Chapter Text

DECEMBER 

Saturday morning, Harry wakes up early, happy to greet the day. He’s got a date later with a guaranteed orgasm after. All he has to do is close the deal, so he decides to do a little research while the rest of the house is asleep. Harry’s no stranger to porn. He’s watched his fair share, but not in an educational way, which is what he sets out to do. 

In an incognito window, he searches for gay porn, and is overwhelmed by the results, so he searches instead for ‘how to be good at gay sex’ and is less overwhelmed by the results, but underwhelmed by the content when he clicks through. 

Yes, sex isn’t only about penetration. He already knows that. Everything he reads tells him to communicate with his partner, and explore what they like together, but what he really wants is just to get off with Paul. He doesn’t want to think about it. Or talk about it. 

The more he reads the more he thinks maybe he doesn’t know what he’s doing at all. He and Spencer never really talked about sex, they sort of fumbled their way into bed, and continued fumbling until they both orgasmed. Eventually it got better, but they also had six years of practice. Now, Harry’s older, but apparently not at all wiser. 

Feeling like he may never have sex with another person again, Harry closes his laptop and cleans his room instead. Then he calls Zayn.

“I don’t think the purple panties are the thing to wear tonight,” Zayn says, linking his arm with Harry’s as they walk into a boutique that Zayn insisted would have exactly what Harry needs. “You want to go sexy, but not over the top, you know?”

Harry points to his frown and says, “This is the face of a man who knows exactly what you’re saying.”

“Okay, what I’m saying is, the purple lace bikinis are more like… something you’d wear when dressing up for your boyfriend on a special occasion,” Zayn explains, leading Harry away from the red lace thongs to a display on the other side of the store. “What you want is something more simple, but still sexy.”

“You sound like Niall,” Harry says, recalling the wedding they attended in September, and Niall’s hissing rules. “Sexy, simple, skin, scent.”

“Well, in this case, he’s not wrong,” Zayn concedes, picking up a pair of black cotton bikini briefs. “I’m thinking something like this. You undress, Paul gets a little look at your cock in these, and you gauge his reaction. If he’s turned on by these, then you can dip your toes into something a little lacy.”

“Dip my toes,” Harry says with a snort. “More like dip my penis.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose. “Please don’t say that.”

“Ugh… Sorry, I’m just so nervous.”

“Why though? Not that I’m against you trying something a little sexier in the underwear department, Mr. Briefs,” Zayn says, tapping Harry on the nose. “But you know it’s not necessary, right?”

“But what if it is?” Harry asks, wandering back over to the lacy red thongs. He picks up a pair that has bells where there might normally be a bow, and gives them a jingle. “Spencer cheated on me, and I don’t know… Maybe if I’d been less vanilla in bed, he wouldn’t’ve.”

“Spencer cheated because he’s an asshole.” Zayn takes the Santa Panties away from Harry, and says, “But there’s nothing wrong with being more adventurous.”

“Should I try these on?” Harry asks, holding up the tiny black bikini briefs.

“Nah,” Zayn says, grabbing a pair of Santa Panties in his size. “Those’ll fit you. And if they’re a little tight, that’ll work in your favor.”

When evening comes, Harry showers to kickstart himself into getting ready for his date, and then drags himself out to the kitchen. 

“How’d your date go last night?” Liam asks, and Harry shakes his head. He and Louis and Niall are all in the kitchen, and there’s no reason not to spill, so he does. 

“Not well, Liam. Not well,” Harry says, glancing at Louis. “But we’re starting over tonight. And just to warn you, Paul’s going to be staying over after we, you know, do it.”

“Do it?” Niall raises his eyebrows.

“Do it,” Harry repeats, rounding the table to open the fridge and look for something to snack on even though he’s about to go out to dinner. “Gonna take him to pound town. You know how it is.”

“Why would you tell us that?” Louis asks with a frown. 

“Because I want you to be prepared,” Harry says with a shrug. “I’m prepared.”

“Are you?” Niall asks, sliding onto a stool beside Liam. 

“Yes,” Harry says, closing the fridge, and finding a banana in the fruit bowl. 

