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Louis has been single for 369 days, and the last place he wants to be is at a wedding. But here he is. Smiling, laughing, chatting, pretending nothing is wrong. Because he’s a good friend. A good coworker. A good employee. Because this is his job, and he’s damn good at it. Even if he wasn’t good enough for Alex.A 20-something couple stumbles up to the bar, clearly already a bit tipsy but still cheerful and bubbly. She’s carrying her high heels in one hand, and his suit jacket has come off to drape around her shoulders – women’s dresses are always so much colder than men’s suits, it’s really not fair. Louis greets them with a professional smile and a nod. “What can I get you folks?” It takes them a minute or two of perusing the night’s menu to order, but Louis quickly sets to work mixing up their requests.The girl sighs happily as they wait, leaning against her date. “God, this is the best wedding I’ve ever been to,” she says. “Chrissy and Jordan are adorable together, don’t you think?”“The perfect couple,” the man agrees. “Couldn’t imagine a better match, honestly.” “They look very happy together,” Louis agrees, pushing the first drink across the bar, a glittery cocktail that’s named after some place the wedding couple had their first date. “I wish them just as much joy for many years to come.”“I mean, I don’t know what the next few years hold,” the man quips, “but judging by the way they’re looking at each other, I’d say tonight’s going to be plenty joyful at the very least.” The girl swats at her boyfriend, gasping in shock before dissolving into giggles, and Louis grits his teeth through a wave of nausea. He hopes his expression looks more like a grin than a grimace, but fortunately he’s not sure if these two would notice the difference. He pushes the second drink across the bar, and breathes a sigh of relief as they walk away a moment later. Fuck. Fucking fuckity fuck fuck. He lets himself sag, just for a second, his body wilting against the dark wood of the bar as his arms tremble to hold him up. His head hangs low as his eyes fall shut, and he bites down hard on his bottom lip, trying to push back the feelings and memories that are clamoring in the back of his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. “Hey Louis, how are you holding up?” The voice comes from behind him, and Louis nearly falls as he whips around, startled. “Sorry,” Liam says, looking sheepish. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” Louis waves a tired hand in Liam’s direction, brushing off the apology. “You’re fine,” he says. “Sorry, I wasn’t… I’m hanging in there.” The word barely hangs unspoken in the air between them. “I’ll be fine.”“Are you sure?” Liam asks. “It’s okay if you need to…” He trails off, but Louis can fill in the blanks. He shakes his head.“I’m fine,” he says again, as if saying it enough times might make it true. “I’m a professional, Liam. I can do this. Besides, I can’t just hide my head in the sand and abandon my whole career because one asshole broke my heart.” He won’t. Alex doesn’t get to take that too. He'd had to take a few weeks off initially, when everything was raw and every reminder sent him spiraling, but he'd been determined to come back, even then.Liam looks at him for another minute, then sighs. “Okay,” he says. “You know best, mate. But just… if you need anything, yeah? An extra break, an early night, a refreshment from the kitchen… just say the word.” Louis looks down at the bar, which looks slightly blurry through his suddenly damp eyes. “I know,” Louis says softly. “Thanks, man. You’re a good friend.” Louis allows himself five more seconds of wallowing as Liam walks away. He counts them down in his head, steady and methodical. Then when he hits zero, he pushes himself upright, spine ramrod straight as he swallows down the last remnants of emotion. His face is carefully blank as he loads up a tray of used glasses and slides them into the dishwasher, letting the rhythmic pulsing of the water soothe him back to calm. ~*~When the party has finally dispersed for the night, the last of the guests finally trickling out into the night, the empty hall is quiet. Zayn has shut down his audio equipment and is packing everything up for storage. Niall and Liam are collecting the last plates from the tables, the occasional clinking of cutlery loud in the stillness after the last few hours of music and voices. And Louis can’t move. He should help, he knows, that’s what he’s supposed to do, but all he can do is stand there and try to breathe. His arms are folded tightly in front of him, an ache in his chest threatening to claw its way up into his throat, every pulse of his heartbeat feeling like a kick in the stomach. He closes his eyes, counting his breaths in and out, in and out, the way his mother used to tell him when he was little, but he’s never been good at it. His focus scatters and his lungs catch and his head hurts and his heart hurts and it just hurts everything fucking hurts.  A soft hand on his shoulder pulls him back to the present, and he opens his eyes to see Harry standing in front of him, a look of gentle concern on his face. “Hey Lou,” Harry says. Louis nods. “Hi.” “Rough night?”Louis almost laughs, and also almost bursts into tears on the spot. “I think you could say that.”“Do you want to get out of here?” God, Louis wants that more than anything. He wants to be far, far away from this place that’s full of so many memories. He wants to leave behind all the sweetness and sappiness and romance and happily-ever-after bullshit. He wants to forget what it feels like to be in love.“We shouldn’t,” he says haltingly. “We should, like, help clean up and-”“Liam told me to take you home,” Harry says softly. “They can handle it tonight. We can cover for them another time.” He squeezes Louis’ arm gently. “We can stay if you really want to, but I don’t know that you’re in a state to be much help.” Louis nods miserably. He knows Harry is right. He knows he’s about six inches from collapsing into a ball of emotions on the floor. He knows that what he needs is to step away, let himself rest and reset and remember how to be a person. He hates it, but he knows. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.” Harry wraps an arm around Louis’ back as they make their way through the building to the parking lot. Louis isn’t so far gone that he needs help walking, not so out of it that he can’t find his way through a building he’s in almost every day, but Harry’s arm is warm and steadying so he lets it go. It’s nice to feel supported, taken care of, protected. The drive home is quiet. It’s late, the air cold with just a hint of frost, and the streets nearly deserted. Louis doesn’t have the energy to say much, and Harry doesn’t press him. But he doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence either, to ramble about nothing just for the sake of saying something. Louis appreciates that. He appreciates that they’re at the point of friendship where silence isn’t awkward or uncomfortable, isn’t an enemy, it’s just… cozy. They’ve known each other for decades, best friends since elementary school, the same social group in university, and now they’ve been working together almost every day for at least six or seven years, thanks to Liam’s harebrained idea that turned out to be a fantastic success. Running a wedding planning business can be crazy sometimes, can be stressful sometimes, but Louis can’t imagine anything he’d rather be doing – or four people he’d rather be doing it with. It doesn’t take long before Harry is pulling up outside Louis’ duplex. Louis stares out the windscreen at the single, bare bulb dangling from the porch, casting a limp, yellow ring of light. He thinks of the home within, quiet and cold and empty. He thinks of the bed, bought for two people and now just a little too big on his own. He glances at Harry, who looks back with a carefully bland expression. Louis swallows hard. It’s been a month since he needed this, since he’s asked it of Harry, but tonight… “I don’t want to be alone,” he whispers. Harry nods. “I figured,” he says. He turns the car off, unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing out. Louis struggles with his own seatbelt for a moment before the strap retracts, and before he can turn to the door it swings open in front of him. Harry holds out a hand, which Louis takes gratefully, letting Harry pull him up and out of the vehicle. Harry doesn’t let go of Louis’ hand as they walk up the front steps, Louis fumbling with the keys to let them both inside. The door swings open with a slight creak – for the millionth time, Louis makes a mental note to oil the hinges, knowing full well he’ll have forgotten by morning. Inside, the air is still and almost stale, heavy with silence. Thick curtains cover all the windows even at night, as if the house itself is in mourning. The rooms are nicely furnished, but there’s almost no decoration – the walls are bare, the mantel is empty, the couch has only the cushions it came with. Louis walks past it all, pausing at the end of the hallway where one door leads to the bedroom and the other to the bathroom. “Do you want to change first, or brush your teeth?”Harry hums thoughtfully. “I’ll take the bathroom,” he says. “I don’t think I peed all night; I’m bursting.”Louis laughs, letting go of Harry’s hand and stepping into the bedroom. He shuts the door behind him, shucking off his fancy work clothes and tossing them to the floor. He digs through his bedding for his nightshirt, giving it a quick sniff as he pulls it over his head, to make sure it doesn’t smell too much like old sweat and cheap beer. He pulls on some dark gray sweatpants, a bit too large for him but perfect for sleeping in. A quick peek out the door confirms that Harry is still brushing his teeth, so Louis turns back to the room. With a world-weary sigh, he picks up his discarded clothes, hanging them up to avoid wrinkling. The socks and shirt go in the laundry basket, but the pants and vest can be worn again. He grabs a few other items of laundry off the floor, making the barest effort at tidying up – it seems the polite thing to do. But then again, Harry’s seen him at his absolute fucking rock bottom worst, and still stuck by his side. A few empty chip bags and some dirty socks is nothing. He hears the water turn off, and a moment later Harry emerges from the bathroom, a few drops of water still hanging off his nose and chin. Harry nods as they trade places, Louis slipping into the bathroom as Harry shuts the door to the bedroom. Louis’ bathroom routine is cursory at best, brushing his teeth haphazardly and splashing water on his face before wiping it off with a towel. If he could pee at the same time as brushing, he would, but he’s learned that usually just results in a mess. When he’s finished, he runs a damp hand through his hair, gives himself a brief glance in the mirror, then heads back to the bedroom. Harry is already under the covers, dressed in an old T-shirt and some loose shorts. They’ve lived at Louis’ place for months now, a regular fixture, as regular as Harry. He has his own toothbrush in the bathroom, his own mug in the kitchen, his own spot on the couch. He’s a rock in Louis’ life, steady and reliable and always there, always keeping him grounded. Louis couldn’t be more grateful. He slips under the covers next to Harry, letting himself settle into the mattress. It’s warm and cozy, Harry’s body heat trapped beneath the sheets, and Louis sighs contentedly. “Thanks for warming things up for me.”Harry snorts. “No problem,” he says. “Your bed is comfy.”Louis turns his head to look at Harry. “Seriously, though,” he says. “Thank you. For… everything. For being here for me. For standing by me.”“Of course,” Harry says, shrugging. “Always.”Louis’ hand moves under the sheets, sliding to find Harry’s thigh. He runs his fingers across soft skin, and feels as much as hears Harry’s breath hitch. A smile plays across his face as he digs in his fingernails, just a little, relishing in the way Harry gasps with the sensation. A moment later, Harry’s hand is brushing across Louis’ stomach, dipping down to press against his groin, and it’s Louis’ turn to groan aloud at the touch. Louis rolls over, throwing one leg over Harry’s hips to straddle him. He slips his hands under Harry’s shirt, kneading against the skin. Harry shudders as Louis leans down, and when their mouths meet it’s wet and hot and filthy, all tongues and teeth and raw carnal need. As Harry sucks lovebites into Louis’ neck, Louis hopes that maybe one day those marks will cover the way he can still feel Alex’s handprints burned into his flesh.As Harry’s nails drag scratches along Louis’ back, Louis hopes that maybe one day the scabs on his heart will heal and drop away just like the scabs on his skin.As Harry fucks him down into the mattress, the bed shaking with every thrust, Louis hopes that maybe one day his mouth will forget the shape of Alex’s name, won’t trace it over and over as the heat builds inside him, won’t want to scream it when he comes. Maybe one day he’ll open his eyes, as he slowly floats down from his post-orgasm haze, and won’t expect to see Alex’s face smiling softly back at him. But today is not that day.~*~Louis wakes up alone. He opens his eyes slowly, stretching stiff muscles and aching joints to reluctant wakefulness. The faint scent of coffee reaches his nose, nudging his brain one step closer to functioning, and he sits up with a groan. The air is cold as he slides his bare legs out from under the covers. He grimaces, shuffling across the floor to his dresser to dig for some fuzzy socks, then roots through a pile to find a thick knit sweater, but he’s still shivering slightly as he steps out of the bedroom.Following his nose, the smell of coffee leads him to the kitchen (which makes sense), where he finds Harry wrapped in a woolen blanket, nursing a large mug and picking at a plate of toast. “Hey,” Louis says as he crosses to the coffee machine, where more liquid consciousness is waiting for him.Harry looks up. “Hey.”“Sleep well?”“Well enough.” Harry shrugs. “I love your blankets, man, but your mattress is too soft for me.” Louis snorts. “Rude.” “Just telling it like it is.” Harry gives a crooked smile. Louis shakes his head, focusing his attention instead on the coffee. Pouring a cup without spilling is hard before he’s had his coffee, which seems like a design flaw, but he makes it work. He adds a splash of milk, just enough to cool it down to drinkable temperature, then joins Harry at the table. Each sip makes Louis feel more like a human, the bitterness on his tongue, the warmth in his belly, the caffeine in his nostrils. His eyes start to feel more focused and his brain slowly powers up, and he reaches across the table to snag a slice of Harry’s toast. “Hey!” Harry protests, though there’s no real force behind it – nor any real surprise. “That’s mine.”“Wath yourth,” Louis corrects around a mouthful of toast. “Th’mine now.”Harry rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “You’re an ass.” “Yeah.” Louis shrugs. “But at least it’s a good ass.” Harry sighs. “Dumbass.” Louis takes another bite of toast, which crunches satisfyingly – it’s really not fair that Harry can even cook toast this well, when it’s just fucking toast. But it’s the perfect texture, the perfect crunch, the perfect amount of butter melted on top. It’s uncanny.“So,” he says, “got any plans for the day?”Harry shrugs. “Not much,” he says. “Probably going for a walk in the park, get some fresh air and exercise. Feed the birds – that counts as socializing, right?”