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It has been on Louis’ mind for a couple weeks.
Even when he isn’t actively thinking about it, it seems as if the thought is just always prickling at the back of his mind, waiting for him to do something about it. It’s slowly starting to drive him crazy, the constant gnawing and itching at his mind. He’s not used to keeping secrets, especially not from his husband.
It’s just that this is something new to him, and it feels like a big deal to Louis, even if rationally and logically it isn’t. It’s taken him these past few weeks to wrestle with the idea and come to terms with it, so it’s not like he was purposefully keeping something from his husband; it’s just that he can’t particularly tell Harry what’s going on if he himself doesn’t even really know.
Even though it’s a minor action, after years of being told he’s not good enough and that he’s not normal or desirable simply because he likes boys rather than girls, there’s a lot of fucked up internalized homophobia he had to deal with before he could vocalize what he wants.
See, despite the years of very forced and very public closeting he’s had to endure, he likes to think he knows who he is, and he’s proud of that person he’s become.
Although he can’t publicly show it, he knows a lot about gay culture and stays involved and up-to-date on gay shit happening in the world.
And at the age of 27, after years of being married to the most beautiful man in the whole world, Louis’ fairly confident in knowing what kind of gay he is. And that’s the tracksuit-and-sweatpants-wearing, cigarette-smoking, dumb-impulse-tattoo-getting, knows-about-fashion-but-is-too-cool-to-try-because-effortlessly-looks-good-in-anything type of gay.
Sure, he can be flamboyant and extravagant in the private spaces of his home. He’s definitely dramatic and loud and campy at his true core. He’s been told before-- and sometimes agreed with it, even if he won’t openly admit it-- that he can look pretty at times. But he’s just… he’s not femme.
That’s kinda Harry’s thing, in a way. Not like Harry owns it or has exclusive rights to being femme. But it’s just that Harry’s come such a long way in the almost ten--wow!-- years that they’ve been together.
From age 16-- feeling ashamed of and trying to conceal any and all desires to be pretty and his affinity for stereotypically girly things-- to currently-- wearing “women’s” (as if clothing can really be gendered, lesbihonest) clothes and bringing his clutch out in public and experimenting with different types of makeup-- it’s just become such an important part of who Harry is, and Louis’ so unbelievably proud of him.
Logically, Louis knows that Harry won’t be mad or upset in the least if Louis were to express what’s been on his mind, but still, it’s a convenient excuse to use rather than admitting to himself that he’s not exactly the image-- the person-- he’s tried to project for years.
It’s easier to say that he won’t do it because he doesn’t want it since he’d be stepping on Harry’s toes, rather than saying that he does want it because that would mean he’s more than just a guy who likes beer, football, and skateboarding... and also happens to like sticking his cock up his husband’s ass and/or having his husband’s cock up his ass.
Just because he’s super gay doesn’t mean he’s femme, and while he loves how pretty and soft and delicate and happy Harry is while pushing gender boundaries and experimenting with more feminine appearances, he’s always been very content in being and looking like a stereotypical bro who just also happens to like gay sex and be madly in love with another man in his free time.
But ever since he fell asleep while he and Harry were watching that new rom-com Harry’s since been obsessed with, Always Be My Maybe , and Harry decided to get back at him for falling asleep again while they were supposed to have movie night by painting the nails on his left hand the brightest, gaudiest pink color he could find, Louis hasn’t been able to get the image of how he might look in a more flattering shade of nail polish.
And while Louis, upon waking up, pretended to be outraged and immediately stomped into their master bathroom to use Harry’s nail polish remover, he couldn’t help just taking a moment to step back and simply look .
It’s just… he has nice skin, you know? And he hadn’t realized how fascinating it would be to see a different color on his nails that really contrasted and highlighted his naturally sun-kissed skin, okay? And there’s apparently something about having his nails painted-- even in some godawful, pepto bismol pink-- that kinda makes him feel special, almost like something mesmerizing and something to be cherished, like a work of art in a way.
It’s not anything he would have been able to understand before he actually saw the nail polish on him, and it’s still not something that he really understands.
All he knows is that it was intriguing, and he wouldn’t mind trying it again maybe.
And now that the seed’s been planted in his mind, he can’t squash it. It’s just growing and growing, and for some reason, every little thing seems to bring him back to the idea that he should try painting his nails for real.
Not his fingernails this time-- no, no, no-- but maybe his toenails, something easy to hide and which only he’ll know about even as he goes about his day wearing fucking nail polish.
So he’s been trying to very casually peruse Harry’s extensive nail polish collection, but apparently he hasn’t been as sneaky as he thought because almost every time Harry’s found him scrutinizing the polish, and Louis’ had to play it off that he’s looking for a new shade for Harry of course.
He tried once a couple days ago while Harry was out to paint his toenails in Harry’s personal favorite shade of a powder pink, but almost immediately he’d hated the way it looked on his toes and hysterically removed the polish before Harry came home and found him fighting back tears of frustration and embarrassment about this whole thing.
Which brings him to right now, trying to subtly side-eye the dark, almost-black, purple polish Harry left on their coffee table while Harry chatters about his day. Louis feels like he’s doing a pretty good job of being sneaky about contemplating if the polish would look good on him, but he’s missed the majority of Harry’s story, which honestly makes him feel worse and more guilt-ridden about this new fascination he has with trying on nail polish.