“The way you’re peeling that banana leads me to believe you aren’t prepared,” Niall says, and Harry sticks his tongue out. 

“I always peel them from the bottom,” Harry says, taking a big bite of banana. 

“Deep throat a loaf of French bread like that and you might die,” Louis says, and Harry tries not to choke. 

Liam narrows his eyes, looking from Louis to Harry. “Why would he—”

“Never mind,” Harry interrupts before he can finish his question. “Okay, so I lied. I’m not prepared. I’m honestly worried that I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time. Like, maybe Spencer’s just a fluke? What if I suck in bed?”

“That would be a good thing,” Louis says, pointing at Harry’s half-eaten banana. 

“Seriously, though,” Liam says, leaning his forearms onto the kitchen table. “Stick to the basics. Dick in hand, dick in mouth, dick in ass if you’re feeling froggy.”

“Harold’s always feeling froggy,” Louis says, reaching up to poke Harry’s cheek where his dimple would be. “Haven’t you seen him?”

“Stop saying I look like a frog, Lewis!” Harry swats his arm, and says, “You’re not helping.”

“Boring,” Niall says, lowering his voice an octave and singing the word. “Handjobs, blowjobs, missionary, blah, blah, blah. I bet Paul’s into some freaky shit.”

“You do?” Harry asks, eyes going wide as he wonders what Niall might consider freaky shit. 

“Oh, yeah,” Niall says with a smug smile. 

“Don’t listen to him, Harry,” Louis says, shoving Niall off his stool. “There’s nothing wrong with missionary.”

“Or blowjobs,” Liam says, and Louis nods. 

“Or handjobs,” Louis adds. 

“Listen,” Niall says, climbing back onto his stool and staring hard at Louis. “Some people are the bread and butter type, you know? But I bet Paul’s a wild man in the sheets. It’s always the ones you least expect.”

Harry pinches his lower lip, tugging on it. He’d never expect Paul to be into anything other than vanilla sex, but some of the porn he watched earlier did get him hot when he didn’t think it would. And not just because it’s been so long since he’s had sex. He masturbated last night before he went to sleep. 

One video where the sex was pretty straight forward, but the lead up to it included a spanking that left the guy’s ass covered in pink handprints, had Harry so hot he had to close his laptop and walk it off. So maybe that’s something to try. 

“Thanks, guys,” Harry says, wondering if Paul might actually be into those purple panties. 

“Don’t listen to Niall,” Louis says, and Liam nods.

“Ignore Niall.” Liam points to Harry’s banana, and says, “Trust your instincts.” 

“I’m right!” Niall insists, hopping off his stool. “I know I’m right. Maybe a little light choking, a little B to the D to the S to the M? A little spank, spank, spank? Oh, Paul loves that shit. I can tell.”

Backing away from the kitchen, Harry hopes Niall can’t tell what he’s into because he’s not sure, but maybe it’s some of that. He turns and runs back to his room, ignoring Louis and Liam’s pleas that he listen to them and not Niall. They’re going for sushi tonight because Harry figured it was as different from pizza as possible, and Harry catches himself pulling out his usual sushi sweatshirt. 

“No, dummy,” Harry says to himself, putting the sweatshirt back on the shelf as he reads the large bubble letters and laughs. “I love sushi soy much. Another day, sushi sweatshirt.”

Instead, Harry debates between his favorite rose colored blouse and a black sweater, finally deciding on the black sweater because he doesn’t know if Paul will like him in a blouse. He did seem to appreciate Harry’s outfit for Thanksgiving, but the blouse is different. Maybe once they get to know each other a little better, Harry will bring out his more feminine clothes. 

The black bikini briefs are snug, but not tight enough to be uncomfortable, and Harry can see the appeal. They make his cock seem bigger, and his ass looks amazing in them. He pops the elastic on his hip, and finishes getting dressed. When he’s ready to go, Harry paces his room, stops to double check that the condoms and lube are in his bedside table, then paces some more. He spritzes cologne on himself, sprays a little on his bed, and continues pacing until the doorbell rings. 

“Paul, Paul, Paul,” Harry chants, grabbing his phone and wallet and heading for the door. Louis and Liam are on the couch, and Niall’s in the kitchen, so on his way out of the loft, Harry calls, “Don't wait up, boys!”

