Chapter Text

SEPTEMBER 

On his fourth trip around the block, Harry wonders if he’s wasting his time. The ad said ‘roommate wanted’ and here he is, in want of a room, but first he has to sit for an interview with three strangers who hold his fate in their hands. Maybe he’d be better off to keep sleeping on Zayn’s couch. 

“It’s too much pressure!” Harry smacks his hand on the steering wheel, wincing when he accidentally honks the horn. He raises a hand in apology to the woman in the middle of the crosswalk, and though she can’t hear him, he says, “Sorry. Wasn’t yelling at you and didn’t mean to honk at you either.”

He’s due for this interview in five minutes, which means if he finds a spot right this second he’ll still be late, and he’s just about to give up and head back to Zayn’s apartment when the woman from the crosswalk climbs into a car and pulls away. 

“He’s a parallel parking wizard, there has to be a twist,” Harry sings as he parallel parks his station wagon. “A parallel parking wizard's got such a supple wrist.” 

Zayn vetoed the idea of bringing gifts to the interview, but it seemed like such a great plan that Harry snuck three of his stockpiled handknit beanies into his school satchel that morning along with some brownies. 

Harry hurries down the sidewalk to the building’s entrance and catches his fingernail on the handle trying to yank open a locked door. Shaking his hand because it makes him feel better even if it doesn’t make his finger feel better, Harry looks around for someone to help. 

Beside the door is a list of apartment numbers and last names, but he doesn’t know the last name of the man he spoke to that morning, and the numbers are all covered in something disgusting that Harry’s not about to attempt to scrape off so he can figure out which one is apartment 1D. 

Taking a couple of steps back, Harry looks up, shading his eyes. There are a few windows open, and he doesn’t know anyone in this neighborhood. Yet. 

“Hello! Can anybody let me in the building?” Harry shouts in the general direction of the open windows. “Hi! Hello! I’m supposed to meet Niall! Niall? Potential new roommate here! Hello?”

Someone on the fourth floor sticks their hand out the window and waves, then a voice calls down, “Wait there!”

“Okay!” Harry yells back, grinning and clutching his leather satchel with both hands. He paces the sidewalk while he waits.

“Hello? Are you Harry?” 

Harry spins around, satchel in hand, and smiles. “I’m Harry. Are you Niall?”

“I’m Louis,” Louis says, holding the door for Harry to come inside. “Niall and Liam are upstairs.”

“It’s apartment 1D, isn’t it?” Harry asks as they walk past the door for apartment 1A. 

“Yeah, fourth floor is apartments 1D, 2D, 3D, and 4D. Third floor is 1C, 2C, 3C, and 4C, and so on.” Louis slaps his hand against the button for the elevator, and when the doors slide open, he lets Harry enter first, clearly checking him out from behind. He’s obvious about it, too, dragging his gaze up Harry’s legs so slowly that Harry’s able to watch him over his shoulder and turn away before Louis gets to his back. He’s not sleeping with anyone to get an apartment, but if the apartment doesn’t work out…  

The elevator dings and the doors slide open to the fourth floor. 

“We’re right by the elevator,” Louis says, tapping the 1D on the door. “A blessing and a curse.”

“How so?” Harry asks, waiting for Louis to open the door. 

“Great for nights when you’re wasted and just want to get home,” Louis explains, finally opening the door. “Or if you need to pee.”

“How’s it a curse?” Harry asks as he follows Louis into the loft.

“That’s just what people say, isn’t it?” Louis shrugs and kicks his shoes off, leaving them where they land. “A blessing and curse. Well, come on in and meet everybody.”

“I don’t think it’s just what people say,” Harry mutters as he passes a hallway that seems to lead to at least one bedroom. The short entryway opens into a living area so spacious Harry doesn’t have time to take it all in before he’s being shown to a yellow chair situated in the far corner, across from an L-shaped, brown leather sectional sofa. He sits, glancing around as he does so at the wall of windows, the wide wooden dining table surrounded by mismatched chairs, and the large kitchen. This loft is better than he could’ve dreamed, and he almost doesn’t care what his room looks like if he can hang out in a space like this. 

“So…” Louis says, pressing his lips into a tight line and leaning back on the sofa. He looks away, giving Harry the chance to appreciate his profile and the scruff on his cheeks, but then he doesn’t say anything else. 

“You’re Harry Styles, correct?” the man on Louis’ right asks, and when Harry nods, he says, “That’s what it says on the application.”

“What’s your name?” Harry asks, hoping one of these guys is Niall. 

“We’ll ask the questions here,” Louis says with a scowl, but the guy on his left smacks him in the stomach and gives Harry a sweet smile.

“I’m Liam,” he says, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “You met Louis, and—.”

“I’m Niall,” Niall says with a smirk, tapping a stack of papers on the coffee table. “Your references check out.”

“Oh, good,” Harry says, trying to peek at the papers. From where he sits, he can’t read a thing, so he assumes it’s a bunch of other applicants for the loft which means he really needs to sell himself. “Do you guys have any questions for me? I feel like… I’m just sort of sitting here being stared at.”

“Do you have any pets?” Louis asks, picking at a spot on his shirt and still not looking at Harry.

“No, um… I always wanted a cat, but Spencer’s allergic,” Harry says with a sigh. “That’s my ex, um… I’m gay, so like, I hope that’s not… Your ad said ‘hotties, thotties, gays, and notties’ what is a nottie?”

“Not gay?” Niall huffs a laugh that makes Harry concerned for his sinuses. “And gay as an umbrella term. I’m bi.”

“Oh, okay, um… I’ve never heard ‘notties’ before. I teach kids, so I’m not down with the lingo,” Harry says, and because he’s nervous, he just keeps talking, picking up where he left off. “Right, so… Spencer’s allergic to cats. He’s my ex and, like, we lived together for six years, but last week I decided to do one of those ‘fulfill your fantasy’ things, and one of Spencer’s fantasies was that I was a stripper. So I left work early—don’t tell my boss—and I changed into this little thong. And like, my god, it didn’t cover anything, you know? But I guess that’s the fantasy. I don’t know. So I was wearing the thong under my trench coat, and I walked into the house yelling, ‘Guess who’s here?’ and Spencer came out of the bedroom in his boxers.” Harry inhales deeply, taking in the rapt expressions on Liam and Niall’s faces, and barrels on, “I dropped my coat, but then I realized I didn’t have any music, so I started to sing? But the only song I could think of was ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’ but like, the part that goes ‘do do do do do do do dodo dododo dodo’, so I’m singing that, and ugh, for some reason kicking like a rockette, and this dude walks out of the bedroom.” Clearing his throat while he studies Louis’ profile, Harry continues, “He was cheating on me while I was at work. I left him, obviously. Went to my friend Zayn’s place. I’ve been sleeping on his couch. And, um… That’s my story, I guess? Sorry. What was the question?”

Louis finally looks at him, and slowly asks, “Do you have any pets?” 

“Oh, um, the answer is no,” Harry says with a grin. His dimples have magical powers, at least that’s what he tells his students, so he makes sure both are showing. “I love this place. It’s amazing how much light it gets. Spencer, um… He hates light. It’s kind of hard to say his name.”

“It’s okay. Louis knows,” Niall says with a wink, smacking Louis on the back. “He got dumped, too. Didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, widening his eyes dramatically. “Got dumped. It’s been like six months. I’m over it! I don’t know why you guys are still talking about it.”

“Right…” Liam says, rolling his eyes, then turning to Harry. “Do you have any questions?”

“Sure do!” Harry claps, standing up and walking around the sectional sofa to the dining room. “When can I move in?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Louis says, pushing himself up off the couch. He half-jogs, half-skips to stand between Harry and the kitchen, arms crossed, feet spread apart. “We don’t know anything about you.”

“Oh! Well, I’m fairly neat,” Harry says, stepping sideways because he wants to check out the kitchen, but Louis hops in that direction too, landing right in front of him in the same position. “I used to be a baker, so I love to bake. Wish I had more time…”

“I’m more of a sauté man myself,” Niall says, passing them both and leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“I love cookies,” Liam says, sliding onto a stool at the kitchen table. 

“I have brownies!” Harry leaves Louis to scowl at the place he was standing, hurrying back across the loft to grab his satchel. He pulls out the brownies, opens the container and sets it on the table. “Just for you guys. I’d say you’ll have to return the container, but I know where you live. Haha!”

“Thanks, man,” Liam says, reaching for a brownie, but Louis slaps his hand away. 

“Don’t eat those,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes at Harry. “Who brings brownies in their briefcase?”

“It’s a satchel,” Harry corrects, sliding the container away from Louis. “And there’s nothing wrong with my brownies. I also made you each a hat!”

“Who are you?” Louis asks quietly, watching Liam take a bite of brownie. When he seems satisfied that Liam isn’t going to keel over and die, Louis picks up a brownie and takes a massive bite, crumbs spilling down his shirt. 

Harry fishes the beanies from his satchel and lays them out on the table. “Gold and purple for you, Liam, since you’re a Lakers fan.”

“How’d you know?” Liam asks, putting the beanie on. 

“It’s, um… your shirt,” Harry says, pointing at Liam’s Lakers t-shirt, but Liam doesn’t seem to care, getting up and taking his brownie back to the couch. “Grey and black stripes for Niall, and blue for you, Lou. Sorry. It rhymes.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, tossing the grey and black hat to Niall. “I’m good.”

“Oh.” Pouting slightly, Harry pokes at the hat, but leaves it where it is in case Louis changes his mind. “So… Am I in? I’ll be honest, I really don’t want to sleep on Zayn’s couch anymore. He’s a model and his roommates are models and it’s like, too many beautiful men in one place. Makes me self-conscious.”

Niall appears at Harry’s side. “Models?” 

“Yeah, I mean, not that you guys aren’t, um…” Harry glances at Louis’ gorgeous face only slightly marred by what looks like dried mustard in his beard. “Not that you guys aren’t smoking hot.”

“Loft vote!” Niall shouts, and Harry covers his ears. “All those in favor of— What’s your name again?”

“Harry,” Harry says, smiling when Louis says his name at the same time. 

“All those in favor of Harry, say ‘aye’!” Niall announces, then immediately yells, “Aye!”

“Aye,” Liam says, pushing past Harry to grab another brownie. 

“Louis,” Niall says, nudging him with his elbow. 

Throwing his hands in the air, Louis stomps out of the room. “I’m not voting!”

Harry raises both hands and says, “Aye-aye!”

“Majority rules,” Niall says, offering his hand for Harry to shake. 

“Yes!” Harry firmly shakes his hand, then reaches for Liam’s, cringing slightly at the bits of brownie stuck to his palm. “You won’t regret this. Thanks, guys.”

Moving out of Spencer’s house wasn’t hard. After putting his coat back on, Harry simply turned around and left. He snuck back to the house when he knew Spencer was out and grabbed some of his clothes, his comforter, and a lamp that he’d picked up at a thrift shop the previous weekend. The aforementioned comforter worked as a makeshift sack, and he stuffed it all in the back of his station wagon which is where it’s been ever since. 

“Harry, you have to go back for your stuff,” Zayn says, pressing the button for the elevator. “I know you don’t want to deal with him, but Spencer can’t keep your clothes hostage. Eventually, your boss is going to catch on that you’re wearing the same two outfits.”

“I mix it up. She’ll never know,” Harry says, holding the bundled up comforter to his chest. “I will go get my things. I just… I’d rather avoid it a little longer.”

“I get it,” Zayn says with a sigh as the elevator dings, and the doors slide open revealing Niall standing there waiting, shirtless, panting, and dripping sweat. 

“Was out for a run,” Niall says, bare chest heaving. “Saw you guys and sprinted up the stairs to help you.”

“I think he’s got it,” Zayn says, walking around Niall who hurries past him to the door, opening it and allowing Zayn to walk in first. “Thanks.”

“Thanks, Ni—” Rushing to catch the door when Niall lets go of it to follow Zayn, Harry pushes it open with his shoulder, and when no one offers to help, he carries his things to his new bedroom. 

Thankfully the room comes with a bed and a closet big enough to house another roommate. There’s plenty of space for Harry’s stuff, provided he grows the balls to deal with Spencer long enough to pick up his things. 

Harry carefully puts the comforter bundle down and unwraps it, setting his lamp on the bedside table and plugging it in. His clothes are a mess of clean and dirty, but there’s no way to tell which is which except to sniff, so he sorts them as quickly as he can, and is left with two pairs of clean underwear, a blazer he hasn't worn in two years, a pair of skinny jeans he hasn’t worn in three, and seven plain black t-shirts. 

“Need some help?” Zayn offers, picking a sheet from within the mass of clothes and shaking it out. “I’ll make your bed, you put away your clothes.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, gathering the clean clothes and carrying them into the closet where he dumps them on the floor. 

“You’re killing me with this mood, man,” Zayn says, tucking one corner of the sheet. “Spencer was a dick, and to be honest, he did you a favor.”

“He cheated on me!” Harry winces at his whiny tone, and says, “How is that a favor?”

“If he hadn’t cheated, you’d’ve stayed with that loser for the rest of your life,” Zayn says as he smooths the sheet. “I’m sorry, but Spencer isn’t worth your sadness. I wish you’d realize you deserve to have so much more.”

“I have you, don’t I?” Harry flops onto the bed with the comforter and wraps himself up in it like a burrito. 

“Always, babes,” Zayn says, bending down to kiss Harry’s forehead. “I’ve got to go. Call me.”

Wiggling his fingers from within his blanket cocoon, Harry says, “Bye, Z.”

Zayn waves as he walks away, leaving Harry alone in his new room. 

“I don’t want to be a grownup,” Harry mumbles, pulling the blanket over his face. 

“My subconscious is speaking!” Louis laughs, and Harry peeks out of his comforter chrysalis. 

Directly across the hall from Harry’s new room is Louis’ bedroom, and he’s standing there, leaning against the door jamb, watching Harry curiously from a distance, and making Harry feel like less of a mess. 

An unidentifiable layer of grime covers him like maybe he stood under the shower spray without actually washing, his hair looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in days, his short scruff has grown into a full beard that’s flat to his face on one side, and he’s shirtless, but not Niall’s version of shirtless where it’s obvious he’s flexing and slightly dehydrated. 

No, Louis is shirtless in a way that screams “I spilled something on my shirt that was too wet or messy to wipe off and I can’t be bothered to put on another shirt” and all he’s wearing is a pair of grey sweatpants so thin and worn it’s obscene. Harry can see his dick through them from within his swaddling. 

Groaning miserably, Harry pulls the comforter over his head. Soon enough, he’ll have to think of a plan to win Louis over, but today is not the day for that. He peeks out of the blanket again and tries not to look at Louis’ cock.

Without an iota of self-consciousness, Louis adjusts himself, palming his cock and balls as he asks, “D’you need the shower?”

Harry peeks out of his blanket again and decides Louis needs it more than he does. “No, you go ahead.”

“Nah,” Louis says, pushing away from the door. “I’m good.”

“So… You were asking if I need the shower why?” Harry sniffs one armpit, then the other, but can’t tell if it’s him or the shirt that smells slightly off. “Are you saying I stink?”

“Just making conversation, Harold,” Louis says, stepping into Harry’s room and looking around. “Is this all your stuff?”

“No,” Harry says with a pout. “And my name is not Harold.”

Louis hums, eyes narrowed as if he doesn’t believe Harry. “Where’s your stuff?”

Groaning again, Harry says, “At Spencer’s.”

“You should go get it,” Louis says, and then he walks out of the room, dropping the conversation. 

It takes Harry a few minutes to convince himself to get up, and a few more to emerge from his cocoon. When he does, he finds Niall, Liam, and Louis in the living room, passing a basketball around. Not knowing when the four of them will be together in the loft in the middle of the day again gives Harry the courage he needs. 

“Guys, I need your help,” Harry says, clasping his hands together in front of his heart and grinning big. All three of them look at him, but none of them says a word. “I have to go get the rest of my things from Spencer.”

“Oh, no, no thank you,” Niall says with a slight sneer, dribbling the ball before tossing it to Louis.

“Please?” Harry asks, but Niall shakes his head, and immediately after, Louis and Liam do too. 

“Your friends should help you move,” Louis says, nodding sagely, and bouncing the ball to Liam.

“We’re about to watch the game,” Liam says, pointing at the television. He dribbles repeatedly, spinning in a circle before taking aim at the empty milk crate on the end of the sectional soft. The ball lands in the plastic crate with a thunk, and Liam cheers. “Still got it!”

“Yeah you do,” Harry says, picking up the ball and bouncing it in front of him, wondering what their downstairs neighbors must think. He can’t decide whether to pass it to Liam or Niall, so he splits the difference and throws it between them figuring one of them will catch it. 

Neither of them catch the ball. It soars through the air and crashes into the television behind them, busting a basketball shaped hole in the screen and sending the whole thing toppling to the floor. 

“Oops?” Harry cringes, covering his face with his hands until someone grabs his wrists and pulls them away. He blinks and is face to face with Louis who’s still shirtless and grubby, but smells like vanilla and honeyed tea. 

Wrinkling his nose, Harry sniffs to be sure, and Louis glowers at him. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Harry says, squirming a little in Louis’ grip. 

“That was my TV.” Louis releases his wrists, and crosses his arms over his bare chest. “You broke my TV. New one costs like four or five hundred dollars.”

“I don’t have any money,” Harry says, fanning himself with both hands as the flush on his face and neck start to become unbearable. 

“You got a TV?” Niall asks, standing directly behind Louis and peering over his shoulder, lips pursed a little like Zoolander. 

“No!” Harry flails a little, then stops. “Wait. I do have a TV.”

“Yeah?” Liam slides around them in his socks, skidding into the hall. “There’s no TV in here!”

“Not here,” Harry says, smiling smugly. “It’s at Spencer’s with the rest of my stuff, so if you’ll help me—”

“Not helping you move, Harry,” Louis says with a single firm nod. “Zayn’s your friend. He should help you move.”

“Oh, Zayn’ll want to be there for this,” Harry says, chuckling and rubbing his hands together. “But I need you guys to come too. Please? I don’t know if I can carry a fifty inch television and my KitchenAid mixer.”

“Fine. Let’s go,” Louis says, stomping away down the hall and appearing a moment later, still without a shirt, wearing a half-zipped hoodie and slip-on Vans with no socks. “I’m only doing this for the TV, so don’t ask me to carry anything else, and I’m not driving.”

“I’ll drive,” Harry says, grabbing his keys from the bowl by the door and ushering all three of his new roommates into the hall before they can change their minds. He texts Zayn that they’re on the way to Spencer’s to claim what rightfully belongs to him, and Zayn responds ‘otw’ with a smiling devil emoji.

Louis, Liam, and Niall fight over shotgun with Liam winning by default after Louis and Niall are both temporarily blinded by their tears when they flick each other in the nose at the same time. When they can see again, Liam’s already in the passenger seat with the door locked, and Harry’s laying on the horn. He rolls Liam’s window down just a crack, and shouts, “Get in the car!”

Still pushing and shoving, Niall and Louis tumble into the back seat, and Harry pulls onto the road heading towards Spencer’s house, determination leading the way. 

“What’s this Spencer guy like anyway?” Louis asks, leaning forward and holding onto Harry’s headrest. 

“I don’t know,” Harry says as he takes the exit, slowing down before yielding with traffic. “He’s my height. Used to cosplay as a vampire which is why he doesn’t like sunlight.”

“No, like, what’s he like?” Louis asks. 

Niall clears his throat, and says, “What Louis wants to know is if Spencer’s the type to cause problems. Is he going to let you take your stuff or will he put up a fight?”

“Oh, no, um… He won’t be, like, violent or mean or anything like that,” Harry says, pursing his lips and bopping his head to the song playing on a loop inside his brain. “He’ll just like, try to sweet talk me with soft words and gentle touches.”

“Don’t let him touch you,” Louis says as if it’s that easy for Harry to keep Spencer from lightly laying a hand on his shoulder or tenderly cradling his cheek. “He cheated on you. Remember that.”

“I remember,” Harry says. His first ever striptease is something he’ll never forget, especially because it was immediately followed by a scramble to cover up that ended with an overturned houseplant and a bruise on Harry’s backside from falling over the coffee table and onto the hardwood floor. 

“If he asks you to get back together with him, what do you say?” Liam asks. 

“It’s not that I want to get back together with him. It’s just…” Harry sighs, and says, “It’s hard. I haven’t spoken to him since… since that day, and I don’t want to get in a fight with him, you know? I want to be friends with him eventually.”

“Why do you want to be friends with him? He cheated on you,” Louis says, smacking the back of Harry’s headrest. “I don’t want to be friends with Cash. He broke my fucking heart. Ripped it out and shredded it on his perfect, perfect abs.”

“I don’t know… I used to think I’d marry Spencer, but now he’s just somebody that I used to know,” Harry sings the last bit loudly, and Louis recoils. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to him.”

“Hi, Spencer,” Louis says, voice deep and words slow in imitation of Harry. “Give me my TV.”

Harry tries his best to mimic Louis’ tone. “Hey, Spencer, give me my TV back, buddy.”

“Don’t call him buddy. Try ‘asshole’ or ‘jerk’ or something,” Louis says.

“Mr. Crabs,” Harry offers as a suitable insult.

“Mr. Crabs could work,” Liam says as Harry slows to a stop in front of Spencer’s house. “I didn't put on shoes, so I’m not getting out.”

“Don’t get out then,” Niall says, rolling down his window. “I’m not getting out either.”

“Good plan,” Louis says, kicking his feet up to rest on the console between the two front seats. “Go get your stuff, Harold.”

“Zayn’s not here,” Harry whispers, and stomps on the gas, peeling away from the house.

“What the hell?” Niall asks, fumbling to buckle his seatbelt as Harry swerves around a garbage truck. 

“I couldn’t stop. Zayn’s not here,” Harry says, turning on the radio, blindly reaching for the cord to plug in his phone. He gives up when he realizes his phone is in his back pocket, and tosses the cord to Liam who shrieks and bats it away. 

“You can’t just throw things at people,” Liam says, fishing for the cord and holding it up, inspecting it. 

“Play something positive!” Harry guns it, tires squealing as he passes a Ferrari in the fast lane. “I need positivity! I need encouragement in the form of song! Pharrell’s ‘Happy’ or ‘Defying Gravity’ from Wicked. Something!” 

Liam plugs in his phone, and a moment later, an easily recognizable drumbeat comes through the speakers. 

“Ow!” Harry sings along with the intro, grinning at Liam when he sings too. “Hey, yeah!”

Katrina and the Waves sing the entirety of “Walking on Sunshine” twice before Harry finally circles back around to Spencer’s house. This time, Zayn’s car is waiting out front, and Harry pulls up behind it, putting his station wagon in park and turning off the car. 

Niall scrambles up between the two front seats and grabs the keys from the ignition. “We’re not leaving without that television, Harry, so get moving.”

A school bus drives by, and as soon as it passes, Zayn opens his car door, hair blowing back off his face as if traffic exists purely to provide enough wind to perfectly tousle it. He slides his sunglasses up onto his head, and knocks on Liam’s window. Instead of rolling down the window, Harry hops out of the car, hurrying around to meet Zayn.

“All three of them came to help?” Zayn asks, bending down to peer into the backseat. 

“They’re here for moral support,” Harry says. Hands on his hips, he takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Stay out here. I need to do this alone.”

“If you insist,” Zayn says, perching on the hood of Harry’s car. “Shout if you need me.”

“I need you,” Harry whispers as he walks towards the house, but when he glances back, Zayn’s inspecting his nails, and the other guys are still in the car, though Niall’s hanging out the window trying to get Zayn’s attention. A little louder, Harry says to himself, “You can do this, Styles. Go in there and get your stuff.”

Halfway up the walk, Harry spins on his heel and heads back to the car. 

“What happened?” Zayn asks, shading his eyes with his hand and staring at the house.

“Nothing,” Harry says with a defeated shrug. “Couldn’t do it.”

“You go in there and get that TV,” Niall says, reaching over and smacking Harry’s thigh. “Go!”

“Don’t hit him, Niall,” Louis says, hitting Niall in the back of the head. “You don’t know him well enough to hit him.”

“I need the television, Louis,” Niall says, opening the car door and getting out. He smooths his shirt over his chest, and saunters over to Zayn. “Hi there.”

“No,” Zayn says without looking at him. 

“Look, Harry, you can do this,” Louis says, crawling across the back seat and out of the car onto the browning grass of Spencer’s lawn. He pops up like a rabbit, brushing dirt and grass from his hands and knees. “You have to do this for you. Prove to yourself you can face Spencer and walk away. He’s holding you hostage. Holding your TV hostage. Your life! You have to tell yourself that this man has no power over you.”

“No power,” Harry repeats, holding Louis’ gaze and nodding. “No power. I can do this.”

“You can do this. I believe in you,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s shoulders and giving them a squeeze. “Now, go in there, and take back your life.”

“Take back my life!” Harry raises a fist in the air, turns and sprints for the house, banging on the door instead of ringing the bell. “Spencer!”

The door opens, and for a moment, Harry’s speechless. Throughout their relationship, Spencer had long, flowing hair that he wore in a low ponytail most of the time. Whenever Spencer would talk to him about anything important (i.e. if he wanted to say he didn’t have enough money for rent and could Harry please, please cover him?), he would let down his hair, and like Rapunzel, his golden mane seemed to have magical powers. Harry would agree to anything. 

“Wow,” Harry finally says, shaking his head. “You cut your hair.”

Pouting as he combs his fingers through his likely still just as soft but much shorter hair, Spencer says, “When you left, I had to get a job to make rent. Now I’m working for ‘the man’ and they made me cut my hair.”

“Working for your dad?” Harry asks with a smile. 

“Yeah,” Spencer says, squinting and staring over Harry’s shoulder. “Who’re these people? That Zayn? Hey, Zayn!”

Harry looks back in time to see Zayn elegantly flip both middle fingers up, and says, “Those are my new roommates. I came to get my stuff. I need my TV.”

“No, no, no,” Spencer says, laying a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Let’s talk about this, Harry.”

The soft touch of Spencer’s hand sucks the resolve right out of Harry through some sort of osmosis, and he says, “Sure, yeah… Let’s talk about it.”

“Come on inside.” Hand still on Harry’s shoulder, Spencer steers him into the house, and Harry stops short. Voice soft and melodic, Spencer asks, “What’s wrong?”

“My plants,” Harry says, reaching out to touch a brown, dry leaf. “You didn’t water my plants.”

Spencer shrugs. “I forgot. You know how I am.”

“Yeah, I do.” Mind clearing thanks to his mounting rage, Harry grabs the nearest dead houseplant and runs out the door shouting, “Plant murderer!”

“Wait, Harry!” Spencer yells after him, but he can’t stop Harry from throwing the potted palm into the yard.

Balling his hands into fists, Harry growls, running back towards the house, screaming as Spencer jumps out of his way. He goes straight for the bedroom, pulling his suitcase and duffle bag out of the closet and stuffing them full of the clothes he left in the dresser. With a garment bag over his shoulder, Harry hauls his things to the porch, and leaves them there, going back for the rest. 

There isn’t much. Mostly kitchen stuff. The KitchenAid mixer and a few specialty pans take one trip. But he and Spencer lived together for six years, and in that time, possessions became ‘theirs’ instead of Harry’s and Spencer’s, so he doesn’t bother with anything in the bathroom, and he doesn’t worry about his favorite dildo or the economy size bottle of lube he bought. Spencer can have it all. Except the television. 

With the rest of his clothes spilling out of reusable shopping bags, Harry unplugs the TV, wraps the cord around his wrist, and slowly makes his way to the front door. 

“Harry, come on…” Spencer pleads, the palms of his hands pressed tightly together in prayer. “Can’t we talk?”

“No, Spencer,” Harry snaps from behind the TV. He adjusts his grip on it so he can see around it, and notices the shirt Spencer’s wearing. “You lost the right to talk to me when you cheated.”

“Come on, babe,” Spencer says, lifting a hand as if to touch Harry’s shoulder again.

“Fuck you,” Harry says, pushing past him onto the front porch. “It’s my stuff and I’m taking it. Including that shirt.”

“This shirt?” Spencer looks down, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt. 

“Yes, that shirt,” Harry says, taking the steps one at a time until he’s safe on the grass. He stumbles on the discarded houseplant, but doesn’t fall, correcting course and letting the weight of the television and inertia carry him towards his station wagon. “Open the back!” 

Liam hurries around to open the back, and Louis and Niall appear on either side of the TV, relieving Harry of it while Liam takes his reusable bags and shoves them in the trunk of his car with his suitcase and duffle bag. Everything he owns could fit in his car. Harry shakes his head, and storms back across the yard to Spencer, poking him in the chest, right where the bee is screen printed onto the shirt.

“Give me my shirt back,” Harry says.

“Are you serious?” Spencer scoffs, crossing his arms as if Harry would try to physically remove the shirt from his body. “I love this shirt.”

“No, I love that shirt,” Harry says, poking him again. “I love that shirt so much, I bought it twice, because you burned a hole in the first one. Now. Give it to me.”

“No,” Spencer says, taking a step back. 

“Give him the shirt!” Louis shouts from behind him, and Harry tips his chin up. “Give him the shirt!”

“Give him the shirt!” Liam and Niall yell, and Zayn joins in. 

“Take it off, Spencer,” Zayn says snidely, “You don’t even like honey.”

“And…” Harry pauses for effect, then announces, “You’re allergic to bees.”

“Take it off!” Louis calls out, and the four of them form a line behind Harry, chanting, “Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!”

Spencer rolls his eyes, and pulls the shirt off, tossing it over Harry’s head. Harry turns to try and catch it, but it practically falls into Louis’ hands. He winks, and balls the shirt up, shoving it in the pocket of his half-zipped hoodie. 

“You got everything?” Louis asks, and Harry nods. 

“You know, I can’t believe you, Harry,” Spencer says, and Harry props his hands on his hips, ready to hear whatever Spencer has to tell him. “You used to be so kind. Now you live with these people? What happened to you?”

“Fuck off,” Louis says, and Liam and Niall mutter in agreement. 

Zayn steps forward, laying a manicured hand on Spencer’s bare shoulder. “Your haircut is tragic.”

“So rude,” Spencer says, ducking down to meet Harry’s eyes. “I can’t believe you’d live with people like this.”

“You know what, dude?” Louis lightly touches the back of Harry’s arm as he passes by. He steps between Harry and Spencer, and says, “I don’t like you. Don’t know a thing about you other than you cheated on Harry and you’ve got dumb hair. Don’t know you, don’t like you, and I’m not—”

Harry taps Louis on the shoulder, and says, “Thanks, Lou. Sorry. Louis. I’ve got it.”

“Alright,” Louis says, moving back to his place in line behind Harry. 

Rolling his shoulders back, Harry takes a step closer to Spencer, and says, “I am kind. I’m a good person. I spent six years with you trying to make you happy, and you cheated on me, but you know what? I’m glad. Because now we’re over. And I’ve got a great new place, with amazing roommates, and I don’t need you. Have a nice life, Spencer.”

Spencer shakes his head, and says, “I thought we were going to handle this like adults.”

“Yeah, well, I thought you were the love of my life, so…” Harry walks backwards, arms stretched out to the sides, and says, “Suck it, Mr. Crabs!”

From behind the closed windows of the station wagon come cheers and applause. Harry grins, trips over his own feet, and catches himself before he falls, laughing as he rounds the front of the car. He slides behind the wheel, and pulls out into traffic, driving them all home to a chorus of “Walking on Sunshine” acapella.

Chapter Text

OCTOBER

It’s not the easiest thing, fitting into an existing friend group. Louis and Liam have known each other since they were babies—they even went to daycare together, and Niall and Louis were roommates in college and have been best friends ever since. Harry’s the outsider. Which is okay because he’s always been kind of a loner, even when it hasn’t been by choice. Of course, he has Zayn, and Zayn’s been his friend since middle school, but Zayn also has a whole life outside of and away from Harry. 

Being a teacher has equipped Harry with skills he never would’ve expected to need when living in a loft with three other guys, yet he’s already had to dig deep into his bag of tricks. When Liam was sick with a stomach bug and couldn’t keep solid food down, Harry made him soup every day and sang to him every night until he fell asleep. When Niall and Louis were throwing knives at the ceiling and one fell, cutting Niall’s brand new cardigan, Harry was able to fix the sweater with his endless supply of yarn and crafting know-how. Now he’s being asked to call upon his acting abilities, though they are among the weakest in his skill set if he had to rank them, and attend a wedding while pretending to be Louis’ boyfriend. 

“This is the first time he’ll be in the same room as Cash since they broke up,” Niall says for the millionth time, laying on his side on Harry’s bed, and frowning. “You can’t wear that.”

“This is my favorite suit,” Harry says, tugging on the lapels of his purple, floral embroidered jacket. He looks at Louis sitting on the edge of the bed, and asks, “What’s wrong with my favorite suit?”

“It’s not sexy,” Niall says, gesturing for Harry to turn around. 

Harry obliges, slowly spinning in place while he says, “You’re awfully rude for someone who wants me to do them a favor.”

“You’re doing us all a favor, Harry,” Liam says, joining Niall on the bed. “Keeping Cash away from Louis is keeping Cash away from the loft. It’s keeping him away from all of us, which is what we all want. Right, Louis?”

“He’s right, Harry,” Louis says with a sigh. “Do you have anything less… flashy?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Niall hisses like a snake, then says, “Something sexy. Simple. Show a little skin. Sssss.”

“That’s good,” Louis says, giving Niall a thumbs up, and hissing. “Sexy, simple, skin, sssss.”

While the three of them hiss at each other, Harry ducks into his closet. Supposedly a simple black suit is sexy, though he’s always liked a little more color in his wardrobe. He hangs his purple jacket back up, and puts on his plain black suit jacket. It’s a bit snug across his shoulders, but he should be able to leave it unbuttoned, so it’ll be fine. The trousers aren’t as forgiving. Even with his tiniest briefs they’re tight in the waist, and worse, the crotch. It’ll be plain to anyone who glances in that direction that he dresses to the left. 

Standing up, the trousers aren’t so bad, but when Harry bends down to find his black dress shoes, they dig into his waist, and he knows he’ll be uncomfortable all night. If wearing too tight pants and pretending to be Louis’ boyfriend for the night are what he needs to do win Louis over, so be it. Harry can suffer for fashion. He’s witnessed Zayn do it almost daily for the last fifteen years. 

Skin. The third S. Harry hisses quietly, undoing the top three buttons of his shirt. He spritzes cologne on his wrists and chest, and grabs a narrow, black scarf, tying it loosely around his neck. Stepping out from behind his closet door, Harry hisses again, loudly this time, and the guys all stop talking to stare at him. 

“Simple,” Liam says with an approving nod. 

“Skin,” Niall says, pushing himself up off the bed, and leaning in to sniff Harry’s chest. “And you smell amazing. Scent. Scent is an S.”

“Sexy,” Louis says, adjusting his tie again. He bites his lip, gaze traveling up from Harry’s shoes as he stands. “You look great, Harold. Thanks for doing this.”

“Anytime you need a fake date for a wedding, let me know,” Harry says with a smile. “I love weddings.”

“I do love the free booze,” Louis says, slowly nodding his head side to side. 

“Yeah, and the food, like tiny quiches and shrimp cocktail and little sausages…” Harry hums, following Louis out of his room. “And the music and dancing and the toasts and everyone’s so happy and—”

“We get it,” Niall says, shooing them all out of the loft, and shutting the door. “You like weddings.”

“Love them,” Harry corrects with a grin, hands clasped in front of him to help hide his bulge. “I love love, really. I mean, I think everyone does in one way or another, but it just makes me really happy to see people committing to each other for life.”

“For better or worse,” Liam says, pressing the button for the elevator. 

“This is James’ third wedding in ten years,” Niall says as they step into the elevator. 

“Is there a pool? How are we betting?” Louis asks, leaning against the back wall of the elevator beside Harry. “I want to put twenty on them not lasting six months.”

“Three weddings? Open bar every time?” Harry asks, and when Niall nods, Harry nudges Louis with his elbow. “You’ll bring me as your date to the next one?”

“Show me what you’ve got tonight, and we’ll talk,” Louis says, though he doesn’t sound confident. 

“Don’t get drunk, Harry. Slight buzz only. You’re there to do a job,” Niall reminds him again. 

“My job is to be Louis’ date,” Harry says sweetly, linking his arm with Louis’ and bumping their hips together. “And I’m an awesome wedding date. Stop trying to take the fun out of it.”

“No fun, Harry,” Liam whispers, and Harry giggles, but Louis’ frown remains in place. 

“No fun,” Niall repeats louder. “No fun, no dancing, no more than two drinks.”

Sometimes Harry’s urge to make the best of every situation is overpowering, but in a case like this, he tamps down his urges. Tonight isn’t about him. But he can still have a good time, no matter what Niall says. Of course, it would be easier to pretend to be someone like Zayn’s date because he knows Zayn better than he knows anyone. And Louis is a tough nut to crack. Sometimes he’s kind and sweet, sometimes he’s like a grumpy old man, sometimes he’s a real pain in the ass, and there’s no way to know which version of Louis Louis will be at any given moment. 

“Harry and Louis, you’re in the back. Bleep-bleep,” Niall says as he presses the button to unlock his SUV and the car bleep-bleeps. “If things go the way I want them to, I won’t be coming home alone.”

“You never come home alone after weddings,” Liam says, climbing into the passenger seat of Niall’s SUV. “Gretchen always comes home with you.”

Niall sighs, and says, “I know.”

“Who’s Gretchen?” Harry quietly asks Louis, and Louis leans in close.

“This girl Niall hooks up with at weddings,” Louis whispers in his ear, breath tickling Harry’s neck. “She knows a lot of the people he knows, and it’s pretty much understood that when the reception’s over, Gretchen’s going home with Niall.”

“Have they ever, you know, dated?” Harry asks, glancing at Niall. “Like away from a wedding?”

Louis shakes his head. “She’s alright. Bossy. It’s good for Niall to be with someone who doesn’t take his shit, you know? But I don’t think either of them want more.”

“Must be some good sex,” Harry says, wondering how awful their personalities must clash for neither of them to be interested in more than an occasional fuck. 

“Niall called it athletic, rage-fueled, and mind-blowing,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. 

“You know it, baby!” Niall shouts from the front, winking at Harry in the rearview mirror. “They always come back for more.”

“Shut up, Niall,” Liam and Louis say in unison, and Harry laughs. 

Niall pulls up to the valet, which Louis strenuously objects to. “Last time you decided to valet park, you wouldn’t let me in the car until I paid a third of it. I’m not doing it this time! I’ll walk! I’ll take a cab!”

Clearing his throat, Harry says, “I can cover your part of the valet if you—” 

“No!” Louis smacks Harry in the chest, and says, “It’s the principle. We’re all perfectly healthy individuals capable of walking a couple hundred yards. Why pay to be lazy?”

“That’s an interesting point,” Harry says with a soft smile, but Liam’s and Niall’s laughter is much louder. 

“You have literally driven around for hours looking for a closer parking spot to avoid walking two blocks,” Liam scoffs, and adds, “more than once.”

“Janet from 3D was leaving!” Louis protests.

“Both times?” Liam asks like he already knows the answer.

“Yes!” 

“Bullshit,” Niall mutters, pretending to sneeze. 

“Whatever,” Louis says, opening the door to get out, and Harry scrambles to climb out the other side so he doesn’t miss anything. “I’m not paying.”

“You should stay,” Niall says sweetly. “Ride with the valet to wherever they park it, and walk back.”

Louis slams the door. “Fuck off.”

“Stop being an asshole about valet parking,” Niall says, shutting the driver’s door so gently that it hardly makes a sound. “Remember when I wanted to valet at—”

“Stop,” Louis whines, covering his ears.

Niall ignores him and raises his voice. “I wanted to valet at that terrible music festival you dragged me to, and you convinced me not to, and what happened? What happened, Louis?”

“Losing the car had nothing to do with not paying for ‘valet parking’,” Louis says with exaggerated air quotes. “We were on shrooms and we’d smoked way too much weed.”

“That was a fun weekend,” Niall says with a nostalgic sigh. 

Straightening his tie again, Louis frowns, and says, “Those kids would’ve stolen your car.” 

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, taking the ticket stub from the valet. “It’s just… I have to make it harder for myself to hook up with Gretchen. Can’t do it in the car if I don’t know where the car is.”

“That I’ll actually help pay for,” Louis says, pulling some cash out of his pocket. “Harry, since you’re my date tonight, you don’t have to pay.”

“Bullshit,” Niall fakes another sneeze, and Louis smacks the back of his head. 

Harry cries during the ceremony. For most of it, actually. He gets a glimpse of Cash—tall and long limbed, obvious even when he’s sitting, and blond which reminds Harry of Spencer and makes him automatically dislike Cash more than he already does—but he’s a few rows back. Harry’s not about to crane his neck. An experienced wedding guest, Harry brings a travel pack of tissues in his breast pocket, which comes in handy when he has to share with Louis. 

“Stop crying,” Louis whispers urgently in Harry’s ear, taking another tissue. “You’re making me cry!”

“Sorry,” Harry sniffles and wipes his eyes. “Six months you said?”

Louis huffs a little laugh through his nose that Harry wouldn’t hear if they weren’t so close. His lips brush the shell of Harry’s ear as he says, “If they’re lucky.”

With a shaky smile, Harry nods. “Lucky.” 

The reception is much more relaxed than the stuffy ceremony, but Harry’s pants are still too tight. When he was sitting during the ceremony, he unbuttoned his trousers, then he did them up again to get from the ceremony to the reception, and now he’s counting the seconds until he can sit again and undo the button and maybe the zipper.

“Yes,” Harry reaches for the champagne coupe in front of him at the bar, and says in a terrible British accent, “Posh.”

“He’s coming,” Louis says, eyes darting to Harry’s before he turns completely away and chugs his beer.

Harry leans into Louis’ back and hooks his chin over Louis’ shoulder. “He can still see you.”

“What— What are you doing?” Louis stammers, jerking his head around and bonking Harry in the nose. “Oh, shit, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says, feeling the bridge of his nose, pinching it, then holding his cool champagne glass to it. He narrows his eyes as Cash approaches, and smiles. “It’s fine, Lou.”

“D’you want some ice?” Louis asks, offering his beer bottle in the meantime. 

“No,” Harry says with a smirk. He waits until Cash is closer, then sets down his glass, and pouts at Louis, tapping the tip of his nose. 

“Louis, hey,” Cash says, waving to get his attention.

Before Cash can get his words out, Harry asks, “Will you kiss it better?”

Louis blinks in slow motion. “Wha— Hmm? Harry?”

“My nose, silly,” Harry says with an indulgent smile that he lets linger for a moment before he transforms it into a pout. “It hurts. I asked you to kiss it better.”

“Oh, um…” Wide-eyed, Louis cradles Harry’s face in his hands, and drops a delicate kiss to the bridge of his nose. “There you go, baby.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispers, pursing his lips to blow Louis a quick kiss. 

“Anytime,” Louis says, turning to Cash. “Hey, Cash, sorry. You know how it is.”

“Young love,” Harry singsongs, draping one arm over Louis’ shoulder, and loosely wrapping the other around his middle. “Hi… My name is Harry. You’re Ash?”

“Cash,” Cash says with a smile. 

“Oh! Okay. Sorry,” Harry says, nuzzling behind Louis’ ear and growling quietly. 

Louis stiffens in his hold, then shakes it off, and says, “Cash, this is my boyfriend Harry. Harry, this is Cash. We used to date.”

“Really?” Harry asks, giving Cash a wide, open-mouthed smile, then nipping at Louis’ ear. 

“Yeah, um…” Cash presses his lips together. 

“So, how’ve you been?” Louis asks, tipping his head to the side. 

“Good,” Cash says, watching Harry slide his hand down Louis’ arm and lace their fingers together. He swallows, and repeats, “Good.” 

Harry lifts Louis’ hand, playfully biting his knuckles. With a chuckle, Louis says, “Yeah? That’s great, Cash. Me too.”

“That’s good,” Cash says, smile tinged with regret. “I’ll see you around, um… It was good to meet you, Harry.”

“It was good to meet you too, Crash,” Harry says, biting his lower lip and blatantly ogling Louis.

“It’s, um, it’s Cash,” Cash says, shaking his head as he turns away. 

“Holy shit,” Louis mouths expressively.

“I know,” Harry says, eyes wide. “He said ‘good’ a lot.”

“Was that— Was he jealous?” Louis asks, and when Harry nods, he plants a smacking kiss on Harry’s cheek. “I love you, man. You’re amazing.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, dabbing his cheek with his napkin. 

A waiter passes by with a tray of mini quiches, and Louis asks, “You hungry?”

“Not until I’m sitting down,” Harry says, sucking in his stomach for some relief from the ever pressing waistband of his trousers. “You think they’ll play the Macarena or the Electric Slide?”

“I think they played those at James’ last wedding.” Louis sips his beer, and rests a hand on Harry’s lower back, guiding him away from the bar as he says, “They’ll probably mix it up with the chicken dance and maybe a conga line.”

“Too bad,” Harry says with a pout, letting Louis lead him to a table. “Love a good line dance.”

“Maybe the DJ will play ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ for you,” Louis suggests, giving Harry a crooked smile as he pulls out his chair. 

“‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’,” Harry says, waggling his eyebrows, and making Louis hide a giggle with the back of his hand. Now that he’s sitting down, Harry can undo his pants and breathe properly. 

“Boys,” Niall says, sliding out a chair, spinning it around and sitting in it backwards. He bumps the table, almost knocking Harry’s champagne coupe over. “Gretchen is after me and I can’t— I can’t go home with her tonight.”

“Why not?” Louis chuckles into his beer bottle, then closes one eye to peek into the bottle. He blows over the top of it, but it doesn’t make a sound, so he takes a sip and tries again.

“Remember Daniel?” Niall asks, whipping his head side to side. 

“Drunk Daniel? How could I not remember?” Louis nods, then turns to Harry and says, “The guy got wasted at every single party in college. Like, even if it wasn’t a party, he was there, drunk off his ass. And then he’d wind up on our futon. I don’t even know how because he didn’t live in our dorm.”

“I invited him to crash there,” Niall says, still whipping his head around as if expecting someone to sneak up on him. “Kept wanting to make a move, but he was always so drunk. It never worked out.”

“Are you expecting someone to sneak up on you?” Harry asks, and Niall nods, lips pursed.

“He’s sober now,” Niall says, tapping the side of Louis’ beer bottle. He stands and pushes the chair back under the table. “If he asks, I’m seven months sober.”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says with a snort. 

“Shit, there’s Gretchen,” Niall says, and disappears into the crowd. 

“He’d really lie about being a recovering alcoholic to sleep with someone?” Harry asks, frowning at his champagne. 

“That’s small on the scale of douchey behavior Niall would pull to get laid,” Louis says, scratching the beer label with his thumbnail. 

Harry looks up only to see Cash making his way towards them, so he inches closer to Louis and slips his hands around his waist. “Cash is coming over.”

“Shit. Shit, okay,” Louis says, chugging his beer and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “When he comes over, I want to talk to him alone. Okay?” 

Throwing his head back, Harry guffaws, cackling and gently smacking Louis’ shoulder while still holding onto his hip with his other hand. “You’re so funny!”

“I— Oh!” Louis laughs, but it’s obviously fake, so Harry tickles him, and he laughs properly even as he shouts, “Stop it! Don’t tickle me!”

“Hey, Louis, um…” Cash smiles, and says, “Can we talk?”

“Louis, can you help me with my tie?” Harry asks, tugging on the loose scarf around his neck.

Louis shakes his head, and says, “Didn’t you have something you wanted to do, Harry?”

“Right, right! I’ll just go do the thing.” Harry snatches his champagne glass off the table, and walks away. He opens his mouth to ask Louis to save him a dance, but Louis already has his back to him. So much for his fake date. Maybe he did it too well. 

He goes looking for Liam, trying to surreptitiously button his pants as he  heads for the main entrance. Just as he reaches for the door it opens, the DJ announces the bride and groom, and Harry finds himself in the middle of a spotlight. He darts around the bride, bumps into the groom, and rushes out of the room before his embarrassment freezes him in place. 

Holding his pants up, Harry makes his way to the bathroom. He locks himself in a stall and pushes his pants down with a sigh. Champagne glass in hand, Harry sits, and drinks, and waits. When he finished his champagne, he pees, then he zips himself into his too tight trousers again. He tries not to look at the way his dick stretches the fabric. 

Harry heads back to his seat, but Louis is at Cash’s table, so he’s stuck with four strangers. Thankfully there’s food to distract him, and he makes a plate before sitting down and undoing his pants again. 

Across the room, Louis and Cash look really happy. They’re laughing and talking and leaning in close to each other, and Harry wonders why he was tasked with posing as Louis’ boyfriend when he and Cash are having such a good time together. 

After he eats, Harry sips another glass of champagne, and watches the room. He’d like to dance, but Niall’s earlier warning and his too tight pants keep him in his seat. He fidgets in his chair, he's so uncomfortable, and when he sees Niall at the bar talking to Daniel, Harry tries to get his attention by waving his arms and calling his name, but Niall doesn’t seem to hear him, and Harry doesn’t want to get up and have to button his pants. 

Liam crosses the room to where Niall is standing by the bar, and a moment later, the two of them stalk towards Harry. 

“What the hell is going on, Harry?” Niall asks, holding his arms out to the sides and shrugging. 

“We’ve got a big problem,” Liam says, nodding at Louis and Cash. “What happened?”

“They’re just talking,” Harry says, sipping his fourth glass of champagne. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is you had one job and you blew it,” Niall says, combing his hair back with his fingers. 

Liam exhales through his nose, shaking his head slowly. “Cash likes to string him along. Mind games. He’ll flirt with Louis until he knows he can have him, then,” Smacking his fist against his palm, Liam says, “Bam!”

“And then Louis is a fucking mess. Not showering and not sleeping, then sleeping all the time on the couch, crying and listening to Phil Collins? I knew we made the wrong choice,” Niall says, pacing beside Harry’s table. “We can’t depend on you.”

“What do you— I’m dependable. I didn’t know Cash was like that,” Harry insists, setting his glass down when the champagne sloshes over onto his hand. “You can depend on me.”

“Then fix it,” Niall says, shaking his finger at Louis and Cash. 

“Ugh…” Harry stretches his legs out and leans back in his chair. “These pants are so tight though. It hurts.”

“Suck it up and deal,” Niall says, yanking him out of his chair and turning him to face Louis. 

“Go get ’em, Tiger,” Liam says, smacking his bum and sending him on his way. 

The quickest route is across the dance floor, and when Harry hits the polished wood, the DJ switches from “Endless Love” to “Macarena”, so Harry dances his way to Louis’ side. 

“Come on, Lou!” Harry calls, hands behind his head. Louis watches as he brings his left hand to his right hip, and his right hand to his left hip, uncrosses his arms, and circles his hips. “Dance with me!”

“I’m gonna get a drink,” Cash says over the music. 

“Me too!” Louis says, standing up to follow. 

“Louis, wait!” Harry Macarenas off the dance floor and says, “Dance with me, please?”

“I can’t, Harry,” Louis says, taking Harry’s hands on his, and smiling so that the corners of his eyes crinkle. “He wants to talk. I think I finally have a chance. Thank you!” 

Louis rushes away before Harry can stop him, but when he turns to ask Liam and Niall for help, they’re nowhere to be seen. 

“Fuck it,” Harry says, tugging on his tie as he heads for the bathroom. Maybe he can fasten his pants with it somehow because he can’t keep wearing them otherwise. 

The bathroom is empty, and Harry’s had a lot of champagne, so he undoes his trousers in front of the sink, lifting his shirt and pooching his belly out. He rubs his hand in circles over it, pretending he’s pregnant, and Daniel walks in. 

“Hey!” Harry says, turning towards him. “Daniel! Niall really likes you. And I don’t know anything about you, but that’s cool.” 

Laughing, Harry looks down, and the tip of his soft dick is sticking out of his tiny briefs. He can’t explain it except that maybe his penis was trying to escape the confines of his trousers on its own. When he looks up, Daniel is gone. 

While he’s in there, he might as well make use of the facilities, but there’s only so much Harry feels comfortable doing in a public restroom. The door opens again, and Gretchen comes in. This time, Harry checks to make sure his dick is hidden. 

“Hey, sorry,” Gretchen says, going straight for the stall. “Line in the ladies. Knew there wouldn’t be one in here.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s fine,” Harry says, turning on the sink to wash his hands again. 

“How long have you been in here?” Gretchen asks through the door. “I thought I saw you go in when I was waiting for the ladies.”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, turning off the water. “I don’t want to go back out there because I have to fasten my pants and they’re so tight, I just… I can’t.”

“Hold on,” Gretchen says, and the toilet flushes. She washes her hands, then fishes a rubber band from her purse. “Do this.” Holding the hem of her shirt up, she cinches the rubber band through the buttonhole of her pantsuit, then loops it around the button, and pulls her shirt over it. She takes the rubber band back off and hands it to Harry. “You shouldn’t be hiding in the bathroom when you could be on the dance floor.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, threading the rubber band through the buttonhole of his trousers and looping it on the button. The zipper’s down, but his untucked shirt covers it, and he can finally breathe. 

With his second wind, Harry heads back for the dance floor, but he’s stopped by Niall before he can get there. 

“What the hell did you say to Daniel?” Niall asks, arms waving. “He said you scared him and then he just took off!”

“Nothing,” Harry says with a quiet laugh. “I told him you like him, but I thought he knew that.”

“That can’t be it,” Niall says, frowning and stomping his foot. “You did something.”

“We’ve got a problem!” Liam says, grabbing Harry’s shoulder. “What happened with Louis?”

“He wouldn’t dance with me!” Harry grits his teeth, and flails a little. “He went with Cash and he wouldn’t listen to me. Was I supposed to tackle him?”

“Yes,” Liam says. “He’d thank you for it eventually. But for now he’s in the photo booth with Cash and we’re screwed.”

“We’re not screwed,” Harry says, confident in his abilities thanks to his newfound pants freedom. He strides over to the photo booth, pulling a nose hair on the way to make his eyes water, and throws open the heavy purple velvet curtain. 

“Harry!” Louis clutches his hand to his chest, and Cash stills, eyes going wide. 

“How could you do this to me, baby?” Harry wails, hands clasped in front of his chest. Fake tears threatening to fall, Harry says, “I thought I could trust you. You said you loved me!”

Louis laughs, and says, “Harry, this is not—”

“Nothing happened! Nothing happened!” Cash yells, clambering out of the photo booth. “I swear, nothing happened. I've got a boyfriend.”

“You’ve got a boyfriend?” Louis asks, voice a little squeaky. 

“Yeah, I mean, we haven’t been together that long,” Cash explains, then rests his hand on Harry’s shoulder while looking at Louis. “I didn’t bring him because I didn’t want to upset you, but now you’ve got Harry, so it’s fine, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Louis says, exiting the photo booth and pushing past Cash. “Thanks a lot, Harry.”

“I was so right,” Niall says, arms crossed tight over his chest. “Ruiner.”

“Did you just call me a ruiner?” Harry asks. 

“Look around, Harry,” Niall says, twirling his finger in a wide circle above his head as if to indicate all Harry has ruined so far. 

“You know what?” Harry takes a step back. “Fuck you. I tried to help, but Louis wouldn’t let me, and you’ve been nothing but an ass all night because you don’t want to go home with a perfectly lovely girl.”

“Gretchen?” Niall snorts. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever,” Harry says, slipping his jacket off. “I’m going to dance and have fun and no one’s going to stop me. Can’t believe I came with a bunch of party poopers.”

Harry only dances for two songs before Liam joins him on the dance floor. “Hey, man, they were being assholes.”

“Ehh…” Harry spins on his toes.

“They were,” Liam says, shaking his hips to the beat. “And tomorrow when they’re sober, they should apologize.”

“We’ll see about that,” Harry says, letting Liam twirl him. They dance to a few songs, taking turns leading, laughing, and having fun together until Harry’s legs are tired. “Come sit down.”

Liam sits across from him, and picks up one of the little bottles of bubbles from the center of the table. He blows some bubbles towards the dance floor, and Harry grabs a bottle too. 

“Liam. Harry,” Niall says, sliding into the chair beside Liam. Harry rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and pointedly looking away from Niall. “Louis is looking for you.”

“Me?” Liam asks.

“No, for Harry,” Niall says, and Harry turns, eyes wide. “He won’t stop asking for you. He’s in the photo booth again.”

Harry heaves a sigh and pushes himself up out of his chair. He drains the nearest champagne glass, and says, “I’ll be right back.”

The photo booth is set up in the corner at the far end of the bar, and Harry weaves his way around the crowd waiting for their turn inside. As he approaches the booth, Louis calls out, “Harry! Somebody get Harry.”

Harry pushes the curtain aside, and Louis looks up at him through his eyelashes, lids heavy. “Harry, Harry, Harry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was a dick.”

“You were,” Harry says, giving Louis’ shoulder a shove. “Move over.”

“You like my photo booth?” Louis asks, pulling the curtain closed. He leans against the wall, and says, “I’m really sorry. You were only doing what I asked and I— I was terrible to you.”

“It’s fine, Lou. Thank you for apologizing,” Harry says, draping his arm around Louis’ shoulder. “Cash has a boyfriend.”

“Yeah…”

“It was really unfair of him to do what he did tonight,” Harry says, pressing the button to take a picture and reaching over to force Louis’ mouth into a smile. “He shouldn’t’ve been flirting with you and stuff.”

“He shouldn’t’ve been,” Louis agrees, shoulders slumping as he wipes his eyes. 

“You need to let him go,” Harry whispers, and when Louis looks at him, he tries for an encouraging smile. “But you know what?” Stretching his arms overhead, Harry says, “We can’t stay here. People are waiting to get their pictures taken. So… You can either sit around feeling sorry for yourself, or you can come out, dance, and have fun with your friends. Up to you.”

“Up to you,” Louis says, and Harry smiles, ducking out of the photo booth and heading back for the table. 

Niall and Liam watch him anxiously as he makes his way over, so he lets them stew, sitting down and sipping his champagne until Niall says, “Well?”

“He’s okay,” Harry says with a shrug. He nods towards Louis, and they all turn to see him take a seat beside Cash. 

“He looks okay,” Liam says, glancing back at Harry and giving him a thumbs up. 

“What is he…” Niall jerks around, eyes narrowed as he looks Harry up and down. “He’s not crying and he’s shaking Cash’s hand.”

“I can see that,” Harry says, crossing his arms and kicking his feet up into an empty chair. He points at Louis as he hugs Cash, then they all turn away while Louis walks back to them. The song changes, and the slow piano of Phil Collins’ “Groovy Kind of Love” plays over the speakers. A great song for slow dancing, and it’s that time of night. No more line dancing, no more fast songs. Everyone’s winding down before it’s time to go. 

Louis stands between him and the dance floor, hands on his hips. He does look better, like all the crying sobered him up a little. Smiling, he reaches down and taps Harry’s knee. “Come on.”

“We’re leaving?” Harry sits up, looking for his jacket, which is thankfully hanging on the back of Liam’s chair. 

“Nah, we’re dancing,” Louis says, offering his hand, but Harry doesn’t take it. He does stand and follow Louis onto the dance floor, but he keeps some distance between them, unsure what Louis’ motives are, and not wanting to get caught in some jealousy game with Cash again. 

Grinning, Louis brings his arms out in front of him, one at a time, parallel to the floor and palms down. He winks, then rotates his forearms one at a time to turn his palms up. When he places his right hand on his left shoulder, Harry giggles and joins in. 

A slow motion Macarena is exactly what he needs tonight, and together, he and Louis put their hands on the backs of their heads, then bring them down, right hand to left hip, left hand to right hip. Adding a little wiggle, Harry switches his hands, right hand to right hip, left hand to left hip, and they both laugh as they circle their hips to the beat of the song. When they jump ninety degrees to the left, Harry adds a flailing flourish, and Liam hops up to join them, Niall right behind him.

Chapter Text

NOVEMBER

Harry’s first Halloween in the loft sucks. He catches something from one of his students, and spends the evening laying on the couch in his perfect Elvira, Mistress of the Dark costume. They don’t even get any trick-or-treaters, so he winds up eating too much candy, which doesn’t help his already upset stomach, and he misses out on what sounds like a fun night with the boys at some new club where Niall apparently knows someone who knows someone, guaranteeing they’ll at least get inside no matter how bad Louis’ “costume” is. 

Harry even thinks of it in air quotes because Louis gelled his hair back, put on one of Niall’s suits, and called himself a “businessman”. He wouldn't take Harry’s suggestion to add a little fake blood splatter so he could be Patrick Bateman from American Psycho.

Missing out on Halloween makes Harry want to celebrate his first Thanksgiving in the loft with a big turkey and a lot of wine, but he’s been voted down. Thursday is Louis’ day off from the bar, Niall has plans to run in the Turkey Trot 10K Race that morning, and Liam abstained from the vote, so it was two against one. 

Harry’s still unhappy about it the weekend before Thanksgiving, and trying to figure out how to convince Louis to side with him while he makes his Saturday morning coffee and listens in on a conversation between Louis and Niall.

“I don’t know, Ni,” Louis says, leaning against the tall kitchen table. “He’s like, so sarcastic all the time. I can’t tell if he likes me or if he’s just fucking with me.”

“But you’re going on a date with him,” Niall says slowly, and Louis shrugs.

“Am I?” Louis asks the room at large. “I don’t even know how to do this anymore.”

“Cash didn’t take away your ability to date,” Niall says with a scoff. “Jump in with both feet, man. You’ll be fine.”

Harry sets his coffee down, and says, “You’re going on a date?”

“Not just any date,” Niall says, patting Louis’ shoulder. “A date with Andrew from the bar.”

“Oooh… He’s gorgeous,” Harry says, doing a little celebration dance and pumping his fists. “Is this your first date since Cash?”

“Yes,” Louis says, nervously straightening his dirty t-shirt. “And I’m not freaking out.”

“Not at all,” Harry says, pinching his lower lip while he looks Louis over. He certainly appears to be freaking out considering it’s ten o’clock on Saturday morning and his date probably doesn’t start for another eight hours at least.

“Like I said, it’ll be fine,” Niall says, waving off Louis’ quiet whine. “Just suck in your gut when you take your shirt off.”

“My what?” Louis holds both hands to his stomach. “What are you talking about?”

Niall pokes Louis’ belly and says, “Your beer baby.”

“You don’t have to take your shirt off,” Harry says helpfully, though Louis is shirtless more often than not. “It’s a first date.”

Laughing haughtily, Niall says, “Please. Louis isn’t going out with Andrew for the conversation. Have you seen him?”

“I have.” Doing the same little dance and adding a hip thrust, Harry says, “He’s so hot. Like, I kind of want to cover him in melted butter? I don’t know why.”

“No, I get that,” Niall says with a nod. “It would make him shine and his muscles would be defined by the grease. Not to mention, he’d taste like butter.”

“Jesus Christ,” Louis says, leaving them in the kitchen and heading for his bedroom. 

Leaning down to rest his elbows on the tall table, Harry says, “He seems nervous.”

“Cash really fucked him up,” Niall says, frowning and sipping his coffee. “It’s been like eight months and he’s finally starting to get back to normal.”

“Hopefully the date goes well,” Harry says, pouring a little more coffee in his cup. “Sometimes it takes a little taste of something new—hubba, hubba—to break the connection to an ex, you know what I mean?”

“Has anyone said ‘hubba, hubba’ since the sixties?” Niall asks, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“I have some tests to grade,” Harry says, picking up his coffee and excusing himself. With Thanksgiving coming this week, Christmas break is right around the corner, and he really wants to be able to fly home to visit his mom. 

Teaching middle school science is more than a little challenging. Puberty really does a number on kids, and most of them are so caught up in their own personal drama that they hardly pay attention in class. Tests are up and down and depend more on whatever’s going on with the kids’ friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, families. It’s a mess, but it makes Harry think about his own time in middle school, meeting Zayn and having a real friend for the first time. 

Harry pulls out the folders of tests from his satchel, and starts with his first period class. He’s in the middle of grading the second test when familiar Jamaican dancehall music begins to play from across the hall. It’s fun background noise, and Harry hums along until Louis turns it up too loud for him to think. 

“Louis!” Harry shouts from his room, “Turn it down!”

Instead of getting quieter, the music swells louder and louder, so Harry gets up and steps across the hall, opening Louis’ door to ask him to turn down the volume. 

“Turn it down,” Harry says as he pushes the door wide, mouth dropping open when he sees Louis dancing in front of his mirror completely naked. 

Louis freezes mid-body roll, and screams, “Get out!”

One of Harry’s uncontrollable honking goose laughs escapes before he can stop it, and he shrieks as he stumbles backwards, closing Louis’ bedroom door. He can’t pretend he isn’t impressed by Louis’ moves or his dick or that ass, but hopefully he can forget them. 

“Oh… my god,” Harry whispers to himself as he walks away. Niall and Liam are still in the kitchen, so he goes straight to them, and says, “I feel like, as your roommate, I have to tell you guys I just accidentally saw Louis naked.”

Raising his eyebrows, Liam asks, “Full frontal?”

“All sides,” Harry says, dropping onto one of the stools. “He was dancing in front of the mirror, so… I saw everything.”

“You saw his dick?” Niall asks, hand to his chest.

“No big deal,” Liam says with a shrug. “I’m sure we’ve all seen each other naked.”

“I haven’t,” Harry says, shaking his head. 

Normally he’s quite the fan of nudity, but with a leather sofa and an apartment door that never seems to stay locked, Harry’s curbed his nakedness since moving into the loft, and almost always wears pajamas around the house.

“I’ve never seen Louis’ dick,” Niall says, arms crossed over his chest. He turns to Liam and asks, “When did you see it?”

Liam snorts. “I don’t know. We grew up together. Locker rooms, sports teams, penis fights, whatever. It happens. I mean, it’s not like I’ve looked, but I’ve seen it.”

“Lies,” Niall says, smacking Liam’s arm. “You looked. If Louis Tomlinson wasn’t part of your bisexual awakening, I’ll suck your dick.”

“Ew.” Liam sticks out his tongue, and says, “What’s the loft rule?”

Rolling his eyes, Niall says, “No sex with roommates.”

“That’s a rule?” Harry asks, and they both turn to face him.

“Definitely a rule,” Liam says, and points to Niall. “Tell him why, Niall.”

“Because I slept with Hank,” Niall says. “I don’t regret it. And you shouldn’t either, Harry. It’s the reason we needed a new roommate.”

“Hank got attached,” Liam says, waving in Niall’s direction. “Not sure why, but he did. And it didn’t end well. Hence the rule.”

“Hence the rule,” Niall repeats, then points across the loft, and Harry turns to see Louis emerging from the hallway, sweatshirt fully zipped, hood pulled down to hide his face. He grabs his keys from the dish by the door, and Harry jumps up, hurrying towards him.

“Louis, I—”

“Shut up, Harry,” Louis says, opening the door. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Can you let me apologize for—”

“No!” Louis blocks the doorway, and says, “I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

He shuts the door before Harry gets the chance to follow, and when Harry opens the door, Louis is gone. Apparently he took the stairs, because the elevator dings, the doors slide open, and no one is inside. Harry steps in, hits the button for the lobby, then repeatedly jabs the button to close the doors, but when the elevator opens on the ground floor, Louis isn’t there, and he’s not on the stairs when Harry walks back up either. He must’ve run the whole way just to get away from Harry. 

Harry doesn’t see Louis again until Sunday afternoon which means Louis has been hiding out in his bedroom all day because Harry was up early, and he’s been hanging out at the loft, bedroom door open while he struggles to put together his new Ikea dresser. It shouldn’t be this hard, but he’s always had trouble with following directions on things like this, finding it difficult to visualize where each piece goes even with the pictures on the instruction manual. 

When Louis’ bedroom door opens, Harry drops his Allan wrench and darts into the hallway. “Louis, I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“Can you just let it go?” Louis asks, walking past him and pulling his hood up. If Harry had to guess, Louis is wearing the same clothes from the day before, which might be a good sign if he was coming home at two in the afternoon, but considering he’s been home since around two in the morning, which is when Harry woke up to the sound of the loft door, it doesn’t bode well. 

“It was an accident!” Harry hurries after him out of the loft, regretting his lack of shoes when he steps into the carpeted hallway. “I didn’t mean to see your— you know. And I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“Then why did you?” Louis throws his hands up when the elevator opens and Harry follows him past the sliding doors. “You ruined my date last night. I couldn’t even take my shirt off! All I could hear was your stupid, loud honking laugh. Who laughs like that?”

“Me?” Harry shivers a little at the feeling of the dirty elevator floor on his bare feet. “I’m sorry. I was just surprised. I didn’t know you were naked and I… I mean, there’s nothing wrong with you… your body.”

The elevator comes to a stop, and the doors slide open. As Louis steps out, he turns to Harry, and quietly says, “You laughed at my dick. You looked right at it and laughed.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your dick!” Harry shouts, but Louis ignores him and pushes the lobby door open, leaving Harry standing barefoot in the elevator, muttering to himself as it takes him back to the fourth floor. “It’s a perfectly nice penis. Thick. A respectable length.”

When he gets back to the loft, Harry pushes his poorly constructed dresser into place and goes straight for the shower, then gets dressed so he can meet Zayn. Today he’s walking a catwalk for some men’s lingerie brand, and Harry wants to see how they manage to contain all the penises because Zayn swears none of them will be visible even through lace thongs. 

Anytime Harry attends one of Zayn’s fashion things, he wears all black. It’s like a uniform that helps him blend into the background, and no one ever questions him when he shows up backstage at these events. 

“Hey, you came!” Zayn shimmies in his satin robe, and pulls Harry into a careful hug so he doesn't smudge his makeup. “Want to see the socks?”

“Socks?” Harry frowns, and Zayn laughs.

“Body socks,” Zayn says, waggling his eyebrows. He unties his robe, and lets it fall open, revealing his mostly naked body. 

“Nope.” Averting his gaze, Harry stares at the ceiling instead of what can only be described as the very fitted penis sleeve Zayn is wearing. “That is so… off-putting.”

“It’s just like underwear to wear under underwear,” Zayn says, reaching down to move his fabric enclosed penis so Harry is forced to wonder how he got it inside the sleeve in the first place. 

“Underunderwear,” Harry says, now unable to look away. “Is your dick that color?”

“You’ve seen my dick,” Zayn says, retying his robe. 

“Not up close and it’s not like I was studying it.” Glancing down at Zayn’s now concealed crotch, Harry sighs, and says, “I accidentally saw Louis’ dick.”

“So?” Sitting in front of the makeup mirror, Zayn brushes a sparkling powder over his cheekbones. “You’re roommates. That place has urinals. You’re bound to see each other’s dicks.”

“Yeah, but this was different,” Harry says, pulling up a chair and sorting through the eyeshadows on the table. “He’s mad at me ’cause I laughed even though it was a nervous laugh and not a ‘your dick is hilarious’ laugh, and he said I ruined his date last night, and now I feel like I need to do something to like, make things up to him.”

Zayn turns in his chair and takes the shimmery purple shadow from Harry’s hand. “Sit still and close your eyes.”

“’Kay,” Harry says, accustomed to following Zayn’s orders when it comes to things like this. 

Cupping Harry’s chin, Zayn tips it up slightly, then sets to work, sweeping the shadow over Harry’s lids. “I think the way to make it up to him is to let him see you naked.”

“Tit for tat,” Harry says with a snort. 

“Dick for dick,” Zayn says as he carefully applies the shadow close to Harry’s lash line, then gently blows on Harry’s face. “Open your eyes.”

Harry blinks and looks at his reflection, turning his head side to side. “I’m so pretty.”

“If only you could walk a runway without falling on your ass,” Zayn says, picking up a tube of mascara. “Let me do your makeup while we wait. It calms my nerves.”

“Go for it,” Harry says, opening his eyes and mouth wide so Zayn can get to his lashes. 

By the time Zayn is finished adding lipstick to Harry’s already pink pout, he’s relaxed and ready, and Harry watches from the wings as he walks the runway, amazed at all the gorgeous men with their dicks hidden by underunderwear. There are a few things Harry might be willing to wear, specifically the lavender lace bikini cut pair that Zayn models for the audience. It looks soft and sweet, like something Harry might wear with jeans on a day out shopping. A secret for himself or maybe a special someone he could tease a little with a peek of lace. 

When Harry leaves that night, it’s with a full face of makeup, a new pair of panties, and a plan. He goes straight back to the loft, stashing his lavender lace underwear in his newly built dresser, and stripping out of his clothes, figuring he’ll wait to shower after. 

Towel wrapped around his waist, Harry tiptoes across the hall to Louis’ room, knocking on the door a few times before giving up and opening it. Of course, Louis isn’t home yet, which puts a damper on Harry’s plan, but then the door to the loft opens and Louis’ voice drifts in. Harry grins, stepping inside Louis’ room and closing the door. 

Wandering across the room, Harry looks out the window while he waits for Louis. The bedroom door bangs open, and Louis and Andrew stumble in pulling at each other’s clothes, lips locked in a messy kiss. 

Harry panics. He drops to the floor and tries to slide under Louis’ bed, but there isn’t enough space, so he hides, peeking around the foot of the bed. When Louis and Andrew fall together onto the mattress, Harry crawls for the door, attempting to make a break for it on his hands and knees. 

A shriek stops him, and he looks up to find Andrew staring and pointing and screaming, “Oh my god!”

“What the hell are you doing?” Louis shouts, grabbing Harry’s arm and yanking him to his feet. 

Harry wrenches his arm free of Louis’ grip, and runs for the door, slamming into the shelf beside it and spinning around, towel falling freely to the floor. 

“Hi, I'm Harry. Welcome to our home.” A little dazed, Harry abandons his towel, opening the door, sprinting across the hall and slamming his bedroom door. He leans back against it, trying to catch his breath. 

Once he’s safely covered by his bathrobe, Harry sits on his bed, trying not to listen in on Louis and Andrew even though it’s impossible not to overhear when they’re right outside the door, and Andrew says, “You’re just a little much for me. I was looking for an easy lay, and you seem like you have a lot of baggage, so… I’ll see you at work.”

Harry waits until he’s sure Louis is back in his room with the door shut before he sneaks off for the shower. Zayn’s makeup takes some work to remove, and when he’s done, Harry decides to call it a night. He needs to be up early for school anyway, and Louis isn’t going to listen to his apologies. Dressed in his favorite flannel pajamas, Harry chances a trip to the kitchen for a glass of water. 

“Loft meeting, now!” Louis shouts from the living room as soon as Harry opens his bedroom door. 

“What’s going on?” Liam says, rubbing his eyes.

“Were you asleep?” Harry asks, but Liam shakes his head. 

“Heard Louis and Andrew earlier,” Liam says quietly, following Harry to the couch. “I was hiding because I didn't want to deal with the fallout.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, and Niall joins them on the couch, all three of them looking up at Louis and waiting.

Clapping with each word, Louis loudly and slowly asks, “What do we do when we see a closed door and want to open it?”

Harry raises his hand, and Louis glares at him as he quietly answers, “Knock?”

“Knock!” Louis yells, leaning over and knocking on the coffee table. “Knock, Harry! Just fucking knock, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry says, wincing when Louis storms off to his room and slams the door. 

“Did you see his penis again?” Niall asks, and Liam smacks him in the back of the head.

“No,” Harry says with a pout as he gets up from the couch and heads to the kitchen. He doesn’t tell them that Louis likely saw his. “Anybody want tea?”

Liam takes the opportunity to get out of the loft for the first time that day, and Niall goes back to his bedroom, leaving Harry alone in the kitchen. He makes a cup of chamomile tea for Louis, too, hoping that he likes it with a little honey, and carefully holds both mugs in one hand while he knocks on Louis’ bedroom door. 

“Come in,” Louis says miserably, and Harry opens the door, peeking inside. 

“Hey,” Harry says, still knocking on the door as he passes it. He sets one mug down on Louis’ nightstand, and sips his tea. “I’m really sorry about Andrew.”

“I just… I just wanted to get laid,” Louis says, flopping back onto his bed. He rolls to the side and sniffs the mug. “Is there booze in this?”

“It’s chamomile tea.”

“That’s not a no,” Louis says, picking up the mug and taking a sip. “Why were you in my room, Harold?”

“Um… earlier? I was trying to make up for the other night. I accidentally saw yours, so I figured I’d show you mine…” Harry cringes, completely closing one eye, and squinting the other one until he can barely see Louis at all. “Did you see… everything?”

“Oh, yeah,” Louis says with a chuckle. “Makeup was a nice touch. Cute little ass. And, um, I don’t know where you hide that thing, Harry Styles, but keep it away from me.”

“My dick?” Harry looks down at his fastened robe and frowns. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s like, insanely huge, man,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. 

“It’s not insanely huge,” Harry says defensively. “It’s not small, but it’s not… It’s normal.”

“If you say so.”

“Louis! Tell me my dick is normal,” Harry insists, tea sloshing onto his hand. 

“Your dick is not normal,” Louis says, and Harry growls, sucking the tea off his thumb. “At least nobody laughed at yours.”

“I wasn’t laughing at your dick,” Harry explains, wishing he’d thought to put on actual clothes for this conversation. “I laughed because I was embarrassed at walking in on you like that. It’s, like, a nervous thing. I swear I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just me being… me.”

“You’re sure?” Louis asks, setting his tea down, and standing up.

“I promise,” Harry says, breathing a sigh of relief. “Your dick is… It’s… above average in length, has a good girth. I mean, I…”

“Thanks, Harry,” Louis says, gently grabbing Harry’s arm and turning him around. He guides him through the door, and out into the hall. “No more talking about my penis.”

“Tell me mine is normal,” Harry whispers urgently, and Louis laughs.

“Your dick isn’t normal,” Louis says with a wink, and Harry scowls. “But that’s not a bad thing, okay?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asks the closed door of Louis’ bedroom. “Louis!”

“Goodnight, Harry!” Louis yells through the door, and when Harry tries the knob, it’s locked. “Ha! Go to bed!”

Grumbling, Harry takes his tea to his room, and settles in to read a bit before going to sleep. Only a few days of school this week before the long Thanksgiving weekend, and he can’t wait.

Tuesday night, Harry goes to bed early. He only has one more day before the long Thanksgiving weekend, and his lesson plan consists of crafts and a movie after they go over the tests he has to hand back. It’ll be an easy day, but he still wants to do his best. 

A few hours after he falls asleep, he’s awoken by his phone ringing. Only three people are exempt from Harry’s Do Not Disturb settings: his mom, his dad, and Zayn. He revoked Gemma’s Do Not Disturb privileges when she called him from Coachella at three in the morning to tell him she thought she saw Danny Devito.

The ring that wakes him up belongs to Zayn. He’s drunk at some club with the guy he’s been seeing—a DJ named Rolf who Harry’s met just long enough to decide he hates him—and he needs a ride home. Harry climbs out of bed, shoving his feet into his sneakers and putting his jacket on over his turkey print pajamas. When he walks out of his room, he’s greeted not by a quiet, dark loft, but by the sound of Louis and Niall arguing in the living room.

“You never do anything,” Niall says as Harry steps out of the hallway. “This is all you ever do, Louis. Come on! Get crunk with me!”

“You are almost thirty, Niall,” Louis says, leaning to the side to keep his eyes on the TV when Niall moves to stand in front of him. “If you ever had any right to say the word crunk, that time has passed.”

“Come with me, man!” Niall holds his arms out wide to the sides, and says, “It’s a new club opening! There’ll be hot girls and hot guys and no one’ll be wearing much of anything. You know how it goes. Come on.”

“Who has a grand opening for a club on a Tuesday?” Louis asks. 

“People who don’t have nine to five jobs, Tommo,” Niall says, pressing his hands together in prayer. “Please?”

“Niall, I’ve worked five shifts in a row, and three of those were doubles,” Louis says, picking up the PlayStation controller and wagging it in Niall’s face. “I’m tired and sore and all I want to do is play this game until I pass out. You go ahead and have fun, okay? I just want a quiet night in.”

“What are you doing?” Liam asks from behind him, and Harry shrieks, jumping and holding his hands to his chest.

“That’s not giving me a quiet night in, Harold,” Louis says, and Harry shakes his head, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. 

“I have to go do something, I’ll be right back, but, um… Don’t worry,” Harry says, grabbing his keys and heading for the door. “I won’t disturb your game or whatever.”

“Thanks, man,” Louis says, pointedly looking at Niall, then Liam. “You going or staying, Li?”

Harry walks out of the loft before he can get dragged into an argument. It’s not a long drive to the club to pick up Zayn, and Harry squints at the grand opening sign, wondering if this is where Niall and Liam are trying to convince Louis to go. Zayn isn’t out front, so Harry circles the block and winds up parking a few streets over. He walks to the club, pushing past the line to the bouncer at the door. 

“Not here to party… my friend…” Harry says, covering a yawn. “Here to pick up Zayn Malik. I think he was one of the—”

“He’s at the DJ booth,” the man says, moving the velvet rope aside. 

“Thanks,” Harry says. He weaves his way through the crowded dance floor, and Niall was right. Most of the people there are hardly what he’d call dressed, but it’s nothing compared to the lingerie he saw the other night with Zayn. Harry pushes past a group of drunk girls, and there’s Zayn. He’s shouting and waving his arms around, and Harry has to duck twice before he manages to tap Zayn on the shoulder and get his attention. 

“Harry!” Zayn yells, grabbing Harry’s arm and yanking him forward. “Guess what this dickhead did?”

“I… have no idea,” Harry says.

“He kissed two of the shot girls!” Zayn reaches up and grabs Rolf’s shirt, ripping it down the front. “We’re over!”

Harry takes Zayn’s hand and pulls him back through the crowd, nodding his thanks to the bouncer at the door. When they’re far enough from the club that Harry feels like he can think again, he lets go of Zayn’s hand. 

“Want my jacket?” Harry asks, already taking it off. The thin mesh of Zayn’s top provides absolutely no protection, and though it isn’t cold, it’s cool enough that Harry’s mom would chastise him for letting Zayn out without a coat. He drapes the jacket over Zayn’s shoulders, and says, “Rolf was an ass.”

“Named after a goddamn Muppet,” Zayn says with a giggle. 

“Was he really?” Harry asks, linking their hands again and steering Zayn towards his car. 

“I don’t know, but, um…” Glancing over, Zayn ducks his head, then asks, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Ugh, Z, I’ve got to work in the morning,” Harry says, already mentally preparing himself to sleep with Zayn pinwheeling in his bed. He unlocks his car, and asks, “Can’t I take you home?”

“Rolf will be there later,” Zayn says, climbing into the passenger seat. “I know. I know. I know. I just… I don’t like sleeping alone, you know? And I’ll kick him out tomorrow, but I don’t want to deal with him tonight. Please?”

“Fine,” Harry says as they pull onto the highway. “But you have to behave. Like, you have to come to my room and go straight to bed. Niall and Liam are out, but Louis is home and he said he wanted a quiet night in.”

“Quiet night in,” Zayn says, leaning his seat back. He falls asleep in the few minutes it takes to get back to the loft, giving Harry the impression that he’ll be easier to put to bed, but the second he wakes up, he’s got his second wind, and he won’t stop dancing, even with no music. 

Harry shushes him when they step out of the elevator, and again while he’s unlocking the door to the loft, and he shushes him when they walk inside, but then all bets are off because Niall and Liam are still there, and it’s like two sober moths to a very drunk flame. 

“Hey, boys!” Zayn says, kicking off his shoes and tossing Harry’s jacket to the floor. 

“Sorry, guys,” Harry says, picking up his jacket. “Zayn’s staying over, but he’s coming right to bed. Just have to get him some pajamas and set up a bucket in case, you know. In case.” 

Niall and Liam ignore Harry’s presence, and Louis scowls at him, probably because Zayn’s danced his way in front of the television, so Harry hurries to take off his shoes, hang up his coat, and find a t-shirt and sweatpants for Zayn. He moves the wastebasket from under his desk to beside the bed, and hopes Zayn hasn’t caused too much trouble in the few minutes he’s been gone. Unfortunately, Harry can hear the volume of the music in the living room. 

“Hey…” Harry stops at the end of the hallway, annoyed but not surprised by the sight before him. Thumping bass vibrates the floor as Zayn moves to the music, flanked by Niall and Liam, both of them too sober to be making such asses of themselves. When Niall takes off his shirt and begins to twerk, Harry hits his limit, and slips past them to turn the music down. “Time for bed, Z.”

“Not ready for bed, H!” Zayn spins around, brushing against Niall’s bum, and says, “We’re having a party!”

“We’re not…” Harry clears his throat, and raises his voice, “We’re not having a party!”

“Come on, Louis!” Zayn steps around the coffee table, blocking Louis’ view of the TV, and takes both of his hands, pulling him to his feet. “Dance with me. What’s under this flannel?”

“I don’t wanna dance,” Louis complains, trying to sidestep Zayn, but Zayn’s surprisingly quick on his feet. Attempting to go the other way, Louis mutters, “I really— I’ll just go—” 

“Zayn, just let him—” Harry gasps, hands over his mouth as buttons fly from Louis’ flannel shirt, and Zayn cackles, still pulling on the collar. “Enough! Stop it!”

“I’m going to bed,” Louis says, pushing past Zayn, and shaking his head when he catches Harry’s eye. “Night, Harry. Thanks for trying.”

“Music off!” Harry shouts, and Liam turns it off. “Everyone, go to bed now!”

“Yes, sir,” Niall says, rolling his eyes. He picks up his shirt, and winks at Zayn as he leaves the room. Liam doesn’t even say goodnight, just slinks off down the hall, probably worried Harry’ll yell at him if he says anything. 

Zayn scoffs, pouting as Harry leads him to his bedroom, but when the door’s shut, he happily changes into the clothes Harry laid out for him. 

“Not brushing my teeth,” Zayn says, climbing into bed. 

“Don’t breathe on me, then,” Harry says. He fluffs his pillow and gets comfortable, then turns off the lamp. “Sorry about Rolf, Z.”

“It’s fine,” Zayn says, rolling onto his side to face Harry. “I didn’t like him that much anyway.”

“Why do you do that?” Harry whispers, pushing Zayn’s sweaty hair off his face. “You deserve a nice guy, you know?”

“So do you.” Snuggling closer, Zayn says, “Louis likes you.”

“He does not,” Harry says, laughing into his pillow. “Don’t be absurd.”

“Yes, he does.” Zayn doesn’t stop when Harry pushes a pillow into his face, asking from behind it, “Have you heard the way he says your name?”

“What?” Harry lets go of the pillow, rolling onto his stomach. “What are you talking about?” 

All Harry gets in response is a quiet snore.

The alarm on Harry’s phone goes off at five in the morning, and he stops it before it wakes Zayn. With his robe wrapped around him, Harry heads for the bathroom, getting his shower out of the way so he can make breakfast once he’s dressed and ready. Shockingly, when he walks into the kitchen, Louis is up, possibly still awake from the night before. 

“Morning,” Harry says, opening the fridge and pulling out eggs and cheese.

“Harold,” Louis says, cradling his coffee cup in both hands. 

“What are you doing up?” Harry asks, setting a pan on the stove to heat. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d work on my zombie novel,” Louis says, getting up and pouring more coffee into his cup. “You make breakfast like this every morning?”

“No, I usually have avocado toast.”

“Disgusting,” Louis says with a grimace. “Trendiest food of all time.”

“Whatever,” Harry says, cracking two eggs into a bowl, and whisking them. “I’m just making something for Zayn, ’cause he’s probably hungover. Let me make you an omelet.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Louis says, sitting back down with his coffee. 

“You sure? A good breakfast? Start your day right,” Harry offers with a smile. “Give you all the novel writing energy you need.”

“Stop it,” Louis snaps, and Harry frowns. “Stop trying to take care of me. I can feed myself. And Zayn’s perfectly capable of handling his hangover.”

“I’m not… It’s not a big deal,” Harry says, reaching for his favorite yellow coffee cup in the back of the cabinet. 

“You’re always taking care of people,” Louis says, standing and peering into his coffee cup. “I’m just saying you don’t have to. It’s not your responsibility to take care of everyone else in your life.”

Adding a splash of oat milk to his coffee, and stirring it so he doesn’t have to look at Louis, Harry says, “Just say you don’t want an omelet, Louis.” 

“Fine,” Louis says, leaving his cup on the table. “I don’t want an omelet.”

When Louis walks away, Harry rolls his eyes, and goes back to his eggs. No one’s ever complained about him taking care of them before, and maybe it's not something he has to do, but he likes feeling useful. He likes taking care of the people he loves. 

Balancing a tray of Zayn’s breakfast in one hand, Harry opens his bedroom door to find Zayn awake and sitting up. He gives Harry a closed mouth smile, and says, “Hey. Sorry about last night.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, setting the tray on his dresser. “I made you breakfast.”

“Mind if I shower first?” Zayn asks, and Harry shakes his head.

“Go ahead now before Niall gets up,” Harry says, shooing Zayn out of the bedroom. 

While Zayn’s showering, Harry makes his bed, and finds some clothes for Zayn to wear because there’s no way he’ll want to go home in the mesh shirt from the night before or the sweats he slept in. It’s been a while since Harry did laundry, so he has to dig to find a clean pair of jeans, boxers, and a sweater that he knows Zayn won’t hate. He takes them to the bathroom only to find Niall, Liam, and Louis all standing around like they’re waiting for something: Niall’s rearranging his shelf of toiletries, Liam’s brushing his teeth in slo-mo, and Louis is blocking the doorway.

“What’s going on?” Harry asks, slipping past Louis. “He using all the hot water? Zayn, come on. Your breakfast is getting cold.”

Zayn opens the shower curtain, tiny dish towel barely wrapped around his waist, and says, “This is the only towel I could find.”

“Looks amazing,” Niall says, and Liam nods, toothbrush in his mouth. 

Glaring at them, Harry steers Zayn into the hallway, and sends him on his way to the bedroom to get dressed. Stopping in the bathroom doorway, Harry says, “I can’t believe you three. Especially you, Tomlinson. I expect this shit from Niall, and even Liam after last night, but I thought you were better than this.”

“I— I am sometimes,” Louis says, clearing his throat and looking away. “Moment of weakness.”

Annoyed with himself for singling Louis out in the first place, Harry just shakes his head, and goes back to his room. He peeks in, and Zayn’s already dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, so Harry walks in and picks up the breakfast tray. “Scoot up to the headboard and eat.”

“Thanks, pumpkin,” Zayn says, and Harry grins, settling the tray in his lap.

“You know I love a seasonally appropriate term of endearment.” Sitting at the foot of the bed, Harry checks his phone, and he might not get to school at his usual bright and early time, but he won’t be late. “About last night…”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says, but Harry shushes him.

“Don’t apologize. You apologized earlier. Eat,” Harry says, picking up the fork and handing it to Zayn. “Look, it’s just… I like these guys. They’re pretty cool roommates and you know I’ve never had a lot of friends.”

“It’s because most people aren’t as awesome as you,” Zayn says, sipping his coffee and humming happily. “You’re wonderful and I love you.” 

“You’re wonderful and I love you, but let’s be honest.” Harry takes a breath, and says, “I’m an acquired taste.”

“Like wine or stinky cheese,” Zayn says, mouth full of omelet. 

“Exactly.” Standing up, Harry grabs his shoes from the closet. He sits at his desk, and while he puts on his socks, he says, “I really like living here, Z. And I don’t want anything to happen that could jeopardize that. So no more drunk Zayn weeknight dance parties, okay?”

“Are you mad at me for dancing with Louis?” Zayn asks, and Harry drops his boot.

“No! Why would you— No,” Harry says, shaking his head and waving his hands. He makes a face for good measure, wrinkling his nose and pursing his lips. 

“He likes you,” Zayn says, sipping his coffee, and raising his eyebrows. “The way he says your name, like, Harry.”

“You said that last night.” Faster than he usually ever speaks, Harry points at Zayn, and says, “Tell me what that means. He doesn’t sound like that. Does he? He’s from Chicago, so maybe it’s like how people from Chicago talk. Like, the way he says the bears. It’s like, The Bears. You can hear him capitalizing it.”

“Names are proper nouns; they’re always capitalized,” Zayn says, watching Harry curiously while he combs his fingers through his wet hair. “It’s like he says yours in italics. I don’t know. I can tell he’s into you.”

“It doesn’t matter, Z,” Harry says, standing and grabbing his coat and satchel. “I don’t want to fuck things up with this place. I don’t want to have to move. Do you want me on your couch again? Permanently?”

“Please. We’d kill each other.” Zayn snorts quietly, and picks up the breakfast tray, setting it aside. “I won’t say anything. But, you know he’s totally your type. And eventually people date. Like Louis’ll date other people.”

“He’s already caught up on his ex,” Harry says, clenching his jaw. “Z, just promise me you’ll leave this alone.”

“Promise,” Zayn says, hand to his heart. 

“Can you get home? Or do you want to ride with me?” Harry asks, nodding towards the door. “Because I need to get to work.”

“I’ll be fine, pumpkin,” Zayn says, waving Harry out the door. “Promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Love you!” Harry blows him a kiss, then shuts the door, and hurries past the living room where Louis is sitting on the couch. Cheeks heating, he says, “Bye, Lou. Happy writing.”

“Thanks, Harry. Have a good day,” Louis says with a crooked smile, looking up from his laptop, and for the first time, Harry hears what Zayn meant. At school Harry does everything not to think about it. 

Chapter Text

NOVEMBER AGAIN

Harry stands backstage while the music classes practice for the Christmas play, watching the kids sing and dance from the sidelines. His turkey costume is only for the end when he and Paul, the music teacher, join the kids on stage to corral them and herd them backstage. 

“Ready?” Paul asks, and Harry nods. 

“Ready for the long weekend,” Harry says, adjusting his turkey wings. “Do you celebrate Thanksgiving?”

Paul hums, and says, “Yeah, um, I've always spent Thanksgiving with my nana.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Harry says, missing his family sharply and wishing he was going home this Christmas. 

“She passed away last month, so…”

“Oh, Paul, I’m sorry,” Harry says, and before he can think it through, he blurts out, “Come to my place.”

“Hmm?” Paul blinks at him. 

“I mean, for Thanksgiving.” Pondering what he might need to do to earn his roommates’ forgiveness, Harry says, “Come to my apartment and have dinner with me and my friends.” 

“Yeah?” Paul grins, and Harry nods, biting his lip. 

“I’ll text you the details,” Harry says as the song ends and they trot out on stage. 

After the bell rings, Harry doesn’t stick around. He drives to the nearest grocery store to get a turkey, but he comes up empty handed. Six stores later, he’s got his hands on a bird, and has to use his credit card to buy everything he needs to make Thanksgiving dinner. 

Pure determination gets him into the building with everything in one trip. He backs into the main door to the building to push it open, uses his elbow to press the button to call the elevator, and kicks the door to the loft until someone opens it. 

Niall jumps out of his way as Harry barrels into the loft, bags swinging from both arms, giant turkey clutched to his chest, leather satchel bouncing on his bum with every step he takes. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Louis asks, watching Harry stumble to the kitchen. “We voted no to Thanksgiving. Just us, beer, football, and Black Friday at Best Buy.”

“Turkey makes me tired,” Niall says, tapering off into a yawn, and following Harry to the kitchen. 

“I haven’t had Thanksgiving in two years,” Liam says, but Harry doesn’t have time to ask if Liam considers that a good thing or a bad thing. 

“No big deal, guys,” Harry says, wrestling the turkey into the sink. “I never got to do this when I was living with Spencer, so I’m making a turkey.”

“You’ve got everything you need to feed us at least twice,” Niall says, peeking into the bags. “Who’d you invite?”

“No one!” Harry takes the sweet potatoes from the bag and puts them in a bowl one at a time, avoiding making eye contact while he says, “It’ll be you guys, me, and Paul.”

“Who’s Paul?” Louis asks, and Harry’s cheeks warm. 

“He’s a guy I work with,” Harry says, trying not to sound as excited as he is. “He’s the music teacher, and he usually spends Thanksgiving with his nana, but she died last month, so I told him to come here.”

“That’s sweet,” Liam says, and Niall chortles haughtily. 

“I’m excited!” Harry grins, doing a quick shimmy. “He’s so cute.”

“Cute?” Niall raises an eyebrow. “Is he a puppy?”

Louis talks over him, leaning forward as he says, “Be the guy who takes the place of his dead nana! That’s what you want to do, Harold.”

“Exactly!” Harry says, though he meant that to answer Niall’s question because Paul is sort of puppy-like, similar to the way Liam is, but he lets it be. He can't afford to waste time arguing with Louis when he has to figure out how to cook a turkey and all the fixings. Baking is so much easier. 

Harry searches “how to cook a turkey” and scrolls through the first page of results, but it’s overwhelming. He clicks on the top result and is immediately faced with questions he doesn’t know the answer to. 

“Anyone know how to brine a turkey?” Harry asks, and Louis crosses his arms on the table, ducking down to hide his face. 

Niall scoffs, and Louis sits up and says, “Don't do it. Beer, football, and Black Friday at Best Buy.”

Looking away, Niall nods, and Liam quietly asks, “Is that like pickle brine?”

Louis smacks Liam in the chest, and says, “Don’t—” 

“No, it is not like pickle brine,” Niall says, crossing his arms. 

“Ooh… Tell me more,” Harry says, scanning his phone again. “What else do you know about cooking a turkey?”

“Niall, we don’t want this,” Louis warns, scowling at Harry as he repeats, “Beer, football, and Best Buy.”

“Beer, football, and Best Buy,” Niall says, turning to give Louis a thumbs up. 

“What if I invite Zayn?” Harry asks, leaning in and fluttering his eyelashes at Niall. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” Louis says, slamming his hands on the table when Niall nods. 

“I’m in,” Niall says, standing and walking around to look at the turkey in the sink. “But if I’m doing this, I’m doing it my way. Which means I’m in charge. It’s my kitchen, and everyone in it is my bitch.”