Not for the first time, he’s snapped from his reverie into the present by Harry, this time placing one of his large, ringed hands on Louis’ shoulder and shaking him slightly.
“You okay, honey?” Harry’s deep voice purrs out, tainted with worry, a look of confusion and concern marring his flawless facial features.
Louis focuses on giving his full attention to Harry and tries to shrug off his hand, reassuring him that he’s listening and here in the moment.
Harry, though, continues staring at him with a frown wrinkling his forehead, and he tilts his head as he stares intensely at Louis, as if staring so intensely will allow him to read Louis’ mind, which honestly at this point in their relationship, Harry’s so full of wonderful and surprising attributes that Louis wouldn’t be very surprised if telepathy were just one of the many things Harry Tomlinson-Styles can do.
By the time Harry’s been staring at him for an uncomfortably long time, making Louis squirm in his spot on the couch and search his mind frantically for anything at all to say that isn’t about goddamn nail polish, Harry wordlessly pushes himself off the couch and hurries out of the room.
“Haz?” Louis calls out, his heart dropping to his stomach as he’s filled with dread that he’s upset Harry because he’s been so obsessed with his own silly, selfish dilemma.
“Be right back,” Harry’s voice calls back, and he doesn’t sound mad, which is good.
After a couple anxiety-riddled moments, Harry’s returning, somehow looking both smug and nervous simultaneously, walking up to Louis with one hand clasped behind his back.
“What’s up, H?” Louis tries to go for casual, but he can tell his voice comes out too high-pitched and tight with tension to pass as normal.
“I got you something,” Harry says shyly, which--okay, weird, because Harry loves being gifts just as much as Louis loves buying things for Harry, so it’s in no way abnormal or out of the ordinary in the slightest.
Louis stays silent, waiting for Harry to respond or do something. He watches as Harry swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that is much too attractive for just a regular, post-dinner lounge about.
“Okay, so, I hope I’m not way off with this, and it’s okay if you say you hate this, and we can never talk about this again if you want, but I’ve noticed you acting kinda weird recently, and I think I’ve figured out why, but I’m sorry if I’m way off base, and if you’re mad at me, I can just blow you to apologize and we’ll forget this ever happened.”
Louis loves that he’s the only person who ever gets to see this quick-talking, rambling side of Harry when so often people think of Harry as only talking slowly and deliberately. And he also loves that even after nearly a decade together, he can still make Harry this shy and excitable. What he doesn’t love though, is seeing Harry so nervous and full of self-doubt, and he absolutely hates that Harry has even entertained the thought of Louis being so angry about something Harry took the time to buy for him when Louis has told him and shown him in every way possible that Harry could give him a flaming pile of shit and Louis would still love it simply because it’s from Harry.
“You know I’ll love it, baby,” Louis says, all previous traces of tension or nerves gone from his voice as he tries to reassure Harry and make sure he knows how loved he is.
Harry nods quickly, and takes a deep breath, slowly and dramatically bringing his hand around from behind his back and unfurling his fingers to reveal a bottle of nail polish resting in his palm.
“You’ve been eyeing my nail polish for ages now, and I thought maybe you might want to try some of your own?”
Louis desperately wants to play it cool, but he can’t help the endeared chuckle that he omits when he sees that Harry selected a shade of paint almost identical to Louis’ eye color. The whole thing is just so sweet, and thoughtful, and so very Harry that Louis almost feels as if he could cry he’s so in love.
Looking up and meeting Harry’s wide, expectant eyes, Louis can’t help reaching out and cupping Harry’s cheek, gently stroking his thumb under Harry’s eye as he watches a light blush blossom on Harry’s face.
“You’re such a sap, you know that, right?” Louis teases, no trace of malice evident underneath the fond dripping from his words.
Harry giggles helplessly, rolling his eyes in classic Tommo™ fashion that Louis claims he only tolerates Harry doing since he legally took Louis’ last name.
“Big words coming from the man who falls asleep during every rom-com we watch because you say they’re all too boring in comparison to our love story,” Harry easily retaliates, grinning wickedly as he fully knows the effect those words will have on Louis.
Louis can’t help ducking his head, letting his long fringe fall over his eyes to hopefully hide the ridiculous grin that breaks across his face, because, well, Harry’s not wrong at all, and they both know it. They’re both saps nad both completely in love, so sue them.
“I love you so much,” Louis whispers, taking the bottle from Harry’s hands and turning it over in his own.
“I know,” Harry giggles, and Louis just has to shove him back gently, pretending to be annoyed with Harry’s cheeky answer.
Harry leans forward and kisses Louis’ cheek before resting his head on Louis’ shoulder and reaching down to intertwine his fingers of one hand with Louis’ while he reaches over with his other hand to trace a finger along the bottle of blue nail polish Louis’ still holding.
“Let me paint your feet,” Harry whispers, and Louis has to swallow back tears because Harry just knows him so well, knows that Louis would want to start with his toenails before doing his more visible fingernails.
“Okay,” Louis whispers back, staring down at their clasped hands and the bottle of polish resting in his lap.
“Okay,” he repeats as he feels his chest physically aching with how much love it has to contain for the silly, beautiful man next to him.
“Okay,” Harry murmurs back to him, not making an effort to get up and move as he turns his head to hide his wide smile against Louis’ neck.
And even though Louis still doesn’t know why he’s so drawn to the idea of painting his nails, nor does he know how this newfound desire fits in with the rest of who he is, right now, it feels okay.