“Hey,” Paul says as Harry closes the door. “In a hurry?”

“Kind of?” Harry shrugs, pushing the button for the elevator, and stepping in when it opens instantly. “I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, I am,” Paul says, standing beside Harry, and taking his hand. “I love sushi soy much.”

“Shut up!” Harry yells, and Paul cringes. “No! Sorry, I just… I have that on a shirt. It’s my sushi shirt and I always wear it when I go out for sushi and I was going to wear it tonight, but…”

“Next time?” Paul smiles, and Harry nods.

“Next time.”

For once in his life, Harry doesn’t eat too much sushi. He takes his time and stops before he’s too full, drinking plenty of water alongside his cold sake so he’ll stay mostly sober. It’s a good date. Better than the pizza the night before, and that was good too. They chat and joke and giggle and even feed each other a little bit. It’s a wonderful evening, and Harry is sure it’s going to end with amazing sex. 

They hold hands on the way up to the loft which is empty when they get there, and Harry leads Paul to his room, happy that he gave the guys a heads up about his plans so they cleared out. Behind the closed door of his bedroom, Harry strips out of his sweater, and yanks Paul closer with a tight grip on his hips. Remembering what Louis said about Paul’s ass, Harry slides his hands down and grabs both cheeks in his hands, smiling against Paul's lips when he moans at the touch. 

“Like that?” Harry asks. When Paul nods, Harry growls, and spins him around, pushing him towards the bed just like in the porn he watched earlier. “Hands and knees. Ass up.”

“Wha— Oh,” Paul whispers, getting on Harry’s bed on all fours. 

Harry swings his arm back, and smacks Paul’s ass. Paul gasps and his body moves with it, but he stays put, so Harry does it again, and again, and then he hauls off, slapping Paul’s ass right in the center, and he yelps, falling forward. 

“Shit! You okay?” Harry asks, and Paul nods, laying down on his back. 

“I liked that, but, um…” Paul clears his throat, and asks, “Can we, um, can we maybe kiss for a little while?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Harry says, nodding quickly as he climbs on top of Paul. They roll together, kissing sweetly, and as Paul stretches out on top of him, Harry thinks about Niall’s suggestions. Spanking went okay, and while it didn’t get Harry as worked up as he thought it would, Paul’s hard against his thigh, so Harry slides his hands up Paul’s arms, over his shoulders to circle his hands around his neck. He squeezes, and Paul grunts, so Harry licks into his mouth and squeezes harder. 

“Ow, you’re hurting me… You’re…” Paul jerks back coughing and sucking air as he sits up, and says, “That hurt. Oh, god…”

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, and Paul stands up, still coughing and clearing his throat.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I’m okay,” Paul insists, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Let me help!” Harry hops off the bed, crossing the room. “I’ll get you some water.”

“No!” Paul shakes his head, reaching for the doorknob. “No. I’ll… I have to go home. Now.” 

Before Harry can say another word, Paul’s gone, and he’s left alone in his room to wonder where exactly he went wrong. Probably the choking. 

The next morning, Harry wakes up and immediately regrets doing so. If possible, he’d sleep the whole day. He’s going to have to see Paul at school on Monday. Or maybe not. Maybe they can avoid each other for the rest of their lives. 

Harry forces himself out of bed because if he’s going to be awake, he might as well have coffee. He trudges to the kitchen only to find Louis and Liam there. 

“Paul still in bed?” Liam asks with a wink.

“Don't you guys ever work?” Harry asks, and Liam laughs.

“I have a temp job where I staple papers all day,” Liam says, sipping his coffee. 

“I’m a bartender, Harold,” Louis says, brushing his hair off his face, and frowning. “I go in at three this afternoon.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, picking up the coffee pot and pouting. It’s empty, so he rinses it out and sets it in the sink to fill it with water. “And no. Paul isn’t still in bed. Or maybe he is, but he’s not in my bed because he went home last night. Things did not go well.”

“Sorry, man,” Liam says, getting up and dumping the dregs of his coffee in the sink. “What happened?”