“Sure,” Louis says, laughing. “You can be a bird if you want to.”“I want to.” Harry takes another sip of his coffee. “Then heading home to do some cleaning and stuff. Catch up on YouTube, mindlessly scroll social media, you know.”“A perfect Sunday afternoon,” Louis says, nodding. “I told Bebe I’d swing by this afternoon – she lives just past the park; mind if I tag along?” “Uh, sure,” Harry says, blinking. “We need to pick up some food, though.”“What, you hoarding all the toast for yourself?”Harry laughs. “Bread isn’t good for birds, Louis. Maybe we’ll grab some frozen peas or something. We’ll need to thaw it first, though; they don’t need their food to make them even colder this time of year.” Louis blinks. “I’ll take your word for it.”~*~The air is cold and crisp as they make their way down the sidewalk towards Farnsweather Park. It hasn’t snowed yet this season, but there’s a thin layer of frost coating the grass and making it sparkle and crunch underfoot. A bag of frozen corn from the grocery store is tucked inside Harry’s coat, growing warm against his chest. They walk in comfortable silence, neither feeling the need to fill the air with unnecessary words.Louis glances over at Harry, taking him in out of the corner of his eye. His head is ducked against the occasional gust of wind, a slight frown creasing his brow. There’s a weight to his shoulders, a sag, a tiredness. Louis feels a pang of guilt, wondering how much better Harry sleeps when he’s in his own bed, how much rest he sacrifices for Louis’ neediness. He shouldn’t rely so much on Harry, shouldn’t ask so much of him. He’s an adult for fuck’s sake, he should be able to sleep alone, without needing Harry like a stuffed animal. But he does. He needs him. Not every night, but on the bad days… he can’t sleep without him. He’s tried – lying awake for hours, his mind going in circles, retracing the worst moments of his life, or searching through the best memories trying to find the lies. He’s tried – waking from nightmares, over and over, screaming and sweaty and shaking. He’s tried to be okay. He’s getting there, he thinks. He’s been better, for a while. But this month… a month of holidays and birthdays and anniversaries…This month will suck. Louis lets out a long, slow breath, watching it condense in the air, billowing out in front of him. He slides his eyes back towards Harry, whose expression hasn’t changed, then down to the ground in front of them, watching their feet move in unison, left, right, left, right, left. When Harry stops, Louis almost trips, just barely catching himself from falling headlong into the pond. Already, birds are starting to flock towards them, a chorus of quacks and squawks rising up from them. Louis shakes his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they recognize you,” he says. “Or do they mob everyone who comes to the pond and beg for snacks?”“I don’t know,” Harry says, smiling as he pulls out the bag of corn. “Birds are smarter than most people give them credit for. I wouldn’t be surprised if they know me, especially with how often I come by.”“So what you’re saying is that this quacking is their way of saying, ‘Hey, hey, it’s the corn man, guys, the corn man is here.’”Harry laughs, ripping open the bag and pulling out a handful of yellow kernels. “Maybe,” he says. “I suppose there are worse things to be than a corn man.”Louis plops down on a bench, propping his chin on one hand as he watches Harry. “Hey Mr. Corn Man, corn me a man,” he quietly sings to himself. “Make him the corniest one that you can.” Harry throws him a lopsided grin as he tosses the kernels to the waiting army at his feet, which erupts into roiling motion. “I think you’re the corny one here,” he says. They lapse into silence again, the cacophony of the ducks and pigeons and who knows what else (Harry probably does) making it hard to hear anyways. Louis watches, instead. Harry’s feet are a swirl of feathers and beaks, and his face is lit up with a broad grin. He looks peaceful, contented – much more so than Louis would be, surrounded by that much hungry animal energy, but Harry is in his element. He chats to the birds between handfuls, complimenting this one’s plumage or that one’s manners, chiding another to slow down and not eat too fast. He treats them like friends, or like a grandma to neighborhood children, affectionate and doting. The birds are not quite as polite, however – if he’s too slow with a handful of food, they start pecking at his jeans instead, tugging the fabric demandingly. “Do you want to give them some?” Harry asks after a few minutes. The bag is already half-empty, but the flock around him has only grown. Louis swallows nervously. “Uh, sure?” he says, getting to his feet. “There’s no trick to it or anything, is there?”Harry laughs. “No, not really,” he says. “Corn will end up in birds. Pretty simple, really.”Louis wades through the crowd, moving carefully so as not to kick anyone. The birds part around him, but only a few fly off, most preferring to stay near the food – and near Harry. Louis reaches out to dip his fingers into the bag, dropping a few kernels as he pulls his hand free (to the raucous excitement of the closest birds). He looks for a clear space to toss, but quickly determines that no such thing exists, and elects to just throw the corn in a wide arc.“Nice,” Harry says, as the birds enthusiastically welcome Louis’ offer. “I think they like you.”“I think they like corn,” Louis corrects. “They must really trust you.”“I do this most weeks,” Harry says with a shrug. “We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well. A few of them will even eat out of my hand – I probably shouldn’t encourage it, but it’s so cute.” He pulls out a few more kernels, holding them flat in his palm before leaning down to offer them to the eager crowd. The response isn’t quite as instantaneous, the birds taking a moment to assess the situation or pluck up their courage or what have you, but after a few seconds a pair of ducks reach out to gobble up the offering. Harry chuckles, wiping his palm on his pants as he straightens. “They don’t have the most beak control,” he says, “so it can be a little painful if they peck too hard, but they’re harmless enough.” “They’re sweet,” Louis says, reaching for another handful and scattering it. “You really have a way with them.”It only takes a few more minutes before the bag runs dry, every kernel distributed and devoured. Harry turns the bag inside out, shaking it to show them there’s nothing left. “No more,” he says in a singsong voice. “All gone.” The birds squawk back at him, and Harry laughs. “I know, you always want more. Not today, but I’ll be back next week.” He waves his hands at them. “Off you go, back to your pond and your trees. I’ll see you next time.” Slowly, the mass of avian motion at their feet begins to disperse. A few stick around, milling hopefully around their feet just in case there might be one more scrap of food to be found, but enough head off to search for other sources that it’s easy to walk back to the bench and sit down. “They’re good creatures,” Harry says fondly as he watches them leave. “Even if they only love me for the food, they always make me feel… like a part of something more.”“Animals are awesome,” Louis agrees. He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I should get a pet. Could be good company; the apartment still feels so big and lonely sometimes.” Harry glances at him, then looks away. “How are you doing?” he asks.Louis shrugs one shoulder up and lets it fall back down. “Depends on the day,” he says. “Sometimes I think it’s getting easier with time. Other times I feel like it just happened yesterday.” He sighs. “God, I’m a mess.”“You went through some messy stuff,” Harry says. “There’s nothing wrong with needing some time to process, to grieve, to heal. What he did to you was fucked up.”“Yeah.” Louis swallows, running a hand through his hair with just a little too much force, nails scratching against his scalp just hard enough to feel something. “I guess all’s fair in love and war, or whatever.”“Love isn’t supposed to be the war,” Harry says. He bites his lip before continuing, “Have you considered talking to someone? Like, professionally, I mean.” “Like therapy?” Louis frowns. “I dunno, it just seems… silly. Boohoo, my boyfriend broke up with me – like, it happens to everyone.”“It’s more than that and you know it,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “The break up isn’t what left you like this. It’s the rest of it.”Louis’ mouth tastes like bile. “The part where he was cheating on me, you mean?” he says. “The part where he was sleeping with his photo models, using them, grooming them, telling them everything they wanted to hear for the chance to get his dick in their mouths? The part where everything I thought I knew about him was a lie? The part where I don’t know how to trust anyone anymore because they might be lying to me too?” Harry coughs. “Um. Yeah. All of that.” Louis sighs. “You’re probably right,” he says. Harry so often is. “I’ll think about it.” “Will you?” Harry looks skeptical. Which is fair, but still rude. “I’ll think about it,” he repeats. He probably won’t do it, if he’s being honest, but at least thinking about it deserves partial credit, doesn’t it? Harry runs his hands along his legs, shifting his seat on the bench. “I just worry about you, you know?” he says. “I hate seeing how much pain you’re in. I wish… I wish I could fix it.” Nausea swirls in Louis’ stomach. Fuck. It’s bad enough that he’s still this much of a pathetic mess after a goddamn year, but to know that it’s hurting Harry is somehow even worse. “I’m sorry,” he says, his throat tight. “I’m trying. It’s just… hard.” “You don’t need to apologize, Louis,” Harry says softly. “I get it. And I’ll be here for you, whatever you need. No matter what.”Louis swallows hard around a lump in his throat, tears pricking at his eyes. “Thanks,” he says. “I don’t know what I’d do without you as a friend.” Harry gives him a gentle smile, though there’s still a sadness in his eyes. “You’ll never have to find out.”~*~“You know, we could have these sorts of events in a location where we don’t spend virtually every day of our lives,” Niall says. His head is propped up on one hand, eyes sagging half-shut. “We could have our holiday party at like a restaurant, or a club – even see people who aren’t people we see almost every day of our lives.” “We don’t like other people,” Zayn points out, taking a sip of his tequila sunrise. “And if we go somewhere else, the booze costs money,” Louis agrees. “It still costs money,” Liam says, rolling his eyes. “Just because the company is paying-”“The company gets a much better price for the bottle than we’d get for the glass,” Harry says, chuckling. “Especially for this fancy, top shelf stuff.” “Amen,” Louis says, lifting his vodka sour. “Does it taste any different? Absolutely not, but I feel way cooler drinking it.”Niall snorts. “And yet, you’re still exactly as much of a lame-ass dork as the rest of us,” he says. “Damn right I am,” Louis says. “LADs for life.” “I’m just saying,” Niall says, “there’s other reasons for going out, you know? Music, dancing, hot people…”“Because none of those are present at our regular jobs either,” Zayn quips.“Listen, mate, if there’s no music or dancing at our jobs, that’s your problem.” Niall gives Zayn a broad grin. “But like. We’re all single, attractive men. We should see what we can catch at the clubs sometime.”Louis’ throat tightens. He feels Harry’s eyes lock onto his before pulling away. “What, like chlamydia?” he asks. “I try to avoid catching that at clubs if I can avoid it.”Niall rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying-”“Niall.” Louis’ jaw is clenched. “Don’t.” Silence hangs in the air for a moment, the air thick with tension. Louis can feel their eyes on him, feel their concern. He can feel the empty platitudes and meaningless consolations forming on their tongue, each one making his stomach turn. But some divine entity must be looking out for Louis for once, because before anyone can say anything, his phone buzzes, and he shoots to his feet. “Pizzas are here,” he calls over his shoulder, already halfway out of the room. “Be right back.” He speedwalks through the building to the front doors, his eyes blurring but his feet steady – he could navigate this building drunk in the dark, he knows it so well. At the entrance, he gratefully takes the stack pizzas from the delivery driver, giving him a generous tip (after all, the company is paying). When he shuts the door and turns around, he’s startled to see Niall standing just a few feet away. He jumps, almost dropping the pizzas before regaining his grip. “Fucking hell, man, don’t sneak up on me like that.” “Sorry,” Niall says, looking genuinely contrite. “Do you need a hand with those?” He doesn’t, really, but Niall is here, so he lets him take two of the four boxes. They walk in silence for a minute, making their way back towards the group, before Niall speaks again. “I’m sorry for the other thing too,” he says. “I shouldn’t have pushed. It’s not my business.” Louis sighs, letting his feet slow. “You’re my friend, Niall,” he says, leaning against the wall. “You butting into my business kind of comes with the territory. And I know you just want the best for me. But I just… I’m not there yet.”“I hear you,” Niall says, stopping alongside him. “I just wish… I hate seeing you like this.”Louis laughs, though there’s no mirth in it. “Trust me, I hate feeling like this,” he says. “But I can’t just – putting my heart in the hands of a stranger feels terrifying. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”“Doesn’t have to be your heart,” Niall says with a soft sidelong grin. “Could just be your body.” Louis shakes his head, though he can’t hold back a smile of his own. “Even if it’s just sex, you still have to trust them,” he says. “To take care of you. To not hurt you. And trust is… not easy for me, right now.” Niall grimaces. “Yeah, that’s fair.” “Besides,” Louis says, “I’m not really the random hookup kind of guy. I want to connect with people. I want to know them. But… I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about something I’m not ready to give.” He swallows. “About something I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give again.”Niall frowns, protesting, “I’m sure you-”“Don’t,” Louis says sharply. “I’m not looking for comfort or sympathy. It’s just honest. I’m fucked up, Niall. I’m a shitshow. What Alex did messed with my head, and I’m still trying to sort out how to be a person again.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You know me. I’m a romantic. I love the happily ever after; that’s why we’re in this job. Growing up, I always dreamed about falling in love with the perfect guy, having the perfect wedding, building the perfect life together. I want that so much it hurts. And now, at the same time… I’m scared shitless of it.” He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. “So no, I don’t want to date. I don’t want to hook up. I don’t want to look at someone and wonder if they could be the one – even thinking about it makes me want to throw up.” He swallows. “Because for three years of my life, I thought that was Alex.” ~*~Niall and Louis rejoin the group a few minutes later, smiling and arguing as though nothing had happened. They bicker over whether vegetables belong on pizza, whether fruits belong on pizza, whether olives are a fruit or a vegetable. Then Harry pipes up with the fact that mushrooms are more genetically similar to humans than plants, and Liam asks if that means that eating mushrooms is cannibalism, and Zayn asks if human meat would be good on pizza.It’s comfortable. It’s familiar. It’s easy. Louis relaxes into the laughter and the chaos, into the feeling of being surrounded by his best friends. It’s all he could ask for. “Merry Christmas, fuckers,” he says, when there’s a moment of quiet in the conversation. “I love you guys.” “Seconded,” Liam says, lifting his glass. “A toast, to the best friends a fellow could ask for.”