, pushing his hands through his hair before standing to pack his bag. He kept cautiously glancing back at the bed as if it was about to spill all of his secrets. The faint memory of their bodies entangled was still etched in his brain.

Louis was about halfway through packing his bag, his hands still stiff and uncooperative, when the bathroom door creaked open. He froze, momentarily caught off guard before his eyes moved instinctively toward it.

Harry stepped out, his bare chest glowing in the dim light. The sharp lines of his jaw were illuminated as he ruffled his hair, not a care in the world. Louis quickly looked away, swallowing hard, his breath catching in his throat as the image of Harry, completely bare of his usual bravado, sent an unexpected shiver down his spine.

He could feel the heat rising in his face and the awkwardness in his throat prevented him from breathing for a moment.

"What's the matter?" Harry's voice broke the silence, playful and teasing. A small smirk played on his lips. "You've been staring all day, sweetheart. Now you can't even look at me?"

Louis, his face flushing bright red, simply turned further away, fumbling with his bag. He didn't even trust himself to say anything. His thoughts were in disarray—frustration mixing with something more confusing that he didn't want to deal with.

Harry chuckled softly under his breath, grabbing a T-shirt. Louis refused to look over his shoulder as Harry walked back into the bathroom, hearing the soft click of the door behind him. Louis took a slow, steadying breath, focusing on the mundane task of packing and trying his best not to be distracted.

A few moments later, Harry came out again. This time, he was fully dressed, his tight black shirt clinging to him. He moved casually around the room, too comfortably in this space, pulling out something from his bag.

Then, casually, he glanced at Louis and said, "Long drive ahead of us," like it was just another ordinary moment.

But it wasn't. Not when the air between them felt as if it had stretched to a breaking point.

Harry reached for something, hand brushing so briefly against Louis' wrist that it shouldn't have been a big deal but, to Louis, it felt like everything was suddenly on fire.

Louis flinched violently, his body jerking away from Harry's touch as if it had burned him, branded him.

"Woah, easy there, sweetheart," Harry reached out to steady Louis but he was already halfway across the room.

Louis pressed his hand to the window, turning away from Harry and trying to focus on the cars outside. Louis fixed his eyes on the outside world, wanting to focus on anything else. Anything except the fact that Harry's presence felt suffocating right now.

Harry tilted his head, observing him quietly, the usual tease gone. It was the longest silence they'd shared in a while and it hung thick between them.

Louis kept his back turned, his muscles locked, waiting for the moment to pass. Yet, Harry's steps slowly grew closer until he was a couple of feet away, close enough for Louis to feel the heat radiating off of him.

Louis gripped the edge of the window, trying to steady his breathing. His heart thundered in his chest, not just from the closeness but from the build-up of everything that had occurred throughout the trip. The tension that had been there before—now pushed to its limit.

"This is so stupid," Louis muttered, shaking his head, eyes still fixed on the city outside. He kept his fingers to the glass, trying to let the coldness of it soothe him.

Harry moved carefully towards him. "Are you going to keep running?" he asked quietly. "Or are you going to stop fighting me?" His tone was soft but with a distinct, probing edge that made it feel like an invitation, not just a question.

Louis squeezed his eyes shut for a second before he finally turned. For the briefest moment, their eyes locked. There was no more sarcasm, no more bravado—just raw silence and that burning anticipation between them, inches away from collapsing.

Louis opened his mouth but no words came. He was breathing too fast and, for a second, it felt like the air was caught in his throat. The space between them was tight, too tight. All of a sudden, nothing about this was playing anymore.

Harry blinked at him, simply observing. He leaned closer to Louis thoughtfully, testing. "Louis."

Louis swallowed, his eyes trailing up Harry's body until they reached his face. His face. Lips parted and eyes wide, just watching Louis, waiting. Somewhere between lips and eyes, Louis could've sworn he saw Harry nod.

"Harry," Louis whispered and somehow it felt like surrender.

Harry's eyes darted to Louis' lips. "Yeah?"

For the briefest moment, Louis saw something crack in his composure. The faintest stutter in his breath. A flicker of vulnerability. It was enough to send Louis over the edge.

He suddenly stepped closer without thinking or even knowing what he was doing. He took one final glance at Harry.

And then he smashed their lips together.

Harry was caught off guard for a moment but quickly recovered, meeting Louis with desperate ferocity. When Harry kissed him back, Louis felt as if his entire body had been lit on fire. Harry's hands cradled Louis' face, pulling him deeper.

Louis gripped Harry's biceps, his fingers curling into the fabric of his T-shirt like he needed to anchor himself to something solid. Harry's thumb traced the curve of his jaw, pressing him closer as if he couldn't get enough.

It was hard and messy, more urgent than Louis had intended. But still, he didn't pull back. He wasn't ready to, couldn't.

Harry took control. His hands went to the back of Louis' neck with a pressure that made him gasp, even in the kiss. Pulling him in like there was no escaping this. Harry was so sure, so deliberate in the way he took charge, his fingers tightening around the nape of Louis' neck.

It lasted too long for either of them to say it wasn't right.

Louis' body responded before his brain did. It was too much yet not enough. The kiss escalated- every ounce of tension spilling over between them as Louis pressed Harry against the window. Louis' hands laced behind Harry's neck and Harry let out a soft grunt when he felt Louis' fingers tangle in his hair.

Louis suddenly stumbled back.

The kiss was over just as abruptly as it started. Louis stepped away as the realisation hit him like a ton of bricks, blood rushing to his ears, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Harry watched him, breathless and wide-eyed.

Louis shook his head quickly, refusing to meet Harry's eyes. "Don't- don't get used to that," he choked out.

Harry couldn't help the satisfied smirk that pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Before Louis even thought, his body moved instinctively. He backed away quickly. One moment he was there, frozen, and the next he was practically running to the other side of the room.

"I'll... I'll be in the car," Louis muttered as he practically darted for the door.

Harry stayed still for a second, the usual charm not so easily slipping back into place as if it'd shattered briefly, exposed by their collision, their truth.

He watched Louis' retreating figure with an unreadable gaze. But a faint, secret smile remained on his lips.

GAHHHH

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