“Oh, um… He left. He got scared,” Harry says, pouring water into the well of the coffee maker. He dumps out the old grounds, and replaces the filter, then grabs the canister of coffee. 

“Why?” Louis asks, tilting his head to the side like he knows there’s more to it. 

As quietly as he can, Harry says, “Because I choked him.”

“What?” Louis and Liam ask in stereo.

Harry finally manages to open the coffee canister only for it to be empty. “There’s no coffee?”

“Oh, shit, yeah, sorry,” Louis says, reaching for the empty canister before Harry can throw it. “It’s on the list. Niall’s going grocery shopping later.”

“That doesn’t help me now,” Harry whines, letting his head fall back as if to ask the universe what he did to deserve this, but he knows. Eyes burning with unshed tears, Harry walks away to hide in his bedroom for eternity. 

Unfortunately, eternity alone only lasts a few minutes. It ends when Liam pokes his head in, and says, “Hey, man.”

“Hey,” Harry says, closing his eyes when Louis appears behind Liam. “I messed up so bad.”

“This is why we don’t listen to Niall,” Liam says, shaking his head. 

“Harold, you can’t just choke people without their permission,” Louis says, sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed. “Like, you have to talk that shit out ahead of time.”

“Yep,” Liam says with a knowing nod. 

“I know that now,” Harry says, pulling his comforter up and twisting the edge of it in his hands while he thinks about the things he Googled last night after Paul left. “It’s just that, like, when I was with Spencer, I didn’t have to think about this stuff. We just did it. I mean, we were together for so long. And I’ve only ever had sex with a couple of other guys beside him. And one girl.”

“Ooh, tell me more,” Liam says, climbing onto Harry’s bed and sitting beside him. 

“I was seventeen.” Shrugging, Harry laughs at the memory. “Not much else to it.”

Louis scoots up to sit on Harry’s other side, and says, “You’re in your head too much. You have to stop thinking about it. Paul likes you.”

“Yeah, man,” Liam agrees, uncrossing his ankles and gently kicking Harry’s foot. “Paul’s really into you.”

“You just need to relax, and like…” Louis takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then says, “Just be you, Harry. Who you are is awesome.”

“Yep, and if for some reason Paul doesn’t like it—which isn’t going to happen because I’ve seen the way he looks at you—then you don’t want him anyway,” Liam says, reaching over and tousling Harry’s curls. 

“Thanks, guys,” Harry says, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. 

“You want what’s left of my coffee?” Louis asks, and Harry turns his head, biting Louis’ arm. “Ouch!” Louis smacks Harry’s thigh, and gets off the bed. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“I don’t want your backwash, Lewis,” Harry says, trying to hit him with a pillow. 

“Get some clothes on, and I’ll walk with you to get a coffee, alright?” Louis offers, and Harry grins. 

“You coming, Li?” Harry asks, but Liam’s fast asleep. 

“Let him nap,” Louis whispers, backing out of the room. 

Harry hurries to change out of his pajamas, and meets Louis by the door, feeling better about things already. Just as he reaches for the doorknob, there’s a knock, and Harry laughs, opening the door. 

“Oh, Paul!” Harry freezes, then quickly looks at Louis who raises his eyebrows. “Hi.”

“Hi, um… Can we talk for a second?” Paul asks, but he doesn’t seem like he wants to come inside.

Nodding, Harry steps into the hall, shutting the door with Louis on the other side. His voice squeaks as he asks, “What’s up?”

“I, um, just wanted to talk about what happened last night,” Paul says, taking a few steps away from the door, and Harry holds his hands up.

“I’m sorry! Oh, Paul, I’m so sorry about last night,” Harry says, and Paul ducks his chin, looking up through his eyelashes. 

“Listen, I… I’m intimidated by you,” Paul admits. He presses his lips together and nods. “I really like you, and I’m totally on board with trying new stuff. BDSM. Whatever you’re into. I just… I need to take that part of things slowly.”

“You’re intimidated by me?” Harry laughs, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Yeah, but I like you, and I…” Paul reaches out to push the button for the elevator, and says, “I just wanted to say that.”

