Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

September, 2025

It’s done! The beast is finished.

(This is the place to scroll on to Chapter One if you’re not in the mood for my ramblings about what made this fic happen.)

When I started this journey in 2023, I was only seven months into fic reading—thirteen years in the fandom, and not once had I touched a fic. I love literature, I’ve studied literature, but real people fanfiction always felt too invasive, too close to home I guess, especially given the parasocial bond I’ve had with these five boys since day one, (it’s worrisome, really).

Then came November 2022: a broken arm (so much for ‘parasocial bond’), surgery, a hospital stay, and unreliable WiFi. The universe has a dark sense of humour.

What shall I say, one click led to another, and I tumbled down an ao3 rabbit hole I’ll never be able to climb back out of. I binged for hours, weeks—whom am I kidding? Months!

I found works that eclipsed much of my literature-studies reading list, works that ruined me and put me back together, and fics that healed things I didn’t know where broken. And somewhere along the way, I felt the need to give something back to this amazing community. That’s how this “little journey” began.

On Sunday, May 21st, 2023 I created a doc called fic2.

On May 22nd I renamed it Good Grief.

That these words are written 28 months after starting and the stats of my Scrivener look like this



—is just another joke of the universe.

The idea for this plot was born while navigating my own upheavals. Losses I couldn’t escape, changes I couldn’t undo.

I learned the hard way that death is a part of life as much as love is. Though we celebrate one, the other is being pushed aside, outsourced to hospitals, hospices—basically anywhere but close to us. What we don't see, doesn't exist.

Yet, it does exist. Painfully so.

I’m not gonna lie, I thought I understood grief. In less than three years, I lost five of my closest and most beloved people, and then three more followed soon after. So when I started to write this rollercoaster, I believed myself more than well-versed in the gut-wrenching truth that no matter the level of grief you’re subjected to, your own life goes on, whether you like it or not.

From the start, this story was meant to portray how loss, grief, love, and laughter go hand in hand. Because if I’ve learned one thing, both from research and from experience, it’s that discussing the hard topics in advance can and does ease the unimaginable pain when grief inevitably hits.

Never in a million years, though, had I thought that I'd be mourning the loss of one of the boys during this process.

Yet here I am.

On October 16th, 2024, Mister Liam Payne tragically passed away.

At that time I was 346,559 words into this story. A story about Louis losing his best friend.

And nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared me for it.

It broke me. More than I will ever let someone know.

I am not a superstitious person in any way. But the little evil voice in the back of my head, whispering, “You’ve called it” is something I will have to live with for the rest of my days.

Finishing this story was one of the hardest things I’ve done in my life. For multiple reasons.

I struggled. A lot. Still do.

Friendships were formed over this, friendships were dampened over this.

But in the end I owed it to myself, to my betas, to the fic fandom that has given me so much over the past three years, and last but not least to Liam to push through this beast.

To grieve is to honour the memories we’ve created with someone while we grapple with their absence.

This is me honouring 15 years of memories.

This is me honouring one special night in a hotel bar, where I still don’t know who needed the talk more—you or I.

I wish my words had had the same impact on you as yours had on me.

Sometimes life even fucks up pinky promises.

This is me grappling with your absence.

RIP Liam

Until we meet again.

xxx

❤️

“Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh.”

George Bernard Shaw.

So, have that laugh, have that cry, have that laugh while you cry or have that cry while you laugh, but never cease to make the best out the time you have, because we’re all just arguing about our timescale given.

My special thanks goes out to the dearest Hands And Knees For Two Days Straight squat. Without you girls, I’d probably still be stuck somewhere around chapter 10.

Thank you for your friendship. Thank you for your support. Thank you for being the OT4 I needed to push through.

I will never be able to repay you.

Please know that you’ll always be in my heart.

❤️💛🧡💚💙

Disclaimer:

This product contains traces of life and death and everything that can happen in between.

There’s swearing, sarcasm, banter, smut, an attempted assault and a very happy ending.

Nothing in this story is so graphic that an average emotionally stable adult couldn’t cope with it.

To what extend you consider yourself emotionally stable is not up to the author to decide.

By continuing to read, you agree not to come at the author for personal issues that might, respectfully, be better discussed with a therapist. So take care of yourself, my friend.

Several studies (e.g., Jones et al., 2020; Bellet et al., 2018) suggest that trigger warnings do not reduce immediate distress when exposed to potentially upsetting content. They also don’t tend to prevent people from engaging with the material, but they might increase anxiety by emphasising the potential for harm, and may unintentionally reinforce avoidance behaviours.

I don’t intend to increase your anxiety. That’s why you won’t find special warnings for potentially upsetting scenes, none of them are very graphic either way. What I can promise is this: everything you’re about to read has been written with intention, balanced by humour, sarcasm, and a thoroughly considered healing arc for every single character.

There are a couple of sentences that, with the knowledge of today, I’d probably write differently. But at the time they were written with intent, so I decided to leave them in. As a wise man has engraved on his chest: it is what it is. 

AI was used to scavenge commas, spelling variants, and Louis’ bloody possessive “s” to spare my betas from having to correct the same shit over and over again. Other than that: every simile, triad, and em-dash is mine. I refuse to let chatGPT ruin 30 years of proper use of punctuation in English.

If you still think something sounds AI-ish, blame my non-native autistic arse for picking it up in way too many AI written fics and student essays. It’s a pestilence I can’t seem to escape.

Let’s just face it: we’re all doomed to live with this plague we feed ourselves anyway by now.

There will be links to pictures or songs in this fic. If you don’t want to disrupt your reading flow by clicking on them here’s the link to the masterpost where I will add additional visuals or audios as we go. 

Now, have fun, and please don’t be shy about letting me know what you think of this “little” story.

All the love

Faith

Chapter One 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Louis yelped and darted toward the spinning witches’ hat carousel at the far end of the playground. Two primary school kids had wound it up so tightly that, the moment they let go, it whipped into a dizzying blur, catapulting a little girl who had climbed onto it straight toward the trees lining the park.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, catching her mid-air just in time. The impact knocked the breath out of him, but he managed to steady them both. “That was a close call! Are you okay, love?”

He looked down at the blonde bundle dressed in faint rose in his arms. She couldn’t have been older than three, and now clung to his chest, too shocked to even breathe.

“AVA!” A female voice cried out frantically as Louis gently inspected her for harm. Her tiny hands clutched his jacket, her face buried in his shoulder, trembling but unhurt.

“Christ, Ava,” the woman gasped, rushing to his side. Strangely, she didn’t reach for her daughter but instead placed a hand on Louis’ arm. Louis resisted the urge to pull away.

“Thank you—thank you so much! Are you alright, darling?” she said, finally glancing at the little girl, but instantly back at Louis not even waiting for an answer. “Gosh, I was only distracted for a split second and when I looked up, she was gone and you were already sprinting to fetch her,” she added, batting her fake eyelashes.

Louis bit back a scoff. Split second, my arse. The group of four mums—all looking exactly the same with their long, flat-ironed blond hair, meticulously plucked brows, and matching wardrobes in fifty shades of mumfluencer beige—had barely moved since he’d arrived at the playground with Milly and Ruby nearly forty-five minutes ago. The biggest effort they’d shown during the past hour was to snap the “cutest” totally-not-staged Instagram shots of their wunderkinds. The rest of the time, they’d been side-eyeing other people, whispering, and passing judgement, all while their unattended offspring trampled over sandcastles, buckets, and spades.

God, did he despise these pretentious, social media mum snobs.

“Yeah, happens to the best,” he said, tone polite but edged with sarcasm that sailed right over her head. “Mind if I hand you your daughter back now?”

“Oh! Yes, of course,” she stammered, hastily taking Ava into her arms. She gave the girl a quick once-over before promptly setting her back down.

“Caroline,” she said, thrusting her hand out, and stepping even closer. Too close. Louis flinched, instinctively leaning back. There really wasn’t much that irritated him more than people invading his personal space.

Caroline’s gaze swept over him, starting at his face and sliding down the length of his body before settling somewhere around his collarbone. He cringed but forced himself to stay composed.

He hadn’t even planned on being here. One minute he was shaking hands over a multi-million-pound software deal, the next he was sprinting across the playground in Brioni. Or was it Prada? Who cared. Okay, his sisters cared since most likely it had been one of them who made him buy it.

Anyway. All it took to get here was one call from Gladys. “I’m not feeling great, sweetheart. Could you pick up the girls?” She had said, and no, he couldn’t.

He was supposed to have lunch with a bunch of other suits, celebrating their merger. But of course he did; just like every other day since Ben was in hospital. Again.

It wasn’t even a question anymore. Ben was his best mate, the girls were Louis’ godchildren, and the only ones holding their little universe together since the diagnosis were his Nan and Gladys—Ben’s mum.

So, of course he said yes, and didn’t even swing by home to change.

Now, he was the utterly overdressed weirdo sweating through his way too expensive navy suit and white shirt on this May 3rd. At least he’d had the decency to get rid of the matching tie.

Although, throwing a quick glance to Caroline, he wasn’t sure the open top two buttons were working in his favour right now. He felt like a piece of prey under the glare of a mating-ambitious bird.

Louis ran a hand through his hair. Christ. How had he gone from boardrooms to babysitting in a single breath? Again.

He rubbed the back of his neck and tried not to think about how much easier it used to be.

Ben had always been the sturdy one. A walking dad joke in human form even when he didn’t have children yet. Unshakeable, gentle, deeply uncool in the best way. Louis had never needed to step up like this, not full-time. He was the one who could happily lose eighteen hours a day in his office if it meant everyone he loved never had to worry about money, bills, or broken boilers. That was how he showed up—by making sure no one else had to panic. But now the panic had moved in anyway.

Since the diagnosis, everything had cracked open. And no matter how many zeroes Tomcare Solutions racked up each quarter…there was no way of buying a way out.

First came the chemo, then the surgeries, and now this endless hospital stay that had stretched into its fourth week.

Louis didn’t like to think about how pale Ben looked last time they facetimed. Or how small the girls seemed when they asked when Daddy would come home. He just didn’t know.

He wasn’t good at this stuff. He was a loner. And perfectly happy as such. He’d always only thought of himself as the backup. The godparent. The extra. But lately, it felt less like standing in and more like juggling the whole thing, which was okay, because—well, he loved those silly little buggers. And still, between Ben’s treatment, Gladys’ dodgy health post-stroke, and two nearly-three-year-olds who could destroy a living room in under twelve seconds, he was…coping. Sort of.

At least on paper, he still looked like a man who had his shit together—designer suit, smart watch, curated stubble. A proper professional. He’d built a whole business on that image. Knew exactly how to use it, too.

But standing here, shirt clinging to his back, collar wide open, brown brogues kicked aside to dig his feet into warm sand, it felt like wearing a costume from a different life. One he didn’t have time to put away before stepping into this one.

And judging by the way Caroline was eyeing him—like she’d just found a Daddy-shaped snack—he probably should’ve come in trackies.

She was still standing there, far too close for his liking, holding out her hand and not taking her eyes off him.

“Louis,” he answered finally, accepting her outstretched hand for a quick handshake, already ready to retreat. He turned to glance at Ruby and Milly, who were peacefully sitting in the sand, shoving their toy excavators and dump trucks from point A to point B, blissfully minding their own business.

“Nice to meet you, Louis,” she cooed. “I’ve seen you around a few times over the last couple of weeks. Your daughters are so lovely, totally different from this whirlwind. You can’t let her out of sight for a split second,” nodding to her daughter, who was now stumbling around the swings, dangerously close to a pair of kicking feet.

Louis inhaled sharply at the sight.

“Godchildren,” he said, his tone clipped, as the kid miraculously remained unscathed. “Just babysitting.”

“Oh, how lovely! That’s such a nice thing for you to do. Kids sure do seem to love you, judging by the way they cling to you,” she said somewhat smirking with a short look to her own daughter who was now trying to climb up the slide tower. “Not a single parent then?”

“Nope, not a single parent,” he replied, pressing his thumb into the palm of his hand to ease his discomfort.

Her smile broadened and she flicked her long blonde hair over her shoulder exposing her tanned collarbone under a light cream crocheted cardigan; her three friends were low-key side-eyeing them, pondering whether to come over or not.

“Oh, single godfather then?” she asked, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. “I assume, as I’ve only seen you alone with the two darlings…”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, could you be more blunt, he thought when the ringtone of his phone saved him from answering.

“Sorry, gotta take this one,” he said, as he took a few steps aside and turned around before picking up.

“Hi, please tell me you’re in the neighbourhood. Code rainbow, Li, code rainbow!”

Liam snorted through the phone. “Tommo, again? I can’t keep saving your sorry arse every time yet another bird you won’t give the slightest chance throws herself at you, mate. You’ve seriously gotta learn how to ditch them on your own—or for the love of everything that’s holy, just let one pull you already! They can’t possibly all be shite. Anyways, where are you? I was heading back to the office but wasn’t sure if you’d still be there.”

“Pleeeeease, I’m at the park with the girls and the dumbfluencer mum-mafia is tackling me. It’s four of them! Four! It’s like throwing a piece of meat into a flock of vultures. Me being the meat! Damnit, Payno! She asked if I was a single-parent-slash-godfather twirling her stupid hair around her finger mere seconds after I prevented her daughter from smashing her head on a tree trunk! She didn’t even check on her. Grant her another five minutes and she’ll lasso me with her bra, forgetting she has a kid in the first place!”

A loud laugh bursted out of the speaker.

“Fine. I was already heading your way. Just parked at the coffee shop, give me a sec.”

“Don’t you dare hang up on me till you’re here! I’ll fire your arse!”

“Aww princess, be nice to your Wookie Bear if you want me to get you out of there with your pants still on.”

“I swear to God, Payno, don’t make me slap you!”

“Maybe I enjoy a well-placed—”

“OH, SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HURRY!” he hissed, throwing a glimpse at the four women that were still ogling him, obviously waiting for him to end his call.

“Darling, no swearing in front of the children,” Liam’s voice rang out from behind. Louis spun around just in time to see the exceptionally fit, brown-haired lad hop over the playground’s barrier giving Louis his biggest grin.

With a slight slap on Louis’ bum, he hung up the phone, let it slide into the back pocket of his black fitted suit trousers that really didn’t leave anything to the imagination and pecked Louis on his cheek.

“There you are WOOKIE BEAR!” Louis simpered loud enough for the dumbfluencers to hear.

“Hi pumpkin, missed you, how are my three favourite princesses?” Liam chirped, putting his muscled arm around Louis’ waist, and pulling him in close.

Dressed in a dark green polo insolently accentuating his brawny upper body, Louis had to admit that Liam was quite the sight, and he thanked God for the umpteenth time that Liam moved in next door at the age of five and ever since had been one of Louis’ best mates in the world. Still, he tensed at the physical contact and made a mental note to get him back later for calling him “princess” in public.

Liam’s arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed by Brandy, Mandy, Randy, and Sandy—or whatever their names were. The second Louis hung up, the pack of them began to approach again, their interest now doubled.

And Louis? Well, Louis’ momentary self-preservation mechanism was to start cooing. Totally not over-exaggeratedly of course. “I am sooo sorry for the interruption, please meet my partner Liam. I would gladly resume our little chat, Caroline, but unfortunately, Liam and I have a few things to discuss for our wedding in September,” and just because he could he then batted eyelashes on his turn, and maybe even threw the most cringeworthy love stare at Liam.

“Oh,” Brandy-Caroline stammered, “You’re engaged! That’s um, that’s wonderful, congratulations. A late summer wedding, how lovely. Nice to meet you Liam, your fiancé is quite the catch if I dare say so.” He threw a bit up in his mouth.”We were just…um,” she blushed, “We… I just wanted to thank him again for saving my daughter from flying off that hell of a spinner. He’s really got some amazing reflexes, so um yeah, thank you.”

“Oh, bless you, darling,” Liam purred. “He really is the absolute best. I guess all his football training didn’t just benefit this bum,” he winked and squeezed Louis’ right butt cheek.

Gonna staple a list of appropriate behaviour to your forehead first thing in the morning, bloody hell. And then knock you out with the goddamn stapler, Louis thought, biting his inner lip and grinning tightly. If he happened to pinch Liam’s waist just a bit too hard that was on pure accident.

“It sure didn’t,” Caroline chuckled, throwing yet another glance at Louis’ bottom. “Well, then I’ll no longer keep you lovebirds from your chat. It was a pleasure meeting you. Best wishes for the wedding and thanks again for the impeccable catch,” she pointed her head towards the toddler. “Bye then, see you around.”

Once she was out of earshot Louis snarled, “My bum? Seriously, Payno?”

“Hey, it is a good bum, don’t blame me!” he laughed. “So, is it just me or did I hear you say thanks for saving me YET AGAIN from major embarrassment and total incompetence in the flirting department, Liam, bestest friend in the whole wide world?”

“I’m not incompetent in the flirting department. I may have slight deficiencies in the dumping business, but really, how’s it my fault that I attract the shallowest of all out there? Besides, you’ve been working for me for 15 years and not once have I fired your drunk arse, you owe me.”

“Only because most of the time you’re too baked to even tell if I’m drunk or not. She was hot though, could totally have let her shag you for a change, she seemed quite fond of your dumping business,” he teased, making a beeline towards the two toddlers before Louis could hit him with the spade. “Hey, my lovely little sunshines, how are my two favourite girls? Wooow that’s some impressive building skills, did you dig that hole all on your own, or were you just helping Louis to dig himself one?”

“Limaaaa,” Ruby squeaked darting straight into Liam’s arms, “Look, I got piggy tails.” She pointed to her dark hair fixed in the smallest pigtails he’s ever seen. “Loulou did it,” she proudly smiled at him like he’d hung her the stars and started twirling.

“Wow, you look amazing, Sweetie, the best piggy tails I’ve ever seen on a two-year-old,” he patted her back and smiled. “And you, Milly, you didn’t want Louis to make you any piggy tails?”

The toddler shyly shook her head, not looking up, silently loading the dump truck with sand.

“She still refuses to speak?” he whispered towards Louis, raising an eyebrow.

Louis shrugged his shoulders, his lips pressed to a straight line. “Can’t blame her, can ya?”

“How is he? Have you been to the hospital yet?”

Louis faltered. “Li, you know I…” he stuttered, flinching back in horror.

“Yeah, mate I know,” Liam said compassionately. “It just sucks so much. Did Gladys say anything?”

“Not really, she just rang me up in the middle of the Commsmith meeting, asking me to pick up the girls from nursery because she wasn’t feeling too well. I didn’t dare ask,” he murmured. “Nan is taking them for the night. They really need to fix him soon.”

“Lou, you know he won’t...”

“They’re gonna fix him, Li, they will!”

“Mate.”

“Don’t ‘mate’ me, he’s gonna be fine! He always is.” He planted himself on the ground next to the toddlers and began to ram the little yellow plastic spade into the sand.

Liam sighed. Louis could feel his worried brown teddy bear eyes fixed on the back of his’ head, watching him stubbornly digging and broadening the girls’ construction site hole.

The situation with Ben was…tense. He and Louis had grown up practically like brothers. Ben’s mum, Gladys, and Louis’ Nan, Jen, had been inseparable since the dawn of time—just like Ben and Louis. Whether it was birthdays, Christmases, or random Tuesdays, the Burkes and Tomlinsons had been constants in each other’s lives. And once the Payne family moved in next door, they’d become part of the mix too. It was just…family.

That’s what made everything now so hard to bear.

“Is Gladys still refusing to go to a proper physiotherapy clinic?” Liam asked, letting sand run through his fingers.

“The only way she’d agree was if Nan came too. But good luck with that—every stroke rehab centre’s been jammed since the damn pandemic, and the NHS is still using it as an excuse for falling apart. Even if I managed to get them into a private place, there’s no way they’d go along with it while Ben’s still off track. You know how the old girls are—stubborn as hell.”

“Stubborn, huh? Oh, wouldn’t I know.” Liam smirked and nudged Louis’ side with the tip of his shoe.

“Shut up.”

Louis leaned back and watched Ruby collect pebbles to fill her truck. The fun fact with the Tomlinson-Burkes was that Ben’s mum was actually older than Louis’ Nan, yet Ben and Louis were the same age. It had always struck Louis as odd—like the Burkes had skipped a generation. And no, it was totally not because the Tomlinson women shot out babies like a confetti cannon at New Year’s, no matter what Ben said. Anyway. His Nan, at seventy, could still run circles around most people, but Gladys wasn’t as lucky. The strokes had slowed her down, and no matter how much she loved the twins, keeping up with two whirlwind toddlers while Ben got his treatment was too much, not that she would ever admit so.

Liam shuffled his feet through the sand, as he cleared his throat.

“Do you think we should maybe talk to him again about trying to find—“

Louis jerked around, staring at him in bewilderment. “Did someone hit you on the head, lad? Because if not, I’ll gladly offer,” he grunted, knowing perfectly well to whom Liam was alluding.

They fell silent, both knowing better than to push that train of thought. He glanced toward Ruby and Milly, still happily digging in the sand. Their mum hadn’t even lasted six hours after they were born.

As much as he’d like to romanticise their story, she basically was a hook-up on a drunken night at the pub and Ben didn’t know about the existence of the kids until the maternal ward of the Summerstone General Hospital had called to inform him that the mother of his children had taken off, leaving nothing but two newborns and a note containing his name, phone number and the sentence: “If their dad can’t take them, please find them a caring family.”

Louis could still remember the call. The stunned silence from Ben. The way he’d clutched the edge of Louis’ kitchen counter when the paternity test came back positive two days later and Ben had asked him to get his siblings’ car seats and drive him to the clinic, now!

The image of Ben holding two screaming newborns had stuck with Louis. Awkward arms cradling both girls at once, his expression a wild mix of fear and determination. “Guess I’m a dad, then,” he’d said, his voice cracking on the word “dad.”

But the truth was, Ben had already been fighting an uphill battle before the twins came along. The cancer diagnosis—Stage III colon cancer, the same shit that had taken his dad—had hit him like a freight train just six weeks earlier. He’d barely had time to process that blow when the phone call from the hospital came.

For the first six months it all went fine. Although Ben’s treatments were a constant rollercoaster, he turned out to be a real baby whisperer. On his not-so-well days, Gladys, Nan, and Louis helped out as much as they could and they made things work.

Month seven then brought the news that the cancer had spread. Two days later, Gladys had her first stroke. Ben had to stay in hospital more and more often. The new round of chemotherapy took its toll on him and with Gladys in recovery, the twins were shuffled from one set of hands to the next, passed between godparents, grandparents, nursery, and anyone who could step in when needed, mostly Louis though.

He had lost count of how many nights he’d spent at Ben’s, rocking one baby while trying to calm the other until either his Nan or Lottie, Louis’ eldest sister, came along in the morning picking them up for nursery and granting Louis another hour to go home and get ready for work. It was somehow working, but at a cost.

Which was why, when the house next to his went up for sale, Louis hadn’t hesitated to buy it, turning it into fully accessible flats, and moved his grandparents and Gladys in. He’d even made sure there was a flat for Ben, just in case.

Not that anyone ever dared say that out loud. Not Ben, and certainly not Louis.

They didn’t even need to because for a while things had seemed better. Ben’s third round of chemo had gone well, and he finally seemed stronger, more like himself again. The twins turned one, then two, two and a half, and Ben was fine.

Until, well, he wasn’t.

Louis sighed, glancing at Ruby and Milly. For now, they were happy, giggling in the sandpit. But lately, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was teetering on the edge. The twins deserved stability, but it felt like every time things started to settle, the ground shifted beneath them.

Because if he had learned one thing over time it was that when shit hit the fan in the Tomlinson and Burke households, it hit with a capital H.

“You okay? Want me to change the subject?” Liam’s voice cut through his thoughts, soft but steady.

Louis blinked, shaking off the heavy feeling in his chest and nodded.

“So, how did it go this morning?”

“What?”

“The Commsmith meeting.”

“Oh, yeah. Went smoothly. They signed without any further discussion. Guess that makes us the market leader now.”

“Whoop whoop” Liam blurted, “Tommo, I am so fucking proud of you, man. Look at you, Mister-Sassy-Pants-I-Failed-My-A-Levels-Twice-But-Conquered-The-World-On-My-Own. Who would have thought that teaching yourself programming to cheat at Sid Meier’s Civilization would get you to sunbathe at 3 o’clock on a workday, not giving two flying shits about your bloody 5k-suit being planted in a dirty old sandpit that strolling cats have most likely been using as a litter box since 1959.”

“Eww, Payno!!” he shouted, immediately turning towards the toddlers in the sand pit. “Girls, don’t put anything in your mouth that looks like truffles.”

“What’s toiffis?” Ruby giggled.

“Just don’t put anything in your mouth, Sweetie.” He raked the spade over the ground, relieved that the black pebbles were indeed just pebbles.

“So, pub tonight? Gotta proper celebrate my fiancé becoming one of the richest fuckers in town,” Liam teased with a blinding smile.

“Oh, fuck off!”

“Pub at seven?” Liam asked.

“It’s Wednesday.”

“And?”

“Friday’s pub night.”

“You’re 35 and own your own company, I think you won’t get into trouble for going to the pub twice in a week.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Fine. Pub at seven.”

“Alright then. Gotta go, mate. My boss is quite a tit if I don’t figure out what to do with the 120 new people he acquired a few hours ago. Chief People & Operating Officer my arse, he should rename it Chief Herding Officer and pay me in tequila.” He grunted playfully, patting Louis on the back and taking a step back to plant little pecks on the heads of both girls.

“In your dreams,” Louis shot back. “You’d bankrupt us in a week. Juice packs it is, lad.”

Liam let out a loud laugh. “Bye Tommo, bye princesses.”

“Yeah right. Just leave me behind. A piece of prey for the vultures!” Louis frowned.

“You’re gonna be fine, sugar plum. I licked all over you, they don’t want you anymore. Rule no. 1 in the international vulture handbook: lick prey to call dibs.”

“Yuck, go already!” Louis waggled the spade, threatening to spank Liam’s rear.

“Bye, hun.”

“Bye...Hey, Payno. Thanks for being the close second bestest friend in the whole wide world.” Louis murmured, burying his toes in the sand, and strenuously trying to avoid looking up.

Liam grinned victoriously.

“Get your arse to the hospital to see him already. I mean it!” He blew Louis two kisses, hopped back over the barrier, and disappeared between parked cars.

Chapter Text

“Shit,” Harry muttered. The paper in his hand trembled as his eyes traced the bold letters in front of him: Benjamin Burke.

He blinked, staring at the name, then the birth date, and back to the name.

“Fucking hell.”

His stomach churned, and his grip tightened on the page. No, no. This couldn’t be. But fuck, the details…they lined up too perfectly.

Benjamin Burke, born Sept. 21st, 1991. There was literally no chance that there were two people running around sharing this name and the birth date.

Harry barely had time to process the sting behind his ribs, before his work phone buzzed in his pocket.

He glanced down. EMC meeting, 10 minutes.

“Of course,” he muttered bitterly. There was no time to think, not even time to breathe. Because honestly, there never was.

With a reluctant sigh, Harry shoved the paper into the file on his desk and grabbed his tablet. He was late. Again.

The hospital buildings stretched endlessly as he strode toward the meeting room on the other side of the site, his mind racing with too much all at once: the shortage of beds, the state of his ward, the never-ending admission requests piling up on his desk, and the suffocating knowledge that none of it would matter the second he sat down in that sterile boardroom.

Not even if one of those admissions was a former schoolmate.

And wasn’t that just the cherry on top?

Instead of actually working—actually helping patients—he had to attend yet another bloody Executive Management Committee meeting. Another couple of hours wasted listening to smug suits nodding along to William Selby’s monologues, as if a two-line text wouldn’t be enough to summarise the archaic bullshit that came out of that man.

God, he hated wasting time. He was a doctor, after all, a bloody good one at that. But becoming head of the palliative care department at thirty had come with a price.

Committees. Way too many fucking committees.

Harry still wasn’t sure how it had happened, but two years ago—probably for the lack of options at the time—he’d been made spokesperson of the Executive Quality Committee at Summerstone General hospital.

Now, every quarter, he got the dubious honour of reporting to the Executive Management Committee about what worked, what didn’t, and what desperately needed to be fixed.

He might as well have been reporting back to a cactus.

The thing was, the EMC was exactly how you’d expect a committee of one of the oldest and biggest hospitals in Manchester to be: a parade of grey suits, smug smirks, and patronising comments. Seventeen men, two token women, and him—the lone thirty-three-year-old gay in defiance of the monochrome dress code.

Did it make him stick out like Elmer the Patchwork Elephant? Absolutely.

Did he care? Not in the slightest.

But Selby did.

Selby—head of the EMC, absolute tosser, and all-around menace to hospital funding—had a particular habit of peppering meetings with homophobic slurs and patronising nicknames. Kid. Nancy. Sissy. Harry had heard them all. He’d also stopped reacting to them months ago, but that didn’t mean it grated any less.

The worst part though was that when William Selby spoke, the other eighteen members nodded in unison like a row of bobblehead dachshunds on the rear shelf of a 1985 Mercedes Benz.

Today was no different.

Harry wasn’t even sure if they’d heard him when he explained—again—that the palliative care ward needed modernising and at least five more beds. The space existed. The staff existed. He just needed the bloody funding to make it usable.

But no. Instead of listening and caring about the fact that they’d been forced to turn patients away for months now the bloody committee sat there, nodding along to Selby’s bullshit like it was gospel.

It wasn’t just frustrating—it was unbearable.

By the time the meeting finally ended, Harry was ready to throw axes.

He stepped out Building 26, fury bubbling hotter with every step. His irritation peaked as he crossed the patio and trudged through the dull, but perfectly renovated, grey hallway in Building 27, the identical sterile white doorways grating on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

By the time he reached the first floor of Building 28, he was a walking storm, slamming the door open and nearly taking Niall’s head off in the process—the Irish lad he’d called his best mate since year 12.

“Blimey, Styles!” the light brunet huffed, stumbling against the wall, projecting his tuna sandwich straight into the plastering, where it slowly slid down to finally scatter all over the floor. “Fucking hell, who shat in your Cheerios this morning? You’ve got a face like a smacked arse,” he added, staring at the angry red patches on Harry’s cheeks and neck, but Harry continued wordlessly trudging to his office, slamming the door shut.

“What the fuck was that?” Niall asked with a questioning look at the red-haired woman sticking her head out of the first door of the hallway.

“EMC meeting,” she shrugged. “Don’t you dare pick that up and put it in your mouth, Nialler,” she warned, nodding at the tuna mess on the wall.

“I’m not weary of life, have you seen this place?” he replied, shuddering before catching the kitchen roll she threw his way and wiping the sandwich mess away.

“Better go check on him, shouldn’t I?” he muttered, trying to aim for the dustbin but missing tragically, causing yet another mess.

“Thought you weren’t weary of life?” the red-haired chuckled.

“Wish me luck,” Niall muttered heading towards Harry’s office.

“Luck!” Annie shouted back as he knocked warily on Harry’s door.

“Go away!” Harry’s gravelly voice bellowed from the other side.

Niall entered anyway. The blinds were closed, and Harry lounged on his dark brown leather sofa, letting his long limbs dangle over the armrest, throwing a tennis ball to the opposite wall, and catching it again.

“What part of go away do I need to spell out?”

“The one where I’m your best friend, psychologist in this department, and morally and ethically bound to keep you happy to prevent my life from being shite. How was EMC?” He asked, sliding half of his bum onto the sideboard almost swiping two binders to the floor.

“Magical. It was a dream.”

“H, you could crack macadamias with those furrowed brows. What happened?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

Niall fumbled with the binders to prevent them from tipping over. “Do I need to get Zayn?”

“Ugh.” Harry hurled the ball against the wall, knocking off a picture frame and snorting in frustration.

“Stupid Selby happened. On the plus side he only called me Nancy once. On the negative side, we’re yet again not being granted more beds, let alone any form of funding to make this hellhole of a building bearable,” he growled.

Building 28 was one of the few remaining old ones on the renewed hospital site. Built as a mental asylum back in the 1840s, there were only two of the original, charming Victorian buildings left and they were far off the beaten track from all the other buildings. Fortunately for Harry, the department of palliative care was located in one of them. It was enchanting, but it was old and in desperate need of renovation. Costs that the EMC was not willing to face, especially not if it was Harry to ask, no matter how good of a job he and his team did or how high the demand was for more beds.

Niall had quietly moved over to the fridge and tossed him a can of lemonade.

“That bad, eh?”

“It’s like talking to walls. Ignorant, hypocritical, abrasive, dumb walls. Not that I seriously expected a different outcome, it’s just so utterly deflating.” He heaved a sigh and flicked the can open, taking a large sip. “The day was already shit when I came in this morning. Did you see the list of new admission requests? Two from gynaecology, two from respiratory, and one from gastroenterology. Not that it matters, we’re at full capacity anyway.” Harry’s frown morphed into something concern-like as he got up from the sofa, opened the blinds and ambled to his desk. A hush fell when he reached for a piece of paper from the department of gastroenterology and handed it over.

Niall held his hand out for it and took a look. “Colon cancer Stage IV, metastases in liver and lungs. Born in 1991? Jeez, only thirty-five?” he inhaled sharply.

Harry gnawed on his thumb. Crestfallen he murmured, “Look at the name”.

“Benjamin Burke?…Benjamin Burke…huh…wait a minute,” Niall gasped. “Oh fuck! Ben Burke?? As in Tomlinson-Burke Ben Burke?” His face lapsed into pure shock.

“Yep, as in Tomlinson-Burke Ben Burke,” Harry’s voice lightly trembled as he stood and stared out of the window.

“Fucking hell. That’s…wow…that’s… holy shit, that’s bad. Are you gonna have to turn him down?” He had put his own can of lemonade down on Harry’s desk and gazed at the paper in sheer disbelief.

“Of course I’m not gonna turn him down!!” He shoved a form into his upper drawer. “Don’t care if I need to put a bed in the hallway! Jesus, how could I turn him down?” He chugged his lemonade and crushed the can with his hand before looking at Niall. “You know he’s got a set of two-year-old twins?”

Niall ran his palm over his face. “Shit. No, I didn’t know that. Haven’t seen or heard from the guy since we left school. Bloody hell. You know the mum?”

“The mum is non-existent.”

“The mum is what??” Niall gasped, leaning half-heartedly back to the sideboard.

“Remember the one with the fake name that bunked off from the maternity ward some time ago? Was her.”

“Dear Lord. I… I… Bloody hell, I don’t know what to say.”

He ran his hand through his hair, eyes fixed on the paper, shaking his head.

“What about Tommo? Have you had the chance to talk to him since…?” he said, looking up to Harry, who was pressing his thumb to his lower lip, nibbling at the inside of his lips. “That lad must really have screwed up big time in a former life for Karma to mess with him like this. First his mum, then his sister, now his best mate…fuck.”

Harry tried his best to swallow the lump in his throat but failed miserably.

Harry couldn’t remember Ben Burke and Louis Tomlinson being anything other than attached at the hip. Harry was just about to turn fifteen when he moved to the suburbs of Manchester and started sixth form at Saint Dolores College in the middle of the school year.

Being the new kid was hard enough, but being the weird new kid—thanks to skipping both year two and year five making him the youngest sixth former in the history of the school—was a whole other ordeal. Weird new kid or not, Harry was quite impressed by the two older boys who had a way of charming their way out of any situation—or into one, depending on their mood. And to be fair, they got into plenty of situations.

There was the time they skipped every homework assignment for a term and somehow managed to talk their way out of detention. Or the time they broke into the school claiming one of them had “forgotten his asthma inhaler” (neither had ever shown the faintest sign of respiratory issues). But the pièce de résistance? The day they managed to dig out a frickin’ WWII hand-grenade with a mini excavator that a construction worker had left unattended with the keys in the ignition before heading to lunch break.

The whole school had to be evacuated for the rest of the day. It was equally disturbing as hilarious. Without thinking twice, one could easily say they were never up to any good, but they were highly entertaining. Loud, vivid, quick-witted, funny as hell and Harry secretly dreamt of befriending them. Well, maybe his dreams had become a tad more graphic a year later when football practice was in full swing and on a remarkably hot Wednesday afternoon in May, in a dirty old sixth-form college dressing room, he accidentally barged in on a very much naked, freshly showered Louis fucking Tomlinson bent over to get clean shorts out of his sports bag.

Not to be dramatic, but it was a sight that had burnt itself on the inside of his eyelids. There was only one hitch: based on his expression, little did said Tomlinson know that when it came to flight or fight, Harry’s innate reaction was to shock freeze. Which is why a certain 16-year-old Harry Edward Styles may or may not have stood there, staring far too long for everyone’s comfort—especially Louis’—before finally bolting and promptly smashing his shoulder into the door frame on the way out.

Needless to say that this incident, paired with the fact that they had been attending the same maths class for months without exchanging so much as a single word, weren’t the best premises to get a laddy lad buddyship going.

There was no point in denying: being an introvert at times came with a price. Yet, being a gay 16-year-old introvert in year 13, gifted with an IQ of 145 in a northern sixth-form college, secretly wanking to the image of his straight senior schoolmates’ perfectly peachy tush resided more on the mortification side of any popularity scale.

Thank fuck for the arrival of an effervescent Irish lad a couple of weeks after Harry’s move to Manchester. If it hadn’t been for him and his simple refusal to let Harry dwell in his shell his last two school years would probably have been a pretty lonely experience.

But luckily one fateful day in November, the classroom door popped open and a compact, blue-eyed brunet with blond highlights stepped in. He took the free seat next to Harry without even bothering to ask and by the time the bell rang, Harry knew all about his parents’ divorce, him staying with his dad and his brother, the tragic passing of some fish named Tom and Jerry, a mild case of OCD, a childhood friend named Michael—although it didn’t become clear whether he was real or imaginary—and that for the love of God, the only possibility to get the lad to shut up seemed to be to stuff food down his throat. Yet Harry liked him. Very much so.

He would even go so far as to say that it was only for his new friend that he managed to bear the sheer panic that came over him anytime a certain Burke or Tomlinson so much as crossed the same hallway as him.

To this day he couldn’t even say whether Louis ever told Ben about “the incident,” all he knew was that any time he came across either one, it was weird as fuck, and they didn’t speak. Ever.

Mocking, bullying, even attacking…Harry would probably have been ok with all of it. Yet nothing like that ever happened—and it for sure wasn’t for the high moral standards or the pure hearts of both boys that they left him alone. No, they could perfectly be a pain in the arse to any one else. But with Harry, all there was, was staring and pure awkward silence, totally out of character, cringeworthy silence. Even Niall didn’t find words to explain it.

So yeah, it had come as an utter shock when he’d seen the patient’s name Benjamin Burke as a possible new admission first thing this morning, and it had certainly not only been for the fact that no thirty-five-year-old should ever see the insides of a palliative care unit.

“Mate?”

Harry startled as a ball of scrunched paper landed straight on his forehead. Niall’s look hit him like the one of a disappointed parent. “Jeez, Harry, please, tell me you outgrew your Tomlinson shock-freeze phase.” Harry awkwardly pressed his lips together. Niall rolled his eyes.

“Speaking of free beds, have you already been to see Ms. Stalworth? If it’s any help, I just had an appointment with her daughter this morning and she mentioned that the family was talking about taking her home if that’s an option.” Niall continued.

“Oh? No, I haven’t done my rounds yet. But yes, that could totally be an option”. Mrs Stalworth had explicitly refused to be transferred to St. John’s Hospice, but Harry was positive that care at home was what she would have wished for in the first place, had she not been too afraid to impose on her family.

“Well, better get on the phone then.” Niall straightened his back, brushed his palms together and checked the clock. “Anyways, ya comin’ to the pub later? Karaoke night. I promised Zayn, Mitch, and Annie.”

“Yeah, no, thanks, I’ll skip. Just wanna make sure we can admit him by tomorrow and then I’ll head home, questioning my life choices.”

Niall replied with three consoling pats on his back before heading to the door.

“Nialler?”

“Hmm?”

“Could you please make sure you don’t get too wasted? Don’t want y’all to be hungover if he, the family, or the kids need immediate support,” he uttered, his voice low and on the verge of trembling.

Instead of an answer Niall turned on his heel and shot straight towards Harry’s chest, pulling him in into a tight hug. “We’ll make it work, H, we always make it work.”

Chapter Text

“We’re hooooome!” Louis yelled, kicking the door to Nan’s flat open with his foot. He struggled to juggle two knocked-out toddlers, a giant nappy bag, and a sand toy bag as he squeezed through the doorway.

“Hey, munchkins,” his Nan’s voice rang out of the kitchen before joining them in the hallway. It smelled deliciously of apple tarts and Louis couldn’t wait to finally sit down for a minute. As much as he loved the twins, he wasn’t really used to chasing them through a park in blistering heat for three hours straight and by now he was so done, that he envied them for their ability to just nap wherever they were.

“Jesus Christ, Louis!” Nan exclaimed, pointing at the trail of sand that had trickled out of the bag and probably could be traced back to his car, if not to the park. “Don’t you dare move!” She took Ruby off his arm, and gently carried her to the living room, where his grandad was watching TV, greeting him with a silent wave.

Louis dropped both bags with a thud that turned out to be way louder than he intended, and Milly fluttered on his arm. Another load of sand poured out of the toy bag.

“Really?” his Nan muttered with a raised eyebrow coming back from the living room.

“Wot? Didn’t move,” he grumbled. He kicked his shoes off, balancing the sleeping toddler on his hip. More sand scattered across the floor.

She shook her head with a cheeky smile and silently took Milly from him.

“Dustpan, brush, pantry,” she ordered, carrying the little girl to the living room too. “And don’t even think about using the hoover—you’ll wake them!”

He rolled his eyes and walked towards the pantry.

“I saw that!!” Nan scolded from the other room as he was reaching for the dustpan and brush attached to the back of the door and started to sweep up the mess he’d caused.

Once he’d gathered everything into the pan, he glanced around to make sure the coast was clear. Hearing Nan rummaging for a blanket in the living room, he opened the window and dumped the dirt outside.

“You know we have dustbins?” he heard her say standing in the door frame. Dang her and her sixth sense for his shortcuts.

“You know I could get you a cleaner?” he retorted with a smirk.

“You could get me five cleaners and I wouldn’t make an exception to the rules in this house: you spill it, you wipe it.”

He silently smiled, pulled Nan to his side, and gave her a peck on the temple.

Household chores were his personal nemesis, but he couldn’t help smiling. His family had a way of keeping him down to earth. Ever since his entrepreneurship had skyrocketed and he had gone from failing his A-Levels not only once but twice to appearing on the Sunday Times “Rich list under 30” within 8 years, his life had changed dramatically. Too often, he noticed that once people recognised him, basic politeness morphed into outright arse-kissing. It grossed him out. Not that he’d ever admit it to them, but he was beyond grateful for the way his family made sure his success never went to his head. Even if it meant making him scrub floors on his hands and knees...in a suit.

“It’s after five, Nan, better wake them up, otherwise they’ll party till midnight,” he said, tossing the dustpan and brush back into the pantry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to let them fall asleep in the first place but the minute they were in their car seats, they were out.”

“It’s okay, poppet. If they need it, they need it. C’mere,” she hugged him and pecked him on the cheek. “How was your day? Wanna sit down with me for some tea and a slice of apple tart?”

“I’m gross Nan, I’d really like to get out of these rags and have a shower.”

“As you like, dear. I just want to let you know, it’s either tea while being gross or dinner while being clean, but you, my love, are going to sit down with me today. I haven’t seen you properly in what? Almost two weeks?” She cupped his jaw, her thumb brushing over his cheek.

He looked down, leaned into her touch, secretly grinding his teeth. He knew perfectly well that he couldn’t dodge her any longer. It wasn’t even that he wanted to dodge her, but yes, he wanted to dodge her. Ben hadn’t been able to leave the hospital for almost four weeks, and Louis hadn’t visited once. Of course, he’d called and facetimed, but he hadn’t actually seen him in 26 days—probably the longest stretch since, well, ever. And while Louis was pretty good at making excuses and blaming the Commsmith deal or the babysitting or the traffic or the alignment of the stars, he knew damn well that his Nan wouldn’t take any of his shit.