“To a great year of stupid antics behind us,” Zayn adds.Niall laughs. “And another year of even stupider antics to come.”Harry smiles, looking around at them all. “We’ve got a pretty good thing going,” he says. “I’m glad to have you in my life.” It’s a feeling that Louis couldn’t agree with more, a feeling that keeps rattling around in his head and his heart over the next hour or two, as the evening winds down and they all wish each other good night. He’s glad to have these four idiots in his life. And he can’t wait to see what comes next. As he sits in the passenger seat next to Harry on the drive home, he finds himself thinking about what the year ahead of them might hold. They’ve got plenty of weddings booked already, so business should be booming at the very least, but there’s plenty of other areas that are a total blank. Last year, trying to look ahead at the future had felt like staring into a snowstorm, a swirl of treacherous uncertainty. He’d felt lost, completely adrift, with no idea where he was going and struggling to put one foot in front of the other. Everything he’d imagined for this year had been shattered on the ground, and he’d had to rebuild himself from the broken pieces. It’s still a work in progress, but he does feel like he’s making progress. He hopes the new year will bring more progress, more healing and more peace.It feels like only seconds have passed when Harry pulls up in front of Louis’ house, putting the car into park. Louis unbuckles his seatbelt, but he doesn’t get out of the car, not just yet. He will, in a minute, but he wants a few more minutes of comfortable companionship first. “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. Harry chuckles. “You say that like we haven’t done this half a dozen times,” he says. “I figure if we hit the road around nine, we should arrive by sundown, so no driving in the dark. Thankfully it’s a Sunday, so there shouldn’t be much traffic, and the weather forecast is looking good.” “Mmm,” Louis says. “Think we’ll get a white Christmas?”“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Harry says, chuckling, “but we can always dream. As long as the roads are clear when we need them, I wouldn’t mind some festive snow.” Louis nods. “Fair enough,” he says. He pauses for a moment. “This week is going to be… interesting.”“Good interesting or bad interesting?”Louis snorts. “Guess we’ll find out,” he says. “Better than last year, I presume, but that’s not a high bar.”Harry winces, not saying anything. Louis swallows. “Anyways, whatever happens, I’m glad you’ll be there with me,” he says. “Not just for like. Sad shit. The good stuff too. I like traveling with you. I like going home with you. I like celebrating with you.” He smiles. “You’re like a part of the family.” Harry snorts. “That’s sweet, but a little weird, Lou.”Louis feels his neck flush. “Oh shut up,” he says, swatting weakly at him. “You know what I mean. I love you, man. I know you’ve always got my back, and I’m grateful to always have you in my life.” “Thanks,” Harry says, smiling as he shakes his head. “Same to you. Now please go to bed.” Louis laughs. “Rude but fair,” he says. He opens the car door, stepping out into the chilly night. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.” “See ya tomorrow, Lou.”~*~Louis is pulled from sleep by pounding on his door. He flails his way out of the blankets, almost falling out of bed, and stumbles down the hall to the door. When he yanks it open, he sees Harry standing outside, a bright smile on his face.“Good morning, Louis!”Louis blinks. Did he oversleep? He checks his watch — 7:56am. “I thought you said you were coming over at 9.”“I said we were leaving at 9,” Harry corrects. “But I know you, and I know that you wouldn’t be out of bed for another twenty minutes if I didn’t drag you.” Louis frowns, but given that his alarm is indeed set for 8:30, he can’t really say Harry is wrong. “I don’t need to be up for that long,” he says instead. “Just enough time to throw on pants and piss.” “Mhm,” Harry says. “Do you want to explain to your mother that you didn’t have breakfast before we hit the road? Because I don’t.”“Then don’t tell her.” Louis’ mouth stretches into a wide yawn, and he shakes his head. “Whatever, come in, make yourself comfortable or whatever.”“I will, thank you.” Harry’s grin hasn’t budged an inch, and if anything has gotten wider. “Go do your pissing and pantsing; when you get back I’ll have eggs on.” “I’ll pants you,” Louis grumbles, but he’s too tired to do anything else but obey, trudging back down the hallway to the bathroom. As he pulls his nightshirt over his head, he wrinkles nose at the smell of old sweat. He could get away with a washcloth and some deodorant, but since he’s got an extra half hour anyways…Ten minutes later, he steps out of the shower feeling like a different man. He towels off briskly, already salivating at the delicious aromas floating down the hallway – Harry must have found a pack of bacon as well. He crosses the hallway to his room and digs around in his drawers for a minute, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt – no sense being fancy to sit in a car all day, might as well be comfy. He heads down to the kitchen, where Harry looks up from the stove to give him a warm smile. “That’s more like it,” he says. “Are you packed?”Louis raises an eyebrow. “Packed?” “Yes, Louis, packed,” Harry says, pointing his spatula at him. “It’s a verb referring to the act of gathering belongings to take on a trip, usually in a suitcase or another kind of bag-”“I know what packed means, Harold,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “Why would I waste time packing; there’s plenty of my old stuff at Mum’s.” “Because you said that last year, and then spent the whole visit complaining that it was all too small or too scratchy or had holes in it.”Louis bites his lip. “Touché,” he grumbles after a moment, and turns to trudge back to his room. He digs a duffel bag out from under his bed, throwing in a few t-shirts, a pair of jeans, and a rough handful each of socks and underwear. For a moment, he ponders if it’ll be enough for both their stay at his home and at Harry’s, but then he shrugs and gets to his feet. He can do laundry if needed. And besides, even Harry’s outgrown clothes fit him fine. Plus his sweaters are way cozier. He carries the bag back to the kitchen just as Harry is sliding the eggs out of the pan and onto a pair of plates, already laden with bacon and toast. Louis’ stomach makes a loud rumble at the smell, and Harry laughs. “Told you breakfast was a good idea.”~*~Louis’ favorite part of coming home is always Jay’s smile. As soon as the door opens, even before she’s folded him into the tightest hug known to man, her smile reminds him that he’s safe, he’s protected, he’s loved. He buries his face in her hair, the faint smell of lavender shampoo taking him back to childhood – it was always her favorite scent, in dish soap or laundry detergent or anything else. As he steps back to let Jay give Harry a similarly enthusiastic greeting, the lavender in his nose is replaced with the smells wafting in from the kitchen – roasting meats, baking breads, and something chocolatey running underneath. His mouth is already watering, and suddenly as glad as he is to see his mother, he can’t wait to run upstairs and drop off his things so he can taste whatever’s cooking. But then another head pokes out from the kitchen, and a fresh grin spreads across his face as Lottie steps into the entryway. While he’s hugging her (or putting her in a brotherly headlock, same thing), he feels someone slam into his back, followed a moment later by another slam. He laughs, not even having to turn his head to know that Daisy and Phoebe have burst out from somewhere and wrapped their arms around him. When he does crane his head around, he sees Fizzy leaning against a doorway, smiling at him. “Good to see you, big bro.”“Good to see you, small fry. What, are you at the age where you’re too cool to give hugs?”Fizzy laughs. “I think you’re a little over-subscribed at the moment,” she says. “I’ll take my turn in a minute. Maybe I’ll give Harry a hug in the meantime. He’s cuter than you anyways.” “Fizz, that’s just weird,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “He’s six years older than you, has known you since you were in diapers, and is decidedly not interested in women.”“You’re just weird.”“Damn right I am.” Jay laughs. “Barely in the door and you lot are already squabbling,” she says. “That’s sibling love, I suppose.” Louis smiles as he musses Daisy and Phoebe’s hair, making them squeal and bat at his hands. It’s so easy to fall back into comfortable teasing and bickering, to feel like he’s been away for minutes rather than months, to slide back in time and forget that he’s grown up now – and so are they; Lottie and Fizzy are of age, and even the twins are in high school now, bright young women full of spunk and sass (he likes to think that part is his influence). The hugs and teasing and greetings go on for a few more minutes, but eventually Jay shoos Louis’ siblings away, sending Louis and Harry upstairs to drop off their things. It’s quiet as they step into Louis’ childhood bedroom. The space feels smaller now than it used to, but it’s cozy rather than cramped, still frozen in time from when he moved away almost a decade ago. Some things have left with him, a few others have found themselves stored here or preserved as mementos (Louis knows there’s a drawer full of photos and newspaper clippings and the like somewhere, though he can’t remember which drawer), but for the most part it hasn’t changed. It still reminds him of who he used to be, and he can’t help but smile fondly at the memory of that exuberant little fellow, with more energy than he knew what to do with but the determination and drive to make it work for him anyways. This is the first time they’ve been here together since last Christmas. Louis visited a couple of times on his own – back in March for Jay and the twins’ birthday, and again in August for Lottie and Fizzy’s – but Harry didn’t come along; Louis just took the bus. As they set their bags down, Louis finds himself glancing at the twin bed, a bed they’d been sharing for sleepovers since they were little. It’s a little squished now, especially compared to the queen he has in his apartment, but they make it work. They’ve never minded cuddling up.But last Christmas was different. Last Christmas, Louis was a wreck. Last Christmas, Louis was still crying himself to sleep every night, unable to stop his mind from spiraling any time he lay down in the dark and silence. Which was fine when he was on his own – well, fine was a strong word, but it was… manageable, at least – but it was utterly mortifying when there was another person lying just inches away from him. He tried to muffle his tears as well as he could, but Harry had always been the person who knew him best, and trying to hide anything from him was as good as useless. Harry hadn’t said anything, though, hadn’t judged or questioned or tried to tell him it would be okay when Louis was utterly certain nothing would ever be okay again. Harry had simply held him through all of it, warm and steady and gentle, just… being there. A familiar, reliable, comforting presence. Alex had been that once, or had seemed to be, until Louis discovered that familiar was a disguise for deceptive, reliable for unfaithful, comforting for agonizing. Even if Louis could have hidden the tears, there was no way to conceal the nightmares. The second night, after Louis had finally managed to fall into uneasy, exhausted sleep, he awoke choking on a scream trapped in the back of his throat. He lay gasping and shaking, barely even aware of where he was, struggling to remember what was real and what wasn’t, when he felt a soft hand wrap around his. Blindly, he turned towards it, reaching for the only solid thing he knew to hold onto, the only thing he was certain of in that moment. He barely knew what he was doing as he buried his fingers in Harry’s hair, pulling him into a bruising kiss. He felt Harry’s sharp intake of breath, felt the way Harry’s lips molded to his, felt Harry’s hands tighten on his skin. And then he felt Harry pull away. And reality came crashing back in. “Fuck,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed his chin to his chest. “I’m sorry, fuck, I don’t know why I did that.” “It’s okay,” Harry whispered. “It’s okay, Louis, I understand, I’m not upset. I just… don’t want to take advantage of you when you’re like this.”“I shouldn’t have done that,” Louis said, his stomach twisting. “I just wanted to feel something, feel good, and you make me feel good, and I guess I just thought – I’m sorry, it was stupid, please forget this ever-““Louis,” Harry said, his voice cutting Louis’ rambling off. “It’s okay. I get it. I don’t mind.” Louis’ mind whirred slowly, gripping onto Harry’s words like he’s sounding them out. “You don’t mind like you’re not mad?” he asked after a moment. “Or you don’t mind like… you’d be okay with it?”Harry was silent for a long moment. Louis couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t tell how much time was passing except that it felt endless and aching and agonizing and-“Both?” Harry said after somewhere between ten seconds and ten hours. “I don’t – I’m not – what are you looking for here?”“I just want to forget,” Louis whispered, his voice cracking. “For a few minutes, I want to not be in pain. I want to feel something good. I want to sleep without dreams and wake up not feeling like I was crying all night.”“Just sex,” Harry said.“Just sex,” Louis agreed. “You’re my best friend, Harry, you mean the world to me, and that’ll never change.” Harry’s eyes closed, just for a moment, and when they opened again he nodded, just once. “Okay,” he said. “What do you-”Louis’ lips were on his in an instant, his whole body arching to press as much of himself against Harry as possible. Harry tensed momentarily, but as he relaxed, his mouth pressed against Louis’ with a desperate hunger. His hands fisted in Louis’ pajama shirt, nails scraping against his back, and Louis gasped as a shiver rippled through his body. He rolled his hips, reveling in the delicious brush of friction, and heard a groan force its way out of Harry’s mouth. He wanted to hear it again. Throwing propriety or patience to the winds, Louis shoved a hand down the front of Harry’s pants, his fingers wrapping around Harry’s thickening cock. Harry moaned again into Louis’ mouth, and Louis swallowed the sound down with a grin. They didn’t last long that night, a combination of fast-moving fingers and good old-fashioned teenage grinding sending them spilling into their pants in a matter of minutes. It wasn’t fancy, wasn’t romantic, wasn’t sensual. But it felt good. It felt simple, felt free. And it left Louis’ brain quiet and calm, to the point where he fell asleep in minutes and didn’t remember another thing until he woke up the next morning, his pants slightly sticky but his eyes clear and dry. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. At least, that’s what Louis had thought. But a couple weeks later, after Louis' first wedding back at work since the breakup, Louis had been a mess. Harry had driven him home, helped him inside, tucked him into bed. But as he turned to leave, Louis had reached for his wrist. “Don’t go,” he whispered, his eyes shut tight with shame at what he was begging for – what he was craving. “Please.” Harry could have walked away. But he didn’t. And so one time turned into another time turned into after almost every wedding. Over time, things had gotten easier, for the most part. Louis had stopped needing Harry every time, asking him to stay only when things were really bad, when the memories were the fiercest and he needed him the most. He had good days and bad days, good months and bad months. It wasn’t consistent, which could be frustrating at times when Louis felt like he wasn’t making progress at all, but Harry always reminded him that healing wasn’t linear.  And Harry stayed every time Louis asked. ~*~As Louis descends the stairs, he can see into the living room where everyone seems to have gathered. Harry is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, letting Phoebe and Daisy make tiny braids in his hair, and he seems to be deeply immersed in conversation with Lottie about… Louis can’t hear all the words, but Harry says something about contouring and Lottie replies with something about bronzer.Louis can’t help but smile. He loves how easily Harry slots into his family, how he might as well be one of them. He belongs in this home, belongs in their holidays. He just fits. As Louis reaches the bottom of the stairs, a loose board creaks under his foot. Harry’s head twists to look at him, a bright smile lighting up his face. “Hey.” “Hey yourself,” Louis says, leaning against the doorframe. “I see my sisters have got you exactly where they want you already.”Harry laughs. “Joke’s on them,” he says. “I’m exactly where I want to be too.” Louis can’t help but agree. Before he can throw himself into the chaos, teasing and poking and laughing along with the rest of them, he feels a soft hand on his shoulder. He turns to see Jay standing beside him, her eyes dancing as she watches the group.“Can you come help me with dinner?” she asks after a moment. “I could use a hand with a few things.”“Of course,” Louis says immediately, turning to follow her. “What do you need?” Back in the kitchen, she sets him to work mashing potatoes as she stirs a pot of chocolate pudding. For a minute or two, there’s no sound but the scrape of her whisk against the metal pan and the soft squelching of his masher. It’s comfortable, almost nostalgic, reminding him of so many after school evenings. He would always scramble through his homework, half-assed and usually only half-correct, vastly preferring the hands-on work of the kitchen to the drudgery of math problems. His sisters would sit around the kitchen table as they worked, and Jay would set him to chopping this or mixing that or washing up. “You look happy,” Jay comments after a bit. Louis starts, looking up for a moment before returning his attention to the potatoes. “I am,” he says. “It’s always nice to come home.” “I’m glad,” Jay says. “And I’m always glad to have you home.” She reaches over to ruffle his hair before resuming her whisking. “But I meant more than that. It’s good to see you smile again.” Of course, those words put an ironic lump in Louis’ throat, but he swallows around it as he adds a dollop of butter to the potatoes, letting it melt into their mountains and valleys. “It’s been a challenging year,” he says. “I’m still… there’s still a ways to go, to get back to normal. But I’m a lot better than I was.” “‘Back to normal’ doesn’t have to be the goal,” Jay reminds him. “You create your own normal. You don’t have to be who you were before. As long as you’re happy, here, now – that’s all that matters. Whatever that looks like.” Louis nods, still not looking up. “Getting there,” he says softly.He knows it’s been hard for her. He spent most of last Christmas either crying or on the verge of tears, and he knows she hated seeing him like that. He knows she would have given anything to take that pain away. He knows she worried over the months that followed, being so far away and so powerless to help. “Time,” Jay says softly. “Time heals, eventually. I’ve seen it every time. But time takes its time.”He nods again. “I know.”They work in silence for another minute. Louis finishes with the potatoes, and sets to pouring the gravy into a pitcher. “And Harry?” Jay asks. “How is he?”Louis blinks, unsure what she’s asking. “He’s… yeah, he’s all right. Keeping busy with work; we all are. Honestly, I never expected to get so much demand – not that I’m complaining, of course, just… flattered.”Jay chuckles. “I meant how is Harry with you?”“Oh.” Louis is still not sure what she means, but he shrugs. “He’s… I mean he’s seen me at my worst and still keeps coming back for more.” He chuckles dryly. “I’ve leaned on him pretty heavily, but he never complains. I owe him a lot.”“He’s good for you.”It’s not a question, and Louis doesn’t disagree. He pauses in his movements for a moment, just holding the pitcher and feeling its warmth in his palms. “He’s wonderful,” he says. “I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s the best friend I could have ever asked for.”“I’m glad,” Jay says, smiling. “You deserve someone who’s soft to you, darling.” ~*~They head out Christmas Eve. The afternoon is full of festive family fun, board games and birthday gifts and karaoke Christmas carols. Dinner is a pasta masterpiece from Jay, followed up by ice cream cake, and Louis almost tears up as everyone sings Happy Birthday, looking around to see the joy and love in each person’s eyes. But when the cake is all eaten, the last song sung, the presents packed up, Louis and Harry pile back into his car and drive off into the night. Harry’s mother had moved to the outskirts of town after her kids grew up and moved out, trading in a big family home just down the street from a school for a small lakeside cottage with a huge garden. It’s not a far drive, only an hour or so especially with the roads deserted so late at night, and they let the radio croon holiday hits at them as they cover the distance. This time, Harry is the first one through the door, and Louis lingers on the threshold as he watches Anne and Gemma wrap him in hugs and pepper him with questions, neither one leaving so much as a moment for him to answer. Louis can’t help smiling as he watches Harry being showered in all the love he so deserves. After a few minutes, Anne turns that love on him, and Louis feels his heart warm with it. Anne has always been almost another mother to him – goodness knows he spent enough time under her roof, staying over at least a night or two almost every month. She kisses his cheek and asks if he’s been eating and musses his hair, and it’s like coming home again but with fewer siblings. Gemma keeps a bit more distance from Louis, giving him a curt nod in place of a hug, but he doesn’t have a chance to think anything of it before Anne is ushering them into the kitchen, offering them hot cocoa and fresh baked cookies. They sit around the kitchen table, drinking and snacking as Anne quizzes them on their work and their drive and their friends. Louis tells her about how Fizzy is enjoying university and what Lottie is doing since graduation, and Harry recounts a story about some ducks fighting over a prized spot on a fountain statue. In return, Gemma shares an elaborate roast of one of her least competent coworkers, and Anne tells them about some of the new plants she's planning for her garden come spring.Before long, however, they find themselves yawning, the late hour slowly coming to bear, and Anne shoos them upstairs to their beds. She only has one guest room, but there are two double beds, so Gemma takes the one on the right and Louis and Harry settle in on the left. Louis is exhausted, from family and emotions and travel, but somehow he can’t fall asleep. After a while of listening to Harry’s steady, rhythmic breathing while he can only toss and turn, he slips out of bed, wandering over to the window to look out at the night. He can see the lake out the window, frozen over in some spots along the edges, but with patches of dark, black emptiness where the water still laps against the ice. He shivers, looking away.He turns his attention instead to a corkboard beside the window, covered in old photos and concert tickets and memorabilia. There’s pictures of Harry and Gemma, both together and separately, with their parents or school friends and a few people Louis doesn’t recognize. He reaches for one particular photo near the top – Harry can’t be more than ten or so, giving the camera a wide grin in spite of a missing tooth. And beside him, arms wrapped tight around each other, is a young Louis. Louis smiles, reminiscing. They’re both wearing soccer uniforms and covered in mud – it had rained the previous day, Louis remembers, leaving the field slick and full of puddles. But it had been their first win of the season, and they had reveled in it. Their mothers had treated them to ice cream, and they’d felt like the champions of the world.“Lou?” The murmur startles him out of his reverie, and he turns to see Harry half-sitting up in bed, squinting in his direction. “Whatcha doin’?”Louis moves back towards the bed. “Sorry,” he says. “Couldn’t sleep. Was just taking a trip down memory lane.” “Hmmmn,” Harry says eloquently. “Come back to bed. ‘S cold.” He reaches out for Louis, and Louis is powerless to disobey. He slips back under the covers, pressing his chilly toes against Harry’s calf and making him squeak. But within moments, Harry is curled in against Louis’ chest, out like a light. He looks so peaceful, feels warm and soft and comforting. Louis smiles, his own eyes slipping shut as he follows Harry into slumber. ~*~Louis wakes up to morning sun streaming in the window and the sound of someone shuffling around the room. His bed is empty, so he expects to see Harry when he lifts his head, but instead he finds Gemma digging through her suitcase, muttering to herself. “Mornin’, Gem,” he murmurs, his mouth not fully awake yet. “Merr’ Crimmas.”Gemma pauses in her digging, glancing over at him before looking away again. “Hello, Louis.”Her voice is flat and neutral, completely devoid of emotion. Louis frowns. They’ve never been close, exactly, but she was usually at least… friendly? Now she sounds cordial at best, like she’s barely tolerating his presence. But before he can even consider asking her what’s going on, she’s gone, and he’s left alone with his thoughts. He sighs, pulling himself out of bed and heading downstairs to find the others. Anne is in the kitchen, nursing a mug of coffee. She starts to get up to pour Louis one as he enters, but he waves her back to her seat. “I know your coffee machine almost as well as I know mine,” he says, laughing as he pours his own cup. “Merry Christmas, Anne.”“Merry Christmas, darling,” she agrees, smiling. “I figure we’ll hand around some presents after everyone’s finished breakfast?”“Sounds good,” Louis says, taking a sip of his drink. “I think Gemma’s up, will probably be downstairs soon.”“Good, good,” Anne says, nodding. “Harry’s out back in the garden. I’m not sure why in this weather, but he did always like the cool air.”Louis nods. “He runs warm,” he agrees. “I always have cold hands, but I can always warm them up from him.”Anne laughs. “Well, if you join him, let him know I’m thinking of making pancakes.”“Will do,” Louis says, heading towards the door. “Sounds delicious.”Harry is indeed outside, sitting on a small metal bench near the back gate. He’s staring out at the lake, watching the windswept water, and he almost doesn’t notice when Louis sits down next to him, making him start. “Sorry,” Louis says. “It’s beautiful out here.”“Mmmm.” Harry makes a noise of agreement. “I do love it.”“Your mother has good taste,” Louis says with a chuckle.“I’ll tell her you said that.”“Please do.” Louis shifts in his seat. “Actually, on that note, I was wondering – Gemma seems a bit out of sorts with me.”Harry glances over at him, then away. “Is she?”“I mean, I could just be reading into it,” he says. “But she just feels… curt. Like I’ve done something to annoy her.”Harry sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll talk to her.”“No, it’s fine,” Louis says. “I’m not, like, offended, I just – have I done something? I don’t mean to irritate her.”“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Harry says. “I think she’s just… protective.”“Protective?”“Well, you’re an older brother too,” Harry points out. “You know how it is. And we’re… whatever we are. I've tried to explain, but, well." He shrugs. "So she’s just… she doesn’t want me to get hurt.”Oh. Ah. Yeah, that’s fair.“Well, fortunately for Gemma – and for my continued survival at her hands – I also don’t want you to get hurt,” Louis says. Harry laughs softly. “I know,” he says. “It’s not – I don’t know. She’ll get over it. I hope.” He coughs. “The sunrise is beautiful over the lake.”Louis squawks. “You were up for sunrise?” he asks. “It’s Christmas, have you ever heard of sleeping in?”“That’s what naps are for.” Louis just stares at him. “I do not understand you.”~*~It’s Friday, January 6th. It’s Friday, January 6th and Louis wants to die. It’s Friday, January 6th and Louis wants to die and they have a fucking wedding which makes Louis want to die even more. It’s January 6th. Alex’s birthday. He’s 32 today. Louis hates that he knows that. He hates that he remembers. He hates Alex and he hates himself and he hates that he wants to call and ask what he’s doing. He supposes a small silver lining is that working the wedding means he can’t call even if he wants to, even if all his willpower and sanity and self-respect go out the window. But that’s the only silver lining. The happy sappy couples are even more sickening than usual, the music and the speeches and the gooey staring into each other’s eyes enough to make him want to vomit.By the time dessert is served, Louis is sneaking shots from a half-empty bottle of rum. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But as he feels the alcohol work its way into his system, softening the sharp edges of the world, muting the overly saccharine noise, covering his emotions in a layer of numbness… he can’t bring himself to care, can’t bring himself to feel anything but relief. He keeps it together. Barely. He doesn’t think any of the guests notice, at least, which is all he’s really worried about. He acts sober, acts cheerful, acts normal. He doesn’t burst into tears or pass out behind the bar, no matter how much he wants to. But as soon as the last guest disappears into the night, as soon as there’s no one he has to pretend for anymore – he crumples. His knees give out and he falls, hitting the ground hard as a racking sob rips from his throat, followed by another. He gasps for air, but it feels like his lungs can’t expand enough, like the shattered remains of his heart are taking up too much space for them to fully inflate. Harry finds him. Of course he does. He always finds Louis, always is there for Louis, always tries to take care of him. And Louis is grateful, he really is. But there’s only so much Harry can do. It’s January 6th, and Louis is a shell of a man. “Hey,” Harry says, his voice soft and gentle and soothing, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. “Do you want to leave?”Louis can’t think. He can’t move. He doesn’t want to be here, but going home sounds even worse. He doesn’t want to be anywhere. He doesn’t want to exist. He shakes his head. Harry’s hand is soft on his shoulder, rubbing comfortingly, holding him like an anchor. “Do you want me to ask the others to leave?” Louis’ stomach churns. He feels bad, there will be more work in the morning, but fucking hell he doesn’t want the others to see him like this. Bad enough that Harry sees him like this, but that ship has long since sailed. No matter how close they are, this is… he feels naked – no, more than naked, he feels like his skin has been peeled off, leaving behind the bloodied meat below. He swallows hard, and nods. Harry’s hand disappears and it feels like Louis’ grasp on the world disappears with it. He leans against the wall under the bar, knees curled into his chest like it might hold him together as he feels like falling apart. Distantly, he hears voices, but he can’t pinpoint a single word through the buzzing in his ears as he tries to remember how to breathe. Time passes. He’s not sure how much. He focuses on pulling air into his lungs, letting air out of his lungs, checking that his heart is still beating and hasn’t fallen out of his chest. But eventually, the voices fade. Eventually, he feels a warm presence settle on the floor next to him. Eyes closed – when did he close them? – Louis reaches out blindly with one hand. His fingers find the rough fabric of Harry’s sleeve, pulled tight over a muscled arm. His hand slides down to grip Harry’s hand, fingers digging into his palm. Harry squeezes back. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’ve always got you.” They sit there like that, silent, just breathing. Harry doesn’t offer comforts or condolences, sympathies or sorries. He just sits with him. He’s perfect. He’s exactly what Louis needs. After somewhere between a minute and a month, Louis slowly opens his eyes. They feel swollen, almost crusty, and even though the lights in the ballroom have been dimmed, it still seems painfully bright after so long in the darkness. He clears his throat. “I’m s-”“Louis, if you apologize, I’m going to smack you.”Louis almost laughs. Well. He lets out a small, choked cough. It’s all his throat can manage. “Fair.”“Are you ready to leave?” Louis swallows, his throat feeling thick and almost raw. “I think so.” His whole body feels stiff as he tries to get to his feet, and ultimately Harry helps pull him up off the ground. He sways slightly, leaning against the bar, then slowly makes his way around it and into the ballroom. He hears a glass clink on the counter behind him, the soft whoosh of some kind of liquid shooting from the bar gun. He doesn’t turn around, just runs his eyes over the room – the balloons pressed against the ceiling, the confetti still scattered on the floor, the dim lights washing everything in a faint golden glow. Harry comes up beside him, handing him a glass of cold water. “You should drink something,” he says. “Then we can head out.”Louis takes the glass numbly. He probably is dehydrated, he thinks musingly as he takes a sip. Between the rum and the crying, a lot of water has left his system. It’s only reasonable to replenish. The water is frigid, the cold spreading through his body and making him shiver, but he takes another sip. Cold is simple, is familiar, is easy. He’s used to feeling cold, feeling numb. He finishes the glass, and Harry reaches to take it from him. Their fingers brush, Harry’s skin warm and soft and solid against his, and something snaps in Louis’ chest. He doesn’t want to be cold. He doesn’t want to be numb. He wants heat, wants fire, wants to feel.  He reaches out, grabbing Harry’s tie and pulling him in. Harry stumbles, falling against Louis, but when Louis’ lips find his, Harry’s mouth responds instantaneously. A low moan slips from Harry’s throat, and Louis can’t help but echo it. He bites down on Harry’s bottom lip and feels him shudder, almost dropping the glass – which he quickly sets on a table instead. “Louis,” Harry gasps, his voice already low and raspy. “We should – fuck – get out of here before-” Louis shakes his head, pulling Harry in for another deep kiss and cutting off his protests. “No,” he murmurs against Harry’s mouth. “Now. Here. I don’t want to wait. I want to feel you.”He hears Harry’s breath hitch, feels the shiver travel down his spine, sees his eyes darken as he licks his lips. “We shouldn’t,” Harry whispers. “We – security cameras.”“Only Liam can see them anyways,” Louis says. “We’ll just tell him not to look at this part.” His fingers are already on Harry’s buttons, undoing them one by one, sliding under his shirt to press against his stomach. “Please, Harry. I need this. I need you.”Harry groans, his eyelids fluttering. “Fuck,” he says again. “Fuck, okay, just – quickly, yeah?”“Yeah,” Louis echoes, sliding down Harry’s body to kneel on the floor. He undoes the button on Harry’s trousers, sliding down the zip as Harry shudders. “I can be quick.”For all Harry’s moral protestations, the cock that Louis pulls out of his boxers is already half-hard. Louis licks his lips, sizing him up for a moment, then leans in. The low, guttural moan that Harry lets out as Louis takes him down goes right to Louis’ own cock, and he palms himself through his shorts. His jaw stretches wide around Harry’s girth as he moves in, then pulls back to let himself acclimatize, then in again, deeper. Harry is leaning against a table, gripping it hard with both hands. “Fuck, Louis,” he says as Louis works his mouth up and down. “Fuck, you’re so fucking good.” A twist of spite curls in Louis’ stomach, as the image of the last time he saw Alex slams into his head – Alex leaned back against the white wall of his studio, some girl in a skimpy costume on her knees in front of him. Do those poor saps he tricks into his pants have any idea what they’re doing? He knew Alex backwards and forwards, knew exactly what he liked, knew how to take him apart, how to push him to the edge and then hold him there, how to make him beg and plead and cry – until Louis finally let him come, so hard he saw spots, so hard he forgot how to speak. Can any of his misused models do that? Fuck. He doesn’t want to think about this. He doesn’t want to remember Alex. That’s supposed to be the fucking point of this, to forget, to fuck him out of Louis’ head. He needs more. He doesn’t stop his work on Harry’s cock, but he slows down a tad. One hand braces himself against Harry’s legs, and the other sets to work undoing his own zipper, loosening the waistband of his trousers, and then sliding down his bum to press a finger inside. He shudders at the first touch, dry and awkwardly angled, but his body knows what it means, knows how to respond. He presses deeper, fucking his finger in and out, feeling tiny noises of desire spill from his mouth, half-muffled by Harry’s cock. After a minute, he feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see Harry staring down at him, haloed in the faint light. His eyes are dark, his lips bitten red and swollen, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Let me,” he whispers hoarsely. “Between watching you and feeling your mouth – if you keep this up I won’t last.”Louis is hardly one to complain. He lets Harry pull him to his feet, stealing a crushing kiss before swapping their positions. Louis bends over the table, bracing himself with both hands as Harry roughly yanks his trousers down to his knees. When Harry presses a finger in, Louis’ head snaps back as he gasps. “Fuck,” he pants. “Harry, God.” Harry chuckles, low and throaty with just a hint of manic hysteria. “You’re telling me,” he murmurs. “God, you don’t even know how hot you look right now, spread out all over this table like you’re the most delicious feast I could imagine, and all for me.” Louis feels his legs shake as Harry crooks his finger, opening Louis wider. He feels tears springing to his eyes as Harry adds a second finger. Harry’s hands are gentle and yet firm, his words warm and yet aching. Louis’ stomach churns as he surrenders himself to Harry, to everything Harry has to give. He presses his forehead to the tablecloth, gasping for air as Harry’s fingers work deeper, harder, faster.“Please,” Louis murmurs, unable to wait any longer. “Want you inside. I’m ready.” Harry’s fingers slow, but he doesn’t pull them out just yet. “Are you sure?” he asks. Louis nods, his eyes squeezing shut. “Need you inside.” He can hear Harry swallow, can hear the shudder of his exhalation. “Okay.” Harry’s fingers slide out, the sense of fullness disappearing and leaving only emptiness behind. Louis’ legs shake, almost collapsing under him, and he pushes back off the table, lowering himself to his hands and knees. The tables aren’t really sturdy enough to stand up to this kind of thing – and he’s not sure he is, either. He hears the familiar crinkling noise of a condom wrapper, and lets out a soft huff of amusement. “Prepared for anything, are we?”“Shut up,” Harry says, laughing breathlessly. “Do you know how many wedding guests I’ve accidentally walked in on trying to get it on in the bathrooms – or worse, just some random hallway? They’re rarely prepared, so I like to keep a few in my pocket to hand out, just in case. If idiots are going to hook up at weddings, at least I can try to reduce the incidence of accidental pregnancies and STIs.”“That’s so weird,” Louis says. “That’s so you.” Harry laughs again. “Do you want to me to fuck you or not?”“Please.” Louis doesn’t have to ask twice, Harry pressing in almost the instant the words leave Louis’ lips. He gasps, rocking forward on his hands, his cock twitching underneath him. Fuck, he’s not fully prepped, the stretch just this side of painful, but he welcomes it. It’s a pain he can control, can choose. It’s a pain that keeps him grounded, reminds him that he’s human, he’s alive, he’s real. It’s a pain that will end. Harry pulls back with a breathy moan, before pressing in again. On the third thrust, he brushes against Louis’ prostate, sending a full-body shiver through him; on the fourth he hits it dead on and Louis lets out a cry of pleasure. “Fuck,” he gasps. “Yes, fuck, Ha- there, right there, perfect, God.”“You’re perfect,” Harry pants. “Fuck, you feel so good, Lou, love to feel you, love to make you feel everything.”Louis does feel everything. Pleasure is coursing through his body from head to toe, over every inch of his skin and in every beat of his bloodstream. A giddy nervousness tingles up his spine whenever he thinks about what they’re doing, where they’re doing it, what could happen if they got caught. There’s still an ache in the back of his heart (and his ass), but he can barely remember why, when Harry’s hands are on his skin and Harry’s voice is in his ear and Harry’s cock is doing that that oh God fuck yes don’t stop. Louis peels one hand off the floor to wrap around his own cock, bracing himself with the other hand as he rubs hard, desperate strokes. Fuck, he’s so close, every touch and every thrust of Harry’s bringing him nearer to the edge. He can tell Harry is approaching that same edge, his words growing less coherent and his thrusts growing sloppier. “God,” Louis chokes out between ragged breaths. “Fuck, so good, Harry.”Harry comes first, with a breathless cry. His fingers dig into Louis’ thighs, his body tensing against Louis’ skin, and Louis swears he can feel Harry’s warmth inside him. That heat grows, twisting behind Louis’ navel as his hand moves faster, and a second later his head tips back as he spills over his fingers. As the last shivers of his orgasm fade, Louis’ limbs give out and he collapses to the floor, pulling Harry down with him. Lying there, tangled and sweaty and with confetti sticking to his skin, he can’t help but laugh.Harry laughs too, his face pressed against Louis’ back, and Louis can feel his mouth stretch into a wide smile. “I love hearing you laugh,” Harry murmurs. Louis swallows, feeling like his heart is in the way of his throat. He can’t remember the last time he laughed like that, open and unthinking and completely carefree. He can’t remember the last time he laughed like that during sex, giddy and irreverent and ridiculous. Did he laugh during sex with Alex? Or was it just bodies, hot and heavy and urgent? Louis shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to replay the memories, pick apart every moment searching for something he can’t name. He wants to be here, now. With Harry. Laughing. “I like laughing with you,” he whispers. ~*~When they finally manage to peel themselves off the floor, they set to work cleaning up so as not to scandalize their colleagues in the morning. Louis can’t help grinning as he kneels back on the floor with a handful of paper towels, making a few suggestive noises as he wipes things down. Harry laughs, following his lead as he runs a sanitizing wipe over the area with only a bit more arching of his back than is strictly needed. Within a few minutes, there’s no visible trace of the company policies they’ve violated. Though Louis thinks he might be finding bits of confetti and glitter stuck to his skin for at least a few days. They make their way out to the parking lot, locking the doors behind them. There’s no one in sight, the night dark and deserted and nearly silent, and even on the drive home they barely see a single car or pedestrian. As they travel through the empty roads, Louis feels more human than he has after a wedding in weeks. Until they turn onto his street. Until he spots a lone couple, walking along the sidewalk, holding hands in the faint glow of the streetlight. Until he feels his palms grow clammy at the sight of his house, feels his stomach churn at the thought of going inside, feel every instinct in his body suddenly kick into fight or flight. Fuck. He stares at the front door as Harry pulls to a stop outside. His fingers dig into the seat beneath him, as though trying to hold him in place. He swallows hard, trying to force his body to relax, to unbuckle the seatbelt, to open the door. His body ignores him. The traitor. “Lou?” Harry’s voice is soft, gentle. “You okay?”Louis wonders when the last time was that he could honestly answer that question with a yes. He bites his lip, hard. “I’m going to go in,” he says, unsure if he’s trying to convince himself or Harry. “I am. I just need a minute.” He swallows again, pulling his hands from the seat, but as one settles on the seatbelt release and the other on the door handle, he finds himself paralyzed again. It feels like the world around him is slowing down, but at the same time his pulse is speeding up, pounding in his chest. “Louis.” Louis can’t move, he can’t think. His heart is racing, his breathing just as fast, his mind spinning even faster as memories whiplash through his mind, each one like a punch to the gut. He remembers Alex’s first birthday together, just a month or two after they started dating, the fancy dinner out and the slow walk home. He remembers lingering on the front porch, neither of them quite wanting the night to be over. He doesn’t remember which of them leaned in for the kiss, but he remembers it was electric, not messy or awkward the way so many first kisses are. He remembers pulling away just long enough to invite Alex inside, remembers stumbling down the hallway and falling into the bed.