“Paul, wait,” Harry says, grabbing his arm. “You should know that, like, I’ve never done any of that. Last night was a real low point for me. I was just so nervous because I didn’t want you to think that I was bad at sex or something.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Paul says, turning towards the elevator when it dings. “I guess I should go.”

“I’ll ride down with you.” Holding the door, Harry lets Paul go first, then follows him into the elevator. The doors slide closed, and Harry says, “Paul, kiss me.”

Once they get past the initial awkwardness, the sex is good, and Harry’s never been more relieved. He really did wonder if he was just an awful lay. 

Early December passes in a slow swirl of slightly cooler weather that makes Harry wish he was planning to go home for Christmas, but according to his mom, Gemma’s going to be there. She’s always hated Spencer, and as much as Harry wants to see his mom, he doesn’t want to hear ‘I told you so’ or relive the breakup over eggnog and unwrapping gifts.

Niall doesn’t go home for Christmas. He doesn’t want to spend a thousand dollars on a ticket to Ireland and he doesn’t want to spend that much time on a plane and he doesn’t want to spend Christmas jetlagged.  Instead, he’s planning to spend the holiday house sitting for his friend Benjamin. Learning Niall’s one hundred percent Irish, from Ireland, grew up there until he came to the states at eighteen, yet manages to sound like he was born and bred in LA, blew Harry’s mind.

So Harry will be alone for the holidays. He might see Zayn, but chances are slim because he usually works a lot this time of year, and none of the jobs are the type that Harry’s invited to. 

In previous years, Harry’s only given gifts to his mom, dad, and sister, Zayn, and Spencer. Now he has four more people to buy for: Paul and the guys. Harry actually goes to the mall for that, stopping by one day after school, and he hits the jackpot for Louis, Liam, and Niall, but comes up empty handed when it comes to shopping for Paul. He’ll have to ask for reinforcements, and he’ll probably have to bribe them to get them to come. 

On the way back to the loft, Harry makes an impromptu stop at the grocery store. He gets butter and sugar and chocolate chips, flour and baking powder and baking soda, and everything else he needs to make cookies. Then he has to figure out how to get it all into the building and up the elevator. The boys’ gifts are all the same, and already wrapped which makes them easily stackable, so with grocery bags dangling from each arm, Harry balances the large boxes on top of each other, and does his best. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Harry mutters when he realizes he can’t reach his keys. It’s likely at least one of the guys is home, so the loft might not be locked because they’re the worst about leaving the door unlocked. Carefully standing on one leg, Harry uses his other foot to try the lever door handle, and it works. The door swings open, his foot drops to the floor, and he stumbles into the loft blindly, gift boxes blocking his view. 

“Harold, is that you back there?” Louis’ question is immediately followed by footsteps, and Harry is relieved of the three large boxes. “It is you!”

“Hahaha,” Harry says flatly, but then he smiles. “Thanks for helping. That’s your Christmas gift.”

“Can I open it now?” Louis asks, and Harry scoffs. “Ugh… Such a stickler for rules.”

“I am not,” Harry says, carrying his grocery haul to the kitchen while Louis sets the gifts on the floor in front of their Christmas tree: a tree composed of green painter’s tape stuck to the sliding metal door that closes off the bedrooms from the rest of the loft. 

“Niall just did the grocery shopping,” Louis says, joining him in the kitchen and peeking into the nearest bag. “Butter, chocolate chips… What are you making?”

“Cookies,” Harry says, bag of flour in one hand, bag of sugar in the other. “I don’t know what to get Paul, so I’m making him cookies.”

“Is that all you’re giving him?” Louis asks, and Harry shrugs, then turns to pull out a mixing bowl. “You can obviously do whatever you want, but—”

“I want to get him something, okay?” Harry slaps the rubber spatula on the tall table top, and says, “I just don’t know what. I walked around the mall for hours today and nothing.”

“You’ve got time,” Louis says, rounding the table and opening the fridge to grab a beer. “If you can’t think of anything, I’ll go shopping with you.”

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry says, and Louis tips his beer bottle at him, then heads back to the couch where the TV is paused and waiting. 