“I’ve already made plans with Liam to hit the pub later, so I guess tea it is?”

Nan smiled, guiding him toward the kitchen. The sweet, buttery scent of apple tart still in the air, and the kettle hummed softly on the counter.

Nan’s kitchen was his favourite place in the house—a perfect blend of modern white cabinets with copper handles and rustic wooden furniture, cosy and familiar. A large wooden dining table in the middle of the room held enough space for the majority of the family right in front of a small balcony from which you had the perfect view of both her own and his garden.

“Is Grandad not joining us?” he asked.

“Nah, he’s caught in an episode of The Repair Shop, you get my undivided attention, poppet.”

Louis sat down at the table with a sigh, stretching his arms high above his head, burying one foot under his thigh while Nan walked towards the cabinets.

“I’m really sorry, Nan, we had this huge merger going on that cost me a helluvalot of nerves,” he was quick to explain, totally not pursuing a hidden agenda to keep the talk away from everything personal. “We’ve signed the final contracts just this morning. Did I tell you that we now have to integrate 120 new people into our processes? It’s going to be so fun, actually I’m really excited. They built this amazing communication tool that I would really like to implement into our own systems. It gives me the ick that in 2026 businesses still communicate via fax and post-its and print their shit with dot matrix printers.”

“Language, dear.” She took two mugs and plates out of the cabinet, sliced the apple tart and brought the plates over to the table.

“For real, Nan, I’ve seen printers older than me,” he said, all but inhaling the slice. “Please, they’d rather invest in buying 3D printers to be able to make their own spare parts for repairing those old things than to put into effect intelligent digital systems! It’s bonkers! What do they think? That cloud-based solutions will go away anytime soon? That storing their own operational data in separate databases for every department will enhance communication and productivity? Seriously, just thinking about how much information gets lost on the way or how much data is outdated or duplicated…gives me the creeps. It’s such a waste of time and potential.”

While Nan served the tea and sat down opposite him, he went on rambling about the perks of new technology and complex business processes, on how to improve operational efficiency, the endless possibilities to raise productivity and how easily businesses and companies could accelerate their workflows, and as proud as his Nan was for his passion and achievements, he perfectly knew she didn’t understand a single word but still looked at him lovingly.

“You do know that I am beyond proud of you?” she said, when he finally paused to drink his tea. “You have achieved so much. It fills my heart with so much joy that you’ve found your true passion in your work.” She gently put her palm on his forearm and he immediately flinched.

There we go, he thought, putting the fork down on his empty plate, picking up the last crumbs of the apple tart with his finger. They’ve been through this a thousand times. “Nan…”

“Yes, dear?” she said, pulling her arm back to stir her tea.

“Just say it.”

“Say what?”

“Come on, we both know what’s coming next.”

“What do you mean, dear?” She raised her eyebrows, nonchalantly nipping at her tea mug, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Yada yada yada, ‘but work isn’t everything, you need to find joy outside of the office too, you need to find someone to take care of and let take care of you…’” he sighed dramatically.

“Oh. Where’s that coming from, love, aren’t you happy outside of the office?” she threw him a knowing look over the frame of her glasses.

“Oh no, no, no, no, no!! You cheeky minx.” He wagged his finger at her. “You don’t get to put that on me now. You were totally up to grilling me, don’t act like it was me taking this route.”

“Louis, sweetie, I would never grill you for your personal life choices,” she taunted with an impish grin.

“But since you’ve brought it up, how are you holding up outside of work?” she brought the tea pot to her pursed lips and took another small sip.

“Nan, seriously!” He pressed his lips together and leaned back, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Gladys told me you still haven’t gone to see Ben?”

“Nan, I mean it. Come on, you know my stance on hospitals. It’s not that I don’t want to see him. I just… I can’t.” Nan put her mug down, tilted her head slightly and looked him straight in the eye.

“Poppet, I love you more than anything, and you know I will never allow you to be deliberately hurt. Especially not when you’re hurting yourself. You have to go see him, Louis. You will never forgive yourself if you don’t.”

Louis darted off the chair towards the sink with his empty tea mug and plate tightly clenched in his hand.

“Why is everyone acting like he’s not coming home? He’s getting chemo and any treatment available. If he needs another surgery, he’ll have it. He’ll be fine! I checked the hospital, I checked the doctors, he’s got the best oncologists in the goddamn region, I made sure he gets everything he needs; he’ll be fine!” He slammed his empty tea mug and the plate a little too hard into the sink. “He’ll be fine. Nan, he’ll be fine,” he repeated as if he needed to convince himself, then added under his breath, “It’s not like with Mum and Fizz, he actually has a chance! I won’t set a damn foot into that hospital. Anytime I did I went home alone.”

Nan looked at him sorrow stricken. And it hit him hard. The unadulterated weariness in her eyes left no doubt that she knew exactly how he felt. How could she not? She’d been the one waiting outside the emergency room at Summerstone General, dreading the moment her grandson arrived. She’d had to tell him his mum—her daughter, a mum of seven—hadn’t survived the car crash. Two weeks before his nineteenth birthday.

He knew that having to witness the hurt, the exasperation, the pain, the desperation—basically every feeling she felt herself—in her teenage first-born grandchild, shredded the few remaining bits of her heart to pieces. As young as he was, Louis had always been aware that she had never really had the chance to mourn the loss of her child, because one school dropout, six minors and a diabetic, wheelchair-bound husband needed at least one stable adult to guide them through the dark.

Little did they know at that point that the dark was about to become even darker when only eighteen months later they had to relive the almost same scenario when his 4-year-old baby sister had been brought to the intensive care unit after being in a bathing accident at the local open-air pool and didn’t make it. If it hadn’t been for Gladys and the Payne family, Louis was sure none of them would have known how to even get up in the morning.

So, yes, he was aware with every inch of his strained body that Nan wasn’t better off than he was. And that made him even more distressed. After all, she had never seen Ben as anything other than her eighth grandchild. He’d sell his soul to prevent her from reliving the same anguish all over again. Yet he didn’t know how, and it made his heart bleed.

There was only one difference between the two of them: Nan had been visiting Ben regularly. She was bravely facing what Louis dreaded the most. She had talked intensely to him in the last three weeks, and Louis was petrified to eventually learn he was done fighting. A possibility that he wasn’t even close to admitting, let alone to accepting.

So here they were, blissfully ignorant on how to get his troubled and stubborn arse to the hospital. It was somewhat common knowledge that he had developed serious anxiety regarding anything hospital related, but it wasn’t as if he ever talked about it or accepted any sort of help. Anytime anyone tried to bring up the topic, he shut it down on the spot and had to leave for some very urgent work-related thing. What was that saying again? Once is an accident, twice a coincidence, three times is a pattern.

Nan got up from the table, walked over to him, stopped behind him and rubbed her thumb gently over his shoulder.

“Love, I know you hurt. You don’t need to say it, I see it. And you have every right to be hurting. We all do. And you are right, it’s not like with your mum and Fizzy. You need to talk to him. He wants to talk to you. In person. He made Gladys and me promise that we’d get you there soon. Don’t make me break my promise to him.” As her pleading look landed on him it felt like glowing fireballs propelled right through his intestines.

He fiddled nervously with the dishcloth, before taking his smartphone out of his pocket, her palm burning a prickling hole into his shoulder blade. “Jeez, Nan, look at the time, I need to run, gotta take a shower and meet up with Liam, are you sure you can deal with the two monsters?”

Nan heaved a sigh and dropped her hand, making him crumble internally. There it was again, his pattern, he just couldn’t help himself.

“Alright,” she finally said, the expression of sorrow marring her otherwise soft features. “I’ll leave you to that. Don’t you worry about us. We’ll be alright. I’ll send them into a food coma with some bangers and mash and then we’ll call it a night. Is it just Liam and you out for tonight?”

“Lottie, Lewis, and Jess may join as well; and of course Oli will be there.”

“Ah, Jess.” Nan said, straightening the tea towel on the rack.

“Ugh, no, Nan, we are so not having this conversation now,” he objected, pecking her on the cheek before running out of the kitchen to find his shoes in the hallway. “I love you, please don’t worry. I’ll think about it, okay? I just might need a little more time.” He shouted back to the kitchen, but Nan had already followed him.

She pulled him in, squeezing him tight. “I’ll always worry about you, poppet.”

Louis was already proper baked when he walked up the stairs to The Hermit‘s Hare.

Though some weeks ago he had decided to cut back on smoking alone at home because he considered it slightly pathetic, the talk with his Nan and the stress of the last few weeks had made a quick spliff seem about right to set the mood for the evening.

After all, The Hermit‘s Hare had essentially become an extension of his living room a long time ago, so he didn’t really mind already being high as a kite when walking through the door.

The pub was exactly how he believed tourists envisioned British pubs: a large dark wooden counter with ornamental mirrors behind it, dark patterned floors, textured walls plastered in old, framed photographs, surrounded by a mix of old plates, knick knacks and trinkets. Despite its remarkable size it oozed familiarity and cosiness. Liam, Ben, him, and a couple of other lads had come here pretty much every Friday since his early days as an entrepreneur. It was the perfect place to wind down, an unpretentious setting to feel at ease and where everybody knew everybody. The fact that the owner was one of his oldest mates and Louis lived within walking distance didn’t hurt either.

Like Louis, Oli wasn’t a big fan of change, so he put all his effort into pleasing his regulars and keeping hooligans and drunks out of the picture. One of his best ideas in Louis’ opinion was to put a huge sign outside which stated:

No food

-

Crap beer

-

Bad hospitality

Although there was food, exceptionally good food even, although the selection of beers left no wishes unfulfilled and Louis had not once felt the urge to criticise the hospitality, the sign was bold enough to keep pretentious snobs out and the regulars happy. That there was live music every second Friday from nine to eleven was his cherry on top. Apart from that two-hour slot, the pub was always quiet enough to have a good talk, but not so quiet that it felt awkward.

Louis loved coming here. One of the main reasons was that here, he could be just Louis; nobody gave two flying fucks about CEO Tomlinson.

His sister Lottie, her husband Lewis, and Liam were already seated at a table in a corner not too far away from the bar yet far enough to have a certain privacy.

“Oi, oi!” he exclaimed cheerfully and was greeted by frantic drums on the table.

“Tommooooo, my man,” Oli shouted from behind the counter and darted out to pull Louis into an almost suffocating hug. Louis tensed displeasingly, as the ginger proceeded to clap him firmly on the back, cheering, “Good to see you, mate. Congratulations! The guys told me about your deal, fucking proud of you, man. That’s some massive news.”

Louis grinned, his cheeks heating under Oli’s exuberance. “Yeah, yeah, thank you,” he said, wriggling in the hug but not quite breaking free. “Now, take that stinking thing out of my face and get me a pint and steak and chips, will you?” He tugged at the damp towel hanging precariously over Oli’s shoulder, giggling despite himself.

No, taking a compliment didn’t make him feel like a proper douchebag at all. And no, sarcasm and diverting techniques were totally not his coping mechanisms to get out of situations that made him uncomfortable. Absolutely not. He knew he deserved all the cheers, but he just couldn't bring himself to enjoy being the centre of attention.

Just as he was squirming free of Oli’s tight grip, he got pulled into the next hug. Jesus fucking Christ, why did all his mates have to be so bloody tactile? Behind him Jess had appeared and slung her ebony-skinned arm around his waist, her almost black, long, bouncy corkscrew curls tickling his neck. Jess was another friend from school. They met when they both had turned seventeen. Actually, it was at Jess’ birthday party, where they’d ended up shagging in some random bedroom, pissed out of their minds, and both agreeing the next day that it was all fun and games but there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell they’d ever fall for each other.

They’d remained friends though. Good friends. With the occasional benefits.

They finally sat down, and Louis praised the slow, steady, and relaxing calm the weed was providing to his otherwise racing mind.

He and Liam took turns in recounting everything their friends wanted to know about the huge merger the company had finalised, and he couldn’t be more grateful that they all were pussyfooting around the topic of Ben. They all knew about the elephant in the room but fortunately chose to shove him under the staircase for the time being.

“…and that’s when my phone rang, and he called for Code Rainbow yet again!” Liam roared.

Lottie snorted and squeezed Louis’ thigh, “Aaaaawww you poor thing. Again?”

The first time Liam had faked being Louis’ gay fiancé was in a bar at least ten years ago. They’d all had far too much to drink, and Louis had found himself cornered by a blonde who was exceptionally keen on getting into his pants. Swamped and skittish as he was, Liam took pity on him and jumped right to his side to save him from his misery. Not that Louis didn’t like to get hit on—heaven forbid, he’d had his fair share of attempted hook-ups, but every single time he realised at some point that it wasn’t going to be worth the proverbial or literal shot. His only problem was that he was way too nice to tell them.

Growing up with five sisters had left him completely and utterly ill-equipped to deal with tantrums, tears or even the faintest whiff of disappointment. He’d spent most of his life bending over backwards to keep the girls happy, and somewhere along the line, that same impulse had extended to nearly every woman he’d ever met.

Once Louis discovered that the “gay exit” was a brilliantly convenient way to let the women who hit on him down without hurting their feelings, he may or may not have made extensive use of the rescue; to the point that a single rainbow emoji via text had become Liam’s cue.

“Jesus, Louis, what did she do this time?” Lottie laughed, “chewing with an open mouth? The nostrils too flaring? Or did she breathe too loudly?”

“Oh, come on, I’m not that superficial!” he said, pretending to be appalled.

Liam almost choked on his pint. “Louis, mate, you have the most hilarious and stupid reasons to ditch potential hookups I’ve heard in my whole life. And I’ve gone through gay bar dating for the last 15 years! Please share with the class, what was the reason you ended the date with Lewis’ colleague?”

“She didn’t like tacos,” Louis grumbled. “C’mon, what person suggests a Mexican restaurant only to reveal they don’t like tacos? Are you kiddin’ me? It’s tacos!”

“And why wouldn’t you see the one again you met at the coffee shop?”

“Oooh, I know that one,” Lottie squealed, “she pronounced Italy as eye-tally.”

They all burst out laughing and even Louis giggled.

“Ooh, ooh, ooh!! DRINKING GAME!!” Liam blurted out. “This is gonna be fun. We’ll throw out names and whoever knows the reason why he ditched the girl rings the bell and gets to enlighten the group. The others have to take shots. Louis, you take one whenever the right reason is assigned to the right girl,” he clapped his hands in enthusiasm.

“Dear Lord,” Lottie sighed, “we’ll be wasted in no time.”

“Exactly!” He cheered, bolting to Oli to get the bell from the counter and some booze. “Tequila or Vodka?” he yelled over.

“Vodka!” Louis was quick to shout.

Only seconds later a bottle of vodka and five shot glasses decorated the table and Liam blurted:

“I’ll go first. Sooooo, what was wrong with Rebecca, the teacher?”

“Didn’t like memes,” Lewis hit the bell. Louis nodded.

Shots for Lottie, Liam, Louis, and Jess.

Lewis went on. “What was her name again, the one you met at that conference? Claire?”

Bing.

“Ate her cereal with water instead of milk and laughed like a sheep,” Lottie yelled out. Louis took a shot, followed by Lewis, Liam, and Jess.

“Mylah?” Lottie called next.

“Who was Mylah again?” Liam asked with a confused look.

“The red-head from the club a few weeks ago.”

Jess hit the bell:

“She said cats were superior to dogs.”

Lottie made a honking sound. “Wrrooooooooong, that was Chrystle. Mylah was the one to eat peas one at a time.”

Louis cackled, bringing the back of his hand in front of his mouth. “Yeah, that was annoying as fuck.”

Shot for Jess.

“Willow?” she continued.

Nobody chimed the bell and Jess triumphed:

“Nobody? She was the one who voted Green party.”

“What’s wrong with voting Green party?” Lottie smacked Louis on the head.

“Eyyyy! Nothing is wrong with voting Green party, but she voted Green because IT WAS HER FAVOURITE COLOUR!” He answered, fixing his fringe.

Five rounds later, they were all proper pissed and hysterically laughing.

“Seriously???? SHE HAD HER WHATSAPP SET UP TO A FUNNY FONT?” Liam snorted, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Wot?!” Louis replied disgusted. “What’s our future supposed to look like?? Wedding invitations in Comic Sans? Pregnancy announcement in Papyrus??? Lottie, please, back me up!!”

“Sorry, bro, you dumped one ‘cause she had an AOL email address.”

“AOL, LOTTIE!!! AOL!!! She might as well have sent out carrier pigeons or carved messages into stones!!”

They all were gasping for air. “Now that we’ve established that our dear Louis William is a judgemental fucker with commitment issues, have you noted it’s Karaoke night?” Liam exclaimed.

“Not a judgemental fucker and no commitment issues!” Louis protested.

“Oh, come on, when was the last time you got proper banged? And no, you don’t count!” he gesticulated towards Jess who sounded like she was about to suffocate in between giggle fits.

“How long have you had each other on and off on bootie call?? Eighteen years?! You know what happens in bloody eighteen years? NEWBORNS ARE ALLOWED TO DRIVE! THEY ARE ALLOWED TO VOTE for God’s sake! EVEN FOR THEIR FAVOURITE COLOUR PARTY,” Liam screamed in affected indignation.

The noise level in the pub had dramatically risen once Karaoke had started and it was getting harder to understand each other so they wrapped up their game—totally not because another round would have sent them straight into the abyss.

“Hey, isn’t that your secretary?” Lottie nudged his shoulder, pointing at a slender, dark-haired person who had taken over the mic just as Madonna’s Vogue pulsed from the speakers.

Louis raised his eyebrows, mentally tallying his drinks. The person performing on the Karaoke stage, hovering their hands over their body while grinding down and shaking their hips, totally looked like his secretary, Kyle Watson. But…not like any version of Kyle he’d seen in eight years.

Kyle was a forty-something bloke, not particularly tall, with lean shoulders and a wiry frame. He had delicate, almost pretty features—high cheekbones, sharp jawline, lashes long enough to make most people jealous. Usually, his dark hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, and there was a quiet toughness about him, a kind of don’t-mess-with-me vibe, the way he’d stand with his shoulders square and his jaw set like he could handle himself in a fight.

But this? This was a whole other side of Kyle.

The person on stage had their hair down, styled in the same waves his sisters only managed to conjure with bizarre hot iron thingies. Their eyes were outlined in dramatic, smoky makeup, lips glossed and shining under the stage lights. They wore heels that made their legs look endless, paired with a rather short skirt, and Louis could swear that there was a bra shining through the fitted, sheer black blouse. Somehow, even with all the glitter and glam, there was still something distinctly Kyle about the way they owned the stage, like they knew exactly what kind of effect they were having on the room.

Louis blinked, half-expecting his brain to catch up and tell him he was wrong. But the longer he watched, the more certain he became. This was Kyle—his quiet, no-nonsense, leather-jacket-wearing secretary. Only…tonight, Kyle was dazzling.

“Huh,” he deadpanned. “Well, that’s something new.” But before he could go into details—not that after six-ish shots his general condition would have allowed him to do so—the person had finished their performance and was no longer to be seen.

The group of three blokes and a girl from two tables next to them had taken over. Meanwhile Liam drooled at the sight of the very fit, dark-haired guy with a face like a Middle Eastern angel, dark eyes, the most perfect symmetrical brows, and cheekbones to die for. Given the not-so-furtive glances the guy kept sneaking back at Liam, the drooling seemed mutual. He and his friend had just finished an enthusiastic round of belting, “Annie are you okay, are you okay Annie” at a petite, ginger girl—who a third, lanky, bearded guy was barely managing to keep from dancing on the table—when Louis caught the two men discreetly ogling each other.

But now that the cheekbone God was singing Umbrella by Rihanna with a forbidden good falsetto, a smoky texture, and an ability to seamlessly transition from chest to head voice, Liam seemed completely lost.

“Hey, still breathing over there?” he nudged him.

“Nope. Our children will be beautiful, intelligent and have angelic voices!” he exhaled, dashing off to the DJ to give his own request.

“He does know that’s not how it works, right?” Lottie questioned belly laughing but Liam had already gone to take over the mic.

The moment Let Me Love You by Mario tuned in and Liam started full-on serenading the neighbouring-table, Louis wasn’t so sure whether it was the alcohol mixed with weed or the obscene amount of sap, but either way he had trouble stopping himself from laying down and retching.

“Lads, ladies, that’s my cue. Better head home before it gets ugly.”

Chapter Text

Harry sat in the grass, his back leaned against the old apple tree, staring at the paperwork on his knees. His night had been utter shit—waking up every two hours, jittery, tense, and drenched in the kind of dreams he didn’t want to unpack. By 4:30 a.m., he gave up. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well come to the hospital early and watch the sunrise from the garden. Edda and Wilbur, the ward’s two therapy dogs, weren’t quite as enthusiastic about the idea and prompty fell back asleep at his side.

The cool morning air settled his nerves—at least, a little.

He often came here to clear his head when his mind felt like it was spiralling, or simply to go over dull paperwork. Something about sitting under a tree, the tickling of the lush, fresh grass under his palm, the smell of blossoms and chirping birds kept him together and soothed whatever feelings threatened to overwhelm him. The palliative care ward might have been neglected in funding, falling apart at the seams, but this garden? This little piece of peace? It was worth protecting.

He glanced down at the waiting list in his lap, his stomach twisting. Five more beds could be filled instantly, and yet, he was lucky he’d even managed to clear one. A single damn bed. It had taken two hours of calls, favours, and far too much grovelling just to get Ben transferred. And now? Now he just had to wait for Ben to be brought over by patient transport, then walk in there and—what? Pretend this was just another patient?

Jesus.

Harry closed his eyes, pressing his head against the tree trunk, inhaling deeply. He had done this job for ten years. He had broken the worst news a doctor could break more often than he could think of. He had watched countless patients and families fight, grieve, and let go. And yet, the prospect of seeing Benjamin Burke in that hospital bed, and by extension possibly running into Louis Tomlinson again, made his gut wrench. For the first time in ten years Harry genuinely wished he was anywhere but here.

He forced himself to focus on his breathing, counting the inhales, the exhales, concentrating on the soft rustling of the trees when Niall’s voice rang out of nowhere.

“Hiya, thought you’d be here.” He threw his rucksack on the ground, startling Wilbur for a second, and let himself fall backwards into the grass. “How are you holding up?”

“Hey. Yeah, fine. I guess. I dunno.” He stared for a short while at the sky then rubbed his palms over his face, straightened his back and slung his arms around his knees. “Don’t really want to go in, you know.”

“I figured. Brought coffee and croissants,” Niall announced.

“You always”—Harry airquoted—“‘bring’ coffee and croissants.”

“Yeah, but today I didn’t eat them before arriving,” Niall grinned, holding out a white paper bag.

“Where’s the coffee?” Harry asked, looking at the empty paper cup in Niall’s hand.

“Tzz, ungrateful twat. As if you didn’t prefer tea anyway,” he hissed, smirking. “I’ll make you one in your office. C’mon, let’s go.” And with that he dragged Harry up.

Two hours, two croissants, two coffees, and one pep talk later, Harry found himself staring at a closed patient’s room door. A very eager Niall and a half comatose Zayn had tried their best to calm his nerves before he came here, yet his heart was pounding like a train down the tracks. He’d run his hands at least five times over his trouser legs and still, they felt clammy.

Okay, he thought, just go in, introduce yourself and that’s it. You’ve done this hundreds of times, you’re gonna be fine. Maybe if he repeated it often enough he’d drain out the little shitty voice in his head whispering, “You are, but what if Ben isn’t?”

It’s been 17 years, he most likely won’t even remember you. Yeah. He won’t remember you. It’s not even like you’d been friends or anything.

Harry took a deep breath, steadied himself for a minute, knocked and pressed down the door handle.

Keeping his expression open and sympathetic, he stepped through the door.

Harry had learned a long time ago that a positive first impression was key for gaining his patients’ trust, fuck if he’d jeopardised that today because of stupid nerves. He squared his shoulders and introduced himself with his regular deep and steady voice.

“Good morning, Mr. Burke, I’m Dr. Harry Styles, your attending consultant and head of this department.” He held Ben’s gaze, offering a small, steady smile. “As much as I would have preferred to meet you somewhere else, I’d like to welcome you to my ward.”

Yeah, that was good. Solid. No wavering, no stuttering.

“Harry,” the pale man rustled out, looking exhausted but he smiled up from his bed. “Kinda hoped it’d be you in charge of me. Didn’t think I’d get that lucky.” He paused to take a breath.

Fuck. This was not how Harry expected Ben’s reaction to be.

“You remember me?” he asked, surprised. His heart was about to jump out of his throat, and he tried his best to hide the little shake in his hands.

“How could I not?” Ben replied, “It’s not like there’d been a shitload of scientific geniuses at Saint Dolores outshining the whole sixth form at the age of sixteen. You were brilliant,” he chuckled, a little out of breath. “Surreal and weird, but brilliant. Man, I am so glad that it’s you of all people to be my consultant.”

Harry internally flinched. Okay, so Ben remembered. And yet he was talking to him. Harry felt like he’d been catapulted into a parallel universe.

“May I?” he gestured towards the visitor chair. Ben nodded. Harry pushed it next to Ben’s bed and sat down, fighting hard to defy the turmoil crawling inside his chest. Genius, brilliant…

He probably should feel flattered but all he could think was, “Fuck”.

He twisted the skin on his ring finger, slid slightly back and forth on his seat before hooking his feet around the chair legs.

Yes, he’d been the kid with all the answers in school and then some more, but this wasn’t school.

This was real life.

This was terminal, metastasised cancer Stage IV and Harry didn’t have a magic wand.

How was he supposed to live up to expectations built on an almost 20-year-old quirky college reputation?

“Ben, I…” he started, but before he could even think of putting the expectations into perspective Ben already cut him off.

“Harry, listen. I know we haven’t seen each other since college so you probably don’t know anything about me.” He shuffled in his bed to sit more upright. “I didn’t even finish school. I’m not a fancy academic and knew shit all about medicine until two years ago. But I’m not dumb. I know where this journey is going.” He needed to pause to cough and catch his breath. “I’m not here for you to magically fix me and make me walk out of here as if nothing ever happened. I mean, I wouldn’t oppose it if you did, but I know that’s not how this works.”

Harry watched him carefully, waiting patiently for him to finish his sentences. It was obvious that he had trouble breathing and he noticed a slight rustling that probably indicated some sort of fluid in Ben’s lungs making it harder for him to breathe and speak.

“Please don’t judge me for being blunt or insensitive, I’m not one for sugar-coating things. I had my fair share of people walking on eggshells around me over the past months. I know this is my final stop and I am ready for it.” His fingers tapped absently against the sheets. “I am not afraid of death. But I’m scared shitless of getting there.”

Harry tugged at his shirt collar and bit back a sigh of relief.

Welcome to the twisted world of palliative care, where a patient’s fear of dying is a relief for the doctor.

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirked up involuntarily as he relaxed in the chair.

This was his expertise. This was why he had chosen this path. The gnawing fear of not being enough yet again—the one that had haunted him since the day the man in front of him, his best friend, and the whole school had consequently ignored him—had no place here.

He wasn’t here to cure. He was here to make this bearable. All of it. The pain, the nausea, the stress, the panic…because quality of life was not just about managing symptoms. It was about holding people together when everything else was falling apart.

So, Ben knew, and that made Harry feel considerably more at ease. To be fair he had become accustomed to all sorts of situations with new patients coming from surgical or oncological wards. Most of them arrived with no real grasp for their prognosis. Too many colleagues avoided the talk, skirting around reality in the name of preserving hope. Patients got the rundown on chemo and surgeries—but no one told them they were dying. That part was often left to Harry, so it took him somewhat by surprise that Ben was so sorted and straightforward, especially given it was their first talk ever, but he appreciated it a lot.

“You’re afraid of dying but not of death.” He repeated. “I promise you that is something we can deal with. We get that a lot. So, let me ask point-blank, do you want us to jump in straight away or would you rather go a little slower today and recover from your transfer?”

“Shoot me.” Ben replied.

“That’s a service we don’t offer,” slipped out of Harry’s mouth and he instantly wanted to slap himself.

Silence.

Ben blinked at him, unmoving. Too much, too soon. Damnit Styles.

Then, finally—a snort. Actually, Ben was laughing so hard he had to clutch his chest.

Harry exhaled, tension slipping from his shoulders. Thank fuck. There had been several occasions over the years where his rather dark sense of humour and his occasional dysfunctional brain-to-mouth-filter had backfired to the point he wished for the ground to swallow him whole. But if Ben could roll with this humour this was going to be a hell of a lot easier.

They talked for well over an hour—about their lives since school, about Ben’s condition, about pain treatment, and, of course, the fears that weighed on him most.

It turned out that his biggest concern was the effect of his lung condition. As Harry had suspected, the fluid in Ben’s lungs was building up, making it harder to breathe. The thought of suffocating—of being fully conscious as his body failed him—was the thing that sent him into spirals of panic at night.

Harry took his time to explain things carefully. If it got worse, they could drain the fluid. If that ever stopped working, there were other options, medication to sedate him just enough to make the situation tolerable. “No matter what,” Harry assured him, “even in the worst-case scenario we make sure you won’t suffer.”

Ben listened carefully to every word Harry said and was visibly relieved to learn that his terminal condition didn’t mean there were no options to ensure a certain life quality for as long as possible.

“Do you remember Niall Horan?” Harry finally asked after discussing all the aspects of his treatment options.

Ben looked up in surprise. “The Irish chatter boxfrom back in school?”

Harry laughed. “Yes, exactly that one. Well, he still doesn’t shut up but now he gets paid to do so. He’s one of our psychologists, one of the best if I dare say so, I would highly recommend talking to him about your panic attacks and whatever worries you. This offer is for your relatives as well. The psychotherapy team is there to support both you and your family, kids included.”

“Dear Lord. That guy chewed your ear off for two years straight while being glued to your hip and then you went on working with him by choice?” Ben blurted out, eyes wide, watching Harry smirk and nod. “Jesus Christ, I pray for your level of resilience.”

“You’re one to talk about being glued to the hip and resilience. I’m still shocked to find you here without having to surgically remove a certain Tomlinson from your side,” Harry quipped.

Ben faltered and his facial expressions became sombre. Harry stumbled.

“Oh,” he stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep…”

“No, no. It’s okay,” his lank body seemed to shrink even more into the bed sheets. “Well, no, it’s actually not okay, but you couldn’t know,” his breath hitched. “He’s still my best mate. Has always been, will always be. It’s just, jeez, I dunno what to say. We talk, we facetime, he’s taking care of my kids, he’s actually the best, you know what I mean, he just… I’m… He… He won’t fucking come to visit me,” his voice broke and Harry could swear his eyes had just turned a little watery.

“I need to talk to him so badly. There are things I simply can’t do over the phone. But he won’t put a damn foot into a hospital. And I can’t even blame him. He… well… no, that’s not my story to tell…” he cut himself off. “He’s got his reasons. And I do want to respect that. But I have to talk to him. It eats me alive! … Oh, um, can I still say things like that in here or is that too morbid?”

There was a knock on the door.

“Hey, H., sorry for interrupting. There’s a pharma bloke outside looking for you, and I don’t know what to tell him, Annie is on lunch break.”

“Hey Zayn, come meet Ben Burke. Ben and I went to school together. Ben, this is Zayn Malik, he’s our arts and music therapist.”

“Hi.” Ben nodded, leaning over for a handshake.

“Hi.”

They both shook hands.

“Arts and music therapy? That sounds cool. Does the offer for support also count for stubborn childhood mates? I may or may not know somebody who could use a word or two—or a good smack with some drumsticks.” Ben muttered towards Harry.

“If he’s willing to, we’re glad to help wherever we can.”

“Willing? You mean like as in voluntarily? I knew there was a catch,” Ben sighed. “Ain’t gonna happen then.”

His tone was definitely meant to be jovial, but he couldn’t fool Harry. The sadness in his eyes had already given away that he was deeply affected under his pretence of banter.

“Zayn, any ideas on how to bring someone around who doesn’t want to put a foot into a hospital?” Harry asked, trying to keep Ben’s supposed light-hearted tone.

Zayn cocked an eyebrow and nodded towards the bed. “You know these things have wheels and there’s a park just outside this door, don’t ya?”

Ben tilted his head in surprise and peered intently at Zayn. “A park?”

“Uhm yeah,” Harry answered. “You couldn’t see the back of the building when patient transport brought you over this morning but we do in fact have a giant garden out there. It’s packed with flowers, fruit trees, benches and even a playground. As long as you’re feeling good enough, we can bring you outside any time.

“A playground?” Ben said, astonished, straightening his upper body to fetch a look out of the window. “Huh, that could actually work.”

“Damnit, Payno”, Louis muttered to himself, sitting aghast in his office at arse o’clock before anybody in their right state of mind would even think about putting a foot into the office. His eyes were fixed on his screen. Running on only 4 hours of sleep, at least two hours before any human being should ever be assaulted with something as appalling as daylight, he had found three different concepts on how to integrate the 120 new people into their existing company structures in his inbox. In a neat and precise presentation, Liam had thought about what seemed like every potential option, risk and possibility the merger could bring HR-wise.

Louis was swamped. “Fucking hell, this is detailed.” His brain wasn’t built for Liam-level thinking, especially not at 7 a.m. after one too many shots. For the umpteenth time he questioned how on earth he managed to end up here, responsible for a shit ton of people, when he couldn’t even be trusted with his sister’s fern during her two weeks’ honeymoon. If he fucked this up, he didn’t only fuck up his own source of income, but that of hundreds and hundreds of families, weirdos, and nutheads.

Because the thing was, Louis had a heart for the misfits. Polished résumés bored him to death, so when he started Tomcare at nineteen, any time the company expanded and he needed fill a position, he preferred to hire the ones other companies wouldn’t touch. The “weirdos and nutheads,” as he called them with affection, had proven to be his most loyal people.

Tomcare thrived on trust: no fixed hours, no clocking in, just one weekly team meeting to keep everyone connected. He didn’t care if work happened at 2 p.m. or 2 a.m., at home or in the office—only that it got done. Of course, when he started with this philosophy, basically everybody with an opinion had warned him that this would never work, that Tomcare would descend into immediate chaos with people ripping him off and betraying his trust, but instead his people flourished, grateful for the freedom, and the company thrived with them.

Which was exactly why this merger rattled him. Bringing in employees used to timecards and bosses breathing down their necks was risky. They weren’t set up for people to sit around and wait for somebody to tell them what to do or their shift to end. So yeah, he was bricking it. Even if deep down he knew Liam knew what he was doing, because unlike himself Liam had actually gone to university and earned his Master of Business Psychology before becoming Tomcare’s chief people officer, but he was also painfully aware that this model was just not for everybody and that inevitably he would have to face people quitting or having to let some go.

He knew and hated the fact that in the end it was up to him to make the final decisions, because eighty percent of the time he felt like he hadn’t got the slightest clue of what he was doing.

Of course, the company’s annual review clearly stated that what he was doing was working damn well, but when it came to imposter syndrome, Louis William Tomlinson was king of the hill.

“Good morning, Louis. Up so early?” Kyle’s sonorous voice echoed through the deserted open-plan office. The man had appeared in front of Louis’ office and now stuck his head through the glass door, smiling. He was dressed in tight black jeans, biker boots and wore a dark shirt loosely thrown over his shoulders. His dark, long hair–close-cropped at the sides and the lower back of his nape– was neatly tied into a tight ponytail—like always.

Louis looked up and greeted him with a welcoming nod. “G’morning. Yeah, it’s bloody early. I couldn’t sleep and since Liam worked his magic overnight, I thought I’d take advantage of the quiet to go through his concepts on how to include the Commsmith people after they move from their place to ours.”

Kyle’s eyes widened, looking impressed. “He did what? You only finalised the merge yesterday, and he’s already done a plan? Does that man ever sleep?”

“Three plans, Kyle. Three. And now I’m supposed to decide what path we’re taking. I seriously don’t know if he ever sleeps or if he just waves a magic wand.” Louis shrugged his shoulders and stood up to boil the kettle. “Tea?”

Kyle smiled, nodded, and walked over to his desk to throw his shoulder bag over his chair. “Certainly not after last night”.

Louis cocked his eyebrows and looked at him with a questioning look. “Do you know something I don’t know?”

“Oh, uh…no.” Kyle stuttered, gesturing awkwardly, “I just ran into him, yesterday at the pub when he was...um...er…”

“Piss drunk?” Louis groaned, pouring the boiling water into the mugs, somehow even that sound was too loud. He really should know better by now. “That’d be somewhat on me”.

“Er, yeah that too, but I was thinking more about him leaving with the stunning handsomeness that escorted him out of the pub’s door shortly before the last order bell rang”.

“Son of a bitch, he really pulled that sexpot? Huh.” Louis deadpanned.

Kyle ran his hand to his nape, nervously starting to scratch the shaven part.

“You were at the pub as well? I didn’t see you there…” he stammered.

“Oh yeah, about that,” Louis suddenly remembered the karaoke night. “Could I maybe talk to you for a minute since we’re still alone?” He set the second tea mug on his desk and gestured for Kyle to sit down.

Shock-induced paralysis would most certainly be the term to describe Kyle’s reaction. He stood in the door, frozen, his hand still stuck to his nape and for all that Louis could see, he was hardly breathing.

“Come on, everything’s fine. Just have a seat. Won’t take long.”

Kyle slowly collected himself, dragged his feet over to the brown leather chair and sat down, taking a huge sip out of the tea mug, burning his tongue on the spot. “Fuck!”

Louis couldn’t remember ever seeing him so tense.

“Kyle, really, everything is fine. Just wanted to tell you that I saw your performance. Jesus Christ, you owned that song. Madonna’s a bloody blushing bride compared to how you smashed it. I was deeply impressed.”

Kyle looked as if a silent terror seeped inside of him causing his face to blush bright red. “Um, thanks? I guess?”

“I mean it,” Louis said with a stern voice, resting his hip on his sideboard. “You were brilliant. I know it’s absolutely none of my business, but since we’ve been working together for so long, I just don’t want to pretend to not have noticed that you looked differently from how you normally look at work, which of course we all do to a certain extent when hitting the pub on a karaoke night, but I guess you know what I mean,” he paused, eyeballing Kyle and thinking about how to continue without wanting to accidentally offend him.

When he didn’t react, Louis continued, “I won’t ask any indiscreet questions, make assumptions, or judge you for who you choose to be outside this office. I only want to make sure you know that I respect you and care about you. A lot. I want you to feel comfortable at all times here in the office. So, just in case you feel like you have to groom yourself a certain way for work that doesn’t fit with the person you are outside the office, then please know that there is absolutely no need to do so.” He paused and watched Kyle closely. Yet, he still didn’t give Louis any sort of reaction.

“I truly hope I am not overstepping or making you uncomfortable by springing it on you like that, please know that I appreciate you as my secretary a lot and not only for saving my unorganised arse daily,” he shot Kyle a large smile. “I assure you, you have my unconditional support, both as your boss and as your karaoke fanboy. Christ, look at me rambling. What I actually wanted to ask you before this verbal diarrhoea started, is whether the way I address you is okay for you, or if you’d like me to change anything in the…um…pronoun department. I mean, I can also switch depending on when we meet in the office versus meeting in the pub…I just…well…yeah, I just don’t want to address you wrong.”

Kyle finally looked up to him, seeming to slowly come out of his frozen mode. It still took him a while to blink before he slightly shook his head, visibly baffled and started to speak.

“I… I… uh… I know you value distance, but may I hug you?”

Louis was taken a little off guard by this reaction, but straightened his posture and opened his arms, “Sure, bring it in, love.”

Kyle jumped off the chair and smashed himself into the embrace. Louis felt proper squidged but held in tight.

“Thank you so much, Louis. I’m a little lost for words.” Kyle mumbled while Louis patted the back of the uh, man? with encouraging claps. They stood like that for a few seconds until Kyle was the first to break the hug. Face still bright red he cleared his throat and stepped back to put some space between them. Louis leaned back onto his sideboard.

“Um, yeah,” he fumbled for words. “I came out to my partner and close friends about a year ago. I didn’t want to hide and lie to myself any longer. Almost thirty years certainly was enough. At home I go by Keira and she/her pronouns. It’s just… I didn’t really dare to bring her to work. I love this place so much, I didn’t want to make things awkward, you know.”

That stung.

To be honest, Louis hadn’t expected it to hit so hard. He knew the company prided itself on openness, but the fact that Keira had felt the need to hide? That didn’t sit right.

"Please," he scoffed. "The only awkward thing is you feeling like you have to be someone you're not at work. Look, love, I’m not here to push you into anything. You decide what happens, when it happens, and how it happens. But if you want me to tell the team that Kyle resigned and Keira’s taking over, just say the word. I promise you, I won’t take the piss. I’ve got zero tolerance for hate or ignorance in these four walls—and neither does Liam. So, whoever you want to be here, that’s who you get to be. We’ve got your back."

At his words Keira threw herself into yet another embrace. Louis couldn’t help but notice small sniffles next to his ear and some tears wetting the fabric on his shoulder. The realisation that in all these years working so close together that he never, for a split second noticed that Kyle wasn’t her true self, made his gut wrench. The sheer thought of someone close to him struggling with their identity hit him harder than he imagined. He tightened his grip around the lithe body, swallowed hard, trying to not get too emotional himself when a light-hearted voice rang through the halls.

“Heyyyy, squishing the Tommo before sunrise and I’m not invited? I’m offended!”

Keira did a proper jump scare and Louis couldn’t help but chuckle. “Payno, you utter killjoy. Don’t know no shame, do ya?”

“Yep, that’s me, ruining a perfect moment for my own amusement.” Liam quipped. He looked decently dishevelled, lips and eyes equally swollen as he approached.

“Talking of amusement. What the heck, Li? Didn’t the sexpot have any mirrors in his house or did you just fall out of his car? And for the love of God, since when do you do your walk of shame in these halls, mate?”

Liam dramatically smashed his hand onto his chest as if having been shot through the heart and pretended to fall back, bending his knees. “Kyle! I’m appalled. You grassed me up to the boss?”

“Oi, tosser,” Louis horned in. “Don’t blame me secretary, you’re in the same rags I left you in the pub, you look like shit and reek of beer, cigs, and sex.”

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Keira hastily wiping the tears from her cheeks. Her eyes were a little puffy and slightly red, but she no longer looked as mortified as she did a few seconds ago. He shot her a questioning look while Liam took his time to straighten up. She nodded barely visible, but Louis understood the assignment and shot her the biggest supporting smile he could manage.

“Don’t talk,” he held his hand up towards Liam. “Gonna squeeze every detail of last night out of you soon enough. But before that,” he deviated, “I want you to meet Keira, my new, old secretary. She was just about to head back home to sort out her thoughts.”

“No, Louis, that’s really not necess—“ Keira insisted but Louis cut her off by gently putting his palm on her forearm.

“As I said, she is going to take some days off, treat herself with a long walk in the park, a nice chat with her family or whatever she enjoys doing. She is going to take all the time she needs to sort out her thoughts and whenever she feels ready, she’ll come back as whatever person she feels comfortable to be around us.”

“Aaaaawwww Lou, that’s fantastic! Keira, it’s my pleasure!” Liam beamed, then hesitated. “Wait—am I allowed to hug you too, or is this strictly a boss thing?”

Keira let out a shaky laugh. “Oh, get over here.”

“Alright, bring it in you two. I feel a bit bad for having interrupted that special moment,” and with that he yanked them both into a bear hug.

They stayed like that for a few seconds until Liam grunted, “I really do reek, don’t I?”

“Bloody awful,” Louis panted and Keira snorted.

After having sent Keira home and Liam to the shower, the morning had stretched like bubblegum. Louis hadn’t managed to concentrate on one single task. By noon he was so cranky that he had decided to call it quits and pick up the girls from nursery just before their nap, giving him a reason to join them in laying down in the middle of the day.