Harry, Louis, and Liam all take a few steps back. Technically not in the kitchen anymore, Harry says, “Deal. I’ll call Zayn. Yay!”

“I hate this,” Louis says, shuffling over to the couch where he flops down and turns on the television. 

“Don’t worry, Lou,” Harry says, coming up behind the couch and ruffling Louis’ already messy hair. “It’s not until tomorrow. We’ve got plenty of time. And you’ll have your TV, your beer, your football, and your Black Friday at Best Buy.”

“Yeah, but now I’m going to have to socialize with people I don’t know,” Louis complains, pulling his hood up, and turning up the volume on the television. 

“It’ll be fun,” Harry says, trying not to pout about Louis’ grumpiness. “I promise.”

”Yeah, yeah.”

“I thought you had to work today,” Harry says, scratching his chin.

”Shit!” Louis hops off the couch and runs to his room, appearing seconds later with shoes on. “Bye, guys!”

”Bye, Lou!” Harry calls after him as he slams the door.

Harry does as Niall requests and stays far away from the kitchen. The only thing he helps with is rearranging the shelves in the refrigerator so the turkey will fit on the bottom. After that, he calls and invites Zayn, texts Paul to let him know what time to come, and tries on a few different outfits hoping to find the one that straddles the line between festive for Thanksgiving and ready and willing for something to happen with Paul. 

Early Thursday morning, Harry gets up to go with Niall to his 10K Turkey Trot, but finds him in the kitchen wrestling with the turkey instead of dressed in his racing tights and ready to run. 

“What’re you doing?” Harry asks as he reaches for the coffee pot. He pours himself a cup, watching as Niall attempts to hold onto the turkey, and waiting for him to ask for assistance. “Your race starts in half an hour.”

“This turkey is frozen solid,” Niall says, finally getting a grip on it and sliding it into the sink with a loud, wet thud. “If we’re supposed to eat it in twelve hours, we need to thaw it out.”

“Shit. I didn’t realize…” Harry holds up one finger, and says, “Would a hairdryer work?”

“Maybe?” Niall shrugs, and says, “I have one. Do you have one? We could each aim at different sections of the bird.”

“I actually don’t have one,” Harry says, running his fingers through his short curls. “Got rid of it when I cut my hair.”

Niall sighs, and says, “Okay. What if we just cook it now? Turn the oven up as high as it’ll go, and let it roast all day?”

“Works for me,” Harry says, setting his coffee down and opening one of the lower cabinets to look for a roasting pan, but all he finds are his specialty baking pans. “Do we have a pan big enough for it?”

“Ugh…” Niall squats down beside the cabinet and pulls out a large cookie sheet. “Will this work?”

“Do we have anything deeper?” Harry asks, and Niall reaches into the back of the cabinet. He finds another cookie sheet, a muffin pan, and a strainer. “Guess that’ll have to do. I can, um… do whatever needs to be done while you run your race.”

“Harry, I can’t do the Turkey Trot,” Niall says with a shake of his head. He lays the cookie sheet down on the kitchen table, and hauls the turkey over to it, stepping back and checking it from every angle. “This meal is going to take all day.”

“I’m sorry, Ni, I didn’t—”

“Hush,” Niall says, holding up his hand and closing his eyes. “Now, help me get this turkey into the oven.”

Harry opens the oven, and together they carry the turkey on the cookie sheet, sliding it onto the very bottom rack. It barely fits, but it does fit, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief. 

“When will Zayn be here?” Niall asks, avoiding Harry’s eye and pretending to be busy turning on the oven. 

“Not sure,” Harry says, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. “Why? You want him to help you cook?”

“Just… I was just curious.” Niall presses another button on the oven, and Harry stifles a laugh. “Now, get out of my kitchen and let me work in peace.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry says with a salute, spinning on his heel and taking his coffee back to his bedroom. He’s got a granola bar in his satchel if he needs sustenance.

“Okay, why am I here so early?” Zayn asks, locking his car. 

Harry links arms with him, and walks him towards the building. “Niall agreed to cook everything, and I think he needs help, but he won’t let any of us in the kitchen.”

Zayn adjusts the collar of his leather jacket, and asks, “What’s that have to do with me?” 

“I thought he might let you help him,” Harry says, holding onto Zayn’s arm so he can’t turn and run back to his car. 

“I don't cook,” Zayn says flatly. “What’s in it for me?”

Harry gives him a winning smile, both dimples deep in his cheeks. “You’ll be helping your best friend make a good impression on a boy.”

“Oh, really?” Zayn hums as Harry opens the door to the lobby, and when Harry follows him inside, he says, “Don’t think you need a turkey dinner. Louis is already impressed by you.”

“Not Louis,” Harry says, looking around to be sure they’re alone and pressing the button for the elevator again and again. “Paul. Paul the music teacher from my school? He’s so sweet and funny and… and stop talking about Louis like he’s some potential boyfriend or whatever you’re thinking.”

“He’s totally a potential boyfriend, but okay,” Zayn says, pulling Harry into the elevator and pressing the button for floor D. “What do you want me to do?”

“Thank you,” Harry says. He lifts Zayn’s hand and kisses the back of it, then does a little curtsy. “I need you to help Niall however you can. He’s kind of bossy, but I trust you to keep him in line. I just want this to go well.”

“Promise it’ll be fantastic, pumpkin,” Zayn says, and Harry grins as the elevator doors slide open. 

“Thanks, apple dumplin’,” Harry says with a giggle that turns into a guffaw when Zayn’s smile morphs into a scowl and he shakes his head. “What? It’s cute and seasonal.”

“You’re cute and seasonal,” Zayn says, elbowing Harry on the way to the door. “What are you wearing for this thing?”

“You’ll see!” Raising his eyebrows, Harry opens the door to the loft, and calls out, “Zayn’s here!”

Something clatters to the kitchen floor, and Niall says, “Stupid peeler!”

Louis and Liam are on the couch, but neither of them take their eyes off the television. Liam simply nods in greeting, and Louis lifts his beer bottle, tilting it slightly towards them as they pass. 

“What’s up?” Niall asks, rinsing a potato with one hand, and the vegetable peeler with the other. He turns, cocking his hip. “Zayn, hello. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Right,” Zayn says, slipping off his leather jacket. He drapes it over the back of one of the dining room chairs, and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Anything I can help with?”

Niall fumbles his potato, but catches it before it hits the floor. He sets it in a bowl, and asks, “You want to help?” 

“If that’s okay,” Zayn says, pointing to the peeled potatoes. “Are we mashing?”

“Not yet,” Niall says, gently taking Zayn’s hand before he can touch the potatoes. 

“Looks like you’ve got this under control,” Harry says, backing away just as Zayn picks up a handful of walnuts. He ignores what sounds like good natured bickering coming from the kitchen, and hops over the back of the sofa to sit beside Louis. “Thought the game didn’t start until later.”

“Bears and Lions played already,” Liam says when Louis doesn’t respond. He pats Louis’ knee, and Louis jerks away. “Bears lost, if you can’t tell.”

“They were robbed,” Louis snaps. 

“So what’re you watching?” Harry frowns at the TV, reading the bottom of the screen. “Raiders and… Cowboys.”

“I thought you liked football?” Louis asks, finally looking away from the television to glower at Harry. 

“I like the Packers, but as a sport, I’m kind of ehh about it,” Harry says with a shrug. “I don’t usually watch unless Green Bay’s playing.”

Louis inhales deeply through his nose, and Harry can feel him tamping down a rant. When he doesn’t say anything, Harry relaxes a little, considering opening the bottle of rosé in the fridge, but the increasing volume of Niall’s voice keeps him in his seat. 

“Don’t touch them with your filthy hands!” Niall shouts, and they all turn towards the kitchen in time to see him dump the bowl of walnuts into the garbage can. “Louis, I need walnuts!”

Louis points his beer bottle at the trash can, and says, “You just—”

“I know what I did,” Niall says, putting the empty bowl in the sink. He grits his teeth, and closes his eyes. “Zayn forgot to wash his hands. So I need new walnuts.”

“Fine. But only because I don’t care about this game,” Louis says, tipping his beer back and finishing it off. “And there’s no guarantee I’ll get the right kind.”

“Harry!” Niall shouts, and Harry cringes, covering his ears. “Go with him. Between the two of you, you ought to be able to buy walnuts.”

“I can buy walnuts myself, Niall,” Harry says, pushing himself off the couch. 

“I don't trust anyone!” Niall pushes Zayn over to the sink, and turns the water on, pumping soap into his hands. “You brought this one over here to help me and he’s absolutely useless!”

“Rude,” Harry says, but Zayn laughs it off, and splashes Niall with sudsy water. “You want me to drive?”

Standing and stretching his arms over his head, Louis groans, reaching under his flannel to scratch his stomach. “I’ll drive. I want to move my car anyway.”

“Where’s it parked?” Harry asks, following him out the door. 

Louis’ car is parked a good half-mile away from the loft. They actually pass a grocery store on their walk, and Harry pops in, but they don’t have any walnuts, and he has to jog to catch up to Louis on the sidewalk. 

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Harry asks, panting for breath.

“I told you they wouldn’t have any,” Louis says, squinting in the sun. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and pulls out his keys. “We’ll have to drive to a Trader Joe’s or that health food co-op you like. Whatever it’s called.”

“Oh, um…” Harry stops at Louis’ car, waiting for him to unlock the doors. “I do like that co-op. I don’t know if they’ll have walnuts.”

“Okay, we’ll check Trader Joe’s first,” Louis says as he gets behind the wheel. 

Harry hops into the passenger seat, rolling his window down. Late November here is nothing like it was in Portland. “I’m surprised you mentioned the co-op. You were so pissed when I stopped there that one time, and—”

“Because I needed to use the bathroom, Harold,” Louis says, starting his car, and glancing behind him before pulling onto the road. “I wanted to shit at home.”

Covering his face with his hands, Harry says, “Sorry.”

“God, don’t act like you don’t— Everybody poops!” Louis shouts, leaning over and reaching past Harry’s knees to open the glove compartment. He grabs a pair of aviator sunglasses and puts them on, leaving the compartment open. 

“I know everyone poops, Lewis,” Harry says, rifling through the open glove compartment. He finds a few old CDs that are so scratched they probably don’t play, some loose tobacco he assumes is leftover from when Louis used to smoke, a stack of napkins from various fast food restaurants, and an actual glove. This is the sort of thing to tell Zayn. Proof that Louis is not at all into Harry. No one talks about their bowel movements to potential boyfriends. “You should’ve said something that day. We could’ve left. I didn't need those avocados.”

“I hate avocados,” Louis says with a laugh. “Hey, you know what? I meant to apologize to you for the other day.”

“What for?” Harry asks because thinking back over the last week, he can’t recall anything Louis could want to apologize for. 

“I yelled at you about taking care of people,” Louis says, glancing at Harry over the top of his sunglasses. “I didn’t mean to yell. I know I’m loud and I yell too much. But what I was trying to say is that— Motherfucker!” 

“Oh my god,” Harry says, holding his hand over his heart, thankful for Louis’ quick reflexes. 

“Did you see that?” Louis asks, pointing to the black cat that darted in front of the car and is now hiding underneath an old van parked on the side of the road. 

“That cat has a deathwish,” Harry says, hissing at the cat as they drive past. 

Louis pulls into the empty Trader Joe’s parking lot, and honks his horn, turning towards the nearest exit back onto the road. “Forgot it’s a fucking holiday.”

“I guess we try the co-op,” Harry says, pulling out his phone to check if they’re open. “Looks like they’re open until five.”

“They better have walnuts or Niall’s going to be pissed,” Louis says, stepping on the gas. 

The afternoon sun beats down on Harry’s shoulders as they walk across the parking lot, and he almost wishes he’d gone home to visit his mom for Thanksgiving. Louis bumps their arms together, and when Harry opens the door to the store, Louis rests his hand on Harry’s lower back, guiding him inside. Harry relaxes into the touch, jerking away from it as soon as he realizes what he’s doing. 

“Walnuts!” Harry speeds off towards the loose nuts and seeds dispensers at the back of the store with Louis on his heels.

“Hey, remember what I was saying earlier?” Louis asks, standing directly behind Harry as he scans the dispenser labels. He lays a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry spins on his toes. “You dancing?”

“No, just…” Harry finds the walnuts, stepping sideways when Louis touches his arm. “Found them!”

“Oh, um, okay,” Louis says, bending at the waist to get a paper bag. 

Eyes wide, Harry looks up at the ceiling. The elastic of Louis’ briefs is not sexy and neither is the curve of his ass. Harry mutters to himself, “Get it together, Styles.”

“Hmm?” Louis shakes out the paper bag, and holds it under the dispenser. “About before. I didn’t mean to upset you about the taking care of people thing. That’s the kind of person you are. And that’s cool. But just… know that you don’t have to. People should love you for who you are, not what you can do for them. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry says, pulling the lever and filling the paper bag with shelled walnuts. “Is that… Should we get more?”

“Think we’re good,” Louis says, tapping the price on the walnut dispenser, grinning and clicking his tongue.  

“Jesus. Alright.” Folding the top of the bag closed, Harry carries it up to the register. When Louis brings out his wallet as if to pay, Harry hurriedly hands over enough cash to cover the cost. The last thing Harry needs is to pay attention to the way Louis behaves towards him when he’s in the middle of trying to host a Thanksgiving for Paul. 

Before Louis can touch his back to guide him on the way out of the co-op, Harry pushes the door open and leaves him behind. Louis unlocks the car while he’s walking across the parking lot, so Harry’s already sitting inside when he gets to the car. 

“What are you doing? In a hurry?” Louis laughs, starting up the car again. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“What? No!” Harry unfolds and refolds the top of the paper bag, looking out the window and refusing to turn towards Louis no matter how many times he gets the urge to check if Louis is watching him. 

They’re not far from home when they get stuck in traffic, and Harry begins to regret everything that led up to this moment. He should’ve stayed on Zayn’s couch and never moved into the loft. Harry hangs his arm out the window, desperate for some air even though they’re hardly even inching forward. 

In the side mirror, a woman weaves her way between the cars, a bundle of flowers in her arms, and Harry automatically reaches for his wallet to give her some money, but all of his cash went to the walnuts. She bends down at the window, and offers Harry a flower, “Would you like a rose?”

“Yeah, I’ll take one. Thanks!” Stretching his arm across Harry, Louis hands the woman five dollars. She smiles and passes him a rose, waving as she walks away. Louis gently taps Harry on the nose with the rose, and says, “Here you are, Harold.”

“It’s hot in here,” Harry says, fanning himself with his hands and knocking the rose away.

“Take the flower, dude,” Louis insists, and Harry panics. 

“No!” Harry shouts, throwing open the door, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him. 

He sprints down the sidewalk, bag of walnuts in hand, ignoring Louis shouting and calling his name, only slowing down when he rounds the corner and looks back, unable to see Louis’ car. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Harry says, walking as fast as he can in what he thinks is the direction of the loft, stopping on the next corner to check a map on his phone. He gets turned around a couple of times, but eventually he makes it back home. 

Niall and Zayn are in the kitchen, but when Harry wordlessly slams the bag of walnuts on the tall kitchen table top and immediately heads towards his bedroom, Zayn drops what he’s doing and follows. 

“What’s going on?” Zayn asks, stepping into Harry’s room and closing the door. “Are you alright?”

Harry takes off his shoes, and yanks off his shirt, turning on the fan on his desk and standing in front of it with his arms stretched overhead. “I hate you so much for telling me Louis likes me, Zayn Malik, I swear to—”

“What happened?” Zayn asks with a stifled laugh when Harry unzips his jeans and pushes them down. 

Kicking off his jeans, Harry lets the fan blow on his back. “He kept touching me! Not in a bad way, just in like, casual ways? And he made eye contact every single time he spoke to me. Also! Also! He apologized for something from a few days ago that wasn’t even a big deal! I can’t handle this. I’m… We’re friends! Roommates! I love this apartment! He can’t like me!”

“It’s okay, H,” Zayn says, reaching out to pat Harry’s shoulder and thinking better of it. 

“It is not! What can I do to make it stop?” Harry holds his arms out to the sides, slowly spinning around to let the fan cool all of him. “He bought me a rose!”

“I promise it’s okay,” Zayn says in his soothing, Harry-is-having-another-breakdown voice. “It’ll wear off. You and— What’s his name? Pete?”

“Paul,” Harry says, letting his head fall back and covering his eyes.

“Right. Paul.” Nodding, Zayn walks into Harry’s closet, messing with his stack of sweaters while he talks. “I’m telling you, Louis’ crush will fade. Right now, you’re new and shiny. But whatever this is with Paul will help. Just focus on Paul, and—”

“Harry!” Louis shouts from the hall, and Zayn hurries over to the door. “Is he here? Harry!”

Louis bangs on the door, and Zayn opens it before Harry can stop him. 

Standing there in nothing but his sweaty grey briefs, flush climbing his chest and neck, Harry wiggles his fingers in a wave as he says, “Hi, Louis.”

“What the hell, Harry?” Louis pushes past Zayn, propping his hands on his hips. “I’ve been driving around for the last hour looking for you!”

“It was too hot! I had to get out and walk!” It’s only half a lie, and Harry gestures to his mostly naked, sweaty body to make his point. 

“That’s fucked up,” Louis says, coming closer, and wagging a finger on Harry’s face as he raises his voice. “You got out of my car in the middle of traffic, and took off running the wrong way!”

“I figured it out!” Harry shouts, stepping into Louis’ space. “So what if I got turned around! I made it back before you, didn’t I?”

Louis’ shoulders slump, and he sighs. “Harry, you scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know what was wrong. You can’t just take off like that.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, rubbing his eyes. He lets his arms hang loose at his sides, biting his lip while he tries to think of a way to explain. 

“Hey, um…” Louis lifts his hands, raising them to either side of Harry’s face, and Harry attempts to pull his head in like a turtle. 

“What— What’s—” Harry sputters, tilting his head away. “What are you—”

“You’ve got an eyelash,” Louis says softly, so close that Harry can feel his breath on his cheek. He gently plucks the loose eyelash off of Harry’s cheekbone, and holds his finger out for Harry to see. “See?”

“Oh, um… Thanks,” Harry whispers, blowing the eyelash off the tip of Louis’ finger. 

“Welcome,” Louis says. He takes a step backwards which draws attention to how close they were standing, and Harry remembers he’s only wearing underwear. 

Looking down, Harry belatedly covers himself with his hands. “Can you, um…”

“Yeah, I should get back out there, catch the end of the game,” Louis says. Turning to Zayn, he winks and shoots finger guns. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“That’s fine.” Zayn smiles as Louis backs out of the room, and as he closes the door, Zayn mutters, “Surprised you noticed me.”

“Oh my god,” Harry says, falling forward onto his bed. “That was terrible.”

“That’s not what I’d call it, but…” Zayn clears his throat, and Harry looks up at him. “Are you planning to shower before Paul gets here?”

“Shit!” Harry rolls off the bed, and gets to his feet, checking the time. “I don’t know if I can. He should be here any—” The doorbell rings, and Harry blows a raspberry. “—second. I’ll get it!”

As fast as he can, Harry puts his jeans and t-shirt back on, and runs to get the door. He opens it to find Paul dressed in a navy blue suit, carrying his violin case. 

“Hey,” Paul says, and Harry waves him into the loft.

“Come in, come in.” More nervous than he thought he’d be, Harry pulls Paul into a hug, cringing when he remembers how sweaty he is and that he probably doesn’t smell great. He looks behind him, and Zayn, Liam, Louis, and Niall are all standing in a line. “Oh, um, Paul, these are my roommates, Niall, Louis, and Liam. And this is my friend Zayn.”

Together, the four of them chorus, “Hi, Paul!” 

Niall tips an invisible hat, and says, “Nice to meet you. I have to get back to the kitchen.”

“Oh, okay, I—”

“We’re watching the game, so…” Louis jerks a thumb over his shoulder, and turns to head for the couch. 

Liam shakes Paul’s hand, and says, “Grab a beer and join us.”

“Alright, yeah, sounds good,” Paul says, swinging his violin case. 

Harry leads Paul through the loft to the kitchen, and opens a cold beer for him, then pours himself a glass of rosé. He taps his glass against Paul’s bottle, and takes a sip. 

Tugging on the hem of his t-shirt, Harry says, “I’m going to go freshen up. But, um… make yourself at home. I think they’re watching the Cowboys and the Raiders, if you’re into football. Are you into football?”

“Not really,” Paul says, setting his violin case down in the chair by the window. “But don’t worry about me.”

“Okay.” Grinning, Harry starts for his bedroom, and says, “Be right back!”

There really isn’t enough time to shower, though he could definitely use it, so Harry chugs his wine, then digs his pack of baby wipes out of his bedside table, strips naked, and starts up top. He uses an extra one on his armpits, and applies more deodorant, then works his way down. When he’s done, he lets his fan blow on him until he feels somewhat refreshed. 

Harry pulls his black, high-waisted, wide-legged trousers over a clean pair of briefs, then shakes out his ruby red button-up with the subtle floral pattern in the fabric. He leaves a few buttons undone, then zips up his favorite black boots. One spritz of cologne in the air as he walks out of the room, and he hopes Paul likes his outfit because there’s absolutely nothing to be done about his hair. 

When Harry steps out of the hallway, everyone turns his way. Liam looks surprised to see him, like he didn’t realize Harry left the room. A quick wink and an approving nod are all he needs from Zayn, but Niall doesn’t seem to notice him, too busy drooling over Zayn’s potato mashing abilities. 

Blinking slowly, Louis sits back on the couch, and says, “Wow. You—”

“You look amazing,” Paul says with a smile, standing and straightening his tie. “Red really suits you.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, grinning and reaching out to touch Paul’s red tie. “We sort of match.”

“Oh! We do,” Paul says. He nods towards the couch, and asks, “Want to watch the game?”

“Um… Okay, yeah,” Harry says. “Let me just grab a drink.”

Eyes wide, Harry hurries towards Zayn, and Zayn gives him a thumbs up. “You look great, pumpkin.”

Harry blows him a kiss, then pours another glass of rose because he lost track of the first one, and joins the boys on the couch. “Oh, it’s almost halftime.”

“Yeah, game sucks,” Louis says, adjusting himself in his jeans while he takes a sip of beer. 

“At least you didn’t miss anything,” Harry says, scooting a little closer to Paul. “Paul, do you usually watch football on Thanksgiving?”

“My nana and I always watched the parade together,” Paul says wistfully. 

On television, the whistle blows, and Louis says, “Halftime!”

“Parade time!” Paul says, and Harry quickly picks up the remote, changing the channel so they can watch the parade. 

Louis groans and rolls his eyes, and Harry clenches his jaw, hopping up off the couch. “Louis, can I speak to you for a second in private?”

“Uh…” Louis looks at the parade on TV, and shrugs, getting up and following Harry to his room. When Louis walks through the door, Harry shuts it, keeping his hand on it and leaning against it. Slipping his hands into his pockets, Louis rocks back onto his heels, and asks, “What’s up?”

“Be nice!” Harry clasps his hands together in front of his heart, and says, “Please stop doing that thing you do.”

“What are you talking about?” Louis scoffs, and says, “I don’t do a thing.”

“Yes, you do. You get all mean and you scowl at everyone,” Harry says, tapping Louis’ forehead. “You’re doing it now.”

“I’m not scowling,” Louis insists, and he makes a valiant attempt to relax his face. “I’m not scowling.”

“Please, Lou. Just talk to him like a normal guy, okay?” Harry huffs, pushing his hair off his face, and adds, “And not about iPhone conspiracies or NFTs or anything like that. Please? I’ve only ever seen Paul at school and I want him to like me, okay? He’s the only guy I’ve liked since Spencer and I’m not good at this. I get so nervous, and I just… Please just help me.”

Crossing his arms, Louis presses his lips together, and nods. “Alright. I’ll help you.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Harry jumps up and down, and Louis steps around him, opening the door and leaving the room. Checking his reflection one last time, Harry curtsies to the mirror, and hurries back out to the living room. Louis is on the couch with Paul, and he’s scowling, but he’s not complaining about watching the parade, so Harry lets it go. 

The kitchen’s been a little too quiet, so Harry empties his wine to have an excuse to check on Zayn. 

“Good,” Niall says, taking Harry’s glass and setting it aside. “Harry, you’re in charge while I go change my shirt. This one has mashed potatoes on it. Thank you very much, Zayn.”

With a closed mouth smile, Zayn says, “Anytime.” 

“Are you two getting along?” Harry asks the second Niall closes his bedroom door, grabbing the bottle of wine from the fridge and refilling his glass.

Ducking his head, and glancing around, Zayn says, “Niall yelled at me earlier.”

“Oh I’m so sorry,” Harry says, cringing apologetically. “Did he get weird? He’s weird about the kitchen. Did you touch his whisk?”

“No, it’s not— it’s not that.” Zayn stops and looks around again. “I think I’m into him.”

“What?” Harry grimaces, closing his eyes as he whispers, “No.”

“I know, but it’s like he’s got this rage inside him, this fury, and—” Zayn clamps his mouth shut.

“Out of my kitchen, Harry,” Niall says, and Harry nods, turning on his heel and heading back to the couch.

When Harry sits down, Paul leans slightly into his side, and says, “Thanks so much for inviting me.”

“Of course,” Harry says, pressing their thighs together. The television screen flickers, and as Harry glances up the halftime show replaces the parade, and Louis gets up to get himself another beer. “I hope you’re having a decent time.”

“I am, I am,” Paul says, eyes darting to the side, and when Harry looks in the same direction, he sees Louis leaning on the tall table, talking to Zayn and Niall. “I’m having fun, um, except that I don’t think Louis likes me very much.”

“No, no,” Harry insists, searching for a way to explain. “Louis is… He—”

“Holy shit!” Niall yells from the kitchen just as Zayn screams. 

Harry whips around to see smoke billowing out of the oven, and Louis shouts, “What the fuck?” 

They’re all on their feet and moving. Louis runs to open the doors to the balcony, Liam grabs the fire extinguisher, and with a magazine in each hand, Harry starts fanning the smoke away from the smoke detectors. Paul catches on, and uses the folded throw blanket from the couch to fan the smoke towards the open balcony doors, but it doesn’t seem to help. 

The turkey actually looks fine, but as it cooked, the juices collected in the cookie sheet until they ran over the edge. When they hit the bottom of the oven and the heating element, they burned and filled the oven with smoke, and there’s no way to get in there and clean it out when it’s still five hundred degrees. 

Harry fetches his fan from his bedroom and plugs it in where it can blow smoke away from the smoke detector, and Louis finds another fan in the storage closet, but once they’re set up, there’s nothing else they can do. 

“Thanksgiving is ruined,” Harry says, pouting and holding back tears as they leave the loft and shut the smoke inside, hoping the fans will help it work its way out all the open windows while they’re gone.

“No,” Paul says sweetly, rubbing Harry’s back. “No, it’s not. The food’s still good, right? Can’t we just… take it somewhere else?”

“Maybe?” Harry quickly tries to figure out how they could pack everything up and take it away picnic style.

“I mean.” Smiling, Paul turns to Niall, claps him on the shoulder and says, “You've been working in the kitchen all day, man. Don’t you want to taste the fruits of your labor?”

“Yeah, don’t say fruits like that,” Louis says, shaking his head. 

“Yes,” Niall says, speaking over Louis. “I do. Thank you, Paul. I’m glad someone understands.”

“I've got an idea,” Harry says, jingling his keys and grinning. “Ms. Beverly from next door gave me her key so I could water her plants while she’s visiting her sister.”

“How do you even know these people?” Niall asks, walking back into the loft. “I’ve lived here for four years and I don’t know Ms. Beverly.”

“Sure you do,” Harry says. 

With towels and oven mitts, they grab all the food in the pots they’ve been cooking in, and the beer and wine, and head down the hall to apartment 4D. Harry unlocks the door, showing them all into Ms. Beverly’s apartment, standing aside as Niall, Zayn, Paul, and Liam walk through the doorway. 

Before Louis can go inside, Harry shuts the door in his face, and snaps, “Not you.”

“What?” Louis asks, adjusting his grip on Harry’s bottle of rosé. 

“You promised you’d be nice to him,” Harry says, crossing his arms and realizing he forgot to actually carry anything. 

“I was nice to him. I’ve been very nice to Paul,” Louis insists loudly enough that Harry flinches. “I was nice to him when he talked about the parade while watching the parade. I was polite and listened while he told me about himself. You know what he told me in the short time you were in the kitchen? He likes Air Bud 2, he loves dogs, and he likes to whistle.”

“Oh, I get it, he’s not cool enough for you,” Harry says in a singsong voice, lifting his chin defiantly. “’Cause nobody can be cool enough for cool Louis Tomlinson.” When Louis clenches his jaw and exhales through his nose, but doesn’t say anything, Harry carries on, bolder and louder without thinking as he does his best impression of grumpy Louis. “I’m Louis Tomlinson. I’m so cool, I frown at everything. Look at my cool expression.” The only reaction he gets from Louis is a single raised eyebrow, and Harry loses his temper, stomping his foot. “Why don’t you like him?”

“Who cares? Do you like him?” Louis asks in response, not answering Harry’s question.

“Of course I like him,” Harry says reflexively, reaching out and snatching his wine bottle from Louis’ hand.

“Okay, great. Good.” Louis takes a half-step closer, brow furrowed, ice blue eyes locked with Harry’s. “It doesn’t matter what I think, does it? ’Cause I don’t have to have sex with him.”

“I do.” Annoyed, Harry inches back, opens his rosé and drinks from the bottle. He swallows, and says, “I want to. I want to have sex with him big-time.” 

“Great,” Louis says with a smirk.

“You heard me!” Harry shouts. He can feel himself going too far, but then Louis rolls his eyes, a muscle twitches in his jaw, and Harry doesn’t care. “Big-time, okay? I want to take him downtown and slice him off a piece of this pumpkin pie, okay? I want to do all the things that you do in a bedroom with him, okay? I want to do it standing up and sitting down, and half-up and half-down, and like a cowboy, and the lotus flower, and the T-square, and the… the rusty trombone!” Harry takes a deep breath and, feeling wild when Louis frowns and opens his mouth, he rushes to speak before Louis can, “Let’s just say that I’m good. I’m really, really good. And I don’t care what you think!”

Louis tilts his head to the side, leaning in and holding Harry’s gaze as he slowly asks, “Then why did you ask me?” 

Apartment 4D’s door opens and Liam sticks his head out. “Hey, so… Harry, just wanted to tell you that everyone really likes Paul. Cool guy. And also, we can hear everything you’re saying.”

Heart leaping to his throat, Harry gasps, “What?” 

“Play on through,” Liam says, leaving the apartment door partly open when he turns and walks away.

“After you, Harold,” Louis says, pushing the door open the rest of the way and standing back for Harry to enter the room first. 

“Oh my god,” Harry whispers to himself, carrying his rosé bottle inside, legs shaking. From the corner of his eye, he sees Louis head directly for the kitchen, and Harry’s left facing everyone alone. He closes his eyes, and says, “I’m so sorry. Can we just pretend that didn’t happen?”

“Yes,” Zayn says instantly, and a second later, Niall loudly agrees. Everyone else does, too, with Louis even muttering his assent. 

“Okay, good,” Harry says, raising his bottle. “Anyone want wine?”

When everyone has a drink in hand, things feel more normal, though Harry is still so embarrassed that his chest is itchy and his back is sweaty. But Niall is happily finishing the stuffing, Liam and Louis are watching the game with the sound off on Ms. Beverly’s surprisingly large television, Paul is tuning his violin, and Harry and Zayn are folding cloth napkins because Harry’s determined to make things extra nice for Paul.

Finished tuning it, Paul plays a little walking music as he crosses the room towards Harry. Zayn silently wishes him good luck, and slips away to the kitchen while Harry sets the last folded napkin on the table. 

“Can’t believe you’re still here,” Harry says quietly and Paul smiles. 

“Where else would I be?” Paul plays a few notes, then stops, face turning serious. “I have to ask though. Did something happen with you and Louis? Like, did you two used to date?”

“No!” Harry holds a hand to his mouth, surprised by his vehement response. He catches Louis’ eye, then quickly looks away, and says firmly, “Louis is just my friend. And roommate.”

“You’re sure?” Paul asks warily, and Harry nods. 

“Promise.”

“Hey, Paul,” Niall says, drawing Harry’s and Paul’s attention as he carefully places the turkey, now on a lovely platter belonging to Ms. Beverly, on the table. “Why don’t you play a little something before we eat?”

“Really?” Paul asks, seeming to relax a little when Niall nods encouragingly. 

Harry makes a mental note to thank Niall later for being so welcoming, and says, “Play that song you played for the kids the other day.”

“Okay,” Paul says with a grin as he starts down the hall. “Big entrance, alright?”

“Perfect.” Facing Paul, Harry nervously smooths the front of his shirt, waiting for him to begin. He plays a few notes, then turns, and the beautiful music becomes a screech. 

“Body!” Paul yells, running out of the hall and across the room, pointing towards the hall. “Dead— Dead body!”

Niall jerks his head around. “What—” 

“Huh?” Harry asks, looking from Paul back to the hallway. 

“Dead body!” Paul shouts again, then slumps against the wall. 

“Oh, shit! For real?” Liam asks, taking a step backwards. 

“Guys, I think there’s a dead body,” Louis says, pushing past Liam and swerving around Harry and Niall. 

“Holy shit, really?” Zayn asks, positioning himself behind Niall as if, of all people, Niall might protect him. 

Louis stops in the hall across from the door that Harry remembers as Ms. Beverly’s bathroom, and says, “Yep. That’s a dead body.”

While Paul is still using the far wall of the living room for support, the rest of them crowd into the hallway around the bathroom door. 

“Oh my god,” Liam says, holding his hands to his cheeks. 

“Poor Ms. Beverly,” Harry says, shaking his head. 

“Ms. Beverly from the mailboxes!” Niall says, turning to Zayn. “I do know her.”

After a call to 911, they’re each interviewed by the police, the coroner’s office comes to collect the body, Ms. Beverly’s apartment is taped off with their Thanksgiving dinner inside, and the six of them shuffle back to the loft. Paul’s shock at finding Ms. Beverly’s body earned him the use of Niall’s emergency blanket, but there’s really no coming back from this. 

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says as they all walk Paul to the elevator. 

“Not— No reason for you to apologize,” Paul reassures him, clutching the Mylar blanket tight around him. 

“Hey, um, later we’re going to Best Buy to get a new oven,” Niall says, reaching up to snatch his emergency blanket off Paul’s shoulders before he can take it into the elevator. “Join us, if you want.”

“I… I’ll probably just go home and go to bed,” Paul says, and Harry nods. It’s perfectly understandable. The elevator doors begin to slide shut, and they all step aside as the coroner wheels the stretcher down the hall from Ms. Beverly’s apartment. 

Niall sticks his hand out to stop the elevator doors from closing, and the coroner rolls the stretcher into the elevator, ignoring Paul’s protests, letting the doors slide closed. 

“This is the worst Thanksgiving ever,” Harry says, and Louis scoffs. “What’s that for?”

“Nothing,” Louis says, heading for his room. “Just clearing my throat.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry goes to his bedroom to change. If he’s going to spend the rest of his night on his feet on the sidewalk outside of Best Buy, he’s doing so in his comfy sweatpants, and a hoodie big enough to swallow him whole. 

They all climb into Niall’s SUV with Zayn riding shotgun, and Louis pouting because he somehow wound up in the middle of the back seat. Sitting next to him makes Harry even more annoyed, so he says, “You know what? I’ll drive, too, in case we need the space for the stove.”

“Good plan,” Liam says, opening his door and climbing out. “I’ll ride with you.”

Harry shuts the door, and as they walk to his station wagon side by side, he nudges Liam’s shoulder. “Thanks for riding with me. Didn't really want to be alone, but…”

“Didn't want to ride with Louis,” Liam says, finishing Harry’s thought. “Been there, man.”

“Really?” Harry asks, unlocking his car and leaning his forearms on the roof. 

“Yeah, of course,” Liam says with a laugh. “I’ve known Louis my whole life. Sometimes he’s like this.”

“A dickhead, you mean?” Harry asks, sliding behind the wheel. 

Liam climbs into the passenger seat, and says, “Well, yes, but it’s not… He’s not a bad guy, he’s just stubborn. And set in his ways like he’s an eighty-four-year-old man.”

Snickering as he drives away from the loft, Harry smiles for the first time in hours. “He does act like a grumpy old man.”

“He does. And I’m not apologizing for him as much as I’m trying to explain what he won’t,” Liam says with a sigh. “Louis hates change. He’s like a toddler that way.”

“Ahh… I disrupted his nap schedule,” Harry says, nodding slowly. It doesn’t change how angry he is at Louis for being rude to Paul, but at least he knows where it’s coming from. Sometimes Harry gets upset at sudden changes, but he’s adept at tamping his reactions down. 

“Yeah, he doesn’t handle change well, obviously,” Liam says, “When he dropped out of law school, he was a mess.”

“Louis went to law school?” Harry asks, thinking back over the last three months, and wondering why Louis never told him. 

“He didn’t tell you?” Liam asks, and Harry shakes his head. “Mind. Blown. He tells everyone he dropped out with three semesters to go.”

“Wow…”

“Don’t— Don't tell him I told you,” Liam says with a grimace. “I thought you knew he’d been to law school.”

“Nope.” Lips pressed together, Harry nods. “All I knew was he’s a bartender and he’s working on a zombie novel.”

“Anyway… I wasn’t trying to spill his secrets or anything,” Liam says as Harry accelerates, following Niall’s SUV down the highway. “I just wanted you to know you’re not the only one he pisses off on a regular basis.”

“Oh, um…”

“And I hope things work out with Paul,” Liam says, patting Harry’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. 

When they get to Best Buy, it’s like the conversation never happened. Liam waves both arms high in the air and runs across the parking lot to the back of the line where Louis, Zayn, and Niall are waiting. Harry takes his time, keeping his hood up and averting his eyes when Louis looks at him. No matter what his reasons, Louis was a dick, and Harry wants more than a simple apology. Not that Louis has offered one, but when he does, Harry will let him know. 

As the line grows, it wraps around the corner of the Best Buy, and their little group stays huddled together, but Harry keeps conversation going with Zayn, standing with his back to Louis. Now that he’s put his anger on a low simmer, and the adrenaline from the whole finding a dead body thing has worked its way out of his system, Harry regrets leaving the loft without at least grabbing a banana. 

“I’m hungry,” Harry says, and Zayn opens his arms to fold Harry into a hug. 

“No joke, man,” Liam says, rubbing his stomach as it rumbles loudly. 

“I’ve got gum,” Louis says. He offers a pack of Juicy Fruit and one by one, they each take a piece, but Harry refuses, shifting his stance so his hood keeps Louis hidden from sight. 

“Are you seriously still mad?” Louis huffs a laugh, and says, “Whatever, man.” 

Harry shakes his head, and Zayn smiles, pointing towards the parking lot. Before Harry can look around, he hears a beautiful, familiar melody. 

“Paul?” Harry turns, and Paul grins, lowering his violin. “What are you…”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Paul says, taking the bag off his shoulder and handing it to Liam. “I figured why not join you guys, so I stopped and got some turkey subs, and here I am.”

“Here you are,” Harry says softly. 

“We’ve got a cutter!” Someone shouts from behind them, and before Harry can tell the guy that he and Paul will go to the back of the line, Louis steps in. 

“He’s not cutting, man,” Louis says, stepping down off the sidewalk. “I was saving his place.”

“Not a cutter!” The man yells, “Fair line substitution!”

“Sound like a fucking referee,” Louis says as he passes the guy. 

“Where are you going?” Niall asks, leaning out of the line. 

“Going to the back of the line,” Louis says with a shrug. “Paul can have my place.”

It’s not an apology, but it’s enough. Harry takes Paul’s hand and calls out, “Louis, wait!”

“What, Harry?” Louis turns around, arms crossed, gaze trained on his shoes. 

“We’re coming with you,” Harry says, tugging on Paul’s hand. 

The rest of the guys follow suit, and all six of them wind up at the back of the line, sharing turkey sandwiches and listening to Paul’s violin. It’s not a bad end to the day, and when they finally get inside Best Buy, they find a replacement stove for much less than advertised thanks to a small dent in the side. 

Louis and Liam are able to nab a new PlayStation from amongst the throngs of parents buying them for their kids, and they’re all finished shopping and on the way home long before the sun comes up. Harry drops Zayn off first, then takes Paul to his place, accepting a sweet and chaste first kiss that promises more, and an invitation for a real date after the holiday weekend. 

By the time he gets back to the loft, Harry’s beyond exhausted. He trudges down the sidewalk, leaning against the elevator wall on the ride up, and shuffling to his bedroom. 

Harry strips off his hoodie and t-shirt, and has his grey sweatpants around his ankles when he remembers to brush his teeth. He pulls them back up and tiptoes to the bathroom, assuming everyone else is in bed. 

Studying his reflection, Harry’s surprised he doesn’t look more tired. 

“Hey,” Louis says quietly, walking over to stand beside Harry in front of the other sink. “Forgot to brush my teeth.”

“Me too,” Harry says around a mouthful of toothpaste. He picks up the tube of his favorite cinnamon toothpaste, and holds it out like a peace offering. 

“Thanks.” Louis smiles and extends his toothbrush. 

They stand side by side brushing their teeth until Harry has to say something. With his mouth still full of foam, he says, “I’m sorry I was weird earlier. I shouldn’t’ve run away and made you worry.”

Louis grins around his toothbrush, and says, “It’s okay. Just don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” Harry promises, leaning down to spit and rinse his mouth. 

“And, um, I’m sorry about Paul,” Louis says, and Harry looks at him suspiciously because that’s not exactly the apology he was hoping for. While Harry rinses his toothbrush, Louis finishes up, then drops his toothbrush into the holder beside Harry’s. “I’m sorry I was a dick. Paul didn’t deserve it. I was just… being a baby because you kind of sprung the whole traditional Thanksgiving thing on me and I didn’t want to do it.”

“Oh, um… Thanks for saying that,” Harry says. He chuckles, and crosses his arms over his chest as they turn to face each other. “Louis Tomlinson talking about his feelings. Who would’ve thought?”

“Don’t tell anybody,” Louis says, reaching out and poking Harry’s bare shoulder. 

“Don’t worry,” Harry says as he follows Louis out of the bathroom. “No one would believe me anyway.”

Harry has the urge to hug it out, but he gives Louis a gentle shove instead. “G’night, Tomlinson.”

“’Night, Styles,” Louis says, disappearing into the dark of his bedroom. 

Harry spends the long weekend organizing his closet and rearranging his bedroom and doing everything he can think of to keep himself busy so he doesn’t call Paul. When he dropped Paul off early Friday morning, he promised to get in touch to schedule their upcoming date, but when he still hasn’t heard from him on Sunday, he’s on the verge of giving up. 

At school the next day, all is forgiven. Paul greets him in the parking lot and walks Harry to the teachers lounge. He asks him to go to dinner on Friday night, and Harry happily accepts. Their classrooms are in different parts of the building with Harry’s on the science hall and Paul’s at the very opposite end of the school, so they don’t see each other except to say hello in the morning. 

After the disaster of Thanksgiving, Harry’s determined to have a good first real date with Paul and it goes better than he could’ve hoped. 

“That pizza was so good,” Harry says, and Paul laughs, bumping their arms together as they walk down the sidewalk towards the loft. 

“Love that place,” Paul says, stopping at the entrance to the building. “I thought we could start with pizza so there are zero expectations for the rest of the date.”

Harry giggles, and bites his lip, looking towards the door. “You want to come up?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Paul says sweetly, so Harry opens the door and follows him into the lobby. 

“Zero expectations, hmm?” Harry jokes as he presses the button for the elevator. 

Paul smiles and when the elevator dings, he says, “Nowhere to go but up.”

In the few seconds it takes the elevator to ascend to the fourth floor, Harry thinks about Louis’ comment the day they met about the loft’s proximity to the elevator being a blessing and a curse. It’s definitely a blessing now because before the elevator stops, Harry throws his arms around Paul’s shoulders and pulls him into a bruising kiss. It’s messy and there are more teeth involved than he’d prefer, but it’s still hot, and when the doors slide open and Paul doesn’t stop kissing him, it’s such a turn on. 

Harry’s exhibitionist streak isn’t wide, but it’s there, and the short distance between the elevator and the loft door fuels it because the chances they’ll be seen are slim, especially with two of the four lofts unoccupied, but they are technically in the open, so when Paul tugs at Harry’s shirt before he opens the door, his dick begins to thicken up in his pants. 

Harry unlocks the door, and as they stumble inside, Paul finally gets Harry’s shirt off. Driven by lust and two glasses of rosé, Harry unbuttons his trousers while they’re still in the entryway. He glances around the loft, but all he sees is Louis asleep on the couch, so he lets himself enjoy the moment, moaning against Paul’s lips as he drags him towards his bedroom, both of them tripping over their feet on the way. 

Behind the closed bedroom door, Harry pounces, shoes still on his feet as he takes Paul down. They bounce on the mattress, and roll around, trying to kiss while taking off their clothes. Eventually Harry has to put a stop to it because he can’t get his boots off, and his boots are keeping him from removing his trousers, which are stopping him from losing his briefs. 

When they’re finally naked, Harry crawls onto the bed, only getting a quick glimpse of Paul’s naked body before he pulls Harry to him and caresses his thigh while kissing Harry’s Adam’s apple. Something familiar about the combination of touches sends Harry into a panic, and he pushes at Paul’s shoulder. 

“Stop,” Harry says, and Paul immediately stops touching him, scooting back, eyes searching Harry’s face. 

“What’s wrong?” Paul asks quietly, and Harry shakes his head. 

“I, um… I don’t know,” Harry says, rolling onto his back and grabbing a pillow to cover his dick. “I think, um… I broke up with my ex in September, and I… We were together for six years, so I’m a little nervous.”

“Understandable,” Paul says, visibly relaxing. “So it’s not something I did?”

“No, no, not at all,” Harry says. He stares up at the ceiling, too embarrassed to look at Paul. “I think I just got ahead of myself. And like, I wanted us to have sex tonight, but also we didn’t really talk about it so I didn’t know what to expect, and then I sort of threw myself at you and—”

“I’m fine with that, by the way.”

Harry snorts, and says, “That’s good.”

“It’s okay, you know, if you want to wait,” Paul offers, but Harry shakes his head. 

“I don’t want to wait,” Harry says, sitting up and keeping the pillow in place. “I just got in my head a little. I think we should try again tomorrow night. Go out for dinner, and come back here and just…” Punching his own palm, Harry says, “Boom! Pants off, dicks out, we’re doin’ it.”

“Boom!” Paul laughs, and sits up, leaning in to kiss Harry’s cheek. “Tomorrow night. But, um, I’m going to go for now, okay?”

“Alright,” Harry says, trying not to stare while Paul locates his clothes and gets dressed. 

“This isn’t me leaving because I don’t want to be with you,” Paul says once he’s fully clothed again. “I just figured you might want to rest up for tomorrow.”

Giggling, Harry nods, and waves as Paul leaves the room. He listens for the door, but hears Louis’ voice drift down the hall instead. It sounds like an apology, but Harry can’t be certain. He waits until he’s sure Paul’s gone before getting up and finding his robe. 

Harry peeks out of his room first, but when the only sound is the television, he takes a breath and walks into the living room. 

“Harold,” Louis says, eyes glued to the TV. “Would’ve thought Paul was staying over with how you two came through the door earlier.”

“I thought you were asleep,” Harry says instead of explaining. 

“I was.” Pausing his game, Louis turns to look at him and says, “You guys weren’t quiet.”

“Sorry.”

“What happened?” Louis asks, voice soft as he rests his head on the back of the couch. 

“Got nervous,” Harry admits, slouching into the couch cushion. “Haven’t been with anyone but Spencer in six years and I sort of freaked out because I didn’t know where to put my hands.”

Louis huffs a laugh through his nose, reaching over to pat Harry’s knee. He gives it a squeeze, and says, “You’ll figure it out. I mean, if all else fails, I can think of one place you could put your hands that I’m pretty sure Paul would like.”

“It’s always about dicks with you,” Harry says with a grin. 

“I was actually referring to his ass,” Louis says, leaning forward and picking up the other PlayStation controller. “Want to play?”

“Oh, um… I don’t know how. I might suck,” Harry says, but Louis clicks his tongue and waves his worries away. 

“It’s a racing game,” Louis says, handing Harry a controller. “If you suck, I win.”

“Okay, yeah,” Harry says, getting comfortable and focusing on the screen. 

Louis starts it over, switching so he’s no longer racing against the game, and as soon as they begin, while Harry’s still getting used to the feeling of the controller in his hand, Louis says, like he’s making conversation about the weather, “Paul’s got a cute little ass, doesn’t he?”

“Oh my god, Lou!” Harry smacks his arm and sends his car careening off the dirt track on screen. When Louis just laughs as if his plan all along was to trick Harry into crashing, Harry says, “It’s a cute little ass, but you should see his cock.”

“As big as yours?” Louis asks, immediately making Harry regret he ever tried to out-embarrass Louis. 

Trying to keep his mind on the game, Harry hums, and waits until Louis reaches for his beer to say, “Like a loaf of French bread.”

Louis sputters into his beer, then wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “Damn it, Harold.”

“Jealous?” Harry teases, racing his car past Louis’ towards the finish line. Harry wins, shocking the hell out of both of them, and his cheering is almost enough to drown out Louis’ quiet response. 

“Maybe a little.” Raising his voice enough that Harry’s sure he didn’t intend for his previous words to be heard, Louis says, “Beginners luck. Sit down. Ready to go again?”

“Yeah, Lou,” Harry says, nodding and waiting for the race to begin. “Let’s do it.”

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.”

Chapter Text

DECEMBER AGAIN

Harry waits until Louis leaves for work to get his baking done. Watching Louis try to sneak bites of cookie dough made that decision for him. There’s no way Louis could be trusted to keep his hands off the cookies when they’re warm and gooey from the oven. 

Niall and Liam are both shockingly good about not touching the fresh cookies, so he rewards them by letting them each have one when he’s finished wrapping them up. Thankfully, Harry’s closet is large enough that he has plenty of space to stash the guys’ presents and his cookie tins. 

Harry debates going to see Louis at the bar. It sounds like it might be fun, and Liam’s promised him that Louis never charges them for drinks, but he’s tired. Fridays are always his worst day as a teacher. He doesn’t like how much he looks forward to the weekend, but five days in a row at school is really exhausting. Some weeks it’s hard not to skip to his car on Friday afternoons, and times like this, with the holidays approaching, the kids are wired and it’s even more tiring than usual. In the end, Harry puts on his pajamas and stays in. He falls asleep at a decent hour, which is great because Louis wakes him up at four o’clock in the morning. 

“Harold!” Louis calls through the door, yanking Harry from a deep sleep. He knocks nonstop until Harry gets out of bed, and opens the door, and then he tries to knock on Harry’s face.

“Stop it,” Harry says, pushing Louis’ hand away. “It’s four in the morning, you dick.”

“You dick,” Louis repeats, tired eyes blinking slowly. “You gave Niall and Liam cookies.”

“Oh, go to bed, Lewis,” Harry says, trying to close the door, but Louis stops him.

“Are you mad at me? Did I do something? I helped dry the dishes,” Louis says, poking Harry in the chest. 

“Are you drunk?” Harry asks, poking him back right in the V where the top of his flannel shirt is unbuttoned. “Weren’t you at work?”

“Got off at two, drank a lot,” Louis says, pushing past Harry into his bedroom. “Paul?”

“Paul’s not here, dummy,” Harry says, covering a yawn. “What do you want?”

Louis opens one of Harry’s desk drawers, and says, “Cookies.”

“No.” Harry closes the drawer, almost shutting Louis’ hand inside, then he takes him by the shoulders and guides him back out of the room. “Go to bed, Louis.”

“I knew we shouldn’t’ve let you move in,” Louis says, throwing his hands in the air and stumbling across the hall to his room. He slams his bedroom door, and Harry closes his, leaning against it. It’s one thing to know, and another to hear it straight from Louis’ mouth. Harry gets back in bed, but doesn’t fall asleep right away, and when he finally drifts off, it’s a restless night that leads to a morning Harry doesn’t want to face. 

Before the rest of the loft wakes, Harry tiptoes out to the kitchen to make coffee, then takes it back to his room. According to their website, the mall opens at ten, so Harry only has to kill a few hours before he can sneak out of the loft and spend the entire day at the mall if that’s what it takes to find a gift for Paul. 

A little after nine, Harry’s trying to convince himself to get up and make himself another cup of coffee when Louis’ scratchy morning voice drifts through the door, “Harold.” Hoping he’ll go away, Harry keeps his mouth shut, but Louis is undeterred. He taps quietly on the door, and says, “Harry, I know you’re awake. Can I come in?”

“Fine,” Harry says, pulling his comforter up over his shoulders. 

The door slowly opens, and a very grumpy looking Louis appears. The longer his hair gets, the messier it is in the mornings, and it’s like a squirrel's nest today. He’s still in his jeans from last night, but they’re not buttoned, only half-zipped, and he’s shirtless, which means he probably got out of bed naked, pulled on his jeans, and padded across the hall. 

Rubbing his eyes, Louis shuts Harry’s door, then walks around and falls face first onto Harry’s bed. He lifts his head, and says, “Sorry I was a dick last night.”

“I’m surprised you remember,” Harry says, looking away. 

“I was pissed ’cause I thought we were having fun yesterday, but then the boys came up to the bar and Niall told me he ate your cookie, and—”

“Did he say it like that?” Harry asks, closing his eyes and shaking his head. 

“Like, did he make it sound dirty?” Louis asks, and Harry nods. “Of course he did. Liam was normal about it. Said you made the best cookies.”

Ignoring Liam’s compliment, the desire to get up and go tell Niall he’ll never have the privilege of eating his cookie, and the question of what exactly that means, Harry says, “You didn’t want me to move in here.”

“You already knew that,” Louis says, groaning and hiding his head under the pillow. “I didn’t mean what I said last night. I was just annoyed.”

“But you did mean it,” Harry says, frowning and turning to face him. “You said I knew—”

Louis’ hand lands roughly in the center of Harry’s chest, then he lifts it to cover Harry’s mouth. “I didn’t want you to move in, but I’m glad I got outvoted. I like you, Harold, except when you give everyone cookies but me.”

Because Louis doesn’t move it away, Harry licks the palm of his hand, and he jerks it back. Rolling to the side, Harry swings his legs off the bed, and gets up, going to his closet. He sits back down on the bed, and says, “I was going to give you these when you left for Chicago.”

“What?” Louis pushes himself up onto all fours so his ass is eye level and only inches away from Harry’s face. The dip of his waist is exaggerated by his position, and his back muscles shift as he sits up, resting on his heels. 

Thankful for the excuse to look at something other than Louis’ partially naked body, Harry passes him a round red metal tin with his name written on the lid in gold paint pen. “There’s a dozen ’cause I didn’t know if there were any in-laws or nieces or nephews back in Chicago, and I thought you might want to share.”

“I’m not sharing,” Louis says, grinning and taking the tin. He opens it, and does a little wiggle dance, setting the tin on the bed and choosing a cookie. “I’m really sorry about last night. Such a dick move, waking you up to yell at you about cookies.”

“Niall woke me up the other night yelling ‘Blammo!’ at like one in the morning,” Harry says, though he doubts that was intentional and he didn’t mention it to Niall the next day. 

“He says that after he orgasms,” Louis says, biting into a cookie and moaning. 

“How do you— Never mind,” Harry says, and when Louis holds the cookie up to take another bite, Harry pushes his hand, stuffing the cookie in his mouth. Louis’ shocked expression, choking and sputtering on the cookie is worth the time it’ll take to wash his bedding. 

Still coughing, Louis gets off the bed, and clears his throat again. “We going to the mall?”

“Think Liam and Niall will want to come?” Harry asks, brushing crumbs off his pajamas. 

“Let me hide my cookies and I’ll ask,” Louis says, closing the tin and stopping in Harry’s doorway to check both ways before darting across the hall and slamming his door. 

Harry hears the lock click, and laughs, shuffling off to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. 

There are only a few more days until Christmas, and Paul, Louis, and Liam are all going home to see their families. Niall won’t be around for Christmas because he’s going to stay at his friend Benjamin’s house and look after his dog while he’s in Hawaii. Niall insists that they all—Paul and Zayn included—come to his office holiday party on the twenty-second so that he can see everyone dressed up and they can take a loft portrait. Because he didn’t know what else to do with Paul for the holiday, Harry latched onto that idea, and now he and Paul are going to meet up to exchange gifts before the party. If only Harry could think of what to get him. 

“Why did they come if they weren’t going to help?” Harry asks as Liam and Niall take off in the opposite direction as soon as they walk into the food court. 

“You don’t want their help anyway,” Louis says, cupping Harry’s elbow and steering him around one of the hundreds of Christmas trees inside the mall. “Niall’d probably tell you to buy Paul a butt plug and Liam would either suggest something like a basketball.” Louis pauses for Harry to groan, and laughs. “Or he’d say you should get tickets to a couple’s cruise or something.”

“How are those like the exact opposite ends of the gift giving spectrum?” Harry asks, dodging a kid with a lollipop in her hand. 

“So what’s the deal here?” Louis asks. “Do you and Paul have a price limit?”

“No, but what a great idea,” Harry says. The restriction would make it much more fun; the lower the better. “I think it’s like… it’s like I said yesterday. Everything with Paul is so new. We’ve only been together for a few weeks, and I don’t know him that well.”

Louis shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and says, “How do you feel about him, Mr. Talk-About-Your-Feelings? That might help you figure out a gift.”

“I don’t know. I like him, but I don’t know if it’ll be more than that,” Harry says, pulling his backup gift from his pocket. “I was getting desperate last night when I couldn’t think of anything, and I made him a gift certificate for sex, but I don’t want him to think that it’s only about sex for me. Like, I don’t want him to think I’m using him for his dick.”

“He’d probably be okay with that, actually,” Louis says, snatching the red envelope from Harry’s hand. He quickly dodges Harry’s attempts to take it back, and slips the card out, unfolding it, and reading it while Harry looks on, cheeks flushing. “Good for one night of piping hot sex—no refunds or XXXchanges. One night? That’s like a free sample or something. A coupon book is more of a Christmas gift, I think.”

“Give it back,” Harry says, reaching for it after Louis puts the card back into the envelope, and smacking Louis’ shoulder when he misses. “Free sample.”

Louis jerks his arm out of Harry’s grip, and turns away, blocking Harry with his back while he puts the envelope in his pocket. “I’m keeping this. I’ll redeem it for some piping hot sex when you least expect it.”

“Haha.” Harry lets him keep it. He’s not giving it to Paul anyway. Louis isn’t wrong about a coupon book being the better option, and if he had the time or the imagination, he’d do it, but all he can think of to make coupons for right now are a few different positions and maybe sex on the couch, though he doesn’t know how he’d guarantee they wouldn’t be interrupted by one of his roommates. A book of five coupons is almost sadder than a single coupon. Harry sighs, and wanders into the Hallmark store. 

“Not a bad idea,” Louis says, picking up a Charlie Brown snow globe and giving it a shake. “Even if you guys don’t have a price limit, you should set one for yourself. Like, thirty dollars before tax or something.”

“Okay, yeah,” Harry says, taking the snow globe from Louis and setting it back on the shelf. “Nothing breakable.”

“Snoopy?” Louis asks, bopping Harry on the nose with a stuffed Snoopy wearing a Santa hat. 

“He’s cute,” Harry says, taking the toy and straightening Snoopy’s scarf. “I like it. I’ll give him this and I’ll make him a new coupon that says it’s good for sex and, like, breakfast in bed.”

“Great,” Louis says, picking up the Charlie Brown snow globe again. “I’m getting this.”

“It’s fifty bucks,” Harry says, and Louis whines dramatically, stomping his feet. 

Pulling out his wallet, Louis says, “Split it with me. It’ll be the only Christmas decoration in the loft and it’ll be ours. Liam and Niall can’t touch.”

“Alright,” Harry says, bidding goodbye to another twenty-five dollars. He gives it a week before the snow globe is shattered.

On the way back to the loft, Harry takes them through one of the neighborhoods he found his first year in LA. It’s late afternoon, so none of the houses are lit up, but some of their inflatable decorations are on, and it’s probably all he’ll get to see today. 

“Where are we?” Niall asks, peering out the back window. 

“Candy Cane Lane,” Harry says, slowing as he comes to the intersection with Snow Street. “At night it’s really beautiful. All the lights and decorations. I used to drive through here the night before I’d fly home for Christmas.”

“We’ll have to come back at night,” Louis says, leaning back in his seat. 

“Niall’s office party’s tonight, Lou,” Harry says, waving at the family adding more lights to their front porch. “And your flight’s Christmas Eve.”

Niall clears his throat, and says, “Louis’—”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Niall!” Louis yells, making Harry’s ears ring as he turns in his seat to scowl at Niall in the backseat. “I can’t miss my flight again. Don’t even suggest it.”

Liam huffs a laugh, and says, “I think he was saying—”

“Liam! You, too?” Louis reaches back and smacks Liam’s knee. “Let it go! Both of you!”

“It’s fine, guys,” Harry reassures them, smiling in the rearview mirror. “I’ve driven through here every year by myself. It’s not a big deal.”

Once they’re back at the loft, Harry makes a new coupon for Paul, and wraps his Snoopy in tissue paper and puts it in a gift bag. He isn’t supposed to be looking forward to Niall’s office party, but he’s actually never attended one before. Schools don’t do holiday parties. Harry and his teacher friends all went out to dinner on a Thursday night and exchanged bottles of wine with each other before getting so trashed on Margaritas that they were all hungover the next day. He did go to one party with Spencer during his brief stint working for a caterer, but Harry was there more as a moral support than as a date. 

For Niall’s office party, Harry dresses up in his purple floral embroidered suit because it’s his nicest, most expensive outfit, and he loves the way he feels in it. Whenever he wears it, people compliment him, and then he gets the pleasure of telling them he found it at a consignment shop in Portland. It’s always a conversation starter, and he doesn’t know anyone Niall works with, and it’ll give Paul a taste of what Harry’s like outside school and outside the bedroom. 

Harry puts his jacket on and takes it off at least a dozen times before finally hanging it on the back of his desk chair because he made himself start sweating. He turns on his fan, and untucks his black shirt, unbuttoning it all the way, and standing there until he cools down. When he buttons it again, he leaves the top two undone, tucks it in, and puts on his black boots. He needs a glass of wine before Paul arrives.

“Oh!” Harry holds his hand to his heart, and Louis laughs, pushing away from the door. He tucks his thumbs into the pockets of his dark jeans, rocking back on his heels. Taking in Louis’ grey tweed jacket, and blue plaid shirt with thin stripes of bright green, Harry smiles, and says, “You startled me, Lewis.”

Louis tugs on his collar, and Harry reaches out to fix it without thinking, but Louis doesn’t stop him. He lets Harry straighten his collar, but knocks his hand away when he unfastens the top button of his shirt. “Stop trying to get me naked, Harold.”

“Your buttons are wrong,” Harry says, and Louis frowns down at them. The doorbell rings, and Harry sighs. “I wanted to have a glass of wine before he got here.”

“Paul?” Louis asks, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “Go get your wine. I’ll stall him.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, hurrying off to the kitchen. He doesn’t bother with a glass, opening the rosé he started a few nights ago, and drinking directly from the bottle. He can hear Louis and Paul talking, but he can’t make out the words, and he doesn’t really care what they’re saying.

“Well, hello,” Niall says, walking out of his bedroom wearing a black and white checked shirt, and black trousers, Santa hat perched jauntily on his head. He holds up a tiny velvet drawstring bag, and it jingles. “My costume. Gotta go. See you guys there.”

Harry nods while finishing off his rosé, then swallows and wipes his mouth, gently setting the bottle in the recycling bin, and following Niall through the loft. Paul and Niall bump fists on Niall’s way out the door, then Paul turns back to Louis, and Harry stifles a laugh. Louis stalled him by asking him to help fix his buttons. At least they’re properly done up now, but there’s an unwelcome flare of possessiveness and jealousy in the pit of his stomach that takes Harry by surprise. 

“What?” Harry asks, realizing he’s missed something.

Louis snaps his fingers in front of Harry’s face, and says, “Paul was just helping me with my buttons.”

“I can see that,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. 

Turning to face Harry so that his back is to Paul, Louis mouths, “You’re welcome!”

“Paul, do you want to, um… come to my room,” Harry suggests with a smile, nodding towards the hall. 

“Yeah,” Paul says, taking Harry’s hand and holding it out to the side. “Love this suit.”

“Thank you,” Harry says with a glance at Paul’s navy suit, white shirt, and red tie. “Navy blue looks good on you.”

“Thanks.” Paul blushes, and Harry leads him to his room, dropping his hand once they’re inside and going into his closet to grab Paul’s gift. 

Harry holds the little gift bag in both hands, extending his arms, and says, “Merry Christmas.”

“Our first Christmas together,” Paul says, taking an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “On three?”

“One, two, three,” they count together, then exchange gifts quickly, laughing quietly when their hands bump awkwardly. 

Harry waits while Paul opens his gift bag, and Paul’s eyes go wide as he pulls Snoopy out by his hat. “Oh, he’s a cutie, isn’t he?”

“I’m glad you like him,” Harry says, pointing at the bag. “There’s a card.”

Paul opens the unsealed envelope, unfolding the card, eyes scanning it. He sputters a laugh, and says, “Love this. You’re so creative.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, pulling a folded piece of paper from Paul’s envelope. He opens it, and gasps. “Two tickets to Vienna? Oh my god. Paul, I gave you a homemade coupon for sex and Snoopy.”

“Yeah, but it’s great,” Paul says, holding up his coupon to face Harry. “Redeeming this tonight.”

“Your gift is so… it’s so nice,” Harry says, trying not to think about the cost of round trip airfare from LA to Austria. He takes Snoopy from Paul’s lap and adjusts his scarf. “Mine’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Paul says, taking Snoopy back. “It’s great. It’s fun and unexpected. Like you! And I… I love it. I really love it.” Setting Snoopy aside, Paul pulls Harry into a hug, and Harry smiles against his shoulder. “I love it, Harry. I do. I… I love you.”

Harry catches their reflection in the mirror in his closet, and closes his eyes when he sees the astonished look in them. He hugs Paul tighter, swallows, and whispers, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Paul says, and rubs Harry’s arms, putting a little space between them. 

“So… You really like the Snoopy?” Harry asks, getting up and slipping his arms into his jacket, praying Paul won’t say it again, and that he’ll go along with the change of subject.

“I do,” Paul says, standing and opening the bedroom door. “I love that suit. Amazing.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, grimacing as soon as he knows Paul can’t see his face. 

Since Niall already left, the rest of them ride to the party in Harry’s station wagon. Thankfully, the second they step out of the building onto the sidewalk, Louis calls shotgun, and Harry makes a mental note to bake him more cookies. 

Associated Strategies, or Ass. Strat. as Niall calls it, is decorated for the holiday with lights and artificial snow, making Harry curious how festive the party will be. Niall is supposed to be dressed as Sexy Santa, but Harry has no idea what to expect other than that. 

Paul links their hands together as they climb the steps of Ass. Strat. and Harry can’t find an excuse to let go until he sees Zayn and his most recent boyfriend, a photographer named Kyle. 

“Z!” Harry drops Paul’s hand and hurries over to Zayn, throwing his arms around him in a hug. “You wore it!”

Zayn reaches up to touch his green Christmas tree hat, jingling the bell on the top of the tree. “Of course. So fashionable, my beautiful bauble.”

“Ooh…” Harry widens his eyes, and says, “Love that one. What else you got?”

“Saucy cranberry,” Zayn says, and Harry laughs, throwing his head back. 

As soon as Harry gets close enough, Paul takes his hand again, and they wade through the office full of festively dressed employees, past a bar and a bartender, and a few waiters carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres. Rounding the corner, Harry drops Paul’s hand again, and brings his own up to cover his mouth. 

Sitting in a leather desk chair, wearing a Santa hat, a fake beard, a bell covered collar, and a tiny pair of red shorts, is Niall. 

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Niall bellows, voice lecherous and unnaturally low as a woman in a cocktail dress sits on his lap. 

“Are those my shorts?” Harry asks, because they look like his red Nike running shorts. 

“I think so,” Louis says. “Do you think he’s seen us or can we run away and hide?”

“I’m going to go get us some drinks. Beer, Louis?” Paul offers, and when Louis nods, Paul steps away and heads back towards the bar. 

Looking around, Harry doesn’t recognize a soul other than Louis. Liam’s wandered off, Zayn and Kyle are huddled in the corner, so Harry takes the opportunity to do as Louis suggested and hide. Harry ducks behind a row of filing cabinets, covering his face with his hands. 

“What’s going on?” Louis asks, leaning up against the filing cabinet beside him. “You’re acting weird, and not in your usual way. Like, bad weird.”

Harry glances around, and whispers, “Paul told me he loved me. And I couldn’t say it back. So I said thank you, which I think is worse than not saying anything at all.”

“Oh…” Louis brushes his hair off his forehead, and hums. “Do you think it was just too early? Like, do you think you’ll get there?”

Shaking his head, Harry says, “I don’t know. I mean, I like him, but…”

“Harold, if you don’t feel the same, you should tell him,” Louis says softly, shrugging one shoulder. 

“Yeah, but it’s Christmas,” Harry says, already feeling guilty over the thought of ending things with Paul.  “And then it’s New Year’s, and—”

Louis squeezes Harry’s arm. “Harry, if you don’t tell him now, it’ll hurt him more. It’s like leading him on. Or like, you know When Harry Met Sally when Billy Crystal’s wife leaves him, and she waits to tell him she wants a divorce because she doesn’t want to ruin his birthday?”  

“Yes,” Harry says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Okay. You’re right. I have to tell him.”

“Yeah, you do,” Louis says, and Harry blinks, smiling and reaching up to rub his thumb over Louis’ scruffy jaw. “What’re you doing?”

“You have glitter in your beard.” Scratching lightly, Harry frowns at the immovable sparkles, and says, “Didn’t realize you knew When Harry Met Sally that well.”

“Are you kidding?” Louis takes Harry’s hand, holding it away from his face. “I love romcoms. But you’re making excuses.”

“Fine.” Harry heaves a sigh. “Fine. I’ll tell him.”

“Good boy, Harold,” Louis says, and Harry blushes, heading for the bathroom instead. 

He pushes the door open, and stops short when Zayn’s just inside, standing by the sink. He gives Harry a small, sad smile, and says, “Hey.”

“What are you doing in here?” Harry asks, and Zayn takes a deep breath. 

“Kyle’s being a dick,” Zayn says, and Harry huffs. “Yes, per usual. What are you doing in here?”

“Paul told me he loved me, and I said thank you because I don’t love him. Louis says I have to tell him, so I’m hiding,” Harry says, and Zayn nods, taking Harry by the hips and guiding him over to the mirror. 

“Fix your hair,” Zayn says, and Harry does as he’s told, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. “Louis is right. You do have to tell Paul, so… suck it up, my sweet little plum pudding.”

“I love you,” Harry says, leaning his head back on Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn kisses Harry’s cheek, and says, “Love you, Christmas cookie.”

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Harry says, combing his fingers through his hair and messing it up again. “Push me out the door.”

Hands still on Harry’s hips, Zayn nudges him towards the door. “I’m pushing, I’m pushing.”

“Hey, did Kyle get you anything for Christmas?” Harry asks on his way out the door. He doesn’t quite hear Zayn’s response, but it sounds like a no. 

Of course, when he wants to see Paul, he can’t find him. Harry walks around the office party twice, then walks past a glass door he missed the first time, and spies Louis and Paul outside. As Harry approaches, Paul and Louis embrace, and Louis pats his back. Confused, Harry pushes open the door.

“Is this where all the cool kids hang out?” Harry asks, and doesn’t even earn a snicker from either of them despite the fact that they’re both usually quick to laugh at his jokes. “What’s going on? Why are you guys hugging?”

“No reason!” Louis says, looking to the side, then tipping his chin up and staring over the top of Harry’s head. 

“Just talking! Just talking,” Paul says with a watery laugh, then he sings, “Talking about a revolution sounds like a whisper…”

“Tracy Chapman, alright,” Harry says, letting the glass door close behind him. “Were you talking about music?”

“I told him you didn’t love him,” Louis says, finally meeting Harry’s gaze.

“What?” Harry gasps. 

“He was really nice about it,” Paul reassures him, and Louis nods, then tries to step around Harry towards the door. 

“Why would you do that?” Harry asks, swatting at Louis with both hands. “This has nothing to do with you! Why would you— That wasn’t yours to tell!”

“I’m sorry!” Louis dodges Harry’s hands, and backs away. “I’m sorry!”

“What is wrong with you?” Harry finally lands a good smack on Louis’ upper arm as he darts past him towards the door.

“You two have a lot to talk about so—” Louis yanks on the door handle, but the door doesn’t budge. “No! No, please, no. Don’t be locked.”

Ignoring Louis isn’t easy, but Harry tries. He takes Paul’s hand, and says, “I really like you, Paul. I care about you a lot.”

“Louis told me,” Paul says, and Harry closes his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose.

“Well, he’s right,” Harry says, trying to focus on Paul and not Louis’ incessant knocking behind him. “I just, um… My last relationship… I got hurt pretty badly, and I, um… I think I need time to kind of get there, you know?”

“Yeah, I understand,” Paul says, and Louis’ knocking gets louder. “I knew… I mean, you told me about Spencer. I guess I thought we were on the same page though.”

“I think, um… I think you’re a few pages ahead of me,” Harry says, and when Louis begins to bang on the door with both fists, Harry spins around, and shouts, “Louis! This is your fault, so sit down and shut up!”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Louis says, turning his back to the door and hiding his face in his hands as he slides down to sit on the ground. 

“Paul, it’s just… I’m trying so hard not to get hurt again, you know?”

“I would never hurt you,” Paul promises so sincerely that Harry can feel himself starting to give in.

“What if we…” Harry clears his throat, and asks, “What if we just take it slow? Slow down a little?”

Paul sighs, rubbing his temples. “I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think I know how.”

“All he’s asking you to do is slow down a bit, man,” Louis interjects, and Harry stares daggers at him. “What? It’s not hard!”

“Louis!” Harry yells, and Louis nods, dropping his head back against the glass door. Turning to Paul again, Harry says, “I’m sorry, Paul. I just need to take it slow, you know?”

“I… I’m sorry,” Paul says quietly, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can. It wouldn’t feel right to me. And I… If you need that, I don’t think I can do this any—”

“Come on, Paul!” Louis whines loudly, kicking at the dead leaves gathered in the corner by the door. “It’s Christmas! Don’t break up with him.”

“Shh…” Harry leans forward and presses his hand over Louis’ mouth. “It’s okay, Lou.”

“I’m sorry,” Paul says, and Harry tries to smile. 

“Me too,” Harry whispers, opening his arms wide for a hug. 

“Oh my god, get me out of here,” Louis mutters, standing up and knocking on the door again. 

Liam appears on the other side of the glass, and the second he opens the door, Louis screams in triumph and pushes past him into the building. Liam clears his throat, and asks, “Have you guys seen a little kid? Brown hair, glasses, plaid shirt?”

“No,” Harry says, and Paul shakes his head. “I’ll help you look.”

“I’ll, um… I’m going to call a cab,” Paul says, following them back into the building. “I’ll see you at school, Harry.”

“Bye, Paul,” Harry says, pressing his lips together. He turns to Liam, and asks, “Who are we looking for?”

“Niall’s boss’ kid,” Liam says, taking off down the hall with Harry on his heels. “I think he got upset because of Niall’s Sexy Santa, and now we can’t find him.”

“How old is he?” Harry asks, heading down the hall towards the front of the building.

“I don’t know,” Liam says as they pass Paul sitting on a bench by the exit. “Seven, maybe? That’s a guess.”

“Think he might be in there?” Harry steps outside, pointing at the large, lighted igloo surrounded by ice skating penguin decorations. 

Liam runs down the stairs and around to the igloo, then stops and gives Harry two thumbs up before squatting down in front of the igloo. 

Relieved that the kid’s been found, Harry heads back inside. In the short time since he passed Paul on the bench by the door, he’s disappeared, and that’s probably for the best. Now that he’s dateless, Harry finds the quickest route to the bar, and orders a vodka cranberry, sipping it as he walks around the party looking for Zayn. They find each other back at the bar a little while later.

“Hey,” Harry says, taking a drink of his second cocktail. “Paul and I broke up.”

“Tis the season,” Zayn says, ordering a vodka on the rocks. “I broke up with Kyle.”

“Really?” Harry asks, linking their arms together as they try to find a place to sit. 

“Yeah, he was being a dick,” Zayn says with a shrug. “He wanted to go to some party, and I said I wasn’t interested, and he said he hates how boring I am, so I told him it was over. Can you guys give me a ride?”

“Of course, yeah,” Harry says, taking Zayn to the now empty bench by the entrance. They sit side by side, and Harry rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder. “You’re working all through Christmas, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, on a boat,” Zayn answers with a bored sigh. 

“On a boat?” Harry asks, reaching for Zayn’s hand. “Will they let you wear your floaties?”

“Shut up,” Zayn says, elbowing Harry’s side. “They have life jackets. I asked. But I’m also bringing mine.”

“You own a life jacket?” Harry narrows his eyes, looking at Zayn through his lashes. “It’s like I don’t know you at all.”

“Please, you know me too well most of the time,” Zayn says, waving at Liam when he comes through the entrance with Elvin. When they pass by, Zayn whispers, “I overheard Niall’s boss offer Liam a nanny job.”

“A job’s a job,” Harry says, remembering his days as a nanny. “I think Liam would make a good nanny. He was really worried about that kid tonight.”

“He’s a good guy,” Zayn says, tipping his cup back and draining his drink. “How long are we staying at this thing?”

“Until Santa Niall is finished, I guess.” Harry looks the other way down the hall, and says, “Louis is supposed to drive.”

“Louis stayed sober tonight?” Zayn asks with a short, sharp laugh. 

“We drew straws,” Harry says, shaking his empty cup and fishing a piece of ice out. He crunches down on the ice, and hums. 

“Hey,” Zayn says, patting Harry’s leg. “I’m sorry about Paul.”

“It’s just… It’s bad timing,” Harry says, stretching his legs out in front of him. 

“You guys ready to go?” Liam asks, appearing in front of them again, dragging Louis behind him. 

“Yeah, should we say goodbye to Niall?” Harry asks, peeking back into the party and shaking his head. “Never mind. We’ll see him at home.”

Louis opens the door, and they all slip out without saying goodbye. He jogs to catch up to Harry, and says, “Harold, man, I’m really sorry about what happened with Paul.”

“Why did you tell him?” Harry asks quietly, handing over his keys and getting into the passenger seat of his station wagon. 

When Louis climbs behind the wheel, he says, “It was a mixup. Promise. I thought he looked upset, so I asked if you guys had talked, and he said yes, only he meant you’d talked about something else, and I… I sort of panicked. I told him way too much.”

“What else did you say?” Harry asks despite being afraid to hear the answer.

“That you said the sex was great, and you really liked him, but you wanted to slow down,” Louis says, starting the engine, and pulling out of the parking space. 

“All true things,” Harry says. 

“You want to go to Candy Cane Lane?” Louis asks, and Harry smiles. 

It’s not a long drive to Candy Cane Lane where they join the long line of cars inching down the street past the lights and decorations. 

“You’re right, it’s better at night,” Louis says.

“Of course it’s better at night,” Liam says with a loud scoff. 

“Every other time I’ve been through here, it’s been super late, and there haven’t been many other people,” Harry says, waving at a family walking down the sidewalk. “I like seeing other people enjoy it too.”

“Does it make you want a tree in the loft?” Zayn asks, pulling himself up to rest his chin on Harry’s seat. 

“Niall’s very anti-Christmas decorations,” Harry says, leaning back against the headrest. “Because it ruins his loft aesthetic.”

“I’ll ruin his loft aesthetic,” Zayn says, and Harry giggles. 

“We’re working on it,” Louis says with a grin in Harry’s direction. “Harold and I bought a snow globe. We’re going to add little holiday decorations one by one, and by the time Niall notices, it’ll be too late.”

“He already noticed the snow globe,” Liam says, propping his feet up onto the console between Harry and Louis. “I told him you guys had a bet to see how long it’d take him to notice it, and that Louis said you’d notice right away, but Harry said it’d take a day or two, so he’s determined to pretend not to notice it, so neither of you win.”

“Thanks, man,” Louis says, grabbing Liam’s shoe and pushing his feet back off the console. “You think you could do the same if we put up a tree?”

“Why do you want a tree anyway, Louis?” Liam asks, kicking Louis’ arm out of the way. “You hate—”

“I hate real trees, yes!” Louis announces, drowning out whatever else Liam was about to say. “Real trees leave such a mess! But Harold here said they have artificial trees. Can you believe that?”

“Sounds fake,” Liam says flatly. 

“Exactly,” Louis says, throwing a wink at Harry as he pulls back onto the highway, taking them home for the night. 

Chapter Text

DECEMBER STILL

Harry lets himself sleep in on Christmas Eve. It’s the last day he’ll get to spend with the guys, and once he’s out of bed, and the day actually starts, it’ll be too close to saying goodbye. Christmas alone is going to suck. 

“Get up!” Niall shouts from outside Harry’s door, but it has the unmistakable tone of someone yelling at Louis, so Harry waits. A moment later there’s a knock, and Niall says, “Harry, time to get up if you want to exchange gifts before I go.”

“I’m up!” Harry calls, throwing off the blanket, and finding his slippers. He shuffles out to the living room still in his reindeer pajamas, and takes a seat in the corner of the sectional sofa. Louis drags himself out of his room a little while later, yawning loudly without covering his mouth as he drops onto the couch beside Harry, and Harry says, “You have the worst breath right now.”

Louis turns, pursing his lips. “Want a Christmas kiss? A Kissmas?”

“Ew,” Harry says, covering Louis’ open mouth with a throw pillow. “Is there coffee?”

“Smells like coffee,” Louis says, pillow still over his face. He puts the pillow in his lap, frowning at it. “I spilled coffee on this pillow the other day.”

“Thanks for cleaning it up,” Harry says, looking over the back of the couch into the kitchen. There does appear to be a fresh pot of coffee, so he groans and pushes himself up off the couch. He fills two mugs, bringing one to Louis, before huddling right back in his corner. 

“Thanks,” Louis whispers, sipping his coffee. “I have to leave in a few hours. First time in five years I’m not missing my flight.”

“Shouldn’t you wait to celebrate that when you’re actually on the plane to Chicago?” Harry asks, pulling the blanket off the back of the couch and draping it over his lap. 

Scooting closer, Louis tugs the blanket to cover him, too, tucking his feet under his bum and leaning into Harry’s side. “I’ve got an early flight instead of a redeye. I’ve got a working car to drive to the airport instead of depending on Cash to take me. I’ve got everything packed. All I have to do is leave here on time.”

“Then it sounds like you’re set,” Harry says, watching as Liam slowly makes his way to the couch, and flops down on the chaise. “You alright?”

“I got offered a job last night,” Liam says, rolling onto his back so his head is right next to Harry’s thigh. Harry runs his fingers through Liam’s hair, and Liam sighs. “I can be a nanny. That’s not a terrible job, right?”

“It can be if you don’t like the family you work for,” Harry says, looking down at Liam. 

“I like the kid,” Liam says, closing his eyes as Harry works the tangles out of his short hair. “And the mom’s cool. Pays more than my temp job. Fewer hours, too.”

“Sounds like a good thing, then, Li,” Louis says, leaning across Harry’s lap and pinching Liam’s nose. 

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” 

“It’s always creepy, Niall,” Louis says without looking towards Niall’s bedroom, and Harry nods.

“Definitely creepy,” Harry says, turning as Niall waddles his way to the living room in an actual Santa costume. “What are you doing?”

“Roleplay,” Niall says with a wink. He carries Harry’s gifts over from where they’ve been stacked against the wall, then brings out a few more boxes and bags from his own bedroom. 

“Those are big boxes,” Liam says, grabbing the Charlie Brown snow globe off the coffee table, turning it upside down and giving it a shake. 

“Big gifts,” Harry says, snatching the snow globe and setting it back on the table before Niall looks up. “How do you guys usually do this?”

“We’ve never exchanged Christmas gifts,” Louis says, and Harry gasps. “Get ready to be disappointed.”

“It’s true,” Liam says, reaching over to poke Louis’ knee. “Louis is the worst gift giver. We only do birthdays, and even then it’s like, bottles of liquor, cases of beer, maybe wine. Basically, don’t expect anything from Louis that he can’t steal from work.”

“Pens, wine corkscrews, bottle openers,” Niall says, joining them on the couch on the other side of Louis. He tosses tiny gift bags to each of them, and sits back. “I got you all the same thing and you’d better use them.”

Harry opens his bag, finding a tiny box of AirPods inside. “Wow, Niall, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Niall says, taking the bag back. “Louis, they’re wireless. I also got you a regular pair of wired ones for when you lose those.”

“You know me so well, Ni,” Louis says, blowing Niall a kiss. 

“I got you guys absolutely nothing,” Liam says, slipping his AirPods into his pocket. “Unemployed Liam doesn’t do gifts.”

“That’s alright, man,” Louis says, and Harry tousles Liam’s hair. “I’m just glad you’d already paid for your flight home.”

“Your turn, Lewis,” Harry says, nudging Louis until he grabs the small stack of envelopes on the coffee table, and tosses one to each of them. Harry opens his, and rolls his eyes. “A coupon for hot sex? Really?”

“Read the fine print,” Louis says, tapping the coupon. 

Harry scans the coupon, and in the tiniest scrawl in the bottom corner he reads, “Also redeemable for one handle of your liquor of choice.”

“I want a handle of Irish Whiskey,” Niall says, throwing his coupon to Louis. 

“Isn’t a handle a half-gallon?” Harry asks, and Louis hums his response. “I’ll have to think about mine.”

“I want a handle of Midori,” Liam says, handing his coupon to Louis. 

“I don’t even know if they sell melon liqueur in a bottle that big,” Louis says, sipping his coffee, and tossing their coupons back onto the table. “Your turn, Harold. What’d you get us?”

“Open them and find out,” Harry says, waiting while all three of them get the large boxes settled in their laps. It takes a few minutes for them to unwrap Harry’s carefully taped paper, but Louis is the first to open his, and he squeals.

“A skateboard! No way!” Louis shoves his wrapping paper and box aside, and hops off the couch. He sets his new skateboard on the floor behind the couch, and rolls it back and forth a few times, then he’s off, skating around the loft like a pro.

“I can’t believe you got us skateboards,” Liam says, running off to his room and returning with a bike helmet on. He grins and, using the wall to stabilize him, steps onto the skateboard which immediately rolls out from under him, sending him sprawling on his back. 

“Liam, are you okay?” Harry asks, hurrying over to his side. 

“I’m good!” Liam rolls over and gets to his feet, picking up the skateboard and taking off his helmet. “Never doing that again, though.”

“But it’s fun!” Louis smacks Liam’s ass as he rides by, circling around the couch again. He stops, kicking up the board, and grabbing the nose. “This is the best gift, man. Thanks, Harold. Two handles of the liquor of your choice for you!”

“Or two nights of hot sex,” Niall says, still examining his skateboard, and Harry’s cheek flush. “If I learn to use this, will it get me laid?”

“Probably not,” Louis says, taking off again, towards the kitchen this time. “When’s Zayn coming over? Is he waiting for us to leave?”

“Zayn’s not coming,” Harry says, going back to his couch corner, his blanket, and his coffee. “He’ll be working all week on location.”

“On location?” Niall asks, raising his eyebrows. “Where?”

“On a yacht or something,” Harry says, and Niall holds a hand to his heart.

“He doesn't like boats,” Niall says, and Harry rolls his eyes. “Or the ocean.”

Crossing his arms, Harry says, “I know.” 

“Then what is he doing, Harry?” Niall asks, standing and pacing in front of the couch. “Does he have a life preserver?”

“Like one of those rings they hang up near a pool?” Louis asks, doing a kickflip. 

“Don't do that in the loft,” Niall says, waving him away. “And yes.”

“No,” Harry says, but when Niall’s eyes go wide with worry, he feels bad. “He has a life jacket. Like a real one. Don’t worry.”

“So you’ll be alone for Christmas?” Louis asks, plopping onto the couch, skateboard on his knees. “I don’t like it.”

“Nothing to be done about it. I just can’t afford to fly home,” Harry lies, staring into his rapidly cooling cup of coffee. “And Niall’ll be at Benjamin’s house if I need anything.”

“Anything!” Niall shouts, smacking his chest.

“Please, Niall,” Liam says, patting Niall on the head. 

“I’ll be fine,” Harry promises. He’s already got plans to bake, organize his closet, wash his sheets, paint his nails, and watch every Christmas romcom he can get his eyes on. And he really will be fine. It’s the saying goodbye that sucks, and he kind of wants them to go ahead and leave so he can get it out of the way. 

Louis stands up and stretches, sweatpants sliding down far enough that Harry knows for sure he’s not wearing any underwear. He yawns, and says, “I need to get ready to go.”

“Yeah, I need to go, too,” Niall says, collecting all of the discarded paper and quickly cleaning up the living room. 

From his corner of the couch, Harry watches his roommates carry their bags to the door, and waits until they’re all three standing there, ready to go before he gets up to say his goodbyes. He pulls Liam into a hug, rubbing his back, and wishing him a safe trip. Niall kisses both of Harry’s cheeks, and taps his nose, then steps into the hall and presses the button for the elevator. 

With a duffle bag on his shoulder, and his new skateboard under his arm, Louis leans in for a hug, and Harry says, “Merry Christmas Eve, you guys. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Oh, man. Almost forgot,” Niall says with a chuckle. He winks and points at Louis as he walks into the hall. “Happy birthday, man. The big three-oh. Dirty thirty.”

“What?” Harry asks, looking from Niall to Louis to Liam who just shrugs. 

Louis hauls off and punches Niall’s arm hard enough that Harry winces. “I told you not to say anything.” 

“What?” Harry asks again, rubbing at the line he knows is deep between his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Harold,” Louis says with a sigh. “I didn’t want you to make a big deal of it. And I knew you would. So I asked the guys not to mention it.”

“But why? It’s your thirtieth, Louis!” Harry shakes his head, leaning against the door jamb and watching the elevator doors slide open. He shrugs, and says, “I get it. You don’t want to make it a big deal. You guys have a good trip.”

Niall is still rubbing his arm when he steps into the elevator, and Louis gives a half-hearted wave before Liam pushes him the rest of the way into the elevator with his suitcase. The doors slide closed, and they’re gone. Harry shuts the loft door and locks it, shuffling back to his bedroom, kicking off his slippers, and climbing back into bed. Maybe he’ll stay right there until the guys come back. 

Harry actually only spends about an hour pouting in his bed before his stomach growls and he gets up to make himself some breakfast. While he’s in the kitchen, he checks to see if he has everything he needs for the next few days, and he does. Thanks, Niall, for doing the shopping. There’s butter leftover from his cookie baking, and Harry decides to make a birthday cake for Louis. He’ll bake it, decorate it, and put it away so Louis can have it when he gets back from Chicago. 

Because no one’s there to tell him he can’t have pink wine before noon, Harry opens a bottle of rosé and sips it while he measures out his ingredients. A vanilla cake with vanilla frosting can be boring, but he gets the feeling Louis will appreciate the effort no matter what flavor the cake is. And Harry’s not willing to leave the loft to go pick up cocoa or baking chocolate or even carrots for his favorite carrot cake recipe. He creams the butter and sugar, and mixes together the batter, pouring it into three round cake pans. While the cake bakes, Harry takes a shower, and when he’s out and dressed in his soft flannel penguin pajamas, he feels a bit better. 

The cake cools on the counter while Harry makes the frosting and cleans up the kitchen, and then it’s time to put it all together. Harry stacks the layers, spreading icing between, and finally over the outside of the cake. Simple, but delicious, if Harry knows his own baking. Of course, now that he’s got the whole thing covered in frosting, he wishes he’d set aside a cupcake’s worth of batter so he could have a little taste, but it’s fine. It’s for Louis anyway. 

With a little of the leftover icing, Harry mixes in a drop of blue food coloring, then carefully pipes on top of the cake ‘Happy Birthday, Louis!’ and adds a little blue border around the bottom edge. 

“Perfect,” Harry says, smiling to himself. He cleans up again, but leaves the cake out on the tall table while he finds something he can fit it in to store it in the fridge. 

Harry jumps at a knock on the door, dropping his empty cake carrier. He fumbles to pick it up, and sets it on the counter when there’s another knock at the door. 

“Harold!” Louis shouts through the door, and Harry rushes to open it. 

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, voice shrill as he grabs Louis’ arm and pulls him inside. “What happened? Did you miss your flight?”

“Ehh…” Louis drops his duffle bag on the floor, and kicks off his shoes. “I was on the plane with Liam, and they asked if anyone would be willing to get off and take a later flight. It seemed like the thing to do.”

“So Liam’s…” 

“Liam’s on the way to Chicago without me,” Louis says, setting his skateboard on the floor and skating to the kitchen. “What’s this?”

“Birthday cake,” Harry says, biting his lower lip. He sits on one of the stools, and slowly spins the cake around. “When’s your flight?”

“Oh, I, um…” Louis clears his throat, then opens the fridge, finding a beer. With his back to Harry, he says, “I asked for a refund instead, and they were like cool, so I’m not going to Chicago for Christmas.”

“Louis… Why?” 

“You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas, Harold,” Louis says, popping the cap off his beer. “Soon as you said Zayn wouldn’t be here, I thought one of us ought to stay, and Niall’s obviously the worst choice. When they asked someone to get off the plane, I figured I was meant to stay here with you. So here I am.”

“Here you are,” Harry says. “What about your family?”

“FaceTimed them in the car from the airport parking lot,” Louis says. “My mom was pissed at first, but when I explained that you were alone and not going home to your family, she understood. She said it was fate that my plane was over capacity so I could keep you company.”

“Maybe so.” Harry hums, and then quietly begins to sing, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Lewis, happy birthday to you.”

“Am I allowed to eat it?” Louis asks, and Harry grins. 

“It’s your cake,” Harry says, but he gets up to find the big knife before Louis goes looking for it. “Lou, why didn't you want me to know about your birthday?” 

“I hate my birthday,” Louis says, pulling out a stool and hopping onto it. “Always have. In Chicago it was always so fucking cold, and when I was a kid, no one ever came to my party because it was over Christmas break, and like, when I was little, it was okay, you know?” Propping his elbows on the table, Louis rests his chin in his hands, watching as Harry slices the cake. “When it was just me and my mom, she treated my birthday like my birthday, and Christmas as Christmas, but as I got older, and as I got more siblings, I don’t know. My birthday sort of took a backseat. And it’s fine, really. I don’t care. Do I sometimes wish my birthday was in a normal month like March or May or something? Yes. But I’d also rather just sort of… skip it.”

“So it has nothing to do with turning thirty?” Harry asks, putting the first piece of cake on a plate and sliding it in front of Louis. 

“Nothing at all,” Louis says, waiting while Harry cuts himself a piece of cake. “Maybe just a little.” Blinking slowly, Harry waits, and Louis sighs. “Okay. I didn’t want a party. I don’t want a party. I thought, if you knew, you’d find some way to make it a big deal, and I’d wind up with some massive surprise party when I’d much rather do this.”

“Eat cake alone with your roommate?” Harry asks, picking up his plate and heading for the couch. “While watching romcoms in the middle of the day?”

“Yeah, actually,” Louis says, carrying his cake over to the couch. He takes Niall’s usual spot in the corner, and Harry stretches his legs out on the chaise, sitting back and waiting for Louis to take the first bite. He does, closing his eyes and humming as the fork slides out from between his lips. “Oh my god, Harold. Happy birthday to me.”

Harry snorts, taking a bite. “It’s good. Thanks, me, for baking a cake. And thanks, you, for coming home so I could eat it.”

“Welcome, Harold,” Louis says, taking a too big bite and talking around the fork. “What are we watching?”

“Love, Actually,” Harry says, starting the movie, and waiting to hear Louis’ opinion on it. 

“I like this one,” Louis says, pointing his fork at the television. “Except that one guy who’s in love with Kiera Knightley. What’s that all about? In love with your best friend’s girl?”

“Yeah, it’s a bit creepy, but it’s a movie, so I let it slide,” Harry says. 

“You know, part of me expected to come back here and find you’d put up a tree and a bunch of lights,” Louis says.

“Don’t have any lights or I would’ve,” Harry says, wondering if he’s still got that lava lamp packed away somewhere. Not that it counts as a holiday decoration, but it might be all he has.

“Hold on,” Louis says, sitting up and setting his plate on the coffee table. “Pause the movie.”

“Okay…” Harry presses pause, and Louis runs to his room, sliding half the way in his socks. After a thump, and a groan, and another thump, Harry starts to get up and check on him, but then Louis appears again, hands full of wires and twinkly lights. “Where’d you get those?”

“From my room, Harold, keep up,” Louis says. He dumps the light strands on the couch, and drags a chair from the dining room, climbing onto the seat and hanging the lights over the top of the heavy sliding door so they dangle in front of Harry’s duct tape Christmas tree. Hopping down out of the chair, Louis bends over to plug them in, and Harry looks away until he’s back to standing and the lights are on. 

“You have these in your room? I don’t remember seeing them,” Harry says, smiling as the lights sparkle, and looking forward to seeing them once the sun goes down. 

“I only turn them on at night,” Louis says, taking his seat and picking up his cake. “I like them.”

“I like them, too, Lewis,” Harry says, reaching over to nudge Louis’ arm. “Thank you for, um… all of this.”

“Anything for you, Harold,” Louis says, and they settle in to watch the movie. 