Before Harry gets started, he goes to his room to change into his baking outfit: a pair of short black running shorts, his apron, and nothing else. It serves multiple purposes. Harry’s a messy baker, wiping his hands on the nearest cloth whether that be his shirt or his pants or a dishtowel, so long ago he started wearing as little as possible when he bakes. The apron is his lucky baking talisman. He’s worn it every time he’s ever successfully baked something new. And the lack of clothing helps keep him cool. 

Harry ties his watermelon print apron on, and pads out to the kitchen barefoot. 

“What the hell are you wearing, Styles?” Louis asks, pausing his video game. 

“My baking shorts,” Harry says, smacking his own ass as he walks by the couch. 

“Unbelievable,” Louis says, shaking his head. “You’re practically naked. Don’t you worry about burning something?”

“Nope.” Bending over, Harry finds his cookie sheets, and sets them up on the stovetop, but his silicone baking mats are nowhere to be seen. “Louis, have you seen my Silpats?”

“No idea what you just said,” Louis says. 

“They’re like flat silicone rectangles that fit in the baking sheets,” Harry says, holding his hands up to make a rectangle in the air. 

“Liam might’ve used them,” Louis says, looking over the back of the couch. “He was trying to make his own telescope the other night.”

Harry blinks slowly, but he’s still awake and Louis is still grinning at him. “Where’s the DIY telescope?”

“Not sure,” Louis says, pausing his game. He gets up, and opens the balcony doors. “Not out here.”

“Will you check the roof?” Harry asks, and Louis laughs. 

“No.”

“Louis, you’re not going to get locked out on the roof,” Harry says, putting down his silicone spatula and going to find his shoes. Hopefully the neighbors won’t care about his noticeable lack of clothing.

Louis meets him at the door. “I’ll hold the door for you so you don’t get locked out.”

“That’s what the brick is for, Louis,” Harry says, walking past the elevator towards the stairwell. 

Louis jogs up the stairs ahead of him, and not for the first time, Harry gets an eyeful of his ass in threadbare grey sweatpants. He follows him up the stairs staring at his own feet.

As promised, Louis holds the door while Harry checks the roof. He finds his Silpats on the old plastic table beside the folding lawn chair, still rolled up and stuck inside the necks of some empty wine and beer bottles. Using his apron to carry them, Harry collects the discarded beer and wine bottles, and pointedly stares at Louis as he walks back to the door. 

“Yeah, maybe I was up here holding the door while Liam was making his telescopes,” Louis says, stepping back to let Harry through. As they descend the stairs, the door to the roof slams shut with an echoing clang, and Louis elbows him. “Imagine hearing that from the outside.”

“What is your obsession with getting locked on the roof?” Harry asks, opening the door to their floor. 

“It happens all the time,” Louis says as if he’s ever been stuck up there. Harry knows he hasn’t. 

“Who do you know that’s been stuck on the roof?” Harry asks, unloading his apron into the recycling bin.

“Joey and Ross,” Louis answers, helping him with the bottles. 

“From Friends?” Harry rolls his eyes, and turns on the sink, washing his hands.

“My good pal Bob,” Louis says, grabbing his beer and sitting at the tall kitchen table. 

“Who’s Bob? Do you mean SpongeBob?” Harry asks, narrowing his eyes. When Louis takes a sip of beer instead of responding, it tells Harry all he needs to know. “SpongeBob was afraid to climb down. He wasn’t actually stuck on the roof of the Krusty Krab.”

“Semantics,” Louis says, waving away Harry’s annoyed scoff. 

Rather than continue down this path, Harry changes the subject. “Do you work tonight?” 

“Yeah, what time is it?” Louis asks, and Harry stills, staring at him until he pulls out his own phone and checks the time. “I need to leave in an hour.”

“Want to help me bake cookies?” Harry asks, pulling his KitchenAid mixer out of the cabinet. 

“Nope,” Louis says, scowling into his beer bottle.

Before he can plug in his mixer, Harry has to unplug the coffee pot and the toaster, just in case. He watches Louis from the corner of his eye as he tosses his empty bottle, and stands in front of the fridge. “How many beers have you had?” 