Or so he thought.

The girls had other plans. When he showed up early, they were so thrilled to see him, that instead of napping, Ruby now was jumping on his bed repeatedly screaming, “Here comes the super hopper, yeah,” while Milly silently shot him offended stares for having called the toucan in her picture book parrot, and the anteater an armadillo, all while trying to prevent Ruby from flying off the bed. Louis sighed. He really really wanted that nap.

“Girls, we need to calm down and put the book aside. It’s nap time. How’d you like if afterwards we went to the playground with the big kids’ slide?”

“Loulou, no!” Ruby squeaked. “Not tired. Nana takes Milly and I to visit dad. Oooh, wook a tiga!!” she threw herself on Milly’s lap and pointed to the picture of a wildcat.

“Snow leopard,” Milly growled, pushing Ruby away. “That’s a snow leopard.”

“Oooh, a snow leopard,” Ruby cheered, “we saw snow leopards in the zoo. Can we go to the zoo? Loulou, can we go to the zoo? I want to see the snow leopard.”

Milly wriggled her bum on the mattress frowning her brows, looking up from her animal book. For whatever reasons she was yet again wearing nothing but a nappy and looked utterly adorable with her baby death stare. “Cheetah,” she groaned, shaking her head in outright disbelief. From her look she could as well have shouted, “Dear Lord, I’m surrounded by idiots,” but the sweetheart she was, she chose a non-violent “there’s no snow leopard in the zoo, only cheetahs,” yet scowled for her dear life.

Louis could eat her up. The two girls couldn’t be any more different. While Ruby was kind of a hurricane and couldn’t sit still let alone shut up for more than a quarter of a second, Milly could sit down with her books literally for hours, not speaking a single word, absorbing any kind of information like a sponge. While Ruby could dress in eighty layers of princess dresses, pirate costumes, hats, beanies and caps, Milly would strip naked on any possible occasion since the day she learned how to use her hands and feet, including weddings, birthdays, and the summer fair of the local firefighter department.

It drove Ben, Nan and Gladys crazy, but Louis figured as long as she understood the basic concept of when it’s not appropriate to flash people and she learned in time how to defend herself, he’s not going to force her to wear things she clearly didn’t like.

“So, what was that with Nan taking you to see dad?” He asked, swallowing the upcoming lump in his throat.

“Yiiieee,” Ruby squealed, ready to go for another nosedive into the pillows. “We was late for nursery. Nana was phoning dad. There’s a park in his new house, she said. We can go visit dad in the park.”

New house. Louis’ heart sunk into his stomach. So, Ben had indeed been transferred from oncology. He felt a cold rush creeping up his spine, leaving him short of breath and quivering. He knew that his Nan had wanted to tell him something, yet his crushing guilt for still not having faced Ben had made him run off yet again.

Thirty-five years. They’ve known each other for thirty-five years and the longest they hadn’t seen each other was in year seven, when his whole class went on a seven-day field trip and Ben couldn’t come because he had dislocated his shoulder in footie practice. Apart from that they had seen each other pretty much every single day since birth. Hence, when a few weeks ago Ben was admitted to the hospital after not being able to breathe properly, Louis had thought it’d be like any other time when Ben went to chemo or had to have surgery: five days tops and he’d be back home.

Come day five and he wasn’t even nearly fit enough to leave his hospital room, Louis got worried. Come day ten, Louis was anxious. Day fifteen, the feeling of anxiety had merged into panic and seamlessly into guilt. He felt awful. A complete failure as a friend. Ben was sick and Louis couldn’t even bring himself to cross the threshold of the hospital entrance to go and see him.

It wasn’t for lack of trying though. He indeed had tried. On day 16 he had driven up to Summerstone General. He had parked his car. He had stepped out and gone up to the main entrance. The same entrance he had rushed into twice after his Nan called. But this was different. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He could do it. He knew he could do it. And then an ambulance bolted into the A&E with flashing blue lights and sirens, and he froze.

Blood pounded in his ears and his heart thudded in his chest. On the spot he was paralysed and couldn’t breathe. The dreadful sensation of an invisible hand grabbing his throat and closing up his windpipe made his vision go blurry and his mind spiralling.

The lights, the sound, the unmistakable smell of disinfectant, trauma and sickness. It all came back to him. Run Run Run, his inner voice thudded, yet he couldn’t bring his legs to move. All he could do was stand there, shaking and sweating uncontrollably, fearing his life was running out of him. It took him half an hour and the help of a thoughtful, compassionate woman to get him back to his car and another 40 minutes until he felt reasonably able to drive back home and crawl into his bed, where he sobbed until he fell asleep.

Yes, he had failed his best mate. He had been making excuses and dodging questions for weeks and he felt awful. Wondering how he could ever make it up to Ben had been crippling his mind for days and today was in no way different.

The touch of a curly, warm head on his lap interrupted his spiralling. Milly had somehow managed to drag Ruby into a hug, calming her down, had put the book away and now crawled onto his lap snuggling her warm, velvety body onto his. “Loulou, want to nap on your tummy. Yes?”

“Sure, love,” he hummed, grateful for her to bring him back to the moment. He had had his fair share of anxiety and panic attacks after losing his mum and sister, but up to that day he hadn’t had one in years. He had come to even feel kind of proud that over time he had managed to shove all triggering feelings aside. He definitely didn’t want to deal with them resurfacing.

He leaned himself back onto the pillow, stroking Milly’s back while she snuggled her whole body up on his chest.

Ruby yawned. She grabbed her dummy and slid onto his side; her chubby little hand positioned onto his wrist. It was a terrible habit. Whenever she was about to fall asleep, she started pinching or twirling the delicate skin on the inner side of his wrist as some sort of self-soothing gesture. It hurt like hell, but it was a price Louis was willing to pay for her to fall asleep approximately ten times quicker. “Let me just quickly turn off the light, yes?” he reached for the nightstand to turn on Eggy Egg, the nightlight, made sure enough pillows were draped around them to prevent the girls from crashing to the floor, and switched off the light. Ruby’s hand immediately went back to his wrist and he felt her little nails digging into his skin. Somehow the pain made him feel grounded.

It took them no more than five minutes to doze off, Louis tried his best to follow their lead but failed miserably. When he finally gave up and took his phone out to text Liam, he saw that he had a couple of unread messages from Ben.

Ben [12:38]: Oi, dickhead. What r u up to? Sorry for bailing lads’ night out, hope you had a good one?

Louis let out a disquiet breath. Bailing. Yeah right. Tosser.

Ben [12:52]: Tommmoooooooo, I’m booooooored. Entertain me!!!

Ben [13:13]: Listen, I know you’ve been avoiding me, Mum and Nan, so you probs don’t know yet. I moved from oncology to palliative…sounds shit I know but was the right choice. Not just coz they have beer 🙌

I swear this is in no way hospital like. They’ve got a fucking conservatory and an orchard. Proper Victorian. Feel like bloody Darcy will come around on a white horse to get Elizabeth any minute. Anyway. Please…if somehow you manage, come around.

Ben [13:21]: Seriously, get the kids and come along, apparently there’s a playground out there. You don’t need to face A&E, I swear... I’ll deny having said it, but I do miss your ugly face. Call me when you can. OK?

His chest tightened. Totally only because Milly was crushing his lungs. And the lump in his throat surely just came from the lunch he had gulped in a hurry and was now sitting in his stomach. That must be it. It certainly wasn’t the feeling of shame weighing on his shoulders. Shame and remorse for having disappointed the one person that had always been there for him, no matter what, no questions asked.

Who was he kidding? It was eating him up alive. Neither was it fair to Ben, nor was it fair to the girls. They hadn’t seen their dad for weeks, given the oncology ward never got rid of the pandemic restriction mode and still didn’t allow the kids to visit. They deserved to finally see him. And with Ben offering to meet outside, he surely must feel better. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? They wouldn’t allow him to go out in a park or on a playground, if it wasn’t for him being better, would they?

He took in a deep breath, the floral and fruity scent of Milly’s baby shampoo shooting up his nostrils. The mix of jasmine, rose, something berry- or pineapple-like and a whole lot of baby instantaneously soothed his nerves.

Ben is feeling better. He can go outside.

He closed his eyes and nuzzled his face into the curly ball of fluff on his chest, come on, don’t overthink. Before he could yet again talk himself out of it, he grabbed the phone, typed and hit the send button.

Louis [13:58]: Hey mate, the girls are napping, can’t call right now. Tell me about that playground. Where do I find it? When shall we be there?

Fuck. Why did it suddenly feel like 40°C in this bedroom? And why wasn’t Milly waking up when his heartbeat was thudding like a fucking marching band? He tried to loosen the collar of his shirt without stirring too much. The last thing he needed was for the girls to wake up right now, when he was feeling like drowning in a pool of his own sweat, trying to catch a hint of air through a twisted windpipe.

Ben [13:58]: You coming?? For real? Don’t shit with me Tomlinson.

Chapter Text

Louis clung to the steering wheel, neck stiff and jaw clenched. His fingers were thrumming to the sound of the radio and his lower lip was already flush pink from all the biting he had done since Ben texted him the whereabouts of the clinic’s playground. In the backseat one very well-rested, thrilled two-year-old was having the time of her life, while the other one clung equally tight to Tommy Turtle, her beloved stuffed animal.

♫ The pancake disappointed me at breakfast, yes, it's true.
But there are many other things that this pancake can do.
I'd like to think that pancakes are a bit like me and you.
We roll and we roll and we roll and we roll like a disappointing pancake.
We roll and we roll and we roll and we roll like a disappointing pancake.
We roll and we roll and we roll and we roll, not so disappointing pancake. ♫

“Loulou, play it again!!!” Ruby squeaked.

Louis sighed and restarted the song. For the third time. Stupid pancake. As if he hadn’t been feeling like a disappointing pancake himself for the last few weeks. He had weighed in the pros and cons to overrule the toddler’s music dictatorship, but since he had learned the hard way that it was either the pancake, Jingle Bells, or a hissy fit from hell, the pancake it was. Very disappointing.

Two more rounds of pancakes, some serious eye twitches and teeth grinding later, he drove into the car park, took three deep breaths before releasing the girls from their car seats and sent Ben a text that they’d arrived. The reply came on the spot.

Ben [15:24] Can’t wait to see you. I’m already there.

Louis’ heart sank into his stomach.

“Loulou, come now.” Ruby had immediately jumped out of the car and was tugging on his pant leg; Milly was still sitting in her car seat.

“Coming, sweetie, just give me a second to fetch your sandbox toys from the boot.” He swung his rucksack over the shoulder, grabbed the toy bag and leaned back into the car to get Milly out.

“Want me to carry you, luv?” he asked compassionately. The toddler hadn’t spoken a word since he mentioned where they were going, and Louis’ heart ached for her. He could relate to her entirely. Just like himself, she didn’t handle change very well. It had taken her weeks of tears and sleep deprivation to finally acclimate to staying with Nan or Louis overnight. He could totally see how bringing Ben back to the table, after almost a month of not seeing him, unsettled her.

She silently nodded and buried her head into Tommy Turtle as he lifted her onto his hip, fumbling a ring sling over his shoulder and her bum. He quickly pondered about taking the pushchair but dismissed the thought immediately. He wasn’t gonna admit though, that the main reason for his decision was that right now he benefitted as much from the comforting physical contact as she did, if not even more. But nobody needed to know that.

It took them less than ten minutes to reach the park at the back of building 28. Ten minutes that seriously made him re-evaluate his life choices, especially those related to smoking way too much, not sleeping enough and getting way too little physical exercise. He was panting like a dog.

They’d just passed the orchard when Ruby broke away from holding his hand and made a beeline towards the playground, squeaking in delight.

“Steady on, princess, steady on,” he heard Ben before seeing him.

“Ruby!” he shouted, but the girl had already swung her arms around her dad who was sitting in a wheelchair in the shadow of an old chestnut tree. “Jesus Christ, sorry mate, dang she’s fast,” he gasped approaching them.

“Loulou, look, Daddy’s come to play,” Ruby chortled, bouncing on Ben’s lap with the biggest smile she could possibly bring to her face, and with that she proceeded to pour down her whole verbiage onto the poor guy, reporting their every day in excruciating detail.

“Ruby, please be gentle!” he pleaded, perfectly knowing that it was in vain because the girl only had two settings: off or full-blown power mode. And she for sure wasn’t off right now.

Ben laughed. “It’s okay, I can handle her. Hey mate. Jeez, good to see you.” He opened his arm and gestured Louis into a welcoming hug.

Louis swallowed dry in his throat and leaned into a quick hug with Milly on his hip, a rucksack, and a toy bag on his back.

“Hi princess,” Ben gently stroked over Milly’s head, stilling immediately at the little girl shying away.

Louis’ guts wrenched at the pained look Ben shot for a split second, right before recollecting himself and making silly faces to Ruby.

Louis wriggled himself out of the ring sling without letting Milly go and flung the toy bag into the sandpit, panting yet again before sitting down on a bench right next to Ben, Milly still close to his chest and slightly caressing her back.

“Damn Tommo, you sound like you need lung treatment more than I do,” he taunted watching Ruby darting off towards the slide, giggling and blabbering something incomprehensible.

“Yeah, yeah, just make fun of me after bringing a whole damn household, kids included, to a hike from the car to the playground. Seriously, how much stuff do 2-year-olds possibly need?”

Ben laughed, leading to an immediate coughing fit, gasping for air in a way that made Louis‘ blood freeze.

He squelched the need to jump up and pound Ben’s back like he would do with the girls anytime they choked on something, instead he frantically looked around to find someone from the medical staff but there was none. He watched Ben carefully, instantly ready to run back to the building and scream for help if necessary.

“It’s fine, Louis,” Ben reassured mid coughing. “Keeps happening, gimme a sec.”

The coughs had brought colour to his otherwise pale face as he pounded his fist to his ribcage and tried to clear his throat the best he could. Louis had gone completely tense, not daring to take his eyes off Ben. He looked exhausted. Louis couldn’t help but internally cringe at the sight of his best mate, looking like a shadow of himself.

His cheeks were sunken in, making his dark blue eyes pop out more than they ever had. His arms looked tiny and weak compared to the well-defined, muscular shape they used to have. His whole demeanour had gone from top dog to frail kitten within a few months. Louis knew he had lost weight. There was no denying, even from seeing him only via FaceTime. But seeing him right here, in the flesh, with at least 30 to 40 pounds less, there was no way to overlook how vulnerable and fragile he had become and it scared Louis shitless. He still was coughing, yet Louis was genuinely afraid that patting his back a little too hard would break him in two.

“Why aren’t there bloody doctors here? They can’t just leave you here alone without any help, fucking hell,” he mumbled, fishing out one of the girls’ drinking bottles from his rucksack and handing it over to Ben.

He took a small sip and finally managed to soothe the irritation in his throat and chest.

“Thanks,” he rasped, handing the bottle back. “This is the part that really sucks.” For a split second his eyes had gone wide, and he wagged his head, as if trying to shake it off him and sort himself.

Louis’ gaze was still fixed on him, his shoulders tense, and the expression on his face strained.

“It’s okay, Louis.”

“It most certainly isn’t,” he snapped. “You’ve not been staying in this stupid hospital and paying for private treatment for almost a month for irresponsible medical staff to leave you gasping for air unsupervised on a fucking playground.”

Ben smirked and bumped his fist into Louis’ shoulder. “Chill, mate. I’m fine. They’ve already cared more in the few hours I’ve been here than the entirety of oncologists I’ve seen over the past two years.

Louis rammed his foot into the ground kicking a pebble across the sandpit, his thumb making fast little circles on Milly’s back.

It didn’t seem like Ben was still in immediate danger or bound to have another suffocation attack, but Louis remained proper strained. He had never been one to react mildly when it came to protecting the ones he loved. He’d always gone from nil to hundred within a split second to make sure they were taken good care of, he just couldn’t help it.

“Guess we should talk?” Ben murmured, still slightly gasping for air.

Louis motioned his head towards Milly, signalling that he first wanted to get her to play with Ruby. Ben nodded.

It took him quite some time to engage both girls into building a sandcastle, but finally they sat down with their toy construction-vehicle fleet and started digging holes and ditches on their own.

“How is she coping?” Ben asked, tilting his head towards Milly. Louis sat back on the bench, fidgeting with the strings of his rucksack. As much as he appreciated Ben for not immediately jumping down his throat for having been a shit friend all these past weeks, the elephant in the room made his heart beat in his head. He shuffled on the bench and brought one knee up his chest, wrapping his arms around it and started swaying slightly.

“She’s…well…um, she’s fine, I guess? Since they have been spending the night with me or Nan, it’s become a lot better. Guess it was a little too much inconsistency for her when we all took turns at your place. Gladys and Lottie had some pretty rough nights with her waking up about a million times an hour asking when you’d be home and not being able to settle. Nursery works fine though, apparently, she didn’t close up too much with the other kids. But any change in routine and she withdraws all together. Poor Payno hasn’t got as much as a hello for weeks. That’s why we have stopped spending the nights at your place, and just let them sleep at mine or Nan’s. I hope that’s okay for you?”

Ben nodded in approval. “Of course, whatever works best for you guys.” They both went silent, watching the girls play.

“Tommo, I’m so sorry for putting you all thr—”

“You are? Oh shut up! I am sorry, Ben, Jesus, I am so sorry!” Louis blurted out, cutting him off mid-sentence, he just couldn’t hold back any longer. “I should have been here for you the whole damn time. Fuck. I tried, I honestly tried. I couldn’t even pass the fucking entry door.” He ran his hand through his hair, shifting his weight from one butt cheek to the other, averting any form of eye contact. “I am so deeply sorry for being such a shit frie–“

“Cut it, Tommo!” Ben interrupted firmly. “For weeks you’ve been breaking your balls to make sure the girls are fine, you’ve been handling Nan, Mum and Payno on top of running a bloody nine figure business. For Christ’s sake, Louis, you’re the most insane workaholic I’ve ever come across and you didn’t bat an eyelid to take care of my kids. I don’t wanna hear crap about you being a shit friend.” His frail but still sharp look lingered on Louis' face. “So, you’ve got a problem with hospitals, and I happen to be bound to one. That sucks, but so what. It’s not like you didn’t give a shit,” his voice broke, running out of air, the rattling in his chest clearly hearable.

“Ben, I…”

“Louis, please. You’re here. You brought the girls. That’s all I care about right now. And I couldn’t be more grateful. So shut the fuck up with that beating yourself up bullshit, will you.”

They fell into silence.

Minutes passed where neither of them spoke a word and they just watched the toddlers that had moved on to climbing up the climbing frame and chuting down the slide.

“Are they giving you something for your breathing issues?” Louis broke the silence after a while, still not really daring to look Ben in the eye.

“There’s not much they can do. There’s an increase of fluids building in my lungs presumably caused by a small tumour. They’re planning on removing the thing tomorrow and withdrawing the liquid by suction, but they need to put me under anaesthesia to do so. Hopefully that’ll bring a certain relief.”

“You’re in pain?”

“Not at the moment. Not gonna lie, the last weeks were shit, they didn’t dare give me the good stuff, I guess for fear of killing me,” he huffed out a sneering laugh, “That’s different on this ward. First thing I got were some dope arse opioids, enabling me to sit here with you guys in the first place.

Louis had gone tense. “You’re telling me it’s a good thing they don’t care about side effects?” He hissed, pulse rising. “They’re supposed to make you better, not to fuck you up even worse.”

“They’re supposed to ensure my life quality till I—”

“Please, don’t.” Louis darted off the bench, ripping out some plastic food containers from his rucksack and positioning them on the bench for the girls to picnic.

“Louis, you know why I’m here—”

“Grapes? Cookies?” he shoved a container into Ben’s face.

“Grapes? Seriously? You brought fruit and cookies? You? What the…” Ben almost choked throwing an incredulous glance at the food containers and then to Louis. “They are even cut in halves! Bloody ‘ell, mate.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Well, anyway, the reason I asked to be transferred to palliative care is decidedly not for them to make me—”

“Ben, please. I just, I can’t yet. Can we just pretend—” he swallowed dryly. “Cookie? Please?”

Ben fell silent and shot him a sympathetic look, declining the cookie by slowly shaking his head. To Louis’ relief he decided to not push the talk any further.

“I want cookies, Loulou,” Ruby screeched, running towards them, slightly waddling.

“Sweetie, could it be that you need a new nappy?” He snatched her and sniffed her butt, immediately grimacing in disgust.

Ben burst out laughing. “Dear Lord, Tommo, you’ve really become the mummiest of all mummies.”

Louis flung a handful of grapes towards him and flipped him off. “Shut up, you twat.”

After having given both girls a quick change of nappies and having fed them pretty much everything his rucksack contained, they kept their talk light. When Louis went off to push the twins on the swings, he noticed that Ben kept dozing off and his guts started wrenching again.

The playground wasn’t that far from the building but in the whole ninety minutes they’d been there, not once did a doctor or nurse come to check on Ben, which irritated Louis massively. No, it pissed him off. Monumentally.

“Hey, mate,” he lightly stroked over Ben’s shoulder, “I think it’s time to call it quits and get you back to your bed, innit?”

Ben startled slightly and grabbed his phone. “Yeah, sorry, I’m kind of worn out. Sucks that even doing nothing tires me out.”

“Let me just grab the girls and their stuff and we’ll bring you back.”

“No need to. I already sent a text to be picked up,” he waggled the little black smartphone in the air that wasn’t his regular iPhone, as Louis only noticed now.

“You texted? Whom?”

“Are you shitting me, Tomlinson? You developed that patient guidance/alarm system yourself, sold it to the hospital and got me mum a fully equipped, elderly-friendly flat with the profit. Who do you think I texted? The pope?” he slapped him on the chest with the smartphone-like device. “But thanks for the offer to bring me back in. Means more to me than you can ever imagine.”

“Damnit, Burke, c’mere you proper sap,” Louis flung his rucksack back to the floor and pulled Ben into a tight hug. “So, when is this procedure tomorrow? Want me to come?”

“Harry, Christ, you’re making me dizzy. Sure you don’t want a smoke?” Zayn grunted, taking a deep drag, holding out the pack and a lighter.

Harry shook his head in refusal and continued to drum his fingers on the railing. He had joined Zayn on the balcony of his arts & music room for his smoking break ten minutes ago but hadn’t managed to stand still for a second.

“Then spill, what’s going on, for God’s sake. You’re insufferable!”

“I am not insufferable. You’re just grumpy,” he huffed, holding one of the hospital’s smart devices in a tight grip and leaning way over the railing. He came up on his toes and stretched his neck to have a small glimpse around the old chestnut tree blocking the sight to the ward’s playground.

“Babes, you’ve been pacing this balcony like a sleep deprived, emotionally dysregulated toddler on a sugar rush since you’ve stepped out and you’re checking your messages every four seconds. What’s the matter? And for God’s sake stop leaning so far over that railing, you’re giving me heart attacks, you twat!” He yanked him back and shoved him onto one of the metal-wooden patio bench.

Harry groaned but leaned back.

“Speak!”

“S’nothing.”

“Nah-ah, Styles. You can try to fool Niall, but you’re not gonna fool me. What is it?”

“S’stupid,” he mumbled, bringing his upper body forward towards his knees to throw yet another glance at the device’s black display.

“You’re stupid.”

“Heeey!”

“Not getting younger here, mind finally enlightening me?”

“It’s Ben, he’s still out there.”

“And? The guy hasn’t seen his kids for weeks, didn’t expect him to want to head back after 10 minutes. What’s it been, an hour and a half? Let the man be, Harry, he’ll send an alarm if something’s wrong or when they’re done.”

“I know, it’s just…ugh. I don’t know. His best mate brought the kids, and I remember the guy from back in school. Haven’t seen him for ages.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow, took another drag and knocked the ash of the cig. “Guy from school, huh? Someone special?”

Harry flinched. Someone special. He ran his hand through his short, curly hair, scratching his scalp. No, nobody special. Just the owner of the butt that after years of inner conflict and hesitation to and fro undeniably manifested Harry’s gay awakening. The guy whose sheer existence was largely responsible for Harry being here in the first place. The guy who prevented… No. We’re not going down that road. “Don’t look at me like that, Zaynie, it’s not what you think!”

“And what do I think, babes?”

“We’ve never been a thing. He may unwillingly have had a certain influence on some of my life decisions, but he most certainly doesn’t even know I exist.”

Zayn watched him motionless, eyebrow still raised until he let out a small chuckle.

“So, what you’re putting in such eloquent words, H. E. Styles, is that the lad was the object of your teenage wet dreams?”

“Jeez, no!” Harry flushed and aimed to kick Zayn’s shin. “Insufferable my arse. You’re the insufferable one!”

“And you can’t lie for shit.”

“I AM NOT DISCUSSING MY TEENAGE WET DREAMS WITH Y—”

A beep rang through the air and the device’s screen lit up. Harry jumped up and tapped the screen. “It’s Ben, he wants to get picked up.”

“And let me guess, you’re gonna do that yourself because we’re short on nursing staff?”

“We are short on nursing staff today!”

Zayn grinned, stood up, flicked the stub into the ashtray and started humming. “You climb onto the bonnet, and you're licking the windscreen, I've never seen anything so obscene,” he dramatically arched his back, popped his bum out and let his hand slide down his thigh.

Harry smacked him on the back of his head. “Oh, stop it, you twat, and go back to work. I’ll get him,” he hissed and tapped the device to reply to the request. Zayn got to the patio door, held it open for Harry and followed him inside. Then he followed him through the studio and out in the hallway.

Once in the stairway, Harry jerked to a halt. “Where do you think you are going?”

“Oh babes, aren’t you sweet. You seriously thought you could keep me from throwing a look at your teenage wanking material? Do you really not know me at all? I’m appalled, young Styles, appalled.”

“I hate you so much. At least take the dogs.”

“Aww, you love me, babes. They’ll survive ten minutes on their own,” he winked and flung his arm around Harry’s waist, leading him down the stairs.

They reached the park within minutes and walked the short distance in silence until the path made the turn for the playground and they caught a glimpse of the family’s gathering.

“Father, Son, and Holy Fuck. THAT’s the guy?” Zayn gushed, slamming his arm towards Harry’s chest. “Harry?” His arm had hit into a void as he let a whistling sound slip through his teeth.

A few feet behind him Harry had stopped and now stood motionless, swallowing dry, eyes wide open. On the playground, in the shadow of the old, giant chestnut tree, Ben sat in his wheelchair and next to him a slender, delicate man in a knitted, meadow green polo shirt and black jeans squatted down. A curly toddler was bouncing on his knee while he was trying to fiddle a baby sling over his shoulder and the toddler’s bum. Luckily, they were far enough apart to not have been heard or noticed, because Zayn was still making sounds that could only be considered as decently unprofessional.

“Harry?” Zayn had approached and nudged his shoulder. “You breathing?”

Harry stood and stared.

“Babes?” he snapped his fingers in front of Harry’s face. “Okay, he is a handsome fucker but come on, no need to turn into a wax figure or collapse.”

Harry shuddered. A nipping trepidation laced up his rib cage leaving him with shallow breaths. His heart leapt into his throat, and he couldn’t feel either his arms or legs. How could he ever think it’d be a good idea to fetch Ben himself? This was an utterly stupid idea. Totally, entirely, downright stupid.

It’d been 15 years since he last had taken so much as a glimpse at Louis. And even then, seeing him burst into the waiting area of the A&E, he had been hiding behind a vending machine, trying not to hyperventilate, that was how much of a sissy he was. But Christ, he wasn’t eighteen anymore. He had turned thirty-three in February and definitely had seen his fair share of handsome men since then. But this… this… bloody hell… this was Louis fucking Tomlinson.

Louis-mesmerising-blue-eyes-and-butt-to-die-for-Tomlinson. And attached to his chest in a frickin’ ring sling was a darling little ball of dark curls nuzzling her face into the small swale between his neck and his collarbones. He heard Zayn talking, but all he wanted to do was scream: “You hear that sound, you hear that?! That’s my non-existent ovaries bouncing and begging for mercy.”

Yes, he’d studied medicine, and yes, he knew it was hormonally not possible, but right at this moment, he wasn’t convinced that what he was feeling in his chest wasn’t some sort of weird male lactogenesis. Damn you, bloody Tomlinson.

“Harry, seriously. Do I need to slap you? Come on, Ben is waiting.” Zayn grouched, pulling Harry’s forearm. “By all means, the lad was at the pub yesterday. He’s one of the mates of the guy I—” he stalled, “Nevermind, I’m not gonna embarrass you, you know that don’t ya?”

“Zayn, I—, he—, fucking hell. Look at him. Christ, just look at him.” Harry rasped.

Zayn laughed, “Found your way back to life then?” He gave Harry a few reassuring pats on the back and nudged him to move.

Once they had passed the chestnut tree, Ben caught sight of them, waved and started coughing. Louis startled and lightly slapped his back, throwing a gloomy glance at the two approaching men.

“Harry, Zayn, well isn’t that a service to be picked up by the head consultant himself. Come here, you two. Want you to meet the pain in the rear I call my best mate since forever.” Ben panted in between coughs. “Louis, this is Zayn Malik, music and art therapist, if you ever feel the need to get creative, he’s your man,” he smirked towards Louis. “And this one, you might remember. Harry Styles, consultant and Head of Department of the palliative ward, formerly also known as Saint Dolores’ sixth form whiz, Harry Styles.”

Harry blushed. Louis’ mouth had flown open for a split second, only to morph into a tight, unreadable line, staring at him with keen, blue-greyish eyes that ran shivers down his spine. His right hand rested on the back of the toddler, while the left one gripped the handle of his rucksack so tight that his knuckles had turned white. Beautiful, smooth, masculine knuckles bathed in a soft, glowing, tawny tan, accentuating the salient veins on the sinewy back of his hand. Harry swallowed dry.

None of them said a word.

“Oh well, isn’t that nice.” Zayn sighed. “Hi, I’m Zayn, I think I remember you from the pub yesterday?” He reached out his hand.

“You were stoned and pulled me mate.” Louis deadpanned, ignoring the hand.

“Tommo, for Christ’s sake,” Ben called out, looking at him in disbelief.

Louis shrugged his shoulders, not letting his gaze slip away from Harry. “What? He was stoned and pulled Payno. And you? Are you hungover and wrecked too, or is there another reason why none of you gave a monkey’s about looking out for Ben over the last two hours while he was gasping for air?” He snapped at Harry.

“Bloody ’ell—”

“Please, Ben, language,” he hissed, covering Milly’s ear with his hand, gently pushing her other ear to his shoulder.

“Oh, isn’t he a delight,” Zayn mumbled towards Harry who still stood there silent and immobile.

Ben shot Louis a look that could have cut diamonds. “Louis, you can’t just—”

“Weeeeeheee, you got curls like Milly!” a blithesome, squeaky voice rang out as an overly excited, 35-inch piggy tailed whirlwind bolted towards the four men. “Ooooh, and you’s eyes like me”. She giggled, pressing her tiny index into Harry’s thigh.

He startled, realising the toddler was talking to him. “Oh, hi there.” He greeted with a sympathetic smile and slowly kneeled down to her. “Let me see, oh wow, you are right, your eyes really are green like mine.” He pointed at the toddler in the carrier. “So, I assume this is Milly, and who are you?”

“I am Ruby!” She beamed.

“Hi Ruby, I am Harry. It’s my pleasure to meet you. I am your daddy’s doctor and here to bring him back to his room before he falls asleep in his wheelchair. I do hope you are okay with that?”

Ruby harrumphed, looking at him with furrowed brows. “You not a doctor. You have not a ghost sheet.”

“A ghost sheet?” Harry asked slightly baffled before snorting with laughter. “Do you mean a white doctor’s coat?”

Ruby nodded, ogling him.

“No, I don’t wear lab coats. I don’t like them. I feel like a lot of patients get scared when they see someone in a white coat entering their room. And I don’t want my patients to be scared. I am here to take care of them and help them to feel as good as possible for their situation, not to make them feel uncomfortable or anxious.”

Louis let out a dismissive, hissing sound and Ben immediately kicked him.

“But I do have a pair of these,” he pulled a stethoscope out of the back of his trousers, feeling Louis’ piercing stare needling his cheeks, but he refused to look up. “Do Milly and her turtle friend also want to have a look?” He turned to Milly making sure he didn’t let his eyes stray to Louis’ face.

Milly curled deeper into the carrier while Ruby grabbed the lower part of the stethoscope and held it to her ear. Harry turned back to her, respecting Milly’s obvious wish for privacy.

“That’s the part that transmits the sound. And these two buds are put into the ears to better hear it.”

Ruby brought the chest piece to her mouth like a microphone. “You help Daddy heal?”

Harry’s gaze turned from Ruby to Ben for reassurance. Talking to kids about their parents’ illnesses was the most sensitive thing in his job, especially when he didn’t know where they stood. While he did have a certain experience with kids given that they also took care of palliative children, he’d rather have Niall or Zayn leading these kinds of conversations, both having had additional training in children’s psychology.

Ben understood his hesitation instantly and shot him a discreet approving nod.

“I help Daddy to not be in pain and be able to spend some more time with you as long as his body is strong enough to do so.”

“Ah, okay,” was all she said as she tilted her small head to the side and eyeballed his fingertips. “You nails are pwetty.”

“Thank you. Do you like the colours?” He wiggled his nails that were painted alternately in dark blue and tuna red.

“It’s pwetty. I like pink more. Pink like we painted Loulou’s nails.”

Harry’s heart missed two beats. He only had noticed Louis’ knuckles, beautiful, prominent knuckles, his nails however had been hidden in the tight grip. It took everything in him to not stare.

Ben snorted. “I beg your pardon, you did what now??” he looked aghast at Louis, snatching his hand, not seeing any nail polish.

“Hey!” Louis gnarled as he pulled away. Ben shot him a questioning look. “What? Lotts forgot a bottle at my place and the girls wanted to try it out. What do I know if that stuff is toxic for toddlers, so I let them paint my toes instead until I could ask Lottie.”

“Your toes?” Ben held his clenched fist tight to his mouth, desperately trying to muffle his laughing outburst while gasping for air.

Zayn bit his lower lip in amusement as Louis grit his teeth. “Oh, bite me!” He grumbled, slamming his rucksack onto his shoulder and snatching the toy bag. “Are we going to keep on playing stupid games or will one of the two gentlemen finally start doing their effing job and bring you back to your room?”

Harry held out his hand to Ruby. “It was my pleasure Miss Ruby and Miss Milly. I guess Louis is right, it’s time to get your daddy back in.” Ruby grabbed his hand and shook it with her whole body strength, making Harry giggle. Milly curled up and hid behind Tommy Turtle.

“Damn right, Louis is right,” he heard a muffled growl uttered through clenched teeth from behind the curly toddlers’ head.

“Come here princess, let me hug you,” Ben said, opening his arms for Ruby to climb onto his lap, which she enthusiastically did. Louis cautiously leaned down bringing Milly closer to him, but she just nuzzled deeper into his shoulder, holding on to her plushie for dear life. Ben gently stroked her hair, planting a small kiss on the back of her head.

“See you tomorrow, mate,” Louis murmured, giving Ben a quick hug before taking Ruby’s hand and walking out of the playground without so much as a word to Harry or Zayn.

“Well, wasn’t that fun.” Zayn scoffed, clicking the fork of his lighter.

Ben raised his eyebrows, eyes wide open and shook his head in disbelief. “Jesus Christ, I am so sorry. I have no idea what’s gotten into him. I swear normally he’s not an arse.”

“It’s okay,” Harry uttered, stepping behind the wheelchair to loosen the brakes. “He’s just worried.”

“And a dickhead.”

“Zayn!” Harry scolded. “Ready to head back, Ben?”

“Yeah, thanks, mate. For picking me up and for not jumping down his throat.”

“Just let us get you back. It’s fine. He was right though; we didn’t check on you,” he turned to Zayn, “And you, you did get stoned although I asked you all to not.”

“You asked to not get hammered. I wasn’t hammered,” he meekly pushed through his teeth.

Ben’s impish, crinkled eyes landed on him, watching him fidget with his lighter, avoiding his eyes. “But you did pull Liam?”

“Oh, shut up. I don’t even know you.”

Chapter Text

It’s fine. He is fine. They are fine. You are fine. Everything is fine. So fucking fine. Louis’ mind was racing as he absent-mindedly stared at the TV. His coffee table was still a mess of half empty take-away cups, wrapping paper, cold chips and chicken nuggets stuck in dried up ketchup and sweet-sour sauce. He was knackered, but still couldn’t bring himself to clean up let alone go to bed. Nan would tear him a new one if she knew he’d fed the kids nothing but Happy Meals and Jelly Tots while watching Paw Patrol, but after driving home from seeing Ben, they’d somehow all become cranky, and Louis didn’t even have it in him to fetch something from the deep freezer and throw it into the microwave.

Milly had been clingy as anything and had thrown a temper tantrum beyond good and evil at bath time. Ruby pretty much always sounded like a mixture of Chainsaw Massacre and The Shining as soon as a droplet of shampoo came near her head. It was a mess. A loud, exhausting, chaotic screaming mess.

Since every day was a school day, today Louis had learned that bath time with worn out twin toddlers was nothing less than Sparta.

300 Greeks fighting for their dear life couldn’t have been louder. Especially since—after the girls were finally clean, dry and in PJs—every single one of the umpteen dummies had gone missing and the prospect of sleeping without one sent the twins straight into the next screaming frenzy.

Mid toddler meltdown, Louis was close to either hot glueing a milk bottle teat onto a jam lid and calling it a dummy or to screaming bloody murder himself. Never in his life had he been so glad to not live in an apartment building, because given the soundscape, dear lord, the neighbours would for sure have called the police or social services for alleged child (or rather godfather) mistreatment.

Two hours, several prayers and some serious ear ringing later, two dummies—real ones—had been found and the twins were finally asleep. It was most definitely not a representation of his mental state, that he had opted to watch The Jeffrey Dahmer Tapes as soon as his butt had hit the sofa and his heels the coffee table.

As much as he normally could get lost in true crime documentaries, today his brain didn’t want to shut up. He couldn’t cope with how frail Ben had looked. All haggard and pale. The rattling sound of his chest between sentences, the slight raspy whistle any time he took a breath, it all had caught him off guard. Ben, six-foot-five goalie Ben, the man that single-handedly used to pull Louis up his bedroom window because the ladder they used to secretly sneak in and out was just a tad too short for Louis to reach the windowsill. The man that suddenly no longer had enough hand strength to open the cap of a squeezy pouch. The realisation hit Louis like a ton of bricks.

Nothing was fine. Absofuckinglutely nothing was fine.

Slowly but steadily, a boiling pit of heat spun out in his intestines and threatened to overtake him. He knew the feeling all too well. The burning tingle in his guts, the all-consuming feeling of overwhelm conjuring an irrepressible urge to run away while not being able to move. The invisible hand enveloping his neck, progressively constricting the air flow.

His eyes fell on the small green Tupperware box decorated with a 4:20 sticker next to the inscription Stoner Things, neatly stored away on the very top of his bookshelf. It laughed straight to his face. His sole proven remedy to make the growing pit stop. Just right there at his fingertips, yet completely out of reach given there were two unsettled toddlers sleeping in his bed.

How easy it’d be to take out one of the pre-rolled blunts, light it, take some deep breaths, and enjoy the soothing effect of the engulfing warmth. The ultimate quiet. The certain shutting down of his raging system.

He grunted in disenchantment trying to steady his breath, concentrating on the pressure his thumb was exerting to the palm of his hand.

Fucking brain processes. Who needs them anyway. Ugh. Stupid, bloody thinking. Nothing good ever comes from that shit. He was tense, twitching from the burning pit of worries, fear, and anger rummaging through his insides and trying his best not to choke on the soaring emotions clogging his throat.

No, he’s certainly not going there. In the last seventeen years he had mastered keeping his walls high. One bloody evening without the numbing effect of a spliff won’t make him crumble! Most certainly not. Tomorrow he’ll be back to the hospital for Ben to get his lungs drained and once that’s done, he'll feel better. And if Ben feels better, Louis will feel better. He’ll be there first thing in the morning and stay until he’s sure Ben is fine. Dead certain he won’t tolerate another negligence in caretaking. Not by nurses, not by therapists and most certainly not by bloody Harry fucking Styles. Creepy, weirdo Styles.

Where the hell did he even come from? And why of all people was he Ben’s consultant? No, not just any consultant but the Head of Department.

Head of a fucking death-department.

He let out a derisive snort, staring at the TV, where a bunch of profilers and crime scene specialists investigated Dahmer’s house and belongings. It’s always the silent weird ones, isn’t it?

Thinking back to their schooldays he shouldn’t even be surprised. If there was somebody that fit the shoe of a creepy Doogie Howser M.D., then it’d certainly been Harry Styles.

The lad had appeared out of nowhere a few weeks into sixth form and was at least two years younger than everybody else. First, he seemed to be a dorky, shy newcomer that just needed a little time to adjust, but after their first courses, he turned out to be some kind of scientific super nerd, knowing things even the teachers had to double check. Not that he ever spoke a word without explicitly having been prompted to do so, but when the kid spoke, Louis damn sure didn’t understand a single bloody thing and always felt like the stupidest person walking the earth.

He knew perfectly well that school wasn’t his strong suit. Sitting still, listening to lectures, concentrating on things that didn’t spark his interest when he could as well be coding or playing footie, didn’t come easy to him. But he still considered himself to be pretty clever.

Enter Harry fucking Styles. And with him a ruthless mirror of everything Louis didn’t even know he didn’t know. He hated the feeling. Especially since his maths teacher didn’t miss a single chance to tell him how lucky he was to be athletic any time he handed him back another F. At least he didn’t say “Good thing you’re pretty,” yet he assumed the feeling would mostly be the same. Harry Styles, of course, got nothing less than straight As. He was a freaking science brainiac. A brainiac with a creepy death stare and the social skills of a hibernating hedgehog. The kid had been weird. Absolutely offish, solitary, cringey, weird and he creeped him out.

Louis shuddered at the sudden memory of an occurrence where he was standing stark naked in the locker room after footie practice, bent over his bag to get dressed, suddenly feeling the gaze of lingering, penetrating eyes on his rear. He hadn’t heard the door being opened, he hadn’t heard any steps coming nearer, just out of nowhere he felt the presence of somebody standing in the locker room and when he turned his head, he was directly looking at a glistening green-eyed mop of curls. A motherfucking staring mop of curls. The lips of the ridiculously big mouth slightly opened, neither moving nor saying a single word, just blatantly staring. Louis was so caught off guard that he didn’t even react. He just stood there for what felt like half an eternity, until the mop of curls finally jumped up and stormed out of the door, slamming his shoulder on the doorframe, stumbling, and nearly braining himself on the door handle.

It's safe to say, it was one of the weirdest days in his whole school life.

Even back then he couldn’t explain what had been going on in his brain. He should have been shocked; he should at least have been startled and covered himself up. Thinking back, he should have been screaming at him to get the fuck out—or at least throwing something to make him leave. Instead, he had just locked eyes and stayed completely still, his naked arse, in retrospect, indecently popped out.

Later that day he’d gone to Jess’ birthday party, got totally wasted and woken up with little to no memory, a filthy condom stuck to his leg and a wrecked, smirking Jess at his side, pointing out that feelings weren’t her thing, but no strings-attached fucking was, just in case he was okay with that. It had been a weekday. A day before a maths exam. He had failed miserably.

The last time he’d seen creepy Styles was a couple of weeks later, when they prepared for their last footie game before their final exams. The day had been utter shit. They had played a friendly match against another college team and Louis’ game had been abysmal. For the first time ever, the coach had taken him out for the second half and he’d been so pissed, that instead of the substitutes’ bench, he was sent directly to the seating tiers.

Of course, he hadn’t sat down to watch the rest of the game. Instead, he’d gone to the other pitch to dash balls into the empty goal and let some steam off. That’s when he’d last seen him. In the middle of angry football-kicking, Harry had come running from behind the tool shed, acting even weirder than usual and just like that, nobody ever saw him again. Not for the remaining three weeks of classes, not for the written exams, nor for the orals.