As far as Christmas Eves go, it’s one of Harry's favorites. They watch movie after movie after movie, and have cake for lunch, and when it’s time for dinner, Louis orders Chinese delivery with some of his refunded plane ticket money. 

“Do you want me to help you hang your lights back up in your room?” Harry asks, covering a yawn. They do look amazing now that it’s dark out, and none of the loft lights are on, but everything is cleaned up and put away including the cake, and it’s bedtime. Harry only has another ten or fifteen minutes before he’s asleep whether he’s in his bed or not.

“Yeah, I guess,” Louis says, pushing the chair back over and climbing up. He unhooks the strands of lights from the sliding door, and Harry catches them as they fall, trying to keep them from tangling. 

Harry follows Louis down the hall, and while Louis stands on his plywood and cinder block makeshift bedside table, Harry hands him the lights one strand at a time. It’s obvious why he didn’t notice them before. The wall behind Louis’ bed is covered with posters from concerts he’s been to, and the lights are strung up high near the ceiling. Once they’re all up, Louis jumps from his bedside table to his bed, then to the floor, and plugs them in. He flips the lightswitch, and Harry oohs and ahhs. 

“Beautiful, Lewis,” Harry says, leaning against the wall. “You sleep with these on every night?”

“Are you judging me, Harold?” Louis says. He flops down on the bed on his back, and waves. “Come lay down. Enjoy the lights. It’s Christmas!”

“It’s your birthday,” Harry says, and Louis lifts his head. 

“Even better.” Scooting over so there’s more room beside him, Louis says, “My birthday, my rules. Everybody has to lay in here and look at the twinkly lights.”

Harry laughs, crawling onto Louis’ low bed, and stretching out on his back, hands folded behind his head. “You want me to call Niall over?”

“No,” Louis scoffs. “Niall’s not allowed in my bed anymore.”

“Really?” Harry rolls onto his side, propping his head up in his hand. “Why not?”

“One time, right after we moved into the loft, he fell asleep in here naked,” Louis says, and Harry raises one eyebrow. “I know. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, and I don’t really care. I got home from work, I was super fucking tired, and I came in here to go to bed and screamed.”

“Does he just, like, nap naked wherever he lands?” Harry asks, and Louis shrugs, eyes sparkling with the twinkly lights. 

“Your guess is as good as mine, but I always turn on my light and check my bed now, even when I get home at like, four,” Louis says. He grabs the blanket and pulls it up over them both, then fiddles with his phone for a moment, and music begins to play from the speakers on his dresser. 

“Is this the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas?” Harry asks, humming along to the familiar jazz piano.

“Yeah,” Louis says. He turns the volume up, and sets his phone on the bedside table, so Harry lays back down, and watches the lights, listening to the music. Warm and comfortable, and full of Chinese food, birthday cake, and pink wine, Harry falls asleep before he can make himself get up and go to his own room.

Like he does every morning, Harry wakes up on his stomach, face pressed into the pillow, arms folded underneath it. Like it does every night, Harry’s flannel pajama top has made its way to the floor, and he’s shirtless, bare skin slightly damp with sweat where it touches the sheet beneath him. The warmth and weight on his back make him want to snuggle up and go back to sleep. 

The previous night comes rushing back, and Harry’s wide awake. He fell asleep in Louis’ bed. That’s all. Nothing happened other than a little accidental cuddling which he’s about to put an end to when he wakes Louis up. Harry shifts slightly, thinking that might do the trick, but Louis doesn’t budge. Instead he moves closer, eliminating the minuscule space between them, and draping his leg across the back of Harry’s thighs. 

The change of position brings Louis’ morning wood right up against Harry’s hip. Using all the strength of his upper body, Harry pushes the mattress under him, propelling himself off the bed and away from Louis’ boner. He lands on his stomach on the hardwood floor. 

“What’s— Harry?” Louis peeks over the edge of the mattress. “Oh… What happened?”

“I fell,” Harry says, groaning and getting to his feet. He stretches his arms overhead, going up to his tiptoes until he feels his pajama pants slipping down, then he turns away from Louis when he notices his own morning erection. 

Tugging his flannel pajama top back on, Harry looks back to see Louis still sprawled diagonally across his bed, face hidden by his pillow. 

“You want breakfast?” Harry asks as he leaves the room. 

“Yeah, but can you shut the door?” Louis calls after him, rolling onto his back, the crotch of his sweatpants tented. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Harry shuts the door and sprints for the shower. Today is one of the days he’s thankful for the two weeks he spent at sleep away camp every summer because nothing could’ve taught him how to jack off faster than sharing a cabin with seven other boys who he didn’t want knowing he masturbated even though they all definitely did it too. 

Before the water is warm, Harry’s dick is in his hand, and it’s a race. He has no idea if Louis thinks he’s jerking off, but he’s absolutely sure that’s what Louis is doing, and he has to come fast so he can at least pretend to be showering for legitimate reasons. All this thinking about Louis getting off while Harry’s getting off inevitably leads to thinking about Louis in a completely inappropriate way, but Harry’s dick doesn’t care. 

Heat builds in his belly from the first stroke, and Harry spreads his legs, resting his left hand against the wall while he fucks into his right. The tightness of his fist, the hot running water, and the unshakable image behind his eyelids of Louis’ naked body when Harry walked into his room without knocking, his ridiculous bulge draped in thin grey jersey of his sweatpants while he lounges around the loft, the curve of his ass in those same sweatpants, or covered in denim, or khaki, or those stupid ugly corduroy shorts. 

Harry grunts, come splattering on the shower floor. He slows his strokes as his orgasm wanes, then quickly rinses his hands, and washes his hair, scrubbing his body as fast as he can. When he gets out a few minutes later, he’s squeaky clean, and Louis is still in his room, door shut, lights off. 

By the time Louis leaves his bedroom, Harry’s fully dressed, and already has coffee brewed and breakfast cooking. Meanwhile, Louis is wearing the same grey sweatpants, no shirt, and there’s residue from the blue icing on his chin from the night before.  

“You showered already?” Louis asks, hand on Harry’s hip as he slides behind him to get to the coffee pot. 

“Wanted to get the day started,” Harry says, glancing over, eyes catching on the low slung waistband of Louis’ sweatpants and the top of his asscrack peeking out. 

“It’s Christmas,” Louis says with a quiet chuckle as he pours coffee into Niall’s Associated Strategies mug. “You got big plans?”

“I didn’t,” Harry says, grabbing two plates from the cabinet. He glances at Louis, and rolls his eyes when all he can see is the word ass in all caps on his coffee mug. “I just figured, you know, since you got off the plane to stay here with me, I should, um… try to come up with something fun for us to do.”

“What’ve you thought of so far?” Louis asks, sitting on one of the stools and watching Harry scramble their eggs. 

“Make breakfast, eat more cake,” Harry says, and Louis laughs. 

“You want to go down to the skatepark later?” Louis asks, slumping over to rest his arms on the table. 

“Oh, um… I don’t have a skateboard. I bought those for you guys,” Harry says, regretting his excitement over the ‘Buy 2 Get 1’ sale on skateboards as he plates their eggs. 

“Yeah, but Niall and Liam won’t care if you borrow one of theirs,” Louis says, sitting back when Harry sets his breakfast on the table. 

Harry takes the stool across from him, and pushes his eggs around the plate. “I don't know how to skateboard but I have roller skates.”

“You own a pair of roller skates?” Louis asks, laughing and shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth. 

“Yeah, I’m not, like, great on them, but I don’t always fall.”

“You saw Liam on his skateboard,” Louis says, pointing across the dining room where Liam’s skateboard is still under the chair in the corner, exactly where it wound up the last time Liam fell off of it. “After we eat, I’ll teach you.”

“You think you have the patience?” Harry bites his lip, wondering how awful it’ll be when he doesn’t learn quick enough, and how embarrassed Louis will be by his ineptitude. 

“It’s not hard, Harold,” Louis says, slurping his coffee. “And I’m sure it’ll be us and a bunch of twelve-year-olds with their first skateboards, so you’ll fit right in.”

“I’m around twelve-year-olds all the time at school,” Harry says, though he doesn’t think any of them live nearby. Hearst Middle School students tend to come from money, and there’s very little of that in their neighborhood. 

“Like I said, you’ll fit in,” Louis says, getting up and dumping his plate in the sink. “Let me get dressed and we’ll go.”

As soon as they hit the sidewalk, Louis drops his board and pushes off, leaving Harry behind. He gets to the corner, and turns back, skating right at Harry. 

“When did you start, um…” Harry nods at the skateboard in his hand. 

“Think I was eleven?” Louis says, popping the nose of his board up and grabbing it. “All the kids on my street had skateboards and one of the older kids had a half-pipe in his backyard. I begged my mom for a skateboard. Told her to make it a combo birthday and Christmas gift because I knew it was more than she normally spent on either.”

“She got it for you?” 

“Yep,” Louis says, “And that’s how I became the coolest kid in school.”

Harry snorts and elbows Louis. “You were not the coolest kid in school.”

“I was,” Louis says, lifting his chin stubbornly. “Ask Liam. He was there.”

“But Liam never learned to skateboard?” Harry asks. 

“I’d let him ride mine, but he was always too nervous about it.”

“Maybe I should’ve gotten him something else,” Harry says, chewing on his lip. “I just thought they’d be fun.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Louis says, knocking their shoulders together. “Liam was so excited to have his own skateboard he ran to get his helmet and try it out right away.”

“What about Niall?” Harry asks, and Louis blows a raspberry. 

“What about him? He’s probably going to hang it on his bedroom wall. Like an artful skateboard display or something,” Louis says with a laugh. “He’ll find some way to make it work for him. Some poor, unsuspecting person is going to get tricked into sleeping with him thanks to that skateboard.” 

Harry snorts, and says, “Then I’ll have helped Niall get laid.”

“You’ll have a friend for life.”

“Is that how you guys became friends?” Harry asks, making sure to keep his tone light and joking. 

“I honestly don't know how we became friends,” Louis says, pulling Harry by the arm when he rounds the corner. “He lived in my dorm, I think. Like, the floor below mine? One day, he was just there in my room.” Scratching his scruffy chin, Louis shrugs. “Maybe I left the door open. But I remember being high and he had Cheetos. After that, he just kept showing up. The next year, we were roommates.”

“Showing up,” Harry repeats, stopping at the crosswalk beside Louis. “Friendship by proximity.”

“Little bit, yeah,” Louis says. The light changes, and they start across the street. “I mean, he wasn’t always as douchey as he is now.”

“Really?”

“Yep. He was this sweet little Irish dude, here for college and completely out of his depth,” Louis says, jogging ahead and swinging open the gate to the skatepark. “He missed his family so much, and I don’t know, man, he just latched onto me. We had a lot of fun.”

“When did he lose the accent?” Harry asks, enthralled by Louis’ lilting voice.

“Right before he got into his frat,” Louis says, shaking his head. “He took a class to lose his accent because he thought it’d keep him from getting in.”

“Rushing?” Harry remembers those days well. “My sister was in a sorority. She hated that I didn’t take part in Greek life, but I wasn’t into it.”

“My grades in undergrad weren’t good enough, I was barely getting by. A frat would’ve been the brick that broke the camel's back,” Louis says, leading Harry over to the far side of the skatepark where the fence runs alongside the concrete. 

“The straw,” Harry says, and Louis frowns at him. “The saying is: The straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“That makes no sense, Harold. A straw is tiny. Practically weightless.”

“That’s…” Harry trails off, watching Louis hold onto the fence and roll back and forth on his skateboard, whispering to himself, “That’s the point.”

“Alright, Harold,” Louis says, pushing his skateboard aside, and pulling Harry closer to the fence. “Practice getting on and off, and figuring out your stance.”

“Okay…”

“Wait. Hold on. Watch me,” Louis says. He moves his board so he’s right beside Harry, and with his hands on the fence, he hops onto the board. “See my feet?”

Harry looks down, and tries to mimic Louis’ stance while still on the ground. Right foot pointing towards the nose, left foot almost perpendicular, both balanced over the screws holding the wheels in place. With his feet in position, Harry jumps, and the board rolls out from under him. Thanks to his grip on the fence, he doesn’t fall, but it’s close. 

Catching Harry’s board before it rolls away, Louis says, “Try again, but this time, wait until you’re on the board to adjust your feet. Just get up there first. You don’t have to jump. Step up one foot at a time if you want.”

Almost falling has Harry’s heart racing, and he closes his eyes, counting to three before hopping up onto the board and smashing his face into the fence.

“Ooooh…” Louis presses his lips together, grabbing onto Harry’s elbow. “Well, you’re up.”

“Is my nose bleeding?” Harry asks, and Louis ducks down to look up Harry’s nostrils. 

“Nope.” Using his grip on Harry’s elbow, Louis helps him back down, and says, “Pick up your board.” Pouting, Harry picks it up, ready for Louis to tell him he’s hopeless, but Louis hums, and points to the grassy area. “Let’s take it over there.”

“Oh?” Harry follows him, confused until Louis drops his own board on the grass and jumps onto it. 

“Can’t roll on grass,” Louis says, hopping off his skateboard and back on. 

It’s much easier to get on the board in the grass, and it reminds Harry of the scene in Point Break where Lori Petty teaches Keanu Reeves how to pop up on a surfboard in the sand. 

“Good! Good!” Louis claps, walking up behind Harry as he says, “Now figure out your stance. You’re a righty?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, lifting both hands out of habit to form Ls. 

“’Kay, look at my feet,” Louis says, moving around to stand in front of Harry with his back to him. The second Harry looks down, his balance is thrown off, and his weight shifts forward. To stop himself from falling, he grabs onto Louis’ shoulders. 

“Oops! Sorry,” Harry says, wobbling as he tries to regain his balance. 

Louis looks back at him over his shoulder, and says, “Hi there, Harold. You can hold onto me. Just get your feet set like mine.”

With Louis there to help, Harry easily resets his feet, right foot pointing towards the nose, left foot almost perpendicular to it. 

“Alright, now I want you to pretend you’re pushing off the ground with your left foot, then adjust your feet like you’re riding,” Louis says. Reaching up, he lifts Harry’s hands from his shoulders, crossing his arms as he spins under them. When they’re facing each other, Louis puts Harry’s hands back on his shoulders and grins. “Come on, Harold.”

“I look stupid,” Harry mutters, stepping his left foot down and brushing it back across the grass. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Louis says, laying a hand on top of Harry’s while he repositions his own board with his foot, dragging it over beside Harry’s. He gets on his board, and pretends to push off the ground with his left foot, sticking his tongue out at Harry. “Now we both look stupid.”

Giggling and shaking his head, Harry can’t help but agree. They do look stupid, but it does the trick, getting Harry out of his head while he balances on the board, pushing off of the grass, then adjusting his stance with both feet on the board. He does it over and over until he no longer needs to hold onto Louis’ shoulder. Louis backs up and gives him the space to hop on and off, and they both jump on and off their boards, facing each other, and laughing. 

“Alright, Harold,” Louis says, popping the nose of his board up. “Do this!”

Knowing he won’t fall and bust his ass on the concrete, Harry’s able to do as Louis says without worrying, and he repeats the movement until he’s comfortable with it, and Louis leads him back over to the fence. 

“It’s so… rolly,” Harry says, fingers latched onto the chain link. He ignores Louis’ laugh, and silently counts to three, then hops up onto his board. It moves with his weight, but with his grip on the fence, he’s able to keep it from sliding away. He looks to his left, and Louis is doing the same thing. 

“Why don’t you try pushing off here?” Louis suggests, doing a quick demonstration. He skates alongside the fence, and Harry nods, repositioning himself. 

Hand still on the fence, Harry pushes off, teetering as he tries to balance. He doesn’t go fast enough to actually ride with both feet on the board for more than a second or two, but it’s better than he expected to do, and when Louis cheers for him, he grins proudly. 

“I did it!” Harry reaches his arms in the air, pumping his fists, and Louis laughs. 

“Yeah, you did,” Louis says, skating away towards one of the ramps. “Now do it again!”

Because they got there so early, they beat the crowd, but Louis was right. Before too long, the place starts to fill up with kids and teenagers, some of them in brand new helmets and pads, and Harry feels even more out of place. A couple of the kids join him by the fence, copying his slow skating, and he smiles encouragingly, but when he looks around to see Louis watching them and not skating, he figures it’s time to go. 

“Want to skate back to the loft?” Louis asks as they step back onto the sidewalk heading home.

“No,” Harry says, snorting quietly. “Don’t trust myself without the fence to hold onto.”

“We’ll walk it,” Louis says, tucking his board under his arm. “Not a bad Christmas, huh?”

“Yeah, not bad at all.” Wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead, Harry says, “Warmer than I thought it’d be.”

“Haven’t you spent Christmas in LA before?” Louis asks.

“No, actually,” Harry says, holding his skateboard by the trucks and swinging it by his side. “I’ve always gone home to Portland.”

“Even when you and Spencer were—”

“Spencer always went to visit his parents in Rhode Island, and I, um…” Harry closes his eyes and sighs. “I was never invited.”

“What?”

“I never thought about it like that before, so I guess it was more of an understood thing, but we always went to see our families separately,” Harry says, frowning as he thinks more about it. 

“Did you ever meet his parents?” Louis asks curiously.

“Yeah, they come out to LA pretty regularly,” Harry says, stepping closer to the building to walk in the shade. “He came to Portland a couple of times, too. We just never spent Christmas together, and I don’t know why. Did you and Cash— Sorry. I know you don’t like talking about him.”

“It’s alright, Harold,” Louis says, opening the door to the building and stepping aside to let Harry in first. “You weren’t there for any of it like Niall and Liam were, but yeah, he came to Chicago once for Christmas. I went to his parents’ in San Diego once for Christmas. We were together for three years, so we met each other’s families and all that.”

“I hate this post-breakup adjustment thing,” Harry says, pushing the button for the elevator which opens immediately.

They step inside, and Harry leans against the wall. “Well, you and Paul only just broke up, so—”

“Oh! No, I meant Spencer,” Harry says with a laugh. “Forgot about Paul for a second there.”

“Part of the reason for the breakup?” Louis asks, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, I guess so. There are just… repercussions to the breakup with Spencer that I didn’t… I didn't go home for Christmas because of him.”

“What? Why?”

Harry sighs, and says, “Every Christmas when Spencer and I were together, my mom asked if we were engaged. I’d get off the plane, and she’d be there to pick me up, and she’d ask before I got in the car.”

Cringing, Louis shakes his head, then deadpans, “That sounds fun.”

“Yeah, and my sister’s supposed to be there, and I really didn't want to deal with her, plus my mom asking about Spencer, and I…” Harry watches the numbers change as the elevator rises to the fourth floor. When the doors slide open, Harry waits for Louis to go first, and says, “I’d rather be here alone.”

“Well, you’re not alone.” Louis blows a raspberry,

“Yeah, that’s true.” Harry grins, and says, “Christmas worked out okay. Now I just have to deal with New Year’s Eve. Spencer and I spent the last six New Year’s Eves together. I’ve always had someone to kiss at midnight. I’ve always gone to the same party—friends of Spencer’s who have a beach house in Malibu.”

“Well, well, well, look at you, Mr. Malibu,” Louis says as Harry unlocks the loft door and walks inside. “Niall’s got his big New Year’s party. So you have plans, and a week to find someone to kiss.”

Harry slides Liam’s skateboard back under the chair in the dining room, then grabs two glasses and fills them with cold water from the pitcher in the fridge. He sets them on the coffee table, and flops onto the couch on his stomach, resting his head on a pillow in the corner. Louis lays down on his back on the other part of the sectional, kicking his feet up on the arm of the couch. 

“Have any prospects for your New Year’s kiss?” Louis asks, and Harry grunts in response. 

“I have zero prospects,” Harry says, rolling onto his side and reaching for his water. “What about you?”

“I’m, um, sort of seeing someone?” Louis links his hands together on his stomach, and says, “We’re supposed to meet up when I get back from Chicago.”

“Ooh, nice. Who?” Harry asks, tucking his arm under his head. Louis wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t answer, so Harry pokes him in the cheek. “Where’d you meet? Is this your first date? Have you slept together? Tell me, Lewis!”

“Ugh… Dylan’s a lawyer,” Louis says, swatting Harry’s hand away. “We met in line at the bank of all places. Gorgeous. Tall. Hair’s a bit like mine, actually, but longer and like, styled. We’ve gone out a few times.”

Harry nods approvingly, and says, “When are you guys going out again?”

Louis sighs quietly, uncrossing and crossing his ankles. “I don’t know. We just said we’d get together after Christmas.”

“What about New Year’s?” Harry suggests, sitting up to gulp some cold water. He lays back down and buries his face in the pillow, mumbling, “New Year’s sucks when you’re single.”

“Yeah it does,” Louis says, slipping his phone from his pocket. With the pillow hiding his face, Harry surreptitiously watches Louis open and close and reopen his text conversation with Dylan. He types out a message four or five times, deleting each one, before quickly sending something that Harry can’t read while muttering, “Fuck it.”

Louis puts his phone face down on the coffee table, fidgeting with the buttons on his flannel shirt. Distraction is always best for calming Harry’s own anxiety, so he pats Louis’ chest, and says, “Tell me about your zombie novel.”

“Z is for Zombie?” Louis rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up with his elbows, and starts telling Harry the plot, but he’s interrupted when his phone vibrates on the coffee table. He picks it up, gasps, and says, “It’s Dylan.”

“Answer it!” Harry says, smacking Louis’ arm until he sits up, and answers his phone. 

“Hello? Hey, Dylan, yeah, I mean, if you’re free…” Smiling and giving Harry a thumbs up, Louis stands, pacing back and forth for a moment. Then he laughs, widening his eyes dramatically and waving at Harry before disappearing into his bedroom. 

Boredom hits before Louis comes back, so Harry gets up and cleans the kitchen, then goes to his room to call his mom. They’ve planned to Skype a little later, but there’s no reason they can’t bump it up a few hours, or chat twice. It’s Christmas after all. 

While Harry’s Skyping with his mom, Louis pops his head into the room to tell him he’s going out to meet up with Dylan. The lascivious wink and obnoxious grinding dance he does mean he won’t be home that night. And aside from stopping by the loft to shower and change clothes before his next shift at the bar a few days later, Harry doesn’t see much of him for the rest of the year. 

Niall comes back the day after Christmas covered in dog hair and more annoyed with Benjamin than Harry’s ever known him to be with anyone but Louis, and that’s more love-annoyed than irritated. 

“Bastard left no food in his stupid McMansion,” Niall complains, going straight for the fridge when he gets home. “Prepackaged containers of gourmet dog food? Yes. Food for the lowly dog sitter? No. I had to order take out for every meal.”

“Why couldn’t you go to the store and buy groceries?” Harry asks, watching over the back of the couch as Niall opens a beer and chugs half of it. “Or have them delivered?”

“Are you kidding?” Niall scoffs, and says, “I wasn’t about to attempt to cook in that nightmare of a kitchen.”

“I thought Benjamin’s house was nice?” Harry asks while Niall finishes his beer. 

Niall opens a second one, and says, “Too nice. I don’t think the stove has ever been used, and I wasn’t going to be the first.”

“Oh…” Harry folds his arms on the back of the couch, and says, “Louis wound up not going to Chicago.”

“I know,” Niall says, rolling his eyes. “He called and asked me if he was being creepy by showing back up here.”

“Creepy?” Harry frowns, but Niall shakes off the question. 

“He’s bringing a date to my New Year’s Eve party.”

“Dylan,” Harry says, pressing his lips together as he nods. “He seems really excited.”

“Is he, though?” Niall asks suspiciously. “Have you met Dylan? And I’ll believe Louis is bringing a date to New Year’s Eve when I see it. I think he’s embarrassed of us.”

“Us?” Harry laughs, but his smile turns quickly to a pout. “No… You think?”

“Like I said, he hasn’t brought anyone around since Andrew,” Niall says, heading for his room. “Either Louis is embarrassed of us, or this Dylan doesn’t exist.”

He shuts his bedroom door before Harry can respond.

Harry’s still on the couch when Liam comes home, though he doesn’t seem to notice Harry at first. He drops his bags in his room without saying a word or looking Harry’s way, and he doesn’t come back out until late that night when Harry’s at the kitchen table, eating leftover birthday cake for dinner again. 

“Cake?” Liam asks. 

Mouth full, Harry nods, and cuts Liam a slice, leaving enough for Louis and Niall to each have a small piece of what’s left. 

“How was Chicago?” Harry asks, licking icing from his lips. 

“Ehh… It was alright,” Liam says, tilting his head side to side. “Missed having Louis there. His family missed having him there. I don’t know how they get along without him, man. They were all over me. I didn’t even expect to see them, but they all showed up at my parents' place on Christmas Day.”

“He said they were fine with him staying here!” Cringing at his defensive tone, Harry tries again, and says, “Louis told me he Skyped them and explained about the plane, and me being alone, and—”

“Maybe they lied and said they were fine because they didn’t want to upset him on his birthday.” Liam shrugs and takes a bite of icing, then says, “Or maybe Louis lied to you. I mean, it is you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry pushes his plate of cake away, and drains his glass of water. 

“Nothing, um, just, you know, none of us wanted you to be alone, and it worked out alright,” Liam says, rushing out the words. He scratches his scruffy cheek, and asks, “Didn’t it?”

“Yeah, it did,” Harry says, though he’s not fully satisfied with Liam’s answer. He gets up to wash his plate, dries it, and puts it away, then asks, “You want a sandwich or something?”

“Nah, cake’s good for me,” Liam says, taking another bite and smiling around his fork. 

“Enjoy it, man.” Harry pulls the water pitcher out of the fridge and refills his glass. “Alright, well, um… I’m off to bed, I think.”

“G’night, Harry,” Liam says, and Harry turns to blow him a kiss as he walks to his room. 

“Night, Liam,” Harry says, waving over his shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”

Chapter Text

DECEMBER AGAIN STILL

Except for the fact that Harry’s off until the first Monday in January, things have almost gotten back to normal. Louis, Liam, and Niall are all back to work. Zayn’s back from his yacht job. Other than New Year’s Eve, the holidays are over, and Harry’s celebrating that by lounging around in his candy stripe pajamas, eating a bowl of Cheerios, and thinking about starting a load of laundry so he won’t have to do it the day before school starts back. 

Niall throws open his bedroom door, stomps through the kitchen, and drops into the chair beside Harry, shoulders sagging. “I lost it. I lost my bus.”

“Your party bus for New Year’s Eve?” Harry asks, leaving his spoon in his half eaten bowl of cereal. 

“Yeah,” Niall says, resting his forehead on the table. “Apparently my business isn’t as important as Frankie Muniz’s. They cancelled my rez. There’s nothing I can do. The party’s off.”

“Or you can rent another bus,” Liam suggests from the kitchen. 

Scoffing, Niall spins his chair around, and says, “In two days? Yeah, why don’t I do that, Liam. I’ll just go down to the party bus store where all the party buses have a state-of-the-art sound system, a stripper pole, a love grotto, and a steering wheel in the shape of a boob.” Narrowing his eyes, Harry studies him, but he’s not joking. Niall sighs, and says, “You honk the nipple. It’s pretty awesome.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re bi, and then you say shit like that, and I’m like…” Harry shakes his head, and says, “Run, ladies, run.”

“Why don’t you have the party here,” Louis suggests, taking the seat across from Niall. 

“I can’t,” Niall says, knocking his head against the table top. “I told everyone I had a bus and I’ll never live it down if I have to lower myself to a party at the loft.”

“Lower yourself?” Harry rolls his eyes, picking up his cereal and carrying it to the kitchen. 

“Louis, you know how Benjamin and those guys are. They’ll never let me forget it,” Niall says, pushing himself away from the table and getting to his feet. Head down, he slowly walks back to his room, and closes the door behind him. 

Harry washes his cereal bowl, and leaves it on the drying rack, glancing over at Liam and Louis still sitting at the table as he opens Niall’s bedroom door to find him lying face down across his bed. With the door shut behind him, Harry quietly says, “Hey, man. I wanted to see if you were okay.”

Niall rolls over and sits up, pulling a pillow into his lap. “No. I’m not okay, Harry. I have to cancel my party. It’s social suicide. I can feel my it factor going away. What am I going to tell Benjamin?”

“I don’t get why you’re so worried about Benjamin. He’s your friend,” Harry says, reaching out to give Niall’s shoulder a squeeze. “He’ll understand.”

“We have a very weird friendship where we kind of hate each other. We’re bronemies. He’s my fremesis,” Niall says, and Harry wrinkles his nose, pursing his lips as he tries to make sense of Niall’s words. “Benjamin and I were in the same frat in college. If it wasn’t for Benjamin, I never would’ve become a Los Angeles baller—holla! I changed everything about myself. Lost my Irish accent. Changed my clothes. Got the job. But it wasn’t enough. I guess I’ll just never be cool enough.”

“Niall, I…” Harry trails off when Niall gradually falls to the side, hugging his pillow and closing his eyes. Maybe it’s better that he’s never had a lot of friends if this is how they treat people. 

Leaving Niall in his room, Harry’s mind is already working overtime. He joins Liam and Louis at the table, and says, “Guys, we have to fix this. We’re going to throw this party for Niall.”

“No,” Louis instantly replies.

“Yes,” Harry says, ready with his reasons. “It’s important to him, and we care about him, so we’re doing this.”

“Harold, Niall’s world is different from ours, okay? They speak a different language,” Louis says, furrowing his brow. “They shorten words to one syllable. He calls an airport ‘airp.’”

“He called ketchup ‘ketch,’” Liam says.

“Last month he went to a party called Bros Before Hos on the Moon. What does that even mean?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes, and Harry smiles at how expressive Louis’ face is, even when he’s complaining. “The dress code was ‘yacht flair.’”

“What?” Harry asks, unsure if he missed something while he was busy staring at the fuzz stuck in Louis’ beard.

Liam sits back, raising a finger like he’s just remembered something. “Niall has a friend who legally changed his middle name to Doin’ It. But, like, all one word. Doinit.”

Louis nods emphatically, and grabs Harry’s hand. “You are not emotionally, mentally, or spiritually prepared to throw these douchebags a party.”

“I’m going to do some research,” Harry says, giving Louis’ hand a squeeze. 

“Actually, I’ve got to go,” Louis says, dropping Harry’s hand. He gets up from the table, and walks straight for the door.

“Why are you wearing your jury duty pants?” Liam calls after him, but Louis just flips his middle finger over his shoulder on his way out the door. 

“I’ve never seen him in anything but jeans or sweatpants,” Harry says. Not that he’s complaining because the dark grey trousers are more fitted than Louis’ jeans, and cling to his thighs unlike his baggy sweats. 

“He went through a tracksuit phase,” Liam says, looking up at the ceiling with a small smile. “My favorite was the scarlet Adidas.” 

“Sorry I missed that.” Trying to picture what Louis might look like in clothes that not only match but are designed to go together, Harry misses when Liam gets up and leaves the room. 

The bus will be the hardest part, so Harry gets to work on that first. He calls his boss Tanya, the principal of Hearst Middle School, to beg her for the use of one of the school buses. It turns out that he doesn’t need to beg. She’s all for it, as long as she’s invited. And her brother’s a mechanic who she promises will be able to move the seats around and put them back before school starts on Monday. She also promises to bring a party favor, whatever that means.

It takes most of the evening for Harry to work out what he’s going to do as far as booze and music and decorations, but with Liam’s help, at least it’s fun. 

“Okay, so…” Sitting cross legged on Harry’s bed, Liam scans the list of Niall’s friends, and says, “I think I’ve gotten in touch with everyone. They all know it’s a surprise, and they all know when and where to meet.”

“God, we’re good,” Harry says, turning away from his desk and holding his hand out for a high-five which Liam bumps his fist into. 

“Hey, Harry, Liam,” Louis says, and Harry spins his desk chair around to see Louis and a very tall, very beautiful woman standing in his bedroom doorway. “This is Dylan.”

“Oh!” Harry hops out of his chair, eyes wide, trying to keep his jaw from actually dropping. 

“Nice to meet you guys,” Dylan says with a nervous smile. 

“I’m Harry. Welcome to our home,” Harry says, offering his hand out of ingrained politeness. With a crooked grin, Dylan accepts, shaking it firmly. 

“We’re doing a surprise New Year’s Eve party for Niall,” Liam explains, gesturing to the numerous lists spread out on the bed. 

“Who’s that?” Dylan asks, looking at Louis.

“I didn’t tell you about Niall?” Louis asks, and Harry can tell by his tone and his cadence that he’s lying. 

“Niall’s our other roommate,” Liam says, and from his tone, Harry can tell he knows Louis is lying too. Smiling smugly, Liam winks at Dylan. “You should come.”

“I already invited her,” Louis snaps.

“Oh, that party!” Dylan laughs, nudging Louis’ side. “I didn’t realize it was your roommate’s party. You made it sound like it was a drop in and leave thing.” 

“Yeah, um…” Louis presses his lips together, aiming an obviously fake smile at Liam, then turns to Dylan and says, “You want to head to my room?”

“Yeah, okay,” Dylan says, and Louis guides her across the hall.

Louis appears in the doorway again, holding onto the door jamb and leaning inside. “Why’d you do that?”

“Invite Dylan to a party you’d already invited her to?” Liam asks, and Harry watches their exchange, crossing his arms over his chest, wanting more than anything to ask Louis why he never mentioned that Dylan was a girl. “Or tell her about Niall?”

“Both! Either!” Louis snaps.

“Are you hiding her from us?” Harry asks, annoyed by the thought that Niall could be right. “Are you hiding us from her?”

“Yeah, are you ashamed of your friends?” Liam asks.

“One hundred percent,” Louis says, glaring at him, then aiming his glare at Harry. He points to them each in turn. “You’re not my friends right now. You’re my enemies.”

Liam cackles, and gets up from the bed, holding his arms out towards Louis. “Give me a kiss, Louis. Give me a kiss.”

“No!” Louis yells, shutting Harry’s bedroom door in Liam’s face.

“I can’t believe he said I’m his enemy,” Harry says, clenching his jaw to keep his other questions in. 

“He’s so weird about dating. I’d forgotten,” Liam says, picking up all the lists from Harry’s bed and making a stack. “It’s been so long since he started seeing someone. Don’t take it personally, Harry.”

“Hard not to,” Harry says, blowing his hair off his forehead. “No one’s ever called me their enemy before. Except my sister Gemma. And Zayn once. And Harry Stevens, the other Harry S. when I was in sixth grade.”

“Well, Louis says shit like that all the time, but he doesn’t mean it,” Liam says, leaving the stack of papers on Harry’s desk. “Are you okay? Don’t let Louis get to you. He’s just like this sometimes.”

“I, um… I’m just…” Harry clears his throat, and quietly says, “I thought Dylan was a guy.”

Liam frowns. “Hmm?” 

“No, like, when Louis told me about her, he never said…” Harry casts his mind back, and shakes his head. “I assumed because of her name. And also, I thought Louis was gay.”

“Oh…” Liam purses his lips, humming and scratching his jaw. “I can kind of see how you might get that impression. What with everything with Cash, and that guy he went out with from the bar. And he’s not exactly the most talkative when it comes to personal stuff.”

“Yeah… I think maybe I’m just tired.” Harry sighs, and says. “I should go to bed.”

“Me, too, man. I’m beat,” Liam says, taking Harry’s cue. “See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Liam,” Harry says, mouth stretching into a yawn. “Thanks for helping.”

“Anytime, anytime,” Liam says, opening the door and stepping into the hallway. “’Night, Harry. You, um, might want to turn on some music or something ’cause it’s about to get loud.”

“Huh?” Harry asks, but then his mouth drops open as a resounding moan comes from Louis’ room that has him scrambling to find his noise canceling headphones. “Oh my god!”

“No, that’ll come later,” Liam says, covering his ears and hurrying off down the hall to his own room. How he’ll handle the noise when he shares a wall with Louis, Harry doesn’t know, but he’s not about to expose himself to more of Louis’ sex sounds to walk down the hall and ask. 

Finally, Harry finds his headphones, and puts them on, but not before he hears a grunt and another long, drawn out moan. 

“Where do you find all of this… stuff?” Liam asks, bewildered by Harry’s stash of fabric, pillows, and tassels.  

“My ex used to call me a craft supplies hoarder,” Harry says as he hot glues another sequined ribbon to the edge of a fabric covered bus seat. “But I think I’m more organized than your typical hoarder.”

“Yeah?” Liam chuckles, attaching another string of twinkly lights to the bus’ ceiling.

“You've seen my closet.”

“You do have a lot of yarn,” Liam says, and Harry nods, squinting at the tip of his hot glue gun as he fastens the last bit of ribbon. 

“I have a crafting budget,” Harry says, sitting back on his heels and looking around the bus. “Do you think Niall will like this?”

Liam sits on the newly slipcovered bus seat, and says, “Niall may not be as into glitter as you and I are, but he’ll love that you did this for him.”

“Good.” Harry stands and wipes his hands on his sweatpants, peeking past the gauzy curtains. “Because it’s almost time. Tanya and her brother just pulled up across the street.”

“Alright, let’s get this party started,” Liam says, and as fast as they can, they clean up the bus. They stuff Harry’s craft supplies into the back of his station wagon, and Liam hurries upstairs while Harry has a quick chat with Tanya and her brother Dale. 

Last night, Harry laid out his outfit, so when he gets up to the loft, all he has to do is change into his sparkly black trousers and shirt, adjust his suspenders, and put on his boots. He takes one good look at himself in the mirror before rolling up his pants and covering himself with his pink bathrobe. 

“Niall!” Harry calls from the hallway.

“In here,” Niall says, his dejected voice coming from the kitchen where Harry finds him pouting at an omelet. 

“Oh, thank god!” Harry opens his eyes wide, trying his best to look worried. “I need you to come with me.”

“What? I’m making an omelet, Harry,” Niall says, slightly shaking the pan so the eggs jiggle. 

“Just take it off the heat,” Harry says, reaching past him to turn off the stove. “It’s important.”

Niall huffs, but he moves his pan off the burner, and follows Harry out of the loft, and into the elevator. As soon as the doors slide closed, Niall says, “This better be quick or my omelet will be ruined.”

“Promise, it’ll just be a second. Just, um… close your eyes,” Harry says, and Niall rolls them before covering them with one hand. When the elevator doors open, Harry pulls Niall by the hand through the lobby and out the front door of the building onto the sidewalk where the bus and all of Niall’s friends are waiting. “Okay, Ni, you can look.”

Before Niall can drop his hand from his face, everyone shouts, “Happy New Year!” 

Niall gasps, turning to look at Harry, and Harry says, “Happy New Year, roomie.”

“Oh… Wow. Did you… I…” Niall shakes his head, smiling wide, and says, “You did this?”

“Well, I mean, I had help. Liam helped a lot. You want to see before everyone gets on?” Harry asks, leading him to the bus door which opens as soon as Harry taps on the glass. “You first, Niall.”

“This is crazy,” Niall says quietly, climbing onto the bus. 

“Welcome aboard. I’m Dale,” Dale says, tipping his hat, “and I’ll be your driver this evening.”

“Hi, um, thank you, Dale,” Niall says, shaking Dale’s hand. He parts the shimmering curtains and walks through, stepping aside to make room for Harry. “This is wild, man.”

“Okay, so…” Harry puts on his spokesmodel persona, and points to each thing as he names them the way Vanna White points to the letters on Wheel of Fortune. “There’s an assortment of New Year’s Eve accessories in this basket: glasses, hats, tiaras, boas. We’ve got some condoms over here. On this table we have Irish snacks: Taytos, Chipsticks, Ballymaloe Relish with sausages, and Jaffa Cakes. Some American snacks: Cheetos, Doritos, and string cheese.”

“You got Irish snacks?” Niall asks, taking the seat of honor by the large cooler with the beverage spout. “What’s this?” 

Harry grabs a Solo cup from the glitter covered cup dispenser, and hands it over, waiting for Niall’s reaction. He presses the button on the cooler’s spigot, and as the purple-pink drink fills his cup, he grins. 

“Bro Juice?” Niall asks. 

“Bro Juice!” Harry takes off his robe, and drapes it over his arm, rolling his pants legs back down. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Niall says, taking a sip. 

“Alright, then, let’s get everyone on board the party bus!” Harry raises his voice as he steps towards the door, and Dale opens it. 

In their absence, the rest of the guests have appeared, and everyone’s lined up, waiting to board, including Louis and Dylan. Harry’s mind’s still blown about that, and he hasn’t had a second alone with Louis to talk to him, not that he knows what he’d say. He doesn’t want to accuse Louis of keeping secrets from him, and it’s not like Louis being bi is a bad thing, it was just so unexpected. But Harry’s always gotten along well with girls—his sister is an exception—and Dylan shouldn’t be any different. 

While Niall greets his friends, Harry exchanges his robe for the long black coat he left in his car, dons his New Year’s Eve tiara and boa, and straps the megaphone he borrowed from Tanya across his chest. Using the handheld microphone attachment, he instantly gets everyone’s attention when he says, “All aboard the party bus!” 

Benjamin is first in line, and he laughs as he does a little shimmy and asks Niall, “Can I catch a ride on your school bus? Don’t want to be late for first period.”

“Haha!” Niall copies Benjamin’s shimmy, and says, “Thanks for coming, man.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Benjamin says, and they do a complicated handshake followed by one of those weird one armed hugs Harry’s never understood. 

“Your driver for tonight is Dale,” Harry says into the microphone, interrupting whatever Benjamin was planning to say next. “Watch your step as you board the party bus!”

He moves aside while everyone boards the bus, letting Niall greet each guest in turn, thanking them for coming before telling them to make themselves comfortable and grab a drink once they’re inside. 

“Hey, nice to see you again,” Harry says to Dylan when she and Louis reach the front of the line. 

“Love the crown,” Dylan says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“It’s a tiara,” Harry says, curtsying and showing both dimples. “There are more if you want one.”

Dylan presses her lips together and nods. “Thanks.”

“Harold,” Louis says, giving Harry’s bicep a squeeze. “Happy New Year, man. Thanks for doing this for Niall. Sorry I wasn’t more help.”

“It’s alright, Lou.” Scrunching his nose, Harry taps his tiara, then says, “Make sure you and Dylan grab some swag.” 

Liam’s last in line with the box of cupcakes Harry baked that morning, and before he climbs onto the bus after Niall, he leans in and quietly asks, “Louis being a dick?”

“No, he was fine,” Harry says, shaking his head and peering through the window to check if he can see Louis. “Why?”

“Nothing,” Liam says with a smirk that Harry tries not to think of as evil. “He was talking shit earlier. Trying to look cool for his date. I snuck up behind him just as he told Dylan I’m afraid of spoons.”

“Oh really?” Harry snorts a little laugh, imagining what Louis might’ve decided to tell Dylan about him. Maybe that he’s a terrible skateboarder or that he stress bakes and forces his creations on their neighbors. 

Harry follows Liam onto the bus, megaphone in hand, and when Dale closes the door behind him, and pulls onto the road, Harry holds onto the nearest pole, taking it all in. It looks like everyone’s having a good time, but it’s early, and most everyone’s still sober. He sits beside Niall who’s sitting beside the Bro Juice cooler, and says, “What d’you think?”

“You did so good, man,” Niall says, offering Harry a high five, then lowering his voice. “Even Benjamin’s smiling. Look!”

Down on the other end of the bus, Benjamin is indeed smiling, and Harry grins proudly, standing up again, and speaking into the microphone, “Happy new year, everybody! Safety is a priority tonight, so the person sitting next to you is your bus buddy!” Looking down, Harry pats Liam on the shoulder, and Liam winks up at him. “If you need to be up and about while the bus is moving…” Liam holds up a large plastic bin full of bike helmets, and Harry grabs the pink glittery one, putting it on for everyone to see. “Please wear one of these fashionable safety helmets!”

Tanya holds up a bag of cookies, and says, “I brought drugs!”

“Tanya brought some pot cookies, and if you’re nice to her, maybe she’ll share,” Harry says, laughing when one of Niall’s other bro friends immediately asks Tanya for a cookie.

Harry’s never been more proud of a party. Of course, all of the parties he’s thrown previously have been indoors, but this is the first one he’s practically built from the ground up. If he didn’t love being a teacher, he’d consider a career in party planning. 

When midnight approaches, Harry downs his cup of Bro Juice, and makes an announcement. “Alright, everybody! Time to take shots!” 

In another smaller cooler, Harry’s made what Liam told him is called Bro Juice Deuce which is still vodka, fruit punch, and pomegranate juice, but with a much higher ratio of vodka to juice. It’s more pink than purple, and very potent. He sets the smaller cooler on the seat between him and Liam, and they work together to fill and pass out tiny two ounce Solo cups. 

When everyone has a cup, Harry speaks into his megaphone, “A little Bro Juice shot for everyone!” and everyone but Benjamin raises their cup, so Harry says, “A Bro Juice shot for Benjamin! ’Cause it’s New Year’s Eve! Come on!” Benjamin rolls his eyes, but he lifts his cup, and after everyone downs their shots, Harry chants into the microphone, “Bro Juice! Bro Juice! Bro Juice!” 

Liam takes the megaphone from Harry, and as everyone continues to repeat the chant, Liam announces, “Bro Juice was invented by Louis Tomlinson on Niall’s twenty-second birthday!”

“Double deuce!” Niall shouts, holding up two fingers. 

Harry snatches the microphone back from Liam, and sing-shouts at Louis,“Get over here and sip on your Bro Juice!” 

The chanting gets louder, and Harry laughs when Louis stands up, reluctantly putting on one of the bike helmets, and makes his way to the front of the bus. He looks at Niall, and says, “We’re way too old for this. Happy New Year, Nialler. I love you.” 

Louis pops the lid off the small cooler and takes it from its spot wedged between Harry and Liam, lifts it to his lips, and tips the cooler back, chugging it as the pink drink pours down, wetting his flannel shirt. He hands the cooler to Harry, wipes his dripping chin, tilts his head towards the ceiling, and shouts, “Bro Juice!” 

The rest of the bus calls back, “Yeah!” and Liam gets busy passing out another round of drinks. 

After that, Harry goes a little mad with the megaphone. “When I say ‘par’ you say ‘tay’! Par!”

“Tay!”

“Par!”

“Tay!”

Harry burps into the megaphone, holding his hand to his stomach. He turns the mic off, and says, “Too much Bro Juice.”

“It happens,” Liam says, patting him on the back and getting up to go talk to Niall.

Another loud belch, and Harry feels a bit better, which is good because it’s nearing midnight. He clears his throat, then announces into the megaphone, “It’s about to get bubonic in here! That’s right! We’re going to The Plague!” Shuffling through his list for the night, Harry frowns, then corrects himself, “Sorry. It’s just… Plague. It’s a discotheque. We’re going there for the countdown to midnight.”

“Who’s list are you on?” Benjamin asks, addressing Harry directly for the first time all night. “Tristan’s?” 

“Isn’t it just, like, a bar or something?” Harry asks, checking his list again when Benjamin grimaces. 

The volume of the music dips, and Harry finds himself trying hard not to overhear Louis’ drunkenly rambling to Dylan about how he thinks she’s not going to want to see him anymore because he invented Bro Juice. When she reassures him that she’s got her own embarrassing stuff that he doesn’t know about, Harry rolls his eyes, then closes them, upset with himself for being so judgemental of someone he doesn’t know. He opens his eyes, and jerks back because Benjamin is suddenly much closer. 

“Hey, scootch?” Benjamin says, and Harry realizes he means to sit beside him, so he moves over. “I texted Tristan and he said he could get us into Plague.”

“Oh! Oh my god, thank you,” Harry says with a relieved sigh, holding his hand to his chest. “That’s great. Thanks so much..”

“Yeah, well. Just you and me, of course.” Benjamin leans closer, then points across the bus at Niall, and says, “So why don’t you ditch that zero and get with the hero? The hero is my penis.”

“Oh. Uh…” Harry tries to move closer to the window and away from Benjamin. “No.”

“Hey, Benjamin, come on.” Niall gets up and kneels across from them, then says, “Just leave him alone, man.”

“Thanks, Niall,” Harry says with a wink in Niall’s direction. “I’ve got this.” Turning to Benjamin, Harry says, “I’m not interested. Now, move along.”

“Whatever,” Benjamin says, standing at the same time Niall does so they’re face to face. “Niall, your party sucks, bro.”

“Alright,” Niall says with a scoff. “You know what—”

Interrupting him, Benjamin says, “Niall, this is the worst party.”

Liam stands up, moving into Benjamin’s space. “Come on, man. This party is badass. Don’t act like I didn’t see you over there eating all the snacks, drinking the Bro Juice, smiling and having a good time.”

“Hey, you know what,” Louis says, popping up behind Niall and Liam, and pointing at Benjamin with his cup, Bro Juice sloshing over the rim. “You don’t like the party, get off the bus. Simple as that.”

“You guys suck,” Benjamin says, sounding like a bully who’s just been stood up to for the first time in his life. 

“Let me talk to him for a sec. I’m a lawyer. Can I just have a word with him, please?” Dylan asks, hand on the ceiling for balance as she walks up between Louis and Niall to stand face to face with Benjamin. “Hi. Why don’t you just say that one more time?”

“Oh?” Benjamin laughs, and says, “You guys suck.”

Before he can finish the last word, Dylan hits him in the face, striking with her elbow, knocking him to the floor and following him down. Gasping as Dylan pummels Benjamin on the bus floor, Harry turns to watch, wondering what he can do to stop it, but scared to get in the middle of things lest he wind up with a broken nose like the one Benjamin appears to have. Dylan throws her shoulder into Benjamin when he tries to get up, knocking him into Dale, who loses control of the wheel. The bus slams into something, jerking to a stop, and Harry falls back onto his seat. 

“Is everyone okay?” Harry shouts above the din, but Niall, Liam, and Louis are still on their feet, so hopefully it’s not too bad of a crash. 

Benjamin actually stands up on his own, and gets off the bus, yelling about suing, but as long as no one is injured, Harry’s only concern is the bus and his job. 

“Man, this is harshing my buzz,” Tanya says, popping another cookie into her mouth as she squeezes past Harry. “Dale, you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dale says, putting the bus in park, and turning off the engine. “Let’s take a look at the damage.”

It takes a good hour for Dale to declare that the bus is still in working condition, then they all load back up, and he drives them to the loft, parking on the street where—as the least drunk of the crowd—Harry and Liam spearhead the effort to unload and undecorate the bus. The original plan was to do it later on New Year’s Day, but Tanya suggests that they get rid of the evidence while it’s fresh. All of Harry’s fabric and pillows are shoved into the back of his station wagon, and around four in the morning they finish stripping the bus of anything party related. 

“It’ll be fine,” Tanya says, nibbling on her last cookie. “Dale’s an expert at knocking out dents and a great mechanic. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, wincing once again when he looks at the damage to the front of the bus. 

“Yeah, I promise,” she says, pulling Harry into a hug. “Best New Year’s Eve I’ve had in years. Can’t wait to see what you come up with next year.”

“Oh… Okay?” Harry hugs her back, and he and Liam and Niall stand shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk, watching as Dale and Tanya pull away in the wrecked school bus. 

“That was nuts,” Liam says, bumping their shoulders together. 

“Yeah, it was,” Harry agrees, checking the time and pouting. “For the first time in like seven years, I didn’t get a New Year’s kiss.”

Liam leans in and plants a smacking kiss on Harry’s cheek, and Harry laughs when Niall does the same from the other side. 

“Better?” Liam asks, grabbing Harry by the arm and turning him towards the building. 

“Better,” Harry says, swallowing against a lump in his throat, looking down at his feet so he doesn’t have to watch Louis pressing Dylan up against the brick wall of their building and kissing her breathless. 

“Get a room!” Niall yells, swatting Louis’ ass as they walk by, but Louis just breaks the kiss and laughs, tugging Dylan by the hand, and following them all inside. 

On the ride up in the elevator, Harry squashes himself into the corner by the buttons, slumping against the wall, and using his exhaustion as an excuse to close his eyes. When the doors open on the Dth floor, he darts out. First in the loft means he doesn’t have to see or speak to anyone, and he can get to his noise-canceling headphones before there’s any sound to block out. 

“Happy New Year!” Niall calls out before Harry can disappear into his room. “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry turns around, and Niall’s happiness is contagious, making him smile even as Louis and Dylan pass by him in the hallway. “Happy New Year, Niall. Did you have fun tonight?”

“I did!” Liam says, high fiving Harry on his way to his room.

“I mean…” Harry sighs, and says, “I know it wasn’t perfect. There were some definite flaws.”

“Are you kidding me, Harry?” Niall puts on his announcer voice and says, “Tonight was tens across the board. No splash!” 

“Good,” Harry says.

“Seriously, though,” Niall says, stepping closer and taking both of Harry’s hands in his. “No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.”

“Anytime, Niall,” Harry says, swinging their joined hands. Tilting his head to the side, Niall pulls Harry a little closer, and Harry leans back. “Why are you looking at me like that? What are you doing?” Niall leans in even more, and it becomes crystal clear what he’s trying to do, so Harry turns his head away to keep Niall from kissing him, laughing as he wrenches his hands free from Niall’s grip. “Oh my god, Niall!”

“No, you had some… some lint…” Niall brushes at his cheek, and Harry backs towards his room, shaking his head. 

“Go to bed, Niall! Oh my god, I can’t believe you,” Harry says, grabbing Niall’s shoulders, spinning him around, and pushing him down the hall. “Get out of here!”

“There was fuzz!” Niall protests, but he keeps walking, and Harry shuts his bedroom door, stifling a laugh. 

Chapter Text

JANUARY

The start of a new year has always been one of Harry’s favorite times. Everything feels fresh and new, and even when it’s not the beginning of something, Harry loves the idea that he can begin again. So that’s what he does. He makes a list of things he wants to check off, and that he knows he can do fairly easily, one of which is go to Spencer’s house and pick up all the mail that got delivered there before he forwarded everything in September. His mom swears she sent him a back-to-school gift card for Staples, and he could really use the supplies for his classroom. 

It’s shockingly easy not to get sucked into Spencer’s orbit again, possibly because of his short hair, but probably because getting distance from their relationship really helped Harry to see it for the unhealthy, unhappy situation it was. They hardly make small talk, and Harry’s only there long enough to say hello, grab the stack of mail from the kitchen counter, and say goodbye. He waits until he’s back at the loft to sort through everything, and most of it’s junk. Thankfully, there is a hundred dollar Staples gift card from his mom, but unfortunately, there’s also a ticket for running a red light, as well as a late notice for that which includes a fine, bringing his total owed to eight hundred dollars. 

“Holy shit, you guys,” Harry says, tossing the envelopes down on the coffee table and dropping onto the couch beside Louis.

Dylan, who’s been at the loft more this week, cuddles up to Louis’ other side as he turns to Harry and asks, “What’s up?”

“Just a traffic ticket I didn’t even know I had,” Harry says, huffing and reaching out with his foot to kick Niall. Since New Year’s Eve, Harry’s taken to kicking him at least once a day with varying degrees of force. “You should pay it for me.”

Niall scoffs. “Nope.”

Liam leans forward and grabs the envelope, pulling out the papers and unfolding them. “You ran a red light, and then just… didn’t go to court and pay the fine.”

“Yeah, ’cause Spencer didn’t tell me I had mail at his house,” Harry says, tipping his head back and staring up at the high ceiling. “And I really didn’t run the red light. There were extenuating circumstances.”

“Really?” Dylan asks.

“Oh! Do you think you could help me get out of the ticket?” Harry gasps, tucking his feet under his bum as he turns his whole body to face her. He puts on his best smile, and says, “If you could help me, I would so appreciate it.”

Louis frowns, and says, “Harry, don’t—”

“It’s fine,” Dylan says, patting Louis’ thigh. “We can talk it over later. I have to get going though. I’m meeting my sister for lunch.”

“I have a sister,” Harry says, and Dylan nods slowly. 

“Right,” she says, pushing herself up off the couch. “Louis? Want to come say goodbye in your room?”

“Yeah, alright,” Louis says, following her out of the living room, and leaving half the couch for Harry to stretch his legs on. 

Harry does exactly that, and crosses his ankles, ready to sink into the cushions and watch whatever the guys are watching, but before he can zone out, he remembers his Staples gift card, hops up, and announces, “I’m going shopping.”

“Good ’cause those jeans are so 2018,” Niall says.

“I’m going shopping for school supplies,” Harry says, scowling at him, and giving him another kick in the shin just because. “And I don’t care if these jeans are so 2018. They’re jeans.”

“They have mustard on them,” Liam says, pointing at the back of Harry’s thigh. 

“What?” Harry twists around to look at the back of his jeans, and yells, “Louis! I don’t know how, but I know you did this! I don’t even like mustard!”

Before Louis can separate himself from Dylan’s lips to yell back, Harry stomps off to his room to change… into anything that doesn’t have mysterious food stains. 

The worst thing about living in the loft is the parking situation. Harry almost always has to park at least a block from the building, sometimes further away, and today, with his arms weighted down with bags of school supplies, he has to walk three blocks. It would be easier to leave everything in his car, but even in January the inside of his station wagon can get blistering hot in the sun, and the bags are full of crayons and glue sticks and all sorts of things he doesn’t want exposed to heat.

On his long walk, he thinks about buying one of those collapsible carts Ms. Beverly used for her groceries, and when he finally makes it to the building and has to set some of his bags down just to open the door, he decides he’s definitely getting one because it’s almost impossible to pick them up again.

Harry pushes the button for the elevator with the toe of his sneaker, and when the doors slide open and he steps inside, he whines, holding tight to the bags as he pushes the button with his toe again. As the elevator ascends, he prays that it doesn’t stop on any of the other floors. 

Standing outside the loft door, Harry kicks and kicks until Louis opens it, and says, “What the hell?”

“I hate parking! I hate walking! I hate carrying things!” Harry yells as he stomps past an annoyingly shirtless Louis to his bedroom where he puts all the bags on the floor and falls onto the bed.

“What happened?” Louis asks from his doorway, and Harry just waves behind him. “Dylan said she’s coming over tonight to help you.”

“I know,” Harry says, rolling onto his back and letting his arms flop out to the sides. “She’s helping me get out of that ticket.”

Louis scoffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest, and says, “I wish you wouldn’t use the girl I’m sleeping with for free legal advice.”

“The girl you’re sleeping with?” Harry rolls his eyes as he laughs, and says, “You can’t call her your girlfriend?”

“We’re not labeling it,” Louis says, leaning his shoulder against the door jamb. 

“Oh my god, you’re not labeling it,” Harry repeats, lowering his voice and drawling in fake British accent, “Because you’re so sophisticated.”

“It’s not like that, it’s just…” Louis shrugs, and says, “we’re cool the way things are.”

“Sure.” Harry sits up, then stands, stretching his arms overhead. His back is already sore from carrying all those stupid bags. Clearing his throat, Louis looks away, and Harry drops his hands to his hips, rolling his shoulders. Confused by Louis’ pink cheeks, he asks, “What’s with you?”

“Nothing,” Louis says, spinning around and walking away. 

Harry follows him, not because he’s following Louis, but because he has some baking to do before Dylan shows up. So when Louis flops onto the couch, Harry walks right past him to the kitchen, and starts pulling out ingredients. 

“What are you making?” Louis asks, peeking over the back of the couch. 

“Cookies.” Harry goes up on his toes to grab the bag of chocolate chips off of the top shelf. “They’re the easiest, quickest thing I can make.”

“Save me one?” Louis drops back down on the couch, and Harry leaves his chocolate chips on the counter, walking into the living room to peer over the back of the couch at Louis.

“Won’t you be here?” Harry asks, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. A buffer between himself and Dylan feels necessary, and Liam and Niall haven’t been around, so if Louis leaves, it’ll just be the two of them. The prospect makes Harry’s stomach swirl and he presses his palm against it to settle it. 

“I have to go into the bar for a little while,” Louis says, rubbing his hand over his stomach, then resting it on his chest, tapping his fingers, and drawing Harry’s attention to his bare skin. “I promised Clyde I’d help him organize the office.”

“Why not do that in the morning?” Harry asks with a frown. Not that anything Louis does makes sense—for instance, laying shirtless on a leather couch—but it does seem like organizing the office would be easier to do while the bar was closed.

“Because he’ll get in the way. If I do it when the bar’s busy, he has to stay out front, and I can organize the office without him bothering me,” Louis says, raising his arms up and folding his hands under his head, elongating his torso. The trail of hair below his belly button stands out on his winter pale skin, and because Harry has the urge to reach out and pet the soft, slight swell of his lower stomach, instead he hauls off and smacks it hard. The slap echoes in his ears as Louis howls, “Ow! You fucker!”

“Put a goddamn shirt on,” Harry says, turning and heading back for the kitchen to hide his blush. 

Louis is gone before the cookies come out of the oven, so Harry promises to save him a few. Because he and Dylan are discussing important matters, Harry showers and dresses like he’s going to work on the first day of school. His favorite sweater vest—yellow because it reminds him of the sun and the kids seem to really like yellow, with blue polka dots because he loves polka dots—and his wide-legged, pinstripe navy trousers. He debates wearing shoes at all, but finally decides that his red boots pull the outfit together. 

Before Dylan arrives, Harry calls Zayn to complain about it, but gets his voicemail for the third time that day. He leaves another message, and makes sure he has all the information about his ticket, then he straightens up the living room, fluffing Niall’s cashmere throw, and setting a plate of freshly baked cookies on the coffee table. 

“Hey, Dylan,” Harry says, stepping back to let her inside. “Thanks so much for doing this.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Dylan says, pressing her lips together, and nodding once. She’s dressed in a simple black pencil skirt, black shirt, and grey blazer, and Harry wants to ask if she wore that to lunch with her sister, or if she went home and changed just for this. She puts her briefcase on the coffee table, and sits, rubbing her hands over her arms like she’s cold. 

“Here,” Harry says, smiling and unfolding Niall’s cashmere throw. She doesn’t reach for it, but she also doesn’t not reach for it, so Harry drapes it over her lap. “There you go. Nice and toasty.”

“Oh, um… Okay,” Dylan says, clearing her throat. Harry picks up the plate of cookies, and takes one, then holds the plate closer to Dylan. “Why don’t we—”

“Cookie?” Harry offers, but she shakes her head. “They’re freshly baked.”

“No, I’m not really a dessert person,” Dylan says, and for once Harry’s speechless. He sets the plate back down, and grabs a napkin, using it to pick up a cookie.

“Please, just…” Harry carefully places the napkin and cookie in Dylan’s hand, and says, “I’m just gonna put this right here. Okay?”

“Okay…” Dylan looks at the cookie, but doesn’t eat it, and Harry nibbles at his own cookie, but he feels silly eating it when Dylan isn’t having one, so he holds onto it without taking another bite. “Why don’t you walk me through what happened with the ticket? They got a photo of you?”

“At the scene of the crime,” Harry singsongs the way he tends to do when he’s nervous, but Dylan doesn’t smile, so he just hands her the notice with the pictures and waits for her response. 

“Hmm… This may actually be hard to argue with,” Dylan says, pursing her lips.

“There’s more to it than meets the eye,” Harry says, tapping the top picture that shows him leaning forward towards the steering wheel, eyes closed, mouth open. “There was a bird in the road, he’s not in the picture, but I braked for him, and then I had to accelerate out of the intersection.”

“You missed your first court date on this,” Dylan says, and Harry sighs. 

“Yeah, I know. My ex-boyfriend didn’t send it to me before the court date because he doesn't believe in mail which has to do with his thoughts on government spending, but—”

“It’s an eight hundred dollar fine,” Dylan says, and Harry squeezes his eyes shut as he nods, embarrassed about the whole situation. 

“That’s why I need a really awesome lawyer like you,” Harry says, smiling again as he compliments Dylan. “So… Can you help me?”

“I… I can try. I mean, you never know,” Dylan says with a shrug, twirling her finger in a gesture that seems to sum up Harry’s entire being. “A judge might buy into this whole thing.”

“What ‘whole thing’?” Harry asks, narrowing his eyes slightly, and hoping his instincts are off. 

“Your whole thing. With the cookies, and the braking for birds, and…”  Dylan widens her eyes and bobs her head side to side, adding a trill to her voice as she says, “Bluebirds come and help me dress in the morning.”

“I… I didn’t know I was doing a thing,” Harry says flatly.

“It’s a great thing!” Dylan chuckles, and says, “I mean, the big beautiful green eyes, like a scared baby! And those dimples. I’m sure that gets you out of all kinds of stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah, except my peripheral vision’s, like, almost too good,” Harry says with a closed mouth smile. He looks away, and takes a calming breath. 

Picking up the other papers, Dylan glances at them, then huffs another laugh, and says, “Hey, so living here, it’s probably fun, right?”

“Yeah…” Harry trails off, wondering why Dylan feels the need to change the subject when she really could just leave.

“There are probably lots of girls and guys, like, coming in and out of this place,” Dylan says, looking down at Harry’s papers again. 

“Niall’s like Ellis Island in the 1800s,” Harry says, finding his footing again because making fun of Niall is easy. “He accepts everyone.”

“Yeah, and… Liam and Louis…” Dylan leads off, then nods as if expecting Harry to fill in the blanks, and Harry picks up what she’s putting down, and he hates being put on the spot. 

“I probably shouldn’t…” 

“Oh, yeah, well, you don’t have to.”

Holding his right hand high, Harry says, “Plead the fifth!” 

“No, that’s not what—”

“Objection!” Harry announces as the loft door opens and Louis steps inside. 

“Hey, Louis!” Dylan shouts before Louis can close the door.

“Hey, Dylan,” Louis says, tossing his keys into the bowl on the entryway table.

Dylan stands, cookie still in hand, Niall’s cashmere throw over her arm, and says, “You want to hang out in your room?”

“Yeah, sure.” Turning towards Harry, Louis smirks and says, “Harold, if you’ll excuse us. Dylan’s about to be very disappointed.”

“Okay, so…” Dylan waves Harry’s papers, and says, “I’ll look at this stuff some more. I’ll call some people, see what I can do. Here’s your blankie back.” 

She drops the throw blanket on the couch beside Harry, and walks straight to Louis, putting the cookie in his hand. He chuckles, tugging on the sleeve of her blazer, but she keeps walking past him to his room. 

Harry stands to fold Niall’s cashmere throw, and Louis asks, “What’s going on with the ticket?”

Grabbing the plate of cookies, Harry steps around the coffee table to stand in front of Louis, and says, “She’s got a problem with me, Louis. She doesn’t like me.”

“What are you talking about?” Louis scoffs, shifting side to side. “She doesn’t have a problem with you. She’s just—”

“Louis,” Harry says, leaning in closer and lowering his voice. “Your girlfriend’s not a dessert person.”

“Hmm?” Louis raises his eyebrows, and Harry shoves the plate of cookies into his hands, stalking off towards his bedroom where he closes and locks the door. 

If he’s careful, he can avoid Dylan indefinitely. He and Louis work opposite schedules, and he can start spending more time at Zayn’s place. If Zayn would just answer the phone. 

Since Zayn’s been too busy to respond to Harry’s calls, and only texts when Harry sends him messages like “SOS! TELL ME YOU’RE ALIVE, ASSHOLE!”, Harry asks Mitch and Sarah to go out to the bar with him Friday night as a last hurrah before school starts back. Of course, as soon as Mitch and Sarah get to the loft Friday evening, Zayn drops by, so the four of them hang out for a little while, trying out Harry’s latest cupcake recipe and taste testing a pomegranate cocktail slightly less lethal than Bro Juice to use up some of the leftover mixers from New Year’s Eve. 

“What’s in this before I drink it?” Zayn asks, eyeing the pomegranate arils floating in the champagne flute. 

“Orange juice, pomegranate juice, champagne, silver tequila, lime juice, and agave nectar,” Harry says, sipping his own drink and humming happily. “It’s good.”

“You and your tequila,” Mitch says, but he doesn’t complain about the cocktail, and drinks half of it in one go. 

“Can you make me one without the booze?” Sarah asks apologetically. “I’ve got to be up early tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Harry says, quickly making one and adding some seltzer water for bubbles. 

“Your court date’s Monday?” Sarah asks. 

“Monday afternoon,” Harry says with a sigh. “Thankfully. I don’t have to get a sub for my classes. It’s at four o'clock, so I’m just going to leave school and go straight there.”

“Louis’ lawyer girlfriend’s helping you, right?” Zayn asks, picking the pomegranate pieces out of his glass and eating them. 

Harry hums, and says, “She’s supposed to, but I don’t know. Things didn’t exactly go well the other night.”

“Really? What happened?” Sarah asks.

“Well, first, she wouldn’t eat a cookie because she said she doesn’t like desserts. Then, she said I have a ‘whole thing’ like my personality is made up or done for effect or something,” Harry says, downing his drink as the entire conversation with Dylan comes back up. “She kind of made fun of my eyes? And said that I’m like Cinderella? And also, she sort of implied that I manipulate people into doing stuff for me. I’m not sure.”

“She said you have a ‘whole thing’?” Zayn asks, circling his finger in the air. 

“I’m sorry,” Sarah says with a laugh, reaching for a cupcake. “She doesn’t like desserts?”

“You’re charming,” Mitch says, taking Sarah’s cupcake and unwrapping it for her. “Who wouldn’t want to do things for you?”

“Thanks, Mitchell, but I don’t think that’s what she meant,” Harry says. 

“Thanks, babe,” Sarah says when Mitch hands her the unwrapped cupcake. She turns to Harry, pointing her cupcake at him. “I think I might know what she meant. Like, you do like, walk your own path, you know? And it sort of freaked me out at first because you’re so kind and generous that I thought you had to have ulterior motives, but you don’t. Also, when I met you, you were wearing a hat made of ribbons.”

“My ribbon hat!” Harry says, eyes wide. “I love that hat.” 

“Screw her!” Zayn shouts, and Harry glances at his now empty glass. “I’m gonna wear that ribbon hat. Go get it right now!”

“Be right back!” Harry dashes off towards his bedroom, dodging Louis on the way. He grabs the hat off of his hat shelf and runs back to the kitchen in time to hear Louis defending Dylan. Harry tugs hard to get the ribbon hat on Zayn’s head, and says, “Ugh… Just drop it, Louis.”

“Okay, what did Dylan do wrong?” Louis asks, popping the cap off a bottle of beer. “She doesn’t like desserts. Big deal! Dylan’s cool. And I really like her. She doesn’t play mind games.”

“You’re so blind, Louis,” Harry says, pouring more champagne into his glass. 

“How? We’re totally up front with each other,” Louis says, “No subtext. No codes.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry says with a quiet laugh. He leans forward, resting his hands on the table, meeting Louis’ eyes. “So, she came right out and asked you if you were seeing other people? Because she asked me.”

Louis chuckles, then takes a sip of his beer, and Mitch, Zayn, and Sarah all set their glasses down, turning to face him. Looking back at them all staring at him, Louis says, “She did?”

“Yeah, she did,” Harry says, sipping his champagne and raising one eyebrow. 

Sarah hums, and says, “I assume you already knew that because you guys are so up front with each other.”

“Yeah, you guys tell each other everything, right?” Zayn asks, taking Harry’s glass and sipping his champagne. 

“She told him she didn’t want to ‘label’ it,” Harry says, making air quotes and rolling his eyes. 

“Oh,” Mitch says, shaking his head. “That’s a classic move, man. Classic.”

“I can’t talk about this anymore,” Louis says, tipping his beer back and gulping it down. He finishes it, burps, and tosses the bottle into the recycling bin on his way out of the room. “I have to go to work.”

“We’ll see you there!” Harry calls after him, and Sarah smacks his arm. “What?”

“He has no clue, does he?” Sarah asks, and Harry shrugs, pouting. 

“I didn’t even know Louis was bi until he brought a girl home,” Harry says, taking his glass back from Zayn. “He doesn’t talk about anything important. I doubt he’ll change for Dylan.”

“Do you think she knows he’s bi?” Zayn asks, reaching for Harry’s glass, but Harry’s too quick for him this time. 

“No idea, and none of my business,” Harry says, draining his glass. “One more before we go?”

It isn’t that far from the loft to the bar, so they walk, and because he’s annoyed with Zayn for ghosting him so often lately, Harry links arms with Sarah, forcing Zayn to walk behind them with Mitch. 

“Sure you don’t mind hanging out here?” Harry asks, holding the door for Sarah, and letting Mitch and Zayn in too. 

“Why’s it always so dark in here?” Sarah asks instead of answering. 

“Ambiance?” Mitch offers as a reason, and Zayn snorts.

“It’s more likely to hide how dirty it is,” Zayn says, leading the way to one of the round booths across from the bar. 

“I’ll take cranberry juice and seltzer water, please,” Sarah says, sliding into the booth. 

“Go ahead and sit,” Harry says to Zayn and Mitch, checking that Louis is behind the bar. “Tell me what you want and I’ll get it.”

“Beer,” Mitch says with a single quick nod.

“Can Louis make what we were drinking at the loft?” Zayn asks, scooting in so Sarah is between him and Mitch. 

“Probably,” Harry says, turning and heading for the bar. He slides onto his usual stool, and Louis comes right over. “Hey. Can you make Zayn one of those champagne cocktails I’ve been making at the loft?”

“Yeah, I don’t have agave, though,” Louis says, reaching into the cooler and pulling out a tiny bottle of champagne.

“Oh my god, that’s the cutest,” Harry says, and Louis shakes his head. “Right. Anyway. Beer for Mitchell. An IPA? Something with a cool label. Mocktail for Sarah with cranberry and seltzer. And my usual, please.”

“Pink wine coming up,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s favorite wine from the cooler. Normally, Louis makes fun of Harry for drinking rosé, but tonight, he doesn’t say a word. 

“Mad at me?” Harry asks, and Louis looks up. 

“No,” Louis says with a sigh, sliding Harry’s glass across the bar to him. “I just don’t understand why Dylan wouldn’t ask me if I’m seeing other people.”

“Have you asked her?” Harry asks, sipping his drink and relaxing the second the wine hits his tongue. 

“No, of course not. We’re not labeling it,” Louis says again, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

Harry watches Louis make Zayn’s champagne cocktail, and Sarah’s mocktail, then asks, “Why can’t you just admit that she’s your girlfriend?”

Louis opens a beer for Mitch, and leans his forearms on the bar. “I don’t know. I thought it was uncomplicated, you know? But now I’m, like, freaking out. I’m not good at being a boyfriend. I’m good at being that guy that you find yourself spending more and more time with until you meet your husband.”

“Alright, so…” Harry takes another sip of wine, and says, “So far, Louis Tomlinson’s list of fears includes pigeons, tap water, and real relationships.”

“And blueberries,” Louis says, and Harry doesn’t get the chance to ask if he’s serious or not because Niall and Liam appear beside him.

“Barkeep! Get this man a drink.” Niall jerks his thumb in Liam’s direction, and announces, “Ladies and gents, he hasn’t had sex in four months. Come and get it!”

“I hate you, Niall,” Liam says.

“What’s going on?” Harry asks, feeling out of the loop.

“Liam decided he was going to call the girl he used to hook up with two years ago before he went overseas,” Louis says, opening a beer and passing it to Liam. 

“And that didn’t go well?” Harry raises his glass, and Liam gently taps it with his beer bottle before taking a swig.

“Not at all,” Liam says, looking a little shell shocked as he shakes his head. “I thought it’d be easy to pick up where we left off, you know? But… Maybe I don’t have game. Maybe I never did. Maybe it’s always been because I played ball.”

“Yeah, you don’t have any game,” Louis says immediately. He opens a beer for Niall, and asks, “Are you seriously just realizing this?”

Liam ignores Louis’ words, but turns on his bar stool to face him. “What’s your secret? How do normal guys do this?”

“Let’s not say ‘normal,’” Niall interrupts. “Call it what it is. ‘Average.’”

“Out of all of us, you’ve had the most game,” Liam says, sounding like he doesn’t quite believe it. Pressing his lips together, Louis looks from Liam to Harry, and shrugs. “For years you’ve been working with absolutely nothing.”

“He makes a good point,” Niall says, and Harry turns towards him.

“Okay, maybe I’ve been working with nothing,” Louis says, raising his voice a little in the way that means he’s about to do something stupid. 

“Zilch,” Niall says, holding his hand up, pinching his thumb and index finger close together. 

“You’re right, I’ve got nothing. Except this,” Louis says, picking up the bottle of tequila he just made Harry’s drink with. He slams it on the bar, then throws it into the air, catching it and spinning it in a sort of half circle. Tossing it again, he catches it against his chest, letting it slide down into his hands, then he takes it behind his back, reaches around, throws it, and it crashes to the floor. 

“Louis! No Cocktail!” Clyde yells from the back. 

“Sorry! Sorry, Clyde!” Louis shouts. Embarrassed on Louis’ behalf, Harry covers his face with his hands, until he hears Louis call out, “Dylan! Hey, Dylan!”

Harry drops his hands, and says, “Ooh… Are you guys using names? That’s not too ‘labelly’ for you?”

The only response he gets from Louis is an eyeroll, so Harry slides off his stool and picks up everyone’s drinks, glad to have something to carry so he has an excuse not to stop and talk to Dylan. 

“Hey, Dylan,” Niall says, and Liam says the same, but Harry just nods in her direction.

“You guys sitting with us?” Harry asks, setting the drinks down on their table and sliding into the booth beside Mitch. As soon as Harry does that, Niall takes the space beside Zayn, and Liam pulls up a chair. Harry turns to Liam, and says, “Tell us more about this girl. What’s her name?”

“Shelby. And, man, I don’t know.” Leaning in and crossing his arms on the table, Liam looks at Sarah apologetically, and says, “We used to hook up back when I was playing college ball. But she said all I ever did was talk about myself, and like, brag about myself.”

“It’s true,” Niall says, looking Zayn up and down while he talks. “But to be fair, girls used to throw themselves at him back then. Guys, not so much.”

“Maybe they didn’t like sleeping with someone who could beat them in basketball,” Mitch suggests, and Sarah nods. Harry nods, too, although it wouldn’t stop him. 

“Nope, can’t be it,” Niall says, still staring at Zayn. “Li was never that good.”

“Thanks, Niall,” Liam says, heaving a sigh. 

Finally, Niall turns away from Zayn, and says, “What you should do is inform her that you're an aerialist for the Cirque du Soleil.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Harry says.

“Please don’t listen to him.” Sarah sips her mocktail, then reaches across the table for Liam’s hand, and says, “Just talk to her. Listen to her. Ask questions. Pay attention. And don’t ever listen to Niall.”

“I don't take advice from Niall,” Liam says, holding a hand up when Niall scoffs. “Never have, never will. Ever.”

“Good,” Zayn says, and Niall frowns, pouting as he slumps down in his seat. 

Harry pats Liam’s arm, looking up at the bar just as Dylan walks off towards the bathrooms. Glancing at Louis, who’s wearing his grumpiest old man expression, Harry’s certain he knows what happened, so he quickly excuses himself, and hurries after Dylan, catching up to her in the hallway just outside the restrooms.

Harry reaches out and gently touches her arm. “Hey, Dylan?” 

“Are you serious?” Dylan asks, turning around and pushing her hair off her forehead.

“I, um… I think Louis said something to you and I wanted to explain,” Harry rushes out, but then he pauses, unsure what to say next. “I’m sorry. We were sort of arguing about something else, and it just came out, and—”

“Why would you tell him I said that? Do you have any idea what that makes me look like?” Dylan asks, pressing her palms to her temples. “Or did you do it on purpose? You know what, I see what you’re doing.”

“What?” Harry feels his eyes widen, and closes them instead, not wanting Dylan to think he’s trying to manipulate her.

“I know that Louis is bi, and I know that he hasn’t dated a lot of girls, and I know that I’m the mean lawyer girl who wears suits and works too much and you…” Dylan looks back down the hallway, then lowers her voice, and says, “You’re this super fun teacher guy with all your colorful sweater vests, and you bake things, and you’re just the right amount of girly feminine whatever. And eventually, Louis is going to get sick of me and come running to you, and you’ll tuck him under his blankie and—”

“I’ve never said the word blankie!” Harry stomps a little, and says, “I don’t talk like a toddler.”

With her hands on her hips pushing her blazer open, Dylan says, “If I acted the way you act at work, no one would listen to me.”

“If I acted the way you act at work,” Harry says, trying to think of the teacher equivalent. “My students would turn in really weird, dark dioramas, so…”

“I don’t like you. And I don’t want to be your friend,” Dylan says, and Harry blinks, shocked to hear it said out loud. 

“Fine,” Harry says even though it’s the furthest thing from fine.

“Fine,” Dylan repeats, pushing open the bathroom door labeled ‘Princesses’ and disappearing inside.

Tears welling in his eyes, Harry turns and pushes open the door labeled ‘Princes’ and scowls at the sign. He goes straight to the sink, wiping up the water and soap around it out of habit, then he washes his hands, and splashes cool water on his face to stop the tears. 

People have called him girly before, and they’ve called him feminine, and when he was younger one of Spencer’s friends called him a twink, although at the time he was pretty into lifting weights and had argued with the guy over the definition of a twink which had devolved into him drunkenly yelling that he was too old to be a twink at twenty-five. 

It’s never bothered him to be told he was feminine before, or even girly, because in the past those words always came from people who loved him and didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. But the way Dylan said it was mean spirited and almost came across as jealousy. Maybe she is. Maybe she doesn’t think she’s allowed to be more feminine, even in her down time. She does always wear blazers. Even at Niall’s New Year’s Eve party she was wearing a leather one. 

Behind him, the bathroom door opens, and Louis comes in, glaring at him. “Are you done in here?”

“I, um… yeah?” Harry grabs a paper towel and blots his damp face.

“Good, so can you go?” Louis grabs the door handle and pulls it open, ushering Harry out, and closing the door behind him.

“Shit,” Harry mutters to himself. He takes a shaky breath, and another and another until he feels a little more steady, then he heads back to the table. If he can’t talk about his feelings, he can at least get wasted, so that’s what he proceeds to do. 

Usually, Harry spends the last weekend of the holiday before school starts back cleaning and reorganizing his bedroom, doing laundry, laying out his clothes for the week, and generally hyping himself up for Monday morning. 

What he doesn’t normally do is go out on Friday night and get so trashed that he wakes up around noon the next day feeling like absolute shit. The second his eyes open, he regrets it, but the sunlight streaming in through the windows triggers a surge of nausea so fierce that he throws off the blanket and sprints to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet stall before he pukes. 

“Harry?” Zayn’s voice comes from the direction of the shower, and Harry groans, pushing himself off the tile floor and flushing the toilet. 

“Hey,” Harry says, stumbling to the sink to rinse his mouth out and wash his face. “I didn’t know you were here. I drank so much last night. Did you sleep in my bed?”

“Yep,” Zayn says quickly, peeking out from behind the shower curtain. “You were wasted. Asked me to cuddle you, so I stayed. That okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” Harry squeezes toothpaste on his toothbrush, then asks, “Did I talk to you about what happened with Dylan last night?”

“No, but, um… You were pretty drunk, so…” 

Trying not to gag, Harry works up a good foam, brushing his teeth and his gums and his tongue and the roof of his mouth and wishing he could somehow brush his insides too. He spits and rinses his mouth, sighing when he sees his reflection. The circles under his eyes are bad enough, but there are a few busted blood vessels as well, which means Monday morning he’ll have to apply concealer before he goes to school. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Zayn asks, turning off the water, and reaching out blindly to grab a towel. 

“Here. Use mine,” Harry says when Zayn’s hand lands on Niall’s towel. He puts his pink towel in Zayn’s hand, and shakes his head. There’s nothing wrong with liking pink. “I kind of do and I kind of don’t want to talk about it.”

“Change of subject then,” Zayn says, stepping out with Harry’s towel wrapped around his waist. “You still want to teach me to crochet Monday night?”

“Yeah, yeah, for sure,” Harry says, forcing a smile, and following Zayn out of the bathroom. “It’ll be fun. Sarah’s coming. Mitch, too, I think.”

“Can I borrow some clothes?” Zayn asks when they get to Harry’s room. 

“Anything you want,” Harry says, backing out to give Zayn some privacy. “Can you just bring my towel back when you’re done? I need to shower if I want to feel human at all today.”

“Anything for you, my little frost flower,” Zayn says, and for the first time all day, Harry's smile is genuine. 

“Ooh… I like that,” Harry says, though he’ll have to Google it later to see if it’s a real thing or just something Zayn made up. 

“Google it,” Zayn says before Harry can close the door. “It’s a real thing.”

A hot shower makes Harry feel a little better, but when he’s out and dressed in a clean pair of polka dot pajamas, Zayn has to go, so they don’t get the chance to talk. Louis makes himself scarce, not that Harry really wants to hang out with him after last night, but then Liam and Niall leave, too, and Harry winds up forcing himself to do all of the chores he was planning to avoid. It’s a boring Saturday, but at least he won’t have much to do Sunday. 

Louis doesn’t make an appearance until Sunday afternoon. Harry’s sitting on the couch, painting his toenails bright yellow, when Louis comes out of his room, ignores him and goes straight for the bathroom. Harry considers getting up to go to his room, but they can’t avoid each other forever, so he stays put, propping his feet on the coffee table and fanning his polish. 

“Harold,” Louis says a few minutes later. He’s dressed in his usual grey sweatpants, and he’s wearing a burgundy zippered hoodie, but when he walks past the couch into the kitchen to grab a beer, it’s plain that he doesn’t have a shirt on under it, and Harry rolls his eyes. Maybe he needs to do laundry, but it’s getting ridiculous. 

“Lewis,” Harry replies, using his phone as a distraction. 

“Are you watching something?” Louis asks, and Harry looks up at the dark screen of the television. 

“Nope.”

“Mind if I watch football?” Louis asks, and Harry considers telling him no, but he gives a noncommittal grunt. 

Leaning over to gently touch his big toenail, testing if the polish is dry, Harry asks instead,“When have you ever asked permission to watch football?” 

Louis groans miserably and lets his head fall back onto the couch cushion. “I’m trying to apologize for the other night.”

“So say ‘sorry about the other night’ and move on,” Harry says, wincing slightly at his snide tone. “I’m sorry, too. But you piss me off so much, Tomlinson!”

“Feeling’s mutual, Styles,” Louis says, turning on the television. 

“Just, like…” Harry exhales, blowing a raspberry, and says, “We’re friends, right?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Louis says, tipping his beer back and taking a pull, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “You’re like, one of my best friends.”

“Really?” Harry responds too quickly to hide his surprise. 

“God, don’t buy me a BFF necklace or anything,” Louis says, stretching his arm across the back of the couch and tugging one of Harry’s curls. “But yeah.”

“I didn't know you were bi until you brought Dylan over,” Harry says, though that’s the last thing he intended to mention. 

“I know. Should’ve seen your face when you guys met.” Louis scratches Harry’s scalp, then drops his hand to his lap, and says, “I thought you knew or I would’ve told you.”

“It’s not a big deal, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I haven’t talked to her since Friday night,” Louis says, crossing his ankles, then uncrossing them and tucking his feet under his bum. “We kind of argued? But it was dumb. And then she left, so… pretty sure that’s over. Sorry if I screwed up your ticket.”

“Don’t worry about it, Lou,” Harry says, reaching over and giving Louis’ knee a squeeze. Chances are Dylan wouldn’t’ve shown for his court date anyway. “Hey, um… Do you think it’s a bad thing that I’m kind of girly, or like, feminine sometimes?”

“No,” Louis answers instantly, then he turns to face Harry. “What does that mean, anyway? Like, you paint your nails? You like pink? Why is that considered girly?”

Harry shrugs. “And I bake.”

“So do plenty of people. What’s this about?” Louis asks, muting the television. 

“I was just thinking about it,” Harry lies, not wanting to bring up Dylan again. 

“I mean, does it matter?” Louis pulls his phone from his hoodie pocket, and unlocks it, tapping on the screen. “Is this like a gender thing?”

“I don’t know? Maybe?” Harry leans over, and Louis shows him his phone screen where he’s googled the word feminine. 

“Is it feminine to only button two buttons of your shirt?” Louis asks, and Harry snorts. “What is the gender of a Hawaiian shirt? A sweater vest?”

Harry’s quiet snort turns to giggles, and when he catches his breath, he says, “Gender’s kind of made up, isn’t it?”

“Think so,” Louis says, then he drags his fingernail over the bottom of Harry’s foot, tickling him and making him jerk away. “For what it’s worth, I like you the way you are.”

Blush rising up his neck, Harry says, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man,” Louis says, picking up Harry’s bottle of nail polish. “But I’d also like you however you are. Does that make sense?” Biting his lip to keep his smile in check, Harry nods. “You’re a great person, Harold. And anyone who doesn’t like you doesn’t know you well enough.”

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry whispers. He points to the TV and asks, “What are we watching?”

“Bears are playing the Giants in Chicago,” Louis says, turning the volume up just in time for kickoff. Then he unzips his hoodie, revealing a very messy, yet carefully painted orange Chicago Bears C on his stomach. 

“Oh my god,” Harry says, swatting Louis on the chest, making sure not to touch the C. “Did you use my paint?”

“Maybe,” Louis says with a crooked grin, telling Harry all he needs to know. 

The first day back to school after a holiday is like a mirror of the last day of school before a holiday: the students are a little too energetic, and Harry spends more time quieting his classes than teaching. When the last bell rings, Harry packs up his things, and waits by his classroom door until his students are all gone, then he locks up, and leaves. 

Harry’s never been to court before. He’s never had so much as a speeding ticket, so all of this is new to him. Parking sucks, as usual, but thankfully he isn’t late, and it’s actually cool enough out that he doesn’t get sweaty on the walk to the courthouse. 

Dylan isn’t there when Harry arrives, which is probably for the best, and Harry takes a seat in the courtroom to wait his turn. When the judge calls the case number before his, Dylan silently takes the seat beside him.

“Oh, um… Hello,” Harry says, crossing his legs to give her more space. “You didn’t have to come. I know you’re busy. I think I can handle it.”

“I told you I’d be here, so I’m here,” Dylan says, setting her briefcase in her lap. 

The judge bangs his gavel, and says, “Case eighty-four, Harry Styles.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry says, standing and taking a step towards the bench. “I’m here, sir. Your honor. Present.”

Dylan touches his arm, and quietly says, “You have to enter the plea yourself, and I’ll do the rest.”

“Okay. Thanks. I got it.”

“All you have to do is say—”

“I got it!” Harry snaps. “Thank you.”

“Okay, fine,” Dylan says.

“How do you plead?” the judge asks.

“Guilty,” Harry responds instantly.

The judge bangs the gavel, and says, “Alright. Pay the fine upstairs.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry turns to exit the courtroom with Dylan right behind him. She chuckles, and says, “Guess we’ll never know if the injured bird defense works. I mean, we have a betting pool going in my office too.”

“Enough!” Harry says, spinning around to face her. “I’ve got something to say to you, Dylan.”

She scoffs, and says, “What?” 

Harry takes a deep breath, and faster than he usually talks, he says, “I brake for birds. I rock a lot of sweater vests. I’ve touched glitter in the last twenty-four hours. I spend my entire day talking to children. And it is so odd to me that you're not a dessert person. I don’t know how to process that!” 

“Okay,” Dylan says slowly, and though she doesn’t roll her eyes, it’s obvious that she wants to. 

Barreling on before he forgets the point of his rant, Harry says, “I know you like Louis, and I promise I’m not going to interfere, but, like, just talk to him!”

“Finished?” Dylan asks, clenching her jaw. 

“Not quite.” Harry looks down at his blue and white sweater vest, smooths a hand over it, and says, “Not only do I have sheep on my sweater vest, but I'm about to pay this stupid fine, and my checks have baby farm animals on them!” 

Turning on his heel, Harry starts towards the stairs, and Dylan calls out, “The stairs are the other way.”

“Ugh.” Harry turns back around, and stalks off past her, pushing the door to the stairwell open, and running up the stairs. 

Harry rolls his craft cart to the living room, and sits in the corner of the couch, pulling out the yellow crocheted bucket hat he’s been working on. 

“Okay, Z, hold the hook in your right hand,” Harry says, helping Zayn position the yarn in his left hand. 

“What am I making?” Zayn asks.

“A basic chain,” Harry says, pointing his hook at Sarah. “What are you making?”

“A scarf for Mitch,” Sarah says, working the hook into the grey yarn. 

The doorbell rings, and Harry sets his yarn aside. He swings the door open, shocked to see Dylan standing on the other side. “Oh, um… Hi. Louis isn’t here.”

“No, I know,” Dylan says, clearing her throat. “I, um, I came here because I thought you and I—”

“Harry, I’m stuck!” Zayn shouts, and Harry turns to find that he’s managed to tangle his hands in his yarn. Zayn’s eyebrows fly up his forehead, and he says, “Louis isn’t here.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dylan says, then a little quieter, she tells Harry, “I didn’t know you had company.”

“Nah, it’s just yarn night,” Harry says, and Dylan frowns. 

“I’ll come back another time,” she says, turning to walk back towards the elevator.

“Hey, wait,” Harry calls after her, stepping into the hallway, and she looks back at him. “Do you want to stay? I have knitting needles and crochet hooks of all sizes and yarn out the wazoo.”

“Okay,” Dylan says with a small smile. She follows him inside, and takes the seat between him and Sarah. 

An hour later, she’s removed her shoes and her power blazer, and she’s sitting cross legged with a ball of yarn in her lap, and her hair up in a messy bun. 

“I used to wear my hair like that all the time,” Harry says, pointing at Dylan’s hair with his crochet hook. 

“You had long hair?” Dylan asks, and Zayn laughs. 

“He had hair down to his nipples,” Zayn says, patting his own nipples. “And it was gorgeous.”

“Always gorgeous,” Sarah says, frowning at her scarf. “I have a soft spot for when it’s a little shaggier than it is now.”

Harry blushes at the compliments, and says, “Thank you.”

“What made you decide to cut it?” Dylan asks, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. 

“I’d just gotten my masters degree, and I’d moved to LA, and was starting at Hearst Middle School—that’s the school where I teach,” Harry says, gently tugging the short curls at the nape of his neck. “I wanted to have a new look, and so I cut it, and donated it.”

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Dylan says, taking her hair down and pulling it in front of her face. “But I worry, um, that guys won’t like it. Like, I’m already so, you know… boring.”

“You’re not boring,” Harry reassures her, then he reaches over to touch her hair. “I think you’d look amazing with a pixie cut. You have the face for it. Or a chin length bob. Whatever you want. And, to be honest, if someone doesn’t like you because of your hair, then… they don’t deserve you.”

“Maybe,” Dylan says, but she smiles. The loft door opens, Louis walks in, and Dylan’s eyes go wide. 

“Hey, Dylan,” Louis says, stopping by the entryway table. He tosses his keys in the air and catches them, then drops them in the bowl. “What are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?” Dylan asks, setting her yarn on the coffee table. 

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says, walking over and opening his bedroom door. 

Harry watches until Louis closes the door behind Dylan, then slumps back against the couch cushion. “Break up or make up?”

“Does it matter?” Zayn asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Not really,” Harry says with a shrug. “I mean, I kind of like her now, so… It wouldn’t be the worst thing if she stuck around.”

Chapter Text

JANUARY AGAIN

Dylan sticks around. It’s odd witnessing Louis in a relationship. Not much changes except maybe he showers a little more often, and he’s a little less angry at the world. And while Harry doesn’t mind being around Dylan anymore, they’re still not great friends, so instead of inviting Zayn over to the loft for his birthday, Harry bakes a cake and, after he gets off work, he carries it over to Zayn’s apartment. 

As they’ve done every year on Zayn’s birthday since he turned thirteen, they watch The Notebook and drool over Ryan Gosling while laying on the floor, eating cake, and daydreaming about their futures. 

“That’s all I want,” Harry says with a sigh that he hopes encompasses his desire to meet his soulmate, have a passionate love affair, and live happily ever after no matter what the obstacles. 

Zayn wipes away his tears, then smacks Harry’s arm. “This is the saddest movie ever!”

“But you love it,” Harry says as they watch the credits roll. 

“Yeah, but it’s not like I want that.”

“You don’t want passion?” Harry asks even though he knows the answer. 

“Of course I do,” Zayn says, “but I don’t want the drama of my family not approving. It took them forever to adjust after I came out.”

“I know,” Harry says, reaching for Zayn’s hand and squeezing it. He spent two weeks sleeping on Harry’s top bunk until things settled down.

Squeezing Harry’s hand back, Zayn says, “So I’ve had enough drama.” 

“I don't want the drama,” Harry says. “Maybe a little drama. But ugh… I know it’s only been a few weeks since Paul and I broke up, but that was barely a relationship. Right now, I just want to get laid. No strings.”

“Really?” Zayn rolls onto his side, propping his head in his hand. “Mr. Monogamy wants a one night stand?”

“I want to try! Everyone I know is either in a relationship or constantly hooking up with someone new,” Harry says. Zayn pouts, and Harry quickly adds, “No offense.”

“None taken,” Zayn says, laying back down and stretching his hands overhead. He lifts his legs, so Harry does the same, and they both sit up slightly, holding their bodies in Vs until Harry’s abs give out and he rolls over and stands up. 

Reaching down to help Zayn to his feet, Harry says, “You and Niall are so good at one night stands. You should both help me.”

“Oh, um…” Zayn blushes, looking down at his feet and wiggling his toes. “I’m free Friday.”

“Really?” Harry claps and grins. “You’ll help me?”

“Of course, snowball,” Zayn says, and Harry wrinkles his nose. 

“I don’t think I like that one.” Harry jerks back as the door to Zayn’s apartment swings open and Zayn’s roommates come in. Clenching his jaw, Harry says, “Models.” 

“Yeah, sorry.” Zayn loops his arm around Harry’s waist, turns to Markian and Garrison and says, “I thought you two were at a shoot?”

“Monkey Cracker!” Markian says, grabbing Harry’s face with both hands.

Clenching his jaw, Harry wrenches free from his grasp, and says, “Markian. Nice to see you too.”