“Louis.”
He remembers the next birthday, he hosted a party for Alex – Louis’ place had more space than Alex’s tiny bachelor pad. He remembers being introduced to old friends of Alex, seeing their knowing looks and the comments of so this is the guy I’ve heard so much about. He remembers feeling welcomed, wanted, important. And fuck, all he wanted was to be important to Alex. “Louis, look at me.” He can’t move, but gentle fingers grip his cheek, turning his head to the left. Calm, soothing green eyes stare into his, worried but steady. “Talk to me, Lou,” Harry murmurs. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” Louis forces his lungs to obey, taking in a long breath and letting it out slowly. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t… um. Like. This place, and this day… were kind of significant. Or they used to be.”Harry nods, reaching for his seatbelt. “I understand. Do you want me-” “No,” Louis says, shaking his head. Usually the thought of having Harry by his side is a comfort, but tonight, the thought of walking in there is only made worse by the idea of Harry next to him. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I can’t be here. Not tonight. I – fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Could you, like, drop me at a hotel or-”“Don’t be stupid,” Harry says, starting the car. He pulls back onto the road, hands steady and certain. “You’re not spending tonight alone in a strange place.”Louis blinks. “What are you-”“My place is small,” Harry says with a shrug, “but so are you.”“But – I mean, thank – wait, hey!” ~*~Louis will never stop being grateful to Harry. He’ll never stop owing him everything. Harry takes Louis home, tucks him into bed, holds him through the night – and somehow, Louis sleeps. Somehow, Louis wakes up feeling like a person instead of a shadow of himself.They have only a day's respite between weddings to clean and set up, with another scheduled for Sunday, and Harry asks Louis at least a dozen times if he’s sure he’s okay to go in. To be fair, it’s a reasonable question, and Louis isn’t sure – but he’s just as unsure of what will happen if he’s left alone with his thoughts all day. So he goes in. And it’s fine. Cleaning is always a comfort, and setting up for a new event is always exciting. And when the wedding arrives the next day, full as usual with happy couples and sappy speeches and love songs… Louis is still fine. Somehow. He feels fine.  Louis spends the drive home that night wrestling with himself. Tonight was…nothing special to speak of, no tears, not even a desire to break anything. He’s okay. Tired, but okay. But he still feels… antsy. On edge. Fragile. He hasn’t had a night that bad in a while, and it scares him. He doesn’t want it to happen again, and if it does… he doesn’t want to be alone.But Harry deserves better than to be his security blanket or his comfort stuffie. He does so much for Louis already, helping him whenever he needs. Louis doesn’t want to take advantage, to push that too far, to just keep him around for convenience or insurance. And yet. In spite of himself. Selfishly. He wants Harry around. He wants to fall asleep knowing that comfort and care is only inches away. He wants to wake up to kind eyes and a soft smile and Harry’s groggy morning voice. So when they pull up outside his home, Louis is torn. He bites his lip, looking at Harry, then out the window at the front door. He hears Harry sigh softly. “I’m really tired, Lou,” he murmurs. “And my head is killing me – I’m sorry, I just feel like shit-”“No, don’t apologize.” Louis is immediately contrite. “I’m sorry, I should have realized – are you okay, do you need anything?”Harry shakes his head, then winces. “I just need sleep,” he says. “I don’t mean to, like – are you-”“I’ll be fine,” Louis says. “I’m… I’m surprisingly okay, I think. Honestly.”He unbuckles his seatbelt, grabbing his bag off the floor. As he opens the door, he pauses, turning back. He leans over the center console, brushing Harry’s hair off his face and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Feel better,” he says. “Get some sleep. But let me know when you’re home safe.”“Will do,” Harry says softly. “G’night, Lou.”“Night, Harry.”Louis lets himself inside, breathing in the still air with careful lungs. But his chest doesn’t tighten, his heart doesn’t race, his eyes don’t sting. He’s okay. He’s okay. He starts to change into pajamas, but as he pulls his shirt off he gets a whiff of sweat and wrinkles his nose. He should shower. He considers putting it off til the morning, but rejects the idea. If he waits, he’ll probably just put it off again. Besides, it’ll do him good to get the stickiness of work off his skin. So he trudges to the bathroom and turns on the water before shedding the rest of his clothes. As Louis steps under the water, he almost groans at the feeling of heat sinking into his freezing bones, the pounding of the water against his aching muscles, the steam flooding into his dry lungs. He stands there for a few minutes, just letting it all wash over him, the grit and grime and drama of the day rolling off his skin and down the drain. Eventually, he straightens up with a groan, and reaches for the shampoo. His eyes slide sleepily shut as he works it into his hair, fingers massaging gently against his scalp. God, he’s more tired than he realized. An idle wish floats through his brain, thinking how nice it would be for someone to shampoo his hair for him. He finds himself picturing large, sturdy hands and long, lithe fingers, imagines feeling them rubbing against his head, then sliding down to work at the knots of tension in his neck. It’s only when he imagines a soft voice asking how it feels that he suddenly recognizes the hands. His eyes fly open and he stumbles on the slippery tile, catching himself against the wall. The hands. They aren’t a stranger’s, an abstract concept of companionship and care. They aren’t Alex’s either, a ghost of a memory, an aching echo of what once was. They’re Harry’s.Louis shakes his head, pushing the thought away. It’s probably because they’d just been spending time together earlier, because he’d thought they might spend the night together, because Harry is so good at taking care of him. It’s completely understandable, really, if a bit awkward. He rinses the shampoo from his hair, determinedly thinking about anything else – he’s got some work emails to send tomorrow, following up with a few clients, and he needs to do an inventory of the bar so he can place a restock order. He knows a few of the soda syrup bags are low, though he can’t remember which, and he’s down to his last case of tomato juice. He grabs a bar of soap, rubbing it around his body as he tries to remember what else needs replacing. As he absentmindedly soaps up his stomach, he suddenly feels his breath catch. Warmth rushes through him entirely separate from the warmth of the shower. He glares down at his dick in irritation, but it doesn’t seem to get the message, simply staring back at him, steadfastly at half-mast. He sighs. His body is getting too used to having Harry around, driving home from a wedding together must trigger like a Pavlovian response or some shit. Fine. Fuck it. Maybe an orgasm will clear his head, help him sleep. He reaches down, giving a few experimental strokes, and feels a shudder roll through his body. He braces himself against the wall with his free hand, letting the occupied one start to slide faster against his skin. Images roll through his head, a swirl of fragments and fantasies. A stranger on his knees, making Louis’ toes curl and his legs tremble. But when the stranger raises his head, he has Harry’s green eyes, Harry’s wide mouth, Harry’s crooked smile. Louis groans, pushing the picture away. Instead, he pictures a back alley behind a club, pressed up against a brick wall. His first time hadn’t been fancy, hadn’t been flowers and candles, but he still remembers it fondly. Two curious queer college kids behind the city’s only gay bar, hands shoved down each other’s jeans… it’s a cliché, perhaps, but one he wears with pride. He wishes he remembered the guy’s name, but they never saw each other again after that night. But when the boy in his head leans in, whispering fire and filth into Louis’ ear, the voice is one that he knows too well, that he spent too many years listening to, rising to, coming to. He wishes he could say that the sound of Alex’s voice in his mind was a buzzkill, but instead he finds himself smothering another groan. Alex’s voice sounds like a hundred nights of twisted bedsheets, sounds like the most familiar body he knows, sounds like some of the best orgasms of his life. Louis lets his knees buckle as he slides down the wall to kneel on the shower floor. Alex’s voice whispers in his head, calling him beautiful, sexy, gorgeous. And Harry’s hands push back in to join him, long fingers that Louis pictures running over his skin, pulling at his hair, scratching at his back, wrapping around his cock. Louis wonders whether Harry keeps his rings on when he touches himself, wonders what that soft scrape would feel like against such sensitive flesh. He wonders if Harry would let Louis watch him like that, if he asked. He wonders what Harry pictures when he touches himself. Heat twists in Louis stomach, another moan ripping from his throat. He can hardly think, his chest heaving, hand flying up and down. His eyes are squeezed shut, but burned on the inside of his eyelids like a movie is Harry, stretched out naked on his bed, his elegant fingers wrapped around himself. Harry squirms, his cock leaking precome onto his bare stomach. Louis’ hand moves in time with Harry’s in his head, tiny gasps and whimpers slipping from his lips with every stroke. Fuck, he’s so close, he can feel it, just a little more, just teetering on the edge of-In his mind, Harry’s eyes fly open, piercing and green and beautiful. His mouth forms Louis’ name as his head tips back, and Louis comes so hard he sees stars.It takes him a few minutes to remember how to move again. He becomes dimly aware of the water still beating down on him, and he lifts a trembling hand to turn it off. He stays there on the floor for another minute, before finally pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his towel from the door. He rubs it over his face, then his body, finally giving a few swipes through his damp hair. He tosses the towel over the door again, ignoring his toothbrush in favor of heading straight to his bedroom. He collapses facedown on the blankets with a groan, covering his head with his arms. His head is swirling with half a dozen confusing emotions and even more conflicting thoughts, but before he can dwell on them, exhaustion wins over everything else and he falls asleep. ~*~Louis wakes up alone. There’s a gentle pattering of rain against the window pane, pulling him into consciousness, and he opens his eyes to a room that’s dim and still and empty. He lies there for a moment, hoping sleep will pull him back under, but as he feels the minutes tick by he realizes he’s only growing more awake. He sighs, rolling over to grab his phone. He scrolls aimlessly through social media for a few minutes, checks his email, but nothing is grabbing his attention. He taps over to his messages, thumb hovering over Harry’s name, then backs out, returning to Facebook. But a few minutes later, he’s staring at their texts again. He bites his lip, then types out a quick message.
Hey, hope you’re feeling better this morning. Thinking of you.
That’s casual, right? Not clingy? He swipes away before he can second guess, so he doesn’t just sit there staring and waiting for a response. He’s absentmindedly scrolling through Twitter, finding only boring nonsense after bad take, when his phone vibrates with a reply. 
Slightly more human, but still pretty shit. I think it’s the storm, probably fucked with the air pressure. 
Louis winces sympathetically. Anything I can do? Bring you soup, keep you company, drape cool cloths over your forehead? It takes a minute for the response to come. You don’t have to do that. Louis rolls his eyes. I know I don’t have to, dude, that’s why it’s an offer.  No response. The typing bubble appears, then disappears. Louis’ thumbs hover over the keyboard, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. You’ve taken care of me a lot, he types after a minute of silence. It’s only fair for me to return the favor. I’d be happy to. Another minute of silence, and Louis is starting to wonder if he’s done something wrong. But then his phone buzzes.
bring nuggets and a milkshake? 