There were rumours he’d gotten himself an exemption to take his A-levels separately, but nobody ever learned why or where he’d disappeared to. Seemed like the rumours had been true after all, otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten himself into med school to become whatever it is that he’s doing. Freaky certified death angel.

Okay, maybe he was being a little unfair. After all, the creep had been proper decent with Milly and Ruby earlier at the playground. But still…who chooses death as their specialisation? Louis cringed at the thought and switched off the TV.

He really should go to bed.

“Poppet, please sit down and at least have a tea and some cereal.” Nan shot Louis a sorrow-stricken look as he was running around the kitchen like a headless chicken, grabbing clothes, sippy cups and lunch boxes while the girls were reorganising a drawer of plastic containers.

She had been eating her breakfast on her balcony when she saw him pacing through the garden looking for the girls’ sandals that they had thrown off God knows where the day before. His dithery appearance—paired with a pair of puffy, dark-circled eyes—hinted at how the night had gone and she had taken pity on him and had come over to give him a hand.

“Not hungry.”

“Dear, you’re not going to leave this house on an empty stomach.” She put a bowl of Cheerios and a milk carton on the kitchen island and led him to the barstool. He couldn’t help but let out a tired chuckle, relentlessly tapping his socked foot on the footrest.

“Cheerios? Nan, really? Are you getting soft on me in your old age?” he smirked rather smugly and poured the milk into the bowl. “NAN!”

“Yes, poppet?”

The moment he had stirred the spoon in the bowl, a mix of berries, oats and small chunks of nuts had surfaced, and Louis gasped in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you sprinkled a layer of Cheerios over a fricking bowl of oats to trick me into eating breakfast! For crying out loud, I’m not five anymore!”

“Oh, love, you’ll always be my picky little squish. Now eat before it gets all mushy, we’re not wasting food in this house.”

“You do realise this is my house?”

Nan laughed and pecked him on the temple before preparing some oats with squashed bananas for the twins.

It wasn’t even that he was a picky eater. Whenever somebody took the time to peel, chop and prepare fresh food, he was pretty willing to eat what he was served, but having to handle sharp knives or utensils with messy, wet, sticky fingers for God knows how long in order to eat for a few minutes, only to have to clean the kitchen afterwards for yet another absurd amount of time, just wasn’t something he deemed necessary if take away and instant meals existed. But oats? Come on…might as well pour milk over sawdust.

He forced the first spoonfull down and paused his fast-paced finger drumming on the countertop to throw a quick glance at his smartphone, then downed his tea in one go.

Nan raised an eyebrow. “You want to tell me why you’re all jittery and restless?”

“Oh. Um, no, I’m fine. It’s just work. My assistant has a day off and I promised Ben to come around, so I wanted to let Liam know but I couldn’t get a hold of him—” he checked his phone again. No new message.

“Liam’s not doing so great, is he?”

Louis sighed. “I honestly don’t know. He doesn’t exactly talk and there wasn’t a right moment to take him aside in the last few days. He’s been back on a partying spree for some weeks, but still he appeared at work every day. S’just weird he doesn’t pick up. ”

“Partying spree?” Nan jeered. “We’re calling it a partying spree now?”

Louis’ eyes dropped and he poked around in his bowl, leg still bouncing on the barstool. This was a conversation he most certainly didn’t want to have before 7 a.m., this was a conversation he didn’t want to have at all. But just like all the other conversations he didn’t want to have, Liam’s drinking habits were something that kept him awake at night. He just couldn’t bring himself to call it what it was towards his Nan: alcoholism. Not today. Not with so much going on in his mind right now. He didn’t think he had to; she knew anyway.

Liam had never been the kind of alcoholic to drink daily. He managed to stay perfectly sober for weeks and weeks, even when they all went out and partied hard he could stick to ginger ale for the whole night, but God forbid he was dealt a hard hand, or something went wrong. He would drown himself in booze in the blink of an eye and barely be able to function for days and longer. Only when it would get so bad his friends and family threatened to call an ambulance and put him into rehab—again, he’d sober up and stay dry till the next breakdown. It was Groundhog Day all over again. He’d already been four times, yet not once was the issue solved in the long term. And since he never let anybody know what exactly the demons he was facing were, neither Louis nor any of their other friends and family knew how to help him properly. Louis couldn’t even blame him, he was definitely the last person to call somebody out for mastering the skill of bottling up.

He felt Nan’s warm hand on his back, realising he had zoned out for quite a while and had not even noticed the girls were almost done with their breakfast. “Sweetie, how about you take your time to get ready and do what you have to do this morning and Gladys and I bring the kids to nursery?”

He leaned in, putting his head on her shoulder before draping his arm around her to squeeze her tightly. “You’d do that? Thanks, Nan. I don’t think I tell you often enough how much I love you.”

“May I help you, Sir?” The friendly voice of an oddly familiar looking redhead disrupted Louis’ short-circuiting thoughts.

It had taken him twenty minutes and the soothing lung burn of four cigarettes to settle his nerves enough to bring himself over the threshold of Building 28. He thought he’d be okay. He really thought he’d be okay. Because exactly like Ben had promised, the A&E was truly ages away and the palliative ward really looked nothing like a hospital.

The entry consisted of a huge, saddle brown, carved, oak double door that was surrounded by massive stone mullions dividing large, white rectangular windows in sixteen smaller ones. They complemented the elaborately ornamented stone façade and balcony railings to the tee and made him think of more of an Italian Renaissance monastery than a hospital. Not that monasteries necessarily would make him feel more at ease. He’d probably go up in flames the second his foot touched the floor, or so he thought, but at least they weren’t hospitals.

Hence, he really thought he’d be okay. Until he stepped through the door, went up the stairs to the second floor and the slightly bitter, antiseptic, artificial fragrance of the mix of sickness and disinfectant hit his nose, strangling him without warning. Well, just like that, it turned out he was everything but okay.

“Sir?” The woman in the hallway had come to a halt, a bunch of health records clasped in front of her chest as she eyed him up with questioning, knitted brows. “Sir? Are you alright? You look like you're on the verge of collapsing, do you need help?”

Louis wordlessly stared at her, his back pressed against the hallway wall, swiping glistering sweat beads from his forehead, breathing fast but shallow. “Thanks, no, yes, I mean—, I just need a moment. I—,” he stammered, shuffling his hand through his hair, his other hand pressed firmly to his ribcage, trying his best to steady his breath. “I’m looking for Benjamin Burke, he said he’d be in room 223.”

“Benjamin Burke, you say? Oh, I am afraid, you came in just a little too late, he’s already gone.”

He what? Louis’ stomach twisted as he let out a strained gasp. His palm jolted to his face, covering his mouth, eyes wide open; all colour drained from his face.

“Annie, Christ, have you lost your mind!” A smoky textured voice bellowed through the hall followed by an unmistakable ‘fucking hell’ uttered through clenched teeth as Zayn darted towards him, positioning both hands on his upper arms and repeatedly exerting slight pressure.

“Louis, mate. Look at me. Breathe. Ben has only been picked up for his procedure. He’s fine. He’s just already been brought to surgery. He most decidedly is not gone.” He shot a stare at Annie that could have made train tracks curl.

As the implication of her blunt words dawned on her, she squeaked, smashing her hands to her face, the records flying to the ground. “Dear Lord, I didn’t mean to—! Oh God, I am so sorry!” She panted, face bright red, frantically trying to gather the jumbled paperwork off the ground. Zayn quickly shoved Louis through the door of a consulting room and directed him to sit on a patient bench.

“He is—?” Louis’ heart throbbed in his throat, his voice breaking just as his knees gave in and his vision blurred.

“He’s fine, Louis.” He distantly heard Zayn uttering in a calming tone. “Come on, breathe for me. Just breathe. In for three…one, two, three, hold for four…one, two, three, four, and out for five…one, two, three, four, five. Again. In for three…one, two, three, hold for four…one, two, three, four, and out for five. You’re doing great.” Zayn’s hands repeatedly squeezed his biceps, holding him steady and setting the tone of the breathing pattern.

“He’ll be back as soon as the procedure’s done and he’s cleared from the recovery room. You hear me? He’ll be back in no time.”

As the man was bending over him, uttering his words, all calm and chill, the dull ache in Louis’ chest gradually began to cease and he slowly came to himself. Woah, what the fuck just happened, shot through his mind, realising that Zayn was invading his personal space way more than he was comfortable with and he flinched.

“Well, hi there. Glad to see you back, mate.” Zayn grinned, patting his shoulder, and stepped back to get a paper cup from a cabinet and fill it at the basin.

“Here, drink.”

Louis reflexively accepted the cup and took a small sip, the chilled liquid easing the tight sensation in his throat and chest little by little.

“Feeling better?”

He did.

“Listen, I can’t tell you exactly how long it’ll take until Ben’s back. They called him in early, so I guess the schedule has been changed, but to be honest I don’t know a single thing about the surgical ward. It’ll probably take two, three hours alone for anaesthesia to completely wear off, and from experience it’ll take some time until patient transport is ready to pick him up and bring him back. So you might as well go home, and we’ll call you as soon as he’s back to his room. It’s pretty obvious that this is not a place where you can relax.”

“Relax?” Louis bolted off the patient bench, regretting it immediately, his blood circulation still being all over the place. “Relax?” he hissed, voice stern and fists clenched. “What is wrong with you all?! Is this all a joke to you? Ignoring a patient for hours, winging schedules at will, knowing shit all, but instead rejoicing in scaring the living shit out of relatives and then mocking them for not being able to relax? Are you fucking kidding me? The hell I’m going home! I’m going fucking nowhere. I’ll stay right here, making damn sure that nobody involved in this joke of patient care won’t get another single chance to extricate themselves from doing their fucking job or I’ll sue their bloody arses for medical negligence! This is not fucking amateur hour, you have people bloody dying here and nobody gives a rat’s arse. Fucking hell,” he smashed the paper cup into the bin. “Had I known he’d be surrounded by feckless idiots I’d have taken him home and organised care at home myself!”

“You done?” Zayn asked flatly, not a single telling change in his expression.

“This is ridiculous! It’s your job, it’s your fucking job to take care of him,” Louis went on, unable to hold back a derisive snort. “Should have known the second I learned pathetic Styles is in charge that this was a fucking joke.”

So far Zayn had calmly listened to his rant, but with the last part of his sentence his expression shifted from motionless to ready to turn glowing charcoal into ice within a fraction of a second. With only two controlled steps and a stare that burnt right through him, he came to stand within spitting distance and leaned way into Louis’ space, planting his palms, one left and one right beside him on the wall.

Louis could literally sense the warmth of his breath in his face.

“Listen, arsehole. Yes, Annie fucked up, she’s new and won’t ever make that mistake again. Apologies for that. Yes, surgery schedules are not set in stone because you can’t bloody plan life threatening emergencies, sorry if that messes with your entitled brat expectations. Yes, we brought Ben to meet you and the kids without a 24/7 chaperone, but you can bet your uptight arse that Harry would have jumped right off that balcony to get him if Ben or you had pushed the emergency call button. We didn’t make the best first impression with you, I get that, but don’t you dare step into this place and insult Harry. You know shit all about him, his work or his commitment to this ward. So don’t you ever dare to disrespect my boss and friend right to my face. Do I make myself clear? Now get your surly arse out of this room and control your fucking attitude before I control it for you.”

He straightened his back and with stern steps went to the door. “And by the way, if it wasn’t for pathetic Styles and his amateur hour team, there wouldn’t even be a palliative care at home unit that you could organise at yours.” And with a “bloody twat” uttered under his breath he disappeared into the hallway.

Harry was sitting at his desk going through a mountain of patient reports and handwritten notes when his door flew open and Niall burst in, red faced and fervid.

“MAKE! HIM! STOP!!!” he blurted. “Harry, I mean it! Either make him stop or I need another office. I can’t work like this, bloody—!”

Harry startled, almost knocking off his coffee pot off his desk.

“What the f—?”

“Harry, I beg you, I just—, for feck’s sake,” he ran his face over his bright red forehead, “How am I supposed to go through my sessions when that eejit is caning bloody drums like a raving lunatic?! Drums, Harry, DRUMS, what fecking shitehawk even thought it was a good idea to get bloody drums. I can’t have patient consultations with that gobshite smashing drums next to my head.”

Harry squinted his eyes and pinched the skin over his nose. The paperwork on his desk had reached a level where ignoring it was simply no longer an option. He finally managed to free his schedule for the day to get a hold on it, so getting involved in temper tantrums within his team most certainly wasn’t on his agenda, but since the shitehawk getting drums had been himself, chances were that there was no easy way out but to deal with it.

“Niall, for crying out loud, what are you talking about and may I introduce you to the concept of knocking before entering a room and giving people heart attacks!”

“Zayn! I’m talking about Zayn! The bloody eejit locked himself in the music room and has been murdering the drums ever since. Soundproof my arse, it sounds like he was playing right in my head. I can’t even hear myself thinking let alone have conversations with any of my patients. Make him stop, please, I beg you. He ignored me banging the door and just drummed even harder.”

Harry sighed. The music room was yet another bullet point on his never-ending list of things to get done. He’d been discussing properly soundproofing the room for over a year now and although the EMC had agreed to implement music therapy in addition to arts, to this day he hadn’t received a penny to set the framework for doing so. Yet another thing, they’ll have to sort out themselves.

The room was on the back end of the storey and far enough from the patient rooms that they weren’t immediately affected when the noise level occasionally rose beyond average. But even with their efforts of splitting it up into a music room and an art room with a soundproof drywall and the art room serving as a buffer, Niall’s office was directly adjacent, and Harry knew when he accepted the drum set offered by a complaisant donor, it would cause frictions, to say the least.

He sighed again, set his computer into standby mode, and got up. “Promise I’m done with parenting after that?”

“He started it!” Niall pouted.

“Oh, come on.”

They shuffled through the hall without speaking. The second he’d left his office he could already hear the snappy, tight sound of snares accompanied by the dull, thudding sound of bass drums. If he hadn’t been so cheesed off for having to deal with kindergarten behaviour, he’d have been impressed with the skills Zayn had developed since he last heard him play. But now was neither the place nor the time for evaluating his musical development. The noise was indeed borderline sickening.

Niall had stopped in front of his office door and grinned. “You’re on your own kid. Just make him stop and I won’t bother you again.”

“Traitor.” Harry gently flipped him off and entered the arts and crafts room. He made his way along easels, tables, and stools to the door leading to the music room. The noise was deafening. He banged on the door, in vain. He pushed down the handle, locked. He shouted Zayn’s name, also in vain.

Ugh, why does everybody always need to be so dramatic, he thought and strolled over to the desk, grabbing a black Sharpie and a sheet of paper, before stepping out on the balcony that sprawled along the long side of both rooms. He scribbled down a few words onto the paper and slid over to the big window. Through the pane he could see Zayn sitting on the drums, a pair of huge over-ears flung over his head, jaw tense, eyebrows scrunched together, drumming as if his life depended on it. He banged against the window and pressed the paper against it.

“LET ME IN, YOU TWAT, BEFORE HORAN WEES IN MY TEA AND POISONS YOUR FOOD.”

It only took a few more window bangs and drum hits before Zayn spotted him, dramatically rolling his eyes, and signalling him to come to the door.

“What?” he snorted, pulling the door open.

“You tell me.”

“Nothing.” He flung the drumsticks aside and kicked the grey bean bag into the corner.

“That’s a hell of a lot of anger released for ‘nothing’,” Harry said, sauntering to the windowsill and sitting on it with one leg up and one on the floor.

“What d’you mean?”

“Mate, the walls were shaking at your rumpus. Nialler almost hyperventilated.”

“Oh, sod off, I had the headphones in!” Zayn snorted, wiggling the over-ears that were now dangling around his neck, the cable still plugged into the drum set.

Harry hit the cymbals and a loud clang banged through the room. He sighed. “Oh, great. Yet another thing that broke.” He let his head drop towards his chest and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Anyways. What’s going on? Why are you so riled up?”

Zayn tossed the headphones on the drums.

“Your wanking material pissed me off.”

“Pardon me, my what?” Harry straightened his back, eyes going wide.

“YOUR WANKING MATERIAL PISSED ME OFF!”

“I heard the words, yet I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Zayn let himself fall onto the beanbag. “Tomlinson. He’s a massive wanker and I want to kick his complacent arse.”

Harry’s expression darkened, one brow shooting up. “Where did you run into Louis, it’s not even nine yet?”

“—but I can’t kick his complacent arse, because that’d be unprofessional and he’s Li—” he stumbled. “And you seem to be ridiculously protective over him.”

Harry felt his pulse rising. He let his gaze trail out of the window. It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed that the tone Louis had taken with them the day before could have been friendlier, but for real, who would have remained totally chill and relaxed in his shoes? Zayn now bashing him for whatever reasons absolutely did not sit right with Harry, and yes, he totally felt the urge to step up for him. After all it was Zayn’s job to deal with emotionally strained people and not to act like one of them himself. Drama queens, the whole lot of them.

Anyway. Mount Paperlot on his desk was still waiting to be tackled and arguing with a miffed spitfire wasn’t likely to ramp up that process. So, he took two deep breaths and beseeched, “Zayn, please. I have no idea what happened that made you kick off like this, but would you please cut him some slack. You don’t know the full picture yet. Can you just believe me when I say the guy went through hell and back and is totally entitled to be all at sea?”

“He’s not all at sea, he’s an insolent arsehole, barging into your ward, acting like a humongous judgemental fucker, insulting us and our competencies and I sure as hell won’t have it.”

Harry’s chest clenched.

“We’ve been dealing with insolent arseholes since the day we stepped into this ward, it’s not like we aren’t used to it, are we?”

“T’is different.”

“Listen, I’d really like to understand but I also really need to get back on track. Niall has a full schedule today just next door, so could you please do me the favour of keeping it down and I’ll come around after work and we’ll talk it out?”

A subtle twitch hushed over Zayn’s face, and he shuffled awkwardly into the bean bag, trying to snag the drumsticks with his foot. “Um, I kind of already have plans for later...”

“Have ya? Huh. Well then tomorrow?”

Zayn had brought his hand to his trimmed beard and rubbed his knuckles over it, giving Harry the full sight of the tattoos on the back of his hand.

“You know, actually, um, maybe I did overreact a tad.” His arm dropped and his eyes fell down, rummaging the floor, while his fingers slid under his sleeve and adjusted the band of his watch. “I–, um, I’ll just apologise to Niall, okay? Then we’re fine.”

Harry knitted his brows and looked at him with a questioning look. Now that was new. A pissed off Zayn settling down at the first appeasement? Weird. But okay, now was not the time to try to get to the bottom of it.

“You, um, do you…” Zayn stuttered fidgeting with his watch, “Maybe you want to go check on Louis? I kind of left him in room 201 and told him to get the fuck out after Annie scared the living shit out of him making him think Ben was gone.” The tone in his voice was almost remorseful.

“You what now?” Harry huffed, shooting up and pressing both hands into his hips like a disappointed parent ready to rip off heads.

“He misunderstood Annie, he was looking for Ben, and she may or may not have said he’s gone instead of he’s been picked up. He didn’t take it too well and he may or may not have had a minor anxiety attack before bowling me out like a pissed off ankle-biter”, he fiddled with his rings on his hand.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Christ, Zayn. We’re supposed to be the professionals here, this is not fucking amateur hour!”

A small cackle escaped Zayn’s lips. “That’s what he said.”

Harry’s nostrils flared as he stared at him. “Do I look like I was joking?”

Zayn faltered, biting his lower lip. “Sorry. You’re right. I apologise. To be fair, he was a dick though. But still, somebody should go check on him. Best if it’s not me.”

Annie was rather new to the team but had managed to charm every single one of them at her job interview. Maybe the bar wasn’t set all too high, given the former secretary, Miss Barnsdale, pretty much acted as the department dragon ninety-eight percent of the time and scared the living hell out of everybody, patients included. So, when she finally retired and a not even five-foot elf-like ginger crossed the threshold, chirping, shaking hands and greeting everybody with her brightest smile, right before conjuring cupcakes out of her Marry Poppins bag, truth be told nobody cared if her job-related qualifications met the requirements or not. Harry hired her on the spot. Thankfully it turned out she surpassed the requirements by far.

Ever since Annie had taken over the secretary position, she lulled the old, battered Building 28 into a charming, warm, and happy haze. Scaring “the living shit” out of a relative, how Zayn had put it, was pretty much the last thing Harry could imagine her doing, yet here he was, pacing the hallways of his ward, not knowing what he was to expect once he’d found Louis.

Room 201 had been empty, so he tried Ben’s room next. The butterflies in his stomach had already had a field day when he checked the first room. Now it felt like they were having a full-on rave party with substance abuse and the police seconds away from intervening.

He knocked before pushing the door handle down and stuck his head through the door crack.

The window was wide open, the room flooded in sunlight and there he was, a slender figure dressed in black jeans, a backside still as gorgeous as the picture engraved on Harry’s retina, leaning way out over the windowsill. His arm was stretched way above his head and moving a phone around, granting Harry full sight of a collection of tattoos, while a soft, blue, knitted polo shirt with black and white striped cuffs perfectly accentuated the curve of the most delicate waist in existence.

Harry wanted to gasp or alternatively bite his fist. The vision of a white boxer brief waistband peeking out of the jeans and granting a glimpse of sun kissed skin was doing things to him. Things he’d rather not speak about. The golden tan, the waist, the hair…a brown, slightly messy bunch of fluff, tinged with a hint of grey around the temples glistening in the morning sun…Christ… Harry wanted to run his hands through it. How can one single person be so beautiful, he thought, so otherworldly beautiful?

The room was quiet, bar the whirring sound of the open MacBook positioned on the desk. It took everything in Harry to stop staring—again. Pull yourself together, Styles, for God’s sake. He willed himself to speak.

“Reception is shit on this side of the building,” he finally managed to utter, stalling in the threshold.

Louis’ head spun around, his piercing blue eyes landing sharply on Harry. “You don’t say.” He grumbled, giving him a cold and haughty glare before turning his attention back to his phone.

“May I come in?” Harry asked in the most unaffected tone he could possibly muster.

“’It’s your ward, Professor-Doctor-Chief-Physician-Styles.” The sharp and cutting tone of Louis’ voice at the mention of the academic titles didn’t escape Harry’s attention. He gulped. He didn’t want the spatting intonation of the words to hurt, but they did. Maybe he began to understand mildly what got Zayn riled up. No, he thought, this is not on him. Zayn and Annie were the ones to fuck up, not Louis.

“Can’t argue with that.” Harry said, trying his best to keep his voice steady, closing the door behind him and taking a few steps into the room.

Dang. He’d been in patients’ rooms a bazillion times. Why the heck couldn’t he remember what he usually did with his arms? Why was he standing there like a wooden pole rammed into the ground in the middle of a cow pasture, all superfluous and weird?

His fingers gripped the pendant of his gold necklace and slid it back and forth, before deciding to lean half-heartedly onto the bed frame, keeping the most considerable distance to Louis. The room suddenly felt way too small.

“I was informed,” he said quietly, “that you had a rather unfortunate encounter with two of my staff members this morning. I wanted to check on you and make sure you are okay and apologise for the inconvenience.”

“I was informed,” Louis parroted his words, making them sound ridiculously posh, “well aren’t we important?” He flung his phone to the table with a derisive sound, plunging himself onto the chair. He turned the MacBook to face him and started typing before pressing through his teeth, “I’m alright. Don’t I look alright?” The room fell silent, bar the borderline aggressive slamming of the notebook keys. He grabbed his phone again, unlocked the screen, not deigning to look at Harry, huffed and put it down again.

Harry watched him closely. Without a doubt he believed the man in front of him to be the single most attractive human to wander this hemisphere. The sharp jawline, the striking, high cheekbones, the most intense, bright steel-blue eyes, framed by warm, loving crinkles and illicit, long, dark lashes. He looked ethereal. He looked…broken.

While the blue was clearer than the sky over the Mediterranean Sea on a cloudless summers’ day, the look was distant. Where crinkles were supposed to testify years of laughter and happiness, the skin presented itself as slightly puffy and dark-circled. His eyelids were marginally drooping, the eyebrows frowning, and the downcast gaze urged Harry to wrap his arms around the man, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, reassuring him that everything was gonna be okay.

Yet he couldn’t.

I’m alright. Don’t I look alright? The words rang in Harry’s ears as his hand moved towards his cheek, flimsily pinching the delicate skin between his thumb and his index. A habit he never managed to get rid of in tense situations. Once he realised, he brought back his hand to his lap, quickly intertwined his fingers, and cleared his throat.

“You actually don’t.” He said, voice low and considerate. “You look tired and scared out of your skin.”

The typing stopped. Louis glared at him. Harry glared back. The strained expression in Louis’ face faltered. It was subtle, and he controlled himself almost immediately, but it faltered.

Harry’s breath hitched, forcing himself to hold the gaze. He was not going to fall back into old patterns. No, he wouldn’t. He was an adult, for Christ’s sake. He could manage to look Louis in the eyes without turning into a pillar of salt. Yeah, right. A pillar of salt in a bloody British rain shower that’d be. Dissolving as quickly as sugar in hot tea.

Tea. Maybe he should offer Louis a cup of tea? Or coffee? Was Louis more likely to be a tea or a coffee guy? Maybe both. Or none? Bloody hell what’s the protocol for steel blue eyes burning fiery holes into the depths of your soul? Dang. Harry felt his palms beginning to twitch. No way he’d be able to keep this staring game up without crumbling to dust… And then… Oh.

OH!

Louis averted his gaze first. He averted his gaze first.

His left hand had shot up to his forehead, bashfully fixing his fringe in a quick motion of thumb and index before coming back down to rest on his right hand, pinching the frail skin on the back of his middle finger.

Was that…? Is he…? Harry’s thoughts spiralled. Too quiet. This room is too quiet. Words, Styles. Now would be a good moment for words. You know, the things you form with your mouth and the airflow from your throat. Woooords. But instead, all he managed to do was to look. Look at the man across the room, who was sat with his elbows pressed to his slender body, pinching, and twisting an imaginary ring on his finger, shoulders slumped and head bowed—which, last time Harry checked, was pretty much the universal body language for Wow, I’d rather be anywhere but here. Good job, Styles. Fricking good job. No bad situation you can’t make worse. Forty seconds with the man alone and you already creeped him out. Again. If that wasn’t a new record…

“I need to work,” Louis suddenly said, a ragged edge squirming its way to his usually bright voice.

Harry’s insides felt like they were disintegrating, like a phantom fist was clenching his heart and slowly grinding it to dust.

He drew in a long breath. “Well then,” he finally managed to say, lifting his body off the bed frame, giving his trousers a clumsy stroke over. “I’m not gonna keep you from it. It was just important to me to check on you and let you know how sorry I am for what happened earlier.”

Louis brushed his thumb to his palm, not averting his eyes from the screen, jaw clenched.

“If you’d rather—” the chime of Harry’s phone interrupted him. “Uh, sorry, let me just—” he grabbed the phone from his jacket pocket and took a quick look at the incoming message. “Ben’s next in the operating theatre, they are still working on another patient, but the surgeon thinks they can start in about an hour or so.”

Louis’ eyes darted upwards and locked on Harry’s face. His mouth was set in a hard line. Shivers ran down Harry’s spine.

“Um, yeah,” he shoved the phone back into his pocket, wanting to squirm under the intense look. “They scheduled the surgery for one and a half hours. You can easily add another two to four hours in the recovery room. Rick, his surgeon, was confident they don’t need to keep him in the ICU for the night since it’s only a tiny tumour, allegedly easily accessible, and he’s planning on removing it with the daVinci. That’s their minimally invasiv—”

“I know what the daVinci robotic surgical system is,” Louis hissed.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Harry raked his fingers through his hair, internally cringing at the sensation of his damp neck. The last thing he needed right now was to start reeking of stress-induced cold sweat. Jesus Christ, this is Saint Dolores all over again. “Anyway, um, at best Ben will be back around 4 p.m., at worst, they have to keep him in the ICU. So, if you prefer to go home, you can simply leave me your phone numbe—”

“I stay,” Louis cut him off, his expression unimpressive.

“You stay,” Harry repeated. “Yeah, that’s… that’s fine as well, I guess. um, I will keep you updated as soon as I hear something?”

Louis’ forehead creased, one eyebrow shooting up. “You’re telling me or you’re asking me?”

Harry felt a muscle in his jaw twitching. Four years of med school, two years of foundation programme, six years of specialty training, not a single exam passed with less than a straight A. But one simple question from Louis bloody Tomlinson, and he could watch his confidence go down the drain like the one of a blushing Victorian bride showing bare ankles for the first time. Right, and now he’s totally not imagining what Louis’ ankles look like, given his hands and wrists are so…

“Yeah, no, I mean, no, yeah, of course it’s fine if you’d like to stay. I will update you. Absolutely,” he said. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the wee donkey, GET. A. GRIP. STYLES!

“Well…” he gestured with his thumb towards the door, “I’d better be going then.” He waited a few seconds for any kind of reaction, but there was none. Louis was back to staring into his MacBook and whatever walls he had built around him were as up as they could possibly be.

Harry turned on the heel and hesitantly walked to the door. Every fibre of Louis’ expression screamed Leave me the fuck alone and Harry was the last person to not respect that need. Yet why did it feel so… so wrong? He shot him another quick look.

“Um, Louis?” he said, not being able to ignore the downright queasy feeling in his gut. “Reception really is shit in here and we’re still waiting for IT to fix the Wi-Fi issues, but I’ll be in my office for the rest of the day and there’s a second desk with a proper internet connection and a balcony with an ashtray. You’re welcome to work over there if you need to make calls or need functioning Network access while you wait for Ben to return.” He grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. “It’s the second door on the right side with the rainbow drawing on it. I have a mountain of paperwork to go through so I’m not gonna force you into any form of conversation unless you want me to.”

Chapter Text

Louis slammed the MacBook shut and let out a harsh groan as soon as Harry had left the room. You look tired and scared out of your skin. What the actual fuck? He shoved the chair backwards to get up and made a grab for the pack of cigarettes he had put on the table earlier, only to realise he couldn’t possibly smoke in Ben’s room.

“Ugh. Fucking hospitals,” he grouched tossing the pack back.

You look tired. Of course, he looked tired. Try sleeping in a bed with two toddlers who wake you up five times a night for stupid dummies gone missing and not look tired afterwards. Bet you wouldn’t look like farting rainbows and shitting glitter the next morning either. Bloody wanker.

He reached for his phone. Still no reception. The clock said 9:30. He’d been up for a little over three hours and so far, he’d been tricked into eating a fucking fruit bowl, nearly had a panic-slash-heart attack, was called “arsehole” by a bloody therapist and minutes later “tired and scared shitless” by the sixth form college swotter that had grown up to look like he was freshly sprung out from a tacky magazine of a sperm bank’s waiting room. Not that he had particular knowledge about what the entertainment supply of a sperm bank looked like. After all, the one time Ben had dragged him to one in the wake of them dropping out of school and being flat broke, they had already chickened out on the kerb.

Anyways, what were the odds that the bloody school geek grew up that nice? The dark chestnut curls that used to form a ridiculous mop now were perfectly trimmed and styled backwards totally not bringing out an obscene jaw line and scintillating green, hazelish flecked eyes. The eyes he remembered, but the jaw line was definitely new. As were the rags. Totally absurd rags. It went beyond him how someone could wear light brown plaid suit trousers with a red-blue striped Mickey Mouse T-shirt under a cerulean blue coat and still look like one of those poster boys his sisters would have plastered their lockers with. But yeah, of course someone like Harry bloody Styles would get the brains and the looks, fucking twat.

You look tired. No shit, Sherlock. That’s what you get for googling stupid former school mates on your phone under the cover of your duvet for yet another hour after finally having gone to bed.

• A levels at 16
• Med school graduation at 20 with awarded honours
• Registrar at 22
• Consultant at 28
• Head of Department at 30
• Published books: 3
• Published articles in The New England Journal of Medicine and The Lancet: way too fucking much.
• Not to speak of the bazillions of interviews and even some bloody morning show appearances on TV. Seriously, who wants to talk about pain and dying over their eggy breads and crumpets at 6 in the morning?

You look scared out of your skin. Yeah, guess what, could have figured that out without a fancy degree. Smart arse.

Nine thirty. Fucking hell, he really needed to get a hold of Liam.

He shoved his MacBook in his bag, grabbed his phone, cigarettes and his jacket, and stormed out of the room. At least on the playground he had had decent reception and since Ben was only due in the operation theatre in about an hour, he might as well try to get in touch with the office before the first updates on Ben were due to come.

When he stepped out of the building, he took a minute to bathe in the warm and shimmering sunlight of the tender spring sun before bringing a cigarette to his lips, lighting the end and pulling the smoke as deep into his lungs as he could. An immediate buzz of pleasure and relaxation shot through his body before he could even release the smoke. It was certainly not one of his best habits, but as far as he was currently concerned, it did the job. Yet, he’d been thinking of quitting for a while. Since Ben had to give up their old crocks footie sessions, Louis had been missing practice more often than not and with no sports, his stress levels at work, too much weed and fags, and no further mentioned amounts of booze within the last few weeks, there was no denying that one or two delicate signs of the times had caught up to him. Maybe it was finally the time to reconsider some of his life choices. But fuck if he cared right now.

He finished the cig with a final drag, put the butt out in the ash bin, and sauntered into the garden. The sweet smell of grass and flowers tickled his nose as he followed the gravel path until he found a bench, abandoned and quiet under a magnolia tree.

Finally! Reception! He sighed in relief when he saw five new messages coming in. In a quick motion he grabbed his MacBook from the bag and set up his phone as a hotspot, the messages appearing on his screen.

Ben [8:37] Hey mate, hope you’re not on your way already. Little change in plan, they’re taking me to surgery earlier than planned, so no need for you to come in. Told Harry to call mum when I’m done. It’s near to impossible to get a text message out of these 5-feet-walls without hanging from a balcony, so I hope you get this in time. Tell the girls I love them.

You don’t say, he thought, scrolling to the next message.

Ben [8:39] And Tommo, just in case… love you too, mate. Thanks. You know… for everything.

Louis’ heart skipped a beat for the umpteenth time this day. Just in case. In case of what? In case of… No. Just no. His thoughts would definitely not go down that hill right now. It was only a small procedure. Just draining some fluids and removing a tiny tumour with a robotic arm. No major cut, not even the need for spreading the ribcage if all went well. If all went well! Of course, everything would go well. It was minimal invasive surgery. He had watched every single YouTube clip he could find on daVinci lead surgeries the night before. It really, really, really shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Even Harry had said so.

Nan [8:43] Hi, poppet. We didn’t make it to the nursery. The munchkins are in a right tizzy. We’ll have a day out in Wythenshawe Park. Please tell Ben we’re thinking about him. Call me if there’s news. Take care, love.

Payno [9:02] Tommo, my man. Where are you? You’ve taken two afternoons off this week and you’re still not back in the office this morning? What’s going on mate? You sick? The kids sick? Is it Ben? Call me, I’m slightly worried.

Payno [9:33] Louis, seriously. Worried is an understatement. Your phone is off. Your phone is never off. What’s the protocol here? Do I have to file a missing person’s report? Do you need an alibi? Are you held hostage? Do I need to come and get you? Not that I resent you for taking a break, heaven knows you deserve one, it’s just… I’ve got three of the Commsmith people here waiting for you to come in… Please, just call me when you get this message.

SHIT!! Shit. Shit. Shit. He had totally forgotten that he had scheduled a meeting with three executive team members from the newly annexed company and was supposed to walk them through their processes. Fuck! He really was useless whenever his secretary left him out of sight for a day.

He hit the video call button and Liam picked up on the third ring.

“Jesus, Louis, are you alright? Where are you… is that… are you sitting in a bloody park?” Liam deadpanned, squinting his eyes and leaning closer to the camera.

“Hey, Payno, um, yeah. I’m at Summerstone,” he reclined on the bench, bringing one foot up, trying to balance the notebook on his knee. “I’m fine, why the fuck does everybody feel the urge to ask me if I’m alright?” he mumbled, fiddling with his jacket to bring the collar up. Two days ago, he was sweating his arse off like in the middle of summer and today it was bloody freezing although the sun was out. Welcome to Manchester, where the weather is as unpredictable as the mood swings of your teenage siblings.

“Listen, mate, I’m so sorry, I forgot about the Commsmith people. Ben is due for surgery any minute; I just can’t leave. Please don’t make me leave. I promised him I’d be there, but then they changed the schedule and when I came in they’d already taken him and I haven’t seen him since. But I promised and I just… I just can’t not be here when he wakes up. I already feel bad enough that I wasn’t on time before he left, if I leave now and am not back on time or if he— “

“Jesus Christ, Louis, take a breath!” Liam cut him off. “Listen, sugarplum, you stay where you are, we’re gonna be fine, I know it’s hard to believe, but we’ll get through the day without you. I was just worried because I couldn’t reach you. I wasn’t guilt tripping you for taking a day off for the first time in fifteen years, OK?”

“Yeah, OK. I’m really sorry though. If maybe you could just show them around, give them the basics and I’ll do the rest via video call later? It’s not ideal, but it’ll do for now,” Louis suggested.

Liam skimmed through some papers lying on his desk and nodded. “Fine by me. I just need to switch some things around since I didn’t know you weren’t coming in,” he shot a look at his watch. “How does 11 sound? I just have to be out by 2, I’ve got… um… a thing.”

“A thing? Oh, I am sure you have a thing.” Louis smirked. “On that note… Mister Payne, I’m wondering… why exactly haven’t you been answering your phone since leaving the office reeking of sex and shame yesterday morning?” He bulged his cheek with his tongue.

Liam coughed into the mug he had brought up to his mouth. “Fuck’s sake, Louis!” he looked around to find a cloth to wipe the spilled mess.

“That’d be my name, yes. Now, care to share with the class?” he asked, innocently repeating the cheek poking twice.

“Holy Ghost, God, what are you, twelve?” Liam hissed. “It’s not like that. Well,” he blushed, “it sort of is like that, but it’s not like that. Jesus Christ.”

“Ooh, the whole trinity united, was it that good, eh?”

“Please, don’t, okay?” Liam’s expression suddenly shifted to looking like a beat up puppy. “I…” he stammered. “I kind of met someone and I don’t know, it’s different. It feels different. He is different.”

“That for sure he is.” Louis mumbled, adjusting the MacBook so that he could sit on one crossed leg.

“What?” Liam asked, rattled from his stupor.

“What?”

“What did you just mumble?”

“Nothing,” he fumbled with his fringe, the change of the atmosphere palpable. “It’s nothing.”

“Louis William Tomlinson, you’re a shit liar. What is it that you want to tell me?”

“Really, it’s nothing. I’ll make up for it, okay?”

Liam looked like a cross between an eight-year-old trying his best to understand Einstein’s theory of relativity and a puppy whose owner vanished into thin air behind a magical blanket.

“I honestly haven’t got a single clue what you’re talking about, Tommo.”

“The guy… it’s the one from the pub, isn’t it? Zayn?”

Liam’s facial expressions froze. “You… um… what? How do you…?”

Louis shuffled on the bench and adjusted the screen.

“I kind of ran into him,” he said, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. “Twice. And I don’t think he particularly likes me.”

Liam looked into the camera with a totally unreadable expression. “I feel like I am missing out on some bits here…”

“Apparently he works here and is sort of good friends with Ben’s consultant, who turned out to be the weirdo-brainiac of our sixth form maths class.”

Unlike Ben and Louis, Liam had gone to a business and economics orientated sixth form college and had never met Harry, at least not to Louis’ knowledge.

“And that guy introduced you?” he asked unfazed.

“Well, Ben did. Sort of, but we didn’t quite hit it off.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t quite hit it off? Zayn’s literally the most chill guy I’ve met in—probably ever. And you’re my best mate, and… I’m a little confused here.”

“He literally called me arsehole half an hour ago and told me to control my attitude or he’ll control it for me.”

Liam burst out laughing. “He did what now? Fuck, he’s hot.”

“Li!”

“What, he is hot! Listen, sugarplum. I still have no idea why and how the two of you went south before even getting to know each other, and as much as I’d like to know, I really gotta go now. Take care of yourself, will you? And keep me updated on Ben. See you at 11:00. Is it okay for you if I don’t attend the call till the end?”

“Yeah, of course. Leave whenever you need to. Um, Li?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re still coming to the pub later or will you be spending the night at…?”

“Um,” Liam ran his hand through his hair and dropped his gaze. “Will you be gutted if I don’t know yet?”

“No, of course not, it’s fine,” he said a little too quickly for Liam not to notice he was pretending, but at least he had the decency to not dig any deeper.

They exchanged a few more words and as soon as they’d finished their call, Louis shut the MacBook and let out a grunt. Of course, he was gutted. Fuck if he wasn’t. There’d always been just one single established convention in their friendship and that was that Friday was pub night, come hell or high water. Not even the birth of the twins changed anything to that tradition. On Fridays the kids sleep at his grandparents’ and the lot of them are free to get as hammered as they wish, so says the law.

But with Ben staying in the hospital, Lottie freshly being married to Lewis, and Jess having a new job that required her to stay in London, more often than not it was only him and Liam left. Well and Oli, but since he owned the pub, he was barely able to sit with them longer than five minutes anyway.

So, what could Louis say? ‘Yeah, I’m gutted, ditch your newly acquired sexpot because I can’t deal with all this change that’s happened lately and I need pub night as the only remaining constant?’

He might be an emotional fuckwit in terms of his own, non-existent, love life, but he for sure wasn’t a shit friend. After all, Liam—unlike Louis—had never been good alone and deserved someone in his life to get closer to. Still, Louis was gutted. Why couldn’t they just hook up on any other day of the week? Or at least have a two-hour shag-gap between eight and ten? He’d even be fine with Liam bringing the prat along. They might not have had the best start, but at least the bloke had proven to have balls defending his friend; Louis was the last person to not fully acknowledge when somebody stuck up for a friend. Even if the friend in question was an insolent dreamboat with way too green eyes, a way too big mouth and a fucking IQ of 369 making him feel like he had the intellectual comprehension skills of a Teletubby.

Louis clenched his teeth. Seventeen years. He had dropped out of school seventeen years ago and since then had built a whole company from the shreds of his 4.5 m² kid’s room that couldn’t even properly fit a desk. For God’s sake, when he hired his first three employees his bed was still covered in Pokémon bed sheets, that’s how young and broke he was and now he owned multiple houses in multiple countries.

He knew bloody well that he wasn’t daft. And still, the voice of Mr. Robertson, their former maths teacher, rang in his ear after Harry had yet again given the solution to an equation Louis didn’t even know how to tackle in the first place. “Exactly, Mr. Styles. Infinity. Or as I call it the amount of Mr. Tomlinson’s benightedness on all things science.” It was just one of a myriad of degradations followed by the laughter of twelve schoolmates he would hear over his last two school years. Mostly in direct comparison to high achiever Styles. The only two to never laugh had been Ben and the kid himself. Ben obviously for solidarity reasons and Harry… fuck if he knew. Whether it was his haughtiness that kept him from joining the laughter, or that he was so uptight that his body physically was inept to produce something so mundane as a laugh, who knew.

Absorbed in his thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed that he had brought yet another cigarette to his lips until the wind had blown out the lighter for the third time. He cursed under his breath and stuck it under his shirt, pulled the collar away and dug his head into the shirt to light the fag in the shelter of the fabric before closing the zipper of his black windbreaker jacket. Anticipating the numbing effect of the nicotine on his nerves, he inhaled long and deeply, but it didn’t come up to scratch. Jittery and cold, that was all he felt and he’d kill for a simple hot cup of coffee. He pulled up the hood over his head and reopened the MacBook. Nothing more apt than a good Payno-plan to keep his wandering mind at bay.