Garrison lounges against the wall in the way Harry’s only seen models do, and says, “Zaynie, Zaynie, Zaynie, check your phone. One of the boys broke his toe and cannot walk tonight.”

Zayn gasps. “Who?” 

“Kalen.” Garrison yawns and closes his eyes. For a second, Harry thinks he’s fallen asleep, but then he says, “Are you coming?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Zayn says. He squeezes Harry’s hip, then drops his hand from Harry’s waist. “Sorry, my sweet candy cane.”

Harry pulls Zayn into a hug, and whispers in his ear, “I’m taking the rest of the cake home with me.”

“Fair,” Zayn says, kissing Harry’s cheek. “See you Friday?”

“See you Friday,” Harry repeats, cradling his cake carrier as he walks outside.

Thankfully, Niall is also on board with being Harry’s wingman. No doubt, Zayn’s presence contributes to Niall’s willingness, but at this point, Harry’s almost ready to offer Zayn up for trade if he could just be brought to orgasm by someone else’s hand. Or mouth. He’s not that picky. 

Harry’s already asleep when Louis comes home that night, so he doesn’t have his noise-cancelling headphones on, which is why he wakes up to the sounds of Louis and Dylan fucking, with his dick rock hard. Harry groans miserably, then he squeezes his cock, and groans a little less miserably. Still half-asleep, Harry doesn’t think twice about stroking himself to the rhythm of the moans and whines coming from across the hall. 

He’s almost there when Louis grunts, and says something that sounds suspiciously like, “Take it.” 

Those two words paint pictures in his mind of Louis making him take it, behind him on his knees, thrusting in and out of him, dicking him hard while gripping tight to his hips, fingertips digging into the softness, pulling Harry back onto his cock as he fucks him faster. Harry comes with Louis’ name on his lips, and before his orgasm has finished, his eyes fly open. 

“No…” Fully awake, Harry reaches for the pack of baby wipes he keeps in his bedside table, and cleans himself up, trying not to dwell on what he just tossed off to. At least he drained the pipes, so to speak. And now he’s more than ready for his first ever one night stand.

“Feeling twirly!” Lifting his hands overhead, Harry spins through the living room like the ballerina he sometimes wishes he was. 

Louis and Dylan are sitting at the dining room table, and as Harry walks past, Louis takes Dylan’s hand and kisses her knuckles. Harry quickly looks away, annoyed by the surge of jealousy in his stomach. At the other end of the table, Liam is on the phone, and if his unwavering smile and soft voice are anything to go by, he’s talking to Shelby. 

Harry sticks out his tongue, and says, “Blech. Couples. Romance. Blech.”  

“Monogamy kills, Harry,” Niall says, opening the fridge and pulling out Harry’s open bottle of rosé. He pours Harry a glass, and slides it across the kitchen table. 

“Aren’t we lucky not to have been struck with that affliction,” Harry says, raising his glass and nodding at Niall. 

“I’m so glad you asked me to take you under my wing. Teach you my ways.”

“I’m not…” Harry shakes his head, then takes a long sip of wine. “Ew. Okay. I’m not looking to turn into someone who needs to track the names and pictures of the people I sleep with so I don’t accidentally fuck the same person twice.”

Niall winks. “You’ll get there.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry says, winking back. “Zayn’s on his way. You’re sure you’re okay with driving? We can take a Lyft.”

“I’ll drive,” Niall says, “I’ll make a better wingman if I’m sober.”

The doorbell rings, and Harry downs his rosé, then runs for the door, yanking it open, and shouting, “Ready to get me laid?”

Zayn clutches his hand to his heart, rolling his eyes. He steps inside, and says, “Twirl for me.”

Harry curtsies, then spins once quickly, following it up with a slow turn so Zayn can get a good look at his outfit. Normally, he prefers his pants high waisted with wide legs, but Zayn’s instructions were to wear pants ‘tight enough to show off the assets, but not so tight that you can’t take them off in a hurry’ and ‘something sheer’ for a shirt. 

“Very nice, very nice,” Zayn says, taking in Harry’s fitted dark blue jeans and white lace, bell sleeved, button up shirt. 

“Niall said he’d drive, so… If you don’t mind coming back here?” Harry grabs his keys and wallet, and says, “’Cause I’m hoping to go home with somebody else tonight.”

“Get it!” Louis shouts from the dining room, and Harry turns to look. “Be safe, Harold.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, then he raises his voice, “Niall, let’s go!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Niall says as he walks around the corner from the kitchen. As usual, he gives Zayn a once-over, followed by an approving hum. “Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

Zayn takes Harry’s hand and they walk the few feet to the elevator together. When Harry presses the button, he says, “Niall, you get a good look at Zayn’s ass?”

“Not good enough,” Niall says, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. “Could you just… bend over?”

“Shut up, Niall,” Zayn and Harry say simultaneously, and Harry snorts. 

“Is that a no?” Niall asks, stepping into the elevator and leaning against the wall, looking Zayn up and down again. 

Ignoring Niall’s leering, Harry asks Zayn, “Any tips for tonight?”

“No emotional connections,” Niall says, holding up a single finger. “That’s it. Find someone you have nothing in common with except the desire to bone.”

Niall takes them to West Hollywood, and actually drops them off at The Abbey before going to find a parking spot. They’re waiting for drinks at the bar when he joins them, and then it’s off to the dance floor. 

“No connection,” Niall reminds him, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, okay!” Harry shimmies his way to the middle of the dance floor, drink in hand, and waits for the perfect one night stand to come to him. 

A cute guy with short, light brown hair, tight jeans, and dark eyes dances in front of him, turning so his back is to Harry. He glances over his shoulder, and winks, and Harry smiles, grabbing the guy’s hips and moving with him to the music. They dance for a few songs, then the beat slows, and the guy turns in his arms. 

“Hi,” Harry says slowly, “I’m Harry.”

The guy drapes his arms over Harry’s shoulders, and says, “Max. You from here?”

“No, um…” Harry shakes his head, then leans in closer so he doesn’t have to shout. “I live here now, but I’m from Portland.”

“No shit!” Max gasps loudly, and yells, “I’m from Portland!”

“No way! That’s crazy!” 

A hand on Harry’s elbow draws his attention, and he turns to find Niall scowling at him. “No.”

“What?” Harry asks.

“No connection!” Niall shouts, shaking his head. 

“How could you hear us?” Harry shouts back, and Niall taps his temple. 

Leaning in to speak directly into Harry’s ear, Niall says, “I just know.”

When Harry looks again, Max is gone. 

It feels like hours pass while Harry dances with guy after guy, but none of them feel right until a tall blond man steps up behind him and grips his hips tightly, guiding him as their bodies sway together. He drags his lips up the side of Harry’s neck, and says, “I’m Devin. What’s your name?”

“Harry,” Harry says, letting his head fall back on Devin’s shoulder. Devin grinds against Harry’s ass, and Harry has to turn slightly so he can’t see Zayn or Niall. Even though part of him likes it, he feels dirty being watched. 

They dance through enough songs that Harry loses count, and he’s about to ask Devin to take him home, when Devin says, “You bottom?”

“Verse,” Harry says, pushing back against Devin’s growing erection. 

“You want to come home with me?” Devin asks, spinning Harry around and fitting his thigh between Harry’s legs. “My boyfriend and I are looking for a third.”

Feeling like he’s just been doused in cold water, Harry takes a step back, and shakes his head. “No, thanks!” he says just loud enough to be heard, then he finds his way off the dance floor. 

“What’s up?” Zayn asks as Harry slides into the booth beside him. 

“It’s not happening,” Harry admits, reaching for Zayn’s drink and draining the glass. “Just got invited to a threesome.”

“And you’re not interested?” Niall asks, looking back at the dance floor as if he’s about to go searching for the guy and offer himself up as a third. 

“No,” Harry says, fishing the cherry out of Zayn’s cup. “Not tonight anyway. A one night stand was enough of a stretch. That’s like, way out of my comfort zone.”

“You want to go home?” Zayn asks, and Harry nods. “Let’s go, then. Niall!”

Niall whips his head around, eyes wide. “Time to go?”

“Time to go,” Zayn says, nudging Harry until he climbs out of the booth. “Come on, my beautiful lace snowflake. Let’s get you home.”

Niall has them wait while he gets his car, and Harry and Zayn sit in the backseat while Niall chauffeurs them back to the loft. Even though Harry didn’t find anyone to take him home, going out with Niall has been quite the experience. He drops Harry and Zayn off at the loft, and they quietly ride up in the elevator. 

“You don’t have to stay with me,” Harry says as he unlocks the door. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he doesn’t want to say that out loud, and he certainly doesn’t want to be around his lovey-dovey roommates and their girlfriends. 

“I might not stay the night, but I’ll hang out for a while,” Zayn says, laying a hand on Harry’s before he opens the door. “Too many couples. Us single babes need to stick together.” 

“Thank you for reading my mind,” Harry says, pushing the loft door open.

“Anytime,” Zayn says, walking inside. He stops at the edge of the living room, and crosses his arms. “Looks like it wasn’t necessary tonight though.”

Harry stands beside him, pinching his lower lip as he takes in the scene before him. Louis and Liam are sprawled on the sofa, Louis face down on the chaise and Liam laying at an odd angle on his side. There are beer bottles and pizza boxes on the coffee table, and a basketball game is on the television.

“What teams are playing at…” Harry pulls out his phone, checking the time. “One o’clock in the morning?”

“It’s the Bulls game from earlier,” Liam says, and Louis mumbles something but either he’s very drunk or the pillow he’s smushing his face into makes it impossible to understand. “We recorded it so we could watch it Sunday.”

“It’s not Sunday,” Zayn says, and Harry hums, moving a little closer to the couch. 

“You guys okay?” Harry asks, and Louis finally turns his head away from the pillow, which is good because Harry was a little worried about his ability to breathe. 

“Dylan had to go to work,” Louis says, rolling onto his back, arms hanging off either side of the chaise, and now that he’s face up, Harry notices Louis’ nice sweater, the collared shirt under it, and his grey chinos. “Thought you went out to get some strange?”

Harry looks down at him, and says, “Well, things got a little stranger than I was comfortable with.”

“Harry got invited to a threesome,” Zayn helpfully supplies, and Louis’ mouth drops open.

“And you didn’t go for it?” Liam asks, pausing the television. “Did Niall volunteer as tribute?”

“He tried,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. “He’s parking his car. Dropped us at the door.”

“Really?” Louis asks, sitting up. “Normally he makes people ride with him because he pays to park in this ridiculously expensive lot, and he likes to show off.”

Zayn scoffs. “I know.”

“Think he felt sorry for me,” Harry says, looking at Liam. “What happened with Shelby?”

“Nothing, just… We’re still in that figuring each other out stage,” Liam says, and Louis kicks him in the shin. “Ouch! We went out, but she’s not comfortable with us sleeping together yet. I’ve only been home for about an hour. Louis here’s been wallowing all night.”

The loft door closes behind them, and Niall announces, “This is the saddest group I’ve ever seen! Except Zayn. You’re beautiful and amazing as always.”

“Whatever, Niall,” Zayn says. 

“The rest of you look like you could use some cheering up,” Niall says, as he heads for the kitchen.

“I’m going to put on my pajamas,” Harry says, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans as he starts for his room. 

“Hurry up!” Niall yells after him. “Because we’re playing True American!”

“Shit, okay,” Harry mutters as he pushes his jeans down his thighs. He sits on his bed to take off his boots, then gets his jeans off the rest of the way, and grabs the flannel pajama bottoms he slept in last night, running out to the living room while he pulls them up. “I’m here!”

“What the hell is this game?” Zayn asks when Harry slides past the couch in his socks.

“It’s like… if Candy Land was invented by drunk college students,” Harry says, grabbing as many six-packs of beer as he can carry. He takes them over to the coffee table, and kneels down, arranging them around the cans of beer Niall and Liam have already set up. “This is the castle. The bottle of Jack is the king. The beers are pawns—they’re the soldiers of the secret order.”

In the dining room, Louis is busy moving chairs and stools around. He grabs a cushion off the couch and tosses it to the floor, then points at the trails of furniture and cushions, and says, “There are four zones, plus the crazy zone.”

“And the floor is lava!” Niall shouts, dropping the empty recycling bin in the corner of the dining room as far from the television as possible. 

Liam picks up a beer, and when they all join him around the coffee table, grabbing their own cans, he raises his high in the air, and yells, “Shotgun tipoff!”

Every other time Harry’s played, he’s had his keys in his pocket, but not tonight, so he watches as Liam and Niall puncture their cans with keys, and Louis stabs a hole in his with a ballpoint pen. They pop the tops, drain their beers, and Liam wins. The game begins. 

“JFK!” Harry shouts, and everyone but Zayn replies, “FDR!”

They all grab a beer, and Harry takes two, hopping onto the couch and pulling Zayn up after him as Zayn complains, “I don’t know the rules!”

“You’ll catch on,” Harry says, passing him a beer. “I promise.”

When they play True American, Harry never keeps track of time, but it doesn’t feel like long before the last pawn is gone, and Zayn lifts the bottle of Jack Daniels to his lips to win the game. 

“I’m the winner,” Zayn whispers, taking another sip of whiskey. 

“Congrat— Congratulations, Z. I’m going to bed now,” Harry says, tossing his empty beer can in the direction of the recycling bin, and stumbling towards his room. He has the presence of mind to take off his lace shirt, but forgets to close his door, and once he’s starfished across his bed, he’s not getting up. 

“Harold!” Louis grabs Harry’s ankle and pulls. “Harold, get up. You said— You said not to go to bed until you peed. You told me— You said— You said remind you to pee.”

“No…” Harry tries to kick him away, but Louis is surprisingly agile for how much he’s had to drink, and he snatches Harry’s other ankle out of the air, dragging him like a backwards wheelbarrow. 

When he has Harry halfway off the bed, Louis drops his legs, and gets between them, circling his arms around Harry’s middle. He tries to lift Harry, but somehow Harry winds up kneeling on the floor in front of his bed with Louis draped over his back. 

“I’m up!” Harry shrieks, cheeks heating. He pushes off his bed and clambers to his feet, shoving Louis’ hands away from his hips. 

“Don't yell at me,” Louis grumbles petulantly. 

“I’m not yelling!” Harry starts towards the door and trips over his boots, but Louis catches him before he falls. “Oops!”

“Hi,” Louis mutters. He doesn’t let go of Harry’s waist until he’s safely in the hallway, then he drops his hands, but follows right behind Harry all the way to the bathroom. 

“What’re you doing?” Harry asks as Louis steps up the urinal beside him. The sound of Louis peeing answers his question, and Harry giggles, peeking over the divider. 

“Harold!” Louis laughs and covers Harry’s eyes with his hand. 

“Can't see to pee! Can’t see to pee!” Harry yells, words echoing around the tiled bathroom. 

“Stop lookin’ at my junk!” Louis yells back, pushing Harry’s face away and dropping his hand. 

“Wasn’t,” Harry insists. 

“Liar,” Louis steps away from the urinal, and Harry realizes he’s finished too, giggling as he tucks himself into his flannel pajama pants. 

When he turns around, Louis is gone, and Harry pouts the whole way back to his room. 

Harry spends Sunday being hungover. So does everyone else, at least he assumes so because Zayn’s already gone home when he gets up, and Niall is out somewhere, and Louis has to go to work that afternoon which he complains about incessantly, but Harry and Liam do absolutely nothing all day.

On rainy days at school, Harry does what he calls Dream-cess during recess. The kids who want to are allowed to spend that time creating, whether that be by painting or drawing or making collages or journaling or even scrapbooking. Astrid, one of his favorite students, always participates, and her art is incredibly creative. She prefers to make mixed media collages, and the results are never boring. 

Her latest is titled D-I-V-O-R-C-E and is made up of paint, glitter, beads, magazine clippings, coupons, dried leaves, and severed doll parts. It took her three Dream-cess periods to complete, and when it was done, she asked if she could take a picture of it to send to her parents. Of course, Harry said yes, which is why he’s staying after school for a meeting with Astrid’s dad. 

While he waits, he busies himself removing the condoms from the bananas they used during today’s lesson. His trash can resembles one he once saw in a frat house back in college when Astrid’s dad knocks on Harry’s open classroom door. 

“Hi,” Harry says with a grin, rolling a condom off a banana and tossing it in the trash. “You must be Mr. Chapman.”

Mr. Chapman nods, extends his hand, and says, “Mr. Styles, Please call me Russell.”

“Then you’ll have to call me Harry, but don’t let Astrid know or she’ll want to do the same,” Harry says, and the small smile on Russell’s face turns into a frown. Quickly wiping his hands clean, Harry shakes Russell’s waiting hand. “So, you wanted to talk about Astrid’s art?”

“Yeah…” Russell shakes his head as if to clear it, and straightens his tie as he says, “Sorry. I’m a bit jet lagged. Are you wearing a sign that says ‘Mr. Monogamy’?”

“Sex Ed.” Harry looks down at his sign, removing it from his neck. “Also an inside joke with… myself.”

“Okay…”

“Let’s get down to business,” Harry says, crossing the room to the wall where he displays his students’ art. “This is Astrid’s latest piece. Now, she did ask permission before taking her phone out in class. If you were worried.”

“Not about that, no,” Russell says, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Astrid’s not going to be participating in Dream-cess anymore. I hired a tutor, and she’ll be spending that time reviewing the math concepts she’s struggling with.”

“Oh, um…” Harry links his hands in front of him to keep from fidgeting, and asks, “Astrid really enjoys Dream-cess. Did you talk to her about this?”

“No,” Russell says with a scoff. “And I’m not going to. I want her to know how to change a fraction to a decimal before she goes to high school.”

“All the teachers here at Hearst Middle School follow the curriculum, but from Astrid’s grades, I think she’s doing well in math,” Harry says. Astrid’s one of his honor roll students, so there’s no way she doesn’t understand fractions, but he makes a mental note to check in with Astrid’s math teacher.

“My kid’s wearing doll’s heads around her neck, so whatever you’re doing, keep it up,” Russell says with a smirk and a thumbs up as he leaves the room. 

“Hey!” Harry follows him through the door, and when Russell stops and turns, Harry says, “I talk to Astrid every single day. Do you? Because if you want to know what’s going on with her, the way to find out is to spend time with her. Hiring a tutor is not the same thing.”

“I’m not her friend, and I don’t want to be. I’m her father. And I know what’s best for her.” Smirking again as he turns away and starts down the hall, Russell says, “Give my best to Mrs. Monogamy.”

“There is no Mrs. Monogamy,” Harry says, unable to keep the snarky tone out of his voice. 

Harry goes back to cleaning up, and when he’s finished, he grabs his satchel, and heads for the front office. He always stops to chat with the principal after any meeting with a parent, but today went very differently than he expected, and he can only imagine what Tanya’s response will be when Harry tells her about his little chat with Mr. Chapman.

“You have to apologize,” Tanya says the second Harry finishes relaying his conversation with Russell. “He’s one of the largest donors we have.”

“So he donates to the school and we have to do whatever he tells us to?” Harry asks, letting his annoyance with Russell creep in. “I have principles! Integrity! Are you saying I have to push that aside?”

“Yes,” Tanya says, nodding quickly. “I’m glad you understand. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“I’ll raise the money,” Harry insists, standing and pacing in front of Tanya’s desk. “How much does he donate?”

“More than you’ll be able to raise,” Tanya says, crossing her arms. 

Grimacing, Harry says, “Please don’t make me apologize. He’s the worst.”

“I’ll give you until the end of the week, and I’m going to remind you every day,” Tanya says, scribbling on her desk calendar. “But you’re going to go down to his office, say you’re sorry, and tell him you’ll never let your students do anything creative ever again. You make sure he doesn’t pull his donation.”

“Fine,” Harry says, picking up his satchel and swinging it over his shoulder. “But I’m waiting until Friday so you’ll be forced to remind me every day, and I can complain about this every day.”

“As if I expected anything different,” Tanya says, walking around her desk and opening her office door. “Now get out of here. I’ve got to meet with what’s-his-face. The music teacher.”

“Paul?” Harry asks, and when Tanya nods, Harry hurries away. The last thing he wants to happen today is a run in with his ex-boyfriend.

Harry’s mood hasn’t improved at all by the time he gets home. His car is past due for an oil change, and last week it reminded him by turning on the check engine light. He glares at it for most of the drive when he should be paying attention to the road. All he wants to do is put on his pajamas, pour himself a glass of wine, and zone out while he watches Curly Sue.  

No one’s in the living room when he walks into the loft, so Harry goes straight to his room, drops his satchel on his bed, and changes into his blue and green plaid flannel pajamas. 

“Hey, Harry, come talk some sense into Louis,” Liam says as soon as Harry leaves his bedroom. 

“What if I don’t want to?” Harry asks, but he crosses the living room to the kitchen, tossing his Curly Sue DVD on the couch, and takes a seat at the tall table in front of a potted cactus. He points at Louis, and says, “Pour me a glass of rosé.”

“I’m not at work,” Louis says. He opens the fridge and grabs a beer and Harry’s wine, gets a glass from the cabinet, and sets both in front of Harry. “Pour it yourself.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, filling his glass almost to the top. “Now, as we all know, Louis doesn’t have any sense, so what am I talking into?”

“I have sense.” Nudging the cactus pot, Louis says, “Dylan left yesterday for Japan, and this morning, she sent me this.”

“It’s nice,” Harry says because he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say. “Can we talk about my problem first? Because mine’s like a real problem.”

“Sure,” Liam says while Louis sputters into his beer. It doesn’t take long to explain about Russell, and their indignation makes Harry feel better. 

“You shouldn’t have to apologize.” Louis says, shaking his head while he pokes at the cactus. 

“Yeah, man, that’s messed up,” Liam says. “He shouldn’t have a say in what you teach just because he donates money to the school.”

“The thing is, this isn’t even class time,” Harry explains. “It’s basically inside recess.”

“I don’t like this guy,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes. “Rich people. Yuck.”

Liam hums thoughtfully, then says, “I know you don’t want to, but I think you probably should apologize. You know, path of least resistance or whatever. You don’t want to lose your job over this.”

“I don’t think I’d get fired,” Harry says.

“Don’t apologize,” Louis says, nodding firmly. “You go to this dude’s office and you tell him ‘Mr. Fancyman, you’re not the boss of me. You don’t own me. You can’t tell me what to do’ and then leave. Just, like, mic drop, and walk out.”

“Mic drop, and walk out,” Harry repeats, eyes caught on the fading sunlight glinting in Louis’ scruffy beard.

“Okay. That’s settled,” Louis says, turning around and filling a glass with water from the sink. He turns back, dumps the water into the plant pot, and most of it runs over the edge. “She sent me this cactus because she doesn’t think I can take care of a regular plant.”

“Clearly, she’s correct,” Harry says, pulling napkins out of the dispenser on the table and mopping up the water. 

“She’s gonna break up with me,” Louis says, leaning against the kitchen counter, and frowning at the cactus. 

“What makes you think that?” Harry takes a fortifying sip of wine, then another. “Did someone tell you that?”

“Oh!” Liam claps, and points at the cactus. “Did the cactus tell you? Is this a magical cactus?”

“I’m serious!” Louis reaches for the cactus, jerking back when he touches the spines. “She thinks I’m stupid or something. Like, she thinks I won’t be able to take care of a cactus.”

“You just poured water on it,” Harry says, sticking his finger in the water pooled on top of the soil in the plant pot. “I don’t think Dylan is trying to send you messages with a cactus. You’re overthinking it. Stop trying to ruin things with her.”

“You guys don’t get it,” Louis says, picking up the terracotta pot with both hands. “This cactus is a symbol of our relationship, and it’s—”

The clay pot slips from Louis’ grip and crashes to the floor, shattering, and the cactus breaks into three distinct pieces. 

“Shit, man,” Liam says, standing up to look at the mess.

“I can fix it,” Louis says determinedly, squatting down to pick up the pieces of the cactus. “I’m not giving up.”

“This is too much for me today,” Harry says, chugging his wine. He refills the glass, taking it and the bottle with him to the living room where he plans to stay until it’s bedtime. Popping the DVD out of the case, Harry slips it into the player, and sits down with a sigh. “I’m watching Curly Sue if anyone’s interested.”

“Does anybody have a pot?” Louis asks.

“You know I don’t,” Liam says.

“Nope,” Harry says, pressing play.

“Harry, can I borrow some glue?” Louis asks, and Harry looks away from the TV long enough to roll his eyes.

“You can’t fix that pot, Louis,” Harry says, pointing towards the kitchen. “Use a big bowl or something.”

Louis leans over the back of the couch and asks, “What about the cactus?” 

“Are you fucking— No!” Harry tries to hit him with a pillow, but he dodges it. “I can’t help you. You’ve crossed into the unknown. Stay out of my craft supplies.”

“Fine,” Louis says, and Harry watches as he sweeps the cactus parts, soil, and shattered clay into the dustpan, dumps them all into the large mixing bowl, and carries it to the door. “I have to go to work. I’ll fix it there.”

“Bye!” Harry waves, and Louis slams the door behind him. 

Liam hurries over to sit beside Harry, and says, “Curly Sue. Let’s go.”

“Alright,” Harry says, skipping through the previews. “Love this movie.”

“It’s the best,” Liam says, pulling Niall’s cashmere throw off the back of the couch and covering both of their laps. 

Chapter Text

JANUARY STILL

Over the course of the week, Louis’ cactus goes from sadly broken, but probably salvageable, to dead, but still green. Despite Harry’s warning, Louis did sneak into his craft supplies, probably as soon as Harry went to work Tuesday morning, but Harry can’t be sure because Louis has been keeping the plant in his room. Using bamboo skewers, he stuck the broken pieces back on, then he wrapped painter’s tape around connected sections to hold them in place. 

On Friday morning, Harry finds the cactus has been moved to the kitchen, where he scribbles a note to Louis that reads:

Put the poor cactus out of its misery! xoxo Harry

Then Harry spears the note on one of the cactus’ spines, pours himself a cup of coffee, and leaves for school. 

It rains all morning, and even though it stops around lunchtime, the playground is soggy and muddy and the kids aren’t allowed to go outside. So Harry has what is possibly his last Dream-cess, and Astrid has her first tutoring session during recess. As he promised, Harry has put off talking to Russell until today, and Tanya has kept her promise of reminding him every afternoon. Like clockwork, she stops by his classroom at three-thirty to tell him not to forget—as if he could. 

“I’m going, I’m going,” Harry says, even as he drags his feet. 

“I know you hate doing this, but we can't lose his donation, Harry,” Tanya says, throwing her arm around his shoulders. “For what it’s worth, I like your crazy little kiddos with their headless Barbies or whatever it is they do.”

“It’s mixed media art,” Harry says, and Tanya nods.

“Sure it is.” She walks him to the door, and says, “Good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” Harry mutters to himself. He gets behind the wheel of his station wagon, annoyed again the second he cranks it up and the stupid check engine light turns on. On his way to Russell’s office building, Harry’s car starts to make an odd clicking sound, but he ignores it, and calls Louis on speakerphone, wishing he had a fancy Bluetooth connection to his car.

“Harold,” Louis says when he answers. 

“Lou, I need to practice what I’m going to say to Fancyman,” Harry says, turning onto the street that runs in front of Russell’s office building. 

“’Kay,” Louis says, “Shoot.”

“Okay. I’m going to lead off with a quote against Social Darwinism, then I’m going to talk about the Gilded Age, the robber barons, and—”

“What the hell is that noise?” Louis asks, and Harry whines as the engine makes a louder click and what sounds like knocking. “Is that your car?”

“Yes,” Harry says as his engine cuts out, and he tries to pull off the road, but winds up blocking traffic. “Fuck me. My car stalled. Can you come help me push it?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Louis says, and Harry climbs out of the car, walking around back to try and push it himself. “Where are you exactly?”

“Hello, Mr. Monogamy,” Russell says, and Harry jumps at his voice. “Can I help you?”

“What?” Harry turns, attempting to ignore the honking and the growing line of cars. “Oh, um… Hello, Mr. Chapman. What are you… What are you doing here?”

“I was driving to my office,” Russell says, pointing to his office building. “It’s right there. And I saw you.”

“Oh! Oh, um…” Harry sucks his lip into his mouth, and looks at Russell’s building as if seeing it for the first time. “Wow. Had no clue. What a coinkydink.” 

“Do you know what’s wrong with the car?” Russell asks, and Harry tries again to push it by himself.

“No big deal,” Harry says, straining as he pushes and it goes nowhere. “Just going to push it off the road. And maybe to the gas station.”

Russell gets behind the car with Harry, and pushes, then stops, walks around to the driver’s side door, and leans in. “You had it in park.”

“Oh…” When Harry pushes it this time, it rolls, but only a little until Russell joins him, and together they get it out of traffic. “Thank you. You didn’t have to—”

“I know a guy,” Russell says, tapping at his phone screen. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“No, no, no, Mr. Chapman,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I can take care of this myself.”

“It’s Russell,” Russell says, and his phone dings. “Tow truck’s on the way.”

“Look, Russell, that’s very nice of you, but I need my car,” Harry says, and he really does need it. He can’t get around without it, and he can’t borrow Niall’s car because Liam’s always driving it, and Louis’ car is the least reliable vehicle Harry’s ever ridden in. 

“That’s okay,” Russell says, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I understand. You’re a very busy man. So… Let me help you.”

“I…” Harry struggles to find the words to argue because he will probably need to have his car towed anyway, so he might as well let Russell’s guy do it.

“Here.” Dangling his keys out in front of him, Russell says, “Take mine.”

“What?”

“Take my car,” Russell says, placing the keys in Harry’s hand. 

“No… I can’t,” Harry says, and for the first time, he notices the shiny, black Mercedes parked across the street. “I don’t know how to drive a Mercedes.”

“Take it, Harry,” Russell insists, lightly touching Harry’s bicep. “Get your things out of your car. Take mine. You can bring it back tomorrow. Come to my house. I’m having a cookout.”

“Russell, I…” Harry trails off when Russell gets his satchel for him, and gently grips his elbow, guiding Harry across the street to his Mercedes. “I don’t know where you live.”

“You’re on that list of Astrid’s teachers, right? I’ll email you,” Russell says, opening the driver’s door for Harry. When Harry slides behind the wheel, Russell leans down. “Drives just like that Volvo you’ve got, only a little quieter.”

“Oh,” Harry says, turning the ignition and starting the car. It purrs to life, and Harry grins. “Thank you so much, Russell. This is so… lovely of you. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Russell says with a wink. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Harry says quietly, nodding to himself as Russell walks back across the street to wait for the truck to come and tow away Harry’s station wagon. 

“Harry!” Louis shouts, and Harry looks down to see his phone still clutched in his hand, still on speaker. “Harold!”

“I’m here! Hold on. Let me get on the road,” Harry says, carefully setting his phone in Russell’s cup holder. He pulls out into traffic, and loudly asks, “Did you hear that?”

“Yes! Holy shit, that’s fucking crazy,” Louis says, “Can’t believe that rich asshole just gave you his car. You ought to crash it on purpose.”

“No, Louis,” Harry says with a laugh. “In fact, I’m going to hang up now. I can’t focus on talking to you while driving this thing.”

“Traitor!” Louis yells as Harry hangs up. 

“Oh my god…” Harry holds tight to the steering wheel, keeping his hands at ten and two the whole way to the loft.

“Thank you for agreeing to come with me to this thing,” Harry says, holding up two sweater vests for Zayn to see. “Brown and blue stripes or brown and orange diamonds?”

“It’s like you’re talking about a bizarre version of Lucky Charms,” Zayn says, but he points to the striped sweater vest. “That one, but wear something simple under it, okay? No florals today.”

Harry sticks out his tongue, but he puts the orange and brown sweater vest back on the shelf in his closet. “White shirt with blue pinstripes?” 

“Are you wearing those baggy tweed trousers?” Zayn asks, and Harry rolls his eyes, pulling out the white button down shirt.

“They’re not baggy, they’re wide-leg, Mr. Fashion Model,” Harry says, spinning around to show Zayn that the pants are indeed fitted on his ass. “See?”

“Your tiny heiny? Yeah, I see it.” Zayn laughs when Harry throws the shirt and sweater vest at him. “I can’t believe this guy just gave you his Mercedes.”

“Rich people, man,” Harry says, tugging a plain white tank top over his head. He takes the shirt from Zayn’s outstretched hand, and slips his arms into the sleeves. “You know why he did it, right? It’s like a power thing. So he has this weird power over me now, and I have to return the car, and instead of standing up to him like I planned to do, I have to thank him, and like, beg him not to pull his donation.”

“Weren’t you going to do that anyway?”

“No! I had a whole… thing planned,” Harry says, facing his mirror while he buttons his shirt. “It was a very ‘eat the rich’ and ‘fight the power’ type of thing. Louis helped me.”

In the mirror, Harry sees Zayn roll his eyes, but then he pouts slightly, and says, “Have you considered that this guy might like you?”

Still watching his reflection, Harry snorts, and Zayn’s right, it’s not a good look. He turns back around, and grabs his sweater vest. “I really don’t think so. He’s way older than me, for one thing, and for another, I don’t think he’s gay. He was married to a woman.”

“You say that as if you don’t live with three bi men,” Zayn says, blinking slowly. He pulls out his phone, frowning at the screen. “Have you Googled him?”

“Of course not,” Harry says, trying to decide if he wants to tuck in his shirt. “It doesn’t matter if he’s gay or bi or whatever he might be because I’m not interested in him. He lives in a mansion, for fuck’s sake. He owns more than one car. That building where his office is? It’s his building.”

“He’s gay,” Zayn says, holding up his phone for Harry to see. “There’s a whole interview with him in some business mag where he talks about his later in life sexuality crisis. Blah, blah, blah, his ex-wife was so supportive, he always thought of himself as an ally, and so on.”

“It doesn’t matter, Z, he’s too together, too polished,” Harry says, finally deciding to leave his shirt untucked. “I like a man who’s a work-in-progress. You know me.”

“I do know you, which is why I know you’re not going to like this, but I’m going to say it anyway,” Zayn says, leaning back on Harry’s bed to rest on his elbows. “It’s not that you don’t like Russell, it’s that he intimidates you, because if you guys got together, you wouldn’t have to take care of him. He’d take care of you.”

“Nuh-uh,” Harry says, sounding exactly like a two-year-old as he sits down to put on his boots.

“Yuh-huh,” Zayn says, lowering his voice to mimic Harry. “Who’s a big scaredy cat? You are.”

“You know what?” Harry zips up his boots, stands, and says, “You’re uninvited.”

Zayn falls back on Harry’s bed. “Whatever.” 

“Louis!” Harry shouts, crossing the hall and banging on Louis’ bedroom door. “Louis Tomlinson!”

The door swings open, and Louis rests his hand against the wall, leaning in. “You bellowed?”

“I need you to come to Fancyman’s cookout with me,” Harry says, ducking under Louis’ arm, and trying not to let his shock show on his face when he sees the cactus on the windowsill. It’s very obviously dead, and also very obviously painted green. 

“I thought Zayn was going with you,” Louis says, following Harry over to his closet. “What are you doing?” 

“Zayn’s lost his mind,” Harry says, finding a clean flannel in Louis’ closet. “He wants me to date this guy.”

“Ew. No way,” Louis says, yanking off his t-shirt and pushing down his sweatpants so he’s standing there in nothing but a pair of briefs. He takes the flannel shirt from Harry’s hand, and puts it on, leaving it unbuttoned while he bends over and digs through the pile of laundry at the foot of his bed. 

Quickly averting his gaze, Harry finds himself staring at the cactus, cheeks still warming from the brief glance at Louis’ bum in the air. “I’m going to need your hatred of rich people like a crutch today, okay?”

“You got it,” Louis says.

Harry studies the cactus, and asks, “Did you use my paint on your cactus?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis says, and when Harry turns, Louis has one leg in a pair of faded jeans. “Dylan comes back tomorrow. When she left, she said she’d text when she got in, but ugh… I got drunk and left her so many messages.”

“Sorry, man,” Harry says. He gets down on the floor and fishes Louis’ brown leather lace up boots from under his bed. “Wear these.”

“Fancy boots for the Fancyman?” Louis zips up his jeans, and plops down on the bed to put on his shoes. 

“You wear those to work, they’re not fancy. They probably smell like beer,” Harry says as he gets up off the floor and sits beside Louis, discreetly sniffing to check if he’s showered today. 

“Did you just sniff me?” Louis frowns, tying his laces, and standing up. “I’m clean. This shirt’s clean.”

“Just making sure.” Harry takes a deep breath, blowing it out, and hiding his face in his hands. “I really don’t want to apologize to Fancyman.”

“So don’t,” Louis says. He lays a hand between Harry’s shoulder blades, and rubs circles over his back. “Give him the speech you planned.”

Harry sighs heavily, and says, “Maybe. Thanks for coming with me.”

“There’s free booze, right?” Louis asks, and Harry laughs. 

“Yeah, his email invite said there’d be a bar,” Harry says, getting to his feet and stretching his back. “I’ll drive us home later.”

“Good man,” Louis says, standing and following Harry out of the room. 

Zayn’s gone, so Harry texts him a kiss emoji to be sure there are no hard feelings, but when he and Louis get downstairs, Zayn’s car is parked on the street. Maybe he was in the bathroom, and Harry just missed him. 

“You want the address?” Harry asks, ready to text Russell’s address to Louis.

“Yeah,” Louis says, heading the opposite way down the sidewalk. “I’d follow you, but I’m parked like two streets over.”

“I’ll wait for you!” Harry shouts after him, and Louis turns, walking backwards and giving Harry two thumbs up.

Russell’s neighborhood is ridiculously swanky, and Harry cringes as he approaches the gate. Along with the address, Harry texted Louis the gate code, but he still hesitates before entering, worried that Louis will wind up screaming at the gate instead of simply pressing the buttons in the correct order. His worry is for nothing, because Louis is already there, parked on the street outside Russell’s house and waiting for Harry. 

“How’d you get here before me?” Harry asks, and Louis shrugs. “Russell said to pull into the driveway, so follow me, and park where we can leave fast.”

“Yes, my liege,” Louis says with a bow, getting back in his car. 

Harry parks beside another black Mercedes, and Louis swings around to back his car into a space closer to the road. He jogs up the driveway to join Harry, and they walk to Russell’s front door together. When Harry rings the bell, a man dressed in black trousers, a white tuxedo shirt, and a black vest opens the door, and welcomes them inside.

“Hi, I’m Harry,” Harry says, offering his hand, which the man takes with a smile. 

“Hello, Harry. You may call me Elijah,” the man says, shaking Harry’s hand. “Go through this room, down the hall, and you’ll find Mr. Chapman outside by his barbecue grill.”

Louis waves at Elijah, gives him a thumbs up, and says, “We are the ninety-nine percent.”

“Yes, sir,” Elijah says, and Harry has to hold his hand to his mouth to keep his giggles in check. 

They wander through the entryway, down the hall, and Louis hums to himself the whole way. When the hall opens into the kitchen, Louis scoffs, and says, “Ugh… Look at this place. Extravagant. Who needs two sinks?”

They haven’t seen another soul inside the house, but through the French doors is a wide stretch of lawn, and there are people everywhere. “I guess everyone’s outside.”

“Look at this place, Harold,” Louis says, opening one of two wall ovens. He goes up on his toes to tap one of the pendant lights. “Probably made of blood diamonds.”

Harry slides his hand over the smooth marble countertop, and picks up a grape from a fruit tray sitting on a rolling cart. “Ostentatious.”

“These bar stools are leather,” Louis says, pulling one away from the breakfast bar, and spinning it around. He narrows his eyes, and bends down, pressing his nose to the seat. “Human skin.”

“Or Russell sits there naked,” Harry suggests, and Louis groans. 

“Why would you say that to me?” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s arm and guiding him away from the glass doors that lead outside. He steers him through another door instead, and they stop just inside what appears to be Russell’s home office. “Whoa.”

“What?” Harry turns to look at him, and Louis is staring at Russell’s desk, scratching the scruff on his jaw. 

“I feel weird,” Louis says, holding a hand flat to his stomach. “Something’s, like, coming over me.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks as Louis walks around the back of Russell’s desk, and caresses his leather chair. “What are you doing?”

“I want to sit here, and like, do business, Harold,” Louis says, lowering himself into the chair. “Oh my god. It’s so comfortable on my ass.”

“Louis, stop it,” Harry says, checking behind him to be sure they’re still alone. “That’s not your desk.”

“Harold…” Louis links his hands behind his head, leaning back in the chair. “This is better than sex.”

“Impossible,” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You must be really awful in bed.”

“You’re the one who tried to choke your ex-boyfriend,” Louis reminds him, slowly spinning around in Russell’s chair. 

“You’re the one comparing sex to sitting in someone else’s chair made of human skin,” Harry says, and Louis flips him off with both hands. “Louis, you’re supposed to help me, not try to move in.”

“I know! I just… can’t stop,” Louis says, picking up a newsboy cap from Russell’s desk and putting it on. He pushes the chair back slightly, and kicks up his feet on the desk with a quiet moan. 

“I’m going to go find Russell,” Harry says, leaving Louis in the office. He goes back through the kitchen to the French doors, and steps outside, wishing he’d tucked in his shirt. 

The backyard is opulent and almost too green. Instead of wood or concrete or some other normal material, the steps are grass, like his lawn is a tiered cake. Looking past that and over the heads of all of the guests, Harry spots Russell standing in front of the grill, which is set up beside an actual bar with an actual bartender behind it. 

Harry takes a steadying breath, and makes his way across the yard, stopping a few feet away from Russell. “Hello, Russell.”

“Harry, hey,” Russell says, smiling as he turns to face Harry. “I’m glad you came.”

“Well, um… Your car’s out front next to its twin, so…”

“Oh! The mechanic called, and your car’s ready whenever you are,” Russell says with a crooked grin. “Something about changing your oil more regularly?”

“Yeah, I know. And, um… Thank you.” Harry nods to himself, then before he can change his mind, he says, “Listen, um… I know you’re a really big donor at the school. And I think—”

“You think I’m a snob,” Russell interrupts.

“No, actually,” Harry says as he realizes he doesn’t think that about Russell, at least not anymore. “I have nothing against people who own multiple Mercedes Benz… ezes… ez.”

Russell grins, and says, “Look, Harry, I won’t lie. I do have a lot of money. I’ve worked hard for it, and I like to spend it, especially on the people I care about.”

“Oh, um…” Harry searches his mind for the rest of his speech, trying to get back on topic, but a woman walks up, and takes Russell by the arm.

“Russell, come tell Sasha about that time you delivered that baby,” she says, as she pulls Russell away. 

“A baby?” Harry asks, mouth falling open.

Russell laughs, and says, “It was twins, actually. Two babies. Be right back!”

Feeling out of place standing by the grill alone, Harry heads back towards the house, looking around for Louis as he walks across the lawn. He doesn’t see him outside, and when Harry goes back inside, he finds himself in a different room. Apparently there’s more than one set of French doors leading to Russell’s backyard, and these open into a bedroom, which Harry hurries through. He steps into another hallway, peeking in each room he passes until he finds a bathroom, where he locks the door and leans back against it. 

“This place is too fancy, this man is too fancy, this bathroom is too fancy,” Harry chants to himself. He crosses the large bathroom to the toilet because while he’s there, he might as well, and then he fiddles with the sink for a little while, opening and closing all of the drawers and cabinets. 

Harry turns on the water in the walk-in shower to test the pressure, then turns it off, and goes over to the window to look outside. The bathroom window faces the backyard, but Harry doesn’t see Russell or Louis, so he closes the blinds. Beside the toilet is what looks like a speaker, and Harry presses a few buttons, curious if it’s an intercom or a stereo or something else. The speaker beeps, and water sprays out of the toilet.

“Oh my god, a bidet!” Harry slams the toilet lid shut, or attempts to, because it reopens itself, shooting water in his face. “Shit!”

Water streams out of the bidet in short bursts, and nothing Harry does makes it stop. He pushes a different button, then another, and another, hoping to get lucky and find the one that stops this madness, but all that happens is his sweater vest gets completely soaked. 

“Harry?” Russell’s voice comes from the hallway outside the bathroom, and Harry freezes in place. “What’s wrong?”

“No, no, no!” Harry slams his hand against the buttons, and the bidet shoots him right in the eye. 

“Harry! I’m coming in!” Russell calls through the door, and a moment later, the door opens. “What happened?”

Harry holds his hands up to stop the bidet from spraying his face again, and Russell slips between Harry and the wall, pressing the button in the corner. Nothing happens, and Harry says, “I just pushed some buttons?”

“Okay, I can probably stop it,” Russell says, standing in front of Harry and blocking the stream of water with his body. 

Humiliated, dripping wet, and sure he’s probably going to somehow lose his job anyway, Harry cracks. 

“Russell, listen. I need to tell you that I’m not sorry about what I said during our meeting at school.” Harry steps closer, speaking quickly to get it all out. “I think Astrid’s a great kid. She’s smart and creative and talented and she’s twelve, Russell. Also, she does understand fractions.” Wiping his face with his shaking hands, Harry says, “And I don’t care if you pull your donation, I’m not apologizing for standing up for myself and my students.”

“I’m not going to pull my donation,” Russell says, turning his back on the bidet. “I wouldn’t do that. Why would you think that?”

Just when Harry starts to explain, Russell shifts slightly to the side and the bidet shoots water into Harry’s face again, taking his last bit of dignity with it. He does the only thing he can think to do, and runs out of the room, ignoring Russell’s voice calling his name. 

Harry sprints down the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief when he finds the kitchen. He ducks into the office where Louis has moved from the desk chair to the leather couch by the fireplace, and Louis hops up. 

“Holy shit, Harold! What happened?”

“We have to leave,” Harry says, taking Louis’ hand and dragging him through the house to the front door, past Elijah, and outside. 

“Why are we leaving? What happened? Why are you wet?” Louis grabs Harry’s arm, pulling him to a stop in the driveway. “Did you get in his pool? Wait. Did you take a bath in his tub because you wondered what it’d feel like to be him? Because honestly, I get that.”

“No, we’re leaving because we don’t fit in here, Louis,” Harry says, turning to face the house. “Look at this place. It’s bigger than our apartment building. It’s insane.”

“Listen, Harold,” Louis says softly, rubbing his hands over Harry’s arms. “I know I talk a lot of shit, and I know I’ve talked a lot of shit about Fancyman specifically, but I don’t think we should leave.”

“We’re leaving, Lewis,” Harry says, pulling out of his grip. 

“No, wait.” Grabbing Harry again, Louis turns Harry towards him, takes his face in both hands, squishes his cheeks, and says, “Russell likes you. I can tell. And I think you’d be stupid not to give him a chance. It could be good for you. And I’m not saying that because I’m in love with him. Even though I am.”

Harry laughs and smacks Louis’ chest, leaning down to rest his forehead on Louis’ shoulder. “Wait a minute. Where’d you get this sweater?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis says, patting Harry’s back. “Get back in there. Don’t let all those weirdos in suits intimidate you. Who wears a suit to a cookout?”

“Alright, I’m going,” Harry says, taking a step back and trying to wring some of the water from his sweater vest. “Don’t leave me here. But also, don’t wander off. I don’t want to lose you in this place. It’s like the minotaur's maze.”

Louis pulls his phone from his pocket, and holds it up for Harry to see as he turns on the ringer. “Just for you. I’m reachable.”

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry says, checking his own phone to be sure it’s dry. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck,” Louis says, and Harry goes back inside. 

As he walks through the house again, Harry silently tells himself he can do this. He can talk to Russell like equals. He can hold a conversation with a man who probably has all of his bills on autopay. He can do this. Harry steps out into the backyard as the sun begins to set, and before he can start towards Russell, Russell hurries towards him.

“There you are, Harry,” Russell says, seeming relieved. “I was looking for you.”

“Hi, um…” Harry clears his throat. He can do this. “Listen, um… I think I’m intimidated by you. You’re a little scary. I mean, you’ve got all this money and this house and everything, and I’m not used to dealing with people who have it all together like that.”

“Oh, I’m far from together,” Russell says, laughing and shaking his head. “You know Astrid. She communicates through eyerolls. Puberty is possibly literally killing me. I have to Google half the stuff she says to understand it.”

“She’s a good kid,” Harry reassures him, though it’s nice to know he’s not as together as it seems. “You’re doing a great job raising her.”

“Thanks,” Russell says, and the half-smile he tends to favor morphs into a full one. “Harry, will you go to dinner with me?”

Surprised at the invitation, Harry grins, and says, “Yes.”

“Great. That’s great,” Russell says, and Harry pats his pocket, checking for his phone.

“Should I text you or…”

“No, I’ll call you, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Harry says, tugging on the hem of his wet sweater vest. “But, um… I’m going to go home now. I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Definitely,” Russell says, and Harry turns to head back towards the house, tripping and falling face first into a koi pond. “Harry!”

Hands slipping on the slick bottom of the pond, Harry flails as he tries to find something to hold onto. In the distance, he can hear Louis shout, “Harold! I’ll save you!” 

He has to get up and out of the water before Louis winds up in the koi pond with him. Finally, Harry’s able to stand, and with Russell’s assistance, Harry climbs out of the pond just as Louis sprints across the lawn towards him, sweater in hand. 

“Are you alright?” Russell asks, and Harry nods.

“I’m fine. Promise,” Harry says, looking down at his sopping wet clothes. “But I’m leaving now before I fall in your pool or something.”

“We’re leaving?” Louis asks, skidding to a stop beside Harry. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” Harry says, linking arms with Louis as they walk away, just in case. “If I fall, I’m taking you down with me.”

“Same.” Louis drapes his sweater over his shoulder, holding the door for Harry, but Harry drags him through, arms still looped together.

When they get to Louis’ car, Harry takes off his sweater vest and wrings it out. It’s so wet it’s preventing the rest of him from drying, and he feels better without it. 

“Harold, take off your shirt, you doofus,” Louis says, tossing his sweater at Harry. “Put that on.”

“Where’d this come from?” Harry asks again, and this time Louis laughs, waiting until they’re out of the neighborhood before he tells Harry. “You took Russell’s sweater?”

“He gave it to me,” Louis insists, glancing over. “Did I tell you my friend Dirk’s coming to LA next week?”

“Dirk?” Harry rubs his hands over his arms, and says, “It’s so soft. I bet it’s Merino.”

“Woven from the hairs of babies,” Louis says, reaching over and petting the sweater on Harry’s chest. 

“So Dylan’s coming back from Japan, and Dirk is coming to visit?” Harry asks, circling his fingers around Louis’ wrist and pushing his hand away. 

“Dirk will actually be here for work. He’s giving a lecture on poetry or something,” Louis says, sneaking his hand around to pet the back of Harry’s shoulder. “You have to give this back to me. It’s the nicest thing I own.”

“Because it’s not yours,” Harry says, but he lets Louis continue to touch the sweater. “So… You really think I should give things a chance with Russell? ’Cause he asked me out to dinner.”

“Oh my god, yes. Order the lobster, then he’ll definitely want to fuck you,” Louis says, and Harry snorts, throwing his head back. “I’m serious, man. You need to marry him. Have babies with him so I can be their uncle.”

“You wouldn’t be their uncle, Lewis.” Which is apparently the wrong thing to say because they argue about it the whole way home.

Russell calls on Sunday to arrange their date for the following Friday night. It’s cute because he has to email Harry to ask for his phone number, then he calls as soon as Harry sends it to him. They agree to meet up at the restaurant, and Harry decides right away to take a cab so he doesn’t have to worry about driving, parking, or how much he drinks. 

Russell also tells him that the mechanic who fixed Harry’s car is a friend of his, and that he only charged him for parts, which Harry doesn’t quite believe, but he’s also not about to argue. He isn’t exactly swimming in spare cash, and if some rich guy wants to pay to fix his car, Harry’s actually willing to put out in exchange, if that’s what it comes down to. 

Harry spends the whole day in a good mood. He does his chores with a smile, and dips out of the loft to do a little solo shopping late that afternoon. There isn’t anything he really needs, but it’s always fun to pick up a velvet painting or a vintage tee, and today he finds both, plus the very thing he didn’t know he was looking for. 

No one’s around when he gets back to the loft, so he stows his purchases away, and texts Zayn, who shockingly responds within seconds, and also shockingly agrees to come over with clothes for Harry to try on for his date next weekend.

“This week is going to be crazy busy for me, so I’m glad you asked today,” Zayn says as he finishes emptying the two large tote bags on Harry’s bed. 

Picking through the clothes, looking for something to catch his eye, Harry says, “You’ve been busy all the time lately. Are you going to be able to do that 10K with me?” 

“I know, I’m sorry. And I have to leave at six, but I can come over Saturday morning for a first date debrief, and I promise I’m doing the 10K with you,” Zayn says. He pulls out a cream silk top, and tosses it to Harry. “Try this on.”

Harry steps past the sliding metal door to his closet, and takes off his t-shirt, slipping his arms into the cool silk sleeves. The top is patterned with barely there roses and wraps around his waist. “This is beautiful.”

“Here,” Zayn says, getting off the bed, and bringing Harry a pair of blue-grey trousers. “These were a little long on me, and you know I don’t like a high waist like you do.”

The doorbell rings, and Harry whispers, “It’s probably Dylan. We might need noise-canceling headphones.”

“If they get loud, we can leave,” Zayn says, and Harry laughs quietly, kicking off his sweatpants. He steps into the trousers, and Zayn shows him how to fasten the wrap shirt, keeping it from bunching up at the waist when it’s tucked into his pants. 

From where they are in the closet, Harry can’t see into the hallway, but he can hear Liam answer the door and greet Dylan, so he’s prepared for Louis’ door to slam, and for the moans and grunts and whines to start up. 

He’s not prepared for Louis to laugh, and announce, “So, I was right about the cactus!”

“Oh, shit,” Harry says, tripping over his discarded clothes to get to the closet door in time to watch Dylan leave. “Oh my god.”

“Does that mean she broke up with him?” Zayn asks. 

Untangling himself from the clothes on the floor, Harry says, “I think so.”

“Are you going to go talk to him?” Zayn asks, smoothing the back of Harry’s new silk shirt. 

“Yeah…” Harry undoes the trousers, stepping out of them, and handing them to Zayn while he hangs up the silk shirt. “Do you think I should leave him alone?”

“You know him better than I do,” Zayn says with a shrug. He hangs the blue trousers beside the shirt, and waves a hand at the pile of clothes on Harry’s bed. “Keep what you want. Donate the rest. But, um, I’m gonna go. It’s almost six anyway, and I think Louis probably needs you.”

“Alright,” Harry says, pulling on his sweats. He kisses Zayn’s cheek, and crosses the hall to Louis’ room, knocking on the door which isn’t fully closed. 

“What?” Louis groans, and Harry pushes the door open to find him lying on the bed in nothing but his sweatpants, cradling the dead cactus.

“Hey,” Harry says softly. “Can I come in?”

Louis rolls onto his back, and says, “Dylan dumped me.”

“I heard,” Harry says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Can’t believe you were right about the cactus.”

“I know what I know.” Louis pouts when Harry tries to take the cactus away, but he lets him move it to the bedside table. 

“You have a cactus needle stuck in your face,” Harry says, and Louis’ eyes widen. “Do you not feel it?”

“Get it?” Louis holds very still, and Harry plucks the needle from his forehead. 

“You want a hug?” Harry asks, holding his arms out. 

“Will you lay with me?” Louis scoots over to make room for Harry on the bed, and says, “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“You got it, Lou,” Harry says, stretching out beside him. “You want to talk?”

“Kind of just want to lay here,” Louis says, patting the mattress between them until he finds Harry’s hand, then he laces their fingers together. “I’ll let you know.”

“Alright.” Harry gives Louis’ hand a squeeze, smiling when Louis squeezes back, ready to lay there for as long as it takes for Louis to be okay.

Harry dozes off. His ability to go to sleep in seconds is a blessing and a curse, unlike the loft’s proximity to the elevator. He loves falling asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, or being able to nap whenever and wherever he wants, but sometimes it means he’s woken up by Louis pinching his nose shut and holding his mouth closed. 

“You were snoring,” Louis says, releasing his grip on Harry’s jaw so he can open his mouth. 

“I don't snore,” Harry lies, and it comes out weird and nasally. He shoves Louis’ hand away from his nose, and asks, “Was I out long?”

Looking down at Harry with tired eyes, Louis shakes his head, then nods. “I think I fell asleep too. I didn’t get much rest last night. Too stressed about Dylan.”

“I’m sorry, Lou,” Harry says, reaching up to gently cup Louis’ cheek. “I should’ve taken you seriously about the cactus.”

“I know I sounded like a crazy person,” Louis says, and Harry scratches Louis’ scruffy jaw, then pinches his nose, but Louis ignores it and keeps talking. “I think I knew it wasn’t going to last. She works, like, all the time. And when she wasn’t working, I was working.”

Letting go of Louis’ nose, Harry boops it, then says, “She was your first relationship since Cash.”

“Yeah…” Louis lays back down, and Harry rolls onto his side. 

“Do you think next time you date someone, you could make sure they like desserts?” Harry asks, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“I’ll try,” Louis says.

“I was out shopping earlier, and I bought you something,” Harry says, and Louis gives Harry the first genuine smile he’s seen from him all day. “I’ll be right back.”

It only takes a few seconds for Harry to run across the hall and back, then he sits on Louis’ bed, and holds up two tiny plant pots, one in each hand. 

“I got you these,” Harry says, and when Louis frowns, Harry sets the plants on his bedside table and smacks Louis’ bare chest. “I got you a real plant.”

“I’m a plant murderer. I’ll kill it,” Louis whispers, and Harry grins. 

“I know,” Harry says, reaching over and tapping the other plant pot. “This one’s artificial. You might murder the real plant, but that’s okay. Some people are bad with plants! Sometimes because they’re lazy and don’t take care of them, but sometimes it’s because they care too much, and maybe they overwater them or give them too much sunlight. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Maybe those people aren’t meant to have plants.”

“Looks real,” Louis says, pointing at the plants. He sighs and covers his face with his hands. “I told her I was better with babies than plants.”

“You brought up babies?” Harry pokes him hard in the belly button. 

“Low point,” Louis says, yawning as he runs his hands over his bare arms. 

“You cold?” Harry asks, standing up and gathering Louis’ comforter off the floor. He shakes it out, and drapes it over Louis, who pulls it up to his chin. “I’m going to go sort through all these clothes Zayn gave me, but I’ll leave my door open. Yell if you need anything.”

“Turn off the light?” Louis asks, rolling onto his side and cuddling a pillow to his chest. 

Harry nods, flipping the switch, and closing Louis’ door behind him. 

“Harold!” Louis shouts before Harry lets go of the doorknob. 

Swinging open the door, Harry sticks his head back in. “Yes, Lewis?”

“Thank you,” Louis says softly, yawning again and closing his eyes. 

“Welcome, Lou.” Harry starts to close the door again, but stops, and says, “Hey, um… When I’m done with these clothes, I’m going to make some ramen and watch When Harry Met Sally. Want me to come get you?”

All he gets in response is a quiet snore, and Harry smiles, huffing a laugh as he shuts the door. 

Chapter Text

JANUARY AGAIN STILL

The wait for Harry's date with Russell is terrible. He’s not much of a texter, so Harry spends the week not talking to him at all, which isn’t good for his anxiety. By the time Friday comes, Harry’s run through a million possible conversations in his mind. When he gets home after school on Friday, he showers, and shaves, and trims, and lotions until he’s pink all over and hopefully smells like someone Russell wants to take home and devour. Since he’s taking a Lyft, he doesn’t pack a change of clothes, but he does make sure to charge his phone, and bring some cash, just in case he needs it. 

“Nervous?” Liam asks when Harry downs a glass of rosé, pacing in the kitchen before his date. 

“So, so, so nervous,” Harry says, shaking his hands out to his sides. He combs his fingers through his hair, and peeks out of the window to the street below. 

“From what Louis said, this guy’s super into you,” Liam says, sidling up to Harry at the window. “Try not to worry about it.”

“We’re eating at Olivetta in West Hollywood,” Harry says, and Liam whistles. 

“Damn, man, get some.” 

Harry chuckles, and says, “That’s the plan.”

“Got condoms?” Liam asks, and Harry laughs louder. 

“I have so many condoms,” Harry says, pulling a few out of each pocket. “We had sex ed. at school last week.”

“I doubt you’ll need that many, but I’m glad you’re prepared,” Liam says, plucking one out of Harry’s hand. “I’ll take that. What time is your reservation?”

“Eight.” Harry checks the time on his phone, and says, “I should go. With luck, I won’t see you until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Have a good time, man.” Liam claps him on the shoulder, and Harry slips his condoms back into his pockets along with his phone. 

“Thanks, Li,” Harry says. He grabs his coat off the back of the couch, and as he walks out the door, he calls, “Don’t wait up!”

Because he’s early, Harry takes the Lyft to the coffee shop on the other side of Melrose, and stops in to buy a bag of their house blend for the loft. He walks down the street to the restaurant, smiling as he ducks through the arched turquoise doorway to the patio and climbs the steps to the entrance. Inside, the dark teal walls and warm lighting welcome him to the restaurant, and he nods at the woman behind the host stand. 

“Hello, I’m meeting—” Harry stops and grins when he sees Russell crossing the room towards him. “There he is.”

The hostess’ eyes light up as Russell approaches, and she says, “Mr. Chapman.”

“Harry. Hi,” Russell says, joining him in front of the host stand. “Valentina, if you’ll show us to our table.”

“Right this way, sirs,” Valentina says, leading them through the lounge to the dining room, where they’re seated in the corner at a round table with a gorgeous, curved leather and velvet green couch large enough for at least four people. It’s the nicest restaurant Harry’s ever been in, and he’s incredibly thankful that Zayn gave him these clothes, so at least he doesn’t feel out of place. 

Before Valentina can step away from the table, Russell holds up a hand, then asks Harry, “Would you like wine?”

Harry scrunches his nose, and quietly says, “Something pink?”

Russell turns to Valentina, and says, “The Ruinart Maison Rosé. Thank you, Valentina.”

“Thank you,” Harry says with a smile at Valentina, and she nods, then walks away. “This place is beautiful.”

“The wallpaper is very… big,” Russell says, and Harry snorts. 

“I like it.” Gently, Harry touches the massive flower on the wall beside him. 

“Well, you look wonderful sitting in front of it,” Russell says, and Harry melts a little into the velvet seat. 

“Thank you, Russell,” Harry says softly.

“Did you do a little shopping?” Russell asks, pointing to Harry’s bag.

“Just some coffee,” Harry says, “We’re almost out at home, so…”

The date is amazing. Russell is sweet and kind, and Harry pretends not to see the prices of the dishes. The entire meal is delicious. They share dessert, though Harry eats most of the blackberry upside down cake, and when they leave, Harry’s pleased to see that Russell adds an additional tip on top of the included twenty percent gratuity. It’s a date that can only be improved by one thing. 

They step outside together, and Harry slips his coat on. The late January night isn’t cold, but there’s a chill in the air. Russell rests his hand on Harry’s back, guiding him down the steps and out to the sidewalk, where they stand side by side, waiting for Russell’s car because, of course, he left it with the valet. 

“This was… lovely,” Harry says, hands linked behind his back. “I don’t get to go on many real dates.”

“Really?” Russell asks, but he doesn’t pry.

“Most guys sort of want to skip the date, and go straight to the, um…” Harry clears his throat, and says, “The after party.” Russell hums, but doesn’t say anything, and Harry needs to fill the silence. “I don’t always go to the after party. Not usually, anyway. It’s a—”

“Mercedes sedan,” the valet says, handing Russell his keys. 

“Thank you,” Russell says, slipping the man a tip. He turns to Harry, moves slightly closer, and Harry swallows, sure this is the moment he’s been waiting for. He smiles, expecting the offer of a ride home which will turn into an invitation to go back to Russell’s house for coffee which isn’t really an invitation for coffee, but for sex. Russell leans in, wraps his arms around Harry, and hugs him, patting his back. He steps away, and says, “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night,” Harry says, and Russell gets into his car and drives away, leaving Harry standing alone and confused on the sidewalk.

The next morning, Harry gets up and goes to the bathroom to pee, but turns around when he sees Louis’ friend Dirk standing in front of one of the urinals with his pants around his ankles. He can hold it until later. 

“Not a fan of Dirk,” Harry says when he walks into the kitchen and Niall, Liam, and Louis are all sitting at the tall table. “Dude has his pants completely off à la Porky Pig while he’s peeing.”

“Classic Dirk,” Louis says, taking a sip of coffee. “He’s like, the smartest guy I know. We were in law school together.”

“He’s a lawyer?” Harry asks because he gets the feeling Dirk is not a lawyer, and Niall laughs. 

“Nope.” Louis gets up from his stool, meeting Harry by the coffee pot, and holding his cup out for Harry to refill it. “He’s got a law degree, a business degree, and a masters in agriculture. And now he’s getting his PhD in poetry. That’s partly why he’s here. He’s giving a lecture.”

“Oh, good. So he won’t be here,” Harry says, making his own coffee before pouring any in Louis’ cup.

“How was your date with Fancyman?” Louis asks, leaning against the counter beside Harry. “Noticed you came home kind of early.”

“It was actually an amazing date, just, um… went a little off at the end,” Harry says, and sighs because now he has to explain. “I kind of sort of maybe told him in a roundabout way that I’ve been giving away the milk for free, if you know what I mean.”

Louis tips his head to the side, and a little furrow appears between his eyebrows. Liam and Niall both turn to look at him with similar expressions, and Harry whines, setting his coffee down so he can have a proper fuss about it. 

When Harry finishes stomping his feet, Louis says, “You told him you’ve what?”

“Just that I don’t usually get to go on nice dates like that,” Harry says, hoping they won’t ask for more.

“And?” Liam asks, raising his eyebrows. 

“And that guys tend to want to skip ahead to dessert, okay? I don’t even know why I said that. It’s not like I’ve been on any dates recently.” Harry rolls his eyes, and at least Niall seems to understand because he chuckles into his coffee cup. “Anyway. The worst part was, while I was waiting for him to invite me back to his place, he was waiting for the valet to bring his car. He hugged me, including a solid pat on the back, and then he left.”

“Ooh…” Niall gives a sad little head shake, and says, “A pat on the back.”

“Right? It was terrible,” Harry says, and Louis reaches over and firmly pats him on the back. 

“He was probably just nervous,” Louis says, and Harry stomps his foot again.

“No way. He’s like, the least nervous of people. I don’t think he ever gets nervous. I told you he delivered twins in the back of a taxi,” Harry says. He turns to Liam, and asks, “What do you think, Li?”

“I think…” Liam’s phone rings, and he answers it, smiling as he stands up and walks away with Louis and Niall meowing and cracking invisible whips at him. 

Clearly, they’re not going to be any help, so Harry takes his coffee, and as he backs out of the kitchen, he says, “You guys are the worst. I need Zayn to help me. Thank god he’s on his way.” 

Before Harry can turn around, he bumps right into Dirk, who leans in close, and recites a few lines of poetry that make Harry’s insides squirm, but not in a good way. Dirk licks his lips, and says, “Come to my lecture tonight.”

“It’s Saturday,” Harry says, narrowing his eyes. 

“I’m a special guest lecturer,” Dirk says, and Harry shivers. “Come. Listen to my poetry. Be my muse.”

“Absolutely not,” Harry says, slipping past Dirk. 

“Hey, guys?” Zayn calls, walking around the corner. “Somebody left your door open.”

“Somebody left your face beautiful,” Dirk says. 

Zayn cringes, and turns to Harry. “Who the hell is that?”

“Louis’ friend Dirk,” Harry says. 

“Sorry, Dirk,” Zayn says. “I’m seeing somebody.”

“Does he make you happy?” Dirk asks, and it’s not a bad question considering Zayn’s history.

“He does what he’s told,” Zayn says.

“So you're the boss and he's your secretary?” Dirk asks, slinking into the kitchen. “Or your sex-cretary?”

Zayn scoffs, and says, “I am definitely the boss.”

Louis laughs, and says, “Sex-cretary. Nice.”

Niall huffs, picking up his laptop, and disappearing into his bedroom. 

“Ugh…” Harry grabs Zayn’s hand, and leads him to his bedroom. “I need your advice.”

For the second time that morning, Harry relays the story of his date with Russell, making his bed while he does it so he doesn’t have to look at Zayn during the uncomfortable parts. When he’s finished, Zayn hums, then says, “A pat or a rub? Like, a caress?”

“A pat,” Harry says, “Definitely a pat. What should I do? Because other than that, it was a great date. And I really want to see him again.”

“Then call him,” Zayn says as if it’s that simple.

“I can’t,” Harry whines, picking up a pillow and fluffing it. “He’s, like, so sophisticated, and… He has a hot air balloon in a hangar in Palm Springs.”

“Look, my polished little pearl,” Zayn says, and Harry stops messing with his pillows, sitting down beside him on the edge of the bed. “You’re sophisticated. Just call him. Ask him to dinner.”

“You’re right.” Harry nods, pulling out his phone. “I’m going to call him and ask him to dinner. Tonight.”

Russell says yes, which is such a relief that Harry forgets he needs to make a reservation, and first, find a restaurant willing to take one last minute on a Saturday night. His problems are solved when Russell calls him and asks if it’s alright for them to eat at Nobu in Malibu because he’s friends with the chef, and he’s been promising to come in. 

When Louis leaves with Dirk for his lecture, Niall’s been gone since the early afternoon, and Zayn left not long after Harry first called Russell. He stuck around long enough to help Harry figure out his outfit for the night: a purple shirt with a lace overlay, and his favorite black trousers for luck. 

This time, Harry takes the Lyft straight to the restaurant—an hour away—where Russell is waiting. The beginning of the date goes well, but Harry keeps trying to ask about the previous night and getting too nervous to speak. They’re halfway through the meal when Harry finally gets up the nerve.

“Why didn’t we kiss last night?” Harry asks, and Russell freezes, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. He sets them down, clearing his throat, and his phone quietly dings in his pocket. 

“Shit, sorry,” Russell says, pulling out his phone to read the text. “Oh. I… I’ve got to go.” 

“Is something wrong?” Harry asks as Russell pushes his chair back.

“I have to go.” Russell stands and pulls out his wallet. He lays a few hundred dollars on the table, and says, “That ought to cover dinner.”

“Okay?” Harry whispers as Russell leaves the table. 

“Wait,” Russell says, coming back and leaning down close enough that Harry thinks he might kiss him, if only a peck. “I almost forgot.” He pulls out another hundred dollar bill, lays it on top of the rest, and says, “Cab fare. Get home safe.”

“Oh…” Harry blinks back tears. He’s never been stood up in the middle of a date before, and he doesn’t know what to do. The server appears at the table to check on their meal, and Harry says, “Can I get the bill?”

“Of course, sir. I’ll wrap all of this for you to take home,” she says, picking up their plates, and carrying it all away. She returns a few minutes later with everything boxed and bagged, and lays the checkbook on the table. “I’ll take that for you whenever you’re ready, sir.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, reaching for his wine and draining the glass. The money Russell left is more than enough to cover it, but Harry puts it all in the book, and hands it to the server when he passes her on his way out. “The rest is for you. Thank you.”

It’s late when the Lyft drops him off back at the loft, and all Harry wants to do is pig out on sushi in his pajamas, but when he steps out of the elevator, he’s greeted by pulsing music, red and purple lights, and a wide open door to the loft. Harry weaves his way through the crowd of what are clearly college students until he finds Louis sitting on the sofa table behind the couch with a girl attached to his lips. 

The sadness and disappointment Harry’s been feeling all evening churn as anger joins the mix, and Harry takes a step closer, emotions boiling to the surface. The girl detaches herself from Louis’ face, and when she walks towards the kitchen, Louis catches sight of him.

“Harold! You made it!” Louis shouts, and Harry nods, carrying his bag of sushi over and setting it next to Louis on the sofa table. 

“Why is the cast of Pitch Perfect in our apartment?” Harry asks, and Louis cackles, lifting his beer in Harry’s direction. 

“Remember when I said Dirk’s the smartest guy I know?” Louis grabs Harry’s hand and pulls him closer. “He’s a fucking genius! Twenty-one-year-old girls think I’m awesome!” Standing up and looking around the room, Louis says, “They don’t know what Saved by the Bell is and they’ve never felt pain.” He gasps, eyes going wide, and tugs Harry even closer, then points at the girl he was making out with. “That’s Skyler! I’m Skyler’s Fancyman! Where’s your Fancyman?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, pouting as he pokes at the bag from Nobu. “Everything sucks. He got some mysterious text and left, like, in the middle of dinner, and gave me a hundred dollars for a cab, and I… I think that’s it. The end. Fancyman out.”

“Hey,” Skyler says, appearing at Louis’ side.

“Hey!” Harry drags the word out until his voice cracks, then raises his fists high in the air and yells, “I’m gonna die alone! I’m so, so fucking sad!”

Skyler winces, then lifts her red Solo cup, and says, “Do you want Louis to make you a drink? ’Cause he’s, like, so smart, and good at making drinks.”

“Yes, I do!” Harry says, snatching Skyler’s drink out of her hand, and chugging the sweet mixture of what tastes like pineapple. He finishes it in a few gulps, then grabs Louis by the zipper of his hoodie, smashes the plastic cup against his stupid forehead, and stuffs it down his stupid half-zipped sweatshirt hoping it drips on his stupid bare chest, yelling, “I’m not happy!”

Louis seems too drunk to care or understand because he laughs, and Harry gives up, taking his bag of sushi and shoving it in the fridge before going in search of another drink. 

Maybe a college party at the loft isn’t such a bad idea. Harry quickly gets very drunk thanks to a game of flippy cup, and somehow winds up on some guy’s shoulders during another game, though he’s not sure what they’re playing. He’s celebrating how tall he is, cheering and raising his arms to the sky, and yelling about the loft’s high ceilings, when Russell comes through the door. 

Forgetting that he’s sitting on the shoulders of a six foot tall man, Harry tries to run away, then falls, landing on the dining room table, and rolling off of it to the floor. He gets to his feet, and hobbles to his bedroom, hiding in his closet behind the closed metal door, ignoring the couple making out against his shelf of sweater vests in the corner. 

Sitting down, Harry hugs his knees to his chest and ducks his head. Curled up in a ball like that is how Russell finds him. He slides the metal closet door open, and squats down beside Harry.

“Harry?” Russell gently touches Harry’s arm, and asks, “Are you okay?”

Harry lifts his head, and says, “I want a donut.”

“I could eat a donut,” Russell says, standing and offering Harry his hand. “Come on. I want to talk to you.”

“Okay,” Harry says, letting Russell help him up. “I don’t think I can leave all these people in my apartment. Louis is really drunk. He can’t be trusted.”

“Let’s get ’em out, then,” Russell says. He doesn’t let go of Harry’s hand, instead he laces their fingers together. “You two. Party’s over.” The people making out in Harry’s closet stumble out of the room, and Harry smiles as Russell leads him out to the living room where he turns off the music, and loudly announces, “Party’s over, people! You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here! Everybody out!”

Miraculously, they all take him as an authority figure, and file towards the door. Within minutes, the loft is empty, except for Louis, Skyler, Dirk, and another girl, who introduces herself as Miriam. When Louis hears the word ‘donut’ he insists on coming, and the girls need a ride back to their dorm, so Harry corrals those four while Russell pulls his car around. 

Harry climbs into the passenger seat, the others pile into the back, and Russell drives them to the Big Jim’s Donuts, where he runs inside while they all wait in the car. He brings a box of a dozen assorted donuts out to the car, and in his alcohol and sugar haze, Harry kind of wants to marry him. 

Especially when Russell says, “Don’t worry if you get sprinkles on the seats. I’m having the car detailed on Monday.”

A few miles down the road, Louis groans miserably, “I’m gonna puke.”

“Shit,” Russell mutters, pulling over to the curb. Louis must’ve activated the child locks or maybe he’s just that drunk because he can’t open the car door, so Harry hops out and opens it for him. 

Instead of getting out immediately, Louis counts to three, and hurls himself onto the grass beside the road. He lands on his stomach and crawls away. Harry goes after him, helping him stand, and steering him away from the road. 

“See that tree?” Harry grabs Louis’ head and turns it to face a tall tree about twenty feet away. “Go puke on that tree.”

“’Kay,” Louis says, and he trudges off in that direction. 

Harry gets back in the car, and smiles at Russell. “You know, I thought you wanted to date, like, someone sophisticated because you’re sophisticated, but now I know you wanted to date me because I’m younger, and younger guys think you’re cool. And that’s cool. It’s fine. It’s working, ’cause I…” Lowering his voice to a whisper, Harry says, “I think you’re a silver fox.”

“I, um, I have to, um…” Russell chuckles quietly, then says, “I didn’t ask you out because you’re younger than me. I asked you out because I like you. But, um, I’ve forgotten how to do this. It hasn’t been that long since my divorce, and to be honest, I haven’t exactly dated since then. I haven’t dated since I dated my ex-wife.”

“I haven’t dated since December,” Harry says, “and that didn’t work out too well.”

Russell sighs, and says, “The text at dinner was from my ex-wife. Astrid was having an asthma attack and she left her inhaler at my house last weekend.”

“Is Astrid okay?” Harry asks, and Russell nods.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Russell says, reaching over and taking Harry’s hand. “I should’ve said something before I left. I should’ve explained. I mean, I did want to kiss you the other night. And I’d like to do more than that, you know, eventually. But I’ve forgotten how to tell whether it’s the right moment. I was nervous.”

“I can’t believe you were nervous,” Harry says, shaking his head. “Louis was right. He can be really wise sometimes.”

“Oh my god!” Louis shouts from his place kneeling in the grass, retching immediately afterwards.

Russell winces, but then he laughs. “Do you think it's the right moment?”

Harry turns in his seat to face him, and says, “I think it’s the right moment.”

“Yeah?” Russell leans in closer, and cups Harry’s jaw, guiding him into a kiss. It’s sweet and chaste and lovely, but it’s marred slightly by the sound of Louis shouting and puking not far from the car. 

Late Sunday morning, Harry and Zayn go out to train for their upcoming 10K race. It’s the first time they've run together in years, and because Harry runs pretty regularly, he’s used to a ten-minute mile pace. He can kick it into high gear and run a six-minute mile, but he doesn’t see the point usually, and has only done it a few times just to see if he could. Racing isn’t his thing, he’s more of a slow and steady runner, but Zayn’s even slower, so their training run of four miles takes almost an hour. 

“Big birthday this week,” Zayn says when they’re stretching at the end of their run. 

“Twenty-eight isn’t a big birthday,” Harry says, reaching for his toes and taking a deep breath. 

“Planning to do the same old same old?” Zayn asks, laying back on the grass. 

“You know it,” Harry says, sitting up straight, bending one knee, and turning to the side to stretch his hip. “I’m surprised you showed up today.”

“I told you I would. Plus, Tuesday’s your birthday, and I’m not going to get to see you between now and then.” Zayn says, getting up off the ground. “Come on. I want to buy you a cupcake.”

“But we just ran four miles,” Harry complains, but he gets to his feet. “Who’s this new guy you’re seeing?”

“No one,” Zayn says, brushing the grass off his bum as they start towards the sidewalk. “Just some guy. You know how I like them: pretty, but dumb. I’m glad things worked out alright with Russell.”

“He’s really sweet. You were right,” Harry says, bumping his hip into Zayn’s. “He asked about my birthday, so I had to explain how I don’t do anything on my birthday because of my unrealistic expectations.”

“What’d he say to that?” Zayn asks with a laugh, possibly thinking about the time Harry thought Zayn was surprising him with a trip to go backpacking through Europe when all he’d done was buy Harry a new backpack to replace the one with the broken strap. 

Harry shrugs, scrunching his nose, and says, “He asked if he could take me out Thursday, but I said no because I have to be up early for school, and I don’t want to have to go anywhere after our date.”

“And?” 

“Well, he has Astrid this coming weekend, so I probably won’t see him, but if things are still going well, the weekend after that, he wants to take me back to Nobu,” Harry says with a smile. “He wants to make that date up to me.”

“That’s like an hour away,” Zayn says, pulling open the door of Urth Caffe.

“Yeah, but hopefully in two weeks, I’ll be staying over, so that won’t be an issue,” Harry says, getting in line with Zayn at the bakery case, and eyeing the pastries. “I want a pecan sticky bun instead of a cupcake.”

“Yum. Me too.” Zayn lowers his voice, and says, “Are you going to sleep with him?”

Harry laughs, and says, “Hell, yes. Kind of wish I could right now.”

With their sticky buns in hand, they step back into the sunshine, and make their way back to the loft. They say goodbye outside because Zayn wants to drive home and shower in his own bathroom, which is totally understandable. 

Harry goes straight for the shower when he gets upstairs, and uses his peppermint sugar scrub. His legs feel a lot less tired when he’s finished. He dries off, and wraps his pink towel around his waist, but he’s too warm for flannel pajamas, so he pulls on a pair of basketball shorts instead. 

“No!” Louis yells from his bedroom, and Harry peeks out into the hall. 

“Yes!” Liam’s shout also comes from Louis’ bedroom, and Harry frowns. He tiptoes across to Louis’ room, trying to interpret the mumbles and murmurs coming from behind the door. 

“I hate you for doing this to me!” Louis screams, then grunts. There’s a thump, and a crash, and a series of smaller thumps. Harry opens the door to find Louis and Liam on the floor, rolling around beside a bunch of books that must’ve fallen off of the shelf. 

“What the hell is going on?” Harry reaches down and grabs Louis under the arms to lift him off of Liam, but he topples over instead, and all three of them end up in a heap. “Stop it!”

Louis and Liam still, and Harry’s able to get out of the pile of bodies unscathed. He stands there with his hands on his hips, waiting while Louis and Liam untangle their limbs, and finally get to their feet. 

“Hey, man,” Liam says, pointing finger guns at Harry. “We were just playing.”

“Playing?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Just play— Yeah, we were just playing,” Louis says with a curt nod, looking everywhere but at Harry. “Just playing. Not doing anything. Two bros. Hanging out.”

“Something’s weird,” Harry says, looking from Louis to Liam and back again. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Louis spits out, and Liam smacks his arm.

“Nothing?” Harry asks, staring Louis down. 

“Nothing! I told you!” Louis insists, cheeks flushed pink, eyes wide, sweat beading on his forehead. 

“You’re sweating which means you’re hiding something,” Harry says, crossing his arms and stepping closer to Louis, holding his gaze and daring him to look away. 

“No… I’m just hot.” Louis backs up and trips over one of the books on the floor, but catches himself before he falls. He shakes his head slowly, and says, “I’m not hiding anything. Obviously.”

“Obviously?” Harry nods, smile tugging at his lips because he’s got him now. 

Louis holds his hands up, palms out, and takes another step back. “Trust me. I’m genuinely not lying.”

“Genuinely,” Harry repeats, moving closer, forcing Louis back, and trapping him against the wall. “Trust me. Obviously. Genuinely. Obviously.”

“I swear,” Louis says. His eyes flicker down over Harry’s bare chest and stomach, cheeks turning pinker. 

“Fold,” Harry says, leaning in until they’re nose to nose. “You fold like a lawn chair, Tomlinson. Fold! Fold! Fold! Fold!”

“Niall and Zayn are sleeping together!” Louis shouts, and Harry’s mouth falls open. 

“What?” Harry steps back, looking at Liam for confirmation. 

“You really suck at secrets, Louis,” Liam says just as the loft door shuts. 

“Niall!” Harry runs out of the room with Liam and Louis right behind him, and shouts, “How could you?”

“They know, Niall,” Liam says, and Niall’s confused frown morphs into a small smile.

“You told Louis?” Niall smacks Liam in the forehead. “You know he can’t keep a secret! He just sweats it right out!”

“And you know I hate keeping secrets!” Liam yells, smacking Niall in the forehead. 

Niall shoves him away, and turns to Harry. “Look, Harry, I’m really sorry you found out this way. I know it must be upsetting to have it sprung on you.”

“Yes,” Harry says, crossing his arms. “It is.”

“But can we just take a second,” Niall says with a rakish grin, “to celebrate me? I mean, I’m fucking Zayn every night!”

“No!” Harry screams at him. Niall’s smile drops, and he sprints through the loft towards his room with Harry on his heels. He gets the door shut a split second before Harry throws his body against it, but the door holds, and Harry pounds on it, yelling, “I hate this! I hate everything about this!”

“Harold,” Louis says, pulling a flailing Harry away from the door, but not before Harry accidentally hits him in the balls. They both fall to the floor, and Louis curls into the fetal position, groaning, “Oh… No…” 

Harry lays flat on his back, looking up at Liam. “How long have you known?”

“Couple of days,” Liam says with a shrug. 

“Can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Harry says, reaching up and trying to slap Liam’s balls. 

“You think I wanted to know that?” Liam asks as he jumps out of the way. “I’ve spent the last few days trying to forget!”

“This is the worst thing to ever happen, ever,” Harry says, and Louis groans again. “Shut up, Louis.”

“I hate you,” Louis whispers, and quicker than he should be able to move, Louis slaps Harry in the balls. Harry’s knees jerk up, and he falls onto his side, moaning in pain. They’re both still lying on the floor when Zayn arrives. 

“Hey,” Zayn says, standing over them. He starts to reach out to help Harry up, but Niall pulls him back before Harry can smack him in the balls too. If he’s going through this pain, they all should. It’s only fair. 

Harry pushes himself off the floor, and drops into a chair at the dining table. “How long has this been going on?”

“January second,” Niall says as he takes a seat, and Harry gasps.

“A month?” Harry sits up straight. “Almost a whole month and you didn’t tell me? We tell each other everything, Zayn!”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says, sitting beside Niall and resting his elbows on the table. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. It happened, and then it just got out of control. Like poison oak. And I couldn’t stop scratching—”

“Zayn started it,” Niall interrupts.

“That’s…” Zayn sighs, and says, “That’s true.”

“Just a quick sidebar.” With a proud grin, Niall says, “We’ve done it in every room in the loft.”

Harry gasps. “Gross! Even mine?” 

“Yep.” Niall looks so satisfied, Harry wants to slap him, but he’s too far away. 

“I’m really sorry,” Zayn says, and even though he sounds it, Harry doesn’t quite believe it. “You have to know that this is just a physical thing. It’s purely sexual. No feelings or anything like that. We aren’t dating.”

“That almost makes it worse,” Harry says, leaning back in his chair. “This is why you’ve been so ‘busy’ lately?” Dramatic air quotes make him feel better, so he does them again and again. “Too ‘busy’ to run with me? Too ‘busy’ to even text half the time? Too ‘busy’ to hang out with your ‘best’ friend?”

“I’m so sorry,” Zayn says, folding his arms and dropping his head onto the table. 

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” Harry says, pushing his chair away from the table. “No one talk to me. I’m not speaking to any of you right now.”

“What did I do?” Louis follows him through the living room, and says, “I told you literally seconds after I found out.”

“Yeah, because you’re weak, Tomlinson! Weak!” Harry shouts, stalking towards his bedroom. He grabs a large tote bag from his closet, and starts throwing clothes onto his bed with one hand, texting Russell with the other. 

“Hey,” Louis says softly, leaning into Harry’s bedroom. “You’re not wrong. I’m terrible with secrets.”

Harry heaves a sigh, tossing his phone onto his bed. “Sorry I yelled at you. I’m just so pissed. I hate being lied to.”

“What are you doing?” Louis asks, laying across Harry’s bed, and watching him pack. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Russell’s house,” Harry says, opening his top dresser drawer and grabbing enough underwear and socks for the week. “I asked if I could come stay, and he said of course. Of course he said of course. He’s so nice.”

“Can I come stay with Russell? He’s got, like, a million bedrooms,” Louis says, and Harry cracks a smile, shaking his head. “Don’t forget about us while you’re living it up with the rich people.”

“Promise,” Harry says. He steps behind the sliding closet door, and drops his basketball shorts, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, then slips his feet into his Vans, shoving his black boots into his tote bag with everything else. He picks up his satchel, and asks, “Will you make sure I have a clear path to the door? I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, getting up off the bed. He stops in the doorway, turning to face Harry, and points at the closet. “FYI, I totally saw your asshole and, like, everything because the mirror’s right there, and you bent over in front of it.”

Narrowing his eyes, Harry starts towards him, but Louis hurries out of the room, drawing everyone’s attention by screeching and running for the balcony. Harry slips out of the loft, closing the door quietly behind him.

Russell’s house is so unbelievably swanky that Harry’s almost constantly afraid of breaking something. That night, after Harry explains everything about Zayn and Niall, they cuddle by the fire and makeout by the fire and finally fuck by the fire. It’s nice. 

Harry feels cared for and safe and warm, and while the sex isn’t mindblowing, it’s not like it’s bad. Especially for their first time. It’ll improve as they get to know each other and learn each other’s bodies. 

And even if the sex isn’t jaw-dropping or heart-stopping, Russell’s bed is so comfortable, Harry doesn’t care. He sleeps like a baby, and goes to work Monday morning more than ready to meet the day. It’s a little odd seeing Astrid for the first time since he’s started sleeping with her dad, but she doesn’t know, so it’s really just in his head. 

After school, Harry stops by the loft to get his running gear, and thankfully, Louis is the only one at home. 

“Back so soon?” Louis asks, muting the television and getting up off the couch. “Knew you couldn’t stay away.”

“Just here to pick up my running shoes,” Harry says, grabbing a bag and stuffing some running shorts and socks into it. He steps into his closet and makes sure to close the door completely this time, asking through it, “You want to come run with me?”

Louis makes a sort of snort-growl, then says, “I have absolutely no interest in that. No.”

“You could skateboard beside me while I run,” Harry says, and Louis hums like he’s thinking it over. Harry changes into some running shorts, but decides to skip the shirt because he gets too hot and sweaty and his nipples chafe. He slides the door open, and Louis is still sitting there. 

“Happy birthday tomorrow,” Louis says, and Harry tries to smile. “What’s Russell got planned?”

“Nothing,” Harry says, picking up his bag. “I always do the same thing every year on my birthday because I have this thing where I get these super high expectations. I don’t know why, but I do, and I’ve ruined my own birthday more times than I can count.”

“That’s stupid, Harold,” Louis says, and he’s not wrong. “So what’s Russell think of all that?”

“He said he gets it.” Harry shrugs and says, “He’s making dinner tonight, and we’re doing a low key pre-birthday thing. Just the two of us.”

“So what about tomorrow?” Louis asks. 

“When I get off work, I’ll go to the movies by myself,” Harry says, thankful he’s not turning thirty or else people would be a lot less understanding. “Living here, I have a lot more options for movie theaters. But I’m planning to go to the Alamo Drafthouse for the four o’clock showing of The Apartment.”

“The Jack Lemmon movie?” Louis asks, furrowing his brow. “With Shirley MacLaine?”

“Yes!” Harry shoves Louis’ shoulder, and says, “I can't believe you know it! I’m excited. I've never seen it on the big screen. And they have food, so it’s like I’m taking myself out for dinner and a movie.”

“Sounds fun,” Louis says, licking his lips, then pressing them together. “You sure Russell doesn’t want to join you?”

Harry shakes his head. “It would be weird if he did. Like, things are so new with him, you know? I’d feel like I had to be on my best behavior or something.”

“Yeah…”

“I want to be able to eat a cheeseburger and burp and spill ketchup on my shirt and not worry about who sees,” Harry says, and Louis laughs quietly. “You get it.”

“I do,” Louis says, getting off of Harry’s bed. He scratches at a stain on his hoodie, and laughs again. “Ketchup.”

“Yeah… You get it,” Harry says, waiting for Louis to step into the hall before shutting his bedroom door. “Bye, Lewis.”

“Bye, Harold.” Louis walks Harry to the front door, opens it for him, and says, “See you when I see you.”

Harry takes the stairs down, drops his bag off at his car, tucks his key into the tiny pocket inside his shorts, and runs. 

Chapter Text

FEBRUARY

Pre-birthday dinner with Russell is nice. They have salmon and quinoa and acorn squash, and then they sip tea by the fire, and Russell brings him a cupcake he bought just for the occasion. Russell lets Harry suck him off, which is really the only thing Harry was interested in doing other than taking a bubble bath and going to bed early. 

Harry’s always enjoyed giving head. It’s kind of his thing. Spencer always loved it, and Paul did, too, and the few guys Harry was with way back in college before he met Spencer. It’s the one sex act he feels he’s truly good at, and it makes him feel powerful, like he can figuratively bring a man to his knees while literally being on his knees. 

When Harry gets out of the bath, Russell’s in bed reading, and Harry slips in between the sheets, warm and comfortable in his flannel pajamas, with his new boyfriend beside him. 

The kids at school don’t care that Harry doesn’t really celebrate his birthday. They sing to him every class period, and at lunch, and at recess, and a few of the kids give him cards that were very obviously made during class when they should’ve been paying attention, but Harry doesn’t mind. It’s sweet. And it puts him in a good mood for his movie that afternoon. 

Because it’s his birthday, Harry valet parks, and it’s totally worth the cash to take away the stress of finding a parking spot, and remembering it after the movie. He buys his ticket, entering the theater early to find a good seat. It’s almost five on a Tuesday, so it’s not packed, and Harry has his choice of seats. 

“I’ll sit as far away from you as you want me to,” Louis says, and Harry clutches his hand to his heart. 

“Oh my god, Lou!” Harry takes a calming breath, and asks, “What are you doing here?”

Louis shrugs, climbing up the steps. “I’ve been meaning to check this place out, and I’m off tonight, so…” 

“Lewis,” Harry says, and Louis turns around.

“Harold. Look, if you want me to go, I’ll go, or if you’d rather I sit on the other side of the theater, I can do that,” Louis says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “But it’s your birthday, and I am off today, so I thought I’d come watch a movie with you. No big deal.”

Harry rubs his lips together, and nods. “You can stay.”

“Where do you want to sit?” Louis asks, gesturing to all of the empty seats.

“Next to you,” Harry says, climbing up the steps after him. “How do you feel about the top?”

“I love to top,” Louis says so seriously that for a second Harry thinks he misspoke when he asked or Louis misunderstood his question, then Louis snickers, and Harry smacks his arm. 

“For fuck’s sake, Lewis,” Harry says, shoving him to make him keep walking. “Just sit down.”

Louis jogs up to the top row, taking a seat near the middle, and when Harry sits beside him, Louis says, “You’re sure this is okay? I kind of didn’t think about it before I came.”

“I don’t usually think before I come either,” Harry says with a smirk, and Louis rolls his eyes. “I don’t mind. You’re, like, one of a very short list of people who could show up like this and not get murdered.”

“Who else is on the list?” Louis asks, picking up his menu. 

Pinching and pulling his lower lip, Harry thinks it over, then says, “No one. Just you.”

Smiling, Louis bites his lower lip, and nods. He points at the list on the bottom of the menu, and asks, “You want a beer?” 

“Do they have pink wine?” Harry asks, leaning over to look at Louis’ menu instead of picking up his own. 

“Rosé for you, brown ale for me,” Louis says, bobbing his head side to side while he looks over the menu, and Harry gets a little lost staring at Louis’ unfairly long eyelashes until Louis turns, and asks, “What are you eating?”

“Oh, um…” Harry picks up his menu, and quickly makes a decision he hopes he won’t regret. “Fish and chips.”

“Cool,” Louis says, filling out their order. “I’m having the Royale with Cheese. Hope it doesn’t suck.”

“At least we know the movie’s good,” Harry says, scooting down in his seat a little to get comfortable. 

Louis elbows him, and says, “And the company.”

The food is delicious. The wine is too. Louis enjoys his beer, and even lets Harry have his pickle spear. All in all, it’s a better birthday than Harry expected to have. 

As soon as the movie’s over, while the credits are still rolling, Louis leans in, and whispers, “Happy birthday, Harold. Twenty-eight used to be my lucky number, so I hope it’s lucky for you.”

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry says, scrunching his nose, and stuffing a fry in his mouth to keep from smiling too wide. 

“I’m gonna go. See you whenever you decide to come home,” Louis says, standing, and messing up Harry’s hair as he passes behind him. He jogs down the steps, and Harry waves, but Louis doesn’t turn around.

Russell is true to his word and doesn't do anything to celebrate Harry’s birthday. He does wish him a happy birthday, but that’s as far as it goes. After school on Wednesday, Harry changes into his running clothes in the bathroom in the teachers lounge, drives to the park near the loft, and gets about ten seconds into a hamstring stretch when Zayn appears in front of him.

“Hey,” Zayn says, smiling nervously. “Stretching before your run?”

“Good guess, model!” Harry says, turning around so he doesn’t have to look at Zayn while he stretches. “But no, actually. Just limbering up in case I want to sleep with any of your roommates.”

“Do you want some company?” Zayn asks, and Harry pretends not to hear him as he sprints away. 

Zayn is surprisingly fast over short distances. He keeps up with Harry, shouting after him, “I hate when we fight! I get so stressed! My eye twitches! I’m eating bread!” Harry zigzags, trying to confuse him, and jumps over a bush like a hurdle, while Zayn calls after him, “Come on, Harry! It was one secret! Everybody has secrets!” 

“No!” Harry shouts back over his shoulder without slowing down. He runs south, away from the loft, then goes east, and doubles back, heading north because if everybody has secrets, he’s clearing the air. 

Pushing himself to run as fast as he can, he covers the distance in just a few minutes, skipping the elevator and racing up the stairs, slowing down to unlock the door to the loft. When he opens the door, he hears Niall’s voice coming from Louis’ room, so Harry goes straight there, freezing in the doorway. Liam’s sitting on the little loveseat against the wall, but Niall and Louis are laying on the bed together, facing each other, with very little space between them. 

“Is this happening, too?” Harry asks, panting as he tries to catch his breath. 

“No!” Louis shoves Niall away from him, and hops off the bed, eyes wide and unblinking as he stares at Harry. Cheeks flushing pink, he says, “You’re sweaty.”

“I ran all the way here,” Harry says. He props his hands on his hips, and catches the reflection of his bare chest heaving and glistening with sweat in Louis’ mirror. “That doesn’t matter! No more secrets! I can’t fucking stand it!”