Louis smiles. You got it, buddy.  Thirty minutes later, he’s walking up to Harry’s door, McDonald’s bag in hand. Outside, he texts. Door’s unlocked, Harry replies. Don’t wanna get up.  Louis chuckles, reaching for the knob which twists easily as promised. It’s dark inside Harry’s house, none of the lights on, but Louis can hear faint voices coming from the bedroom. He follows the sound down the hall, and finds Harry in bed with the curtains drawn. The TV is on, playing some meaningless office drama show, but with the volume and brightness both turned down low.“Hey,” Louis says as he enters the room, keeping his voice low and soft. “Brought you a breakfast of champions.”A faint smile flickers across Harry’s face. “Thanks,” he says. “You’re the best.” “Don’t you forget it,” Louis agrees, crossing the room to plop down beside Harry on the bed. “Wasn’t sure how many nuggets you’d want so I got forty. Plus fries and a milkshake each.”Harry groans. “Louis, oh my God, that’s so much.”“I’m not expecting you to eat them all in one sitting,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “But if we’re going to be picking at it all day – and leftover nuggets are almost as delicious as fresh, just in a different way. Like day-old pizza.” “You’re disgusting and I love you,” Harry says. “Gimme.” Louis laughs, handing over the bag for Harry to paw through. He finds himself smiling fondly as he watches Harry shove a handful of fries in his mouth, groaning with pleasure. It shouldn’t be endearing, but it is. It’s nice to be the one taking care of Harry for once. It’s nice knowing he can take care of him, that he can be good for him instead of just a burden. “I love salt,” Harry mumbles around a mouthful of potato. “Delicious rock.” “Cheers to that,” Louis agrees, pulling one of the milkshakes out and lifting it in a toast. “And to the tastiest bean.”And that’s that. They sit on the couch, snacking and chatting about nothing, occasionally lapsing into silence and letting the nonsense on the TV wash over them. It’s easy. It’s comfortable. There’s something so special, Louis thinks, about having friends not only that you can do stuff with, but that you can do absolutely nothing with. After a couple hours of slothing around, Harry wraps his foot around Louis’ ankle. Louis grins, wiggling his toes against Harry’s skin.“Lou.”“Harold.” “Will you make me some tea?”Louis pulls an exaggerated frown. “Why me?”“Because I’m achey and pathetic,” Harry replies. “And you’re taking care of me because you’re the best.”Louis sighs dramatically. “You make a good argument,” he says. “Fine, I’ll be back in a minute.”He gets to his feet with a groan, stretching stiff muscles and stagnant bones. He makes his way to the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil and digging through the cupboards for the biggest mug he can find. He scans through Harry’s tea drawer until he spots the headache blend, scooping two spoonfuls of the leaves into a steeper. Three scoops of sugar go on top, ready to dissolve into the boiling water when it’s poured over and soften the bitter taste of the herbs. Once everything is set and waiting for the water, Louis opens the freezer and finds the frozen gel eye mask he bought Harry at the dollar store a year earlier. As he carries it back to the bedroom, he pauses at the threshold as he hears a faint snore. Harry’s head is tipped back on the pillow, his face smooth and calm, the lines of pain fading away with sleep. Louis feels an affectionate smile pull at the corners of his mouth, the sight of Harry so relaxed and peaceful giving him an equal sense of comfort. He makes his way over to Harry with careful, silent footsteps, draping the mask over his eyes. Harry shifts slightly, making quiet murmuring noise, but he settles again as Louis brushes a gentle hand over his hair, pushing it back from his face. As his breath grows rhythmic and steady again, Louis leans down, pressing his lips to Harry’s forehead, at the sliver of skin between mask and hairline. Then he slips back out of the room, returning to the kitchen and the slowly hissing kettle. The water still isn’t hot enough, so he wanders into the living room, poking idly through the things on Harry’s shelves. He runs his hand along a few rows of books, studies a display of figurines and ornamental doodahs – Harry always has had amazing taste in decor and art. He turns away from the shelves and leans down to study the coffee table, which has a couple of books scattered across it alongside an old plate and a half-eaten bag of chips. One book is a novel, most likely Harry’s current read – Louis vaguely recognizes the title as a popular queer romance that he’s seen mentioned online. Another is a coffee table book that appears to be super close-up photos of nature – bugs, plants, snowflakes, and the like. And the third is a light teal binder with a zipper, flipped open to show a page of printed photographs. Louis recognizes Gemma in one, standing on the beach with the wind catching her hair. Another shows Anne’s back garden, bright and blooming and beautiful. A third is the old tree in the front yard, silhouetted against the sunset. Louis smiles, recognizing Harry’s artistic touch on the photos. He’s always had such a talent for it, for capturing the beauty of a moment or a space or a person with such simplicity and yet such elegance. None of his subjects are extraordinary, they’re not staged or posed. They’re just… honest. In their element, exactly what they are, unapologetically and completely.Louis flips the page, his eyes skimming over more photos of Anne’s house. A few pages later, he sees a change to pictures from the park where Harry feeds the birds. And a few pages after that… Louis’ hand freezes mid-page turn when he recognizes his own face staring back at him from the photos. For a moment, his stomach twists. Memories hit him like a punch in the gut – Alex coaching him to smile or to smolder at the camera, Alex encouraging Louis to send him sexy photos, Alex under the studio lights with his dick in some random girl’s mouth. Louis had fled to lock himself in Alex’s office, hyperventilating and on the verge of tears. He’d found no relief there, only more photos, an entire drawer full of them, their subjects spanning a broad range of genders and ages, but their poses all the same – backs arched, mouths open, eyes sultry, clothes almost non-existent. Louis forces himself to swallow, forces his mind back to the present. The photos before him are nothing like those, nothing sexual or carnivorous at all. He’s barely aware of the camera in most of them, sure, but they’re completely innocuous – pouring out a drink behind the bar, or standing under the colorful lights of the dance floor, or sitting on the grass outside the venue. They’re simple, relaxed, vibrant – they feel like him. Perhaps more critically, they feel like a celebration of him, rather than a consumption of him. Louis doesn’t feel dissected, picked apart, pinned to a microscope slide – he feels seen. He feels admired. He feels beautiful, in the most ordinary and most human way possible. He hears the kettle click off, startling him out of his reverie. He walks back into the kitchen to finish the tea, his hand shaking on the handle as he pours. After a moment’s thought, he digs through the tea drawer to find a chamomile blend. His nerves could use it. ~*~Louis doesn’t think about it. He’s remarkably good at not thinking about things at this point, actually. Had a lot of practice over the last year. So he packs all thoughts of Harry’s photos into an imaginary box and shoves it deep into the back of his mind. It’s cool. It’s chill. It’s nothing. It’s normal. Louis is so normal. By the time a week has passed, he’s practically forgotten it happened at all. After two weeks, he barely notices when Harry finds him and Niall bickering over a crate of lemons, and pulls out his phone to capture the two of them flinging fruit at each other. After three weeks, it’s Harry’s birthday, and after a few hours of planning and organizing and going over plans for the next few months, work is laid aside in favor of celebration. It’s a surprisingly mild day for the season, so Niall serves dinner on the patio, and they sit close to the outdoor heaters. A platter of shrimp, scallops, and sea bass makes for a delicious centerpiece as they chat, sipping on a beautiful bottle of Chardonnay. By the time Niall brings out a dessert of chocolate-dipped strawberries, everyone is stuffed to the gills – and yet unable to resist more. The fruit is sweet and succulent, the chocolate velvety and soft, As the last of the food disappears, Harry gets to his feet. “I’m gonna go wash my hands,” he says, laughing as he holds up chocolate-covered fingers. “Be right back.” “I should probably do that too,” Louis says. “There’s probably chocolate all over my face, isn’t there?”It only takes one look at the faces of his friends to confirm that he’s right. He laughs, standing and jogging after Harry towards the men’s room. The bathroom is silent and empty when Louis walks in, and he’s momentarily perplexed. Then he hears a toilet flush, and a moment later the sound of a stall unlocking. Right. That’s how bathrooms work. He might be a little tipsier than he realized. He focuses his attention on wetting down a paper towel, dabbing at the splotches of chocolate (and butter, and shrimp sauce) around his mouth. Harry comes up beside him, turning on the next sink. Louis watches as he soaps up, carefully lathering every finger and even getting under his nails – Harry must be the only person alive who actually does that. Louis wonders if he does the song thing or if he’s just that thorough naturally. Ha, if he sings Happy Birthday to himself that would actually make sense today.“Are you singing Happy Birthday to yourself?” Harry blinks. “Uh. No?”“Oh.” Louis lowers the paper towel. “Sorry. I was just thinking, like, cause of the handwashing-”“Oh. Right. Yeah, no, I don’t do that.”“Oh.” Harry turns off the water, tearing off some paper towel to dry his hands. “Well, happy birthday,” Louis says. Harry smiles, slow and soft. “Thank you, Louis,” he says. “It has been a good one.”Louis steps closer. “Do you want it to be even better?” Harry blinks rapidly. “Do – you – I – what?”Louis grins. “I know it’s not our usual venue,” he says, running a hand up Harry’s arm, wrapping around his shoulder, “but I mean – it’s a special occasion. Goodness knows people have gotten up to worse in here. If you wanted. As a birthday treat.”“Louis.” Harry swallows hard. “What are you offering?”Louis shrugs. “I mean, whatever you wanted, really.”Harry’s eyes slip closed, his head tipping back just a bit with a soft groan, and Louis’ grin widens. He loves taking Harry’s breath away, loves the sounds he makes, loves-“Louis, no.” Louis blinks, surprised. That was not the word he expected to hear. “What do you mean?”“I mean no,” Harry says, his voice getting stronger with every word. “I mean stop. I mean I can’t. I won’t. I don’t want that.” Louis takes a step back, his head spinning in confusion as he tries to process where he’s gone wrong. “Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry, I thought-”“Fucking hell, Louis,” Harry says, his hand burying itself in his hair as he tugs at it. “Do you know what you do to me? Do you have the slightest idea?”Louis is beginning to suspect that he doesn’t. He really really doesn’t. He searches for words, something, anything to say, but he comes up empty.“Every time you ask me for anything,” Harry continues, “I always say yes. Because I know you need me. Because I’m pathetically, stupidly grateful to be needed by you. Because I’ll take anything I can get.” His eyes squeeze shut, the words continuing to pour out of him like a flood. “Because I hate seeing you in pain. Because I’d do anything to take away that pain. Because you’re the most important person in my life.” His voice cracks, and Louis’ stomach flips. Holy shit. Holy motherfucking shit. “I’m glad to do it, don’t get me wrong,” Harry says, as Louis grapples with the sensation of his entire reality exploding. “But even knowing exactly what it is, exactly what I am… every time you ask me for anything, I still can’t help hoping that it might mean something. That I might mean something. That it’s more than sex, that I’m more than a warm body and a fat cock.” He swallows. “The longer this goes on, the more the lines blur, the harder it gets. And Louis, I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t pretend that I don’t feel something when I kiss you, when I touch you, when I moan your name. I can’t pretend that the thought of birthday sex with you is just fun with no feelings, that it means nothing. It means everything, Louis. You mean everything to me.” Louis feels like the ground is trembling above his head, the sky fuzzy beneath his feet, the world spinning in every direction and every dimension. He doesn’t know what to say. “I… never realized,” he whispers at last. Harry lets out a sad laugh. “You weren’t supposed to,” he says. “You had enough on your plate.”“I’m sorry,” Louis finds himself saying, though he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for. “I should have – I don’t know. I’m not – I can’t-”“I know,” Harry says, which makes one of them because Louis doesn’t even know where that sentence was going. “It’s not, like – I don’t expect anything. I know where I stand. I know where you are. And that’s okay. You’re my best friend, Louis, and you always will be, and that’s enough – that’s so much more than enough.” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. But I just… I couldn’t stop myself.” “No,” Louis says. “You shouldn't have to, like – it’s not your fault. Fuck, that sounds-”“It’s okay, Louis,” Harry says softly. “I’m not, like. You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to do anything. I don’t expect anything.” He shrugs. “Nothing has to change. But, well, now you know the truth.” Louis can’t speak. His tongue feels frozen in his mouth, his lungs numb in his chest, and he can’t look away from Harry. Harry is too good, too kind, too gentle, too absolutely perfect. Louis doesn’t deserve him, can never thank him enough for everything he’s done, and yet he’s only paid Harry back in heartache. Louis feels sick. Harry sighs. “I should go,” he says. “I’m sorry. I know that was... I’ll give you space.” He gives a crooked smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll give you whatever you need.”Louis wants to answer him, wants to tell him – he doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know anything, can’t wrap his head around the holy shit, has no idea what he needs or what he wants or what he could do to make things better for Harry. And he has no idea how to turn that into words. So he says nothing. So Harry walks out. So Louis is left alone with a million thoughts spinning through his head, moving too fast to look at any one of them. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring blankly at the sink. When he hears the bathroom door swing open, he nearly falls over. He spins around to see Liam standing in the doorway, looking at him with concern. “Are you okay?”Louis doesn’t bother answering. Liam nods. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Is Harry giving you a ride?”Louis’ heart feels like it’s been punched. “No,” he says sharply, the word feeling torn from his throat. He was supposed to. He probably still would. They haven’t discussed it. But Louis can’t do that right now. Liam looks surprised, but nods. “Okay,” he says. “Do you want me to, like, I don’t know, call you a cab?”Louis nods slowly. “That might be best,” he says. Time feels like it slows down, or maybe speeds up, or maybe Louis just can’t remember it. But the next thing he remembers, he’s sitting in the backseat of a cab, driving through the darkened streets. When it pulls up outside his house, he quickly pays and then stumbles out, sitting down hard on the front steps. He pulls out his phone, staring at it. He swipes it open, navigating to his contacts. He stares at Harry’s name, then locks his phone. Unlocks it again. He taps on Harry’s name, and the phone starts to ring. Once. Twice. A pit grows in Louis’ stomach. What does he want to say? Three rings. Four. Why is he doing this? What would he even do if Harry answered? Five rings. He should hang up. Six – The phone clicks over to voicemail, Harry’s warm voice inviting him to leave a message that he’ll return later. Louis ends the call. But as his thumb slides down the contacts, he finds it hovering over a name just under Harry’s. He shouldn’t. It’s stupid. It’s insane. It’s the person who he always used to reach for, whenever life got weird and hard and he just needed someone to talk to. He taps on Alex’s name, and the phone starts to ring. Once. Twice. Three ti-“Hello?”Fuck. Louis opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. What is he supposed to say? Hey, we haven’t spoken in fourteen months because I hate you, but also I’m not over you, but also someone else just told me they’re in love with me? “Who is this?” A strangled sound pulls loose from Louis’ throat, and he finally manages to string words into a sentence. “You’ve really forgotten already?”There’s a long pause. “Louis?”