He finished the fag, clicked on his mail program, opened the three files and… the low battery warning popped up on his screen. Ugh.

Were it not for the eye muscles and his optic nerve, his eyeballs would have rolled to the back of his head in annoyance. He rummaged through his bag looking for his power bank… well, of fucking course. He’d forgotten to pack it. Not that he’d ever been a religious person, but now was the moment he’d kindly ask Him to take this day back, he genuinely didn’t need it anymore. Thank you, Lord, for your kind attention very much.

Annoyed to the max, he shoved the MacBook in his bag and marched back to the building. Not bothering to take the stairs yet again, he banged the lift button and waited for the doors to open. Minutes later he found himself banging on the second door to his right. A kid’s rainbow drawing, adorned with colourful, sparkling flowers, beads and pearls embellishments laughed directly at his face.

“Come in, it’s open,” the low, drawling voice from earlier called from behind the door.

“Jeez, give me the strength to not strangle him,” Louis mumbled, eyes pointing towards heaven before pushing the door open.

What he found then wasn’t exactly what he’d expected from a medical Head of Department’s office. It was more like stepping into a surreal, yet cosy and warm living-room/library setting. The room had the same high ceilings that Ben’s patient’s room had, but rather than in friendly pastels it was painted from ceiling to floor in a dark, slate blue-grey shade.

Instead of square, practical LED panels, a stylish, round, oversized, white ceiling light with a golden outer and wooden inner wrap lit the room. Thick mustard coloured curtains hung loosely alongside the high windows and the balcony door, and provided a homely, snug atmosphere. On the right side stood a large, cognac brown leather sofa opposite to two armchairs, garnished in way too many cushions and a blanket matching the room’s colour scheme, while on the left, Harry was sitting behind a crappy 22” computer monitor that looked nothing less than like a Game Boy on the free-standing, massive oak desk that was flooded with paperwork, books, scented candles, a vase with fresh flowers and an even crappier laptop that most likely still ran on Windows XP.

Behind his back, four giant built-in bookshelves with an attached slideable, wooden ladder reached up to the ceiling. Two apothecary sideboards next to the door accommodated a collection of binders, an old record player, a kettle and a fully automatic coffee machine. The shelves were all painted in the same dark slate shade as the rest of the room and were packed to the brim with books, LPs, art prints, candleholders and decorations. Louis even spotted a bong and several vaporisers standing on one of the shelves, right next to some sort of metallic globe thingy that could as well have been a prop straight from the Harry Potter movies. To be honest, the whole room gave him a kind of modern day Ravenclaw library vibes.

“Jesus Christ, what are you, some sort of 21st century Dumbledore in his chamber of secrets?” Louis snorted without even saying so much as hello.

“Oh, Malfoy, hello. Please come in and grace me with your noble presence. What can I offer you? A cup of Dragon claw, a bucket of Billywig wings?” Harry shot back.

Louis bristled. Sod that. Not only did the wanker keep up, he was also quick as fuck.

“I neither need a brain boost nor a laughing potion, just need a plug socket for half an hour.”

A single barking laugh erupted from Harry’s mouth. Huh, apparently the creep’s body was physically apt to produce laughs after all.

“Brain boost and laughing potion? Colour me surprised, Tomlinson. Didn’t take you for a Potter nerd knowing your potions.” Harry said, smiling broadly.

Louis stiffened. There, two inches above the obscene jawline: Dimples! What the hell? The brains, the looks and now also dimples? God loves us all equally my arse.

“Shocking, I know. The dumbarse school drop out can read, who would have thought? Wouldn’t have bothered with it though if I’d known the author turned out to be a raging nutter,” he answered snappishly.

The dimples dissolved on the spot, the grin turning into a frown. A truly impressive frown. The exact same frown they’d named creepy death stare back in school. How the human forehead was even able to form furrows like these might forever remain a mystery. “That’s not what I—,” Harry shook his head, but Louis cut him off.

“Can you just tell me where in this building I can find a plug socket and a hint of reception? I’ll be out of your sight in the blink of an eye.”

Harry pointed to the second desk on his left side in front of the window. “Socket, LAN cable.”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant, Louis.” Their eyes met for what felt like a hint too long before Harry turned his gaze back to his computer. “You have three options. One, you can sweat your bollocks off in the muggy conservatory, sending prayers to the mobile reception gods and hope that plugging in your Mac in the 80-year old socket behind the palm tree won’t make the fuses blow, two, you can go to the A&E waiting room in Building 32, unplug the drink dispenser, sit on the floor and use the wonky open Wi-Fi, or three, you get over yourself, sit down on that chair and put up with my presence in return for decently fast internet, warm feet and a cuppa. Your choice.”

A rush of blood flooded his head. “Get over myself? GET OVER MYSELF? You can shove bloody get over yourself up your perky, little arse, you insolent son of a—” was what he was about to bawl. Instead he heard himself say, “Coffee. My choice’d be coffee.” What the fuck, Tomlinson?

“Milk and sugar?”

“A dash of milk. If you have whole milk, not any of those weird ones.”

Harry got up, grabbed a mug from the sideboard and seconds later the grumbling and gurgling of the coffee machine filled the room.

“Not planning on drinking that in the door frame, are you?”

Louis clenched his teeth, realising he still wore the hood of his jacket over his head. He quickly shoved it down, still standing on the threshold, all dressed up with nowhere to go.

“Where do you want to sit?” Harry asked, motioning between the sofa and the second desk. Louis just blankly stared at him, leading to Harry eyeballing him with a risen eyebrow. Was that a faint smug smile on his face? Jeez, why was Louis still not moving?

“Well, then next to me it is,” Harry declared and with that set the mug on the second desk next to the window and sat back down on his office chair. Louis instinctively took a step back; establishing a physical distance had always been a good way to secure his mental one.

Harry’s eyes were still locked onto his face. “For heaven’s sake. Just sit.”

There were a lot of things one could say about Louis William Tomlinson, but losing the ability to speak had never been one of them, yet here he was, standing in a fucking door frame, apparently unable to function, feeling nothing less than like a proper chump.

His face prickled. There was something in Harry’s voice that was as infuriating as it was soothing and he couldn’t decide whether it made him want to throw him off a cliff or let himself be lulled to sleep with a blanket up to his chin. The way the man pondered on every single word like his life depended on it in this deep and appeasing tone clashed massively with Louis’ innate giddiness. He was sure he had sleep audiobooks on his phone that were more stirring than Harry’s voice, yet commanding him to sit did things to his intestines. Strange things. Things that aroused an urge to comply without questioning. Yeah, brain not braining apparently was a thing now.

Eventually, he squeezed himself past the bookshelf, along Harry’s back towards the second desk. A tender wave of perfume captured his nose, a delicate mix of chamomile, bitter almond and something blooming. Jasmine perhaps, but also a tad musky or woody. Whatever it was, the combination smelled… divine, okay?! Infuriatingly divine. And it pissed him off. He threw his bag on the desk and his jacket over the chair backrest and let himself fall on the office chair.

“You’re welcome.” Harry said, not taking his eyes off from his computer.

Harry stared at the clock in the bottom right corner of his screen. Twenty-seven minutes. It had been twenty-seven minutes since Louis had sat down on the desk next to him. Twenty-seven minutes in which neither of them had said a single word. Twenty-seven, nope, twenty-eight minutes of empty staring at patients’ files and getting shit all done. Twenty-eight minutes of picking and peeling every single cuticle his hovering fingertip could locate to the point of bleeding raw. He was on the brink of screaming.

What in his right mind had he been thinking when offering Louis to come over?? Nothing. Apparently he hadn’t been thinking at all. Or maybe he had, but come on, what were the odds of him really taking up the offer? For crying out loud, he must have known how awkward this was gonna be. Louis himself must have known. The two of them together in one room… alone… like that had proven to be a clever move in the past. He instinctively rubbed his shoulder, suddenly feeling the bruise he had sported for at least ten days after fleeing the locker room resurfacing. Twenty-nine minutes.

He checked his phone for the umpteenth time. If only Rick would update him on Ben and give him a reason to break the silence. He considered making another coffee, but that’d be his fourth today and he figured one more would most likely send him right into tachycardia. Maybe it was worth the risk? Yeah, right, because even more palpitations and shortage of oxygen in his brain was totally what he needed right now. Sure.

He grabbed the iPad, pulled up the clinics’ messenger and searched for Niall.

[Harry]: HELP ME!!! He came!!

[Niall]: Things I didn’t need to know for £800. 🎶 Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding, ding di ding ding ding ding ding

[Harry]: Was that supposed to be the melody from Jeopardy?

[Niall]: Pling ✅ Correct and felicitations on 🍆💦

[Harry]: Oh dear God.

[Niall]: 🎺Wuah wuah wuaaah🎺 Incorrect. Your answer must be phrased in the form of a question at all times.

[Harry]: Why can’t I have normal friends? 🙄

[Niall]: Pling ✅ Correct.

[Harry]: I’M NOT PLAYING JEOPARDY WITH YOU! For the record I meant he came as in he came over to my office!

[Niall]: Boring 🥱
Well then, oh dearest friend of mine, would you kindly enlighten me about who graced your noble working space with their unforeseen presence but denied you the beatitude of a climax in your office?

[Harry]: Are you sniffing the water-resistant ink pad again? Jesus Christ, Niall. I have a major crisis here. Louis!! Louis bloody Tomlinson is sitting in my office, ignoring the shit out of me and I don’t know what to do. I’m losing my mind.

[Niall]: On a scale from nil to ualach sé chapall de chré na h-úire ort, how much do I need to know how that happened?

[Harry]: Nil to what now?

[Niall]: Ualach sé chapall de chré na h-úire ort!

[Harry]: You really don’t see a problem here?

[Niall]: Six horseloads of graveyard clay upon you.

[Harry]: That doesn’t even make any sense!

[Niall]: You’re digressing.

[Harry]: I am digressing??? 😲
You’re the one talking to me in Leprechaun! It’s only 10.45 and this day already feels like a whole month. Why are you all trying to take me to an early grave today?

[Harry]: Before you answer: no, this wasn’t “Friendship Trivia for £600”! Don’t even bother to answer. I don’t know how it happened. Basically, he’s been waiting for Ben but also needs to work from his notebook and asked me for a spot with proper connection.

[Niall]: HAHAHA has he learned yet that this building is appointed with the technical standards of a Stone Age cave?

[Harry]: That’s why I told him he could use the desk in my office.

[Niall]: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

[Harry]: NIALL!!! What do I do? I didn’t think he actually would!! And now he’s here. Looking like he looks. Doing this thing he does. We’ve been ignoring each other for 30 min straight and I am losing my mind.

[Niall]: Traditions. So important in life.

[Harry]: You’re not helping!

[Niall]: Oh come on, he’s been ignoring you for two years, what’s another 30 minutes?

[Harry]: But we’re alone. In my office. It’s awkward as fuck.

[Niall]: First: What is that thing he does? Second: Then stop making it awkward.


[Harry]: EXISTING! The thing he does is existing. Like breathing and stuff. And having this smell. God, he smells… like in a good way. I don’t know what it is that he put on, but my nostrils have never been happier in their life. They’ve literally taken over my brain capacity. I can’t think, jeez. 


[Niall]: Awww, look at my best bud reverting to his sixth form’s self, all flustered and shit, spelling jizz wrong. 


[Harry]: I can’t believe I still haven’t strangled you in all these years. 


[Niall]: Just talk to him, ffs, a little casual small talk and all is well. You’re not 16 anymore, Styles.


[Harry]: Well, aren’t you a bloody genius, my friend. Because last time I checked casual small talk has been my core competence since exactly FUCKING NEVER. 


[Niall]: Now that you’re saying it…
Well, guess you’re fucked.

[Harry]: That’s the thing. I am not, but I wish I was! Aren’t you listening to me? EXACTLY THIS IS WHAT DRIVES ME INSANE! Make it stop for fuck’s sake. I can’t be sitting here fantasising about licking all over my very much straight college crush that happens to be a relative to one of my patients. Just because he looks like sin and smells like summer rain doesn’t make it any less ethically and morally inappropriate. I’m a bloody professional for Christ sake! HELP ME, haven’t you been trained to help people? What did I hire you for?! 

He huffed, his fingers darting over the iPad screen.


“You know you can use the chat function on your desktop?” Harry startled as the light, raspy voice to his left cut through the silence. The pile of files in front of him hadn’t shrunk an inch within the last hour and the realisation kicked him in the guts.

“Uh, beg your pardon?” he said, a rush of warm blood shooting straight into his cheeks.

“The chat function. You’ve been typing on the iPad the whole time while using the desktop to work on your patient files. You can use the exact same messenger on your desktop. Might save you time not having to switch devices and being able to type on a regular keyboard.”

“Um. I did not know that.” More blood shot to his face. Great. Of course, now of all times he had to turn into a fricking Elmo doll. Wait a sec! How on earth could Louis have been seeing him typing? He hadn’t turned around once. At least not that Harry had noticed. Christ, had he been watching him all along? Had he been so in his head that he didn’t even notice that Louis had been eyeing him?? 

“Upper right corner, the symbol with the two intertwined speech bubbles.” Louis said, not bothering to look up from his own device. 

Harry tried to focus and locate the symbol. Indeed, there it was: two light blue speech bubbles on a dark blue background. He clicked on it and miraculously a messenger side bar opened on his screen, showing him the full conversation he’d just had with Niall. Damn, how could he have not known that? He’d been working with this software for almost two years and the constant frenzy of switching devices drove him insane. Not once did the thought cross his mind to click on that symbol that now was laughing at his face. Great. Another mark for Louis’ surely by now existing Styles-incompetence-list. 

“Um, thanks.” He said pressed through his teeth.

“You’re welcome.”  Louis answered, mimicking the exact same cadence and tonality Harry had used before. Okay, maybe he had brought that on himself. 

A new message came in with a loud ring. 

[Niall]: 1) Technically not a relative; 2) a professional who hasn’t been properly laid in ages because he refuses to have a LIFE outside of this madhouse. 

Harry gritted his teeth and slightly tilted the screen. Dear God. If Louis had been watching him, had he been able to read what he was typing too?? Oh God, maybe this was finally the moment to light himself on fire. His breath hitched in a suddenly too tight chest and palms annoyingly turning clammy. 

“The sound settings are in the burger menu by the way”. 

“Sound? Ah, er, yes. Burger…?” he mumbled.

“The three little lines in the upper right corner.” Louis turned around and made a move to get up. “It’s called burger menu basically because it looks like a burger. You see there—” he came closer, his finger pointing to the screen.

“NO!!” Harry blurted out, darting his hand towards the monitor in a ridiculous attempt to hide the chat, knocking a glass of water all over his desk. “Fucking hell. Um… Sorry!! Shit. Don’t look!! Er… patient data. Confidential.” He frantically hit the keyboard for the screen to jump to another window, simultaneously trying to keep the puddle of water at bay. 

Louis watched him silently with a cocked eyebrow and tight lips.

When finally the web browser window came to the front, making the traitorous chat window disappear, he all but squeaked in relief. 

Louis slowly leaned over him and pressed a button on his keyboard. Harry couldn’t help but stare at the neat, slender fingers. Fingernails. Short fingernails. Very, very short fingernails. And tattoos. Jesus Christ. A whiff of tobacco and coffee titillated his senses as the monitor turned black. “There. Sleep mode. Chill, curly. I don’t think that Wikileaks is interested in the shape, colour and consistency of Miss Stefford’s stool or Mister Bell’s ingrown toenail, and neither am I. Even less in your in-house sexting.” He turned around, walked over to the sink, grabbed a cloth and threw it into Harry’s face.

“I–” Harry gasped for air, “I was not sexting!” he said, turning yet again bright red while mopping the spilled water and silently contemplating whether he preferred to slap or to snog the devilish smug smile off that obnoxious, beautiful face. Who was he kidding, there wasn’t a single violent bone in his whole body.

Several moments passed in which Harry tried his best to a) regain his composure, b) bring his face back to a colour that could be considered human and c) wipe up the spilled mess on his desk without wreaking further havoc. Two of the patient files were drenched beyond repair, but luckily they didn’t contain anything he couldn’t replicate. The rest looked fine so far. Once his desk was cleared, he threw a glimpse at Louis, who was concentrating on some sort of report, and he deemed it safe to turn the computer back on again.

A loud ring echoed through the room. Louis turned his head, one eyebrow cocked as if to say, “Seriously, Styles?”.

“I know, burger menu.” Harry hissed, fumbling through the menu to set the messenger on silent or at least to something less penetrating.

[Rick Almasi]: Patient’s asleep, stable, x-ray unaltered, cut in approx. 10 min.; est. duration: 120 min., keeping u updated in case of complications.

[Harry]: thx! Good luck.

[Rick Almasi]: Don’t need luck. I have the ability, Styles, the ability.

He chuckled and shook his head at the reply. He had known Rick for years, they got along pretty well, but just like with any other surgeon he would never understand the recurrent need of acting as if they were dominating the hospital’s food chain while all other departments were supposed to kiss the ground they’re walking on. It was ridiculous.

“Um, Louis?” he said, watching the man turning his head. “Ben’s surgeon texted. They’re starting right now. Ben’s asleep and everything is well so far. If we don’t hear from them in the next two hours, everything’s going according to plan.”

Louis’ back tensed visibly as he nodded, all colour drained from his face in a matter of seconds. “Thanks.” He said as he got up and groped the few things he’d spread on the desk to stuff them in his bag. “I— er, I— should go anyway. I’ve got a video call to attend in a few minutes.” But instead of gathering his MacBook and his keys that still remained on the desk, he just paced back and forth. He ran his fingers through his hair as he grabbed the pack of cigarettes and tapped his sides, probably to locate the lighter in one of his pockets, then reached for his keys, put them back down, shut the MacBook, unplugged the cord, then reached for the keys again, put them back down again. It was almost painful to watch.

“Unless it’s a confidential video call, it’s no problem for me if you take it from here, you know?” Harry opted for nonchalant. It was questionable though if pretending to be casual while his hand had the computer mouse in a death grip was his most persuasive move, but he couldn’t let Louis go. Not like this. Not while Ben was having his procedure and Louis obviously wasn’t coping well. Not when they just broke the spell of ignoring each other for the first time in almost twenty years. No, he simply couldn’t let him leave now.

“It’s not confidential per se,” Louis all but murmured, vibrating with unreleased tension, judging by the rubbing of his palms and his posture. “But you have to work too. I don’t want to… you know…” he cracked his knuckles before wringing his hands again.

Harry felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach. Louis cared? In all his aloofness and annoyance, he was concerned about overstepping or bothering him? Huh. That was nice, wasn’t it? He’d always believed him to be kindhearted and compassionate under the cheeky, untouchable surface. There was just something about the way he acted with his younger siblings and their—

A sudden memory hit him and he deemed it worth a try. “Don’t worry. I need to head out for twenty minutes anyway. I forgot to ask, you aren’t allergic or afraid of dogs, are you?”

“Dogs?” he asked, the bewilderment in his expression undeniable.

“Yeah, we have therapy dogs that are currently with Zayn. I usually spend my lunch break walking them and then bring them to my office afterwards.”

Louis’ face lit up like the porch lights of an American suburban home in a Christmas Hallmark film.

Ha! Knew it!

“You got dogs?”

“Yep, two of them.” Harry said with a smile. “Edda and Wilbur. Edda’s a Bulldog and Wilbur’s a Labradoodle. Technically they’re Zayn’s, but that’s a story for another day. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll just have my lunch break early today, walk the babies and in the meanwhile you can have the office for yourself till I bring them along?”

“I haven’t had a dog since me mum—“ he cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders and clapped his hands together, “Um, yeah. ‘Course. I’m fine with the dogs. I like dogs.”

“Fine then. Just let me finish up this report and then I’m out of your way.” He gathered all but one of the documents on his desk and locked them up in the cabinet and sat back behind his computer.

“You really don’t mind me being here?” The sudden, insecure undertone in his raspy voice made Harry’s heart beat faster.

“I really don’t mind you being here. I mean, it’s not like we had been friends or so back in the days, but it’s not exactly like we were total strangers either, right?”

The muscles in Louis’ shoulders tensed, his cheek minimally twitching as if he’d been unexpectedly electrocuted but trying to mask it.

“I guess.” He said, averting his gaze and fiddling to replug the laptop cord into the socket. Harry tried his best not to stare. Opinions diverged on his level of success.

A few moments passed with them sitting in silence.

“Er, Harry?”

Harry internally startled. Why did the sound of his name coming out of Louis’ mouth cause a rush of adrenaline shooting through his veins? Styles, chill for fuck’s sake. Niall’s right, you’re not 16 anymore!

“Mmh?”

“If I keep the call short, do you think we maybe could walk the dogs, like… together?”

If he thought the mentioning of his name had caused a rush of adrenaline… what was this then? A morbid culmination of adrenaline, serotonin, endorphin, dopamine, oxytocin and whatever other -ines are known to mankind trying to end him on the spot? How was he supposed to keep his cool when every fibre of his being screamed, “FUCK YES” and urged him to jump on the desk to perform a happy dance? An ache in his knuckles brought him back to earth. They were bright white wrapped around the computer mouse. At how many Pascal do we think is a computer mouse likely to crumble? Or is that measured in Newton? Huh, twenty years of working in sciences and still shit at physics.

Louis cleared his throat. Oh, walking dogs. Yeah. Right.

“Oh, yes. Of course. If you like. Sure.” He sputtered, trying not to choke on the spur of excitement clogging his throat.

The flicker of a smile hushed over Louis’ face. “God, you’re so weird,” he heard him mumble to himself as he groped his pack of cigarettes.

“Do you mind if I?” he gestured towards the balcony door.

“Go ahead. Ashtray should be outside.”

And as Louis opened the door and stepped outside, Harry couldn’t help but beam.

Chapter Text

Well, that was… something else? Louis bloody Tomlinson in full blown boss mode, totally winging a whole speech about the structures of the company he’s working in. Not that Harry had a single clue about what his job even was nor what the company he worked for did, but only a few minutes into the call it was clear as day that dropping out of school hadn’t prevented him from climbing some sort of corporate ladder, just as he should. Harry was impressed. And maybe a tad flustered. Louis definitely deserved being project leader or manager or whatever it was he was doing. The way he navigated through that impromptu call, the way he made the people listen to him and the way he steered all kinds of questions all so smoothly into the direction he wanted them to go, without ever so much as losing an inch of control, was inherently hot. Hot as fuck hot, if Harry dared say so.

As far as the little glimpse and eavesdropping he had risked revealed, there had been six people on the call. Louis, a woman called Rachel, who seemed to be pretty close to Louis, a guy called Liam, most likely the one he still had to grill Zayn about, and three men that apparently were new to the team. One of them, whose name he didn’t catch, per the bits and pieces Harry had overheard, was a right prick. Be it for not once letting someone finish a sentence, especially not when the woman talked, or be it for every other question or statement he made coming across subliminally hostile and belittling, the lad sounded like an utter arse.

Over the years Harry had been invited to speak at numerous conventions, lectures, and interviews. To a certain degree, he had become accustomed to speaking in public but people like these were the reason he still had heart palpitations and clammy hands any time he had to step into the spotlight. The sort of people that question every single thing you say, that constantly interrupt you only focusing on getting their own opinion across instead of listening and letting others speak, spitting destructive criticism and bottom line just being borderline narcissistic, disrespectful pricks. Yes, people like these were his worst nightmare. But Louis was having none of it. After the third interruption he shut the man down with a friendly but determined ‘I’ll be glad to get your feedback after I’ve shared my information, but I’d like to make sure you actually hear it first,’ Harry had shivered.

When the guy interrupted him the next time, and Louis’ voice turned into a firm ‘I value your suggestions. Yet what I value even more is for you to let me finish my thoughts before we discuss alternatives. Thank you’, Harry had been ready to drop down on his knees. That was the moment he deemed it best to get some fresh air.

Minutes later, he found himself yet again knocking on the Music & Arts room door, but this time it flew open without major effort.

“You’re early,” Zayn said, checking his watch. The raised-eyebrow once-over he gave him immediately turned into a smirk that made Harry secretly reconsider his stance on minor physical violence. “You look proper flushed. What did I miss?”

“You mean apart from you all making me disproportionately age by the second and not being physically, emotionally, or mentally equipped to deal with my life today? I am this close to just tearing my head off and eating it.” Harry replied as he entered the room and promptly was attacked by a sniffing ball of fur.

“Good thing you’re not prone to dramatics then.” Zayn said, bumping his shoulder, trying to not get pushed over by the mildly ecstatic puppy. “Jesus, Wilbur, blanket.” He snipped his fingers, pointing at the corner where two dog beds stood.

“Aw, no, not blanket, come ’ere, my boy.” Harry patted his thighs, making the light brown-white ball of fluff frantically jump up and down and nearly waggle his tail off in excitement. “Well hello, pal, happy to see me, aren’t you? I’m excited to see you too. Where’s my good boy?” he said, tickling the dog behind his ear and grabbing a treat from his pocket. 

“For fuck’s sake Harry, no. You can’t reward him for jumping on you. Do you know how long it takes me to get him out of the habit again?”

“But look at him, he’s just a baby. You’re my baby, aren’t you?” He squatted down and nuzzled his face into the soft ringlets of the puppy’s fur. “Grumpy Zayny is no funny, isn’t he? Yeah, you understand me, sweet boy, don’t you? Only surrounded by killjoys and pains in the neck.”

Zayn rolled his eyes, turning to his desk and pulling two paper bags out of his tote bag. 

“Why do I even care? It’s not like he’s my dog anymore anyway, is it?” He sighed, “might as well have him trained to your likings since he spends pretty much all the time with you anyway. But I’m telling you now, he won’t make it a therapy dog this way.”

“Don’t you listen to the old party pooper,” Harry said, chucking the puppy under the chin, “you’re gonna be the most wonderful therapy doggy we’ve ever had,” a quiet huff rang out from next to the balcony door. Harry turned to the bulldog, chilling in her bed watching him with a half complacent, half indifferent look. “No offence Edda. You’ll always be the unbeaten queen in this house.” She groaned and he could have sworn he’d caught her rolling her eyes. 

Zayn tossed the paper bag at him and Harry snatched it out of the air with effortless reflexes, right in time before Wilbur could get a hold of it. Literally nobody ever wanted a repetition of the big black-bean-salad-raid from a few weeks ago. That pretty much anything was more fun than peeling black beans, quinoa and avocado smear out of curly puppy fur for days was a thing all involved parties had agreed on in unison.

“What is it today?”

“Chickpea tuna sandwich”

“Yummy. Thanks.” Harry smiled, unfolding the bag, taking a quick look and sealing it again, ignoring Wilbur’s inquisitive sniffing. 

“Not planning on eating here?” Zayn asked slightly baffled when Harry put the bag aside to get the leads from the rag.

“Um, Louis kind of asked if we could walk the cutiepies together, so I thought… ” he twisted the leash around his finger, fiddling with the snap.

“… that you’d rather share your lunch with him, woo him with my cooking skills, make him fall in love with you and live happily ever after, all while banging him six days to, from and on Sunday?”

“Heyyyy,” Harry said, startling the puppy with the sudden droning of his voice, “I am not wooing anybody. He’s had a shit day so far, okay? Which if I remember correctly was partially your fault. Sue me for trying to keep him appeased until Ben’s back.”

Zayn sputtered out a laugh that was utterly too pleased. 

“What?” Harry said, frowning.

“Nothing, babes, I just love how you feign outrage on the wooing but choose to ignore the banging part.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Awful lot of sex talk for someone that allegedly has gotten some the last two days.” 

Zayn snuffled, turned to the big wooden table in the middle of the room and started to rearrange several pen cups. 

“Yeah, about that… ” he said, avoiding Harry’s glare, “Shut up, be nice and be grateful that I keep you fed and happy.”

“I am,” Harry said, poking his shoulder. “Not so sure about the happy part though.”

The bright magenta-coloured peonies had Harry’s whole heart. There was just something about the rich blooms, standing tall like regal monarchs presiding over their floral kingdom with their voluptuous petals unfurling in all shades of blush pinks, creamy whites and ruby reds that warmed his heart. But the magenta ones lit up his mood like nothing else, no matter how much his brain was racing, how deflating or devastating his workday had been, they always managed to tickle his spirit with optimism and wonder. 

Wilbur was already frantically jumping around on his training line, chasing after a bug, seconds away from yanking Harry off his feet, while Edda stood at his heel, unleashed, shooting him scathing looks for not yet having started to throw her ball. 

“Not yet, girl. Let’s wait for Louis, and then I’ll throw you your ball as much as you like. Go sniff around for a while, princess, okay? I call you when I’m ready.”

She fixed him with a reproachful stare, tilted her head like she was trying to persuade him with cuteness, but then changed her mind and trotted off with a haughty snort. Her miniature tail held high in a display of indignant arrogance. Harry chuckled. God, he loved this dog. Her calm demeanour, patience and confidence towards patients was one of a kind and made her the best therapy dog he’s ever seen, but with her attitude towards her owner, or in his case co-parent, he had zero doubt that in a former life she had been a cat. 

He stepped down the patio and perched on a small stone pedestal, cautious not to knock over the flower pot standing on it as he soaked in the picturesque scene. Spring had painted the patio and the garden with vibrant hues of green, peonies, tulips and honesties, creating a mesmerising mosaic of colour that stretched as far as the eye could see. The air was infused with a sweet scent, luring in bees and butterflies while carrying on a gentle breeze that rustled through the trees and danced across the lush greenery.

After having fetched the dogs from Zayn, Harry had chickened out of returning to his office and had asked a nurse to inform Louis he’d be waiting for him on the patio next to the conservatory. 

The air was chill, but the sun was out and he did his best to enjoy the peaceful quiet. It was a challenge though. On his regular days when he was scheduled with patients, he was perfectly able to channel his whole attention to them. He listened, he comforted, he advised and came up with therapy plans. He kept himself busy being focused on their needs. But as soon as he retracted to alone time or was faced with less challenging tasks like stupid office work or waiting in the sun for someone to join him, his mind went into overdrive. Ideas sparkling and fizzling out like fireworks, each one competing for the first place in the race of importance, provided a constant sense of urgency, a feeling that time was slipping away, no matter how much his mind raced to keep up with its own relentless pace. No, relaxing really wasn’t a thing that came easy to him. Or, most of the time, didn’t come at all. 

Luckily it didn’t take long until he saw Louis approaching, his shoulders tense and his brows furrowed. There was a note of weariness belying the cheerfulness Harry remembered from back in school and had always admired so deeply. 

“Hey,” Louis said, his voice carrying a certain strain and concern. “Mind if I join?”

“Hi. Of course not. That’s why we’re here, aren’t we?”

Louis shrugged and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, letting his eyes wander and stare into empty spaces.

Harry couldn’t help but wonder what happened in the twenty-ish minutes since he left the office. Was it the prick that finally managed to get under his skin? Did the meeting take a turn Louis didn’t approve? Oh, or did anyone happen to come to his office with news about Ben? He instinctively jerked his hand into his pocket to retrieve the clinic’s smartphone and check for messages. 

“News?” Louis asked warily. 

Harry shook his head, the cacophony of thoughts swirling and colliding in his head messing with his speech centre.

The tension hung heavy in the air as the two men stood in awkward silence.

“Do you mind?” Louis asked, taking the package of cigarettes out of his jacket. 

Harry looked down at his hand.

“You smoke a lot.” 

Louis froze, a flicker of frustration igniting in his eyes.

“Last time I checked I was an adult, perfectly capable of making my own decisions.” Louis replied, lips tight and eyes pierced.

Harry’s jaw tightened in unease. Damn, the last thing he intended was to come across as judgemental or patronising. It was just his bloody brain to mouth connection. Stating the obvious but forgetting to use the in-brain voice. He did that a lot, without any bad intention, but of course Louis wouldn’t know about that. He should tell him. Little quirks did make people more likeable, didn’t they? Or maybe not. Maybe they’d just make him look weird. Yeah, because weird was an attribute that’d be totally new to Louis when it came to Harry. Right. 

“Sorry, um, I didn’t mean to… yeah, um. Sorry.” Genuine regret poured out of his voice when he finally pulled himself together.

“Should have known you’re the bloody health police,” Louis gritted through his teeth, shoving the pack back into his pocket. 

The silence dragged. Harry shifted, eyes flicking anywhere but Louis, searching for something to say, but no matter how hard he tried, his head was empty.

“Didn’t you promise me dogs?” Louis said out of the blue and like on command Wilbur darted towards God knows what he’d seen, strained the lead and yanked Harry off the pedestal. Oh, for fuck’s sake shot through his mind, not even wanting to know how ridiculous he must look, windmilling his arms in a futile attempt to regain balance but instead hurtling towards the ground. Niall! How the heck would he now avoid Niall for the rest of the day, because there was literally no way how to explain why he came back from a dog walk with Louis, covered in mud and bruises without having the Irish chastising him with boisterous HAHAHAHAHAs for the next two to fifty days. Okay, years. It would be years. 

“Woah, Curly, what the fuck?” He heard Louis hissing. His breath caught in his throat but just as the ground was rushing up to meet him, an arm was flung around his waist, breaking his fall with surprising grace. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, how are you still alive and not paralysed?” Louis murmured, guiding Harry back to his feet, the protective embrace burning right through three layers of clothes.

For a fleeting moment, Harry’s eyes met Louis’. There was a warmth in his gaze, a flicker of something more beneath the surface of his stony-faced expression, that made Harry squirm. Realising how close they were, Louis retracted his hand from the curve of Harry’s waist and took a step back. Harry immediately felt like something was missing.

When the lead strained yet again, Louis’ hand shot out. “Gimme that.” He said, snatched the lead from Harry’s grasp, raised his fingers to his lips and let out an ear-piercing whistle. 

“Thanks,” Harry murmured, his voice tinged with awe and gratitude as he steadied himself. 

Louis merely shrugged. “Can’t exactly have you cracking your head on a bloody stone pedestal, can I?”

Wilbur’s ears had perked up, his head swivelling towards the source of the noise. With a joyful bark, he changed direction, his clumsy legs propelling him towards Louis with boundless enthusiasm. Edda bounded alongside. Together, they raced towards Louis, tails wagging in delight as they closed the distance between them. 

Harry’s jaw flew open, no way in hell would Wilbur have come back if he had whistled, let alone Edda joining without a real command. Beginner’s luck. That must be it. 

“Enlighten me,” he heard Louis say, “Who’s who?”

A wary grin formed on Harry’s face as the two fur balls came bounding back towards them. While Edda had stopped racing and now marched quietly towards Harry, Wilbur darted towards Louis in unbridled enthusiasm.

“That’s Wilbur,” Harry said, “fair warning he comes without brakes, and he jumps.” 

Before he knew it, the energetic puppy had crashed into him, jumped up, his front paws landing squarely on Louis' thighs. 

“Woah, what is it with you boys constantly wreaking havoc to yourselves and your surroundings?” A soft laugh escaped his mouth. “Well, hello there, Wilbur! Quite a whirlwind, aren’t you?” he asked with a grin, rubbing the puppy’s ears affectionately but immediately retracted his hand again. He squared his shoulder, stood stock still, and with a firm voice said “Sit!”

Wilbur paused, looked up, tilted his head and then threw himself on his back, wiggling his bum into the ground, practically wagging his whole body and panting like he’s chased a freight train for five hours. 

A loud, honking laugh erupted from Harry’s lungs, making him clasp his hand to his mouth, trying to contain his amusement. Louis looked at him with bewilderment. 

“Um, yeah. We’re still in training.” 

“You don’t say.” Louis crouched down to Wilbur’s level, reached out to pet him again and his eyes lit up with warmth and affection. The puppy instantly calmed down under his touch. “And you are?” He looked over to Edda who was brushing gently against Harry’s legs and extended a hand for her to sniff. She couldn’t possibly have cared less and just kept winding herself around Harry’s legs affectionately. 

“This is Edda,” Harry replied, “Say hi to Louis, sweetie.” She shot him a look like she was saying ‘really?’ but then trudged over to Louis. Her gentle brown eyes were filled with curiosity as she mustered him attentively before putting a paw on his thigh. 

Harry was about to melt at the sight of the affectionate gesture. Normally the command “go say hi” meant for her to approach, stay still, let herself be petted for 2-3 seconds and then return to him or Zayn. But what’s normal anyway?

Normally by now he would be in his shorts and trainers, and running the park’s circuit two to three times to get the wriggles out of the dogs and himself.

Normally he would NOT be standing here, gushing over a patient’s relative warming up to his dogs, the dogs that aren’t even his dogs, saving him from braining himself on a flowerpot, all while wracking his brains if Louis liked chickpea tuna sandwiches or not, or if he might like them but couldn’t have them because he was allergic, like to celery or to tomatoes or such. Or maybe he didn’t like pickles? Or chickpeas in the first place, or anything else that Zayn had put in. He couldn’t even properly tell what ingredients the sandwiches contained. Because the last time he tried to help Zayn prepare food, he had chased him out of the kitchen, threatening to shove the spatula up his arse if he didn’t leave RIGHT NOW.

But well, he figured in case Louis would want to know, he could simply call Zayn and ask. After all, the prevalence of celery allergy in Europe was only between 2.8 and 11.1%, tomatoes even less with 1.7% to 9.3%. For obvious reasons he didn’t know the statistics on how many people didn’t like pickles, but until he could check, he assumed chances were higher than to send Louis into an anaphylactic shock with a hint of celery.

His eyes fell on Louis gently stroking Edda’s fur. Yeah, nothing was normal about this day. She had put her nose on his knee and let him pet her, totally unbothered with her tongue lolling out in a contented pant while he looked about twenty times less tense. The strain in his shoulders had almost been replaced by a sense of calm. Leave it to the therapy dog to know what was the right move. 

“Do you like pickles?” Harry suddenly blurted out.

Okay, maybe he really needed to pick up working on his communication skills again. Somehow they seemed to have ultimately gone down the drain somewhere between yesterday afternoon and this morning. 

“Do I what now?” Louis looked at him, like he had lost his mind.

“Pickles. Um… I have sandwiches.” He held up the bag he previously had put next to him on the pedestal. “Chickpea tuna sandwiches. But there’s pickles in them.”

“You brought chickpea tuna sandwiches but are concerned about pickles? 

Harry's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, realising the absurdity of his question. "Right, sorry," he stammered, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "I just wasn't sure if you were into them or not."

“I bloody hate pickles.” He deadpanned. Harry crumbled internally. “But they aren’t necessarily hard to remove, or are they?”

“Guess not, I mean, unless… um… I actually don’t know. Zayn made them.”

“Before or after he wanted my head on a stick?” Louis said, kicking a pebble with his trainers, making Wilbur take off yet again.

“About that,” Harry said. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you and I am not sure if it’s even any of my business, I just want you to know that Zayn and I have known each other since the first week of Uni. He’s a genuinely good guy. The best. We have quite the history and—” A derisive snort from Louis interrupted him. “What?” Harry said, frowning.

“Nothing.” Louis shifted his weight from one foot to the other and wrapped the lead around his wrist.

“What?” Harry insisted.

“Really, nothing. I just… I wouldn’t have taken him for the possessive ex,” he mumbled. “But that actually explains a lot.”

Harry was sure his brain had just glitched for a hot second. There was absolutely no possibility that Louis had just said what he believed him to have said. The loner nerd Harry was, he definitely had devoured enough fiction to develop quite the imagination early on. He was positively able to picture an uncountable number of parallel-universe-plots in their most glorious ways, but Jesus Christ, not one was absurd enough to picture him romantically involved with Zayn. And mind, he had read stuff. Weird stuff, like Kurt Vonnegut’s Galápagos. Not even shipwrecked, as the only surviving humans on Earth, evolving into furry animals, narrated by a ghost, he and Zayn would make sense…

His mind was digressing. Again. The sheer thought made him erupt into peals of laughter as finally the ridiculousness of Louis’ words sank in.

“Zayn? Ex? Oh, dear God.” He choked out, trying his best to stifle the laughter, but that was as successful as to make Wilbur sit down.

Louis faltered; his shoulders stiffened as he pressed his lips into a tight, straight line. His gaze flickered between the dogs and the ground, avoiding looking at Harry at all costs. “Not? Er, fuck, um, sorry,” he said, ruffling the hair on the back of his head. “I didn’t mean to assume, I… I just… with Liam and Zayn and all that… I just thought… I didn’t mean to imply you were—”

“Gay?” Harry cut him off with a loud chuckle. “Oh honey, I am. As a maypole. Couldn’t find a straight one in this ward if your life depended on it.” He said, his eyebrows suddenly morphing into a frown. “Got a problem with that?”

Louis looked perplexed. “No,” he exclaimed, “God, no. Liam would have ripped me a new one ages ago if I had”.

“Just as he should.” Harry said, leaning down to Edda, finally getting the ball out of her mouth. “Shall we?” He nodded his head towards the path leading deeper into the park.

Louis stood stock still. “Seriously Harry,” he reached out, his fingertips gently touching Harry’s forearm. Harry looked up straight into his eyes. His heartbeat somersaulted. The sunlight made the hues of blue shine like mountain lakes. Beautiful, peaceful, crystal-clear mountain lakes. Harry blinked. The beautiful mountain lakes suddenly were filled with genuine regret. His heart clenched. Biting his lip, Louis continued, “I’ve been to more gay bars alone in the last six months than any straight man ever will in his whole life. I’ve known Liam’s gay since—I don’t know—preschool probably, or like—ever? It never even was a question when we grew up. He’s just always dragged me along. The other day I learned that my secretary is transgender and I couldn’t be more proud of her if I tried. I get that you remember me as the gobby footie-lad who gave everybody and their mother shit. But I sure as hell have never been and will never be homophobic.”

There it was. Any straight man.

Harry’s stomach dipped. He knew, of course he knew, but somehow hearing it out loud still felt like walking straight into a wall. Louis is straight. Because of bloody course he is.

Chapter Text

The pub thrummed with chatter as Louis made his way to the counter, catching sight of Oli weaving through the chaos.

“Oi, oi,” he shouted towards the ginger as he settled onto a stool, signalling him to pour him a pint.

“Right away, mate,” Oli shouted, darting behind the counter. Louis stripped off his jacket and took his phone out of the pocket. No messages. So, it really would be just him today. Great then.

“There you go.” Oli said, putting the pint in front of him with a sympathetic nod. He gestured to his second bartender to take over for five, poured himself a pint and settled next to Louis. “Long day?” he asked, probably noticing Louis’ tired expression.

Louis nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Been at the hospital all day with Ben.” He took a large sip. “Well, actually without Ben, as in the end I’ve only seen the fucker for a total of five minutes.” A pained chuckle came out of his throat.

Oli raised an eyebrow. “You were? That’s… good. That’s good. How’s he doing?”

Louis shrugged. “Surgery went okay, but… ” he held the pint in a death grip and ran his thumb over the condensed droplets on the cold glass. “God, he looks shit.”

“Yeah, he does, doesn’t he?” Oli replied. “I visited him a couple of days ago… he couldn’t even finish a sentence without nearly suffocating. Gave me proper heart attacks every single time. It was dreadful.”

Louis’ chest tightened. Dreadful, that was exactly what it was. Devastating, shocking, and horrifying, if he’d be honest. He took another sip wishing the memory would wash away like the cold liquid, running down his throat. But it didn’t. Instead, another pang of guilt shot through his system. Oli had been visiting Ben. Of course he had, they’d known each other since Kindergarten after all. Everyone had. Everyone except Louis.

The same mix of regret and shame he’d felt over the past weeks washed over him. Ben had said it was okay, he’d even said they were fine and Louis should stop worrying, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling of remorse, knowing perfectly well how much he would have needed his support. Needs his support. Present tense.

Oli nudged his elbow, seemingly reading his mind. “Come on, mate, don’t beat yourself up, eh. You went, and you were able to stay. That’s fucking amazing. Should be proud of yourself, man. Come on, bottoms up!” He clung his pint to Louis’ and without waiting chucked half the volume down in one gulp. Louis nodded silently and followed suit. After all, he really did stay. With bloody Styles that’d be, but he did stay. At a hospital. A whole fucking day. Louis sighed heavily.