“Secrets are important!” Louis turns towards Niall for backup, and Niall nods as he gets up off the bed. 

“I don’t care!” Harry takes a deep breath, and says, “Niall, a few days ago, I saw Louis use your cashmere throw as a napkin.”

Niall slaps Louis hard on the ass, and says, “Cashmere, Louis! Cashmere!”

“Shut up,” Louis says, shoving Niall back down on the bed.

“And, Liam, Niall said that you’re in danger of becoming a nanny for life,” Harry says, recalling Niall’s exact words. “He said you were going ‘full Poppins.’”

Liam takes that in stride, and simply points at Niall, and says, “Niall said he thinks about you sometimes when he makes love to himself.”

“One time,” Niall says, holding his hands up as if to pacify Harry. 

“What?” Harry wrinkles his nose, and repeats, “What?”

“I thought about curly hair, and your face just appeared,” Niall explains, and Harry covers his eyes with both hands. “And it’s not like I’m the only one! Louis told me he’s done it a bunch of times!”

“Louis!” Harry shouts, pointing an accusing finger. 

Not bothering with a denial, Louis points at Liam, and says, “Liam, when Harry first moved in, you said you had a sex dream about him and he had spatula hands.”

“Dreams don’t count,” Liam says firmly, shaking his head.

“Ugh… You’ve all thought about me while jerking off?” Harry asks, and Louis nods slowly. “Not cool.”

“Please,” Liam says with a scoff. He turns to Harry, and looks him up and down. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about any of us when you’re going solo. I don’t work a nine to five. I’m here all the time. I can hear you.”

Blood rushes to Harry’s face so fast he feels dizzy, and he announces, “We’re back to keeping secrets! This never happened!”

“Fine by me,” Louis says, leering at Harry’s sweaty, mostly naked body.

“Louis!” Harry shoves him in the chest, and runs for his room, embarrassed by his body’s reaction to Louis looking at him with heat in his eyes. 

“I’m joking!” Louis calls after him, laughing and knocking on Harry’s bedroom door. “Harold, don’t be mad. I was joking.”

“I’m not mad,” Harry says, zipping up a hoodie, and opening the door. “I am leaving though. Russell’s expecting me. I’ll see you guys Saturday.”

“See ya,” Louis says, and when Harry walks away, Louis pops him on the ass. “Get out of here.”

Harry hurries away before his cheeks can flush any hotter, and he takes the stairs again, running all the way back to his car.

Friday night, Astrid stays over with a friend, giving Harry one last night before he has to go back to the real world. Early Saturday morning, Harry kisses Russell goodbye, and drives the hour plus it takes to get to the starting line in Ventura Beach. By the time he parks, and pins his bib to his shorts, Harry’s already regretting signing up for the race because it’s going to be such a long drive home. 

He finds Zayn at the starting line, but only to place him and get an idea of what he’s wearing, so he can avoid him. Running this race started out as something they could do together to raise a little money for charity, but it’s turned into something Harry just wants over with. 

When the race starts, Harry stays ahead of Zayn, running faster than he normally does, but not so fast that he’ll hit a wall before the finish line. It’s an out and back course along the beach access road, and near the turnaround at the halfway point, Harry moves to the edge of the path and slows to a walk.

Niall, Liam, and Louis are there, sitting on the side of the road in folding chairs, watching the race. 

“What is this?” Harry asks, pointing at Niall’s shirt. “Did you make that? Does Zayn know you’re wearing it?”

“This?” Niall tugs at the hem of his fitted t-shirt that reads THE AMAZAYN RACE in large, iron-on letters. “Yeah, he saw it.”

“And he let you wear it?” Harry asks, reading the shirt again.

“Yeah, he thought it was funny,” Niall says, standing and turning to show his shirt to Louis and Liam. “It’s funny, isn’t it?”

“No,” Louis says, but Harry doesn’t hear anything else, darting across the road to run with the racers on the way back. 

This time, Harry doesn’t try to pace himself, running as fast as he can until he sees Zayn coming towards him. “Zayn! Zayn!” Harry shouts, crossing the road again to run beside Zayn. “I know why you didn’t tell me about Niall. Because you like him!”

“What?” Zayn scoffs, picking up the pace so Harry has to run faster to keep up. 

“His shirt! You thought the shirt he made was funny,” Harry says, muscles burning as he struggles to stay beside Zayn. “I thought you were slower than me.”

“I let you think that,” Zayn says, but he finally eases up and Harry feels less like vomiting. “I’m fast in short bursts.”

“You obviously like him,” Harry pants, “It’s the only explanation for you thinking that’s funny.”

“Oh my god.” Slowing to a walk, Zayn says, “I think you’re right.”

“You didn’t tell me because you knew that I’d know,” Harry says, grateful to be able to walk for a little while. “You weren’t ready to admit it to yourself.”

“Okay, but can we just say that I didn’t tell you because I’m an asshole? Because I’m way more comfortable with that,” Zayn says, starting to jog again when Harry nods. “Shit. I can’t believe I like Niall. You can’t tell anyone.”

“A secret only I know?” Harry smiles, running at Zayn’s pace. “Yeah. I like that.”

“Okay, come on,” Zayn says, running a little faster. “We’ve got, like, four miles to go.”

“But I’ve already run this part,” Harry whines, but he stays beside Zayn. “The guys are up here. Right before the turn around.”

“You ran that far and then came back for me?” Zayn asks, smacking Harry in the stomach. “You could’ve just, I don’t know, waited.”

“I wasn’t thinking!” Harry laughs, groaning at the effort it takes. “Oh my god, this is horrible.”

They wave as they pass the guys, then again on the way back, but somehow the guys are at the finish line, too, having driven from one end of the race course to the other, and Harry knows without asking that it’s Niall’s doing. It’s a point in his favor, though Harry hasn't completely forgiven him yet. 

When they cross the finish line, they do so holding hands, and they run straight for the guys. Harry throws himself at Louis, hugging him and getting him disgustingly sweaty before falling on the grass to look up at the blue sky.

“Did you guys all ride together?” Harry asks, and Louis looks down at him, morning sun shining behind him. 

“We all rode with Niall, why?” Louis asks.

“Because I need someone to drive my car,” Harry says, stretching his arms up and pointing his toes, lengthening his body as much as he can. “I don’t think my legs are going to make it.”

“I’ll drive you,” Louis offers, reaching down to help Harry up. “Come on, Styles. You can buy me coffee.”

“See you guys at home?” Harry asks, catching Zayn’s eye. 

“See you there,” Liam says, and Niall nods. Zayn blows him a kiss. 

Now that he’s not running, Harry’s legs decide hobbling is the way to go, and Louis gives him a sidelong glance, then says, “Do you need me to, like, help you?”

“No, I’m just… ugh, I overdid it,” Harry says, stopping and holding onto a tree while he stretches his calves.

“So…” Louis looks off at their friends, watching them make their way to Niall’s car. When he turns back to Harry, he must not think Harry can see him because he lets his gaze travel slowly up Harry’s legs the way he did that very first day in the elevator, and he spends far too much time to be considered friendly staring at Harry’s bum and back while he stretches the tightness out of his muscles. “What happened with you and Zayn?”

“We made up,” Harry says, stating the obvious, not that he thinks Louis will let it go at that. 

“And?” 

Pushing away from the tree, Harry shrugs, walking a little less stiffly this time. “And nothing.” 

Louis hums, and walks alongside him, hands in his hoodie pockets. He looks over at Harry, then turns away, and says, “I can’t believe Niall made us come all the way out here for this.”

“Trying to say you didn’t want to come support me?” Harry laughs, fishing his key from the tiny pocket inside his shorts, and handing it over.

“Yeah… Yay! Woo!” Louis leaps into the air, clapping arrhythmically. “No, I didn’t want to come all the way to fucking Ventura Beach to watch a 10K race at ass o’clock on Saturday morning.”

“Why’d you come then?” Harry asks, leaning against his station wagon and waiting for Louis to unlock the doors. 

Raising his eyebrows, Louis sucks his lower lip between his teeth, and shakes his head. He unlocks the car, and when they’re inside with the doors shut, he admits, “Niall dragged me out of bed and promised me fifty bucks.”

Harry chokes on a laugh, reaching into the back seat to grab his shirt. He tugs it over his head, and doesn’t miss the wistful expression on Louis’ face when he pulls his t-shirt over his stomach, but he lets it go. “Did he pay Liam, too?”

“Yeah, and he bought us coffee and donuts,” Louis says, backing out of the parking space. He joins the line of cars leaving the park, head lolling to the side to look at Harry. “Don’t tell anybody, but I think Niall, like, actually likes Zayn.” When Harry gasps, covering his mouth, Louis laughs and shoves his shoulder. “I’m serious. He hasn’t done anything like this since college.”

“Paid people to watch a 10K, you mean?” Harry asks. He pushes his seat as far back as it goes, then leans the seat back, and pulls his knees to his chest, trying to stretch inside the confines of the car. 

“No, um, he had a girlfriend in college,” Louis says, inching the car forward in line. “Elizabeth. She was— she was cool. They were together for a long time, but they broke up not long after Niall started taking that class to lose his Irish accent.”

“I forget he’s Irish,” Harry says with a shake of his head. “Like, I think my mind can’t comprehend it. Why would he do that?”

“Why does Niall do anything he does?” Louis asks seriously, and Harry rolls his eyes. “To get laid.”

“Sounds fake. An Irish accent would totally get him laid,” Harry says, hoping Louis doesn’t ask if he’s speaking from experience. 

“I know! I know,” Louis says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “I think Benjamin convinced him otherwise. That dude’s always had a hold on Niall.”

“Not after New Year’s Eve.” Looking over at Louis and waiting for his agreement, Harry smiles, but all he gets is a half-hearted shrug. “I don't want to talk about Benjamin.”

“We could talk about how Niall’s totally in love with Zayn,” Louis offers, and Harry gasps loudly, covering his mouth with his hands. 

“Really?” Harry asks quietly. “Did he tell you that?”

“No, but he doesn’t have to,” Louis says, circling his hand overhead. “Look at this shit. I’m sitting in traffic with a bunch of people who run for fun because my best friend paid me fifty bucks to come watch his fuck buddy in a 10K race. It’s not even a marathon. Or a half-marathon!”

“That is… all true,” Harry admits, letting it sink in.

“Niall, the man who rarely sleeps with the same person twice. Niall, the man who shaves his already hairless chest every morning. Niall, the man who once paid a ridiculous amount of money for personalized condoms.” Wide-eyed, Louis looks at Harry, and says, “I mean, what do you think?”

“He’s totally in love with Zayn,” Harry says quietly. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, chuckling as they finally pull onto the road to leave the park. “Speaking of love. How’s ole Rusty?”

“Eww… Don’t call him that,” Harry says, curling his lip and shaking his head. “You make him sound like the plumbing in the loft.”

Rolling his eyes, Louis says, “Fine. How are things with Russell?”

“Good.” Harry purses his lips, bobbing his head side to side. “Nice. Things with Russell are really nice.”

“Wow,” Louis drags the word out. “Impressive. I’m trying to picture the sex.”

“Don't do that!” Harry slaps Louis’ arm, and Louis jerks away. 

“Ooh, nice,” Louis moans, squirming in his seat. “Give it to me adequately, Russell. Fuck me in a standard, ordinary, run-of-the-mill way.”

“Shut up!” Harry slaps him harder, but this time Louis slaps him back, then pinches his nipple hard, catching it on the first try without even looking over. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“At least I’m dating a man, and not some barely out of puberty college kid,” Harry says, daring Louis to argue when he knows Skyler just turned twenty-one. 

“First of all,” Louis announces. Harry snorts, and Louis reaches over to cover his mouth. “First of all, I’m not dating anyone. I was sexing them.”

“Gross. Gross. Don’t ever say that again.”

“I’d say sleeping with them, but there wasn’t much sleeping, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“It wasn’t ‘nice’ sex, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, I know, we can all hear it,” Harry says, and Louis closes his mouth tight, cheeks flushing pink. “Did you not know? Oh my god, Louis!” When Louis doesn’t respond, and his face and neck only blush darker, Harry laughs, then twists his hips, grinding against his seat, and moaning wantonly. “Ungh… Yeah, take it! You like that? Fuck! Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh! You’re so loud!”

“I am not,” Louis defends half-heartedly. 

“Whenever you have someone over, I wear noise-cancelling headphones,” Harry tells him, then he writhes in his seat again, raising his voice, and doing his best Louis impression, “Suck my cock! Choke on it! It’s like porn.”

“I hate you,” Louis says, and Harry laughs, falling into a fit of giggles that fades and resurges over and over again the whole way home.

Because Astrid only spends the weekend at Russell’s house, Harry sees him again on Monday, and it’s a relief being held, being kissed, and being made love to. 

So many of the touches Harry gets in his day-to-day life are rough: high-fives and fist bumps from students and sometimes from friends, hip checks from Louis, pats on the back, elbows to his ribs, pokes to his sides, kicks to his shins… They’re all done out of affection, but none of them are soft touches, and that’s what he craves, especially after a long day surrounded by loud, pubescent children. 

He winds up staying over every night that week, but he comes home again on Friday after school because he’s out of clean clothes, and he misses the guys. He and Russell are supposed to go for sushi Saturday night, but Harry’s planning to spend Friday night at home. 

When he walks into the loft, Liam and Louis are on the couch playing video games, and for the first time in forever, Louis is clean shaven. 

“Oh… Look at you!” Harry says, dropping his satchel and tote bag and walking over to the couch. “I’ve missed you guys.”

“The loft is weirdly quiet without you,” Louis says with a frown. He reaches for his beer, and scowls at Harry. “I didn’t like it.”

“Harry!” Zayn comes out of Niall’s room wrapped in a sheet, and Harry closes his eyes, slowly opening them again. “You’ve been at Russell’s all week, my sweet candy heart.”

“Yeah, how was your sex-cation?” Niall asks, standing very close to Zayn. 

“I did have a lot of sex,” Harry says, “Thanks for asking. It was good. Zayn? My room?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Zayn says, shuffling across the loft in Niall’s sheet. He lays down on Harry’s bed, tucking the sheet around him, and Harry lays beside him. “Okay. Spill.”

“It’s so nice!” Harry whispers, eyes wide. “Like, unbelievably nice. We have good food all the time. I told him I liked Lush bath bombs and he bought like dozens of them. I feel like I’m living in the first act of a movie, and I’m waiting for the part where I find out he’s a serial killer or he has a secret family in another state.”

“I mean, it’s not perfect. Nothing’s perfect,” Zayn says, tugging one of Harry’s curls. “You’re sort of doing this all on his terms. Always staying at his place. Has he ever stayed over here?”

“No, actually,” Harry says, taking a deep breath and blowing it out. “I should ask him. Maybe we should skip Nobu tomorrow night, and he can come stay here.”

“I have a job,” Zayn says with a pout. “I can come over after, but it’ll be late.”

“That’ll work.” Harry sits up, grabbing his phone, and texting Russell. Then he sends Zayn off to the shower. “You smell like sex and Niall, and the combination is freaking me out.”

While Zayn’s in the shower, Harry goes back out to the living room, where all three of the guys are now playing video games on the couch. “Boys, I need to ask you all a favor. Russell’s coming over on Saturday night. He’s going to stay over for the first time. I need you guys to be cool, okay?”

“Yeah, we’re cool,” Niall says, bumping fists with Louis and making the sound of an explosion. 

“I can be cool,” Liam says, nodding slowly. “I’ll ask him about my job interview. He’s a rich white dude. Maybe he’ll have some tips.”

“Okay, not cool,” Harry says. “Normal. Just be normal.”

“Not sure what that is,” Louis says, glancing over at him. “But I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask,” Harry says, dropping onto the couch beside him.

When Russell arrives Saturday evening, Harry hurries down to meet him so they can ride up in the elevator together. 

“Hey, listen,” Harry says, taking Russell’s hand as they step into the elevator. “The guys are all here except Zayn, but he’ll come by later. I told them to be on their best behavior.”

Russell chuckles, and squeezes Harry’s hand. “Last time I was here, Niall almost tackled me trying to look at the label inside my suit, and Louis flushed the urinal for me.”

Harry winces, and says, “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Russell says, straightening his tie as the doors slide open. “I kind of like that they don’t know how to act around me. Gives me the upper hand.”

Reaching around to pat Russell’s ass, Harry says, “I’ll give you the upper hand.”

“Maybe later.” Russell winks, and says, “Looking forward to dinner. You haven’t cooked for me before.”

“I know! It’s so weird because I usually, um…” Clearing his throat as he opens the door, Harry says, “I usually cook for my boyfriends.”

“Russell!” Louis grins proudly, holding a steak knife in one hand, and in the other, a cutting board loaded with a block of cream cheese cut into chunks, a pile of shredded mozzarella leftover from the last time Harry made lasagne, and a stack of unwrapped American cheese food slices. “Appeteaser?”

“Stop it, Lewis,” Harry hisses, trying to push Louis and his pile of cheese away.

“This is for Russell!” Louis shouts, taking a step back and bowing. “You like cheese, Russell?”

“I…” Russell glances at Harry who can only shake his head. “I’m going to put my bag in your room, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Harry says with a quick nod. As soon as Russell is out of earshot, Harry snatches the knife from Louis’ hand, and shoves him towards the kitchen. “What is with you?”

“I’m being fancy for your Fancyman,” Louis says, frowning while Harry pushes him to the kitchen where Niall is setting a third large pot on the stove. 

“What’s this?” Harry asks, peeking into the pots which all appear to be full of water. “Did something happen with the plumbing in the five minutes I was gone?”

“Heard you were making pasta for Russell,” Niall says, sprinkling salt in one of the pots. 

“So you’re boiling all the water?” Harry dumps the cheese in the trash can, puts the cutting board and knife in the sink, switches off all but one burner, and turns to look for Liam, finding him sitting in the chair in the corner of the dining room, reading a book, wearing glasses, and smoking a pipe. “Liam! Are you smoking?”

“No.” Liam nudges the glasses up the bridge of his nose, pointing at Harry with the polished wooden pipe. “I am being sophisticated.”

“You are being an idiot,” Harry says, hurrying over and plucking the glasses off Liam’s face. He takes the pipe from his hand, and squints at the spine of the book in his lap. “How to Win Friends and Influence People. You have all three lost your minds. Behave or I’ll take Russell away.”

“No…” Louis whines, shutting up fast when Russell walks into the living room. “Hey, Russell!”

“Normal,” Harry whispers, glaring at them each in turn. He takes Russell’s hand, leading him over to the dining room table. “You want a beer? Wine? A cocktail? We do have a bartender in our midst.”

“I can make you anything you want!” Louis offers excitedly, sliding on his socks into the kitchen. 

Russell looks around, and says, “I’ll have a beer since that’s what you’re all having.”

“Sure you don’t want a martini?” Louis says, pulling a bottle of gin out of their liquor cabinet. 

“No, no, a beer’s fine,” Russell insists with a smile. Louis pouts, fetching him a bottle of beer from the fridge, and setting it down on the table in front of Russell unopened. Undeterred, Russell pulls his keys from his pocket, and pops the top off. “Thanks, Louis.”

“Well, aren’t you cool,” Louis says, frowning and sitting back down beside Russell. 

“Your water’s boiling,” Niall says, sprinkling what Harry hopes is salt into the pot. 

Walking towards him, Harry holds Niall’s gaze, widening his eyes, and mouthing, “I will kill you.”

“Empty threats,” Niall says, handing Harry a wooden spoon. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Lips pressed tightly together, Harry nods. “Thanks.”

Because he knew the guys wouldn’t be any help, Harry planned ahead, cutting vegetables, and marinating chicken, putting everything in the fridge so all he needs to do is pull it out, turn on the pan, and cook it. 

“Where’s all the food I set aside for dinner?” Harry asks, moving things around in the fridge in case it somehow wound up in the back or in one of the drawers, but all he finds is beer. 

“Oh… Is that what that was?” Louis holds his hand to his mouth, and Harry has the urge to strangle him. 

“What did you do?” Harry asks slowly.

Louis cringes, and says, “I thought it was bad, so I threw it out.”

“You thought it was bad?” Harry blinks at him, picturing himself stuffing Louis into the trash can. 

“It was all greenish brown and gross looking, so I thought it was bad,” Louis says, digging in his heels. 

“That was the marinade.” Harry takes a deep breath, relaxing his jaw, and says, “It’s fine. Easy mistake! We’ll just have noodles!”

“You want me to order something?” Russell offers, and Harry shakes his head. 

“No! No, this is fine,” Harry insists with a smile. “Noodles and broth. Carbs. Good for you. Gives you energy.”

Turning towards the stove to collect himself, Harry stirs the water, staring at the swirl in the middle. He opens the package of udon noodles, and adds them to the pot, sifting through the contents of the spice cabinet. All of the fresh herbs he bought for tonight went into the marinade, but he does find soy sauce and rice wine in the fridge, as well as garlic and onion powder and bouillon cubes in the cabinet. 

Spying a yellow packet in the back of the canned food cabinet, Harry reaches past Louis’ SpaghettiOs, and grabs it. He does a little happy dance when he pulls it free from whatever it’s stuck to and sees that it’s a vacuum sealed package of dried, sliced woodear mushrooms. 

Improvised dinner ready, Harry digs through their junk drawer to find chopsticks for everyone, and portions out the noodles, carrying the bowls to the table two at a time. 

“Udon noodles,” Harry says, setting a bowl in front of Russell, and passing the second bowl to Niall. He goes back for two more, but when he turns around again, Russell is watching him, and while Russell is distracted, Louis is eating his noodles. “Louis! Stop eating Russell’s food!”

“Sorry,” Louis says around a mouthful of udon. “Hungry.”

“That’s… That’s okay,” Russell says, sliding his bowl to Louis. “You have that one.”

Harry gives another bowl to Russell, one to Liam, and quick as he can, he grabs the last bowl for himself, and joins them at the table. 

“What are these?” Louis asks, curling his lip and scowling at his bowl. He lifts a mushroom with one chopstick and flicks it onto the table. 

“Mushrooms, you heathen,” Niall says, picking up the discarded mushroom and dropping it into his bowl. 

“Hey, Russell. You’re rich and old,” Liam says, and Harry sighs. “Remind me later to talk to you about this job offer I got.”

“Yeah?” Russell looks at Liam, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, my new boss is a real dick, but he’s a rich old guy, and you’re a rich old guy,” Liam says, studying one of his mushrooms before popping it into his mouth. “This is surprisingly not disgusting.”

Under the table, Russell pats Harry’s thigh, and Harry smiles, whispering, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Russell says, loudly slurping his noodles off his chopsticks and pulling a surprised laugh from Harry. 

The boys start slurping their noodles like Russell, and the rest of the meal is silent except for that. Even Harry joins in after a while. He finds an incredibly long noodle in his bowl, and when he finishes sucking it up, he gets a round of applause. 

Russell kindly gathers everyone’s empty bowls, and carries them to the kitchen. He flips on the disposal, and it rattles and clanks and grinds so noisily that Harry jumps in his seat. 

“I got it!” Louis shouts over the racket, running for the disposal pole, and shoving it down the drain. 

“I’m sorry, I…” Russell trails off, watching open mouthed as Louis wrestles with the garbage disposal, wrenching the broken broom handle side to side until, finally, the clanking stops. 

Louis turns the disposal off, and says, “Sorry about that.”

“My contractor has a great plumber,” Russell says, and Niall scoffs. 

“I know a million excellent plumbers!” Niall rolls his eyes dramatically. 

“Plumbing’s a sore subject,” Harry says quietly. “Remember when I explained how you have to turn on the sink to flush the toilet? That’s, like, the least of our plumbing issues.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Russell says, and when Louis grunts, Harry knows there’s only one way to save the evening. 

“Hey, um…” Harry catches Louis’ eye and raises his voice, “Who wants to play True American?”

Everyone but Russell raises their hands, and Russell asks, “What’s True American?”

Harry yanks open the fridge and grabs a couple of six-packs. “It’s, like, fifty percent drinking game, fifty percent life sized Candy Land.”

“Really, it’s more like seventy-thirty,” Niall says, carrying a bottle of gin and a six-pack of beer over to the coffee table. 

“I’d say it’s a drinking game with a loose Candy Land-like structure,” Liam says, dragging two dining room chairs away from the table. “And the floor is lava.”

“I don’t…” Russell frowns, and Harry grins at him. 

Kneeling on the floor beside the coffee table, Harry lines up the beer cans, and explains, “These are the pawns—the soldiers of the secret order.” He taps the cap of the bottle of gin, and says, “This is the king, and the table is his castle.”

“Okay…” Russell raises his eyebrows, clearly waiting for more instructions, but it’s a game better learned from experience. 

Harry picks up a beer, and says, “It all starts with a shotgun tip-off.”

“Oh! I can do that!” Russell pulls his keys from his pocket and grabs a beer, popping a hole in the side and holding it to his mouth as he opens the top. He drains the can, shakes his head, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and says, “No going back now.”

“JFK!” Louis shouts. 

Everyone but Russell yells back, “FDR!” and the game begins.

In the morning, Harry wakes up before Russell, hurrying to the bathroom to brush his teeth, then to the kitchen to see if there are any eggs hidden away behind the beer in the fridge. Thankfully, there are, and there’s still some shredded cheese, too, so Harry makes a pot of coffee, heats up a pan, and when the coffee’s finished brewing, he makes a cup and takes it in to wake up Russell.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, gently shaking Russell’s shoulder. He moans, and not in a good way. “Russell?”

Russell squints at him. “What?”

“Time to get up,” Harry says with a smile. “I have a fun day planned. And coffee here for you. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Okay,” Russell croaks, covering his head with a pillow. 

Leaving Russell to wake up, Harry goes back to the kitchen, filling his own coffee cup, and getting to work making Russell an omelet. It’s really just eggs and cheese, but it’ll have to do. Russell drags himself over to the tall table, sitting on a stool, and sipping his coffee with a frown plastered to his face. 

“I’m making you eggs,” Harry says, glancing back at him. “And later we’re going to the Rose Bowl Flea Market. I haven't been in months. Then lunch, and I want to hit The Last Bookstore, too.”

“Ehh…” Russell shakes his head, and Harry turns away from the stove. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks.

“I don’t want to go to the flea market or the bookstore,” Russell says, waving a hand back and forth in front of him. He winces and grimaces and shakes his head. “That sounds miserable.”

“Oh,” Harry says.

Pointing to the pan on the stove, Russell says, “And I really don't want eggs.” 

“Okay.” Harry forces a smile, picks up the pan, and drops it in the sink. “What do you want to do today, Russell?”

“I want to go back to bed, but I guess that’s out of the question,” Russell grumbles, sipping his coffee. 

“Really?” Harry sighs, clenching his jaw. “Well, then, why don’t you do whatever you want.”

“Are we in a fight?” Russell asks like he really isn’t sure, and Harry crosses his arms.

“Nope,” Harry says. 

“Yeah?” Russell stands, and says, “Well, I’m gonna go home.”

“Okay, then,” Harry says quietly, watching as Russell disappears into his bedroom to collect his things, and leaves without saying another word. 

Blinking back tears, Harry knocks on Niall’s bedroom door, waiting for a response. 

“Zayn?” Harry calls through the door.

“Come in,” Zayn says, voice cracking, and Harry opens the door, slipping inside. “Oh, babes, what’s wrong?”

“Russell left,” Harry says, jerking back when Niall sits up straight in bed. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Go away, Niall.” Zayn shoves a pillow at him, and Niall scoots down under the blanket, hidden from view. “What happened?”

“He was in a shitty mood,” Harry says, hugging himself and rubbing his arms. “Probably hungover. And, like, he was rude about my plans for the day, and about breakfast, and then he just… left.”

“Oh… That’s not good.” Zayn pats the mattress, and Harry sits on the corner, leaning into a hug. “Your first fight, huh?”

“I guess?” Harry sits back up, and says, “I don’t want to fight with him. It’s like… He and his ex-wife used to fight all the time, and I think he likes that we’re different.”

“You guys have only been together a few weeks,” Zayn says, taking Harry’s hand. “And fighting’s normal. I can’t imagine never fighting with someone. You and I fight, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, squeezing Zayn’s hand. “I’ll give it some time. Go over there later.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. He’ll apologize, you guys’ll have some crazy make up sex,” Zayn says with an encouraging smile. “And things will go back to normal.”

“Just in time for Valentine’s Day,” Harry says, and Zayn’s eyes go wide. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

The Niall-shaped lump under the blanket shifts towards Zayn, and Harry stands, “I’ll leave you guys alone.”

Harry waits until everyone in the loft is free of their collective hangover, and then he waits a couple more hours. He’s too nervous, and Russell hasn’t called or texted, so Harry just goes for it. It’s not a long enough drive for him to change his mind, and when he pulls into the driveway, Russell’s waiting for him.

“Hey,” Harry says, climbing out of his car. 

“Hey, Harry, listen…” Russell walks down the drive, hands in the pockets of his trousers, and when he gets close, he says, “I’m really sorry about earlier. I haven’t played a drinking game in… probably fifteen years. And I haven’t been that hungover in at least ten. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“S’alright,” Harry says, stepping into Russell’s space, and smiling. “I was maybe too excited this morning.”

“Not sure there’s such a thing,” Russell says, leaning in to kiss Harry’s cheek. 

“I just… I wanted you to stay over, to hang out with my friends, and to see what my life’s like when I’m not here,” Harry says with a sweeping gesture that he hopes encompasses Russell’s home and everything that goes along with it. “It’s not all bubble baths and champagne.”

“You like rosé,” Russell says, and Harry laughs. 

“Pink champagne, then,” Harry says with a smile. “You get my point though?”

“Yeah, I do,” Russell says, running his hand down Harry’s arm and circling his fingers around Harry’s wrist. “You want to go back to your place? Watch a movie? Cuddle on the couch?”

Harry shakes his head, and says, “I’m already here. I think we should stay.”

For the first time in years, Harry has a nice Valentine’s Day. Russell finally takes him back to Nobu, but he hires a car to drive them, so neither of them have to worry about how much they drink, and they make out in the back of the car like teenagers while the driver pretends not to notice. 

They go back to Russell’s house for the night, and Harry stays over, and the entire evening is just… nice. Harry can’t get the thought out of his head. Even their make up sex the night before was nice. It wasn’t any more rough or passionate or intense than usual. In fact, it was a little boring. 

Harry tries all week to improve things, but nothing changes. He even picks a few fights over movie choices and dinner options, but nothing works. 

On Thursday night, Harry knows for sure it’s over when Russell tells him that Astrid will be coming straight there after school on Friday, and all Harry can think is that he needs to make absolutely sure none of his stuff is anywhere in sight. He doesn’t want Astrid knowing about his relationship with her dad because he doesn’t want her to know when it’s over. 

“Russell…” Harry takes a deep, steadying breath, meets Russell’s eyes, and says, “We need to talk.”

For a breakup, it’s rather calm. Harry apologizes, but the heart wants what it wants, and what Harry’s heart wants is passion and fire, even if that means he has to hurt a little more to get there. He cries the whole way home, and then he cries some more when he can’t find a parking space close to the building. By the time he parks, and walks back to the loft, his tears have dried up, and all he wants to do is go to bed. 

Slumped against the side of the elevator, Harry watches the floors tick by: A, B, C, and when the doors slide open on D, he’s just happy to be home. He unlocks the door and steps inside, dropping his keys on the table in the entryway, and going straight to his room to put his satchel away. Across the hall, Louis is playing Ella Fitzgerald, and Harry smiles, walking over and knocking on the door just as it opens. 

“Oh, hey,” Cash says, appearing in the doorway wearing one of Louis’ flannel shirts and not much else. 

“Hey, um… Cash,” Harry says, taking a half step back, and fidgeting with the hem of his sweater vest. “How are you?”

“Great,” Cash says with a smirk as he nods down the hall. “Going to use the bathroom.”

As soon as Cash disappears into the bathroom, Harry strides into Louis’ room, livid. “Cash? Really?”

“I know,” Louis whispers, smiling and looking a little shocked himself. “I called him, and he came over, and we talked, and now…”

“What are you doing? You've said a million times you guys had the worst relationship,” Harry says, stomach churning at the thought of Louis and Cash getting back together, of seeing them as a couple, of them hanging out in the loft. 

“I don’t know.” Louis shrugs, and leans against the door jamb, smoothing his hand over his bare chest. “I think, maybe, this is how it’s supposed to happen. Like, sometimes the timing’s off. So, before, with me and Cash, our timing was off, and now the time is right.”

“He broke up with you three times! The timing was off three times?” Harry stomps his foot, balling his hands into fists. “The wedding wasn’t even that long ago! He flirted with you that whole time knowing he had a boyfriend. I guess they broke up? And now you’re getting back together with him because you don’t want to be alone. It’s pathetic.”

“God, it’s so convenient having urinals and a separate stall in there,” Cash says from behind him, and Harry backs out of the doorway, eyes shut tight, hoping Cash didn’t overhear anything he said. 

“Yeah, um…” Harry clears his throat, and forces a chuckle. “They’re great.”

“Hey, Cash, give me a sec?” Louis opens the door wide, and turns towards Cash as he walks inside the room and crawls onto the bed. “I need to talk to Harry. Roommate stuff. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, sure,” Cash says, waving at Harry. “Bye.”

“Bye, Cash,” Harry says as politely as he can manage. 

Louis closes the door, and the smile drops off his face. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Harry barks a laugh, and says, “You’re the one making horrible decisions and ruining your life. Have fun!” 

Harry storms off towards the kitchen, desperate for a drink, but Louis follows right behind him, grabbing Harry’s arm and spinning him around to face him. “You really think you know everything! It’s ridiculous. I can’t stand it!”

“No, I don’t know everything,” Harry says, hands on his hips, ready to tell Louis exactly what he does know. “But I do know you’re—”

“You’re fucking exhausting. I’m sick of you!” Louis shouts, moving closer. “You’re such a know-it-all. What? Because your boyfriend is, like, eighty, you’re smarter than me?”

“I’m sick of you!” Harry yells back, using his extra inch or two of height in an attempt to loom over Louis. “I’m so disappointed in you! Why can’t you just be alone for like a week? One week?”

“What do you want me to do, Harry? Pretend I like being alone?” Louis steps sideways and waves past Harry in the direction of the kitchen. “Bake cupcakes whenever I’m feeling sad? I’m not you!”

“I don’t do that!” Harry smacks Louis’ hand down, and says, “I bake because I like to. And there’s nothing wrong with what I do! You’re the one making the mistake here, Louis!”

“I’m so tired of this shit,” Louis says, lowering his voice and clenching his jaw. “Why don’t you go put on your stupid pajamas and tell someone else how to live their life?” 

“Yeah? Why don’t you go back to your room, put on your stupid flannel shirt, and keep not living up to your potential?” Harry yells at the top of his lungs, shoving Louis’ shoulders for good measure. “You’re thirty years old, Louis! Why don’t you do something with your life?”

“Oh my god! Whatever, Harry!” Louis pushes Harry back, poking him in the center of his chest. “You sound like a crazy person!”

“I’m not crazy!” Harry points a shaky finger at him, and says, “I’m just saying all the things you don’t want to hear!”

“Shut up! That’s what I want to hear! Silence!” Blue eyes wild, Louis rakes his fingers through his hair, and yells, “I want you to be silent for two seconds!”

“I will not be silenced!” Harry balls his hands into fists at his sides, and Louis frowns, brow furrowing. “Stop looking at me like that! Stop making that face! I hate that face!”

“This is my face, Harry! This is the only face I have!” Louis shouts, and then he puts some space between them and smirks. “And if you don’t want to look at my face, look at my ass!” Spinning around, Louis bends over, shaking his ass and smacking it as he glances back at Harry. “Yeah, look at that!”

“Fuck you, Tomlinson!” Harry yells, turning around to shake his ass at Louis. He bends over further, not caring that his trousers are slipping down and it’s possible Louis is getting a real eyeful. “Stop shaking your ass at me, quitter!

“Get a good look!” Louis rubs both hands over the curves of his ass, wiggling it side to side.

“No, you look!” Harry shakes his hips faster, but when Louis actually does look at his ass, Harry screams, “Stop looking at my ass!”

“Oh my god… I’m going to kill you,” Louis says, standing and brushing his messy hair off his forehead. 

“Quitter!” Harry shouts one more time before turning and heading for the kitchen. He’s done. If Louis wants to fuck his ex-boyfriend, so be it, because it’s only a matter of time before Cash breaks his heart again, and Harry will be proven right. 

Chapter Text

FEBRUARY AGAIN

It’s nearly impossible to get out of bed and go to school Friday morning, but Harry manages, and he makes it through the whole day without getting upset. He’s thankful for the weekend, and stops at the store on the way home that afternoon, picking up a bottle of his favorite cheap rosé, a package of Hot Pockets, and some Oreos because even though he wants to bake himself some brownies, he doesn’t want to give Louis the satisfaction. 

When he gets home, Harry goes right to his room, shuts the door, changes into a pair of comfy pajamas, and bursts into tears. With an Oreo in one hand, and a glass of rosé in the other, Harry lays down on his bed with Joni Mitchell’s “River” on repeat. He’ll get to the Dirty Dancing part of his post-breakup routine eventually, but for now, he’s so mad at Louis on top of his breakup with Russell that he’s not ready to have the time of his life. 

About halfway through his package of Oreos, Harry texts Zayn to break the news about Russell, and because Zayn knows him better than anyone, he tells Harry he’ll see him in twenty-four hours. Sometime after midnight, Harry puts on his noise-canceling headphones, and even though he can’t hear it, he turns up the volume on his stereo, and lets Joni compete with whatever sounds are coming from Louis’ room. 

Saturday morning, Harry wakes up with bloodshot eyes, cookie crumbs in his bed, and a wet spot on his pillow that's either rosé or tears. He stuffs an Oreo in his mouth, rolls over, and stares out the window for a while. 

“Harry?” Niall calls through the door, and Harry grunts, which Niall must take as an invitation. He opens the door, and says, “Brought you some tea.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispers, voice scratchy. 

Niall sets the mug of steaming tea on Harry’s nightstand, and says, “Zayn told me about Russell. Sorry about that, man. Ouch, right? Nobody saw that one coming. I guess, maybe, you did, though, since you’re the one who broke up with him.”

“Go away,” Harry says, and when Niall takes his time backing out of the room, Harry raises his voice, “Leave, Niall.”

When he’s gone, Harry sits up for the first time all day, and sniffs the tea. It’s a good bet that Niall wouldn’t poison him because Zayn would definitely kill him if he did, so Harry takes a careful sip. Chamomile with honey. Tears spring to Harry’s eyes, and he lets them fall, surprised he has any left to cry. 

A few hours later, Louis cracks the door open. “Harold? Hey…” Harry greets him with a hum and a jerk of his chin, and Louis comes in, shutting the door behind him. He walks around Harry’s bed, and lays down behind him, so Harry rolls onto his back, watching Louis from the corner of his eye. “About the other night—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry interrupts, anger swelling inside him. 

“Okay,” Louis says, moving onto his side, and propping his head on his hand. “I just wanted to apologize, you know, for what I said about Russell. Obviously, I didn’t know, and—”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry repeats, trying not to yell again. He rolls away, hiding his face in his pillow when he starts to cry, frustrated with Louis for not understanding that anything he said about Cash had nothing to do with Russell.

“Fine,” Louis says, sitting up and laying a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I was just— When Dylan and I broke up, you were— you were a good friend. I was trying to be the same.”

“Is Cash still here?” Harry asks, and Louis nods, frowning. 

“He’s in the shower,” Louis says, rubbing Harry’s arm. 

“Do you think he’d like it if he knew you were in here comforting your ‘ex-boyfriend’ through a breakup?” Harry asks, glowering at him, heart beating harder the more annoyed he becomes. “Or did you tell him that was all fake?”

“Oh, um…” Louis swallows hard, getting off the bed. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, and says, “No, I didn’t tell him. Are you gonna?”

“Get out, Louis,” Harry says, pointing to the door. 

Louis leaves without another word, and Harry cries himself back to sleep, napping until there’s another knock on his bedroom door.

“Harry?” Liam opens the door, and says, “What’s the name of this song?”

“‘River’,” Harry croaks, then clears his throat. “You like it?”

“I did,” Liam says, stepping further into the room. “Liked it last night when you started playing it, liked it a little less at three in the morning, and now I’m kind of hoping that the sun comes up, thaws that river, and that woman drowns.”

“Get out!” Harry yells, throwing a pillow at Liam as he shuts the door. 

Sometime in the late afternoon, Zayn comes over. He doesn’t call or text first; he just shows up with a big bottle of Gatorade, a Hot Pocket, and a box of Kleenex. 

“Thank you,” Harry says as a fresh round of tears overtakes him. He wipes his eyes, and his nose, and chugs half the Gatorade before tearing into the Hot Pocket like a man who’s eaten nothing but Oreos for a full day. “I just keep thinking… What if I made a mistake? There’s nothing wrong with Russell. He’s perfect. Passion is probably overrated. I can live with okay sex for the rest of my life. It’s not like I wasn’t having orgasms.”

“You didn’t love him,” Zayn says, slipping his arm around Harry’s waist and giving him a squeeze. 

“Yeah, but what if, like, real love and my idea of love are two separate things?” Harry asks, resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder. “What if what I want isn’t possible?”

“Don’t. Don’t sell yourself short, Harry,” Zayn says. He places a gentle kiss on Harry’s temple, and rocks them side to side. “You made the right choice.”

“Yeah… I guess.”

“I think it’s time to give Joni a break,” Zayn says, reaching for Harry’s phone on his nightstand. 

“I’m not ready.” Shaking his head, Harry says, “I need more time.”

“Turn it off, Harry. Off. Off. Off,” Zayn repeats until Harry grabs his phone and presses stop. “Now, let’s get you out of this room. Go get a drink or something.”

“I’m definitely not ready for that,” Harry says, pulling on his dirty pajama top. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Harry’s bedroom door flies open, and Louis rushes in with Cash behind him. “Turn it back on! Turn the song back on! Cash and I made up a dance routine to cheer you up.”

“Let’s go, babe.” Cash lifts his hands overhead, swinging his hips, and Louis holds onto his waist, grinding against Cash’s ass while Cash whoops and hollers, then he spins around, they both start thrusting their pelvises like they’re doing the Time Warp, and Harry is filled with rage and disgust and overwhelming sadness. 

“Ready now?” Zayn asks, but Harry’s already out the door on his way to the bathroom. 

He takes his time in the shower, hoping that when he’s done, Louis will have already left for work, and Cash will be long gone. Zayn wins best friend of the year award for picking out Harry’s clothes so he doesn’t have to, laying his favorite jeans and red sweater on the bed, and offering to apply concealer to the dark circles under Harry’s eyes. 

“Are you planning to come back here tonight?” Harry asks, checking his reflection in the mirror. At least he doesn’t look heartbroken. “Like, with Niall?”

“No, actually,” Zayn says, twisting his finger around one of Harry’s curls. “I need to go home. I’ve got a boat show in the morning.”

“More boats.” Harry pouts, then kisses Zayn on the forehead. “On land?”

“Yeah, this time they’re on land,” Zayn says, taking Harry’s hand and leading him out of his room, out of the loft, and down to the bar.

Harry takes a seat at the bar between Zayn and Liam, so at least he can talk to Liam when Zayn and Niall start getting all weird. Louis hands Niall and Liam beers without asking, watching Harry warily. He pulls Harry’s favorite pink wine out of the cooler, but Harry shakes his head.

“I want tequila,” Harry says, and Louis blinks once, eyebrows raised and eyes wide.

“Tequila,” Louis repeats, and Harry nods. “Like a margarita?”

Shaking his head again, Harry points to the unopened reposado tequila on the shelf behind Louis, and says, “That one. Neat.”

Louis’ eyebrows climb higher. “Who are you?”

“Just give me the drink, Louis,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. While Louis is busy struggling to open the bottle, Harry sighs, and turns to Niall. “I’m going to die alone.” 

“Nah,” Niall says, taking a sip of beer. “But if you’re feeling that way, you should give me your phone.”

“Why?” Harry asks, nodding his thanks to Louis when he sets his tequila down in front of him. 

“Because you and Russell had a clean break, and after a clean break, you risk backsliding,” Niall says, and on Harry’s other side, Liam hums. 

Harry turns to Liam. “What?”

“You’ve got backslider written all over you, man,” Liam says, clapping Harry on the back hard enough to make him jerk forward. 

“Backsliding is when you go crawling back and screw everything up,” Niall explains, reaching for Harry’s phone. “You make it messy when you could’ve just moved on.”

Harry sighs and lets Niall have his phone. He was already thinking of calling Russell to apologize, and that was before he had a sip of tequila. 

“I’m going to go meet my new boss,” Liam says, leaving his empty beer bottle on the bar, and hopping off of his stool. “He invited me to play poker with him tonight.”

“Have fun,” Harry says, lifting his glass to his lips and letting tequila settle on his tongue before swallowing it. 

“That what you wanted?” Louis asks, tossing Liam’s empty bottle and wiping the bar. 

Harry hums and nods, taking another sip of tequila. “Niall just taught me a new word.”

“You?” Louis laughs. “What is it?”

“Backslider,” Harry says, raising his eyebrows and lifting his glass to his lips. 

“Are you calling me a backslider, Harold?” Louis leans forward with both hands resting on the bar, and Harry blinks up at him, smirking, and ready for a fight. 

“Hey, babe,” Cash says, and Louis immediately turns his attention to Cash as he takes a stool a few seats away. Not mincing words, Niall slides off his stool, and he and Zayn grab a table. 

“Hello, there, handsome,” Louis says back to him, dragging out his words. “You want a drink?” 

Harry downs his tequila, closing his eyes before he can roll them at Cash. He gives Cash a halfhearted smile, thankful to have the breakup with Russell as an excuse for his bad attitude. He walks towards Niall and Zayn, and an idea pops into his head. 

“Niall, can I borrow your coat?” Harry asks just as Niall leans across the table to talk quietly to Zayn. He waves Harry off without thinking, and Harry smirks, picking up the coat and slipping his phone out of the pocket. 

It rings once, and Harry says, “Hey, um… I was just thinking about you. Would you want to meet up or…”

Harry wakes up warm and well-fucked, a little sore, a little hungover, but happy. He rolls over, and smiles when he sees he’s not the only one awake. 

“Hey,” Harry says softly, leaning in to rub their noses together. 

“Hi. I, um, I hate to do this, but I need to go,” Paul says, backing up a bit. “I have a lot of work to do for the spring musical, and I—”

“It’s okay. We can talk after school,” Harry says, sitting up and grabbing a pair of pajama bottoms off the floor. He pulls them on, and helps Paul find his discarded clothes, smiling all the while. “I’ll walk you out.”

Hoping no one else is up yet, Harry tiptoes out of his room, pulling Paul behind him by the hand. 

“Well, well, well,” Niall says, pausing the PlayStation, and elbowing Liam. “Hi, Paul.”

“Niall,” Paul says, waving nervously. 

“Tall Paul,” Liam says with a wink. 

“What’s up, Leon?” Paul laughs quietly, and says, “Sorry to run off, but I’ve got work to do.”

“See you around, Paul,” Niall says, giving Paul a quick salute as he walks out the door. As soon as the door closes behind him, Niall cackles. “You slid way, way, way back.”

“I’m embarrassed for you,” Liam says, shaking his head. 

“It was good!” Harry says, unashamed as he walks into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. “Paul and I had bad timing before. This time it’ll be different.”

“Sure,” Niall says, restarting their game. 

Liam scoffs. “Whatever you say, man.” 

“It’ll be better this time,” Harry insists, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that says this is no different than Louis getting back together with Cash.

All day Monday, Harry’s in a great mood. He can't stop smiling, and when the bell rings that afternoon, his face is sore from it. After he ushers his last student out, Harry stops off to say goodbye to Tanya, and walks down to the other end of the school to the music and art wing. Outside Paul’s classroom, Harry straightens his pink plaid sweater vest and brushes some pencil shavings off his brown corduroy pants. 

“Hi,” Harry says softly, leaning into the music room, and knocking on the  open door. 

“Harry.” Standing quickly, Paul bumps into a music stand, catching it before it hits the floor. “Sorry. Hi.”

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Harry says, biting his lower lip, and moving slowly into the room. 

“Yeah, um, me too,” Paul says, clearing his throat and looking away. “Harry, I have to tell you something. I have a boyfriend.”

Harry freezes midstep, stomach sinking as he closes his eyes and presses his lips together. “You have a boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Paul confirms, and Harry blinks rapidly, the happiness he’s carried around for the past two days evaporating in an instant. “And I love him. Like, I love him a lot.”

“But you had sex with me Saturday night,” Harry says, almost needing to be sure it actually happened because he never would’ve thought of Paul as a cheater.

“We— We’d had a fight. And he— God, it’s kind of funny, but it’s really not. He said he wanted a break.” Paul chuckles, shaking his head sadly, then he says, “Like on Friends with Ross and Rachel, except— No, it was exactly like that. I misunderstood. I thought he was breaking up with me, and you called, and I— I’m sorry.”

“Wow,” Harry whispers, resting his hand over his heart, and listening to the rhythm. “I can’t believe… I mean, I do believe you. I just… I’m sorry, too. I thought, you know, our problem was timing, and I guess I was more right than I realized.”

“I’m really sorry, Harry,” Paul says, taking a step closer. 

“Don’t… Don’t apologize.” Backing towards the door, Harry says, “I, um… I wish you the best with him. I won’t call you again.”

“Oh… Okay.” Paul nods, watching him leave, and Harry's tears have the decency to wait until he’s alone in the parking lot to fall.

He sits in his car for a few minutes, gathering himself together for the drive home. That little voice in the back of his head was right. Ignoring it didn’t do him any good, so he won’t ignore it any longer. Yes, the situation with him and Paul is exactly the same as the one with Louis and Cash. In other words, wrong. And Harry drives home determined to tell Louis exactly that. 

When he walks into the loft, Niall and Liam are in the kitchen, but Louis isn’t around, and since Niall and Liam bore witness to his backsliding, Harry goes straight over to them, and says, “Paul has a boyfriend. They were ‘on a break’ just like Ross and Rachel.”

Niall gasps, and Liam says, “You’re the girl from the copy place?” 

“Chloe,” Harry says with a firm nod. “I’m the girl from the copy place.”

“Do you have a crop top and a belly button ring?” Niall asks, leaning sideways and lifting the hem of Harry’s sweater vest. 

“Stop it,” Harry says, smacking Niall’s hand away. “I actually… I don’t care, really, about Paul. This made me realize that I was wrong. The timing didn’t matter. I have to tell Louis. Do you know where he is?”

“Yeah, um…” Liam trails off, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

“He’s in the shower,” Niall says, pointing in that direction. 

Harry hurries through the apartment, throwing open the bathroom door. “Lou?”

“Yeah, almost done,” Louis says over the sound of running water. 

“I have to tell you something,” Harry says, and the shower shuts off. 

Louis opens the shower curtain, and steps out onto the bath rug, water dripping over his bare chest, droplets caught in his eyelashes and his beard. He tightens the towel around his waist, and says, “Hey. What’s up?”

“All that stuff you were saying the other night about timing and you and Cash?” Harry inches closer, eyes roaming over the shower pink skin of Louis’ chest and neck. He shakes his head, and says, “You were wrong. The timing isn’t important. Because if you love someone, it’s simple. It might not be easy, but it makes sense.”

“I get that,” Louis says, pushing his wet hair back off his forehead. “But, um…”

“Lou, you deserve love,” Harry says, taking another step closer. “You deserve an extraordinary love. Big, huge, enormous love. And I know you don’t want to be alone, but you’re not. You’re not alone at all! You’ve got Niall, and you’ve got Liam, and you’ve got me. And I’m gonna be here. You don’t have to settle.”

Licking his lips, Louis nods, then drops his chin to his chest. When he looks up, he says, “I’m moving in with Cash. Signed the lease this morning. But, um, thanks for saying all that.”

While Louis’ words sink in, Harry swallows, then opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Louis slips past him, bare arm brushing against Harry’s sleeve as he leaves the room, unaware that he’s taking all the air with him when he goes.

Over the course of the week, Harry does everything to convince Louis not to move in with Cash. He tries to make living in the loft more fun: he bakes and cooks, Liam helps him make a chart listing all of the televised Chicago Bulls, Cubs, and Bears games with poster board, stickers, and glitter glue, and he and Niall have a bit of a cleaning competition. The apartment looks better than it ever has, but that’s about all they accomplish. 

While Harry’s busy trying to get him to stay, Louis spends his days packing and his nights working so he can have the weekend off to move. He brings home beer, liquor, and wine boxes after each shift, stuffing them with clothes he doesn’t bother folding, books that don’t all belong to him, and papers that could probably be thrown away if he took the time to sort through them. 

On Friday afternoon, after Harry gets home from school, and before Louis goes to work, he calls his last loft meeting. Harry literally drags his feet to the dining room table. 

“You’ll buff those away, Harry,” Niall says, scowling at the barely there scuff marks on the floor. 

“Whatever,” Harry says, dropping into the rolling desk chair at the head of the table. 

Niall and Liam sit to either side of him, and Louis stands at the opposite end of the table, a shadow of a smile on his lips. 

“Hey, so, um, since I’m moving in with Cash, I—”

“The second Louis leaves, I’m calling a plumber. Having them fix everything,” Niall says, reaching across the table to thump Liam’s hand. “What are you gonna do?”

“Oh, you know…” Liam sighs happily, leaning back in his chair, hands linked in his lap. “If I don’t have to cover any bills for Louis, I might go to Disney World.”

“We live less than an hour away from Disneyland,” Louis says with an annoyed huff. “Why would you go to Florida?”

“Why would you move in with Cash?” Liam retorts, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. 

Louis stubbornly crosses his arms, and says, “Because I want to.”

“You want to,” Harry repeats flatly. He rolls his chair closer to the table and rests his forearms on it, pounding his fist once for good measure. “You’re seriously about to make the biggest, stupidest mistake, and you’re like, because I want to, like a dumb baby. I can’t believe you’re moving in with the guy who broke up with you multiple times, led you on then dropped you like a hot potato multiple times, and turned you into a borderline alcoholic. And you’ve been back together for less than a week, Louis!”

Shifting his feet to widen his stance, Louis lets his head fall back, and screams up at the ceiling, “Thanks for helping me move!”

“Yeah, no problem,” Niall says, hopping up and clapping Louis on the back. 

“I mean, I feel obligated,” Liam says, getting up from the table. “You helped me move back in last summer. Otherwise I’d say fuck it and let you do it yourself.”

“I’m not helping,” Harry says, rolling his chair away from the table. He stands and strides towards his room, yelling, “Nobody helped me move! All you guys wanted was that damn TV! Fuck all three of you!”

Once he goes for a short run and drinks a cup of coffee, Harry helps them load up the moving truck. It’s not like it’s hard work, and he feels guilty when Niall and Liam are just as upset as he is, but are willing to help. 

“Thanks,” Louis says when Harry picks up the other side of his dresser. 

Harry grunts in response, looking behind him as he backs out of the room, and keeping his eyes trained on the elevator doors once they’re on the way down. After that, he makes sure to carry things he can handle on his own, like Louis’ desk chair and boxes of clothes. They load everything into the back of the U-Haul, Louis pulls the rolling door down, and that’s it. 

The four of them stand there in the street behind the U-Haul for a moment, then Louis chuckles, meets Harry’s gaze, and says, “Thanks for helping me move.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Niall says, walking around to climb into the truck. 

“Remember this the next time I need help moving,” Liam says, faking a punch at Louis’ stomach. 

Louis fakes a jab and a cross at Liam’s head, and says, “I helped you last summer. You’re helping me today. We’re even.”

“Oh, no, my friend.” Liam throws his head back and laughs like a vampire. “This is a never ending cycle. You can’t escape.”

Hands to his cheeks, Louis screams dramatically, then says, “Get in the truck, man.”

Harry steps back onto the sidewalk as Liam climbs up into the truck, and he keeps looking in that direction until he’s sure Louis has walked around to climb into the driver’s seat. When he turns to find Louis watching him, Harry sighs. 

“Thank you for helping me move,” Louis says again, and Harry shakes his head. 

“Stop saying that.” Arms wrapped tight around his middle in case Louis tries to do something stupid like hug him, Harry asks, “Why are you in such a hurry? You guys dated for years and never lived together, and now you can’t even wait a full week? I just don’t get it, Lou.”

Reaching out and poking Harry’s chest, Louis says, “No one else calls me that.” 

“Because you tell them not to,” Harry needlessly explains, swatting Louis’ hand away. 

“I told you not to call me that,” Louis says, poking him again, gentler this time. 

“No, you didn’t.” Rubbing his lips together, Harry looks away towards the oncoming traffic, avoiding Louis’ eyes. “You said, ‘I usually tell people not to call me that’ and I said ‘Don’t tell me what to do, Tomlinson’ so you said ‘Fine. I’ll call you Harold’ and I—”

“You said ‘That’s not my name, Lewis’ and then you peed on my shoe,” Louis says, lifting his foot up and holding it out between them. “This shoe.”

“That’s what you get for talking to me at the urinal,” Harry says, backing towards the building. “Get out of here, Lewis.”

“See you later?” Louis asks, tossing the truck keys from hand to hand. 

“Not if I see you first.” Harry smiles, squinting into the afternoon sun. A convenient excuse should the tears he’s so far managed to keep back start to fall. He stands there until the truck pulls away, then he heads back upstairs to wait for Zayn.

While Harry waits for Zayn, he takes a quick shower, then walks around Louis’ empty room. For now, they’re holding off on getting another roommate, but only because Harry begged Zayn to lobby hard with Niall. The three of them plan to split the upcoming rent for March, and revisit the idea of renting Louis’ room when his leaving isn’t so fresh. 

Without his stuff in it, Louis’ room seems smaller even though it’s actually a little bigger than Harry’s room. Harry steps into the closet, and pushes the few empty metal hangers to the end, inhaling deeply. It smells like incense and fabric softener, and Harry huffs, rubbing his nose. 

“Harry?” Zayn calls, and Harry leaves Louis’ room, closing the door behind him, not wanting to look at the vacant space. 

“Hey,” Harry says, smiling when he sees that Zayn’s brought food from In-N-Out Burger. “Did you get me a strawberry shake?”

“Of course,” Zayn says, handing it over. He follows Harry to the couch, tucking his feet under his bum. “You doing okay?”

“Ehh… I just don’t get it.” Popping the lid off his shake, Harry swirls a few fries in it, and chews on them while he thinks. “It’s like… It seems like Louis is doing the exact opposite of me breaking up with Russell.” Zayn frowns, so Harry reaches over to boop his nose, and says, “Not that them moving in is related to me breaking up with Russell, but like… the motivation? I ended things with Russell because I didn’t want to settle. I want more out of a relationship, right?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Zayn says, stealing one of Harry’s fries. “Louis is definitely settling with Cash. I don’t see that lasting the length of their lease.”

“It’s not just that, though.” Harry sucks strawberry milkshake through the straw, hollowing his cheeks until Zayn pokes him where his dimple would be. “It’s like he’s afraid to want more. Like he thinks he doesn’t deserve it or something? And that’s what I don’t get. He shouldn’t be so scared of searching for something better.”

“Maybe he’ll get there eventually,” Zayn says, resting his arm on the back of the couch. “So, um, I haven’t told you this because of everything with Russell, and then Louis moving, but after the 10k, Niall and I talked, and we decided to try actually, um, dating.”

“Shut up!” Harry gasps dramatically, and says, “I’m weirdly happy for you. Like, I know I was an asshole about it, but honestly, I was worried because you’ve never been the no strings type. Knowing that Niall’s into you, like, really into you… It’s different.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Zayn scrunches his nose, and Harry taps the end of it with a fry until Zayn opens his mouth and lets him feed it to him. “Are we watching Dirty Dancing? I can’t believe it’s been a whole week since you broke up with Russell, and you haven’t watched it yet.”

Harry stuffs a few more fries into his mouth while Zayn turns on the television. He swallows, and says, “I’ve been too busy being mad at Louis.”

“And trying to convince him to stay,” Zayn adds, reaching over to pat Harry’s thigh. 

“Yeah, that.”

One of Harry’s favorite things about watching his well-worn DVD of Dirty Dancing are the previews for the other movies from the late eighties. They watch them all, then watch the entire movie, and Harry’s just about to try to convince Zayn to attempt the famous lift when his phone rings.

“It’s Niall,” Harry says, frowning as he answers, “Hello, Niall. How’s the new place? Smell like new paint and compromise?”

“Ha-fuckin’-ha,” Niall says, clearly annoyed. “Louis freaked out and drove us to the middle of the fucking desert.”

“You’re kidding,” Harry says, then silently mouths to Zayn, “Oh my god!”

“Nope.” Niall clicks his tongue, and says, “We got to his new apartment, and instead of stopping, he stepped on the gas, and drove almost three hours to fucking Joshua Tree.”

“Wow… He really wants to move in with Cash,” Harry says slowly, then sticks his tongue out at Zayn, rolling his eyes.

“Harry, we need you to come get us,” Niall says urgently. “Louis pulled off on some old access road, got out and started ranting and pacing and flipping his shit, and when Liam tried to convince him to get back in the truck, he threw the fucking keys. All I can see is sand and cacti. I’m going to kill him.”

“Zayn and I will be there as soon as we can,” Harry says, getting up off the couch. “Can you text me exactly where you are? Or at least the last road you were on?”

“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” Niall says. 

“We’ll find you,” Harry promises, hanging up the phone. “Holy shit. Well, Louis isn’t moving in with Cash. He freaked out and drove them into the desert near Joshua Tree. Threw away the keys like a maniac.”

“Are you serious?” Zayn asks, following Harry into the kitchen. When Harry nods, Zayn says, “I’d kill him.”

“Not if Niall does it first,” Harry says. 

Other than bananas, they don’t have any food that will hold up well in the car, so Harry grabs his wallet and an empty tote bag, and he and Zayn head downstairs. Before they leave the interstate near Palm Springs, they stop for gas, and buy a bunch of road trip food, filling Harry’s tote with Combos, Slim Jims, granola bars, Twinkies, and bottles of water so the guys will have something to eat on the ride back to the loft. 

Harry turns off the highway, following Niall’s directions, and winds up on a bumpy dirt road to nowhere. He’s about to call Niall again to double check that he’s heading the right way when he comes around a bend in the road to find the U-Haul parked at the edge of a bluff with Liam, Niall, and Louis sitting on the tailgate. Louis hops up, and Niall starts towards them, but Liam’s faster, running at the car and banging on the windshield. 

“What took so long?” Liam asks as soon as Harry opens the door. 

“We came straight here,” Harry says, reaching into the tote bag in the back seat and grabbing two bottles of water. “Water and snacks.” 

Tossing the bottles in the air, muscle memory takes over, and Harry juggles as he walks. He stops in front of Louis, catching the bottles neatly, and hands one to Louis, looking around at the desert landscape. “Love the new apartment, Lou. So spacious. Lots of natural light.”

“Yeah… I know I’m an idiot,” Louis says, cracking open the bottle and draining half the water. Hopping back up in the back of the truck, Louis grabs the handle and pulls the rolling door down, then checks his phone, heading towards Harry’s station wagon. “If we leave right now, I can make it back to Cash by nine.”

“What?” Harry lays the inside of his wrist on Louis’ forehead, and Louis swats his hand away. 

“I’m still moving in,” Louis says, finishing off his water bottle. “I talked to him, and it’s fine. We’re gonna work it out. And, um, I’ll just come back for the truck tomorrow. I called the company earlier. They’ll be closed by the time I’d get there today, but they’ve got a spare key, so I’ll go by in the morning.”

Dangling his keys from his fingertip, Harry says, “You expect me to drive you all the way back to Cash after you freaked out and drove three hours out of your way to avoid moving in with him in the first place?”

“Look, Harry,” Louis says, sighing heavily. “I know I—”

“No,” Harry says with a smug smile.

“Come on, man.” Stubbornness rearing its head, Louis tries to snatch the keys from Harry’s hand, and Harry reacts instinctively. He dashes away from Louis, and when he gets to the edge of the bluff, he winds his arm up the way he learned to when he used to play Little League baseball. It’s all about the follow-through. 

“No!” Liam shouts, sprinting past him. 

Louis runs right by, shading his eyes as if that’s going to help at all. He turns back to Harry, and yells, “Can’t believe you did that!”

“Well, I did,” Harry says, leaving him there to stare off into the distance. He heads towards Zayn who’s already opened the back of the U-Haul, and together they unload Louis’ little loveseat so they have someplace comfortable to sit because it’s going to be a long night. 

Surprisingly, Louis doesn’t stay mad at him, if he was ever mad to begin with. Considering he’s the one who drove all the way out there and threw his keys away, he doesn’t have much room to talk. 

On the other hand, Liam doesn’t speak to Harry for a couple of hours, completely outraged that he’s being forced to spend the night in the desert where they could be attacked by coyotes or bitten by snakes or abducted by aliens. Harry points out that aliens could actually abduct him from anywhere, but he’s not interested in that logic. After a few beers, he’s more open to the idea. 

“Yeah, I took, like, all the beer from the loft,” Louis says, sliding a cooler down to the end of the truck bed. He holds one out for Harry, and asks, “You want one?”

When Harry nods, Louis pretends to throw it out into the surrounding desert, then he laughs and tosses it to Harry who asks, “You want a Slim Jim?” 

As soon as the sun goes down, the warmth of the late February day is replaced by near freezing temperatures, and Harry almost regrets his decision. But Louis has flannel shirts and hoodies to spare, and more coats than Harry would’ve expected. Since he wasn’t planning to spend the night in the desert, Harry didn’t dress for the weather, so he layers himself in Louis’ clothes, and tugs one of Louis’ beanies over his curls, walking around to keep warm. 

Without television, and trying to conserve their phone batteries, they’re all left to find other ways to entertain themselves. Thankfully, there’s beer. 

Louis and Liam pull Louis’ bed frame out and set up the bed by the back of the truck, while Niall and Harry and Zayn unload Louis’ desk and chair. They lay out all the snacks and bottles of water on the desk like a buffet, and hang out like it’s a choice, as if they’re all sitting on the roof of the loft, and not stranded in the desert because Louis panicked about committing to the guy he claims to love. 

Eventually Harry gets bored. Zayn and Niall wander off together, Liam falls asleep on Louis’ bed, and Louis walks away so he can call Cash again. So Harry goes snooping. 

In the bottom of an already opened box of Louis’ clothes, Harry finds an old boombox complete with CD player, tape deck, and four D batteries. He climbs down out of the truck with it, setting it on Louis’ desk, and Louis laughs, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he approaches. 

“Where’d you find that?” Louis asks, hopping off his bed to stand beside Harry. He rests his hand on Harry’s lower back, leaning over and pressing the button to open the CD player. 

“What’s this?” Harry laughs, reading the scribbled Sharpie on the CD inside. “WLWT Radio Tommo 2006.”

“Shit,” Louis says, reaching for the CD, but Harry closes the player before Louis can get to it. “Don’t play it.”

“Oh, I’m playing it,” Harry says, pressing the button, eyes going wide when instead of music, Louis’ teenage voice plays from the speakers. 

“What’s up, WLWT listeners? Tommo Radio in Chicago is playing all your favorites. This one goes out to Christina. Your locker is right next to mine, but we’ve never spoken. I don’t think you know my name, but I know you’re beautiful.” 

As Louis’ voice fades, simple guitar chords begin to play, and there’s a collective groan as everyone recognizes the song. James Blunt’s falsetto spills from the speakers, and Louis raises his voice over the music, “This is a great song!”

“Is this a CD of teenage Louis pining over people?” Harry asks, but Louis ignores him, shocking Harry when he sings along, voice high and light. 

“You’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, it’s true…” Louis giggles, cupping Harry’s cheek, and singing, “I saw your face blah blah blah blah place.”

Harry jerks away from Louis’ touch, pressing skip, and cackling when he hears, “What you gon' do with all that junk? All that junk inside your trunk?”

“This was Louis’ theme song in high school,” Liam says, singing along. 

“Shut up.” Louis whacks the back of Liam’s head, and skips to the next song. “‘Jesus of Suburbia’ is the best Green Day song.”

“It’s a good song,” Harry says, leaning back against the desk while Louis plays air guitar, then switches it up, drumming on the desk, and Liam’s head and shoulders. 

“God, I thought I was such a badass at fifteen,” Louis says, shaking his head and smiling. 

“You were,” Liam says, and with a wink in Harry’s direction he mouths, “Skip it.”

Harry reaches past Louis to press the button, and Wyclef Jean’s voice introduces Shakira. 

“I love this song!” Harry shakes his hips, and though it’s been years since he’s danced to this song, he lifts his hands in the air, and he can remember every step, and every shake of his ass. 

“Oh my god, Harold,” Louis says, stepping back to give him space. 

“Oh, shit!” Zayn hops up from the bed, and falls into step beside Harry, rolling his hips, then swinging them side to side. 

Long forgotten choreography comes back like muscle memory, and Harry and Zayn move together like it hasn’t been almost fifteen years since they memorized a dance routine to “Hips Don’t Lie” and performed it for their own reflections in Harry’s mom’s basement. 

The song ends, and Louis leads off a round of applause with a wolf whistle, talking over his own voice on the CD, “I can’t say for sure, but I think if I’d seen that when I was in high school, I would’ve realized I was bi a lot earlier.”

Already warm from dancing, Harry’s face flushes hotter, and he says, “You should see the routine we did for ‘Bootylicious’.”

Louis’ eyes widen, but then he turns towards the CD player, covering his face as his teenage voice says, “Sometimes I just feel so… far away. Like I’m not who I’m meant to be. When I feel like that, I listen to this song by Nickelback, and it reminds me that no matter where I go, no matter how far away I feel, I can always come home.”

“Oh, that’s cheesy,” Niall says, leaning back in Louis’ desk chair. 

“I like this song,” Harry says softly, but Niall drowns him out, singing over the music, so Harry raises his voice and asks, “How cheesy is it if you know every word?”

“It was all over the radio when we were in high school,” Niall says, waving Harry off, but he stops singing, and before Harry can stop him, Louis skips to the next song. It’s “Speed of Sound” by Coldplay, and Harry doesn’t say anything, just listens. He was young when it first came out, but he remembers Gemma listening to it, and can recall it playing on the radio in his mom’s minivan, though this is the first time he’s ever paid attention to the lyrics. 

Sitting on the back bumper of the U-Haul, Harry watches Louis sing along, the beers he’s had loosening his movements, making him willing to dance when he might otherwise be reluctant. He raises his arms out to the sides, spinning slowly, and Liam cackles, getting up to mimic Louis’ moves, so Harry does the same. 

Niall laughs, and points at them with his beer. “Aren’t you going to miss this, Louis?”

“Yeah,” Louis responds, giggling as he knocks into Harry, but then he stills. “Oh.”

“What?” Harry asks, stopping mid-twirl.

“I get it,” Louis says, pressing his lips together and crossing his arms. “You guys are trying to make me remember what it’s like… Make me think about how much fun we have at the loft so I won’t want to move in with Cash.”

“That’s not…” Harry trails off, not wanting to argue when Louis is right. 

“I’m going to find my keys,” Louis says, turning and walking off into the night. 

“You’ll never find them in the dark, Louis!” Harry yells after him, but Louis ignores him and keeps going, climbing down the side of the hill. “I can’t believe him.”

Harry looks around, but Zayn’s gone back to the car, reclining in the passenger seat, and Liam’s curled up on his side on Louis’ bed like he’d rather be asleep. Niall’s still sitting in Louis’ desk chair, working on his third Slim Jim, so Harry joins him, sitting on Louis’ desk, and unwrapping a Twinkie. He takes a bite, and struggles to chew and swallow, chugging water to wash it down. 

“You okay, Ni?” Harry asks, flicking his finger against the side of Niall’s beer. “Figured you and Zayn would be… I don’t know… taking advantage of the darkness.”

Niall scoffs, and says, “Don’t hate me.”

“What’d you do?” Harry asks, hackles rising. 

Sighing, Niall leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Zayn’s never going to be happy with a guy like me. I, um, I just know. I’m not enough. He’s… I…”

“Oh, Niall, no…” Harry slides down off the desk and squats down in front of him. “Niall, he likes you so much.”

“I just don’t think I can make him happy,” Niall says with a firm nod. “And I want him to be happy. So I have to let him go. ’Cause when you care about somebody that much, you do what’s best for them, even if it sucks for you.”

Harry closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyelids. “Promise me you’ll be kind about it. I don’t want to have to kill you in your sleep.”

“Promise,” Niall says, tugging Louis’ beanie over Harry’s ears. “I’ll, um, I’ll go talk to him now, I guess.”

“He’s in my car.” Standing up, Harry blows out a breath, shoving his hands into the pockets of Louis’ coat. Hopefully Louis hasn’t gone far. The battery on Harry’s phone is at about fifty percent, so he turns on the flashlight, carefully climbing down the side of the hill, and calling out, “Lou? Where are you?”

“I’m looking for my fucking keys,” Louis says, and Harry jumps, swinging around and shining his phone towards Louis’ voice.

“You’re never going to find them in the dark, man,” Harry says, but he keeps shining the light on the ground, checking for anything reflective as he walks closer to Louis. “Wait until the sun comes up in the morning.”

“I don’t want to wait until morning, Harry.” Louis scuffs the ground with his shoe, then bends down, running his hands over the dirt at the base of a large boulder. “I want to go to my new apartment and sleep in my new bed with my new old boyfriend.”

Harry swallows down his annoyance with Cash, thinking of Niall’s words, trying to find the right way to say he’s sorry. “Look, um… Lou, I know I’ve been, um…” Groaning, Louis stands up straight and stretches his back, frowning at Harry as he tries to explain. “I wanted to tell you that, um…” 

Louis’ jaw drops and he flinches back, but before Harry can ask what’s wrong, he slaps his hand over Harry’s mouth, spinning him around with surprising speed and strength. Less than ten feet away, and inching slowly towards them is a lone coyote. 

“Oh my god,” Harry says behind Louis’ hand.

“Hush,” Louis whispers, dragging Harry backwards and bumping into the boulder behind them. “Shh…”

Harry grabs Louis’ arm, pulling his hand away from his mouth, and quietly asks, “What do we do?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Louis says, whimpering and holding Harry tighter to him when the coyote takes a step forward. “If I die out here, I’ll kill you.”

“Me?” Harry wrenches himself free from Louis’ grip. “I’m only out here because of you!”

“Shh!” Louis grabs Harry again, pulling him closer. “Get up on the boulder.”

“What? How?” Harry asks, looking up at the massive rock. 

“I’ll give you a boost, then you pull me up,” Louis says it so matter of factly that Harry follows orders without thinking.

Stepping into Louis’ linked hands, Harry takes the boost, clambering up to the top of the boulder. There he lays on his stomach, reaching down for Louis, and praying that Louis is light enough for his own weight to work as an anchor. Louis jumps, grabbing Harry’s hands. As he scrambles up, Harry slides down, but Louis makes it before either of them fall to the ground. With Louis’ help, Harry gets back to the top of the boulder, and together they look down at the coyote.

“Can coyotes climb?” Harry asks, scooting forward slightly, but unable to go far when Louis wraps his arms around him. 

“Are you crazy?” Louis asks, pulling Harry to sit beside him. He loosens his grip, but leaves an arm around Harry’s back. “If you fall, I’m not coming down to get you.”

Harry slips his arm under Louis’ and around him, leaning into his side. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Google it,” Louis says, and Harry points to the ground below. 

“My phone’s down there,” Harry says, squinting to try to make out its pink rectangular shape in the dark. 

“My battery’s dead,” Louis says, hugging his knees to his chest with his free arm. 

“Guess we’ll find out,” Harry says, watching the coyote walk in semi-circles around the edge of the Boulder. “Hey, Lou?”

“Yeah?” Louis turns towards him just as Harry does the same, bringing them almost nose to nose.

“Why’d you keep driving?” Harry asks, and Louis looks away. “All the way out here?”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” Louis says softly, shaking his head. “I know what you think, and I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it, okay?”

“I want you to be happy,” Harry whispers, staring at the coyote, glad that its presence has made Louis a captive audience. “I, um… I shouldn’t’ve been acting the way I’ve been… I’m sorry. If you love Cash, and living with him will make you happy, then I want you to do it.”

“Really?” Louis asks, narrowing his eyes like he’s searching Harry’s face for an ulterior motive. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I mean, it sucks for me ’cause we’re gonna have to find another roommate, but… We’ll still hang out. You’re still my friend. That won’t change.”

“Thanks, Harold,” Louis says, poking Harry in the cheek until he smiles. “Dimple. Dimple. Dimple.”

“I have two dimples, Lewis,” Harry says, turning his head quickly to try to bite Louis’ finger. 

“I was worried, you know, ’cause you’ve become such a good friend, and like, you’re important to me,” Louis says, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “But also, it’s like, you expect a lot of me.”

“I don’t mean to,” Harry says quietly. “But I’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.”

“Promise?” Louis asks, and Harry shakes his head. 

“Can’t promise you, but I think we’ll be fine,” Harry says, pointing at the coyote. “Do you think if we meep-meep at it like a roadrunner, it’ll go away?”

“No.”

“Meep-meep!” Harry tries anyway, but the coyote only looks up at them curiously. “Meep-meep!”

“You’re an idiot,” Louis says.

Harry ignores him, pulling the hood of his coat up, and growling down at the coyote. “I’m going down there.”

“Harry, don’t—” Louis isn’t fast enough to stop Harry once he’s already sliding down the face of the boulder, but he calls after him, “Make yourself bigger!”

“That’s physically impossible!” Harry shouts as he lands, but he raises his arms over head, swinging them side to side and screaming like a maniac while lumbering towards the animal. 

It works. The coyote backs up, and when Harry screeches at it again, it yelps, turns tail and takes off into the darkness. 

“Holy shit!” Louis yells, sliding down the boulder and landing in a crouch. He runs at Harry who jumps at him, and Louis catches him around the waist. 

Clinging to each other, they jump up and down, shrieking with laughter until Harry’s eyes fill with tears and he can hardly breathe. When he catches his breath, he finds his phone on the ground right where they were standing before the coyote approached, and then they make their way back up the hill to the U-Haul. 

Liam and Niall are asleep in Louis’ bed, and Zayn’s out cold in the passenger seat of Harry’s car, so Harry sits on Louis’ little loveseat, bundling another one of Louis’ hoodies around him. 

“Can I sit?” Louis asks. Harry sticks his tongue out at him, and Louis throws a balled up blanket at him, hitting him in the face. 

“It’s your couch,” Harry says from beneath the blanket, but he moves over so Louis can sit beside him. 

Scooting in close, Louis spreads the blanket out over them both, leaning into Harry’s side. They fall asleep like that, waking with the sun a few hours later. While everyone else is waking up, Harry walks to the edge of the bluff, and with his back to his friends, he pulls his car keys from his pocket, and drops them on the ground. 

“Hey! I found my keys!” Harry shouts, bending down to pick them up. 

They pack all of Louis’ things back into the U-Haul, and pile into Harry’s station wagon with Zayn still asleep in the passenger seat. It’s a quiet drive back to LA, and when they get to Louis’ new apartment building, everyone gets out of the car to say goodbye. 

Niall grabs Louis’ face and kisses him right on the lips which earns him a slap and a shove, knocking him into Liam, who jumps on Louis’ back, reaching around to pinch his nipples. The three of them wrestle for a few seconds before Louis manages to get the upper hand and push them both away. 

Zayn pulls Louis into a hug, wishing him good luck, and when everyone else is back in the car, Harry finally looks Louis in the eye. 

“Well, um…” Afraid to say anything in case he says too much, Harry sucks his lower lip into his mouth, biting down.

Holding Harry’s gaze, Louis tilts his head to the side, and says, “I’ll see you around.”

Harry nods, and turns to go, getting behind the wheel and driving away without looking back. He drops Zayn at his car, then circles the block, searching for a spot until Niall starts to complain that his ass hurts from sitting for so long. They end up parking three blocks away, and walking back to the loft. 

Exhausted, they go to their rooms, but eventually Harry has to do something, so he bakes. He makes a batch of mini chocolate cupcakes, and while they cool, he takes a shower. The rest of the day he fills with chores, but he thinks of Louis while he does them, wondering if he already picked up the spare key, if he took a taxi all the way back to the U-Haul or if Cash drove him out there, if he’s back at their new place or on the way there now, how he’s getting all that stuff up to his new apartment with only Cash there to help him, but mostly he hopes Louis is happy. 

That night, Liam and Niall join him on the couch for the late Sunday evening showing of Dirty Dancing, but Harry doesn’t bother asking if either of them would like to attempt the lift. He’s not in the mood. They make a somber trio without Louis, though none of them mention his absence. When the movie ends, they all go to bed, and Harry sits up for a while, trying to read a book, but unable to concentrate. 

Because he has to go to school in the morning, Harry forces himself to get up and close his curtains. He yawns, pulling the edge of the curtain to, then stops, looking down on the street below. Parked right in front of the building is a U-Haul. 

Harry closes his eyes, listening for proof that he’s not losing his mind. The loft door shuts. Footsteps pass his door. Across the hall, there’s the unmistakable sound of music, and Louis’ recorded voice says, “What’s up, WLWT listeners? This one goes out to all the ladies I'm gonna meet when I grow up… Not!”

The music gets louder until Harry can pick out the song. “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC. He opens his bedroom door to be sure, and when he does, Louis swings his door wide, throwing Harry a wink.

“Welcome back, Lou,” Harry says, grinning when Louis turns around and starts to dance across the floor of his empty bedroom. He can hear Liam banging on the wall he shares with Louis and shouting for him to turn it off, but he can also hear Niall all the way across the loft, whooping and scream-singing along with the music. 

Harry jumps onto his bed, swinging his arms in circles, pumping his fists, and doing his best to move every part of his body in a different direction at once. It’s the most elated he’s felt in a long time, if ever, and maybe if he weren’t so tired, he’d stop to wonder why.

When the song fades out, Harry crosses the hall, standing in the doorway. “Sleeping on the couch?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, turning off the light and pointing in that direction. “Pillow and blanket ready to go.”

“Want to talk about it?” Harry asks. He follows Louis through the living room, and sits on the far corner of the couch while Louis gets comfortable on the chaise, tugging his comforter up to his chin. Annoyance builds at Louis’ continued silence, and Harry says, “You don’t have to talk to me about it, but you could at least respond with a ‘no.’”

“Really? You’re going to be a dick right now?” Louis rolls onto his side, pulls his hood over his head, and says, “He wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. Not that I was looking forward to talking about my freak out, but I wasn’t going to act like I didn’t drive the U-Haul past the apartment and take off into the desert.”

“Oh,” Harry whispers, reaching over to brush Louis’ messy hair off his forehead. “Sorry. But I’m glad you weren’t willing to ignore it. You’re growing up, Lewis.”

“He’s also been lying about his age since we met,” Louis says, and Harry sputters trying to hold in a laugh. “He’s thirty-three, almost thirty-four. And it’s not like I care that he’s a few years older than me, it’s that he’s consistently lied about it for like five years, and only told me when I made some offhand comment about us both being thirty.”

“So you broke the lease?” Harry asks, and Louis shakes his head, tightening the string of his hoodie to hide his face. 

“I never signed it,” Louis admits, peeking out of the tiny opening in his hood. 

“Do you want to watch Dirty Dancing?” Harry asks, and Louis tips his head to scowl at him. “What?”

“Don’t ask me to do the lift,” Louis says, and Harry grins, grabbing Niall’s cashmere throw and tucking it around him before turning on the television and restarting his DVD.

Chapter Text

MARCH

While Harry’s at school on Monday, and Niall’s at work, Liam and Louis move all of Louis’ things back into the loft. When Harry gets home late that afternoon, it’s as if Louis never left. 

Half the mini cupcakes are gone, Louis’ beard has chocolate crumbs in it, and he’s sitting in the corner of the couch drinking a beer. Harry joins him, and they play Mario Kart on the new Nintendo Switch that Harry doesn’t ask about. Maybe it’s Niall’s, maybe it’s Liam’s, maybe Louis stole it from Cash or sold his blood plasma to buy it, but Harry’d rather not know. 

Before the week is out, Harry’s back to normal, too. It only takes a few days for his heart to stop leaping out of his chest whenever he remembers that Louis came home. In that time, Louis manages to piss him off enough that Harry threatens to smother him with a pillow while he sleeps. 

He uses Harry’s pristine pink bath towel to mop up a broken bottle of ketchup, spills a full beer on Harry’s comforter and doesn’t even attempt to clean it up or explain what he was doing in Harry’s room, dumps Harry’s satchel out on the dining table while looking for a pencil, wetting some of his student’s schoolwork in yet another puddle of beer, and finally, he borrows Harry’s phone charger without telling him, then doesn’t plug it back into the wall, so that when Harry plugs his phone in at bedtime like he always does, instead of charging overnight, the battery dies.

Harry wakes up late for a meeting with the principal Monday morning. He rushes to school and barely makes it before the bell, hoping the meeting is a short one. 

“Hey,” Harry says, satchel swinging from his arm as he comes through the door to the principal’s office. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Have a seat,” Tanya says, much more stern than usual, and Harry curses Louis again. 

“What’s up?” Harry asks, smiling and setting his satchel on the floor. 

“Harry, there’s no easy way to say this, but—”

“Then don’t!” Harry interrupts, only half-joking. 

Tanya ignores him, and says, “The quarterly budget’s done, and unfortunately, funding isn’t what it used to be. Cutbacks mean I have to lay off my three most recent hires, and one of those is you.”

Covering his gasp with his hand, Harry says, “Oh my god. I… You… I’m… You’re firing me?”

“Yes,” she confirms, and Harry sits back in his chair, letting the news wash over him. 

“I can’t believe this,” Harry says, voice scratchy as he tries to hold back tears. “Tanya, I… I’m a good teacher. I love this job, and I…”

“Please don’t cry,” Tanya says with a grimace. She pulls a battered cardboard box from under her desk, and offers, “Take whatever you want from the lost and found.”

Harry blinks slowly, confused as she pushes the box towards him, so he stands up and snatches a tiny, glittery, pink cowboy hat off the top as the bell rings. His quiet thank you is lost in the noise. The next thing he knows, he’s out in the parking lot with a box overflowing with personal belongings from his classroom, tears streaming down his face. 

There’s no way he can safely drive home, so he sits in the car, waiting for the crying to stop. When it doesn’t, he gives up and texts Zayn. 

“Thank you for coming to get me,” Harry says after Zayn helps him into the passenger seat. “Tell Markian thank you, too.”

“Of course, babes. He was on the way to his gym anyway. I just hitched a ride,” Zayn says, buckling Harry’s seatbelt for him, and closing the door. When he slides behind the driver’s seat of Harry’s car, he gives Harry a gentle smile, and tucks a curl behind his ear. “Everything will work out, you know.”

“Do I know?” Harry asks, leaning his seat all the way back until he’s horizontal. 

“I guess not, but if anyone deserves for things to work out, it’s you,” Zayn says as he drives away from the school. “I can't come upstairs with you. Niall’s just… I can’t be around him. But I can take a Lyft home.”

“No, go to your place. I’ll be fine to drive home from there,” Harry says, reaching over to pat Zayn’s thigh. “I’m sorry about Niall.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Zayn says with a quick shake of his head. “He’s just some guy, right?”

“Yeah… Just some guy,” Harry says, closing his eyes when Zayn pulls onto the road and the early morning sun shines on his face. 

Zayn drives to his apartment, and before Harry gets behind the wheel, Zayn leaves him with a kiss on the forehead and a promise not to stay away too long. Harry makes it home just fine, laughing quietly when he gets a good parking spot because he has no reason to leave the loft now. 

On the ride up in the elevator, Harry fastens his sparkly pink miniature cowboy hat to his head with the attached elastic band, and tries to figure out what to tell the guys. 

March’s rent is already paid, thankfully, and he has enough in savings to get him through a few months, though it’ll be tough. He’s used to money being tight in the summer when he’s only had income from teaching summer school, but this will be… challenging. It’s hard to keep his chin up when he’s worried about how the guys will react to his news. 

Harry takes a deep breath before pushing the door open, and sighs with relief at the silence of the apartment. It’s too early for Louis or Liam to be awake, and Niall’s at work, so Harry has at least a couple of hours to get used to the idea that he doesn’t have a job before he’ll have to tell anyone else. 

With the box in his hands and his satchel falling off his shoulder, Harry backs into his partially open bedroom door, and drops his satchel into his chair. He sets the box on his desk and turns to close the door, ready to fall into bed for a good cry with his glittery cowboy hat still on his head and his shoes still on his feet. 

Screaming, Harry stumbles backwards, grabbing onto his desk chair. He takes a deep breath, and yells, “Louis!”

“Stop yelling,” Louis mumbles from inside Harry’s comforter. “How’s it four-thirty already?”

“It’s not,” Harry snaps, though he’s too upset about getting fired to stay mad at Louis. Bending over to unzip his boots, Harry says, “It’s almost nine.”

“P.M.?” Louis sits bolt upright, pillow falling to the floor, Harry’s comforter pooling in his lap, thankfully revealing a sliver of the waistband of his sweatpants. Naked in Harry’s bed would be a step too far. Shirtless is bad enough. 

The hair on the left side of Louis’ head is matted with bits standing straight up, while the right is flattened to his head, and the back sticks out in all directions at once. His eyes are tired, there’s dried drool in his beard, and when he furrows his brow, Harry’s overcome with the urge to tuck him back in and let him sleep. 

Instead, Harry takes off his glittery cowboy hat and uses it to point at the sunlight streaming through the window as he says, “It’s morning.”

“Why are you home?” Louis asks, rubbing his eyes and yawning. 

“Why are you in my bed?” Harry asks, kicking his boots into his closet. 

“I asked first,” Louis says stubbornly, and Harry turns his back to him, taking off his pink sweater vest. He folds it and puts it away, then unbuttons his shirt, hanging it up and pulling on a t-shirt. “Okay, don’t answer me then.”

“You’re in my bed, Lewis,” Harry says, snatching his pajama bottoms off the floor where Louis apparently tossed them while getting into his bed. 

“Ugh… Fine,” Louis says, laying back down, and covering himself with the blanket again. “I spilled a beer on my bed, so I had to wash my sheets and comforter, but I was tired, so I came in here because you’re supposed to be at work.”

“Stop drinking in bed,” Harry says, throwing his trousers at Louis.

“I wasn’t,” Louis says, and Harry snorts quietly, stepping into his pajama pants. “I was writing last night, and I had a few. You know, writer fuel.” Harry pulls on his pajama top, buttoning it as he approaches the bed, and Louis explains, “But I, uh, fell asleep at my desk. Woke up a couple hours ago, and sort of jumped and knocked it off my desk onto my bed.” 

When Harry stares down at him, arms crossed, Louis sighs quietly. “Don’t be mad, Harold. I’m tired.”

“I got laid off,” Harry says, and Louis rolls from his side onto his back, reaching up at Harry with both hands. “What are you doing?”

“Offering you a hug,” Louis says, and Harry scoffs loudly. 

He walks around to the other side of the bed and yanks the blanket back, making sure to uncover Louis when he does so, then he crawls into bed, pulling the blanket back over him and stretching out on his stomach, head pillowed on his folded arms. 

“You can hug me now,” Harry says, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, trying to relax his shoulders. For a moment, Louis doesn’t move. Maybe he’s trying to determine the best way to hug him, or maybe he thinks Harry was joking, but then the mattress shifts, and Louis cuddles up to Harry’s side.

Draping his arm over Harry’s back, Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, and quietly says, “Sorry about your job.”

“I think I’m, like, in shock,” Harry says, words muffled by the pillow. “I’ve never been fired before. And I… I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Louis lifts his head. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

“I don't want your pity,” Harry says, turning towards him, bringing them face to face. “I just want to take a nap. And maybe get drunk later.”

“You’re in luck,” Louis says, laying his head down on the back of Harry’s arm this time. “I’m very good at both of those things.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispers, turning away again and closing his eyes. 

Louis rubs circles between Harry's shoulder blades and hums. The sound travels through Harry’s body, lulling him to sleep.

“You’re my best friend!” Harry shouts, raising his glass of rosé high in the air and tipping it towards Louis. Some of it spills, splashing down onto the bar and the napkins already spread out in front of Harry to soak up the mess he made of his last glass. “Oops!”

“Hi,” Louis says with a sullen glare, clenching his jaw as he clears away the wet napkins and wipes the bar top with a white rag. “If you spill again, I’ll cut you off.”

“No…” Harry purses his lips as he drags the word out, but he’s careful with his wine after that, holding the glass with both hands, and only letting Louis pour him a little bit at a time. 

Louis slipped out of the bed before Harry woke up, but he left a note telling Harry to get dressed and come down to the bar. When Harry showed up, Louis poured him a glass of rosé, and brought out a plate of chicken wings from the kitchen. 

Now that the wings are gone, there’s nothing to do but drink. Harry’s had at least a bottle of wine already, and the sun’s still up. He checks his phone to be sure, and it’s nearing sunset. 

“We should go watch the sunset!” Harry yells across the bar, and Louis holds a finger up, telling him to wait while he takes care of his real customers. 

“Someone’s wasted,” Niall sings in Harry’s ear, and Harry whacks him in the face. “Ouch. Deserved that, I suppose. What are you doing getting drunk on a school night?”

Harry gasps, and leans in close to whisper, “I got fired!”

“Shit.” Niall leans back, eyes traveling over Harry’s smiling face. “Really?”

“Yep. Been here all afternoon,” Harry says, lifting his glass with both hands, and taking a long sip. “Lou’s getting me drunk.”

“Looks like you’re already there,” Niall says, raising his eyebrows as Louis approaches with a bottle of Niall’s usual IPA. 

“Hey, Niall,” Harry says, spinning his stool towards him. “If you get really drunk, does your Irish come out?”

Niall chuckles, throwing his head back, then he glances around, and asks, “Did Zayn say something to you?”

“No… I mean, yeah… Or no…” Harry frowns, squeezing his eyes shut, then opens them, blinking rapidly. “I talk to him all the time, but he didn’t say anything about you.”

“Okay. Good,” Niall says, and stands up out of his barstool to lean across the bar, talking quietly to Louis. 

“Yeah, man,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. He grabs a highball glass, dropping maraschino cherries and orange slices in, muddling them and filling the glass with ice. “Harold, want you to try something different. Niall’s suggestion, so if it sucks, blame him, alright?”

“Alright…” Harry squints at the glass. It looks delicious. He loves fruit, and bubbles, and pink, and this drink is all of those things. Louis puts a straw in it, slides it over to him, and Harry reaches for it. 

“Wait!” Louis holds up a hand, ducks below the bar, and stands up with a pink paper umbrella which he sticks into a stirrer straw, and puts in Harry’s glass, spinning it with a flourish. “Now you can drink it.”

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry says, eyes crossing as he chases the straw with his tongue. He catches it, and sucks, sweet fruit and bubbles hitting his tongue. “S’good.”

“Take it easy there, killer,” Louis says with a wink. He fills a glass with water, and sets it on the bar, leaning on the bar. “When you finish that, drink the water, and I’ll make you another one.”

Harry nods, and sips his drink, looking around the bar. It’s a lot busier than it was when he first came in, but he hadn’t noticed until now. He finishes his drink, and his water, then slips off his stool, walks over to the booth where Niall’s chatting with a pretty blonde, and says, “Niall, I need to go home.”

“Really?” Niall asks, tipping his head towards the blonde. “You can’t get there by yourself?”

“Nope.” Harry shakes his head and sways a little. “Need you to drive me.”

Niall groans, turning to the girl beside him. “Sorry. I’ve got to take my friend home.”

“Okay,” she says with a smile, waving as Niall guides Harry away from the table. 

“You owe me,” Niall says, leading Harry out of the bar. Once they’re on the sidewalk, Niall hooks his arm around Harry’s and steers him towards the loft. “We’re walking so you’ll sober up.”

“I got fired.” Harry blows a raspberry, and says, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Get another job,” Niall says.

Harry laughs, and says, “It’s not that easy when the school year’s only got a couple of months left. Maybe I can substitute.”

“Maybe. But you’ll find something,” Niall reassures him. “In the meantime, you like to bake, and crochet, so maybe you’ll be able to do some of the stuff you haven’t had time to do.”

“Yeah…” Harry sighs, scuffing his shoes on the sidewalk. 

Niall takes him home, and gets him a glass of water while Harry changes into his pajamas, then he puts him to bed. Shockingly, Harry doesn’t have a hangover in the morning.

Harry does as Niall said, and spends the week catching up on his crafting projects. He crochets scarves and hats for everyone he knows, and puts them away, Christmas gifts taken care of nine months early. He bakes cookies and cupcakes and a couple of pies. He paints his nails, and reorganizes his closet, and does everything he didn’t think he had time to do. Turns out it doesn’t take all that long. So he cleans everything. That doesn’t take that long either. 

“Harold,” Louis says Friday afternoon when Harry’s cleaning up the kitchen after another round of baking. “You need to not do so much. You haven’t stopped all week. It’s scaring me.”

“I’m keeping busy,” Harry says, wiping down his mixer. 

“You should be taking advantage of this. You don’t have to do anything or be anywhere. Hold still,” Louis says, reaching up and cupping Harry’s cheek. He wipes Harry’s cheekbone with his thumb, then drops his hand. “You had something. Flour or something.”

Harry ducks his head to hide his smile. “Thanks.” 

“Seriously, Harold. Try doing nothing for a while, okay?” 

“I was going to come to the bar later,” Harry says, “Does that count as doing nothing?”

“Close enough.” Turning and walking towards the hallway, Louis says, “I gotta take a shower before work. It’s Friday.”

Harry wrinkles his nose, but he’s too afraid of the answer to ask what that means.

“Pink wine makes me slutty,” Harry whispers loudly across the bar, and Louis stops mid-pour. 