“Two,” Louis says, getting the water pitcher and filling a glass. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. What would I start?” Harry double checks that he has all the ingredients he needs, then glances up. “It’s just that you’re going to work in an hour. It makes sense to at least be sober when you get there.”

“I’m fine.” To prove it, Louis downs his glass of water, and proceeds to balance on the seam between two of the floorboards like a tightrope. He walks to the wall, then spins like a ballerina, and walks back to the kitchen. “See?”

“Mmhmm…” Harry adds the butter and sugar to the mixer bowl, and turns it on. “Can you go shopping with me tomorrow?”

“For Paul? Yeah,” Louis says, plucking a chocolate chip from the bowl. “What time?”

“Don’t touch!” Harry tries to smack him with the silicone spatula, but Louis dodges it and laughs. “Whenever you get up tomorrow, we can go. I don’t have any plans other than wrapping gifts.”

Harry watches the mixer spin, then turns it off to add the egg and vanilla, and Louis peers into the bowl. “I used to watch my mom do this.”

“Me too,” Harry says, turning the mixer back on. “Did you help her?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, sitting on a stool and propping his elbows on the tall table.

Smacking Louis’ hand when he tries for another chocolate chip, Harry says, “I bet when you were young you got away with this shit.” 

“No, actually. She was much quicker than you.” Louis chuckles, and asks, “Are you trying to remind Paul of his mom and his dead nana?”

“You’re not getting any of these cookies,” Harry says, slowing the mixer so he can add the dry ingredients little by little. “I’m going into my fourth month living here, and I feel like I don’t know anything about you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah, it is,” Harry says. “I see Liam and Niall more than I see you because you work at night most of the time, so, like, all of the getting to know you stuff happens when you’re not here.”

“Getting to know you stuff,” Louis repeats slowly, then nods once, sitting up. 

“Yeah, like, Liam talked to me about getting fired from his temp job, and about his overseas basketball career, and how much he missed his friends, and how he’s starting to realize he relied heavily on being a pro ball player with, like, dating and stuff,” Harry says, adding more of the flour mixture to the bowl and turning the mixer on low. He reaches across the tall table and taps Louis’ hand. “Did you know Niall’s up for a promotion at work?”

Louis shakes his head. “I try not to listen to him when he talks, so…”

“Right,” Harry says, going back to his cookie dough. 

Sometimes it’s hard to tell when Louis is being sarcastic, and even months later, Harry still thinks about the day of his interview, and how Louis clearly didn’t want him to move into the loft. There are days when they get along so well that Harry’s sure he’s won Louis over, but then there are times like this when he wonders if they’ll ever actually be friends. 

“Anyway… I was just saying that I like getting to know you guys. I’ve never really had a lot of friends. I mean, I have Zayn, and I have Sarah and Mitch, but I don’t think you’ve met them.”

“I’m your friend. We’re your friends,” Louis says. “You want to get to know me? Come to the bar. Get to know all versions of me.”

“Okay,” Harry says, smiling as he uses the silicone spatula to scrape down the sides of the mixing bowl. “I’d invite you to my school, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Probably not,” Louis says with a laugh. “We’ll do a quick round of Twenty Questions before I leave for the bar.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but nothing too personal,” Louis says, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “You go first.”

“Alright, um… When’s your birthday?”

“Too personal, Harold!” 

“How’s that too personal?”

“Because it is,” Louis says, pointing at Harry and winking. “I’ll start. Did a dentist or some other tooth doctor make your teeth or did they just grow out of your gums like that?”

“How is your birthday too personal, but that’s not?” Harry grins and shows his teeth, then says, “These babies are one hundred percent natural.”

“So your mother or your father was a bunny rabbit?” Louis asks, and Harry tries not to laugh, but Louis’ serious expression makes it impossible. He snorts, and Louis grins proudly. “Your turn.”

“Where’d you go to law school?” Harry asks, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“UCLA. Where’d you go to middle school teacher school?”

“You know it’s not called that. But I went to Portland State. Go Vikings!” Stretching plastic wrap over the bowl of cookie dough while he thinks about what Louis might consider too personal, Harry hums, then deciding there’s no way to know without asking, he asks, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I do,” Louis says. “Do you?”