“He thinks he’s in good hands there now, you know.” He said, setting down his glass, a hint of weariness in his voice.

“I bet he is. Oi! Steady there, lads or you’re out!” Oli suddenly hollered towards two patrons that had started pushing each other over a game of darts. Returning his gaze to Louis he said, “He’s with Styles now after all, is he?”

Louis heaved out a derisive ugh and let his head fall dramatically to the counter.

Oli burst out a loud laugh and gave him a pat on the back. “Oh, come on, Boo, it’s been almost twenty years. You can’t possibly still harbour a grudge against the guy.”

“I don’t harbour a grudge. He’s fucking weird, is what he is!”

Another laugh escaped Oli’s throat. “Okay, can’t argue with that, but you gotta admit he’s always been a bloody genius at what he did. Isn’t that what you want for Ben?”

Louis grunted. “What I want for Ben is to sit here and talk footie and shit,” he snapped but Oli didn’t let him speak.

“He’s a good lad,” he continued, totally ignoring Louis’ frown. “Comes here regularly for karaoke night with Horan and some other bloke. A girl too sometimes. Pretty as fuck; my hair colour, so, of course pretty as fuck,” he smirked, nudging Louis’ shoulder. “And he knows how to sing, is always respectful to the staff and tips well.”

“He’s a bloody death angel, Oli.”

The ginger looked at him for a second, then out of the blue smacked him on the back of his head. “And you’re a bloody wanker, that’s what you are. Palliative care is not euthanasia, you twat. Quite the opposite… even I know that.” He tuts.

Louis sighed, fidgeting with the glass and twirling the liquid inside absentmindedly. He glanced over at the lads playing darts, barely registering the game.

“I’m not a fucking idiot. I know that. It’s just… who chooses death as a profession? It’s… it’s weird, okay? The bloke is weird, you know what I mean, just… so weird.”

“Well aren’t you a proper Shakespeare tonight.” Oli said, emptying his pint. The pub had filled rapidly and the other bartender was seconds away from drowning. Oli shot Louis a sympathetic look, “Listen, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know, just go.” Louis said, knowing the drill.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m really sorry, I know this shit is hard for you. But it’s Ben’s choice. He could have stayed in oncology, he could even have asked to be transferred to any hospice but he deliberately chose Summerstone’s palliative care unit because of Styles. So no matter how weird you find the bloke, Ben trusts him, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

Louis all but groaned. He was just done with this day. So fucking done.

Oli nudged him again before running back behind the bar. Louis let his gaze drift to the dartboard, but his thoughts had already wandered elsewhere. Ben. The hospital. And, somehow, bloody Styles. Of course, Oli was right. It had been Ben’s decision, and even Louis had to admit, it probably wasn’t the worst he’d ever taken.

The ward was nice, the two nurses he’d run into, Mitch and one whose name he couldn’t remember, seemed decent enough, and save the incident with—what was her name again, Annie?—and Zayn barking at him, the day had been rather smooth. Tense, but still somehow smooth. Harry offering him the use of his office had definitely saved his arse on a greater scale. While the deal to incorporate Commsmith was legally done, ditching the three main project managers on the first meeting would unquestionably have made a first impression Louis didn’t want to make on new employees in leading positions. So, even if it had been highly improvised, he was decidedly grateful for Harry being so laid back.

Harry. Laid back. At the thought, he almost uttered a laugh. Laid back—yeah, no. That was definitely the wrong term. Laid back as a sloth on a cocaine trip, maybe. Yeah, that seemed fitting. One second completely chill, exuding a calmness and tranquillity that could bring peace to the world, and the next second he’d be fidgeting, picking cuticles, staring holes in your soul, tripping over anything that wasn’t nailed to the ground and being as tense as a rubber band mere seconds before snapping, only to then fall back into a state of utter chillness again as if nothing had happened.

It was intriguing. Infuriating, but intriguing. Because as much as at first glance Harry looked at ease with himself and the world around him, somehow there seemed to be an inner struggle playing out beneath the surface.

Louis would be lying if he said he hadn’t found himself strangely interested in that juxtaposition. So much so, that for almost two hours he had completely forgotten to worry about Ben.

After Harry had gotten the dogs, they’d been strolling through the park in some sort of bizarre, unspoken non-aggression pact. Surprisingly enough, Harry had let him guide the puppy through the winding paths of the park, while the man himself seemed to enjoy tossing a ball and playing fetch almost as much as the bulldog.

They didn’t talk much. Thinking about it, they didn’t really talk at all after Harry shortly had mistaken him for a homophobe. While he hoped that he had managed to clear the air right away—because what the fuck? He of all people homophobic? Please!—they fell into complete silence afterwards. What was even odder though, was that it should have felt like awkward silence but somehow it was a rather comfortable one.

So comfortable he hadn’t even noticed when the park ended and the path into the woodland began. They just walked, Louis trying to stop Wilbur from running after every single rustling in the brushwood, and Harry tossing balls to Edda, all while taking in the rays of sunshine that poured down through the treetops. He wasn’t even sure whether they deliberately skirted around talking about Ben or old school days—it didn’t feel that way. It almost felt peaceful.

At some point they had sat on a bench and ate the sandwiches Harry had brought. Surprisingly enough, they hadn’t even been half-bad. Despite the pickles… which he hadn’t even removed out of remorse for eating Harry’s lunch. He fucking hated pickles. But he was hungry. And the damn sandwiches were okay.

It was only when Harry got a call that they realised they were gone for nearly two hours and Ben’s surgery was successfully completed. They immediately headed back to the hospital, but it still took over another hour until he was finally allowed to see Ben in the recovery room for not much longer than a hot second.

A clap on his back startled him out of his thoughts.

“Sorry, I’m late.” The distinct and smooth voice cut through the buzzing noise with a reassuring warmth.

“Liam, mate!” Oli hollered from behind the counter. “A pint?”

“Ginger Ale will do, thanks Oli-Boli.” Liam replied, throwing his jacket over the stool.

“You’re here,” Louis said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I didn’t think you’d make it today.”

Liam grinned back, sliding onto the stool next to Louis. “Of course I’m here. Can’t let you face the ging’ alone, can I?

Louis hadn’t realised just how fucking tense he was until he saw Liam. The knot in his chest eased, just a little. He chuckled, rubbing his palms over his thigh. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Today’s been… rough.”

Liam squeezed his shoulders and nodded in understanding. “Wanna talk?”

“Not in the slightest.” Louis replied, staring down the new pint Oli had slid over as he’d served Liam’s Ginger Ale.

“Fair enough. Just the bullet points then?” he asked.

Louis chucked down another gulp before rendering: “Surgery went fine, he was awake when I left, tired and worn out, but awake, said he didn’t have much pain and was fit enough to have a go at me for spending the whole day in the hospital. So, I guess he’s fine. I’ll head back on Sunday, gonna let him rest tomorrow since I’ve promised the girls I would take them to the pool.” Liam tensed.

“Alone?” he asked, a furrow forming between his brows. “You’re planning to take the twins to the pool alone?”

“Nah, Doris is coming along.” He wiped his hand over the wooden counter, trying to gather the scraps of the beer mat he had unconsciously shredded. Liam’s shoulders relaxed noticeably.

“Doris is home? How come?”

Louis grunted and downed half of his pint. “She’s got a boyfriend now, Liam. A boyfriend! Apparently, he had to go home this weekend, so little Miss But-uni-is-important-Louis-I-am-totally-not-staying-for-the-boyfriend-but-for-studying remembered she’s got a family herself and suddenly could bear to leave Leeds for two meagre days. Stupid boyfriend.”

Liam laughed out loud. Ever since Doris had left to study dental surgery in Leeds instead of staying in Manchester, Louis was, to say the least, not amused. Especially since she, much to the contrary to what she had promised, didn’t come home every weekend.

“She’s eighteen, mate, in her first year of uni, of course she’s got a boyf—”

“SHE’S A BABY!” Louis squeaked.

“You’re a baby!” Oli shouted from over the counter throwing a scrunched paper napkin at him.

Liam chortled. “Shall I remind you what we were up to at eighteen?”

Louis clapped his hands over his ears and blurted, “Lalalala pink elephant running over green meadow, piiiiink elephant running over green meadow, lalalalalala”.

Liam rubbed his hand over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “God, you’re such a child!”

“Says the one with the hickey!” Louis leaped up and pressed his index to Liam’s neck, where a cluster of little, light pink and purple dots formed a decently shimmering bruise. “That is not your birthmark, lad!”

Liam blushed, smacked his hand away and shouted: “Oli, I think he’s had enough, make him leave!”

Much to his dismay Oli only cackled and winked. “I think he’s only had just enough to hear whom you pulled now.”

Louis snorted, eyes crinkling at the corners, sitting down again and grabbing another beer mat.

“I need new friends!” Liam sighed and downed his Ginger Ale.

“Aw, poor baby, I’m sure if you keep on being nice to him, he may even stick around for a week or two.” Louis giggled, gradually feeling the alcohol.

“Twat.” Liam groaned, snapping the beer mat out of Louis’ hand before he could shred that one too, “I told you it was different. Why did I even bother to come here?”

“Because you love me,” Louis nudged him playfully before adding in a hushed voice, “and because you knew how much it’d mean to me. Thanks, mate.” Liam rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness in his expression. “By the way, you still owe me the story.”

They spent the next hour with comfortable banter, Liam still giving him nothing besides that in the end of the evening, Zayn had taken him home, which turned out to be an old farm near the Kenworthy Woods, he’d inherited from his grandad. A farm with ponies and alpacas.

At that information Louis, properly buzzing now, nearly pissed himself. Because ‘Gay farm boy Liam’ definitely sounded more like sprung from an Eastern European porn plot than from the beginning of whatever this was going to be. If that comment happened to earn him another whack on his head, then let it be known, it was worth it.

Fuck his life and his life decisions. Seriously, in what universe was getting pissed on a Friday night a good idea when you’ve promised two toddlers to take them to the pool first thing in the morning the next day?

“Louis, I need a break!” Doris shouted as Ruby launched herself off the pool’s edge—again—like a hyperactive hummingbird testing gravity, straight into Doris’ arms.

“A break? I need a fucking narcotic dart!” Louis mumbled, running his hand through his wet hair. The clock only showed 12:30 p.m. but they’d already been at the leisure centre for nearly two hours—two hours in which he’d found himself quite literally being pulled in two directions. Milly clung to him like a tiny human-shaped barnacle, while Ruby zoomed around the pool like the miniature torpedo she was.

What originally had been planned as a nice little family outing, already felt like he had signed up for a circus act the minute they entered the changing cubicles. When he’d asked Doris to come along, he naively thought that two adults for two toddlers would be the perfect ratio. What didn’t cross his mind though, was that one of the two adults, although being legal, was a freshly loved-up teenager on her first cold turkey with a functioning smartphone.

So, while Doris urgently needed to take a call from What’s-his-face, Louis was left with the easy peasy task to change two toddler girls into their swimming nappies and bathing gear and then make them sit for ten seconds to change into his own trunks. Theoretically, it sounded doable. Practically, not so much since Ruby realised within mere seconds that she was small enough to fit through the gap between the ground and the divider wall and could crawl from one cubicle to the other while Milly screamed bloody murder for not being glued to his chest for a split second.

Lucky for him, the lady in the next cubicle was nice enough to guide the renegade back without ripping his head off for child neglect.

When they finally reached the pool—miraculously all four of them—Milly flat-out refused to acknowledge Doris, clinging to Louis like a tiny, committed limpet, her grip unyielding as if the shallow end would swipe her away like a bloody rip tide.

Ruby, however, was on a mission, fuelled by a potent mix of toddler energy and boundless curiosity. She seemed determined to explore every corner of the pool, whether it involved diving headfirst into the deep end or attempting to climb the ladder to the water slide, not willing to understand that pint-sized, not yet three-year-olds, kept afloat by swimming aids, weren’t allowed to go down the big tunnel slide.

It was madness. And his mum had done this with seven kids? Knighthood was what she would have deserved.

“Doris!” He hollered, catching her yet again checking her messages instead of having her gaze glued to Ruby, who instead of waiting had decided to up her ante and began a series of spectacular cannonballs into the pool, sending waves crashing over everybody around them. Louis was just about to dart towards her when Milly decided that his leg was the best place to practise her climbing skills, effectively pulling his trunks to a level of revealing more of his happy trail than the world was meant to see, and almost knocked him off his feet.

“Jesus, sweetie, let a man keep his decency, will ya?” He squeaked, gripping the trunks, making sure the goods stayed covered and lifted her with one arm.

Thankfully Doris’ reflexes weren’t half as distracted as her teenage whipped arse, and she had already dropped the phone back into her bag and plunged right behind Ruby. With a quick motion she caught her and made sure the arm bands were still where they were supposed to be. Luckily they were. Still, Louis was done. Utterly done. Never ever again would he set a foot into the leisure centre without Liam attached to his hip, not over his dead body.

Summoning the last shreds of his sanity he called out, “Who wants chips?” Desperate, but effective judging by the three approving cheers.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he deflated the swimming aids, threw their bathing ponchos over the girls, gathered their belongings and led the trio of chaos towards the cafeteria, grateful for the respite from the poolside pandemonium.

Doris’ cheeks were still flushed, betraying the recent adrenaline rush.

“You get the food, I take the girls,” Louis said, not daring to leave her alone with the twins even for another second.

For the first time today, both girls bounced along happily, their attention diverted by the promise of crispy, salty chips. Settling into a nearby table, the sound of laughter and splashing from the pool fading into the background, he smiled. Ruby animatedly recounted how she managed to bend her knees for her bum to hit the water surface, while Milly had managed to not even get one of her curls wet. As knackered as he was, he couldn’t deny a certain sense of contentment at the sight of their little family-like unit.

“There you go,” Doris plopped down in the seat next to Louis planting the towering plates of chips on the table. With a quick motion she pulled four small packages of ketchup and chip sauce out of her bikini top.

“Seriously?” Louis said with a judging, raised eyebrow.

She shrugged, “What? Hands were full”.

Once the kids had gleefully shoved the first handfuls into their mouths and were happily bouncing in their seats with delighted giggles, both Louis and Doris leaned back for what was the first time since they had left home.

Doris nudged his forearm with her elbow and shot him a bashful look. “Sorry about that.” She motioned her head towards Ruby. “I swear, she has more energy than a nuclear power plant. I totally underestimated her.”

Bloody hell, they’re almost three, you cannot leave three-year-olds out of sight near water, not even for a split second! Haven’t you bloody learned anything from the past? was what had been lying on his tongue for the last ten minutes, but seeing her all flustered and apologetic, he didn’t have the heart to make her feel worse, so he just said, “yep. Hope you took something out of it,” and grabbed a handful of chips.

“You bet. I won’t miss contraception ever again!”

He gasped, projecting a little piece of potato right into his windpipe, sending him right into a coughing fit. Great, that was it. Cause of death: fratricide.

Of course, in the end Doris didn’t kill him. But it was a close call. That’s the thing with being the eldest of seven: You gotta watch your back if you don’t want to end as the Mufasa to their Scar or as the Abel to their Cain. And no, this was totally not him being dramatic. He never was. Far from it. Especially not when it came to his youngest sister having a boyfriend and being sexually active. Ugh, nope. Not going there. They’re all virgins. The whole lot of them. Even Lottie. Especially Lottie. After all she’s only turning 28 in two months and Lewis is just… ugh, let’s pretend he doesn’t even exist for this matter. Okay?

Anyway, they had made it home. Perfectly alive. All four of them. The fact that only one of them came out of the day with scars in the form of images burnt onto his eyelids, counted as a success, didn’t it? Doris. Boyfriend. Gross. Ugh.

After he dropped her off at Mark’s (yes, we’re all Tomlinsons in this house) the girls were so worn out, that the minute they crossed the threshold to his house, they were out for a nap. Halle-bloody-luja.

Seriously, when did chasing around kids become so exhausting? He was a big brother after all, and used to run after his siblings all the time. He couldn’t possibly be that old, could he?

Thirty minutes later, Louis sat at his piano, lazily playing a few chords, trying to unwind. He’d barely settled into the rhythm when he heard the unmistakable sound of tiny footsteps on the stairs.

Internally, he wanted to scream. Externally, he glanced up and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as Milly toddled into the room. The mop of curls tousled from sleep, her eyes still carrying the remnants of drowsiness, Tommy Turtle’s foot in a tight, little fist pressed to her cheek… he could eat her up. Okay, he wanted to knock her out and put her back to bed for at least another two hours, but he also could eat her up.

“Hey there, sleepyhead, already done with your nap?” He said, throwing a deflated look at his watch before opening his arms to help her climb onto his lap. She yawned, nodded drowsily and rubbed her eyes. She looked as if she easily could have gone with another half an hour of sleep at least. But oh well, some days you lose, some days someone else wins. And when it came to naps… most days someone else won. In this case someone with curly dark hair, and Tommy Turtle in her death grip.

“Mmmh-hmmm, nap done, not tired anymore,” she mumbled, sleepily curling up against him. He stroked her hair tenderly. Totally not tired anymore. Of course not!

“Loulou, can you play?” Her voice a tiny whisper. He smiled. His piano skills were intermediate at the best, but there was something about playing for the kids that made his heart swell.

“Of course, sweetie, what do you want me to play? Something funny, something sleepy?” He asked, hoping that maybe she drifted back to sleep and he could transfer her to the sofa for another half an hour.

“Arim urts.” She said, muffled, nuzzling herself into his chest, the weight of her small body against his own shooting a peaceful warmth right into his heart. If there was a Milly-shaped imprint right above his sternum by now, he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted it to vanish again.

“R.E.M. Everybody Hurts?” He repeated with a soft chuckle, positive to have understood what the tired-toddler gibberish was meant to be.

He positioned his fingers back on the keys and started to play the gentle, meandering melody, Milly requested.

“No. No!” she immediately grumped, patting his arm. Louis stopped bemused.

“Oh. Did I get you wrong, sweetie? Isn’t that the one you want?”

“No. You sing too. Not just piano.” She pouted, staring him down with her still tired, yet piercing blue eyes.

What was it with the women in this family, that he simply couldn’t deny them anything, no matter how tiny they were? It was maddening. He sighed.

“Okay, got it.” He mumbled, readjusting her on his lap and starting all over again.

D2 A3 D4 F4# D4

When his clear and warm voice finally filled the room, she hummed in contentment and leaned back into his chest.

“When your day is long,” he began to sing, soft and intimate.

“And the night, the night is yours alone
When you’re sure you’ve had enough
Of this life, well hang on.”

“Don’t let yourself go
‘Cause everybody cries
Everybody hurts sometimes”

Milly listened intently, a sleepy smile playing on her lips as the music washed over her. Her head rested against his chest, cheek pressed closed to the fabric of his shirt, her little foot tapping to the beat against his thigh. Louis’ voice filled the room with tenderness, each note carrying a softness that seemed to wrap around the little girl like a comforting blanket.

“Sometimes everything is wrong
Now it's time to sing along”

“When your day is night alone
If you feel like letting go
If you think you've had too much
Of this life, well hang on”

“’Cause everybody hurts
Take comfort in your friends
Everybody hurts”

At the last word, her tiny voice hummed ‘uuuuuuuurts,’ and Louis didn’t know whether to melt from the cuteness or completely fall apart. Maybe both, once she’d fallen back asleep.

“You’re the best,” Louis said, planting a kiss on Lottie’s cheek before shoving a Full English breakfast wrap into his mouth. They had exchanged some texts over the “Doris situation” the night before and she’d offered to come over and watch the girls for the time he’d go check on Ben Sunday morning. Of course not without her telling him in painstaking detail, what a hypocritical ninny of a big brother he was first.

Bringing over a full grab-and-go brekki hadn’t been in the mentions, but he had to admit it came with perks having a sister knowing you so well that she could foresee the filling state of your fridge just by looking at the weekday.

“Can you please just leave already?” she asked with a smirk when he was passing the kitchen counter for the third time, “You’re wearing a hole in the carpet with all that pacing, it’s making me dizzy. And for crying out loud, put on a second sock!”

Louis looked down at his feet, he shrugged. “Whoops, um, yeah, about that… you haven’t by any chance seen—”

“Coffee machine,” she pointed towards the chalkboard black cabinet, where on the white worktop, right in front of the coffee machine, a clean, white tennis sock had found its place.

He blushed a little, let out a weary sigh and hopped over to fetch it from amidst ten other things that most certainly weren’t supposed to lie there.

The place looked proper trashed.

The countertops were littered with half-eaten cereal bowls, sticky spills, and random toys strewn about like landmines waiting to be stepped on. A stack of dirty dishes teetered precariously in the sink, while the floor was a minefield of discarded snacks, mismatched socks, and tiny plastic dinosaurs.

No, these weren’t the remnants of some epic post-game house party where he could just kick a few hungover mates awake and make them help clean up. This was the aftermath of two very energetic toddlers and one completely unqualified adult who had no business being left in charge of a household.

Who could blame him? It wasn’t even a skill he had needed until a few weeks ago. Until then, he’d seen his place mainly in the dark for the sole purpose of having a decent shower and catching a few hours of sleep before heading back to the office.

On the rare occasions he spent a weekend at home with the family, there’d always been enough other people around to wave their magic wand and make the chaos disappear. Bless Daisy, Phoebe and Lottie. Thinking about it, maybe he should ask Nan if there was some secret spell she had only passed to the female siblings of the family, which… well… convenient but still a bit unfair, wasn’t it?

Deciding that’d be a problem for afternoon Louis, he shot Lottie an apologetic look.

“Sorry, I’ll get to it when they nap. Promise!”

“Do I look like I care?” She said with a warm smile. “I lived through your room smelling like sweat, gym socks and teenage angst, I’ve seen worse. So, just go already, we’re fine. Tell Ben hello, I’ll pop in on Tuesday.” She put a little peck on his cheek and shoved him out of the kitchen door.

“Bye, girls,” he shouted, balancing on one foot to put his sneakers on.

“Bye, Loulou!” two tiny voices echoed from the dining room and seconds later he was out of the door.

Chapter Text

When Louis entered the hospital room, his steps were hesitant as he approached Ben’s bedside. Tubes and wires seemed to entangle him, as he lay pale against the sterile white sheets, his eyes closed in what looked like an uneasy rest.

Louis hesitated, debating whether to come back later. But screw it—he might as well sit and wait for him to wake up. After all, he did bring his Macbook, so he might as well finish up the contracts Rachel had begged him to finally take a look at.

He bloody hated contracts. If someone had told him that starting his own company meant eventually handing off the fun parts to employees and getting stuck with endless paperwork, well… he’d still have done it. But he wouldn’t have hated the paperwork any less. He was a developer, a programmer for god’s sake—so why was he paying a whole legal team a shit ton of money if he still had to go through this crap himself?

“Hey,” he heard Ben say softly, as he was pulling a chair closer to the bed.

“Oh, hey, sorry, did I wake you? I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine. I’m not even that knackered, it’s just fucking boring. You kind of lose all sense of time if the only entertainment consists of staring at a blank wall or watching shit TV.” Ben said, with an ungainly tug at the duvet.

Louis sprang to his feet. “Let me…” he said, grabbed the duvet and started to fluff it, making sure to not mess with the infusion. “Better?”

Ben nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like they fucking perforated me lungs.”

“They kind of did.”

“Well, that explains the holes in me chest.” He rasped, pressing his hand to his ribcage, and letting out a small cough. “But at least breathing works again, so guess the Swiss cheese aesthetics are a fair price to pay.”

“Are you in pain? Should I get someone?” Louis asked, his hands twitching at his sides.

“I’m fine, don’t stress. Harry checked in earlier and gave me the good stuff. Honestly, I’m fine, the only thing I need is for them to fix the Wi-Fi. There’s only so much Football League Highlights I can watch before having to switch to Scooby Doo. Hanging out of the window to send out texts or run Netflix is just not on the cards for the next few days.”

Louis grunted. “Really? Still not working? How hard can it be to fix a fucking Wi-Fi, Jesus Christ.” He mentally made a note to grill Harry about it later since apparently he was in even though it was Sunday. Maybe the lad wasn’t that useless after all.

Ben shrugged, “It is what it is. How was the pool yesterday?”

“Doris shags her boyfriend!” Louis blurted out.

Ben’s eyes went wide, dropping his jaw. “What the fuck, she just left primary school!”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Louis threw his hands up and gesticulated with open palms. “Birth control! When we left, she said she won’t miss birth control ever again! Bloody hell, she’s not allowed to need birth control in the first place.”

“Does the fucker have a name? Can we break his legs? At least a tiny little bit?” Ben turned to his side table and grabbed the water bottle.

“Right? Right?! See, that’s why I need you, man, you get me! Lottie says I’m a hypocrite and being overdramatic.”

“Not too late to break Lewis’ legs too, innit?” They locked eyes and immediately burst out laughing.

“Nah, that fucker is fast as shit and about six feet five, pretty sure I’d get the short end of the deal.”

“You always get the short end, small stuff.” Ben nudged him in the ribs before patting his head. Bloody annoying bigfoot.

Louis rolled his eyes, patting his hand away. “Tit”.

“So, I take from Doris’ statement the girls were a handful?” Ben said, taking a swig from his water bottle.

Louis leaned back in his chair. “Nah, they’re literally the best. She’s just not used to Miss Ruby-Rocket on a sugar rush. I really need to learn how to make breakfast without Frosted Shreddies or Cheerios.”

“They’ll live,” Ben said unfazed.

“They sure will, not so certain about me, though.” Louis chuckled, grabbed into his bag, and took out two Double Deckers. “Want one?” He asked, holding out the chocolate bar towards Ben whose expression suddenly had darkened extensively.

“Please don’t say that. They need you.” He muttered unexpectedly. “I need you.”

Louis stilled; his smile slipped as blood drained from his face. He glanced at his stretched-out arm, unconsciously looking for something to do with his hands, then looked up at Ben. The jarring realisation of how frail he suddenly looked made his chest contract. Lines of exhaustion had etched deep into Ben’s features. The flicker in his eyes wasn’t exactly extinguished but definitely dimmed.

“Sorry. Shit, I didn’t mean to… sorry, it was just a stupid joke… ”

“No, I get it,” Ben interjected. “They’re… I know they’re exhausting, but I need to ask you something. I’ve been meaning to ask you for weeks, but after yesterday I just… I’m not quite sure how.”

Louis watched him closely, not really prepared for Ben’s usually composed facade to crack and reveal raw emotions swirling beneath the surface.

He moved his arm back and put the chocolate bar on the side table, keeping the other one in his grip. In a meagre attempt to return to their initial light-hearted banter he said: “Spit it out, Burke, I thought we agreed that we’ve been past all bashfulness since the day you had to lend me a pair of dry pants in year two.

Ben chortled. “And they didn’t even fit you—your peachy princess bum was completely lost in them.”

“Hey! Not my fault you had already turned into the bloody Hulk before we even hit puberty.” Fiddling with the Double Decker wrapping, he added: “So, what is it?”

“Okay, so… er, yeah… well, what I didn’t tell you yet is, that when they perforated me yesterday, they took a quick look at my liver, and yeah… it’s shit. Didn’t come as much of a surprise to be honest, but well, it’s shit to say the least.”

Louis inhaled sharply and was on the brink of saying something, but Ben held up a finger, making him pause. “And the girls… I mean… they’re just toddlers you know. I need to make sure they’ll be taken care of.”

Louis frowned, almost offended. Of course, the girls would be taken care of. That wasn’t even a question! Nan, Gladys, he, Lottie, the two sets of twins, Liam… there were no two children in the whole world having so many doting adults gushing over them.

“Hey, we kept Doris and Ern alive, I’m pretty positive we’ll manage to watch over the girls no matter how many surgeries you’ll need.”

Ben’s expression turned even more serious.

“That’s not what I meant, Lou. I won’t need another surgery,” he said, his voice strained. “What I need is you to become their legal guardian.”

Louis froze, then darted off his chair, wide-eyed and heart pounding.

“What?” He shrieked. “Are you kidding me, Ben, that’s… that’s not even going to be necessary, you’re here, you’re literally sitting right here… what… why… Jesus fucking Christ. Are you out of your mind?”

“Louis, please, sit,” Ben said, rubbing his chest with a wince. “I’m not out of my mind, alright? I’ve never thought anything through more carefully. Nan’s great, and Mum too, of course, but you and I both know they’re not an option. Even if they were, you’re the only one I really trust with them. Jeez, you’re the only one Milly trusts. The girls are crazy about you, and you’re crazy about them. You’re the closest thing to a dad they’ll ever have after I’m gone. Lou, I want them to live with you. Permanently. And I want you to have full parental rights. Fuck that—I want you to officially adopt them and be their dad.”

Closest thing to a dad, adopt them? What the hell? The knot that formed in Louis’ throat was unreal. What was Ben even talking about? Of course he was crazy about the girls, they were fucking sunshine personified, but nobody in their right state of mind could think he’d be able to take care of toddlers! He could barely take care of himself. And Ben wasn’t fucking dying for fuck’s sake.

“Ben, I— “

“I know this is asking a lot of you, but I just need to know they’re loved and safe. I mean, I know they are—I truly know—but knowing simply isn’t enough legally speaking. I can’t risk some social worker or authority running wild and taking them away, or trying to dig out their birth-giver from God knows where after I’m gone.”

“Ben, you won’t—” Another wave of nausea washed over him.

“Louis, for fuck’s sake, my liver is on the verge of failing, I am going to die,” he enunciated the words separately. “And I feel awful for doing that to you, but I am running out of time here and I wouldn’t ask if I knew that there still was something to turn around. Please, I’m not above begging. If you don’t want to adopt them then I at least need you to become their legal guardian. I need you to make sure they stay with the family until they’re old and grey. And I need it by yesterday.”

What the fuck. This wasn’t happening. This absolutely could not be happening. Ben was going to be fine. Of course he was going to be fine. Livers could be transplanted. He’d be fine! He simply had to be!

Louis’ mind short-circuited, cold dread pressing in from all sides—until he saw Ben’s hands. White-knuckled, thumbnail digging into his index finger. His breath caught, tears on the verge of brimming over. Shit. Ben was barely holding it together.

What was Louis doing, for fuck’s sake? This was Ben. His Ben. His best friend. His big brother from another mother. These were his kids. The kids he had looked after since Ben got sick. He couldn’t think properly. But there wasn’t really something to think about, was there? If the roles were reversed—Shit, fucking shit, fuck.

“Okay.” He heard himself say. “Of course I’ll do it. I’ll take care of them. No matter in what state you are, nobody will ever take them away from us. I promise.” He rubbed his palms, in a futile attempt to stop the shaking. “I’ll have Isaac check out the legalities if that’s what you want. But for the record: You will not die. I simply refuse that, okay? As long as it’s fine with you and Gladys I’ll take the girls, practically and legally. But the second you walk out of here I’ll force you to move into the flat and then we’ll take care of them together until you’re fully back on track.”

If he just said it loud enough, he might believe it himself.

When Harry entered Ben’s room, the sight was not exactly what he expected.

Ben was lying in his bed staring blankly out of the windows. His brown hair that used to be tousled from outdoor adventures, now laid flat against his pallid forehead. Harry could still see the remnants of his athletic build, of the young, energetic lad, who hollered commands over the pitch from the back end of his goal, spat in his gloves and jumped quicker and higher than any guy Harry had ever seen. But there was something weary about him now; his frame a mere shadow of its former strength. The way he lay there, he didn’t radiate the quiet resilience and confidence he had done in the past days, it wasn’t defiance or anger either, it seemed more like a sense of peace that came from surrendering to the forces beyond his control.

“You’re okay?” He asked, stepping closer to the bed.

“Define okay.” Ben said, turning his head towards Harry, squeezing his eyes shut.

A flicker of a smile rushed over Harry’s face. “Yeah, guess that’s a pretty relative term. Let me rephrase: how are you feeling?”

“Like dragged through Satan’s arsehole.”

A small laugh escaped Harry. “Physically or emotionally?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Only in the sense that physically I’ve got you covered. For the emotional part I’d call in Niall.”

“Please, don’t call in Niall, the last thing I need right now is another hyperactive Energizer bunny—the first one has barely left this room.” He deadpanned.

“How did it go?” Harry asked, checking the IV drip stand.

“Honestly?” Ben said, pausing and letting out a long sigh. “The good news is, he agreed to take the kids. The bad news is, that by now I’m pretty sure that even if I wrote ‘I really, REALLY, R.E.A.L.L.Y. am going to die’ on my forehead with a fucking Sharpie and underline it with crayons, the stubborn shit would snap up some makeup from Lottie, cover it, murmuring ‘nope, you won’t’, and move on with his day. It’s exhausting. I have no idea how I can make him understand.”

Harry hummed. “You know, you can’t make him,” he said, pulling a chair in and silently asking for Ben’s approval to sit down. Ben nodded. “You can’t make him because he already knows. It’s not that he doesn’t understand, but denial is how his brain protects him from pain and more trauma. Classic defence mechanism, really. Given his past experiences, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t react this way.”

A subtle tension gripped Ben’s frame, his muscles stiffening ever so slightly. Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

“Wait… you know about him? He told you?” Ben asked, trying to sound casual. Harry’s gaze flickered towards the floor; a pang of discomfort lingered in the air.

“Oh, uh, no… he didn’t… I… I just picked up bits and pieces.” He admitted, equally failing to mask the tension creeping into his voice. “I was doing work experience with the paramedics when his mum… you know. And when the accident with his sister happened, I was in med school and volunteering at the hospital. So… I just heard. Tomlinson isn’t that common of a name after all… ”

Ben’s eyes stayed on him, making him crumble internally. They narrowed slightly, as if he could see right through Harry and the fact that there was more to the story than meets the eye.

Ultimately, he nodded though, letting the matter drop, accompanied by a faint smile.

“Gotta admit, it would have surprised me. He doesn’t speak about it like ever. I can’t remember the last time I heard him say “me mum” or “Fizzy.” As much as I love him, I don’t think he ever processed what happened; he just plunged into work and refused to emerge ever since.”

I haven’t had a dog since me mum—instantly replayed in Harry’s head.

“We tried to make him see a counsellor but I’m not gonna lie, it’s easier to get the toddlers approve the random shape you cut their sandwich in than to convince Tommo he needs help,” Ben explained, frustration evident in his tone. “Even the tantrums they throw when they’re appalled are on par, to be honest.”

Harry chortled out a small laugh and blushed immediately. “Sorry, not funny,” he mumbled apologetically.

To Harry's surprise, Ben's expression softened, and he chuckled in response. “It actually is. His stubborn arse drives me bonkers, but there is a certain entertainment value to it. Just not when he’s actively preventing himself from getting better—or God forbid, happy.” He suddenly rubbed the nape of his neck, blushing slightly. “Oh, you have that ‘sworn to professional secrecy’ thing going on, haven’t you?”

Harry raised an eyebrow, propped an elbow to his knee, and leaned his chin onto his palm. “I do, yes.”

“Can I make a confession?”

“Of course. Though, I’m not sure if I have the whole prayer of absolution stuff down to the tee, since I’m pretty positive that club’d rather see me burn in hell, but go on, sure.”

Ben smiled faintly, running his palm over the bed cover, looking down.

“Do you remember his sister, Lottie?”

“Blonde, athletic, big, blue eyes? Always pretty loud when cheering at the football games?”

A snort escaped Ben’s mouth, “Um, yeah, not really distinguishing criteria in that family, but yeah, that one. She got married last year. Works as a primary school teacher—her husband’s an entrepreneur. They live just around the corner.” He paused to take a sip out of his water bottle. “She offered to take the kids.”

Harry listened intently, sensing where this was going.

“Does he know?” Harry asked curiously.

“No. But mum and Nan nearly had me head on a stick, when I told them I’d rather want the girls to be with Louis.”

Harry hadn’t met Ben’s mum yet, but he had met Louis’ Nan before. A warm-hearted, earnest woman with the same quick tongue her grandchild had. He could vividly imagine her reaction.

“It’s not that they don’t trust him with the kids. He literally is the best and they love him unconditionally. But if the choice is between a hetero normative, married couple and a workaholic, notoriously closed up bachelor… you can imagine what they think is best for the girls; especially since they never experienced a life with a mum and everybody and their great-great-relatives has an opinion about single dads raising toddlers.”

Tell the gay about family structure biases… immediately shot through Harry’s mind.

“But you trust him, isn’t that what counts at the end of the day?” He said instead. The idea of having to defend one’s family choices to sceptical relatives—and society at large—wasn’t sitting well with him.

“The girls need him,” Ben paused, “but I think he needs them more. Does it make me a bad parent to deny my kids a ‘normal’ family because I can’t bear the thought of leaving him alone without getting sick to my stomach?”

Harry’s heart clenched. The thought of Louis struggling yet declining help after losing Ben tugged more at his heartstrings than he was willing to admit. He pondered for a moment before replying.

“Does it feel bad?”

“Not in the slightest.” Ben said without a single hesitation.

“Then you have your answer.” Harry said gently. “And if I may add my personal opinion, ‘normal’ is a label narrow-minded people invented to prevent them from having to leave their comfort zone. I’ve seen pretty much every family constellation and drama in this ward over the past years, I can promise you that at the end of the day it’s not classic family structures that decide if a life was happy or not.”

“What is it then?” Ben asked.

“Genuine love and respect.”

Ben’s eyes searched Harry’s, seeking reassurance in his words.

"Genuine love and respect,” Harry repeated. “That's what truly matters in the end. Whether it's conventional family structures or not, what counts is the love and support people provide for each other, and just for the record, best mates deserve that no less than kids do."

Ben nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been lifted off them.

“He loves them more than life itself, you know. They’ve had this crazy bond from the second they’ve met, especially Milly. If the last thing I can do for him is to force him out of his solitary shell, I genuinely think it’s best for all three of them.”

Harry offered a comforting smile as Ben looked up at him, a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you, Harry, I wouldn’t have known whom else to tell.”

Harry reached out a reassuring hand, placing it on Ben's shoulder. “Anytime.”

“Can I maybe ask you another thing?”

“Of course.”

“Could you maybe go check if he’s freaking out? I wouldn’t put it past him to sit under a tree hyperventilating instead of coming back to talk.”

Harry didn’t find him hyperventilating under a tree. He did find him sitting on the patio though; pale as a sheet, inhaling a whole cigarette with what looked like one single drag.

Harry slowed his steps, concern settling deep into his chest. At the sight of Louis, Wilbur barked excitedly, eager to jump on him, but Harry hushed him with a quiet, ‘Easy, pal,’ while Edda plodded along at his heel, unimpressed.

Louis looked up, his face unreadable.

After leaving Ben’s room, Harry had gone straight to his office to fetch Edda and Wilbur. Then on instinct, he’d grabbed a football and shoved it into his rucksack. Somehow, he had a feeling he might need both.

As he got closer, his grip on the bag tightened.

“Hey.” He said as casually as he managed with his heart beating in his throat.

Louis shot him an assessing look, cigarette dangling between his fingers, before hissing, “Spare us both from pretending he didn’t send you. I know he did.”

Okay… so much for that. Harry ran his hand through his hair.

Despite the distress evident in Louis’ posture, Harry couldn’t help but be captivated by the sight. The light brown hair, tinged with strands of grey peeking out underneath a beige baseball cap, framed his face in soft waves, his mesmerising blue eyes holding a glimmer of sorrow that pierced Harry’s heart. His fingers itched with the urge to reach out and comfort him. God, he was beautiful in his beige hoodie under a light, olive-green jacket, and his blue jeans.

He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath.

Instead of commenting, Harry wordlessly reached behind a plant pot, conjuring an ashtray up and handing it over. Wilbur nuzzled into Louis’ leg, making the corner of his mouth almost quirk up and his eyes faintly crinkle.

“We’re heading to the old pitch five minutes from here,” Harry said, “fancy joining us? It’s enclosed, so I can let Wilbur run free.”

With a sense of resignation, Louis lifted the cigarette to his lips one last time, tapping lightly against the filter and exhaling a plume of smoke, before stubbing it out in the ashtray.

“You let your dogs run free on a football pitch?”

“Pitch is a low-key exaggeration. It’s more like a rancid field with two rusty goals. Haven’t seen a single soul there in three years. But just in case, I do have these”—he tapped on a pouch dangling off his rucksack from where a snippet of a plastic bag stuck out. “I know how to clean up after them.”

Louis didn’t reply. But he let his hand wander to Wilbur and started to scratch him behind his ears. The atmosphere hung thick with tension. Harry didn’t know what else to say and Louis sure as hell wasn’t offering anything. The more the silence stretched, the more he fiddled with the lead. Edda nudged his calf and let out a soft bark.

“Yeah, right, girl,” he said, running his hand yet again through his short curls. “They were locked in my office for an hour, so I better be going.” He hadn’t yet finished the sentence when Louis silently got up from his seat. Oh.

Before Harry could say a word, Louis reached out and took the lead from Harry’s hand. His fingers brushed Harry’s briefly. Harry totally didn’t want to grab them, interlace them with his and never let go again.

Without a word, Louis led the way, his posture tense and guarded, but still somehow… authoritative; somehow… hot.

Okay, maybe it was Wilbur who led the way but that’s neither here nor there. Harry, for one, followed behind, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts he struggled to put into words. He wanted to reach out to Louis, wanted to ask him how he felt and what was running through his mind, but he couldn’t find the right words. And even if he did, he was pretty sure that Louis’d rip him a new one if he so much as sensed a trace of pity or concern.

The walk to the old football pitch stretched in heavy silence, broken only by the sound of their footsteps and the occasional panting of the dogs. Harry kept stealing glances at Louis, catching the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched like he was desperate for something to do with his hands other than holding Wilbur’s lead. His heart ached at the sight.

When they reached the pitch, Harry called Wilbur to his heel and unclipped the lead, letting the puppy bolt across the open space, yipping with joy. Edda however stood still, waiting for permission. Only when he told her to rush off did she follow suit, her booty wagging eagerly as she darted after Wilbur.

“She’s well trained.”

Harry’s head snapped up at the sound of Louis’ voice behind him.

“I sure hope so. Can’t have her go rogue around patients.”

“You trained her?”

“Er—not exactly. It was more like… a collective effort? I guess, although I’ve got to admit the main credit probably goes to Zayn.”

“Right, I forgot. You mentioned they’re his.”

“Technically yes.”

“Technically?” Louis raised an eyebrow waiting for clarification.

“Oh, um, yeah, funny story. Technically she belonged to Zayn’s predecessor, but he had a heart attack and didn’t make it.”

Louis looked at him incredulously, then theatrically clapped his palm to his thigh, hissing, “What a funny story. Ha, ha! Seriously what’s wrong with y'all?”

“No! Christ, no.” Harry’s face fell. He looked shocked. “That’s not what I meant. Jeez. He was weeks from retirement, but nobody wanted him to die, gosh. Anyway, his wife asked Niall to take her and keep on training her, but Niall was going through some serious shit back then and wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with a dog. Zayn though, was the one with the farm and he started to work with us anyway, so we suggested he’d take her. And that’s what he did. He then kept training her. The problem though was that any time she saw me, she just refused to go back to Zayn and just glued herself to me. We didn’t really understand at first because Zayn’s really good with any kind of animals, but anytime she was with him, she was all fussy and got this nervous sneezing and began to scratch herself. Took us a while to figure it out. Turns out she’s allergic to horses.”

“And Zayn’s a horse?” Louis tilted his head, confusion evident in his furrowed brow. Confusion or a dapper ‘are you fucking kidding me’, who was Harry to know?

“’Course not. But Alfred and Edith… “

“Alfred and Edith?” Louis said, scratching his head and readjusting his cap.

“Alfred is a donkey and Edith a pony, they live with Zayn, and Alfred kind of… well, he likes to break into the house.”

“He likes to break into the house… ”

“Yeah, he once accidentally got in and nibbled… um… some indoor plants he seemed to like and since then he’s been trying to get back on any occasion.”