“Control yourself, Harold, I’m only one man,” Louis says, and Harry scoffs, reaching for his glass, which Louis finally gives him. 

“Not slutty for you,” Harry says, and Louis laughs, head thrown back, corners of his eyes crinkling as he turns to head back to the other end of the bar and his ‘real’ customers.

“Excuse me, but are you Kevin?” 

Harry turns towards the deep, gravelly voice and finds a tall, gorgeous man standing beside him. 

Blinking up at him, Harry sips his wine, and the beautiful man smiles. “I’m Sam from Cupid Match.”

“And I’m… the guy from my dreams of you,” Harry says, tipping his head back to take in all of Sam. “You’re a tall drink of water.”

“You’re Kevin, right?” Sam asks with a slight frown. 

“Yeah,” Harry lies, happy when Sam's frown morphs into a smile. “I am. I’m Kevin.”

“Finally, huh?” Sam says, taking the seat beside Harry. “It’s so good to see you. All those messages back and forth on the app. Now we can exchange phone numbers.”

“Yeah, um…” Harry swallows, looking Sam up and down. He’s never used a dating app, but he’s willing to pretend. 

“I gotta tell you,” Sam says, resting his elbow on the bar and leaning in. “Your description doesn’t do you justice. I expected someone good looking, but you’re, like, unbelievable.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Harry says, grinning wide and using his dimples to the best of their ability. 

“See? You never said you had dimples.” Sam turns towards the bar when Louis walks over, and while Louis gives Harry a questioning look, Sam orders a beer. 

Louis opens the beer, passing it to Sam while still watching Harry, so Harry holds his hand up beside his face and mouths, “He’s so hot!”

“Hey, you want to grab a table?” Sam asks, and Harry hops off his stool, picking up his wine and following Sam over to one of the open semi-circular booths. 

Sam's handsome and sweet, with thick golden brown hair, dark soulful eyes, and he smells spicy and warm. Harry’s drunk enough not to care that virtually every word that leaves his mouth is a lie. Eventually, Sam will catch on, but until then Harry’s prepared to pretend to be Kevin, whoever that is. The flirting makes him feel wanted and beautiful, which is just what he needs when everything else in his life is going so poorly.

“I’ve never dated a dancer before,” Sam says, resting his hand on Harry’s thigh and squeezing the muscle. 

“Oh, um…” Harry bites his lip, then decides to go with it. “I’m pretty flexible.”

Rubbing up and down Harry’s thigh, Sam says, “I bet.”

“So, I can’t remember if I told you this,” Harry says, inching even closer to Sam, and playing the odds. “But I’ve never used Cupid Match before, so it’s my first time meeting a date without knowing what they look like first.”

“Me too,” Sam says, stretching his arm out along the back of the booth, and grazing Harry’s shoulder with his thumb. “Hey, you, um, hold still…” Gently, Sam brushes the tip of his index finger across the bridge of Harry’s nose. “Eyelash.”

“Thanks,” Harry says softly, relaxing into the touch when Sam traces down the line of jaw, licking his lips and moving closer. 

Anticipating a kiss, Harry tilts his chin up slightly, but Sam leans in, bypassing Harry’s lips, and going straight for the side of his neck. He sucks lightly on the skin below Harry’s ear, sending sparks of pleasure up and down Harry’s spine, and Harry’s eyes go wide. Reaching for Sam, Harry slips his arms around him, pulling him in, and tipping his head, encouraging Sam to continue. 

“Want to get out of here?” Sam asks, scruff scratching Harry’s ear. 

“Yes,” Harry hisses. Reluctantly, he releases his hold on Sam, but only long enough to clamber out of the booth, then he’s right back in Sam's space, going up on his toes to quietly say, “We can walk to my place from here.”

It takes a little longer to get there than usual because they keep stopping to make out in the middle of the sidewalk, but they do get there, and once they’re in the building, all bets are off. Harry loses his shirt somewhere between the Ath and Dth floor, but by the time Sam has him pressed up against the door to 1D, he’s forgotten all about it. 

They stumble into the loft, and when Harry mumbles, “Hall, first door on the right,” against Sam's neck, Sam picks him up, hands gripping Harry’s thighs as he carries him to his bedroom. 

Casual sex has never been Harry’s thing. He’s only ever slept with guys he’s been on at least three dates with, and after the disaster of his attempted one night stand, and the short-lived thing with Paul, he resigned himself to being celibate for a long, long time. 

Fortunately, the third time’s the charm. Or something like that. Sam does everything right. He’s slow when Harry needs him to be, and speeds up before Harry can ask him to, expertly bringing Harry to orgasm with his mouth and fingers, then again with his cock after they nap. 

When Harry wakes up late the next morning, Sam's already sitting up in bed, and Harry simply fits himself between Sam's legs, and sucks him off without thinking. Sam returns the favor, but then he has to go, so Harry puts on his pink robe, leaving Sam alone to get dressed. 

“Oh my god, you guys,” Harry whispers when he sees Niall and Louis in the kitchen. He pulls the hood of his robe up, glancing around conspiratorially. “Can I talk to you?”

“What’s up, baby?” Niall winks, and Harry cringes.

“Don’t call me baby again, Niall Horan,” Harry says, turning to Louis and grinning. “I had an amazing night last night. Literally the best sex I’ve ever had. He brewed me like a fine chamomile.”

“Oh… That was you,” Louis says, nodding slowly. “Thought there was, like, a cat in heat or something.”

“Nope,” Harry says, doing a little shimmy. “That was me having sex. It was, like, an out of body experience. I left my body, went up into space, thought it was weird that I could breathe in space, came back down, maybe I became a cat, I don’t know. I’ve had three orgasms in the last twelve hours, which should be impossible, but I was there. It happened. The only problem is, he thinks my name is Kevin. And that I’m a dancer.”

“A dancer?” Niall asks, and a grin stretches Louis’ lips. 

“Totally believable,” Louis says, leaning to the side and looking at Harry’s bare legs. “Not like you didn’t trip over your own feet, um, yesterday.”

“Kevin?” Sam calls, and Harry stares daggers at Louis and Niall before spinning gracefully around and walking away.

“Sam, hey, sorry,” Harry says with a forlorn glance at Sam's now fully clothed body. He’s never really been into bigger guys, but being manhandled by Sam was such a turn-on that he’s beginning to wonder if he actually knows what he likes. Sam's gaze flickers past his shoulder, and Harry turns to see Louis and Niall standing behind him. “These are my roommates.”

“Hey, um, Kevin,” Louis says, sidling up to Harry. “We’re running late for dance rehearsal, and we were wondering if we’re doing leg warmers today?”

“Leg warmers?” Harry repeats, and Niall bends down to touch his toes, slowly standing and dragging his hands up the front of his legs. “Yeah, um, yeah. Leg warmers.”

“You guys are dancers, too?” Sam asks, and Niall scoffs. 

“Don’t we look like dancers?” Louis asks, cocking his hip to the side. Before Sam can respond, Louis pliés, then lifts his right leg, extending it to the side, and whipping it around while he spins in place like a top. He winks, and says, “A fouetté for you, my good sir.”

“Thanks,” Sam says with a surprised shake of his head. Looking at Harry, he licks his lips, and takes a step closer. “Alright, um, I’m gonna go. Need to refuel, rest, and rehydrate. Come here.” 

Sam beckons Harry to him, and driven by the exhilaration of their night together, Harry hastens to him, grabbing his shoulders and jumping up to wrap his legs around Sam's waist. Gripping Harry’s thighs the same way he did the night before, Sam takes his mouth in a bruising kiss. 

“Oh, oh, okay,” Louis sputters, then announces, “This happens every day. Totally normal situation. Not at all disturbing.”

“Get it!” Niall whoops, applauding, and Harry breaks their kiss, grinning as Sam sets him back on his feet. 

“I’ll text you later,” Sam says, biting his lower lip as he takes a step backwards. 

“Okay.” Harry rounds the corner, watching him leave, and when the door closes behind him, Harry jumps, spinning around and skipping into the living room. 

“Kevin’s quite the athletic lover,” Niall says, taking a seat beside Louis at the dining room table. “You just leapt up there.”

Louis nods, pursing his lips. “Climbed him like a tree.” 

“He is tall,” Harry says, dropping onto the couch and stretching his legs out, pointing his toes. “Lou, did you take ballet?”

“Nah…” Louis taps his fingers on the tabletop, and says, “My sisters did, and I picked up some stuff.”

“You’re very graceful,” Niall says, twirling his finger in the air. 

Harry sighs, lacing his fingers together, and resting his hands on his stomach. “I really love being Kevin. And Kevin has a job? He’s so lucky. Maybe I’ll stay Kevin.”

Louis huffs a laugh, and gets up from the table, walking into the kitchen, and pouring a cup of coffee. He meets Harry’s gaze, and asks, “You want coffee?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, watching while he makes it, and brings it over, sitting on the couch with him. “Thanks.”

“Sam seems cool.” Raising his eyebrows, Louis lifts his mug to his lips, takes a sip, then says, “How long do you think you can pretend to be Kevin?”

“Indefinitely?” Harry snickers, and says, “Hadn’t thought about it.”

“Maybe you should think about it,” Louis says, scratching his scruffy jaw. “Because I don’t think there’s a way to recover from ‘Sorry, but my name is actually Harry.’”

“Ugh… You’re right,” Harry says, picking up a pillow and throwing it at Louis, but he dodges it easily. “I hate when you’re right.”

“Glad you had a good night though,” Louis says, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. 

Smiling contentedly, Harry says, “Thanks for all the wine. It definitely helped.”

Louis shrugs, and says, “Happy to do what I can to get you laid, Harold.”

Slipping his hand inside his robe, Harry scratches his stomach, cheeks flushing when he notices what he’s doing. “I should shower.” 

“Gross, Harold. Please, take your filth elsewhere.” Louis yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth. He throws the pillow back at Harry, hitting him in the face. 

“I'm going, I’m going.” Harry stands, straightening his robe, and when Louis hits him with another pillow, he runs out of the room.

In celebration of his first unemployed Saturday, Harry takes a long, leisurely shower. Having three roommates means he’s almost always being rushed in the bathroom, but Liam’s asleep, Niall’s already showered, and Louis called him gross, so he can suffer. 

Harry exfoliates, and trims, and even shaves his patchy beard. He considers leaving his mustache and letting it grow in, but decides to fish for Sam's opinion on it first. Squeaky clean, Harry pulls on some underwear, and tries not to work up a sweat while he rearranges his room. 

“What are you doing?” Louis asks, stretching up to grab onto the top of the door jamb. 

Harry stands up straight, pressing his fists into his lower back, then wipes his brow. Pretending not to notice Louis’ gaze trailing up his bare legs, lingering on the bulge in his briefs, and roaming over his chest, Harry looks at his diagonal bed and the dresser blocking half of the doorway, and says, “Taking a nap.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I’ll leave you to it,” Louis says, dropping l onto his heels, and tugging the waistband of his sweatpants up. They slide right back down, making it obvious he’s not wearing underwear, and Harry turns away to hide his blush. “Thought you were moving shit around and was going to offer to help, but if you’re napping, I—”

“No!” Harry trips over the corner of his bed frame in an effort to stop Louis from leaving, hopping on one foot while he says, “Please help me.”

Smirking, Louis squeezes past the dresser, and says, “Where do you want the bed?”

“Back where it was,” Harry mutters, and Louis raises his eyebrows, leaning forward slightly. A little more clearly, Harry says, “Back where it was. I don’t like it under the window because there aren’t enough outlets, so I’m just going to switch my desk and dresser.”

“Okay,” Louis says with a quiet laugh. He stands on the opposite side of the bed frame from Harry, and together they move the bed, headboard, and mattress back into place. 

“Thanks,” Harry says, combing his fingers through his sweat-damp curls. 

“What about the rest?” Louis asks, nudging the dresser with his hip. 

“I want to put that under the window,” Harry says, pointing at the exposed brick wall. “And move the desk over by the door.”

“Let’s do it,” Louis says, grabbing the end of the dresser, and lifting it before Harry can cross the room to help. Competitive side taking over, Harry picks up his end, trying to make it seem effortless while surreptitiously flexing his biceps, chest, and abs. They set the dresser down against the brick wall, and Louis rests his hands on his hips, nodding at Harry. “When you flex, your nipples jump.”

“I’m not flexing,” Harry lies, cheeks flushing as he looks down at his bare chest and flexes. His nipples do jump, and his blush spreads. 

“Everybody knows you work out, Harold.” Growling and balling his hands into fists, Louis brings them together in front of his stomach while tensing his muscles and posing like a bodybuilder. He laughs, dropping the pose as he brushes his hair off his forehead, and says, “There are different kinds of strength, you know. I carry full kegs of beer all the time, and they weigh, like, at least one-fifty.”

“Showing off, Lewis?” Harry asks, but Louis simply shrugs. 

“Don’t feel the need,” Louis says, sauntering over to Harry’s desk. He leans his bum against the edge, and pushes, sliding the desk across the floor without laying a hand on it. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “The power of your ass.”

“You have no idea.” With a wink, Louis turns and smacks his own ass on his way out the door. 

“I have some idea,” Harry whispers to himself, grabbing a pair of pajama bottoms out of his drawer and pulling them on. He reaches into his pants to adjust his cock, then straightens up his room, distracting himself by arranging his things on his desk and the top of his dresser. 

When Louis leaves for work, Harry considers jerking off, but he doesn’t in the hopes that Sam will actually follow through and text him tonight. It’s Saturday after all, so whatever Sam’s job is, hopefully he’s not working. Harry was pretty drunk, but Sam might’ve said he’s a food blogger. Or a food critic. Or a travel blogger. He’ll have to find a nonchalant way to ask a question he should already know the answer to.

Around ten o’clock that night, just when Harry’s about to pour himself a glass of rosé and sit down to watch a movie, his phone buzzes, vibrating with a text from Sam that reads, “Bar bathroom? 20 min? I WANT U KEVIN!”

Harry can forgive a little textspeak and all caps for an orgasm. Forgoing his usual undershirt, he pulls on a sweater, debating for only a second before losing his underwear and stepping into a looser fitting pair of jeans for easy access. He puts his sneakers on and tries not to run all the way to the bar. 

When he steps inside, he sees Louis at the bar, busy making drinks. While Louis’ attention is elsewhere, Harry slips past, hurrying towards the bathroom. Thrilled to find it empty, Harry waits inside the stall for only a moment. 

“Kevin?” 

Harry opens the stall door, and Sam joins him inside, pushing Harry up against it as he slides the latch into place. He goes straight for Harry’s neck again, sucking harshly and drawing a moan from Harry’s throat just as the door to the restroom opens, letting in the noise of the bar. It closes, the room goes silent, and Harry pants against Sam's shoulder. 

Whoever is out there doesn’t say anything, but knowing that someone is possibly listening gets Harry going, sending a pulse of desire to his cock. He yanks off his sweater, paying no attention to where it lands while he ruts against Sam's thigh, and Sam kisses up his neck and behind his ear. When he nips at Harry’s ear, and reaches down between their bodies to unzip Harry’s jeans, Harry whines. There’s a scoff, and the bathroom door opens and closes again. 

The soft skin of Sam's palm on Harry’s cock makes him grunt, and Harry thrusts into his grip, desperate from the first touch. His own loose jeans fall down while he fumbles with Sam's belt, cursing his clothing choices when he finds a button fly, and the bathroom door opens once more. Instead of silence, someone loudly clears their throat. 

“This isn’t the sort of establishment where people fuck in the bathroom,” Louis says, and Harry freezes, gripping Sam's arms. He squeezes Harry’s dick, and a whimper leaves Harry’s lips unbidden. “I’m gonna count to ten. And if you’re not out of there, I’m kicking the door down. Won’t be the first time. Oh, and I’ve got a nine iron. One, two…”

“Shit,” Sam whispers, releasing Harry’s cock. 

While Louis counts far too quickly, Harry turns to look for his sweater, finding it in the toilet. Eyes wide, he bends down to pull up his pants, but is still tucking his hard dick away and wishing he’d worn underwear when Louis kicks the stall door, the lock pops off, and the door swings open. 

“Harry!” Louis takes a step back, bumping into Liam. 

“No, Louis,” Harry says, jerking his head towards Sam as he finally zips his jeans up over his wilting erection. 

“I… Oh! Kevin?” Louis turns to Liam, and hands him his golf club. 

“That’s Harry,” Liam says, helpfully pointing the golf club at Harry. 

“Kevin?” Sam looks from Liam to Harry, and Harry crosses his arms over his bare chest, feeling colder by the second now that there’s nothing making him warm. 

“Harry Styles,” Liam says, this time stepping forward and poking Harry in the shoulder. “Our roommate.”

Harry closes his eyes, and says, “I’m sorry, Sam. I lied. I’m not Kevin. My name’s Harry.”

“Oh,” Sam whispers, and Harry blinks up at him. “Are you really a dancer?”

“Are you an idiot, Sam?” Louis asks, and Sam throws his hands up, shaking his head. Then he opens the bathroom door and walks out. 

“Fuck,” Harry says with a shiver, and Liam frowns. 

“Where’s your shirt?” Liam asks, and all Harry can do is point to the toilet behind him. 

“Here,” Louis says, unzipping his hoodie, and handing it over. He sucks his lower lip between his teeth while Harry slips his arms into the sleeves, zipping the hoodie up, and hugging himself. “Next time you want to fuck in the bathroom, let me know ahead of time, and I won’t try to hit you with a golf club.”

Liam snickers, tossing the golf club to Louis, who catches it easily. He gently taps Harry’s chest with it, and Harry sighs, pushing it away. “I won't be doing anything like this again.”

“Sure,” Louis says. He opens the cabinet under the sink, and squats down, reaching into the back, and pulling out a roll of empty trash bags. “Fish your sweater out and go home, Harold. I’ll see you in a little while. I’m off at midnight.”

“’Kay,” Harry says, taking the trash bags, ready to do as he’s told. He should be thankful it was Louis who caught them and not Clyde or Julio or any of the other people who work there. “I’m sorry for, um…”

“Trying to fuck in the bathroom where I work?” Louis laughs and, echoing Harry’s thoughts, says, “Lucky Julio didn’t catch you. Or Clyde.”

Liam nods, and says, “He probably would’ve asked to join.”

“Oh my god,” Harry says, shaking his head. He turns to look at his sweater in the toilet, then glances back at Louis and Liam, and asks, “Can you guys not be here while I do this? I might start crying.”

“I’d rather you fuck in here than cry, to be honest,” Louis says, but he opens the door and ushers Liam out with the golf club, leaving Harry alone to figure out how to get his sopping wet sweater out of the toilet and into a trash bag. 

He manages it without getting himself wet or touching anything he doesn’t want to touch, but when he’s washing his hands, he does tear up at the sight of his reflection in the slightly warped and dirty mirror, Louis’ burgundy hoodie zipped up, his hair a mess, cheeks blotchy, lips swollen and pink. 

Harry walks home alone, and dumps his sweater out of the trash bag and into the washing machine, then goes to the kitchen for a glass of wine. He’s still there, sitting on the stool, staring at his rosé when Louis gets home. 

“Harold,” Louis says, taking Harry’s wine bottle and sticking it back in the fridge. He grabs himself a beer, and politely asks, “How was the rest of your evening?”

“Stop talking to me like that,” Harry says, sipping his wine. 

“Fine.” Louis pops the cap off his beer, and tips the bottle back. “Can’t believe you were going to fuck in the bathroom when you could’ve just come back here.”

“I wasn’t thinking. He texted, and I just went,” Harry admits, looking down at Louis’ hoodie, and wishing he’d thought to change. 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry he found out that way,” Louis says. There’s a knock at the door, and Harry frowns. It’s after midnight. “Niall probably forgot his key.”

“Or he’s too drunk to use it properly.” Harry laughs quietly, standing and taking a long sip of wine, emptying his glass. Another knock, and Harry sets his wine glass down. He tiptoes to the door, hoping to scare Niall, but when he opens it, Sam's standing on the other side. “Oh! Sam. Hi.”

“Kevin or…” 

“Not Kevin,” Harry says, shaking his head. “Harry.”

“I’m, um, sorry to just drop by.” Sam rolls his lips together, then says, “I, um… I wanted to tell you that I don’t care that you lied to me.”

Harry huffs a laugh. “Really?” 

“Yeah, I mean, I’m guessing you haven't actually seen it, but my Cupid Match profile’s pretty much bullshit,” Sam says, leaning his shoulder against the door jamb. “I’m not a travel food blogger, and I’m not shy, and I don’t want a destination wedding in Scotland. I am six-four, though.”

“Tall,” Harry says, looking up at him, mouth going a little dry when Sam smirks.

“I don’t care that you lied because I’m not looking for a boyfriend,” Sam says with a shrug. He pushes away from the door, and takes a step closer to Harry. “I’ve been using apps and shit to meet people to hook up with because I don’t want to date my co-workers. But if you’re into it, we can do this. Sex. No strings. Just us… tearing each other apart.”

“Like vampires?” Harry asks, and Sam snorts a quiet laugh. “Werewolves?”

“Not quite,” Sam says. He takes another step towards Harry. “You want to?”

“I’m going to pretend to think about it for a second,” Harry says, and Sam laughs again. “Yeah. Yes. Let’s do it.”

As soon as Harry utters the word yes, Sam reaches for him, picking him up again, and carrying him through the loft towards his room. 

“Congrats!” Louis calls after them, and Harry lifts a hand, waving and giving Louis a thumbs up just as Sam runs him right into the wall. Louis sputters a laugh, and says, “Ouch! Look out for that wall.”

Harry turns his hand, flipping his middle finger at Louis, and his giggle is the last thing Harry hears before Sam drops him onto his bed, and kicks the bedroom door shut. 

Chapter Text

MARCH AGAIN

It turns out that Harry's really awful at meaningless sex. After a hell of a Saturday night, Harry doesn’t see or hear from Sam for a few days. Sam texts him late Tuesday night, a simple, “You busy?” 

Half an hour later, Harry's on his back in bed with Sam's weight holding him down, relishing the scratch of Sam's beard on his nipple while he kisses across his chest. 

Despite the heated kisses, Harry's distracted by the abrupt change. He went from watching TV alone in his pajamas to naked with a hot guy on top of him with nothing happening in between. His cock seems just as confused, so he clears his throat, and says, “Hey, um… Sorry, but I have to pee.”

Sam lifts his head, and frowns, eyebrows drawing together. “Like, you’re into watersports, or…”

“No.” Harry snorts, blushing as he says, “Like I need to go to the bathroom, but I’ll be right back.”

“Hurry,” Sam says, rolling off of him. Harry slips into his robe, and closes his bedroom door behind him, crossing the hall and knocking as quietly as he can.

Louis opens the door, rolls his eyes, and says, “If it scares you this much, don’t watch American Horror Story anymore.”

“I quit watching that. It’s not…” Stepping past Louis into his room so he can close the door, Harry says, “Sam booty-called me.”

“Ooh… Sam! He’s so hot!” Louis rolls his eyes again. “I don’t care.”

“Please? I need your help. It’s just weird, okay? I was watching Gilmore Girls in my PJs and now there’s a hot naked guy in my bed, and it’s like zero to sixty in two seconds,” Harry says, tightening his robe tie, and crossing his arms. “My dick thinks I’m still watching Netflix.”

“Don’t know what to tell you, man,” Louis says with a shrug, pressing his lips together. “You like a side order of feelings with your sex. Nothing wrong with that.”

“I can’t believe you won’t help me,” Harry says, reaching for the doorknob. 

“What do you want me to do, Harold?” Louis asks, clearly exasperated. “You don’t need feelings to jerk off, do you? Just pretend it’s all in your head or something.”

Harry groans, opening the door, and hurrying down the hall to the bathroom. He might as well pee while he’s up.

The next morning, after Sam leaves, Harry trudges out to the kitchen, happy to see all three of the guys are up, and coffee’s brewed. He yawns, pouring coffee into his favorite mug, then carries it over to the dining table so he can sit in the comfortable desk chair. 

“Last night was the worst,” Harry says, hoping one of them will ask him for more. Instead, all three of them sit there at the kitchen table saying nothing. “Sam came over, and we made out for, like, ever, and then I had to go to the special place in my mind where I go when I masturbate.”

Liam grimaces. “Where?”

“I don’t want to know this,” Louis says, shaking his head. 

“I need your help,” Harry insists. He points back towards his bedroom, and says, “I can’t have a hot guy in my bed while I visit sex fantasyland in my head. Oh… that rhymes. Not important! I need to be able to have meaningless sex. Niall?”

“I appreciate that you’ve come to me, Harry,” Niall says with a smarmy grin. “This is new to you. It’s understandable. You need to… to ease into it. Or you need to ease it in. Slowly.”

Harry narrows his eyes, and says, “Go on.”

“You’re accustomed to dates before sex. A connection,” Niall says, hand to his heart. “Do you know when you’ll see him again?”

“He said he had to work tonight, but he’d text me after,” Harry says, pinching his lower lip. 

“Let the three of us take you out tonight,” Niall offers, and Louis scoffs. 

“Nope,” Louis says. “I have plans to work on my zombie novel.”

“Bullshit,” Niall says, giving Louis a shove. 

“Come on, Louis, it’ll be fun,” Liam says, elbowing him in the ribs. 

Louis smacks Liam’s arm, then the back of his head, and while he’s shoving Niall off his stool, Louis asks, “Harry, why don’t you just go out with someone else? Find a guy you like?”

“No, Lou, listen.” Harry scoots his rolling chair closer, and looks up at Louis on his stool. “I need to do something like this. I always fall so fast, and it’ll be good for me to… not jump into things. And yeah, Sam doesn’t want a boyfriend, but so what. He’s great in bed. He’s an attentive lover, and—”

“Eww… Don’t say lover.” Louis winces and covers his face with his hands. “I don’t care. I don’t want to go. It sounds like a fucking nightmare.”

“Fine,” Harry says, gritting his teeth. 

“Don’t be selfish, Louis,” Liam says, expertly dodging Louis’ slap.

“It’s for the greater good,” Niall says, smartly staying out of Louis’ reach. “We need to help our friend have sex.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Harry interjects, wrinkling his nose. 

“Louis will be there.” Niall nods once, then turns to glare at Louis. “You’re going.”

Louis sighs, and deadpans, “Great. I’m one hundred percent on board. I will be there with bells on.”

“Don’t actually wear bells,” Liam says. He points at Niall, and laughs. “Remember that time?”

“Ahh…” Niall smiles, looking up at the ceiling. “A good year, 2014.”

At six o'clock that evening, Niall texts Harry the name of a restaurant, an address and, “8pm rez. Don’t be late.” 

“This should be interesting,” Zayn says, handing Harry a black shirt patterned with lace roses. “Wear this. Black pants. But, um, button it all the way up.”

“Why am I getting dressed up for this?” Harry asks, but he pulls his t-shirt off, and moves in front of Zayn’s full length mirror to button his shirt. 

“Because it’s a nice restaurant,” Zayn says, standing behind him and fluffing his curls. “And because you’re the one who needs a fake date with your roommates before fucking the hot guy who keeps texting you.”

“He does keep texting me, doesn’t he?” Harry follows Zayn’s instructions and buttons the shirt all the way to the top, though the lace still shows an almost indecent amount of skin. Sam's texted him a handful of times today, and while none of them were long messages, all of them referenced sex in one way or another. It’s really nice to feel wanted, but a bit odd when that’s all he feels. 

“How many times do you think you’ll be able to convince Louis to do this?” Zayn asks, sitting down on his bed while Harry tucks his shirt into his high-waisted black trousers. 

“It’s not just Louis. Liam and Niall are meeting me there, too,” Harry says, zipping up his pants, and turning to the side, admiring his reflection. “It was Niall’s idea.”

Zayn hums, and says, “But… Louis is the only one who didn't want to do it. The only one you had to convince to play along.”

“Niall convinced him,” Harry says.

“Even better. All I’m saying is that if Liam had plans with Shelby, you wouldn’t’ve said, ‘Please, Liam, I need your help to get laid.’” Zayn licks his lips, twirling his finger in the air, and Harry begrudgingly spins for him, but he refuses to acknowledge the rest. 

It’s just cool enough that Harry wants to wear a jacket, and even though he knows he’ll wind up being too warm and have to carry it, he wears his lightweight black peacoat, slipping it off when he steps inside the warm restaurant. Unfortunately, this means everyone in the restaurant sees all four of his nipples as he follows the hostess to the table. It also means that Louis is a little speechless when he first looks up and sees him approaching, which is an ego boost he didn't know he needed. 

Louis stands before Harry reaches the table, and when the hostess leaves them, he says, “Wow. I… I sort of forgot what you look like when you’re not wearing pajamas.”

“You saw me in regular clothes yesterday,” Harry says, pulling out his chair, and taking a seat. 

Sitting across from him, Louis says, “But yesterday, your nipples were covered by a t-shirt with Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm on it. Today, they're out in the open, and there’s lace involved. It’s different.”

Harry laughs, cheeks flushing warm, and he reaches for his thankfully full water glass, taking a cooling sip. “Where are Niall and Liam?”

“They’re not coming,” Louis says, pointing back towards the door. “We can go back to the loft, if you want, but…” 

“We’re already here,” Harry says, just as Louis says the same thing. He smiles, and picks up his menu. “Holy shit. This place is so expensive!”

“Just like Niall to pick the restaurant, then bail,” Louis says. “I can afford the soup, the valet charge, and the ‘add avocado,’ which I will not do because avocado is disgusting.”

“Avocado is not disgusting, Lewis.”

“You’re never going to convince me otherwise, Harold.” Frowning at the menu, Louis says, “Want to split the soup?”

“Yeah, and, um…” Harry leans sideways in his chair, reaching into his jacket pocket, and pulling out a flask. He looks around, then slides it across the table, and says, “Brought a little friend.”

“Whiskey?” Louis asks hopefully as he twists off the cap.

Harry shakes his head. “Tequila.”

“Oh… You’re trying to kill me,” Louis says, nodding slowly. “I see how it is.”

“Sip, sip.” 

Louis takes a sip, and passes the flask back to Harry. “How many see-through shirts do you own?”

“This is Zayn’s shirt,” Harry says without answering the question. “Hey, um… I wanted to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Well, it’s St. Patty’s tomorrow.” Reaching for the flask, Harry asks, “Does Niall do anything?”

“First of all, he calls it Paddy’s Day. Second, whatever he does, he does it somewhere else,” Louis says. He sits back in his chair as the server approaches, and Harry hides the flask under the napkin in his lap while they order one bowl of soup to share. Louis makes sure to ask that they bring extra bread, and when the server leaves, he grins while Harry sneaks sips from his flask of tequila. “The year before he took the class to lose his accent, Niall went absolutely wild on St. Patrick’s Day. It was actually the most fun I’ve ever had on a weeknight in March. But the next year, and every year since, he’s disappeared the night before, and reappeared on the eighteenth. I don’t know where he goes or what he does.”

“A mystery,” Harry says, handing the flask under the table, fingers brushing Louis’ hand. “This is fun.”

“Yeah, it is.” Louis smiles, resting his elbow on the table. 

“We should do this more often,” Harry says, scooting closer and leaning in. “Maybe someplace where we can afford more than soup.”

“Platonic dates?” Louis asks with a rueful laugh. “I don’t think so.” He sticks the flask under his sweater when the server approaches with their bread and soup. She frowns at him, leaves their soup, and glares as she walks away, but Louis doesn’t seem to notice. 

“I didn't mean, like, dates,” Harry says, breaking off a piece of bread and dipping it in his soup. “I just meant, like, hanging out. The two of us.”

Louis hums, then slurps a spoonful of soup while Harry chews his bread. “We do hang out.”

“Okay,” Harry says. It’s true. They do hang out. He probably hangs out with Louis more than Zayn lately, considering that Zayn won’t come around to the loft, and Harry prefers not to have to hang out around Zayn’s model roommates. But hanging out at the loft together is different than going someplace together, just the two of them. Like they did on his birthday, or Christmas, or whenever Harry drags Louis with him to the grocery store. Harry blushes, hoping the dim light of the restaurant hides it. “I, um… I like hanging out with you. Niall’s, um… a lot. Liam’s always going on about Shelby. But you and me, we’re different.”

“Yeah, um…” Louis clears his throat, opening the flask, and Harry's phone vibrates in his pocket.

“It’s Sam,” Harry says, reading the text. “He just got off work and wants to ‘hang out.’”

“You should go,” Louis says with a quick nod. He huffs a little laugh, and smiles. “Go on. Get some. As the kids say. Is that what they say?”

“I… I don’t know.” Harry stands, getting his wallet out, but Louis shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get the soup. You can pay next time.”

“Take good care of my flask,” Harry says, putting on his jacket. 

“Oh, I have big plans,” Louis says, holding the flask to his chest and smiling contentedly. “Get out of here, Harold. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Lou.” Wiggling his fingers in a wave, Harry turns to leave the restaurant. 

Sam meets him at the loft, and Niall was right. It’s exactly what he needs. Just a little warm up before the real thing. Sam fucks him from behind, bent over his dresser by the window, while Harry watches people and cars go by down below. They come at the same time, like magic, only when Sam collapses against his back, Harry's dresser collapses under their combined weight. They fall into bed giggling over broken IKEA furniture, with Sam offering to pay for a new one.

Harry finally wakes up late the next morning, looks over at his broken dresser, and sighs. While Sam did ask if he could buy a replacement, when he got up to leave earlier and offered again, Harry told him no. It was his idea to do it on his dresser; he'll suck it up and buy a new one with some of his savings. He just hates going to IKEA alone. 

After a quick shower, Harry makes himself breakfast and coffee, then drags himself to his bedroom to get dressed. He texts Zayn, but Zayn’s busy and can’t join him, and Harry's just about resigned himself to spending the day alone when he hears Louis’ door open, and a moment later, the pipes clank. Louis always needs a few minutes to wake up before he’s human again, so Harry gives him that.

“Hey, Liam,” Harry says, taking in Liam’s suit and tie reflected in the bathroom mirror. “You look nice.”

“I have a meeting at the radio station this morning,” Liam says, squeezing toothpaste onto his toothbrush. 

“Oh, um, good luck,” Harry says, stepping a little closer to the shower when the water cuts off. “Lou?”

“Yeah?” Louis reaches past the shower curtain and grabs his towel, then steps out, blue towel wrapped around his waist. 

“First of all, I have to say thank you,” Harry says with a grin. He points finger guns at Louis and Liam, and winks, clicking his tongue. “Had some amazing, meaningless sex last night.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Louis shakes his head, glancing at Liam who shrugs, and goes back to brushing his teeth.

“Well… that sex wouldn’t’ve happened without you, Lou,” Harry says, pressing his hands together in front of his chest and giving Louis a little bow. “So, thanks. But the sex was so good, we broke my dresser.” Louis groans, covering his face with his hands, but Harry persists, poking him in the shoulder as he asks, “Will you go to IKEA with me?”

Louis drops his hands to his hips, and says, “Yeah, alright. I’m off today.”

“Sweet. Okay,” Harry says, clapping as he turns to leave the bathroom. “Get dressed. I’ll make you coffee.”

On the drive over to IKEA, Louis falls asleep in the passenger seat, feet up on the dash, arms crossed, hood up, sunglasses on. Normally, Harry would annoy him until he woke up, but he leaves him alone, letting him nap. He thinks of it as a prepayment for helping him put together the dresser later. 

“You sure you don’t want to buy an actual bedside table?” Harry asks when they walk into the first bedroom in the showroom, and Louis sits down on the bed, opening and closing the drawers of the one on display. “You’re thirty years old. Maybe it’s time to retire the milk crates and cinder blocks.”

“You’re twenty-eight,” Louis says snarkily. “Maybe it’s time to have a conversation with the guy you’re fucking.”

“Rude,” Harry says. He sits on the bed next to Louis and lays back, looking up at the black metal bare bulb chandelier, and squinting to read the dangling tag. “GRINSBYN. That’s cool. You think I could hang it over my bed?”

“Do I think you could hang it over your bed?” Louis asks, rolling onto his side and propping his head on his fist. “No. I think you’d either fall or electrocute yourself. Could I hang it over your bed? Probably. Am I going to? No. Would it support your weight should you and Sam decide to get gymnastic? No.”

“A person can’t ‘get’ gymnastic,” Harry says with a huff, and sits up. “I don’t need to spend money on lamps anyway. I can barely rationalize buying a new dresser when I could technically fit all my clothes in my closet. It’s just… I need a place to display my candles.”

“You could get a shelf.” Louis points his toe at a short bookcase.

Harry shakes his head. He isn’t going to explain to Louis that he wants the dresser so he has a place to store his growing lacy underwear collection. Even in a basket on the top shelf of his closet where no one can see them, Harry feels like they're too visible. 

“Come on,” Harry says, reaching for Louis’ hand and hauling him to his feet. “I may not be able to buy a chandelier, but I can swing some meatballs.”

“Balls of meat,” Louis says, and Harry smacks him in the stomach. 

They walk through all of the bedrooms in the showroom, but Harry doesn’t see his red dresser anywhere. “Lou, I don’t think they have it.”

“What?” Louis stops, pulling Harry out of the aisle, and says, “I thought you checked before we left.”

“No, I just assumed they’d have it,” Harry says, unlocking his phone, and opening the IKEA website. “This is where I got it before.”

“You can’t just assume, Harold,” Louis says, dropping onto the nearest couch, slouching down, and letting his head fall back. Harry would think he’s asleep, but he can just barely see his blue eyes through his long lashes. 

“They don’t make it anymore,” Harry says quietly, turning his phone to show Louis. “All they have are boring colors. Everything’s either black, brown, grey, or white.”

“So get white and paint it,” Louis says, pointing at the white dresser across from him. “Or get black and, like, you could paint flowers or stars or some shit on it.”

“I’m sad,” Harry says, sitting down beside him. He elbows Louis, and whines, “Feel sorry for me.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Harry asks, crossing his ankles, and staring at the plain white dresser. 

“’Cause you did this to yourself,” Louis says. He turns his head slightly, shrugs his shoulder, and lifts his arm, draping it along the back of the couch. “You’re getting laid, like, almost every day. You could break your bed and I wouldn’t feel sorry for you.”

“Lewis! Beds are expensive,” Harry says, leaning back into Louis’ arm, and scooting closer. “I guess I’ll get black. The website says white and grey are out of stock.”

“So get a different one,” Louis suggests, twirling one of Harry's curls around his finger. “Get the MALM. It’s so smooth and modern. No drawer pulls.”

“I like drawer pulls,” Harry says. He pats Louis’ leg, then stands, sighing. “Maybe they'll have some cute ones I can switch out for the plain wooden knobs.”

“Knobs,” Louis says, getting to his feet. “British slang for penis.”

“I’ll give you slang for penis,” Harry says, tapping Louis’ balls with the back of his hand. 

“Ouch!” Louis bends down, sucking in a breath, then straightens up, walking slowly behind Harry. “You’ve gotten faster.”

“Living with you, it’s eat or be eaten,” Harry says, and Louis manages to make a hum sound dirty. “I didn't mean it like that.”

Louis smacks Harry's ass hard enough to sting, and says, “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

They get through the self-serve area fairly quickly. Every time Harry points out something else that he wants, Louis simply tells him to get a job, and Harry walks on by. He should probably always take Louis to IKEA with him, and possibly Target, too. Louis won’t even let him buy the meatballs he promised. It’s the least amount of time Harry's ever spent inside an IKEA. 

All together, the three boxes that contain the parts of Harry's new chest of drawers weigh close to a hundred and fifty pounds. He drops Louis off in front of the building with the boxes, and tells him to stay put while he finds a parking space, but by the time Harry parks and walks back to the building, Louis and the boxes are gone. When Harry gets up to the loft, the boxes are stacked neatly at the foot of his bed.

Harry crosses the hall, and knocks on Louis’ open door. “Hey, can you help me put this thing together?”

“Yeah… No, I’m busy,” Louis says, despite the beer in his hand, his prone position, and shirtless state. 

“You’re busy?” Harry asks, snorting quietly. 

“I’ve got some, um, some stuff to do,” Louis says, and Harry crosses his arms, stepping into the room, annoyed when he sees the deep lines between his eyebrows in his reflection in Louis’ dirty mirror. “I’m not your fluffer, okay?”

“My fluffer? Like in porn?” Harry scoffs, walking closer and nudging Louis’ foot with his toe. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m your fluffer,” Louis says, sitting up in bed, and moving his legs away from Harry's touch. “Like, emotionally, I’m your fluffer.”

“Is this about dinner last night?” Harry asks, rubbing at the frown lines on his forehead. 

“No, this is about everything,” Louis says. He gets out of bed, resting his hands on his hips, and Harry's gaze follows the movement. “This is about last night, this is about today at IKEA, this is about you wanting me to help assemble furniture, this is about me making you tea at night when you’re down, this is about me calling your stupid phone for you whenever you lose it, this is about you knocking on my door at midnight because you don’t know how to fuck Sam without feelings.”

“You’re my friend. You’re, like—and don’t tell Zayn, but lately, he hasn’t been around—You’re, like, my best friend,” Harry says, pushing his hair off his forehead. “That’s what friends do.”

“Zayn does all that for you?” Louis asks, and Harry presses his lips together, shaking his head. “No? Because that’s what boyfriends do, Harold. I’m your boyfriend without the rewards.”

Taken aback, Harry purses his lips, studying Louis’ face for a few seconds. “Are you saying you want the, um… rewards?”

“No!” Louis lets loose a short, sharp laugh, and says, “No, no. No, I don’t want any of that. Not with you. Gross.”

“Gross? You think I’m gross?” Harry scoffs loudly, and yells, “I’m not gross!” 

“I’m just saying I don’t want you,” Louis says, looking Harry up and down with a grimace. 

“Don’t look at me like that! I’m not disgusting!” Harry steps closer, and gives Louis’ shoulder a shove. “Don’t act like you haven't thought about the rewards.”

“Nope,” Louis says with a shake of his head. 

“You’re a terrible liar, Lewis. I know you have. I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes when you think I won’t notice.”

“I don’t look at you like anything,” Louis says, crossing his arms, and widening his stance. “Not on purpose anyway.”

“I don’t even know what that means. ‘On purpose’ like you can control one hundred percent of your thoughts?” Harry mimics Louis’ posture, straightening his spine so he can use those extra couple of inches to look down at him. “I know for a fact you thought about it when you walked in on me doing yoga.”

“Downward dog is a stupid name for a yoga pose,” Louis says.

“Whatever,” Harry says, scowling at him. “I mean, I’ll admit it. I’m not a big baby unlike some people in this room. I’ve thought about it.”

“You’ve thought about me? Like that?” Louis asks, eyebrows climbing his forehead. “When?”

“You’re literally half-naked all the time, Lewis,” Harry says. “I’m a gay man. You moved my desk with nothing but your ass.”

“That’s the sort of thing that does it for you?” Louis chuckles, turning to the side and rubbing his ass for Harry's benefit. “You’re an ass man, huh? You thought about this?”

“Yeah, for like two seconds!” Harry shouts, Louis’ smug grin driving him crazy. “And then I realized we could never work!”  

“I agree!” Louis stretches both arms out to the sides, and says, “We’d be a disaster!” 

“We would!”

“Just, um… I’m curious.” Rolling his lips together, Louis frowns, and asks, “Why do you think that?”

“Because you drive me fucking nuts, Louis!” Harry yells, throwing his hands in the air. “Your bedroom is always a mess. I don’t think you shower often enough. You always wear the same fucking sweatpants. You scoff at, like, everything! You drink beer all the time which means you burp all the time. It’s disgusting.”

“I scoff at everything you do. Not everything. It’s just you because you’re ridiculous. You’re always skipping around the loft and singing like you’re in a musical! And I like my bedroom the way it is! Everything is in its place!”

“Everything is on the fucking floor!” Harry shouts, pointing at the piles of clothes and shoes, the overturned wastebasket, and the stack of beer cans.

“I don’t care! It’s my room! And I shower plenty! I shower before work!”

“So you come home after working in a smelly bar all night, stinking like beer and the desperation that seeps off all the drunks that you serve, and you sleep in it?” Harry wrinkles his nose, sticking out his tongue. “And you called me gross?”

“I’m fucking exhausted when I get off work! And I try to be considerate because the pipes are loud and if I shower at four in the morning, it’ll squeak and clang and wake you up!”

“Don’t blame me for your poor hygiene.”

“I’m hygienic! Smell me!” Louis lifts his arms, stepping closer, trying to push his armpits into Harry's face.

Planting his hands on Louis’ shoulders, Harry pushes him away. “Stop it!”

“No!”

“You’re such a pain in the ass!” Harry yells, and Louis laughs in his face. “It’s like you live to annoy me!”

“You’re just an arrogant son of a bitch,” Louis says, rolling his eyes.

At his breaking point, Harry shouts, “You’re so negative! You hate everything! I could never be with you! I could never love someone like that! I couldn’t live like that! I barely live with it now, and we’re just roommates!”

Louis drops his arms to his sides, licking his lips and pressing them together. He lifts his chin, smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, and says, “But you need me to have sex.”

“Wow. That’s what you think?” Harry searches his pockets for his phone, but comes up empty handed. “I’m texting Sam and we’re going to go on a date.”

“Where’s your phone?” Louis asks as Harry turns to leave the room. “I’m not calling it for you.”

“I don’t need you to call it!” Harry searches the surfaces of his desk and bedside tables, then he hears a faint ringing, and finds it under the edge of his bed just as Louis hangs up.

“That was a pocket dial!” Louis yells from across the hall. “I don’t know how I did that, but it wasn’t on purpose!” 

“Are you happy now?” Harry yells back, unlocking his phone and opening his text conversation with Sam. “I have to get to know the guy I’m fucking! I hate you!”

“Well, I hate you, too!” Louis punctuates his sentence with a slamming door, and Harry drops onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow.

Luckily, Sam's free to get together for dinner. They agree to meet at the In-N-Out Burger closest to the loft, and Harry ignores Louis for the rest of the afternoon. Louis makes it easy by not leaving his bedroom, but Harry still ignores him when he plays his music too loud, wearing his noise-canceling headphones instead of banging on his door like he wants to. He’s happy when he finally leaves the loft that evening and he has the elevator to himself. The silence is welcome, though his anger swells into it. 

The entire fight with Louis was stupid, but he can’t help how upset he gets when Louis pushes his buttons like he knows exactly where they're all located. He can get under Harry's skin like no one else, and it’s only fair to fight back. 

Of course, they’d never work together. They're too different in some ways, too alike in others. They’d argue more than they already do. They probably wouldn’t last a month in a relationship. Besides, Harry wouldn’t know how to go about dating someone he’s already good friends with, especially when their friendship is so different from any of the others he’s had in his life. 

Yes, he’s sexually attracted to Louis. He’s hot. He’s gorgeous, really. It’s kind of ridiculous how pretty he is with his piercing blue eyes, and those cute crinkles in the corners, his stupid scruffy face and those cheekbones. The sharp jaw that Harry kind of wants to punch sometimes. Harry shakes his head, pulling into a parking spot. He climbs out of his car just as Sam opens the door of a late-model Toyota truck.

“Hey,” Harry says, trying to smile, but struggling a bit. 

“Hey, you okay?” Sam asks, surprising Harry with his soft tone. 

“Yeah, um, bit of a headache,” Harry says, opening the door to the In-N-Out Burger. “Hopefully eating something will help.”

“Need some caffeine?” Sam suggests, and Harry nods. 

“Normally I get a strawberry shake, but maybe I’ll get a Dr. Pepper,” Harry says, getting in line. 

They order their food separately, and pay separately, and carry their separate trays to sit on opposite sides of a booth. 

“I feel like I should apologize,” Harry says, and Sam frowns.

“Why?” he asks, stuffing a few fries in his mouth.

“Just, um… I want to do this with you, like, casual sex, no strings, no feelings,” Harry says, sipping his soda, and hoping the caffeine will help his head. “I really do want that. But, um, I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s not easy for me. I need to have a conversation first, I think. A little build up. Like, even that first night, all we did was lie to each other, but it worked, right?”

“Right,” Sam says with a quiet chuckle. “I mean, if you want to hang out more, we can. Like, we can grab food like this before, you know.”

“No, um, no.” Harry shakes his head, picking at the top of his burger bun. “I don’t want to hang out. Hanging out’s a bad idea ’cause I’m pretty sure I’ll fall for you. Nothing personal,” Harry says with a short laugh. “It’s just… It’d be harder for me to keep things separate.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Sam says, taking a big bite of his burger. 

“I do have a question though. Totally unrelated,” Harry says, breaking a fry in half and eating the smaller piece. “Are there any circumstances under which you’d help someone put together furniture?”

“Do you want me to help you with that dresser?” Sam asks, and Harry quickly shakes his head. 

“No, no. It’s done already. I was just thinking about it while I was building it,” Harry says, impressed with how coherent his lies are. “The instructions say two people, right? So unnecessary. But it did make me think.”

“Well, um… So, it’s not my dresser,” Sam says, tipping his head side to side. “And there’s no sex involved? I’m not sleeping with this person?”

“Nope.”

“And I don’t want to sleep with this person?” Sam asks, eyebrows drawing together while he thinks. “Like, I’m not trying to get in their pants?”

“Nope,” Harry says again. 

“Then, no. No circumstances,” Sam says, leaning back in his seat, and wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Maybe if they had, like, a broken arm or something? Or they paid me. I could maybe build a dresser in exchange for a couple of blow jobs. Or marriage. If I was married to the dresser owner, then yeah.”

Harry rubs circles on his temples. “Okay. That’s actually helpful.”

“Good,” Sam says. And Harry picks up his burger, thinking over his fight with Louis, and trying to look at it from Louis’ point-of-view. He and Sam finish their food, and Harry begs off, using his headache as an excuse. 

Parking two blocks away, Harry trudges home, still confused, but getting to the point where he thinks the confusion isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Everything with Sam is new to him, and if he’s honest with himself, everything with Louis is, too. It’s hard to have a conversation with him, though, when he doesn’t seem to want to talk. 

Harry unlocks the loft door, and tosses his keys onto the entryway table, rubbing the tension in the back of his neck as he walks to his room. He stops in the doorway, shocked silent when he sees his new dresser partially assembled, and Louis sitting cross-legged on the floor with a screwdriver in his hand. 

“Lou, no,” Harry says, reaching over to snatch the screwdriver away. “Don’t. I’ll do it myself.”

“It’s fine, Harold,” Louis says, picking up another screwdriver from the floor. “I’m already doing it.”

“I don’t want you to fluff me,” Harry says, sitting on his bed and reaching for the screwdriver, but Louis is ready this time, and jerks it away. “You shouldn’t do this.”

“I want to.” Louis tosses the instructions at Harry, and says, “You could help. If you want.”

“Okay,” Harry says softly, turning the paper around, and frowning at it. “Do you have all these screws and stuff?”

Louis picks up a coffee mug, shaking it, and it rattles. “Allen wrenches coming out of my ass.”

“That sounds really painful,” Harry says, climbing over his bed to sit on the floor with Louis. 

“Not as bad as you’d think,” Louis says, but when Harry winces, he laughs. “I’m kidding. Now steady this while I screw it.”

“Screw it,” Harry repeats, but he does what Louis says, getting up on his knees to hold the pieces of wood together. “I’m, um… I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Yeah?” Louis keeps his head down, focused on the screwdriver, which makes it far easier for Harry to say what he needs to say.

“You’re not disgusting. And you’re not negative all the time. You’re kind, and you’re good, and you really are, like, my second best friend.”

Louis snorts, glancing up at him with a smile. “Continue.”

“Right.” Harry clears his throat, waiting for Louis to turn away again. “You’re hygienic. Sometimes. I do think you should shower whether or not it’ll wake me up. Like, don’t put yourself out to make me comfortable, Lou.”

“I’ll remind you about this when it’s four in the morning and you’re pissed off because of the clanking pipes,” Louis says, grunting as he tightens the screw. He takes Harry's hand from one spot and moves it down the wooden side of the dresser. “Now hold this.”

“I actually don’t mind your burping, though I’ll be honest, the drinking does sometimes worry me,” Harry says, shrugging when Louis frowns at him. “Being honest.”

“Alright, well, I don’t mind your singing. You’ve got a nice voice.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispers. When Louis sits back, the second piece screwed together, Harry picks up the instructions, pretending to read them over. “I didn't realize what I was doing to you. I was being really unfair, and that’s not like me. I want to be fair all the time.”

“Except when we play board games,” Louis says, and Harry hums.

“I like to win.”

“You like to cheat,” Louis says, laughing when Harry gasps. 

“All my relationships used to be so easy to separate,” Harry says, fiddling with the package of wooden knobs for his dresser. “Friends in one drawer, boyfriends in another, but, um… it’s not as easy now. It’s messier. I mean, it’s not impossible, but… I don’t know. I like us the way we are. I don’t want to screw up what we have. You’re too important to me.”

Louis sighs, brushing his hair off his forehead. “It’s different with us. We’re friends, and that’s what we want to be, but sometimes we’re attracted to each other.”

“Aha! You have thought about the reward!” Harry laughs his best evil laugh, throwing his head back, and Louis pinches his nipple. “Ouch! Asshole.”

“It’s not a big deal, is it?” Louis asks, scratching his beard. “I think as long as we don’t make it a big deal, it doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’s between us. Nobody else’s business.”

“Okay, I think, um… I agree,” Harry says, chewing on his lower lip. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“I do think, you know, if you want to have dates before before sex, you should have them with the guy you’re having sex with,” Louis says, pressing his lips together and nodding once.

“Maybe I should give up on Sam. It shouldn’t be this hard to have meaningless sex,” Harry says.

“Maybe you should stop trying so hard, and just do it,” Louis says, and Harry rolls his eyes. “No, I mean, like I said before, you jerk off without feelings. Just think of him as a dildo. Use him for his body. Go to that sex fantasyland in your head. Who cares if you’re thinking about late-eighties Patrick Swayze or McSteamy or McDreamy or, I don’t know—”

“David Bowie,” Harry supplies, and Louis grins. “What? Jareth the Goblin King? Hell, yeah.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Harold,” Louis says. “Now, are you helping me or not?”

Louis’ advice works. At first, Harry has to concentrate to picture Jareth the Goblin King, or Johnny from Dirty Dancing, or Patrick Dempsey from anything, but after a while, it’s easier. It takes some time for him to figure out that he was feeling guilty for not being emotionally or mentally present during sex with Sam, but once he realized that Sam didn't care, Harry was more than okay with it. 

Of course, it’s a little weird when he’s fucking Sam while picturing himself fucking David Bowie during his Thin White Duke phase, and the picture in his head goes fuzzy, replacing David Bowie’s face with Louis’. Harry just thrusts a little faster, coming before he can think too much about it. 

Chapter Text

APRIL

March fades into April, and Harry almost doesn’t notice. Without a classroom to go to, or a whiteboard to write the date on every morning, he has no need to keep up with the days. Niall makes sure he's aware.

“You can’t live off your savings forever,” Niall says when Harry pays his share of the utilities a few days late. 

“I had to go down to the bank,” Harry explains. “I told you.”

“You told me you had to close your savings account and move all that was left to your checking account,” Niall says, counting the cash and coins that Harry set on the table in front of him. “You need a job, man.”

“I realize that, Niall.” Harry pushes his chair away from the table, and says, “I have tried. I’m collecting unemployment, and I’ll lose that if I substitute teach, but there aren’t any jobs for middle school science teachers right now because the school year’s almost over.”

“You’ve said,” Niall says haughtily, and Harry scowls at him, exhaling slowly through his nose.

“I’d love to sit here and continue this conversation even though it’s clearly going nowhere, but I have plans with Zayn,” Harry says, rounding the corner of the table, and walking towards his room. He has the urge to tell Niall that tonight’s not costing him a dime, that he isn’t even driving, but he keeps his mouth shut. Niall can wonder. 

“Is he— Is he coming here?” Niall calls after him, but Harry ignores his question. Whatever his feelings are for Zayn, they're not reciprocated anymore, and he’s not feeding into it.

Harry sits on his bed to put on his shoes, and Louis leans in through the open doorway. “You going out tonight?”

“Going to Sarah and Mitch’s for dinner,” Harry says, tightening the laces of his blue and white checkered Vans. “Zayn’s picking me up.”

“Oh,” Louis says.

“Oh?” Harry looks up, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah, oh. I didn't know what you were doing, now I do.” Louis steps into the room, and tugs on the sleeve of Harry's yellow floral shirt. “I thought you were going on a date.”

“Nope,” Harry says, standing and slipping his phone into his pocket. 

“So, um… How would you like to come work at the bar?” Louis asks, and Harry chews on his lip. 

“Bartending?” Harry shakes his head. He opens his bigger desk drawer, and pulls out the bottle of wine he hid for a rainy day. “I can pour wine and open a beer bottle, but I don’t know how to make drinks. I’d just get in the way. Thanks, though. I’ll find a teaching job eventually. And I think I’ll be okay on unemployment as long as I’m careful with my money.”

“Don’t break anymore furniture,” Louis says, knocking his knuckles against the top of Harry's dresser. 

“Only vanilla sex in bed from here on out,” Harry says. He smiles, holds his fist out, waiting for Louis to bump his against it. “See you later.”

Louis walks him to the front door, and when Harry opens it, Louis says, “Bye, Harold.” 

“Bye, Lou,” Harry says, waving as he closes the door. 

Zayn’s waiting when Harry gets downstairs, and when Harry hops into the passenger seat of his car, Zayn says, “Hello, there. Look at you, my little spring fling.”

“This old thing?” Harry smooths the front of his shirt, and says, “Thanks for this. I love it.”

“I saw it, and knew you would, babes,” Zayn says as he pulls back onto the road. 

“You look amazing, as always,” Harry says, pinching the fabric of Zayn’s billowy purple sleeve and rubbing it between his fingers. “Silk?”

“Of course.” The neck is tied with a loose bow, and Zayn twists the end of the fabric around his finger. “It’s been forever since I’ve hung out with Mitch. Sarah, too, but I’ve seen her for lunch a couple of times.”

Harry pouts, and says, “Why wasn’t I invited?”

“You were, um, still working.”

“Oh,” Harry says, wrinkling his nose. “It’s been a few weeks. Everyone’s so busy all the time. It’s like you’re all even busier now that I’m not.”

“It might seem that way, but I’m pretty sure it’s not actually like that,” Zayn reassures him, patting his thigh. “Tonight’ll be nice. Dinner with the old married couple.”

“Yeah, we haven't done this in a long time,” Harry says, watching the lights flash by the window as Zayn drives. 

Zayn parks on the street in front of Mitch and Sarah’s house, and Harry cradles the bottle of wine he brought as they walk up to the door. There are potted plants on the little porch, and flowers in window boxes, and Harry wants that. He misses his plants, and he can’t even buy seeds because that would mean buying soil and a spade and pots to grow them in. Zayn rings the bell, and Harry has a smile plastered to his face by the time Sarah opens the door.

“My favorite boys!” Sarah pulls them both into a hug, and Harry catches Mitch’s eye, furrowing his brow in an effort to wordlessly ask why Sarah’s acting like she hasn’t seen them in years, but Mitch just shrugs. 

“Missed you,” Zayn says, voice muffled by Sarah’s arm around his head. 

“You’re going to crush the bottle of wine,” Harry says, wiggling his arm free and passing the bottle off to Mitch. “It’s your favorite Sangiovese.”

“Oh!” Sarah releases them from her death grip, and steps back, clasping her hands to her mouth, tears springing to her eyes as she sobs, “I can't drink it!”

“Sarah, babe,” Mitch says, slipping an arm around her waist. “Do you still want to wait?”

“What’s going on?” Harry asks, looking from Mitch to Sarah, then at Zayn who appears to be just as confused as Harry is.

“I’m pregnant,” Sarah says, whining as she attempts to snatch the bottle of Sangiovese from Mitch’s hands and he expertly hops out of the way. 

“Oh my god!” Harry claps and jumps, and because Sarah’s pregnant and Mitch is holding the wine, Harry throws his arms around Zayn who seems a little shell-shocked. “A baby!”

“That’s…” Zayn clears his throat, hugging Harry, then gently pushing him away. “That’s amazing. Congratulations, mama.”

“You’ve said yourself, you can have a small glass of wine, Dr. Jones,” Mitch says, but Sarah sniffles and shakes her head. 

“That’ll just make me want more,” she says sadly, smiling at Zayn as she wipes her tears away. “You called me mama.”

“I won’t be calling you daddy,” Zayn says to Mitch, and one of Harry’s honking laughs takes him by surprise.    

“No, neither will I,” Harry says, hugging Mitch and kissing him on the cheek. “So, is this why you invited us over? Should we leave now?”

“Shut up,” Sarah says with a wet laugh. “I’m due in October.”

“Oh… Oh!” Harry points an accusing finger at her, and says, “The pomegranate champagne cocktails in January! I knew something was up. You never turn down champagne. You were pregnant already?”

“No,” Sarah says, carrying the wine to the kitchen and setting it on the counter. “We’d decided to start trying at Christmas, but when the new year began, I thought I’d give up alcohol as a sort of test run for getting knocked up.”

“That’s such a crude way of saying it,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “Do you talk to your patients that way?”

“Depends on the patient,” Sarah says. She holds a finger up, and shakes her head. “I’ve already got pregnancy brain. Don’t let me get sidetracked. I gave up alcohol for the month of January as a test. Did not expect to get fertilized so quickly.”

“Eww…” Harry sticks his tongue out. 

Zayn smacks him in the shoulder, and says, “Don’t interrupt!” 

Mitch steps up behind them, reaching around and slapping a hand over both their mouths, and despite Harry licking his palm, Mitch calmly says, “She was pregnant before January was up.”

Spinning around, Harry hits Mitch in the chest before jumping into his arms, and squealing, “Congratulations to your sperm!”

“Thank you?” Mitch pats Harry’s back and Harry lets go, wiping his eyes. 

“I’m so happy for you guys,” Harry says, smiling at Zayn who still seems a little lost. 

“Me, too,” Zayn whispers. 

“Alright, alright, enough of that,” Sarah says, snapping into business mode. She opens the wine, pouring glasses for the three of them, and makes herself a mocktail similar to the one Harry made her back in January. Then she leads them into the dining room where the table is set and dinner is waiting. 

“Were we late?” Zayn asks, taking his seat. 

“No, but Sarah’s been like a machine since her morning sickness let up,” Mitch says. 

It’s April, but Sarah’s prepared an entire traditional Thanksgiving dinner. They chat while they eat, catching up on each other’s lives, and Harry tries to steer the conversation towards Zayn’s new boyfriend—his name is Robby and he’s sweet is all Zayn says, or the pregnancy—we already talked about it Sarah says, or Mitch’s job—I’m a CPA and it’s tax time, so you’re lucky I showed up tonight, he says. No matter what Harry does, the conversation turns back to his life. 

“I am trying to find a job,” Harry says sullenly, pouting at his cranberry sauce. 

“Are you?” Sarah asks, reaching across the table to touch his hand. “Because I heard from a reliable source you've been watching TV all day and spending your nights with some hot guy who’s also unemployed.”

“Sam has a job,” Harry says, scowling at Zayn. “So your source isn’t reliable.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Zayn says, flipping his middle finger up at Harry. “Thanks for assuming.”

“I stopped by the loft one night last week when I couldn’t sleep,” Sarah says, lifting an eyebrow. “Louis answered the door. You either weren’t home or you were already in bed.”

“Louis is your source?” Harry clenches his jaw, breathing in through his nose. “Louis?”

“Don’t be angry with him,” Sarah says, leaning back in her chair and resting her hand on her belly. She isn’t showing at all, but she has the mannerisms down, and Harry relaxes at the sight. “I asked where you were, he said he thought you were with Sam, I said who’s Sam, he said Sam's a guy you've been seeing, and I asked him all sorts of questions because you always tell me when you’re dating someone.”

“We’re not dating,” Harry says. 

“I know,” Sarah says with a smirk. “I also know that he has a mysterious job that no one knows anything about.”

“We’re just sleeping together,” Harry says, frowning and crossing his arms. “We don’t talk.”

“So…” Mitch leans in, resting his elbows on the table. “How do you know he’s not married or something?”

Harry sits up straight, blinking rapidly as Mitch’s question settles in his brain. “I guess I don’t. Fuck.”

“To be fair,” Zayn says, patting Harry’s thigh under the table. “I don’t think he’s married. I just don’t get that vibe from him and I’m pretty good at picking up on things like that.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispers, though Zayn’s reassurance isn’t enough to stop Harry from wondering. He raises his voice, and says, “Can we please talk about something else?”

“Sure, babes,” Zayn says, changing the subject. “What made you guys decide to start trying for a baby?”

Sarah smiles, turning towards Mitch and cradling his jaw, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “It was always in our plan to start trying once our careers were at a point where we felt stable enough.”

“Sarah turned thirty-six and started panicking about her eggs,” Mitch says simply, and Harry snorts, slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Laugh all you want, Mr. I-don’t-know-what-the-guy-I’m-fucking-does-for-a-living,” Sarah snaps, and Harry swallows hard. 

“Sorry,” Harry says quietly. 

Sarah closes her eyes, and shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry. These baby hormones have my mood all over the place. Poor Mitch gets the brunt of it.”

“Well, you aren’t wrong,” Harry admits. He blows out a breath, and says, “I thought I’d be engaged by twenty-eight, and I really expected to have a goddamn job.”

“Hey…” Sarah dabs at her eyes with her napkin, and says, “Want to see the ultrasound pics?”

Harry grins and nods, and they spend the rest of the evening trying to pinpoint Mitch’s features on the black and white blob and helping Sarah add things to her baby registry. They leave when Harry suggests putting a sex swing on the Amazon wishlist and calling it a baby toy.

“I drank Sarah’s wine,” Harry says, rolling down the window and burping into the passing breeze. “You were quiet tonight.”

“Mitch was, too,” Zayn says, and Harry squints one eye, trying to bring Zayn into focus. “You get so weird when you drink red wine. Like an old lady at bingo.”

“How do you know what an old lady at bingo is like?” Harry asks, but then he frowns and says, “Don’t change the subject. Mitch is always quiet. You were quiet in a weird way. What’s up?”

Zayn sighs, and says, “I don't know. Just thinking, I guess. I’ll be thirty soon and—”

“You just turned twenty-nine in January.”

“I’ll be thirty next January,” Zayn says, voice stern as he glances over at Harry and smacks his hand away from the seatbelt. “Stop fiddling with it.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s like you said, I thought my life would be different. I thought I’d at least be engaged by now, and if I’m honest, I expected my career to take off years ago.”

“You work all the time.”

“Yeah, at car shows, and doing print ads,” Zayn says. “I still live with two roommates, and—”

“I have three,” Harry interrupts.

“And your loft is a million times nicer than my apartment where my bedroom is actually a dining room that happens to have a door,” Zayn says, jaw flexing as he glances over at Harry. “Sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you, and I know you’re going through a rough time, but I… I guess we both are.”

“At least you know Robby’s last name,” Harry says, huffing a laugh through his nose. “And what he does for a living.”

“Yeah, but I also know he’s not ready for marriage or babies or anything that I want,” Zayn says. He downshifts, speeding around a taxi, and for a moment, he doesn’t speak, just taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “He wants to go back to school for his PhD. And until tonight, I was thinking I could, you know, get my GED and maybe go to college in the fall.”

“Really?” Harry gasps, clasping his hands together, then he clears his throat, and says, “Sorry. Didn't mean to get so excited. Why ‘until tonight’?”

“Because now I’m thinking about breaking up with Robby, and I know if I do that, I won’t be able to focus on anything, especially not some stupid test.” Balling his hand into a fist, Zayn hits the center console, and Harry grabs his wrist, holding firmly but gently until Zayn relaxes his fingers and Harry can hold his hand.

“Don’t break up with him,” Harry says, and Zayn scoffs. “No, listen. Don’t make any rash decisions. You’re emotional right now, and you guys have only been together for a little while. Give it some time, see what happens. Summer’s coming, and you know, maybe Robby doesn’t think he’s ready for marriage and stuff now, but he also might change his mind after you’ve been dating for a few months.”

Zayn takes a deep breath, squeezing Harry's hand. “You might be right. I’ll wait a week or two. See what I feel like then.”

“Good,” Harry says, lifting Zayn’s hand and licking it, cackling when Zayn jerks his hand away and wipes his wet hand on Harry's cheek. “Sorry. But we were way too serious for how much red wine I’ve had.”

“One of these days you’re going to lick somebody’s hand and they're going to tell you they haven't washed their hands and that they just jerked off or something,” Zayn says, then he quickly looks over at Harry, eyes wide. “You haven't licked Louis’ hand, have you?”

“No?” Harry leans back in his seat, frowning up at the sunroof of Zayn’s car. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“So gross,” Zayn complains.

“Louis isn’t gross,” Harry says, rolling the window up again. “I think I have to end things with Sam.”

“Maybe.” Lolling his head to the side, Harry looks at him, and Zayn says, “Well, you guys aren’t dating. You’re not exclusive. So why do you need to stop seeing him?”

“Because of what we were talking about,” Harry says, rolling his eyes at Zayn’s forgetfulness. “I want to get serious with someone. I’m going to want to get married eventually. And have kids. And I… I need a job.”

“I was going to ask what your priorities were.”

“You know what they are,” Harry says, letting go of Zayn’s hand, and staring at his own bare ring finger. “But if I can’t find a job, then I need to find a boyfriend. One or the other.”

Zayn reaches over and tucks a curl behind Harry's ear. “I think we should both wait. Two weeks.”

“’Kay. I can wait two weeks,” Harry says as they pull up in front of his building. “Aren’t you coming in?”

“No,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “Niall’s probably there, and I…”

“Eventually, you’re going to have to get past that,” Harry says, opening the door and getting out of the car. He leans in, and blows Zayn a kiss. “Both of you.”

Louis is on the couch when Harry walks in, and instead of going to his bedroom, Harry drops onto the chaise, burying his face in his arms, and says, “Sarah and Mitch are having a baby.”

“No way,” Louis says, turning off the TV. “That’s awesome. Love that for them.”

“Really?” Harry lifts his head, and Louis laughs.

“Yeah, really. I love babies,” Louis says, and Harry whines into the crook of his arm. “What’s with you?”

Harry sighs, and rolls over, bunching a pillow up under his head. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to talk to you about this stuff.”

“What do you mean?” Louis asks, leaning over slowly until he’s laying down on his side, head only a few inches from Harry's. 

“I don’t want to cross any, you know, lines. Boundaries. The friend-slash-boyfriend border or whatever we’re calling it.”

“We don’t need to call it anything,” Louis says, propping his head up on his hand. “Boy troubles?”

Harry shrugs. “Life troubles.”

“Talk to me,” Louis says. Flicking his finger against Harry's temple. 

“Ouch.”

“I promise to let you know if you need to shut up,” Louis says with a grin. 

“Alright,” Harry says, rolling onto his back, closing his eyes, and telling Louis everything. 

He complains about his job search, admitting that he stopped looking when he couldn’t find anything after the first couple of weeks. He complains about Zayn and Niall and how stupid he thinks it is that Zayn won’t come over now even though he has a new boyfriend. He complains about Liam and how happy he is with Shelby. He complains about Sarah and Mitch and how being around a couple who’ve been together for so many years just made him want a boyfriend more than he already did. And he complains about Sam and how he does kind of want to get to know him because he thinks that their compatibility might extend to other areas of their lives, not just the bedroom.

“I… I’m a little overwhelmed by all of that, but the good news is, I don’t feel like I’m your fluffer,” Louis says, smiling and combing Harry's hair off his forehead. “Do you want solutions or do you want commiseration? Because I can offer both.”

“Commiserate with me, please,” Harry says, tipping his head back to get a better look at Louis’ face while he talks. 

“I wrote today,” Louis says, pressing his lips together.

“Z is for Zombie?” Harry raises his eyebrows, and when Louis nods, he asks, “How’d it go?”

“I honestly don’t know. I wrote for a couple of hours, made myself hold off on drinking until I’d gotten a thousand new words, and then…” Louis sighs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I read over the whole thing, and I hate it.”

“Really? Why?”

“It’s dumb. It’s juvenile. I started writing it when I was in college, and you can really tell,” Louis says. He taps the end of Harry's nose with his fingertip, and smiles. “It’s not good. I was, like, wasted when I was writing most of it, and I don’t even like zombies that much. I don’t know. I keep thinking about writing a detective novel. But like a private investigator.”

“Like Magnum PI?” Harry asks.

“I wasn’t planning to set it in Hawaii,” Louis says. He sits up again, tipping his beer back and finishing it. “You want one?”

“No, I had a lot of red wine,” Harry says, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip. 

“You want tea?” Louis asks, getting up and heading to the kitchen. 

“You don’t have to make me tea, Lou,” Harry says, trying to get to his feet, but stopping when the room spins. 

“This is different,” Louis says, tossing his bottle into the recycling bin. “I’m offering.”

“Okay.” Harry manages to sit up, watching over the back of the couch while Louis moves around the kitchen. “Hey, Lou?”

Louis looks up, rifling through Harry's tea tin. “Yeah?”

“You said you could offer solutions,” Harry says, squinting at each tea bag that Louis holds up for his inspection until he dangles a yellow one from his fingers, and Harry gives him a thumbs up. “What are your solutions?”

“Two things.” Louis turns to fill the kettle with water. He waits until he’s done, and the water is heating, then says, “One: if you want to know more about Sam, ask him. Two: get a damn job.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. 

“Look, man, I don’t mind you sitting around here doing nothing. As long as you pay your part of the bills, we’re cool. But if you’re miserable because you’re not working, then come work at the bar,” Louis says. He opens the fridge, pops the cap off a beer, and points it at Harry. “You’ll make good money. Probably more than you’re collecting from unemployment. And we’ll get to hang out. All good stuff.”

“Okay,” Harry says, dropping back down on the couch. “I’ll think about it.”

“Which bit?” Louis asks.

“All of it,” Harry says, smiling when Louis rounds the corner of the couch with Harry's favorite mug in his hand. “I’m giving myself two weeks to think.”

“That’s a good plan.” After he sets his beer and Harry's tea down on the coffee table, Louis grabs Niall’s cashmere throw, and shakes it out, covering Harry with it, then he takes a seat. “You want to watch the Bulls game?”

“I thought that was last weekend?” Harry rubs his eyes, then reaches for his tea.

“Yeah, but I was working, and Niall recorded it for me,” Louis says, turning the TV on, and restarting the game. 

“Don’t you already know who won?” Harry asks, tasting his tea and being careful not to burn his tongue.

“That’s not the point, Harold,” Louis says. He takes a sip of beer, stretching his arm across the back of the couch. “I like to watch the game.”

“Okay, I’ll watch,” Harry says, setting his tea back down. It’s too hot, and he’s too tired to trust himself to hold onto it without spilling it. “If I fall asleep, don’t let me stay out here.”

“No problem, babe.” Louis turns the volume up, relaxing into the couch cushion, and Harry closes his eyes.

Two weeks is a long time when all Harry wants to do is interrogate Sam about his life. Luck or serendipity plays a small role in Harry finding out more about Sam before his two week wait is up. 

After hooking up one night, Harry wakes up to find that Sam left his wallet behind. Question number one: answered. Sam's last name is Sweeney. Harry texts him to tell him he left his wallet, and Sam responds almost instantly, asking Harry if he can bring it to him at Cedars-Sinai. Question number two: answered. Sort of. He knows where Sam works, but not what he does there. 

Harry drives over to the hospital, not caring how much gas it wastes when he gets stuck in traffic, just excited to see Sam at his place of work, and to learn a little more about him. When he walks inside, he’s a little overwhelmed, but the help desk is actually helpful, and though he does get turned around a few times, Harry eventually finds himself waiting in a small office outside the pediatrics section of the emergency room. 

“Hey,” Sam says, stepping through the door, and looking around. “Thanks for bringing my wallet. You didn't have to come all the way back here.”

“I, um…” Harry clears his throat, looking at the cards and drawings pinned to the corkboard on the wall. “The guy at the help desk sent me here.”

“Alright.” Sam grins, pulling Harry into a kiss. 

When Harry catches his breath, he puts some space between them, and hands over Sam's wallet. “So, Dr. Sweeney, huh? Pediatrics?”

“Yeah, um, that’s sort of why I don’t tell the people what I do,” Sam says. He tugs on his ID badge, and flips it around and around. “Makes them think I’m someone I’m not.”

“That’s weird,” Harry says, opening a pinned card and reading the inside. “They call you Dr. Sam? That’s sweet.”

“Not sweet,” Sam says, cupping Harry's jaw and kissing him roughly. “Same guy who fucked you so hard we broke your dresser. Same guy you sixty-nined with last night. Don’t… Don’t start thinking I’m someone I’m not, okay?”

“I’m not. I promise I’m not.” Shaking his head, Harry hopes his lie isn’t obvious as he says, “I have no interest in you other than physical. I was curious what you did for a living, and now I know. And I did have a moment the other night where I wondered if you were married or in a relationship and I was your, um… side piece.”

“Side piece? Nope.” Sam laughs, and Harry's phone buzzes in his pocket. “I should, um, get back to work.”

“Yeah, um…” Harry holds up his vibrating phone, and says, “I need to go, too. Lunch with Zayn.”

“He’s your model friend, right?” Sam asks, and Harry nods, happy that he remembered. “See you later?”

“Not tonight,” Harry says, proud of himself for sticking to his plan. “I’ve got shit to do. But text me if you want. I might be done early.”

Sam holds his fist out, and Harry bumps it, laughing when Sam pretends to be hurt, holding his hand to his chest and whimpering. “You and the five-year-old who just had his tonsils out? Same sense of humor.”

“No…” Harry giggles as he forces himself to walk through the door, overcome with fondness, and feelings welling up out of nowhere.

It’s not much of a plan, but with his two week wait, Harry's trying not to sleep with Sam as often as he was. Time apart is good for him, and gives him the chance to think about if he actually misses Sam or if it’s just the sex. 

Zayn’s plan isn’t much of one either, but it’s pretty much the exact opposite of Harry's because he’s thrown himself headlong into his relationship with Robby. He didn't even wait two weeks. He’s decided that love takes time, and that he’s willing to give Robby until the end of the summer before he asks for what he wants. Harry, however, is going to ask for what he wants tonight, the Saturday after his two weeks are up.

Since the first time Harry mentioned going up to the roof of his building, Sam's wanted to fuck up there, but it’s been too cool at night. Harry's a little hesitant about it because it’s not his usual thing. Getting off in the bathroom at the bar didn't work out well at all, and he doesn't have any experience with public sex. No one else in the building ever seems to go up there, though. So Harry's plan involves sex on the roof, followed by a picnic on the roof, followed by a conversation on the roof in which he tells Sam he’s interested in taking things a step further. 

The only people aware of the details of the plan are Zayn, and because Zayn’s decided they're that kind of couple now, Robby. Which is why they're allowed up on the roof while Harry gets things ready. 

“What’s the purpose of the inflatable taco?” Robby asks while he watches Harry blow it up. 

Harry waves at Zayn, gesturing for him to explain, and Zayn says, “He already had it. I can’t remember how he got it. School, maybe?”

Taking a break from blowing up the taco, Harry pants, “It was a raffle prize. No one wanted it.”

Robby nods, and when Harry goes back to work, Zayn says, “He’s going to use it as a bed of sorts. Or a cushion, I guess. Depends on the position they choose.” Taco valve in his mouth, Harry nods, and Zayn continues, “The taco bed will go over there, on the fake grass. The food will be here at the picnic table. Harry thinks they can’t do it on a lawn chair because they have a quote-unquote reputation for breaking furniture.”

“We do!” Harry sucks in air, leaning back in his seat, the taco finally fully inflated. “Zayn said you guys would stand guard. First in the lobby to let me know when Sam arrives, and then watching the stairs, so if anyone starts to come up here, one of you is going to run through the loft to the balcony, and ring this bell.” Grinning, Harry picks up a large hand bell and rings it. “I knew this would come in handy.” He snorts at his play on words, then pats the folded bathrobe on the table, tugs on the sleeve of the one he’s wearing, and says, “That should give us enough time to cover up with these.” 

“I can’t believe he’s a doctor,” Zayn says, blinking slowly and shaking his head. “I had him pegged as a part-time tennis pro or an unemployed handsome guy. Maybe a low-level professional surfer.”

“He cares about people for a living,” Harry says with a happy sigh. “That’s so much hotter.”

“I can’t believe it took you finding out one tiny piece of information about him to develop feelings,” Zayn says.

“It’s not like that… Okay, it is. But what it also is is…” Harry pouts, scratching his chin, going back over his words, trying to determine if they sound right. “Sam being a pediatric ER doctor says a lot about who he is as a person. He likes kids. He works hard. He’s determined and smart. And all those drawings and cards from his patients and their parents? I think he’s just scared.”

“Don’t…” Zayn closes his eyes, rubbing his temples. “Robby, babe. Can you go ahead downstairs and wait out front? We’re supposed to keep an eye out for Sam.”

“Yeah, sure,” Robby says, kissing Zayn sweetly, and giving Harry a kind smile before disappearing into the stairwell.

Zayn leans closer, and says, “Don’t make up excuses for him.”

“I’m not doing that!”

“You’re doing something. All you know is he’s a peds doctor and he’s a good lay, Harry. You don’t know any of that other stuff. You can try to, like, extrapolate some—”

“Nice word,” Harry says with a quick nod. He stands up with the taco, no longer dizzy from blowing it up. “Look, I know. I know I’m getting ahead of myself. And that’s why I’m going to talk to him tonight. In an hour, I’ll know.”

“Fine,” Zayn says, helping Harry get the taco situated on the fake grass. They weigh it down with heavy blankets and pillows, and Zayn looks around the roof. “So what are you wearing under that thing?”

Harry purses his lips, shutting his eyes tight for a second. “The lavender lace bikinis.”

“Oh…” Eyes wide, Zayn nods slowly, and says, “I hope he likes them.”

“I hope he likes me,” Harry says. 

Zayn leaves him alone on the roof, and Harry waits for the text confirming that Sam's on the way up. When his phone pings with a message from Zayn that Sam's in the elevator, Harry unties his robe, ready to let it slide off his arms the second he sees Sam. 

Much sooner than Harry expected, there’s a loud bang on the door to the roof, and Harry hurries over to it. It’s a heavy door, and sometimes it sticks, so he pulls, but it doesn’t budge. Shouting comes from the other side of the door, and when Harry tries pulling again, the door flies open, smashing into his face. Louis comes barreling through as he falls to the ground. 

“Holy shit!” Louis stares at Harry, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. The door slams shut behind him, and Louis spins around, grabbing at the door handle and yelling, “No! No! No!”

Dazed from the blow to his head, Harry blinks over and over, trying to focus. Realizing he’s sprawled on the ground, robe open with his lavender lace panties on display, Harry covers himself just as the door opens again, and light spills onto the roof from the stairwell. Zayn, Robby, and Sam appear, and when Harry searches for his face, Louis is gone. 

“What happened?” Sam asks, kneeling at Harry's side. 

“Louis hit me with the door,” Harry says, reaching up to feel his cheek, but Sam gently takes his hand and pulls it away. 

“Don’t touch,” Sam says, frowning and turning to Zayn and Robby. “Let’s get him downstairs. I think it’s just a cut and a bruise, but I want to be sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”

All of his plans ruined, Harry lets Sam help him down the stairs, and into the loft where he guides Harry to the dining room table. He checks Harry's eyes with a flashlight, and after determining that he doesn't have a concussion, he carefully cleans the cut on Harry's cheekbone. Zayn and Robby bring everything down from the roof, including the giant inflatable taco, and Sam finds a bag of frozen peas in the back of the freezer. 

“I think you’re going to be okay,” Sam says, softly tracing Harry's jawline with his thumb. “What happened?”

“Louis couldn’t get the door open, and I… I don’t know what he was doing up there,” Harry says, looking around, but Louis isn’t in the open area of the loft, and Zayn and Robby are gone, too. They're all alone. “I tried to help open it ’cause sometimes the door sticks. I thought it was you. The door opened really fast and hit me in the face and knocked me down. Why were Zayn and Robby up there with you?”

Sam repositions the bag of frozen peas over Harry's cheekbone, and Harry hisses. “Sorry, um, I was coming up to see you like you told me to. Then Zayn and Robby came running past me on the stairs yelling about Louis breaking containment?”

Wracking his brain, Harry can’t come up with a reason for Louis to have needed to be on the roof so badly that he ran all the way up there when he doesn’t usually even want to be up there alone. He shakes his head slightly, not wanting to make himself dizzy again, and says, “Oh.”

“It’s okay,” Sam says, leaning in to kiss Harry's forehead. “I have a feeling I know what was supposed to happen on the roof. We can do that another day.”

“Wait, um… Sam, I know what you think was supposed to happen up there, and you’re not wrong, but, um… I also wanted to tell you something,” Harry says, taking the bag of peas from Sam, and sitting up a little straighter. “I like you.”

“I like you, too. That’s why we do what we do,” Sam says with a laugh.

“No, I mean, I really like you. And I know that’s not what this is, but I thought I’d ask,” Harry says, and because he wants to be absolutely clear, he adds, “I needed to ask because I want to know if you’ll go out with me, like, for real. On a real date.” 

“I… I can’t,” Sam says, looking down and tracing shapes on the table top. “It’s not what I want. I wasn’t lying when I told you that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry whispers, adjusting the frozen peas so that if he starts to cry, the tears will hopefully be hidden. “I had to ask.”

“You, um… Do you want me to go?” Sam asks, and when Harry nods, he stands up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Ice that on and off. Keep it clean. And you can take ibuprofen for the pain. Okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry says. Sam walks away, and Harry's left sitting at the dining room table alone. 

But only for a moment.

“That was shit,” Niall says as he opens his bedroom door. “Sorry, man.”

“Is everyone hiding in their rooms?” Harry asks, turning to look towards the hallway. 

“Liam’s out with Shelby,” Niall says, just as the loft door opens again.

“Harry?” Zayn calls, rounding the corner and heading straight for him, Robby at his heels. “We went back up to make sure we got everything, and Robby found your phone. What’s going on?”

“Sam left. He, um… He didn't want more,” Harry says, swallowing hard, trying to make the lump in his throat disappear. 

“Oh, babes, I’m sorry,” Zayn says, bending down to give him a hug. 

“Sorry, Harry,” Robby says, setting Harry's phone on the table. 

“Thanks, guys, but, you know… It’s fine. I mean, it isn’t what I wanted, obviously, but it’s not the end of the world.” Wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his robe, Harry asks, “Has anyone seen Louis?”

“I thought he was in his room,” Robby says, pointing that way. 

“Okay, um… I’m going to talk to him. See what he was doing up there.” When Harry stands up, he feels much steadier, and he says, “You guys should go ahead and go home. I’m not going to be up for company, and I… I’m sorry for asking you to do all that tonight.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Robby says, and Zayn nods. “You’re our friend. You’re Zayn’s best friend. Of course we’re going to help you get—”

“Shh…” Zayn claps a hand over Robby’s mouth, and says, “Anything for you. You know that. Can I get you anything at all before we leave?”

“No, I’m fine,” Harry says, opening his cooler. “Got a whole picnic.”

“No wine tonight,” Zayn says sternly, pulling the wine bottle from the cooler, and handing it to Niall. “Stick that in the fridge. Don’t let him drink it.”

“Yes, sir.” Niall salutes, and puts the wine in the fridge, going back to his room. 

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Harry says, linking arms with Zayn. He lets Robby and Zayn both hug him goodbye, and accepts a kiss on the cheek from Zayn, then waves as he closes the door. 

Before he can reach Louis’ bedroom door to knock, it opens, and Louis winces when he meets Harry's gaze.

“I’m so sorry!” Louis steps towards him, arms outstretched, then stops and drops his hands to his hips. “I’m sorry.”

“What the hell were you doing up there?” Harry asks, checking that his robe is tied properly before pushing past Louis into his room. 

“Coming to warn you about Sam,” Louis says, groaning and throwing himself onto his bed. He rolls onto his back, stretching his arms out to the side. “I was out on the sidewalk trying to do this stupid skateboard trick, and he was texting somebody, and I said something about him being always on call at the hospital, and he said he was texting a guy, and… I knew he wasn’t going to go for it with you.”

“Oh.” Harry sits down on the edge of Louis’ mattress, tucking his robe between his knees. 

“I also tried to pull the door open. I don’t know. That fucking door freaks me out, man.”

“Push from the inside, pull from the outside. It says that on the signs on the door,” Harry says, nudging Louis until he scoots over and makes room for him. He lays down, closing his eyes. “Thanks for hitting me in the face.”

Louis snorts, turning his head, and Harry smiles. Furrowing his brow, Louis chews on the inside of his cheek, then says, “I saw your, um… your… what you’re wearing under the robe.”

“Oops,” Harry whispers, cheeks flaming despite the frozen peas. “That’s why I said thanks, actually. I’m glad I didn't waste them on Sam.”

“Well, they're very nice,” Louis says, and Harry covers the half of his face not hidden by peas with his hand. “What else am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know, Lou. Is there protocol for accidentally seeing your friend and roommate who you’re attracted to but who you don’t want to date’s lacy panties?” Harry asks, and Louis snickers, laughter growing louder until the bed shakes. 

Worried it’ll make his head hurt, Harry stifles his giggles until he can’t anymore. Thankfully, he’s no worse for the wear, though his face does ache, cheekbone stinging whenever he smiles. 

Louis sighs, rolling onto his side, gaze traveling over Harry's face. “As far as I know, there’s no protocol, but ‘very nice’ is all I’m willing to say as your friend.”

“I’d rather you say nothing, to be honest.”

“I’d rather I didn't see your stupidly big cock in lace underwear, but we can’t always get what we want,” Louis says, poking Harry gently in the stomach. It growls, and they both laugh. “You hungry?”

“Yeah, I didn't get to eat my rooftop picnic,” Harry says with a pout.

“Want to eat on the balcony?” Louis asks, sitting up. 

“Yeah. Niall can join if he wants. He’s in his room.” Harry takes the peas away from his face, and Louis hisses, cringing and closing his eyes. “You did this to me, you can look at it the whole time we’re eating. Now, help me up.”

“Make me lose my appetite,” Louis says, but he hauls Harry to his feet, and walks him across the hall. “Put some clothes on. I don’t want to accidentally see anything else I’m not supposed to tonight.”

“Okay, but, um…” Harry sucks his lower lip into his mouth, opening his bedroom door. “Can you wait out here while I change? Promise I’ll be quick. I just don’t want to get dizzy or something while I’m putting on my pants.”

“What am I going to do from out here?” Louis asks. He slips past Harry into his room, steps into his closet, hides behind the half-open door, and says, “Get your clothes out. Put them on the bed. Get dressed sitting down. Yell if you need me.”

“Don’t jump out and scare me,” Harry says, grabbing a pair of pajamas from his drawer. He unties his robe, letting it slip off his arms, then pushes his panties down until gravity takes over. Sitting on the bed, Harry puts his feet into his pajama bottoms, laying back to pull them up. 

Taking the lace underwear off makes him even more miserable, and he fights not to cry as he tries to sit up again, whimpering when a tear falls, burning when it rolls over the cut on his cheek. 

“Harry?” Louis helps him sit up, and whatever was keeping Harry together lets go. A sob escapes his throat, and Louis drops onto the bed beside him, taking him in his arms. He holds Harry while he cries, rubbing up and down his back until the tears subside. “Alright?”

Harry sniffles, lifting his head from Louis’ shoulder, blushing when he sees the state of Louis’ shirt. He grabs his clean pajama top and dabs at the wet spots. “I’m sorry. I cried all over you.”

“This shirt has seen much worse,” Louis says. He takes the shirt from Harry’s hand, and puts it in his lap. “Need help or you got this?”

“I got it,” Harry says, wiping his eyes with the top. 

“Good, because your fucking panties are stuck to my sock,” Louis says. He crosses his ankle over his knee, and just like he said, Harry’s lacy lavender underwear clings to the thick cotton of Louis’ sock, dangling there as if the universe needed another way to say, “This is what I think of you.”

Snatching them away, Harry balls them up, hiding them with his body while he gets to his feet. He throws them into the far corner of his closet, and turns to Louis. 

“Ought to just give them to you,” Harry says with a laugh. “They seem to like you.”

“Harold, please don’t ever say anything like that again,” Louis says, frowning and shaking his head. “Button your shirt. It’s picnic time.”

When they walk out of Harry's room, Liam comes through the front door looking about as good as Harry feels. 

“You alright, man?” Louis asks when Liam tosses his keys at the table, misses, and leaves them where they land on the floor.

“I broke up with Shelby,” Liam says, trudging through the living room to the kitchen. 

Harry follows him, wrapping his arms around Liam from behind, and squeezes. “I asked Sam out for real, and he said no, so I ended things.”

“And I hit Harry in the face with a door,” Louis adds. 

“Yeah, look at me,” Harry says, backing up so Liam can turn around. 

“Shit, dude!” Liam holds his fist to his mouth, eyes wide as he studies Harry's face. “Today was not our day.”

“Also saw Harry's dick again,” Louis says, and Liam sputters a laugh. 

“Again?” Liam asks, but Harry ignores him, glaring at Louis and tossing the bag of peas back in the freezer. 

“Yeah, remember when I went out with that guy Andrew who used to work at the bar?” Louis says, opening Harry's cooler and peering inside. “Tonight, when I knocked him over with the door, he was wearing a robe and, um, not much else.”

“Hate that I missed it,” Liam says, laughing and dodging Harry's attempt to smack him in the balls. 

“We were going to have a picnic on the balcony, but, um…” Harry opens the fridge to grab the water pitcher, and sets it on the kitchen table. “You want to watch Dirty Dancing?”

“Can we do both?” Liam asks.

“We can do both,” Louis says, knocking on Niall’s door. “Come out here and eat, man!”

Niall opens the door, and after a moment’s explanation, he picks up the cooler while Liam and Louis grab extra chairs, and they take everything out onto the balcony. 

The four of them share the picnic, and when they're finished eating, they move to the couch for the movie. Harry falls asleep before it’s over, and when he wakes up, it’s because Liam and Louis and Niall are singing along to “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life” at the top of their lungs. 

Chapter Text

MAY

When Harry pays his part of the rent for May and it nauseates him to see how little money he has left in the bank, he considers taking Louis up on his offer. When Niall shows Harry the spreadsheet he made of Harry’s unemployment income versus his bills—complete with graphs and charts—and Harry realizes he’ll soon be scrounging under the couch cushions if he doesn’t want to go back to eating instant ramen for dinner every night, Harry tells Louis he’ll start ASAP. 

“Okay, watch me,” Louis says again, flipping the icy glass rightside up. 

Harry does as Louis told him to, focusing on Louis’ hands moving instinctively, deft fingers wrapped around the frosted pint glass which he tips at a perfect forty-five degree angle. He concentrates as Louis gently but firmly grips the lever with his other hand and quickly pulls it forward, beer curling at the bottom of the glass, then rising, foam floating to the top. Gaze fixed, Harry tucks his lower lip between his teeth, studying the way the tendons in Louis’ hand shift when he straightens the glass, holding it upright as it fills, forming a perfect head that domes above the rim, but doesn’t slosh over when he sets the glass down. 

“Now,” Louis says, smirking as he sucks a drop of beer from his thumb. He checks that no one’s watching, then pours the beer down the sink behind the bar, and hands Harry the glass. “Your turn.”

“Ugh…” Harry tilts the glass up to the spout and pulls the lever, immediately angry at himself for startling when the beer flows out. 

Glass half-full, Harry straightens it, and Louis says, “Center it.”

Clenching his jaw, Harry adjusts the glass, lowering it away from the nozzle as the foam on top reaches the rim. He sets it on the drain, wipes his hands on the towel tucked into his belt, and whines, “Why is this so hard?”

“You’re overthinking it,” Louis says, dumping out the beer. “But you did fine. You didn’t spill it. You didn’t break the glass. And there was just a bit too much head.”

“No such thing,” Harry says, and Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Only with beer,” Louis says. He goes up on his toes, reaching for a wine glass, and sets it on the bar mat. “Wine’s going to be harder for you.”

“Why?” Harry frowns at the glass, and says, “It’s, like, all I drink.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Louis says. He checks the already open bottles of wine, holding them up to the light until he finds one that suits him, then he pops the cork and carries the bottle to the sink. “There’s not enough left in here for a proper glass. So I’m going to add some water, and we’ll use this. Just make sure we dump it all when we’re done so nobody serves it.”

When he’s finished adding water to the wine, Louis hands the bottle to Harry, and gestures for him to go ahead. 

“Okay…” Harry picks up the glass, and fills it to about an inch below the rim, setting it back down and shrugging. “Glass of wine.”

“Harry-sized pour,” Louis says, dumping it into the sink. He puts the glass back on the bar mat, and taps the side of it. “Stop at the widest part of the glass. Standard pour is five ounces which means you should get five glasses out of a bottle.”

“But you always fill mine,” Harry says, pouting as he slowly pours watered down wine into the glass again. He bends down as it approaches the widest point of the glass, then lifts the bottle away. “That’s so small.”

“That’s because you’re used to me pouring you eight or nine ounces.” Louis dumps the wine in the sink again, sets the glass in front of Harry, and says, “It really won’t be hard as long as you remember where to stop. And if you twist your wrist at the end, the wine won’t dribble down the bottle.”

“Fancy,” Harry says quietly, pouring another glass, and turning his wrist when he lifts the bottle. 

“I’ve got a bartender's bible somewhere around here,” Louis says, squatting down and reaching back behind the bucket of wine and beer openers. He pulls out a battered green and yellow paperback actually titled The Bartender’s Bible, and stands. “If we’re not busy, you can look over this, but most of the cocktails people order are things like Jack and Coke, or, um, vodka soda, where they’re, like, telling you the ingredients.”

Harry sighs, leaning against the bar. “What do I do if a customer asks me for something I don’t know how to make?”