“One and the fucking same.” “Wow. Um. This is a surprise?”Nausea swirls in Louis’ stomach. Every word from Alex feels like a knife, feels like a punishment. One he’s inflicting on himself, because he’s an idiot. “This is a mistake,” he says. “Goodbye.” When he hangs up, his hands are shaking and his head is pounding. He stands up – too quickly, which doesn’t help his head – and lets himself inside. He walks straight to the bedroom, no detours to the kitchen or bathroom, and collapses on the bed, fully clothed. A few minutes later, he’s out cold. ~*~Louis looks out over the balcony railing and into the darkening sky and sighs, exhaling fragrant smoke. Zayn’s got a cozy little setup here, an air mattress just barely squeezed into the space and covered in a pile of fuzzy blankets and pillows. The cool night air nips at Louis’ face and fingers, but the rest of him is warm and content. The weed helps slow the way his mind has been spinning for the last few days, but it can’t completely stop it – Louis is beginning to think nothing can. He’s felt half-dizzy since that day in the bathroom, since Harry laid his heart out on the table and turned Louis’ world upside down. Every time he tries to think about it, tries to unpack or process any of the situation, it just feels like things start spinning faster.Louis still can’t look Harry in the eye. At work, they’re both professional, cordial, but it feels… there’s a tension, hanging unspoken in the air between them. Louis catches rides with Niall when he can, and cabs it if Niall is busy, the idea of spending ten minutes alone in a car with Harry too unbearably awkward to even contemplate. The others have to know something is off, even if they aren't sure what, but they haven’t said anything, haven’t asked. Or at least they haven’t asked him.Maybe they’re just used to him being a mess anyways.Lying next to him, Zayn lets out a smoky breath of his own. “So are we going to talk about it or just keep ignoring it?” he asks.Louis starts – he’d half-forgotten where he was, half-forgotten Zayn was there. “Talk about what?” he stalls. “Whatever the fuck has been going on between you and Harry,” Zayn says. “I can keep pretending I haven’t noticed if you’d like, but it’s not exactly subtle.” Louis looks down. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s… complicated.” “Which part?” Zayn asks. “The part where you two have been hooking up for months? The part where he’s in love with you? The part where you’re in love with him?” Louis sits bolt upright, turning to look at Zayn in surprise. “You – wait – how – what – me?”Zayn blinks lazily. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to give a more specific question before I can answer that one.” Louis has about seventeen questions warring in his head for which he wants to ask first. He takes another drag of his joint, trying to calm his racing heartbeat – and, like, remember how to form complete sentences.“Can you expand on, like. All of that?” he says at last, flapping his hand in a circle. Zayn chuckles. “Fair enough,” he says. “Where do you want me to start?”“Uh. First part?” Louis “How long have you know that Harry and I – that we were, like, you know-”“Fucking?” Zayn snorts, sitting up to give Louis a knowing look. “Louis, I’ve known you for years. We’ve practically lived in each other’s pockets since our first year of university. I know what you look like after you’ve been dicked down. Same goes for Harry. When you guys keep showing up to work with fresh hickeys or hoarse throats or walking gingerly on the same day… it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.” Louis’ face burns. He wonders if the others know. He also deeply deeply does not want to know or even think about it. “Moving on,” he says instead. “Harry only told me that he – um, on his birthday. How did you...”Zayn sighs, tipping his head back as he chooses his words. “He looks at you like you’re the sun,” he says at last. “Like you hung the stars just for him. He’s always watching you, always gravitating towards you – I don’t know if he even realizes he’s doing it. It’s just… automatic. Like his whole world revolves around you. He never, like, said anything to me but... I know that look. I've seen it a hundred times, during newlyweds' first dances.” Louis' stomach flips, and he swallows hard. “And… me?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper. “What makes you think I…” He trails off, unable to say the words aloud – unable to look directly at it. Zayn lets out a long breath. “You just – you fit,” he says. “You’re like two sides of the same coin. You laugh at his jokes before he even finishes them, and you look to him for a reaction first whenever you crack one. You’re always the first to offer to help him with decorating, and you always ask for his opinion when you’re trying new cocktail recipes – he’s not even the chef.” Zayn shakes his head. “Even from the beginning, when you were an absolute wreck and shutting everyone out – you never pushed him away. You’d still talk to him. You’d still let him see you at your lowest. And he never looked away. It was like he was the only one who could reach you, who could help you.” There’s a lump in Louis' stomach, and he struggles to swallow around it. “That’s not love,” he says flatly. “That’s me being fucked up and codependent. That’s me making my problems Harry’s problems, and Harry being too good of a person to turn me down.”“Maybe so,” Zayn says, dipping his head in acknowledgment. “Maybe it’s not love yet. But I think it could be, in time. If you let it.” Louis bites his lip. If he let it. That’s the real problem, isn’t it? He’s scared. He’s fucking terrified. Even the idea of love feels like a weapon, like a threat, like a time bomb. Every instinct in his body is screaming to protect his heart, to shield it, to never let it be that vulnerable again. Falling in love doesn’t feel like an option.“Love destroyed me once,” he whispers. “I don’t know if I can survive that again.”Zayn frowns. “I don’t think Harry would do that.”“I didn’t think Alex would do that,” Louis counters. “But here we are. You never really know what someone is capable of… until they do it to you.”Zayn nods slowly. “I guess that’s fair,” he says. “But I guess that’s what love is. It’s a leap of faith. And faith isn’t certain. But it’s choosing to believe anyways. Choosing to trust with every part of you.”Louis’ eyes fall shut, and he tips his head back against the wall. “I don’t know if I know how,” he whispers. The thing is, he can picture it. Loving Harry would be so easy. Harry is already his best friend, his closest confidant, his shoulder to cry on and the hand to hold him up. Harry knows him inside and out, the good and the bad and the ugly, and he’s never looked away. And Louis knows Harry just as well, knows his interests and his fears and his dreams and his family and his secrets-Well. Apparently he’d missed one secret. Which is the whole point he’s making, isn’t it? You never really know anyone. Even when you think you do, you can never be sure there isn’t something hiding below the surface, just out of sight, lurking in wait. It’s impossible to distinguish between unvarnished truth and a really good lie, until it’s far too late. Until you’ve given yourself completely to the lie, tattooed it into your skin, let it make a home in your ribcage. Until it goes from the thing that keeps your heart beating to the thing that breaks it. “It doesn’t have to be all at once,” Zayn says. “It doesn’t have to be instant. It can take time.”Time. Everything takes fucking time. Louis is so goddamn tired of waiting. “Look,” Zayn says, “you could have gone out to a club and found some stranger to fuck you stupid. You could have had a rebound relationship, or found a different dick every night. You could have – but you didn’t. You picked Harry. You picked Harry over and over and over. Why?”Louis snorts. “Because-”His mouth goes dry. Because Harry was safe. Because Harry was comforting. Because Harry never made his brokenness feel ugly. Because Harry always knew what to say or do to make him feel better. Because he trusted Harry. Maybe not completely, without reservations, with every part of himself. But he trusted him. He trusts him. “Oh god,” he says, his stomach swirling. “Fuck.” Zayn nods sagely. “Weed epiphany,” he says. “Best fucking kind, if you ask me.” “Zayn.”“Louis.”“I think I’m in love with Harry.”“Hallelujah.”“Fuck.” “Yeah, you do that with Harry too.”“Zayn.” Louis feels nauseous. “What the fuck do I do?”“Whatever you want,” Zayn says, shrugging. “You can do nothing, pack up this revelation into the box out of which it came and ignore it in favor of staying lonely and isolated for the rest of your life. You can tell Harry you need time to heal before you commit to anything, and then really work on healing. Maybe get some therapy.”Louis makes an irritated noise. “Why does everyone tell me to get therapy?” “Because you need fucking therapy,” Zayn says, without missing a beat. “Or, option 3, you can tell Harry you’re in love with him.” “Just like that?”“Just like that,” Zayn agrees. “And then also get therapy.”“I’m going to slap you.” Zayn laughs. “Nah, you love me.” Louis swallows hard around the knots twisting in his stomach. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I do.” ~*~The next day at work, Louis feels like his whole body is vibrating, like there are bees buzzing inside his lungs and crawling through his bloodstream. Every time he looks at Harry, he feels his heart skip, and he has to look away – though a part of him doesn’t want to, wants to keep looking and looking and looking.Over lunch, he settles at one end of the boardroom table, chatting with Niall about an upcoming food order – and about a YouTube video where someone had trained a squirrel to do tricks. When the door opens, he glances up and sees Harry walking in. And this time, Harry is looking back, their eyes locking.And Louis can’t look away. His heart jumps into his throat as the rest of his body forgets how to move – his ribcage won’t expand, his foot stops tapping, his hand freezes on his fork.Harry looks away first, breaking the spell, but it takes Louis a moment to tune back in to the world. He realizes that Niall has been talking the whole time, but he didn’t hear a word. He’s not sure if Niall realizes – if so, he doesn’t give any sign. Louis manages to throw himself back into the conversation after a minute or two, but he’s distracted, only half paying attention. A few minutes later, when Niall finishes his food and excuses himself, Louis sits for a moment, then steels his nerves and gets to his feet. He makes his way over to Harry, each step feeling like a mountain, but he just keeps putting one foot in front of the other.“Hi,” he says, when he finally stands before Harry. Harry looks up at him. “Hi.”“I, um.” Louis swallows. “I was wondering if you’d be alright if we carpooled tonight again?”Harry blinks at him. “Is everyone else busy?”Louis takes a nervous step back. “Um. I don’t know, I didn’t ask if – no worries if you’re busy, I can just-”“No, it’s fine,” Harry says quickly, cutting off his spiral. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t – I don’t know.” He sighs. “I’m sorry. Of course I can.”“Are you sure?” Louis asks. “I don’t – like, it’s alright if you don’t want-”“I’m sure,” Harry says. A tiny crooked smile flashes across his face, just for a moment, but it’s like a salve to Louis’ frayed nerves. “I’ve missed you.”Louis has to swallow hard before he can speak, his eyes suddenly damp and blurry. “Yeah,” he says. “I, um. Same.”They barely see each other the rest of the day, each caught up in their own tasks, but when they meet up at the end of the day, Louis has never been both so glad and so nervous to see him. The drive home is silent. Not the comfortable, easy silence of two people who know each other inside and out. This time, it’s the awkward, heavy silence of two people who don’t know each other at all, unsure where anything stands or what to say. Louis wants to say something. But he can’t find the words. Or maybe he can’t find the courage. Before he knows it, Harry is pulling up in front of his house, and time is running out. Louis bites his tongue, not moving, willing himself to say something, anything, just spit it out already dammit-“Louis,” Harry says slowly. “If this is – if you’re inviting me in, I don’t think-”“Oh, fuck, no, sorry,” Louis says, realizing what Harry is reading. “Fuck, I didn’t think – that’s not what I meant, I swear.”Harry looks down. “Okay,” he says. “I just. Had to check.”“No, yeah, I understand,” Louis says. “But no, I just, um. I wanted to talk to you.” Louis makes a face. “Fuck, this is hard. Usually talking to you is easy, but this is…” He lets out a long breath. “So, about what you said last week-”“We don’t have to talk about it,” Harry says quickly. “It’s fine, I understand, you don’t-”“But I want to,” Louis says. “I need to.”He looks up at Harry, finding his own nervousness reflected back at him in Harry’s gaze. He wonders which of them is more afraid in this moment. Maybe it’s a tie. “Okay,” Harry whispers. “What do you, um.” He trails off, not sure how to finish the sentence. Or maybe not wanting to. Louis closes his eyes for a moment before opening them, his gaze steady and solid. “You’re my best friend,” he says. He feels Harry flinch, but he keeps going. “You make me feel safe. You always support me through everything, I can always rely on you. You’re kind and you’re funny and you’re smart and you’re thoughtful. You get along with my sisters, and my mother loves you. You’re so much a part of my life that I almost didn’t realize it until you weren’t there.” “Lou-”“Let me finish,” Louis says, holding up a hand. “Please. This is already hard enough.”Harry nods. “Okay.”Louis takes a deep breath, letting it out again. “You’re everything to me, Harry. Everything. You’re my rock, you’re my light, you’re my anchor, you’re my hope. You’re just…” He trails off, shaking his head. “And the more I think about it… the more I wonder if I’m already in love with you.”He feels more than hears Harry’s sharp intake of air, but he keeps going. He has to keep going.“I’m fucked up right now,” he says. “You know that. You’ve seen me. And, like, I’m not really in a position to make any promises right now. I’m not in a position to give you what you deserve. I’m still raw. I’m still afraid – hell, that's an understatement, I'm fucking terrified.” He swallows. “But. I also know that you fit into my life in every way. That I want you in my life in every way. And I hope that one day…” He pauses again, looking up at Harry. Harry looks like he’s been hit by a bus. Maybe even a train. He looks like a gust of wind could knock him over, like a balloon could lift him into the air to float away. He looks shocked, elated, hopeful… beautiful. “You think,” he whispers, the words catching in his throat, “someday…”“I hope so,” Louis says, his throat tight. “I – you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me, Harry, and I’m an idiot for not seeing it. For not seeing the way your handprints are all over my life, and how much better they make every inch of it. And I – I can’t promise anything. I don’t know when I’ll be, like, better – hell, sometimes I still wonder if I ever will be. But.” He shrugs. “I want you. I want to share my life with you.” Harry leans forward, his hand wrapping around Louis’ cheek, and Louis’ heart is pounding right out of his chest. Harry pauses, uncertainty warring in his eyes. “Can I-”Louis kisses him. And it feels like music. It’s not a kiss that’s rough and randy, a means to an end. It’s not a kiss that’s half-agony, seasoned with saltwater tears. It’s just… simple. Beautiful. Loving. Louis feels loved. He feels wanted and respected and cared for and protected and loved.   And he thinks that maybe, possibly, just a little, he might be starting to recognize the feeling of that love blooming in his own chest. As Louis kisses Harry, he tastes hope and he breathes in happiness. When they pull apart, Louis doesn’t invite Harry inside. He doesn’t even consider it. He brushes a hand along Harry’s jawline, tugs gently on a curl, presses one more kiss to Harry’s cheek. Then he unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the car. He sticks his head back inside before he climbs the front steps. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”Harry’s smile is radiant. “See you tomorrow.”