“He likes nibbling indoor plants.” Louis repeated.

“He does. It’s basically impossible to keep the place free from donkey hair, so she kind of decided to stay with me.” Harry shrugged, a hint of resignation in his voice.

“Because she’s allergic?”

“Because she’s allergic.”

“And Wilbur?”

“Wilbur was a rescue puppy brought to the farm and—yeah, well—Edda adopted him?”

“You’re telling me or you’re asking me?”

“It’s just impossible to separate them. Anytime Edda spent the night with me, Zayn had to bring him over because he was crying and whining so much that it was unbearable. So, yeah, technically they’re Zayn’s. In reality though, they are with me, like… pretty much always.”

“Those plants… do you by chance nibble them too and afterwards feel a little funny in the head?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “I’m serious!”

“So am I!” Louis retorted, adding, “So, what you’re saying is you’re leading a palliative ward together with an orphaned puppy and a therapy dog that’s allergic to horses but lives with a pony and a donkey that breaks into the house of the ward’s therapist to nick the weed he grows, because the ward’s psychologist was too out of his mind to take care of them after their owner pegged out?”

“If you put it like that, I can understand why you don’t take us seriously.” Harry murmured, frowning.

To his surprise, a whole-hearted laugh erupted from Louis’ chest.

“And I wondered why Ben chose you. Christ, this is exactly the shit he lives for.”

Louis shook his head, still chuckling to himself as he rubbed a hand down his face. But as the laughter faded, something in his posture shifted—his shoulders slumped just a little, his hands disappearing into the pockets of his jacket.

For a moment, Harry and Louis stood in silence, watching the dogs play in the distance.

Finally, Louis exhaled, almost like he was letting go of something.

“Thanks for inviting me,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I needed the break.”

Harry nodded, a lump forming in his throat. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice equally soft. “I promise you we know what we’re doing. Even if it doesn’t sound like it at all.”

“You grow weed, that’s not even half-bad.” Louis deadpanned.

Harry let out a fake-offended gasp. “I most definitely do not grow weed. I just happen to know someone with a green-ish thumb.” He retorted, trying to hide a smile.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw a smirk on Louis’ face, and he couldn’t help but feel like there was something between them, something worth holding onto.

“So… On a scale from one to ten, how close were you to freaking out on that patio?”

The smile on Louis’ face faltered and he shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his gaze trailing towards the dogs.

“Twenty-eight.” He shifted uncomfortably.

“Sounds fair.”

“He told you, didn’t he?” Louis mumbled, shuffling his foot over what was supposed to be grass.

“Told me what?”

“About him wanting me to take the kids.”

“He did.”

Louis hissed. “It’s insane, is what it is. I just… I know I promised, but I just… I don’t know if I can. They’re toddlers. I can’t take care of toddlers. I can barely take care of myself.” And just like that Harry saw an avalanche of emotions flicker over his face. “I’m not cut out to be a parent. I work crazy hours, I’m barely home, I know shit all about what toddlers need, it’s madness!”

Harry kept watching him, biting back the urge to offer platitudes or reassurances. He could see the fear in Louis’ eyes, the way the weight of the responsibility pressed down on him as he paced back and forth, his movements growing more agitated by the second.

“I have, like what, a bazillion sisters? They’re all in committed relationships. Lottie’s even married. Bloody hell, she’s a teacher!” He all but squealed the last word. “She’s basically licensed to keep kids alive, you know? Why in God’s name would he think I am the best choice for taking care of a pair of nearly three-year-olds? It doesn’t make any sense. It’s bonkers. He’s bonkers.” Louis exhaled sharply.

Harry picked up a stray twig from a bush and absently snapped it between his fingers. He let Louis’ words settle, let the tension sit between them for a beat before answering.

“I think it’s safe to say it makes sense to him.”

Louis stopped his pacing abruptly, his chest heaving as he turned to face Harry.

“Harry, for fuck’s sake, do you know what I did? I killed a fern. A fucking fern! Lottie asked me to look after her shitty fern during their honeymoon and I killed it! Two weeks and I killed it. Do you know how long ferns have existed? 400 million years! FOUR HUNDRED MILLION YEARS! They survived the ice age, they survived the fucking extinction of dinosaurs, and I killed it within two weeks! A bloody FERN! Nobody in their right mind could trust me with two humans!”

“Well,” Harry shrugged his shoulders, his head tilted. “Unlike the fern, the girls will tell you when you’re waterboarding them… ”

Louis looked at him aghast.

Harry had meant it to lighten the mood, but watching Louis blink at him, looking genuinely distressed, he realised the joke might have missed the mark. Without thinking, he reached out, gave Louis’ wrist a quick squeeze—barely more than a touch before letting go.

“Listen, I get it, it’s a huge responsibility, especially when you feel like you’re barely keeping it together yourself, but… Ben wouldn’t have entrusted you with them if he didn’t believe you were capable. He knows you, he knows them and to be fair, you’ve been taking care of them for more than a month now, and they still look pretty alive to me, don’t they? If you don’t trust yourself, maybe try trusting him. He clearly didn’t make the decision light-heartedly.”

Louis shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him.

“Yeah, because Ben is known for his bloody wise decisions. Do you know it was him who caused the three-day power outage back in school? He had caught a fucking weasel and wanted to keep him as a ‘cool pet’. But since he couldn’t take him home, he broke into the transformer station and put him in there. A bloody weasel! The poor fellow had bit his way through the cables within hours. Guess what, it wasn’t only the cables that didn’t make it.”

Harry squinched up his face. “Ouch.” He said, trying to shake the picture of a grilled, furry creature out of his mind. “But think about it… he managed to take good care of twin babies, didn’t he?”

Louis met Harry’s gaze with unwavering sincerity, his expression a mix of desperation and vulnerability and his voice breaking. “He did. Damn it”—he breathed out heavily—“But what if I mess it up? What if I’m not good enough for them?”

“Then you have two Nans and, like what, a bazillion sisters to back you up. Rumour has it, one of them is even a teacher, so basically licensed to assess whether parents fuck up their kids.”

Louis took off his cap and threaded a hand through his hair, he squinted. “Well played, Styles. Well played.”

“I have my moments.” Harry said, smirking and grabbing the football from his rucksack. “Want a kick-about? Wilbur must be dying to play fetch by now.”

“You came prepared, eh? I appreciate that.”

If Harry spent the next half hour internally beaming as Louis was wearing himself out kicking the ball, while Wilbur and Edda darted off to fetch it, well—that was between him and the universe.

Chapter Text

His headache was killing him. The night had been shit. He’d been tossing and turning for hours, unable to shut down his brain. No matter how much he’d tried, sleep just eluded him, slipping through his fingers like sand. Fortunately, his restlessness hadn’t bothered the girls too much and both had woken up only once. Lucky him. He snorted. If that wasn’t already parenting at its best: surviving on copious amounts of coffee and cheering for his three-hour sleep to be interrupted only once. What a happy Monday morning.

He should be at the office by now, instead, he found himself yet again strolling through the halls of the palliative ward. The tall, arched corridor was lined with faded, light blue and green plastering, and intricate white mouldings along the walls. Streams of golden sunlight poured through the large, white-paned windows, draping warm, ethereal beams across the worn, dark blue and Dover white Chesterfield patterned tiles. None of it reflected his mood in the slightest.

The sleepless night had left him with way too many questions swirling in his mind about how Ben had envisioned the thing with the guardianship-slash-adoption. So, after dropping off the kids at the nursery, instead of heading to the office, he yet again made his way to the hospital, only to find that Ben was still deep asleep. Great.

It took him all of two seconds to realise the Wi-Fi was still down. Which meant he was now hunting down the bane of his existence—Harry bloody Styles—yet again.

Just as he passed the first room on the right, a bright, too-cheerful voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Good morning! Can I help you, sir?”

Louis glanced through the open door to find the red-haired woman who had nearly sent him into cardiac arrest a few days ago, smiling broadly at him.

God, please don’t talk to me. He kept walking, picking up his pace.

“Oh, it’s you! Er… hi,” she said, and before he could escape, she was already stepping around her desk, closing the distance between them.

Damn.

A blush ran up her cheeks as she stopped just inside the doorway, holding out a hand. “Annie Cunningham.”

Louis shook it automatically before he could think better of it.

“I didn’t get the chance to properly apologise for my slip-up the other day,” she said, words tumbling out in a rush. “I am truly sorry for causing you any distress, it really wasn’t my intention. I’m working on the brain to mouth connection, seriously, I do. It’s a process. A slow one, but a process.” Before he could react, she turned on her heel, grabbed a plastic container from the desk, flipped the lid open and shoved it in his face. “Chelsea bun?”

Louis’ head throbbed with each heartbeat. He definitely wasn’t up for chipper small talk, but his stomach growled and the buns did indeed look pretty amazing.

“Louis Tomlinson,” he said, voice gravelly, reaching for a bun. He even took a second as she nudged the container, signalling him to take more. “Thank you. I mean—for both, the apology and the buns,” he continued. A beaming smile stretched over her face, her long, cascading curls of fiery red hair tumbling down her shoulders, each curl dancing with a life of its own. Her brown eyes were way too kind for the hour of the day. Well, shit. She truly seemed proper nice when she wasn’t casually trying to end him. “You wouldn’t happen to have some Paracetamol or Ibuprofen hidden in there? Because if you do I might just declare you my new favourite person in this place”.

She laughed and chirped, “Not in there, but fear not, you came to the right place.”

Seconds later he had a blister pack of Ibuprofen and a glass of water in his hand.

“Rough weekend?” She asked with a sympathetic smile as he downed the Ibuprofen.

Louis flinched, not willing to delve into the complexities of what really had kept him awake. “Just a regular night with twin toddlers.” He smiled crookedly, mildly satisfied with his vague explanation.

Annie chuckled, “Oh dear God, tell me. My son is five and still wanders into my bed every night. Takes the love of a parent to not strangle them at 3 a.m., eh?”

Louis offered a wry smile in return. “Er, by chance, do you know if Harry is in today?”

She barked out a laugh. “When is he not? I’m not sure if at this point he even has a home anymore. Just head over, it’s the door with the rainbow painting. He should be free for the next two hours.”

Louis said his thanks and trudged over.

As soon as he stood outside Harry’s office door, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of what the fuck am I doing here? Why wasn’t he in Ben’s room, waiting for him to wake up and addressing the practical parts of taking over the guardianship, or adoption, or whatever the plan was? That’s where he should be. Yet, here he was, inexplicably drawn to seek out Harry’s company—again.

The Wi-Fi. Yep, the bloody non-functioning Wi-Fi, that’s why he was here. Not because of some ridiculous nonsense like the weirdo’s slow cadence and throaty voice settling his nerves before a conversation he didn’t want to have. Nope. Just the Wi-Fi. A simple, practical concern that had irked him for days and that he wanted to have fixed already. That was all.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door, a small part of him hoping there’d be no answer.

“Come in,” called the confident, low voice he’d somehow grown to appreciate over the past few days. He pushed the door open. “Oh, hi Louis. Didn’t think you’d come in today. Everything okay?” Harry greeted him with a welcoming smile.

“The bloody Wi-Fi is still not working.” Louis blurted, voice breaking and hands theatrically flailing as the nerves got a hold of him.

Harry’s smile twitched, then flattened. His brows lifted in mild exasperation. “Well, nice to see you too on this wonderful Monday morning. Did you miss me so much you couldn’t bear to stay away, Sunshine?“

Louis scoffed. “Oh yeah, I felt so miserable without you it was almost as if I had you there.” Without waiting for an invite he stomped into the room and flung himself onto the desk he’d worked at a few days ago.

Harry bit his lip to keep from smirking.

“Listen, Ben’s asleep—”

“At least someone’s doing something right this morning…” Harry mumbled.

“— and I can’t do fuck all without access to the internet while I wait for him to wake up. Whom does one need to shag or bribe in this circus to finally get that shit fixed? Ben’s been complaining for days.”

“Welcome to my world, I’ve been complaining for weeks.” Harry said, raking his fingers through his hair, a gesture Louis had seen him doing more than once when he felt uncomfortable.

“So?” Louis said, voice raised expectantly. He brought his hand behind his neck and slightly massaged it.

“So what?” Harry said and leaned back. His cardigan, a hideous brown thing sporting two large, stitched yellow ducks left and right along the buttons, gaped and revealed a white shirt with a matchstick man bonking two large block letters: IT. Louis wasn’t sure if he should laugh at the accuracy off the situation, or have a convulsion at the distinct sense of fashion.

“So, you’re just going to wait until the problem solves itself?”

“Definitely not planning on shagging hairy Barry the IT guy, and I fear my bribing budget ran dry ages ago.”

“Hairy Barry? Woah, that sounds foul.” Louis glitched for a second, pictures of an overweight, sparsely dressed, middle aged IT nerd lasciviously emerging from the sea in orange white speedos springing to his mind, water cascading in rivulets down a furry chest ...

He shuddered. Just as he wanted to blame Harry for making him throw up in his mouth over a bad James Bond pun, he noticed Harry’s shoulders slumping, a defeated sigh escaping his chest. Louis instantly felt bad.

“I’ve reported it to our IT five weeks ago, I’ve reported it to the medical director, I even reported it to our board,” he said wearily. “Surprise! Nobody gives a rat’s arse whether terminally ill patients or their medical staff have the same standards as any other patient in this hospital.”

Louis wrinkled his forehead. “That’s not acceptable,” he huffed.

“You don’t say. Look, I know it’s shit, but it’s not exactly like I knew how to fix it. Just as I don’t know how to fix the other two hundred and fifty-eight technical issues. All I can do is report it to the IT department over and over again until someone finally cares.”

“What if I knew how to fix them?”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Then I’ll marry you and never let you leave this building again.”

The words had barely left his mouth before his lips parted slightly, as if he could pull them back. A flush climbed up his neck, blotchy and unmistakable. He slapped a hand over his face.

Louis stood frozen for a second, his jaw slack in stupefaction before shaking his head in a mix of disbelief and amusement. What the fuck was going on in this kid’s brain?

He blinked at Harry, waiting for some kind of clarification, but instead, he was met with a strangled noise and a pair of wide, panicked eyes that seemed to be regretting every life choice ever made. It was—annoyingly endearing.

“Well, fuck me,” Louis muttered, demonstratively crossing his arms over his chest. “And here I didn’t even want to set foot in this hidey-hole in the first place. Who would’ve thought I’d leave with two kids and a spouse? Pretty big commitment for fixing some SSID or MAC-filter issues, if you ask me.”

Harry made a noise that sounded like he was actively dying. “I—uh—fuck. That wasn’t—I should not be allowed to talk before noon.” He groaned into his palm. “Christ. Okay. Moving past whatever that was… ”

Louis smirked, watching him scramble to recover, half-tempted to push him further, just to see how red he could get.

Harry cleared his throat, still visibly flustered but trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “Just like my gran always said, ‘don’t settle for anything less than true love and a stable internet connection.’”

Louis huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. Fucking weirdo.

With an awkward clap of his hands, Harry straightened his posture. “So, what do you need from me to work your magic?”

Hairy Barry was indeed hairy. Less in an IT nerdy way but more in a ‘huge-motorbike-fell-out-of-the-air-at-4-Privet-Drive’ way. It had taken Louis three phone calls and some major threats to take the hospital’s software down until Hagrid agreed to finally move his arse to Building 28.

Before noon, all patients' rooms were connected to the Wi-Fi, all staff mobile devices were successfully logged into the secure network, a printer was repaired, two were thrown out, and a handful of direct dial numbers were assigned to the correct office phones. Louis’ job was done.

As a result, Harry beamed with delight and threw himself into Louis’ arms. Louis froze. Trying not to overthink that he didn’t find the gesture even half as obnoxious as expected, he gave Harry an awkward pat on the back. To be fair, the lad smelled unfairly nice. And he wasn’t exactly bad on the eyes either. Still an utter pain in the arse, though.

Two hours and a talk with Ben later, Louis finally found himself seated across Liam in Tomcare’s office kitchen, delving into a late lunch.

“So, you’re moving them in then?” Liam asked, pushing his salad around with his fork before taking a bite.

“They’re at my place 90% of the time anyway, so I guess it makes sense.” Louis said, picking at his spicy rice noodles, his mind still reeling from the discussion with Ben. “I told him that as soon as he walks out of the hospital, I’m making him move into the flat, so that we can take care of the girls together until he’s completely back on track. It just makes sense, doesn’t it? Not too much of a change for the small ones then again. And, I think he is really considering it.”

Liam dropped his fork, his face shifting from bewilderment to outright disbelief.

“Um—didn’t you just explain the difference between an adoption and a guardianship?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah?” Louis said, reaching for the saltshaker.

“He wants you to adopt the girls instead of becoming their legal guardian because he wants to make sure he has the final say on where they end up. Namely—at yours.”

“So he said, yes.”

Liam looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Wow, Tomlinson. Okay. How do I put this delicately,” he mumbled. “He wants them to ultimately become part of your family. Like in forever. Having your name and all, not just for a while or until they’re eighteen.”

“Why yes,” Louis said, salting his noodles and putting the shaker back on the table. “They might be legal at eighteen but it’s not like they’d be old enough then to manage life completely on their own, innit?”

Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Louis, you do realise that he wants you to adopt them because he will not be walking out of that ward?”

Oh fuck that. We’re not having that talk again. Louis rolled his eyes.

“Of course he will. Might take a while, but of course he will. Just see it as a simple act of precaution because both him and Gladys aren’t up to snuff at the moment and the girls need an adult that’s allowed to make decisions about their day-to-day life legally, for as long as neither of them can.”

“Is that what he said or is that what you say? An act of precaution? Louis, mate, I love you with all my heart, but an act of precaution? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Louis clenched his jaw. Why was Liam suddenly acting up like this? As if Louis wasn’t stressed out enough as it was. A part of him wanted to tell him to just fuck off. Another part wanted to yell at him to fix this entire mess himself if he thought he had all the answers.

“Seriously, Lou, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard in a long time. I’m not sure you grasp the severity of that decision. Have you talked to someone? A lawyer, a therapist? Isaac? Anyone?”

Liam’s words landed like a punch. Louis’ stomach twisted, but he barely let himself feel it before snapping, “Of course I talked to Isaac. I know what I’m doing, do you think I’m stupid?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. I know you aren’t. I just think you’re putting lipstick on a pig to avoid tackling the real issue.”

Louis’ hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white around the cutlery. What was Liam’s problem? It wasn’t like he was offering an alternative, was it? This wasn’t just a matter of Louis making a decision; this was the girls’ everyday life at stake, for Christ’s sake.

“You’re saying I shouldn’t do it?” Louis’ jaw tightened even more as he all but spat the words out. Why did everybody and their landlords feel entitled to interfere with his business lately? As if he didn’t give himself enough shit already.

He was scared, bloody hell, fucking terrified even. The thought of becoming somewhat of a father figure to those girls filled him with a sense of dread that made him spiral every other minute. But abandoning them? No. Not for a second. Not even in theory. They deserved better than that, and if he had to be the one to take care of them, then so be it. Fuck Liam. Fuck everyone. Fuck stupid fucking shit cancer.

“What do you want me to do?” He snarled. “Want me to leave them behind and tell Ben to fuck off? We’re all family here.”

“Woah! Easy there, sugarplum.” Liam said. “Of course not. They should be with you. That’s not even a question. Jesus Christ, they worship the ground you walk on. Fuck, Milly could only be removed surgically from you at this point. But you can’t walk into an adoption with the thought of Ben magically recovering and being back on track. He’s not getting out of that ward; I just can’t let you ignore that fact. Please, at least think about talking to someone. You said you know this Niall-guy back from school, wouldn’t that be an option? Or Zayn?”

Yeah right. Verbal diarrhoea or arsehole with superiority complex. Delightful options. He didn’t need a therapist, fucking hell, he needed… he needed… he didn’t even know what he needed. He needed his best friend to walk out of that stupid shit hospital and everything to turn back how it was two years ago. That’s what he needed.

A surge of heat spread from his chest. Why couldn’t Liam just understand? He was just trying to do what he thought was best for everyone involved. Everyone, ha! Everyone but him, that’d be, because in what universe could he be trusted with toddlers?

There was a reason he’d remained single all this time—and it sure as hell wasn’t because he was particularly apt at taking care of loved ones. So, how was this supposed to work? Him. With twin toddlers. Alone. No backup.

Except… there was a backup, wasn’t there? Harry had reminded him of that. He had siblings, two Nans—people who’d be there for him. He wasn’t completely alone.

… Right?

And maybe if by miracle Ben didn’t—

His throat felt tight. He dragged a hand over his face, pushing the thought away before it could settle too deep. He wasn’t ready for this. Not yet. He just needed a fucking break. Anything to change the subject. He looked at Liam, grasping for the easiest distraction.

“What’s the deal with you and Zayn?” he blurted out, cutting his own thoughts off. Please, let Liam take the bait.

Liam sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration, setting his empty plate away.

“Louis, we’re not talking about me and Zayn right now. We’re talking about what’s best for you and the girls.”

“Yeah, well maybe I don’t want to talk about what’s best for me and the girls. Maybe I just want to be hit with the latest gossip, since I haven’t been here since Thursday.”

Liam let out a frustrated sigh, clearly catching onto Louis’ diversion, but luckily decided to cut him some slack. He shook his head slightly. “One day, I swear to God, you’re gonna be the end of me, Tomlinson.” He stood up from the table and gathered his empty plate. “Alright, fine.”

As they cleared their table and made their way back to Louis’ office, Liam began to recount the events of the past few days, and Louis finally got a breather. It went something like this:

After Lottie and Lewis had called it a day at the pub too, Liam had lured Jess into one last Karaoke performance before her Uber arrived. And then it was just him, standing at the counter about to pay his tab when a giddy brunet lad had caught him.

“You look like the wingman I’ve been waiting for all evening,” the guy had cheered. “See those two blokes over there?”—he gestured toward his table—“The beardy one’s about to call it a night, which leaves me with that gorgeous redhead who, for once, has a babysitter and doesn’t have to run home. And—to my dismay—with that third-wheeling gay princess over there. That just can’t happen! I’m Niall, by the way. That’s Annie, that’s Zayn, and the traitor who’s about to ditch us is Mitch. And you, my friend, are my designated saviour.”

“Liam. My name’s Liam, I was just ab—”

“Nuh-uh, no escape. I saw you and Zayn mutually undressing each other earlier, and I saw your mates leave. You, my friend, are about to have a great night—and you’re about to make mine exponentially better too.”

Liam had been way too drunk to oppose the bubbly bloke and so he had ended up at his table where Annie and Niall got lost in a conversation almost immediately, and he and Zayn had laughed their arses off at Niall’s nervous ticks and total inability to take Annie’s hints. When Zayn suggested abandoning them to their fate, Liam happily agreed, and they ended up back at Zayn’s place.

“… where you’ve been banging six ways to Sunday,” Louis scoffed, pushing open the glass door to his office and heading straight for his chair.

“Where he refused to bang me six ways to Sunday,” Liam corrected, following him inside. “Because, apparently, he wouldn’t take advantage of me being tipsy.”

“Tipsy?” Louis laughed, “Payno, you were already on the verge of being obnoxiously plastered when I left, and that was before you got picked up by an Irish fellow. I’m impressed you even remembered your name.”

“Anyway,”—Liam shrugged—“we talked for hours. And then we agreed to meet up later… ”

“… where you then banged six ways to Sunday.”

Liam grinned, letting himself fall onto the sofa. “Awfully much interested in my sex life, aren’t you, sugarplum?” He ruffled through Louis’ hair, earning himself a slap on the wrist. “Is Jess out of town?”

Louis rolled his eyes but kept quiet.

“To be honest, so far we’ve only made out a little, but we’ve spent every free moment together since leaving the pub,” Liam admitted, a hint of bashfulness colouring his cheeks. “I really like him, Louis.”

Every free moment. A quick tally put that at Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Four days. By Liam’s record, that was practically a lifetime. Excluding the six-month Julien fiasco—though, let’s be real, Julien had been a dramatic pillock, so—cue the Encanto soundtrack—‘We don’t talk about Julien, no, no, no.’

Louis dropped his bag on the desk, suppressing the urge to move his hips to the soundtrack in his head.

“So, you’re kind of a thing now?” he asked, pulling out his MacBook.

“I don’t know. We’re not not a thing, but it’s not like we’ve labelled anything yet.” Liam hesitated, then added with a small smile, “He’s really great, though. I don’t know. Feels like, for once, it could be heading towards something.”

Whatever was going on with Annie, Harry wasn’t about to question it. Four days in a row, she’d shown up with baked goods—an all-time record, even for her. This morning? A full Tupperware of fresh churros. Honestly, there were worse ways to start the day than with sugar-coated, deep-fried bliss.

Harry entered Ben’s room with a warm smile on his face. Ben lay in bed, looking worn out and weary, his face drawn with pain and sweat as he held up his phone.

“Hey big guy, how are you today?” Harry said, voice gentle and caring.

A weak smile in response hushed over Ben’s face, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, just enjoying the five-star accommodation, you know. Proper posh here now, you know, with access to the outer world and stuff.”

“Not to mention the amazing room-service…” Harry pointed towards the untouched breakfast tray standing on the bedside table.

Ben let out a tired laugh.

“No appetite?”

“To be honest, the thought alone grosses me out.”

“Because you’re not hungry or because you’re feeling nauseous?” Harry said, his tone shifting to one of professional concern.

“Nauseous, headache, tired as fuck, dizzy and I’m sweating like a pig although I’m cold.”

“That sounds shit.”

“You think, Styles? I mean, someone’s gotta give you a run for your money, it’s not fucking fairy island in ’ere, innit.” Ben scoffed, shuddering and slowly wiping his brow with his sleeve.

“It certainly isn’t. Okay, let me check something.” Harry grabbed into his pocket and pulled out a little hand-held device and a pot of strips. “You’ve seen this before?”

A surprised look washed over Ben’s face. “Glucose test? Louis’ grandad has one of those. What, am I now diabetic as well?” He held out his hand for Harry to prick his fingertip with a lancet, to then apply the small droplet of blood to the test strip and insert it into the glucose meter. Harry looked at the score.

“61 mg/dL” he said. “That’s definitely not enough, but explains pretty much why you feel shit. Let me fetch some glucose, I’ll be right back.”

Harry quickly returned to Ben’s room with a small vial of glucose solution. He connected it to the IV line that was already in place and slowly injected the liquid.

“Alright,” he said reassuringly as he adjusted the flow rate of the nearly empty IV bag, “shouldn’t take too long before you feel better.”

Ben nodded weakly, his relief evident as he sank back into the pillow. “Thanks, mate, I really feel like crap.”

“I figured. To answer your question about being diabetic: the low blood sugar is most likely a corollary of your liver’s state. You see, the liver is responsible for metabolising carbohydrates, fats and proteins, as well as storing and releasing glucose as needed to maintain your blood sugar levels. But since your liver is no longer at its best, we’re most likely going to have to deal with metabolic disturbances. Hypoglycaemia for instance.”

“Sounds shit.” Ben said weakly.

“The liver thing is, yes. I’m not gonna lie, we’re not at a complete failure yet, but we’re heading towards it. Sugar levels though can be adjusted pretty quickly. Just one more thing to monitor.”

Harry sat beside Ben, fingers pressed lightly to his wrist, counting his pulse.

As the glucose solution distributed in Ben’s bloodstream his colour slowly began to return to his face and he let out a deep sigh of relief.

“Better?”

Ben managed a small smile, the warmth finally reaching his eyes. “Considerably. Thanks, mate. I always knew you’d be up to something good.”

Harry laughed out loud. “Look at him, lying straight to the face of his consultant after he made him feel better. Shameless. Scandalous.”

Ben laughed, a bit sheepishly. “No, for real, man, I really knew. I was always impressed with how you handled things so easily. Louis was too, by the way.”

Harry flinched at the mention. “Yeah, right. You both ignored the shit out of me, I was basically invisible to you the whole two years.”

“God, we were such shitheads back then, weren’t we?”

“You had your moments.” Harry said flatly. He sprayed a bit of disinfectant on the tape securing the IV and peeled it back, careful not to tug at Ben’s skin. The transparent dressing lifted easily, revealing the thin catheter in his vein. A quick look ensured it was still in place. Good.

“You’re quiet,” Ben murmured, watching him closely.

Harry hummed, reaching for a fresh IV bag. “Just focused.” He primed the tubing, giving the line a gentle flick to clear out air bubbles.

“Focused, my arse. You’re avoiding looking at me.”

Harry sighed through his nose, keeping his hands moving. He secured the fresh bag to the stand, adjusting the flow rate. The routine helped—it was clinical, predictable, controlled. Unlike stupid conversations about the past. The past was just a mess of old wounds and memories he had zero interest in reopening.

Ben exhaled slowly. “Seriously Harry, we were so full of shit back then, if we ever treated you like crap, I want to apologise.”

Harry tore off a strip of medical tape and anchored the catheter hub before covering it with a transparent dressing, securing it firmly to Ben’s skin.

“Alright, all set,” Harry announced, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “This should keep everything in place and ensure a steady flow.”

He gave Ben’s shoulder a firm pat, hoping that was enough to drop the subject. There were good reasons for why the past was considered the past; the absolute last thing he ever wanted to be reminded of were his schooldays.

Years of feeling like a ghost. Either invisible or the weird nerd with too much to say but no one willing to listen. It wasn’t just Ben and Louis—though they’d played their part—it was the school as a whole. That shit stuck. No matter how much confidence Harry wore now, the feeling never really left.

And yet, despite it all, one of them had been there when it mattered. Right place, right time. He’d never forget that. But dredging up old wounds? Opening scars he’d spent years burying?

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

“Thanks,” Ben cut through his thoughts, his voice laced with genuine remorse as he reached out to touch Harry’s forearm. “I’m really sorry.”

Harry sighed, meeting his gaze. “Water under the bridge. Let’s just focus on what matters today, alright?”

Ben held his stare for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Okay.”

Harry gave him a small nod in return. An olive branch was an olive branch.

“Alright,” he said, adding a little lightness to his tone. “No more dwelling on ancient history. We’ve got more important things to focus on.”

Ben huffed a laugh. “Like that stupid liver thing.” He leaned his head back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. “Isn’t karma a bitch, eh? Look at me—Twenty years of getting plastered at any chance I got, and then it’s not even cirrhosis but metastases that gets me. It’s almost cynical.”

Harry let out a short breath. “Yeah,” he said. “I wish I could tell you something else, but yeah, life’s a bitch.”

The room went quiet for a second.

“Harry,” Ben said suddenly, his voice steady and resolute. “I need to ask you something and I need you to cut all the bullshit and just be honest, okay?”

Harry had an inkling of what was coming. It always came.

“That’s the only way I roll,” he assured.

Ben took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking again. “How long do I have?”

There it was.

The question hung in the air, heavy and inevitable. No matter how often he was asked the very same question, the pang of sadness never ceased to weigh heavily on his heart.

“As much as I understand your wish to know,” Harry replied, “the truth is, I can’t give you a number. A failing liver is unpredictable—sometimes it’s weeks, sometimes months and sometimes… it happens faster than we expect. I know that’s not the answer you want. Just… whatever happens, you won’t be facing it alone. We’ll be right here, alright?”

Ben listened quietly, his expression unchanged. There was a sense of acceptance in his demeanour.

“Okay.” He said through gritted teeth. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Truly.”

“Anytime, Ben.” Harry said, patting his shoulder and readying himself to give Ben some alone time.

Just as he was getting up, Ben murmured: “Harry?”

“Mmh?”

“If you let me die before the twenty-eighth, I’ll haunt your hyper-intelligent arse down till the end of your days.”

Harry honked out a laugh. “Please, tell me this isn’t about ManU—Arsenal?”

“You can bet your arse it is. Last game of the season. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll watch that match. Sucks enough I won’t be at Old Trafford with the lads, but I will see it. Last wish and that. So, make it happen, mate! No pressure though—tired as I am, I’d probably be a pretty shit ghost anyway.”

“Make it happen, huh?”

Harry had been meaning to bring something up for days, but there was never the right moment. He spun the chair backwards, straddling it as he folded his arms over the backrest.

“Listen, have any of the nurses mentioned that we have a friend’s association fund to fulfil last wishes?”

Ben blinked in surprise. “No? Not that I remember at least?”

Harry’s frown transformed into a mischievous grin.

“Well, we have. Given the shape you’re in, Old Trafford’s indeed off the table, but what if we set you up to watch the game in style?”

Ben’s eyebrow shot up, looking sceptically. “Say what now?”

“We’ve got a projector, a screen, and a park. What are your thoughts on a live broadcast? We could set up the big screen, bring in some snacks and drinks, and turn it into a proper summer party. If I declare it as our annual staff party, the board won’t even object. Nobody gives a rat’s arse about what we do on these grounds anyway. You could have your mates, your family, your footie lads, Make a proper night of it.”

Ben stared at him, “You serious?”

“Completely.”

“Fucking hell, that’d be amazing.”

“Consider it done.” Harry stood, giving Ben two thumbs up. “Now rest up, I need you at your best in three weeks.”

Chapter Text

“You’re sure?” Louis didn’t look up, fingers flying over his iPad.

“Positive,” Liam said, snapping a file shut on Louis’ desk. “Her youngest just turned six, they’re all in school now—she practically begged me to up her hours.”

Rachel. Badass Rachel. Who’d saved his arse more times than he could count.

Fifteen years ago, she’d been godsent—or, as she liked to put it, he had been, which was total humbug of course. He’d met her at a supermarket checkout, eight months pregnant, broke, and cursing like a sailor when she realised her ex hadn’t just taken off with another chick, he’d also maxed out her debit card.

It had taken Louis all of 3.2 seconds to cover her groceries.

Two hours, a Starbucks trip, and one very humbling conversation later, he’d convinced her that yes, he really was the CEO of a company suddenly making more money than he was comfortable with. (Despite only being twenty-one and totally not looking sixteen, thank you, Rachel, very much.) And just like that, she became his first-ever finance manager. Best business decision he ever made.

Now, fifteen years, a wedding, and five more pregnancies later, she was still here—and, apparently, still willing to save his arse.

Which was convenient, because his arse had a lot to sort through.

After his talk with Ben yesterday and a conference call with Isaac, it was decided: they were moving forward with the adoption.

Louis had sat through the conversation in silence, letting Ben and Isaac hash it out. He wasn’t going to start the whole ‘this is so stupid because you are not going to die’ discussion again. What mattered was that Ben wanted the paperwork sorted, while he still had a say. Which in his books was right now. So, adoption it was.

There was just one catch—according to Isaac, the twins had to live with him for at least ten weeks before he could even apply. Which meant they needed to move in with him officially. Preferably by yesterday.

They’d been at his place for weeks already, but moving in for real? That meant no more pretending his life wouldn’t change dramatically. No matter how much Nan, Lottie, and the elder twins helped, the girls would take up a huge chunk of his time and he surely wasn’t about to adopt them just to dump them on his family or a nanny.

Like it or not, he was going to have to scale back.

No matter how he looked at it, Liam telling him that Rachel was willing—no, desperate—to work more and bump her hours from 50% to 80% was, yet again, exactly what he needed. A godsend. Or, as Liam put it—meant to be.

In under forty-five minutes, they’d reworked major tasks, streamlined processes, and shuffled responsibilities. And it wasn’t even 9:00 a.m.

Funnily enough he was feeling positively thrilled to have more spare time for the first time in his life. He wasn’t even overly concerned that everything he’d built up would go down the drain the minute he stepped back for a bit.

Weird.

They had just come to some agreements when they heard the normal humming and rustling soundscape of their open plan office change. Louis looked up through the glass panels of his office’s dividing wall and immediately saw what had caused the shift.

With long, straight black hair cascading down her shoulders and a confident stride in her high heels, Keira had entered and strolled toward her office like she owned the place—because, hell, she did.

Louis grinned, pride swelling within his chest. He couldn’t help but admire her for the way she carried herself, embodying both elegance and determination in every step. As soon as she neared his office, he jumped to his feet, pulled the door open and with a flaring smile on his face called, “Well, good morning, Keira! Happy you’re back. Liam and I were just talking about reducing my workload—so once you’re settled, pop in, yeah? Got a few things I need your opinion on.”

Keira’s lips curved into a smile. “Good morning. Of course. I’ll be there right away.” She strode into her own office, which, similar to Louis’, was a glass-metal cubicle separated from the rest of the industrial, open plan loft. With a quick glance around the familiar space, Keira settled into her chair, booted her computer, and made herself a cup of tea.

Louis had just gotten into another discussion with Liam, when a sharp knock on his door interrupted them.

Louis glanced up and an immediate touch of irritation rose in him. Instead of Keira, Brodie leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Got a minute?” His voice was all business, but there was something else underneath—something Louis didn’t trust.

Brodie was one of three project managers Louis had inherited after the Commsmith merger—one he could have done without. It had taken him a second to place the face when he first saw him, but then the penny dropped. They hadn’t exactly gone to school together—Brodie was at least three, maybe four years older than him and Ben, and done with school when they started their GCSE years—but he’d still lingered around the footie team long after he should’ve moved on.

“A minute is fine, what can I do for you?” Louis kept his tone neutral, tamping down the annoyance curling in his gut. His gut reaction was more along the lines of What do you want? Spill and fuck off!—but professionalism, unfortunately, was still a thing.

Everything about the bloke low-key pissed him off—too polished, too smooth, always a half-step away from sneering. He had that kind of controlled arrogance that didn’t need to shout to make itself known. The kind that made Louis itch to slap it right off his face, if only that weren’t generally frowned upon.

“I just had a look at the on-boarding documents you sent us over the weekend. I wanted to talk to you about this whole ’flexible work schedule’ thing,”

Louis arched an eyebrow. “What about it?” His tone was all professional interest—meaning, completely fake.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Brodie answered. “Giving people the freedom to choose when they work? It’s just asking for trouble.”

Lad, you are asking for trouble, Louis thought, gripping his Apple Pencil tighter than was healthy for his knuckles.

Liam cleared his throat and stood up from his chair. The smile that flashed over his face was one Louis knew all too well. It was his I-will-respectfully-devour-you-alive-if-you-don’t-tone-it-down smile.

“Thank you for letting us in on your concerns, Brodie. You can be assured that we have been monitoring the impacts of our decisions very closely. Flexible work arrangements have been shown to increase productivity and employee satisfaction. We strongly believe in trust and empowering our team to manage their own schedules. So far, we’ve not been disappointed in our employees, have we?” Liam asked, turning to Louis.

“Nope. We haven’t.” Louis didn’t bother looking at Brodie, his focus still on Liam.

Brodie let out a small, amused breath, shaking his head. “If you say so. I personally doubt that giving employees this amount of freedom heightens their work ethics. Coming in and leaving whenever they please… where does that nonsense lead next? Showing up in tracksuits or PJs? I mean, it seems like we’ve gotten a bit too casual around here already, don’t you think?”

Louis stilled. “Clarify.”

Brodie gave him a look, tilting his head toward where Keira had disappeared. “Not my business, mate. Just... interesting choices.”

Louis literally bit his tongue. Who did this twat think he was, insulting his long-term secretary to his face after barely a week on the team?

Liam shifted beside him, about to speak, but Louis stopped him with a hand to his chest. He stood, closing the space between him and Brodie in three steps, looking him dead in the eye, not giving a single shit that the bloke had almost a head on him.

Then he saw Keira. She had just appeared behind Brodie and judging by her look, had heard every word. The realisation threw him off for a split second, but he collected himself immediately, squared his shoulders and held a firm gaze.

When he spoke, his words were premeditatedly measured, clipped in a way that felt foreign even to him. If the tosser wanted authority he’d get authority.

“This ’nonsense,’ as you call it, Brodie, is a core philosophy of the company you are now part of. A philosophy you agreed to by remaining with Tomcare rather than accepting Commsmith’s departure package prior to the merger.

“In approximately two hours, you will receive an email containing general staff updates, along with a revised version of our company policies—particularly regarding diversity, equity, and inclusion. I strongly advise you to familiarise yourself with the section on bullying and harassment.

“To be absolutely clear: Tomcare Solutions maintains a zero-tolerance policy on homophobic, transphobic, or ableist behaviour. And as your CEO, so do I.”

Brodie’s eye twitched, the only crack in his otherwise unshaken arrogance. Louis remained unfazed; his gaze steady as he met Brodie’s defiant stare.

“Now, if you have any legitimate concerns about the flexible work schedule or work related things, I’m more than willing to discuss them in a scheduled appointment. But if all you currently have to offer is bigotry and intolerance, I suggest you leave my office now and reevaluate your approach before coming back.”

Brodie stared at him for a long second, lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out—too slow, too composed.

Keira stepped aside just in time. The look he gave her on his way out made Louis want to run after him and tackle him the good old-fashioned way.

“You alright there?” Liam asked, the warmth of his voice soothing the tension in the room.

Keira blinked rapidly, as if trying to snap out of a daze, while her gaze darted back and forth between the departing figure of Brodie and the composed yet resolute demeanour of Louis.

“That was… something,” she admitted, glancing at Louis.

He shrugged, forcing the stiffness from his shoulders. “Nothing we can’t handle.” Then, because she still looked rattled, he added lightly, “Please come in and have a seat, and could you close the door?”

Keira did as told, features still contorted with a mixture of emotions—shock, disbelief, and perhaps—not that Louis wanted to blow his own trumpet—a hint of admiration for his and Liam’s unwavering stance.

“What an arse,” Liam mumbled. Keira slammed her eyes shut, red blotches crawled up her cheeks as she covered her face with her hands. “You good?” He asked, noticing her reaction.

“I am so sorry for having provoked a scene. If I’d known—” she uttered under her breath.

“Provoked?” Louis deadpanned. “Keira, you walked into work. If that’s all it takes to rattle him, he’ll have to learn to control himself.”

“Still… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” Louis cut her off, but not unkindly. “Liam’s totally right. He is an arse. Was twenty years ago, still is today. This isn’t your fault, and I won’t have you thinking it is.”

“Hang on, you know that twat?” Liam looked at Louis, incredulous.

“Vaguely. I think he was in sixth form when I was in year nine or so. Used to hang around the pitch with some of the footie lads when we practised, even way after he’d finished school. Couldn’t stand him back then, can’t stand him today. So please Keira, if he’s ever showing inappropriate behaviour towards you again, let us know, will you?” Louis said.

Keira nodded, her expression still a blend of shock and gratitude. “Thank you, Louis. And Liam,” she said, her voice still slightly shaky but determined. “I appreciate it.”

“Now then,” Louis stated, reached into his drawer, and pulled out a Double Decker, “Comfort bar?”

“God, please tell me that’s not your breakfast.” Liam sighed, checking his watch.

“That’s not my breakfast. Breakfast was a Boost Duo, thank you very much.”

Keira snorted out a laugh. “Damnit, I was this close to thanking you for always having our back and being more of a parent than a boss, but then your breakfast habits put the whole thing into perspective.”

Liam pulled a face. “Parent? Please don’t. I haven’t eaten yet, and I will lose it if anyone is going to call him Daddy before my first tea.”

“Eww, gross!” Louis and Keira burst out in unison.

“I hate you so much.” Louis hissed and shuddered.

“By the way, I brought salmon cream cheese bagels,” Keira diverted.

“You’re only telling me that now?” Louis clutched his pearls, and huffed in fake outrage, “Keira, I am appalled. I have to say I miss Kyle, he’d never have neglected me like that… ”

Liam whacked the back of his head and Louis squeaked.

“Hey!” He dramatically waved his hands towards Keira, “You saw that? I am so gonna report you to HR… workplace violence and such.”

“Too bad HR dismissed the allegations as an act of necessity.” Liam shrugged. “Now about those bagels… how many are there?”