“I do. Can you tell me about your brothers and/or sisters?”

“That’s not how you play Twenty Questions, Harold.”

“I don’t like this game,” Harry complains, making space in the fridge for his bowl of cookie dough. “I just want to get to know you, Louis. I don’t want to have to beg for information. If you don’t want to tell me anything about yourself, then don’t.”

“Ugh, fine. I have six siblings,” Louis says, and Harry’s eyes go wide. He shuts the fridge and turns around as Louis talks faster, “Five sisters, one brother, all younger. In order from oldest to youngest, there’s Lottie—short for Charlotte, Fizzy—short for Felicite, Phoebe and Daisy—they’re identical twins and they’re at that age where they’re kids that think they’re adults, and Ernest and Doris—more twins, but fraternal this time. They live in Chicago with my mom. My dad’s never been around. My stepdad’s only sort of been around. My mom’s amazing. She’s a nurse-midwife. My sisters all spend too much time on social media. I miss them, but I only miss Chicago sometimes because it’s too fucking cold there in the winter.” 

Blinking a few times while all of that settles in his brain, Harry takes a deep breath, then says, “I have one sister named Gemma. She’s three years older than me, but acts like a child most of the time. We used to be close when we were kids, but when I went to college and didn’t start getting trashed every night like she did when she went to college, we sort of drifted apart. Actually, um… she didn’t speak to me for two years.”

“I dropped out of law school because I wanted to be a bartender,” Louis says, like he’s raising the stakes. 

“I decided to be a teacher when I was five,” Harry says, matching Louis’ tone. “I’ve never even considered a different career.”

Louis nods along, then shakes his head, and says, “I had three semesters of law school to go and I realized I hate lawyers.”

“I hate one of my students,” Harry blurts out, clapping his hand over his mouth too late.

“Just one?” Louis laughs, and says, “You’ve been a teacher how long?”

“This is my sixth year teaching,” Harry says. He wipes his mixer down, and sets the paddle attachment in the sink to deal with later. “To be clear, this one kid is obnoxiously smart and condescending and she made fun of my hair.”

“Then I hope she burns in hell.”

“Louis!” Harry smacks his arm, and says, “Too far!”

“Fine. I hope she steps on a Lego.”

“Better.” 

“Every day for the rest of her life.”

“Louis, she’s twelve.”

Louis shrugs, and says, “Not my problem.”

Harry wipes down the tall table, and turns to the sink to start washing up. He fully expects Louis to tell him his next question is too personal, but he’s curious. “Do you still miss Cash?”

“Sometimes,” Louis admits when Harry glances back over his shoulder. “What about you? Do you still miss Spencer?”

“Sometimes,” Harry says, echoing Louis’ answer. “I think I miss the idea of him, you know? Like, we were together for so long and I knew how to be around him. With Paul, it’s like… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I think that’s sort of where I am with Cash,” Louis says, appearing at Harry’s side with a dish towel in his hand. He picks up a clean bowl from the dishrack, and wipes it dry. “He was my only real boyfriend, and it was such a fucked up relationship that I think, like, what if I don’t know how to be with someone else.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Harry says, handing him a clean bowl to dry. “You just have to talk about your feelings.”

“Do I?” Louis asks. He leans his hip against the counter, and says, “You gonna talk to Paul about your feelings?”

“No,” Harry scoffs, elbowing Louis in the side. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“I’m joking,” Louis says, elbowing him back. “Far as I’m concerned, you and Paul can fuck each other’s brains out and never speak about your feelings.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, blush crawling up his neck. “You’re so blunt sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Well, I assume not when you talk about your feelings,” Harry says, and Louis snorts. 

“Yeah, alright.” Louis puts the last dry dish into the cabinet, and tosses his dish towel onto the drying rack. “I get a cookie for this, right?”

“No,” Harry says with a chuckle. “They’re for Paul.”

“You’re the worst, Harry Styles.” Stretching his arms overhead, Louis backs out of the kitchen, t-shirt riding up and sweatpants slipping down so that Harry has to avert his gaze or risk seeing Louis’ dick again. “Come to the bar later?”

“I might,” Harry says, wiping the counter again. “If you’re lucky.”