“Ask me,” Louis says with a smile. “Don’t worry, Harold. Use those dimples to your advantage, and no one’ll get pissed if you forget to put vermouth in their martini.”

Groaning, Harry hides his face in his hands. “I don't even know what vermouth is.”

“You’ll learn,” Louis says, handing over The Bartender’s Bible. “Either start reading, or familiarize yourself with where we keep everything. Look in the coolers, the cabinets, on the shelves. Pick up bottles and read the labels. Whatever works for you. I’ve got to go get a keg of Sam Adams.”

Trying not to panic at being left alone behind the bar, Harry nods, and says, “Okay.” 

“Be right back,” Louis says. He opens the cooler under the taps and squats down, fiddling with something before yanking the empty keg out, and heaving it up onto his shoulder. Harry watches wide-eyed as Louis carries it through the swinging door into the kitchen. 

Of course, as soon as Louis disappears, someone comes into the bar, and Harry’s hands are sweaty before the guy opens his mouth. 

“Hello,” Harry says, taking in the guy’s shoulder length black hair, tank top, muscular tattooed arms, ripped jeans, motorcycle boots, and wallet chain. He’s gorgeous, but intimidating. 

“Hi,” the guy says with a nod. “Bourbon on the rocks.”

Harry turns around, scanning the row of liquor bottles until his eyes land on the Jim Beam. With a relieved sigh, he fills a rocks glass with ice, and pours bourbon into the jigger, then dumps it over the ice. 

“Do you want to start a tab?” Harry asks, setting the glass on a cocktail napkin. 

“Nah,” the guy says, handing Harry a twenty, and tipping his drink back, emptying the glass in one gulp. “Gimme another bourbon.”

“’Kay,” Harry says, hand shaking as he refills the jigger, and pours it over the ice in the glass. “Oh! Did you want a fresh glass?”

The guy laughs, shaking his head. He takes his second drink over to one of the booths, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief when the door to the kitchen clangs, swinging open. Louis walks through, arms straining to hold the keg where it rests against his stomach, muscles and veins and tendons shifting with each step he takes. 

Harry backs away from the draft station, watching Louis stop and bend his knees to set the edge of the bottom of the keg on the floor. He stands, slowly lowering it down the rest of the way. 

“Open the cabinet for me?” Louis points at the doors under the taps, and Harry opens one, stepping back while Louis lifts the keg again, this time by the handles on top. He catches the edge of it inside the cooler, and slides the keg in, squatting down in front of it. “Come here, Harold. I’ll show you how to hook it up.”

There isn’t room for them both to fit in front of the cooler, so Harry leans down, watching over Louis’ shoulder as he demonstrates how to attach the hoses to the keg. It looks easier than making drinks. 

“That guy gave me a twenty for two Jim Beams on the rocks,” Harry says, handing Louis the cash. 

“Oh… Hot Bourbon Guy,” Louis says, biting his lip, and fussing with his hair while staring at the back of Hot Bourbon Guy’s head. 

“That guy?” Harry turns to look at him again, surprised that Louis would go for someone so muscular. Though, his type seems to have as wide a range as Harry's does. Cash is nothing like Bourbon Guy, and Dylan and Skyler couldn’t be more different from each other. Louis’ dating history must be all over the place.

“Kind of like the idea he could just… hold me down and make me take it,” Louis says, and Harry squeaks, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Heh. You blush so easily. This is going to be fun.”

“So… You don’t like the idea or…” Harry trails off, wondering why he asked. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Louis says. He grabs the pint glass Harry was practicing with, and runs the Sam Adams tap for a few seconds, letting it sputter until it flows properly. “You started here just in time.”

“For what?” Harry asks, flipping open The Bartender’s Bible.

“Softball,” Louis says, smiling and raising his eyebrows. “A bunch of the bars around here sponsor teams. We play on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons starting in June.”

“Oh, um…” 

“You don’t have to play, Harold, but it’s fun. It’s a co-ed league, and pretty much anyone who wants to can join. Niall and Liam play on our team, and some of Clyde’s friends.” Louis reaches up for one of the martini glasses and sets it on the bar mat. “Think about it. Now, let’s practice making martinis.”

Louis has an old vodka bottle filled with water for Harry to practice with, and he teaches Harry how to make the basics with gin and vodka and vermouth, then he shows Harry how to make appletinis and cosmopolitans. In between all of that, Louis steals glances at Bourbon Guy alone in his booth. 

“Go talk to him,” Harry says, tipping his head towards Bourbon Guy who’s on his fifth bourbon, but now has a bottle of Heineken in addition to his Jim Beam.

“No…” Louis shakes his head, and says, “I never cross the bar. Only leads to trouble.”

“Suit yourself,” Harry says, scanning over the first few drinks in the chapter on rum. 

Eventually, Bourbon Guy leaves, stuffing a twenty in the tip jar to Harry's surprise, but then the bar starts to get busier, and Harry has to focus on doing his job. It’s not easy keeping lists of drinks straight in his head, but he does alright. 

Louis is the biggest help, letting Harry pour the wine or the drafts, open bottles of beer, or make basic cocktails, but stepping in when it’s time to make anything more complicated than a gin and tonic. For bigger orders, he makes the customers wait, helping Harry first, and whenever Harry gets frazzled, Louis is right there to calm him down. 

Before Harry knows it, his first shift is over, he and Louis are closing down the bar together, then walking home. 

“I understand now why you don’t always shower after work,” Harry says because it feels like he’s having to convince his legs to walk and his body to stay upright. 

“You’ll get used to it,” Louis says, skipping ahead and turning around to walk backwards. “Did you have fun?”

“Sort of? It’s a lot of new information and I feel like I’ll never learn it all,” Harry admits. 

“Here’s the thing, Harold.” Louis checks behind him, then spins, leaping in the air and flailing a bit. 

“Graceful,” Harry says.

“Thanks!” Louis laughs, bumping his hip against Harry's, and says, “Remember the drink order. If you can remember what drinks you’re making, you can make them as slowly as you need to. As long as you can go, like, ‘Bourbon and soda, two vodka tonics, screwdriver, Guinness, and three Bud Light bottles,’ you can make all of those drinks. And I know you’ve got a good memory. Just don’t let yourself get overwhelmed. One order at a time. One drink at a time.”

“I can do that,” Harry says, knocking their shoulders together. “Thanks for, um… all of this.”

“No problem at all, Harold. I like having you there, and I’m in charge of the schedule, so your shifts’ll all be with me,” Louis says as they reach their building. He jogs ahead to open the door, holding it for Harry. When they're in the elevator, Harry leans against the wall, closing his eyes against the fluorescent light, and Louis asks, “Thought any about softball?”

“I, um… Not really, but I think I’ll do it. It’ll be fun playing with you guys,” Harry says with a shrug, blinking his eyes open when the elevator dings. They walk the few steps to their door, and Harry unlocks it, letting Louis in first. “I don’t know how good I’ll be. It’s been years since I played baseball, and I’ve never actually played softball, so I don’t know if the rules are different. I mean, the pitching’s different, obviously, but the rest…”

“Harry,” Louis says softly, and Harry swallows, focusing on Louis instead of his own hands. “It’s a game. Don’t worry about it. Do you have a glove?” Harry shakes his head. “We’ll get you one. That’s all you need.”

“Okay.” Harry follows Louis through the dark loft, stopping outside his bedroom door, wondering if he’ll be able to stay awake long enough to shower if Louis goes first. 

“You get first shower tonight,” Louis says, jerking his thumb towards the bathroom. “But make it quick.”

Harry hurries off down the hall, whispering, “Thanks, Lou.”

It takes Harry about a week to convince Louis to talk to Hot Bourbon Guy whose actual name is Dominic and who works as a bouncer for a couple of clubs in the area. He seems like a cool guy from what Harry can tell, though he doesn’t talk much. 

It’s a Friday night, Harry's just gotten the hang of the computer system and is no longer anxious about the beer taps, and Julio’s there as the third bartender. Before the rush hits, Harry takes a quick break to pee. He walks into the bathroom, unzipping at the urinal, and as soon as he relaxes his bladder, he hears a whine that he really wishes he wasn’t familiar with. 

There’s no stopping midstream, and there aren’t any noise-cancelling headphones, so Harry has to stand there listening while Louis makes quiet sex noises a few feet away in the stall. 

Thankfully, Harry finishes before Louis does. He doesn’t even wash his hands, just zips up, and goes back to the bar, washing his hands there instead. A few minutes later, Dominic walks out looking satisfied, and not long after that, Louis leaves the restroom with flushed cheeks and a smug smile. 

“Lewis,” Harry hisses when Louis joins him behind the bar. “I can’t believe you!”

“What?” Louis asks, fluttering his eyelashes as if he’s perfectly innocent. 

“You… You… Next time, I’ll get the golf club,” Harry says. He stalks away, and focuses on the customers coming in, ignoring Louis for a good hour or more. 

“Sorry,” Louis says as he slips behind Harry with the full ice bucket. He pours the ice into the bin, glancing over at Harry just when Harry looks at him, and a crooked smile tugs at his lips. “Don’t be mad. I got caught up in the moment, you know? I was in there taking a piss, and Dominic came in, and one thing led to another, and—”

“Shhhh…” Harry shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t want to know how you peeing led to you fucking in the bathroom.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “We were actually washing our hands at the same time, and—”

“Louis, I really don’t want to know.” Harry swallows, and says, “I mean, congrats or whatever. I hope it works out?”

Louis laughs, sticking the ice bucket back under the bin. “We’re just hooking up. That’s it.”

“Then congrats on your orgasm,” Harry says. “It appears that you aren’t as useless after you come as some guys, so there’s a point in your favor.”

“Oh, I could take a fucking nap right now, but I have to work, so…” Louis shrugs, and Harry has to walk away. He’s more annoyed than he should be, especially considering what he attempted to do in that same bathroom stall with Sam. 

Hopefully from now on, Louis and Dominic will take their sexcapades elsewhere. 

Chapter Text

JUNE

Softball starts the first week of June, and Harry's pretty excited for the first game. Practices have been fun, though that’s just batting cages and running bases and throwing the ball around and arguing with Louis about which one of them gets to play third base. But now it’s time for a real game: The Gryphon vs. The Purple Haze Taproom. 

Harry's been looking forward to getting their uniforms more than anything else, and while they're only t-shirts and hats, the neon green is wonderfully tacky, and Harry fully intends to wear both until they fall apart. He tries on basketball shorts and running shorts and even an old pair of jean shorts he forgot he had, but none of them have the right look, so he calls in reinforcements. Zayn never disappoints.

“You must wear underwear with these,” Zayn says. He holds up a pair of bright white running shorts so short that boxers wouldn’t fit under them, and waves them at Harry. “Can’t have your dick falling out if you slide into third or something.”

“I don’t intend to slide at all,” Harry says, digging through his dresser drawer for the pair of tight grey briefs he knows are in there somewhere. 

He asked Clyde for a medium shirt, and it fits perfectly, snug in all the right places, the sleeves tight on his biceps, the white gryphon screen printed on the front stretched across his chest. Zayn’s white shorts are the icing on the cake. They cling to his bum, and accentuate his bulge almost as well as Louis’ grey sweatpants. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Harry pulls his white athletic socks up, and puts on his white Nike sneakers.

“It’s like you stepped out of the early eighties,” Zayn says, looking him up and down with a smirk.

“I was going for late seventies,” Harry says with a pout, and Zayn laughs.

“Does it matter?” Zayn reaches up and pinches the back hem of Harry's shorts, tugging gently. “Look amazing either way.”

“I do, don’t I?” Harry turns side to side in front of his mirror, admiring his long legs in his short shorts. 

“Can I ask you something?” Zayn pops the back of Harry's thigh so hard that Harry checks his reflection for a hand print and finds one. “Why do you care? I mean, I get that you want to look good. That’s cool, but, um, why specifically do you want to look hot for softball?”

“Why not?” Harry asks, putting his baseball cap on backwards, and ducking down to kiss Zayn’s forehead. 

Zayn hums, tugging on one of Harry's curls, and turns towards the door. “Hey, Louis.”

“Zayn,” Louis says with a quick nod. “Ready Harold?”

“Are we riding together?” Harry asks, biting down on a shit-eating grin at Louis’ dumbstruck stare. 

“Uhh…” Schooling his expression, Louis cocks his hip to the side, and crosses his arms, gesture limited by the baseball glove on his left hand. “Yeah, I thought you were driving?”

“I can,” Harry says, smirking and grabbing his glove off his desk. “Zayn?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Zayn laughs, getting up off the bed. Louis turns, and Harry follows him out the door, eyes trained on Louis’ ass in his cut-off sweatpants. Behind him, Zayn whispers conspiratorially, “Sweatshorts.”

Jerking his head around, Harry glares at Zayn, who gives him an innocent smile, sticking his tongue out just as Harry faces forwards again. Harry whispers, “I saw that.”

“I meant for you to,” Zayn whispers back.

“What?” Louis asks, pushing the button to call the elevator.

“I said,” Zayn says. He clears his throat, and Harry can see the cogs whirling. “I said, your shorts show off your assets.”

“They do, don’t they?” Louis twists at the waist, pulling his shirt up as he attempts to look at his own ass, then he grabs it, squeezes it, and smacks it while Harry hurries into the elevator. A mistake, because now he can see Louis from the front when he turns back around, cups his cock and balls, and asks, “Or did you mean these?”

“Put your dick away, Lewis,” Harry says, losing the fight against his blush. 

“It’s not out, Harold,” Louis says, staring pointedly at Harry's crotch. “Unlike yours.”

Harry checked three times while putting on his briefs that they were fitted enough to keep his junk in place, yet he still looks down so fast he gets a crick in his neck. “Mine’s not out either.”

“Boys, boys,” Zayn says, glancing from Harry to Louis. “No fighting. You’re on the same team, aren't you?”

“Hold the elevator!” Niall grabs the door before it can slide shut, and Zayn moves over to stand between Harry and the wall, making room for Niall and Liam while also making it clear that he doesn’t want to be anywhere near Niall. 

“Thanks for driving, Harry,” Liam says, leaning against the wall beside him. “Excited for your first game?”

“Yeah.” Harry smiles, punching his glove a few times, and says, “Should be fun.”

“You and Louis settle the third base argument?” Liam asks, and Harry tries to maintain his smile. He was hoping Clyde would decide, or that the team would put it to a vote, but no. They were told to figure it out themselves, and that led to a screaming match. 

“Yep,” Louis answers for him. 

“Who’s—” Liam looks back and forth between them, then points at Louis, and says, “You’re playing third?”

“Whoever touches third base first wins,” Louis says. 

Zayn groans, Niall rubs harshly at his forehead, and Liam says, “This will end well.”

It’ll end exactly the way Harry wants it to end. 

There are child locks on his station wagon, and he set them yesterday. He knew the guys would want to take his car because they can’t all fit in Zayn’s little sports car, there’s no guarantee Liam’s Ford Explorer will even start, Louis’ car is almost as broken down as Liam’s and it rarely has enough gas in it to get anywhere, and Niall would never want them on his leather seats post-game when they're sweaty and dirty. 

Harry happily drives them to the field, playing along as if he’s worried about racing Louis to third base. When he gets there and parks, he jumps out of the car, running away laughing because Zayn can get out of the passenger seat easily, but the rest of them have to wait for someone to open their doors from the outside. 

“Kiss my ass, Harry Styles!” Louis shouts, sounding far too close for comfort. 

Picking up speed, Harry focuses on moving through the parking lot as fast as he can along his pre-planned route. He darts along the rows, zigzagging between cars, ignoring Louis behind him while he sprints towards the gate that opens onto the field next to the dugout on the third base side. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees Louis coming up on his left, running full out. Harry slips through the gate, bright white sneakers sliding a little in the dirt. 

As Harry turns towards third base, Louis vaults over the four-foot chain link fence on the third base side. There’s no beating Louis to third base, but there’s also no stopping Harry from crashing into him, tackling him to the ground and landing on top of him in a mess of tangled limbs. 

“Oh! Oh, fuck!” Louis groans beneath him, and Harry hops up, looking down at him, unsure if he’s actually hurt or faking. “Ow… Fuck you, Styles. Goddamn it… My back. Ugh… I’m gonna kill you as soon as I can move.”

“Shit, Lou,” Harry says, reaching down to offer him a hand. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay, you asshole,” Louis says between moans, writhing in the dirt beside third base. 

“Let me help you,” Harry says, kneeling down beside him, guilt growing by the second. 

“No! No! You— You don’t touch me!” Louis yells, pushing Harry away and wincing at the effort. “Niall! Niall, help me!”

“What’s up?” Niall asks, running over to them. “Ooh… Looks bad.”

“Shut up!” Louis lolls his head to the side, and calls out, “Liam!”

“Lou, let me help you up,” Harry insists, hooking his hands under Louis’ arms and hauling him to his feet. 

“Get away from me,” Louis snaps, jerking away from Harry and stumbling, but Harry keeps him from falling. “Stop touching me!”

“I’m helping you!” Harry shouts, moving to stand in front of him.

“You did this to me!” Louis slaps Harry's arm, then whines, bending down, hands on his knees. “I can’t fucking stand up straight.”

“Okay, you need to go to the hospital,” Harry says, sounding steadier than feels. 

“I can’t afford to go to the fucking hospital,” Louis says, groaning as he rubs his own lower back. “I need to go home.”

“How are you going to get there?” Harry asks, jumping out of Louis’ reach when he glares at him. “I’ll take you to see my friend Sarah. She’s a doctor.”

“I said I can’t afford it! I don’t have insurance, Harry!” Louis reaches for Niall, who helps support his weight, and says, “Take me home, Nialler.”

“Sarah won’t charge you,” Harry promises as they leave the field. “She’ll just check you out, and probably give you some pain meds, and then we’ll go home. Okay?”

“Pain pills?” Louis asks. 

“Yeah, come on,” Harry says. He stands on Louis’ other side, and he and Niall help Louis to the car. 

With a little convincing, Liam and Niall stay for the game so the team won’t have to forfeit, and Zayn tells them not to worry about him because Robby’s already on his way. They settle Louis in the backseat—his choice because he wants to lay on his stomach with one knee on the floor—and Harry calls Sarah to give her a head’s up before driving them to her office.

“I hate you,” Louis mumbles into the upholstery of the backseat. 

“You’ve said.” Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Harry pulls into the parking lot of Sarah’s practice, and takes the space closest to the entrance. He gets out and opens the back door, reaching down to flip the latch for child lock, but it’s already in the off position. Narrowing his eyes, Harry asks, “How did you know?”

“No one’s trapping me in their car. I always check the child lock,” Louis says, squirming backwards off the seat until his feet touch the ground. He pushes himself up into a crooked plank position, with a whimper. “Help me up.”

“Oh, now you want my help?” Harry asks, enjoying having Louis at his mercy before his guilt takes over. He wraps his arms around Louis’ middle, and pulls until he’s standing. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don't care,” Louis says, lurching towards the building’s entrance. 

Harry hurries to slip an arm around his waist, walking him to the door, and helping him to one of the wider bench seats so he can arrange himself the way he was in the car. 

“Hey,” Harry says, smiling at Jennifer, Sarah’s office manager. “I know you guys are busy today. Sorry about this. I texted her, but in case she doesn’t see it, can you let Sarah know I’m here?”

“Of course, Harry,” Jennifer says, throwing him a wink. “She’s going to fit you in between patients.”

“Thanks,” Harry says. He rolls his eyes as soon as he sees that Louis has changed positions. Now he’s on his back with his knees bent, feet propped up against the wall. “What are you doing?”

“Trying not to die,” Louis says. 

“Pretty sure you’re not dying,” Harry says, taking the chair next to him, and smiling apologetically at the pregnant woman across from them. 

“Harold, what kind of doctor is Sarah?” Louis asks, slowly lifting his head to scowl at Harry. 

“She’s an Ob-Gyn,” Harry says, picking up a People magazine when Louis scoffs. “She’s squeezing us in between appointments.”

Louis glares at him. “I don’t have a vagina.”

“Neither do I,” Harry says as he crosses his legs and leans back in his chair, flipping through the magazine. “But she’s the only doctor friend I have, and since you’re broke and you don’t have insurance, it’s Sarah or suffer.”

“I’m leaving.” Louis moves his feet away from the wall in an attempt to get up, whimpering before he goes far. “Ow, ow, ow…”

Dropping the magazine as he stands, Harry grabs Louis’ ankles and makes him bend his knees, sitting on the bench with him, and holding his feet in his lap. “Better?”

“Yes,” Louis hisses through his teeth. 

“Harry, you guys can go back,” Jennifer calls across the room. She leans forward, furrowing her brow. “Do you need help getting him back here? I can have one of the nurses—”

“No!” Louis rolls off the bench, landing on his hands and knees with a grunt. “No. I can walk.”

“Can you?” Harry asks, bending down and offering a hand. 

Louis closes his eyes, trembling as he pushes himself up off the floor, but he gets his feet underneath him without Harry’s help. “Let’s go.”

Jennifer leads them back to one of the exam rooms. When Louis goes for the chair, Harry beats him to it, forcing him to either stand or sit on the exam table. Instead, he climbs up on it, tucking one knee under him and letting the other leg hang off the side, so he’s in a sort of modified child’s pose. 

“Is that comfortable?” Harry asks, standing once Louis settles into position. When Louis ignores him, Harry rests his palm between Louis’ shoulder blades. “I’m really sorry. Do you want me to see if anyone can pick up your shift tonight?”

“No,” Louis grumbles, face pressed into the paper on the exam table. “I need the money.”

“Knock, knock, Harry,” Sarah says when she knocks, opening the door a moment later. “Hey, there.”

“Oh… Oh my god,” Harry says, reaching for Sarah’s belly without thinking. She’s barely showing, but there’s a visible baby bump, and Harry wants to hold it. “Can I?”

“Thank you for asking.” Sarah pulls the sides of her lab coat back, and Harry gently lays his hands on the curve of her stomach. “They aren’t kicking other people yet. Just me.”

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks, rubbing her bump once more, then wrapping his arms around her. 

“Great, actually.” Sarah points to the large chart on the wall, and says, “I’m nineteen, almost twenty weeks. Second trimester’s been good to me, so I’m sure the third will kick my ass.”

Harry nods, and turns towards Louis. “Speaking of ass kickings.”

“Yeah… What happened?” Sarah asks, stepping up beside the exam table. 

“I tackled him,” Harry says. 

“Softball, Harry. Softball. There’s no tackling.” Louis takes a deep, careful breath, and says, “My back is killing me. Like, right in the middle of my spine.”

“Okay, um, can I touch you?” Sarah asks, moving closer. When Louis nods, she gingerly feels along his vertebrae, starting at the top and working her way down. 

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow…” Louis winces, trying to move away from her touch, and she backs off. 

“Right, so…” Sarah pulls a prescription bottle from the pocket of her lab coat, and hands it to Harry, then she goes over to the sink, fills a paper cup with water, and says, “I’m not officially examining you, and I’m not officially telling you that you bruised your spine, and I’m not officially giving you those pills to manage the pain.” Holding up two fingers, Sarah nods at the pill bottle in Harry’s hand, and he hurries to open it, shaking two pills into his palm. 

“Sit up, Lou,” Harry says, and Louis gradually rolls onto his side in the fetal position, then to his back with his knees to his chest. “Here.”

Louis holds his hand out and Harry drops the pills into it, taking the cup of water from Sarah, who says, “Don’t take those.”

“Take the pills,” Harry says, nudging Louis’ hand. “Take them.”

“Why would you take those?” Sarah shakes her head. “No one prescribed them… Please don’t take them.”

“Take them, Lou,” Harry whispers, nodding quickly. “It’s like a code. Take them.”

“Don’t… No…” Sarah frowns, and Harry grins, pointing to his mouth. 

Louis puts the pills in his mouth, and Harry holds the paper cup to his lips, helping him lift his head. 

“Those are designed for severe menstrual cramps, so they should help your baby back ache,” Sarah says, and Louis swallows the pills. 

“Baby back ache,” Harry repeats with a quiet chuckle, putting the pill bottle in his pocket with his keys. 

“Wait. Hold on.” Sarah frowns, leaning closer to Louis. “Take another sip.” 

While Sarah watches, Louis finishes the water in the tiny cup, and Harry says, “What is it?”

“What's wrong?” Louis asks. 

“It’s your thyroid. I noticed something while you were swallowing. Do you mind if I touch?” Sarah asks, already reaching for his neck. 

“I guess?” Louis scoffs. “I don't see what choice I have.” 

Harry smacks his arm. “Let her examine you, Lou!” 

“Okay, Harry. Jesus.”

Sarah presses under his Adam’s apple, and says, “Yeah, you have a growth.”

“Oh, my God.” Harry clutches a hand to his chest, fear welling up inside. 

“Oh, no, no, no,” Louis laughs, waving it off, and says, “No. Everything’s fine. I can swallow. I know what you're talking about.”

“You've had it checked out?” Sarah asks, crossing her arms. 

“No, I didn’t,” Louis admits freely with a shake of his head. “I don't usually go to doctors.”

Ignoring him, Sarah turns to Harry, and says, “I’ve got a friend in radiology. I can set up an ultrasound tomorrow morning, first thing.”

“You guys don't have one of those machines?” Harry asks, and Sarah shrugs. 

“We do.” She nods, rubbing her hand over her belly as she explains, “But unless it’s a fetus, I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“I can't afford an ultrasound,” Louis snaps. He tries to sit up, but Harry pushes him back down. 

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Sarah says, pulling her phone from her lab coat pocket. “So I'll set that up?” 

“Yes. Of course,” Harry says, talking over Louis. “Thank you.”

“I’ll text you the details. Make sure he goes, Harry,” Sarah says, opening the door, and leaving them alone in the exam room. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Louis says, and Harry checks his expression in the mirror on the back of the door. His eyebrows are drawn together, the line deep between them, and his lips are pink from how much he’s been chewing on them, obvious even though they’re pressed into a tight line. 

Forcing a smile, Harry says, “It’s probably nothing.” 

“Wow. You’re convincing.” Louis rolls his eyes, trying to sit up again. This time Harry helps him. 

“Let’s go get something to eat,” Harry suggests, waiting while Louis climbs down off the table. “You’re supposed to take those pills with food.”

“Okay, but you’re buying,” Louis says, hobbling out of the room.

Harry takes him out for pizza at the place of Louis’ choice. Purgatory Pizza does not serve by the slice, and because Harry can only afford one pizza for them to share, he lets Louis decide, which is why he has to say the words, “I’d like a fourteen-inch Sloppy Pig, please.”

It’s more meat than Harry usually likes to eat, but it’s good, and they only eat half of it, so they pack the rest up to take to the bar and eat later. The entire time, Louis lists ridiculous reason after ridiculous reason why he can’t go to the ultrasound appointment in the morning, and Harry patiently listens to them all. 

When Louis is finished making excuses, Harry says, “You’re going. I’ll drive you.”

“What if I don’t want to know?” Louis asks, looking out the window and avoiding Harry's gaze. 

“You need to do this, Lou.” Reaching across the table, Harry taps Louis’ knuckles, and says, “I’ll drag your ass there if I have to.”

Louis scoffs. “Cute that you think you could.”

“You might be able stop me, but I’m not stupid.” Harry sips his Dr. Pepper, and smiles around the straw. “I’ll bring backup.”

“I hate you,” Louis says, shoving the last bit of his pizza crust into his mouth. 

Heaving a sigh, Harry pats Louis’ hand, and says, “I know. You ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

“Need me to help you up?” Harry stands, offering a hand, but Louis manages without his assistance. 

“The pills are helping. I feel warm in my uterus,” Louis says, and though he still walks carefully, he stands up straight, and he gets into the passenger seat with no trouble. “Thank Sarah for me, will you?”

“You don’t hate her for making the ultrasound appointment?” Harry asks, setting the pizza box in Louis’ lap, and putting on his seatbelt. 

Louis shrugs, but doesn’t say anything, so Harry lets it go. They head back to the loft, and Louis doesn’t argue when Harry stops at the entrance to drop him off, or when Harry offers to drive them to the bar that night instead of walking. At first, Louis is stubborn about doing his share at work, and Clyde even tries to send him home, but Louis insists on staying, probably because working will keep his mind off of things. 

Niall and Liam show up not long after they get to work—The Gryphon lost the game, but no one seems too bothered by it. Harry fills the guys in on what happened with Louis’ back, but keeps the rest to himself. Something must show on his face because Niall won’t stop staring at him, and eventually, Niall breaks and stands up on the rungs of his barstool, leaning over the bar.

“Louis, what the hell is going on?” Niall asks, and Liam grabs the back of his shirt, pulling him down. 

“You didn't tell them?” Louis asks with a crooked smile. He rests his hand on Harry’s lower back, and says, “I’m surprised.”

“Did you want me to?” Harry asks, trying to keep his attention on the pint he’s filling with Guinness. 

“Beautiful, babe,” Louis says, giving Harry's beer a thumbs up, and making his head spin. Whatever those pain pills are, they make Louis flirtier than usual, so Harry's even more confused than usual. 

Ignoring the compliment, Harry asks again, “Lou, did you want me to tell them?” 

“Might as well.” Louis reaches under the bar for a styrofoam cup, scoops some ice into it, and fills it with whiskey and club soda. Then he puts a lid on it, sticks a straw through the top, and sips it while Harry watches, shaking his head. 

Harry fills the guys in on Louis’ ultrasound appointment, then he texts Zayn and tells him, too. He shows up at the bar a little while later without Robby. 

Since starting at the bar, Harry's gotten better at handling it when it’s busy, but there’s part of him always wanting things to slow down so he can breathe. Tonight, he’s thankful for it. He’s too busy to think, so he’s too busy to worry. All of his extra brain power goes to checking on Louis throughout the night, making sure he’s not overdoing it, and sneaking extra club soda into his drink when he’s not paying attention. 

When closing time comes, the guys all stick around, ushering out the stragglers, and helping with the clean up. Harry insists that Louis take a break, and let them do the rest of the work, and for once he does as Harry asks without argument. After he makes everyone a drink. 

Because he’s planning to drive Louis to his appointment at eight o’clock in the morning, Harry makes himself a mocktail, and sits in one of the booths, waiting for Louis to be ready to go home. Zayn joins him, which of course brings Niall over, and Liam follows a moment later. 

“Harry, have you Googled this?” Niall taps his phone screen.

“Googled what?” Harry asks. 

“Louis’ issue,” Niall says, sliding his phone over to Harry. 

“I didn't want to worry more than I already am,” Harry says, picking up Niall’s phone. He glances at the screen, and closes his eyes as they fill with tears. “See. Now I’m worried.”

“Are you crying?” Liam asks, reaching for Harry's hand. “Don’t cry.”

“Don’t cry!” Niall snatches his phone back. “It’ll freak him out. Stop it!”

Harry blinks, looking up at Niall whose eyes are red rimmed, lashes wet with tears. “You’re crying! Why are you allowed, and I’m not?”

“It’s alright, sunshine,” Zayn says, draping an arm around Harry's shoulder. 

“Oh, no… Here I go.” Liam sniffles, wiping his eyes with a napkin, then the sobs start. 

“Hey…” Louis slides into the booth across from Harry, lids heavy, with a content, closed lip smile. “What’s with you guys? Are you all crying?”

“I’m not,” Zayn says. 

Louis huffs a laugh. “Guys, I’m fine.”

“How do you know?” Liam asks, and Niall slides his phone across the table again. 

Louis frowns at the phone, and touches his neck, staring at the screen. He drops Niall’s phone onto the tabletop and stands, going behind the bar to pour more whiskey in his cup. On his way back to the booth, Louis pops a pill into his mouth, and Harry gets up, needing to do something other than sit there and worry. 

Harry stares at the jukebox for a little while, but nothing speaks to him, and just when he decides not to bother, Liam sits down at the old piano, so Harry goes back to the booth, now empty except for Louis. 

“Where’d everybody go?” Harry asks, scanning the room for Niall and Zayn. 

“I asked them to fill the ice bins, and stock the beer,” Louis says, sucking whiskey through his straw. 

“I already did all that.” Harry grabs Louis’ drink and takes a sip, cringing at the taste. 

“I know. I just wanted them to leave me alone.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No. Not yet, anyway.” Louis heaves a sigh, letting his head fall back. “I think… I think I’m pretty fucked up. Thanks, period pills.”

“Yeah… How about you give them to me for safe keeping?” Harry asks. Louis rolls his eyes, but he hands them over, and Harry pockets them. “Where’s Dominic?”

“Not here, obviously,” Louis says, rolling his eyes again. “We’re not like… dating. I didn't tell him anything.”

“Okay.” Lips pressed together, Harry nods, desperate to change the subject. “Want to hear a joke?” 

“No, but I bet you’re going to tell me one,” Louis says.

“You’re right.” Harry laughs, trying to think of a silly one. “How does a cucumber become a pickle? It goes through a jarring experience.” Straw between his lips, Louis snorts, and Harry takes that as a good sign, telling another, “Two pickles fell out of a jar. What did one say to the other?” This time, Harry pauses for effect. “Dill with it.”

“That’s terrible,” Louis says, but he laughs, and Harry relaxes back in his seat. “You can’t speak at my funeral.”

“What?” Harry sits straight up. 

“Yep. I’m putting it in my will,” Louis says, scribbling on the tabletop with his fingertip. 

“Do you have a will?” 

“No!” Louis slowly closes one eye, squinting at Harry with the other. “But I’m going to make one, just so I can put that in.”

“Why?”

“Because of those jokes.”

Harry shakes his head, looking over at Liam when he plays a few notes on the piano, and says, “Harry, you don’t want to speak at a funeral. I did that once. Everyone in that funeral home saw me crying… snot running out of my nose… I don’t think anything I said even made sense. Never again.”

“I don’t want you talking at my funeral.” Louis uses his whole arm to point at Harry, and says, “You can come. But no talking.”

“Fine,” Harry bites out, his annoyance with Louis overshadowing his fears about tomorrow’s ultrasound. 

“My funeral. My rules. I don’t want you trying to cheer people up with stupid jokes and bad puns. Let them be sad!” Louis sucks on his straw, but his drink appears to be empty. He takes the lid off, and frowns at the ice. “You… You don’t know how to be real.”

“I know how to be real,” Harry says, but Louis doesn’t seem to hear him, too busy throwing pieces of ice into the air and trying—and failing—to catch them in his mouth. 

Harry leaves him in the booth, and goes to the restroom to splash some water on his face. He’s only there for a moment when Zayn comes in. “You okay?”

“No,” Harry says, meeting his own eyes in the mirror while he pats his face dry with a paper towel. 

“Louis doesn’t mean any of that,” Zayn says, and Harry shakes his head, turning to face him. 

“What makes you so sure?” Harry asks quietly. 

Zayn shrugs, and grabs the paper towel from him, dabbing Harry's cheek. “I think… he doesn’t know how to deal with you. I think sometimes he acts like he’s mad at you when he’s mad at himself.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Harry says. 

“Louis is a big baby about feelings, yes?” Zayn smiles encouragingly, and Harry nods. “The bigger the feelings the bigger the baby. And you make him feel things, my summer star.”

“I’ll make him feel my fist in his face,” Harry says, and Zayn cackles, balling up the paper towel and tossing it in the trash. 

“I believe you,” Zayn says, leading Harry back out into the bar. “But maybe not tonight.”

Louis is at the piano with Liam, so Harry heads to the bar with Zayn, sitting far enough away that conversation with Louis would require some yelling over Liam’s singing.

“This is a sad song,” Liam sings, eyes closed, playing the same chord on the piano. “This is the saddest song in the world.”

“Yes, it is,” Louis says, sipping his drink.

“This is a sad song, hey, hey…” Liam hums, raising his voice to sing, “Saddest song in the world.”

Swaying on the piano bench, Louis says, “Niall, rap for me.”

“Tommo, Tommo, streets of Chicago,” Niall raps, and Harry's cheeks flush with secondhand embarrassment. “Players play like they do, like they did.”

Liam joins back in, humming, and singing, “Sad, sad, song.”

“Ballers ball in the… in the hood.” Niall rocks back and forth on his heels, bobbing his head. “’Cause he’s Chi-town hustle. ’Cause the people of Chicago. They love him. Love the Tommo.”

“Sad song,” Liam sings a little lower, “Uh-huh.”

Niall lifts his glass in the air, and says, “Tommo, Tommo, yo. Streets of Chicago. Rough and tumble. One love. You’re my heart!”

“Tommo, Tommo,” Harry sings, sliding off his barstool and walking closer to Louis. “Never does anything.”

“What?” Louis asks as Liam pounds the keys once more.

“You don’t want jokes? You don’t want me to cheer people up? You said I don’t know how to be real, but you don’t know how to be real.” Surprised at his own anger, and at the lack of response from Louis, Harry barrels on, “You don’t do anything. Ever. Didn't you ever want to do anything? Accomplish something?”

“I do stuff,” Louis insists, narrowing his eyes. “I wrote half a book about zombies.”

“Which you said you hate,” Harry says. He leans against the piano, looking down at Louis, and asks, “Isn’t there something you want to do? If you could do anything?”

Louis drops his chin to his chest and sighs. “I’m not like that. I can’t just… Just do something without knowing the outcome. If I don’t know what’s gonna happen, I won’t do something, even if I really want to.” Tipping his head back, he meets Harry's gaze through glassy half-closed eyes, and says, “Like, back in school, sometimes people would go to the beach. Go skinny dipping. And I’d just stay back and guard everybody’s stuff.”

“Have you ever been skinny dipping?” Harry asks, idea already fully formed before Louis shakes his head. “You want to?”

“Now?” Louis asks.

“You have anything else to do?” Harry lifts his gaze, turning to each of the guys, waiting for someone to say they’d rather go home, but no one does. 

“Let’s do it,” Liam says, nudging Louis until he stands up. 

They lock up the bar, and walk to Harry's station wagon, piling in. For once, Zayn lets Louis have shotgun. 

“Where to?” Harry asks the back seat because he doesn’t want Louis to have to think about it anymore.

“Santa Monica,” Niall says, and Zayn hums his assent. 

Checking the clock on the dash, Harry smiles, and says, “It’s 3:33, make a wish.”

It takes a little more than half an hour to drive to the beach, and when they get there, Harry parks as close as he can. He reaches over to brush Louis’ hair off his forehead, but he catches himself and flicks Louis’ ear instead. 

“Ouch. Dickhead,” Louis says, but he opens the door and gets out of the car. 

Everyone walks to the edge of the parking lot, but no one takes the first step towards the beach. It’s June, but the ocean is always cooler than Harry expects it to be, and it’s past four in the morning. All of them would probably rather be home in bed, even Louis. 

“Should we all…” Niall trails off, and Louis huffs a quiet laugh. 

“Nah, man, one of you might have to come in after me,” Louis says. Stepping on the heels of his shoes, he takes them off, and tucks his socks inside. He starts walking, unbuttoning his flannel shirt, and dropping it in the sand as he breaks into a run. 

“What’s going on?” Liam asks, reminding Harry how sober he is, and how drunk the rest of them are. 

Harry grabs Louis’ shoes and takes off jogging through the sand, following Louis and picking up his trail of discarded clothes. 

Shoving his pants down, Louis whoops and yells, “I’m alive! I’m alive, you fuckers!” 

With his jeans and underwear around his ankles, Louis trips, rolling in the sand while he pulls his pants off. Fully naked, he hops up, sprinting towards the ocean, and Harry grins, stopping to watch Louis’ bare bum bounce in the moonlight. 

Shrieking and cackling, Louis splashes into the water and races right into a breaking wave, screaming as he falls. His laughter cuts off, and he gets to his feet, sputtering and spitting water. “Holy shit! This is stupid! Fuck! It’s cold!”

Cupping his dick and balls with both hands, Louis runs out of the ocean and up the beach. He bends over and snatches his jeans out of the sand, stepping into them and hurrying towards Harry. 

“Shit. Here,” Harry says, handing over Louis’ flannel. He’s visibly shivering, teeth chattering even though it’s not cold out, and Harry wonders if it’s the whiskey or the pain pills or the combination. “Are you okay?”

“No!” Louis yells, wrapping his shirt around himself, arms crossed tight over his chest. “No, Harry! I’m not okay!”

“Okay,” Harry whispers, pointlessly trying to give Louis his socks. 

“I went out to play the first softball game of the season, and you fucking tackled me and hurt my back!” Clearly still pissed about that, Louis pokes him hard in the shoulder, and shouts, “Then you took me to see your gynecologist friend, and now I might have cancer!” Harry opens his mouth to apologize, but Louis yells over him, “Of course I’m not okay, Harry! Fuck!”

“Okay, I…” Harry bites his lip as Louis storms past him. 

Assuming he’s heading back to the car, Harry waits a moment before he follows, but when Louis drops down to sit in the sand, Harry walks up the beach alone. 

“Harry, wait,” Zayn says, and Harry turns to see him hurrying after him. He catches up, and throws his arm around Harry’s shoulders, leaning in and kissing Harry’s temple, pulling him close while they walk. “Louis is—”

“Stop defending him!” Harry snaps, immediately regretting his assumption. 

“I was trying to say that Louis is being a dick.” Squeezing Harry’s shoulder, Zayn says, “And I was going to say that I’ll kick his ass if he doesn’t apologize to you, but, um, also… try not to let it get to you.”

“I’m sorry. I'm really sorry. I’m trying,” Harry says, unlocking his car, and opening the hatchback to get the tote bag he keeps back there. The blanket he’s driven around with since college is on top.

“Is that your dad’s stadium blanket?” Zayn asks, taking it and unfolding it, holding it up. “You still have this thing?”

“Yeah, I mean...” Shrugging, Harry says, “Never know when you might need it.”

“That’s what he said when he gave it to you,” Zayn says, draping it over his shoulders like a cape. “You have another one? I’m assuming this is for Louis.”

Face warming at Zayn’s correct assumption, Harry digs through the tote bag, searching for the fleece throw that should be there. He finds it, and tosses it to Zayn, yawning as he shuts the tailgate. 

“I’m exhausted,” Harry says. Zayn gives the stadium blanket back, and Harry tucks it under his arm, trudging through the sand, back to Louis. He glances over at Zayn, and asks, “You and Niall okay now?” 

“Yeah.” Shrugging, Zayn says, “He’s not thrilled about Robby, but he said he wants to hang out with both of us, so…”

“So, we’ll see,” Harry finishes for him, and Zayn chuckles. 

“Yeah, exactly.” Zayn waves at Liam as he drags his feet in the sand towards them, then heads in Niall’s direction. 

“Hey, man,” Liam says, rubbing his hands together. “Mind if I go sit in the car? I don’t feel like getting sandy.”

Harry turns and points his keys at the car, pressing the button to unlock it. “Go for it.”

“Thanks,” Liam says, and Harry smiles, walking away. 

Louis is where Harry left him, but now he’s on his back, legs spread eagle, arms stretched out to the sides. He may have been making a sand angel, but it’s hard to tell in the dark. When Harry gets closer, he shakes out the blanket, hoping to alert Louis of his approach, and it works. He cranes his neck to look back at Harry, then sits up, hugging his knees. 

“Hey,” Harry says softly, holding the blanket out. “You want this?”

Patting the space beside him, Louis nods. “Sit. We’ll share it.”

“Okay.” Sitting cross-legged next to Louis in the sand, Harry drapes the blanket over their backs, and holds tight to the corner. 

“Thanks,” Louis whispers, shifting closer, and slipping his arm around Harry’s back. “Harry, I… You were right.” 

“What?” Harry pulls back a bit to look at Louis, and it’s clear he’s fucked up. His eyes are half-closed, and there’s a slight curve to his lips like he wants to smile, but can’t make his face muscles work that way. 

“What you said before. You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m thirty. And it’s like… it’s like… what am I waiting for?” Louis shakes his head, and Harry tilts his chin down. “I can’t keep just not… you know what I mean?”

“I think so, yeah,” Harry says, giving him an encouraging smile. 

“I like you, Harry. I like you a lot,” Louis says, closing his eyes, and Harry’s heart leaps into his throat. “I didn't want… I didn’t want you to move in.”

Harry snorts, and looks down, drawing circles in the sand with his fingertips. “I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Louis says petulantly, and Harry figures it’s better to keep quiet and let him say what he wants to say. “I think… I think… I knew you’d be… some…  Hey, you know… your lips are really pink, Harold.”

“Oh, um…” Harry presses the tips of his fingers to his lips, and Louis laughs. 

“I think about…” Louis trails off, frowning, and Harry rolls his lips together like he could hide them. Cupping Harry’s chin, Louis gently pushes down with his thumb until Harry relaxes his jaw and stops biting his lips. “Don’t… Don't do that.”

“Okay,” Harry whispers. Gaze flickering to Louis’ mouth, Harry inhales through his nose, smelling whiskey on Louis’ breath. He turns away before either of them can do something they’ll regret. 

Louis barks a short, sharp laugh, and Harry faces him again, keeping his guard up. Extending his index finger, Louis stares at it, gradually bringing it closer to his face, crossing his eyes. “I’m not gonna remember anything in the morning, am I?”

“Probably not,” Harry says with a smile. 

“Oh, no…” Louis giggles, and Harry laughs into his hand. 

“Maybe we should go home,” Harry suggests, happy he didn’t let himself get caught up in the moment. 

“Yeah…” Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, and says, “In a minute.”

Harry doesn’t check his phone because he doesn’t want to know how late it is. He nods off a few times, waking up whenever his head drops and he feels like he’s falling. The next time he wakes up, he’s laying down on his side with the blanket around him like a cocoon, and the sun is climbing into the sky. Louis is rubbing his back. 

“Wake up,” Louis says, giving Harry’s arm a gentle squeeze. “We have to go.”

Blinking and shielding his eyes against the early morning sunshine, Harry gets to his feet, offering Louis a hand up. “Morning, Lou.”

Louis smiles, brushing the sand from his wrinkled, dirty clothes. He cups his hands around his mouth, and shouts, “Nialler! Hey, guys! Wake up!” Niall and Zayn are side by side a little way down the beach, and they stir, standing up when Louis yells, “We gotta go! I’ve got that thing. That ultrasound! Let’s go!” 

Stretching his arms overhead, Harry yawns, then picks up his dad’s old blanket, shaking the sand off. He pulls out his phone to check the time, and says, “Hope we don’t hit traffic.”

“Oh, we’re gonna hit traffic,” Louis says as they start up the beach towards the car. “Where’s Liam?”

Liam’s curled up in the way back of the station wagon, and he crawls over the seat, falling asleep again as soon as he buckles his seatbelt. They're going to be late for Louis’ appointment, but Harry doesn’t care because Louis isn’t complaining about going. He’s silent the entire drive, looking out the passenger window, and occasionally turning to watch Harry, a curious expression on his face that Harry pretends not to see. 

When they get to the radiologist’s office, there’s no discussion, but they all get out of the car and go inside with Louis. He walks right up to the desk and signs in, filling out the paperwork, and telling the man behind the desk that he’ll be paying for the ultrasound himself because he doesn’t have insurance. That gives Harry an idea, but he waits until the nurse takes Louis back for his scan to say anything.

“Do you think…” Harry clears his throat, and waves Liam over from where he’s studying the display of informational brochures. “Do you think we can pay for this?”

“For Louis?” Liam nods, and says, “Yeah, man. Of course.”

“We’ll split it,” Niall says, pulling out his wallet. 

“I don’t have cash.” Patting his pockets, Zayn finds his wallet, and slips his debit card out. “You think they’ll let me put my part on my card?”

It’s surprisingly easy to pay for the ultrasound, and much more affordable to share the cost, but the wait is ridiculous. Niall’s on the verge of losing his mind when Louis finally comes back out front, and Harry hops out of his chair, desperate to ask, but afraid of the answer.

“It’s not cancer,” Louis says, and before Harry can reach him, Niall leaps at him, grabbing his face and planting a smacking kiss on his lips. 

“What is it?” Harry asks when Louis pushes Niall away.

Louis shrugs, and says, “Like a cyst of some kind. They called it a nodule. If it gets bigger or causes problems with, like, eating, then I’ll have to have it removed, but for now, it’s nothing.”

Holding a hand to his heart, Harry swallows hard, blinking back tears, watching as Liam pulls Louis to him, kissing his temple, and Zayn hugs him, whispering something in his ear that makes Louis laugh. 

“Got it,” Louis says, patting Zayn’s back. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Harry says, wiping his eyes with his sleeves. 

Grabbing Harry's wrists, Louis pulls his hands away from his face, and hugs him, rocking him side to side. “I’m sorry for being a dick to you last night.”

“Do you remember last night?” Harry asks, hugging him tightly, then letting him go, searching his face. 

“Nope,” Louis says, shaking his head. “But Zayn said I was a dick, and I believe him.”

Pressing his lips together, Harry nods. “You had your reasons.”

“Maybe, but I’m still sorry.” With a sigh, Louis pulls a battered, blue canvas Chicago Cubs wallet from his pocket. The velcro doesn’t make a sound when he opens it, worn down and no longer sticky. He leans against the counter, and says to the man behind it, “I need to settle up.”

“It’s been taken care of,” the man says, and Louis stands up straight, frowning at him.

“What do you mean?” Louis asks. When the man points at them, Louis turns to face Harry.

Harry smiles, looking around at Liam, Zayn, and Niall, and says, “We split it.”

“Oh…” Louis closes his wallet, shoving it in his back pocket. “I’ll, um… I’ll pay you guys back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Liam says, and Niall laughs.

“Spend that money on a new wallet,” Niall says, and Louis glares at him. They argue the whole way to the car about Louis’ wallet, and whether or not it’s vintage. Louis ends the argument when he calls it antique and Niall refuses to talk to him. 

When they get back in the car, Zayn says it’s the last time Louis gets to ride shotgun in Harry's car while he’s in the back seat, and they all climb in to head home, exhausted. Harry drops Zayn at the bar where he left his car, and then spends a good twenty minutes searching for a parking space near the loft. They're all quiet on the walk to the building and in the elevator, and once they're inside the loft, Niall and Liam go straight to their rooms. 

Louis stops Harry in the hall outside his bedroom door, and asks, “Hey, um… What happened last night?”

“Nothing.” Harry smiles, and pulls Louis’ pain pills out of his pocket. “You need one of these?”

“Nah, I’m good, actually,” Louis says, pressing his fists into his lower back. “Just need some sleep.”

“’Night, Tommo,” Harry says, stepping into his bedroom.

“’Night, Styles,” Louis says, backing towards his room. He salutes, and Harry rolls his eyes, laughing quietly as closes the door.

Chapter Text

JUNE AGAIN

Louis and Dominic might not be “like that” whatever that is, but they start spending more time together, and a lot of that time is at the bar, which means Harry has a front row seat to the show. Thankfully, Louis and Dominic don’t seem serious because Harry does not want to adjust to their tendency to make out and grind against each other wherever they might be when the urge hits. 

One night about a week after the first softball game, Harry leaves before they’ve finished closing the bar. He’s not doing all the work while Louis and Dominic go at it on one of the prep tables in the kitchen. 

It’s terrible. Being single is hard enough without Louis rubbing it in his face that he’s not. The only reason Harry doesn’t bitch about it more than he does—and he does, loudly and often—is that Louis didn’t complain much when Harry and Sam were hooking up. 

Today, to distract him from Louis and Dominic, his own nonexistent love life, and the search for a teaching job that he’s virtually abandoned, Harry focuses on Liam’s problems. Liam loves working in radio, but despite everything he’s tried to make the situation more tolerable, he hates his boss, and being someone’s assistant doesn’t offer much, if any, room for growth. 

“I want to be on the radio,” Liam says, causing Harry to heave yet another exasperated sigh. 

“What did I say?” Harry asks, popping the top off a beer and setting it on the bar in front of Liam. 

“I don't know if I have the balls to just ask for it.” Liam pouts at his beer, then takes a long pull. 

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Harry likes this part of being a bartender. Giving advice and pretending he knows what he’s talking about, asking rhetorical questions, or questions with obvious answers, or saying things like, “It is what it is,” which he stole from Louis. 

“The worst that could happen is I lose my job,” Liam says, tapping his fingers against the side of his beer bottle. “But I don’t think they’ll fire me, so realistically, the worst that could happen is I piss off my boss, and he’s angry all the time anyway, so…”

“So… You should go for it,” Harry says.

Liam peels the corner of the label on his beer. “Maybe I should.”

“You should do it now,” Harry says, snatching the beer back. 

“Really?” Liam checks his phone, and says, “Four o’clock. The suits are still in their meeting.”

“Do it!” Harry reaches across the bar, and shoves Liam’s shoulder. “Do it now!”

“Okay, okay,” Liam says, sliding off his bar stool. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Don’t come back until it’s done!” Harry shouts as Liam walks towards the door. 

“What’s he doing?” Louis asks, and Harry jerks back, hand to his heart. 

“You’d know if you weren’t always so busy fucking your boyfriend in the alley,” Harry says, dumping Liam’s half-finished beer in the sink. 

“We aren’t always fucking,” Louis says, crossing his arms. 

Harry tosses the empty beer bottle in the recycling bin, and says, “My mistake.”

“No mistake. He was sucking my dick,” Louis admits, smirking when Harry groans miserably. 

Grabbing the empty ice bucket, Harry pushes past Louis on his way to the kitchen, smiling sweetly as he says, “I hate you.” 

“You love me!” Louis calls after him, and Harry lets the door swing closed without responding, grateful for the relative quiet of the kitchen.

Less than an hour later, Liam returns to the bar, hopping onto his stool, big grin on his face. “Look at me!”

“I’m looking,” Louis says, handing Liam a beer. 

“How’d it go?” Harry asks, resting against the bar. 

Raising his hands high in the air, Liam announces, “You’re looking at the producer of his very own sports talk show!” 

“Oh my god!” Harry claps, leaning over the bar and hugging Liam around the neck. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks, man,” Liam says. 

Harry drops back down onto his feet, and says, “I’m so happy for you, Li.”

“When can we hear your dulcet tones?” Louis asks, reaching across the bar to tug on Liam’s ear. 

“Prime time for truckers, baby!” Liam claps and says, “2:35 to 5:35 a.m.”

“Amazing,” Louis says. “Proud of you. Moving up in the world.”

“Thank you.” Liam tips his beer back, taking a long sip. “I’m going to have to adjust my sleep schedule.”

“Yeah?” Harry sits on top of the beer cooler, and says, “Six to two, uhh… six to two, or something in between?”

“I think it’ll be easier to go to sleep before work, like, get up, eat dinner—”

“Or breakfast,” Harry suggests. “Since that’ll be your morning.”

“Right, right.” Liam bobs his head side to side, and says, “So, I’ll need to leave the loft at 1:45 to get to the radio station on time, and like, it’ll be easier for me to get to sleep if none of you are home, so that happy time is usually somewhere between four and six p.m. If I go to bed at four, wake up at midnight, eat breakfast, and shower…”

“You aren’t going to be able to hang out,” Louis says with a dramatic pout. 

“Still have two days off a week,” Liam says. “And I’ll be wide awake at the best time for hanging out. Midnight to four a.m.”

“Whatever works for you,” Harry says. “Not like you can’t change your mind if you think you’ll sleep better in the morning.”

“True.” Liam knocks his knuckles against the bar, and says, “And I start Monday, so I want to throw a party before my first show.”

“A party?” Niall asks, appearing from nowhere. “Where? When? Who are we inviting?”

While Liam fills Niall in on his news, Niall’s eyes grow bigger and bigger, and when Liam finishes explaining, Niall says, “A rebranding. Rebranding!”

“It’s a party,” Liam says, and Niall loudly scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

Niall claps Liam on the shoulder, and says, “You’re going from lowly assistant to—”

“I wouldn’t say lowly,” Liam interrupts. 

“From lowly assistant to radio personality,” Niall says. He smiles, cupping Liam’s cheek. “Let me take care of everything. We’ll host it at the loft. And the theme will be…”

“Don’t say danger,” Louis says. 

Liam laughs and says, “I’m betting it’s danger.”

“It’s not danger!” Niall bangs his fists on the bar. “Although, that’s not a bad idea for a theme.”

“It’s been the theme for your last three birthdays,” Louis says. 

“He does themed birthdays?” Harry asks, looking from Louis to Niall. 

“Oh, that’s right… You missed his twenty-eighth,” Louis says, stepping closer to Harry and rubbing his lower back. “It was right after you moved in. You were watching Dirty Dancing.”

Harry gasps quietly, eyes wide. “You didn’t invite me?” 

“Actually, I did,” Niall says. “Don’t think you heard me over the sobbing.”

Sticking his lower lip out, Harry says, “Oh.” 

“Anyway,” Niall says, turning back to Liam. “The theme will be rebirth!”

“Rebirth?” Liam frowns and asks, “You aren’t going to baptize me, are you?”

“No…” Niall shakes his head like he was planning to do exactly that. 

There isn’t much time at all to plan the party, but luckily Louis and Harry are still working the same schedule, and have Saturday night off. Niall does as promised, and takes care of everything. Party decorations, cases of beer, and bottles of booze take over the surface of the dining table, and every night when Harry and Louis come home from the bar, there’s more stuff on top of the pile. When they leave for work on Friday, the pile has spilled over into the chairs and onto the floor, but Niall is there, dutifully and happily sorting. 

Liam’s party, or rebirth, starts with a literal bang when Niall smashes a gong he borrowed just for the occasion, and except for having to lock his bedroom door to keep Louis and Dominic from desecrating his space, the party’s going off without a hitch until Harry sees Sam standing in the open doorway. 

“Zayn,” Harry whispers, ducking down behind him, then shimmying over to hide behind Robby instead. “Sam's here!”

Zayn looks around the loft, and way too loudly, he asks, “Sam? Where?”

“Shhh…” Harry peeks between Zayn and Robby, and says, “Near the door. Keep me hidden.”

With a grip on each of their shirts, Harry shifts them around as Sam walks through the loft. Backing towards the hallway, Harry drags Zayn and Robby with him until he’s safely hidden in the bathroom and they’re blocking the door. 

“What’s he doing here?” Harry asks, and a familiar moan drifts from inside the stall. Any control over his temper evaporates, and Harry hammers his fists against the sidewall of the stall. “I fucking hate you, Louis Tomlinson! I hope you enjoy this orgasm, because I’m going to make it my mission to ruin every chance you get to have one from now on!”

Robby points at the stall door, and whispers, “Is he… Are they…”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Louis says from inside the stall.

“Shut up,” Harry snaps. He turns to Zayn, and whines, “Why is Sam here?”

“My fault,” Sarah says, pushing her growing belly between Zayn and Robby to get into the bathroom. “I was at the liquor store—really freaks people out seeing a pregnant person buying booze—and I bumped into Niall. We were at the register talking about the party, and Sam walked in. One thing led to another, and I accidentally invited him.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Harry takes a deep breath, walking over to the mirror to check his reflection, and he’s already flushed, hair messy from running his fingers through it. 

“I meant to. I was going to call you as soon as I left the liquor store, but I forgot,” Sarah says, rubbing her belly. She beats on the stall door, and yells, “Get out! I have to piss and it’s either in that toilet or on your bed, Louis.”

“Shit, shit, alright.” Louis opens the door, tucking himself back into his pants as he walks out of the stall. 

“Were you still fucking with us all right here?” Zayn grimaces, stepping out of the way. Smirking, Dominic shrugs, and Harry fights the desire to throw him through a wall. Not that he’d be able to, or even actually want to, but the impulse is there. 

“Use this to clean up if you need to.” Harry yanks Louis’ towel off the hook by the shower, and hands it to Sarah, who smiles, and takes it with her into the stall. “Sarah, how could you forget to tell me?”

“Pregnancy, H,” Sarah says with a sigh. “I’m lucky I remembered to put on shoes before I left the house. This baby is sucking my brain out through my uterus. I’m really sorry.”

“Ugh…” Harry moves away from the mirror, scowling at Louis as he takes his place and turns on the sink. “At least you have the decency to wash your hands.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Louis says. 

“Oh, believe me, that’s the last thing I am.” Harry clasps his hands in front of his chest, turns to Zayn and Robby and begs, “Please get me out of here before Sam sees me.”

“You got it,” Robby says. He turns around, facing into the hallway, and sticks his arms out behind him. “Stand as close as you can to me.” Harry only hesitates a second before doing so, then Zayn presses up against his back. 

“We’ll take the sides,” Louis says, pointing at Dominic who positions himself on Harry's left. 

They make their way through the hallway and to the front door, Louis opens it, and the four of them crowd together while Harry runs for the stairs. It’s late, and he doesn’t want to walk around the neighborhood in the dark, so Harry goes up to the roof. It’s not like he needs to get drunk to celebrate Liam’s new job. He and Liam had a lot of fun together earlier that evening making fun of Niall, asking him where the birthing pool would be set up, and whether or not he would be performing the ceremony.

Alone on the roof, there’s nothing for Harry to do but think, and of course, his mind is on Sam. Hopefully Sarah didn't give him the impression that Harry wanted him to come to the party. 

While he’s up there, he might as well be comfortable, so Harry settles in one of the lawnchairs in the corner of the roof, legs stretched out, ankles crossed, hands linked on his stomach. Listening to the sounds of the city, Harry breathes steadily until he feels calm. He could fall asleep up on the roof, and a little while later he’s almost there.

“You like being on your knees for me,” Louis says, voice drifting across the roof. Harry bolts upright, whipping his head towards the side of the building where their balcony is. He clambers out of the chair, heading for the low brick wall.  

Either the wind is just right, Louis is very loud, Harry's ears have been trained to pick up Louis’ sex sounds against his will, or he’s imagining things. 

There’s no reason to be sneaky when he fully plans to interrupt, so Harry plants his hands on the bricks, and leans over the wall to look at the balcony about twenty feet below, confirming his suspicions. 

“I heard you way the fuck up here!” Harry shouts down at them. 

Head tipped back, mouth hanging open, Louis locks eyes with Harry, and grunts, tearing his gaze away, and thrusting faster, fucking Dominic’s face. Harry pushes back from the low brick wall, but not before he sees Louis pull Dominic off his cock, come spurting over Dominic’s lips and chin. It happens in seconds, and Harry's worry about Sam is engulfed by white hot rage. 

There’s nothing wrong with a little exhibitionism, but it seems like it’s always Harry who goes to the walk-in cooler for a keg of beer and interrupts Louis and Dominic giving each other handjobs, or Harry who presses the button to call the elevator and sees a flash of Louis’ bare ass when the doors slide open before he can pull his pants up. It’s become like a game to Louis. It’s as if he thinks it’s funnier if Harry catches them, like Harry’s blushes and anger are more valuable. Tonight Louis crossed a line, and Harry is ready to murder him. Not really, though he kind of wants Louis to think he might do it.

Harry storms over to the rooftop door, yanking it open while being sure not to hit himself in the face. He tromps down the stairs, freezing on the landing. 

“Hey,” Sam says, pausing halfway up the steps. “I was about to leave, but then I thought…”

Pushing himself forward, Harry starts down the steps, and Sam moves aside to let him pass. “I've had enough of exhibitionists today, thanks.” 

“Huh?” Sam turns to keep facing him as Harry walks past, and says, “Harry, please wait.”

Harry stops, dropping his chin to his chest, hands hanging heavy at his sides. “What?”

“I need to talk to you,” Sam says. He walks past Harry on the stairs, standing two steps below so Harry has to look down at him. “I want you back, Harry. I know I messed up, and I’m sorry.”

Frowning, Harry pushes his hair back off his forehead, then crosses his arms. “And you just expect me to be here, waiting?”

“No.” Sam shakes his head, reaching out for Harry’s arm, and drawing his hand back. “No, I don’t expect anything. But I had to try, you know?”

“I don’t understand why… Why should I believe you?” Harry hugs himself tighter, and meets Sam's gaze. “I wouldn’t’ve known your last name or that you were a doctor if you hadn’t accidentally forgotten your wallet! You haven’t exactly been… forthcoming. And now you… you just show up and I’m supposed to believe you want a real relationship?”

“I know.” Keeping his eyes locked with Harry’s, Sam says, “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

Looking down at his shoes, Harry sighs. “I mean, I want to believe you, but—”

Sam takes Harry’s face in his hands, pulling him into a bruising kiss, and Harry jerks back, turning his head. 

“No!” Harry’s shout echoes around the stairwell, so he lowers his voice. “You can’t just kiss me! Why would you do that?”

“I thought I could show you—”

“That’s all this was to you. All of it. The whole time,” Harry says, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. 

“No, it wasn’t, Harry, I—”

“I’m not doing this. I’m always so ready to believe the best in people, and I’m just… I’m tired of being gullible. I’m done,” Harry says. He should leave, but he stays put, waiting for Sam's response.

“I’m sorry.” Reaching for the stair rail, Sam moves out of Harry’s way. “I wish things were different, but I get it. I screwed up, and now it’s too late.”

Pressing his lips together tightly, Harry nods, and says, “Yep. Exactly.”

“I’ll, um…” Sam gestures vaguely in the direction of the door to the Dth floor, and says, “I’ll leave you alone.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Giving Sam a wide berth, Harry walks around him, hurrying down the steps. “I’m leaving this time.”

Harry rushes back to the loft, pushing past the party guests still hanging around despite the fact that the lights are all up, and the music’s off. Fumbling with the key pin, Harry finally pops the lock to his bedroom, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it. 

Before Harry can take his shoes off, there’s a knock at the door, and Louis says, “Harold?”

“What do you want?” Harry asks, sitting on the edge of his bed as Louis opens the door. 

“Hey, um, I wanted to apologize,” Louis says, shutting the door. Harry stares up at him, but Louis keeps his eyes trained on the floor. 

“What’s the point in apologizing when you’re probably going to be fucking on the couch when I get home from the grocery store tomorrow?” 

“Sorry. Ughhhh… Sorry.” Louis drops onto the bed beside him, laying back with his hands covering his face. “Dominic is really into public sex. And it’s hard to say no.”

“How difficult for you,” Harry deadpans, clenching his jaw. He crosses his arms, resting them on his knees, and turns his head to watch as Louis sits back up. “Can you just… stop? Like, grow a pair and tell your boyfriend that your friends are tired of being brought into your sex life without consent. Jesus.”

Louis groans, hugging his knees and hiding his face against them. “Okay. I’ll say something. When you put it that way, I— I really am sorry.”

“I will interrupt you mid-coitus if it ever happens again,” Harry says, and though Louis’ face is hidden, his ears blush bright pink. “Now I know your O-face.”

“Shut up.” Louis sits up, bumping their shoulders. “You said coitus.”

“Sam asked me for a second chance.” Harry studies Louis’ face, but he just looks on expectantly. “He said he made a mistake and wants to try for real.”

“You said no, didn’t you?” Louis asks, and when Harry nods, he reaches up and tugs one of Harry’s curls. “Why?”

“Because… Why should I believe him? It’s been like two months and now, all of a sudden, he wants a real relationship?”

“Maybe it took him that long to realize, or maybe he knew it right away, but it took him two months to work up the courage to talk to you?” Louis shrugs, then he slips his arm around Harry, and rubs his back. “Or maybe he’s lying. Maybe you’re that good in the sack, Harold.”

Harry snorts, elbowing Louis, but without much force. “Maybe I am. You’ll never know.”

“Maybe you are,” Louis says. He pushes the tip of Harry’s nose with his thumb, and laughs when Harry gnashes his teeth. “But I get the feeling that isn’t why he came back.”

“You don’t think I did the right thing?” Harry asks, desperate for reassurance. 

“I don’t know. But I…” Louis gently knocks his index finger against the underside of Harry’s chin. “I think you’re the type of guy someone would come back for.”

Hope blooms in Harry’s chest, and he closes his eyes. “I made a mistake.”

“Okay,” Louis says softly, smiling as he eyes the bedroom door. “So fix it.”

“Fix it,” Harry repeats, standing and wiping his hands on his pants. 

There’s no way to know where Sam parked, or if he’s already gone, but Harry runs out into the hall, slapping the button for the elevator. It has to come all the way up from the lobby, and Harry impatiently bounces on his toes until it arrives. He presses the button for the Ath floor, and repeatedly pushes ‘door close’ until they do just that. 

When they open again, Harry darts out through the lobby and onto the sidewalk. Instinct takes him to the right, and he’s nearing the end of the block when he realizes he’s going to have to make another choice: left, right, or straight ahead. The light is green, but Harry stops, torn. 

He looks up ahead, decision made. Sam's pacing back and forth on the sidewalk beside his truck. 

“Sam! Wait!” Sam turns at Harry’s voice and stops, arms hanging at his side as Harry sprints across the street, and up the sidewalk towards him, slowing to a walk a few feet away. “Hey, um…”

“You came after me.” Sam's eyes flicker back and forth, then settle on Harry’s face. 

“Yeah, I…” During his race to get here, Harry didn’t consider what to say, and he frowns, thinking. 

“Harry, I know you don’t believe me, but when we met… I’d just gotten out of a relationship that really screwed me up, and I—”

“I believe you.” Throwing his arms around Sam's neck, Harry pulls him into a kiss, and Sam bends down, wrapping Harry up in a hug while pressing soft lips against his, tasting his mouth again.

Dating Sam is different, yet familiar, and they easily fall into a routine. It’s perfect, really. When Harry works, Sam will come up to the bar before closing, and they’ll spend the night at the loft, and when Harry’s off, they stay at Sam's place. Some nights, Sam has to be at the hospital, and if Harry doesn’t have anything else to do, he’ll go to bed alone after staying up late watching back to back romcoms. 

Something seems to shift with Louis and Dominic. The only thing Harry interrupts is a make out session. They aren’t tame by any means, but they’re together more often, and not just for sex. Harry would say they’re dating, but when he did say that, Louis made sure to correct him. 

“We’re just having fun,” Louis said, and going against everything Harry's learned about him in the almost year they’ve lived together, Louis insisted, “And we’re not exclusive.”

All Harry could say was, “Okay.” And he’s left it at that. 

Because of their jobs, Harry and Sam don’t see each other much more than they did before. It makes Harry miss teaching more than he already did, but at the same time, he’s happy with the way things are. There’s no reason to rock the boat.

“Hey, babe?” Midthrust, Sam grabs hold of Harry’s hair and pulls his head back, dicking in deep. Grinding against his ass, Sam leans over to kiss the back of Harry’s shoulder, and says, “Let’s go away for a few days. My boss has a cabin.”

Sitting hard on Sam's cock when he draws his hips back, Harry comes, spilling over his hand as he pictures them in a perfect little cabin in the woods where he’ll definitely pretend they’re living together. “Yes! Fuck, yes!”

Maybe Harry’s a little domestic when he’s in a relationship. Maybe.

“‘Domestic when you’re in a relationship’.” Air quotes and an eye roll, and Louis says, “You mean it gets worse?”

“Shut up.” Eyebrows raised, Harry holds up two magnum bottles of rosé, one in each hand. He fits them on either end of his large cooler bag, and figuring he’ll try one more time to convince Louis to join them, says, “I don’t understand why you won’t come. Two days in the mountains, and it’s not like it’s far. If you hate it, go home.”

“Why are you inviting me anyway? I thought this was supposed to be a romantic getaway.” Louis grinds against the refrigerator, and says, “You and Doctor Sam all alone in the woods… Unless. Are you worried he’s going to murder you?”

“No.” Harry smacks Louis’ bum hard, and he yelps, spinning around and swatting at Harry with both hands. They devolve into a slapping fight until Harry catches Louis in the balls, and he calls a truce. “I’m just nervous. I want this weekend to be perfect. I need it to be perfect.”

“Lower your expectations,” Louis sings, swinging his arms. “Look, Harold, Dominic and I aren’t… off to the cabin romantic getaway type people,” Louis says, and Harry oh so slowly rolls his eyes. 

“If you say so.” Harry zips up his cooler bag, carries it over and sets it on the couch, checking his list on the way to his room. “I’ve always been a free cabin type person.”

“It’s free?” Louis asks, squeezing past him to his room. Harry leans in through his doorway, watching him grab a duffle bag from under his desk and dump it out on the floor. “I’ll call Dominic. Be ready in like, five minutes.”

“I’ll text you the address,” Harry says, picking up his already packed bag from his bed. Sam's waiting downstairs, and a couple of hours in a car with him is very different from a road trip with Louis and Dominic in the back seat.

“I brought games, and books, and wine,” Harry says, waving vaguely at the back seat of Sam's truck. “What else could we need?”

“I brought condoms, lube, and those baby wipes you like,” Sam says, gently stroking Harry's cheek with the back of his knuckles. 

“Sounds like the perfect weekend.” Grinning, Harry grabs his travel mug from the cupholder, and sips his coffee. “Oh! I also brought coffee.”

Sam turns down a wooded road, and admits, “I’m a little surprised you invited Louis and Dominic, to be honest.”

“Did you not… Was I not supposed to?” Harry sets his coffee down, turning in his seat as much as he can with the seatbelt on. “You asked if any of my friends…”

“No, babe, it’s fine! Promise. I just… For some reason, when I said invite another couple, I assumed you’d ask Zayn and Robby.”

“Oh…” Closing his eyes, Harry slowly nods, sitting back in his seat. When Sam suggested he ask another couple to join them, Harry thought of Louis and Dominic, and hadn’t considered inviting Zayn and Robby. Things between them have been kind of rocky lately, and he didn't want to watch Zayn and Robby argue for two days. He clears his throat, and says, “Zayn and Robby couldn’t come.”

“No big deal, babe,” Sam says, smiling over at him. He pulls into a driveway, parking in front of a rustic A-frame cabin. “We’re here.”

“It’s so romantic.” Harry climbs out of the truck and looks around, shading his eyes with his hand. 

The cabin isn’t in the middle of nowhere, but it feels like it is. It’s surrounded by trees and brush thick enough to block the view of any neighboring houses, with a fire pit outside surrounded by adirondack chairs, and a jacuzzi that Harry's definitely not going to use. They always seem so germy. 

Everything they brought is easily hauled inside in two trips. The large bedroom upstairs is cozy and cute with a queen sized bed, an attached bathroom that also opens to the hall, and two large windows. A smaller bedroom across the hall has two twin beds which Louis and Dominic can push together. 

They’ve just finished unpacking the food when there’s an unmistakable roar of a motorcycle. Harry and Sam step out onto the porch as Dominic cuts the engine of his bike, and Louis hops off the back. 

“Welcome, campers!” Harry announces, and Louis waves, jogging up the steps. 

“Free cabin!” Louis shouts, and Dominic whoops, following him across the porch and into the cabin.

“It’s my boss’ cabin,” Sam says as they pass by. 

“It’s so much cooler up here.” Harry rubs his bare arms, thinking of his soft yellow cardigan. 

“Supposed to drop into the low fifties tonight.” Reaching his arm around Harry's waist, Sam steers him back into the cabin. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you warm.”

When they walk inside, Harry stills, then immediately hurries through the cabin to the bedroom to grab his sweater. They’re not nearly as loud as he’s heard them before, but Louis and Dominic are definitely having sex, christening their room. Harry takes his cardigan, his coffee, and his book outside, and while Sam starts a fire in the pit, Harry reads, and thinks about whether they should play Scrabble or Monopoly first. 

It’s a few hours before anything goes wrong. 

“Was the fridge cold when we were putting everything away earlier?” Harry asks, holding up his room temperature bottle of rose. 

“Yeah, of course.” Sam takes the bottle from him, then ducks down to look inside the refrigerator. “Or… Maybe not. Maybe we just assumed it was cold?” 

“It’s definitely not,” Harry says, pulling out the cheese he brought. 

Louis flips the lightswitch on the wall by the fridge, but nothing appears to happen, so Harry tries the one by the door. Still, nothing happens. Sam pulls out his phone, and a moment later, he says, “My boss said sometimes the power just goes out. It shouldn’t be off the whole time we’re here.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell you that before?” Harry asks. They could’ve brought any number of flashlights and lanterns. 

Dominic rattles the door under the stairs, and before Harry can think to say something, he’s popped the lock with his pocket knife. Normally, Harry would be opposed to breaking and entering, even if it’s just the owner’s closet, but Dominic finds enough battery-powered light sources for every room of the cabin, and the sun’s about to go down. 

“It’s rustic,” Harry says, turning on his flashlight and setting it on the fireplace mantle. 

“It’s boring,” Louis says, yawning without bothering to cover his mouth. 

“You can always leave.” Harry smiles sweetly, and goes back to the kitchen. 

“Look what else I found,” Dominic says, leaning into the closet. He pulls back with a bottle full of green liquid, setting it on the kitchen island, and because Liam likes it so much, Harry assumes it’s melon liquor. 

“Sweet.” Giggling at his own pun, Harry picks up the bottle, unscrews the top, and takes a swig, sputtering when it doesn’t taste like melon at all. “Eww… Licorice. What is this?”

The label is faded and peeling, and before Harry can decipher it, Louis grabs the bottle from his hand, sniffs it, and says, “So… You just drank absinthe.”

“No…” Harry snatches the bottle back, squinting at the label. 

“Yeah, you did,” Louis says. He tilts his head, standing close to Harry’s side while he studies the bottle. “Don’t worry, Harold. It’s a good brand. Basically just strong liquor.”

“I need something to wash the licorice taste out of my mouth,” Harry says, but then he picks up the bottle and takes another drink. “Might as well.”

“Indeed.” Louis takes the bottle from Harry and tips it back, swallowing at least as much as Harry did in one go. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he says, “No going back now.”

Harry pops open a can of seltzer, swishing some around in his mouth, and spitting it into the sink before chugging half the can. He belches loudly, and in his periphery, sees Louis hold up his hand. High-fiving him without looking, Harry barks a laugh, then picks up the bottle, and offers it to Sam. “Want some, babe?”

“Sure.” Sam takes the bottle, sniffing it and wrinkling his nose. “Bottoms up.”

“If you say so.” Dominic says with a smirk, and when Sam finishes drinking, he passes the bottle. 

Tequila is Harry’s liquor of choice when he wants something to sip slowly, and vodka is his go-to for cocktails. Both are eighty-proof, and according to Louis, this bottle of absinthe is almost twice that. The way Harry figures it, he had the equivalent of six shots of tequila in about thirty seconds. 

It’s a mellow drunk at first, but Harry hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and the absinthe gets the best of him pretty quickly. At least he’s not alone. Sam seems pretty messed up, too. 

“Doctor… Doctor Sam,” Harry says low and slow. 

“Paging Doctor me!” Sam giggles, sliding down in his chair. 

Harry points an accusing finger at Louis. “Are you ready for some Scrabble?”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says, biting down on a smile. 

“Scrabble. Scrabble. Scrabble.” Stopping to listen to the echoing in his ears, Harry pouts at the ceiling, and a wave of nausea hits him. He wants to lay down, and tries to run for the stairs, but it’s more of a tripping walk.  “I’m gonna… check on my bed.”

“Tell it hello from me!” Sam calls after him. 

When Harry reaches the second floor, he goes straight past the bed to the bathroom, retching as he drops to his knees in front of the toilet. 

“Sounds like a real fun time,” Louis says, and Harry flips him off while puking. Once his stomach finishes evicting the absinthe, Harry gets to his feet with a groan, and flushes the toilet. “Harold, Harold, Harold.”

“That was terrible,” Harry tells his reflection. He bends down to rinse his mouth out, and when he stands back up, he says, “Never doing absinthe again.”

“Feel better?” Louis asks, jerking back when Harry burps in response. “In defense of absinthe, you aren’t supposed to chug it. It’s more of a sipping thing.”

“Did you need to puke, too?” Harry asks. 

“Nope. My alcohol tolerance worked in my favor. Sam's sort of glued to his chair, so I followed you up here. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Thanks for looking out,” Harry says, giving Louis two thumbs up. When he crosses the room to the door, Louis gets up off the bed, and Harry stops with his hand on the doorknob. “Hey, Lou, um… I like Dominic. He’s cool. And I know you said you guys are just hooking up or whatever, but I think he really likes you.”

Louis hums, and Harry opens the door, leading the way to the stairs. He freezes on the top step, eyes wide. Like Louis said, Sam's in the chair, but he’s not alone. Dominic is in his lap, legs thrown over the arm of the chair, kissing Sam's neck while Sam mumbles, “I’m with Harry… Harrrrrrrrrrrrry. Harry.”

“Look, Louis.” Dominic tips his head back and laughs. “We switched!”

“What the fuck?” Harry whispers. When he turns to look behind him at Louis, his head spins, so Harry sits down on the top step. 

“I think— Hey, Dominic, um, get up, yeah?” Louis steps around Harry, jogging down the stairs. He takes Dominic’s hand, pulls him to his feet, and says, “Did you think I was— I went upstairs with Harry because I knew he was going to be sick. Not— Not for—”

“Oh…” Dominic nods slowly, smirk tugging at his lips. “Alright. My mistake.”

Using the railing for leverage, Harry stands, and carefully makes his way down the stairs. Mind still foggy, Harry searches for an appropriate response, but can only repeat, “What the fuck?”

“No big deal,” Dominic says with a shrug. 

“You tried to kiss my boyfriend.” A blush begins to bloom on Harry's cheeks at the word, and he glances at Sam, who’s moved from the chair to the floor. “It’s a very big deal.”

“I don’t—” Dominic shrugs again, lifting his arms out to the side. “Why else did we come to a cabin together?”

“To hang out?” Harry suggests, and Sam groans at his feet. Looking down, Harry pets Sam's head, and he leans against Harry's thigh. “I just can’t believe you’d do this to Louis.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Louis says, shaking his head. “He didn't do anything to me. We’re not together like that. He can do whatever he wants.”

“And you don’t care that he tried to kiss my boyfriend? I don’t think so, Louis.” Harry huffs, crossing his arms, and says, “This isn’t you.”

“This is me! I’m me, Harold!”

“You’re not the ‘cool guy’ with the open relationship or whatever you’re calling it,” Harry says, rolling his eyes dramatically. 

“We’re not calling it anything!” Louis shouts.

“Oh… Wait. Haven't we been here before?” Harry scratches his chin as he pretends to think. “Dylan?”

“Why are you bringing up Dylan?” Louis clenches his jaw, raking his fingers through his hair.

“Because it's the same thing! I know you, Louis. You’re not this guy with no labels or no strings or whatever. You’re not.”

“Oh, yeah? You think you know me? Well, at least I’m not pretending to be in some perfect relationship. At least we aren’t pretending to be a perfect couple when we’re not.”

Gritting his teeth, Harry says, “I’m not pretending to be anything.”

“Right. Okay. The only reason you even invited us is because you didn't want to be alone with Doctor Sam.” Louis looks down at Sam on the floor, lifts an eyebrow, and says, “We’re your buffer, Harry, because you’re afraid to be real with your boyfriend.”

“Is that true?” Sam asks, looking up at him from the floor, breath hot against Harry's leg. 

“Yes. No. It’s not really… It’s out of context,” Harry explains, turning to Louis. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“You think you know everything about me, Harry, and you don’t. I’m a cool guy. Like, really cool,” Louis says. 

“Sure you are.” Lips pressed tightly together, Harry nods, and Louis picks up the bottle of absinthe from the kitchen table.

“You don’t think so? I’m cool enough to do this.” Louis brings the bottle to his lips, tips it back, and chugs.

“Holy shit!” Dominic’s eyes grow wider the more Louis drinks, and he says, “Pace yourself, man. Chill.”

Louis slams the bottle down on the table and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Fuck…”

Groaning, Sam clambers to his feet, runs to the front door, opens it, and throws up off the side of the porch. That sobers Harry up a little more, and he walks outside, rubbing Sam's back until he’s finished. They go upstairs to clean themselves up, and then they set the table with the food they brought that doesn’t need cooking, ignoring Louis’ muttering and occasional shout from the couch. 

“Absinthe!” Louis yells, rolling off the couch onto the floor. 

“Dinner’s… ready, I guess,” Harry says as he pulls out a chair for Sam. He sits beside him, and Dominic takes the seat across from Sam, but Louis pushes the armchair over from the living room and sprawls in it at the head of the table. 

It’s mostly cheese and crackers, with some sliced fruit, and glasses of water for everyone. Dominic pointedly ignores his water, and drinks a beer instead. 

“Sam, can you pass the gouda?” Dominic asks, pointing to the cubes of cheese on the tray in front of Sam. 

“Yeah,” Sam says, picking up the tray which Harry immediately takes from him.

“No, I’ll pass it to you.” Harry smiles, mouth closed, and passes the tray to Dominic, then pulls it back before he can grab it. He does it again, extending the tray towards Dominic, and taking it back at the last second.

Dominic huffs, and asks, “What are you doing?” 

“My bad,” Harry says, “I thought you and the gouda had a thing. An open relationship.”

“I said I was sorry!” Dominic leans back in his chair, looking to Louis, then rolling his eyes when Louis is busy staring back through a tiny hole in his cracker. “I thought that was why we came up here. I thought you guys were into… I don’t know.”

“You look so tiny this way!” Louis squints at his cracker, then pops it into his mouth, crumbs spraying as he says, “Absinthe! God… I like the cabin. I like it. Like it. Like it. Like it.” Turning towards Harry, he says, “I like beer. I like beer more than wine. Don’t like your pink wine, Harold.” Opening his mouth wide, Louis stretches his jaw, and growls. “I like spiders but Niall hates them. I once got attacked by a seagull and they still freak me out to this day. I like sweatpants. Best pants. I don’t like belts, but I wear ’em sometimes.” With a big sigh, Louis slumps in his chair, and turns towards Dominic. “I don’t like that you tried to kiss Sam. Because I like you.”

“I… I didn't know,” Dominic says, rolling his lips together. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not…” Louis rubs his hands over his face. “I know we said it was open. I know. But I…” Trailing off, he picks up a piece of Manchego, studying it. 

“Hey, man,” Harry says, poking Louis’ piece of cheese. He waits until Louis looks at him, then gives him a thumbs up and a smile. 

They finish their cobbled together dinner in uncomfortable silence, and then they leave everything out to deal with in the morning. Harry's too tired to worry about doing dishes in the dark. He takes Sam by the hand and leads him upstairs to their room where they brush their teeth very well. After Harry puts on a pair of pajamas, he feels a lot better. 

So much for cabin in the woods sex, though. Harry isn’t at all in the mood, and Sam doesn’t seem to be either. He rolls onto his side to face Harry, and says, “What Louis said… about not wanting to be alone with me…”

“That’s not…” Harry squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. I was just nervous. And this… I guess things couldn’t have gone more wrong. I wanted it to be perfect.”

“Nah… It’s alright,” Sam says, tapping Harry's nose with the tip of his finger. “We’re not perfect. The first time we slept together, I didn't even know your name, so…”

“That’s true.” Harry smiles, hiding his face in the pillow, and Sam cradles his cheek, rubbing his thumb over Harry's cheekbone.

“And… I think the important thing to pay attention to here is how I handled myself with Dominic. He’s, like, super hot, and I was super fucked up, and I didn't kiss him. I said no to him because I’m with you.”

Harry scrunches his nose, and lifts his chin, kissing the pad of Sam's finger. “You’re right. That’s pretty important. And he is super hot.”

Mouth stretching into a yawn, Sam turns his head, covering his face with both hands. “I’m so tired.”

“I’m tired, too. And… There’s no rule that you have to have sex when you go away to a cabin in the woods, so… we should sleep.” Harry chuckles, rolling onto his stomach. He wiggles around until he gets comfortable, and turns his head to say goodnight, but Sam's already asleep, eyes closed, mouth open, snoring quietly.

When Harry wakes up in the morning, he doesn’t feel hungover at all. He just feels disgusting, and with no hot water, he’s not taking a shower anytime soon. With no power, he isn’t having coffee either, but he heads downstairs anyway. 

“Good news and bad news,” Sam says, holding up his phone and smiling when Harry walks into the kitchen. 

“What’s the bad news?” Harry asks, bracing himself for a broken down truck to trap them there indefinitely. 

“Bad news is, my boss asked us to clean out the fridge since the power’s been off, and we’ll have to haul the trash away because there’s no garbage pickup out here,” Sam says, picking up the already full garbage bag from the floor. “Good news is, the power should be back on within the hour, so we—”

“Morning,” Louis says from the landing at the top of the stairs, stretching his arms overhead. He jogs downstairs, and walks over to the kitchen table, knocking the wood with his knuckles. “I have an announcement to make.”

“Okay…” Harry glances at Sam, and Louis sighs. 

“Dominic left.” Louis claps, then raises his eyebrows, and says, “To be clear, he, um, he left me. Took his motorcycle, and my phone charger.”

Frowning, Harry shakes his head, moving closer. “I’m so sorry, Lou.” 

Louis takes a step back. “No hugs, Harold.”

“That sucks, man,” Sam says. 

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not great news, but…” Louis tips his head side to side, and says, “I do kind of need a ride home.”

“Yeah, of course,” Sam says. He picks up the bag of trash, and starts towards the front door. “I’m going to put this in the back of my truck. We can leave whenever you want, Louis.”

After the door shuts behind Sam, Harry tries again to hug Louis, and this time he allows it, but only for a moment. Harry tightens his hold around Louis’ shoulders when he tries to push him away, and they wind up in a shoving match. When Harry trips over one of the legs of the kitchen table and almost falls on his ass, they call a truce. 

“Sorry about making you take me back early,” Louis says. 

“I, um… I’m kind of done with cabins for a while. The power is supposed to be back on soon, but I don’t care,” Harry says with a short laugh. Pointing at the stairs, he makes a decision he hopes Sam won’t be bothered by. “I’m actually going to run and pack real quick so we can just go, if that’s okay.”

“Ready when you are, Harold.” 

Harry hurries upstairs. It doesn’t take much to pack his bag, and Sam comes up before he’s finished checking under the bed. 

He leans against the door jamb, and says, “I was thinking we could come back after we take Louis home. The power should be on by then. We can make it a proper night in a cabin in the woods.”

“Oh…” Harry wipes his dusty hands on his jeans, and looks around the room. “If the power’s on, maybe? Not sure I’ll feel like making the trip back and forth like that. And, um…”

“What?” Sam steps into the room, reaching for Harry, and rubbing his arms. 

“Louis,” Harry says, twisting his lips and biting the inside of his cheek while he thinks. “He’s good at pretending, you know, that he’s fine. But he’s not. And I think I should probably be there for him. Like, at the loft.” 

Furrowing his brow, Sam nods, and says, “Okay.”

He releases his hold on Harry, bends down to pick up his bag, tossing it on the bed, and Harry explains, “It’s just, um… Louis was really there for me when you, um… when we…” 

“Oh. Yeah, I get it,” Sam says. He moves a little closer, resting his hands on Harry’s hips, and pulls him into a quick kiss. “You’re a good friend.”

“Thanks.” Harry grins, lifting up on his toes and throwing his arms around Sam's neck, kissing him again, deeper this time, until Sam slides his hands down and digs his fingers into Harry’s ass. Panting, Harry breaks the kiss. “Get your stuff together. I’ll check the other bedroom, and make sure everything’s cleaned up downstairs.”

The ride home is quiet, and Louis pretends to sleep even though he’s stuck in the tiny backseat of Sam's truck. Harry lets him fake it. And he tries to tone down the couple stuff, but Sam insists on driving with his hand cupped around the back of Harry’s neck. It feels good, warm and steady and a little proprietary, which Harry revels in, though he doesn’t like saying it out loud. He loves the feeling of belonging with someone, and while the relationship with Sam is new, they were sleeping together for so long before that it seems more settled. 

Sam pulls up in front of the building, and Harry lets Louis out of the truck before climbing back in to kiss Sam goodbye. 

“Text me later,” Sam says, pressing another kiss to Harry’s waiting lips. 

Harry grins, lip curling because that’s what they used to say. “I’ll text you.”

“Go on.” Pointing over Harry’s shoulder, Sam says, “Louis’s waiting. Hope he’s not too broken up about Dominic.”

“Yeah… I don’t know.” Harry crawls back out of the truck, blushing when he realizes he was practically in Sam's lap. He blows a kiss, closes the door, and waves, turning to catch up with Louis. 

Harry doesn’t bother Louis about Dominic in the elevator. He waits until they’ve both showered, and he’s thrown together some sandwiches with salt and vinegar chips for lunch before he knocks on Louis’ bedroom door. 

“What, Harold?” Louis calls, and Harry opens the door, pouting. 

“How’d you know it was me?” Harry asks. He walks over beside the bed, looking down at Louis who’s sprawled on his back in his threadbare grey sweatpants. 

“Besides the fact that Niall’s at work and I can hear Liam snoring through the wall?” Rubbing his tired eyes with his knuckles, smirk tugging at his lips even as he stifles a yawn, Louis says, “You have a very distinctive knock.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, it’s always knock, tiny pause, knock-knock,” Louis says while rapping his fist against the wall behind his bed. 

“Weird.” Harry points back towards the living room, and says, “I made lunch.”

“For me?” Louis asks, already sitting up. 

“For both of us,” Harry says, turning to leave now that he’s sure Louis will follow. He takes his usual seat on the sofa, sitting cross-legged with his plate in his lap. “How are you doing, um… post-Dominic?”

When Louis sees the cold beer on the coffee table, he grins, then drops onto the couch with a sigh, and pulls his feet up, leaning against the arm. “I’m okay. Like, I don’t know. I wasn’t in love with him or anything. And it’s not like I’d want to be with him if he doesn’t want to be with me. I just… I wish he hadn’t left like that. It’s embarrassing.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Harry says softly, reaching over to touch Louis’ arm, but Louis jerks away. 

“This is why. Because now you feel sorry for me,” Louis says. “I don’t want that. That’s embarrassing.”

“Okay, then. I don’t feel sorry for you.”

“Simple as that?”

“Why not?” Harry shrugs, taking a bite of his sandwich. 

“Sure.” Louis rolls his eyes, and Harry throws a chip at him. 

“If you can decide that you don’t want to be with Dominic because he doesn’t want to be with you, I can decide not to feel sorry for you,” Harry says, not that he actually has that kind of control over his emotions. “That seems like a big deal for you, though. Not how things were with Cash.”

“Look at me growing up.” Louis laughs, raising his eyebrows and throwing a chip back at Harry. He chews on his lower lip, brow furrowing as he says, “I… I don’t want to waste my time. That’s all. I think about Cash and the years I spent with him, and then afterwards, just pining like an idiot, and I wonder, like, what if I already met someone else—someone better, someone perfect for me—but I was too caught up thinking about him?”

“Do you think there’s someone perfect for you?” Harry asks, and Louis tips his head side to side. “Like… Do you believe in fate?”

Louis stuffs a few chips in his mouth, washing them down with his beer. “Probably not. It’s a nice thought. Like, meant to be and all that. But it’s not realistic.”

“Louis Tomlinson the realist,” Harry says, dodging another chip. “I don’t believe in fate. I believe people can have amazing chemistry together even if things don’t work out. But I think relationships take effort. And relying on fate or destiny or whatever is stupid when you could just… talk.”

“Talking.” Louis huffs a single laugh. “The key.”

“Make fun all you want, Lewis. Things have only gotten better with Sam since we started being open and honest with each other,” Harry says, holding a hand up to stop Louis before he can start. “And yes we did talk about me dragging you guys along to the cabin.”

“Oh?” Louis looks impressed, and Harry can’t help but preen a little. 

“We did. And… It was great, actually.” Harry purses his lips, scratching his chin with his thumbnail. “I know I don’t have a lot of experience, like… a range of experience, I guess? Spencer was my only real relationship, and he talked a lot about his feelings on… everything. But never about us.”

“That’s great, Harold,” Louis says. He reaches over to pat Harry’s thigh, and smiles. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry says, instantly regretting the direction the conversation has taken when Louis’ smile disappears and he turns away. Changing the subject to something he hopes is less likely to upset Louis, Harry asks, “Hey, so… How’s your book going?”

“Z is for Zombie is officially abandoned,” Louis says. “I started outlining my detective novel. Haven’t written much, but it’s like, I’m trying to do it right. Plan it out. Make it good.”

“Does it have a title?” Harry asks, unable to contain his excitement. 

Louis shakes his head. “I have a main character: Julius Pepperwood, private investigator. But that’s all I’m saying for now.”

“Oh, that’s all you’re saying?” 

“Yeah, the rest is a secret,” Louis says, and Harry narrows his eyes. 

“I’ll let you have your little secret for now, Tomlinson,” Harry says, leaning back into the couch cushion. “But I’ll check back in.”

“Whatever you say, Harold.”

“Exactly.” Harry reaches for the remote, turning on the television and starting the DVD. “But for now, it’s Dirty Dancing time.”

“No lifts.”

“Yes, lifts!” Harry taps Louis’ beer bottle and says, “Drink up. I’m going to lift you this time.”

Chapter Text

JUNE STILL

Niall stirs his coffee, spoon clinking against the ceramic over and over again until Harry can’t take it anymore. 

“Stop it!” Harry slams his hands down on the kitchen table, and Niall gives his coffee one more stir before popping the spoon in his mouth. 

Staring at the spoon, Niall squints, and says, “Zayn hasn’t responded to any of my texts.”

Harry sighs and grabs the biggest mug they have, filling it with coffee. “Zayn doesn’t owe you a response. You said you wanted to be friends with him, but as far as I know, the second he and Robby broke up, you immediately started trying to hook up with him again.”

“Not immediately,” Niall says, frowning at his coffee before taking a sip. “I just want to hang out with Zayn.”

“You want to be his friend, yeah?” Harry asks, waiting for Niall’s nod. “Then be nice. Ask him to hang out. Don’t make it sound like a date. And don’t make it into a date. But fuck me, man. You have to stop being so pushy. I’ve seen some of the texts you’ve sent Z, and they're just poorly disguised pickup lines.”

“They’re not poorly disguised.”

“If you want to be his friend, you have to stop trying to sleep with him.”

“I don’t want to sleep with him,” Niall insists, and Harry stares at him, blinking slowly. “I don’t only want to sleep with him. I want to be with him.”

“But he doesn’t want to be with you. And you have to deal with it. Let it be, Niall. You need to learn to let things go.”