Two hours later they had finalised the email announcing the departure of Kyle as Louis’ secretary and welcoming Keira as his new personal assistant. It also stated that the secretary position was vacant with immediate effect and encouraged applications based on diversity, equity and inclusion. Additionally, it announced the new implementation of gender neutral facilities, encouraged staff members to add personal pronouns to their email signatures and video call screen names, and reminded that Tomcare Solutions had a mental-health support agreement with two external therapists that guaranteed quick and hassle-free appointments for employees.

The final note consisted of a few personal words about how proud he was to be able to work with such open-minded, tolerant and caring people. In his totally, utterly professional manner as a CEO, he closed the mail with a meme of a quote by David Jenkins saying: “If you don’t like stuff, don’t be a dick about it.”

Keira laughed almost hysterically, Liam shook his head and called him a petty child.

It was pitch black outside. Harry had been wracking his brain over Ben’s football event for so long he’d completely lost track of time—only realising how late it was when his stomach growled and Wilbur’s snores broke the silence of his office.

Ten minutes and a walk later, Harry unlocked the door to his cramped one-room flat, the excited yips of Wilbur and Edda making him giggle. Apparently they were as eager for dinner as he was.

“There you go, you two,” he murmured affectionately, pushing a stack of books aside that seemed to have permanently taken up residence in the entryway. Well—entryway, bedroom, living room, dining area, kitchen—call it what you like, it was all the same crammed room anyway.

In one corner, Harry’s bed occupied the floor, consisting simply of a mattress covered with a mismatched assortment of sheets and blankets. A sad remnant from the days Niall had moved in after finding his now ex-husband balls-deep in his co-worker. Harry still wanted to rip him a new one for blaming Niall for ‘his need to cheat’. Toxic arsehole.

The old sofa bed he used to sleep on was located on the other side of the room, but not even the mountain of blankets thrown over it could cover the fact that by now it felt more like lying on a fakir mat than on a sofa. Thus, after Niall was back on track and had gotten his own place, Harry hadn’t bothered to buy a new one but just slept on the ‘guest bed’. Maybe he should finally consider getting a bed frame.

A rattling sound made him look up. Wilbur had darted straight towards the tiny kitchenette that was squeezed into the space opposite of the bed, and had snatched his dog bowl. Harry wasn’t even sure whether he could call it a kitchenette. It was basically just a fridge next to two small counter tops with a sink, a portable stove, a squeezed in washing machine, and a microwave on a shelf. Nothing fancy, but enough to not starve, although that probably was more the merit of Zayn’s inability to cook for anything less than twenty people. He wouldn’t complain though; the mother hen that guy was, he provided him with more meals than he could actually fit into his freezer.

Harry was just about to open the bag of dog food when a thud startled him. Great. Wilbur had managed to sweep his laptop off from another pile of books.

Harry sighed, stepping over another pile. God, he needed a new place.

But the thought alone made him sweaty.

He’d been living here since his return from his Erasmus semester in Berlin in his fourth year of medical school and loved it. Or used to love it. Back then, it had felt like a cosy haven, a welcome escape from his months in the noisy university halls where he struggled to concentrate on his studies. But now, after almost thirteen years, and with two dogs around, one of them an energetic puppy, the place started to feel stifling.

Just—how did one even find a new place? This one he’d found via the university notice board. But he was thirty-three now. Surely that wasn’t still the best option? How did it even work nowadays? Search online? Walk around hoping for a “For Rent” sign? What if he missed the perfect place because he didn’t know where to look? Or worse—what if he found something, but got stuck with broken heating and wallpaper mould? Would it be worth the effort?

How would he even move his stuff? He only ever rode his bike.

He couldn’t possibly ask Gemma, she literally just had a baby.

Niall had a car. Well, Niall had a seventeen year-old Vauxhall Corsa, but it was a car.

But Niall also had a tiny-not-so-tiny OCD issue and a questionable attachment to his label maker. It would take him ages to pack his stuff because Niall would probably force him to sort every single one of his books by topic, colour or height and plainly refuse to even put a single box in his trunk that wasn’t labelled to his satisfaction.

Zayn had a truck, though. But by putting his things into Zayn’s truck wouldn’t he risk getting Alfred’s or Edith’s hair on his things, and then Edda would need her antihistamines again? Was it even possible to move via public transport? Navigating buses and metrolink trams with boxes and furniture wasn’t something he envisioned being desirable. Although, he didn’t have too much furniture after all. Boxes of books and bags of clothes, was what he had. Anything else he could maybe leave to the next tenant? A moving company surely wouldn’t even bother to come to his tiny flat because such a small move wasn’t profitable for them.

A bead of sweat formed on his forehead as he imagined the sheer effort and coordination required to orchestrate a move. Yeah, maybe he had just reminded himself of the reasons why he was still living in his student accommodation as the head of a medical ward in one of the biggest hospitals in town, spending more nights in his office than in his actual home.

Why was he even thinking about that now? He poured himself a glass of water and chucked it down in one gulp.

God, he was that friend, wasn’t he? The one with savant syndrome at work but being completely useless in everyday life. Niall hadn’t even bothered to involve him in the process of finding a new place and getting his stuff from Alexander. Alexander. Not Alex, not Xander, no no. Alexander. Alexander Butler-Sloss. Royal cunt the first. Niall had only informed him he’d moved out after everything was already sorted. He’d told him not to worry, that he just hadn’t wanted to distract him from his conference preparations. Jeez, had he let his best mate down because he was too caught up with work and was useless for anything else?

His fingers dug into the back of his neck. His palm was sweaty. The room felt smaller.

Tap.

He startled at the soft pressure against his shin.

Edda.

She pressed her head against his knee and whined.

Harry immediately dropped his bum to the floor, his back pressed against the cupboard and nuzzled his face into her fur.

“You’re right, girl. This isn’t a problem for tonight. We’ll make it work.” He scratched her behind the ears, whetting Wilbur’s interest. In the blink of an eye the puppy had plummeted into him and waggled his bum into his lap. Harry sat there for a minute, savouring the warmth and proximity of his two smelly mood barometers, trying his best to calm his racing mind. Eventually he managed to take a deep breath and push himself up from the floor, before pouring some kibble into their bowls.

“Bon appetit,” he mumbled, opening the freezer and taking out the first container he could grab.

“Whatever you are, let’s hope for the best,” he said, looking and nosing at the reddish frozen clump that could literally be anything from chilli to tomato soup.

As the microwave hummed to life, he watered Herman and Agnetha, the only two non-plastic plants he’d ever possessed (and no, he totally didn’t swallow down a giggle at the fact that Agnetha was a Boston Fern and he hadn’t managed to kill it in over ten years), gathered a pile of laundry from the sofa and sorted it roughly into whites and colours.

“Edda? Bath towels and sheets or undies? What do we think is more pressing?” Edda shot a disgusted look at a bunch of discarded briefs on the floor, grabbed a towel and dragged it to the washing machine.

“Hey!” Harry pouted, “Don’t you dare give me that look. I shower and change them daily and unlike other present residents I am not the one finding pleasure in sniffing and licking random buttocks!”

Wilbur looked up and barked.

“Oh shut up, traitor. I haven’t licked a buttock in years, and even then it was… oh for fuck’s sake, why am I talking about my sex life with my dogs?” Now Edda barked.

“Ugh, fine! Non-existent sex life, happy now?” He shoved the pile of bed sheets and bath towels into the front-loader, slammed the door shut and shot her a deploring look.

“Yeah, yeah. Just rub it into my face. I share my place with you, keep you warm and fed and that’s what I get. Backstabbers, both of you.” He poured the detergent into the compartment and set the temperature to 60°C.

Just as he pushed the start button, the microwave beeped its completion. He grabbed a tea towel, took out the steaming container and chuckled at the familiar sight of a serving of veggie lasagna. Just what he needed now.

Not bothering to scoop the lasagna onto a plate, he folded the tea towel over, put it under the scorching hot container, grabbed a fork and propped himself cross-legged onto his sofa.

“What? You have your own bowl,” he snuffled towards Edda, who watched him with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t even like vegetables.”

She didn’t deign to even look at the container, but looked him straight in the eye.

“Seriously? It’s hookup-gossip you want instead of lasagna?” He asked. She yelped and hopped on the sofa, laying down to his knee.

“Believe it or not, there’s nothing to report. I can’t even remember what the last one’s name was. Kenneth? Keith? Kurt? No clue. Not even sure if I ever knew the right name since I met him in a far too loud pub. Anyway, he chatted me up, was nice enough, we went to his place, and I left before breakfast. That’s pretty much it. Don’t give me that appalled look, miss! You literally let yourself be humped in the middle of a park by an unknown poodle two days ago.” He gestured with the fork in front of her nose. “And unlike some of us,” he exclaimed, his voice rising in feigned indignation, “I certainly didn’t lick his arse. Not that there was anything to lick in the first place.” Steam wafted up from the dish nestled in his lap as he took a bite. He almost burned his tongue. “Literally nothing at all. Flat as a pancake was what it was.” He paused to take another bite.

“Not that there is something wrong with flat pancakes. Hear me, Wilbur? No judgement here. All bodies are beautiful—round, flat, big, small. But if the buffet offers a stack of waffles… a delicious, scrumptious stack of waffles… ” He clicked his tongue at the same time as Edda let out a small groan.

“Yeah, right? You get me, girl. You’ve seen him too, haven’t you? God, it’s been years but Christ, the way he kicked that football in those jeans… bloody hell… that’s still a stack of waffles if I’ve ever seen one. That bum bums as no other bum has ever bummed. Ruined my taste in bums for eternity,” he mused aloud, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “A sight to behold… a bloody work of art, these two perfect round, plump… ” he hummed, not finishing the sentence. “If I ever am up to licking another… ” he suddenly gasped, letting the fork fall into his container. “What the fuck am I doing here? Jesus fucking Christ,” he scrunched his nose, jaw tense and nudged Edda with his toe. “Edda! You can’t let me wax poetic about Louis’ arse, fucking hell. That’s bloody creepy!”

He jumped up, tossing the container in the sink, shaking his head at the absurdity and creepiness of his musings.

“Alright, you two,” he said. “Time for bed. And this,”—he made a circled motion with his open palm towards the sofa—“never happened. Do you hear me? N E V E R happened! We have decorum in this house!”

He nudged them both towards their dog beds before making his way to the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and washed his face, the warm water helping at least a little to ease the tension in his jaw. He tossed his shirt and his trousers into the overflowing laundry basket and made his way to the makeshift mattress in nothing but his briefs. After putting in his in-ears and pressing play on his It’s late now playlist to muffle the sound of the still rumbling washing machine, he slid under the covers, pulled them up to his chin and willed himself with everything he had to think about anything but perfectly ripe peaches.

“This okay?” the warm, raspy voice of the man standing in front of him murmured as his hand cradled the back of Harry’s head, weaving his fingers into his short curls all so softly. His other arm was propped onto the backrest of the sofa, biceps flexing under his upper body’s weight.

Harry hummed and buried his face deeper into the crease of the man’s groin, both hands wrapped tightly around the back of a pair of thighs that made his own tremble.

A fine trail of neat hair led from the stranger’s navel to his crotch and scraped against Harry’s cheek, a total opposition to the warm, velvety skin of the rock-hard cock brushing his chin. He tilted his head and grazed his clean-shaven jaw over the man’s shaft. He shivered.

Harry breathed him in and moulded himself against the warm skin.

“So beautiful,” the voice whispered as a finger ran across his cheek, the other hand slightly tightening in his nape and exerting a hint of pressure. Not really, but even the idea of it made Harry gasp.

He didn’t do this. He never did. He had his reasons. Yet here he was, on his knees, naked, in front of this man, with the sudden urge to wrap his warm, wet lips around his beautiful, smooth cock. It was enticing—puzzling but enticing.

He let his hand slowly roam up the inside of the man’s thighs while the other one moved up to his round, firm bum, squeezing it softly.

A delicious moan escaped the man as Harry’s fingertips grazed his dick. The jolts of excitement the sound sent through Harry’s body was unreal and he had trouble to understand the undeniable attraction that stirred within him as he let his tongue glide from base to tip.

“Fuck, yeah!” The man groaned, tugging his curls a tad tighter.

Harry gulped, but then smiled. “You like feeling my tongue on you?” He asked, repeating the lick, this time starting at the man’s balls that he’d carefully cupped in his palm.

“God yes,” the husked voice groaned and Harry looked up.

Mistake. Bloody mistake.

The stranger had thrown his head back, eyes closed with pleasure. Golden skin stretched over his Adam’s apple and collarbones, exposing strong jugular veins. His lips were slightly parted. The sight was obscene.

The way he stood tall, his posture commanding and unapologetic, holding Harry’s neck even if only lightly… it should feel threatening. It really should. Harry waited for his instincts to scream, to warn him of the dangers of trust, like they always did. But today they didn’t. Instead, every fibre of his being pulled him towards the stranger who let out the most delicious noises and looked like pure sin.

Harry’s cock throbbed. And for once, it seemed like he didn’t care if pain would be the cost for pleasure. He wanted to worship this gorgeous soul in front of him; he wanted to feel and taste everything he was willing to offer. So he lapped his tongue over the man’s leaking head, savouring the salty, slightly metallic tang.

The stranger inhaled sharply as his fingers bit into Harry’s scalp. Then Harry had an idea.

“Turn around for me, honey.” He whispered to the man’s warm skin, but instead, the hand that had rested on his neck now moved to his cheek, a second joining, both hands now cupping him with gentle reassuring palms and guiding him up. When their lips met, the world narrowed to heat and longing, and the faint tremor that ran through Harry’s chest. It was intoxicating.

Just as he was on the brink of losing himself in the moment, the stranger pulled back, leaving him yearning for more. But then, he slowly turned around, presenting his back. The elegant lines, the way his slender but strong muscles rippled and flexed with even the slightest movement… Harry’s breath caught in his throat.

“Fuck!” He uttered under his breath.

With trembling hands, he reached out, running his fingers over the smooth expanse of the man’s shoulders. Slowly, he trailed his hand down the curve of his spine, each caress sending shivers of anticipation through his veins.

He planted feather-light kisses along the length of the man’s spine, revelling in the intimacy of the moment, savouring the taste of his skin and the warmth of his body.

With each kiss, he arched into Harry’s embrace, soft sighs of content escaping his lips.

“Tell me to stop if it gets too much, yeah?” Harry rasped against his skin, softly putting his palm in between the man’s shoulder blades, cautiously bending him over the backrest of the sofa.

“Not too much,” the man hummed through shallow breaths as Harry wedged his knee between his legs, spreading them slightly as he brushed his thigh against the roundness of his arse. “Feels really good.”

With gentle hands, Harry continued to explore the contours of the displayed body, tracing the lines of muscle and bones with care. He pressed his lips against the curve of the stranger’s spine, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake.

His breath hitched as Harry reached the base of his spine, pressing his thumbs into the small dimples. God, Harry was about to implode from desire that coursed through him as he took in the beauty and perfection that was spread out right in front of his eyes. Strong glutes, perfectly round cheeks, slightly paler than the rest of the man’s caramel skin… Harry had to restrain himself to not sink his teeth into the flesh and grunt.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against the smooth skin, planting more tender kisses along the curve. Each touch was filled with awe as he slowly let his tongue slip into the crease, pulling his cheeks apart with his thumbs, palms resting on the roundings. The man arched into Harry’s embrace, a low moan escaped his lips as pleasure washed over him. Harry trembled, even though the man didn’t even touch him. Somehow worshipping this delicate point of view with tender care was enough to have his own every nerve endings alive with sensation.

“You like that?” he whispered, breathing a puff of air over the wet skin just before brushing the flat of his tongue over the man’s rim a second time.

The stranger nodded wordlessly.

Harry swirled his tongue, pulling him open wider with his thumb and index, granting the tip of his tongue better access.

The stranger let out a sound that was part moan, part whimper as he squirmed under the sensation.

“God, your sounds,” Harry breathed into his skin. “They do things to me.” He grabbed the man’s hips and pressed his face deeper in between the cheeks, alternating between sucking the tender skin and poking against the rim. The man writhed and pushed himself back against Harry’s mouth, hands clenched into the sofa, desperately searching for friction on his hard on.

“Can you… ” he panted, “please… fuck!”

Harry wrapped his arm around his hip, pulling him in as his tongue pushed past the rim of muscles, his thumb pressing down on the opening.

“Fuck! Oh God!” the man cried out, voice pitched higher. “Don’t stop!”

Harry prodded harder, keeping the squirming hips in a tight embrace as his hand wandered down to grab the man’s cock. The moan that left his throat, landed right between Harry’s legs. His own body hummed with pleasure, thriving on the bond that they had forged in the heat of passion and desire. In that moment, there was nothing else—just him, and this gorgeous, responsive man, tangled together in pleasure, lost in the intimacy between them.

He tightened the grip of his fingers around the man’s cock that was twitching and throbbing in anticipation. Pre-come glistened at his slit, prompting Harry to thumb over and spread it across his head. The stranger immediately bucked back against him, thrusting into his fist, desperate for release.

“I’m close,” the man uttered in between ragged breaths.

“Don’t hold back. Come for me, honey.” Harry whispered before pushing his tongue deep into the man, making him shout out an undefined obscenity. Harry was about to combust.

Just as he readied himself to grip his own dick and grant himself some relief, the man’s arm flew back, nudging Harry’s chin and guiding him up. Without missing a beat in pumping the stranger’s length, he got up and draped his whole body over the slightly smaller man’s back, his painfully hard dick grazing over the most delicious arse cheeks to exist. The man pushed back, burying Harry’s hard-on deep into his crease. They both panted. The friction bordering on too much, Harry thrusted up, his hard, leaking cock sliding through the wetness of where his mouth had just been. He was close, so close. The man was too.

“Harry,” the stranger’s breath hitched as he reached back, gripping the back of Harry’s head, tilting his own over his shoulder and bringing their foreheads together. Their eyes locked. Blue. So, so blue. His body trembled as they rocked against each other one last time, hard and hot.

“Louis,” he gasped, his hips stuttering as he spurted over the small of the man’s back.

“Baby,” Louis cried out, spilling hot over Harry’s hand.

Harry was panting, face contorted in pleasure, just when a sharp bark pierced through the dark, jolting him awake.

“What ... ?” He blinked, confused, disorientated, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

“Are you okay—” He turned to the man.

The man—Louis—wasn’t there.

Harry’s sleep-addled brain took a second to process what just happened. Louis. Oh my fucking God. Louis had been the man. Did he really just have a bloody wet dream about rimming Louis arse-to-die-for Tomlinson? OH MY FUCKING GOD.

His stomach was still tight, muscles tense like he’d been straining against something. Against himself.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It was just a dream. Just a fucking dream.

But because that apparently wasn’t embarrassing enough: the creature panting next to him was most decidedly not a gorgeous golden-skinned hot shot, nope. It was a puppy. A drooling, panting puppy, breathing right into his face.

“Oh, fuck my life,” Harry grunted and turned his face away. He lifted his right hand that had been dangling over the mattress, meaning to push the puppy away, only to realise: it was wet—and not in the good, warm way from mere seconds ago.

Frowning, he lifted himself halfway up and squinted in the dim light. Yes, the hand was damp, unmistakably—so were his pants.

“What in the ... ?” He startled, a move that Wilbur apparently understood as an invitation to lick his face enthusiastically. “Christ! Stop it,” he growled, still trying to make sense out of the whole scene.

He looked at his damp hand; back at Wilbur—and then it dawned on him.

“Ewwwwww, oh for fuck’s sake, Wilbur, I thought we were over this? No peeing in the flat, bloody hell.” He quickly wiped down his hand on his bed sheet, rubbing his eyes with the other one and lit the bedside lamp. A sticky sensation between his legs made him squirm.

He lifted the bed covers; then the waistband of his briefs. Jesus Christ. Creamed—as if he was fucking fourteen again. Ugh. He pressed both heels of his palms to his eyes, realising a nanosecond too late why the right one had just been wet.

“Aarrgh,” he nearly retched, flinging his hand as far from his face as possible, wiping his eye with his naked shoulder.

“Jesus fucking Christ, wet dream my arse. This is not how these things are supposed to go, I’m way too fucking old for this shit.” He groaned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed onto the rug.

They splashed into a puddle.

“What the fuck?” he squealed, glancing around.

Moisture was seeping through the rug beneath him, but it wasn’t just a puddle.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!”

Panic set in as he surveyed the room, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“Edda, Wilbur, sofa, now. Stay.” He ordered before jumping up, rolling the rug away from the mattress and hurrying across the room, sloshing through the water.

With a sinking feeling, he barged towards the kitchenette, reaching the washing machine. Water gushed from beneath it, flooding the floor. He knelt down to stem the flow, but it was no use. He sprung up again.

“Fucking, fuck, shit, fuck, what the fucking hell, you fuck-knuckled piece of rotten crap.” He grabbed the machine. “Why are you so fucking heavy, mother fucking shitey bollocks!”

The cold water splashed around his ankles. He frantically tried to jolt the washing machine out of its place to reach the hose and the stopcock hidden behind. He slipped.

“You fucking cunt fuck shit motherfucker,” he hollered, his hand shooting up, groping desperately for something to hold onto. His eyes flew to the wall clock. It was 4:10 a.m..

Eventually, his fingers got hold of the edge of the worktop, and he hauled himself up panting like a racehorse.

“Aaaaaarghh,” he grunted, kicking his knee into the machine in frustration—making it move just enough to reach the hose and the stopcock. “Ouch! Ugh!” he groaned as he contorted himself, slipped yet again and scratched his thumb on something sharp. Finally, after what felt like half an eternity he managed to get the stiff stopcock to move and turned it off.

“Jesus bloody Christ, it’s too early for this shit!” He inspected his bleeding thumb, flung the first tea towel he could grope around, crossed his arms, propped them onto the machine and let his head fall onto them.

Edda watched him; silently with an expression that could only be described as, “You’re a disgrace to humanity.”

“Oh, don’t come at me, miss! You’re not exactly Audrey Hepburn either, rolling in your own dog shit”.

He took a second to survey the extent of destruction. It was bad. Not disastrously bad, but bad. The whole kitchenette was drenched, his rug soaked and if he didn’t start mopping right now, there was zero chance the sofa and his mattress would stay dry. Not to mention that he needed to move every single item to get the rug out.

“Sod it… ” He mumbled and grabbed his phone.

It rang three… times… four times… five times… Mailbox.

He dialled again. It rang.

Three times ... four times ... five times ... a click and a rustling noise came from the other end of the line.

“Hey,” Harry said, “Sorry for calli—”

“Are you lying half-dead in the gutter?” a groggy Irish accent cut him off.

“No, I’m—”

“Good.” A click and the line went dead.

“Nialler, for fuck’s sake!” Harry grunted, clenching his fist and pressing it against his forehead. He took a deep breath and dialled again.

RING ... RING ... RING ...

This time, there was a longer pause before Niall’s voice came through the speaker, still heavy with sleep. “It’s fucking four o’clock. You have five seconds to explain before I throw you in the gutter myself.”

“My flat has flooded. Wilbur and Edda are sitting on the sofa like they’re on Noah’s fucking ark. Everything is drenched and I need you to come over. Bring a mop, a bucket and whilst you’re at it, a plaster and some disinfectant would be appreciated too. Be quick.” Harry sputtered.

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Niall?” he cautiously asked.

“That was the fastest I’ve ever heard you speak in my whole life. Let me process that for a second, will ya?”

Eleven minutes later the doorbell rang. God, he loved the Irish.

As the door swung open, Niall stumbled into the flat, bucket in the left hand, mop and an array of clothes in the other, wellies on his feet, hair sticking up in disarray.

“Bejaysus! What God of holy floodwaters did you piss off, mate? What happened?” His voice cut through the stale air, the unmistakable scent of soaked rug and wet dog making him pull a face.

“This motherfucking piece of trash decided to turn my flat into a bloody swimming pool, is what happened.” Harry grunted, pointing towards the washing machine, throwing another three books onto the makeshift pile of belongings stacked in the corner of the room.

“Shit.” Niall replied, “good thing you’re on the ground floor then… ” His gaze flicked over Harry, an eyebrow shooting up.

They’d roomed together for half of their uni life, and later some more, so it really wasn’t like Niall had never seen him in briefs only. In fact, Harry was pretty sure that that was the outfit he’d seen him in the most since there wasn’t much Harry hated more than restrictive clothing at home. Yet, he felt oddly watched.

“I’d offer you a coffee, but given the circumstances I’ve disconnected the power and shut off the fuse.”

“Don’t bother, we’ll get a proper one once we’re done here. You pile, I mop?” he gestured towards the respective areas and grinned in his genuinely warm way that always made Harry’s heart feel better within seconds. Harry smiled in return, a certain sense of relief settling in.

“Deal.” He grabbed another pile of books, turned around and said: “Um… thanks for coming… mate.”

“Meh, you’re fine.” Niall said, tossing a bunch of towels and clothes on the floor to build a rampart around the mattress.

“Speaking of coming, mate,” he said, over-enunciating the last word. “Why exactly are there wank stains on your briefs? New kink unlocked? Are you getting off on wet dog stench now, Styles?”

Fuck! Harry’s cheeks burned up, realising why Niall had ogled him that way. Shit, fuck, bollocks, bloody hell. In all the chaos and being soaked from head to toe, he’d totally forgotten to put on a fresh pair. Of course Niall had to notice. God, he hated the Irish.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he stammered, dropping his chin to his chest and letting out an uncontrolled moan. “This,”—his hand made a circled motion over his crotch—“never happened! You haven’t seen shit. We are never going to talk about it, and if you do, I will have to murder you.”

Niall barked out a laugh.

“Okay, okay. And what DID NOT happen to your thumb?”

Harry’s eyes fell on the red blotched towel. He shrugged. “Just a scratch, nothing major.”

“Let me see,” he grabbed Harry’s hand, removing the towel and inspecting the wound with a furrowed brow.

“It’s nothing, really. The bloody stopcock was stiff and it took my all to screw it.” Harry said, drawing his hand back.

Niall looked at him, eyes lit with a twinkle of mischief, doing his very best not to burst out into laughter. “The stopcock was stiff and it took your all to screw it?” Okay, he nearly choked from stifling that laugh. “I know there’s a joke in there. If only I knew which one.”

Harry threw a wet cloth in his face. Niall shrieked, jumping into the bathroom, cleaning himself off.

“Stopcock, cockstop,” he yelled cackling. “Anyway, let’s get this thumb cleaned up before it catches an STI.”

Chapter Text

Harry slumped in his office chair, nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee, while Niall sprawled on the adjacent sofa, his BLT dangling precariously from his hand. He shifted, took a massive bite, and offered a sympathetic glance to Harry.

“You know, you could always crash at my place. It’s not like we’re not used to sharing a shoe box.”

“Yeah, right.” Harry chuckled. “Thanks for the offer, I do appreciate it, but that was before these two were attached to my hip,” he said, pointing towards the two dogs dozing in their beds. “Sleeping in here is perfectly fine. The sofa bed is actually more comfortable than the floor mattress at home. Plus, you’ve been doing so well lately. I don’t want you relapsing into your cleaning compulsion just because those little stink balls trash your place.”

“Yeah, as if it were the rascals who’d trash the place…”

“Heyyy. I resent that. I’ll have you know that just the other day I managed to keep the kitchen counter clear for a whole day.”

Niall raised an eyebrow. “And how much time of that whole day were you actually at your place?”

“Shut up.”

“How much, Harold?” he asked, leaning forward to snatch the crumpled paper bag from the coffee table.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, lunging for the bag. “That’s MY sandwich.”

“YOU WOKE ME UP AT FUCKING 4:00 a.m., I NEED COMFORT FOOD. YOU DON’T EVEN EAT BREAKFAST MOST DAYS,” Niall barked, frowning, and clutching the bag.

“I’ve been awake since 3:30 a.m., that’s my bloody breakfast, lunch, AND dinner. Take your sticky claws off my mozzarella and tomato sandwich!” Harry yelled back, crashing onto Niall.

Half a second later, it had escalated into an eager tussle over the bag, with Harry half on his knees, wedged between Niall’s legs, wrestling for control, chaotic and fully undignified.

“Oi, wanker!” Niall shrieked as the sandwich slipped from his grasp and tumbled right onto Niall’s crotch, mayo first, leaving a messy stain.

He looked down at the mess, looked up to Harry. “Oh fucking hell, that’s a déjà-vu if I ever saw one,” he moaned, trying to wipe most of the mess away with his hand making it only worse. “What is it with you staining bottoms today—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the door flung open, and Harry jolted right between Niall’s knees.

The first thing he saw were two perfect butt cheeks encased in fitted black jeans, pressing backwards through the door, and a slender back in a light blue, striped Burberry wool polo shirt. His breath hitched.

The slender back turned around and of fucking course it was HIM barging in. Because of bloody course Harry’s life was a fucking farce and a joke to the gods above.

As he shoved himself through the door gap, both hands full with two coffee cups, and a paper bag clenched between his teeth, he froze mid-step, eyebrows shooting up at the scene before him. Harry wanted to die on the spot.

“What the… ? Shit. Well, that’s… unexpected,” Louis burst out, letting the bag drop into his elbow bend. “Sorry, um, I didn’t realise… I’ll just… don’t mind me. Um… just finish whatever you started. I’ll… uh… I’ll come back later,” he stammered, cheeks flushing a deep shade of red as he started to backpedal out of the room.

Harry scrambled to his feet, his face matching Louis’ blush in intensity. “Fuck. No, no. It’s not what it looks like, we were only fighting over a sandwich!”

Niall’s cackle erupted through the room. “Well if that isn’t a way to meet after, what? Almost twenty years?” He too jumped to his feet, extending his hand for a handshake, only to realise it was still covered in mayo. His laughter doubled as he quickly wiped his hand on his jeans, trying to salvage some dignity. “I swear it’s just mayo, not spunk.”

A beat.

“That’d be his job,” he cackled, pointing towards Harry.

Harry choked on thin air.

Bash his head with a frying pan. Stick his face in a blender. Impale him with an ice pick. Launch him into the sun. Oh, Harry was going to end the Irishman in so many ways. And then some more. Harry’s mind ran wild.

Louis shot Harry a look that gave away nothing. Absolutely nothing. A tingling swept up the back of his neck and across his face, his ears feeling impossibly hot. He so was going to murder Niall, the absolute wanker.

Louis finally stepped into the room and set the coffees and the bag down on ‘his’ desk. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders while staring at the wall before surveying the room and answering Niall.

“Niall Horan. Who would have thought,” he said, eyes starting to crinkle. “Although, to be honest, I’m not even surprised to see you two together.” He let out a small giggle that shot right through Harry’s heart. “Congratulations, didn’t know you two were… yeah, but makes sense. You were practically living in each other’s pockets already back then. Almost jealous, really, that after so many years you’re still so into each other to have nights making you look like this… ” He waved his open palm through the air towards Niall’s dishevelled hair and grinned sheepishly.

“We what?” Niall spluttered, his laughter filling the room once again, while Harry desperately hoped for the ground to swallow him alive. “Oh fuck, no. As much as I love that one,” he pointed to Harry, “I am done with dick. Finished, sworn off, over, finito. No offence, H, I know your dick is great and every guy can call himself lucky who gets to have it up his—”

“NIALL!” Harry bawled.

“I mean, I don’t know know, but I know—”

“NIALL!!”

Niall froze awkwardly.

“Could we maybe now stop talking about spunk and my dick, and get you to clean yourself up before your next patient comes in?” Harry said, voice low and a little wavering, concentrating intensely on a thread sticking out from the seam of his shirt.

“Oh. Of course,” Niall babbled, “I didn’t mean to… I just meant, given you… earlier… ”

“Don’t make me hurt you, Niall. I swear I will.” Harry grunted, face flushed, letting out a forceful breath.

Louis leaned against the desk, arms crossed in front of his chest, ogling their slugfest with furrowed brows and a hint of a smirk crossing the corner of his mouth.

Niall’s gaze shot to Louis, then back to Harry, finally noticing Harry’s flush and desperation.

“Oh,” it dawned on him. “Oooh.”

Harry stepped towards one of the sideboards, pulled out a pair of jeans and threw it into Niall’s face.

“Go change.”

Niall caught the jeans, his expression shifting from realisation to amusement. “Right, yeah, thanks mate,” he muttered, hastily making his exit from the room. Not without quipping over his shoulder, “Be safe kids.”

God, Harry really, really was going to kill him.

Once Niall had disappeared, leaving Louis and Harry alone in the room, the tension seemed to ease slightly. Louis chuckled softly, shaking his head at the chaotic scene he’d stumbled upon.

“So, Niall then?” he said, his blue eyes sparkling with glee.

Harry let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Yeah, so glad you got to meet him again after all this time. Too bad it was also the last time since I will end him later.” He replied, cheeks still flushed with embarrassment.

Louis leaned against the desk, his posture relaxed as he watched Harry with—was that a fond expression?

“You two haven’t changed a bit,” he commented, yes—that was definitely fondness in his tone.

Harry dramatically clutched his heart, staggering back like he’d been shot. “You wound me, Tomlinson. After all these years. What a mean thing to say. I’m at least a head taller and finally growing facial hair.”

Louis’ eyes twinkled—and then he winked.

Harry felt every synapse in his brain malfunction.

“That you are, Styles,” Louis murmured, lips quirking. “That you are.”

Louis pinched the back of his middle finger. Hard. What the actual fuck? Had he just winked at Harry and alluded that he’d grown up nice?

At a guy? A gay guy? A gay guy who—let’s be real—was just hooking up with his… well, Niall, for lack of a better word?

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Liam would have a field day with this, always taking the piss about his complete inability to notice when he was sending out misleading signals. This time even he could see how this might have come across wrong. Very very wrong.

Sure, he hadn’t had coffee yet, but there was no way last night’s lack of sleep had fried that many brain cells. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, trying his best to brush the thought off.

Harry’s cheeks were positively glowing, his gaze darting anywhere but at Louis. He didn’t say a word.

Somehow Louis even felt a strange sense of relief—at least he wasn’t the only one thrown off by whatever the hell had just happened. Still, there was something about the way Harry held himself, tense and fidgety, that made him pause.

And was it weird that he kind of missed seeing the dimples?

“So… you and Niall then?” He ended up saying, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry’s eyes widened in shock, his body stilling for a moment, cheeks flushing even more crimson. “Oh, fuck no.” He sputtered out. “No. Not in this life, not in a past one and not in the next one.”

“Ouch, that’s harsh.” Louis chuckled.

“No, not like that, I mean— “

“Okay, okay, Curly.” Louis raised his hands in surrender, still wearing a playful smirk. He grabbed one of the coffee cups, holding it out to Harry with a nod. “Not my business anyway.”

“Oh, uh—thanks,” Harry took the cup with a tight smile. When their fingers brushed, he jolted. Not much, but enough for Louis to catch. Then he let out a gut-wrenching sigh. “God, there’s not enough coffee in the world to get me through this day.”

“Ha! So, the night WAS wild!” Louis exclaimed, instantly questioning his word choice at the sight of Harry flinching and shrinking onto his chair, tense and uncomfortable. He watched him fidgeting with his fingers, avoiding eye contact, grabbing his coffee mug and downing it so fast that he literally had to burn his throat.

“You okay?” He finally asked.

Harry’s eyes darted around the room before settling on Louis momentarily, his lips forming a tight line. “Yeah, yeah, just a bit tired, you know how it is.”

Yeah, no. Louis wasn’t buying it. They hadn’t gotten to know each other that very well over the last few days, but well enough that when it came to Harry he knew there was a level of weird and a level of weird. And today was WEIRD. With a capital W. Even Edda was eyeing him suspiciously, letting out small whines.

“Okay, spill. You’ve been acting like a cat on a hot tin roof since I got here. Just for the record, I really don’t care about any arrangement you have with Niall, you’re both adults—”

“OH MY GOD, I AM NOT BANGING NIALL HORAN!” Harry all but squeaked. “My bloody washing machine broke and ripped me out of a w—out—out of sleep.” His breath caught in his throat. “I just rang him up in the middle of the night to help me clean up the mess before I had to throw out everything.

“Wow, that sucks—I mean the washing machine part, not the not-banging-Niall part.” Louis let out a small cackle at his own joke, but it got stuck in his throat. Harry really looked beaten. The way his facial expressions sagged, the way his head hung, letting out long exhales, absentmindedly biting his lower lip… the sight left Louis unsettled.

He cleared his throat, rubbed his hands together, and adjusted his fringe. “Sorry for making assumptions, by the way. It was really not my place; I was just taking the piss because… well… it’s Niall.”

Harry looked up, their eyes locking, and a strange tingle prickled over Louis’ skin. “No, it’s okay.” Harry said, “I’m sure we looked totally ridiculous. But there is really nothing going on between us. Nothing more than what goes on between you and Ben.” A weak smile hushed over his face.

“Ew,” Louis said. “That’s a picture I don’t need in my head.” He ran a hand through his hair, coming to a halt at the bottom of his neck, stretching and massaging it slightly. There was a minute in which neither of them said a word.

“Are you sure you’re alright, though?” He asked, concerned. “I mean, flooding your flat in the middle of the night, that’s just… rough.”

Harry let out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping as he nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. It was a mess. But it could have been worse, I think we managed to clean everything up before it caused any major damage. There’s only a cellar beneath me and the flat is mostly tiles and concrete floors with vinyl covering, so it shouldn’t be too bad. It’ll take a few to dry out properly, though. Worst case, I’ll have to rip out the vinyl.”

Louis nodded understandingly. Harry took another sip of his coffee, his gaze distant as he seemed lost in thought.

“Hey,” Louis said gently, placing a hand on Harry’s arm.

Harry momentarily winced—just for a second—looking like he’d been caught nicking the last biscuit.

What the heck? Not even four days ago, the curly oaf had practically launched himself into Louis’ arms over the stupid WiFi thing and now, he was wincing at an arm touch? Make it make sense.

And speaking of things that made no sense: why the fuck did Louis suddenly have the urge to put the lad on that damn sofa, wrap him in a blanket, and make him take a nap after telling him everything will be alright?

He cleared his throat. “Look, if you need… I don’t know—somewhere to crash or just someone to vent to who’s not Irish. I’m not a saint, but I’m not a complete arsehole either.”

Harry looked up, eyes big and unreadable, something flashing behind them that made Louis' stomach twist in a way he really didn’t want to examine. But then, Harry offered a small, lopsided smile, something almost shy about it.

“Thanks, Lou. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

Louis started to pull his hand away, but for a split second—just a heartbeat—Harry’s arm moved as if to follow, as if he almost…

Nah, he was imagining things. Just his own tired brain playing weird tricks on him.

“Maybe just take it easy today, yeah? You look like you could use a break. By the way, I brought tuna mayo bagels.”

At that, Harry’s face lit up, and two dimples popped up. Finally. Something in Louis’ chest loosened, stretching wide and warm.

“God yeah. A break sounds perfect. And tuna bagels aren’t half-bad either. Actually, they’re my favourite.

With that, they settled in, the earlier tension fading as they ate, sipping coffee amidst the usual morning chaos.

After their little breakfast Louis had checked on Ben, who had promptly fallen asleep on him, the fucker. So, his options were: sit it out until Ben woke up, call it a day and head to the office, or—for some reason he refused to analyse—go back to Harry’s.

The coffee in Harry’s office really was that good, so option three it was.

Louis found him sitting at his desk, staring intently at the computer screen, dark circles marring his usually bright eyes, and shoulders sagged.

“Hey,” he said, stepping into the room. “Am I interrupting?”

“Hey. No, not really. I’m just about ready to throw this stupid computer out the window.”

“PEBCAK, Styles, PEBCAK.”

“Huh?”

Louis had to stifle a laugh at the puzzled look Harry shot him.

“Problem Exists Between Chair and Keyboard.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Listen, Ben’s out like a light, and my spine officially hates me. Do you mind if I… ? Not here to give you shit, promise—just the chair… ”

Harry snorted. “Look at that, Tomlinson, are you telling me you’re getting old?”

“Oi. Fuck that, I’m not the one looking as if I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards after losing half a night of sleep.”

“Who said I was sleeping the first half?” Harry replied, immediately biting his lip.

“And there I thought you wanted to stop talking about your dick… ”

Harry gasped. “Oh, bloody hell,” he let his head fall dramatically to the keyboard, pulling out bleeping sounds from the computer. “Sit down and be quiet. I beg you. I am very busy and very important.”

Louis let out a warm and genuine laugh as he passed Harry’s desk to sit down on ‘his’ desk. His eyes landed on the screen, where the Calvin Klein website was open, the shopping bag filled with an assortment of new pants. “Zero doubts on that. We sure as fuck can’t have you leading a ward and making life-saving decisions while going commando, can we?” The computer still bleeped. “Briefs though, Styles? Really? You sure the Irish doesn’t prefer you in a pair of good old jock straps?”

“I AM NOT SHAGGING NIALL— ugh, just sit down and be quiet.”

Louis couldn’t help but grin as he settled into the chair beside Harry’s desk, watching with amusement as Harry frantically tried to regain control of his computer. For whatever reason he took unreasonable pleasure in riling this man up. The way he flustered so easily while having this sharp mind and quick sense of humour was something he—to his own surprise—found incredibly appealing.

They fell into a comfortable silence and continued to work next to each other for a good thirty minutes. Every so often Louis heard Harry gritting his teeth and letting out desperate sighs, accompanied by indecent mumblings directed at his screen. When he hadn’t heard the unmistakable soundscape for another good ten minutes he looked up.

Instead of working with the all so familiar hospital software, Louis saw him browsing another shopping site. This time it was some online appliance shop. He internally cackled at the sombre face Harry was pulling: scrunched nose and knitted eyebrows, eyes flicking back and forth between the various washing machines displayed on the screen. It was almost comical, the way he seemed to be completely absorbed in his quest to find whatever he was looking for. He definitely had a process. First he clicked on one model, then clicked on every single picture, then switched to google to look for reviews, read them, clicked back to the shop site and repeated the same steps with what felt like every single model.

As Harry continued to scroll through the website, Louis found himself studying him more closely, noticing the way his brow furrowed in concentration and the way his lips pursed in thought. There was a quiet intensity about him that Louis found oddly attractive; puzzling—but attractive. He watched him for a certain time until he couldn’t take it anymore. As much as he admired his attention to detail, thoroughness, and dedication, the amount of indecisiveness made Louis itch.

“You’re procrastinating.” He announced suddenly, no longer able to hold it in and causing Harry to tear his gaze away from the screen.

“What?” Harry replied, caught off guard.

“You’re procrastinating!” He repeated, gesturing towards the screen. “How difficult can it be to buy a washing machine?”

Harry blinked, a puzzled expression crossing his face. “But you need to… I mean, you can’t just… ”

Louis stood up, walking over to Harry’s side, and examining the options on the screen. After a moment, he pointed to one of the models. “There, take that one.”

Harry stared at him incredulously. “What? How can you… I mean, how can you tell if it’s good?”

“Let me look. It has a compartment for washing powder, it draws water, it can heat the water from 30°C to 90°C. Looks perfectly fine to me.”

Harry hesitated, still uncertain. “Yeah, but… ”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake buy the stupid machine,” Louis interrupted, exasperated. “And until it gets delivered, drop your laundry at mine.”

He turned on his heel and sat back down like that was the end of it.

Across from him Harry seemed to fight for his sanity. Just when he was about to turn his focus back on his document, Harry came back to life.

“I can’t drop my laundry at yours!” He blurted, looking oddly terrified.

Louis rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Jesus, Styles, are you or are you not wearing a t-shirt that says ‘Stop Staring At My Cock’ with a chicken on it under these scrubs? And don’t you dare lie to me, I saw it earlier under your shirt before you threw the scrubs on. Plus, I saw you ordering new boxer briefs half an hour ago. I need to do the girls’ laundry anyway. Just get over yourself and bring that basket to mine. I can’t stand you, but you won’t make it any better if you’re gonna sit next to me scratching your balls because you got a rash from wearing new boxers straight out of the pack.” He leaned in, his impatience evident. “And now for the love of everything that’s holy, show me what it is with all the teeth-gritting over that software you’re using. I might be able to help with a thing or two.”