Niall scoffs, waving Harry's words away. “I can’t do that. I’m not like you, Harry. I can’t just give up.”

Stunned by Niall’s offhand comment, Harry sets his coffee down and takes a deep breath. “Is that what you think?”

“Well, yeah. You’ve completely given up on teaching. You’re working at the bar with Louis.”

“I didn't give up, Niall. I was fired.”

“Yeah, and? As far as I can see, you haven't even tried to get another teaching job. You went from unemployed and moping around the loft to working with Louis. Like, you used to be sort of inspiring with how much you loved teaching, and now?” Niall shrugs, shaking his head, and Harry fights the urge to throw his coffee in Niall’s face.

“I love teaching.” Clenching his jaw, Harry swallows hard, and says, “I did apply for other teaching jobs, but I didn't get any of them, obviously. So, yeah, maybe I’m taking a break from the constant rejection, but I never wanted to stop teaching.”

“Then don’t stop,” Niall says as if it’s that simple, and Harry groans, letting his head loll back. “I’m serious! You don’t have to teach at some private school for rich kids. You can teach CPR or driver’s ed or SAT prep or tutor in your spare time when you’re not bartending! I don’t get it, man. If you love teaching so much, then find a way to do it.”

“Because it’s that easy,” Harry says, picking up his coffee and taking it with him to his room where he spends the rest of the morning feeling sorry for himself before he has to go to the bar.

It’s Saturday and Saturdays are always busy, which means that Harry always struggles to keep up, but tonight it’s especially difficult. He’s just not meant to deal with drunk people all the time. Drunk people that he knows, sure, he can handle them. But drunk strangers, he doesn’t handle well. Thankfully Louis is there, except that tonight he’s a lot less patient with Harry’s mistakes. 

“Fucking hell, it’s a martini! Shake, shake, shake, pour!” Louis flips an empty shaker right side up, scoops some ice into it, adds gin and dry vermouth, shakes it, and strains it into a cold martini glass. 

“Sorry,” Harry mutters, not that Louis would hear it over the din of the crowd. He takes the martini man’s money, gives him his change, and moves on. The next guy at the bar orders three beers. 

The entire night is like that, and Harry can’t help but think that Niall’s managed to get into his head. Every mispour he makes sends the thought ricocheting around his brain that he’s given up, and when the last customer leaves, Harry follows them to the door, locking it, and going straight to the bathroom. 

His hair is sweaty at the roots, his skin is sticky, and his black t-shirt is damp, clinging to his back. He yanks it off, drapes it over the wall of the bathroom stall, and turns on the sink, splashing water on his face. That does nothing to make him feel less grimy, but it cools him off a little, and he wipes his face with a paper towel while he stands in front of the hand dryer, turning so it blows on his back. 

“Harold!” Louis pushes the door open, stopping in the doorway. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Harry snatches his shirt off the stall and pulls it on, cringing when the damp fabric touches him. 

“Not sure.” Head tilted to the side, Louis watches while Harry wets his hands and combs them through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “Come on. Let’s get this shit done so we can go home.”

“Lou…” Harry tugs his shirt away from his lower back. “Do you think I’ve given up?”

“On what?” Louis chuckles, holding the bathroom door for him, but when Harry sighs, he says, “Oh, you’re serious.”

“Yeah. Niall said—”

“Don’t listen to Niall.”

“It’s not that easy,” Harry says, rounding the end of the bar. 

While they restock the liquor and beer, Harry relays his conversation with Niall to Louis, and when he’s finished, Louis picks up the ice bucket, dangling it from his fingers, studying Harry’s face. 

“I’ve been sort of waiting for you to get sick of it here,” Louis says. “I mean, I know you’re not happy working here. I figured you’d get to the point where you were sick of it, and you’d quit. Sort of thought it’d happen in the middle of a rush.”

“I’d never do that!” Harry takes the ice bucket from him, pushing past him into the kitchen. He drops the bucket on the floor in front of the ice machine, scooping the ice more aggressively than necessary. 

“I know that now,” Louis says, hopping up to sit on a prep table. “Have you talked to Sam? What does he think?”

“He doesn’t know me as a teacher,” Harry says. He plucks a piece of ice out of the bucket and holds it to the back of his neck. It’s too hot to hold onto his anger. “I… I haven’t talked to him about it.”

“Thought you guys were all about communication?” Louis picks up the bucket before Harry can, and Harry lets him take it, closing the door to the ice machine and following him back out to the bar. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I haven’t said anything about it. He knows I used to teach, but he’s also, like, super busy, and I don’t want to bother him with my shit.”

“Yet, here you are, bothering me,” Louis says a little wistfully. Harry huffs, going to the other end of the bar to start wiping it down, and Louis calls after him, “I’m joking, Harold!”

Harry scrubs out the sink behind the bar, and when he’s finished, he rinses his hands in cool water, wiping them on his shirt. “Lou, I think I should quit.”

“Quit here?” Louis looks around the empty bar, and says, “You want to quit.”

“Yeah, I think… I think having a job, and like, a steady income is keeping me from finding a teaching job,” Harry says slowly, nodding to himself as he speaks. 

“Could be. Have you been looking for a job?”

“No. I haven't even checked to see if any schools are hiring in weeks,” Harry says as he tries to recall the last time he actually searched for a teaching job. 

“Do you want to work a notice?” Louis asks, dragging the trash can towards the kitchen. “Or just quit?”

“Kind of want to just quit, but I don’t want to inconvenience you.” Following Louis through the kitchen with the recycling bin, Harry says, “Should I do two weeks?”

“Eh…” Louis pushes the back door open, wedging the doorstop under it, and hauls the trash can outside. He twists the top of the trash bag, and tosses it into the dumpster, then helps Harry lift the heavy recycling bin up to dump it. “It’s probably better if you go ahead and quit because ever since Julio left, Clyde’s been talking about hiring a new manager, but the other day he said he was definitely going to hire somebody, and they’d—” Clearing his throat, Louis kicks the doorstop out of the way, and ushers Harry inside. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but if he hires, like, a real manager, they’ll fire you.”

Harry snorts, and shoves Louis’ shoulder, pushing him away from the sink, but Louis just pushes back, and they wind up washing their hands together, flicking water at each other until their shirts are wet, and Harry gets soap in his eye, forcing him to call a truce. 

A little breathless from laughing, Harry says, “Okay. I quit. I’m not scheduled to work tomorrow anyway, so I’ll, um… refresh my resume.”

“That’s good, Harold,” Louis says, flipping the light switch and bathing the kitchen in darkness. He pushes Harry back out to the bar, and looks around. “I like it better when you’re on the other side of the bar.”

“You saying you like serving me?” Harry ducks before Louis can throw another piece of ice at him, and Louis laughs. 

“That’s exactly it, Harold. I miss pouring your pink wine, and listening to you talk about how it makes you slutty for everyone but me,” Louis says.

“I’ve never said that.”

“Oh, but you have,” Louis says with a wink as he nods towards the door. “Let’s go, Harold. If you can’t remember that night, I’ll tell you about it on the way home.”

“Hey, Lou?” Harry waits until they're outside, and the bar is locked up tight to ask, “How come you don’t ask Clyde to make you a manager? You know this place inside and out. You already make the schedule. Here you are, closing up on a Saturday night, performing manager duties.”

“Too much responsibility,” Louis says dismissively. “I don’t mind helping out when we’re short handed, but I don’t want to be the one everyone comes to with complaints or whatever. I don’t want to deal with vendors and ordering or have to care about glass breakage.”

Harry hums, and says, “Seems like you do most of that stuff anyway.”

“I don’t.”

“Sure, boss,” Harry says, giggling and jumping out of Louis’ reach. “Whatever you say.”

Harry does spend Sunday getting his resume in order. That takes all of an hour including coffee and pee breaks and texting Sam what he hopes are sexy messages. He starts the week off right on Monday morning, getting up early, and leaving the loft to go hang out in a coffee shop while he applies for jobs. Those jobs are limited to one position teaching an adult education writing course, and a few private tutoring gigs, none of which pay as much as he made working at the bar with Louis, but the hours are better, and at least he won’t be on his feet as much. If he even gets an interview. 

The tutoring jobs are all a wash. One of them is for Russell’s daughter, and there’s no way Harry's going back to that house even if things did end on good terms between them. The others are parents who want miracle workers, not tutors. A kid with no aptitude for math, who struggles with fractions, isn’t going to skip ahead to calculus no matter how much their parents are willing to pay. That one hurts to turn down, though. The money would be nice. 

All that’s left is the adult ed. job, and Harry only goes to the interview because he isn’t the type to just not show up. It’s on Friday, at the end of a very long week that started out well, but has gradually, steadily sunk to the pits of despair. What Harry wants to do is stay home, lay around, watch TV, eat cookies, and drink wine. Instead, he showers, and puts on his interview outfit, also known as his plainest clothes: Grey trousers, light blue button down shirt, navy blazer, black boots.

Part of the reason Harry likes stripes, prints, and brightly colored clothing is that it makes him happy. He looks at his reflection and sees pink polka dots or bees or baby chicks on his sweater vests and he smiles. Today, he stops in the restroom on the way in for his interview, checks the mirror, and frowns because he looks as boring as he feels. 

Harry bombs the interview. He trips on the leg of the chair as he steps around it to sit down, he knocks over and breaks a personalized mug full of pens and pencils when he reaches across the desk to shake hands, and in his efforts to help clean up the mess, he bumps an open water bottle and it spills everywhere. Eyes burning, he walks out of the interview without ever introducing himself. 

On the drive home, Harry goes from disappointed and hopeless about his job prospects to pissed off at himself, at the lady in front of him who keeps tapping her brakes, at Sam for not answering his text in the middle of his ER shift, at Louis for letting him quit his job at the bar, at Niall for accusing him of giving up, at Tanya for firing him in the first place, and at every little thing that stands between him and his bed where he wants to be, including the cat sitting in the only empty parking space for blocks. 

Harry stops in the street, and after checking that there are no cars coming, he gets out, picks up the cat, sets it on the sidewalk, gets back in his car, and bangs his head on the steering wheel because the cat’s in the parking space again.

“Are you holding this space for someone?” Harry asks, picking up the cat again. This time, he cradles it to his chest, and jogs down the sidewalk, setting it down and sprinting back to his car. But as he pulls forward into the spot, the cat appears, stretching languidly while Harry feels like pulling his own hair out. He honks, but the cat doesn’t react. He hisses, and the cat simply looks at him. 

In the end, with tears of frustration welling up, Harry picks up the cat, deposits it on the passenger seat of his car, and parks. The second he opens the passenger door, the cat hops out, and saunters away down the street. Harry wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his blazer, wishing he’d stopped to get some ice cream on the way home. 

Clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth during the ride up in the elevator, and stomping his way into the loft, Harry tosses his keys on the table by the door, and walks right into an argument between Louis and Niall.

“Call a plumber then!” Louis shouts, yanking the broken broom handle out of the garbage disposal, and brandishing it like a club. 

“I will! I am!” Niall holds his phone to his ear, and stalks off to his bedroom, slamming the door. 

“Finally. Fucking sick of that thing,” Harry says, opening the fridge and grabbing his bottle of rosé. 

“Oh? You have something to say, Harold?” Louis asks as he lifts up on his toes to put the broken broom handle back on top of the shelf.

“Just glad to know we’re going to have a professional fix it,” Harry says, pouring rosé into the largest wine glass they have. 

“Which costs money,” Louis says, turning on the sink, and flipping the switch for the disposal which purrs to life. “I’m not paying some ‘plumber’ to come in here and ‘fix’ things.”

“Don’t put air quotes around real things.” Harry twists the lid onto his wine and puts it back in the fridge. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Louis rolls his eyes, and makes more air quotes as he says, “‘Harold.’”

“God. You’re fucking annoying,” Harry says, taking his wine and heading for his bedroom.

Louis scoffs, calling after him, “Who pissed in your pink wine?” 

“Why can’t I just be in a shitty mood?” Harry spins around, glass in hand, and takes a long sip. “You’re in one, like, daily.”

“I am not,” Louis says, and it’s Harry's turn to scoff. 

“You’re always in a bad mood, Louis. Jesus. It’s like you wake up every morning and pick some random thing to be mad about. Today, it’s plumbers. Yesterday, it was shoelaces! Who knows what tomorrow will bring!”

“What’s your fucking problem?” Louis shouts, crossing the living room and flicking his fingernail against the side of Harry's wine glass. He chuckles, nods at Harry's wine and, as if the idea is absurd, asks, “Did you totally bomb that interview or something?”

A headache starts to build behind Harry's eyes as he scowls, gritting his teeth. He lifts his glass to his lips, tips it back, gulps half of it down, then turns and flounces to his room, slamming the door before he can start crying again. Leave it to Louis to laugh off the idea of him screwing up the interview when that’s exactly what happened. 

“Harold.” Louis knocks once, pauses, then knocks twice quickly, and says, “Stole your knock.”

“You can’t steal my knock!” Harry yells, setting his wine glass on the bedside table. He walks into his closet, shrugging off his blazer on the way, and Louis opens the door. 

“Hey, man, I’m sorry if you didn't get the job,” Louis says, and Harry's shoulders slump. 

“I didn't even get the chance to introduce myself.” Harry wrangles his blazer onto a hanger, and untucks his shirt, watching Louis’ reflection in his full-length mirror. He flops down on Harry's bed, feet on the floor, knees spread, reclining back and holding himself up on his forearms. For once, he’s fully dressed, not that those grey sweatpants should count. 

“What happened?” Louis asks, rucking up his t-shirt and scratching just below his belly button. 

“It was a catastrophe.” Harry slips his shirt off, and sniffs the armpits, but the stress sweat is unreal. He tosses it into his laundry pile, bending over to pull off his boots, then he kicks them into the corner, and undoes his trousers, shoving them down. At least he doesn’t need to wash those. He pops the elastic waistband of his briefs, and cups his cock, giving it a squeeze. 

In his socks and underwear, Harry steps out of his closet, ignoring Louis’ stare as pulls open his pajama drawer, and sighs. One clean pair left, so he has to do laundry. Harry puts on his least favorite pajamas—the flannel ones with the grumpy looking clouds—and huffs a quiet laugh. At least they fit his mood.

While he buttons the top, Harry gives Louis the abridged version of his disastrous ‘interview’ which he delights in air quoting if only because Louis laughs. 

“Hey, so… I have an idea,” Louis says, sitting up and reaching for the hem of Harry's pajama top. He gives it a tug, and Harry stumbles closer. “Do you and Doctor Sam have plans tomorrow?"

“We’re supposed to go to dinner tomorrow night,” Harry says, trying not to frown.

“Perfect. I’m claiming your daytime, Harold.” Louis tugs on his pajama top again, then pushes himself up off the bed and starts for the door. “I’m late for work. See you tomorrow morning. Bright and early.”

“Bright and early?” Harry snorts, watching him leave the room. “Are you wearing sweatpants to the bar?”

Louis changes directions, and as he walks to his bedroom door, he pushes his sweatpants down, briefs clinging to the curve of his ass. His bare thighs draw Harry's attention when he bends over to push his sweatpants down the rest of the way, and Louis laughs, standing up and closing his door.

To Harry's utter shock, Louis wakes him up the next morning instead of the other way around. He knocks on Harry's door, and while Harry is still trying to formulate a response, Louis walks right in, coffee mug in hand, and says, “Time to get up, sunshine! Made you coffee.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, reaching for the coffee.

“Nuh-uh.” Louis takes a step back, holding the coffee out like a carrot. “Up first, then coffee.”

“Did you stay up all night?” Harry asks, throwing back the blanket, pleased when Louis’ eyes widen before he looks away. As usual, while he slept, Harry's pajama top has found its way to the floor, and as usual, his morning wood is impressive, tenting his pajama bottoms.

“I set three alarms on my phone, and I set my old alarm clock to go off in case those three didn't wake me up.” Setting the coffee mug on Harry's desk, Louis leans against his closet door, and gestures to his jean shorts. “Wear something comfortable. Be ready to work up a sweat.”

“I don’t want to sweat,” Harry complains, but he opens his dresser drawer and pulls out a pair of shorts, ready to do whatever Louis asks of him. When Louis leaves the room, Harry dresses quickly, chugging his coffee and burning his tongue. He hurries to the bathroom to pee and brush his teeth, and is ready to go less than five minutes after getting out of bed.

“Can we take your car?” Louis asks, and Harry pulls his keys from his pocket, jingling them. 

“If you’ll drive,” Harry says, tossing him the keys. 

They climb into the station wagon, and less than ten minutes later, Louis parks, and asks, “Have you ever been here?”

Harry looks around at the warehouses and ‘For Lease’ signs. “Where’s here?” 

“It’s a break room,” Louis says as he opens the door. 

“Huh?” The words break room conjure images of the teacher’s lounge at Hearst Middle School, and Harry frowns.

“A rage room?” Louis points to the warehouse across the street. It’s three rolling metal doors are painted black, and above the middle one is a sign in red lettering.

“RAGE,” Harry reads, belatedly throwing his hands up and making air quotes. He shields his eyes from the sun, and squints, scanning over the rest of the sign. Louis reaches for the door, and Harry whines quietly. “The sign says they open at noon.”

Louis smirks and opens the door, ushering Harry inside, and the red-headed guy behind the counter grins, standing up and clasping Louis’ hand. “Tommo!”

“Hey, man. Good to see you,” Louis says, glancing at Harry. “Harry, this is Oli. Oli, this is Harry.”

“The new roommate,” Oli says with a slow nod. “Yeah, yeah. How you doing, Harry?”

“Um… Alright, thanks.” Smiling nervously, Harry asks, “How are you?”

“Harold needs to relieve some stress,” Louis says before Oli can answer, and Harry glares at him. He pinches Harry's side, and laughs. “Oli’s not offended I interrupted. Are you, Oli?”

“Nah, man. That’s why you’re here.” Oli slides some papers across the counter, hands them each a pen, and says, “Read those, fill ’em out, and I’ll take you to the rage room.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, watching as Oli steps out from behind the counter, and past him to lock the door. He winks at Harry, claps Louis on the shoulder, and disappears behind a black door marked Employees Only.

“Did they open early for us?” Harry asks as soon as Oli leaves them alone. 

“Oli owes me a favor,” Louis says, scanning over the paperwork. 

“Does it really make you feel better to come in here and break shit?” Harry asks.

“It really does.” Louis drops his pen into the cup on the counter, and calls out, “We’re ready!”

“Come on back!” Oli shouts, and Louis grabs Harry's wrist, dragging him behind the counter through the door. 

Oli outfits them in red coveralls, chest protectors, gloves, safety goggles and welding face shields. 

“You look stupid,” Harry says, punching Louis in the padding at his shoulder. 

Louis laughs, and knocks his fist against the front of Harry's face shield. “Baseball bat, golf club, crowbar, sledge hammer, or two-by-four?” 

“Oooh… Golf club,” Harry says, leaning in to bang their head protection together.

“You can use them all, I was just curious what your weapon of choice would be,” Louis says. He grabs a driver and tosses it to Harry, taking a crowbar for himself, and walking to the other side of the room. “Toss me something.”

“Huh?” Harry looks up from staring at the golf club in his gloved hands, and Louis swings his crowbar like a baseball bat. 

“Toss me a vase or something,” Louis says, and Harry picks up the nearest vase—painted blue with sunflowers—and lobs it to Louis who whacks it with the crowbar, sending Harry jumping out of the way and pieces of ceramic flying. 

“Shit.” Harry finds a large bowl, sets it on the floor, and tees off. 

A switch flips inside him, and Harry lets go. He smashes and shatters and takes a swing at everything he can reach, except for Louis. It’s incredible to ruin things on purpose. Little by little, Harry feels better until he shatters a coffee mug that reminds him of the mug full of pens and pencils he knocked over. He lets loose a screaming growl, throwing the golf club across the room. 

“I’m done,” Harry says, trudging through the shards of broken glass and ceramic to the door. 

“You okay?” Louis asks, picking up the golf club and dropping it into the weapons bin with his crowbar. 

Harry shakes his head, and Louis opens the door, leading him out front. He takes off his welding shield, and sets it on the counter, so Harry does the same, pulling his gloves off too, and combing his hair back, wiping his sweaty forehead. 

“Sorry. I… I thought about how stupid I must’ve looked knocking everything over on that desk, and then to just… leave?” Harry unzips his coveralls, and steps out of them, shaking them out and folding them neatly. 

“Shit happens, Harold,” Louis says, balling up his coveralls and leaving them on the counter. “You knock stuff over all the time. Get back out there and try again. That’s all you can do, really.”

“I’ve already fucked up the interview.” 

“Didn’t introduce yourself, did you?” Louis shrugs, and says, “So try again.”

“That’s… That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“It’s worth trying. I’m just tired of seeing you doubt yourself, man. You got knocked down. Now you get up,” Louis says, gently punching Harry's arm. “And stay up long enough for someone to hire you.”

Chapter Text

JUNE AGAIN STILL

It’s amazing the difference clothes make in Harry’s attitude. When he goes back down to the Adult Education Center, he wears his grey trousers with his favorite sweater vest and button-down. If they don’t like him in his flamingo shirt and pink sweater vest, it isn’t meant to be. 

“Congratulations, Harry Styles!” Niall announces to the bar that night. “Back in the classroom and molding young minds again!”

“Actually, molding the minds of grownups,” Harry corrects, lifting his glass of rosé. “I’m teaching a summer creative writing class to adults. Doesn’t bring in quite as much as five nights a week at the bar, but it’s enough, and I am back in the classroom. And it’ll hopefully lead to a permanent position in the fall.” 

“Creative writing, hmm?” Louis leans across the bar, and winks. “Might know a thing or two about that.”

“You might,” Harry says, tapping his nails against the side of his wine glass. “Have you been writing?”

Louis shrugs, tipping his head side to side. “Must I write to be a writer?”

Blinking slowly, Harry raises his glass to his lips, hoping his silence is answer enough.

Sam's wonderfully supportive of Harry's new job, not that they see much of each other outside the bedroom. His hours at the hospital vary, and while Harry loves going to Sam's house to spend the night away from his roommates, it doesn’t happen that often. It’s supposed to happen tonight though, which is why Harry's going to the trouble of packing a bag. In the short time they’ve been official, they’ve spent most of their nights together in Harry's bed out of convenience, so even though Sam has a toothbrush at the loft, and a few random items of clothing in Harry's bedroom, Harry doesn’t have a thing at Sam's house. 

It’s hours before he’s even supposed to go over to Sam's place, and he’s already packed, just staring at his bed and wondering if he ought to wash his sheets or something in the meantime. 

“Harold, check me out,” Louis says, stepping into Harry’s bedroom and spinning around, khaki trench coat twirling with him. 

“What are you wearing?” Harry reaches for the sleeve and tugs on it. “It’s eighty degrees outside.”

“Somebody’s coat got delivered to the wrong apartment,” Louis sings, clapping along to his words. He lifts his arms overhead and spins again. “Love the way it makes me feel!”

“You’re wearing someone else’s coat,” Harry says, just to be sure, and Louis smiles wide, nodding. “Don’t you think—”

“Don’t need to think, Harold! Just need to feel!” Louis shimmies his shoulders, and Liam appears in the doorway. 

“Lookin’...” Liam’s grin falls as he studies Louis’ coat. “Lookin’ good, man.”

“Thanks!” Louis dances his way out of the room, and like children following the Pied Piper, Harry and Liam trail after Louis to the kitchen. 

“This is terrible,” Niall says, leaving his bedroom, sheet wrapped haphazardly around his waist. At first, Harry thinks he’s referring to Louis’ trench coat, but then Niall sighs and sits down. “I have to get laid tonight. And to be honest, I’m thinking about the ladies.”

“It works like that for you?” Harry asks, curious about Niall’s bisexuality. 

“It’s about the challenge,” Niall says with a crooked smile. “I could hook up with a guy right now. All I’d have to do is find someone on Grindr, or take a Lyft to WeHo.”

“I’m in,” Louis says, arms out to the side, shaking his nonexistent tits. 

“But I’m not interested in an easy lay.” Niall scoffs, adjusting his sheet. “Women usually make me work for it.”

Harry hums, watching as Liam and Louis nod their agreement, then he says, “Well, I have plans, so I can’t participate in this… whatever it is.”

“It’s better that way,” Louis says dismissing Harry with a slight wave. “I’ll have an easier time of it if you’re not there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asks. 

“Nothing, Harold. Can’t exactly flirt my way into anyone’s pants with you there making puns or regaling them with tales of the summer solstice.”

“That was one story, one time. On the summer solstice!” Harry holds his hands up, then points outside to the setting sun. “The summer solstice only happens once a year!”

“Whatever, man,” Louis says, clicking his tongue and smoothing his hands over his stolen trench coat. “Doesn’t matter anyway, ’cause you have plans.”

Scowling, Harry leaves them in the kitchen. Sam should be off soon, and then he can go over to his house, maybe take a bath, maybe fuck in the shower. Harry checks his phone, opening his text conversation with Sam, and sends him a quick, “Miss you!”

Before he can put his phone away, Sam responds, “Miss you :( I have to work late. Sorry.”

Harry tells him it’s okay, they’ll see each other after if Sam wants to come over, and then he texts Zayn to ask what he’s doing, though Harry’s positive he has a date. 

“Blind date tonight. Wish me luck!” Zayn’s text is followed by about a dozen fingers crossed emoji. Harry sends him a four-leaf clover to which Zayn replies, “No! No Irish!”

“Sorry!” Harry texts and sends a string of non-Niall related emoji. 

He unpacks his little bag, and follows the sound of Louis’ voice to the bathroom where the guys are all in various stages of dress, brushing teeth, styling hair, and spinning around to look at themselves in the mirror. 

“Good news, boys,” Harry says, leaning against the wall and watching Louis pop the collar of his coat, shooting finger guns at his reflection. “Sam has to work late, and Zayn’s on a date, so… World’s Best Wingman reporting for duty!”

“No,” Louis says flatly. 

“What?” Harry pushes away from the wall, frowning when Louis turns to face him. 

“Sorry, Harold, but you can’t come,” Louis says, resting his hands on Harry’s shoulders and giving them a squeeze. “I actually want to hook up with somebody tonight, and you’re… You’re my cooler.”

“Your what?” Harry knocks Louis’ hands away, huffing a breath through his nose. “All I ever do is help you get laid, Lou.”

Louis holds up one fist, lifts one finger, and says, “The girl whose palm you read? You told her she should be with her ex.” Flicking a second finger up, Louis shakes his head. “Guy who asked you if I was single, and you told him I was going through a heterosexual phase.”

“You literally said that!” Harry smacks Louis’ shoulder, and says, “You said that word for word!”

“It was a joke! Because I hooked up with three girls in a row!” Louis smacks him back, then pinches Harry’s nipple through his shirt. “And that’s just two examples. So… Sorry. You can’t come with us tonight.”

Harry tries to keep his hurt and disappointment from showing, smiling and rolling his eyes. “I, um… I have so much to do. Clean out my closet. Promised Zayn I’d make him some cookies.”

“Lots of stuff,” Louis says as Harry backs out of the bathroom. “Much more important than going to some stupid club.”

“Yeah…” Harry turns away and heads back to his room. It’s understandable that the guys don’t want him around while they’re trying to pick up girls, but it still stings, so he shuts himself in his room and starts on his closet. When the boys leave, they stop at his door to say goodbye, and Harry’s left to his own devices for the evening. 

Baking wastes some time, but not enough, and Harry showers for a long while, scrubbing and exfoliating and lotioning his skin, and deep conditioning his hair. He runs around the loft buck naked once he’s dried off, just so he can say he did it, but then boredom hits, and he winds up back in his closet, trying on clothes and costumes. 

Harry’s just pulled his sparkly red tutu over his yellow corduroy bell bottoms when he hears a noise at the door. It’s not a knock, but more like the sound Niall makes when his hands are full and he’s trying to open the door with his foot. 

Tiptoeing to the door, Harry peeks out through the peephole, but Niall isn’t there. No one’s there. He opens the door to be sure, and the corridor is empty. The elevator doors are shut. 

Pouting a little, Harry closes the door again, and goes back to his room. He exchanges his corduroys for a pair of knee-length cotton bloomers leftover from a long ago school play, switches his striped boatneck top for a thin white cotton nightshirt from the same play, and is about to lose the tutu when there’s another scratching sound at the door. 

This time, Harry grabs the closest thing to a weapon—his umbrella—and carries it like a sword. Again, there’s no one visible through the peephole, and no one at the door when he works up the nerve to open it, jabbing the umbrella point into the open air. 

Locking the deadbolt, Harry goes back to his room for his phone, calling Sam, who doesn’t answer, and leaving a long rambling message begging him to come to the rescue. He hangs up, and calls Zayn, but it goes straight to voicemail, and after another long message, Harry sends text after text. The longer he’s alone with his thoughts, the more paranoid he becomes that someone is out there.  

Still a little mad at Louis, Harry tries Liam’s phone first, and when there’s no immediate response, he texts Niall’s phone and calls him as soon as he presses send. No one answers, and left with no other choice, Harry calls Louis. It rings and rings and just when he thinks it’s going to voicemail, Niall picks up.

“Harry!” Niall laughs, then says, “Louis, phone for you.”

Distantly, Louis’ annoyed voice comes through, “Not now, Niall!” 

“It’s Harry! You should talk to him,” Niall says. His words are followed by a shuffling sound, and Louis’ quiet grunt. 

“I’ll be right back,” Louis says, then much clearer, he asks, “What’s up, Harold?”

“There’s something or someone at the door, but when I open it, no one’s there,” Harry explains, creeping back out to the living room. “You have to come home.”

“You are so being a cooler right now,” Louis whispers urgently. 

“I’m not!” Harry quickly looks through the peephole again, seeing nothing. “Something weird is going on and I’m scared, and Sam's at work, and Zayn’s on a date. Nobody’s coming to my rescue! I need you, Lou.”

Louis scoffs, then heaves a sigh. “Fine.”

After Louis hangs up, he won’t answer his phone again. Two weapons are better than one, so Harry grabs the broken broom handle Louis uses to tame the garbage disposal and with his umbrella in the other hand, he marches back and forth from the hallway to the kitchen while he waits. Of course, he doesn’t hear a thing for so long that when there finally is a sound at the door, he sprints towards it, weapons extended like a jousting knight. 

Shouting nonsense at the top of his lungs, Harry slides across the wood floor in his socks, dropping his umbrella and broken broom handle when he sees Louis in his khaki trench coat instead of the monster of his imagination. 

“Oh, thank you!” Harry pulls Louis into a hug along with the girl beside him, squeezing them both until Louis gently pushes him away. 

“Holly,” Louis says, and it takes Harry a second to realize he’s referring to the girl at his side. “This is our roommate Harry.”

“Welcome to our home,” Harry says, smiling and taking a step back to let everyone inside. 

“This is Lily,” Liam says, introducing the cute brunette next to him. 

Wiggling his fingers, Harry says, “Hi. Sorry about all of this.”

“It’s alright,” Lily says, setting her purse on the table by the door. “When I first lived alone, I was always getting freaked out by noises and stuff.”

“Come on, Harold,” Louis says, picking up the disposal stick and waving it towards the hallway. Harry follows, and Louis takes him to the bathroom, turning on the shower, then turning it off. It makes the usual clanking noise, and Louis asks, “Hear that?”

“Yes. That’s not…” Harry crosses his arms, and says, “I don't think it was the plumbing.”

“Gotta be the plumbing, Harold. The pipes are old. They make noise!” Louis steps into the hallway, looking around, then he lowers his voice, and says, “That girl out there? She’s sexually aroused by other people's misery. Do you understand the position that puts me in?”

“It puts you in a really good position?” Harry asks just to be sure. 

“It does! Niall keeps trying to sneak her away, but we were talking. I was working my magic—”

“Your misery magic?” 

Louis ignores his comment, and says, “Then what happened?”

“Right. Yeah…” Harry nods slowly, licking his lips and rubbing them together. “I can see how, in this particular instance, I might have cooled things off for you.”

“Thank you for admitting that.”

“But! I can fix it. I’ll keep Niall occupied, and…” Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Harry bites his lip, then hauls off and punches Louis’ arm. “Son, I'm gonna get you laid.”

“Never call me ‘son’ and don't talk like that,” Louis says, but when Harry hurries out of the bathroom, Louis is right behind him. “What’s with your outfit?”

“This old thing?” Harry twirls his tutu to the best of his ability, and Louis laughs. 

“I was talking about the rest,” Louis says, reaching for the hem of Harry’s thin cotton nightshirt. “Are those bloomers?”

“They are!” Harry lifts his tutu so Louis can have the full effect of the bloomers, and says, “From the time we did A Christmas Carol at school.”

“Very nice,” Louis says, hauling off and smacking Harry’s ass as he steps out of the hallway. 

“Sorry, sorry! False alarm, apparently, so it’s time for a game!” Harry strides into the room, rubbing his bum where Louis slapped it, and announces, “The game is True American, but with a twist. I’m the President.”

“I don’t know the game,” Holly says, but Harry grins, shaking his head. 

“Not necessary! The floor is lava!” Harry hops up onto the couch while Louis, Liam, and Niall hurry to set up the bottle of gin and the cans of beer. “Louis, you’re the Vice President! Explain the game!”

Louis stands with his hand over his heart, and while he gets into the nitty gritty of it, Harry ponders how exactly to turn True American into Strip True American. When Louis shotguns a beer to kickoff the game, Harry decides it’ll have to be by Executive Order.

“One, two, three, four! JFK!” Liam shouts, and Harry's only a split second late responding.

“FDR!” 

“Oh, no!” Harry points at Holly who’s clearly confused and still standing on the floor. “Holly, you're in the Amber Waves of Grain. You have to lose your jacket.”

“I…” Holly looks down, shrugs, and slips her jacket off, tossing it onto the couch. She climbs up on the footstool with Louis, and says, “Is there, like, a printout of the rules I can see, or…”

“Nope!” Harry revels in his position as President, sending Niall off to Florida, also known as the stool by the garbage can, when he gets too close to Holly. 

Whenever anyone steps into the lava or misses a cue or does anything, really, Harry tells them to drop a piece of clothing, and he follows all the rules himself, losing his bloomers when he slips off the leather sofa, and his nightshirt when he steps onto the coffee table and knocks a beer to the floor. 

Standing on the dining room table in only his briefs and tutu, Harry rules the world. Liam and Lily disappear at some point, and Harry spies a shoe under the dining table, but from his perch, he can’t see much. Hopefully, they're having fun. 

Niall takes the game way too seriously at first, then when that doesn’t work to get him closer to Holly, he cheats, intentionally stepping into the lava. 

“Surrender your shirt, Niall!” Harry yells, and Niall smirks, stripping out of his shirt and flexing before climbing up onto a footstool with Louis and Holly. 

“He did that on purpose! He’s trying to impress her!” Louis shouts, throwing his empty beer can at the recycling bin. “All trash belongs—”

“In the junkyard!” Harry throws his empty in that direction, and yells at Niall, “Your butt just violated the Hawley-Smoot Tariff Act, Niall! Westward Ho, son! Westward Ho!”

“Bye, Ni,” Louis says, waving as Niall stomps his way over to the couch. 

Peace doesn’t last for long. The next time Niall and Louis come within arm’s reach of each other, Niall grabs the back of Louis’ trench coat, and tries to yank it off of him. “The coat is an unfair advantage!”

“Leave it alone, Niall!” Harry shouts, waving the disposal stick at him. “The coat has been allowed by executive order!”

Holly smiles, climbing up on the table beside Harry’s feet and sitting down. “I love the coat.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, following her up there, and because he feels stupid standing there with people sitting at his feet, Harry squats down, and finally sits, crossing his legs, disposal stick across his lap. 

“Take the coat off!” Niall yells, pulling on the lapels and using his grip on them to haul himself up onto the table.

“Stop it, Niall!” Harry smacks his hands with the disposal stick until he lets go of Louis’ coat, shouting, “Order! Order!”

“You’re not a judge,” Niall says with a scoff, snatching his hands away from Harry. 

Louis smacks his forehead. “Shut up.” 

When Niall tries to hit him back, Harry intervenes, grabbing them both by the arm. “There's only one way to solve this. Two of us have to go behind the Iron Curtain—the sliding door to the hall—and kiss. And there has to be a clear and present threat of tongue.”

“This is why I voted for you,” Louis says, pumping his fists. He turns to Holly, raising his eyebrows, and grinning. “Holly, you ready for this?”

“Okay, we’ll do a count on three,” Harry says, holding his hand to his forehead. “Two, three, or four. Whoever matches has to kiss. Ready?”

Two fingers to his forehead Louis leans closer to Holly, and says, “When we do this, do two. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Holly says, and Niall loudly clears his throat.

“Three,” Niall says, drawing Holly’s attention. “Four!”

“Not three, not four,” Louis says, tapping Holly’s knee. She turns towards him, and he says, “Two.”

“Anything but a two!” Niall shouts. “Not a two!”

“Two. Do you hear me?” Louis asks, voice a little frantic. “Two.”

“Four!” Niall yells over him.

Before Louis and Niall can confuse him any further, Harry says, “Ready! One, two, three. Go!”

Holly holds her hand to her head, thumb and pinky folded in, three fingers out like a Girl Scout. Niall’s thumb is tucked to his palm, four fingers to his head like a salute, and Louis whines, “What are you doing?”

“You said not to do a two!” Holly says, rolling her eyes.

“I said to do a two! Do a two! Two!” Louis groans, and Niall cackles, pointing at Louis and then at Harry as he laughs harder. Whipping his head around to look at Louis, Harry's mouth drops open, and Louis screams, “No!”

“No!” Harry echoes, two fingers still held to his forehead. “Executive order! The president and vice president can’t kiss! It’s against the law!”

“There are no laws here,” Niall says, and because he knows he’ll end up there eventually, and doesn’t see a reason to argue about it, Harry lets Niall lead him to the hallway. 

On the other hand, Louis puts up a hell of a fight, kicking and slapping as Niall and Liam drag him and push him behind the already mostly closed metal sliding door. 

“Holly! Wait for me!” Louis yells as Niall slides the door into place, effectively locking them in behind it. He bangs on the door, shouting, “Let me out! Let me out!”

Harry rolls his eyes. “There’s no reason to be so dramatic.”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Niall and Holly chant from the other side, with Liam and Lily joining in.  

“What the fuck, Harold?” Louis pushes off the door, trench coat swinging open to show his bright red briefs. 

“Okay. Okay. In this instance, I can see why you think I’m your cooler,” Harry admits. “If you want to label me.”

Face pink and sweaty from the booze and the exertion of fighting with Niall, Louis leans back against the metal door. “You think?”

“Let’s just…” Harry sighs, and says, “Super fast kiss. Take a selfie. Boom. Done.”

“Okay. Let’s do it,” Louis says, pulling his phone from one of the many pockets in his trench coat. 

They stand side by side so they can both see the phone screen, and Harry purses his lips while Louis opens his mouth slightly, then they lean in, and take the picture. 

“We kissed!” Harry shouts, knocking on the door. “Louis sent you a picture! Let us out!”

“That is not a kiss, man!” Liam yells, then he laughs, and says, “Come on, Inspector Gadget, inspect those tonsils.”

“Louis, just give Harry a tender, sensual kiss, and we will let you right out,” Niall says, smirk evident in his tone. 

Banging on the door again, Harry yells, “Shut up, Niall!” 

“Niall, stay out of this!” Louis shouts, leaning back against the door and sliding slowly to the floor. 

“Stop yelling at me!” Niall lowers his voice, and Harry steps closer to the door to listen. “You know that I'm ten percent more emotionally fragile than Louis right now.”

“No, no, don't!” Louis turns around, kneeling in front of the metal door. “No, please! Don't! Don’t do this!”

“Holly, do you mind if I tell you a story?” Niall asks, and Harry rolls his eyes, walking away from the door before he has to hear Niall complain about Zayn breaking his heart again. 

“Holly, he's really happy!” Beating on the door, Louis shouts, “He's got a 401K and a six-pack! Holly, wait for me!”

Crossing his arms, Harry clicks his tongue. “What’s the big deal? Let's just suck it up and French a little.”

“Okay, fine,” Louis says, slumping against the door. “But don't say ‘Let's suck it up and French a little.’” 

“Alright. Let’s do it.” Harry strides over to the door, squatting down beside Louis just as he stands. 

“What were you doing?” Louis laughs as Harry hops up out of his squat, face flaming. 

“I thought…” Harry clears his throat, looking down at his mostly naked body, then at Louis’ open coat. “I mean, you were sitting on the floor.”

“Well, now I’m not,” Louis says. He shakes himself a little, then tips his head back, growling up at the ceiling. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Harold, this isn’t a big deal.”

“Okay. You’re right,” Harry says. Funny how it feels like a big deal. “Let’s just do it.”

Huffing, Louis says, “You said that already.” 

“Then let’s just do it,” Harry says, glaring at him and stepping closer, resting his hands on Louis’ shoulders. 

Louis gently rubs Harry’s biceps, and mutters, “No big deal. No big deal.”

“No big deal, Lou,” Harry says, and Louis quickly licks his lips. “Why are you licking your lips?”

“Do you— Would you prefer dry lips?” Louis asks. 

“No.”

“Then I’m licking them to make them better,” Louis says with a shrug. 

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

“Do it,” Harry says, fighting the urge to cradle Louis’ jaw. 

“I’m doing it,” Louis says, eyelids drifting closed as he shifts forward. He blinks, leaning back again. “Wait. Are you— Are we— Is there tongue? Are you a tongue-er?”

“What?” Harry sputters a laugh. “Am I a tongue-er?”

“I don’t want to put my tongue in your mouth if you don’t like it,” Louis says matter-of-factly. 

Eyes wide, Harry squeezes Louis’ shoulders. “Just kiss me!”

“Okay.” Gently rubbing Harry’s arms again, Louis says, “One. Two. Thr— Actually, I’m not going to do a count.”

“Okay.” Harry nods, unsure if Louis will go through with the kiss when he’s clearly not into the idea. 

“I don't usually count, so… Not my style,” Louis says, and Harry snorts. 

“It’s Styles, actually.”

“Shut up.”

“Shut up and kiss me!” Harry shouts. 

Louis leans in, and Harry’s heart leaps. As Louis closes his eyes, he parts his lips, and a little furrow appears on his brow. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, pulling back. “You can’t kiss me like that.”

The furrow in his brow deepens, and Louis asks, “Like what?” 

“Your face,” Harry says, drawing his eyebrows together in imitation of Louis’ expression and pointing at his forehead. “You can’t do that with your face.”

“Okay,” Louis says slowly. “I’ll do something else with my face.”

This time when he moves closer, Louis closes his eyes, relaxes his forehead, and smiles, baring his teeth. Harry jerks back, and says, “No! You can’t kiss me teeth first!”

“Yeah…” Louis steps back, raking his fingers through his hair. “I can’t do this.”

“You can’t try to kiss me while grinning like the fucking Joker and expect me—”

“You’re just—” Louis groans, and turns to the door, kicking it with his bare foot, and shrieking when he connects with the metal. “Let me out!”

There’s a commotion from the other side of the door, but instead of opening it like Harry expects, there’s a knock, and Zayn shouts, “Harry! Harry? Are you okay? I came as soon as I got your messages!”

“I’m fine!” Harry leans his forehead against the door, and says, “Lou and I are trapped in here until—”

“I need to kill Niall!” Louis screams, running full speed at the door and crashing into it. 

“Until?” Zayn asks. 

“We have to kiss,” Harry says with a loud whine because, thanks to Louis’ refusal to kiss him like a normal person, he’s probably never getting out of there. “Don’t worry about it! How was your date?”

“Terrible. I’ll tell you later. But for now… Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Zayn chants, and everyone else joins in. 

It goes on for a ridiculously long time. Harry actually wanders off to use the urinal and returns before they’ve petered off. When he comes back, Louis is on his knees in front of the door, hand cupped by his ear like he’s eavesdropping.

“Liam?” Louis calls, face pressed close to the door. “Li? It’s me, man. Please let me out.”

“Is the game over?” Liam asks, and a girl giggles. 

It takes Harry a moment to piece it together, and he whispers, “Is that Lily? I thought she was engaged.”

“I don’t care, Harold,” Louis says, sitting down again, back to the door, and wrapping his trench coat around him. 

Harry joins him, and they sit side by side, both resting their heads back against the door, and on the other side, Lily says, “I wear this ring so guys won’t hit on me in bars. I’m single. You want to do something about it?”

“She sounds weird!” Louis yells, and Harry cackles, covering his mouth with his hands. 

“Let us out, Liam!” Harry shouts, though he’s sure it’s no use. 

“He’s a lost cause,” Louis says when Liam doesn’t respond. He stretches his legs out, wiggling his toes. “You think I broke it?”

“What?” Harry frowns, and Louis points at his toes, wiggling them again. “Your toe? No. Probably wouldn’t be comfortable doing that if you did. Have you ever broken a bone?”

“My arm when I was a kid. Fell off my skateboard,” Louis says. He slips his arm out of his coat, and twists it, tracing the scar on the back of his forearm. “You?”

Lifting each body part as he names them, Harry says, “Three toes, all at different times, my left pinky finger, and a tiny bone in my foot.”

“How’d you manage to do all that?” Louis asks, and Harry laughs. 

“Broke my pinky finger doing a flip on a trampoline.” Kicking his left foot out, Harry says, “Ran into an open door with my baby toe.” He flexes his right foot. “Tried to move a basket of laundry with my foot, kicked my dresser instead, and broke that baby toe.”

“And…”

“Same toe, two years later, half-asleep and caught it on the corner of my desk,” Harry explains, then circles his ankle and says, “The foot thing was a stress fracture from running. Which is why I don’t run as much or as far now.”

“You should make up better backstories for your broken bones,” Louis says, letting his head fall back against the metal door. 

“Hey, Lou,” Harry says, lolling his head to the side. “I have to admit. At least tonight, I might be your cooler.”

“Oh?” Louis laughs, and says, “Thanks for saying that.”

“I mean, I think it’s just bad timing,” Harry says, bumping his shoulder into Louis’ and leaning against him. “And I think, like, at least seventy, seventy-five percent of the time, you’re your own cooler.”

“Might be.”

“You know I’m right.” Harry nudges Louis' knee with his own, and says, “You’re already smokin’ hot. Just some basic grooming, and maybe lose the trench coat.”

“I love the trench coat!” Louis elbows him and laughs. “It gives me confidence.”

“Maybe that’s what it is,” Harry says. 

Louis turns to him, raising one eyebrow. “If I lose the trench coat, you’d want to kiss me?”

“Yeah.” Harry smiles, reaching over to pat Louis’ leg. “All bets are off if you lose the trench coat and, like, shower.”

“I shower!” Louis smacks Harry’s thigh, and with nothing but the thin red tulle of his tutu to shield his bare skin, it stings, and Harry hisses. “Oh… Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry whispers, and Louis rubs the spot, gaze drifting from Harry’s leg, over his bare torso. He meets Harry’s eyes, and tucks his lower lip between his teeth, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leans in. 

“Harry!” Sam shouts, knocking on the door. “Are you okay? I got your message. What’s going on?”

“Sam!” Harry scrambles to his feet, unnecessarily straightening his tutu. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve called you back. It was nothing. I think it was just the pipes. And the guys came home, and I forgot to—”

“But why are you back there?” Sam asks, and Harry whines, banging his forehead against the door as Niall explains. 

This time, Sam leads the group, chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Louis stands up, walking away from the door. He unties and ties the belt to his trench coat, smoothing the khaki fabric, then slips his hands inside the pockets, tugging the coat taut against his bum. When Louis turns back around, Harry averts his eyes, looking through his open bedroom door. 

He glances back to find Louis watching him, and says, “Lou, let’s just get this over with.” Furrowing his brow, Louis shakes his head, and Harry scoffs. “Come on, man. Kiss me already.”

“No,” Louis says simply, popping the collar of his trench coat. “I’m not going to.”

Harry gives him a shove. “Kiss me!” 

Shaking his head again, Louis pushes Harry’s hands away. “Harry, stop.” 

“Just fucking kiss me!” Balling his hands into fists and jumping up and down, Harry’s tutu catches the air, floating around him. “Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me!”

“Not like this!” Louis shouts. His eyes go wide, then he looks away, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and muttering, “That— I don't, um…”

Pout morphing into a small smile, Harry tilts his head to the side. “What… What does that mean?”

“That— That— I didn’t— I didn’t mean— Not— I didn’t mean— I— We— We can’t— That’s not—” Louis clamps his mouth shut, stepping sideways and striding into Harry’s bedroom. He looks back at Harry, and as he moves one of Harry’s plants from the window sill to his desk, he says, “If you’ll excuse me.”

Arms crossed, Harry watches Louis drag his desk chair over and climb onto it. “Lou, what are you doing?” 

Louis opens the window, and before Harry can cross the room, he climbs out onto the narrow brick ledge and starts inching away. 

“Louis, stop!” Harry calls after him, “You don’t have to do this! You don’t have to kiss me!”

Harry’s panic that Louis might fall doesn’t immediately override the way his stomach sinks at such a thorough rejection, but it takes precedence. When Holly slides the door open to let him out, Harry gives her a quick nod and a closed lip smile, hurrying past Niall who’s on the floor in the fetal position, to the dining room, where Liam and Sam are hauling Louis in through the window.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Liam demands before Harry can open his mouth to ask the same question. 

“You okay, babe?” Sam slips his arms around Harry from behind, and when Harry turns to look back at him, he leans down for a kiss, softly pressing their lips together. 

Harry smiles, and nods once. “Yeah.”

“Louis!” Niall screams, scrambling to get off the floor. He runs at Louis, throwing his arms around him, and says, “Don’t ever do that again! You scared the shit out of me!”

“I saw,” Louis says, pointing to the spot where Niall was laying on the floor. 

“I’m serious!” Niall shoves Louis hard, and Harry gasps, but Louis just shoves him back, and they push each other around until Louis stumbles a few steps and sits down in the rolling desk chair. 

“I’m fine!” Louis yells, eyes flickering from Harry back to Niall. He looks away, then says, “You guys wouldn’t let us out. I was partly joking.”

“I can't believe you climbed out onto a ledge four floors up to avoid kissing Harry,” Sam says, laughing and burying his face in the curve of Harry’s neck, leaving a kiss there. 

“Yeah… I’m an idiot,” Louis says, pressing his lips into a tight line and nodding.

“Don’t know what you’re missing, man.” Sam nips at the side of Harry's neck, and says, “Ready for bed, babe?”

“Yeah.” Harry points at Louis, and says, “Don’t climb onto any ledges while we’re sleeping.”

Louis scratches his scruffy jaw, then crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll try not to.”

After making out and mutual handjobs, Sam goes right to sleep, but Harry has to pee, so he slips on his pink robe, and tiptoes down the hall in his socks. He brushes his teeth, and picks at his pimples, dotting cream on a few, then he blows a raspberry at his reflection. 

A quiet scuffling, scratching sound reaches Harry’s ears, and he hurries down the hall, knocking on Louis’ door as he passes, “Louis! It’s back! The noise is back!”

Harry picks up his umbrella, and Louis opens his bedroom door, shuffling out still in his trench coat, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his knuckles. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” Louis says through a yawn. He rests a hand on Harry’s lower back, then takes the umbrella and steps up to the peephole. “There’s no one out there.”

There’s another scratching scuffle and Louis grabs the doorknob, swinging it open. A massive St. Bernard jumps up, paws landing on Louis’ shoulders, and a woman runs down the hall towards them, shouting, “Brian! Brian, off!” 

The dog barks, Louis jerks back, and the woman grabs Brian’s collar, pulling him away. 

“I’m sorry! Brian gets like this when—” Scowling at Louis, she says, “That’s my coat.”

Louis shakes his head. “What?”

“I thought my package was delivered here,” she says, propping her fists on her hips. “I rang the bell and knocked, and— Are you sleeping in it?”

Harry glances over, but Louis is mid-yawn. “It looks like he was.”

Louis finishes his yawn, and declares, “It’s a fantastic coat! It gives me confidence!” 

Brian barks, and she raises her eyebrows. “It’s my coat!” 

“Fine,” Louis says, taking off the coat, leaving him in nothing but his red briefs. He hands it over, and she snatches it away, storming off down the hall with Brian in tow, muttering about their strange apartment. With a quiet laugh, Louis pops the elastic waistband of his underwear as Harry closes the door.

Tightening the tie on his pink robe, Harry says, “So… Does this mean the old Louis is back?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Reaching up, Louis scratches the back of his neck, ambling step by step with Harry towards the hallway, knocking their hips together. “I’ll miss Trench Coat Louis. He was cool.”

“Was he?” Harry asks, nudging Louis’ side with his elbow. “I liked him.”

“I liked him, too,” Louis says, stopping in the hall between their doors. Facing Harry, he drags his thumb across his scruffy jaw, eyes bright, despite the hour and the alcohol. “He had guts.”

Smiling, Harry traces his fingertip over his lower lip, trying not to let his stare linger on Louis’ mostly naked body. With one last glance at Louis’ mouth, Harry says, “Good night, Lewis.”

“’Night, Harold,” Louis says softly. 

Face warm, Harry turns away, only for Louis to grab his arm and spin him back around bringing them face to face, barely an inch between them. 

Opening his mouth to protest Louis’ tight grip on his arm, Harry hardly manages a hum before Louis’ lips meet his, warm and chapped and insistent. Heat blossoms in Harry’s middle, sending sparks through his limbs to his fingers, and he melts into Louis’ embrace, draping his arms over Louis’ shoulders, parting his lips and tasting beer on Louis’ tongue.

Tangling his fingers in the short curls at Harry’s nape, Louis tips his head, deepening the kiss, and Harry pushes closer just as Louis breaks the kiss. Resting his forehead against Harry’s, Louis pants, breath warm, and his eyes flicker to Harry's mouth. He combs his fingers through Harry’s hair, gently guiding him into another soft, fleeting press of lips, then another, and another.

Pulling back, Louis whispers, “I meant something like that.” 

Speechless and frozen to the spot, Harry watches Louis turn and disappear into his bedroom. The twinkling lights over the bed catch his eye as Louis closes the door, leaving Harry alone in the hallway, overwhelmed and breathless. 

Heart thumping in his chest, blood pounding in his ears, Harry brings his hand to his mouth, touching his tingling lips with the tips of his fingers. 

Chapter Text

JUNE AGAIN STILL SOMEHOW 

Overwhelmed with guilt, Harry tosses and turns all night. He lays there listening to Sam’s quiet snores, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell Louis was thinking, and why he didn't put a stop to the kiss the instant Louis’ lips touched his. Eventually, the sun comes up, and Harry gets out of bed. 

He wants answers and he wants them now, but he’s not sure what the questions are. When he opens his bedroom door, he finds himself face to face with Louis and Harry squeaks, slapping a hand over his mouth.

“No, no, no, no, no…” Louis whispers, backing away. “I didn't— I wasn’t—”

“What are you doing?” Harry quickly steps into the hallway, closing his bedroom door, but Louis keeps moving away from him, so he follows. “Louis, what the fuck?” 

“Nope,” Louis says, and he moonwalks into his bedroom, shutting the door in Harry's face. 

“Asshole,” Harry mutters, turning to go back to his room. 

It’s still relatively early, and because he doesn’t know what else to do, he gets back in the bed. Harry manages to doze off, only for Sam to stir and stretch an hour later. So Harry pretends he’s only just woken up after a long night’s sleep, faking a yawn, and reaching his arms overhead.

Sam blinks his eyes open, and smiles. “Morning, babe.”

“Hi, um… Morning.” Rubbing his lips together, Harry tries to make himself speak. “I have to tell you something.”

“You’re so gorgeous,” Sam says, tracing the line of Harry's jaw with his fingertips. “How do you look this good first thing in the morning?”

“Oh, um… Thank you.” 

“Can’t look at you.” Sam turns his head away, then laughs quietly, turning back. “Have to look at you. Unbelievable. What were you going to say?”

Harry shakes his head, and lies too easily, “Nothing. Just that Zayn wanted me to come over this morning. I was wondering what you were doing today.”

“I need to run some errands, but that’s it,” Sam says, pulling his phone out from under his pillow. He squints at the screen, then holds his fist out for Harry to bump it. “Ten emails.”

“Nice,” Harry says, gently knocking their knuckles together. “Maybe I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, babe.” Sam leans in to kiss Harry's cheek, and says, “Just call me.”

After Sam leaves, Harry doesn’t even bother showering, just brushes his teeth. He knocks on Louis’ bedroom door until his knuckles hurt and when Louis still doesn’t answer, Harry considers getting one of his boots or a hammer, but he doesn’t want to stick around and beat down Louis’ door. He leaves his pajamas on the floor, pulls on a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt, puts a snapback over his messy hair, grabs his keys and stops for coffee on the way to Zayn’s apartment. 

Two coffees in one hand, and a bag of donuts in the other, Harry knocks on Zayn’s door. The second he opens it, Harry says, “Louis kissed me.”

“What?” Zayn seems dumbfounded, standing there open-mouthed for a moment before he ushers Harry inside, taking the coffees, and leading him over to the little kitchen table. He pops the lid off his coffee, and takes a sip. “Tell me everything.”

It doesn’t take very long to relay the actual events, but Harry finds himself, more than an hour later, still rambling about it, anger and annoyance and anxiety a swirling tornado inside him. 

“And now I have to tell Sam!” Harry tips his coffee cup back, finding it empty, and slams it down on the kitchen table. “I don't want to tell Sam! I didn’t do anything wrong. Louis kissed me. He should have to tell Sam! I didn't even kiss him back!” Throwing his hands up in the air, Harry growls at the ceiling, wishing Louis was there so he’d have a focal point for his ire. “Fine! Fine! I kissed him back! I kissed him back and now he won’t even talk to me! I saw him this morning—he was standing in the hall outside my door like a creep, and then he just… panic moonwalked away from me back to his room.”

“Moonwalked?” Zayn picks at his donut, popping a tiny bite into his mouth. 

“Yeah, sometimes he does that when he’s anxious about stuff.” Harry huffs, pacing back and forth as he says, “How dare he panic when this is his fault! He did this. Ugh… Louis just… He just…”

“Kissed you,” Zayn finishes for him. He licks his lips, and asks, “What was it like?” 

Harry groans, butterflies swirling in his stomach at the memory. “I was like Scarlet O’Hara in my fucking curtain dress.”

“Yeah, but…” Zayn narrows his eyes, and asks, “How did he do it?”

“He grabbed me, and he just… took me right there in the hallway.” Pressing his palms to his belly to quell the butterflies, Harry says, “It was firm. Almost rough? But still tender. I mean, I saw through space and time for a second, but that’s not the point.”

Zayn hums, biting his lip, and leans back in his chair. “What are you going to do? I mean… Do you like Louis?”

“Ha!” Slapping his knee, Harry lets loose a snort. In his anger and frustration, he hadn’t thought to ask himself that question, but the answer is obvious. “No. Nah… Never. Louis? No…” Giggling, Harry shakes his head quickly, and says, “No, I don’t like Louis. I like Sam. Because Sam is… Sam is… Sam’s got it together. He’s a doctor! And he’s the kind of guy who… who fixes stuff you didn’t know was broken. And Louis is… Louis is the kind of guy who breaks things. Louis is thirty years old with milk crates for furniture. And he is not ruining things with me and Sam. God! I am so fucking pissed at him.” Eyes widening, Harry points at Zayn. “Can I just hang out with you today?”

“I, um…” Zayn rolls his lips together, nodding slowly. “I didn't tell you because I thought you’d make fun of me, but I’m going to a gay singles mixer.”

“A gay singles mixer? You mean a WeHo nightclub?” Harry drops into the chair beside him, and Zayn gives his head a rueful shake. 

“No. It’s a mixer. Like, an old fashioned mixer where you play stupid games and wear nametags and everyone who’s there is interested in more than hooking up. Or so they say on the application…” Zayn studies the last bit of his donut before finishing it off. “Still want to come with me?”

“Yes!” Harry whacks the table with his fist, then lowers his voice, and says, “Yes. I can pretend I’m single.”

“You mean like you did last night?” Zayn huffs a laugh, and Harry's eyes go wide as he starts to panic again. “I didn't mean it! It was a joke. A bad joke. I’m sorry. Please come with me?”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry says with a quick nod.

“Good, but you cannot go like this,” Zayn says, flipping Harry’s snapback off his head. “Go take a shower. I’ll get you something to wear.”

Freshly showered and dressed in Zayn’s clothes, they take a Lyft to a hotel banquet hall. It’s nothing like a WeHo club. The lights are all the way up, there are people in suits and ties, the bar has a two drink limit, and the music quietly plays in the background while Harry scribbles his information on one of the forms. He stands off to the side with his clipboard, hurriedly filling in the blanks, trying to be as honest as he can considering that he’s starting out with the big lie that he’s single. 

“Yeah, but I dropped out of law school.”

Harry whips around at the sound of Louis’ voice to find him standing there in line with Liam while Niall pretends to ignore Zayn’s presence, as if he’s actually attending a singles mixer of his own volition. Louis glances over, mouth falling open when he meets Harry's stare.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks. 

“I…” Louis shakes his head, and just like when Harry tried to talk to him that morning, he starts to moonwalk away only to bump into a folding chair and topple to the floor. He scrambles to his feet and bolts with Liam following right behind him. 

Clenching his jaw, Harry continues filling out his form, handing the clipboard back to the man behind the table when he’s finished. He looks around for Zayn, but he’s gone, hopefully into the banquet room. 

“Hey,” Louis says, and Harry turns, expecting Louis to run off again or kiss him again or say something stupid about what happened. “Look, Harry, I’m sorry I kissed you.”

“Oh, um…” Blinking rapidly as he takes in Louis’ words, Harry says, “I didn’t expect you to apologize. Thanks, Louis.”

“Well, I mean, it was obviously upsetting you,” Louis says. 

“I felt like things were awkward between us, so—”

“Yeah, you were acting weird,” Louis says with a sharp laugh, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “And, you know, it was a nothing kiss for me. Like— Like kissing a cousin or something. Meant absolutely nothing.”

“I…” Harry swallows, but his need to prove Louis wrong overwhelms his desire to keep the peace, and he says, “I’m pretty sure it meant something… to you, anyway. Because you’re the one who kissed me.”

Louis hums and shakes his head. “Nah.”

“You can admit it meant something,” Harry says, propping his hands on his hips. 

“No, I promise.” Pulling his hands from his pockets, Louis crosses his arms, lips pressed together as he shakes his head again. “It meant nothing.”

Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I was there, Lewis. And it clearly meant something or you wouldn’t’ve done it.” 

“I do shit I don’t mean all the time, Harold,” Louis says. He reaches over and tugs one of the leaves on the potted artificial plant beside them until the leaf pops off, then he tosses it to the floor. “See? Why’d I do that? I don’t know. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Why can’t you admit that it meant something?” Harry asks. He bends down to pick up the fake leaf and tries to reattach it to the plant. 

“It was a drinking game, Harold. And I was just finishing the game,” Louis says, moving closer and making Harry’s heart rate pick up. 

Harry takes a step towards him, and says, “The game where you climbed out on the fucking ledge in order to not kiss me. And it happened after the game. When it meant something.”

“Oh! Oh…” Louis nods slowly, pointing and twirling his finger in Harry’s face. “It meant something to you.”

“No, I—”

“I get it now,” Louis says with a wink that makes Harry want to throttle him. 

“No!” Harry snaps, and when some of the people still in line turn to look, he lowers his voice, and says, “It was a terrible, stupid kiss, and it meant nothing to me.”

Louis’ tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he smirks. “You’re thinking about it now.”

“I am not,” Harry insists, pulling out his phone. “I’m texting Sam to see if he’ll come pick me up.”

“Oh… You’re leaving?” Louis laughs, and with a smug smile, he says, “Running away because it meant something?”

“No! No.” Harry deletes the words he’s already typed, and starts over, sending a text to Sam explaining where he is and asking him to come and join him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mmhmm…” Louis backs away, not moonwalking this time, pointing his finger at Harry, and Harry lets him go. 

For a mixer meant for gay and bi men to meet other gay and bi men, it’s incredibly tame. The director of the mixer is named Michael, an older man with silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard. After he gives Harry a name tag, Harry goes to find his place in the banquet hall. 

“Your table assignments are written on your name tags,” Michael announces, microphone carrying his voice around the room. “They’ve been arranged by career and education level, with other factors such as age given less importance. I’ll give you a moment to introduce yourselves to your table mates, then we’ll begin the ice breakers.”

Harry looks down at his name tag to be sure it still says table seven, and makes his way across the room, taking the seat beside Niall. 

“Hey, table buddy,” Harry says quietly as he sits. 

“You’re at table seven?” Niall asks, tugging on his suit jacket to scrutinize his own name tag. “I guess that’s quite the compliment for you. I’m actually a little insulted, but—”

“Insulted?” Harry smacks Niall’s shoulder, and says, “We both have masters degrees, Niall. We’re the same age and—”

“I’m four months older,” Niall corrects haughtily, and Harry scowls. 

“Whatever.” Rolling his eyes, Harry looks around the room, then quickly introduces himself to the rest of table seven before heading to the bar for a drink. He’s able to convince the bartender to keep pouring the rosé until the glass is almost full, and Harry tips him double, then goes looking for Zayn. 

Unfortunately, Zayn and Louis are sitting at the same table. 

“Hey, babe,” Sam says, and Harry turns, smiling and already feeling better. 

Harry goes up on his toes to kiss Sam’s cheek, then he winks and says, “Two singles at a mixer. Up for a little role play?”

“I mean, yeah,” Sam says with a chuckle. “Long as I get to go home with, um…” He squints at Harry’s name tag, reading aloud, “Harry S. from table seven. I don’t know why I expected to see a fake name there.”

“I thought about it,” Harry says, which is a complete lie. “Which table are you…”

“Table one?” Sam frowns down at his name tag, and says, “I suppose I’m off to meet the other available men?”

“Yeah, babe,” Harry says, laughing too loudly as he glances over at Louis. “Off to table one with you!”

Feedback squeals through the speakers, and Michael’s amplified voice says, “Let the ice breakers begin!”

The first round is the puzzle round, which Harry excels at. He loves puzzles and each person Michael pairs him with winds up letting him do all the work. It’s not what he’d normally do on a date, but he’s not there to find a boyfriend. His boyfriend is busy being terrible at puzzles on the other side of the room. 

Ice breaker number two is one Harry’s done before. Michael picks two people from each table to make up the group, choosing Harry and Niall from seven, Sam and a man named Rex from table one, Louis and Zayn from their table, and Harry stops paying attention after that. They’re meant to hold hands in a circle, and Harry quickly makes sure that Zayn and Sam are flanking him, and that Louis is as far from him as possible. That lands Louis on the opposite side of the circle, which may have been a mistake. 

As people fail to move the hula-hoop around the circle, the circle shrinks, and Harry finds himself clutching Sam and Zayn’s hands, willing Louis to lose. The hula-hoop reaches Zayn, and he easily slips it over his head and steps through, raising his arm to slide the hula-hoop down his arm, past their linked hands, to Harry’s arm. It takes him a few tries, but he gets there, grinning proudly when he manages to send the hula-hoop to Sam. 

Sam might be an excellent doctor who’s amazing in bed, but he’s awful at whatever the ice breaker is called. He jerks Harry’s arm around, and Harry ends up talking him through it, whispering instructions that Sam repeats before not following them at all. The timer buzzes, and he’s out, leaving Harry to hold Rex’s hand while Louis points his stupid finger at him yet again. 

Niall is alarmingly good at moving the hula-hoop, and so is Louis, making Harry wonder if there are hula-hoops stashed in the loft somewhere. When it comes down to Louis, Harry, Zayn, and Niall, Harry forfeits because the last person he wants to hold hands with today is Louis. After the hula-hoop ice breaker is over, and Niall and Louis are crowned the winning couple, Harry stalks straight over to Louis at the bar, snatching his beer from his hand. 

“Stop pointing your stupid finger at me, asshole,” Harry says, tipping Louis’ beer back and taking a long pull. 

“Stop drinking my beer.” Snatching it back, Louis points at him again, twirling his finger as he says, “And no. I’m gonna keep pointing at you until you admit that kiss meant something to you.”

“To me?” Harry clenches his jaw so hard his teeth hurt, and he smacks Louis’ hand, knocking his stupid finger away. “You’re being such a dick! Stop fucking pointing—”

“Our next ice breaker,” Michael announces, and Harry’s forced to stop hitting Louis when one of the waiters walks towards them with a tray full of newspapers. “People from odd numbered tables, look to your left. Those from even numbered tables, look to your right. The person beside you will be your partner. You must build a table with nothing but newspaper and tape.”

“Fuck me, man,” Louis mutters, finishing his beer. 

“Great,” Harry says, taking a roll of tape from the waiter while Louis grabs a few newspapers from the stack. 

Michael holds a large book up and announces, “First table strong enough to hold this copy of Robert Mapplethorpe: The Photographs will not only win this round, but the couple will also win the book. To share.”

“Guess we’re working together,” Louis says, carrying his newspapers to the closest table. “Give me the tape.”

“No,” Harry says, looping the roll of tape on his wrist like a bracelet. 

At first, as they work, they’re quiet, and it seems like they might make it through without fighting, but as soon as Louis finishes one rolled table leg and Harry tapes it, Louis says, “Just admit that you liked kissing me.”

“No!” Harry rolls another piece of newspaper, wrapping tape around it. 

“I’m not asking you to marry me,” Louis says with a loud huff. “But it wasn’t a bad kiss. It was a nice kiss. And I think you should say so.”

“No, Louis!” Harry whacks him with his rolled up paper, and attaches it to the part he thinks might be the top of their table. “It wasn’t a ‘nice kiss’ because it was the worst kiss ever, okay? It was like you were a dog and my mouth was an open jar of peanut butter.”

“It was like a damn fairytale, that kiss!” Louis wraps tape around and around a roll of newspaper, attaching it to what’s turned into an odd wheel looking thing. “That kiss was the best kiss of your life, and you have to take responsibility!”

“Are you serious?” Harry sticks a wad of tape to Louis’ face, and says, “No.”

“Yes!” Louis rips the tape off, sticking it to Harry’s hair. “You— You were tarting around in that pink robe with nothing underneath, and what? Not expecting to be kissed? I’m a man, Harold! Pink robes are my catnip!”

“Tarting around?” Harry carefully removes the tape from his hair, and says, “You were wearing nothing but tight little red briefs!”

“Oh…” Louis smirks and says, “You noticed my underwear.”

“How could I not? It’s all you had on!”

“Because that lady from 4D took my coat!”

“Her coat! It’s her coat, Louis!” Harry wraps tape around the existing structure over and over until there’s no more left on the roll, and Michael blows his whistle. 

“We might have a winner!” Michael pats their ridiculous excuse for a table, and Louis laughs. 

“No, that won’t hold anything,” Louis says. He takes the book from Michael and drops it from a few feet above, but the table holds. 

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head as Louis laughs again and sets the table on the floor. 

“Look, it’s a shitty table,” Louis says, stepping on it and clearly attempting to crush it. When one foot doesn’t do the job, he climbs up, but it doesn’t collapse. He jumps up and down on it, and Harry hides his face in his hands, unwilling to watch when the entire room erupts into applause. 

“We have a winning couple!” Michael shouts above the din of the room. 

“We’re not a couple!” Harry and Louis yell in unison, but Harry does make sure to pick up the coffee table book to take home with him later. 

Before they can start to argue again, Michael has everyone form two lines, and the speed dating round begins. Luckily, Harry and Sam manage to line up across from each other, so their first minute-long date is together. 

“Congrats on winning the table building competition, babe,” Sam says, keeping his voice low.

“It didn't mean anything,” Harry snaps, his annoyance with Louis bleeding into his tone. 

“I didn't think it meant—”

“No. Sorry. It’s just Louis.” Harry shakes his head, strangled laugh caught in his throat. “He drives me crazy.” 

Chuckling quietly, Sam leans in a little. “Yeah, I mean, Louis is—”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Harry says, holding his hands up, fingers spread wide. 

Realizing he might look a little overexcited, Harry balls his hands into fists, but Sam’s gaze follows his movements. Still grinning like this whole mixer is the joke Harry wishes it could be, Sam asks, “Is there… Is there something I should know?” 

“No! No, because—” Michael’s timer buzzes loudly, and he calls out for Sam’s side to stand up and move down one seat. “No, wait. Sam, I…” 

“Hello, Harry.”

Harry tears his eyes away from Sam, forcing a smile as he reads the nametag of the man in front of him. “Matthew. Hi. Nice to meet you.”

“Is this your first time at one of these mixers?” Matthew asks.

“Yeah, um…” Harry nods, and asks, “How about you?”

“Third,” Matthew says with a grin. 

They make conversation, though Harry's distracted for the entire thing, trying to work up the courage to tell Sam about the kiss. Three buzzers later, Niall plops into the seat across from him, giving Harry all the motivation he needs. Harry gets up, and walks down the line to the man across from Sam.

Pointing towards Michael, Harry bends down, reads the guy’s name tag, and whispers, “Hey, Derek, they need you over there for something.”

“Oh?” Derek quickly gets up and heads over to Michael, and Harry takes his seat. 

“Hey, um… Sam, listen. There is something I need to tell you. Last night, you know, when we were playing True American, and you came over, and Louis and I were behind the Iron Curtain and—”

“Yeah, babe,” Sam says, reaching over to pat Harry's knee. “I was there.”

“Right.” Swallowing hard, Harry nods, deciding to skip the lead up. “After the game, after everyone went to bed, and we… you know. I couldn’t sleep and… and… I’m sorry for rambling. I’m sorry. Louis kissed me. And I… I kissed him back. It didn't mean anything, Sam. I swear.”

Sam sits back in his chair, frowning and blinking rapidly. “I… I can’t believe this.”

“Sam, I… I’m so sorry,” Harry says, but his apology does nothing to stop Sam from standing up and walking towards the exit, so Harry hurries after him, hoping a more private conversation will help clear things up. He follows Sam into the hallway, calling after him, “Sam, wait! I’m sorry!”

Spinning around to face Harry, Sam says, “I told you I wanted to commit to this with you. I thought you understood what that meant.”

“I did! I do!” Harry steps closer, reaching for Sam’s hand, but he snatches it out of Harry's grip. 

“Sam! Hey, Sam!” Louis jogs up the corridor, stopping beside Harry. “Listen, Sam, I’m the one you should be mad at. I kissed Harry, okay?” Turning to Harry, Louis says, “He didn't kiss me. It didn't mean anything to him.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispers.

Quick as a whip, Sam punches Louis, and Louis grunts, falling to the floor and landing sprawled on his back. He rolls to the side, curling in on himself and groaning. 

“Oh my god!” Harry drops to his knees beside Louis, unsure of what to do to help him. 

“I’m gonna kick your ass, man,” Louis says, whimpering as he tries to sit up, but Harry pushes him back down.

“Sorry, Louis.” Shaking his hand out, Sam looks at Harry, and says, “It might not have meant anything to you, but it means something to me. So… I’m done. Bye, Harry.”

“No, Sam, please,” Harry begs, but Sam just shakes his head, and before Harry can get to his feet, Sam’s gone. 

Louis is fine. Of course, he’s fine. Niall’s probably hit him harder during one of their slap fights. Harry goes looking for Zayn, leaving Louis dramatically writhing on the floor, but he’s nowhere to be found. When Zayn doesn’t respond to Harry's text within a few minutes, Harry gets a Lyft back home.

The shock of the breakup keeps him from bursting into tears, but once he’s home and in the shower, Harry starts to cry. Sam’s toothbrush and a few pairs of his underwear are all the evidence left to show that they were ever together. Harry stays in the shower and has a good sob session, and when he’s all cried out, he puts on his softest pajamas, and takes to the couch with a bottle of rosé. 

One Harry-sized glass in, Louis comes home. 

“Hey,” Louis says, sitting gingerly on the edge of the chaise. “You look like you could use some cheering up.”

Harry huffs, and sips his wine, but Louis doesn’t leave, so Harry says, “You know how when you get dumped, and you’re like, racking your brain, like… What did I do wrong? Like, remember when Dylan dumped you and you couldn’t figure out why?”

“Yeah…” Louis nods, lips pressed together. “That was tough.”

“Well, this is different, because I don’t have to wonder,” Harry says, glaring at him, and wishing he’d go away.

Raising his eyebrows, Louis hums, and leans a little closer. “Really? What happened?” 

With a loud scoff, Harry swings his legs off the couch, ready to go to his room, but Louis stops him, leaning forward and gently nudging Harry’s knee with the back of his hand. 

“I’m sorry. I know what— I know it’s my fault. And I didn't mean—” Louis takes a deep breath, rubbing his hands together. He puffs his cheeks out as he exhales. “I’m going to say something that’s probably not going to make this situation any better, but I have to say it.”

“No,” Harry says.

“Yeah, I have to.” Louis licks his lips, reminding Harry of the previous night, and Harry scowls at him. “I’ve never been, like, the other man. I’ve never been a homewrecker.” Eyes going wide, Louis smiles, and says, “I liked it. I mean, Sam was threatened by me.” Chuckling into his hand, Louis shakes his head, still grinning. “I see it as a victory.” Harry sets his wine glass down on the coffee table, wanting nothing more than to punch Louis the way Sam did earlier, but Louis holds both hands up, clearly aware he’s gone too far. “I mean, for me. For you it’s, um, a huge, devastating loss.”

“Louis,” Harry says, clenching his jaw. The only reason he remains seated is that his feet fell asleep while they were tucked under his bum, and he doesn’t want to chance falling over. 

Louis’ wry grin disappears, and he bites his lower lip, running his fingers through his hair. “Look, Harry… I’m sorry that I kissed you.” He tips his head, meeting Harry's eyes, and says, “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t’ve done it. And I… I won’t do it again.”

The last thing Harry expected was a sincere apology, and he picks up his wine again, taking a sip. “I… I guess, maybe things with Sam weren’t exactly perfect. Maybe it was already a little bit broken.”

“What happened?” Louis asks.

Harry holds up his fist, and frowns at it. “He always wanted to, like, fist bump first thing in the morning.”

Snickering into his hand, Louis asks, “And you didn't like that?” 

“I hated it,” Harry says, and Louis laughs again. “What… Why are you laughing?”

“I feel like you’re forgiving me,” Louis says with a smile, and Harry glowers at him. 

“I’m not.”

“You were before I said that though.”

“Nope,” Harry says, pushing himself off the couch. Thankfully, he doesn’t fall. “I wasn’t.” 

“Alright, alright, sorry.” Louis gets up, following Harry to the hallway, and Harry turns around to find him smirking and holding his fist out expectantly. “Too soon?”

“Yeah, it’s too soon!” Harry smacks Louis’ fist, and Louis hisses. 

“Hey, um, I really am sorry,” Louis says, and he steps into Harry's space, gaze flickering from Harry's eyes to his mouth, making Harry's stomach flutter. He moves closer, then holds his arms open, and pulls Harry into an oddly stiff hug. Harry keeps his wine glass out to the side, and pats Louis’ back with his other hand. 

“This is weird,” Harry mumbles, and Louis nods, backing up and shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Good night, Harold,” Louis says, pursing his lips in the way that Harry's learned he does when he’s trying not to smile. 

Harry rolls his eyes, and turns, starting for his room. “’Night, Lewis.”

He can feel Louis watching him until he shuts the door. Harry shakes his head, then tips his glass back, finishing his wine, and leaving the empty glass on his desk to deal with in the morning.

Chapter Text

JULY 

Louis is avoiding him. 

At first, Harry doesn’t notice because since taking the job teaching creative writing for adults, Harry’s back to early mornings, and Louis sleeps until noon most days. 

It takes a few days before Harry starts to think something’s amiss, and another few days to come to the conclusion that Louis is actually staying away from the loft. He lets it bother him for a moment, then pushes it aside. Louis is the one who kissed him. Louis is the one who made things weird. Louis is the one who can suck it up and deal with it. 

Creative Writing for Adults isn’t nearly as fun as Harry hoped it would be. Taking over at the end of the June semester meant that he was reading things that he didn’t assign, and Harry assumed that the quality of the writing reflected on the previous teacher. Starting the July semester with a quick and easy prompt to use as many adjectives as possible to describe the location of their choosing led to page after page of some of the most boring writing Harry’s ever come across. 

Office hours are Tuesdays and Thursdays from five to seven o’clock, and no one ever shows, so Harry spends most of that time texting Zayn or calling Zayn, and when Zayn won’t answer because he’s too busy with the hot lawyer he met at the mixer, Harry plays solitaire at his desk with a real deck of cards. 

“Harry!” Louis rushes into the classroom, slamming the door behind him, and peeks out the little rectangular window. “I have to talk to you.”

“Now?” Harry scoffs, flipping the next card over. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but—” Louis pushes against the already closed door, visibly straining, and a jolt of panic hits Harry. He jumps up and runs to the door to help Louis keep it closed long enough to lock it, expecting to see something horrible through the window and finding Niall. “I think he knows, Harold. And he’s pissed.”

“Niall?” Harry steps back, and Louis grunts as Niall forces the door open. 

“Well, well, well,” Niall says, shoving Louis as he passes. He takes a seat on top of the nearest desk, and crosses his legs, cupping his linked hands around his knee. “Did you think that I wouldn’t find out? Did you think that I couldn’t sense it? Smell it?” Wrinkling his nose, Niall sniffs the air. He sticks out his tongue, then grimaces. “Taste it?” 

“What are you talking about?” Harry asks, crossing his arms. 

“I knew…” Niall looks from Harry to Louis and back again, and rolls his eyes. “I knew from your extended, repeated viewings of Dirty Dancing that you and Sam had broken up.” Waving a hand at the space between Harry and Louis, Niall continues, “But you two managed to keep… whatever this is awfully quiet.”

“This?” Harry squeaks out, clearing his throat to try again. “This is nothing.”

“Please. The sexual tension is off the charts!” Niall shouts, and Harry hurries to close the classroom door again. “A revolting, tangible, hormonal fog has been drifting back and forth between your two bedrooms. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Louis says, but his stupid mouth curls into a smug smile. 

“Ugh… You’re impossible, Louis!” Harry tugs on the hair at the nape of his neck, and sighs. “We kissed. One time. It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” Niall gets up, walking over to Harry’s desk and taking a seat behind it. “Doesn’t seem like nothing when Louis has hardly been home, and you’ve both been hiding in your rooms when you’re there. You’ve ruined the loft dynamic.”

“No we haven’t,” Harry says, following Niall in case he decides to do anything drastic. 

“We kind of have,” Louis admits with a shrug. 

“All for a kiss, hmm?” Niall leans back and kicks his feet up on Harry’s desk, knocking some of his cards to the floor. With an annoyed huff, Harry squats down to pick them up, only for Louis to do the same, and Niall says, “Aha!”

“‘Aha’ what?” Louis asks, standing and setting the collected cards on the desk. 

“I think he means that you helped me pick those up,” Harry says, and Niall nods. “That’s stupid, Niall. So what if Louis helped me? It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It certainly does. Because not only did he do that, but he drove all the way here to warn you that I was coming.”

“So?” 

“So, we can’t have that. Louis is my best friend, Harry. Mine. And no matter what, he will always be mine.”

“I’m not trying to steal Louis away,” Harry says with a surprised laugh. 

“Yeah? Then why did you kiss him?” Niall asks. 

“He’s the one who kissed me,” Harry insists, and though Louis scoffs quietly, he doesn’t argue the point. 

“Louis Tomlinson, what about the oath?” Niall asks, voice high and breathless. He clutches a hand to his chest, and says, “When Harry Styles signed the lease for apartment 1D, you and Liam and I took a No Nail oath, and you’ve broken it.”

“I didn’t break the oath,” Louis says. 

“Yes, you did,” Niall says, tapping his own pout. “You nailed Harry’s mouth.”

“No one nailed my mouth,” Harry says even as heat floods his cheeks. 

“Louis nailed your mouth, and now everything is weird, and I don’t like it,” Niall says, lowering his feet to the ground and leaning over the desk. “I tried to ask Louis about our annual Independence Day celebration, and do you know what he said?”

Harry offers what seems like a reasonable idea. “Did he ask why you, an Irishman, would want to celebrate an American holiday?” 

“No. We had that conversation in 2013.” Niall points to Louis, and says, “He asked me if you would be there.”

“Me?” Harry looks at Louis, but Louis simply shrugs. 

“And why would he ask such a question?” Niall asks, eyebrows climbing his forehead as he waits for an answer. 

“I… I don’t know?” 

“Because of this! This kiss. And I cannot have two of my roommates avoiding each other.” Niall stands, and lays a hand on each of their shoulders, making Harry cringe. “As I see it, the only solution is for me to nail Harry.”

“No!” Harry shouts, pushing Niall’s hand away. 

“You’re being ridiculous, Ni,” Louis says, brushing Niall’s hand off his shoulder. 

“Am I? Am I?” Niall pulls out his phone, and reads from the screen, “The apartment 1D No Nail oath: We, the undersigned, agree never to nail our roommate Harry Styles unless the sex can be parlayed into a business that provides for all parties involved.”

“What?” Harry shrieks. 

Louis holds his hands up, and says, “I didn't read the fine print.”

Niall clears his throat, and carries on reading, “If one of the undersigned nails said roommate, then all must nail him.”

“Let me be very clear here, Niall Horan,” Harry says, poking Niall in the chest. “No one is nailing or screwing or… or… or hammering me.”

“Ha!” Niall smiles and shakes his head, and says, “I don’t want to do this. But I also don’t want our home turning into a den of sexual tension and lies. Now, do you want things to go back to normal or not?”

“Yes,” Louis answers instantly. 

Harry glances at him, and says, “Yes, I do, but I—” 

“Then, I just have to kiss you. This is just one of those things…” Niall props his hands on his hips, and says, “We’ll do it, and then we move on. Easy as that.”

“This seems like a bad idea,” Harry protests weakly, leaning back as Niall steps closer to him. 

“I don’t know, Harold, it might help,” Louis says. 

“You know what?” Harry covers his mouth with his hand, licking his lips where no one can see because Louis is right that it makes the kiss better, then he says, “Okay, fine, just get over here and do it and do it fast.”

“I'll be a hero,” Niall says. 

“Bring it on.” Harry closes his eyes as Niall moves in for the kill and cradles his face. He licks across the seam of Harry’s lips, but that’s all Harry can take. 

Niall breaks the kiss, taking a big step back. “Nope. No.”

“Mistake,” Harry says, reaching for his water bottle, needing to rinse his mouth out. 

Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Niall says, “It really was a mistake. I think I made it worse.” 

“You did,” Harry says, nodding, then taking another swig of water. 

“That bad, huh?” Louis laughs. 

Harry and Niall both turn on him, and Harry says, “You know what you haven’t tried, Niall?”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Louis rushes out, tripping over his feet as he makes a break for the door. “No, Niall!”

“Oh, I’ll kiss you, Louis Tomlinson,” Niall promises as Louis wrenches open the door and runs away. He raises his voice and calls after him, “I’ll kiss you if it’s the last thing I do!”

“That was terrible,” Harry says, swallowing another gulp of water. 

“It was. And it wasn’t the technique or your lips or your breath or anything,” Niall says, rubbing his thumb over his chin. 

“Agreed. I think the two of us just aren’t meant to… do things like that.” Harry gathers his things, putting his cards back in the top drawer of his desk, ignoring the implications of his own words. “Want to get a drink?”

“Anywhere but Louis’ bar,” Niall says with a shiver. 

“Need some time to work up to that one?” Harry asks, leading Niall towards the door. 

“Gotta get him when he least expects it, so yeah,” Niall says, following him out. “Let’s go get tacos. I’ll buy.”

“Thanks, man,” Harry says, elbowing Niall as they walk outside. “I can't believe you guys made a No Nail oath. Like I couldn’t help but fuck one of you? Or all of you?”

“No. Louis, um…” Niall trails off, and when Harry turns to look at him, Niall clears his throat, and points at the parking lot. “Louis’ car is gone.”

“Oh… Okay. I mean, he did leave first, so…” Chewing on his lip as he walks to his car, Harry can’t help but think that’s not what Niall meant to say at all.

If Louis has his way, they’re never going to talk about the kiss. Every time Harry even thinks of bringing it up, Louis disappears.

Niall does all of the planning for the Independence Day Bash, as he calls it with capital letters and all. Planning a party always leads to spending money, whether it be on food, drinks, or decorations, and Harry doesn’t have anything to spend after he takes care of his bills, so Niall is more than welcome to handle it. Harry loves being back in a classroom, but teaching adults part-time doesn’t include retirement or health insurance, and it doesn’t pay what he was making at Hearst Middle School, or what he was bringing home in tips from the bar. 

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Harry says as he closes his bedroom door, shutting Zayn inside with him. 

“Of course, sunshine.” Zayn tousles Harry's curls, and tugs on the hem of his pajama top. “Not planning to wear this, are you?”

Harry rolls his eyes, and steps into his closet, behind the sliding door, watching Zayn in his mirror. “I’m excited to re-meet your lawyer.”

“It sounds so strange when you say it like that. He’s a lawyer, not my lawyer,” Zayn says, sitting on the edge of Harry's bed. He sighs dreamily, and Harry looks away, letting him have his moment. “He’s perfect, Harry. He wants everything that I want. Marriage, kids, a place outside the city…”

“Since when do you want to move out of LA?” Harry drops his pajamas on the floor, then peeks out to look at Zayn. 

“I don’t want to move, I just want to have options,” Zayn says, and Harry laughs. 

“You mean like a second home?” Harry pulls up his cut off jean shorts, and slips his feet into his flip flops. “Is your lawyer going to be your sugar daddy?”

“Maybe?” Zayn pouts and wrinkles his nose, but when Harry steps out of the closet, meeting his eyes, he says, “Given the way we met, we’ve talked a lot about what kind of commitment we want, and yeah… once we have kids, I’ll probably be a stay at home dad.”

“Once you have kids,” Harry repeats, closing his eyes. “You hardly know this guy and you’re planning on adopting with him?”

“Well, he’s interested in using a surrogate, but… yeah.”

“Don’t get in over your head,” Harry says, hoping whatever is between Zayn and Ezra fizzles quickly and quietly. Beginning a relationship would be one thing, but the way Zayn’s talked about it, it seems more like finding someone who ticks all the boxes, and jumping in with both feet while forgetting about the emotional aspect. Harry puts his t-shirt on, and smooths his hands over it, grinning at the Keith Haring art, and stepping out of the closet. 

“Nice,” Zayn says, raising his eyebrows. “Festive. On theme for Niall’s party.”

Looking down at his Safe Sex shirt, Harry says, “It is, isn’t it? Very Independence Day.”

“Hey, so… How are things with Louis?” Zayn asks, breaking the silent agreement not to discuss The Kiss that Harry hoped they were keeping. 

“Haven’t seen him,” Harry says with a sigh. “Unless you count the few seconds yesterday when we were both in the bathroom before he yelled that he needed to move his car and took off running.”

“He ran away?” Zayn laughs, and says, “I can’t believe he’s the last person you kissed.”

“I know…” Slowly, Harry raises one finger. “Actually, Niall’s the last person I kissed, so—”

“Wait. What?” 

“Yeah, it wasn’t a big deal. Louis was there, actually. It was in my classroom during office hours the other day.”

“What the hell is going on in this loft?” Zayn asks, shaking his head. 

“Ugh… Why can’t I stop thinking about his mouth on my mouth?” Harry sits on the bed beside him, rubbing his hands over his knees. “I wish I knew what Louis was thinking. Like… Why didn’t he just kiss me when we were stuck back here? Why’d he do it later? Does he want me? Is it, like, a sex thing? Does he like me?”

“I don’t know, babes. And I don’t think he’s going to give you any answers,” Zayn says, hooking his finger under Harry’s chin. “You know what you need? A new guy.”

Harry groans miserably. “I don't want a boyfriend right now.”

“Not a boyfriend. Just a guy. Someone to make out with, maybe hook up with, but most importantly, someone to take your mind off of Louis.”

“You’re right,” Harry says, standing up and patting his stomach, grinning down at the two men giving each other hand jobs on his shirt. “I need a man who can talk about his feelings, and I need a new mouth on my mouth to erase that mouth.”

“Then let’s get out of your bedroom,” Zayn says, hopping up off the bed. “I left Ezra out there and told him to mingle.”

“I hope Niall hasn’t pushed him off the balcony.”

“He knows I’d kill him,” Zayn says with a smirk.

They haven’t been in Harry’s room that long, but when they step out into the hall, there are a lot more people milling around the loft, giving Harry the perfect excuse to continue ignoring Louis for as long as Louis continues ignoring him. 

Liam’s standing in the kitchen with Lily, and a tall gorgeous man and a beautiful woman Harry’s never met, and while Zayn is busy telling Ezra how much he’s missed him when he was in Harry’s room, Harry wanders over to introduce himself to Liam’s friends. Maybe the tall guy with the blond shoulder length hair and the cleft chin is into men. 

“Liam, who are your friends?” Harry asks, extending a hand towards the woman. 

“Oh, um, Harry, this is Alicia,” Liam says as Harry shakes her hand. “And this is Jason.” Jason smiles, offering Harry his hand, and Harry gives him his best grin while firmly shaking his hand. 

“I’m Harry,” Harry says, holding onto Jason’s hand just a moment longer than necessary. “Another of Liam’s roommates. Welcome to our home.”

“I see you've met the traitor’s friends,” Louis says, stepping inside from the balcony. 

“Let it go, Louis,” Liam says, and though Harry wants to know what Louis is talking about, he’s not going to give him the satisfaction of asking. Instead, Harry fills a Solo cup with rosé while he listens to Liam and Louis bicker. 

“I won’t let it go, traitor.” Louis tips his beer back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and Harry decides that his wine will be better with frozen strawberries, so he turns around and squats down to dig the bag out of the freezer. “How could you bring firemen to our fourth party when you know—”

“Firefighters,” Harry corrects, standing back up and dropping a few berries into his wine. 

Louis rolls his eyes, and says, “My apologies, Alicia.”

Alicia grins, and lifts her beer, tilting it towards Louis. “Fireworks are illegal in LA county. It’s wildfire season.”

“Typically, possession comes with a fine, but since you’re Liam’s friend…” Jason trails off, and throws a wink at Harry, whose face warms almost instantly. 

“Fines are just permission for rich people to do whatever they want,” Louis complains, and while Harry agrees, he keeps it to himself. “I’ve never set anything on fire with a bottle rocket.”

“That you know of,” Liam adds, and Louis scowls at him, tossing his empty into the recycling bin, and snatching another beer from the ice bucket. “And there’s a lot more than bottle rockets in that box.”

“Shut up!” Louis slams his hand on the kitchen table, spins around, and for the first time in over a week, Harry watches him walk away, bum bouncing just a little as he stalks off. 

“Jorts,” Zayn whispers in his ear, and Harry jumps, almost spilling his wine. 

“I hate that word,” Harry says, sipping his wine and holding his free hand over his heart. 

“But you like looking at them.” Zayn nods in Louis’ direction, and Harry rolls his eyes, annoyed that he and Louis both chose to wear jean shorts today. Hitting just above his knees, Louis’ shorts are a good bit longer than Harry’s, but where Harry’s are loose, hanging off his hips like a well-worn pair that might’ve belonged to an old boyfriend, Louis’ are fitted and show off his thick thighs and ass. 

Ignoring Zayn’s comment, Harry says, “Zayn, these are Liam’s guests Jason and Alicia. They’re firefighters. Guys, this is my friend Zayn and his boyfriend Ezra.”

While everyone does the nice-to-meet-you dance, Harry watches Jason, paying special attention to the way he behaves towards Alicia. That’s all it takes for him to figure out that they aren’t together. It takes a little more for him to figure out that Jason’s into men, and then Harry doesn’t leave his side all night. They wind up sitting in the far corner of the dining room, Jason in the chair, Harry on the ottoman.

“Do you have to work out as, like, part of your job?” Harry asks, giving Jason’s bicep a squeeze. 

“There are fitness requirements, but I like to do my own thing. Nothing like a workout to really clear my mind, you know? It’s like meditation.” Jason grins, glancing at Harry's hand on his arm, and flexing, then he licks his lips and looks Harry up and down. “Do you work out for your job?”

Harry snorts and slaps his hand on his thigh. “No. No, I’m a teacher. I run, do yoga, pushups, and other stuff I can do at home. I have a kettlebell for doing squats and lunges.”

“A do-it-yourselfer?” Jason nods, biting his lower lip. “I can appreciate that.”

“Yeah, I’ve never really gotten into the whole gym thing, but I do like to exercise, so…”

“Hey, can I say something?” Jason asks, picking at the label on his beer bottle. 

Giving him an encouraging smile, Harry says, “Yeah, of course.”

Jason brushes his hand over Harry's arm. “I like you a lot.” 

“I like you, too,” Harry says, leaning a little closer, eyes trained on Jason’s lips. 

“I just… I knew I felt this way the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“Wow,” Harry whispers, shaking his head and smiling. “A man who can talk about his feelings. That’s what I want. Exactly what I want.”

“You—” Jason’s face crumples, and he says, “You make me—”

“Are you okay?” Harry asks as Jason lets loose a choked sob. 

He nods, clearing his throat, and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Gotta go drain the snake.”

Before Harry can say another word, Jason stands and walks away towards the bathroom, and Liam hurries over. 

“What happened?” Liam asks, eyes narrowed and accusing. 

“How well do you know him?” Harry asks with a nod at Jason’s disappearing back. 

“We’ve hung out a few times, why?”

“Is he sort of intense? Or is it just me?” 

“Oh, yeah, he’s intense. You heard him talking about his workouts. But he might be too much for you,” Liam says with a shrug. 

“No, I think it’s… it’s okay. I just wanted to be sure. I think he's going to ask me out, so…” Harry smiles, wrinkling his nose, and Liam gives him a thumbs up. 

“Just try to take it easy with him, okay?”

“Will do,” Harry says, giving Liam a quick salute as he backs away.